#musings: cassian andor

[chamerionwrites]

A thought I have been idly turning over is that the argument can be made - and made pretty compellingly imo - in both directions that the changes from Cassian’s sketchy offscreen backstory in R1 to that presented in Andor serve to portray him as a more/less uncomplicatedly sympathetic hero and/or victim of imperial violence.

On the one hand “traumatized refugee orphan turned hustler, saddled with a juvenile record and nursing a self-protective apathy approach to politics, radicalized by the proverbial straw(s) that broke the camel’s back after a lifetime of survival in a system that wants to kill him” clearly complicates the narrative from “I’ve been in this fight since I was six years old.” And quite frankly, hard NOT to complicate the narrative when you’ve got an entire TV series to stretch your narrative legs in vs a single film with an ensemble cast. I don’t think it’s entirely fair to suggest that a story which has vastly more space to expand on an idea necessarily has smarter things to say so much as more space in which to say them - but I do respect the commitment to complication and interrogation, nonetheless.

On the other hand the implication of R1 - made extremely albeit briefly explicit in the offscreen references to, and I quote, Outer Rim “anarchist movements” and children “tossing rocks and bottles at Republic walkers” (no further comment at this time but like…oof) - is not, imo, a less thoughtful or complicated or potentially subversive story. Some of the complexities certainly lie in different places! But I don’t even think that such questions as “Does a slightly-selfish-on-the-surface grifter ask more from the audience than a dedicated idealist?” are as straightforward as they initially appear, within the broader context of a media landscape that is frequently far more comfortable lauding revolutionary action as a variation on a revenge plot (Everyman Hero just wanted to keep his head down and live his life until Evil Empire killed his girlfriend/family/best pal/etc etc) than as a natural outgrowth of ideological conviction (which is for Scary Radicals*). I also continue to find it UNBELIEVABLY tantalizing that R1!Cassian was explicitly described as, if not a Separatist himself (hard to describe a six year old that way or know how he would describe himself as an adult!), then unquestionably part of that ideological lineage, in that Star Wars as a franchise has never been willing to give more than halfhearted lip service to the idea of Separatists as anything but cartoonishly over the top villains - or, by extension, to the idea that the Republic was the Anakin Skywalker to the Empire’s Darth Vader. Even in highly abridged form, that’s a backstory that’s begging a lot of pointed and fascinating questions (What are the political fault lines within the Rebel Alliance? What does it mean that this franchise’s treatment of the Clone Wars has frequently boiled down to glibly setting up and knocking down arguments about Third World sovereignty and resource extraction? Can you as the audience imagine a political movement that contains both incredibly corrupt bad actors and grassroots liberation movements under the same broad ideological umbrella?)

ANYWAY TL;DR I think there’s a lot that’s spiky and unstraightforward and potentially subversive about both of those backstories, and I don’t think you need to dismiss the complexities of either in order to appreciate the other.

*I am OFC not saying that Andor doesn’t engage with ideological conviction, because it does! I am merely pointing out that - outside the audience demographic of broadly left-leaning people on tumble - a loveable rogue who wants to stay out of politics and survive does not necessarily read as less likable or morally upright than a revolutionary who’s fully prepared to Die For The Cause.

[ofcelestialstories]

@violentdelightstheseviolentends || Cassian & Kanan

.｡.:*☆ “Hey! You didn’t just try to steal that from me, did you?” Even when Cassian wasn’t wearing his work clothes today - he thought that is what actually stupid to try and robb a policeman. “Give it back, then I might consider acting like nothing of this did ever happen.” 

It could have been that easy, right? Only that, it was not. Because the moment Cassian spoke up, the young man stared at him for a moment - and then turned to run. With a sigh, Cassian realized that he would have to follow him. Well, if he would want to get back his purse and phone, at least....

[beeslibrarycorner]

Cassian Andor is the type of guy to hold you close and insist that he will hold you until you fall asleep if you have sleeping problems. He never breaks a promise he muses as he cradles you against his chest and presses a kiss to your forehead. Rubbing shapes into your back and crooning into your ear, humming when you breathing starts to slow and you start to melt into him.

[westsidepetrichor]

costume party!!

pairing: cassian andor x reader synopsis: you're paired with cassian on a mission for the first time. the two of you try on special outfits for the occasion. warnings: alcohol consumption, fluff, a meddlesome friend word count: 1.4k a/n: the fluff gun shot me y'all. coming up with and describing clothing is hard</3

you were a former actress from coruscant. sick of the corruption, the rebellion eventually found you. and with the rebellion, you found him. cassian andor, a captain that you developed huge crush on. with a stroke of luck, you were put on an assignment with him thanks to your acting experience.

the mission? infiltrate an imperial banquet and gather intelligence. the part you were secretly excited about were the costumes you were going to get! the designer was an old friend of yours from the theater, syla. before the two of you went off on the mission, syla planned a fitting. it was a time for tests, modifications, or to voice any concerns.

a knock came from your door. opening it, your eyes widened in surprise. you saw cassian waiting there.

panic set off inside you. what the hell was he doing here?? you flash him a nervous smile.

"cassian! hi! w-what's up?" you ask nervously. his voice makes you want to swoon.

"i was just coming to get you."

you don't respond.

"for the fitting?" he reminds you. "it was on my way so i figured i'd stop by."

it feels like cold water splashes you in the face. how could you forget?!

"ohhhh, the fitting!! right right, i was just about to head over," you manage out nonchalantly. "let's go then," you say, shutting the door behind you.

awkward silence fills the hallway, the only sounds being the echoes of boots. you try to walk in a way that avoids cassian's eyes. you were certain that if you looked at them, you'd say something incredibly foolish. clearing his throat, he breaks the silence.

"the designer, you know her?" he asks, trying to catch your eyes. they meet for a moment before you flit them downward, pretending to be very interested in the ground.

"yeah, syla. she used to work at the theater back home. my best friend," you say fondly. "her work is amazing. should be on runways really."

cassian smiles. you speak of syla so highly, your warmth seems to melt the ice between you.

"we're in good hands then. that's reassuring," he muses.

"pfffft, good hands? that's an understatement. syla will make you look even more handsome than you usually do," you say confidently.

you stop walking. cassian's eyes widen for a fraction of a second. he tries to push down a laugh but fails. you panic again.

"i'm so sorry, that was inappropriate. please forget that," you try to apologize. but cassian brushes it off, almost glowing at the compliment.

"you don't have to," he chuckles warmly. "really."

your eyes meet his, trying to see if he's just being polite. to your surprise, you can't seem to find a tell that would state otherwise. the door to syla's workshop seemed to appear as a saving grace. you sigh a little in relief, walking inside.

syla's head pops up from her desk. her eyes sparkle mischievously. a suspicious feeling grows in your stomach as you eye her warily.

"welcome!" she envelopes you in a hug and shakes cassian's hand. "i'm so excited for you two to try on your outfits!! here, i have shots," she offers, gesturing to filled glasses.

"where did you get this?" you gawk. cassian snickers. syla shrugs coolly, pushing a rack with two garment bags into focus.

"i got one of the new recruits to smuggle some in for me. some strong outer rim stuff. he was sweating bullets!" she cackled. downing a shot, she unzips the bags to reveal your new attire.

a dark blue dress greets you. silver chains draped the front and a slit ran up the right leg that you guessed would reach your mid thigh. it was gorgeous! you looked at syla in wonder.

"i really don't know how you do it, sy," you marvel. "this is stunning."

cassian takes in your expression, seeing your sparkling eyes. he was curious to see you in it. if syla could garner that reaction out of you, he wondered what he'd be put in...

syla tilts her chin up in pride. "you're too kind, really. but i won't object to more compliments," she jokes. "now cassian, don't worry, i have something marvelous in store for you as well."

another zip and voilà! cassian's costume. it's a matching shade of blue, with a cape and cinched waist. the top dips into a deep v, with an ivory undershirt that makes you frown internally. so much for seeing some of his chest...

you fold your arms and catch syla's eyes. she winks at you. the two of you look at cassian for a reaction. syla clears her throat. cassian snaps out of whatever trance he's in and looks at her.

