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caashmoneynae · 7 months

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OTHERSIDE OF THE GAME.

JOEY BADA$$ AS UNIQUE FROM "RAISING KANAN" x BLACK!FEM!OC

SUMMARY: in which Cyrenae is afraid that one day Unique will either be arrested or will no longer come home due to the life he lives. little does she know, her biggest fear is about to come true… ✨

❦

𝗖𝗬𝗥𝗘𝗡𝗔𝗘 scrubbed the dirty dishes in the soapy dishwater as she looked up from the sink and stared out the window in front of her, beginning to dissociate while her bottom lip absentmindedly made its way into her mouth.

(A/N: pronounced 'SIGH•RUH•NAY')

she knew being married to someone who was involved in the dope game wasn't easy, but her anxiety was starting to get the best of her the past few days. the streets seemed more tense than usual and Cyrenae's intuition immediately knew something wasn't right, but Unique hardly ever told her anything because he didn't want to worry her. despite this, she was always still worried, especially about him and his safety.

she was afraid that one night she'd get that one phone call that Unique had either been murdered or arrested, and either situation would make break her heart. whether it was to the streets or the jailhouse, Cyrenae was scared of losing him. she loved him too much to lose him, and them having a set of 3-year-old twins — one boy and one girl — didn't help her anxiety at all.

❝ WHAT YOU GONNA DO WHEN THEY COME FOR YOU? WORK AIN'T HONEST BUT IT PAYS THE BILLS. ❞

Cyrenae knew Unique was far too deep in the game to give up on it now, but she prayed for him every time he went out, practically begging God to let her husband come back home in one piece. she couldn't bare the pain of being a widow, but she definitely couldn't stand the thought of their children losing their father.

how would she explain to them what happened to their dad? how could she go to the funeral and face his casket? how would their lives go on with that missing piece of their family tree?

it was too much to think about at once, and Cyrenae hated having these thoughts because she didn't want to speak them into existence. plus, she hated to think about them, so she constantly pushed them to the back of her mind until they eventually crept back up to the front 10x stronger than before, and then she'd have no choice but to deal with them.

she just hoped that nothing bad would happen to her or her family, but because of the life Unique lived, it was practically inevitable.

❝ WHAT WE GONNA DO WHEN THEY COME FOR YOU? GAVE ME THE LIFE THAT I CAME TO LIVE. ❞

"yo, mama! where you at?" the sound of Unique's voice knocked Cyrenae out of her deep thoughts and she softly cleared her throat as she let go of her bottom lip and looked down at the sink, resuming washing the dishes while the sound of the door shutting and locking filled her eardrums.

glancing over at the clock on the microwave, it read '11:58 P.M.' in blue writing and Cyrenae let out a soft sigh in relief that he had come home safely yet again, silently thanking God under her breath before parting her lips to respond to her lover.

"i'm in the kitchen, baby," Cyrenae responded, her voice softer than normal, as she rinsed off the suds from the dish she had been scrubbing for the past few minutes and sat it in the dish rack so it'd air-dry, her ears pricking up at hearing the sound of his boots come closer to where she was while she stuck her hands back into the sink and reached for the last plate, "i put your plate in the microwave 'cause i didn't know what time you'd be home. i cooked pasta."

"why you sound like that?" Unique asked, his brows slightly furrowing at the difference in how her voice would usually sound, as Cyrenae kept her back towards her husband and scrubbed the dish in her hands, "baby, what's wrong?"

❝ DO I REALLY... WANT MY BABY? ❞

"nothin', 'Deem." Cyrenae fibbed, shaking her head, as her honey blonde mid-back length cornrows shifted with the movement of her head and she heard more footsteps before feeling a hand rest on the right side of her hip, causing her body to tingle yet relax at the same time.

"you know i can tell when you lyin' to me, Cy'. be real wit' me, shorty." Unique assured softly, looking down at her, as Cyrenae let out a low sigh and rinsed the suds off the last dish before sitting it in the dish rack, removing the stopper in the drain and letting out the dirty water in the sink.

"i'm scared, Kadeem." Cyrenae mumbled, yet Unique heard her loud and clear, as she turned the faucet on and rinsed the sink clear of leftover soap suds before squirting some soap into her hands and rubbing them together so she could wash them.

"scared of what? don't tell me Raq' and her brothers approached you on some weird shit again, Cy'—"

the word "again" left Unique's lips because Raquel and her brothers had tried to intimidate Cyrenae when they saw her at the grocery store last week. Marvin didn't say a word and Lou really didn't say much, but Raquel was practically threatening Cyrenae as if she was apart of the tension between the two, which was extremely far from the truth because Unique refused to let Cyrenae be involved in his drug operation.

Cyrenae knew being his wife would create tension between his enemies and she was okay with that, but Raquel threatening her over something that didn't even have shit to do with her made her angry. she had two kids at home, what would she look like fighting her husband's battles?

the thing is though, out of their whole family, it seemed as if Raquel was the only one who had a serious problem with her. her brothers didn't really pay attention to her — apart from Marvin flirting with her on occasions, Kanan and Famous talked to her whenever they saw her out, and Jukebox — aka Laverne — was practically her best friend.

though there was a semi-large age gap between the two — Juke being 17 and Cyrenae being 24 — they were as close as sisters. Cyrenae knew her before she met Unique, so when Cyrenae brought him up to Laverne's attention, she didn't bash her for it. she explained her family's feud with him to her and told her "you don't got nothin' to do wit' that tho', so i think you should go for it", which made Cyrenae respect her more than she already did.

unlike Kanan, Juke kept herself out of her aunt's business anyway, so she couldn't care less if Cyrenae dated him. as long as she was happy, that was all that mattered to her.

as for Raquel... that was a different story. Cyrenae didn't even know how she found out about her and Unique, but ever since she found out it was like she was trying to drag her into their drama, and Cyrenae nor Unique was going for it. even Lou told her she was wrong for it because Cyrenae didn't do anything wrong, but she completely disregarded what he had to say, claiming that the woman was a "bigger threat" and could be "plotting with Unique" to take down her business.

the constant disrespect Cyrenae took from Raquel made her realize that there was a high chance she could be attracted to Unique and that's why she was acting the way she was, but there wasn't any proof to back up her claim apart from how cruel she was to his wife. there was no telling what she was thinking or saying behind closed doors, and to be honest, Cyrenae didn't think she wanted to find out.

❝ BROTHER, TELL ME... WHAT TO DO. ❞

"mm-mm. her and her brothers ain't do nothin' to me," Cyrenae assured softly, holding her hands underneath the water spewing from the faucet, as she scrubbed her hands together and watched the soap create suds while she ran her tongue over her lips, "i'm scared for you."

her words hit Unique like a bucket of bricks and his face softened up at the woman as he watched her grab a towel to dry her hands with and she hesitantly turned to face him, locking eyes with him and alerting him that tears were sitting in her pretty brown eyes.

"i'm worried, Kadeem. somethin' don't feel right and it just feels like somebody's plottin'," Cyrenae explained, setting the towel down, as she gently cupped his face in her hands and felt his arms wrap around her waist, "the streets seem tenser than they've ever been, and i'm scared to find out why. Raq's plannin' something, baby. i just know it."

"and... i'm scared... that one day you won't come home to me," Cyrenae's voice went back to its soft tone and a stray tear slid down her brown-skinned face as she laid her head on his clothed and broad chest, "one day i won't be able to hold you anymore. one day i won't be able to kiss you anymore. one day i won't be able to tell you how much i love and appreciate everything you've done for our family... one day our kids are gonna lose their father."

❝ I KNOW YOU GOT TO GET YO' HUSTLE ON, SO I PRAY. ❞

"baby, you not gon' lose me, a'ight? you never gon' lose me. even if i die, i'll always be here with you and the kids and my spirit will live through y'all. but until then, stop talkin' 'bout death, a'ight? ain't nobody dyin', shorty." Unique assured softly, rubbing her back, as Cyrenae let out a soft sniffle and wiped a tear with the tip of her thumb, wrapping her arms around his torso while she held him close to her.

"something doesn't feel right, Kadeem. and with your jacket goin' missin', it doesn't help my overthinkin'," Cyrenae mumbled, referring to his "Unique" jacket, "they got somethin' to do with that, and i know they do."

Unique's customized "Unique" jacket suddenly vanished from the backseat of his car earlier this week, and Cyrenae hasn't been able to shake the thought of it. it didn't feel right that the jacket just randomly disappeared and nobody knew where it was. it was eerily suspicious, and Cyrenae had a feeling that Raquel and her brothers had something to do with it.

"don't worry 'bout them or that jacket, a'ight? it'll come up sooner or later. you gon' stress ya'self out more than you should tryna' figure out what they thinkin' and what they plannin'," Unique responded, kissing her forehead, as he rested his cheek against her head and the gold hoop in his ear sat against her scalp, "focus on us, a'ight? focus on you, me, and our troublesome ass twins."

❝ I UNDERSTAND THE GAME, SOMETIMES. AND I LOVE YOU STRONG, MM. BUT... ❞

cracking a smile, Cyrenae let out a soft chuckle as the two of them rocked back and forth, "they was askin' for you before i put 'em to sleep."

"yeah? what they say?" Unique chuckled, running his tongue over his lips, as he raised his head and Cyrenae raised hers as well, causing the two to make eye contact while she played with his chain.

"talkin' 'bout they wanna sleep in one of Daddy's fur coats 'cause they smell like you." Cyrenae chuckled, lightly tapping his chain with her manicured fingers, as she let out a giggle and Unique smiled at the thought of their interaction, making his heart swell with adoration while he kissed her lips.

"you better have given my babies they fur coats."

"i shol' did. you wanna see?"

walking down the hallway, Cyrenae opened the bedroom door as the couple's eyes locked on their sleeping toddlers in their small toddler beds, two of Unique's fur coats thrown over both of them while soft snores filled the room. smiles crept onto the adults' faces and they locked eyes as Unique kissed her temple and Cyrenae's smile slightly widened while she gently closed the door and let out a soft chuckle in slight disbelief.

she still couldn't believe she had a child, let alone twins. motherhood felt so surreal for her, and she was extremely grateful that she found the love of her life and was blessed with two beautiful children.

❝ WHAT YOU GONNA DO WHEN THEY COME FOR YOU? WORK AIN'T HONEST BUT IT PAYS THE BILLS. ❞

"one day i'ma tuck 'em in for you, mama. i know that gotta' be hectic as hell with they hyper asses." Unique chuckled, earning a soft laugh from Cyrenae, as the woman nodded her head and the couple walked across the hall to their bedroom.

"trust me, youn' know the half, man. i'm tellin' you, they get that hyper shit from you, baby," Cyrenae laughed, looking into her vanity mirror and checking her hair to make sure there were no flyaways, as Unique laughed and shrugged off his jacket while he made his way to his closet, "you want me to run you a bath, pa?"

"run us a bath. you know i'ma make you join me." Unique corrected, making Cyrenae playfully roll her eyes with a soft chuckle, as his eyes locked on something laying on the floor of the closet and his eyebrows furrowed while he sat his jacket down and squatted down to the level of the unknown item in his closet.

tying one of her husband's durags on her head to lay down her braids, Cyrenae was oblivious to what was happening behind her until she saw movement in the mirror she was standing in, her eyes locking on Unique who had stood up from his squatted position and seemed as if he had seen a ghost.

"what's wrong, Kadeem?" Cyrenae asked, her brows slightly furrowing at the change in his demeanor, as Unique slowly turned around and Cyrenae's eyes locked on the item in his arms before she abruptly paused, realizing the object he had found lying in his closet was his missing "Unique" jacket that was covered in blood, "...baby..."

their eyes locked and Cyrenae could see the confusion in his irises, causing a bone-chilling fear to go down her spine. suddenly, the front door of the home was kicked in and the couple's heads snapped towards their bedroom door as sounds of heavy footsteps belonging to multiple sets of feet made their way through the house and down the hallway, inching closer to the bedroom and causing the hairs on Cyrenae's neck to stand up.

the unknown visitors were soon revealed to be the police, and they walked into the bedroom armed heavily with guns raised as the officers pushed Unique up onto a wall and Cyrenae froze in fear, a million thoughts running through her mind at once while she watched her husband be arrested.

"Kadeem Mathis, you are under arrest for the shooting of Detective Malcolm Howard. anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law." these words cause sweat to boil at Cyrenae's hairline as her palms sweated profusely and her breathing got caught in her throat, her breathing heavy and uneven while she stumbled a bit and leaned up on her vanity before tightly gripping the wooden material.

"yo, y'all got the wrong muh'fucka'! i ain't shoot that fuckin' cop!" the room was filled with loud chatter and Cyrenae grew afraid that they'd wake the children, but she was too frightened to move from where she stood. she didn't want to raise the tension in the room higher than it already was, and these cops seemed extremely trigger-happy so Cyrenae made sure not to make any sudden move to avoid getting shot.

her biggest fear was coming true before her own eyes, and she couldn't bare to see it. seeing the love of her life be aggressively handled by the police awakened a different kind of fear inside of her, and she was the most afraid she had ever been in her life. despite being involved in a shootout once or twice because she was out with Unique, those didn't scare her as much because she knew Unique wouldn't allow her to be hurt. but seeing loads of officers fill her home to get her husband made her feel helpless and hopeless all in one.

did Unique shoot Detective Howard like they say he did? how did the jacket get back into their home after it had been missing for the past few days? whose blood was on the jacket? would all the noise wake up her children? would she be shot if she left the room to check on her toddlers? if it was true, would she ever see Unique again?

so many questions ran through Cyrenae's mind and it seemed as if more were being created within the seconds that passed by. her breathing became shallow and her vision started to falter as her grip tightened on her vanity, feeling as if her oxygen supply was being cut short while she grew dizzy.

"K...Kadeem..." Cyrenae whispered, her words inaudible and choppy, as she rested her palm on her forehead to ease the incoming migraine and she blinked a few times to try to focus her vision, but to no avail.

Cyrenae's vision focused for a split second and she locked eyes with a police officer before she unexpectedly passed out, her knees buckling and her body hitting the floor with a thud while her eyes gradually shut.

"Cyrenae!"

❝ WHAT WE GONNA DO WHEN THEY COME FOR YOU? GOD, I CAN'T STAND LIFE WITHOUT YOU. ❞

#Spotify #x black fem reader #x black reader #black girl beauty #black stories #black culture #black community #black love #black people #joey bada$$#joeybadass #raising kanan #tv shows

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mcklunkers · 3 years

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Round 10 of Star Wars bullshit/shitposty headcanons: we’ve hit double digits ladies and gentlemen.

Enjoy!

-Padme and the handmaidens had sleepovers where they are junk food and watched trashy holo-comedies 100%.

-Obi-Wan is a better athlete than Anakin but lets him win because he knows the kid is selfconscious about his abilities because of the chosen one prophecy. However Anakin and Ahsoka are the only exceptions to his hyper competitive nature. He will destroy anyone else at any sports based activity.

-Luke Skywalker lives off freezer nuggets and fries because he can’t cook properly.

-Fenn Rau is Scottish, so any clone that took pilot training understands an angry Scottish accent. Many of those ended up with the 212th, and Obi-Wan only figured out they understood properly when he had a rant under his breath and half the troopers around him started crying with laughter.

-Chopper used to be in charge of making Jacen’s cot at night, and sometimes he’d use one of Kanan’s shirts instead of a pillowcase so that the kid would know how his father smelt. Hera would curl up in the cot on these nights so they could almost feel like a complete family for a bit.

