#rogue one imagine

[archieimagines]

hold me through the storm | cassian andor

Summary: Sometimes, escaping TIE fighters during a storm means crash-landing and getting whiplash. Luckily, Cassian knows just how to make it better.

so, it turns out everyone’s thirsty for cassian fluff. yes, our followers have taste! warnings: mild injury, thunderstorms, teeth-rottingly indulgent fluff. note: this one’s special to me, because it’s actually based off a soundscape that i use to sleep on most nights. i recommend that you listen to the second half of it while you read this (the first half has cassian speaking, but it doesn’t quite match up with this)! find it on youtube here and spotify here, which i’ve started from my recommendation point for this fic (about 26 minutes in).  word count: 1989 requested by: @angstyvirgin001 and @minigirl87​. i hope you enjoy this, and that it makes you feel better <3 requests are open until sunday night! written by: archie

You hissed through your teeth, rubbing and squeezing at your nape to ease the strain.

That landing was far from your best. You probably took a crater out of the planet with how you plummeted, but there wasn’t much choice at all after those TIE fighters blew your freighter’s wing off.

Remarkably, the craft had landed without combusting or killing either of you inside, and the rumbling storm was severe enough that it would surely protect you from the searching starfighters. They were probably still looking.

You jolted to slam off the backup lights at the thought. The red bulbs instantly shut off, sending the whole ship into darkness, bar the tiny specks of red and green from the operation boards.

The freighter door slung open with a great screech of a sound. Howls of the thunderous wind and torrential rain deafened the cabin. “You wanna put on one light, maybe? I can’t even see!” Cassian’s voice battled the storm as he blindly clambered into the ship, a little clumsy in the darkness.

“Yeah, let me just-“ you flicked a couple of switches, and soon a single red bulb gave a dim glow, just enough to show you Cassian’s silhouette as he wrestled the door closed against the elements, the whole ship shaking with the force of his slam.

The overhead storm quieted instantly, now a low growl in the distance as he shrugged off his outer jacket, soaked through.

“We’re safe?”

“Yes,” he grunted, “There’s no one around and the storm gives us good cover. Let’s hope it keeps up until morning, and then we’ll look for damage or a way out of here.”

You started with a nod, but halted with a wince.

Somehow, he always noticed everything you did. Even when you tried to hide it from him, even when a wild storm should’ve masked the sounds of your pain, he noticed.

He’d been overly protective of you ever since you met him as a young, scared boy on Ferrix. He didn’t need to speak the same language as you to make a deep bond. You were kind and gentle with him, no matter how he resisted at first. You owned your place as a friendly face in a whir of change even as a young child, and you dropped by after school every day, just to see him and share your handmade toys.

He resisted at first, but it took barely a week for him to place every ounce of his trust in you.

Just two children, seeing each other through the horrors of Imperial-ruled childhood. And now, Imperial-ruled adulthood. You were together through everything and it was a known fact that would never change.

“What is it?” He was by your side in an instant, the dim crimson light showing up the concern in his eyes. “Are you hurt? Why are you not more careful by now?”

“Because TIE fighters, Cassian. Because TIE fighters. But don’t worry, I’m fine, just a little whiplash.” You tried to bat him away as he reached out to you, but he just knocked your hands away in return. “I’ll be better with a couple of days rest,” you comforted, but it didn’t stop his cold fingers from slipping under the back of your collar, leaving trails of raindrops across your skin as he pressed and squeezed there, seeking any pain out.

“I don’t believe you,” he murmured, glancing through the glass of the cockpit as his fingers still worked. Clearly double checking that the spot was actually safe, but the rain was far too heavy to see clearly through the glass, and the wind shook the ship even while it was still.

“I’m fine, Cass. We’re fine, let’s just sleep,” you knocked his hand away for final, stepping out of the pilot’s seat. “Stare as much as you like, but no light fighter with a brain would try and fly this low in these winds.”

“I promised I’d take care of you,” he reasoned, stepping aside to let you brush past into the cargo bay, “So I have to be sure.”

“Mhm, you keep that up,” you hummed, pulling the tab in the wall for the bunk mat, bending at the knees to protect your neck as you rolled it out full-length across the floor. “You battle the Empire. In the middle of a storm. In a crashed out ship with no comms. And me? I’ll be far away on an imaginary beach, spotchka in hand.”

His hushed laugh was a relief to your ears. “I’ll come too.” He gave one last glance out the window before fishing out a bottle of water and a packet of dried food. “Here’s your spotchka.”

You grinned up at him, despite the dire situation at hand. “Mm, delicious.”

As you both perched on the mattress to eat, you found it wasn’t particularly padded and was definitely a little skinny for two people. It was clearly designed for one-at-a-time watchkeeping, but you knew neither of you would mind at all.

There was a time where both of you would’ve fit side by side on such a mat with room to spare.

It was a whole routine. Ten-year-old you would conspire with a focused Kassa, who was keen on picking up as many words as he could, and then present a case to your parents as to why you should stay at Maarva’s. It’d take a full half hour of nagging, a handful of accented ‘please’s from young Cass, and once in a blue moon you’d find yourself sleeping amongst a pile of blankets on Maarva’s couch, Cassian’s feet by your head and yours by his, shoving your toes in his cheek and erupting with giggles in the night.

Maarva would wake to find the two of you with limbs thrown everywhere, sleeping heavily after a long night of multilingual laughter. 

You were inseparable then, and nothing had changed in all these years. 

Cassian scrunched up the wrappers and tucked them away, comfortably quiet amongst the trembling ship and rumbling howls of outside. “Lay down,” he spoke, and his affectionate tone didn’t hide that it was a command.

You were far too tired and sore to dispute it even if you wanted to. You shrugged off your jacket and bundled it up into a makeshift pillow and curled up instantly. The jacket didn’t quite give your sore neck the support it needed, so you settled an arm under your head in a feeble effort to relieve the strain and quietly watched the ruby outline of his silhouette bustling around the ship. He flicked switches and secured latches as he went, locking the vehicle down as far as he could before flicking off that little red bulb too.

Darkness flooded the space and your attention shifted to the metallic steps of his boots.

Somehow, Cassian had gone all this time without needing to know of your fear of the dark. Perhaps because whenever he was around to witness it, it had no power over you. His presence fought off the fears every time and now was no different, even with the howls of the thunder, the wind and rain that jostled the ship, the knowledge of the Empire flying overhead. None of it could touch this space with a single ounce of fear. Cassian was here.

His footsteps slowed as he neared where he’d remembered the mattress was, and you gave a soft hum to help with his locating. He caught on to where exactly you were and perched on the end of the mattress, a clumsy hand reaching out until he found where your shoulder lay. He shifted to lay down beside you and pressed in close without any hesitation. The routine was natural by now.

“Is your neck okay?” His accent twirled through the air, his voice velvet as he pulled off his own coat and draped it over both your torsos.

“It will be,” you murmured. Sleep tugged at the corner of your mind but you pushed it away to absorb these moments. It was this kind of interaction that made this lifestyle worth it. You and Cassian against the elements together. Against the odds.

A mellow breath pushed from his lungs. “Come here.” He didn’t give a chance for you to respond before he slipped his arm under your neck, easily bringing your head to rest in the crook of his shoulder, bicep supporting your injury as he took your jacket-pillow to support his own head. You tugged the hem of his makeshift coat-blanket to your chin and bundled in closely, eyes fluttering shut to focus on that familiar, safe scent.

He always smelled the same, whether he’d just cleaned or not. He smelled as if he’d carried the forests of Kenari with him all these years, and yet the mustiness of ships and adventure had sunk into his hair and clothes. Home.

“Mn. Thanks, Cas,” came your voice, riding out on a content sigh that could have easily been part of the storm outside. 

But he’d heard just fine. “Don’t thank me,” he mused, voice deepening with weariness. A arm reached across you, and his healing fingers found the nape of your neck. He gave gentle presses and slow rubs across the area, thorough circles, so tender and yet so firm. “I don’t do this out of obligation.”

You shuffled your body closer, pressing in to share warmth. A content hum slipped out when his thumb found a collection of strained muscles and eased away the tightness. “Then why?”

His reply came so gently that if the storm had dared to send you thunder, you would have missed it.

“I want to take care of you.”

Your heart swelled, eyes flying open to try and find his shape in the darkness. You held such love for this man. For your Cassian. It wasn’t even purely romantic- he was so dear to you in every way he possibly could be.

And clearly, he felt the same.

It was rare that he’d be so vocal about his affections. But when he did say them it wasn’t even because he wanted a reaction, or merit, or recognition. Nothing of the sort. It was simply honest, and he’d share it as such.

You weren’t quite sure how to express this with him, so you let your touch wander. Your palm settled on his chest with slow, circular rubs in return, every ounce of your attention focused on sending him to sleep. “You’re too good to me,” you murmured.

“You deserve it all,” came his definitive reply.

Somehow, it brought a pleasant sting of tears to your eyes, so you closed them and basked in the feeling.

Being in Cassian’s arms, in the bubble of this ship inside the storm, protected. Safe. The cold of the cargo bay seeped into the toes of your boots, only serving to remind you how warm the rest of you was when tucked into his side, beneath his coat.

Somewhere along the line, his breathing evened and his fingers stopped massaging, the comforting weight of his forearm settling across the side of your neck. 

Maarva used to worry about his sleeping. When he’d first arrived, he’d fight sleep into the early hours of the morning. It wasn’t insomnia, the doctors had said, it was distrust. Fear.

But that first night he’d joined you on Maarva’s couch, toe-to-cheek, he was out like a light. Since then, you’d struggled to believe he’d ever fought off sleep. Whenever you were there, he’d be gone instantly. Soundly. 

His breathing slipped into those comfortable, dulcet snores. They were so gentle that you wouldn’t be able to hear them over the storm if not for being so close, enough to feel his flow of air flutter over the side of your face.

It was the most soothing, most homely sound you could ever think of. Oft times, laying in your bed alone, you’d imagine his snores beside you so that you could sleep.

This time, you didn’t need to.

Your eyes fell closed again, every inch of your body warm with his presence, and let his snores take you into slumber with him.

When you got to your dreams, he was waiting there.

#cassian andor imagine #cassian andor x reader #andor imagine #diego luna x reader #diego luna imagine #rogue one imagine #cassian x reader #cassian andor #andor #diego luna #please let me know what you think #i need validation to survive #star wars #star wars imagine #written by archie

[hottpinkpenguin]

Reasons, Ch.1 - Cassian Andor series

Female reader insert Summary: You're a droidsmith on Ferrix when a handsome stranger walks in one day with a hopelessly damaged droid. You agree to take on the repairs for the stranger, a decision that will change the direction of your lives forever. Word Count: 1,735 Content Warnings for: canon-divergence

“So… what exactly happened?” you asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow at the customer. He had the look of a hunted man, his dark eyes darting around your repair shop as if he expected the walls to jump out at him.

