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roguesquadron2017-01-10 08:27 pm
ex_rebelyell669) wrote in roguesquadron2017-01-10 08:27 pm
hurt/comfort meme
It is in times of distress that hope is truly found. How you handle those periods of duress is a mark of character. Whether you're the one in pain, providing sanctuary, or even if that ache is mutual, hurt/comfort is all about empathy. Connecting with the people around you.
Instructions:
→ Post with your character (note name, canon [if relevant], and preferences in the subject line).
→ Others reply by either generating a number between 1-21 for a prompt,
→ Go forth and connect.
Options:
o1. injury: somehow, you've been injured. the severity, whether a mortal wound or "just a scrape" is up to you.
o2. sickness: thinking of calling out of work today? chances are you've got a common bug...or worse.
o3. fear & anxiety: careful where you throw that "scared to death" nonsense...it might just be an omen.
o4. loss of senses: you're missing one of those fundamental six senses, whether it's your sight, hearing, touch, smell, taste, or the Force.
o5. despair: the idea of hope looks more and more like a pipe dream right now.
o6. breakup: and we are never ever ever ever getting back together. ever.
o7. makeup: but you called me up again tonight...
o8. rescued: it's time for one of you to get your damsel in distress on.
o9. bad romance: i knew you were trouble when you walked in.
1o. loss: one of you has just experienced a loss of some kind; can you cope?
11. insanity: for whatever reason, "reason" is lost to you. you're seeing and hearing things. sometimes dead people.
12. tired/insomnia: is it the caffeine or the fact that you never leave your damned senatorial office? whether it's just lack of sleep or lack of energy, this exhaustion is bone-deep.
13. addiction: something's got you hooked, and you might just need a helping hand to give it some distance.
14. nightmares: okay, now you're definitely seeing dead people. do you dare go back to sleep?
15. blackmail: you've been caught and the evidence is compromising. do you seek help or vengeance?
16. separation/homesickness: whatever it is, the nostalgia's got you missing something (or someone) awfully.
17. betrayal: your trust has been violated, but is it a real or imagined slight?
18. stranded: you're stuck. maybe someone crashed your only ship for the 50th damn time. are you sure this isn't reality tv?
19. sins & guilt: the weight of your past deeds is like holding a world on your shoulders. maybe it's time to seek some help, atlas.
2o. secret: loose lips sink spaceships.
21. wildcard: "take your script and shove it, meme."
[adapted and remixed from here.]
no subject
01. (perhaps being last-minute saved off Scarif…?)
10. (many people/droids to mourn…)
12. (I like the whole genre of AU where they made it off Scarif and continue to work for the Rebellion, Cassian possibly out of the field due to injuries, Jyn now in it…?)
14. (all the damn time, either/both, hard to get back to sleep alone)
21. (heck yeah) ]
no subject
... i bet there's a way we can fill most of the spaces on the bingo card c:]
no subject
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Blue 11, Laren Joma, had been shot down and spun over to the far side of the island. The miraculous side: the thicker canopy of flexible, subtropical trees had allowed her to survive. The down side: this far away from the complex, unless she could get her U-wing back into the air, she was out of the fight.
Every explosion, every shot, loud or close enough to reach her set her teeth on a whole new edge. But she kept working. Patching up everything that whistled and steamed, pulling wires that smoked, finding new ways to cross-attach the remaining ones. The craft probably couldn't survive breaking atmo, but it might have a few more passes in it. She could check the gunnery last. If nothing else, she could re-crash, only this time into something.
That line of thought was probably why there were tears streaming down her face, but she didn't let them interfere with the work.
Ignoring the tears was far easier than ignoring her door gunner's small body. Not actually visible to her here, where it had been thrown, but she'd seen it on the way down. She could find Bistan and bury him. But that wouldn't really honor him, or any of them, better than getting back up there.
It would also be difficult without a co-pilot, but kriff it. Full dexterity flying was not the order of the day here. Not anymore.
She tried also not to notice that, though the work was finally getting somewhere, the noises were dying down.