-The Clones have a tiktok/vine account.

-Jesse and Kix hoard blankets basic medical supplies for clones that are afraid to go to the med bay. They’ll fix them up in the barracks as well as they can, and if it’s serious Kix will just drug them as a last resort. They’ve used this strategy on more commanders and Jedi than they’re willing to admit.

-Thrawn hates being interrupted, but as an alien in the Empire he tends to keep him mouth shut about it. Back home? He has on more than one occasion slapped Thrass or told Ar’alani to shut up when they cut him off. Eli laughs everytime it happens and will always bring it up as a joke to Thrawn later, but never actively interrupts Thrawn after the Chiss told him how much it infuriated him.

-Fenn Rau is shredded and no one can figure out how or why. It’s actually because the other clone trainers roasted him for sitting down all day so he got buff out of spite.

-Thrawn has a cowboy hat the Eli finds...enjoyable.

-Finn is every resistance members first choice to babysit because the kids love him and he loves hanging with the kids. He is the hide and seek champion on the base.

-Faro has so many gay thoughts for Ar’alani that Eli will have to go over any brief she gives with Faro again later because not one word of that is going in. Head empty, only pretty blue lady.

-Clones play capture the flag paintball. 501st are reigning champs because they’re feral and no one can compete with that.

-The Rebels frequently roast Kallus over his ISB helmet cos it looks like cheese.

-All of the clones can sing well. (This is a public service announcement for clone/boba/Jango simps to check out temeura Morrison’s album on Spotify cos it proves this as canon.) 79’s Karaoke nights result in a lot of business. Especially when Alpha-17 gets drunk and breaks out the ABBA for Shaak-Ti.

That’s all for part 10, my Star Wars hockey team shitpost headcanons are also up, I’m thinking of other stuff too because my brain is very pro procrastination right now lmao. Also Im rereading the Thrawn books so there is a weird amount of that atm my bad. Enjoy lads 😁

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calebdumes · 3 years

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it’s late and no one is on so clearly this is the best time to post

fandom: star wars rebels

relationship: kanan jarrus/hera syndulla

rating: n/r

word count: 1.6k

Kanan hadn’t been sleeping well lately and it wasn’t that hard to figure out why. These last few months had been hard on him, even if he pretended otherwise and when he was able to get some shut eye, his sleep was anything but restful.

Hera hadn’t fared all that better. It was hard work trying to hide a rebel cell in plain sight. But she finally thought she had every one settled on Garel - or as much as they could be. Even if Senator Organa had deep pockets, their current set up at the spaceport was going to burn through his slush fund in record time.

They needed to find a base. And fast.

So Hera was busy scrolling through the list of potential planets that Captain Rex had been kind enough to provide for them, even though it was deep in the planet’s night cycle and the rest of her crew tucked away in their bunks sleeping soundly. She was sitting with her legs folded on the curved acceleration couch in the lounge, the lights set to their lowest level. Kanan had his head pillowed in her lap, his long legs stretched out along the couch, his face pressed into her stomach. It couldn’t have been the most comfortable sleeping position but Hera was just grateful that he was finally sleeping.

A green finger slowly dragged across the screen of her datapad while her other hand swept through the silky strands of Kanan’s hair, the sounds of his soft snoring mixing with the slight hum of power from the Ghost’s generators. It was peaceful like this, reminding Hera of the early days, when it was just her and Kanan against the galaxy. She smiled at the memory.

Her peace was interrupted as the door to the lounge slid open to reveal the imposing shadow of Captain Rex standing in the doorway.

“Sorry.” Rex said quietly as he stepped into the lounge. “I didn’t think anyone would be up.”

“It’s alright.” Hera smiled at him, her hand going back to stroking Kanan’s hair. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Rex rubbed sheepishly at the back of his bald head. “You could say that.”

Hera hummed in acknowledgment before saying, “There’s some caf left in galley if you’d like some.”

“I’m good thanks.” His eyes cut to Kanan’s sleeping form. “You mind if I join you for a bit?”

“Not at all, in fact, I’m going over the list you gave us. Maybe you can help me narrow things down?”

“It would be an honor.” Rex smiled at her, taking a seat on one of the stools. Hera toggled a knob on the side of the holotable and projected her datapad so they could both look at it. For a while, they researched planet after planet, hoping to come across a suitable location for a base, Kanan sleeping peacefully in her lap the whole time. She wondered for a moment, if she should wake him up and send him to her cabin but she was afraid that if she did that, he wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep. He desperately needed the sleep and Hera wasn’t going to deny him the opportunity. Besides, she kind of liked how he was cuddled up to her, even if she was starting to lose feeling in her toes.

Rex, as it turned out, was a wealth of information that had her questioning why Fulcrum didn’t utilize him sooner. She assumed it was mostly because he had served his time and wanted to live out the rest of his life in peace. It was probably what the old clone deserved after everything he had gone through. Still, she was grateful that he had joined the fight once more. They needed someone with his experience and knowledge if they really wanted to take down the Empire for good.

Hera didn’t know how long they worked, the time passing with little care or notice. It was only when Kanan made a pitiful noise, a cross between a whimper and a groan, that caused them to pause their work. Fear shot through Hera at the sound, her lekku going tight and her breath catching in her throat. Her attention zeroed in on him, everything else falling by the wayside, completely forgotten. Hera’s hands flew to his face, stroking her thumbs over the tight lines of pain that had begun to form around his closed eyes.

“Shhh love.” She said gently, bowing her head so their foreheads were touching. “It’s alright. You’re alright.” She had to work to keep her voice even, emotion making her throat tight. “It’s alright love. It’s just a dream.”

Kanan continued to tremble in her arms, terrible, horrible little whimpers escaping his lips, each one like a knife to her heart. He was in pain, awful pain, but there was nothing Hera could do to help but hold him through it. Eventually, his shaking slowed and the tension began to leach from his body until he was restfully sleeping once again.

Hera sighed heavily and leaned back against the soft cushions of the couch. It took her longer than she would have liked to register that Rex was still there, sitting across from her at the table. His old face looked weary, his warm brown eyes misty and full of understanding.

“He get those a lot?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Hera nodded. “Lately, more than usual.”

Rex looked down at his scarred fingers. “I’m sure my presence here hasn’t helped much.” he chuckled darkly. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they've gotten worse because of me.”

Hera frowned at him. “He just needs time Rex.”

“Oh I know.” he took a breath, rolling his shoulders. “It hasn’t been easy for me either...but for what it’s worth, I’m glad he survived. He seems like a good man.”

“The very best.” she ran a hand down the side of his face. There wasn’t a day that went by where she didn’t thank the goddess that Kanan survived the Purge. That this wonderful, kind, brave human that stole her heart, lived and breathed when so many of his people had perished. She knew how the weight of his survival hung heavy on his shoulders but Hera couldn’t help but feel so immensely grateful that he was one of the few that were spared.

“Do you know where he was?” Rex asked suddenly. “When it happened?”

Hera bit down on her bottom lip, thinking about how to answer. Kanan never did like to talk much about his past, he tended to keep most things close to his chest and only divulged his secrets in small, uncommon pockets of vulnerability. Hera didn’t feel right spilling his secrets to a man he might not ever trust. But at the same time, she felt that Rex deserved to know something.

“Kaller I think.” she said finally.

Rex hummed, looking lost in thought before responding, “Kaller...I don’t remember what battalion was stationed on Kaller. Who was his master?”

Hera glanced down at Kanan, watching his chest rise and fall with each breath. When she didn’t reply Rex sat back, creating space between them. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. It’s just in my experience, you can tell a lot about a Jedi based on how they treat their men. I thought if I recognized the General that maybe...I understand that Kanan might not want me to know.”

“Her name was Depa Billaba.” Hera said softly, twirling a strand of Kanan’s hair around her finger. “That was his master.”

Rex rubbed her beard. “Ah, General Billaba. General Kenobi spoke highly of her, she was a good leader, cared deeply for her troops.”

“She gave her life to save him.” She said, not taking her eyes from Kanan’s sleeping face. She had lost her own mother at a young age but she couldn’t imagine having to watch her die with her own eyes, killed at the hands of people she once called friends.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered.

Hera glanced up at him and offered him a kind smile. “It wasn’t your fault Rex.”

“It doesn’t make it any less true.”

“I know.” she nodded. “And I think deep down Kanan knows that too.”

He just needed time, they both did.

“Well,” Rex said after a moment, pushing himself gingerly to his feet. “I should probably try and get some sleep. We’ve got a busy day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“Thanks for your help Rex.” she said as he made his way to the door.

He paused as the doors slid open, a warm smile on his weathered face. “Anytime Captain.” he gave her a jaunty two finger salute before disappearing down the hallway. Hera sat there, her finger tips resting on the underside of Kanan’s jaw, feeling his pulse beat out a steady rhythm.

The past few days had been a challenge but they had been through worse and they had survived. This was no different. Kanan would come around eventually with Rex, or maybe he wouldn’t. But Hera had hope.

She leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on his brow. “Kanan?” she prodded. “Love, I need you to wake up.”

Kanna groaned in response, his face scrunching up with displeasure. Hera chuckled at the sight. “I know dear but don’t you think you’d be more comfortable in a bed?”

At that Kanan cracked open his eyes, the familiar teal hue clouded over with sleep. “Wh’ happen’d?”

“You fell asleep.” she responded with a kiss.

“Oh.” his eyes slipped shut.

Hera hoisted him up, ignoring his grumble of protest. “C’mon love. Let’s get you in a bed.”

Kanan let Hera maneuver him to his feet, leaning heavily on her as they trekked back to her cabin. He flopped bonelessly on to the cot and curled around her the second she slipped under the covers. From one breath to the next, he was asleep.

Hera held him close, her cheek pressed against the top of his head. Her eyes slipped close, Kanan’s slow and even breathing lulling her to sleep.

#kanera #kanan jarrus #hera syndulla #captain rex #star wars rebels #star wars #star wars: rebels #you could always see me #look at me write #shleby writes #i just think it would have been really cute to see kanan fall asleep on hera like this #because she likes to work late and he doesn't like to sleep without her #also what i would give to see the relationship between rex and kanan explored more #that would have be *chef kiss*#maybe one day i'll write it #but tonight is not that day

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dalekofchaos · 3 years

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I think the reason as why most of us wanted Reylo to end on a happy note is for how all Star Wars couples ended up

Obi-Wan and Satine ended in tragedy with Satine being killed in front of Obi-Wan

Anakin and Padme ended in tragedy when Anakin was consumed by the dark side in a reckless pursuit to save his family that ultimately consumed everything he held dear and entombed him in Darth Vader

Kanan and Hera ended tragically when Kanan gave up his life to stop the TIE Defender project on Lothal and to give his friends a chance at stopping Thrawn

Cal and Merrin is heavily suggested to being a couple by the end of Fallen Order, I can only assume Cal is going to die by the end of the Fallen Order sequel

Jyn and Cassian gave their lives to deliver the plans to the Rebellion. Although it was brief, there was a chance for these two to develop as a love story

Han and Qi’Ra’s relationship is that of betrayal. Han saw love and Qi’Ra chose power

Whatever the fuck was Lando and L3, she literally dies and is forced to become apart of the Falcon against her will, that literally went everything against her character(gross????)

Val was literally fridged for Beckett’s manpain

Han and Leia break up off-screen and Han dies after they reconnect

Finn and Rose pointlessly break up. It was set up, but then discarded in the spin off book and TROS. Also Finn does not get with Rey, Poe or Jannah(it was heavily suggested that they were gonna be siblings, so gross JJerio)

Poe was literally given Zorri Bliss to shut up Oscar Isaac and the fans for seeing and wanting Poe Dameron to be gay. This also retcons Poe’s past as the child of Rebel heroes and turns Poe into another Latino drug smuggler stereotype

We wanted a happy ending for Reylo because it would break the tragic end for love in Star Wars and for all the talk of “let the past die” literally having love flourish in a happy ending would have let the cycle of tragic love would die. It would also show that Ben finishes what ANAKIN started. Saving the one he loves, starting a family and having the life Ben’s family wanted for him. It would’ve literally been “It’s like poetry, it rhymes”

art by jabberwockyface

#Reylo #Anti Lucasfilm #Finnpoe #Finnrose #Anidala #Hanleia #Obitine #Kanera #Rebelcaptain #Merrical

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smhalltheurlsaretaken · 3 years

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Hey! I literally love your last post so much but I'm confused about the rebels bit (never watched it). How does Rebels criticize the jedi? Thanks!

Aw, thank you! (Lol, this is such an old ask I don’t remember what that post was, but here goes).

Well in s2 Ahsoka, Kanan (a survivor from Order 66) and Ezra (his Padawan) all go to an old Jedi Temple to talk to Yoda about Vader and his Inquisitors (Darksiders who hunt the few remaining Jedi and kidnap Force sensitive kids). Yoda is only there spiritually and the three of them get different visions. Ahsoka sees Anakin as Vader, and Kanan has to fight several enemies and eventually admit he can't protect his Padawan from the world, only guide him (which prompts the vision to finally make him a Jedi Knight, as he survived Order 66 as a Padawan.)

And Ezra... Ugh. Ezra had a previous encounter with Yoda, in which he got his lightsaber crystal. Basically Yoda asked him why he wanted to be a Jedi, and Ezra had to do some self-examination and eventually realized that helping and protecting people made him feel alive, which greatly pleased Yoda who told him he might become a Jedi after all. That's a really great exchange and I love the character development Ezra gets, as he starts by saying he wants never to feel powerless and eventually realizes that's not the right answer.

But in this second encounter, as Ezra asks how they can defeat the Inquisitors, Yoda basically says that fighting is rarely the right path. And to illustrate that, he says that line about the Jedi being arrogant and joining the war swiftly "in their arrogance," which really bothers me. He also says they were "consumed by the Dark Side", which is why they're now gone. In all fairness, he also mentions that they were motivated by fear, which is partially true.

Now, I write analyses and I try to be intellectually honest about them, because ignoring contradicting stuff weakens your argument instead of helping you. Except this time, I really can't accept this quote. I have an excuse, Lucas wasn't involved in Rebels so it's not the highest canon in my opinion (the 6 movies + TCW are, here are the quotes justifying my position), and I feel like that assertion is out of character for Yoda, ignoring his ST ghost appearances, and also plainly factually incorrect.

I understand that Ezra really needed to be taught not to always seek to fight. At this point, he's still an emotional kid who occasionally struggles with the Dark Side. Not fighting is important to a Jedi's path, so I can understand Yoda's intention. But the example he uses? According to Lucas, the Jedi were drafted in the war. That's not jumping into a conflict out of arrogance, that's literally being dragged there against your will. And sure, there’s Geonosis, but how exactly is rescuing a bunch of your people that’s getting slaughtered by a Sith Lord the same thing as arrogantly jumping into a fight? Like, what’s the option here? Not go, and let an innocent Senator and a bunch of Jedi be murdered?