“I told you already,�� he replied briskly, pushing the droid towards you. “He fell in a… hole. Of sorts.” 

You looked down at the oil-soaked pile of scrap that had at one point been a droid. It was completely motionless on the counter between you and the customer, oil seeping out from under its red plates. 

“Uhuh… a hole… of sorts.” You couldn’t imagine what type of hole could cause a massive degradation of the droid’s central coolant system, but then again, as your father always said, money is money, doesn’t matter where it comes from. 

You looked back up at the jumpy customer again. His eyes were so dark you couldn’t see his pupils in them, his hair disheveled and falling in front of his eyes. Roguishly handsome with the paranoid energy of a criminal. Just your type.

“Can you fix him or not?” he demanded. You detected a hint of desperation in his voice as the man inched the droid forward another few inches. “If not, I’ll take him somewhere else.”

You snorted as you turned on your headlamp and bent over, inspecting the droid more closely. A groundmech salvage unit, you noted. 

“You won’t find anyone else who’ll work on a droid in this condition, I guarantee you that,” you replied. You tested one of the exposed wires at the droid’s ocular sensor: no current. Probably meant the whole internal circuitry was fried. 

“This’ll be an expensive fix,” you noted to the customer with the dark eyes as you continued your inspection. He didn’t react, just shot an impatient look over his shoulder at the shop door. 

“And this is a discontinued model.” You switched off your headlamp, standing up to eye level with the customer. “Might take a few weeks. Parts will need to get shipped in from the Outer Rim.”

“That’s fine,” he replied, running a hand over his beard as he surveyed the droid. “I can pay, whatever it costs.” 

You nodded, pursing your lips. “Yeah, everyone says that. I’m talking more credits than most people make in a lifetime, a few thousand at least. Honestly, this droid is better off as scrap.” 

The dark-eyed customer fixed you with a hard stare. You narrowed your eyes in response, your hand flicking towards the blaster you kept strapped to the underside of the counter in front of you. 

“He’s not scrap,” the man uttered, his voice dropping low. “His name is B2. And like I said, I can pay. Doesn’t matter the cost. Just get it done.”

You studied the man the way your father had taught you, soaking in the details you’d overlooked when he first walked in. There was a faint scar at his hairline above his right eyebrow: a blaster shot, and an old one, based on how faded the scar was. He was dressed in unremarkable clothing, practical and weathered. His hands were splayed out on the edge of the counter, steady and relaxed, although you didn’t doubt that if you moved for your weapon he’d outdraw you easily. The nervous energy that had kept him on tenterhooks since he’d strode into the shop was gone; he held your gaze with a cold and calm detachment. 

After a few moments, you nodded your agreement, lifting the droid and placing it on the workbench behind you. 

“Check back in two weeks,” you told him as you opened the ledger you used to keep track of your customers. “Name?”

The dark-eyed man hesitated before he replied. “Andor. Cassian Andor.” 

You nodded, jotting his name and the droid’s model and serial number on the ledger. 

“Alright Cassian. Two weeks. I’ll be able to give you a better estimate once I can take this guy apart and look at what’s going on.”

Cassian held your gaze for a moment before he turned and left. Your eyes followed him out, noting the way he looked both ways down the street before darting out of the shop. The door clanged closed behind him, leaving you and the silent droid alone in the dim light of your shop.

----------

Two weeks to the day later, and the bell for the shop door rang, interrupting your concentration. You looked up to see a familiar pair of dark eyes. 

“How’s my droid?” Cassian asked you. His voice sounded thin and watery, and you noticed dark purple circles under his eyes.

“Better than you, it looks like.” 

Cassian chuckled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes and slid off his face as quickly as it arrived. 

You motioned for Cassian to walk around the corner of the counter and follow you to the backroom. He did so, his movements smooth and cat-like. You turned on the bank of lights that illuminated the large, cluttered workroom. Your re-programmed pilot droid turned shop assistant X8 chirped at you by way of greeting. 

You led Cassian to a table towards the center of the room, where B2 was tipped on his side with his red body plating removed. 

“I thought you fixed droids, not stripped them,” Cassian observed. Even through the exhaustion, you could hear his attempt at humor. You laughed a bit louder than the weak joke warranted. Cassian smiled in response, a bit warmer this time, and for half a moment he didn’t look so haggard.

“Your droid had a tear in the main coolant coil,” you told him, pointing to a piece of corkscrew-shaped machinery protruding from B2’s central console. “Soaked pretty much everything, so it needs entirely new circuitry. It overheated without coolant and melted through the lubricant tubing. Hence the oil. None of that is too expensive and I’ve got plenty of spare parts. The labor time is what’ll cost you on that end.” Cassian’s expression was serious as he followed your explanation with interest. “But this is a problem.” You held up a flat, dinner-plate sized chip, its surface riddled with metallic wires running through it like veins. The chip was stained dark from the lubricant oil that had coated it, and one edge of the chip was warped from where it had melted. 

“The binary processor,” he commented, his eyebrows knitting together.

You nodded. “You know droids?” Not many people would recognize a binary processor, especially not a half-ruined one. Buried deep in most droids’ mainframe architecture, detaching a binary processor was something only skilled technicians were able to do. 

“Not enough to fix this guy,” Cassian replied, looking down at the disassembled B2. Worry and sadness flickered across his face.

“How much?” he asked after a moment. “How much will it cost?”

“Cassian, these things are worth more than Kaiburr out here.” You handed the ruined binary processing chip to him. He took it gingerly, turning it over and inspecting it carefully. “Take my advice. Scrap it.”

Dark anger flickered in his eyes as he looked up at you.

“I’m not paying you for your advice,” he hissed. “I’m paying you to fix my droid.”

“You’re paying me for my expertise,” you corrected sharply. “And I know droids. This one’s a lost cause. You’ll pay eight times its worth just for that one processing chip.”

Cassian slammed his hands down on the workbench, rattling B2’s disassembled parts and making you jump. X8 squeaked in shock behind you.

“You don’t know what this droid is worth.” Cassian advanced on you, an accusatory finger pointed at your chest. You cursed yourself for leaving the blaster at the front, backing away from him until your backside bumped against the wall. “Name your price and I’ll pay, or I’ll find someone else who will be happy to take my credits!” Cassian was so close you could see flecks of hazel in his irises and feel his breath fan over your face. 

You hesitated, watching as the anger began to dim in his eyes. After a moment, he backed away from you, his hands up in a conciliatory gesture.

“I’m sorry,” he stammered as his gaze dropped to the ground. “I’m… uh-”

“Exhausted,” you volunteered. He nodded heavily, running a hand over his face as if he were trying to wipe away the fatigue. 

“I just… I need him fixed. Please. If you’re able.”

You bit your lip as you considered his request. You’d be able to fix the droid, although you’d be lying if you said you didn’t resent the time and energy it would cost you. Certainly not worth the unremarkable model. 

“Why’s this droid so important to you?” you asked softly. 

Cassian’s expression glazed over like ice as he looked at the heap of parts he was so passionate about resurrecting. “He’s family,” he offered after a few moments of quiet.

You’d met plenty of customers who were dependent on their droids, but it was unusual in Ferrix to find someone soft enough to actually be attached to one. Life on Ferrix was hard, and it didn’t leave a lot of room for sentimentalism. Apparently, Cassian Andor was the exception to that rule. 

You sighed, already knowing that your mind was made up. 

“I’ll fix it,” you said. “I think it’s crazy, and I don’t want to know where you get the credits. I can’t afford to keep this droid at the top of my list, it’ll set me back too far on the other customers. If you can give me a few months and pay me in installments, I’ll do it.” 

Cassian gave you an almost-smile, his shoulders relaxing down from his ears. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, just pay me.” 

He nodded gratefully. “When do you want the first payment?” 

You did a few calculations in your head, quickly running through the anticipated costs as well as your unusually long customer list. 

“Two months.” 

Cassian swallowed his disappointment: he’d clearly been hoping for a faster turnaround. 

“I’ll be here,” he replied, somewhat deflated. He turned to leave. 

“One month,” you called out after him, a small and insistent voice in your head screaming that two months is too long. 

He paused, halfway turning back towards you with the first real smile you’d seen since you’d met. “One month,” he agreed.

This time when he left, he shut the door softly behind him.

*read chapter 2 hereIf you'd like to be tagged in future chapters, please let me know

#cassian andor #cassian andor imagine #cassian andor x reader #cassian andor x you #cassian andor x y/n #cassian andor fanfiction #rogue one imagine #andor fanfiction #diego luna #diego luna x reader #diego luna imagine #diego luna x you #diego luna x y/n

[chasingstardustandmoonbeams]

After

A/N: Repost from my old blog/AO3 account.

When you looked at him you saw a future. When he looked at you, you thought all he saw was the present, only a war to be won. Perhaps he was right. There was no after. Only the small moments that came before the end.

There was one thing you knew to be painfully true. Cassian Andor put the rebellion above everyone, even you. He’d never said it, never alluded to it, but you knew it to be true. You admired him for it, the clear resolve he had. But you couldn’t say you’d felt the same. You’d die for the rebellion, but if it ever came between Cassian’s safety and the rebellion? You’d choose him every time.

You’d fallen in love with Cassian gradually, as you worked away at the walls he’d built up. He was stoic and gruff, but he was also kind and funnier than he’d ever admit. You loved him, fully, completely, but you’d never tell him.

You took a deep breath, your eyes closed as you stretched your neck. You and Cassian were preparing to leave to gather imperial security protocols on a remote planet.

“Are you ready?”

You opened your eyes to find Cassian looking at you. His rich brown eyes showed concern, his lips turned down in a frown.

“I’m fine,” you reassured him, grabbing your bag and heading towards his ship.

“You can stay behind,” he said boarding the ship. “I can do this on my own.”

Resisting rolling your eyes, you placed your bag down. “Of course you can,” you replied, “But what would be the fun in that?” You didn’t miss the way he gave you a pointed glare.

You watched as Cassian readied the ship, his fingers flying deftly over the consol.

“Cassian?” You prodded.

“Mm?”

You sat down next to him in a huff. He glanced at you for a moment before shaking his head.

“Cassian, I’m fine. I just want to make sure we find everything we need to. Honestly.”

He turned to you, clearly not believing you, but choosing to anyways. Without another word, he punched in the coordinates.

Cassian was silent, his eyes steady ahead as the stars raced past you. You chewed on your lip, anxiety beginning to rake over you. You weren’t fine. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen, but you didn’t dare mention it to Cassian. You swallowed thickly, shifting in your seat.

“Have you ever thought about after?” You said curtly, not realizing you had even said the words out loud.

“After?” He replied gruffly.

