#also i feel awkward posting other things while people are still waiting for survey results.

[asphodeldreams]

the only reason i haven’t been posting as much lately is because all i can think about at the moment is spider-man and like. i keep forgetting that this isn’t an rvb blog. it’s just my blog. i can just post my spider-man shit here too LMAO

[kid-crashed]

Catch Me If You Can (Part 1)

This is a DamiJon College AU based off of some fantastic fanart by @une1st that you can find right here. Part 2 coming soon!

A shrill whistle rang over the practice field, easily being heard over the sound of rock music blasting from a set of speakers.

“Come on boys! Let me see that hustle!” The coach would have been easily identifiable, even without the booming voice. He was a giant man, easily six foot five, maybe more, with muscles straining against muted gray sweats. He was the only one standing on the sidelines, while the Metropolis City University football team practiced. “You best wake up and get your asses in gear or you’ll be running laps for the rest of the day!”

“Yes Coach!” The call came unanimously from the team as they worked through a series of warm up drills. Practice had only just started; earlier than normal, but they had their big Homecoming game tonight. This was their last chance to get a little extra training in.

The team finished their warm up, the coach stepping into the center of the field.

“Alright boy, take a knee.” The herd of college kids formed a semicircle around theman. His eyes surveyed his team  before landing on one member in particular. “Kent. Get your butt up here.”

“Sir, yes sir.” The guy in question stood up from amongst the team with a cocky grin on his face: Jon Kent. At twenty years old, he wasn’t the youngest person to ever make team captain, but he was still only a junior; a fact which had originally left a bad taste in the mouths of some of the seniors. Still, no one could deny that he’d earned this title, captain was elected by majority vote after all. But it was early in the season. This was his first big game to prove himself in.

He was tall by most standards, short by football’s, at six foot one. But more importantly, he was built almost entirely of lean muscle. His shoulders were broad, half inherited from his father, half the result of doing farm work his whole life. Unlike a lot of the members of the team, who looked like they snorted protein powder and skipped leg day regularly, Jon’s muscle mass was evenly distributed, giving him a conventionally fit, and attractive build.

He wiped the sweat on his hairline with the sleeve of his practice jersey. A clip board was handed over to him. It contained notes about each player on their team, as well as on their opponents.

“Alright folks,” He cleared his throat. “As you know, we’re going against Gotham tonight. Coach Stone can’t be trusted to call the shots ‘cause it’s his alma mater, so I’ll be taking over instead.” There was some collective snickering amongst the team. It was a running joke to five their coach a hard time for having gone to their biggest rival school. “So, here’s how it’s going to go.”

Jon started listing off the positions for roughly half of the team, mostly upperclassmen who were guaranteed a little spotlight in the homecoming game. There was a promise to all the new freshies and returning sophomores that if they proved themselves during training, they could get a little action too.

“Alright boys.” Coach Stone piped back in once Jon was done. “Take five for water, then we’re back to it.”

The members of the team split off back to their bags. Jon had left his over on the one long metal bench that stood at the bottom of the hill leading that lead to the field. As he walked up to it, he was able to look around and notice the small crowd of people interspured all over the knoll.

It wasn’t uncommon for other MU students to sit around and watch various athletic teams work out below. It was a nice place to hang out; sunny, but with a few trees for shade, and easy walking distance to one dining hall, the main gym, two libraries, and some of the larger academic buildings.

Seeing all these other students out here brought a smile to his face. He liked feeling like he was part of a community.

“Yo Kent, think fast!”

Jon’s head snapped up just in time to see a football being launched right at his head. God dammit. He ran back a few steps, thanking every fiber of his body that his reaction time was pretty high quality. Jon was able to cover enough distance that rather than being smacked in the head, the ball slammed his right in the chest. Jon wrapped his hands around the ball, pulling it in and keeping it close with his forearms. Nice. Ball: Caught. Receive: Perfect… Except… As he let his body follow the momentum, Jon felt the back of his ankle knock against something, and he toppled backwards.

“And down I go.” The exclamation was involuntary as he hit the ground with a thud. His recovery period was quick. The man sat up just in time to see one of his teammates cackling at Jon’s expense. “What the hell Batson?”

“Sorry man.” That boy was not sorry. Billy had been a close friend of Jon’s for years, but he could be a bit of a joker. “Also, uh, sorry!”

Jon scrunched his eyebrows at the second apology, noting that it definitely wasn’t for him. That was about when Jon became aware of the weird lump under his leg.

A backpack.

Shit.

“I’m so sorry.” Jon scrambled to his feet, brushing any grass or dirt off his sweatpants. He was careful for the disrupt the bag anymore than he already had.

“You should be.” The lower register voice made Jon unintentionally wince -- Please don’t start a fight right now -- He look at the person belonging to the backpack.

A guy sat on top of jacket, as if he were using it as a picnic blanket of sorts. He wore a rather comfortable looking green sweater, despite it being a nice, seventy six degree day. As Jon’s eyes traced over the figure under the sweater, taking note of how naturally tanned the guy’s skin was, leading up to the mans face and -- Oh… Oh that was a death glare if he’d ever seen one.

It was then that Jon realized he was also stepping on something, well, somethings to be exact. He took a step back and kneeled to pick up an assortment of what he was pretty sure were charcoal pencils. “Um… here.” He handed them to the guy.

This guy stared at Jon for a moment before reaching out with one color-covered hand, palm out flat. Jon dropped the pencils in the hand, being careful not to get any of whatever that ink was on his own hands. He watched as the individual organized the charcoal next to a box of what looked like oil pastels. Well, that explained the color.

“Sorry again.” Jon felt kinda sheepish. “It won’t happen again. I’ll yell at the guy who threw the ball, and uh… yell at myself for falling.”

The fellow sighed. “I didn’t think I’d be in the way when I sat here.”

“You’re not! I promise this was a one time fluke.”

Hazel eyes seemed to study Jon’s face to see if he was really sincere or not. “I’ll take your word for it.” The man then picked up a sketch book that had been resting on the grass next to him, and leaned it carefully against his knees.

Suddenly, something clicked in Jon’s head. “Oh! You’re that dude who’s always drawing here!”

“Excuse me?” The guy rose an eyebrow, and for some reason Jon suddenly felt a bit flustered.

“No I mean,” He took a step back, trying to actually think before he spoke. “I just see you here a lot. Like, during practice I’ll look and and it’s like, boom, you’re there.”

The other male let out a sigh, turning his attention away from the moronic quarterback, and back to his artwork. “I suppose I’m here often.”

“You are.” Yeah that sounds about right Kent. Tell the guy exactly how often he’s here. That’s just a fantastic idea. “I mean, well, I notice that you are.” There was an awkward bit of silence, where this other student was probably just trying to ignore Jon’s presence on that hill. Rightfully so. He was definitely just bothering the guy. “So… Do you always draw the team?”

“No.” The answer was short and simple, but one glance upward must have allowed the man to see just how painfully curious Jon was. “Sometimes I draw what’s in front of me, sometimes I draw based on assignments, sometimes I just draw whatever comes to mind first.”

“That’s so cool.” He peaked over the edge of the sketchbook once more to get a look at the work in progress. “You’re really good.”

“Thank you.”

Jon was about to open his big mouth all over again, probably to make another dumb comment, when his coach’s voice suddenly boomed over the whole field. “Kent! Stop flirting and get back over here!”

“Yes Coach!” Jon called back over his shoulder. “Uh… I’ll catch you later?”

“Perhaps.” The artist shrugged. “Goodbye, Kent.”

For some reason, that just brought a grin to the junior’s face. “It’s Jon, actually. Kent’s my last name.”

“Alright then. Goodbye, Jon.”

“Can’t I get your name first?”

The man looked up from his work with a sigh, making eye contact with the football player once more. “Damian.”

Practice ended rather uneventfully, with the usual post-training pre-game huddle Coach Stone always made them do. Supposedly it boasted moral until the more official motivational speech in the locker room, but Jon didn’t know enough about psychology to say one way or another. The members of the team started branching off, each going back to their bags to collect their things and head out. As Jon was heading back to his own bag, he looked up and noticed that the artist from before was starting to pack up his things as well.

“Hey!” Jon ran over to Damian, before the other was fully packed up. “Wait a sec.”

Damian didn’t slow as he put placed a piece of wax paper between the pages in his sketchbook, and closed it. “What do you want?”

“Are you going to the game tonight?” Jon awkwardly adjusted the strap of his gym bag over his shoulder.

Damian looked him over, then, he carefully put the sketchbook in his messenger bag. “I doubt it.”

There was a very good change that Jon looked like a kicked puppy. A pout grew on his face. Childish? Maybe. But if it works, it works. “Why not?”

The art student shrugged. “I never purchased a ticket. Besides, I’m not so interested in sports events.”

“I can get you a ticket.” H flashed a grin. “And you could just come and draw or something?”

That got a puzzled look in response. “You want me to come to your game, and not watch it?”

The quarterback shifted, rocking back onto his heels, then to his toes. “Why not? Can’t a guy want to see a pretty face in the crowd?” He studied the expression on Damian’s face, noticing the change from confusion, to what he dared to call fluster.

“How--” Damian coughed into his hand. “How will I get the ticket?”

The smile on Jon’s face would have split his head in two. “I’ll leave it at Will Call for you.”

[chenziee]

Incredible (part 3)

The last part for @jeankasa-events Jeankasa canon weekend.

POST CHAPTER 105 ANGST. IT'S SAD AND CONTAINS HEAVY SPOILERS.

[part 1 // part 2] [read on AO3]

The atmosphere in the airship’s inner room was tense. The silence was heavy, even though the motors were incredibly loud and making Mikasa’s head hurt. Officially, they were just waiting for Commander Hanji to emerge from the cockpit to have a quick run-down of their situation right now, but in reality, none of them knew what to say after Eren was sat down and shackled to the wall.

It hurt Mikasa seeing him like that. Seeing her brother so empty, so uncaring. Like he had gone somewhere far away and left behind only a shell of himself for his friends, a shell that didn’t care about anything but it’s purpose. Actually, ever since they have entered that goddamned basement all those years ago, it was like she was watching Eren slowly die. She hated it and hated that she couldn’t help him. None of them could, no matter how much they tried.

And now all of them suffered the results of their failure; this whole mess. Countless civilian victims of Eren’s rage, even children, a now-unavoidable war with the whole, wide world, and the Beast titan on board of their airship.

