Cami Bi She/They I love the Mandalorian and often ramble about my OC fanfic and other's amazing fan works. TERFs, SWERFs and "All Lives Matters" CAN GO FUCK THEMSELVES THIS BLOG IS ANTI NAZI AF
Heheheeeee, same anon heeeere as who asked for part twoooo
Really wonderful! Just like last time! I don't know what it is about your writing but you just have a way of writing inner monologue that's Really unique!! I love it!
(Once again giving metaphorical like and reblog, I don't want to disturb my minor mutuals—)
(If you wanna write some more Simon lovin' I wouldn't mind at all heheheee. Mayhaps some kiss headcanons?👀 Mayhaps?👉👈)
I gotchu! (I was going to do a bit for everyone I'm currently writing for, but since you're focused on Simon... (I can't really say anything against that, really, I love him too) maybe at a later date, I'll get on something like that)
(also, anon... as soon as I saw your ask I knew it was gonna be good. really, you're makin' my day here with all the compliments, getting me all flustered >///3///< thank you for requesting it, and thank you for all your kind words! also also, been considering making an anon list? could put you on there so you're all good and official, if you want! just send me an ask with a name you'd like (no limits, really) if you plan on asking more in the future (just so I could recognise you more easily), which is something I am very encouraging of. keep 'em coming!)
one more for the road?
Simon gets kissed, like a lot - the fanfiction. he needs it. it would heal something, I think. also just... affection for our boy, in general.
tw: a lot, a looooot of physical affection, mentions of details pertaining to the general universe I put Simon in (found in the leading background details in this oneshot), but you could just ignore those as well, gender neutral reader as per usual
> firstly, there's layers to how Simon expresses affection. it's hard to do so - it's hard for him to adjust at all, let alone be... that trustworthy towards anyone, really. not after the sub. not after Ava. not after all the people that left him down there, alone, for- well, even he doesn't know how long
> there's a kind of loneliness that develops specifically between people who, while - yes, they live, exist and do things together - have their own ways of dealing with their existentialism, the meaningless sense of their doomed existence, who are all in their own head, trying to solve their own problems. who do I care about, really? who would I want to save, given the chance? who would I let in, if I could, if I had the luxury to? it's the kind of questions you would expect of a population of a dying world. clustering together like stray bacteria, without the hive mind facet
> it's the survival aspect of it. things like community, togetherness, love in general - well, they're foreign concepts when you're sitting there, food and water a scarce commodity, oxygen running low. the animal inside you crouches down, admits defeat, and like you're on your deathbed - despite being only at half your lifetime, if even that - the body refuses resources, even when there are still some left. let me die alone, it screams, it begs. (for some, it's so that others may live. for others, it's just shame or the insecurity, or the familiarity that only pain brings after such a long time of being affected by it, the need to grip onto something as you're fluttering away. even if that something is just a heart-crushing kind of yearning that seeps into your very scent, slices you into ribbons and suckles on the essence of what makes you human.) (Simon's, regretfully, always been a part of the latter category.)
> even during his time under the C.O.I. - well, he was mostly in solitary. all of them were - too scared that the prisoners would attack each other, or the guards, or do something worse. (they're all human, or so they seem to forget a bit too often. they're all lonely, and so, so, pathetically human.) when they can't even get that, now, that's what turns them violent, not the other way 'round. (or they search for something else. something more. something abstract, when the physical is lacking - like a deity, or a higher power to devote themselves to. something to contribute to. it doesn't matter. you die either way, but at least, to some extent - there's a sense of comfort amongst all that... false hope.)
> all of this to say, Simon wasn't... a very affectionate person, when you met him for the first time. not only was he not used to giving touch, hands twitching, fingernails bitten, the veins crossing over the topside of his fist pulsating in want, in need - but he was so unused to recieving it that when he was first approached with the notion, it baffled him. hug? what? why? even as his heart did a lurch in his chest, twisting and turning into knots of a formidable size and strength, his lungs stuttering at his own words - his body smarter than he was, apparently - he refused to accept it.
> not like he was being purposefully arrogant, no. more like, stumbling in the dark kind of ignorance, not knowing such a thing even existed - like learning a foreign language, or piloting an unknown kind of technology. especially one that transcends, moreso clashes, with everything you'd been taught by others and have experienced on your own thus far. it's something that requires an open mind, and Simon - well, Simon's not sure that opening up would make it any better. opening up on its own, to let things like this in - sure, useful, in small doses. but when you open yourself up, there's a two way street there. things leak out. things escape. things he doesn't want out. and he has no say in what affects him, either. he could break. this perfectly solid, glass cannon facade he has built up, to keep himself steady and sane - just one touch, a specific one he isn't even aware would be his undoing, could ruin him. the catch is, he doesn't get to know which one. so he avoids them all
> (not to mention what a burden it would be, to be forced to remember the last time he was given any kind of affection, especially like this. when he was just a child - when his mother was still alive, when Eden was more akin to paradise than a community barely clinging to life. when he could just exist. when he was just... Simon.) (when his hands weren't as bloody as they are now.)
> Simon's not the kind of person to do, well, much of anything prior to making things official. it's not about tradition - most of that had lost its meaning long ago, unless you asked some of the elders of Eden - but simply because you could just... vanish. there's nothing keeping you down, keeping you tethered to him specifically - you could always just change your mind. decide he's too much, or too little, or both at once. get up and leave, for whatever reason. so, he keeps you on a loose leash. tests you a bit by pulling this way and that, bouncing from asking about hypothetical scenarios to creating small problems, if only to note how you'd react - just to see if you'd follow even if you weren't tied to him. that you want it. that you want him, and that you won't leave.
> only when you wholeheartedly pour out your feelings, solidify yourself by his side, will he even start letting himself think about what it would be like to touch you. before that, any kind of touch is rejected. a random hug? piss off. a hand on his shoulder? shrugged off. tapping at his back to get his attention? a harsh flinch paired with a disgruntled look. don't. touch him. (who knows what you could do with those hands.)
> but when you're together? like, a couple, or even close friends? oh, well now - now you're together, a package deal. if you were in Eden, you'd be, what, family? and Simon is a protector by nature, especially of people close to him. it wasn't just his job as part of the militia - no, Simon's been training to protect those around him since the day he could hold a weapon steady. sure, he's pretty average on the whole, academic, diplomatic, figuring out a compromise side of things, but strength? easily beats the vast majority, any day of the week. unless you count the, uh, muscle loss he suffered during his prison days. yeah, that was - a blow. but he still has those instincts, even if they're less centered towards the physical nature of fighting and taking care of someone
> fights happening around you? he's standing in front of you like a shield. someone shouting? he's by your side in seconds, a reassuring hand on your shoulder and a piercing glare aimed at the instigator. something's falling on you? he's inserting himself between you and the object, even if it hurts him. don't worry, not even an issue - he's bled worse. he can take it. his love languages would probably amount to something solid, as well - equipping you with new gear so you can protect yourself, or he himself physically shielding you or backing you up in any way he can manage to. actions speak louder than words, and well, he wasn't good with words a lot of the time either. so, let him show you instead?
> this is your ticket in. you can start off slow, masking your movements as care in the same way he'd care for you. tucking his hair behind his ear? what, you were just making sure his vision was clear! a hand on his bicep or shoulder? looks like he needed a backup in case his arm twitched when pushing that heavy item, just so he doesn't slip out of the grip accidentally and hurt himself. pressing his hands in between yours? he looked cold! what, were you meant to just let him freeze?
> he half-believes you most of the time but - oh, if you've already reached a stage where he trusts you to touch him, he's sure to brush it off more easily. surely, you didn't mean it, didn't give the touch any special significance, so... he shouldn't pay attention to it, right? just- focus on something else. quickly. (before he starts thinking about it more. about how lovely it felt. about how warm your skin is. about how how soft your fingers are against- no. shut up. shut. up. move on.)
> he would crumble, and I mean crumble, when he has the realization that he's okay, and that he can let go around you. finally, he has his person. someone to ask when he's unsure, someone to back him up if he's shaking too bad. someone to ask advice from - and not the kind of advice he usually would have discussed with his comrades back in Eden, about battle schematics and strategies, about the best way to kill someone quickly, but instead about things he might've mentally set aside years ago. someone who can listen to him ramble about unimportant things. someone who has unimportant things of their own, who prioritises his thoughts, especially ones others used to scoff at. because they aren't a priority, not really, not prevalent to survival. maybe even because some of them clashed against the teachings of Father? he's just happy to have you. he's just happy to have his own part of the universe, carved out for him specifically - somewhere he can go when the world is too much, where he can be taken care of without having to work so damn hard to have even a simple moment of peace
> it would most likely happen while you're physically taking care of him - redressing wounds, checking up on his mutations (which he would have a hard time showing anyone, too. he can't really do much about his face, not that he can see it anyways - he doesn't really take the time to look at himself in the few mirrors that you have either way, but the veins up and down his arms, his legs, his body? yeah, he covers them. it takes a very, very long time for you to get him to even take his shirt off in front of you. it's not that he's scared you'll see him as a monster - being where he is, scars are considered a symbol of pride and success. you won, you lived another day, and you continued to breathe. but this? turning into a monster to achieve such? what if it changes him, or the way he sees himself? what if, if he lets himself go enough, he becomes a completely different person? what if he gives in to the deity under the ocean, what if he loses himself? he doesn't look at himself while he changes, either. if he looks, he's only confirming what he sees as reality. and he's not - he's not, he's not, he's not - a monster. he's still... human. right? right...?), snatching his things away to mend them, cooking for him, pressing at his back because "You have a knot riiiiight, here! I saw it when I was waiting for you to finish up work. Let me get that nice and worked out for you, okay?", putting his hair up for him - oh goodness, there's so many things you could do. this man will become starry-eyed at any of them. he's so deprived of care, he's essentially just waiting to latch onto someone, anyone, who shows even a modicum of concern for him like that
> (pounding my fist against the table as I write this - wash him! someone wash that maaaan!! especially, like, if you're one of those people that have a specific hair care routine or skincare routine. he wouldn't let you do it for him, at least not at first - but he'd be open to learning about it. and once you're more familiar with each other? when he's too tired to do it himself, because, yeesh that man's hair is gree-eeasy, and you offer to do it for him? just a puddle. literally goes boneless by the time you're done. someone wash this man! someone wash his hair for him! someone help him get dressed down after a long day of work and cuddle him to sleep, telling him how pretty he is I AM GNAWING AT THE BARS OF MY CAGE-)
> once you've got him all snatched off the dating market and taken care of? at your beck and call. literally dumps anything in the middle of doing it (unless it's something dangerous to drop, in which case he puts it away carefully as quickly as possible) as soon as you call his name. you need something? you want something? oh, okay - how much? nono, he's on it, don't worry. yeah, he's sure, just- sit tight!
> (he missed having a family so bad. when Eden went south, when everything happened at Filament station, it left a hole in him, even bigger than when he was separated from his family. he wanted it so badly, so badly. he's scared all the time - no one to turn to, no one to rely on - and it's not even his fault. he didn't do anything. why did it have to happen to him? he used to drown himself in thoughts like that. now? now he doesn't have to. he has you. and he's going to make damn sure he keeps you. he doesn't know what would happen if he lost you... like he lost them.)
> Simon would die, and I mean, die with a nurturing partner. someone to come home to, someone who makes sure he eats and is doing well, someone to sit with at the end of the day, who hums affirmingly about him just talking about how the day went - and when he stops just to make sure you're listening, turns back to him with a "And then what?". oh. oh no. he's so in love. worse, if you tell him "I get it, take your time." when he's not ready to do something or talk about something? when you're as steady as a second heart, keeping strong even when he falters? he's crying in relief. he's so happy he has you. he's so happy you exist, and that you're here, and that you're his. he's blessed to have you. blessed by whom? it doesn't really matter - in his mind, after all that, your love might as well be his new reason to keep pushing through it all, whatever may come your way
> surprisingly, Simon is shy. at least when it comes to being intimate in any way. it's the kind of counterbalance you would never expect - like people who flirt constantly and then, when faced with the fact they're not the one flirting, melt into a flustered mess. however, it's different with Simon. it's partially due to the fact that he just, isn't really used to the concept of flirting, or of courting someone in general - just holding your hand of his own will is enough to get him all red in the face. I mean, who is worried about doing that during an apocalypse? (at least, enough to try to conjure it up as a possibility that may occur one day, so they can prepare themselves) but, it's also the fact that, well, no one's really found him to be attractive before - at least not personality-wise. sure, he's handsome and all, but once even people in Eden found out what he does as a militia member, well, it puts one off, especially with his reputation. not that he was interested in that kind of thing anyways - he was always more of the workaholic, single-minded type - however, even with you, it took some time for him to realize he even liked you. like those things (a happier future) weren't meant for him, weren't destined for him - but you somehow wormed your way in. and he's satisfied with that. you're his one and only. he intends it to stay that way.
> your first kiss is very... insecure. he's not the one who intiates it, and you have to guide him, attune him to the idea anyways, starting off small: kisses on the hand, the cheek, getting him used to being comfortable with it, so he doesn't freeze up and startle. then the corner of his mouth, when you really want to stretch it. when you truly kiss for the first time, the experience really depends on you. if you're more of an experienced kisser, he's happy to let you lead - happy to sit back and get lost in you, if even for a second. if you're less experienced, well, that's okay too! you're both a bit clumsy, and it takes a few tries until you settle into a rythm, but the first kiss in that case is... definetly something you'd want to forget about and just consider some other time your first kiss. (yeah, no, it's that bad.) after you'd... gotten better at it. just don't let him quit trying it with you - he's eager to try again, but he won't tell you, really - instead, he'll let you come to him. he wouldn't want to overwhelm you, or himself, really. (he really, really, really wants to kiss you again. he barely knows how to describe it - besides it being just perfect. it feels like the most intense sense of calm he'd ever felt, like the universe itself freezes every time you kiss, holding its breath. like he's okay. like you'll both be okay. he needs that. he needs that so badly.) but either way, it's just a short peck and not much more. maybe a few pecks as you're leaning into it more, but you don't delve deep with your first few tries - though it takes less time for you to get to that point if you're more experienced.
