La paz llegará, el amor siempre vivirá—No me ames, mas quedate otro dia

[candor1]

WHO: Jyn Erso, Cassian Andor, Bodhi Rook, Finnick Odair (independent threads)
WHERE: Cabin 56, the woods, the spring, wherever else happens
WHEN: Feb 6 through now. "Ten days in the [new] life".
OPEN TO: Jyn, Cassian, Bodhi and Finnick
Quick apology for what a first-love middleschooler I've been being IC and OOC, with me neglecting and Cassian unable to gear shift at all away from Jyn! (Turns out we're super OTP, quelle surprise) Thanks for forebearance, and sorry, guys…!
This might help with moving back into the rest of the game from that first obsessed flush of her arrival. Mainly prompts for kestreldawn and I to multithread several CR developments in a single post, rather than a slew of logs.
WARNINGS: PTSD (both helping and triggering one another—and worrying about that), exchanging war/life/traumatic stories, issues they haven't thought about in decades resurfacing 'cause this is so new and everything's getting unlocked, smut (though surprisingly happy/healthy), treating physical injury (possible self-harm convo), reproductive choices, panic attacks
STATUS: Open

1. the next moment (Jyn and Cassian in their cabin)

2. that night (same)

3. in the next few days (Finnick and Cassian at the spring)

4. in days following (Bodhi, Jyn and Cassian TBD)

5. today (Jyn and Cassian, cabin and forest)

Comments

cw: non-con mindset, ptsd

[fishermansweater]

Finnick has learned many things from Annie. Where he'd always been forced to surrender himself and his power, she's slowly, so slowly, taught him to take a little back. But while he's had to learn from the one person who'd taught him what it was not only to be wanted, but to want in return, he'd equally had to learn to set aside her lessons every time he boarded a train to the Capitol.

Cassian's tremble, though, is only faintly reminiscent, enough to feel uncertain for a moment. Not enough to stop Finnick feeling the dread of compulsion when Cassian looks at him, shifting his head slightly for the kiss.

He knows how impossible it is to say no, even without any single reason he can point at to comply, and with so many not to. But as though feeling the silent, almost invisible dread, Cassian doesn't move for the kiss. Instead, he turns, pressing his head against Finnick's shoulder, his hand sliding along Finnick's arm, the touch sparking revulsion and compulsion mixed in together, impossible to separate, so all he can do is act on instinct, tilt his head into the touch, close his eyes and hope, hope, this is all this is becoming.

He can feel that part of his mind that always rebels start to switch off, and he has to swallow back a sick feeling as the name Annie, Annie, Annie replays itself over and over through his mind, the name he always wants to spit back at them to tell them he's not theirs for the taking.

It's the whisper that draws his mind back, with a sudden jolt, back to that place where he can turn against them, rebound from their devastation to turn it back against them in the only way he can. Here, though, he has no vengeful payment to seek, just the need for attention, focus that he can't have while his mind slips out of his body.

It's a question, and a moment of forcing himself to feel the sensation on his skin is the answer.

He reaches a hand as if to caress Cassian's hair, offer his feigned apology or comfort for what he now realizes Cassian has turned into some sort of feigned misstep. Like Cassian's hand in his hair, Finnick's finger traces along Cassian's scalp.

Y E S.

[candor1]

Cassian's tense body goes a little limp against Finnick's. Thank the Force. This move wasn't for nothing.

They could stay this way apparently naturally for another moment, no more.

Cassian traced on Finnick's skin:

I W I L L W R I T E D O N T W R I T E B A C K

Unclear now but will make sense when Cassian's first letter is slipped under Finnick's door. Show that this isn't entrapment. Cassian isn't trying to get Finnick to leave a paper trail.

Just for Finnick to be able to engage with whatever Cassian can tell him without having to divert energy to the shields.

(Hopefully Cassian will figure out what in Hoth to say.)

It'll be up to Finnick to decide if/when they proceed from there.

And Cassian pulls away, bowed head shaking, keeping his eyes averted. "I'm sorry. …I'm sorry. …I'm going to go."

[fishermansweater]

His guard should be better.

His guard should never have slipped enough to let Cassian see fear. Now that it has, he's not sure he can ever stop feeling apprehensive about that weakness he'd shown, how easy it would be to exploit. Cassian's good: he's known very few people who could read and play him as well as this man can. Plutarch Heavensbee, perhaps. Coriolanus Snow, certainly, though Snow's weapons were more brutal.

