#operaticspacetrash

[lclrgsl]

Lord Huron’s “The Night We Met” for @operaticspacetrash

[shu-of-the-wind]

heheheheh... how about rebelcaptain with "Hiding/hoping not to be caught kiss"?

OKAY I KNOW I SAID NORTH & SOUTH AU SNIPPET WOULD COME FIRST BUT THEN THIS PROMPT COMBINED WITH @operaticspacetrash BEING  PLOT BUNNY PUSHING JACKASS AND THIS HAPPENED

AU context: Cassian’s a study abroad student at a London college, rooming with another study abroad student from Hong Kong (Kei Tu). Jyn shares one of his classes. Bodhi is her flatmate. Chirrut and Baze are just kinda there somehow. Presumably, they’re either professors or some kind of friend of Bodhi’s somehow. XD

Also YES IT WAS HAN TALKING SHIT HE HAS A FILTHY MOUTH BEFORE LEIA AND I STAND BY THIS 

The party was actually going well, until Cassian lost his mind. 

Jyn doesn’t see the first punch happen, and she still kicks herself for that, a little bit. But usually she doesn’t have to worry about Cassian like that. Chirrut, yes, but Baze handles that without any help from her. Bodhi, sometimes, if you get him riled enough when he’s drunk. But usually she’s the one getting into fights with strangers in bars, not Cassian. Cassian is the one pulling her away from whatever twatwaffle she’s just punched in the face, and Cassian is the one who yanks her out of the bar and down the street and makes her walk it off. She’s not supposed to be the one doing that for Cassian.

Except apparently tonight she is, and she can’t for the life of her imagine what started it. 

Jyn doesn’t see the first punch, but she sure as hell hears it, and the shattering pint glass on the floor of the bar when the bloke goes down, Cassian standing over him, chest heaving like he’s sprinted up a hill. “What the fuck,” someone says, and then there’s a whole fleet of drunks standing up, a few towheaded as gold, a few more dark and tatted, and Jyn is really glad that they’re standing a little ways away from Bodhi and Chirrut and Baze and Kei if it means that she can just grab Cassian’s arm and run. She’d be fine sticking it through on a normal night, but tonight is Bodhi’s birthday. She’s not going to get into a knock-down-drag-out on Bodhi’s birthday. No one is. 

“Sorry,” she says to Bodhi, and then she’s out of her seat and snagged Cassian’s wrist. “Cassian–” 

“Stay out of it, bitch–” 

“Suck yourself,” Jyn snaps, without looking at whoever it was. She yanks at Cassian. “Cass–” 

Glass scrapes. For Christ’s sake. Jyn whips out of the way, snags her scarf around the idiot’s wrist and flips him over her hip. Maz, behind the counter, pitches her voice. “Get the fight out of my bar.”

“Bye,” she says to Maz, and then she’s seized Cassian’s hand–the bruised one, the one he’d clenched into a fist–and runs. 

At this time of night–at any time of day or night, really–Covent Garden is packed with tourists and idiots like the one she’s dragging along behind. Jyn cuts through an alley, ducks sideways and lets go of Cassian’s hand just in time to fling herself at a chain link fence and swings over the top. She only just gets a glimpse of Cassian following her, a thump of his weight on the ground behind her and a little oof from all the air getting driven out of him, before someone bellows, “There they are!” 

Fucking hell, why’d he have to pick a tenacious one? “This way,” she says to Cassian, and he follows without a word. 

They stop a good eight blocks away, in an alley behind an Asian market blasting Punjabi hip hop onto the street. Jyn rams Cassian up against the wall, crowding him into the shadows, and says, “Wait, wait, wait,” until he stops wriggling. He’s panting, and warm air gusts over her scalp in a way that’s making her fingers tingle. She’s well and truly pissed, now. They’re in the middle of a fucking alleyway, and there’s cabbage on the heel of her shoe, and it’s Bodhi’s birthday. Bodhi’s fucking birthday. Cassian had snagged her around the shoulders on the tube and dragged a promise of no fights out of her and he’d done this on Bodhi’s birthday.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” she says, when she’s sure the idiot brigade has passed. 

Cassian hisses through his teeth. For a spindly history student, he can at least throw a punch. Then again, she’s known that for months. She’d met Cassian because of a fight. He’s just not usually the stupid one picking them. “Leave it.” 

“Cassian, the fuck–” 

“I said leave it.”

