#rapidashpatronus

[janeaustentextposts]

rapidashpatronus replied to your post “My sister gave my mum 'Sanditon' on DVD for Christmas. We just...”

There’s a brother and sister in an incestuous relationship and in the first episode the heroine looks around the deer park and sees deer, if by “deer” you mean “a man coercing a woman into giving him a handjob”

...okay, if nobody needs me, I’ll just be jumping out the window real quick.

[therebelcaptainnetwork]

Hello RebelCaptain shippers!

We’re happy to continue our Birthday Project, where every month we post the members’ birthdays of the month. We hope you will join us in wishing a happy birthday to these awesome people!

This June, please celebrate:

@annyuongchingu – June 10

@cats-and-metersticks – June 23

@rapidashpatronus – June 24

@thestarbirdfromtheashes – June 26

Happy birthday to you! Please remember to send birthday love to your fellow RebelCaptain shippers :) ♡ ♡ ♡

(If you’re a member and want us to celebrate your birthday, please SEND US AN ASK! )

[vanderlinde-moved]

[. . .REPLY?]

Cassian really has to get a report done for Draven, but Jyn's drunk and really doesn't care.

this was written for the rebelcaptain secret santa for the lovely @rapidashpatronus! the prompt "I thought I’d already said so." i hope you enjoy!

also, major shoutout to @skitzofreak for letting me use her messaging/comm traffic format!! y’all should check out her “Message Traffic” series where it’s used and honestly their work is a+

read it on ao3!

HOTH INTERNAL MESSAGING SERVERS

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[accessing. . .]

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LOGIN

username: cassianandor

password: *******************

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WELCOME, CAPTAIN CASSIAN ANDOR.

you currently have three unread messages in your inbox.

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Erso [21:55]: cassian are u there ??

Erso [22:01]: are u busyy

Erso [22:07]: casssssssss

[. . .REPLY?]

Andor [22:12]: I’m here, but I need to get this report done for Draven.

Erso [22:13]: come to bodhi’s shuttle rn

Erso [22:13]: i’m celebratign

Erso [22:14]: *celebartin g

Erso [22:15]: clebrating

Erso [22:16]: u know what i mean

Andor [22:19]: Are you drunk?

Erso [22:21]: no

Andor [22:24]: Are you sure?

Erso [22:27]: ok yse fime han brought so me drinks

Erso [22:30]: but for a go od reasons

Andor [22:32]: What are you celebrating?

Erso [22:40]: bea t bodhi in sabbacc finallyyyy

Andor [22:43]: How did you manage to do that?

Erso [22:44]: cheated

Andor [22:46]: Of course you did.

Erso [22:48]: cass u still there?

Andor [22:50]: I’m still here, Jyn.

Erso [22:51]: i miss u

Erso [22:52]: comee here

Andor [22:55]: I’m trying to write my report, but I’ll come over once I’m done, okay?

Andor [23:05]: Jyn?

Erso [23:06]: no

Erso [23:08]: don’t woryr bout it casss im on my wau

Andor [23:10]: Jyn, I’m almost done. Give me twenty more minutes and I’ll meet you at Bodhi’s shuttle.

Erso [23:14]: hmmnm

Erso [23:15]: nooooo thansk

Andor [23:19]: Jyn?

Andor [23:25]: Please just stay there.

 Andor [23:27]: Bodhi, has Jyn by any chance left your shuttle?

Rook [23:30]: who

Rook [23:30]: ?

Andor [23:31]: Jyn.

Rook [23:33]: i dont talk 2 cheaters

Andor [23:36]: We’ve all caught you cheating at sabacc before, Bodhi.

Andor [23:41]: Bodhi?

Andor [23:50]: [unsent] Why do I even bother

 Andor [23:56]: [unsent] Solo, how much alcohol

 Erso [00:04]: ok im on my wa y

Erso [00:04]: sorryi go t distrcted

[. . .REPLY?]