> (sure, he'd kissed someone before. maybe like, once. but even then, it was when he was younger, and with someone he barely remembers. y'know. teenagers being teenagers. well. until they actually had responsibilities, and all that curiosity was forcefully fizzled out. so, he has experience, just not... really sufficient enough to give him even a base on how to go about kissing someone seriously. like he means it. like he wants it to matter.)
> once he's comfortable with it? does it all. the damn. time. no, I'm not joking. again, for the first few times, or at least, the first month after? shyest man you'd ever seen. you have to make all the moves, have to guide him - even if you're on the same level as him in terms of experience, you're the one who has to suggest it. it's sort of an event, in his mind, something that needs adressing and explicit consent so he can prepare himself properly. if you catch him off-guard during that time, he'll probably have to excuse himself to go process it somewhere. he's- just not used to it. a lot of emotions for a man who used to need to only have one, maybe two at a time on his mind. to some extent, it couples together with his rage - he gets scared he's being angry with you kissing him. (it's just cuteness agression. he's fine, just needs a minute.)
> after the first month or so, he still gets uneasy, don't get him wrong, but at this point he's also spiteful with himself. what, he has a partner he adores and now his own body is putting up a revolution against him being affectionate the way he's always wanted to? absurd. ridiculous. what is he even on. he refuses to accept the fact he's failing in any way to take care of you (as in, leaving you high and dry until he calms down enough to ask you to try again) so he combats it with different, other kinds of affection. he can't handle being kissed right now? smothering you in a hug. you catch him by surprise with a kiss to the cheek? suddenly very interested in the anatomy of your hand, while holding it tightly. but hey, it works! the more he stops running away from it, the more his tolerance grows, and after a while he finds himself getting used to it. oh, and then?
> you are screeeewed. as in, he's kissing you all the time. going somewhere? give him a kiss before you go. your head hurts? he's already cradling you, lips pressed against your forehead. you're talking, excited about your newest project? kissing your hand, interlacing your fingers while he waits for you to finish so he can kiss you properly, only half-listening. (he's trying to, he swears, but he can't detach himself from you.) tired after a long day? sits somewhere near you where you can see him pout until you relent and come kiss it all better for him. it creates bubbles, rare moments where it's just you, and him, and the world can wait outside for a second or two until you're done. it's the rare occasions where he'll actually smile, or even more surprisingly, laugh- now sweet and soft, because he's allowed to be like that when he's with you
> his favorite kind is those you share when you're particularly sleepy. yes, time slows a bit when you're pressed up against each other, but when you're sleepy it gets even better - more syrupy, like you're melting away and sticking together, veins crossing veins, your blood cells fusing with his. especially while you're cuddling together in bed, legs crossing over eachothers'. partially, it's due to when it happens - usually very early in the morning or late at night, when he can give himself time to indulge in you properly - without having to rush doing this and that, or think about how much time he has left until you both have to get up, or what he has on his agenda to do next. for that moment, all that can wait. or rather, he can force it to wait until you've had your fill... or something like it (can you ever get enough of him, really?)
> it's also the position - Simon's not usually one for dismissing you quickly, so kisses on the go, so to say - a peck before you rush off, or a kiss to whatever you can reach as you're rushing, like an afterthought - he won't tell you, but he hates them. when he's with you, he's with you. as in, you're his sole focus, and he has sort of limits in his head of how much is too much, and how much is too little, based on the happenings around you that you tell him about, and how they affect you. (though, he tends to spill over into too much a lot. he can't help himself.) in so saying, he can focus on your needs. he's there to fill up what you don't have, and maybe what you have but need more of, and vice versa. it's like he's drinking you in, filling up his social battery with his head lodged in your shoulder as you press kisses across wherever you can reach. heaven. (plus, if you're in bed, he can just... trap you whenever you want to leave. he's not used to being... selfish- so in the beginning, he'll be all nice about it and let you buzz off to wherever you need to go, but as you're properly getting into it? nah. you're staying right. here. for as long as he needs you to, almost crushing you with his body but taking care not to actually hurt you - and he encourages you to do the same to him, even if you're smaller than him. oh noooo, he's trapped- oh it's so traaaaagic- guess he has to stay with his partner for as long as they need him. what a disaster, truly)
> oh, oh, face kisses! loves those. especially when he's on the floor, doing something or the other - adjusting machinery, polishing up his tools, mending his work boots - and you come up behind him, optimally sitting down, tilting his chin upwards and bringing your own down to pepper kisses across his entire face? oh, yes. lives, for that. he'll close his eyes and hum in content, relaxing immediately. it's almost instinctual, based on how quickly it happens. he'd been teased before for it- he'll be in the boiler room, fixing this and that at work when you drop in with your clipboard to pick up some stuff, only to spot him and approach, tugging on the back of his overalls until he's in the perfect position to be kissed. he's looking at you after like a puppy left out in the road before grumbling, getting back to his work with a dusting of pink on his face, embarrasment evident, supported by giggles from the people working around him. he'll get back at you when he comes back to your quarters, mark his words
> has a particular fondness for giving kisses on the cheek. being the way he is, not getting enough love in general, Simon's view of the borders between platonic love and romantic love is kind of... really askew. as in, he doesn't really grasp the concept of things like 'hugging is platonic' or 'kissing someone is romantic', at least not fully and firmly (though, explaining things like that to him will usually clear up the issue, but even then - he mostly files it away as 'oh, you're uncomfortable with me doing that with other people because you consider that romantic. noted.' and not as a general rule). so, there's a certain flexibility he retains with some of those gestures. for example, giving kisses on the cheek is extremely romantic to him. it's the thing that replaces the whole 'peck on the lips before you go' aspect but, like a hundred times better. why? well- he doesn't just get to kiss you. it's the closeness - he's closer to some vital parts of you that way - your eyes, your nose, the rest of your features, and to him, that serves as a proof of trust. he doesn't let just anyone get that close, so he thinks you wouldn't either. being able to? a privilege he holds in high regard. also, what is he, a casual? nono, when Simon goes into your cheek, he goes in. full nuzzle, multiple kisses, takes his time, also distracts you enough so he can catch a couple of other touches along the way - sliding his hands onto your biceps or under your chest, caressing at the skin there, maybe moving onto your neck a bit? and because of his harsher stubble, sometimes you let out one of those cute giggles when he brushes against a certain spot. oh, do that again, please
> you're literally his childhood fantasy. when he was younger, he was the kind of person who was very physical - that got him working for the sector he was in anyway. always rough and tumble, that one. but also, it's how he showed love, too. holding his caretaker's hand, hugging his friends, a hand on the shoulder, helping people up, tossing himself onto their shoulders when he caught them turning their back to him. however, all kids need to grow up. the more he did, the more he kind of realized everyone just... stopped doing that. that he was the only one really being physical anymore. so that, coupled with the fact he couldn't really get over what his hands had done, and how he barely could think about being physically affectionate without the possibilities of how easily he could hurt someone - he stopped. but that gnawing from the inside - that need, didn't really diminish, and could to an extent be the reason to his desperation, to his roughness, to his seemingly brutish personality. yearning manifests in different ways, after all. but you- you, who is so easily accepting of him, who takes in what he gives, who crouches down to his level to force him to be equals with you, who smiles so fondly when he expresses the tiniest amounts of love - how could he deny you anything? and in return, he's healing, even when he doesn't actively notice it. he doesn't think he could ever feel so fulfilled, so complete, than when in your arms, when some part of him is touching you. doesn't matter which one - he isn't picky
> finds he likes being taken care of along the way. at first, it was such a foreign concept - what are you, calling him weak? he can do things himself! but it's not about that. it's not that he can't do them, but would he rather you did it for him - just so he doesn't have to bother with it if he doesn't want to? when that sets in, there's a brief moment of realization before he nods just slightly. he feels strange, guilty maybe, that he allows himself the comfort of you. but then, the more you're hushing him down, whispering love in his ears and announcing everything you're doing, if only to not spook him - your care, your affirmation of him as a person worth loving, worth warning about just brushing his damn hair - he can't help but feel so moved a stray tear slides off the side of his face. you didn't see that, you didn't. he totally wiped it off before you could
> loves watching you sleep. no, not like that- he isn't a creep or anything, but when he wakes up close to you, earlier than you? he's vigilant by nature, a light sleeper by design, and together with the nightmares... he knows he makes you tired, beyond what you should be, both mentally and physically. but you persevere regardless, and he loves you all the more for it. in the early morning, when the artificial sun is barely up in the compound, he'll watch you under the glow of the overhead lamp, the peaceful expression on your face such a rare sight. not a wrinkle of worry, not even a furrow in your brow. he must cherish it, preserve it. if he had a camera, he'd take at least a million photos of it, but alas... he prefers just breathing against you, even if it's in the dark. it's like a little den, just you and him, away from the world. when it's about time for your alarm to jolt you awake, he takes on the responsibility of shutting it off preemptively, instead waking you up with a gentle nuzzle, and, if he's feeling especially soft - angel kisses. they're so intimate, it makes his entire body buzz in excitement when he gets to deliver them. like his own sort of claim he stakes
> if he's crying so hard he can't calm down? hyperventilating during a panic attack? hands shaking, nerves breaking, head swimming? you have to gauge in what state he's in. if he's gone off the deep end, then yeah, better not touch him. (after all, he could easily misremember who you are.) but if he's just started approaching his limit? sit him down and soothe him, even if you have to do it forcibly. (because, as we've seen, this man is a denier. he will not admit something's wrong with him until he's right there, pressed up against the edge of it all) kissing him here works wonders. touch, in general, really helps ground him, but kissing? recognizes you immediately. after all, you're the only one who's done that with him, who's allowed to do things like that so casually and with such confidence. just the thought that you're here for him, wiping at his face with a cold, wet rag as he tries desperately to take another deep breath in, whispering how he's okay and telling him where he is to focus him back into place, means more than you could ever know. calms him down in minutes, as opposed to hours he would usually spend trying to do it himself
> kiss his scars! in Eden, as we've said, scars were something to be proud of - so when he kisses your scars for the first time, if you have any, he's mostly confused as to why you might be backing away from him. what's wrong? did he do something? does it hurt? did he- hurt you?! only after you explain you might be uncomfortable, if you are at all, does he only partially start to get it. he'll indulge you, sure, but on a deeper level? he doesn't really get it. your scars are signs of fights past, trophies littering your skin - and those markings that aren't scars (stretch marks, moles, birth marks, etc.) are just traces of how painstakingly human you are. and what's so ugly about that? (unless the lack of comfort comes from them being fresh, painful or tight, or they remind you of an ugly past. that, he can understand.) but his wounds? his scars? even the veins, the extra teeth, the stump of his arm? free game. kiss those, and he's literally lovesick. you love him! all of him! you accept every flaw he has, and in turn, the past that lead him to have those scars! it's the most acknowledgement you can give him, both in respect and love, and if/when you choose to do so, the night usually ends with you being pinned somewhere under him - most likely your bed - almost being suffocated from the amount of love he's showering you back with
> (especially that burnt off tattoo. that only shows him you love all parts of him - even the murderous, Butcher part of him. that you'd never believe the lies told about him. that it wasn't his fault. that he's allowed to live, to breathe, to love, to be himself. that you'd never try and change him, even if the C.O.I already tried to. it's so reassuring to him.)
> loves taking care of you as much as he loves being taken care of. it's the acts of service, which he's full of - he loves doing things for you, just as much as you do for him. I might be repeating myself from my previous headcannons, but man will literally fight with you over who gets to do more chores. inevitably, though, his multiple wounds will get the better of him, especially if his back cracks or something from carrying heavy boxes all day at work, only to come back home and insist on carrying more things for you. then, you really have to wrestle him back into bed, where you can dote on him all you like. he won't really be able to complain - he did that to himself. oh, if only he was more reasonable and took a break before taking on something new, especially if you were more than capable (hypocrite. you're the same way. he'll be back at it again tomorrow anyways.)
> not usually the type to be all that goofy, but for you... he guesses he can give it a go. every kiss from him is a testament, every touch a confession to your importance in his life, so much so that it's hard to even try to treat them as something that's able to be diminished, even if that diminishing is for the purpose of taking a load off, of enjoying you in a new, renewed way. sure, he'll offer a smile, a laugh - here and there, but when he's deep into the essence of your embrace, of your attention? as focused as he would be while working. he takes it very seriously, and devotes himself to you fully. treats it like a sign of respect - every touch significant, every kiss as deep as it can be. but if you're smiling? so is he. can't help it, really, just seeing you happy makes him so satisfied, so content
> you're telling him he looks pretty this way or that? hair up? hair down? shaved or not? he won't want to admit it, but will sneakily take it very much into consideration. if you ever catch him, "Hey, you're putting up your hair more often... is it 'cause I said something about it?", no, no, definetly... definetly not. this is just how he likes it. it's a complete coincidence. for sure. (he's see-through. absolute lover boy.)
