#Spectre Writes

[orcelito]

For the ask game: 5, 6, and 12

WHEEEEEE thank U for the ask !!!!

5. first sentence of the fifth paragraph of an unpublished WIP

well since there technically isnt anything written for the next ITNL chapter And i cant share the reverse bang fic WIP. well. here's a line from the WIP smut fic i have that is currently 1k words long

Vash huffed, idly kicking his feet like a petulant child.

about par for the course Lmaoooo

6. the word that appears the most in your current draft

given the lack of a ITNL WIP i will answer this ALSO with the bathroom smut WIP fic lol.

ok the word that appears most in the current draft is just wolfwood (it's his POV) which is kind of boring so HAVE ALL THE TOP WORDS

it's a thing with Vash getting injured & Wolfwood tending to him, and thus the presence of the word "hurt". also the relevancy of the bathroom. i really should continue this sometime. it's pretty fun so far.

12. a trope you’re really into right now

hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm now see, i dont know if there's any specific One trope that im especially into (more than normal, at least?) but. hmmmm. let's say . recklessness to the point of self-sacrifice and/or being energized with pain. given. Motions vaguely over towards Vash & Wolfwood

[bluebirdknight]

Rewatch of spectre got me thinking about him

[saffitaffi]

Cold villains. Elegant, refined, maybe, with disinterested eyes and icy composure. Their breath makes a shiver run down your spine, their freezing fingers following the curve of your neck. The coldness is almost, IS inhuman. A ghost of the past come to haunt you for eternity. A vampire, come to steal the life from your veins and the vigor from your step. A victim of scientific experiment gone horribly, horribly wrong.

Vs

Hot villains. Temperamental, wild, feral, full of barely contained desires and unquenchable rage. Their eyes spark and burn and blaze with all the things they want to do. Are they made of fire, or are they just full of energy? Sweaty and passionate and involved. They would never sit from the sidelines. Their very touch leaves blackened ash in the wake. They are so very angry, and will not back down, even if it might be wiser to.

Which do you prefer?

[ivystoryweaver]

IvyStoryWeaver's 1st Fic-iversary

My Masterlist

EVENT CLOSED

🎉 I posted my first Tumblr fic/first Moon Knight fic With You on May 29, 2023!

📚 Since then, I've posted 60 stories involving over 120 different chapters/individual posts, a few Moodboards, and Oscar Isaac Characters Valentines

💞 I have the most fun moots and lovely followers and I gotta celebrate with you!

📥 SEND ME REQUESTS! Unlike for my 1000 Follower/Holiday Celebration, I am taking regular, real, full requests - anything you like!

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❓What’s your favorite story? Tell me! (Masterlist)

📖 Send me requests about your fave stories! And questions about where any of my fic characters are now. I would love to tell you about:

How is Marc doing with his sobriety after With You? or how is Jake adjusting to being out of the shadows? (Or how were they before the story?)

Questions about Poe and Elia from The Only One

Or Jake and the mob boss’ daughter from 3 Times fic

How about ghost!reader and the boys in Spectre

How are Marc/Steven and their kiddos Elle & Max from Eight Nights doing?

Or did you like Lockley, Grant and Jakob better in What a Mother Can Be?

How's life for Steven after Steven Grant Oblivious Roommate Headcanons

Or Miguel after (or before!) Decadent

Let's not forget Perfect Fit Nathan and Nate (part 2 is almost done, I promise!)

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[leona-florianova]

Old drawing of John and Jimbo

.*hey so, I dont really ship them, but... Id like more stories with them interacting... or any at all besides the show...Vertigo John and Gotham by Midnight Jim...Even though it would be likely that the Spectre would pummel John into a bloody paste the moment he noticed his proximity (lets say 10 km radius from Jim)

[coconut530]

omg just realized his feet are wrapped up in the Devil’s tail just like in The Duc de L’Omlette….

EDIT: IT GETS WORSE

[kanerallels]

There's absolutely nothing worse than when I get a thousand words into a story and decide that I low key hate it

[bonefall]

post/734733274896809984/do-you-ever-worry-your-own-writing-might-come-off that makes sense. i was asking because i'm afraid of accidentally writing misogyny myself and i kind of admire what you do

Hmm... I wish I had better advice to give you on this front, but honestly, the only thing I can tell you is to consider the perspective of your female characters.

