#ezra (prospect)/original female character | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

prolix-yuy · 2 years ago

Note

Congratulations on your milestone, lovely!! Thank you for writing and sharing your stories with all of us and brightening this corner of the world with your presence!

For your requests, I’d love to see what you do with: Ezra & Emptiness of attaining false dream

Oooooh. OOOOOOH. This is a very interesting combo! I haven't done much writing for Ezra yet, so let's have a dive into some Prospect shenanigans.

Phantom

Pairing: Ezra x Unnamed OFC

Summary: The aftermath of the Green bestows a kindness on Ezra he doesn't expect. What is he to do when he's given everything he fought for?

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, allusions to sexual acts, male masturbation, amputation and rehab talk.

Notes: This got away from me quickly but was really interesting to explore. Mistakes on rehabilitation for amputees are my own, I'm basing this on my experiences with PT which are nowhere near as traumatic as Ezra's. I'm also taking some liberties with the ending of Prospect, so enjoy a mostly canon-compliant interpretation of the ending.

Quiet and Ezra have never been bosom friends.

On too many jobs he’d been directed to change to a different channel just so his other prospectors could get a few moments of silence. He’d had books taken away, his lips bloodied by fists, or his mouth kept blissfully occupied to shut him up. If he knew what was good for him he would have learned the value of quiet early on. But the ever-racing litany of words threatening to break his teeth were always out of his control. He twisted them to his will, found newer and more flowery ones each time, all in service of letting companions tolerate his ramblings.

But now, here on the Pug, he’s robed in silence.

He always thought of his mouth as a separate organism from his body. Through heat and cold and pain, nothing seemed to quench his need to proselytize. Certain words felt nice passing by - elegant, myriad, bombastic, precious - the way his tongue would glance off his teeth and lips to produce the sounds.

With a tremor of hysteria, he thinks the loss of a limb must have been the final straw.

The silence began as Cee piloted the ship from the Green, blood loss and trauma stealing away his ever-present quips and turns of phrase. His lips were dry and cracked, all the panting and force of keeping himself alive draining his body. When his eyes lolled back in his head Cee began speaking, telling him of a story of friends growing up in a brighter world. She would shake him and demand summaries of the parts she’d just relayed, or ask him to recap the cast of characters. After the first few times Ezra realized she was trying to keep him alive, so he fought harder, struggled against the fading at the edge of his vision.

They barely made it to the Pug before blissful darkness pulled Ezra under.

He woke in a sterile hospital room, shot full of painkillers and stuck full of tubes. Alone at first, he blinked blearily against the harsh white light before a glass door slid open and Cee entered. She was a new girl, washed and dressed for air they both could breathe. Ezra held his, waiting for what the fierce channel rat who rescued him would do. Was this when she would exact her revenge for her father’s death? Or remove another limb for threatening to barter her to the cultists? He was weaker than a babe, no fight left in him even if he possessed the strength.

“Little bird,” he croaked out, “it seems yet again I am in your debt. Name the price. Take what you want.” It’s maybe the simplest sentence he’s ever uttered. Cee shifted on her feet, taking in the hospital room before cold eyes landed on his face.

“Half,” she answered, eyes challenging Ezra.

“Of what?” he moaned out, throat rasping.

“Of the Queen’s Lair,” she said, and a smile threatened to grace her face.

The news of an aurelac haul found in the depths of their stolen ship does elicit more words from Ezra’s lips, most curses or elations. It was larger than either of them expected, especially since the mercs needed a prospector so badly. Ezra shuddered to think what might have become of the person who’d harvested the treasure trove they now were fortunate enough to hide.

Cee had to be the one to cash it in, little bits at a time so as to not arouse suspicion. She combed her hair differently, tried to look older, and it was working so far. The first deposit, cashed in while he was unconscious, was met with no argument beyond normal negotiations.

“That does sound agreeable,” he finally sighs, struggling against the drowsiness of the drugs in his system. “With your newfound riches I’m sure you’ll be off to explore the galaxy. Though I may need your help getting out of this damned hospital before you abscond.” He thinks he hears Cee snort as his vision swims out of focus.

“You’re gonna stay here until you make sense again, Ez.”

The next time he wakes, he’s in a new location, with significantly less machinery accompanying him. It’s quieter, and cleaner. And he’s not alone.

“Sold another gem, and got you a better room,” Cee says near his elbow. He turns and she’s holding a drink with a straw by his mouth. His eyes flicker from the cup to Cee’s face, eliciting an eye roll.

“If I wanted you dead I wouldn’t have even brought you here,” she snarks, and he takes a tentative sip. Water, cool and refreshing, cracks a sudden need through his body. He greedily sucks down the small cup, gasping and wetting his cracked lips. She shakes her head and moves to refill the glass.

“How much?” Ezra asks, shifting to sit more upright. He leans too far, his right arm shockingly not there to counterbalance which spikes his heart at the fear of falling. His abdomen clenches in time, and only his skin burns in embarrassment when Cee turns back to him.

“Enough that I doubled back twice to avoid being followed,” she says, holding the straw back out for him. He grimaces and palms the cup instead, but the weakness and unfamiliarity of using his left hand makes for an ungraceful path to his mouth. He sips once, letting the water bead on his sensitive mouth.

“Then we are fortunate indeed,” he says, letting his eyes close briefly. All he can seem to do is sleep right now. “You shouldn’t have squandered it on this room.” Cee snorts.

“They were going to toss you out on the street with a handful of antibiotics and gauze. This is the amputation wing, and we’re going to stay as long as you need.” Ezra watches the girl with confusion, and mistrust.

“We?” he asks, “I was under the assumption that you would be leaving with your half of our haul never to be seen again. Are you extending our tenuous partnership?” Ezra’s attempt at humor barely covers his true disbelief. Cee moves towards the door and throws a look over her shoulder.

“It’s easier for me to have a guardian while I’m cashing in my half. Not as suspicious.” Ezra’s mouth quirks up a bit as something catches her eye. It’s the nicest thing she’s ever said to him. “Be nice to the staff, they’ve been keeping you alive.” She passes through the doorway as a woman in white medical scrubs enters. She’s clean, neat and bright, smiling at Ezra in a way that is too genuine for him to return.

“Cee’s told me your name is Ezra. I’m your head nurse. Happy to see you’ve been staying awake longer. How’s the pain?”

“Whatever you have been mixing into my blood has done wonders for my demeanor. I keep forgetting I’ve lost my main implement,” he says, and where before he would expound and weave his words as she worked, his tongue feels thick and tired when he looks to his right and sees nothing there. Like a trick of the light, waiting for his arm to reappear from behind his back. When he truly focuses on the terminated end it makes his stomach churn.

“We’ll start weaning you off soon so you can begin your rehabilitation. The physical therapist will be in shortly to go over your plan.” Ezra frowns lightly at this. Rehabilitation sounds long, arduous, and expensive. He has to question Cee closer about the cost next time they’re alone.

“Thank you,” he says, realizing the water cup is still in his hand. He reaches to put it on the bedside table as the nurse leaves. Torso twisted, he tries to sit back up but unbalanced as he is, his hips cant to one side and his hand scrabbles to grab the bed rail. His right arm reaches out to grab at something, anything to pull him back up.

Right, nothing there. He’s definitely falling now.

A shick of a door, a few quick steps, and there’s a small solid body at his side pushing him back upright. Ezra’s face ends up pressed lightly against their throat, a floral scent laced with antiseptic and soap filling his nose. He bares his teeth and fights to sit back upright, heat flashing over his cheeks and down his spine.

“Are you all right?” his savior asks, and Ezra’s shame keeps his eyes glued to his hands…ah, hand.

“My apologies, ma’am, I find myself to be embarrassingly over my head. I imagined nothing would be more traumatic than the act of losing my arm, but apparently this…” Ezra slaps his hand against his chest for emphasis, “helplessness is aiming to humiliate me further.” A hand, cool but deceptively firm, rests on his good shoulder as Ezra looks up at her.

She has gentle eyes and lines in her face, a strong frame but weight on her shoulders, and beyond all she is kind. It takes Ezra a moment to find any words again, and when he does they are less eloquent than he’d hoped.

“Who are you?”

Her eyes crinkle as she pats his arm.

“I’m your physical therapist. Though I’m sure you’ll have many more names for me over the next several weeks.”

Ezra did indeed find many more names for the “good therapist” in charge of his steady recovery.

Kevva-damned menace.

Torturer.

Fiend.

These were spit between clenched teeth as he struggled to adapt to life without his arm. In the first week he found himself reaching for items with his right hand - door handles, utensils, railings - before realizing there was only a subtle lift of his shoulder to show for it. Some things came easy, like balancing and moving in a space without his usual bulk. Other things were annoying, like two-handed tasks and acts that required precision. The worst was anything requiring fine motor skills. Writing angered him, the fat stylus both mocking and cramping his left hand. The number of times he’d swept the items, pad of paper and all, off the table and stomped around in frustration became unworthy to count.

Through it all his good therapist stayed and watched patiently. His furious words and little outbursts didn’t phase her. When he asked about her temperament as she picked up crumpled paper for the umpteenth time, her answer was simple.

“I’ve seen worse from worse men.”

The quiet revelation chilled his temper, made him sit on the edge of the bed and give her space. She finished the therapy early, letting him know she’d be back at the same time tomorrow. He ruminated on the pit in his stomach, worrying that he’d lumped himself into the category of “worse men”. It had been some time since he cared if anyone perceived morality in his actions.

The next appointment he tried to be more patient, and was rewarded with sunny smiles and gentle touches on his good shoulder when he pushed himself just a little further than the day before. Cee notices when she comes to visit, raising an eyebrow at Ezra as the good therapist leaves him for her next appointment.

“She’s nice,” she says nonchalantly, making Ezra roll his eyes as he settles back in the bed.

“What is our magic number today, little bird?” he asks.

“Three hundred thousand.”

Another significant uptick. Ezra’s nose scrunches.

“The value is still mounting?”

“Doubles almost daily now that the Green is out of reach.”

And the number does keep climbing. Cee sets up accounts to hide the profits from prying eyes and curious prospectors. Ezra’s accommodations remain private and well tended, his wounds healing better than expected. His good therapist keeps up the work even when he lets a curse or three slip out beneath his breath. She’s even started responding to them.

The greater menace will be trying to wipe your own ass.

If you think this is torture, just wait until you have to twist a bottle cap.

I didn’t think you were a religious man, Ezra.

The way she says his name, long on the syllables and short on the consonants, sends a thrill up his spine. His body has become more sensitive, lighting up at any touch now that his familiar one is gone forever. Especially her small cold hands that grip him so strongly. He’s tried to give himself release in the small hours of the morning, but his left hand is a weak facsimile to his right. Or to any willing partner. But once he discovers thrusting into the tight circle of his palm as he lays face-down on the bed gives him more control, he spills embarrassingly quickly to her memory.

Seeing her every day, beyond being distracting, also reveals the difficulty of her life. It's hard not to see her overly-worn clothing, the way she eyes leftover food by his bedside, or the tense conversations he sometimes hears through the glass window of his room. He never indicates that he notices, but pushes half his sandwich to her even if he's still hungry, or pretends to be engulfed in a book when she enters with red-rimmed eyes. The Green took his arm, but some people lose more each day than anyone ever notices.

Seven hundred thousand.

Then nine.

Then over a million.

Two.

Cee’s been resourceful, and careful, sometimes gone for days so she can cash in aurelac on another ship. Ezra worries for her in a way that feels strangely paternal, but she comes back richer every time.

His therapy is coming to an end, the healing well on its way and not much more to learn that can’t be done outside the medical facility. He drags his feet a few days longer until he realizes one last request could prolong his good therapist’s presence.

“I would like to purchase a prosthetic,” he asks the head nurse, who instead of looking at him like a thief and a scoundrel, brings out a book of choices, neat numbers written beside each option. He flips to the center, the hero image a fully integrated lifelike facsimile. It costs a small fortune, but with someone holding a large one he’s not so concerned. The head nurse’s eyebrows shoot past her hairline but she makes no comment, dog-earing the page and stepping out to make a phone call.

Two weeks to get it manufactured, a few days to calibrate it, and Ezra would be whole again.

His good therapist is furious.

“You did all of this work just to get a prosthetic?” she says incredulously, hands on her hips. Ezra tries to placate her with a hand on her shoulder, but she pulls away from him quickly.

“It’s not for naught, my dear. I needed to learn to provide for myself and you’ve been an exceptional teacher,” he says, trying to turn on the charm that’s gotten him out of trouble before, but a nerve’s been struck and cannot be soothed.

“Those cost more than I made in a year, and once you’re plugged in they’re practically seamless. You’ve wasted my time, Ezra, and your own. Just buy your way out of your problems if you’re so inclined.” The venom in her voice hammers at his heart, and the next time he puts his hand on her she sweeps it away with force. Blood pounds in his ears - fight, fight, fight - as he lays his expansive palm on the base of her neck and pushes her up against the wall. Nose to nose, thigh pressed to the outside of hers, his bared teeth and quick breaths contrast against her wild eyes and bubbling anger. He did this for her, to be around her, and the spite boiling over her lips rips through him. He doesn’t know if he wants to rough her up or fuck her, or fuck her roughly. His cock is achingly hard but he refuses to press it against her, one tiny shred of the man he’s grown into holding him back.

