#i hope melshi gives him

[thestarbirdfromtheashes]

Another thing I want to mention:

How

Is it possible

That Cassian looks amazing in that prison outfit

I know he’s in prison

But fam

He lukt guud.

[colleybri]

My very basic first thoughts about the D23 Andor trailer… (in combination with the earlier leaked one from over a year ago!)

Mon’s hand gripping the edge of the Senate pod rail – I think she’s about to denounce the Emperor and the Ghorman Massacre. Does she know she’s going to be rescued, or does she think this is suicide?

Cassian and Bix - battle couple? Looks like she’s going to be a fully fledged rebel. Love the detail that she’s wearing braids again, as if to symbolise order returning out of the chaos . Not sure if it’s definitely her Cassian is talking to but it makes sense… “You’ll never feel right unless you’re doing what you can to stop them”. Kicking Imperial butt as a great therapy for what she went through? Hope she gets to take out Gorst. Mind you, that line could also apply to a lot of people. Great recruitment line, in fact.

Oh my, Cassian is “weaponised handsomeness” personified with that eyeliner and fabulous outfit. Woof!!! Sorry – I know that’s not very articulate. More seriously, doesn’t that line in the paragraph above contrast so brilliantly with “ I’m here to win and walk away”. He knows that’s not going to work anymore. For him or anyone else. And who is this character, a new recruit? Or Bix? (Fighter pilot Cassian too?)

Syril watching the TIE fly over… is it starting to dawn on him that perhaps he’s on the wrong side? That the order, justice and beauty he craves is not provided by this fascist regime after all.?

Luthen saying “little sister”… The tenderness of that makes me think immediately of Baze calling Jyn this in Rogue One so I don’t think it’s literally Cassian’s sister. Maybe Bix again or a new character . Unexpectedly moving though. Sounds like there’s love in the old boy yet.

Edit - I could well be wrong about that. It could just as easily be “what else is there?” and tbh that makes more sense for a sizzle reel… far less spoiler-y! Give us a decent trailer with proper sound quality please, Disney!

I never thought I would well up at the sight of a robot that isn’t B2EMO. But Kaytoo … oh, it’s so great to see you again. And Melshi!!! Remember - he has Syril’s gun. Will that come into to play again?

The farm planet is likely Dantooine, site of the first rebel base. Filmed in Oxfordshire. The previously leaked photos of the sets looked amazing. 

And this is a bit more niche, but I’m so looking forward to seeing Thierry Godard in this, as he’s such a fantastic (French) actor. Engrenages (Spiral) is one of my favourite shows of all time, Gilroy is a fan of “A French Village” and it probably led to his being cast for Andor.

And finally – it’s not even finished footage, but the special effects are looking incredible already.

And now, I need a little lie down.

[ruby-red-inky-blue]

Merry Christmas, @vesper-1898! As per accidental early reveal, I am your secret santa! I had *way* too much fun with your prompt, which is why this fic is 10k words long. I didn't like the idea of Rebelcaptain planning a proposal big enough to "fail", but then I thought... you never said it had to be their proposal.

I hope you'll enjoy your gift!

The Gales of November Remembered

“He’s gonna do it,” Bodhi says breathlessly, shouldering through the doors with a heavily laden tray. “For real. He’s fully planning to do it.”

“Do what?”

“Propose.”

“You’re kidding,” Jyn says, looking up from the untidy scrawl on her notebook.

“To her?” Melshi scoffs. “What is he, suicidal?”

“I know, she’s gonna kill him,” Bodhi says with a gleeful, uncharacteristically evil smirk.

“Are they even dating?”

“By no definition of the word,” Kay says earnestly. “The man is a stalker.”

Cassian feels similarly. Syril Karn, one of their lamentably load-bearing regulars, is a jumped-up twenty-something with a rich uncle in politics, no talent or social graces to his own name, and an absolute creep. His ‘romance’ with the fed who usually gets a late overpriced dinner at the restaurant seems to exist mostly in his head, a fact obvious to anyone with eyes (and to Baze’s husband, who was fully blind). They have been hooking up from time to time, after too much wine. Sometimes even at the restaurant, if they’re the last customers, as they tend to be. The waitstaff has begged to be allowed to cut them off to prevent it, but times are hard and they need the drink sales.

“God, I never thought I’d feel bad for that woman,” Jyn mutters. She admits defeat in her quest to decipher her own writing and holds the notepad up to Cassian with a resigned expression. “Is that last one a nine or a four?”

He squints down at her chicken scratch with a frown. There is bad penmanship, and then there is the seismograph charts his girlfriend passes for handwriting. “A four. I think.”

“You should be reimbursed for doing twenty-five percent of her job on top of yours,” Kay says in the disgruntled tone he always takes on the topic of Jyn. “She is a waitress, and should be able to read her own notes.”

Jyn gives him the finger without looking up and shoots back good-naturedly: “It didn’t say ‘reading numbers’ anywhere on the job description when I applied, you know.”

“It was clearly implied –“

“Kay. She’s not gonna drop it,” Cassian says wearily with no real hope of ending the argument and makes a semi-successful attempt to push his hair out of his eyes without getting whatever sauce is on his fingers all over his face. Then he turns back to Bodhi. “How do you know, anyway?”

“Oh, because we’re getting implicated,” he says blithely. “He’s gonna do it here –“

“Lead with that!” Melshi barks from his station, and Bodhi rolls his eyes.

“I was getting to it! He said he’ll email us with the details. And we’re – we’re all ‘responsible’ for how it goes off, apparently.”

“I’m gonna kill him,” Jyn growls. “Do us and that bitch of a fed a favour.”

“You can’t. We need their money,” Cassian says darkly.

“Nothing is worth this!” Jyn whines, and Cassian tries and fails not to let it sting. He knows she’s joking, but still… Lord knows he’s not been fighting this hard to keep the Rogue afloat because it’s the pinnacle of his career. He loves these people. He’d give an arm and a leg to keep working with everyone currently assembled in the run-down kitchen – and frankly, it would kill him to work in a place that doesn’t have Jyn Erso in it.

Alright, that’s probably an exaggeration. But he’s seen her nearly every day for the three years he’s known her, and he does worry that he’s forgotten how to make it through a day without the prospect of catching her eye across the room. He also probably enjoys he way she brushes past him in their stupidly narrow walkways far too much, given how much time he spends telling her to stop doing that so he won’t hack off his own fingers.

Long story short, Cassian would endure almost anything for this second-rate restaurant and their silent exhausted bus rides home, and to hear her say otherwise, even as a joke, makes the alarm bells go off in his head. He’s not usually this insecure about their relationship, but for a few weeks now, there is that dusty little box shoved into the back corner of his sock drawer, and it’s never far from his mind. Nor is the thought of Ma spending the annual Christmas dinner needling him over the contents of said box if the secret isn’t out by then. Subtlety has never been her strong suit, and her relationship to his girlfriend is tenuous at best. If Jyn hears of this from her –

Fuck. It’s his own fault, too. He had to ask for Ma’s old ring. And now he only has three weeks left to do this, and he still has no idea how. Maybe he’ll be the one to get murdered over a proposal in this restaurant.

“Hey! Cassian!” Andrea, one of the line cooks, snaps her fingers in front of his face, roughly jerking him out of his reverie and back to the present. Cassian feels the blood rush to his face. Jesus Christ, now he’s spacing out at work again. He’s handled so much stress, too much stress, as his doctor won’t cease to remind him, and now –

Jyn, mistaking his guilty flinch for something else, is on her feet and has hauled poor Andy a full two meters away from him before he can so much as blink. “Don’t do that.”

“I’m fine,” he mutters, runs both hands over his eyes, inevitably smearing bechamel across his nose. Then he adds, for good measure and because Jyn is, unfortunately, not wrong: “But actually don’t do that, though.”

Jyn, Bodhi, Melshi and Baze all still eye him cautiously. Cassian tries not to let it embarrass him, which would be easier if this was the PTSD thing and not just him being a ball of nerves because he doesn’t know how to propose to his girlfriend.

He grimaces. “Sorry, what were we –“

“The Karn thing,” Melshi says evenly and throws him a rag to wipe his face. “I mean, I guess we could tell him no, but…”

“Like you said,” Jyn adds with a shrug and pulls herself onto the countertop (another thing he keeps telling her not to do), “we do need his money.”

Cassian sighs. “We do. It just feels like… facilitating harassment, right?”

“We are facilitating her own bad choices, and getting paid for it,” Jyn says. Cassian raises a brow at her, and she shrugs. “Hey, judge me all you want. That woman is a career ICE officer. My sympathy is so fucking limited.”

“Can we try to look at it as a customer paying a lot of money to have us serve a custom menu for one night?” Melshi asks in what Cassian can tell is a deliberately neutral tone. “We’re not forcing her to hang around to eat it if she doesn’t want to.”

“I’m thinking she might have to,” Cassian says darkly.

“Why? She’s a grown woman.”

Cassian grits his teeth. “And his uncle is on the National Security Council.”

“Oh god, that explains so much,” Bodhi mutters.

Jyn shrugs. “Again, that seems like her problem. We have an oven that’s a fire hazard, and our head chef is cooking with blunt knives.“

“I know. It just feels –“

“Yeah, it does,” Melshi says flatly. “But he’s gonna do it, so let him do it here and we get paid for it. Besides, if he pulls some shit, we can call the cops on him.”

Cassian scoffs. “Yeah, like that will do anything.”

“It won’t. But if someone gets the satisfaction of landing his scrawny ass in lockup even for one night, I want it to be me,” Melshi says with a wolfish grin, and Cassian has to admit he gets the sentiment.

He sighs. “Okay, so we’re picking a fight with an ICE officer, a rich white kid and whatever cop shows up to arrest him… to avoid picking a fight with the health inspector? That sounds insane.”

“We’re not picking fights! Our two most awful regulars want to embarrass themselves in public and pay us for it!”

“It won’t even be that much work,” Melshi says. “Let’s just convince him to do it as close to Christmas as possible, then we can just say it’s a special Christmas menu, and we can serve it to every customer that evening.”

Cassian sighs and turns to Baze. “What do you think?”

“I think Jyn is right,” the old cook says evenly. “They deserve each other, and we need their money.”

Cassian raises his hands in defeat. “Fine. Alright.”

Jyn throws him a surprised sideward glance. She clearly expected him to put up more of a fight, and he would have – but he is doubly invested in financial stability right now, and as dubious as the morality of this is… if any two people deserve it, it’s these two.

And he has his own fucking proposal to worry about.

[finish reading on AO3]

[paullapotteritsmynameipromise]

I've been thinking about the boots in Narkina 5 and how they are used to tell us about Cassian's character development. Because I think most of us were expecting Cassian and the others to go for them when they are escaping. I've even seen people complain that it was stupid not to stop for them, but I think it's a brilliant narrative decision. Hear me out: When Cassian arrives in Narkina 5 we see him look at them and it's clear that he is thinking of a way out, but that plan only works if he's breaking out of there alone. Which is exactly what he is planning to do when he arrives, he's worried about his survival. But in the end of the arc that is not his priority anymore, his plan is to free everybody. He understand that the only way out is if they all escape together, and becase of that they don't bother with the boots. There aren't enough of them for all the prisioners, so either they all make it, or none of them do, which is clear in the 'one way out' theme. But what is brilliant to me is that focusing on the boots in the first episode creates an expectation that they will be important, and when they aren't, it shows us Cassian's character development. It shows us that he understands now what Nemik and Maarva were saying. One of my favorite details of episode 10 is that Cassian doesn't sleep before the prison break, just like Nemik before Aldhani. Because now he understand what the fight means, now he belives in something. And the fact that he is forced to do that is heartbreaking, because he realises that he has no choice, he either dies trying to take the Empire down or he dies giving them what they want. That is why he tell Jyn he's been in this fight since he was six, because he never had a choice, like Luthen, or Mon, or Vel did. But I also think the fact that they win like he tells Melshi in the end, shows him that there is hope, even if it is small, even if it doesn't last, and that he has to try, because there is hope. And we all know that is what rebels are built on.

