#and when maarva…

[darlingjmiller]

finished watching Andor.. I’m so mentally ill rn

[andorerso]

rebelcaptain teenage runaways au, Jyn was left behind by Saw, Cassian was kicked out by Maarva, they meet, instantly bond, and decide to make their own way in the world together

[kaptainkassa]

people complaining that bix 'isnt her own person' in andor s1 like did we even watch the same show

[notasapleasure]

you're running a fandom shitposting blog stop being so fucking salty about people not voting in your silly polls the way you want aaaaaa not everyone has the same mummy issues you do!!!!

[jynjackets]

Do you think Jyn and Maarva would like each other?

tl;dr: no <3

I don't think Jyn would get along with maarva as she is a source of Cassian's issues with self-worth and guilt, similar to how Saw is a source for her fear of abandonment. Maarva doesn't even like her own son so who knows who's good enough for her lol.

a long rant below the cut

Jyn being someone who knows exactly what it’s like to be adopted and re-abandoned, her seeing Cassian's mother be consistently disappointed in her drugged n kidnapped adopted son is a whole other level of fucked up parental issues. Maarva opting to be with her her town instead of Cassian in her last days and also disbanding his actual family, it would be very difficult for someone like Jyn to see past these actions.

There's also no real justification for Maarva's treatment of Cassian (because he doesn't do his capitalist ferrix job? because he brings girls home? because he still lives with her even though he takes care of her?). AND even after her death, the last thing she wants him to remember was “hey, you’re a big fuck up, but that’s okay <3”.

Maarva has done nothing but live her life from her fuckass couch and yet had the audacity to tell Cassian that he needs to stand up, that he needs to rebel or get a job. Even after when he fought back and went to child prison after seeing his adopted father hanged. So not only did you get ripped away from your parents, but also the person that supposedly chose you felt like they got more than they bargained for, Cassian therefore feeling ultimately undesired by both the biological and adopted family.

But being a parent is complicated, is she at fault?

Compare it to Saw abandoning Jyn. When Jyn grew older he was forced to choose between his daughter and his life's mission. Abandoning her is, without argument, fucked up. While it created irreparable damage, we can understand why he did it. Not only was it traumatizing for Jyn, but it was THE ultimate sacrifice he was making from himself. The thing that shifts some blame away is that it gutted him to do this, and he did it from a place making sure she was safe and alive.

So with this in mind, what is Maarva’s sacrifice in being constantly disappointed in your adopted son because he isn’t like everyone else? What does she gain when she tells him to forget about Kenari, that there’s nothing left? Imagine being adopted, being told as an adult that, no, you can’t be looking for your biological family and that they’re nothing now, and that even trying is useless. The only thing I can see is that she just wants Cassian to fit her image of an ideal Ferrix citizen, which isn't amazing and isn't enough to justify her actions.

Moreover, as someone who has lost a parent, the last moments you have with them hold a permanent memory that weigh differently than everything else, and imo require its own sort of grief. On Maarva's last days, she made him leave without her, even when she knew she was going to die by not taking her meds. She would rather spend her last days being memorialized as a hero on Ferrix than being with her only son. And at the end of your days, you want to go home. You want to be with family for as long as possible. For Maarva, home was Ferrix and everyone else there, not Cassian.

So Maarva sucks because she was a terrible mother at the benefit of literally nothing. Where Saw was the insurgent leader of the extremist cell that made major attacks against the empire; and not the best father largely because of his life's work but also still wanting to do his best to keep his daughter safe. But look who gets more villainized than anybody else and who is more celebrated as a hero?

On a tangent now, I believe Jyn and Maarva would be comparable to Cassian and Saw's relationship: you don't feel all warm and fuzzy inside meeting the [person you care about]'s greatest source of trauma.

All that Cassian knows about him is that he adopted her, then abandoned her. Upon seeing him on Jedha he almost draws a gun to protect Jyn (doing that before THE guy, THE supposed terrorist and Empire's most wanted, mind you), unsure where their relationship stands. Saw of course, would protect his daughter in turn, not knowing who this guy is.