It's like Rebels!Yoda isn't acknowledging that the war was fake and that a Sith Lord engineered it as the perfect trap (which is recurring problem in Rebels; at one point Ezra, Kanan and Rex have to fight an old Separatist tactical droid and Ezra "solves" the Clone Wars by pointing out that nobody won except the Empire, so really they were on the same side all along, and he gets praised for doing what "a bunch of Jedi, senators and Clones couldn't do," ie getting both sides to talk to each other – except wtf??? setting aside that the Jedi and Rex were aware of the war being fake by the end of it, and that the Separatists were openly led by a Sith Lord and attempted to commit genocide several times in TCW and did commit mass murder, and reduced like several worlds to slavery or starvation and were backed by the worst big corporations you could imagine, the war would NOT have ended if the two sides had tried talking it out. 1) The Senate made it illegal 2) the big corporations arranged for terrorist attacks on both sides the one time they tried to negotiate so the war would drag on and they'd get more money out of it 3) Sidious. Was. Controlling. Everything. What. The. Heck. Would. Have. Been. Accomplished. By. Negotiating.) Plus the question of whether or not the Jedi should even fight is like... constantly raised by the Jedi during TCW, so I really can’t see it as “oh wow we didn’t even take the time to think and we got killed because of it, we really sucked.”

Seriously, there’s this S6 quote:

MACE: Are you sure we are taking the right path? YODA: The right path, no. The only path, yes. Designed by the Dark Lord of the Sith, this web is. For now, play his game, we must.

Like yeah, totally rushing in and being eager to fight lol. Nothing to do with being boxed in and having no alternatives.

So yeah that's bothers me and I don't think it jibes with the rest of canon. I don't remember Yoda telling Luke (who, in the beginning, is as eager to fight as Ezra is) that the Jedi "disappeared" because of some fault of their own, or because of an eagerness to fight. (Seriously, pussyfooting around the fact that the Jedi were slaughtered grates me.) The OT never, ever, ever implies that the destruction of the Jedi Order was their fault - and unless you assume that the OT is “pro-Jedi propaganda” (*laughs in dumb youtube comments*) then I don’t see Rebels weaving it into its narrative as legitimate.

Again, choosing alternatives to fighting is a great lesson on a personal level, but it doesn't work on the scale of the Rebels/Empire conflict - or the Jedi/Sith one. Ezra should often choose not to fight because of what it'll do to his soul. The Rebels should not stop fighting because there is no cohabitation with something as evil as the Empire. Imo Yoda is always presented as wise enough to know the difference.

The last thing that makes me think it's out of character is Yoda's spiritual journey in TCW s6. He gets all of his flaws thrown into his face and has to conquer them – he has to face his literal Dark Side and he wins. And yet at no point during that arc is he ever made to conquer his ‘Jedi arrogance’ or whatever. He has to face his worst fear (first vision, all the Jedi dying), let go of his attachments (second vision, him having to accept that he can’t live in a perfect world where everything is beautiful and no one is dead), and reaffirm who he is as a Jedi (third vision, refusing to give up on Anakin and trying to save him rather than to kill Sidious) but at no point is he ever made to recognize that wow, the Jedi are the worst for fighting.

I’d argue that the very purpose of the visions showing him Order 66 and Anakin falling are to make him accept that these things are completely beyond his control - and as such, not his fault. He doesn’t get to fix things, because the fate of the Order is not in their own hands. It is, in fact, in Anakin’s (from a thematical/narrative standpoint). Yoda has a hard time with it (actually he almost shuts down when he first sees everybody dead and his first reaction is to say that he failed them, so I can’t accept Yoda blaming his grandkids for dying) but he accepts it in the end, when he tells Mace and Obi-Wan he’s not certain one ever wins a war, but they might still find ‘victory for all time’ (referring to balance aka Sidious’ death in RotJ).

So anyway that’s my beef with Rebels!Yoda. Not hate on Rebels though, there are many parts of it that I really, really love - but some of them kinda infuriate me, and this is one of them.

#ask #anonymous #yoda #yoda appreciation #in defense of the jedi #long post #meta #more like me ranting #my meta

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bedlamsbard · 3 years

Text

Part two of the reluctant roommates AU concept! A reminder that my concept writing is deliberately not titled, chaptered, or betaed and is generally low pressure writing. (I think to some extent I burned myself out on the titled stuff, but that’s for another post.)

Previous: Part 1

About 8.2K below the break.

Please note that while I don’t generally do content advisories, this contains discussion of fairly severe (unnamed) depression and anxiety, as well as physical abuse (about the same as other Inquisitor!Kanan concepts).

Agent Syndulla’s fear made Kanan’s back teeth ache, leeching into his dreams and giving him a flurry of nightmares that he knew had to come from her, not from within himself. He woke with a start and lay in the unfamiliar bunk with one arm thrown up over his eyes, feeling like a voyeur despite the fact that he hadn’t done it on purpose. Dreams weren’t a reflection of reality by any means, but they often had more to do with it than most people wanted to believe. From what he had seen in Agent Syndulla’s dreams, most of them had been drawn from her memory. He wished he didn’t know that.

At least it made a change of pace from his usual nightmares.

Eventually he made himself get up, wincing as his recently broken ribs twinged with the movement. They were mostly healed now, but were still fragile and painful, liable to get broken again if he wasn’t careful for the next week or so. With any luck, this particular assignment wouldn’t involve getting shot or stabbed or thrown off in any cliffs, though given the way the past decade had gone Kanan wasn’t sure he really believed in luck anymore. He still felt as though he had used up whatever he had remaining to him getting away from the Hunter for however long that lasted.

He dressed slowly, careful of the ribs as well as the rest of his assortment of healing bruises, cuts, and other miscellaneous injuries. Some were from the assignment where he had gotten his broken; some were the Hunter’s parting gift, since his master had been extremely displeased by the order that split them up for the foreseeable future and Kanan had taken the brunt of his ire. He touched his tongue to what he thought was a loose tooth and winced at the confirmation, feeding the Force through it to reseat it in the gum.

He could sense the Agent Syndulla was awake now, her attention focused on something other than her fear. Kanan delayed leaving his cabin again as long as he could, not wanting to disturb her, but eventually had to answer the call of the refresher. He was washing his hands when he sensed her sudden realization that he was awake and the spike of terror that followed, and winced. He was used to people being afraid of Inquisitors, but usually his master got the bulk of that kind of attention; when it was aimed at Kanan it tended to be mixed with an odd kind of pity and relief. People in the Imperial service expected nonhuman Inquisitors; they didn’t expect human Inquisitors, especially one with the right accent and one who was so obviously subordinate – as well as other things – to a Pau’an. Service members looked at the Hunter and felt fear; they looked at Kanan and thought, thank the gods that isn’t me. It shouldn’t have surprised him that a nonhuman officer would feel differently.

He splashed water on his face, running a finger along the line of his jaw and the new growth of beard there; he eyed it in the mirror and decided to leave it for now. It was something he hadn’t had at the Crucible, anyway, and at the moment he felt rather desperate for anything to remind him he wasn’t just the Hunter’s Hound.

He ran his damp fingers through his hair, finger-combing it, then drew it back into a short tail at the back of his skull. When he couldn’t think of anything else he could do to delay, he went back out into the corridor, and then up to the cockpit where he could sense her presence.

She jumped as the door slid open, having obviously not heard his approach, and Kanan flinched back, startled by her reaction. They stared at each other for a few moments as her astromech grumbled threateningly at him, then Agent Syndulla dropped her gaze back to the datapad she was holding.

She was a beautiful woman, the kind of woman he would have tried to seduce back before the Hunter had dragged him to the Crucible and beaten the spirit out of him, and he thought he probably could have succeeded, too. He was hardly about to try now; for one thing, she was clearly terrified of him, and for another, the idea of letting anyone else touch him after the past few years was agonizing. Even a pretty girl.

He said, “Can I get you some caf, while I’m up?”

She gave him a wary look, then said hesitantly, “All right.”

“How do you take it?”

“Milk and sugar,” she said after a moment. “A lot of both.”

Kanan nodded to her in what he hoped was a friendly fashion – he wasn’t sure he knew how to do that anymore – and let the door slide shut between them as he stepped back. He took his time making the caf, pouring equal amounts of milk and sugar into her cup, and enough sugar into his that the spoon nearly stood up. He had started drinking caf while he was in the field with the Grand Army of the Republic a decade ago, and after the first time he had spat out his mouthful – to the uproarious laughter of Styles and Gray and Depa Billaba’s barely concealed amusement – any clone who had made it for him had sweetened it enough to be tolerable for his palate. He’d never lost the taste for it that way.

He took both mugs back to the cockpit. Agent Syndulla didn’t jump when he came in this time, but she had clearly been braced for his return. She took the mug from him with polite murmured thanks but didn’t sit back in her chair, sitting with the balls of her feet pressed against the deck, as if bracing herself against the need to suddenly flee. Kanan prudently took the seat furthest from her and only belatedly realized it was the one nearest both exits. He could tell from her fast, sideways glance towards the door to the living quarters and the hatch to the hold that she knew it too. The droid grumbled again, rolling so that he was placed defiantly between the two of them, then swiveled his dome to glare at Kanan.

Agent Syndulla took a sip of her caf, looking a little wary at first, then surprised. “I didn’t know it could taste like this,” she blurted out.

“I worked in a tapcaf once,” Kanan offered. “Some of it stuck.”

She looked badly startled by that response.

He could have told her that he hadn’t always been an Inquisitor, but he wasn’t in the mood for the kinds of questions that might inspire. He sat back and drank his own caf instead; neither the caffeine nor the sugar would do much for him, since Force-users processed most kinds of stimulants too fast for them to have any meaningful effect, but the taste helped wake him up.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, drinking their caf, until Agent Syndulla finally settled herself, as if bracing for a fight, and said, “I’ve been looking at the files you sent me.”

Kanan raised his gaze to her. She was, if nothing else, lovely to look at, but she wouldn’t have made it to the ISB or lasted this long if she was just a pretty face. She clearly didn’t enjoy being under his scrutiny, though – most people weren’t when it came to Inquisitors – so after a moment he flicked his gaze slightly away from her.

“There’s an auction the day after we’re scheduled to arrive,” she went on, after a moment’s brief hesitation. “We could call in the local Imperial garrison for backup, but if the regulars could deal with this, then they would have done so by now.”

“This isn’t the sort of thing they’re really equipped to handle,” Kanan said. If it had been, no one would have bothered to send an Inquisitor and an ISB agent to deal with it. Though he had his suspicions about why the Whip had assigned it to him as his first solo assignment. He was less certain about what it had to do with Agent Syndulla and didn’t have enough of an idea about the ISB’s internal politics to even begin to guess.

She nodded in response to his comment. “Depending what the situation is like, we might want them later, but Barzhun doesn’t have a large Imperial presence. As far off the beaten path as it is, it’s not impossible that the local garrison has some sort of relationship with the black market there. It isn’t unheard of.”

And was usually the job of the ISB to deal with, though on occasion the Inquisition dealt with corrupt officials instead. Kanan nodded. “What do you want to do?”

She looked a little surprised that he hadn’t just tried to give her an order. Kanan said in explanation, “Most of my assignments have either interfaced directly with the local garrisons or been – ah, more direct. And my ma – I wasn’t the one who did any of the planning.”

He saw her lekku twitch slightly at the slip, but she didn’t ask about it. Instead she braced her shoulders again and said, “Can you pass as a civilian?”

Kanan glanced down, giving the question due consideration because it had been a long time since he had been in a position where that was even an option and he wasn’t immediately certain of the answer. “Yes,” he said eventually, “but I don’t have any civilian clothes.”

When she looked a little worried, he added, “I’ve got clothes that don’t have the Imperial seal on them.” And there were plenty of civilians who only wore black or gray. “You’ll have to lend me a blaster, though.”

She met his gaze for an instant. “Can you use one?”

“I wasn’t always an Inquisitor.” He looked her over, this time with a more a critical eye than he had done before; past her prettiness she was muscled under her gray ISB field uniform, her holstered blaster a natural extension of both uniform and self. He had also noticed earlier that her lekku signals were erratic, not quite explicable to anyone familiar with Twi’leks “Can you pass as a civilian?”

“I’ve done it before.” She glanced down, clearly uncomfortable under his inspection. “Chopper too.”

“That I can believe,” Kanan said.

That startled something that was nearly a smile out of her, a quick flash of amusement that warmed the Force for no more than an instant as the astromech grumbled at them both. Then she dropped her gaze again. “The HoloNet posting on the darknet said that there would be a reception the night before the auction for potential bidders to review the items up for auction. I assume that you’ll recognize what we’re looking for?”

Kanan nodded. “I’ll know.” And a Twi’lek and a human together wouldn’t make anyone look twice at them, no matter how they played it. Both were common species and common in company with each other.

Agent Syndulla looked at the chrono, then said, “We should be making planetfall in two hours and the reception is in six.”

“All right.” He started to stand up, putting his hand out for her empty caf cup.

She handed it to him once she realized what the gesture meant, then hesitated, looking up at him. Kanan stopped rather than leave the way he had intended to. “What is it?”

“I can’t call you ‘Inquisitor’ in the field,” she said, sounding uncomfortable. “Do you – do you have a name? That I can use, I mean?”

Kanan bit his lip. She didn’t know how loaded that question was, and he wasn’t about to answer her with “the Hound.” Still, it took him a surprising amount of effort to say, “It’s Kanan.”

No one had called him that in almost four years. Sometimes he was surprised that he could remember it at all.

Something about either his face or his voice must have made her realize the gravity of the confession. She said, her voice suddenly very shy, “Thank you.” She hesitated, then said, “My name is Hera.”

He hadn’t been expecting that, and the surprise must have showed on his face. She shifted uneasily in her seat, then looked away, embarrassed. “I’ve sent you the ISB files on the local garrison and government,” she said. “I wasn’t sure if you had them.”

“I don’t. Thank you.” He looked back at her for a moment, putting personal name and surname together, and blurted out, “Syndulla is a clan name.”

Her eyes went wide. He felt her low-grade anxiety snap into sudden fear, jolted from its previous course onto a new path. “Yes,” she said eventually, small-voiced, and then, with a defensive edge, “There are thousands of Syndullas.”

“I’m sorry,” Kanan said; he could tell he had said something that he should have avoided.

She dropped her gaze, but it didn’t do anything to hide the unease juddering along the Force.

“I’m sorry,” Kanan said again, then fled before he said anything else stupid.

Hera knew from personal experience that she mostly just looked uncomfortable in civilian clothes, which wasn’t exactly something she could do anything about. She suspected that if she had been human she could have attended the black market auction in an Imperial uniform, if not an ISB one, and not had anyone look twice at her, but a Twi’lek in uniform always got attention. At the moment she felt even more obvious in her plain dark spacer’s trousers and jacket, as if she was wearing a beacon or a sign that said “I’m an Imperial agent, ask me how.”

She snuck a sideways look at the Inquisitor, who was slouching in the co-pilot’s chair next to her. Hera didn’t like having him that close, but since they were working together she couldn’t exactly justify not letting him be there as long as he didn’t touch anything. She supposed that he had to be able to fly, though she doubted he had ever flown a freighter like the Ghost before. Basic piloting was required for officer candidates at the Imperial academy, but unless you were tapped for pilot training, the Naval Academy, or the ISB Academy, most officers never actually had to fly anything larger than a landspeeder or anything faster than a speeder bike. She had no idea what Inquisitors learned or how they were trained.

Without his armor or his lightsaber he looked less like an Inquisitor than she had been worried about – less so than she still felt she looked like an Imperial agent, even dressed in all black. He wore the DL-18 blaster pistol she had found for him – its grip was too big to be comfortable in her own hand, so she had thought it might work for him – and somehow managed to look as if he had been carrying a blaster for most of his life, not a lightsaber.