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The sound of his door opening startles him so much that Cassian almost drops his datapad into his lap. He turns to the culprit–Jyn, of course–who’s slamming a bottle onto his desk and is now looming over him with a cheeky smile. “Hey, Cass.”

“Jyn,” he says, exhaling heavily, but smiling nonetheless. Other than the way she’s swaying on his desk–he has to reach a hand up to steady her so she doesn’t fall off–she doesn’t look too drunk. It’s definitely not to the level of the time she challenged Solo to a drinking contest–now that had been messy. The image of her telling Bodhi she’d kill for him pops into his mind, and he has smother a grin behind a hand.

He shakes his head, bringing him back to the present and the smiling woman in front of him. “You walked all this way by yourself?”

“I wanted to see you,” she says, somewhat absently. Her eyes dart around the room, but when she refocuses on his face, she smiles broadly. It’s almost as if she’s seeing him for the first time, her face sparkling and full of wonder. “I missed you.”

“Jyn, I’ve got to get this report typed and sent to Draven in an hour,” he replies, glancing between the bottle on his desk and her face. Despite himself, he can already feel his focus slipping through his fingers. Jyn tended to do that to him; whenever she’s in the room, all of his attention goes right to her, no matter what else is happening. Still, he makes a valiant effort to try and get his work done. “I thought I’d already said so–didn’t we have this same conversation about thirty minutes ago?”

“Probably,” she tells hims, hoisting herself up on his desk so he’s forced to pay more attention to her. Her legs dangle off the edge, with the back of her heels drumming against the side. There’s not enough room for both his datapad and Jyn, so he tosses his work to the side and sighs, despite the small smile tugging at his lips. “Turns out–I’m not really. . .that great at listening. Or reading. You know.”

“I don’t know how you haven’t been kicked out of the Rebellion yet,” he mutters fondly (because it’s always fondness for her, always), tugging her off of the desk and into his lap. She yelps, surprised, but wraps her arms around his neck all the same, leaning in to press her forehead against his. In such close contact he can smell the alcohol on her breath, but he finds that he doesn’t mind, simply content to be as close to her as possible.

“I suppose that I have you to thank for that,” she says, giving him a small grin before leaning in to press a quick kiss to his lips. When she pulls away, he groans at the loss of contact. But as he tries to pull her back in for another, she dances away from him, a teasing look flashing on her face.

“I thought you were trying to distract me?” he asks, his voice slightly hoarse. Jyn smirks, slipping off his lap and grabbing his arm to pull him to the bed. Even with the work he has to do, he doesn’t resist her, following willingly. Draven can wait a little longer.

(with jyn here, he knows that everything else he has to do doesn’t stand a chance of getting completed.

he’d accepted a long, long time ago that she will always come first.)

She snatches the bottle off the desk with her free hand, then joins him on the bed. He tries to protest, but it dies on his lips. “Jyn, I really do have to write that report–”

“C’mon, Cass,” she teases, and he relents finally, propping himself up against the wall and pulling her into his embrace. He wraps an arm around her shoulder, and she curls up into his side. “Here,” she offers, pushing the bottle into his hands. “Brought you something.”

He accepts it with a raised eyebrow, peering down into it. There’s nothing in it, except for a small amount of liquid at the bottom. Still, he appreciates the effort. “You brought me an empty bottle?”

“There was–Corellian gin in it, I think. I drank it on the way,” she mutters, stretching her arms up over her head, then hooks one around his neck so she’s the one holding him. She shifts closer, and his heart swells at the way she trusts him enough to be this vulnerable. Most of the time, he knows, she’s expecting a vibroblade in the back. “Took me awhile to get back over here.”

“I’d be wrong in assuming you didn’t get into any trouble, wouldn’t I?”

Jyn hums, closing her eyes and running her fingers through his hair. She’s just as easily distracted by his presence as he is by hers. “Not that much.”

“Care to elaborate?” he asks wryly, pressing a kiss to her forehead and letting his eyes wander. Her hands look uninjured and he can’t see any bruises on her exposed skin, but he still has to ask. “Please tell me you didn’t get into any fights.”