You turned in your seat to better face him. “After, you know? If we- when we finally win and the Empire is defeated, what will you do then?”

You watched his face. Cassian was remarkably skilled at hiding his emotions, but you could see the slight curl of his lips and the furrowing of his eyebrows.

“No,” he said simply.

You let out a sigh, “No? You’ve never thought about an after? About what you would do or-”

“No.” He paused. “There isn’t a point. I could die today or tomorrow. There’s no point in an after. Only now.”

You stared at him unsure of what to say. “What are you fighting for if not tomorrow?” You asked. “There has to be some light at the end of this, hasn’t there? What was all of this for if there isn’t?”

Cassian stayed silent, his jaw working as if refraining from saying something he might regret.

“What is your after then?” He asked you softly.

You smiled, your eyes crinkling. “To be somewhere quiet, peaceful. Growing old with someone I love. Building a life for myself outside of this, because of this.”

He watched you now, his eyes searching yours in a way that only he could. Cassian opened his mouth to speak, but you had reached your destination.

Wordlessly, you both prepared yourselves. Cassian landed in a secluded area, both of you exiting the ship tentatively.

“We get what we need and leave,” he said shortly, his eyes locked on yours.

The corner of your lips tugged up into a smile, “Yes, Captain Andor.”

If you had blinked you would have missed the bright smile he gave you in return.

You both began your trek to the bottom of the base. Cassian removed an imperial code cylinder he had gathered beforehand opening the door.

Quietly, you both made your way through the base. Cassian took the lead, opening door after door until you found what you were looking for. You’d been too preoccupied to notice the trooper that rounded the corner.

A shot was fired near your head and you ducked. Cassian already firing his blaster in the direction of the trooper.

“Cassian, go! I’ve got this. Get what we need.” You shot down the stormtrooper and watched as Cassian reluctantly left you.

More stormtroopers rounded the corner and you did your best to fight them off. A burning sensation struck you in your side, you let out a cry. With gritted teeth, you rested against a nearby wall as you continued to fire.

Cassian came running to your side, finishing off the last two stormtroopers.

Your knees buckled and you found yourself sliding down the wall until you sat on the floor.

“What? What is it?” Cassian asked you frantically.

You pushed your jacket open, your wound apparent. You smiled without humor, “Oh, I’ve been shot.”

Cassian looked at you desperately, the sound of stormtroopers approaching was not lost on either of you.

“Go, Cassian,” you said softly, “You need to get those protocol codes back to the rebellion. I’ll only slow you down.”

“I’m not leaving you here.”

You looked up at him in surprise, “Cassian, you have to leave me,” you pleaded, “We’ll both die if you don’t.”

“So be it,” he said firmly. Without another word, he lifted you up swinging your arm around his shoulder for support. You clenched your jaw, trying not to cry out in pain.

“Can you still fire?” He asked you as you began to make your way back to the ship.

You answered his question by quickly raising your blaster and firing at a stormtrooper coming towards you.

Cassian led you as best as he could while you fired your blaster away. You were beginning to feel lightheaded, but you tried your best to stay awake.

By the time you finally made it back to the ship, you were beginning to blackout from the pain. You could faintly hear Cassian talking to you as he started the ship, but you couldn’t make any of it out.

You let out a gasp as Cassian’s cold hands began to work at your wound.

“Stay with me,” he whispered desperately. “You’re going to be fine.”

“Cassian,” you mumbled.

“Don’t speak,” his voice broke, as he worked at cleaning your wound.

“Cassian,” you tried again. “I need to tell you something.”

“You can tell me later.”

“No, Cassian.”

His hands stilled as he looked at you, his eyes watering.

“My after?” You took a steadying breath, “I want it with you.”

Tears began to cascade down Cassian’s face, but his expression never changed. You reached out to touch his face, Cassian’s eyes closed as you touched his cheek. His lips quivered as you stroked your thumb gently across his cheek.

Cassian turned his face, kissing your hand gently.

“Stay with me,” he pleaded, “You can make it back and they’ll fix you. I need you.”

Hot tears began to streak down your cheeks, you bit your lip, silently nodding at Cassian.

“Okay?” He asked.

You only nodded your head in reply.

You’d try to hold on for him. For your dream. For your after with him. You just wished the base wasn’t so very far away.

#cassian andor #rogue one #cassian andor x reader #cassian andor imagine #star wars imagine #star wars x reader #rogue one imagine

[rogue-barnes-16]

THE MOMENT THEY KNEW

Summary: Their imminent death brings surprising clarity to both Jyn and Cassian about how they feel about each other. While one of them surrenders to the realization, the other decides to act on it.

Pairing: Jyn Erso x Cassian Andor

Genre: angst

Tags:

Permanent taglist: @notexactlythatgirl @thisismysecrethappyplace @sofreakinmanyfandoms @pizzarollpatrol @bubblycypress87 @1a-girl-has-no-name1 @loislp @lovenaturefirst @dyanna-corona @2ptonpt @goodnightmode @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @mannls @cutie1365 @catch22inareddress @mybooradley @sebastianisasnack @butifulsoul125 @unlikelygalaxygiver @angelh1 @justmebeingtheweirdmeiam

Warnings: major character death, wounds and injuries, mild language, blasters, canon compliant (I feel like that should be a warning tbh)

A/N: Recently read the Rogue One novelisation in hopes of finding a little kiss in the elevator scene. I was so disappointed that I wrote it myself. Enjoy?

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Jyn Erso wasn't stupid. She knew they wouldn't make it.

A part of her was made aware of that the moment K2 had shut the vault's gate. Said part kept growing the higher she climbed.

By the time she, through welled up, defiant eyes, saw Cassian Andor holding up a smoky blaster even though he could barely hold himself up on his feet, she knew.

#star wars masterlist #star wars imagine #rogue one fanfiction #rogue one imagine #rogue one fanfic #cassian andor oneshot #Jyn Erso oneshot #jyn x cassian #jyn erso x cassian andor #rebelcaptain fanfic #rebelcaptain angst #rogue one novelization #cassian andor x reader #cassian andor imagine

[the-marshals-wife]

Nothing Else Matters (Melshi x Reader)

A/N: Sometimes you go looking for a fic and realize you have to write it yourself. Now I'm on program with a majorly fluffy, unexpectedly spicy fic for this absolute darling. Here's looking at you, Melshi girlies (I know you exist). 🤍

Description: Ruescott Melshi x Fem!Reader | Warnings: Star Wars swears, crying, sensuality, and just a mess of kisses (this straight up has some making out, I'm not sorry) | Word count: 1, 504

Gif credit: user tommymilller

Imagine being reunited with your beloved Melshi after thinking you would never be together again

Finding out your blaster was jammed while trying to shoot a mynock off of your power generator was not on your list of plans for the evening. Neither was having to go back inside and spending the last ten minutes trying to get it unjammed.

"Dank ferrik," you grunt, straining to free the frozen safety switch. Stooped over your makeshift cargo crate table, back sore, you reach for the oil can a second time. "Come on..."

You'd tried to console yourself with the fact that you could have discovered the problem while fending off something with more teeth, or something that could shoot back, but your cramping, sore fingers taxed your optimism greatly.

"Don't do this to me." You put another drop of oil around the pin, but your focus drifts to the initials carved into the grip. 'R.M.' Your vision blurs as you push the memories away. "I'm not losing you too."

Despite your exhaustive attempts, the greased switch will not budge. Temper flaring at last, you repeatedly bang it against the side of the crate, "I won't. kriffing. lose. you!"

This last stitch effort does the trick. You exhale as switch moves freely under your thumb. "Finally!"

Your celebration is cut short, however, as you hear an alert chime from the main room. Someone is at the front door.

"What now?" you groan, gripping your blaster and successfully switching the safety off.

Peering from the doorway into the next room, you recognize the sound of the lock releasing.

You duck back out of sight against the wall. Who was slicing in? What did they want? Why would anyone even take interest in your ramshackle dwelling, especially after dark? You'd settled on Ardennia to avoid this kind of attention. Every potential scenario from thieves to Imperials races through your mind, but there is no time to plan and no where to run. This alcove had just your cot, the crate, and no backdoor. All you could do was stand your ground, and pray to the maker that your blaster would not jam again.

The door opens, and swiftly closes again. You still your breathing and listen, but there's nothing to discern. Only the low buzz of the overhead lights and the constant, distant hum of the generator outside. You're about to reveal your presence when the next sound reaches you.

"Y/N?" a voice calls out. One you know as well as your own.

"It can't be..." you say.

Your pulse pounds in your ears you step into view. The figure in the parlor before you removes the hood of their cloak.

Your heart stands still.

"Melshi?"

"Hello, sweetheart," he smiles, misty-eyed, "I'm home."

A sob escapes from your lips. You cast your weapon away and run into his open arms.

"It's you," you weep, burying your face into his shoulder, "I can't believe it's you!"

"It's me," he affirms, rocking you and kissing the top of your head.

You hold onto him as tight as you can, afraid that if you let go, he would be gone, "I thought I'd never see you again."

"Me too," he replies, the words catching in his throat.

At last you let go enough to gaze up into those familiar brown eyes, full of warmth and longing.

"You're more beautiful than in my dreams," he says, caressing your face, "They could never do you justice."

"Oh, my Melshi," you beam, tears rolling down your burning cheeks.

You throw your arms around his neck and pull him into a desperate kiss that he eagerly returns. Tender kisses become more fervent with each heartbeat. You sigh, remembering how much you missed the smell of him and the feeling of his stubble lightly scratching your skin.

The two of you reluctantly stop to breathe, pulling away mere inches.

"I missed you so much," he whispers, his nose grazing yours.

"I missed you. Every single second," you reply.

Your head was spinning not only from the previous moment, but also from the many unanswered questions you'd carried in your aching chest for countless months of surviving all alone.

"Are you alright?" you beg, holding his face in your trembling hands.

"I am now," he chuckled, leaning into your touch and kissing your palm.

You choke back a sob. "Where have you been? What did they do to you?"

His expression hardens, but he continues to rub gentle circles into your back as he speaks. "An Imperial prison on Narkina 5. It was more like a factory. They had us building machinery of some kind. Thousands of us, day and night. I would still be there now if we hadn't escaped."

Horror washes over you. "Escaped? You weren't released?"

"No, they were never going to release us. They gave us sentences to serve, but it was all a lie. They were going to keep us until we died. When someone serves all their days, The Empire just sends them off to another prison somewhere. We only found out by chance, and it all fell apart from there. We fought our way out, but I don't know how many of us made it offworld," he sighed, "We've always known The Empire was corrupt, but it's so much worse than we ever thought."

You stare up at him, panic seizing you, "What are we going to do? What if The Empire comes looking for you? Could they have tracked you here?"