"ahem, sorry. it looks wonderful. thank you, syla," he says gratefully.

this response appeases syla and she shoves the two of you into separate fitting rooms. before closing the curtain to your room, syla pokes her head in.

"soooo? how do you feel? it's your first mission with him!" she tries to whisper. you shoot her a look.

"sy! a little quieter, please?" you plead. she blinks and a shit-eating grin creeps onto her face.

"awww, don't be nervous! i designed your outfits, so you'll have no choice but to fall in love with each other" she says.

"falling in love isn't the mission," you say flatly, removing your shirt.

"dual functionality, my dear," she singsongs, closing the curtain. "whenever you're ready, you two," she says, taking a seat.

the dress really is stunning, you think to yourself. there's a part of you that doesn't want to come out from the curtain, but the magic of syla's genius pushes you from the fitting room. your hand hesitates before stepping out.

"pass me that shot, sy," you sigh. she laughs, handing you the cold glass through the curtain. you gulp it down, shimmying a little to try and banish your nerves. your hand draws the curtain back.

syla's eyes widen as she takes you in. "wow, i am good," she smirks.

you roll your eyes playfully. "mhmm, very," you smile.

"cassian? you alright in there?" syla calls out. "there's two very pretty women waiting out here for you!"

"just a second!" cassian responds. he fiddles with his cape fastenings and looks at himself in the mirror. an air of confidence fills him. your praises of syla really were true, not that he didn't believe you. he just didn't think he'd look this good. he steps out of the fitting room to a pair of appraising eyes.

you feel your heart stutter when you see him. syla whistles lowly.

"see? what'd i tell you, he looks marvelous. right, y/n?" she waggles her eyebrows at you.

cassian looks at you hopefully, his big, gorgeous brown eyes piercing you.

"you look... wow. i don't think i have words," you say softly. the fucker has you so enthralled you can't even say he looks nice, you wince.

he smirks at your lack of words. "well i do. captivating being one of them," he says as his eyes travel up and down you. "how do you feel in it?"

the level of strength it takes you to not explode is comical. "captivating"... what a word to use. damn you, cass. drawing in a breath, you try and take a moment to really assess how you feel in the clothes.

"hmmm. i feel... strong. striking," you say, straightening your spine. you can't see it, but syla smiles behind her hand.

cassian hums approvingly. "good. we'll need that. the people at these parties love snarky comments. they chip away at you sometimes, it's a power trip. so if you feel strong, then i feel strong too."

you nod in agreement. syla stands and clasps her hands together.

"i'm glad you two feel good in them. you look gorgeous together, you know," she smiles. "but of course, i did design it that way. is there anything that you'd like altered or added?"

"no, this is perfect. thank you, sy, really," you smile.

"i'm good with mine," cassian says, playing with his cape.

"then my work here is done," syla says. "i'll be back in an hour or so, leave you two to discuss things, test out any movement in your new attire. have fun!!"

and with that, syla waltzes out of the room, leaving you and cassian alone. he walks up to you.

"so..." he starts. "your friend is very persistent."

your face slumps into your hands. "oh my god, don't even get me started."

he laughs at that, prying them away gently. "she's funny. but wow, we really do look good together, huh?"

you look in the mirror at the two of you, taking note of how his hand brushes up against yours.

"yeah. we really do."

end note: ASKDJFJ i'm debating a part two for this... lmk if y'all want it. and don't worry my freaks in arms, i will be writing more smut for our lovely captain soon. thanks for reading!! feel free to comment, reblog, or heart it if you liked it:)

[andorerso]

girl help, half the fandom is telling us we're overreacting to say that they're trying to overwrite Jyn (and Bodhi, and the rest of the team!) with their funhouse mirror Cassian and meanwhile this shit is happening:

https://www.tumblr.com/ruby-red-inky-blue/783902458148683776/i-dont-have-dsney-but-there-are-a-couple-viral?source=share

I'm really not trying to up your blood pressure any more but I'm not crazy that is fucking nuts right??

like the absolute best case scenario here is that it's only temporary to promote Andor but like... even then EVEN THEN. it's so unnecessary 😭 it does leave a bad taste in my mouth ngl (especially after the show completely ignoring her 🙃)

also, they put Cassian in the center for the Rogue One cover but he's nowhere to be found on the Andor cover - HIS ACTUAL STORY (or at least what's supposed to be his actual story). this is kinda perfectly representative of my earlier musings: that Cassian only matters to Andor insofar as he's there to make Jyn's role less important. but he's not really the main character of Andor either. it's all a fucking mess.

[colleybri]

Two questions currently haunting me about the new Andor trailer… Spoilers!! Image from a ‘potato’ trailer included!!

Is this Attendant Heert, and in that case is this the scene where Dedra wears armour? Storming the rebel safe house on Coruscant? Cassian is seen walking down the same corridor. K-2SO to the rescue?

What’s the code on the scrap of paper that Syril is reading (in the first leaked trailer from 2023)? It’s contained inside a spider shaped ornament - is it connected to the spider motif on the walls of this building (possibly a restaurant)?

Ooh the wild speculation! Feel free to add your own crazy musings…

[major-comet]

I think the thing that I find so beautifully frustrating with andor is that it’s so good that I look at the stuff that needed a bit more screen time in season 2 (there's a few but i'm gonna focus on K-2 for this post because I have the most concrete thoughts about him) and I cannot for the life of me think of what story element I would mess around with in order to make room for it.

Like, I desperately wish we had gotten way more K-2SO in the show, even just within the final arc, but I don’t want to even muse about touching episode 10 because it was just perfect. It gave me everything I had been wanting for Luthen and for Kleya in particular, and showed the start of the beautiful collapse of everything that Dedra had been working for, and the thought of losing any of that so we could cut to Kay, Cassian, and Melshi on Yavin just doesn't feel right at all. Even though the scene of the three of them in the Yavin tree house is probably one of my favorites from the whole show!

The real answer to fix the Kay problem is that he needed to be introduced earlier so we could actually see more of the growth of his and Cassian's friendship and their trust in each other as partners out in the field. But again, if you ask me where I would put him within the show we have now I hesitate on an answer.

Out of all of Cassian's arcs this season, the only one I think could have been reworked to fit Kay in there somewhere is maybe the first one, with the Maya Pei brigade. I like that plot line a lot, but it's the least imminently critical to the rest of the season - can't really cut the Ghorman stuff and obviously the extraction of Kleya in the last arc is vital.

So sure, we imagine a version of the show where instead of that, we get some different introduction / reprogramming of Kay. great cool wonderful, now we have him for the next few years. But if we're not changing much else, what would he actually do? He wouldn't be able to follow Cassian to Ghorman the first time because what business would Varian Skye have with a k-x droid? So, okay I guess he could stay with Bix in the safe house - which could actually be interesting. Bix feels stifled by how over protective Cassian has been, and now he goes off on a solo mission for Luthen and leaves her in the hands of an imperial security droid. Could be some interesting development for Kay while he's still kind of getting his footing with things.

But what about the third arc?

Our options here are either Kay stays with Bix again - not happening - or he goes with Cass and Wil to Ghorman. Like the safe house, we know that Ghorman isn't a logistical filming issue because we've seen him there. But again - what business would a news reporter from a unknown network have with a K-X droid? So Kay would have to stay with the ship, likely until he realizes that everything has completely gone to hell and makes his way out there to attempt to extract the two of them. Obviously being able to get by with relative ease since there's supposed to be K-X units in the area. But he would just get sidelined again when it's time to extract Mon for the same reasons. And I already said I can't think of how I would squeeze more of him into the final arc.

It would be really interesting though to have Kay around while Cassian is starting to seriously verbally doubt his ability to continue on in arc 3. Throughout season 2, Cass's life long struggles with being a survivor and with feeling like he has no autonomy are starting to come to a head, and in the aftermath of being a survivor once again after Ghorman, he's scared and desperately wants to make the choice to stop.

But if Cassian stops, what happens to K-2SO? It's made very clear to us throughout all of the supporting media of this era that K-2 is generally seen as Cassian's responsibility above anyone else. Droids fundamentally do not have rights in Star Wars, and this very much extends to the rebellion as well. From supplemental books and such, we know that Cassian has staunchly refused any attempts by the alliance to make Kay less autonomous, more compliant. Kay is a one-of-a-kind individual and Cassian likes him that way, wouldn't want him to be anything else.

