#ezra x artichoke

[the-blind-assassin-12]

writer wednesday #10 6/29/22

Hi there friends, hope you’re all having a good week so far! I know its been 88 years since I did one of these posts and for that I am SO sorry. I’ve been doing a little better lately at carving out time to write AND read though, so I am getting back on track with these rec lists (and with the doodle reviews! look for a couple of those this weekend!) and with catching up on some stories that I have unknowingly overlooked, and I am so HAPPY about that. So without further ado, here are three things that I read this week that made me say “hey, that was great.” 

*as always these stories are listed by order of length.

Confined by @imtryingmybeskar

Ezra (Prospect) x Female Reader 

WC - 2.8k 

One of my favorite things about reading Ezra stories is seeing what nicknames our silver tongued prospector comes up with for the other characters he interacts with. Usually he comes up with them after only knowing people for a short while, but somehow they always seem to fit perfectly. I think it’s because Ezra is a good judge of character (more on that in a minute) and he’s able to get a good read on people relatively quickly. The nickname he gives reader here is perfect yet again. Banshee fits not only because she was yelling and screaming her head off when he first meets her, but also because she has a fighting spirit. She’s no angel, no delicate flower, and though he’s not even looking at her when he calls her that, somehow he still sees that it’s right. And once they start talking he knows that its right. But Ezra isn’t the only one who is good at reading people, nor is he the only one with darkness in his rearview, and their conversation, trading truths to get to know one another, proves that Reader is just as good at reading people she barely knows as he is. Must be a Fringeling skill. I love that the thing he fibs about is so innocuous and that he’s only trying to make it match what the rest of the world thinks of him - not because he cares, but because he likes defying preconceived notions. His reasoning behind building up his vocabulary is so perfect, as is the way this one ends. I won’t give it away, but I will keep my fingers crossed that you might possibly think about writing more for these characters!! ;) 

Brigand by @insomniamamma

Ezra (Prospect) x Female Reader 

WC - 2.9k

MY FAVORITE SPACERS ARE BACK! I just get tickled every time I see an update from the Prickle ‘verse... even when they’re dealing with stinky space durians. I know I have said this before in regards to this series/collection, but the worldbuilding is so LUSH and IMMERSIVE I always feel like I am right there in the thick of things. I love how gritty and real yet completely extraterrestrial it all is. I love that more often than not, Ezra, Artichoke & Cee are in grimey, dangerous or otherwise unpleasant situations, but I never leave without a smile on my face. This one was no different. I love the dynamic that exists between the three of them. Love that Ezra and Cee work like one seamless unit and that even though Artichoke is usually a step behind on that (not her fault, she’s the newest crew member after all) they try their best to catch her up. But sometimes after a day of sucking at pulling seeds from rotting fruits, you can’t catch up until you catch a few drinks, amirite, Arti? Going to a dive bar alone in a seedy space bench sounds exactly like the kind of trouble that she finds there, but one of my favorite things about her is that she leans hard into it, stands her ground even when it’s not the smartest thing to do. I wouldn’t be able to stand by and listen to what those sickos were saying, either, so I applaud her trying to put them in their place... even if it got her put in a not so great place, too. The interaction when Ezra shows up is so beautiful and genuine and really shows how much he cares for her not only as a part of their crew but as a person. I adore him, that’s no secret, but I adore him a little more every time he shows this side of himself. And Cee’s motivation for them showing up when they did had me snorting. She’s great. All three of them are great and I love them to the green moon and back again. 

Want To? by @dieterbravospr

Dieter Bravo x Female Reader 

WC - 3.5k 

I have been meaning to get into Irredeemable for a while now, so when I found this prequel one shot I thought well isn’t this the perfect place to start... even if it was written after the series got rolling. And I was right. This glimpse of Dieter is definitely in line with the way he portrays himself in canon. A little cold. No time for anything but what he wants. Thinking about ways to escape or score his next high whether its from drugs or adrenaline or both. But he’s not an outright bastard. He’s got rules and he sticks to them, even if he has no regard for other peoples’ rules. (like sleeping with married women.) I sort of get the feeling that he didn’t necessarily bite off more than he could chew here with Reader... more like he thought he was biting into kraft mac and cheese but instead it was lobster ravioli. Their little deal is very interesting and I am very much looking forward to seeing how it unfolds for them next time. And bless Reader’s assistant. Bless Dieter’s while we’re at it, they are going to need all the help they can get, I think. 

[insomniamamma]

2023 Tumblr Top 10

Interesting. I think The Shitpost™️ skewed last year’s results. I’m going to talk a little about the fics, and let the other posts speak for themselves.

1. 375 notes - Mar 14 2023

I've seen a bunch of back and forth about whether or not Joel made the right decision in saving Ellie at the expense of a cure...

2. 330 notes - Apr 19 2023

ok, I haven't seen anyone mention it yet, but can we talk about Bo-Katan for a second? When the light cruiser was falling into...

3. 167 notes - May 9 2023

In The Light They Both Look The Same: Joel Miller x F!reader -- This was an odd one for me, as I don’t write a whole lot of smut and I never in a million years thought I would write a sex worker!reader, but here we are. This was one of those ideas that sunk it’s claws in and made me do something about it.

4. 113 notes - Jan 5 2023

Closing Time: Marcus Pike x F!reader -- The first story for my Year of Kisses challenge and my first time writing for sweet Marcus. He would be the perfect man to rescue you from a shitty New Year’s Eve.

5. 104 notes - Apr 27 2023

Tessellation: Cee and Ezra -- Another one for the Year of Kisses. This is mostly about Cee and her memories of Damon and her mother, reaching back to a time when she was cared for to care for Ezra in turn.

6. 84 notes - Sep 25 2023

Gravity: Ezra x f!reader -- *slaps this fic* I can fit so much yearning in this bad boy. For the Year of Kisses. Takes place before the events of the movie. I had a blast writing the banter between these two. It was fun writing Ezra with a reader who will flirt right back.

7. 75 notes - Jul 23 2023

Circle, Circle: Dieter Bravo X f!reader -- I thought this was going to be a romance, I really did, but these two just decided that they are best friends and there wasn’t a thing I could do about it. 

8. 62 notes - Feb 8 2023

Glory: Ezra x F!reader -- A Prickle’verse fic written for my year of kisses. A look at Ezra and Artichoke’s relationship. New love vs old. I love these two.

9. 58 notes - Jan 14 2023

Ribbons & Wings: Ezra x f!reader w/Cee -- A Prickle’verse fic. Soft found family fun. Who doesn’t love playing in the snow?

10. 51 notes - Sep 28 2023

So like, why are we picking apart how Pedro Pascal ties his shoes of all things? Or the fact that he seems to rotate the same...

Created by TumblrTop10

[insomniamamma]

Self-promo Tag Game

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 🤍

Thanks for the tag, @oonajaeadira! This is HARD. My favorite fics shift around depending on how i'm feeling. Also it's hard not to just pick five Ezra fics because I write for him so extensively.

