Jyn stepped off the ‘fresher feeling slightly relieved. She felt clean for the first time after three whole days and she was wearing fresh underwear under the clothes she just put through the sonic. If there was any reason she regretted not joining the Alliance sooner it was this.
As the particular thought – the relief of feeling fresh and clean synthcotton against her skin – intruded her mind, she caught sight of another reason behind her staying with the Rebellion, slumped over the bench in the main hold of the freighter Bodhi had picked them up with, which was hurtling through a hyperspace lane and getting them the hell away from the Albarrio sector as fast as possible. He was buried under his parka like it was a blanket, curled in a way that was probably wreaking havoc on his back. She sat down next to him in what little space there was left. Like her, he slept lightly and when startled, would wake up with a blaster in his hand. And Cassian had very good aim, one that had admittedly saved her life more than once.
“Cassian,” she whispered softly, running a careful hand over the furred edge of the heavy coat.
His eyes opened, sharp as always, but he moved his mouth slowly, getting rid of the dryness, the only tell that he was actually deep asleep and one she knew he allowed because she was the one waking him up.
“What?” he grunted, moving a bit in his seat and not disguising his discomfort.
“You’re lying there all crooked,” she scrunched up her nose to keep how worried she actually was at bay.
He sat up, more or less, and shoved the parka down. He had used the ‘fresher already, as a trade-off for her putting a bacta patch on the blaster wound that had glanced off her right arm. His hair was falling over his eyes, mussed, and she had to steel herself not to reach out and run her fingers through it.
“Don’t you want to lie down in one of the cabins?” she asked instead.
He swallowed, ran a hand over his face, “I have to write my report.”
She rolled her eyes, “you can do that tomorrow. You can’t be comfortable here.”
“Bodhi might need me,” he argued.
Stubborn, stubborn man.
“All right,” she said, resolutely, “we’ll stay here, then.”
Without waiting for his response, she marched off in the direction of the crew quarters, opened the door to the first one and grabbed what she could in the way of pillows and blankets. When she got back to the main hold, he was leaning back in the bench, his eyes nodding off even as he had a datapad in front of him. She unceremoniously plucked it out of his hands.
“I was reading that,” he mumbled.
“Yeah, I can see that. Get up.”
“Jyn.”
She glared at him hard enough that he finally acquiesced. She sat down with a pillow on her back, perched her legs on a small crate that was lingering nearby that she magnetized to the ship’s floor, and put a pillow on her lap.
“Come on,” she said, patting the pillow.
It was really telling of how tired he was that he silently did as he was told, grunting when he bent his legs in a ninety degree position on the bench, so his back was elongated and comfortable.
“Is your arm all right?” he asked, as she covered him up with the blanket.
“It’s fine,” she said and finally allowed herself to wind her fingers through his hair. She had no choice, it was right there on her lap.
He reached up and grabbed her free arm, bringing it close to his chest and she swore the gesture didn’t overwhelm her.
“Just a quick nap,” he mumbled, seemingly already out of it.
“Sure,” Jyn replied, feeling the day’s exhaustion finally catch up to her, “just a quick a nap.”
There are three of these now, and they are adorable. @writinredhead
Hannah Gadsby’s powerful new comedy special Nanette is a raw, honest, uncompromising confrontation with our culture’s limiting perceptions of gender and sexuality.
Recommended to those who experience marginalization, for the affirmation that You Are Not Alone, and We Are Strong.
Recommended to those who experience privilege, for a reminder on How To Be A Human.
Recommended to those who experience both for, well, a little of both.
Recommended to those who have experienced trauma, for the reminder that You Deserve To Heal.
Obi-Wan can find an invisible planet hidden by a devious Sith Lord, Anakin can’t find his ex-best friend on his own home planet while the guy is still using his own damn name.
