#background rebelcaptain

[sagemcmae]

Sight Unseen Masterpost

To find out if love is truly blind, Rey Niima gives up her job, her phone, and her fears. She enters an experiment in hopes of finding her soulmate and meets Ben. As the week goes by, Rey knows she's found her other half. There's only one problem. She's never seen his face.

All that changes when Ben proposes and Rey says yes. Now, it's time to meet her fiancee.

Chpt 1 | Chpt 2 | Chpt 3 | Chpt 4 | Chpt 5 | Chpt 6 | Chpt 7 (coming soon)

[melyzard]

More pilot adventures, let's say focused on that news story and the quote: "They just repainted it."

I loved this one.

Thanks!

“Because of the unpredictable variable thing,” Bodhi added quickly, raising his palms to her peacefully. “You know, that thing he calls the Jyn Factor?”

"He changes that variable a lot,” Cassian commented mildly, rubbing his thumb over Jyn’s knuckles.

[rebsrising]

“They weren’t his friends. They hadn’t gone drinking with Bodhi after his crush on Bamayar had rejected him, or helped him reassemble his astromech after he’d stupidly taken the droid apart on a dare.” - Rogue One novelization, Alexander Freed

Summary: After they all survive Scarif, Bodhi has the time to find friends in the people who believed in him.

Words: 1397

Read it on ao3. 

Clarifying note: Bodhi’s crush goes by them/their pronouns.

-----

He stutters his way through the words he’s been planning for weeks now, unable to get them out just right. It wouldn’t have mattered either way. They’re just not interested. They’re nice about it, when they tell him, and Bodhi understands. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt.

He nods once before they walk away, and then takes a deep breath as he turns back to his friends, who are pointedly not watching what just happened.

When he sits back down at their table in the mess hall, Cassian immediately throws an arm around his shoulder.

“You know what we need, pilot?” he tells him, a reassuring grin on his face. “A drink! Let’s go!”

Bodhi starts to protest, but the others join in and he figures a drink can’t hurt. As they all stand to make their way to the cantina, Jyn squeezes his arm and gives him a small smile. 

“I’ll catch up with you guys in a bit. There’s just something I have to take care of first.” And she disappears down the hallway.

Within a half hour, Bodhi’s set up at the bar with Chirrut, Baze and Cassian around him. Chirrut’s words string together in his mind as the guardian gives him advice on love and heartbreak.

“All is as the Force will its, Bodhi,” Chirrut muses. “Take solace in the knowledge that often our greatest happiness can be found from moments of unhappiness. ” 

“Oh ok thanks,” Bodhi nods, then sighs and shakes his head. “I don’t know what that means.”

“Nobody does,” Baze huffs as he drops himself onto the stool beside him, tapping his glass. “Just drink.”

So he does. He’s about three drinks in when Jyn shows up. He shouts, too loud he realizes, at the bartender for a drink for his friend. She squeezes between Bodhi and Cassian to reach the bar, laying a hand on Bodhi’s shoulder as Cassian’s finds its place on her back.

As she grabs her drink, Bodhi sees fresh cuts on her knuckles and the slight pink of a bruise just beginning to form. It’s not exactly a strange occurrence for Jyn, but it is strange that Cassian takes no notice of them. Bodhi can remember clearly all the different ways Cassian’s reacted to the signs of Jyn’s fights, from stern lectures about camaraderie and “we’re all on the same side,” to a concerned look on his face as he brought the scarred knuckles up to his lips, the moment so soft and intimate Bodhi felt he had to look away.

But Cassian purposefully does not mention the injuries, and Bodhi immediately knows something is up.

“Oh Jyn, please tell me you did not beat them up,” he moans.

She turns to him then, not an ounce of guilt on her face.

“I did not beat them up, Bodhi,” she says, tone even, repeating his words as she’s been told.

“Jyn!”

“I didn’t!” she laughs, hands up in mock surrender. “I just suggested that they could use some more hand-to-hand combat training. It’s not my fault if they’re really awful at fighting.”

“Jyn…”

She throws back her own drink, and pushes his back into his hands.