The crack of something harder than flesh against his shin topples him to one side, a string of curses flying from his lips. She swept her leg into the bone of his, but the pain was sharper than he expected. Once stars stop exploding in his eyes he looks at her, closer than the drugs and the pain let him before, and the truth of her rage comes out.

“You too,” he says, leaning back against the wall as she straightens out her clothes. She hides it well, gait even and smooth, pant legs wide enough to avoid detection. He would have never expected.

“Infection on Gallus 9. I lost both legs below the knee.” Her admission is quick, clinical, and Ezra’s heart burns at it. "Not everyone can be as lucky - or as privileged - as you, Ezra."

“I’m sor…” he tries to say, stumbling to his feet, but she’s swishing out of the room, the minuscule shift in her stride finally revealing the double amputation, the hidden aids. Shame colors Ezra’s vision as the door closes behind her. Then the cloud of lust still pumping through his veins spins him to face the wall, unfastening his pants and taking himself in hand before crushing his hips against it. Desperate little thrusts drive him over the edge, moaning through lips smashed against cool plastic. The shame returns soon after.

She doesn’t come the next day, or the day after. Ezra asks after her, but the cheery head nurse only purses her lips and tells him she’ll return soon. Cee stops by with another update.

“I only have one left, and it’s the biggest. The Starstripper just docked, and it’s got a huge aurelac trade. After that…” She pauses, and the smallest hint of uncertainty skitters across her face. Ezra gives her a smirk back. They hadn’t talked about what would happen once their funds were procured.

“After that, little bird, we may go where our desires and our pockets take us.” Cee snorts and turns to look at something on the table behind her, hiding the smile Ezra hoped to get.

“Where’s your ‘good therapist’? She finally get tired of being called your personal demon?” Cee tries to redirect, pulling the smirk off of Ezra’s face. His hand worries at the fabric covering his lap.

“I fear I upset her past the point of reconciliation. I discovered we were more alike than I previously understood, and a decision on my part gave way to her ire.”

Cee holds up the glossy prosthetics magazine, opened to the promised replacement page. Ezra nods once, his eyes skimming back off it.

“You know these expensive ones tend to be finicky. Could cut out on you in the middle of a harvest, and then where would you be?” she muses, flipping through the pages.

“If you think I’ll continue prospecting after the Green, you’re the one who should be confined to a medical facility,” he grumbles. Cee’s eyes shoot up to his.

“Then what are you planning on doing with the rest of your life, old man?”

The question haunts Ezra long after Cee leaves for her aurelac barter. With the final sale, all the spoils of the Green are theirs. Some of it he views as payment for the horrors he survived, more of it as comfort in his coming years. Fewer years than Cee has ahead, and if she’ll let him he’ll alter their deal. Give the girl enough to truly fulfill her dreams. She’ll say he’s going soft. He’ll say his spite was lost with his arm. They won’t talk about it again.

But after that, Ezra has no clue what to do. His goal of one last haul, one final job to be set for life finally achieved. He now has more money than he thought possible. And nothing feels different. The itch of adventure is maybe a little duller, but then again he could never see himself settling down. Domesticity is a home and he would be a feral dog tearing at the doors to escape.

“What to do now that you can do anything,” he whispers to himself. There’s one idea, small but bright. It’s short term, but he thinks it might be the start of something.

Ezra wanted this to go a different way. He wanted her to find out that he canceled the prosthetic, instead opting for a simpler one with no bells or whistles. Enough to get him by if he needed it. He wanted her to come to him because he asked, and for her to listen to him explain his life and apologize for his actions.

Instead, she bursts into his room while he’s in the throes of agony.

Phantom pain came and went in the past weeks. It often felt like itching along his lost forearm and palms, a healing wound. A quick dose of painkiller would knock him out for the worst of it. This, however, was no subtle itch. A raging burn flays his lost skin, his corporeal form clenching as he gasps through gritted teeth. Sweat bathes his body in heavy musk, tendrils of hair sticking to his forehead. He buzzed the head nurse, who then called the good therapist’s private number when his pained grunts and vocalizations rose to an upsetting level.

She’s tired-eyed but alert when she hurries into the room, Ezra’s spine taught as he fists the blankets on his hospital bed.

“Ezra, I need you to try and focus on me. What’s the pain like?” she asks, and her soothing timbre becomes a life raft in his sea of pain.

“Emmoliation,” he chokes out, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes as he begs Kevva for forgiveness, to end his pain in whatever way she sees fit. Her voice pulls him back.

“Ez, I need you to imagine something for me, right now,” she says, firm authority in her voice. He’d teased her before that her tone could drive a man to give her anything she wanted, and then reveled in the light embarrassment that colored her features. A pang of regret - that he wasn’t able to formulate another quip in her presence - inflicts pain and leaves quickly.

“Ezra, look at me,” she orders, and he manages to lift his head and shoulders off the bed. She’s leaning over him with her hand outstretched. “Take my hand,” she says simply. Ezra moves to grasp it with his left, but she bats it away.

“No, take it with the right one.”

Ezra huffs out a sarcastic laugh but her face is deadly serious.

“Focus everything on taking my hand. Think of what it feels like, the sensations. How tight you’d grip, the temperature. Focus on it.” Ezra sits up more fully and nods, the room falling away around him as he stares at her hand. Smaller, strong and feminine, neat nails, always cold. His own would engulf it, his ever-present heat warming her chilly digits. The distance is so close he knows his elbow would bend, and he traces the path of his phantom limb to her solid one.

“Spread your fingers,” he asks, his own voice startling him. She does, and as the burn begins to recede he pictures sliding his thicker fingers between hers. How her knuckles would shift wider, the stretch apart as he laces them together. His mouth hangs open, tongue resting just behind his bottom teeth but barely as the fire becomes a smolder and then dies down.

“Ezra?” she asks, and when he lifts his eyes to her face she’s close, watching him with trepidation.

He knows he should speak, tell her what’s to come. That he put her name on one of the accounts Cee set up, enough for her to make a gentler life for herself. That he was leaving tomorrow to take Cee to a planet with an atmosphere, a school, adventures a child should have. That he had an inkling of a plan, something involving a ship of his own and the roaming life he could never escape. That he hopes she will let him contact her in his travels. Purpose was still a fuzzy outline, but he could find a new dream with time and his immense resources.

He should tell her all this. Let her speak her pain and part as friends, if nothing else.

But Ezra has always wanted something just out of reach.

So instead he cups the back of her head with his good hand, his only hand, and brings his lips to hers.

And maybe for the first time in his life, his dream is as sweet as reality. She kisses him back.

END

#lj's 500 follower celebration #ezra x female reader #ezra x reader #ezra prospect fanfiction #ezra prospect x you #ezra prospect x reader #ezra prospect fic #prospect fanfiction #ezra prospect x original character #prolix fics

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kaijulvl5 · 4 years ago

Text

Escape from the Green (What price my life?)

***WARNING: Non-con elements. Please do not read if non-con, non-con bondage, or situation appropriate violence is a trigger for you.***

Hard M - Explicit content

After he had shot and killed her partner and aimed the same weapon at her, she had turned and run for the pod. The violence of it all had blanked her mind, a protective blackout that activated her lizard-brain and sent her fleeing at top speed. Luckily, the dangerous man had not followed, and she was able to retreat to the relative safety of the drop pod.

In a panic that bordered on hysteria, she had followed the instruction manual and managed to get it prepped for launch. Then, just as she thought she would actually make it off this poisoned moon, something in the fundamental internals fried and she was left stranded. Without a working knowledge of ship repair, the craft was no more useful to her than a tent. The disappointment and despair she felt had almost broken her.

Half a cycle later, she had burned through the remaining stores of food and water they hadn’t taken with them, and was left with some crappy narcotic gum she found in a folderbin. The only effect of that escapade had been to let her forget her hopeless situation for an hour or two.

As she completed her latest fruitless rummage, steps sounded on the entry stairs. The outer hatch slammed and the scrubber fans began processing. Panic overtook her once more. That noise meant she had only a moment to grab the rifle and slide behind the inadequate cover of the pilot’s seat, past the low center bulkhead, before the intruder got into the cabin.

Tucked as far back as she could get, she shifted the safety off. Instead of the telltale whine, the gun remained silent. She was still fuzzy from the after effects of the gum, so it took a split second to register what was wrong. A curt shake of her head to clear it, and it came back to her. Oh SHIT! She hadn’t restored the charge! Shit shit shit. She repeated the curse in her mind as she clicked the charge cartridge into the loading piece. Why hadn’t she locked the outside hatch when she came back? A self-castigating litany played in her head with each turn of the small rotating lever that added a little power to the cartridge, added a little hope to her rushed plan to get the upper hand.

Without a loaded firearm, there was no possibility of competing against anything on this moon. She had always tried to make the most of her small size, but being just over 1.6 meters tall and 42 kilos was a challenge on the best days. And the only other human she had seen still alive was the murderer. The man who had tried to rob her partner and then, when the tables turned and then turned again, had brutally gunned him down in cold blood. That had to be who was coming through the hatch.

She cycled the crank one more time and jammed the magazine into the body of the weapon. The firing bolt clicked and she thumbed off the safety right as his helmet and shoulders cleared the opening. And the goddamned contraption stayed silent. Shit. There was nothing she could do. If the charge hadn't been completed, the piece was useless.

He led with the pistol, getting his bearings. Slowly, methodically he scanned the small space. The environment suit he wore was ungainly and the half textile helmet fell slightly forward or to the side, depending on how he moved. It looked like it was hard to wear.

“Stop right there!” She yelled, deciding a bluff was her only option. “Stop moving and put the thrower down or I will shoot!”

He actually scrambled backward up against the wall, but did not drop the gun. Instead, he stared her down, having found her position quickly. As he carefully examined every detail of the scene, a slow, cocky smile stretched his face. “I can observe from here, your thrower is not primed, sweetheart. I do believe I have the upper hand at this particular moment.”

His self-satisfied smirk, the casual condescending endearment, and the calm way he drawled the words slapped her. Her face fell and the blood drained from her head. She felt faint, but somehow managed to keep herself upright.

“So I will be seein’ you place your weapon on the floor, and now, I might add. Do it.” There was an uncompromising hardness in his eyes as he commanded her. His aim did not waver.

There was no choice. She lowered the energy rifle to the floor, then raised her hands over her head. She wished she were wearing her heavy environmental suit and not the soft loungewear she had changed into hours ago. The normally modest top rode up and left part of her belly exposed. Her pants were loose around her hips, but the light blue fabric clung to her skin. She felt like she was on display and it added another knot to her stomach.

The murderer’s gaze had changed when she revealed herself. A troublesome interest played across his face as he watched her. Settling comfortably against the bulwark, he looked like the cat who had found the proverbial bowl of cream.

“I do not wish for this to be an unfriendly occasion, but we have something of accord to come to. You see, I am in a predicament. I cannot leave on my own ship. The series of unfortunate events that have led me to your doorstep left me deprived of transportation. You, on the other hand have this decrepit drop pod, but it may prove to be my salvation.”

She noticed he had said “my”, not “our” and she refused to be removed from the equation. Interjecting when he paused to draw a breath, she said simply, “Don’t leave me here”.

His eyes glittered, crinkling up at the corners, “Now, my sweet girl, I would not dream of such a thing. This is a part of our accord, of which we have just begun to negotiate.”

He meant to negotiate with her, as if she had any power or something of value in this situation. Her jaw hung ajar with surprise. He was the one with the weapon. He could push her out of the airlock or take her, whichever was his will, then fix the ship and leave without a second glance if he wanted. This made no sense.

He looked at her thoughtfully, smiling amiably, “Do please close your mouth. That slack jawed visage is not becomin’ on you.”

Her teeth made an audible click when she snapped it shut. “What do you want?” She asked pointedly.

At her question, his face turned mocking, tinged with interest and not a little humor. His eyebrows drew together and he pressed his head back against the wall, a moue evident on his lips. “For starters, I would dearly like to be free of this godforsaken helmet. However, I do not think you will allow me a moment of security in which to remove it. So let us proceed with your disablement. Please take this and assist me in bindin’ yourself.” With his free hand he tossed her a hank of light cording that he had detached from his suit.

She held the rope, not sure what he wanted her to do. It was not her custom to tie herself up. Her confusion must have been evident, because he said, “Make a slip knot with a loop. Yes, like that. Now place your hands in the loop and tighten it down, just so.” He nodded as she followed his direction.

His features shifted from pleasant to grim so quickly, it was hard for her to read his expressions. Her hands shook as she complied. Each step in the process pulled her farther from freedom. Not that she had had any hope of that even before his arrival, though. Her feeling of doom grew and she tried to watch for any weakness, but he stayed at the other side of the room. Too far for her to make an effective move against him.

“Thank you. I will take it from here,” he said.

Faster than she thought possible, he pushed off from his falsely relaxed sprawl and closed the space between them. There was no time to react before her wrists were clasped in his left hand, his small firearm placed hard against her abdomen.

When he held her securely, he let his thrower hang from his trigger finger and bound her wrists tightly with the rest of the cord. She tried to jerk away from his harsh, bruising grasp, but he gave her a vicious shake that rattled her body. There was no question in her mind after that. She was not strong enough to pull free.

From there he pushed her into the copilot’s seat and strapped her in, positioning her tied arms so that they were further restrained under the X-shaped harness. Then he yanked the adjusters hard, securing her and spun the chair to face the center of the room. Satisfied with his work, he stood up and removed his helmet in a single fluid motion.

