late is better than never, right? haha on saturday/sunday, i was tagged by the amazing @fullonlarrie, @always-aqua, @suddenclarityharry, @all-these-larrythings, @justalittlelouislove, @freetheankles, and @realitybetterthanfiction to share with you the last line i wrote. (thank you all of you, i’m feeling incredibly loved even if i haven’t been writing much these last several weeks!) so here we go!
He might have laughed embarrassingly loud right in Liam’s face when Louis’ reaction was to send back a few knife emojis, though.
lmaooooo that...doesn’t even really make much sense but yeah okay lol so now i’m supposed to tag the same number of people as i have words and that’s...a lot. and i am guessing most of you have already been tagged. so i’m gonna just tag a few random people and if you aren’t tagged but you read this and want to be, please consider yourself tagged! i tag... @harrystanslouis, @reminiscingintherain, @tommosgun, @2tiedships2, @marastarfar, @greenfeelings, and @graceling-in-a-suit!
FIC SUMMARY: Never in Jyn's years as a partisan, her time as an outlaw, or even in her current post with the Rebellion has anyone even remotely expected her to possess the ability to care for a child. Until today.
(Or, Jyn and Cassian find an abandoned infant after a mission goes sideways, and the Rogue One crew must temporarily care for it.)
CHAPTER 2 SUMMARY: In the main compartment of the ship, Jyn watches Bodhi hold the baby with an strange tension in her chest. There’s something so natural in the way he cradles her to him, something she doesn’t understand; he fits the girl’s small body against his shoulder as if he’s been doing it all his life. It’s comfortable, it’s easy, and it’s nothing Jyn has any frame of reference for, which for some reason makes her as curious as it does anxious.
A/N: Some months ago, @lilhex and @18tpaz asked me to write her the medal ceremony with the Rogues. This has been sitting in my drafts for ages now and I’m still not entirely happy with it, but here goes. Sorry you had to wait!
--
She’s tiny, Jyn thinks, the princess in her pristine white.
Tinier than even herself (and only nineteen, she hears), but more regal and commanding than she could ever hope to be. Didn’t she also just lose her entire planet?
She doesn’t have to bow very low when the princess drapes the medal around her neck with a smile. Cassian’s bow is slightly more awkward -- she never quite realized how tall he was -- but his face is solemn and unreadable. Baze, the tallest of them, bends his head with good humor and surprising grace (he looks different too, out of his armor and his hair neatly braided back).
Chirrut and Bodhi are neither big men. When the princess gets to him, Chirrut places a closed fist on his heart and bows deep -- then tilts his head and smiles like he knows a secret when she moves on to Bodhi. Bodhi, who looks like he can’t quite believe he’s not dreaming.
“Thank you,” the princess tells him quietly, taking his hand between her own. He blinks at her like a surprised nocturnal bird, making gentle amusement crack her regal veneer ever so slightly.
When the cheers erupt in the ceremonial hall, Jyn thinks she understands how he feels. It doesn’t feel quite real. That they succeeded, they won. Trying to blink back tears she senses more than actually feels Cassian sidle up to her, coming to stand so close their shoulders nearly touch.
“Your father would have been proud of you, Jyn,” he says quietly. She takes a deep breath and boldly laces her fingers between his, unable to hold back a goofy grin when the floppy-haired smuggler standing at the front gives her a wink.
This is for Bodhi Rook Week, Day 1, Bodhi + Rogue One crew bonding. (I didn’t actually hear about it until after it began, so I’m running a bit behind.)
Shortly after the battle of Yavin, Bodhi and Cassian discuss Bodhi’s place in the Rebellion.
“Are you planning to stick around?” Cassian asked.
Bodhi jumped and looked up. “Oh, hey,” he said with a sheepish smile. “I’m almost done with lunch, but I’m in no hurry.” He waved to the empty spot on the bench next to him.
“I don’t mean in the mess hall,” Cassian said, but he accepted the seat. “I mean with the Rebellion.” He lowered his voice when he mentioned the Rebellion, even though they were in the heart of the Rebel base on Yavin IV. Everyone on the planet was also a Rebel. Bodhi suspected it was habit, and not one the Inteligence officer would ever quite shed. Not even if he stayed on Rebel bases for the rest of his life. Although Bodhi couldn’t imagine him doing that.
It had been almost a week since the battle that destroyed the Death Star, a little longer than that since the battle at Scarif, and the whole team was back on their feet. Limping a little, but back on their feet.
Bodhi shrugged. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’ve been giving it a lot of thought. I want to help. I’m just not sure how much the Rebellion needs a cargo pilot.”