She grins down at him, her eyes fluttering open. “You have to give me another kiss if you want answers,” she taunts, as if that would be a big sacrifice, as if he’d ever refuse a request from her.

Cassian shifts to cup her face and pulls her face down into a kiss. She turns to wrap her other arm around his neck, deepening it, and he groans into her mouth as she moves from his side onto his lap, her hips straddling his waist. However, just like last time, she moves away before anything else can happen with a smile on her face and laughter dancing in her eyes.

He doesn’t let that deter him. “You need to uphold your end of the bargain, Sergeant,” he murmurs with mock-seriousness, pulling her closer to him so she rests her head in the crook of his neck, with hands splayed out on her back so he can hold her tighter. “We had a deal.”

“I saw Leia in the hallway,” she says, her voice muffled from the way her face is pressed into the front of his jacket. “I might have told her–Cass! Your fingers are cold!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he chuckles, though he doesn’t move his hands from where he slipped them underneath her jacket. It’s payback for all the times she’s purposely gone barefoot to bed so she could poke him with her freezing toes, sliding her feet up his pant legs. “You were talking to–Jyn!”

“Two can play that game, Captain,” she laughs, dipping her fingers down past the collar of his parka and onto his bare skin. He tries to squirm away from her, but she only presses forward with her attack. Soon enough, they’re a pile of tangled limbs on the bed. Jyn’s straddling Cassian’s hips and looming over him, panting slightly with exertion. She sinks forward until she’s laying on top of him, resting her chin on his sternum so she can look him in the eye.

Her hair, loose and unbound, falls into his face, and he huffs out a breath to get it out of his mouth. “What did you say to Leia?”

“Can I borrow your parka?” Jyn asks instead, letting her fingers dance over the hood. “I like the,” she raises her hands to her head and makes something that looks like a halo in the air, “I like the fur.”

“You’re literally wearing a coat right now,” he tugs gently at the material of her jacket to prove it to her. Knowing Jyn, who’s both determined and stubborn when faced with something she wants, she probably doesn’t care about that fact. “Why do you need to wear mine?”

“I’ll tell you what I said to Leia if you let me wear your parka.”

“We have a deal,” he murmurs, reaching up to card one of his hands through her hair. She closes her eyes and hums appreciatively, leaning into his touch. “I already gave you a kiss, remember?”

“Yeah.”

“What did you tell Leia?”

“I told her that she should hurry up and ask Han out on a date already,” she whispers, propping her chin up with one of her arms. “He kept looking for her at Bodhi’s shuttle but she never showed up.” She reaches forward to twine his hair in her hands, tugging softly and wrapping a strand between her fingers. “How do you get your hair so soft?”

“I asked the Force very nicely to give me good hair,” he answers with a grin. He uses her distraction to his advantage, sitting up suddenly and flipping them so he’s the one laying on top. Careful not to put all of his weight on her, he braces most of it on his elbows, settling between her open legs. He’s not surprised in the slightest–leave it to Jyn to meddle in other people’s businesses. “What did Leia say to that?”

“She told me that I should mind my own kriffing business and that I was a no good, two-timing moof milker. Then she stormed off.”

This time, he tries to hide his laughter by tucking his head in Jyn’s neck, but it’s no use. His whole body shakes with the effort, and after a few beats, he doesn’t bother trying to be subtle.

“What?” she splutters indignantly. “Stop laughing, I’m right!”

“I know,” he says, though he’s still laughing when he looks up. There’s a stubborn smile pulling up at Jyn’s lips too, even though he can see she’s trying to keep it from him. “They really need to get their shit together, hmm?”

Jyn opens her mouth to respond, but her comm dings, interrupting her train of thought. She shuffles out from underneath Cassian and grabs it on the bedside table. Confusion creases her forehead, so he sits up and watches as she struggles to log herself in.

“I give up,” she complains, holding the holopad out for him. The look of frustration on her face has him clamping down on another grin. “Can you log me in?”

“Sure,” he says easily, taking the device from her. It only takes him a few seconds to pull up her message logs.

