#i understand u have a jyn and it would of course make sense to have kaytoo interaction but

[timetoboldlygo]

i should keep your heart, it might be a good start

bodhicassian week day 4!!!!!!!!! this isn’t exactly in tune with the prompt, it’s more bodhi being nervous n cassian calming him down but whatever i didn’t want to write anything serious. u can also read on ao3 here

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, of course. This should have been a very happy occasion. But the closer the transport got to Coruscant, the more Bodhi panicked and the more helpless Cassian felt.

He’d been quiet for the first few hours, sitting still, but they only had an hour to go now. Cassian had jerked awake nearly ten minutes ago, and found that Bodhi was wringing both of his hands, a sure sign that he was anxious.

“What if I can’t speak Jedhan anymore?”

Cassian reached over and took one of Bodhi’s hands, just to stop them from wringing. Bodhi didn’t even know he was doing it. “I don’t speak Jedhan either, so it won’t matter so much.” It would have been useless to tell Bodhi that of course he could still speak Jedhan, that he spoke it with Chirrut and Baze all the time. That wouldn’t matter to Bodhi. Bodhi needed actions that he knew wouldn’t fail, not platitudes that he thought were empty.

Bodhi nodded, apparently satisfied with that answer. Then he continued, voicing all of the fears he had about going to visit his family for the first time since he’d joined the Imperial Academy eight years ago. He hadn’t seen his mother in eight years, only sent her sporadic holos when he could. He hadn’t been able to make it to the wedding that had taken his mother of Jedha.

Cassian settled back into his uncomfortable transport seat. Then, Bodhi said, “What if I don’t like my mother’s new husband?”

“I don’t think you can do anything about that,” Cassian said, a little amused.

Bodhi groaned. “I know,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face. His hair was sticking up a little bit and Cassian reached over with his free hand and smoothed it down as best he could. “What if they hate my scars?”

“Most of your scars don’t show unless your shirtless,” Cassian reminded Bodhi. “Is randomly taking your shirt off in front of your mother in your plans for this weekend?”

“I guess not,” Bodhi said, looking down at his hand, which had a large white scar from where debris had gone straight through it. “Rana probably doesn’t even remember me.”

Rana was Bodhi’s youngest sister, who had been only six when Bodhi had left. And who knew? Maybe she didn’t remember Bodhi, but Cassian had only been six when his father died, and he remembered him well enough. Not everything of course, but the hint of his smile, the way he would laugh. It wasn’t enough, but Cassian wouldn’t tell Bodhi that. “I still remember my father,” he said instead,

Bodhi turned to him, eyes serious. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I’m always okay,” Cassian said, but he should have known better than to think that would work on Bodhi, who only kept looking at him, like he could see right through him. “I want to meet your family, Bodhi.”

And he did. He wanted that more than anything. He remembered how distraught Bodhi had been, believing that his family had died, then as Bor Gullet slowly released its ghostly hold on his mind, remembering that they had left the planet.

“But are you going to be okay?”

“Yes,” Cassian said. Maybe it would sting a little, feeling out of place in Bodhi’s family, because he hadn’t had one in so long. Barely remembered what a parental touch felt like. Who knew? Maybe the first time Bodhi’s mother said something kind to him, he’d break down.

He just hasn’t had a family in a while. The past year had been unbelievably good to him in that it had given him one – Baze, Chirrut, Jyn. Bodhi, who knew the importance of family more than most because he had had to give his up, or they wouldn’t be able to eat.

“My mother is going to love you,” Bodhi told him. “I hope you’re ready to be adopted.”

Strangely, talking about his family always made Bodhi less anxious. Cassian couldn’t understand it, especially because at this moment it was the source of the anxiety. Maybe he was just relying on the simple familiar feeling of his childhood.

It would be nice to be around family again. He and Bodhi could be reintroduced together.

The transport was touching down on Coruscant – Bodhi’s mother had said she would be waiting for him, and Bodhi had already voiced the worry that he wouldn’t recognize her, because it had been so long and maybe Bor Gullet had removed her face from his memory.

Bodhi turned to Cassian. “What if they don’t love me anymore?”

