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@arturas-writes
Me entering any museum: man I’m so excited to learn all the things
Also me: GIFT SHOP GIFT SHOP GIFT SHOP
There are two dragons inside of you. One hoards knowledge and the other hoards trinkets. They’re both very excited when you bring them to a museum
Why is it just canon that regardless of light or darkside ending, Bastila spends the rest of her life trying and failing to answer the question “How did you two meet?” first before Revan smoothly, casually cuts in with “I won her in a swoop race”.
“Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”
— Emily Bronte
I maintain that Ardeth is Rick & Evie’s long distance boyfriend and no one can change my mind
he literally coparents alex
Dads.
Ring, 1700s, with the inscription, “Many are the stars i see but in my eye no star like thee.”
can we all agree that pressing foreheads together is an underrated act of affection??
[jealous dooting]
joke: I could fix him
woke: I could make him better
spoke: I could make him worse
galaxy brain: I could make basically all of my fics about his suffering and only give him something approaching a happy ending every now and then
writing can’t be that hard. all it is is just putting words in front of each other, right?
update: the wrong words are in front of each other. This is the worst thing ever to happen.
one reflection, bound by different names
of all the different things I have mostly completed, instead the next thing to get finished is the result of a random plot-bunny that isn’t even related to any of the AUs/series in progress. ah well. T-rated for mentions of alcoholism and unhealthy parenting but otherwise it’s just a melancholy little piece where broken people talk about things and maybe unbreak just a smidge. can be found here on AO3.
excerpt:
‘You ever think about kids?’ Meetra asks. Her voice is light, casual, like she doesn’t mean anything by it because she doesn’t mean anything by it; it’s just a thought that came to mind, is all, and her tongue’s a little loose from both alcohol and the thrill of surviving yet another near-death encounter (mercenaries, again). The question came to mind so she asked it. She’s half expecting him to snort and throw out some sarcastic quip in response.
So when Atton immediately shakes his head, firmly, deliberately and says, ‘Never thought about it,’ it catches her off guard.
The head-shake is clear. Controlled. Practiced. Ridiculously obvious as a lie to anyone who’s spent too much time studying Atton’s movements. Though that’s probably only her, in the whole damn galaxy.
But that makes no sense. It’s just the two of them in the cockpit of the Ebon Hawk, in the midst of yet another hyperspace jump, with a couple bottles of something cheap and bitter. Atton’s a habitual liar, sure, but not over something so… nothing. Murders, torturing, his time under Revan – that she’d all understand. His last shower, she’d get it. Feelings and this thing between them, absolutely.
A not-even-hypothetical question about children?
She doesn’t get it.
liqueur
Alek is a sad drunk.....written for the 30+ fanfic discord prompt "liqueur". Part of the KotOR Rock AU
. A quickly written draft so forgive any goofs.....
They say it’s real gold, the little flecks floating in the pale amber liquid. Alek swirls the glass, watching the flecks dance.
When they were kids, he used to insist on it - Goldschlager. It’s very rock-n-roll, Revan, drinking gold you know.
Stupid. Fucking. Kids.
Back then Revan used to laugh at him for it. Not the ugly sort of laugh that came later and made Alek feel small, but the real one where his eyes twinkled. Guess that’s what we are paying for then, eh Alek? The fucking gold? He’d laugh and indulge Alek’s whim because that’s what they did at the start, indulge each other.
When he drinks the cinnamon burns his nose a bit - always did. This shit’s meant to shoot and not to sip. Once he discovered it, Revan always preferred Scotch - high end once he could afford it. The stuff you sip. Some things you are meant to savor, Alek.
Alek shoots again. Maybe he likes the cheap burn, the sting at the back of his throat. Fleeting things. Maybe that’s all he deserves.
Tastes like shit on the way up though doesn’t it, Alek? The twinkle is mostly gone from Revan’s laugh at that.
“Yeah, but not intending to find out tonight.” Alek’s words echo in the empty room. He frowns; hasn’t even had enough shots of the stuff to be talking to ghosts yet.
Not that Revan’s a ghost. Maybe easier if he was, if he were dead instead of distant.
The shot stings less now. That’s a sign he should slow down, Alek knows. Instead it brings back memories of backstage celebrations where they didn’t even bother with glasses.
He drinks again to forget that. Twice.
There’s a warmth from alcohol he never gets from the coke. Maybe that’s why he always comes back to the bottle in the end. Sure it’s not because you’ve got no cash left to snort?
“I’ve got plenty of….” He trails off, realizing he’s shouting at a ghost.
