#let ezra be a navigator! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

loth-creatures · 4 months ago

Text

Wolf Ezra's final form

Lothwolfwalkers

I've been frothing at the mouth to reveal this for some time, but I also wanted to put together a synopsis of what I imagine he's been through after getting blasted into the unknown and his time on Peridea. Also will include some lore I came up with for Peridea! This post will likely be edited/added to every so often.

Also! I have a sideblog now @lothwolfwalkers

Ezra's many new scars are mostly from the shattered glass flying around the Chimera's bridge. Thrawn has a matching set. Ezra fell into a very deep meditation upon entering hyperspace, using the Force to keep a bubble of life support for himself and Thrawn. During this time he converses with the Purrgil, and beholds way too much knowledge of the universe for one person to hold in their head. He's probably a little weird after all that; frequently spaces out very badly while experiencing intense visions of things he saw and learned but can't remember.

The Purrgil travel much faster than ships. It takes them three days to reach the other galaxy, whereas it takes the Sion a few weeks (I want the Sion's voyage to be very very miserable for everyone) I'm going wild with the ocean metaphors for space and the Force here; Ships only ever skim the surface of hyperspace, whereas the Purrgil evolved to sink far deeper, where the current is much stronger and farther from time and real space. Sort of like how we can cross the ocean's surface on ships but animals like sperm whales can dive to extraordinary depths on the power of their own biology. To the Purrgil an intergalactic voyage is a hop across the pond.

The Purrgil don't drop the Chimera off on Peridea. They track along the very edge of the galaxy and their first stop is a barren volcanic planet that I've been calling Hel in my head (gonna be leaning into the Norse mythology theme). Although if anything its more like Davy Jones' Locker from POTC: At Worlds End.

The Chimera crashes and is grounded here for several months. All the internal systems are dead, everyone is unconscious after dropping out of hyperspace (like after the jump through the star cluster to Lirasan). Ezra escapes the crash as a wolf, beyond delirious and exhausted, forgetting his human body. It's not long before he's tortured into returning to it. It's also not long before the crew of the Chimera regret that. They could barely contain him for long under normal circumstances, let alone while the ship is in shambles and their resources are limited. He certainly spends some time in the walls and any repairs they've made are severely set back by the time he decides to steal a TIE Defender and leave.

Ezra then does the only thing he can. He follows the Purrgil. With no means to navigate and no way to obtain fuel, the only path forward is that of the Purrgil, as fruitless a path as it is, for the Purrgils' destinations are isolated from any form of advanced civilization that might exist in the new galaxy. Ezra is a step ahead in terms of conserving fuel as he can hitch a ride with the Purrgil. However, Thrawn knows Ezra and the Purrgil are their only hope of navigating this strange galaxy, and surgically implanted a tiny tracker on Ezra’s human body while he had the chance. It takes Ezra several months to realize this, as Thrawn is careful about how closely they follow him. When he does, he takes the Chimera on a wild goose chase, trying to run the them out of fuel. By now he's learned he can run alongside the Purrgil as a wolf through hyperspace.

Ezra leaves his ship and body on the most barren useless planets the Purrgil stop by, and continues to follow them as a wolf for as far as he can, trying to map their routes in his head, trying to find the way home. Then doubling back in the ship, zig zagging, going in circles and doing everything he can to cover their tracks. This goes on for about a year. I suppose they must find some form of fuel somehow in order to continue that long, but its inefficient and damaging to the ships.

Thrawn occasionally threatens to recapture Ezra, in order to keep him moving, but doesn't yet know that Ezra knows about the tracker and doesn't want to give it away. Perhaps he does recapture Ezra once or twice. And immediately regrets it. No matter what they do to human Ezra, Wolf Ezra simply can't be contained and tends to short out the entire electrical system as he drifts on and off the ship, straight through the hull in his spirit form. Human Ezra causes lots of problems on the way out when he inevitably escapes. The entire crew just want him dead. But they also know he's their only chance of escaping this exile.

This cat and mouse game takes a massive toll on his own ship though, and by the time they reach Peridea, its completely broken down, out of fuel and will never get off the ground again. At this point Ezra uses the Force to locate and disable the tracker, but has no way to safely remove it from his body, which he's pretty pissed about. He disappears into Peridea's wilderness. The Chimera becomes a grounded fortress and will not lift off again for several years. While Thrawn contacts and makes allies of the Night Sisters, Ezra befriends the Noti and also becomes amicable with many of the bandit clans.

Except I'm not calling them bandits, they need actual names. After googling "old norse word for blank" a few times and taking the first result, I came up with Hundur Ridarri for the howler riders we see in the show, roughly meaning 'dog horsemen' and Vatn Fari roughly meaning 'lake farers' as I imagine Peridea having many massive lakes or seas, and many of the 'bandits' are mariners. Their ships are mostly made from the bones and skin of giant sea creatures, which they also hunt for food.

Wolf Ezra has been known to tow in derelict ships caught in storms or attacked by creatures of the deep, and has ferried survivors of shipwrecks to shore on his back. He is sometimes offered some of their catch in return. He mostly avoids them though, as they occasionally treat with Thrawn and the Sisters.

The Noti on the other hand keep to themselves and are so good at hiding that Thrawn doesn't even know about them. Ezra’s body is quite safe with them and in return he defends them and helps them find food, and is quickly adopted as one of their own. They mostly survive on the washed up corpses of lake creatures, which Ezra can sniff out from miles away, and can tear the carcasses open for them, saving hours of carving through tough skin and bone. Ezra can also stomach it as a wolf but prefers to fish along the shoreline.

Ezra can't stay undetected forever though, he's not exactly inconspicuous as a wolf. As Thrawn now has powerful allies and resources, he's made a project out of capturing Ezra and attempting to study his wolfwalker abilities, something the Sisters are intrigued by as well and keen to experiment on. The Emporer was highly interested even before they knew about healing powers and teleportation. If Thrawn is to return to the Empire, he intends to do so with something to show for it. And a bit of vengeance.

The Sisters do succeed in capturing and containing the wolf briefly several times. One of their smaller strongholds (known as Gleipnir after the string that binds Fenrir in Norse mythology) becomes increasingly dedicated to the project. Ezra always escapes, but it gets harder each time. And if they ever find his human body, it's all over.

Meanwhile, Ezra is still trying to find a way home. He has no way of carrying his human body with him, can only follow the Purrgil so far as a wolf. The further he gets from his body, the more tired and sick he becomes until he simply can't keep up and is slowly and painfully dragged back to his body through the Force. There is no chance of him crossing between the galaxies. But he tries anyway, hoping he can get stronger, run farther before faltering, hoping someday he will make it just far enough to tell someone where to look. He only succeeds in hurting himself. It's too risky to try stealing another ship off the Chimera, as they are actively using their remaining TIEs as bait and he cannot afford to get caught again now that there's a real chance he'd never escape.

The Purrgil may go to Peridea to die, but they don't all die at once; the young escort their elders to their final resting place, the elders in turn show the young where to go to visit their dead and eventually join them.

Back home, Kanan searches for Ezra through the World Between Worlds. He has no luck, as the wbw doesn't extend between galaxies. The new galaxy likely has its own version but they are not connected. Kanan feels in his heart that Ezra is alive, but has no hope of finding him. Meanwhile Sabine often has dreams as a wolf, running through the wbw, following Ezra's faint faint scent, only to run right off the edge of the map and fall to oblivion. Ezra cannot sleep as a wolf without falling straight through reality and onto the paths of the Purrgil, where every minute contains a lifetime and every pawstep crosses light years. It's so very easy to become lost.

#lothwolfwalkers #ezra bridger #star wars rebels #swr #sabine wren #kanan jarrus #ahsoka series #thrawn #sw rebels #rebels au

136 notes · View notes

mondaymelon · 2 years ago

Text

⸝⸝⸝ 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝕓𝕣𝕖𝕖𝕫𝕖. ༄ 6reeze x gn!reader - click here for blog navigation + other masterlists

( UPDATE : THIS HAS BEEN DISCONTINUED )

apps i use:

✿ 𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕧𝕚𝕖𝕨 || - idol yn has just debuted into the expansive entertainment industry, leading into them finding some new friends… or maybe lovers?? it's strange, really, since yn can be sure they've met them before, but for some reason, they can't remember...

✿ 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕥𝕦𝕤 || - 04/3/23, ongoing, updates at least once a week, resumed from hiatus!!

✿ 𝕘𝕖𝕟𝕣𝕖 || - social media au, modern au, idol au

✿ 𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕒𝕕𝕕𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕒𝕝 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖𝕤 || - fluff, angst, love... hexagon??, suggestive at times, mentions of amnesia, wonky navigation (send help), they/them pronouns... will update the warnings as i write!!

TAGLIST OPEN!! send an ask, comment, or reblog ^^ please let me know if you've changed your username! thank you ♡

✿ 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤 ||

ꜰᴀᴠᴏɴɪᴜꜱ ᴜɴɪᴛᴇ - official - private

ᴀɴ(ᴇᴍᴏ) - official - private

𝔸ℂ𝕋 𝕀 - "𝐚𝐡! 𝐝𝐞𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲?"

01. the aftermath of a chaotic debut

02. responsible, for once?

03. wait, what??

04. well, this is awkward...

05. unknown number

06. to my past lover

07. new songs (and suspicion)

08. meetup plans?? yes, please!

09. oh dear, is it panic time??

10. praying for you

11. new phone, who this?

12. tba...

𝔸ℂ𝕋 𝕀𝕀 - "𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲, 𝐝𝐨 𝐢 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮?"

𝔸ℂ𝕋 𝕀𝕀𝕀 - "𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫?"

TAGLIST ⋆｡°✩ (open! send an ask or comment ♡)

@cynoifyy, @papiliotao, @venusflwers, @snobwaffles, @iamdedinside, @theblueblub, @yukiipc, @dreamsofminnie, @kaoyamamegami, @manjiros-wifey, @rinduos, @mitskyuuu, @kyiangell, @iamlowkeycrying, @chuu-19, @screechingxiaolover, @myaaones, @bryai003, @issy-lol, @cuterima, @neigesprincess, @venyan, @meigalaxy, @rifran, @bajifairyy, @advxz, @kitanablades, @joachim-but-slowly, @raingoesboomboom, @optivsior, @rizakari, @ghostlysyntaxed, @aemiko, @swivy123, @milkwithspiceyicecubes, @achlysis, @serenareiss, @ophore21, @cold-burns, @dainsleif-when-playable, @d4y-dr3am3r, @banyuew, @ilyuu, @vennnnn-diagram, @urlocalheizousimp, @lxry-chxn, @aludicpoet, @leenthepanda, @yukiichuuvt, @tunaa-luvchrm, @cianalikesbeans, @zukaniscr, @lemontum, @starz222, @meekei, @orionicchaos, @kokurooo, @notmaryy1234, @angelkazusstuff, @powersha1rpin, @strawberry1894, @celestair, @0rah-s, @itz-luna, @rustybucketofghosts, @ezra-musica, @hotgirlshit5, @kyon-cherri, @ukinya, @kenma-izhu, @akuri-shinsou, @feverish-dove, @asat84, @sakurapeach, @solis-sunmoons, @sukunasrealgf, @ynverse, @livelaughlovekuni, @yukii-1

832 notes · View notes

bikananjarrus · 2 months ago

Text

kanera week 2024 - day 2

prompt: reunion

rating: gen | word count: 3.5k | ao3 link

[note: sorry for the delay on this one! this was supposed to be much shorter than it is, but, well. you know how it is. this is a kanan lives au feat. post-battle reunion on endor (and more kanan + ghost crew feelings about the end of the war than expected, hence why this is about 2k longer than planned!). ezra is still missing and jacen has not been born yet in this au]

They stood together at the top of the Ghost’s lowered ramp, foreheads pressed together, Kanan’s hands resting on her waist, Hera’s curled into the lapels of his jacket. Kanan refused to think this was the last time he would hold her like this.

Base was alive and bustling around them. Officers ran back and forth across the landing bay, handing off reports, updating orders, some of them practically doing hurtles over droids that trundled through with supplies. Ground teams prepped for landing on Endor’s forest moon. Pilots rushed to their ships, readying to launch to their first jump point and wait for the go-ahead from General Solo’s ground team before following General Calrissian’s assault on the second Death Star. Hera was one of those pilots.

They had minutes left before Kanan needed to join Zeb and Kallus with their ground team, and Hera needed to ready the Ghost for take-off.

He knew that anyone could see up the Ghost’s ramp, see the two of them embraced as they were. It wasn’t exactly like his and Hera’s relationship was a secret. But he knew how much Hera valued keeping things professional in public. As a general, she had an image to maintain. He respected that. And at times, it made it all the more fun when they got a chance to sneak off for a few precious moments of alone time.

But right now, he didn’t care if anyone saw them. Hera must not have minded either, because she didn’t seem too keen on letting him go.

Her fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around the front of his jacket. “Promise me you’ll be careful.” While he couldn’t see her face, he thought her chin might be trembling, because her next words came out in a wobbly whisper. “Promise me you’ll come back to me.”

