#muscles and bo-rifles (about zeb)

[kanerallels]

So I told my sister and a couple other people I would post this, and here it is! Just some ponderings about Kanan in the Hera is a Jedi au that turned themselves into a ficlet. Set mid-season one of SWR, and rated G!

Taglist: @firefoxtessa @day-to-day-thots @auroramagpie @laughingphoenixleader @accidental-spice @heckin-music-dork @opalknight @cassie-fanfics and I'm also gonna tag @xxxcertifiednerdxxx, solely because you're accidentally the reason I wrote this. Feel free to ignore the tag, though! (also if anyone wants to be added or removed from the taglist, DM me!)

“What’s Kanan’s job around here, anyways?”

Hera barely glanced up at Ezra’s question as she removed yet another part from her lightsaber, which lay in pieces in front of her on the worktable in her room. “What do you mean?”

Frowning, Ezra said, “Everyone’s got a role, you know? Zeb is the muscle and Chopper’s the homicidal hacker droid, and Sabine’s the explosives expert, and you’re the Jedi and the pilot and the boss all at once. You’re all really talented, you know?”

A smile hovered at the edge of Hera’s mouth as she picked up a miniscule tool and used it to unscrew another part. “Flattering as always, Padawan. Your point being?”

“Kanan doesn’t really have a role,” Ezra said, watching her work. “Hey— couldn’t you use the Force for that?”

“I could,” Hera agreed, removing the part. “But I like to do it this way.” Setting aside her tool, she finally met Ezra’s eyes. “Why does it matter what Kanan’s role is? He’s here to help us fight, and that’s what’s important.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Someone say my name?”

Ezra and Hera glanced up as Kanan stuck his head through the open door, lifting a curious brow. “Ezra wants to know your role in this crew,” Hera said dryly. “Any thoughts?”

“Oh, obviously,” Kanan said. “Professional chef, and eye candy.” He shot a wink at Hera, who rolled her eyes, before turning to Ezra. “But in all seriousness— I’m whatever we need at the moment. That’s where I do my best work. Speaking of best work, how do enchiladas sound for dinner? I found some of those peppers you and Zeb love so much at the market, Captain Hera.”

“That sounds amazing, love,” Hera said, shooting him a smile as he slipped back out and down the hall. After a moment, she directed her gaze back to Ezra. “Does that answer your question?”

“...kind of?”

Chuckling, Hera said, “Well, if you’re still wondering, why not ask the rest of the crew? They might have some good insight. And you could always try meditating on it.”

“I think I’ll talk to the others,” Ezra said hastily, getting to his feet. Hera looked amused, but gave him a nod before returning to her lightsaber maintenance with laser-like focus.

The first crew member he encountered was Chopper, and Ezra knew better than to bother with him. Not that he’d care, anyways, the droid was crazy. Instead, he headed for the lounge, where he found Zeb cleaning his bo-rifle.

The Lasat directed a frown at him— but it wasn’t his real, “why are you near me do you want to suffer” scowl, just his all purpose “I’m pretending to be grumpy cause it makes me look cool” frown. “Thought you were training with Hera.”

“I was,” Ezra said, dropping onto a crate nearby. “But then I asked her a question—”

“You? Ask a question? Color me real surprised.”

“Ha, ha,” Ezra said, scowling at him. “Listen. I asked her what Kanan’s role was on the ship.”

“Really?” Zeb paused in his cleaning and glanced up, interest flashing through his eyes. “What did she say?”

“Why? Wait— do you not know either?”

“‘Course I know. Just curious about what she said.”

“Sure. Well, she said that it wasn’t important, then told me to ask everyone else. Kanan says he’s whatever he needs to be. Well, first he flirted with Hera, then he said that.”

Snorting, Zeb said, “Sounds about right.”

“So what do you think? What’s Kanan’s role?”

The Lasat shrugged, setting aside a cleaning rag. “Dunno. He’s just Kanan.” He glanced up in time to see Ezra’s scowl, and sighed. “Look, kid. You’re taking this too seriously. It’s not really about roles, anyways. It’s about why we’re here.”

“What do you mean?”

Finally, Zeb set down his bo-rifle. “You know, why we’re fighting the Empire.” He paused, his expression turning uncharacteristically somber. “You know why I’m doing it. And Hera’s pretty obvious, more than just the Jedi stuff.”

“She’s passionate about making stuff right,” Ezra guessed. “Well, what about Sabine?”

“What about me?”

Ezra and Zeb both looked up to see Sabine, carrying a handful of paint-covered rags and looked satisfied with herself. “Kid wants to know what Kanan’s role is, why he’s here,” Zeb said, nodding at Ezra. “Then he asked about you.”

“Seriously?” Sabine rolled her eyes. “Tell me you two aren’t this clueless. He’s here for Hera, obviously.”

“Well, I know that,” Ezra said, feeling himself flush slightly as Sabine ducked into the kitchen and returned without the rags. “But, like, does he have another reason? And what’s his job, you know? He’s kinda just some guy, not a Jedi or pilot like Hera, and not a master warrior like Zeb, or an explosive expert like you.”

“True,” Sabine acknowledged. “But not everyone in the Rebellion has to be as amazingly talented as we are. Most of us have a personal problem with the Empire. Could be Kanan does, too. But why does it matter?”

“I… guess it doesn’t,” Ezra said slowly. “It just didn’t make any sense to me that he’s the odd one out, I guess.”

Sabine shook her head impatiently. “You’re putting too much stock in the “everyone needs to be crazy skills” thing, kid. Look, Kanan’s a great shot, and a decent co pilot.”

“Amazing cook, too,” Zeb offered, and Sabine nodded.

“True. But what’s most important is that he has our backs. He looks out for us, in big ways and little ones. He knows what we need and he makes sure we can do our jobs well. We couldn’t do this without him. Got it?”

“I… I do, actually,” Ezra said. “Thanks.”

Kanan announced dinner was ready around an hour later, and the crew gathered in the lounge to eat. Hera took her usual seat, and Ezra dropped onto a crate nearby. “Did you figure out the answer to your question, Padawan?” she asked him, a hint of amusement in her eyes.

Setting down his fork, Ezra said, “I did, actually.” He paused, feeling the crew’s eyes on him, but Hera nodded for him to go on. “Your role isn’t an obvious one like Zeb or Hera,” he told Kanan, who was sitting opposite them, his plate balanced on one knee. “You’re here to watch our backs and make sure we’re okay, and take care of us. You’re… kind of the glue that holds us all together. Without you, we wouldn’t have made it this far.” He looked at Hera. “Am I right?”

His master was smiling, first at Ezra, and then at Kanan, who seemed surprised. “You’re absolutely right,” she told him. “Well done, Ezra.”

“Not bad, kid,” Zeb said.

Shrugging, Ezra said, “Hey, Kanan said it first— he’s whatever we need him to be. I think that counts, right?”

Kanan let out a chuckle, shaking his head. “Can’t argue there, I guess.” Shooting a wink at Hera, he added, “I still think I count as eye candy, though.”

“Of course you do, dear,” Hera said, rolling her eyes.

[martianbugsbunny]

To Convince You That I Love You (A Kalluzeb Fic): Chapter 2

*staring and waving thru the window* I'm really enjoying this fic, it's I think four chapters, so it's already halfway done lol, and it's loads of fun. And speaking of fun Kallus is going to pass out and be sped back to the Ghost for emergency transport to medical facilities!!! Woo-hoo!!! This one's from Zeb's POV, so strap y'allselves in and get ready for him to be completely wigging about what happened to Kallus but also being as gentle as possible when moving him bc I am such a sucker for that. Read on and enjoy!

Zeb heard the explosion and instantly fired the last three shots he needed to finish off the stormtroopers with perfect precision. He sprinted towards the landing pad, fear shooting through him. Come on, Kal, please don’t have been in the blast.

The shuttle was a smoking ruin, the metal buckling against the inferno inside. That agent they had been tracking was dead. There was no way she could have survived.

But Zeb didn’t care about the mission anymore. He filtered out the smoldering pile of rubble and scanned his surroundings for any sign of Kallus.

