After Ezra builds his lightsaber, the Ghost crew introduce him to the celebratory tradition that has evolved over the years, growing with each new member that joined the Spectres.
It's one they're all too happy to add Ezra to – and he has a perfect addition of his own.
I wrote this three years ago (!!) for the @legacy-rebelsfanzine fanzine and was waiting to post it until after I received my copy. Unfortunately that never happened so I never posted it, but (spoiler alert) I'm coming back to writing and right now have a couple of pieces I'm sitting on for exchanges. This means I'm chomping at the bit to post something, so I figured it was finally time I shared this outside of the zine. Enjoy!
The delightful illustrations were all drawn by @wachie
you can also read, kudos and comment on AO3! ->
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Ezra held his breath as he waited for his master to pass judgement on his newly-built lightsaber.
"Well, it's different," Kanan said finally, "but that seems about right for you. Go for it."
He handed the unorthodox hilt back to his Padawan and, holding it apprehensively out in front of him, Ezra ignited the blade. With a snap-hiss, the blue beam of energy came to life, its glow illuminating the Ghost's common area and reflecting in five pairs of awestruck eyes. The whole crew gazed at it and the boy holding it with a mixture of pride and reverence.
"I think this deserves a celebration," Hera murmured, breaking the silence.
Kanan gave her a knowing look, a grin playing at his lips. "Our usual?"
"Let's see what Ezra wants," she said, mirroring his smile. She turned to Ezra to explain, "It's become a tradition on this ship to mark special occasions with a particular meal, but since this is your achievement, is there something you would like? Something to celebrate the day you built your lightsaber?"
"Well..." Ezra stared thoughtfully at his still-lit lightsaber for a moment, a crease forming between his eyebrows. He seemed to come to a conclusion and thumbed the switch to retract the blade, dimming the light in the room back to its usual levels. "When I was a kid and my parents were making their broadcasts, there was a stew we'd have after each one. I remember it had these dumplings on top and when we made it, they'd let me make the dumplings. It was our tradition."
"A traditional stew, huh?" Zeb asked with a grin. "I think we're having our usual, Hera."
Ezra quirked an eyebrow at him. "You have the same thing?"
"Not with dumplings."
"Not yet," Sabine corrected, a glint in her eye.
It's our own special kind of stew," Hera explained to him. "It's changed a lot over the years, but it started when I first set out to fight the Empire. Whenever I had a few spare credits I'd treat myself to fresh produce – whatever the local market had. I'd slice it up and fry it to add some flavour and texture to the usual rations. Each time someone joined my crew, it changed."
"It always went cold quickly, so I turned it into a broth," Kanan said.
"And it was vegetarian," Zeb added with a grimace.
Hera turned to him with a frown. "We couldn't afford meat regularly until you joined us," she pointed out.
"Somehow it was still lacking flavour when you picked me up, so I was the one to add spices," Sabine chipped in.
Hera smiled. "It improved each time."
"And your dumplings will make a great addition," Kanan told Ezra. "They should cook in the broth, and with them we won't even need to supplement it with rations any more."
Hera picked up her datapad and moved to stand in front of her crew. "It sounds like we need to make a market trip."
There was no need for everyone to go, but no-one wanted to stay behind – not even Chopper. Once everyone was out, Hera locked up the Ghost behind them as Zeb led the way to Kothal. Kanan hung back to walk with her behind the kids, and she slipped her hand into his and gave him a smile of thanks. The soft look he gave her in return warmed her heart.
Something had changed in him since he'd taken Ezra to that Temple, and something had changed in Ezra too. They had both come back different – calmer, more sure of themselves, more comfortable in their roles as Jedi Master and Padawan. She'd always done her best to support Kanan, but she knew Ezra and the Jedi Temple could give him something she had never been able to. However, the look in his eyes reminded her that she gave him something just as important.
The market wasn't overly busy this late in the day. They split up in order to find everything – and therefore get back for dinner – faster. Zeb went to a local butcher's stall with Chopper not far behind, and Sabine said something about running low on a few of her spices. Ezra seemed to be looking with interest at a selection of baking ingredients, so Hera left him to it and went to her favourite fresh produce stand.
Hera knew she was here for vegetables but the display of imported meilooruns did look good… She turned to ask Kanan if they had the credits for one, but he wasn't behind her where she had expected. A search of nearby stalls found him only a few metres away, wearing–
"Kanan," she called, incredulity colouring her voice, "is that a 'kiss the cook' apron?"
"What do you think?" he asked, giving her a roguish wink.
She rolled her eyes but couldn't hold back a grin. She allowed herself one meiloorun as she bought the vegetables, and then went to round up her crew.
Surprisingly, Chopper was the first she came across, and he seemed to be in a very good mood. She assumed he'd been looking at the displays of mechanical oils again. Zeb was next, who had managed to haggle an extra steak into his bag, and then Sabine, who had been about to wander over to a dye stall. Kanan fetched a suspiciously flour-covered Ezra and then she was leading the way back to the Ghost after yet another successful supply run.
Cooking began as soon as they returned, with everyone eager to eat. Kanan made a start on the broth, with Hera by his side slicing the vegetables. Sabine brought the pestle and mortar out to start grinding her spices as Zeb sharpened his steak knives. Kanan helped Ezra get ready to make his dumplings, and Hera saw what looked like a pang of nostalgia pass over the boy's face as he laid out his bowls in a very specific way.
The sounds that filled the galley were almost like music; the steady chop of Hera's knife, the sizzle of Zeb's pan, the scrape of Sabine's pestle and the gentle simmer of Kanan's broth. It didn't take long for some amazing smells to start wafting around the small space either.
