Ad astra per aspera

[astrafide-blog]

modern au where padmé and sabé hang around arcades like a gaming tag team, eternally trying to beat old man kenobi’s high scores.

[astrafide-blog]

CHARACTER FLAWS. RULES.   bold the ones that apply to your character !   tag your friends ! TAGGED BY.   nobody, but commandeered from @stardies TAGGING.  anyone. everyone. 

absent-minded  |  abusive  |  addict  |  aggressive  |  aimless  |  alcoholic  |  anxious  |  arrogant  |  audacious  |  bad liar  |  bigmouth  |  bigot  |  blindly obedient  |  blunt  |  callous  |  childish  |  chronic heroism  |  clingy  |  clumsy  |  cocky  |  competitive  |  corrupt  |  cowardly  |  cruel  |  cynical  |  delinquent  |  delusional  |  dependent  |  depressed  |  deranged  |  disloyal  |  ditzy  |  egotistical |  envious  |  erratic  |  fickle  |  finicky  |  flaky  |  frail  |  fraudulent  |  guilt complex  |  gloomy  |  gluttonous  |  gossiper  |  gruff  |  gullible  |  hedonistic  |  humorless  |  hypochondriac  |  hypocritical  |  idealist  |  idiotic  |  ignorant  |  immature  |  impatient  |  incompetent  |  indecisive  |  insecure  |  insensitive  |  lazy  |  lewd  |  liar  |  lustful  |  manipulative  |  masochistic  |  meddlesome  |  melodramatic  |  money-loving  |  moody  |  naive  | nervous  |  nosy  |  ornery  |  overprotective  |  overly sensitive  |  paranoid  |  passive-aggressive  |  perfectionist  |  pessmist  |  petty  |  power-hungry  |  proud  |  pushover  |  reckless  |  reclusive  |  remorseless  |  rigorous  |  sadistic  |  sarcastic  |  senile  |  selfish  | self-martyr  |  shallow  |  sociopathic  |  sore loser  |  spineless  |  spiteful  |  spoiled  |  stubborn  |  tactless  |  temperamental  |  timid  |  tone-deaf  |  traitorous  |  unathletic  |  ungracious  |  unlucky  |  unsophisticated  |  untrustworthy  |  vain  |  withdrawn  |  workaholic

[astrafide-blog]

forceoned:

‘ do you imagine i would ever speak for anyone other than myself? ’

it’s almost an innocuous question, chirrut’s tone light and fleeting, save for the sliver of space in which it isn’t – but sabé has no need for a mirror to reflect her mind back to her. a certain strength rests in her knowing herself that feathers an implacably softer edge into the lingering knowing glimmer of chirrut’s smile, though he makes no more move to explain that than he had anything else.

the knotted wire of his frame flows out with a straightening of his spine, and ebbs in with his stomach contracting to permit his elbows a space to rest atop his knees. ( baze had scolded him similarly more than once, only to grumble, low and indistinct, upon the reminder that chirrut knew him down to the notched scar between his fourth and fifth ribs, down to the matter of his restive dreams – who else should he speak for? )

‘ open for debate usually means yes. ’ the skin around chirrut’s eyes tightens and crinkles in a shimmering fold of good humour. a growing, heightened levity filters into his tone thereafter and renders it more than plain he doesn’t mean a word. ‘ i don’t know where you got such an idea. i was, and continue to be, very well-behaved. ’ an index finger extends from the grip of his staff and hovers its tip roughly over where sabé’s clavicle would be. ‘ someone has been telling you tall tales. ’

❝anything is possible.❞ likely though? that’s an entirely different matter. it’s an odd experience talking to someone who seems to delight in being deliberately cryptic, but chirrut is nothing if not an excellent catalyst for encouraging people to come to their own conclusions and find their own answers. sabé would like to argue it’s one of his more endearingly frustrating characteristics, but that might well be due to the simple fact that she can’t talk her way out of most of the questions presented to her.

it feels a bit like arguing with panaka after getting into mischief. the age old solution of deny, deny, deny, strangely less effective when you can’t bite back your own smile, or find a plausible argument to the contrary. ❝usually isn’t always.❞ but yes. she had been the worst of them all. the one that trouble actively sought and paved a road to reprimands and sanctions that would only serve as a badge of honour in the years to come. they were adventures of youth, elaborate pranks and ploys to try and remember, however fleetingly that they were still children, even if state and obligation were trying their hardest to stamp out that innocence.