[sesamestreep]

50 jyn/cassian? 👀

50. the hands of fate (from this prompt list)

After such a crushing defeat, Cassian decides that what he and his teammates really need is another round, and since everyone else is still arguing over the finer points of the last question, he decides it’s up to him to make that happen. Luckily, the bar is not particularly crowded at that moment, so he’s able to get the attention of the bartender right away.

“What can I get for you?” she asks, leaning slightly across the bar to hear him better.

It takes him a minute to remember why he’s there, because he’s been doing trivia at this bar for the last few months and he’s never seen this bartender before, which is only notable because she’s exceptionally pretty. She’s got bright green eyes, and hair that manages to be messy in a way he suspects might actually be fashionable, and she’s wearing a black tank top that shows off some very cool-looking tattoos on her biceps. The usual Thursday night bartender barely even looks at him when she takes his order, let alone going so far as to actually speak to him in full sentences.

“Did you want to order something?” she asks, warily, and her expression shutters in the way of an experienced customer service professional who’s used to dealing with drunk people and skeevy men with alarming frequency.

Cassian shakes his head, as if to clear his mind so he doesn’t (rightfully) earn this bartender’s wrath by staring for another minute. “Yeah, sorry,” he says, adopting what he hopes is a genial expression. “We just got our asses handed to us at trivia, so my cognitive function hasn’t fully returned yet.”

The bartender offers him a half-smile at that and nods. “Take your time.”

“Uh, I think I’m just going to get another round for everyone,” Cassian says, and then rattles off his team’s drink orders. The bartender nods and, even though she doesn’t stop to write it down, he has a feeling she’s got it memorized.

She starts making a drink in front of him, and only looks up a moment later when she realizes he’s still there. “I can bring them over when I’m done,” she says, pointing her chin in the direction of his table while her hands are occupied pouring vodka into a cocktail shaker.

“Oh, right,” Cassian says, stupidly. “That would be great. I, uh, already mentioned my brain’s not working, right?”

She laughs a little, which feels sort of like a victory, and shakes her head. “Must have been a tough loss.”

“We came this close to winning for once!” he can’t help griping. “But no one on my team knew the names of the three Fates in Greek mythology.”

The bartender tosses the shaker from side to side in a practiced motion, and gives him a barely interested look. “You mean, the Moirai?” she asks.

Cassian barely stops himself from gaping at her. “I, uh, think they wanted the individual names, actually.”

“Oh, so like Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos, then?”

“Jesus, do you write the questions?”

She smiles and pulls a glass out from under the counter. “No,” she says, as she deftly pours the contents of the shaker into the glass. “I just went through a very intense Greek mythology phase when I was a kid.”

“Thank god. I was beginning to think I was just stupid!”

“The two ideas are not mutually exclusive,” she replies, breezily, as she tosses an olive into the drink. “I’ll bring your drinks right over, unless you want me to keep talking to you about mythology.”

There actually isn’t anything Cassian wants more at the moment, but he’s already lost so much dignity at trivia that he can’t afford to lose anymore getting shut down by this beautiful bartender, so he nods and thanks her before he heads back to his table. Bodhi has finally stopped reading Wikipedia on his phone (a time-honored post-loss tradition for them) and is sitting with his head resting on Taidu’s shoulder. Melshi, on the other side of the table, is slumped in his chair, staring into the dregs of his beer.

“Another round incoming,” he says, clapping Melshi on the shoulder.

“Thank god,” Melshi replies, sitting up.

“We are bad at trivia,” Bodhi proclaims, which is also a time-honored tradition.

“We did better this time,” Taidu counters.

“Yeah, but we still lost.”

“Progress over perfection.”

“Stop being reasonable,” Melshi groans. “The wound is still too fresh.”

“You know what’s great for treating wounds?” a voice over Cassian’s shoulder asks. “Alcohol!”

The beautiful bartender appears then, with their drinks on a small tray and starts depositing them on the table, where Taidu immediately helps divvy them up to their respective recipients.

“What are you doing here?” Bodhi asks her, which seems like an odd response. Cassian looks between the two of them, puzzled.

“I told you I was working tonight,” the bartender replies, resting the now-empty tray on her hip.

“No, you didn’t.”

“I sent you a text!”

“Oh,” Taidu says. “That was your first mistake. He never reads his texts.”

“Shut up,” Bodhi says, thumping him lightly on the shoulder. “I read texts! I even reply to them! I am a functional person!”

Taidu and the bartender scoff at the same time, and Cassian is definitely missing something.

“So, why are you working tonight?” Bodhi asks, before Cassian can figure out a way to ask what’s going on without seeming rude. “I mean, I read your text, for sure, but like…remind me?”

“Kennel no-call, no-showed and Baze asked me to fill in.”

“What?! Tell me everything!”

“I just did. She didn’t call out or give notice so I have no idea what happened.”

“Okay, that’s more boring than I expected,” Bodhi says, sounding disappointed. “I always thought she’d get fired for coming after you with a knife or something.”

“You and me both, buddy,” the bartender says.

“Kennel is the usual Thursday night bartender?” Taidu asks, speaking for all of them.

“Yeah,” Bodhi says. “She’s fucking nuts.”

“Good riddance,” she agrees. Then, she turns her attention to Cassian, pointing at him with her elbow. “I put the drinks on your tab, by the way.”

Cassian blinks at her in surprise. “Oh, right. Yeah. Good. Did I—sorry, I don’t think I gave you my name, so…”

“No, but I know Bodhi, which means I also know Taidu, naturally, and I’ve met Melshi before, so I guessed you were probably Bodhi’s other co-worker, Cassian, who he does trivia with but whom I’ve never met and there was a card with that name behind the bar, so…”

“Okay, seriously, are you some kind of savant or something? Between this and knowing all of the trivia answers…”

She smiles. “I have the distinct advantage of being more sober than almost everyone in the room, which gives the impression of genius where there is none.”

“Bodhi, you didn’t tell Cassian your roommate worked here, did you?” Taidu asks suddenly, sounding amused.

Bodhi smacks himself on the forehead. “She doesn’t normally work Thursdays,” he admits, miserably, before looking up. “Cassian, this is my roommate, Jyn. She works here.”

“Jyn. Right,” Cassian says, feeling some puzzle pieces slot into place. “I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s nice to finally meet.”

“Same,” she says, extending a hand for him to shake and giving him a mysterious smile. “Though Bodhi did say you were the ringer on the trivia team, and you didn’t even know the names of the Moirai.”

“Cassian is the ringer,” Melshi says, “which just goes to show how terrible the rest of us are.”

“I think Kay was technically our ringer,” Cassian replies.

“Until he got perma-banned,” Bodhi adds, dejectedly.

“Kay?” Jyn asks. 

“My roommate,” Cassian specifies. “It was for the best, he argued with the host too much.”

“Oh, that guy,” she says, nodding. “Baze and Chirrut have his picture hung up in the office. We throw darts at it, uh, lovingly.”

Cassian waves away the sheepish look she gives him. “I live with him. I understand the impulse. Anyway, that’s how Taidu ended up joining us.”

“Lucky them,” he says, raising his glass in a mock toast. “I know nothing, it turns out.”

“I mean, if they ever need someone to answer a question about the intricacies of Formula 1, you’re their man,” Jyn says.

“Taidu watches a lot of F1 at our apartment,” Bodhi explains. “He’s trying to get Jyn into it.”

“It’s not nearly violent enough for my tastes,” she says, mildly. “Anything else before I go back to the bar? Need me to name all the Argonauts, perhaps?”

“Oh, you’re going to be insufferable about this, aren’t you?” Bodhi asks, covering his face with his hands.

“It’s going to be like the eagle, pecking out Prometheus’s liver every day, only it’ll be me taunting you with Greek mythology facts.”

“Mythological facts, huh?” Melshi asks.

“I’m sorry,” Jyn says, leaning in close. “I have trouble hearing people who’ve never won bar trivia in their lives.”

“You’re right,” he replies, holding his hands up in defeat. “You got us there.”

“Next week,” Cassian says emphatically, “is going to be our week. I’m calling it.”

The pitying look Jyn gives him before she leaves their table does nothing to bolster his confidence—nor does it quell the spark of attraction he felt when he first saw her. He was really hoping the revelation that she’s Bodhi’s roommate might help with that, but no such luck. If anything, he likes her more now; Bodhi has always talked about Jyn in glowing terms and Cassian can see now that she lives up to her reputation. 

He realizes only a little belatedly that he’s been watching her walk away, which feels like a bridge too far, and catches Melshi giving him an unimpressed look. He schools his expression into something overly innocent and Melshi snorts before returning his attention to his beer.

They hang around, replaying their demoralizing defeat for the tenth time and vowing (as always) to do better next time, until their drinks are finished and then everyone gets ready to leave. Melshi heads off for the train with a sardonic salute and Taidu and Bodhi head off in search of a cab, while Cassian lives close enough that he’s just going to walk home. He is already halfway out the door when he realizes he left his credit card at the bar.

He does a heel turn and heads back in, waiting at the least crowded corner of the bar until he can get someone’s attention. He’s seen a few people milling around behind the bar all night, but as far as he can tell Jyn is the only bartender on and she’s the only one there now, which means she’s busy, so he settles in to wait once he catches her eye and she gives him a nod to say she’ll be right with him.

“Sorry about that,” she says, when she finally makes her way over to him around five minutes later. “We’re short-staffed, as you know. I didn’t know Thursdays were this busy!”

“No problem,” Cassian says, signing his receipt and handing it back to her while he pockets his card. “I’ve got nowhere to be.”

Jyn drums her fingers on the bar as she considers him. “You should know,” she says, after obvious deliberation, “I only date people who win at bar trivia.”

He could not possibly have heard that correctly. “I…what?”

“I think it’s only fair that you know this about me, since you’re making your interest known.”

“I wasn’t—that’s not what—I wasn’t saying I’ve got nowhere to be like that, just that I wasn’t in a hurry! I was not trying to—”

“Sure.”

“I’m serious. It was just an expression!”

She treats him to the most exaggerated, patronizing nod of all time. “Right. And you were absolutely not checking me out earlier.”

“I was not doing that,” Cassian says, and it’s frankly embarrassing how transparent of a lie it is.

“I don’t blame you,” Jyn says, shrugging her shoulders. “I’m very cute.”

“Huh. Now that you mention it…”

She smiles, one of those mysterious, knowing ones he finds so intriguing. “Bodhi did always say he thought you and I would get along if we ever met.”

“Too bad you have such high standards,” he replies, easily. “I could think of a few ways we could get along better.”

“Well, there’s always next week,” she offers.

“You mean, next week when we’re going to win trivia and you’re going to give me your number? That next week?”

Jyn shakes her head, but he can see she’s fighting a smile. “I admire your optimism.”

“Get ready to admire my intellect too,” he says, “when I win bar trivia.”

“Whatever you say, Cassian.”

*

“So,” Cassian says, as he leans up against the bar a week later after trivia has wrapped up, “are you absolutely sure you couldn’t be talked into dating someone much much dumber than you?”

Jyn’s answering laugh, surprised and delighted and unrestrained, makes him feel so much prouder of himself than winning trivia ever could. Not that he knows for sure, of course, never having done the latter, but if he had to guess.

[okdeedee]

had i known you better

cassian andor x gn!reader - ch 1. of latch

an: hello everybody i hope you are all well! this is the second / first instalment of whatever this cassian stuff is. how they met. the title comes from had i known you better then by hall and oates. beautiful song.also i just love to make stuff up and star wars is so vast i get the licence to do that.

warnings: none. just fluff and meet cute stuff. regardless, minors you cannot be here. thank you. one use of the word ‘ass’ so you could say we’re getting super profane in this one.

wc: 2.3k

The first time he sees you, Cassian is in a foul mood. 

Not for one glaring reason, but for an amalgamation of annoyances that have presented themselves to him over the course of the day.

He sat up from bed too quickly this morning (after a mere three hours’ sleep) and hit his head on the bunk above him. Two different meetings ran half an hour late each. He tripped over a fuel hose on his way through the lower hangar, and now there is a dull, throbbing pain in his leg. K-2SO’s acerbic wit; usually something Cassian enjoyed or at least tolerated hearing, was getting on his last nerve. 