I would believe Jyn would see Maarva in a similar light on a dramatically smaller scale. That "I hate my MIL and our interests are only mutually aligned around what's best for Cassian", but of course what that means is totally different things. Maarva sees Cassian and believes he needs to change. Even when she’s fucking dead he still needs for things to come together in order to be unstoppable, or whatever vision she had in mind for him and that him on his own is not enough.

And so the rest of this is how I interpret the implications for Rogue One: that the lessons both Jyn and Cassian took from their adopted parents can be mutually shattered as they see each other for who they are and not what they've been molded to believe.

As we know with Jyn, she has a complex moral code. When she sees a stormtrooper she feels the reflex to kill. When she sees a war-torn child, her reaction is to risk her own life to save innocents. And this is what she continues to do when she meets Cassian. She has every reason to shoot him and steal his ship. But on Jedha, seeing him agreeing with her that she was perhaps worth saving after her deed of saving the child, she sees him in return when he shoots the partisan. They see each other for their actions, for the better parts of each other, despite their words and even their own personal doubts. Jyn continues to risk her life for him over and over again and vice versa. She doesn’t want to change him at all and she inspires him to fight in ways he perhaps has forgotten or never knew was possible.

In fact, the reason she’s angry with him on Eadu is because he lied to her. Revealing the intention to kill someone’s dad easily put your anger in the right, but while she is mixed up with grief, the bigger part of her knows he was incapable of doing it and doesn’t revel in the fact of who he could’ve been if he killed her father or even combined with terrible things he's done, but just sees the present man that didn't and instead came back for her. Even Cassian is thinking how she was going to kill him for it, when he hadn’t even committed the crime. He’s caught up with the impression and perception of the kind of man he is, the narrative that he’s been fed his whole life that he’s committed atrocities that deem him unworthy.

Jyn and Cassian offer each other a break from narratives and reputations that they've tried to sound out their whole lives. And although both characters have a lot of integrity, being told the same thing over again through life lessons, you begin to believe it yourself. It's where we meet the two of them at their lowest points. That for Jyn, she wasn't someone worth returning to, that there isn't hope amongst war. And for Cassian, that he's not a good person for things he's done, that war is endless, and he has to follow orders or do things for others in order to belong. As the events of Rogue One unfold, we can see how they come to understand each other. They create a bond by feeling seen for the first time.

IN SUMMARY:

Maarva is like the exact opposite of Saw Gerrera in all the worst fucking ways, I tell you. Instead of being family friends with and saving the child that he later abandons, she kidnaps the child away from their actual family and then holds them hostage on her planet to force-assimilate and take care of her in her old age. And instead of actively rebelling through extremist insurgencies, she sits around and berates her son to go be a rebel, and yet disappointed that he doesn't have a job or doesn't do what everybody else does(?).

Jyn would hate that bitch like. Every Life Day would be an ordeal. The irony of how she fucking dies doing nothing when Saw Gerrera is barely held together by oxygen tubes and yet outlives this couch potato. Andors versus Erso-Gerreras it's first-planet problems versus outer rim problems. Yeah they're both traumatic but the biggest difference is one of these is entirely avoidable if you just weren't a piece of shit.

[fallenrocket]

My god, Cassian is just so young in season 1 of Andor. On this last rewatch, it kept jumping out at me everywhere. Especially at the start of the show, which makes sense--he goes through a pretty intense education over the course of the season and transforms before our eyes. But there's just so much in Cassian that comes from being young, traumatized, and desperate.

We see it in his moments of unabashed fear, like when he's stopped by the two corpos in the pilot, the first time he sees the TIE fighter fly past on Aldhani, or as the prison transport takes off for Narkina 5. Even when he tries to hide it, we can see it in his eyes, the parts of him that are still that scared kid from Kenari.