the outright denial breaks her well rehearsed mask of calm, unashamed laughter bubbling up from her stomach and catching in the back of her throat. it makes her wonder how much of those stories really is truth, and how much of it is embellished. she’s willing to bet that it’s more the former than the latter, but only because the deviant in her likes to think there was indeed someone else as wild and troublesome as her. ❝oh yes, you’re a regular picture of propriety! ❞ she shouldn’t be so amused. it’s rude, to be laughing quite so openly, but the sound is rare and a welcome change she doesn’t particularly want to silence.

❝maybe they’re not tall exactly; just on stilts for the sake of dramatic artistry!❞

[astrafide-blog]

thcsurvivor:

      ❝ The monsters, miss Sabé, the monsters! ❞  The horrible monsters that killed everyone, with their horrible egg-creatures that stuck the monsters in people’s chests. She sighs heavily, a small look of distress on her face, then sadness. But her need to socialize doesn’t lessen, and she doesn’t want to stop talking either. – ❝ My name’s Rebecca but everyone calls me Newt. ❞  No one from back home though, because they’re all DEAD now.

Hearing mention of the Queen has Newt nodding, she’d seen the woman from afar, going down corridors. – ❝ She looks like magic, you help her put her beautiful gowns on AND you’re a bodyguard? ❞   Her energy is visible lifted, and something of a smile plays at her lips. Newt presses her palm against her cheek, and looks a little dreamily at Sabé. –  ❝ That’s an interesting way to put it… so you’re close with her majesty? ❞

it’s admittedly not the answer she had been expecting, nor one she knows quite how to respond to. monstrosity is subjective, but the panic with which newt speaks is real enough. ❝I promise you, naboo is a monster free zone. ❞ for the moment at least. she’s not entirely sure what the line of defence would be should a threat rear it’s head again, but that isn’t exactly the most awe inspiring response is it? and while she doesn’t believe in lying to people for the sake of it, there is something altogether more compassionate about omitting elements of the truth.

❝newt it is then.❞ it’s easier this way, sabé thinks, to steer away from the terrifying prospect of the unknown. the conversation is safer, calmer too, in a way that seems less suffocatingly tense. unconsciously releasing the breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding at that first glimmer of a smile, the decoy bows her head, nodding in agreement to the question posed. close is an understatement; she concludes with a small smile of her own. ❝in a manner of speaking. we’ve been friends for so long, sometimes it’s hard to tell where she stops and I begin.❞ or whose bad habits are whose when trying to perfect a flawless imitation.  

❝have you met her yet?❞

[astrafide-blog]

❝Though hope is frail, it’s hard to kill.❞

THE PRINCE OF EGYPT 

it’s harder than most think, to convey a picture of calm to those that seek her assurance. the battle is near constant, an eternal struggle beneath that veil of porcelain to maintain the facade before it begins to CRACK. ( it’s a strange burden to have been gifted so young, to feel the weight of a nation on your shoulders, eyes forever watching, looking to you for guidance and believing whole heartedly that you will know the answer to whatever it is that ails them. ) the role of queen is not sabé’s, and yet she bears it’s burden all the same, the struggles of naboo so heavy and arduous that even in her own skin, she can still feel the invisible grooves wrought into her flesh.

she wonders if it shows when she retreats into silence. or if the airs and graces of haughty nobility depict a more detached monarch than a girl whose heart is already BLEEDING. she doesn’t know how to answer the questions presented to her. doesn’t know how to inspire and comfort when she is in such dire need of both herself. cavernous sleeves hide the hands that now tremble, swathes of obscuring fabric a chasm into which she’s almost tempted to climb into herself. at peace, this role had been a BLESSING. a true luxury in which she could find entertainment and revel in a kind of MISCHIEVOUS DECEPTION. but at war the pressure is grating. a sliding scale of diplomacy now balanced against the lives of millions in which one wrong step could spell not only DISASTER, but total destruction.