“Kevva be damned, but that was unpleasant,” he declared gustily, breathing in a deep lungful of the air in the shelter. “My filter has been fouled for some time and I was approachin’ the end of my ability to draw breath in this putrid thing.”

He smiled at her again, showing straight, white teeth. His dark moustache made them look brighter than they should have been. He appeared to be in his early forties with short, messy hair, which was brown except for a small patch of blonde at the hairline above his right eye. A thin U-shaped scar curled across his left cheek and his sharp nose, high cheekbones and scruffy chin were sheened with the sweat. A thoroughly disreputable person, if she had ever seen one.

“What. Do. You. Want?” She asked again, this time through gritted teeth. Her will to continue requesting information was growing thin. He seemed to want to talk about only the subject he wished at any given moment. And talk he did.

He said, “I have a proposal for you, little bird,” his tone contemplative. He paced the small space and lifted his hands, gesturing philosophically. “You ask me what I want and I want many things. I want to be off this damned hell hole. I want to be divested of my harvest in such a way that leaves me well provided for and provisioned for the future.” He stalked toward her, his eyes thoughtful, roaming her face.

“Wants are funny things,” he continued. “A thought gets in your head and can’t be shaken and then you find yourself wanting. I want to take a cabana on the shores of Lao, to watch the suns set and put all thought of this awfulness behind me. I want all the comforts credits can buy and long, warm days and nights in which to enjoy them. I also find that I want,” he paused, bracing his weight as he gripped the arms of the seat. His face was inches from hers. He looked her squarely in the eyes and said frankly,” I also find that I want...you.”

She was shocked into silence for the second time in only a few moments. What could she say? Did he think he could buy her? Did he think he had a chance of her not trying to take his life the moment he let his guard down? Life was cheap in this system and he could have his pick of feminine company back at the Pug, or whatever sleazy world he would hie off to from here. What could he want with her?

“By your yet again drop-jawed demeanor, I assume it is a rare occurrence that someone expresses to you their designs on your person,” he said. He tilted his head back and eyed her quizzically. The long, strong column of his throat was exposed to her shocked gaze.

“I don’t know what to say,” she rasped. She blinked, trying to break her fascination with his audacity, presenting his vulnerable throat so close to her. He must believe her to be well in hand, indeed. She wriggled in the seat, but couldn’t gain an inch. Her lips were dry and her head was spinning. “I don’t understand,” she said.

He inclined his head toward her, as if imparting a secret, “This may come as a surprise to you, but I am a man with needs, just like any other. You are here, convenient, of the feminine persuasion and, if I do say so myself, appear to be quite delectable.” He suggestively ran the back of a gloved hand from her cheek down her neck. He paused for a beat at her shoulder, then continued over her breast to the swell of her hip, finally resting his open palm there. His fingers curled posessively into her yielding flesh.

“I believe you will be able to assist me in that regard, should we come to an agreement. I also wish to attain my goals of escape and sales of my aurelac with all of my parts intact. In short, I want to have my cake and eat it too.” He grinned as if he was saying the simplest things in the world to an equal, not manhandling a captive.

He was wrong about her rarely being propositioned. That wasn’t the case. It was just that no one ever talked to her or handled her that way when she couldn’t run away. Every other time that she had been confronted with this type of attention, she had been able to duck and run. She had eluded the rough hands and catcalls of the prospectors and hub toughs by hightailing it away from them. This man with his hands on her, making such suggestions was worse than those assholes, by far. He was responsible for her friend’s death and he had her tied and helpless, dependent on him in every way. He held the power of life or death over her and there was nowhere to run this time.

She found her voice, hoarse and hesitating, ”You will get us off this rock and away safe if I, um...” She swallowed dryly and looked down to where his hand still rested heavily on her body. She found she could not quite bring herself to say the words. Her tongue peeked out to try to wet her lips, instead.

He looked her up and down, like a big cat considering its prey. His thoughts were obvious on his face. “Yes,” he said.

The brevity of his reply hammered home to her how serious he was. The ideas rushing through her mind gave her pause. It made her feel ill and not a little afraid, but what choice did she have, really?

“For how long?” She asked, pragmatically.

“Now that is somethin’ we should revisit frequently, as long as we are acquainted,” he said. Stepping backward, he seated himself on the center bulkhead. Shoulders canted forward, knees open, forearms resting lightly on his thighs, hands loose. A truthful stance, if she could be convinced that anything about this person was truthful. He continued, uninterrupted, “I would expect a period of no less than 30 cycles for you to remain in my company. During that time, you will make yourself available to me to assuage my desires as I see fit. On my part, I assure you, I will expect nothin’ from you that could be considered too far outside the realm of normalcy. You, however, shall retain no such restriction, should you choose to initiate events of your own devising.” he leered at her dangerously. The space between them was not nearly far enough for her liking. “That is fair enough for the exchange of your life and freedom, you will agree?” He asked.

“14,” she rebutted. “14 cycles.” Where had that come from? Was she really going along with this? Who knew what kind of perverted freak he was under all the flowery words? But staying here meant certain death and he didn’t really have to involve her in the decision making process, after all. For all his crimes and questionable behavior, he seemed bent on gaining her agreement, even if it was in all actuality, coerced.

“21,” he grinned and leaned in close enough that she could smell his sweat and the dirt that clung to his suit.

“20 cycles, ten points off your sale, and I’m free after,” she tossed quickly, not knowing where she was finding the strength to come back at him like this. He had her tied. He could take what he wanted. He could and she couldn’t stop him. But instead he was negotiating. What kind of man was this?

“Ten points? You are a mercenary after all,” he said, shaking his head. “We have ourselves a deal, birdie,” his smile grew broader, if that was possible. He removed his gloves, took her bound hands in both of his hard callused ones and gave them a brief shake. Then he turned to begin his work on the blackened panels that had billowed smoke much earlier.

Some time later, he broke from his tinkering and declared, “As good as it will get, I suppose. Let us see if we can throw ourselves from this mortal coil to the waiting orbit which will gain us our future.”

The starter key had been pulled as part of his repair checks and he now reinserted it. The launch process began. He flicked the switches and primed the machine, the same as she had done, but with a much different result. The mechanism purred quietly and he strapped himself into the pilot’s seat.

Barely a rumble disturbed the quiet pod. These last few moments had been the most peaceful since he had taken over. As he worked, he had not stopped talking. Anecdote after anecdote spilled from his lips as he regaled her. Talking and breathing seemed to be one and the same for this man. After the first half hour of non-stop speech from him, she had ceased giving him her full attention out of self preservation. Anyone who spoke that much could not possibly care if anyone was listening.

Instead, she had thought about her situation. The number of double-crosses leading up to this moment played in her mind. Damon had been greedy, yes, but this man had waylaid him in the first place. It was all too much for her to process, but she was here, now, and she had made a tacit agreement with the ruffian. For some reason, perhaps out of some deep denial, she was beginning to allow herself to believe in this deal they had struck. Nothing to do but bide her time. If an opportunity arose that allowed her to remove herself from the situation, she would take it, deal or no deal.

Trussed as she was, she had lost most of the feeling in her extremities after the second hour, but refused to speak up. Not out of fear this time. No, she remained silent from pure stubbornness, she admitted to herself. Not giving her captor the satisfaction of her needing anything from him was, as she saw it, the only power she held at the moment.

The takeoff was surprisingly uneventful for an aged, abused and overused rental. They attained orbit with the minimum of effort. The craft settled easily into its floating circuit of the green moon, matching the future track of the slingback’s return trip.

A voice came to her through the disorientation she always experienced when being shot through the air at high speeds. It had never been bad enough that she had actually passed out, but the dark spots were familiar friends. Her eyes opened and she blinked them away. “What?” She slurred.

He shook her shoulder. “I said, are you with me, girl?” His voice sounded sharp and irritated. The grav-plates had kicked on during stabilization and he stood over her, bending to examine her. He tilted her head back and lifted her eyelids one at a time, checking her pupils.

She twisted her head away sharply and lifted her eyes to his. She tried to focus on his face. His worried face. He was worried about her? “Yes. I’m here. Just launch sickness. I’ll be fine in a minute.” She blinked hard and stretched her jaw, trying to find her equilibrium.

“I am pleased to hear that. It would have been an unfortunate thing to have lost you after all the trouble we have gone through. To have it all be for naught would be sore disappointing. But here you are and right as rain by your own admission.” Satisfied that she wasn’t in a worse state than she was letting on, he turned away from her and began the process of removing his environment suit.

The stories he told while performing the repairs had droned on so long that she had gotten lost in her own head. When they had launched, she was distracted by the physical effect it had on her and had momentarily forgotten her plight. Seeing his broad shoulders being revealed like that brought it all rushing back. He was wearing a thin navy blue shirt, but watching him remove the heavily woven, treated suit signified one less layer of separation between them.

Her blood ran cold and she closed her eyes tightly. She took the extra precaution of facing the ceiling, trying to deny the situation her attention as long as possible. He would want her to make good on her bargain. Their time “together” had begun. 20 cycles and it would be over. Or sooner, if she had the opportunity. Her face flamed. She was to be his whore, or worse. What price for my life? she thought.

To her surprise, he didn’t approach her immediately. In addition to his pattering, pointless speech, she heard shuffling noises, folderbins opened and closed. It sounded like he was moving around the cabin straightening up. He had launched into another of his stories. This time about a rough takeoff he had experienced off some world or another, during another of his myriad harvests. Truth or fiction, she could not tell. His voice changed places around the room as the other noises subsided and then his steps drew close behind her.

“And so here I am. Another successful pull, minus a few colleagues and on my way again. Lucky to have met you, but have I really met you, girl? I do not even know your name.” She thought he must have seated himself on the same bulkhead as earlier. There was a bump as he disengaged the safety lock and then she felt the chair swivel. He meant for her to face him. Her eyes squeezed even harder. She wouldn’t answer him. Her lips pressed into a firm white line.

“Come now, I must call you somethin’ for the duration. Little bird is fine as an endearment, but as a name it is severely lacking. Do not be obstinate at this late hour,” he entreated.

What was the point of not giving him my name? She thought. He will probably make one up and call me that if I don’t tell him. Or pry through my journals. “My name is Farra.”

“Pleased to meet you, Farra. I am Ezra, if you had not gathered that from your eavesdroppin’ expedition in that poxy forest. I would be still better served if you would also open your eyes for me. This is no way to carry on a conversation. Very rude, indeed,” he scolded.

He still had not touched her, and she felt odd with her eyes shut so hard, so she squinted them open a bit. If he wasn’t decent, she would close them quickly and just continue pretending to be blind. But he was wearing a pair of lightweight long john pants and the dark navy t-shirt she had glimpsed earlier. His long, muscular arms were lightly furred, and he had taken a moment in his chores to wipe off some of the accumulated grime from his face and body. He looked almost presentable, if still very dangerous.

“Thank you for that,” Ezra said, smiling warmly at her. “It is disconcerting to speak to a seein’ person who will not acknowledge they are in the same room as the one who is speakin’. I believe we have a few details to hammer out before we get down to brass tacks, as it were.”

Farra’s eyes went wide and she leaned back hard into her seat. Her hands and legs were tingling and she couldn’t make them move. In fear again, fear that hadn’t really left, she said calmly, as if she had any control of anything, “Okay.”

He stood up hastily, startling her further. He put his hands out in front of himself several centimeters apart, palms up, showing her he wasn’t hiding anything. Regardless of his efforts, his approach made her compress herself farther into her seat.

“I just need to check somethin’ here, Farra. Do not be afraid,” he said, as he brushed her hair away from her neck. He gently pushed on the back of her head until she angled it down and away from him. “Ah, yes,” he murmured. “I see you are still current.”

Keeping her fertility inhibitor implant current was a prerequisite of all the outer belt hubs. A woman couldn’t get past onboarding without one, but leave it to a man to not know that. These communities controlled their population strictly and any possibility of adding another life to the stacks was anathema. Supplies were always scarce out here. Food, water, oxygen, all of it had to be carefully calculated and regulated.

“Of course it is,” she said, looking up at him from an angle, her blond hair falling in her face. “You could have just asked.” A bright red blush crept up her neck and stained her cheeks. So this was how it would go.

“Certainly I could have asked, but would you have told me true?” He asked. “I do not know that you would,” he mused, answering his own question. Switching his focus back to her, he asked abruptly, “How many years do you have?”

“20 standard,” she answered, matter of factly.

“I see, then. That is favorable, as well. It had not occurred to me to inquire earlier. Your petite size gave me a moment’s concern, but I am glad I judged correctly. I did say that we would commence shortly, didn’t I? Or did I fail to mention…” he trailed off, his attention drifting again.

She shook her head, “I can’t feel my hands. I think the circulation has been cut off for too long, Ezra.” It felt strange to say his name, all things considered. However, if he was going to insist on this “commencing”, as he put it, she didn’t want to be any more impaired than she was at the moment.

“Why did you not say so sooner?” He knelt, bringing his hands to hers, lifting and examining them carefully. “You are white as bone, my dear. This will not do.” He began to loosen the ties, but then stopped suddenly and looked her in the eyes. “Do I have your word that you will behave? I would not want to cause you undue harm through some stupid idea of yours gone wrong.” His eyes narrowed as he said this last.

Farra’s hands were indeed white, having lost circulation some time ago. Even as bent on obstruction as she had been, she was actually becoming concerned about them. “I swear,” she said, earnestly.

