ₐ 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓉 ₚₑₐᵣₗ

ᝰ COMPLICATEDQUEENS જ⁀➴ is an independent, multi-para, mutuals only, canon-derivative roleplay blog dedicated to 𝐩𝐚𝐝𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐚 𝐧𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞 from the 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐬 franchise, as depicted﹙ in the prequel trilogy, it’s novelisation && the clone wars ﹚and as envisioned by 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐫.

❝ i was taught that democracy is not simply a system, but a promise — that every voice, no matter how small, carries the weight of hope. and yet i have watched that promise falter, not from outside enemies, but from fear within our own hearts. we compromise a little, justify a little, and call it security, until one day we no longer recognize the freedom we once defended.

A STUDY IN . . . the woes of a queen, a youth stolen, sacrifice, the erasure of the self, a love story written in ruin, duty mistaken for virtue, devotion, motherhood, a life bartered at the altar of a an empire, a beauty warm and gentle.

ᴵ 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐝. ᴵᴵ 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐬. ᴵᴵᴵ 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬. ᴵⱽ 𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞. ⱽ 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬. ⱽᴵ 𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. ⱽᴵᴵ 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐨. ⱽᴵᴵᴵ 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠.

TRAVELLING THE GALAXY WITH﹙ mains ﹚. . . @/temperedfaith @/forcenexus @/astranovus

𓏲ּ𝄢 ─── padmé watches something shift across his face as he responds. there’s a softening around the eyes, a distance that settles in like he’s seeing those mesas and that ring-lit sky instead of the street before them. she’s seen that same look in refugees, in other diplomats, and sometimes, in her own reflection. it’s one of longing, and sadness. “two moons in perfect union,” she echoes softly, her voice gentler than before. “that’s a beautiful image to carry with you. do you think you’ll go back? eventually?”

she exhales softly as they settle onto the bench, immediately feeling the relief of being off her feet. “they’re manageable,” she says, though she winces slightly as she shifts. “there’s worse things in the world.” she glances down at the shoes—beautiful, impractical things that had seemed like a good idea just a few hours ago. “though i won’t pretend the offer isn’t tempting.” she can feel the strap has rubbed the skin raw, can see some blood drying at the back.

and yet. “you don’t have to go to such trouble,” she adds softly, her hand finding his where it rests near her shoulder. “i should be alright in a moment,” she says, though part of her wonders how she’ll manage the way back. she could always go barefoot, she supposes. the dress is long enough to hide it—already trailing along the ground, hem darkened with dust and dirt. it wouldn’t be the first time she’d sacrificed decorum for practicality, though perhaps it would be the first time she’d done so on a street in coruscant with someone watching.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

𓏲ּ𝄢 ─── “stringent?” there’s something almost playful in her tone as she considers it. “maybe structured would be a better word for it.” she lifts their joined hands slightly, giving his a firm, almost painful squeeze. the kind that leaves no room for movement, rigid and unyielding.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ “to call it stringent would be to suggest there’s no freedom in it, no room to breathe.” then she loosens her grip, her hold gentle. it’s still there, still connected, but with enough space that he could slip away if he wanted to.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ “we are a free people, casimir.”

whether the jedi are, however, she can’t say. they’re bound by their code, their duty to the order, their service to the republic. and for all their talk of peace and balance, they’re tethered to something far larger than either. “the force.” it’s immense—incomprehensible, even, and with that kind of power comes the ever-present risk of corruption. “while we acknowledge its existence, we don’t wield it.” which is why naboo has never produced a jedi. “if one person can restore balance through the force, others stop doing the work of maintaining that balance.” she thinks of him as she says it, sighing softly. “there are, of course, limits to the aid we can provide.”

she looks at casimir then, tilting her head slightly. “what about your homeworld?” she asks, curiosity giving colour to her voice. “what’s nythra like?” there’s little information about it in the archives, she knows. the planet seems to exist on the edges of republic awareness, barely documented.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

she shifts her weight subtly, trying to ignore the growing ache in her feet, but that doesn’t work for long. “i’m sorry,” she says as she draws him to a stop beside her with a tug of his hand.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ “could we sit down for just a moment, maybe?”