The Beast titan who was apparently also Eren’s older half-brother. Mikasa still couldn’t really wrap her head around that. What kind of twisted fate was it that both Grisha Jaeger’s sons ended up as titan shifters? Or maybe it was precisely because they were Grisha’s sons. Still, she didn’t trust the Beast. He might have left his followers for them and come up with this grand scheme but in Mikasa’s book, he was still the enemy.

He was still the enemy in all of their books except Eren’s, it seemed. Captain Levi had been glaring at Zeke Jaeger, who was still slowly recovering from being not-so-carefully cut out of his titan body, ever since Mikasa came up there with Eren.

The girl couldn’t even blame Levi for kicking Eren like he did. After what happened, it was more than deserved and Mikasa knew it even though she still felt protective of Eren. However, he did break their trust, destroyed their plans, killed people... and hurt them all beyond measure.

He hurt Armin, years ago when they had that fight, and even before then when they reached the ocean for the first time. He had hurt Hanji by not trusting her enough. He had hurt Jean and Connie and Sasha and Historia by running of, by refusing to talk and share his burdens.

He had hurt Mikasa herself. Incredibly so, by his every action and every blank look these past four years.

And he had hurt Levi. Mikasa didn’t know what their relationship had developed into, but Levi was obviously hurting by the change Eren had gone through just as much as the rest of them. Just as much as Mikasa.

Finally, a commotion from the cargo room that was louder than before broke the tense silence hanging between the six of them in the room, making the Captain question what was going on and starting a first awkward conversation. Just after the man made Jelena take off her fake beard, the door behind them opened revealing Jean with two young, bloodied kids. A girl and a boy, no older than 15. The girl was struggling against Jean’s hold while the boy only followed Jean’s lead. The young man’s face was serious, something Mikasa couldn’t place behind the clenched jaw and deep frown.

The occupants of the room stared at the newcomers in shock. How did anyone other than the Survey Corps manage to board the airship?

Then the beast spoke, addressing the kids as if he knew them, making the two look just as shocked as the rest of them were. The boy spoke first, incoherent questions leaving his lips, before the girl interrupted him, shouting questions, assuming they had kidnapped the Beast. Mikasa internally snorted. Oh how innocent and naive they were.

His scowl deepening, Levi turned to Jean, asking for explanation.

And Jean delivered, immediately making them all wish no one asked. “They killed Lobov and used his gear to get on board. And this one,” he nodded in the girl’s direction, “shot Sasha. And it looks like she might not make it.”

What?

Blood froze in Mikasa’s veins, her eyes going wide. Sasha? Shot?

Lies.

It was all lies.

Not looking back, she ran out with Armin in tow, heading straight to where Connie and two others were kneeling on the floor, moving frantically. Mikasa dropped to her knees next to them, taking in all the blood, the pale face, the empty eyes...

She screamed Sasha’s name, screamed at her to get it together, that she can’t just go like this, not when they were finally heading home, when there was a feast to be had. She screamed, wordlessly, shaking Sasha, trying to get her to look at her and smile and laugh and tell them it was all a silly prank they pulled with Connie.

Tears were streaming down her face but Mikasa paid no mind. She didn’t care her voice was getting hoarse either.

She just wanted Sasha to wake up, please please just let her wake up.

“..I’m sorry,” the old garrison soldier pressing bandages to Sasha’s side whispered, pity and pain dripping from his words.

“No!” Mikasa screamed again, her voice breaking as she shook Sasha harder. “No no no, it can’t be!”

A hand landed on her shoulder, making her jump. She stared wide eyed at Connie, who was looking right back at her, his expression a distorted neutral. It looked wrong. So so wrong and pained and broken even without the tears pouring down his face.

“She’s gone, Mikasa.”

And that was it.

Mikasa didn’t, couldn’t stay in the same room Sasha was in. And she couldn’t go back to the small meeting with Commander Hanji and Zeke Jaeger either. Eren was there and she couldn’t even think of looking at him right now.

This wasn’t how this was supposed to end. They were supposed to pick up Eren and Zeke and retreat, keeping casualties to minimum on both the enemy side and their own. They were supposed to return home together, all of them, after a successful mission. Even if they would be angry at Eren and detaining him, even if they killed a few enemy soldiers, it would still be a victory and a success.

Mikasa knew they had won. She knew civilian victims were unavoidable. She knew deaths on their side were probably unavoidable, as well. But this...

This shouldn’t have happened.

This wasn’t a victory. This wasn’t anything. It was just empty. It was pain. It was wrong.

In that moment, for the first time in her life, she hated Eren.

It was his fault.

Yet she couldn’t hate him completely. On a rational level, she knew it was not his fault. He wasn’t the one to pull the trigger. There was no guarantee that if they had waited for Hanji’s plan, things would have gone any better. Sasha might have still died. Connie might have died. Or herself or Eren or Armin or Jean.

Or all of them.

But it didn’t matter. Eren didn’t give them a choice and this was their reality now.

There was a soft knock on the door but Mikasa didn’t answer, only curled up into herself more, clutching at the pillow she was hugging to her chest.

Regardless of her silence, the door opened slowly after a moment and Jean walked inside. Mikasa didn’t look at him, just continued staring straight ahead blankly while Jean walked over and sat on the bed next to her, close enough for her to feel his presence but not close enough to touch.

The silence of the room prevailed for a while, heavy with the truth of the night, but not uncomfortable, until Jean spoke up. His voice was quiet, a bit hoarse and tired. “I thought you’d be here.”

The corner of Mikasa’s mouth twitched in a bitter and humourless smile. It should have been a surprise that she was in Jean and Connie’s room and not her own but... “Where else would I be? In my room, where she should be with me?”

Jean flinched at the broken words, regretting he said anything. “I’m sorry. You’re more than welcome to stay here with me.”

Mikasa shook her head. “Don’t apologize,” she whispered, face burying deeper into the pillow as she still refused to look at him. “You’re in pain, too.”

Jean didn’t have anything to say to that. So he only moved closer to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to pull her towards him, and Mikasa let him, falling gently to rest against his side. It was only a moment later when a small sob escaped her, making Jean’s hold tighten. She let go of Jean’s pillow then, turning around to bury her face in the crook of his neck instead.

And Jean could only hold her close, kissing and stroking her hair and back, murmuring words of comfort that would probably mean nothing to Mikasa. They wouldn’t mean anything to him, there was nothing anyone could say to make things better. To bring Sasha back.

Nothing.

But Mikasa was grateful. She was grateful Jean was there for her, willing to be the support she desperately needed even though he was obviously no better off than her.

She wanted to tell him it was okay to cry too, but she knew Jean was holding back for her, keeping himself together for as long as she needed, and she swore to herself to be the same kind of solid presence for him once he breaks.

But for now, she could only be thankful for how strong Jean was. How thoughtful and supportive and loving.

How incredible.

Jean was incredible in her eyes.

When she looked at him now, at his tall figure and stupid, grown out hair, she couldn’t help but laugh at how much he had changed since their trainee days. He had grown, grown more than any of them. He was the Squad Leader and acting Commander they needed and she was proud of him for what he had become, loved him for always putting others before himself. For putting her before himself.

He was the man she needed, now and always.

Stupid hair and soft ‘I love you’s and all.

[part 1 // part 2]

[meenasmoon]

Waiting for a Star to Fall Ch 4: Take Me to Church

Sorry for the delay with this puppy. I had a ten page paper calling my name. Tomorrow is the tentative deadline of my ability to pump out chapter after chapter so I will try to post SitM and Renegades for yall. Much Love! Also there is a mention of abortion in this chapter and while I support a woman’s choice I try not to push my beliefs on other people so I kept it quick and vague just like the short church service

Note: I think I’m becoming obsessed with my own OC. in my personal opinion she is a snarky little gift!!

“Are you sure about this church baby girl?” Leslie Jones asked as she helped her daughter up the steps, a strong arm wrapped around Meena’s waist. Her brown eyes looked over the older building that was located just blocks away from Meena’s new culdesac and she made note of the dated architecture, the peeling paint and the cracks that ran along one of the pillars at the entrance.

“Mom have an open mind okay? The pastor is one of my neighbors, he’s a very sweet man and the least that I could do is go to his church service.” Meena sighed in exasperation and gave her mom a pleading look before she led her family into the church. One section of the pews was blocked off by a tarp and a construction rig and the pews were a little old but the church was very charming and clean. Meena let her mom lead her down the aisle to an open row where she waited for her grandparents to get settled before  settling herself between her mother and her grandfather. 

She was looking at the detailing in the stain glass windows when she felt her grandfather’s warm hand patted her thigh through her dress. She turned to him with a smile and braced herself for the oncoming comments about the shabbiness of the church. She loved her grandfather, she really did but he was the pickiest man on the face of the planet, the complete opposite of her easygoing grandmother who was currently humming to herself as she took her knitting out of her purse. The woman could be happy anywhere it was a miracle. 

  Her grandfather let out a huff and raised his eyebrows at her, looking at her over the rim of his glasses. “Why aren’t we at our church again?” He groused and Meena let out a heavy sigh, rubbing her stomach reflexively as if it would calm her down. 

“Because I want to try this one today Grandpa.” She smiled but he just crossed his arms and let out another grumpy huff. 

  “Pastor Reynolds is going to wonder where I am and I’m stuck here in this rundown excuse for a church.” He grumbled to himself and Meena looked to her mother for some help but Leslie just rolled her eyes and gave her a little shrug. Officially on her own, Meena decided to resort to the only thing that was working right now. She started to cry. 

She felt terrible for working her grandfather’s emotions like this but her feet were swollen, her back ached and she did not have her usual patience to calm him right now. Her grandfather immediately tensed up when the first tear rolled down her cheek and looked around frantically for help but miraculously his daughter was suddenly talking to the people in front of her and his wife was busily knitting beside him. 

  “Oh Meena. Honeygirl don’t cry please. It’s a very lovely church. Just wonderful. Can’t wait for this Moon fellow’s sermon.” He tried desperately to placate her, wrapping her hand in both of his in what he hoped was a comforting way. Meena tried to stop the tears that were now flowing down her cheeks like rivers but found that she couldn’t. She grunted in frustration and began furiously wiping at them in an effort to stave off any sobs that could possibly break through. 

After a few minutes she finally got herself under control with the help of a few tissues from her mother’s purse and big hug from her mother. She was at least grateful that her emotional outburst had occurred in church where she could at least pass it off as being emotional about the sermon of forgiveness that Pastor Moon was preaching. She had to admit that his sermon was different from what she was used to in a good way but she couldn’t help her eye from wandering to the rest of the crowd stuffed into the pews. 