If Captain Andor disappeared, would anyone else's word have enough sway to keep Kay from being fitted with a restraining bolt? To keep the Yavin droid techs from mind wiping him? Considering that Draven and Bail don't even generally deign to use his name, simply calling him "droid", I think we know our answer.

So how would Kay react to hearing Cassian say he's done, that he wants out? Kay and Cass are great friends, and work very well together in the field, but an undeniable part of their relationship is that in one way or another, Kay is dependent on him in order to maintain his autonomy and his place within the rebel alliance.

And more pressingly for this post - would the show even have had time to actually explore any of that?

Andor is so good that the parts that aren't quite as good are almost as interesting to think about as the stuff that's phenomenally done.

[faceofpoe]

Arc 4 musings in addition to the Wilmon musings and the Cassian-unraveling musings and the energy project musings:

Saw. Will we get a final Saw & Luthen meeting? (Saw knows Galen; does he know why Krennic wanted Galen? Saw wouldn't know "Liana Hallik" but like [Poe descends into endless confusion spiral on how alliance Intel was supposed to have identified/located her it's fine it's all fine]).

It's my last chance to learn what Vel did with the kyber necklace LOL. I don't think I'm getting an answer. But idk. My obsession with s1 eps 3-4 Luthen & Cassian have paid off well this season so...

The Bryar - this is going to disappear. Torn between 'discarded after used for something terrible' or 'passed on to Wilmon, who survives and will carry on this piece of Andor family legacy.'

Nemik's manifesto! Did it really just get left behind in the ship on Ferrix? I like to think it's tucked away at the gallery and will get an appearance. I think Kleya's been reading it.

Luthen's twisty knife. Obsessed - that's his walking stick thing right? I Love how heavy that moment felt in the trailer and then in the show it was straight up just Cassian fucking around with his things. Anyway someone's totally getting stabbed by that, right?

Dedra's gotta find her man. I am not expecting a complementary "are we the bad guys?" moment for Dedra but I do wonder if she now hates Krennic as much as everyone else hates Krennic.

Perrin/Leida/the Sculduns are... big hanging threads from Mon's getaway. I expected Perrin to surprise us last week somehow, now I'm worried he'll do/say/give away something and leave me wondering forever after - would he have though if she'd just taken him with/warned him/whatever?

Climb! No one has told Cassian to climb this season.

Things I'd like to see, some more self-indulgent than others:

Full circle Kenari by having Cassian reject a Kenari survivor rumor in favor of getting on the ship to Kafrene.

Cassian telling someone "Tell me what to do" but sincerely.

Lonni getting caught out (because surely he must??) somehow tied to "shopping" at the gallery he "shouldn't be able to afford."

(and if Lonni is caught out I just really want to see Partagaz's face about it after all the years)

Some kind of connection/assist/camaraderie between K2 and Vel.

Kleya in Action. Or Kleya flying the Fondor and revealing even more fun tricks.

Cassian and Vel finally on the damn screen together and on another big high-stakes mission. These two feel like they're on some kind of meaningful collision course.

[kaptainkassa]

explorers by muse is definitely a cassian andor sex song

[side-character-syndrome]

An actual coherent RP listing (EDITED 2025 - CLOSED)

Heyooo I decided to make a post for my interests and fandoms separate to my other one. this one with the goal to be a little more organized.

My name is Becca and I have been writing for the better part of my life (since I was 10 and cringe and am now in mid twenties). I have a bit of an ADHD hyperfixation problem so I love diving into my favorite characters and stories. Its one of the greatest forms of entertainment as an adultish person.

I love writing angst and fluff but I dont write smut. Im asexual so it just doesnt really appeal to me. I dont mind slight intimacy. I can do any length but I prefer to plan and talk with partners before deciding on anything!

Im hoping to find some discord communities and a variety of partners from different verses. Usually the characters I choose are quite popular so I find that they are often taken on all of the servers I have tried thus far.

Anywayyyy without futher ado heres a list of my main peoples but I can branch off especially when it comes to marvel.

Marvel: Peter Parker (any), Loki Laufeyson, Matt Murdock, Bucky Barnes, Miles Morales, Steven Grant/Marc Spector , Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff

DC: barry allen, dick grayson, billy batson,jason todd

Grishaverse: Nikolai Lantsov, Kaz Brekker

Percy Jackson: Percy Jackson, Annabeth Chase, Leo Valdez, Jason Grace, Nico D'Angelo

Star Wars: Cassian Andor, Anakin Skywalker, Cal Kestis

Shadowhunters: Jace Herondale, Julian Blackthorn, Will Herondale, Simon Lewis, James Herondale, Matthew Fairchild

Harry Potter: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger,James Potter

Julie and the Phantoms: Luke Patterson

Danny Phantom: Danny Fenton, Dani Masters

HTTYD: Hiccup Haddock III

Disney: Mal Descendants

Lockwood and Co: Anthony Lockwood

FNAF Movie: Mike Schmidt

Bridgerton: Anthony Bridgerton

Henry Danger: Henry hart (rp blog active)

MBAV: Benny Weir

Wicked: Fiyero Tigelaar, Glinda Upland

There is honestly probably moreeee and im not guaranteeing I have muse for all of these at once but I thought it would be a good share. Check my blog for current fixation list.

[lehdenlaulu]

Captain Cassian Andor: Soldier Side

smashing pumpkins - bullet with butterfly wings

placebo - the bitter end

system of a down - soldier side

nine inch nails - hurt

muse - ruled by secrecy

woodkid - the other side

muse - sing for absolution

placebo - sleeping with ghosts

lifehouse - near life experience

[yt]

[rebelhop3]

ind  /  sel  /  priv  writing blog  for  CASSIAN ANDOR   of  star wars ——  lovingly  portrayed  by  bean.  originally established in 2016 ; revamped and recreated may 2025. canon divergent and headcanon-based . multiverse  &  multiship. mature  themes  present  ;  MINORS  DNI.  blog  is  low-to-moderate  activity  operating  on pacific  standard  time.

dash only and iconless. rules  can be found beneath the cut !!

dash icon: x / banner template: x / psds: x , x , x

guidelines

01.     this is an independent, selective, and private writing blog. my portrayal will include many aspects of canon, but canon divergence and headcanon will make up the majority of my portrayal. while i have been a fan of star wars almost all of my life, i am not an expert in its lore. what alterations i make are made are largely up to my own discretion, interpretation, and comfort with certain themes present in certain characters’ stories. if these changes at all bother you, i understand. do what you need to do to ensure your safety and well-being!

02.     this blog will only interact with muns over the age of 20. as i am 25+ years of age, i prefer not to interact with anyone younger than this. minors who follow this blog will be blocked on sight. if i find out you have lied about your age to gain access to this blog, i will also block you. NO EXCEPTIONS. not only is it potentially illegal, but it’s immoral and inappropriate.

           on the topic of mature themes, i heavily prefer FADE TO BLACK in the case of smut. i enjoy banter, but excessive sexual content sometimes makes me uncofortable. i may author smut in detail if it is critical to the development of a plot or dynamic, but otherwise you can expect me to skip to the aftermath.

03.     triggers of all kinds will be present on this blog. while i will always do my best to tag them, i may miss them from time to time. i deeply apologize if this occurs, but please just give me a gentle nudge and i will be sure to rectify it immediately! trigger tags will be formatted as following:

                                          tw: trigger name

           the only trigger that i ask mutuals tag if possible is spiders.

04.     this is the generic mun =/= muse rule. i am not the muses i write, nor do i always condone their actions, attitudes, or beliefs. the world these characters live in can oftentimes be just as cutthroat and cruel as our own. at times, my muse may be manipulative, crude, or straight up unlikable. if any aspect of my writing makes you uncomfortable, please feel free to block and move on. again, your comfort and well-being is paramount, and there will be no hurt feelings here for that.

           that being said, there are several themes i will NEVER write in graphic detail, though there may be instances where they become part of my muse's backstory or experience. these include but are not limited to: any type of sexual assault or aggression; any form of abuse; excessive gore/torture; discrimination of any type.