"I was careful. Got my hands on a forged chain code through a friend. It should buy us some time," he assured, "Tonight, we're not going to worry about anything. It's just you and I. Nothing else matters."

"They're not taking you from me again, Ruescott Melshi," you state, anger strengthening your resolve, "I have nightmares almost every night. I see those troopers dragging you away that day. I hate them for making me wonder where they'd taken you or if you were even alive. I am never going through that again, and I am never letting you go."

"You'll never have to," he assures, leaning to rest his forehead upon yours, "I'm here."

You close your eyes, his calm presence comforting you as it always did.

Several moments pass like this before he breaks the silence, "Marry me, Y/N."

"Melshi," you begin, smiling despite yourself.

"I should have asked you before. I was a scared fool, but now I have a second chance, and I won't waste it this time," he confesses, taking your hands in his. "I love you, Y/N. No matter what happens to me or this blasted galaxy, I always will. Whatever fight comes our way, I want to face it with you."

You feel as if your heart will bust. Tears fall from your stinging eyes once more as he presses a kiss to your knuckles.

"Will you have me?"

"Yes, I will," you grin, nodding, "I have been yours from the very start, and every day since. I love you so much."

He beams at your answer, proceeding to pick you up and twirl you in a circle. Your mutual laughter fills the modest room, and when your feet touch back down to the ground, your lips find his again. Muscle memory begins to kick in as you excitedly rediscover each other, both more confident than before. He rests his hand in the small of your back, pulling you close as you run your fingers through his hair. Your eyes flutter as he slowly trails kisses along your jaw to the side of your neck. His longer-than-normal stubble tickles your soft skin there, however, and you can't hold back a giggle.

Red creeps into his cheeks. "Guess I could use a shave," he chuckles.

"Maybe a little," you reply, scrunching your nose, "I actually think you could pull off a moustache."

"Oh, is that so?" he smirks.

"Yeah. Maybe just a little beard." you tease, giving his chin a peck, "I can get used to it."

"We'll have to see about that," he says, giving you a playful look.

"First things first. Let's get some more meat back on your bones," you say, squeezing his arm, "You have to be starving. I bet they fed you bantha fodder in that awful place."

"My love, you have no idea," he smiles through a sigh.

Taking his hand, you lead him over to the narrow kitchen area to sort through what provisions you had.

You were dizzy with joy. Only an hour ago, you were cursing your jammed blaster. Now the love of your life had returned to you, and you were daring to hope for your future. The force worked in such mysterious ways, and you were so grateful it had finally bestowed some favor upon you. Someday, The Empire would pay for its treachery and lies, and you hoped you'd both be there to see it. Until then, you were going to treasure every stolen moment of freedom in your second chance.

#melshi x reader #ruescott melshi x reader #melshi #ruescott melshi #andor #andor x reader #andor imagine #andor fanfiction #star wars imagine #star wars fanfiction #rogue one imagine #rogue one fanfiction #my writing #if melshi has no fangirls then i have died #yes i love metallica why do you ask #half of my fics are named after / inspired by songs lol

[regrettablewritings]

1, 10, 12 and 24 for our grumpy captain of the rebellion Cassian? Thank you in advance!

I mean sure but be prepared for some angst cjefjdsj

1) Something this character is truly proud of: Pride and Cassian have a rather . . . complex relationship. Personally, he likes to think that he’s above that sort of arrogance, though he does unfortunately fall prey to the notion that he’s above others whom he personally deems aren’t “doing their part” in the time of war. After all, even though he’s a very “the ends justify the means” kind of guy, Cassian recognizes that he’s not exactly the nicest person. He’s had to do some pretty messed up stuff in the name of the Rebellion, things he sees as necessary but may deep down come to feel sickly over.

Not that he would let any of that show, of course.

Because at the end of the day, the one thing Cassian constantly holds a candle for is the fact that he’s spent so much of his life fighting for something bigger than himself. Of course, there were periods where he was just going through the motions, times even when he wanted nothing more than to run away from it all. But he’d quickly snap out of that because where could he even run to? Where was there some he could go that was free from the clutches of the Empire? Where could he go where his guilt over abandoning his people wouldn’t find him?

There simply wasn’t. And for a good while, he would feel ashamed for ever having thought of such treason against his crew, only for that to quickly be banished when he gazed upon the tired but determined faces of the Rebellion.

Some of them belonged to those who had been fighting longer than he’d been able to talk. Others were still young, still clinging to a hope that they might know what a galaxy without war looked like. Cassian had to uphold the image of determination, just as he had for all these years as he climbed the ranks.

There wasn’t much that a man like Cassian Andor had to his name. But if there was one thing he could keep with him, it was the knowledge that he was involved in something so massive that only a feeble mind would forget what all was there.

10) How they deal with pain: Oh, Cassian just Does Not, plain and simple. He takes all his pain (physical, mental, and emotional) and represses it like he’s a walking bottle of Daruvvian champagne. He’s been doing it for years and doesn’t plan on weening himself off that mechanism, predominately because he doesn’t see it as an issue. Never mind that it’s extraordinarily unhealthy, likely part of a vicious cycle of trauma, and just adding on to his ever-growing feelings of exhaustion and apathy.

Mon Mothma is, of course, constantly worried and gently tries to mind him about these tendencies but there’s really only so much she can do: How Cassian handles his personal issues is his own problem and unless they’re directly effecting his ability to enact protocol and missions, or are negatively affecting others on a drastic scale, there’s no real easy way to intervene. Not that there’s exactly a whole slew of professional mental help available on a Rebel base. (After all, medical droids can only provide so much help.)

Honestly, it takes the near-death experience on Scarif for Cassian to start opening up more – and it’s unfortunately due to everything crashing down on him, the weight of years of suppression finally becoming too much to bear.

Of course, he doesn’t exactly leap at the opportunity to expel these festering feelings. If anything, he initially is colder now more than ever, insisting that taking it easy even after something so traumatic would just slow them all down “when [they’re] already so close to the end”. Depending on how hard he insists, Mon might actually have to put her foot down and demand that he take time off to at least recover physically.

It would likely be during this recovery time that the visits with droids (and perhaps even a more humanoid specialist) that Cassian would slip in admissions of his thoughts and feelings between questions regarding his wounds. And not just his feelings as of recent – things that had been floating around in the muck of his mind since his youth: Concerns about himself and the future, his fears, his anxieties, how the heat of Scarif still burns at him when he tries to rest. How he was so used to the sound of blaster fire that it used to be white noise – until Scarif.

Part of him doesn’t like admitting these things. But the other part of him doesn’t care: He has to let go of this debris before it drags him in so deep that it would be as though he never left Scarif.

Is he certain he’ll ever leave the sandy beaches of Scarif? He doesn’t know. Isn’t sure he wants to know. But until then, he can’t help but give in to how his chest feels when he admits to the infirmary attendant that in last night’s dream, he didn’t make it off the planet.

It has nothing to do with the healing wound located on his abdomen.

12) How they sleep:

Unless you’re a high-ranking official within the Imperial Forces, there’s a very low likelihood you have what could be considered a decent sleep schedule, let alone sleeping space. Suffice to say, Cassian is like most who’ve gotten themselves involved in the war: He can and will sleep anywhere at any time if necessary. When he’s back on base, of course, there are quarters designated for resting. But sometimes even then he doesn’t make it to his cot: If need be, he will simply sleep in the hangar on his own ship. Wherever he can fit that is out of the way, time permitting, he’s going to find rest.

If he does get to sleep in his own bed, however, he’s very stiff. A back-rester. He really only winds up on his side if he’s had a particularly rough time getting to sleep. That being said, his expression is perhaps the most jarring feature of his: It’s calm for once, but Cassian’s features simultaneously look younger and older.

He looks younger because he’s not trying to force that cold countenance into place, not trying to put on this air of indifference with a devil-may-care attitude. But at the same time, because he’s not fighting back his worries and concerns, the lines that age and weariness carve into the face surface on his skin. The wear of the war blooms to the surface, making him appear somewhat paler with a hint of a furrowed brow. A more romantic-minded Rebel might come upon him and liken him to a sleeping prince . . .

Of course, this disappears the moment he wakes up and can recollect himself, forcing everything into tiptop shape worthy of a captain.

24) What they wish they could change about themselves: What do people think of when they think of Cassian Andor? Some picture a pretty face and a cold heart. Others think of bravery to the point of foolhardiness. The more merciful, however, tend to associate the man with confidence. Captain may not be the highest of ranks, but to rise to the position by one’s mid-twenties wasn’t anything to sniff at, after all: One needed to have plenty of strength to carry around that type of qualifying brass.

This does not mean, however, that there weren’t things Cassian wished he could improve upon.

Unfortunately, these things tended to be oriented around his emotions. More specifically, the ones he felt made him vulnerable. Cassian had never considered himself to be the most emotionally-driven person, even as a child, but why would he want to risk even that much? War was no place for things like berserker tears or savage cries, as often as he found himself laying in his cot at night with the backs of his eyes burning and his throat constricting with need. There were people that depended in the Rebellion, depended on him – he couldn’t let his own personal wants and needs get in the way of that. That would be selfish and, above all else, infinitely stupid.

For Cassian, the ends (no matter how ugly or brutal) justified the means. So if bottling everything he has inside was what it took to get just one step in the right direction, then he would do it.

. . . And then Scarif happened. Boy, did Scarif happen . . .

And for as much as the memories of bombs going off, of blaster fire surrounding him, of a blinding ray hurdling towards the beach rippled throughout his mind, the quiet it left him with was just as jarring. Deafening, almost.

The infirmary wing wasn’t necessarily quiet, per se, but it was nothing when compared to all he’d endured within the span of a few days. Even the bustle of the outside was preferable to this: Just lying there amongst the wounded and those who had been induced into comas to ease their healing process. Amongst the beeping of machinery and droids, the muttering amongst staff, there was just quiet. And Cassian wasn’t used to quiet.

He didn’t even think Jedha had left him with anything but disappointment but even when he managed to still his thoughts about the tropical paradise, memories of the desert moon were right there waiting for him.

Maker, was he always this tired? He didn’t know. And he dreaded to search inward for the answer; he’d gone inward plenty of times already these past few days, and he wasn’t sure he liked what he’d found: Fear, uncertainty, dread, exhaustion. Things a Cassian from the week previous would’ve scoffed at, denied ever feeling, would’ve just put aside before flying off into a storm of TIE-fighter blasts.

But when the Cassian of that moment couldn’t hop into his ship, couldn’t even excuse himself from the bed without medical personnel permission, it forced him to accept that, yes, these things were a part of him. And as much as he wanted to fight back, he just . . . couldn’t.

Maker. Maker, he was so fucking tired. Of this, of everything. And yet, he still wanted for something. Just not this.

It was quiet inside of him, probably the size of a pebble. A seed, really.