Kanan pressed a kiss right between her creased brows. “I promise, love.” Another kiss to the tip of her nose. “I’ll have Zeb and Rex watching my back. Kallus, too, I suppose.” That made her chuckle and he smiled in turn. “I’m more worried about you.”

A firefight on the ground was one thing. Dangerous, of course. At times unpredictable, hard to navigate a battlefield, especially in unfamiliar territory. But, even with the odds stacked against them, a ground fight allowed more opportunities to turn those odds in their favor.

A dogfight in the blackness of space was another thing entirely. The whole battle map was laid out before you, with nothing to stand between you and the laser-fire of enemy ships except skill and the cold vacuum of the cosmos.

Hera was the greatest pilot he’d ever seen. But all it took was one wrong move and she would be nothing but stardust.

“You’ve got Zeb and Rex. I’ve got Sabine and Chopper.”

“We should’ve just offered to smuggle Chopper onboard the Death Star. He’d have that thing imploding in no time.”

Hera laughed softly again, sweeping one hand up to cup his jaw. Her thumb brushed over the apple of his cheek, then a little higher to the edge of the scar that ran beneath his eyes. She kissed him with sound reassurance. “I’ll be careful,” she vowed against his lips. “Promise.”

She kissed him once more, and then started to pull back. Kanan didn’t want her to—but if they didn’t separate now, he wasn’t sure he’d have the strength to walk away from her.

Kanan’s hands were still loosely gripping Hera’s when he heard the familiar rumble of Chopper’s wheels against the ramp, just a moment before Sabine announced her presence with a boisterous, “Who’s ready to blow up another Death Star?”

He chuckled, at last letting go of Hera to stretch his arms out for Sabine instead. She stepped fully into his hug. He ruffled the back of her freshly cut mullet (he’d sat in the ‘fresher with her while she’d cut her hair the other night, describing the process and the bright orange to buttery yellow gradient she’d dyed it with) and she swatted at his hand playfully, twirling out of his grip.

“You know, for some of us, this is a first time experience,” he pointed out, barely containing a grin. “Some of us were in a coma when the first Death Star blew up.”

He could practically feel Sabine and Hera rolling their eyes simultaneously.

Sabine gave his shoulder a playful shove. “Yeah, yeah, we know. Please—tell us again how you very heroically almost got blown up.”

Kanan laughed, then reached through the air until he found Hera’s hand again. He joked about his near-death—very, very near-death—experience on Lothal years ago now; they were in a place now that they could all make fun about it. But he gave her fingers a light squeeze, silently conveying that, despite his joking, he knew how serious it had been. How close she’d come to losing him. She wouldn’t lose him this time, either.

She squeezed his hand back, thumb pressing into the back of his fingerless gloves and the burn scars underneath. “It’s time to go.”

His chest tightened at the words. “Yeah.”

Still, he didn’t let go. He could feel her gaze on him, drinking him in.

For the millionth time since Malachor, Kanan wished he could see her—really see her. He wanted to rememorize the exact shade of green of her skin, her eyes. He wanted to see the half-smile she got when she was planning something brilliant or devious or both. He wanted to see the way her cheeks flushed when he kissed her, wanted to see the exact way her mouth curved around the syllables of his name.

Since that wasn’t possible, he instead sank into the Force. It danced around her in a steady, but brilliant flow, and he grounded himself in that feeling, breathing easier with each of her exhales.

Kanan kissed her one more time. “I love you.”

“And I love you,” she whispered back.

They stood close for a few precious seconds more. Then in one swift movement, he pulled away, striding down the ramp to put distance between them.

“Be careful,” she called after him.

With a two-finger salute and a cheeky grin, he replied, “Aye aye, General. See you on the other side.”

The next thirty-six hours passed in waves—time speeding by in the blink of an eye one hour and dragging onto eternity the next. The chaos and necessity of battle made it relatively easy to focus on the mission at hand. But that didn’t stop Kanan from casting his mind out into the Force whenever he got the chance, searching for Hera.

Over and over, he sensed that she was okay. He was sure, down to his bones, that he would know if something was wrong. Her presence in the Force was as familiar as his own; he would feel it if something happened.

But that didn’t stop worry from gripping him like a cold hand latched around his spine.

Especially when the battle ended. And it did end.

Blaster fire stopped whizzing past his ears and cheers—from rebel and Ewok alike—erupted around the battlefield. He could feel others jostling around him, sense their upward gazes, hear the affirmation from all around him, “Look! The Death Star! They did it!”

Kanan couldn’t see it, of course—but he’d already known. He’d felt it when it happened, the Death Star’s destruction. Countless lives snuffed out at once; Like the exhale of a giant beast. The sensation of a distant space explosion beneath his feet; but maybe that was actually the tremor of Endor’s moon, shaking with the force of the blast.

More than that—through the Force—light.

Kanan had never felt the Force like this. He didn’t realize how…muffled it had been up until now. Akin to suddenly having a great, downy blanket torn off in one’s sleep. The contrast was sharp, bright. But refreshing.

The Force was what it was. It wasn’t light or dark on its own; it just was. And while no one being could truly have so much power as to control the entirety of it, Emperor Palpatine must have been powerful indeed to cast so much darkness over the Force for all these years.

Kanan staggered under the lightness he felt. He sucked in a deep breath, lungs expanding all the way. The sensation stretched his face in a wide smile, tears of pure, unadulterated joy pricking at his eyes.

“We’re free,” he whispered.

He swore he felt the brush of a ghostly hand on his shoulder.

Master, he thought, closing his eyes. We’re free. For a moment, the smell of smoke dissipated from the air, replaced only with the greenery around him and the spiced floral scent that had floated around Master Billaba in days long passed.

Her presence drifted away on the breeze and Kanan’s heart lifted with it.

With one thing left to do, Kanan reached for his comm on his belt, toggling it to their crew’s private channel. “Spectre One to Ghost. Come in, Spectre Two.”

Silence followed for a few impossibly long seconds. His throat tightened, and he tried to swallow down the fear.

Maybe the Death Star’s explosion had overridden any other feeling in the Force. Maybe she had been caught in the blast and he didn’t even know—

A crackle of static. Followed by her smiling voice, “Ghost to Spectre One. We read you loud and clear.”

He sighed in happy relief. “Copy that, Ghost. You all good up there?”

This time it was Sabine’s voice over the comms, sounding more victorious than she had in a long time. At least since before the Empire destroyed Mandalor, Sabine having just barely gotten her family out in time. “Better than good. You?”

Kanan twisted in place, reaching out with the Force. He had gotten separated from Zeb, Kallus, and Rex in the fight. “I’m fine. The others—”

“We’re all safe,” Zeb’s voice sounded over the channel. “I’ve got Kal and Rex here with me.”

“Glad to hear it. We’ll be joining you planetside shortly,” Hera said. And then, even though they were still on comms with everyone else, she added just for him, “See you soon, love.”

While he waited for the Rebel fleet to start landing on the moon, Kanan busied himself helping with triage. Andor and Erso had been put in charge of setting up a temporary med station while they waited for their primary medical frigate to arrive in friendly space. He helped with getting the wounded to the tented off area.

After helping the team who was clearing major debris out of the way, Zeb found him, Kallus and Rex trailing behind. Kallus gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze, but he was hauled into a hearty hug by Rex a second later.

“We did it, Commander,” Rex said, his gruff voice even rougher than usual, tinged with emotion as it was.

“We did it,” Kanan echoed.

Rifling in his pack as he pulled back, Rex grabbed Kanan’s hand and pressed something into it. “Here. Just in case you’re getting tired. I see yours fell off your belt.”

Kanan recognized the weight and feel of his extra probing cane immediately.

(Sabine had painted it, of course, telling him, “Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it shouldn’t look nice.” Still, she’d taken care to layer the paint over and over in a design comprised of swirls and whorls, the paint just raised enough that he could make it out with the touch of his fingertips).

“Thanks,” he said with a grateful smile. He was a bit worn out, having relied on the Force to see the entirety of the battle. And the cane he kept attached to his belt had gotten knocked off at some point during the day, lost amongst the foliage of Endor.

For the moment, though, he hooked this one onto his belt too. He had one more person to greet.

Kanan turned to where he could sense Zeb, and no sooner was he facing Zeb’s direction before the lasat was barreling into him, enveloping him in a huge hug.

Zeb was one of the few people in the galaxy who understood what Kanan was feeling in a way that many others didn’t—the Empire that had almost entirely destroyed both their peoples’ in its rise to power. Though the fight against the Empire had been happening for over two decades, to have it finally snuffed out with one last battle…it was hard to put the impossibility of that into words. So Kanan knew he wasn’t imagining the way Zeb was quietly shaking, or the soft sniffles that punctuated the air near his ear.

“Me too, big guy, me too,” Kanan said, voice muffled by Zeb’s shoulder. There would be more time later for them to sit down and properly honor both the Jedi and Lasan. For now, he just squeezed one of his oldest friends back tightly.

It was Zeb who pulled back with a quiet, “Kanan.” Then Zeb was putting his hands on his shoulders, turning Kanan away from him—towards something else. “The Ghost is coming down.”

With Zeb’s hand on his back guiding him, they headed for the wider part of the clearing that Zeb had helped clear out for the ships coming planetside. As they got closer, close enough that he could pick the familiar rumble of the Ghost’s engines out from the rest, Kanan picked up his pace, leaving Zeb and the others behind.

New voices and shouts of excitement and victory rose up as others finished their landing cycles, and pilots descended from their ships, running to reunite with their own friends.

Kanan stopped where he was sure he wouldn’t be in danger of getting squashed by the landing ship, and waited, heart thrumming in his chest.

He heard the Ghost land, felt the shudder under his feet as the freighter touched down, followed by the low whine of the engine’s powering down. The scent of fresh carbon scoring was faint in the air. There was a gentle whir as the ramp lowered.

From the second he sensed Hera at the top of the ramp—right where they’d stood together early yesterday—Kanan was moving. Her feet touched solid ground and he was instantly there to scoop her into his arms.

She clung to him, burying her face into the crook between his shoulder and neck. Overjoyed, her laugh echoed around him as he spun her.

They were here—they were alive.

Somewhere behind him he heard Chopper warbling and Sabine letting out a surprised yelp as Zeb pulled her into her own bone-crushing embrace.

But everyone else felt far away compared to the woman in his arms, radiating joy and laughter and utter relief.

Kanan set her down but kept her close. Close enough to kiss her soundly, cupping her face between his hands. Her cheeks were wet with tears, lips salty with them.

“Hey, hey,” he soothed, touching his forehead to hers the way he had yesterday. “I’m here. We’re here, we’re safe. It’s over, Hera. It’s over.” He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “We did it, love.”

“We did it,” she sniffled. She laughed again, the sound watery with her tears. One of her gloved hands was tangled in his half-down hair, the other caressing his jaw.

She kissed him again, before wrapping him up in another hug. Kanan closed his eyes and just held her, his heart content.

Celebrations took place later that night, and Kanan barely left Hera’s side. He spent most of the night with his cane in one hand, and holding Hera’s hand with the other. He gave and received more hugs than he ever had in his life; they cheered and danced and sang; he smiled and laughed until his cheeks hurt and his ribs were sore. He couldn’t remember a time he’d felt this much joy at once.

At one point, a bunch of them gathered around a radio one of the pilots had carried into the Ewok village. They listened as the news carried across every available channel in the galaxy: the Emperor was dead and the Empire along with him. The galaxy was free.

After hours of music and fireworks and celebration, Hera tugged him away from it all, off to a distant, quiet platform of the village. Some of the rebels were slumbering in the village that night. They had already decided they would make their way back to the Ghost eventually to sleep in their own bed.

Hera sat down against the tree trunk that jutted through the center of the circular platform. She took his cane, and he heard her folding it up as he settled down next to her. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and she leaned her head against him immediately, taking his free hand between her own.

Kanan took a deep breath. As much as he relished the celebrations, the quiet was a relief. He let himself drift for a moment—listening to the rustle of leaves all round them, soaking in the cool night breeze, the scent of distant fires tickling his nose.

“It still doesn’t feel real,” Hera murmured.

Kanan hummed in agreement, rubbing his thumb back and forth against her index finger.

Mirthfully, she scoffed. “I have no idea what I’m going to do tomorrow.”

They both knew there would be plenty to do—too much, even. The Empire was finished, but the work wasn’t. But he knew what she meant; it was the principle of the thing. After spending the last twenty-three years under the thumb of Imperial rule, the future was frighteningly full of possibilities.

“Sleep in for once?” he suggested. He was an early riser naturally; he liked doing his meditation in the morning. Hera’s early schedule was all thanks to her alarms and the strict schedule of a rebellion leader.

“Mm, sleeping in would be nice. Maybe breakfast in bed afterwards. When’s the last time we did that?”

“Too long ago to remember.” He nudged his foot against her own playfully. “I could be persuaded to do breakfast in bed. Depending, of course—” he stroked his fingers down the one lek curled pliantly over her shoulder, delighting as she shivered against him, “—on what’s on the menu.”

