#keero fanfic

[attendantheert]

well a few weeks back i reblogged a prompt post from @novelbear & offered to write a keero drabble for anyone who wanted it! @lighttailoring requested one w the prompt "one leaning their head onto the other's shoulder suddenly and they just freeze" and i tried my best. the context is that dedra finds out about the existence of the death star and shows up late to dinner at syril's apartment; i've only seen andor the one time a few months back so i hope this isn't totally ooc and that my writing is half coherent. thanks again @lighttailoring for the request!

The soft tapping on the datapad slowed to a halt as Syril reviewed the order he had placed. If he had his way, he would prepare Dedra a proper meal, to serve as a respite from her responsibilities. Not that she would make enough time to appreciate it, he thought bitterly. The food would go to waste. He sighed, leaning back in his chair.

Like Dedra always says, the Empire comes first. I can’t fault her for that.

His gaze wandered over to the window, the Coruscant night twinkling outside. Dedra had messaged him as soon as he arrived home, Start without me. Meeting running long. 

He had no idea how much time that bought him but decided to pull up a report he was working on. Joining the ISB resulted in difficult, sometimes grueling, work but he embraced it. Syril welcomed the distraction from his thoughts, which had run rampant at the Bureau of Standards. Too much time to wallow and self-reflect. He wanted to contribute to something worthwhile and Dedra, of all people, enabled him to.

After the Ferrix riot, she couldn't deny his tenacity and recommended him for a position. Of course, he was thankful and of course he was as vigilant as ever in his work, but he was still no closer to Andor. Or Axis for that matter. His reports filled page after page with petty offenses and minute matters. Matters so small as to be completely inconsequential. Sharing meals like this with Dedra broke up the monotony of his days, as lucky as he knew he was to have them.

As Syril continued tapping on his datapad, he heard a chime at the door, and stopped. Dedra.

He placed his datapad down and strode to the door, opening it at once.

Syril hardly had time to recognize the figure in front of him as Dedra as she swept past him in one swift movement. He closed the door behind him and tailed after her. 

She was a few feet away, removing her belt and opening his closet door, searching for a hanger. "How was your meeting?"Syril asked, coming to a stop behind her. Finding a hanger, she threw the belt on it, then moved to remove her coat.

Met with silence, he attempted a different angle. "I wasn't sure what you wanted so I got you noodles again. Unfortunately it hasn't arrived yet. Can I get you something to drink?" He watched as Dedra added her coat to the hanger and jammed it onto the rack.

As she peeled her outer tunic off, still without comment, Syril decided she was better left alone. "Let me know if you need anything," he muttered, before retreating back to his sitting room.

He picked up his datapad and stared at his report, trying not to think about what happened to Dedra. Was she fired? No, that couldn't be, she still had her uniform on when she came in. Her rank remained the same, so she couldn't have been demoted either. Perhaps Partagaz had been in a mood that day and decided to reprimand her for something minor. His mind wandered from what had happened to how he could get Dedra to tell him about it. She was in no mood to talk. He wondered why she even bothered to show up tonight.

Soon enough, Syril heard his closet door close and the sounds of boots thumping across the floor. He saw Dedra round the corner, a scowl still on her face, her hands behind her back. She walked right past him to the window and stared out at the lights. Syril stared at her back for several moments, at a loss for what to say. Telling her to leave might be too direct, but offering her his room for the night might be too suggestive. Neither were preferable.

Finally, he decided to leave her be, turning back to his datapad and continuing on with his report. As he found his rhythm once more, he heard Dedra walking back from the window. Giving her space, he decided not to look up and instead he felt her sit next to him on the couch. After a slight pause, he felt her lean her head on his shoulder. Syril froze, his focus immediately drawn to the warm pressure of Dedra's weight on him. Tonight couldn't get any stranger, he thought as he stared down at his datapad, not daring to move his head.

Dedra, noticing that he had stopped, finally spoke. "I apologize for coming late, but it was unavoidable. Partagaz informed us the Empire is developing something. Something that will give us leverage over the rebels, not in the short-term, but for the foreseeable future. This could be our chance to maintain order across the galaxy once and for all."

As Syril absorbed the magnitude of her words, he placed his datapad on a side table. He took a hand in hers, emboldened by her actions and her words. At the moment, he didn't care that Dedra was keeping a secret from him. He cared about how this secret affected her.

"You don't sound particularly thrilled about this revelation," Syril noted.

"Thrilled definitely isn't the right word," Dedra replied. "Apprehensive, I suppose. The Empire has mishandled several opportunities since I started work with the ISB. I want to know more about what they're planning to do with what they've developed. We cannot plan a show of force unless every one of us is prepared for the consequences."