“You swear, what?” He asked, forcing her to speak her oath in full.

Reluctantly, Farra swore, “I will not do anything to try to harm you.”

“Or yourself.” Ezra’s voice was solemn and he held her chin firmly, so that she had no choice but to look in his eyes as she spoke.

“I swear I will not do anything to harm you or myself,” she said.

He was being so in depth about all this. What if she had underestimated him? It would be a revelation if he turned out to be a thinking person, not just the brutal, thieving killer she had originally thought he was. In all her life, Farra had never broken her word. She didn’t want to do so now, but if her life was at stake...she would make that decision when she came to it.

“Alright, then, sweet Farra. Let us get some life back into these diminutive extremities of yours. I cannot have you losin’ limbs in my care.” He completely removed the rope from her wrists. The marks it left were livid against her pallid skin. Living as a floater didn’t give a person a lot of chances to take in much UV and it showed.

Leaving her still harnessed to the copilot’s seat, Ezra chafed her hands between his. Hers were dead cold, but his hands were warm, if rough and large. After a short time of this, working her fingers back and forth and massaging the blood back in, he placed her hands back in her lap and laid his on them. “Squeeze,” he said.

To her surprise, she did. Weakly, yes, but a moment ago she would have sworn that she wouldn’t have been able to move them at all. “Thank you,” she said, in a moment of real gratitude. He had been so oddly polite this entire time, with his words, at least. It must be rubbing off.

He studied her carefully. “Now that is somethin’ I thought I would have to wait a much longer time to hear from you, my dear. A genuine thank you.” He moved his gaze to their linked hands, breaking his serious perusal of her face. “Though I must say, you may regret your momentary lapse before too long. As I said, I intend to make good on our bargain, Farra. Do try to behave and I will endeavor to make my attentions as bearable as possible for you. I am many things, but I am not a cruel man, as a rule.”

She heard what he said, saw his look, felt his hands on hers and resigned herself, finally, to what she imagined was ahead. If she could trust his words, she might not be in for something so horrible as she had been fearing. Regardless, this was not what she wanted. “Fine,” she said flatly, looking anywhere except at him. “What do you want me to do?”

“You, yourself, need do nothin’. Leave it to me and try to relax.” He said softly, his lips close to her ear. With the same swift efficiency of motion she had seen him use before, he released the harness and pulled her up into his arms. He stood and waited a moment for her to find her feet.

She was a ragdoll. All those hours bound to the chair had made her boneless. She tried to raise her arms and found that folding them around his torso was her only option. He was much taller than she and the crown of her head nestled just below the top of his shoulder.

“Can you stand?” He asked, looking down at her.

His warm body against hers, his lean muscles and strong arms were overwhelming. Too much of him was touching her all at once. She felt fevered and would have fought him, if she had any strength left. Her words had escaped her again. Farra shut her eyes and shook her head against his shoulder.

“Alright, then.” He scooped her up, one arm under her shoulders and one under her knees. “So high and mighty that she must be ferried everywhere, it seems.”

His small joke did nothing to calm her nerves. She was still recovering from being restrained, dealing with the feel of him all around her and dreading what awaited her. Her hands, feet and legs tingled madly, almost to the point of pain as the circulation returned. She wrapped her limp arms around his neck for more stability and he carried her the few steps to the aft area of the pod. She noticed that the long flat cushions from the center bulkhead were now on the floor. One of the thin blankets had been spread on them and the meager pillows from the sleep kit placed at the top. A quick peek left and right told her that the rest of the space was neat and tidy. Just as she had suspected from the noises she heard, he had been clearing up.

He laid her down on the padding and knelt over her. She turned her head away from him. One last attempt at negation of this whole situation she was in. She never should have listened to Damon when he said he was onto a sure thing.

She felt Ezra’s lips on her bare neck, heard him breath in her scent, and shivered, deeply afraid. I won’t feel this, she thought. Her natural instinct was to fight, bite, claw, do whatever she could to stop this, but she knew she was no match for him, physically. She had to wait him out. Wait for a weak spot.

Farra tried to block her mind off from her body. She thought about the view from the transport base, rebuilding the scaffolding and the gray-black background of space in her mind. Space and grey steel and stars on a blanket of black, repeating the thoughts over and over in her head.

Ezra undressed her slowly, pulling the loose knit sleep shirt over her head. Farra was bare underneath and her breasts slipped fetchingly from the fabric. The slight chill in the air caused her nipples to tighten and firm up like pink pearls against the sun-deprived translucence of her skin. He could see clearly the large vein that ran diagonally across her chest and traced it back and forth with one finger. Trailing the tips of his fingers down her chest, he felt gently along her ribcage to wrap around the dip of her waist, lingering in that space. He kept his hands there and passed his thumbs back and forth over her skin, tantalizingly faint. Then he began moving again, grazing her with his fingernails, drawing them up and down, creating pale pink lines from her belly to her collarbone, stimulating every nerve.

Where his hands went, his mouth followed. Light kisses, pressing his lips to her skin, sometimes nipping with his teeth. Each caress was designed to set her skin on fire. He traced the line of her jaw and raked through her hair, spreading it out around her head. She tried desperately to stay still through all of this, but his lips and his hands were impossible to ignore.

She gasped, pulled from behind her mental block by sensations she had never experienced before. His touch was so considerate, enticing, in the exploration of her body that she couldn’t ignore it. She had expected an onslaught. A violent taking. Not this slow progression of caresses, this careful manipulation. What she felt was so foreign and she couldn’t block it out. It felt…good.

Ezra caught her attention returning to him and smiled at her until she opened her eyes and acknowledged him. His hands did not stop roaming her exposed body. She was so pliant, delicate, like the rarest flower petal. He took the opportunity provided by her shift in interest to reach an arm behind her back and arch her up to him. He framed her breast with his large hand and teased her nipple with a gentle pinch.

Farra drew in a sharp breath and stared up at Ezra. His smile, so infectious, became a glow as he saw that he had reached her. Her reactions were delicious, just as he had hoped.

“Since it seems you have deemed me not totally abhorrent, would you be so kind as to assist me with my wardrobe?” He asked her, speaking against the space below her collarbone. The crown of his dark head rested just below her chin.

Her answer was to gather his shirt and lift it slowly over his head. As she did so, his hands encircled her wrists, ready to immobilize her if she made a false move. So he doesn’t actually trust me, she thought. Smart.

She proceeded to remove the thin piece of clothing from his body, but before he released her wrists, he moved lower and took her small bud of a nipple into his mouth, sucking slightly. She moaned and arched under him, urging him to take her deeper. He smiled against her breast and obliged her, teasing the skin of her areola with his tongue.

Until that moment, he had been lying next to her, half over and half off of her body. He hadn’t wanted to be too demanding too quickly. She was so obviously afraid of him, of this. He may have been a scoundrel, but he was not a brute. Now, her active participation showed him that he could be a bit more aggressive. He moved to cover her completely, his legs on either side of hers, arms bracing his weight, elbows on the mattress.

Farra hadn’t taken her eyes off of him once. Not since she had opened them with a moan and let him continue without fighting him. Now he was directly above her. His strong thighs bracketed her body and he closed the distance between them. They were breathing the same air. She could smell his breath, sharp and clean, and feel the warmth of it as he hovered there, so near her mouth.

“I know we did not address this in our parlay,” he said quietly, his voice gravelly. “But I’m sure you know that a kiss is customary in these situations, and is considered quite within the bounds of normalcy. I will be making this a regular occurrence, Farra, and I do not want any surprises.”

Farra was taken aback by his statement, the idea that even now he was referencing their accord, negotiating and probing with his words. Her response was to nod her head. She was delirious with sensation and it hadn’t even occurred to her to try to escape after those first few moments after he had laid her down. Her skin felt alive, and what he did to her body… If he wanted to do more, she wasn’t going to stop him.

Confident that he had gained her compliance, that she wouldn’t bite or hurt him, Ezra grazed her mouth with his, as lightly as he had stroked her with his thumbs. He brushed her lips with his, a little harder with each pass. He drew her lower lip between his and sucked, just a little and when she opened her mouth, he tasted her. Lapping at her with his tongue, he mimed the penultimate act, in and out, he licked her there. She moaned and grazed her teeth over his tongue as he kissed her harder.

This was nothing like her previous experiences. This musing progression. She knew from the vids and the foldies what this was all about. A girl couldn’t make it to age twenty and not know. Sex was everywhere, easy access, but she had never met “the one”. Her head was always in a book, or a flight manual, or learning the next gutter trade to get her to the next float. The rough touches and stolen kisses from the crass men she had been stuck with on the stations were nothing like this. She panicked and laid her hands flat against his firm chest. “I… I have to say something,” she said, turning her head from his kisses.

“Then say it, girl,” he replied, holding his forehead to hers. “The hour draweth nigh.” Serious words, but his eyes twinkled and the lines at the corners multiplied.

“I’ve never…,” she whispered, and this time it was his turn to be shocked.

Ezra lifted himself a few centimeters, his eyebrows raised, and interjected, “Now, do not tell me that I may have the privilege to be your first experience in the art of love? That can not possibly be the case. For a beauty such as you to have remained unspoiled for all this time in this great world of trouble, would be a miracle indeed.”

Farra, whose speech seemed to desert her at every turn, nodded at him solemnly.

He balanced on one forearm and stroked his other hand down the side of her face to cup her chin. “Then I have struck an invaluable bargain, indeed, sweet Farra.”

Hearing her name in his needy whisper made her shiver. This time with anticipation and not the persistent undermining terror she had felt before. This moment, this situation was right. Even if everything else had been so, so wrong. She did want this, she wanted him, after all. The apprehension and horror she had experienced over the last two cycles faded to the back of her mind and she raised her lips to his, lifting herself up from the floor to feel his body all along her own.

The growling moan that her capitulation wrenched from him was erotic in the extreme. The sound low and guttural, full of wanting. He redoubled his efforts, caressing, kissing her, pressing her down into the flat cushions with his strong, athletic body. They were still half clothed and he was quickly becoming frustrated with that fact.

He moved against Farra and slid his hand behind her, under the waistband of her pajamas and cupped her buttock. He kneaded her supple ass, the movement of his hand lowering her bottoms, exposing more and more of her body to his touch.

She was so caught up in pleasure, that she wasn’t aware of being completely naked under him until he lifted her legs one at a time so that he was on his knees between them. He sat back on his heels, watching her.

Ezra ceased touching her and stayed there, like a man at a holy altar. Farra was spread out on the floor, eyes glazed and unfocused, hair a mess, splayed around her head like a gold halo, her chest heaving. The fierce hammer of her heart was clear in the vibration of the yielding arc of her breasts. Her waist and belly perfectly curved, the triangle of curls over her sex glistened with the wetness he had teased from her.

For once, Ezra seemed to be at a loss for words. Instead of his usual persuasive staccato, he simply reached forward and took her hands, placing them on his narrow hips above the waistband of his pants. The invitation implied, not spoken aloud. If this was what she wanted, if this was something more than a mercenary bargain, he wanted her to take the next step.

Farra hooked her fingers into the elastic and pulled with no hesitation. His cock sprang free of the fabric, erect and laid nearly flat against his body. He was that hard. For me, she thought, and unconsciously wet her lips. She couldn’t look away.

When she licked her lips, his penis gave a small jerk and he said, “We will have time for that later, my dear. For now let us just enjoy this languorous initiation.” His grin couldn’t have been wider.

She looked up at him, not completely understanding his reference at first. Then it hit her and her face, neck and breasts flushed. The bright color spread under her pallor, but she smiled back at him and laughed a little. It was all the invitation he needed.

Ezra lowered himself until he was resting part of his weight on Farra’s small frame, their bellies together. Her feet were planted on the floor and her knees rose on either side of his hips as he lay between them. His hard length rubbed against her pubic hair and the wetness over her clitoris. She was so sensitized that she drew in a quick breath at the contact. She took advantage of having him right above her to kiss him there. His silky chest hair tickled her lips and she did it again, a little harder. His sharp intake of breath was music to her ears.

He locked eyes with her as he reached between them, drawing his fingers over her slick vulva. The hot, wet folds parted easily and he slid his middle finger farther inside without any resistance. He held her gaze as he stroked her insistently.

Farra made sharp keening noises she was not even aware of. She tried to lift her hips, to take more of him into herself, needing the feeling of, something, inside her. But he held her firmly to the floor, not letting her move. This was his show and she was the object of his attention. Right now, he would do what he wanted, and she would accept it.

“Just relax, sweetheart. Give me a little of your trust. Upon my oath, you will not regret it,” he uttered into the shell of her ear. He took her earlobe between his teeth and pulled gently.

She did relax, then, against all odds, and let his touch and the barest rake of his teeth on her skin take her to new heights. Her hands roamed his sleek, muscled back, over the sharp wings of his shoulder blades. She reveled in the feel of his skin. It was damp with perspiration, but smooth under her fingertips and so wonderfully warm.

He moved his finger in and out of her, and Farra felt some discomfort. Not enough to override the pleasure, but a mild pinch inside of herself. Her vagina was so tight around him, as it was, but he added another finger, scissoring and stretching her further. Ezra worked her like that, getting her used to him.

She was so slick that he gasped against her breast, where he was kissing her, worshipping her. His thumb brushed her most sensitive bud and she bucked against him involuntarily. Ezra’s grip on her kept her from moving much, but she was entranced with every sensation. Something was building inside of her and she had never felt this way before.

