This was the first bloodymary x reader fanfiction i ever wrote back when there weren't any i could find and you know what they say: "be the change you wanna see in the world." or something poetic idk do i look smart to you?
Anyways enough with the silliness I hope you enjoy!
Word count: 2225
Tw: Description of medical stuff, mention of drugging
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It feels… surreal.
It really shouldn't, not after so long.
But even after a year of waking up daily on an alien planet, after all the horrors you've been through, surrounded by the two humans you love most...
It felt crazy.
The artificial sun rocky and the biosphere crew created trickles in from the window tickling your nose softly, you can smell… something being cooked in the kitchen, you're not quite sure what but it smells good.
More importantly though you feel the pull of a strong arm around your waist.
You don't need to open your eyes to know the body pressing into you from behind is none other than the miracle himself. You still don't know how he just appeared in the middle of space in a fricking submarine covered in blood but you are glad he did.
His remaining arm is wrapped around your waist tightly, almost possessively, still fully asleep mumbling something or other you only ever manage to catch slight pieces off. His beautiful brown-black hair falling on his face softly.
He holds you like if he even let go for one moment you would disappear, then again... maybe he truly thought that.
Leaving, unsurprisingly, only Ryland to be the one in the kitchen. Again that's not much of a shock though. The teacher liked to be awake earlier than either of you did, even if you do miss him in bed sometimes. Simon already barely lets you leave but sometimes he will also just pull Grace back into bed for the 3 of you to hold onto each other a bit longer before each of you go on to do your own jobs around the dome. Speaking of:
"Si... You gotta let me go."
The one armed man behind you sounded a soft growl still half asleep and unwilling to let go of his current heat source.
"Dont wanna."
Usually you'd just let him keep cuddling you, god knows he's been through enough already, a comfy morning is the least you can give him but sadly duty calls for both of you and besides you were starting to miss your other love to.
You turn around, softly wiggling in his arms and wrapping your own around his neck, placing both your foreheads together softly.
He cracks his eyes open only a smidge, eyebrows furrowing in anticipation of your next move, the left eye glowing softly in the dim light of the room.
You really can't help it, your lips finding the wrinkle on his nose almost on instinct, trying to smooth away the worries carved into his face by time and pain. He sighs softly, trying to pretend not to melt at the gesture and failing miserablely like he always does when trying not to show just how soft he actually is for both you and Ryland.
"You have to head out to the growing team and I have an appointment with Adrian and Rocky. Besidessss Ry is cookinggg we both know you love thattt." Simon could only roll his eyes at the singsongy tone of your voice..
You weren't wrong though, after hunger and terrible tasting rations if he got anything at all for so long he couldn't help but love both your and Ryland’s cooking. Even if you weren't that good in the kitchen, to him anything you made was a masterpiece.
But then again he didn't have much to compare it to so... The man literally drank isopropyl alcohol once… both you and Grace still couldn't get over that.
He grumbles once more but actually loosens the death grip on you.
"Thank you Si." You kiss his cheek. He has half the mind to pull you back down but he just turns over hugging his pillow to his chest and falling back asleep.
Technically you should have thrown him out of bed, he did have a meeting afterall.
After your arrival on Erid and Rocky’s and Adrian's synthesis of human food and plants including but not limited to vegetables and fruit Simon became lead of the growing team showing the Eridians the knowledge that it takes to take care of a human farm, his knowledge from Eden of how to take care of a tree coming in quite useful (especially for the apple trees synthesized from the seed he carried on him when the crew of the Hail Mary found him).
You decide against waking him though… he's been through enough his team can wait on him a bit longer. He deserves the sleep.
Climbing out of bed, throwing on some clothes and doing the rest of your morning routine doesn't take you more than a few minutes luckily and just like that off you go. Through the hallways of your beautiful home and past the medical robot stationed in the living room.
"Good morning Armando" "Good morning engineer-" You don't let him finish before you're out the door again.
Finally reaching the kitchen where the familiar shape of a man facing away from you humming some old earth melody. You wrap your arms around his waist softly startling the micro-biologist greatly.
"OH GOD!" He screams, almost dropping the frying pan he was holding.
You would think a man who had seen horrors no one could ever imagine like he had would be less jumpy.
But then again you guess you were a bit jumpier after everything now to so you cant really blame him.
You chuckle softly leaning into him and putting your head on his shoulder. "Morning Angel." He chuckles in return, you can't really see it but you're sure his face is pink, he always flusters at that nickname.
"Really? again? I told you before I'm not an Angel."
You remember waking up on the Hail Mary. Strapped to a table with no clue how you had gotten there.
You remember the feeling of the probe leaving your throat, of the medical bag wrapped around you, of the lights and the medical bot pressing down on you but most of all… you remember panic.
If Ryland hadn't been there running to your aid after he had woken up not long before you, still half uncoordinated himself, you're not sure what you would have done…
The shaggy looking man had looked like an angel then...
And he looks like an angel now.
"I beg the differ. For fucks sake your name is litteraly Grace Ry!" He chuckles once more, you can listen to that sound all day if he let you.
You did not intend to end up on the Hail Mary. You think no one did. Even the ones who signed on to risk their life couldn't have guessed two years earlier that the Petrova line appearing and the Sun darkening was going to happen.
You were one of the engineers working on the ground to get the ship into orbit in the first place. You were never meant to be an astronaut. When the science wing blew up however…
It didn't only take the scientists with it.
They were desperate for anyone to go up there. So when you saw Ryland being chased and drugged and you decided to intervene… that basically took the need to choose of their hands.
You might not have been the first choice then but it turns out you do well enough now the only human on the biosphere team helping to maintain the home rocky had built you, Simon and Ryland.
All of you had done well actually, Simon helped farm and put food on the table, you were helping maintain your home and Grace was teaching the next generation of Eridians. Even after all of the horrors you 3 faced, you did well for yourselves.
Grace moves softly obviously not trying to disturb you too much even while continuing to cook. It had taken Rocky quite a long time to get the concept of an egg that wasn't basically just a rock just right and you definitely weren't there yet but at least it was edible now.
The pan crackled softly "So what are you and Rocky cooking up today huh?"
"The sprinklers in the garden part of the dome still need some optimizations." "Sprinklers…? that's it? That's why Rocky did not only insist on you but ALSO Adrien being there?" "Well im the only human on the team and he always takes any excuse to be around Adrien so..."
It was only half a lie really...
In reality you were working on something special, silly maybe for some people but… special to you.
Drones. 5 of them in total. build with the best technology you and your Eridian friends could come up with together. The most advanced technology on Erid. Fast enough to travel all the way to earth and back in less than 5 years and with advanced enough equipment to search for any signs of energy, waves or signals while doing so.
You know Grace still wrestles with himself, not knowing if you actually managed to save humanity (you felt no different...) and you know Simon still wonders how he could have gotten here. If there is a way to save anyone else from his world despite the way they treated him or if something horrible from his world could manage to find its way into this one.
You hoped that the Jr. Beetles (as you were calling them) could only bring all 3 of you some comfort.
The drones werent the only thing you were working on though no...
You had also claimed a little part of the beach.
Just far away enough from the house that Ryland and Simon weren't likely to notice but close enough to not be an endless trek. Set up with a canopy, 3 chairs, a shit ton of pillows and a telescope to watch them go once it was time to launch.
You couldn't wait to show it to them.
As much as you would have loved to keep cuddling the man in front of you (another thing you could do forever) you had work to do. Grabbing one of the apples on the counter and walking towards the door briskly.