By now, it’s 1600, he has missed lunch, he is behind on admin, and the beeps and whips of the droids that buzz past him in the corridor are making him want to peel off his own skin. One wouldn’t be able to tell that by looking at him, though. His sullen resting face is infamous, and it’s as still and steady as ever.

He walks as quickly as possible to the mess hall and plans to make a beeline for the little cabinet in the corner that holds things like ration bars, and portions of tinned fruit. 

An easy in and out operation. 

There is a group of new recruits sitting around one of the tables in the mess hall. Cassian thinks they’re some of Melshi’s - he’s seen a few of them following him around like lost cubs for the last couple weeks. Melshi himself isn’t around - he’s doing whatever it is that non-commissioned officers do between missions - which is a shame, because Cassian feels like he might get through the day if he sees a steady, friendly face like Melshi’s. 

He walks past the squad’s table without much further thought on them, but as Cassian is reaching for a dubiously-jogan-fruit-flavoured ration bar, he hears his name mentioned on their side of the hall. Then a few laughs. Then a louder mention of his name, and raucous cackling from the entire table.

It’s been many years since he’s been subject to the likes of schoolyard teasing, and he knows it’s below him to interact. Logically he knows that they may not even be laughing at him, but he’s feeling paranoid and he’s at the end of his tether. If he can’t enjoy the peace of seeing his friend, the next best thing is to get his anger out in an argument.

He grips the ration bar a little too tightly, and turns to face the group, anger simmering. 

Before he can say anything, one of them half-stands, smiling, and waves at him. He’s young - a Twi’lek with faint purple skin - his lekku are adult-length, but thin in the way they are for Twi’leks in their early twenties. The fierce frown on Cassian’s face morphs just slightly into disgruntled confusion. 

“Captain Andor! Hi! We didn’t see you!” 

Stars. Cassian isn’t sure if he ever had that much energy. Or familiarity with strangers. He bristles a little.

Another one of the recruits beckons for him, so he raises the hand that’s not crushing his ration bar and gives a short wave. He walks over in a sort of dissociative trance. 

The rest of the recruits are a mix of ages, from what he can tell. The oldest is an elderly Tholothian female with a sharp gaze and a loose smile, who is cutting up fruit and forcing it into the hands of her fellow soldiers. He remembers Melshi describing her in some level of awe. Cassian searches for her name as he approaches. 

Braza. Brayya. Basal? 

Something. 

A couple of the recruits scramble to make room at their bench for him, but Cassian’s mind is still moving a mile a minute trying to assess whether he’s about to get ridiculed or not, so he doesn’t quite notice. 

Plus, he just remembered he won’t get much sleep tonight because he’s taking some other Captain’s place on a mission at 0400 tomorrow. 

So, he’s sort of pondering, sort of falling into a pit of furious despair about the fact that he hasn’t once caught a break in his entire thirty years of life. He is never this self-pitying, nor is he particularly introspective, so he’s contemplating that as well, with abject alarm. 

The longer he stands there frowning, making no move to greet them, the more awkward the group gets. Cassian realises this a little too late, but decides he’s been standing there in silence a little too long to make an introduction, but he can’t quite walk away, and stars he just wants to sleep-

“Sorry if we startled you, Captain Andor. Bassa was just relaying a story she heard from Melshi about you saving his life on Ord Mantell.”

Bassa. That’s right.

Cassian looks for the source of the voice and sees you at the furthest corner of the table from him, waiting for his response with a friendly smile. There is a softness in your eyes, like you’re coaxing a frightened animal out of its hiding place, and Cassian’s first instinct is to baulk at it. 

While he is a bit of a lone wolf now, he was raised to have some manners, so he huffs good-naturedly and says, “We stank of Mantellian Savrip mucus for weeks.” 

The table dissolves into badly-concealed giggles. 

“Pretty brave of you to go back for him, then,” you joke. 

Cassian feels like he’s actually breathing for the first time today. “Yeah, well, he’s my brother. I couldn’t leave him there. Even if it meant knocking him unconscious, getting covered in mucus and dragging him five klicks to the ship.” 

Now that it’s been established that these green soldiers aren’t making fun of him behind his back, Cassian’s fury from the day leaves him in a rush. He is almost knocked over by a tsunami of bone-deep exhaustion. 

Everyone at the table is still giggling and chatting amongst themselves. The young Twi’lek man is leaning back so far he’s about to fall off the bench, and the Ithorian is making resonant grumbling sounds, which Cassian is pretty sure is their equivalent of a laugh.

Everyone, except you. You have been openly staring at him, concerned, and when you see him sway on his feet, you stand up and quickly make your way over to him. 

“I was about to turn on the kettle to make caf. Do you want some?” You offer your arm to him.

Cassian is used to not showing weakness these days, but his vision is a little blurry and his head is pounding, so he nods and takes your arm. 

When you get to the kettle, which is a quaint word for the metal canister about half Cassian’s height and double his breadth, full of soon-to-be-boiling water, you click the ‘on’ button and lean back against the wall with a sigh. Cassian is grateful for your discretion and the chance to rest his weight without alerting anyone to the fact that he should probably be in the med centre right now. 

“Forgive me for saying it, but you look tired.” You don’t look shy anymore, you look in control. 

The part of Cassian’s brain that makes him a keen observer notes that you are probably very good in a crisis. He looks away from you, stares at the ground. “Yes.”

.

“Is there anything I can do?” You reach out to touch him, and then you make a funny abortive gesture that ends with your hand in your pocket instead. You don’t have any real reason to be here; you’ve never spoken to him, only heard of him in passing and have seen him maybe a dozen fleeting times around base since you got here. 

But something about the coldness of his dark eyes and the set of his face, contrasted with that one time you saw him smile wide and genuine at someone as he walked past you; it makes you want to know him. 

Sometimes he leans against something - a wall, a shuttle, with his arms folded. You like the lines his body makes when he relaxes like that. He looks a little arrogant, or smug, maybe, but in a good way that makes your face feel warm.

Right now, he’s leaning against a wall, but he looks like he can barely stand. You want to do something stupid and completely inappropriate, like hold him or ask him if he wants to talk about his feelings. 

You’re waiting for the kettle to boil, fiddling with your pockets and dealing with the internal battle of it was weird to try to help this man who is effectively a stranger and if I didn’t, no one else would have and he would collapse from exhaustion, or something. 

.

While you’re thinking you’ve made things awkward and wishing you’d never tried, Cassian Andor is looking at you and thinking you might be the loveliest person he’s ever met. Very few people just offer their help without condition these days. War erodes compassion.

He takes a breath, about to say something, and your eyes dart to him. He’s still disarmed by the openness of your face. 

Is there anything I can do?

“Ah, thank you. But I don’t think so.” 

The kettle whistles. You turn to it. “Will you have much of a chance to rest tonight?” 

He sighs. “A couple hours’ sleep, hopefully.” 

“Hm.” You grab two carry-cups. “How do you take your caf?” 

He tells you, you make his first and then yours, and two minutes later you are both cradling the cups, feeling the steam on your faces. 

The two of you make eye contact, and it is at that moment that Cassian knows he wants to see you again. Often. 

“Before I joined the Rebellion, my boss used to tell me that a half-hour nap was supposed to be the perfect time limit to leave you well-rested with plenty of time to do what you need to do.” 

Cassian yawns. “I wish. Where did you work?” 

“I grew up on Onderon, but I moved to Coruscant and worked in one of the lowest-level cantinas. I saw too much of the Empire's impact there. Tax increases and poverty, homelessness, people dying of perfectly curable illnesses. Stormtroopers beating up people in alleyways just because they could. I had to get out, and I figured I may as well try to do something useful with my life. So I’m here.” 

Cassian is befuddled by the amount of information you have freely given him after knowing him for such a short time, but he finds himself warming to you, to this. He has the brief and startling thought that Maarva would like your sense of purpose. 

And then he squashes it down because he’s getting ahead of himself. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says, but he qualifies it with, “the more people we have, the more chance we have of changing things.”

You nod. “One day, we’ll win. Even if we aren’t there to see it.” 

Something in Cassian’s chest expands and fills with light for a few seconds at that. He takes you in, the smell of you, the little sniffle you do when the steam from the caf starts to clear your sinuses. The way you keep fiddling with your hair.

There is a comfortable silence. Your foot taps on the ground a couple times, not in impatience. Then, your fellow recruits at the table start to stand up and get moving. One of them yells what Cassian thinks is “Oi, Wompy!” which he doesn’t understand. You groan quietly. “Oh, force. Back to the chaos.” 

Cassian huffs a soft laugh, and you give him a rueful grin. 

“Well, Captain Andor, enjoy your caf. Please get some rest. If not for me or Sergeant Melshi, for the sake of the rebellion.” 

“I’m sure the rebellion would keep going without me.” 

“Let’s make sure we don’t have to, sir.” you scull the rest of your caf and wince at the taste. Cassian’s face feels hot, but he’s not going to interrogate it. 

“Half an hour. That’s all you need, Captain.” 

You start to walk away and Cassian calls out, albeit softly, “Just Cassian is fine.” 

You turn, biting your lip for just a second. Your eyes are shining as you say, “Cassian. Alright.” 

“And your name?” He’d ask Melshi, but he really doesn’t want to be interrogated. 

“Wompy! Get your ass over here!”

You roll your eyes and shout, “Yeah, I heard you! I’ll be there, just go without me,” and you don’t break eye contact with Cassian the whole time. 

“Your name is Wompy?”

Your eyes widen. “Oh, stars, no. It’s a stupid nickname. Bassa likes to joke that I’m a pest, so, a womp rat, which is apparently too much effort to say, so it’s just Wompy. Which is worse, I think.” 

Cassian hums. He can’t keep the smile off his face. 

You tell him your name. He shouldn’t be as thrilled as he is to know it. 

With that, you turn again. “Sleep well, and preferably now, Cassian.” 

“You too,” he says, on autopilot. 

You laugh, and he listens to the sound of it as it echoes in the mess hall and follows you out into the corridor. 

.

A few days later, when Cassian is trudging through the upper hangar as a shortcut to get to his bunk, he sees you and your fellow recruits gathered around Melshi, who is pointing out the armaments of one of the shuttles. You happen to turn at just the right time, and catch Cassian out of the corner of your eye. You wave excitedly at him, and Cassian waves back, because the sort of joy you have is infectious and he is learning has no choice but to bask in it. 

Your squad catches on to your distractedness, and a couple of the younger ones start to shove and tease you. Cassian feels vaguely like he’s won something as he hears you burst into laughter.

He can still hear it as he lays his head on his pillow, as he sets his alarm.

There's a faint smile on his face as he drifts off to sleep. 

[adidegmez]

I watched andor. I liked it.

Andor and Rogue One Spoilers...

Cassian is a good guy but he kills people. I understand why he killed on rogue one he just followed orders(he was being a good soldier😕)And the speech he gave to jyn when he explained they were following orders they were doing all the bad things for the rebellion, for th greater good.They knew what they were doing was wrong but they belived in the rebellion and did what they said to them. But i still dont like that he killed a lot of people, other than that, I liked Cassian.

Seeing people rise up for themselves, i like it. I really love rebellions. And Andor gave us rebellion in sw universe.

I think syril and deedra was useless i didnt like them.

Cassians promise in the last episode. Did he keep his promise? I know he died in rogue one but will there be a season 2. And that season will maybe tell us what did cassian did between the movie and season 1. Did he find his sister? maybe that season they can give some answers. well maybe they answered but i am new to this universe so i dont know if they did.

Luthen's converstation to Lonni. It is sad but true. Luthen is so cool. But he did so many bad things to save the days he will never see. And some good people became what they swore to destroy and Luthen is one of those people.

Prison scenes were good when they got out i was so happy. but Kino didnt come with cassian and melshi what happend to him after that?

Nemik's manifesto did Cassian read it? so amny questions ı hope there will be a season 2.

Maarva's funeral was good to. Show's effects were so good but in storytelling there were something that not right or there should be more to it.