"Hey, Ezra," Sabine called over the noise. "Have you ever had bisawa paste before?"
An array of jars and pots were open on the counter in front of her, the contents of which she was carefully measuring into a bowl. The one currently in her hand was filled with a bright green paste.
"Nope," Ezra replied, looking at the contents of the jar with interest. "What is it?"
Instead of replying, she used a spoon to scoop some out and offer it to him. "You should try some!"
Behind her, Zeb's ears pricked up with interest as he started to carefully transfer the contents of his pan into the broth. "Yeah, kid, try some, it's really good!"
"Okay," Ezra said, shrugging as his curiosity got the better of him.
He let Sabine feed him the mouthful of paste. It was as she removed the spoon and her eyes lit up with mischief that he realised his mistake – his tongue was burning. It was too late to stop himself from swallowing. The heat spread throughout his mouth and down his throat. Ezra felt his face flush and his eyes start to water.
He let out a pained groan. "Sabine!"
She tipped her head back and cackled with laughter. He lunged towards her, intending to wipe his floury hands on her in retribution, but Sabine was too fast. She ducked nimbly under his outstretched arms, still laughing. The galley wasn't very big, and as his vision blurred with tears he stumbled into the back of someone.
"Hey!" Zeb complained as Ezra knocked him.
Ezra started to wonder if his vengeance on Sabine could wait until after he found some water, but was distracted by the sight of the perfect white handprint on Zeb's back. Sabine noticed too, and they both burst into laughter together.
Zeb realised he was the butt of their joke, but fortunately for all Hera stepped in before the situation could escalate.
Ezra, get yourself a glass of water," she said calmly, "and Zeb, now's a good time to lay the table."
She wasn't sure if it was her or their hungry stomachs that made them obey, but her crew did as they were told. She left Kanan to stir the last of the vegetables into the broth as she went to check on Ezra. He was mostly recovered from his first encounter with bisawa, and while she had sympathy from him, every crewmember had at some point been subjected to Sabine's "taste test". It was part of the tradition now.
Soon, they were all sitting down together, rubbing elbows in the cramped space of the galley. Kanan served them each a bowl of warm, rich stew, but remained standing.
"Congratulations, Ezra," he began with a smile. "Finding a kyber crystal and constructing your lightsaber is an important step on your path to being a Jedi; we're all proud of you."
Ezra's face warmed at the attention. "Thanks," he mumbled. "Though I wouldn't have even made it this far without you."
"He's right, love," Hera said. "This isn't just about Ezra's achievement – you're a great teacher for him."
"The best," Ezra agreed.
"To Ezra and Kanan!" Sabine toasted.
"Yeah, yeah," Zeb said. "Can we eat now? The smell is making my mouth water."
With a laugh, they all set about eating their stew. It was delicious. As they ate, each person found themself thinking the same thing: sure, the meal had been perfect before, but just like their crew, it was even better with Ezra's addition.
drag my teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart
Shallan meets Kaladin after her attempt to infiltrate the palace at Kholinar. She needs reassurance; she needs to know that she's safe, she can keep going, she's alive. Kaladin is what she needs, and while he only meant to give her a surgeon's once-over, his feelings for her make him all too willing to give in to her.
Set during Oathbringer.
rating: explicit; kaladin/shallan(veil); 1.5k words
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Shallan wrapped her arms tightly around herself, her back to the stone wall. She slid down until she was sitting on the grimy floor of the abandoned building, her arms pressed into her thighs and her chin to her knees.
For several nerve-wracking minutes, her only companion was the sound of her breathing. In, out. In, out.
Finally, Kaladin appeared in the empty doorway, Pattern dimpling his coat.
“Storms!” he said, kneeling beside her. “Shallan, what happened to you?”
“Well,” she said, relaxing her arms and legs enough that the bloodstain covering her chest was visible, “as a connoisseur of things that have killed me, I think a sword happened.”
Kaladin’s eyes widened at the sight. “Shallan…”
“The evil force that rules the palace did not think highly of someone coming with a letter from the king.” She smiled at him. “You could say, um, it made that point quite clear.”
Smile, she thought. I need you to smile.
I need what happened to be alright. Something that can simply roll off me.
Please.
“Well…” Kaladin started. “I’m glad we… took a stab at this anyway.”
He smiled.
It was all right. Just another day, another infiltration. Relief washed through her in a cooling, calming wave. He helped her to her feet, then went to check on her wound.
His hand against her chest made her breath catch. His fingers found her skin through the hole in her coat and the feelings swirling within her suddenly turned warm.
Kaladin seemed to realise where his hands were and he froze before trying to pull back, but Shallan’s hand covered his, keeping it pressed against her.
“Sorry,” he stammered. “Surgeon’s instincts.”
His face was very close to hers, though she saw little else beyond his eyes. Those hard, intense eyes; whether brown or blue, looking into them was like looking into a highstorm. Her breath was coming heavily enough that both of their hands moved with her chest. Slowly, she moved his hand, sliding it over until it cupped her breast through her coat.
She saw the shift in his expression as she did that. She saw the uncertainty get replaced with hunger and the self-control slip away. Her eyes dropped to his lips; slightly parted. She only saw them for a second, because a second later they were pressed against her own.
She gasped into his mouth as all of her senses were suddenly consumed by Kaladin. The firm muscles of his body pushing her against the hard stone wall, his scent filling her nose, his hair brushing her cheek, his large, warm hands on her breast and her waist. She pressed herself even closer against him, his warmth a reminder of how real and alive he was.