I know we give Obi-wan a lot of shit for leaving Luke with his real surname but Anakin really is that stupid
the perfect hiding place: the sandiest fucking planet that anakin would never set foot on again
I’d like to remind everyone again that it’s literally canon that Vader can’t step foot on Tatooine because the desert gets into his creaky old man robot joints and makes his suit break down
aka the sand is coarse, rough, irritating, and gets everywhere
i d o n t l i k e s a n d
okay but what if everyone was like ‘vader, kenobi’s on tattooine. he’s obviously on tattooine. he’s been there for years. he’s just right fucking there, we all know it.’ and vader is just desperately shaking down jedi like they’re magic eight-balls and he wants a better fortune. like ‘no i don’t like that try again’.
kenobi’s just sitting there in his pile of sand like a smug fucking bastard. he doesn’t need to hide jack shit. he went to the tattooine board of tourism and got them to print up flyers that say ‘COME TO TATTOOINE, WE HAVE SAND’ and luke is probably going to be safe until his midlife fucking crisis at this rate.
palpatine finds vader aimlessly checking behind pieces of furniture in some shitty space motel on kamino
If you’re new to actions with an arrest risk and you don’t have experienced protestors with you, there’s stuff you can find online about having a legal team, writing the name of a lawyer on your body, saying NOTHING to the cops except the name of your lawyer, etc. That’s all good advice.
But let me give you a bit of advice that is just as essential as all that:
If one of your comrades gets arrested, and you know they can be held for 6, 9, 12 hours, depending on where you are, you get a group of people together and you wait outside the police station.
You may be tired, you may be stressed, it may be freezing, you may need to take turns, but you take whoever can still physically and mentally bear it and you go to that police station and you wait for your comrade. You can spend the time taking care of each other, drinking hot drinks, doing whatever gets you through, but you wait.
And when your comrade gets out, you make sure they do not walk home alone in the dark thinking about the fucked up experience they just had, you make sure there’s a big fucking crowd of their comrades there to greet them with hugs and hot drinks and a cigarette if they smoke.
And whether the arrested comrade that just got out is happy or sad or pissed off, you take that for what it is and give that space and you support that. And you get them a hot meal and you hang out with them and you offer to let them stay at your place or you stay with them so they don’t have to spend that night alone with their thoughts.
You do this every damn time, regardless of whether you really like that comrade and regardless of how you feel about the thing your comrade got arrested for, regardless of how often they’ve been arrested. Because you never know how shitty their experience is going to be in there this time.
Trust me. This is absolutely essential. Once you’ve been arrested and have felt the difference between walking home alone or having your friends waiting for you, you’ll understand.
Be good comrades
I can’t stress how important this is. When my father and I were arrested in Seattle some years back for agitating for Comprehensive Immigration Reform, we were greeted outside the jail by the event’s organisers. They cheered us, had cokes and munchies for us. They drove us to our car and, during the drive, asked if we wanted to stay the night in Seattle with one of the organisers, they filled us in on what had happened after our arrests, they asked about and listened intently to what we experienced from arrest to release. They did so much so well that when another call went out for potential arrestees, we were amongst the first to raise our proverbial hands.
Read the post. Re-read the post. Remember it. And, when the chance comes, do it.
When I was arrested at a Black Lives Matter protest a few years ago, Jews for Racial and Economic Justice were doing Jail Support when I was finally let out of One Police Plaza at around 6am.
They had gotten a klezmer band to stand along the hill you have to go up to leave the jail, and as I walked to where the volunteer lawyers were waiting (they were there to make sure all 200+ people who were arrested that night would be represented at their later hearings. They also were surrounded by volunteers who had food, phone chargers, directions to all the nearby subway stops, and one of them let me borrow her phone to call my mom when I got frustrated with how slowly my phone was charging) the band played music, cheered and applauded.
Honestly? That band playing klezmer for me as I left jail, cheering me on and making me laugh… it’s a memory I really treasure.
It’s also one of my mother’s favorite stories. Before I told her about that band, she got so upset and agitated whenever anything reminded her of my arrest. She’d freak out, cry, start fussing over me, and so forth. After I told her about the klezmer band though? It became something she’d tell her friends about, over and over again, laughing each time. She stopped calling me to beg me not to go and protest every time she knew a big one was happening, and instead would call to make a joke about how if I want to listen to klezmer she has some CDs I can borrow.
When I think about that night, rather than any of the many many terrible things that happened from the moment the cops grabbed me onward, the first thing I remember is the klezmer, and how it made me laugh, and the popcorn someone gave me as I gave the lawyers my name and info, and the kindness of strangers.
After the dehumanization of even a few hours in police custody, those volunteers made me smile, and gave the night a new fun and funny angle to be remembered from. I actually laugh when I think about that night, thanks to them.
Jail Support is a beyond vital part of protesting. It really really is.
Rebellions are built on hope 