She caught sight of the Tenny family sitting near her own family and she couldn’t help but smile at how Norman was obviously passed out in the corner of the pew, but Rosita had yet to notice as she was working to hush her five children as they bickered amongst themselves. In their matching church clothes Meena had to admit that she could barely tell them apart from each other and she wondered if it would be that hard for her to tell her own twins apart when they were born. 

Meena giggled as she watched one of Rosita’s little girls spin around in the pew and survey the audience as if looking for her next victim. When she caught Meena staring at her she gave her a tentative smile as she sunk down in her seat until only her eyes were peeking over the back, still watching Meena. Meena gave her a little wave and then lost sight of her as the congregation stood for the final song. She let her family help her to her feet and sung as softly as she could, trying desperately to keep her singing talents a secret in a new church. 

In her family’s regular church her grandfather and mother had made sure that every single person knew that she had the voice of an angel and most times during the songs a lot of attention would be focused on her, waiting for some miracle to burst forth from her lips. Unfortunately she was much to shy under their scrutiny and always managed to stumble over the words or just stare at her feet until the song was over and she could once more hide behind her mother in the pew. 

When the service ended, Meena gratefully sat back down in the pew while her family stood and socialized politely with the other churchgoers that were lingering. While they were strangers, they were just as welcoming as their normal church and Meena got so many blessings for her children that she could barely remember everyone that had approached her. Finally the church cleared out enough that Meena could stand comfortably and look around for Buster.

She wanted to congratulate him on the wonderful service and let him know that she and her family had stopped by to see him preach. She absolutely refused to leave without talking to Buster, it was just how she was raised and as a result she found herself wandering through the church trying to find the short grey-haired man. She was just about to pass the confessional when suddenly the door to the small chamber burst open and the last person that Meena expected to see went stomping angrily away. 

Meena almost called out a greeting to Ash but the fiery woman had a look of death on her face as she slipped into the crowd and disappeared just as quickly as she had appeared. Meena felt her heart drop a little as she continued to search the crowd for her friend’s face, to no avail. Something was obviously wrong with Ash, and though she had her own problems to deal with she couldn’t help but feel the strong urge to do anything and everything for the woman that had first made her feel like a part of the family. Ash was her first friend since the debacle with Daniel and she treasured her just a little bit more than everyone else. 

Suddenly her original quarry, Buster Moon, stepped out of the other compartment of the confessional, looking weary and a little frustrated. Obviously something had happened between the two of them but by the way that Buster immediately started smiling his showman’s smile when he saw her she knew that she would get nothing from the man. 

  Meena went in to shake his hand but was taken by surprise when the shorter man pulled her in for a tight hug instead. She awkwardly patted his back and let out a relieved breath when he finally released her. Hugging had become a little awkward and painful for her back when she had to bend over her stomach to be pulled in tight so she avoided or modified them as much as she could.

  “Meena! So good to see you. Did you enjoy the service?” He gently steered her away from the confession booth with a firm hand on her lower back and as they walked back to where her family was waiting at the church’s entrance they chatted amicably. However, Meena would not easily forget what she had seen and if Buster was going to keep the secret she needed to go to the source and find Ash. Though by the way that she stormed out of the church Meena wasn’t so sure that she wanted to know the reason. 

Her family chatted with Buster for a few moments before her mother once again had an arm wrapped around her and was helping her down the stirs. Ever since she had started to show everyone had been treating her like she could fall apart at the slightest touch and though it got annoying she learned long ago that she was born into a stubborn family and there was no way that she could convince them otherwise. Meena let out a heavy sigh but nonetheless gave her mother a grateful smile as they reached the bottom of the stairs. 

They strolled slowly through the parking lot, her mother and grandmother heatedly discussing the Sunday meal that they had planned for when they got back to Meena’s home while her grandfather had Meena’s arm securely wrapped around elbow. 

“That was a… nice service.” He said gruffly, obviously trying to hide his distaste for change for her sake. Meena felt her heart warm at his attempt to overcome his usual grumpiness in order to reassure her. Taking pity on him, she squeezed his hand and leaned down to bestow a kiss on his cheek. 

“Thanks Grandpa.” She said sweetly and his stooped posture perked up slightly at her touch. She giggled to herself as he escorted her to the car with a new spring in his step and made sure to open her door for her. Meena gripped the edge of the roof of the car tightly and slowly lowered herself into the seat, grunting when she let gravity do the work and she plopped down safely into the cushioned seat. 

Her grandfather shut the door for her before joining her grandmother in the back seat. Her mother fired up their old Cadillac and they made their way back to Meena’s house, her mother blasting old R & B the whole way. When they finally got back to her house, Meena leveraged herself out of the car just in time to catch Johnny’s old black truck as it pulled into the driveway one door down from her. 

Her eyes lit up and she quickly patted down her dress and her hair, cursing the way that the static from her seat had messed up her perfectly curled hair. Deciding that she was as good as it was gonna get, she waddled over to where Cora was hopping out of the car and chasing her soccer ball around as her father unloaded a bag heavy with sport’s gear. 

When Johnny turned around and caught sight of her coming up their driveway, he almost dropped the sports equipment in his surprise and delight. His face was lit up by a bright smile and from the way that he immediately started walking to meet her she could tell that he was happy to see her. She was about to say something when suddenly a blur of turquoise slammed into her side and wrapped her in a strong embrace. 

She let out a huff of breath and Johnny’s face went through a billion different types of fear as he watched his daughter nearly tackle her, “Meena!!” Cora squealed in delight and Meena chuckled as she wrapped an arm around Cora to return her hug. Johnny huffed out a sigh of relief and fixed his daughter with a stern look. 

“Cora. We talked abaht this. Meena is pregnant and ya gotta be careful with ‘er. We daan’t wanna ‘urt ‘er babies now do we?” Cora winced and looked up at Meena, her bright green eyes pleading with her for forgiveness. 

“I’m sorry Meena.” Her lip trembled on the precipice of a sob and Meena’s eyes widened as she quickly tried to assuage the little girl’s fears. 

“Oh no it’s alright Cora honey.” She stroked the girl’s braided hair and tightened her hug until the tears faded from her eyes to be replaced with a big smile that melted Meena’s heart, “How was your game today?”

  Cora immediately forgot about her blunder and launched into an exaggerated tale of how she had single-handedly fought off an army of zombies in order to score the winning goal. Meena caught Johnny smiling and rolling his eyes in a way that a father who was often on the other end of these far-fetched tales. Deciding to let Meena in on the actual events he spoke up.

  “She scored the winning goal in the game today.” He helpfully supplied and Meena nodded in recognition, her smile only growing as Cora then proceeded to demonstrate her victory dance which was a mix of an oddly executed worm and a lot of flailing. Meena let out a musical laugh and was soon joined in by Johnny’s deep chuckle. 

“That’s wonderful Cora. She glanced back at her house where her family was not-so-subtly watching the interaction from the porch of her house. She blushed a little when her mother sent her an exuberant thumbs up. She quickly spun around to find that Johnny hadn’t seen her family watching them and was instead watching his daughter as she continued to dance around their yard.

  “I’m having some family over for a get together today and I was wondering if you two would… like to stop by…” She nervously tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and gave him a shy smile. 

“Oh… we wouldnae wanna intrude on you and yer family.” He started to protest but was quickly interrupted by Cora’s excited yell as she leapt up from the grass and rushed over to Meena once more. 

“Really? A party? Oh daddy can we please go.” She turned her big green eyes to her father who faltered slightly and then easily crumbled when Meena added her own baby blues to the pleading look.

  “If it’s alright wif ya Meena, we’d love to join ya.” He smiled and Cora screeched in excitement as she sprinted towards their small house, yelling something about calling the first shower. Johnny chuckled and adjust the sports bag on his shoulder. 

“We’ll be over as soon as we get showered and dressed.” He smiled and Meena blushed as the unbidden image of Johnny naked and surrounded by steam popped up in her head. Flustered, she felt her face heat up and she began slowly backing down the driveway, trying desperately not to trip and make a fool of herself. 

“O-oh yes um okay.” She mumbled nervously and them turned around to hurry back towards her house. she rolled her eyes when her mother hurriedly ushered her grandparents into the house so it would look like they hadn’t been eavesdropping. She stepped up onto her porch and cast one more look at the house on the other side of Johnny’s where she knew Ash lived. The house was dark except for flashing lights in the garage and a beat up van with the painting of a rocker playing guitar while surrounded by lightning. 

She felt a slight pull in her stomach as she thought about Ash and how upset she had seemed at the church earlier. She pulled out her phone and sent a quick text, inviting her and her family to the get together. She stared at it for a second, hoping for an immediate reply despite knowing how unlikely it was. When her screen remained empty she sighed and went into the house, intent on changing out of her fancy clothes and into something more comfortable.

When she walked inside she found her mother and grandmother already bustling around the kitchen, preparing food that they had bought the day before. They stopped when she came in and looked up at her with knowing glances but Meena just gave them an exasperated glare and continued on to her room so she could change before her uncle and aunt showed up with their kids for the Sunday get together.

  As soon as Meena turned to go back into her house Johnny had frantically finished gathering up Cora’s soccer gear and raced into the house. He could hear his daughter singing happily in the shower so he busied himself with putting away their gear. When he saw her tiny giggling form streak past him clad in her monkey towel and he just chuckled and headed for the bathroom.  

As usual the bathroom mirror was covered in little drawings that she had done in the steam and he took a moment to look them over before shedding his clothes and jumping into the shower. When he emerged a few minutes later feeling refreshed and clean he found Cora sitting on the couch in her favorite jean shorts and a colorful jersey from her favorite women’s soccer team. 

“Hey Munchkin why don’t you find a pack of your CapriSun’s to bring over to Meena’s house while I get dressed.” He called as he passed the living room on the way to his room. He got a noncommittal grunt as a reply but he just rolled his eyes and continued to his room. 

He quickly slipped on his lucky boxers, his nicest pair of jeans with only one rip and no grease stains and then stood glaring at his closet, daring it to offer up a shirt worthy of this family get together. Ten minutes later when Cora wandered into her father’s room, sipping on her third CapriSun he was still staring at his closet, this time with less of a glare and more of a pleading look. 

  “Daddy put a shirt on.” She whined and hopped up onto her dad’s bed and watched him start sifting through his shirt collection. After a few minutes he pulled out a green flannel and a white t-shirt and hurriedly began pulling them on. Cora just loudly sipped the rest of her drink out of the container and kicked her feet impatiently while she waited for her father to style his hair and put on a little cologne. When he was finished he turned to her and spread his arms wide, looking for her approval. 

“How do I look Munchkin?” He asked, giving her a little twirl that made her giggle and jump off of the bed and onto the floor. 