Jyn shoves away from him, checks the top of the alley. There are a handful of hijabi girls peering at them, chattering about mad drunks, but that’s safe. They’re teenage girls, they mean no harm. She wants to scream at him. “What did they say to you?”

“Leave it, Jyn.” He scuffs both hands over his nose and mouth, and the smearing fresh bruises between his knuckles make her hurt and steam at once. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does fucking matter, Cass–”

He mutters in Spanish under his breath, and then says, “It doesn’t.”

“Bodhi–”

“I’ll apologize to Bodhi.”

“Fuck, Cass, you can’t make me promise not to start a fight and then start a fight–” 

“Jyn, will you just leave it–” 

“What did they say to you?” 

He turns his face away. “It doesn’t matter. Let it be.” 

Jyn opens her mouth, and shuts it again. She shrugs deeper into her jacket. “Fine,” she says. “Fine. Whatever.” 

“Don’t do that.”

“Fuck off, Cassian.” 

Cassian’s there at her back before she even notices him moving, trotting to catch up with her. “Jyn–” 

“You really need to fuck right off, right now.” 

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“It’s not me you need to be sorry at.” 

“Not just you,” he says, and she hates that that makes her heart hurt. She hates he can make her heart hurt. He’s a bloody exchange student and he’s leaving in three months and she shouldn’t give a damn about why he picked the damn fight since she’s picked enough of them in the past week to make it completely irrelevant, but she does. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t start, Cassian.” 

“Look, will you–”

He stills, and then pulls her back into the alley. Jyn doesn’t fight it. It’s the quick, hide silence between them right now, not the please don’t go silence or the I think I might care more than I want to silence or the you’re leaving soon and I can’t imagine that silence. Her forehead knocks into his sternum, and if she closes her eyes and slows her breathing she can almost hear his heartbeat. Cassian keeps his hands on her shoulders, all his attention on the head of the alley, and then she hears it, the muttered swearwords and the footsteps. “Not here,” someone says, and it’s muffled, like he’s talking through a broken nose. He’s American, whoever he is. Can’t hide that twang. “Try the next alley, Chewie.” 

Someone grunts. Cassian’s fingers dig deep into her shoulder blades, and then ease off as the footsteps and the grumbling fades. He lets out a breath, and Jyn starts breathing again, and pulls back, stiff all through the spine. 

“I’m sorry,” Cassian says again. “I am.”

“You’re a hypocritical bastard,” says Jyn, and shoves her hands deep into her pockets. “Who picks fights with tourists.”

“He started it.” 

“Christ, Cassian, you’re not stupid.” Not like her. “What the hell could he have–”

“He was talking about you,” says Cassian, in a voice clipped tight around the edges. “I told him to stop and he wouldn’t. That’s all.” 

Jyn can’t speak. She looks at him, in the dim pink light of the Asian market’s neon sign, and then she wets her lips and tries again. No sound comes out. Her eyes hurt, and her throat hurts, and Cassian looks like she’s about to shred him into tiny pieces, underneath the carefully sculpted mask of indifference, and she can’t speak. 

“We can probably go now,” he says. “They won’t look down this alley again for a while.” 

“I don’t care what people say about me,” she says. It’s idiotic, but she says it anyway. “I never cared what people say about me, Cass. You know that.” 

Cassian, watching her through his bangs, wets his lips. “I care,” he says. Then again, softer: “I care.”

You’re leaving soon, she almost says, but she bites down on it. Jyn creeps closer, and closer again, until she’s right up close, until she can hear his breathing snag just a little when she draws her hands out of her pockets. I want to kiss you, she almost says, but that’s much too much. And then: I wish you’d stay. 

Instead, she finds his hand, the one with bruised knuckles, and in what might be the tenderest thing she’s ever done in her life, she holds tight to it with both hands, and rests her lips to one of the marks. 

Cassian heaves a breath so unsteady that it could be a capsizing ship. He reaches out with his other hand, trembling, finds her cheek and then her hair and then cups the back of her neck to draw her close. His mouth on her forehead feels like a burn. They stand there for a bit, his hand caught between both of hers and pressed to her chest, Cassian’s lips on her forehead or her hair, hiding in an alley and splashed with fuschia light, and Jyn thinks, I wish very much that you’d stay.

“Idiot,” she says, in a thick voice. 

Cassian’s mouth curves against her forehead. He doesn’t say a word.  