“Oh, I don’t know, dear, you tell me.” He could hear the smile in her voice as she twisted to nip at his earlobe lightly.

He chuckled, turning his head to capture her lips with his own. They kissed until the tips of his ears warmed and they were both a little breathless.

With a last peck to her temple, he leaned his head back against the tree trunk, willing his heated blood to cool and Hera tucked deeper into his side.

They sat in companionable silence for a while. Another bout of fireworks started lighting up the sky again, and Kanan had to imagine the bright colors as their booms filled the night.

The thought popped into his head unbidden, I wonder how they’re celebrating on Lothal right now. It was like being doused with cold water.

It’s not like this was the first time he’d thought of Ezra, even today. His thoughts drifted constantly to his padawan—really, former padawan; Ezra had more than done enough to prove himself worthy of the title of Jedi Knight.

But the ache of missing Ezra and the sudden longing to be on Lothal—the closest planet they could call home—dug sharply into his chest.

“Kanan?” Hera asked. He didn’t realize how tense he’d suddenly gotten until she was smoothing a hand over his chest. “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. I’m okay. It’s—tonight’s been perfect.” He exhaled through his nose. “Except…”

“Ezra,” she finished for him quietly. Quickly; like she’d been thinking about the missing member of their family, too.

“Yeah. I just…I wonder if he could sense it, where he is, the Emperor dying or the Death Star. Or if he’s just too far away from us that he doesn’t know.”

Hera squeezed his hand and pressed a soothing kiss to his cheek. “He knows we’re out here. That’s all that matters.” He nodded, but couldn’t bring himself to speak. She pressed on, “We’ll find him, we will. I really believe that.”

“I know we will,” he responded, the words heavy on his tongue.

All their leads on Ezra’s whereabouts had turned into dead-ends over the last several years of the war. But he believed Hera, he believed in her hope. And he believed in the Force, trusting that he would’ve known if something truly terrible had happened to Ezra, no matter how far away he was.

Then Hera said, “We can pick up where we left off with the search right away tomorrow.”

And at the promise of having a tomorrow, Kanan could only pull her impossibly closer.

Safe among their friends and the trees of Endor’s moon, they welcomed the first dawn of a free galaxy, together.

[end]

#thinking about kanan at the battle of endor and thinking about them all finally seeing the end of the empire got me emotional #kaneraweek2024 #kanera #swr #star wars rebels #kanan jarrus #hera syndulla #my writing #now the question is: will i get anything written later tonight for day 3. time will tell!

44 notes · View notes

bonezone44 · 5 months ago

Text

Beneath the Mire (18+)

Ezra x Swamp Monster!afab!Reader

Word Count: 3162

(Ezra img from pedropascalsx)

Dead Dove, Do Not Eat. Tags: Non-con somnophilia. Blowjob. Unprotected p-in-v.

Summary: You're a human-turned-swamp monster and a man crashes into your corner of the bayou. 😈

A/N: I'm too lazy to edit this, lol ! ENJOY!

—--

Heavy storm clouds rolled inward and a highly motivated Ezra couldn't get back to shore fast enough.

He had been out on his jon boat in the bay, fishing all by his lonesome and without much to show for it. Some days, the fish just aren't very hungry, he reasoned to himself. But it was no matter to him. He was the kind of man who loved to bask in the biosphere. He let the sound of the swaying grasses on the shoreline brush along his eardrums. He watched herons snip at bugs in the water and gobble them up, one by one. The chirping crickets and singing birds added to the chorus of croaking toads hopping around and splashing in the mud puddles. He enjoyed the symphony so much, he allowed it to lull him to sleep, slouching in his seat with his fishing rod in his hand. He figured the tug of a fine catch would rouse him from slumber. He wasn't even that tired. He only wanted to rest his eyes. But as he said himself, some days the fish just aren't very hungry.

Ezra was instead awoken by a loud clap of thunder. His eyes grew big and worried when he saw darkness engulfing the southern horizon. He scrambled to the back of his boat and started his trolling motor. It was weak and feeble against the untenable waters and he barely made it out of the bay before the rain. The rain, when it fell, fell like it was being poured outta buckets and straight onto Ezra’s head. He tried as he could to move his boat steady, but the wind and waves tossed him up and down and around in all the wrong directions. “This is not the end of my tale! This is not how I depart!” he growled to himself with crazed ferocity. One hand gripped the aluminum seat beneath him and the other clung to the starboard edge. He cursed the storm. He cursed God. He cursed his own dead Momma for testing him with such a treacherous event. He swore to not only survive, but to become stronger, more cunning. He swore to check the goddamn weather report before falling asleep all alone on his boat. "Goddamn piece a shit trolling motor," he groused, adding that he'd buy a better one of those if he survived, as well.

His heart and body were long weary by the time he made it into your little corner of the bayou. And when he crashed against the knobby roots of one of your favorite cypress trees, his spirit seemed to vanish right before your very eyes.

----

You had been in the swamp for many years now. Too many to count. You had been banished there at a young age, having been deemed unfit for the world of humans. But the swamps… they loved you. They embraced you. They evolved you into something wretched and powerful.

It began in the mazey waters of Louisiana's bayous. In the thick clouds of humidity that soaked the air between the land and sky. That was where you transformed-- where you were born anew. Your skin grew a coat of slimy, green algae and fuzzy gray lichen. All the hair on your head had fallen out and was replaced with short grasses and leafy clovers. Your eyes developed second eyelids: A yellow film that illuminated the world around you in darkness--even allowing you to navigate late at night and through debris-filled, murky waters.

Your friends were the alligators. Together you hunted deer and wild turkeys. After so many meals of bloodied meat, your teeth turned sharp and vicious. You could stick out your tongue and taste your prey in the damp, night air--taste their pheromones and dander. You would sense them from miles away and then go running madly through the bogs, chasing with pleasured vigor until you bit into their flesh and rendered them asunder.

Parts of you were still human, though. Your intelligent mind. Your lonely heart. In your early years as a newborn creature of the swamp, you would sneak around the towns and watch them–the people–talking to one another and going about their days. You would listen to them tell stories and talk shop and chit chat. You would hide in the tall grasses or beneath the shoreline piers. You would follow the fishermen in their boats, the lovers in their canoes, swimming with your alligator friends through the waterways. And when your body burned and craved for human touch, you would wrap your legs around the knobby roots of the cypress trees and rub yourself til your body shook and both your eyelids drifted shut.

But too much time around humans only made you ache more for them, so you resigned yourself to nature. Where they had banished you. And where you believed you truly belonged.

—-

You were relaxing in your shack when you first saw his approach. You loved storm season. The summer heat would give way to cool breezes and chilly water would shower down from the heavens. And if the winds were gusty and there were flashes of lightning? That just made it all the more exciting for you. So your eyes were already watching the rain show, enraptured in the chaos of nature when you saw a man in his boat intrude upon your swamp. Your home. Your safe haven from the human world that had rejected you. You wanted to stomp and roar. You wanted to bare your teeth and swing your paws and shove him and his boat back out to where he came from.

But something inside of you sank into your belly when you saw him crash. Something tender and fearful swelled behind your vision. You weren't sure why, but you needed to make sure this man would be okay.

You pulled him from the wreckage and dragged him to your hovel. It was made from parts of broken boats and sheets of metal that you had collected over the years. It wasn't much, but it was dry enough for a human like him. You rested him gently on your bed woven from moss.

Outside the storm wreaked havoc, but as you closed the door to your little shack beneath the strong canopy of cypress trees, a calm and peaceful quiet took over. Droplets of rain sang sporadically on your tin roof. The ground beneath you was covered in planks of wood decking that you had tied together with strong kudzu vines. Rusted scraps of metal hung like chandeliers from the ceiling--like moss hanging from the oak trees.

The poor man was out cold. Well, that was how the saying used to go anyway, when you were around the humans more. It had been many years since you had seen a man this up-close. You had forgotten all about the pores that dotted their faces. The hairs that protruded from around their mouths and chins. And even how their noses had hair coming out of them, too.

This man's hair had a blonde patch above his right temple. And little white hairs peppered along his jaw. He had a pretty nose with a strong curve resembling the bow of a boat all turned upside down. His top lip looked like it had been curled and there was a divot at the center of his bottom lip that was deep enough to hold a whole puddle of water in it. There was a thin scar on his left cheek that looked like a fish hook. You traced it with your finger--leaving a trail of slime behind. Your touch caused no reaction from him.

You wonder how he got so far from the rest of civilization. Maybe he was like you–all alone and aching. Who would go fishing all by themselves when the cloud patterns foretold stormy weather? Who could be so oblivious to the dangers of nature? You held his jaw and brushed your thumb along his cheek. This poor man… he had to be pained. He had to be hurting. There had to be kinship between the two of your despondent hearts.

Why else would your beloved swamp allow a man to trespass its tangled gates?

You sighed with relief.

“A gift,” you smiled to yourself.

At long last, the swamp that had first embraced you so long ago has offered you a companion. Another banished human to mold and articulate into an amalgamation of photosynthesizer and carnivorous beast. Another banished human to sate the needs of its first ape-turned-slimy-hybrid (you).

You leaned forward and pressed your lips into his. His soft, dry lips. You giggled when you pulled back–his mouth now green with your algae. He would be even more appealing once the swamps began to turn him. But for now, it was enough to have him donning a small coating of you. You kissed his cheeks. His forehead. The empty patch along his jaw. Each caress of your lips grew the fire between your thighs.

His neck was long and his veins were like pulsing rivers--veins that disappeared beneath a soaking wet t-shirt that clung to his skin. You looked down further and--oh! Right. Men have nipples, too. You saw them budding hard like cypress roots and something about it made your lips point and pout--made your teeth want to bite and chew. And although his face remained expressionless, you knew your betrothed. You knew he would enjoy your affection. He would understand your ache and your need–for it exists the same in him. It has to! How could your swamp gift you with anything less?

You tongued his right nipple through his shirt. You pinched and toyed with it, rubbed it in circles with the pad of your finger. It made you burn, but you didn’t want to stop. It had been so so long since you were with another human. It had been so so long since you allowed yourself to ache in this way. You wanted to revel in the rarity. Bask in your hunger. You wrapped your lips around his left nipple and sucked it into your mouth, pulling it between your teeth. You sucked in the salty, brackish water from the cloth of his shirt. You huffed. It wasn’t enough. You pulled his shirt upward and there it was–bare for you! A deep russet color and sparsely circled by coarse dark hairs. Oh! The taste of his skin was something immaculate. You sucked his nipple into your mouth again and pulled your head back, yanking it with you—

!!!!

His body twitched and you immediately released him. Air caught in your throat as you froze in place awaiting his waking eyes, but…

Nothing.

You sighed in both disappointment and relief. You wanted to meet his eyes and hear his voice, but you were also very pleased to continue sating your curiosity. You were too eager to cease indulging your human-side’s desires.

His chest moved slowly and evenly with his breaths. His belly, too. His arms laid flaccid at his sides and you picked up one of his big hands and held it in your own, wondering how he got so many little knicks and scars and calluses. You kissed each one–coating them in your slime. Soon it would be his slime, too.

You laid his hand back down and that was when you saw it.

Something you had long forgotten about.

Something hypnotizing and stupefying.

Something that... bulged below his waistband.

Saliva pooled on your tongue. You tugged and yanked desperately on his pants–which were soaking wet and clinging tightly to his skin. You grappled with the strange fastenings that kept them secure. You fiddled and fussed until finally his bottom was as bare as his torso and the bulging thing you desperately sought was set free.

You swallowed thickly at the sight of it. Nearly as russet as his nipples. The muscle stood tall and thick, engorged with rushing blood. A bulging sack of skin hung around its base. Your body shook with temptation and confusion. You wanted to swallow it whole and you wanted it deep between your legs. You wanted to lick and taste the skin and massage it desperately with your hands. You rested your cheek against it, longingly. Hungrily. Cravingly. You breathed deep his cloudy musk with your nostrils–moaning and pouting to yourself.

You positioned your head above his cock and wrapped your long, forked tongue around it. Viscous saliva rained from your lips as you licked and squeezed his hardness. The world around you disappeared as you drank and devoured. Warmth expelled from your cheeks, heating the room. He was delicious! He was succulent! The salty syrup that oozed from his tip made you dizzy with lust. You sucked him all the way into your mouth so you could feel the fullness of him–taste him on every sensor in your maw.

His flavor was elysian.

You looked up briefly from your inebriated haze and gasped–his heavy cock falling from your tongue.

Your man! Your betrothed!

His lids had risen to reveal blurry brown eyes!

“My gift!” you cheered.

He didn’t respond–not verbally anyway. But his eyes did move from side to side. His breathing was heavier than it had been before, but he was not fraught with panic. He blinked.

