CERTI - THEY / THEM - MASTERLIST
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connor storrie is so interesting to me bc in his interviews he’s this sweet summer child who gets scandalized by hudson’s freaked out behavior, but then u blink and he’s talking about peeing himself as a child, doing casual aerial acrobatics, having a clown stripper persona, and making music that sounds like ur overdosing on poppers in the bathroom of a gay club that may or may not also been just used for an orgy.
Tumblr is such a magical place. The mature content filter is shielding me from photos of ballgowns, but you better believe I've seen the entire uncensored ass of those hockey guys every day this week.
Our scars can destroy us. Even after the physical wounds have healed. But if we survive them, they can transform us. They can give us the power to endure… and the strength to fight. // Parents aren't for telling their children who they're supposed to be. We are here to give y'aII tools, help you make fools of yourselves all on your own. Your choices, Clark. Your actions. That's what makes you who you are.
Anonymous asked: Hii! I'm not sure if your requests are closed or not, but could I please request a Ezra Bridger x fem! reader that is cold to people she doesn't know but when you get to know her, she can be really funny and outgoing? Thank you!!! =)
Anonymous asked: Ahh by any chance do you still write for Star Wars Rebels?? Can hardly find any written content for any of the characters in that show nowadays.
A/N: So…it’s been a minute—two years worth of a minute. I’m so sorry. Hope you found some Star War Rebels material in the meantime. If not, here you go my sweet Anons!
The three times Ezra Bridger asked you a question, and the one time you really answered.
“Will you do this?”
You swallowed, too hard perhaps. “Yes.”
Hera nodded in solemn knowing before she turned back to study the projected display of Thrawn’s ship. Over the curve of her lekku, you noted the Chimaera’s turrets and the wide reach of its bridge. A shudder ran through you, as if Thrawn himself stood within the projection, seeing you through the display and across the stars. Hera’s voice broke you from the dread.
“Then, it’s time to get to work.” The hologram image fizzled out and just like that, you were pulled right back into the fray.
Though, in hindsight, you couldn’t say that you were ever out of it. While your blaster had stayed in its holster after the peak of war, you were still hunched over with Hera mapping out contingencies for the young New Republic. You also always had an open line with Zeb, who, based on Lira San, was monitoring Wild Space for any trace of Imperial sympathizers. Luckily, he and Kallus rarely had anything to report since the Empire’s fall—if there was something afoot, the Lasat had quashed it before you were able to get involved.
Whatever slight distance you had put between yourself and the cause closed with the path to Peridea. Where Ahsoka and Sabine’s voices would have filled gaps and bolstered troops, there was now only you, walking out of the conference chambers and into the open air of a camp that was the still-beating heart of a rebellion that never really died. Well, there was only you and-
“Hey! What’s the mission?!”
“Aren’t you supposed to be on bed rest?” You asked, ignoring Ezra Bridger’s question entirely as he fell into step by your side. The air of the camp, while buzzing, was damp, heavy with an unshed rain. Sweat immediately began to bead along your skin and you could not shake the young, still-sore man at your side. The effects of intergalactic travel were still evident in the bags under his eyes.
“You can’t answer a question with another question,” he chirped, a little more pep in his step than typical for other agents of the rebellion. That was one of the few things you knew about Ezra, pieced together from Hera’s endless collection of charming stories: he was endlessly keen despite living in the thick aftershocks of war. Hearing about his typical attitude was one thing, seeing it firsthand. . . You gave him a skeptical look, one that earned you a sheepish smile from him and a blush visible through his unruly beard. “I-I just got discharged.”
“Then, ask Hera for your own assignment.”
“Like you really think she’d gimme one?” As he pressed, he kept pace with you with a frustrating ease. You huffed—you had work to do. There was no time to get caught up in Hera’s family drama.
“Think that’s maybe for a reason?” With your, hopefully final, ask, you turned sharply to the right and toward the base cantina. There was a way through to the communication station there—as good a place to start as any. You heard Ezra exclaim something behind you, something like karabast.
“Again with the questions!”
You had to bite back a laugh, the first laugh you had felt rumbling in a while. You let some of the sound trickle out almost sadly as you realized it might be the last you feel for a while too.
You could not help the softly strung together series of curses that fell from your lips as you finished shuffling through the last stack of star charts Hera found for you. Luckily, you had a record set of data sheets to search through next. To search for what exactly, you were unsure. You knew the goal but lacked the patterned path to get there.
