#marki writes

[transgender-scout]

Question about Volitation (or the writing process of it, I suppose)! It sounds like you've planned out some key pivot points in the story where the dominoes fall exactly where they feel they need to and their consequences seem inevitable and I'm curious how you go about nailing them down! When it comes to planning that sort of thing, character decisions + consequences, do you imagine the consequences first, and then work backwards from there, or do consequences fall into place as you go? Or maybe a mix of the two, or something different?

Haha good question!

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I’m much more of an artist than an author. I only started writing because I wanted to make sure I keep the lore on my ocs in line. So please take everything I say with a grain of salt lol

I have the main points plotted, mostly in terms of what happens to the characters if that make sense?

It's usually kind of a toss up between "this is what I planned on happening the entire time >:)" and "WAIT WOULDN'T IT BE COOL IF-"

Sometimes I write out my thought processes through the character, going through their options mentally. If something bad needs to happen, I purposefully leave out them thinking of that option. A lot of the time, it’ll look like this:

I could maybe fly it. But I needed a running start. And I still had almost no practice flying. And I would have to land again, which I was also not good at. I groaned. It sounded easier but there was so much that could go wrong with it so fast. Getting spotted, losing more blood from the extertion of flying, passing out mid-air…

Torture by walking for five blocks it was.

But sometimes the process is like. I have an idea of what bad thing is going to happen and I make a vague outline of how that happens, completely ignore that, and kind of write as I go.

I've been working on and off on Volitation for... over a decade now, so I've had a lot of time to see which plot points work and which don't. There's really only one plot point from the very first draft which will never see the light of day that's still relevant to the story now.

idk haha I spend a lot of time daydreaming about my ocs and the stuff that happens to them. Sometimes it just falls into place and makes perfect sense somehow.

Not sure if any of that made sense but I’m happy to try again if it didn’t! Just shoot me another ask or something :33

[entomolog-t]

The Shadow We Cast

Chapter 3 is here!! Happy I could sneak in another chapter while updating Bite Me weekly! Fun fact: All plants and animals Sal refers to are real things, he just doesn't know what they're called. Bonus points to anyone who figures them out!

Sal and Mark being two normal guys, having normal conversation during a normal meal. Everything is fine and nothing is weird (as long as Mark keeps drinking).

Word Count: 2761

Previous Chapter: Chapter 2

Next Chapter: Chapter 4

CW: Adult language, minor injury (blood, wound), substances (beer)

----

I took another drink. 

A good, long drink. 

I knew I was just prolonging the inevitable, but hey, alcohol has a way of clouding judgement, and for once impairment was exactly what I needed. How many beers would it take before hawk meat sounded like a good idea? However many that number was, I clearly still had a long way to go.

I was buzzed for sure- I felt the flush in my cheeks and a slight tingle in my lips. Yet the wild new reality in front of me kept my mind oddly clear and feeling painfully sober. With a sigh, I began to remove the meat from the barbecue. Despite Sal being situated out of sight on the patio set behind me, I could practically feel him perk up with interest. The thought of the tiny man sent my mind whirling once again. I could barely wrap my head around the absurdity of the past 24 hours, let alone what I was supposed to do from here… Coming face to face with a man no bigger than my hand who apparently lives somewhere on my property, has a pet spider, and is capable of killing a hawk? The mental summary of events was wild enough to have me glancing over my shoulder every few minutes to make sure Sal was really still there… and yet, amidst all the madness, there was a strange sense of normalcy. We were just two dudes having a barbecue and sipping beers as if we were just friendly neighbours- as long as I pretended it was chicken.

"Done?" Sal's voice was filled with an almost childlike excitement as I killed the propane. Enough stalling, I thought, just get it over with. I eyed the meat with disdain as I began to stack it on a plate. 

"All set." I confirmed, desperately trying to hide the dread in my voice.

Despite my overall anticipatory disgust, a smile tugged at the corners of my lips as I turned to see Sal’s tiny figure with his back pressed up against a beer can. I couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy at the thought of leaning against the cool metal in this overbearing heat.