In the light the half-empty bottle twinkles, like the flecks in Revan’s eyes. Alek curses that thought too, knows that Revan’s eyes have been dead to him for a long while even if the rest of him is still breathing. Still he can’t help but stare at the little glimmers in the liquid, transfixed by the way they float like stars as he slowly swirls the bottle.
He doesn’t bother with the glass for the next drink, watches as the flecks travel down the neck of the bottle and into his mouth where he imagines he can taste them, taste gold, taste stars.
It’s just marketing, you know. Probably not even real gold.
The backstage memories persist. Revan’s young again, they both are. Early twenties. Right before Revanchist made it big. It’s after an important gig, after the Enclave execs had stopped by to congratulate them. It had been a good night. Not even Vrook could sour it, Don’t let it go to your heads boys. Hubris is a hell of a drug.
Revan had brought the bottles, laughed. Had to get your favorite, right? Gold infused liqueur for the guitarist of Revanchist. Only the best. They’d laughed and toasted, just the two of them, HK and Surik gone on to the official after party. To the unknown, hey?
Alek wondered now if it had been a question. If maybe Revan knew they were crossing some line, couldn’t go back once they did. But then he just smiled and drank, watched the gold flecks sparkle in the dim backstage lights, watched them echo in Revan’s eyes.
Before he can remember the rest, Alek drains the bottle, relishes the way the burning distracts from his past and numbs his present, even as his fingers find the deep scar along his jaw and know the impossibility of ever really forgetting Revan, even as Revan forgets him.
He tips the bottle to drink again, but finds it empty.
“Fuck.”
The glass breaks like stars against the wall.
god damn, Clio. Fucking chills.
waking
aka the counterpart to @cliocodex ‘s wonderful sleep drabble. set in the KotOR Rock AU and... of course it’s Atton and Meetra. It’s sappy fluffy; who else would it be? at least until we get deeper into the series
It still surprises him how badly Meetra sleeps.
It’s not like it’s a total shock, not after how much coffee he’s seen her drink over the last few months (and especially not after the first time she slept over at his and read him the riot act for having a French Press but only using bulk-bought instant coffee instead of grounds. Trying to argue that he’d bought it because it was R2-D2 themed and not because he wanted brewed coffee got him nowhere). He’s also seen her out of makeup enough to know that the bags under her eyes aren’t always just smudged liner or eyeshadow. Still, she always seems so put-together and alert that he sometimes forgets just how little sleep she might be running on.
The first time they spent a full night together it hadn’t really been an issue. They’d both been too worn-out from their… earlier activities to do much more than sleep like two sweaty, exhausted logs – something that applied to pretty much all their early sleepovers, come to think of it. Even if they hadn’t just finished exhausting each other there was just something about curling up beside her that never failed to make him conk out like a light. Her, too, it seemed.
Once they reached the point of not always fucking each other to a good night’s sleep, it was a different story.
He’s not about to pretend he’s always a sound sleeper. Fuck knows he’s spent more than a few nights tossing and turning – shit, it’s why there’s almost always a drink or seven with his evening meals; easier to pass out and deal with any residual hangovers than work half-asleep. Now that he’s an honest-to-god rockstar it almost seems required. It’s not the healthiest option by a long shot but it shuts the voices in his head right the hell up.
Meetra, however, takes tossing and turning to a whole new level. At least when she wakes during the night and can’t get back to sleep.
It’s the frustrated sighs that get him. He can sleep through a lot of things – accidental headbutts, drool, once apparently losing both pillow and blanket to notorious blanket-hog Meetra – but he always wakes to the sound of her voice. Especially if she doesn’t sound happy. Useful if it’s a bad dream, less useful if she’s sleep-mumbling, and right now…
She sighs again. The frustration is audible. Self-directed, too; he’s spent far too long studying Meetra to not know the difference between her “someone’s being an idiot” and “gods I’m an idiot” sighs, even if he’s only half awake.
Well. That and the fact he knows her insomnia mostly comes from getting too wrapped up in her own thoughts and not being able to fall back asleep. He knows it’s not the only reason – he’s heard her muttering about Malachor a few times, actually saw her wake in tears once – but tonight she definitely sounds frustrated instead of upset.
He doesn’t speak up immediately. Sometimes she’s still asleep and he’s not keen on waking her if she isn’t already awake. When the sigh is interspersed with a half-moaned hiss, though, he rolls over. ‘Bad dream?’ he asks groggily, mouth not fully awake even if his mind kind of is.