We see it in the chip he has on his shoulder, like the attitude he cops with Luthen in their first meeting: "I don't know you." He's not just guarded and distrustful, he kind of actively resents this guy trying to get too familiar with him. When he's scared, uncertain, or guilty, he tends to push others away, a product of having to fight most of his life and of losing many of the things and people he's cared about. I also think of him coldly telling Bix, "You won't have to worry about me anymore," at the end of their argument in "Announcement."

And yet, by the same token, he can also be surprisingly open and earnest in his affections. For me, this is most apparent in his scenes with Maarva in "Announcement." There, we see his naive optimism that the money he got from Aldhani can solve all their problems. He's so buoyant and hopeful and loving as he suggests running away, saying, "What do we need but the three of us?" Later in the episode, we see that same naivety when he insists, "We'll find a place they haven't ruined yet." But it crops up in other places too. On Aldhani, he chooses Clem's name as his pseudonym, even though he already realizes Luthen has a lot of intel on him and will probably recognize it--in that moment, his distrust of Luthen is outweighed by his desire to go into this dangerous mission carrying a small piece of his dad with him. Then there's that beautiful hug with Brasso in "Rix Road," especially those few extra beats past when you'd expect them to part. When he hugs Melshi in the previous episode, Cassian is rushed, on the brink of falling apart and not wanting Melshi to see. But with Brasso, Cassian needs that touch for a few extra seconds, and he's not afraid to hold on a little longer.

Most of Cassian's dumbest mistakes in the season are very youthful ones. He's an incredibly smart and observant guy, so he's not dumb very often, but when he is, it tends to come back to being young, traumatized, and desperate. We see this especially in the opening Ferrix arc: insisting on bringing an unsecured comm to his meeting with Luthen (oh my god, the way he bickers with B2EMO about them beforehand!) and trying to go back for the starpath unit when the shit hits the fan, even after Luthen repeatedly tells him to leave it. With the starpath unit, part of it is naivety--"What if it's just one guy left?"--and part of it is growing up poor and scrappy. This box represents more money than he's ever had at any one time, and he simply can't process the idea that his buyer would just leave it behind.

Finally, every now and then, Cassian has this subtle but impeccable "little shit" energy. We definitely see it when he messes with Timm in the pilot, deliberately goading him instead of trying to defuse the situation when he sees that Timm is jealous. It's a dumb, petty moment of cheap satisfaction that winds up with some intense blowback when Timm IDs him to Pre-Mor. And I love Cassian's refusal to give up on Kino on Narkina 5, always believing he can be brought into the fold no matter how many times Kino tells him to forget about it. It's a great reflection of how Cassian rejects the Empire's attempts to divide the inmates by pitting them against each other, but part of why he's able to keep at it is his annoying-kid tenacity. I love the scene where Kino brushes him off by saying how many shifts he has left and Cassian immediately responds with, "So...tell me what you know before you go."

It's simply wild to compare the Cassian we see in "Kassa" to the one in "Rix Road." He goes through so much in twelve episodes and really comes into his own, and it's fantastic to see some of the qualities he displays in Rogue One starting to peek through. He's already come so far in his character growth--I cannot wait to see how season 2 gets us from "Rix Road" to Rogue One!

Oh yeah, and Diego Luna is simply stunning. You can really feel how he traced Cassian's life backwards to this point, see how different the Cassian of "Kassa" is from the Cassian of Rogue One and yet still fully believe that this is the same character. All the little hints he drops, all the tiny moments where you can see Rogue One Cassian starting to gestate. It's such beautiful, brilliant work!

[padawan-snack-packer]

[TW: Andor Season 2 Spoilers]

You ever watch a show—really watch a show—and walk away thinking, yeah, nah, nothing is ever going to top that?

Not in quality, not in depth, not in how deeply it rearranged your insides? Like, you try to keep watching other things after, and they’re good, they’re fine, they’re even great sometimes—but nothing touches you the way that one did. Nothing digs in and refuses to leave.

