The Princess + The Spy

The way back home //  Retrouvailles

It’s not often Cassian falls asleep first. In fact, Leia would hazard a guess to say that the statement, it’s not often that Cassian falls asleep could be equally accurate. But tonight, perhaps from the post-mission adrenaline crash, or perhaps (more likely) he has an injury she’s yet to know about that’s made him all the wearier, Cassian has already fallen asleep. Not even just nodded off in the captain’s chair, as was his habit, but instead, he’d limped (hence her guess on his injuries) toward the cot and collapsed onto it, pulling a blanket with half-hearted effort over his shoulders.

The fact he’d taken his boots off first seems like nothing short of a feat of true stubbornness unparalleled by most others. But he is asleep. His chest rises and falls with steady regularity. Leia lets out a sigh of relief. She approaches him carefully, knowing that even in this deep of sleep, a sudden noise could startle him awake and into action.

Carefully, she dabs a bit of bacta on the cut on his cheek, whispering, “it’s just me. I’m here.”

Cassian doesn’t stir. She’s not sure if that means he trusts her, or if he’s simply so far beyond consciousness from the pain and weariness he carries so often.

Leia finishes her careful ministrations, and rises to turn away. Only then does Cassian move. He reaches out a hand, catches her wrist. She looks down at him, to watch his eyes blink open. There’s a tired shadow in them, a dulling of the light that’s usually there, and her heart aches.

His lips make out one near-silent word.

She nods. Carefully, she moves to the cot next to him, and he wraps his arms around her. It creaks beneath them, the only sound in the empty ship’s quarters. The cot is narrow, so she’s careful not to stir, as his arms wrap around her shoulder. Instead, she closes her own eyes, exhaling slowly. The tension in Cassian’s limbs fades, as sleep once more pulls at him. Leia smiles. “I’ll always stay,” she whispers, answering the whispered single-word plea he’d made.

About a lifetime ago, when Andor was first announced, I made the promise we’d get the Cassian/Leia ship tag to 100 fics, and I am so so thrilled to see that’s happened.

It’s the rare pair of my heart, the thing I have poured countless hours of creative energy into, and a daily exercise in writing for me, not for anyone else (though it is THRILLING when someone new finds a fic)

I have no clue what this rare pair will look like post-Andor, but I’m so honored by those who have read, written, and supported it so far. Thank you ❤️

“I’m not usually this late.”

Stunning commission by @yalaki

From this fic

Pretty sure no one else in the Rebellion would play either of them in chess…

So this grew a little… LONG :) 

The link is here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17646998 (title comes from a wholesome domestic prompt list by @snogfairy)And here is a SNIPPET

I took the idea of languages spoken and ran with it, showing more than just verbal languages between Cassian and Leia and also wrote LOTS o’ FLUFF.I

That is a sash for a gown, dip-dyed to hold blues like the oceans of her long-forgotten home, blue, her mother’s favorite color, and historically, on that planet now lost forever, the color of peace. The dress, which rests only a few feet away, also bears faint blue embroidery, though barely discernible over the sheer-white overlay, like frost on a window. For white is the color of royalty, but also, of mourning. And the last princess of Alderaan must, at least in public, mourn the loss of her planet forever.

However, one can read smaller clues, and the sartorial story is not one merely of loss. There is hope in the princess yet. Hope, blue like the embroidery, yes, and the ribbons adorning the shoulders of the gown. But more subtly, it can be found in the earrings, discarded, but far more carefully, laid to rest on a small shelf nearby. Those appear to be carved from wood chips, a unique fashion choice to anyone who has not seen the way the Princess smiles among the woodlands of Endor. At the end of the woodchip which had been carved with skill, although, clearly more used to applying tools to droid’s wires, there is a tiny suspended bit of blue glass, made smooth by tumbling with rocks, the way the ocean might.

That too, might be strange, a too-simple false gemstone, But if one had seen the tears in her eyes, brighter than any sasho gem, when she’d broken the simple vase given to her a lifetime ago by her father, well, then perhaps the mystery of those shards of glass might make sense.

Even if the maker of those earrings did not realize the last sartorial message, the most private and yet, perhaps the most hopeful, out of the whole ensemble now decorating the floor of that rich apartment. Because the blue sash had been closed with both a knot and a small, simple buckle. The knot is a classic Alderaanian closed-heart-knot, most commonly worn as a hairstyle, and a clear sign the wearer is uninterested in any romantic overtures, as she is very content with that which she has. The Senator had worn it in her hair a few times, but given how the man who made her the earrings and makes sure she is guarded is feverishly studying Alderaanian i hair styles and the messages they convey, to better assist her with the labor of braiding her chestnut waves into all the different buns and twists, she’s moved that knot to a more subtle place on her belt.

It’s not often Cassian falls asleep first. In fact, Leia would hazard a guess to say that the statement, it’s not often that Cassian falls asleep could be equally accurate. But tonight, perhaps from the post-mission adrenaline crash, or perhaps (more likely) he has an injury she’s yet to know about that’s made him all the wearier, Cassian has already fallen asleep. Not even just nodded off in the captain’s chair, as was his habit, but instead, he’d limped (hence her guess on his injuries) toward the cot and collapsed onto it, pulling a blanket with half-hearted effort over his shoulders.

The fact he’d taken his boots off first seems like nothing short of a feat of true stubbornness unparalleled by most others. But he is asleep. His chest rises and falls with steady regularity. Leia lets out a sigh of relief. She approaches him carefully, knowing that even in this deep of sleep, a sudden noise could startle him awake and into action.

Carefully, she dabs a bit of bacta on the cut on his cheek, whispering, “it’s just me. I’m here.”

Cassian doesn’t stir. She’s not sure if that means he trusts her, or if he’s simply so far beyond consciousness from the pain and weariness he carries so often.

Leia finishes her careful ministrations, and rises to turn away. Only then does Cassian move. He reaches out a hand, catches her wrist. She looks down at him, to watch his eyes blink open. There’s a tired shadow in them, a dulling of the light that’s usually there, and her heart aches.

His lips make out one near-silent word.

She nods. Carefully, she moves to the cot next to him, and he wraps his arms around her. It creaks beneath them, the only sound in the empty ship’s quarters. The cot is narrow, so she’s careful not to stir, as his arms wrap around her shoulder. Instead, she closes her own eyes, exhaling slowly. The tension in Cassian’s limbs fades, as sleep once more pulls at him. Leia smiles. “I’ll always stay,” she whispers, answering the whispered single-word plea he’d made.

Perfectly matched perfectionists.

A sweet little moment from The Way Back Home chapter 5.

sparks when skin brushes skin

secret smiles

checking to see what they think

seeing an object and thinking of them

hugs that last a beat too long

looking for them in a crowd

holding hands and that's all they can think of

rubbing comforting circles into their skin

laughing more around them

friends pointing [it] out

acting without thinking then checking to see how they reacted

lighting up when you see them

inside jokes

leaving notes

signing off a written correspondence with a kiss or "love"

accidentally referencing them as "my"

nicknames

comfort in their presence

personal gifts

growing really close really quickly

knowing what they'll say

feeling a flutter after something they've done dozens of times

they start analyzing everything to guess if it's romantic or not

face turning red when they get too close

face turning red when they think of them

smiling more easily

glowing after a nice remark and having it pointed out

overanalyzing what others say about them both

thinking maybe...

anonymous commission for the fic “sand in the gears of time”!