She sighs again. The self-directed annoyance comes through heavily. ‘Nah. Bathroom then couldn’t fucking sleep. All this stupid little shit. Doesn’t matter.’
‘It’s keepin’ you awake. It matters.’ At least it does in his own sleep-addled brain. He can’t quite figure out what to say next so he settles for wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. Despite her irritated noise she burrows in close immediately.
‘Not what I meant.’
‘Hn.’
‘It’s so stupid. Like – morning’s hours away; I know I have to bin the garbage on the way out, I know I have to swing by fucking Tesco’s for some more coffee and maybe laundry powder, I fucking know I need to restring that backup bass before rehearsal –’
The first time he tried reassuring her that she could deal with it all later and that hadn’t seemed to work. The second he’d tried pointing out the illogicity of it all and that had definitely not worked (in his defence he’d been half-drunk and even knowing it was a bad idea wasn’t enough to stop his mouth from trying it). The third, however, some magical combination of his own exhaustion and his ridiculous luck had nailed the solution, so tonight he knows what to do.
It’s kind of ridiculous. Anyone else he’d just roll over and go right the fuck back to sleep. But Meetra’s the exception, has been from that very first day in Peragus, so tonight he’s not going back to sleep until she does.
Atton tucks her head beneath her chin, shuffles so that she can lie with her ear against his chest. She’s still rambling – his ears are about as awake as his mouth is – but the words are slowing, less angry, a little more directionless. When he starts slowly stroking her back there’s a legitimate pause in her words.
‘S’okay, angel,’ he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her hair. ‘Brains’re stupid sometimes. S’not your fault.’
She huffs against his chest but it’s not as heavy as it should be. Her arms snake around his waist; her legs twine in his almost unconsciously. ‘I know.’ Some of the frustration leaves her voice, though.
He continues stroking her back. ‘Gonna tell you anyway.’
She snorts, curls a bit closer, holds him a bit tighter. ‘I know.’
A few moments pass before he remembers what he was planning to say: ‘Wan’ me to tell you again?’
‘No.’
That’s the normal answer. He gives his normal response. ‘Mmm… whaddabout a story then?’
She shuffles a little, presses her lips against his chest. ‘You never did tell me how that one with the exiled Jedi ended.’
‘I did. You were just asleep.’
She snorts. Already she sounds a little bit sleepier. ‘Then tell me again, flyboy. I’ll stay awake this time.’
Despite himself a smile curls the corners of his lips. ‘Doubt it. Guess it can’t hurt to try though…’
True to his word, she’s asleep by the time he’s describing his most recent Light-Side Exile’s landing on Nar Shaddaa. He keeps talking anyway though, just in case. Just in case those beautiful eyes flutter open again, or those gorgeous lips start murmuring a half-asleep question of him. Just for a few more seconds of seeing Meetra at peace and asleep in his arms.
It’s not a permanent solution. He knows this as well as he knows that one day he’ll have to be honest with her about his past, as well as he knows that one day he’ll have to face the memories of his own past that keep him awake at night.
But for now, for tonight, he lets himself trail the story to a close as the Exile forgives the smuggler and accepts him for Jedi training, and drifts off to sleep with his whole world in his arms.
i was really tempted to make him uncomfortably large thanks to the pioneers of big fisto (posts A and B — spectacular stuff) and it just feels right. feels organic
My brother saved this document and everytime he gets angry at our neighbours for being loud he prints it to their wireless printer and you can hear the wife shout “Why the fuck would you print this AGAIN?!” to her son.
every time we serve chicken at work i think of this post
1. If you were wondering, you can type the numbers in the works cited into google and they appear to be medical journal articles about using medical imaging to detect and diagnose a rare form of Gastritis.
2. Please enjoy the offical powerpoint presentation of this paper at an academic conference by the original author, complete with Q&A:
THIS IS GOLD
oh m god please watch the video it’s some of the most contagious laughter on the planet
When I saw this cross my dash tonight, I smiled and thought “yess, the chicken chicken chicken post, I get to reblog it again and inflict it on all of the people that have followed me since last time”, and then I scrolled down more and to my utter delight there was A VIDEO, needless to say my night has been made
I HAVE NOT SEEN THE CHICKEN VIDEO IN TEN DAMN YEARS HOLY SHIT
STILL FUNNY
The bell
The last question
The woman howling in laughter 90% of the time
It’s all beautiful
It’s all
So beautiful
I love that he was absolutely 100% prepared for a question in chickenese.
“I do not feel capable summarizing this article”
Same
Chicken chickens chickens
Chickens.