And Cassian didn’t have an answer for that.

-

Cassian lost his family so long ago he couldn’t imagine what Bodhi was going through now. But he held Bodhi’s hand tight, scanning the crowd even though what he was looking for – enemies – was a lot different than what Bodhi was looking for – family.

“Oh my god, I hope I’m not about to be sick,” Bodhi said.

“You’re gonna be fine,” Cassian said, turning Bodhi around. He raised his hands and smoothed Bodhi’s hair back into a much neater ponytail. Bodhi carefully counted his breaths. “We’re going to be fine. Think of happy things, like your little sister giving me a shovel talk.”

From what he knew of Alya, she would. And the thought made Bodhi smile. “How do you know I’m not about to be sick?” Bodhi accused, but there was a little bit of humor in his voice now.

“Well, I’m about to kiss you, and I wouldn’t do that if I thought you were going to be sick,” Cassian said, as seriously as he could manage. Bodhi was grinning by the time he followed through on this threat, softly pressing his lips to Bodhi’s.

“Maybe you’ve just delayed my being ill.”

“No, I’m magic,” Cassian said, even more seriously. “Can’t throw up after you kiss me.”

Bodhi stared at him, delighted.. “I hope you know you have the weirdest sense of humor,” he said, smiling, and maybe Cassian did but Bodhi liked it. It made him laugh. It calmed him down, sometimes, because Cassian’s bad jokes would get him out of his head.

“You like it,” Cassian said. “Now. Your family?”

“Right,” Bodhi said. “Family.” The crowds had thinned out a little bit, but it took Bodhi several more minutes to find a group of four people, three with the same lovely brown skin he had, standing by the door. “I know you just kissed me but –”

“You aren’t about to be sick,” Cassian said with certainty. Mostly because Bodhi had an iron stomach, but because he knew Bodhi. So he took Bodhi’s hand again and carefully started maneuvering them through the crowds.

As they got closer, it was clear that his mother was crying. She dropped her husband’s hand and ran forward and threw her arms around Bodhi, who clearly hadn’t been expecting it.

Cassian almost looked away as Bodhi accepted her hug, closing his eyes. Bodhi deserved this. His mother was babbling in his ear, in Jedhan, and his little sister, Rana, was jumping up and down and demanding that she get to hug him too.

Eventually, his mother let him go and Rana and Alya swooped in, throwing their arms around him. And Bodhi’s mother turned to look at Cassian.

“You’re Cassian?” She said sternly, holding him at arm’s length. “The boy my son won’t shut up about?”

“Ma!” Bodhi said.

Cassian ignored him. “Yes ma’am,” he said. He didn’t know what she was doing, couldn’t get a read on her. He’d been so busy calming Bodhi down that he’d forgotten about how nervous he should be, meeting his boyfriend’s family.

She smiled at him, and pulled him close. She was warm. “Welcome home, son.”

#bodhicassinweek #bassianweek #bodhicassian #my fic

[unstable-reality]

The Space Between Echoes: Chapter One

On the eve of the Battle of Yavin, Jyn and Cassian are sent to scout out a new location for Alliance headquarters. They grow closer.

But as for the mission, well... It doesn't go quite as planned.

I’m playing fast and loose with Star Wars canon/lore with this; aiming more for the spirit rather than the word.

[AO3]

“It’s my right to be involved.”

She stood in the war room, leaning over the table, hands wrapped around its edge. The air buzzed with the sound of comlinks, of operators relaying instructions and confirming receipts. Half her face was bathed in the blue and green light of a nearby readout, and through its glow she perceived the rest of the space -- dark edges limned with emerald.

Across from her, General Draven draped his forearms over the back of a chair. Mon Mothma stood beside him, hands linked. It was surreal, to think that the last time Jyn had been party to such a scene, she’d been a prisoner, a bargaining chip. She was in a much better position, this time around.

Not that it was making a lick of difference.

“I’m sorry,” Mothma said. “I understand why you want to be a part of it, but that operation simply hasn’t a role for you.”

Draven straightened and took a step. “You aren’t a fighter pilot, Erso. You’re a thief.”