For me, that show is Andor.

I hate that I compare everything else to it now. I don’t want to. That’s not the goal. Some shows are meant to be comfort, some are joy, some are pure escape—and I love those too. But Andor? Andor wasn’t made to entertain me. It was made to wreck me. It was made to carve out something in my chest and whisper, “You know this world. You live in it. What are you going to do about it?”

It’s unfair, I know it is. Because Andor is a mirror, not a window. It doesn’t ask you to imagine—it asks you to remember. It’s not fantasy, even when it’s set in space. It’s a gut punch in disguise. It’s a story about people who don’t have the luxury of magic or prophecy or chosen-one destinies. It’s about people with dirty fingernails and blood on their hands and fire in their hearts who say enough.

And I’ve never seen anything like it.

Not just in Star Wars.

Not in television, period.

Season 2? It’s shattering me. It’s not just good—it’s too good. It’s too real. It doesn’t just pull back the curtain on oppression and resistance; it rips the whole stage down. Every episode feels like it’s crawling under my skin. I watch scenes that feel like they were written by someone who saw the inside of my ribcage. The silences, the glances, the weight of every decision, the deaths, the "we almost made it"—it’s not just storytelling, it’s emotional warfare.

Brasso dies. And we don’t even get the dignity of seeing it happen. There’s no final stand, no slow-motion heroic moment. Just the aftermath. Just Cassian, stumbling, shaking, blood on his hands, and there’s Brasso—his anchor, his brother, the man who carried Maarva’s message like gospel—lying there, still.

Gone.

And Cassian collapses. He drops to his knees and pulls Brasso into his arms, cradles him. And there’s no words. Just the soft sound of Cassian’s breath hitching as he kisses Brasso’s forehead like it’ll bring him back. Like this one act can say thank you, I’m sorry, I love you all at once. But Brasso doesn’t move.

War doesn't have pity. War is not always on screen. But it's always heartbreaking.

Because Brasso deserved more. He was the best of them. He fought, he believed, he stayed. He carried everyone else. And in the end, no one carried him.

He died alone. Alone in that field, with Imperials on his back, on a simple speeder, and just like that he was gone.

And then there’s Bix. Sweet, fierce, shattered Bix. Who’s already been broken once by the Empire’s machine—who walks through her life like a ghost, barely there, the screams still echoing in her skull—and it happens again. Another officer. Another man in a uniform who thinks her body is just another thing to take. But this time? She doesn’t freeze. She fights. And it’s not cinematic. It’s messy. It’s teeth and nails and desperation and screams, and when she wins, it’s not triumph—it’s survival. Barely.

And you realize: this isn’t just a story about heroes. This is a story about survivors. People who were never given a choice.

And then the part that never stops haunting me: not everyone can afford to rebel. You see people pushed to the brink, wanting to fight, burning with anger—but they have children. Sick parents. They need their jobs to eat. They’ve seen what happens to people who step out of line.

They want to scream, but screaming gets you noticed. And the Empire notices. So they stay quiet. Not because they don’t care—but because they can’t afford to lose. The rebellion marches forward, and behind it? Thousands left behind, trapped in quiet compliance. That’s the cost. That’s the heartbreak.

That’s real.

And Mon Mothma—oh my God, Mon Mothma. The woman who tried so hard to fight with dignity. Who played the long game. Who gave speeches while her soul slowly unraveled. And what does it cost her? Everything. Her privacy. Her marriage. Her name. Her child. Because when push comes to shove, and she needs funding, she makes the deal. She marries off her daughter. Thirteen years old. Barely past childhood. Betrothed to a boy from some house, all because Mothma couldn’t find another way. Because she had to. Had to secure this.

And at first, she tells herself it’s politics. Tradition. The lesser evil. But you see it eat at her. You see it break her. Because her daughter starts leaning into it. Starts seeing it as a choice—as something good. And Mon realizes… she didn’t just sacrifice her daughter’s future—she let the Empire win in her own home. The rot got in. It touched everything. And she did that. She let it happen.