Cassian shrugged. “I have no idea,” he admitted. “We probably do, we need everyone we can get, but that is up to the supply commander. But I had something else in mind, if you’re interested. You have inside information about the Empire, information that perhaps no one else in the Rebellion has.”
“I doubt it,” Bodhi said. “Maybe, earlier, but you were there at the debrief. I think I told them everything.” He had been grateful for the presence of a friend, someone who made sure he was treated like a Rebel returning from a mission instead of an Imperial prisoner. Someone to make sure he wasn’t treated the way Saw’s band had treated him.
“In my experience, there are two kinds of information,” Cassian said. “There is obvious information, the kind you put in reports, the kind you bother to tell people, or to classify so they don’t find out. That information, I have. I want someone on my ship that knows the way things actually work in the Empire, someone with actual experience, not someone’s report of the official rules. I’m putting together a team and I want you as a part of it, if you’re interested. You still get to fly,” Cassian added.
“I don’t know how to fight,” Bodhi pointed out.
“So? That’s not the only skill the team needs. I can fight. Kay can fight. Jyn is joining us and she can fight. I’m going to see if Baze and Chirrut will join us and they can fight. I’m an intelligence officer. Good information is every bit as important as having people who can do something with it. And you handled yourself well in the battle on Scarif so I’m not worried about that. This won’t be a safe job, but you can do some real good.”
“You sound like Galen,” Bodhi said.
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Cassian asked.
“Both. It means you are going to get me into a lot of trouble.” He smiled. “But it probably means it’s the right call. If you’re sure you want me, I’m in.”
“I’m sure. I don’t trust many people to have my back. Occupational hazard. But I trust you.”
“Thanks,” Bodhi said. “I think I’m gonna like being part of a team.”
Cassian smiled. “Me too. I don’t do teams often.”
“The whole not trusting people thing?”
“Exactly. You have to be able to trust a team.”
There was a long pause before Bodhi spoke. “A lot of people wouldn’t trust me. I joined the Empire.”
Cassian shrugged. “Most people who are in the Rebellion joined because they didn’t have any better options. You had another, arguably much more reasonable option, but you still joined the fight because it was the right thing to do. That makes you more trustworthy than most.”
“I was pretty late doing it.”
“You know what Chirrut would say,” Cassian said with a small smile.
“Something about my timing being the Will of the Force, or something like that.” Bodhi laughed. “But he says that about everything.” He used to believe in the Force. Not as much as Chirrut, but no one believed it as much as Chirrut. He missed that kind of faith. It had grown more difficult to believe in anything while he was working for the Empire.
“Of course he would,” Cassian said. “I’m not sure I would go that far, but the fact that you left now instead of earlier means you were able to bring the message. I don’t go in for the metaphysical like Chirrut does, but I think what you accomplish matters. Maybe it was the Force’s plan, or maybe it was just good timing. As far as I’m concerned, that doesn’t matter. What matters, the only thing that matters, is that you brought the message, and you went to Scarif. That matters. How you got there doesn’t matter, not to me, not to the rest of the team, not to the millions of people who will live because the Death Star was destroyed.”
Bodhi smiled. “I guess not.” He finished his meal in companionable silence. “That goes for you, too, you know,” he said finally. “The people we saved don’t care what you did before.”
“Maybe,” Cassian conceded. “I have done a lot worse things than you have.”
Bodhi nodded. He had seen the darker side of the Rebellion up close and personally in a way that most Rebels had not. “You really think the people not killed by the Death Star care?” he asked. He shook his head. “And that’s everyone in this room, for a start. Everyone on this base. And all the other worlds that the Empire might have decided to make an example of. If it really doesn’t matter what we did before, then it doesn’t matter for you either.”
Cassian looked like he was trying to hide a smile. “Possibly,” he said. “Welcome to the team, Lieutenant Rook.”
My British crime drama au (a bit x files, a bit luther) has finally been updated.
Summary: Bodhi travels back to the river lea to question Luke Skywalker, and gets sidetracked. Leia is not happy.
Bodhi stalked the banks of the Lea with his head bowed. After finding Rachel Price’s car, he didn’t trust the tip that said Luke Skywalker lived in his uncle’s boat. The name Tatooine sounded all the more ridiculous; Bodhi severely doubted that Owen and Beru Lars were real names either. Plus, his boots had hardly recovered from trekking down the bank last time.
The boat in question was a sandy yellow. A painted sign in the window advertised ‘blue milk’ which Bodhi suspected was not created from legally obtained substances. There was a white and blue pedal bin apparently guarding the door. Bodhi kneeled down, right next to where the boat was tethered to the bank, and tried to see through the stained glass windows. The bin moved.
“Jesus!” Bodhi exclaimed.