“Like a dad. Now let’s gooooo.” She groaned and grabbed his hand, pulling him out of his room and into the hall where her box of CapriSun’s was waiting. She gathered it up in her arms like it was a precious baby, slipped on her flip flops and threw open the front door. Johnny hurriedly threw on his old Converse as he watched Cora dash off towards Meena’s house which was now surrounded by three other cars, one of which was a minivan. 

Once his shoes were on he hurriedly locked the door and ran after Cora, calling for her to wait, which she steadfastly ignored as she made her way up to the porch and stretched up to ring the doorbell. Johnny finally caught up to her just as the door was opened by an older woman who looked just like Meena but without the light freckles on her face. He was still trying to catch his breath so he just smiled while Cora gave her a huge grin and thrust out her tiny hand.

“My name’s Cora and this is my daddy. Meena invited us to her party.” She said eagerly, showing the woman her CapriSun box as if it was evidence of their invitation. The woman’s smile just grew as she stepped aside to admit them.

“Well hello there sweetie pie. You two come right in now, Meena is just finishing up in the kitchen but we’ve got plenty of food.” Cora dashed right in and Johnny quickly lost sight of her as he got swept up into a surprise hug by the woman who was obviously Meena’s mother. 

“Oh um… ‘ello ma’am. My name is Johnny Bannerton. I live just a couple ‘ouses down.” He got out in a gasp of breath as she practically squeezed him to the point of death. Suddenly fresh air flowed back into his lungs as she released him and he was left feeling strangely bereft. 

“I’m Leslie Jones, I’m Meena’s mother. Now you come right in and make yourself a plate because you need to put some meat on those bones young man.” She admonished him as she led him further into the house. Suddenly Johnny was experiencing something like one of the neighborhood barbeques, but on a whole other level. In the living room three men were practically glued to the football game while a clan of children surrounded Cora as she handed out CapriSuns. Johnny felt a little flutter in his heart as he watched his daughter blend in with the kids so easily before he was yanked forward to an enormous dining table which was completely covered in food. 

His gaped at the table as Leslie grabbed a paper plate and began loading it with a little bit of everything. When she finally handed it to him, Johnny just stared down at it with wide eyes and then looked back at her, feeling vaguely lost as to how he was going to be able to eat all of that food. Leslie just patted him on the cheek like he was a small child and disappeared into the busy and noisy kitchen. Johnny thought that he caught sight of Meena in the kitchen but in the chaos he couldn’t be quite sure, so he wandered past the living room and out into the modest backyard. 

He settled down on a picnic table and watched as the children went running around in the grass like little heathens, playing some imaginary game that he couldn’t quite understand. As long as it kept them occupied and happy he didn’t really care. 

  He was halfway through his plate and watching the game out of the corner of his eye when an older gentleman appeared in the doorway. Johnny smiled tentatively but the old man’s face never flickered away from the stony serious glare. Slowly and deliberately he stepped out on the back patio and closed the sliding door, effectively cutting them off from the rest of the adults and any listening ears. He hobbled over to where Johnny was sitting and sat down on the bench opposite of him, leveling him with a glare. 

“What’s your name boy?” He suddenly huffed out and Johnny put down the bite of baked beans that he had been about to shove into his mouth, sensing that this was about to be the start of an interrogation. 

“My name is Johnny Bannerton sir.” He tried to sound confident but there was something about the look the old man was giving him coupled with his nervous attraction to Meena that made him falter slightly. 

“You interested in my granddaughter?” He suddenly asked, completely ignoring Johnny’s answer and effectively throwing him into a confused daze. 

“Um I… wait wot?” Johnny shook his head, trying to make sense of how their conversation had taken such a turn. 

“Because my angel has been through too much heartbreak and I’m not going to sit by and   let you waltz in here like a peacock and mess everything up again.” He kept ranting, completely ignoring Johnny’s confused look as he tried to follow exactly where the conversation was heading. 

“Sir I don’t… I’m not sure wot we’re talkin’ bout anymore.” He sighed and ran a nervous hand through his hair, looking around for some kind of escape.

  “So she hasn’t told you about him yet hm?” Meena’s grandfather seemed to deflate slightly, his anger refocusing instead of receding. This grabbed Johnny’s attention and he leaned forward slightly, forgetting about his food and the party around them. 

“Who?” He lowered his voice slightly, for some reason getting the impression that he was about to be let in on a big secret. He usually wasn’t one to gossip but this seemed like something important and if it had to do with Meena and her wellbeing, then he couldn’t help himself. 

“The father of my great grandbabies, his name is-“ 

“His name was Daniel.” Meena’s voice interrupted her grandfather and both men leapt away from each other, Johnny focussing on his food all of the sudden while her grandfather pretended to be watching the kids as the played in the grass. Meena didn’t fall for it for one second. 

She dealt with her grandfather first, waddling over to him and gesturing towards the house with her free hand, “If you’re done airing my dirty laundry mom wants everybody to come in for dessert.” 

She fixed him with a stern look and he scrambled to his feet as fast as he could, limping quickly into the house and shutting the sliding glass door behind him, effectively abandoning Johnny to his fate, alone with an irate pregnant woman. Johnny watched him go longingly and then slowly turned back to Meena who looked slightly less intimidating when he realized that she was holding a slice of apple pie. He smiled sheepishly up at her and accepted the pie when she handed it to him. 

He couldn’t help but admire how she looked in that moment, despite the fact that she still had a slightly frustrated look on her face. She was wearing a pair of overalls that were rolled up to her calves with a red and white striped shirt underneath. Her hair was pulled up into a messy ponytail and strands of her hair curled around her face and danced across her dark freckles happily. He felt his heart pound frantically in his chest and he felt himself sink deeper into the confusing mess of feeling that he always found himself tangled in when he was around Meena. 

And then she let out a heavy sigh and her tense form crumbled under some unseen pressure that made her slump against the table and hold her head in her hands. Johnny quickly reached out and grabbed one of her hands in hers. She looked up, revealing a weak smile as she clasped his hand in her shaky grip. He tried to give her an encouraging smile in return but his worry seemed to seep through and tears started to spring up in her eyes. 

“His name was Daniel and we had been dating since high school. We moved in together after high school and I thought we were happy for the longest time until two months ago when I found out I was pregnant.” She took a deep steadying breath and looked up at the ceiling, obviously trying to stave off the tears that were already running down her cheeks. 

“He was my first e-everything and when I found out I was so h-happy because I thought that he was going to be there with me, that we would be a f-family… but when I told him he went crazy. He d-demanded that I get…get an… an abortion.” Her free hand fell down to her stomach and rubbed it soothingly though he wasn’t sure if it was for the babies or for herself. Johnny’s grip tightened at the thought that the father of her children could have possibly asked her to do such a thing against her will. 

“I told him that I could n-never do that and he just went quiet. So quiet. And when I woke up the next m-morning he was gone, he had taken e-everything that was his or that he th-thought was his.” She squeezed his hand gently and then took a deep breath, her posture straightening as her confidence and more importantly her determination came back into her eyes.

  “So I moved in with my family for a little bit and then I moved here. I gave myself a fresh start. I gave us a fresh start. And I told myself that I wouldn’t give Daniel the chance to hurt my children the way that he hurt me.”

  Johnny released her hand and quickly stood up so that he could come around to the other side of the table and gather her into his embrace. She seemed surprised for a second before her arms came around to hold him tight, her form shaking slightly as she tried to gather herself again. He let her lean on him for a few more minutes, staying silent as he held her close and ran one hand up and down her back soothingly. 

  He could do nothing but stare down at her forest of dark curly hair and marvel at the hidden strength that this shy, beautiful woman possessed. She had decided to strike out on her own and make a place where she and her children could be safe and happy even after she had been abandoned by the man that she loved. Meena was the strongest woman that he had ever met and he was irrevocably enamored with her. 

Just as he came to this revelation Meena pulled back and wiped at her remaining tears to reveal a watery smile that made his heart thump hard in his chest. He stared down at her like she was the stars, the moon and the sky and she looked up with that wonderful smile. A yell from the children just a couple feet away broke him out of his daze and he realized that Meena’s backyard during a family dinner was not the best place to reveal any feelings that he might be having about her. Johnny looked around for some kind of distraction, anything that would steer them in a happier and less intimate direction.

“Yer um… tha’ pie looks delicious.” He fumbled over his words as he released her and sat down in front of the pie, his tastebuds watering as he looked at it. He was pulled away from the tempting confection by a sweeter sound as Meena’s giggles filled the air and simultaneously lifted his heart and the mood around them. He smiled up at her as she walked up to him and gently bent down to cup his face. 

Johnny felt his breath catch in his chest as her lips came closer to his and he watched with wide eyes as she came closer, only deviating at the last second to bestow a kiss on his cheek that left him tingling with joy and disappointment as his brain demanded that she kiss him properly. 

“Thank you Johnny. For everything.” She whispered and Johnny had never been more grateful for nosy family members, even they were all crowded around the glass door, blatantly watching their interaction like it was reality TV.

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[ri-writing]

Cassian Andor and the No Good, Very Bad Day

Title: Cassian Andor and the No Good, Very Bad Day Rating: PG?  Mild cursing, and Cassian kills someone Summary: Cassian isn't sure what he did to deserve this punishment, but ultimately, it doesn't matter.  He'll follow orders – even if they are to bring General Cracken's teenage son with him on a mission to purchase a datacard.  At least it's Taanab.  What could go wrong on Taanab? Disclaimer: I have been ficcing it for 20 years, but I still own nothing.

Note - I wrote this originally in December 2016.  I wasn’t planning on really sharing it - it was meant to be me getting Feels out of my system - but there hasn’t been as much R1 stuff on Tumblr lately and that makes me sad.  So this is me trying to add at least one other R1 post to the Tumblr verse.

(Oh, and I really am going to finish that Jyn, Bodhi, and Mon fic.  Promise.)

Dramatis Personae: General Airen Cracken (Alliance Intelligence) Captain Cassian Andor (Alliance Intelligence) Talon Karrde (Smuggler and Information Broker for Car'das organization) Pash Cracken (15 year old kid) Wes Janson (16 year old kid) Approx. 1 BBY Despite what Cracken said, Cassian Andor knew he was being punished for something.  No one was assigned a babysitting mission when they were doing quality work.  He mentally ran through the past few months, but found not one thing that Cracken could realistically take issue with.   He was given jobs.  He got them done.  The Alliance received what they needed.  Open and closed.   And yet, Cassian could find no other rational for being told to take a kid with him than babysitting mission.   Of course it was a babysitting mission, he told himself.  They were on Taanab.  The world was hardly a hotbed of useful information, unless one was particularly excited on the growing conditions of turnips.  Meeting an information broker on this type of world was the sort of thing that not even Cracken's greenest recruit could mess up. Behind him, he heard a crash and shut his eyes.  Correction.  Not even Cracken's greenest recruit could mess it up – unless that recruit was Cracken's own son.  If they didn't look so similar, Cassian would have sworn they could not possibly be related. 