He straightened up as they entered atmosphere and entered one of the flight lanes on approach to the planet’s capital city. If any of the other ships in the flight lane happened to glance into the Ghost’s cockpit, they would see a pilot and a copilot both apparently doing their jobs, though Hera hoped the Inquisitor didn’t actually touch anything.

“You can fly, can’t you?” she asked him reluctantly.

He flicked a glance at her. “Yes.”

“Freighters or just starfighters?”

“I’ve flown freighters,” he said after a moment. “Not recently, but I’ve done it. Cargo freighters, mostly, short-haul – longer haul sometimes, but not as a regular thing.”

Hera turned to look at him in surprise, trusting Chopper not to let the Ghost veer off course. The Inquisitor was stubbornly not looking at her, his gaze fixed on the viewport in front of him. I wasn’t always an Inquisitor, he had said a few hours ago. She had assumed that that meant he had been elsewhere in the Imperial service before he had been recruited by the Inquisition, though he wasn’t that much older than she was. Well, people came to the Academy from all walks of life, especially those recruited by the flight academies, who could sometimes skip normal Academy training. Presumably the Inquisition operated similarly.

She didn’t have anything to say in response to him and he didn’t seem to expect one, so she turned her attention back to their flight path. She set down in one of the spaceports in Kethun City, the planet’s capital, and had the Inquisitor transmit the docking fee while she and Chopper shut down the ship’s engines.

Hera eyed him again once they were outside the ship, standing in the small docking bay and trying not to frown at the drift of wind-blown dirt and yellowish pollen that coated the floor. She sneezed involuntarily, her eyes watering, and dug into her pocket for the allergy tablets she had grabbed when she realized what season it was here. She dry-swallowed them and hoped that on this occasion they wouldn’t make her sleepy, which they seemed to do at entirely random intervals rather than consistently.

In the thin light of the overcast sky that filtered down through the open hatch doors above them, the Inquisitor’s dark garments looked pale, nearly washed out. Black didn’t suit him, especially in daylight. Hera looked at him, sneezed again, then wiped at her streaming eyes and said, “We should probably get you more clothes.”

He flicked a wary glance at her, then relaxed slightly at whatever he saw on her face. “Is it that bad?”

“If we’re going to several days of receptions and auctions,” Hera said. On some of her ops he would be unremarkable, but he would stand out amongst the kind of people who attended black market auctions, and not in a good way.

“All right,” he said, sounding more weary than anything else. “Let’s go find the market.”

Hera was startled at how much the addition of colors to his garments changed the Inquisitor’s appearance. He looked deeply uncomfortable, as though he knew he wasn’t supposed to be wearing anything other than black and gray, but his green shirt brought out color in his face and pale eyes and eased some of the hollows in his scarred cheeks. Hera thought that he wouldn’t raise eyebrows or twitch tentacles in company now, or at least not for the reasons he would have done before. He also looked younger, more vulnerable, less dangerous; she wasn’t sure whether or not that was a good thing, but there was nothing she could do about it.

Hera hated paying any attention to her appearance other than making sure that her uniform was neat and that none of her caste markings were showing, but for this particular occasion she made sure that she was wearing something that at least suggested she had more money than the average spacer. She didn’t even own any clothes that could pass muster as something a high-caste Twi’lek would wear, not that that was a distinction that would make much sense off Ryloth or outside the enclaves. Maybe not even the enclaves, but Hera avoided them whenever possible and had no idea what went on there. Being among other Twi’leks made her so nervous that it was often debilitating; she had almost failed her ISB Academy field trials for just that reason.

She left Chopper with the Ghost; even though this wasn’t her usual kind of op, she knew that in this setting an astromech droid might stand out – Chopper certainly had no talent for being unobtrusive. She and the Inquisitor got their cloaks and the speeder bikes from the Ghost’s hold – while the city was small enough they could have walked, there was always the chance that they would need to make a quick getaway. Hera felt a little better with the handles under her hands, anyway.

She watched the Inquisitor out of the corner of her eye as they sped down the road towards the site of the reception. He handled his speeder with a light, delicate touch, less heavy-handed than a scout trooper – more like a starfighter pilot than anything else, but not a TIE pilot, she decided after a few minutes of silent observation. That puzzled her, since privately owned starfighters were illegal except under very rare circumstances – not that you couldn’t make those circumstances come about with enough credits – and the vast majority of those available were TIE-variants. He must have learned on one of the others, since she knew Inquisitors flew TIEs. If he was aware of her attention, he didn’t show it.

They pulled up in front of a neon-lit nightclub, where they handed their speeder bikes over to a parking droid and received a claim token in exchange. Hera tucked it away, bemused, and fell into step with the Inquisitor as they made their way to join the queue at the door. The sound of pounding music from inside made her wince; she hated clubs and crowds alike.

The bouncer let both of them in after relieving them of their blasters, for which they both received claim tokens. If the Inquisitor had his lightsaber on him, the scanner didn’t turn it up; Hera wasn’t certain whether he had brought it or not, and hadn’t been about to ask. Hopefully he wasn’t so trigger-happy as to pull it out without absolute necessity, but having never seen him in action Hera had absolutely no idea.

Once they were inside and past the initial crush of people at the door, Hera surveyed the wide dark room beyond with distaste; it was full of beings of various species dancing, drinking, and eating, with a stage set up at the far end and a band playing something that she supposed technically counted as music, assuming you had no taste.

She glanced at the Inquisitor to make sure he followed her, then edged around the dance floor, past several shadowed – and definitely occupied – nooks. Hera fixed the instructions from the darknet posting in the front of her mind and hoped that the Inquisitor remembered them too.

After several minutes and a handful of propositions – to both of them, not just her, which was a refreshing change – they made it to the back of the club. A back hallway led to the kitchens and some refreshers that Hera suspected were intended for the staff rather than the patrons, as well as a door with a keypad on the control next to it. Hera punched in the code from the darknet, holding her breath until the door slid open, revealing descending stairs. It slid shut again as the Inquisitor stepped in after her and the pounding music from the club vanished as cleanly as if it had been cut by a knife. Hera let out her breath in relief.

She went down the stairs with the Inquisitor at her back and emerged into another room. It was a little smaller than the dancefloor above them, but more brightly lit and with far fewer people. There were still a good number of beings, but they were older than the club-goers and mostly more finely dressed. A pair of Togruta lounge singers draped themselves over the top of some kind of big instrument being played by a Nautolan who struck keys with a number of small hammers held expertly between his fingers.

A serving droid came up to Hera and offered a tray with a selection of stemmed and un-stemmed glasses holding a variety of colored liquid. “Drinks, madam, sir? I have alcoholic or non-alcoholic as you prefer –”

“Non-alcoholic,” Hera said; she could tell she was in the mood where alcohol would make her paranoid and angry, even if she drank on the job, which she didn’t unless there was no choice.

“The same.” The Inquisitor’s voice was soft.

The droid obligingly rotated the tray for Hera. “I have fruit juices, carbonated beverages, flavored waters from a variety of worlds –”

Hera accepted a glass of what she hoped was meiloorun juice – it was about the right color – and was gratified to find she was right when she tasted it. The Inquisitor chose a glass apparently at random and took a perfunctory sip; she suspected he had taken it mostly to have something to do with his hands.

Once the droid had gone, she sipped her drink and looked around the room. Another look revealed that there were a number of tall display cases placed at regular intervals; the beings gathered around them had obscured them from Hera’s initial observation. She flicked a look at the Inquisitor to make sure that he had seen them too, then moved towards the nearest one.

The beings already there – a trio of Rodian males, an Ithorian couple, and a human of indeterminate gender – all glanced up at their approach, briefly registered their appearance, then went back to their conversation. The male Ithorian moved aside so that Hera and the Inquisitor had a better look at the contents of the display case.

She heard the Inquisitor hiss softly through clenched teeth. The sound made the Rodians twitch, looking over at him before apparently deciding it was an expression of interest rather than – whatever it was. Hera glanced up at him worriedly, decided it was unlikely that he was going to snap and go on a murder spree – at least not in the next thirty seconds – and looked back at the case.

The contents were unremarkable, at least to her eyes – a set of four small sculptures of various near-human beings in long robes holding upraised lightsabers in different poses. They were made of some pale gray stone she didn’t recognize.

Hera was trying to figure out a discreet way to ask if this was what they were looking for when she realized that under the current circumstances, there was no real point in being discreet. She looked at the Inquisitor and said, “Is that it?”

He nodded without saying anything, his expression grim.

They moved onto the next display case, which held more statues and a stained glass window propped up with a light behind it. Hera glanced at the Inquisitor again and saw the tightness in his jaw; she didn’t bother asking this time, since his face was answer enough.

They rotated through several more display cases, all of which got the Inquisitor’s nod. Now and then someone new would come down the stairs, but by and large the occupants ignored each other, except for a handful who all obviously knew and liked each other well enough to speak to one another. Hera supposed that there weren’t too many people in the galaxy who traded in Jedi relics and most of them were probably in this room with her; she wished she had dared come down with a recording device so that the ISB could match known names to faces.

The serving droid came up to them again to take their empty glasses – well, to take Hera’s empty glass; the Inquisitor had barely touched his, but handed it over anyway. Hera accepted another glass of fruit juice and drifted over to the nearest case that they hadn’t inspected yet.

She felt the air change as the Inquisitor went absolutely still beside her.

Because she knew what he was, she looked at him first, not the contents of the case; some of the other occupants of the room had felt the shift as well and were looking around warily at each other or at the cases.

He was shaking so badly that she could hear his teeth chattering together, his stillness transmuted into fury that she could feel like a weight in the air. Hera shot a look at the case to see what it was that had upset him so badly and saw a collection of innocuous-looking thin braids and strings of mismatched beads; they struck something in her memory, but she couldn’t remember what at the moment. She set that aside to worry about later, hesitated for an instant, and grabbed the Inquisitor’s arm.

He flinched violently at her touch, his eyes gone suddenly wild with shock. She could feel muscle beneath her palm, stiff as steel cording; as much as she wanted to she didn’t release him. “Calm down,” she said to him, pitching her voice low but not whispering. “Do you need some air?”

He didn’t look around, but she saw awareness bleed into his panicked eyes. He shook his head slightly and Hera felt the pressure in the air lifting as he forced himself to something resembling calm, pulling his furious response back inside his own skin. She could still feel him trembling beneath her hand.

She pushed her half-full glass of fruit juice into his other hand. “Drink that,” she said.

He hesitated, and she snapped, furious and embarrassed, “It’s not tainted just because a tailhead drank from it.”

He shot her a startled look and said, sounding genuinely baffled, “Why would you think I thought that?”

Hera stared back at him, so surprised by that reaction that she briefly forgot why she had handed him her drink. “Humans –” she started to say, then shook her head. “Just drink it.”

He drank it.

She kept her hand on his arm until he had stopped shaking, then released him, tucking her hands awkwardly into her pockets to have something to do with them. When he had finished the glass, he stared at the display case again, then dragged his gaze away and went off to the next one, handing the empty glass off to the serving droid as he did. Hera followed, hoping her fury wasn’t plain on her face. The other guests veered away from him, though something about the way they did so made Hera think they didn’t know or understand why they were doing it.

The next case only held more art, to Hera’s relief. The Inquisitor stared blankly at the delicately figured tiles as if he didn’t really see them, though Hera suspected he knew exactly what was on them and – going by his reactions so far – what they meant.

“I suppose some of these still have some juice in them,” a passing Quarren woman said in her watery voice, and laughed. Hera saw the Inquisitor’s shoulders tense in response.

She stepped tentatively up beside him. “We’ve seen most of it,” she said. “We’ll be back for the auction tomorrow.”

He shook his head. “I need to see all of it.” He shut his eyes tightly, clearly trying to calm himself down even though he was still badly upset.

Hera eyed him doubtfully. Looking at him now, it was hard to remember that he was in all likelihood one of the most dangerous beings Hera had ever met; all of that coiled threat that had been there only a few moments before was gone, replaced by real distress.

She recognized the expression abruptly. She had seen it in the mirror, on one of the occasions when she had been back at the Academy and invited to some event or another at the home of a local potentate on Naboo. He had been a collector – “of everything,” he had said while showing cadets around his estate. He had looked at Hera as if he was considering collecting her too, but she had managed to avoid being in any proximity to him for most of the evening, and once the other cadets began drinking heavily she had made her excuses and left early, for which rudeness she had been roundly rebuked the next day. She had been looking at his displays – arranged in order of what he thought was most attractive, not in anything that made sense – when she had turned a corner and found herself looking at a kalikori.

It wasn’t a Syndulla one, not her family’s and not from any of the patrician Syndulla families; she had known that immediately. She hadn’t recognized the clan, but kalikori were intimately personal to each family; no one would ever let it pass out of a family line except through marriage or adoption. But there had been a lot of looting done during the Clone Wars, and more during the Imperial occupation.

Searching further through the collection and trying not to make it look as though she was doing so, Hera had found a lararium, the household shrine each family kept, and the little figures that represented the protective spirits of a Twi’lek family, the ancestral genius and the patron lares, both separated from the lararium and the kalikori alike and jumbled together on a shelf of other small statues that Hera hadn’t recognized. She hadn’t thought, at that point, that she had much Twi’lek feeling left after four years in the Academy. Apparently she had been wrong about that.

It was the same expression on the Inquisitor’s face now.

She raised her gaze to the Inquisitor again, keeping her voice low as she said, “Those braids in that case – they aren’t from the High Republic, are they?”

He shook his head a little, his face a mask of grief and fury fighting for calm. Then he looked at her sharply, some of that starting to bleed into alarm. Hera could guess why; she didn’t know much about Jedi, but she had known enough to ask. She met his pale gaze, resisting the urge to look away; she hated making eye contact with other people and there was something disorienting about him.

It was the Inquisitor who looked away. He swallowed, his throat working, and looked back at the tiles in the case in front of him. “I’m sorry,” he said eventually, then swallowed again. “I need to see the rest of the items up for auction.”

Hera bit her lip. “I want to get a feel for the crowd,” she said to him. “Will you be all right on your own for a few minutes? I don’t think we need to stay long.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said a little distantly. “I was surprised. It won’t happen again.”

“All right,” Hera said. She stepped away from him, hoping that he actually could behave himself if left to his own devices. It was balanced against her own nervousness about interacting with other people; she wasn’t particularly worried about being recognized as an Imperial agent, since in her experience no one ever looked at a young Twi’lek woman and came to the conclusion she was an ISB officer, usually including other members of the service, often including times when she was in uniform. Hera was a decent field agent, but she knew that she hadn’t exactly lived up to Agent Beneke’s desires for her, which was how she had gotten this assignment with the Inquisitor in the first place.

She got another drink from the serving droid, this one a fermented fruit juice with some bubbles in it that looked alcoholic at a glance but wasn’t, and settled her shoulders before she went back to the case with the figurines in it, which had a small group of people gathered around it. She lingered on the edge of the group, drinking her juice and listening in on the conversation – a trio of scholars debating the authenticity of the figurines, apparently. After a few minutes of that she drifted away to another case, which held what looked like ornaments. She glanced up to track the Inquisitor’s location in the room and saw him steadily working his way through the remaining cases, his mood like a thundercloud keeping people away from him.

“Lovely, aren’t they?”

Hera turned, pasting a polite smile on her lips, and saw a thin, white-bearded Pantoran male standing beside her. “It’s very intricate work,” she said.