“Don’t worry, Bodhi, they’ll be alright,” she says, and then her expression takes on the softness she reserves for the four of them. She waits until his eyes meet hers. “And so will you.”

The promise in her voice makes him smile, filling him with more comfort than the drink in his hand could.

“Of course he will be,” Cassian adds, leaning behind Jyn to wrap a hand around Bodhi’s shoulders and pull him closer to two of them. “He’s got us.”

------

A clank echoes amid the wide space of the hangar, snapping Jyn’s head up from the data pad she was reading. In front of her stands Rogue One, or what she thinks was once Rogue One. The Imperial cargo ship is now nothing but bones, with its parts strewn all about.

Sitting in the middle of them looking smaller amid the clutter is a pale-faced Bodhi. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, hands running through his hair repeatedly.

“Uh Bodhi… what... what happened?”

He startles and turns to her, eyes bulging.

“I made a mistake,” the words tumble out of his mouth.

“You took apart the ship?”

“I took apart the ship,” the pilot nods once quickly, then over and over again.

She doesn’t ask why, and he’s grateful for it.

“Do you know how to put it back together,” she asks, trying to sound casual.

“Ah yes, yes, theoretically I do. I know this ship better than anyone, I know every part, pulled out the pieces myself, so in theory yes I should be able to put it back together, not a problem...” he trails off, still mumbling.

“Ok, and I have faith in that,” Jyn tries to keep any sense of doubt from her voice. She tries even harder to hold back her smile. “How about in actuality?”

“Well yeah that’s where it gets a little complicated. Because this, what’s happening right now, is in actuality, and while it’s not a complete disaster I would say it’s not exactly going well,” his eyes meet hers, concern on his face.

She can’t help but laugh then. It’s not teasing, but it bursts out light and warm, comforting even. Bodhi enjoys the sound as much for its levity as he does for its rarity.

“I’ll get Cassian… and I guess probably Kay, too.”

“Don’t tell anyone else! They might court martial me for this,” he calls after her.

“I’d like to see them try,” she mutters under her breath, but he hears it. He smiles at Jyn’s fierce protectiveness until he turns back to the mess around him and groans.

 When Cassian makes it to the hangar, Bodhi turns in time to see his eyes widen just slightly. His mouth opens to ask a question, but a sharp look from Jyn shuts it.

He nods once, tight and fast, as his normal neutral expression returns.

“It’s alright. We can handle this.”

Bodhi sighs, feeling more relieved than he expected. If Cassian thinks they can do it, then maybe they can. The captain’s already knee-deep in parts, splitting up the pieces he knows from the ones he doesn’t.

“On the contrary Cassian, the chances of us adequately repairing this ship back to it’s original form are —”

“Kay!” Three voices call out together, in varying levels of frustration.

“I knew I shouldn’t have brought him,” Jyn mumbles as she examines a part that Bodhi can’t be sure is actually from Rogue One.

“I have access to the original Imperial blueprints of this ship, Jyn Erso, which likely makes me far more helpful then you could be,” Kay retorts.

“Then why don’t you access those for us Kay,” Cassian is calm, all too used to mediating between Kay and Jyn.

Kay does as he’s told, and they’re able to be relatively productive for about five minutes before the silence is broken by a sigh from Cassian.

“Alright, just...why?”

“Cassian!” Jyn calls out, and the sharp look is back. Bodhi can only imagine the warning she must have given him before dragging him to the hangar. But Bodhi can’t lie, especially not to Cassian.

“I, uh, well I kind of took a dare,” Bodhi mumbles, hands fumbling with his goggles.

“A dare?” Cassian’s voice loses its usual even tone.

“Yeah, Skywalker said I couldn’t get the ship to fly past lightspeed, but I knew if I made the right modifications I could do it. I just didn’t know what the right modifications would be so I figured the easiest way to figure that out would be to just open the whole thing up and take a look.”

“Bodhi,” Cassian mutters, his fingers gripping the bridge of his nose, but there’s a ghost of a laugh in his voice.

“I know, I know, but we can fix it right?” Bodhi asks, glancing back and forth from Jyn to Cassian.