And Bee… sweet, stammering Bee. The droid that loved harder than most people ever do. Bee who repeats his questions because he needs the answers to be different this time. Bee who waits by the door, who watches the shadows, who probably still replays Maarva’s voice in his head just to feel close to someone.

And now—he’s waiting again.

But no one comes. Not Cassian. Not Bix. Not Will. Not Brasso.

Maybe he finds Brasso first. Maybe Bee rolls up to him, quiet, uncertain, his lights dimmer than usual. Maybe he nudges him. Once. Twice. Tries to say his name but it comes out glitchy and soft, like static wrapped in grief. “Br-Brasso? Brasso, wake. Wake. You… wake now.” And he keeps pushing, because this is what you do with people—you ask them to get up, and they do. Brasso always got up. He always came back. He always carried everyone else.

But this time, he doesn’t move. And Bee just stays there. No screaming, no alarms. Just this stillness. Just the heartbreak of someone who doesn’t fully understand death, only that the people he loves keep leaving. That they say goodbye without really saying it, and they don’t return, and now the room is too quiet again.

Bee, whose memory is long and clear, who plays back old moments like prayers—now adding this one to the archive, hoping if he replays it enough, Brasso might answer.

And the most devastating part? He probably waits. Sits beside Brasso like a little sentinel, flickering low, guarding what’s left.

Because that’s what Bee does.

He waits. He loves. And he doesn’t understand why love isn’t enough to make people stay.

Rebellion is fire.

It’s bravery and fury and sacrifice. But it’s also loss. It’s trauma. It’s a thousand compromises that stain your hands until you don’t recognize yourself in the mirror.

It’s holding the people you love in your arms and knowing they died for a cause that might not even make it to tomorrow.

I’m so torn after these three episodes I don’t even know what to do with myself. Genuinely.

My heart feels like it’s been put through a meat grinder—just shredded and pulsing, and somehow I’m supposed to sit here and wait for more? Like this wasn’t already too much?? Like they didn’t already rip open every wound in the span of a few hours and say, “Okay, now hold that.” And I want more—I need more—but at the same time, I’m terrified of what it’s going to cost me. What it’s going to cost them.

Because they’re fighting now. Like really fighting. There’s no turning back, no more edge-of-the-fray, no more quiet resistance in back rooms. It’s loud and bloody and real, and the whole galaxy is teetering. And I want to see it—I want to see the fire, the rebellion, the moments of victory—but I know what’s coming. We all know what’s coming.

We’ve seen Rogue One.

We know how this ends.

And yeah, they win. Technically. But it’s not the kind of win that makes you cheer. It’s the kind that makes you cry into your hands and just scream because they won but at what cost?....

It’s a pyrrhic victory—burned into the bones of every name etched into the dirt, every voice silenced, every hope that had to be handed off like a relay baton because the people carrying it didn’t make it to the finish line.

They won, but they didn’t survive.

And maybe that’s the most painful part. That I’m watching these characters I love—love—throw themselves at the fire, on the frontlines, knowing they won’t get to see the dawn. Knowing their names will never be sung. And yet, I need to see it. I need to see them fight. I need to see them choose rebellion even when it breaks them.

Because even knowing the end, every moment leading there matters. Every small act of resistance, every stolen moment of joy, every impossible choice.

That’s what Andor gets. That’s what makes it hurt. It doesn’t lie to you. It says, Tthis is the cost. Are you still willing to pay it?"

And I know—I know—it’s unfair to hold everything else up to that standard. But nothing—nothing—fantasy or not, has shaken me like this. Andor doesn’t ask to be liked. It dares you to feel it. And once you do? Nothing ever feels quite the same.

I don’t know how I’m supposed to recover from it. I don’t even know if I want to.