sabé is grateful beyond measure for padmé’s interjection. for the grounding reminder that this burden is SHARED. courage wells in the pit of her stomach as she finds her words, resolve building itself up slowly brick by brick as she reclaims her fragmented composure. ❝ then we must continue to HOPE — ❞ her voice almost wavers, head turning ever so slightly to catch the true queen’s gaze. ❝ — and find strength in numbers, few though they may be. for we are far stronger TOGETHER than we ever are DIVIDED.❞

[likelancelot-blog]

the prince of egypt sentence starters

❝I have nothing I can give, but this chance that you may live.❞

❝I pray we’ll meet again.❞

❝Be still, love, don’t cry.❞

❝I’ll be with you when you dream.❞

❝Second born, second place!❞

❝You’ve always looked up to me.❞

❝You don’t think we’ll get in trouble for this, do you?❞

❝One weak link can break the chain of a mighty dynasty.❞

❝All he cares about is your approval.❞

❝You are rather pathetic.❞

❝Why is it every time you start something, I’m the one who ends up in trouble?❞

❝You know what your problem is? You care too much.❞

❝Your problem is you don’t care at all.❞

❝I won’t be given to anyone.❞

❝You’re here! After so long – at last.❞

❝Now you go too far. You shall be punished.❞

❝You will regret this night.❞

❝Now I am home.❞

❝Now you know the truth. Now forget, and be content.❞

❝When (the) God(s) send you a blessing, you don’t ask why it was sent.❞

❝Everything I thought to be true is a lie.❞

❝I’m not who you think I am.❞

❝I can’t stay here any longer.❞

❝Sit with me!❞

❝It seems to me that you don’t know what’s worthy of honor.❞

❝To one lost sheep, a shepherd boy is greater than the richest king.❞

❝You’re just one man.❞

❝I’m coming with you.❞

❝What on earth are you dressed at?❞

❝Alright __, I know you. What’s this really about?❞

❝In my heart you are my __. But things cannot be as they were before.❞

❝God has never answered my prayers. Until now.❞

❝But there is one thing he/she/they can’t take from you. Your faith.❞

❝Once I thought the chance to make you laugh was all I ever wanted.❞

❝I wish God had chose another.❞

❝All this pain and devastation, how it tortures me inside.❞

❝All the innocent who suffer from your stubbornness and pride!❞

❝How could you have come to hate me so?❞

❝Is this what you wanted?❞ I will not be dictated to, I will not be threatened.

❝Let my heart be hardened.❞

❝You were always getting me into trouble.❞

❝You were always there to get me out of trouble again.❞

❝Who am I to lead these people?❞

❝ I will not be dictated to, I will not be threatened.❞

❝I did not see because I did not wish to see.❞

❝I am showing you all the respect you deserve: none.❞

❝ And there shall be a great cry in all of _, such as there never has been or ever will be again! ❞

❝__ you bring this upon yourself.❞

❝I hoped I would find you here.❞

❝Please talk to me. We could always talk here.❞

❝This place…so many memories.❞

❝Why can’t things be the way they were before?❞

❝I/we are not afraid, although I/we know there’s much to fear. ❞

❝We were moving mountains long before we knew we could.❞

❝There can be miracles when you believe.❞

❝Though hope is frail, it’s hard to kill.❞

❝Hope seemed like the summer birds: too swiftly flown away.❞

❝I’m standing here with heart so full, I can’t explain. ❞

❝Who knows what miracles you can achieve?❞

❝Kill them! Kill them all!❞

❝Look at your people. They are free.❞

[astrafide-blog]

forceoned:

the rungs of chirrut’s spine unfurl and roll back against the ledge behind him, nestled between one divot of bone and the next ; the shimmer of warmth that resonates in the depths of sabé’s voice hums pleasantly over his skin, and for a long moment he keeps an attentive silence, perhaps unusual to one who’d only know him as readily gregarious. 