This article was very messy but I sent it without editing. Because while I was writing this article, I finished Star Wars 5. I finished Rogue One and Star Wars 4 yesterday. There are things I need to write about them before I forget.

I have one last question, mon mathma was lider of the rebellion in rebels but in andor she is not yet. I was watching Star Wars chronologically and according to the order I watched rebels was before andor. does it take place simultaneously, like the clone wars and Star Wars 3?

In the end i liked the show and it's tone. i'll probably start writing about rogue one tomorrow .

[quarantineddreamer]

hello hi! hope you're doin good! i was wondering, could you do prompt 2."things you said through your teeth" for RebelCaptain from the mini-fic ask game, pretty please?

Hello, hi --thank you so much for the ask!! This one got out of control a bit (I actively had to pull myself back from allowing it to totally spiral) so I don't think it classifies as a drabble anymore (oops), but I hope you like it! 😅💜

things you said through your teeth

When it comes to Cassian Andor, Jyn finds herself lying both to herself, and others, a lot... 

The day the medics decide it is time to try and wake Cassian from his coma, she is sitting on the floor just outside his room, back pressed against the cool wall, intermittently pulling her legs in so a passing rebel does not trip on them. 

Anxiety tickles at her insides, pressing at her nerves, forcing her muscles to twitch, trapping her in a useless cycle of fidgeting and tense, heavy sighs. She cannot seem to stop the memories that invade her mind… 

The half-smile he’d managed, even through extreme pain, when he’d come back for her, caught her eyes from the other end of a smoking blaster. 

Staring into his eyes on the elevator. She’d expected relief, to no longer care now that the mission was done–what else was there? But instead she had caught herself wishing for more time. Maybe there were some things still unfinished after all…

His arms around her on the beach, the odd wave of contentment that had washed over her…

Will he remember those moments too? How will he look at her when they finally see each other again? 

She tells herself it doesn’t matter, why should it? She tells herself her restlessness is merely a matter of concern for a friend. 

(Even if her heart is pounding the moment the medic appears to tell her he is awake, she can come see him if she wants…)

She is sitting across from Bodhi in the mess hall, watching Cassian’s figure retreat, studying the limp he tries to hide–the one that means he’s in more pain than usual today–reflecting on the serious expression that had remained fixed on his face all through their meal, the food on his plate that had been seemingly forgotten, barely more than a bite consumed.  

“Do you want to go after him?” Bodhi asks, eyes fixed on her nearly as intently as her own are fixed on Cassian. There is something to his gaze, another question that is going unspoken. 

“No,” Jyn says quickly, tearing her eyes from Cassian and returning them to her lunch. She picks up her fork and stabs at mystery meat with what could perhaps be defined as unusual intensity. “No, of course not. Why would I?”

Bodhi shrugs, “Seemed like you wanted to.”

“No,” she says again. The third time in less than a minute, as though she is running lines for a play, committing the act to memory–as though she will become more convincing with practice. “I don’t want to…”

“Get this,” Melshi raises his flask to his lips once more, cheeks a cheery pink as he laughs, “one of the new recruits made a pass at our very own Captain Andor today.”

Jyn stiffens, fingers tightening on her glass, eyes jumping to Cassian’s face.

He shakes his head at his friend, gives a small, good-natured smile. 

“Oooh really?” Han smirks, turning with interest. “Do tell.”

Jyn stands abruptly and every person seated around the fire raises their heads to look at her, confused. “I have an early morning,” she mutters, reaching for the nearest bottle and lifting it in acknowledgement to her companions. “Good night.”

She marches away, feeling the quiet, the curiosity that she leaves in her wake, settling over the group like a fine layer of dust. She ignores it, takes a swig of the liquor straight from the bottle as she traces her way down the dim hallway. Eventually, the sound of laughter and easy conversation returns, an echo that grows fainter and fainter with each desperate step she takes. 

“Jyn, wait!” Cassian’s voice calls after her, and she knows it is his hand she feels land on her shoulder and pull her around. 

Her core tightens as though preparing for a blow, an instinctive layer of armor that is enough of a reminder of self to borrow strength from. She raises her eyes to look at him, face carefully blank. “What do you need?” she asks, tone even, formal. 

For a moment she thinks she’s somehow hurt him, because his hand drops from her shoulder and his eyes hold a flicker of doubt. “I’m… I’m sorry about that,” he gestures at the fire behind, “back there…”

She ignores the acrobatics of her stomach, gives an unbothered shrug. “What about it?”

“I didn’t… I mean… Nothing happened. Between me and the woman Melshi mentioned.”

“It’s fine, I don’t care,” she says, jaw clenched tight, words barely making it past the lump in her throat. “Not my business.”

And she quickly turns and walks away, feels his eyes follow her into the dark…

There’s a knock at her door, soft but insistent, and Jyn sets aside the half-drunk bottle of liquor, regarding the shuttered entrance to her room from the steady surface of her bed. 

It’s only a few steps away, but right now it seems like hundreds, more than she truly wants to be bothered with. “Who is it?” she calls. “Can it wait till morning?”

There’s a pause, she thinks maybe the person has given up, or realized they knocked on the wrong door. “No,” Cassian says, voice muffled. 

She reaches under the mattress and pulls out a monitor, clicks it on to check the camera she had set up in the hallway to guard her room. He’s standing with his forehead pressed to the door, fist still resting where he had knocked. As she watches, he pushes himself away, takes a step back and fixes the barrier with a stare she cannot see enough to read the meaning of. 

Fine. Jyn hoists herself off the bed and slams her hand on the button to open the door, turning her back before she can see Cassian’s face and returning to her safe perch on the edge of her bed. 

He’s never been in her room before, she catches the intelligence officer in him stirring, eyes quickly scanning the area, absorbing what details there are to obtain from her few, scattered belongings. 

When he looks at her, she raises an eyebrow, challenging. “What?”

For a moment he only stares at her, a stare that makes her skin itch and her face warm, her fingers curling into the palm of her hand. When he finally speaks, he speaks quietly, “I care. I don’t want you to think I have eyes for…” 

“Cassian,” Jyn cuts in, “it’s late. I already told you I’m okay just–”

Something changes in his expression, some hint of frustration making itself known, and a soft growl of exasperation escapes him. 

Before Jyn can open her mouth again, Cassian has stepped forward, taken her face in his hands and planted a firm kiss on her lips. “I only want you,” he breathes, forehead pressed to hers, a hand still holding the back of her head. “If you really don’t care, that’s fine, but I need you to know, to understand, that for me? You’re it. Alright?”

Jyn finds herself no longer capable of lying. To herself or to him. 

She pulls Cassian back to her. 

“Good morning, sunshines,” Bodhi says cheerfully as Jyn and Cassian approach the table, plates piled high with what passes for ‘breakfast food’ on base. “Cass, we missed you the rest of the night, you never came back. Where’d you wander off to?

Cassian steals a quick glance at Jyn, taking note of her disheveled hair, imagining his might appear equally unkempt. She gives a slight, secret smirk meant just for him. “Nowhere,” he tells Bodhi, through a smile that mirrors Jyn’s. 

When it comes to Cassian Andor, Jyn still finds herself lying to others from time to time, but she concludes that it is a practice that is much more enjoyable when shared. 

[elwenyere]

17 and 28 for the meme! Hope youre hanging in there 💚

Thank you so much for the asks, dear friend!!! Questions are from this ao3 wrapped meme.

17. Your favorite character to write this year?

Melshi!!! A character who absolutely took me out at the knees. One of the things I love about writing him (aside from the homoerotic devotion...my kryptonite) is getting to play with the really juicy tensions in his focalization: how much he notices so clearly about the world around him vs. how thick a padding of disassociation he's built up around parts of his own inner world; how bleak and cynical he can be in his patterns of thought and speech vs. how borderline-unhingedly hopeful he can be in his action. He's telling the new guy not to watch the numbers because getting out is a dream, and he's sprinting for the quad jumper because they're getting away and he can feel it. He's telling Cassian he can't climb back up because his hands won't work, and he's asking Cassian to tell him the ships are leaving so he can hang on just a little longer. He's letting Kino throw him around because he knows Kino needs it to feel in control, and he's throwing Kino a wrench so they can break the fuck out. And I'm holding him. I'm holding him.

28. Favorite work you wrote this year

I think for the pleasure of the writing process and for what feels from the outside like maybe the most complete fic of this year I would say Aller-Retour, which captures a lot of the dynamics I love about Melshian in one story that feels like it stands on its own. But (very surprisingly to me) the Bradley Bradshaw's grief fic When the Time Comes turned out to be my most personal fic - not only of this year but ever - and I put some really sharp, jagged, tender things into that story that will always give it a particular place in my heart.

[littlemisspascal]

The Before

Pairing: Ruescott Melshi x Female Reader

Word Count: 4000+

Summary: There is a story before, when, and after Keef Girgo enters your life. This is the Before.

Rating: M (18+, minors please do not engage!)

Warnings: Prison/Narkina 5 storyline but an AU where woman inmates are assigned to each unit as 'peacekeepers', language, established relationship, non-descriptive smut + references of smut, possessiveness, rough handling, biting, references of violence + blood, non-descriptive suicide (not major character death)

- Reader has no official name and no physical traits described in detail. However, she is picked up twice + is implied to be shorter than Melshi (because I'm a sucker for height differences)

Author Note: So...Idk what happened, I just watched Andor and something about the prison arc really resonated with me. And I really loved Melshi’s scenes and his connection with Cassian (or, Keef, I guess technically lol) so I decided to give writing for him a shot. I am not a smut writer, it’s just not for me, but I wanted to also try to step outside my usual comfort zone a little bit too when writing and thus---this fic was born. Hope someone enjoys it 😊

Special thanks to @beecastle for beta reading and encouraging me 💜

The When

There is a scar across the top of Melshi’s hand that flashes silvery-white whenever the light catches it just right. You’ve been mesmerized by it for almost a dozen shifts now. His hands, in general, have starred in many of your dreams: the sandpaper quality of his skin, thick fingers covered in calluses, how they flex and fidget when he works. 

Once upon a time your mind used to torture you by fantasizing what those hands would feel like touching you. If he’d be rough or gentle. How lucky you are now to know reality is better than even your wildest fantasies.

From the other side of the table, where he’s twisting a bolt into place with a hydrospanner, Melshi’s eyes lift to meet yours. The sleeves of his uniform are rolled up, exposing pale skin rippling as his muscles tighten and slacken with every movement. You track the faint blue lines of veins along the tender flesh of his wrists, up his forearms, imagining you can follow them all the way to his heart. The whooshing of blood pumping in your ears is nearly loud enough to block out the ruckus of machinery sounds. 

Nearly.

Melshi’s brow twitches, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it show of concern. An unspoken question only you hear. What’s wrong? 

Other prisoners have described this place as hell, but you're not so sure. Hell is pain and anguish on an infinite loop—a fitting description to a T, except for one glaring exception. Narkina 5 has Melshi. So it can’t be hell, you reckon, because Melshi is the best thing that’s ever happened to you. He’s your everything.

Nothing, absolutely nothing can compete with what you have within these walls. Fresh air, sunshine, the smell of the dirt after it rains. You’d trade them all if it meant staying by his side.

You give the smallest shake of your head. Nothing. An even subtler quirk of an eyebrow. Thinking.

There’s more you could say. A whole book of dialogue exchanged in shrugs, facial tics, and flaring nostrils. Melshi would follow along with every nonexistent word. 

But you don’t need to say anything else. Melshi understands your silences too.

He winks, sly as a fox. 

Back to work, little dreamer.

—

The view outside the window is the same above as it is below, dozens of skybridges full of men standing in lines with a single woman spotted here and there amongst them. You press your forehead against the glass, reminiscent of your childhood days on commercial flights. Behind you, Melshi stands alert, keeping an eye on Kino shouting orders further up ahead, ready to pull you back in line at a second’s notice. He holds your hand, thumb absently rubbing circles.