Her body grew stiff. “Oh, is that all I am? Still?” She lifted her chin.

“Not all, no; but still? Yes,” he responded. “It’s what you’re best at, isn’t it? It’s why you were able to accomplish what you did on Scarif. You scout. You case. You infiltrate.”

She narrowed her eyes. Only a few days had passed. Her injuries had not required full or even partial submersion; topical care had sufficed, and since being cleared, she’d wandered about in something of a daze. The initial rush of victory had given way to listlessness. She knew exactly where it came from, but she’d never been good at facing that sort of thing. She yearned for a distraction. She yearned to get back into the fight, to get out there and finish the task that had been given to her, that was made for her, that represented everything that moral duty alone could never get her to acknowledge.

The men and women around her, the strangers who now all seemed to know her intimately, could be a bit much. She’d been alone and drifting for so many years. But they were eager, as eager as she was, and she found herself feeding off their energy. The news about Alderaan only made them more impatient. And it made her burn, with fervor, to take her father’s sacrifice and transform it into something worthwhile.

When Mothma had summoned her, she’d hoped it meant the time had come. Now, it looked as if that might not be the case. It looked an awful lot like they might just sideline her, despite her history, despite what she’d done.

What would that mean for her? Would there be any reasons left for her to stay? Most of them were gone.

Most.

Mothma glanced at Draven and took a breath. “In light of recent events, we believe that the Empire will soon know the location of this base. We need to begin planning an evacuation. That requires the identification of a fallback position.”

Jyn frowned. “You don’t already have one?”

“There are several possibilities, but we need to make certain they’re still beneath the Empire’s attention before making a selection.”

She breathed, slow. Her gaze moved to the table. In its inert state, it was a simple star map, with the dark expanse of space carved into concentric circles. She had an inkling of where they were headed with this, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about it.

“What’s that got to do with me?”

There was a pause long enough to make it obvious that the general wasn’t completely on board with his own proposal. “We would like you to formally join Alliance Intelligence.” His jaw tightened as he said it. “For your first assignment, you’d be deployed as a long-range scout, traveling to potential base locations and reporting back to us on their viability.”

The colors on the readout changed, becoming orange, red. Draven’s features shifted; in this light, he looked more gaunt. More tired. She didn’t want to do it. It made sense, if she thought about it. She was more suited to that sort of work and, well, she wasn’t a fighter pilot, and all of her training and soldiering had fallen into the “guerilla” category.

But it was her right.

“There must be something else,” she said. “I stayed with you to stop the planet killer, to convince you to stop it. I want to be here when it burns.” She rocked on the balls of her feet. “Set me up as an operator if you have to, but don’t send me away.”

“It’s not sending you away; it’s sending you where you’ll be the most useful.”

“I can be useful against the Death Star.” Only a fraction of her believed it.

“No. You can’t.” Draven sighed and shook his head. “Feel free to take it up with General Dodonna if you’d like; he’ll tell you the same thing. If you want to be a part of this fight, then this is what’s on the table, take it or leave it.”

She closed her eyes. Thought of her father. Thought of Saw. Causes were slippery things; she’d learned that from the latter.

Mothma cleared her throat. “It’s worth mentioning that you’d be Captain Andor’s partner on this mission.” The corner of her lips quirked upwards, and she shifted her weight. “He specifically requested you.”

Jyn blinked. She felt a tightening in her core, a tugging that was at once gentle and fierce.

Well. Her father had believed in the Rebellion, right? She could honor him, still, by working to keep it afloat.

She could honor other things, as well.

She closed a fist around her kyber crystal.

“Fine. When do we start?”

Cassian looked exhausted.

It took a fair bit out of a person, convalescing in a bacta tank, and he’d spent 16 hours floating in the one on base. He’d slept for a full solar day afterwards. She knew, because she’d asked after him, often enough that the medical droids had started being curt with her.

Their irritation had reminded her of K-2.

They moved through the interior of the temple, packs slung over their shoulders. It was always busy, always bustling, but at this moment, at this hour, activity had died down just enough for them to be able to comfortably walk abreast. She felt an urge to reach for his hand. She ignored it.