05.     i am easy to interact with. crossovers, ocs, and duplicates are welcome! asks are my preferred way to start interactions. it is encouraged to make ask replies threads on this blog; please just do your best to move it to a fresh post! i do lightly format my posts, with small text, bold / italicizing, and colored text for emphasis. please let me know if this disrupts your ability to read our threads and i will happily adjust this! i am also always more than happy to plot. my discord is available to mutuals upon request, either for plotting, writing, or just sharing our love for common interests!

06.     i love star wars. i love learning about star wars — especially legends / eu plots, characters, and materials. you are welcome to link me to information you think i might find pertinent or infodump about the wider universe. but please, do not tell me how i should or should not write my muse. i’m here for a good time and will write the way that makes me happiest, and give everyone in my space the same respect. attempting to tell me how to write my muses is grounds for a block.

07.     i love ships. ships of all kinds. let all the ships sail. besties, friends to lovers, enemies to lovers, slowburn, soul mates, hateships, mortal enemies … give them all. that said, this is not a space for ship wars or unnecessary, unfounded hate for ships (i.e. hating a canon ship because it gets in the way of your headcanon ship). please save that for your like-minded friends.

[personaei]

mobile friendly muse list

warcraft

ariadne mira ( player character/human mage: wow )

mathias shaw

kalecgos

arthas menethil

khadgar

tess graymane

lor'themar theron

arator the redeemer

calia menethil

dragon age

elissa cousland

alistair therin

marian hawke

cassandra pentaghast

lyra trevelyan

ivy mercar

world mythology & folklore

ariadne of crete

baba yaga

chang'e

chernobog

guinevere

hektor of troy

iphigenia of mycenae

kassandra of troy

penelope of ithaca

psyche

the morrigan

star wars

cassian andor

meetra surik

hk-47

han solo

lana beniko

mon mothma

padmé amidala

darth revan

talia znok ( smuggler player character: swtor )

square-enix

auron

biggs ( final fantasy vii )

cloud strife

goofy

jecht

leon ( kingdom hearts )

maleficent ( kingdom hearts )

kairi

nyx ulric

reno

tifa lockhart

yuna

video games

altaïr ibn al-ahad ( assassin's creed )

courier six ( fallout )

commander shepard ( mass effect )

crow ( destiny 2 )

daigo ( fortnite )

eris morn ( destiny 2 )

ezio auditore da firenze ( assassin's creed )

garrus vakarian (mass effect )

the guardian ( awoken warlock player character: destiny 2 )

the librarian ( book of hours player character )

kendo ( fortnite )

marigold ( fortnite )

morgan myst ( fortnite )

sarah kerrigan ( starcraft )

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nadja of antipaxos

[officialfoxsquadron]

shiny happy people

7.2k words | my ao3

rating: mature

cw: discussions of starvation and eating disorders, vomiting and emetophobia, general bad coping mechanisms for trauma

summary: Cassian Andor does not know Pazima Reynard, except to know that they are one and the same; cold, cruel and calculating spies. When the asocial woman-and Cassian's sometime barber-returns to Rebel Base with a fourteen-year-old girl, he finds himself wrestling with the realities of being young during wartime.

“Would you like to hear the news?”

K-2SO’s clipped voice, typically so flat and emotionless, sparkled with a bit of excitement. Cassian Andor, Rebel spy, was sick to death of news. The Rebel droids were worse gossips than the organic beings. Besides, his whole damn job was news and gossip.

“I am going to hear it anyway,” Cassian grumbled, flipping the switches for the landing cycle. Crait, the home of the new Rebel base (and, Cassian supposed, his home), was a desolate, salty planet. The surface ran red as soon as you stepped on it. It made him uneasy.

K prattled on, some nonsense about the Senate and who was sleeping with who and who died. No one Cassian knew or cared about. But he let the droid talk as he watched the Rebel base grow larger, a bloody wound on Crait’s salt-white flesh. 

“Oh, and Pazima Reynard is back at base. She is married to Wedge Antilles and has a sister now.”

That caught his attention. Not necessarily Pazima Reynard’s personal life-frankly, he didn’t give a fuck-but it did remind Cassian he needed a haircut.

“What did we bring back to trade?” He looked over his shoulder, making a quick mental intake. Booze, cigarras, nudie holos, food from off-world–some combination of those would be enough to trade for a trim. He had not looked in the mirror since stitching up a blast wound back on Daiyu, but he knew that his hair had grown far too long. It fell sometimes, greasy and dark, in front of his eyes. 

A shame I cannot see the back of my own head, Cassian mused. Then I could just take care of it myself, and be done with it.

“Perhaps something for the girl,” K suggested, his voice surprisingly light. “She is fourteen.”

Fourteen . He sniffed. What madness had possessed Pazima to bring a teenager into an army base?

He shot K a dark look. “I don’t care,” he declared.

“As you say.” The droid paused. “Do not worry, Cassian. They will send you away again soon enough.”

He grunted, but said nothing. The voice of some traffic controllers crackled onto his comms, and Cassian responded in kind. He landed the ship without incident, and braced himself for the next few weeks in the cesspool of doomed young people he called home.

“I brought you something to trade.” He held up a holotape, something he had found stashed away.

Pazima Reynard, tall, stern and statuesque, stood blocking the doorway to her bunkroom. He had not seen her for more than a year. He had almost forgotten how beautiful she was. Almost. Pazima, who wore her black hair in tight knots, complementing her angular face and tattooed copper skin, was not the type of woman to let you forget.

She eyed him skeptically, lifting an eyebrow. “You said whisky.”

“This is better. Music from before the Empire,” he said, stepping forward. He knew music was her great weakness. She snatched the tape from him, examining it.

“Where’d you get it?”

“Don’t remember.”

She sniffed, looking over the tape, and then down at him. “Fine,” she said haughtily, waving her hand and turning her back, “but only because you look pathetic, like a wet runyip.”

Cassian allowed himself to laugh and followed her into the bunkroom.

The bunkrooms on Crait are small, claustrophobic, dreary things, more like the prison cells on Narkina 5 than comfortable homes. At the very least, they had windows into the cavernous hallway, the artificial light providing a facsimile of normal family life. There was barely enough space for a chair and table, smushed into the back of the room. One of their four bunks was overflowing with junk. Above it sat Pazima’s new sister, curled into a ball and staring at him.

The girl was fourteen, according to K, but hunger had stunted her growth. She looked healthy enough now, if a bit pale, but Cassian saw the signs of past malnourishment. Limbs too short, skin covered in scars and stretched too taut, bones jutting like knives beneath her skin, threatening to pop at any moment. He was probably close to her age when he saw them in his own reflection, older still when he truly understood what it meant.

Still, he had grown into his looks. He wondered if she ever would. She bore a scar on one eye, red and angry and unsettling, making the pupil cloudy and gray. A shock of curly orange hair erupted from her head, messy and unkempt, falling to her shoulders.

A one-eyed ginger. What a catastrophe.

“Lottie,” Pazima said, gentler than he ever imagined her speaking, her deep voice the comforting rumble of thunder. “This is a colleague of ours, Cassian Andor.”

“Hello.” It came out shorter than he expected. It’s not that he disliked children, he just didn’t know what to do around them.

She blinked at him, then tilted her head, sizing him up like a fighter in the ring. Then, quick and quiet as a ghost, she scurried down the ladder and out of the room.

Pazima sighed wearily, watching her sister flash by in a red blur, shutting the door. “She hasn’t been talking much,” she said absently. “We thought she made some progress, but-” She turned to him abruptly. “You don’t care. Sit.”

She was right, of course. He respected Pazima, which was kind of like caring for someone, when respect is all you are allowed to feel.

“Colleague?” he teased lightly.

“What would you call it?”

He pondered that. “Hunters who sometimes chase the same prey.”

She grinned with approval. “Sit,” she insisted, gesturing again to her chair.

He breathed in and out, steadying himself. As much as he needed to be on base, to check in and regroup with his allies, he hated it. It was too banal, too domestic, too structured.

Relax, Cassian. It’s just hair.