Finally he saw Kallus lying several yards away from the shuttle, thrown by the power of the blast. Zeb sprinted over, moving faster than he could remember doing in a long time. His palms were sweating and he could hardly feel his legs, he was so terrified. Losing Kallus was…well, it was his personal worse-case scenario.

He knelt down. Kallus’s leg was twisted at an unnatural angle, and there was a piece of metal embedded in his upper arm. Worse, his nose was bleeding heavily, and there were dark bruises around his eyes and behind his ears: sure signs of a head injury. Somehow, though, he was still (barely) awake.

“Something’s not right,” he muttered. He couldn’t seem to focus his gaze on Zeb’s face. “Everything’s…foggy.”

Then his eyes fell shut and his head tipped to one side, the muscles in his neck slack.

Zeb slung his bo-rifle onto his back. There was no good way to pick Kallus up, with one of each limb wounded, so he simply did his best to support Kallus’s legs above the injured joint and thanked his lucky stars that his wounded arm was not the one that ended up held tightly against Zeb’s chest.

Kanan and Sabine had long since cleared out the troopers who had pinned down the Ghost. In fact, Zeb wondered for a moment why they hadn’t bothered reinforcing him and Kallus—but they were both trained soldiers and neither of them had commed for help, so there had really been no reason to worry.

Well, except for the fact that there was.

Zeb climbed aboard the Ghost and found Kanan and the kids debating over a topographic map he didn’t recognize at the holo-table. “There’s an outpost not too far from here, we could make a supply run before returning to base,” Ezra suggested.

“While we have an Imperial agent on board? Not gonna happen,” Sabine said. Zeb noticed that despite her confident tone, she still looked to Kanan for confirmation.

Kanan was saved from having to pick a side when he heard the sound of the ramp closing and turned to look at Zeb. “Ezra, go tell Hera to get the ship moving, now!” he commanded sharply. Ezra was turning pale, having gotten a look at the bloodied condition Kallus was in, but he did as he was told.

Zeb set Kallus down on the floor. “Let me guess: the explosion?” Sabine asked. Explosions were fairly run-of-the-mill for the Rebellion (especially when it came to the Specters) and hearing one in the distance wasn’t necessarily taken as a sign that someone was in trouble.

“Yeah.” Zeb found his throat tight, a pricking sensation he wasn’t used to irritating his eyes. “There were two Imperial fighters. They aimed for him and got the agent’s entire shuttle instead.”

Kanan wrapped his hand around Kallus’s wrist. It wasn’t the standard method of measuring a heartbeat, but his Jedi powers probably made it practical enough.

“We need to get him back to base soon,” Kanan said quietly. “Or he might not make it.”

Zeb paced to the edge of the room and slammed his fist down onto a crate. Kallus was always doing stupid things like this—putting himself in danger, taking too many risks, going way too far. When would enough be enough?

If Zeb had anything to say about it, Kallus would see the light sooner rather than later…if he lived to wake up again.

[foxxxtransformer123]

I decided to postpone my shower to write down 1 of the things bouncing around in my head:

I love how animalistic Lasat's are shown to be in Rebels. I love that Zeb regularly growls and roars like an actual animal. I love that he fights by yeeting troopers around. I love how sometimes he doesn't use combat techniques or his bo rifle and just goes absolutely feral.

And I love how that's contrasted with the fact that most of the time, he does use his bo rifle. I love that he gets emotional depth. I love how he cares deeply about his family. I love how intelligent he is.

I just love that contrast between the fact that his species is very animalistic and that he's the muscle of the group, but he's not portrayed as just simply the dumb muscle or "the angry beast." He is a 3d character with emotional depth. I love that he isn't portrayed as a stereotype.

I love him. ♥️♥️♥️

[mystical-salamander]

I'd love to hear about Flower of my Eye!!!

Sure, no problem!

This is a silly fic idea that spawned from a drawing I drew of Kallus being absolutely starstruck from Zeb wearing a rose on his ear.

During a morning walk on Yavin IV, Kallus finds a rose bush and after cutting one of the roses out, he decides to gift it to Zeb. Unfortunately for him, he had no idea what a wonderful sight it would be and how much it would affect him.

Another fic that I have a good chunk done of, so here's a sneak peak:

—

It wasn't until he spotted Zeb practicing with his bo-rifle– alone, thankfully, nobody to be an audience– did his mind finally catch up with his actions.

What was he doing?

It was juvenile. A thing only children and teenagers would do for a first time crush. And he and Zeb had been in a relationship for a few years. And yet, his feet continued to trod on towards Zeb, ignoring his thoughts.

Kallus casually– or as casually as he could be with his heart trying to burst out of his chest– walked up to Zeb, hiding the rose behind his back. He consciously controlled his grip on the delicate flower lest he accidentally destroyed it in his anxious mindset.

Zeb had no reason to be suspicious of him, after all, it wasn't unusual to see him standing in this position. It was something the Empire had beat into the heads of every Imperial officer and a habit he had yet to break.

Why was he so nervous?

He stood a fair distance. Where Zeb's bo-rifle wouldn't clip him in any way and waited patiently for Zeb to finish. He watched his muscles flexing and drops of sweat fly off as he swung his weapon around. His fur seemed to perfectly catch the sun's rays– or perhaps the rays twisted themselves so they could be caught by Zeb's fur. He wouldn't be surprised if somehow the universe bent itself backwards for Zeb, after all he did.

[twinsoulvisionary]

THE LAST FEAR - Chapter 11 - Gratitude / Posted on AO3.. Please see link below,

https://archiveofourown.org/works/37543219/chapters/100287945

Photo Realistic Art - Kal / Jenson 2

By TwinSoulVisionary

Excerpt:

“One of the local TV station interviewers caught Jenson off guard, bright lights almost blinded him as they started asking questions in rapid fire about what the Star Wars Rebels crew would be doing this weekend at the event.. Dan already turning heads as the muscled purple stripped alien Lasat, Garazeb ‘Zeb’ Orrelios. Joined by his sworn enemy, an Imperial ISB uniformed and helmeted Sasha, as the compelling Agent Alexsandr Kallus with his stern eyebrow glare that carried across flawlessly! Their Bo Rifles extended, already glowing purple and yellow, readied in fighting stance for a demonstration.. Then all three of them posed together with Zeb in the middle for the now many camera’s and cell phone video’s.

The media then got a hold of Kanan, Hera, Sabine and Ezra for a full interview and Rebel group photo for Ginger and the newspapers.”

Excerpt End.

Mood Music

“Star Wars Tent Rave 2 / Empire and Rebel Crews Meet The Media!”

Golden Dust – Cyberwalker

https://youtu.be/2ZN8OEKa6TQ

[pretchatta]

I (accidentally) rewatched the entirety of s1 of rebels recently (in my defense it is utterly flawless and possibly the best star wars content out there) anyway, when I was at the part where ezra is in the jedi temple on lothal and sees the inquisitor killing the rest of the crew his family I thought: what if that was kanan? and then this happened. (ao3 link in the source)

rating: teen, warnings for (non-permanent) character death and violence

---

Kanan was running.

Somehow, the Inquisitor had found him on Lothal. The pau’an had ambushed him at the Kothal market during his supply run and Kanan had barely escaped with his life. As market stalls had tumbled to the ground around them, the people of Lothal had screamed and fled in fear. In the panic and confusion he’d lost both the supplies and his lightsaber, so now he ran.

He just had to make it to the Ghost, and then Hera could fly them all away to safety.

He raced across the plains, prey fleeing from a predator, the waist-high grasses whipping his legs and threatening to entangle his ankles. He somehow managed to stay ahead of his pursuer, but he could feel the Inquisitor gaining on him. He tried to increase his speed, but his legs wouldn’t move any faster through the grass.

By the time he reached the ship, he was barely holding onto his lead. Panic was rising in his chest.

“Hera, take off!” he shouted, racing up the ramp. He came past Zeb coming the other way.

“I’ve got your back, Kanan!” 

Kanan heard the hum of his bo-rifle activating. “Zeb, no!”

He was too slow to stop him. The clash of the staff against a lightsaber reached his ears from behind, and then his friend’s strangled yell. He turned just in time to see Zeb’s body hit the ground at the base of the ramp. 

Kanan stumbled backwards, looking up and into yellow glowing eyes. The Inquisitor’s mouth split into a cruel grin that revealed rows of pointed teeth.