For a moment, you contemplate stealing his attention. Look, Rue, you’d say, tapping at the window, gesturing to the gaps between the ugly facility where water pours down in torrents, breathtaking in its intensity. And Melshi would turn his head, dark eyes burning like a wildfire, and you’d forget the view immediately, discovering a far more beautiful sight.

But Kino opens his mouth again and you’re tugged back in line and the moment’s gone. 

—

One morning, Ulaf gives you a scrutinizing look, his aged eyes dark and full of knowing, and says, “He’s it for you, isn’t he?”

The two of you walk side by side to the work ring, your turn to make sure he doesn’t get pushed around by the other prisoners. Up ahead, Melshi looks back every other step, glaring at anyone who gets too close to you, softening when he catches you smiling. 

“Yes,” you say simply, feeling warm all over. “He is.”

—

You’ve hit another milestone. Your sentence is now in the double digits. It’s not the lowest on the level, that honor goes to Ulaf, but still, not everyone lasts this long. All the Table Five guys come up and pat you on the back when they hear. All of them, except for Melshi.

You get it—or you think you do, at least. Because your time together has felt like a bubble, a separate realm from the rest of the universe. This milestone is a ticking bomb threatening to destroy that.

This milestone is one step closer to a goodbye.

“It’s inevitable, dream. Our ending was written from the start,” Melshi says, and goes into his cell. Lights out is near. You’re standing on the floor, arms crossed over your chest, loathing the tense points of his shoulder blades beneath the white and orange scrubs.

“Don’t say that.” 

“Why not? We both know it’s the truth.”

You stomp your foot and Melshi shoots you a look, squinting like he doesn’t recognize you anymore. You meet his stare unflinchingly.

He turns away a beat later, sighing through his nose. “C’mon, get inside.”

And that should be the end of it. You should let go of your churning frustration and join him in bed. Both of you should just keep on pretending everything’s fine, fall back smoothly into the same routines, and when your final shift comes you’ll leave without hesitation, never looking back. Just like the woman who left before you and the woman who left before her. 

You’re not like those other women, though. Everyone’s said so—you still smile, still laugh. Still dream. So you remain motionless, even as the buzzer rings out and the floor lights blink. 

“Quit fooling around, dream,” Melshi snaps, eyes darting between the floor and your face. His nostrils flare, mouth hard, but you know him better than anyone, see the cracks of worry behind his steely anger. “Either come here or get in your cell.”

Your eyes narrow. 

“Dream.”

The overhead bulbs switch off.

“Dreamer.” His fear is blatant now, the whites of his eyes shining. 

He’s not the only anxious one. Inmates are leaning out of their cells all along the block, some shouting at you to move, others watching with bated breath for a possible show of sparks and your bloodcurdling wails. You can feel Kino’s gaze drilling holes into you, and you know he knows nothing he says or does will influence you to move.

The only person who has that power is right in front of you.

Melshi.

The floor lights flicker their final warning.

Melshi, who’s snatching you around the waist and hauling you off the floor, all but throwing you into the safety of his cell. Melshi, who’s crowding you against the wall, grip harsh enough there’s sure to be bruises in the morning. Melshi who doesn’t want to say goodbye either.

“There are no inevitabilities with us. All we can depend on is each other, Rue,” you say, tilting your head back to lock gazes. He’s breathing harshly, chest heaving, but his eyes, oh his eyes are shining stars.

Defenses torn apart, emotions ripple across his face, one after the other like skipping stones. Anger, misery, panic, but underneath it all, what has your heart threatening to burst, is understanding. His right hand leaves your waist, seizing hold of your chin, forcing you to stay still. As if you’d rather be anywhere else. 

“Don’t you ever do something so reckless like that again,” he says through gritted teeth, accent bolstered by his turmoil. His thumb ghosts over your bottom lip then, belying his temper. “I won’t always be there to save you.”

You lean forward in his hold, and the mere fact that he lets you sink into his personal space, hands winding around his neck, is proof enough of his devotion.

Your lips hover centimeters away from his, noses brushing, and a teasing smirk curls at the corner of your mouth as you peer up at half-lidded eyes dark with desire. 

“Liar.”

—

The scarlet beam of a welding laser scorches the tender skin of your knuckles. It isn’t a severe burn—merely a painful inconvenience—but Melshi frets over it the rest of the shift and even afterwards in the sanctity of your shared cell, cradling your hand in his with all the gentleness of handling a baby bird. 

“You need to stay focused, dreamer,” Melshi chastens, making a tsking sound with his tongue.

But you’ve been christened your moniker for a reason. Mind frequently drifting into the clouds far, far above, envisioning alternate lives beyond your underwater cage, making a home somewhere even the Empire and all its corruption cannot touch. 

You grin back at him. “I kind of like it actually. We match now.”

Melshi glances down at his scarred hand, almost like he’d forgotten the mark was there. Something dark passes over his face, a shadow of a triggered memory. A chapter of his life he’ll never tell you about.

“Just don’t make it a habit,” is all he says.

—

It’s funny, in a way, how certain little elements of prison life start to feel comforting in their familiarness. A fresh set of scrubs every third day. Morning stretches with an ample variety of bedheads. Taga’s signing lessons. The boom of Kino’s voice. Flavorless mush in a tube. Feet padding along on chilled Tunqstoid tiles. The shrill whirs and whines of machinery. Melshi’s fingers trailing heat along your body, breaths and moans blurring together in the dark. 

You wish you could reach out and bottle these moments, use them as painkillers on days when Table Five finishes last and the floor threatens to burn holes in the soles of your feet.

Jemboc nudges your arm with his, wondering where you drifted off to this time. You nudge him back, then shrug your shoulders. “Nowhere far.”

—

The guards don’t give two shits about what you and Melshi do after lights out. As long as you hold out your arm for a contraception injection at the start of each month and your “womanly influence” continues keeping the men of Unit Five-Two-D coolheaded, they won’t even care if you fucked a different cock every night. 

They don’t need to care what happens to anybody dressed in white and orange—they’re not paid to care, only to press a couple of buttons and announce ominous messages over the intercom throughout the day. And you hate it. Hate them and the entire Empire manipulating the galaxy like a giant puppet on a string. 

But you’re also a selfish creature. 

What you have with Melshi, your messy and beautiful bond, has not only been allowed to grow in this gaping blind spot, but flourish. It’s like fate intertwined your paths. Like Narkina 5 was always in the cards from the get-go. And in the rare moments where Melshi looks at you with unbridled affection, that selfish part of you will sing joyously because this belongs to you, this is all you need to be happy. Nothing else.

The rest of the galaxy could burn to ashes.

—

You watch Melshi sleep, sometimes. Quiet, lower lip clenched between your teeth, not wanting to wake him up and lose the moment of indulgence.

You know what will happen if he catches you. It’s happened twice before and panned out the exact same way. He’ll give you a bleary-eyed look once he sees you staring. Followed immediately by unintelligible grumbling and a hand pulling you forward, burying your face into the nook between his neck and collarbone. A wordless command to go to sleep.

Holding his hand in the waiting lines and blowing him in the dark for three years, Melshi doesn’t mind at all. But watching him sleep, curled on his side with an arm slung over your waist, marveling at how much younger he looks while he dreams as the midnight hours tick by—that triggers the transformation of your strong and hardened lover into someone shy and wrongfooted. It does something funny to your heart, even funnier to your mind.

Makes you wonder how different he’d be if you’d met Melshi outside of prison, what would stay the same. Would he bring you flowers on your first date? Would he whisper mine in your ear and hold you flush against his chest while thrusting deep inside you?

Perhaps that’s the truth of why you keep watching Melshi sleep, to see glimpses of this alternate persona buried beneath the familiar layers. 

You look up when fingers close around your wrist. And for a third time, you find yourself looking into the eyes of a stranger.

—

You first kissed Melshi on your 1,352th shift in the semi-privacy of the refresher, taking his face between your hands and smashing your mouths together.

It was all clashing teeth and needy tongues, and you tried to sink into the experience for all its worth, to let yourself be consumed entirely. But your heart pounded like a wrecking ball against your chest, and a voice in the back of your head screamed stop it! He’ll take advantage of you, for fuck’s sake! 

The voice was momentarily drowned out by the wet heat of Melshi’s mouth, a teasing nip against your bottom lip, and a wave of pleasure rolled over you from head to toe, a dizzying and dearly missed sensation.

And then you forced yourself to pull away.

Melshi merely blinked at you, a little dazed looking, lips red and slightly swollen. Oh, Maker…

“Sorry,” you murmured, dragging your eyes away to look at a very interesting spot on the wall over his shoulder. “I-I wasn’t thinking. I just—”

“Liar,” Melshi cut you off, not unkindly. He smirked at your affronted look. “You’re always thinking, little dreamer.”

He wasn’t wrong. Your mind was always thinking, planning, imagining, drifting, analyzing. Still, you huffed and crossed your arms over your stomach. You’d rather he just reject you outright than continue exacerbating your discomfort.

“How often?”

You arched an eyebrow. “How often what?”

Melshi pinned you with a sharp look, like you were being purposefully difficult. He leaned closer then, and your breath caught as he brushed his fingertips over your temple, palm cradling your cheek. “How often do I cross your mind?”

You let out a shuddered exhale. You’d never been touched like that before. Touched like you were worth more than a quick fuck and a fake promise of calling again soon. 

“Melshi,” you began only to be silenced by a thumb against your lips.

“Ruescott.”

Something inside of you cracked wide open.

“Ruescott,” you amended, voice barely above a murmur. His breath was hot against your cheeks, sending your thoughts into a whirlwind. “You…”

Maker, why was it so hard to focus? 

You felt feverish all over. Every nerve ending ablaze. Melshi’s eyes never left yours. And he must have known. He must have.

“Ruescott,” you raised a hand, tentatively resting it over his, grounding yourself in the physical contact, “you never leave my mind.”

Something shifted in his gaze, a flicker of an emotion you couldn’t identify, and then Melshi lunged, swallowing your startled yelp with his mouth, lips colliding.

The sudden fierce moment had you stumbling backwards against the wall, but Melshi’s hand was quicker, protecting your skull from the hit. And you, you didn’t know if it were possible to pull him in any closer, hands fisted in the itchy fabric of his scrubs, his arousal grinding against your inner thigh, but fuck if you didn’t make an attempt. 

Seconds, minutes, hours later—time had no meaning anymore, you were drunk on the taste of him—Melshi was the one dragging himself away with a low groan. You made an attempt to chase after his lips, but his hold on your upper arms was impossible to squirm out of, fingers flexing warningly.

“Not here, dream,” he said before throwing a glance over his shoulder. 

Awareness of your surroundings abruptly came screaming back to you. 

Oh, shit, you thought, the heat in your core extinguished immediately. Kissing was one thing to be caught doing, but two inmates letting loose their combined pent up sexual frustration in a fit of raw, unbridled fucking was quite another.

“Tonight,” he muttered, an oath sworn with another searing kiss. “Tonight I’m going to take care of you. I’ll fuck you so good every man on every level will know.”

You barely stifled the whimper in your throat. Insecurity bit at you, a parasite you couldn’t squash on your own. “Promise, Rue? You won’t leave me high and dry?”

Or worse, wet and wanting. 

“Promise,” was the instant response; no hesitation, no thinking. And then, quieter, infused with such bleeding sincerity you felt the words like individual blows: “I’ll make you a second one, too. You’ll never have to worry about me leaving you.”

At the time you thought him romantic. Now you understand his real meaning: you’ll never know a day apart from him because your sentence is shorter than his. 

—

“I love you,” you whisper in the midnight hours. Melshi pulls you closer, lips pressing against the crown of your head. One of his hands rests on the back of your neck, fingertips gently rubbing at your pulsepoint. 

“When I…” he cuts himself off, and you can hear the quiver in his voice, the words catching in his throat. “When I dream about a life outside of here, you’re always there. Just you and me, somewhere warm…and...”

There’s a pause, a silence broken only by Melshi’s quiet exhale and faint snores from cells further down. 

Your eyes sting, tears spilling down your cheeks. “And?”

“And we’re happy,” he says softly. “We’re so fucking happy.”

—

Group showers provoke warring emotions twice a week without fail. 