Their bodies writhed together, the perspiration from their shared actions making them glow under the sensor lights. Farra hooked her legs behind Ezra’s back, ran her hands over his shoulders and finally found her voice.

“Please, Ezra. Please, I want...I want you to…” She breathed.

He couldn’t resist this opportunity to make her acknowledge her need, “What do you want, Farra?” He asked, and pushed into her, holding still. Withholding his caresses and any further stimulation.

She bit her lip and her eyes rolled upward, “I want you,” she said, hoping she wouldn’t have to say it.

“Do you want me to fuck you, Farra?” He asked harshly.

“Yes,” she groaned, trying to make him push his fingers further into her needy hole.

“Then ask me nicely. Say please. Say it for me,” he demanded, ravaging her throat, leaving dark suckling marks as he kissed her.

“Please fuck me,” Farra begged him. “Please, please fuck me!” She was so far gone that she would have said anything to him to get to the peak she felt was just outside of her grasp. To make his hands move over her body again.

With that, Ezra began to guide his thick length inside her. His earlier efforts had gotten her pussy so wet that her creamy juices flowed around his rock hard cock and coated her all the way down her ass. He shut his eyes and beads of sweat gathered at his hairline as he tried to hold himself in check. Her walls clenched around the tip of his swollen member pressing into her, deeper and deeper, chasing that sensation of her body’s need for him.

Farra panted repeatedly, “Oh, oh, oh,” like a chant. She tried to do as he had said and willed herself to relax as he invaded her body. The stretch of him inside of her was such a strong, sweet feeling, but he was so big. The slickness he had coaxed from her was her only salvation. She kept her hips still under his, not wanting to ruin anything through her inexperience. The muscles inside of her were firing rhythmically, the way they did when she touched herself in private. It had always felt good when she used her fingers on herself, but this was much more powerful. The friction of his hot, hard cock inside of her raised that feeling to new peaks.

Ezra paused as he felt resistance against the sensitive head of his penis, knowing he would hurt her, but wanting this too much. She had begged him, for Kevva’s sake! He also trusted that he could bring her back, too, to the pleasure he felt coursing around him. The shiver of her body under his as he took her told him that her need was great.

“Little bird,” he said gravely, using the name to hopefully show her this was not a mean thing he intended to do. “Little bird, there will be some pain for you now, but that is the way of the world. I do not take joy in this, but if you will trust me, joy we may have.” He gazed at her earnestly, his eyes centimeters from her own. He held her immobile under him as he waited, in pain and pleasure, for her acknowledgement.

Farra nodded and Ezra claimed her mouth in a deep kiss as he thrust himself fast into her. The sharp pain drew a cry from her, but it was muffled by his lips on hers. She felt so full, so overstimulated. The pain subsided quickly, but it was still a shock after all the indulgent touches and sweet pleasure he had brought from her body.

When her breathing became regular again, Ezra allowed himself to slide in and out in slow strokes. He angled his movement to drag himself across her clitoris, building her arousal again. She arched her back with each thrust, each time drawing him over that part of her that was more alive than she had ever been able to achieve before. Instinctively, she moved with him, as he delved harder into her pussy.

He began to talk to her then, but she couldn’t keep up with what he was saying. Filthy things he wanted to do to her, descriptions of what he was doing that moment, how she felt, wrapped around him, her wetness, her drooling cunt, he called it. How he loved to feel her squeezing his cock. He went on and on. She shuddered and felt herself coming apart. Her pussy clenched and tightened, drawing his length into her again and again as she saw stars and swirls of color behind her eyelids. Her whole body tingled and vibrated and she cried out over and over, “Oh!! Oh my god!” as she came.

The overwhelming feelings were still at their peak when she felt Ezra change from his steady rhythm with a sharp cry. He began thrusting into her harder even than before, holding her body to his firmly. His actions drew more and stronger contractions from her dripping hot pussy and she screamed in earnest; a wordless expression of her overwhelming pleasure as she felt the searing wetness of his cum spurt inside of her. He seated himself fully inside of her, withdrawing only slightly each time his cock pulsed against her walls, nearly in time with her own internal spasms. They wound down their movements in sync, slowing and then finally ceasing altogether.

Ezra collapsed on top of her, completely spent. They lay there, wet from their exertion and arousal, exhausted. Farra smiled when she realized he had actually stopped talking.

“Hey,” she said, after a minute or two of the silence. Her voice cracked, “You’re kind of crushing me.” The air had been pushed out of her lungs and she had trouble drawing a breath under the weight of him.

His arms shook as he lifted himself off her and shifted to her side, disengaging their bodies. Ezra was flushed underneath his naturally olive skin color, and his hair was soaked with sweat. Farra lay flat, breathing deeply, and he adjusted himself to rest his head on her chest.

How interesting, she thought. She felt his need to be held almost psychically. It was as if the afterglow of their lovemaking had given her some odd insight into this contradiction of a man. He spoke and spoke, and said utterly filthy things to her, used her body and made her feel so many things in the process. He killed and stole and bargained. And all along, some part of him craved this. He needed this attention from her.

This is an essential thing to him, she thought, and wrapped her arm around his neck, draping it over his shoulder, gathering his overheated body to hers. He laid his arm over her abdomen and cuddled her close. The light from the primary planet reflected through the window, illuminating both of them, naked and spent on the floor of their tiny pod.

#ezra (prospect)#ezra (prospect 2018)#ezra/original female character #ezra (prospect)/original female character #m/f #non-con #non-con to con

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something-tofightfor · 2 years ago

Text

Root Pearl: Intro

Pairing: Eventual Ezra x female reader - musician AU

Word Count: 5,241

Rating: M. Language, death, bodily injury, angst, allusions to sex but nothing graphic. There’s a lot here - but I don’t want to give too much away. If you have questions, feel free to message me and I can answer before you read.

** This chapter will be the darkest. From here on out, it gets much, much less distressing **

Summary: Loss impacts people in different ways, and Ezra is no stranger to hardships - but this time is different. After a potentially career-ending injury to his arm, Ezra is forced to confront a very different future than he’d imagined for himself... and figure out who exactly he wants to be.

Blanket warnings: loss of a parent, character death, survivor’s guilt, learning to deal with the loss of a limb, infidelity (not Reader w/Ezra), blood, bodily injury, heavy angst.

Author’s note: I have no idea why I haven’t written a musician AU yet with as many concerts I’ve been to as and as much as I love live music, but here we are. There’s something about Ezra and playing a guitar that just makes sense to me, and I think he’d be amazing at it.

Anyway, a few housekeeping things:

Cee is 18 here. The original Prospect script says Ezra is 45, but I don’t think he looks 45; I HC he’s about 35-37. This takes place on Earth, but I’m going to take some liberties with including Prospect-specific places, plants, etc, as well as advanced medical techniques. Just go with it - I promise it won’t be too jarring.

The POV switches between characters. And if I missed anything when I edited each POV to be consistent, please let me know. I’m sure I did, even though I edited a bunch of times.

ANYWAY. Enough. Enjoy. Tell me what you think if you want. (But don’t make fun of me for my shitty banner because even though graphic design is my passion that doesn’t mean I’m good at it)

A 'root pearl' is another name for an aurelac gem, and the most precious part of the whole plant. These pearls are valuable, vary in size and clarity, and need to be handled carefully in order to be worth anything of value.

One wrong move can compromise the entire thing, rendering it worthless in an instant.

She smells the smoke even before she opens her eyes.

Shit. Groaning as she tries to lift one arm, she realizes that there’s something on top of her, preventing the motion. What did… what’s going on?

Cee’s eyes open all the way as the smell of the smoke intensifies, her vision obscured by the haze of it in the air and something wet dripping into her eyes. Blood. It’s blood, it … The girl turns her head, the grit of the road crunching beneath her cheek - and in that moment, she realizes what the heaviness on top of her is. “Ezra?” Panicking, she struggles beneath the weight of him, heart pounding as she forces one arm up and underneath his shoulder, searching for purchase on his torso. “Ezra, get up. Come on.”

She can hear the flames now, her eyes darting to the side and a low wail escaping her lips as she sees - for the first time - what used to be the Rock Jumper, the van that had taken them between shows and cities for the previous weeks. It is on its side and completely engulfed in flames - no more than twenty feet from them, the equipment trailer no longer attached. Fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck. Still struggling with the weight of the man on top of her, Cee’s hand slips in something warm, and when her eyes land on Ezra again, she realizes that the blood is probably not coming from one of her wounds.

Instead, she fights back a choked sob as she sees that Ezra’s right arm is mangled, the ends of his shirtsleeve tattered and soaked, sticking to the skin. Is that bone? I can see bone, he… There are tears streaming down her face and mixing with the blood, the girl’s only concern getting out from beneath Ezra, who, at least as far as she can tell, hasn’t responded in any way since she came to. “Ezra, wake up.” As gently as she can, she eases the man onto his back, rolling toward him with a grunt and freeing his other arm - the one that had been trapped beneath her body. That one is uninjured, but the hand still flops uselessly against the street as it settles. “Ezra, I…”

Another gasp leaves her lips as she sees another wound on his stomach, the material of his shirt glistening in the flickering light of the flames; light brown material darkened by the blood soaking through it. My phone. I need to call someone. Call help, get us… She whimpers again and forces herself to her knees, the torn denim of her jeans doing little to protect her from the rough ground. What’s that? She can smell more than the flames and the coppery tinged scent of Ezra’s blood - there’s also the smell of gasoline in the air, the liquid likely pooling beneath the wrecked vehicle and slowly moving outward as the puddle grows. I have to get him away from here.

She glances down at Ezra, her lower lip trembling - and then Cee pushes to her feet, ignoring the twinge of pain in her back, the sting of what are likely numerous cuts and bruises all over her body - and hooks her hands beneath Ezra’s shoulders, dragging him away from the vehicle as far as she can.

That distance is only about fifty additional feet, but it has to be enough, because the girl can’t pull him any further before her arms give out and a searing pain runs up her back. “Ezra.” She tries again, sobbing out his name and kneeling next to his body, her shaking hand pressed against his chest as she goes absolutely still, feeling for a heartbeat. “Ezra, please.” There are more tears as she bends over, ear as close to his mouth as she can get.

There is nothing. She can’t feel his body moving, can’t hear even a rattling breath, and her hands are shaking so badly that detecting a heartbeat is impossible. There’s no response to the sound of his name… and so Cee stands, twisting away from the man and taking three steps back toward the van, shielding her eyes as she faces the heat from the flames. “Dad?” Her voice weak, she tries again after a few more steps, a little louder. “Dad! Luke?” She crouches, peering into the front of the van - the hood partially crushed, glass mostly broken out, the remaining portion of it nothing more than a spiderweb of cracks. “D…dad?” Cee blinks, inching even closer, and finally sees the gaping hole on what used to be the passenger side of the van, torn and jagged, the door partially ripped from its hinges. That has to be where we came out. Me and Ezra, we -

But her thoughts are interrupted by a low rumble and then only moments later, the van explodes, the rest of it going up in a ball of flames, the heat traveling the distance to where she stands and singing her eyelashes, forcing her back a few steps. It’s instinct - the way she turns away, shielding her face as another sob escapes her, the roar of the fire drowning out the noises she’s making. They’re dead. There’s no way they survived that.

And so, without looking back at what used to be their home-on-the-road, Cee moves toward Ezra again, dropping to her knees and leaning forward, shoulders hunched. She takes five seconds to compose herself, then reaches into her pocket with a shaking hand, fingers fumbling as they close around the phone that somehow is still there, though as she pulls it out, she sees that the screen is shattered.

But it doesn’t matter as she uses a fingertip to unlock it, dialing the emergency number and holding it up to her ear, both eyes closed and her free hand fisting the sleeve of Ezra’s shirt between her fingers. I’m here. I’m right here if you can feel this. It rings three times and then there is a voice on the other end, asking what her emergency is - and somehow, Cee answers.

“My name is Cee. I’m on… I don’t… I don’t know where I am, but there’s been an accident. The van’s on fire and they’re all dead, and Ezra is …” Her eyes open and when she looks down, he still hasn’t moved, but there’s a wet puddle slowly growing larger beneath his arm, the viscous liquid still oozing from his stomach. “He’s bleeding. He’s bleeding and -” With a gasp, she pauses, grip on the device tightening as she tries to listen to the person’s questions on the other end, the calm demeanor helping just enough to make it possible.

She manages to tell them more - what city they left and where they were going, an approximate time of departure, the last time she remembered checking her phone before the accident - and then, finally, the voice tells her that they’ve been able to narrow down the location based on her cell phone’s signal. For the first time since she woke, Cee feels a spark of hope as the person continues to talk, telling her that they’ve sent everyone necessary to help, and that at most, they’re ten minutes away.

The spark grows when she hears a low groan from beneath her, the arm inside of the sleeve she’s still grasping moving as the muscles tighten. The phone falls from her hand and the screen shatters further on the ground, but Cee doesn’t care, because when she looks down, Ezra’s got his eyes open and he’s trying to speak, the man’s lips parted. “B-Birdie?” He blinks slowly and when he tries to move his head she reaches out, using both hands to stabilize it, telling him to stop.

