#forceofncture

they  stare  with  such  a  ferocity  ;  awe  and  frustration  in  tandem  ,  working  toward  the  severity  that  only  a  scorned  medic  can  contain  .  a  beat  passes  --  arms  drawn  tightly  over  their  torso  ,  before  their  question  is  crudely  quipped  without  so  much  as  a  warning  .  ‘  are  you  aware  of  how  many  men  you’ve  sent  to  my  clinic  ?  ’  silence  .    and  then  ,  hesitantly  ,  ‘  ---sir  .  ’  that  may  lessen  the  blow  .

that’s a quick way to turn his anger into something constructive; first order officers running through the halls grabbing each other like ‘LORD REN’S ANGRY AGAIN, THE GENERAL’S BREAKING OUT THE PINATA, COME ON UR GONNA MISS THE CANDY’

❂ >>> GREEN HUES ARE locked on the bright blue screen of his datapad as he paces along the bridge. He’s reading reports as he addresses his subordinates. Hux has always been good at multitasking.

❝ If the droid cannot be retrieved, then we have to begin thinking about DESTROYING it. I refuse to allow the Resistance to get their hands on it. ❞

He’s talking to his officers, but he may raise his head up to glance over at the dark Knight who stands a little ways away from him. Perhaps daring him to say anything about it. 

( It would be beneficial to capture that droid--he has no disagreement with that. But he would rather all traces of Skywalker be destroyed than the Resistance having anyway to find him. )

The rebel’s clothes they have given him are a poor fit compared to his uniform. It’s strange how the jodhpurs and greatcoat had become a second skin --- but then, he had worn them for nearly twenty years. After all that time, he had thought a homecoming would taste sweeter than this; instead, he just feels naked.

Ren is not helping. They’ve been left alone, the two of them, for the first time in decades. Brendol Hux II and Kylo Ren had shared rooms for nearly five years, of course, but this moment, here and now, is the first time Ren has looked across the room and seen Arum without the alias, without the lies. 

He has to wonder what he sees. After twenty years of being another man, Arum hardly even knows himself, anymore. 

The silence between them is painful, aching, so he breaks it. “You have questions.” It’s quick, curt: a snap of the neck. No use in letting either of them suffer in silence. Ren has every right to hate him, to rage, to shout, and Arum wants it done. He wants it over with. He’s been dreading this for years. “So ask.”

casually sets kylo down here. just. just take him. take him and smooch him.

there’s kat over at @arepure​, but I’m pretty sure she’s stuck in beauty and the beast hell right now; she’s the only one i’ve seen around even semi-consistently.

02. RICHARD SILKEN [always accepting]

                    there’s a terrible misconception that to be a strong woman means you don’t feel. that you never express the emotions that run through your body. it’s a very proto-masculine approach, that the societal norms that tell them not to feel must be inflicted on everyone. padmé amidala is a strong woman, like the sun is hot and the ground is solid. she deals with the tempest too, the torrent in a different way than anakin ever had. where he was the nova, an explosion that engulfed all around him, and she’s the vacuum that comes after, a black hole that turns inwards until it collapses on so fine a space that it’s seen only by the pull it has on others.

                    her armour’s been stripped away. the person she is now is not a diplomat, has no great war, no burgeoning family. where had her purpose gone? the steel that had made her spine was malleable now, some days at least.

                    so she cries, her fists balled against her eyes and her shoulders shuddering as a silken voice, deeper than she’d have expected even without the voice modulator, offers her her worst fears. what is it? what is in her toxic blood, why does she blemish what she means to hold? how does she condemn what she means to save? there was no apology to be given for the love she’d had for anakin. nothing she’d could say that would save the galaxy that pain.

                     “no,”            she still says, solid, firm, her brows pressing down as she opens blood shot eyes and forces her fists, balled, into her lap.          “you don’t… it’s different     ——      there was no war until it was made,”          padmé reminds him. there had been signs. signs she’d ignored and fought, pretended didn’t matter in the interim. she’d had dreams that danced in vivid technicolor across her mind. she should’ve died. should’ve seen her life end and her presence in the force scattered to the wind.  if she had died, perhaps things would’ve gone better.

                    “darth vader was a HUSK of the man i loved. the man who thought he’d DIE for me. and this is never going to give you contentment. all the dark side does is TAKE.”

                    “i will not trade the cup of sorrow for some sentimental grief.”