#the warmth of the first image and how out of place hera is in it. the almost nostalgic quality to the lighting

[commsroom]

you're remembering this wrong. (by @hehearse)

[illuminatedquill]

Short Story Summary: Hera Syndulla arrives at Sabine and Ezra's comm tower to drop off the first print editions of their personal trading cards.

*For @alphaofdarkness and @jedi-nurse who inspired this with their conversations on the Discord server. Hope you like it.

Lothal, Early Morning - Sabine and Ezra's Comm Tower

The characteristic soft chime that played whenever someone was waiting below in the comm tower's courtyard alerted Ezra to their guest's presence. Setting down the data-pad he had been browsing through for the Holo-Net's daily news, he stood and walked over to a nearby monitor at the security station that had been recently installed by Sabine as a precaution.

After all, the last time a guest had arrived she had ended up with a lightsaber stabbed through her abdomen. It was not an experience she wished to repeat again.

Shooing a curious Murley off the console, he pushed a button. The monitor's screen lit up, showing the crisp image of the tower's courtyard - and the familiar face of their guest.

Smiling, he spoke into the intercom. "Hello, Hera."

The green-skinned Twi'lek smiled back and waved at the camera. Seeing her face, practically the same since he had first seen it over a decade ago, always filled Ezra with a sense of warmth and comfort. Hera had been a steady friend, mentor, and surrogate mother to him during the hectic early days of the Rebellion. She was the eternal bedrock of the Spectres, the foundation from which all of them had built their new lives upon.

He noted the casual outfit she wore today: not her usual flight uniform, but a fashionable beige sport jacket, dark brown tunic, slim, high waisted pants, complete with comfortable walking boots. Grasped in her hands was a slim, non-descript wooden case.

"Retirement looks good on you, General," he remarked.

Hera snorted. "Semi-retirement. I was practically forced into it by Leia. She was very insistent."

"It's well-deserved," he replied. "And long overdue."

"And boring," she retorted. "I need structure, Ezra. A mission."

He laughed. "So, you're hiring yourself out as a delivery service now?"

She scowled at him. "Gotta do something. I'm still helping people, at least."

"And not getting shot at or participating in dog fights with pirates is presumably a benefit, as well," Ezra added.

"Eh," she said, waving a careless hand. "I kind of miss it, sometimes."

Hera peered up at the camera. "Are you going to let me up or we just going to chit-chat like this all day? I've got other places to be, you know."

Ezra grinned and let her in.

The slim wooden case lay open on the worktable, revealing the contents within. Ezra peered over it, taking in the sight of what Hera had brought.

She sipped at a caf, a special blend of Hera's favorite flavors. "Thanks for this," she said gratefully.

"Of course," Ezra responded. He picked up one of the items within the wooden case and observed it more closely: a trading card, thin and metallic. With a sense of bemusement, he inspected the image of himself on it, conforming to what he had perceived at the time of the photoshoot to be a "heroic" pose: his lightsaber activated and held in a basic guard position.

There was at least a dozen more of these contained within the wooden case.

"Where's Sabine?" Hera asked.

Ezra nodded towards the section of the comm tower's interior, where the master bedroom was located. "Sleeping in. She just returned from Mandalore late last night."

"Busy days for her, huh," Hera said.

Ezra shrugged, still eyeing the trading card in his hand. "Bo needs her to keep the clans in line."

He shook his head. "I can't believe these are actually real. A Jedi on a trading card."

"Hey, don't knock it," Hera said. "Skywalker's got a bunch, too."

Ezra's eyes widened. "Luke? How did the New Republic convince him to do this?"

"Same way we did with you. He had similar concerns: that Jedi shouldn't be involved in this sort of publicity, even with benevolent intentions," Hera explained. She paused to take a brief sip of her caf before continuing. "To counter this, the government pitched that it was for historical purposes. It was a good way to get the young ones across the galaxy up to date with knowledge of galactic affairs and the people who shaped them."

He blinked, remembering the exact same explanation being given to him. "It's a little scary that they found a way to trick Jedi into this."

Hera shrugged. "You're both history nerds. And there's no harm in giving the kids heroes to root for. I think you both appreciate that fact."

Ezra studied the cards some more, smiling a little. Living as an orphan on the streets of Imperial controlled Lothal, he would have given anything to have a fun side hobby like that.

"Leia, her husband Han, Skywalker, and Lando all have their own trading cards, too," Hera commented. She reached down and plucked a card from within the wooden case. "Everyone in the Ghost crew, also. Me, Zeb, Kanan - even Chopper."

Ezra snorted. He glanced over at the trading card Hera was holding, this one featuring Sabine. She was wearing one of her go-to civilian outfits, her head encased in a speeder-bike helmet. The characteristic Sabine Wren smirk was also in vivid display, along with one other feature that immediately caught his attention.

He frowned. "That can't be recent," he said. "When did she grow out her hair?"

Hera turned to him, surprised. "Right," she said. "You weren't here to see that."

She offered him the trading card. Ezra took it, gazing softly down at the image of his wife.

"She's beautiful," was all he could say. He had only ever seen Sabine with short hair, a necessity with her Mandalorian helmet. Even when she had come to rescue him on Peridea, Sabine had worn a short pixie-style cut. Ezra had assumed that had been her style the entire time he had been gone.

The deep purple he remembered from Peridea was present, but it blended beautifully with the longer locks of burning red. It reminded him of the gouts of flame bursting forth he had seen in paintings of dying stars; the effect of her dye colors presented the look of pure starfire flowing down her shoulders.

"Yeah, Sabine had these done a while ago," Hera confirmed.

"But they're just being released now?" Ezra asked. "Why?"

She sighed. "It took quite a bit of convincing for Sabine to acquiesce to this decision. You know how she is with public facing stuff like this."

Ezra winced, imagining the conversations between Sabine and the New Republic officials to be short and one-sided. Despite her brash exterior, he knew his wife to be an immensely private person, preferring to keep out of the public eye.

"I finally got her to agree, but Sabine would only do it on two conditions: first, that she would have a say in how the cards were designed. If her face was going to be on them, she wanted to ensure that the cards were artistically up to her standards."

Ezra smiled slightly. Sounds like her, he thought. Art was Sabine's first love, before she met him. She would want to make sure that the artwork showcased on the trading cards was befitting of the heroes they featured.

"What was the second condition?" he asked.

Hera cocked her head at him, her eyes suddenly wistful. "That her trading cards would only be sold as a set, not to be separated for any reason."

Ezra's brow furrowed. "She wanted her card to be permanently paired up with another?"

"Yes, Ezra," said Hera quietly. "Yours."

His eyes widened at the revelation.

"That's why hers are only being released now," continued Hera. "She was waiting for you."

Ezra was silent, looking over the cards: his and Sabine's, paired together.

Not to be separated for any reason.

He coughed, trying to clear the sudden lump in his throat. Hera clapped him on the shoulder.

"I think they look better together," she observed wryly. "Don't you?"

Ezra smiled; his eyes were moist with emotion. "Yeah," he agreed. "They do."

Sabine wandered out of the bedroom a little after mid-day. Her hair was sticking up on one end; eyes still bleary from the long sleep, she shuffled over to the couch and sat down next to Ezra.

"Had a good sleep?" he asked her.

She laid her head onto his shoulder. "Mmmmm. First soft bed in weeks. Heavenly isn't strong enough to describe it."

He kissed her head softly. "Is Mandalore still doing alright? No one's gunning for another civil war? "

"Yeah, clan meeting went nice and smoothly," she replied drowsily. "Boring."

Ezra chuckled, strongly reminded of Hera's same response earlier this morning.

"Sounds like progress," he mused.

She shifted her head on his shoulder, moving into a more comfortable position. "Heard you talking with someone. Was it Hera?"

He nodded. Sabine grimaced. "You should have woken me up, goober."

"You were tired. Hera didn't mind. Said she'll call later, to catch up with you."

Sabine didn't argue back, which was an indication of just how exhausted she still was. "What did she want?"

Ezra produced from his pocket the trading cards. "She was dropping these off."

His wife sneaked a glance at them and let out a surprised breath. "Karabast," she muttered. "I forgot these were a thing."

"Freshly minted, first edition," he bragged. "Super rare and valuable, I'm told."

She snorted. "Whatever. We should sell them and buy tickets to a star cruise."

Setting the cards down on the worktable, Ezra grinned and hugged his wife close. "I'm also told," he said gently, "that ours are not to be sold separately."

Sabine went quiet.

He reached over and laced his hand in hers. "It's very thoughtful of you," he whispered. "Thank you."

She squeezed his hand back. "We're a package deal, Ezra. I don't want anyone separating us ever again. Even in something as silly as trading cards."

[anotheroceanid]

One day Hera does something that causes her image of an ideal daughter to crack.

Perhaps she fails some important exam or her number in the competition does not get the first place. There is no perfect result that Hera could proudly present to her parents and receive their love and warmth.

But Jason still arrives to pick her up on time and she is afraid to see the disappointment in his eyes in her father's eyes.

But Jason is gentle and affectionate to her as usual - he sits down on his knees in front of her, gently takes her face in his palms and his golden gaze is full of love.

"You are my daughter" there is no tremor in his voice, during the days of their "dollhouse game" treating them like their own children has become something familiar and normal "I love you endlessly just for this fact, not for your achievements and victories, just for what you exist, you are my girl and Percy's girl, no matter what."

He hugs her and Hera still feels Daddy's love.

Hera being an overachiever eldest daughter is so real of her 😭 Like, she's been carrying this family on her back for aeons and she can't just let it go even when she's playing pretend.

If Jercy gets to have kids of “their own”, either adopting a baby or having a baby through divine interference or omegaverse or genderbend or whatever, that's really not the point here, the thing is: Jercy gets a baby. An actual mortal baby.

Oh, the six are drenching in jealousy. But it's not just that, suddenly Jason ain't the nicest dad who ever lived anymore, because trauma comes back to knock on the door and suddenly the big six is like this to Percy: YOU HAVE TO HIDE, YOU HAVE TO RUN AS FAST AS YOU CAN, WE WILL PROTECT YOU NO MATTER WHAT, MAKE SURE HE’S WELL FED WHEN THE BABY ARRIVES.

Well, Jercy tries to talk them out of this paranoia. They have a lot of talking about how they do not treat cannibalism as a family dynamic, but the gods are not very convinced. Suddenly, poor Jason is being hissed at all the time.

Then, the baby arrives. Hey, cannibalism is really NOT a family dynamic in that family.

That was supposed to be the happy ending, right?

Nope. Now they hate the baby. Father obviously love them more than us.

Yeah… They’re competing with a baby. They call the baby “Rock” as an insult. In fact, Zeus ends up the one to antagonize the baby the least, because he also never went through the “being eaten by your father” experience, so now turns out he can sympathise with a sibling of his. He’s #1 older brother to the baby, it's actually cute.

It's not cute that the other five are jealous of it too. I mean, Heatia is mostly cool, but she's definitely sadder and quieter ever since the baby was born.

[thewidowsghost]

Seeing the Beauty (Piper McLean x Fem!Jackson!Reader) - Chapter 9

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Jason doesn't want to leave Leo, but he starts to think that hanging out with Cal the hockey jock might be the least dangerous option in this place.

As they climb the icy staircase, Zethes stays behind them, his blade drawn. The guy might look like a disco-era reject, but there is nothing funny about his sword. Jason figures that one hit from that thing would probably turn him into a Popsicle.

Then there is the ice princess. Every once in a while, she'd turn and give Jason a smile, but there is no warmth in her expression. She regards Jason like he is an especially interesting science specimen – one she couldn't wait to dissect.

(Y/n) doesn't seem to notice, but Jason keeps catching the ice princess watching her closely, her eyes greedy.

(Y/n) was worried that they were being led into a trap. If things go bad, she isn't sure that she could get them out alive. Without thinking about it, she takes Piper's hand for reassurance.

The daughter of Aphrodite raises her eyebrows, but doesn't let go. "It'll be fine," Piper says softly. "It's just a talk, right?"

At the top of the stairs, the ice princess looks back and notices the two teens holding hands. Her smile fades. Suddenly, (Y/n)'s hand in Piper's turns ice cold – burning cold. She lets go, her fingers smoking with frost, and so are Piper's.

"Holy fuck," (Y/n) mutters for the second time in less than twenty-four hours.

"Warmth is not a good idea here," the princess advises, "especially when I am your best change at staying alive. Please, this way."

Piper gives (Y/n) a nervous frown like, What was that about?

(Y/n) doesn't have an answers. Zethes pokes her in the back with his icicle sword, about half an inch above the small of her back, and a warning signal goes off in (Y/n)'s head – Too close! Too close!

They follow the princess down a massive hallway decked in frosty tapestries.

Freezing winds blow back and forth, and Jason's thoughts move almost as fast. He'd had a lot of time to think while they rode the dragon north, but he feels as confused as ever. Thalia's picture is still in his pocket, though he doesn't need to look at it anymore – her image has burned itself into his mind. It is bad enough not remembering his past, but to know he has a sister out there somewhere who might have the answer and to have no way of finding her. The only thing he knew about Thalia was (Y/n)'s comment earlier about how a statue of Hera had broken her legs.

In the picture, Thalia looks nothing like him. They both have blue eyes, but that is it. Her hair is black, and her complexion is more Mediterranean. Her facial features are sharper – like a hawk's.

Still, Thalia looks so familiar. Hera had left him just enough memory that he could be certain Thalia is his sister. But Annabeth had acted completely surprised when he'd told her, like she'd never heard of Thalia's having a brother. Did Thalia even know about him? How had they been separated?

(Y/n) continues to walk down the hall beside Piper, and she starts questioning the warning signal that had gone off in her head.

The River Styx's current swirls with strange objects – broken toys, ripped-up college diplomas, wilted homecoming corsages – all the dreams people had thrown away as they'd passed from life into death. Looking at the black water, (Y/n) can think of about three million places she'd rather swim.

"So," Percy begins. "We just jump in?

"You have to prepare yourself first," Nico says, "or the river will destroy you. It will burn away your body and soul."

"Sounds fun," (Y/n) mutters.

"This is no joke," Nico warns. There is only one way to stay anchored to your mortal life. You have to . . ." He glances behind the two children of Poesideon and his eyes widen. Percy and (Y/n) turn and find themselves face-to-face with a Greek warrior.

For a second, Percy thinks he's Ares, because the warrior looked exactly like the god of war – tall and buff, with a cruel, scarred face and closely shaven black hair. He is wearing a white tunic and bronze armor. He holds a plumed war helm under his arm, but his eyes are human – pale green like a shallow sea – and a blood arrow sticks out of his left calf, just above the ankle.

Percy stunk at Greek names, but even he knew the greatest warrior of all time, who had died from a wounded heel.

"Achilles," both (Y/n) and Percy say in unison.

The ghost nods. "I warned the other one not to follow my path. Now I will warn you." He looks first at Percy, and then at (Y/n).

"Luke? You spoke with Luke?" (Y/n) asks, frowning slightly.

"Do not do this," he says. "It will make you powerful. But it will also make you weak. Your prowess in combat will be beyond any mortal's, but your weakness, your failings will increase as well."

"You mean I'll have a bad heel?" Percy asks. "Couldn't we just, like, wear something besides sandals? No offense?"

Achilles stares down at his bloody foot. "The heel is only my physical weakness, demigod. My mother, Thetis, held me there when she dipped me into the Styx. What really killed me was my own arrogance. Beware! Turn back!"

And (Y/n) knows he means it. There is regret and bitterness in his voice. He was honestly trying to save them from a terrible fate.

But then again – Luke hadn't turned back. That's why he had been able to host the spirit of Kronos without his body disintegrating. This is how he'd prepared himself, and why he seemed impossible to kill. He'd bathed in the Styx and taken on the power of the greatest moral hero, Achilles. He was invincible.

(Y/n) exchanges a look with her brother.

"We have to," (Y/n) speaks for both of them. "Otherwise, we don't stand a chance."

Achilles lowers his head. "Let the gods witness that I tried. Heroes, if you mist do this, concentrate on your moral point. Imagine one spot of your body that will remain vulnerable. THis is the point where your soul will anchor your body to the world. It will be your greatest weakness, but also your only hope. No moral must be completely invulnerable. Lose sight of what keeps you moral, and the River Styx will burn you to ashes. You will cease to exist."

"I don't suppose you could tell us Luke's mortal point?" Percy asks.

He scowls at Percy. "Prepare yourself, foolish boy. Whether you survive this or not, you have sealed your doom!"

With that happy thought, he vanishes.

"Percy," Nico says, "maybe he's right."

"This was your idea."

"I know, but now that we're here—"

"Just wait on the shore. If anything happens to us . . . Well, maybe Hades will get his wish, and you'll be the child of the prophecy after all."

He doesn't look pleased about that, but (Y/n) doesn't care.

Before she could change her mind, (Y/n) concentrates on the small of her back — a tiny point just opposite her navel, a point well defended when she wore her armor. It would be hard to hit by accident, and few enemies would aim for it on purpose. No place is perfect, but this seemed right to her, and a lot more dignified than, like, her armpit or something.

(Y/n) pictures a string, a bungee cord connecting her to the world from the small of her back. And (Y/n) and Percy step into the river.

"Hey," Piper's voice tears (Y/n) back to the present. She touches (Y/n)'s arm. "You still with me?"

"Yeah . . . I . . . Yeah, sorry," (Y/n) murmurs, and Piper meet's (Y/n)'s gaze for a moment.

(Y/n) is grateful for Piper. She needed a friend, and (Y/n) is glad she started losing the Aphrodite blessing. Her makeup is fading, and her hair is slowly going back to its old choppy style with the cute little braids down the sides. It made her look more real, and as far as (Y/n) is concerned, more beautiful.

She is sure now that they'd never known each other before the Grand Canyon. Their friendship was just a trick of the Mist in Piper's mind, but the longer (Y/n) spends with her, the more she wishes it had been real. That she had known Piper longer than a day and a half.

Stop that, she tells herself. It isn't fair to Piper, thinking that way.

At the end of the hallway, the demigods find themselves in front of a set of oaken doors carved with a map of the world. In each corner is a man's bearded face, blowing wind. (Y/n) is pretty sure she'd seen maps like this before, but in this version, all the wind guys are Winter, blowing ice and snow from every corner of the world.

The princess turns. Her brown eyes glitter, and Jason feels like he is a Christmas present she is hoping to open. "This is the throne room," she says. "Be on your best behavior, Jason Grace. My father can be . . . chilly. I will translate for you, and try to encourage him to hear you out. I do hope he spares you. We could have such fun."

Jason guesses this girl's definition of fun was not the same as his. "Um, okay," he manages. "But really, we're just here for a little talk. We'll be leaving right afterward."

The princess smiles. "I love heroes. So blissfully ignorant."

Piper rests her hand on her dagger. "Well, how about you enlighten us? You say you're going to translate for us, and we don't even know who you are. What's your name?"

The girl sniffs with distaste. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised you don't recognize me. Even in the ancient times the Greeks did not know me well. Their island homes were too warm, too far from my domain. I am Khione, daughter of Boreas, goddess of snow."

She stirs the air with her finger, and a miniature blizzard swirls around her – big, fluffy flakes as soft as cotton.

"Now come," Khione says. The oaken door blows open, and cold blue light spills out of the room. "Hopefully you will survive your little talk."

Mist hangs in the air. (Y/n) shivers, slipping her hands into the pockets of her jacket, and she clutches her pen in her pocket. Along the walls, purple tapestries show scenes of snowy forests, barren mountains, and glaciers. High above, ribbons of colored light — the aurora borealis — pulses along the ceiling. A layer of snow covers the floor, so (Y/n) has to step carefully. All around the room stand life-size ice sculpture warriors — some in Greek armor, some medieval, some in modern camouflage — all frozen in various attack positions, swords raised, guns locked and loaded.

At least Jason thought they were sculptures. Then he tries to step between two Greek spearmen, and they move with surprising speed, their joints cracking and spraying ice crystals as they cross their javelins to block Jason's path.

From the far end of the hall, a man's voice rings out in a language that sounds like French. The room is so long and misty, Jason can't see the other end; but whatever the man says, the ice guards uncross their javelins.

"It's fine," Khione says. "My father has ordered them not to kill you just yet."

"Super," Jason replies.

Zethes prods him in the back with his sword. "Keep moving, Jason Junior."

"Please don't call me that."

"My father is not a patient man," Zethes warns, "and the beautiful Piper, sadly, is losing her magic hairdo very fast. Later, perhaps, I can lend her something from my wide assortment of hair products."

"Thanks," Piper grumbles.

They keep walking, and the mist parts to reveal a man on an ice throne. He is sturdily built, dressed in a stylish white suit that seems woven from snow, with dark purple wings that spread out to either side. His long hair and shaggy beard are encrusted with icicles, so (Y/n) can't tell if his hair is gray or just white with frost. His arched eyebrows make him look angry, but his eyes twinkle more warmly than his daughter's — as if he might have a sense of humor buried somewhere under that permafrost. (Y/n) hoped so.

"Bienvenu," the king says. "Je suis Boreas Le Roi. Et vous?"

Khione the snow goddess is about to speak, but Piper steps forward and curtsied. "Votre Majesté," she says. "Je suis Piper McLean. Et voici Jason, fils de Zeus. Et (Y/n) Jackson, fille de Poséidon."