“My gift!” You praised again and kissed his cheeks with your wet lips. “You’re safe!” Tears welled in your eyes and you felt as if something was soon to burst from your chest. “You’re home now,” you smiled and pressed your cheek against his own. Small noises escaped his lips, but no words. You pulled back and saw his brows pull tight and his lips twitch. “It’s okay,” you soothed. “We’re not alone anymore.” You leaned forward again and kissed him more deeply this time, slipping your tongue into his mouth to taste him. He choked and coughed and you startled. “I’m sorry, my gift!” You shrank away with shame. “My-my tongue is different than it was when I… when I was… just a human like you.” Your face shined bright. “Soon, your tongue will be just like mine!” You opened your mouth wide and let the muscle roll from your lips. It went down past your chin and you could almost touch your own chest with the forked tip. His eyes slightly widened and you threw your head back, laughing. Then his eyes looked past you, looked down between his legs and your gaze followed. You giggled shyly. “I’m sorry, my gift. I couldn’t wait. I knew you’d understand what loneliness I felt,” you sighed. You held your bottom lip with your razor-sharp teeth and your eyes glittered. “May I finish?” you asked. “The mouth between my legs is hungry, too,” you grinned. You didn’t wait for a response. You didn’t need to. You knew he’d understand.

You scurried back down his body, which had become smattered with green splotches of you, and straddled him. You pressed your clit against his thick member and moaned. “Oh, my gift, you feel so much better than the tree roots. Oh you feel so good,” you spoke through gritted fangs as you moved your hips back and forth. Your hands were planted firmly on the moss bed beneath him. The man hissed and panted–his fingers twitched. His eyes remained blurry and searching. You whimpered above him, chasing your pleasure until your insides clenched and spasmed. Waves of delight pulsed through your body and you looked at your half-naked gift with loving tenderness and passionate desire.

“I waited so long for you,” you said tearily. “My gift. My love.” You leaned forward and kissed his lips. As you moved your hips, you felt the tip of his member catch on your hole. It startled you–it invited another appetite for feasting. Your upper half rested against his torso as you reached down and took his member in your hand. Your hole drooled with slippery filth and when you sank onto his cock, loud squelches echoed around the metal walls of your hovel–along with your gift’s deep, guttural groan. You whimpered, “Oh, your voice! I want to hear you. I want to hear everything!” You bounced your lower body up and down, maneuvering in whatever way made him make the most noise. Pained and raspy sounds expelled from his pursed lips. His breaths were shallow and rhythmic. “Is this good? Is this good, my love?” you asked with your chest high. He nodded and you shook your head with glee. “Yes!” you hissed. “My gift loves me! My gift adores me! I am his gift, too!” His thick fingers wrapped around your slimy thighs and although his grip was weak, it was fervent. He nodded more steadily and you fell to him–cheek-to-cheek–and rode his thick cock–chest-to-chest. “Forever, my gift!” you hissed in his ear. “Together until the end of time!”

He groaned and grunted, although you were doing all of the real work. His hips were hardly thrusting, but his noises were that of agreement. “S–ss—” was the closest thing to words he expressed, but you knew he wanted you. He wanted you just as deeply. Just as infinitely.

You cried out sharply with your orgasm–a tension snapping from your body and billowing out. You sighed delightfully and rested your body on top of your new companion.

“...no…” he whispered.

“What?” you were shocked and excited to hear real words.

“....d-don’t…” he swallowed. “.... stop…. don’t… stop.”

You leaned back with confusion.

“k-keep…. goin….” he rasped.

The realization hit you and you bashfully covered your face. “I’m so sorry, my gift!” You giggled. “Now it’s your turn!” You reached down with your free hand, keeping your eyes on his. You gripped his hardness, which was coated in your green mucky slick, and mimicked the movements of your hips. You moved your hand up and down as you stared into each other’s eyes.

“yes… yes… yes…” he whispered into your lips until suddenly his eyes squeezed shut.

You looked down and a creamy white ooze dribbled heavily from the tip of his member. You could taste his salt by simply sticking your tongue in the air–but it wasn’t enough. You licked up his release as it mixed with the remains of your own. So delicious! Every part of him made you hunger.

You sighed contentedly. He seemed rather content, too, as far as you could tell from his soft eyes and deep breaths. “It is good to rest after a satisfying meal,” you told him as you laid your head on his chest. “When the storm is over, we’ll add your boat to our home. And I will show you how to hunt the deer and you will meet all of my friends and we will be very happy.” You wrapped your arm around him and snuggled close. “You are my gift and I am your gift, too.”

++++++++++

#ezra x reader #ezra x afab!reader

74 notes · View notes

wannab-urs · 5 months ago

Text

Outtakes - Gin's Faves

AO3 | Kofi | Main Masterlist | The Spreadsheet Masterlist

Here's a list I never thought I'd draw attention to: my favorite fics. I don't like leaving people out, so I never intended to make this an outtake. I'm posting this to show you all why I love this fandom. I've read well over 600 fics now, and sometimes they stick with me. I have no rhyme or reason for why a fic makes this list, but these are fics that drew me deeper into the fandom or reminded me why I love fic so much. I hope this has the intended effect. I'm not trying to hurt anyone's feelings by leaving them off, I'm trying to highlight some fics that altered my brain chemistry. Anyway, I'm rambling so... without further ado, here are my favorite fics.

Seams Joel Series by @fuckyeahdindjarin

Consent Dieter Series by @fuckyeahdindjarin

Grays Frankie Series by @fuckyeahdindjarin

Palomino Jack Series by @fuckyeahdindjarin

starstruck Dieter series by @ezrasbirdie

I Think of You Din Series by @prolix-yuy

Sex Worker!Frankie AU Frankie Series by @prolix-yuy

Stay on the Screenplay Dieter series by jazzelsaur (AO3)

Psychomanteum Dieter Series by @whatsnewalycat

In an Instant Joel one shot by @mishasminion360

In the Dark Ezra Series by @frannyzooey

Celestial Navigation Dieter Series by @write-and-buried

All our candles are burned out Dieter/Frankie one shot by @psychedelic-ink

I Only See Daylight Din Series by @millersdjarin

A Little Lipstick Never Hurts Max P/Dieter series spacegayofficial (AO3)

Losing My Religion Din Series by @oonajaeadira

Between the Raindrops Frankie Series by Jazzelsaur (AO3)

A Girl Walks Into A Bookshop Ezra Series by @oonajaeadira

Step Dad!Joel Joel series by @toxicanonymity

Cognitave Dissonance Jack Series by @prolix-yuy

Good. Things. Take. Time. Pedro ATS Series by @oonajaeadira

Hokaanir Riduurok Din one shot by @proxima-writes

buried Jack series by @something-tofightfor

Pretend Alleyways Dieter/Marcus M series by @radiowallet

Of Gorgons and Gardens Din/Ezra series by @concussed-to-pieces

Beskar Doll Din series by @justagalwhowrites

A Savage Place Joel series by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

Feral Woman Joel series by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

Mr. Miller joel series by @tremendum

I know it when I see it Joel series by @bageldaddy

Be-All and Endor Din series by @djarins-cyare

Sundown Joel one shot by @bageldaddy

Notes on Tutoring Dave York series by @honestly-shite

Deliver Me From Nowhere Joel series by @atinylittlepain

When My Time Comes Around Joel series by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

Cosmic Oddities Din/Joel series by fromthewhales (AO3)

I'll Leave a Light On For You Max Phillips one shot by @oonajaeadira

The Infinity Cube Marcus P/Various series by @littlemisspascal

Somewhere Beautiful Din series by @peetiespetals

the dress Dave York series by @janaispunk

Ezra's Journal Entries Ezra series by @littlemisspascal

Cabuorir Oberyn/Din series by ToricTailor (AO3)

#fic recs #the spreadsheet digest #fanfiction recommendations #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #ppcu fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #the spreadsheet outtakes #outtakes

44 notes · View notes

watchinghallmark · 9 days ago

Text

Happy Howlidays - December 21st on Hallmark Channel

Mia, a meticulous webpage editor for the Seattle Tourism Board, finds herself unexpectedly navigating the holidays alone. As the only one working, she's drawn into an unusual encounter when she encounters a stray dog. Unsure how to handle the situation, she crosses paths with Max, a dog shelter owner. Mia agrees to let Max's ailing dog find solace with her newfound companion, in exchange for Max showing her the hidden gems of Seattle. Through their journey together, they both step out of their comfort zones, discovering new perspectives and forming a meaningful connection. Starring Jessica Lowndes and Ezra Moreland.

#happy howlidays #jessica lowndes #ezra moreland #hallmarkedit

15 notes · View notes

magpiepills · 8 months ago

Text

Not For Nothing

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ MDNI

Pairing: Ezra x f reader

Word count: 1.6

Summary: Ezra remembers his girl.

Warnings: Smut! Unprotected PIV, little dirty talk, creampie, male masturbation, murder! I think that’s it.

A word from the author: this is a repost! Nothing crazy, I really just needed an excuse to make Ezra jerk off.

Ezra clung to you that last night. Quieter and slower than usual, gentler, more purposeful in his touch, like he could drink you into his body by touch alone. You didn’t mind, it felt like it was important to him to take his time.

He stayed on top of you, braced on his forearm with your legs wound over his hips, he murmured against your neck, nose scrunched as he dragged it under your jaw and over your pulse before kissing you there, wet and tender, trying to make it stick.

You called his name as he rocked into you, so warm and wet and like he was meant to be there, like your bodies should be joined this way forever, like you shared a single pulse. “Our heart.” He said, splaying his hand over your chest, ever a romantic, or full of shit that he thought might sound nice. At any rate, tonight he fucked you slow and deep, making you feel every thick, throbbing inch of him, every beat of his heart through the rush of blood to his turgid member. You breathed, whined, met his thrusts, felt your whole body tighten as you came around him. All the while he soothed you, just above a whisper he coaxed you on. “Yes, yes, give it all to me, let me feel it. Come on, come on, come on.” Soon thereafter he had fixed his glassy eyes on yours and spilled inside your clenching warmth.

You slept, wrapped in his sheets as he finished packing in the dim light of the little Puzu lamp beside the bed. In the morning you helped him zip into his environmental suit for a last check of his filter. He let you fuss with the snaps, tighten the straps, and try in vain to adjust the too-big helmet over his head before sighing and letting it slouch over his head.

He didn’t let you go with him to the freighter. He kissed you at the door of the little apartment you shared, promised an expedient return, and you tucked a little envelope in his pocket. “Something for later.” You explained. You didn’t cry, didn’t fuss, didn’t fret over his safety. He’s a big boy, he can take care of himself.

Ezra had scanned the boards daily, looking for the right crew in the right expedition for the right reward. He rubbed the heel of his hand across his forehead, a moment of contemplation, a courtesy. He knew he would go. Bakhroma wanted taming and he wanted satisfaction. A perfect pair. One last stand, he vowed. One more chance to plunder the greedy verdant moon, before it was all but abandoned, given up as a lost cause. Too remote, too inhospitable, too hard to navigate. It was just what he was after.

That was cycles ago. Many cycles. Far more than he had ever been away before. Where he is now you could only guess. If he died on The Green you’d never know. There was no one to send word, comms didn’t work that far out, his crew was best described as unsavory, and it would be best if Ezra didn’t mention you to them. With the BG line shutting down, no rescue or recovery missions could be launched.

If he had found the fortune he was after, he could have easily skipped out on you, went to his brother in Spiria, taken a new name and parked himself on Lao, precious little chance you’d find him there even if you could find a way to get to it. So you waited. Cleaning and re-cleaning the apartment, waving off questions from your mother about his whereabouts, his intentions. You didn’t need her judgment. You were either despondent and aching in your chest, praying that his death was quick and Kevva would accept his soul, or cursing his name, regretting the day you’d laid eyes on his good-for-nothing lying hide. You hoped he would drown, get robbed, shot, stabbed, something. Anything.

As cycles passed, your desperation grew. Rent was due again. More than you could afford as a clerk. Ezra, for all his faults, was always able to come up with the rent some way. You knew better than to ask how. There was no option but to pack up and rent a single occupancy room on the other side of Central. Wake up earlier, go to work, come home later, convince yourself that Ezra may one day reappear.

You kept his clothes.

Your mother quit asking about him.

•••••

Thirty two cycles.

Ezra counted each one and marked it in his dog-eared and now useless log book.

What good is a log book without a ship? It was barely four cycles before things turned tense with his crew, a surly, pugnacious bunch of returners. A quarrel over navigation turned to fisticuffs, turned to murder. A body was laid to rest near a copse of trees with wide canopies and limbs that dipped down low. It was customary, they said. No rare occurrence.

The aurelac they were after wasn’t as abundant as the touted source had promised it would be. A meager pull split up 5 ways served only to rile the men more and, as they say, words and metal flew.

Ezra kept a handy side arm and dispatched two more of the no-account bastards before the struggle was through. He kept a gem case, but he was without a coach. No way to get home, and no one but a taciturn companion to help him deplete the stash of Bits Bars. Number two was silent but violent. Ezra gave him a wide berth, and while The Mule, as Ezra had taken to calling him, stood in seemingly endless watch, Ezra retreated into the shabby little tent.