Maarva cut his hair once. She was very bad at it, chopping roughly and chiding him to sit still through gritted teeth. Eventually, she gave up and outsourced it to an old man down the road. His name was Jossam, and he always had a sweet for him.

He sat in the chair and allowed Pazima to wrap an old blanket around his shoulders.

“Where did you learn to do this?” he asked, something he is sure he has asked her before.

“I went to an all-girls school,” she replied, as if that explained everything.

“Is that true?”

She snorted. “Don’t ask stupid questions.”

The scissors snipped at his hair lightly. It was uncomfortable, yet somehow relaxing to have someone touch him so matter-of-factly. Not insistent or passionate, like a lover, nor rough and feral like an enemy. The kind of touch that just is , and it’s enough to lull Cassian into a kind of madness.

His eyes fixed on the empty bunk where Pazima’s sister once was. Was he ever so young?

How old were you when you first killed someone? Do you even remember?

“I didn’t take you for the type,” he said quietly.

Pazima groaned like a teenager. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Judge.” Her eyes narrowed in warning when he turned to meet them.

“I’m not judging, I just thought-“ Thought you were too cold-hearted for that. That’s what we are, after all. Automatons made of stone and ice, sent to kill without thought, without question. He focused forward again, looking at the door. “Does she know what you are?”

“Of course she does, Cassian. Better than you .”

“And so what, so she will be-“

“Why do you care?”

It’s a sharp question, and a good one.

“I was a soldier too young.”

“So was I. I gave her a choice. I didn’t just take her.”

He woke up on Maarva and Clem’s ship with a deathly ringing in his head. Their voices, speaking frantically in hushed tones, grated on his ear. Worse, he couldn’t understand a thing they were saying-Galactic Basic was still harsh, discordant gibberish to him then.

I didn’t have a choice. 

Then again, Maarva would always say she didn’t have a choice either.

Pazima, ever the observant spy, snipped the scissors decisively. She twisted her mouth into the idea of a smile. 

“Perhaps we’re just getting old, Cassian. Bail Organa has brought his daughter to base.”

Yes, he knew that too. It was hard to miss the stalwart column of a girl standing next to her father, going from meeting to meeting in a pristine white dress, large brown eyes observant and calculating. 

“She isn’t much older than Lottie,” she suggested. 

She is looking for absolution, Cassian realized. Absolution from me.

He was sure he had woken up in the underworld that day. It was like they always told the younger children on Kenari, when the sun fell and the flickers of the campfire elongated their fingers into long shadows. Wander too far from the group, and you’ll end up in the world below ours. The one the off-worlders found when they dug too deep.

“Will they be my new allies? This…flock of teenage girls?”

“Believe it or not, Cassian, I wasn’t thinking of you when I found her.”

“Then what were you thinking?” There it is, the kill shot, the question Cassian really wanted to ask. He wanted to grab her and scream it in her face. What is it, that compels you to rip a child away from their home, teach them a new language, force them to fight for the galaxy?l

Pazima stopped, taken aback by his fervor, before stepping in front of him. The sound of her boots echoed on the cave floor. She gripped the arms of his chair, one, then another, her pair of scissors balled into a fist. Cassian felt himself leaning back, and watched as that facsimile of a smile twisted into something uglier, meaner, as she leaned forward, filling the empty space with herself.

“You’re in my home, Cassian.” Her voice was soft, but sharp, a velvet glove concealing a steel fist. The muscles in her long tattooed arms twitched in anticipation, as if her body itself hungered for a fight. She lifted an eyebrow, brown eyes delighting in his physical disadvantage. She was stronger, taller, and had him practically trapped beneath her. 

In other words, he was prey, and she the predator, deciding if she would devour him. If it was anyone else, any time else, Cassian would have reached for his blaster.

But regret slowed his hand. What was he doing? He hardly knew this woman, only that she was dangerous, and he had questioned her, threatened her, pushed his own past into her present.

“Mind your tone.”

It was an order. He nodded.

Quickly, and as if nothing had happened, her hands left the chair and she walked back behind him, trimming his hair again.

They passed a few moments of silence, enough for Cassian to continue wallowing in remorse. She takes another strand of hair, and before cutting, decides to speak.

“Do you remember the Jedi?” she asked.

What a strange question. He had been alive when the Jedi were active-or so he thought. Kenari was far away from such things, and the idea that there was any sort of power in the galaxy besides the Empire was a distant fantasy. 

“No.”

“They took children away from their parents. There was a Jedi general in the Clone Wars who was twelve .”

“I didn’t know you were religious.” 

“I’m not. I just remember.” Pazima ran two of her fingers through Cassian’s hair, snipping away again. “This galaxy has always forced children to grow up too fast. With me, at least she will have steady meals and a bed.”

“She will be in a war.”

“She always was.”

The conversation lulls, and the monotonous sound betrays the electric charge in the air. Both of them knew what was happening; they were digging and digging, getting dangerously close to something honest.

Neither of them liked honesty. Honesty is what kills you. Lies kept you alive.

Yet honesty was irresistible, a gravitational pull. How many times had Cassian seen it–one truth spilled out, then another, then another, until you were weeping, telling your life story to someone you barely knew? How many times had he exploited it?

Pazima knew that too. They were liars, both of them.

When she spoke again, he wasn’t surprised to find the truth pouring out of her. Her voice was distant, quiet, as if it came from someplace far away.

“You and I won’t be alive to see the galaxy we hope to build. Surely you understand that.”

“Yes.” Wars were fought by teenagers, twenty-somethings. Pazima was in her thirties, Cassian not far behind. Young by peacetime standards, practically elderly in wartime. The clock had never ticked louder.

“What are we doing it all for, if not for them?”

That’s just love. Nothing you can do about that.

“I suppose you’re right,” Cassian admitted, his eyes on the empty bunk. “But I don’t remember ever being so young.”

Pazima sighed, long and weary, following Cassian’s gaze.

“Neither do I.”

A week goes by, maybe more, and the next time he passes the Reynards’ bunkroom, it’s a muffled roar of sound.

Cassian can’t help himself. Ever the spy, he slips into the shadows and looks through their window, curious at what he will find.

Wedge Antilles, Pazima Reynard’s husband, was the very model of a Rebellion pilot. Young, cocky, brash, and handsome. The type of man other men with too much adrenaline love to idolize. Not exactly who he thought Pazima would go for, but then again, he barely knew her.

He observed Wedge with an attempt at cool disinterest, though in truth, he found himself jealous at the easy way he flitted in and out of the window’s view, the winning smiles he gave the men gathered around him.

Laughter rose and fell, and then rose again, the sharp noise growing louder as Wedge opened and closed the door.

“Lottie! Where the hell have you-” Cassian made to scurry off, but it was too late. Wedge’s eyes locked onto his. “Oh, hello. Cassian Andor, right?” He stuck his hand out. “Wedge Antilles. Pazima said she cut your hair.”

“Yes, that’s correct,” he said, shaking his hand, searching quickly for an escape.

“This what you like to do?” Wedge said, flashing that smile and stepping forward, a bit of a sway in his walk. “You like to watch?”

Cassian snorted, the side of his mouth twitching despite himself. “I am an intelligence officer. It’s my job to be curious.”

“Well, you’re welcome to join us.” He gestured to the door with a beer bottle in his hand. “It’s a tight squeeze, but you’ll fit.”

“That’s alright,” he said. “Crowds make me uncomfortable.”

“Suit yourself,” Wedge said, shrugging. His manner was easy, but Cassian saw something in the young man’s eyes, a fierce intelligence. He knitted his thick black brows together, darting his eyes up and down the hallway. “Have you seen Pazima’s sister, by the way? Short, redheaded, one-eyed. Very hard to miss.”

“No.”

“Worth a shot.” He clapped Cassian on the shoulder, before pointing a finger at him. “Don’t be a stranger. I’m serious.”

Cassian wanted to curl up in a hole. This was exactly the type of social interaction he hated. What an embarrassing thing it was, to need people.

Still, he nodded. Wedge seemed to be a worthy ally. 

“Good night, Captain Antilles.”

“Night.”