He wanted to be at peace with himself. He just wanted to sleep, to heal, to be better than he was before. Not for the sake of his peers (at least, not them alone), but for himself for once. Feeling like this – it didn’t feel filthy, but it did leave him feeling drained. How much of himself had been burned in the process of trying to keep everything down? Once again, he didn’t want to venture inside to know that. It was painful enough to come upon that kernel of acceptance, that he saw himself as broken.

It would take some time – more than he would have preferred, of course – but it would eventually click with Cassian that he was never broken; just human. Not a reprogrammed droid, not just a soldier, but a thinking and feeling human, vulnerabilities and all.

Thank you so much for your patience on this!!!

#me: I think I went too hard on the angst :/ #friend: don't worry people love a sad pretty boy they'll love that #she is not wrong tho #cassian andor hc #cassian andor #cassian andor imagine #cassian andor imagines #character ask meme #regrettablewritings #rogue one imagine #rogue one imagines #star wars headcanons #Star Wars imagine

[andorerso]

Rogue One + completely accurate character descriptions [x]

for @rifle-yes, I hope this is what you had in mind! 💜

#rogue one #rogueoneedit #cr1post #swedit #starwarsblr #thestarwarsdaily #starwarsfilms #starwarshub #swcreators #starwarsedit #filmedit #filmgifs #tuserjyn #tusersimone #usertina #*gifs #*ro #*500 #for some reason cassian's gif failed to upload and i failed to notice and almost posted without it agfgfgf #imagine everyone would have been like why did she leave out her favorite character?? lmao #i was gonna post this a while ago but then the booping and jyn week happened and i decided to wait a bit #not sure about some of the choices but i got a little over-ambitious and wanted to do all of the important characters #and then it got hard to think of different stuff 😭

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Danny jumps ship after defeating Clockwork and altering spacetime, thus technically wiping his own existence from aforementioned timeline.

Now Danny is living in another dimension with no one, not even Clockwork himself knowing who, what or where he is.

Whats more is that this city, Gotham had heros of its own so Danny didn't need to step up anymore...but...Danny remembers being a hero. He remembers being under appreciated and worn down. He remembers wishing someone would smile at him and thank him for protecting them.

And so he wrote a bat a letter. You could call it fan mail. He made sure each was personalized for each specific hero and he would tell them exactly what he thought was cool about them or would talk about the stuff they did recently. He would always leave the letters on thier patrol routes, using his powers and cunning to not get caught.

So why were they looking for him so desperately? Did he do something wrong?

#dp x dc #prompts #fanfiction prompts #batman #danny phantom #danny fenton #dc batman #batfam #batfamily #everyone thinks its cute until he starts mentioning things they did the other night #dick isnt even immune dispite being in bludhaven most of the time #tim is getting flack saying hes going to have an apprentice soon #imagine if one if the rogues found out and targeted Danny

[deimcs]

DRAGON AGE: ORIGINS companions + the Grey Warden armor.

#daedit #daoedit #dragonageedit #gamingedit #dragon age #dragon age origins #dao #edits #alistair theirin #loghain mac tir #leliana #morrigan #wynne #zevran #oghren #wanted to go with a more complicated edit #like the ones i make on main but you know what #they all deserve their nice lil spot #the helmets are not showing but please imagine all the mages and rogues with their funky little hoods #and the warriors looking absolutely serious in their winged commander hats #my warden was just there losing her mind #cause you know we SPLURGED on these matchy matchy sets #rip to sten dog and shale who wore it in spirit ok

[blog-of-gourd]

what if mr sands was scary

(ID in ALT.)

#sso #starshine legacy #star stable online #my art #sso fanart #mr sands #garnok #for the record THERE IS NO COMIC THIS IS A HYPOTHETICAL COVER #click here to get a free octopus god delivered right to your doorstep! #idk i just like to imagine that mr sands isnt just a random henchman to garnok but is like a seperated bit of him with a specific function #kind of like if the zooids of a siphonophore could act independently while still being connected to the main body through a mental link #ever since i played ssl for the first time ive thought of sands as just an extension of garnok #and considering that mr sands is the only piece of garnok capable of moving freely the remaining body should act as the 2nd in command #you dont want the one guy who can free you going rogue and falling in love with some earthling and having a child with them now would you

[l3irdl3rain]

How is my best friend Arthur has he helped you baldur any gates

He’s been good! My washing machine broke last week and I hauled it out the other day in preparation for the new one and he’s been loving his new Top Secret Hiding Spot.

We are taking a little bit of a Baldur’s Gate break right now just because I was getting burnt out. We’re slowly making our way through Mass Effect Andromeda for the second time. I’m very excited to get back to BG3 tho.

I left off right at the start of Act 2. I’m playing a Githyanki monk named Ez’rai and spent way too much time coming up with a backstory for them. I’m going to be romancing Wyll this time. I think Ez’rai growing up in such a harsh culture that didn’t have room for soft romance will go together in such a fun and cute way with Wyll. A noble’s son who is just so sweet and romantic and good.

#been too busy to play much vidya games the past week or two #I spent SO much time on DND wiki #and I feel like it’s plausible with the already set lore. which obviously doesn’t really matter bc it’s just for fun #but it’s important to me that it feels plausible lol #their crèche went rogue. anti Vlaakith teachings as well as teaching that the githzerai and githyanki should reunite #to have a better chance of defeating the mindflayers #for obvious reasons Vlaakith was NOT a fan of this #Vlaakith sent people to destroy the crèche and Ez’rai was one of the only ones who survived #all the survivors eventually either died or ended up split up somehow #makes for an extra interesting dynamic with Lae’zel and also Orpheus (even tho I have to imagine it all in my head lol) #anyways BG3 was my first introduction to DND lore so if you’re a seasoned pro and this seems so far fetched to you I’m sorry #I’m just having fun with my blorbos #my post #Arthur #ask

[archieimagines]

finally | cassian andor

Summary: Cassian Andor is the bane of your existence. He’s your rival in theft, always getting the good ships before you, always making more money in selling to Bix. Finally, you get there first— but of course he’d come to ruin your day.

warnings: blood, injury, needle and stitches. enemies to lovers un-enemies trope. read this to listen to me pretend to know about spaceships. word count: 3030 requested by: anon author’s note: thank you so much for this brilliant idea, anon! you may be able to tell i got carried away. i had a lot of fun with this. requests for andor are wide open! written by: archie

Finally, this one was yours.

You couldn’t help feeling a little giddy. This star yacht was definitely on the higher end of luxury, and it’d been sat unmanned on the outskirts of town for five days straight. Sure, it’d been purposely tucked away amongst sandy cliffs to hide it, but as per the general moral code, five unattended days on a ship put it on the illegal scavenger’s market. Fair’s fair. You thieves weren’t monsters, after all.

Your expert fingers worked swiftly with a wedge tool on lifting the panels from the front of the space vehicle to get at all those glorious parts inside. With a satisfying click, the central panel popped free.

The sun was just peering over the horizon to light your focus, all that treasure lit up in the golden light.

Your smile lit up too. Finally. A haul that was all yours. For once, it was so worth it to wake up before sunrise. No one to watch out for, not even that stupid, arrogant, condescending-

“What have we got here?”

You stopped in your tracks, fingers itching to get inside the engine.

That voice.

Infuriating.

He painted his words like a casual conversation. Like this was a joint effort. Like you hadn’t specifically woken up this early just to beat him to this goldmine. You’d barely slept last night for the excitement of finally bringing in a collection worth a good wad of cash, and yet he had the gall to pop up beside you and peer over your shoulder.

You reeled on him, fire in your eyes and sharp wedge in your hand. “Andor. Get out of here.”

He had the balls to laugh. He treated this so light, like you hadn’t been so determined to finally outdo him. “And leave you to carry all this back by yourself? I couldn’t possibly.” He had this irritating skill in being rude while being perfectly within his bounds. He simply reached past you without concern for your threat, rapping his knuckles lightly on various parts tucked away. “There’s a lot of good stuff here. Nice condition, too. We can’t take all of it, of course, we don’t want an angry holidaymaker stuck on our planet-”

“You’re taking none of it.”

“-But we can take the extras. Let me see…”

He bent at the waist to lean over the hole of the removed panel, reaching in and feeling around without so much as a blink at you.

That was it!

You jabbed the wedge into his ribs.

His arm retracted so quickly to protect his side, and he finally turned to you with narrowed eyes and a furrowed brow as he rubbed his side over his coat. “Agh! What the-!? What was that for?”

“Shut up, I barely touched you.” You couldn’t keep the smugness from your voice as you nudged him aside, away from your engine, and promptly took his place to rummage around inside instead. It’s true, you wanted him to feel that jab even despite his coat. It was kinda hard.

“You want it so bad that you’re gonna stab me?”

“Don’t cry on my engine, you’ll rust it.”

There was no time for this chitchat. You dipped into your belt for a different removal tool, starting work right away. You wouldn’t remove anything integral: those parts weren’t worth much anyways. But the fuel ignition stabiliser… Oh, yes. It was a luxury. Gave the journey the smoothest ride possible. No clattering, no trembling of the ship. It’d be four or five thousand credits, easily.

If only it wasn’t so damn hard to remove.

You were hyper aware of Andor watching your every move, even if you were shoulder deep inside the machine. His stare didn’t make reaching around components easier in the slightest, and your arm was bent at an awkward and supremely uncomfortable angle- but you wouldn’t let him know that. He’d just take over, for sure.

But when the corner of your palm nicked on sharp metal, you couldn’t hide the wince.

“Look, you’re going to injure yourself. Let me. Move over.”

“Not likely.”

“I’ve been doing this longer than you. I can easily-”

“Exactly! So you should give someone else a chance.” You tried not to let your voice strain from the effort of pulling out the stabiliser, especially with the fresh scratch to your palm. This was not easy, and he was really just making you frantic with his presence.

“Whenever I give you a chance, something ends up damaged!” Ah, there it was. That familiar exasperation, delivered with a growl in his accent. This was the Andor you knew best-- the one that hated you right back.

You paused, face turned to glare up at his impatient eyes. “Sir. I don’t damage shit.”

“If that makes you feel better. Come on, just-” His fingers reached into the hatch and closed around your forearm, a gentle squeeze and tug to your limb.

That was it. You saw red.

“Don’t you manhandle me- AH!” You whipped your arm out to shove him back a pace-- But it caught nastily on that jagged piece of metal. It snagged down the side of your palm, causing a deep, pulsing gash. There was no way you could shove him back with that hand.

Your face paled as you dropped your tool and blinked at the thick ooze of red that trickled down the side of your wrist, quickly soaking your sleeve. It stung like nothing you’d handled before, eyes watering, head pounding. You couldn’t help but stare at it, trembling.