Women are people. They have thoughts and feelings of their own, so like... just let them have their own arcs. A lot of the worst misogyny in WC comes from the way that the writers just don't care about their girls (or, in the case of tall shadow, actually get undermined and forced to rewrite entire chapters), so they're not curious about their lives, or WHY they feel the way they do or what they want, or any direction for their character arcs.

Turtle Tail as an example. She'll often just end up feeling whatever Gray Wing's plot demands. She's gotta leave when Storm dumps him to make him feel lonely. She shows up again to love him in the next book. Lets her best friend Bumble get dragged back to Tom the Wifebeater, but is sad enough about her death to be "unreasonably angry" with Clear Sky, and then calms down and accept Gray Wing is right all along.

And then she dies, so he can have his very own fridge wife.

In this way, Turtle Tail's just being used to tell Gray Wing's story. They're not interested in why she would turn on Bumble, or god forbid any lingering negative feelings for how she didn't help her, or even resentment towards Clear Sky for killing her or Gray Wing for jumping to his defense. She isn't really going through her own character arc.

She does have personality traits of her own, don't misunderstand my criticism, but as a character she revolves around Gray Wing.

So, zoom out every now and then, and just ask yourself; "Whose story is being told by what I wrote? Do my female characters have goals, wants, and agency, or are they just supporting men? How do their choices impact the narrative?"

But that's already kinda assuming that you already have characters like Turtle Tail who DO have personalities and potential of their own. Here's some super simple and practical advice that helped me;

Tally the genders in your cast. How many are boys, how many are girls, how many are others?

And take stock of how many of those characters are just in the supporting cast, and compare that to the amount you have in the main cast.

If you have a significant imbalance, ESPECIALLY in the main cast, fire the Woman Beam.

It's a really simple trick to just write a male character, and then change its gender while keeping it the same. I promise women are really not fundamentally different from men lmao. You can consider how your in-universe gender roles affect them later, if you'd like, but when you're just starting to wean yourself off a "boy bias" this trick works like a charm.

Also you're not allowed to change the body type of any girl you Woman Beam because I said so. PLEASE allow your girls to have muscles, or be fat, or be old, or have lots of scars. Do NOT do what a cowardly Triple A studio does, where the women all have the same cute or sexy face and curvy body while they're standing next to dwarves, robots, and a gorilla.

Or this shit,

If you do this I will GET you. If you're ever possessed by the dark urge, you will see my face appear in the clouds like Mufasa himself to guide you away from the path of evil.

Anyway, you get better at just making characters girls to begin with as time goes on and you practice it. It's really not as big of a deal as your brain might think it is.

Take a legitimate interest in female characters and try not to disproportionately hit them with parental/romance plots as opposed to the male cast, and you'll be fine. Don't think of them as "SPECIAL WOMEN CHARACTERS" just make a character and then let her be a girl, occasionally checking your tally and doing some critical thinking about their use in the story.

(Also remember I'm not a professional or anything, I'm just trying to give advice)

[flowertab]

Layton tells Luke about his father while they visit the dig site. I think this is the most comprehensive description of Clark’s character in the series.

[orcelito]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let's spread the self-love 💞

🥺🥺🥺🥺 oh this is a tough one

I can't pick a number 1 so I'm going to list them together for tied first place:

In the Next Life and Discordant Accord

Surprising no one, these two are my favorites. And I can't pick a favorite between them bc they're both so very dear to me. ITNL has been the recent focus, but discacc has been invaluable to me both for gaining experience as a writer and also just. Idk I love it like a child. Both of them. My giant baby discacc and my big baby ITNL. I couldn't tell you how many hours I've spent on these two fics.

Number 3 would be Libero a Due, which might surprise some people (given how long it takes me to update every time)(I say as if I haven't updated it only once. I'll wrap up that 18k for chapter 3 someday). But idk it's just a special thing to me too. Punk violinist goro my beloved. It's a slow writing kinda process, but I do genuinely love this fic. It will be continued someday.