He smiled with as much appreciation as if he had been the creator rather than some long-dead Jedi. “Mirialan,” he said, indicating a pair of round belt buckles propped up on display. “Do you see the floral work around the rims and the eclipsed suns at the centers? Variations on those themes have recurred amongst Mirialan Jedi for centuries – millennia, perhaps, though the older examples are disputed. They stem from an old Force cult on Mirial, one that hasn’t been active since before Mirial joined the Republic. We know nothing about that cult, not even its name; it no longer has any worshipers on Mirial, but until a decade ago there were still elements of it amongst the Jedi.”

He gestured to a collection of small coppery rings, each about the length of a knuckle and inscribed with knot-like decorations. “Weequay hair ornaments – for their braids, yes? You still see some Weequay wearing them today, but if you ever have the occasion to examine them closely, you’ll see that the finework is all different. That’s because Weequay Jedi had their own patterns that were used back on Sriluur before the Hutts conquered the world more than eight thousand years ago. Another Force cult, perhaps. When Weequay were first recruited into the Jedi Order, they took the symbols with them; you won’t see them on Sriluur or the other Weequay worlds today.”

“Eight thousand years is a long time,” Hera said, since she couldn’t think of anything else to say and it seemed like the point in which he expected a response.

“Perhaps longer. The Hutts – especially in the days of the old Hutt Empire – prefer to destroy the records of their conquered worlds, so that those worlds might seem to begin with their coming. It’s hard on historians.” He sighed wistfully, then looked at her more closely.

Hera resisted the urge to double-check that her markings were covered, since he seemed like the sort of person who might know that caste markings were more than just decorative tattoos the way most non-Twi’leks thought.

When she didn’t say anything one way or another, he seemed to decide that she was interested and pointed at a quartet of ivory bangles inside the case. Each one was a double-curve, small enough to fit around a near-human’s wrist, and incised with intricate patterns, some of which had been filled in with black, red, or gold, others of which were bare. The ivory was yellowing with age. Something about them was familiar and Hera frowned, trying to place them.

The Pantoran saw her expression and smiled, open and pleased rather than malicious. “Ryloth river hog tusks,” he said. “I can’t pronounce the name in Twi’leki –”

“Ruti’ara,” Hera said after a moment of thought. “From a region in the equatorial jungle. They’re extinct now.” She didn��t say that there was a set of similar bangles in her mother’s jewelry case back on Ryloth, a gift from Cham’s grandmother – then the clan head – when they had married; they had been passed down among the women of the family for a thousand years.

She looked back at the bangles in the case, now seeing the pattern of half-familiar clan markings amongst the carvings. “Fenn,” she said slowly. When the Pantoran blinked, she said, “The geometric patterns, there – in black. Those are Fenn clan markings. They’re a curial clan on Ryloth –” And had been in vendettas with the Syndullas no less than three dozen times over the past thousand years, including after the Curia’s ban two centuries earlier (which everyone on Ryloth had just taken as a strong recommendation for the first few decades), but who was counting.

“The clan is still extant?” the Pantoran asked, sounding a little disappointed.

Hera fought back family feeling she didn’t know she still had and resisted the urge to reply unfortunately. Instead she said, “Last I heard, yes. There was some scandal a few years ago, but they’re still around.”

“There is a clan that has died out, though, yes?”

Hera bit her lip. “There are a few, mostly smaller patrician clans. You’re probably thinking about the Indahs. They were a curial clan like the Fenns and the Sy – the Securas. They were in a –” She had to search for the word in Basic before going on. “– a vendetta, a blood feud, with the Fortunas. That’s another curial clan. The Fortunas tricked the curial family – the Indah Hid Indah – into agreeing to peace talks. When the Indah Hid Indah and the heads of the patrician families in the clan were all at table for the banquet, the Fortunas slaughtered them. Then they hunted down all of the other Indah patricians and killed them too, not to mention most of the plebeians. When news got out, the Republic Senate wanted the Jedi to come in and arbitrate it, but the Curia – that’s the governing body on Ryloth – wouldn’t let their ships land. They sent the Fortuna – the clan head, I mean – into the Bright Lands and ostracized most of the patrician family heads, and banned the Fortunas from being able to vote in the Curia for twenty years. They also banned the vendetta, so there aren’t supposed to be blood feuds anymore. The only Indah patricians who survived were the ones who had married into other clans cum manu, and when you do that you give up your clan rights – they weren’t legally Indahs anymore, I mean, they were legally members of their spouse’s clans. I know at least one petitioned to revoke her marriage, but there weren’t enough Indahs left for there to still be a clan. And the Fortunas had destroyed their lararia and kalikori, burned the shrines. That’s supposed to destroy the clan’s connection to their ancestors and the genii – the – the earth-gods, I suppose is the closest thing you can say in Basic. Since the Indah Hid Indah were a curial clan, they traced their line in direct descent from one of the gods – I think it might have been the –” She fumbled for the Basic again, aware that her Ryloth accent was starting to come out very strongly, and if anyone knew enough to recognize it, that it was the purest high-caste Twi’leki. “The Son of Sands. There are other curial clans descended from the Son of Sands too but the Indah Hid Indah were very, very old, as old as – the Fenns.”

She had almost said “as old as the Syndulla Tann Syndulla.” One of the surviving Indahs had actually been married to the Syndulla prime heir at the time, and had almost succeeded in convincing her and her twin brother to declare vendetta against the Fortunas themselves before the Syndulla clan head had gotten wind of it and stopped them.

“This was a long time ago?” asked the Pantoran.

“Not really,” Hera admitted. “About two hundred years.” She tensed in expectation of a comment about how barbaric Twi’leks were, never mind that there were humans on plenty of worlds who still practiced various forms of blood feud, but none came.

“An old custom?” the Pantoran said instead.

“Um, yes,” Hera said. She was too embarrassed about having given a speech about the Hid Indah Massacre to offer up that the vendetta went back to the days of the gods, when the children of the Mother of Mountains had torn Ryloth apart in war with each other after the Son of Sands had murdered his sister’s lover. It was why so much of the planet was desert, except for the equatorial jungle; their oldest records showed that millennia earlier much more of the planet had been jungle and there had still been enough ocean to separate the continents. “What does that have to do with the ruti’ara tusks?”

“Ah. Nothing.” The Pantoran beamed at the case again.

Hera let out her breath through her teeth, annoyed. She could feel heat in her cheeks, traveling up to her ear-cones and the base of her lekku.

“The marvelous thing about the Jedi is that they were so very, very old and had members from all over the galaxy, all kinds of species, so customs, traditions, peoples – animals, even – were preserved within them like insects in amber, passed down from master to apprentice over so many generations few sentient minds can really comprehend them. They provide a window into a past where there are no other windows – no holograms, no texts, no oral memories. And yet that past was preserved amongst the Jedi – it was still a living thing. The Empire might have you believe that the Jedi stole children from thousands of worlds, stripped them of their identities, their cultures, their species, and made them all Jedi and nothing else, but if that was true, then how would there be any of this?” He swept an arm around at the room and its display cases. “When I was a very young, there were pirates preying on my family’s station, and a Jedi came to deal with them – a Togruta woman, very beautiful. She wore the akul teeth headdress of a Togruta warrior, an animal which those among the Togruta who wish to prove their strength hunt and kill. Why would she do that if she was not Togruta as much as Jedi?”

He looked back at the case and sighed. “Many of those here are here for the money, or are enthusiasts for the forbidden – some for the Jedi. Others enjoy beautiful things, the rarer the better.” He flicked a glance at the Quarren who had passed Hera earlier, his expression disapproving. “When they were destroyed, it was not merely the Jedi who were lost, but a thousand others who were preserved only amongst the Jedi.”

“Most of the people on those worlds pay attention to their own history,” Hera said hesitantly.

“Ah. Yes. Some do. Others would, but their histories were stripped from them – the Hutts, as I said. The Empire, more recently. Even the Republic, in its way, as you said yourself.”

Hera blinked. “Did I?”

“When you said that your people would not allow the Republic to take over the punishment of its wrongdoers,” the Pantoran explained patiently. “Others were not so stubborn; at other points, the Republic would not have cared about their wishes.”

“They’re not –” my people, she wanted to finish, but she couldn’t get the words out.

“But sometimes history is just lost,” he went on sadly. “Not maliciously or in war or natural disaster, it just…falls out of use, and then out of memory, and if there are traces at all, then they are traces we cannot recognize. By the time one realizes it is gone, it is just not there to find.”

Hera bit her lip.

“You make it sound as if the Jedi are only the composite of others, with nothing of o – of their own,” the Inquisitor said quietly from behind Hera.

She almost jumped out of her skin. She hadn’t heard him approach, and from the way the Pantoran flinched he hadn’t noted the Inquisitor’s arrival either.

“No – no, of course not,” he said, when he had gotten control of himself. “But my – my interests have always lain elsewhere. There are so many who are interested in the Jedi and only the Jedi for what they themselves are, and not all that they represent.”

“I see,” the Inquisitor said gravely. He sounded more amused than anything else, which Hera decided to cautiously take as a good sign.

Hera half turned so that she could watch him and the Pantoran at the same time. He was looking at the case, not at the Pantoran, his gaze moving over the beautiful objects inside. She realized abruptly that he had used the present tense, not the past. And that he had started to say “our,” not “their.”

“You are an enthusiast of the Jedi, perhaps?” the Pantoran said, recovering.

Hera tensed again, but the Inquisitor just raised an eyebrow. “I have an interest.”

The Pantoran turned to Hera again. “And you, you are a student of history, I see?”

The Imperial Academy’s version of history was “things were terrible until the Emperor took control” but she wasn’t about to tell him that. “Just a few things,” she said instead. “But I enjoyed our conversation,” she added, because she did know how to be polite; not something she had learned from the Empire. She took a chance and laid her hand on the Inquisitor’s arm, suspecting that he was probably aware of her brief hesitation before she made contact. “I think we’ve seen what we came here to see,” she told him.

He was tense under her palm, giving her the impression that he didn’t like to be touched any more than she did. None of it showed in his face as he glanced down towards her and nodded.

“I will see you tomorrow evening, perhaps,” the Pantoran said.

“Perhaps,” Hera agreed, and hoped a little vaguely that she wouldn’t have to arrest him.

She released the Inquisitor as soon as they turned to walk away. They were silent all the way up the stairs into the noisy, crowded club, as they retrieved their speeder bikes, and on the ride back to the Ghost, the wind from their passage whipping Hera’s lekku back behind her.

Hera was stowing her bike and trying to decide whether the appropriate thing to do in this situation would be to debrief the evening when the Inquisitor said, very tiredly, “I’ll see you in the morning,” and vanished up the ladder. A few moments later she heard his cabin door slide open and shut again.

“Well,” she said to Chopper, who had come down to make sure she was all right. “That was interesting.”

#cut scenes and concept writing #reluctant roommates au tag #as always comments are appreciated #I'm trying for a bit more plottiness with this concept

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yubsie · 2 years

Note

7, 8, 33, 38, 40

Your favourite ao3 tag.

"Kanan Jarrus Lives" of course. Though I do enjoy a good "Inappropriate Use of the Force"

Give your writing a compliment.

The narrative voice is fun and distinctive.

“This never happened” fix-it fics or “this happened but” fix-it fics?

As the coiner of "Why is Kanan alive? Because SHUT UP, that's why!" I think I have to give the edge to "this never happened" but as long as it gets fixed I'm happy.

Write a 9-word fic.

Oh, oh this is hard. Wait I've got it!

"Chopper's on a Star Destroyer. Hera's commlink is broken."

Copying from an earlier answer:

How slow is a slow burn?

Slower than I'm generally able to write, honestly. I don't necessarily have a word mark since it's more proportion of the story, but I'd expect the knuckleheads to continue being knuckleheads until at least the halfway mark. I consider myself better with established relationships so I seldom write slow burn.

Writing asks

#ask game answers #fanfic #iknowwhattosaynow

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pretchatta · 3 years

Text

the laws of spectre dynamics

I know it’s been a little while, but the university au continues! future updates will be more frequent, and you can always subscribe on AO3 to get notifications for each new chapter.

prev. chapters | chapter three

rating: teen; kanan jarrus/hera syndulla; 3.5k words

---

The pale morning light streamed through a gap in the curtains. Lying on her front, cheek pressed into the pillow, Hera’s eyes fluttered open. She wasn’t sure what time it was, but she could tell that it was still early.

She stretched, luxuriating in the feeling of soft sheets against bare skin. Lazy Saturday mornings always felt good. She rolled onto her side and was reminded of the other reason this particular morning felt so good; the man lying behind her. The very attractive, very naked man.

Kanan was on his side, his chest now pressed against her back. He sleepily draped an arm over her waist as she settled against him and dragged his fingertips lightly over her stomach.

“Good morning,” came his deep voice from behind her, roughened by sleep. She felt him nuzzle the back of her head and press a kiss to the base of one lek.

She twisted to lie on her back so that she could look at him. His long hair was loose and sleep-tousled, and his face looked a little different without his glasses – more elongated, even though his features were the same. Her eyes travelled over the smooth, light brown skin, crooked nose and the small beard that covered his chin. His teal eyes looked steadily back at her from under his thick, angular eyebrows.

“Morning,” she said, feeling her mouth curve into a warm smile. She tilted her head up so their lips could meet in a chaste kiss. “Did you sleep okay?”

His eyes sparkled and he smirked at her. “Better than okay,” he replied. “You?”

Her eyes dropped to his mouth as she thought back to just how she’d fallen asleep. “Oh, I had a great night.”

He leaned in to brush his lips over her jaw. His arm was still hooked over her waist, and his hand was warm where his fingers splayed over her ribs.

“Unfortunately I can’t stay long,” he murmured. “Do you mind if I use your shower?”

“Help yourself, there are spare towels in the hamper.”

He gave her another quick kiss and then extricated himself from the tangle of limbs and bedsheets. Hera sleepily watched him cross the room to the door, appreciating the view in the morning light. Kanan turned at the doorway and caught the direction of her eyes. He smirked before disappearing into the hall, and a few moments later she heard the shower come on.

She let her eyes drift shut, and must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew all was quiet. She felt a little more awake now, so sat up and surveyed her room. Clothes were strewn over the floor, though it took her a moment to realise they were all hers. She listened again, and heard nothing; had he dressed and left while she was sleeping? She knew he had to leave, but he seemed like the kind of person to at least say goodbye first...

Her eyes fell on the scrap of paper on her bedside table that hadn’t been there last night. It looked like a torn-off section of what might have once been an envelope. A few mathematical formulae were scrawled in one corner, but they had been crossed out by the same pen that had added a note in elegant handwriting.

“Hera,

I’ve gone to the shop down the road for breakfast, your key was still in the door from last night. I’ll be back in 10.

-K”

She felt a pang of guilt about her empty fridge. She’d needed to go grocery shopping for a few days now, but had kept putting it off, living off instant ready-meals. There was nothing she could do about it now. At least there was milk for coffee.

Though she didn’t know how long it had been since he’d left, she decided she should have time for a quick shower. She hurriedly grabbed her clothes off the floor of the bedroom and made the bed in case he came back before she was out. Even though he had played an equal part in creating that state, she still felt a need to tidy things up a bit.

As Hera made her way to the bathroom, she was reminded that there were also clothes in the hallway. She found Kanan’s sweater vest in the pile with her coat, and couldn’t help but smile as she neatly folded it and set it on the end of the bed.