As I sat down, Sal sprung up, all too eager to get his hands on his prized catch. His excitement seemed to quell my inhibitions far more than the alcohol had managed. Before any better judgement could manifest, I took a bite.

And it was… frankly, not bad. 

The meat had a unique flavour, strong and slightly gamey, a bizzare combination of chicken and beef. Paired with the sweetness and distinct spice of the sauce it was actually pretty-

A slurry of the most cringe inducing noises rose up from just beneath me -the sound like a grotesque amalgamation of a wild dog and a toddler chewing on something wet. How someone so small could make such a repulsive commotion while eating was beyond me. I dreaded looking down, but like driving past a car crash, there was a morbid curiosity that tugged at my gaze like a magnet. 

Shirtless and sauce-covered, Sal had dragged an outrageously large chunk of meat onto his lap and was tearing into as if he was killing the poor creature a second time- ripping out handfuls of meat and devouring them, scarfing it down as if he hadn’t eaten in days. 

I paused, a question nagging at the edges of my brain.

Did he eat regularly?

It's not like he could casually stroll to a grocery store when he was hungry. A wave of guilt hit me- pressuring me to keep my judgments on his borderline feral table etiquette to myself.  

As if he could sense my gaze fixed on him, Sal looked up towards me, a ridiculously wide grin plastered across his face. Without even bothering to swallow, he shoots, me a compliment, 

“This is good.”

I tear off a chunk of a paper towel and push it towards him. 

“Thanks man, I’m glad you like it.” I say, feeling as though his enthusiasm is starting to rub off, “Thanks for bringing the hawk.” Sal tilts his head, and I gesture towards the food. He smiles and nods, trying to commit the foreign word to memory. 

As he went back to his meal, I couldn’t help but stare. The guy was unbelievably small. His size in and of itself was mind-boggling, but what was even more absurd was someone his stature being able to take down a hawk- I mean, sure he was built to shit, but what good would some muscle do against what had essentially been some kind of dragon to him?

How the Hell had he managed to kill a hawk?

Trying my best not to be too obvious, I leaned forward, eyeing him more closely. He had a very distinct look to him. His dirty blond hair was a strange middle ground between a mohawk and a mullet, the sides cut short to reveal pointed ears that looked like they belonged in some fantasy game and not on a real being. He had a strong jaw, contrasted by a friendly smile. But what stood out most were the scars. 

Every inch of his being, while admittedly was not a lot, bore a tapestry of scars in various shapes and sizes. Gashes ran across his chest, and what appeared to be some sort of bite mark hung around his shoulder. His limbs were a patchwork of scrapes and cuts, almost giving him the appearance of stripped skin if it wasn’t for their haphazard arrangement. 

Under closer scrutiny a number of the jagged scrapes were far too fresh to be considered scars at all, though clearly in time they'd join in the tapestry. I nearly scoffed at the sight, Minor scrapes and bruises from battling it out with a bird of prey? What was this guy? Some sort of gnome warrior? Some tax funded super weapon? A super powered action figure brought to life by a child’s wish- I might have had too much to drink. 

“How did you manage to, you know,”I gestured vaguely at the meat, “kill it?”

Mouth absolutely stuffed to its fullest, he looked up at me and grinned, a smug pride lighting up his face. Thankfully, he swallowed before speaking. 

“Jumped at it.” He said it matter of factly, and resumed eating as if it should have been considered an adequate answer. When he looked up and was met with whatever baffled face I must have been pulling he chuckled. Wiping his hands off on the piece of napkin, he stood. In one motion, he produced a blade so quickly it was almost as if he conjured it from thin air, having drawn from some concealed barely perceptible pocket on his pants. 

“Hoks,” The word sounds foreign in his mouth, “aim for where you're at, sometimes they aim where you’ll go. Real precise. Can’t go backwards though. You close that distance at the right time and they just can’t account for it. Just gotta get past those claws'' As he spoke he tossed around the blade with a concerning amount of nonchalance. Even more concerning, the way he spoke was as if he expected me to go out hunting hawk with this newfound information. Jump at it? I mean, sure, the logic was there, however the execution was beyond wild. It felt like telling someone the way to avoid getting hit by a train was to just jump out of the way. Sure, it wasn’t wrong, but the whole concept really embodied the notion of “easier said than done.”