“We were in an accident, Ezra. Don’t move.” It’s the most coherent thing she’s said or thought since she woke up, and when his eyes finally lock on hers, there’s recognition in them. “I don’t know how hurt you are. I had to move you away, but…” She’s crying harder, the tears dropping from her eyes and onto his cheeks, and when Ezra tries to smile, her tears turn into sobs, the girl ducking her head down without moving her hands from the sides of his face. “Please don’t die on me, Ezra. Don’t -”

“I won’t.” It’s still quiet, but she hears the words, followed by a short, barking laugh. When she raises her head to look at him again, his eyes are closed, and there’s a new trail of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth - but Ezra is still smiling, the upward curve of his lips visible even in the dark.

“They’re coming. They’re coming, Ezra, and -” Another racking sob tears through her body, and even though she knows it’s probably wishful thinking, Cee hears what just might be the approaching of sirens in the distance - though it’s hard to tell over the sound of the roaring flames.

—

Three months later

“Want to meet me for lunch today?” Jillian’s head popped up over the partition between your desks, her smile wide. “There are food trucks on the plaza and we can eat outside.”

“Yes.” Grinning back, your eyes flicked from the computer screen to your coworker - and best friend. “We should enjoy the weather while we can.” With a nod, she sat back down, letting you return to your work.

The two of you worked customer service for one of the largest travel companies in the region, and even though your job is fun, you needed the meal break to reset more often than not. According to the clock on your monitor, you still have over an hour to go before you can head out, so after shifting around in your seat to get more comfortable, you returned your hands to your keyboard and clicked your headset on.

An hour and fifteen minutes later, you and Jillian were sitting at a table on the plaza, lunch in hand. It was a gorgeous day out - the sun high in the sky, occasionally obscured by giant, puffy clouds. It was warm but not hot, the leaves above you rustling in a gentle breeze. The two of you talked while you ate, the other woman telling you a story about her brother in law that was interrupted by a phone call.

When she stepped away to answer, you reached for your own device, thumbing it unlocked and navigating to one of your social media accounts - which had multiple new alerts.

A few of them were mundane, comments and likes from friends and family… but a series of them was not, and your eyes widened as you read through them - and the posts they were in response to. The lightness of your mood waned slightly as you clicked on the account name, navigating to the other profile, and it all but disappeared as you scrolled slowly through the most recent posts even though you’d seen them before. “What’s that look for?” Jillian slid back into the seat across from you, setting her phone down. “Did something happen?” Yeah. It might have.

“Look.” Tapping backwards to get to your notification feed, you turned your phone to face your friend, biting down on your lower lip. “She must be going through posts that are tagged with… with the band.” Jillian’s intake of breath was audible and the tightening of her jaw visible, but she stayed quiet, her eyes scanning the screen. “She liked everything that I posted from when they were here a couple months ago.”

Pulling the phone away, you darkened the screen, setting it down. “Have you seen anything about him? Or her? Since -”

“Ezra’s still recovering.” Tapping your fingers on the tabletop, you shook your head briefly. “They haven’t really updated much since he was released from the hospital, just said that he’s doing alright a few times, and Cee posted a picture of the two of them back at his place a couple weeks ago, but…” But nothing else. “The other members of The Fringe talked about doing some sort of benefit show, but they haven’t planned it yet.”

“It’s gotta be tough.” Jillian sipped her drink, swallowing before she continued. “Especially for her. She wasn’t even hurt, right?”

“No. Just scrapes.” You looked at your phone again, thinking. “I can’t even imagine what -” What either of them are going through right now. “I’m glad that she’s feeling alright enough to look through pictures and videos from the tour, though.”

It had shocked you - and other fans of both The Fringe and Ezra’s solo career - when the news came out that the band had been in an accident on their way between cities, Damon and Luke not making it away from the crash site alive and Ezra’s injuries so severe that they’d needed to amputate an arm. You remembered reading the updates - about how touch and go it had been in the first few days after it happened. But he lived.

As more and more news came out about the accident and what caused it, the shock turned into anger on the part of some due to the fact that Damon’s toxicology reports showed that he’d been high at the time of the crash. Police reports made it clear that the man’s physical state likely caused it in the first place, which changed the scope of the accident. It was no less tragic - but the fact that it could have been prevented didn’t sit well with a lot of people.

As a result, Cee had laid low, the girl’s post frequency decreasing to almost nothing for over a month until she’d uploaded the one of her and Ezra, both of them smiling though they looked tired. She’d posted about her father shortly after the accident, though, a slideshow of pictures and a request that people honor his memory by letting her grieve in peace. Even though it wasn’t the girl’s fault that her father had been impaired while driving, you knew how people could be - and you hoped that she wasn’t taking the brunt of the blame for what he’d done since she was the only one around to see it. “Hey.” Jillian touched your arm, saying your name. “You alright?”

“Yeah. Just thinking.” You pointed at your phone. “It’s still crazy to think that we saw them on that tour, you know? Just a couple weeks before -”

“You should message her.” Jillian chewed a bite of her sandwich, nodding. “Tell her that you have that whole song on video, the one that Ezra asked you not to post anywhere because it wasn’t done?” Oh, shit, I do. “It hasn’t showed up from any other show, right?”

“Not that I’ve seen.” You eyed your phone, thinking. “But why would -”

“Because it’s something that she wouldn’t have otherwise.” Jillian stood, reaching for her trash. “And it’s her dad playing the drums for a song that probably won’t ever get recorded in a studio, so it might mean a lot to her.” She straightened up, eyes on you. “All you can do is ask. The worst she can say is no.”

—

Later that night, you were laying on your bed, stretched out and in your pajamas. Jillian’s suggestion had been running through your mind since earlier that afternoon, and you’d considered her words carefully.

If you were Cee, you would have wanted to have the video, even if only for later, when the pain of loss wasn’t so fresh. You would have appreciated someone reaching out to you and making the offer, even if they were a stranger. Scrolling through the images from that night, you smiled at the screen when you got to one of Ezra, one of the man’s hands cradling the neck of his guitar, the fingers of the other one wrapped around the mic stand as he looked out and over the crowd. He was smiling, lit up from behind in a halo of golden orange light, and you’d debated making it your phone’s wallpaper for a day or so before deciding not to - for multiple reasons.

Scrolling a little more, you found the video, using one finger to turn the volume up after you pressed play, eyes on the screen.

“We’re going to play a new song for you right now if you don’t mind.” Ezra cleared his throat, gesturing at the crowd. “I assure you that it still needs a great deal of work before I take it to the studio, but I thought…” He trailed off, looking over his shoulder at Luke - or Number 2 as he was called onstage, and then back at Damon before facing the crowd again. “But if there’s a better place for its grand debut than the city I call home, I surely don’t know where that place might be.” He flicked the pick against the strings, wetting his lips as the lingering notes played through the PA system. “I have yet to pick a suitable title, but …”

The song began with quiet guitar, and then just before Ezra’s vocals kicked in, so did the drums and bass. Even though it was an unfamiliar song, you could feel the emotion behind the lyrics - the haunting quality of his voice during the quiet parts of the song echoed by Damon on the drums every so often. When he really opened up, Ezra stepped away from the microphone and bent over to play the guitar, he kept his eyes on his hands. Head bowed, he shook back and forth, the blonde patch in his hair flashing in the backlights, too.

It wasn’t a long song, but it was clearly full of meaning. Ezra’s lips pressed right up against the microphone when he began crooning into it again, eyes halfway closed and both hands working the instrument he held, coaxing gorgeous music from the strings almost effortlessly. And as the music died down and Ezra’s eyes opened again, he looked down and locked eyes with you. His smile grew, one brow arching so high that it almost disappeared into the dark curls resting against his brow.

“Capturing my performance for your own satisfaction, hmm?” The camera jerked but remained focused on him, and Ezra continued, taking a deep breath and bringing one hand up to run his fingers through his hair, the other still gripping the mic stand. “Might I make a request?” He paused, still staring directly at you. “Please keep that one for your eyes only. It is not a finished version, and I would be much obliged if it wasn’t available everywhere.” Ezra paused again as the crowd cheered, his gaze moving away briefly and then returning to you, a knowing smile on his lips. “You’ll have my unending gratitude for keeping that song just for us.”

The video ended there, Ezra winking at you as the crowd began to cheer again. Even though you’d known that it was a show - that it was just who he was, the man being charming and inviting to encourage the crowd, you’d allowed yourself to react to his words, your body growing warm at the thought that by using the word us, he’d meant you two specifically, and not the hundreds of other people in the crowd.

But it didn’t matter who he’d been talking to - you had the recording. You had the interaction on camera, had a high quality version of an unfinished, unreleased song on your phone… and he knew it. Or at least he knew it then. Sighing, you closed out of the video and opened your social media, clicking on Cee’s account and then creating a new message, fingers hesitating over the keyboard. “Just send it,” you whispered to yourself. “The worst thing she can do is ignore it.”

The words flowed from your fingers, and even though you tried to keep the message short and to the point, it ended up longer than you intended.

Cee -

Let me start by saying that I am very, very sorry for your loss. I hope you’re taking the time you need to heal, and that you have good people around you for support. You don’t know me, but I saw that you liked some of the pictures from a concert I was at a few months ago earlier today. I have more pictures from the show, and I also wanted to offer to send you a video that I have from it of a song that Ezra said he was still working on. I recorded the whole thing, but he asked me not to post it anywhere (as you’ll see if you watch), and so I haven’t. Your dad’s drumming is a big part of the video, and I thought you might want to have it for yourself - if not to watch now, to keep for the future.

If you’d rather not see it, don’t feel like you have to respond to this. I just wanted to make the offer. If you do want the video, you can message back and let me know where to send it. It should fit into an email, even though it’s pretty high quality so the file’s big.

I really enjoyed your dad’s music, Cee. He was a talented drummer. And again, I know that you don’t know me, but I’ve been thinking of you (and Ezra) since the accident, and hoping that you’re both doing alright.

Take care of yourself.

Before you could second guess it, you signed your name and pressed send. Your heart thumped in your chest as you stared at the screen, the ‘delivered’ indicator popping up beneath the sent message. Clicking back to her main page, you opened the photo of her and Ezra, turning your brightness up and staring at it, trying to keep your expression even. I hope she replies back. Zooming in on the girl’s face, you let out a breath. I hope she - “What’s going on? You’re holding that phone really close.”

Startled, your fingers moved away from the screen, and the image snapped back to its original size as you looked away from your phone and at the man that had entered the room. “Nothing. I just sent a message over to Cee… the girl that was working as -”

“Yeah, Damon’s daughter.” He moved closer to where you were, using a small towel to dry his hair and the back of his neck. “You decided to send it?”

“I did, Robbie.” Darkening the screen, you set the phone down on your nightstand after pulling yourself up into a sitting position. “She probably won’t respond, but I figured I’d try.” He tossed the towel into the hamper and then climbed into bed with you, rolling onto his side and propping his head up with one hand. “What?

“Did you message him, too? The singer? Ezra?” No, why would I? “He might be able to get it to her.

“Maybe.” You turned the light off, laying down and rolling to face him, shrugging. “But it’s not up to him to decide what she sees or wants, because she’s not his daughter - and she’s an adult. She’s the one that liked the posts, so she’s the one I messaged.” You paused as the man’s hand slid up your side, palm against your skin beneath the shirt you wore. “Besides, he hasn’t updated anything in months, not since he posted the thank you for all the support while he was in the hospital.” You didn’t even think that Ezra was behind that post, and figured that it had either been Cee or his manager - the only other person in the tour group to survive the crash, thanks to the man driving separately between venues.

“You should just post it and tag her.” He pulled you closer, the man’s lips warm against your cheek as his hand traveled higher on your side. “What are they gonna do?” What? Why would I do that?

“He asked me not to.” You sighed, hoping that he hadn’t felt your momentary pause. “So I’m not going to.” The thought hadn’t crossed your mind even after the accident - the idea of having a video that no one else did more appealing than fifteen minutes of fame and a little bit of Internet clout. And definitely better than him getting pissed it was released before it was ready. “Simple as that.”

Robbie hummed against your skin, though he didn’t say anything else, his hands still roaming upward. When the two of you separated twenty minutes later and he rolled away from you, leaving you in the bed to catch your breath while he headed into the bathroom, you weren’t thinking of Ezra or Cee or the unreleased song anymore.

—

It’s late and she can’t sleep again, so Cee is out on Ezra’s balcony, a fluffy blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The city stretches out in front of her, thousands of lights twinkling underneath a cloudy, moonless sky, cars moving over the roads below. She napped earlier, during the hour while Ezra’s physical therapist had been in the apartment and she’d been certain that he wouldn’t need anything from her. But from the moment the overly friendly woman had knocked on the door of her bedroom to say goodbye, Cee was wide awake, laser focused on the man that she lived with.

He doesn’t ask for much and what he does ask for, she’s happy to give, especially after what he did for her. What he sacrificed for me. She ducks her head, resting her cheek atop one knee and thinks of the man sleeping a few rooms away - the man that has been more of a father figure to her in the few years she’s known him than Damon was in the eighteen she spent with him. He was the one who protected me.

She’s crying again, like she has so many times in the months since the accident, and even though she knows it will do no good, Cee groans and turns her face to cover it completely in the blanket, telling herself to stop.

“Come back inside, little bird. It’s chilly out, and you forgot your shoes.”

