#in space with markiplier fanfiction | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theknightmarket · 8 months ago

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"We've made it this far."

In which the Engineer and the captain are released from the effects of the wormhole, as they've always wanted. TW: cursing, angst, slight reference to gore Pages: 26 - Words: 9,500

[Requests: OPEN]

“Please, just hold on.”

After dying so many times, it was weird to be on the edge of it. You’d tossed yourself off the cliff enough to memorize the feeling of falling, of becoming weightless and letting everything go – like a kind of acceptance, even if you were going not of your own volition. It had always been okay, though, because you’d come back seconds later, spat back up from a raging ocean with salt and spray into the arms of that cryo-pod.

“I can get you out of here, don’t worry, I can do it.”

But this time, you were looking down, your feet on the ground and the water seeming so far away. You had to make the choice now, of staying on that crumbling cliff, battled by the wind, and forced to stare straight at the fate you were faced with, or letting your feet shift and lose traction.

“Come on, please, I know you can do it.”

In theory, it was an easy decision, but you didn’t want to have to work for it anymore. You had done the hard part, the surviving at the peak, and now, you knew that this would be the last time. It wasn’t as though you could take a step back; you would always be watching the tips of the waves snap at you. You didn’t want to watch anymore.

You croaked out a simple, “Mark…”

Your faithful engineer, kneeled at your side, likely for the last time. He wasn’t going to fall. He couldn’t.

“No, no, please, don’t do that, just a little longer,” his pleads reached your ears well, but you forced yourself to ignore them, “our medics will be here, just wait.”

“Mark, I can’t.”

“No, you can, you have to!” Guilt tapped at the edge of your mind, you didn’t let it in, and it stayed right where it was. “Please.”

“I’m sorry,” you sighed. You were. You really were.

“Come on, the- the colony haven’t said goodbye, the crew…” His thought went unfinished, but you understood him. You always did, even when he didn’t understand himself. You were half sure he didn’t know what he was saying, the panic and dread overwhelming him in a fight for majority.

You assured him, “They’ll be fine.”

“Not without you.”

“Mark, look,” a cough wracked your upper body like an earthquake, “look at it all, we’ve made it this far, haven’t we?”

You were so damn proud of him, of the whole ship, of everything. You never told him directly, so you could only hope he knew. It would make this whole thing easier if he knew that you were proud of him, that you trusted him. He’d be easier on himself.

“Not far enough! We still have more to do, we- we can’t do it without you. You’re our captain.” A distant memory from just a few days before floated to the forefront of your mind. It was hazy, corrupted by the pain, but it was there. “You’re my captain.”

A deep breath in, as far as the pressure would allow you, before you whispered, “You built the ship, you hired the crew, you fixed the warp-core.”

And suddenly you wished that you hadn’t been able to take that breath – that you had stayed silent and let the moment envelop you. The spark of realisation that you cherished in Mark’s eyes dug a pit in your stomach.

“No,” was all you could say with what little energy you had left.

“But—”

“Uh-uh. Not this time.”

You couldn’t, he couldn’t, neither of you would be able to handle another round of what you went through together. That quality of stubbornness you both possessed would surely fail you, abandoning you to the madness of eternity, worse if you failed.

“Why not!? I know how to do it, and we know how to fix it.”

“We got off on chance, you’re not trying that again, Mark, I can’t—”

Shit. That little energy was becoming smaller and smaller, but neither did you have it in you to let Mark create another wormhole. You couldn’t live with yourself if he gave you a second chance.

“I’m not losing you,” you muttered, “and, yeah, I know how ironic that is.”

You wanted to laugh, but all that burning the candle at both ends was catching up to you. The numbness that had crept up on your legs hours ago was lurching onto your torso. It wouldn’t be long before it was biting through your arms and neck, and you wouldn’t be aware of it when it reached your temple.

“So, hey, just… just give me this. Please?”

The look in his eyes washed away. Leaving Mark like this was not your plan, but when had the universe ever listened to you? You could be thankful that you hadn’t gone insane in a place lightyears from your home, that Mark was not leaving you. You admitted that it was a selfish thought, but you didn’t think you could keep going if you lost him. You’d fought hard, but now you were done fighting. You knew he could do it for you.

And so did he. It was a cold admittance that he wouldn’t be the one to save you, this time. It felt all too much like giving up on the person who had sacrificed themself time and time again for him. Although it left a poor taste in his mouth – bitter, unwelcome, downright painful – you had proven to be steadfast in your decisions. There was going to be no convincing you.

“I love you.” If Mark was given a do-over, no strings attached, that would not be the first time he was saying it to you, aloud, just the two of you, and it wouldn’t be the last.

And maybe he would have gotten to hear it from you just once.

Your final breath cascaded against his knees, a waterfall that seemed eons from growing dry but dripped slowly into the grave it dug for itself. There was no sound, no last rites read, except for the heartbroken sob that broke free from Mark’s chest, echoing around the cavern walls.

Seeing the sun after so long in space was strange. Of course, you could look out of one of the many windows that Mark had installed and see a sun, but to stand in the rays of light from the sun of this galaxy? It made you want to brush off your duties, it made you want to throw your jacket off and run into the forest, it…

It made you miss Earth.

After exploring space for so long, you were always surprised that, wherever you landed, you felt homesick in the bottom of your stomach. The feeling slept when you were in transit and reared its head when you started to set up a colony, but it never truly disappeared after that. Hell, not even the visits back to your birth planet fixed the issue. The best thing you came up with was bringing little pieces along for the ride.

But you didn’t have the time to reminisce. Just as you’d mentioned earlier, you had a colony to establish, and it was well on its way already. A dozen sectors sketched out, concrete paths linking each one to the other. There were still a majority of people left in their cryo-chambers, those that weren’t necessary for building or planning, who were being looked after by Celci. Gunther was on observation for threats – a duty he often groaned about – and Bert was waxing poetic while the rudimentary power generators were being built. So far, everything was looking good. As in, nothing was going to blow up immediately and force you back on that ship.

No, instead, there you were. Standing in front of your growing colony, the sun glinting off the metal of the parked ship, your feet on the ground of a healthy, new planet. How could you not let a prideful smile work its way onto your face underneath the helmet you had yet to take off? You had made it, and, if you squinted, you could practically see the bustling city this place would become. Stores on one end of the street, restaurants on the other, further down would be a sector of houses with a public park and a fountain. Young families would walk to their parents’ house, the group of teenagers would have no problem just talking to each other during dark nights, old lovers would duck from the rain into shaded alleyways to share one last kiss before heading home for a warm bath.

You caught the eye of your head engineer leaning against the head of the ship.

And not that you knew it, you had also caught his eye, only that was a gross underestimation. Mark had been with you every step of the way on the ship, he’d seen what you could do, what you had done to save the crew and colonists. You’d long ago seized his admiration, and, soon after that, his affection, leading to where he stood in that moment; watching you as you ordered everything that needed to be done to be done, waiting for his own set of instructions that he would carry out perfectly.

Until you made eye contact with him, smiled, and then began to walk away. Mark’s feet were moving before he could process what was happening, and if he started to jog after a few steps, that was between him and the ship wall that he pushed off from. He slid to a stop when he was close enough to you, an unsure half-grin on his face.

“Hey, Captain,” he said as he fell into step beside you.

“Is everything alright, Mark?” was the only reply he got, though that was likely because of his expression more than any doubt you held.

To ease your concern, he tried not to make it too obvious that he was nervous.

“Yeah!” The barely hidden voice crack did not help, but he continued anyway, “Yeah, it is, I mean- is there anything you want me to do?”

Requesting work was difficult for him. Not because he naturally took things easy, but because he had been on his feet for the last he-didn’t-know-how-long. Hours, days, he hoped not weeks. It didn’t feel right to not do anything.

“Why don’t you take the day off?”

Panic struck him like a physical force. He didn’t remember doing anything wrong, you could have still been angry about the whole incident, but he thought everything had been cleared up on the ship’s bridge. Had you already given him a job and he hadn’t been paying attention? Well, could you blame him if he wasn’t?

It was in this train of thought that he realized you were waiting for a response. So, you weren’t mad. That was good.

“Is now the best time?” he asked, “It’s your decision, of course, I just think—”

You stopped short of the next sector, some grid for farming, “Look, you’ve been to hell and back—” and hell and back and hell and back and hell and back, as you were both well aware, “—I think you deserve some time to yourself.”

‘Time to yourself’. He didn’t want time to himself, he wanted… well, he wanted a lot of things and, to put it bluntly, he wanted some time with you, but you weren’t about to take a rest anytime soon, so neither was he.

“And while I appreciate the offer, Captain, there’s a lot to be done that I think is more important than having a break.”

You watched his face for a second, looked up and down as he started to sweat underneath the layers of his uniform. “Repeat that for me.”

“And while I appreciate the offer, Cap...”

His trailing off made clear the realization he came to. You sent him a knowing look, as he groaned like a kid told he couldn’t have another cookie. Of course, it made you smile, too. His dramatics were the highlight of your day when it wasn’t his stubbornness and jokes.

Today, he was vastly leaning into the former. “Only five minutes!” he demanded, scrolling through his arm-piece to set a timer.

“Ten.”

He scrolled slightly further. “Seven.”

“Fifteen.”

And slightly further. “Twelve.”

Your bout of laughter echoed through the trees around you. “You aren’t getting this, are you?” Mark’s arm was tugged away from him as you swiped through the timer yourself. He might have argued about it more if he weren’t so preoccupied with being close enough to kiss you right now if he had the gall to lean that slight bit towards you.

And, you were his captain, obviously, who was he to challenge your authority?

“Take the day off, Mark, and that’s an order from your captain.” You left him with a pat to his shoulder, luckily not noticing the vibrant blush spreading on his face that was too strong to blame the sun for.

He muttered to himself when you were a few steps away, “Pulling rank isn’t fair.” And he was certain that it wasn’t. It was a trump card, some ex-machina that you had no right to use on him.

But he had his own little trick up his sleeve, or, rather, on his belt. You insisted on using some of the old-world commodities, even by Earth standards. The communicator on his hip with the antennae and grating would be his ace in the whole for your dumb day off punishment—

“And no using your walkie!”

“Damn it.”

You were tired. Really tired. You’d slept a day and a half after the whole wormhole incident, and yet here you were, looking at every slightly level surface with literal bedroom eyes. You constantly had to remind yourself to pay attention, but that just made you think about paying attention and not listen to the person you were talking to – who, in this case, was Celci. As such, you were half sure it was important to the whole colony, relying on her reputation, mostly, because again, you weren’t paying attention, and you were actually imagining lying down on that rock you’d seen half an hour ago with the moss and grooves.

You weren’t listening, again.

“Or I could send you the report for you to look over later?”

When you snapped back to reality, you were none the wiser as to what that report was about, but it gave you time to figure it out. “Oh, yeah, that’d be great, Celci, thanks.”

She gave you one look and then asked, “Captain, is everything alright?”

The half grin took most of your energy, so you promptly dropped it when you remembered that she couldn’t see your face. “Am I that obvious?”

“If you need a break, I can go and check the excavation site and one of the techs can do the propane levels. I’m sure I could get Mark—”

You immediately rushed to cut her off, “No, no, I’m fine. I appreciate the thought but I-I’m fine, really.” Jostling your body and comically widening your eyes, you made yourself as presentable as you could with a quarter of your fuel in the tank. You dusted off your suit and cleared the screen of your helmet, extremely thankful for the metal that made it a one-way mirror. “See?”

Celci hummed at you. Not a good sign. She was arguably the most responsible on the ship, and if she thought you were putting yourself through the ringer, she would do everything in her power to get you to relax. The only problem she faced was ranking, and it was the only thing protecting you from being forced into a nap. You had to get away before she could figure out how to circumvent your title.

“C’mon, Celci, don’t you think I know my limits?”

Disapproving silence. Even starting to walk away from her, you knew how little she believed you.

“We only have to get through another three hours of work, and then everyone’ll be able to finish up; myself included.”

“Well, Captain…” And there was the crack you needed. Hesitation.

“Besides, if we get the thermos running, we’ll be able to house some of the colonists and you can focus your efforts on the desert habitation.” That was her little pet project. When you’d scanned the surface, you found two nearby biomes that would barely receive any rain but stayed in the negative fifties for your entire surveillance period. It was backhanded to bait her with the idea, you knew that, but if it got you out of a glorified grounding, you were willing to do it.

Especially since it seemed to work, if Celci’s sigh and hands on her hips were anything to go by.

“Alright, Captain, as long as you finish as soon as the day ends.”

You exchanged a nod with varying degrees of satisfaction with that encounter, before going your separate ways. In fact, you did get a little jolt of energy out of it, as you waltzed along the concrete path. Any thoughts of taking a break were washed out of your mind by the torrent of work you still had left to do; all the sites to check out, all the staff to organize, all the paperwork to send back to the headquarters. The latter was always the worst part, but it was the price you paid for independence on the planet. Free reign was only yours if you played by your boss’ rules.

“Captain!”

Speaking of boss’ rules, as if on cue, Mark jogged to your side from wherever he was before, falling into step quickly next to you. You wouldn’t deny that seeing him gave you another boost of energy, which you immediately used to pat him on the back.

“How’s your break going?”

“I’d rather be doing actual work, but it’s fine. I appreciate it.”

“Good.”

And it was. You were glad he was taking it slow today. He was important to you, and the colony, and you didn’t need your head engineer passing out in the middle of an important task. Or passing out in general. Or doing anything else bad for his health that you could readily prevent.

He appeared alright, for now, although that wasn’t going to get him back on a job just yet. “Actually, I was wondering if—” he started to say, but a crew member cut him off with the crunch of their boots as they rushed towards you from out the surrounding woods.

Their report was normal enough, a few more pieces of information about the excavation site. They’d found another source of aluminum in the caves, which you noted down in case your supplies ran low. Mark waited at your side while you spoke to the person, half-way between listening and grumbling to himself. You couldn’t help but laugh quietly as you dismissed the crew member.

“Sorry, go on,” you said. The pair of you continued to walk, heading nowhere in particular aside from in the vague direction of the housing project.