( he has no journal in which to inscribe these stories, these tales, and yet chirrut collects them all the same, something precious held in the unfolding, splay, and closing off a life. )

his stillness severs abruptly, with a laugh spilling over on its heels, as if suddenly rousing himself out of slumber ; a drifting gaze settles its icy blister, without harm but bright-full with a sightless intrigue, over where her heart would pulse. ( seeing is nothing sacred, but the shudder of a life lived, congregated in the blood and vibrancy – therein, bound up with the force, is the most sacred thing chirrut knows. )

beneath the wry, mischievous barb of chirrut’s tongue, it seems to him that sabé has lived a good one.

‘ so you were a wild little thing, then. as a young girl. a troublemaker. ’ it isn’t a question, even with the mirthful glint of teeth through his lips.

troublemaker is certainly one word for it. one she would ardently dispute in certain instances, but there is far more sense in accepting the truth than denying it. (  life within a gilded cage demanded a certain amount of insurrection,  it was a necessity or else you’d end up going mad. granted, it wasn’t always advisable and nearly always frowned upon - but the memories forged in those instances of defiance had become staples of a place she’d call home. ) she missed those days more than her own family, those prized interludes of something that far transcended everything and anything she’d ever been taught.

❝ speak for yourself.❞ she directs the jibe right back, free flowing and amused as it tickles her tongue. she doubts very much that anyone partaking in rebellion can consider themselves entirely INNOCENT in the matter, but maybe that all depends on your definition of TROUBLE in the first place. ❝ wild, yes. the latter is open to debate. ❞ except of course for the fact it’s not at all. the list of her exploits is longer than she ever dare admit, with those left standing who can attest to such, now few in number and sparsely scattered.

❝ are you going to tell me, you weren’t?❞ it’s a sincere inquiry, light and only slightly presumptuous. but the question is fair given the conversation. she doesn’t expect secrets or anything closely guarded, but perhaps just a gentle word or two of nostalgia that proves she wasn’t the worst child in the galaxy for getting into mischief.

[astrafide-blog]

astramajestic

               as crisis threatens to break into full war, it’s taken it’s toll on padmé, she loves the change of pace. there’s a great pleasure in moving from queen to a more diplomatically focused role and it suits her, not to have to hide behind the deep speaking voice of a regent and the make up that had made her woefully expressive face impossible to parse. it suits her though, and and all the while she worries that she leaves her friends, her hand maidens behind. so long they’d been in her ORBIT. instead she takes solace in the few that have managed to come along, particularly in sabé who has gone from sister to best friend as they aged, trying to parse paths of their own from where once they’d always been destined to be the same.

              “was i that transparent? or was it one of those things only you notice?”          it’s the first, worried thing out of her mouth and she reaches to touch her lips, tongue pressing along the seam. no one in the galaxy could read her as well as sabé.          “i just don’t understand what they THINK sometimes! who tries to pull one over on the WHOLE of the galactic senate?”          there’s a subtle chastisement in her tone and padmé moves to sit beside her friend, pulling her knees onto the length of couch beside her and pressing her head to sabé’s arm, though the finer clips to her head dress, and her hair piece bite into her scalp.

              “it’s getting more dangerous here, you know that. maybe you should return to your family?”          padmé gives the suggestion though something in her voice also pleads sabé not to leave. her own family, she LOVES them, she does, but sometimes she feels distant from them. they had not shared the burden she’d worn like her handmaidens, like sabé had. and they had never had even the ILLUSION of childhood in the games of war. handing a child a blaster and teaching them self defense still carried an inexplicable weight to the action. they hadn’t learned combat readiness and piloting small craft because they’d had interest, it’d all been for SURVIVAL.

              they had just… suffered more prettily than some, at their lack of childhood.          “should i place an order for dinner? have you?”

it’s astonishing to think how far they’ve come. she still remembers their first steps together in a shared life, the gruelling training sessions and necessity of trust. in some respects she misses it. she misses having that closeness with someone else, that sense of intimacy and shared belonging that can only ever come from a friendship forged in arduous times. sabé however, does not miss the weight of countless robes or the stilted reality of being a diplomatic figurehead. she doesn’t miss the countless hours of rehearsing her expressions in the mirror or trying so desperately hard to nullify the tone in her voice that might otherwise lead to certain destruction.