But Andor was on it. He wasted no time in ripping along the bottom of his shirt for a makeshift bandage, wasted no time in chastising you. “Dank farrik, you really-! You’ve outdone yourself this time.”

“Me!? This was all you!”

“Oh, don’t give me that.” Skilled hands wound the bandage around your cut far too tightly to be comfortable, and you winced. But he paid no mind, quiet in his concentration as he worked. His aura had changed, as if his head was now cut off from communication. He was too focused, brimming with a panic that he kept silent.

Something told you there was no speaking to him now. Even if you tried to reason that you’d had so much worse many times, his tunnel vision was fixed on stenching the bloodflow. He tied the bandage off, clasping your hand firmly in both of his, raised between your faces to make sure it was above your heart. You had to actively try not to yelp from the pain of his care, but something about the urgent responsibility he demonstrated was so sincere.

He really was doing his best for you. You almost felt bad for blaming him.

His eyes were so focused, his lips pressed together in a concentrated line. There was no trace of that demeaning, condescending asshole you were used to. Something about this… Hm. Perhaps he wouldn’t be a terrible-

No, don’t think like that, you chastised yourself, peeling your gaze from his face. You couldn’t let yourself see him like that. He’d made your life hell for years.

Though the pain was dulled with the pressure of his hold, you were far from fine. The blood may have slowed, but it soaked the ends of his own sleeves now, too, and continued to spread.

“Let’s get you back home. You need medical attention.”

“But the stabiliser-”

“No. Home. Let’s go.” He didn’t drop your hand as he took a step away, leading you back towards the centre of the town, but you dug your heels into the sand.

“No, just- Quickly! You do it, we can go half-”

He jerked you close, face leaning to yours. Your eyes grew wide at this proximity- he’d never been this close before. The warm hues of his eyes caught the rising sunlight, lashes casting delicate shadows over his irises.

Despite how your memories always painted him, they were kind eyes. Honest ones. It was his furrowed brows that reminded you how sharp his will was, and the growl of his accent rolled over his words as he hissed.

“Listen to me. There will be more ships, but there will not be more hands. I’m taking you home, and for once you’re not going to argue with me.”

The bleeding had finally stopped by the time he’d taken you to his home. Certainly, you’d have preferred some professional medical care, but this would have to do. Besides, it’s not like what you were doing to get this gash was particularly legal.

He settled you onto the couch before bustling around you, picking up supplies and towels and wipes as he went, soon appearing beside you with a tray of items to help, including a bowl of fresh water and…

“A needle? There’s no chance. You’re not stitching me up, Andor.”

“I am. Bee, come over here.”

A squat little red box rattled to life from the other side of the room and rolled up to Andor’s feet on treads, clattering the whole way. “C-C-Cassian! That was much q-quicker than usual.”

“I didn’t get the parts. There was an accident.” Andor placed the tray atop the droid’s flat head and the circle lens turned to you instead, honing in on the blood.

“Oh n-n-no, there has been bodily damage to your friend. I can aid.” The droid either ignored your grumble of something about ‘not friends’ or just didn’t receive it. It let a hatch fall open, revealing a collection of packaged gauzes. You marvelled at his endearingly happy disposition, despite the broken antiquity of his model, obvious wiring problems, and living with this man. You already knew you liked him more than Andor.

“Thanks, Bee,” the man said, surprisingly gentle hands taking your arm. He was clean now, coat removed and hands sanitised to peel open the soaked fabric wrapped around your wound. It stuck to your arm hairs from how it’d begun to dry and you winced as it tugged from your skin, but this didn’t knock his concentration.

He eyed the open injury for a moment in silence. The soft sounds of the city waking up outside was muffled against the windows, the bell sounding for the residents to begin their day. And yet, you’d already had too much of this man for the whole week.

But, he was doing you a favour. So, you pressed your lips into a line and arched a brow as he investigated your wound like it was life or death, even though you honestly found the aching sting pretty manageable. You tried to keep your patience in line, you really did. But it was almost like he was specifically taking as long as he could. “You gonna do something about it or not, Andor?”

The sharpness of your tone didn’t bother him in the slightest. “Cassian,” he said.

“What?”

“Just call me Cassian. It’s not like you don’t know me.” He was so matter-of-fact as he spoke, turning away to dunk a clean cloth into the bowl of warm water, and you had to briefly wonder if he had no idea that you hated him.

Pft, of course he knew. But he really chose not to entertain it. He belittled it, even. Somehow, that made you hate him even more.

“I don’t know you.”

He let a trickle of water drip from the rag, holding it over the wound along your palm to loosen up the dried blood; the sting earned a hiss from you, but he didn’t bat an eyelid. “We’ve been bumping into each other since we were teenagers. I know where you live and you’re in my house right now. My mother knows your name. You know me.”

Okay, that was true. You searched for a way to dispute him, but you had nothing. Andor really knew how to- Cassian. Cassian really knew how to talk people into a corner. Infuriating.

“Fine.”

“You should say it.”

“Say what?”

“My name.”

You blinked at him, but he didn’t look at you. He was ridiculous. Methodical as ever, he dipped the cloth back into the water before closing it properly around the side of your palm with a wet squeeze.

A sharp stab of pain.

“Ow, Cassian! Gentle!”

His gaze finally raised to yours, and there was a cheeky light to them that matched the slightest upward quirk of his lips. He’d done that on purpose. “Quiet. Maarva’s sleeping.”

“You’re an ass.”

“So you always tell me.”

You let that one slide, quietly amused.

Somehow, it felt like a bubble had burst as he continued cleaning your wound. He was gentle with you, focused but not nearly so intense, and an easy silence lapsed between the two of you. The negative energy had given out into something else-- Somehow, you couldn’t find it in you to be at his throat like before. You must’ve upgraded to handling Cassian instead of Andor, you mused.

His eyes flashed up to yours, seeking any pain. You held his gaze for the shortest moment before turning it back to your wound, somehow embarrassed to look into the uncharacteristic tenderness of those windows. Satisfied that he wasn’t hurting you, he continued with delicate dabs.

Perhaps you’d made up Andor, this arrogant, cold asshole who’d been your rival for eons; Now, you were seeing past it. Seeing the human he actually was. Perhaps not flaunting of his kind nature, perhaps a little guarded, but peaceful. Cheeky, but by no means cruel.

You watched his hands work expertly with yours. One held your hand, thumb linked with yours, the other so careful with the cut running towards your pinky finger. They were a worker’s hands, a little calloused and rough in handling, but you could easily see how gentle he was trying to be. Taking it slow and steady, careful not to hurt.

“Okay, it’s clean. Can I stitch it?” Those eyes on yours again. Deep but cautious. He reached for the needle, medical thread already attached, and showed it to you.

You swallowed and peered down to the gash. Ah, it really was a deep one, it’d scar for sure. It needed all the help it could get. “You know what you’re doing?”

He nodded, the ghost of a laugh to his voice as he recalled his tens of incidents. “I have done this many times.”

“... Be careful.”

He got to work instantly, taking your hand in his and turning the cut upwards, holding it firm to keep it still. He glanced at the tip of the needle, brought it to your flesh and--

You couldn’t watch. You focused instead on his crown of messy hair. Warm brown, some strands lifted to look golden in the shine of the morning light. You could so easily reach out and touch it, see if it was as soft as it loo-

The prick of pain from the needle. You winced, but tried hard to be still for him, desperately focusing your attention on how those gorgeous locks might fall through your fingers if you touched them, how they’d differ to the coarser hair of his beard in your touch.

You gave a sigh. It was happening. You couldn’t push it away anymore.

People had told you for years that you clearly had a crush on this man, and you were adamant that you did not. He’d been the bane of your existence. He was the worst part of salvaging and stealing components. If you bumped into him, it’d ruin your whole day and you wouldn’t be able to shake him from your thoughts for hours. His annoying tone of voice, the haughty way he’d offer to help you.

But that wasn’t the truth. You’d always painted it so negatively, always convinced yourself that’s what it was. Hate. But honestly, you just never wanted to give into what you hated to admit.

And now, here, on his couch with a B2 unit watching, he’d shattered your narrative to pieces.

You felt things for him, and not in the way you wanted.

“And… Done.” He reached aside for scissors to cut the thread, dabbed a clean, dry cloth to any specs of blood that tried to seep out, and scrutinised his work. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? You did well.”

His eyes fixed on you again, relieved and expectant. He was so genuine. How hadn’t you seen it before?

You cleared your throat and diverted your eyes to your hand, inspecting his repairs. It really did look good. The gash was pulled closed and the stitches were evenly spaced and clean; a professional couldn’t have done it much better.

“Hm. Not quite as terrible as I’d expect.” Your words were softer than your usual insults. You couldn’t find it in you right now to be sharp.

But even so, he gave a low chuckle. “You’re welcome. Let me cover it.” He took a packaged gauze from the droid’s hatch and tore it open with his teeth-- A shock to your tummy told you that you found it attractive. It was lucky he was engrossed with attaching it to your wound, or he would’ve caught the way your ears flushed pink.

Quick moments passed, and he sat up straight with his lips caught in a kind smile. “Good as new.”

Your hand still rested in his. You were hyper aware of the warmth of it, the feeling of his skin, and it took everything in you not to disturb the moment with the indulgent caress you craved, in case he let go.

This was too hard. You hadn’t banked on facing something like this when you woke up this morning. You shared a reluctant smile.

His demeanour changed instantly. His eyes flickered between your palm and your face, words urgent with worry. “What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing, Cassian. Do you think the yacht is still there?”

“It might be.”

You sighed inwardly. Perhaps it was finally time to let go of your grudge and see him for who he was.

You shone a daring smile, a buzz in your veins at the prospect of calling an end to your rivalry.

“... Wanna go half with me?”

#cassian andor imagine #cassian andor x reader #andor imagine #rogue one imagine #cassian x reader #cassian andor #andor #diego luna #diego luna imagine #diego luna x reader #star wars #star wars imagine #written by archie #cassian andor one shot

[hottpinkpenguin]

Reasons, Ch.5 - Cassian Andor series

Female reader insert Summary: You're a droidsmith on Ferrix when a handsome stranger walks in one day with a hopelessly damaged droid. You agree to take on the repairs for the stranger, a decision that will change the direction of your lives forever. A/N: sorry for the delay on posting this! i hit a bit of writer's block but slowly working my way through it Word Count: 1,951 Content Warnings for: canon-divergence; cursing Taglist: @mithicakurogo @nonniecannie @freerangesweets @zbeez-outlet @chicken-fifi @queerponcho @theatergirlmgm

Cassian gave one more scan of the darkened street before motioning you to follow him. You followed close behind, his wariness setting your nerves on edge. The outskirts of Niamos’ capital city were deserted, only the distant sound of ocean waves lapping at a shoreline and the occasional gentle breeze rustling the large fronds of the palm trees above. You’d been walking for hours, darting from one abandoned alley to the next, tracing Cassian’s footsteps carefully and taking your cue from him. Every muscle and bone in your body felt heavy like lead. 