The king smiles with pleasant surprise. "Vous parlez français? Très bien!"

"Piper, you speak French?" (Y/n) asks.

Piper frowns. "No. Why?"

"You just spoke French."

Piper blinks. "I did?" The king said something else, and Piper nodded. "Oui, Votre Majesté."

The king laughs and claps his hands, obviously delighted. He says a few more sentences then sweeps his hand toward his daughter as if shooing her away.

Khione looks miffed. "The king says –"

"He says I'm a daughter of Aphrodite," Piper interrupts, "so naturally I can speak French, which is the language of love. I had no idea. His Majesty says Khione won't have to translate now.

Behind them, Zethes snorts, and Khione shoots him a murderous look. She bows stiffly to her father and takes a step back.

The king sizes up Jason, and Jason decides it would be a good idea to bow. "Your Majesty, I'm Jason Grace. Thank you for, urn, not killing us. May I ask . . . why does a Greek god speak French?"

Piper has another exchange with the king. "He speaks the language of his host country," Piper translates. "He says all gods do this. Most Greek gods speak English, as they now reside in the United States, but Boreas was never welcomed in their realm. His domain was always far to the north. These days he likes Quebec, so he speaks French."

The king says something else, and Piper turns pale. "The king says . . ." She falters. "He says —"

"Oh, allow me," Khione says, smirking. "My father says he has orders to kill you. Did I not mention that earlier?"

(Y/n) tenses. The king was still smiling amiably, like he'd just delivered great news."Kill us?" (Y/n) asks. "Why?"

"Because," the king says, in heavily accented English, "my lord Aeolus has commanded it."

Boreas rises. He steps down from his throne and furls his wings against his back. As he approaches, Khione and Zethes bow. Jason, (Y/n), and Piper follow their example.

"I shall deign to speak your language," Boreas says, "as Piper McLean has honored me in mine. Toujours, I have had a fondness for the children of Aphrodite. As for you, Jason Grace, my master Aeolus would not expect me to kill a son of Lord Zeus . . . without first hearing you out." Boreas then sizes up (Y/n). "As for you, Jackson. I'm sure your upstart father wouldn't mind. He has replacements."

Piper watches (Y/n)'s jaw tense, and (Y/n) pulls a hand from her pocket, still clutching her pen. If she was forced to fight, Piper doesn't like her friend's chances. Two seconds at least to summon her blade. Then she'd be facing a god, two of his children, and an army of freeze-dried warriors.

"Aeolus is the master of the winds, right?" Jason asks quickly, taking Boreas's attention off of (Y/n). "Why would he want us dead?"

"You are demigods," Boreas replies, as if this explained everything. "Aeolus's job is to contain the winds, and demigods have always caused him many headaches. They ask him for favors. They unleash winds and cause chaos. But the final insult was the battle with Typhon last summer . . ."

Boreas waves his hand, and a sheet of ice like a flat-screen TV appears in the air. Images of a battle flicker across the surface — a giant wrapped in storm clouds, wading across a river toward the Manhattan skyline. Tiny, glowing figures — the gods, Jason guesses — swarm around him like angry wasps, pounding the monster with lightning and fire. Finally the river erupts in a massive whirlpool, and the smoky form sinks beneath the waves and disappears.

"The storm giant, Typhon," Boreas explains. "The first time the gods defeated him, eons ago, he did not die quietly. His death released a host of storm spirits — wild winds that answered to no one. It was Aeolus's job to track them all down and imprison them in his fortress. The other gods — they did not help. They did not even apologize for the inconvenience. It took Aeolus centuries to track down all the storm spirits, and naturally this irritated him. Then, last summer, Typhon was defeated again —"

"And his death released another wave of venti," Jason guesses. "Which made Aeolus even angrier."

"C'est vrai," Boreas agreed.

"But, Your Majesty," Piper says, "the gods had no choice but to battle Typhon. He was going to destroy Olympus! Besides, why punish demigods for that?"

The king shrugs. "Aeolus cannot take out his anger on the gods. They are his bosses, and very powerful. So he gets even with the demigods who helped them in the war. He issued orders to us: demigods who come to us for aid are no longer to be tolerated. We are to crush your little mortal faces."

There is an uncomfortable silence.

"That sounds . . . extreme," Jason ventures. "But you're not going to crush our faces yet, right? You're going to listen to us first, 'cause once you hear about our quest —''

"Nfes, yes," the king agrees. "You see, Aeolus also said that a son of Zeus might seek my aid, and if this happened, I should listen to you before destroying you, as you might — how did he put it? — make all our lives very interesting. I am only obligated to listen, however. After that, I am free to pass judgment as I see fit. But I will listen first. Khione wishes this also. It may be that we will not kill you."

Jason feels like he can almost breathe again. "Great. Thanks."

"Do not thank me." Boreas smiles. "There are many ways you could make our lives interesting. Sometimes we keep demigods for our amusement, as you can see." He gestures to the various ice statues.

Piper makes a strangled noise. "You mean – they're all demigods? Frozen demigods? They're alive?"

"An interesting question," Boreas concedes, as if it had never occurred to him before. "They do not move unless they are obeying my orders. The rest of the time, They are merely frozen. Unless they were to melt, I suppose, which would be very messy.

Khione steps behind (Y/n), and places her cold fingers on her neck. "My father gives me such lovely presents," she murmurs in (Y/n)'s ear. "Join our court. Perhaps I'll let your friends go."

"What?" Zethes breaks in. "If Khione gets this one, then I deserve the girl. Khione always gets more presents!"

"Now, children," Boreas says sternly. "Our guests will think you are spoiled! Besides, you moved too fast. We have not even heard the demigod's story yet. Then we will decide what to do with them. Please, Jason Grace, entertain us."

Jason feels his brain shutting down. He doesn't look at (Y/n) or Piper for fear he'd completely lose it. He'd gotten them into this, and now they are going to die — or worse, they'd be amusements for Boreas's children and end up frozen forever in this throne room, slowly corroding from freezer burn.

Khione purrs, padding over to Jason, and stroking his neck. Jason doesn't plan it, but electricity sparks along his skin. There is loud pop, and Khione flies backward, skidding across the floor.

Zethes laughs. "That is good! I'm glad you did that, even though I have to kill you now."

For a moment, Khione is too stunned to react. Then the air around her begins to swirl with a micro-blizzard. "You dare —"

"Stop," Jason orders, with as much force as he can muster. "You're not going to kill us. And you're not going to keep us. We're on a quest for the queen of the gods herself, so unless you want Hera busting down your doors, you're going to let us go." He sounds a lot more confident than he feels, but it gets their attention. Khione's blizzard swirls to a stop. Zethes lowers his sword. They both look uncertainty at their father.

"Hmm," Boreas says. His eyes twinkle, but Jason can't tell if it is with anger or amusement. "A son of Zeus, favored by Hera? This is definitely a first. Tell us your story."

Jason would've botched it right there. He hadn't been expecting to get the chance to talk, and now that he could, his voice abandoned him.

Piper saves him. "Your Majesty." She curtsies again with incredible poise, considering her life is on the line. She tell Boreas the whole story, from the Grand Canyon to the prophecy, much better and faster than Jason could have.

"All we ask for is guidance," Piper concludes. "These storm spirits attacked us, and they're working for some evil mistress. If we find them, maybe we can find Hera."

The king strokes the icicles in his beard. Out the windows, night had fallen, and the only light comes from the aurora borealis overhead, washing everything in red and blue.

"I know of these storm spirits," Boreas says. "I know where they are kept, and of the prisoner they took."

"You mean Coach Hedge?" (Y/n) questions. "He's alive?"

Boreas waves aside the question. "For now. But the one who controls these storm winds . . . It would be madness to oppose her. You would be better staying here as frozen statues."

"Hera's in trouble," Jason says. "In three days she's going to be — I don't know — consumed, destroyed, something. And a giant is going to rise."

"Yes," Boreas agrees. He shoots Khione an angry look. "Many horrible things are waking. Even my children do not tell me all the news they should. The Great Stirring of monsters that began with Kronos – your father Zeus foolishly believed it would end when the Titans were defeated." The king glances at (Y/n) and Piper and Jason look at the daughter of Poesidon. "But just as it was before, so it is now. The final battle is yet to come, and the one who will wake is more terrible than any Titan. Storm spirits — these are only beginning. The earth has many more horrors to yield up. When monsters no longer stay in Tartarus, and souls are no longer confined to Hades . . . Olympus has good reason to fear."

Jason isn't sure what all this means, but he doesn't like the way Khione is smiling — like this is her definition of fun.

"So you'll help us?" Jason asks the king.

Boreas scowls. "I did not say that."

"Please, Your Majesty," Piper says. Everyone's eyes turn towards her. She had to be scared out of her mind, but she looks beautiful and confident — and it has nothing to do with the blessing of Aphrodite. She looks like herself again, in day-old traveling clothes with choppy hair and no makeup. But she almost glows with warmth in that cold throne room. "If you tell us where the storm spirits are, we can capture them and bring them to Aeolus. You'd look good in front of your boss. Aeolus might pardon us and the other demigods. We could even rescue Gleeson Hedge. Everyone wins."

"She's pretty," Zethes mumbles. "I mean, she's right."

"Father, don't listen to her," Khione says. "She's a child of Aphrodite. She dares to charmspeak a god? Freeze her now!"

Boreas considers this. Jason slips his hand in his pocket and gets ready to bring out the gold coin. If things go wrong, he'd have to move fast.

The movement catches Boreas's eye. "What is that on your forearm, demigod?"

Jason hadn't realized his coat sleeve had gotten pushed up, revealing the edge of his tattoo. Reluctantly, he shows Boreas his marks.

The god's eyes widen. Khione actually hisses and steps away.

Then Boreas does something unexpected. He laughs so loudly, an icicle cracks from the ceiling and crashes next to his throne. The god's form begins to flicker. His beard disappears. He grows taller and thinner, and his clothes change into a Roman toga, lined with purple. His head is crowned with a frosty laurel wreath, and a gladius — a Roman sword like Jason's — hangs at his side.

"Aquilon," Jason says, though he doesn't know where he gets the god's Roman name from.

The god inclines his head. "You recognize me better in this form, yes. And yet you said you come from Camp Half-Blood?"

Jason shifts his feet. "Uh . . . yes, Your Majesty."

"And Hera sent you there . . ." The winter god's eyes are full of mirth. "I understand now. Oh, she plays a dangerous game. Bold, but dangerous! No wonder Olympus is closed. They must be trembling at the gamble she has taken."

"Jason," Piper says nervously, "why did Boreas change shape? The toga, the wreath. What's going on?"

"It's his Roman form," Jason replies. "But what's going on — I don't know."

The god laughs. "No, I'm sure you don't. This should be very interesting to watch."

"Does that mean you'll let us go?" Piper asks.

"My dear," Boreas says, "there is no reason for me to kill you. If Hera's plan fails, which I think it will, you will tear each other apart. Aeolus will never have to worry about demigods again."

Jason feels as if Khione's cold fingers are on his neck again, but it isn't her — it's just the feeling that Boreas is right. That sense of wrongness which had bothered Jason since he got to Camp Half-Blood, and Chiron's comment about his arrival being disastrous — Boreas knew what they meant.

"I don't suppose you could explain?" Jason asks.

"Oh, perish the thought! It is not for me to interfere in Hera's plan. No wonder she took your memory." Boreas chuckles, apparently still having a great time imagining demigods tearing each other apart. "You know, I have a reputation as a helpful wind god. Unlike my brethren, I've been known to fall in love with mortals. Why, my sons Zethes and Calais started as demigods —"

"Which explains why they are idiots," Khione growls.

"Stop it!" Zethes snaps back. "Just because you were born a full goddess —"

"Both of you, freeze," Boreas orders. Apparently, that word carries a lot of weight in the household, because the two siblings go absolutely still. "Now, as I was saying, I have a good reputation, but it is rare that Boreas plays an important role in the affairs of gods. I sit here in my palace, at the edge of civilization, and so rarely have amusements. Why, even that fool Notus, the South Wind, gets spring break in Cancun. What do I get? A winter festival with naked Quebecois rolling around in the snow!"

"I like the winter festival," Zethes mutters.

"My point," Boreas snaps, "is that I now have a chance to be the center. Oh, yes, I will let you go on this quest. You will find your storm spirits in the windy city, of course. Chicago —"

"Father!" Khione protests.

Boreas ignores his daughter. "If you can capture the winds, you may be able to gain safe entrance to the court of Aeolus. If by some miracle you succeed, be sure to tell him you captured the winds on my orders."

"Okay, sure," Jason says. "So Chicago is where we'll find this lady who's controlling the winds? She's the one who's trapped Hera?"

"Ah." Boreas grins. "Those are two different questions, son of Jupiter."

Jupiter, Jason notices. Before, he called me son of Zeus.

"The one who controls the winds," Boreas continues, "yes, you will find her in Chicago. But she is only a servant — a servant who is very likely to destroy you. If you succeed against her and take the winds, then you may go to Aeolus. Only he has knowledge of all the winds on the earth. All secrets come to his fortress eventually. If anyone can tell you where Hera is imprisoned, it is Aeolus. As for who you will meet when you finally find Hera's cage — truly, if I told you that, you would beg me to freeze you."

"Father," Khione protests, "you can't simply let them —"

"I can do what I like," he says, his voice hardening. "I am still master here, am I not?"

The way Boreas glares at his daughter, it was obvious they had some ongoing argument.

Khione's eyes flash with anger, but she clenches her teeth. "As you wish, Father."

"Now go, demigods," Boreas says, "before I change my mind. Zethes, escort them out safely."

They all bow, and the god of the North Wind dissolves into mist.

. . .

Back in the entry hall, Cal and Leo are waiting for them. Leo looks cold but unharmed. He'd even gotten cleaned up, and his clothes look newly washed, like he'd used the hotel's valet service. Festus the Dragon is back in normal form, snorting fire over his scales to keep himself defrosted.

As Khione led them down the stairs, (Y/n) notices that Leo's eyes follow the ice princess. Leo started combing his hair back with his hands. Uh-oh, (Y/n) thinks. She makes a mental note to warn Leo about the snow goddess later. She was not someone to get a crush on.

At the bottom step, Khione turns to Piper. "You have fooled my father, girl. But you have not fooled me. We are not done. And you, (Y/n) Jackson, I will see you as a statue in the throne room soon enough."

"Boreas is right," (Y/n) says. "You're a spoiled kid. See you around, ice princess."

Khione's eyes flare pure white. For once, she seems at a loss for words. She storms back up the stairs — literally. Hallway up, she turns into a blizzard and disappears.

"Be careful," Zethes warns. "She never forgets an insult."

Cal grunts in agreement. "Bad sister."

"She's the goddess of snow," Jason says. "What's she going to do, throw snowballs at us?" But as he says it, Jason has a feeling Khione could do a whole lot worse.

Leo looks devastated. "What happened up there? You made her mad? Is she mad at me too? Guys, that was my prom date!"

"We'll explain later," Piper promises, but when she glances at Jason, he realizes she expected him to explain.

What had happened up there? Jason isn't sure. Boreas had turned into Aquilon, his Roman form, as if Jason's presence caused him to go schizophrenic.

The idea that Jason had been sent to Camp Half-Blood seemed to amuse the god, but Boreas/Aquilon hadn't let them go out of kindness. Cruel excitement had danced in his eyes, as if he'd just placed a bet on a dogfight.

You will tear each other apart, the king had said with delight. Aeolus will never have to worry about demigods again.

Jason looks away from Piper, trying not to show how unnerved he is. "Yeah," he agrees, "we'll explain later."

"Be careful, pretty girl," Zethes says. "The winds between here and Chicago are bad-tempered. Many other evil things are stirring. I am sorry you will not be staying. You would make a lovely ice statue, in which I could check my reflection."

"Thanks," Piper says. "But I'd sooner play hockey with Cal."

"Hockey?" Cal's eyes light up.

"Joking," Piper says quickly. "And the storm winds aren't our worst problem, are they?"

"Oh, no," Zethes agrees. "Something else. Something worse."

"Worse," Cal echoes.

"Can you tell me?" Piper gives them a smile.

This time, the charm doesn't work. The purple-winged Boreads shake their heads in unison. The hangar doors open onto a freezing starry night, and Festus the Dragon stomps his feet, anxious to fly.

"Ask Aeolus what is worse," Zethes says darkly. "He knows. Good luck."

He almost sounds like he cares what happened to them, even though a few minutes ago he'd wanted to make Piper into an ice sculpture.

Cal pats Leo on the shoulder. "Don't get destroyed," he says, which was probably the longest sentence he'd ever attempted. "Next time—hockey. Pizza."

"Come on, guys." Jason stares out at the dark. He is anxious to get out of that cold penthouse, but he has a feeling it was the most hospitable place they'd see for a while. "Let's go to Chicago and try not to get destroyed."

. . .

Piper doesn't relax until the glow of Quebec City fades behind them.

"You were amazing," (Y/n) tells her.

The compliment should've made Piper's day, but all she can think about is the trouble ahead. Evil things are stirring, Zethes had warned them. She knew that firsthand. The closer they get to the solstice, the less time Piper had to make her decision.

She tells (Y/n) in French: "If you knew the truth about me, you wouldn't think I was so amazing."

"What'd you say?" (Y/n) asks.

"I said I only talked to Boreas. It wasn't so amazing." Piper doesn't turn to look at her, but she can imagine the daughter of Poseidon smiling.

"Hey," she says. "You saved me from joining Khione's subzero hero collection. I owe you one."

That's definitely the easy part, Piper thinks. There was no way Piper would've let that witch keep (Y/n), and then she takes a moment to wonder where the strong feelings had come from. The night before, she'd been worried about her relationship with Jason, but now she was protecting (Y/n).

Piper is lost in her thoughts, and she starts when Jason passes her back a sandwich – from Leo. The son of Hephaestus had been quiet ever since they'd told him what had happened in the throne room. "I still can't believe Khione," he says. "She looked so nice."

"Trust me, man," (Y/n) says. "Snow may be pretty, but up close, it's cold and nasty. We'll find you a better prom date."

Piper smiles, but Leo doesn't look pleased. He hadn't said much about his time in the palace, or why the Boreads had singled him out for smelling like fire. Piper gets the feeling he's hiding something. Whatever it is, his mood seemed to be affecting Festus, who grumbles and steams as he tries to keep himself warm in the cold Canadian air. Happy the Dragon was not so happy.

They eat their sandwiches as they fly. Piper has no idea how Leo had stocked up on supplies, but he'd even remembered to bring veggie rations for her. The cheese and avocado sandwich was awesome.

Nobody talks. Whatever they might find in Chicago, they all know Boreas had only let them go because he figured they were already on a suicide mission.

The moon rises and the stars turn overhead. Piper's eyes start to feel heavy. The encounter with Boreas and his children had scared her more than she wanted to admit. Now that she has a full stomach, her adrenaline is fading.

Suck it up, cupcake! Coach Hedge would've yelled at her. Don't be a wimp!

Piper had been thinking about the coach ever since Boreas had mentioned that he was still alive. She'd never liked Hedge, but he'd leaped off a cliff to save Leo, and he'd sacrificed himself to protect them on the skywalk. She now realizes that all the times at school the coach had pushed her, yelled at her to run faster or do more push-ups, or even when he'd turned his back and let her fight her own battles with the mean girls, the old goat man had been trying to help her in his own irritating way – trying to prepare he for life as a demigod.

On the skywalk, Dylan the storm spirit had said something about the coach, too: how he'd been retired to Wilderness School because he was getting too old, like it was some sort of punishment. Piper wonders what that was about, and if it explained why the coach was always so grumpy. Whatever the truth, now that Piper knows Hedge was alive, she has a strong compulsion to save him.

Don't get ahead of yourself, she chides. You've got bigger problems. This trip won't have a happy ending. She's a traitor, just like Silena Beauregard. It was only a matter of time before her friends found out.

She looks up at the stars and thinks about a night long ago when she and her dad had camped out in front of Grandpa Tom's house. Grandpa Tom had died years before, but Dad had kept his house in Oklahoma because it was where he grew up.

Piper blinks, shaking herself out of the memory. She realizes she'd been falling asleep on the dragon's back. How could Dad pretend to be so many things he isn't? Trying to do that now was tearing Piper apart.

Maybe she could pretend for a little while longer. She could dream of a way of finding a way to save her father without betraying her friends — even if right now a happy ending seems about as likely as magic hedgehogs.

Piper sleepily leans back against (Y/n)'s chest. The daughter of Poseidon doesn't object, and Piper closes her eyes, drifting off to sleep.

. . .

Piper tumbles through the sky. Far below, she sees city lights glimmering in the early dawn, and several hundred yards away, the body of the bronze dragon spinning out of control, its wings limp, fire flickering in its mouth like a wired lightbulb.

A body shoots past her — Leo, screaming and frantically grabbing at the clouds. "Not coooooool!"

She tries to call out him, but he is already too far below.

Somewhere above her, Jason yells, "Piper, level out! Extend your arms and legs!"

It was hard to control her fear, but she does what he said and regains some balance. She falls spread-eagle like a skydiver, the wind underneath her like a solid block of ice. Then Jason is there, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"We have to get (Y/n) and Leo!" she shouts.