The door closed, and Cassian walked away, determined to get back to his ship and sleep alone. He hated it here-all of them crammed into bunks carved into a cave, He longed to get a mission, any mission, fly with K2 somewhere shady and seedy and terrible, away from this prison of domesticity.

A sound from the shadows pricked at his ears, pulling him out of his reverie.

He knew the sound of drunken retching far too well, and someone was heaving, little gasps coming in between deep eruptions of sound.

He wanted to turn away, but something told him to stay. He should at least try to be a part of a community again.

“Hello?” he called, stepping towards the sound. “Do you need a medic?”

Two eyes peeked out from the shadows, the cold artificial light causing them to sparkle like stars.

Then Lottie Reynard stumbled forward, and promptly vomited onto Cassian’s shoes.

“What the fuck,” he groaned, shaking his foot and recoiling in disgust.

The girl blinked, scanning Cassian’s face as she wiped spittle from her mouth with the back of her hand. She looked truly pathetic, gripping the neck of a liquor bottle with white knuckles, chunks of vomit intertwined in her ragged red curls.

He almost pitied her, until he found himself slammed against the wall, a shriek ringing in his ears and a blade digging into his skin.

This is what you get for being kind, Cassian. Puke on your shoes and a knife at your throat.

He looked down at her, this tiny, savage animal.

“I could reach for my blaster and kill you,” he whispered. 

Her eyes flitted towards the weapon, then back to him, jutting her chin. “You would hesitate,” she reckoned, eyes narrowing as she scanned his face. Pazima said she didn’t talk, and perhaps it was better that way. Her voice was squeaky, so high-pitched it was almost grating, with a nearly indecipherable accent. “You are the type of man who hesitates to kill a child.”

“Am I?” He looked down at the weapon at his throat. Its wavy edges were sharp and fine, the blade decorated with etchings he could not quite see. “Your knife is very beautiful,” he said calmly. The tip pricked the skin of his neck, drawing blood. He groaned and held his hands in the air, a gesture of peace, but his irritation was clear. “I am only trying to get back to my ship.”

“You startled me,” she said in a much smaller voice, before withdrawing and sheathing the knife against her thigh.

“You shouldn’t draw a weapon on strangers here. Not everyone is as kind as me.”

“You kill children,” she hissed, closing the gap between them once again. He could smell her sickly-sweet breath, see how her mismatched eyes shook with nervous energy.

He leaned closer, keeping his voice even.

“So do you.”

That was enough to get her to back away, working her jaw, wiping her mouth again before taking a swig from her bottle. 

It was jarring to watch a teenager drink from a bottle like one born to it. His heart, stupid thing, spoke before his brain. “I was like you once.”

The girl scoffed, face twisting in disgust as she rolled her eyes, tossing her messy hair. “So what does that make you? My daddy?” She said the last two words with such mocking disdain, and he found himself laughing in spite of himself. 

“I am too young for that.” I hope. “I meant I was very hungry once. Did you eat something today?”

“I-” She blinked, shaking her head, turning into herself. “No. I forgot.”

“You should,” he said. He pulled a ration bar from his pocket. “Especially if you plan on drinking half a bottle of gin.”

She looked at the bottle in her hand, before taking the bar and devouring the way only starving children could, crumbs falling onto her shirt. “I shouldn’t, I know, I just…I don’t sleep so good anymore.”

“So well.”

“What?”

“So well. Basic wasn’t my first language either.”

“Oh, great. A Basic lesson as well as a fucking lecture.” Her words slurred together, and she slumped against the wall.

Cassian shook his head, getting up. “Good night. I’ll tell Wedge where you are.”

“No-wait, Cassian.” She reached out, trying to tug at his jacket, his leg, before falling and stumbling again. He turned around.

“I’m sorry,” she said, something startlingly honest and pleading in her eyes. “I shouldn’t have done that. I think I’ve forgotten how to trust people,” she added quietly, folding further into herself.

“That’s alright,” he said, as gently as he possibly could. “I have too.”

Quicker than lightning, she stood up and swiped at the blood on his neck, collecting it onto the tip of her finger. He watched her, stunned, as she observed it dripping on her fingers, illuminated by moonlight.

Then, she closed her eyes, swaying just a bit, before nodding.

“You will die on a beach, in the arms of the woman you love,” she said, quiet and assured. She opened her eyes and smiled, a sincere attempt at comfort. “Doesn’t that sound nice?”

She shook the blood off of her hands and disappeared. They never spoke again.

The years have changed them all.

Cassian is still sullen, but then there is Jyn Erso, all fiery hope and determination, and she pierces him straight to the core. She makes the world come alive again, and with her, Cassian feels that there might be a future. Not for him, maybe, but for someone.

Scarif is a beach planet, and there is very little time for goodbyes.

Pazima Reynard is not a part of the Scarif mission. Whoever she is off of base, on base she is a mechanic. Even with a welding mask over her face, she was easy to spot. Her hair was now dyed a bright greenish-blue, locs piled onto her head, adding even more height to her tall frame. Sparks flew around her as she worked, illuminating her tattooed skin.

He was not a loud man, but he called her name. She lifted the mask, running her sweat and oil-slick hands into a towel.

“Your hair is very bright,” he observed.

“Cassian.” Her face remained passive, but her voice was rich with warmth. “Got bored on a stakeout.”

“A stakeout? Funny place for a mechanic to be.”

“Yes, well,” She abandoned her thought, crossing her arms. “I hear you’ll be leaving soon.”

“Keep it quiet.” he said, voice dropping to a semi-serious, conspiratorial whisper. “If we need it, can we rely on you to rally the pilots?”

“Of course. I’ve roped Bail in as well. You’ve got people here rooting for you.”

He took a look around Rebel Base, maybe for the last time. This one, built out of an abandoned temple on Yavin IV, is much better than Crait. There’s something freeing about Yavin, like the Rebels have carved out a slice of the jungle, hidden away just for them. For a year or so, it felt like nothing could touch them.

Then Jyn Erso, and the Death Star. 

Time waits for no one. He won’t inherit the galaxy they’re building.

I’ll miss this, he thought, surprising himself. I’ll miss being on the outside of this, the great concentric circles of people, orbiting around each other. He had not had a home for a very long time, but Rebel Base was as close as he could get. 

A chorus of shrieking giggles interrupted his thoughts. He turned to see Lottie Reynard laughing with a Mirilan medic, the two child-women passing cards between them and the droid mechanic K loved, some teenage boy with thick glasses. 

Their eyes met, very briefly, before Lottie ducked her head down, hiding the bright pink blush creeping up her skin.

Her words have rattled around in his head. They were easy enough to pass off as the drunken, nonsense ramblings of a half-mad fourteen year old.

Then he met Jyn, and saw the Death Star’s destruction.

“Sorry,” Pazima said absently, putting a hand on her hip. “I have tried to tell her she laughs like a Kowakian monkey-lizard. You can imagine how that went.”

Cassian shook his head. Truthfully, he took some kind of comfort in the fact that despite everything, teenage girls will always giggle too loud.

Then it hits him. Lies require time. The truth is something immediate, something to do when there’s no time left.

“Don’t apologize,” he said. “You’ve done a good job with her.”

It was like watching a mask come off, seeing the confusion on Pazima’s features. Her brows knitted together, and then a smile. She had dimples when she smiled. He had never noticed before.

“I thought you didn’t care,” she said, after a moment.

“I don’t,” he said. “So you can trust me. A neutral observer. A former skeptic, even.”

She crossed her arms, shaking her head, looking at Lottie, then her boots, tapping her foot absently. “Well, glad you’re convinced,” she mumbled. “I’m still not.”

“I don’t think parents ever think they do a good job,” he said. “My mother thought I had too many women, too many secrets. She still loved me, though. And that was enough.”

Pazima hummed, and he watched as she looked over at her sister again, before turning to him, sighing deeply.

“I’m not good at this kind of talk,” she admitted.

He shook his head, trying to dismiss her worries. “Then I’ll let you get back to work. But…” He looked at her, really looked, noting the deep-set inner corners of her eyes, her flat, straight nose, her full lips, her high cheekbones, her square jaw, the freckles dotting her cheeks. He let himself take in the sight of a supernaturally beautiful woman, for no other reason than he could.