It didn’t help that you found yourself particularly prone to distraction. From under your little tent-canopy, smoke plumes from thruster malfunctions in the air field triggered a preoccupied worry; the echoing, hearty laughter of the New Republic’s newest additions from the shooting range were a siren song; and, on top of it all, there was the shuttling of a freshly delivered supply shipment was happening behind you. Right behind you, and there were no walls to filter out the noise.
As if that wasn’t enough, Ezra had finally asked Hera for a mission. He got one, much to your surprise, but one that landed him on the team unloading the supply shipment. With each pass from cargohold to storage facility doors, his endless barrage of quips and questions grew louder.
“Whatcha think of last night’s rations? I thought they were a little dry.”
“If Hera’s got you on something top secret, why are you working out in the open? Well, I guess under a tent sorta…what do you call a tent with no walls?”
“That sounds like a start to a great joke, right? Right?”
“Have you ever had a Meiloorun fruit?”
All such questions went without a response from you. Until, finally: “Are you trying to find a way back to Peridea?”
You nearly jumped at how close the sound of his voice was, but quickly regained your composure enough to just barely glance at Ezra over your shoulder. The peaks of his face hung behind you, just a step away, and the blue of his eyes shone like starlight as he glanced over the mess on the table before you. You turned quickly away, fearful that he might catch you staring; but the stinging imprint of something shining above Ezra’s head prompted you to take another, much longer look. Ezra was holding—no—levitating two heavy-duty storage boxes in the air. By the Force. Literally.
“You wouldn’t happen to have some baby Purrgil in there?”
“Was-Was that a joke?” He asked, lifting his eyes to yours with a grin. Up so close, you could’ve sworn you saw an actual star twinkle in his irises.
“They’d help,” you murmured as you looked away, not truly answering his question.
“Terrible joke.”
“I save my best for my friends,” you countered, a bit more recovered from the impact of Ezra’s closeness. You pulled a rogue star chart from the mountain of data sheets and set to studying it while you waited for the quip back. When Ezra didn’t respond, you snuck another glance up at him.
His lips were parted and breaths focused as he drank in the sight of the map. He looked…You shook your head.
“You should get back to,” you pointed at the floating storage containers above your heads.
“I’ve seen these constellations before,” he murmured, leaning forward to trace his fingers along the map. “I can’t remember where, or even when, but I know I have.”
You opened your mouth, ready to push back, to deny what he thought he saw. It wouldn’t make sense, especially with a star chart so old. Yet, Ezra was there, seeing something, and it was the quietest you had ever heard him. Something in you almost gave into what he saw, but Hera’s question echoed in your head: “Will you do this?”
This mission was yours, alone. “You should really get back,” you pressed, “this isn’t your mission.”
“Isn’t it our whole mission? The rebellion’s mission, the resistance or New Republic, or whatever we’re calling ourselves? Saving people?” He asked, turning to face you. A burst of something like anger propelling his voice. It wasn’t anger though. Desperation, maybe. Passion.
“Ezra-”
“Please,” he murmured, holding your gaze. “Let me help you. You shouldn’t have to do this by yourself. That’s not what built this place.”
You found yourself speechless, the icy-armor of duty beginning to melt. It terrified you. Yet, you couldn’t turn away from Ezra’s heat.
“Okay.”
He smiled, softly and silently, but it only lasted for a moment before he shouted: “Yes!”
“But you can’t tell Hera.”
He laughed, and the sound was so deep and rumbling you swore you felt it in your own chest. “I like that plan.”
“Good,” you sighed, “it’s the only one I got.”
Ezra laughed again and slapped the table with an eagerness; but, like an echo, a crash sounded not too far behind you. Ezra’s eyes widened in knowing fear as you looked up. You saw no evidence of the shipping containers he was entrusted with.
“Uh,” you pointed at the empty air, and Ezra looked up too. All answers to any questions you had were answered by a distant, motherly shout and groans of pain.
“I need a break, don’t you?”
You didn’t respond to Ezra’s second attempt at stopping your thorough review of what he dubbed ‘constellations of interest.’ The first attempt had prompted a change in locale: rather than work in your makeshift canopy-top office, Ezra nudged you out to a meadow a few clicks from base camp. I was nice, you couldn’t lie. The trees around the knoll provided just enough shade while letting cooler air sneak through their trunks. This time though, you would not give—you had already let him in, let him see too much.