He did as you prompted, getting out, “Well, I wanted to know—” before someone else called for your attention. Given you were nearing the first constructions of houses, it made sense that a builder caught up to you – despite that, you noticed Mark’s pout as he averted his eyes from the conversation you’d been drawn into. Just a material substitution you needed to sign off on, it was nothing to get worried about, but it was obvious that wasn’t what he was annoyed by.

You gestured with a grin for Mark to continue. Mouth only somewhat open, he paused and looked around, then rounded to your other side to cut you off from the majority of the workers. It was a futile effort, given that you were fast approaching the mass of houses, but it amused you either way. A combination of that drama and humor you were so fond of.

“I think, considering what we went through—” There was barely a crack of a twig in your ten-foot radius when Mark grabbed you by the hand and ran off the path. He didn’t know where he was going, and you definitely didn’t, but you were going regardless. His boots carved a line from the housing district all the way back to the ship. Hardly anyone was there anymore, only a few cryo-techs were loitering around to survey the colonists, so it was his best bet to get you alone, however creepy that made him sound.

You weren’t given time to question him when you eventually skidded to a stop in a quiet area behind the ship itself. Mark was talking even before you caught your breath.

“I think that you should take some time off too because you went through the same things that I did, and, yes, I know you’re the captain, but having some time to recover from it all would be just as good as me taking some time, even better, because you made all the decisions back there, so you should just relax and I have some suggestions for how you can do that.”

By the end of his little speech, neither of you were breathing at a steady rate. You both sucked in as much air as you could handle and then let it go again, minds catching up with the situation. For you, it was processing his words and what he wanted from you – for Mark, it was realizing just what he’d spouted and how utterly unconvincing he was.

It was another challenge to understand that you accepted. “I’m listening,” you said, simply, as if you couldn’t say anything else.

Mark spluttered, not thinking he’d get so far but being so far that he had to continue.

“I say we should take some food packs from storage, find an empty room, and have a proper lunch. We won’t talk about work or duties to be done, or anything else, and we’ll lock the door so nobody will interrupt us.” That last bit came from the depths of his soul, Mark grimacing as he spoke. “The colony will be there when we get back. And, if you think about it, getting some rest will help you make better decisions in the long run.”

“Okay.”

Okay. You’d said okay. You’d okayed it. You were going with his plan. Pride overwhelmed him against his mind’s efforts to keep up with his heart and stomach’s backflips. His body froze in response, giving you the concerning impression that you’d broken him with a single word. Lucky for you, he rebooted himself in a few seconds, though he was still unable to curb his enthusiasm.

“Yes. Yes! Alright, let’s go.”

Mark went to reach for your hand but quickly noticed that he was still holding it from when he’d dragged you with him. Instead, sheepishly, he smiled at you and started to walk towards the ship’s entrance, you chuckling to yourself in tow.

If you were going to take a break, you might as well be taking it with your favorite person. What did you have to lose?

“I’m hoping for cool fish.”

“Nope.”

Within half an hour, the both of you were settled on beanbags, eating soup out of Styrofoam bowls, and drinking the champagne you had left over from the salute at the start of the trip. To you, it was the height of luxury, especially now that you were out of your stuffy uniforms and into more casual clothes. The only ones you owned were your workout gear and nightwear, but you opted for the less sweaty version of a tank top and shorts. You didn’t think it was so bad, but Mark had spent the first ten minutes of the lunch break looking anywhere but you. It didn’t help when you went to get your helmet and jacket because he immediately jumped to push you back down into your seat. Not that you – or, though you were unaware, Mark – was complaining.

Still, you kept the outer layers of your uniform close by in case of an emergency, the chances of you being notified as minimal as they were with both your walkie-talkies having been switched off. It was you who pushed for them to be present, but the compromise made them pretty much useless.

Yet not even the potential of a natural disaster pulled you out of the relaxed state you had entered. Slipped down halfway into the beanbag, spread out as far as you could get, you felt calmer than you’d ever been before. Mark would say the same, had he not been seeing your face for the first time.

By the sun, moon, and stars, you were… downright gorgeous. He never liked relying on rumors, so he had taken the stories of you being handsome and/or beautiful to be one weird game of telephone. Now, though? He was regretting not asking to see your face sooner, but you were still in front of him, and he was going to relish the view for as long as he could, emergency be damned.

“First chance I get, I’m throwing you in an ocean,” you promised, taking a sip from your champagne flute.

“I’m taking you with me.”

“I want to see it. Maybe we’ll find a fifty-foot-long eel with three sets of teeth and mandibles on its face.”

“You’ll find some cool rocks and suffocate before you could even see the thing.”

Dammit. Just like that, with one sentence, Mark smothered the banter you had going. His jaw clenched, your shoulders heightened, the mood was thrown out the window – poor choice of words, again. He had meant it to be playful, but certain recent events tainted the very concept of losing oxygen, of holding your breath for longer than a minute. Gallows humor had yet to set in, and, based on the glazed-over look in your eyes, he couldn’t help but think it never would.

But you were the one to break the silence. “So, what now?” you asked as you placed the flute gently on the floor, glass clinking even as it stood straight.

“Cap,” was the only mumbled answer you received, though it didn’t deter you.

“I know, it’s just…” you sighed, “we can’t not talk about it?”

“Why not?”

Your gaze shot to meet Mark’s eyes, ready and raring to argue, to question how he can deny it. The flame died the second you saw the look. The watery film that threatened tears dumped dirt over your fury. It made sense that he would want to leave it behind. You had the colony to think of now, instead of the death after death after death you’d both faced in the wormhole. You understood that want to ignore it all, but you couldn’t fall into the trap. You couldn’t face another night with it hanging over your head. The bags underneath those wet eyes of his told you he couldn’t either.

Shakily, you whispered, careful not to set him off, “Because it happened. And it was a serious moment in our lives that we can’t ignore. And- and what if it all goes wrong again and we need to prepare to deal with it?”

“Then we’ll do what we did last time.”

“Get stuck?”

“Get through it.” Distantly, you wondered why you were the one to make that first speech. You were the captain, sure, but Mark made you believe him with just one incomplete sentence. He made you trust him in three words, no matter how much your mind fought to tell you otherwise, your heart did indeed trust him. “I mean, we’ve come this far, how hard can it be?” A weak chuckle. “I’d wager getting Gunther to not shoot the first thing he saw when he got off the ship was a lot harder than what we did.”

You didn’t feel like laughing. Instead, talking about the crew, it made you feel… something else. An intangible well of guilt and shame. You could get through another wormhole, but everyone else? What if they got caught? What if they started to remember all the death and fire and pain? You wouldn’t be able to help them, not like last time. If they remembered, they’d be at the edge with you, staring over the side. How many of them could take it? The crew or the colonists themselves? You would have failed them all. You might not have killed them, but they’d be casualties, nonetheless.

“Hey.” Your head snapped up to see Mark at eye level with you, leaning over to bring a hand to your upper arm. “We’d get through it. I know we would.”

But you still looked forward, unblinking, and it only took a second for Mark to realise he was wrong. If he wanted to be scientific about it, he would have just called it trauma bonding – if he wanted to be emotional about it, which he didn’t but he was going to be, he would have thought that all your time together brought you closer, not only because of the danger you experienced, but the comradery. Seeing you in action, seeing you take care of everyone, seeing you be the captain you were meant to be; Mark was sure he understood you. That meant he could see that guilt and shame as clear as day in your eyes.

He let himself fall forward to flop down next to you in your beanbag. Even though he was slightly uncomfortable, pressed against the strangely stiff surface, he stayed right where he was. Nestled against your side. He couldn’t think of a better place to be.

“I don’t understand why you do this.”

“It’s one of my charming quirks.”

You still didn’t feel like laughing, not even at your own poor joke, so you dropped your gaze to Mark. “What are you talking about?” you asked.

“You pretend like you aren’t the captain.”

“Do I?” Plead the fifth or whatever it was people said, and you didn’t care about the irony of you being the one to deny now.

He narrowed his eyes, barely shifting closer but shifting closer regardless. You felt your breath catch in your throat. “Yeah, you do,” he pushed as the hand that was on your arm circled around to the other shoulder. You resisted the voice in your mind that told you to bury your head in his neck, whether that was to avoid hearing him or to relish in his closeness that you never had the chance for.

You didn’t though, head remaining held high, so you were forced to listen when he continued, “You tried to get a smaller crew, you go in on the explorations yourself, you ignore the medics who try to help you.”

Another voice in the back of your mind perked up to rebuke it all, but you silenced it. What would be the point of lying? Mark knew you, you knew he knew you, there was no reason to fight it.

You sighed. “Well, I don’t know.” Your voice was small, smaller than you or Mark had ever heard it, but the admittance felt like it was enough to send a shockwave through the cabin. The jacket that showcased your title to everyone on the planet seemed to blaze in your mind. “Am I really their captain yet?”

“’Yet’?” Mark parroted you, and that was the go-ahead you needed to spill your thoughts.

“I missed the construction of the ship and the selection of the crew. The hour that I got onto the thing, everything went to shit, so many things went wrong. I- I don’t know if I deserve this, being the captain, when I didn’t spend any time with the people running the ship. Hell, even without the whole wormhole thing, we were going to be in cryo-sleep for the entire journey. I wasn’t needed.” The flood of words tumbled out with reckless abandon and then stopped like crashing into a wall like a bike going eighty. You didn’t think you would go through with it otherwise. Inner voices or a sense of decorum threatened to overtake you.

And yet, even though you got to the end of your rant, red-faced and breathless, you were knocked more off-balance by Mark’s question. “How many times did you die?”

“What?”

His eyes were trained on you. “How many times did you die?”

“I don’t remember, maybe thirty?”

“So, you died thirty times for yourself?”

Indignation sparked within your heart. “No, I did it for the ship,” you stated bluntly, “the crew and the colonists.” You weren’t certain what his point was, but if you had to use your authority-voice on him, you were going to.

“Repeat that for me.”

“I did it for…”

That was his point, then. Your shoulders relaxed, though you didn’t notice that you’d raised them, and your eyebrows unfurrowed. In return, Mark’s smile brightened, like he’d caught the canary. Caught you, more like.

You stared deadpan down at him but brought a hand up to card through his hair. Without his beret, it was looser, more befitting of him as a person instead of the head engineer. The corners of his mouth perked up even more. “See, I don’t like it when you use my own tactics on me.”

His laugh reverberated through your own bones, especially when he dropped his head to your collarbone. It wasn’t awkward, in fact, you were soon chuckling along with him at his happiness more than your joke – it felt natural, but you were still aware that this was the closest you had ever been. Relaxed into the beanbag the two of you now shared, trying to avoid knocking over your flutes of champagne, practically cradling each other in your arms. If the wormhole had been like this, maybe you would have appreciated it more.

“Someone who doesn’t deserve to be captain would have left the ship to explode and taken an emergency pod back to the nearest planet.” His speech, like his trailing off giggles, shook your muscles as sparks of electricity. “They wouldn’t have died for them, and you did. You are their captain.”

Hesitation. You saw it as bright at the sun of your new home in the sky. You saw it rise in Mark’s eyes, you saw it crescendo, and you saw it dip into the horizon.

“You’re my captain.”

Whatever thought ran through his mind, it was gone by the time he pushed through the final inch between you, leaving barely a breath in the interim. You could feel the puffs of hot air bat against your jaw, nose and lips. The role he gave you meant more than the legislation, the rule, the empty title. Now, it was trust. Him in you, and you in him.

For a moment, you thought he might bridge the gap, but his mouth opened before anything could progress. That didn’t mean either of your minds had strayed from the idea. He whispered under his breath, as if it would escape the room had he spoken any louder, “Do you want to have dinner tomorrow night?”

“As in a date?”

“Yeah. A date.”

Mark could feel his heart beating faster. He could have denied it and represented it something like the scenario you were in now. There was a part of him that thought he should have; it shied away from the very possibility of rejection and cowered in the clasp of regulations and human resources. But he had already taken the leap, the words hovering in the air. It would be a proper date – with candles and music and something better to eat than soup in a Styrofoam bowl. You’d talk about whatever came to mind, plans for the future instead of the past, and you’d share a bottle of wine as you spoke. The flicker of flame would highlight you from below and he would see exactly what he was describing in your eyes. His future. If the night went well, you’d clear the table together, strangely domestic against the memories of the journey over, and then, with the candlelight still dancing on the table before the fire was snuffed out, he hoped to share a kiss together. He could almost feel it already.

While his imagination was a thing to behold, it could not take credit for that sensation, but while Mark was so lost in his prospects, he failed to notice that the future was coming to pass. Or some of it, anyway.

You weren’t sitting at a table, a glass of wine and wax dripping onto the table; you were closer than before, with your lips pressed against his and your eyes closed.

Mark was knocked breathless. The sensation was nothing he could have predicted; the pressure was soft, gentle, like a silk ribbon, but the texture exposed how you would bite the same places when you were worried. Worried? What reason did you have to be worried? You were the greatest captain he had ever heard of, let alone known. He wanted to tell you just that, but he was preoccupied, for obvious reasons, with pushing you down against the hill of the beanbag. Maybe he was bias – your groan reverberated through his skin – but he didn’t really have a choice – your fingertips skimmed across his hair – and he was sure that you were objectively the best anyway – your teeth grazed over his lips – so it didn’t really matter. He brought one of his own hands to hover over your jaw, barely making contact until a particular hum had him brushing his thumb across your cheek. You leaned into it, as if it were a military ration, and he supposed it must have felt like that. Roles like yours didn’t tend to come with company.

Inwardly, he pledged that he would never let you feel alone again.

Outwardly, in an ill-fated scuffle to reposition himself, a dull thunk and something spilling onto the floor caused the two of you to slowly, begrudgingly, part. A few puffs of air settled between you as you turned to see Mark’s semi-full glass that had fallen over.

With a laugh, you settled your head against Mark’s shoulder, both to stabilize yourself and spare him the embarrassment of a steadily reddening face.

“So, that date tomorrow?” Despite the last five minutes, Mark couldn’t help but be shaky in asking. Either that, or it was aftereffects of his heart going 210 instead of the normal 60 beats per minute.