Their kiss drew corrupted passionspren but Shallan hardly noticed them. Her entire world was Kaladin.
Ekko mourns the fallen, what could have been, and what can never be.
Until he is proven wrong.
rating: general; ekko/happiness ekko/jinx; 1.2k words
SPOILERS FOR THE FINAL EPISODE OF ARCANE SEASON 2
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Ekko sat on the ledge, looking out over the rooftops of Zaun. Beneath him, windows glowed with golden light to ward off the growing evening darkness. His eyes wandered over the vista without seeing any of it.
He fingered the piece of paper in his hand. Thought about the name written on it. Contemplated the emptiness that gnawed inside him, how it was tied to the name on that paper, hating how familiar the feeling was to him.
The other Ekko didn’t know loss like he did.
How he wished he had lived his life mourning only one death. Losing one person in a single tragic accident was nowhere near losing countless friends, loved ones, acquaintances, followers, even strangers to senseless violence and a pointless war. It was nothing compared to losing a friend to the darkness within herself, having to face her as an enemy, trying to save her anyway -- and then losing even that.
His heart ached. It ached for Zaun and everything its citizens had suffered over the years. It ached for the Firelights and everything they’d fought for; for the ones who hadn’t made it to see the new, tentative peace that was growing with Piltover. It ached for Benzo, who had given him so much and then been extinguished like he was nothing. It ached for Powder and Jinx and everything they’d had in that other universe where everything was brighter. He had tasted that small sip of happiness and then turned away from it, never to return, forever feeling haunted by it.
He knew Jayce had gone through hell to come back home; Ekko had given up heaven.
It was right that he had, of course. That world had reminded him of what he had been fighting for. It had rekindled his hope and his drive to make things better in his own world. He couldn’t help but long for it nonetheless.
He trailed his fingertips over the dirt-encrusted stone of the ledge. The last time he’d sat here, legs hanging over the edge, looking over the rooftops, it had been with her. With Powder. He’d asked her to pretend like it was the first time, and even though that hadn’t been pretend for him, in that moment he had pretended - pretended her world was real and he was allowed to stay there, pretended he’d never lost her to her own demons. Now that single moment of fantasy would have to last him the rest of his life.
Glowing pinpricks of light started to rise from the bridge between Zaun and Piltover. Within moments more followed suit, columns of embers drifting upwards from all across the city. Ekko’s eyes finally focused and he reached into his pocket.
Taking his lighter, he ignited the paper in his hand. It caught immediately and he let it slip from his fingers and float upwards, riding tiny currents of air on its way up to join the stars. He followed its progress with his gaze, watching its simple, stark contrast against the night’s sky.
He’d made sure the names of the fallen Firelights had made it to the right Zaun memorials. Some of them still had friends and family left to mourn them, but not all did. They only had him. Heimerdinger’s name would be burning from somewhere in Piltover, no doubt several times over as his colleagues and admirers mourned his disappearance, but Ekko had still put his own token in too.
Ekko was sure Vi would have put Jinx’s name up there. He was sure plenty of Zaunites would too; such was the effect she’d had on her home. No-one would be forgetting Jinx any time soon.
Which left him to remember a name that, more likely than not, wouldn’t be remembered by anyone else. A name that was, to him, now more than a childhood friend and crush. More than a little girl forced to grow up too soon, who got swept up in class conflict and power struggles. It was now also a woman raised by loving fathers surrounded by a happy family, mourning her sister, and left behind to live in paradise.
Somehow, he’d lost both of them.
Ekko didn’t know how many other Powders lived in how many other universes but he was sure they all shared her traits: a brilliant mind; a tenacious fighter; a fierce protector.
A big fat hero.
He watched Powder’s name join the countless others floating into the sky and his heart ached more than it ever had.
“I sure hope that didn’t have my name on it.”
The voice cut through his inner turmoil like a clear bell chime ringing over a crowded street. Ekko leapt to his feet and spun around, stumbling on the lip of the ledge in his haste. A hand shot out to grab his arm before he could topple backwards.
“Careful-”
“Jinx!” He cut off whatever she’d been about to say by lurching forward and wrapping his arms tightly around her slight frame.
“Does this make us even?” she mumbled into his shoulder. Even as she spoke, he felt her relax and return the hug.
He pulled back enough to look into her eyes. “How are- how did you- what happened?”
“It’s actually a pretty boring story. Blah blah shimmer, blah blah ventilation shafts - I’m here now.” She shrugged before shooting him a sly grin. “Don’t get all mushy on me.”
There were too many things he wanted to say anyway. He was content just to drink in the sight of her.
“It’s good to see you.”
“Same to you. And that’s actually… why I’m here.” She looked down, cropped blue hair falling over her face as she scuffed one of her boots against the floor. “I’ve spent so long being what other people made me, but when you showed up when I-” She swallowed. “You looked at me and you saw me. Even when you were talking about that Powder from that other universe, you were still seeing me, the real person underneath. I - I want to see that person too. I want to find out who I am away from all this. I want to travel, see more of the world than just Zaun and Piltover. But… I also don’t want to be alone.” She took a breath, and then looked up to meet his gaze. “So I wondered if - if you wanted to come with me.”
Ekko blinked, trying to process her words - and her presence - while unable to look away from her eyes. “What about Vi? Does she even know you’re okay?”
Jinx shrugged again. “She’ll know soon enough. But Vi needs to figure out who she is when she isn’t being everybody’s big sister. She needs to live for herself for a bit. So, what do you say?”
He could see the uncertainty in her eyes. He smiled and took her hand.