❝to be fair…❞ she starts with understanding, a way of alleviating the bite of her tease just in case it might strike too much doubt into an already troubled mind. ❝you might’ve learnt it from me in the first place. maybe I recognise my own flaw!❞ she doesn’t think it’s her tell though, hers had always been in her eyebrows, and the unhelpful need to want to wiggle them when presented with something that made her uneasy. ( a fact, she would like to note, is incredibly uncomfortable when your own have been waxed down and drawn in a good inch higher. she’d tried to shave them once to correct this inopportune quirk. it hadn’t gone to plan. )

the familiar weight of padmé against her arm is soothing, body shifting ever so slightly to accommodate her friend. ❝maybe that’s the point. maybe they don’t THINK. if they did, surely they’d spend more time concerned over the wellbeing of their own people instead of settling scores and dictating how to govern ours.❞ she knows how close they are to all out war. to how thin a tightrope they’re left walking, with a noose limp around their necks until the federation tries to rip the ground from beneath them once more. sometimes she doesn’t know how the former queen can stomach it. how she can talk to people who clearly won’t stand to reason. but therein lies the crux of their differences. padmé was always the calmer of the two - and even then she was a force to be reckoned with.

the next words to follow are ones of dismissal, nose scrunching in defiance as her fingers move placatingly over the top of the senator’s arm. ❝you ARE my family.❞ granted, they may not have shared the same blood, but they’d certainly spilt enough of it together over the years. ❝besides, who’d keep you out of TROUBLE if I wasn’t here?❞ she’s spent longer in her life than she has without, knows her better perhaps than she knows even herself. she can’t fathom the idea of turning away when her friend needs her the most. not when the threats are so painfully REAL.

❝ I asked them to save some nuna eggs, but I wasn’t sure what you were craving.   ❞

[astrafide-blog]

❛ there’s a million things i haven’t done, but just you wait. ❜

HAMILTON : AN AMERICAN MUSICAL  → STARTERS

it never ceases to amaze her, just how DETERMINED her dear friend can be. it’s a stubborn resoluteness that they both share, but one that has an inordinate amount more novelty when it comes from someone other than herself. it’s hard to imagine all the things that they could be out there doing; the possibilities that so often seem out of reach due to rank and station. it’s ironic really, that even in this life of privilege they are still confined to a cage of sorts. which is all the more reason that sabé is ready to applaud padmé’s words now.

❝such as?❞ she just can’t help herself. the question rolls from her mouth before she has time to stop it, a curious smile flickering to life as it works it’s way up her cheeks. in some respects, she’s merely working as a sounding board - but there is a genuine interest in the things so far that she has yet to achieve. ( the list of padmé’s accomplishments is already formidable; a fact that sabé would very much like to remind the world at every given opportunity. )

there are only a few things, she can think of that she’s yet to do herself. tiny aspirations tucked away for a rainy day; or thoughts so fleeting, she can seldom remember them after a few hours. her brain is less full of hope and more of duty, of STRICT protocol and defensive needs. she’s spent a lifetime pretending to be someone else - to the point the idea of harbouring her own aspirations is somewhat of a foreign concept. but then again, that was all the more reason to see what padmé was determined to do with her life. where would she go? what would she do? even despite the limitations of her own occupation at least she can live vicariously through her better self.

a thought occurs to her then, in the lull before an answer, head inclining in her friend’s direction as she hums out a thought in a near-conspiratorial whisper. ❝you get bonus points if it’s anything that would give Panaka a heart attack.❞

[memeroundups]

Send ‘rough touch’

[womenwritten]

memeroundups:

and the generated outcome will be used for a small drabble scenario or starter { tw violence, possible noncon/dubcon implications, nsfw }

Your muse throws a punch at mine.

My muse throws a punch at yours.

Your muse suddenly grips my muse’s hair.

My muse suddenly grips your muse’s hair.

Your muse roughly grabs my muse’s arm.

My muse roughly grabs your muse’s arm.

Your muse grips my muse’s hips.

My muse grips your muse’s hips.

Your muse wraps their hands tightly around my muse’s neck.

My muse wraps their hands tightly around your muse’s neck.

Your muse slams mine against a wall hard.

My muse slams yours against a wall hard.

Your muse pushes my muse to their knees.

My muses pushes your to their knees.

Your muse bites mine.

My muse bites yours.

Your muse clutches their hand tightly around my muse’s mouth to silence them.