Their fall slows as Jason controls the winds, but they still lurch up and down like the winds didn't want to cooperate.

"Gonna get rough," Jason warns. "Hold on!"

And then, thump! They slam into another warm body – Leo, still wriggling and cursing.

"Stop fighting!" Jason says. "It's me!"

"My dragon!" Leo yells. "You gotta save Festus!

Jason's already struggling to keep the three of them aloft, and Piper knows there is no way he could help a fifty-ton metal dragon.

There is a splash below them in the nearby lake, and then there's an explosion. A fireball rolls into the sky from behind a warehouse complex.

Jason's face reddens with strain as he tries to maintain an air cushion beneath them, all the while looking for (Y/n) below them. Rather than free-falling, intermittent slow-downs are the best that Jason can manage. It feels to Piper as though they were bouncing down a giant staircase, a hundred feet at a time.

As they wobble and zigzag, Piper can make out details of the factory complex below – warehouses, smokestacks, barbed wire fences, parking lots lined with snow-covered vehicles, and a lake. They are still high enough so that hitting the ground would flatten them into roadkill – or skykill – when Jason groans, "I can't –"

And they drop like stones.

They hit the roof of the largest warehouse and crash through into darkness.

Unfortunately, Piper tries to land on her feet. Her feet didn't like that. Pain flares in her left ankle as she crumples against a cold metal surface.

For a few seconds, she isn't conscious of anything but pain – pain so bad that her ears ring and her vision goes red.

Then she hears Jason's voice somewhere below, echoing through the building. "Piper! (Y/n)!"

"Ow, bro!" Leo groans. "That's my back! I'm not a sofa! Piper, where'd you go? (Y/n)?"

"Here," Piper manages, and she realizes she can't hear (Y/n)'s response. She hears shuffling and grunting, and then feet pounding on metal stairs. 

Word Count: 6876 words

​​Taglist: @camaddison​ ​​@steinfellds ​​@p-taryn-dactyl​ ​​@oculusalien​ ​​@pink-widows​ @unlikelysublimekryptonite @decadentrebelkitten @eevil-empress @anteroz​ @mag-mfm @26randomness @cair-paravel-narniaia​ @hayhaythegaygay

[laughingphoenixleader]

More Than Ever Before

Kanera Week 2021 Day 2

Prompt: Connection

“Kanan hadn’t been able to stop fidgeting all morning. His hands probably hadn’t stayed still for longer than one second since he’d woken up two hours before his datapad’s alarm was supposed to sound. Wave after wave of emotion has rolled over him, and it’s left him a ragged mess of sparking nerves.

“Kanan, you know what’s about to happen is a good thing, right?”

The smirk in Ezra’s voice is accompanied by a tinge of concern. Kanan tugs at his collar for the thousandth time in the last few hours, directing an exasperated glare at the boy who feels so much like his son.

“Of course I know that,” he responds shortly, crossing his arms, if only to keep his hands still.

“Yeah, real convincing,” comes Zeb’s comment from Kanan’s bunk.

Kanan sighs and brushes nonexistent dust specks off of the shoulders of the nicest shirt he owns. Which isn’t much different from his usual one, though it’s newer, cleaner, and a lighter shade of green. His favorite shade of green, in fact. He checks his datapad for the millionth time—and his heart stops beating for longer than what’s probably healthy.

It’s time.

His stomach starts flipping uncontrollably. Images of what the next few minutes will hold flash through his mind in a rush of color. Kanan turns to his two best men and asks in a shaky voice, “how do I look?”

Ezra and Zeb hesitate way too long for Kanan’s comfort. “Great!” Ezra encourages unconvincingly, while Zeb doesn’t even try, visibly cringing.

Kanan sighs heavily. Leave it to him to disappoint Hera today of all days. But there isn’t much he can do about it now other than make it worse, so he heads to the cargo bay. Kanan descends from the ladder to find that Sabine and Chopper are already there, the former gingerly cradling a needle, its barrel filled to the brim with vibrant ink. Sabine’s face nearly mirrors Kanan’s own hurricane of emotions. He crosses the room and places a hand on her shoulder. “You’re gonna do great,” Kanan tells the Mandalorian, who squeezes her brown eyes shut, takes in a steadying breath, then opens them again to look earnestly into Kanan’s.

“I’ve spent every free minute I’ve had practicing,” she tells him. Self-doubt begins to fill her features. “But that hasn't been too many. Look, if you think we should call in—“

“Sabine,” Kanan interrupts. He looks into the eyes of the girl—no, the woman—who is as much a daughter to him as Ezra is a son. His voice fills with warmth and gentleness. “We wouldn’t give anyone else the honor. You’re the best artist we know, and it wouldn’t be the same if it were someone else.”

A small smile lightens her expression. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure. And I know she is, too.”

At least Sabine has a reason to be nervous.

Kanan had never been one to become nervous or flustered around women, what with his Master being one and with his not truly caring about the opinions or feelings of the women he spent time with during his time as a wanderer. They had all only been yet another distraction he'd sought from the guilt, grief, and trauma that had so plagued him back then. He'd never gone speechless, never been tentative, never really given a kriff. But with Hera, everything was instantly different.

She brings out the awkward, nervous, flustered side of him. At first, he couldn't understand where it had come from. Kanan was a flirt; a player; and he'd had plenty of practice with women. He'd soon discovered, though, that none of that mattered when he was near Hera. Sure, he still flirted relentlessly at first, but, for the first time, he'd really cared about what she thought of him. Kanan had wanted to follow her anywhere, rather than let her follow him and then leave her whenever he felt like it. He didn't want to cross her boundaries or make her feel uncomfortable, and he gave more kriffs about how she'd react to everything he said or did than he'd ever thought he could.

He'd eventually identified this whole "giving a kriff" thing as "being in love".

So here he is, nerves and insides twisted into a tight knot, which he now takes a moment to unravel. There's barely bridled excitement and anticipation there, making him feel like he's a detonator about to go off, as well as the nervousness that he'd identified easily earlier. What am I so nervous about? Kanan asks himself insistently, searching within. What she'll think when she sees me not looking good enough for her. What'll happen if the Empire decides to act in the middle of the ceremony. Deep within, he finds the real root of his nerves.

What if she realizes how much better she deserves and changes her mind?

Kanan, like Sabine, takes in a steadying breath and allows himself to close his eyes for a moment.

If you doubt her that much, you don't really trust her word. She proposed, too, remember?

Ahsoka and Lux Bonteri are there, too, with the former being Hera’s best friend (besides Kanan), and the other being Ahsoka’s husband and a very important part of what’s about to happen. Kanan slips out of his reverie and nods to the couple as Ezra, Zeb, and Rex enter into the cargo bay and sit down on the floor. Ahsoka follows suit, and Bonteri stands at the far end of the cargo bay from the ramp.

At that moment, he feels her, and her bright, life-filled, soothing presence instantly causes the roiling emotions within him to calm. Kanan slowly turns his gaze to the open ramp, and the moments before she appears seem to last longer than all of the years they’ve spent together. Then she comes into view, and Kanan’s heartbeat speeds faster than it ever has, even in the wildest of battles.

It isn’t the dress, which is made of a brilliantly orange fabric that defiantly contrasts the galaxy-wide tradition of the white wedding dress. It’s fierce, yet modest—so very Hera—with a conservative neckline and a skirt that hits her ankles, with strips of matching orange fabric wrapping elegantly around the waist.

It isn’t that her head is uncovered, allowing her mesmerizing lekku to move freely.

It isn’t that the light of the rising sun bathes her, causing her vibrant green skin to glow.

It’s the look on her face that gets him.

Kanan has never seen Hera so filled with joy. Their eyes meet, and hers are shining more brightly than he’s ever seen them do before. She beams at him, her unbridled happiness nearly knocking him off his feet.

Kanan thinks that he might be content if this moment could last forever…but then I wouldn’t be able to marry her.

Thus, though he cherishes this moment, he also eagerly anticipates the ones to come.

~

Hera hadn’t been fully sold on this “big-reveal” thing. She’s never been the theatrical type, though she can pull it off if needed. Things like that remind her too much of the stereotype placed on her people.

However, because Kanan had lit up when Sabine had mentioned that Mandalorian custom of the bride's dramatic entrance, Hera had instantly known that it should be a part of their wedding. He wasn’t as much of a fan of the fact that part of the tradition would also dictates that the couple spend the three days preceding the wedding apart from each other. “I always appreciate you, Hera,” he’d told her sincerely. “I don’t need a break from you to make that moment special.”

Her heart had warmed at his words, but her decision had remained the same. “I know, love,” she tells him. Then, quietly, “but I think it might be good for us.”

Ever since Kanan’s miraculous return after the explosion of the TIE Defender factory on Lothal, the two had been more inseparable than ever before. The five weeks before Kanan had returned home had been the most torturous of Hera’s life. Her loneliness had seemed to pound upon her until she found it hard to breathe, the absence of her other half leaving her feeling helpless. Like she was constantly reaching behind her to stabilize herself, but could find nothing but empty space. She had thrown herself into her work, her drive to keep others from experiencing the pain that she was feeling pushing her forward. Any moment of rest only led to the storm of emotions descending on her, and with them, reminders of all she should have done differently. All those times he said he loved you, the voice inside her screamed, you hurt him by not saying it back. Images of his expressions of disappointment, suppressed frustration, and rejection that he’d displayed whenever she’d refused to echo those three words back to him shot through her like so many blaster bolts. You waited until you were under the influence of a drug, the worst time imaginable, to tell him. He never believed you. Kanan died doubting what you still feel for him. He died feeling rejected and unloved.

Her explanations that she’d used whenever he gave her one of those looks seemed empty now, only covers for her own selfishness. Once I say it, everything will be different. And that kind of different won’t help us be the best fighters we can be. My people are nonverbal when it comes to these things…they value those words more than any other species I know. Once they are said by both people, they make a commitment that can’t be broken. They choose them for life. They pledge to put the other person above everything else. I don’t want to break any promises to you, Kanan. Or any that I’ve already made to the Rebellion.

Kanan had done his best to understand. He hadn’t pushed her, hadn’t guilted her into saying it or ever attempted to force her, though it was clear that he wanted to hear those words more than anything else in the world. She had denied him the right to feel loved. Kanan, who deserved all the love in the world. Kanan, who had cared for her so well, even when she didn’t want to be cared for. Kanan, who had constantly made her feel more loved than she had ever imagined she could be.

Spending every second working herself to the bone, helping others through their own struggles, kept these thoughts from crushing her. If she didn’t sleep, she couldn’t have nightmares bursting with flames and death and turquoise eyes. The lack of his presence had been a throbbing, open wound, and her loneliness had been suffocating.

Since the moment he came back, Hera has had to fight everything in her to keep from sticking to his side at all times. To keep from telling him how much she loves him every time she sees him. One thing that she didn’t keep herself from, though, was proposing. Though she hadn't been the only one with that idea.

“I’m ready to make it official,” she’d told him fiercely, several days after his return, just as he'd begun, “Hera, I—”

Kanan had blinked, caught off guard. “Go ahead,” she’d prompted quietly. He had laughed breathlessly.

“I think I’d only be repeating after you.” His breath had hitched, then he seemed to not be able to get the words out quickly enough.

“Marry me, Hera?” he'd asked softly, staring deeply into her eyes as he sank into a kneel.

“Yes, love,” she told him, staring back, her lekku brimming with energy.

Kanan’s grin could have dimmed the brightest suns.

As he’d risen back to his full height, she’d placed her forehead against his and declared, “I’m ready to fully commit to you.” She had known that Kanan had waited ten years to hear those words. She’d wiped a tear or two from his cheek as they’d held each other close for a long, long time.

And now, here they are, standing in the cargo bay of the ship that has been their home for years, about to fully, completely, officially commit to each other.

Hera has to admit that, now that she’s experiencing it, she is sold on the big-reveal thing.

The look in Kanan’s eyes is one that she knows she’ll treasure in her memories for the rest of her life. She’s nearly knocked to the ground by the sheer force of the love emanating from him, and the breath is stolen from her lungs. Time seems to freeze, and everything and everyone around them seems to fade. It’s just Kanan and Hera. Spectre One and Spectre Two. Gunslinger and freedom fighter. Jedi and pilot.

All that matters, in that moment, is the two of them. The two that will soon become one. The unbreakable, irreplaceable bond between them, the kind of bond which Hera has always unconsciously longed for. That Hera constantly relishes and revels in, appreciating it a thousand times more now that she’s experienced life without it.

All of this shoots through her in a few seconds, and, though time seems to freeze, Hera’s legs do not. As she slowly makes her way up the ramp, she takes in his appearance. His light brown skin, its color reminding her of the rock formations of Ryloth, now that she thinks about it. His hair, the color of caf beans, which has now grown out longer than it was when he first gave himself that terrible haircut, but which is still not long enough to pull back into his signature ponytail. Though she likes it better long, he pulls off this look well, too. Hera might be slightly biased, though. She admires his tall frame, his clearly toned physique, his truly one-of-a-kind eyebrows, his clean, more-formal-than-usual outfit. And, of course, those vibrant eyes of his.

Hera doesn’t put much stock in physical appearances, and it takes a lot to fully capture her attention.

So the fact that she can’t take her eyes off of Kanan is truly remarkable.

After what simultaneously feels like a lifetime and an instant, she stands facing him, and she can tell that her Jedi can’t keep his eyes off of her, either. Her heart can’t seem to decide if it wants to flutter persistently or pound relentlessly, so it decides to combine the two. “You look great,” she lets herself mouth to her fiancé. A small smile springs to his face. “You look better,” he mouths back. Hera rolls her eyes, a smile playing at her own lips.

“Hera Syndulla and Kanan Jarrus,” Lux begins, his smooth, accented voice softening the resh’s in their names. “Those of us who are present today have come so that you may demonstrate your devotion to each other, devotion that will last for a lifetime and beyond. Are you both ready to begin?” The couple nods. Lux returns the nod.

“Sabine?” he defers, beckoning to her. The Mandalorian takes in a shuddering breath, then steps forward.

“I’m so grateful to have been trusted with this honor,” Sabine’s sincerity pours from her tone. She turns to Hera, needle at the ready, her expression determined, yet soft. “Extend your arm for me.” Hera obeys, and Sabine wipes her arm with a disinfectant wipe. “This is more than artwork,” the Mandalorian artist begins. “This mark will forever display to the world your connection to each other. This mark is a promise; it can’t be removed, just like your bond can never be broken. Do you consent to this mark being placed on you?”

“I consent,” Hera tells Sabine, anticipation and sincerity building up inside of her until she’s about to burst. Sabine picks up the needle, readying it in her practiced hands.

Hera hates needles. Something about them sets off warning bells within her. They had never really been a problem until the absolutely excruciating experience of having her lekku covered in tattoos. When she’d been thirteen years old, she’d asked her father about her parents’ tattoos upon their lekku. “They are a test of one’s endurance,” her father had told her. “Only the bravest and strongest of our people can withstand the process of obtaining them.” He had cast a fond look on Eleni Syndulla as he had spoken.

“I could do it!” the teenage Hera had proclaimed confidently. Cham’s gaze had shifted to her, stern and skeptical. “No, Hera,” he had denied firmly. “Someone as young as you would not be capable of going through with it.”

Naturally, Hera had had to prove him wrong.

Had she regretted it during the process?

….maybe a little.

But she had swallowed her screams as the needle from the specially designed droid had pierced the skin of the most sensitive part of her body. Every cell had urged her to demand that the torture stop, but both Hera’s rebellious spirit and, ironically, the way that her father had taught her never to surrender led her to go through with it. And though it seemed to last for hours and her lekku twitched and burned and throbbed for weeks, she bore the pale swirls with pride. Hera’s strength and resolve had grown immensely…and she had discovered how much she enjoyed proving her father wrong.

This event had instilled a phobia of needles within Hera, no matter how nonexistent her regrets might be. So when the interrogation droid had pulled out that giant syringe on the worst night of her life, everything within Hera had gone into fight-or-flight mode. Since neither was an option, she had had to let the horrible thing stab into her, releasing unwelcome chemicals into her system. That hadn’t exactly improved her feelings towards needles of any kind.

So, when Sabine lowers the needle to Hera’s skin, Hera can’t help the instinctual panic that begins surging through her veins. One side of her brain is in complete chaos, begging her to take back her consent. But every other part of her knows that this is her Sabine doing this. And that every bit of terror she feels, every bit of pain she is about to feel, is all beyond worth it in order to demonstrate her love for Kanan.

Hera immediately feels the Jedi's attempt to meet her eyes, his invitation to focus on him rather than the needle that begins to penetrate her skin. He knows everything about her, so, naturally, he knows how much of a sacrifice this is for her. Hera is willing to make any sacrifice for him, and the burns that cover most of his body—except for his face—are proof that the sentiment is mutual. This needle feels nothing like the others she has felt before—it’s small compared to the one that the interrogation droid wielded, but about the same size as the one used upon her lekku. The pain she feels from it is minimal compared to the others she’s felt, which comes as a huge relief. The instinctual terror coursing through her eases slightly, especially since Kanan’s expression is generating nothing but support and gratitude. Each second that she spends in discomfort, she suffers for him. And that makes it more than worth it—far more worth it than any tattoos gained for the purpose of refuting her father.

Lux begins to read off the vows, which he had volunteered to gather from many different planets and cultures. When he had asked Hera if she had wanted any from her own planet, she had rejected the idea. After all, they had already planned to employ the traditional Rylothian tattooing ceremony. The description of the commitment that they are about to make draws from many places’ definitions of marriage. The former Separatist has done his research well, as expected. Sabine finishes her work on Hera’s left arm, then switches to her right. Hera watches her Sabine’s face for a moment. Her expression is laced with concentration and focus, and the part of her that is truly and fully artist has taken over. Hera returns her focus to the words being spoken, just as Lux asks if Hera will promise to remain at Kanan’s side for the rest of her life, to be his most faithful supporter, to have his back and fight with and for him, to remain forever bonded to him, and to be devoted to that bond and to strengthening it. Hera can barely even feel the needle at work as she focuses in on the words that flesh out the bright future ahead of the two of them. When Lux finishes, leaving the last sentence open-ended for Hera’s reply, she responds,

“I do.”

Kanan shivers, his expression filling with more emotions than Hera could possibly read. The depth and strength of those feelings emanating from him leads Hera’s own heart to thrum and swell. The promise and commitment that she just made clearly means the galaxy to him. After a second or two more, Sabine finishes her work. Kanan, who has kept his eyes on Hera’s face rather than on the artwork being done on her forearms, now stares down at them, and a smile spreads across his face. Two jaig eyes, inked in a very familiar shade of turquoise, now adorn Hera’s virid forearms.

Both Sabine and Lux now turn to Kanan. He rolls up his sleeves. Sabine spent several hours of yesterday illustrating his arms—Kanan’s tattoos were much more expansive than Hera’s, and he and Hera had agreed that they wouldn’t force their little audience to sit in the cargo bay watching them for hours. He's clearly already given his consent, so Sabine now sets about finishing the designs she began the night before. Hera keeps her eyes on Kanan’s as Lux begins to recite the vows, which differ slightly from Hera’s. Kanan doesn’t seem bothered by the needle at all as he listens intently to the voice that lays out the kind of lifelong partner he is about to promise to be. Hera treasures each moment of this ceremony, so grateful that this was somehow able to happen in the middle of a galactic war. When the time comes, Kanan meets Hera’s eyes and tells her, in a voice full of warmth and certainty, “I do.” At that moment, Sabine stands back, wiping her forehead, muscles relaxing. Hera looks down, and her heart skips a beat, then clenches with love for Kanan. Verdant swirls cover his arms, from his biceps down to his wrists, ones exactly like those that decorate Hera’s lekku. Though they wouldn’t have been as excruciating as those done on the most sensitive part of Hera’s body, the small ones on Hera’s wrists sting enough for her to know that Kanan is still putting himself through lots of pain for her.

As if he hasn’t been through enough already.

Then the weight of their statements hits Hera with as much force as a charging Blurrg. It’s finally official.

Kanan is my husband.

“Then by the power granted to me by the New Republic, I cement your bond, permanently declaring you husband and wife.”

Kanan and Hera slowly turn their gazes from Lux to each other, and Hera can see the depth of her feelings reflected in the eyes of the love of her life. Lux winks at Kanan. “If you like, you may—"

Hera steps forward at the same time as Kanan, grabs his shirt, and pulls him towards her, pressing her lips to his. Euphoria washes over her, her lekku buzzing with delight as they involuntarily twist into the position that communicates “I love you.”

We’re finally married.

She’d thought it might feel surreal or shocking, but instead, it feels nothing but right—like they’ve waited ten years for their relationship to finally reach its full potential. The satisfaction of anticipation finally being fulfilled is so freeing.

~

Kanan feels Hera grin into their kiss, and he breaks it just to see her expression in all of its glory. Her eyes sparkle with the same look that she gets when she’s flying as she looks up at him, her grin lighting up her whole face and causing his expression to mirror hers. They grin uncontrollably at each other, nothing but pure joy filling them both.

Kanan knows for certain that this is by far his favorite memory he’s ever had. He has a feeling he’ll be seeing that effervescent grin often in his dreams…and, hopefully, in reality as well.