Instead, you simply kept tracing the shapes on your datapad like a child doing a doodle. It often felt like silly work, until your remembered Thrawn, and Ahsoka and Sabine. Once remembered, the want for a break was staved off for a while.
“You okay?”
“If you need a break, you should take a break,” you said, not looking up at him. It was only when the data pad you were so focused on began to lift from your lap that you turned your attention to Ezra. Though, the dirty look you gave him was hardly the attention he wanted. “Be serious.”
“I am serious,” he pressed back, his voice nowhere near the heat of yours, “I don’t want your vision to go all blurry staring at this for too long.” He pointed up to the data pad that was now a meter or so above you. “That’s deadly serious.”
“No,” you countered, actual, hot anger bubbling on your tongue. “Thrawn is deadly serious. You should know that better than anyone.”
A long beat passed in quiet, with Ezra’s gaze trained on you like he was trying to understand every pore, curve, and scowl line. He kept looking at you, even as your data pad landed gently back into your lap. You gasped lightly at the feeling, not expecting Ezra to drop it—both the pad and his break crusade. Though, now that he had, you felt a prickling sort of guilt.
“You’re right, and I do,” he said softly as you looked back up at him from your lap. “That’s why I need a break, and why I think you should take one too. Aren’t you…tired?”
You didn’t realize that your left hand had curled into a fist until Ezra’s hand reached over and pried it open with such a softness you wondered if he was using the Force. No, it was just him. It was just Ezra, and he was warm. You let his fingers thread between yours and squeeze.
At his touch, your throat thickened and unshed tears began stinging your eyes. You could not muster an apology, not with the way he was looking at you—like he saw you. All you could manage was a squeeze of his hand in return. Sorry. It seemed enough, because Ezra nodded, a smile spreading along his lips. It’s okay.
“You’re a lot like Hera, ya know,” he said in a hushed but teasing tone.
You sniffled, as you tried to figure out what Ezra meant. It felt like a compliment—Hera was fearless, a fantastic leader and tireless when it came to the fight. Perhaps you were too tired yourself to make the connection that seemed so obvious to Ezra; though, you would hate to admit he was right and that you were, indeed, exhausted. You sniffled again, looked at your joined hands, and asked, perhaps with overdone sincerity: “Green?”
Ezra laughed. “I see I’m still getting the bad, not-friend jokes.”
“I think that was my best one yet,” you countered, “and you laughed.” A few tears fell down your face—not because you were still upset. You were smiling, just relaxed enough to let them fall free and treat yourself to some relief.
Ezra hummed and leaned over so he could wipe your tears away with his free hand. “You’re right, I’m wrong—that was hilarious.”
“That’s right,” you quipped through another sniffle. Ezra’s thumb rubbed at your knuckles. It’s really okay.
“You’re a lot like Hera ‘cause you work yourself hard. To the edge,” he clarified. “I’ve seen it happen, late nights in the early Rebellion. Only a few people could pull her back.”
He trailed off at the mention of those few people, his eyes falling from yours to your joined hands. You wanted to ask about who and how. Maybe Jacen’s father, Kanan? At the thought, and Ezra’s prolonged silence, you immediately knew better than to ask. You squeezed his hand. It’s okay.
“Thank you,” you murmured, “for pulling me back.”
Ezra’s gaze lifted to meet yours and a kind grin spread along his lips. “You’re welcome."
A moment passed with just the two of you, looking at each other with a renewed sense of wonder and understanding. Then, as if he too sensed the depth of this moment, Ezra pulled you both back from a different sort of edge.
“You're funnier than Hera." You raised your brows in surprise. "Don't tell her I say that."
"Your secret is safe with me," you started, "unless she tells me that you told her that's she's funnier than me."
"I wouldn't dream of it," he laughed, his eyes searching yours for something. You weren't sure for what, and it seemed you wouldn't find out just yet. "Have you ever played a game of ‘Keep It Up’ with someone who can use the Force?”
You raised a skeptical brow, the memory of a crash ringing in your ears. “I recall you having a hard time keeping two storage containers up in the air.”
Ezra laughed sheepishly. “Hey, I was…distracted.”
He squeezed your hand before letting it go and coaxed you into a game.
“Can I come in?”
“You shaved,” you said, perhaps too loudly. You never realized that Ezra’s beard had hidden such a strong jaw and chiseled chin. When he smiled at you now, it seemed all the more boyish.
