YOU'VE NEVER SEEN A SOLDIER LIKE ME.

EVERYTHING IS GOLD.  the curtains glow,  luminous against their blurred vantage.  when she breathes in,  the air is warm and heavy,  filling her lungs with the scent of linen and morning.  she shifts,  blinking away dreams and midnight recollections,  and there is the girl:  golden   /   ethereal.  remarkably,  miraculously asleep.  the edge of a peaceful exhale catches her jaw.

she cares little for dwelling on what might be.  regret is for the war and the war does not live here,  in the space between their sun-soaked bodies and pale,  wrinkled sheets.  and yet the magic of the moment takes her breath,  swallows it up in the honey-thick dawn.   (   scenario:  perhaps it does not matter if the war is over,  because the fight has seeped into the base of your weathered bones.  but the girl you love is still with you.  and that is really all you can ask of the universe.   )

her hand hovers,  suspended in a sunlight prism from the facets of a gently exposed window,  outlining the curve of leia’s hip.  she pulls it to her chest and settles back,  memorizing the angles of her partner’s face where lines no longer make valleys in her skin.  waiting   /   observing   /   basking in the morning,  the sanctity of watching her at peace.

❝   liar.   ❞   she fires back an accusation, groundless as it is, nearly immediately, yet she accepts the touch with no hesitation. her own arms wind along jyn’s, finding a place as though it’s been there all along, & she will not refute any resulting flame.

❝   what’s this about, then ?   ❞

❛    mm.   ❜      the wordless admission hangs light and still,  weightless.  unreality knows no better home than the expanse of leia’s arms,  every space she occupies,  filling the cracks where memory and conviction have tried to set down roots.   (   you fear permanence   ——   it is in your nature.   )

     ❝ it’s not as simple as you think. ❞ grinning from ear to ear, luke enthusiastically describes a reckless escapade aboard the empire’s space station. ❝ uh, you see, jyn —— well, to tell you the truth, we arrived on the death star by accident. ❞

❛   you’re   ——   ❜      the words catch,  disbelieving.   (   those far-flung tales of glory sound so innocent now,  so much better suited for the storybooks.  and where have the heroes gone?   )

tagged by:  @alderaanheir! tagging:  @rogueleading,  @rebelutionary,  @sunworn,  @rebelsacrifice,  @senthope!

the wretched king minos has decided your fate.  his tail wraps around his body five times. the sweet light no longer strikes against your eyes.  your shade has been banished to   ...   the fifth level of hell!

the river styx runs through this level of hell,  and in it are punished the wrathful and the gloomy.  the former are forever lashing out at each other in anger,  furious and naked,  tearing each other piecemeal with their teeth.  the latter are gurgling in the black mud,  slothful and sullen,  withdrawn from the world.  their lamentations bubble to the surface as they try to repeat a doleful hymn,  though with unbroken words they cannot say it.  because you lived a cruel,  vindictive,  and hateful life,  you meet your fate in the styx.

here is how you matched up against all the levels:

AN ACCUSING FINGER,  outstretched and flicked towards the sky,  punctuates every word with narrow disbelief.      ❛   oh,  no.  that can’t be right.   ❜

❛   SO,  that’s your brief,  then.   ❜

Shooting people isn’t in her nature. She shoots stormtroopers without a second thought because they, like the monsters, are faceless and nameless. She cocks her blaster at potential aggressors who don’t know where to draw the line. But as hair-trigger as she feels, there is resistance in every iota of her body. Saw Gerrera did not raise a killer.