Why Cracken insisted the boy accompany him was beyond Cassian.  The only explanation Cracken gave was: “Pash needs experience.”  Roughly translated, that meant Cracken saw some sort of potential in his son as an intelligence operative. Cassian was quite sure that was wishful thinking on the general's part. Anyone with even the slightest bit of common sense could tell that Pash Cracken would make a terrible spy.  He was hardly the sort who could make himself look forgettable – lanky and awkward, with bright red hair sticking out in several directions, a face full of freckles, and clothes that were just a bit too baggy.  He also had all of no stealth ability.  His track record in the fifteen minutes they'd been off the speeder bus spoke for itself - the kid had managed to knock over three fruit stands and trip over his own feet so many times that Cassian lost count.  How he was going to get the kid through the open air market that lay between him and the meet point for Cracken's contact was a whole other problem.   Steeling himself, he turned to survey the latest round of damage.  Pash was scrambling to collect some sort of bright pink fruit and trying to return it to a stand in front of a grocer.  Nothing looked permanently harmed.  It probably could have been worse.  Probably.  He briefly debated sending the kid back to the speeder bus depot to wait for him.   Tempting as it was, he suspected it would only result in being demoted even further in Cracken's opinion.  The only thing that could be worse than being demoted to babysitting a child and going on a joke of an assignment was having no assignment at all. He'd given up too much for the rebellion to let Pash Cracken be the end of his Intelligence career. “Sorry.”  The kid returned the last of the fruit to the stand, then hurried over to where he was waiting. Cassian gave him a long look, considered ten different ways to chew him out from here until next Sunday, and swallowed all of them.  “We're late.”  He turned back towards the street.  “Don't touch anything else.” Pash fell into step beside him and dutifully shoved his hands in his pockets as if to say See?  Cannot touch.  “Is there anything I should be doing?” “Not touching anything,” Cassian reminded him. “Anything else?”  Pash asked hopefully.  “Is there anyone I'm supposed to look out for?  Suspicious people?  Contacts?” “No.” He turned into the market and prayed to whatever Taanabian deities existed that this would all be over soon. “Should I count red shirts?”  Pash added. Don't ask, Andor.  You don't want to know the answer.  Despite his better judgment, he heard himself do the exact thing he'd decided against half a heartbeat earlier.  “Red shirts?” “Dad says you should always pay attention to your surroundings.  We play this game where we walk through a crowd and, when we're on the other side, I have to tell him how many red shirts I see,” Pash explained, as if these sorts of behaviors were normal father-son bonding activities.  “Sometimes, he changes the color, so I can't get away with planning for the questions in advance.  When we're around pilots, it can also be helmets.” He was right.  He hadn't wanted to know.  “You don't have to count shirts.” “Do you have another lesson I'm supposed to work on?”  Pash asked. “No.” “Captain Andor?”  Pash asked as they began to cut across the market. What could the kid possibly want to ask him now?  Cassian was sure they'd depleted all possible sources of questions.  He suppressed a sigh.  “Yes?” “Dad said we're picking up some information about Imperial shipments from someone who works for Jorj Car'das.”  Pash said. Cassian's shoulders tensed.  Why not announce it to the entire planet? At least, he reminded himself, no one on Taanab cared what they were doing.  He'd seen all of three stormtroopers since landing.  All three were lazily resting with planetary control officers at customs checkpoints in the spaceport.  Even the Empire knew there was nothing of use to the Rebellion on Taanab.  Nonetheless, it was stupid to tempt fate.  Cassian ground his teeth together and made a mental note to explain how the galaxy worked to Pash Cracken once they were back on base.  “Yes.” “That doesn't make any sense.”  Pash frowned.   “Car'das – he's got connections to the Empire.  What's to stop him from selling us out?  They'd know what shipments we'd be targeting, and could set a trap.  You don't actually trust him, do you?” Cassian could count the people he trusted on one hand without using all his fingers – and even one of those people was a droid.  “Of course not.” “So then why....oh.”  Pash said as they came to a stop outside an old building bearing the sign Ye Olde Ale Hall.  “You're counting on Car'das selling us out.”  He looked thoughtful as he worked through it.  “The Imperials will be looking for a raid at the wrong places, meaning it'll be easier to go after a different target.” He had to hand it to the kid.  He'd started seeing different ways information could be used.  Cassian nodded once.  “Something like that. Now, listen.  You.”  He gestured at Pash, “Are going to wait here.  I'm going to go in and talk with this contact.” Pash pouted, looking even younger than his fifteen years.  “Why can't I come?” Because my orders didn't say you had to meet Car'das, and I can't trust you not to blow this.  “Because I told you to wait here.”  He stuck the boy with a look.  “I could have told you to wait at the depot.” Pash sighed in what Cassian defined as 'that privileged obnoxious teenager way,' but leaned against the side of the building and got comfortable. “And don't talk to anyone.”  Cassian added. “You won't let me do anything, so no chance of that happening,” Pash muttered under his breath.  He crossed his arms against his chest, but stayed put. For half a heartbeat, he wondered if keeping the kid outside was safest.  He didn't know what was happening inside, but, if he brought Pash with him, at least he could put himself between danger and the child that he was supposed to ensure did not die.  At the same time, he also wasn't sure what to expect from anyone associated with Jorj Car'das.  A man did not get a reputation for brutality for no reason, and that sort of man would value others who shared his opinions on those types of topics.  Cassian took one last look around the small central city.  There were mothers pushing strollers, people buying vegetables, and a teenage boy trying to impress a group of girls by a nearby fountain.  Not exactly a war zone.  It's Taanab.  He reminded himself.  How much trouble can one teenager get into in a farmer's market on Taanab?  “Stay here.”  He repeated as he ducked inside the door. He'd expected some sort of hole in the wall or seedy bar.  Instead, he found a sparsely populated, halfway decent restaurant.  A few nicely dressed Bothans were holding some sort of business meeting over a meal in one corner.  A young couple appeared to have opted for an afternoon caf as a first date, while a man with thick black hair and a shirt that likely cost more than Cassian's entire life perused a wine list at the bar.   A woman in a waitress uniform had even taken up residence at a large table inside the door and appeared to be doing schoolwork.   For the first time in a long time, Cassian found he didn't belong.   How, he wondered, had no one bothered to include this information in his orders?  While he should have known that anything safe enough for Cracken's son to tag along on wouldn't be the sorts of places he normally frequented, someone should have warned him to at least bring a jacket that didn't look like it had been to a war zone. “Ah.”  The man with the wine list laid it down on the counter.  “Something tells me you're looking for me.” Cassian nodded.  “If you're waiting for Schopf.”   “I was.”  The man gave him a thin smile, then asked conversationally, “Will he be joining us?” “Unfortunately, he won't be able to make it.”  It was, after all, quite difficult to make a meeting when you're dead.  Another good man.   Another mission incomplete. “I'm sorry to hear that.”  The man did look sorry.  “He had a rare appreciation for good food.”  He pushed the wine list across the bar and fixed his full attention on Cassian.   “So.”  This time, the man's smile carried all the way up to his ice blue eyes, “What can Jorj Car'das do for you?” There was no way this man was Car'das.  He was too young – at most, only a few years older than Cassian.  A lackey, then.  He wasn't sure if that was better or worse.  It didn't matter; his personal feelings on the issue weren't important.  “I understand you have shipping records.” “Ah.   Yes.”  The man motioned to the bartender to pour him a glass from the bottle she was holding.  “Do you enjoy wine, Mr. …?” “Not particularly.”  Cassian replied. “That's a shame.  They have a local variety on world that is quite good.”  The man watched him carefully.  When Cassian didn't react, he shook his head slightly, as if disappointed.  “Well then.  Shipping.” Shipping schedules for Imperial supply freighters.  “Yes.” “I hear it's a booming market out there these days.”  The man picked up his wine glass and sniffed at it as if they were in a vineyard tasting room and not a building alongside a street market.  “Cargoes going everywhere, comprised of every sort of thing imaginable.” “So I've heard.”  Cassian agreed. He tasted the wine and smiled slightly.  “Good vintage.”  He set the glass on the edge of the bar and gave Cassian his full attention once more.  “Well then, down to business.  I'm afraid I'll have to ask for cash.  Car'das is a bit behind the times and refuses to deal with accounts.”   “Cash is fine.”  Cash didn't leave a paper trail.   Cassian couldn't imagine anyone would be stupid enough to pay by account – especially since that account information could easily be sold to the highest bidder.  “Assuming you've got what was promised Schopf.” “If I didn't, I wouldn't be a very good businessman.”  He smiled again.  “You can't honestly think we're all savages.” Businessmen.  Was that what they were calling themselves these days? Before he had a chance to respond, his contact's comlink chirped.  The man gave him an apologetic look, murmured, “Excuse me one moment,” and motioned for Cassian to check out the datacard before directing his attention to the comlink. “Go ahead.” Cassian pulled his datapad out and slid the card into it.  Pages of dates, shipment numbers, and freighter IDs sprung to life.  He pretended to inspect it as he tried to catch what he could of the conversation. “And what sort of shape are they in?”  Car'das' man asked.  Cassian strained his ears to try to catch the other voice, but the comlink's sound was turned down just low enough that, to anyone even slightly outside the range, it sounded like nothing but a garbled mess.  “Ah.  Yes, I'm interested.”  The man said softly.  “Tell Ms. Hallik I'm finishing up with a client, but I'd like to meet her and see if we could do business.  Say – an hour?  Thank you.”  Stowing the comlink, he turned back to Cassian.  “Sorry about that.  One of my colleagues stumbled upon a potentially profitable deal.  I trust the datacards are acceptable.” He couldn't see anything wrong with them.  The information certainly looked legit.  Cassian nodded and handed the stack of credits over to Schopf's contact. The man smiled genteelly as he pocketed the money.  “A pleasure.  If you'll excuse me?” Yes, go find a new home for whatever spice or guns someone wants to sell you.  Cassian nodded at him.  He withdrew the datacard from his datapad and stashed it in an inner pocket to his coat.   “Oh,” the man laid a few cred chips on the bar to cover his tab, “One more thing, Captain Andor.  If you're interested in doing business in the future, just contact the owner of this establishment and ask her to put you in touch with Sabacc.  She'll be able to arrange whatever meetings are necessary.” Cassian blinked.  His mind tried to put the pieces together – tried to figure out how Sabacc (what kind of a name was Sabacc anyway?) knew the first thing about him – and reached two potential solutions: either Schopf had mentioned him (possible) or there was a mole in Alliance Intelligence (something he did not want to consider but now had to).  His potential new contact smiled once more as he slid his hands into his pockets and walked towards the door.   Cassian had half a mind to tail the man before he remembered the flaw in that plan.  It was going to be impossible to tail anyone with Pash Cracken tagging along.  He sighed to himself, then pushed away from the bar.  Finding out more about Sabacc-the-man would have to wait.  At least, he told himself as he crossed the restaurant once more, the mission was technically a success.  He had the information.  No one had died.  He wasn't sitting in an infirmary somewhere.  All things considered, it was better than most of the things he did for the Alliance. He blinked in the sudden brightness of the sun as he stepped outside and turned towards where he left Pash.  The wall the kid been holding up earlier was now standing just fine on its own.  Damn.  What part of stay here had been that hard to understand?  Cassian spotted the kid a moment later, standing by a nearby vegetable vendor with the boy from the fountain as they poured over a magazine.  The boys' eyes were wide as they stared at the images. Pathetic.  The Galaxy's Worst Spy could not only not understand the concept of orders, but was easily distracted by a skin magazine.  Cassian strolled towards the kids.  The other boy pointed at something in the magazine they held between them, and Pash nodded enthusiastically.  Cassian snatched it from their hands.  Rolling it up, he glared at his charge.  “I thought I told you not talk to anyone.” Pash frowned.  “I thought you meant people who could be dangerous.” “Anyone,” Cassian repeated. “But,” Pash tried again, “Wes had a magazine about TIE fighters,” he said as if that made it all better. How was he even supposed to respond to that?  How?  Wordlessly, Cassian unrolled the magazine.  Imperial propaganda images stared back at him. He wasn't sure if that was better or worse than a skin magazine.   Deciding that was Airen Cracken's problem, he shoved the magazine into the inner pocket of his coat.   “Is this your dad?”  The other kid (apparently Wes: owner of TIE magazines) piped up.  “Maybe he can help us.”  He looked up at Cassian for a moment, then asked, “How do you get girls to talk to you?  I've tried 'hi,'” he began counting on his fingers, “And compliments, and jokes.  And my new buddy here said he tries to talk with them about spaceships-” “We're leaving.”  Cassian interrupted.   “But this is important information,” Wes protested. Cassian ignored him.  Motioning at Pash to follow him, he started into the market once more.  “Sorry.”  Pash muttered over his shoulder at his new friend. “Bye Pash,” Wes called after them as they rounded the corner of the building.  “Bye, Mr. Cracken.” Cassian froze.  Beside him, he felt Pash falter at the sudden stop. “What's wrong?”  Pash looked around the market in confusion. “You told him your name?”  Cassian asked softly. “Yes?”  Pash's confusion doubled. Cassian resisted the urge to find the nearest wall and repeatedly bang his head against it.  Airen Cracken's son thought telling people who he was ranked among his better ideas.  Tilting his head back, he stared at the sky and counted slowly backwards from ten.  What kind of idiot...?   He grabbed Pash by the back of his jacket and pulled him behind the nearest building.  Seeing the empty alleyway, he turned to face the kid.  “Listen.  When you aren't on Contruum, or with your father, and someone asks you your name, give a fake one.” “I'm a nobody,” Pash reminded him.  “It's not like I'm Bail Organa.  My name is as worthless as if it was John Antilles.” Cassian lowered his voice, “Do you have any idea how valuable you would be to the Imperials?  Your father liberated a planet.  He's helped set up resistance cells across the galaxy.  He's one of the biggest thorns in the Empire's side.  What do you think would happen if they could get their hands on you?” Judging by the look on Pash's face, he never thought that through before.  And, Cassian suspected, right about now, he was probably trying to envision how his father would rescue him should the unthinkable happen.  For half a moment, he considered letting Pash keep his childish illusions...but he couldn't.  Cracken clearly thought it was a good idea to send Pash with one of his operatives.  Pash needed to know what that meant. “Best case scenario?”  Cassian told him, “They kill you quickly.  Most likely, though, they'll slowly torture you to get every bit of information you might possibly know.  You'd be surprised how much valuable information is already in your brain – things your father told you, things you've overheard, things about your family.  You might tell yourself that you would never tell them – we like to think that – but you will.  In the end, you will.  Everyone always does.  And after they've gotten everything out of you, after you've betrayed each and every secret you have, they will kill you.  I can see what you're thinking, but before you kid yourself that there's a rescue coming, it's not.  You aren't valuable to the Rebellion.  Your father might love you – he might even be willing to die for you - but he can't send dozens of good men to their deaths to rescue someone who doesn't gain the Rebellion anything.  They capture you.  They torture you.  They kill you.  That is the only way it ends.”  Cassian watched as Pash's face continued to lose color with each word he heard.  When he still didn't speak, Cassian added, “Do you understand?” Silently, Pash swallowed, then nodded. “Good.”  He held up two fingers.  “Next lesson.  Unless you are on base, never imagine for a second that you are safe.  To the average person, Taanab is not dangerous.  It's a farming world and Imperial oversight is lax.  Just because they're lax, doesn't mean you are, because your stakes,” he pushed a finger into Pash's chest, “Are too high.  You have everything to lose.  The moment you forget that, or discount that?  Is the moment you put yourself and your team at risk.   And if your commanding officer gives you an order, you follow it unless you have a damn good reason not to.  Do you understand?” Pash nodded again. “Good.”  Cassian turned towards the entrance to the alley.  “Let's go. Do not touch anything.  Do not talk to anyone.  Stay by me.” For the first time all day, Pash obeyed, no questions asked.  The boy did not make a single peep as they waited for the speeder bus.  He didn't even kick at the pebbles in front of his feet.  Most of the time, he hung his head and stared at his shoes.  Given what he'd seen so far from Pash Cracken, Cassian doubted it was an act.  He almost felt sympathy for the boy, but pushed it away.   Airen Cracken wanted Pash to learn about intelligence work.  Cassian had told him what that meant.  The sooner Pash came to terms with how war worked – with how the galaxy worked – the better.  People didn't survive long in this sort of work.  The ones who made it a little longer than most knew how to play the game, knew how to avoid stupid mistakes, and knew how to think on their feet.  It didn't matter how many red shirts there were.  It mattered whether you got the information you needed into the hands of the person who needed it. Period. The end. The transport bus slid to a stop in front of them and its doors whispered open.  Cassian motioned for Pash to climb aboard, then dropped two cred chips into the bin in the front of the vehicle.  A cold blast of air conditioning hit him in the face.  Who, he wondered, felt the need for air conditioning on a day like today?  It didn't matter.  In thirty minutes, they'd be at the spaceport.  He could probably get a slot to leave within an hour after that. His time babysitting was drawing to a close. Cassian leaned back in his seat and propped his knees on the back of the seat ahead of him.  He resisted the urge to pull out his datapad and scroll through the information they'd purchased from Car'das to find anything of use.  Whatever was there wasn't his business unless someone higher up decided it was.  Considering how far he'd fallen, he doubted anyone wanted to trust him with any sort of useful information at the moment. Beside him, Pash looked out the window and shivered.   Cassian watched him – watched the stubborn look building around the kid's eyes – and then shrugged out of his jacket.  “Here.” Pash looked at him. “I'm warm,” he offered by way of explanation. Pash took the jacket and pulled it on with a mumbled, “Thanks.” “Guard that with your life.”  Cassian told him. “Because it's your favorite?”  Pash asked. “No.”  Cassian tapped the side of the jacket with the datacard.  “Because it has my cred chips and your magazine.” Pash nodded and zipped the jacket as if this would keep everything safe.  It would, Cassian had to admit, protect against pickpockets.  He hoped that the kid had done it for that reason.  It would show risk management – or at least thinking.   “When we get to the ship,” Pash finally spoke, “Can I do anything to help you?” “You can com home and let them know we're en route,” Cassian told him. “I can fly.”  Pash's session of silence was apparently over.  He should never have given the kid his coat.  It wasn't meant as a silent everything between us is fine now.  It was a I don't want to explain to the man who holds the future of my career in his hands how you died of hypothermia. “Can and will are two different things,” Cassian replied as the transport came to a stop.  “I'll fly.  You'll be on communications.”  He tapped Pash on the shoulder.  “This is us.” The spaceport was slightly busier than it had been when they arrived.  While that wasn't saying much, “busy” on Taanab did come with a line all of seven people long at the Customs station.  Cassian let his gaze sweep over the others, picking out five cargo pilots, an employee for a civilian transport company, and a kid not much older than Pash dressed in a coat with a crop dusting logo on the back.  A discussion broke out over the transport company employee's papers, and Cassian leaned against the metal railing for the line area to wait.   “Is it okay if I read?”  Pash asked.   Cassian nodded – it wasn't as if Pash could get in trouble reading – and watched as the kid pulled out his magazine and flipped it open.  Now that he was paying attention to it, he could see the logo of the Imperial Flight Academy on Carida blazoned on the front.  Of course, Cassian thought bitterly, It had to be Carida.  Pash looked at it with the sort of rapt awe that Cassian had only seen on the faces of religious fanatics.  Remembering the kid's requests to fly their shuttle, he asked, “You want to be a pilot?”   “Yup.” Pash nodded as he turned a page.  “As soon as I turn seventeen, I'm going to apply.  My simulator scores are already better than most cadets' and my scores in mathematics are on track.  Carida is my top choice – they have the greatest variety of programs – but Dad says Vensenor is a better program for pure flight training.” Pash needs experience.  Cassian felt something settle in his stomach as he watched Pash read about Imperial starfighters.  Sweet Force.  Cracken wasn't planning to send Pash into the field to do what Cassian and countless others did.   He was planting a mole into the Imperial military. “Next.”  The Customs officer called out. “We're after her.”  Cassian tried to keep his voice neutral as he played through the implications of Cracken's plan.  “Find your travel papers.” What sort of man sent his own child into the Rancor's pit?   You've been fighting since you were younger than Pash.  Cassian told the voice in his mind to be quiet.  That was different.   When he joined the fight, he didn't have a family.  There hadn't been anyone left to look out for him.   The woman who had been talking with the Customs officer moved off into the spaceport.  The officer waved at them to step forward.  “Papers?” Cassian handed his over and waited for Pash to retrieve his from the rear pocket of his pants.  He made a mental note to explain the importance of stashing papers in places from which they could not be easily stolen to Pash on the ride home. “Name?”  The Customs officer looked bored. “Britt Dorset,” Cassian matched the officer's bored tone. “I'm Jon.”  Pash put in. The officer glanced at their photos, then at them.  “Your kid?” “Nephew.”  Cassian offered. “Purpose on world?”  The officer began stamping the documents. “Picking up a shipment of turnips.”  Cassian replied. The Customs officer nodded once, then passed them their documents.   “You're good to go.  See Control on the second floor about scheduling an exit window.” “Can I meet you at the ship?”  Pash asked as they moved into the spaceport.  “I want to see if I can do the calculations for the nav computer and then compare them with yours.  For practice.” Cassian tried to find the catch to that.  The spaceport was pretty dead.  It wasn't that far to the shuttle.  The kid wanted to do math – and Cassian believed he was being truthful about that.  “Sure.”  He handed Pash a control chip.  “Just lock it up once you're on board and don't let anyone until I get back.” He waited until Pash disappeared in the direction of the shuttle before taking the stairs to Traffic Control.  Several rounds of paperwork – the boring predictable sort – and the traditional bribe, and he had an exit slot within the hour.  It would have been perfect except that, upon returning to the ship, he was greeted with a locked hull and no Pash.   You have got to be kidding me.  Cassian stared at the hull of the ship and wondered how – how – he'd let himself be played by a fifteen year old kid.  He was the galaxy's greatest idiot.  No wonder Cracken no longer trusted him.  He was dumb enough to believe a fifteen year old actually wanted to do math. “Are you looking for the redhead boy?” Cassian turned and saw an older man leaning against a pile of crates and smoking a pipe.  “Yes.” “He went off with the Roat boys.”  The old man pointed at Cassian with his pipe. He didn't know who the Roat boys were.  He found he didn't care.  All he knew was that he was going to make that kid's life a nightmare from now until they arrived back with the Alliance.  “I don't believe it,” Cassian muttered. “Oh, believe it,” the man told him.  “If it helps, he didn't really have much of a choice in the matter.  They jumped him right quick.  Can't say I'm surprised after all that nonsense with his old man.” Cassian felt himself turn cold.  There was bad, and then there was bad.  Pash Cracken being made as Pash Cracken – someone taking Pash Cracken because of Airen Cracken – that was about as bad as it could get.  Cassian bit back a growl.  Apparently, Pash's little revelation in the market did not go unnoticed.  “Which way did they go.” “Can't seem to remember.” Cassian held up his last cred chip. “Just remembered.”  The man pocketed the chip.  “Their ship is docked in Bay 17.” A quick check of the spaceport map revealed Bay 17 was one of the furthest landing bays from the center of the spaceport.  Of course it was.  The sort of people who abducted children weren't going to do their dirty work where anyone could see them.  If they were smart, they were also the sort who wouldn't hang around long. He ran. He ran because he needed to return Pash in one piece to keep his place in the Rebellion.  He ran because he had orders and he'd be damned if some thugs named Roat were going to keep him from following them.  He ran because Pash was a stupid, naive, privileged little idiot, and some damn foolish part of Cassian wanted the boy to stay that way – to stay a child even if it was just for a few more months. He needn't have worried about the Roats leaving Taanab.  When he reached Bay 17, he found stacks of crates, some as high as the ship, that were either being loaded or unloaded.  For now, they were forgotten.  For half a heartbeat, Cassian wondered if the bay was deserted or if he had been misled.  Then he heard the voices. Walking around the crates, unarmed, to confront people who almost certainly were not in compliance with Taanab's spaceport blaster restriction laws did not seem like a good way to recover his charge.   Cassian glanced at the piles of crates, mentally measuring the heights of various stacks against the height of the ship.  If he could get above them, he might be able to jump them.... He climbed. It was, as climbs were concerned, one of the easier ones.  The crates were large and stable, despite not being tied down or otherwise attached to anything.  