Hawaiian shirts, toucans, palm trees, tiki drinks, alligators, and panthers are just a few of the characters you’ll find in Los Angeles based artist and musician Luke Pelletier’s works. Creating fun, bold, and brightly colored scenes from an imagined paradise, Luke has done collaborations with Valley Cruise Press, Mike Vallely, and most recently with Darkstar skateboards. We’re excited to have him in our Art School Q&A where we talk about his recent trip to Milan, his band The See Ya Laters, and his process and approach to painting.
It started with a Hera reference sheet, and @pomrania calling her headscarf…thingy “head underwear”.
Welp, “Head underwear” really got to me. Like, what if Hera ended up wearing
one of Kanan’s boxers on her lekku at some point? Either out if
desperation, as an attempt to flirt, or maybe she lost a bet? It would
be even funnier if the fabric had some dorky heart pattern or lettering.
Can you imagine her wearing some space-Hawaiian themed shorts with
ALOHA printed across the ass(or in this case, brow)? Wouldn’t they be a bit loose, considering that a head and lekku are smaller than a waist and legs? Does Kanan own any sexy underwear?
And then I started headcanoning HARDER. (And fanfictioning!)
“Just WHERE in the Nine Corellian Hells are my headscarves?!” Hera bellowed.
Kanan froze. It had been his night for laundry; had he forgotten to bring up everything after sorting? “Hold on, I’ll get your stuff out of the cleaning unit!” He called back, dashing to the cubby near the cargo hold. Yes, there was the barrel-shaped washer/dryer, full to the brim with clothes. Except…the usual “cycle complete” light wasn’t lit. In fact, now that he looked at it, the clothes seemed to be exactly the way he’d left them when he put them in. Panic crawling up his throat, he checked the chutes for soap and softener. Neatly filled, undisturbed…
“Ka-naaaaaan!” Hera yowled.
Oh, she was going to be PISSED. He’d forgotten to turn the stupid thing on, and a full cleaning cycle lasted hours!
Kanan reached for his comm, bracing himself. “I…uhm, the laundry isn’t ready.”
Silence, deadly silence…
He gulped and held it as far away from himself as he could while still picking up his voice. “I kinda…forgot to…turn the machine on?”
“You WHAT?!” Not good. The last time she’d been this angry was when she’d discovered a hidden bottle of booze in his cabin. “I need a headscarf, Kanan! I can’t exactly pilot the Ghost from my bunk! You’d better come up with one, even if you have to sew it yourself!”
The commlink was shaking, whether from the force of Hera’s rage or Kanan’s dread was unclear. “I’ll, ah, see what I can do…” He managed.
Ten minutes later, he appeared at her cabin with a replacement. Hera glowered at him, and then regarded the clothing in his hand.
“Are those… boxer shorts?” She asked.
Kanan pressed his face against the bulkhead to hide his blush, holding the white underwear at arm’s length. “They’re clean, I found the most pristine pair I could, and it’s the closest thing I could find to what you wear…” He mumbled against the metal.
A hand brushed his, taking the offered boxers. Kanan fled to the cockpit.
When Hera joined him, boxer shorts neatly threaded over her lekku and under her pilot’s cap, he did his best not to stare.
“The laundry’s in progress.” He offered quietly.
Her only response was to growl and start punching buttons on the console, getting the Ghost ready to fly.
“C’mere, Luv. I’ve got a surprise for you tonight…”
Kanan flicked on the lights in her cabin, the door whooshing shut behind him. Hera was lounged on her bunk, sporting her usual thermal sleep-suit except…
He gawked. Hera’s head and lekku were draped in pastel pink fabric, with palm trees and stylized waves patterned across the lot of it. On the elastic adorning her brow, bold lettering of “STUD” (or ‘DUTS’, since he was reading it upside down.) glared back at him.
“I didn’t even know you had something like this.” She continued, enjoying his befuddled yet aroused expression. “When did you get it? I don’t recall any tropical gift shops on our various adventures.”
Kanan swallowed hard, regaining enough brain power to speak. “I, ah, may have charmed that off a barmaid on Rion…” he said. “She offered me a night of fun, I declined, and then she tried to bargain with the shorts. Said it’d be so good I would need something to remember it by, that she could get me whatever I desired from the tourist shop overstock. But I said no again, so she threw them at me.”
Hera laughed. “You kept these? Ever since we went to Rion? Have you even worn them?”
