#c: cassian andor

[cintasvel]

[uwingdispatch]

I'm always so happy to do this Sofa Celebration sale for those of us who can't be there! And I look forward to watching all the news with all of y'all! So come grab some goodies! Shop is here!

And for funsies here are some of your top picks that I'm packing in your orders tonight:

[mommymothma]

Spoilers for Andor Season 2 (with pictures)

Okay I just watched episode 9 of Andor season 2 and I simply cannot neglect my duties any longer. I would not be a star wars blog if I did not put to writing the pure ECSTACY I felt watching this arc. The season's previous arcs have been exceptional, but this one has been PHENOMENAL. I mean COMPELLING. My ass has been sat for damn near three hours, thinking, contemplating, considering everything I was watching unfold in front of me. I watch A LOT of TV, and if you ask me what I think are objectively some of the best shows ever (some are even my favourites) Andor will be up there. Whether you are a Star Wars fan or not, this show has something for you. Season one blew me away in all regards-- "One Way Out" is still in my top 5 list of the best episodes of all time, "Welcome to the Rebellion" is now creeping up on its seat. I am going to go IN DEPTH on my favourite aspects, and break down some scenes and imagery because I'm a nerd, so I will hide it behind a break so that those who do not care, or do not want spoilers, can keep scrolling

Mon Mothma's character, development, story is honestly my favorite arc in the show. I have been ON MY KNEES for her since season 1 (and really long before that). Her arc in S2 1-3 was no exception, and added to one of the more personal plotlines explored in the series. In season one we see her make the ultimate sacrifice for the rebellion- her daughter. And as a result we are rewarded with this incredible piece of imagery:

Which in case you already aren't aware of the significance of this image I insist you examine the Rebellion logo below (shoutout to Sabine). Picture the flanking pillars on the side as the edges of the semi circle and Mon as the center "pillar".

I have been thoroughly obsessed with this still since season one, so you can imagine my eyes have been peeled this season for more imagery, and I am probably reaching here but I found an interesting pattern with Cassian (keep in mind, I had to scroll a lot to find these images so I might have missed something in episodes 1-6, if I did, please please please reblog and show me so I can loose more sleep).

In episodes 7-9 of season two Cassian is based out of Yavin, and coincidentally his house has a circular door. So I was on the edge of my seat, watching tentatively WAITING for a similar setup for him. But I noticed a pattern, whenever he is framed for a proper position to replicate the logo he is sharing the space with someone.

Like here where he is sharing it with Bix and Wilmon. Also in this scene, he is the first the leave.

I was getting frustrated at this point because they kept getting close and I was on the edge of my seat. The next opportunity, and I was SO sure this would be it, Wilmon is missing, but Bix remains, forcing the frame to widen him out of position and show like this

WE EVEN HAVE THE TREES POSITIONED AS PILLARS THIS TIME

Now you can probably guess where I'm going with this. Now that Bix is gone, I believe there is a much higher chance he will get center screen, and his "official-unofficial" Rebellion badge. It is all I want please Tony Gilroy. I will owe you for the rest of my life If you just give me the cinematic experience of this framing one more time!!!

But moving on to my next topic- Ghorman vs Ferrix

I probably don't need to like draw it out for everyone, because this was way more obvious messaging. I felt distraught for Cassian who essentially had to witness Ferrix all over again, only on Ghorman... they lose. It's like an insight into what COULD have been. The Ghorman genocide draws a lot more attention to background characters deaths to emphasize the fact that this is a LOSS, whereas in my season 1 rewatch I notice that there is less (but still some) emphasis on civilian death. Other parallels include the catalytic throwing of the bomb, the singing as a means of choral rebellion. The site of the massacre occurs in a grave/memorial in both locations (Ferrix the wall, Ghorman the memorial plaza). In Ghorman, the imperials were given the go-ahead to shoot to kill, while on Ferrix, they were asked to bring in Andor alive, causing some hesitancy to be the first man pulling the trigger. I'm sure there are so many more people who will add, but off the top of my head, these are what I could recall.

Episode 8 also shows us the death of one of our main characters Syril. He has been with us since season one and I'm sure he will be missed. I think the interpretation of his character will be extremely varied among fans, but my general understanding is this; Syril was not willing to do whatever it took to achieve his goals, and for that reason he died... morally grey. On the other hand, Dedra was willing to set aside literally everything, albeit reluctantly. Watching her breakdown and repeatedly slip through the first two episodes was endearing and captivating. It's almost like beneath everything is a woman who just wanted to prove herself. Regardless, I don't think this is the end for her, I think it's the beginning (and thus, I also really want a frame of her imitating the imperial symbol to add to my collection). But back to Syril, I chose two images that sum up his character ambitions. He is selfish in every sense of the word, but he is also weak.

On the top we have Syril choking Dedra. At first this seemed out of character, but we have to remember that while Dedra was locked up in her Hightower, devoid of any Ghorman notion, Syril was not. I can totally see how he would get frustrated and lash out at her. I also got the sense this wasn't the first time, based on her reaction. But that is purely speculation. In season 1 Syril could not hold his own whatsoever, he WAS the battle-avoiding officer, who was humbled greatly at his first combat exposure. It's clear that since his demotion he has gotten used to being a soldier, being expendable. So now it is his turn to show the elite that real power comes from the people, and not the elite. It's interesting because he could have prevented Ghorman, or at least delayed it in this moment, but he has never truly overcome his doubt and weakness, a point that is solidified when he loses to Cassian and the Ghorman rebels. Although I wouldn't consider Syril redeemed, I think it's fair to say that he tried. Given more time, he might have finally learned how to use a blaster.

OKAYYY back to Mon because I'm not done with the senate. Bullet points first;

Shout out to Bail Organa, I love this man, and I would die for him. I appreciate that they went for the subtle recast, no unnecessary CGI budget. The actor was phenomenal and embodied the character well. Great chemistry with Genevieve.

Mon absolutely losing it at her daughter's wedding was one of the most tragic things I have ever witnessed on screen, and keep in mind this happened simultaneously with Brasso's death (RIP Brasso, if I had the energy I would give him more screen time). Watching the ceremony was harrowing for multiple reasons: the first, being that they were literal children. Child marriage. The second, is that it was COMPLETELY OPTIONAL. Leida CHOSE to do that, even after Mon gave her an out. I felt her pain in my chest, when Mon tried to have a civil, loving conversation with her daughter and Leida practically spat in her face. If Anakin was going to kill any kids it should have been her sorry not sorry. But I can't imagine what it is like to watch your child voluntarily participate in the same thing that traumatized and radicalized you. To add to that, the only person from her past she still trusted, maybe even loved (platonic or otherwise) was murdered by the man who was her closest ally. I simply just envy her strength, and I could talk about that wedding scene for hours. For now, I'll leave it with one more note, and that is: I was acutely aware of the braid-cutting symbolism. This is definitely me reaching again, but we know that Jedi braids are a symbol of growth, knowledge, acquired wisdom, and age. So seeing in the universe a normally sacred thing be cut and discarded was a little jarring. It represents an abandonment of all those things. (I am once again reinforcing the head cannon that Leia fills the role of her daughter once she joins the rebellion because Mon deserves to be a good mom to somebody.)

Last week Mon Mothma's arc was sidelined a bit for the sake of some other things, but this week we finally got the bigger picture. Making Cassian the agent that brought her to the rebellion and saved her life was just genius. An incredible way of tying the story together and FINALLY placing the main characters in the same setting. I almost can't believe we have three more episodes to go, because episode 9 felt like a finale. I didn't think I would be fed so well, let alone given DESSERT next week. Her speech about the abyss... jaw breaking. Her and Bail thwarting the system to make it happen? Fucking incredible. The ESPIONAGE of Andor sneaking into the senate and out of the senate with a WANTED senator by-- let I remind you alllll the way back to season 1 episode 3 "pretending you belong there". Her reactions to the deaths of the "bad guys", especially Kloris who she had known betrayed her the moment he showed up. She expresses empathy, even to her enemies. This messaging is something that was reinforced in the Ghorman episodes prior: "There is nothing to save if we give up what makes us Ghorman" (or something similar). It's also a massive wake-up call to her, that the rebellion is MESSY. She had been lucky thus far, to avoid associated bloodshed. But she is struck with the realization that this will be her life now and forever, unless the empire is defeated. Tears roll down her cheeks and she expresses how scared she is, but like everyone else she puts her trust in Cassian, and our boy "always pulls through".

Last things I want to squeal about "Rebellions are built on hope"

I don't need to explain. And if you are confused, wait till next week and go watch Rogue One ASA you finish episode 12 thank me later.

Live, laugh, love Saw Gerrara screen time. He is freaking me out a bit, but I am intrigued.

K2SO ORIGIN BABY LETS GOOOOO. Still one of my favourite droids in the franchise, and I hope to GOD he gets at least a little screen time next week.