𓏲ּ𝄢 ─── the garden gives way to narrow walkways that wind between towering buildings, the polished marble and manicured greenery replaced by duracrete and flickering neon signs. the air, seems different here. it’s tinged with the scent of street food and engine exhaust, the distant hum of speeders weaving through traffic lanes overhead. she can hear their voices, can hear their laughter, and by the stars, is it refreshing. still, she keeps close to casimir as they walk through the alleys, her steps never straying far from his.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

“you know politics don’t trouble me.” having said that, she can’t help the way her expression softens once he mentions naboo. “it’s harmonious,” she says, trying to find the right words to describe it. “cities rise from the hillsides, all graceful domes and arching bridges that seem to grow from the earth rather than impose upon it.” that’s also why the descent is her favourite part about coming home. watching naboo unfold as her ship approach, the full beauty of it laid out like a living painting.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

“leaders are expected to serve, not enrich themselves, and public shame actually means something there.” it doesn’t run on bribery, crime syndicates, or back-room deals the way the core worlds’ power centers or the outer rim do. “and it’s an outlook we presume that others will naturally share.” her fingers tighten around his hand without thinking.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ “that reason will win. that laws will be honored. that the republic will protect the innocent because that’s what it’s supposed to do.” she looks at him then, smiling a little sadly.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ “i’m sure you can see how that can be an issue at times.” while it’s an honourable way of thought, it leaves them vulnerable to manipulation by people who don’t play by the same moral rules, like the trade federation.

“that isn’t to say we don’t have any laws—or the means to enforce them.” it’s just that people rarely feel the need to break them in the first place.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

so, with the next episode of AKOTSK coming this sunday i will either be so inspired i’ll be dishing out one reply after the other, or sobbing so hard i can’t type a word. stay tuned to see which it is.

𓏲ּ𝄢 ─── she takes a few steps back as he swings himself over the railing. there’s space enough in the garden for a dozen people to move comfortably, but she’s not particularly keen on testing whether he’ll stick the landing or topple into her. she’s learnt to be honest about her strengths and weaknesses as a senator, and attempting to catch a man falling from a balcony is certainly not a specialty of hers.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ she might try, but would she succeed? probably not. though it turns out she doesn’t really need to.

“a walk?” she glances down at herself, at the delicate fabric of her gown, at the heels chosen to stand graceful in a reception hall. it’s probably a terrible idea, really. missing another round of political posturing hardly seems like a loss, but attempting to traverse the city in this outfit is another matter entirely. still, there’s something appealing about the recklessness of it, about saying yes to spontaneity despite every practical reason not to.

she takes his hand, her fingers curling around his. his hand is warm, though rougher than she might have expected from someone in his position.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ “alright,” she says, smiling as she gestures for him to “lead the way” with her other hand. a small part of her twinges with guilt over it, but surely one night won’t bring everything crashing down.

𓏲ּ𝄢 ─── the emergency pod sat half-submerged in the shallows where she’d left it, its sleek metal hull warped and blackened along its side. water lapped through the breach in the hatch she’d forced open. at this rate, it would be completely flooded in a few hours. every supply cache, every piece of equipment, the communications array she’d been counting on to signal for extraction: all of it ruined. though she supposed it was for the better, considering there was no way for her to bring it along. at least not like this.

she turned back to find him closer than he’d been a moment ago, close enough that she had to tilt her chin up slightly to meet his eyes. she didn’t feel threatened, exactly, but it was enough to make her pulse quicken in the way it did when someone got too close. she swallowed. “well, i suppose it’s a good thing i have little left to offer, if so.” then, as if to prove a point, she gathered the heavy skirt of her senatorial gown in both hands and began pulling her feet free of the wet sand to follow him.

𓏲ּ𝄢 ─── she regrets it. there’s no longer any hesitation to it. she regrets coming, and she regrets telling him, only she can’t possibly say that, can she? because she knows what that would do to him, because his feelings aren’t his own. so she lowers her gaze and bites her tongue until she feels the firm press of his hand curling around her wrist, and though she steps back, she doesn’t twist her arm out of his grasp right away. rather, she raises the other to keep the distance between them.

“don’t look at me like that.”

but he does, and for a moment, she’s there again. the heat scorching her skin, ash in her lungs, and those same blue eyes staring down at her. only they weren’t blue. “i already told you,” she tries again, squeezing her eyes shut. by the time she opens them again, his expression seems to have softened. “none of that is for me to decide. who you are to them, if anything, would be a choice you’d have to make.”

that’s when she lowers her hand, letting it fall to her side, and withdraws the other from his grasp. then she bends over to retrieve her cloak from the floor, shaking it out before drawing it around her shoulders. “i know it’s something of an imposition, especially after today, but i’d be grateful if you’d let me know when the repairs are complete.”

she’s being childish, she knows. it’s unbecoming of her to ignore his question like some sulking child, but she also doesn’t think answering it would help considering everything she’s said so far has only made it worse. “though should you prefer, i’d be happy to check in at the shop in about… did you say you’d have the parts in about a week?”

WHERE SHOULD YOU BE KISSED?

tagged by: @forcenexus

palm.

you give and give. you are a gentle heart, broken but still standing... always lending a hand for those who need it, expecting nothing in return. you deserve someone taking your hand and kissing your open palm, the hands which have selflessly helped so many others.