He rests his forehead against hers, drinking in this heavenly moment. After a few seconds, he registers that there are other people in the cargo bay, and that they’re cheering like they’ve just won the war.

The couple turns to face their family members, each of whom is grinning almost as brightly as the two of them.

Sabine embraces Hera, and Kanan, with his enhanced hearing that came with years of blindness, hears her crow, “Finally!”

Hera laughs, still glowing more than he’s ever seen her glow before. Kanan is distracted from their conversation by Ezra coming up to him.

“Congratulations, Master,” Ezra tells him, flashing him an enthused grin. It hadn’t taken long for Kanan, once he’d come back to his family, to locate Ezra and lead the rest of the crew to him. Their bond still ran just as strongly as ever, a brilliant string connecting them, no matter how far from each other they might be. Kanan pulls him into a hug, and the surprise that ripples out from the kid makes him chuckle. “Thanks, Padawan,” he replies, grinning.

“This is amazing, Kanan,” Ezra tells him sincerely, sinking into the hug. “That you two get to be together and to be happy.”

Ezra’s voice cracks slightly as he continues. “Seeing her without you was really painful.” Kanan’s heart squeezes as he remembers the open wound of grief he had felt within both Hera and his padawan when he’d first returned. The wounds are healed now—but the echoes of a suffering too terrible to name still reverberate through them, leaving them changed from the way they’d been before the fuel pod had exploded. “This feels right, Kanan,” Ezra tells him, his voice thick with tears he’s obviously stifling. “You being back…you and Hera…like everything wrong with the galaxy is fixed again.”

Kanan blinks away his own tears, pushing down his rising tide of emotion. “We haven’t even won the war yet,” he reminds Ezra, chuckling slightly. “But yeah. It does feel that way.”

Ezra lets go, fixing Kanan with a fierce look that reminds the Jedi Knight just how much his Padawan takes after Hera. “We’re going to win,” he declares, confidence and belief rolling off of him. “I can feel it.”

“Feelings aren’t always right, Ezra,” Kanan hates to insist.

Ezra grows thoughtful for a moment. “Right. I know that. But this time…I can feel something coming.”

Kanan meets the eyes of his apprentice. “Any idea what that could be?”

“Yeah,” Ezra answers slowly. “Hope.”

“Didn’t know we were short on that,” Kanan remarks.

“Maybe we’re not,” Ezra replies, another Hera-esque look on his face. This one’s softer, yet there’s a hard determination behind it. It’s the same expression that Hera wears whenever she gets talking about fighting for those in need. “But lots of people in the galaxy are.” Kanan is hit hard by that. It seems that his habit of making things about him hasn’t completely faded. Or, maybe he now makes things about his family, too—but the galaxy doesn’t revolve around only those he loves, either.

“You’ve got more wisdom than I give you credit for,” Kanan tells Ezra, his respect for the boy deepening.

“Having a deep conversation in the middle of a celebration?” comes a smooth, bright, playful voice from beside them. Kanan and Ezra startle slightly. Ahsoka Tano shakes her head. “Just like Jedi,” she sighs, feigning disapproval.

“But you’re—“ Ezra begins, then stops short. “Oh. Right. Not a Jedi.”

“Correct,” Ahsoka agrees, smiling at him understandingly, a bit of mischief exuding from her. Kanan could tell that there’s a lot of youthfulness behind that cool, calm exterior that she keeps up. He’s had glimpses of it and wonders if she’ll ever become close enough to their crew to fully let her guard down. I’m sure Bonteri gets to see it plenty, Kanan muses, holding back a smirk. “My Master and I were never that type, anyway,” Ahsoka continues, her eyes taking on a tinge of sadness, though she continues smiling. “We preferred throwing banter back and forth to deep conversations.”

Kanan nods, attempting to communicate through his eyes that he shares in her grief and understands to a degree. It isn’t the same—in his opinion, Ahsoka’s Master’s fate is much worse than what Master Billaba suffered. A pang goes through him on his friend’s behalf, as it always does when he thinks about what she must be feeling, overcoming the exuberance within him for a moment. Ahsoka seems to appreciate his look, nodding almost imperceptibly. Kanan allows himself to slip out of his reflective mood and into the spirit of the occasion. “I would, too, but my Padawan can’t throw well for the life of him.”

“Hey, Kanan!” Ezra protests. “I can banter!”

“Maybe with Imperials, kid,” Kanan smirks. “But that’s not saying much.” Then he turns to Ahsoka, who wears an amused expression and seems to have something to say.

“Congratulations, Kanan,” his friend tells him. “You’re the right person for her. I’m so glad that the Force made a way for you two.” Ahsoka eyes flit across the room, towards where a certain brown-haired former Senator stands chatting amiably with Hera, and a slight smile spreads across her face. “Like it did for me.”

At that moment, Bonteri and Hera’s conversation seems to cease, and the former makes his way to where his wife stands next to Kanan and a grinning Ezra.

“You have all of my congratulations and best wishes, Kanan,” Bonteri tells him warmly. His accent closely mirrors that of an Imperial—but it lacks the Imperial sharpness and hardness.

“Thank you, Lux,” Kanan tells him. “For everything you did to make this happen.”

Lux inclines his head. “It was my pleasure. I know how difficult it can be to find someone to officiate these days.”

Kanan nods, knowing full well the depth of Lux’s understanding.

Zeb eventually claps Kanan on the shoulder, grinning triumphantly—“I knew you two were gonna have to do it sometime!”—and Sabine also treats Kanan to a hug. Even Chopper refuses to electrocute anyone all morning, bumping into Kanan’s legs every once in a while in a less aggressive way than usual. More like a Loth-Cat affectionately rubbing against his legs than some kind of demon trash can ramming into them. Rex is there, too—he seems to greatly enjoyed this ray of joy in the midst of all the darkness he’s experienced.

“Never been to a wedding before,” he remarks to Kanan later, as the whole crew, along with Ahsoka and Lux, eat lunch together.

“Makes sense,” Kanan replies after swallowing his spoonful of the stew that he’d created. He’d spent more time working on the lunch menu than his own appearance…nah, that wasn’t true. But the two had come close--and the food had turned out much better “You spent all of your time around either Jedi or other clones.” Rex chuckles.

“Right. Never thought I’d see a Jedi wedding, that’s for certain.” Kanan laughs, too. “Crazy how much things can change.”

“Yeah,” Rex agrees. “I mean, look at us. Who would’ve thought you’d invite me, of all people, to your wedding?”

“And Hera didn’t even have to make me,” Kanan purposefully, jokingly sounds mystified, then continues in a more genuine tone, “We’re happy to have you here, Rex.”

“Time sure changes things, eh?”

“Maybe. But so does earning someone’s trust.”

The two of them share a friendly smile.

~

Overall, it’s a great day. The best day. And it isn’t even over yet. Though they know they’ll have the evening all to themselves, Kanan and Hera can’t stop stealing glances at each other.

Hera relishes seeing Kanan so free from stress and heaviness. He seems so light, and the emotional warmth that usually emanates from him seems to have been amplified by a hundred. She can’t get enough of the twinkle in his eye, either, which typically comes and goes, but is staying bright and constant today.

Kanan can’t get over the effervescence of Hera. He’d thought before that she could never get any more beautiful than she already was, but she looks stunning today. Literally. Every time he looks at her, his brain seems to short-circuit.

They often glance at each other at the same time, which leads to them beaming at each other. Both of them are fully aware that everyone else notices, but neither Kanan nor Hera minds. Today is their day, and they fully intend to enjoy every moment.

The Empire has other plans, though. Just as everyone is starting to clear out and Kanan and Hera are going to have the Ghost to themselves, a distress signal goes up. Two Star Destroyers and a horde of TIE fighters have appeared out of hyperspace in a nearby system—a secret Rebel base on a planet there has been discovered. They need as many pilots as possible to jump into battle and protect the evacuees, since the pilots within that base are severely limited. As soon as Hera hears the message, determination infuses into her expression.

Kanan can’t help a twinge of bitterness and frustration that this has to happen. Today. Of all the kriffing days.

Kanan doesn’t project any of these feelings onto Hera, though. She wouldn’t be Hera if she hadn’t volunteered, and Kanan doesn’t want her to be anything or anyone else. As they run to their stations, she catches him completely off-guard and pulls him into the hallway of cabins and into an embrace. “I love you, Kanan Jarrus,” she breathes. “I love you I love you I love you.”

Kanan’s heart starts pounding faster than it ever does when he’s firing at Imperials or deflecting blaster bolts with his lightsaber. Hera lifts her head, fierceness sparking in her eyes. “You’re the best husband I could have ever asked for.”

Kanan laughs breathlessly. “I've barely been your husband for three hours.”

Mischief fills Hera’s jade-green eyes. “That’s debatable, love,” she tells him.

The ship lifts off from the ground. Kanan looks around wildly. “What—“

“Sabine,” Hera explains gently. “Oh.” Kanan fidgets with his hands awkwardly, then reaches for Hera’s. She lets him take her hands in his, and he tells her in that intensely low tone she so enjoys,

“I love you, Hera Syndulla.”

She inhales sharply, then a smile plays at the corners of her mouth. “I’d hope so.” She twists her hands to turn her tattooed wrists into his view. “since we’re connected now. More than ever before.”

“Now you have to keep me around, General Hera.”

There’s the fully expected eyeroll. Kanan’s grin fades as he hesitates. “You don’t feel…tied down, do you?”

At that exact moment, the ship shoots into hyperspace. Hera and Kanan stumble slightly, causing him to instinctively reach out to her arms to stabilize her, but his arms sting violently when they make contact with hers. He winces. Hera doesn’t miss a beat, as always.

“Thank you for taking part in that tradition, Kanan,” Hera’s gratitude seems to spill out of her as she admires his arms in wonder.

“Anything for you. You like them?” He asks softly. Hera nods. “I do,” she tells him, smiling, her word choice clearly intentional. Her smile remains as she continues.

“And in answer to your other question—not at all, love. I feel freer than I ever did before.”

“That's amazing to hear, Hera,” Kanan replies, once he can hear over his thundering heartbeat. Then he takes her hand and pulls her closer until their faces are inches apart. “Because nothing’s ever getting between us again.”

“We’re agreed on that one.” Hera’s defiance rings out, daring the galaxy to just try and separate them.

“Hera!” Sabine calls frantically from the pilot’s seat. Hera and Kanan run into the cockpit, Hera throwing herself into the pilot’s seat; Kanan jumping into the copilot’s chair.

They both know that this mission will probably steal away their evening; maybe even longer. But they’ve got an entire brilliant future ahead of them, so they’re more than willing to make that sacrifice.

[spectres-fulcrum]

I came up with a Kallus centric(but not entirely)Rebels timeline???

I

I HATE how vague the timeline for Rebels is. Like, I really needed to have at least an idea of a timeline of how Kallus's defection/Fulcrum days went so I could start fic writing. So I started working things out. Here are the *important* dates from it(My longer timeline is on an entirely different site lol)

The main dating system for this is CRC, which is an in universe dating system. I acted like it's the Galactic Standard Dating System, which is known to have 365 days a year and 24 hour days so 12 months in a year is likely. In my mind, Yavin takes place in Month 3(When BBY rolls over, but Rebels doesn't know about that yet) and Empire Day in Month 5). The year is 797x and the month is the 1-12 under the year)

Image 1: Is pretty much self explanatory. In my headcanon, more emphasis is put on the prophecy and in the early early morning on Bahryn, Zeb wakes to Kallus curled into his side and he thinks of warmth and home and My Warrior in his sleep brained mind before going to back to sleep. They both think of each other too often late at night after that day. Ahsoka "dying" signifies the start of the 6 month timeskip between S2 and S3, which was a cue to me that I had free reign.

Image 2: Where things get spicy. Zeb spends the months after Bahryn pushing Kal to ask questions when they meet. Kal rebukes him, of course. But they're quick to get each other away from their allies so they can show that they can treat each other with respect. So they can drop the hatred want to kill act. Eventually, after a pushy day, Kallus looks things up as a kriff you, Zeb, everything checks out. Everything does NOT check out. Zeb was right. About that time, coincidence and fate stops putting Zeb and Kallus on the same mission and so Kallus just stews alone. Horrified by what he helped. Eventually, he's sent on a mission to oversee the transfer of slaves, which the Spectres are also at. The two sides tangle, and eventually, the shipping container opens and the slaves? The oldest is younger that Ezra was when they all met him the first time. Kallus doesn't support child slavery and gets Zeb away to slip him info to help the Spectres save the children. It's his first act of rebellion.

Two nights later, they meet at a hotel, Kallus and Zeb. Kallus picks an argument, says he hates Zeb but Zeb knows that he's just frazzled and his entire life is falling apart and he's thankful the Specrtres saved the children. After that comes a conversation about where Kallus' mind is at, which leads to Zeb trusting him with the Fulcrum frequency. Kallus never has to use it, can only use it for major things, or can use it as a spy but his only request is that Kallus doesn't snitch. Kallus swears he’ll never use it but he’ll never let it get into the wrong hands. In some versions, they share a messy first kiss that night, emotional and not thinking. Kallus tries to forget about the frequency, but when the Empire asks him to oversee a mission that will lead to thousands of civilian casualities, he calls it. Becomes Fulcrum. And it feels good. For the first time, he recognizes the man in the mirror. And he’s proud of that man. That man saved lives. So quietly, he decides to become a spy. Sato tells him not to tell anyone, but he wants to tell Zeb so badly. See the pride in the lasat’s eyes.

Season 3 timing can be fudged with a bit except for the bookends. I haven’t thought about S3 much. Zeb definitely doesn’t let the Spectres know how deeply he and Kal are involved, that he’s how Kal knew about Fulcrum because that night in a hotel-that was just for them. Eventually they-or at least Sabine and Hera and Rex- might find out. After they’ve been dating for a while.

S4 is interesting. Because Mandalore/Yavin eps take place at the start of the year, not too long after Zero Hour. But the Liberation of Lothal is basically an episode a day and has the changing of the BBY year. So the biggest timeskip of the series takes place during season 4. It’s perfect, for Kallus to bond with Zeb, with the Spectres and Rex, for trust to build. Feelings definitely turn real for Zeb and for Alek. But Alek has baggage and healing isn’t a straight line and he doesn’t deserve Garazeb and Zeb doesn’t want to rush him. They’re not dating yet, but they’re getting close to it when Zeb returns to Lothal-the words of no extraction team heavy between them. Losing Kanan and Ezra is a step back.

Hera’s pregnancy is high emotions for all that remains. But in the end, it’s a shorter pregnancy than a human’s and in the days leading up to Jacen’s birth on Lothal, Zeb and Kallus finally get their shit together(Sabine’s words) and gets together. Jacen’s birth is sad but joyful. Hopeful. Missing spots on the bed. A second beginning for their family.

[whatapunk]

Chapter 3!!

I’m not sure how well I did it (as dialogue and I do NOT get along), but writing drunken Kanan/Rhia/Hera banter was a blast for me.  I’d also like to point out that I mention the Gorse conflict several times in this chapter and I think most people in the kanera fandom are familiar with that story, but if you haven’t read A New Dawn by John Jackson Miller you should give it a go! Especially if your soul needs every scrap of kanera you can find. As always, thank you so much for any likes and reblogs! You guys are the freaking best.

Title: Endings

Fandom: Star Wars Rebels

Relationship: Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla; Kanan Jarrus/female OC

Rating: m for the profanity, possibly for non-explicit intimacy later 

Word Count: 3217

Previous Chapters: Ch. 1 / Ch. 2

Chapter 3

“Force, Rhia, that was delicious.” Kanan placed his fork on his plate and pushed it away from him, feeling more full than he’d been in months. She smiled her thank you at his compliment. 

Kanan swirled the contents of his drink around, examining them before taking a sip. He could already feel the alcohol, and he was only one and a half drinks in. He thought back to nights at the bar on Gorse and how many drinks he’d put away all while still being remarkably coherent. He also thought of all the nights he’d spent on the floor of that bar and decided he’d made a good trade-off in his adulthood.

Rhia stood and collected the plates and utensils, taking them over to the sink. Kanan watched her, his thoughts back on the lost memory of her cooking him breakfast that had suddenly made its home in his brain again. He smirked and let out a quick chuckle, realizing the image of her standing at the sink now matched the one in his memory like a mirror- just, with more clothing. She looked back at him.

“Something funny?”

“It doesn’t feel all that different,” he started. She raised an eyebrow at him. “Us, I mean,” he explained. “I had all these things I thought up to say to you but then you were just…” he trailed off, unsure of his next words.

“Just what?” she asked. He shrugged but smiled down into his glass as he drained it for the second time. 

“I don’t know. Just you,” he said, his voice just beginning to be swallowed by alcohol-induced giddiness. “I kept thinking about what I should say to you earlier when I was meditating,” he said, ignoring or just not noticing the increase in the height of her already raised brow. “But then I got here and you were making dinner and suddenly we’re just shooting the shit like I’m 22 and you’re…” he paused, frowning. “How old are you again?” he asked, surprised he’d forgotten. He blamed it on the alcohol. She grimaced.

“I’m glad you’ve forgotten,” was all she offered up as an answer. He moved on.

“I’m just saying, you haven’t changed. At all,” he finished. He could hear his tone shifting, becoming lighter than it had been all day. Again, he gave credit to the alcohol. Rhia smirked but otherwise left the comment unacknowledged.

“Since when do you meditate?” she asked as she rinsed the dishes off.

“It’s new,” was all he added.

“Is that a jedi thing?” He looked at her, a little surprised. Rhia knew who Kanan was, but it was still somewhat new to him to hear people talk about it openly. 

“It is. I’m sort of a jedi again,” he said and laughed at his own statement. He reached back and rubbed his neck. “It’s weird.” 

Rhia finished washing the plates and walked back over to the table. On her way, she grabbed the glass bottle off the counter. She poured her own drink and didn’t bother to look at Kanan. She capped the bottle and set it near the center of the table. 

“You know, I don’t really drink… at all anymore,” Kanan offered, eyeing the bottle. 

“I’m not asking you to,” Rhia replied simply, quite relaxed. She’d meant it; she had no interest in trying to get Kanan drunk, especially if it was happening as quickly as it seemed to be. However, if he chose to get drunk, she certainly wasn’t going to stop him. 

Kanan reached out slowly and grabbed the bottle, a peaceful look on his face. He poured another drink for himself and took a sip. 

“You’ll never believe this, but-” and he laughed, caught off guard by how funny his next statement would sound to Rhia. “I have an apprentice- a padawan,” he said, slipping back into his chuckles. Rhia’s mouth all but fell open.

“You what?” she asked in disbelief. “You have a padawan?” Rhia was joking, but she was also very serious. Kanan finished laughing and looked up at her, nodding.

“Yep. And you know, I’m not a half bad teacher honestly,” he said, feeling prouder than he expected to. It was Rhia’s turn to laugh. “I’m serious!” he protested.

“Kanan,” she began. “Who put you in charge of their child?” she asked in the middle of another fit of laughter. Kanan’s face remained tranquil, but he did get a little more serious.

“Well… he doesn’t have parents- not anymore,” he said. Rhia stopped laughing and her expression softened. 

“Well that’s… that’s good of you,” she said and took a drink. The more somber moment passing quickly, she looked back up at him with sudden realization. “Shit Kanan, you’re not just a master, you’re like a father aren’t you?” Kanan let out a short laugh that morphed into a sigh.

“Yeah I.... I kinda am. We’re kind of like parents,” he said, his grin turning huge. 

“We?” Rhia asked, interested. Kanan looked quickly down at his drink for another sip. 

“Yeah uh,” he began awkwardly. “Me and Hera we’re kind of… together.” Rhia smiled at him.

“She’s pretty impressive, Kanan,” she said and he smiled back at her, letting out a breath. “Way too good for you,” she added.

“You are not wrong.” 

“Though, I assume she still fits your type,” she said and Kanan immediately rolled his eyes.

“Rhia, I don’t have a type,” he said adamantly, but she’d started giggling. “And if I did, it certainly wouldn’t be people with ‘daddy issues,’” he said, making air quotes. Rhia’s laughter filled the room. 

Back on Gorse one drunken night, Rhia had begun taking a long oral history of Kanan’s ex-partners. After around a dozen stories that all pretty much began and ended the same way, Rhia surmised that Kanan seemed to be attracted to lovers who tended to have some either spoken or unspoken issues with their fathers. Kanan protested adamantly and continuously, and this had only worked to confirm Rhia’s suspicions. Upon inquiring about Rhia’s father, Rhia gladly told him that he’d passed away when she was a child. Kanan then accused her of lying to prove her point, much to Rhia’s amusement. 

“So,” Rhia began, fighting down a burst of laughter, “you’re saying Hera has a really great relationship with her dad then, yes?” Kanan didn’t look up and tried desperately to hide the fact that he was holding back laughter. He took a drink, hoping to hide his creeping smile behind his glass. In the silence, they both eventually burst into laughter. 

Kanan was definitely feeling it. His head felt like it was suspended in a bacta tank and there was a permanently peaceful look on his face. Having been so tense for weeks, this was undoubtedly a welcome disposition. There was something to be said as well for Rhia and the conversation they were having. Not only had it felt so nice to tell her about his family now, she’d made it feel so natural and ok. Not that he’d done anything wrong, but many exes could easily have turned bitter or offered fake support. Rhia, however, had been warm and normal. Telling her about Hera and Ezra felt just as natural as any of their conversations had been seven years ago. Still, there was no doubt- as much as the thought of Hera right now made his heart swell, his reverence toward Rhia in this regard had begun to sow seeds of conflict in him. 

