Jihyo: [at Target] Tzuyu doesn’t need a lightsaber Tzuyu doesn’t need a lightsaber Tzuyu doesn’t need a lightsaber Tzuyu doesn’t need a lightsaber Tzuyu doesn’t need a lightsaber Tzuyu doesn’t need a lightsaber Tzuyu doesn’t need a lightsaber Tzuyu doesn’t need a lightsaber
“I think music can mean different things to different people; for some, it’s almost like a religion. I think regardless of how it goes out, if at the end of the day it has some kind of positive effect on people then that’s great. For us, the amazing thing is being able to communicate and share our feelings through the medium and this is especially fulfilling when we’re onstage. When we started out, music was our escape. I think a lot of people share this sentiment, regardless of whether you’re creating music or listening to music. So when people come to our shows and just let themselves go, forget their troubles for a moment, that’s good enough for us.” — Chris Wolstenholme.
That night I wrote in my journal: “Trees are schizophrenic now and beginning to lose control, enraged with the shock of their fiery new colors. Someone — was it van Gogh? — said that orange is the color of insanity. Beauty is terror. We want to be devoured by it, to hide ourselves in that fire which refines us.”
“It is not so that the good detective should act, eh? I perceive your thought. He must be full of energy. He must rush to and fro. He should prostrate himself on the dusty road and seek the marks of tyres through a little glass. He must gather up the cigarette-end, the fallen match? That is your idea, is it not?”
His eyes challenged us. “But I - Hercule Poirot - tell you that it is not so! The true clues are within - here!” He tapped his forehead. “See you, I need not have left London. It would have been sufficient for me to sit quietly in my rooms there. All that matters is the little grey cells within. Secretly and silently they do their part, until suddenly I call for a map, and I lay my finger on a spot - so - and I say: the Prime Minister is there! And it is so! With method and logic one can accomplish anything!”
- Agatha Christie, Poirot Investigates: The Kidnapped Prime Minister
Summary: With the planet Scarif coming apart beneath his feet, Cassian reflects on the few moments he has left, and on the woman who has stayed by his side to the end.
A/N: (I didn’t read the novelization, so I don’t know if this is redundant, but I still had to write it. For my emotional health).
Given the choice, it’s not exactly how he would have wanted to go. When pressed in the past, he had always hoped that his end would come quietly. He dreamed of slipping away quietly in some place that was beautiful and peaceful, his family at his side, where he would be able to look into the light that came for him, knowing that he had lived a full life, having done all he could.