In the shower, her body went through the familiar routine as her mind reflected on the previous night. She’d been looking forward to the date from the moment they’d arranged it in the library, and it had gone better than she could ever have dreamed. Their conversation in the foyer of the Vasar-Corellia building hadn’t been the first time she’d seen Kanan; her office on the second floor overlooked the courtyard below, and she’d often seen him crossing it. He’d caught her eye immediately.

She’d been able to discern that he wasn’t a student, and he clearly worked in the Chemistry building, but not much more besides. Very few members of academic staff looked like that, so she couldn’t help but pay attention whenever she noticed him.

Sometimes, when she assumed he was running late, he’d run his hand over his hair and a few strands would fall out around his face. Or his glasses would slide down his nose and he’d push them back up with the knuckle of his index finger as he walked. Sometimes, he wasn’t late, and would stroll across the courtyard holding a to-go coffee cup, his other hand tucked into his pocket. At those times he usually had a distant look on his face, like he was deep in thought.

Sometimes he’d be waylaid by students – that was how she’d known for sure he was part of the teaching staff. She’d marvelled at how easily they’d approached him, but he’d always seemed ready and willing to answer whatever questions they had. She assumed he was a good teacher.

And then she’d finally got the chance to talk to him – properly, not when she had to go set up a lab or talk to someone about a careers fair. Apart from the weird moment as they’d left campus when he’d seemed like he was trying to impress her, he’d been a perfect gentleman and excellent company. Talking to him had been so easy, and with how much they’d had in common she felt like they could have kept going well into the night.

As it was, she was not disappointed with how they had spent the night. It certainly wasn’t how she’d planned to end the evening, but that kiss… It had been electric, like no-one she’d ever kissed before. And the things he could do with his mouth…

She forced herself to focus on washing herself before she could get distracted. Yes, last night had been incredible. He hadn’t even technically gone yet and she was already hoping for a second date.

She finished up in the bathroom and was just pulling on clean clothes when she heard the sound of the front door opening. She finished wrapping a soft scarf around her head – grey, matching the top she wore above orange harem pants, her usual weekend clothes – and went out to the hall. Kanan was just closing the door behind himself.

He was back to being the Chemistry professor again; the clothes from last night (minus the sweater), glasses, hair pulled back neatly behind his head. He held a carrier bag in one hand, and the other came up to run over his hair as he caught sight of her in front of him.

“Hey, you’re awake!” He started towards her, but didn’t give her an opportunity to respond as he launched into an explanation of his absence. “You’d fallen asleep when I came out of the shower, but I was thinking I still had some time before I have to go, and I thought you might like breakfast – we did say we’d have coffee today, so why not coffee and breakfast? – and since you didn’t seem to have much in, I thought I’d just go out and pick up a few things – I hope you don’t mind I took your key, I didn’t want to wake you up but I do need to keep an eye on the time for Ezra –”

He was talking quickly, the words almost tripping over themselves as he tried to get them out. “Do you like omelette? I can make something else if you’d rather – or, if you want me to leave, I can just go now–”

She cut him off with a kiss. It was very effective.

“Omelette sounds lovely,” she told him.

He seemed to relax, from either the kiss or her words, or possibly a combination of the two. “I’ll make a start.”

“As long as it’s not going to make you late.”

“Nah, this won’t take long.” He followed her into the kitchen and set the bag down on the counter, pulling out his ingredients.

“I suppose if you’re making me breakfast I could make you that coffee?” she offered.

He flashed her a smile that made her heart leap. “I wouldn’t say no.”

There was barely room in Hera’s kitchen for two people, and they had to carefully co-ordinate who was at the sink or fridge or counter at any one time. Despite this, as the two of them bustled around the small space Hera couldn’t help but notice how right it felt. She’d always considered herself to be someone who was happy in her own company and didn’t need anyone else to make her complete, but there was something very comforting about how easily she fell into the sheer domesticity of making breakfast with Kanan. The only thing missing was Chopper bothering her for his breakfast.

Soon, the air was filled with the rich smell of coffee and the sound of bacon sizzling in the pan. Kanan made quick work of the omelette, expertly dividing it in half before serving onto two mismatched plates. Hera poured the coffee and took the mugs to the table, where she was reminded that her dining situation was very much set up for one.

She shifted the stack of mail that had accumulated on her second dining chair to an armchair so that Kanan could sit down. She considered herself a fairly neat person, but to outsiders she knew her system seemed chaotic. She had a place for everything, and everything was in its place – it was just that the places weren’t necessarily where one might logically assume them to be.

If Kanan’s going to be here more often I’m going to need a new place to put my mail.

The thought crossed her mind unbidden, and she chastised herself. There was no guarantee that they’d do this again. Yes, he had suggested meeting up again last night, and she was pretty sure he’d enjoyed their date as much as she had, but it still didn’t mean anything for certain. She shouldn’t make any assumptions about where things were going, or she’d be setting herself up for disappointment. She shook her head as if to clear it and went to get them some cutlery.

Kanan turned out to be a great cook. The omelettes were perfectly done, and tasted delicious. Their easy banter resumed as they ate, and continued after they were done and simply sat sipping their coffees.

During a natural lull in the conversation, she caught Kanan gazing at her with an unmistakable softness. He seemed to realise it, and snapped back to himself.

“I should wash up.” He took her plate and stood up.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you cooked!” she protested, following him back into the kitchen. “I’ll do it.”

He set the plates in the sink and turned to the frying pan, but she grabbed his hand before he could take it.

“Stop it.” She had to step close to him in order to hold both hands, and in the tiny space she ended up pushing him against the counter. “I told you, I’ll wash up.”

“I’m just trying to be a good houseguest.”

She grinned up at him. “You’ve already been great.” She pushed up onto her toes to close the small gap between them. His mouth was still warm from the coffee, and he smelled faintly of her soap mixed with something she was realising was uniquely Kanan. She liked it. Her grip on his wrists relaxed as he twisted his arms away to encircle her waist. The kiss was soft and slow, with none of the urgency of their kisses the previous night. She felt a flutter of sparks somewhere near her stomach.

The moment was interrupted by a buzzing noise. A phone, yet again, although this time it was Kanan’s. He broke away and fumbled in his pocket.

“Sorry, I –” He looked at the screen and swore. “It’s Ezra, I should take this.”

Hera waited patiently while he answered the phone. She heard the panicked voice of a teenage boy on the other end, but couldn’t make out the words.

“It’s okay, calm down. I haven’t left yet, and don’t worry about it, I’ve got one you can use. Is there anything else you need? Good. I might be a little later than I said, but only a few minutes. Just try to stay calm, you’ve got nothing to worry about – remember, it’s only a practise test. I’ll see you soon.”

He put the phone down.

“His calculator’s broken, and last-minute nerves are making everything worse,” he explained with a shrug. “I should really get going though, I didn’t realise the time.”

“Of course!” She stepped back, giving him room to move out of the kitchen. “Go, I don’t want you to be late.”

“Thanks, though. For – letting me stay.” He blushed. She found his awkwardness very endearing.

“Thanks for breakfast,” she replied with a grin.

He started making for the door, with her following. “Hey, maybe we could still get that coffee sometime?”

“Sure! Or we could do this again – dinner, I mean.” It was her turn to blush. She wasn’t exactly opposed to a repeat of their other activities, but she didn’t want him thinking that was all she was after.

He gave her a warm smile. “I’ll call you.”

He leaned down to give her a goodbye kiss in the doorway. She could tell he’d only meant it to be a quick one, but neither of them seemed inclined to stop. The kiss deepened and her arms slid around him. The sparks were back, this time with a touch of heat. She allowed herself to enjoy it for a few moments, and then firmly pushed at his chest.

“Go. Ezra’s waiting.”

He still lingered, his bright eyes gazing down at her. “Maybe I’ll see you on Monday?”

“I’d like that,” she replied softly.

Kanan pressed a final kiss to her forehead before turning to stride away down the path. She watched him go, her smile lingering on her lips.

The sound of the door closing seemed to echo in the hallway. Now that Hera was alone, her home was a lot quieter.

No Chopper, she thought to herself. He was with Zeb, one of the few friends she’d made since moving to Lothal six months ago. She’d asked him to check in on Chop while she was out and feed him his dinner, but he’d texted her while Kanan was walking her home to say that Chopper was being clingy (translation: destructive) without her around and so he’d taken the cat home with him.

It was sweet, especially considering that Zeb and Chopper didn’t really get along, but her friend knew how much she cared about her cat. She should probably go pick him up before Zeb did something stupid, like shave all of his fur off. She’d never known if he was serious about that threat and didn’t want to find out.

Hera did the responsible thing and finished cleaning up in the kitchen before making the short walk to Zeb’s place. She rapped on the door in her usual rhythm and didn’t have to wait long for it to be opened. Before she could even greet the lasat on the other side, a yowling streak of orange and white launched itself into her arms.

“Oof,” she grunted as she caught him. “Hello, Chop, it’s good to see you too.”

Chopper was not a small cat. It wasn’t only that he was permanently overweight from constantly managing to get into his sealed food containers, though that did play a part in it – he was also generally very large. Fortunately, Hera was well used to his way of greeting her.

Zeb sniggered from the doorway. “Morning, Hera.”

“Hey, Zeb,” she said, settling the familiar weight in her arms and straightening up. “Thanks for looking after him.”

Zeb’s expressive green eyes looked doubtful. “Not sure he’s so grateful.”

“Was he okay?”

“He was his usual self,” he replied, shrugging his huge shoulders. “He’s been waiting for you by the door since I gave him breakfast.”

“Well, he just wants to – wait, do you have guests?” She’d caught sight of rumpled blankets in the living room behind him.

“Wha’?” He turned to see what she was looking at. “Oh, yeah. Just a friend staying over. He didn’t mind Chop being around.”

“Did they get along?”

“Well, no, but come on, it’s Chopper…”

Yeah, expecting Chop to get along with a stranger was perhaps a little too optimistic.

“Good point. It does explain why he’s so keen to get home.” The cat was squirming in her arms, trying to get comfortable and grumbling quietly.

“So how’d the date go?” Zeb asked.

Hera couldn’t help her smile. “It was good. Really good. We had a lot in common.”

“Yeah?” There was a knowing look on his face. “Think he’s gonna make it to the third date?”

Right. Because the few times she’d tried dating before, it had never gone beyond two dates. Zeb had said she might like them more if she let them stay the night, and she’d brushed his comment off by saying she wouldn’t do that before the third date.

“I mean, I would definitely like to go on a third date. And a second, obviously. But, uh, he doesn’t need to make it that far for, um…” She trailed off, but Zeb’s eyes widened and he smirked in an all-too-knowing way.

“Wow. Must’ve been a really good date,” he teased.

She shrugged, realising she was happy enough not to feel self-conscious. Chopper mewed indignantly at the movement. “Yeah. It was.”

“And how was the…?”

“Zeb!”

“What? Just asking. I know it’s been a while.” He didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed.

She looked away, flushing. “I’m only here to get Chopper. Maybe next time we go out for drinks, I’ll tell you about it.”

Zeb chuckled. “Alright, so let’s talk about how I did you a favour by getting the furball out of your lekku for the night, because there’s actually something you could do for me in return. My nunaball team’s playing an away game next weekend, and the kids could use all the support they can get. It’s in Bahryn – d’you think you could make it?”

She mentally flicked through her calendar. Part of her wanted to keep the next few weekends free in case Kanan wanted another date, but she immediately rejected that idea out of impracticality. “Sure, I don’t have any plans for next weekend yet.”

“You could even bring Kanan if he’s interested. Get that second date.”

Was she really so easy to read? Or did Zeb just know her too well...

“Isn’t Bahryn the team that are your sworn enemies?” she asked, changing the subject.

“...Yeah, that might be why we need the support.”

“Alright. I’ll be there.”

He gave her a grateful smile. “Thanks, Hera.”

She shifted Chopper in her arms, which were starting to ache. “We’d better get back. But I’ll see you next weekend!”

“See you then!” He waved from the doorway as she turned to leave, feeling glad that it was only a short walk back.

When she let herself back in through her front door, releasing Chopper into the hall, Hera had to restrain herself from immediately checking her phone. Of course Kanan wouldn’t have sent her a message yet, he probably wasn’t even done with Ezra’s exam. Maybe she could text him – wish Ezra luck with the exam, or just straight up ask if he wanted to get lunch on Monday.

Wait… Did she even have his number? Had she given him hers? She felt her heart fall through her stomach as she realised that no, despite all their promises, they had never actually exchanged contact information.

Okay, so no texting. That was fine. She could just run into him in Jhothal on Monday. She saw him from her office window so often, it would be easy to arrange. Right?

#kanera #kanan jarrus #hera syndulla #star wars rebels #kanera modern au #kanera university au #the laws of spectre dynamics #fic #pretchwritta

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basura2319 · 4 years

Text

Who lives, who dies

Pairing: Rex x reader (gender neutral)

Anonymous said:

“Hey! I’ve recently gotten back into the clone wars and Rex has stolen my heart 😂 would you be willing to do a Rex x Jedi!Reader but with a bit of angst where it’s older Rex in the Rebels series and he talks about the reader to Ezra? I hope that made sense 😂”

WC: 2.5K

Warnings: Takes place in Rebels, Ezra being nosy, angst, character death, blood, *S7 spoilers for tcw finale*, and things in italics are flashbacks.

A/N: I hope I did this fic some justice and sorry for making you wait so long. I had to force myself to rewatch the last episode a second time because that episode really messed me up, anyone else feel that way?

Rex never thought that he would be serving again since the Clone Wars. But times were changing and ever since the Ghost Crew came to him for help, he thought long and hard about joining a cause like the Rebellion. And when he did, it made him feel almost happy that he was doing something purposeful again. Something he’s choosing to be a part of. But at the same time, whenever he went on missions and saw rebels dying, ones he grew newly acquainted with, it brought back tons of memories he spent so much time on Seelos trying to repress.

Memories of his dying brothers, of Anakin and Ahsoka, and especially of you. Which was why he was outside of Chopper Base. Sleep eluded him right now and on those days when couldn’t sleep, he went outside to sit underneath Atollon’s night sky to think.

He sat on one of the crates by the shooting range and pulled out a hologram. With shaky hands, he turns it on and a tentative smile falls onto his lips at the image he sees.

It was a hologram of him—his younger self—and you, smiling at each other. Judging by the clothes you both wore, someone could look at the hologram and never guess that he was a soldier and you were a Jedi knight. But you were more than just a Jedi; you were his love. His everything. And this hologram, Rex thought, was his most prized possession. Because showed it a time in his life when he was in utter bliss. A feeling he would never have again.

Rex felt tears begin to build up as he gazes over your face again for the thousandth time. The light in your (e/c) eyes as you look to Rex and the crinkle on the edges of your eyes as you smiled. He remembered the day this hologram was taken. You convinced Rex to join you on a night around Coruscant. You had been the one to take the image without his knowing and you gave him a copy of it to keep. Since then, he has kept it with him at all times, as it is the only thing he has to remember you by.

He blinks the wetness in his eyes away. How he wished things turned out different. If only he believed Fives. If only he didn’t answer that incoming call from the Chancellor. If only they got out of the blazing cruiser fast enough. If only—

CRASH!

Rex immediately clicked the hologram shut and reached for his blaster, aiming at whatever made the crates behind him, he noted, fall over.

“Whose there” He growled. “Show yourself.”

It was probably those Atollon spiders again. How did they get inside the base?

“Relax! It’s just me!” said a panicked voice behind the crates. “Ezra!”

Rex sighed in relief. It was just the kid.

“What are you doing here?” asked Rex in exasperation, giving the boy a stern glare.