“And then what?” I ask, feeling like he was glossing over quite a few steps with his method of just jump at it, “You just …?” I gestured for him to continue, and if the grin that plastered his face was any indicator he was more than willing to go on. 

“It’s quite the revolutionary concept...” He continues, twirling his blade casually, as if fiddling with a pencil, “Pretty complex stuff.” His voice lowers, and I find myself being pulled in- both figuratively enthralled and literally drawing myself nearer to hear him speak. He locks eyes with me, his face taking on a more hardened look. 

He tosses his blade up- catching it by its hilt and pointing directly at me.

“You stab it.”

There's a moment of silence before he erupts into laughter. 

Hearty guffaws fill the air as he doubles over, clearly pleased with his own joke and the dumbfounded expression that was left smeared on my face. 

I roll my eyes, and try to cover my mouth in an attempt to hide the reluctant smirk that creeps across my lips, but the gesture does nothing to stop the chuckle that wells up behind my hand. I shake my head,

“And you're okay..? Like, it um- didn’t get you anywhere or something?”

With a smirk, Sal shrugs, 

“For the most part.”

Before I can ask him to elaborate he pulls down the band of his pants just enough to show a bloodied cloth hastily taped to the side of his hip extending towards his glute. Peeling back the improvised bandage, Sal reveals a nasty gash which looked like it would be a few inches long had he been of human size. 

“A little slice from the beak,” He explained, “Lucky it just grazed me.”

I can feel my brow furrow as I lean in closer. It wasn’t a horrifying injury, but by no means would a gash like that be considered mild, or as he said “just grazed.” I winced. 

“Oh, fuck- dude that looks, um, not great. Do you need anything..?”

He snorted. 

“What? You plan on doing the stitches yourself, big man?” he laughs, waving me away as he goes to reapply the bandage. 

He pauses. 

“On second thought- You wanna grab me some… um…” He stops, looking a bit confused, “Grocery weed..?” 

Whatever I had been expecting him to ask, nothing had prepared me for “grocery weed.” 

What the fuck is grocery weed? 

“You… you want weed?” 

No. Nope. Recant all previous thoughts of sanity- A tiny man and/or potential gnome warrior killing a hawk and then trying to bum a doobie was just not real. Nope. I had really lost it. 

The questionably real little man points to the yard, 

“Big leaves, round edges? Has those little sprouting bits good for making bread?”

I stared at him dumbly. 

“Bread?” I repeated. Sal pursed his lips. He strolled over to my hand and patted the back of it, looking up at me expectantly. 

“I’ll show you.” I turned my hand palm up and he clambered in, directing me down the porch and towards the driveway. All the while my mind fumbled with the very real sensation of his shifting weight in my palm. 

“There!” He hopped up, leaning over the edge of my hand andI curled my fingers inwards reflexively. He gestured towards a weed jutting up from the gravel. I titled my head, a bit surprised. I knew the plant, in the sense that I had definitely seen it around, though I highly doubted it was called grocery weed. It vaguely resembles a cluster of spinach leaves, with a few almost cattail-like stalks extending upwards from the centre. I thought it was a little strange that despite having seen this weed fairly often, I had no clue what it was actually called. 

Trying to be mindful of my not so safety conscious passenger, I knelt down slowly, careful not to jostle him. He directs me, telling me he just needs a few leaves and he’ll be fine. I feel my brow knit in confusion but I acquiesce nonetheless before bringing him and the “not-weed-weed” back to the porch.  

Sal hops off onto the table, leaves in hand and I reach for another drink. Taking a sip, I watch as  he fiddles with the bandages, re-exposing the gash. To my surprise, he takes a bite of the leaf. I tilt my head.

“So what are you do-” He spits a chewed green mass into his palm, “-ing…”

My question trails off. I watch in horror as he takes the mush and slaps it overtop of the open wound.

“DUDE!” I turn my head away to hide a gag. 

What the fuck did I just witness?

He raises an eyebrow, his expression a mix between confusion and judgement as he reapplies the bandage overtop of the borderline spit up.