For #4 I'll say I know I'm gonna die of this. Just bc. Well. It is so very self indulgent. And I just have such a soft spot for t4t vashwood + top vash. Rly enjoy this fic.

And #5: Summer Nights. Yet another fic concept that I Love but haven't had the time/energy to commit to it 😭😭😭😭. It's just such a charming little concept. t4t akeshu childhood friends but before they realize they're trans. Very autobiographical in some ways regarding my childhood. Idk it's just such a sweet little thing. I really would like to continue it someday.

[starsapphire]

dick: [whaling on bruce's ass] HIT ME BACK YOU STUPID FUCKING CUNT I HATE YOU SO MUCH SOMETIMES!!!!! FUCK YOU!!!!

cass, tim, and alfred watching this go down at 3 in the morning: 🧍🏻‍♀️🧍🏻‍♀️🧍‍♂️

[gemini-care-barr]

On the topic of Hal Jordan being maybe a bit better than anyone gives him credit for…

[I’m kidding ofc, we all know he’s a great guy, but bear with me for the sake of this post hahaha]

⚠️ Spoilers for Green Lantern #5 ⚠️

I get it, y’all, I really do. Hal can be pushy when it comes to love. And pretty undeserving of the love he pushes for because I mean how good is a guy that keeps professing his love to the same girl only to ditch her for long and unspecified stretches of time. Like of course, Carol keeps moving on, Hal, there’s absolutely no reason why she should wait around for some guy that loves her, but still leaves her! But hear me out…

Maybe Hal being pushy doesn’t actually change the fact that he’s a good guy. Maybe his pushiness is sincere. And maybe, just maybe, he’s a big enough person to set the whole “all is fair in love and war” thing aside to do what’s right and that’s what makes him so dang hard to resist.

So, this all stems from the latest issue of Green Lantern by Jeremy Adams and Xermánico which features Hal setting out to put a stop to Sinestro’s reign of terror across the earth. Hal’s first stop is Ferris Air as Sinestro has taken over all their unmanned drones to enact his plan. Carol catches Hal up on the situation and as he’s leaving to do his superheroics Carol hands him some nifty new communicators designed by her new fiance, Nate, y’know, the guy that Hal has been at one-sided odds with since the first issue of this new run. Hal, predictably, makes a snide little Hal-comment about Nate being smart and Carol, predictably, gives him no rope when she shortly replies that he’s “very” smart. I’ll always love these terse little exchanges between them.

Hal later runs into the problem of the last two drones being too far away from each other, and too close to their intended targets, for him to reach them in time. This leads to him coming up with the idea of putting his piloting skills, and indomitable will, to the test by simultaneously sending two constructs in opposite directions to catch the last two drones. Carol puts Nate on the line, and this is where my admiration for Hal, and Adams as a writer, grows considerably, as rather than getting another typical Hal remark we get a man on a mission.

Hal doesn’t care who’s guiding him in, he doesn’t care that he’s lost the love of his life (for no reason other than his own hubris) and that the one who has earned her love is now talking to him one-on-one. Rather than taking the easy drama route of giving Hal yet another opportunity to undercut his latest rival, Adams instead opts for the much more in-character route of having Hal just be the hero that he is. Hal’s only care is that there are people in trouble and Nate is the only person who can help him. And man, do they make a great team.

And this is a fact that neither gets nor needs any particular highlighting from the story itself. No remarks about Nate being the one to guide Hal in are made. Nothing is said about how well Hal followed directions from his rival-in-love. And that’s kinda my favorite part of all of this, the conclusion that I’ve come to, that Hal is not in the least bit petty and is a wholly honorable person, is not a conclusion that the story busies itself with proving. It just is. Hal just is a hero. He just is a good guy. He just does the right thing because that’s the right thing to do and, man, does that make it hard to say no to him.

[pekoeboo]

ugh. some thoughts.

really been trying to find the joy in drawing/writing again and honestly it's been such a challenge. friends have told me it's most likely depression that's making it hard to feel motivated and tbh they're probably right.

hoping to get back into being creative in the way I Want to be at some point tho. I miss it. there's still so much with my stories and characters that I haven't been able to share or explain and I wish I knew how without it feeling like this daunting, impossible task.

