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orangechickenpillow · 11 months

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There’s something about Ezra and names. Throughout the movie, it’s easy to notice how adamant Ezra is that Cee tell him her name. He asks quite a few times, growing increasingly frustrated when she won’t tell him. I always found this interesting, as it seems like a strange thing to get caught up on. But then I realized -- it’s common for Sketchy People to ask someone (especially children) their name as a way to gain power or influence over them, usually disguised as friendliness or trustworthiness.

The first thing Ezra does with Damon is ask his name. He then proceeds to verbally use Damon’s name eleven times in the ten or so minutes between then and Damon’s death. Ezra most often uses Damon’s name when bargaining, specifically at the beginning (when Ezra is trying to get information from him) and at the very end when Damon gains the upper hand. There is a brief period in between when Ezra is engaging in very casual, friendly conversation, learning more about Damon and sharing his own anecdotes. He doesn’t use his name even once during this brief conversation.

Ezra uses people’s names as weapons. He uses them to try and worm his way into people’s heads (”Does this mean the deal is off, Damon?” “Damon your girl is scared, you should listen to her.” “It’s a shame, Damon”), calls them by their name to connect with them, to grab their attention, to try and manipulate them. So, when he’s put in a shitty situation with a teenage girl whose nerves are clearly one breath away from frying, it makes sense that he’d want to know her name. Easier to connect with her, easier to get her to trust him, easier to manipulate her.

But it’s only well into their reluctant partnership that he actually does get her name. And do you know how many times he uses it during the movie? Once. One time, that’s it. Even when they continue working together, Ezra doesn’t use her name against her -- doesn’t even need to, because at that point they’ve both unconsciously decided that they’re going to work together.

#anyway #someone put me out of my misery #take me out back and shoot me because its all worms and no brain at this point #the brainworms have eaten everything in my head #nothing left but one space skunk and his spunky little partner in crime #I love me a morally grey character with a soft spot for a kiddo #ezra prospect #cee prospect #prospect #prospect movie #prospect 2018

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littlobuni · 2 months

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#⃝ n.93: una carta desesperada llena de besos ❤︎

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shootingstarbit · 8 months

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so i cried

#specifically when Hera gets hopeful abt Ezra being alive #and Ahsoka’s voice going sO SOFT saying ‘i hope so’#IM NOT GONNA BE OKAYYYYYY #ahsoka #ahsoka tano #hera syndulla #ezra bridger #Star Wars rebels #FIND THE BOY #100

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kalevalakryze · 7 months

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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

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fancyfrey · 1 year

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Some soft uwu pillow pile to help a tired Jedi dad sleep for once.

Based on @amarisllis ‘s lovely fic “Bad Dreams and Blanket Forts”

Also happy birthday fammuuuuuuuuuuu

#star wars rebels #hera syndulla #kanan jarrus #ezra bridger #sabine wren #zeb orrelios #chopper wasn’t invited #pillow forts #fan art #my art #fanfic fanart #star wars #soft uwu #fanfic rec

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tinydappledleaf · 5 months

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Title: Stay

Chapter: 1/6

Pairing: Ezra x f!Reader, Ezra x you (Reader is addressed by 'you' or nickname)

Rating: 18+, smut in chapter 6

Content: Situationship to romance, soft Ezra, intimacy, loss of limb (non-explicit), canon compliant

Summary: When you've almost given up waiting for him, a certain prospector returns to the Pug to call in a favor...

Ao3: complete fic

chapter II 》

Chapter I

Each night you scale the building, let yourself fall flat onto its roof of corrugated sheets, and stare skywards, eyes searching for the pale red dot that is Bakhroma. The targeted date of his return has come and passed, many cycles prior, and you've long since abandoned counting.

You will yourself to believe that he's somewhere out there and, very much like you, gazing into the endless night and searching for the star that marks your home.

It’s a nice thought. A consoling mirage. One that keeps you going with each new rise of daylight.

Deep down, however, you know it’s nonsense. It feels like he's gone. One way or another.

The more the surprise it is, when his shadow falls into your workspace, his somewhat warped but still familiar frame filling the space of your doorway. Your vagrant friend.