“What?” 

I scoff, for a moment blanking on what I should say. Sanitary concerns? Oral bacteria? Sepsis? A slew of health concerns fill my mind, but just two words make it passed my lips, 

“That's nasty.”

He waves me off. Dismissing my disgust with a wave of his hand. 

“That,” he says, nodding to the bandage, “works like a charm.”

While I highly doubted that a chewed up weed smeared onto an open wound was more effective than an antiseptic, I couldn’t deny he very clearly had far more experience in dealing with open wounds than myself- the patchwork decorating his skin acted as a pretty solid letter of reference for his abilities. 

“Are you actually going to need stitches?” I ask, wondering if he’d at least let me offer him some disinfectant. 

Sal shrugged.

“Maybe? Depends how well the grocery weed works. Worst case it’s not like stitches are that hard.” 

What was he? Some sort of field medic? “Not that hard” to administer self suturing?? Not to mention what did he even use at his size??

“...how?” Maybe it was the beer, maybe it was the strangeness of it all, but the question just seemed to fall out before I’d even realised I’d spoken. 

Though the question had been vague at best, Sal seemed to understand my confusion. 

“Oh, I used Betty’s silk. It’s pretty thin, but the stuff is wicked strong.” He continues talking but my mind seems to freeze. Betty? Who’s Betty… and why did she have silk- Oh. 

I shudder at the memory of the spider just… crawling all over him. Spider silk?? He uses SPIDER SILK?? How do you even get- I put a stop to that line of thought as quickly as it had started.

Nope. No. Don’t think about it. Just drink. 

As I try to drown my own thoughts by taking another drink I hear Sal continuing on, saying something about sharpening a wasp’s “egg stinger” to use as a needle and very quickly decide it’s high time for a change in topics. 

With all the charismatic finesse of a 5 year old, I point to a particularly gruesome looking scar that ran straight up his back. 

“Oh man, that looks brutal. How’d that happen?”

He stops mid sentence, looking over his shoulder as he tries to follow where I was pointing. His brows furrow, before he shrugs.

“Not too sure. I’ve had that one since I was real young. I think… I fell off something and got caught by a thorn? Maybe?” He chews his lip, reconsidering. “Or it might have been a long mouse?” Did he mean some kind of weasel? I pale at the thought of an even smaller version of him facing off against one of those viscous little things. He waves his hand, dismissing the topic, “In any case, it's too long ago for me to remember.”

I tilt my head. Surely he couldn’t have been that young not to remember getting attacked by a, relatively speaking, monstrous creature. I mean, he didn’t look like he could be much older than his mid twenties at most- I mean… maybe tiny gnome warrior field medics might age differently? What if he’s like… 50? 100?? As soon as the thought is in my head the words seem to just slip out, the alcohol doing its magic in lubricating the conversation. 

“So like… how old are you?”

He shrugs as he makes his way back toward the food. 

“Dunno.” 

“You don’t know how old you are?” I say, baffled at the revelation. He sits down and resumes eating. 

“I mean, the days all blend together. Time passes whether I count it or not. What’s the point in counting if I’m not counting towards something?”

I’m not sure if it's the alcohol or if he had some sage gnomic wisdom to bestow but his words seem to strike a chord within me. I nod, but say nothing. Instead I finish the rest of my beer, mulling over his words. 

What was I counting for?

[kleyamarki]

HI so i wrote the implied meeting between salman paak and kleya. it's part of my magnum opus eat your young andor concept fic. this is ultimately going to be bix-centered, focused on "throw enough rope till the legs have swung" (pretty on the nose for ya, sorry paak)

anyway, it's below the cut. maybe let me know what you think? idk i'm bored.

The man has Ferrix written all over him. It’s in the way he leaves the seats in the room for those much older and those much younger, the way he genuinely listens to everyone in the room, and the mechanic’s oil he’s tried to wash out of the jacket he wears. Kleya selects him as her mark out of the packed room. A speaker drones on about the injustices the Empire has rought, and Kleya nods along – she agrees, obviously. But speaking to a room of people will ultimately do nothing. It’s her job to pick out people she believes will be willing to take an extra step. She has hope for the man who would come all the way from Ferrix.