At a height of about one standard story, he was able to transition from the boxes to the wing of the ship, and from there, crawl along the wing towards the voices near the back of the ship. “But that's what I'm trying to tell you,” Pash was saying as Cassian peered over the back edge of the wing.  “ I'm not Jon Dorset.  I'm not even from Taanab.”  He looked between two scrappy looking thugs, neither of whom had been anywhere near a sink for days and both of whom held battered blasters. “You're a terrible liar,” the thug on Pash's left said.  “We saw you in the market.  Don't look at me like that.  Everyone knows you run with the Janson kid.  How many redheaded friends do you think Janson has?  Mort here was even behind you in line when you went through Customs.” The thug on the right, obviously the “Mort” in question, looked down at Pash at sneered.  “Yeah.  How dumb do you think we are?” “Next he's going to tell us his daddy really doesn't have any money,” the other thug joked, waving a blaster under Pash's nose.  Pash's eyes somehow managed to get even larger. Cassian rolled onto his back and took stock of the situation.  It was not good.  If K-2 was here, he could give Cassian a percentage of 'not good,' but Cassian was going to take a stab in the dark and say it was 100% not good.   Alliance intelligence had messed up.  Their names were supposed to be objects of fantasy, but either sloppy work or failed research resulted in Intelligence giving at least Pash the name of a real Taanabian.  Worse yet, it was the name of a Taanabian that he resembled and that petty criminals cared about.  Cassian silently hoped Jon Dorset was worth more alive than dead – and that the men would give him an opening to reclaim his teenage charge. Mort looked at Pash, who was doing a good job of saying nothing, and cycled through several more sneers.  “Not so clever now, are ya?”  Another four versions of sneer crossed his mouth. He caught his partner's eye and jerked his thumb around the back of his ship.  “Load him in the speeder.  I'll contact his father.” Cassian ran through a quick mental catalog of what he had available to him for use as a weapon.  It turned up nothing useful – no knives, no sharp implements...he didn't even have his coat any longer.   Beneath him, the remaining thug was waving the blaster in the direction of the speeder and ordering Pash inside.  If that happened, his chances of recovering a breathing Pash Cracken went down dramatically.  Don't get in the speeder.  Don't get in the speeder.   Pash hesitated. “Kid, don't make me tell you again.”  The thug's slid the safety off the blaster.  “Mort might want money from your dad, but I'm fine with my revenge the old fashioned way.” He was done waiting. The drop wasn't as bad as it could have been.  Landing on the thug helped.  And then there was nothing – no emotions, no pain – just simple, basic flashes from his senses.  The clatter as the blaster fell to the floor.  The hard muscles in the back of the other man.  The flash of light against metal as his opponent drew a knife.  The crack of ligaments as he manipulated the wrist of the knife hand.  The way the knife bit into the skin of his arm as he tried to wrest it away.  The heavy breathing as his opponent moved to throw him.  The feel of a clean snap as he broke the neck of the other man. And then it was over, and Cassian found himself staggering backwards from his opponent. He was aware that his breath was ragged, and that his heart was racing, and that less than a minute had passed since he leapt from the top of the ship's wing.  Regaining his footing, he straightened and looked at Pash. The kid's eyes were huge.  They moved from Cassian, to the body on the floor, and back to Cassian.  His right hand, Cassian noted, clutched the blaster the thug had dropped.  “Is he...?” “Yes.” He retrieved the knife from where it had fallen and set to work cutting a sleeve off the thug's shirt.  He didn't even want to think about how the gash on his arm was going to feel once the adrenaline began to wear off.  Thrusting the fabric at Pash, he pulled back his own sleeve.  “I need you to cover the wound, and bind it with this.” For a long moment, it looked like Pash was going to do nothing more than stare at the corpse.  Then he blinked once, grabbed the stripped away sleeve, and pressed it against Cassian's forearm.  “How much pressure?”  He began to wrap the makeshift bandage. “I'll let you know if its too tight.”  It was starting to hurt already.  Damn.  He couldn't get a good look at it, but he knew it was bad if it hurt already.  Cassian waited in silence until the bandage was tied off.  As long as the knife hadn't gotten an artery, that should hold until they got back to the spaceport.  If the knife had caught an artery, well, then it wouldn't matter. “Here.”  Pash shrugged out of Cassian's coat and held it out to him.   “This is bulky enough that it should hide the, uh, bandage so we won't attract attention on the way back to the ship.” It was a little less bulky on him than on Pash, but at least the kid was thinking.   Careful of the arm, Cassian pulled the coat on, then motioned to Pash with his good hand.  “Okay.  Good work.  We're leaving.”  He took three steps, watched the world swim, paused, then shut his eyes.  “Kid?” “Yes?” “When you said you knew how to fly a shuttle,” while asking me to let you fly every five minutes on the way here, “How much experience do you have?” “I've been doing solo flights in a Z95 since I was twelve.”  Pash told him.  “Are you going to let me fly?” “No.”  Cassian said gruffly.  “But if I pass out on the way out of here, then you are allowed to fly.” ~*~ “Are you sure you don't want to use Bacta patches for this?”  The medic set down a metal tray on to the table.   Cassian cast a look at the suture needles and thread on the tray, then made a point of looking anywhere but at the tray.  “Positive.”  Bacta patches might be painless, but they were also not as plentiful on bases as the more archaic methods of healing.  “It's just a scratch.” “It'll probably be a good twelve stitches.”  The medic corrected him coolly.  “You're lucky your assailant didn't nick anything important.”  When he merely held out his arm in response, she shook her head once, then got to work cleaning the wound. He tried to ignore the pain and concentrate on developing a decent explanation for why a routine pick up had gone wrong.   Sometime around the fourth pass of the needle through his skin, he had to admit the worst: there was no good way to spin your kid almost died on my watch to a commanding officer. There was also a good chance this was the end.  Cassian shut his eyes and kept his teeth clenched together.  He still wasn't sure what he'd done to get this unofficial demotion, but the day's events had surely cemented whatever poor opinions Cracken and the others must have had of him.   This job was all he had.  This fight was all he had.  Everything had been lost or taken or given in the name of this cause.   It would all be for nothing. “How bad was it?”  Airen Cracken's gruff voice interrupted the silence.  Cassian opened his eyes to see the general just inside the room, his shoulder leaning against the wall. “Twelve stitches.”  The medic replied as she finished a knot on the sutures.  “But the wound wasn't dangerously deep.  He'll live.” Cassian gave her a wane smile and reached for his sleeve. “Don't even think about it, Captain.”  The medic stuck him with the sort of stern look he always imagined school headmistresses would perfect for unruly students.  “That shirt is filthy.  Unless you'd like to be back in here with an infection?” He dropped his hand back to his lap. Cracken gave the medic a tired smile as he pushed himself upright.  “Do you mind if we use the room for a few minutes?” “As long as you make sure he doesn't try to roll down that sleeve,” the medic waved a hand in Cassian's direction, “Be my guest.” As Cracken took up the spot that the medic vacated, Cassian found himself subconsciously reaching for his sleeve, only to stop under Cracken's gaze.  He forced his hand away again and his chin to stay up.  He opened his mouth to report, only to have Cracken hold up a hand.  “Pash filled me in.” Cassian took a moment to run that through his mind before choosing the neutral response of, “I see.” “Not exactly how I expected things to go.”  Cracken continued. It was the sort of moment where someone could use the phrases “I can explain” or “I'm sorry.”  Either of those phrases implied guilt, however, so Cassian said nothing. Cracken sighed heavily and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the small table.  “I just thank the Force you were the one with him.” Cassian blinked.  That was not exactly the direction he expected the conversation to go.  “Sir?” Cracken favored him with a tired look.  “I suspect you're wondering why I pulled you from your typical roster of assignments to accompany a fifteen year old.”  He rubbed at his temples, then leaned back in his chair once more.  “Pash is a prodigy at military spaceflight.  He was better than me by the time he was thirteen.  He can beat any of the old simulator scenarios we have, and he's likely better than at least half of the military grade pilots we've got in the Rebellion.  What he's not good at is espionage.” “He told me about the flight academy,” Cassian offered. Cracken blinked.  “He told you?”  He sighed heavily and shook his head.  “Figures.  Yes, I plan on sending him to one of the flight academies if I think he can handle it.  We're setting up some small training ops for him – things like spending a month at a boarding school here or several weeks in a group home there.  They're ways for him to practice being someone else without the stakes being quite so high – and tests to make sure he won't make the sort of mistake that could end his life.” The several hours he'd had to mull over the idea of Cracken using his own son as a spy hadn't given Cassian any additional guidance on how to feel about that.  Part of him wanted to shake the man and tell him how lucky he was to have a normal family, and that he needed to do everything he could to never, ever risk that.  Another part of him had to admit that planting a mole Cracken knew he could trust was smart.   Neither of those thoughts were thoughts he could voice, so he chose to stick to the practical aspects.  “He's not going to be like your regular operatives.  He sees life as black and white.” “He's young.”   Cracken nodded.  “Fortunately, he just has to attend classes and fly fighters and keep an ear to the ground.  And when the time comes...well, he's starting to have his eyes opened to the realities of war.”   Yes, watching a man get his neck snapped had that effect on a person.   Cassian wasn't about to share that thought either, and returned to the safely neutral response of, “I see.” Cracken studied him a moment, then announced, “I'm looking for people to act as handlers.” “Handlers,” he repeated. “People to train Pash, get him ready.  Make sure he knows how to take care of himself.  Make sure he learns how to blend in and cover his tracks.  Make sure he understands what he's getting into before it's too late.  Make sure he stays alive.”  Cracken continued.  “I was wondering if you had anyone you'd recommend.” Cracken meant him.  Cassian took a moment to consider the implications.  What he'd seen as a demotion was, in fact, an audition - one he'd apparently passed with flying colors.  There was probably some sort of promotion in it.  It was most definitely meant to be some sort of honor.  At the end of the day, though, he couldn't see himself spending the next two years grooming a kid for a long term undercover op.  There were better ways he could be useful.  “I'd recommend Lena Cavert.  She's smart, trustworthy, and has a fair bit of undercover experience thanks to her days at CorSec.” If Cracken was surprised, he didn't show it.  He merely picked up a pencil and jotted the name down on a piece of flimsy, as if he had just heard it and hadn't been speaking with the woman the day before.   “That's a good recommendation.  Anyone else you can think of?” “If I was going to send my son into an enemy stronghold, I'd want Cavert training him,” Cassian replied. Cracken was silent a long moment.  Finally, he climbed to his feet.   “Draven has a neutralization assignment on his desk.”  The unspoken care to reconsider hung in the air. No one liked neutralization work.  It was a necessary evil – and the sort he'd do dozens of times over during the two years he could be spending training Pash Cracken to infiltrate the Imperial military.  He tried to imagine switching from ops to training, what it would be like to work behind the scenes and play an occasional character role if the situation required it.  It was a relatively safe assignment – and a relatively unmessy one.  And it was all to get one kid ready to do one thing two years from now.  There was too much to do now.  Cassian cleared his throat.  “Thank you, sir.  I'll report to him once we're back on world.” Notes: - There’s a lot of conflicting information on Pash’s age.  Based on his story arc pre-RotJ, I calculated he'd have been born 15 or 16 ABY.  *shrug* - Janson was one of the younger pilots at Yavin (despite not getting to fly because he was ill).  I have him about Pash's age here. - Cassian suspects Car'das's organization would sell them out.   Ironically, he deals with Karrde, who wouldn't have done so, as selling people out is terrible for business.  Also “Sabacc Card” seemed to me like the type of absolutely horrible pun Karrde would love. - The “count the red shirts” game is taken from Psych, where the main character's father would have him count hats.  I used red shirts because...red shirts. - Liana Hallik was one of Jyn Erso's pseudonyms.  In about a year, “Liana” will be arrested for, inter alia, having weapons she shouldn't. - Johnny Dorset is the name of the kidnapped child in 'The Ransom of Red Chief.' - When I originally wrote that Pash had a brochure for the Imperial Academy on Carida, I did not know of Cassian's family connection to it. It actually came from some old Pash-centric stuff I'd written that he'd wanted to go there, but ended up elsewhere and just re-used it.  The Universe apparently decided this was Meant To Be.       