For maybe the hundredth time he opened the little envelope, looking quickly over his shoulder before pulling out the treat you sent. Pictures. Of you. One of you smiling, bright and winsome, making his heart twist with self pity. Maybe he would never see you again. Maybe he didn’t deserve to.

The second picture was risqué. You’d unbuttoned your blouse, smiled deviously as you covered your nipple with your fingertips. Ezra squinted, hoping to find a hint of the forbidden skin in the soft blur of the picture. His cock stirred in his environmental suit as he thought of you taking these pictures. Taking them for him. He thought of you fiddling with the buttons, thought of you touching yourself, playing with your nipples the way he knew you loved, the way he preferred to do for you. He tore off his gloves and unzipped his suit just enough to shove his hand inside, gently tugging at his half hard cock, reaching down to cup his balls in his hand. He closed his eyes and thought of you as he felt himself swell.

The third picture was the one that made his heart race. His cock throbbed at the tawdriness. There you were, bare ass framed by the shirt you’d hiked up, and your fingers, shining with arousal, stuffed into your pussy.

Ezra’s eyes glazed as his mind took over, transforming the still photo into one where you moved. He saw your hips rocking back and forth as you slid your fingers through your folds, parting your swollen lips, dragging slick from your hole to your clit and back. He could hear your soft mewling, how you whined his name to torment him when you wouldn’t let him touch.

His jaw fell slack as he stroked his cock, trying to match the tightness of his fist to your sweet little cunt. He pulled the zipper open further, spat into his hand and worked it over his length, a poor substitute for your soft hand.

In his mind he felt the warmth radiating from your cunt, drawing him in, begging him to fill you up and never leave. He thought he smelled you in his mustache and on his hands, the soft, indescribable scent of an aroused woman that made his mouth water and his cock throb and he increased the tempo of his fist.

Ezra remembered the way your tits bounced, tight nipples so sensitive when he sucked them hard, making you gasp and squeal. He loved making you make all those sounds. Loved it when you forgot yourself and were loud, quivered when you came on his cock, the rhythmic squeezing of your cunt. It was like you were here, almost. The ghost of you with him in the loathsome tent where he jerked himself to completion into a rag. Wasting cum that should have been inside you.

Nobody cries on The Green. There’s no place for it. So he doesn’t. He tucks himself back into his suit instead and steps out of the tent, frowning at the relentless dust. A short whistle and nod call Number Two to follow. Ezra scans the ground looking for signs of aurelac deposits and Two keeps watch. Ezra talks, mostly to himself, since his partner never bothers to interject. A soliloquy is better than silence. The only indication that Number Two isn’t dead is the snap of his head at the sound of another voice in the distance. “…curious.”

•••••

The sky is gray, the pavement is gray, even the people passing you on the street were a gray blur. You imagined you must be gray, too. The trudge to your apartment was long. Longer even when you were exhausted and hungry. You thought of the leftovers you would have for dinner before going to bed and you kept on, up six blocks, down an alley, up three flights of stairs, and to your door.

A cruel mirage awaits you. An apparition, pale and tall and familiar. Slumped on the floor against your door, legs akimbo. When you could see his face, he smiled up at you.

“Ezra?”

#ezra prospect 2018 #ezra prospect smut #pedro pascal ezra #ezra smut #ezra fanfiction #ezra fanfic #ezra #ezra prospect #pedro pascal character smut #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #bat writes

43 notes · View notes

pedropascalsx · 1 year ago

Text

3000 FOLLOWER CELEBRATION POST!

- The fanfiction edition.

Hi friends! I don’t know how it happened but I hit 3000 followers recently and I feel unbelievably lucky! I joined this site just over a year ago and I have met many wonderful people and gained multiple friendships from doing so.

And I wanted to celebrate YOU guys and show some appreciation for the fanfics that have taken up space in my heart.

I will be posting a few different celebration posts, one for fanfics, one for people I follow and one more for the GIFs and fics that i’ve created and that i’m proud of.

The list is below in no particular order! They just happen to be posted in a way that my brain let me remember them. I limited the list to ONE fic per writer as I wanted to showcase as many people as I could; so please check out their entire master lists!

1. Weeknights by @frannyzooey - Frankie Morales x F! Reader.

2. Notes on Tutoring by @honestly-shite - Dave York x F! Reader.

3. Lay It On Me by @lavendertales - Javier Peña x F! DEA Reader.

4. The Crush by @the-ginger-hedge-witch Javier Peña x OFC Isabel!

5. Consent by @fuckyeahdindjarin - Dieter Bravo x F! Reader.

6. Celestial Navigation by @write-and-buried - Dieter Bravo x F! Reader.

7. Run to You by @foli-vora - Marcus Pike x F! Reader.

8. Silent Affection by @kteague - Frankie Morales x F! Reader.

9. Psychomanteum by @whatsnewalycat - Dieter Bravo x OFC Louella!

10. Another Way by @theewokingdead - Din Djarin x F! Reader.

11. Stitches by @djarinsbeskar - Din Djarin x F! Reader.

12. Stranger At My Gate by @leslie-lyman - Pero Tovar x Modern! OFC.

13. Sunshine on a Cloudy Day by @pedrito-friskito - Frankie Morales x F! Reader.

14. Intimidation Tactics by @whataperfectwasteoftime - Marcus Pike x Dave York x F! Reader.

15. Peñas Anatomy by @guess-my-next-obsession - Javier Peña x OFC/Reader Lucky.

16. Cognitive Dissonance by @prolix-yuy - Agent Whiskey x F! Reader Sugar.

17. Fix You by @astoryisaloveaffair - Frankie Morales x F! Nanny Reader.

18. My Best Friends Dad by @whiskeynwriting - Dave York x F! Reader.

19. Sinners by @brandyllyn - Pero Tovar x F! Reader.

20. Façade by @furious-rogue-stuff - Dave York x F! Reader.

21. Lie to Me by @iamskyereads - Javier Peña x F! Reader.

22. Ego & Black Powder by @psychedelic-ink - Pero Tovar x F!Prison Guard.

23. Saturdays with Javier by @wildemaven - Javier Peña x F! Reader.

24. Black Sheeps by @charnelhouse - Dave York x F! Reader.

25. Like a River by @radiowallet - Macus Moreno x F! Reader x Frankie Morales.

I also wanted to share TEN of my all time favourite stories by @absurdthirst because it’s literally impossible to pick just one.

1. Stormy Secrets - Dave York x F! Reader.

2. Starvation - Ezra x F! Reader.

3. Xingjião - Pero Tovar x F! Reader.

4. Married to the Mafia - Dave York x F! Reader.

5. Under His Skin - Dave York x F! Reader.

6. Late for Valentines - Dave York x F! Reader.

7. The Donor - Marcus Pike x F! Reader x Dave York.

8. Protective Big Brother - Frankie Morales x F!Davis Reader.

9. Murphy's Sister - Javier Peña x F!Murphy Reader.

10. Daddy Dieter - Dieter Bravo x F! Reader.

PLEASE NOTE - I AM DOING A FOLLOW RECS LIST NEXT!

If I follow you and you didn't make it onto this list - you will be on the next one! Also I will be doing a mini post for published and soon to be published books!

I'm sorry if anyone is missing, it's always a pain trying to remember everyone but this is a list of the fics that mean a lot to me and that i love so so so much!

#3k celebration posting #3k recommendations #favourite fics list #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters #dave york #din djarin #dieter bravo #javier peña #frankie morales #marcus pike #marcus moreno #ezra prospect #pero tovar #agent whiskey #cristina 3k celebration tag

88 notes · View notes

alwaysmicado · 1 year ago

Text

incomplete

2.2k | Ezra x gn!reader | one-shot

established relationship, negative body image, anxiety attack, emotional support Summary: Ezra has not been the same since losing his arm in the Green. When he suffers an anxiety attack, he reveals his biggest fear — not being enough for you. A/N: I love Ezra with all my heart and I can only imagine how difficult it must be to navigate life after losing an arm, especially in “ordinary” situations such as hugging the person he loves. I just had to give him reassurance and comfort. 🤍 masterlist | AO3

“It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”

- Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

The dim glow of the moonlight casts a soft illumination across the room, highlighting shadows that dance on the walls. The silence of the night is broken by a subtle sound — a muffled sob that echoes through the otherwise quiet hut. You lie on your cot, eyes wide open, unable to ignore the pattern that has emerged over the past few nights any longer.

Ezra, the enigmatic prospector you’ve come to recognize and admire for his strength and composure over the past year of your partnership, is struggling.

You can hear him pacing in the living area, a restless energy evident in each step. Occasionally, a stifled whimper escapes him, the weight of his emotions too much to contain. It’s a painful symphony of anxiety that unfolds behind the closed door.

As much as you want to respect his privacy, the concern gnaws at you, urging you to offer support. You slip out of your covers and put on your sweater, guided by the muted sounds emanating from your partner. The door creaks softly as you open it, revealing Ezra standing near the window, his silhouette framed by the moonlight.

His gaze is fixed on the distant moon, his shoulders are hunched, and his hand grips the edge of the windowsill as if anchoring himself in a storm. His breathing is rapid, shallow, and you can see the distress in his eyes.

It’s clear that he’s in the midst of an anxiety attack.

You immediately move towards him, concern etching your features. “Ezra, hey, what’s going on?” Your voice is soft, trying to cut through the chaotic thoughts that might be racing through his mind.

He looks up at you, his eyes wide with panic, and it takes a moment for him to register your presence. “I–I don’t know,” he stammers, his words coming out in fragments. “It just–it hit me.”

You move to stand beside him, giving him some space while remaining close enough to offer comfort. “It’s okay, Ezra. I’m here. Take deep breaths with me, alright?” You model the slow, deliberate inhales and exhales, hoping he’ll follow suit.

He tries to mimic your breathing, but it’s clear that the anxiety has a tight grip on him. His chest rises and falls rapidly, and his attempts to regulate his breath are met with resistance.

“Focus on me, Ezra,” you encourage, gently placing a hand on his back to rub soothing circles into his strained muscles. “You’re safe here. Let’s try it together. In…and out.”

It takes a while, but gradually, his breathing starts to sync with yours. The rhythm becomes steadier, and you can feel some of the tension beginning to dissipate. Still, his eyes are wide with residual fear.

“Do you think you can tell me what triggered this?” you ask, your voice soft and understanding, sympathy evident in your eyes.

Ezra shakes his head and lifts his gaze to meet yours, struggling to find the words to properly convey the inner turmoil he is facing. “I don’t know,” he admits, his voice breaking.

“Everything just felt...overwhelming. I couldn’t catch my breath for the life of me, and my mind started racing like a runaway train — thoughts careening in every direction. Images, memories, and possibilities colliding, creating a chaotic symphony of ideas that I struggled to make sense of.”

You nod, recognizing the unpredictable nature of anxiety. “It’s alright, Ezra,” you coo. “Sometimes, our minds can play tricks on us and cause us to feel everything at once.” You continue tenderly rubbing his back. “What’s important is that you’re not alone, and I need you to know that you’re not alone.”

Ezra takes another deep breath and nods weakly, the color slowly returning to his face. “I am truly sorry for disturbing your peace, sugar plum,” he mumbles, apologizing for something beyond his control.

“You don’t need to apologize,” you reassure him, a comforting smile gracing your lips.

When you feel his muscles tense again, you can’t help but furrow your brow with worry. “Look at me, Ezra,” you prompt quietly, reaching out to gently place a hand on his arm. “Will you tell me what’s going on? I might be able to help, you know.”

You search his dark eyes and softly rub the skin beneath his shirt’s short sleeve. “But I need you to let me in.”

He looks out of the window again, avoiding your gaze, and you can see the remnants of dread in his eyes, vulnerability evident in the set of his shoulders.

“There’s nothing going on that needs to trouble that beautiful mind of yours, sugar plum. Just a rough night.” He shakes his head and glances at you, sensing that his attempt at deception, in this case for your own good, is not having its desired effect.

You know him too well, know the man behind the rugged, sly persona he’s been cultivating as a survival tactic. You know what’s hidden beneath, shielded from prying eyes, only revealed to the people who are worthy of his love and devotion — first Cee, now you.

“Ezra, I’ve heard you. I’ve heard you pacing, and I’ve heard the tears. It’s not ‘nothing’.” You cup his cheek with your hand, your eyes boring into his. “You don’t have to hide from me.”

He takes a deep breath, the facade slipping away as he meets your eyes, his shoulders trembling slightly. He hesitates for a moment, as if searching for the right words. “I just–I cannot seem to shake this feeling, this overwhelming feeling of grief and hopelessness that is threatening to pull me down into the depths of darkness every time I am alone with my thoughts.”

You see the tears welling up in his eyes and feel your heart break in your chest.

Ezra looks away, trying to contain the flood of emotions threatening to spill over. “I thought I could handle the memories floating around in my mind, memories of death, destruction, greed, loss. I honestly, truly thought I could move on with my life, be a better man for you and Cee, and lead an honorable life here in our community. On this stunning piece of land I am so fortunate to find myself on.”