“As long as,” you whispered before grabbing your own champagne for another sip, “we get to find a large body of water tomorrow.”

“That sounds a lot like an ocean, Cap.”

“Well, if you insist, we can find an ocean.”

With your final poke at his expense, enough to wave away the remaining fog of tension no matter the nature, you downed the last of your champagne and settled further into your beanbag. For once, you didn’t regret taking a break, and you were sure you would need another breather after the excavation the following day.

“It’s my project, it has my name signed on the documents.”

So far, the day had proven successful. Three more biomes were scouted out, one of them being a potentially perfect site for farming, and the first real town had been built. At the beginning, it had looked like one of those places built to test nuclear weapons – but then, just two hours ago, they had moved the first colonists into their houses. You had been there to greet them, shake their hands and pass them the keys, but you had to leave before they could get fully settled. Besides, that was Celci’s job. The whole transfer from cryo operation was under her jurisdiction.

However, now that the residents were all making beds and organizing cupboards, Mark had to deal with her. And by deal with her, he meant argue, because there wasn’t another way the situation could ever turn out.

Presently, the pair were standing outside a section of the colony, Mark’s section, with blueprints in hands and scowls on faces. A slap against the paper was followed by Celci’s gesture towards the energy source.

“That means you were the one who started to involve cryo-tech, and that means I need to have some input.”

Mark scoffed, even though he knew full well that she was, technically, just barely, if you looked at it a certain way, correct. Just the word cold was her full job description, but he assumed he would get away with it if she were busy with other things. How wrong he was. Ever the eye for detail, Celci had searched through all the project applications, filtering for anything below 30 degrees, and then promptly set up meetings with all the leads. She wasn’t aware that it was Mark heading this one until she walked up the concrete path. Mark wasn’t aware that it was Celci he was meeting with until he heard her groan.

Go figure, they had made no progress.

“You know, I would love to prove you wrong on this,” Mark hissed, “but, unlike you, I can’t spend all day arguing about this.”

Was it backhanded to boast about your date and use it to get away from an argument, which he totally wasn’t losing, in one sentence? Probably. Was he doing it anyway? Yes.

However, Celci wasn’t one to give up that easily. Mark barely got two steps backwards before she took one toward him in return. “No, you know I’m right, so you’re running away.”

“Actually, I have a date tonight.” The pride and amazement took over the scowl on his face. For a moment, he forgot he was talking to someone and that he wasn’t just staring into his mirror, trying to convince himself it wasn’t a dream while he picked out an outfit.

“Who with? Your Roomba?”

In any other situation, he would have leaned into the mockery, tried harder to think of a better comeback, but the truth worked well enough. With a grin, Mark corrected, “The Captain.”

A flurry of emotions danced over Celci’s face that Mark was so glad he was able to see. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her confused before, much less shocked, though there were plenty of times she looked at him with endless doubt. They rolled over and over like a broken projector before she finally landed on a stranger expression – bemusement.

“Finally.”

It was his turn to look confused.

She tutted and looked him dead in the eye. “You can’t think that nobody’s seen the love-sick puppy look you give them when they’re nearby.”

The splutter was hard to contain, despite it being very obviously undignified, but it was harder to get back on his feet. So many questions swirled around his mind, most of them trying to preserve whatever image he thought he presented, but he came up blank. It was, annoyingly, likely that she was once again right. But it wasn’t his fault, not when you were, well, you. Of course, he wouldn’t call it love-sick, though that didn’t stop it from being accurate.

Mark’s lack of response was enough for Celci to know she’d caught him red-handed. Just typical. With the upper hand, she continued, “But I happen to know that your dinner isn’t until seven, so that gives us five hours for you to see reason.” He tried to protest, opening his mouth to ask how she actually found that information out, before she held up a hand. “Or, what, does it take that long to get your hair like that?”

Inwardly, Mark cursed her. He lost his way out of the conversation, and, in doing so, was welcomed by the colony’s rumor mill. What a prize. At least things weren’t spun out of proportion, but he would have preferred the date to be private at first. He could only hope that the crew had enough sense to leave them alone for the night.

Right now, however, he still had to prove to Celci that he didn’t need her supervision.

“I just don’t understand why you want to get involved with this!” he groaned.

“Because it’s a safety issue if I don’t.”

“It’s not gonna explode.”

“You’ll find a way.”

“I’m not doing anything outside of regulations, it—”

A crackle. Something like a fire burning. His heart rate piped up. Celci started to spin, but Mark was quick to grab at his belt. The walkie-talkie was stirring from its sleep in one of the pouches. He preferred the tech they’d designed for the mission, but he wouldn’t deny you your pieces of Earth. Plus, the stickers were always a bonus.

He drew Celci’s attention as he pressed the button down. Silently, he waved away her own smug grin – the one that told him he looked exactly like a love-sick puppy.

“Hey, Cap, everything alright?”

You never stuck with the whole over and out thing. It was the compromise given they had replaced it with a light to show when the other side’s button was pressed down. To Mark, it made more sense and improved efficiency. What was concerning, though, was that the light was on, red and blazing, but you weren’t talking.

He pressed it closer to his ear.

Just breathing.

“Cap? Captain, are you okay?”

He was struggling to keep his smile.

Especially when your voice whispered through the machine, gravelly and choked, as if there were hands wrapped around your neck.

“Hey, Mark.”

“Captain.”

“I’m, uh—” You were broken apart by a cough, “—prob’ly gonna be late to dinner—” Another cough, “—tonight.”

It sounded like your lungs were being ripped at the tubes and emptied. Mark’s heart felt like it was shattering.

“Where are you?”

Radio silence. The shards cracked further and refracted the light into searing flames through his veins. Just as sharp, he brought his gaze up to Celci.

“Where is the Captain right now?”

“Didn’t make a copy of their schedule?”

It was meant to be banter, a little poke at their relationship, something to get a deadpan look and an eye roll.

Mark looked more scared than she had ever seen him.

“Third excavation site. North.”

And, at the final word, he was gone, sprinting down the concrete path. The wind carried him in subtle support while some of the crew watched the storm rush past them. They had no clue what was happening, but neither did Mark. He only knew that he had to get to you, no matter what. He had to be there for you.

The walkie felt like it was burning in his grip. An omen and a promise at the same time. He pulled it to his mouth, as though just hearing his voice clearer would let him understand everything. “Cap, Cap, come on, what happened?”

Nothing. Silence outside of his body, which itself sounded like a zoo set loose. It was the eeriness of a broken submarine. He could hear the crunching of the water against the sides as it threatened to ball the metal up with the ease of a wad of paper, but there was still a dismal quiet in the meantime.

“Captain!”

And he couldn’t do a damn thing to help.

Some of the pressure released when he heard your whisper, “Cave in.” It was decorated with crackles and pops, but he heard it crystal clear, every single one of your words its own speech. “Do-don’t come, Mark, don’t.”

His footsteps picked up impossibly faster to match his heart rate.

“I swear, I will,” you choked for a second before you were saved with a cough, “I will pull rank on you.”

“You can do that later. When you’re not crushed under rocks. You can do it at dinner.”

“Mark, I’m not…”

“Yes, you are!”

He swept round a corner. The danger signs for the excavation site came into view. Just a little longer. He didn’t know if you had a little longer. Your breathing was already ragged when you called, and it was getting worse. He knew he should have been pouring all of his energy into getting to you – for once, he admitted it would be better for him to shut up and focus – but he couldn’t handle the silence.

“Okay, okay, pull rank on me,” he pleaded, “just keep talking. Please.” You yielded to his request with a smile that he couldn’t see. “You named the colony yet?” His job. Technically, it was supposed to be the captain who named the colony, but you had given that duty to him. You’d argued that he was the one to choose the planet, so he should have been the one to name it. Just the thought of it made him sick to his stomach. It was too early for delegation, you didn’t need to do it yet, and there would be no reason to later because you would be alive and well. You’d do your job and he’d do his. There would be no exchange because a role couldn’t be filled.

But the declaration was fueled by doubt even in his own mind.

“No, I was waiting for you,” Mark answered.

“You should name it.”

“I’m waiting for you.”

Another cough, as if your own body was working to supply your point. “Can’t wait forever.”

“I won’t be.”

The lack of response stirred something horrible in his gut when he slid into the entrance to the rock site. He pushed past the gates and tape, snagged protective gear from its place hanging off the fence, and immediately rushed to the directors. They were shambling about with checklists in hand and smiles on faces. Mark wanted to laugh, cry, freeze still in his boots. Everything looked so optimistic. This was advancement for a colony of a size like this.

Days later, when the clock would strike midnight and Mark would lay in his bed with the sheets askew and pillows scattered, he wouldn’t remember what he said to the workers he spoke to. Whether he interacted with them, or they interacted with him, it didn’t matter. His words were lost to him in the haze of overwhelming urgency and underwhelming panic. Medics arrived and excavators were called over. He only knew that because a few of them went in with him to the mouth of the cave – if some kind of legal body was contacted, he wasn’t aware of it because they never showed in front of him, and they weren’t helping him find you.

One detail he did recognize though was the tug at the walkie from one of the directors that caused Mark to pull back like a feral cat. They seemingly decided not to risk it, and simply slipped another walkie in his belt. Of course, you’d given the rest of the crew those things, instead of the highly modernized tech that would have stopped this entire thing from happening in the first place – but he couldn’t be mad at you. It wouldn’t have been you otherwise.

They backed off quickly when they were done, and he held the original close to his chest until he was well within the tomb- not tomb, cave. A normal cave.

He had to find you.

The team he entered with was small. You always liked close-knit things, he supposed that was why you went in by yourself. Something about comradery. You were too old-fashioned for your own good.

He would tell you that at dinner, give you a light smack on the wrist and a kiss on the cheek.

“Mark, are you still there?” Your voice through the walkie reminded him of where he was. Where you were. You sounded terrible, considerably worse than last you spoke, but that was to be expected.

Focus.

“Of course. I’m not leaving.”

“Thank you."

His heart would have melted had he not been so hyped up on the rush of adrenaline and intangible fear.

“Can you describe what you can see?”

“Lotta rocks.” Your laugh turned into a gravelly groan. “I see a light.”

“Don’t go towards it.”

“I don’t have much choice.” Mark was blissfully unaware of your joke because he was also blissfully unaware that your legs had been mangled by rocks splitting apart your bones and muscles, pulverized like the aftermath of an old blender fed with sticks and banana. You were glad he was.

He was able to, instead, drop down off a ledge deeper into the cave, which was very quickly becoming more of a cavern. It had the distinct feeling of being trapped in an ant hill, with some spaces widening and then others trailing off into sharp points. Wherever you were, getting out would be a problem, too, but seeing a light meant that you were either incredibly deep or just by the surface. He was hoping for the latter.

The next drop down was not promising.

Neither was the walkie startling to life again with your voice. “You know,” you croaked, “when we were in the wormhole, I didn’t think it would end like this.”

“It’s not ending like this.”

You let the words sink into metal grating of the machine before you spoke again, “I thought I’d be shot in that noir place or stay frozen in a cryo-chamber for centuries, I didn’t think I’d just be, uh, crushed.”

The way you phrased it was so inelegant that Mark nearly snorted. However, the reality didn’t let it breach neo-daedism territory.

“Seems a bit boring, in comparison.” He couldn’t tell whether you were mumbling for comedic effect, or your lungs were giving up on you. Uncertainty impaled him like a spear through the chest.

Swallowing, he sighed. “But at least it’s not in the wormhole.”

“At least it’s not in the wormhole.”

It felt too much like a goodbye. A final salute to the ship that sailed off into the distance. Firing the arrow onto the raft. It shouldn’t have given him hope.

But it did; the cavern was bathed with the sunshine from a hole in the ceiling, and the light on the walkie was off.

It didn’t take long to spot you, upper half sticking out from the rubble of a dozen large boulders and even more smaller rocks dusting your back. Frantically, he rushed to your side, barely dodging standing on the discarded walkie a few feet in front of you. You held another to your cheek. Mark wished he had more time to tease you about keeping a whole communicator just for him, then you’d tease him about his own, and then you’d win the argument when he decided to just look at you all alive and active and not steadily dying in a cave. He did not have more time.

He hooked the walkie for the director out of his belt and called for assistance, giving a description of the route he took and then turning it off to pay attention to you.

Your grin was bright but shaky. “You come here often?”

“Captain…”

“Sorry, bad timing.”

“No, perfect timing.” The chuckle that dripped out from his mouth was tainted by tears brimming in his eyes. He took your hand and tried to ignore how cold it already was. If he had come sooner, would you have more of a chance? Would you have survived? Oh, but you were going to survive anyway, you had to. You were the captain. You were his captain.

“Mark, don’t- don’t get yourself worked up.”

“Or what?”

“Oh, you know.”

He wanted to beg for you to continue the joke. His grip tightened as he brought your hand to his lips. He held it there, waiting, not breathing a single puff of air. The fear of disturbing the scene and being the little bit of wind that a rock needed to jut further into your back was buried deep in his bones.

“Please, just hold on.”

“Mark…”

No.

“Mark, I can’t.”

No, no, no, no.

“I’m sorry.”

Was he saying words?

“They’ll be fine.”

Just a little longer.

“Mark, look… look around, we’ve made it this far, haven’t we?”

His mouth was moving, he was sure of it, but the crackle of the walkie filled his ears in place of his own words.

“You built the ship, you hired the crew, you fixed the warp-core.”

The warp-core. He had done it once before. What’s to say he couldn’t do it again?

“No.”

All that pain, all those deaths, he would do it again.

“Uh-uh. Not this time.”

He would do it for you.

“We got off on chance, you’re not trying that again, Mark, I can’t—”

If you would just let him, he could get you back. He didn’t understand why you were resisting. It would be so easy. You would get to live and lead the colony and be the captain that you always wanted to be.

But he couldn’t deny that it was a lot of woulds. And he couldn’t go through with it without your support. The tears in your eyes were not from pain but from fear, and not even for yourself. You were scared for him. Your head engineer.