"Woah where do you think you're going?" "I'm sorry Angel, you know how Rocky gets when you keep him waiting." He couldn't exactly argue with that, he loved the rock but Rocky could be A LOT… and patience is not one of those things.
"Will you pop by my class later? Simon said he'd show up and you know how the pebbles get when they get to see my 'mates'."
He has that small, dreamy and a little bit cheeky smile he always gets then he gets to call you that and god you can't tell him no when he looks at you like that.
"Will do! Say hi to the pebbles for me till im there though" And just like that you're out the door once more.
The work feels.... exhausting.
You know noone is putting pressure on you to get this done but yourself but you can't help but feel like you should have finished it yesterday. For you...but more importantly for them...
You're already taking longer than you would like.
Some part of you hopes that maybe… if something did go wrong… you could find it quickly and still fix it.
Another part just feels guilty that you can't give them their peace of mind sooner.
Rocky and Adrien are there for you though. They support you and tell you you're being stupid when you're overdoing it.
Like today.
Adrien basically throwing you out with the words "Getting in own way. Walk beach. Let Rocky and Adrien do work."
And thats where you were now.
Walking towards Grace's class on that day feels… almost impossible.
Every step heavy with effort… but you promised.
Your fingers find the metal in your pocket, bracelets to be specific, made to be worn in the middle of the under arm almost like armour embedded with a gem. Rocky made them. "So humans can wear Erid mate gems too."
He didn't tell you he was making them, just assumed you would want them since you are 'mated' to Grace and Simon now .
He'd only given them to you and not Grace because you were the one he worked with daily and were next to the most often. Only by a slim margin though, Rocky was at your place so often one could almost think he lived there to. Not that any of you minded.
You hadn't given them to Simon and Grace yet though and he noticed and more importantly complained about it as often as he could.
"Why don't you no give Rocky gems? Why did Rocky make in first place?" But you just... couldn't…
They were so much like human wedding rings. You couldn't just casually give them out!
You thought about it many times… during late nights cuddled in bed… or watching movies together… or walking on the beach during sunset…
It never felt right though.
You wanted this to be perfect.
Your mind lost in thought, the faux breeze in your hair, you didn't even notice how quickly you reached your destination till you heard his voice. Your eyes shooting up to find the one and only Ryland Grace, completely in his element.
The way Ryland spoke when he was teaching was unlike anything else. You get lost in it. The way he gestures with his hands, the tone of his voice when he's explaining something so melodic and excited, those eyes shining like he's lost in his own world, the way he's so…genuine…in his love for knowledge.
It doesn't really help that Simon is sitting next to him to, staring at him with the same love filled stare that you must be wearing right now.
God you loved these two…
A loud cheer breaks out amongst the Pebbles as they see you approaching. Both Simon’s and Ryland's eyes finding you only moments later, wide, bright smiles breaking out across their faces almost perfectly in-sync.
Again. GOD you loved them.
You were gonna send those drones into space. You were gonna give them that peace of mind. You were going to give them those bracelets and you were going to spend the rest of your life with them...
I have seen a few people try their hand at a bloodymary god au so i thought I'd try my own version. Hope you enjoy:
Tw: description of death, starvation and mutations
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Flashing light, blaring alarm,a cabin drenched in red light. One last half heard screech of “warning hull compromi-” And then you wake up.
Breathing heavy despite no longer needing air. Head spinning. Hands sweating. It takes you a moment or two to calm down.
Feeling the cold of the void between your fingertips, grounding you, slowly coming back to reality.
You were no longer in the star-burst… the only surviving member of what was supposed to be a crew of 23. Humanity's last hope…No, that was all behind you now.
No you were sitting on your bed of stars, created with your own two hands.
You were the god of the stars now.
You didn't quite understand why a higher being took pity on you of all creatures, giving you a second life as a holy deity of all things…but then again...
None of you 3 did.
Because yeah you weren't the only mortal turned god doomed to die in space.
“Are you okay?” You jump again, so lost in your head you didn't even hear the god of the sun approach.“Solis! I-” “Please.. I've told you before… just call me Grace” The god smiles at you disarmingly, comforting in its brightness despite the horrors he went through…both of you went through.
The god of the sun was as bright as they come both in personality and brains.. as well as literally. A continuous glow coming from the man wherever he went…which made it even more concerning you didn't notice him.
“Grace… I'm… I'm okay, thank you just..” “Memories?” Your eyes find the god again, a patient, warm look in his eyes…
You remember when you first woke up here… laying in the void after experiencing your own death in what felt like slow motion but must have realistically been a few seconds, sure this was some form of afterlife. Panicking, screaming and then looking into those eyes. The sun shaped iris had unnerved you then…yet it was all too familiar now.
“Yes..” The god sits down next to you softly, the stars cradling his form as they do to you..swirling , adjusting ,holding, recognizing the god and following your untold command..your own feelings for the beautiful man betraying you.
“Do you wish to talk about it?...only if you feel comfortable of course!” You sigh..you dont really like to think about it but bottling up never helped anyone…besides he knew your story already… as you knew both of theirs.
“My death…as it is most nights” You remember the feeling..the ship ripping apart… the giant star you were meant to find collapsing. Creating a black hole that teared you and everything around you apart with it...remember your insides turning to 'spaghetti'... even if it was a quick death…it didn't feel like one…Ever since you woke up alone on deck it had felt like the start of a slow years long death but...you did it…you saved humanity…you kept the earth from being torn apart…and you gave your life for it. The contraption to stop the blackhole was made to be dispensed from the ship and not get sucked in with it… but it worked one way or the other… guess the time calculation of how long it would take to collapse was just slightly off.
“Yeah ..i get that”Rylands death was not quick like yours was…it was slow...painful. starving to death on the way to erid. A hero to two worlds in the end.
It was ironic really… Simon died for a moon, Ryland died for a sun and you died for a star..and yet here you were, the god of the moon, sun and stars respectively.It would have almost been cruel in its irony if it wasn't your second chance at an actual life.
“I’m sorry...this must seem like stupid whining to you-” “No. It's not. The way you died was horrible and it's obviously still affecting you. You don't need to feel bad for talking to me.” The stars below him react to his words , twinkling, holding, glowing. Closer. Warmer. Betraying your feelings for the god and his comforting words even more.
“I …thank you..even if I can't quite believe it yet… It means a lot.” “Then I'll keep telling you for as long as you'll let me” And there it is again...that smile. So warm and bright it could only come from the god of the sun himself.
You cough into your hand, trying to hide the shacking of your voice. “Lets change the topic…i'd rather think about something happy for once..how is earth?”
Unbeknownst to you this was the perfect segway for the plan he and the other god had set up. “Earth is … great! Actually! Egh- humans are advancing beautifully! They have discovered copper actually! They are progressing quite fast!” “Copper already?! It feels like yesterday that they discovered stone!” “Time feels different when you are immortal doesn't it?" He laughs softly before continuing, "...Do you want to see it?”
You sigh, getting off the bed of stars, a few of them trailing behind you missing their creator already. “Yeah… that sounds lovely…I could use the distraction” Grace smiles getting off the bed as well, holding out his hand for you to take. You blushed softly, desperately praying the older god would not notice.
You had been here for quite a bit now…but nowhere near as long as the gods of the sun and moon had… moving around through big stretches of the endless sky at light speed was still a struggle to you… not as elegant at it as the gods who had a few thousands of years more practice than you.
You put your hand in his getting ready for the sudden movement and off you go.