“Hera!” Kanan yelled again desperately. Why wasn’t she starting the engines? Couldn’t she hear him?

His flight instinct took over and he made it to the ladder, scrambling up it. As he passed the nose gun, Sabine ran onto the balcony, blasters out. He opened his mouth to tell her to stop, run, go back, but she was already shooting at the dark figure emerging below. With an almost lazy flick of his saber, the Inquisitor sent the bolts straight back to her. Her body crumpled to the deck, the holes in her bodysuit smoking. Her armour had always been too small for her; she’d left Mandalore too young to have a full-sized suit.

With no way of his own to fight back, Kanan kept going up. At every rung he fought against the pain of knowing his family were sacrificing themselves for him. He made it to the top of the ladder when he heard something that made his heart drop through his feet.

“Stop right there!” 

Kanan looked down to see Ezra advancing on the Inquisitor, who had stowed his lightsaber and was about to step onto the first rung of the ladder. The pau’an turned to snarl at Kanan’s apprentice. A black-gloved hand shot out, fingers twisted into a claw, and Ezra was sent flying backwards. He hit the bulkhead with a sickening crunch and hung there, suspended for a moment, before the Inquisitor dropped his hand. Ezra fell to the floor. He didn’t move again.

“No!” Kanan screamed.

The eyes were back on him, and it was like his whole body was being drenched in fire and ice, the terror all-consuming. He fled upwards into the cockpit where, with a rush of relief, he saw Hera was already in the pilot’s seat.

“We have to go, now!” 

“What is it, love? What’s happening?” She stood up to meet him in the middle, relaxed and ignorant of the slaughter below.

“It’s the Inquisitor, he found me. We have to take off!”

“But he’s already on the ship.” If she knew that, why was she being so calm? “You should take the Phantom and get yourself to safety.”

He nodded; she was right. “Yeah, okay, let’s do that. Come on, let’s go!” He took her hand and dragged her to the door that led to the rest of the ship, but she resisted.

“I’ll hold him off so you can get away.” She took her blaster out of its holster.

“No, we can fight him together!” 

The pale, elongated head was already coming out of the hatch.

“Kanan, we cannot win this battle… You must run.” Her voice sounded different. She pushed him through the door. “Go, I’ll be right behind you.” 

Her blaster was raised and her body half turned towards the cockpit, but she was still looking at him. She didn’t see the dark shadow moving behind her, and he was too frozen with fear to warn her.

Her lips parted in a silent cry as the red blade blossomed from the center of her chest. The light faded from her eyes, and Kanan felt agony rip through his entire body as he watched.

“No! Hera! NO!”

The blade retracted and she sank to her knees, still staring sightlessly up at him. Slowly, she tipped sideways, landing on the deck in a sprawl of limbs and lekku. Dead, like the rest of his family. 

He hadn’t been strong enough to protect them, any of them. They had given their lives to protect him, and now it was his fault they were gone. He wasn’t even worthy of their sacrifice. 

The Inquisitor stepped over her lifeless form, advancing on him. He stumbled backwards, barely staying on his feet, trying to keep the distance between himself and his hunter. His back hit the closed doors at the other end of the corridor.

Was there any point in fighting back, now? What was left to live for?

The lightsaber ignited again, and with a snarl, the Inquisitor lunged forward. As he watched death coming for him, he screamed, for he realised that even after everything he was still a coward. He didn’t want to die.

The lightsaber slashed downwards. Everything went black.

-

-

-

His throat hurt. His muscles ached. Fear – no, terror – permeated every cell in his body. Something sharp was digging into his shoulder. He was screaming, a wordless shout that continued seamlessly from where he’d been a moment before. That was why his throat hurt. He stopped, but it still felt raw. He heaved a gasping breath.

He was in his bunk on the Ghost – no, Hera’s bunk. The sheets were twisted and wrapped around him, and his whole body was covered in sweat. Had he been dreaming? No, it was too real. They were all dead. His family were dead, and it was his fault, and he was dead too–

“Kanan? Kanan, wake up! It’s just a dream, please, love, you’re dreaming, wake up.”

Something was shaking him, and he realised the pain was from fingers gripping his shoulder.

“Hera?” he asked hoarsely, because even though it couldn’t possibly be her, he’d recognise that voice anywhere. 

“It’s me, love, I’m here.”

A soft hand cupped his cheek and turned his head to look at–

“Hera!”

He dived at her, wrapping his arms around her blissfully warm body, the forcefulness of his movement nearly taking them both off the bed and onto the floor. He didn’t care. He squeezed her tightly, feeling how alive she was, how real, clinging to her like a lifeline.

“You’re alive,” he whispered, rocking backwards and forwards, not letting her go. Tears streamed down his face, tears of relief and pain and love and fear.

“It’s okay, it was just a nightmare, you’re okay now,” she soothed, stroking his back with one arm – the other was trapped between them and unlikely to escape from his vice-like grip on her. “I’m okay. Everyone’s okay, you’re on the Ghost, we’re all safe, there’s nothing to be afraid of here.”

“It was – s-so real –” he choked between sobs. His whole body was shaking now, but she continued to stroke his back and just let him hold her.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head, burying his face in her shoulder. She pressed a kiss to the side of his face and her hand moved to his head to stroke his hair. Everything about her comforted him; the shape of her body, the way it physically pressed against him, the smell of her skin, the smooth glide of her hand over his head, the soft murmuring of her voice in his ear. Hera made him feel safe in a way that no person or place had since he was fourteen.

Eventually, his heart rate slowed to something nearer its normal pace and his breathing evened out. He loosened his grip on Hera and allowed her to find a more comfortable position, but didn’t completely let go of her; he wasn’t ready for that just yet. The fear and grief from the nightmare still lingered, tendrils of darkness lurking in the corners of his mind, but he felt somewhat in control of himself again. The dream may have been all of his worst fears rolled into one, tortuous visual, but it was just that; a dream. It wasn’t real.

He breathed in and opened himself to the Force. Immediately he felt Hera beside him, her presence blazing with love and a fierce protectiveness. Expanding his awareness outwards, he felt each member of his crew; his family. They all slept soundly, their Force signatures calm and muted, dreaming their own dreams. And alive. 

Despite everything, they were all miraculously, blissfully alive.

[nefariosity-sw]

Drabble #2

@isilwenshadewind asked for:

"Hi! For a prompt, how about Zeb making a cane for Kallus because his leg has been bothering him pretty badly anymore?"

Love the prompt! Hope you enjoy!

Zeb breathed in the smell of wood shavings, took a moment to take in the light filtering through the air, illuminating the dust that was swirling around him.

He’d gotten lost in his work again, become so absorbed in his carving that he’d lost track of time. The last time he’d been aware of it, the sun had been high; now it was golden, with the quality of late afternoon. It would be setting soon, and Alexsandr would start wondering where he was.

He smoothed his hands over the long expanse of wood over his lap, his fingers feeling the details he’d been carving into it, then over the long blank space he’d yet to fill. Some of it he wouldn’t fill at all, not yet.

He tilted his head back, trying to get the crick out of it, rubbing his hands to release the sore muscles there, then breathed deep, his hands not leaving the wood. It was still calling him. It wasn’t done with him yet tonight. He’d do a bit more. He put his fingertips back to the bottom, wanting to trace up the length of it as he considered his next cuts, making sure it would fit with what he’d already done.

It was a gift for Alexsandr, a cane. His mate had been limping more, recently, years of pushing through the pain in his leg finally catching up with him. Zeb had decided to finally take matters into his own hands; there was no way he’d turn down using what he was about to give him.

He let his fingers trace over the bo-rifles he’d carved down at the bottom, clashing, crackling with energy. This cane would tell the story of their lives together, and as much as they both hated it, that was the start of it all. He followed the story as it traveled up the length of the cane; the imperial brand flowing into a fulcrum symbol which morphed into Sabine’s starbird, then finally into the star-studded flag of the new republic. He let them trace a stylized rendition of the Nebula that hid Lira-San, the mala flower of the rebuilt Lasan that they’d help to create. His fingers met smooth wood, and after a moment of consideration, he began to carve the delicate lines of what would represent the newest chapter of their life - a cradle. He lost himself in his work once more, barely noticing the increased strain in his eyes as the light faded around him until Lila’s cradle was finished. He blew off the dust, let his fingers run over the new lines.