My muse clutches their hand tightly around your muse’s mouth to silence them.

Your muse grabs my muse’s wrists.

My muse grabs their muse’s wrists.

Your muse attempts to shove away mine.

My muse attempts to push off yours.

Your muse roughly kisses mine.

My muse roughly kisses yours.

Your muse pins mine onto the ground.

My muse pins yours to the ground.

Your muse delivers beatings to mine.

My muse delivers beatings to yours.

Your muse breaks my muse’s arm.

My muse breaks your muse’s arm.

Mun chooses.

[astrafide-blog]

forceoned:

a single, simple word that pulls a deep-seated breath in to swell at the lining of chirrut’s lungs, through the gentle flare of his nostrils ; in its latest days, jedha had been dry with dust and sharp with the ghosts of spice and the sting of blood, but he remembers, too, the wet, vibrant smell of greenery, of florets with tiny, hungry tendrils, from before the empire had snarled their claws into the soil and torn up all semblance of untouched life. ( the force had remained in the blistering sparks within and around him, but the destruction had been felt like a keen strike at the core of him all the same. )

‘ tell me, ’ chirrut muses, fingers curling ‘round the grooves of his staff, half-idle, smile soft, bordering wistful, but not absented from a familiar cheeky air, as though he always knows something his companion doesn’t. ( he doesn’t, much of the time, miss his sight, not truly, but the curiosity remains. ) ‘ what else is there, in your fields? creatures, plants, people? ’

for a conversation spawned of pain, the words are getting easier, lighter perhaps now that the pessimism that coils tightly within her chest has relinquished it’s grasp. it’s not so much guilt as it is fondness to talk of home, of the life that had come long before the road that had led to here. she should’ve gone back a long time ago really, managed to fit in a visit between rallying rebels and promoting civil disobedience - but it had never seemed like the right time. (or, more realistically, she’d never been brave enough, or inclined  to experience such a poignant reminder of all she’d lost. )

❝there were never that many people. you might find the odd shaak wrangler from time to time, but the plains and the lake country were always a place you went to escape. flowers though, there were always plenty of those.❞ little ones mostly, that smelt like summer and a thousand times better after the rain. but enough to make you question the colour of the grass when they were all out in full bloom.  it’s enough to herald a smile, the kind you can hear in her voice before it paves the way to the faint flicker of nostalgic laughter.  ❝the first year I started training as a handmaiden, we all went out there for the warmer months. I remember making flower crowns with eirtaé and rabé and picking something small and lilac, while not realising just how poisonous it was. the itch lasted for days - but I never forgot that flower or that trip. ❞

in hindsight, it’s probably not the best story to lead with for memories of where she’d like to return to,  but there is good amongst the melancholy, flickers of memory that make her want to return, far more than they want her to stray. it’s an afterthought that follows, humour present even as her eyes seek him out, mapping the intricacies of his expression even if she can’t entirely read it. ❝so…maybe fields of flowers, but with a few less of those ones. ❞

[astrafide-blog]

thcsurvivor:

      ❝ Maybe. But only if you have a good military. ❞  She looks sad, this planet has beautiful architecture, nothing she’s seen before, and nothing like where the first ATTACK was. Could the monsters she faced fair just as well among these walls? Could they come here? She doesn’t know. – ❝ If they never make it here that’s best. I’m sorry, I don’t want to scare you. ❞ 

A curious look on her face, and then a smile. – ❝ That’s a pretty name. ❞  The slight frown that comes across her face is a humourous one. – ❝ I don’t know what a handmaiden is. What do you do? ❞ 

confusion lingers in the hardening of her expression, newt’s words bringing with them more questions than answers. the military of naboo is formidable, maybe not INFALLIBLE, but it hasn’t steered them wrong so far. then again, it hasn’t been pitted against the thing her new companion seems to be quite rightly terrified of. ❝what do you mean? if WHAT never makes it here?❞ there’s equal parts curiosity and concern in her query, a thirst for knowledge tempered by the necessity of avoiding danger, if it poses too high a risk to the people she cares for.