I don't know when I'll get around to actually sharing art again (or writing, if ever). was hoping that I'd manage to get some of my mental and physical issues in check recently for just long enough to get back into the swing of being creative, but that hasn't seemed to work. everything feels bad, both artistically and physically. I'm struggling to keep up with the frantic pace at which my brain comes up with story concepts and intriguing character interactions, even tho everything in me wishes I could turn it into tangible artistic expression so I can get it out of my head and share it. it used to be easy. I don't know why it's not now.

I'm just . tired, I guess.

[talesofsorrowandofruin]

WIP Intro x 2

The Case Files of Seo Yo-han has just turned into a six-book series. Is anyone surprised any more? (I am. I shouldn't be, but I am.)

Introducing both new instalments at once, because why not:

Title: There Stands a Spectre

Genre: Murder mystery

Setting: ??? Possibly 1910?

Summary: A man and woman disappear without trace. A student is accused of rape. A teenager ran off with his parents' money. All these cases happened in the same area within one week. Yo-han discovers this isn't the only link between them.

Status: Planning in progress

Fun facts:

The title is a quote from Lady Clara Vere de Vere by Alfred Lord Tennyson: "There stands a spectre in your hall:/The guilt of blood is at your door."

Despite what you might think, the case doesn't involve a literal ghost haunting its killers.

This book doesn't have a happy ending. Consider yourself warned.

The main inspiration is Whose Body? by Dorothy L. Sayer.

Title: The Tempest and the Night

Genre: Murder mystery

Setting: ?? Probably after Houses Full of Deceit, so 1920-ish.

Summary: A rainstorm reveals someone has been murdered and buried in someone else's grave. Different types of earth clinging to the body reveal it was buried somewhere else, then exhumed and reburied. Yo-han has to answer three questions: who killed them, where they were first buried, and why they were moved.

Status: Planning in progress

Fun facts:

The title is a quote from The New Locksley Hall by Francis Adams: "Enter then within your chambers in the rich and quiet light:/Never think of us who struggle in the tempest and the night."

The main inspiration is a terrible mystery novel I read last year. It had an interesting premise (body exhumed and reburied in someone else's grave) but the worst execution and the solution made no sense. I was annoyed into planning my own take on that premise. So here we are ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Taglist: Let me know if you want to be added!

Adding the general Case-Files taglist: @akindofmagictoo, @sam-glade, @sarahlizziewrites, @oh-no-another-idea, @cljordan-imperium, @mrbexwrites (Tell me on this post if you want to be added/removed!)

[kanerallels]

My first fic for @spectre-week!! This one was born from my obsession with N.D. Wilson's 100 Cupboards series (go read it, y'all, it's amazing) and is hopefully vaguely comprehensible. Here it is on AO3!

The forests of Kaller are not particularly noteworthy to most of the galaxy. The snow lies heavy on the surrounding mountains, and the wind sings sharply through the branches of the conifers and the kallnut trees. It’s not a top tourist destination, despite the beauty.

The current residents are more focused on the war that is being fought over this planet and hundreds of others. The Clone War has ravaged the galaxy for close to three years now, and at times it seemed it would never end.

Until now.

But there’s something much darker going on in the forests now, as an army of clones hunt for a missing Jedi Padawan crouched in a tree.

The last thing Caleb Dume should have been focusing on was the trees around him. His master was dead, and the clones who had been his friends and allies mere moments ago were now hunting for him.

And yet. As he leapt from branch to branch, heart pounding with terror, he found himself noticing. Noticing the deep brown barked trees with three pronged leaves that were sprinkled in between the conifers here and there. Kallnut trees, he remembered his master calling them. As he crouched on one of the branches, his fingers wrapped around the grooved bark, and Caleb felt a tug in his heart.

This way, the trees seemed to whisper. This way.

But he didn’t have time to indulge in daydreams, so he kept running.

When the clones found him and he fell from one of the trees, it wasn’t a kallnut. He kept running, until he made it to a ravine. One of the clones tried to convince him to come back, but Caleb knew he couldn’t. There was no one he could trust anymore, no one who wouldn’t try to end him for the saber at his side and the holocron in his belt pouch.