Over Easy - Cozy, hung over breakfast with Frankie Morales. That's it. That's the fic.

Night of Hunters - Part of the Prickle 'verse. Cee is in danger. Ezra and Artichoke have to act fast.

In The Light They Both Look The Same - Joel Miller x f!sex!worker one shot. A bit of warmth in a broken world.

Ephemera - Nico (House Comes With a Bird) x f!reader. He's just so dreamy and weird at the same time. This was meant to be a one shot and like so many of my oneshots turned into a loose-fit AU.

Gravity - a soft Ezra x F!reader fic. This is my most recent so I am still in love with it.

np tags: @grogusmum @sp00kymulderr @artemiseamoon @fromthedeskoftheraven @boliv-jenta

Self-promo Tag Game

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 🤍

Urf. I'm not great at this one!!!! You're making me choose and judge. But if @prolix-yuy and @ezrasbirdie ask so nicely, I will answer not with my top five, but with five in general off the top of my head that I love in this moment.

Dulces Sueńos - Pero Tovar: long romantic fairytale one-shot full of tropes

Sweets Series - Javi Gutierrez: soft romantic series full of sweets

Light Only Shows You Where the Shadows Are - Max Phillips: quiet horror one-shot fic that I want to continue

Leave Off Your Wandering - Joel Miller: soft fix-it series set after season one in Jackson

Any and all Six Sentence Ficlets, but mostly the Winktober series - Multi: packing as much story as I can into six sentences. Writing them is good for my soul.

np tags: @insomniamamma @writeforfandoms @leslie-lyman @morallyinept @honestly-shite

[insomniamamma]

Safe: Ezra x f!reader w/Cee

A/n: What can I say? I'm hormonal and all my shit hurts and if I cannot get snuggles IRL then I will write something super soft and self-indulgent to make myself feel better. Part of the Prickle AU. Set sometime after Sacellum.

Warnings: Oh no! There's only one bed. Soft!Ezra. Language. Cee's best friend on The Pug is non-binary and also named after my little boy's favorite stuffy. Maybe the slightest bit of angst. But mostly super soft.

         "You did this on purpose."         "Right hand to Kevva, I did not. I asked for double occupancy and they must have misunderstood and--"         "You don't have a right hand,"         "Let's go back to the reception desk," says Ezra, "We may be able to negotiate more appropriate accommodations."         "Errgh," you groan. Reception had been a nightmare, three freighters worth of traffic trying to secure berths all at once. It was a lot of people. Too many for your liking. Cee was staying with Kit and their family. Kit and Cee had practically tackled each other right there on the dock, everyone else forgotten, walked away arm in arm.         "We shove off in three cycles," Ezra hollered at her retreating back, and she flapped a dismissive hand at him. You had to smile. For three cycles Cee gets to be a normal teenager hanging out with her best friend without worrying about points and pulls and overhead costs and fuel margins.         "I don't wanna go back down there," you say, "Too many people. I think twice the population of Falnost was waiting in that fucking line." You brush past him and into the suite. The ceilings are low and slightly curved and it feels strange to be under this much grav. The outer rings of Puggart Bench have something close to terra-normal gravity, but after so much time spent on little moons and worldlets, this much G feels weird and you have no desire to trudge back down to reception.         "You sure?" Asks Ezra.         "Yeah," you drop your day bag and press a hand to the mattress. "Look at the size of this thing. It's, like, five crash-couches wide. This seems above our pay grade."         "They're overbooked," says Ezra, "We're paying the same points for the berth we should have gotten. I made sure of it. I can sleep in that recliner if--"         "No."         "No?"         "Kevva, Ez, we're both adults," you say, "I think we can share a bed for a night without exploding."

        Your suite has a real, honest-to-Goddess shower with a generous 15 minute timer. You scrub as fast as you can and then just let the water hit you, let the pressure pound on your tense back muscles until the chime sounds and the water cuts off. You towel off and dress, soft clothes you sleep in, and pad out into the main room. Ezra is reading, face far off and serious, and you just look at him for a minute, illuminated in the warm lamp-light, absorbed in his book, little furrow between his brows and then he looks up, all knowing smirk and dancing eyes, he's caught you staring.         "Your turn, Ez," You say and turn your face away. Kevva. This man. You've been trying to keep things professional, but it's a losing battle. His flirtations make you flush, but he's never tried to push you, never tried to leverage the fact that it's his name on the ship's title, that you signed a contract, that you are junior-most crew. You feel safe with him. And, from your limited experience in the fringe, that is a miracle in itself.

        Ezra sets his book aside and heads for the bathroom. You peel the sheets from the other side of the bed and settle in. There's a media player bolted to the wall, but you just want quiet. You switch off the lamp on your nightstand (we both have lamps, we both have a nightstand, how weird is that?) The sheets feel deliciously cool against your skin. To be clean and sleeping in clean sheets...if Heaven isn't like this Kevva's got some answering to do.         Ezra sings in the shower. You're barely awake and you smile. Ezra can't carry a tune in a bucket, singing fringeling songs and reels, stories of mercs and pirates and ghosts and you drift off to the sound of him, the sound of the water running.

        He sees you soft and loose and asleep. No rail-gun, no body armor, no thrower under your pillow. Your face slack, snoring slightly. You've kicked out of the blankets and lay curled as if chilled.         "Hey Artichoke," he murmurs, pulls the blankets up and tucks them around you, "Let's get you warm, yeah?"

        Ezra wakes. Bleared red numbers of the clock saying that this is still the deepest ditch of local night. Ezra is warm and confused. He feels you pressed against him, your chest to his back, an arm hooked around his middle, your legs entwined with his. You've sought him out in your sleep and folded yourself around him, your breath slow and steady against his nape. Ezra's eyes prick with tears. He can't remember the last time he's been held like this. He's had lovers. He has payed for sex on the less reputable Benches of the Great Arm, but for someone to hold him? For someone to touch him without payment, without trying to press some advantage, gain some kind of leverage, without priming him for the inevitable backstab?  He is overwhelmed. He tries to wriggle away from you, but your arm just tightens around him.         "...fixed the transponder," you mutter against his neck, "told you we didn't need...told you..." He pats your arm and relaxes against you.         "Okay, Artichoke, okay, sweetheart. Go back to sleep."