HOTH INTERNAL MESSAGING SERVERS

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[accessing. . .]

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LOGIN

username: jynerso

password:

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“Ah, Jyn?”

“Hmm?

“What’s your password?”

She makes some sort of noise that he can’t distinguish, rolling over on the bed to press her face into the blankets. He raises an eyebrow in amusement. “I didn’t quite catch that, Jyn.”

Her next response is mumbled so quickly he barely catches it. “‘I love Cassian.’”

“Is that one word or three?”

“Cass!” she whines, flipping over to grab one of the pillows and throw it at him. Even drunk, she still has deadly aim, but he’s known her long enough to expect her patterns. Without batting an eye he swats it away with his free hand, smirking.

He types in her password once he knows that she’s not going to throw anything else at him, then tosses her holopad back to her. She scans the words in front of her, then snorts. He moves closer to her to read over her shoulder. “It’s mostly from Solo. And a couple messages from Bodhi.”

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WELCOME, SERGEANT JYN ERSO.

you currently have six unread messages in your inbox.

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Solo [00:15]: you want t explain why her royl highnes just came on the shuttle an demanded to know why i put you up to askin her about going on a date??

Solo [00:16]: you and i both kno i did no such thing

Solo [00:20]: ERSO

Solo [00:21]: you cant jus put me in situatons like this an d not respond !!

[. . .REPLY?]

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Her fingers move before he can stop her, typing out a response that’s barely legible. Though, in her defense, Han’s just as drunk as she is. He’s sure that the smuggler will be able to decode it easily.

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Erso [00:24]: u kno what u neeed 2 do

Solo [00:26]: youve got to be kiding me, kid

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Jyn doesn’t spare a second glance at Solo’s response, instead swiping her finger up to get to the next set of messages from Bodhi. Cassian would feel bad for him if he didn’t know him any better. Quite frankly, he agrees with Jyn. Although he’d never say it out loud, Solo and Leia need to get their shit together.

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Rook [00:16]: u make it t cassian’s room

Rook [00:16]: still mad at u tho

[. . .REPLY?]

 Erso [00:28]: cass says im the best sabacc player erver so eat that roook

Erso [00:29]: i wonn

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“It was easy to beat Bodhi once I figured out his weakness,” she announces suddenly, looking up at him with a face that just begs him to ask what it is. Her holopad sits absently in her lap, but she doesn’t do anything about it, letting her screen go dark.

“And that would be?”

“Luke Skywalker.”

“You got Luke to help you cheat?” he asks her dubiously.

She shakes her head. “I just invited him to play with us. Since Bodhi was looking at him the entire time, he wasn’t–” she trails off, then blinks rapidly before continuing. “Bodhi wasn’t looking at my hands so it was easier to cheat. And then I won.”

She holds up her hand for a high five. He reaches over to slap her hand, but she grabs his hand before he can, pulling it closer to her. He can’t help but laugh at the look on her face. “Jyn–”

“This is mine now,” she murmurs, her eyes drooping sleepily, but her grip on his hand doesn’t loosen up.

“That’s fine. You can have the other one too, if you’d like.”

“No. Jus’ this one.”

“I think it’s time you got some sleep,” Cassian says gently, snatching the holopad from her hands before she can pretend he said anything else. “You’ve shipping out tomorrow, right?”

“That’s why we all met to play sabacc,” she yawns, stretching her arms over her head. It takes both of them, but he manages to get Jyn both out of her coat and heavy outer layers, then into bed.

He shoots a mournful look at his datapad and the report he ultimately knows won’t get finished before tomorrow as he folds her clothes on the desk. Once he’s stripped as well, he climbs into bed at her side. She curls up next to him with a content sigh, hugging him closer. “I’m going to miss you, Cass.”

It sounds as if she’s almost asleep when she tells him that, and his heart aches. “You’ll be home soon,” he says quietly, even though he has no idea when she’ll be back. “And you can comm me anytime.”

“You’ll respond?”