[brittanyyoungblog]

How to Make the First Move on a Guy

Long gone are the days where men are given the responsibility of making the first move—and that’s a wonderful thing! Nobody should be afraid to tell someone else how they feel, and it’s empowering to tell someone you’d like to take them out on a date. Especially when they say yes.

But if you’re a woman who wants to make a first move on a guy, it can be scary to go for it and ask a guy out. (And hey, it’s scary for the majority of guys too.) But the majority of guys love it when women make the first move. In a recent survey, an overwhelming 94% of men said they like it when a women makes the first move when they’re out at a bar or in a social setting, and 96% said they prefer it when a woman messages them first while online dating. So if you’re tired of waiting for a guy to make the move on you, go for it yourself.

Not sure how to go about it? Here are some tactics to help you make the first move on a guy, whether it’s someone you just met or someone you’re close friends with.

1. Ask him if he has a girlfriend. This one’s really important, since it’s a bit unsettling to try and pick up a guy who’s already taken. Aside from his words, make sure to look at his body language. By asking if he’s romantically involved with someone, it shows you’re interested in his status—but really, it could also look like an innocent “getting to know you” question too. You probably know the answer to this if you’re trying to make a move on a friend, so instead, use a line like, “I’m surprised a great guy like you is still single.”

2. Buy him a drink. Really, it works. The majority of guys are super impressed by a lady who takes the lead and buys him a drink. Stereotypical gender roles are slowly dying out, and guys like to feel appreciated. You could even make it personal—if you have a signature drink, maybe start by saying, “Listen, you really have to try this. On me.” It’s a good conversation starter for sure, as well as proof that you’re willing to invest in him.

3. Use observational humor. If you’re both out at the same place, you have one surefire thing in common right now. People like it when others can casually relate to them. If something funny is happening at the other end of the bar or there’s an interesting game on the TVs, bring it up with him. If you’re asking out a friend, you might already know his sense of humor—so be on the lookout for things he’d find amusing to get the big moment started.

4. Compliment him. If you’ve known a guy for a while and want to move things out of the friend zone, try giving him a compliment about his looks or personality. Does he always make sure to make others feel included? Is he always smiling, no matter what? People like to hear this kind of stuff, and it’s a great way to brighten his day. Same goes for guys you just met. Does he have a cool pair of shoes or a distinctive haircut or tattoo? Maybe the way he holds his drink is cool and different. It could be anything. Just remember to be sincere, since if you end up having a relationship that goes the distance, you don’t want it built on a false love of Crocs.

5. Smile. Seriously. It seems simple enough, but a lot of people forget to smile at the person they’re with. If you’re happy, and you’re happy to see him, make sure your body language is showing it. Smiling makes you look and feel more approachable, which may build up your confidence to spark up a conversation.

6. Get your friends in on it. It’s always good to have a little backup, so use your friends. For example, if you see someone you’re interested in, approach them and say something like, “My friends and I were just arguing about what the cheesiest romantic song from the 80’s is.” It’s a good way to spark up a conversation, while also giving you a boost. They’ll be there in the background to cheer you on while you score that number.

7. Remind yourself why you’re a catch. By boosting your own confidence prior to approaching someone, you’ll be able to really shine. Remind yourself that you’re worth striking up a conversation with. That you’re an amazing, beautiful person who just so happens to be pretty cool and kind of a big deal.

8. Make a game out of it. Not to say that guys should be treated like game pieces, but by making a point to approach new people every time you’re out on the town, you’ll get a lot better at it. That way, when you see someone you’d like to pursue, you won’t be so nervous. Think of trying to talk to one new person every day. Or make a point to strike up a conversation every time you’re in an elevator. Your interactions don’t even need to be flirty—just friendly. Pretty soon, making an actual move on someone will be second nature.

9. See how he responds to physical contact. This works if it’s someone you’ve known for some time that you’d like to start a romantic relationship with. Since you’re both comfortable around each other, you’ll be able to feel if there’s actual chemistry. Of course, don’t get too hands-on, since not only might that make him incredibly uncomfortable, but seeing how he reacts to a hand on his arm or brushing against him while you lean in close to talk can tell you a lot.

10. Have an out in case things get awkward. You shouldn’t be planning out your entire interaction, but sometimes, having an out will give you a little more confidence to make the move. Say you chat someone up and find out that—yikes—they’re married. Instead of freezing in place, make sure to practice saying, “She’s a lucky woman, have a good night!” These things happen sometimes. Even the best maneuvers and icebreakers can lead to somewhat disastrous results that are actually pretty funny by the end of the night. Just dust yourself off and keep trying.

Making the first move on a guy can be intimidating, but letting someone you know you’re into them can also be really fun. Just remember to stay confident. Things might not work, but you never know until you give it a shot. And like all things in life, practice makes perfect. Pretty soon, guys will start thinking you’re fearless and find your take-charge attitude to be pretty impressive.

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