When he leapt across the canyon, he heard it again. The whispers, leading him deeper into the forest.

This time, he had nothing to lose from following it. So he did, led by a trail of deep brown barked trees.

Miles away, he found it. The biggest kallnut tree he’d ever seen, looming above them all ominously. The wind rustled the light green leaves, and Caleb almost forgot about the clones chasing him, about what he’d seen mere minutes before.

The fear receding, he moved slowly closer. There was a strange energy to the air, a humming. The Force rippled strangely, in a way Caleb had never experienced before.

When his hand touched the tree, for a moment his fingers fit perfectly in the grooves of the bark.

And then there was something like a flash of lightning. A dagger of pain went through him, and he hit the ground, unmoving, while fire blazed through him.

When he woke, Caleb Dume was blind. 

He was blind, in the middle of the woods, on an unknown planet with hunters out for his blood.

His hands were shaking as he pushed himself upright. All he remembered was touching the tree, and then… something strange. Something rushing through the Force like a wave of fire, crackling towards him and consuming him.

But he wasn’t dead. Just blind and achy, his stomach churning and his hand throbbing with pain. Instinctively, Caleb reached out for the Force— then recoiled.

It was like looking straight into the sun. Too bright, brighter than it ever had been before. The world around him was burning with life and green fire.

How could that be true when it also felt far too empty now, without Master Billaba?

Fear and grief swelled in his chest, but Caleb stubbornly pushed it back down. Taking a deep breath, he lifted his face, feeling a cold breeze chill his face.

There were no sounds that indicated he was still being hunted. But he couldn’t stay here. He’d freeze to death or be caught. The only way was forward, even if it was going to be slow.

Vaguely, Caleb remembered seeing a stray branch laying on the ground not far from the tree he’d approached. Staying on his hands and knees, he felt around in the grass crackling with frost. The snow hadn’t reached through the thick branches of the kallnuts here, but it was still cold enough that the ground was hard and the tips of Caleb’s fingers were stinging.

It was only a few minutes before his hand closed around the branch he’d spotted. Tentatively, he pushed himself to his feet, using the branch for help. It was a decent length for a walking stick, and it was solid. Sturdy.

He clutched it tightly as he cautiously started through the woods around him.

It took him a long time before he’d made it back to the nearby city. By the time he did, Caleb had sort of gotten the hang of navigating without eyesight. The walking stick helped, though he was still unsure. Still scared.

The city was worse than the woods. In the woods, he was alone and surrounded by trees. Safer than anywhere with people— and worse, clones.

But they would know to look for him in the woods. Here, he would blend in, and he was less likely to freeze or starve to death.

He came pretty close to it anyways, until Janus Kasmir found him.

The Kalleran took pity on him and fed him. And, when Caleb begged him, he let him come to his ship, giving him some place safe to sleep. Even if it was only for a little while.

He hadn’t really slept since losing his master almost a week earlier. Only fitful bursts here and there. Now, scrubbed clean and curled up on one of Kasmir’s bunks, he dreamt of blaster fire and screams, and kallnut trees growing high above everything else.

When Kasmir helped him the next morning, he commented, “I didn’t remember you being blind, kid.”

“It was… recent,” Caleb said quietly. He didn’t know how else to explain what had happened, the strange fire that had burned through him. 

“Huh. Have something to do with that burn on your hand?”

The burn. Caleb hadn’t seen it, but he’d felt the pain, the throbbing agony. Without any better ideas, he’d torn a strip from his robe and wrapped it up. Until last night, when he’d been cleaning up. In the fresher, he’d… seen it. Not his hand, but the burn, more like a brand. A symbol, one that he’d never seen before, but knew the meaning of immediately, instinctively.

It was a kallnut tree. Vibrant and green and growing and solid. Unwavering. And it was part of him now, in a way that he couldn’t express in mere words. Caleb vaguely remembered reading about something like this in the Jedi Archives, but at the time he’d been too tired to even try and figure it out.

“Kind of,” he said, and Kasmir seemed content to leave it at that.