“I’m in.”
Her smile alone was worth it.
“So, do you have a plan to get out of here?”
Jinx’s smile turned crafty, and Ekko felt something within him stir in response.
“Oh, I have an idea about that. There’s this thing I’ve always wanted to do…”
A gift for @me8t as part of the @kanera-discord-events exchange! I had a lot of fun with this – I was inspired by the dinner scene from The Incredibles, so this is the Ghost Crew going undercover as a dysfunctional middle class family...
Also on AO3 ->
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In the capital city of a planet deep in Imperial space, in a nondescript house in a quiet suburban neighbourhood, Hera Syndulla was fixing her droid.
She murmured in binary to Chopper as she worked on his wiring, making sure his latest upgrade was secure and up to the task of monitoring their target: the household next door, where an Imperial governor lived with his wife and only child.
“Hera…”
From the place next to her at the dinner table, Ezra looked uncertain as he tried to catch her attention.
“Uh, Hera… You’re making weird faces again.”
“No I’m not,” she said, drawing out the ‘o’ in ‘no’ so that it sounded like ‘good boy’ in binary. Chopper was doing a great job at holding still for this. And, okay, maybe she did widen her eyes, raise her eyebrows and over-exaggerate the mouth movement.
“You make weird faces, honey,” Kanan said from where he sat opposite her. His meal sat largely untouched in front of him as most of his attention was on the datapad he had balanced on the corner of the table.
She knew he was cramming as much information on local laws and regulations into his brain as he could, and that it was so he could better infiltrate the governor’s office to get close enough to steal the intel they were after, but she couldn’t help but be irritated that he was doing it while they were eating dinner.
She sighed at him. “Do you have to read at the table?”
He didn’t look up. “Yeah… There’s a big debate on farming taxes tomorrow, and if I can get onto the select committee I’ll have two days when I’ll be right across the hall from his office.”
That did sound like a promising lead; maybe she could forgive him.
She caught sight of Ezra, who had turned back to his dinner but was attacking the steak on his plate much like a nexu might: with his teeth, instead of cutlery.
“Ezra, use your knife and not your teeth! Zeb, could you help him cut his steak?”
Ezra reluctantly let the steak drop back to his plate so that Zeb could lean over and begin to saw at it with his knife. Hera tried not to feel guilty; she’d been the one to buy their supplies and she’d seen the face Kanan had pulled when he’d found the meat she’d chosen for his steak dinner. It wasn’t her fault her only role on this mission was essentially housekeeping – she’d gladly let Kanan do all of that if he wasn’t spending each day trying to get deeper into the levels of bureaucracy at the target’s office.
Unfortunately, as Rebel Command had explained but Hera understood all too well, it would only raise suspicions if they managed to get aliens working at an Imperial government office. Which was why Hera’s role was to stay at home and monitor all incoming and outgoing communications from the target’s house, and Zeb was covering the last remaining place the governor frequented: the gym.
Ezra and Sabine were trying a more unconventional route. They’d been enrolled at the same school as the governor’s son, and their task was to befriend him to enter the house and plant surveillance devices. While they were taking well to the espionage element of their roles, Ezra in particular was struggling with something he had very little experience in: attending school. Which reminded her–
“Ezra, do you have something you want to tell Kanan about school?”
The boy’s face took on a panicked expression. “Uh, sure, I saw a tooka! Did you know they’re different to loth-cats because–”
Hera rolled her eyes and cut him off mid-sentence. “Ezra got sent to the office again.”
“Good, good,” Kanan said absently, his eyes still on the screen.
“No, Kanan, that’s bad,” Hera told him gently.
He finally looked up from the datapad. “What?”
“Ezra got sent to the office again,” she repeated.
“What!” He looked between her and his padawan. “What for?”
“Nothing!” Ezra exclaimed, trying to look innocent.
“He put a tack on the teacher’s chair,” Hera told Kanan. “During class.”
“Nobody saw anything, and you could barely even see it on the tape,” Ezra mumbled.
“Wait, they caught you on tape and you still got away with it?” Zeb, who had been listening in, was grinning widely as he continued to hack at Ezra’s steak.
Even Kanan looked thoughtful. “Your control must be getting really good if no-one noticed, how smoothly did you get it there?”
Hera narrowed her eyes at both of them. “We are not encouraging this.”
“I’m not encouraging, I’m just asking!” Zeb protested, his hands moving faster as his voice rose. He turned his head towards Ezra and dropped his voice conspiratorially. “So, how smooth was it?”
“Zeb!”
Hera’s warning came too late; there was a loud cracking noise and everyone fell silent to stare at Ezra’s plate. Zeb had sawed right through the steak and split the porcelain beneath it clean in two. He’d been too distracted by the conversation to temper his strength.
Maybe sending Zeb to the gym every day hadn’t been such a smart move. The Lasat hardly needed more strength.
“Great,” Zeb muttered, glaring at the shards of pottery. “First the bike, now this.”
Hera blinked. “What happened to the bike?”
Zeb’s scowl deepened. It was clear he didn’t want to answer the question.
“Here.” He swapped his intact plate with Ezra’s and picked up the pieces of broken one, which thankfully were still whole enough to continue holding the remains of Ezra’s dinner. “I’ll get myself a new plate.”
The silence lingered as he stood and left the table, retreating to the kitchen.
“So, how about you, Sabine,” Hera said brightly. “How was school?”
She shrugged. “Nothing new.”
“You’ve hardly touched your food.” Hera frowned with concern.
Sabine merely poked at her plate with her fork. “I’m not hungry for nunaloaf.”