As if he could read your thoughts, Cassian turned to you. “It’s just up there,” he whispered, pointing to a small, nondescript building nestled between a holovid shop and a grocer, both storefronts darkened and empty. You nodded, grateful to think you might be able to rest soon. 

Cassian reached back with his left hand until his fingers found your wrist, gently twining around it. He darted across the dim street, tugging you behind him protectively. When the two of you finally reached the doorway, Cassian dropped the pack from his back and began rummaging through it, looking for a key you assumed. 

“Hey there! You two!”

You jumped as a distant voice split the quiet of the sleeping, semi-abandoned street. Cassian froze, both of you exhausted from running and hoping against hope that you weren’t hitting this roadblock mere inches from safety.

“It’s past curfew! What are you doing out here? Get your identification out!”

Shit. You saw the same panic in Cassian’s eyes as he met yours. 

“City security,” he murmured. He rose from a crouch on the front step, looking over your shoulder in the direction of the voice. The hair on the back of your neck prickled, but for some reason you couldn’t bring yourself to turn and face the threat. 

“What are we going to do?” you hissed. By now, the Empire would have your identities flagged across the galaxy. Showing your identification now would render your harrowing escape from Ferrix completely irrelevant. Niamos security would hold you until the Empire collected you, and from there…

You swallowed thickly, trying to hold onto logic as you felt your hands begin to shake. 

“Do you trust me?” Cassian murmured as he gently pulled you between him and the doorway, out of the line of sight of the approaching guard.

“You two! Identifications!”

The voice was louder now as the guard drew closer. Cassian gently gripped your chin, guiding your face back to meet his gaze. 

“Y/n, do you trust me?” he repeated. 

You sighed in frustration. “Cassian, do you think if I didn’t trust you that I would be here ri-”

Before you could finish, his lips crashed against yours, swallowing the remainder of your rhetorical question. You tried to pull back in momentary surprise, a squeak of shock loosing form your throat, but you felt Cassian gently press himself against you, flattening your back against the doorway of the building behind you. He raised his right arm and rested it on the wall next to your face, hiding your face from the flashlight beam of the security guard.

Your thoughts scattered as adrenaline surged in your blood, a mix of fear and thrill. You hesitated for only a moment before you returned Cassian’s kiss. His lips were warm and soft, the rhythm of his kiss felt as natural as your own heartbeat. You felt his free hand come to rest against your hip, pulling your pelvis away from the wall and into his embrace. Your heart stuttered in your chest at the sensation, and you let yourself melt further into Cassian’s warmth.

“‘Ey! You two! I said, identifications!”

The guard couldn’t have been more than ten paces away now. The sound of his voice felt like an anchor, dragging you down out of the bliss of the moment. A surge of resentment flooded your stomach as Cassian broke the kiss. He didn’t move his arm from the wall next to your face, and you noticed the way he shifted his body to keep you obscured from the guard’s light.

“S-sorry sir!” Cassian called back, his words slurred. He swayed unsteadily on his feet. For half a breath, you wondered if it was the kiss that had undone his composure. You knitted your brows in confusion as he continued to teeter like a tree caught in a strong wind. Cassian caught your eye and winked at you, a half smirk lighting up his handsome face. 

“We… we-uh… we’re just-” Cassian’s voice was thick and halting, as if his tongue had swelled up. You watched as Cassian fumbled goofily with the pocket at the side of his pants. 

“Where are you two coming from then?” The guard kept approaching, although his demanding tone had been replaced by a calmer wariness.

Cassian fiddled futilely with his pocket, turning half-round to face the guard. You hid your face from the direct light, tucking yourself under the shadow of Cassian’s still-raised arm. 

“We were…uhm, damnitall,” Cassian cursed under his breath as he continued to pluck futilely at the snap on his pocket, “-at the Graalon Cantina.” 

The pieces clicked into place at Cassian’s words. His slurred speech, exaggeratedly uncoordinated movements, the lie about being at a cantina: he was pretending to be drunk. Finally understanding the ploy, you reached around his waist and yanked him against you with what you hoped was a convincingly reckless display of abandon.

“C’mon baby,” you pouted, trying to mimic Casian’s imitation slurring. “Where’s the keys?”

Cassian shot you a sidelong look of surprise, a flicker of delight in his dark eyes. 

“Sshsssh, c’mon, getyer identificashun out,” he replied, his tongue stumbling expertly on the consonants. Over his shoulder, you heard the guard chuckle. 

“Graalon Cantina, eh? Sounds like a fun night.” The guard’s previously commanding bark had softened, and you heard him chuckle knowingly. Your heart leapt at the thought that he might actually be falling for it. 

“Hopefully i’ssnot over yet,” Cassian called back, earning a louder guffaw from the guard. You let out a giggle, adding a hiccup at the end for effect. Even though it was an act, your heart skipped a beat at the implications of Cassian’s smart retort. Don’t be so desperate, you chided yourself, trying to stay focused on selling the lie for the guard. 

“Alright, well listen, it’s well past curfew. Normally I’d have to issue you both citations, but I hate to ruin the fun. Is this your place?” 

“Yessir,” Cassian replied. His head had dipped down towards yours, a few locks of his dark hair falling loose 20forehead. You could see his individual eyelashes from this distance, hear the sound of his breath. Taking advantage of the scene that you’d set up for the guard, you let yourself lean into Cassian, catching his lips in yours again. This time, it was Cassian who was surprised, his reaction delayed but greedy. You felt a flush stain your cheeks and throat to think that there was a total stranger watching the fun. Is this your place?” 

“Alright you two, get in there before I have to give you a second citation for public indecency. Don’t let it happen again.” 

You felt yourself relax at the guard’s words. Cassian smiled, fighting down the note of relief as he replied gratefully. The surge of relief numbed the accuracy of his faux-drunk slurring, but the guard didn’t seem to notice. You watched as the beam moved down the street, the guard’s footsteps fading, leaving you and Cassian a quiet darkness against the doorway. When you could no longer hear his boots on the cobbled street, you and Cassian let out a unified shaky exhale.

“That was genius,” you murmured, a note of awe saturating your words. You caught a glimmer in Cassian’s eyes even in the darkness. You hoped he would lean in and kiss you again. But instead, he stepped away from you, dropping his gaze and clearing his throat in embarrassment. 

“I’ve always been a good actor,” he mumbled, raking a hand through his hair as if trying to shake off a weird dream. Your hopeful heart crumpled in your chest. An act, that chastising voice reminded you. That’s all it was. 

You swallowed, trying to wipe the breathlessness off your face as you nodded in agreement, straightening and stepping aside from the door. Cassian returned to his pack, fishing through its contents as an awkward silence stretched between you two. He finally withdrew a small scramble key, its side marked with the red starbird symbol of the Rebellion. You watched as Cassian slotted it into the keyhole at the door. With a soft click, the door sprang open an inch, revealing a pitch blackness in the interior of the building. 

“This is an old Resistance safe house,” Cassian whispered as he pushed open the door and beckoned you inside. You obliged, barely registering his words as you tried to settle your mind. The inside of the house was so dark you couldn’t see anything. You shuffled in as far as you dared, leaving enough room for Cassian to crowd in behind you. He did, letting the door shut out the soft noises of the night. In the total darkness inside, all you could hear was two sets of breathing as Cassian fumbled along the walls next to the door, searching for a lightswitch. 

“Why are you so hellbent on helping me?” The question slipped out of your mouth before you had a chance to stop it. Something about the fading adrenaline of the kiss mingled with the sting of your hurt pride at Cassian’s rebuke made you bold. It didn’t hurt that you couldn’t see him either. You weren’t sure you wanted to know what expression he was wearing at that moment. 

There was a moment of heavy quiet as nothing but the sounds of your breaths hung in the empty entryway. 

You heard a soft click as the lights flicked on. The hallway stretched out long in front of you, a row of windows visible at the back of the house. Beyond the windows, you could see a very dim horizon over an expanse of ocean. Niamos was primarily an ocean planet, although you hadn’t realized how close you’d been to the shore outside in the darkened city street. 

Across the foyer, Cassian was staring at you. His eyes looked haunted and heavy. He moved towards you a fraction of an inch, his hand twitching at his side as if he were going to reach out and touch you. Your heart twisted with restless hope. But something stopped him, his movement freezing and extinguishing as his face contorted slightly from something painful you couldn’t see. When he spoke, the intensity in his voice hit you like a ton of bricks. 

“I’ve got my reasons,” he replied cryptically before he picked up his pack and disappeared down the hall, turning right at the end and climbing up a stairway you couldn’t see. 

“You take the downstairs bedroom,” he called back to you. “We should only be here for a few days before I can get you safe passage to Coruscant.”  His footsteps faded into the recesses of the house, which was apparently much larger than the unassuming doorway let on. You heard the soft thud of a door closing, plunging you into a lonely silence. You stayed rooted to the spot in the entryway, grappling with the realization that you were no longer content to let Cassian say goodbye…

*read chapter 6 here! If you'd like to be tagged in future chapters, please let me know

#cassian andor x you #cassian andor #cassian andor fanfiction #cassian andor x reader #cassian andor imagine #rogue one cassian andor #rogue one imagines #rogue one fanfiction #rogue one imagine #andor imagine #andor fanfiction #diego luna #diego luna x reader #diego luna x you #diego luna x y/n #diego luna imagine

[indigo-casson]

something that i've been thinking about lately is the parallels between star wars: andor/rogue one and tamora pierce's trickster's queen duology. primarily because the star wars brainrot is real and the tamora pierce obsession is forever, but also because they are kind of both tonal and thematic departures from their main 'verses in some similar ways?

in both the star wars verse and the tortall verse, the majority of the media has focused on one individual (or a small group of individuals) who make a profound difference in the world. Whether that's alanna singlehandedly finding the dominion jewel/becoming king's champion/making way for female knights, or luke skywalker blowing up the death star, or daine and numair going to the divine realms during the immortals war, or anakin skywalker becoming a sith and dooming the republic, most of the original material has seen battle and political change as something that is affected by either an actual chosen one or simply a single very plucky and well-placed individual.

trickster's queen and andor, however, really look at rebellion as something that has to be done by a diverse group of flawed people who work together despite their differences. mon mothma knows that her role is raising money. ulasim, chenaol, and the other members of the raka conspiracy each take their individual roles in the rebellion, and recognize that even though they might not want to work with aly or the luarin nobility, they need their skills and influence to make it happen.

both stories also show rebellion as extremely costly and something that requires making tough calls. nobody has their hands clean by the end of a civil war. notably, trickster's queen explicitly narrowly avoids having the protagonists kill a group of 5 year olds. luthen is ready to kill cassian when he becomes a liability, and cassian does kill lots of people, including some allies whose only "crime" is being susceptible to giving up rebellion secrets.

in rogue one, we don't like davits draven because he orders jyn's father killed, and that just feels wrong. jyn is our heroine and it upsets her, so emotionally it's distressing. but of course, draven and cassian and jyn are all working towards the same goal. draven did what he had to--galen erso is a liability as long as he's alive. dove and sarai's little brother elsren has to die because he's a direct heir to the throne, ahead of his sisters. it doesn't matter that he's five and totally innocent. as long as he lives, a luarin has a greater claim to the throne than a raka, and as long as that's true, the rebellion can't succeed.

in the star wars original trilogy, people for sure die! i'm not trying to say that they don't, but it's definitely not something that's shown affecting our protagonists on a deep, emotional level. they're all side characters, or else they come back as force ghosts. the prequels are uh. fucking tragic, but at the end of it, almost all of our heroes make it out. even the casualties of the war are droids vs clones, which is to say, totally interchangeable cannon fodder on both sides!

the number of character deaths in the tortall 'verse is fewer, probably because it's primarily created for middle grades, but even when people do die, they're either demonstrably bad people or minor enough characters that the emotional resonance isn't the same.

by contrast, at the end of trickster's queen, almost the majority of the main conspirators die in battle, not to mention those who don't even make it to the final conflict. at the end of rogue one, all of our heroes are dead, and people aren't exactly making it out of andor s1 in good shape either. more than half of the aldhani team dies on that mission.