He clenches his fist, and closes his eyes.

“But it is always there, always, always there. No matter what I do. No matter how hard I try. It is always lurking in the shadows of my existence, following me, holding me back.” He sighs deeply and opens his eyes to look at you, his brow furrowed. “I am haunted by the absence of my arm. I miss him deeply, in everything I do. And at night, when darkness takes over, when everything is quiet, it is all I can think about.

It’s a pain that goes beyond the physical, a yearning for a wholeness that seems elusive.”

He turns to face you fully, gently tracing your cheek with the back of his fingers. Your heart aches for him, understanding the weight of his words.

“I am broken beyond repair, my darling, and I cannot help but feel that you would be better off if I was go–”

Without a word, you wrap your arms around him, pulling him into a warm and reassuring embrace. Ezra hesitates for a moment, surprised by the sudden contact, but then he leans into the hug, allowing himself to be enveloped by the comfort you offer.

The room around you is silent, and all that can be heard is the subtle sound of his breath.

You can feel the tension in Ezra’s body as he wraps his arm around you, the heavy burden, the weight of his grief he’s been carrying alone all this time. Slowly, you start to sway gently, a rhythm that seems to soothe the troubled thoughts that linger in his mind. The embrace is tight but gentle, a silent reassurance that he’s not alone — and that you’re not going anywhere.

As you hold him, you sense a subtle shift in his demeanor. A quiver runs through his body, and you realize he’s starting to cry. It’s a quiet, almost imperceptible release of emotions that he's been holding back for too long. You tighten your grip, offering him a safe space to let go.

“You’re not alone in this, Ezra,” you whisper. “Losing a part of yourself is a profound loss and it’s okay to hurt. It’s okay to grieve. And you don’t have to be silent about it. I’m here for you.”

After a while, the tears subside, and you loosen your embrace just enough to look into his eyes with sincerity, keeping your hands on his shoulders.

Ezra’s eyes glisten with hurt and uncertainty, something you’ve never seen in them before. You brush away a stray tear from his cheek, your touch gentle and calming.

“I cannot adequately describe how much I despise myself for not being able to do this properly — the way you deserve, my precious sugar plum,” he murmurs, pain straining his voice.

You tilt your head in confusion, unable to decipher what exactly he’s talking about. “What do you mean?” you ask softly, a reassuring smile prompting him to answer you.

“This,” he whispers as he pulls you closer, resting his forehead against yours with closed eyes. “I cannot help but think about how my missing arm, my incompleteness, prevents me from embracing you properly. You deserve the world, my darling, and I can’t even present you with a hug. You deserve a man who can hold you close and show you the love and affection you deserve, and I am truly sorry for having deprived you for so long.”

You pull away enough to look into his eyes again, anger now simmering beneath your skin.

How dare this capable, intelligent, and loyal man entertain the notion that he deprived you of anything. Throughout your time together, all he’s done is take care of you, offering you a life teeming with adventure and love. It’s unfathomable that, even for a fleeting moment, he would think you’d be better off without him.

“I love you, Ezra, and I understand what you’re trying to say, I really do,” you say as calmly as possible, taking deep breaths. “But I need you to listen to me very carefully now because I need you to hear and understand every word. Can you do that?”

“Of course, my darling,” he answers with a nod. “You have my undivided attention.”

Your features soften as you witness the sad admiration in his gaze. “I can’t imagine how unimaginably traumatizing it must have been to lose your arm, having to adapt and relearn everything you knew how to do before. But you did it, you persevered. Because you are strong.”

You lift your hand to cup his cheek, causing him to lean into your touch immediately. “I have seen the incredible progress you’ve made since you and Cee arrived here and, Ezra, I’m so fucking proud of you.”

He looks at you, a mix of gratitude and disbelief in his eyes, a single tear making its way down his cheek.

“But I can’t even hug you. I can’t hold you like I want to, like I should be able to.”

You smile, reaching up to wipe away the tear. “Ezra, a hug is not just about arms. It’s about connection, about being close to someone. And in case you haven’t noticed, our hug right now is pretty perfect to me.”

He chuckles through a tear-streaked smile, a flicker of relief in his eyes. “You really think so, sugar plum?”

“I know so,” you affirm with a genuine smile on your lips. “Your worth isn’t determined by the number of limbs you have. It’s about the person you are, the heart you have, and the way you make people feel — what matters is this.”

You gently take his hand and guide it to your chest, so he can feel the steady rhythm of your heart beneath the fabric of your sweater. “You feel this?” He nods slowly as you put your hand on his chest to feel his heartbeat.

“You aren’t broken, my love. You’re human.”

Ezra takes a moment to absorb your words, and you can see a shift in his demeanor. The weight on his shoulders seems to lighten and you can see the spark in his beautiful, dark eyes return.

“You’re perfect just the way you are, Ezra,” you coo. “And if you ever feel the darkness pull at you again, try to remember that you have someone here who sees you, all of you, and thinks the absolute world of you.”

He nods, his signature smile spreading across his face. “Thank you, my darling,” he says, his voice filled with gratitude.

You pull him back into your arms, holding him close once more.

In that moment, you both find solace in the simple act of being together. The room is filled with the quiet understanding that perfection isn’t about the absence of flaws but about embracing every part of oneself — scars and all.

“After all my time floating through this forsaken universe, searching for meaning,” he murmurs into your ear, a soft smile gracing his lips, “it turns out that love is the answer. Quite poetic, don’t you think?” —

72 notes · View notes

lincolndjarin · 1 year ago

Text

The Thing That Gives

main masterlist ✧ kinktober masterlist ✦

kinktober : day thirteen - afab!reader x ezra

prompt : tentacles [ 18+ mdni ]

word count : 2.4k

summary : you find yourself in the slimy grip of the unknown.

warnings, etc. : dubcon/noncon (these tags apply to ezra, i wrote a reader who is like really into tentacles), dead dove do not eat, smut, tentacles, reference to pornography (reader reads hentai lmao), sort of tentacle horror i guess lol, reader is into the tenacles of it all like i'm gonna be so honest she's like hell yes about tentacles she's a real weirdo in this (she just like me fr), t in v?? (tencacles in vag??), tentacles in every hole, anal, oral in the tentacle receiving sense, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, ambiguous ending

a/n : i'm so so glad someone requested him with this prompt bc it's so ezra like let's be real. originally i wanted to write something where he's a tentaclly monster and lowkey if people like this i might do that in the future lol. anyhow this is def the craziest thing i've ever written but it was so so much fun, happy friday the 13th!!

“Pretty little thing like you? Shouldn’ta been on the Green in the first place.”

That’s what that son of a bitch had said when he’d locked you in that abandoned ship ages ago, those words have been replaying in your mind ever since. You’d been skeptical to trust him in the first place, he spoke in strange, strung out sentences and he had a smile that immediately made you suspicious but he’d just been too damn charming.

It didn’t help that you’d just lost your partner.

She had been your protector and navigator, as a third generation prospector you were equipped to do one thing, harvest. She had done everything else for you but after an unfortunate incident where her suit had gotten caught on some rubble you were left alone with the entire harvest and no one to watch over you.

Maybe that’s why you’d been so naive to his allure, and his promises to keep you safe on your journey back to your ship.

Stupid.

You practically handed your ship to him on a silver platter.

“This looks familiar, I think we’re nearby.”

You had signed your own death certificate with that.

He’d wrestled you into an abandoned ship minutes later, firmly sealing it shut and taking you entire harvest. He doesn’t even give you enough time to feel angry with those parting words, you just feel dumb.

It took you days to get out of there.

You’re lucky you stay stocked up on rations in case of emergencies but you don’t get to feel good about that fact. You’re too busy mourning the loss of your harvest.

When you finally manage to pry the metal doors open you immediately go off in search of your ship. You’re certain it’s a lost cause. Ezra probably took off ages ago but what else are you supposed to do? So you keep on marching through the Green.

It only takes a few moments more before you’re shocked to see the outline of your ship in the distance.

Had he somehow missed it?

Sure he was a scumbag but he was a smart scumbag, he should have found this with ease. It’s an easy hike, down a steep hill and back up another, that’s the quickest, most straightforward way there.

But of course you fuck even this up, because that’s just your luck these days.

You stumble over a tree route, tumbling down the hill before your helmet collides with a stone at the bottom, your nose slams against the glass with a sickening crunch and just like that, you’re out cold.

When you finally come to your senses you’re shocked to find yourself face to face with the man who betrayed you in the first place. You’re used to hearing his sickly sweet, over complicated sentences, you’re convinced he enjoys the sound of his own voice more than anything else on this godforsaken planet. But for the first time since you met him, he’s speechless.

It doesn’t take much to figure out why, as you blink a few times, clearing up your vision. You rake your eyes across his form, he’s held in place by several slick and constantly moving tentacles, his space suit is in tatters, his helmet thrown to the ground along with your own and you briefly wonder how he’s even breathing, but based on the way his chest rises and falls he’s perfectly fine.

“B-birdie?” He rasps out. Your first instinct is to slap him but you realize quickly that you’re in a similar predicament, your suit discarded on the ground with your limbs being restricted by the throbbing appendages.

Well this probably isn’t good.

There’s a lot going on in your head right now.

You sort of wonder if you died during your fall and this is some sort of afterlife. You’d heard reference to the eternity after this life, people often talked about it but you never really believed it until now. But now you think of the magazines back on your ship and wonder if this is your afterlife, is there some higher power out there who knows you spend your free time looking at dirty magazines featuring people in the exact predicament you found yourself in now?

That doesn’t exactly make sense though.

If this was your perfect afterlife it would just be you and the tentacles, why is Ezra here?

You don’t get much time to question anything going on because the tentacles start pulsing, almost violently, squeezing your limbs tightly before starting to frantically surround you and your ex-partner.

“No- please, Kevva above.” You watch curiously as a tendril wraps around his throat, he’s a few feet from you, directly across from where you’re propped up.

You can practically feel the fear coming off of him. You swear he’s about to cry as the tentacles remove his remaining undergarments.

“Not again, please, please-” His prayers are cut off when one of the pulsing limbs pushes past his swollen lips. You almost feel jealous, is this your afterlife? To watch Ezra living your dream and not appreciating it? You want to feel its sweet caress, sliding into your mouth, slipping under your clothes and holding you with its entire being. You frown, practically green with envy.

He isn’t even appreciating it. He thrashes and whines through the slimy flesh between his teeth. You don’t have to be bitter for long, the tendrils surrounding you are gentler than his, almost sweet with how they move across your goosebump riddled skin. There’s so many colors, swirling purples and greens and grays until one finally presents itself in front of your face, as if it was looking at you.

You don’t know what compels you to do it but you open your mouth, letting whatever it is slide across your tongue. Tiny suction cups prodding at your taste buds as it slips further into you.

You should be choking, or at the very least gagging as it bumps against the back of your throat, but you don’t. Ezra certainly doesn’t seem to have the same luxury, his chest heaves and his eyes water as the tendril in his mouth pushes itself in further. You experimentally let your tongue swirl around the appendage, sucking slightly and you’re rewarded with a sweet taste that hadn’t been there until now, closing your eyes you suck it in deeper, letting it slide further down your throat.

It’s giving you air.

That’s how the two of you are still alive, whatever this thing is provides you with it. And you desperately want more. You want to be one of the girls in those comics, you want to be ripped straight out of the magazines you love so much.

So you moan.

Almost as if to show it how good it makes you feel. How thankful you are.

And deep within the depths of your subconscious you know how happy that makes it. How long it’s waited to have its affections reciprocated, and in return it is gentle. It doesn’t tear your clothes the way it did Ezra’s, it doesn’t even fully remove them, the tentacles slow from their frenzy as they lift your shirt above the swell of your chest and tug the waistband of your shorts down to your knees. You don’t even get a chance to feel self conscious because at the same time Ezra spits out the tentacle in his mouth, groaning as the remaining scraps of his clothing is fully destroyed, and boy is he a sight.

How long has he been here? The entire time you were stuck? It looks to be that way, his cock red and aching as the tendrils slide across the already leaking tip. He’s a mess. More so than he usually is. It looks almost painful. How many times has he come?

You're snapped out of your thoughts when your own tentacles mirror the movements of his. The one in your mouth slowly retreats but you whine, running your tongue against it and it stills, no longer filling your throat but still letting you leisurely suck it.

Ezra once again opens his mouth to speak but instead of it filling him once more it just slides across the bottom of his face, still rather effectively silencing him. You can feel one of the thicker tentacles spreading your legs, it isn’t much of a strain, the others help keep you balanced. You can’t look down but you’re certain if you did you’d see yourself dripping for this unknown being. You don’t have to wait. It simply slips past your folds and finds its home against your cervix. You almost sound like Ezra now as you scream, except yours is more of a squeal, overjoyed and blissed out as it pulses within you, never actually moving in and out, just expanding and shrinking inside of your weeping cunt. You’re having a bit of trouble focusing in your haze of pleasure but you realize that it moves as one. With every pulse inside of you it matches the pattern when it slides up and down his shaft.