“I’m sure Kanan could cook you up something else – a steak, some flatcakes, what are you hungry for?”
Sabine shook her head and Hera gave up, turning back to Chopper. At least she’d broken the tension left behind by Zeb’s accident. As she turned away from the table she didn’t hear the quiet words Ezra said next.
“Ketsu Onyo,” he teased Sabine in a mocking, singsong tone.
Sabine glared at him. “Shut up,” she hissed.
“Well you are.”
“Shut up you little nerf!” Sabine’s eyes flicked to Hera, her irritation having made her raise her voice.
Ezra appealed to their captain. “She is!”
Hera didn’t look up from Chopper. “Do not shout at the table.”
“Kids, listen to your captain.” Kanan’s warning tone was enough to get Sabine to stand down, but Ezra clearly didn’t feel he was done yet.
“She’d eat it if we were having Ketsu-loaf,” he murmured.
“That’s it!”
Sabine slammed her hands against the table and stood up, her chair scraping against the floor. She threw her fork with deadly precision at Ezra’s head and closely followed it with a spare detonator from her pocket.
He reacted to both missiles with Force-aided instincts, stumbling over his chair but ducking neatly out of the way. The distraction meant he didn’t see Sabine rush him until she planted her hands on his chest and shoved him to the floor.
Chopper whooped with approval while Hera shouted for them to stop, trying to be heard over their fighting. Ezra retaliated by swinging a fist at Sabine, which she ducked and followed up with a quick grab for the gauntlet which was hooked to her belt. She tugged it on and turned back to face him.
“Hey, no armour!” he complained.
She activated her energy shield. “You started it.”
Ezra grimaced and summoned his lightsaber, thumbing the switch that activated the blade in practise mode.
“That’s enough!”
Kanan’s voice cut through the kids’ argument at the same time as both of them felt themselves suddenly immobilised and lifted a few feet into the air. Kanan had stood from the table and now held both hands out, one extended towards Ezra and the other to Sabine, as he used the Force to hold them back from each other.
Hera was also standing, her vibrospanner still in her hand.
“Everybody stand down,” she ordered.
Kanan looked to Sabine and saw her nod, but before he could get the same confirmation from Ezra, the doorbell rang.
As if a switch had been flicked, the four of them immediately reset their positions. Kanan dropped the kids (gently) to the floor, Ezra’s lightsaber disappeared, Sabine’s gauntlet returned to her belt, and the four of them returned to their seats around the table as if nothing had happened.
Hera let out a breath and rose from her seat, feeling everyone’s eyes on her back as she did her best to project an air of calm. Trying to appear as though she had just got up from the middle of her meal, and not mediating a fight between her crewmembers, she opened the door.
“Kori!” she exclaimed upon seeing the governor’s teenage son on their front step. “What a lovely surprise.”
“Hi, Mrs Sumar,” he said politely. She still wasn’t used to the cover name they were using, as both Syndulla and Jarrus were far too well-known to the Empire. “Are Ezra and Sabine in?”
“They’re just finishing their dinner.”
“We’re done!” they both chorused from behind her.
“Do you have that new SpaceStation game you were talking about at school?” Ezra asked excitedly.
“Yeah, Dad got it for me! Want to come over and play it?”
“You bet we do!” Sabine enthused.
Hera stood aside so the kids could leave, feeling pleased that they were also making progress with the mission. She wouldn’t forget about the dinner incident, though – the retribution for that would be waiting for them when they returned.
Until then, she had a dinner table to clear and a droid to finish updating. Why Rebel Command couldn’t have found them a house with a dishwasher, she didn’t know.
“Would you help me clean up, love?”
Kanan immediately looked up from his datapad, which he’d returned to as soon as peace had been restored. He gave her a soft smile and she watched him turn the screen off completely before starting to stack the mostly-empty dishes.
They cleared the table in a comfortable silence. Hera didn’t speak until Kanan was stood before a sink full of soapy water and had a plate and a sponge in his hand, and she stood next to him with a tea towel.
“Thanks for intervening earlier, with the kids,” she said finally.
“They’re as much my responsibility as yours,” he replied gently. “More, even, since I’m Ezra’s Master.”
She twisted a corner of the tea towel in her hands. “I worry that the stress of this mission is having an effect on them.”
“Tonight did get pretty out of hand.”
“And Ezra keeps acting out at school. I know it’s his first time in formal education and being around so many other kids since his parents died, but I don’t remember him getting in this much trouble when he infiltrated the Imperial Academy.”
“Maybe it’s because none of the staff at his school carry Stormtrooper-issue blasters,” Kanan suggested light-heartedly,
Hera huffed out a laugh. “You have a point there, dear. But the teasing, the pranks… He must be learning all this from his classmates. Is it a good influence? I know most kids go through the school system and make it out okay, but things felt better before, when he was just with the crew all the time.”
Kanan picked up the frying pan he’d cooked the steaks in and dunked it into the soapy water. “I can’t speak to what the rest of the galaxy experienced, but up until I was about his age, I knew a lot of kids like that. And we had Jedi Masters watching our every move! But they grow out of it. You just have to wait – and the same applies here. We’re all close to the target now; it’s only a matter of time before one of us gets the data we need, and then we’re out of here. Back to the Ghost, back to the skies, back to regular jobs.”
He shut off the running water he was rinsing the pan in and turned to look at her with a softness in his eyes that reassured her just as much as his words.
Hera nodded, thoughtful. “You’re right, we just need to be patient. Still, do you think you could give Ezra an extra lesson or two in discipline over the next few days?”