> angry at someone who isn't you? just slide a hand over him, or under his arm, or into his fist, across it when it's closed in the intensity of holding himself back. he won't exactly mellow out completely, but at least it'll be enough of a distraction for him to follow you to the side, where you can ask him what happened and lead him through his emotions, giving him solutions to problems if he wants any. and, of course, a kiss for reassurance never hurts, not even as a last, or first resort. just keeping your hands on him in general makes Simon pay attention to wherever they lay, and if they're across his chest when he's breathing heavily? immediately tries to control his breathing. it's like a focal point for him- any place you're touching is an immediate point of utmost interest
> please, please, please - let him control your movement. lay boneless in his arms and let him worship you. he knows you don't like when he calls it worship, not entirely - you're equals, you're his partner, his everything, but that's exactly why he needs to. don't even move a muscle. let him do whatever he wants. just for a little while, please. he'll cover you in so many marks, so many kisses, so many little shows of his devotion - it's like a meal for him, leeching off and anchoring his energy according to yours. and he's so hungry. he's so needy. please?
Hiiii! could i request bloodmary x fem!reader in a romantic way but reader is from a different space ship and she ends up meeting the boys because her ship was invaded by an alien! (like the xenomorph from the alien movies) and she is the only survivor of her ship 👽
❝ 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐬. 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. ❞ R.G & S.T.C ( BloodyMary )
pairing dr. ryland grace x simon the convict x fem! reader 🪽.
synopsis 𖥧 you thought you were done for when that.. thing raided your ship and killed all of your crewmates. looks like, after a surprising turn of events, you're now sharing a ship with a midschool teacher and a convict.
content 𖥧 canon typical violence (alien & iron lung), poly, fem reader.
💬 : YESS MY FIRST BLOODYMARY REQUEST YESSSSSS !!!!
You don't remember the exact moment they pulled you out.
That's the first thing you'll tell Ryland and Simon much, much later. You'll tell them that the memory is a hole in your head, a black spot where a chunk of your life used to be. One moment you were in the escape pod after three days without sleep, without food, without anything except the sounds of screams and murder and cries and howls echoing in the mothership you'd left behind, and the next moment you were surrounded by light.
Not human light. Not the harsh, flickering fluorescents of the space stations you'd grown up on. This light was warm, almost organic, pulsing in frequencies your eyes hadn't evolved to process. And the shapes moving through it —Eridians, you'd learn later, though at the time you thought you were dead and this was some kind of alien afterlife—were so incomprehensible that your brain simply refused to process them.
You passed out.
When you woke up, you were inside a transparent ball. Xenonite. Though you didn't know that yet.
The Eridians had been gentle. That's the part that fucks with your head the most, looking back. They had no reason to be gentle. You were a strange, soft, small creature that had drifted into their territory in a piece of salvage that was barely holding together. They could have ignored you. They could have dissected you. Instead, they'd built you a climate-controlled bubble: warm, pressurized, filled with a thin but breathable atmosphere. Instead they'd transported you across however many light-years to their homeworld.
You don't remember the journey. You remember dreams. Fragments. Your crewmates' faces, one by one. The thing that moved through the corridors of the Gethsemane, a smell like copper and rot and something else, something wrong. You remember being the last one. Not because you were brave. Not because you were smart. Just because the creature had to kill someone first, and then someone second, and then someone third, and then someone fourth, and you were the fifth.
Someone always has to be last.
It had been your turn to be last.
You open your eyes.
Ryland Grace has been living on Erid for approximately two weeks when he hears the news.
He's sitting on the warm sand and he's staring at the stars through the curved xenonite wall of his habitat. It's a dome, massive and circular, built specifically to house a single fragile human being on a planet where the atmosphere would liquefy his lungs and the gravity would crush his spine. Rocky designed it. Rocky built it. Rocky checks on him every few hours, despite Grace's protests that he's fine, he's okay, he doesn't need a babysitter.
"I am not a babysitter. statement." Rocky says, his voice translating through the device they built together, the harmonic bridge between Eridian chirps and human phonemes. "I am a friend. Are you eating. Question."
"I'm eating."
"You are not eating. I am observing. You are pushing the food around."
Grace sighs and looks down at the bowl of algae-paste in his hands. Rocky is right. He's been pushing it around for twenty minutes, not because it tastes bad but because he's been thinking about Earth. About Stratt. About the Petrova line and the astrophage and the billions of people who are, by now, either dead or alive or something in between.
He doesn't know. He'll never know. That's the part he can't accept.
"Rocky," he says. "can I ask you something?"
"You are asking. Statement. I am listening."
"Do you ever think about—"
The door to the habitat opens.
Grace flinches. The door isn't supposed to open. Not without warning. Not without his say-so. He's the only human on Erid. He's the only human within fifteen light-years, at least, probably more, unless there are other survivors out there, which there aren't, because the Hail Mary was the only ship and he was the only—
But the door is open.
And through it, pushed by a team of Eridian scientists whose segmented bodies are pulsing with what Grace has learned to recognize as excitement, come two xenonite spheres.
They're smaller than the one he arrived in. Transport pods, maybe. Temporary housing. Each one is filled with a breathable atmosphere, and each one contains-
Oh no.
Grace stands up so fast he drops his bowl. The algae-paste spills onto the sand. He doesn't care.
"Rocky." he says, his voice very quiet. "Rocky, what is that."
The translation device crackles. "Those are humans. Statement. Two humans."
"I can see that they're humans, Rocky. Why are there two humans in my habitat."
"They were rescued. Statement. One human was found in a damaged submersible vessel in the blood ocean of a moon in a nearby system. Second human was found in an emergency escape pod. Both humans were recovered by Eridian science vessels. Statement. Both humans require an environment suitable to human biology. Statement. This is the only environment on Erid suitable to human biology. Therefore-"
"Therefore they're staying here?" Grace's voice cracks. He can hear it. He doesn't care. "Rocky, you can't just- you can't just drop two random humans into my habitat without asking me first! I'm not—I'm not equipped for this! I'm not a zookeeper!"
"You are not a zookeeper. Statement. You are a human. They are humans. They require-"
"I know what they require! They require oxygen and warmth and- and therapy, probably, look at them, Rocky, look at them!"
He points at the two xenonite spheres, which the Eridian scientists are now gently positioning onto the sand with one of their huge transportation claws that they use to put things inside his habitat without entering. Inside the first sphere, a man. He's huge, muscular. His hair is dark and matted, hanging over a face that's all sharp angles and shadows. He's wearing what looks like a prison uniform, faded and torn, and his hands are scarred. Knuckles broken and healed, broken and healed, broken and healed until they look like knots on a tree.
The man is sitting in the center of his sphere with his knees drawn up to his chest, and he's staring. Not at anything specific. Just staring. His eyes are dark and flat and wrong in a way that makes Grace's hindbrain start screaming predator.
Inside the second sphere, a woman.
You are that woman.
You're younger than the man, he notes. Early twenties, maybe. You're wearing the remnants of a uniform: a patch on the shoulder that Grace can't quite read from this distance, a name tag that's been scratched out. You're not curled up like the man. You're standing. Standing still, your arms at your sides, your head tilted slightly to one side.
And you're looking.
Not staring like the other man. Looking. Your eyes are moving, tracking, cataloging. Every few seconds, your gaze flicks to the xenonite walls, then to the sand, then to the artificial sun-lamp in the ceiling, then to Grace, then back to the man, then to the Eridian scientists outside the dome. You're not blinking enough.
You looks like an animal that's been cornered and has given up on running and is now waiting to see which direction the killing blow will come from.
"Rocky." Grace says, his voice barely a whisper. "Rocky, no."
"Explanation. They are your same species. Statement. They need the same environment. Therefore-"
"Rocky. Look at them. They don't look- they don't look civilized. That one" He points at the man "looks like he's going to murder someone. He looks like he's done murder."
"Humans are a violent species. Question. You are also a human. Does that mean Grace is violent. Question."
"I'm cuddly compared to that guy, Rocky! I'm a teddy bear! I'm- I'm a middle school science teacher who makes beanbag toss jokes! I'm not equipped to handle whatever that is!"
Grace doesn't like this.
His hands are raised. His palms are facing you and Simon. It is a universal sign of peace, of I am not a threat, but his face tells a different story.
His face says: What the fuck have they dropped into my living room.
"Rocky." he says, trying a different angle, "some humans don't like other humans. Some humans are dangerous. I'm not- I'm not comfortable with this. I didn't sign up for roommates. I didn't sign up for- for whatever this is."
Rocky is quiet for a long moment. Grace can see him through the xenonite suit, his clawed hands twitching in that way they do when he's thinking hard.
Then Rocky says. "They are same species. Statement. They need a suitable habitat. Statement. You are not allowed to refuse."
"I'm not allowed?"
"Clarification. The habitat is Eridian property. The Eridian science council has authorized the placement of these humans in this habitat. Statement. You do not have veto power. Statement. I am sorry."
Grace opens his mouth to argue. Closes it. Opens it again.
"Rocky-" he says, very quietly, "I'm going to say something, and I need you to listen very carefully. Those two humans are not normal. They are not okay. Something has happened to them. Something bad. And I don't know how to help them. I don't know how to be around them. I'm a science teacher, Rocky. I teach kids about photosynthesis. I don't- I don't do trauma. I don't do whatever that is."
Rocky's claws twitch again. "Observation. You also experienced trauma. You also were not normal when you arrived. Statement. I helped you. You helped me. Statement. You will help them. Or they will help you. Or you will help each other. Statement. This is what living beings do."
"That's not—"
But Rocky is already turning away to approach the wall of the dome, speaking to the other Eridian scientists through the wall in a rapid series of chirps and clicks that the translation device doesn't catch. And the scientists are moving, their claws reaching for controls.
They're going to open the xenonite balls.
They're going to open them right now.
"Rocky!" Grace says, panic rising in his throat. "Rocky, wait! Rocky, please. At least give me a warning. At least give me- give me a heads-up or something so I can—I don't know, prepare mentally???"
The spheres open.
The xenonite spheres retract like flower petals, dissolving into the sand.
For a moment, nothing happens.
The man (Simon, Grace will learn later) doesn't move. He stays curled up, his knees to his chest, his head down. He looks like a spring that's been compressed too tight, waiting for the pressure to release.
You don't move either. You stand exactly where the sphere deposited you, your arms at your sides, your breathing shallow and controlled.
Grace raises his hands higher. He's not sure why.
"Hi-" he says. His voice comes out too high. He clears his throat and tries again. "Hi. Hello. Um, Welcome. I'm- I'm Ryland. Ryland Grace. I'm a—I'm a human. Obviously. You can see that. I'm human. We're all human here. Ha. That's- that was a joke. Because we're all human. In this habitat. Which is for humans."
Simon looks up.
Oh, Grace thinks. Oh no.
Simon's eyes are wrong. They're not just flat, they're burning. There's something behind them, something hot and hungry and angry, and it's looking at Grace like he's a problem to be solved. Like he's an obstacle. Like he's prey.
Simon stands up.
He doesn't do it slowly. He doesn't do it gracefully. He unfolds, all at once, like a trap being sprung. One moment he's curled on the sand, and the next moment he's on his feet, his shoulders hunched, his hands curled into fists, his head low.
He's looking at Grace.
No, he's looking past Grace. He's looking at the xenonite walls. At the artificial sun. At the sand. At the stars beyond the dome. His lips are moving, but no sound is coming out. He's mouthing something.
"This is- this is my home. Sort of. The Eridians built it for me. And I'm sure you're both very—" He stops. His eyes dart between you and Simon. "...very.. something. But I need you to just. Take a breath. Both of you. Nobody here is going to hurt anybody."
You do not move.
You have learned not to trust people who tell you that nobody is going to hurt you. The last person who said that was your captain, three hours before the thing ripped him in half.
Your eyes seem to convey your distrust.
Grace takes a step back. "Okay," he says. "Okay. Let's all just- let's all just take a breath. Nobody needs to- nobody needs to do anything rash. We're all friends here. We're all-"
Simon turns his head.
He's not looking at Grace anymore. He's looking at you.
His head turns. The motion is slow, mechanical, like a turret swiveling to acquire a target. His eyes find yours. And you see it: the shift, the calculation, the recognition. A potential threat. A variable he did not account for, and variables get people killed.
And you're looking back at him.
Something passes between you. Grace doesn't know what it is. He doesn't want to know what it is. All he knows is that Simon's posture changes: his weight shifts, his center of gravity drops, his hands flex, and your posture changes too. Your shoulders square. Your chin lifts. Your trembling hands stop trembling.
"Okay," Grace says, backing up another step. "Okay. That's- that's a look. That's a look you're giving each other. That's a concerning look. Can we talk about the look? Can we just- can we just use our words—"
You do not know what your face is doing. You have lost the ability to control your face. Somewhere in the three days you spent hiding in the Gethsemane's air vents, listening to the creature drag your crewmates' bodies through the corridors, your face stopped being yours. It became a mask. A flat, wide-eyed, unblinking thing that sees everything and betrays nothing.
Grace sees this. His hands go higher.
Simon moves.
It's not a charge. It's not an attack. It's something more akin to a lunge, a leap, a launch. He crosses the distance between himself and you in less than a second, his arms outstretched, his hands reaching for your throat, your shoulders, your face, anything.
It happens too fast for Grace to react. One moment Simon is standing still, his head turned toward you, his breathing shallow. The next, he is on you. His body crashing into yours, you both hit the sand hard, the wind knocked out of you, and then instinct takes over.
You do not scream.
You have not screamed since the Gethsemane. Screaming attracts things.
But you fight.
Your knee comes up between you and Simon, catching him in the stomach. He grunts but doesn't stop. His fist connects with your jaw, not hard enough to break bone, but hard enough to make your vision white out for a split second. You twist, using the leverage of the sand, and suddenly you are on top of him, your forearm pressed against his throat.
He roars.
It is not a human sound. It is something primal, something scraped out of a throat that has forgotten how to speak. He throws you off with a strength that scares Grace shitless, and now you are both scrambling, both clawing, both grappling. Silent on your end, vocal on his, a symphony of rage and survival and something that sounds like prayer.