        You wake enfolded, Ezra's good arm wrapped around you. You feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, the slow sussurration of his breath, the snores that catch in his throat and turn to murmurs, the rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek. You've tucked yourself against him in your sleep. Your hand rests on his sternum. Oh Kevva. What are you doing? You go rigid.         Your first impulse is to wrestle out of his hold, take one of the blankets and install yourself in the recliner that you wouldn't let Ezra take, but part of you wants to stay right here in the combined warmth of your bodies, feeling his breath, his heart, his calloused palm spread against your shoulder. You shift, making the smallest effort to pull yourself away and his arm tightens further, a low, sleepy chuckle reverberates through his chest.         "Hi Ez,"         "Hi." He strokes the pad of his thumb along the exposed curve of your shoulder.         "I'll get up," you say, even as he shifts and cups the back of your head in his palm, tucking you closer.         "You don't have to," he says, voice rough with sleep. This gesture pricks at your heart. Coming up on Falnost has made you hard, guarded, there has been precious little gentleness in your life, pulling rocks out of the parched ground since you were big enough to lift a shovel. Learned to fight and shoot to chase water-thieves from the homestead. He strokes the back of your head like one might pet a skittish cat and your heart squeezes.         "Ezra?" You hate how small your voice sounds, you hate the uncertainty you hear there, "Are we okay?"         "Of course we are," he says, "Why wouldn't we be?"         "I wrapped around you like a Bueller's world python and I did it in my sleep-"         "The wrapping was mutual-"         "You're not mad or uncomfortable or anything?" He laughs again, gentle huff of breath against the crown of your head.         "Mad about waking with you in my arms? The day I'm mad about that you can just shoot me in the head and send me to Kevva because I will surely have lost my ever-loving mind." You smile against his skin and relax some, your hand unfists and you curl your arm around his soft belly, feel his breath hitch.         "Tickles."         "Sorry." You feel yourself drift, skirting the edge of sleep. He is warm and solid and you let yourself relax against him.         “This feels...safe..." you say, so close to sleep that you're not sure if you've said it aloud or if you've just thought it. And you're not sure if you hear his response or dream it, one word. Always.

        "She's late," says Ezra.         "We still got a sixteenth to button up and board,"         "Still," says Ezra, "Yon freighter will leave with our pod wether we're strapped in it or not." You see Cee and Kit, trailed by Kit's parents, weaving through the crowd. Cee is beaming, her blonde hair has a brilliant streak of blue, and Kit has a matching streak in their hair.         "Hey guys!" Cee hugs Ezra and then hugs you.         "How was your shore leave, Little Bird? I like the fancy hair."         "Isn't that cool? We've got matching streaks," says Cee.         "It's semi-permanent," says Kit, "We'll pick a different color next time!" You have to smile. Cee looks revitalized. Three cycles spent with her friend, just doing normal kid things has been good for her.         "Check this out!" says Cee and pushes a laminated drawing towards the two of you. Ezra makes a show of looking carefully.         "I recognize you and Kit," he says, "I am not familiar with these other people, though."         "They're from The Streamer Girl, dumbass," says Cee, "Here's Clo and Reive and Lily and Auri. See? Kit put us right in the story." Ezra gives Kit his best smile.         “You drew this? You are very talented." Kit smiles big.         "Thanks!" says Kit, "I'll put you guys in the next one! Maybe you could be professors at Bowsun Academy or something."         "I look forward to it," says Ezra.         "Time to go, Cee," you say and Cee and Kit exchange one more enthusiastic hug.         "Later fringeling!" Calls Kit.         "Piss off, stationer!" Cee calls back. Ezra curls his fingers around yours and squeezes. Cee tells you all about her three cycles with Kit, the movies they watched, the Real Food they ate. How Kit's little brother wanted a blue streak in his hair too and Kit's parents said no and how mad he got. I wanna be cool like Kit and Cee.         "I told him he's got plenty of time to be cool," says Cee, "And he told me that I don't understand how the world works. He's like, four." Ezra laughs.         "Wise for his years." Says Ezra. And the three of you fall quiet. You find the pod much as you left it, towed to the Polly Jean and clipped in, transferred by the station's tugs. You settle in and do a full systems check. Calling out the checklists and making sure everything is good for transit.         "What are you guys so happy about?" asks Cee.         "Whatever do you mean?" asks Ezra.         "You been all smiles since I hit the dock," says Cee, "Both of you. Did we score a really good job? Did we win the Puggart Bench lottery or something? What aren't you telling me?"         "That," says Ezra, "Is for us to know and you to endlessly speculate about."         "Hmph," says Cee.

Tagging: @oonajaeadira, @grogusmum , @honestly-shite, @writeforfandoms, @ladyvengeancesposts, @the-blind-assassin-12

[insomniamamma]

💕 self-love time! talk about which ones of YOUR creations (edits, artworks, fanfics) you like the most then send to other creators to do the same 💕

Hey you ❤️!!! Thanks for the ask! A few people have dropped this ask in my inbox and I've been trying to come up with a new list for each. I think this one will be angst. sorry, not sorry.

Ephemera: This was meant to be a one-shot but we all know how well this works out.

About What We Want: Reader is Frankie Morales's woman, pregnant with his child.

The Song of the Wrong Response: Set after S2 of the Mandalorian. Same AU as "Stubborn" and "Hands".

Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own: Another Nico x reader angst rest. I love these two but they need to figure things out. ( says J. as if J is just an observer and didn;t write her way here)

Brigand: Artichoke gets in bar-fight defending Ezra's honor.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

writer wednesday #15 - 09/07/2022

Happy first Wednesday in September, friends!! I hope you’re all enjoying the last rays and days of summer. This week’s recs ended up being an impromptu Ezra extravaganza - which if you know me at all should not come as a surprise - so prospect people get ready to feast. Here are three great Ezra pieces that I read this week:

*as always, this list is ordered by length*

Screaming Mimis by @insomniamamma

Ezra x Female Reader (Artichoke!)

Part of the Prickle ‘verse (<3) 

WC: 643

First of all, THANK YOU for answering my question in such a fun way! I’m glad that Artichoke got to have a (good natured) laugh at Ezra’s expense here. Seeing that scared shitless “we are about to be mercilessly mauled by vicious feral rock cats!” look on his face, but knowing that everything is fine and everyone is safe and there is actually no danger? Yeah, I’d burst out laughing, too. It would also 110% make me fall even more in love with him, which I didn't think was possible but here we are. Especially because for this trio its usually Ezra who’s in the know about whatever planet or moon they’re on. And, as always, spot on Cee here. If they had 5 points for every time that girl has rolled her eyes at the two of them, none of them would have to harvest anything ever again. Gosh, I love them. 

This Untitled Fic by @archive-of-note

Ezra x Reaper!Reader

A beautiful scene retelling/ different POV

WC: 794

WOW. This was gorgeous. Ethereal and somewhat melancholy, but at the same time comforting and warm and just beautiful. I love the characterization of this Death/Reaper/Reader character as kind and loving rather than frightening and cruel. The fact that Ezra asks them to stay - even knowing what they are - really illustrates how accepting he is of his fate, and how at ease the presence of this otherworldly being makes him. I love the way that Cee is peripherally mentioned in this almost as the embodiment of Free Will and Choice. The thought that maybe Ezra wasn’t alone before Cee showed up at the tent, that maybe he was visited by a calming, guiding spirit, is one that makes me feel all teary eyed and warm inside. Thank you for writing and sharing this with all of us. I will be thinking about this one for a while. 

Root Pearl: Part 1 by @something-tofightfor

Ezra x Female Reader

Musician AU (!!!)

