#deguerrilla

[scarifd]

          “who  -  who’s  decision  was  this?”  his  fingers  feel  frozen  and  the  cold  is  wrecking  havoc  on  his  prosthetic,  the  joint  feeling  sluggish  and  slow  to  respond.  can  it  freeze?  stars,  he  hopes  not.  the  jacket  bodhi  has  scrounged  up  is  ill - fitting,  too  large  and  far  bulkier  than  anything  he  enjoys  wearing,  but  at  least  it’s  a  bit  warm.  “there  must  be  unoccupied  planets  less ... less  like  this.”  

@deguerrilla​

[cuyanir]

@deguerrilla​

“i’ve been approached by someone like you before.”

the cantina is deathly silent but nobody seems to be listening in on their conversation. people of this crumbling planet had better things to worry about. the hunter is the only patron inside who’s not hunched over a drink and chewing on dark thoughts. he has no reason to. his rewards are getting bigger and the fett name is finally beginning to attract attention. he turns his visor towards the stranger. some of it too nostalgic for his taste. 

“i told them i’m not interested. i don’t miss the republic.”

[shonebright]

“I HATE THIS PLACE.”   it wasn’t the first time she’d said it and it wouldn’t be the last, but it sounded tired and resigned as she dropped herself onto the bench beside him.   the ice and snow stretched out in front of them, an endless sea of cold and death that spent most of its time creeping back in on the space they’d so painstakingly reclaimed.   “a nice little parcel for the empire to find: a bunch of frozen over rebels too cold to fight.”      @deguerrilla​

[starhaunt]

“STAY WHERE YOU ARE.”   she had half the guards incapacitated already, either stunned into silence or locked away behind security panels she’d made quick work of in between their rounds.   the other half were on the other side of the building investigating an apparent breach—that she may or may not have orchestrated—and she'd barely have enough time to slice into the consoles in the main security hub as it was.   the blaster in her hand was bulkier than she was used to and while her arm wavered under the weight there was no doubt that she’d use it on the stranger standing in the doorway if necessary.

she lifted her chin at him, free hand still on the screen behind her.   she was so close, but she wasn’t about to take her eyes off him.   he wasn’t security as far as she could tell, and not imperial either by the looks of it, but that didn’t mean anything—she’d shoot him if he intended on getting in her way.   “who are you?”      @deguerrilla​​

[forcedied]

❝THE  EMPIRE  HAS  HURT  US  ALL❞  he  lost  everything ,  the  temple ,  his  brothers ,  Jedha  City  &  all  that  he  had  left  were  the  Force  and  Baze .  ❝you  can  not  blame  Jyn  for  the  way  she  is  feeling ,  it  was  her  FATHER  she  lost❞ 

@deguerrilla liked *:･ﾟ✧

[genitrice-a]

🐤

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[forcedied]

@deguerrilla​​ asked: ❛   i  know  what  i  have  to  do  ,  but  i  don’t   know  if  i  have  the  strength  to  do  it.   ❜ *:･ﾟ✧ accepting !

❝OR  ARE  YOU  PERHAPS  SIMPLY  AFRAID  TO  DO  IT ?❞  his  head  turned  to  where  he  could  feel  Cassian .  His  aura  was  strong  &  while  Chirrut  was  sure  that  Cassian  liked  to  hide ,  hide  his  personality ,  his  true  self ...  ❝you  know  of  your  strength ,  we  ALL  do .  That  is  why  you  are  here❞  his  hand  moved  as  if  to  show  the  rebellion  to  the  other .  The  ships ,  the  people ,  the  cause .  ❝if  you  were  not  strong ...  you  would  not  be  here  but  you  are  DOUBTING  yourself❞  staff  he  always  held ,  raised  to  poke  at  the  other  mans  side ,  giving  him  a  gentle  PUSH .  ❝and  if  you  do  not  believe  me ,  then  believe  in  the  FORCE❞

[genitrice-a]

   @deguerrilla said: would they be horrified if they saw my hands, do you think?

 HANDS   CAN   TELL   SO   MUCH   ABOUT   A   PERSON.      if   eyes   are   the   window   through   which   one   can   peer,   hands   are   chained   gates,   secrets   carved   into   the   rust,   things   that   cannot   be   washed   away   with   the   rain.   her   own   small,   white   hands   don’t   say   much:   a   lifetime   of   privilege   some   would   call   it,   that   they’re   not   as   rough   as   papa’s   are,   no   callouses   to   speak   of   a   lifetime   of   menial   labour.   they   don’t   speak   of   all   the   tears   they   had   to   wipe   away,   nor   of   the   smiles   seared   into   the   palms.   but   they   are   hers,   nonetheless.   holding,   nurturing,   deadly.

 there   is   no   real   force   behind   the   grip   she   has   on   his   hand.   it’s   not   there   to   act   as   a   shackle,   to   chain   him   in   place   so   he   may   not   be   able   to   flee   under   threat.   lids   lowered   to   where   fingers   are   following   the   lines   carved   into   stone,   the   briefest   of   pressures   ghosting   across   his   skin.         “   are   any   of   our   hands   untainted   ??   ”         it   had   been   eating   at   her,   the   question.   she   thinks   of   qui-gon,   of   her   handmaidens,   of   all   the   people   slain   in   the   name   of   a   pointless   war   and   shudders.   the   hitch   in   her   breath   is   subtle,   a   crack   in   the   mask   she   wears   for   his   sake   more   than   her   own.         “   no.   should   they   be   ??   ”