“I’m not losing you—” Mark snapped back to the present, “—And, yeah, I know how ironic that is.”

It was ironic, wasn’t it? Not only this situation, but that the two of you, as a pair, had gone through so much together, only to get separated when things had finally calmed down. It was as though you had grown so used to danger that you couldn’t survive without it. Domesticity was not for you, nor was it for Mark. In this lifetime, you would never get a break. And that was one of the two certainties he found.

“So, hey, just- just give me this. Please?”

The other certainty?

“I love you.”

Mark kneeled on the dusty ground of the cave with your hand in his. It was just as cold as the air around you, your breath visible as you sighed a single, “I-…” that trailed off before you could get anything out. The words died in your lungs as your eyes dropped shut.

Mark’s sobs echoed throughout your tomb.

[Did you know this started out as straight fluff? Also, I will forever be scared of the leviathan from Subnautica]

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vampiric-plays-games · 24 days ago

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So... guess what I turned into a physical book.

You can of course read my work here! ^^

#markiplier #adventures with markiplier #in space with markiplier #iswm #markiplier fanfiction #fanfiction #only my second time hand-binding a book #it's not perfect but it's perfect for me XD

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lostcybertronian · 7 months ago

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prompts 5 and 34 for engineer mark please?

Love me some angst. Post-ISWM pt. 2

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Prompt: “I can’t sleep. Can I sleep here?” / “It’s just you and me.”

You didn’t go down to the planet like the others, preferring to stay on the Invincible II where you could see it and protect it. It had been some days since you’d last seen a wormhole, but the creeping feeling that you’d be sucked into another dimension at any moment had yet to fade. You couldn’t eat. You couldn’t sleep. But you could pace the bridge, staring into (literal) space, pretending you were okay.

“Captain?”

You turned. Mark stood at the door, refusing to meet your eye. He shifted his weight back and forth, shuffling his feet. “I can’t sleep,” he blurted out, when you didn’t say anything. He gestured to his cryopod, just to the right of the door. “Can I sleep in there? I’m . . . more comfortable there.”

You kept your expression carefully blank even as a maelstrom of thoughts crashed into your mind; Mark here, for decades, entire lifetimes, with nothing but himself and the ship, looking for a solution. Looking for you to be a solution.

“Captain?” Mark asked, and you cleared your throat; you’d been silent too long.

“Of course,” you said, hoping your voice was steady. “You can sleep wherever you want.”

For a moment Mark looked so intensely grateful that you had to avert your eyes. You heard his quiet footsteps as he plodded to his cryopod, and thought even those footsteps were exhausted.

“Do you ever-”

You turned. Mark had the cryopod door open and was half-in, leaning out to talk to you.

“Do you ever think about how it’s just you and me?” He asked. “Just you and me who know, I mean. What happened.”

Of course you did. It was all you thought about.

You paused a moment to compose your answer. Mark’s stare remained on you, unwavering.

“It is just you and me,” you said carefully. “But it is you and me. You’ll never be alone with what happened because I know, too.”

For the first time since you’d destroyed the universe, Mark smiled. “Thank you, Captain.” He said. “That makes me feel better.”

He climbed fully into the cryopod, its interior glowing faintly as it booted up. As the door shut and latched you turned back out to look at the massive planet below, glad Mark found your words comforting but wishing you felt the same.

#captain x mark #captain of the invincible II #engineer!mark #markiplier egos #writersofmark #fanfiction #ego shipping #lostandwandering #lost writing tag #writing prompts #angst #hurt/comfort #post iswm #iswm #in space with markiplier #asks #lovely anon #q

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samuel-is-an-idiot · 1 year ago

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Hello people, so I have like 0 influence but this is tumblr so y'know we never know.

I was rewatching some old fangames videos from @markiplier and I decided to stop on Markiplier's Aventures 2 (here's the link to the video:

youtube

AND after it I decided to look for any updates from JeffKyler14 because the game is very touching and I found out that he was struggling heavily with the release of the game because life and his team let him go.

So I just wanted to try and get at least one person to go look at his channel because he's passionate but he is loosing hope and his dream is starting to feel impossible to him!

He needs HELP from code monkeys, from game designers, support, financial support. He made a game that impacted @markiplier, and that impacted all of the fans who watched the videos, as a community even as a community of fans of some youtuber we should stick together in some way and if not to help John then to help Mark see that even after years; We are still a community, we still love him and we still show him that.

I honestly think that Markiplier's Adventure 3 would be the best way to show him that, because it already has, and even though Mark is growing and our community is growing but the roots remain!

TLDR: Get Markiplier's Adventure 3 back in the works and help someone see that his work and talents are not wasted and that his dream is ABSOLUTELY at his reach

Here's a link to JeffKyler14 ' s youtube channel:

(I don't know if I'm still up to date, I'm hoping I am, but the game is important)

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drunkonaheistinspace · 1 year ago

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three almost kisses and the one time nothing could interrupt

originally published: December 3rd, 2023

Pairing: Illinois x gn!Reader

Rating: General Audience

Tags: fluff, friendship, first kiss, slight angst

When Illinois proudly announced that the two of you would be attending an auction again, flashbacks from last time hit you like a tsunami. Luckily for you, you were informed of his plans two weeks in advance and not hours in advance like last time, giving you plenty of time to prepare.

The first thing you did was insist that you wear your outfit from last time and he didn't have to buy you a new one. You accidentally found out how much he paid for it, which nearly gave you a heart attack. The only reason you still had it was Illinois's argument that it was a birthday present and you didn't want to be rude. And yes, you even kept the overpriced ring that could possibly be an ancient relic. The second was to find out more information about the auction. This time it was about a deceased collector whose collection is being liquidated so that the family can pay off the mountain of debt that the deceased had left them. It looks like you might even find it this time as the deceased specialized in ancient artifacts and judging by the thumbnails were the kind of artifacts you're after.

The sight of Illinois in a suit was something you could never get used to. It was just wrong. But it gave you the opportunity to tie his bow tie, which in turn gave you an excuse to get close to him. "Let's go over the rules again," you said as you straightened the bow tie. "Why are we going to the auction?" Illinois sighed. "To find potential pieces for my collection." "What don't we do?" "Do not purchase artifacts of unknown and/or questionable origin." "And?" "And don't give my partner any gifts that cost me more than fifty dollars." The fifty dollars was still a compromise. You wanted to go lower than ten bucks, after all he was still your boss and after all he was obligated to pay you and he paid you well above average, which is why you didn't see the point of expensive gifts. But he insisted that there should be at least fifty. He referred to this as a bonus for excellent work performance.

A look out of the window told you that the limousine had already arrived and was now waiting for you. You went to grab your coat, but Illinois grabbed your arm. You looked at him in surprise. “After the auction...would you like to go out for dinner afterward? It doesn't have to be expensive! We can also just make a detour to McDonald's and get something there.” A gentle smile graced your face. Illinois was always so cute when he was shy. This was a side of him that only you got to see. "I'd love to have dinner with you." You stood in absolute silence for a moment, looking at each other before Illinois slowly walked towards you and leaned towards you. You closed your eyes in anticipation but your lips didn't touch. Instead, you were startled by loud impatient horns. "The limo is waiting," you said, heart racing, and grabbed your coat. "Yeah, we should go now," he agreed, running his fingers through his hair.

In the end, the auction was canceled because two idiots broke in and took a large part of the collection. Instead, you spent the night in the parking lot behind a McDonald's watching the stars while sharing a helping of chicken nuggets.

You had asked Illinois for a single day at the beach several times in the past. Just to relax. Well, your wish has finally been granted after a long time, but unfortunately not in the way you would like. Yes, you just found yourself on a beach at sunset, but instead of sipping colorful cocktails and enjoying the view, you were stuck on a deserted island in the middle of nowhere with a treasure map that made no sense.

"I give up! The map is useless!" you called to your boss who had climbed up one of the palm trees hoping to get a better view of the island. You, on the other hand, had the map in your hand and tried to make sense of the scribble. "I'm afraid I have to agree with you there," Illinois admitted while clambering down the palm tree. "I'm not even sure if we're on the right island anymore." You sit down on the sand and bury your face in your hands. The adventurer sat next to you and fanned the cool air with his hat. "At least we can enjoy the sunset." With a sigh, you looked up and you had to admit that the sunset here was particularly beautiful. At least there was a nice moment you could share with Illinois. "We should take a vacation and just go somewhere that isn't dangerous," you murmur as you rest your head on his shoulder. Illinois said nothing and just silently took your hand and gently squeezed it.

You just sat there and watched the sunset without saying a word. You couldn't remember who turned around first, but suddenly you were looking at each other and your faces got closer and closer. Your lips were only a few millimeters from touching. You were just a head movement away from what you both longed for. At the same time, a cannonball hit the water just meters in front of you, drenching you both in seawater. You looked up in surprise and saw a ship on the horizon.

"Please tell me that's not who I think it is," you moaned in annoyance and frustration. "Captain Magnum," Illinois confirmed. "Maybe we should flee inland before he actually hits us." As if on cue, you saw another cannonball being fired and you ran into the dense jungle hoping to escape the pirate.

You ran through the dark maze-like corridors. You've been running for quite a while and you're not exactly sure where you are right now. Everything looks the same and the fear that you've been going in circles the whole time overcomes you. The worst thing about the whole thing, however, was the fact that you didn't even know who you were running from or where exactly you were going. The day started out so harmless.

It was a beautiful summer day and you and Illinois were “on vacation” so to speak. Maybe vacation wasn't the right word. It was much more of a break between adventures because your plane broke down and your flight was delayed by two days. You were in no hurry and instead chose to take this as a sign that you really needed some time off. This included sitting in cute little cafes, drinking coffee and talking about possible new goals. Buy new work boots. Arguing with Illi about why you don't need a 200 euro jacket. In the end you decided to visit an art exhibition.

The exhibition included several different pieces by well-known local artists. You didn't know any of them, but that didn't stop you from marveling at the countless works. Illinois seemed to feel the same way because he would stand in front of a work for a long time complementing both the composition and the technique and all you could do was listen in silence and marvel at how much this man knew about art.

Then it happened. Illinois was laughing. Everything was good. Everything was wonderful. Then he noticed something in the distance. His laughter stopped. His smile vanished. He looked like he had seen a demon. Then everything happened quickly. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you towards the exit, but something forced him to change direction and you ran deeper into the gallery. You couldn't see who or what was doing this to Illinois, but you were sure of one thing. You've never seen him so scared. Eventually he drags you through a door with a staircase leading down. Once you got to the bottom you saw two hallways and Illinois turned to you with a worried look.

"Listen to me. We have to split up! He's most likely after me and I doubt he'll hurt you as long as you stay away from me!" "But-" you tried to protest, but he placed a finger on your lips, silencing you. "No buts! For once, I want you to listen to me and do what I tell you. This is solely for your good.” He removed his finger and instead took your face in his hands. “We will find each other again. I promise it." You wanted to protest again, but the look in his eyes tells you that he won't accept any complaints. You took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay. I trust you." He gave you one final affirmative smile before you walked in different directions.

And so you found yourself in the endless dark labyrinth that sucked every hope out of you with every passing second. Your legs hurt from running and you were exhausted, but you couldn't afford a break. Not unless you knew where the adventurer was. Every step you took felt like you were pulling a heavy load behind you, and a tightness that settled in your chest heralded the onset of a panic attack. It was difficult for you to see in the dimly lit hallways and you felt like it was getting darker with every step. How much time has passed since you broke up?

You turned a corner and instead of finding another endless corridor ahead of you, you ran into what you initially thought was a wall. Only the wall was warm, muscular and difficult to breathe. Two strong hands rested on your shoulders, providing the necessary support that kept you from collapsing like a cheap folding chair on a hot summer afternoon. "Thank God! You're fine!" did you hear the living Adonis statue say You were too exhausted to say anything. Instead, the hands moved away from your shoulders and you were pulled into a tight hug. "I know I have some explaining to do, and I'll do it once we get out of here," Illinois still held you tight, afraid someone would pull you away from him. “I promise you that we will then be a month – no, two months! oh you know what Let's take the rest of the year off and just relax!" The support that the adventurer gave you finally let you relax and catch your breath. Over time, your mind became clearer and the hallway you are in became brighter. You take a deep breath. The familiar smell of leather and linen gave you another piece of security. Your limbs were heavy as lead, but you somehow managed to raise your arm and squeeze Illinois' biceps, after which he released you.

You didn't realize your vision was blurry until you tried to look the adventurer in the face. You feel his warm hands on your cheeks and a light pressure on your forehead. You blink a few times and as your vision cleared you noticed his forehead was pressed against yours. His eyes were closed, his sun-tanned skin was glistening with sweat, and you could smell the faint whiff of coffee on his breath. "I promise nothing will happen to you," he whispered more to himself than to you. “You survived until now. You survived longer than anyone else." He opened his eyes. "You mean too much to me to let him take you away." You stared into each other's eyes for a long time. The corridor was long forgotten. All your senses were taken over by him. The warmth radiating from him. The smell of him clouding your mind like a potent drug. His breath on your face. His eyes that looked straight into your soul. It was like a spell that you couldn't break.

Slowly he closed his eyes again and tilted his head. His lips were only a few millimeters from yours. You inhale his breath and close your eyes. This was the moment. But before you could lean forward and fully surrender to the spell, a door next to you was violently thrown open. You both jumped aside in shock and panic. Was the door here all along? "There you are!" exclaimed Wilford. You both looked at him in horror, but neither of you was able to say or do anything. “You two are extremely late for your interview! Well, come on in!" Wilford grabbed you both by the wrist and yanked you through the door.

You didn't talk about what happened in the corridor. Neither of you could.

It's mid-August. The sky was painted yellow and pink from the setting sun. Illinois kept his promise. Since the Gallery incident, you've stayed away from adventures and settled in a small town. He gave you you room to breath by giving you a small house on the outskirts of town. Under normal circumstances you would insist on getting an apartment, but since the incident you just needed some alone time. Time to think. Time to understand your own feelings. His house wasn't far. A few minutes walk. He gave you a key. You were welcome at any time. And yet you haven't seen each other in two months.