You'll never quite get used to it. Floating through the sky at speeds not even your ship could have reached…traveling the universe like it was yours. No need for food, for air, for water. Just somewhat needing to keep balance which was easier said than done with these speeds. He pulls you along gently, holding you so you won't fly off while trying to keep enough distance for you to be comfortable.
You move past many sights, meteorites and shooting stars, planets and galaxies, moons and suns, light and dark. It's beautiful ,it's breathtaking in a way that even the flow of eternity could never extinguish. Ever changing, ever new, ever beautiful.
And the sight of the god holding you close certainly doesn't hurt.
It takes you no time to reach the planet you were searching for….milkyway ,the third planet from the sun… this universe's very own earth. Not as old as yours had been … but now yours in its own way…Yours to shape and help grow… Yours to guide and yours to be worshipped by…still a foreign concept to all 3 of you but it came with the territory.
It was strange… to have the planet you once risked your life for now be small enough to fit in your hand. Of course you could shrink down and visit any time you'd like, you, Simon and Grace had done that many a night, but still… another thing to get used to.
Right now you were around the same size as the planet.However the first thing you notice when you come closer is not the planet. But rather the god floating in front of it.
Simon doesn't need to hear none-existent footsteps to feel your approach. He just knows, a feeling in his lower stomach as familiar as the unnecessary rise and fall of his chest. It's a sight to behold, the way the god's hard-set features melt into an easy cool smile as he turns around to greet you two, the way his own body starts to glow, reflecting the light of both your own glow and Rylands.
If the god of the sun was beautiful as a breezy summer’s day ,intricate patterns where scars once sat and glowing skin, the god of the moon was the beauty of a cloudless night's sky. Still sustaining many corruptions from the death that once plagued him. His left cheek still adorned in sharp teeth and his left arm replaced with a prosthetic of pure moonlight. Beautiful long hair and his own patterns dancing over his skin. His left eye glowing a bright brilliant white while the other one held the swirling blackness of night.
His appearance is not the only thing changed by the blood that once swallowed him however.
“My Stars, my Sun” His voice is deep yet warm as he greets you. Relaxed in a way that's rare for the god even after such a long time of freedom. “Lunae!” It slips before you can stop yourself. He chuckles, “Always so formal. How long has it been.. only 5000 years?” His tone teasing not cruel though.
You chuckle awkwardly rubbing the back of your neck. “Yeah..something like that” “You don't have to always use my god name stars… or would you prefer stellae?” “No..i dont mind your nicknames” You say eyes so focused on looking anywhere but the god in front of you you completely miss the look the two others are giving each other: nervous, yet hopeful.
Quickly wanting to change the topic from the awkward silence however you try to get back to the reason you were here in the first place: “So ..Grace said the humans had reached the Copper age?”
The god’s eyes fall back to you quickly. “Egh yeah! It's still early on..but yeah!”
Simon floats you closer,close enough to be able to peer down onto the earth through the clouds. Seeing humanity very much still in its beginnings ,starting to flourish truly… was a beautiful sight to behold.
All 3 of you would show them the way. A better way. One that wouldn't end in the disasters you 3 had to face. Betrayed,broken and alone.
Seeing them learn to use tools was something …seeing them learn to optimize those tools was something else entirely.
But again the gods were not doing as you expected, not following your disciples every move with their eyes as you had been…but instead they were following you. Love sick gentle eyes reaching for the wonder in yours.
They had known each other a long time. They had loved each other a long time…and they had both fallen in love with you and had been keeping that secret for what felt like a long time. But no more…today was the day. They would tell you. Both of you so lost in your thoughts for entirely different reasons that neither you nor Simon noticed your still intertwined hands. The hand touching your body glowing brighter than any other part of him.
Simon’s and Grace's eyes find each other once more. Nodding, taking a deep breath before finally deciding this was it.
“Stellae?”
You laughed softly at Grace's words “oh who's formal now-” turning around only to see the serious look on his face, your laugh immediately gone. “is everything alright?” Your voice is small, quiet. Ryland's eyes go wide, “YES! Yes! Nothing's wrong! Everything is great! You know typical god stuff egh-” If it weren't for Simon interrupting him the man would have probably panically rambled on for gods know how long.
“What he's trying to say is that everything's okay.” Grace blushed slightly, obviously embarrassed by having lost his cool “Yes..” “Then what's up? What's with the serious faces?”
Simon runs his thumb over your fingers softly suddenly making you VERY aware of the still present contact…he looks at it unsure, before lifting it to his lips and pressing a kiss to it softly.
You're sure you look like a deer in headlights right about now. Simon can hear your unneeded heartbeat going wild in your chest…his hearing one of the things mutated alongside his appearance…he used to hate it. Hearing your heart going crazy,hearing the pulse pumping wildly through your veins…your breathing getting heavy…he thought you feared him… he really hopes this isn't fear now. Please don't let this be fear.
Grace floats closer reaching for your other hand holding it softly and breaking you out of the trance Simon had placed on you. “Starlight…we wanted to ask …if maybe..” “Dinner? Just us 3? We don't really need food anymore but it's still nice now and again.”
You stare at both of them dumbfounded...both of these incredible men..wanted dinner with you? ...you never dared even dream of something like this...as much as you loved the idea you always assumed they were devoted to each other and only each other. For a moment it's all too much the stars around you growing to a brightness almost rivaling the sun himself. Blinding. Your mind spiraling, your head screaming and then you just…stop.
Taking a breath, calming your racing heart and mind and taking a step back. Both Simon and Grace already getting ready for a rejection.
You smile gently. “Id love nothing more” They both look at you then. Pure wonder on their faces. Ryland can't help but pull you in. Wrapping his arms around you tightly.
You return it quickly. Tears threatening to spill. Sure you have touched in your time here plenty of times but the touch-starved-ness still got to you from time to time.
Your eyes find Simon standing off to the side… staring as if he thought he did not deserve it or did not want to ruin the moment. However, that was stupid. So you extend your arm as far as you could ,grab him by the lavender robe he usually wears and pull him into you. Surprising the man and making a panicked yell leave him as he falls into both your and Rylands arms, causing both of you chuckle softly.
You were all alone for so long. Alone and doomed to die a painful death in space. And yet you would do it all over again, If it meant ending here, crushed between the two people you cared about the most.
And somewhere out there in another universe is a little eridian who can't wait for the next letter from his sun god of a friend to tell him all about this. Not the first eclipse. But the first one where the stars seemed to sing.
And right here and now the gods could not have been happier even if they tried..Because after all this time...they finally had their stars back.
bunnybrowser CANON??? based off that one Miku x Luka butterfly headphones art but i didnt draw them holding hands because i hate drawing hands so just imagine theyre holding hands
hi guys me and my friend made up this ship and our other friend named it ‘Machineguns’ and i wanted to share the moodboard i made for them. if you even care.
I've got a fic idea I've had for a real long time now, but I know I'm never gonna write it, and I feel like you could make something really cool out of it.
Noir Mark from iswm forced to work a case with a reader who's like a galactic bounty hunter. It's like noir/western aesthetics clashing, with the obvious sci-fi shit mixed in.
I'm picturing a lot of animosity between the two. He assumes they're a brute just looking to make a quick buck right from the get go. They just genuinely wanna help keep people safe and think he's a total incompetent dumbass. Classic buddy cop shenanigans. Enemies to friends to lovers. Plus both genres have voice overs, so they could interrupt each other...via voice over. That sounds hilarious.
Anyway, thank you for your time! Love your work!
"Worried for me?"
In which Noir is forced outside his genre.