Incorporating Krennic is an incredible decision. I have no notes on this, other than I think someone needs to die via asphyxiation while trying to achieve their goals (Dedra perhaps)

Now do I have predictions for the finale???

Yeah. Unfortunately, most of them are tragic. I think we will be saying farewell to a large assortment of characters next week, most prominently Wilmon and Luthen. I just think that Andor has to lose his last connection to Ferrix in order to truly become endowed to the rebellion. I don't think Wilmon will die, but I can see him siding with Saw in a heated argument and parting ways. Luthen has been and always will be a mystery. At one point, I thought they might explore his character more, like his premise is certainly interesting: how does a random shopkeep in Coruscant become the underground leader of the rebellion?

I don't know, and I don't think we ever will. The kyber he wears around his neck may point to an explanation, but to be honest, I think he probably stole it. Andor and Mothma will agree that Luthen must step out of the shadows or leave, and Luthen will leave. Then probably die. Rumbles on Kleya and potentially Vel dying as well, but for Mon's sake I hope not. Those are the only people she has left, and I don't think I could stomach watching her say goodbye to Vel. Kleya is less important, but I am emotionally attached to her for some reason. I think I like that she is a good balance between Luthen's dogma and Mon's morale.

Last but certainly not least, I truly, from the bottom of my heart, anticipate that episode 12 will end at the start of Rogue one. I think Tony is gonna go back to the source material, and much like Rogue One did with episode 4, I think he will do it again. Do I think we will get a Jyn Erso cameo? Not a significant one, I think it's more likely we see Andor heading to the meeting point, or being introduced to his next mission.

If you read for this long, I seriously thank and appreciate you. Slide into the DMs my friends, if you want to talk about Andor, or anything Star Wars at the moment. I'm certain I will have another novel-length dissertation next week (probably written in all caps). If I don't, please check on me, my anemic ass is prone to fainting under pressure and if Gilroy keeps cooking my bp may not be able to handle it.

Cheers, and may the force be with you.

[noramsblog]

Droids

[djarinsphere]

what if i finally write that tragic cassian andor x reader fic that has been living in my head for years and it's all about sacrifice and right person, wrong time and definitely doesn't have a happy ending but it's all i can think about

[jaqobis]

ok but fr the fandom is sleeping on the comedy potential of draven's and cassian's dynamic

like, some of you have heard me talk about this already but SERIOUSLY can you imagine being the commanding officer of cassian "committed to the cause far above his own well-being" andor?

draven out here like "cassian makes me look like a lunatic" because cassian just, voluntarily, does all this shit draven would never ask a subordinate to do. dropping his face in his hands while talking to mon mothma like i swear i have never asked an operative to walk off a broken leg and she's like i know. i've met him. i know.

[shu-of-the-wind]

i was reading song of silver, flame like night by amelie wen zhao over the weekend, and there's a line in it that i have been chewing like gum ever since.

here was the trick to surviving in a colonized land: you couldn't show that you cared. every [person] you came across would have his share of sob stories: family slaughtered in the conquest, home pillaged or plundered, or worse. to care was to allow a chink in the armor of survival. [...] in a conquered land, the only way to win was to survive.

i think this has been haunting me because i keep thinking of this, this language, this dagger-sharp cut of reality, in terms of star wars. because i always think of star wars. and i think about kassa, and jyn, and how they both refused to look up. simply living under the empire is enough of a fight. they cannot afford to make the moral choice. they want to live, and living is enough; living when the empire wants them dead, when the republic tried to kill them as children, is enough for them in those moments.

for so long all they can do, all they can dream of, is living. they can't afford to have sympathy for others even when it continues to creep in, because they are fundamentally good people trying to survive under the massive, titanium weight of empire. that means that they cannot afford to have morals the way that the rebellion demands. the people around them (and many of the viewers!) don't seem to understand this, and that's partly why cassian has been so woobified since andor came out. (which is something that annoys the living shit out of me, because it fundamentally disrespects cassian's existance as a refugee in hiding, a victim of empire and colonization. but that's another post.) you cannot afford morality under empire, because it will fucking kill you. they both know this.

which is why their choices in rogue one break my heart and uplift my soul all at once. because they know they're going to die. but they choose morality over survival, because it means more to them to die doing the right thing, than to continue to live under a system that denigrates their existences. they've walked with death since they were tiny babies, and in the end, they choose death, because morals cannot survive under imperialism. and that's why their choice is so powerful.

under empire, having morals, caring for the world around you, might kill you. but it is the greatest sacrifice you can possibly make in a society that tries to eliminate morality.

[sesamestreep]

Jyn/Cassian, 14

14. All my days, I’ll know your face. (from this prompt list) cross-posted to ao3 here, with content warnings and tags galore, since this one gets a little heavy... It's a Cloak & Dagger AU, it's for Zainab's birthday, it's almost a year since she sent me this prompt, just go with it! If you want to know what you're getting into beforehand, read it on AO3, please! Much love and happy belated birth to you, @firstelevens, you are theeeee best!

xvii. the moon

Jyn wakes up from the dream again. The one where she’s drowning. She’s ten years old, still wearing her clothes from ballet class, sitting in the back of her father’s car, which hass just gone off the side of the bridge into the water and it’s starting to sink. Her father is already dead in the driver’s seat and she’s never been able to tell if that’s a mercy or not, that the dream doesn’t even allow her the fictional opportunity to save him. It always starts with them already in the water. And then it ends with the same fade to darkness as a hand reaches out and pulls her to safety.

It’s a dream, of course, but it’s also a memory. One largely influenced by her childhood imagination and fears and flights of fancy and therefore pretty untrustworthy, as far as she’s concerned, but a memory nonetheless. She and her father did get in a car accident, one where he died and she survived. The rest probably doesn’t matter much, she tells herself as the gurgling waters of her dream melt into the sounds of her alarm and she finally, fully wakes.

She nearly smacks her phone off the crate she’s using as a makeshift nightstand in her hurry to get rid of the noise. She would never have set the damn thing to “relaxing” babbling brook sounds knowingly. She’s not fond of water and doesn’t find its noises soothing, for obvious reasons. She’d rather wake up to the most obnoxious beeping known to man than this shit. No wonder she’s having nightmares.

She grumbles as she rolls herself over in the sleeping bag she’s using in lieu of an actual bed while she stays here. According to the signage posted out front, this building is technically condemned, but it suits her purposes just fine. She is always welcome at her mother’s house, or so her mother says, but being welcome somewhere isn’t the same as being at home, she’s realized. Staying with her mother means supporting her mother’s bullshit, and dealing with her disappointment, and putting up with her questions. It’s better for everyone if Jyn lives on her own, even if it’s in a condemned shithole like this place. What little of its original architecture that remains suggests it used to be a church, which is pretty bleak, but the price (free of charge) is right, so she pretends not to care.

She might start giving up these afternoon naps, if she’s just going to have bad dreams all the time. They’re supposed to help her so she can stay up late and work and make more money—maybe even enough to afford a real apartment with an actual shower—but lately they’ve been leaving her more drained than if she hadn’t even slept. She’s got to get ready now—the idiot rich kids going out on the town tonight aren’t going to rob themselves, after all—but she can’t bring herself to move. It’s only when she realizes that going back to sleep might put her back in that sinking car that she manages to convince herself to get up.

vii. the chariot

Cassian stares at the ceiling of his childhood (and current) bedroom and thinks, not for the first time, of how they missed a few glow-in-the-dark stars when he decided such things were for babies and told Maarva they could take them down. She’d hidden her expression of disappointment under something more bright-eyed and understanding quickly but not fast enough that a twelve year old Cassian hadn’t seen it. Before he could take it back, she was already moving briskly to get the step ladder. That’s how Maarva handled everything after his father’s death: briskly and head on. Even when she hated what she was doing. Every challenge in life was like getting a shot at the doctor’s office: just a quick pinch and then it’s over.

It’s that kind of attitude, he knows, that’s made her so successful and transformed her into a sort of pillar of the community. She started as a member of a variety of citizen’s action groups and a leader for the local chapter of NOW and then moved her way up up to a seat on the city council. Cassian admires her for that, the way she’s turned grief into purpose, but he’s always felt less adept at it than she is. Sometimes he’s consumed with guilt that his grief has mostly just stayed as grief. He knows he could be doing more, and he knows she wishes he was too. It’s a lot to bear. It’s a lot of emotion for a couple of glow-in-the-dark stars.

He decides to get out of bed and do something with his day rather than sit here and contemplate any of this further. Downstairs in the kitchen, he 's alone just long enough to pour himself a glass of orange juice before Maarva appears with her phone pressed to her ear. She kisses him on the cheek as she goes by and Cassian hears hold music on the other end of her call, which means he's in for it.

"Did you sleep well?" she asks pleasantly as she moves to pour herself some coffee.