Those two months were the first time you could really think. Overthink. Losing yourself in your own mind. You realized three things: 1. The carpet in your living room was exceptionally soft and perfect for staring at the ceiling for hours. 2. You miss the smell of leather and canvas. 3. Illinois' entire existence was like a siren song and you struggled every day to resist it.

You only now realized that you had been under his spell since the first time you met and every time you tried to leave, you somehow found a way back to him. You had lost your heart and it was now part of his collection. The only thing that stopped him from possessing both your body and your soul was a single kiss.

One kiss and there will be no turning back.

A kiss to seal the deal.

A kiss to become his holy grail.

Every time you opened your front door and looked out, you could see his house. So far and yet so close. There was nothing standing in your way except your own pride and sanity. But today you were weak.

You didn't bother putting on shoes. You looked up at the sky and noticed that the colorful play of colors from before was replaced by dark rain clouds. You felt the first drops on your face and closed your eyes. It didn't take long for the light drizzle to turn into a storm. The rain soaked your clothes and your hair was wet and stuck to your face. This was the perfect weather.

Your legs moved of their own accord, carrying you down the street until you stood in front of his house. Lightning and thunder joined the rain and the wind became more ruthless. But you didn't care. Three steps and you were standing at his door. You take three deep breaths. You knock on the door three times.

You heard the footsteps behind the door. Your heart was racing and you felt the adrenaline rushing through your veins. You heard the door unlock and you held your breath. The door swung open and you took the first step. Illinois didn't have time to react as your arms wrapped around his neck and cold lips pressed against his. He stumbled backwards until his back was pressed against a wall. Only when he realized it was you kissing him did he allow himself to close his eyes and return the kiss. Only when he wrapped his arms around you and felt how wet your clothes were did he force himself to break the kiss. He grabbed your shoulders and pushed you away. You were surprised at his sudden abruptness, but the sight that greeted you made every bit of anger in you fade away. His otherwise perfect hair hung over his face, his cheeks red, his lips swollen and his eyes dark. You wanted to lunge at him once more and steal another kiss, but his grip was iron, keeping you at arm's length.

“What happened?” he asked, struggling to keep you at a safe distance. “Why are you wet?” “I couldn’t take it anymore,” you replied while breathing heavily. "I need to see you, feel you, you..." “And that’s why you walked through the rain?” He looked you up and down again. “And that barefoot?!” You rolled your eyes. “How dare I walk barefoot in the rain! This is worse than the time I had to jump off a cliff into the sea! Or the time I had to fight a mutant killer bunny!” Now it was Illinois who rolled his eyes.

You felt his grip on your shoulders loosen and you took the opportunity to approach him again. He didn't do anything to stop you and so you wrapped your arms around him again and hid your face in his neck. Strong arms wrapped around your wet form, pushing you closer to him. “I want to be more than your partner,” you whisper into his skin. In response, he kissed you on the temple. “Were you thinking about a spring wedding or would you prefer fall?” You gave him a light kick to the leg. “Not so fast, my dear! We haven’t seen each other for two months and we have to make up for that time first.” “Whatever you want, treasure!”

#ghost writing #illinois x reader #in space with markiplier #a heist with markiplier #ahwm illinois #iswm illinois #fanfiction

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leighsartworks216 · 2 years ago

Text

Your Captain

Engineer Mark x gn!reader

Requested by Anon:

"Sweet! Can i request a angst and fluff fic with engineer mark? Where captain overworks themselves, not taking care of themselves at all, marks sees it but doesn't want to bother them too much about it

And eventually they get really sick and collapse infront of mark

With angst prompts #12 and #17 thank youuuu"

12. "You could have died."

17. "No, no, no, you can't close your eyes right now!"

Tbh this fic started as a completely different concept but I think it fit really well with this request so yah

Warnings: loss of identity, mentions of the warp core events, mentions of death, overworking, exhaustion, hurt/comfort, angst

Word Count: 3906

Masterlist

Tag List Form

The realization is slow. Not in the way a predator creeps on an unsuspecting victim. Nor in the way an illness would, slowly taking over your body and mind until you can no longer ignore your decreasing abilities. No. It’s not even noticeable at first. Little hints here and there, indicative of something bigger.

And then it dawned on you. Suddenly. Like a spark igniting a rampant fire.

It happened when you looked up. The sky was different here. Strange. Nothing like Earth’s. There were no constellations - at least not yet. Two moons circled and twirled around the planet. Your new home.

You had neglected to look up since you landed. You couldn’t blame anyone. There was simply too much to do - buildings in need of building, resources to discover and study, maps to draw up of the surrounding area. Not only that, you joined your leads wherever you could.

You assisted Celci as she and her team revived colonists. You welcomed each new citizen with a smile and Welcome to our new planet! All 100,000 of them. Celci told you to take a break, get a nap, eat something. You would argue that everyone deserved to be welcomed, and it helped you get a grasp on just how many carpenters, engineers, scientists, medics, gun hands and others there actually were. She gave you a worried and disapproving side eye, but she couldn’t do anything to stop you.

Gunther worked to set up a perimeter where the first buildings could be set up. You helped to plan out which buildings went where, and exactly where your borders should be laid. And when he started setting up armed droids to keep an eye out for raging wildlife that could threaten your new beginnings? You were all too happy to put yourself to work, hauling the heavy automechanicals to each designated spot. If he made a comment about exerting yourself, you ignored it and kept on working.

Burt, with the lack of necessity for warp-core engineering (the thought made you flinch), helped out in home-building. He acted as foreman, making sure each sheet of metal had its place. As the framework finished, he and his team went in to affix lights and other electronic necessities. A few engineers even took plumbing jobs. (There was, unfortunately, a lack of those sent over from Earth.) Quiet as he was, the only time he pointed out your willingness to dive head first and help build foundations, framework and walls, was in a poetic waxing after a rather large building neared completion. You said it was a beautiful poem, but you didn’t quite understand its meaning. (You did.)

And Mark. Oh, god, Mark. With each new job you threw yourself into, he was always right there, running around like a headless chicken trying to help. If you were building a wall, he was right behind you (sometimes even right next to you, holding the metal in place as you bolted it in), keeping you up to date with the progress of the colony, messages from Earth, and other such things. He worried over you the most out of anyone else.

You couldn’t blame him, honestly. After the… adventure you both went on, you wouldn’t give yourself the time of day to even close your eyes. Once dark settled in, you threw yourself into paperwork and managerial nonsense. You couldn’t stop.

It had been one of these nights when you realized. You just finished talking to Celci, discussing the discoveries being made. The scientists just started working with the security crew to go out on excursions to study the flora and fauna. They just brought back a strange plant that they believed could be medicinal. It was exciting, truly.

But Celci had been short with the discussion. She had her arms crossed the whole time, shutting down branching topics with quick retorts. You need rest, she’d scolded. She shoved a protein bar in your hand and sent you to your tent, with orders not to do any work tomorrow. When you tried to protest, she enacted a rule that stated she - as lead officer for medical - could confine you to your quarters if you were not at your peak health, physical or otherwise. You couldn’t argue with her, and so trudged like a pouting child toward the temporary camp of tents everyone was staying in.

That’s when you looked up. You stopped, staring at the unfamiliar stars, the strange moons that lacked craters. The Invincible could just be seen, hovering in the atmosphere. You were waiting for orders from Earth to know what to do with her. You refused to dismantle the grand spaceship. Most likely, it would continue to remain high above the planet, run by a skeleton crew. Forever up there. Alone.

That is when the realization overcame you.

It was slow. And then it all came crashing down over top of you like a tsunami. A growing sense of guilt filled your chest. Was that it? Guilt. No, maybe it was… loss. Yes. A powerful sense of grief within you, bubbling to the surface.

Maybe it had always been there. You couldn’t rightly tell. But it was powerful. It grew, bubbling like a thick paste within you until it reached your tear ducts and buckled your knees. The ground was warm beneath you, and the sky full of strange new stars blurred into a swirl of watercolors. Maybe this was how Van Gogh saw the world. Through tears.

“Captain?”

Your lip trembled. You couldn’t look at him.

A warm body knelt next to you on the ground. His dark eyes burned into your skin, searching desperately for answers. Why were you crying? Why were you sitting out in the middle of the camp, staring at the sky? When he glanced up, following your gaze, he caught sight of the Invincible. He mentally damned the ship.

Was it because of the ship that you were crying? Far too often to be healthy, he, too, stared up at the ship. He remembered the warp core. The mistakes he made, and the ones he caused.

He had no idea what you saw up there. You never spoke about it. Now he wished he had. He wished he asked. He wished he knew what worlds, what alternate realities, what different timelines you’d witnessed. Maybe then he could understand what was wrong.

“Cap…?”

Your eyes were red now. Your face crinkled with grief and sorrow, fighting back the onslaught of tears. You gasped in a shaky breath. Out came a whisper. He thought, perhaps, you would tell him about the things you’d seen. You witnessed thousands of deaths; he had, too. But that was not what came out of your mouth.

“I don’t remember my name.”

Mark was stunned. Shock and confusion overtook his body. Your name? Well, of course, your name was… It’s…

Confused and frustrated, he remembered the IDs on file for every single crew member. He sifted through so many every day, trying to keep track of who was who. It took a few taps on his wrist pad to pull up your ID. He skimmed it for himself before holding out his arm to show you.

The image was fairly recent, only from a few months ago. But you looked… brighter. Hopeful. Determined. Your hair was a little shorter then, too. The bags under your eyes from rigorous study weren’t as prominent as they were now. You looked like a hollow shell of who you once were.

And, yes, that was your name. Or… was it? Was it really your name after everything that had happened?

No. That was their name.

You shook your head and furiously wiped at the tears on your cheeks. Every crass name, criminal title, and disparaging nickname flooded your mind. No. They didn’t have those titles. They didn’t deserve the hatred and vitriol that followed you through that wormhole. They were not the Captain. And you were not them.

“That’s not my name anymore,” you croaked. You shook your head again. You looked like a child having a breakdown in kindergarten over a broken toy. “That’s- That’s not me anymore.”

Mark couldn’t say he really understood why. The image of you, all crooked grins and academy-fresh confidence, was you. He remembered you gushing to him over flying your first airplane, and going through the rigorous training of outer-space flying. He remembered because it was you who gave him the idea for all those stupid windows. When you gushed over being so close to the night sky you felt you could reach out and pluck Polaris right out of the inky black.

But when he looked from the picture to you? He was reminded of the hardships. How you jumped from universe to universe, wracking up casualties, just to save him. And he started to get it. You went through too much to be even near the same plane of existence as your young, naive self.

“Who am I, Mark?”

When you fell to press your face unceremoniously into his shoulder, he wasted no time wrapping you up in his arms. The ID flickered away as the screen turned off. He tried to hold on tight enough to physically stop you from shaking with your sobs, but it was impossible.

“You’re our Captain.”

Maybe it wasn’t the right thing to say. But they were the only words he could find.

Anybody who passed by pretended they didn’t see anything. He hoped, anyway. He couldn’t meet their eyes. All he could do was hold on, as you had done for him once. Your sobs turned into stifled cries, and then only whimpers. He wasn’t concerned at first. In fact, he was a little relieved you were beginning to calm down. Until you became completely limp in his hold.

Even then, he still paused a second, before pulling you back until he could see your face. Had your skin always been so dull?

He shook you slightly. Maybe you were just sleeping, right? Your eyelids didn’t even flutter. Panic shot through his heart.

He shook you again, harder this time. No response.

“Captain?” Another shake, perhaps a little more vigorously than he intended. Your body was a rag doll, flopped in his lap. “No, no, no, you can’t close your eyes right now!”

His mind, scared and jumping to all the worst conclusions, raced to figure out what to do. He laid you on the ground and pressed an ear against your chest.

…

……

Okay. There’s a heartbeat. A little weaker than he thought was normal, but it was there. And your chest was moving, albeit slowly, with each breath. He pulled away. His hands, calloused with years of fiddling with wires and heavy machinery, floundered in the air. He didn’t know what to do.

Desperate cries for help, for Cici, for anyone were ripped from his lungs. He was gasping for air by the time half the camp rushed out to see what the commotion was. He couldn’t catch his breath until you were safe again.

He just needed you to be safe.

Word spread about the Captain’s health quickly. Mark couldn’t say he was surprised. Actually, he was sort of embarrassed.

That night - almost a week ago now - Celci had rushed to his side. She was the rational and cool-headed one. She commanded medics to grab a stretcher, to ready an IV, prepare a bed and equipment. All the while he screeched like a banshee, whaling for his old friend.

Uncharacteristically, though, she didn’t say a word about it. Nobody did. (Or, at least, not when he was within earshot.) She grabbed him a chair, some water and snacks, even a blanket. And as he sat by the Captain’s side, a permanent frown etched within his features, she kept him up to date on your condition and on the colony.

He knew his fears were wholly rational. After jumping through wormholes and witnessing first hand what consequences it brought, it was only natural for him to fret over the permanence of life now.

How stupid he’d been. Really. How many times did he grab your hand and jump back into the wormhole? More than he could count on one hand. The way he would be torn apart by a black hole or exploded by a supernova, and still step out of that pod with a giddy little grin, asking, almost begging, the Captain to jump in again. And again. And again.

Vaguely he remembered an airlock.

Neither of you were immortal now. Honestly, he hated immortality. It seems to amazing in theory…

He drags a hand down his face with a sigh. His shoulders are hunched. He leans his elbows against the edge of your bed.

He’s tired. Not like before. This wasn’t an exhaustion fueled by some silly false heroics or nonstop building of a catalyst to all your issues. No. He was exhausted with worry, and fear, and- God, emotions he didn’t even have words for. It all sat heavy in his soul.

Guilt, he decided to call it. But different. Guilt if it was slightly to the left.

Celci told him you just passed out from exhaustion and overworking yourself. Maybe he felt guilty for not picking up on it sooner, or for stopping you before it got so bad. It’s not as if the bags under your eyes were invisible, or that the way you carelessly rushed in to help every single person in need was subtle. He should have noticed.

Maybe then you would remember your name. Or, he thought back to your ID, believe you’re still you.