[subrosasteath]

I've been rewatching Andor, in anticipation of season 2 and let me tell you, the messaging has never hit me as hard as it does right now. Because everything in Andor is saying "It doesn't have to be perfect, you just have to try"

It doesn't have to be the perfect rebellion, but it needs to start somewhere. It needs to start with caring, with trying, even if it fails. Even if you're not fighting for yourself, even if you don't win - just really trying is enough.

The empire is dangerous, yes, it's possibly the most dangerous it's ever been just by the way it's written, but everyone in the empire is lazy. They don't have anything to fight for. They don't care. They're complicit, they don't make choices, they just do the bare minimum, without trying.

Why is Dedra the most terrifying person in this show? Because she's smart, and she cares and she really tries. She's not complicit. She's making decisions, she's pushing forward, and she's cruel and fierce and does not care who she hurts in her quest to better herself and the company she works for. She is dangerous, because she sees the scattered rebel activity and says "If this was something I cared about, this is how I would do it. This is how they're doing it." and no one else could predict that because they didn't really try.

Why is Syril so interesting? Because he is a character who gets punished for trying, in a system built on laziness and keeping up good image. He says "let me find the murderer" and the empire says "don't. We'll look bad." and he says "But I have to try" and he tries, and he sees the consequences of his actions, and he spends the rest of the season stuck in indecision, because he wants revenge and he wants Andor to pay, and he wants back into the empire - but also he can't stand them, can't you see it? That slowly that faith that made him try so hard, when it was shattered it broke his perspective, his world and the place he thinks he deserves for his effort.

Everyone in Andor tries. Bix tries to warn andor, Tim tries to make the choice he deems correct, Maarva kidnapped Cassian because she couldn't leave him, Vel leads her impossible heist because she has to try, Nemik writes his manifesto because he cares, Kino gives the information on the guards because he can't stay stagnate any longer - everyone has to care, or this story and this rebellion falls apart.

And Cassian? Cassian Andor? He tries, so hard to make himself apathetic. He doesn't care about the empire, or the rebellion or anything but the money and himself. Cassian tries to save his skin. But this is the same Cassian that takes a dying Nemik to a doctor. The same Cassian that attempts a heist no one should do. The same Cassian that goes back to ferrix to see Maarva and Bee and Bix, who plans an impossible prison break, who steals the death star plans and dies for it, dies trying because he knows it's worth it.

Andor says Trying is worth it. Everyone has their own rebellion. And that is enough

[syn0vial]

ok but i also really want to talk about B2 in this series, bc this is the first time in star wars i've ever seen a droid character depicted in such a child-like way. like, yes, B2 is a droid and he does various jobs (most of which seem to involve relaying messages and displaying holos), but usually, he's just depicted as another character, a member of the family. and, despite being older than many of the main characters, his role in the family seems to be that of a young child.

this is most obvious when we see him with bix, brasso, and talia on mina-rau, but we can see evidence of it in season 1, as well. brasso in particular talks to B2 like he's a small child, whether he's trying to convince him to help the daughters of ferrix after maarva's death or when he's dropping him off with talia. B2 also has a lot of child-like attributes in how he interacts with others and reacts to events. for example, when maarva dies, his response is that of a bereaved child, uncomprehending that their parent is truly gone: "i don't want to be alone; i want maarva!" he also expresses separation anxiety similarly to a child, usually towards cassian but also sometimes towards brasso. and in season 2, we even see him happily playing with a group of children and other similar droids—brasso seems to refer to these as B2's "buddies."

in sum, i just find it really interesting to see a droid in star wars depicted in such a child-like role. it makes me wonder about the range of droid personalities in this universe, and whether they are programmed to emulate certain familial roles, or if they simply take on a role based on their surroundings and how they're treated by others.

[lajulie24]

I always wanted to be lifted. I was always eager, always waiting to be inspired. I remember every time it happened, every time the dead lifted me... with their truth. And now I'm dead, and I yearn to lift you. Not because i want to shine or even be remembered. It's because i want you to go on. I want Ferrix to continue. In my waning hours, that’s what comforts me most.