He chuckled. “I’ll do my best.”
“Thanks, love.”
She reached for the next plate on the draining board, and as she did Kanan leaned over to press a kiss to her temple. It was a reminder that even in the most foreign of undercover missions like this, there was one thing that never wavered.
kanera domestic fluff for GliblyCastGeas as part of the @kanera-discord-events! featuring breadwinner Hera and SAHD Kanan
also on AO3 ->
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Monday mornings at the Syndulla house were often hectic.
Kanan navigated them with the help of a routine. He would calmly and methodically work through each step while his family tore through the house like person-sized tornadoes around him, and once they were all done, he would clean up the chaos they left behind.
It had admittedly become a lot easier after first Sabine and then Ezra had moved out, but between their new arrival and Hera’s latest promotion, sometimes the house still felt just as full as it used to.
The first step in his current routine was waking his two-year-old son and carrying him down to the kitchen for his breakfast. Jacen was a heavy sleeper, something Kanan frequently found himself very thankful for, and in the mornings he generally didn’t fully wake up until he had finished eating. This made breakfast a fairly straightforward affair and Kanan could leave Jacen to his egg and soldiers while he prepared Hera’s lunch.
This second step in his routine was his favourite. There was something about providing for his wife so she could excel at her job that filled him with a sense of pride and fulfilment. Keeping one ear listening to Jacen, he took the glass container from the fridge that contained the roasted sweet potato and feta salad he’d made for his wife the previous night, and grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl. He set to chopping it into slices before laying them in a plastic container, squeezing a little lemon juice over them (to prevent browning) and then sealing them in with the lid.
His eyes drifted to the cupboard where they kept the more sugary snacks. Hera had had a sweet tooth since before he’d met her, but had recently decided she wanted to stick more firmly to the diet that would help her lose the last of her pregnancy weight. She knew Kanan thought she was beautiful no matter her size, and he knew that for her it was less about feeling attractive and more about feeling herself, so it wasn’t a topic they disagreed about. She wanted her body back after the unplanned pregnancy had changed it, and so he would support her in that. He’d save the sweet treats for a special occasion.
The final item in her to-go bag would be what Hera would consider the most important: coffee. The offices at the New Republic government buildings all had kitchens equipped with coffee machines, but Kanan had listened to his wife complaining the night before about how her morning today would be back-to-back meetings from the minute she walked through the front door, which meant she wouldn’t have time to make herself a cup. It was in the best interests of everyone working in that building today that he ensured Hera was caffeinated.
He brewed up some of her favourite grounds and poured it into the thermos for her to sip in place of saying something she shouldn’t, like “this meeting could have been an email and I could have been making coffee right now”. She’d drink it straight from the thermos instead of using the little cup it came with, because “that’s not a cup, that’s a thimble, and by the time I’ve poured the 100 cups I’d need to get through the flask, it’ll have gone cold!”
But that just meant he could use the cup for his own purposes.
He took a post-it from the stack they kept next to the house phone and wrote a simple note of three words with the first pen he could find – a green sharpie. He poked it into the cup and screwed it onto the thermos, and then placed the thermos, glass salad container and plastic fruit container into Hera’s work bag along with her water bottle, which he refilled.
His timing was perfect; he set the bag on the counter just as Hera burst into the kitchen. “Tornado” really was an apt metaphor. She grabbed her bag, planted a kiss on his lips, and was already moving to the dining table as she called to him,
“Got to go, I love you, I’ll text you when I leave tonight.”
She reached Jacen and expertly dodged a balled fist clutching a yolk-drenched toast soldier, protecting her work uniform as she kissed the top of her son’s head – the part of him most likely to still be clean. She still wiped a toast crumb from the corner of her lipsticked mouth as she straightened.
“Be good for your daddy today, Jacen,” she told her son. “Bye bye!”
She swept from the room and the sound of the front door shutting a moment later announced that she’d left the house. All that remained was the lingering scent of her perfume, which made Kanan smile.
That was one tornado dealt with. He turned to his son.
“Okay, buddy, do you wanna tell me how you have egg yolk on your ear?”
The life of a cargo transport pilot is a lonely one, but it suits you. You get to fly to every corner of the galaxy, seeing more sights than you could ever have dreamed of, all without being held down or tied to a particular place. If the peace of your ship and the chatter of your droid are ever not quite enough, there will always be a bar where you can find company.
Tonight's company is someone you won't be forgetting for a while.
rating: explicit (sexual content); kanan jarrus/reader; 3.1k words
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The hour is late and the cantina is crowded and noisy. It’s mostly factory workers in this part of town, celebrating the end of another day’s hard work in service to the Empire, and the emphasis is very much on said service being over – until tomorrow, that is. You sit at the bar, nursing your second drink of the night, happy to watch the numerous and varied patrons enjoying their time off from your vantage.
The life of a cargo transport pilot is a lonely one, but it suits you. You get to fly to every corner of the galaxy, seeing more sights than you could ever have dreamed of, all without being held down or tied to a particular place. You’re good enough that the pay keeps your ship fueled and your astromech charged, but not so good to attract any unwanted attention – that’s a carefully walked line. And if the peace of your ship and the chatter of your droid are ever not quite enough, there will always be a bar where you can find company.
Tonight is mostly about soaking up the atmosphere, hearing the raucous laughter and snatches of music. You’re not opposed to something more, but tonight, you would be perfectly content to return to your ship with only the pleasant buzz of alcohol as a souvenir.
At least, that’s what you think, until someone slides into the vacant seat next to you.