Grace is frozen.
He's standing ten feet away, his hands still raised in that useless gesture of peace, his mouth hanging open, his brain refusing to process what he's seeing.
"Rocky." Grace hisses, his voice cracking. "Rocky, do something!"
Outside the xenonite dome, having went out just before the spheres dissolved, Rocky is watching.
His claws are twitching in a pattern that Grace has learned to recognize as excitement. He's chirping to the other Eridian scientists, his voice rapid and almost joyful.
"Rocky!"
"Is this the human mating ritual. Question."
What.
"Rocky, this is NOT a mating ritual!"
"Statement. I am observing. They are gripping each other. They are making sounds. They are exchanging physical contact. Question. Is this not how humans reproduce."
"Rocky!"
"Clarification. I am not understanding the problem. They are mating. This is good."
Grace wants to scream. He wants to tear his hair out. He wants to shake Rocky until his faceted eyes fall out of his head.
"They are not-" Grace chokes on his own words. "They are not doing a mating ritual! They're fighting! They're hurting each other! This is bad, Rocky! This is the opposite of good!"
Rocky's claws stop twitching.
"Oh." he says.
Silence.
"Oh." he says again. "Statement. I may have made a miscalculation."
"You think?"
"BUT THEY ARE SAME SPECIES. EXPLANATION. WHY DO SAME SPECIES TRY TO KILL."
"Because humans are-" Grace stops. Rethinks. "Actually, no, that's a fair question. I don't have a good answer. We just do that sometimes."
"THAT IS BAD. STATEMENT. VERY BAD. BADBADBADBADBAD." Rocky's legs move in an agitated pattern. "THEY ALONE. THEY NEED COMPANY. GRACE DO SOMETHING. COMMAND."
"What do you want me to do?" Grace hisses. "They're either highly trained in combat or they've gone completely feral—I can't tell which—and I am one middle school science teacher. I am not equipped for this. I was equipped for Astrophage. I was equipped for saving the sun. I was not equipped for interpersonal conflict resolution between two traumatized murderers."
Simon has you pinned again.
"EDEN!" Simon howls, and his voice breaks on the word. "EDEN TOOK EVERYTHING! EDEN AND THE- THE GETHSEMANE. THE GETHSEMANE DISAPPEARED AND THIS PLACE-" He punches the sand next to your head, deliberately missing. "THIS PLACE HAS SOMETHING TO DO WITH IT! I KNOW IT DOES! I KNOW!!"
You stop fighting.
Just like that. Your body goes limp beneath him. Your arms fall to your sides. Your eyes, still wide, still unblinking, find his face.
Simon freezes.
His fist is still raised. His knuckles are split, bleeding onto your collar. His chest is heaving. His eyes are wild. But something in your stillness has reached through the red haze, because he doesn't hit you. He can't hit you. Not like this. Not when you are looking at him like that.
"How," you say, and your voice is a ruin. It hasn't been used in days. Maybe weeks. You have forgotten the shape of words. "How do you know about the Gethsemane."
Simon blinks.
His fist lowers, slowly, like a machine winding down. He is still straddling you, still pinning you to the sand, but the violence has drained out of his posture. He looks confused. Lost.
"I'm.. from Eden," he says, and the words come out rough, hesitant, almost questioning. Like a little kid's. "The—the colony. Eden."
"I'm from the Gethsemane," you say, and your voice is shaking now, cracking at the edges. "The ship. The one that went off the grid. My crew- my crew spent years trying to find you. Trying to get back. We were looking for you."
Simon's mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
"You're from Eden." you repeat.
"Yes."
"You're from Eden."
"Yes."
"The Eden."
"I'm from Eden." Simon repeats once again. His voice is harder now. Defensive. "I was there. They sent me on some suicide mission to pay my penances and you-" He looks at your uniform. At the patch on your shoulder. At the scratched-out name tag. "You're from The Gethsemane."
"I'm from The Gethsemane."
"So you did not die."
"Not when you stopped getting the signals." Your voice breaks again, and this time it's not fear. It's grief. "We were stranded for years after a collission. We tried to search for you. And then—" You stop. Swallow. "And then the thing came. The creature. It got them. It got everyone except me. That's when we died, well, they died. I'm still here. as you can see."
Simon is quiet.
His hands are still wrapped around your wrists. He is still pinning you. His face is still inches from yours.
But something has changed.
His weight shifts. His grip loosens. He's not holding you down anymore. He's holding you still. Like he's afraid you'll disappear if he lets go.
"The Gethsemane." he says slowly. "You were on the Gethsemane."
"I was."
"And you were looking for Eden."
"We were."
Simon makes a sound. It's not a word. It's not a laugh. It's something between—a groan, a sigh, a release.
And then he moves.
Not to hit you. Not to hurt you.
He rolls off you, onto his back in the sand, and stares up at the artificial sun. His chest is heaving. His face is bloody. His hands are shaking.
And you're sitting up.
You're looking at him.
Your eyes are still wide, still haunted, but there's something else there now. Something alive.
"You're from Eden." you say again, like you're testing the words.
"I'm from Eden." Simon says.
You throw yourself at him.
Not to fight. Not this time.
You collapse onto him, your arms wrapping around his neck, your face pressing into his shoulder, your whole body shaking.
Simon makes a sound like he's been punched.
Simon, for his part, looks like he has been struck by lightning.
His hands hover in the air, uncertain, trembling. He does not know what to do with this. He has not been touched in kindness—or anything resembling kindness—in longer than he can remember. But his body knows what to do. His arms close around you, slowly at first, then tighter, until his hold is almost painful.
"GRACE."
"What."
"THEY STOP FIGHTING. OBSERVATION."
Grace turns back to look.
He's standing ten feet away, his hands lowered now, his mouth still open, his brain screaming.
"What." he says to no one. "What the fuck."
"THEY TOUCH," Rocky says, and there is something in his tone that Grace has learned to recognize as wonder. "THEY TOUCH AND DO NOT FIGHT. IS THIS... COMFORT. QUESTION."
"Yeah." Grace says, and for a moment, he forgets that he was panicking. For a moment, he just watches two broken people hold each other on the sand, and he thinks about the months he spent alone, about the nights he talked to a wall because he needed to hear a voice, about the first time Rocky touched his hand and he cried because he had forgotten what contact felt like. "Yeah, we do."
Grace approaches slowly.
He's not sure why he's approaching. Every instinct he has is telling him to stay back, to give you space, to not get involved in whatever the hell is happening. But his feet are moving anyway, carrying him across the warm sand, closer and closer to the two broken humans tangled together on the ground.
Simon sees him coming.
"Okay," Grace says, and he takes a step forward. Then another. "Okay. I'm going to- I'm just going to come over there. Very slowly. With my hands where you can see them. Because I am not a threat. I am the least threatening person on this planet. I am probably the least threatening person in this solar system. I once cried because I ran out of coffee. So. You know. Threat level: zero."
You watch him approach. Your head turns to track him, but your body stays still. Simon's head turns too. His eyes narrow.
Grace stops when he is standing over you. He looks down at Simon. Simon who is still laying on the sand, who is still holding you, who is looking up at Grace with an expression that Grace can only describe as proprietary.
Simon's arms tighten around you.
It is not subtle. His biceps flex. His hands press into your back. He pulls you closer to his chest, and his eyes never leave Grace's face.
Grace blinks.
"Okay." he says. "Wow. Okay. Possessive much?"
Simon doesn't even know he's doing it. But his whole body has shifted, curling around you, covering you, like he's protecting you from a threat.
From Grace.
Simon does not answer. He does not loosen his grip.
"I'm not going to take her from you," Grace says, and he means it to be a joke, but it comes out softer than he intended. "I'm just... I'm just going to sit down. Over here. Away from you. Where I am not a threat. Because I am really committed to not being a threat."
He sits down in the sand, cross-legged, a few feet away. Far enough to give Simon space. Close enough to talk.
For a long moment, nobody speaks.
Simon glares at him.
It's not the same glare from before. That glare was hostile, dangerous, predatory. This glare is something else. This glare is possessive.
And you're still clinging to him.
Simon's expression softens. Just a fraction. Just enough.
And then he looks up at Grace.
"Where are we." he says. It's not a question. It's a demand.
Grace swallows. "Erid"
He then makes a gesture, motioning over to the wall behind of which there are a few Eridians congregated. Simon follows Grace's gesture.
He looks at Rocky.
Rocky waves.
Simon's expression doesn't change.
"An alien colony." he says flatly.
"Friendly aliens." Grace corrects immediately when he sees the way you tense in Simon's arms. "They're- they're nice. Mostly. They're just curious. They saved you, by the way. You and-" He looks at you. "your friend."
You blink at him.
Simon is still looking at Rocky. His expression is calculating. He's trying to understand. Trying to process.
"The aliens brought us here." he says slowly.
"Eridians." Grace says. "And yes. They brought you here. To my habitat. Because apparently I'm the only human on this planet and they thought I needed roommates."
Simon looks back at Grace.
"You're alone here." he says.
"I was alone here." Grace corrects. "Now I'm not alone. For better or worse."
Simon is quiet for a long moment.
Then he looks down at you.
"We're not leaving." Simon says, it's a question.
"Doesn't seem like we have any options here" you answer.
Grace sighs.
"No," he admits. "No we don't."
You and Simon finally separate.
"I'm from the Gethsemane." you tell Ryland, as if testing the words. "I'm the only one left."
Simon's jaw tightens. "I'm from Eden."
The three of you form a rough triangle on the warm sand. The artificial sun is dimming, mimicking a sunset that doesn't exist on this planet. The xenonite walls are glowing softly, casting long shadows across the dome.
Outside, Rocky is still watching.
He's not alone anymore. Other Eridian scientists have gathered, their segmented bodies pressed against the xenonite, their faceted eyes fixed on the three humans sitting in a circle. They're fascinated. They're observing. They're taking notes, probably, in whatever way Eridians take notes.
Grace tries to ignore them.
"You're both from the same system." he says, rubbing his temples. "That's- that's something. That's a coincidence. Or maybe it's not. Maybe the Eridians have been looking for humans. Maybe they found you because they were trying to find you."
Simon snorts. "They found me because I was drowning in a submarine full of blood."
"They found me because I was drifting in an escape pod." you say quietly. "I didn't even know they were there. I didn't even see them. I just.." You stop. Swallow. "passed out. And then I woke up here."
Grace nods slowly.
"The Eridians are rescuers," he explains. "That's- that's kinda what they do. They find things. They save things. They're curious. They wanted to know what you were. They wanted to help."
Simon's jaw tightens. "I didn't ask for help."
"You didn't have to."
Simon glares at him.
Grace holds up his hands. "I'm not saying- look, I get it. I didn't ask for help either. I was forced onto the Hail Mary. I didn't want to be here. I wanted to be on Earth, in my classroom, with my students. I wanted to live."
"But you're here." Simon says.
"But I'm here." Grace agrees. "And I'm alive. And so are you. And so is she." He looks at you. "And maybe, just maybe, that's something. Don't you think?"
You look at Simon.
Simon looks at you.
You both look back at Ryland.
"Eden." Ryland sais. "Tell me about Eden."
Simon's expression shifts. The anger doesn't disappear, it's still there, simmering beneath the surface, but something else rises to meet it. Longing. Grief. Hope.
"Eden is a colony." he says slowly. "A survivor colony. After the stars in our sollar system went out, after the Quiet Rapture, the stations started falling apart. People started dying. But Eden—Eden held on. We had resources. We had leadership. We had-"
He stops.
His hands curl into fists.
"We had a religion." he says, the word bitter on his tongue. "A cult. They said- they said the stars went out because humanity had sinned. Because we had reached too far. They said the only way to survive was to repent. To sacrifice."
Your eyes widen.
"The Gethsemane ship," you whisper. "That's- that's where the name came from. The Bible."
Simon nods. "The ship was named after the covenant. It was supposed to be a pilgrimage. A mission. They sent it out to find—I don't even know what. Salvation. Redemption. Something."
"And you were on it?" Asks Ryland.
Simon laughs. It's a hollow sound.
"I was on it, alright." he says.
A beat of silence.
"So.. this is your place." you say. It is not a question.
"It's... temporary." Grace says. "The Eridians are building a ship to take me back to Earth. But it's going to take a while. Astrophage engines are fast, but they're not instant. So I'm here. Living in a bubble. Talking to a rock."
"And how did you get here?"
Simon looks at him.
"Um- my sun was.. dying, the main star of my solar system y'know and they sent.. me and a few other people to try and fix it." he says. "long story short, those people died and i was alone until Rocky found me, his star was also dying, so we worked together."
"I assume something went wrong."
Simon inquires.
"You assume right." Grace admits. "Things went south in Rocky's ship so I sacrificed my return to earth to get him home safe, and he brought me with him so.. here I am."
A beat.
"I have so many questions to ask you two. But I'm not going to ask them. Because I feel like that would be rude."
Simon snorts. It is the first sound he has made that is not angry or confused. It is almost... amused.
"Rude." Simon repeats. "You're worried about being rude."
"I'm a scientist living in an alien zoo," Grace huffs, a sound almost mimicking an exhasperated sigh. "Manners are all I have left."
Something passes between you and Simon. A look. A shared recognition of absurdity. You are sitting on alien sand, beneath an alien sky, next to a man who talks like he's hosting a podcast, and somewhere outside the dome, a rock spider is watching you with what you can only assume is fascination.
Outside the xenonite dome, Rocky turns to the other Eridian scientists.