"Well enough," he replies, because anything else will be met with a deluge of concern that he doesn't want right now. He leaves out the part where he dreamed about the night Clem died—the one where Cassian himself almost drowned—again. He'd gone years without having that dream, to the point that he'd thought himself past it, only to have them come back with a vengeance when he moved home again after graduation. The superstitious part of him wants to blame New Orleans, with all of its supposed mystical powers, but rationally he knows it's just being back at home with reminders of his father everywhere. He didn't have this problem at school in New York, but he'd made the choice to come back and this is the cost of that decision.

Maarva nods approvingly and takes a sip of her coffee. "I assume that means you'll be working on internship applications today."

Cassian sighs. He has only been done with his summer internship at the state house in Baton Rouge for a few weeks and his mother has been on his case about what's next since the moment he got home from his last day. "I'm trying, Ma, honestly, but nagging isn't going to make an opportunity instantly materialize. You know that."

"Neither will loafing around the house," she counters. "When you decided to take a year off between college and law school, you promised it wasn't an excuse to sit around and do nothing. I just want to be sure you're keeping up your end of the bargain."

Cassian knows a lot of parents who would have been thrilled to have their kids choose to come home right after college, but ever since he was young, the plan for him was that he'd get into a good college—Ivy League, preferably, which he'd managed—and then he'd go straight to law school and follow in his mother's footsteps to a career in politics. She'd always instilled in him that it was his responsibility to help make the world a better place. And after everything that had happened with Clem, it was the only path that made any sense. But his senior year at Columbia, after spending months studying for the LSAT, he'd found himself unable to go through with the exam. The idea of law school started to fill him with dread and he'd begun to miss deadlines. Eventually, he'd been forced to tell Maarva the truth—or, at least, part of it. He said that he wanted to take a gap year to volunteer and do internships to gain practical experience and figure out what kind of law he was most interested in. She'd taken the news better than he expected, but still with the vague attitude that he was only delaying the inevitable, which, in Maarva's world, always meant agreeing with her. She still fully anticipated he'd come to his senses and follow her into politics at the end of all this. And maybe he would, but he'd like to decide something—anything—for himself, for once. He told himself over and over that this was the point of the gap year, but in his heart, he wasn't truly convinced and clearly neither was Maarva.

"Yes, I promise," Cassian says, wearily. "I'll get some applications submitted before I go out tonight."

"What's tonight?"

He hesitates before answering but he doesn't love lying to his mother, so he prepares himself for an argument. "Bix invited me to a party that some friend of hers is throwing and I promised I'd go."

Maarva looks displeased, as expected. "Is that really the best use of your time?"

"If I get my work done today then, yes," he replies. "It's a Friday night. No one's going to be reading my applications after business hours anyway."

"You're not taking up with that crowd again, are you?"

"If by 'that crowd', you mean my friends from high school, then yes," Cassian says. "They've been giving me grief for being home all summer and working only an hour away and still never seeing them. They're going to be insulted if I don't go."

"That girl's a bad influence," Maarva says, shaking her head.

"And yet she's the only person you trust when your car starts making that weird noise," Cassian points out, rolling his eyes.

"She's a wonderful mechanic, I will give her that. But I never liked you dating her."

"We've been broken up for four years now! You don't have to worry about that anymore."

His mother raises an eyebrow at him. "You're sure about that?"

He groans in frustration. "Yes, I'm sure. Bix and I are just friends these days. And if I want to keep her—as a friend—I can't keep bailing on plans with her. Besides, didn't you raise me to be a man who honors his promises?"

Maarva smiles, reluctantly. "That is an ambitious argument for going to drink cheap beer in someone's basement ."

"You're the one who wants me to become a lawyer," he says. "Arguing is a pretty important part of the job, as I understand it. Besides, I think the party is in someone's backyard, not their basement."

"Good to see that Pre-Law program wasn't for nothing, " Maarva remarks, amused.

"You could also try to remember that I'm a responsible adult and you trust me," Cassian says, crossing his arms over his chest.

"That is true," she says, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "But it is my job to worry about you, as your mother."

"I understand that, but we've talked about reining in your expectations for me a little."

Maarva looks like she wants to argue with that, but a soft, tinny voice comes through the speaker of her phone, demanding her attention once more. "Yes, I'm still here," she says, to the person on the other end of the call. "Actually, give me one moment," she adds, putting her hand over the speaker. "Whatever you end up doing, don't drive home if you drink."

Cassian suppresses another eye roll. "Obviously not. Give me some credit, please!"

"Fine, then. Oh, and be sure to reply to your mother's email sometime today. She sent us that nice picture of Kerri at the state championships, remember?"

"I replied last night," he replies, exasperated. "Go back to your call."

Maarva nods, then, and gives him another kiss on the head before wandering off. Before she's even out of the room, she is already deep in some important conversation with the person on the other end of the phone, like nothing had interrupted her in the first place, and Cassian is left to finish his orange juice in relative peace.

i. the magician

The crowd at the club tonight is decidedly lackluster in Jyn's professional opinion. There's not enough trust fund kids partying alone for her usual grift and for whatever reason, any viable targets are looking right past her. She might as well be invisible. If she wasn't already planning on returning this dress (the tags are still on and tucked away so no one will notice them), she'd definitely be considering it now. It's clearly not doing her any favors.

Maybe she's just not in the right mood for this tonight. Her mark from last night had been a piece of work and said several vile things to her before the sedative she'd slipped into his drink took effect. Then again, she had turned around and robbed him of most of his valuables after that, so maybe they were even. If she didn’t need the money, she’d already be on her way home, but most of the things she fenced from last night didn’t net her much profit, so she’s got to find a way to turn this around.

At the exact moment she’s beginning to despair of her prospects, her phone lights up with a text from Bodhi. 

wyd?

Bodhi works security at one of her usual nightclubs and she’d much rather be there tonight, except it’s his night off so there’s no one to get her on the list without paying the cover charge. This place is her second choice—one of the bouncers accepts the adderall that she liberates from her marks as payment—so she’s happy to hear from Bodhi instead.

at the second best club in NOLA rn, hbu?

Bodhi responds with a pinned location. It’s in the middle of the woods on the other side of town. Friend of a friend of a friend is throwing a party out here. Take a night off playing Artful Dodger and come hang...

can’t take a night off, but I’ll come steal where you are, if it’s all the same

just don’t get caught, okay? I can’t keep hooking you up if people catch on

be there soon

Jyn’s phone dings with a thumbs up from Bodhi as she finishes her drink and heads for the exit. At the coat check, she makes a fuss that her number wasn’t put on the correct hanger and leaves with a more expensive jacket than she came in wearing.

x. the wheel of fortune

Cassian takes a sip of his beer and surveys the scene in front of him. The party turned out to be less of a backyard affair than a middle of the woods rager, which is a piece of information he's absolutely not going to volunteer to Maarva later. There's a large bonfire in the middle of the area the hosts (whom he still hasn't met) cleared for the party and then a spot not far off where someone's pickup truck is parked with a keg in the bed. Cassian is probably done after this drink because four years of college parties didn't cure him of his anxiety about getting caught drinking by his mother, even if it is entirely legal for him to do now, but most of the people here do not have his qualms. The guy manning the keg is keeping very busy and, since they're charging for drinks, he's also flush with cash.

On the other side of the bonfire, he can see Bix animatedly telling a story to their friend Xan and a guy from the body shop Cassian's never been formally introduced to. He's glad he came out tonight, even if all it accomplishes is getting his friends off his case. Still, he can't help feeling like he shouldn't be here. Maarva is right that he needs to stay focused on his future. Meanwhile, his friends that stayed in New Orleans together while he was away at school have bonded and put down roots in a way that makes him feel like an intruder.

It's while he's having these morose thoughts that a drunk girl collides with him and drenches him in beer, which is probably what he deserves for being so somber at a fucking party.

"Woah, sorry," she says, stumbling to a stop. "Shit, I really soaked your jacket, didn't I?"

"It's fine," Cassian says, wiping at his jacket with his hands rather ineffectually.

"No, that was super uncool," she replies and even standing completely still, she looks unsteady on her feet. She reaches out to swat at the stained fabric with her hand uselessly before she seems to catch on that it won't accomplish anything and pulls off her knit beanie instead. "This...isn't actually helping, is it?"

He laughs, unexpectedly. "Not really, no. But it's fine."

"I'm so sorry," she says, miserably, as she continues to try to soak up the beer with her hat. "I'm really not this much of a klutz normally."

"Not your first stop of the night, I'm guessing?"

She groans. "I don't look that wasted, do I?"

Cassian tips his head to the side, trying to equivocate, but it's a hard thing to walk back now. "Well, it's partially that and also you're a little overdressed for this party."

The girl looks down at herself like she forgot what she was wearing: a simple but tight black dress and heels that would do better on a dance floor than in the woods and a trendy, expensive looking jacket. He realizes, a little belatedly, that she's pretty, which is something he's going to have to ignore considering how over-served she is. Still, even in the half light of the bonfire, her eyes capture his attention.