“No matter what they’ve told us, this is partly about loyalty,” he said. His gait had a hitch to it. Bacta couldn’t fix everything. “I disobeyed, and so did you; there can’t not be consequences for that. But they also can’t deny what we’ve done for them.” He shrugged. “So, this is what we get.”

“I take it you’re not thrilled with this, either.”

“No. I’d rather be here. Like you.” He shot her a glance. “But I also know that this is needed. And it’s better than nothing.”

They’d been briefed a few hours before, not long after she’d accepted the assignment. The sight of him, the first proper one she’d had since he’d been taken away from her after Scarif, had warmed her, had secured her in her decision. There were a handful of worlds, selected over months and years by various operatives. Cassian had been among those who’d cultivated contacts in the systems around them. His rank, combined with the breadth of his network, made him an obvious choice for the mission. But there were others who could have done it, and it wouldn’t have been remiss for the Alliance to have chosen them, particularly under the current circumstances.

They’d hadn’t, however. They’d decided that he was their man, and she wasn’t about to leave him when he wanted her. Not after he’d refused to leave her.

The corridor they travelled turned sharply right, and then opened onto the hangar bay. Several hundred feet of clay-colored cement lay before them, terminating in a darkness that clawed its way upward, to the tops of trees, to a jagged skyline that framed the purple-black of night sky, the pinprick glow of stars. Rebels hurried between ships, hopping over and around cables, shouting to one another, waving in sign. Some sat, or stood in circles. The air was filled with chatter.

Cassian dipped his head toward hers. “We could get lucky, of course. I’ve highlighted our best bets. If one of them pans out, we may be able to get back here in time for the show.” A cluster of laughter erupted to their right. “But I don’t have too much hope for that.” He leaned close. “Is that going to be a problem for you?” His breath tickled her ear.

“A little.” More than a little, really. “I wanna see that kriffing thing go down.”

“I know.” His fingers wrapped, briefly, around her upper arm. “Believe me, I know.”

He led her across the hangar, toward a wedge-shaped ship that was a handful of meters smaller than a U-wing. Ground personnel hovered about it. The hatch lay forward of its exhaust and just to the right of an upward slope, which evened out at the cockpit. She’d seen only a few such ships in her day. It had always been under illicit circumstances.

“Are we going to be smuggling on the side?”

He smiled at her. He hadn’t smiled much, if at all, when she’d first met him. “Some people transport goods legitimately, Jyn.”

She strongly doubted that “some people” would include him, if he’d ever had to bring in a haul. “If you say so.”

They boarded and made their way to the cabin; it had been divided into separate sections by thin, after-market plasteel walls -- a cheap, ad-hoc modification. Jyn chose a bunk, dropped her pack, shoved it underneath. Retrieved her blaster (if they were boarded...). Paused to think. She could hear Cassian moving about in the compartment to her right. Her stomach flipped; she took a deep breath, pursed her lips, let it out, slowly. Smiled, just a bit.

She thought of the moment they’d shared on Scarif, in the turbolift, and wondered.

The cockpit was a squat trapezoid; the seats were tucked close together, and lay barely half a meter from the door. When she entered, Cassian was already there, settled into the pilot’s seat, head tilted back, running through calculations. The engine hummed, and the comlink was a well of noise, singing with lilting tones, static, half-formed instructions. The channel was open. He lifted the headphones and settled them over his ears, didn’t bother to pull down the mic.

“Anyone who should know already does.”

She sat beside him. A half-realized notion, a sense that something was not quite right, teetered on the edge of her thoughts.

“We’re heading to Derso first,” he said. “It’s the most hospitable of our options.”

The engine’s hum galloped up a steep crescendo, became a roar. She gripped the arms of her seat.

It was always grueling to leave a world’s atmosphere. The thrust, the force of it, pushed one back, back, tried to bury. And the initial transition to light-speed improved upon that sensation. It felt, to her, as if her flesh was aiming to break free of her bones, as if her body desired nothing more than to stay in the space that it was leaving behind, while her spirit longed to sunder itself from it. There were equations, drawn up by people far smarter than she, that explained exactly what it was she was experiencing. But she didn’t see the point in knowing something if the knowing didn’t impact the doing.