I could go on further, but I think my main takeaway is that once you've invested a lot of time and attention and fandom into a 'verse, you have a lot more leeway to tell different kinds of stories. tamora pierce could not have written trickster's choice until after the values and world of tortall were so clearly established, and if she had, it wouldn't have had the impact that it did. similarly, part of what makes rogue one/andor so striking is the fact that it is such a departure from the preexisting values and story format of star wars.

for every chosen one we see in media, there are hundreds of people working behind the scenes to make their big, death star destroying moment possible. the only way to improve society is through collective action, and part of that is that everyone's hands are going to get dirty. i think lots of people want to imagine that they could be like luke skywalker and swoop in 2 weeks before the battle of yavin and become a hero, but the fact of the matter is that that's not how the world works! war requires us to do things that would ordinarily go against our values, but in the context of a drawn out, bloody, thankless battle, maybe we decide the ends justify the means.

#analysis #i don't particularly imagine that anyone will read this because it is so niche lmao #but the brainworms wouldn't leave me alone #star wars #long post #tamora pierce #tortall #tricksters queen #andor #rogue one

[kyber-crystal]

learning to warm cold hands || ethan hunt

summary: after a particular mission, sunshine isn’t sunshine anymore, and it worries him. (aka a cliche angst to fluff fic with the following tropes: slightly sunshine and super sunshine, who did this to you, etc)

words: ~1.4k

warnings: angst, brief descriptions of violence, ethan being overly concerned for reader, but not much else asides from that 

a/n: first ethan fic (requested by a lovely anon, thank you!!) and second mission impossible fic! btw, this fic is kind of an AU? i don't have a specific timeline for when it happens, so you can squeeze it in wherever :)

“Y/N, status update?”

“Northwest exit, 430 meters. I have one on my tail. But you know I’m Usain Bolt 2.0! I can definitely outrun this doofus, I mean, I bet my mile time is way better than his. I could've gone to the Olympics, for God’s sake. The Olympics! Where are you?”

“Stay there, I’ll come find you.”

“Ethan, wait, you can't just tell me to—“ You don’t even get to finish before a an explosive sound echoes across the narrow alleyway. You make a sharp left turn but find that you’d just hit a dead end. The door was locked. Shit. You only had one bullet left and there was a guy who was definitely at least twice your weight—and over a foot taller, too—coming after you. You wouldn't even have enough time to reload.

“Y/N. Y/N—“

You don’t get to hear the rest of what he’s saying before the static fizzes out and you lose connection.

“Hey there!” You give the beefy man who’s now mere meters away from you a cheerful smile. “Lovely weather today, don’t you think? Too bad it’s going to rain tomorrow. I love the rain but I hate lightning, because I almost got struck a year ago.”

He doesn't look too happy at this, whipping his gun out without a moment’s hesitation. You squeeze your eyes shut and pray as you slide the bullet in and he pins you against the wall by your neck. 

He brings the gun to your head, and your weapon clatters to the ground. You curse under your breath. You can feel your airways constricting and there's a searing pain working its way through you. 

“You're not going anywhere, princess.”

There's a split-second; a microsecond in which he pauses. Very briefly. You don't think, just do—you knee him in the groin, hard, and quickly grab the knife that's sheathed in your boot. 

Saying one last prayer, you plunge the blade in, not even looking to see if you'd aimed right. He falls to the floor, stumbling, and you then lunge forward to disarm him. 

Another deafening gunshot rings out just as Ethan rounds the corner and finds you there, standing over the man’s dead body like the angel of death. A pool of blood surrounds your feet, and he doesn't think he wants to know if that's yours or his. 

“You made it out alive. Good job out there.”

Glancing over at him, you nod, but don't say anything. You toss him the data files without another word, and board the plane. 

“I'm proud of you.”

More strained silence. Huh, weird… he thinks. 

“Y/N, are you alright?”

No response. Ethan repeats himself again, “Are you alright? Did something happen?”

You strap yourself into your seat and tilt your head back, digging your nails into your wrist. Anything was better than being awake right now…

“Well, someone's uncharacteristically quiet.”

Still no response. Not even a snarky quip like you'd typically reply with. No nicknames, no bickering, no random fun fact you googled on the way over here. “Did you know that a pig can digest an entire human body, bones and all? That makes me think a little extra every time we pass through the European countryside and see one of them.” 

All he gets is silence from your end, and it starts to worry him. 

That’s when he follows your gaze downwards. You're clutching the left side of your abdomen, trying your best not to make a sound. 

His blood runs cold and his eyes darken. You can feel the pure rage radiating off him. 

“Did he hurt you?”

“No…shit…Sherlock…” you croak out. 

“You're hurt.”

No response again. 

“Y/N, what the hell happened out there and who did this to you?”

More silence. 

“Y/N, what did he do to you? How did he hurt you?”

After several more questions and several more failed replies, he forcefully moves your hand aside. Your shirt is stained a deep red and there's a gaping hole much bigger than Ethan wanted to see. 

“You got shot.” He sighs. “Luther, how much longer?”

“Hour and five, but we can get there in 38.”

“Hurry.”

“On it.”

Ilsa brings him a thick roll of bandages. He tries to be as careful as possible as he disinfects and wraps up your torso, but every so often, you wince in pain. 

“I'm sorry, sweetheart, just a few more minutes,” Ethan hurriedly apologizes. “Hang in there for me, okay?”

Once he's done, he sits down next to you and laces your fingers together, giving your hand a squeeze. You let out a shuddering sigh and slumped against him. 

He pretends not to notice your watering eyes, or the crescent-shaped marks in your wrist. Or the way your left foot nervously taps out the rhythm to yours and his favorite song. Or the way your tears leave faint red tracks behind as they slip down your cheeks. 

“I'm so sorry,” he repeats over and over again, “I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.”

You don't sleep a wink that night. On any other day in Paris, you'd walk down to the farmer’s market below. You’d pick out Ethan’s favorite fruit and a new beret to have him wear jokingly, and maybe grab a croissant or two. Then you’d drag him along to the Louvre and point out each painting one by one and explain in great detail why you loved them so much. And he’d listen, because he could live purely off the sound of your voice for the rest of his life. He was never one for museums, but you loved them, and because he loved you, he started to love them, too.

But it's dark out, and after what had just happened the other day, you don't feel safe enough to leave the apartment. You tossed and turned for over half an hour before falling asleep, but jolted awake just a few minutes later, shivering violently. There was no way you were going to try and go to sleep again.  

Ethan stirs awake, rubbing his eyes to see a dark figure slipping out the door. 

He's quick to follow you up the staircase and to the rooftop. You're standing there in just a T-shirt (was that his?) and shorts, and it's freezing cold out, but you're sweating and fanning yourself. 

“Y/N?”

You turn around at the sound of his voice. “Ethan…”

“What are you doing up here? I was worried about you.” He makes his way over to you and puts a hand on your shoulder, obvious concern on his face. 

You bit your lip and started digging your nails into your wrist again. 

“Talk to me, Y/N,” he pleaded. “Tell me what's wrong.” 

You shook your head, feeling the skin of your wrist beginning to sting. 

“Y/N, please. I want to help you. But I can’t do that when you won't talk to me, so please…tell me what’s going on.” 

“I’m so tired, Ethan,” you finally spoke after a long pause, voice hoarse. “I should’ve—I shouldn’t be here right now, I should be dead because I panicked and I…I almost died. The man, he put the gun to my head and I saw my entire life flash before my eyes. I could’ve sworn to God that the whole ‘thing’ about you seeing your life flash by like a film reel was just a myth but it wasn’t. It scared the shit out of me because I kept seeing the same thing over and over. I thought…”

“What did you see?” he asked, voice gentle. 

“I kept seeing your face. All I saw was your face.” You looked away, suddenly unable to make eye contact with him. Heat spreads across your cheeks. “I know I care about the whole damn team, but you—you’re my future, Ethan.”

He doesn’t say anything in response and instead, leans down to kiss you.

The sudden rush of warmth from his lips being pressed against yours makes you want to forget everything in the world and completely drown in him. This was home, you realized, and this is where I’m supposed to be.

And as the sun rises and spreads a brilliant pale glow over the horizon, Ethan can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was also exactly where he was meant to be. Not fighting bad guys, but rather, standing on the rooftop of a tiny building in the 4th arrondissement with you in his arms and your head against his heart. He thinks he could have a lifetime of this.

“You’re my future, too.”

tags (including those who may be interested! add yourself via this form, if you’d like): @mitchellpete @voguesir @fl0ating @lady-elena-adeline @the-multiverse-of-fandoms @ilsastrenchcoat @joyfullyswimmingface​ 

#mission impossible #mission impossible fic #ethan hunt #tom cruise #ethan hunt x reader #ethan hunt x you #ethan hunt fic #ethan hunt imagine #mission impossible fanfic #mission impossible: rogue nation #mission impossible: fallout #mission impossible: dead reckoning #dead reckoning part one

[amy-thystt]

rewatched r1 last night and scribbled my favorite melshi and jyn interaction from the novelization

#ruescott melshi #jyn erso #rogue one #my art #star wars #standard meet cute #not pictured: jyn actively imagining beating the shit out of melshi and using him as a hostage