“Can I ask you for a favor? You’re the only one I can trust with it.” He reached for her hand, not caring about the oil and grease staining them, only caring for a desperate moment of connection.

If Pazima was confused before, she was even more so now, shocked at his sudden display of emotion.

“Cassian-“

“There is a woman, her name is Kerri. She’s from Kenari. She’d be twenty-nine, maybe thirty by now. If…if you hear about her doing whatever it is you do, look into it for me, okay? She’s probably dead, but someone has to.”

Pazima squeezed his hand, nodding like one taking a solemn vow. “I will.”

Lottie has always been an awful sailor, which is one of her more irritating qualities.

Pazima had thought, when she first found her, that she would take to it. She had hoped the ocean could be a mother to Lottie, the way it is to her. But she didn’t-her fingers so deft with a blade were clumsy with a knot, and she couldn’t remember half of the things she needed to.

Just follow the wind, Pazima. Chart your course, but follow the wind.

It was a rare opportunity for them, this trip to Ethamaia. One day, Wedge and Jax had announced proudly that they had swindled Wedge’s own parents out of the place. One of their ridiculous schemes, but it had paid off. Like so many times before, the Rebellion splintered after the battle of Yavin, scattering and hiding until a new, safer base could be found.

But for the first time in many years, this didn’t feel like hiding. It felt like resting. It felt like exhaling.

They needed this, fuck , did they need it. The battle of Scarif was a bloodbath, a litany of dead allies, dead friends. Alderaan was worse. And then the battle of Yavin, a desperate last stand against total annihilation…

Bail Organa used to tell her this was a war of a thousand cuts. Well, Bail, she wanted to ask him, do you still think that will work? Because we’ve all been cut a thousand times, and yet here we are, bleeding out.

Of course, Bail was dead now, blown up by a superweapon, and she could hardly rage against his nineteen-year-old daughter, showing up to command armies in her soiled white dress.

She exhaled and looked out at the sea, bundling rope in her hands. This was the last part of her past she allowed in her life. She was someone else once, someone with parents and brothers, and the sea was a part of her very blood. No matter how much she tried to forget–and she did–the sea still remembered. It still called to her, the vast expanses of blue, broken up only by white, sparkling sands. She looked over at her sister. She perched on the rail of the ship, swinging her legs absently as she smoked. Did she pick up that habit on Coruscant, or from Pazima? She couldn’t remember, and had never cared to stop it. You had to deal with the war somehow, and it was either that or the bottle or bad, weird sex. Pazima had tried all three, and found a cigarra the least destructive.

There was something striking about Lottie-not always the best quality in an assassin, Pazima would admit, but it drew her in. Her face was that of a brutalized doll. It was heart shaped and sweet, with something bullish about it too—a missing eye, a crooked, broken nose, round cheeks that went from cute to jowly depending on her mood. The sun was setting, which made her orange-red hair more brilliant. A bit of fire amongst the endless waves. It was her one truly beautiful feature, and Pazima watched as it twisted, blown by the salty sea air.

She is a woman now, Pazima lamented. Lottie has been for a while, but sentiment-stupid thing-stopped her from seeing clearly.

Cassian Andor once asked her why she had taken Lottie in. The answer still eluded her. There were some ready made ones, of course. Lottie was a sad young girl who Pazima helped to safety; the sob story she gave the Rebellion. Lottie was prodigiously talented at killing with a finely tuned survival instinct, able to move between man and woman, innocent and cunning in an instant; the reasons she gave Wedge, and the reasons why Lottie made such a good assassin.

But none of them sufficed. None of them were right.

There was an idea the Creidye had, the lower-level Coruscanti cult that had spawned Charlotte Reynard into the galaxy. They thought families could be forged, built by durasteel knives and blood bonds. Pazima despised most of their ideology, their fanaticism, their slavish devotion. But the Creidye had helped her when she needed it. She owed them a debt, like it or not.

So when she found herself in the lower levels, after a decade away from the planet that raised her, and found it filled with feral children, what choice did she have?

“Stop looking at me.” Lottie had eyes in the back of her head sometimes–something Pazima had trained her to have, an acute awareness of her surroundings. She felt a blush of pride at her sister’s perception.  “Or at least tell me what you’re thinking about.”

“Just thinking we’re the same, you and I.”

“Oh?” She turned to her, exhaling smoke out of the corner of her mouth. “Well, I would think so, we’re sisters.”

Pazima snorted out a laugh. A secret smile passed between them.

Lottie spoke again, hopping onto the deck with a dancer’s flair. “Cassian Andor said the same thing once.”

She crossed her arms. “That you’re sisters?”

“That he and I were the same.”

“Huh.” She was fairly sure Cassian held a personal grudge against Lottie for existing. The things you learn after people die. She took the cigarra from her sister’s delicate fingers and inhaled, before croaking out a response. “I didn’t know you talked to him.”

“I didn’t. I put a knife to his throat once.”

“ Charlotte! ”

“I was drunk, it wasn’t a good decision,” Lottie shrugged, as if that was an excuse.

Pazima pinched the bridge of her nose, inhaling the cigarra again, feeling the smoke choke at her lungs. “Please tell me this was an isolated incident.”

“If it wasn’t, one of us would’ve died a lot earlier,” Lottie pointed out.

“That-” Pazima exhaled, in and out, attempting to find patience. It was a hard thing to find around Lottie, even harder when she was right about something. “You are aggravating.”

“Yes.” She paused, blinking. “But you have to admit it’s kind of funny.”

“I once was under Imperial torture nonstop for a week. Guess what I admitted?” She bent over, curling her lip in triumph. “Nothing, little sister.”

Lottie blinked, taking the cigarra from her. “Only you could find a way brag about surviving Imperial torture.”

Do you know why I chose you, Pazima? His voice, the Fox assassin that had taught and trained her, the one she had held in her arms as he died, rose from the whirlpool of memory. Because you, dear one, can endure.

“Just trying to impart some wisdom. A lesson for you.”

“I’m bored with lessons.” Lottie slouched onto the side of the railing, tossing her hair. She could be quite glamorous when she wanted, curls of red hair and curls of smoke intertwining, a budding femme fatale.

She could also be supremely annoying.

How many times had Pazima heard that particular complaint? Trying to teach her to read was the worst. It’s so booooo-ring, Pazzy. All the letters switch up and dance in my mind.

“You will be the only Fox left after I die,” Pazima said. The Fox, an ancient line of assassins, reduced now to two women on a boat. The history of whatever they were was gone. “Someday, you’ll miss my boring lessons.”

“No, that’s not right,” Lottie said, scrunching her nose and shaking her head. “We’re both meant to bear witness.”

There she was, the priestess, spouting inane prophecies. Lottie saw time differently. They all did, the Creidye, giving up individual Force sensitivity for something different, something communal. Something borne of a world with no moon and no sun and no seasons. Something kept hidden and locked away. Something even the Jedi feared. Something that it took an entire city-planet to bury.

How does one stop the tide , Pazima wondered. How does one stop the rain?

“You have to stop saying odd shit, Lottie. Especially when you’re not around me.”

“Luke says odd shit,” Lottie pouted, tossing the stubbed cigarra with deadly accuracy to a trash can.

Pazima groaned, throwing her head back. Luke this and Luke that. He was Lottie’s most recent obsession, the Jedi descended from the very heavens to save them all. 

“Luke blew up the Death Star.” And he’s a man and a fucking Skywalker, she wanted to add. Two advantages we both lack.

“Everyone remembers the Jedi more than the Coruscanti,” Lottie said.

“He’s as green as they come,” she countered. Greener . “He’s from the Outer Rim, things are different there. And you’re not just Coruscanti.” Pazima smirked. “I’m sure you tell him quite a story about your homeworld.”

“And what of it?” Lottie hissed. “Am I forbidden from even speaking of them now?”

Pazima scoffed, but shook her head. This was the hardest thing to articulate to her, the kind of  wisdom that only came with age. Pazima was old by Rebel standards-thirty-five-but so damn young compared to real people. 