“You all right?”

“Fine.” It had ended, in any case.

“Good.”

The stars had become a cascade of light, a stream of vibrant blue-white. The ship had become a gentle lullaby, consistent, true, lulling. Her body had caught up with her soul, but her stomach clenched with an unnameable anxiety.

“They’re naming a squadron after him.”

Jyn furrowed her brow. Cassian hadn’t spoken since they’d pulled away. “What’s that?”

“Bodhi.” His eyes met hers. “Rogue Squadron. It’s his.”

“Oh. Right.” Listlessness. “I’d heard about that.” She looked down. He’d known her father. He’d brought the task to her. He’d been very brave, braver than she had been or could ever be, surely. “I’m glad. He deserves it.” Deserved a hell of a lot more, if she had any say.

“Yes. He does.”

His hand brushed hers. Her fingers curled upwards and, for a moment, became linked with his.

That’s when she realized what was wrong: there was no droid with them.

“So,” she said. She was fidgety. “Where are we going if this place doesn’t work out?”

Their hands separated. He looked at her for a moment, considering, then pushed himself forwards and up, retrieved a sheet of flimsiplast from the inner pocket of his jacket. Handed it to her. On it was a list of systems, each bearing a mark to its left. “If it turns out we can’t use Derso, we have a few decent alternatives.” He leaned over her, and his scent and the heat of his body invaded her space. She breathed in. Her back arched. “But these I’d like to avoid, if we can help it.” His finger slid, paused, three times.

“I’ve heard of Borga.” Swamp planet. “Can’t blame you for not wanting to go there.” Wet and stinking and nigh impossible to properly land on and suitable only as, from what she’d been told, a last resort for the desperate. “What’s wrong with the other two?”

“Edelis is in a heavy volcanic period,” he replied. “And Hoth...” He paused. “Hoth is a frozen wasteland.”

She eyed him. The obvious question hung on her lips: you’re from Fest, aren’t you? But, of course, she wasn’t supposed to know that, and although he likely wouldn’t be surprised that she’d found it out, it was doubtful he’d appreciate the admission. Their brand of trust relied, at least in part, on them maintaining the polite fiction that they weren’t actually the people they were.

She dropped the flimsi onto the console, drew up her leg, settled her heel onto the edge of her seat. In the first year after Saw had left her, she’d picked up work as a farmhand. She’d needed credits, and lodging, and food, all of it badly enough to answer the first posting she’d come across. Her employers’ dwelling had sat at the crest of a gentle slope, half-submerged in the earth, surrounded by yellowing condensers. On an overcast day, when the air had been thick with moisture, and a near-constant breeze had sliced through her tunic, she’d looked over the space and felt her stomach lurch and her throat close. She hadn’t taken a farm job since.

“You like Yavin 4, don’t you.”

Silence, for a moment.

“Sure, I like it well enough,” he said. “It’s certainly not the worst place I’ve lived.” His forehead creased, and his eyes danced over her face. “Why?”

Because it’s nearly the opposite of what you want to avoid. “It suits you.”

He snorted. “It suits me? And what is that supposed to mean?”

Instead of replying, she rejoined their hands.

#rogue one #rebelcaptain #jyssian #jyn x andor #cassian x jyn #au #;fics and drabbles #;space between echoes

[azems-familiar]

of all the truths i could not tell masterpost of recent chapters

wow okay so apparently i haven’t actually put anything on here past chapter 4, soo... below the read-more will be the ao3 link and a short excerpt from the beginning of each chapter

Chapter 5:

Cassian sighs and paces around the perimeter of the hotel room, thinking.

Liana is in the ‘fresher, taking a shower, and K-2 is back with the u-wing, meaning the suite is blessedly silent. It’s a relief.

He should be thinking about the mission; should be working out how to get Liana to slice her way into the ‘net for him without her getting suspicious; should definitely be figuring out how the kriffing hell he’s supposed to go about the second part of his mission. Instead, he’s wearing a path into the cream-colored shag carpet and thinking about Liana.