But I fear for you. We've been sleeping. We've had each other, and Ferrix, our work, our days. We had each other and they left us alone. We kept the trade lane open, and they left us alone. We took their money and ignored them, we kept their engine churning, and the moment they pulled away. we forgot them. Because we had each other. We had Ferrix. But we were sleeping. I've been sleeping. And I've been turning away from the truth I wanted not to face.

There is a wound that won't heal at the center of the galaxy. There is a darkness reaching like rust into everything around us. We let it grow, and now it's here. It's here and it's not visiting anymore. It wants to stay.

The Empire is a disease that thrives in darkness, it is never more alive than when we asleep. It's easy for the dead to tell you to fight, and maybe it's true, maybe fighting is useless. Perhaps it's too late. But I'll tell you this, if I could do it again, I'd wake up early and be fighting those bastards from the start! Fight the Empire!

— from Maarva Andor’s monologue, Andor (season 1 finale)

[sashketter]

As much as I appreciate Andor naming rape when it happens and not glossing over the sexual violence that undocumented women face, I also kinda hate that the show was allowed to do that after Maarva’s final line was changed from “fuck the Empire” to “fight the Empire.” Once again, American censorship is like, “You can show women getting assaulted, but they can’t curse.”

[kaptainkassa]

crying because maarva never got to see her son become captain of intelligence of the rebel alliance

[cooltastrophe]

fucking obsessed with the use of symmetry in andor. symmetrical shapes (esp octagons) being symbolic of the empire but also signalling lack of agency. young kassa being framed in the center of an octagon as he climbs into the republic ship, the beginning of his relationship with the world outside kenari but also foreshadowing how his agency is about to be taken away by maarva. the prisoners in one way out swimming away from the octagonal prison, tasting real freedom. when lonnie confronts luthen he's in the center of the octagonal lift door, equally trapped by his position in the isb and by luthen's plans for him. luthen stands within the arches but to the side of them. he's stuck within the empire but not submitting to it, pitting his will against it. mon mothma is consistently framed inside octagonal doorways in her home, trapped in the illusory prison of her own wealth and privilege, but she wears asymmetrical clothing, showing her subtle rebellion as opposed to luthen's more forceful positioning. but at leida's wedding, mon has to wear a traditional, symmetrical gown. with no power to stop or save tay and watching her daughter continue the cycle of patriarchal suppression, she's more trapped than she ever was in proximity to the emperor.

[colleybri]

Fashioning Ferrix

@andorappreciation 14th April: Costumes and sets design

I’m a massive fan of Ferrix. I want to visit. I want to walk in its streets, meet its people, taste its food. The production design isn’t just insanely detailed, it also tells the story of a community.

Here’s an open-air barber’s shop. You can see it in use behind Cassian when he visits Xanwan Freight.

Then there’s the costumes of the people that live there. Did you spot the sunglasses ? I love that Bix was originally codenamed “Becky”. Maarva: “Maggie” 😀

Did you notice that Maarva has a lot of houseplants? Flowers and plants are clearly part of the Ferrix funeral tradition as well – here they are on the body as it’s removed.

Christian Matzke specialises in identifying background Aurebesh and Bazeese. Bazeese - the Ferrix writing script - is named for Barry Gingell, the graphic designer who is responsible for so much of what we see on screen. His nickname is Baz. They were going to give it a proper name, but he just kept on using it until everybody accepted it. (He also cameos as Anto Kreegyr in the holoimage seen in episode 11)

Enjoy the rest of these posts from Christian. My favourite is the one about the Time Grappler’s tower. In episode 3, when one of their own is under threat, the people of Ferrix do exactly this. 

[fallenrocket]

When I rewatched "Rix Road," I couldn't stop wondering what folks in Ferrix must be thinking about Cassian now. This is especially true when, after breaking Bix out of the hotel and bringing her to the getaway ship, Cassian takes charge of everything. He makes sure everyone's accounted for and the ship is ready to go, directing Jezzi how out to get out safely and reassuring everyone. And keep in mind, this is just after he missed his mother's funeral because he knew that rescuing his friend had to take precedence over his own grief.

