OKAY! So, I spent some time of my childhood in an abusive household. My Step-father used to physically, and verbally assault me and my mom. He worked in IT, and he put tracking software on ALL of our computers, and phones.
AND when we were in danger, and tried to call the authorities, he’d take all of the phones away.. People don’t realize how scary and powerless abuse can make a person feel until it happens to you.
PLEASE reblog this! Even if it doesn’t, “look good” with your blog, it’s just too important, and you could save someone’s life!
a few years ago we had to go to a domestic violence shelter and this is the app my mom used. she was able to contact them while my dad was still in the house and he didn’t know until the next morning after we left. seriously, if you see this, reblog it. you never know who needs it.
Please don’t scroll past this
Hey. If you like the stuff I normally post, take a moment and spread this. It’s important.
Chapters: 17/? Fandom: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Cassian Andor/Bodhi Rook Characters: Cassian Andor, Bodhi Rook, Jyn Erso, K-2SO (Star Wars), Rose Tico, Paige Tico, Luke Skywalker, Wedge Antilles Additional Tags: Kid Fic, Minor Wedge Antilles/Luke Skywalker, Pining, Eventual Smut, Alternate Universe – Modern Setting, Winter, Ice Skating, Anxiety Attacks, Light Angst, Fluff, Figure Skater Cassian, Ex Hockey Player Bodhi, single parent Bodhi, Kid rose, Kid Paige, Slow Burn, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder – PTSD Series: Part 1 of Skating Your Way Through Summary:
An injury sends figure skater Cassian Andor to a tiny Canadian town for rehabilitation. He’s instructed to heal, rest, and enjoy the clean mountain air. And he hates the very idea of it.
Until he falls – literally – into the lives of single dad Bodhi and two exuberant daughters. Cassian finds himself unbelievably charmed by the little family and, as it turns out, the feeling is mutual.
Bodhi Rook never expected to find love again but with Cassian…he starts to hope.
After last chapter’s cliffhanger, we’re happy to give you the slight angst the resolution! Enjoy!
Does anyone else get a lot of feels about Cassian as a child throwing rocks and bottles at Republic tanks and soldiers? His father peacefully protested the Republic’s militarism and look what they did to him. Can you imagine that angry, hurt child flinging rocks because he had nothing else, maybe delivering messages and carrying supplies for the Separatists because he could hide better in the rubble and was less suspicious than a grownup or older kid?
In our world children have been shot for throwing rocks at occupying forces. Did Cassian watch kids, kids he knew from his neighborhood being killed? Did he run away and hide, too scared to even cry, still clutching his rock and wishing it were a blaster, or a bomb?
By the time he was seven the Clone Wars ended and the Republic was replaced by the Empire. His enmity simply transferred to the Empire, a logical if extreme continuation of what the Republic had become.
Yet even in the Rebellion it was the Senators who called the shots, the Senators who told him to get blood on his hands, grinding him down to be harder and sharper until he hardly felt like a person. Even the name was cruel; the Allience to Restore the Republic. To restore what? Repression and destruction, children dying in the streets? The Senators promised things would be different this time, but that’s what they promised the first time around.
Did he think about taking up arms against the Republic, too, giving them more than rocks and bottles if the Alliance won and the demands of the downtrodden were not met? Did he think to live that long?
Perhaps his victory lay in this small, hard fact: The Senators might have had his life, but his death was his own. It wasn’t some Senator or General who told him to go to Scarif, he went against direct orders for the conscience he found still beating in him, for the wisp of a hope that he could protect other children from the fires of annihilation.
So Cassian Jeron Andor went to Scarif a free man, though freedom demanded an unfairly high price. He had known that already, though, from the moment his father’s lifeless body came home. Freedom was a mean, demanding bitch and he reached out and grasped her with both hands. He died in that embrace; it was all the choice he had in a broken universe.
Papercraft commission of Enfys Nest from Solo! I tried to use mostly natural, handmade papers to give the piece a grittier feel. Those also made the metallic touches on the cape, staff and mask stand out more, which was nice.
oh god, i agree, nonny. he’s absolutely fascinated by her and has to remind himself to actually say something. it’s a cute little moment — not just for them staring at each other, but him having her back and supporting her through her entire speech. i love it. ♥
y’all are liking this because you want to write a fic for this, right? because i‘d wholeheartedly support this idea.
it wouldn’t be on their way to scarif, of course, or at least it would be that version of scarif where everyone lives. but someone will write this, right? just a sweet little cassian introspection — where he can’t take his eyes off her and her lips and has to keep his composure in front of the crew.
someone write this, please. ❤️
At first he told himself he was watching her, just as he did any other asset or mark.
He pretended he did not file away the set of her jaw in determination, the shade her eyes took in the greens of the command room. Pretended they were just little things. Trivial, meaningless little things, which he didn’t have time for.
On Jedha he tried watching out for her, for them, in a city that felt like its streets were not veins pumping with life, but rather ducts charged with firepower. He told her as much and then felt his silent words bite him in return when he watched her save a child, disable ‘troopers with the sheer force of her body, look valiantly into the eyes of Saw’s men and declare things she had been hiding for a long time, eyes blown wide and dark, cheeks flushed, saving them. Saving him.
Cassian saw no alternative other than saving her in turn, when Jedha turned into dust, when the Alliance showered bombs on a Force-forsaken planet and killed her father. Her eyes were dark again, the color of the angry storm outside, her nose red, her chin wobbling, and angry, so angry. And that was when he found himself having to admit that he was no longer watching anymore. He was looking. He was angry as well, but he couldn’t not look.
There was the moment, later, when he noticed that she was looking, too, eyes almost turquoise in the hangar, a little bit wet and bright, staring up at him as he leaned over and said words that he had never said to anyone – he had never had anyone to welcome anywhere, after all. They were all going to die, probably, and he didn’t care, because there were her eyes and down below an open shield gate, and then her hand on his arm.
That was when he had started admitting that he was staring. At dark hair the color of the murky ground on Yavin IV curling around pale skin, at her mouth, forcing out words that made men like Melshi look up, sit a bit straighter. He had to tear himself away, remind himself there was no time, but yes, when he fell down and it took him strength he didn’t have to get back up and go to her, every time he thought of the plans, something treacherously whispered in his head that he was really doing this so he could look at her again. That was the sum of his moment of self-indulgence when they went down that turbolift.
Force knew if they were getting out of that planet, but Cassian was content just to stand next to her and learn her ways: watch her dance (well, not quite dance – his mind scoffed, as he remembered white armor crunching under her truncheons), look into green-grey eyes (or were they hazel?), stare at chapped lips (what did they taste like?).
Cassian was content.
(His vision was dimming when he heard her – a sudden laugh and “Force, Bodhi! Help me – he’s really hurt!”
And his chest did a funny thing. He told himself it was hope.)
Rebellions are built on hope 