He’d thought that would be the end. Kasmir clearly didn’t intend for him to stay, blind or otherwise. He’d most likely just throw him out on the street, and the Kalleran had clearly planned on doing just that.

But then his emergency signal went off.

The Jedi, who he’d thought were dead, were calling him back to the Temple.

Relief flooded through him for one magnificent moment. He could go home. The masters, some part of the Council, surely would have made it. Someone would know what to do about his blindness, and he would have some small piece of his life back.

But he had no way of getting there. And Kasmir flatly refused to take him there when Caleb asked him— begged him to take him to Coruscant. The Kalleran refused, then stalked out of the ship, telling him to finish his meal then get out.

Frustration boiled in his chest, and he threw the bread Kasmir had given him across the ship. Pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes, he bit back a scream of helpless frustration.

I have to do something, I have to be able to get to the Temple. But without a ship? Without the ability to see what he was doing?

As if on cue, a tiny crack of light blossomed around the corner of his palm. 

Shocked, Caleb yanked his hand back. The light in the ship was dim, but to his eyes it was blisteringly bright. Blinking back tears of pain, he stared, unbelieving at the ship around him.

He could see again.

There was no real time to take in the shock and relief pounding through him. He was already charging into the cockpit, starting up the engine and taking off. The coordinates to Coruscant were easy to remember, and Caleb was working on autopilot. He was going home. He was going back to the Jedi Temple.

Only minutes away from exiting hyperspace, he received a new message.

“This is Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. I regret to report that both our Jedi Order and the Republic have fallen, with the dark shadow of the Empire rising to take their place. This message is a warning and a reminder for all remaining Jedi…”

Caleb listened to the words, numb with horror. The only thing that jolted him out of his panic was the ships surrounding him as he floated above the planet’s atmosphere. Coruscant wasn’t safe, just like Kasmir had said.

He barely made it out alive. And when he got back to Kaller, Kasmir was furious with him. The Kalleran barely seemed to notice he’d regained his vision, or care. He just tossed him off the ship and told him to never come back.

But Caleb truly didn’t know where else to go. So he stuck around, until one day, he saved Kasmir.

Sort of. Kasmir didn’t seem to think he’d really done him any favors. But it got him a job with the Kalleran, which went… interestingly. In the end, Caleb stuck with him. Despite the fact he insisted on calling Caleb “kid”, and had sold him out as part of a con, and was gruff and sarcastic.

He was familiar, and he wouldn’t betray him. At least, Caleb didn’t think he would. And he was only a little nosy.

“So, you didn’t stay blind long,” he remarked one day as they sat in the cockpit of the Kasmiri, watching hyperspace blur past them.

“Yeah,” Caleb said slowly. “It… I don’t know. I wasn’t lying.”

“Nah, I could tell that,” Kasmir said with a dismissive wave. “Ya know, I heard stories about that kinda thing, once. About people going temporarily blind, and when it stopped, they were… different. Kinda like the Jedi, but it was different. Green men, they were called, since they had this tie to some sort of plant.”

Caleb’s throat was dry, but he managed a nonchalant shrug. “Hmm. Sounds like an old story.”

He could feel Kasmir watching him with narrowed eyes, but then he shrugged. “Eh, just a legend. Could be a real one, or not. Doesn’t really matter to me.”

“Right,” Caleb said, the tightness in his chest easing a little.

Green men. He knew that legend, a little bit. Stories about the seventh son of specific families in parts of the Outer Rim. Their connection with different kinds of plants, the power it gave them. Caleb had never actually met someone with those abilities.

But now… he glanced down at his hand, covered in a glove. Beneath it glowed the kallnut tree— sturdy brown trunk, three-pronged leaves shimmering a light green. Strong and steady, humming with a power that he didn’t quite understand.

Part of him wanted to test it, to reach into that well within him. But he knew better. It wasn’t safe to be a Jedi, and the green men weren’t safe either.

So he kept it hidden. As the days slipped by and he kept working with Kasmir— until things went sideways, and he had to leave. To protect himself, but to protect Kasmir, too.

No one was safe around the Jedi any more. Caleb was better off on his own.