Focus. He has to focus, because Cassian is writing something longer, more complex, on the too-sensitive skin of Finnick's scalp. He doesn't want to concentrate on that feeling, and his mind is trying to slip again, back into that distant nowhere-place it goes so that his body can do what it has to do.

This moment, he has to be here for this moment, and the next, and slowly piece together the string of letters that Cassian is forming on his skin.

"Understood," he breathes, because he can't not do what Cassian says. Agreement feels inevitable.

It's a relief too great for words when Cassian pulls away. It gets him away from that touch, that embrace, the feel of fingers in his hair, fingers that aren't Annie's, and he's never been allowed to care about that, but he still hates it, every time.

"Go," he agrees, nodding, taking another couple of steps back, to get more air between them. "Be with Jyn."

[candor1]

"Captain Andor!"

Cassian looked up from where he'd just deposited his duffle in the ship's hold; past Jyn, waiting to follow, now raising her eyebrow at him; to see Draven crossing the landing platform. Sparing Jyn a glance, Cassian left her and the ship to meet him.

His C.O., former mentor, recruiter, converter, tilted his head and Cassian understood. They stopped in the center of a clear space on the tarmac. There was no one around them and nothing anyone could hide behind to listen. Even among their own people… except they were a smaller subdivision of "their own", now; not just Rebels, but Intelligence. They all shared loyalty, but Intelligence didn't always share all is information. Not amongst its own let alone the rest of the Alliance.

They stopped face to face. Draven had his hands at his sides. Cassian's were clasped loosely behind his back. Draven was half a head taller than Cassian, which might be part of why, when they stood this close, for all Draven had groomed him into a full colleague, Cassian always felt a bit regressed.

Being taller, Draven had to bow his head to make sure Cassian (and no one else) heard him. And, perhaps, so that the back of Cassian's head would block the view of Draven's lips moving from the vantage of the ship Cassian had just left—from, potentially, Jyn's eyes.

Draven said in a low voice, "Galen Erso is vital to the Empire's weapons program." Cassian's brief nod. Draven met his eyes grimly. "Forget what you heard in there. There will be no extraction. You find him…"

Cassian's chin lifted slightly, eyes fixed on Draven's. (Don't…)

Draven didn't wince, but his brief exhalation between his teeth was equivalent. (I'm sorry.) "…you kill him."

Cassian looked away, mouth tightening.

Of course. Of course it wasn't enough to put him on a volatile mission to a precarious locale seeking an imbalanced warlord with a chip on his shoulder. (Or maybe just a chip. The shoulder might be gone by now.) It wasn't enough to add to that the unwelcome x-factor of another human. It wasn't enough that that human was as undisciplined, anarchic, convictionless, unpredictable, provocative, and aggravating—and who somehow connected with something in Cassian's chest that made it burn and hurt and be irritated all the more—as Jyn Erso. On top of all that… he would have to travel with her one-on-one, into a warzone, keep her safe, keep her trust, and try to keep everything at some impossible equilibrium; while having to conceal from her the exact thing that betrayed their express request of her, and, if he'd read her right (which he had) was most likely to provoke the least predictable of reactions. Any more explosives you want to add to that pile…?

Draven offered no apology or commisseration for Cassian's momentarily averted eyes (which would read between the two of them as clearly as a grimace). Only added, flatly, "Then and there."

Allowing one more millisecond to turn his inner rebellion to dispassionate, resigned detachment, Cassian lifted his eyes back to Draven's. Likewise didn't speak—no argument, no goodbye. Definitely no verbal agreement for a classified directive. Only meeting Draven's gaze and giving a single crisp nod.

Then turned on his heel and strode back to the ship. Where he would proceed to speak with Jyn as if nothing had changed. As if their purpose was still synchronized. As if nothing had happed.

…and instantly compromised regulation, precedent, and his mission (for the first time, not the last) to let her keep her stolen weapon.



Cassian raised his eyes back to Finnick. Though Finnick would never know it, the same look was in them as when he'd looked then at Draven.

Of course. You care about Jyn.

…Which wasn't fair… either time, but even less for Finnick. Who'd saved her. Who'd helped her. Helped them both.

But there was still that sense of… ludicrous irony.

But Cassian was hardly innocent or passive in either case. And then as now, there were reasons. Hopefully good ones.

So Cassian likewise nodded. This time, to complete the act, gave a smile. But the same again when he let all inner turmoil drop, to turn, and walk away.