“I’ll always respond,” he promises, rubbing his thumb up and down on her arm. “Even when I’m in a meeting with Draven and he’s talking about something I should be paying attention to.”

That makes her smile; he can see it even in the darkness. “You’re going to get kicked out the Rebellion.”

“I’ll just tell him it’s your fault.”

“That’s fair,” she replies, sliding her hands up his shirt again. This time, he doesn’t flinch away, wanting to be as close to her as possible despite her cold hands. “I still wish you had been there.”

“Next time,” he says softly. “I promise.”

She yawns again. “Even if you have work and–and no time?”

“I’ll always make time for you.” Even as he says it, he knows it’s true. While the Rebellion is extremely important to him, Jyn is too.

(the rebellion is his whole life, and has always been, but she’s wormed his way into his heart and now he can’t live without her.)

Jyn blinks up at him owlishly, then rests her head on his chest. “Goodnight, Cap’n.”

“Night, Jyn. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

“Mhmm.”

With that, he tightens his arms around her sleeping form as if his sheer will alone could keep her on Hoth, and closes his eyes.

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Solo [00:34]: erso you annd i are going to have a talk on the falcon tomrrow

Solo [00:35]: dont tell the princesss

[. . .REPLY?]

[jynandcassianandor]

Ooh ooh ooh if you're volunteering for the kiss prompts...! Please can you do "with fury at the world"? I feel like you'll nail it!

Thank you so much darling! How about some forbidden love? With lots of tropey goodness :-)

WARNING: IMPLIED CHARACTER DEATH

Her parents disapproved of her choice, Cassian Andor was nowhere near as highborn, nor was he a beneficial ally to their kingdom. He was an orphan, duly raised by the highest-ranking general of their army and an exemplary soldier, but not a proper husband for a princess.

Cassian had retreated when their request had been denied, dutifully bowing to the king and queen, while Jyn burned with a fury beyond compare. She sought him out to tell him she wouldn’t abide by her parents’ decree, couldn’t, but he only held her by the shoulders, painful longing in his eyes, as he told her he must obey his king.

He left the next day for war, Jyn standing at the parapet to watch them go. The army advanced forward in straight lines, all eyes ahead, except for Cassian. At the General’s side, his attention was only on Jyn. His eyes were locked on hers, a promise in them that she wasn’t sure he could ever uphold.

She left once night fell, in a hooded cloak on her fastest horse, towards the fire and the rage of battle. She tore into the fray, wielding her sword and cleaving the enemy army as they came at her, hellbent on finding Cassian amongst the carnage. She made for the area where the fighting was thickest, where Cassian would no doubt be, and as she spotted the telltale blue of his tunic her heart leapt into her throat. She spurred her horse faster, but just as she neared him an enemy sword struck true, and he fell.

A scream tore from her throat, and she jumped off her horse, swinging her sword wildly at anyone who stood in her way. She stumbled to where he lay, amongst the fallen, and her breath caught to see his chest still rising and falling, though very faintly.

“Cassian!” she screamed, and she didn’t recognize her own voice, shrill and terrified as it was. She fell to the ground and gathered him into her arms, cradling his head in her lap.

“Jyn, my Jyn,” he choked out, eyes searching hers, and she fought back the harsh tears that threatened to fall.

“Don’t speak,” she commanded as she stroked his hair, shushing him softly, and she wanted to curse the world, curse the general who made Cassian his second, curse her parents for valuing him only as a soldier and not a man, curse Cassian’s own parents for dying and leaving him on his own in a cruel world.

“I love you, Jyn, promise me…”

“No! Cassian, come back with me, come back to me!”

He smiled at her, too weak to say more, but in his eyes she saw all the promises he had ever wanted to give her. She leaned down to his face, no longer able to hold back, pressing her lips against his desperately, an act of defiance on that battlefield. Despite how he was fading, he returned the fervent longing in her kiss, and her knees went weak and she wanted to rage at the world for the cruel injustice it had dealt her.