On one hand, it’s nice to feel clean after sweating through your shifts. (Do you wish it didn’t require being tightly packed like sardines into a room with a bunch of unknown women and sprayed with frigid cold mist? Of course. But who’s gonna listen to your complaints? Nobody, that’s who.)  

On the other hand, you’re separated from your group, from Melshi. And it’s like there are thorns digging into your backside the entire time, from the second you’re hustled away by a guard all too happy to leer at you while his hand rests pointedly on his zaprod to the moment you’re reunited with Unit Five-Two-D in the work room. Only when you’re back in their sight again—each of your Table Five boys sweeping their eyes over you, looking for signs of harm, a single hair out of place—you feel like you can breathe easily again. 

You were brought here to be a peacekeeper amongst the men—negotiate with them, befriend them, be their punching bag or fucktoy, the method doesn’t matter so long as the conflict is settled—and on other levels you’d be expected to fulfill your duty to the utmost degree, but not here. Not here where Kino’s word is law and the men will suffer worse than a broken hand if they’re inappropriate with you. 

Inmates aren’t supposed to think of themselves as lucky, not on Narkina 5 of all places, but you do.

To the guards, you’re a sacrificial lamb in a den of lions. Rumors say more women leave in body bags than by walking. But they have it all wrong in your case. You aren’t a lamb and the men aren’t lions. 

You are a wolf, and they are your pack.

—

The odds are in Table Five’s favor today, resulting in a first place victory and flavored food waiting for you all in your cells. Between swallows the men banter and roughhouse like rowdy schoolboys, Xaul telling a crude joke about shaved banthas that makes you laugh so hard your ribs ache. Even Kino cracks a smile.

You lean back against Melshi’s chest, head tucked beneath his chin. Lucky, you think again, committing every detail to memory.

And you don’t know it yet—nobody does, not even the guards—but this is the last good day you’ll have at Narkina 5. 

Tomorrow, everything will change.

—

You wake up to shouts ricocheting off the walls, nearly falling off the cot out of alarm if not for Melshi’s fast reflexes. The morning buzzer hasn’t rung yet, floor still electric, but the whole block is an enraged swarm, an overwhelming cacophony of cursing and bellowing. Even more worrying, Kino won’t make eye contact when you look to him for answers.

And then you see it.

Melshi’s number has increased.

There’s a loaded moment where you can’t believe what you’re seeing. You tap at the screen with trembling fingers, thinking it’s a glitch, it has to be, because if it’s not then that means—Oh, Maker, you can’t even finish the thought—but the number doesn’t change, doesn’t flicker. Your insistent taps become slaps, palms aching, and you don’t realize you’ve joined in the shouting until Melshi’s pulling you backwards with an arm around your stomach.

“It’s not just me. Everybody’s tabs have gone up. Even yours, dreamer,” Melshi says hoarsely, holding you up when your knees go numb, sobs wracking your body.

“Why?” you whimper, shaking your head. “I didn’t do anything wrong, Rue. We didn’t do anything wrong.”

Through your tears, Melshi’s eyes hold more worry than you’ve ever seen, and you can’t stand it. You want him to reassure you, to tell you there’s been a mistake and everything will be okay.

He doesn’t. Instead, even worse, his arms tighten around you and he says nothing. 

Not one word.

—

Later, you’ll learn there was an attack on one of the Empire’s garrisons (a suspected rebellion strike, but you, along with at least half of Five-Two-D’s men, are still on the fence whether these so-called rebels even exist or not). 

Later, you’ll learn the Empire invoked the Public Order Resentencing Directive as a result. The reason why everyone’s numbers spiked overnight without warning. The reason why slight mishaps previously disciplined with a verbal dressing down are now punished with a zaprod to the gut, spine, head—wherever the guards think will hurt the longest. 

Later, Melshi will rub your back while you empty your stomach contents into the refresher, the sight of blood gushing from Ham’s busted and charred nose seared into your brain.

There’s tension in the air, every day intensifying a little more, squeezing your neck just a little bit tighter. There are nights where Melshi paces the length of the cell, fists clenched at his sides, and mornings where Ulaf can barely stand from his cot, gritting his teeth against the aches and pains of a weathered body pushed to its limits. 

You were brought here to be a peacekeeper. But there’s nothing you can do to quell this amount of rage. A rage you feel simmering beneath your own skin. 

There is a bomb in the heart of Narkina 5, ignored by the guards who shield themselves behind their electric floors and weapons. But what the fools fail to realize is it’s not a question of if this bomb will go off.

It’s a matter of when.

—

“We’re never getting out of here,” you whisper, pressed against the cot.

“Don’t talk like that. Not you, little dreamer,” Melshi scolds, breathing against your neck, and you fall silent, shuddering with every touch, teeth sinking into the meat of his shoulder to muffle your moans.

In the morning you’ll trace the bite mark with your fingertips, thinking that the thin line between animal and human has never looked blurrier.

—

You first notice Tress’ twitchiness during the third hour of your shift. Eyes just a bit too wide, gnawing at his lip like he’ll receive a reward if it bleeds. Panic attacks happen from time to time, but usually to newbies who haven’t adapted to the routine yet. Not to longtimers like Tress.

He gets worse with each passing hour, dropping his tools, practically vibrating with an abundance of nervous energy. You’re not the only one who’s alarmed by his strange behavior now. Melshi casts subtle glances in Tress’ direction after every finished droid piece, while Kino stares him down like he’s ready to tackle him in the next breath if Tress does something remotely dangerous.

You lose track of him when everyone lines up to return to the sleep block. No matter how much you twist and crane your neck in either direction, you can’t spot a single glimpse of his blonde curls. Melshi squeezes your hand, and to everyone else he appears indifferent, staring straight ahead while waiting for Kino to give the order to keep walking, but you see the pinch between his eyebrows immediately. He’s just as concerned as you are.

Passing him safely in his cell has you breathing a quiet sigh of relief. Still, you can’t quite bring yourself to fully relax, a sense of impending dread lingering in your bones. You don’t say much during dinner, just sit on the floor of your cell next to Melshi, half-listening to his conversation with Taga—something about a new guard on the third level nearly frying a man to death accidentally—and half-keeping an eye on Tress who looks only marginally less weasley-looking than he did earlier. Marginally.

“Sleep, little dreamer,” Melshi tells you later on in the night, pausing your tossing and turning. His eyes are closed when you look at him, but you can tell by his wrinkled brow he’s hanging onto consciousness by a mere thread. You don’t understand how he’s able to sleep. Doesn’t he feel the wrongness? Like the walls are closing in, stealing the room’s oxygen?

Your mouth opens to ask him just that, but the agonized wail that pierces the silence doesn’t belong to you.

And you know, even before you’ve slid off the cot, before you see the body lying motionless on the floor at the end of the hall, that Tress is gone. 

—

The next day, a new inmate named Keef Girgo arrives.

And little do any of you know, he’s going to bring Narkina 5 to its knees.

[notdexterousatall]

I love the juxtaposition of practicality vs sentimentality in Andor. All the main rebels - Luthen, Mon Mothma, Vel, Cassian - are working to serve grand ideals, but in the course of the story have to sacrifice their own sentimentality on the altar to those ideals and act with ruthless practicality.

Vel and Cinta have to put their relationship in the last place of their priorities. Mon frames her husband for gambling and introduces her daughter to a gangster's son as a possible betrothal to cover for her rebel activities. Cassian is introduced killing a cop who is begging for his life because he can't risk that cop ratting him out, and he knows he will. Cassian also misses his mother's funeral despite how much he must have wanted to attend, because he knows he's a wanted man and it's also his best chance to rescue Bix. Acting sentimentally in that moment is never even a consideration for him. And, obviously, Luthen - as he says, he's made his mind a sunless place and is condemned to use the tools of his enemies to defeat them.

All of the rebels' actions are undeniably driven by the empire, who are acting with the same ruthless practicality, and even beyond that. But when the empire does it, their only ideal is power - the cruelty they inflict is the point. The rebels act ruthlessly while serving an ideal - freedom - and it's because of that the people around them are inspired to act as well. We see it with Nemik, who is so inspired by the rebels' cause that he throws himself into a mission he's not really qualified for and writes an entire manifesto, and then dies for it. We see it with Maarva, who is unknowingly inspired by her son to take up the cause, and then raises the rest of the town with her. We even see it with the aliens who rescue Cassian and Melshi from the prison planet, despite their bounty. All these people act against their own self interest in the short term because the rebels give them hope of fighting against the tyranny of the empire.

Obviously this is nothing new - it's the overarching message of the OT! But Andor just executes it so perfectly. We don't need the characters to tell us that the empire is evil - we see it for ourselves. And we don't need to be told that the rebels are the good guys - we see that for ourselves too, despite the undeniable ruthlessness of their actions. And it all builds to Maarva's beautiful funeral speech at the end, where she tells us what we're all - and all the characters, too - are thinking: we should be fighting these bastards. That's when sentimentality wins the day. It's so damn good.

[colleybri]

Cassian

Yes you can hold on longer. I soothingly repeat the lie: “They’re leaving”.

Melshi knows it’s untrue. “Stop saying that.”

But his faith in me is giving him faith in himself.

All we need to do is survive. Hold on until the next minute. Then the next.

And he needs the lie. Asks for it. “Tell me they’re leaving”.

This time, when I say it, it’s true at last.

I’ve often lied for myself. Now I can lie for others. And find the truth also, within - the belief that can enable us to climb back up.

Let’s call it hope.

[moprocrastinates]

Fic title: i'd send you the sunset

eh, this is a very, very loose parallel to the other one I did... also, i didn't get the wording of your prompt 100% right... sorry!!!

He'd found her the first time on Endor, loose-limbed and quiet and at peace with the gaping hole in the sky where her father's machine used to be

Now, after the Battle of Jakku, where they'd lost so many and won the entire thing, she walks on the beach towards his little house, tucked off the side of the cliff

It wasn't anywhere near her old house, still standing in the middle of a field, several tens of kilometers away, but it was nice. Cute, even. It had a big window out front where he could see the ocean.

But Kes had said he'd be there. He had nowhere else to go, supposedly

And Cassian Andor as a farmer wasn't something she'd expected

Apparently, once the list of names of fallen rebels had been released, he'd all but bolted out of the Rebellion, lost, and in pain

(She'd been on that list. The bullets went through her shoulder, sides, legs, and sternum. Melshi had seen her go down and bolted to her, and Cassian had heard her cry over their comms, and she'd seen another soldier yank Melshi back towards the ship.)

Cassian had screamed. Louder, fearful. Terrified.

Please don't leave me, she'd thought. But the soldier yanked a thrashing Melshi aboard, and Jyn had had to watch as they tore off into the sky.

The Empire had been burned to the ground, but its hold still lingered. Deserting 'troopers fled the dunes, shooting anything that moved, even their friends. By the time night fell, it was ice cold, and she was completely alone with only the sound of shifting sand and winks of stars falling

That next morning, a lone and kind Nu-Cosian found her and took her home. Terpa cared for her for three months, nursing her back to health and quietly asking if the war really was over.

("I miss my daughter," was all she said when Jyn asked why she was helping a Rebel.)

Jyn spent those three months healing, helping Terpa sell and make useful and occasionally decorative wares, and thinking of Cassian all the while

(They'd never become more. She didn't know why. Well, maybe she did, because Cassian had always maintained a respectful distance, even when she'd stepped closer.)

Thankfully, eventually, a supply ship came in, Jakku having been riddled with carnage and debris and a severe food shortage since the battle, and Jyn had hitched a ride out, Terpa looking on with something like pride.

When she'd finally contacted the Rebellion, Kes had been delighted. "Andor's going to lose his mind," he'd laughed, and Jyn had heard a baby coo in the background. "He said he was going home."

So now she's here. In Lah'mu, kilometers away from the first place she called home, and only steps away from the last.

Nearby, the sun was warm and melting, dipping slowly under the smooth ocean in front of her. Just like Scarif, Jyn thought, and rapped her knuckles twice against the blue door.

One beat, two. Then, it was wrenched open.