"You got me there," she says, rolling her beautiful eyes like they're in on the same joke. “I had to put in appearance at my stupid cousin's twenty-first, which she just had to have at some bougie club with loud, shitty music and expensive drinks. But this was where I really wanted to be all along."

That last part was said flirtatiously enough that Cassian's entire train of thought slams to a halt. The effort of getting through college in one piece and with a GPA that could get him into a good law school had clearly done a number on his social skills, because high school Cassian would have been able to knock a serve that easy back over the net with little trouble and now he was just staring blankly at this beautiful woman. He tells himself that it's her state of inebriation that gives him pause and not an utter lack of game on his part.

"Uh…I'm not one of the hosts," he says, weakly, "so, you don't need to flatter me.”

"I guess not," she says, with a smirk that tells him his deflection was obvious but that she also didn't take it too personally. She holds up the beanie with grim amusement. "And this is clearly not doing anything. I'm going to see if I can find…napkins? Paper towels? Something useful for absorption at least?"

Cassian snorts. "Don't hold your breath," he says, trying and failing to imagine the hosts of this kegger having something practical like that on hand.

"Yeah, well," she says, with a rueful shrug, "a girl can dream, right?"

''I suppose so."

She nods and starts to wander away. "I'll be back. Don't move," she says and then offers him an ironic little salute.

Cassian laughs to himself as she goes and then pivots his attention to survey the damage to his jacket. The thing is made of wool, which means it's absorbing the beer quite admirably, against his wishes. He probably should have told her not to bother with the napkin hunt since he'll most likely have to get it dry cleaned anyway just to get the beer smell out, but she'd seemed determined to help somehow.

A few minutes after his mysterious friend departs, Bix materializes at his elbow. "Man," she says, stepping back immediately to cover her nose, "You smell like a bar floor. I thought you promised Maarva you'd go easy tonight!"

"I did," Cassian says, scowling at her. “This is someone else's beer, unfortunately."

"Tough break," Bix replies, casting a sympathetic eye over him.

"Probably a sign to call it a night, though."

"Boo," she yells, not entirely sober herself. "You can’t go now! You said you'd buy me a drink!"

"I can do that before I leave," he says. "I just don't want to pay for a cab home and I will definitely need to if I have another drink."

"You used to be fun, Cass," she says, morosely, and he ignores how much it hurts to have his fears about himself voiced by another person.

"Do you want your beer or not?" he grumbles instead, because he knows it's not something she would have said sober and that's enough to soothe him for now.

"Of course," she says, rolling her eyes, and loops their arms together.

Before they can get very far, Cassian pats his jacket pocket to find his wallet and comes up empty. He stops himself and Bix in their tracks and searches the pockets of his jeans too, finding his car keys and his phone but nothing else. He turns around to see if his wallet is on the ground somewhere, like maybe he dropped it, and pats his jacket one more time for good measure. His hand comes away wet and he remembers, suddenly, that someone else recently did the same thing. His head whips around as he searches for her in the crowd.

"Cassian," Bix says, plainly worried. "What is it?"

"My wallet. Beer girl...she must have taken it..."

"Wait, what? Who the fuck would do that?"

"A thief," Cassian says, as he spots her on the other side of the clearing. "Hey, thief!" he calls.

Her head lifts at the raised voice, and she looks around, bewildered, before her eyes—the ones he'd been admiring not that long ago—land on him and go wide with surprise. Before he can formulate something clever to say, her face clears of its confused expression and turns ice cold before she takes off at a run.

"Son of a—!" he mutters and follows. He doesn't even think twice about it, like he probably should. For whatever reason, this stranger stealing from him tonight feels like a very personal betrayal and chasing her down doesn't register as the ludicrous idea it obviously is. He vaguely recognizes Bix calling after him in alarm but he ignores it. The world narrows to just him and his pickpocket.

xvi. the tower

Jyn has got to be more discerning about only stealing from people who can't keep up with her on foot. If nothing else, she should have given this guy a kick in the shin when she had the chance because he is fast. She's not doing her best work in these heels either, but she hadn't planned to run through mud and wet leaves when she got dressed this evening. She was supposed to be at a nightclub. Bodhi is in for it when she gets a hold of him. She hadn't even seen him at this party he invited her to before this dude caught her lifting wallets. What sort of Sherlock Holmes wannabe was she even dealing with here, anyway?

A lucky break presents itself in the form of an entrance to an old graveyard at the edge of the woods. There will be more places to hide there, she reasons, and most people are irrationally superstitious about graveyards, especially after dark. She's willing to bet Wallet Guy is no exception. She ducks through the barely open gate and sprints down a row of tall headstones, feeling the gazes of granite angels on her the whole way.

She eventually hides herself in the shadow of an ostentatiously large gravestone (or maybe it's a very tiny mausoleum) and holds her breath when she hears footsteps approach. Sherlock Jr. clearly isn't afraid of graveyards like she’d hoped. With her luck, he'll probably camp out here all night, waiting for her, completely unbothered.

"Listen," his voice rings out, echoing in the stone aisles, "Beer girl, I'm not going to call the cops or anything. That's the last thing I want, okay? Just give me the wallet back now and we're even. I'll forget your face. You have my word."

Jyn is almost tempted to snort at that but her muscles are tensed up so thoroughly, she couldn't do anything involuntarily at the moment. Still, the audacity that she should trust this guy to be cool, to bet her actual life on it; he must be joking. This is the moment she decides she's going to have to sacrifice the heels in order to get out of there, which she does not want to do because it means spending money she doesn't have to replace them. She can't think of a better plan right now, though, and she's absolutely willing to ditch them if it means giving this guy the slip. Jyn slowly and quietly toes them off so she's ready to run, while he is distracted trying to reason with her.

"I'm serious," Wallet Guy announces, like that wasn't obvious from literally everything about him. It's part of why she'd zeroed in on him in the first place. He seemed so serious that she was sure a little mishap and some light flirting would completely throw him off and make her grab for his wallet virtually undetectable. She'd only been a little wrong, to be fair. "I don't want trouble any more than you do!"

But that had always been Jyn's problem: she's never minded trouble. She can get herself out of it just as easily as she can get herself into it. Some rich kid from the right side of the tracks is no match for her in the trouble department, she thinks, and so she ducks out from behind the headstone and tries to make her escape. In doing so, however, she accientally kicks some gravel loose as she takes off running, which gives away her location. It also turns out Wallet Guy was much closer than she'd originally thought and his reflexes are better than anticipated too, because it only takes a quick heel turn and a few strides before he's caught up with her and reaching for her wrist.

"Please," he says, before there's a bright flash and a lurch like a train picking up speed too quickly and then she's being wrenched away from him with enough force that it launches her across the graveyard.

iv. the emperor

When Cassian was eight, he'd watched his father die. He'd watched him get shot by a police officer, while his hands were up in surrender, because the officer had been startled by an explosion nearby. Cassian always forgets this part—the Imperial Gulf oil rig explosion happening the same night as his father's murder—but one of those things actually materially changed his life and the other was just a thing from the news grownups were worried about. If he hadn't been right there when it happened, he might have forgotten about it entirely, for all people in New Orleans still talk about it all the time. People don't forget here, he's found. The city has a good, long memory.

There is a chance that if not for the explosion, his father might not have been shot, but even as a kid, Cassian knew the odds were bad. Clem was a Black man caught holding a stolen sound system, the one Cassian had stolen on a dare from some older boys at school that he was desperate to impress. He was ten years old and the only thing that ever seemed to matter to him in those days was seeming grown up. Clem had come looking for him when he was late getting home from school and found the stolen stereo in his hands. He'd insisted they bring it back and try to make things right with the owner.

It didn't matter to the police that Clem hadn't stolen it, that he was just trying to teach his son a lesson. Cassian's adoption had only been finalized the year before and he was still acting out sometimes, pushing the limits of his parents' patience in what a counselor would later explain to him were attempts to see what it would take to be sent away again. There was no easy way to explain to a little kid that his birth parents hadn't "sent him away" for being bad, but because they couldn't keep him, or that his adoptive parents wouldn’t do the same thing someday for some minor infraction. He just didn’t understand that back then. Still, Clem was trying to teach him right and wrong without triggering his fears. It was even starting to work. If only he'd never stolen that car stereo, everything would have been different.

But he did. And the police found him and his father trying to return it. And while Clem tried to surrender, the explosion had happened and one of the officers panicked and fired his gun. They'd been down by the docks when the police found them and, when Clem was shot, he'd fallen into the water. Without hesitation, without any thought at all, Cassian had jumped in after him. Maybe it was from a misguided place of hope, believing that something could still be done to save his father. Maybe it was out of fear, knowing that he wasn't safe with those cops after what he'd seen. Or maybe it was a death wish. Maybe in that moment, losing the man who'd been so kind to him even when he hardly deserved it, he just didn't see any reason to try to survive so he followed his father into the water because he wanted to follow him into death.