TW: cursing, violence, alcohol
Pages: 22 - Words: 7500
[Requests: OPEN]
Staring out into the abyss of space, Mark had no unique thoughts. Each comet was an inside joke sent between winking stars, but he knew, just as all the stories said, that the universe was a cold, unforgiving place. A wasteland, by some definition. Was the world of humanity any better, though? The planets, the spaceships, the people—everything had a dark side, and Mark lurked in the belly of the beast. Lived. Thrived. More than the alcohol that he clung to, it was a parasitism, and he didn't know who took what role. Did the grimy galactic highways benefit or did he?
The distant, drifting planets appeared to slide down the bulkhead's window like raindrops. A storm was rolling in, and yet he was already drowning. A murder had wound up on his desk between empty whiskey bottles and full ash trays. A poor wife who had found her poorer husband dead in the study. He wasn't surprised, things tended to end like that, but that wasn't the issue with the case.
It was your partner, the bumbling greenhorne whose bark was worse than his gun that he never actually used.
Mark frowned and glanced to his side.
"Do you mind?"
You shrugged.
Your thoughts were none of his business, even if they messed with his accidentally. Whatever was in the air in these parts of the universe, you still had your manners. Ignoring the smarmy detective at your side was made no more difficult; you had long since learned how to tune out unnecessary chatter from the saddle beside you, and you bet not much would miss that description.
Mark scoffed and turned his attention back to the window—though he couldn't help but notice the rustling of your coat in the non-existent wind.
"Well, partner, shall we get started?"
The term left a bitter taste in his mouth, mixing dangerously with the leftover alcohol, but he pushed through. Once this case was over, he never had to see you again.
"You haven't already?" you asked. Your raised eyebrow was shadowed by the ten-gallon hat, but he saw the sign of doubt.
"I was… instructed to wait for your arrival. You took long enough."
"Had to finish a job."
Assumptions blew through his mind. A train robbery, a slipped jail cell, a murder? And who knew what role you played in them. From the look of you, the deliverer of justice was as likely as the perpetrator, but Mark kept his mouth shut. He simply took a file from the center console and handed it to you.
You were similarly silent as you chucked it over your shoulder. The spread of loose papers and photographs underlined the thickening tension.
"Not one for letters," you said.
Not one for manners either.
Your stare turned to a glare.
Or patience.
Glad that you were on the same page now, you explained, "I'd rather just see the lady in person."
Mark had long since grown used to hearing other people's thoughts, but most had the decency to veil their threats with stormy metaphors and comparisons to a messy divorce. You, though? You were a brute with not a single careful bone in your body.
"I'm afraid she left after her report this morning."
"So I'm stuck with you."
As long as they were being paid, they were shackled together, the old ball and chain that reminded him too much of his ex-spouse. Crossed arms, glint in their eye, and loaded revolver on their hip.
Mark's frown deepened. He'd never had a spouse.
However, if he had, he was sure flopping down into a chair and slamming boots onto the console would have driven them apart. He watched you as you did so, pulling back on the desire to shove you off. Manners, manners, manners.
"Come on, describe it to me."
Mark sighed. "Mr. Louis Jackson was found stiff by his window at eight this morning. Dead in his study. Mrs. Ruby Jackson—though, I suppose the r dropped as fast as her husband—came here to ask for help."
Your gaze had drifted to the window and was following along with the stars better than his words, which you had been the one to request. Normally, it wouldn't have bothered him, but he was stuck with you, and he wasn't going to spend a minute longer on this case than he had to.
He opened his mouth to get your attention, but you beat him to the punch, asking, "What time?"
"Nine-fourteen on the dot."
"She lives nearby?"
He considered just telling you to read the file, but he wasn't keen on waiting for you to acquiesce, so he continued, "Twenty minute drive, give or take. Traffic is just as much a killer."
"So, that missing fifty-four minutes?"
Hiding his surprise that you could do math, he said, "The dame was beset by grief. Hard to miss, but her husband died this morning."
It was a miracle that you stayed quiet. Really, he thought you had gone the way of the husband and kicked the bucket—but, no, he wasn't that lucky. Not yet. You had just been cowed for the meantime, it seemed, but that didn't make Mark any less proud of himself.
"We're heading to their residence to check it out. Be ready in ten."
That final order sent over his shoulder, he turned back to the glass. A colleague had once told him that it was stupid to put windows on a spaceship, but she never stayed in one place long enough to enjoy the view. Planets and stars, some completely indistinguishable, were scattered over the sky like shrapnel in an alleyway. It was a truly beautiful sight.
That was destined to be interrupted by your voice.
"Go on, then."
Mark barely turned. "What?"
"Take a shower, fix your hair—I'll be here when you're done."
"What's wrong with my hair?" He spun around completely and immediately darkened to a deep gray at your grin.
Hat in hand, your face was visible, and yet shadows flocked to contour your structure like sharks to the scent of blood. They practically moved like them, too, reflections of tail fins flicking in your eyes.
And yet, with nothing more than a deep laugh, you dropped the hat over your face. All at once, the predators were swept away into that tide of blackness, and Mark managed to breathe.
When had he stopped? When the sharks appeared, or when they did? It was easier to look at them with their face hidden, easier still through a mirror as he dragged his hand through his hair, which was perfectly fine, thank you.
Unseen, you grinned to yourself at his audible thoughts. Maybe this narration business would come in handy.
The local residential station was home to all manner of species from the vaguely-human to the supremely unfamiliar. The number of arms had as much range as their professions, but the architecture failed to reflect that. Instead, you passed by gray house after gray house as you followed a few steps behind Mark. You might have gotten lost had it not been for the directions he had given you before leaving the shuttle—not that you had paid much attention. Street names didn't interest you; the real action was in the Jacksons' home, and your fingers were twitching against your holster.
Arriving in front of the place only somewhat relieved you of that itch, but you stood, commendably patient, beside Mark at the front door.
"Anyone s'posed to be home?" you asked.
"No. It's empty."
A frown pulled at your mouth.
The facts from Mark's file were one thing, but assumptions? They were what got people killed. Thinking you were safe, seconds from riding off into the sunset, only to find yourself with one more hole than you were used to. You'd seen it before, and you weren't keen to feel it.
Huffing, you walked toward the door and pulled at the handle. It swung open silently, and your frown got deeper. This wasn't a good start, but you rolled your shoulder and walked in without another word. Any warnings would undoubtedly go unheard. Plus, he was a grown man, he didn't need coddling.
Before you got too far into the building, you heard Mark say, "I guess we're starting. Fine."
Footsteps followed you inside.
After five minutes of searching around, you had concluded two things: first, this place was a mansion, far beyond what anyone needed to survive—and, second, you were bored as hell, and it only served to shorten your fuse. Using any color greater than a two in the Munsell Color System was punishable by death because everywhere you looked was completely gray. The kitchen, the living room, even the damn bedroom was washed out. You had seen your fair share of limited palettes, but at least the tans were saturated.
After ten minutes, you felt like you had been put in a padded cell without knowing, until Mark's voice carried down the stairs and gave you some hope. Ever the gentleman, he was waiting by the door of the office, and you tipped your hat to him as you walked past.
For the first time, you hoped it was his manners because this was going to be a difficult case if he were just hesitating at the sight of blood. There wasn't as much as you had expected.
Or hoped.
However, the obvious bullet holes in Louis' chest explained the limited mess. Three dotted his chest and connected with a spattering of red like a vicious necktie. Two buried themselves in the wall opposite you, surrounded by the exit wounds' tapestry. One marked its escape only with shattered glass of the window. A countdown.
All in all, it wasn't a terrible way to go.