Thinking of the amount of stress she was under caused Syril to regret his earlier anger towards her. He tightened his grip on her hand and moved away from her, so he could see her face. In the dim light, he could see her bun had loosened and lines under her eyes had started to form. She tried her best to maintain appearances but her efforts had dwindled in the late hours of the night.

Taking in her gaunt appearance, Syril tentatively asked, "Why did you decide to come here instead of going straight home? You look exhausted. I would've understood. Duty always comes first."

Dedra took a moment to respond, her eyes flickering down to look at their interlinked hands. Slowly, she began, "Ever since Ferrix, a part of me has questioned my competency as an officer. I've been pushing myself to make up for my shortcomings ever since. I've stayed up all night reviewing reports, I've taken remedial physical defense classes. I've even had Heert and Partagaz give me separate performance reviews so I could improve."

She met Syril's gaze again as she said, "And yet what makes me feel the most competent is when I come to see you."

Syril gulped, his heart rate increasing, as he considered that last statement. As far as he could tell, Dedra could barely tolerate him some nights. To hear that he had been an anchor for her all these months...

"How is that possible," Syril asked, bewildered. "What could I do for you that would be an improvement over what the ISB could do?"

"When I'm at work," she replied, "there are several other officers with the same rank as me, the same assignments as me. I feel like I'm part of a cog in this wheel that will keep turning regardless if I'm there to help it along. But when I'm with you, I know my input matters. The way you look at me, the way you respond to me, it makes me feel powerful. I don't need to prove myself because you already know what I'm capable of."

Syril started to smile, a glimmer in his eye, "I've been trying to get you to see that, Dedra. Almost as long as I've known you. It's like I told that day in front of headquarters. To me, you represent the truth and beauty of the Empire. You don't need me to succeed, but I'm glad I could be a source of strength. It's the least I could do after all you've done for me."

"That's exactly what I mean Syril. Hearing you say those things about me, even if I don't say it, it does make me feel wanted. And I realized that I don't necessarily mind feeling wanted by you. In fact, I find I enjoy it."

Her eyes darted down to his lips as she considered a point of no return. Syril was one step ahead of her, cocking his head to the side, shakily placing a hand on her cheek. 

Then, the chime from the door sounded, freezing both of them to the spot. 

As Syril sat there, dumbfounded, Dedra reached over to him, taking his hand in hers. Kissing him on the cheek, she asked, "Aren't you going to get that Syril?"

He blinked a few times and, hearing the chime again, stood up. "Yes, sorry, I'll be right back," he muttered, walking to the door with a hand to his cheek.

Dedra leaned back into the couch and prepared to send a comms out to Heert. It contained a simple message, "Karn may be a more valuable asset than anticipated. We need to explore his potential further."

[supervisormeero]

Boop.

“And your thought is that if we question the driver, we might find evidence of Mothma’s rebel sympathies?” Syril asks, staring down at his datapad. He waits. Dedra’s silent, so he assumes he’s not said enough; assumes he’s not shown sufficient intelligence to earn her answer. “Which could, in theory, lead us to… Axis?” he presses. “And Andor?”

He waits.

And waits.

She’s quiet.

When the silence has stretched for too long, he glances up to find Dedra’s chin nestled in the heel of her hand, her eyes closed. Her fingertips skim the tight strands of her blonde hair just above her ear. Every determined wrinkle has smoothed from her brow. Her mouth has opened slightly; her lips have parted with the subtle relaxation of sleep. It’s the third time she’s fallen unconscious in the midst of their surreptitious meetings in her apartment this week, so it’s the third time he’s been fortunate enough to sit across from her at the table and witness this beautiful, paradoxical side of her, like a flower sprouting between steel beams. Dedra is as soft when she sleeps as she is sharp when she’s awake. It’s impossible for him to rip his gaze from her.

And yet.

The last time he continued with his work and left her to catch up on hours of much-needed rest, she’d awakened, taken a half-second to adjust to her surroundings, and promptly snapped at him for “proceeding insubordinately in my absence.” She’d made it clear that her expectation was for him to wake her up, rather than to keep working out of respect for her well-being, and his stomach clenches at the thought that she might drag him down the hall and shove him out the door if he disappointed her again. As much as they both know she needs it, he can’t let her sleep.

And yet.

How is he to wake her? Shaking her by the shoulder seems even more insubordinate than continuing their work. Dropping his datapad risks startling her, frightening her. He’d rather shoot himself in the heart than leave this place of his own accord. For seconds that last eons he sits in the chair opposite Dedra Meero, painting her into the mural of his memory with the precise lines and manifold hues of a lovelorn artist, and ponders. Ruminates on all of the ways he might misstep and trigger an explosion. His heart thuds, and twists, and sprints.