Under the water, though, he'd seen that there was no helping his father and the oil rig's collapse was only getting worse. He tried to make his way to the surface but it was impossible to see anything more than a few feet away. Everything was dark. He'd been so consumed with fear when he dove into the water that he had no clue by then how far he'd swam from the docks. He was never going to find his way back now. Just when he was truly starting to despair, there had been a sound from the direction of the rig and a pulse went through the water that hit him like a slap across the back of his head. When he opened his eyes again, there was something glowing in the water ahead of him, a pure white light he reached for instinctively. He'd felt sure in that moment, despite everything, that the light would save him somehow. He'd never felt faith or hope that certainly in his life before, and he sure as hell hasn't felt it that way since. Then again, he hadn't seen that bright light again since that night either. Until he reaches for the girl in the graveyard, that is.

xi. justice

Jyn's shoulder throbs in pain. It's the part of her that had made contact with the headstone that broke her fall, so it makes sense that it hurts, but it's going to be a problem if this guy decides to fight her. Then again, judging by the look of him right now, he's not in any condition to fight either. Whatever force just threw her back did the same thing to him. He's still conscious, though, which is only good because she doesn't feel like dealing with a dead body right now. There's something wrong with him, though. He's looking down at his body in alarm—inspecting himself for injuries, she suspects—but he freezes in horror when he sees his hands. It takes Jyn a moment to realize why but when she does, her heart nearly stops.

There's smoke coming off his hands in tendrils, but nothing's on fire as far as she can tell. It's like the smoke that comes off of dry ice except it's pitch black. From any further away, Jyn's not sure she could convince herself it wasn't the shadows moving of their accord. Based on the expression on the guy's face, he's never seen this before, but she has. On the night of the car accident, after her father died, she'd seen it.

She'd been trying desperately to get out of the sinking car, but the water was coming in too fast and the windows were all sealed shut. Then there had been an explosion underneath the water and a ripple went across the bay, knocking her backwards into the seat. When she opened her eyes, there was black smoke pouring through the windshield. It looked like someone had dumped ink into the water, the way it moved and spread its way into the car. She'd reached for it, more afraid of staying still there than whatever the black smoke could do to her. She had expected her palm to find the window when she did, but there was no glass there anymore. The smoke had dissolved it or replaced it somehow and Jyn didn't stop to rationalize how or why that happened. She swam towards the shadows and felt a hand clasp around her own and pull her to safety. And now that same smoke was pouring from the hands of the boy who'd chased her down in the graveyard.

"What the hell was that?" she calls out, shaking (she tells herself) with anger and not with fear. "What did you just do to me?"

"Me?" he fires back. "I didn't do anything! That—that wasn't you?"

"No! I couldn't—how could I do that?"

"Your hands," he says, voice shaking. "They're glowing."

Jyn looks down, then, to find he's telling the truth. Her palms are glowing with a bright white light. This is...definitely a sign of concussion. There's no way any of this is really happening.

Before she can get too far with that denial, the guy is gingerly standing up and brushing off his clothes with shadowy hands. “I've seen it before," he says, carefully. "Once."

Jyn shakes her head, still hoping to write all of this off as a side effect of a head injury. "You've…what?"

"I've seen something glow like that before," he repeats, patiently. "It was you, wasn't it? You're the girl from the beach, the night of the oil rig collapse. You saved me."

Jyn swallows hard, so that she doesn't say the first thing that comes to mind, which is that he's got it all backwards. As she remembers it, he was the one who saved her that night. She knows it's been twelve years but she can't believe she didn't recognize him immediately. His face has been haunting her dreams her entire life. She should have known him.

"That was you?" she asks, uselessly. Who else could it be? Who else would even know about that?

He holds up his hands tentatively but they're answer enough. That night was the one and only time she'd ever seen smoke like that.

"We must have—something happened to us," he starts to say, far too reasonable and certain for her taste. "Back then, or ...just now, I don't know."

Panic rises in Jyn's throat, threatening to choke her. She starts shaking her head before the actual thought has even articulated itself in her mind and she picks herself up off the ground feeling like her body is made of lead.

"I can't do this," she says, still looking at her glowing hands and beginning to back away.

"Please," he says, starting to come closer, "don't leave. I just want some answers."

The light grows brighter as her panic sharpens. "I don't have any," she shouts, over the roaring in her ears, “I’m sorry.” And then she runs.

The boy from the beach calls after her but she doesn't stop running until the light coming from her hands fades completely and she has to pick her way through the woods by the light of the moon. She puts a healthy distance between herself and him, between herself and the party and anyone who could recognize her, and gets back to a main road somehow. She decides to literally go for broke and hails a cab. Once she's given the driver a respectable residential address near enough to where she's illegally squatting, she settles back in the seat and tries to close her eyes. Something pokes at her side from her jacket pocket, though, and she remembers that she still has the wallet.

Tentatively, like she's handling something unstable and potentially explosive, she pulls the wallet out and opens it. She finds a handful of small bills, a debit card as well as a credit card, a library card and a membership card to a local grocery chain. Boring stuff, mostly, but there's also a student ID and a driver's license, which tell her what she really wants to know: Cassian Andor. She'd always been curious about the name of the boy who saved her life all those years ago and now she has it. Her hands shake with the possibility that this knowledge offers. She even has his address, if his license is up to date. She could find him again, if she really wanted to. The problem is that she has no idea what she actually wants.

xvii. the star

Cassian doesn't bother going back to the party. He skirts around the clearing and finds where he parked his car without saying goodbye to anyone. He's not even sure what he would offer as an explanation for his disappearing act if people asked. Instead, he avoids everyone and their potential questions and just goes home. It’s late enough when he gets there that his mother is already asleep, which is just as well, because he doesn’t want to deal with her questions either.

There’s so many things he doesn’t understand right now and so many questions he wants answered and the only person who could even begin to help him ran as fast as she could in the other direction. He didn’t even get her name, which is somehow the most disappointing part of all. He’s spent more than half of his life dreaming of that night and remembering her; it’s only right that he should have a name to go with that memory. Cassian sighs and wills himself to forget about it, even though he knows that’s a lost cause. He takes off his stained jacket and his muddy shoes and heads upstairs, where he doesn’t bother undressing any further before slumping down onto his bed. He tells himself he’ll actually get ready for bed in a minute, but he knows this is also a lie. After a few aborted attempts to get back up, he commits to sleeping in his clothes and pulls a blanket over his head to block out any remaining light. It feels like only a few moments later that the sound of birds chirping and singing wakes him. He wouldn’t normally notice such a thing, but these birds are loud. They must be right outside of his window, he thinks, as he throws the sheet back to welcome in the morning sunlight. He gets the surprise of his life when, above him, all he sees is the faded pink skies of dawn. He lurches up to a sitting position and looks around and finds himself on a rooftop downtown.

It must be a dream. He’s still asleep and that’s the only explanation there is. He hadn’t dreamed of Clem or the oil rig explosion or the girl from the graveyard and he’d thought it was a mercy, but this is…weirder. And it feels real. He can feel his heart beating wildly in his chest and the humid, dewy air of early morning on his face. If it’s a dream, it’s a completely new kind for him. He’s even wearing the same clothes he went to sleep in, and he can feel the bruise on his shoulder from when he fell in the graveyard. And his hands, where they’re still clutching the blanket, have the black mist curling around them again.

He might not be dreaming after all, he realizes, watching the shadowy tendrils twist delicately around his wrist and into the open air. Maybe this is his reality now. Maybe he can—what? Teleport? Travel places in his dreams? What exactly did he do to get here of all places? Where is here, anyway?

A glance over his shoulder reveals the answer to many of those questions. Behind him on the roof, he recognizes a downtown landmark: the old Imperial Gulf Oil sign. The building below had housed the first offices for the later-rebranded Imperial Energy back in the day. Years ago, they’d built a huge, expensive facility across the water where their employee offices were now located and sold this building to a developer, who wasted no time turning it into expensive condos no one here could afford. They’d kept the enormous neon sign on the roof as a nod to the neighborhood’s history and probably because it’s exactly the sort of aesthetic nonsense their ideal buyers would shell out extra for. If there was any chance Cassian still believed his appearance here was pure coincidence, it was gone now. He had said he wanted answers and the universe sent him a literal neon sign. Imperial Gulf is where all of this started and it’s where he’ll get his answers.

He just has to find her first—the girl from the beach, the girl from the graveyard, the girl from his dreams.

[male1971]

The annual Season of the Force event returned to Disneyland on Friday, April 5 and will run through June 2 at the Anaheim theme park with a new Star Tours destination in Tomorrowland.

For a limited time, every Star Tours voyage will include one old destination followed by a new trip to Seatos — or at least the skies above the Star Wars planet of red forests and vast oceans.