Their laughter subsided. Rhia met his eyes from across the table and the seeds began to grow. Kanan downed the last of his drink and gave all the signs of being about to leave. Just before he stood up, however, a very special voice spoke to him from the doorway. 

“I wondered where you were,” Hera said, causing Kanan to go from surprised to smiling like an idiot in record time. 

“Hera!” he said, and noted the volume in his voice had risen for no reason. He really couldn’t hold his alcohol anymore. Hera’s eyes widened knowingly, going from him to the bottle, and she smirked. 

“Captain Syndulla,” Rhia stood up welcomingly and offered her a hand. “I didn’t really get to introduce myself earlier. I’m Rhia Denley,” she said, not seeming at all three drinks deep. She took Hera’s hand gently and the twi’lek returned a smile. 

“Hera,” she replied. “It’s nice to meet you. I rarely get to meet a friend of Kanan’s,” she added. Rhia turned back to him and they both looked at him as he grinned drunkenly.

“That’s not surprising,” Rhia said. “He never had many of those,” and both women laughed at his expense. “Please, sit,” Rhia insisted, offering her a chair. She then went to the cabinet and pulled out another glass. Placing it in front of Hera, she began pouring. Hera held up a hand at a half.

“Oh that’s plenty, thank you,” and Rhia stopped obligingly. 

“We were just talking about you,” Rhia began and Kanan shot her a look, concerned about exactly which part of their conversation Rhia was about to share. Rhia pretended not to notice. “I can’t believe Kanan has a padawan. You should have known this man on Gorse!”

Hera looked at him with pride, but she also took note of the fact that Rhia knew he was a jedi. She then realized Rhia had said “Gorse.”

“I did know him on Gorse,” Hera started. “Or, well, I met him on Gorse.” 

Rhia looked at Kanan subtly and for the first time all night, the warmth in her face faltered slightly. 

“It was after you… left,” Kanan offered, jumping in. “Maybe like a month after you left. I ran into Hera and swept her off her feet of course.” Hera snorted and Rhia followed.

“I know there is no kriffing way she followed you anywhere,” Rhia said, taking a drink. She turned to Hera, all but pretending Kanan wasn’t in front of her. “He was in trouble wasn’t he?” she asked flatly. Hera laughed.

“Something like that.” Kanan threw out his hands in dramatic disbelief.

“What? You were in trouble- we all were!” Kanan griped. Hera nodded, appeasing him.

“That’s true. Gorse was a mess,” she said and took a drink. 

“What happened there?” Rhia asked. Kanan looked at her and closed his eyes, shaking his head.

“You remember that explosives guy, Skelly?” At the name, Rhia threw her head back in a resounding affirmative. 

“Skelly! Man that guy was a fucking wack job,” she said and Hera laughed, clearly agreeing. “You met him?” Rhia asked.

“Oh yeah. I know I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but I have to agree. Skelly nearly got us killed a handful of times.” Rhia was definitely interested now.

Over the next hour or so (eventually none of them was really aware of the time), Hera and Kanan regaled Rhia with how they met on Gorse and the entirety of the disasters and successes of that highly unplanned mission. Eventually Hera emptied her glass and didn’t object to another, nor did Kanan. 

Truthfully, the drunker Rhia got the more her insides were a battlefield of emotions. Here she was with two people whose company she was enjoying immensely. But she couldn’t deny that everything that had once attracted her to Kanan was still alive and well. In fact, he’d only seemed to change for the better since she’d last known him. Additionally, she was falling in love with Hera almost immediately. The twi’lek had come off as calm and quiet, and while she definitely embodied those traits to an extent, she was also assertive and commanded attention, even when she appeared meek. Rhia understood why Kanan was with her, and she could only imagine the luck he felt at having met her, let alone being her partner.

Rhia poured another glass, attempting to drown her thoughts, at least until she could be alone with them. She’d lost count of how many drinks they’d each had, but the bottle was approaching its final drops, a sign that the number was quite large. Kanan’s eyes were drooping and she wondered how long he’d last before he’d try to sleep on the floor. Hera was feeling it too, but she’d paced herself and remained relatively composed. Her speech gave her away though; each drink she took seemed to chip away at her filter. It just made Rhia like her more.

“Did you know him when he was Caleb Dume?” Hera asked abruptly, looking at Rhia with an interested expression. Rhia was a bit caught off guard and looked to Kanan for a hint at how to proceed. He met her eyes but said nothing.

“I did,” Rhia started, “or at least I think he was between ‘Caleb Dume’ and ‘Kanan Jarrus,’” she offered. Hera seemed to be contemplating this. 

“I didn’t go by ‘Kanan’ yet, but she outed me,” Kanan said, pointing an accusatory finger at Rhia. Rhia rolled her eyes yet again.

“Hera,” she said, turning away from Kanan. “You should have seen this kid,” she started and a few drunken giggles made her pause. “You think he’s bad now? Everything annoying he does now, he did times a thousand when I met him,” and she slipped back into giggles with Hera. Kanan shook his head but smiled. Hera’s face lit up at a thought.

“You knew him when he was a kid?” Hera asked, excitedly. 

“Well, not exactly. He was 17 but he was absolutely a kid that’s for sure,” she said grinning back at Kanan. “Though,” she went back to Hera, “if you told him he was a kid he’d get so offended,” she said and cackled with the twi’lek. 

“He told me he hates that! Like, defensive much?” Hera said with a laugh. Kanan looked at both of them.

“I’m right here, guys,” he offered, but Rhia and Hera were still too busy laughing at the thought of young, defensive Kanan.

“Hera, do you know what this little teenager did nearly the moment he met me?” she asked. “Keep in mind, I’m quite a bit older than him and I was definitely too old for him when he was seventeen.” It was Hera’s turn to roll her eyes.

“Oh kriff, he tried to hit on you didn’t he?” 

“Don’t tell me-” Rhia started, egging Hera on.

“He did the same thing to me!” Hera nearly shouted and the two women doubled over in laughter. 

“Wow,” was all Kanan could say, returning to his glass. Eventually Rhia and Hera finished laughing and dabbed the tears from their eyes.

“So how did you figure out he was Caleb?” Hera asked.

“Well, at the time he was running with the smuggler Janus Kasmir,” Rhia started. Hera nodded.

“He’s told me about him.”

“So at the time I was part of a crew on a transport that he and Kasmir hired. Only,” she looked and spoke directly at Kanan, “they failed to tell us just how hot they were before we took off,” Rhia joked, as if she still held it against him. “I’d done some bounty hunter work before, so after even the slightest bit of research I found his goofy little face all over the holonet in an instant, and he hadn’t even bothered to disguise himself!” she all but yelled.

“I’d changed my look!” Kanan argued. “I’d started wearing a ponytail then,” he said with drunken confidence. Rhia and Hera shared a knowing look. 

“He looked nearly identical,” Rhia continued. “So, I told our captain we needed to drop them, only-”

“He was a huge asshole,” Kanan cut her off. She snorted.

“Indeed. I didn’t tell him Kanan was a jedi, but he’d figured out that if I was so eager to get rid of them, he must be worth a lot. So, he intended to collect with the Empire. And do you know what this fucking maniac and Kasmir did to me?” she asked Hera, getting heated. Hera’s eyes were wide and she shook her head, invested.

“Look-” Kanan had started, but Rhia continued as if she hadn’t heard him.

“Those two idiots stunned me- even though I was going to help them! Next thing I know, I'm waking up on the floor of an escape pod with a crick in my neck!" she said, finishing her story with a drink. Hera frowned and looked at Kanan with goofy disapproval.

"Kanan!" she chastised him. He held his hands up in defense.

"We didn't know you were planning on helping us!" he spoke in a way that said this was not the first time he'd had to defend himself here. "The captain was your boyfriend. We assumed you'd just go along with him, so we took you hostage. And it worked!” he added. Rhia narrowed her eyes at him with a smirk. 

“It did, but I hadn’t thought about turning either of you in until I woke up in that pod,” she said, laughing and lost in the memory for a moment. She drained her glass. 

Hera watched the red-haired woman with great interest and warmth. She’d gleaned from their awkward meeting earlier that day that she and Kanan had some sort of history, and she’d felt the early pangs of jealousy when she’d found them here alone, drinking. But Rhia had a friendliness to her that seemed to quiet any other negative emotion in the room. There were still quiet thoughts in Hera’s mind relating to Rhia’s pleasing face and her tall, muscular frame that made her feel like competition. Not to mention, her vibrant hair, which seemed so deeply red at times and other times, when her movements caught the dim lighting just right, seemed almost reflective and chromatic. Regardless, Hera mostly felt like she’d formed a fast friend, and it was nice to be around another woman her own age. The alcohol didn’t hurt either. 

“So what happened next?” Hera asked, interested in the end of the story.

“Well, we did a job or two together, just so I could get some cash now that I was crewless and shipless,” Rhia said, giving Kanan another quick look. “But it didn’t last much longer and I left him and Kasmir. Though, I did hear about some low-profile work on Gorse back then and I told him about it. I never thought he’d actually listen to me,” she finished, giving Kanan a small smile. There it was again, that competitive feeling inside of Hera.

“And then you ended up there at the same time, years later?” she asked, drawing Rhia’s attention back to her. 

“Somehow, yes,” Kanan said, a little quieter than he’d been. A comfortable hush fell over the table. Three drunken adults sat, enveloped in warm intoxication and warmer memories. It hurt each one of them a bit to notice the emptiness of the bottle in front of them. The realization that the night was drawing to a close began descending on them, and Rhia, noticing the small bit left in each of their glasses, held up hers in a toast.

“To old and new friends,” she said, looking from Kanan to Hera. They both smiled back at Rhia and drained their glasses with her, adding the slightest bit of fog to their already foggy brains. 

[yomimio]

Oh my God! pt 1 Mythology AU

A/N: This is an avenger x reader. English is not my native language so I apologize for any mistake. Italics mean that the character is thinking. The Marvel characters belong to Marvel, the gifs and images belong to their owners, I only own the plot.

Warnings: None

-Humans…- (Y/N) thought as she walked up the avenue of the city. -Always so noisy. I almost forget how rambunctious they can get…

She preferred the apparent tranquil of her domains, so full of life but so enormous that all the hubbub of it becomes an almost mute background harmony, yet it’s still there.

-Noisy and imaginative- looking up, the female stopped on her tracks as she came across one of the temples that these puny humans had erect on her honor. A big polished stone structure held up by many columns, and with a trident sculpted on the pediment.

She could only just hold her laugh as she caught a glimpse at her representation situated, on a little pool, inside of the temple. Cold, marble eyes stared right back at her, set above a frowning mouth covered by an abundant beard. Going down, the flat, pale, naked body rested upon a stone, coming out of the water, holding up in its hand a trident made of solid gold that shined under the orange light of the late afternoon. Don’t get her wrong, the statue was beautifully made, the artist was great, really, but, for her, it was a little too…well, male.

Shaking her head, (Y/N) continued her journey navigating through the sea of people that were out for walks, socializing, hearing the philosophers debate, or buy some goods on the stands of the market. Swimming through the busy agora at that hour was no easy feat, people were not always at their politest and the vast amount of white clothes could make someone lost their path.

-“Make way, γυναίκα!” (woman)- yelled a big and sweaty aristocrat while shoving her, and sending a dirty look in her general direction, not really acknowledging her. –“Damn these wandering fools, standing on the path of the higher ups! We better not arrive late for the elections at the Forum”

-“They should learn about social propriety, right μέλι?” (honey)- The jeweled woman on his arm spat, looking down on (Y/N).

The water on the cups and basins of nearby merchants started to ripple as (Y/N) stumbled and to an upright position after being thrown out of balance by the rude humans. The thought of following him and drowning him when he went to drink crossed briefly her mind, but was put off by the remembrance of the meeting she had to attend. He was probably already waiting for her…Leave it to him to be there at the agreed upon hour, not a minute early, not a second late. Calming down, she continued her upwards path towards the shinning temple on the top of the hill.

Overlooking the city, the temple was beautiful, but smaller than her own to her secret delight. Sleek columns and clean lines, supporting a red roof with an owl on the pediment, that gave protection to the sculpture of a woman in battle armor and with a round shield by her feet. In the shadow of the great marble woman was waiting, serious faced, her meeting for the evening.

-“Oh, Wise One! Do not look at me with that guise, Great Athena, for I might cower upon your immense grace!”- (Y/N) doubled at the waist on a mock bow.

-“You should’ve been here in time, I wouldn’t be upset at you. You are 6 minutes late, Poseidon”- said the figure, crossing their pale arms, the frown on their face deepening in an attempt to suppress the light smile threatening to show at her quirkiness.

-“C’mon!! Six minutes! That’s nothing compared to the span of our lives! Don’t be like that, Steve! I’ve been mauled over by unrespectful pedestrians, ignored and looked down by them too…not to mention that I’m out of the water! And all of this for you!! Why won’t you give me a good-heartened greeting and gift me with one of your beautiful smiles, Virgin Warrior? It’s the least you could give me…”- She dramatically complained, clinging to one of his big muscled arms, distracting her momentarily from her pained feet, not used to wearing any kind of foot-wear.

-These arms thou…- She thought, lightly squeezing.

-“So what was so important that you called upon this goddess to rise from the sea? Has some pitiful quarrel taken place between you and Hephaestus? Fighting for the love of Ares again? Should Hermes run with the notice for the gods to assemble again, ready for battle? Maybe Aeolus should still the winds for war? Or Angelos warn her brother of the incoming mass of dead mortals that are to swarm their realm when this is over? Should I rise the waters again to drown the souls of- mphmm!”- he put one of his big hands over her mouth stopping the rambling.

-“Would you just let me speak? By the Titans (Y/N)! Stop!”- He laughed at the frown on her face. Huffing she released his biceps and took a step back from his body.

-“Well when you only have sea-life to talk to, you become a little bored. They only have just about enough themes to engage in small talk, never anything too deep. And then, the nymphs are just the worst. Real gossipers. The only good thing is that I get to know what happens out of my oceans…”- (Y/N) pouted, admiring how the fading light of the day created lovely shadows on the very female representation of her friend in the center of his temple.

-“You know that you’re always welcome at Olympus, you’re always very welcomed at my house, (Y/N)”- his sapphire eyes softened, looking at the young goddess, his family love for her shinning through. Love reflected with the same intensity by her own eyes when they locked with his.

With an audible sigh, she said- “I know, Steve. But you know how I feel out of the waters…”.

-“Like a fish out of the water?”- he joked lightly, making her smile, and both laugh a little.

-“Very funny, Pallas Athena. But, now, really, what happened? Another fight with Tony?”

-“No, he’s good. Pestering Hera, as always…”

-Poor Pepper- She thought.

-“Is Hecate why I called you. We’ve been planning a party for his nameday. I thought that Circe and you could arrange a distraction for him while we prepare the feast and Persephone does the decorations.”- He hummed with a low voice, knowing that you weren’t exactly Stephen’s biggest fan.

-“Really? You called me out of my home to play a fair monkey for that man-witch?”- (Y/N) held a little grudge towards Strange since he turned her pet dolphin on a grabby octopus that wanted no other thing than constantly cling to her face, shooting her clean white robes with his black ink. It was her favorite chiton, and the stain lasted for weeks!! How dare he!!- “You know what he did to me!”

-“(Y/N), please, Circe can’t do it alone. And you know that if you are there, his attention will be on you only. We’ll be free to do our part”- he pleaded- “it’s only for a few hours, and it’ll be worth it. Almost all of our schedules meet for the first time in a long time. We’ll be able to be together for other thing that is not war. We all need it.”

-“All of us will be there? Even Zeus?”

-“Yes, Thor too”

-“Bia? Asclepio? Dolos? Dike? Apoll-”

-“Apollo, Nike, Artemis, Hera, Hades, probably Macaria and Menoetes, Tique, Dionysus, Nyx, Aeolus,… and yes, Ares too”- he said with a knowing smile.

She shifted in the temple shadow to try –and fail- to hide her light blush from the blonde.

-“Okay… but just because I don’t want to leave Wanda alone to distract Stephen. The Titans know what could await us if those two decide to have a go to see whose powers are the best…”- she conceded avoiding the god’s amused eyes.

-“Of course. That’s very kind of you Poseidon. The party will be due in a fortnight, come to Tony’s at the Olympus. We will be there to start the plan.”- he explained, giving her an hug and turning to leave.

-“M’kay. ‘til then”

-“Until then, yes… Oh! And dress up nice, he’s coming back from war!”

And with that he turned into an owl and disappeared on the already dark sky, leaving (Y/N) behind, trailing to the ocean in hopes for it to help cool down the warmth that surged in her cheeks and ears at his insinuation, and to slow down a little her racing heart at the prospect of getting to see the God of War’s breathtaking azure orbs.

[peacefulwriter88]

Part One: Carried Away in A Chariot

Steve Rogers X Reader WoC, Bucky X Reader WoC

Warnings: None

A/N: This will be in three parts and was inspired by Hades & Persephone Mood board. This occurs after the snap where I optimistically believing Steve survives but how he deals with the PTSD. Half of this, like always, is inspired by @geminimoonbeamx and the other has been on my mind after the Endgame trailer.

How do you kill a god?

You rob them of love and loyalty. They will be alone and unhappy, and eternity will seem like a punishment, but it is not death.

                        - Hera, Queen of the Gods

Disappointment hung over him like a cloud, followed him everywhere. Before it was just his psyche that was attacked by the darkness that loomed over him, promises of death that echoed in his subconscious when he slept; images that haunted his mind when he closed his eyes.

Now he carried it like a weight, burdened on his back as he sloppily navigated through the world. He had no desires anymore.

Life had given him the gift of death. To have to breathe it everyday, bear witness to its effect without the power to change the outcomes. He felt like a ferryman, responsible for the living souls of today with the  promised that he’d have to kiss them goodbye tomorrow. He was death on earth, walking in flesh form and he didn’t know how to console it

And yet he stayed.

No matter how much he fought, no matter whatever the evil was that he had to attack it was death that eluded him - not life. And when he had fixed all that had shifted wrong, turned dust back into bone and flesh, to rewind time and save the world from genocide he still remained.

And thus the disappointment lingered.

He was a walking god of the underworld.

“Perhaps you just need to get away?” Natasha had suggested one evening, walking down the cold narrow streets of New York that no longer held the same color. Now he only saw drab colors of black and blue that tarnished his eyesight, burdened his shoulders.

“Go where? I feel like I spent five years getting away. I’m tired of running. I’m tired.”

Natasha didn’t know the answer.

“Maybe you stop….stop being Captain America Steve. You don’t have to be the man that saves the world all the time.”

This time from Bucky who sat across from him in a coffee shop, the a cup of hot coffee cradling his vibranium and flesh arm as his eyes flickered around the cafe. Eight months after the snap and his friend was operating and functioning like nothing had ever occurred. Despite the explanations that Steve had to communicate with him and the others - how he and a few others had to watch his friend disappear in front of his own eyes - Bucky remembered nothing. Nor Sam or Tony or  T’challa or anyone. Instead, they jumped back into their roles head first, like nothing had ever been wrong.

It made Steve snap.

“Right. So I can sit her and broad more. No thank you.”

He looks out the window at the snow, blistery and wet and painting the streets with its evidence. He hated this time of year, hated when the cold weather moved from being nostalgic and romantic and just became a nuance. It was the kind of snow that was light and consistent, black residue sticking to the roads, splashing onto the concrete sidewalks and the annoyed New Yorker’s who were stuck walking to and from their destination in the wet coldness.

Bucky sighs, Steve knows he wants to tell him something but the bell in the cafe rings again, causes the super soldier to shift his eyes over to the door - to the line where you stood. Steve doesn’t have to look behind him to know that it's you - he can faintly smell your perfume of flora above the smell of milk and coffee. Can hear the soft sounds of Tchaikovsky blare from your headphones, the sound of you pulling off your mitts.

“You should just ask her out.” Steve says lowly and Bucky ducks his head, takes a sip of his coffee.

“No way Steve.”

Steve shrugs,

“Life’s too short to - “ he stops himself, chuckles. What did it matter - Bucky wasn’t going to ask you and Steve stopped caring enough to urge his friend.

“She’d never go for it.” Bucky echoes like he always does, low morose tone and all.

Steve picks up his coffee, takes a sip.

“Your loss.”

He doesn’t understand how one can love something so strongly and yet be annoyed by it. Humanity was wearing on him. Their laughter, their remorse, their desires and their laments. Sam moved out of the tower, decided to get an apartment in uptown and Steve only decided to move in after having to deal with his co-workers for a year after the snap.

They were tiresome.

Tony may have actually lost his fucking mind. Steve wouldn’t put it past the older man - isolated in space for weeks on the verge of starvation sounded like enough to make any one human break into two and Tony was always heavily affected by his emotions. Natasha stoically operated through the world like nothing had ever occurred and for some reason that annoyed him. Wanda walked around in depressive remorse - Vision was gone and gone for good. He didn’t’ know how to tell her that it was the consequence of power - to be given a gift and robbed of loved. Bucky was so love strung over you that it was the last straw for Steve - he had to get out.