It’s like he’s fucking you without touching you, sort of.

Although this is better than sex.

At least for you, Ezra continues to look at you frantically, tears spill from his eyes now and you can tell by how his muscles tense and his balls tighten that he’s coming yet there’s no physical release, it’s like he’s already spent. He doesn’t even have a chance to go soft, the tentacles continue without missing a beat and he’s still hard in their grip. You don’t feel all that bad for him, not after what he did to you, and it’s hard to feel bad about anything when the tendrils wrap themselves around your breasts, circling them until they jut out, a pair of suction cups attaching themselves to the peaks of your nipples, the same happening to Ezra as you both begin writhing.

Are you even going to be able to go back to normal sex after this? Your first orgasm tears through you violently. Your entire body trembles and you fight the urge to bite down as you scream.

You can’t possibly ever feel this good again, it’s just too perfect. You assume it can’t get better yet somehow it does, a thing tendril wrapping around your leg before a smaller suction cup latches onto your clit, at that point you’re a goner. Your body evaporates into muffle moans and squeals. It barely even registers when another thick tendril slips between the swell of your ass, pushing into your other hole, taking you completely in its slippery hold.

Now it’s perfect.

You watch with wide eyes as a matching tentacle slides up Ezra's leg.

You’re one in the same, if there was another here with you would they receive identical treatment? You have so many questions that you’ll know you’ll never get answers to, the idea makes you a little sad but almost as if it knows you’re mood has shifted it pushes up deeper into you and you unravel all over again, shrieking as you come, your slick mixing with whatever already coated the tentacles.

You must be the spitting image of your favorite illustration in the magazines, the page that you can flip to purely based on muscle memory. A woman, vaguely resembling you, stretched out with a tentacle in every hole, you probably look as happy as she does as well, drool leaking from the raised corners of your mouth.

You want another orgasm, one more would be nice. You aren’t sure how many times Ezra’s come at this point, you do suppose that if it kept at this all day long you might eventually snap, after a certain number of orgasms it would probably get painful.

In all honesty you aren’t sure you care though, it’s kind to you, whatever it is, a part of you thinks it wouldn’t let you hurt. The moment the thought crosses your mind you come one last time, this one catches you a bit of guard, following the last in quick succession. Maybe you could live like this, here with whatever this creature is, watching Ezra would eventually get sad but you would adapt, this thing, whatever it is, is gentle, and it loves.

You make a conscious choice to give yourself up to it completely.

You could live here and be happy with this creature.

And in an instant you’re released, the tendrils slide out of you, setting you down.

All you had to do was give in to it and it let you go.

You gasp for air as it drops you to the ground, fumbling for your helmet, taking in several gulps of filtered air as you retch. You’re eternally grateful to the fact that your helmet didn’t crack during your fall. It takes several minutes to find your bearings but eventually you manage to resituate your suit and fix your clothes before you stand face to face with him. Despite watching what you did to escape it doesn’t seem to register with him as he continues to thrash and fight, he must be exhausted at this point.

Stubborn bastard isn’t ever gonna relax.

Poor thing, you almost feel bad for him.

Almost.

You tilt your head as you stare at him, the tendrils still stroking his red straining cock while he gives you a pleading look. But you only have eyes for the case at his feet once you remember its presence. You reach down, taking it in your hands and clicking the locks to see if it’s all still there and much to your delight everything is accounted for, you swiftly shut it and look up at him once more. The tendril slides away from his mouth, it’s giving the two of you a chance to speak.

“Plea-“ His words are cut short as you watch a tentacle tweak his nipple, you reach out a gloved hand to run a thumb over his puffy chest.

“Pretty little thing like you shouldn’t have been on the Green in the first place.” You grin at him before crawling out of the ravine, the sounds of his strangled moans follow you until you close the doors of your ship behind you.

Maybe you’ll come back for him. At the very least you’ll come back for the experience of being held by such a creature as the tentacles beneath the earth.

It doesn’t matter all that much.

Either way you won’t be back until you’re sure he’s learned his lesson.

a/n : ooooo hope everyones having a frightening friday the thirteenth and i also hope everyone enjoyed this lol

#lincolndjarin #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #ezra prospect #ezra x reader #ezra prospect x reader #ezra prospect smut #ezra prospect x ofc #ezra prospect fanfiction #ezra prospect x you

83 notes · View notes

frannyzooey · 2 years ago

Text

In The Dark: Epilogue

Pairing: Ezra x f!reader

Rating: None

A/N: We are finally at the end of this story - thank you to every single person who read it, who supported it, who sent in asks or reblogged or liked or lurked. I couldn’t have done it without you all. Dedications at the end, along with some bonus extras. Thank you all so very much - I love you, and Happy New Year!

Series Masterlist

EIGHT MONTHS LATER

“So, how is the new place going?” You rest your cheek on your knee, smiling at the immediate change in her expression on your screen. Your dorm room is behind you, warm and cozy in contrast to the starkness of her bedroom.

“It’s okay,” Cee says. “It’s still kinda weird, ya know? Living with different people?” She shrugs, resting her chin in her hand. “It’s kinda cool, since they’re my own age and sometimes we have these amazing parties and there is this girl who is moving in next week who I am totally eyeing, but also the extra chores suck? No one ever does their dishes around here.”

You nod in sympathy, having been in that situation before.

“I feel like it’s not that hard?” she continues, and you laugh.

“It’s really not. How is that new class coming?”

Rolling her eyes, she launches into detail about her writing professor and the pain of her weekly workshop group and you feel a pang of longing to experience those things with her, so you could truly commensurate. Not that you couldn’t, since you were going through those specific pains in your own program right now, but it was different then - when you were going through it together.

“Anyway, it’ll get better. I don’t wanna talk about it though.” She sits back, piling her fine blond hair on top of her head in a bun cupped by her hands for a moment, before letting it drop. “Tell me about next week. What are you doing again? How long are you off for?”

“Two weeks.” Just saying the words out loud makes you grin in relish, an eagerness for it to begin coming through in the dreamy tone of your voice. “I wanna see all the cheesy tourist spots for sure, but I am literally itching to get into some of those bookstores. And the museums, definitely those. And oh my god, the food.”

Shoreditch had all of these things and you had slowly been exploring them, but the vastness of London had been calling to you. Your workload too heavy to explore the way you’ve wanted to, you’ve been earmarking various spots for months and now that your break is finally here, you feel like you can truly tour around. And also look up from the screen of your laptop for a change - that would be nice.

You let out an aching groan of pleasure at the thought and she smiles on the screen.

“After that, I don’t know? Don’t laugh, but I kinda wanna rent a car and drive to Cornwall? Don’t ask me about navigating while driving on the other side of the road because I don’t have an answer for you, but the views are supposed to be gorgeous and……”

“Poldark,” you both say at the same time, dissolving into giggles.

“God he’s gorgeous. I mean, I know he’s not there, but I’ll be able to sense him. I just know it.”

She sips her tea on her side of the screen while you list off the rest of your itinerary: Persephone Books, for their quaint, romantic store front and unique events, Dishoom for a bacon naan roll and to feel like you’ve stepped back into time into 1940’s Bombay, The London Eye to get some pictures, but first Gloria: a restaurant by your new place that you’ve been dying to try. You just knew the pictures online wouldn’t do it justice; the opulent, busy, lush setting of rich carpets and mirror paneled walls and greenery climbing down from the ceiling like sparkling, light strung ivy at the top of your wishlist.

Eventually, your stifled yawns interrupt your spoken dreams, and she finishes her tea, stretching in her perch on her chair. She glances at the time in the corner of her screen and frowns.

“Yikes, it’s gotta be so late there for you. You better get some sleep, so you’re not exhausted in the morning..”

You mirror her stretch, nodding. “Yea, I still gotta finish packing.”

She leans closer to the screen, a look of affection stealing across her delicate features.

“Well make sure you take a bunch of pictures, okay? I wanna see everything you’re seeing. Send me the view from the Eye on Snapchat or something and if you go see those guards, take a selfie with one of them just for me.”

You laugh, assuring her that you will and when you say your goodbyes and hang up, a smile lingers on your face. Just like her to ask for something weird like that.

Standing, you close your laptop and leave it on your desk, walking over to your bed. The layout of your new place is tighter than the last; student housing always a bit cramped. You’ve never minded close quarters, liking the overall coziness it forces and resting your hand on the corner of a small bookshelf that already has a substantial collection growing on it, you crack the window, letting street sounds waft in on the night air.

Changing into your pajamas, you switch out the light while yawning yet again and checking your alarm is set, you crawl into bed. Opening your white noise app, you select “city sounds” and closing your eyes, quickly fall asleep.

–

Anticipation wakes you early, and similar to New York City, Shoreditch is alive with people already when you leave your flat. Stepping out onto the sidewalk, you slip into the crowd, making your way to the tube and as you walk, you run through a mental checklist of everything you want to do today, so as to not waste one minute.

Not quite as many people on these streets as there had been in the city, the sights and sounds were so similar it was comforting: brightly scrawled murals over aged brick, trendy restaurants tucked into small store fronts, young people walking effortlessly down the sidewalk with their faces buried in their phones. Spotting the iconic circular sign that gave you a thrill when you saw it for the first time, you made your way down the damp stairwell, following the crowd to the platform. Getting on your train, you find a seat by the window and digging in your bag, you fish your earbuds and pull up a playlist, relaxing into your seat.

The steady, smooth rock of the train as it pulls away from the station comforts you, reminding you of home after all this time. The transit systems are similar, the people that ride them even more so and watching scenery pass by, you think about your first time navigating The Underground. The thought, and the events planned for this morning, bring forth other memories.

Your first night crawling into your new bed: slipping on the shirt he tucked into your bag, the longing for your apartment and all its familiar noises was a real, tangible ache in your chest. The ache for him was felt even deeper, the image of his face as he said goodbye only ten hours old and fresh in your mind at that point. A few tears slipped free into that new pillow of yours; the first of what would be many more.

Your first weeks navigating your new surroundings: testing out the transit, finding your new travel paths, exploring the restaurants within walking distance.

The nervous hesitation you felt when sharing in your new workshop for the first time, the tiny tables in new restaurants where you sat alone on your computer, your delight at the discovery of East African food.

Tea: something you never came around to. By your measure, it had nothing on coffee and for weeks, you would have killed for a latte from your favorite place, with a dash of cinnamon on the top.

All the while, you had missed him.

Your new surroundings had been seen through Ezra tinted glasses; a wash of him over everything you saw. Everything reminded you of him: the antique shop on the corner, the Persian restaurant you passed while walking to class, every bookstore or record shop or furniture gallery or men’s clothing shop or every dark haired man, your eyes searching for his confident gait everywhere.

At first, it was so intense you couldn’t hardly breathe, but with time, it lessened. Friends, routine, school, new experiences, dinners, parties. You still thought of him often, but it was no longer the crushing weight of a wave forcing you under. With each new day that passed, the waves calmed more and more; overwhelming, then bearable, then ripples that came and went.

Cee had eventually come around, writing you an email about your letter about a month after you left. When you replied, she replied back and it slowly evolved into more emails and then texts and then FaceTime, on your computer at night. She had reached out to you for writing advice, wanting your opinion on something she was going to turn in and it was like her story was an olive branch — which was fitting, for two people who first bonded over the words scribbled in her notebook.

The two of you never had a formal discussion about what happened, but rather an acknowledgment through email about the roles you each played. Understanding that sometimes it was easier to talk about difficult things through writing versus speaking them out loud, you were thankful for it. She needed time to think about it, which you gave her, and in the end, she forgave you.

Still, you never spoke directly about Ezra if you could help it.

Four months into your new surroundings, you had just walked in the door after a late night library session when your phone buzzed in your bag. Pulling it out, the sight of his name on your screen made you freeze. You can still feel the heat you felt, your heart picking up as you hesitantly tamped down the excitement that immediately rose in your chest and when you answered it, he could hear it all in your voice.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Birdie.”

He said those two words, letting the silence hang for a moment and you were immediately back in your apartment, the memory of when he used to call felt so strongly you shut your eyes.

He had been drunk and lonely, missing you. Trying so hard to keep his distance for your sake, he finally caved and called; his low, husky voice sleepy and quiet through the phone, but warm with affection. You talked to him for a long time: about the city, about your program, about what he had been up to. When it came time to hang up, he asked if he could call you again and when you said yes, you could hear the smile in his voice when he said goodbye.

He did call you after that, and you stayed in touch a lot. It wasn’t as intense as it was before — no phone call every night before bed, no FaceTime videos, no partially undressed photos — but rather an easy intimacy between two really good friends. Ones who knew each other inside out, and had fond memories of the time they’d shared together.

Not to say that you didn’t get yourself off to the thought of him still, after all this time.

You tried going out and meeting people, tried going home with someone a few times but after you slipped back into your clothes and made your way home, you never felt that longing to be back in their bed and in their arms the way you always felt with him. Eventually, you stopped trying and just focused on school.