WC: 8.5k

So something that happens every single time I read one of your stories, whether its a one shot or a series like this one is, is that when I get to the end I can actually feel myself getting dumped back into reality and it feels like I’m being forced to leave my favorite place before I want to go. THATS how powerful your world building and descriptions and characterizations and plots are. And this story is WAY UP THERE in terms of how wholly it has swept me up, even though we’re still just getting started. This story has a lot of darkness and angst hued undertones, but at the same time its full of hope and the way that you balance those things is really masterful. The relationship between Ezra and Cee is so believable real and I can feel how much they care about one another. Reader and the way that she is reaching out to Cee (and Ezra) is so genuine and kind - this is the kind of story that shows you that even though terrible things might happen, and terrible people exist, there are still good people and bright moments to look forward to. The passage I chose to highlight here - along with Ezra’s email to Reader - were my favorite parts of this chapter, because they both made me feel really warm and hopeful and... I know there is still some darkness on the horizon for them. But I am so excited for what they might be able to have if they all can get through it. Thank you for creating and sharing this AU with us - it is something very special. 

[insomniamamma]

Clean Dirt: Ezra x f!reader w/Cee

A/n: For writer Wednesday, @autumnleaves1991-blog​. Same reader as Prickle, but this stands alone. Read Prickle if you care about how Artichoke got her nickname. Cee swears like a Puggart Bench dock worker and Ez blames you. Reader is established crew with Ezra and Cee. 

Warnings: language. Flirting. Mention of giant bugs.

          "We have got to air out this pod." Ezra and Cee sit under a heavy tarp stretched from the side of the pod, tethered to surrounding trees. They are engrossed in a game of Ships and Kings. Cee chews on her thumbnail and eyes the board.          "Kevva waits, birdie, make your move."          "Shut up, Ez, I'm thinking."

         They aren't paying you a bit of attention. Syrinx-7 is a gentle world, if hot and humid. The gravity is a fraction of standard, the oxygen levels a bit higher, so you get insect-analogues that would have been at home on prehistoric Terra. Shadows pass over the trees and some primal part of you shrinks from an approaching predator, but when you look up you see translucent flying creatures the size of small air-craft. Filter-feeders, Ezra told you, they just ride the currents with their mouths open and swallow whatever happens to fly in. Translucent flesh laced with wire-thin bones, but that's not why you're here. This is a proper bug hunt. You're after scythe-wings, a night hunting predator. Their ichor has valuable medicinal properties. The trick is to tap 'em and let them go, said Ez, and showed you the tools, a sharp spile that you stab between the third and fourth thoracic plates. Showed you the specialized containers to dump that black blood into, temp controlled with a faint electric current flickering through the inner lining, to mimic the inside of a scythe-wing's body. You got to fool the ichor, said Ezra, trick it to think it's still safe and inside, otherwise it breaks down and all you got is a bunch of worthless black gunk.          Scythe-wings are nocturnal. The three of you set up the light-towers, and assembled the stun sticks, and now there's nothing to to but wait until it gets dark. You'd wandered back into the pod to grab some Bits Bars and the smell had damn near knocked you down. The air of Syrinx-7 is clean and sweet, no scrubbers or suits necessary, and after getting a few good lungfuls of it, the inside of the pod smelled terrible, body odor and mildew and stale food.          "I'm dead serious," You say, "Y'all are just blind to it. Go back in right now and tell me I'm wrong."

         Ezra stands and stretches theatrically. He's long-since ditched his shirt in the heat and you can't help but admire the slide of his back muscles under his skin. He turns his head and smirks at you and you find something really interesting in the dappled undergrowth to look at, heat creeping up you neck. Kevva, this is so unprofessional.          "I suppose we can take a break," says Ezra.          "You only want to take a break because you're losing," says Cee.          "Don't you touch that board, Artichoke," says Ezra.          "Cee doesn't need my help to kick your ass at Ships and Kings."

         You stand in the shade of the tarp and wait as the two of them open the pod and poke their heads in.          "Kevva's sakes, she's right--"          "This pod smells like an old man's balls--"          "Cee!" You splutter laughter.          "Feeling personally attacked there, Ez?" You call. Ezra and Cee practically climb over each other to get out of the pod.          "Oi!" says Ezra, "You are a terrible influence on this young lady. You have taught Cee a myriad of rude expressions, some that even I find objectionable." He's chiding you, but he does it with a teasing smile. Cee rolls her eyes.          "It really does stink in there," she says, "We can crank the panels open, I guess."          "We got anything onboard that passes for laundry detergent?"          "Got some degreaser I think," says Cee.          "That'll work."

         Ezra usually sets down near a body of water. It's a lot easier to fill the pod's tanks than to rely on the ‘cyclers. Also there is the comforting knowledge that, at least for a few cycles, you're not drinking your own recycled piss. Clean water in the fringe is a luxury, and this world has clean water aplenty, cut through with rivers and rushing streams like the one you've landed next to. If not for the low grav this would be prime real estate. Turns out human reproduction only works at a certain gravity. Syrinx-7 is just below that threshold. Eventually, this will be some vacationer's paradise. Trees knocked down to make way for gleaming hotel blocks, but there will never be a permanent human settlement here. A pretty place for people who can afford passage on the jump-yachts.

         You've disconnected the intake hose from the pod and use it to fill a cargo tub. The water mixed with the industrial cleaner foams. Not ideal, but it should do the job.  The pod resembles a flower in bloom, the feather-panels all hand-cranked open. If the 'chutes fail, the panels pop, a last ditch effort to slow a falling pod.          "Grab me another tub, would you?" You ask, and Ezra ducks back under the shadow of the tarp. Cee shoves a tub full of dirty laundry towards you.          "This is everything I could find," says Cee, "What about the suits?" You shake your head. Cleaning an exo-suit is a bit more than you can manage dirtside.          "Take apart what you can and hang 'em on the line," you say, "We can air them out at least."          "How long are you idiots going to dance around each other?" Cee stands with her hands planted on her hips.          "I don't kn-"          "Between the pod and the tent we share a living space the size of a cargo can," says Cee. You hunker beside he tub, scrubbing fabric against itself, hoping the degreaser will at least take some of the smell out. Fuel-to-weight limits dictate how much you can bring down with you. Extra changes of clothes are usually one of the first things to be sacrificed.          "And?"          "Come on," says Cee, "I've seen how you look at each other. It's pitiful. You get all bashful and he makes those Big Dumb Eyes at you. Just give me some warning when you two dumbasses finally decide to hook up. I'll make sure to turn my music up extra loud."          "Kevva wept." you mutter, but Cee is already headed back beneath the tarp. Ezra comes out of the shade, dragging an empty cargo tub. He plops down beside you on the stream bank.          "Can I help?" That question is loaded. When you first joined Ezra and Cee as crew he was still getting used to doing everything left-handed. The few times you'd offered help, he'd lashed out at you and then shame-facedly apologized to you later. It's not you, he'd said, I let my frustrations spill over. I should have been more clear with you initially. I have to relearn these things on my own. Please do not offer help. If I need something from you, I will ask. We clear? Clear. You'd said.          "Sure," you say, "I'll start handing you stuff. You rinse it out in the stream and dump it in the tub you just brought. Clear?"          "Clear," says Ezra, and the two of you work in companionable silence for a beat, the sound of the stream babbling away, and an absent snatch of music you hum, words unremembered, something Cee was listening to. You pass clothes off to Ezra, socks and t-shirts and PUZU gear that Cee favors, boxers with frayed elastic and sagging seats.          "We make enough Ez," you say, "You can get yourself some undies without holes in em."          "Same goes for you, Artichoke, I could read a newspaper through some of the sleep-shirts you wear. Not that I'm complaining, mind." You feel your neck and ears getting hot. Kevva. He's been looking at you the same way you've been looking at him.          "At least we'll have something clean to change into once we wash off the bug-guts," you say.            "Things go right and there won't be any splatter," he says.          "Yeah, and since when do things go right?" Ezra laughs, eyes crinkled shut, his dimple showing. He laughs more now than when you first joined up.          "You got me there," he says, "This all of it?"          "Yeah." He stands and offers his hand, helps you to your feet, but then he doesn't let go, just holds your hand in his, the calloused pad of his thumb brushing over the tender skin on the back of your hand.          "You're good to us," he says, "Me and Cee would be living like a couple of channel rats caught in a conduit if not for you." You're not sure what to say, you don't have words for what you're feeling. How do you tell Ezra that after leaving Falnost with the dust still clinging to your heels, after kicking around the ass-end of the Great Arm, you found a home with this tiny crew? You don't know what to say so you squeeze his fingers in yours.          "Come on," you say, "You get one end and I get the other. Cee's got the line hung."