“I would ask you the same thing,” Ezra replied with raised brow. “Seeing as how you’re just…sitting here, doing what exactly?”

“That is none of your business,” said Rex sternly.

“Okay then,” he said sheepishly. “Well I guess my being here is none of your business so—”

“Ezra.”

“Alright,” he groaned. “I came out here to practice my lightsaber forms, see.” He waved his lightsaber around as proof. “And well…”

Ezra stared at the ground in shame. “And then I saw you by yourself a-and I didn’t mean to spy on you. I was—”

“Kid,” sighed Rex, feeling a slight tingle of warmth reach his face. “It’s alright.”

Rex shouldn’t feel embarrassed. It’s not like he could in trouble for possessing the only image of you he had. And it’s not like Ezra understood the context of what he saw.

He opened his mouth to say something but stopped seeing the way Ezra looked at him. Something akin to concern? Pity? The young boy looked as if he had more to say.

“Something wrong?”

“No—it’s,” Ezra said hesitantly. “That person—in that hologram— I know them.”

Rex furrowed his brows in confusion. “How?” You died before Ezra was born.

“Kanan has these holo-recordings he’s been showing me,” Ezra began. “They’re mainly Jedi Knights teaching how to do a certain form. I saw them teaching a session on how to do the Soresu form, their name, I think, is—”

“Jedi Knight (Y/N) (L/N),” Rex finished hoarsely. The first time in a while since he had said your name out loud.

“You don’t have to answer this,” Ezra said with a curious tone in his voice. “But, did you work with them?”

Rex smiled, recalling all the adventures you both had. “I did, in fact (Y/N) was part of Torrent Company.”

He sat back down on the crate and so did Ezra. “I met them a little after I met Commander Tano.” He chuckled. “They came in to save our forces after the disastrous stunt we pulled off in Felucia. Had they not came in to rescue us, we would have died trying to fend off those clankers.”

Rex, in his mind, remembered it all. You coming out of nowhere with gunships, screaming at Anakin to fall back. He recalled Skywalker being almost stunned at your presence.

“What are you doing all the way out here (Y/N),” Rex remembered Anakin asking you as they got inside the gunships.

“Here to save your ass,” you commented back. “Only this time from a battlefield instead of from Master Kenobi.”

Anakin chuckled. “Always with the quip remarks.”

“We both trained together since we were kids,” you stated with an arched brow. “Why are you surprised?”

“So you’re a general now?” he asked.

“No,” you answered with a knowing grin. “But I am assigned to one.”

“No way!”

You threw your head back and laughed. “You better believe it.”

“Well then, I should introduce to my second in command, other than you,” he said, smirking at the offended huff you made. “Meet Captain Rex.”

He remembered you reaching out to him as you hung to the straps of the gunship to shake his hand. “Hello Captain, I’m (Y/N) (L/N), but please call me (Y/N).”

He was so entranced by your smile that he almost forgot you were speaking to him.

“Nice to meet you (Y/N),” he said, silently thanking the force that he had his helmet on so you couldn’t see the tinge of red in his cheeks. “And please, call me Rex.”

Rex smiled at the memory. “(Y/N) was a very clever Jedi, but most importantly they were compassionate. They treated us clones like equals and was always there to listen and understand our grievances.”

“They sound amazing,” Ezra replied. “I would’ve loved to meet them.”

Rex paused. “I think (Y/N) would’ve loved to train you and certainly wouldn’t hesitate for a second to be apart of this rebellion if they knew what became of the Republic we both swore to protect.”

His smile disappeared. He really wished you were here to see this.

Ezra looked to Rex with sadness. He could feel the clone veteran’s grief so strongly and could also feel his love for you; just like how he could feel the love between his parents as a kid before the Empire took that all away.

“They didn’t make because if the order did they?”

“No…” said Rex hoarsely. “If it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t even be here…”

Everything fell apart after Mandalore.

He had no idea he was going to be forced to kill (Y/N) and Ahsoka by just one simple command that was enough to overpower his senses.

While Ahsoka managed to escape the blaster fire from him and his men, he was relieved to learn after his chip was removed that you were in your quarters when the order happen, giving you time to hide in the vents.

He was so afraid that his men might’ve gotten you. But he could see the fear and realization on your face when he woke up from his chip removal.

“Fives…” you said in a hushed voice as you three ran to open the hangar doors. “He was right about everything.”

Rex reached for your hand and gave a hard squeeze. “I know, but it weren’t for him, I would’ve killed…”

He couldn’t say it. The thought of you or Ahsoka being executed out of his own will, he—

He just didn’t want to imagine it.

But things worsened. The cruiser was beginning to break apart as they got out of hyperspace and the cruiser was on its way to crashing on a moon.

His men. His brothers who he loved so much, were all waiting for them at the main hangar. Willing to kill themselves trying to complete the mission.

Tears were streaming down his face as he argued this realization to you and Ahsoka.

You knew more than anyone how he felt. Removing his helmet, you pressed you forehead against his in affection. “Rex…it’s okay. I know your brothers. Ahsoka and I know that they are good soldiers and this isn’t their fault.”

He knew they might not have a chance in finding a ship and leaving, but he went with the plan of trying to reason with Jesse, his little vod, on not killing you or Ahsoka. But Rex already knew his brother was long gone, lost somewhere in his mind. He was desperate when it didn’t work and they kept firing at them.

To add to the ongoing mess of things, their chance of escape was taken away by Maul when he took the last remaining shuttle.

They were reaching the moon’s surface rapidly and running out of time.

“Wait,” you called out to Rex. “I see another unharmed ship. There!” You pointed to the Y-wing bomber.

You deflected the blaster shots away as you three ran towards it. Using the force, you wasted no time in pushing Rex towards the ship and jumping your way over.

“There’s only two seats!” exclaimed Rex in panic. “What do we do?”

Your heart seized at the problem. You looked over at Ahsoka who you realized didn’t make it over to the ship, still trying to hold the clones back. She wasn’t going to last long.

“Rex…” you called out, voice strained.

He looked to you, face contorted in anxiety. “What is it?”

You took his helmet off so you could stare at his face one last time. “You know that I love you, right?” you said breathlessly. “More than anything, more than life itself…”

“Y/N stop—“

You kissed him, one last time, savoring his lips as tears leaked from your eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

You shut the cockpit canopy before he could stop you. “I hope one day you can forgive me.”

He was screaming your name and it broke your heart in two. Rex tried opening the canopy but it was too late.

“Ahsoka go!” You force pushed the clones out of the way and continued to deflect your lightsaber against their firing.

“No, I’m not—”

You didn’t let her finish. Using your remaining strength, you push your friend towards the ship. Rex felt the cruiser begin to tilt, watching how it made you lose your balance and fall towards the opening of the hangar. The cruisers billowing speed and harsh winds caused the Y-wing bomber to fly out before Rex and Ahsoka had a chance to help you.

As Rex gained control of the ship, he maneuvered through the rubble trying to see if you were alive, possibly hanging onto debris. He didn’t see you. Instead moments later, he found your mangled body in the debris along with his brothers.

He fell to his knees, gathering your body in his arms and wept. His watery eyes gazed at your form, noting the blood matted on your head that must’ve been from something blunt that collided with your head. The dried blood from your nose and mouth. And the most haunting thing of all was your (e/c) eyes, staring lifelessly at the sky.

It only made him cry out in anguish.

Ahsoka watched from afar as her friend mourn, silently crying at everything that went down. She felt the connection between her and her master die and now, you were gone too. To save her and Rex.

Rex reached a shaky hand over to close your eyes. He didn’t want to leave you here, but what choice did he have? Someone was going to come to evaluate the site soon. They had to leave.

Rex and Ahsoka took one last look at the burial site they made and left with a creeping feeling of numbness. When they went into orbit, Rex stared at the moon below while reaching for his necklace that held the hologram of you he hid under his shirt.

Pressing the device to his lips he whispered, “I love you… and I forgive you, my cyare”

They made the jump to hyperspace, uncertain of what their future would entail now.

***

“Did you ever go back to the crash site?” Ezra asked a little after Rex finished talking.

“No,” sighed Rex. “The place for all I know could be swarming with Imperial probe droids or they probably took whatever they deemed important.”

Ezra reached over to put a hand on his shoulder in a comforting gesture. “I might not know (Y/N), but from what you’ve told me, I think they would be proud of where you are now.”

Rex smiled at the young Jedi. “I’d like to think so too.”

***

All beings become one with the Force after death.

That’s what you’ve been told along with all Jedi.

Yet you didn’t feel like you were apart of the Force. Sure you could feel it binding you, but it was nothing like you’ve imagined. You thought that after death, you wouldn’t recall your past life, but you did. Or that you wouldn’t be aware of anything that’s happening in the universe.

You are able to see and acknowledge what’s become of this universe. And you're horrified of it. You’re horrified of what you know.

The only thing you’re thankful for is that the one’s you cared about made it out alive.

Ahsoka, you gathered, is following a path you knew suited her apart from the Jedi ways and you couldn’t be even more happy for her.

As for Rex, you never left his side after death, just not in the way you expected. He couldn’t see you. No one could unless they were Jedi. But that only happened when you wanted to be seen.

But you’ve watched over him after all this time and watched his struggle in adjusting to a new life as a free man. That didn’t mean you couldn’t feel his guilt though. His guilt that he lived whereas his brothers didn’t and lastly, his guilt over you.

You were filled with sadness whenever he grieved over you, like what he was doing now. Sitting by himself, staring at the hologram you gifted him.

You hated that you couldn’t talk to him or that you couldn’t give him some sort of comfort. There was so much you wanted to say to him, but oh how you couldn’t wait to speak to him to again. It’s only a matter of time.

For now, all you can do now is be in his presence, wishing he knew you were here.

#requests #captain rex #captain rex x reader #commander rex #commander rex x reader

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generallynerdy · 3 years

Text

And they’ve already began forgetting, whether they know it or not (Cal Kestis/Hera Syndulla/Kanan Jarrus)

Summary: With Vader on their tails, Cal tells Hera a hard truth. She doesn’t want to hear it, but she needs to. The only question is, will Kanan ever forgive them for this?

Warnings: Angst, Fake Character Death, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Burns, Serious Injuries, Self-Sacrifice, Goodbyes, Nightmares, Scars

Word Count: 2,343

Prompt: Angstpril Day 1 - “You have to let me go.”

Author’s Note: you know the Inquisitor!Cal concept I was ranting about? Yeah, this is the start of it lol. I saw that the first Angstpril prompt matched one of my lines of dialogue perfectly and lost my shit, so it’s basically destiny. I hope to continue this in the future as a series, but for now enjoy this terrible, depressing one-shot. :) Title is from Obituary Generator by Mariah Bosch.

Read On AO3

“Hera!”

She won’t stop running. Her body burns with the effort and Cal tugs her hand, trying to stop her, but she keeps going. She may not be able to feel the poison of Vader’s presence quite so literally as he and Kanan can, but she knows he’s not far away.

“They’re in the tunnel, it’s not much farther—” she manages breathlessly.

“Hera, stop!”

He stops cold, forcing her to turn and face him.

The lights flicker in the lifeless hallway, the pair the only people in sight. The floor is cold and the walls dark, the choking colour scheme of an Imperial fortress. Cal feels it more than she does; the Force here is entirely dark and threatens to drown him each passing moment. Maybe that’s why he’s more winded than his Twi’lek companion, or maybe it’s the lightsaber wound across his chest.

Hera had managed to save him from dying at Vader’s blade, but that scar will always remain. It burns into his skin like shame.

“If Vader catches up,” Cal gasps out, breath heaving, “he’ll kill all of us.”

“He won’t if we keep going,” she says sharply, ever sure of herself. “C’mon—”

He pulls her back before she can keep walking. “Hera.” It’s firm and fearful enough to keep her still. “I can distract him.”

BD-1, on the floor next to his feet, wails in distress.

Her eyes widen. “No. No! No, absolutely not—”

“I’m a liability,” he argues, unable to even gesture to his injury without wincing at the pull. “He can’t get his hands on the holocron. If you run ahead, you can get it to Kanan and Cere and the three of you can get the hell out of here.”

“He will kill you!” She grabs his poncho and holds him close. “Or worse, turn you into an Inquisitor!”

Cal cradles her face, his eyes shining with desperation. “My life for thousands,” he whispers. “Like my Masters before me.”

“I can’t let you do this, Cal.”

Already, she’s crying. He’s a stubborn son of a bitch and they both know it. The decision might have already been made, considering the ache she already feels in her chest. It’s not her choice and yet she feels guilt rise like nausea.

He reveals the Holocron, pressing it into her shaking hands. “Bring it to Cere. Protect it with your lives or destroy it,” he orders. “Give those kids the chance me and Kanan never got.”

The chance to live. He thinks of Master Jaro, of Master Depa, Grey, and Styles. He thinks of his fellow Padawans, all cut down in the name of power. But most of all he thinks of the children listed in that Holocron, who have committed a crime all their lives without ever knowing it.

BD whirrs and it pulls in Cal’s chest. He gives a sad smile, crouching to the little droid’s height.

“Go with Hera, buddy, okay? She’ll take care of you.” He pets BD’s head, trying to ignore the whines he makes. After a moment, he looks back up at Hera. “I’ll hold him back as long as I can.”

A sob lodges itself in Hera’s throat. “Kanan will never forgive you.”

It’s supposed to be a joke, but Cal shuts his eyes tight, pained by the thought as he stands again.

“And you will?” he asks with a rueful huff of laughter.

She puts a gentle hand on his cheek, caressing a scar that rests there. “I already have,” she murmurs.

He shuts his eyes again, that same grimace on his face as he rests his forehead against hers. Then, he kisses her. It’s gentle and drawn out, a lingering sensation against her salty lips. She takes it with an aching sort of grief, the pit of a forbidden knowledge heavy in her stomach. No one should know when their last interaction with someone is, but she does.

“That was for you,” Cal says when he pulls back.

He kisses her again, fiercely this time. It has a message, one she doesn’t understand.

“That was for Kanan.”

He’ll understand it, even if she never will.

Hera hugs him, burying her face in his shoulder as his hand rests on her back. One of her lekku twists around his wrist, as if reminding her of his steadily beating pulse.

Alarms begin to roar around them, a warning.

“Hera.” It’s gentle at first, but he must sense something because desperation catches in his voice. “You have to let me go. Let go. Hera, let go.”

He pries her off, taking her hands in his gloved ones. Though it’s ridiculous, he wishes that an Echo of hers would spark to life and give him one last memory to think of. Instead, he’s left wiping away the remnant of a tear from her cheek. He steps back after, pulling his lightsaber off his belt.

Hera swallows. “Cal, I—”

I love you.

She can’t say it. And she curses herself for it.

They’ve never needed words, but it would mean everything to hear it out loud, just once. Just once, she begs her own unmoving lips.

He smiles, knowing and sad and all the more infuriating. “Me, too,” he whispers.

Not too far away now, another lightsaber buzzes to life.

“Go,” he says finally, his face sharpening into something like determination. “Get out of here!”

She nods and tucks the holocron away into her jacket, allowing BD to hop onto her shoulder. Her first steps are in lead boots, but finally, she manages to shake herself out of her stupor and turn away, running toward the exit. It takes everything in her not to look back, not to seek out one last glimpse of that fiery red hair and the twin pair of yellow blades that snap and hiss as they activate. BD watches, though, a little light blinking on the side of his head. He chirps, almost like a goodbye, but Cal never hears it.