Your eyes searched the rest of the room. Everything else was untouched, as if the murderer had simply walked in, shot him, and then walked out. Louis was their target, and that was it. They hadn't even bothered to clean up the evidence, which meant that they were either confident that they could get away in time or getting caught wouldn't matter.
Mark stepping into the space next to you made you remember he was there at all.
"Well, he's dead," he commented.
"What gave it away?"
Your voice, as always, was rough with condescension. Mark knew he was pointing out the obvious, but the silence was getting on his nerves. You hadn't exactly been upfront with your ideas up to this point, and any conversation had the potential to get you talking. You were supposed to be working together on this, regardless of how either of you felt about it.
Neither of you continued, though. The clink of spurs trailed behind you when you stepped further in, rounding the desk to see the body in full, while Mark pulled a box of cigarettes from his trench coat's pocket.
Bad company called for a bad habit.
Sparks from his lighter outlined you as you rifled through the desk drawers. Carelessly, you pulled paper after paper from the depths, slamming them onto the surface and reaching for another in quick succession. Nothing piqued your interest until you chucked a file to Mark—or, more accurately, at him. He had barely put his lighter back in his pocket when the thing flew at him, and he only just caught it. Any higher and it would have snagged on his cigarette's flame.
You didn't meet his glare, but the smug smirk on your face suggested you knew anyway. You kept snooping without a word.
The file was similar to the ones at the main ship. Gray, labeled, and stuffed with paperwork. Finance statistics, he realized, once he had flipped through the first few pages. The first dollar sign already had his eyes glazing over; it wasn't as though he enjoyed the logistical side of investigating, but someone had to do it. His partner wasn't about to step up to the plate.
To them, it seemed second-guessing him was second-nature. Anything he offered was sure to be questioned, and the lamp was always hot on the face. Ever since he was young and faced down his first interrogation in that basement of a bedroom, he knew his vice. But alcoholics seldom admitted their dependency.
You straightened your back out of your hunched position and started to jostle the body.
"He's not going to get up," Mark said, tucking the file under his arm. Evidence of fraud, probably.
"I know that. What I don't know…"
You didn't bother to continue. Before any accusations, you had to make sure that you were right. Confidence was a joke on the incorrect, and it had been a long time since you had been wrong, especially about this kind of scenario. The murdered husband, the fancy neighborhood, the missing wife.
Holding your breath, you undid the knot of his tie and pulled his collar away from the paling skin—and you chuckled. There, nestled between rolls of skin, was a brand, and a very familiar one at that.
There it was. This job was a lick and a promise, but you knew who's target this guy was. Mark didn't know any more about this than a hog did a sidesaddle. He walked and talked like he did, though, and that was more dangerous than whatever the corpse had done to end up this way.
You muttered to yourself a gruff, "Knew it."
"What did you find?"
You ignored him and simply got to your feet, snatched the file that he had apparently decided was important, and threw it back to the desk. The soft thwack of it hitting the ground disappeared beneath your boots walking out of the door.
Whatever curiosity Mark had melted into annoyance once more.
"Do you know what partner means?" he asked, following you to the staircase. "It means we're both on this job, which means you have to talk to me, like a human being."
By the time that you reached the fifth step down, you had sent one glance over your shoulder, and that was to check whether he had brought the file anyway. He hadn't, of course; he was too busy chasing after you because you refused to explain anything.
"What's the point of working together if we don't work together?"
Staring at that back, Mark wondered how many people had wanted to stab it, how many went through with it, and how many had collapsed before realizing they had done it first. He couldn't have been the only one. A brute like them? Heavy-handedness could only get you so far. Some situations called for a delicate touch, and Mark could only be so smooth.
At the base of the stairs, Mark grumbled, "If you figured something out, I need to know."
Still more silence. Irritation was piling up in his mind, it spread easily to his heart, his lungs, his fists. He slammed the front door shut behind himself, but it was nothing against his voice.
You were already standing on the street, hands in your pockets and that damned smile playing on your lips.
"We'll be out of this situation quicker if you just—"
As soon as the words left his mouth, you unholstered your gun and aimed.
He had always thought Lady Luck enjoyed their dances. Staring down the barrel of an outlaw's gun with a pound of lead making itself comfy in one's chest didn't agree with that notion. But, luckily, it wasn't his chest.
Three bullets whizzed past Mark's shoulder. The only indication that you hadn't just missed was a grunt, curse and thud. In one swift motion, you spun your gun and shoved it back home.
A step forward, and you clapped your hand on his shoulder.
"Save your breath for breathing."
Mark turned his body to watch you walk towards the downed man. You were slow, sure, steady in your boots. He managed to drag his attention away from you long enough to assess the newcomer.
No doubt about it, he had been sent by the mafia. Very few people wore a fedora in public, fewer still people who didn't need to worry about the reputation it bought them. A gun in their back pocket was protection enough—but it appeared that being fast enough to use it was key.
One of your bullets had mangled his hand, meaning you were able to kick away his dropped gun easily. Another had gone through his lung, marking him for death sooner rather than later. The last was embedded in the tarmac. You were a quick shot, not a perfect one, but it was enough to impress your partner nonetheless.
You stared down the attacker as Mark glanced around the immediate area. Nobody in sight, but curtains worked in the favor of nosy neighbors. Getting out of there soon would be in your best interest, and there was plenty of evidence to warrant tracking down Mr. Jackson before she could get too far.
Mark was desperately trying to herd his thoughts back to the job, but his heart was wilder than his mind.
Even though he hadn't been hit, he was still in danger—and, to borrow their vocabulary, he was irrecoverably and undeniably fucked.
Mark swiped two glasses from the alcohol cart. Two whiskeys were poured, one of which he handed to you. It disappeared down your throat in a matter of seconds. It couldn't have been healthy, but Mark wasn't going to judge. Not anymore, at least.
The drive back to the main ship had been relatively quiet. Only the distant hum of thrusters played background to the glide through space. With very little reason to talk, it was silent in the cockpit until the shuttle was docked and and the two of you were in on the bridge. Even after that, the most that Mark said was a quiet, "After you."
You weren't ignoring him. Something more important took up your attention, and you had spent the drive over trying to figure out where Ms. Jackson would go next. A hotel, a service station, or maybe right under your nose.
You breached through the taste of whiskey and placed the empty upside-down on the console. An errant drop slid down the groove.
"You should board the windows and lock your door," you said. "They'll be coming after you again, and I won't be around to save your pretty face."
"What about you?"
"They aren't after me."
You fully intended on walking out in that moment, but you stopped at Mark's voice.
"And what makes you so sure? You don't exactly have a sterling reputation."
If you didn't know any better, you would have wondered if he worried about you—but his expression of surprise with his would-be assassin was one in a million. You saw how he looked at you, and wouldn't put it past him to sell you out to save his own hide. If he was smart enough, that was.
The furrowing of his brow told you he had caught that narration but not that he knew what to do with it.
"Do you know why your chief hired me?" you asked.
"You don't care about legality?"
A smile pulled at the corner of your mouth.
"And I know who we're dealing with."
Mark was still swirling the whiskey around in its prison, but it was an absentminded movement. A practiced pose just from the mere presence of alcohol in his hand.
"Why didn't you say something before?"
He was right not to trust you. You had yet to meet anyone who gave you the benefit of the doubt instinctively, so you didn't take offense. Hell, you hadn't believed the chief when he had called you in.
"I wasn't entirely sure it was her."
"One more vague statement and I might start thinking you're hiding something." He sipped at his whiskey. "Again."