He wished his mind could shut up, for once.

A distraction. That’s what he needed, yeah.

He dragged his eyes from your face to your monitor. He was never very good with medical stuff. The numbers were odd. Was that blood pressure normal? Too high? Too low? Hell if he knew. Was your heart beating fast enough?

He contemplated for a brief moment the components that went into a monitor like that. The wires, connectors, screws, bolts, etc. And then he remembered this machine was making sure you were still alive. The idea of dismantling it was no longer appealing.

He turned to the IV next. A slow, continuous drip of fluids, hooked up to your arm. Needles always gave him a bad feeling. He felt nauseous looking at it.

Strange flowers caught his attention next. There were no roses or tulips or irises out here. Just… Well, they didn’t have names yet. The exobiologists were working on formulating latin names, genuses, and everything else that came with cataloging different flora. They were still beautiful, he couldn’t deny it. Bright orange petals with neon blue stamens that glowed at night. Razor-leaved stems that started as purple by the bloom and morphed into an odd black hue. They looked poisonous, actually. He was sure they wouldn’t be allowed in here if that was the case.

Paper was becoming a luxury at this point. Not that it mattered much, with everything accessible at the press of a button on their wrists. Still, they thought it would be best to ration out the remaining scraps throughout the colony. And everyone, seemingly unanimously, decided to use the rare material to write get well soon cards.

The little folds of parchment filled every possible surface. With 100,003 people writing get well and thank you, at some point the excess of good will notes had to be tucked away in a bin to be read later. He caught a nurse, once, rotating out the cards.

His frown softened when he thought of the very human way in which they cared about you. How human to utilize a precious resource just to say Thank you, wake up soon. How human to see something beautiful in nature, and to display it tenderly next to you. We found something beautiful, it made us think of you. How very human for those who stopped by, who saw him ever at your side like a steadfast protector, rested a hand on his shoulder or patted him on the back. You are not alone in your pain.

He wished, desperately, that you could be awake to witness the love humanity so freely handed out. Maybe then you could rediscover who you were.

“You look like shit.”

Mark startled awake. When did he fall asleep? Ah, dammit, it was dark outside. He must have been out for hours. He scrubbed at the exhaustion crusting his eyelids shut.

Wait…

His body froze. He was too scared to breathe. His heart was racing.

He couldn’t have heard that. He couldn’t have.

Heart in his throat, he slowly removed his hand from his eye and dragged his eye along your frame, still tucked safely under the blanket. Sure enough, when he finally reached your face, there was a smug grin waiting for him.

And with a jolt, his body came back to life.

You watched, half-amused as Mark threw himself from his chair to press a Call Nurse button on the opposite side of your bed. His eyes were wide and frantic. His hair was a mess. Bags under his eyes carried the weight of the world, tears of relief slipping down his cheeks before he could even think to stop them.

“You’re- You’re awake!” he croaked. His hands instinctively grabbed onto your shoulders. They were trembling.

You tried to reach up to hold onto his shoulder, maybe even his face to feel his concerning amount of stubble, but it felt so heavy. You held onto his forearm instead. “How long-?”

Celci came storming in, looking about as frantic as Mark, but better put together. Once she saw you were conscious, her expression morphed to be somewhere between joy and fury. Uh oh.

“Captain!” The only freedom from her intense stare came when she checked your vitals. Mark backed away so she had plenty of room to do so, but he kept a hand on one of your shoulders. He couldn’t pull himself away just yet. “I’m not going to say ‘I told you so’, but I told you this was going to happen if you kept pushing yourself so hard!”

“What exactly happened?”

The cryonics lead faltered. Mark gave her a pleading look. She realized, for the first time since stepping in here, that he had been- no, was crying. She had never seen him cry before.

Celci sighed and tapped a few things into her wrist pad. “I’m assigning you to bedrest and low-effort work until you decide to put your needs before those of the colony.” She leveled you with a concerned stare. “The colony needs you, Captain. You can’t be everywhere at once, helping with every last fiber of your being, no matter how much you want to. Let the rest of us carry the responsibilities we were sent here to carry.”

Mark turned away to wipe away his tears before she could glare at him next and give him a lecture, too. She huffed, nodded to you with a Captain, and left.

The air was thick. Things unsaid hung around in the air like dust caught in a sunbeam - everywhere you look and hard to ignore.

Mark didn’t look at you as he tried to gather himself together. The motes would continue lingering until he was ready to answer your questions.

Deciding to give him some space (as much as you could while bedridden), you looked to the side. The hordes of cards was utterly overwhelming. Each one was different from the next. Some had Captain written on the front in neat cursive, heavy-handed scrawls, or chicken scratch. Some people did their ‘C’s differently, or slurred their writing together in their plain-text handwriting. Other cards simple said Get well soon! or Feel better! You could see small paragraphs of writing inside the folds.

A rush of warmth flooded your chest. All of the command leads, all of the colonists - everyone thought about you. Maybe the idea of being thought of was just so foreign, but you didn’t think in any earnest capacity that this many people would care. The Leads, sure, you spent so much time with them up on the ship (more than they realized), but the most contact the vast majority of the colonists had with you was the simple welcome you gave them as they were thawed. And yet. Despite it all. Everyone had left a card.

Everyone cared about you.

The warm feeling in your chest turned sour as you remembered your conversation with Mark last night. (Was it last night?) The way the stars glimmered back without a care for you. The way you squeezed that protein bar so tight it became mush in its package. The way Mark held you.

I don’t remember my name.

Who am I, Mark?

You squeezed his arm, as much as you could in your weakened state.

You’re our Captain.

Reddened eyes met yours. His eyes were so dark, but they held a thousand thoughts, emotions, and ideas behind them. You remembered looking into those eyes, as you held onto him, refused to let him go even as he called you hateful names and ripped the crystal from your palm.

“You’ve been asleep for a week.” He sniffed. His hand trembled as he gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Cici said… You were overworking yourself, pushing yourself past your limit just to be there for everybody, and you weren’t taking care of yourself like you should have been and she said-” He swallowed thickly, fighting to speak through the lump in his throat. “You could have died.”

Oh. It had been that bad? You couldn’t recall feeling weak. Though, maybe it was from the endless running you did during the warp core fiasco. How long had you been awake during that endless nightmare? Your body had recovered once the cycle was broken, but your mind…

“I’m sorry.” It was all you could say. His shoulders fell. “I didn’t…” Your voice was quiet, almost too soft to be a whisper. As if you were afraid to say what was on your mind. “When we were in the wormhole, I was so tired. We both were. But it’s like, I don’t even know what it’s like to feel tired anymore, because nothing compares to what happened.”

You looked up at him, like a child seeking approval. In your eyes, he saw universes colliding, supernovas, and someone who never gave up hope. For the briefest hint of a second, he saw that same determined graduate from the ID.

“Does that make sense?”

He nodded without thinking. His hand left your shoulder, following the length of your arm to hold your hand. You didn’t have gloves on. It was… odd. He ignored the calloused scar that brushed against his palm. “I feel the same. I remember building the… it. I didn’t sleep at all, then. And now that I can, it feels… wrong. I’m not tired, but I am. I can’t explain it better than that.”

“I think we both need a nap.”

He huffed. It was nice to see him smile again. “On your orders, Captain.” His grin flickered, eyes darkened. “If you’d like, you can choose a different name. It wouldn’t be too hard to change your ID.”

“No,” you said. You smiled. “You were right, all along.”

“About what?”

“I’m your Captain.”

---

Tag List:

@writeawaythepain

@hyperfixat

@cryptidjester

@your-voice-is-mellifluous

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infinite-infinite-stars · 10 months ago

Text

“How- how long have you…?” Mark breathes, gesturing between the two of them.

Yona sighs. “You’re going to think I’m completely mad.”

Mark chuckles quietly. They’re still close enough that she can feel his breath on her face. “I think I’ve learned how to handle a little madness by now.”

Yona watches his thumb go back and forth across her hand for a moment. “Well,” she says, at length. “I suppose it sortof crept up on me…”

She glances back up at his face. “I mean, I’ve always been fond of you. That shouldn’t be surprising to hear~. But I think what really, you know. Did it, for me, was… the fact that you built the warp core.”

Mark blinks a few times, his brain taking a moment to reboot. She was right, he thinks she’s mad. Or maybe he’s just trying to decide if he heard her correctly. Either way, eventually he manages to squeak out: “...What…?”

Yona offers a slightly sheepish half-smile as if to say ‘see, I told you.’

He squeezes her hand. “The– the warp core, but that– Captain, we’re still talking about when you realized you loved me, right?”

“Yes, Mark,” she confirms. Her hands settle on his shoulders and she takes a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. “Look, I get why you’re confused. I know you consider that to be the biggest mistake you’ve ever made.”

“Well– yeah, it was,” says Mark, still looking lost. “It was the biggest mistake anyone’s ever made. In history. I’m not even exaggerating, it was literally–!”

Yona puts a finger up to his lips and fixes him with a solemn look. He gets the message: shut up and let the Captain speak. So he does.

“You don’t need to tell me how much damage the wormhole did, darling, I was there,” she points out, gently. “You already know I don’t blame you for any of it, don’t you?”

Mark nods, hesitantly. “You’ve made that pretty clear.”

“But you still blame yourself.” It’s not a question; it’s an observation. Mark doesn’t even need to nod again for Yona to know that it’s true. “You look at yourself and you see an idiot who wouldn’t listen to reason and almost destroyed reality. I’m telling you right now, that’s not what I see at all.”

“What… do you see, then, Captain?” Mark ventures, his voice whisper-quiet.

She reaches up and cups his cheek, wanting him to look her in the eyes again. “I see a man brilliant enough and resourceful enough to build a device that could bridge dimensions all on his own, with nothing to go on but his own memories of how it worked. A man who only ever wanted to do the right thing. To save as many people as possible, the only way he knew how. Even if it meant enduring an eternity in hell. Even if no one would ever know about the sacrifices he made.”

Mark’s eyes glisten with tears as she speaks. He sniffles once, but doesn’t interrupt.

Her other hand moves to his other cheek. Now she’s cupping his face tenderly in both her hands. “You want to know how I could love you, even knowing you built the warp core?” Her thumbs brush his cheeks and wipe the tears that have gathered in his eyes. “Darling, that’s entirely the wrong question. The question is, how could I not love you? How could I witness all of that and not realize what a rare and noble and extraordinary person my Head Engineer is~?”

#in space with markiplier #iswm #iswm fanfiction #captaineer #engineer mark x captain #engineer mark x female captain #engineer mark #captainsona #captain yona masters #Scenarios #Headcanons #loosely adapted from/inspired by a scene from an rp with my friend captainsaltypear <3

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colby-jac-cheese · 7 months ago

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Cringe is real but shame is dead! I made cover art for my fanfic series of connected one shots!

Take!

Fun details!

Whyin (the district attorney aka Y/N) has no shadow! This is on purpose to show their simi-separate from the others! Their pose is also simi-lifted to show they are more puppet like than the others! The eyes behind them have 3 specific lines of sight! First is actor himself, then is themself and CM, and then is the viewer!

CM (copy mark) is front stage with them as Co-Star on all adventures! You can tell he plays many roles because of his many branching shadows! (Aka: Yancy, Illinois, Engineer, Barrel and Date Mark) his expression is a more welcoming mirror of the actors, because he is everything the actor pretends to be! he's beckoning the viewer to join him! As always!

Actor! His skin is more of a yellowish hue because he took over Damian's dead body! There's also the ball of red string to mimic the branching looping Timeline of the series! It's done in a cat's cradle to show he's weaving it by hand! The strings controlling the others all come from him!

Dark is attempting to choke actor out, but you can only see his hands because he always works from the shadows! He's also reaching through the silhouette of the mirror frame!

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clemblog · 5 months ago

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Clem’s Markiplier Oneshots

•••

Mack wants his partner, Y/N, to take a break. Mack always gets his way.

——

#fanfiction #iswm mack #iswm #iswm matpat #mack x captain #mack x reader #celci #celci f kelvina #mark #Markiplier #in space with markiplier captain #in space with Markiplier #in space with markiplier fanfiction #captain #captain y/n #in space with markipler spoilers #in space with mack #iswm engineer mark

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faecaribou · 2 years ago

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It Wouldn’t Make A Difference

ao3:https://archiveofourown.org/works/45856459

tw: character talks a lot about suicide and kinda does it at the end in an implied sense but its In Space With markiplier so dying doesnt mean dying

Summary: The Captain gets a little too cavalier with killing themselves to move on to new universes. Mack gets a bit of a scare.

-------------------------

It's a quiet night. Well, all nights are quiet in space.

You sway to music that even you can't hear, arms out and dancing to an invisible partner.

You're getting kind of tired of this loop. Mark's not here this time, it's Mack. You've had him as your Head Engineer before. This time, you were a on top of it, activating protocols to help the ship instead of opening his pod so that by the time he stepped out of the pod, you had done everything but wake the crew leads. Mack rushed to take action, to take control, of course, but by then you had already placed yourself in a position where you had proven your worth. He couldn't take over so easily, and it left him visibly fuming.

He was likely to find some way to take control by the time you were up tomorrow. You spun your nonexistent partner, catching a blurred glimpse of the glass of the control room that led out to the beautiful stars.

You think that maybe tomorrow morning when you step out of your cryo pod, instead of listening to Mack, you'll just throw the fire hydrant into the window. A quick death that will let you move on in the right direction toward your real head engineer.

"Captain?" You turn to find your head engineer watching you from the hallway, confused.

You thought he was in his cryo pod. Oh well. You suppose it makes sense that he'd be awake. He needs time to start scheming how to take control, doesn't he?

You keep dancing to your nonexistent song. You sway to no tune. There is nothing in your head. It's more like practicing dancing steps than any real moves.

"Captain," Mack says, strangled. "What are you doing?" There's no such thing as embarrassment when no one remembers your actions but you. Still, something drives you to at least acknowledge him.

"Dancing." Impulsively, you turn and reach out a hand. "Care to join? It's not like you'll remember."

"What?" He steps closer despite himself. "What are you talking about?"