[ok itty bitty time skip (because i’m impatient with my writing brain and want to share this anyway), like a matter of a few minutes, think rebel meeting but more like a lecture. kleya looks like she should be part of it, like she could be one of the leaders of this little group, even. but she stands on the outskirts of the room, like she’s the lowest rung of the leader totem pole. in reality she’s not one of them, but she’s there to see if she can get anyone for her & luthen’s purposes. she also introduces herself to paak. obviously with a different name and all that. okay onto the rest]

“You know,” Kleya says over a cup of caf, “If you’re serious about this, you could be our liaison on your homeworld.” She uses ‘our’ lightly in terms of the current surroundings. She hopes he doesn’t notice the leaders of the group aren’t fraternizing with the attendees. Her network needs this. The Separatists here might too, but there’s a reason she’s handpicked him specifically. They don’t need to know that. 

Paak lets a huff of air out of his nose, a laugh, maybe, “Ferrix? They’d rather take the Empire’s money and ignore them.” Kleya’s brow furrows as the words leave his mouth. “They have each other, they can ignore the rest.”

“But you’re here.”

“But I’m here,” he sighs.

Kleya spies her opening. “I can offer more money for the Imperial toys you trade already.”

“You don’t want some uprising?” Paak raises an eyebrow, silently saying what Kleya wants him to realize – you’re not the same as them, the Separatists she’s playing. Maybe he even thinks their arrangement would be less dangerous than an overt uprising. She hopes, for his sake, he doesn’t have to learn the truth of the matter. 

“We know the game you salvagers play,” Kleya says, revealing just enough to reel him in. “And we could put it to better use. A use you’d probably like more, anyway, considering you’re here.” She sips her caf, looks back at the room.

Paak is silent for a moment longer than Kleya would like. He sips his caf too, thinking. She interjects, “You’d get a radio, signal when you have something for my buyer. We’ll catch it, he’ll pay a visit. All fairly simple, if you can get your hands on equipment we need at the right time.”

At that, Paak nods. Although he still looks the slightest bit uneasy, Kleya knows she’s got him. “As long as the radio’s alive, you’ll get a stipend too.” She debates for a split second what she’ll say next, but goes ahead anyway, “All the better for your family, right?”

Paak raises an eyebrow, but there’s something in his eye that says he’s in for the guarantee of a regular income stream. “You said liaison,” he says, finally, “Could I bring someone in, put them in contact with your buyer?”

Kleya doesn’t want to say yes, but they need Ferrix. “Sure, you’re the one on the ground.” A half-truth. He doesn’t need to know that. 

Paak nods, “You have a deal.”

Kleya suppresses a smile. She can still be happy about the small successes. “We’ll send you the radio in the next few weeks. Signal, and the buyer will come.”

[indecentpause]

WIP Wednesday

I haven't written much due to some computer issues, but I do have this!! from These Quiet, Terrible Things

The two of you stand hand in hand at the very edge as Markie and Carolyn rustle around behind you. Your eighteenth birthday is tomorrow. You don’t celebrate birthdays. You don’t celebrate anything. You’re used to spending special occasions locked in your room so you won’t get caught in the crossfire of your parents’ explosive arguments. But when Markie saw your voters’ card in the mail, she insisted, Dexter, that you at least celebrate the big ones. Eighteen. Twenty-one. Thirty. The fact that she’s planning for you to still be around for your thirtieth birthday shows she has more faith in you than your parents and teachers ever did. “It’s a stone ceremony,” Markie had said that morning. “And tonight’s a full moon. Your birthday hits at midnight while it’s still at its zenith. You have to let me set something up for you. Even if it’s just the four of us. Even if it’s small.”

General taglist: @abalonetea @only-book-lovers-left-alive @poore-choice-of-words @leadhelmetcosmonaut @jasperygrace @drippingmoon @athenswrites @kaiusvnoir @magic-is-something-we-create @idreamonpaper @winterandwords

Let me know if you want to be added to my general list, or a list specifically for this!