"The lady who reported Jackson's murder wasn't his wife."
Relishing in Mark's confusion, you stuck a toothpick between your teeth. You weren't one for cigarettes; chasing after criminals already took too much out of you to develop breathing issues.
You offhandedly continued, "Well, she might've been, but there weren't no love from her side of the table."
You leaned back against the console as you watched the gears turn in Mark's head. It was even better when you started to hear it.
Ms. Jackson, who had access to her husband's study at all hours of the day, who apparently hadn't returned home after reporting the murder, and, as much as Mark hated to acknowledge its importance, had left a sizeable gap in her schedule? He didn't need a judge and jury to tell him that she was guilty. All he needed was an executioner.
His thoughts snapped together like puzzle pieces before he sighed. "I wonder how long she's had to go along with it."
He was proud of your expression, the mild surprise—read: one eyebrow raised by a millimeter—that told him you hadn't expected him to make the connection.
"She's a contracted killer?" he clarified.
Your smile was worth the slight hit to his ego, though he had to turn to the drink cart to hide the darkening of his face.
That kind of look was going to be the death of him. He had seen it time and time before on the faces of lovers, and his presence never alluded to good news. An angel of death to some. A vulture to others. Nothing good to anyone.
Voice barely about the pour of liquor, Mark asked, "And that symbol on his neck?"
"Sign of fidelity, 'parently, but it's more a keep away sing to other gangs. He's already on death's door, no need to knock for him."
He expected more explanation but instead heard the sound of your boots clicking against the floor. It was a noise growing more and more familiar, and still he turned around with suspicion in his eyes. One hand in your pocket, another on the door handle, you stared back, waiting for him to ask.
"And where are you going?"
"You've got a plan to come up with, and I've got a bar to hit." You removed the toothpick from your mouth. "See you tomorrow."
And, just like that, Mark was left alone on the bridge, thoughts rambling with no one to hear them.
When the gray sun breached the grayer horizon, you and Mark found yourselves on the bridge once again. You had fallen onto a chair—the same one as before that you were seemingly claiming for your own—while Mark flipped through random files. Although you kicked your feet up on the console, they were quickly pushed off and replaced with a whiskey glass. Probably unhealthy to drink at the start of the day, but you took it regardless.
Mark spoke once half of it was gone.
"Our black widow's disappeared."
Your fingers twitched, itching for the cool grip of your gun.
"She try anything last night?" you asked.
"No." The word came with the hint of a smug grin. "Worried for me?"
"Yep."
After what went down at the house yesterday, you weren't keen to let him out of your sight for too long. Someone had to look out for him, and, apparently, it was going to be you. Similar to finding a wet dog out in the rain—and his eyes definitely had nothing at all to do with it.
You were eager to get back on track, so the second that he muttered his, "Good to know," you threw back the rest of your drink and returned it to the console.
You established, "So, she's gone?"
His thoughts were silent, but that glint in his eye told you he had something to say about it. He wasn't going to, of course, his manners forbade him.
Instead, he relayed, "Her record's wiped clean, like she never existed. According to her neighbors, she didn't go back to the house just—" He clicked his fingers, "—disappeared."
He knew a lot of people like that, but they usually left behind something. A footprint, a bullet hole, a broken heart—but none of what they had could be traced explicitly back to her.
"We're a day behind, but she doesn't know we're after her." With that, you got to your feet and started tapping through buttons on the directory screen. "If we're quick about it, we might just catch up."
You had to admit, you weren't the best with tech. Horses and lassos were your strong suit, not code and blinking lights that probably meant nothing but still managed to panic you.
Mark wasn't as unfamiliar; he grabbed your hand and started swiping through the console's interface. He moved from the newspaper to the engines faster than you possibly could. When he had connected power to the shuttle, he looked up at you.
His pride faced down your blankness. To knock him down a peg, you took the glass out of his hand and downed the little alcohol still left.
His expression didn't change.
In fact, you were pretty sure it got worse as you perused the solar system. The logic was that Ms. Jackson, or whatever her name really was, would be trying to get to some kind of safe house, and a lawless wasteland would be easier to set up in than the HOA hot-spot you had just left. That meant you were heading west, away from the monochrome misery that Mark was so used to and toward your territory.
The sixth bar that Mark pulled up to was a prime example. You breathed in the air as your boots landed on the ground. It was certainly not fresh, and you heard Mark subtly cough into his hand from the dust kicked up. The docking bay in front of the bar was home to a wide range of vessels, but the sleek shuttle stook out like a sore thumb. You hoped this would be a quick trip, if only to limit the chances of it getting broken into.
You placed a hand on Mark's shoulder and guided him to the building's front. Excitement rippled through your body and left every blood vessel energized at the sight of saloon doors.
You'd missed this.
You pushed into the room, giddy and barely managing to hide it behind practiced nonchalance. However, you would have to have been a fool to not notice the suspicious looks cast at your partner.
You fit right in, but the man draped head-to-toe in gray, not brown, was a curiosity. He was something to gawk at, a sideshow attraction, an attractive attraction, and, someone with rugged good-looks like that was bound to—
You cut your thoughts off with a violent cough.
Dust.
Everyone in the room was involved in the sudden stand-off. Mark versus the patrons, you versus the bartender. Eyes met eyes until you reached the bar itself, sitting yourself down on a stool. Mark sidled up next to you, still looking over the bar, as you ordered two drinks.
"You really think Ms. Jackson would've come through here?" Mark asked once she had disappeared down the row.
"If not, she's come past, and someone's bound to have seen her."
You didn't have great chances, but one clue was all you needed to track her down for good. There were only so many places she could have run off to, and the options were whittled down with every spot you hit.
You snatched up one of the glasses the moment that it hit the surface, attention turning to the woman in front of you.
"I'm looking for a lady," you said swiftly; you didn't have the time for her to serve someone else.
"You ain't the only one."
You huffed a disingenuous laugh, which caught Mark by surprise.
And it was surprise that he felt, not vague annoyance that a random bartender in a dust bowl dive was able to get a laugh out of his partner. It had taken him nearly getting shot, but, sure, laugh for the stranger.
You didn't acknowledge that narration, nor the questioning look that the lady shot him. You simply continued to talk as if nothing had been thought.
"Someone specific," you amended. "Smooth, independent, looks that could kill. You seen her?"
Mark's back straightened as someone got up from a table barely three feet away.
Back to the bar, he said, "We're only looking for her. If someone knows something, we won't ask any questions. All they have to do is set us on the right track."
"Might have seen her," the bartender replied. "My memory's a bit foggy at the best of times."
A classic response. You would have preferred her be upfront about what she wanted, but this was nothing new to you.
"No doctor in town?"
"I'm afraid medicine won't help this kind of difficulty."
Mark's eyes trailed down to the patron's hip, where their fingers curled around metal.
"Don't suppose the medical bills help any," you said, not bothering to fake sympathy in your tone.
He pushed back his trench coat to reveal his own threat.
A ten-dollar bill was flattened against the surface with a few extra coins, money that was immediately scooped back by the lady.
"Y'know, now that you mention it, a woman did come through here. She rented a room at the local inn and then came in for a drink. Left an hour or two ago—said something about filling up her ship."
He slid his gun out of its holster as the patron raised theirs.
"You've been mighty helpful."
"Please, come by for a drink anytime."
The clink of your spurs was the starting pistol to the stand-off. The patron moved an inch to aim for your back, but Mark beat them to it, recalled the sight of the mafia member in the street, and shot for their hand. Their gun clattered against the ground, but three others were drawn at the same time. A metallic hydra grew in the bar, and Mark knew it was time to leave.