More specifically, about the fact that he very obviously witnessed her waking up from a nightmare when he went to wake her up for the transition to realspace on board the ship.

What could a girl like Liana have nightmares about? Fifteen years old, born on Alderaan, quietly fighting the Empire her whole life but only just now getting into the real fight--what could she possibly have experienced that would still be haunting her? He has the feeling trying to talk to her about it will be unsuccessful--Liana doesn’t appear to trust easily (another fact he finds interesting.).

It appears he’s been rather mistaken about her.

Chapter 6:

The sun is just beginning to rise when Jyn drags herself out of her room and into the ‘fresher. A splash of cold water on her face helps to wake her up, and she wanders into the kitchen area of the suite--straight to the caf machine. The hotel provides a complimentary bag of grounds, enough for one pot if you make it strong; she starts it brewing and gets out a mug while she waits.

The machine is quick, and within a few minutes the caf is done brewing. She pours herself a full mug and clutches it in both hands as she makes her way over to the window. The sky outside is a deep, dusky lilac; the color reminds her of one of the flowering trees on Yavin 4, not so common as to be anything less than a pleasant surprise when one comes across the fragrant blooms. The beautiful flowers never fail to remind her of the gardens back on Lah’mu; and while it’s a memory that carries a measure of pain with it, it’s also accompanied by a bittersweet smile at the beauty and innocence and simple joy of childhood.

Streaks of deep crimson, vibrant coral, and pastel-pale pink creep over the horizon, like the sun’s reaching out with long fingers, tangling them in night’s coat to pull itself above the lip of the world. Jyn watches in silence, sipping on the hot caf, and sighs.

Time passes, the seconds slipping away uncounted; the first golden-bright rays stretch across the sky, driving away the shadows of night, and behind her she hears footsteps.

“There’s caf brewed if you want some,” she says without looking away from the window. “I made it strong.”

Chapter 7:

Jyn doesn’t even know Cassian’s leaving until he’s already gone.

In hindsight, it makes sense. He’s heading out on a mission of high importance, deep undercover in the heart of the Empire, and he has to leave as soon as he can. He hardly even knows her. He has no reason to waste time telling her goodbye.

(he might not come back)

She can’t quite understand why it hurts so much to discover that he left.

He was always going to, anyway.

Chapter 8:

“Hello, Jyn.”

Ice wraps around her, settles heavy and sharp on her shoulders, locking her lungs in place and stopping her heart; she cannot move, cannot breathe, the world warping and twisting around her as though her name was the catalyst for some massive chemical reaction.

(he knows, how does he know, how could he possibly have learned--)

“I’ve been in very deep cover recently, on a mission,” Cassian continues, and his tone is nonchalant--as though he has no idea what he’s just done to her--but beneath his words is steel and his eyes are flinty, watching her oh-so-carefully. “Didn’t learn as much as I’d hoped--at least, not about the most important thing--but I did become acquainted with a very interesting man. He told me some… intriguing information. I must say, considering that he’s the creator of what seems to be the biggest weapon in the galaxy’s history, Galen Erso really is a surprisingly nice guy.”

(galen--no, that’s not possible, how--)

“Papa? You--you saw Papa?”

Chapter 9:

Jyn sits in the prisoner transport, folds her arms, and glares at the door.

Wobani certainly isn’t the most miserable place she’s ever been, especially in the last two years, but it comes very close to taking that top spot. Honestly, though, why did the imps feel the need to put her on a prison planet as bad as this one? All she did was blow up an imperial facility. It’s hardly her fault that the imps just left all the materials she needed to build bombs lying around where she could… acquire them.

She snorts and shakes her head, wondering idly what her mother would say if she could see Jyn now.

(it’s not a very pleasant train of thought, and she abandons it quickly)

(then her mind wonders about cassian)

(and somehow that’s worse than lyra)

The transport’s stopped moving while she was immersed in her thoughts, and Jyn blinks, hearing the stormtroopers make sounds of confusion.

Chapter 10:

Chirrut sits on an abandoned crate, staff between his fingers, and watches.