[andors-hope]

I miss OperaticSpaceTrash ☹️

[jyndor2]

I'd love to hear your Mara head canons. Bonus points for ones set in the universe where Cassian basically adopts her.

LOL wow this is late. And long enough to warrant two parts.

I like to think that, in my own little canon world, the best bits of Legends and Disney!canon come together like good wine or sex, and the worst… well, they can grow dusty on the cutting room floor. 

Some back story, before the main course:

In this ‘verse, we have a Mara Jade who is ironically rescued from the Last Command by her former master when he decides he’s had enough of her. The Emperor is a fuckboy, and when he tires of his little experiment in favor of his slightly less messy Inquisitors, he has Mara killed by a bounty hunter, and to ensure success, he locks her connection to the Force away in the deepest parts of her psyche. She is thirteen, lean muscle and tiny, a weaponized ballerina, but the bounty hunter takes pity on her and instead, like Snow White lore, lets her go with a vibroblade and a warning to never return to her former master. How he tricks the Emperor, I don’t know. 

Mara spends a year on the run, taking on the alias of Arica Alie, a runaway with no real skills or purpose. She lies and cheats her way to the Outer Rim. But without the Force, she must rely on her own innate resourcefulness and cunning. This alone is a story I’d love to write. 

A couple of notes: in this ‘verse, Mara is the only Hand because she was the experiment/sacrificial lamb. One of many kinds of agents, yes, but the only Emperor’s Hand. Kept in the shadows so long that no one misses her when she’s gone.

When Cass met Mara:

I assume Mara is a year or so younger than Luke/Leia, so when she is fourteen, they would be fifteen and Cassian Andor, who is 26 in R1, would be 22 (assuming the twins are 19 in ANH). I also assume that Cassian is a favorite of the Council (especially Draven) and therefore he rises in the ranks fairly early. I’d place him at Lieutenant when they meet, although not for long. I also like to think that Kay has been with Cassian for a long time, maybe since he was a teenager.

Their meeting goes like this: Cassian is on a mission, executes a wavering informant and is seen by a homeless girl in rags. The unwritten protocols are clear–the girl has to die, and it’s certainly not something he hasn’t done before. But something holds him back. Maybe it’s the Force nudging the fuck out of him, maybe it’s the clever glint in her green eyes. Maybe it’s just his conscience. 

He offers her a bite to eat in a nearby hole-in-the-wall pub. The girl looks at him like she knows what he’s thinking, like she’s been in his shoes–which is absurd, except for how it’s not. He knows a child soldier when he sees one.

(Later, she will tell him that she never let the witnesses go. Even the sniveling alley girls.)

But she’s really hungry. 

Over some sort of stew Cassian doesn’t look too closely at, he offers her a ticket off the streets. Cassian is a recruiter for the Rebellion, so I don’t think it’s too out of the ordinary for him to think of bringing her with him. Except it’s different, because he doesn’t know anything about her.

Just that she’s a fighter.

And after a year on the run, heartbroken and lonely, Mara is desperate. And there’s this feeling of rightness, something she has never experienced. 

So yes, she goes with him. 

Kay is not happy about it. 

Spy Lessons:

As far as interrogations go, it’s quite pleasant. There’s no beatings or truth serums, no torture of any kind. So Mara really has no trouble opening up to the Rebels. With a few exceptions.

1. She does not tell them her former title. After a few well-placed misdirections, General Draven assumes she was an Inquisitor before leaving the Empire. There are rumors of Inquisitors, not of the Hand, and she enjoys the way Lieutenant Andor stands just a bit taller when his superior praises him.

2. She does not tell them how well she (thought she) knew the Emperor. Not out of misplaced loyalty, although she will never want him dead. He raised her, and he gave her everything she wanted, and she still doesn’t know the extent of his cruelty. In time, this will change. But not for a long time.

3. She does not tell them she has not felt the Force in a year.

Andor is there some days. Mainly she speaks with Draven, who is calculating and sharp. She respects him, but she was trained in interrogation at ten years old. She knows this game.

When he tells her she can stay, she sees Andor smile (clearly despite himself).

And then comes the fun part: boot camp. She is out of shape but not out of practice. Hand-to-hand combat comes naturally to her. She doesn’t see her recruiter too often in the early days.