From this kiss prompt list

[mosylufanfic]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Cassian Andor/Jyn Erso, Cassian Andor & Jyn Erso Characters: Cassian Andor, Jyn Erso Additional Tags: Fluff, because i am pig-headed and stubborn and refuse to be beaten, Rebelcaptain - Freeform Summary:

Cassian teaches Jyn about crosswords. With no cross words.

[imsfire2]

Out of darkness

So, he watches her.

The street is dark, and she is walking into the dark; he isn’t quite sure where the borders of the darkness lie, in the pools of streetlight or in himself.  His eyes aren’t working quite right anymore, and he clings on to the last sweet thing he will see, clings to the sight of her walking, as his brain clings to the last sweet thing it will know, the memory (remember me remember me) the memory of her body her lips the sadness in her eyes…

The blood running down his hip and pooling in the plastic seat is sickly, stickily hot and he is beginning to feel numb inside, the pain putting itself at a distance from him.

The street is dark, and Aurora walks into the dark, and he goes into the dark watching her.

**

Dark indeed, long dark, long like a bad childhood, like a fever, like fear...

He can feel something in the darkness.  A surface under his fingertips.  He touches it.  Firm. Not hard but firm.  Neither warm nor cold.  Motionless; not something alive.  When he moves his hand, curls his fingers, his nails find a faint texture beneath them.  Roughness, very delicate, structured, something interwoven, woven.  Fabric.

He can’t open his eyes, because dead men do not see.  Then he does; and sees nothing.  Lies in the dark, remembering with a brilliant vividness the young woman walking away from him, her straight back, swinging hips, sweet beauty going into the dark.  He’s there now in the depths of darkness and it still isn’t over.  He wonders how long it truly takes to die.

His breathing seems to be quite steady, and the pain has vanished.  So there’s that at least.  Interesting to know.  Dying, in these final stages; not painful.

He wonders if all the men he’s killed had a split second of this stillness in them, this quiet, troubled peace, before their shot hearts stopped.

On his left there’s something that isn’t darkness.  It looks, weirdly, like the outline of a door, with a light behind it.

Gabriel would laugh if he had the strength or the breath left for it.  The door to heaven, right there, shut in his face.  Fair enough.  It’s hardly a surprise to learn he didn’t do enough to merit redemption. Even now, even from here on the wrong side, the light beyond the door is strangely beautiful.  Thin lines like the angels’ lances, violent unearthly light of paradise, cutting through the endless night.  Even if he didn’t make it, then, heaven does exist.

Curious how comforting that is.  It’s not for him, but it is there, for others.  Blessed Mother of God and the words float up into his mind and he can’t remember the next line but even the start of the prayer sounds sweet Blessed Mother of God

Blessed Mother of God

Is this my consolation?

If this is all, I am content

Darkness

**

The next time he wakes, he sees a regular door, and daylight; and he’s in a small grey room, in a bed, with a pillow beneath his head.  Things bleep.

His left side and his hand both hurt.  He has no idea why his hand hurts.

It isn’t until a nurse comes in, and he tries to say “What happened?” and cannot speak that he realises he’s been intubated.  One of the beeping machines is helping him to keep breathing.

It’s really true, then. He’s alive.

“Ah, good morning,” says the nurse when his desperate eyes meet hers.  “Good, good.”  He blinks at her.  She nods her head though she cannot possibly know what he’s trying to say; checks the machinery, leaves him alone again.  He lies looking up, staring at the reality of not being dead.

Later, for the rest of the day, doctors and other nurses come and go, and in between their visits he stares up and sees the plaster panels overhead, the support struts, the light fitting with the plain fabric shade. In his hearing all they will say is courteous, neutral, encouraging things, like relax, you need to rest and it was touch and go for a while there but you’ll pull through and excellent, normal blood pressure.

Someone must have called an ambulance.  The man behind the counter, perhaps.  How wonderful after all his dark deeds to owe his life to some ordinary act of compassion, a little man at a diner counter making a telephone call.