His voice is quiet in the darkness, but there’s an intensity to it, like always, along with a new grittiness that is the result of the man breathing in so much of the smoke from the accident. Cee can’t help straightening up to look at him, Ezra’s arm crossed over his chest, that hand gripping his opposite shoulder. “I thought you were sleeping.” She speaks through her tears, not bothering to wipe them away. “You should be in bed.”

“You, telling me that I need to sleep?” His brow arched, the man looks at her and takes a step closer, head shaking back and forth slowly. “That is a -” She stands, then, pulling the blanket more tightly around her shoulders and giving him a smile as she steps past him and back into the apartment.

He follows her through the living room and into the kitchen, and Cee removes the blanket, draping it over the back of one of the barstools against the counter. “You know what I mean, Ezra.” She reaches into the refrigerator, pulling out two bottles of water and twisting both caps off before sliding one across the counter to the man. They both drink in silence and when he speaks again, Cee listens, her fingers tightening around the plastic container she holds.

“Sleepless nights will do you no good, Cee.” He leans closer and she uses the opportunity to stare at him, eyes moving over his face. He’s thinner now than he used to be, cheeks not as full and his clothes are hanging loosely off of his body, but he’s still Ezra, right down to the scruffiness of his beard and the warmth in his eyes. “I have no regrets about what happened that night. I would do it again without hesitation.” He reaches for her then, his hand closing over one of hers. “I made my decision, and I will live with it, but that doesn’t mean that you have to.” She understands what he means and there are days when she believes it, but they are few and far between - and this isn’t one of them.

“Ezra, I…” Her chin drops, the girl taking a deep breath. “I need time. I just…” She sighs again and then looks back at him, eyes shining with tears. “I need to see you get better before I -”

“You have all the time you need, little bird.” He squeezes her hand and then withdraws his, finally taking a long drink. “I’ll be right here for the foreseeable future, and you know that that means you’re welcome here, too.” She knows this. Cee knows that Ezra will look out for her for as long as is necessary, knows that she’s always got a place with him when she needs it - and that the same would be true even if Damon were still alive. “You should try to get some sleep. Turn off your alarm, put your headphones on and let your mind go adrift.”

“I need to be awake to -” He stops her with another shake of his head, hand flattening on the countertop.

“I can take care of myself, you know. I appreciate the help, but I am capable, Cee.” Ezra’s smile is genuine, the man sipping from the bottle of water again before he continues. “A little less capable than a few months ago, but still…” He looks down at the place right arm used to be and so does she, and then Cee is moving around the counter to stand next to him, her arms going around the man’s body, cheek landing against his chest.

“I know, Ezra. But I…” He hugs her back, his one-armed embrace stronger than it was only a week or two earlier, and Cee dares to hope that it means he actually is getting better, even if it doesn’t seem like it all the time. “Alright.” She sighs, standing straight up again. “I’ll turn my alarm off and try to sleep in.” He smiles at her, the man stepping back and gesturing down the hall. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

He agrees, and after she grabs the blanket she heads back to her room, shutting the door and climbing into bed, the darkness comforting. She’s beginning to drift when she remembers that she’s supposed to turn her alarm off, and when Cee blindly grabs for her phone, she squints at the brightness of the screen.

With some hesitation, she turns it off and then opens her main social media account, clearing the usual notifications. Maybe I should still… no. He said to sleep in. Just as she’s about to close the app, she notices that she has an unread message request. It’s not a new occurrence, and she is wary, but when she sees the account name, she vaguely recognizes it.

When she clicks on it, she knows exactly who it is.

And by the time she’s finished reading the message, she is intrigued, though she decides not to respond right away. Cee decides to take Ezra’s advice - and get as good a night of sleep as she can before deciding whether or not she wants to see the additional pictures and video. As she finally falls asleep, Cee hears Ezra’s voice in her head, and for once she agrees completely: she’s got all the time she needs.

—

tag list coming separately!

#ezra prospect #ezra x reader #pedro pascal #ezra (prospect) x reader #pedrostories #ezra au #prospect au #musician au #ezra (prospect) au #root pearl #root pearl masterlist #ezra masterlist #pedro pascal masterlist #tw: death #tw: blood #tw: car accident #tw: loss of limb #tw: survivor's guilt

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wyofabdoms · 3 years ago

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History

Chapter 1 - Job Description

Characters: Ezra x OFC

Summary: After their escape from The Green, Ezra and Cee seek work elsewhere. One fateful job opportunity reunites Ezra with his childhood best friend and love of his life. But so much has changed for both of them over the years...yet some things haven't changed at all.

Rating: Teen/brief Mature (explicit eventually)

Warnings: angst, unrequited love, childhood friendship, lost love, mention of canonical injury, flashbacks, multiple POV

Word Count: 2349

Notes: My first Prospect fic...I'm super intimidated to write Ezra. His style of speaking and the world of the Prospect movie is so vast and rich. I hope I can do both it and Ezra a little justice.

This story will be told from multiple POVs, both Ezra's and my original female character's, Claire. I'm also using flashbacks so I'm hoping it doesn't get too convoluted or confusing.

There will be lots of angst and will turn smutty eventually. It has not been beta'd so please let me know of any glaring mistakes you might spot.

As always, feedback is greatly appreciated. Thanks in advance.

Be well!

Huge thank you to @gaiuswrites for encouraging me to actually start writing this.

Read on AO3

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Ezra was pressing the heel of his hand between his eyes when he heard a familiar chirp call his name for the second time from across the crowded, buzzing maintenance dock. He and Cee had been companions now for almost a full seasonal rotation. Cee, for all of her saving graces, was still young and at times he found her youthful energy grating on his weathered outlook. He admired the girl's attitude and pluck most all of the time. Sometimes, though, when he felt the throbbing ache of his missing arm, when it enveloped his whole chest and torso and made it difficult to breath normally and leaked flaming tension up into his neck and shoulders and caused his head to ache and his eyes to blur, he found it extremely difficult to tolerate the young woman’s incessant optimism. He’d spotted her out of the corner of his eye as he’d tried to clear the spots swimming behind them, seen her practically skip across the threshold of the hanger, waving something over her head at him. He’d taken a deep breath, trying to shoving down the snarl of irritation he felt with the press of his hand, waiting to hear what jewel of information she’d come across that she was so eager to share with him. He jolted for a moment as he attempted to use both hands to press over each eye; he was yet again violently reminded that he was no longer complete.

After their successful escape from the Green, the pair had naturally stuck together and they had both begrudgingly discovered that they made a good team off planet as well as on; Ezra had been rather shocked at how easily they had managed to fall into a comfortable and pleasant partnership (present irritation notwithstanding) and more than once he had counted himself lucky for the girl’s numerous acts of mercy on him those multi-cycles ago out there on that cursed planet. Without her, he’d be a pile of bones decaying in his suit. Now, often thanks to Cee’s fortitude and cleverness (and two good working arms contrasted with Ezra’s one) they had been hopscotching from one hub to another, scrimping and managing to stay afloat on the odd job. He would never be able to adequately tell the girl how humbling it was and how much it meant to him when, on every job, an employer’s scrutinizing gaze would assess her strong figure, then shift to him, stopping abruptly at his shoulder. Once a potential hire noticed his missing appendage, their interested gaze inevitably turned to doubt….or worse yet: dismissal or disgust. It had become a regular added step in acquiring work that often left them both frustrated and angry, both seething at the unfair assessment. Despite those moments, though, Cee always championed that the two of them were a package deal, she refused to accept a job unless there was work assured for Ezra, too. On the rare moment that Ezra was the one wheeling and dealing on the job hunt, he always repaid her the same kindness. He had been able to do that far less than she, though. Jobs that he would normally have taken...the high risk, nether reaches, isolated jobs...were no longer an option with a young partner like Cee under his purview. So he had reluctantly allowed her more and more to take the lead when it came to job hunting, satisfied in the knowledge that the girl had strong instincts and knew how to challenge both herself and him. She had a knack for sniffing out work that would suit them both and make their efforts worth their time.

“Hey, I found us a job!”

Ezra pulled his head upright, eyebrows raised, saying nothing and waiting to see the work fob she was wagging eagerly in front of his face. “Long term, too. Looks a little on the domestic side...seasonal field maintenance on something called Twilaim Root? I’ve never heard of it before, but it seems like the specs on the shipping and sale logs is pretty high...so it must be used for a lot…”

Ezra didn’t hear anymore of her chatter.

His mind was suddenly flooded with memory, an onslaught of sensory overload. The smell and haze of Twilaim husk smoke floating over still waters in the late evenings, chirping Mig worms seeking to fertilize the slimy interior of the root in the middle of the cold winter nights, the sound of heavy boots preparing for work in the predawn hours before the sun had even thought to color the sky. Then other memories, ones he hadn’t allowed to awaken in decades: the sound of his mother humming a soft tune into his ear to wake him up. His father’s large but gentle fingers over his own small ones teaching him to tie a line off properly. The rolling of thunder echoing across the water...

And her.

The fire bugs dancing in the sky. The smell of her hair. The feel of her hand in his. The touch of her bare skin, her breath whispering his name into his ear as he pressed himself inside of her.

“Ezra?”

He snapped his eyes up and out of those forsaken memories.

That was a lifetime ago.

“Twilaim, huh? Well, that is extremely fortuitous, partner as it just so happens I have ample experience in working with that particular piece of foliage. On Arameth, I imagine?” Cee checked the data fob, then looked back at him in surprise.

“How’d you know that?”

Ezra stood and began to gather up their few belongings, a silent assent at her job choice.

“I spent most of my early years harvesting Twilaim. It’s used as a base for Twilight Juice. Have you heard of it?” Cee shook her head and as the pair packed up their pod and prepared to request a jump number, Ezra spewed the intricacies of harvesting the plant and the process of distilling the sap to make the highly intoxicating (and addictive) alcohol. By the time they had reached their jump point, Ezra had talked his memories back into the dark and secret spaces of his mind, buried so deeply he prayed they would neve again resurface.

+++++

Two cycles later, Cee and Ezra stepped into a crowded conference hall filled with throngs of workers looking for potential work. Many of the workers had families in tow or, like Ezra, were missing a crucial body part: a finger, a leg, some even an eye or ear. Jobs such as this one were prime targets for laborers that could no longer maintain quota on back-breaking mining jobs or other high risk field work. Despite their tough demeanor, whatever accident had befallen these people, it meant that they could no longer harvest or produce up to par with a fully intact laborer. And so, like Ezra, these unfortunate souls sought work that brought in less pay, but came with more long-term opportunities and benefits.

And jobs like these were rare. Ezra hoped that his experience on the planet and with the cantankerous plant to be harvested would give them an edge over some of the others milling around the large room. Most had crowded around a small dais at the front of the room. No doubt the employer would be making an appearance there soon, laying out numbers: how many workers, hours, payload requirements, medical constraints and so on. These specifics would weed out some of those waiting and they would leave dejectedly, off to seek their next job. Others would stay to sign up, no doubt hoping to snag a limited spot for the seasonal work. Ezra had already updated his workmen’s chit with his experience; he hoped it would flag with the employer and make him a desirable enough candidate for consideration. Not having to waste time and money to train someone could be a profitable benefit. He knew Cee would flourish doing the back-breaking work of planting, maintaining and harvesting the short, stocky plants. But their luck would all depend on how many new workers this particular employer was looking to hire. It was a lottery of sorts-one that could mean life or death for some in the room.

The chattering in the crowd fell silent as a trio entered from a door behind the dais. Ezra couldn’t see them clearly from where he and Cee stood in the back, but he took note of the well dressed man who stepped up onto the raised platform. He was approximately Ezra’s age, perhaps a few years older, with sandy blonde hair slicked back in such a way as to not look like it had been intentionally styled. His eyes were dark and small…beady; they reminded Ezra of a lizard and he felt an instinctual jab of dislike for the man in his belly. To his dismay, as the blonde man introduced himself, it became clear that this was, in fact, the very employer that he had been was hoping would hire him.

“Welcome folks! We sure are glad for such a great turnout. Now sadly, we won’t be able to take on all of you, as you know. We’re only looking for a limited number of fielders. And, I’m very sorry to say, we don’t have the facilities to adequately house anyone other than single workers...we might be able to arrange one or two couples, but unfortunately we cannot accept family applications at this time.” A quiet groan slipped across the crowd and the disappointment spread like a breeze amongst the group. The crowd shifted as families with young and old children gathered themselves and exited the room. Ezra’s gaze followed one couple with a young boy in tow. He remembered being that young, sitting in a space station hub room not unlike this one as his father spoke with a similar employer, negotiating work for himself, Ezra’s mother and Ezra that had brought them to this very planet.

His life had never been the same after that day.

He pulled his attention back to the blonde man up front. Despite the words of regret that he aimed at the workers in front of him, to Ezra they sounded hollow; though he claimed to be sorry, something glinted in the corners of the man’s eyes: as though he actually revelled in the dismissal of so many desperate people. As the man continued to speak, Ezra’s dislike for him grew stronger; perhaps this job wasn’t worth it after all.

“Now I guess I should introduce myself since I forgot to do that first. My name is Hunter Slates, CEO and General Operating Manager of A & S Distillery, formerly known as Abernathy & Slates Distillery. We serve…”

The man’s voice faded into a dull buzz inside Ezra’s skull.

No.

It couldn’t be. Surely it wasn’t the same Abernathy.

“Ezra? Are you ok?” Cee’s whisper pierced the fuzziness clouding his brain. He glanced down at her concerned face. His neck was suddenly cold and clammy and his knees felt like they would give out at any moment. He imagined his face had paled at the sound of that all too familiar name. He leaned down to whisper to her.