“Yes of course,” Jyn nods. “Right Cassian?”

“Right, we can fix this.”

It takes them all night, but they do. And Bodhi wins the dare. 

[melyzard]

Made-Up Fic Title (but not really): Bases Loaded

[HAH! I bet you thought I would write something baseball related! No thanks, I would rather watch paint dry]

Bases Loaded:

“Delta Base,” Bodhi guessed, tossing his squishy blue therapy ball up into the air and catching it again with a triumphant smile. Nineteen catches in a row! His hand-eye coordination was really coming along these days. “Cassian prefers Delta Base. It’s not as,” he shivered, “you know.”

He threw the ball up and caught it again. Twenty!

“I assume you are referring to the non-survivable low temperatures of Echo Base,” K2SO said, his metal hands poking almost gingerly at the metal cutout shapes that Cassian had laid out on the little freighter's galley table. Kay had complained at the time that droids did not suffer from the organic inability to occupy themselves with meaningful thought (a phrase that Chirrut had apparently taught him), and thus did not need “external stimulation” while they waited for Jyn and Cassian to return from their errand. All the same, Kay had grudgingly started putting the little metal puzzle pieces together an hour ago, and he hadn’t budged from that spot since.

“I’m referring to the frozen hellhole that is Hoth,” Bodhi muttered. “Which Cassian hates even more than the rest of us. He’ll have some reason we should go to Delta Base instead.”

“Cassian is an experienced operative,” Kay began a touch fussily, always quick to defend Cassian from the slightest perceived insult when he wasn’t there to do it himself (although just as quick to inform his friend of every possible mistake when he was around). 

“And he hates cold, that’s fine,” Bodhi threw the ball up again, and fumbled it a little, but still a solid catch. Twenty-one! A new record!

“Jyn will likely suggest Charlie Base,” Kay said after a beat, snapping a little metal piece into place with probably too much force for it to be natural. Bodhi squinted at the puzzle, but there was no picture or designs etched onto the blank metal pieces, so he had no idea what it was supposed to end up looking like. Was that Cassian’s idea of a joke, or busy work for Kay? Sometimes, Bodhi just did not get how that man’s mind worked.

“I hope not Charlie Base,” Bodhi tossed the ball up again - but it slipped from his fingers on the way down and bounced onto the floor. He sighed and reached for it, restarting his mental count. “Charlie Base is just...gross.”

“That is the disadvantage of an organic olfactory sense paired with evolved biological responses to certain chemical combinations,” Kay said archly, bending a metal puzzle piece between his fingers and then snapping it harshly to another piece. “I don’t have a sense of smell,” he added with some satisfaction.

“Swamps stink,” Bodhi agreed. “I don’t think you’re supposed to do that.” He pointed at the bent puzzle piece. 

“Cassian said to solve the puzzle. He did not specify the manner of the solution.”

“Right.” Bodhi threw his therapy ball up again, and caught it. One. “So why do you think Jyn will want to go back to Charlie Base?”

“Because she has requisitioned a present for Cassian and will need to pick it up there.”

Bodhi fumbled his ball again, and cursed mildly as he had to chase it across the freighter floor. “A present? What did she get him?”

Kay set two metal puzzle pieces next to one another on the table and then slammed his heavy fist over them, forcing them to wedge tight together. “I was unable to determine,” he said at last.

Bodhi laughed, toss, catch. One. “She hid it from you, the nosiest droid in the rebellion?”

“We have already established that I l do not have a nose.”

“So when they get back, and Jyn tries to talk Cassian into going to Charlie base and he tries to talk her into going to Delta Base,” Bodhi said thoughtfully. Toss, Catch. Two. His therapist would be thrilled. “We should agree with Jyn.”

“We should agree with whichever presents the most compelling strategic reason for going to the base of their choice.”

Bodhi grinned at him. Toss. Catch. Three. “Unless you want to know what Jyn got Cassian.”

Bodhi managed four more successful catches before Kay finally gave a disgruntled little whir and said, “Charlie Base has better oil baths.”