“Not really, no” He said sheepishly. “They tend to remind me of the carouser I used to be, of when I would take up offers like that at every turn.”
Hera sobered. “What changed?”
“I met you, Hera Syndulla.” Kanan smiled. “There’s never been another woman for me, not since the day I blundered into you on Gorse.”
“Well, then,” She said, standing and coming up to caress his face. “Perhaps this can become something more than a mark of shame.”
Kanan leaned into her touch, but halted as he became level with the lettering once more. He sighed exasperatedly at the pink fabric and ridiculous pattern.
“Oh, gimme those.” he said, yanking them off her lekku. “I can’t take you seriously in tropical boxer shorts. Not even a revolutionary of your caliber can make these things meaningful.”
~~Losing a Bet~~
Long hyperspace jumps let to boredom. Boredom led to numerous improvised games, and poor judgement. Poor judgement led to making bets that the rational, calculating Captain Hera Syndulla would never have considered, had she been sane.
Losing said bets meant wearing a pair of white boxers under her usual headgear, hoping the rest of the crew wouldn’t notice. For a full day cycle aboard the ship.
Ezra seemed to buy her lie about “trying some looser, more casual headscarf”. Sabine just looked at the plain fabric, declared it too boring, and offered to paint it. When told no, she gave it another, more critical look, but otherwise kept her mouth shut. Zeb did his best to smother his laughter, knowing full well what he was looking at but trying to help his captain save face. He also offered to maul Kanan, but Hera politely declined. She thanked him for the gesture though, oddly pleased by the Lasat’s desire to defend her dignity.
Chopper didn’t say a word, likely because Hera threatened to pull his battery for the entire time. He had been conspicuously absent, likely giving Kanan an extra dose of his usual antics in retaliation.
Finally, the day was over and she could take the stupid thing off. She tossed it contemptuously in the laundry, and flopped into her bunk with a relieved sigh.
The next morning, she woke to her commlink beeping. Sleepily pawing at the cylinder, she finally got it in her hand and sat up to answer.
“Spectre two here, what is it?”
“Uh, it’s Kanan.” Came the reply. “The kids must’ve been angry about yesterday, because… Ugh, you better come see this.”
“Alright alright, gimme a minute.” She groused, reaching for her clothes. She quickly dressed and went to Kanan’s cabin.
The Jedi was surrounded by laundry, a blanket wrapped around his waist. Neatly sorted piles of clothes dotted the room, Sabine’s here, Ezra’s there…
Kanan was currently sifting through his own clothes, occasionally dropping a damaged article in a small heap. Hera looked closer, drowsiness making it hard to grasp what she was looking at. Mostly small, white things, obviously burnt.
It clicked. Someone had gotten ahold of Kanan’s underwear, and burnt enormous holes in each pair, rendering them useless. Memories of Chopper being gone most of yesterday returned; he must have taken his electro-prod to the whole lot in spite.
“Oh my stars…” Hera murmured, not sure if this was funny or tragic.
“It gets worse.” Kanan grumbled. “Remember that pair you were wearing? He spared it, and it looks like maybe he took it to Sabine…” He held up a pair of white boxers, with Property of Hera Syndulla written across the waistband in neat green letters. A copy of her lekku pattern had even been stenciled over the legs.
Hera couldn’t help herself. She sat down on his bunk and laughed, pity giving way to the sheer absurdity of his predicament. Oh, Chopper and whoever else he let in on it would get a scolding and be sent off to buy new underwear, but for now she could enjoy watching her hapless partner realize he had no choice but to wear the offending boxers.
A/N: I know this sounds stupid, but I promise you it get’s better.
- Let’s be honest as a bat mom you really don’t have time to go out and pamper yourself every week.
- For one you have a lot of social obligations, Wayne enterprises is pretty well known for their philanthropic work, and you have to participate in it often.
- And then you have like ten freaking kids, just yesterday you had to bake an entire tray of muffins for Cass, because she was on her period and she wanted your muffins. And then you had to drive across town to give them to her.
- And then at least once a week you get a call from the school, saying your son skipped school to go play with some neighborhood dogs that are on the other side of the fence.
- “I’m on my way, thanks for calling Judy.”
- And then Dick calls at least once a week with a really obvious question that most adults should know.
- “Okay so when I do the laundry, should I put the detergent in first or the fabric softener?”
- “Dick, it literally does not matter, as long as you’re putting both of them into the water, before you put your clothes in.”
- And god help you if you actually have a job, outside all of this.