"Hey Patches," says Ezra, wearing a rare expression of guilt, thinly veiled by the forced smile plastered across weathered features, "I need to call in a favor."

That was three cycles prior. Now, Ezra is laying on your couch on his back. A damp rag obscures his closed eyes from your view and adds moisture to his slicked back fringe. You're still baffled that you managed to get him there. In your stupor you nearly stumbled over a toolbox as he collapsed right into your workshop without further warning.

With the aid of his mysterious shadow - Cee, you are aware now - you had heaved him up the stairs, cleared away the clutter, and maneuvered his limp body onto the cushioned sofa.

He hasn't moved much since. Neither has the silent teenage girl, that guards his sleeping form like a gargoyle, perching on a chair beside his blanket-covered feet. She isn't much of a talker, that much you know. She answers when spoken to, clipped and vaguely, but otherwise keeps to herself.

Most of the time, her nose is buried into a tiny notebook, in which she furiously scribbles away. You’re curious about her writing, but if you asked, you're certain her reply would leave you none the wiser. If she even offered one at all. She radiates a fierce wariness towards you that speaks of horrid encounters and a stormy past. A kid of the Frontiers, you infer. Poor thing.

Only occasionally she ditches her book to raise her gaze. At a twitch of Ezra's body or a quiet murmur. Any sign of consciousness draws her attention - just for her to drop back into the chair dejected at each false alarm. He doesn’t wake. Not properly, at any rate.

By now you've helped him to the bathroom twice, but even then, he'd run on autopilot, disconcertingly silent and focused on each shaky step ahead. It scares you, his eerie and unfamiliar silence, and more than once, you've questioned if this is your fever dream, rather than his - wishing him back desperate enough to conjure up the vexing scenario you find yourself in. A glimmer of hope, though tightly wrapped in layers woven from threads of your nightmares.

But it’s not. He’s here, in your home, after having vanished on you for seasons. As surreal as it appears.

"He's gonna be okay... right?"

It takes you a second to register the question's essence, surprised by Cee's first direct approach, ensuing hours of nearly wordless co-existence. She's watching you from her spot by the couch and there's fatigue in her eyes. And concern.

You lay down your work, tools neatly aligned on an otherwise cluttered desktop, and leave it behind to step closer to her and your sleeping friend. Wiping both hands on your overall, you crouch beside Ezra's body, gaze grazing his bandaged shoulder. It still rattles you, the sight of his missing limb, but the initial panicked lurch of your stomach has long since settled. He's still breathing.

Given you had been convinced you'd never see him, never hear his winding speech and endearing drawl again, you're nothing but grateful for his presence.

"I don't know," you answer and the honesty stings as the words leave your mouth.

You don't dare glance at the girl, guessing it scares her just as much.

Reaching out, you tug the rag away from Ezra’s forehead and gently wipe the dampness off his skin. He's sweating, still running a searing fever. But you try to convince yourself he's gained some color to his cheeks. A hint of life. It's a good sign, right? That he's no longer pale as death herself.

"I choose to believe he's going to be alright," you add as you brush a few stray strands of dark hair from his forehead, briefly stroking the odd patch of bright blonde with your thumb. It no longer stands out lonely against the mass of dark hair. There's a hint of grey smattered along both sides of his temples. For now, it remains hidden, swallowed by the mass of dark locks, only visible up close. A detail you'll cherish. One that you might reserve for the occasional banter that you promise yourself for the future. He will be alright; you again assure yourself.

Once more you rinse the towel in a bowl of cold water, wring it out and replace it on his brow.

"Hmm," says Cee.

Then silence falls again.

Time drags, but you're occupied enough to get through the cycle. Of course, there's taking care of Ezra. Cee has opened up enough to you, to agree on taking turns. When its yours, you take her place and watch, dutifully, over your shared patient and friend. At first, she rarely leaves the room, sticks around to observe quietly. Makes sure you can be trusted.

But with each passing rotation of your shared watch, she slowly begins to use her time off more easily. By this time, she's taken a shower. Even left the flat to do some exploring all by herself. You’re in no place to order her around or confine her to your living space. So, you leave her be.

