Cassian Andor (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
candor1) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
maskormenacelogs2017-11-26 10:02 am
candor1) wrote in maskormenacelogs2017-11-26 10:02 am
Entry tags:
trying to get to you first to say the world's on fire [closed]
WHO: Jyn & Cassian (featuring memories from Ellie and Hux, plus a wee bit of Krennic)
WHERE: De Chima 3, their room
WHEN: backdated to Nov 11 or whenever around there the memory loss/share event kicked off
WHAT: messing with already messy brain results in mess
WARNINGS: um… probably… panic attack, dissociative state, PTSD re: all the usual R1 things; throw in some borrowed TFA and The Last of Us things. On the nice side, allusions to sex among other elements of what's mostly a surprisingly happy/healthy living situation.
The fairy tales of "normal" life and "normal" couples usually talked about physical bonds wearing off. Cassian hadn't been formally keeping track—and they weren't about to ask Kay for help on it—but if their sex life had slowed, they hadn't noticed; and they still fell asleep holding each other every night. Still stayed tightly bound until morning.
He'd slipped his arms around her as usual as soon as she joined him in bed that night. Kissed her neck and hair and rested his face there, to fill his senses with her as he had when they'd thought they were dying… and sleep better than he ever could last life, because he was feeling and smelling and breathing her. Safety. Home.
One or the other might fade in and out of sleep in the night. Turn over, trade who was curled around whom, exchange a touch on the face or the hair, find one another's hands, and drift back off. Confirming. Anchoring. Wherever their dreams hijacked them, they woke back up to one another. The dreams never got better, probably never would, but the process of coming back from them was definitely improving.
Except of course when they didn't.
And that night—
An animal cry severed Cassian's throat as he pushed himself back and away, feet hitting ground, back hitting wall, one hand slapping flat to wall, the other to his head.
a woman with green eyes like stardust
who held him on a beach until their matter burned away and their energies blended into one
a man trying to kill another man, throttling him and holding him under water in a hideous place, until my own hand grabs a gun and fires at his head which bursts red like a
the Hosnian System popping gently in the night like little red novastars, each planetary death sending a thrill of utter satisfaction
"Where is he?" gasping.
He can feel the invaders in his mind; the sense of there being too much inside. Not overwritten but… superimposed…? overstacked… things don't belong… But he can't tell which is which
"Not me no this can't be—"
Putting his body against Tivik's to give warmth and support, intimately clasping his shoulder, murmuring with genuine gratitude, "You did good. We'll be alright." and gently putting the blaster to his back and shooting him through the heart
Which was…? which wasn't…?
Emotional and sensory overload, paralyzing uncertainty, doubt, second-guessing every thought, because he can't quite tell which thoughts were always his and which the invaders, and if he can't trust his recall and recognition then he truly has nothing…
His brain was screaming too many sights and sounds, feelings that made him want to vomit or howl or celebrate or cut out his own heart… Trying to make it stop, he cracked his head to the wall.
WHERE: De Chima 3, their room
WHEN: backdated to Nov 11 or whenever around there the memory loss/share event kicked off
WHAT: messing with already messy brain results in mess
WARNINGS: um… probably… panic attack, dissociative state, PTSD re: all the usual R1 things; throw in some borrowed TFA and The Last of Us things. On the nice side, allusions to sex among other elements of what's mostly a surprisingly happy/healthy living situation.
The fairy tales of "normal" life and "normal" couples usually talked about physical bonds wearing off. Cassian hadn't been formally keeping track—and they weren't about to ask Kay for help on it—but if their sex life had slowed, they hadn't noticed; and they still fell asleep holding each other every night. Still stayed tightly bound until morning.
He'd slipped his arms around her as usual as soon as she joined him in bed that night. Kissed her neck and hair and rested his face there, to fill his senses with her as he had when they'd thought they were dying… and sleep better than he ever could last life, because he was feeling and smelling and breathing her. Safety. Home.
One or the other might fade in and out of sleep in the night. Turn over, trade who was curled around whom, exchange a touch on the face or the hair, find one another's hands, and drift back off. Confirming. Anchoring. Wherever their dreams hijacked them, they woke back up to one another. The dreams never got better, probably never would, but the process of coming back from them was definitely improving.
Except of course when they didn't.
And that night—
Today is the end of the Republic. The end of a regime that acquiesces to disorder
At this very moment, in a system far from here, the New Republic lies to the galaxy, while secretly supporting the treachery of the loathsome Resistance. This fierce machine which you have built, upon which we stand, will bring an end to the Senate, to their cherished fleet—all remaining systems will bow to the First Order and will remember this as the last day of the Republic! FIRE
a column of it rising red from the ground
(no: a column of it rising white from the sea)
splitting the black of the galaxy
(billowing in the blue Scarif sky)
to hurtle towards—
(to engulf them in—)
And a voice that was his own murmuring rapturous in his mind, Oh, it's beautiful…
An animal cry severed Cassian's throat as he pushed himself back and away, feet hitting ground, back hitting wall, one hand slapping flat to wall, the other to his head.
a woman with green eyes like stardust
who held him on a beach until their matter burned away and their energies blended into one
a man trying to kill another man, throttling him and holding him under water in a hideous place, until my own hand grabs a gun and fires at his head which bursts red like a
the Hosnian System popping gently in the night like little red novastars, each planetary death sending a thrill of utter satisfaction
"Where is he?" gasping.
He can feel the invaders in his mind; the sense of there being too much inside. Not overwritten but… superimposed…? overstacked… things don't belong… But he can't tell which is which
"Not me no this can't be—"
Putting his body against Tivik's to give warmth and support, intimately clasping his shoulder, murmuring with genuine gratitude, "You did good. We'll be alright." and gently putting the blaster to his back and shooting him through the heart
Which was…? which wasn't…?
Emotional and sensory overload, paralyzing uncertainty, doubt, second-guessing every thought, because he can't quite tell which thoughts were always his and which the invaders, and if he can't trust his recall and recognition then he truly has nothing…
His brain was screaming too many sights and sounds, feelings that made him want to vomit or howl or celebrate or cut out his own heart… Trying to make it stop, he cracked his head to the wall.