He grabbed your hand and ran for the door. Normally, the bullets whistled or danced or some other romantic imagery that took ten seconds to describe, but his heart was thumping louder than his thoughts. He was out of his comfort zone and into the danger zone. He didn't have time to think.
You were both standing in front of the ship without injury, but you needed to get inside to keep that true. You wrenched open the door while Mark vaulted the hood. A bullet wedged itself in the passenger side just as you slammed it shut, but, luckily, the next noise was of Mark turning on the engines.
The bar was barely a speck on that station by the time that all adrenaline was flushed out of your veins.
Slouched back in your seat, you flipped between reactions, only managing a quiet, "What in the hell- Mark, who was- why…"
You turned in your seat to get a good look at him. His face was slightly paler than before, his hands slightly shakier, his frown slightly deeper. You were struck with uncertainty; what were you supposed to say? You had never been good at comfort, relying on fists over words in more areas than your bounty-hunting.
After a moment, and a deep breath, you said, "Thank you."
He sighed, and you thought he would stay silent. Hell, you would have taken a 'you're welcome' and that be that.
Instead, he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, let himself smile, and said, "What are partners for?"
You were stunned into silence for the rest of the journey. The closest refueling station was roughly thirty-minutes away, but you could hardly wrangle your thoughts long enough to focus on that.
What were partners for? It wasn't as though you always worked alone; you'd ridden alongside other people before, worked with company to track someone down, and set up camp together in the rays of a dying sun. But this was new. The drinks were one thing, but Mark had your back in a way you had almost forgotten was possible. Bounty-hunters tended to be in it for one thing, and it wasn't companionship. You had thought yourself no different.
With an alarmingly soft feeling settling into your bones, you watched space drift by. A blank void, speckled with stars, melted into smaller rocks, which gradually culminated in a service bay held together with metal and tethers. Your shuttle descended to the docking area, and you swore you heard Mark mumble, "All sneaky-like," as the thrusters were disabled.
This station was less your style than the bar, nor was Mark accustomed to it. Practically desolate and with only a ship or two abandoned near makeshift chargers, it was certainly no place for someone like Ms. Jackson, which made it a prime target.
You scanned the area once you were out of the shuttle, but there was nobody in sight. Not even a worker showed themself, placing you on guard. Mark's shoulders were lowered, but his frown told you he wasn't comfortable either.
If Ms. Jackson were in the singular building, it would be easy to corner her, so you decided to check the perimeter first. You kept to the walls as you crept around the building's edges—open air gave you more of a chance at being spotted—with Mark practically breathing down your neck.
Good. That meant he was still alive.
You were nearly easing up when you turned the last corner and immediately slammed Mark against the back wall.
Your hand over his mouth, he was only able to stare at you in semi-panicked confusion.
Every muscle in your body begged to run out there and tackle her—Ms. Jackson was standing not 40 feet away, leaned up against the brick with a cigarette between her lips.
You kept your voice low as you hissed, "She's there."
Mark knew the anger in their voice wasn't directed at him. Their eyes were fixed firmly on the spot next to his head, as if they could see through the wall. They glared, huffed, practically snarled like a wild animal, but they were barely keeping him in place. Beyond the first panicked impact, they handled him delicately.
As you nodded in Ms. Jackson's direction, Mark peeled away from the wall and sneaked a glance around the corner. Quickly, he ducked back.
"Can't just walk up to her," you muttered. "She'll see us and bolt—shit—we could steal her keys, but we'd have to get real close for that. It was so much simpler with horses."
This was the closest you had ever gotten to the woman. Years of tracking her and then losing the scent was getting to you, and it was convincing you that this wasn't it. It couldn't have been this simple, it wasn't supposed to be, there was no way that this was the end.
You spiraled until Mark caught your attention.
"Hey, you trust me?"
Your eyes darted to his.
"What?"
"Do you trust me?"
Did you? Even though you posed this question to yourself, it didn't take long for you to come to a conclusion. You did. He had saved you once before when he should have been more worried about his own hide; what reason did you have to not trust him?
You nodded, despite your audible thoughts already giving the game away. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."
With three confirmations, Mark smiled and said, "Go round the other way. Get as close as you can, then cut her off if she runs."
"What're you gonna do?"
He didn't answer; instead, he shook himself, took his hat off to swipe at his hair, and shot you a wink that gave you little confidence. That was especially so when he took a step to his right and placed himself in direct line of sight of Ms. Jackson.
You cursed, cursed her, him, yourself, but you followed his orders as you did so. You backtracked to the front of the building and hoped beyond hope that he wouldn't get himself killed before you got there.
"Ms. Jackson?" Mark said by way of announcing his presence.
The woman didn't even startle. She simply pulled the cigarette away from her mouth, smoke underlining her chin, and cocked her head.
"Detective, what a surprise it is to see you here."
He had a good distance to cover, so he needed to keep her talking, preferably casually.
"Just taking a stroll around the galaxy," he said.
"You've strolled quite far, haven't you?"
"What can I say? Got a lot on my mind."
"Don't we all?"
With six feet between them, Ms. Jackson raised her hand.
"That's close enough, detective."
Mark also dragged his hands to the air, placating the woman and begging his thoughts to keep quiet. The narration was finicky at the best of times, and there wasn't much room for damage control in a situation like this.
He slipped his fedora back onto his head—in anticipation of needing his fingers free—as he asked, "Why so defensive?"
She shifted, just barely but enough for him to see the glint of a gun beneath her jacket.
It was a threat he had always been familiar with, though so many times in the last 24 hours was a mood dampener. The local arms dealer was probably making a fortune.
Mark managed to cut his thoughts off before they revealed too much, but he was still forced to explain, "Alright, you got me. I'm actually here following a lead on your husband's death."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. Not to speak ill of the dead, but he wasn't great at numbers, and I can imagine it ticked a lot of people off." His shoes tapped against the tarmac. "And not just people."
Her tone turned blunt. "Get to the point."
"Organizations, Ms. Jackson. The mob. You might be in danger, too."
He had halved the distance again, now standing at three feet, but she no longer looked happy. Audible thoughts weren't needed to know her patience was wearing thin.
"I appreciate the concern, detective," she said. "But, no, I don't think I am."
In a split-second, he debated between staying where he was or risking the extra step to get within arm's reach of her. In another, he was moving forward, trying to not think at all.
He was failing on that front; how fast could she move? How many bullets were in the gun? Where was his partner?
And when she slipped the gun out of its holster—
"I have my own protection."
Was the safety on?
It was not.
A bullet ripped through the meat of Mark's shoulder and out the other side. The rush of blood in his ears covered up his pained yell, but his eyes darted to the pistol being cocked again. His time was running out, and yet his legs wouldn't move. They burned, as if a slip of his focus would send him tumbling to the ground, but staring death in the face paralyzed him.
Ms. Jackson's chin collided with the ground, cracking like an echo of the gunfire. She cursed and spat, but then her forehead followed. Pressing her body against tarmac with one boot, you kicked her gun away with the other. You made quick work of her, hog-tying her without a second's hesitation.
Normally, Mark would have hemmed and hawed over attacking a woman, but his bullet hole stung like a broken heart—and there was a trail of sweat carving a line down the side of his partner's face.
When she opened her mouth to speak, you stamped down harshly on her throat. This was the kindest you had ever been to a target of yours. If there weren't rope in the shuttle, her extremities would have suffered a worse fate to keep her from running.
Once she had settled down, you pushed your hat up to look at Mark.