“I did.”
As he spoke, you just stepped away from the open door to your quarters and let him enter. He looked around, eyes tracing the swirls and splotches of color that decorated the walls. You imagined that he found the bright spots, helmet re-designs, and phoenix motifs familiar. When he turned around to face you, eyes wide and smiling sadly, you knew he did.
“You and Sabine were-”
“I saw her one day, when I first got here. I think she had a…rough training session with Ahsoka and was angrily painting every scrap of metal we had to spare. I was doing inventory and we needed the metal so,” you gestured to the walls of your room with a raised hand, “I told her should could paint my room. After that, she just kept coming back.”
“Sounds like Sabine,” he murmured, walking over to one of the walls where an old, Imperial cadet helmet was painted in oranges and blues. He let the tips of his fingers trace over the linework with a reverence. “Looks like Sabine.”
“She talked about you a lot,” you said softly, crossing your arms over your chest. Ezra turned at the lightness of your voice, half a smile playing at his lips. At the sight, your fingers began picking at the fraying sleeves of your sweater.
“Oh, yeah? Good things I hope.”
“There was one story about you trying to impersonate Brom Titus? And then another one about a jet pack?”
“I get it, I get it,” he said through a chuckle and wave of his hand. “Our ideas of good things about me are different.”
“She told me other stories too,” you said quickly, trying to recover. “Everything you did on Lothal-”
“That’s not-”
“-and she told me about Kanan. Not too much, but enough to know he was important to you—to everyone.”
Ezra’s smile and gaze dropped for a moment, but he quickly looked back up with a smile. “Yeah, he was…he was just great, just good. I wish you could’ve met him.”
You nodded, not entirely sure what else to say or what to do with your hands. Your eyes fell to your socked feet, trying to find an answer for what was next in the tile. Nothing came to you, mostly out of fear of picking at old wounds. When you looked up, you saw Ezra’s eyes were still on you, like his attention never left.
“Um, so, what’s up? Did you find something in one of the constellations?”
“I wish I did,” he admitted, stepping toward you, “but I still got nothing. I just wanted to tell you that, well, Hera got some intel, and I…I got a mission.”
“Oh?”
“I leave tomorrow, at dawn” he added when he was standing a mere pace from you. Even from that far, you could feel his warmth. Though, now, something about the feeling made you sad.
“Oh.”
“Yeah,” he murmured, his eyes searching yours for something.
You didn’t know what. “Something top secret?”
Ezra nodded and then you nodded. Orders were orders, you that well. Despite bending your own to make room for Ezra in your mission, in your life, an away mission was different. It was dangerous. Knowing would make you a target and put everything at risk, whereas your work was research. Thrawn already knew the New Republic would be after him and eager to rescue those left behind.
“Well,” you sighed, extending a hand. Ezra’s brow furrowed, but he met your hand in the middle with his own. The tips of his fingers brushed the inside of your wrist and the touch sent shivers down your spine, making your next few words come out with a shudder. “May the Force be with you.”
Ezra chuckled, another boyish smile playing on his lips. “Thank you, and don’t let yourself get to the edge while I’m gone, okay?”
His eyes met yours, still searching. You knew then wanted he wanted: an answer. Something he could hear and replay in his ears when he went off. Unfortunately, like in the meadow, you found yourself unable to speak. You just stared at him with all the softness you he had showed you.
“Okay?” He echoed his ask. So much softness still.
“Ezra,” you murmured, your voice quaking now. Wordlessly, Ezra pulled you into him by your still joined hands. Your face was pressed against his chest and his arms—stronger than you expected—wrapped around your waist.
“I got you.”
He held you for a long, long moment, before he loosened his grip enough for you look up at him. Even in the dark, his eyes shone like the stars you had both spent the past rotations studying. So transfixed on his gaze, you could only feel when his right hand moved slowly up your side to cup your face. His thumb rubbed carefully on the apple of your cheek.
“C-Can I kiss you?”
You leaned up and pressed your lips to his so gently. He responded in kind, humming softly as he held you closer. It was you, much to your own surprise, who moved to deepen the kiss. Your hands raced up his chest to his neck until your fingers buried themselves in his dark curls. Ezra hummed again, the sound a low rumble like his laugh but wonderfully distinct. Eventually, you parted for a taste of air.
Easier than ever, you found your voice. “Yes.”
Ezra grinned and leaned down to kiss you once more.
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