Rebellions are built on hope

rebelcaptain; anastasia AU

DRIFT COMPATIBLE ~rebelcaptain

I know I’m a little late, but I have been super busy and this is the first I’ve been able to get on the computer. This was done a while ago, again, when I was sketching nothing but Rogue One and Rebelcaptain stuff. I saw @therebelcaptainnetwork was doing a AU theme day and I was like yes! I need to remember to post my Pacific Rim AU nobody asked for that I totally obsessed over for like a whole week back in January! I think I saw like 1 or 2 other PacificRim/RogueOne AU’s out on AO3… so I know I’m not alone!!! XD Anyway, I also wrote a small bit:

“Jyn! Listen to me! Trust in the drift, you have to-”

The sentence died in a howl of torn metal and the shriek of the monster that just robbed her of her bond, her co-pilot, her mother. She doesn’t remember her own pain in that moment, only her mother’s desperate, screaming agony. There was a tear, the neural load being all at once ripped away and then doubly forced upon her already crumbling fortitude.

The burden echoed along every synapse and cell of her own body. It was a phantom misery, haunting every move she now made as she struggled to block the attack of the Kaiju. She was barely able to heave her Jaeger’s arm up enough to deflect a swipe from the roaring monster. The impact pushed her back and she snapped against a glacial piece of rock jutting out from the water.

“Trust in the drift!” Her mother’s voice echoed against the inside of her head, deafening and punishing and by God she screamed until her throat felt like glass. Tears of loss and pain fell from her eyes and she gasped to breathe as the beast rammed it’s head straight through the side of her Jaeger. Her ribs set ablaze with what she knew was the finishing blow for the machine she piloted.

But she always fought against the odds. She was always a little bit rebellious. Her mother had taught her that. Right now, it wasn’t the drift she could trust; it was that deep, stubborn instinct punching it’s way across every last fiber of her strength.

Rebelcaptain Appreciation Week: Day 3 → Tropes

Between Two Lungs by caramelle/caramelkru

Cassian doesn’t exactly mean to, but as he’s coming up from his bow, he sort of accidentally on purpose makes eye contact with the young Erso heiress.

Her glance merely passes over him, and her face remains perfectly and diplomatically blank.

And yet, somehow, he instantly feels like he’s already managed to offend her.

RebelCaptain  -  Cassians blaster.

Take Me Home

Saw Gerrera left Jyn in a bunker when she was 16. When she got the nerve to climb out, knowing she’d been dumped, a boy found her. He took her back to the Alliance and gave her a home. For a while. Until she left him.

It’s been a long time and Cassian needs her help to complete a mission the rebellion won’t support. Still tangled up and hurt from their breakup as teenagers, he knows this is going to be complicated. 

(i’ve adjusted their ages from canon so they’re about the same) 

Read it on ao3

rebelcaptain aesthetic | anastasia au (for @parrysh)

RebelCaptain AU || Cinderella

In which Cassian takes the role of Cinderella and Jyn is his Prince(ss) Charming 

“Home” ~For @baenakinskywalker​    Happy RCValentine’s Day! 

I wrote a little snippet to accompany: (AU canon divergent cuz >_>) 

To him, home wasn’t something necessarily tangible, or even a planet, place of origin, or celestial body. No, home was supposed to be a fond word, affectionate. Where he was from, the only word that came to mind was melancholy. Home was once a distant dream, better chased by those who still deserved it. He used to pretend home was the Rebellion, and in a sense it was, in the most perfunctory meaning of the word. 

Someone had once told him he carried his prison with him; a burden, a cage. However, he had begun to have company in this cell. There was now a droid tinkering with the locks, pessimistic but loyal. A pilot giving encouragement and insight and so much hope. There was an assassin checking the walls and surfaces for weakness. And now a guardian, chanting a prayer with a confident smile. Then there was the rebel. She had somehow forced her way through the door, one hand holding a blaster, and the other with the keys. 

The prison was no longer what he carried around with him. It was home… it was them. It was her. 

She had never thought a home as a place. In a way, she couldn’t, for fear that it might be taken away from her, as so many “homes” had been before. Home was a feeling; a fleeting, slippery thing. A transient memory. Home had never been something that would be hers to possess. 

Before, planets and cities were nothing more than a destination or an embarkment. Now, there was warmth in the crimson sunset of Yavin IV. Her eyes stung under the lavender painted sunrise of Hoth. Even Rendezvous Haven was stunning, the galaxy a spinning, billowy radiance through the windows of the ship. She wonders if perhaps it was here she finally realized the feelings she had at all these places were not so intangible after all.

Home was indeed something she could have. Home was his hand in hers. 

Alt pic version under the cut….