“I don’t think we should-”

“Now like many of you, I was not always familiar with Twilaim.” The voice boomed from the front of the room. ”I fell in love with it about the time that I fell for a beautiful girl who introduced me to her father.” Hunter Slates pulled his lips back in what Ezra imagined was supposed to be a smile but seemed more appropriate to a sneer as he turned and glanced at a figure standing behind him off stage. Ezra’s breathing grew heavy and he felt himself starting to sweat. He felt sick to his stomach. He craned his neck frantically, trying to catch a glimpse of the figure to whom Slates was referring. A soft titter went through the crowd and Slates held his hand out towards the person behind him.

Ezra suddenly felt like he was drowning. He had heard descriptions of panic attacks, though he himself had never experienced one. He wondered if he wasn’t about to have one in this moment as he clawed at Cee’s arm, mumbling that this was a bad idea and began to pull her through the crowd towards the door. Cee hissed at him, trying to keep them from being as disruptive as possible as Slates continued his monologue.

“Yes, folks, it was love of a woman that brought me to the love of the art of Twilaim. And I hope that for a handful of you all, you’ll learn to cherish the art of harvesting and distilling Twilaim just as much as I have learned to cherish my dear wife. Come on up here, Sweet Pea.”

“Ezra, stop! We NEED this job.” Cee’s protests were more forceful now and she yanked her arm out of his grip, turning back towards the stage just as Stales’ wife stepped onto the stage and into Ezra’s line of sight.

He was ten years old all over again.

He smelled the scent of warm earth wafting through the air. Felt the sweat trickling down his back and making his shirt stick to him in places. He imagined hair streaked with copper and tied with a bright, white ribbon. He remembered shiny shoes with buckles.

Ezra tried to turn away, to duck out of the room as the woman on the stage smiled and cast her gaze over the crowd of workers. He realized too late that in trying to exit the room when he had had only succeeded in separating him from the others, he and Cee were now very obvious outliers which drew the woman’s gaze rather than deterred it.

Her eyes shifted towards them and then her whole body went rigid.

Ezra’s eyes locked with hers.

He couldn’t breathe.

And he couldn’t turn away.

He heard himself, ten-years old, sitting at the kitchen table with his mother and promising:

“I met the girl I’m going to marry today!”

Chapter 2

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#ezra (prospect)#ezra x ofc #pedro pascal fanfiction #prospect movie #prospect fanfiction #pedro pascal

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ao3feed-connor · 6 years ago

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the false immortals

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2BeWCNI

by stargirls

Ezra Castelo has just been given the opportunity of a lifetime. CyberLife needs a synthetic designer for their RK800 line, a sleek new prototype with abundant prospects, and they've decided that he's the one for the job.

But it doesn't take long for Ezra to realize that this is no ordinary project. The stakes are much higher than CyberLife is willing to admit, and they're prepared to do whatever it takes to achieve perfection—there's just one thing they haven't counted on.

Words: 18776, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Major Character Death

Categories: Gen

Characters: Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Original Male Character(s), Original Female Character(s), it's ocs all the way down over here

Additional Tags: Pre-Canon, Blood and Gore, of the android variety so it doesn't really count, but better safe than sorry!, Canon-Typical Violence

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2BeWCNI

#ao3feed #fanfic #dbh #dbh connor #detroit: become human

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deviantexe-blog · 6 years ago

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death Characters: Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Original Male Character(s), Original Female Character(s), it's ocs all the way down over here Additional Tags: Pre-Canon, Blood and Gore, of the android variety so it doesn't really count, but better safe than sorry!, Canon-Typical Violence Summary: Ezra Castelo has just been given the opportunity of a lifetime. CyberLife needs a synthetic designer for their RK800 line, a sleek new prototype with abundant prospects, and they've decided that he's the one for the job.

#happy birthday to my beautiful boy #detroit become human #connor #fic #mine

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downinfront · 7 years ago

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The DC Extended Universe is in rebuild mode, and “Justice League” is the first step

In all of sports, there are few terms more loaded than “rebuild.” That’s the euphemism given when a team finds itself mired in mediocrity and decides to pivot away from a win-now mentality, dumping its resources instead into the prospect of winning later. To do that, they’ll usually dump a lot of their tenured veterans in order to free up money, then draft and develop young talent that can provide the core of a contender in a few seasons’ time. The Houston Astros just did it; the Los Angeles Lakers are in the middle of it; the New York Giants are about to do it and the Cleveland Browns have been attempting to do it for what seems like 20 years now. It’s a unique combination of white flag and hopeful eye towards the horizon: We suck now, but we’ll be back in the saddle a couple years down the line.

That’s the DC Extended Universe, and truth be told it has been for a while. The comic-book giant boasts two of the mightiest IPs in the world — Batman and Superman — but its attempt to build a counterpart to Marvel’s bulletproof Cinematic Universe has been a creaky, accursed enterprise since it launched in 2013 with Man of Steel. Under the creative auspices of Zack Snyder (300, Watchmen), DC attempted to shy away from Marvel’s zippy, quippy, made-for-mass consumption franchise machine by grinding out lengthy, humorless epics about gods and men. It wasn’t the worst idea int he world at the time — coming off of Christopher Nolan’s Dark Knight trilogy, the market was still ripe for “gritty” superheroes — but returns on these modern-day tomes have been increasingly diminishing, from the thunderous nonsense of Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice to the bullet-ridden vomitorium of Suicide Squad. (There was, as we know, one glorious exception, which we’ll get to momentarily.) Justice League, the long-awaited culmination of DC’s first wave of movies, doesn’t exactly reverse the trend — it’s fun, both because of and despite how much of a mess it is — but it does contain some long-awaited signs of hope that the franchise is finally willing to throw its original plan out the window and start from scratch.

For one, there’s not a lot of Zack Snyder to be found in this movie, even though he’s technically credited as director. A gifted adapter with a near-unparalleled visual palette, Snyder’s singular vision for the DC Universe certainly provided a viable-on-paper alternative to Marvel’s product, but his two movies — 2013’s Man of Steel and 2016’s Batman v Superman — simply weren’t good enough to pass muster. That his fingerprints have been all but excised from this one is due to some truly horrifying circumstances: The death of Snyder’s daughter forced him to step away from Justice League, and Joss Whedon (The Avengers) took over for writing and directing the reshoots. And this wasn’t some second-unit formality, either: Whedon did enough to get the second script credit after Chris Terrio, and even though Snyder is the only credited director, Justice League feels very much like Whedon’s film. This is occasionally for the worse — he lacks Snyder’s gift for sumptuous visuals and his attempts to replicate them are middling — but even as the stitches show on the movie, Whedon brings out a lighter, funnier side of the characters that Snyder seemed genetically incapable of delivering. He does so by moving the majority of the film away from its hoo-ha of a plot and its two biggest anchors, focusing instead on the four backups who all prove to be infinitely more interesting.

Whether this finally means the end of the great Batfleck experiment remains to be seen — the top-billed star still seems somewhat disinterested here, but he fares better than Batman v Superman because he’s given a bit more to play — but the shift in focus does provide ample opportunity for Gal Gadot to continue on her star turn from Wonder Woman. A utility player brought in from the Fast & Furious franchise to play sixth man in Batman v Superman, Patty Jenkins’ megahit from the summer turned Gadot into a megastar and a feminist icon. Less than two years from starring in B-rate action comedies, Gadot now has the kind of box office pull and cultural cache that hasn’t been seen in a long time. Whedon, who made his name in part on Strong Female Characters, knows he’s got the biggest one in decades on his hands, so it’s surely no accident that Wonder Woman gets most of the best scenes here. One minute she’s slicing and dicing through a horde of malevolent bug men, the next she’s slugging a dickish Master Wayne in the sternum so hard he goes flying across the room. It’s to Affleck’s credit that he seems to be having fun even as his minutes decrease, but it’s the movie that reaps the benefits of the change under center.

Flanking Gadot are a trio of greenhorns who give the movie a jolt of energy each time the plot starts to sag, which, given that this movie has a terrible plot, is often. As The Flash, Ezra Miller is wide-eyed, scared shitless (the bit about how he’s never fought anyone is great) and ultimately thrilled to be there. He’s a caffeinated mix of earnestness and annoyance, and if he were ten years younger Marvel would have scooped him up to be Spider-Man. Jason Momoa reimagines the oft-maligned Aquaman as a hard-drinking swingin’ dick with mommy issues; he’s not around to do much besides slug back whiskey and make fun of Batman’s getup, but you get the sense that the Game of Thrones veteran might have finally found a role worthy of his online reputation. And, as Cyborg, Ray Fisher gets an intriguing, Frankenstinian backstory — he’s a prodigy reborn as a machine with a tenuous grip on his humanity— which he plays with a muted resignation that occasionally spills over into outright panic each time his transformation leaps forward.

Either Whedon recognizes what he has here or realizes he’s got a lot of makeup work to do to give the team the same care he afforded to the Avengers. Either way, he cannily works in a series of scenes with each of these characters that don’t do much to advance the story, but give the actors something to play, the audience something to connect with, and the movie to boast in the way of genuine enjoyment. The most affecting of these is a heart-to-heart between The Flash and Cyborg as they exhume Superman (Henry Cavill) from his grave; the funniest is a scene when Aquaman accidentally sits on Wonder Woman’s Lasso of Truth and tells his new teammates what he really thinks about all of them.

Between those charming non-sequiteurs and his low-key Twitter shade to the movie’s villain, you get the sense Whedon couldn’t give a shit less about Justice League’s plot. But as a previous franchise steward, he knows that no matter his misgivings, he’s got to both deliver a decent movie and right the ship as best he can. There have been way too many missteps on DC’s part for one movie to correct, but it helps that Whedon has a good sense of where to patch the holes. So, he wisely builds upon what worked in the previous films while minimizing what didn’t (Jeremy Irons’ Alfred gets more scenes; Jesse Eisenberg’s Lex Luthor gets less) and even manages to offer some much-needed rehabilitation to their original leading man once Superman is inevitably resurrected.

The question of what to do with the white-bread Man of Steel has been bugging the movies for a while, and while Snyder’s gritty approach was certainly a novel concept, it seems now like the wrong idea at the right time. Cavill cut an imposing presence, but his Kal-El was a morose, occasionally misanthropic demigod who wasn’t afforded the slightest bit of levity even as the adorkable Clark Kent. The man playing him has as much matinee-idol charm as you could want in an actor — The Man From U.N.C.L.E. isn’t quite as good as people online think, but Cavill is a Movie Star in it — but he wasn’t allowed to be half as charming as Christopher Reeve or even Brandon Routh. (Who, as a side note, rebuilt himself as an MVP of DC’s TV universe playing The Atom on Legends of Tomorrow — it’s a fun show and he’s great in it.) Justice League fixes that, giving the Last Son of Krypton a complete personality change once the team brings him back from the dead. It’s not enough to entirely rehabilitate the character, and Cavill is still oddly humorless in the role, but as the fun mid-credits scene with The Flash shows, even a little bit of awkward goofiness goes a long way.

There are more signs of a rebuild outside the movie as well, all of which are harbingers of positive change down the line. Affleck was brought in as a top-flight star to anchor the franchise, but rumors have swirled for a while now that he wants out. Matt Reeves, who’ll write and direct the upcoming The Batman, supposedly has his eye on a replacement already. The upcoming Flash solo movie will reportedly adapt the reality-meddling Flashpoint arc, potentially giving DC the opportunity to make a trade. Coming out of Suicide Squad, Margot Robbie’s Harley Quinn is rumored to be returning in a movie about Gotham City’s villainesses, while the horror/action stylist James Wan (The Conjuring, Furious 7) will tackle the Aquaman solo movie for next year. There’s also the rumors of a set of movies outside the Justice League continuity, both giving DC a chance to adapt its entire Multiverse and start fresh with the characters its already bungled in the runup to Justice League. Jared Leto’s much-maligned Joker might already be getting subbed out for Leonardo DiCaprio in just such a movie.

Of course, there is the lingering doubt that all these efforts may be too little, too late. Generally speaking, rebuild is an exercise in hope, but it’s also a test of fans’ faith in the franchise. Despite a weird Rotten Tomatoes embargo that held off mass consensus for an extra day or two, Justice League was still subjected to a drubbing that muted enthusiasm to a disheartening degree. Box office returns for the first weekend topped out at around $94 million, which is almost unthinkable for a tentpole featuring the two biggest superheroes of all time and a glass-ceiling smashing movie star. Any staying power this movie has will be on word of mouth alone, and while it’s certainly entertaining in a disheveled kind of way, there simply might not be enough there there to warrant two hours and $20 at the multiplex.

It’ll probably do well on cable and Blu-Ray, which feels appropriate and, to a degree, necessary. The DCEU experiment has been steadily building to at least one outright failure, which is always the catalyst for any rebuild. Watching Justice League, it’s hard not to get the sense everybody saw the L coming and decided to shore up the ranks for next season. That’s sort of optimistic in and of itself, and while saying the movie delivers on the meagerest of promises is damning praise, it’s praise nonetheless and a positive notion of things to come. The night has been dark, but the dawn might finally be on the horizon.

#justice league #justice league movie #dc movies #dc comics #dc extended universe #dceu #flashpoint #batman #superman #wonder woman #the flash #aquaman #cyborg

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