He stood and stretched his back, cane in hand, ready for Alexsandr. The top half of the cane was still smooth, but they’d fill it up. They had a half a lifetime’s worth of stories still to come.

[laurenmm62017]

When You Find Your Answers, I'll Be There Chapter 2

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31111016

Here's the 2nd chapter! I don't think I nailed Kallus' POV so i appreciate any feedback!

Alexsandr Kallus grew up on Coruscant, the most populous planet in the galaxy. He knew about soulmates before he was even able to walk. He was surrounded on all sides by people talking about soulmates.

He absolutely hated it.

He hated that all he can see are shades of grey just because he hasn’t met someone he’s supposed to spend the rest of his life with. He hated that it wasn’t even guaranteed that he and his soulmate would be romantic partners, but they could be simply platonic (which would be fine with him) or even hate each other (which he was less fine with). He hated that he might not even meet his soulmate AT ALL. He hated how all of his family, friends, classmates, and teachers always made such a big deal about soulmates.

He was so tired of it.

Alex was 11 when he was bullied for these views so much that he was cornered after school and beaten up so hard, his ribs were bruised for a solid month afterwards.

He decided then that he would enlist in the Grand Army of the Republic when he came of age. Everything was grey on those giant Venators anyways.

He never really thought about who his soulmate could be. He pushed himself to be as strong, fast, and smart as possible. He pushed himself so hard, he passed out due to exhaustion every night. During a particularly grueling sparring session, he had pushed so hard, that his partner grew enraged and broke his leg to get him to stop fighting. Pain lanced up and down his leg as he screamed and writhed on the ground. Their instructor calmly, almost too calmly, called to the medbay on campus for a stretcher. Alex never really forgot that look of apathy.

When Kallus was 20, The Galactic Civil War ended and the Empire rose to power, with Emperor Palpatine at the helm and his second in command Vader at his side. The Grand Army of the Republic became the Imperial Army, and he was recruited into the ranks as a Commander. It took a long time for ranks and respect to cement into place, but by the time he and his troops went on their first real mission to Onderon, a former base for major rebellions led by Saw Guerrera, he gained the respect of all under his command. He regarded them all as capable soldiers and friends in return.

The mission went south, of course. It turned out that Guerera’s troops hadn’t left the planet yet because they had blown up his company’s transports. Kallus had been knocked out in the first blast, and woke up on his back on the side of the road. He attempted to stand up, but he found that he couldn’t move a single muscle.

Then, slowly, a tall, dark grey Lasat menacingly prowled down the path of destruction, executing every one of the soldiers who were still showing signs of life.

John, Lina, Corbyn, their medic, Stim, everyone.

Kallus’ eyes were as wide as can be, as the Lasat slowly passed by his position.

‘Don’t notice me, don’t notice me, don’t noti-’ He frantically thought, but it was in vain.

The Lasat’s head whipped around to look at him, paralyzed on the ground.

“Well, well, looks like I found the commander of the group. That’s some fancy armor compared to the others, isn’t it?” He purred dangerously. Kallus tried to open his mouth, but found he still couldn’t move.

‘If you’re going to kill me, just get it over with.’ He glared up at the Lasat.

“Ooooooh, look at those eyes. Tell me, have you found your soulmate yet, Commander?” He snickered, leveling his weapon at him, some kind of modified electrostaff. “Tell you what? I’m feeling pretty generous tonight, so I’ll let you live. But I gotta make it look good. So what should I do.... Heh, I got it.”

The Lasat swung down on Kallus’ leg and it broke cleanly. Kallus still couldn’t move but the pain of the same leg that broke a few years ago was so excruciating, he passed out.

When he woke up, he was lying in a medical bed. His superior officer, Admiral Yularan, was sitting in a chair at his bedside.

“Good to see you awake, Commander. The medical droids tell me you’ll make a smooth recovery. Whenever you are able, I’d like a full report of what happened down there.”

“My men?”

Yularan shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry, my boy. You were the only one we found still alive.”

He looked up at the ceiling, anger, guilt, and fear flooded through him. He felt so helpless. He was caught off guard, and as a result, everyone was dead.

Because of him.

In that moment, on that uncomfortable medical bed, he vowed that this would never happen again.

Kallus was 26 years old when he was recruited into the Imperial Security Bureau on the recommendation of Admiral Yularan. He was trained to be ruthless, unforgiving, and as stoic as a rock. He was first assigned to Internal Affairs in order to keep loyalty to the Empire. He was very good at this job. Because he garnered the respect and loyalty or his coworkers and subordinates, many of them were rather to get in his favor by reporting any disloyalty or traitorous activity to him. He was one of the most successful Agents in ISB at this time. However, he was becoming restless just staying on Coruscant every single cycle. He wanted to get out in the field, and assist the Empire from out in the stars. He requested to be transferred to Investigations.

That was where he first encountered his soulmate.

His Lasat soulmate.

For kriff’s sake, how cruel could the universe be? A Lasat? The very one who slaughtered his first unit? One of the species he helped hunt to extinction. Surely this was a joke.

That first time he made eye contact with him, however, was admittedly magical. The way that color seemed to first saturate within the Lasat’s eyes, and spread to his soft-looking fur, and then to his surroundings made him pause for a moment. He was so captured in his eyes, it was like the galaxy paused just for this moment.

But reality came back as a blaster bolt nearly caught him in the shoulder and he ducked back to cover.

In his free time, he learned the names of the colors of his soulmate. His eyes were bright green. He had light purple fur and dark purple stripes. His jumpsuit is dark green normally, as he rarely could disguise himself. He encountered his soulmate many more times in the span of a few months, but he was never able to capture him or his group of rebels.

And then they somehow crash landed together on that Geonosian ice moon.

~

Alexsandr sat on the ground, and watched his soulmate, Garazeb Orrelios, member of the Spectre crew, jog towards the Ghost and as his friends poured out of the ship to welcome him back.

He sighed and leaned back against the wall of the cave they had taken shelter in.

“When you find your answers, I’ll be there.”

That is what Zeb had said. But why in the galaxy would he try to find answers to questions he knows he won’t like the answers to?

For himself? For the galaxy? For Zeb?

He knew that no one in the Empire would run out and embrace him like Zeb’s teammates had. The most interaction he will have is with the medical team to fix his leg. He would simply send a report to a superior officer that he would make up.

Kallus was picked up by an Imperial shuttle long after the Ghost left the atmosphere. As he suspected, he is sent to medical, discharged after his leg is set, and sent back to his quarters. No one except Konstantine greeted him on the way back.

Alone in his quarters, he sat down heavily on his bed and stared at the grey floor, walls, bedsheets. It was as if he had never even found his soulmate at all. The only burst of color there was the small meteorite he smuggled back with him.

“It’s the same color as Zeb’s bo-rifle…” He thought, idly stroking his thumb along the crevices in the meteorite.

“I’m going to find my answers, Zeb.”

~

The next time he saw Zeb in person was right after his escape from the Chimera. He messed up. He got caught, and he caused a huge loss for the Rebellion. Would he really be welcomed into their ranks after everything he had done? He was genuinely not planning to ever join up with them. If he got caught, he figured he would never see the light of day again and he would die as Fulcrum.

He never expected Kanan Jarrus, of all people, to approach him after their first jump into hyperspace.

“Kanan.” He whispered, clutching his arm to his chest and shifting his weight to one leg. It still hurt even after the medical droid looked him over. “Thank you, for taking me in.”

Seeing Kanan this close, without his mask, Alexsandr could see why the Jedi usually wore his green face shield. The scars across his face were much lighter than the rest of his face, jagged and haunting. Kanan placed a hand on his shoulder gently.

“Thank you, for risking everything.”

“It wasn’t that hard. Once I found my answers, it was clear to me.”

“We’re glad to have you, Fulcrum.” Kanan smiled and dropped his hand back down. “Zeb is in the common room, if you want to speak with him. The debriefing is almost over.”

“Thank you. Kanan. And please. My name is Alexsandr.”

He smiled at Alexsandr. “Get in there, Alexsandr.” Then, he continued through the ship with the comfort of someone who has been in a place for a long time.