The new scene opens with the parting of some ominous storm clouds. Accidental pilot and perpetual know-it-all C-3PO explains the new planetary destination and the pod of space whales heading our way.

The Purrgil space whales on the Star Wars planet of Seatos are both beautiful and terrifying as the massive beasts roll through the sky like the next foes in a Godzilla movie.

Star Tours riders weave among the Purrgils’ fins and tentacles before Togruta rebel Ahsoka Tano pops up on the screen of the Starspeeder 3000 to warn us of incoming fighters.

With Ahsoka’s help, our Starspeeder successfully fends off the fighters and barely avoids flying into the gaping mouth of a Purrgil. A celebratory barrel roll completes the mission before we make the leap to hyperspace and relative safety.

In between planets, a new transmission comes into the Starspeeder from Cassian Andor or Din Djarin. While the message from Andor is suitably stern and anxious, the transmission from the Mandalorian is playful and silly thanks to the antics of Grogu — better known as Baby Yoda. Without ruining the gag, let’s just say a 3D floating frog is at the center of a lot of laughs.

[cinemedios]

Desde su estreno en 1977, Star Wars ha fascinado a chicos y grandes por su mezcla entre fantasía y ciencia ficción, sin embargo, con casi medio siglo de historia, se ha vuelto una de las sagas más amplias y complicadas, por lo que hoy te traemos la guía completa para ver Star Wars en orden cronológico y sin perderte un solo detalle.

[uwingdispatch]

Itssssss Tuesdaaaay! Time to share your latest faves. As always use code TUMBLR15 for 15% off most accessories! Shop is here.

Love y’all so much! Shop is here.

[caffeinosis]

extremely bitchy about b/c

I just LOATHE what this fucking ship has done to the character

To take his entire commitment to the rebellion and make it all about a girlfriend

Complete character assassination

The guy who told Jyn "suddenly the rebellion is real for you? Some of us live it". Are you telling me this is supposed to be the same person? What the actual fuck?

Imagine watching Rogue One and saying "he doesn't feel a duty to the rebellion" about Cassian Andor. And the people who eat this up have the nerve to tell us that we're just angry because the prequel "contradicted our headcanons"? Cassian being devoted to the rebellion above all else wasn't a headcanon, it was the intended character reading.

[jynjackets]

can someone, maybe Mr Explain His Accent himself, explain to me in detail why B*x had to be Latina if she wasn't from Kenari and wasn't related to C@ssian? and why there were no other Latinas (as far I am aware of) in the cast? because this whole drugs/sexualization/womb-to-carry-the-bloodline/farm thing looks bad on any woman and even worse on a Latina and even more worse if there's only one Latina. was Adri@ supposed to play his sister originally and Mr Accent Explainer changed that to sexualize her?

anon pls 💀

Yes it feels painfully obvious. I think it’s hard to explain micro-aggressive xenophobia when people don’t even know about blatant xenophobia. Despite this, it’s going to bug me if I don’t spell it all out at least once.

Bin’s role was always part of the plan based on how prepared the script was for the actor. The casting specifically calling for a latina in her 20’s implicates the intention for her to match a ‘look’ they were going for, meaning there’s no coincidence that she looks like a modern influencer with veneers and botox. As a Razzie winner, we can say she was not hired for her talents. To fit the narrative for s2 she is made to be a stereotypical spicy latina wife with cringe dialogue and more sexualization to match.

The actor themselves having a consistent history of desiring roles where she’s serviceable to men, she could only be the perfect choice for such a regressive character. It’s worth mentioning that the actor loves the canon character exactly as she is so much she got a tattoo of her name, even when the creator himself begged her not to.

We know from interviews that tony has been trying to literally change what the fandom ships. Embarrassing. In order to sell a grand romance as a usurper, he pulls out all the classic sexist hetero tropes, particularly with her being a damsel in near constant distress and stay-at-home gf. Not only are bin and andor cassian violently heterosexual based on the show’s extra attention to past relationships, they get the latino bonus treatment with torture, attempted rape, and substance abuse.

To usamericans, they appear to be the same ‘race’ which, based on the pertinent xenophobia with cassian’s emphasis as an outsider, the need to explain his accent, as well as the fact she is the only latina in the entire show, this is designed to imply a racially-motivated ‘special’ bond. They are trying to make their latino status exotic in other words, by way of othering this particular couple based on their appearances and what we know about them.

Bin is latina to sell the idea that the couple have this idyllic heteronormative incest-coded homestead lifestyle while also allowing the benefit of each being sexualized to death. This is to all of course accomplish the idea that cassian would only and could only love a woman he is physical with, share a long history with, and even share the same ‘race’ with. On its own, without the implication this is meant for Jyn, I don’t know how to say how fucking disgustingly xenophobic and misogynistic this all is.

Why is nobody talking about the sexist latino elephant in the room?

Details and subtext like this are often reduced to speculation in fandom even if you’re talking about your own representation. Whenever minorities do talk about their own mistreatment, they are bullied into submission and told that we are “reading too much into things” or “taking it too personally.” That our complaints are a reach simply because somebody just feels like it is.

On top of that, Bin’s role as an ex is a sensitive topic for people who are particularly afraid to out themselves as misogynists. This may be because… they are 💀.

Or, they are inconspicuously pursuing male validation while projecting this idea onto all women. ‘All women are going to hate her because shes a girlfriend in the way, but not me because i’m different.’

Or they genuinely prefer women to be this way. They’re tired of women doing masculine or independent things because their scope doesn’t go past why this is important for women. They might be the kind to say that it’s okay to wear makeup or it’s okay to want to be a tradwife.

Or are prioritizing a narrative created by men on ‘female competition’, that to fight it they must do the complete opposite and be friends with everyone. This group doesn’t realize they are operating their lives completely based on what men think. They are also treating women as interchangeable instead of individuals if you really think you can like and be friends with all women, real or fictional.

Whichever of these reasons is the case, it is still misogynistic. There’s probably more reasons having to do with being obsessed with men but i don’t feel like getting into that today.

So then there’s this not-mutually-exclusive last group that HC or OC her and pretend she’s not all of these nasty things. And personally, I don’t understand how plastering fictional poop with fictional gold services the author or anybody when there are hundreds of relevant and inspiring not-poop all over the galaxy. Many of them are already gold you don’t need to pretend. Telling people, especially the people that the poop is supposed to represent, that it’s not poop, doesn’t actually change its DNA or its purpose. It’s still shit.

[djarinsphere]

UPCOMING WORKS

— till the end of it all | CASSIAN ANDOR (hurt/comfort, set during andor s2)

— tommy miller + overstimulation | TOMMY MILLER (self-explanatory lol)

— taste | TOMMY MILLER (one shot, friends with benefits)

[jaqobis]

[netflixbingger]

Beneath Rebel Skies - Chapter 11

Characters:Cassian x Reader Summary: You and Cassian Andor were childhood friends on Ferrix—until your parents suddenly tore you away without warning. Years later, you reunite during a mission for the Rebellion. Old memories clash with new tension as you’re forced to work together, navigating the lines between friendship, loyalty, and something more. Word Count: 3,827 words Warnings: Violence, Loss, Mild Language, Heavy Sexual Implications Previous Chapter Masterlist

You hadn’t realized how much quieter the base felt without him.

Cassian had only been gone a few days—routine recon, nothing high-risk—but it still left a noticeable gap. Like some thread in your day-to-day had gone slack.

You kept yourself busy. Maintenance duty. Late meals with Kiira. Updating supply logs that no one but you cared about. Two weeks out of medbay and you were nearly healed, the bruising fading from angry purples to dull yellows. Still tender, but manageable. You didn’t limp anymore. You didn’t wince when you stretched too far.

You were okay.

Mostly.

But you’d started doing this thing—checking the mission board a little too often, keeping your comm volume just a little louder than necessary. Not because you were worried, exactly. Just… aware. Hyperaware.

Cassian meant something now. He always had, but this was different. He was your person in a way you hadn’t fully let yourself feel before. And now that you’d had him—his hands, his mouth, his quiet stubborn care—you didn’t want to go back to the before.

So when the incoming alert pinged across your datapad at 23:48—Inbound arrival. C. Andor. ETA: 00:12—Your heart kicked once, hard.

The hangar was fairly quiet at midnight.

Only the overheads buzzed, casting pale gold light across the empty bays. A couple techs dozed in swivel chairs, a transport pilot sipped caf near the exit, but otherwise it was just you. Standing awkwardly with your arms crossed, shifting from foot to foot, pretending you weren’t excited.

The ship touched down with a soft whirr of repulsors, landing gear hissing as it met the ground.

You swallowed.

The ramp lowered slowly—and then there he was.

Cassian.

Dust on his boots, pack slung over one shoulder, curls mussed, brows slightly furrowed like he was still halfway in the field. His eyes scanned the bay and caught on you almost instantly.