Actually, that wasn’t true. Caleb Dume was better off dead. Kanan Jarrus was better off traveling on his own, far away from anyone else who could die. Far away from the Force, too. And that was the way things stayed.

At least, they stayed that way until he met Hera Syndulla.

~~~

Hera still wasn’t completely used to having a new crew member, even after a full month of it. Not in a bad way, by any means. While Kanan was a shameless flirt (though he’d toned that down a little, thank the Force) he was also a hard worker, quick to pick up on the plans she made and even quicker to come up with his own. He also made her laugh, although she’d often refuse to admit it.

But having a new person on the Ghost was, well, new. Hera was used to looking out for herself and Chopper, and Kanan threw a wrench into that dynamic. Most of them were easy to cope with— someone else using the refresher, his insistence that they didn’t subsist on only ration bars, which resulted in a lot more shopping, to name a few.

However, he also had a habit of disappearing whenever they landed in a remote area, especially when they were near a body of water or trees. Hera had asked him about it, and he’d just said he was meditating in the vaguest possible way. Considering he was a Jedi, that was most likely true.

That didn’t mean it wasn’t a pain in the neck sometimes. Namely, when they needed to leave, and Hera couldn’t find him.

She’d accidentally left him behind once. While Hera had realized it before she’d even broken through the atmosphere, and had gone back immediately, Kanan had been VERY dramatic about it. So Hera had no intention of making the same mistake twice.

Which was why she was now taking a not so lovely stroll through a stand of trees on Tythlona, in search of her crew member.

“Kanan?” she called out warily, weaving between tangled brush and ancient trees. The forest here was old, but most of the trees were smaller, with twisted limbs and golden-green leaves. They all reached above Hera’s head, but not by much, and she could see the evidence of fallen fruit underfoot. “Kanan, can you hear me? It’s time to leave.”

There was no response, and Hera let out a sigh of annoyance. They were due to leave soon, and she hated to linger on a planet where she’d run a mission, even if it was just dropping off supplies. There was still a chance, however small, the Empire could track it back to them. 

She opened her mouth to call for Kanan again, then stopped. There was a break in the trees ahead, and something was moving.

Instinctively, her hand twitched towards her blaster, but she didn’t draw it yet. Instead, she moved forwards through the woods, staying at the ready.

It wasn’t long before the trees fell away, and Hera was standing at the brink between the cool, shady woods, and a wide open plain of golden grain. A small expanse of grass split the ground before the grain sprang up, and it was there that Kanan was kneeling, his back to her.

Hera’s voice stopped in her throat at the sight before her. She’d never actually seen him meditate before— but she’d seen other Jedi do it, and it didn't seem like much. It certainly hadn’t looked like this.

All around Kanan, plants were springing up in a long half circle. Saplings, Hera realized as she slowly approached, staying as quiet as she could. The tallest barely brushed the top of his head, buds twisting to life on the spindly branches. As she watched, crumpled leaves smoothed open, their three tips stretching towards the sun. They were growing before her very eyes.

The saplings seemed to hum with life and a rich green energy, framing Kanan until he almost looked like he could be one of them. Hera stood, uncertainly watching him, until he finally moved.

Lifting his head, he turned and looked at her through the leaves. Surprise flashed across his face, and he got to his feet, moving carefully out of the ring of small trees. Their rate of growth had slowed a little, but the tallest of them already reached Kanan’s mid-chest.

“Hey,” he said, pausing in front of her. “I didn’t hear you coming.”

“Well, you were clearly distracted,” Hera said, her gaze flashing from him to the small ring of trees. When she looked back at him, his expression was… self conscious. Embarrassed, almost.

“Yeah. I, uh…” he paused, looking back at the trees for a moment, a half-smile crossing his face. “Would you believe me if I said it wasn’t a Jedi thing?”

Hera’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, I suppose that explains why I’ve never heard about it before. Then… what is it? If you want to share,” she added immediately. “If it’s none of my business, then tell me that.”