Brooklyn wasn’t his Brooklyn so he claimed Astoria with Sam like his own.

It worked out nicely for the pair of them.

He still walked the 17 blocks to the coffee shop he liked to sit at, the black coffee perfectly bitter and warm - the residents not giving him any mind. The Captain America in their mind had died when he saved the world and the man that was operating was foreign to them. He was okay with that. It gave him silence, the refuge he needed.

He does this consecutively for weeks, winter changing into spring,  spring into autumn and autumn into winter. Goes through the motions, alone, a cup of coffee and pencil and pad in his possession that he never touches.

That’s before the shift.

It’s in April and it's cold outside though spring has already tried to combat the winter cold. Buds growing on trees, wind blowing dead grass away to make room for new.  He sits, like he always does in the cafe, alone. His phone lights up, a few texts from Bucky and Sam - a voicemail from Natasha but it doesn’t matter. He wants to draw again, wants the breath of inspiration that allows him to see things - people and humans beyond an ash colored lens but he’s frozen.

He looks over at the ivory paper of his sketch notebook, blank minus the charcoal pencil that laid on top of it and sighs, his hands itching to pick up the drawing device but knowing it was to no avail.

The bell of the cafe door rings, his ears pick up on it and he’s rewarded with your perfume again. Jasmine, it's intoxicating and sweet but he doesn’t turn his head, doesn’t look your way. In fact, he had no idea what you looked like. Identified you only by the sweet smell of your perfume - he hadn’t cared enough to look behind him the first time that Bucky had identified you and all the times after.

You were just background noise.

Except today your smell nears him, dangerously close, until he feels the warmth of your body emanating off of you and you hesitate before you clear your throat,

“Excuse me I don’t mean to interrupt but…..would you mind sharing the table?”

He looks up at you and is greeted with the sun.

Your smile is soft, friendly and your eyes are wide and dangerous, the dark pink tinge of your lipstick a contrast to the hue of your skin, brightens it. Your hair pulled up into a bun, hands holding a book and cup of tea safely.

“Or not. Its justs…...really crowded in here and I’d much rather share a table with you than the old man who is licking his lips at me.”

He stares at you, unable to find words but nods, shifts his notebook to make room for you.

“Thank you,” you move into the seat fluidly, delicately before you place your bag near your leg. A long sliver of pink silk slips out, a sliver of a ballet shoe that you tuck back into the bag before you open your book. “Promise I won’t bother you. Just here to read for a bit.”

And you don’t. He spends the hour watching you, probably borderline ass creepy as Bucky stares out at you and you’re none the wiser, head bent over your book as you sip your tea until it's gone. Then you gather your things, thank him for sharing the table and your gone.

Despite your absence, your smell lingers and he feels something stir in him. It's not until hours later, when he’s standing on his balcony in the safety of darkness that he realizes that its longing.

And that he wants to see you again.

You don’t show up to the cafe for three days and its three days enough that tells him to let you go. That no good come from his new interest. He was a broken man and you were life. Better not to drag you down in flames.

‘Besides, Bucky was in love with you’ he tells himself but he knows that he doesn’t care about that, not really. He had started drawing again. Vivid drawings of the events of the past, dark and treacherous and life like.

“Those are kinda freaky aren’t they Steve?” Sam had noted, looking over the large super soldiers frame one evening and drinking the vivid imagery of the death of  Thanos, noting the rest of the Avengers.

“It's what happened isn’t it?” Steve says lowly and Sam nods, walking away. The drawings were disturbing but at least his friend was drawing again. Sam was worried about Steve. He was different. Curt, abrasive, annoyed. Motivated by missions but not truly invested in the outcomes. He knew he was depressed - understood why. Sam understood that he had died - then come back none the wiser - and could understand that to experience the loss of friends where they couldn’t even remember may play a number on the psyche.

For Steve it was evolving into darkness.  

Steve is aware Sam is worried but doesn’t comment on it. Reads all the PTSD books Sam leaves around, occasionally chats with him but pretends that everything is fine. Knows it doesn’t convince Sam but honestly doesn’t care enough to put on the facade that he should. Instead, he escapes the cages of the indoors and greets spring.  The weather is bright, sunlight emerging and rain showers slowly becoming less frequent. He’s always had an infinity for Central Park but after the defeat of Thanos couldn’t stand the large, expansive area. Reminded him too much of how delicate the life balance was. Now, he liked to sit on benches for hours and watch birds emerge from their wooden sanctuaries and bunnies frolic in the budding grass - moms with babies in carriages and kids who giggle pleasantly as they run in child wonder.

When he’s done he goes to the cafe, orders his coffee, starts sketching. Shadows barely captured by light, fine details of the nightmares that haunt his mind.

“You’re drawing again,”

Your voice is sweet, your tone smooth as you ease through each syllable that slowly falls from your lips. He looks up at you, drinks in the book in hand and tea with a smile dancing on your face.

“Do you mind if I join you?”

He should say no, should leave and give you the table for yourself. But he finds himself smiling, the first time in what feels like years and it feels unfamiliar as he waves his inky hands across the table.

“Please.”

You both sit in silence,  you reading ‘A Cautionary Tale for Young Vampires’ and him drawing, sipping on your beverages pleased to be in a moment where you can step away from your day to day nuances and focus on the small pleasures.

You both order three cups each, share a large coffee cake and are asked nicely by the owner to leave before you escape back into the reality of your worlds.

“It was nice seeing you again,” you say as you walk out in the fresh night air, grabbing your phone - your headphones. “Your drawings are nice. I’m glad you’ve found your….inner-voice again. So to speak”

He nods, smiles at you once more as he drinks in your frame in the waning light. The way the orange, rose and blue blend together, highlighting your silhouette, hair pulled back as your dark eyes glisten in the light. He should pull away, take this gift for what it is and be grateful for it.

But he’s hungry for you, likes the small flame you’ve ignited in his dark heart and he finds his voice to say as you turn to walk away,

“Wait!”

It takes you both off guard and you stop, raise a brow as you look at him.

“How do you feel about zoos?”

You are the light he doesn’t realize he needs. Draws your image for five days until he sees you next.

“Who’s the girl?”  Sam asks one night, Natasha and Wanda peeping into Steve’s studio as he move onto another canvas - onto you. Sam’s happy that Steve’s moved on from the dark images of his nightmares, unable to face them in the safety of the light and Wanda and Natasha want to know who’s inspired this new mood.

“You like her,” Wanda says curiously, her psychic brain reading his betrayed thoughts and it's the first time he’s heard her be so positive. That is, until his brain betrays him and she reads the dark secret of you, tsks disappointedly. “I won’t tell him but you should care. He is your friend.”

“Tell who what?” Natasha asks, following the European redhead who walks away from him, her disappointment obvious.

She never shares.

Instead allows him to meet up with you at Central Park, to watch happy emotions play over your face. You find positivity in everything. From the zoo animals to the families who walk by, to the rain that falls on the both of you as he grabs your hand and pulls you to shelter to the nearest tree he can find as you both leave the zoo.

“This isn't safe.” you say, the dress you were wearing sticking to you. A little pink number that reminds him of a time where he was younger and weaker, the red floral design highlighting your frame. He doesn’t care that he boldly drinks in your nipples that were puckering from the cold or that he could see your panties paint your ass. .

He wants to remember how it feels to touch another human again.

“What isn’t?” he says instead.

“Hiding under a tree. We could get electrocuted. You should know this Captain America.” you laugh, exaggerating his title and though it annoys him he can’t help but give an off handed smile.

There’s a flash of lightning, followed by a dark grumble of thunder that shakes the earth and causes you to jump naturally into his arms, gripping his thick biceps as you turn and look around. He takes the moment to drink in your vulnerable features, the softness of your cheek, the length of your eyelashes as they kiss your cheek. Your arms are strong, reminds him of your dancing physique and the strength that your body carries. When the thunder  passes, rain falling heaver you turn your face up to him. Your lips are plump from you biting them in fear and raindrops fall in disarray down your face greedily and he sighs.

Angels weeped of the inception of your beauty.

“I rebuke death it would seem so if you need safety, you’ll most likely find it in my arms.”

Its meant to be a joke but he knows he fails at the delivery - humor had never been one of his stronger characteristics. You watch him curiously, tilt your head curiously before you whisper,

“Death evades us for as long as we need to learn a lesson from living.”

He’s intrigued by your thoughts but distracted by the way your face has contorted, sadness etched in your faces beauty and he wants to bend down and kiss you while he whispers against your lips that it will be okay. Instead, you break away and look off into the distance,

“I know a bit about that. When the snap happened….I lost everyone and yet I remained. And when they returned -  it was as nothing changed. My mother knew nothing that had happened to me in eight months I had learned to mourn and accept her death. She cradles me still like a child despite the fact I’ve been on my own for ten years and she still doesn’t hear the secret I whisper out into the night. That I’ve blossomed into a woman long before she left and will continue to thrive long after she’s gone.”

Your hands are warm over his arms, even through the layer of his jacket and you blink back up at him and smile,

“You didn’t need to know that. Let’s make a run for it and grab a coffee. Its three and I haven’t had my fourth cup.”

You’re gone from his embrace long before he can mourn it. He stands in wonder  as he watches the way you spritely run through the rain, turning back and smiling at him, your dress dancing along your legs.

Like morning glories that raise their petals to the rays of sunlight he’s found himself drawn to you, needing your spirit to pull out his beauty.

He’s a different man. Still dark and brooding and withdrawn, but there’s something different about him. Bucky can't put his hand on it, watches his best friend operate with the same motions but there’s just something off. He was different. Gone most of the time and even when he was around he wasn’t there. Head buried in a new book or in his sketch pad or speaking lowly on the phone. Bucky’s found leftover ticket stubs to three ballets, had no idea that the romantic in Steve still lived and took him to such shows.  

“I think he’s dating someone.” Natasha finally admits out loud as her, Sam and Bucky lay out on the living room floor one evening, high and watching constellations dance above them from the safety of the tower.

“Steve doesn’t date.” Bucky mumbles, eyes half closed and Sam pauses, hesitates,

“I’d normally agree with you Bucky but…...I don’t know. I caught him ordering flowers and he’s always gone and he’s always drawing her, the mystery woman. I swear I found a stub to the ballet but Steve denies it.”

“Holy shit,” Natasha sits up and looks at them. “So have I!”

“Me too.” Bucky agrees, intertwining his fingers together as he closes his eyes.

It’s Sam who nods and shakes his head,

“Not to mention, he comes home smelling like jasmines. Has to be a girl a woman that’s marked her scent on him.”

Bucky pauses, can’t move. His brain racks back to you -the first time that he saw you. Your scent that had caught his attention in the cafe he and Steve had learned to love. It was an autumn day and you were wearing a flowy skirt, a knit sweater covering your tank top. Ballet shoes slipping out of your bag, listening to Chopin and reading the menu of the coffee shop as the sun hit your face perfectly. You smiled at the elderly couple that asked if they could go before you, not hesitating at all as you offered your spot. You had briefly looked at him, smiled, before returning your eyes back to the menu.

“It’s Jasmine,” Steve had said underneath his breath, blue eyes temporarily meeting Bucky’s before returning out of the window, into the busy streets of New York. Voicing the question that was already on Bucky’s mind.

“She smells like Jasmine.”

Tag List:  @ssweet-empowerment@capsofwinchesters@tacohead13@harleycativy@pietrotheavenger@francezka10@papichulosebastian@obsessionsofmynerdheart@melaninmarvel@avengedqueen26@nasteaxluvgal@winterbuttmunch@nys30@buckyslongasshair@ohlumi @wellthirsted @gifsbysimplysonia @misskenni

[veritascara]

Clarity/Sight

Part 2 - Sight

Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla Teen/2.4k words (this part) Separate, they’ve both been blind. But together, they can truly see. A fix-it fic in two parts for Jedi Night and Dume. Now completed.

A/N: Thanks again to @uhura-ismylastname for betaing this!

This portion focuses on the episode Dume. Spoilers apply through the series finale. Enjoy!

Part 1 | Read on AO3

Kanan rolled over on the sleeping mat, and reached his arm towards the other side. His hand met only cold stone. A brief moment of panic tore through him before he stretched out his senses, and found the object of his anxiety just a few feet away. She knelt in front of the small stone table, where just the day before he’d set aside his mask and cut his hair. Preparing for the mission.

Preparing, he’d thought, for his death.

The mask had been unceremoniously tossed aside, and Hera’s kalikori stood in its place. The hair was nowhere to be found. Her hands worked with a small, unfamiliar wooden object, and her being radiated a level of peace and joy he wasn’t accustomed to.

“You’re finally awake,” Hera said, without turning. “Ezra came looking for you hours ago, said he needed to go meet someone. He also said you stayed awake the entire day and most of the night watching me sleep.”

Kanan sat up and ran his hands through his hair, still surprised by the shortness. “Uh, yeah, about that . . . What do you remember about what happened yesterday?”

Hera turned at his question and sighed. “A lot of it is a blur. Images and flashes of things. But a few things are very clear.” She paused a moment, and her voice turned accusatory, “You didn’t think I’d forget that you almost jumped out of that gunship to go fight back the fire alone, did you?”

“Maybe that wasn’t one of my brighter ideas.” Kanan chuckled. “Ezra was right. We were stronger together.”

“I also remember what I said,” Hera’s voice softened, “and I meant it—every word.”

“Hera, you don’t have to—“

“No, Kanan, it needs saying. I had a lot of time to think about this in Pryce’s office. I know I’m not always very good at it. It’s hard for me, but I will work to be better,” her last words were barely above a whisper, “for you.”

The mere mention of Pryce’s office and the state he’d found Hera in the night before made his blood begin to boil. Something of it must have shown on his face because Hera laughed a bit and held out her hand to him. “Come here.”

Kanan crawled the couple meters over to the low table and knelt, mirroring her position—their knees mere millimeters from touching. Hera’s hand grasped his own, the softness of her own ungloved fingers sliding across his callouses. She turned it palm up, and deposited the small object she’d been working on into it, wrapping his fingers around it.

He rotated the pyramid in his hands, his fingers dancing over the smooth surface to feel the delicate, etched lines marking its edges and faces, the slick bands of freshly dried paint. “What is this?” he asked, though a tiny part of him knew the answer. It was almost too much.

Hera released a deep breath she must have been holding. “It’s you.” Her gaze drifted from his face to the kalikori on her left, his right, and he followed with his own eyes, tracing the various shapes on it with the Force and feeling the weight of its history, of the many hands that had held it in the past, that had carved it and assembled it together, piece by piece, with love.

Kanan’s heart leapt at the confirmation.

“I don’t know how to ask this. There are words I’m supposed to say, things I’m supposed to do, but it’s been so long that I . . . I don’t really remember them, just a vague idea of what they are supposed to be.” She faced him again fully, and grasped both his hands in her own. “I spent years running away from both my past and my future. It’s hard to believe that your own future even exists when you’ve seen it torn apart before—when you’re afraid it might be torn away again.”

Her focus drifted back to the kalikori and trailed over two pieces in particular, one after the other, reminding Kanan that in all their years together there were still many things about her past she’d never told him.

And many things he’d never told her.

“Hera . . .”

“But then you almost lost me. And I almost lost you,” she continued hurriedly, tripping over her words. A surge of anxiety pulsed across their joined hands as she spoke, betraying just how difficult it was for her to get these words out.

“I can’t know how much more time we’ll have together. But you have always been there for me. And you—you are my family, Kanan. And I . . . I want us to always be family. Not just like we are, but . . . officially.” She nearly choked on the last word, and Kanan felt slightly guilty for relishing it.

I thought you’d never ask. You said some of that last night, you know—glad it wasn’t just the drugs talking. Are you sure they aren’t still in your system now? A half dozen sarcastic remarks to lighten the mood flitted through Kanan’s mind, and before his mind could catch up, the most brazen one slipped out. “You know, if I didn’t know any better, I would think you were asking if I’d marry you.”

Hera gaped for a moment, and then laughed. The tension that had surrounded them like a heavy curtain shattered into a thousand motes of dust and dissipated into the air.

“Yes, love. I guess I am.”

“Well, you’re not the first, but you’ll definitely be the last,” he joked.

“I can only imagine,” Hera replied, unamused.

“So, uh, what do we need to do?”

“There really isn’t . . . much. We attach your piece to mine together, then say a couple lines. But are you sure?” She paused and took a deep breath, her hand tightening around his own. “On Ryloth, when the pieces are joined, they can never be taken apart again.”

“Hera—” He sobered, and his tone became serious. “I knew I would follow you anywhere from almost the moment I met you.”

 Almost. Minus maybe a rotation or two.  

Hera nodded. Not for the first time, Kanan wished he could truly see Hera’s eyes again, to delve into their depths and read everything there she’d left unsaid, everything her fears still held her back from saying with her lips. But he would content himself with the feelings radiating from her, with all the words she had managed to get out that had lain bottled up inside for years on end.

When she found her voice again, she continued, this time their hands moving in unison to the kalikori to follow her direction, “Together we attach the charm to mine.” She matched the small pyramid to a rectangular piece on the left side with an unused link below it.

The piece snapped into place, their hands joined around it.

Something in the Force rippled, and he could almost hear a new future snap itself into place as a result.

“Then you say, ‘I join myself to you to be your family—”

“I join myself to you to be your family,” he echoed.

“As long as the world stands—”

“As long as the world stands.”

“May we never be broken.”

“May we never be broken,” he finished.

“Then I reply.” Her eyes bore into his own, the nervousness in her bearing fading quickly, replaced again with calm certainty. “I join you to myself to be my family. As long as the world stands, may we never be broken.”

Their fingers interlaced around the piece. A rich silence surrounded them, their own breathing the only sound in the cave, only the ancient glyphs on the walls as their witnesses. Wolves and loth cats and people of long ages past. How many years—millennia even—had they stood here watching? The permanence of stone in an impermanent world of burning grass.

Tentatively, Kanan reached his other hand up to Hera’s cheek, cradling it in his palm. She leaned into his touch and smiled against his hand. “I have one other thing I need to give you.”

He froze for a second, but then relaxed again as he remembered there was simply no way she could know—not yet.

“What now? A loth cat? A hot cup of caf? Or have you got something more energetic in mind?” he drawled.

Hera rolled her eyes. “Definitely better than a cat. You know how I feel about those. A cup of caf does sound heavenly, but we’re low on supplies. And as much as you might like something much more energetic, we’re in an open cave, so all I’ve got for you is this.”

In one fluid motion, Hera leaned forward and pressed her lips to his, the force of her passion slamming into him like a tidal wave. He had no choice but to surrender, to let himself be carried away by the current. For she herself was a force of nature, and years of experience had taught her well how to bring him to his knees.

At the moment quite literally.

Her kiss was as bold as her confessions had been tentative. No shred of hesitation remained in her actions, and he followed her lead, kissing her back with fervor and wrapping his arms around her to pull her closer—the need to feel her pressed against him, to absorb her into his very being, as innate as needing oxygen in his lungs. He sighed with relief at the feel of her warmth flush against him as they rose up on their knees together, their lips and tongues continuing their exquisite, choreographed dance.

Rapidly, the world around him dissipated, his usual awareness contracting with each passing moment. The rolling grasslands, the towering mountains, the distant voices, even the cave itself ceased to exist in his mind, until all that remained of the galaxy was Hera and himself.

Hera, kissing him.

Hera, running her fingers through his shorn hair.

Hera, joy and hope and desperation rolling off her in such turbulent waves that he didn’t need the Force to feel the maelstrom of her emotions.

Instinctively, he poured his own back in response—anguish at her potential loss, adoration for everything she was and everything he knew she would be, and most of all love—deep, abiding love for the woman who had believed in him when he had long lost any belief in himself.

She always had believed. She always had loved. He could see that now.

He could see. Images blazed through his mind, sharper and more vibrantly colored than any memory he could conjure, and dizzying in their array. Glimpses of the past.

A woman in a cloak on a darkened street with a voice that surpassed any music he had ever heard before.  

“Shh. Don’t tell anyone.”  

Hera running ahead of him, hand intertwined with his as she dragged him along, the bright green of her lekku flying behind her as he dashed to keep up.  

Their small, but growing, chosen family, struggling to survive in the midst of war. 

“I have you.”  

Glimpses of possible futures.

A spark of something new and unique in all the galaxy.  

“He has hair! And it’s green!”  

The face of a small boy who has filled all his recent meditations. Blue eyes always turned towards the stars.  

Hands clasped together across the cockpit of the Ghost as something enormous blazes in the sky.  

“The war is over, love. We've won,” she says. He wraps his arms around her.  

“She’s beautiful.”  

Tiny, soft green lekku with rich, brown braids woven carefully around them. A mind and heart connected to the universe.  

"No, little one, reach out with your feelings not your hands. Like this, see?”  

“I see, Daddy.”  

Three small stones, suspended in the air.  

“Ow!” Hera’s sudden exclamation, punctuated with a burst of pain, yanked him out of the Force and back into the present, and he broke the kiss and jerked his hand away, realizing too late that he’d pressed it tight to the back of her head to pull her closer without thinking.

Her own hand flew up to the angry bruise he knew lay concealed under her cap, and she winced.

