#wiseinlove

No.

He was not a soldier, not really. For all that he had learned to swing a lightsaber, for all that he was beginning to learn how to use the Force, he would never be a soldier –––– not like the other Rebel soldiers, who were fighters by birth and by training both. He, born of a desert, raised simply on a farm, would never be a soldier like them. Violence did not come easy to him ; to fight frightened him, much less to kill. ( That some ugly thing within him seemed to wake and rear its gleeful head with every swing of the lightsaber only frightened him further. )

But what choice did he have ? The Death Star had already proven itself more than able to destroy planets. So long as it remained intact, there was no real chance for the Alliance to survive. In face of the survival of the entire Galaxy, what did it matter that he did not want to fight, to kill, to wage war ?

He shouldn’t be doing this. Every demonic and logical part of him screamed that he shouldn’t have done any of this. Crowley should have just left the poor girl, (Could he call her that? Was late twenties considered young by human standards? It certainly felt young,) at the docks where he found her. But she just felt so out of place there. Everyone else had already given up, there was no hope to keep them going, no love in their hearts, just greed or lust or nothing at all. She was beacon of love and hope, and something in Crowley wanted to get her out of there.

‘Is it actually possible for a demon to do good?’

He could hear it clear as day, like it happened five minutes ago instead of five  millennia ago. Maybe he could just blame this on the Arrangement, that there was enough damnation around here without Crowley’s help and that he should try to help this one girl since Aziraphale wasn’t here. The only problem is that he had no idea how. He bought dinner, because the poor girl looked like she hadn’t had a proper meal in weeks, had an honest and kind conversation with her because no one else seemed to, and went to bed to encourage the girl, Fantine she had said, to do the same and get some much needed rest. 

He had intended to give her some money (maybe too much) and let her go to find her daughter, but now they were both stuck inside due to the cold. Crowley had no idea how to pass the time until the ice melted, and Fantine offering up a card game gave him more relief than a demon should have. 

2. Are aesthetics important to you? If they are, why?

not really! accessibility comes first - i have to be able to read and navigate your blog. beyond that, i like aesthetics because i find themes and shit fulfilling to make, but not everyone has access to photoshop or other editing software, or has the time to make a really complex theme + pages, and that shouldn’t exclude anyone from rping!

34. Have you ever cried while writing a reply?

            Beatrice herself was nearly at boiling point, but the presence of her better half cooled her just enough to keep the constable at bay. However, the darkness in Pierre’s eyes as he looked between the two was enough to demonstrate that his control over his wife’s temper was less to do with morality and more to do with tact.

                        “We’ve never ‘ad reason to be, mam’zelle.”

            The term of address was formal, but while the pair still held the bastard child in their clutches, it was all but an outright insult. His smile was smug, like rancid fat in snow.