"It's okay to dance with me," You repeat. "No one will see. It wouldn't interfere with your plans to take over." Mack makes a startled noise, no doubt surprised that you know about his plans. "Oh shush. As I said. it doesn't matter. You won't remember any of this."

"Why wouldn't I remember this tomorrow morning?"

"Because I'll kill myself," You explain, and the blood drains from his face, and he stares at you. "Then I'll go off to another universe, no doubt one where Mark is head engineer."

"Mark?" Mack looks pale. "Who- who is-"

"None of that." You grab his hand and pull him closer to you.

"Captain!" Mack yanks himself out of your grasp. "Explain yourself!"

Fine. So you tell him some of it. You don't make the mistake of mentioning Mark again, though. You're not quite ready for this universe to break and send you away yet. "The warp core is malfunctioning, and it's going to destroy every universe if I don't stop it. This-" You gesture to the warp crystal in the palm of your hand, and Mack leans forward to see it- "allows me to travel across the universes to try and find the warp core. Sometimes I switch universes randomly, but if I die it always takes me to a new universe."

Mack looks at you, a glimmer of fear in his eyes. "So you've just been killing yourself? Over and over?"

You shrug. "Sometimes it's faster than waiting for the portals to appear."

He grabs you. "Captain," He says, voice low and desperate. "I know that cryo sleep can cause strange dreams, but you can't kill yourself."

You ignore the first part of the statement. It's not the first time someone hasn't believed you, and it won't be the last.

"You need a scapegoat that badly? No thank you." You pull out a small knife you obtained from the murderer version of Mark you met. "It's quite easy. Injuries don't follow me into the next universe. Blood doesn't stay on my clothes. I just-" You raise the knife and Mack smacks it out of your hand.

"No!" He shouts. The knife clatters across the control room floor noisily. It's the loudest thing around.

You follow it with your eyes, and Mack steps in front of your gaze, staring at you intently.

"Captain, please," He says, voice rough, and you look at him. He's sweating, and scared. You don't understand.

"What?" You demand, and he grabs both your hands.

"Please don't kill yourself," he begs. "You- I-" He swallows. "You mean a lot. To- uh. To the crew!"

"To the crew." You say flatly. Sometimes it's true, you suppose. Sometimes the crew remembers what you've done, and they eye you with respect and awe. You're saving the universe. The last time Mack was head engineer, they watched you with hatred. They remembered all the wrong things. You have a certain confidence to you that when you fix everything, they won't remember it at all. Which is good, you suppose. You've been acting a bit like a fool lately.

"To me," Mack amends, and you turn your attention to him, surprised that he would admit it.

"You care about me?" You ask, disbelieving, and he steps closer and instead of saying anything else, he begins to dance with you, following the steps you had been taking with your imaginary partner. How long had he been watching?

It doesn't matter. He won't remember. You dance with him until your feet hurt, and then you keep dancing. Pain isn't real to you anymore. But Mack looks more and more discomforted as you continue, and you think of the fairy tale where people danced until they died. You slow to a stop, then put your hands around his waist.

"What are you doing?!" He yelps as you lift him up and set him down on the main monitor.

"Rest your feet," You reply, and Mack stares at you for a long moment.

"You... you don't feel a thing, do you." His voice sounds miserable.

"No," You confirm. He looks more upset.

"Please don't kill yourself, Captain. You mean a lot to me." Some part of him sounds resigned.

"I can't stay in this universe." Mack hangs his head down, and you almost feel bad. In the dim lighting, with the sweaty shine in his hair, he doesn't look too bad. He looks rather handsome, you admit to yourself.

Eventually, he slides off of the monitor.

"I won't remember any of this?" He asks quietly, and you nod. You're not sure if he actually believes you.

He steps forward anyway. "So I won't remember this." He brings his face closer to yours, hands moving up to cradle your face. His lips meet yours.

He's surprisingly gentle for someone who's going to become a dictator in the near future.

Your eyes flutter shut as the kiss deepens. Eventually, you pull away. Some part of you is disappointed. It might be the most amount of emotion you've felt in quite a while that wasn't a tired determination.

Mack stares at you some more, as if he's trying to commit you to memory. It won't work but you let him try.

"I better see you in the morning, Captain. That's an order," He says, and he steps into his cryo pod. You nod your head and turn to your pod. You don't hear him close his door until you've started to step inside your cryo pod. He must've been waiting. It doesn't matter. The moment you hear his pod close, you step back out of yours and pick up your knife.

You raise your knife.

You were originally going to end this loop early to avoid Mack hurting your feelings.

You're doing it now to spare his.

You've never given thought as to whether you leave some sort of body behind when you switch universes. You're pretty sure you don't.

You pray you don't.

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theknightmarket · 23 days ago

Note

Had the biggest of big brain ideas.

Murdock gets a hint of your search history (in whatever way, have fun) and it's a whole bunch of sus murderous things or very specific google searches about the human body (eg "how long can a human last without oxygen?")

Murdock gets a little excited, thinking you're at most, a killer like him and at the very least morbidly curious about these things which may lead to a gateway.

Turns out you just write a lot in your free time. Shenanigans ensue.

"It works."

In which Murdock makes an expensive assumption. TW: murder, blood Pages: 19 - Words: 7500

[Requests: OPEN]

Murdock wasn’t good with technology. He had been aware of that since the first time he turned on a phone and managed to get himself permanently locked out before he could input a single password. It wasn’t his style; it was as simple as that. He’d seen plenty of killers who used the internet to their advantage, but that was easy. Boring. Any yahoo with access to Yahoo could go that route.

But Murdock saw murder as an art, not just some pastime he could pick up and put down as he pleased. It required dedication, and he was devoted to it like a worshipper to their deity. So, no, he wasn’t good with technology, nor did he want to be.

The good thing was, you didn’t need to be good with technology to watch over someone’s shoulder, now did you? If you did, he would never have met you, the person who was sat at the table opposite him in the café, with your front facing the wall but your laptop facing him. You had dimmed the screen to the point that words were barely decipherable from the rest of the darkness, but Murdock’s business forced his attentiveness to skyrocket, so the only way that you were keeping things secret was to shut it down completely.

Not that you had a reason to. He hadn’t even been meaning to catch sight of your screen in the first place. It wasn’t his intention to intrude on your privacy – not that you could ask for much in such a public space – but nobody could blame him for getting distracted. His target wasn’t going anywhere until his shift was up, and that meant he had four hours to kill before he had to…

Well, jokes weren’t funny when they needed to be explained.

So, Murdock took to his favorite hobby: people-watching. Normally, it wasn’t that interesting, but that was the point. He needed something that would let him pay attention to his target without letting him know he was paying attention. He needed something passive. He needed something that wouldn’t distract him.

This was the first time that it had failed him. It took only a minute, as his eyes swam over from the teenager bussing tables, to the elderly couple sitting outside the café, to the businessman arguing on the phone, for his focus to land on you. It was purely accidental that you caught his attention. You looked just like everyone else, sitting at a table with some device out next to the cup of coffee. You weren’t even moving, no, you were just reading whatever document written in eleven-point Garamond that you had pulled up, and he almost ignored you completely.

It was in his peripheral that he saw you switch over to the search engine and type in a question. Something simple. Something quick. Something that piqued his interest more than his target glancing unsurely in his direction.

‘How long does a human body take to decompose’. The answer you found – after a few minutes of avoiding AI generated responses and the unrelated ads – was liquification at one month, but that wasn’t what kept him watching. Instead, it was the fact that you copied any of the relevant information into another document, separate from your first one, and then erased the question.

That in and of itself had him blinking slowly in hidden curiosity, but then you typed in another question. ‘How much blood can a human lose before they pass out’. The answer was thirty to forty percent, which you noted down underneath the decomposition timeline. You typed in yet another question. ‘What are the immediate effects of blunt force trauma’. Answered with internal or external hemorrhaging, copied into the document, exchanged for another question. ‘What are the hardest causes of death to identify’. Answer: sudden natural death, copied, replaced.

It was as though his body were frozen in a state of shock. He held his breath, halfway through inhaling, and stilled his coffee cup at chest height. What were the chances? He was genuinely asking himself, trying to think of the last time he had met someone like you, someone like him. Were you like him? Or was he just missing the mark and making assumptions that put him at risk? Was he stupid to believe you were a…

Murdock’s body rebooted. You were back on your original document again, typing between two paragraphs, and he was free from the spell he had been placed under. He could move his limps again, and he brought his coffee to his lips in a movement as smooth as he could make it, so as to avoid earning anymore suspicion from his target.

Behind the scenes, his thoughts were racing, like horses startled by the starter pistol. This alone was unnatural; he was normally calculated, slow-paced, he took his time in such delicate matters, but this was different. He knew it was practically impossible for there to be two killers in a room, let alone one. This was in public, too, and there was no chance for you to be the real deal and not have been caught yet. Researching methods of disposal in public would get you caught as fast as if you were to hand over a body to the police yourself. But you weren’t sitting in a jail cell, you were in front of a laptop in a café, because you weren’t dumb, because you weren’t a killer. He was just being unnecessarily hopeful.

Murdock took a sip of his coffee.

On the other hand, maybe you were smart. The smartest person he had ever seen before, and this ‘mistake’ was just you hiding in plain sight. People rarely took things at face value anymore. They were too used to being lied to, and you used that to your advantage. Maybe – and he was forced to remind himself that it was a huge maybe – you really were like him, you were just good at making it look like you weren’t.

And, for that, he applauded you. Internally. The barista was watching him like a hawk, after all, and he didn’t want to be chased away before he could find a way to talk to you. If he was going to get to the bottom of who you were, the easiest route would be through you directly, but he couldn’t waltz right up to you and ask if you were a murderer. He needed time.

But time he did not have. You were bound to finish your cup before he could figure you out.

Over your shoulder, he continued to watch you work. Your hands flew across the keyboard faster than he could track, and that combined with the size of your font meant that what you were working on was lost on him. Maybe it was a research paper. Maybe it was a note for the police to find on your next victim. The lines were blurring between the possibilities, and he had no way of getting closer to the truth, not even when you returned to the search engine and entered another question.

‘What is the best place to cut to avoid blood loss’ were the words that showed up, but the answer was not as easily found as the ones from before. The results were clogged with help centers, lines to call if you were at risk, and therapists that espoused positive thinking to fight against the concerning thoughts you obviously weren’t having – if the tapping of your fingers on the table was anything to go by.

After a few seconds of scrolling and getting nothing but mental health help, you rephrased the question. No change. You retyped it with quotations marks and parenthesis, but the search engine was being uncooperative. With a final key smash into the search bar that bled exasperation, you dropped your head into your hands and appeared to try your hardest to mold the heels into your eyes.

Murdock was good at reading people, but he didn’t have to have as much experience as he did to know you were getting frustrated, and you getting frustrated meant that he was running out of time.

How was he supposed to get your attention? Or, more specifically, how was he supposed to get your attention without also getting the attention of the barista? He looked as wired as a junkie; moving beyond his current position would be a risk beyond what he was willing to take. Still, he was nothing if not resourceful.

He glanced around the table he had sat himself at. There were still mugs and plates and all manner of other castoffs from the people before, the busboy was busy with the messes outside, and his target was too nervous to walk within three feet of him, which left him with free reign of the things they left behind. It wasn’t much, but the sudoku sheet and pencil was good enough for him. It was something normal.

In a practiced, jittery, socially awkward hand, Murdock scrawled down the number of his burner phone and a little message underneath it. He hesitated for a second, and then added a smiley face. It would make him come across less creepy, given the content of that message out of context.

One look up was all he could spare, but, luckily, it was all he needed. You were still there, but you were flicking through your open documents and aiming for the ‘save’ button on each of them. A second late and he would miss his opportunity, so, in a fleeting moment of impulsiveness that shocked himself, he gripped his almost-empty coffee cup, slid out of his seat, and slipped the sudoku sheet behind your laptop on his way to the trash can.

He only noticed his heart beating wildly in his chest like a prisoner been told he’d be executed in the morning when he got back to his seat. He hadn’t known he was going to do it in that second until he was doing it. He was only aware of the fact that you were in the process of leaving. He didn’t consider going after you, he didn’t consider following you down the block, he didn’t consider figuring out where you lived and leaving it in in your postbox even though he was definitely capable of it. It was almost as though he wouldn’t get another chance, like a schoolboy seeing someone he liked the look of and not knowing how to approach them.

In that quick succession of movements – a timeframe he was more accustomed to when chopping someone in the back – Murdock wasn’t a serial killer hoping that a stranger was a friend. No, it was nothing so simple. Instead, he was anachronistically and uncomfortably normal.

He dug into his pocket to check if his burner phone was still there before walking straight out of the café’s front door. He needed to clear his head. The barista – his target, because he wasn’t a schoolboy, he was a professional murderer – would be there when he got back.

From that man’s point of view, he wouldn’t have seen anything but a patron kindly cleaning up behind him before leaving. From your point of view…

You couldn’t focus. Of course, you hadn’t been able to focus for the last hour, so that was a moot point, but this was a new kind of ‘couldn’t focus’. Questions swirled in your head, a gathering storm that overshadowed everything else that you should have been paying attention to. It was so difficult, though, when your thoughts kept drifting back to the little slip of paper that you’d shoved in your pocket. Your laptop held securely under your arm, you waved to the barista and started the journey back to your apartment.

The note itself wasn’t a puzzle – metaphorically speaking, given that it was a sudoku sheet – because everything was there, written in an approximation of calligraphy, the words and the numbers seared into your memory. ‘Upper and lower arm’ and a seven-digit line. It was a phone number undoubtably, but what were you supposed to do with it? Text a thank-you? Call them? And how did they know your question in the first place?

Either it was the weirdest pick-up line you had ever received, or you had accidentally caught the attention of a serial killer.

You laughed at yourself under your breath as you crossed the road. It was no secret that you had an overactive imagination, and, while you tried to keep it contained within your work, it was prone to leakage sometimes. It crept into your reality and made you believe the most fantastic stories just because it was more interesting than real life.