"Statement," he says proudly. "Humans are doing the mating ritual."
| summary : after years of your coma, you finally wake up on the Hail Mary. two of your crew mates are dead, Dr. Grace, your former co-worker, is alive, and there are two new people—creatures—on the ship. it’s a hard adjustment between the four of you, and there’s tension between everyone and everything.
| pairing : ryland grace x female!reader x simon
| word count : 5.3k
| tags : some humor and fluff, eventual smut in later chapters, started as a oneshot and i just kept adding to it, heavy pining, doctor!reader, misunderstandings, jealousy, rocky is not involved in their polyamory, bicurious!ryland and bicurious!simon
ch.2, ch.3
cross posted to ao3
Before you got put into your coma, shit, even after, you didn’t think you’d find yourself in this situation. Ask yourself when you were 10, what would you be doing in your mid-30s? Well, 10 year-old you would have many answers, pursuing your dreams, being a superhero, maybe talking to your best friend.
The real answer would be watching a convict from an alternate reality, and the 8th grade science teacher from Grover Cleveland middle school, make-out. With their hands touching you, touching each other, eyes closed and not realizing they’d been tonguing each other.
Regardless, this is much better than pursuing your dreams.
You were never supposed to be on Project Hail Mary, it was an extremely last minute decision on Stratt’s end. You met her maybe… three days before you were induced Though, she made you feel as if you didn’t have a choice but to be in this project.
You were the only nurse at Grover Cleveland, well over-qualified for your position. With a Master’s Degree in Biology, completing and passing the MCAT—essentially you’d completed every step to become a proper doctor at the hospital near your house.
And you hated it. God you hated every part of it, all the responsibility, disrespectful patients, nurses, staff, just generally a displeasing job for you. You’re sure that other doctors loved their job, but you loved this area much more. You weren’t willing to move in order to find a better job at a hospital, it wouldn’t be home.
So, you compromised. You believed it was better to be happy and poor than miserable and rich. Your family believed otherwise, as hard as you worked for your degree, but you really didn’t care.
You get paid extra just for being a technical Doctor, though some staff who don’t really know you still refer to you as a Nurse. It doesn’t bother you with staff, no, you care more about the children.
All the kids in school call you Doctor, so any staff member that’s going out of their way to push down your hard work is simply just trying to be disrespectful. It’s best to ignore.
You didn’t speak much to Dr. Grace, but he respected your title highly, you think it’s because people don’t respect his. You’d often hear him talking to students;
“That’s Dr. Grace to you, Kevin!”
Sometimes, when kids would ask to go to the nurse, you could hear him reply that this school didn’t have a nurse, only a Doctor.
You found it amusing, especially considering you two didn’t talk much. His classroom was on the other side of school compared to your office, he only came into your office once to ask for bandaids.
You remember the faint knock on your door. “Come in!” You’d reply, working on your computer and still using your ‘student voice.’ When Dr. Grace walked in, you continued typing a report from a kid that scraped his knee pretty badly.
“Just one second hun’.”
“Take all the seconds you want, I get paid by the hour.” Dr. Grace replied, closing the door behind him. He had never been in your office, so he really took in the comforting atmosphere of it.
Your head jolted up at the blatant voice of a grown man, seeing Dr. Grace smirking at you. You couldn’t help but laugh at the misunderstanding.
“Oh, sorry Dr. Grace, thought you were a student.”
“I didn’t think I was that short. Shot my ego straight down, Doctor.”
You giggled, pushing your rolling chair aside, away from the computer to better talk to him. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
“Do I?”
You crossed your arms. “What do you need?”
He walked over to the counter of your desk, crossing his own arms on them and leaning over to peek at what you may have on your desk.
“Bandaids. Like a pack, my kids are pretty violent so we ran out.”
You’d nod your head, standing up to walk to the corner of your office, and opening a drawer. “I can give you a map to the nearest Walmart.” You replied, searching for some band-aids. Preferably ones with cute designs on them, biology themed?
“Hardy har har.”
You tossed him the pack, he caught it. “Will that do?”
They were bandaids with planets on them, he rubbed them with his thumb, looking at them pretty intently. “Yeah. That’ll be fine.” He put them in the pocket of his suit, and you couldn’t help but think about how different your work attire was. Yours was much more calm, much more casual.
“Alright, tell your kids to stop falling or cutting themselves on paper, Band-Aids are expensive.”
“I think if I told them that they’d just wanna do it more. They’re menaces.”
“Right, bye Dr. Grace.” You sat back down in your rolling chair, typing on the computer.
He gave you a slight wave as he walked out.
Most interactions with people coming into your office were… boring. Everyone was scraping their knees, or needed packages of bandaids. Again, overqualified.
After school had ended, you were finishing up some paper-work, well, procrastinating on it. When someone knocked on your door, you assumed it was George Rams’ mom, he had a fight today and you were the one who got stuck with fixing him up. You were sure she had some concerns, most parents aren’t used to actual doctors working in schools, you’ve had parents complain a lot about a ‘nurse’ handling something that a proper doctor should handle.
“Ma’am, I am a doctor.” You’d say. It was often just met with an ‘Oh, thank you for your time.’
The woman who came in was cold and had a stoic expression, she had the vibe like she commanded a room. You were surprised that such an authoritarian figure would have a child getting into fights, but it’s also expected for children to have a rebellious phase in Middle School, better than High School at the very least.
“Hi Mrs. Rams, is this about your son?” You sat up, giving her your attention.
“I have no son. My name is Eva Stratt, I am working with the United Nations to solve the growing Patrova Line problem with Astrophage.”
You stare at her, not saying much. Because what did this have to do with you? Did she confuse your office with the front office? Was this a mental health issue?
You open your mouth to reply before she states your full government name, which makes you pause your words in slight surprise.
“You are a Doctor right, overqualified for the position as a Middle School Nurse?”
“Maybe.”
“It seems to be a theme with this school to hire those overqualified to work here. Please stand, Doctor.”
You do, you don’t know this woman, but you stand.
“I hereby grant you clearance to know all information about Project Hail Mary.”
She places her hands on your shoulders, her words imply that she knows someone else overqualified to work here. Dr. Grace, right? That’s the only option, he’d be gone for quite some time, with constant substitutes. Normally a teacher would get in trouble for that but the principal seemed pretty lenient, almost scared to say anything about it.
“Come with me.”
She begins walking out, but you don’t follow.
“Uhm, Ms. Stratt thank you for this… whatever this offer is but-“
“It is not an offer. You will come with me either by willingness or force. I would suggest following me.”
She stares at you for a moment, until your feet automatically move. You follow Stratt, you leave your computer open with George Rams’ medical information on it. You don’t know why—well, yes you do. It’s fear, you’re scared of what Stratt is gonna do to you if you don’t follow her.
Over the next three days, you don’t ever see Dr. Grace.
Stratt tells you the purpose of Project Hail Mary, that this is a suicide mission.
She tells you that you’re not her top candidate, and that you’d only be sent if Dr. Grace is sent.
“He’ll only be sent if something happens to our two scientists, but we know he will not want to be there at all. We aren’t sure if he will cooperate, or if he will do self harm in the hull in order to escape the responsibility.”
That doesn’t sound like Dr. Grace, but at this point you don’t know if you really know Grace at all.
“Not only do you know him, but you’re an extremely qualified Doctor, so you’ll be the ship medic if he is sent up. If he does harm to himself, or others, you will be in charge of that situation. Or if any mishaps happen where someone is wounded, we need this Project to follow through.”
You slowly rose your hand during one of these meetings. “What if I… don’t… want to go. This is a suicide mission, I-“
“We don’t care. Grace will not want to go. So you two can bond over that.”
Awesome.
And with your luck, after a deadly explosion of Astrophage, the two scientists were rendered useless before launch. Pronounced dead at the scene.
And you were forced to be put into a medically induced coma, and to go aboard the Hail Mary, all so you could be a medic.
——
When you woke up, everything was hazy.
“What is 2+2?”
Four. You thought.
“Aughhr…” You say.
“Incorrect.” The voice restates its question. “What is 2+2?”
Why can’t you talk? You smack your lips, not wanting to open your eyes yet, because you’re still trying to remember things. You make loud noises, groaning continuously. You roll out of bed, before feeling an edge, okay, don’t roll over there. You open your eyes slowly, seeing you’re very high above the ground, with several empty ‘hospital’ beds below you.
A robotic arm grabs you and moves you back to the center of the bed. “What is 2+2?”
“Fruckc.. off…” You groan, trying to sit up, to look around. The lights are bright and fluorescent, and the gravity feels unreal. Your arms feel stronger, you don’t feel unhealthy.
You feel tired. You feel gross.
You can assume it was a coma, your memories are hazy, you have no clue where you are. But you know that you probably just got out of a coma.
“What is 2-“
“It’s four!” You yell at the arm. “Four! It’s fucking four!” You rub your face.
“Correct!”
The arm takes several IVs out of you, you assume a feeding tube was taken out of you moments before you woke up, because your throat feels really weird.
You look on the other side of the bed, seeing a floor and a ladder that leads to a hatch. This room obviously has nothing of importance to provide you, so you sit up, slowly standing. Now that you’ve answered the question, the robot helps you up, guiding you to the hatch.
When you begin climbing, the robot arm holds onto your back to prevent you from falling, and when you get the hatch door open, you can’t help but say “Thank you,” to the arm.
When you step out of the hatch, you enter a hallway— and you smell blood. It’s so much blood, it’s a nauseating smell. You cover your nose with your hospital gown.
Is this a hospital? Hospital gown, smell of blood, coma, seems like a hospital. But why would a robot arm be taking care of you? That doesn’t seem right in the slightest.
You hear loud thuds, like a ball rolling down the hallway. You turn your head in fear, maybe a cart or an emergency patient is being rolled. You step to the side to make way.
But you see a… rock… crab? In a clear… low polygraphed ball.
What the fuck is that?
“Human! Human is alive! Three humans on ship! Grace friend!” It begins rolling towards you, you have no clue what it is. You don’t want to know.
Ship? You start to wobble down the hallway, in your mind you’re running, but you’re actually walking quite slow. You turn the corner, looking behind you as the rock shouts ‘Amaze Amaze!’
You bump into a wet figure, gasping, and backing up to see blood on you.
You quiver in confusion, you look up. A bearded man with longer hair looks down at you. He’s muscular, he has frustration in his eyes, and he’s covered in a lot of blood. You think you hear him ask if you’re okay, but it doesn’t fully register.
You begin shaking your head, about to scream.
But behind the man, is Dr. Grace. You remember him, his face, his name, that’s about it.
“Dr. Grace!” You shout, walking over to him, again, imagining yourself jogging much faster towards the only person you know.
Dr. Grace accepts you into his arms, registering that you just woke up from a coma. Regardless, his embrace feels safe.
“You’re awake!” He screams, happy as can be despite the blood now on his shirt. He seems to have been worried about you, because his arms are shaking in your tight embrace.
“I don’t- I, what’s going on? I don’t remember anything…”
“It’s okay, It’s okay. God, you’ve been out so long, the mission is basically done.”
“Mission?”
“Project Hail Mary.” He says, memories come back faintly at the mention of the name, and you rub your head slightly.
“Human does not remember!” The rock states the obvious. It goes slightly ignored.
“Okay…” You push yourself away. “That doesn’t explain the… rock, or this guy covered in blood.”
He blinks at you, despite being covered in blood, he’s pretty reserved. The blood doesn’t seem to be… from him. It’s like he took a bath in someone else’s blood. He ignores you entirely, and looks at Grace.
“Who’s is this?”
“Gosh, so many questions! This is Dr….” He repeats your last name. “She’s the Doctor at the school I worked at, I… I’m not sure why she’s on this ship. I’ve been wondering that since I woke up.”
You push yourself off of him, not realizing you’d been hugging him so tightly for so long. He didn’t seem to mind, it actually looked like he needed the brief human embrace.
You rub your eyes. “Who is he? Why is he asking who I am?”
“Because I was curious?” The bearded man turns his head at you.
“Okay, okay everyone calm down please. Uh, Rocky.”
“Yes Grace, question.”
“Can you take Simon to uh… the showers where he can handle the blood situation? And clothing situation? I should probably talk to the Doc here privately. Catch her up, you guys are throwing her off.”
“Understand. Come Grace blood friend to bathing center.” Rocky rolls away, and the burly man named ‘Simon’ follows it with heavy footsteps that squelch against the metal floors.
The silence is heavy in the room, your brain is foggy, fuck, your eyesight is foggy. You have the rest of your life on this spaceship, and you can’t even remember what you’re on it for.
Dr. Grace guides you into the laboratory, simply because it’s an easy room to get to in that moment, he helps you sit down.
He reexplains the entire Project Hail Mary mission, the issues with astrophage and the Patrova Line. The more he speaks, the more you remember. The more you remember why you’re on this ship.
You interrupt him mid-sentence. “How long have you been alone, Dr. Grace?”
He blinks at you, shocked at the interruption, but he considers it. “I have no clue… maybe eight months, if you’re asking how long you’ve been out since I’ve been awake.”
“…I’m sorry. Stratt sent me as a… medic for the ship. I was supposed to be the one handling any issues. But from the looks of it you seem to have gained injuries.” You gently take his hand, looking at a scar, running your thumb over it. He lets you.
“None of that explains the rock, or that random guy— seriously, who was that? Eight months is not that long, and I’ve missed so much.”
“Well, that rock is— Rocky. He’s from the planet Erid, making him an Eridian. I taught him our language, and he’s helped a lot with solving the Astrophage problem. Perfectly healthy, it’s just we can’t survive in each-other’s atmosp-“
“You solved the Astrophage problem?” You perk up, eyebrows raising.
Dr. Grace perks up with you. “Yes! Uhm- Tau Ceti, the star, it has a Patrova line to a planet we named Adrien. On that planet was basically um… microorganisms, to put it simply, that were a ‘predator’ for astrophage. Then all I did was send those back on probes to Earth.”