Bodhi laughed. “Yeah, I really want to know, too.”

[rebsrising]

Cassian Week - Day 7

I’ve been wanting to do something for @cassianweek all week, but of course didn’t think of anything until about two hours before it was over. So here, have some Father Feels. Based off this post. 

Words: 857

read it on ao3. 

Cassian’s father is dead before his 7th birthday. He doesn’t remember celebrating it, but he knows his papá was not there.

As the years go on, his birthdays get less and less notable. His distant memories of a special sweet and songs in his language are replaced by the realities of ration bars and the echo of blaster fire. Childhood wishes of toys and late bedtimes are replaced by mission objectives - get in, get out and stay alive.

His memories of his father are few to begin with, and they too dwindle and fade as the years go on. After Jyn tells him the news of their own coming child, he struggles to latch onto even one. A bursting panic wages against the weightless joy he feels at the thought. Alongside the happiness, fear settles heavy into his bones over the next months as he wonders how he can be a father when he can hardly remember having one.

All his concern melts away when she is cradled, crying and pink, into the crook of his arms.

She is the living, breathing symbol of the hope that has carried him through his life. She is what he has fought for. She is the reason he has lied, killed and compromised. And she is worth all of it.

When his daughter turns 7, Cassian is there.

She sits on his lap, feet hitting his shins lightly as she jumps and squirms in anticipation of her cake and presents. Her light, bubbly laugh fills the room as her family sings to her. When they are done, he sings another version softly just to her, from his home, in their language.

Resting her little head against him, she feels the hum of the song rumble in his chest. She looks up at him with his own dark brown eyes, but her smile is her mother’s, beautiful and beaming. She flashes it more than her mother does, but it has never lost its shine. Once a hardened intelligence officer, Cassian now turns to putty at the sight of it. The look of admiration that brightens her tiny features when she stares up at him strikes him every time. He is no longer a soldier, a spy, an assassin. Instead he is papá.

After the presents have been torn into and the cake has been eaten, she runs outside, dragging Poe with her. They play rebels. Cassian watches them from the window, leaning against the counter as Jyn comes up behind to wrap her arms around him and bury her face in his shoulders. He grins, marveling, not for the first time, at the peace and joy of this new life.

Outside Poe finds a spot up above, flying his pretend X-Wing with the same skill as his mother, using her call sign. His girl holds her own on the ground, her index finger and thumb extended like a blaster.

But no blaster rounds reach his ears. No booms of X-wings or Tie fighters fill the air. The only sounds are the laughter of children who have never known war.

For them, it’s just a game. It’s not real.

Cassian says something like a prayer that it never will be.

He’s nearly struck down when he sees her in the dark brown coat, combat boots laced up, blaster on her hip and the orange resistance insignia above her heart.

Part of him thought he would be overcome with pride, that his heart would lift at the sight of her dressed for the cause. Though he is proud, the feeling is overpowered by a sharp twinge in his stomach, like a knife being shoved into his gut. His chest aches, a heavy weight pressing down on him, and he cannot breathe.

This was never supposed to happen, he thinks, she was never supposed to have to do this.

Everything he and Jyn had done for the Rebellion was supposed to build a galaxy where she was safe. They had fought and killed and sacrificed, and had been comforted by the idea that she never would. And yet here she stands, dressed to fight.

Fear rises in him, threatens to drown him. He knows how capable she is, how smart and strong and fierce. She can take on this war and win, but she shouldn’t have to. She is able and willing to fight all the darkness in the galaxy alone, but that doesn’t mean he ever wanted her to.

He know she has her parents’ skill, he prays she has their luck.

She smiles up at him with the familiar affection, and though her features are no longer small, the look still strikes a chord with him. Her hands reach out for his, giving them a comforting squeeze. His mask must be slipping with his age, or she’s just too good at reading people.

“I’ll be alright, papá,” she tells him, with a confidence that starts to convince him. “I learned from the best.”

The fear never fades, but faith finds its way back into his heart. For him, she still embodies hope. He does not realize he does the same for her.

[whatever-souls-are-made-of]

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