Cassian Andor still looked as beautiful as anyone she'd ever known

Those brown eyes stared at her, unblinking. He didn't say anything, didn't move.

"Brought you a sunset." Jyn said, giving him a small smile and gesturing to the picturesque scene behind her. "At least this time there's no giant wave and a laser--"

she didn't have time to react when Cassian hurled himself at her, one hand behind her neck and the other around her waist.

The hug was tight, and she pressed herself as close as she could to him, hoping he understood what she was saying without words.

(She couldn't breathe. But that wasn't because of the hug.)

"Jyn," Cassian murmured like a prayer, pulling away to look her in the eyes. He brushed a strand of hair away from her eyes, fingers gently caressing her cheekbone until he cupped her whole face in his hands. "Welcome home."

And he pulled her inside.

[andorerso]

Andor episode 11 thoughts:

omg the state of Cassian’s hands and feet.... this man can’t catch a break

so Maarva’s on her deathbed or is she already dead?

WAIT SHE’S ALREADY DEAD

Maarva dying off-screen is actually exactly what I expected but damn, it’s so harrowing

omg I really hope Brasso takes care of Bee pleaseeeee 😭

“I don’t want to be alone” I CAN’T DO THIS BRASSO PLEASE TAKE CARE OF BEE

Cinta my love!!

agfdhfdgfg those aliens watching them run towards the ship like 😮😮

okay but what did you guys expect.... Melshi has an impulsive streak I see

the Ferrix tradition of becoming a brick is really interesting! thinking about how Cassian didn’t get to honor that tradition after his death...

omg yes helpful aliens!! I’m so happy to see that

so they ARE going back to Niamos, good!! we need those credits and the manifesto

“what have you done lately?” agfdhfdgh damn the animosity between Vel and Kleya is really interesting 👀 I know it’s only in my head but I think they’re ex-girlfriends, sorry I don’t make the rules

also Vel going back to Ferrix, let’s go!!

BRASSO WILL KEEP BEE, THANK GOD! I knew he was a real one

Leida being so traditional, I wonder if they’re trying to setup the fact that oh look, she’ll be cool with the engagement! I hope that’s not the case

I wonder if Cassian’s been reading the manifesto this whole time 😭 when he opens it, it looks like he’s already in the middle of a chapter

nooooo Saw don’t do it, don’t take the job!!

lmao Luthen pointing to Tubes as his spy, stop fucking around 💀

no thoughts except what a badass scene both with Saw and Luthen, and then Luthen in the Fondor.... I NEED TO KNOW MORE ABOUT LUTHEN’S BACKGROUND

oh god oh no Cass.... “she’d be proud of me” I CAN’T DO THIS I CAN’T DO THIS

his face.... oh no no no no no no

I thought I was ready to see Cassian cry BUT I WASN’T

Cassian saying everything’s fine... he doesn’t let anyone in but the pain on his face when he hugs Melshi 😭 I wish he’d just let someone give him comfort but I know he won’t UGH

the end of this episode already made me cry, idk what the next will do

[rebeccasteventaylor]

Ok, thoughts on Rogue One after watching Andor.

Lyra gives Jyn a crystal- like (but not exactly the same as) Luthen’s. I have often wondered if Galen and Luthen are related somehow.

This is not just pre-Andor Saw at the beginning, this is pre-Rebels too.

So when Luthen visits Saw there a chance Jyn is around somewhere perhaps?

I forgot Jyn was in prison the first time we see her as an adult. Something both she and Cassian share then.

Cassian knows who Galen is before he ever meets Jyn so we’ll get him finding out about Jyn’s father in Andor.

Is that Melshi breaking Jyn out of prison?

I feel so happy seeing Mon Mothma in this! Knowing where she came from and what it cost her.

I’m expecting Bail to be in Andor Season 2. And bloody bell, what’s going to happen to Saw?

Interesting that Cassian didn’t care about the rebellion and then joined it during Andor and Jyn goes on the same journey in Rogue One.

The parallels between Galen’s recorded holographic message to Jyn to help her and Cassian win the Rebellion and Maarva’s holographic message sparking a Rebellion - a parent’s final holographic message beginning and ending Cassian’s fight.

Of course I assumed Saw didn’t know Cassian when I first saw this - but watching it now, it could be read as Saw standing down when Cassian runs in to save Jyn, and handing her over to someone he knows he can trust. Perhaps they will meet in S2? When Saw shouts ‘save the rebellion, save the dream!’ could be be shouting at Cassian as much as Jyn?

Jyn’s father sacrificing himself for the rebellion has to being back memories of Maarva staying and dying for the rebellion

Cassian just seems to keep up this habit of sweeping up everyone who needs to escape and bundling them onto a ship! He builds up these ragtag crews of people and forms them into a fighting team.

There’s a call for General Syndulla at the rebel base! Hera’s there!

When Cassian says ‘make ten men feel like a hundred’ he and Melshi share a glance, I think. Well now I think he’s reminding Melshi of how they fought on Narkina 5, when it was just a few of them at first. And also ‘whatever happens we made it’. I hope we really get to see how Melshi and Cassian’s friendship grows to the point where he stands beside Cassian as they defy the Rebel Council’s orders (although I’m pretty sure Mon Mothma secretly gave Cassian her approval, the troops he needs and a big pile of weapons)

Climb. Climb!

And now Melshi’s death is one of the ones that hurt.

Bloody hell. That last half hour is one of the most amazing half hours in movies I’ve ever seen. I absolutely love the way it ties into the very beginning of New Hope

[okdeedee]

you're so busy changing the world

cassian andor x gn! reader - 7th instalment of latch series.

masterlist

an: ayoo we're back. need everyone to know that the full lyric that the title is derived from is "you're so busy changing the world, just one smile can change all of mine." because. cassian andor smiling is incredibly important

warnings/content: angst again babey. teen? rating? because there's swearing. Ruescott Melshi being a little intense, as per usual. that's a cornerstone of his character. fluff fluff fluff fluff FLUFF. i couldnt resist sorry. une kiss. perhaps.

wc: 3.8k

You’ve made a valiant effort at keeping up a cheerful front, but it’s been a month and a half with no word from Cassian.

You’re only human – you adore him, but there’s a little pool of resentment growing day by day in your stomach.

You’re beginning to wish he never kissed you.

The mess hall is near-empty, it’s after the designated lunch slot, but you like the quiet. You sit at a table by yourself and pick at the lukewarm meal before you. Something with greying vegetables, some grains, and a little too much salt.

You’re lost in thought, staring at your meal tray, when the table wobbles with the impact of someone sitting down opposite you.

It won’t be Cassian, you know it won’t, but you can’t kill the hope that it is.

You brace yourself, look up, and barely hide your shock when you see the solemn face of Ruescott Melshi. He nods at you.

“Sergeant Melshi-”

“I’m not your CO anymore,” he says calmly.

“Right. Just Melshi, then?”

He smiles just a little. “Just Melshi.”

You’re not sure why he’s here. He’s just observing you and it’s making you want to look back down at your lunch, but you don’t really want to look away because you feel like you’ll lose whatever standoff this is. So, you hold his eye contact until he opens his mouth to speak.

“How’s mech crew?”

His succinctness still makes you smile.

“It’s good. I enjoy it. Plenty of variety, good teammates.”

“Good,” Melshi nods approvingly.

You force down a couple mouthfuls of food while he sits there in silence.

“You spoken to Cassian lately?”

Your heart jolts. What does he know? “Not for a month or so.”

“Hm.”

You fidget with your spoon, Melshi looks deep in thought, staring blankly at the door to the corridor.

Suddenly his discerning eyes focus back on you, and he folds his arms in front of him on the table.

“I know Cassian cares about you. He’s been acting strange recently, and I wanted to see if you had any idea what that’s about.”

You want to walk away. Or hide. Or start a completely new conversation.

But you can’t, so you take a deep breath. “We – I – uh, we… we had a conversation a while ago. And I think it freaked him out. He hasn’t spoken to me since then.”

He frowns. “What about?”

You know he’s just trying to be thorough; make sure no irreparable damage has been done, but this is the most awkward facet of your relationship with Cassian that Melshi could possibly be investigating.

You smile and try to brush him off. “It’s nothing. I think he’s just busy at the moment. Stressed.”

Melshi isn’t convinced. “But if it’s nothing, then why–“

“Really, it’s okay. It was just a personal thing. We’re sorting it out.”

Melshi sighs, his expression growing more determined. Panic starts to collect in your throat. “Cassian trusts you. I trust you. You know that. But there are things I know about Cass that you don’t, and I want to make sure you didn’t hurt each other –“

“I told him I loved him, okay, and he kissed me! Then he told me he loved me back!”

Your hands are in tight fists. Melshi is stone-still and silent.

“And then – he – he had regrets, I think. About us becoming… more. So, I said I’d give him time to think, and I haven’t heard from him since. That was a month and a half ago when we had that mission on Numidian Prime.”

You can tell by Melshi’s expression that whatever he was expecting you to say, it wasn’t that.

He pushes his lips between his teeth, and his eyebrows furrow deeply. “Right.”

You sigh and place your head in your hands. “Yep.”

He hums like he’s thinking it through. You want to turn into dust and fly away but that is not within the realm of your abilities, so you sit there staring down at your meal tray, appetite getting smaller by the second.

Finally, you rub your face with your hands and look back up at Melshi.

There’s something gentle in his eyes, like pity.

The resentment in you flashes hot like a sun flare, and for a second, you’re filled with rage. At Cassian, for stringing you along. At Melshi, for forcing your secret out of you.

At yourself, for being vulnerable enough to care at all.

.

When Cassian gets himself into trouble, the first thing he tries is running.

Usually, it works.

Debts, warrants, angry exes, the responsibilities of civilian life - the weight of them disappears if you disappear as well.

This time, running isn’t going to work.

He knows that.

He knows it like he knows how to fly a ship, like he knows how to take an accurate shot with a blaster one-handed, from a glance at the target.

A mix of years of experience, and the instinct he’s always had for self-preservation.

If Cassian keeps avoiding answering you, he’s going to lose you – if he hasn’t already.

You said you’d wait for as long as he needed, that you’d be there when he decided, so he still has hope.

You’re the best, purest thing that’s ever happened to him, but even you can’t be endlessly patient. You deserve a commitment, and he feels like he’s incapable of making one. He’s not sure why. It’s not like he doesn’t want you. Or that he wants anyone else instead.

He’s in love with you. He knows that, too.

Cassian is terrified he’ll ruin things; so, he wonders if it’s better to never start on this path than take a few blissful steps on it and have to watch it dissolve under his feet.  

Then he reminds himself that running won’t fix this, and he goes through the whole thought process over, and over, and over again.

At the heart of things, humans are creatures of habit.

So when he’s offered a solo mission where he’ll have to go dark that’s likely to take a few weeks, he takes it.

.

You go from barely seeing Cassian to not seeing him at all, and it doesn’t take long to make it through the jogan vine that he’s gone on a no-contact mission.

You don’t blame him for the mission, exactly, you just wish he had the tact to speak to you before he left.

You feel like you shouldn’t, but you miss Cassian a little more each day. You miss seeing glimpses of him, hearing his voice, being able to reach out and touch him.

Before long, it’s two months and two weeks since Numidian Prime.

At this point, you’d settle for just knowing Cassian’s alive.

.

During the third week of his mission, while Cassian is desperately trying to find his way out of an out-of-use sewer system, he realises there is something fundamentally different about the way he’s thinking right now, compared to a year ago.

His whole life has been about survival – the same could be said about most beings in the galaxy under Empire rule. In many ways, life has not been kind to him, and it often doesn’t help that he has a natural talent for getting himself into trouble.

Underneath the instinctual need to stay alive from moment to moment, Cassian has always fought for something he loved, despite the loss.

With Maarva and Clem on Kenari, he was fighting to get back to his sister.

On Ferrix, fighting for his friends, or to go home to his family at the end of the day.

Aldhani, to get credits to pay back the people he owed and take Maarva somewhere safe.

Narkina 5, for freedom.

But Maarva and Clem are gone, Aldhani feels like it took place in a different lifetime, and he’s been out of Narkina 5 for coming on three and a half years.