By the time she was trying to jump-start the engine, things had gone really awfully quiet…
Doesn't matter. There's always something left to do. Get over there and find it.
The U-wing finally sputtered back to life. She left out a furiously victorious scream and eased it nose-up, clawing for altitude.
She'd just broken the canopy when the Death Star fired.
For a moment she couldn't process what she was seeing. Okay, clearly she'd been injured after all in the crash. Something in her own ship had blown and made a light show. That could not really be…
But it was: the dissolved transmission tower in its wake; the mushroom cloud; the rising other clouds of… what…? smoking atmosphere, boiling sea…? rising and coming toward them.
Joma was faced with another choice. Break for atmo right now, accept that she'd been gifted a miracle and accept it by surviving.
Or take one more sweep.
Check for survivors.
She noted with some distant satisfaction that her hands had already guided the U-wing back toward the battlefield, while her brain was still wondering whether right choice and death wish were necessarily incompatible.
…It was good this was a beach… the black bodies were so easy to see in the white sand… good thing she was still rather in shock or she might have had a harder time piloting through vomiting. For all the navy really hated when the infantry shouted at them for preferring atomization in vacuum to having to deal with bodies… would yell back that it wasn't better not to have a physical body to return… there was truth both ways.
Once again, at first she thought she must be hallucinating, a wishful dream, when she saw movement, not in the blue of the water or green of the treeline, but of solid body black. That's what training was for, though; her hands and pilot skills could take over while her consciousness was still trying to slap itself to its senses.
Yes. Two of them.
Only two…
On the other hand, A whole two…!
She brought the U-wing down mere metres away. She could have vaporized their heads off. But that shockwave wasn't leaving them much margin here, and it definitely would.
"Get in!" she screamed at them over the complaining thrusters. She still didn't know if the ship was still space-worthy, but they literally had nothing to lose.
Cassian felt annoyed at his own brain for the sudden delusion. Quiet. I know there's still a survival instinct in there somewhere but I'm ready to die. This is a better death than you could have ever have hoped for. And the reason he wasn't watching the shockwave come wasn't out of fear of death, it was out of complete lack of interest. He didn't want to think about, feel, sense, breathe, anything except for Jyn.
…But why would his fantasy involve a voice he didn't know…?
Raising his face from the fabric at Jyn's shoulder, Cassian turned his head—sending reasserting pains through his broken body—which must be survival instinct again; everything had stopped hurting a little while ago, perhaps the physical turning point of shock becoming irreversible, and/or when perhaps the psychology of deciding there was no longer a point.
But if this wasn't just misfiring neurons, there was a U-wing there.
The fact that it was not his own, and the pilot wasn't Kay, was what forced him to actually consider it. Then decide to believe it.
At which point many thoughts flashed through his mind in a handful of nanoseconds.
The logistics of this turn. What their options were. What the likely outcomes would be.
The main thing to grapple with was… he was dead anyway. The fall had given him internal injuries—breaks and ruptures—that might not have been fatal at once, but he had made so, made irreversible, by dragging himself up the data core. At this point, he doubted he could be gotten to a medical facility before internal bleeding finished its work. With all that, he'd barely been able to stumble out here; even if he didn't slow Jyn down too unforgiveably getting to the ship, it (rightly) had not landed; it wouldn't be a matter of walking up a ramp, they would have to pull themselves onto it as it hovered. That was almost certainly beyond him.
…But it was the whole mission, wasn't it. As Jyn had said: Take the next chance, and the next.
And whether or not he really knew her well enough now—he did—to know she wouldn't accept him telling her to go without him…
…he would not do a Saw Gerrera impression. Go Jyn, I can't run, go without me. No. He'd watched her lose two family members in as many days. Whether it was the best strategic call again, he wouldn't make her go through something similar a third time.
So, meeting her eyes, he was finding a third wind—he'd need her help but dammit he'd go faster than they'd gotten out here from the tower citadel—to get to his feet and make for the U-wing.
Not because he expected to get himself off the planet. Or survive long if he did. But because he knew no matter how hobbled his movement, his not trying would probably be more of an impediment, and he wouldn't waste Jyn's time, her chance, to do so.