Chick chicken chicken chickens chiiiiicken. Chicken chicken.
sleep
Written for the 30+Fanfic Discord's weekly prompt, "sleep", and part of the KotOR Rock AU. If you want to know what happens at Peragus, read The Audition by @arturas-writes. And one day we'll get around to actually explaining Malachor. 3:02am
They say you shouldn’t look at your phone when it happens, shouldn’t look at any clock, that it just makes things worse. But of course Meetra always looks.
It was 2:40 when she got up to pee so that’s only 20 minutes lost. It’s fine. She rolls over, readjusts the walls of pillows around her and closes her eyes.
The stories in her head always come easy at night and usually lull her quickly to sleep….except when this happens. It’s like the story starts and then some practical part of her brain jumps in, the way feedback ruins a good riff.
It starts mundane enough at least. She’s nearly out of strings so that will be a quick trip to Peragus tomorrow. Her brain starts tracing the route, calculates the extra 15 minutes she’ll need to tack on to her trip in to the studio. Or was it supposed to rain? If it rains, maybe she’ll just Uber it although god knows it will be easier to deal with fucking Revan if she’s had a walk to clear her head first.
3:28am
She sighs and flips and tries again for her head story only now she’s thought of Revan and the bitch of a mood he’s been in since Alek - cunting Alek - fucked them six ways till Sunday. They’ve got to conjure up a new guitarist soon or fat chance of any sort of recovery - financial or otherwise. Rumor has it that Alek’s retained sleezy-ass Saul Karath. Does he think he can make some kind of move? If she has to hear Revan one more time….
4:13
Not even 3 hours until her alarm now. Maybe she could push it until 8, catch up the sleep, move working out until after practice which could be good to burn off some steam after Revan’s shit only no she knows herself too well to know that will work so extra coffee it will be. Her eyes aren’t even trying to close now, like they’ve already given up on the possibility that this isn’t the start of the day.
4:48
The story’s hopelessly buried now in too many thoughts. There’s something about needing a new toothbrush and a wondering about why her ankle hurts then back to Alek and Revan and the band and….
Fucking Malachor.
Her fists ball in the sheets as her head tosses on the pillow. Sure she’s got the reputation for being the stoic one in Revanchist (can they still be Revanchist?), the one who never does more than glare and mutter fuck off to paparazzi or overly insistent autographic seekers, the only who sat through years of Revan and Alek at each other’s throats on the regular. She’s the fucking bassist for christ’s sake, the steady of the band.
Only she’s a fucking fake because look at her now, nearly in tears just because she can’t fucking stop thinking for two seconds, can’t stop running scenarios of things done and things that might be, can’t let go of Malachor, can’t unheard that ungodly sound that was the end of something although she’s not quite sure what and 5am isn’t the time to sort it out.
Goddammit. The covers get tossed to the side as her feet hit the floor. It’s 5:30 actually but guess that’s an extra 30 so plenty of time for Peragus in a bit.
There’s always extra coffee.
not to post even more Villains Discourse on main but it really bugs me how people read giving villains tragic backstories as inherently excusing their actions and/or demonizing trauma survivors.
the actual message of Tragic Villains is (almost) always “people who are never taught or given any healthy, constructive outlets for their emotions will often find unhealthy, destructive outlets.” it’s that people who are traumatized and never learn how to cope with that trauma can become a danger to themselves and others. the message isn’t “trauma makes you evil!!!!” or “genocide is okay if you’ve been sad before!!!!” it’s “people need compassion and help to recover from trauma instead of becoming increasingly angry and harming themselves and others in the process.”
this site takes an alarmingly behaviorist and punitive approach to everything and it’s literally the most annoying thing. y’all have this concept that “if we just punish people hard enough, if we just scare them enough, if we just make them feel guilty enough.” that people just Do Bad Things Because They Do Bad Things, I Guess, and Because We Didn’t Threaten Them And Shame Them Enough. but humans are an innately social species. at our very core, we need compassion and kindness. we need healthy relationships with other humans.
you can keep looking at traumatized villains and being like “haha this dumb pathetic sadboi thinks murder is okay because his parents died” but as a survivor myself, unaddressed/untreated trauma absolutely can make you ragey and destructive. i was lucky enough to have support and eventually get the treatment i needed. but it’s not hard at all for me to imagine how, if that hadn’t been the case, that could’ve been me. obviously not on a movie-villain scale like murder or war crimes, but it’s so irritating as someone whose trauma has always manifested as anger to watch people on this site be like “this is just bad writing!!! real survivors/good survivors don’t end up like that the writers just hate survivors and want the audience to condone murder!”