She appears to value the respect you show for her privacy, rewards you with a few more words, more detail on her person. You still know next to nothing about her encounter with Ezra or how she came to be his travel companion.

But you learned that she trusts him. That she cares for his wellbeing. As he does care for hers.

You feel like there's something she tries to repay. Some unspoken debt. But again, you don't pry.

When it’s her turn, you work. You've closed the repair shop downstairs soon after your unexpected visitor had fallen right through your door, quite literally. But a pile of previous orders still remains to be handled. You've relocated your workspace, or at least most of it, into your already cramped up living quarters.

With Cee around for help it’s not strictly necessary, you know that. But it calms your nerves and helps your concentration to be within the same four walls as your fever-stricken friend.

Besides, there's some tasks, that Cee rather hands off to you, as long as you're available. She changes bandages, offers him water from drenched towels, swaps and airs the blankets... but trips to the bathroom or administering medication are your 'field of expertise'. She calls you, you step in. It’s a silent agreement.

You tighten a fickle screw inside an ankle joint, as you hear your name for the third time since morning. Ready to abandon your work, you turn, but it’s not your help that Cee seeks, but conversation.

"For how long have you known him?"

Surprised by her unexpectedly personal question, you hum in thought and return to your work as you sort through memories.

"A decade? A bit longer, probably."

She nods in acknowledgement and seems to search for something to say, but remains silent, uncertain. You pick up the hint - or maybe it’s just your own desire to banish the lingering quiet.

"We met on my first job. Had no shop yet, was out there in the void as a mechanic for hire. Little older than you are now. About 19, I think?"

The memories come flooding in. Of endless freighter travels, empty pockets and wrong crowds.

"He kinda saved me. Fringelings don't exactly care much for anyone but themselves. Fledgelings 're easy prey. I had no idea what to expect and a tad too much confidence.”

You halt your story to solder a fiddly spot. Tongue between your teeth, you manage to get the unruly wire back into place. Satisfied, you speak on.

“Ez already had some reputation, back then. Was a bit longer around than me. Don't know if it was sheer coincidence or pity, but he picked the right time and place to step in and chew my ear off. Shooed an awfully nasty guy away with it."

From the corner of your eye you catch the girl scowl and grimace back to her in empathy. Her reaction speaks volumes.

"I stuck with him, after that,” you continue, “Let him show me the ropes and listened in return. We owe each other a lot. Kinda lost count who's turn it actually is to call in a favor. Not that I could ever turn him down."

That sparks a smirk and the tiniest bit of relieve rolls over you. To see anything else but a frown on Cee’s youthful face is progress. At least in means of trust and communication. Loosely you nod in your mutual friend's direction.

"He's a scoundrel, that one, I'm sure you know as much. But there's lots of good inside. Just have to dig a little."

"Oh, how it soothes my soul to hear you praisin’ me so very nicely. Keep goin'."

The hoarse murmur startles you both. Within the fraction of a tick, you're on your feet and beside the couch. So is Cee.

Its sole occupant cracks one weary eye open and the twitch of a wicked smile flutters across his face.

Your eyes sting, as you take him in. Still sweaty and flushed with fever, he blinks languidly and licks across dry lips. The effort it takes him to stay conscious is apparent, manifests in the sluggish loll of his head.

You still grapple for something to say - a witty retort. An exclamation of relief. Anything. But nothing comes out.

"Thank Kevva, you're not dead," mutters Cee into your silence and earns a weak chuckle from Ezra. "'m not quite ready to turn up my toes to the daisies, little bird. Not after all the effort you put into savin' me."

You want to whack him, really. For scaring you. And her. For taking so long. For making you believe he is, in fact, dead. Instead, you laugh, short and relieved and watch him break into another smile. This one is warm and honest, if exhausted.

"You better stick to that, hear me?"

He frowns, gives a curt nod and tries to focus on you both, but fails. His eyes droop closed again and he breathes deep, remainders of dust rattling faintly.

"Promise," he murmurs. Then he's out cold again, face slack bar a hazy smile.

"Idiot," says Cee and she's definitely right about it.

#ezra prospect #ezra × reader #ezra x you #ezra prospect fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 #fluff #soft ezra #leaf writes

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