         The two of you wrestle the tub of wet clothing over to a stretch of rope that Cee's  tied between a pair of trees. Your exo-suits hang draped over the rope, for all the good it will do. Those will stink until you can get them professionally cleaned on station. There's nothing in the pod that can serve as clothes-pins so you and Ezra drape your wet clothes over the line.          "What if it falls off?" Asks Cee, arms crossed over her chest.          "What if it does?" You ask, "At least it'll be clean dirt."

Tags: @honestly-shite​

[insomniamamma]

Rain: Ezra X F!Reader w/Cee

A/N: Prickle ‘verse. Takes place after Prickle but before Clean Dirt. Can be read as a one shot. Reader is established crew with Ezra and Cee. This was written for @autumnleaves1991-blog​ ‘s Writer Wednesday. I am woefully behind. I legit don’t understand how some of you write fics so fast!

Warnings: Mentions of war, a little bit of angst, but mostly gentle fluff. Feelings.

            "Hey, Ez," Ezra is engrossed in grading the latest haul, testing for clarity and hardness.  The surface of CJ's World is cut through with oxbow rivers, fantastic hoodoos of striated sandstone slashed with valleys deeper than any found in Sol system. You're digging for fossils. These rusty carved out plateaus were once the bed of an ancient ocean. Through some trickery of mineralization and chemistry the fossils of CJ's world shine like the fire opals of Old Terra. Big or small, they all have value.           "Ezra," says Cee, "She's doing it again."           "Doing what, birdie?" Ezra takes off the loupe and rubs at his eyes. Rain pelts on the tent, even sheltered the humidity soaks through.           "Look." Ezra draws open the tent flap and sees you, standing in the rain, your head tilted up, no gentle shower this, rain that pelts down hard, turns the view across the sharp-cut canyons to silver curtains. Your clothes are plastered to you like a second skin. The rain actually aids your cause, washing away loose sediment, making the fossils easier to get to. You bow your head and let the stinging rain hit the back of your neck, let it fall on your closed eyes, your outspread arms. You laugh at the sky.

           "What do you know about Falnost?" Cee's eyes go distant for a beat. She has a memory to rival Central computers.

           "Hmmm..about two thirds standard grav, class C5, would've rated lower if not for it's primary. Dustball."             "Mmm-hmm."             "She's not used to real weather," says Cee.             "Observant as ever," says Ezra. The rain is not gentle. It is chilly and hits your skin like handfuls of flung sand, but is so different from anything you've known, so new that you can't help but stand there with a huge, dumb grin plastered on your face, even as your teeth chatter with the cold. Ezra comes and gets you.             "C'mon, Artichoke, while the rain does feel slinky and delicious it is not worth hypothermia."             "Sorry, Ez," you say and allow him to take your hand and lead you back to shelter. This has become something of a habit. Many worlds in the fringe are dustballs like the one you fled, algae and fungus growing on every bit of pipe that condensation beads on. On Falnost they had a deal with the ice-miners, discounted accommodations on world or on station in exchange for chunks of ice from your primary's lush rings de-orbited, burning and evaporating as they fell. The idea was that, eventually, there would be moisture enough in the atmosphere to trigger rains. Someday Falnost will have an ocean, but you won't be there for it, half your life spent harvesting rills of water from sail-traps, careful irrigation channels covered over with plastic sheeting, calorie vs water consumption ratios discussed every planting season. How many credits do we net vs wha† we have to spend? You got fucking sick of dreaming of an ocean your great grandchildren might paddle in. You skimmed enough to buy your way off world and since then you have seen things that you never would have believed as a child.            The first time you heard thunder was on a world called Ingwy. Your first  thought was artillery. Ingwy was a contested world, Karoclan and Lussia Collective skirmishing over land rights, while small stakes droppers like you and Ez and Cee swooped in to reap the spoils while the big corps and clans fought each other.  It was the middle of the night and you were on your feet instantly, railgun in hand, screaming that there was incoming, to take cover. Someone had flicked on a utility light hanging from a cord that swung, illuminating the inside of the tent in sickening arcs, and there's another explosion, this one so loud you feel the pressure change in your ears, hear your own voice crying out in tandem, white hot light even through the thick weave of the tent.           "It's just thunder," Ezra yells over the sound of rain slamming against the tent.           "That was an explosion!" He presses gently on your arm until you lower the rails.           "It's just loud," says Ezra, "It can't hurt us. We're safe here. Put the gun down." You set on the edge of your cot and put your face in your hands.           "Kevva. You must think I'm the dumbest dirt-farmer this side of the Great Arm." The cot dips as Ezra sits beside you.           "Not at all," he says, squeezes your shoulder, "I come from a backwater as well. First time I ever saw a proper ocean I nearly lost my breakfast right there on the beach."  Thunder peals again and you flinch, shrink against him slightly.            "Static electricity," says Ezra, "That's all it is. Builds up in the clouds and discharges into the ground." He keeps his hand on you as he speaks, fingers gently squeezing the juncture of your neck and shoulder, "The sound you hear is the air in the path of the lightning instantly heating and expanding. It makes a sonic shock wave, like any explosion."            "Like the boom when ships lift," you say.            "Just like that, Artichoke," he says, "Storm's already moving off, see?" The rain pelting the tent has settled into a steady drone. Thunder grumbles, a low, almost soft sound, not the air-rending explosion that shocked you out of sleep.            "We should try to rest," says Ezra, gives your shoulder one more firm squeeze and a little shake, and when you look up, he's smiling, dimple just beginning to sink into his cheek.             "Yeah," you say, "Okay." He kills the utility light and settles into his cot. You can hear the music from Cee's headphones, the tinny, fast pop she favors, threaded through the white noise of the falling rain. She slept through the whole thing.