He stilled.

You didn’t run to him. That wasn’t your style. But your face broke into a grin you didn’t even try to fight.

“Hey,” you called softly.

Cassian’s whole expression softened—just slightly, just enough for you to catch it. He made his way down the ramp without a word, boots echoing on the metal. And when he reached you, he didn’t say anything right away.

He just looked at you.

“You’re here,” he said, voice low.

You nodded, biting back a smile. “Got the alert. Figured I’d greet you.”

His gaze moved across your face, pausing at your still-faint bruise, at the faded scar by your ribs now visible beneath your tank. Then his eyes flicked back up. “You look better.”

“I am better.”

“You sure?”

“I’m cleared for active duty tomorrow,” you said. “Stop hovering.”

“I’m not hovering.”

You shook your head and nudged his shoulder lightly, warmth rising in your chest. “Back to yours? Or do you wanna grab some food?”

Cassian didn’t answer. Just looked at you again—this quiet, almost amazed look, like he couldn’t believe you were up all night waiting for him.

Then he reached out, brushed a bit of grease from your cheek with the pad of his thumb. “I missed you.”

It wasn’t loud. Wasn’t dramatic.

But it hit you like a punch to the ribs.

You smiled again, almost afraid to admit it. Then you tilted your head toward the corridor. “Come on, Captain. I’ll walk you home.”

And you did. Side by side. No words. Just a quiet, steady closeness. Like maybe, slowly, the two of you were starting to figure out what it meant to have each other.

The walk back to his quarters was quiet.

Not awkward. Just… settled. Like the two of you had done this a hundred times before, even though it was still new enough to feel special.

You didn’t hold hands, but your arms brushed now and then, and neither of you pulled away. It was late enough that the corridors were mostly empty, the base winding down around you. Somewhere down the hall, a light flickered. You heard distant laughter from a barrack two levels up.

But here—between the two of you—it was just the sound of footsteps, soft and steady.

When you reached his door, Cassian paused, hand hovering over the panel. He glanced at you. “You coming in?”

You gave a small shrug. “If you’re offering.”

The corner of his mouth lifted, but he didn’t say anything else. Just keyed in the code.

His room was the same as always—dim, quiet, stripped-down in that very-Cassian way. But it felt warmer with him in it. More lived in. A half-folded shirt was draped across the back of a chair. A caf mug sat on the shelf by his bed. One of your hair ties rested beside it.

You stepped in and pulled off your jacket, draping it over the chair. Cassian set his pack on the floor and toed off his boots with a quiet grunt.

Then he moved to you.

Not rushed. Not hesitant.

He just stepped close and wrapped his arms around your waist, tucking his face into the crook of your neck like he’d been needing to all week.

You let yourself melt into him, arms winding around his back.

He held you like that for a while—solid, warm, quiet. Like grounding himself to you after being gone. You could feel his breath at your neck, the way his hands splayed over your back like he wasn’t ready to let go.

Eventually, he pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes searched your face, still unreadable, but softer now. Cassian leaned in and kissed you—slow, steady, a little more certain than the last time. It wasn’t rushed. Just something he needed. And you gave in to it without hesitation, fingers sliding up the back of his neck, feeling the beginnings of stubble.

His voice was low against your mouth. “You missed me.”

You made a noncommittal noise.

He pulled back slightly, smirking. “You missed me.”

You rolled your eyes. “You were gone for two days.”

“And you still missed me.”

He kissed you again. You didn’t try to stop smiling this time.

“Shut up,” you whispered, tugging him toward the bed.

He followed easily, and the next hour was a blur of tangled limbs, half-laughed curses, and slow, lingering touches. You ended up on top of the blankets, breathless and half-undressed, your legs tangled with his as you laid side by side. His hand rested low on your waist, thumb brushing lazy circles on your skin.

The room had gone quiet again, but it felt different now—settled in a new way. Like this was starting to become a rhythm.

“Do you ever think about Ferrix?” you asked suddenly, voice quiet in the dark.

Cassian let out a small breath. “All the time”, he gave a faint shrug, tracing your back. “You were different back then.”

“So were you.”

“I mean it. You were… softer.”

You raised a brow. “Wow. Thanks.”

He shook his head quickly, catching your sarcasm. “Not weak. Just… younger. You were still figuring everything out.”

You fell quiet for a beat. “I felt like I had to. I was always trying to catch up to you and Bix. Like I was tagging along.”

Cassian gave a soft laugh, one you could feel rumble under your cheek. “You say that like it bothered us.”

“You didn’t seem to notice.”

“I noticed everything,” he said.

Your heart kicked.

“You were fearless in weird ways,” he continued, voice more thoughtful now. “You’d try things even when you were scared. Speak up even if your voice shook. You had no idea how brave that made you look.”

You lifted your head slightly, looking at him.

“I think I liked you even back then,” he said, eyes on the ceiling. “I didn’t know what to do with it. I just figured you’d never really… see me that way.”

You blinked, surprised. “Are you serious?”

Cassian glanced at you. “Why do you think I kept giving you shit all the time?”

“I thought you just liked being annoying.”

“That too,” he muttered. Then, softer: “But mostly it was because when you smiled at me, I forgot how to talk.”

You were quiet, but not because you didn’t have anything to say. You just hadn’t expected that.

You leaned forward, closing the space between you, kissing him before he could say anything else.

And this time, he didn’t hold back. He pulled you flush against him, hand tangling in your shirt, mouth parting yours with something closer to urgency than tenderness. You let him—wanted him—until you were breathless and flushed, your body pressed tight to his.

Eventually, you broke the kiss, nose brushing his. “You talk a lot for someone who’s supposedly bad with words.” He let out a low chuckle that filled your stomach with butterflies.

The hum of fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as you crouched beside a tangled mess of wiring in the back of Maintenance Bay 2. Your hands were already smudged with grease, and you’d been trying to make the same old junction box stop sparking for the past ten minutes.

“You’re glowing,” Kiira announced, strolling in like she hadn’t just woken up fifteen minutes ago. “Either he railed you stupid or you found a working caf machine.”

You didn’t even look up. “Both.”

“Ugh. Gross. I didn’t need confirmation.”

You smirked. “You asked.”

“I didn’t actually ask. I just strongly implied.”

Kiira plopped down on the crate beside you, sipping from her own caf like it was a damn mimosa. “So. You and Captain Smolder now share quarters or what?”

“No,” you said, too quickly. “I still have a room.”

“That you haven’t used in, like, four days.”

You gave her a look. “It’s not like that.”

Kiira raised a brow. “You two are attached at the hip. He left for two days and you were unbearable.”

You reached for the wire splicer. “I wasn’t that bad.”

“You were miserable.Kept on staring at the clock waiting for him to arrive”

You tried to hide your grin. “Shut up.”

She grinned back. “I’m just saying—it’s nice seeing you like this.”

“Greasy and irritable?”

“No,” she said. “Happy. It suits you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Can we not do the whole heart-to-heart thing before breakfast?”

Kiira held up her hands. “Fine. But don’t think I didn’t see that hickey under your collar.”

Your head snapped toward her. “There’s not—”

“There is. You’re sloppy, babe.”

You groaned and shoved her with your foot. She laughed.

Kiira stood and stretched. “Alright. I’m off to pretend I know how to fix a power converter. I’ll see you later tonight at the bar”

You smirked and lobbed a bolt at her. “Try not to be late this time.”

Kiira caught it one-handed, already sauntering toward the exit. “Try not to drink like a rookie this time.”

The bar was exactly what you remembered—dim lights, sticky floors, and a jukebox that only played two songs on loop. It smelled like spilled liquor and old gear grease. But somehow, it always felt like the safest place on base. Like the war didn’t follow you past the threshold.

 “To our girl,” Kiira said loudly, raising a dented tin cup above her head. “Back on her feet. Cleared for duty. And somehow still hot despite nearly bleeding out on a crate of ration packs.”

You groaned into your drink. “Can you not say the word ‘bled’ while I’m eating?”

Cassian sat beside you, one arm along the back of the booth. His drink sat mostly untouched, his posture relaxed.

Kiira grinned across the table, slinging an arm over your shoulders despite the fact that she was already a drink ahead of you. “I’m serious. I’ve seen people take less damage and come back looking like boiled meat.”

“Wow,” you said flatly.

“She’s complimenting you,” Cassian murmured near your ear.

“She’s terrible at it.”

“I’m incredible at it,” Kiira protested. “You just don’t know how to accept love.”

You rolled your eyes and drained your glass. Whatever mix they’d poured tonight was stronger than usual, warm in your chest and legs, softening all the edges. You tipped your head back against the booth and caught Cassian watching you—subtle, but unmistakable.

You raised an eyebrow. “You judging me?”

“Just observing.”

“Uh-huh.”

He didn’t say anything. Just reached for his drink and took a slow sip, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was holding back a smile.