The tricky part is making nice with the other recruits. They’re older, physically stronger and mostly male. She doesn’t have much experience being herself around people. She pulls from her bag of personas–Arica Alie, the dancer, who is flirty and artsy and a bit fun; Celina Marniss, the clever schoolgirl with political aspirations–the traits that she knows work well on teenage boys. Mara Jade herself is cold and sharp around the edges, and vulnerable. Lonely. 

But when Cassian Andor is around, she is a little less so.

She does see in him things she herself has felt, but differently. Of course, he doesn’t know just how similar they are–how, even so much younger than him, she carries the burden of death on her shoulders, the chains of sin in the name of a greater cause.

They eat together when he’s on base. He tells her cleaned up stories from his missions. The blood is on his hands, and she sees it because she understands. And she absolutely doesn’t tell him that his boss has her doing extra work on the side. Exercises in intrigue.

For his end, Cassian isn’t an idiot. He knows what Draven thinks she used to be. He sees her scores and how fast she is going through her courses. It will be less than a year until she is given orders. And he’s certain he knows what she’ll be doing.

Draven says it sometimes. “The girl’s skills will be wasted on the front lines.”

She’ll be in the shadows for her whole short life, and it’ll be his fault. A girl like that should be in the light.

Someday he’ll tell her his misgivings, years in the future, when he has a bad back and a high rank, when he can no longer do the dirty work himself.

But for now, he watches her beat the shavit out of boys twice her size and praises her like he’s supposed to.

When she graduates in three months time, he’s there for the ceremony like no one was there for his. 

The Spy and the Saber (or the interim years, or the blossoming of a friendship):

Cassian is promoted shortly after Mara is swept up by Intelligence. It’s unrelated to her recruitment, a mission that could have gone terribly wrong but didn’t because of some quick thinking on his part.

Captain Andor sees Private Jade on base rarely during the first year of her service. He hears stories–rumors, really–of an agent so ruthless, so thorough and exacting they are called the Saber, and he knows it’s her, this little girl whose always been more than that. 

And so one day, when she’s sixteen, he tells her what he’s heard. And she doesn’t deny it, although she is a little flustered by the nickname. 

He tells her about becoming a Fulcrum. 

After that, she trusts him. She treasures his friendship. She even likes Kay (who tolerates her enough). 

They go on one mission together once before he goes rogue.

While he begins to hear whispers of the name Erso, she starts to hear talk of a superweapon. 

When he sees Jyn Erso for the first time, Mara Jade is on a mission of her own. Scarif happens, Rogue One is MIA and presumed dead. Alderaan crumbles to nothing. And a grieving Mara watches the tiny band of pilots fly out to defend Yavin, finally opens her eyes to just how cruel the Empire is.

And that is it for part one of my headcanons.

[tiaraofsapphires]

He always felt so soft and posh in comparison to her. She would tease him about it, sometimes. The pampered and groomed prince with the tough and world-worn smuggler.

Other times, she would bury her face in the crook of his neck and make some comment about the cologne he was wearing, then chase the pretty words with a wicked bite that could only just be hidden by his shirt.

This super-awesome moodboard was done by the super-awesome @operaticspacetrash (holy shit thanks so much!!!!) for my Prince!Cassian/Smuggler!Jyn AU “my darling, i’ll tuck your name under my tongue”, which you can read here!

[safarikalamari]

In darkness I follow the light and find my way to the beginning again and again and again

for @operaticspacetrash (part i)

[fawnanddoll]

@operaticspacetrash Rebelcaptain || Fairy Godmother AU  Orphaned at six, Cassian Andor has only known struggle and poverty since his parents passed away. Fighting just to survive, he scraps his way into adulthood, working the fields in his birth country of Fest. As he grows into a man, he learns that the way to the sort of comfort and security that he never had as a child is through wealth, and that on Fest the only way to obtain that is to enter into the aristocratic class. But that is no easy feat…unless you have your very own fairy godmother. Enter Jyn Erso: Fairy Godmother in Training.

[ruby-red-inky-blue]

There are good days. Early mornings, where she sits down with him and passes him a mug of caf and they sit in silence, close enough for their elbows to touch if they shift. Crisp afternoons where one of them comes back from a small mission, and the other sits in the hangar and waits.

There is so much waiting.

There used to be so little time, no chance, no future. And now they wait.

(If she had to choose a word for Cassian Andor, it’s almost.)

Beinahe

Thanks a million for the amazing moodboard for this old thing of mine, @operaticspacetrash!