And someone must be footing the cost of all this.  Félix, presumably, the sonofabitch would do a thing like that, after all.  No doubt he’ll refuse ever to speak to Gabriel again, but he’ll still pay his hospital bill; out of some sick sense of honour, or to prove his ownership, one last time.

On the second day he has a visitor.  Not Félix, not any of the crew, but Doña Cecilia.  He can see the shadows of her guards outside, one on either side of the door, but she comes in alone and stands looking down at him.   Gives him a faint smile from on high, like the royalty she is.

“So, young Archangel, you’re still with us, then.  You have a little breathing space.  Time to think things through, eh? - make that decision we talked about.”

She doesn’t stay long, and doesn’t tell him anything about the rest of them.  That’s bad, he thinks, with a coldness settling in his chest alongside the pain that seems to live there now.  It could mean many things, and none of them are good.

They take the breathing tube out two days later.  He wonders what to ask, now that he’ll be able to speak again.  Outside this little grey room, he has no idea of the shape of the world anymore.  No idea even of who is living and who is dead.  All he knows is that he should have been among the latter, and somehow he is not.

The doctor supervising the extubation asks him a couple of pointless questions, inspects his stitches, listens to his chest and abdomen, congratulates him on being alive; leaves.  The nurses renew the dressing on his wound, check his catheter  and the drip in his arm, give him sips of water from a cup like a baby’s beaker and promise him a first taste of solid food that evening.  Soup, they say, as though it were manna.  It sounds like manna.  Chicken soup with vegetables.

It’s then that he decides to ask one question; the only one he has some hope will be safe.  His voice sounds like sawdust.  “Please, who called the ambulance?”  

“Señor?”

“How did I get here? – the guy in the diner, did he call an ambulance, was it him?  I’d like to thank him, when I get out.”  

Saying that much has made everything hurt, and the nearer of the two nurses touches his hand gently.  “I don’t know, Señor, but I can find out for you. Would you like that?  Now you need to rest, you’ve had a tiring day.”

Strange to be petted, so, and spoken to like that; as though he’s a sick five-year-old, not a grown man and a murderer.  

He nods, whispers a thank you, accepting her authority and her kindness.  Stares up at the ceiling when the two of them leave, and is asleep within minutes.

**

“I found out the answer, Señor.  To your question.  I checked the records and apparently it was an anonymous caller.   A young woman, calling from a cell-phone.”

Blessed Mother of God, is this my consolation?  If this is to be all, I am content.  I remembered her, and she did not forget me.  Holy Mary, Mother of God, thank you, thank you…

“It’s nice to see a patient smile like that,” one nurse is saying to the other as they leave the room. “He looks happy to be alive for the first time.”

**

Doña Cecelia comes again the next day, and the rest of his questions are answered; and after that conversation, he lies shaking and unable to sleep, long into the night, in the darkness.

**

By the time Gabriel stands in front of a mirror for the first time and looks at himself with his bandages and dressings off, Félix and the boys, and the Señora, are all long buried, and he knows that there has been a guard on the door of his room the entire time, not just when Doña Cecelia visits.  The same guard who is now outside the hospital bathroom where he’s being prepared for his shower.  He’s too weak to do the job for himself safely (and though his spirit bridles at hearing that, he has to admit the doctor is right; he can barely stand unaided after these weeks bedbound and inert).  He must bear being manhandled and washed by a stranger; like a small boy, like an orphan.  It’s a peculiarly precise embarrassment.

He hangs on to the handles in the tiled wall with shaking arms, looks straight ahead, refuses to acknowledge the humiliation.   Thanks the nurse afterwards.

The mirror had steamed up within moments.  He’d had enough of the view anyway.  Always lean, he’s now painfully thin; cheekbones jutting, muscles wasted and slack.  Yet his beard has grown well.  He looks like a revolutionary out of a kids’ history book; gaunt and angry, savage-eyed, and superbly moustachioed.

The scar on his abdomen is huge; easily four times the length he’d anticipated when he first felt the wound.  Where the knife went in there’s a ragged three centimetre slash but that’s just the start; it extends above and off to the side now, neat surgical incisions.  Its whole length sutured up with stitches black as boars’ bristles, delicate as lace.  