“Sorry about that. I got carried away,” he said sheepishly. “You all right?”

Hera nodded, taking a minute to collect herself. Her breathing was ragged and heavy, cheeks flushed and warm. She pressed one more quick kiss to his lips, then let her forehead rest against his. “Guess we’d better find ourselves a private location again soon. After I’ve fully recovered from my concussion.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he teased.

“You’d better.”

“Hey, enough of that. Time to go.” Ezra’s voice and approach startled both of them.

“Ezra, you’re back!” Hera exclaimed.

“Yep, and you’ll never believe what I’ve brought. Come on, I want to show you.” He jerked his thumb towards the cave entrance behind him. He stood tall and radiated confidence, something of the boy he’d been before replaced overnight with the man he was rapidly becoming. A leader in his own right.

“Guess I’d better get everyone’s recon reports.” Hera sprang up, and Kanan followed suit. With one quick glance back at him and a small smile, she surrendered his hand and walked out of the cave. His own ached at the loss, but he could no sooner slow her down, concussion or no, than he could stop the wind itself. She held her head high, any weariness she must have still felt from the prior day’s events concealed, her indefatigable strength and hope carrying her onwards.

“Ezra.” Kanan placed his hand on the young man’s shoulder before he could exit likewise. “Thank you.”

Ezra nodded, his eyes acknowledging the wordless depths underlying his master’s thanks. Then he strode away.

For a moment, Kanan remained behind, letting the history of the place and the promise of the future, carved in wood and standing alone but not forgotten in the center of the space, permeate his being. The images he’d seen now floated just beyond his grasp, but the feelings they’d left remained, one burning brighter than all the rest—the feeling of something safely nestled away, a star in its nebula, minuscule, but exponentially dividing.

And that future was his to live.

Then Kanan walked out of the cave and into the breaking light of dawn.

[bedlamsbard]

Last December I posted several scenes from the Backbone ‘verse, set during the Felucia operation that’s mentioned several times in Backbone.  Here’s another one, set about a month after the previous one; this is six or seven months after Kanan came back fro the Crucible the first time and three and a half years before Backbone.

Previous: 1 | 2

About 5K below the break.  Note that there’s sex in these scenes!

Kanan woke up clear-headed for the first time in what felt like months.

He stayed where he was, his eyes closed, trying not to lose that clarity.  He could feel the sheets against his bare skin, the place where the pillow had wrinkled beneath his cheek, the ache in his bad shoulder that sometimes came with wet weather.  Somewhere in the distance Chopper roamed the otherwise empty corridors of the ship, grumbling to himself, and the Ghost’s air circulation clicked softly.  The room still smelled a little of wet wool and mud, omnipresent in this season on Felucia and impossible to eradicate as long as they remained on the planet.

He was achingly aware of Hera in bed beside him, the way the mattress dipped under her slighter weight, the familiar scent of her skin, the warmth of her body even through the space between them, the steady sound of her breath.  Kanan traced the image of her in his mind, the way he had done thousands of times at the Crucible or in the field, then turned his head and opened his eyes, because this time she would be there.

She was.  She was lying on her side facing him, her features made soft by sleep.  Kanan put his hand out but didn’t touch her, letting his fingers follow the empty air a bare inch over her shoulder, down the line of her arm.  He was achingly aware of exactly how it would feel, but drew his hand back anyway, not wanting to wake her.

He shifted over onto his back instead.  He could sense the encampment around them in the Force, could have picked out each stormtrooper and Imperial officer in the Force if need be, but he didn’t need to now, nor did he want to.  He had been made to before in training, but there was no one here now who would think to give him that order.

It was early yet, dawn not yet pricking the horizon – he could feel that in the Force too, this part of the planet still largely in slumber.  Largely.  Not entirely.

Kanan turned his head to see Hera blinking sleepily at him.  She smiled when she saw him looking at her and he returned it, then leaned in to kiss her, soft and closed-mouthed.

“Hi,” she murmured against his lips.

“Hi yourself,” he whispered back. “Sleep well?”

She nodded, reaching out to touch his arm, her fingers light and a little wary.  This time Kanan leaned into her hand, feeling her smile against his mouth before he kissed her again. He didn’t touch her otherwise, but he was achingly aware of the warmth of her body, of the space between them – how easy it would be to breach that space.

“Good morning,” Hera said as they drew back for breath.

Kanan tipped his forehead down against hers, unable to keep from smiling and unwilling to try.  Hera trailed her fingers down his arm, her smile growing as he didn’t pull away, and wriggled just a little – enough to make him aware of the curve of breast and hip and lekku, if he hadn’t been already.

He touched her for the first time, sliding a hand over her hip, stroking his thumb over the stretch of bare skin between her tank top and her underwear.  Hera drew in her breath and then exhaled; they were so close together he could feel it.

“Can I?” she whispered, waiting for him to nod before she touched him.  She put an arm around his shoulders to pull him close and slid her other hand up beneath his shirt, her fingers skating over his scars without lingering.

Her hands.  Her breath.  Her body.  Her bed.

Kanan kissed her again, deeper this time, Hera opening her mouth to the kiss.  He felt her shift to press her bare foot against his ankle and when he didn’t protest slid it up until she hook it over his calf, drawing him even closer to her.

“I love you,” she said against his mouth.

“I love you too,” Kanan murmured back.  He moved his lips lower, skating along the delicate line of her jaw and then, as she let her head fall back, the curve of her throat.  He could feel the delicate flutter of her pulse, knew for an instant how easy it would be to snuff out, and shoved the thought aside with an act of will that left him shuddering, face pressed against her shoulder as he got his breath back.

“Love?” Hera asked, her voice low.  She touched his hair, her touch light and soothing. “Do you need to stop?”

“No,” Kanan said, but it took him a moment.  He kissed her collarbone against to make up for it, concentrating on her, on the warmth of her body and smooth silk of her skin, on the way her breath hitched as he worked his way downwards with his mouth.

Hera shifted onto her back, tugging him along with her to settle between her thighs.  Kanan let his breath out, then kissed the slope of her breast, just above the line of her top.  He mouthed at her through the thin fabric, scraping his teeth over her nipple to make her gasp, her fingers clutching at hair that was still too short to grasp.  Kanan grinned and repeated it on her other breast, then pressed a kiss to the space between them and continued kissing his way down her belly, pushing her shirt up as he did.

Hera was breathing hard, her hands still on his head – not holding him in place, but there, a pressure Kanan found comforting rather than oppressive.  As he touched his lips to the skin just over the band of her underwear he looked up at her.

“Yes,” Hera said, raising her head so that she could see him. “Yes, Kanan, yes.”  She reached down so that she could help him pull her underwear off, wriggling out of it and nearly kicking him in the head as she did so.

Kanan huffed out laughter against the curve of her hip and she shoved gently at his head, then caught her breath as he bit her.  It was light, his teeth barely catching on her skin, but she shuddered, her delight a flurry in the Force.  Kanan nuzzled his way lower, breathing in the familiar scent of her, smiling as she slung one leg over his shoulders.

Her hips bucked up as he mouthed at her, gasping, “Kanan –” into the still air of her cabin.  He rubbed his thumbs over her hips, not holding her in place, just letting her know that he was listening, and did it again.

Hera cried out, her heel digging into his back as she fisted her hands in the sheets.  Kanan felt her pleasure reverberate through the Force, utterly unexpected; he hadn’t slept with anyone he cared for since he had been dragged kicking and screaming back into the Force.  It was easy to concentrate on that, on her – the taste of her, the way she felt, the sounds she was making, the way she kept trying to grab at his hair, her fingers skating off the short brush that had grown back.

“Love you,” she was saying, “love you, Kanan, I love you, Kanan, Kanan –”

Her thighs clamped down on either side of his head as she came, her back arching up off the bed as she clawed at the sheets.  Kanan caught his breath as it flooded the Force, dizzy with her, with her delight; it was more intoxicating than any liquor.  As Hera relaxed and released him he rested his head against her thigh, listening to her pulse as he breathed in the scent of her.

She touched his hair lightly, smoothing over the curve of his skull. “Come here,” she whispered. “Kanan, please – come up here.”

He raised his head to smile at her, but her expression was serious.  It was an easy request to acquiesce to, and when he reached her, Hera wrapped her arms around him, pressing a hungry kiss to his mouth.

“I love you,” she said between kisses. “So much –”

She moved one hand; distracted by her mouth, Kanan couldn’t think where until he felt her long fingers pressing against him through his underwear.  He drew in a sharp breath.

Hera met his gaze, her expression a little uncertain.

“I haven’t done this in a while,” Kanan said hesitantly.

“Neither have I,” Hera said. She smiled, shifting a little to press the inside of one thigh against his hip.  They were so close together that he could feel the heat of her, but she didn’t move her hand, waiting for him to respond.  “I think we can figure it out.”

Kanan huffed out laughter that made her grin back at him. “If we can’t we might have a problem.”

“More than one.”  Hera leaned up to kiss him again, tugging insistently at the back of his shirt.  Kanan helped her pull it off over his head, unable to help the way he tensed as her gaze went to the scars on his chest and stomach.

He sat back on his heels as Hera pushed herself upright, watching her warily.  But she smiled at him again, leaning forward to kiss the lightsaber scar on the edge of his collarbone, her fingers tracing the claw marks that tore across his ribcage.

“That must have hurt,” she murmured.

“Yeah.”

She followed the scars down to where they vanished beneath the band of his underwear, then glanced up at him.  He nodded, and Hera hooked her fingers into his underwear, pulling it down.  She faltered for an instant when she saw the scar on his thigh, but didn’t say anything, just kept going.  Kanan kicked it aside when he could, trying to calm his quick, nervous breath.

“Tell me if you need to stop,” Hera murmured.

“It’s all right,” Kanan said.  He reached for her, then hesitated, feeling absurdly shy.

Hera smiled at him, then reached down and pulled her shirt off over her head, taking a moment to free her lekku when they got caught in the collar.  She set it aside and turned back to him, heat flushing her cheeks.

“You’re beautiful,” Kanan said quietly.

“So are you.”  She looked up at him through her lashes, then took his hand.  She guided it to her breast, her gaze fixed on his.

Kanan leaned in to kiss her again.  She put an arm around his neck, drawing him close, and he rested his other hand on the curve of her waist.

He had dreamed about this, in the black pit of the Crucible and in the field with the Hunter, on narrow bunks on starships or sleeping out beneath the open sky.  He had dreamed about Hera in his arms, in his bed, about the sweetness of her mouth and the warmth of her body, of the sounds she made when he was inside her and her sheer delight when she took him.  More than half the time he had woken from those dreams gasping, possessed of the cold terror that the Hunter had seen them, that he knew where Kanan fled in the prison of his own mind.

Not here, he thought.  Not again.  There was no one else in their bed except the two of them.

He drew Hera into his lap, her smooth skin warm under his hands.  She came eagerly, her lips curved into a smile against his mouth before he kissed her.  Kanan could feel the heat of her, could smell her arousal – could sense her eagerness and her desire and her hope in the Force, as well as a thread of fear that something would go wrong.  So many things had.

“I love you,” he told her, and felt her smile widen.

“I love you too,” she breathed.

Kanan laid himself open to the moment, to this moment.  Whatever had happened or would happen in the future was irrelevant; he was here now – they were here now – and that was what mattered.

“All right?” Hera murmured; she must have felt him hesitate.

“Yeah,” Kanan said, and kissed her again. “All right.  Better than all right.”

*

Hera walked into the tent for the morning briefing hoping that it wasn’t blindingly obvious that she had spent the past few hours having sex for the first time in a year and a half. A lot of sex.  The fact that she was on her feet at all felt like a minor miracle at the moment; her legs were like jelly.

She accepted a cup of caf from a protocol droid, then found a chair on the end of a row near the back and collapsed gratefully into the one next to it; she left the end chair for Kanan, who had stayed behind on the Ghost to do his daily check-in with the Crucible.  He always liked having a clear line of escape and it wasn’t like anyone except her wanted to sit next to him anyway.

She was early; the other officers and ISB agents were still filtering into the big tent, along with a scattering of astromech and protocol droids, Chopper not among them since he had, as he liked to put it, “better things to do.”  That and he had been banned from the briefings unless specially requested because Commander Betzios had had a run-in with him back on Naboo.

Hera tuned them all out, which wasn’t difficult; all she could think about was Kanan’s mouth and Kanan’s hands and Kanan’s body –

She truly hadn’t been certain that he would ever be able to touch her again.

She was sitting there replaying the morning’s events and ignoring her cooling cup of caf when someone dropped into the empty chair beside her.  Hera glanced up, starting to smile, then realized it was Markus Anjali instead of Kanan and just stared at him.

Oblivious, he said, “Hey, Hera.”

“Hello, Markus,” she said, because some response seemed to be expected.

“You seem…different,” he observed. “Happier.  Did something happen?”

“What?”

“You keep smiling.” He looked at her hopefully.  “And your headtails are, uh, bouncier than usual.”

Hera’s hand flew to her lekku, which she had as usual wrapped up in crisscrossing strips of gray leather.  Damn her lekku; she knew Markus couldn’t read them the way another Twi’lek could, but evidently he didn’t have to.

“I’m fine,” she said. Movement near the entrance caught her attention, the flare of black leather rather than the more conservative motion of ISB field grays or stormtrooper armor, and Hera looked up to see Kanan come in.  His gaze went directly to Hera without having to scan over the rest of the crowded tent; he didn’t smile, but there was the suggestion of it around his mouth before he turned towards the command staff.  They looked a little alarmed at his approach; none of them actually enjoyed interacting with him and preferred to use Hera as an intermediary instead.

Markus grabbed her arm. “Mother of Moons, Hera,” he said. “You actually fucked him?”

“Excuse me?” Hera snapped, trying to pull her arm free, but Markus was holding on too tightly for that.

“That thing is barely human!”

Hera slapped him.

The crack of her palm hitting his face cut cleanly through the murmur of conversation in the tent. Hera wrenched herself free and jerked to her feet, knocking over both her chair and her mug of caf.  Markus was on his feet too, reaching for her again and saying, “Hera –”

He stopped abruptly.

There was a sudden sense of restrained violence in the air, an overt threat so strong that Hera’s lekku tightened and her fingers twitched for her blaster.  Markus had gone absolutely still, his whole body tensed like a tandreed caught in the headlamps of a speeder; he was staring over Hera’s shoulder with the expression of a man seeing the angel of death approaching.

Hera turned and saw Kanan.

He hadn’t moved, hadn’t even reached for his lightsaber, but he was watching them both with the dark, unreadable eyes of a predator.  Commander Betzios, beside him, had her attention on him, not on them.  Her hand was on her blaster.

His voice only a little higher pitched than usual, Agent Das said, “Everything all right, Agent Syndulla, Agent Anjali?”

“Everything is fine,” Hera bit off. “We were just talking about the results of the latest smashball game.”

“Perhaps keep your sport discussions somewhat less heated in the future,” Agent Das said.  From his expression, he knew that whatever they had been talking about hadn’t been sports.

“I’ll keep that in mind, sir,” Hera said.  She expected the tension in the tent to dissipate after that, but instead it just got worse, everyone still staring alternately between her and the front of the room.

Kanan was still watching her, his attention steady.  Waiting, Hera realized, for her cue either to stand down and return to whatever he had been doing before, or to murder Markus Anjali out of hand and then return to whatever he had been doing before.  And everyone in the tent knew it.

Hera knew suddenly that if she told him to, by word or gesture, Kanan would kill Markus without so much as an instant’s hesitation and sleep soundly through the night – or at least as soundly as he ever did.

She caught his eye and shook her head a little.  His only response was to blink once in acknowledgment, but Hera felt the air of tension in the tent dissipate somewhat; Markus let out an audible sigh of relief.  His voice barely more than a whisper, he said, “You see what I mean?”

Hera snorted, retrieved her fallen caf cup, and left the row.  She passed the mug off to a protocol droid and found another seat on the opposite side of the tent; the handful of officers already in the vicinity got up and moved away, leaving Hera sitting alone with a circle of empty chairs around her.  She folded her hands in her lap, shaking with fury; she wasn’t certain if she was angrier at herself or Markus or even Kanan, for making her stand out like that.

Kanan eventually finished what he was saying to the commanders and came over to her, though he hesitated for an instant before Hera gestured at the seat beside her.  He sat down, smoothing his tabards out with careful, nervous motions, and slid a glance sideways at her.

Hera relented enough to say, low-voiced, “I’m all right.  I overreacted.”  So did you, she thought, but didn’t say it – and the truth was that Kanan hadn’t done anything except stand there.  He hadn’t threatened Markus, not really, even if everyone in the tent was aware that that was had happened.  There was nothing anyone could prove.

He nodded solemnly, his eyes still worried.  Hera glanced around to make sure that no one was watching them and reached for his hand, touching her fingers briefly to his.  “I can handle myself,” she said.

Kanan nodded again, his head tilting in something that Hera had learned meant “apology.”

“Would you have done it?” she had to ask him, even though she wasn’t certain she wanted to know the answer.  Even though she was fairly certain she did know the answer.

He nodded.

“He’s an Imperial officer!” Hera hissed. “In a room full of Imperial officers!”

His voice soft, Kanan said, “It wouldn’t be my first time.”

Hera stared at him, appalled.  Kanan glanced aside.

She was saved from having to come up with a response by the beginning of the briefing.  It turned out that the information Kanan had relayed to the commanders had come from another Inquisitor on their own assignment, revealing that Count Ghoshal’s conspiracy went deeper than they had previously believed. That meant complications and reassignments and some strategic upbraiding of the people who hadn’t found this out earlier.  It was the sort of detail that should have been uncovered by the ISB, not the Inquisition.

When they had finished, Kanan went to speak to the commanders again.  Hera hesitated, but Agent Das made a gesture of dismissal in her direction and she followed the rest of the officers outside into the thin pale light that broke through the cloud cover.  Kanan would come find her when he was done.

“Hera –”

It was Markus, which as far as Hera was concerned showed that his survival instinct wasn’t good enough for fieldwork.  His skin was too dark to show whether Hera’s hand had left a mark on his face, but as she turned towards him he held his hands up and said, “I just want to talk.”

“I don’t,” Hera said. She made to walk away, but Markus stepped quickly in front of her.  He didn’t try to grab her this time, she noticed.  “What?”

“I’m worried about you,” he said.  “We all are – Leshan and me and Cado, whenever he gets back from the capital. You –”

“Why?” Hera demanded, baffled.

He looked surprised. “We’re your friends.”

Hera stared at him. “What?”

Markus squinted at her, apparently uncertain whether or not she was serious, then decided to ignore her outburst.  “Listen, Hera,” he said.  “I know you and Jarrus used to have a thing –”

“‘A thing’?” Hera repeated disbelievingly.

“– but that was a long time ago.”  

“It was last year.”

He looked at her earnestly. “Cado’s worked with this Inquisitor before, and he says –”

“Cado’s what?”

Since they had arrived, Hera had only seen Cado San Mara briefly; he had almost immediately been sent back out on assignment to Felucia’s capital, where he was lurking around Count Ghoshal’s residence and pretending to romance the Countess.  As far as Hera knew, he hadn’t even seen Kanan in the short time he had been in the Imperial camp.

“Remember when Cado went on that op last year, the one he didn’t like?”

“No.”  Hera didn’t remember most of the year she had spent at HQ, presumably due to the fact that it had been mindnumbingly boring and she had been so miserable she had barely been aware of that, let alone anything else around her.  She wasn’t about to admit that to Markus, though.

“Well, there were Inquisitors on that op – two of them, a human and an alien, one of those big gray ones with the lines –”

“A Pau’an.”  Hera looked away, wondering if he was getting at something; there were sure to be other humans in the Inquisition besides Kanan. Then she blinked and looked back at Markus, remembering who it was that had taken Kanan away on Naboo.  “A Pau’an?”

After this morning, Hera was intimately aware of all Kanan’s new scars, some of which were – very characteristic of certain species.  She wasn’t about to ask how he had acquired them.

Markus lifted a shoulder in a shrug.  “You know all these aliens, who can tell.”

“It isn’t actually that difficult.”

He ignored her.  “Cado won’t talk about it much, but he said it was bad.  Unnatural.”

“Cado thinks that everything without a rational scientific explanation unilaterally accepted by the faculties of at least three universities is unnatural,” Hera said wearily. She liked Cado a great deal – for one thing, he had never propositioned her, since he preferred men – but he did have his blind spots.  They usually involved a lack of empirical data and double-blind reviews.

“That’s not the kind of unnatural he meant.”  Markus glanced back in the direction of the tent they had just left, adding grimly, “And I can’t say I disagree with him.”

Hera crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re not exactly being convincing, Markus, even if I wanted to be convinced.  Which I don’t.”

“Hera –”

“Even if Cado did work with Kanan, why wouldn’t he have told me about it?  There are a lot of Inquisitors.  Cado’s never met Kanan.  It’s not like he would recognize.”

“You think I’m lying?”

“I think you’d tell me anything if you think it would work,” Hera said.  She took her head.  “Markus…I don’t care.  Whatever you think – about him, about me for wanting to be with him – I don’t care.  I love him.  I’ve loved him since I was eighteen.  I don’t care what you or Cado or Leshan or anyone else here thinks about that.”

Markus’s brow knit.  “Hera, you don’t have to – you have options, you know.”