            The ancient life of CJ's world favored heptagonal symmetry, long-dead mollusks like seven-sided shields shine out of the rusty ground, the smallest the size of a fingernail, the largest the size of dinner plates. This is a good deposit. The small ones are fashioned into jewelry and buttons.            "They take these great big ones and slice them micron thin," says Ezra, "Use them for window-glass in the temples of the Ephrate. They say it is like standing inside Kevva's very beating heart."           "I can see why," says Cee, and so do you. The minerals that limn the shells shine translucent red with brilliant streaks of orange, yellow and even thin threads of green and blue.           "They say that Kevva's first heart-beat ignited the explosion that became the universe," says Ezra.           "You really believe that?" Asks Cee.           "I don't know if believe is the right word," says Ezra, "We all grew up with these stories, why my grandmother..." You smile and tune him out. The back and forth banter between Cee and Ezra is a pulse that underlies every harvest. Cee has grown more talkative with each drop. Their relationship has a growing ease to it. You don't know exactly what happened between them before you joined up, but Cee's initial skittishness and Ezra's new healed scars tell a story you can guess the shape of. You let their conversation fade into the background, focus on the work of your hands, the meticulous scrape of soft sediment away from the hard glitter of the fossil, working around the seven sided edge, loosen enough up to get your fingers under the shell and you can pry it out, focus on the sounds of the world around you, no birds on CJ's world, but there is a range of bug-music, hidden in crevasses in the midday heat, all metallic clicks and creaks. Your rail-gun rests within easy reach, as always. You worm your fingers under the edge of the shell, wiggling it like a loose tooth, pops out of the sediment suddenly and you plop on your ass in the sandy dirt.           "You all right there, Artichoke?" Ezra grins at you.           "I'll recover." You dust yourself off and take your prize over to the tub that sits in the shadow of the pod. Further cleaning and grading can be done after dark. Nights  are long at this latitude. You stretch in the sunlight. This job is a milk-run compared to other drops, but hunkering in the dirt still hurts your knees and you feel every bit of it when you stand. There's a familiar sound, like a rumbling stomach, thunder, you think and glance up.          "Ezra!" Your voice is urgent and sharp and he's scrabbling up in a heartbeat, hand on the thrower at his hip, but when he stands there is only you pointing out across the vast expanse of sharp-carved valleys and hoodoos, lined in sharply delineated shadows and rusted cliffs where the light catches. The rainbow swoops skyward into grey cloud-bellies, a luminous curtain against the grey clouds, distant rain falling across the canyons.

        "Ezra, look!" Ezra exhales, tension leaching out of his shoulders. His hand drops away from the thrower.          "Oh, hey, a rainbow," says Cee. You lower your arm and just stare, transfixed at the glowing phantasm, brightening and dimming with the movement of clouds between it and the sun.           "It's beautiful," says Ezra. But he's not looking at the rainbow. He's looking at you. Your eyes are wide, lit up with wonder, an unconscious smile creeping across your face, crinkling the corners of your eyes. The stiff professionalism that you wear as close as your body armor momentarily set down, forgotten. Ezra's heart squeezes. There you are, he thinks. He can count on his one hand the number of times he's seen you smile like this, open and carefree, rare and precious as the gems the three of you pull from the ground. Part of him wants to kiss you, but he suspects he would end up on his back in the dust with the barrel of your railgun jammed beneath his sternum, so instead he brushes his hand against yours and your fingers find his and squeeze hard.            "I've never seen one before," you say, barely aware of Ezra's hand linked with yours, "I mean, I know what a rainbow is, but I've never seen one. Not in the real, just in vids."            "They don't have rainbows on Falnost?" Says Cee.            "They don't have rain on Falnost," you say, "Get's a little hazy sometimes after the ice-haulers make a drop, but that's about it." You shake your head as if just waking, the rainbow still shimmers, a bit duller now, and you are suddenly aware of Ezra's hand clasped with yours, the gentle pressure of his grasp.             "Sorry," you drop your eyes, "I got distracted. We got work to do." Ezra gives your hand a squeeze and then lets you go.             "Not to worry, Artichoke, rainbows are fleeting things. You look your fill while you can." And so you do. So does he.

[insomniamamma]

Prickle: Ezra x F! Reader

A/n: Okay, so don’t know what the hell this is. I was trying to go to sleep a few days ago and this just kind of popped in there, the idea of Ez giving the reader a weird nickname. I swear I have a more serious, put together fic in the works, but this demanded my attention first. I meant this to be short, but I suck at keeping things short.

warnings: language, angst, mild violence, lil bit of fluff, no beta

______________________________________________________________________

He calls you Artichoke. Since hiring you on, Ezra has thrown a string of nicknames at you, mostly botanical or avian, some referencing things you have never heard of, and this is the one that stuck. Cee is Little Bird most of the time, until she indulges in teen-age surliness and then she's Channel Rat. You are Artichoke. Which would be fine, except you don't have the foggiest idea of what an artichoke is. Nothing about the word triggers anything in your brain.