The train slows and pulls into King’s Cross, and you rise from your seat, waiting your turn to alight. Stepping off, you make your way to the escalators and a sort of nervous anticipation thrums wildly through your veins, making your limbs jittery. You try to take a calming breath, checking the time on your phone - your train running a few minutes behind, you hope you’re not too late.

Finally stepping into the atrium, light floods the space. People are everywhere: gathered in clusters as they check maps in their hand with suitcases and backpacks at their feet, business people walking briskly around and between them, travelers and students and children and shop vendors; the murmur of the collective crowd a loud one. Your heart beats faster in your chest, your eyes scanning the room and they land on one person after another, trying to keep track as they move. A bright flash of yellow there, a brown mop of curls there and suddenly, you see him.

The familiar breadth of his shoulders faces you, a backpack that you’ve never seen before only serving to make him look broader. For how long it’s been since you’ve seen the nape of his neck, you’d recognize his stance anywhere and you simultaneously want to stand there for a moment and admire him from afar, while also fighting the urge to run.

Not being able to help moving automatically in his direction, when he turns and his gaze catches yours, he grins and you feel a sudden wave of emotion so strong you want to cry. He looks just the same - the unruly dark curls, the crumpled cotton t-shirt even more so from traveling, the face you know so well and that dimple. It had only just started to fade from your memory, and the sight of it makes your heart burst.

“Hey, Birdie,” he smiles when you reach him, opening his arms and you step right into them, like no time has passed.

So solid, so strong, so affirming in his touch - your hello is muffled against his shoulder as you breathe in the familiar musk of his warm skin and when you pull back, you can already see the possibilities of these next two weeks in his warm, albeit travel worn smile: his laughter in a dimly lit restaurant, the weight of his arm across your shoulders when he pulls you in for a selfie, his profile as you drive through the country, the firm slide of his skin against yours every one of those nights.

He looks like he wants to kiss you and your mouth longs for the same, but you both stand still, savoring the beat of anticipation; the crowd moving around you.

“You ready?” you ask, lacing your fingers with his.

He tightens his hold, grinning.

“Ready.”

The End

Bonus: Birdie’s Travel Pictures

I have so many people I want to thank for this story:

@mourningbirds1, first and foremost, who sat with me through every single one of these chapters and who is the world’s best and most patient teacher. You made my writing better with every single soothing message you sent, every comment you left on the document, every lesson you taught me in your kind and patient way. This story wouldn’t be nearly what it is without you, nor would I have had the courage to tackle it in the first place without your constant validation and support and I love you so very, very much. Having one of your favorite writers as a mentor is the literal dream come true, and you did that for me. <3

@krissology and @charnelhouse - without our group chat and your constant support, I wouldn’t have made it through this. You both inspire me in so many ways every single day, and you’re always there when I need to rant, vent, work out a plot line, hash out an idea, and I am so grateful to have both of you in my life. I love you <3

@highsviolets @imaswellkid @dazedrhapsody and @psychedelic-ink - thank you so so much for your constant enthusiasm and your magnificent playlists for this story. They inspired me in so many ways - a number of scenes in this story were directly inspired by your songs, dreamt of while I was working or driving, and I am forever thankful for you sharing them with me. They are beautiful, just like you all. I love you <3

To anyone that made art, to anyone that sent me a message, to anyone who was patient and kind and validating while I tried to take my time and try new things and grow - thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you all, and this community. I love you <3

#ezra prospect #ezra prospect/you #ezra prospect/reader #ezra prospect x reader #ezra prospect x you #pedro pascal

300 notes · View notes

kalevalakryze · 1 year ago

Text

Mar'e'yi'manda

A quiet night under the stars on Lothal, Shin's laying in the grass next to Sabine, "What does it feel like?" They ask, risking a glance over to the other woman in the silver light of the moons.

"what does what feel like?" Sabine hums, fingers twiddling where they're clasped over her stomach.

"To be you?" There's something vulnerable there, something that tells Sabine not to look at them, so she focuses her golden eyes into the reflection of the light that reminds her of Shin so much.

"Everything sings," Her hand raises, open towards the night sky, a gentle breeze skirting past open fingers as her other hand drops from her stomach and to the grass, caking mud under her nails when she sinks the tips of her fingers into the dirt, to the still rain-damp layers below the surface.

"Sings? They question, and Sabine can hear them rustling in the grass, rolling onto their side so they can look across the foot of empty space separating them.

"Music is in everything, y'know?" The Artist shrugged, letting her risen hand finally drop back to the ground to twist grass up between her fingers.

"The wind in the grass, the ships coming out and going in, the life in the cities, the life we can't even see, all of it; and thats just who I am."

"I am the wind echoing across stone and I'm the sun melting away shadows, and sometimes I'm the color and the world is just waiting on me to paint it; I spent too long living in monochrome prisons to be anything but this.. this life,"

"Maybe that's sappy," Sabine huffed out with a tired smile, moving her dirt streaked hands back over her stomach, clasping them together once more, as if physically holding herself in and against the earth beneath them.

"To a Mandalorian, everything is handled in song- The Manda is everything we are; past, present, and future. It's this collective of all of our brothers and sisters, the songs of the lives they've lived. I can't be me without mentioning them, and the songs they wove into this life-"

Offering a sheepish smile, Sabine dares a look back at Shin. Their gaze is cast towards the moons in thought, their gloveless fingers twirling the padawan braid in a self stimulating movement, the ball of their gemstone sliding between the lightsaber calloused pads of her fingertips.

They seemed to be deep in thought, so Sabine let her words fade into the calming silence. From the tower, she could faintly hear Ezra, fumbling as he tried to navigate their home in its new state, with the most naggy occupant in the form of a territorial Loth-cat.

When peace and good company had finally begun to lull Sabine into a near sleep-like tranquility, accent thick in thoughtful words. "The force is like that too," They were contemplative, head held up in one hand, while the other traced a line of smell pebbles hidden in the grass.

"Singing?"

"Ah... Perhaps," Shin's nose crinkled. "I do not hear the music you are referring to, but-" The wolf sat up, legs crossing beneath them and hands dropping to the dirt caught in her greaves. "I can hear the stories." When Sabine's gaze flickered back to them, she found the pebbles, suspended in the air above their palms.

"Not the echoes in the force, more..." A slow exhale, the furrowing of their brows, and a tingle of anxiety as it melted into the cosmos around them. "Your music, your manda; that is the force, for me... My Master taught that everything was the will of The Force, like the Jedi; that we are conduits of the force and executors of its will... and the force has to have wants based on experience, right?"

A smile flickered on Sabine's lips as she watched the pebbles raise higher, the stars reflecting in their eyes as they followed the bottommost stone. Even after everything, Shin never did get talking much; Sabine learned long ago to take every moment their passion and drive for understanding was allowed to surface.

"The Force is written by the lives of all, these stones were once boulders, and in the Force, their pieces can be found; they never stop Being. They will always have a story, even when we cannot see them anymore."

"Funny, Jedi and Mandalorians have a long history of fighting over things like this, when they're so similar," Sabine shook her head as she finally sat up, brushing grass out of her hair.

The pitter-patter of soft paws in the grass tickled her ears, though before Sabine's head could turn, Nix was already making his way to clamber into Shin's open lap. "Little beast," They greeted with a sigh, allowing their pebbles to drop into their hands, setting them down back into the dirt where they had been found.

"I always had a hard time understanding the 'Force is life' thing; But I get it, I think;"

"There is no true way to get it. However you interpret it, so long as you are acknowledging the life it has and the impact you have on it all, that's what it is." Silence fell over the two women again, Sabine allowed her body to lean, shoulder drifting until she was pressing against the smooth leather of the jacket she would never hope to get back. "Thanks for that; I think sometimes, I need the reminder of how big it all is, and how we're all significant despite the size of it."

"Well, you cannot punch it, paint it, or blow it up, so I doubt you would have understood it alone, Mandalorian,"

"Why you little-!" Sabine shoved into Shin, sending Nix hissing and darting off into the tall grass as the wolf and the moon rolled in the grass.

"Hey guys! The Noti are hungry and I think I set your kitchen on fire!" Ezra called, squinting at the plume of smoke from the upstairs door wafting into the night sky.

"Little brothers," Sabine shook her head as she came to a stop, pinned into the dirt with a near smiling wolf.

"Jedi," Shin agreed, rolling their weight off and offering a hand up to the purple haired woman; Force, Manda, whatever it was, both would be rich with the songs and the stories of Ezra Bridger, the Jedi who ignited a bowl of ice-cream.

#wolfwren #wrenwolf #sabine wren #shin hati #shin x sabine #sabine x shin #Sabine Wren x Shin hati #ezra bridger #I got a little soft #a little lost in thought #a little something #i'm soft #ficlet #star wars #drabble #no angst #Mandalorian

69 notes · View notes

mayawakening · 9 months ago

Text

Ezra's Gamble Notes Pt.1

Friends, I was not expecting the book 'Ezra's Gamble' to be such a goldmine of lore. 😭 I'm gonna need to talk about this in multiple posts.

What I've got so far:

-----SPOILERS------

First of all, the foreword: "For Alan Harris, who is a much nicer fellow than Bossk." Harris was Bossk's actor. ❤

The book takes place pre-Spark of Rebellion

We literally start the book with Ezra at the Lothal spaceport pickpocketing and finessing people out of their valuables.

He walks up to a rich-looking Chagrian wearing an Imperial pin and being followed by four blue Twi'leks and manages to sell him 5 tickets for a private booth at a gladiatorial cage match (that the Chagrian is implied to want to keep secret). Ezra finesses him out of 700 credits, then also steals his Imperial pin, his ring, wrist-comm and half his money pouch.

He winks at one of the Twi'leks and all of them giggle, one of them winks back at him. (He's 14)

He meets up with a Xexto named Ferpil Wallaway who is actually the one who taught Ezra how to steal!!

The cage-match ticket money gets sent to the commissioner, then Ferpil pays Ezra for his loot at the Pawn-shop he owns on Lothal.

Ezra gets flagged down by a red-haired friend (also 14) named Moreena Krai. Her family is leaving Lothal because Imperials condemned their farm and took it from them.

Y'all I was not ready when she said she was moving to Alderaan. 😭🥺

Moreena starts to get sad about Ezra being alone, Ezra cuts her off and says "Don't ever feel sad for me. I've always done just fine on my own, and I always will." BOY TELL THAT TO HERA. 💚

He briefly wonders if he'll ever get to steal a TIE pilot helmet. (Spoilers, he does lol)

Lore for Bossk: his ship 'Hound's Tooth' is a modified Corellian Engineering Corporation YV-666 freighter. He's employed by the Bounty Hunter Guild and his Imperial Peace-keeping Certificate number is #55946112.

Bossk was headed to Lothal searching for a Dug named Gronson "Shifty" Takkaro who was wanted for jumping bail in the Ahakista System.

Bossk picked up the bounty from the Imperial Enforcement DataCore.

Bossk's ship was scanned by the Imperial Spaceport and the official talking to him immediately transferred his call to ISB HQ. (He was on hold for 30 seconds.)

ISB Lieutenant Herdringer talks to him and tries to send Stormtroopers to arrest Shifty rather than let Bossk collect.

Bossk counters saying Herdringer would be interfering with the authorized acquisition of a government bounty. Herdringer realizes that would be bad for him.

Herdringer actually wants Bossk to not use firepower as Shifty is in a civilian sector. Bossk says okay, but still brings his Mortar gun. Bossk gets escorted to the spaceport by TIE fighters which Bossk thinks is WAY too conspicuous.

This random academy propaganda played on a speaker at the spaceport though: "You too can be a part of the Imperial family! Don't just dream about applying for the Academy, make it come true! You can find a career in space: Exploration, Starfleet, or Merchant Service. Choose from Navigation, Engineering, Space Medicine, Contact/Liason, and more! If you have the right stuff to take on the universe, and standardized examination scores that meet the requirements, dispatch your application to the Academy Screening Office, care of the Commandant (Aresko), and join the ranks of the proud!" ---(I wonder how Kallus felt about hearing that kind of stuff, I'm assuming his office was soundproofed, but he did still technically work in the same building as the school, and seemed used to having things delivered to him by cadets, im sure he heard it occasionally.)

Ezra knew what a Trandoshan was on sight. He tried sneaking up on Bossk's ship, but Bossk snuck up on him first.

Bossk appeared to be avoiding his stormtrooper escort and asked Ezra (who actually gave his real name!) Where the tavern he was looking for was.

He's very suspicious of Ezra and warns him against snooping in his ship and notices his weapon right away. "An energy slinghot. Cute."

Ezra tries to finagle 100 credits out of Bossk for information. Bossk says he doesn't have time to haggle and will give him 1000 credits for help. Ezra demands 500 up front and Bossk pays him. He also politely gives Ezra his name.

He only refers to Ezra as "Shorty" and insists that "to you, its MR. Bossk" lol.

--------

Will continue to take notes, this is fun!!

#ezra's gamble #ezra bridger #Bossk #lothal #star wars rebels #star wars #book #sw rebels #swr

24 notes · View notes