Alexsandr slowly limped up to the door of the common room, pausing for one moment before he opened the door. Inside was Hera Syndulla, General Dodonna, Sabine Wren, and in the far corner, his soulmate, Garazeb Orrelios. Their eyes met and for a moment, it seemed as if everything fell away. It didn’t matter that he just barely managed to escape from the Empire. It didn’t matter that he had been beaten down over and over. All that mattered was that he was safe here, caught in those sharp, bright green eyes.

Zeb motioned for Alexsandr to stand next to him, and he limped over as fast as he could. He leaned his weight against the wall  and Zeb placed his hand right next to his. He could feel the heat radiating off of Zeb, and in that moment, Alexsandr had never felt safer.

“So, did you find your answers?”

“I did.”

[bedlamsbard]

I feel weird about not being particularly productive right now (wrists, school, world, politics, brain), so: here are the last three paragraphs of my two titled WIPs and the concepts that I’ve worked on since March.  (If it’s from a chaptered story it’s from the last compiled chapter, rather than the last in-progress scene, since with Crown especially that particular scene has been in edits for over a year.)

Down in the Devil’s Lair (sequel to On the Edge of the Devil’s Backbone)

Neso slapped his palm down on the controls, freezing the hologram on a close-up of the Twi’lek fighter’s face.  Even through the grainy quality, Xiaan could see that he was young, not more than a few years older than she was, with what seemed to be orange skin and the unmistakable line of a male curial caste tattoo along the side of one lek.  Xiaan slipped off the side of the desk so that she could walk around and get a closer look.

“That’s one of us,” Neso said slowly.  He made an abortive motion, like he was thinking about grabbing for his datapad, but there were only three missing curiate males from the Syndulla clan, and only one of the right age.  Both of them knew that.

Xiaan closed her hands into fists.  “That’s Nury,” she said.  “Neso, that’s Nury.  That’s my brother.”

The Starry Crown (first four chapters on AO3)

It put both hands down on the floor, opened its beak, and screamed.

Sabine flinched back. She fired again for all the good it did, Zeb adding his bo-rifle to her blasterfire.  Another series of harsh croaks came, this time from one of the other creatures still unfolding themselves from their hibernating shell-shapes, and the glowing forms of at least two more appear behind the first.

Sabine exchanged a single panicked glance with Zeb, and then, without pausing to discuss it, both of them broke and ran.

concept: other side AU (first seven parts on Tumblr)

“I’d hope not.”   He wrapped an arm around her waist and took another deep kiss from her as Hera put her arms around his neck.  She felt pleasantly shivery in his arms, but nowhere near satisfied, not yet.  She pressed her hips meaningfully against his, catching her lower lip briefly between her teeth as Kanan moved his hand down from her waist.

“For the record,” Hera breathed against his mouth, “I’m not having sex on the floor when there’s a perfectly good bed, even if we have to go up a ladder to get to it.”

Kanan grinned, kissed her again, then drew back enough to take her hand in his.

concept: accidental roommates AU (first two parts on Tumblr, podfic on AO3)

Kanan kissed her again, a light brush of his lips over hers, and started to undo her jacket.  He got it open and Hera helped him push it back over her shoulders, tossing it aside.  She shivered as the cool air hit the bare skin of her shoulders and arms; she was wearing a tank top beneath her jacket, which wasn’t anything Kanan hadn’t seen her in before.  It still left her feeling more exposed than usual, though Kanan’s gaze never moved away from her face.

She put her hands on the front of Kanan’s shirt.  He tensed a little, but he didn’t step away, his gaze fixed on hers.  Hera drew his shirt free from his pants, taking a deep breath before she slid her hands up beneath the fabric.  The first thing her fingers touched was scar tissue.

She looked up at Kanan, startled, and saw the fear in his eyes.  Hera took a breath, then slid her hands up, over the scars and across smooth, hard muscle.  Kanan dropped his head to hers to kiss her, his hands settling on her hips again.

 concept: field AU (part one on Tumblr)

He wanted to cry with relief.  Then he shifted and felt the ache of his recently-broken ribs and the constant, unbearable connection to the Hunter, stretched thin by distance but still unmistakably there.  Not a dream.

He could have screamed.

Breathing hard, he untangled himself gently from Hera.  She made a soft sound of protest but didn’t wake up, her fingers catching in his shirt until he coaxed her into releasing him.  He leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead before he left the cabin, barefoot and silent.

concept: good timing AU (part one on Tumblr)

Hera didn’t ask why, just climbed out of bed and reached for her clothes.  Kanan’s instincts were usually good – better than they had any right to be, in fact, but since it was always to her advantage Hera had never bothered to question it.

Kanan came back to her and put the blaster down long enough to pull on a shirt, then switch his pajama pants for his regular ones.  He buckled on his gun belt before pulling on his boots.  He was reaching for his fingerless gloves when he stopped abruptly, hand still outstretched.

“Love?” Hera said again.

concept: nightmares AU (not previously posted)

“I love her,” Kanan said.

She was silent in response.

Kanan turned his gaze down, unwilling to look at her any longer than he had to.  “Some nights I wake up,” he said haltingly, “and I’m in her bed, in her room, with her sleeping beside me, with her scent on my skin. And I can’t remember anything else.”

[anathtsurugi]

So I’m pretty sure I’ve broken a rather sizeable chunk of the Kalluzeb fandom with the most recent chapter of The Colder the Winter. As such, I decided to take a little break from mind breaking and write something a little more...pleasurable, as it were. I’d hoped to have this done for May 4th, but it didn’t quite materialize in time, so here we are now. The last time I wrote something hardcore for the boys was back during Inexorable and, let’s face it, that wasn’t exactly a fun scenario, so we’ll be having a lot more fun this time around. ;D

Once again, we have @jellysharkbat‘s lovely head canons to thank for this one (several of them at once, in point of fact), as well as @tench’s beautiful and appetizing artwork. So let’s see how it all comes together. ;-)

"Y'know, someday I'd like to meet the human who defeated a member of the Honor Guard. 'Cuz I don't think he's here right now."

 Kallus snarled in annoyance at his opponent through their crossed staffs, although the noise was completely at odds with the smirk that lit his face. "Well, perhaps he's looking for a bit more of a challenge," he suggested before sliding smoothly out of the deadlock and spinning around to land a hit to the back of Zeb's legs.

 The Lasat grunted at the mild sting of the ex-Imperial's electrostaff, but the look on his face as he spun to face him was all elation – elation and invitation.

 "You like it hard? Is that what I'm hearin' from you, Agent Kallus?" he challenged, licking his lips before delivering several quick, thrusting blows with his bo-rifle. Kallus neatly avoided all but the last, the final thrust slipping between his defense and catching him in the side. Several wolf whistles sounded from the ever-growing crowd that had gathered to watch their little sparring match.

Relishing the small zap of pain from the bo-rifle, Kallus tangled his own weapon with Zeb's, keeping them pressed tightly together. With an inviting leer of his own, he leaned across the two weapons, inhaling the heady, musky scent coming off his partner's body. "So hard, Captain Orrelios. Think you're up to the task? Or shall I look elsewhere?"

 "Oh, you're not gonna find harder than right here in front of you. Promise you that," Zeb breathed against his skin.

 "We still talking about fighting here?" Kanan's teasing voice came from somewhere beyond their immediate vicinity.

 "Course, Kanan," Zeb called over Kallus' shoulder. "Don't know what you're talkin' about."

 "Oh, I'll just bet you don't," Kallus grunted back, demanding the Lasat's attention with a sudden jerk of their tangled weapons, pulling his body as flush against his own as could be managed in the lock. With the sudden contact, he felt something low in his body twitch in enthusiasm.

 "Sorry. Did you want somethin', love?" Zeb teased him, his breathing heavy with exertion and hunger.

 "I will have those eyes on no one but me right now, Garazeb," he insisted, moving his body subtly against his lover's before pulling back from him yet again. Zeb's eyes tracked every motion with aching need. He looked at him both as a warrior appreciating his opponent's artistry of movement and as a male, fiercely desiring what he saw. Sometimes their sparring was just that – fighting. An honest exchange of blows and sweat. Other times, like now, it was a dance – thinly veiled foreplay that promised the exchange of more than just sweat.