You sigh, leaning back in relief that the problem had been solved.
“That means I’ve missed it all, we’re all going to die out here.”
“Not exactly, Rocky gave us some astrophage as fuel, we have enough to make it back to Erid. So, not back to Earth right now but… maybe in the future?”
You sigh again, taking it all in, you originally thought you had no choice but to die. Hearing that’s not the case? Extremely relieving. You rub your head, the brain fog clearing.
“As for the man, he actually arrived like… four hours ago? It’s really complicated but we think he’s from an alternate dimension, and accidentally managed to enter a wormhole. His ship is designed for water, like an extremely thick submarine. We managed to get him out of it and bring him in, as the ship didn’t look suitable enough to survive out in space.”
You blink. “That doesn’t explain the blood he had on him? Is he an axe murderer?”
“He says that in his world- or, dimension, all the stars have died, all the planets are gone. There’s just space stations, and he was a Convict for… something he doesn’t wanna talk about. They basically had him go into an ocean of blood, but he was being used as a sacrifice? Or bait? Either way he’s pretty shocked about being alive still.”
Dr. Grace fidgets with his hands and fingers, you can tell he’s been really thinking about this the past four hours. “We’ve spent a lot of time getting him alive, with CPR and feeding him liquids. But he recovered quickly. My hypothesis is that he’s from a dimension that didn’t solve, or didn’t realize the astrophage problem, leading to planets and stars being eaten by them.”
“…Or it’s completely unrelated to astrophage.”
The brain fog is coming back, but you get the general idea. “Is he nice?” You ask, rubbing your head intently.
“He doesn’t seem like a butt.”
That’s not a very direct answer. He may just be closed off though. Your stomach grumbles loudly, it’s almost embarrassing.
Dr. Grace shows immediate concern. “Oh! Gosh, I’m so sorry. Stay right there!” He runs out the lab, and comes back with a small pouch.
“What is that?”
“Liquid food, your body isn’t used to solids so you have to work back up to them. I know it sucks.”
You groan, begrudgingly opening the satchel and taking a sip. You’re met with an immediate flash of flavor and deliciousness on your tongue, it tastes like chicken, several healthy vegetables mixed in. It’s the best thing you’ve had in… what, four years?
Dr. Grace chuckles at your expression, and how quickly you down the food. Immediately you feel better, your muscles feel somewhat better. Mentally, you still feel gross.
“Uh… shower? Is that possible?”
Dr. Grace nods. “Yeah! Come, I’ll show you.”
You follow him down the hallway. “Originally,” He starts, “The ship wasn’t gonna have a shower room, but I had to beg Stratt. Saying it’d be inhumane to make a person bathe without a proper shower.”
You nod. “Were you and Stratt close? She barely talked to me.”
He glances at you over his shoulder, shrugging. “I’d like to think she trusted me more than others, but I wouldn’t consider us friends. She had a mission that took priority over any friendship.”
Dr. Grace points down a hallway. “That room is the shower room, let me know if you need anything.”
The offer isn’t perverse, it’s genuine.
You walk over to the door, unthinking, and nudge the door open. The shower room is relatively large, like a mini-locker-room shower. There’s several unopened bars and packages of soap, conditioner, all sorts of stuff. One of the showers is already running.
The floor is red.
Oh.
“OH I’m SO sorry I-“
“It’s okay.” Simon says. “It’s a locker-room shower, other people are expected to be in here.” He looks at you with a cold look in his eyes, you can see several burns and welts on his arm, something you should definitely treat under different circumstances.
Until then, you close the door. “Just- let me know when you’re done, I’d prefer!”
You hear a quiet ‘Mkay’ from him, and you notice a ball rolling down the hall again, Rocky turns the corner and looks at you.
“Blood Human is in bathing room, Doctor Human.”
You sigh. “Thank you, Rocky.”
Before the crab has a chance to roll away, you ask; “Uhm… where would my clothes be?”
Rocky rolls around in excitement. “Rocky show! Follow! Follow!” He rolls off in glee, and you jog slightly to catch up.
He stops at a door, there’s four beds, one of them has a cage so you assume it’s Rocky’s bed.
“This Doctor bedroom. Clothes under bed.”
You smile at Rocky. “Thank you, sorry for being scared of you.”
“Apology accepted. Rocky understand that Eridian beauty is difficult for Human brain to comprehend.”
You just kinda… blink at him, but you shrug. “Sure!”
You go over to your bed, pulling out a box. Stratt had, seemingly, broken into your home to take some of your personal clothes and pack them. Which is creepy, but you appreciate it. You search for comfortable loungewear, maybe some shorts and a tank top, something reasonable to wear out of a shower.
You find a black tank top and matching shorts made of silk, they’re somewhat loose on you. You intend to get some real sleep after your shower, not comatose sleep.
You walk out with Rocky, who politely waited for you. You run into the once bloodied man in the hallway, he seems freshened up. He’s wearing a tight t-shirt and sweatpants, presumably belonging to Dr. Grace or the deceased members of the ship.
He’s drying his hair with a towel that rests over his shoulders, and he looks at you. You both pause, Rocky rolls away from you both.
“I’m done showering.” He added blankly, walking away.
You watch him intently, you can’t tell what his tone is. He just seems tired.
You go into the shower room, taking a long hot shower, you don’t even care if the water supply is limited anymore. You use all the soaps they’d given you, taking full advantage of this moment alone. No one walks in, reasonably.
Afterwards, you put on your black tank top and shorts, you figure you should probably tell Dr. Grace that you’re going to bed, so he’s not worried about your uncomfortably long absence.
You walk down the hallway, holding a wet towel and the old hospital gown, you peer into the laboratory, seeing Dr. Grace talking to the man.
He’s explaining everything he just explained to you.
“So basically, we’re headed to Erid. I’m not sure if we’re going back to Earth, but we won’t die.”
“That’s all I care about, Ryland. I don’t wanna die.”
Dr. Grace smiles at him. “That makes two of us.”
They’re sharing a nice moment, it feels like you’re watching an old married couple. Supposedly, they’d just met a few hours ago, but they talk to eachother like they’ve known each other quite some time. Simon is obviously pretty reserved, given his situation, but Dr. Grace saved his life, so he seems to trust him more than you.
You hate to interrupt but you knock lightly on the door.
They both look at you at the same time, Dr. Grace’s expression softens, Simon’s stays the same.
“Hey, uhm. Sorry, I guess this is a weird thing to tell you both but I’m going to bed. I need some real sleep.”
“Okay.” Simon says. “We’ll probably be close behind, at least, I will. I think Ryland is a bit worried about the ship and its destination.”
“Yeah,” Dr. Grace agrees, “Mary’s been through a lot, so if anything off collision happens I’d like to be awake but… I assume we can do shifts?”
You yawn. “I don’t really care.”
Rocky rolls around in the lab, you reckon he’d been hiding around a shelf. “Rocky watch Doctor sleep!”
You grimace. “What?”
Simon’s expression is similar to yours. Being watched sleep isn’t exactly something you’re wanting to do.
“Eridians watch each other sleep, to keep each-other safe. You get used to it.” Dr. Grace says, and honestly you don’t really care after learning that, as long as Rocky isn’t being creepy, right?
You just nod, gesturing for Rocky to follow.
When you lie down in the bed, it’s a lot more comfortable than the hospital one you originally woke up in. You can feel Rocky staring at you in silence, but you don’t really mind, it’s not the end of the world. You find yourself falling asleep relatively fast.
——
When you wake up, it’s dark outside.
Okay. That’s a given.
The lights are off in the hallway, and you can hear light snoring. You sit up slightly, peering into the pod next to you. The once bloodied man, Simon, is sleeping heavily.
You can see the welts on his arms, even with little to no light. You really want to look at them when he’s awake. For right now, you’re up, you have no clue how long you napped for, maybe four hours? Either way, you feel relatively refreshed.
Rolling out of the bed, you stand up. Rocky shuffles, moving closer to Simon. He doesn’t say anything, but he figures he should watch Simon sleep now since you’re awake.
You trudge down the hallway in search for Grace, you know he’s awake, or sleeping somewhere that’s not the pods.
You walk into the lab, the lights are on, but Dr. Grace has his head down on the table. He’s sleeping.
What do you do? Do you wake him up?
You stand there for quite some time, feeling through your now dry hair.
“Dr. Grace?” You whisper, he shifts slightly.
“Mrgmmph…” Is his reply.
That means he’s not in a deep sleep, so you calmly walk over to him.
You rub his shoulder softly. “Hey, you should probably sleep in the beds. You’ll hurt your back sleeping here.”
He puts his hand on you, a failed attempt at pushing you away.
“Mnmoo…”
“Moo?” You repeat to him.
“No… I said no… I don’t wanna get up…” He grumbles, waking up slightly.
You pause, rubbing his shoulder still.
“Rocky isn’t watching you sleep.”
For some reason, that does it for him. He peeks an eye open under his glasses, and he sighs. It takes a moment, but he gets up. He rubs the eye boogers out under his glasses, flicking them somewhere. Gross, but understandable.
He walks with you quietly to the dormitory, you two don’t say much, but your hand moves down to his back, you don’t really know why.
You guide him to his bed, it’s comforting, the way you gently open the blanket up for him, taking off his glasses and setting them to the side. He doesn’t say thank you, but you know he’s grateful.
Simon rolls over and faces the other way.
——
It had been a few days, maybe three? Not an extremely long time, especially compared to how long Dr. Grace had been alone, and for what Simon had to put up with before he came here.
Simon seems to be having a hard time adjusting to freedom, and adjusting to trust. Dr. Grace did say he was a convict, a criminal, so you assume he may have done something wrong? You have no clue what defines ‘wrong’ in his dimension though.
Either way, he’s been through a lot.
One day when Dr. Grace was showing Rocky some more things about Earth in the little TV room, you were left alone with Simon in the laboratory.
It had been awkward, especially since you walked in on him literally showering. God- you felt horrible for that.
Bringing it up again would just make things a lot more awkward, right? So you choose not to. No matter how much you want to apologize over and over.
He’s looking at all the science lab tools, you don’t really understand them, but if anything he understands them the least. You hope he doesn’t ask you to explain anything, because it would be a very botched explanation of equipment only Dr. Grace (and even Rocky) really know how to use.
Just as you’re thinking that, he speaks.
“So what’s your purpose here?”
You laugh a little, being caught off guard. He lifts his eyes to meet yours, and you realize he’s asking a serious genuine question.
“Oh, err, I guess I’m the medic for the ship? I… haven’t really been doing the best job, because I’ve been in a coma. I’m glad Dr. Grace was able to help you.”
Simon looks down at his arm, at the welts that had calmed down.
“Why are you calling Ryland, Dr. Grace? He’s a Doctor? I didn’t know that.”
“He has his doctorate innnn…” you bite your lip trying to remember, “molecular biology? So technically he has the title. He’s more focused on science and space and stuff, I’m surprised he knew C— well, never mind, he’s a teacher, CPR is a useful skill.”
Simon blinks at you, registering all the new things he’s learning about Dr. Grace. The fact that he has a doctorate, the fact that he’s a teacher. Has Simon been to school, does he know how college works? You really don’t know how different your dimensions are.
“Right.” He states, sighing. “I’m glad he knew it. He saved my life.”
You nod in agreement, quite awkwardly. “I’m sorry, I… don’t really know what you’ve been through but whatever it was it seemed-“
“Traumatizing?”
“I was gonna say exhausting but, traumatizing could be a word to describe it.” Like you said, you didn’t know his situation.
He goes quiet softly, fingers running over his welts.
You can’t help but ask.
“Can I see them?”
“What?”
“The welts, I’m guessing they haven’t been treated yet, right?”
Simon considered, it didn’t even occur to him to treat them. He walks over to you, showing you his arm.
His forearm is covered in tiny blisters, it’s gross. When working in the medical field, this stuff isn’t gross to you. There’s irritation in certain parts, visibly red skin. His forearm is… large, there’s so much room for these blisters to appear, they go all the way down to the palm of his hand. It looks like his arms are the most affected.
“What are these from?”
Simon bit his lip. “I think radiation?”
You look up at him, eyebrows raising. “How much radiation were you encountering for this to happen?”
He looked away slightly. “On the Iron Lung.”
He doesn’t say anything else and… okay? The medical tool? Wh… what?
“Iron Lung?”
“That’s what… they… called the submarine I was on. It needed to use a radioactive camera to see, I think. I didn’t really… read the manual.” He admitted shyly, avoiding your gaze. He isn’t as tough as he looks.
That makes more sense. “Well, since you’re not around radiation anymore, this seems treatable. Maybe some scarring but I can definitely work with this, if you’d let me.”
He thinks about it, watching you analyze his blistered arms carefully. You study him, waiting for a reply.
He swallows, his adam’s apple moving visibly. “…Please. It hurts.”
You didn’t need to be told twice. You and Simon calmly walked to the shower-room, you weren’t sure if there was really a bathroom? And even then that may be uncomfortable to deal with.
You pull a stool up, having him sit. Leaving him there for a moment, you find a ton of medical supplies in a closet, and you bring them.
You turn a faucet on to a lukewarm temperature, using a clean rag to gently wash his arm with soap. You do it carefully and softly, making sure you don’t accidentally pop any blisters or cause more irritation than needed.
“Have any blisters popped?” You ask, drying his arms by patting them.
He thinks. “No.. uh, I think this one? I’ve tried not to mess with them.”
“That was a very smart decision.” You smile softly at him, he doesn’t know how to take the compliment.
You look at the one popped blister on his palm, digging in your basket of medical supplies, applying hydrogel to protect the area. “Are you okay with taking an antibiotic?”
“If it helps.”