The shock was enough to propel him forward, landing face first in the dank water. He scrambled violently. The thick, gooey water invaded his senses. At one point, he inhaled a crisp packet and choked.
ah yes that special kind of torture when you spend your time thinking about how chirrut managed to make his bitter cynical husband believe that a trivial thing like death wasn’t going to be the end of their story
The words come out a hiss from behind bared teeth, accompanied by a shove that has little affect on him but leaves her tottering on her bad knee, worse than before he had discreetly offered a hand of assistance.
A few curious heads of pilots in their vicinity of the hangar turn, despite the intended quiet of her words.
The anger, he thinks, feels unbidden - unprovoked. Reaching to offer her a hand is second nature, at this point - and she has never reacted so strongly before. But there is ice in her eyes, blocking him off from her as she bites her lip, focuses on steadying herself, focuses on hiding her pain.
He knows that conflict is written deep into them both, that they grew up in environments where raised voices and fists were the most valuable currency. He knows that she even less comfortable with help than he is, that weakness for her was a dangerous mark of failure.
He knows that their friendship, which is delving recklessly into something more, is built precariously, on foundations made for conflict, not cohesion.
The words still sting. Normally, it would be in his nature to snap back, harsh and immediate. But he can only blink at her, taken aback by her sudden rage. She takes the silence probably worse than the might have taken him yelling back.
“I can walk without you hanging on me!”
She still hasn’t steadied on her feet, but she says the words with such conviction he almost thinks he might just be the one who is seeing things.
“Jyn,” he mutters, reaching a placating hand towards her and regretting the automatic movement immediately.
Her scowl deepens as she jerks away from him – and now, he is mad.
“Where is this coming from!?”
His lip snarls slightly with the words. He feels the eyes of everyone in the hangar on the back of his neck, the prickling discomfort of being the center of attention as she finally stops stumbling, pretends to put weight back on her bad leg.
She is not the only one of them who has been leaning on the other, and suddenly he is self conscious about every night she has shaken him from a gut wrenching nightmare, every time she has sat silently with him in the darkness, squeezing his hand until he drags himself back to reality.
“I’m not a child, Cassian. I’m not weak, and I don’t need you looking after me.”
She says each word with burning conviction, throwing them like like punches. Her cool gaze is fixed on him, unruffled by the audience they have garnered.
The him that is not desperate to keep the hurt from her eyes would feel no need to defend himself – would storm off and leave her to her own devices.
He is not that version of him.
“I don’t think any of that,” he growls, furrowing his brow against the neediness of the words, “I know what you’re capable of, Jyn, how could I think any of that!?”
There is a stubborn need in the creases in her forehead, a fiery determination in her eyes, fierce frustration in the crooked set of her jaw as she scowls at him, standing unevenly, barely maintaining her balance – still somehow making him doubt his own two eyes out of sheer will.
He is still livid – he has no gentle temper, and she has pushed him to his limits and beyond. But staring at her small defiant form, her bright angry eyes, a sudden thought hits him harder than any of her words.
He is desperately in love with her.
He curses under his breath, holding his hands up in front of him again – but this time, to signify his defeat.
“I’m… sorry.”
Prying the words off his tongue is nearly painful, and he grits his teeth into a grimace.
Jyn’s brow tenses, and she regards him warily, shifting awkwardly on her foot.
“What?”
“I’m not saying it again,” he scowls. “I’ll be there. If you need me to. If you ask.”
Not otherwise.
“Oh.”
The hangar is beginning to pick up it’s regular chatter around them again, eyes blinking away in disinterest as their voices lower and fists remain clenched at sides.
He takes a slow, deep breath through his nose, focusing on unfurling his own fingers before letting his gaze fall back on Jyn, who looks smaller now.
“Where is this coming from, Jyn?” he repeats, more gently than before. Knowing he is taking a risk with the prodding words that is not lessened by the slight step closer to her he takes. “What’s wrong?”
Her eyes drop. She shuffles limply between her feet, glaring solemnly at the grease-stained concrete – and he knows.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises her, and he does not harp about it being the 12th or 37th or 100th time he has had to make the same assurance.
as;ldkgha;lsdkfj i searched not only my active wip but two others and none of them nave the word nail in them, so i did a second best and did niall instead hahaha i hope this works and makes you smile anyway, i appreciate you!
Harry gave Liam a smile. “Thanks, mate. What are your plans tonight?”
Liam threw himself down onto his bed and rolled his eyes. “Not sure. Thought about catching a film with Niall.”
Harry arched a brow at Liam. “Not hanging out near the art hall in an attempt to catch sight of a certain Zayn Malik?”
“I hate you,” Liam said with a pout.
Send me a word and I’ll give you a line (or more) from my wip!