 Oh, we are going to kriff so hard in just a few minutes here; I don't care who knows it.

 While Kallus himself was distracted by the bulge and ripple of hard muscle beneath Zeb's luscious purple fur, the Lasat was clearly more distracted by him. He was so focused on the appreciation of each individual muscle, he failed to see the move they came together to create and made the mistake of just rushing him, ready to take him with brute force.

 But Kallus caught him at the last possible moment, tangling their weapons once again. Only this time, it was a hold that gave him a distinct advantage in leverage. It wouldn't take any more than the proper application of strength to have his love beneath him. Leaning across that infinitesimal space between them, he hissed a single command into the Lasat's excitedly twitching ear.

 "Na lithir'a."

 Zeb shuddered with desire at the filthy words uttered in his mother tongue. Kallus never passed up a chance to practice his Lasana, even to the extent of using it in their dirty talk.

 "Val Ashla," the former guardsman near-whimpered, little resisting when Kallus forced him down, pressing him down onto his back. Then he was on top of him, leaning down over him, nothing but the press of their weapons separating them as he pressed his lips to the Lasat's.

 Kallus couldn't say how long they remained like that, lips locked in that desperate kiss, but he'd nearly managed to forget there was anyone else present by the time he pulled back for a quick gulp of air.

 "Yield?" he breathed against Zeb's lips, subtly grinding against him.

 "Only if yielding gets you outta those clothes faster," he returned, hands releasing his bo-rifle and dropping down to trace along Kallus' hips.

 "Come on! Get a room, you two!" Ezra's voice reached them from out of the still cheering crowd.

 "Well...if we must," Kallus teased, nibbling playfully at the corner of Zeb's mouth before climbing to his feet, collapsing his electrostaff into its carrying configuration. Then he offered the Lasat a hand up.

 "Oh, we must," Zeb said as he took the offered hand, gaze still just as fixed, just as thirsty.

 Kallus had to stand on tiptoe to whisper in Zeb's ear from this vantage point, but it was worth it to feel the shiver move through him when he whispered, "Let's go for a swim," in that ear, taking the sensitive flesh in his mouth and biting down insistently before pulling away. He didn't wait for Zeb's response before turning and sauntering away from the training ground. Kriffing sauntering, he thought as he moved, feeling his face flush. He wasn't normally like this, but...well...Zeb had that effect on him.

 He heard the Lasat clumsily collapse his own weapon before following after him. Once they were out of earshot of the base, Zeb was grumbling in his ear, "Y'know, someday I might just rip your clothes off and kriff you in front a' the whole Rebel Alliance."

 "Careful," Kallus started with a shiver as they walked. "I may let you. I hope there's nothing you're not prepared for your colleagues to see."

 "Nothin' to be ashamed of here," the Lasat boasted, reaching out to trace a single claw through the ex-agent's much longer hair, drawing yet another pleased shiver from him. "I'd honestly be happy if you'd let me. The only thing that'd bother anybody here is if we were gettin' in anyone's way."

 "Then I suppose the Empire was right about the rebels being a bunch of perverts and sexual deviants," Kallus said with a self-deprecating chuckle. That was something that was still taking some getting used to on his part; not having to keep his own preferences so carefully concealed, even from himself. He was only just getting to a point where he didn't flinch at the cheers and whistles he and Zeb sometimes got, still half-expecting to receive reactions of disgust at a human getting hot and heavy with a non-human.

 "Welcome to the party," Zeb said. "It's definitely better than bein' a stuffy, uptight Imperial and you know it."

 "I do," Kallus returned, taking the Lasat's hand in his as he came to a stop in the middle of the forest. When the former guardsman turned to look down at him in confusion, Kallus drew him down into a kiss. For a moment, they were only joined at the lips and the hands, but then Zeb groaned against him and lifted his much larger hands to cup Kallus' face, as if he meant to just drink him in then and there. Kallus groaned in kind as he gripped at Zeb's arms, fingers digging into his velvet-fine fur.

 He wasn't certain how long they stood like that, just kissing, tasting, touching, feeling, but the ex-Imperial couldn't manage to snap himself out of the daze of it until he heard the abrupt sound of ripping fabric.

 "Ooh, sorry," Zeb muttered awkwardly, and when Kallus looked down it was to find his shirt torn halfway down the front. But even as he shook his head, he laughed.

 "Really, Garazeb? Again?" he teased, removing the collapsed electrostaff and handing it to Zeb so he could pull the ruined shirt up over his head.

 "I forget my own strength sometimes...and...when you know what you want..." he said, voice trailing off into nothing as his eyes traced the newly revealed muscles of Kallus' chest. But when the Lasat reached for him, Kallus moved just beyond his reach.

 "Then perhaps I ought to remove the rest of the clothing...before it gets destroyed," he said, eyeing his lover pointedly as he traced a hand along his belt.

 "Yeah...probably..." Zeb agreed in obvious distraction, gaze fixed unerringly on that hand.

 "But," he interrupted himself, to the Lasat's clear frustration, turning and starting to walk away, "we should also probably get to the lake first. Otherwise I'm quite certain I'll find myself ravished against the nearest tree."

 Zeb groaned as he began to stumble after him yet again. "You're takin' your life in your hands, y'know. Teasin' me."

 "Oh, this isn't teasing, ni alitha. Not merely, anyway. It's very calculated, and I can guarantee it will maximize pleasure for both parties."

 "Kriffin' schemer. We'll see how much a' that big brain's left to scheme when I've got you screamin' my name."

 "We shall indeed."

So...wanna see some more? ;-)

[borifle-archive-blog]

Here are some things about my Zeb’s canon that I want to set in stone:

Zeb was born to two mothers: Jebex and Bellasun.

Jebex was a member of Lasan’s Honor Guard before him, and was proud to pass the torch to him once he became a member and she eventually retired.

Jebex practically trained Zeb from birth to take up the mantle of Guard Captain. he would watch his mother train at home and from the moment he could stand on his own would try to mimic her movements; Jebex saw this and starting teaching him how to fight.

Zeb was married to a Lasat woman named Penya when he was younger. They’d been married for about 10~ years before the fall of Lasan.

Penya and Zeb had a daughter named Mila. She was about 4 years old when the Empire first attacked Lasan.

Penya and Mila both died during the the fall of Lasan, as did Jebex and Bellasun. Zeb’s mothers survived a bit longer than his wife and daughter did, but all of them ultimately died in the end.

[gettiregretti]

@elphabaforpresidentofgallifrey just a lil looky 👀

Ceramic and space waffles scatter across the floor of the Ghost with an almighty crash.

“Ezra!” Zeb roars. It brings Hera out from the cockpit with a frown, and Sabine ducks her head through the upper hatch to look in on the commotion.

Ezra is already grinning like a tooka as he saunters in from the Yavin heat.

“Yes, oh noble Lasat warrior?” He sing-songs. Zeb’s fur prickles up all around him and makes his skin tingle with embarrassment.

“The kriff is this suppose’ to be?” He demands, batting the offending flimsy-brick to the floor to land among the shattered plate pieces.

“That’s a flimsy of a holonovel,” Ezra informs him, grin widening.

“It’s a sick joke.”

“Not at all,” Ezra presses a hand to his heart. “It’s a romantic recounting of a raunchy adventure, one leading to the fated meeting of a rebel heart-throb and a lusty Imperi-“ Ezra ducks away from Zeb’s wide swing at his head, cackling.

“Were you in on this, Sabine?” Zeb demands.

“Not that I know of.” She drops down gracefully from the hatch and brushes herself off, picking her way towards the offending literature. Too late Zeb realises he should be hiding it from anyone who hasn’t seen it yet. He reaches for it, but she’s faster.

“‘My Love, My Enemy’, huh? You know Zeb, you actually look pretty good here. Heroic. Handsome.” She tilts her head to properly take in the little purple novel and all its details. A pastel-shaded planet overhangs a strapping, half-naked Lasat honour guard, clutching in his muscled arms a very naked human wearing the bare tatters of an ISB uniform.

A blonde, male human. With a bandaged leg.

“And Kallus looks…busty.”