You are not so well-travelled as Ezra and Cee. You grew up on Falnost, a dusty little fly speck of a moon, only colonized because it orbits a gas giant with lush rings, perfect for ice-mining operations. Falnost has one port city that caters to people who come downworld on leave. The rest is cattle and corn. Nothing to do but pull rocks out of the ground, dig irrigation ditches and spread the sandy dirt with live bacteria concentrates in hopes of convincing the ground to grow something. Not a place for fancy words or much beyond a standard technical education. You scrimped and saved and bought your passage off-world as soon as you could, and you've been drifting ever since. Puggart Bench was the closest you've been to civilization, and even that seemed overwhelming and a bit weird. You suspect artichoke is something from the inner worlds, but you have no idea what it could be. What if it's something bad, or nasty like a channel rat? What if Ezra's been making fun of you, calling you this name?           It started two drops ago on Sammana. You were there to harvest lattice corals. Sammana once had a deep liquid ocean, but now all that was left were vast, glittering salt-flats. It was hot on Sammana. The air, while not toxic, stank like sun-dried shit. The corals themselves were fragile and you had to dig through the salt-pan with hand tools to get to them. By the end of the first day, your hands were raw and sobbing from a hundred salt-burnt cuts. You were hired on as muscle, but Ezra's been teaching you the trade as well. Many hands make light work, he said, and dimpled at his own joke, being down one hand himself.           The dig did not go well. The corals you were finding were few and of mediocre quality at best. Enough to keep you fueled and flying, but little else. There was less than a cycle before you had to catch the slingback and even Ezra's mood was dark.             "I'm callin it," he said, after a small and brittle coral crumbled in his hand. "We got enough to get us onto the next job. Fueled and flying, right?"             "Fueled and flying," you echoed back, grabbing the railgun and taking point. Camp was some ways and the sun overhead felt like a physical weight grinding down on you. The railgun was heavy, sweat ran into your eyes and pooled under your body armor. So much miserable effort for so little reward. Today's pull was a pittance, a little extra fuel, a little extra data bandwidth and that's all. You swiped the sweat from your eyes for the hundredth time today. You were over it. Camp resolved itself out of the heat-glitter rising up from the salt crusted ground, the drop pod sitting in a crater of shattered salt, the tent next to it, hooked up to the pod's RTG by a thick braided cable. The tent's flaps were open. Someone was moving inside.             "Oh, hell no!" You pelted towards camp, railgun raised, the figure paused, and then continued rifling through the tent. He had your trophy case at his feet, what little you've been able to collect over the last cycles and this bastard meant to take all of it.            "Hands in the air motherfucker!" The thief dropped his haul and raised his hands. "The fuck out of the tent, right fucking now!" You felt Ezra and Cee behind you, heard their hard breaths.            "I didn't mean nothin," he says, "I thought this camp was abandoned--" And something snapped in you. Never in your life had you been this angry.            "Bullshit you did! Abandoned with the pod still hot?" You primed the railgun, and aimed through the scope right between this dumbass's eyes, and then you felt Ezra's hand on your arm. He spoke low and close to your ear.            "Ease up on the rails, there, Artichoke, ain't no need for bloodshed yet." And for as angry as you were, you did as he asked, relaxed your stance some. Ezra walked toward the kid, no mercenary, this, just some dumb local.            "My friend here wants to shoot you," Ezra said, "And she is well within her rights to do so. We have toiled long to get what little we could out of this bitter ground."            "I'm sorry!" said the would-be thief, "I didn't mean nothin--"            "What you meant or didn't mean is not the issue here," said Ezra, "What you do next is going to determine whether you walk away or I tell my over-eager associate here to indulge her violent nature. Here's what is going to happen. My partner, Cee, knows every stitch of equipment we own. You  will dump your pack for her, turn out your pockets and give back everything that's ours. One aggressive move and Artichoke here will kill you. Rely on it. You do what I say and you get to walk away with your life. Clear?"           "Clear," he said. He dumped his pack as instructed and Cee picked through the contents, reclaiming several items.           "We're good,"said Cee, and gave the thief a shove, "Get out of here." He turned and started running, you fired a few shots that crackled into the salt-pan at his heels.           Later, as you broke camp, you and Ezra got into the first real argument you'd had. So far you've managed to keep things professional, but the anger was still there, hot and pulsing behind your eyes.           "You should have let me shoot him,"           "It doesn't always have to come down to shooting," said Ezra, "Things turned out right in the end. We kept our harvest and that foolish boy gets to keep on breathing."            "He was trying to steal our whole harvest," your voice rose, "Gods be damned, Ezra, you know what that means. You of all people--"            "He was a kid," Ezra's eyes were wide and dark, "Not much older than our Cee. Would you have that kind of blood on your hands?" There was no good answer. Ezra had all the words, you struggled with them. There was no way to speak back. Ezra sensed something shift in you, something in the slump of your shoulders. He laid his hand on your upper arm, gave a brief squeeze.           "It's alright, Artichoke, We're all safe. It's alright."

          Since that crazy day on Sammana, you've been Artichoke, and you don't know what to make of it. You can't ask Ezra directly. Ezra has ten different words for everything. You don't always understand him. You don't know if he's doing it on purpose, but sometimes he makes you feel stupid. You can imagine his self-satisfied smile as he explains the why of your nickname. You're not about to ask him. So you decide to ask Cee.           It's morning and you hand Cee a dented metal cup with fake coffee in it. Ezra shoots you a look and you shoot him one right back. You shouldn't give her coffee, he'd said, it'll stunt her growth, to which you'd said, Kevva's sakes, she was processing Jhata Balu at twelve. I think she can handle a cup of coffee. Ezra is a morning person, one of the things about him that infuriates you. You and Cee have barely joined the land of the living and he's up and about and doing maintenance on his suit. One handed, he struggles, but you've learned not to offer help. You did once and the look he gave you made you want to strap your body armor a little tighter. So you just tune out the string of muttered curses coming from the other end of the tent. You've learned to tell when Ezra is talking to himself.           "Hey, Cee?"           "Mmmh?"           "What's an artichoke?" You pitch your voice low, but there's heat prickling in your neck. Cee sips her coffee and smiles, a slow, one sided grin, like she's been expecting the question.            "It's a Terran plant," she says, and pulls her battered notebook and pen from under her pillow, furrows her brow as she sketches. She turns the notebook so you can see. "It looks kind of like this." And now you are even more confused, presenting with what looks like a scaly ball on a thick stem. What this has to do with you, you can't even guess.

          "Why does he call me that?" You ask, and Cee just stares over her coffee cup like she's staring into the black hole at the center of the galaxy, "Cee! Why does he call me that?" Cee smirks and jerks her head up. And the fact of the relative silence hits you, Ezra's muttered string of curses is done and you hear him chuckle close and behind. You bow your head, heat rushing to your face. 

          "If you wanted to know the reason for your moniker you could have just asked," says Ezra, you're not looking at him, but you can practically hear him smirk. He's gone and done it again, set a snare of words, and you've bumbled into it. You clench your hands and jaw and turn to face him, best to absorb whatever little humiliation he has planned for you so you can get back to your coffee.           "Fine," you say, and it comes out angrier than intended. It is too early in the morning for this. "Why do you call me Artichoke?" His brows furrow briefly and his smirk softens into a warmer smile, the kind that crinkles his eyes at the corners. He squeezes your upper arm, like on Sammana, but there's no body armor between you.           "I call you Artichoke because I believe that, like an artichoke, you conceal beneath your prickly exterior a tender, delectable heart." He drops you a wink and then jams his helmet on and out the tent flaps into the sticky heat of day.          "Good one, Ez," Cee calls to his retreating back and the purr of the zippers pulled back up, "Real subtle."           "What. The. Utter fuck?" You mutter into your cup of shit fake coffee. You shake your head. You and Cee suck down your coffee in silence for a beat.           "You know he likes you, right?" Says Cee.           "Well, I should hope so," you say, "We're crew." Cee is giving you a look of pity and condescention that somehow only teenagers can manage. Oh.           "Oh. Oh no! No no no no no!" The realization comes pouring out of you and Cee giggles. "Nope! Not in a million years! Hard no!" But part of you thinks this is wrong even as you say it. Part of you likes the idea of being Ezra's artichoke, his tough and prickly thing with soft insides. Part of you wonders what would happen if you let him in beneath your spiky outer layers, just a little.

[oonajaeadira]

Oh, my heart. I love this crew. I love them so so much. That he knows something’s bothering her, and won’t let any harm come to her...when she’s the one hired for protection!