The fact that he is completely blind and therefore cannot truly ‘watch’ anything has occurred to him; like all untruths, however, he dismisses it. He does not have sight, but he has the Force, and thus he watches every swirl and eddy in its neverending current.

Once, he could have touched that current, molded it to his satisfaction--although he was not strong enough for the Jedi Order, he was attuned to the Force in all the ways that mattered, and his connection only grew when he lost his sight. The Guardians of the Whills gave him a home when the Order would not take in a sickly, pale, blind boy.

And then Order 66 came, and one by one the brightly burning minds sustaining the flow of the Force dimmed and went out, and the shining light of the Force faded and darkened into shadowed twilight, and suddenly Chirrut was alone, and he could do little more than compensate for the sense he had lost with the barest traces of fire that remained. He was--still is--alone in an unlit river that once gleamed with pure light, and every ripple and eddy echoes with loss.

Chapter 11:

He drifts through blackness, soft and empty.

Time passes, he’s sure, although why time should pass he doesn’t know--

He doesn’t know .

(what?)

(doesn’t know, doesn’t know , a child’s voice singsongs, high and bright and mocking. doesn’t know, doesn’t kn o w, do e sn`t k n 0 w, d 0 e s n o t o d k e n w t o s,  on and on and on and on and on and he screams and twists and still the voice chants, warping and twisting and deep and--)

(and there are sun-bright fragments of shattered crystals, kyber crystals, humming and burning, and one of them floats past him and he reaches , ignores the way the sharp edges cut deep into him, and blood runs hot down his hands--but he does not have hands right now, why is that?--but he clutches it close anyway)

(the crystal sings to him, and the child hesitates )

(he’ll do anything to make the child stop )

He struggles and struggles and shakes, and forces the crystal-piece inside him, and it hurts, but the child is panicking now, and so the crystal must be something important--

I’m the pilot , it whispers.

Chapter 12:

Cassian’s hands don’t shake on the ship’s controls. He flies straight and true, sneaking out from underneath the crest of the Jedha-dust wave, punching it into hyperspace before he really should , just to keep them alive, and then he sets the coordinates for Eadu and deliberately does not think of Jyn screaming in his arms.

Instead, he drowns his emotions, the way he always does, especially when it comes to Jyn, and leaves the cockpit, trusting K to keep the ship on the right course. The view he’s presented with is almost as bad as Jedha, in a way, the air thick with grief and futility and quiet resignation.

Jyn lays sprawled on the floor, pressed against the wall, where she must’ve been thrown in their wild escape; she’s awake, her eyes trained on him, but she makes no effort to move. There are ashes in her eyes, her brilliant fire gone cold and dead. It hits him harder than he’d expected, especially when he sees Lyra sitting on a bench, nervous gaze alternating between him and her daughter, and the concern and sheer fear in her eyes is paralyzing.

Chapter 13:

“I take it we’ve arrived?” Chirrut says, and his voice is so light and easy--as though this is nothing more than a vacation, instead of a desperate and dangerous mission for the sake of the galaxy--that Jyn wants to scream. Or laugh. Or both.

“Obviously the ship just wrecked itself,” she chokes out, slightly hysterical--and that just won’t do, she’s a trained spy after all. So she breathes, deeply, concentrating on the pattern Saw taught her, (in-two-three-four, hold-two-three-four, out-two-three-four, hold-two-three-four, repeat), and imagines her emotions as water, rolling off her face, and when she speaks again she’s calm. “Yes, we’ve arrived.”

Chirrut stares at her, only she knows he can’t be staring, because he’s blind, but she can’t shake the feeling that he’s seeing her anyway--seeing her deeper and more clearly than anyone ever has before.

Then Cassian leaves the cockpit, Bodhi right behind him, and the moment shatters. “K,” the Captain says, “I need you to get the comms back up. Bodhi, I’ll need you to get a shuttle near the platform, down at the base if you can, where the turbolift is. Jyn, Lyra, you’re with me.”

“May the Force be with you,” Chirrut calls as Jyn turns to leave, and she glances at him over her shoulder and offers a faint smile.

#masterpost #rogue one #fanfic #of all the truths i could not tell