[raiiny-bay]

i don't have any control over my characters. they simply do what they want & tell me about it later

[swan-orpheus]

Cassian saying, “Kill me. Or take me in.” The child adoption parallels , the full circle of Cassian showing up of his own free will in the ship fully awake rather than waking up aboard a ship and seeing a sun in the distance over Kenari, awful parallel to the dead sun he’ll see rise later as an adult. The connection between the line in Ep 4, “Or you could always kill me, and take the ship.”

Taking up or picking up a weapon or tool, picking up a sword, Cassian is a sword that Luthen wields except that this time he is not a mercenary, a mere tool. “Kill me, or take me in (and kill me later in service to the Rebellion).”  Children as weapons. The dead man walking. And when Luthen dies, what if Cassian takes the sky kyber and carries it with him until the end, to his own funeral. 

“Every loss [death]is different, every one’s the same.” A long line of faces of the dead who came before to Rebel, all different. A long line of Imperial faces, hidden behind masks, all the same. 

The narrative is circles within circles, the Empire is circles within circles, the circular ISB, the Imperial logo, cavernous core world labyrinths, maze-like ships, depersonalizing, inhuman; the warm circular architecture of Ferrix, winding streets, personalized, human.

A life is a broken circle. 

“I burn my life for a sunrise I’ll never see”

A sun rise is a star rise.

The Death Star, like an anti-sun, rising in the sky over Scarif, a horrible perversion of a real star that generates warmth and light and gives life, fixed like a tree, singing in the dark. The Death Star silently roaming the darkness of space bringing fear and death. 

Cassian’s kyber crystal is an anti-death star crystal focusing the light of his soul to bring light, to save lives even when it deals in death. 

Cassian will see the bright light on the sea’s horizon like a sunrise from a fake, dead star, but the true sunrise will be the data stream rising up off the planet carrying the Death Star plans, a signal that will signal the beginning of the end of the dark times, it is the start of that sunrise, the predawn. 

Cassian and Jyn on the beach as the light rises, hidden kyber crystals singing in the dark.  

“The strongest stars have hearts of kyber.”

Death. Life. Stardust.

[eurydia]

inspired by the lovely fic, “Sacrifice” by Bloopy42 on AO3:

“Having something to lose or having nothing to lose,” He mused, pretending to be distracted by his current, tedious endeavor. “I ask you, which is more tragic?”

[unexpectedbrickattack]

ClockwiseLeon on Twitter made a video of Pizzatower using the Riddler from Batman Forever, a.k.a Jim Carrey, for Pizzahead and it got me thinking, any thoughts on how your Peppino would sound?

Oh man i have no idea bc i am just. So awful about voiceclaims 😭😭😭 all i know he is that hes got a somewhat of a high pitched voice that is ear shatteringly high when hes screaming

[topoet]

Sylvester

This mp3 compilation is filed under ’s’ for Sylvester. It wanders through history, styles, sexualities & voices for an eclectic listening experience.  Starting with Sylvester’s Mighty Real – Greatest Dance Hits (1979) – Before there was RuPaul there was Sylvester with amazing glitter flash, emotionally charged high-energy songs, amazing production work by Canada’s Matthew Cowley. His tracks tore…

[yuristarwars]

You know one thing I love about Andor is that every line of dialogue is something to be analyzed. I finished my rewatch of Episode 6 a few hours ago and Luthen and a customer are talking about a dead language on some artifact and Luthen says something along the lines of “It can be whatever you want, its your own secret language” and I think that the fact that he is a spymaster re-contextualizes that. He speaks his own secret language everyday. We see Kleya speaking it in episode 11 with Vel, we see Luthen speaking it with Mon Mothma in episode 4, we see Mon Mothma speaking it with Tay Kolma in episode 7.

Their own secret language.

[transgender-scout]

Every time I tell someone about Sisko, they’re like “Avi strangling him to death is too nice!!! She should rip him to pieces and tear his guts out and shoot him!!!!” and I’m like yeah you’re correct but no one else understands that it needs to be dissatisfying!!!