“So yes, okay. I’ll give you some when we’re done here.”
You get some medically safe moisturizer, applying it to extremely irritated areas of his arms. He winces softly. “I know, I know.” You’d say to him. “It’s almost over.”
When you’re done, you give him some advice. “Wash it with this bar of soap and lukewarm water everyday to keep it clean. Pat it dry, don’t rub it.” He nods.
“If any blisters pop, come to me. Here, take these antibiotics, they’ll help.”
You were surprised the ship had antibiotics to help exactly with what Simon needed, you guessed the hull had everything you guys could need for the short time you would be out here. You even spotted condoms while searching through the closet.
Stratt definitely… over-prepared.
Simon takes everything you handed him, looking at it, back at you. He looks grateful.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“What do you mean?”
“I just… wouldn’t have known what to do, I guess. Thank you.” He covers his mouth, he looks like he’s about to cry.
You place a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Simon, it’s okay. You’re welcome, I would do it again in a heartbeat. Just come straight to me if you have any more problems, okay?”
He nods, sighing, wiping a stray tear from his cheek. “Okay, okay. I will.”
The two of you get up, conversing slightly. Nothing of importance, he’s asking a little about your life on Earth before Project Hail Mary. You both leave the shower room laughing, running into Dr. Grace.
He looks surprised, raising his eyebrows.
“Uh… what were you two doing in there together?” He turns his head, double checking around the corner to see that yes, he really did just watch you both come out of the shower room together.
I saw someone ask the question of who would fall first in Bloodymary and I have opinions. A lot of people think it’s Simon and I agree but I wanted to go more in depth.
When Simon first wakes up on Erid he’s terrified. He’s convinced none of this is real. He’s convinced he’s going to be sent back to the blood ocean. He’s convinced Grace’s kindness is a lie. He’s convinced that if/when Grace finds out who he is and all he’s done—The Butcher—he would lose this all in an instant.
But also he looks at Grace with such reverence. This man saved him. Saved the stars. He’s a Savior. If it’s real, if it’s not a ruse, then this man has showed him such care and kindness. Simon has never experienced such softness.
So of course he falls first.
Even with underlying feelings of distrust he can’t help but marvel at Grace. He’s so smart. He’s so soft. He’s so caring. The way Grace smiles at him so softly. The way he treats him like he matters. Simon can’t help but revel in it.
But it isn’t a healthy love. Simon looks at Grace like he’s above him. Like he’s untouchable. Like he’s a Saint. He would never tell Grace how he feels. He knows that Grace could never love someone like him. And even if Grace did return those feelings Simon knows he doesn’t deserve it and he never could.
So Simon would keep those feelings to himself. Until Grace catches up.
It takes Grace longer, but when he falls, he falls so much harder.
He admires Simon’s strength so much. The man has been through so much, so much that Grace will never know or understand, but he knows how strong Simon is.
He wants to be around him all the time. He loves spending time with Simon, he loves talking with Simon, he loves sitting in silence with Simon.
Not only has Grace not been around another human in so long but he he’s never been this close and connected with another person, even before the Hail Mary.
Grace wants to cling to Simon and never let go. And he’s so scared of that feeling. He’s scared he’ll scare Simon off.
So he also doesn’t say anything. They would have to pry those feelings out of him.
A/N: This is a little rambley but I love characterization and wanted to write this out in one place. They’re both so emotionally repressed and I love them 🫶🫶🫶.
Summary: Part 1 of ? Set five years after the events of Iron Lung. A convict is sent down to the red sea with the only known survivor of the COIs missions. You have to work with him to return to the surface but it proves to be a more difficult task due to his rather cold demeanor.
Word Count: 4.8k
Warnings: none, yet.
a/n: Okay part 1 is finally here, stay tuned for more and comment to be tagged when new parts are posted! This is a mini series so probably wont be more than 5 parts :)
꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦ ꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦ ꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦
There was a crisp yet stale air that surrounded you. Its cold aroma was almost louder than the silence, the only echoes being creaking footsteps, dripping condensation, and the gravel twisting beneath you when you moved. Your palms were rough and raw as they pressed against the cold and rocky floor. A choking sensation returned to your mouth as it slowly filled with blood once again, shoving another cough from your chest.
Blood splattered on the ground before you and you winced, sniffling the best you could while trying to ignore the rotten taste of iron on your tongue.
Out of the corner of your eye you caught a glimpse of light flashing and attempted to sit up on your knees, instead you toppled over once more, the blood choking up causing you to spit it out with a gasp.
Muffled voices could be heard approaching your cell and you sighed, willing yourself to stand and walk slowly towards the door, trying to hear through the thick cement.
Just when you thought you could make out a sentence, you heard screaming. A deep, low voice was shouting at the soldiers. Profanities and pleas flooded the halls and seeped through the cracks of your door. Your brows furrowed at the sounds and you stepped back slowly, blood was still dripping from your nose, finally slowing down enough to take in a full breath. Hands slapped to your ears to muffle the yells, not providing much comfort from the helpless cries that finally began to fade away.
Suddenly, footsteps came to your door next and it was flung open. Your hand flew up to block the light as you squinted, barely making out the shapes of two figures in uniforms. They moved towards you, grabbing your arms and leading you into the hallway.
Your eyes began to adjust to the bright lights as you complied with their motions and took in a breath of ‘fresh’ air. Finally after you acclimated to the outside again you looked between them.
“What’s going on? Haven't had enough?” you flashed a toothy grin, full of scarlet stains from the fluid.
They ignored you and continued to lead you to a part of the mothership you hadn't been to before. Your eyes darted around as the ceilings grew shorter and the lights grew dimmer, your reflections barely visible in the dirty, worn, mirrored walls.
They opened doors that led into a large dome shaped room, full of computers and lab equipment, and a large metal… something in the middle of the room. It was a vessel of some kind but you were unsure what it was for.
“State your identification.” one asked in a robotic voice and you rolled your eyes.
“Convict 377, female, no known family, human.” You stated simply and they both looked at you with bothersome glares, not moving a muscle until you finished. A large, dramatic exhale left your lips and you crossed your arms.
“Class five record.” you said looking away and they nodded, grabbing your arm to place a large white plastic gun over it. Before you could question the device the man pulled the trigger and you watched as something darted inside your skin and disappeared.
“What was that?” You scratched at the spot and the man just walked away.
“Device to watch your vitals.” The other said and you nodded, rubbing your arm and following her to a closet.
“Here, change into these and rinse that blood off your face. There is a bathroom there.” the cold woman pointed behind you and you just nodded, grabbing the items from her quickly.
“Thanks.”
“Dont try anything, 377.” She said and you nodded with a sarcastic smile.
“There is nowhere to run anyways.” you quipped.
Banging noises and soldier chatter could be heard as you were taking your time in the bathroom to wash the blood gently off your face. Each wipe with the paper towel revealed a light purple bruise or a small scratch. You didn't look too terrible. Some thin scratches, a busted lip, and slightly bruised nose all sat harmoniously on your face and you laughed to yourself. You had looked worse so you took this as a win. In the reflection of the mirror you saw a beacon of hope, silver reflecting towards you and you twisted around quickly. A shower.
You locked the door and quickly hopped in. They knew what they were doing, letting a tired prisoner use a restroom with amenities. You washed up quickly with the freezing water, getting any dried blood out of the ends of your hair and washing away the sticky sweat. Your feet ached beneath the cold water but relief soon followed.
After you dressed you gently dried your hair, combing it with your fingers before grabbing your things and opening the door. The guard was actively walking to you as you greeted her and she flashed an ugly glare.
“Took you long enough, come on.” She said and you followed her.
“What’s going on?” You questioned and she pointed towards the woman in a commander’s uniform and you walked over to her.
“ID convict?” She said proudly, not turning her gaze from the array of screens in front of her. They were full of graphs, code, and images you couldn't begin to understand from just a quick glance.
“Convict 377.” you stated and she finally met your gaze.
You were taken aback to see that this woman was not much older than you, a youthful yet tortured glow was evident on her face, her eyes a piercing green that tore through you.
“Ah, I have heard of you, you are quite popular.” She said with a knowing gaze, a twisted smile that informed you she knew all your secrets from those three numbers alone.
“Yeah? All good I hope.” You flirted and she shook her head.
“Not unless you consider biting the ear off a guard a good thing.” she added slyly, her thick accent making the words sound sharp, and you looked away with slight embarrassment.
“Did they tell you why I did that?” you asked defensively and her silence was your dissatisfying answer.
“What do you know of our work here?” she asked vaguely and you furrowed your brows.
“The C.O.I.’s work, you mean?” You ask and she nods, “I’ve learned its better to not ask questions.” You finished and she tilted her head in a crow like motion, with intrigue.
“Good. You are exactly what we need then.” Her voice let out simply and you followed her as she moved around the large metal vessel.
Her commanding presence kept you silent and made you feel this was the correct choice. You let her continue to explain, waiting to question her.
“We have made a large discovery and we need your help to get more evidence.”
Your breathing slowed at her words and you flashed a quizzical stare. She turned around to face you, towering over you slightly and you looked right into the icy green with a brave determination.
“Help how?” you finally spoke and she pointed to the machine beside her.
“A submarine of course.” She remarked giddily and you looked at the equipment, examining it as if you knew what made a sound and durable blood-wading vessel. “Pure steel, welded together with titanium, unable to be punctured.” She finished and you nodded.
“That’s pretty cool. What about the inside?” You asked, peaking around the door that was propped open.
“Built in navigation, x-ray camera, all your necessary craft equipment.” She nodded, her hand coming to take your old clothes from you before tossing them to a guard.
“Why me?” you asked with a suspicious brow.
The bold woman hesitated, a long breath leaving her as her demeanor shifted, hinting to you whatever she was about to say was rather off-script.
“We don’t have enough staff to risk sending them down.” her voice was clear and flat, not making you feel better about the situation.
“Code for, our smart people are dying so let’s send the pieces of shit we keep locked away for no good reason.” You questioned and she shrugged.
“Essentially.”
“What’s in it for me?” You asked and a devilish smirk came to her face, a mischief present in her eyes that caused your insides to twirl.
“Freedom.” She said with a shrug, as if it really was that simple.
“You go down, search around for anything… interesting, bring it back, and then you get to move on up.”
You smiled, shaking your head as if it was all some elaborate trick.
“Up? Like, back to Eden? No more cement box?” You clarified and she scoffed with a pitiful smile.
“No more box, no more jail.”
Not long after you agreed you were being tossed into the submarine, some supplies were sent with you and the door was slammed shut before you could say another word. The buzzing sounds of the welding equipment could be heard and you squinted at the noise.
“That was rude.” You sighed, dusting yourself off and moving your things neatly to one side.
Your hair was wet against your back, a cool rush traveling up your spine in contrast with the somewhat tepid atmosphere. A static chimed overhead and you saw a light flicker on by the ships control center.
“Prepare for submersion, hang on.” They stated and you did as you were told, sitting in one of the seats by the controls and holding tightly to the arms.
Your eyes snapped shut as you heard the creaking of metal, and soon felt the gravity vanish as you flew down, quickly being shot down to the red sea. The impact came quick and you felt your bottom lift off the seat and slam back down before suddenly going still. You let out the breath you had sucked in and slowly opened your eyes, sitting up and looking around.
“You handled that well.” They chirped over the radio and you scoffed. Your eyes moved to your forearm, an invisible incision from the tracker reminded you of the sights they held on you
“Now, you should have everything you need to navigate on your own, the further down you go the less we can communicate, so rely on the materials the best you can.” they instructed and you nodded.
“Keep an eye on your oxygen levels and press the purple button on the wall to signal any sort of mechanical failure. Don’t stay in the red for too long.” Your neck twitched as they read out the rules to you and you scoffed.
“The sooner we get you back up the better so don't waste any time.” Her voice faded off slightly at the end and you snapped your head to the radio, the light flickered. You walked over to the control and saw the elevation dropping.
“Wait what exactly am I looking for?” you chimed.
“Something— anything, the minute you see it, take a picture and use the yellow lever, and some force, to grab a sample. You’re useless without physical evidence.”
“It? what do you mean by ‘it’? What exactly is down here?” you began to stammer out the questions, frustration bubbling up at the amount of information you realized you lacked.
“That’s what we are trying to find out, we need a piece of it to… examine.” The commanders voice stated aggressively.
“You are almost to the bottom, when you are in the red we won't be able to-” the static grew louder, cutting her off and you sighed.
“Hello? Wont be able to what?” You shouted.
“We won't be able to hear you in the red.”
“Okay, got it.” you replied, still in shock and unsure of what to prioritize in your limited time. One question continued to come to the front of your mind and you eventually blurted it out.
“Um just how many people have you sent down here, why is it just me?” The radio went silent and your eyes met the meter, a hair into the red and you let out an annoyed groan. Soon the silence fell over you with a chill and you looked around with worrisome eyes.
Suddenly your long hanging question was answered, a gruff voice speaking out and causing you to jump with a yelp.
“It’s not just you, and… a lot.” The voice said from the dark side of the ship and you calmed your breathing, holding onto the wall as you waited for him to speak again.
-------------------------------
“Who are you?” you spoke out and the silence that returned frightened you.
You stepped closer, the metal clinking beneath your boots as you grew closer to the shadows. You saw a glowing pale green button, the only thing illuminating the little corner and reached for it.
Right before your fragile fingers were about to push, a hand snapped up and grabbed your wrist. You let out a shout and instinctively pulled away, your other hand flying to hit whatever was in front of you only to be met with the metal electrical box.
The hand finally let go of your wrist and you backed away, scooting into the safety of the fluorescents. Movement followed but still the person, or creature, didn’t come out to greet you. You shook the hand that hit metal to relieve the blood rushing to your knuckles.