It itches and aches, and it feels as though every organ inside hurts too, despite the analgesia.  

The cannula in his hand itches too, and the skin under the tape holding it down is inflamed.  It won’t be taken out for another three to four days.  They’re still pumping antibiotics into him through it.  The consultant tells him smoothly that he should focus on making a good recovery instead of grumbling about a few square centimetres of rash. Partial splenectomy, traumatic injury to the large and small intestines and the left lobe of the liver, a punctured lung, and massive blood loss; plus a chip out of the anterior end of one rib. He had to ask for explanations of some of the medical terms, but now he knows, he’ll remember.

“You nearly died,” Doña Cecelia tells him firmly.  “Next time don’t be so slow.  I shouldn’t have to keep telling you these things.  It’s time to get out of this life, Gabriel.”  She stands over him, looking down her regal nose; although her voice is kind she’s never lowered herself to the level of giving him so much as a pat on the hand.  “I’ll pay to keep you alive,” she tells him now “because you were always a good boy to me and I don’t like the idea of your handsome face wasting into dust just yet. But I won’t give you a job, after. You need to understand that.  You were Félix’s man and I don’t want that association.”  

“Of course, Doña Cecelia. And thank you.  I am forever in your debt, beyond anything I can ever hope to repay.”

“Really?  Well, since you put it so nicely, you young gallant. So - don’t be an idiot, then.  Live, and make a new start.  Since that idiot Félix made you his residuary heir and his poor whore of a wife predeceased him, you aren’t without resources.”

“I don’t want to carry on that business.”

“I should hope not! That isn’t what I’m paying good money for.  You’d be back in this place, in the morgue, within a week, the way things are at present. Why do you think I have a man stationed outside here right now, eh?  The business has as good as collapsed anyway.  But the properties he owned, those still have solid value.  Think about it; make up your mind what to do, and then do it.  Action has a magic of its own.  Didn’t some poet say that?  So act.”

“I will, Doña Cecelia. I know what I’m going to do.”

She smiles at that.  “Tell a lady your plans?  I’d like to think of you going out from here soon and finding yourself a life that won’t kill you.  What are you off to do, then?”

Gabriel smiles, slowly, letting himself hope for the first time he can remember.  “I’m going to Spain.”

[yavemiel]

my words on your lips

Notes: A birthday present for @rapidashpatronus, happy birthday lovely! I hope you enjoy it! :) x

Summary: Jyn wants to surprise Cassian for his birthday

Jyn’s palms were sweating. She could feel her stomach churning, a feeling of nauseated nervousness that she could only recall from her earliest missions with Saw. She felt a touch light-headed, and she kept her eyes carefully on the package in her hands, treating it as gently as any bomb she’d ever handled.

Finally she stopped in front of the door that her feet had carried her towards out of instinct. She paused, and took a few deep breaths, trying to calm her heart rate and steel her nerves. Then, tucking the package under one arm, she raised the other and knocked firmly.

Then she waited.

She heard footsteps on the other side of the door, the tap of fingers on a keypad and the door in front of her whooshed open, revealing a familiar and very dear face.

Read the rest on AO3

[jeeno2]

"What did you DO?"

“What did you DO?”

Cassian’s voice is sharp, shot through with the icy terror he feels gripping his heart, and it’s such a departure from how he normally speaks it’s enough to finally rouse Jyn from the stupor pulling her under.

Her eyes flutter open for the first time in an hour – and just like that, Cassian can breathe again.

“Too many troopers,” she murmurs, a trickle of blood seeping through the bandages wrapped tightly around her chest; “I couldn’t outrun them.”

Cassian kneels beside her bed in the medbay, fumbling for the hand closest to him, clutching it to his lips and pressing frantic kisses to each of her knuckles in turn.

“I’ve got you now,” he murmurs wetly against the skin of her palm, breathing her in, his words a promise; “I’ve got you.”

send me the first sentence of a fic and I will write the next five