Kanan shook his head, grinning a little. “Hey, it’s all your business at this point, Captain Hera.” He lifted his right hand, and Hera saw he wasn’t wearing the fingerless gloves he always had on.

She quickly realized why. On his palm was etched a burn scar, deep and old. But it wasn’t just a scar. It was something more. Something that, as Hera watched, shimmered with a green light the same shade as the leaves on the tree.

“There’s an old legend,” Kanan said quietly. “About the seventh son in certain family lines— usually in Outer Rim planets, although I couldn’t tell you which. But those seventh sons have a connection to a plant, and that connection grants powers that I don’t really understand. All I know is that they’re strong. Strong enough that it’s a miracle I haven’t been spontaneously growing trees this whole time.”

“So… you’re one of those seventh sons?” Hera said slowly.

“I never knew my birth family, but… apparently, yes.” Rubbing at his palm, Kanan said, “I learned about this growing up– at least a little bit. But I never understood the scale of the power, of what all it would mean. I was only fourteen when I got it, but I’ve barely used it since then.”

“Fourteen?” Hera did some rapid math in her head. “So that would have been—”

“Right after the Purge. And I mean right after.” Kanan let out a wry laugh. “Not the best timing. I’ve… I’ve never actually told anyone about this.”

Hera knew what that meant, coming from him. Kanan wasn’t closed off, necessarily. He was open enough, and friendly— more than just friendly, with his flirting. But he kept his secrets close to the chest.

Or at least, he had. These days, he was starting to be more and more open with her. And that wasn’t something Hera was going to treat lightly.

“Your secret’s safe with me,” she told him quietly, and he smiled.

“I know. You’re nice like that.”

Hiding a pleased smile, Hera commented, “You know, just when I think I have you figured out, you come up with something new. Any other mind-blowing secrets you have hidden?”

Rubbing at his beard, Kanan frowned in mock concentration. “Well, my killer good looks aren’t a secret to anyone, so… nope. Looks like you’re the mysterious one, now.”

Hera laughed. “I’m honored, dear. Are you ready to go?”

“One minute.” Kanan turned, bending to pick up his gloves from where he’d left them. For just a moment, he lingered by the trees, fingertips tracing over the tops of the dancing leaves. And then he was pulling on the gloves, turning to face her. “Let’s roll.”

As they headed back to the ship, Hera asked, “What kind of trees are they?”

“Kallnut trees,” Kanan said. “Apparently the nuts are pretty good, but I’ve never stuck around one of them long enough to find out.” He glanced at her. “Any more questions?”

It was a genuine question— Hera could tell. She took a minute to consider, then said, “What does it feel like?”

A thoughtful frown knitted Kanan’s brows as they came out of the trees. The Ghost was landed nearby, and Hera knew it was only a matter of time before Chopper came out to demand where they’d been. But Kanan stopped anyway, looking like he was turning the question over and over in his mind.

“It’s different from the Force— and the same,” he said. “The Force is just… there. Always. Like a river you’re walking next to, and can dip your feet in at any minute. It’s easy to reach, like breathing. This is… brighter. More persistent. They’re both easy, but if one’s more confusing, it’s the kallnut tree. But it’s strong. I— I don’t know how to explain it other than— can I?”

He slipped off a glove and held his scarred hand out to her. Hera’s breath caught, but she took his hand. His fingers were gentle and warm as he rested his palm against hers.

For a moment, there was nothing. And then, a flare of warmth from the knotted scar. Hera gasped as a humming brightness tangled around her hand. It was alive and strong and felt like roots deep in the earth, leaves reaching for the sky. It was like nothing she’d ever felt before, and was somehow fully… Kanan, yet not Kanan.

It was gone a heartbeat later, and Hera was aware of Kanan watching her. “Make any more sense?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” Hera said, forcing herself to breathe evenly. “And no.”

He nodded, still holding her hand. “Same here.”

And then Chopper’s loud, accusatory bwomping cut through the stillness surrounding them, and Hera forced herself to let go of Kanan’s hand. But her fingers still tingled from the contact as she headed back to the ship.

Of all the potential crew members she could have ended up with, Kanan was definitely on the stranger end. But she found she didn’t really mind that.

[derangedrhythms]

[…] the figure of the ghost as that which is neither present nor absent, neither dead nor alive. 

Colin Davis, from ‘Hauntology, spectres and phantoms’