Opposite Cal, the shadow of the galaxy’s golden age looms. He brandishes his blood-red blade, bathed in red and yellow light. His rasping breaths haunt the air.

Though it burns more than anything Cal has ever felt before, he twirls his double-bladed lightsaber, letting its golden light wash over him, secure in the knowledge that his fate is his own.

Finally, the ghost speaks.

“Your attempts are admirable, but useless. You and your friends will fall at my hand. There is no escape.”

“Does it look like I’m running?” Cal asks, settling into a fighting stance. “Musty bitch.”

Hera flies up from bed, her throat burning like she’s been screaming.

A jerk away from the cold metal wall of her bunk sends her over the edge of it, right toward the floor. She has half a second to close her eyes and brace herself for the impact, but—

It never comes.

She opens her eyes, only to find the floor a few inches away. A green mist encompasses her body, holding her up and keeping her safe. Glancing at the door of her room, she sees Merrin in the doorway, her fingers smoking with that same green mist.

“You should think about installing railings,” the Nightsister says dryly.

Hera only huffs and tenses when she starts to move. With a wave of Merrin’s pale hand, she’s standing upright and is let down carefully. She steadies herself with a deep breath, unaware of the little droid at her friend’s heels.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, dusting herself off. Then, she glances up. “How did you know I was—?”

“I didn’t. Cere asked me to check on you. Lucky for your face.”

If Hera didn’t know her any better, it would be sharp, but unfortunately, she does. So, she snorts. “Lucky for the floor.”

She goes to stretch, her muscles sore with sleep. Instead, she stops abruptly, wincing when her lekku tingles. Lifting a hand to its end, she doesn’t notice the flash of concern on Merrin’s face until she speaks again.

“Alright?”

“Fine, just slept on it funny. It’s numb,” she admits with a rueful laugh.

Raising an eyebrow, Merrin wiggles her fingers, miming magick. “I can help,” she suggests.

Hera visibly hesitates. “...you can?”

Nightsister magicks tend to be dark, according to Kanan and, once upon a time, Cal, but that doesn’t mean they always are. They have the capacity to heal and, though aware of that, Hera didn’t realise they could help with numbness of all things.

“A touch of healing magick and a massage,” Merrin explains shortly. “It’s not rocket science.”

Hera laughs. “If it were, I’d understand it.” Then, she nods. “I’d appreciate it.”

They settle on the bottom bunk, which usually belongs to Sabine. However, the teen has been trying to barter for the top bunk and, with this latest fall, Hera is tempted to give in. The young Mandalorian is sturdier than she is and far less prone to night terrors.

Merrin has a surprisingly gentle touch, carefully interwoven with wisps of glowing mist. Despite her initial reluctance, Hera lets out a grateful sigh when the feeling starts to return to her lekku. It’s like walking around swinging a numb arm; intensely uncomfortable. While Merrin works, BD-1 approaches, beeping concernedly and nudging the Twi’lek’s leg with his head.

“I’m okay, BD,” she reassures gently.

After a moment, Merrin speaks in a whisper. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Hera has to look away from BD-1, something in her chest wrenching. She shuts her eyes. “No,” she says finally. “Not really.”

Merrin must notice her reaction to their droid friend because after a long enough moment to be somewhat normal, she speaks to him. “BD, could you go find her head wrap? She might have left it on the Mantis.”

He leaps up, chirping determinedly. When he rushes out of the room, intent on helping, Hera can’t help but let out a breath of relief.

Still working away, Merrin sighs. “You should hang back when we get to Lothal. We could use a pilot in case things go wrong.”

“Greez already offered,” she reminds her, frowning.

“The Mantis isn’t exactly ideal for the type of cargo we’re... borrowing.” She pauses. “Besides, you need a break.”

“I’m fine.”

She scoffs. “Yes, falling from your bed in a fit of terror is the behaviour of a fine person.” At Hera’s silence, she sighs again. “Look, I’m not the only one who’s noticed. Things have been difficult lately and whatever you see in your sleep isn’t helping. Just...let yourself rest, Hera. The galaxy won’t implode if you take a nap.”

Tell that to the Empire. Maybe they’d hold off on pulling the trigger, she thinks ruefully.

Eventually, she relaxes, and when Merrin finishes, BD reappears. This time, however, he’s not alone. Kanan stands a step behind him, eyes tight with worry. The weight on his shoulders lessens minutely at the sight of Hera.

BD ignores him, running up to the Twi’lek with her leather headwrap held tight in one metal foot. He beeps excitedly as he hands it to her.

She gives him as much of a smile as she can currently manage. “Thank you, BD. You’re my hero.”

He nudges her fondly before scampering over to Merrin, who huffs amusedly.

“C’mon,” she says, leaning down as she stands from the bunk so he can leap onto her shoulder. “Let’s see if we can’t coax Rabid out, hm?”

On their way out of the room, she sends a knowing glance at both Hera and Kanan before the door shuts behind her. Her voice, directed toward the devil droid on her shoulder, starts to fade after a few moments, growing more distant.

“I…” Kanan has to clear his throat, which is drier than Tatooine. “I felt your distress in the Force. Came back as soon as I could. You okay?”

Hera takes a moment to slip on her headwrap, grateful at the fact that her lekku are no longer tingling. “Better now, I think,” she admits.

He takes a step forward, asking. At her nod, he moves to sit beside her on the lower bunk and pulls her to his side. She rests her head on his shoulder. Shutting her eyes, she finally lets herself relax, knowing that she must be safe here, of all places. She takes comfort in Kanan’s touch and the way he runs his thumb across her shoulder, too. His breath of relief against her forehead makes her smile, just a little.

(And it certainly helps to clutch the stupid poncho he’s wearing in her hand. It’s an ugly near-white with black patterning that forms an arrow near the bottom. Outlander was what Cal called it. He loved giving them dramatic names like he’d made his own clothing line or something. Hera hates the Outlander one.)

“Nightmares?” he murmurs.

She nods slightly.

He hesitates, but finally asks what she’s anticipating. “The same one again?”

“Isn’t it always?” she retorts, more sad than sharp. There’s a long moment of silence before she speaks again and when she does, her voice wavers. “I can’t remember what he looked like.”

“Hera—”

“I know he had a scar on his cheek and across the bridge of his nose, that he had red hair and green eyes and the cutest karking smile in the galaxy, but I can’t remember it,” Hera says shakily. “I know what he should look like, but I can’t...picture it. And it drives me insane.”

Kanan squeezes her shoulder. “It’s been ten years. I forget, too.”

“I hate it,” she whispers.

The kiss to her temple is sweet and soft and it should bring her some sort of relief, but it doesn’t. It’s not nearly enough and Kanan knows that. There’s nothing he can do to soothe the ache in her chest where Cal used to live, because he can’t even soothe his own gaping wound.

All he can do is hold her close and say: “I know. I know.”

But, thinking of tear-stained, freckled cheeks and a bitter kiss goodbye, she can’t help but wonder if he really does.

River’s Tags: @mystoragehatesme & @hahaboop

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iknowwhattosaynow · 2 years

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I never knew I had a dream until that dream was you.

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communistkenobi-archive · 4 years

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“Hey, have you seen the…? Oh” for kanera!

From this prompt list

—

They were still getting used to the whole rooming-together thing. Or at least, she was; Kanan seemed to be pretty familiar with sharing a living space, and acted accordingly.

But she really, really needed to remember to knock.

“Sorry!” Hera ducked away, squeezing her eyes shut and trying, desperately, to not think about how extremely naked Kanan was in the hallway. “Sorry, I’m sorry, I thought you were—I didn’t know you were in the fresher—”

“I mean, I’m not anymore,” he said easily behind her, clearly not upset. “And it’s okay. I’m in a towel.”

“Isn’t that—cold?” she asked, still turned away from him. Her face was burning furiously; she was sure her lekku were vibrant with embarrassment.

Because that was all it was. Embarrassment.

“A little. I wouldn’t recommend it as a regular outfit,” he replied, and she heard his door slide open. “You can turn around now.”

Despite his assurance, she waited until she heard his door click shut before turning around again. The hallway was empty now; the only sign of his presence was the scant water droplets on the floor outside the fresher door. He was even walking around barefoot. She knew humans could tolerate cold more easily than Twi’lek, but this fact was going to be permanently burned into her brain now. Along with a few other things.

Fifteen minutes later and with a fresh cup of caf in hand, Hera had recovered from their hallway incident and was halfway through reading Chopper’s updated diagnostic summaries when Kanan sauntered into the lounge. His hair was back in its usual ponytail, but it was still damp from the shower. She wondered how long it took for his hair to dry, then decided she was better off not thinking about it.

“So,” he drawled, leaning against the wall and appraising her from where she sat on the couch. There was the usual irreverent look on his face, but she noted that he was giving her a wide berth. “What were you going to ask me?”

Hera did not blush. She cleared her throat and set down her datapad. “If you had seen my tool pouch,” she replied. “I need to fix the control dashboard in the cockpit. Some of the buttons are sticking.”

“Ah,” he said, scratching at the tuft of hair on his chin. “No, sorry.”

“Maybe Chopper hid it,” she muttered, drinking from her mug.

“Does he do stuff like that?”

She shrugged. “Sometimes. Depends on how bored he gets.”

Kanan frowned. “Why do you keep that thing around, anyway? Seems like he’s more trouble than he’s worth.”

“He’s usually pretty good company,” she said, trying not to sound too defensive. “He’s just… particular.”

“The words of a diplomat.” Kanan stood up and stretched. The hem of his t-shirt rose up with the movement, exposing his midriff—and a few of the bizarre tattoos she’d seen before… in the hallway.

“Something I can help you with?” he asked, pulling his shirt down. The shit-eating grin was back.

Hera kept her eyes strictly up by his face, blanching. “Uh, no. Um. Your tattoos,” she said then, nodding vaguely in his direction. “You have a lot.”

“Yeah,” he said, just as vaguely. When he didn’t offer anything further on the subject, she decided to drop it.

“Look,” she said instead, blowing out a breath. “This is going to take some adjusting. I’m not used to rooming with other people on the Ghost.” Or anywhere, really. She was used to being on her own. Probably too heavy to mention during a stilted morning conversation, though.

“I get that,” he replied, surprisingly serious. “I don’t mind awkward, though. It passes.”

That took her aback. She wasn’t expecting such a casual remark about him sticking around long enough for anything to pass, but then again, she didn’t know much about him. Maybe it shouldn’t have surprised her.

Kana seemed to pick up on her thoughts in the ensuing silence, and nodded his head from side to side as if considering something. “How about this,” he said then. “You tell me something personal, and then I tell you something back. Of our choosing,” he added, seeing her raised brow. “Then it’ll be slightly less weird. We’ll have dirt on each other.”

“I think I have enough dirt on you already,” she responded. He looked away at that, expression darkening, and she sighed internally. She really had spent too much time alone lately. “But okay, I’m game. Me first?”

He glanced back at her again, easy grin back in place. “If you’re offering.”

Hera rolled her eyes. That was more like the Kanan Jarrus she knew. Closed off even when he was forthcoming.

But she gave his words some serious thought. Nothing too deep, or that would only make things more weird, but nothing so shallow it sounded like she was hiding something. It was hard to judge.

“Nothing numbers-related,” Kanan added, and she looked up at him.

“What do you mean?”

“You know, like, I speak four languages, I have two brothers, that kinda thing.”

“You’re getting awfully pushy.”

“I’m just saying,” he said, holding up his hands. “Qualitative is better.”

She raised a brow. “You know what that word means?”

He pressed a hand to his chest, offended. “Am I not allowed to know that word?”

“No, just… surprising,” she said, smiling. “And that doesn’t count as your factoid, by the way. You still have to tell me something after.”

“Now who’s pushy?” He rolled his shoulder against the wall and picked at his fingernails. “But you’re stalling.”

“Alright,” Hera said finally. “I first flew when I was nine.”

“That’s a number!”

“When I was a kid,” she corrected herself. “Does that work?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “That sucks. Do something else.”

“No way. Blow for blow.” Hera jabbed a finger at him. “Your turn.”

“You’re saying another one after,” he reasoned.

She smiled. “Fine. Get on with it then.”

“Okay.” He blew out a breath, hanging his head forward to study his shoes. “Kanan isn’t my real name.”

Hera sat back. Whatever she’d been expecting, it definitely wasn’t that. “What?”

“I mean, I didn’t always go by it,” he explained. “I used to go by Kanus as a cover. Like the, you know, wolf.” He contorted his mouth to expose his teeth, and tapped a fingernail against the sharp tooth she knew most humans had. His was particularly prominent. “Or the tooth, I guess. I never decided.”

“Why’d you change back?” she asked, trying not to sound too curious.

He shrugged. “People just called me anus instead.”

She burst out laughing, and almost spilled her caf in the process. Setting it down on the table, Hera snorted into her hand, and Kanan became a shaky blur.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, but he was grinning. “It got old pretty fast, so I didn’t use it for long.”

“That’s so stupid,” she said into her hand, laughing some more. “Wow. Anus.”

“That’s not a license to call me that, by the way,” he said. “And I’ve told you two facts now. So you better pay up.”

“Oh, and what are you gonna do about it, Anus?” She was still giggling, unable to control herself. It had been a while since she’d had a good laugh.

“Sell your tool pouch on the black market,” he replied. “Maybe I’m in league with Chopper.”

“Chopper would never side with you,” she said gravely, trying her best to get her expression straightened out. It was hard. Hera wiped at her eyes. “I was—I was not expecting that.” She cleared her throat and braced her hands on the table, blowing out a breath. “Okay. A fact about me.”

“Two facts,” Kanan clarified.

“Two facts about me,” she replied. “They aren’t going to be as good as your story, sorry.”

“No one’s as good as me.”

“Ugh, you’re annoying. Anyway.” Hera pursed her lips, searching for something. “Okay. One of my arms is slightly shorter than the other because I broke it really badly when I was sev—a small child,” she said, correcting herself. Kanan rolled his eyes. “And what else….”

“Wait, did you measure your arms? How can you tell?”

She held out her left arm and rolled up her sleeve. There was a messy scar along the length of her forearm, paralleled by a much neater, more surgical line. “This is actually the longer one,” she explained. “They had to replace some of the bone, and I had to get a few adjustments when I was older since it was still growing. The surgeon had to estimate how long my arms would grow, so it wasn’t an exact thing.”

He let out a low whistle, pushing up from the wall to have a closer look. He leaned over the table, frowning down at her arm. “Damn. That must’ve hurt. How’d you break it so bad?”

“It was during the war,” she said, pushing her sleeve back down. “Really early on. I was in a building that was levelled during a bombing. Pretty lucky, all things considered.”

Kanan stood up straight, walking back to his former post, as if drawn to it. “Right.”

“What about you?” she asked before remembering herself, and then winced. Why the hell would he of all people want to talk about that?

“What about me what?”

“I was going to ask about the war,” Hera said, shaking her head. “But I forgot about—you know—” She gestured at him.

“My little problem?” he finished for her. He still had a grin on his face, but it was coloured with something bitter.

“That’s one way to put it.”

He shrugged, but his tone was still light. “Another time, maybe. There’s a lotta factoids in there,” he added with a twitch of his mouth.

She lifted her mug to that. At least she didn’t feel awkward anymore. “To another time.”

#rebels #kanan jarrus #hera syndulla #kanera #my stuff #my writing #hehehehehehe #tattooed kanan is best kanan #Anonymous

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