“S’not him. S’not me,” Zeb insists, reaching again for the novel. Sabine, chaos incarnate, throws it to Ezra instead.

“Hera, you have to see this.” Ezra is halfway to Hera, who is stood leaning against the doorway looking amused and bemused in equal amounts. Before he reaches her, the novel is flicked from his hands by an invisible tug, and gently floats into the palms of Kanan Jarrus.

“Ezra. You’ve left meditation because…?”

“Because Zeb is the star of the latest smutty holonovel by Midnight Lyste, and his damsel in distress is Agent Kallus.”

“That’s not a…what?” Kanan’s clever fingers skim the book, its sordid details hidden from him. Zeb steps in quickly. He plucks the novel from Kanan’s palms, bottom jaw jutting out in a mulish sulk.

Zeb sounds gravelly when he next speaks. “It’s just some banthashit romance. Just because it’s a Lasat on the front, doesn’t mean it’s me.”

“He has a bo-rifle,” Sabine counters.

“The agent has one too. He defects for him,” Ezra cuts in. “Then Zeb bandages up the agent’s injured knee under the light of the stars, and lays him out on the warm sands for a night of forbidden-oof!”

Zeb’s aim is true and the Meiloorun bounces with a hollow thunk off Ezra’s chest.

“I’m takin’ this and I’m burning it,” Zeb declares, turning for his cabin with the novel securely under one arm.

“That’s the best part,” Ezra wheezes, “last week’s bacta shipment came with twenty of these things. The book club already read them, and now they’re making their way through the pilots.” He grins again, savagely, and Zeb only wishes he’d thrown the entire fruit bowl.

Instead of committing to further violence, Zeb groans loudly at the ceiling.

“Karabast.”

—

That night, Zeb can’t resist the morbid fascination he still has with the holonovella. It calls him. He wants to know if it actually is him, how people see him, how…explicit it is. Maybe.

With Ezra snoring loudly above him, Zeb is careful about pulling open the drawer of his bunkside cabinet. He hooks one claw over the cover and gently retrieves the novel from the drawer’s depths.

Like a kit he pulls the bedcovers over his ears to make a private world. The light on his wristcom is just enough to illuminate the extravagant, smutty cover, and the sight of it still makes his fur stand on end. Quickly he turns it over.

Smugglepress Printers of Nar Shaddaar

Purveyors of Intergalactic Adult Entertainment

That tracks.

The language is flowery. Fancy. It opens on a star destroyer, and is just imperial and boring enough to make Zeb skip another three chapters. He stops when he spots the word ‘moon’, and chews gently at the inside of his cheek as he starts the first new paragraph.

The human, much to Zeb’s dismay, is called Kallus. Alexsandr Kallus, in fact. He has no idea if this is accurate or not, and feels a song of irritation with himself for never asking Kallus’ full name. The name of the Lasat in the holonovel, however, is not Garazeb Orrelios. He is Zaurab Helios and he was a member of the Honour Guard serving ambassadors in Montruloss, not a captain of the Honour Guard protecting the palaces in Verilla. Still, the author uses Zeb’s rifle type. His fictional self talks about the T4s, and fictional Kallus talks about Onderon, and then they bond over Zaurab’s time in the fighting pits-

Zeb has never mentioned the pits to Kallus. He hasn’t spoken of it to anyone bar Kanan and Hera since they pulled him out of them.

He finds himself a little worried that this mystery author has so much information on him, as a member of the rebellion. Even more on Kallus, a high-profile defector. It’s clearly only a shallow understanding of the two of them, though. fictional Kallus’s apology and self-sacrifice is interrupted mid tearful appeal. He is pulled into Zaurab’s arms and finds himself cradled close against a large chest, Zaurab narrowly stopping him from sacrificing his own life to save the last Lasat warrior.

Well, Zeb supposes, he did stop Kallus from dying. But the rest of it is fantasy. Zeb remembers a lot less crying and a lot more high-pitched Coruscanti shrieking. He and Kallus had found a ground on which to not kill each other, but Kallus’ apology had been barely there. They had decided to work together for survival, mostly.

Zeb’s eyes skim words without truly reading. Kallus had seemed uptight and snobbish, but he had listened. He had taken everything Zeb said to him and saved it inside, despite his parroted arguments. That had been their true connection; Kallus choosing to listen. That’s that moment that made him more than the bloody-handed agent he could have been.

..excitement trilled through him, pooling into something hot and heavy In Alexsandr’s stomach. Clawed hands skimmed up his thighs and insistently spread them wide enough for-

Zeb slams the holonovel closed with a thick thunk. Nope. No. Not today.

—

The next day, people are definitely looking at him funny. Zeb spots some mechanics whispering, and more than once hears a giggle as he goes by.

At first he thinks people are mocking him, but Sabine finds him after his perimeter check at lunch to reframe the situation.

“So. You’re a sex symbol now.”

Zeb starts. “S’cuse me?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. The hand polishing the barrel of his bo-rifle stops.

“The flimsinovel. People read it and now half the base wants to get you into bed. The other half are mad that their better halves have been fantasising about you giving our resident defector a good kriffing.”

“Me and Kallus never-“

“Not important. What is important is that now you are the hottest person on base and you should do something about that.”

“Like what?” He asks, wary.

“Get laid. Take some black market holos for extra credits. Score free drinks at the tap-caf…that sort of thing.”

Zeb scoffs at her and turns back to his rifle, seeing his own reflection in the dark metal.

Sabine rolls her eyes so hard Zeb can feel it. “Zeb, I was joking about the holos. But otherwise I’m serious. A guy can’t survive on waffles and violence alone.”

“I don’t need that kind of mess. War’s hard enough.”

“You should do it because war is hard,” she insists. “Live each moment like it’s your last, etcetera.”

“Not sure I want to take someone to bed who thinks I’m some knight in shining beskar, or whatever,” Zeb admits.

She shrugs. “That’s fine. Just…don’t let yourself be lonely. Yeah? You might not be from a romance, but you are a rebel, and a badass.”

Zeb huffs a laugh. “Thanks, kid.”

“Anytime, big guy.” She thumps him on the arm and starts to walk away. “Oh, and Kallus was looking for you.”

Good feeling fizzles into a kind of embarrassed anticipation immediately. Has Kallus seen the holonovel? Usually Zeb gets a drink with him on Tuesday night, when the pilots all cram into one hanger to watch a holo projected onto an old parachute and the tap cafe is a little quieter.

It’s companionable, with Kallus. It’s easy. The two of them click like puzzle pieces, making each other a little more of everything. More open and engaged and motivated and vulnerable. Twin flames, as unexpected as that is.

The holonovel in Zeb’s bunkside drawer changes all that into something new. He doesn’t know how to feel about the implications on the pages; can’t process the blissful expression on the human’s face on the cover. Not when it looks so like Kallus.

He gets the urge to go and look at it again. He does not.

If you don't make a kalluzeb in the style a romance novel cover I will revolt

Can’t be having a revolution now, can we?

This is a real novel title. Please leave your alternate titles for this in replies I wanna hear them

[kaliori]

Bookends, Part 6C

[Aka I wrote that note saying “idk when I can write again” and then I wrote again]

By now, Kanan was used to Hera’s urgency. Whether it was her at the helm of the Ghost hightailing it out of a tight spot or the night between them that refused to leave his memory, Kanan knew when it was best to let her drive.

She hustled him out the door and away from the club so quickly that he struggled to keep up at first, despite his longer stride. He didn’t need the Force to sense the white hot energy steaming from her body. She was pissed.

He waited until the club was far enough away that the thumping music faded into a dull sound behind them. “Hold on,” he said.

“We have to go.” Her voice took on an unfamiliar tone to him, like she was speaking from the back of her throat.

“Hera.” This time it was his voice that did things to her. Hearing her name on his lips usually thrilled her to the depths of her emotions, the places where she kept most of what she felt locked up tight. That night, facing a failed mission and yet another reminder of how the rest of the galaxy really saw her, she turned to one of the last people she knew she could trust.

Hera kept Kanan off balance all night, even longer if he counted the last few weeks between them filled with uncomfortable silences and truncated speech. He couldn’t in good faith call those words a conversation, when they talked at each other and most of it went nowhere. But when their eyes met in the desolate night between the club and the rendezvous point, she fit into his open arms just like they were made for each other.