Because I keep thinking about the Cassian that most of these folks saw last, the one who went around asking for the favors, money, or alibis with the constant refrain of, "I really need this." The one who seemed kind of lost and was always getting into something or another, who worried Maarva when he stayed out all night. After all, the people of Ferrix haven't been following Cassian all season like we have. They don't know what he went through on Aldhani or Narkina 5.

So what the hell do they think of this steady, confident young man offering them direction and reassurance? Where do they think it came from? Did they know he had this in him, is he fulfilling the potential they always knew he was capable of? What do they think happened to him while he was away?

[c0s-lettuce]

yesterday was ours

cassian andor x reader

synopsis: one moment, you're kids on ferrix. the next, you're fighting the empire on opposite ends of the galaxy. but even so, some things never change.

word count: 0.6k

warnings/tags: gender not mentioned, a bit angsty, childhood best friends, mentions events from andor s1 and rogue one

a/n: changed up my usual formatting for fun hehe. a lil something before i go berserk when s2 comes out. let me know your thoughts! love ya <3

There was rarely a day where the two of you weren't seen together. Everyone knew you. If not by name, then by face. If not by face, then by reputation. You're sure you would've had an impressive criminal record if Maarva wasn't there to cover for both of you.

Days were spent hand in hand, boots on rocky gravel and cold air filling your lungs. Nights were spent with whispers, the occasional stolen bottle of booze and a few too many broken promises.

Especially after the Empire first established its rule, there seemed to be more lows than highs. Life on Ferrix was anything but grand. But it was yours, and you shared it with him. Until a single mistake he made on Morlana One sent it all spiralling.

A chain of unfortunate events followed. Events that, to this day, you still don't fully comprehend. The one thing you did understand was that you lost. You had to remind yourself it was just the battle, not the war.

He hardens after all of it, even more so than when he lost his father. You become distant, something you had never been before. Eventually, circumstances arose that you would start heading down different paths. And now, the two of you are on different sides of the galaxy, yet still fighting the same fight.

But you could argue that's always been the case. Even before the rebellion, the two of you have always been fighting for the same thing. For life. For freedom.

For love.

But so much time has passed now. The winds have changed, and the sands have shifted. The people you once were are left in the past. The people you are now are weathered and just a bit broken.

Yet, he still thinks of you more than he cares to admit. His weary eyes miss your face, his tired ears miss your voice, his calloused hands miss your touch, and his aching heart misses your kiss.

He knows you're out there somewhere in the galaxy. Real and tangible, just a call away. He sees the difference you've been making. How you're a hero in your own right. He hears your name sometimes. Chatter about some mission you were on or accomplishment you achieved.

But he doesn't know how the most insignificant things would remind you of him. He doesn't see all the drafts you type out but never end up sending to him. He doesn't hear how you still tell people he's your best friend when they ask how you know the famed captain.

But still, neither of you reach out. You could spend days faulting him but knew you were also to blame. Your new life consumed all of your time and attention, and you're sure his did as well. So, you force him out of your mind whenever he finds his way in.

Slowly, small recollections of your life on Ferrix begin to wane. Like a dream, faded around the edges, details not quite right. But if you kept your eyes closed for long enough, the memories could return to you before your morning alarm would tear you away, reminding you of your daily responsibilities.

However, years of silence would finally break when he records you a message before leaving for Scarif. He didn't need to be told the odds. If the unspeakable happened, he didn't want the last thing you remember of him to be emptiness. It was intended to be something short but meaningful. But he ends up baring his soul to you.

And he was right to have sent it. You've already heard about what's been happening. The planet killer, Rogue One. How he may have just helped save the galaxy. You only wish you could've been there to help. But when you listen to the message, he makes one point very clear.

Even after all this time, you still meant everything to him.