The things Lottie had survived created only two things. Cynic, and zealot. Lottie had latched onto religion, despite Pazima’s objections. Now this kid, this son of Skywalker…

This is a war for the zealots now, fought by idealistic, traumatized teenagers. She looked up at the stars, just beginning to wink at her as the sun dipped below the horizon line. She found the light of Alderaan, still blazing bright, a beacon from a better time.

Endure, Pazima, endure.

“You are still dreaming of a world that does not exist.” Or maybe it did once. Perhaps the brilliant under-levels of Coruscant, with its boundless love and fiery magic and theatrical trickery, the one Pazima knew filled Lottie’s head, perhaps it still existed, burning alongside Alderaan.

“You don’t like Luke,” she observed, tilting her head.

“My personal feelings have nothing to do with it,” Pazima said, grateful for the change in topic. “He’s dangerous, we’d all do well to remember that.”

“Yeah, but he’s kind,” Lottie insisted. “Like Cassian.”

“Yes,” Pazima admitted. Which made him all the more unpredictable. What happens when the kindness burns away, and only the ashes and his raw power remain? He’s already killed millions, they just happened to be on the wrong side. 

Perhaps someday I will be done with grief , she thought. She could have all the time in the galaxy, and it still wouldn’t be enough to list those she had lost. It’s hardest to mourn someone like Cassian, someone who she barely knew yet knew better than anyone. They were too similar, the two of them, too intense and brooding.

Cassian was giddy when he smiled, like a little boy. It was so rare and it always made Pazima’s heart stop for a very brief moment. She did not love him, she hardly knew him. Yet it was enough to remind her of all she had lost.

“Why did Cassian say you were the same?”

“I dunno,” Lottie shrugged, voice quiet. “Something about being hungry.”

“Hm.” Lottie had been hungry, that was true enough. The Creidye were rich in revolutionary ideas and dusty legends, but very poor in any real resources. She hadn’t known Cassian was hungry. But then again, she never asked. Pazima had long ago learned to live with regrets, to let them wash over her like waves.

“Everyone always sees what they want in me,” Lottie muttered. “No one ever sees me for me.”

Her brow furrowed. Her sister was as prone to fits of melancholy as she was to vague prophecies. As far as Pazima was concerned, one had as little value as the other. She couldn’t have Lottie fall into despair, any less than she could have her go mad.

“I see you.” She petted a hand over her sister’s hair. Pazima knew she was bad at this. She was too direct, too cold, all of the warmth burnt out of her long ago. 

It’s a wonder Lottie’s only a chain-smoker.

“No,” Lottie said, tracing a finger over a scar on her arm. “No, you don’t.” 

A small crack formed in Pazima’s heart. I’m sorry, I’m sorry , she wanted to say. I hope I gave you enough time to be young.

Then Lottie shrugged, easy and languid, so much like Wedge–the warm brother and father Pazima never quite could be, the one Lottie so desperately needed. “That’s okay. I don’t think I see you clearly either.”

Pazima huffed out a laugh, relieved that the gloomy spell seemed to have passed. 

“By design,” she said. “A blank, beautiful slate, for idiots to see what they want.”

“Are you saying I’m an idiot?”

She wrapped an arm around her sister, pulled her to her, and kissed the top of her head.

“Yes.”

She stood up, walking over to where she had set up a little holotape player. Pazima was done talking. How foolish she had been, so many years ago, thinking spycraft would be all blasters and fast ships and fabulous dresses. It was mostly just talking, navigating the asteroid fields of wit and words and agendas. 

At the very least , she thought, looking over at Lottie, she’s better at that than I am.

She thumbed through her box of tapes, finding the one she was searching for.

Cassian had swindled her out of a haircut for it. She had high rates–after all, along with being the best mechanic and the best shot in the Rebellion, she was the best, and for a while the only, hairdresser. Still, she had let him pay with just this one little holotape, big brown eyes, and a sob story. 

Your enemies must think you are strong. Only you, Pazima, can know you are weak.

“Cassian gave me this,” she said, looking over her shoulder at Lottie, holding the tape between two fingers. “On Crait, after we got back to the Rebellion from Laakteen.”

Lottie scrambled to her feet, snatching the tape from Pazima’s hands, wrinkling her nose as she read the title. “Chaos Theory by Senators of Rhythm. What is this, jizz? Gonkrock?”

“Nah, more…electro-twang, I’d call it, but a little funkier than that. I never thought this would’ve been Cassian’s thing.”

“The kind of music you used to sing?”

Pazima smiled, allowing herself a bit of wistfulness. “No, little sister. But a good kind of music nonetheless.”

“Won’t the neighbors hear?” Lottie asked. They had docked on a little inlet, far enough from any real trouble, but still close enough to see the tops of the shell-white mansions peeking over the horizon line

She smirked. On Ethamaia, their neighbors were arms dealers and Imperial swine.

“Fuck ‘em.” she declared, and Lottie giggled giddily. 

Pazima could’ve admonished Lottie for the laugh-it was loud and wild, much like her, and certainly too attention-drawing for any assassin-but how could she? If there was anything that drew the sisters together, that drew all Coruscanti together, it was music. 

Pazima wasn’t a Coruscanti in the way her sister was. She wasn’t born under the city, nor even in one of the skyscrapers of the wealthy. Her home planet, Xuhiri, was vast and blue and sparse in a way someone like Lottie could only imagine. But like all of the female scions of great noble houses, Pazima was shipped off to Coruscant to learn how to smile and please, to host dinner parties and flatter the egos of wealthy men. It was in that great orchestra of a city, a symphony of speeder horns and conversation, that she first knew what love was.

Love was the sound of a Bith soprano at the Galaxies Opera House. A street busker strumming their double viol on the streets of Uscru Entertainment district, nodding and smiling as Pazima tossed a credit their way. And love, well, of course it was the Creidye performance troupes, emerging from the lower levels, soaking up the meager sun as they beat their heavy drums, their long hair swaying in time with the music and their dancers twirling their swords, the blades running over scarred skin and somehow never drawing blood.

She pressed play on the holotape and closed her eyes. She heard the familiar beat of a song long forgotten, a drum kit cuing in the singer and the backing band.

Her sister was already fidgeting in time with the music when Pazima reached out her hand, as if the music coursed through her very blood.

She took her hand gladly, and Pazima spun her sister around, watching her beautiful red hair twirl around her.

Dancing with her, on the deck of this ship that was somehow theirs, feet remembering steps she had learned long ago on Coruscant, to the music given to them by a dead man, Pazima couldn’t help but feel like this was all a dream. It was too nice, too sweet. The laughter came to her unbidden, flowing like a stream from her belly to her breath.

She watched Lottie, seventeen and hopelessly alive. Their two bodies moved in time as they danced, one scarred, one tattooed, both wearing their histories on their skin.

She felt again that prick of guilt, the one that threatened to consume her, the one Cassian had found so long ago, when Lottie was still half-mute. She was dancing now, and Cassian was dead.

There was no room for guilt, not anymore. The cause was still a hopeless one when Pazima brought Lottie to base. That had all changed now, thanks to the sandy-haired Jedi’s son from Tatooine.

He could win them the war. And Lottie, well…

Pazima sent a silent prayer to the waves.

If she dies, let her die young. Let her become a martyr and stay young and wild and beautiful forever.

And please, please, please, let me die before her.

[findroleplay]

hello! 23 y/o nb writer looking for some 18+ partners for the andor fandom. my style is literate to novella but i usually mirror my partner's length. preference is cc x cc but i'm open to original characters and doubles as well. both romantic and platonic ships are welcome! the roleplay would take place on discord. long-term roleplay and ooc communication preferred.

my muses:

cassian andor (varian skye)

mon mothma

vel

cinta

kleya

samm

if interested, interact with this post and i'll reach out to you.

-

[starwarsrpgfinder]

hello there! 23 y/o nb writer looking for some 18+ partners for the andor fandom. my style is literate to novella but i usually mirror my partner's length. preference is cc x cc but i'm open to original characters and doubles as well. both romantic and platonic ships are welcome! the roleplay would take place on discord. long-term roleplay and ooc communication preferred.

my muses:

cassian andor (varian skye)

mon mothma

vel

cinta

kleya

samm

if interested, interact with this post and i'll reach out to you. ♡