She squeezed hard him around the bottom of his ribcage while he rubbed her back. He kept her close to him, taking great care to not disturb her lekku. “You’re shaking,” he said. He couldn’t hide his pounding heart from her snuggled up so close to him.

“I hate this,” she said. Her face buried in his shoulder muffled her voice.

His usual glib persona was gone. Kanan chose Hera over the years of isolation, repressed sadness, and detachment that molded him into the lost soul she’d found on Gorse. He was all hers and he’d follow her into a thousand more irritating situations as long as she held onto him. He told her all she needed to know about him with a warm, silent embrace, until he had to break the moment. “We should get back to the rendezvous point before Zeb thinks we’re in trouble,” he said softly. When she pulled away, he took her hand like she took his in front of the club. He gave her a smile before leading her back to the Phantom. The fake couple that entered the bar called it a night looking more like a real couple with nobody around to convince.

They made it far enough for Hera’s breathing to get almost back to normal and Kanan’s pulse to calm before Kanan stopped short, suddenly gripping Hera’s hand tighter than he ever had before. Something hard, round, and metal shoved into his spine. He couldn’t speak and could barely breathe from the pain and the surprise of being ambushed in the middle of nowhere.

“Where you lovebirds headed,” a voice on the other end of the blaster asked. Hera squeezed his hand back, keeping her eyes straight ahead.

“We’re not armed and we have no credits on us,” she said. “We’re not looking for a fight.”

A circle of large men formed around Hera and Kanan, while the one with the blaster stayed behind them to give orders. “You,” he said to Kanan. “Hands on your head.” Kanan reluctantly dropped Hera’s hand from his grip to oblige their attacker.

“Now you,” he said to Hera. “You’re the one who started the fight.” He nodded to two from the posse, who restrained Hera by her arms.

“Don’t try it, cowboy,” he said to Kanan, pushing the barrel of the blaster deeper. Somehow it found a nerve between bone and muscle. The pain and the warning was enough to keep Kanan at bay.

“My boss just wanted to buy you a drink,” he went on. “He’s rich and he knows how to treat a lady. He’s disappointed that you turned him down.”

“I wasn’t interested,” Hera said.

“Why? You got a boyfriend? Him?” He laughed and kicked Kanan in the calf to knock him down. Hera tried to break free from the thugs holding her back, but one twisted her arm behind her at a sharp angle.

Kanan went down hard but stayed down with the blaster trained on him. He held his hands on the back of his head to keep them alive. It was all he could do to keep from pulling his own ponytail out from his scalp from rage and worry.

“Because I don’t drink with impotent scum who send his boys to do his dirty work,” Hera spat.

The gang leader motioned to two others in the circle to point their blasters at Kanan on the ground. He turned his full attention to Hera. Just inches between them, he spoke to her in a menacing tone. “What you did goes beyond a simple ‘no thank you’. Your disrespect can’t go unpunished. You understand.”

“I understand that you’re as pathetic as he is.” She met him glare for glare.

“You know, I told him not to bother with you, but he insisted. He said he wanted the hottest one in the club. I told him you tailheads aren’t worth the trouble.”

As soon as Kanan heard that word come out of the gang leader’s mouth, his fingers twitched, ready to fight. Hera clenched her jaw, fighting back the urge to spit in his face. He watched her struggle against the thugs holding her back and her need to rip his teeth out. “Don’t worry, I don’t hit ladies.”

Instead, he went back to Kanan with a swift kick in the ribs. After a few more kicks, Kanan couldn’t get up to fight back. It was hardly a fair fight with him on the ground. Hera knew she was no good to him with a broken arm, so she dropped her head so she wouldn’t have to watch.

The others in the gang crowded around to watch their leader pound Kanan into the ground, blasters holstered to better enjoy the show. Hera’s captors kept their grip on her strong. With her head bent down and behind her, following the angle of her arm, she saw a purple flash closing in behind them.

She took a deep breath and braced herself for any residual jolts from the incoming electromagnetic pulse. Her captors went down in a sizzle of electricity. Hera rolled away from them and caught the blaster Zeb threw to her.

Zeb stood tall, projecting his leverage over the gang. “Back off,” Zeb ordered with his bo-rifle raised.

Hera fired first, a bolt right through the shoulder of the leader. He went down beside Kanan’s still body, roaring in pain and sending the others scrambling to draw their blasters. Flanked by the nearly 7 foot tall Lasat, Hera meant business. They had her outnumbered, but she had them outdrawn.

“Get out of here,” she told them. “10 seconds or I start shooting again.” Nobody stayed to test her, except for the leader cowering on the ground and suffering a charred shoulder. Hera plucked his blaster from its holster and left him alone in the dusty expanse of nothingness. To die, or to have his gang members collect him later. She didn’t care either way. Kanan and Zeb needed her now.

Zeb hefted Kanan into his arms as gently as he could. “What in hell happened out here,” he asked as they hustled back to the Phantom.

Nothing had gone right that night. A bad tip led to a failed mission. Vile men would always come back to remind her of how Twi’lek females were treated throughout the galaxy. The shock and horror of watching the gang beat Kanan nearly unconscious set her nerves trembling all over again. She shook her head at him, unsure of where to start.

She ran ahead when she saw the Phantom come into view. “Hera,” Zeb called after her. She didn’t turn back to look. She just kept running.

[eyeloch]

Endurance.  That’s what something like this comes down to in the end.  Humans like to boast that they can outlast most species, but Zeb knew better.  Some humans, the ones he’s proud to call family, perhaps could outlast him.  Imperials though?  Well, give most humans a little power and it’ll puff them up - leaving them all soft and easy to break.

Still, the bucketheads had numbers on their side, if nothing else.  

Thing was, he’d given a good fight.  Karabast, he had.  Sabine’s miracles were long detonated, his comm tricks long since discovered.  His endurance was starting to flag.

He was sure he stunk of singed fur and sweat, mingling with the blood of superficial scrapes and cuts.  Heh, if it weren’t for the filters in their helmets, he could probably kill a handful more with that alone.

He pulled his screaming muscles into performing yet another kata - using his feet to pull a stormtrooper into a nasty shock, and then thrust her into her buddies.  He felt sore already, and would be sure he’d regret pushing himself the next day.

...if he thought he even had a chance to survive to a next day.

Because here’s the thing about endurance tests, he learnt back when he was training as an Honor Guardsman, you’ll make a mistake eventually.  The longer you go on, the more likely it is you’ll pull a muscle, get clipped by a blaster bolt or the like.  And he’s been fighting for a long time.

Ducking round another dull corner of imperial hallway, he slammed his bo-rifle into the door controls, giving him about a meter of protection to catch his breath.

...before he realised he heard footsteps, a blaster bolt hit his leg.  He blasted away the foe easily enough, though the recoil put strain on his other muscles too.  Another few stormtroopers rounded the corner, and he smiled slightly at the disorganisation he’d caused.  Even a lethal hit didn’t dim the smile.

Survival wasn’t the goal today, after all.  He’d endured longer than he’d hoped, brought Ezra and the rest time to save more of his people.  He’d done his duty, in the end.

And thus the final Captain of the High Honor Guard died proud, with a smile on his face.

[borifle-archive-blog]

what was zeb's first thought when he saw that it was just kanan and ezra coming home? did he assume the worst?

he absolutely did.

the phantom came into orbit, and all the tension in his chest released. they came back with the ship in one piece– that MUST be a good sign. but when the ship landed and only kanan and ezra came out, he and hera rushed forward with a volley of questions. was the mission successful? where’s rau? sabine? (IS SHE DEAD?)

hearing their answers only made zeb’s shoulders slump. at first, it was with RELIEF. “she’s okay. she isn’t hurt.” kanan told them. “sabine decided to stay with her clan.”

and then zeb felt much smaller than he had in years. was he happy for her? he wanted to be. he really, truly did. but every time that someone he cared for LEFT, it was only a matter of time before he never heard from them again.

that’s what HAPPENED when you were fighting the empire. some people went out, and didn’t come back whole. (just like lasan, like malachor)

but even when your family left, you had to find a reason to keep walking on. so he did. and hoped that whatever happened, the next time he saw sabine she would be whole.