He’s Human, male, and exactly your type. His dark hair is pulled back, tied at the nape of his neck, exposing the strong features of his face. His nose looks as though it has been broken at least twice, but it adds a roguish character rather than detracting from his features. A small beard sits at the end of his chin, elongating his face, and from there your eyes continue to travel down. His clothing hugs his chest, quietly hinting at more than a little muscle, something that is supported by his forearms, exposed by the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
You would continue your appraisal, but you’re interrupted by his low, rough voice speaking to you.
“Don’t think I’ve seen you in here before.” You look up to his face, where his teal-green eyes are watching you. “And I think I’d remember a face like yours.”
You’ve been to a lot of planets in your life – it’s not hard, in this line of work – and had the full spectrum of reactions from locals. In some places, no-one looks at you twice; in others, heads turn as you walk past. It’s nice to know a man as attractive as this one falls closer to the second group.
You take a sip of your drink, maintaining eye contact over the rim of your glass.
“Your memory’s not wrong,” you reply. “I’m only grounded for the night; dropped a shipment off a few hours ago, taking the next one out in the morning.”
“A cargo hauler? Not very glamorous.” His eyes glitter with wry humour.
“I prefer ‘transport pilot’; much sexier.”
He grins and leans in closer. “I wouldn’t say you need it.” His voice is almost a whisper, and you feel his breath warm against your ear.
“What about you?”
“Oh, a bit of this, a bit of that. I go wherever there’s work, and work wherever I go.” He’s leaned back again, but not as far as he had been, so your faces are mere inches apart.
“So... a drifter?”
“I prefer ‘multi-talented’.” He smirks at you. “Much sexier.”
“Care to demonstrate one of your ‘talents’?”
“Of course – watch this,” he says with a wink, before turning to catch the eye of the bartender. He makes a few hand gestures, and a moment later a pair of drinks are set down in front of the two of you. One is the same as the almost-empty glass still in your hand, while the other looks like -
“Whiskey?”
“Corellian.”
“Vintage?”
His face twists into the equivalent of a shrug. “It’s pre-Empire?”
“6 years old isn’t bad. And that’s a very useful talent.”
“What can I say; I’m good with my hands.” His innuendo translates immediately to your mind conjuring an image of just what he could do with those hands. No doubt that was his intention but you play it cool, finishing the last of your drink to start the new one the stranger has bought for you.
“Please. You bought a drink at a bar,” you say, doing your best to sound unimpressed. “That’s hardly a talent; not like, say, flying a starship.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “You’re saying you’ve got better hands than me?”
“I know my way around a steering yoke,” you reply with a coy smile.
He’s watching your fingers as you lightly trace patterns in the condensation that has formed on your glass.
“Perhaps I’ll have to show you something more impressive, then.” He reaches out to take one of your hands in his. “Although, I’m not sure how I can compete with hands such as these.” He starts to caress your fingers.
“I get the feeling you know how to use that mouth of yours.” You gently break free of his hold to brush your fingertips over his jaw. His lips part as his eyes remain locked onto yours. You trace his lower lip, noting with surprise its softness, and his gaze becomes a smoulder. He turns his head a fraction, enough to allow him to take your finger into his mouth.
Desire shoots straight to your core, starting a fire in the embers he has already stoked there. The wet warmth of his mouth drives you crazy, the rough press of his tongue making you want more. His cheeks hollow as he sucks on your finger.
“I think it’s time we took this somewhere a little more… private,” you say, unable to take your eyes off his mouth.
am I back writing for kanera after a whole year away? that's a solid maybe! but I have finished this epilogue to Reflections in a Broken Mirror which I started a year ago and I am sharing it, as ever, in the hopes that other people enjoy it as much as I enjoy other people's fic.
rating: explicit (sexual content); kanan jarrus/hera syndulla; 1.9k words
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Something had felt ever so slightly different since Kanan had woken up, but as soon as Hera led him through the strange doorway he felt it all slot back into place.
He was home.
He felt Hera turn her head back to look at where they’d just come from and stretched out his senses. He could feel… Something behind him, something that was both there and not, that seemed to only exist in two dimensions but somehow also in another one that wasn’t the usual third. A fourth dimension. He could feel it getting smaller, shrinking down into its centre until–
"It’s gone." Hera’s words were calm. He heard her turn back to him. "And you’re here."
Her arms were around him in an instant, a vice gripping his chest and holding him so tightly it was like she would never let go. Her nose pressed into his neck and he felt her chest expand as she inhaled, breathing in deeply. He in turn breathed in the scent of her, his nose to her flight cap to get the familiar leatheris and engine oil and Hera scent he loved so much.
Her face shifted slightly and her nose was replaced with the rough drag of her tongue over his neck. It was completely unexpected; arousal hit him like a punch in the gut. Her tongue became teeth, nipping at his skin, lips pressing kisses up the column of his throat. He could tell that it was both a reaction to him being back in her arms (after seven months, apparently) and driven by the desire that had overtaken her too. The time apart hadn’t changed anything between them; he was still just as attuned to her, to her emotions and her body even if now her body was very different to how he remembered.
Her lips reached his jaw and then a hand tangled in his hair to drag his mouth down hard against hers. She kissed him like she was trying to make up for every missed kiss of the last seven months, and while it hadn’t been so long for him he gladly returned her fervour, always willing to give Hera what she needed.
Hera came up for air and he could just imagine the look in her eyes that said she begrudged her body the need to breathe. He could feel the hunger in her, the strength with which she wanted him, but also a determination he knew all too well. She grabbed his hand and all but dragged him several steps over the flat, grassy ground.