the moment is short lived however, the edge of seriousness tapering off into something a little more subdued. it hadn’t occurred to sabé that perhaps ‘handmaiden’ was not a career in everyone’s repertoire, but now that she thinks about it, even she isn’t entirely sure where the scope of her job description ends. ❝it’s certainly not the worst. what’s yours little one?❞ she earns herself a reprieve, a few moments of thought to clarify what she can and can’t say to explain her duties. ❝a handmaiden does a bit of EVERYTHING. mostly I protect the queen; but also help to make her life easier. you’ve seen the dresses she wears no? it takes quite a few of us to help put all of that on. I think really, to describe it properly, it’s a bit like being a SISTER to your BEST FRIEND.  ❞

[astrafide-blog]

forceoned:

a hum curls, pensive, about and between chirrut’s teeth, behind closed ( faintly smiling ) lips, in the moment that honesty is yielded. 

( it’s neither his responsibility, his obligation, nor his place to take the sharpened edge off sabé’s bitterness, and it isn’t him she means to sink her teeth into – the caustic lance shivers through him and moves on, the dust of it held between his fingers as if some idle curiosity. )

‘ the start may not appear to be what you remember, ’ chirrut muses, half as though speaking more to himself – his head shifts toward her as though with his ears pricking, yet it is no duty of his to guide her. her path is her own to carve out. ( listening, still, he can offer. what else is there? ) ‘ what do you expect to find there? ’

she hadn’t intended to be quite so CAUSTIC, the truth still burns her tongue even now. there are few people that deserve her bitterness - and he is not one of them. yet there is still a kind of FREEDOM in being able to say it. despite the opening of old wounds; ( one that will undoubtedly fester in the days to come )  - there is a catharsis in the relief of pressure, in finally getting it off her chest and looking beyond the pain and to what comes after.

it takes a moment for her to clarify her thoughts, to clearly see in her mind’s eye what it is she hopes to achieve by wandering the same path she’d once known so well. ❝ fields.❞ the word is softer, tinged with a wry amusement that she’s not sure she could ever truly explain. SERENITY she means. closure. nostalgia.  peace.   ❝ something better than here.  ❞ 

[lottewrites]