“I don’t want options,” Hera said.  “I want him.”

A muscle in his jaw jumped. He put his hand out, fingers tracing up the line of Hera’s arm from elbow to shoulder.  “He doesn’t deserve you.  Whatever is left of him that is a he, and not an it –”

“Take your hand off me right now,” Hera said, low-voiced.  “Or you’re going to get slapped again, and I don’t care if I go up on charges for it.”

Markus hesitated, then let his hand drop.  “Hera –”

She saw Kanan emerge from the tent, already looking around for her.  He frowned when he saw Markus with her, but didn’t come over, just stepped to the side so that he didn’t block the entrance and waited for her.

“What I do or don’t do is none of your business, Markus,” Hera said.  “Not now, not ever.”  She clenched her jaw, then added, “And before you say someone’s not human as an insult, you should probably remember who you’re talking to.”

He looked startled. “What?”

Hera stripped one of her gloves off and held her bare palm up to him so that he could see the green skin.

“I – that’s completely different!  I mean, you’re practically human, you’re not like other aliens.”

“I’m practically human?” Hera spat. “That’s your idea of a compliment?”

“It is a compliment!”

Hera stared at him, open-mouthed, then, because she couldn’t think of any response to that, turned and walked away.

“Hera!” Markus called after her, but she didn’t look back.

Kanan stepped towards her as she approached, his eyebrows arching.  Hera tipped her head in the direction of the Ghost and he fell into step beside her, automatically pacing his long legs to her shorter ones.

“Please tell me we have an assignment that’s going to take us out of here for a few days,” Hera said.  Her fingers were shaking as she pulled her glove back on and did up the snap on the wrist.

He shook his head, expression apologetic.

“A few hours?”

This time he nodded, and Hera felt some of the tension release from her shoulders.  “I’m all right,” she added to the question in his eyes. “I’m just angry.  And I love you.”

His eyebrows shot up.

“I’m not angry about that,” Hera said.  She looked up with gratitude as they approached the Ghost and the ramp came down, Chopper perched in the entrance screeching angrily about how they had been gone forever and it was boring in here.

“You could socialize, you know,” Hera told him, which got her a stream of angry invective in response.  He rolled away without waiting for her reply.

Hera hit the control to raise the ramp; as soon as it closed, she put her arms around Kanan’s neck and pulled him down into a kiss.  A moment later she realized that that might not have been the wisest thing to do, but he was already kissing her back, his hands bracing her waist.

“I love you,” Hera repeated when she drew back to catch her breath.

He dipped his head to kiss her again, soft; Hera felt him mouth the words I love you too against her lips.  She had the feeling that having to have an extended conversation with the commanders had probably exhausted his ability to speak for the foreseeable future.  He was normally all right when it came to the field, or at least Hera hadn’t seen him trip up yet, but it told on him afterwards.

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask if what Markus had said about Cado’s assignment last year was true, but she wasn’t sure that she really wanted the answer.  And – she didn’t want him to backslide, which she knew was a possibility when it came to talking about his time at the Crucible.

She kissed him again, quick, then held out her datapad to him.  “Where are we going?  Can you give me the coordinates?”

He nodded and took the datapad from her, punching the numbers in before following her up the ladder to the cockpit.  As Hera dropped into the pilot’s seat and checked the coordinates against the ship’s maps of the planet, she said, “Do you think I’m practically human?”

Kanan blinked.  His voice rusty and a little pained-sounding, he said, “What does that even mean?”

“According to Markus Anjali, it’s a compliment.”  She punched the coordinates in with more vigor than necessary.  What she didn’t want to say was that a few years ago, it would have been a compliment.

“Hera,” Kanan said carefully.  He was hesitating around the words, but Hera could tell it was because it hurt for him to speak, not anything else.  “I have never wanted you to be anything but what you are, and what you are is perfect. You’re not practically anything. You’re wholly yourself.”

Hera smiled. “You’re just trying to get into my pants.”

His mouth twitched. “Is it working?”

She snuck a glance out the viewport to see if anyone was watching them, then leaned over to kiss him quickly, curving her palm against his cheek. “We’ll find out tonight, love.”

He grinned, and kissed her again, quick.

Hera sat back in her chair, warming up the Ghost’s engines. “For now,” she said, “let’s get out of here.”

[gkingoffez]

The Sun Comes Shining In My Eyes

Fandom: Star Wars Rebels

Words: 1,858

Summary: Kanan asks Ezra to describe the sunset to him. It doesn’t quite work out that way.

AO3 | FFN.Net

The sun was setting over Chopper Base. Kanan knew this not because he could see it, but because a dusk chill was starting to creep under his clothes and he could feel the long warm dying fingers of the sun sliding down his mask-less face. He also knew it because Ezra was standing at his shoulder, trying and failing horribly to describe it to him.

“Well really, it’s all just a whole lot of orange,” Ezra was saying, and Kanan could sense his arms flailing about as if to punctuate his words, the effect, of course, entirely lost on Kanan. “Well, orange and yellows and pinks, but there’s also a bit of blue and purpley stuff in there as well. And it’s all kind of… smushed in together, really, bluer colours on top and orangey ones on the bottom. What’s that word? When more than one colour all blends in together in a line?”

“An ombré?” Kanan supplied helpfully, raising one eyebrow.

“Yeah, it’s all an omber thing. Ombré? Ombré’s everywhere you look, but the colours are all soft and making everything else like the sand and the rocks look like they’re glowing. It’s putting all those big plant things in shadow and makes them look bigger and darker and more ominous than they actually are. And that other planet’s up there as well, in the blue bit. All blue and shadowy and… big? Is this any good at all?”

“I would say no, but I don’t want to hurt your feelings,” Kanan replied, turning to grin and bump his shoulder playfully against Ezra’s.

Kanan expected a snarky reply, but instead Ezra sighed, long, frustrated and tired. His next words were slightly muffled, as though he’d scrubbed a hand down his face and kept it there.

“I’m terrible at this. You should have asked Sabine to do it, she’s the artist. She could probably use all those fancy art words and describe it so good you’d get the perfect image of it all in your head. I’m useless.”

There was a note of bitterness in Ezra’s voice that Kanan recognised immediately. How often over the years had he felt like he wasn’t enough, not strong or talented enough to help someone he cared about, even for the smaller things like making Hera the perfect cup of caff on a rough day or describing a simple sunset to someone who couldn’t see it.

Ezra sighed again. “It’s just so beautiful, Kanan, all the colours are amazing. I wish you could see what I’m seeing,” Ezra said with such longing in his voice it made Kanan’s heart ache.

Besides the shining light of the holocrons, Kanan hadn’t seen anything other than impenetrable darkness since he’d lost his sight. He’d made peace with it some time ago and had even found a new and different sight in the Force, but there were occasionally moments he wished he could experience through his own eyes.

Today, the sunset had become one of those moments- he’d found himself earlier that day wistfully regretting the many setting suns that had gone by without proper appreciation in his life before Malachor. That was why he’d dragged Ezra along with him to Zeb’s hangout spot (apparently the best place to watch it on the base, or so Zeb bragged), and why they now stood side-by-side in the dying light. Perhaps he could have asked Sabine to accompany him, and maybe he would do just that another day to get her more artistic perspective, but for that evening he had wanted nothing more than to hear Ezra’s view.

Kanan reached out and gripped onto his padawan’s shoulder. “Okay. How about we come at this from a different angle- forget how it looks. How about you tell me how it feels.”

Ezra shifted under his hand, confused.

“Feels?”

“How does the sunset make you feel? When you look at it, what emotions does it evoke?” asked Kanan. “Tell me what you feel… I want to know,” he added softly.

He felt Ezra’s gaze on him for an extended moment, before it shifted back frontwards. Kanan kept his own sightless stare firmly on where he knew Ezra’s face to be.

“It feels… um. Warm? Comforting? But also a little cold, like the warm is being taken away? I mean, it is, but... no, that’s stupid.”

Ezra paused there, clearing his throat, and Kanan knew he was frowning from the tension in his shoulders. The kid stayed silent for long while, long enough that Kanan started to feel the need to try and break the awkwardness that had settled between them.

However, Ezra beat him to the punch.

“It feels different than on Lothal. The sun is warmer here, and there are probably different things in the atmosphere, and obviously there’s so much less green in the landscape. But it’s still mostly the same, the same colours, anyway. A lot of things are different here, but the oxygen is breathable and I have you guys here with me so it’s not bad-different. The sunset feels… well, it does feel comforting to watch. It’s soft and bright and hopeful, and- I feel hopeful when I look at it.”

Ezra drew in a deep breath and noisily released it before continuing.

“It’s like- Kanan, there are so many terrible things out there in the galaxy that want to kill us, but here we are now watching the sun go down and it’s so beautiful. It makes me feel peaceful, it reminds me that beautiful things still exist in the galaxy, natural things that the Empire can never destroy because it’s impossible. That’s a good thing to know, that not even the Emperor himself can stop a sunset being beautiful.”

Kanan found himself smiling, a swell of pride burgeoning in his chest.

Ezra broke out his reverie with a shake of his head, and barked out a laugh. “Or maybe I’m looking too deep into it. I mean, it is just a sunset. They happen every day on nearly every planet in the galaxy.”

Kanan knitted his eyebrows together and turned his head away. Behind his eyes, there was nothing but blackness. The sun could be dancing a cantina dance and drunkenly sauntering towards the horizon for all he knew. It was a big galaxy, who’s to say that couldn’t happen.

“Not for me,” he whispered.

There was a heavy silence. He couldn’t tell what Ezra was thinking, but he knew his words had upset him.

Ezra’s next words were tentative.

“Do… do you want me to show you how it makes me feel?  Might be better than me trying to explain it with words, anyway. You don’t have to say yes if you don’t want to.” He laughed awkwardly. “Actually, you know what, forget I said anything, never mind. It’s stupid.”

Kanan considered the offer, reaching up to stroke at his beard. It was a kind proposition to be sure. Immediately, he thought of turning it down. There was no point in an exercise where he would only feel envious that he couldn’t experience a feeling for himself, and besides, it wasn’t fair for him to try and live vicariously through Ezra.

But that other part of Kanan, the part that wistfully missed sunsets, rainbows and Hera Syndulla (also known as The Most Beautiful Sights In The Entire Galaxy) ached for it with all the fierceness of an exploding supernova.

The second part won out, and he sighed, nodding. “Actually, I’d like that very much, Ezra. But only as a one-time deal, there’s no point in making it a habit. That wouldn’t be good for either of us.”

Kanan felt a hand touch his shoulder and then an arm reach around his back and grip onto his waist. He obliged by lifting his own arm up and completely wrapping it around Ezra’s shoulders, locking their sides together, before allowing his padawan to direct both their attentions to the space in front of them.

“Open yourself to the Force,” Kanan instructed. ”We are all connected by it, you and I most especially. Find me in the waves of energy that surrounds us, and forge the connection so I can see what you feel. You’re good at connection, Ezra, I know you can do it.” Kanan wasn’t exactly sure when this had turned into a lesson.

The warmth was starting to fade with earnest from the air, the sunset probably fading with it. Ezra nodded in understanding and began slowing down his breaths to a meditative pattern. Kanan mirrored him, closing his eyelids out of habit more than anything else.

They stood there breathing in unison for a short while.

At first the feeling was slight, approaching timidly through the ebb and flow of the Force, and Kanan opened himself up to its embrace eagerly. Suddenly, he was swept up in a tide of feeling; it was warm and tingly, and safe. Hopeful, like Ezra had said, and awash with the feelings of soft bright colours- blues and oranges, pinks and purples. Kanan felt almost overwhelmed by how beautiful the feeling was. He missed sunsets like a long lost old friend. He missed a lot of things he’d never be able to see again.

As quickly as it had come, Ezra’s sunset receded back into the folds of the Force, and Kanan was almost surprised to find himself back on Atollon, Ezra on his side and Zeb’s hideout of stacked crates and chairs behind him.

“Kanan? Kanan, is that okay, was that too much?” Ezra asked, voice thick and concerned.

Kanan chuckled, feeling warm all over despite the bite of cold in the air. “No, it’s fine,” he said breathily, “Ezra, thank you for that.”

“You’re welcome.”

Ezra sniffled quietly, and Kanan felt him furtively try to reach for his face. He probably thought he was being sneaky about it, but Kanan knew without needing to see that Ezra was crying. He gave the boy’s shoulder a comforting squeeze.

“It’s okay. You’re right, you know. The Empire will never be able to take things like this from us. They can’t take our hope, no matter what they do.”

Kanan turned towards and reached around with his spare hand to ruffle at Ezra’s short, slicked back hair, before gently cupping the boy’s cheek. He used his thumb to wipe a tear away. Ezra ducked his head, probably in embarrassment, but didn’t push away Kanan’s hand by any means.

They both turned back frontwards and stood there for a few minutes, until Kanan could feel the last rays of sunlight travelling down his legs towards his toes. The approaching night time had most likely already dulled the bright hues of the sunset, so Kanan shifted his attention to merely enjoying half-hug that neither Ezra nor he had yet broken off from.

The sun must have been gone completely over the horizon by the time Ezra suggested they head back. Kanan didn’t see it, but he felt it in the chill in the air and heard it in the chattering of Ezra’s teeth.

“Thank you,” he said again as they headed back. He imagined Ezra grinning in response.

So this was intended as both a soothing balm for that last fic I published and as something nice because I don’t know about ya’ll but I’m really sad Rebels is ending.

This started with just wanting to have Kanan wipe away Ezra’s tears, and for some reason it became beautiful fluff instead of angst like all the others????

(An alternate title for this fic is ‘Fucking Nerds Watch The Sunset And Cry Like Losers And It’s Really Cliché’.)

[nichtaufgewacht]

Wir sind die Könige, 11.

Without his shirt on, Richard was sitting on a chair at the kitchen table, in his loft. With his left hand, he was peacefully smoking a cigarette. Joakim was sitting on Richard’s right, stitching up the bad cut that the god of war had gained during the fight with the first Titan. His fingers held the needle in his thumb and index finger, going in and out of Richard’s flesh. From time to time, Richard hissed; yet, Joakim was really trying his best to be as gentle as he could.

“How are the burns on your chest going?” Joakim asked, furrowing his brows as he kept on sticking the wound up. Richard let out a cloud of smoke, and looked down at the bandages around his sides. He was still feeling the burn, but it had started to fade out. He was used to wounds like that, having taken part in every war in which humanity had decided to concentrate on.

“Thought it would have been worse.” Richard then hinted at the bad bruise under Joakim’s eye. “Who caused that?” Joakim snorted, and grabbed a paper tissue from the table, to dry some of the blood that had come out from the wound.

“Don’t know.” Joakim added. “Who cares?” Richard chuckled.

“Women around the world?” he replied. “Your cute little Swedish face, all bruised.” Joakim voluntarily pushed the needle a bit harder into Richard’s skin. He didn’t even flinch.

“Women…” Joakim replied, with a sigh. “You know the touring life. Stuck in a bus with at least fifteen other men, you soon forget what a woman even looks like.” Richard and the younger man shared a laugh. They both knew what was like to be on tour all the time, traveling from town to town, flying overseas and at times even forgetting what was like to have family and friends.

In that moment, Paul had arrived in the open kitchen. He had lazily opened the fridge, to take a bottle of fresh water. In one of his hands, he was holding what looked like a small, round object. After sitting down next to Richard, he took a sip from the bottle of water, and placed the object next to his bandmate.

“What’s that?” Richard asked, ending his cigarette and carefully putting it off in the ashtray on the table.

“Something I want to lend you.” Paul replied, as he opened the mirror and left it on the table. Joakim got curious as well, and with a corner of his eye managed to keep an eye on what was going on. Richard took it in his hands, and studied it. It looked like a normal, portable mirror. The ones that women usually carry with them in their purse.

“So?” Richard said.

“This is, of course, no regular mirror.” Paul explained, almost as if he expected Richard to find that out on his own. “It’s a magic object. Till’s wedding present to me and my wife.” Richard hissed as the needle got into his flesh once again. He heard Joakim whisper a ‘sorry’. “You look at it…and it shows you what the people you love the most in the world are doing. You don’t have to say anything, because it understands it on his own.” Paul took the mirror in his hands, and stared at it for a few seconds. Then, Richard heard the laughter of Paul’s kids and wife, as they were sitting a table having lunch. Paul smiled at the sight, and Richard felt genuinely happy for him.

“Why are you giving it to me then?” Richard asked, putting down the finished cigarette in the ashtray. Paul chuckled, and lent the mirror to him, putting it in Richard’s hand and gently closing his fingers around it.

“Because I know you, and I know how badly you’d like to see Aph.” at these words, Richard tried to hold Paul’s gaze. Then, his eyes traveled to his feet, recognizing how Paul was right. Paul stood up, and started walking out of the kitchen. “You can give it back to me once we have resolved this matter with Hera. And by the way, father hasn’t gained his powers back.” Richard held onto the mirror for a second, as Joakim put the last stitch in his shoulder. The younger man started tidying up all the things on the table, and then stood up to go wash away the blood from his hands in the kitchen sink. Paul gave a pat on Richard’s shoulder, sending him one of his comforting smiles. Then, he left him and Joakim alone again, after saying that he would’ve gone out to grab something to eat for the group.

“Of course he hasn’t gained his powers back.” Richard said, gravely, to himself. “He helped, but it seemed like he was doing it because he had to. And you saved his life, so I guess you should possess the powers of Zeus, now.” Joakim scoffed, and grabbed a towel nearby to dry himself. He leant against the kitchen, shaking his head.

“Joakim Broden, father of the gods.” Joakim said, jokingly. “No, it’s not for me.” he then went closer to Richard, sitting down in front of him. “Aren’t you curious to try the mirror? I’d be.” Richard took the mirror in his hands. He knew he wanted to see Aph, desperately. He wanted to know how she was doing, if she was okay, if her human life kept going on even if she couldn’t remember that she was a goddess. His thumb opened the mirror. He looked at his face, bruised above the eyebrow, soot still around in various parts of his face. Then, the mirror flashed a blue-ish light, and an image appeared. Joakim approached Richard again, and with a hand on his shoulder he looked down at the mirror, curiously.

Richard felt his eyes water up. There she was: Aphrodite. She sat on the couch, in her New York apartment. Ares, her Rottweiler, was peacefully sitting at her feet, snoring. Aph was reading a book, as the light of day filtered through the big windows. Her face was calm, the short blonde hair slightly ruffled up on her head. Richard smiled at the sight, feeling a delightful warmth inside his heart.

“Is that…” Joakim said. Richard nodded.

“Aph.” he replied. “I’d have liked you to meet her, back in the day. She was…she is, a remarkable being.” Joakim looked down at the mirror, investigating the girl’s features. “It’s good that the first time you meet her happens through a mirror.” Joakim lifted one of his eyebrows.

“Why?”

“Aphrodite makes every mortal man fall inevitably in love with her.” Richard said, as he watched while Aph stood up after closing her book. Ares pulled up his big head, and started following her around the house. “Through the years she has managed to keep this power under control. But now, seeing as she doesn’t remember that she’s so powerful…I don’t know how much she can work on it.”

“Wow. Would it be so fatal?” the younger man was impressed. Richard nodded.

“People have killed, are killing, and will kill for love.” Richard said, in a sigh. “That’s how great her powers are.” Joakim listened to his friend’s words. He had heard of Aph, mostly through the stories and the anecdotes that Richard had told him in the years in which they had cemented their friendship. Joakim was sure that Ares’ union with Aphrodite was one of the mightiest that could have ever happened. Love and war, combined, were sure one of the most recognizable forces of the Universe.

In that same moment, Flake entered the room. Richard closed the mirror, and turned to look at him. The tall, thin man leant against the wall.

“How’s Zeus?” Richard asked. Flake shrugged his shoulders.

“Pissed beyond limits.” Flake replied. “Tomorrow we’re leaving to deal with Doom’s monster. The best place we have found is a deserted oil platform, far enough from any coast. Doom thinks the Titan will smell him, and come to kill him wherever he is.” Richard agreed. Joakim took a deep breath, and patted on Richard’s shoulder.

“Go get your beauty sleep, Swedish princess.” Richard said with a laugh to Joakim. The other man snorted, and Flake left the kitchen, with a smile on his lips.

“I will, thank you.” Joakim lightly slapped the back of Richard’s head. The god of war sat there, for another long minute. He opened the mirror again, and waited for Aph’s image to appear. He felt his heart ache with every move that she made.

The young Swedish man turned on the couch where he was trying to sleep. He didn’t know what time it might have been; he wanted to rest to gather his forces for the next day of battle, but he couldn’t bring himself to relax. With a sigh, whispering a curse in his mother tongue, he sat on the couch.

He stood up, and walked to the bathroom. Everyone in Richard’s apartment was sleeping, and he didn’t want to wake anyone up. Joakim flicked the lights on, and in the complete silence of the house he opened the water tap. His hands brought water to his face, and it felt so good onto his skin. Suddenly though, he heard a whisper in his ears. Joakim’s head looked in the mirror, suspicious. The whisper got louder in his head; it was really annoying. He looked into his own green eyes, and his expression changed. Along to the voice in his head - the voice of a woman, - , almost as if he was guided by a mysterious force, he repeated the word.

“Skotóno.”

Kill.