But I really love hearing more about her background and the fact that she had to get out. No wonder Ez feels protective of her. In his words, “Kevva, what kind of folk’ve you been running with?”

I love them, J. Thank you for giving us more of them.

Where The Heart Is (Ezra x F!reader w/Cee)

warnings: mentions of past violence, sexism, crime, anxiety, fear of abandonment

A/n: Written for @writersironchef 14. I started this fic when the prompt dropped and then got interrupted and forgot about it for a while. I did not work the second prompt in because I ran out of time. Part of the Prickle 'verse AU. Sometime between Pigment and Clean Dirt but you don't have to read those to understand this. A story about home and how you can't go back.

[PROMPT] A well-kept secret is revealed

"Oh hey, Falnost," says Cee, "That's home for you isn't it?" The spit dries on your tongue. "Lemme see that," you say and grab the itinerary out of Cee's hands, the scheduled drops along the flight path and sure enough, there's Falnost, the final pivot and then back Central-ward. "Huh," You try to sound non-committal. "What's the job?" "Evershine," says Cee, "Big deposit. Guess the locals can't get it out of the ground without fucking it up." She grins at you, but it falters when she sees that you're not responding in kind. "Should be a pretty straight pull." "Straight pull. Sure." Ezra eyes you from across the pod, but if he reads anything in your face he doesn't say.

You botch a hand of pulls on Elee, the last drop before you tuck yourselves in for the Falnost pivot. It's a simple enough job, run your blade along the sagittal sutures and into the soft meat without nicking the inner membrane. It's a bit like taking the pit out of an avocado, says Ez, and you and Cee just exchange a look. You don't know what an avocado is and you doubt Cee does either, Ezra likes to make mention of weird Old-terran things he's encountered. The sixth pull you hose Ezra reaches and grips your wrist, stilling the trembling of your hand.

"Keep the perimeter," he says. "We're losing the light." And you nod, relieved. There are a few middling predators on Elee, but nothing worth fussing over. He's giving you an out. Later that night when you're back at camp settling in, Cee already absorbed in her music, writing out a story in her battered journal, Ezra reaches across the space between your cots and pokes you to get your attention. You dog-ear your page in the shitty espionage thriller you picked up on The Pug. You've been expecting this.

"Something's bothering you." Says Ezra. A statement. Not a question.

"I'm fine."

"You're not. You've been nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs since we shoved off Arlen. I've never seen you do so poorly on a pull--"

"So prorate me. Adjust my cut. It's fine."

"It's not about the cut, Artichoke," Ezra shakes his head, "It's not about the pull. Since I've hired you on I've rarely seen you so rattled. I understand wanting to cast off the place you came from but this seems like something more." He folds his hand around yours, smoothing his thumb over your rough knuckles, squeezing your fingers in his.

"Talk to me," he says.

"Please,"he says. And you do. You tell him about how you were the unwanted daughter, a problem to be solved, find her a man and she'll settle down, even though you only had eyes for the skies for the bright star of the bench, for the etched lines of drop-ships screaming in across the black.

"This armor. The rail-gun. It's not mine," you say, "I stole it from my brother. I skimmed enough to buy me off world and then I took what was his and I ran. I can't go back there. They'll KNOW me. They'll find me, they won't let me leave--"

"You are crew," says Ezra, "Signed and sealed. They can't hold you--"

"They've put bounty on me," you say, "I read it on the drop-net. The money's good--"

"Artichoke. Stop." His hand grips yours tight, squeezing almost to the point of pain. "You have your papers. You are registered crew aboard our fair vessel. They cannot legally detain-- "

"The bounty's 17c-scrip to points--" He drops your hand and reaches for you. You flinch back, he curls his hand around your nape and pulls you close, presses his forehead against yours. If this was suit work he would be tapping his face-plate against yours, a gesture that can mean anything from I know this is a rough one we'll talk when we get back to camp or hey dumbass you're on the wrong channel. This? This is different, and you're not sure how. He keeps you there a beat, and you feel yourself settle some.

"I'm not gonna sell you," says Ezra and draws back so he can look at you, "Kevva, what kind of folk've you been running with?" You shake your head. Ezra's question answers itself.

"If they come for me, don't tell Cee okay? Let her think I got homesick and decided to stay. I don't want to scare her."

"That's not going to happen," says Ezra. He grips your shoulder and gives a little shake, "Look at me. You are crew. No one gets left behind. Not you, not me, not Cee. We clear?" When you meet his eyes, you see nothing but concern, little furrow digging itself between his brows, worry lines bunching themselves across his forehead. You study him, peer into his eyes. There is sadness there too, and you think maybe he knows what it is to be screwed over for a half-hand of points on a pull.

"Yeah. Okay. Clear."

[insomniamamma]

Oh Lyr, thanks for reading! The thing is, when I wrote this I had no idea where it would go. Or if it would go anywhere, really. I think this was the second fic I ever posted, and I had no idea how addicted I would become to their story.

That's why this is an AU and not a multichapter. Because I can't imagine a story for them that ends.

When it blooms indeed....

Prickle: Ezra x F! Reader

A/n: Okay, so don’t know what the hell this is. I was trying to go to sleep a few days ago and this just kind of popped in there, the idea of Ez giving the reader a weird nickname. I swear I have a more serious, put together fic in the works, but this demanded my attention first. I meant this to be short, but I suck at keeping things short.

warnings: language, angst, mild violence, lil bit of fluff, no beta

______________________________________________________________________

He calls you Artichoke. Since hiring you on, Ezra has thrown a string of nicknames at you, mostly botanical or avian, some referencing things you have never heard of, and this is the one that stuck. Cee is Little Bird most of the time, until she indulges in teen-age surliness and then she’s Channel Rat. You are Artichoke. Which would be fine, except you don’t have the foggiest idea of what an artichoke is. Nothing about the word triggers anything in your brain.

Keep reading

[insomniamamma]

WELCOME TO THE PRICKLE'VERSE FRIEND!!!!! This was meant to be a oneshot, and look what happened. I can't seem to stop writing for this little crew. Also it was fun to write a reader who was just like you have got to be fucking kidding me. I hope you dive deeper into this AU. As a writer it's been fun watching them grow together.

Prickle: Ezra x F! Reader

A/n: Okay, so don’t know what the hell this is. I was trying to go to sleep a few days ago and this just kind of popped in there, the idea of Ez giving the reader a weird nickname. I swear I have a more serious, put together fic in the works, but this demanded my attention first. I meant this to be short, but I suck at keeping things short.

warnings: language, angst, mild violence, lil bit of fluff, no beta

______________________________________________________________________

He calls you Artichoke. Since hiring you on, Ezra has thrown a string of nicknames at you, mostly botanical or avian, some referencing things you have never heard of, and this is the one that stuck. Cee is Little Bird most of the time, until she indulges in teen-age surliness and then she’s Channel Rat. You are Artichoke. Which would be fine, except you don’t have the foggiest idea of what an artichoke is. Nothing about the word triggers anything in your brain.

Keep reading