She didn’t kill him out of revenge!!! It was an accident!! Purely out of survival bc if she didn’t kill him, he would have killed her! It’s not the death he deserves but it was the only thing she could do! His death wasn’t the result of her finally snapping after months of torture, it was the last resort of a terrified teenager who was left with no options other than dying.

Avi’s not violent. The closest she comes to even attempting to hurt anyone is when she pulls Lee up by his lapels to yell at him until she dissolves into tears because she was scared. She fucking hates Sisko. There’s no way she couldn’t. But she's just a normal teenager who was thrown into the worst situation. What average person would actually want to brutally tear someone apart with their own hands?

But he’s dead now, but Avi can’t get closure about him now. He won’t get any sort of punishment or justice for all the horrible things he did to her and her friends. She’s going to see the scars, feel the brand, and know that there were no repercussions for the man who did that to her.

She desperately wants horrible things to happen to him. She wants him to lay on the ground in a puddle of his own blood, shaking and shivering like she did while she stands above him with a taser. She wants him humiliated, being fed dog food and forced to drool over food that he's sure he can never have. She wants him so badly beaten that he can't move.

But at the same time, she knows she could never do any of that, or even ask someone to do it for her. It would feel wrong to her core. Not even in an "I'm just as bad as him if I hurt him on purpose" way. She's just not someone who can hurt people and get any sort of satisfaction out of it, no matter how much they hurt her. Despite him deserving all of that and more, she's certain she couldn't pull the trigger.

The point is that you want to have worse things happen to Sisko. You're angry that he got off so light? Think he should have some kind of divine punishment for what he did? You want to him to suffer for what he's done? You feel powerless to do anything about it?

Good. Welcome to Avi's world.

[garadinervi]

«odyssé», No. 2-3, Våren [Spring] 1954. Feat. Öyvind Fahlströms, Alfred Jarry, Gösta Kriland, Ilmar Laaban, Francis Picabia, Markis de Sade, Pär Wistrand

(via konkretpoesi)

[theaggresivepacifist]

OH NO IT’S A STAR WARS FIC

(because we all know I live for angst and tragedy)

Summary: Luthen knows he won’t live to see the war end. He doesn’t deserve to, isn’t even sure that he’d want to: his own death has always been part of the equation. Or: Axis, and the ways in which it all unravels.

3.4K (god I know), one-shot, complete. Content warnings for repeated character death, canon-typical violence, blood, and referenced torture. 

[rebelandrichgirl]

My girlfriend just said the latest love/bed/before-fade-to-black scene I've written is my best up to now.

But it's between Vel and Kleya and not Vel and Cinta... That was NOT at all how it was supposed to be!!! 🙈

[raiiny-bay]

the photos i chose for marky's character page really captures his essence i think

[swan-orpheus]

“I’m not slipping. I’ve just been hiding for too long.”

Thinking about Andor far too much as is the case nowadays, and pondering Kleya’s insistence to meet their contact in Luthen’s stead. I’ve considered two things as regards Luthen: what motivates him to do what he does, and what he knows that is so important that his capture is unthinkable for Kleya. She is obviously concerned that he is getting antsy, a little impatient, that he feels guilty about “hiding” and being “a coward” while others risk their lives out in the open to the extent that he might do something reckless. As we all know, you need someone at the center of things to plan and to organize for a movement to succeed. 

Kleya felt very strongly that Luthen should take the Fondor and get to safety and send her down to meet their ISB informant. I wondered why and given the level of mystery surrounding him, I thought that it must be something equally mysterious. 

Surely Kleya knows a lot and if she were to be captured, they’d get most everything-the shop, her rebel connections, the existence of the network, confirmation of Aldhani, Mon Mothma, and who knows how many people she’s recruited over the years. They’d also get Luthen’s identity, but not Luthen himself, which seems to be the key here. I think it’s obvious why Luthen felt he had to go. He had his suspicions and had to be the one to motivate Lonni to stay with them. As we learn at the end of his impressive monologue, Luthen feels personally responsible for him. 