HAMILTON : AN AMERICAN MUSICAL  → STARTERS

❛ he was longing for something to be a part of. ❜

❛ and the world is gonna know your name. ❜

❛ there’s a million things i haven’t done, but just you wait. ❜

❛ you never learned to take your time. ❜

❛ talk less…smile more. ❜

❛ who’s the best? c’est moi! ❜

❛ the plan is to fan this spark into a flame. ❜

❛ i’m not throwing away my shot. ❜

❛ i may not live to see our glory, but i will gladly join the fight !  ❜

❛ they’ll tell the story of tonight. ❜

❛ tomorrow there’ll be more of us. ❜

❛ i’m looking for a mind at work. ❜

❛ look around at how lucky we are to be alive right now. ❜

❛ oh my god. tear this dude apart. ❜

❛ i will send a fully armed battalion to remind you of my love… ❜

❛ dying is easy, young man… living is harder. ❜

❛ then you walked in and my heart went ‘boom’! ❜

❛ you look at me and suddenly i’m helpless. ❜

❛ i am so into you. ❜

❛ i’m just saying if you really loved me, you would share him. ❜

❛ love doesn’t discriminate from the sinners and the saints. ❜

❛ i’m willing to wait for it. ❜

❛ i am the one thing in life i can control. ❜

❛ call me son one more time —…. ❜

❛ i don’t pretend to know the challenges you’re facing. ❜

❛ that would be enough. ❜

❛ and we could be enough. ❜

❛ let me a part of the narrative in the story they will write one day. ❜

❛ you have no control : who lives, who dies, who tells your story. ❜

❛ history has its eyes on you. ❜

❛ awesome. wow. ❜

❛ i’ll make the world safe and sound for you. ❜

❛ why do you assume you’re the smartest in the room? ❜

❛ what’d i miss? ❜

❛ run away with us for the summer. ❜

❛ take a break. ❜

❛ well, hate the sin, love the sinner. ❜

❛ no one else was in the room where it happened. ❜

❛ and then we’ll teach them how to say goodbye. ❜

❛ we both know what we know. ❜

❛ i will choose her happiness over mine every time. ❜

❛ god, i hope you’re satisfied. ❜

❛ i saved every letter you wrote me. ❜

❛ you built me palaces out of paragraphs. ❜

❛ be careful with that one, love, he will do what it takes to survive. ❜

❛ when you were mine, the world seemed to burn. ❜

❛ the world has no right to my heart. ❜

❛ i hope that you burn. ❜

❛ everything is legal in new jersey… ❜

❛ i’m so sorry for forgetting what you taught me. ❜

❛ it’s quiet uptown. ❜

❛ they are trying to do the unimaginable. ❜

❛ there are moments that the words don’t reach. ❜

❛ forgiveness. can you imagine? ❜

❛ i had only one thought before the slaughter. ❜

❛ i imagine death so much, it feels more like a memory. ❜

❛ what is a legacy? it’s planting seeds in a garden you will never see. ❜

❛ death doesn’t discriminate between the sinners and the saints. ❜

❛ i survived, but i paid for it. ❜

❛ have i done enough? will they tell my story? ❜

[astrafide-blog]

@blackleading from [x]

she likes to think she has a hand in where the general gets it from. all those hours lecturing to leia and winter alike, preaching diplomacy but also PRACTICALITY seem to have left quite an impression. she’s proud of her legacy, of the teachings she’s instilled into the people that have inspired so much HOPE and resilience, but she’ll be prouder still if it leads to victory and the resurgence of peace. amused scrutiny lingers in the look she shoots the pilot, words bitten back even if the flicker of a smile is not. ❝try not to miss then; dameron.  ❞ or in less cryptic a statement: good luck.

[astrafide-blog]

thcsurvivor:

Newt returns the smile, she can feel the sincerity in the greeting even with the detached way she says it. She understands, it is her career right? – ❝ I’m not scared of Naboo, miss. It’s something else I’m scared of. ❞   She thinks it’s very pretty here, lots of colour and it’s warm. Not warm like her mining moon. This planet is a natural warm. 

      ❝ What’s your name? ❞  Newt asks, nervously tucking some hair behind her ear. It’s easier to think of simple things. Not aliens. Those are complicated. Especially when she doesn’t know if the people here are capable of fighting off the monsters she’d seen.

worry flickers through the beginnings of a frown, the visible presence of quiet confusion at such an ominous statement. there are a great many things in life to be feared, sabé herself knows this, especially given an ever fluctuating political climate, but what if there are things out there in the unknown that she hasn’t fathomed? far off places perhaps with things that her planet has yet to experience firsthand for itself. ❝ nothing will harm you while you are here. of this I am certain.❞ a white lie perhaps, but one born of compassion and not dismissal.

a name however, is easier to give than assurance. strangely, it also one of the most precious things she owns. there is very little in a borrowed sea of robes and regal finery that she can say is resolutely her own - but this; this one truly simple thing is like a treasure in itself. she knows it will sound ridiculous if she ever puts the sentiment into words, yet there is a strange sense of satisfaction in being able to share it. ❝sabé, little one. I am handmaiden to the queen. ❞

[astrafide-blog]

@forceoned from [x]

even in the company of allies; friends even some might say - there is a limit to what sabé is willing to part with. the question should be simple; it’s direct and forthright enough, but it brings with it a VULNERABILITY she doesn’t want to acknowledge. it reminds her somewhat of being schooled on interrogation as a child, of the behaviours drilled into her to avoid divulging information that could so easily be turned against her. it’s hard not to feel the parallels with her younger self when presented with the lecture she knows is coming.

❝ my dream DIED a long time ago ❞ the bitterness is evident, her tone cool and the truth unmistakably blunt. she’d wanted to spend her life at the side of the woman she loved. to smile together. to grow old together. but look at where that dream had gotten her - one of them was DEAD and the other ALONE.  it isn’t what he’s asking though is it? he speaks of the present not of the past, of the motivations now that guide her actions, that speak to her very soul and offer hope amidst penance.

there is a pause before she corrects herself, that little wall of defiance crumbling as she admits that at the end of this fight, when the war is won and liberty is no longer a luxury they do not possess, she still has one goal, even if slightly mundane. ❝— to go HOME, chirrut. to go back to the start. ❞