Then, without thinking, he leans forward, extends his index finger, and taps it lightly against the tip of her nose. He doesn’t know when, or where, or why he learned the gesture. He knows it’s called a boop just as he knows the name, along with the thing itself, is riddled with impropriety. Inelegant as it is, it does serve its purpose.

Her blue eyes slit open as her lips suck in a short, shallow gasp of a breath. Her shoulders stiffen. She swallows. She pulls her head up, and then back. Proper posture, always. He watches fog churn in her gaze as she glances around the room, and he watches clarity sweep in to blow her confusion away. To free the sunbeams of her brilliance. A tinge of red blooms across her pale cheeks.

She fixes her attention on him, focuses on the outstretched pointer finger he’d dropped into his lap. Evidence. It’d never slip past her.

Her lip curls in exquisite disdain. “What was that?”

His throat tightens. “I… know you didn’t want me to continue on without you. I thought it best to, ah… employ a… less harsh method of waking you.”

Her glare is an ice storm, and he’s honored to sit motionless and freeze in place. “Try that again, Syril, and you’ll lose a finger.”

He’s booped his final boop, then. He nods.

“Of course.”

[air-mechanical]

The first thing I ever wrote for Dedra and Syril the day after I'd finished watching Andor because they took my head and heart and I'm still finding ways to pay them back.

Since then I've moved online home back to tumblr and have written more about them here (thank you Keero and Andor fandom you're so entertaining and intelligent and inspirational). And I'm almost finished with a second fic, which will be a Dedra pov.

On A03, twitter, everywhere else, I'm under the name limited-practice (from when I was mainly using my sideblog and expanded out to other sites under it).

Thank you to those that have already read this fic. And extra thanks to those that have commented on it, I appreciate it greatly!

[lettiesteadygo]

I would love 7, 16, and 30 for the fanfic ask!

ahh ty friend!!

7. Here's from the next chapter of Focus Break, this one is taking a LOT of rewriting so idk when it'll be up. Yes I do love OCs leave me alone!!

They’re veritably swarmed by a group of chattering, highly enthused Desert Clan boys.

“Hey, Champion, I heard you rode a Dreadwing!”

“My mother says I can sneak just as quietly as you can Champion, hang on guys, be quiet so I can show her!!”

“Hey Champ - Aloy! Remember me?” She looks to the source of the last voice, matching it to a boy with a jagged mask painted over his eyes. She pauses, then remembers the child, shivering in an ancient wreck while Yarra frantically checked him over. The boy waves excitedly, and she waves back a little.

“Uh, hey. It’s good to see you safe at home.” The boy grins, showing off a dark gap in his front teeth that mirrors the dark mask painted over his eyes.

“Yeah, it’s a good thing Commander Yarra and I helped you fight that Thunderjaw, right?” His eyes cut nervously to the boys around him, and Aloy hides her smile with a solemn nod.

“Definitely, I don’t think Yarra and I would have made it without you, uh…” The boy cheerfully fills in her pause.

“Keero!” She nods again, trying to mimic Kotallo’s best Marshal stance from atop her Charger.

“Right, Keero. Without you, The Desert Clan might have had to find itself a new Commander.” A chorus of chatter bursts out around them as she and Kotallo ride through the gates with their escort. She catches his shoulders shaking out of the corner of her eye, and pins him with a questioning gaze.

Kotallo chuckles openly then. “Careful, Commander. A man could go mad with the honor of your praise.”

Something swoops in her stomach at that, but she doesn’t have time to respond before she hears her name ring out across the settlement. Yarra stands at her usual place, her hand raised in greeting as she calls to them.

16. I do not write by hand! Or at least, I don't write prose by hand. When I write poetry or screenplays sometimes I'll do a first pass longhand first, but when it comes to longer sentences and paragraphs I wanna be able to move things around-it's way easier on my computer.

30. Editing! This one varies, I'd say I usually combine editing with writing my first pass, so when I'm 'done' with a rough draft it's already been edited a fair amount. I work with a beta for my longer pieces, and usually I'll do my own second pass on editing when I go over her notes.

[supervisormeero]

*adds to the keero pile* please elaborate on your favourite square though

also: villaneve, and maybe vel/kleya

Lmaooooooo I have bingo three ways for Them

Favorite square… maybe “they deserve a domestic AU,” because I’m literally writing it? Also “they would hate me for shipping them,” but tbh, I don’t think Syril would. Syril would tell me to ship them harder. Syril would read my fanfic and write his own. Syril would learn how to edit so he could make romantic edits on YouTube. Syril would write to Tony Gilroy begging him to make them canon. Dedra, on the other hand, would have me thrown in a cage on the Outer Rim.

VILLANEVE. I’d die for them, and I’ll never stop being mad about what happened to V. That show ended at Season 3.

Vel/Kleya. I actually love them. Bitter snarky exes.