"Are you okay?" you asked.
"You worried about me?"
He said this as if you hadn't just watched him get shot in the shoulder at point-blank range, and you were still watching him for any hint that he was going to collapse.
"Yeah," you answered.
This time, it wasn't because you thought he was incautious and unobservant, not to the same extent as before, but it was because you cared about him. At some point, you might have tried to play it off as needed to return the favor, but you weren't about to kid yourself. More than competent, he was a partner whom you could rely on.
Mark heard you, both of you knew that, but it only made him soften slightly.
"I'm okay," he said.
"Good." You pushed your shoe's toe into the base of Ms. Jackson's skull. "As for you…"
Her words were muffled by the ground as she shouted, "Get off me!"
You looked to Mark, but he merely shrugged. Neither of you cared what happened to her, as long as she was locked up by the end of it, so you stood to the side and hoisted her onto your shoulder. She struggled, obviously, squirmed like a fish out of water, and you nearly dropped her before Mark secured her own gun beneath her chin.
She stopped moving after that.
When you'd stuffed her into the shuttle's hold, you and your partner slipped into the cockpit. However, your brows furrowed at Mark's hiss.
"Hey, I got it," you said, reaching for the wheel.
Your hand was batted away too hastily. "I can still pilot a ship."
"Not well."
"I'm fine."
Not in his condition.
His condition was just fine, they were just being dramatic.
You were completely mobile while Mark's shoulder was missing a considerable chunk, but, yeah, you were the dramatic one there.
They didn't even know the way back to the main ship.
Bullet hole.
Dramatic—
"Mark, you are getting in the passenger seat or I swear I'll tie you up just like the lady."
His thoughts paused for just a second as his face grew a degree hotter and a shade darker. With all of his energy directed to keeping the narration effect at bay, he mumbled, "Fine."
Although it was none too graceful, you and Mark swapped positions. He was still mumbling to himself once you were situated, but you paid it no mind, especially when it devolved into random rambling.
You were rusty with driving shuttles like this one, but you got it off the ground and into the air, which was the best you could hope for. Letting the thrusters do the work for you was the easy part, so you angled toward the base and settled in for the ride.
"You got a case lined up after this?" you asked absentmindedly.
"Another day, another murder. Chief gives me two hours off and then slaps a new file on my desk." Finally, the pettiness was fading from his voice to give way to curiosity and something you couldn't yet name. "Where are you headed?"
"I don't know. Haven't got any other targets in the area, so I might be off."
That was fine. His partner—rather, the bounty-hunter who sat next to him, he supposed—wasn't tied to one place like he was. Criminals never stayed in one place too long, and they would be forced to follow them if they wanted to survive. Money stood behind relationships with a smoking gun, a practical concept that he was all-too-familiar with. Detectives like him, who profited off dead love, didn't experience the living version for long.
"But who knows?" you said, knocking him out of his thoughts. "Like you said, another day, another murder. Something might crop up."
And he said he wasn't being dramatic.
Aware of Mark's gaze on the side of your face, you slipped a toothpick out of your pocket and into your mouth. It was something to balance out the frantic beating of your heart and the laboring of your breath.
"And that bullet hole needs tending to, don't it?"
Shuttle on autopilot and your target immobile in the hold, you and Mark glanced at one another. Silence spread between you, but no words were needed to convey what you were both thinking.
If it took an extra hour to get back to the main ship due to unforeseen but unavoidable issues, was it really anyone else's business?
[And that's a wrap! Thank you so much for requesting, and, as always, for reading. This was my first time writing Noir and I have been wanting to do something for him since my Actor series (it's the detective trope, man, it just gets to me). Anyway, I hope you've enjoyed!]
I've been neglecting tumblr a lot lately, but I wanted to share this DA design I thought up with Fractured by @drop-of-void in mind.
I picture some of the details from Actor's corpse were kept just cause molding his body became too painful at some point, so they had to call this good enough. Leading them to have this kind of uncanny look to them where you can sort of see them as two people at once.
Also peep the horrors ✨️
Their skin turns to glass that shatters when they're enraged. :]
I've been neglecting tumblr a lot lately, but I wanted to share this DA design I thought up with Fractured by @drop-of-void in mind.
I picture some of the details from Actor's corpse were kept just cause molding his body became too painful at some point, so they had to call this good enough. Leading them to have this kind of uncanny look to them where you can sort of see them as two people at once.
Also peep the horrors ✨️
Their skin turns to glass that shatters when they're enraged. :]
NOTICE: As more and more fanfic writers are using generative AI for their works (you uncreative dweebs), I hereby swear on everything I hold dear that I have not and will NEVER use generative AI in ANY of my written work. Everything I post will be organically and creatively my own.
Hey, what do you do when you feel like you can’t write anything? I also have adhd so it’s a little hard :/ please and thank you
Haha, cry for the most part.
I also have ADHD so writing can be an absolute pain sometimes. I'll want to, but I just can't focus, and it's awful. Honestly, if you don't NEED to write then it's good to listen to your body and take a break. Forcing it can cause burn out, or just make the period last longer. Not great either way.
I try to keep being creative in other ways too. If I can't write fully-fledged things, what can I write? Head-cannons are usually pretty easy for me, even if I can only do one set of them. Or talking about ideas with friends and getting into the back and forth of brainrotting.
That way you're still being creative, even if you're not writing one shots or working on a fic at that exact moment.
Sometimes its just about finding the right thing to jumpstart your brain too. Listen to more music, read other fics, play/watch more video games, your brain might latch onto an idea to hyperfixate on. Be it a song, a trope, an AU.
And learn to jot things down! A big part of my struggles with writing is my perfectionism. But a first draft doesn't have to be pretty, it just has to be. Jot down your ideas as bullet points so when you can write you have an idea of what to do, write scenes yourself excited for even if they're out of order. You can make them fit later.
If anybody else has any ideas/advice, absolutely comment them so Anon can read them!
Hello everybody! My name is Zallia (Main blog is @zalliafawn). In a fit of manic passion, I have decided to start this project! my goal here is to create a Markiplier Ego Dating Simulator, where you have the option to romance different egos! The game is currently called Ego Mania, and the characters I currently plan to have as routes are Yancy, Google, Dave, The Host, Illinois, Engineer, Darkiplier, Wilford, and maybe even Actor! This doesn't mean these will be the only options in the finished product, nor does it mean I'll actually do all these characters, but this is the current plan!
Ego Mania is a fan-driven passion project! It will be a visual novel, similar to the style of DDLC, if that tells you the kind of format it will be in. I plan to release it to Itch.io when we get to release, and currently have no plans for making it available to mobile devices, unfortunately. however, this could change in the future, as not many things are totally set in stone
There will be no money involved in any step of the project. before, during, or after. No money is being given and nothing will cost you any money. This means all work is volunteer work, the game is free, and there will be no in game currency.
Characters will have multiple endings, including romantic, platonic, and bad endings. there may be flirty comments, however nothing in the game will be NSFW/Explicit. However, there may be heavier themes that could be disturbing, depending on where the stories go.
All help is welcome!! I will use primarily discord to communicate with the team, and already have a discord server with dozens of people in it that have created a very friendly and welcoming community! Anybody looking to contribute to the project, these are the types of roles that this project is looking for:
If you would like to join the community discord server to chat or apply for the dev team, https://discord.gg/qavnBSFxbX this is the link! To join the server, you must be 13+, and any dev applicants need to be 16+.
more updates and information will be posted to this blog as development continues! Feel free to send suggestions/questions to the ask box, and I'll do my best to answer!
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