Kiira caught it instantly. “Oh, don’t think I didn’t see that.”

Cassian looked at her, deadpan. “See what?”

“That look. You’re, like, three seconds away from dragging her out of here by her waistband for a quick fuck.”

You choked on your drink. “Kiira.”

She shrugged, entirely unrepentant. “I’m just saying—it’s quite obvious.”

Cassian stayed silent, but the flick of his thumb along your arm under the table was answer enough.

You tried not to grin. Failed.

Before you could respond, a loud voice cut through the bar.

“Well, shit. If it isn’t Captain Andor.”

Cassian turned just as Melshi strode in from the doorway, peeling off his jacket and slapping it across the back of a nearby chair.

“I thought I recognized that scowl,” Melshi said, grinning. “Didn’t think I’d find you cozying up in a booth like some domesticated war hero.”

Cassian rolled his eyes but stood to greet him. They clasped hands, pulled each other into a brief, brotherly hug that said more than words could. You rose, brushing your hands on your pants.

“You must be Melshi,” you said, offering your hand.

Melshi blinked, then gave Cassian a look. “This her?”

Cassian didn’t say anything, just shifted slightly to your side—close enough tto answer his question without any words.

Melshi’s eyes moved to you. He didn’t say anything at first—just looked. And then:

“Oh. So this is her.”

You blinked. “Her?”

He slid into the seat next to Kiira. “The one he mentioned when we were stuck halfway to nowhere the other month. Ferrix girl. Couldn’t tell if he wanted to kiss you or throw something.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And which do you think it was?”

Melshi chuckled. “Probably both.”

Cassian didn’t comment—just picked up his glass and took a slow sip, unbothered.

Kiira leaned in, looking delighted. “So you’re a second witness to his secret soft side?”

Melshi snorted. “Hardly. This guy didn’t tell me anything on purpose. Just muttered your name once when he was rewiring the nav console and shocked himself.”

Kiira cackled into her drink.

Cassian muttered, “You’re not staying long, are you?”

Melshi ignored him, gesturing to the drinks. “What are we celebrating?”

“She got cleared for active duty,” Kiira said, raising her glass toward you. “First mission back starts next cycle.”

Melshi’s brows lifted. “No shit? You’re the one who took a blaster to the ribs, right?”

You gave a dry smile. “News travels fast.”

“Gossip does,” Melshi said. “But still—hell of a thing. You look good for someone who nearly bled out.”

“Thanks,” you said.

Cassian’s mouth twitched. He didn’t say much, but his thumb brushed the side of your leg again beneath the table—gentle, reassuring. Like he needed the reminder that you were still here, still in one piece.

You leaned slightly into his side, letting that quiet contact settle you. The talk moved on, the drinks kept flowing, and you let yourself be in it—just for now.

An hour later, the booth was scattered with half-finished drinks, a dented deck of cards, and the remains of something that had once been food. Melshi had somehow talked all of you into a game none of you fully remembered the rules to, which, frankly, only made it more fun.

Kiira was talking shit. Melshi was talking louder. Cassian watched it all with that unreadable expression of his—calm, amused, sipping his drink like he didn’t want to miss a second.

You were drunk. Not sloppy, not out of control. Just warm and loose, that kind of buzz that made the lights a little softer and the laughter easier.

You leaned your weight into Cassian’s side, legs folded beneath you. His arm rested behind you on the booth, fingertips brushing the curve of your shoulder now and then like he didn’t notice—or like he absolutely did.

“Okay,” Kiira said, throwing a card. “That move was illegal. You should be arrested.”

“You’re making the rules up as you go,” Melshi said, deadpan. “Pretty sure you just made three of the same play in a row.”

“Bold of you to assume I know how to count right now.”

You laughed into your drink and nearly spilled it. Cassian reached over instinctively, steadying the cup with one hand while the other ghosted over your thigh.

“You good?” he asked under his breath, low enough for only you.

You nodded, blinking up at him. “Just tipsy.”

He gave a quiet hum. “You’re flushed.”

You rolled your eyes and slouched lower into his side, letting the hum of the bar and the heat of him next to you settle into your bones.

Someone dropped a glass at the bar. A cheer went up. Melshi shouted something about cheating again.

Eventually, the game fell apart—Kiira started dealing the cards upside down, Melshi accused her of sabotage, and you were too far gone to follow who was actually winning.

“You two are a menace,” you mumbled, propping your chin on your hand.

Melshi leaned back, tossing his cards onto the table. “Alright, I’m calling it. If we keep playing, someone’s gonna cry.”

“And that someone is gonna be you,” Kiira said, grabbing her jacket off the back of the booth.

Melshi stood, stretching with a dramatic groan. “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.”

You watched Kiira and Melshi disappear out the door, her hand wrapped around his forearm like she’d done it a thousand times before. He was still saying something, talking fast with that crooked grin like he was trying to win her over with pure charm. She was smirking—amused, maybe impressed. Hard to tell with Kiira.

Cassian leaned on the edge of the table beside you, arms crossed. “They’re really leaving together?”

You arched a brow. “Looks like it.”

He let out a low chuckle. “Didn’t see that coming.”

You snorted. “I did. She’s been teasing him all night—and he’s barely blinked.”

Cassian’s gaze lingered on the door a second longer before glancing at you. “Think that’ll go anywhere?”

You shrugged, stretching your arms overhead. “Depends if they kill each other or hook up first.”

He gave a wry smile, “She’d eat him alive.”

“That’s probably why he likes her.”

You laughed—soft and a little sleepy. The bar had thinned out, most of the tables empty now. Your head felt pleasantly warm, a little fuzzy around the edges. You weren’t drunk enough to forget, just tipsy enough to stop overthinking things. Cassian hadn’t moved far from you all night—his knee kept brushing yours under the table, his fingers catching yours once when you’d dropped a card. You hadn’t said anything. Neither had he. But the weight of it lingered.

You nudged him with your foot. “They actually kind of work.”

Cassian raised an eyebrow. “They do?”

You gave a small shrug. “He’s cocky, but not in a bad way. She’ll keep him on his toes.”

He tilted his head like he was considering it, then nodded. “Could be worse.”

You stood slowly, brushing your hands on your pants. “Well, now that our entertainment’s left…”

Cassian stood as well, watching you for a moment like he was assessing how unsteady your legs were.

“We should head back,” he said.

You didn’t protest. Just gave him a small grin.

The walk back was quiet, the kind of silence that came from familiarity. You leaned into him more than usual, your shoulder bumping his. Cassian didn’t tease you, didn’t ask if you were okay—just walked at your pace, steady and grounded like always.

When you reached his room, he keyed open the door and guided you inside with a hand on the small of your back.

The light was soft—dimmed automatically when he stepped in. You made it as far as the chair before toeing off your boots and sinking down with a huff.

“I’m not drunk,” you said.

Cassian arched a brow, crouching to help pull off the second boot. “No?”

“Just… a little spinny.”

He didn’t laugh, but he smiled—just slightly. “Come on.”

You stood, swaying only slightly, and let him lead you to the bed. You flopped down with a sigh, already pulling the blanket over your chest. He moved around the room in quiet efficiency—boots, jacket, belt—before finally slipping in beside you.

You rolled toward him immediately, burying your face in his shoulder.

Cassian rested his arm around you, his hand splayed against your back. He didn’t speak. Just held you until your breathing evened out.

You were asleep within minutes.

And for a long time, he just laid there—awake, watching the way your fingers curled against his shirt

The days slipped by in quiet pieces.

You were back on missions now—light ones at first. Supply escorts, outpost checks, the occasional recon flyover. Nothing high-risk, but enough to shake the rust off. To prove to yourself that you could still do this.

Cassian never said anything when you’d return from a mission, but he was always there—leaning against the wall by the hangar, arms crossed, gaze steady. Sometimes he’d ask how it went. Other times, he didn’t have to. He’d just walk with you. Quietly, closely. Like he was grounding you. Like he knew you needed the silence more than the debrief.

Nights belonged to him.

You hadn’t officially moved into his quarters, but it might as well be yours too by now. Your jacket hung on the back of his chair. Your socks filled one of his drawers. He never mentioned it. Never asked for space. If anything, he pulled you in closer each night—hands on your waist, breath warm on your shoulder, like having you there helped him sleep.

It helped you, too.

Things were… normal. Or the closest thing to it. Missions rotated in and out. The mess hall was always too loud. The hallways always smelled faintly of coolant and burned caf. But you felt steady again. Strong. Like you were standing on your own feet, not flinching every time the alert buzzed.

The scar on your ribs itched occasionally, but that was it… and you could live with that.

What you hadn’t expected was how easily Cassian folded into your routines—and how much you missed him when he was gone, even for a day or two. 

You still weren’t sure what to call this—what you were to each other. But it didn’t matter much when he looked at you the way he did. When his hands found your hips in the dark, or when he poured you caf before you could even ask.

You were his. That was enough.

For now