So what is so important about Luthen? This is not related to who or what he is. I maintain that what motivates him to be so extreme, his hatred for the Empire (or more like his love for whoever and whatever he fights for) and his specific importance are not one and the same thing. Sometimes I think that he acts like one who fears persecution, and at other times, I think he is just rather eloquent and dramatic. But even if he were in hiding because he’s force sensitive which I do not necessarily think he is, despite my looong essay on the subject, that in and of itself is not all that important. It must be about what he knows. Something that Kleya does not know or possess. That is what the Empire must not get hold of or be able to torture out of her. 

I’ve gone over it and it is tricky to say the least because if Kleya has a reason for feeling that Luthen is more important than her, than she knows at least part of the secret herself, even if it is merely that there is one. Is it a person, a group of people, a location?? I thought perhaps that Luthen was trying to find a secret headquarters for the future of the Rebellion, a suitable planet that is out of the way. Perhaps he knows the location and Kleya does not. It would be kind of cool if he found Yavin 4 and started to get things ready, but purposely compartmentalized this and other things so that Kleya could not reveal it against her will were she apprehended. 

Also intrigued by the fact that Saw Gerrera who has been around forever, been fighting since Onderon, seen things rise and fall, lost his sister, lost probably everything over and over does not know who or what Luthen is, cannot suss it out. That’s impressive. Saw may not have his sister’s leadership abilities or sense of direction, but he is sharp. He notices things. He may be a little paranoid, but he is also an astute judge of character. And he is not the same man that we see in Rogue One who trusts next to no one and is suspicious of everything. He parsed out the galaxy and everyone who has any stake in fighting the Empire and categorized them all very colorfully and yet he can’t nail down Luthen’s operating principles? Interesting. 

We’re definitely meant to draw a comparison between Luthen and Saw. And not just because Luthen favors cooperation and Saw thinks that it’s more or less pointless. Saw’s strategy is what Luthen describes to Cassian in Episode 4 in their conversation aboard the Fondor, “carving off useless pieces until there’s nothing left”. I love Saw and I mean no disrespect. But he’s lost too much and seen too much and his rage fuels him to the extent that while he may have “clarity of purpose”, intelligence and charisma, he isn’t as strategic as Luthen. And as we see in Rogue One, by the time he is based on Jedha, there is less of the man that he was, in every sense of the word. 

Kleya gets results. She is practical, direct, unflinching, efficient. She does what is necessary. And she seemed very uneasy about him risking his safety to go in her stead. Is he hiding something vital to the Rebellion? Or are we just too trained to think in those terms? Could it be that what Luthen possesses is neither specific knowledge nor anything tangible? 

Could it be that he’s just eloquent and charismatic to a degree that is rare and without that, it all falls apart? It would further explain his guilt, his reflections on ego, if the idea of one person being more important than so many others is repugnant to him. I also like it because it fits in nicely with the theme of Andor.  

Even Cassian Andor himself, the titular character is shown to be more of a supporting character, a helper, someone who can rally people to fight rather than being overarchingly significant on his own. He’s charming, intelligent and passionate.  He gives Kino Loy the tools to lead everybody out of the prison. He’s special because he cares and he participates not because he’s the the leading voice. 

Perhaps that is all that it is, Kleya knows that as good as she is, Luthen is the persuasive one, the one with the gift to motivate people and to keep everything going. She may be an important piece in this game, but without the King, it’s game over. 

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I guess the other motivation for this post is, while I think Luthen having some secret identity would be interesting, it would merely be an added layer that explains part of his drive, not the most significant facet of his character. I hope that going forward we get more deep dives into the motivations and feelings of characters in Star Wars, more slow builds. it’s not that we haven’t before Andor, but not on this scale and with this consistency, the scale that a show of this length and variety allows. It feels like a particularly good expanded universe novel in the way that even minor characters are fleshed out. 

I basically want everything done to the same level of detail and care as Andor. I am greedy like that. I want larger than life ordinary heroes protecting what they love and would-be space wizards who live seemingly mundane lives but whose inner worlds are extraordinary. I want a force sensitive person who works in an office and has to hide the fact that they are a little too good at reading their coworkers or awfully skilled at getting the plants on their desk to grow. 

Andor is so rich and well-thought out. I’m addicted. I want every show to go this hard now.