"In here," she ordered, pushing him through a door he hadn’t expected to find out here. "It’s a supply container, we’ve been building– oh, you’ll find out later."
He heard the door slam shut behind them and then his back hit a wall with a dull thud. The supply container smelled musty and vaguely familiar but he wasn’t able to work out why before Hera was pressing herself urgently against him.
Hera had never loved anyone like Kanan. Losing him had been the worst experience of her life. The only way she has been able to continue is by pushing her grief down and trying not to think about the new life growing inside of her.
That becomes a lot harder when something impossible happens. The man she's been missing so desperately since that night at the fuel depot is suddenly standing right in front of her, dressed in the robes of a Jedi, staring at her with the blue-green eyes that she missed so much, very much alive.
So why has the pain only intensified?
It's finally here: my fic for the @star-wars-rebel-minibang!
kanan jarrus/hera syndulla; rating: teen; 5.3k words
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The Sumar Refugee Relief Centre on Lothal was the first of its kind. It had been Sabine’s idea; her way of honouring Ezra’s memory while she watched over his home planet. The Alliance to Restore the Republic had even agreed to sponsor it, viewing a safe haven for anyone fleeing the Empire as both good publicity for the movement and fertile ground for new recruits.
Sabine's enthusiasm – and Mon Mothma's not-so-subtle hints that she'd rather Hera be grounded – had drawn Hera away from the front lines temporarily to help with the final stages of construction and getting the Centre established. Ezra's absence weighed heavily on all their minds as they worked, but they pushed on knowing the project was exactly the kind of thing he'd want to return to on his home planet – if he ever came back.
Attempts to track the Chimaera or trace its trajectory had all failed, much to the disappointment of what remained of the Ghost crew. Sabine kept threatening to set out on her own and wander through Wild Space until she miraculously found him, but she would always talk herself out of going with the reminder that he'd asked her to watch over Lothal for him. The Empire still loomed as a threat to the small Outer Rim world, and she refused to let his sacrifice be for nothing.
For Hera, Ezra wasn't the only person she was thinking of. At seven months pregnant, it was hard not to think about the other man who was missing from her life. She usually tried to avoid letting her mind stray to the new life growing inside her because those thoughts only led to pain, but had become harder and harder as she'd been forced into larger and larger flight suits and out of more and more of her duties.
Even now, when she'd been barred from testing the new electrical generators and had instead been assigned to ferrying medical supplies from the delivery point to the soon-to-open medical centre, she could hardly ignore the way her belly pressed against the handlebar of the hovercart. No amount of denial could change it, just like no amount of wishing could bring Kanan back to her.
Hera continued pushing the hovercart over the large courtyard forming the centre of the new construction. The courtyard covered the area that used to be the Lothal Jedi Temple but was now flat grassland like any other part of the planet. It felt right to centre this new development on it without covering it or its history. This way, it would be preserved.
She knew it was useless to cling to the past like this. The Temple, like Kanan, was gone forever and would never return to her. Yet she couldn't let go of the memories – of Kanan taking Ezra here, of the time he brought her here to talk about his decision to take on an apprentice and how he struggled with it, of all the times they'd been drawn to this planet before either of them had ever known about how significant it would become to them.
There were times when she ached with longing for the moments from those memories. She'd give anything for even a minute of the feeling of Kanan's arms around her, of his breath on her cheek, of his voice in her ear and his blue-green gaze locked onto hers. She wanted it so much she felt like she might break apart from the force of it.
Those were the times she had to take a deep breath and remind herself of the things she still had; what remained of her family and, above all, her fight against the Empire. There was no use in dreaming that things were different, but she could work to make sure no-one else suffered the same losses she had.
She gripped the handlebars of the hovercart a little tighter as she continued on her path across the courtyard.
A slight rumble of the ground caused her to pause in her journey. Groundquakes weren't common on Lothal, but this wasn't the first that day. It was, however, the strongest. She checked on her cargo to make sure it hadn't become unstable and as she did, another, even stronger tremble came from below. It calmed as soon as it had come with no impact on the supplies she was transporting, but once she had righted herself the sight in front of her was not the same as it had been seconds before.
A figure had appeared in the exact centre of the courtyard. It took her brain a few moments to process it; a man, dressed in plain, nondescript robes, short hair neatly trimmed, clean shaven face casting about his surroundings as he took in his new location with bright, blue-green eyes.
Hera could only stare in shock. It was ridiculous to think that the desperate longing she had felt had caused this, but she was struggling to come to terms with how the man she had just been thinking about was suddenly standing in front of her. It couldn’t be anyone other than Kanan – that was his jaw, his hair close-cropped just like the last time she’d seen him, face clean-shaven and eyes… the blue-green eyes she’d seen only once in the last two years.
The last time.
Those eyes landed on her. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. How was he here? Was this even real?
"General?"
Her heart clenched. Why was his tone so formal?
He took an uncertain step towards her, his eyes darting down to her belly and back up to her face. "Are you alright?"
This is wrong, a voice in her head whispered . Those eyes she loved so much were missing the angry burn scar that should be running over them from temple to temple. Other scars replaced it: a thick white line that ran from his forehead through an eyebrow to his cheekbone and a thin red one on the other side just above his jawline. His physique was subtly different too; her Kanan was lean and toned but the man before her was heavyset and muscular. It also looked as though he’d never known a food shortage, though maybe it was merely an effect of the several layers of fabric that concealed his body.
"You're not Kanan…" she said slightly unsteadily.
"No…" he said slowly, like it was obvious. "I'm Caleb."