“Don’t push that.” He said and you scoffed.
“What the fuck? Was that necessary?” you retorted and he remained silent.
“Why are you here if you aren’t gonna help?” you questioned and he began to laugh.
A low, short, cackle, muffled at first from disbelief but soon rippled through the walls and you shifted uncomfortably. You felt his smile without seeing it, a sarcastic grin that only followed a hopeless laugh like you’d just heard.
“I didn’t volunteer.”
There was a moment of silence.
“Well you are here now, the more we work together the faster we leave.” You stated firmly and he laughed once again.
“There’s no getting out.” He answered and your head flickered over to him.
“What do you mean?” You asked with a flat tone.
“There is no, getting out.” he spoke, teeth gritting as he finished.
Anger bubbled up in you at his crypticness and the pessimism lacing his voice.
“Cut the mysterious act and start giving me some real answers. Cause i’m getting outta here one way or another.” you ordered and after a brief silence you heard shuffling as someone stood up. You could almost make out the shadow emerging from the pitch black, passing in front of the buttons glow.
You held onto the chair behind you, bracing yourself in case you needed to fight or make distance. The toes of his boots were the first things that kissed the light and you allowed your eyes to follow up. Black utility pants traced up his long legs, meeting his waist with a thick belt.
His torso was next, clad in a tight, dark blue shirt, with a tactical harness strapped around his shoulders connecting to the belt. Your breath hitched at the sight, your mind unable to ignore the chiseled physique.
Soon he was in full view, heavy shadows casting down his face to hide his eyes and mouth but you could see his defined cheekbones and curly hair tousled around his face perfectly.
You finally steadied your breathing, watching him eagerly, waiting for his eyes to meet yours. When they reluctantly did you felt the chair press into you more as you pushed against it unconsciously.
His eyes were a dark brown, soft and endearing. A shade of brown that could be sweet and attentive like comforting chocolates but twist to a horrid auburn in a fit of fury, and morph into a black hole in utter despair.
There was a long pause and you noticed how he took in your appearance as well, his face not reflecting any shift in emotion.
“Hi, I’m-“ you started but he interrupted.
“Don’t bother. It’s no use if we are just gonna end up dead.” he muttered out and you rolled your eyes, pushing off the chair.
That’s when you got a better look at him, now fully in the light he had a charming structure and strong build with— you paused when your eyes met the sheen of a metal prosthetic arm that started at his left elbow. It’s not as if you hadn’t seen someone with a prosthetic before, but you couldn’t help to wonder-
“Wondering why they sent me down here with this huh? Yeah, me too.” he scoffed, shaking his head and he scratched the back of his neck and walked around.
“I don’t mean to stare, but yes I think it’s a bit odd i’ve been sent down here with a..” You stopped yourself, not wanting your untrained mind to say something insulting.
“Yeah well, it doesn’t matter. I’m not here to help.” he said before plopping down in the other chair beside you.
A huff escaped you and you walked to the dark corner, examining where his body had been sat. Your eyes were drawn to the light and you looked over towards the man, his back to you.
A curious hand lifted and a finger extended, landing on the button.
“I said don’t push that.” he quipped and your hand dropped as you turned to look at him, he remained facing away from you and you furrowed your brows.
“Why not?” you questioned and he remained silent.
After a moment of awkward silence you decided to ignore the sullen man and navigate on your own. Every moment spent worrying about him was time wasted so you moved to the supplies on the ship, rummaging around for something that looked important. A steel binder was laying on top of other resources and you grabbed it, fingers tracing over the etched words ‘USER MANUAL’
You brought it to the control center, flashing a glare to the man that was sat upright with his eyes closed. It was unclear if the grumpy person was really tired or they had drugged him up to get him in here. With a shake of your head you forced yourself back on track and looked at the controls.
It seemed pretty self-explanatory, push this handle forward or backward, this dial left or right, and the large lever to grab. There was a large digital map in front of you, your ships icon blinking in the same spot before you finally decided to move forward.
The sea made a low, gargling noise as you drove. A chill falling down your spine as you watched the icon move with you. The map had X’s and scribbles mapping out location markers and areas to avoid since they had already been cleared. You felt the ship scrape along the side of something and you stopped. Looking back at the camera before moving to meet it, quickly slamming the button down.
Soon a whirring noise could be heard before it flashed to white and you heard the loud clip of the shutter. The man flinched violently, sitting up and snapping his head around as his teeth gritted and his chest moved up and down quickly. It was clear the sound had frightened him and you flashed a grin. The photo developed beside you and showed nothing but a dark atmosphere.
“Whoops, my hand slipped.” you beamed with a hint of playful expression.
He stood and your eyes widened, his shadow was large enough to cast over your frame and you swallowed nervously. He began to walk over to you and you backed away, your arm hitting against the button. You squeezed your eyes shut in annoyance with yourself and the whirring noise started up again. You opened one eye to peek at him, his were shut and his neck twitched at the noise, his jaw twisting to the side as he looked away.
Once the shutter came and faded out his shoulders relaxed once again, his breathing resuming, and he was back to walking over to you.
“That actually was an accident.”
“I don’t care. Get away from it.” he barked the orders and to your surprise, your body listened. You stepped forward and to the side away from the button with your hands glued behind you to prevent temptation.
“You need to listen to me if you-“ he began to yell out but soon you were both quiet as your eyes met the image displayed beside you.
“What… the fuck.” you muttered and he stepped to the screen but it faded before he could approach.
“Hit it again.” he instructed and you scoffed.
“Oh now he wants me to push-“ he cut you off with another order to push the glowing rectangle and you didn’t hesitate this time, your hand punching it with gusto.
The whirring started and his eyes squeezed shut at the sounds, not opening again until the noises were over and the picture was developing. You used the moment to really admire him, taking in the small scars above his eye that trailed through his brow towards his hairline.
His long lashes were curled up and his cheeks seemed to be permanently sunburnt, a pinkish shade like he had forgotten the extra step of reapplying the sunblock and it never quite faded.
Your eyes drifted to his arm again. Hesitantly you investigated the way the prosthetic was attached, but more so the way his flesh had thin black lines trailing up from the top of the metal to his bicep where they began to fade. They appeared like veins on the external as if someone had drawn a fine line on him, but you could tell if you ran your fingers over the skin you’d feel the small rise of the markings like a fresh tattoo.
His eyes opened again and you looked away, the both of you turning your attention to the screen. Sure enough, displayed on the wall was the same image as before. A dark atmosphere with a large white circular tunnel.
You squinted, trying to make out the shapes. It was as if the ship was facing a cave opening, the inside walls being made of a smooth yet rippled texture. He stared in confusion, the first expression you had really witnessed him show and you hoped this was a good thing.
“Go back us up 100 yards.” he said and you once again mindlessly listened, trotting over to the control panel and pulling the ship backwards. The both of you wobbled with the motion.
His hand came to the button and you watched as he hesitated before pressing it with a shutter of his shoulders. His eyes flicked to you then back at the camera's display, waiting for the image to appear.
“Fucking hell.” He murmured and you darted over beside him, a hand coming to your mouth.
“Holy shit, what is that?” you exclaimed and he ran a hand through his hair.
He remained silent as you watched the image begin to fade. You pressed it again to make it reappear and he flashed an annoyed glare your way but you were too incompassed by the image in the moment to care.
Once again you stared in confusion. A large creature was in front of the ship, its mouth gaping wide open, still and inviting. It was mimicking a cave entrance and you began to shake your head.
“We need to get out of here.” You chimed and he shushed you.
“If we run it’ll just follow.” he answered and you laughed,
“I meant we need to get out of this ship. I’m not messing with that… thing and whatever they think we need it for.” you retorted and he released a groggy sigh, a hand coming to run over his face.
“I told you, we aren’t going back up.” he sneered and walked back to the controls, moving the vessel slowly away from the creature.
“How do you know? You didn’t volunteer. I have a deal with them.” you said naively and he stifled a deep laugh.
“Cause they lie. They just said whatever they needed to get you in here.” he said simply, his eyes remaining on the map as he navigated with an odd familiarity.
You watched as he mindlessly turned and weaved around large hills marked on the map, his eyes tentative and squinted as his brows furrowed.
A creeping suspicion came over you and you felt your gut twist in a knowing way. Soft steps backed away from him until you felt the cool darkness land on your shoulders and you looked to your right, the button glow reached your face and your mouth flattened into a line as you pressed it softly.
With a snap of your head you quickly looked back at the man, watching for what you anticipated would happen. Sure enough once the camera's mechanical noises started up, his large shoulders flinched, his hand came to quickly shove the steel binder off the control panel, flinging it to the floor with a loud clash as he let out a shout.
“I told you to not do that!” He seethed, finally turning around and unplugging his ear once the sounds subsided. His strong build moved up and down with heavy breaths and you stared at him with wide eyes.
“You’re him aren’t you?” you asked, “The Butcher.”
He looked away with a flash of remorse. The silence was deafening and you stepped forward back into the light.
“That’s why you didn’t volunteer. That’s why you were so quiet at first.” you stated and still he barely acknowledged the truths.
“They brought you down here again to find out-“
“Forced. They forced me down here. To kill me, since they failed at it the last time.” his voice faded to a shocked laugh as he spoke. Surprised by his own words that left his lips as if he truly believed them.
“It was you I heard.” you said softly, and his eyes met yours and stayed on them for the first time since the ship had landed on the oceans floor.
“From my cell, I heard shouting. That was them taking you right?” you said and he gave a small nod.
A frown came to your face at this knowledge and you felt bad for having scared the man so many times. A terrible first impression surely.
“I’m sorry for… doing that.” you said as a finger pointed towards the camera and he kept his gaze away from you before turning back to navigate the ship.
After another moment of silence you let out an apologetic sigh and spoke out softly.
“Simon,” you started, his head turning slightly so his ear could face you and you were just out of his peripheral.
“I’m sorry that they forced you down here again, it isn’t fair.” you stated empathetically and he huffed, his jaw tensing before turning back to the map.
“It’s never fair with the COI.” He muttered and you nodded, walking up to him quietly and sitting in the second chair.
Your eyes darted to the elevation meter and saw it getting ready to leave the red and you looked to the radio. Sure enough not long after you were back in a ‘safer’ zone you heard static chime through. Simon appeared to wince at this as well.
“Convict 377 confirm location and connection.” someone muttered and you looked at the coordinates.
“Connection is good, location is at 40.68,14.07.” you said clearly and they acknowledged your reply.
Soon you heard the familiar chirp of the commander and your head snapped back to the radio with a small smirk.
“Figured out the new system did you, Simon?” she questioned and you quickly turned to him.
His brows were furrowed in anger, his eyes red and utterly furious. You spoke before he said anything, or so he didn’t have to.
“We saw a creature. It was smart, pretending to be a tunnel opening.” You said, your eyes remaining on Simon, reading his face for any shifts in expression.
It was a small change but his face grew defeated and your chest began to hurt at the sight.
“Is it the marker you placed on the map at 78.08?” She asked and you looked up at the map to confirm.
“Yes.”
“Good, that is a landmark.” she said simply and you looked at Simon once more, confusion on your face. Still he was unmoving.
“A landmark? What do you mean? We found… something alive!” you exclaimed with frustration and she laughed.
“No you found an old petrified Blood Eel as we like to call them. Think of it like an exoskeleton.” The woman said as if it was some tourist attraction.
“Whatever. What do you want us to find?” you said, annoyance clear in your tone. There was a long silent static and your head dropped in defeat.
“Ask your partner.” She said before the static cut off all together and it went silent. The only sound that lingered was the bellowing sea around you.
꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦ ꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦ ꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦
a/n: be honest does the above emoji divider look cool like blood and stars or like cum and peens
can we talk about taking off din's armour please. slowly working piece by piece, placing the pauldrons down one on top of the other, the chest plate lying just next to your hip on the table, with the kneepads, thigh guards and the shin guards all gentle resting besides it. your hands are shaking ever so slightly from being tasked with such a delicate mission, and you can almost feel the warmth from his skin as you remove the final piece of armour. you hear his breath hitch as you begin to remove his helmet and you have to force yourself to keep your eyes open, despite all fibres in your body screaming at you to squeeze your eyes tightly shut. he asked you to do this, you know that din wants you to see him. and yet, just before the helmet reveals his eyes to you, you question again whether this is okay.
and you almost fall to your knees as din speaks. his voice, somehow both as unfamiliar as the breath that fans your wrists and as familiar as the hands that grip your waist.
you know what's hotter than din djarin burning down the world searching for you? din djarin burning down the world searching for you, but he can't even admit to himself that he's in love with you.
there's an iron focus to how he moves that scares everyone who is unfortunate enough to cross his path. he's usually stoic, difficult to read, easy to submit to, but it's like a flip switches in his head when he's trying to get information about your whereabouts. there's rage behind every step he takes, slicing through doors and holding up informants with just an arm pressed to their throats.
dozens of bridges lie burnt in the wake of his disappointment and he doesn't even care.
it's an obsession, he doesn't sleep, he doesn't eat, he doesn't allow himself a single moment of rest, not when he knows you're out there waiting. every second counts. and he'll be damned if he lets you sit in fear and anxiety when you could be—should be—with him.
he almost convinces himself that he would do it for anyone. leave no stone unturned, reconnect with everyone that has ever owed him a favour, work leads until he's bloody and beaten and bruised.
and no one dares tell him otherwise—to point out the glaringly obvious emotion behind his unnerving focus.
This is actually such a huge thing for an actor to do. Like we know he is wonderful and correct about this and not afraid to say so but when was the last time an actor this famous called for a boycott of a series this popular on a network THIS BIG.
titsay
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areudirty
annaxmalina
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snowghoul
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baratheonpilled