He hasn’t seen Bix, Brasso, Jezzi, Wilmon or Bee in over three years. He knows he’s not going to see them again.

Cassian joined the Rebellion because he knew there was no way to escape the Empire. The only way out is through. He figured may as well make the rest of his life mean something.

He’s been fighting less for the love of things, and more for his rage against injustice and his dangerously powerful hope that things can be better. The two concepts together are an effective motivator.

He’s not suicidal, he wants to live, but he’s been reckless and often cold to people because he has very little left that he will fight for out of love.

Until now.

As he’s stalking through the dark with a flickering torch, his mind isn’t following the path it usually does.

If he was in this position a couple years ago, he’d be thinking, just get above ground, check your blaster isn’t jammed, stay low, find your transport, go from there. Stay alive to fight again another day.

Pragmatic, unemotional.

He will always have the pragmatic plans because that’s who he is, but his current reason to stay alive is…unexpected. The realisation hits him and knocks his breath out of his lungs.

Cassian’s fighting to stay alive for love again. For the good that already fills his days, and the good that is good yet to come.

He hears your laugh in his head, sees your smile in his mind’s eye. He remembers touching you, kissing you, and he’s pushed forward by the need to see you, to hold you again.

To tell you he loves you again, and not let you down this time.

.

It’s too hot or too cold or too something in your room, and no matter how much you toss and turn, you can’t get to sleep.

You room with Greda, as of just after Life Day. Her previous roommate moved to be with her spouse, which gave you an opportunity to get out of the soldier’s barracks.

There is a very faint, digital trill going off somewhere near you. At first, you grumble, because you think it’s Greda’s datapad making noise.

She always forgets to mute it; she sleeps deeply, so it doesn’t bother her.

But the ringing is closer to you. You reach your hand out and fumble for your nightstand, and your fingers land on your buzzing commlink.

Who would be trying to contact you at this hour?

You grab it, prop yourself up on an elbow in your bed and click to receive the call.

“Hm?” you grunt, very eloquently.

You hear someone’s soft breathing on the other end, but no response.

If this is a wrong number, you’re going to be a little pissed off.

“Hello?”

There’s a long period of silence, and you’re about to hang up, when you hear someone whisper, “Hey.”

You yawn. “Who is this?”

“Are you alone?”

Then it hits you – the rasp, the musicality, the softness of this voice.

“Oh my gods, Cassian?’

“Are you alone?”

The reality of the situation suddenly hits you, and you scramble out of bed as quietly as you can. “I will be. One second,” as you shove your boots on and grab a jacket, “stars, Cass, why are you calling? Isn’t your mission no-comms? Where are you? Are you alright?”

You hear him chuckle whisper-soft, and it makes you smile entirely against your will. You’re supposed to be angry, or at least irritated with him right now – but to hear his voice, his laugh, to know he’s alive; it’s like breathing for the first time in weeks.

“I’m fine,” he says as you slip out of the room into the corridor.

You breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank the stars,” you sit on the floor, leaning against the wall, “Okay, I’m alone now.”

You’re expecting him to launch into a message you need to relay, or something mechanical you can help him with, but he’s silent.

“Cassian?”

He hums in assent.

“Are you really fine? You’re not injured, or anything?”

“I’m good. I promise.”

You fiddle with the zip on your jacket, yawning.

“What time is it on Yavin?”

You rub your eyes and check your chrono. “Oh, like 0300 hours-ish?”

“Shit, sorry, I didn’t realise.”

You lean your head back against the wall and hug an arm around the front of your torso. “No, it’s alright. I couldn’t sleep anyway. It’s good to hear your voice, Cass.”

.

Cassian’s chest feels tight and vulnerable from the soft, raspy tone of your voice.

He can’t help but imagine being there with you, hearing you in his ear, feeling the warmth of your body next to him.

“It’s good to hear your voice too,” he says, which is the understatement of his life, because it is the entire reason why he decided to break protocol and call your personal comms.

Just to hear your voice.

“Where are you?”

“I can’t say-”

“You’re already breaking the one rule of a no-comms mission. Just tell me.”

He softens at your persistence, at your warmth. “I started on Oba Diah. Now I’m on Kessel, in an abandoned hotel, waiting for a transport back to base.”

“So you’re about to come back?” A thrill runs down his spine. He can hear in your voice that you’re smiling.  

“Yeah. Should be back home in couple days.”

Home.

Neither of you speak for a little bit. He just listens to your gentle, even breaths, and tries to keep his emotions in check.

Then, in the silence, he hears you take a breath.

“I got to do some illegal mods yesterday,” you say a little shyly.

He can’t stop the tiny smile that appears on his face. “Oh yeah?”

You launch into your story, and he listens, heart bursting with the domesticity of it. He remembers how torn and empty you were in your early days with the Rebellion, and hearing your joy and passion now almost overwhelms him with pride for you.

“…swapped the engines of the fighter and the dropship, which technically isn’t legal because that class of dropship can’t have that powerful of an engine – but we need it to be that fast for a mission next week. Something about a window in the flight scanners that the dropship can only make at a certain speed.” You pause, and then mumble, “felt pretty cool, doing that.”

He doesn’t know what to say. A rush of affection floods him. You felt cool doing illegal mods on a ship for the Rebellion. You’re still sharing parts of your life with him even after he effectively gave you the silent treatment for over a month.

Suddenly it’s imperative that he doesn’t wait until he gets back to Yavin to talk to you. Before he can think it through, before he can doubt it, he blurts it out.

“I meant it when I said love you.”

His pulse is pounding so loudly in his ears that he barely hears you breathe in sharply.

“What did you say?”

He feels like he’s taken a dive off a cliff, and he can’t tell if it’s in a good way or a bad way. “I said, I meant it when I said I love you.”

He hears you take another harsh breath in.

Cassian can’t lose his momentum. “I still mean it. I love you. So much.”

You’re silent for a while, and Cassian tries not to panic.

“Cassian?”

His heart jolts. “Yeah?”

“I don’t want you to… feel obliged to say it. What happened on Numidian Prime was – it was a lot, and it was new, and I don’t blame you if you regret it.”

It feels like Cassian’s stomach has come untethered and dropped right to his feet.“I-”

“You haven’t spoken to me in weeks. I didn’t even see you. It was like you disappeared off the face of the planet,” you say, your voice soft but certain. “I know said you could have as much time as you need to think, but it was weeks and weeks and then you went on that mission and didn’t even say goodbye, and I just assumed-”

Cassian’s heart aches. “Wait-”

“-you didn’t want me in that way – and I’m okay with it, I really am. I just don’t want to lose your friendship, is all, because you’re-”

“Please-”

“-still the best thing that ever happened to me-“

“Stop, my love.”

.

You stop.

Your hands are shaking.

He called you ‘my love.’

You can’t get a solid, deep breath in – just shallow, shaky gasps.

“Breathe, baby.”

Fucking hell.

The man you’re in love with is calling you things like ‘baby’ and ‘my love’ and he’s halfway across the galaxy, and suddenly the comfort of his gentle, gravelly voice is not enough.

There’s a lump in your throat and your eyes are burning with unshed tears. You sniff, just once, but Cassian’s observant, so he notices.

“Are you crying?” he asks gently.

You think you might melt into the floor. “Not yet. Trying not to.”

The wall of the corridor is cold behind you. You recall the times you’ve sat with Cassian like this, your shoulders touching. The way he smelled – clean and inviting and human. When you held his hand. When he’s held you. When his lips met yours.

“Cass…”

“Yeah?”

His voice.

“I miss you,” you say, and your voice cracks. “I wish you were here.”

He sighs, and there’s something comforting in it, like he might feel the ache you feel.

“I will be. Soon.”

“Yeah.”

.

You sit there in comfortable silence.

Cassian looks out into the street from one of the hotel windows. The streets are busy, sentients of all kinds hurriedly making their way through the industry and grime.

“Cass, fair warning;” you start.

“Hm?”

“If we’re doing this – if you’re – you want to – be together, I’m not letting you go. I can’t.” You stutter for a second, “Sorry – wait – like obviously, if… you know… things didn’t work out, I wouldn’t try to… imprison you or anything. But… if things work out, you’re it for me.”

Hundreds and thousands of years and millions of different species of intelligent life in this galaxy, and not one has created a machine that can teleport Cassian back to Yavin, next to you, in this very moment. He’s never felt such a strong yearning in his life. He thinks he might cry for happiness, which has never happened to him before.

In the midst of what sometimes feels like a hopeless fight, in the face of countless devastating losses, in this empty, dilapidated hotel on Kessel, Cassian Andor feels lucky.

“You’re it for me, too,” he says in a rush, and it’s like his chest is expanding and imploding at the same time.

And then you let out a breathless laugh, and it’s the best sound Cassian has ever heard.

.

You tell Greda about your comm with Cassian as soon as she wakes up. You can’t not.

She gives you a wry smile, as usual, but she’s happy for you. Thrilled, even – you can tell by her eyes, even as she jokes that you could find someone that smiles more.

On another day, you’d buy into the game, tease her back, but today, you’re bursting with these bright, endlessly expansive feelings. You want him, grumpy, gruff, short-tempered, deeply compassionate and loving him. And you have him.

You’re vibrating with joy and excitement for the rest of that day, and through the night. Cassian doesn’t comm again, but the pilot that was shuttling him back to Yavin 4 confirmed their pick-up.

Now, you just wait.

It’s dawn, the day after Cassian’s call. You’re doing a pretty good job of distracting yourself – you took the overnight shift just for something to do. You’re helping Riekk move a bunch of shield generator components when Greda calls, “Wompy!”

You roll your eyes, and Riekk’s waterspray-gun sounding laugh echoes in the hangar.

“Please call me anything but that.”

She’s suddenly close enough to tap your shoulder, and she does, twice.

“Your man just landed,” she whispers in your ear.

Your stomach tumbles. “Where? Here?”

She snickers. “Where else? Of course, here.”

In an uncharacteristic show of terrible manners, you practically drop the part you’re holding and run as fast as you can up the stairs. You weave through ships and astromechs and pilots until you’re in the open runway, and you scan the space, maybe a little frantically.

The Yavin system’s sun is rising now, and the sky is painted with achingly delicate shades of pink and orange. What you can see of the horizon that isn’t covered by thick forest is gentle lilac.

You’re a little embarrassed at how your breath catches when you see him step out of the U-wing.

It’s still somewhat dark outside, and everything is washed in muted orange. His skin is sort of gold in the growing light, and his hair is messy. His beard has grown out again. He’s talking to the pilot; someone you don’t know. He’s got that stern, focussed look on his face and it makes you feel warm all over.

He bids farewell to the pilot, and suddenly you feel shy, like maybe you should give him a minute to get his bearings or wait for him to visit you – but you stay where you are.

It’s like a holovideo or a scene from a Coruscant opera when Cassian’s eyes meet yours.

You can see the smile in his eyes even if the set of his mouth is still serious, and it makes you so giddy that you laugh, unable to hold in a smile of your own.

He’s right there. And he’s alive.

That thought alone pushes you forward several steps. Cassian opens his arms, you do too, and then like gravity, you’re in the tightest embrace you’ve ever been in.

You place one of your hands on the back of his head as he buries his face in your neck. You can’t help but stroke his hair a little.

After a blessed, loving eternity, Cassian draws back a little and presses your foreheads together. His hands cup your face with a tenderness that makes your throat close up.

Then, he kisses you. Simple, chaste, but so fervent your knees feel weak.

You both pull away, but you open your eyes first and see his face – a faint smile with his eyes closed, his brows furrowed just a touch.

He opens his eyes. You stroke his face with the hand that isn’t wrapped around his waist.

Cassian smiles wider than you’ve ever seen him smile and you are so incandescently happy about it, you might just float away.

“Welcome home,” you say, beaming.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

You don’t know what to say. You just stand there smiling at each other like idiots, and if Greda was here, she’d be laughing at you.

You take in Cassian’s windswept hair, his dimple, the glint of his teeth in his smile, the warmth of his hands and the feel of his beard on your palm.

He’s alive. And he’s yours.