While the characters you wrote about investigated missing families and sliced and diced college kids who strayed too close to the house in the woods, you spent your time flitting between the store and your apartment. Going to the café was a rare treat for you having reached fifty thousand words. It was a safe life, yes, but boring.

The note in your pocket seemed to burn through the fabric.

It didn’t have to be. It wasn’t a call to adventure, but a date might have been the break from the monotony you were hoping for. You were no romance writer, you traded in blood stains over lipstick stains, and yet the possibility of someone new was more exciting than words on a screen had been lately. It helped that they seemed to be into the same things as you – maybe they had the same hobbies, maybe, and you were forced to remind himself that it was a huge maybe, he was like you.

You stopped by an alleyway and went a step inside. As you leaned back against one of the brick walls, you fished the paper out of your pocket.

On one hand, you didn’t even know what the person looked like. They had been sitting behind you the entire time, and you only caught sight of their back when you noticed what they left behind. A long, dark coat and a flash of a red something was unhelpful, so you were back to square one in that regard. It was a similar situation for conversation. Not a word had been exchanged between you, and your assumptions of their interests weren’t the most stable things to base an interaction off of.

But then, on the other hand, you were already holding your phone in your other hand and typing the number into your contacts, and there was no real harm in testing it out. Besides, who needed a name when you had ‘maybe a murderer’ for caller ID?

Without giving yourself time to think about it, you texted them a quick thank-you for the information. You didn’t wait to see if it delivered or not, and, instead, pocketed your phone again and continued on your way. If something came from it, then something came from it, and if it didn’t, then it didn’t.

Neither you nor Murdock expected it to go as far as it did; after your first message, he responded with a simple ‘you’re welcome’, and that was that. It took another week for you to talk again, itself being a small moment among the stress of a normal week. You’d asked him another anatomical question, something about how best to fit a human body in a cooler after the internet had given you less than stellar results. Hell, it was only once you’d talked it through with him that you learned that he was indeed a he and that his name was Murdock. You kept his contact the same though.

For a laugh.

That helpful conversation was left alone for another few days, you went about your separate lives as you had before you met, and you thought about him as an acquaintance to ask about the most niche interests.

If someone were to ask you when your relationship changed from those monotonous, distant conversations to something real, you wouldn’t be able to tell them. It just… happened. Something shifted in your conversations, and you stopped going to him just for an easy answer or to save time, and you started going to him because it was him. You liked talking to him more than you liked getting your little problem solved, whatever it was. Broken bones and spilt blood were put on the backburner, to the point that they would become rare in the sea of conversations you had about the merits of keeping throw pillows on the bed or your third attempt at building a ship in a bottle.

The only obstacle between the two of you getting closer was the physical distance because, for some reason, your schedules never seemed to sync up. It was as though fate was perpetually dragging you around in a dance that just skimmed Murdock. You lost count of how many times you missed each other by minutes at a time.

You guessed that was why you were so excited when you finally managed to arrange a date – in the place you had first encountered one another, no less. The café wasn’t far from your apartment, but it wasn’t often you found the time nor the energy to leave the comfort of your home. A lot of your writing featured you hunched over with odd angles and twisted limbs, which was not a sight safe for the public, so you tended towards staying at your desk instead of an open space.

Despite having recently chided fate for its unreliability, you had to grant it some leeway when it let you meet Murdock.

The thump of you flopping back against your mattress knocked you out of your dramatic thoughts. You weren’t a romance writer, but your brain was beginning to look like one, and your chewing of your lip wasn’t doing you any favors.

But could you help it? You were excited, more excited than you had been in a good while, and your proof was hanging right in front of you. Two outfits, both with their positives and negatives. One was flashy, one was comfy. Were you looking to draw attention today – were you supposed to be looking to draw attention? You weren’t good at this. Picking out the right shirt to go with the right pants was not your forté, and you hadn’t spared a thought to color palettes since high school.

Your mind was fogged up with choices and your veins were alive with adrenaline and your mouth was coated with the taste of iron.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you shot up straight, paused, and groaned.

Great, you’d chewed your lip so much that it was bleeding. Just what you needed.

You swiped your finger across your mouth to get rid of what was there already and shuffled to the bathroom for a cloth.

However, you weren’t the only one with blood on your hands; while you were busy trying to find the midpoint between pajamas and a suit, Murdock was ruining is outfit. He wasn’t an idiot, he’d planned a margin of error between getting from the warehouse to the café, but getting an entire new set of clothes was going to really bite into his time reserve. Still, he would do whatever he could to not be late for your date, not only because he didn’t want to come off as uncaring. He also didn’t want you to think he was bad at his job.

Wrenching the axe out of the woman’s neck, listening to the gentle stream of blood grow into a gush, he couldn’t help but think about you. He remembered your questions and the variety of ideas you tested him with. The weight of his weapon seemed almost tacky in comparison to what you teased. All your creative ways of ending a life made him wonder if he should have been doing more.

But he had constructed a recognizable method, and he was proud of what he had achieved in the media. Those sloppy back-alley stabbings were never mentioned in tandem with his name, and he thought that was worth it. You were inventive, but he was reliable. Maybe you could work together on something if this date went well.

Murdock caught the glint of his watch from the flickering lights of the warehouse. If he wanted to be on time, he had to get going. Luckily, the woman had already stopped squirming, and leaving the body there wasn’t a problem.

He pushed back the sleeve of his jacket to see the real issue. The inside was coated with specks of blood, creating a sticky seal between the fabric and his skin. He couldn’t let you see this – you’d think he was careless, and that just wouldn’t do – so he stepped around the corpse and went off in search of the closest bathroom. No doubt the warehouse ones were going to be grimy, but he had to take what he could get.

The café was relatively empty when you arrived. There were only two or three people in there, including the barista and each doing their own thing around the room. For the fun of it, you sat down in the seat from weeks ago and shot Murdock a text for his whereabouts.

You weren’t as nervous as you thought you should have been. This was the first time you were going to meet in person, by all means, you should have been worried! Somehow, though, your heart was beating in its normal rhythm, your breath was steady, and you were enjoying looking around the room while you waited.

A few minutes passed like that, and, while you stayed calm, your confusion was certainly growing. Had he forgotten? He hadn’t replied to your message, so it was possible that he had gotten busy. You knew about the erratic nature of his schedule, it was the very reason you had been looking forward to this date, but he seemed like he had the decency to tell you if anything came up.

“Hi there.”

The whisper almost made you jump out of your skin, and you struggled to contain the yelp of surprise even after you turned around to see the man you had been waiting for. It didn’t matter that you had expected him, he apparently had an uncanny ability to sneak up on people.

You lightly batted your hand against his arm. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“I’m sorry.” He said this despite him obviously not being sorry, considering the low, breathy chuckle he let out as he slipped into the chair opposite you.

“And I was going to offer to pay for your coffee.”

“Did I scare you that much?”

You shot him a blank look, to which he started up his laughter.

As far as dates went, this was going pretty well; you started by ordering your drinks – you noticed it wasn’t the same barista as last time, but shifts changed all the time – and, while you tried to return to your last conversation, you couldn’t help but point out how bad a choice black coffee was. It was less of a complaint, and more of a public service.

“It’s not that bad,” he said after taking a sip from the cup.

“So you admit that it’s at least a little bad?”

“It’s better than your sugar-loaded concoction.”

“One sugar packet does not make it ‘sugar-loaded’.”

Despite his glasses covering his eyes, you were able to feel the disapproval quite clearly, enough to match yours, before it faded, and he slid his cup towards your side of the table.

“How about we trade?”

You took a second to think about it; it wasn’t as though you’d never tried black coffee, but it was back when you were thirteen and hadn’t understood the possibility of sweeteners.

Semi-reluctantly and fully suspiciously, you exchanged his cup for yours and brought it close to your lips. You left enough space to joke, “You aren’t trying to get my DNA, are you?”

“Why would I want your DNA?”

“To frame me for one of your murders.”

Had the cup not blocked your view of Murdock as you poured hot coffee down your throat, you might have recognized the flash of panic that spread over his face like lightning in the middle of a storm. His grip tightened around the cup, knuckles becoming more defined while he fought back a frown.

“Do you really think so low of me?”

Placing the cup back down on the table, you shot him a grin that made him relax again. It was a joke, you had been joking, just joking.

“I’m smiling,” you said as you pushed it closer to him, “but that was horrible.”

Oh, right, the coffee. He had almost forgotten what he was doing, but he fixed his mistake by taking a sip. The first taste was the coffee, go figure, but behind it was the faint undertone of what he had expected. The sugar was weaker than what he’d thought it would be, but, nevertheless, it was there, and it was not for him.

“You’re one to talk,” was his response.

“Still, you have to be some kind of murderer, or else why do you know so much about anatomy?”

Were you testing him? Seeing how far he would go in public? You were being bold in joking about your shared work, were you trying to figure out how careful he was? Protecting yourself was a smart move, but he wasn’t going to take the bait so easily.

And you weren’t the only one with jokes.

“I’m a mortuary technician.”

It was a simple answer, one you deemed worthy of a surprised look.

“Really? Why’s that?”

“I feel most at home standing above a dead body?”

That got a laugh out of you, a genuine laugh that made his playful smirk turn more appreciative. For the first time since before he could remember, he thought he preferred that sound from you more than the fearful shriek.

How… normal.

When you faded off into a few stray chuckles, a thought occurred to you that prompted you to point at him dramatically and faux-offended.

“You never answered my text.”

The tilt of his head had you pulling out your phone and showing him the last conversation that you had. The message stood out starkly against your background, even with the dimmed screen, and you tapped it with an accusatory look.

“Well, would you look at that,” he muttered, leaning back in his chair.

“Yeah, delivered.”

“No, no, I mean—” he pointed at his contact name, “—that.”

You flipped your phone around to look where he was referring to and immediately felt a blush crawl from your neck to your cheeks. ‘Maybe a murderer’ was not the most affectionate thing to have him labelled as, and for him to see it on your first date was mortifying.

“Oh, yeah, that.” As quickly as you could, you turned it off and shoved it back in your pocket, praying that it or yourself would somehow disappear so that you didn’t have to deal with the embarrassing consequences.

“Maybe a murderer? I thought we’d already clarified what I am.”

“And I thought you were a mortuary technician?”

“So people can’t have hobbies?”

You glanced out the window as you absentmindedly swirled your coffee. “I can’t, at least. I mean, I turned my hobby into my full-time job.”

“What was that saying? Find a job you love, and you’ll never have to work a day in your life.”

“Oh, I’ve worked some days.”

Murdock leaned closer on the table, perching his head on the back of his hand, like a cat watching a fish from an unreachable perch. “So you don’t love it?”

“Of course, I do! It’s just… keeping track of everything gets so tiring after a while, you know?”

“Based on the questions you’ve sent me, I think simplifying your methods would make it easier.”

“I could, but then it wouldn’t be nearly as fun.”

“I, for one, can vouch for the excitement of reliable techniques. Sometimes, knowing how to do something and do it right is the best part. Refining your skills.”

“Do you think people would care as much if I just did the same thing over and over again?”

From your experience, reusing old material, especially in the same book, made for a lousy read. Unless he meant rewriting the same piece – which itself would bore you out of your mind – you certainly didn’t want to put someone through that.

There was a dip of Murdock’s head, a lowering of his tone, a glint of the sun against his glasses as he said, “I wouldn’t mind seeing some of your work.”

You tried to disguise the surprise from the sudden beating of your heart with a sip of your coffee. It was nearly all gone, which meant so too were your moments of reprieve. Fortunately, he looked genuine, as though he actually wanted to see some of your in-progress chapters.

“Even the stuff that isn’t finished?”

You were brazen, weren’t you? More than he’d ever imagined was possible. “Did you leave a body out so that you could come here?” Just the thought of you taking such a risk just to see him made his breath speed up in a way that was more familiar to him in chasing down a victim.

You shrugged. “They’ll be there when I get back. They’re just words on a page, after all.” You opened your mouth as if to continue that thought, but you soon closed it and furrowed your eyebrows. “How’d you know it was a body?”

There was no accusation in your voice, but the confusion was a feeling you and Murdock shared. Just words on a page? What did you mean by that? Was there some popular metaphor amongst murderers he was unaware of or…

Wait.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Oh, no.

“What’s under your sleeve. Are- are you bleeding?”

Oh, no.

In a flurry, he tugged his sleeve down over his wrist, as though pulling it far enough meant you would forget you had ever seen it. Telling you it wasn’t his blood wasn’t an option. Telling you it was the blood of a woman whom he had killed – no matter the reason – was not an option.

“Oh, I’m okay,” he rushed to say, his words spilling out of his mouth faster than he could think of them. He needed an excuse, any excuse that wouldn’t make you sprint out of the café as though he’d just told you he was a murderer, which was possible considering he was a murderer and you were distinctly not. “Just caught my wrist on a scalpel at the mortuary, and I guess I didn’t bandage it correctly.”

That was cheap. If you wanted to, it would have been so easy for you to question him about the holes in his story. He didn’t even know if technicians used scalpels, and there was no sign of actual injury anywhere near his wrist. It was shoddy, and this situation was dangerous, and he had gotten so comfortable in presumably talking to another killer that he hadn’t tried to cover anything up.

Damn it.

Murdock had made a mistake. A stupid mistake that was sure to haunt him for the rest of the days. Hell, he’d made two mistakes, the first being to have ever assumed that you were like him without then making absolute sure that he was right – he was meant to be good at this, but that was the most idiotic he had been in his life – but the second mistake was even worse.

Because he’d gone and caught feelings for you. Ones he didn’t think he’d be letting go of for a long time; you were terribly kind, and you were awfully genuine, and, worst of all, you weren’t a killer like him.

You were a writer.

While Murdock was internally having a heart attack over the mess he’d made of this relationship from the very beginning, you nodded sympathetically. Wounds on the wrist always made you squirm, whether it was a knife or a paper cut, so you just sat back in your chair.

“If you want to, I’ll ask the barista if they have a first aid kit while you go wash it off.”

He had been staring straight at you when you said that, and the sunglasses blocked his eyes, which meant you didn’t see the way he startled like a rabbit.

You…

You believed him.

Slowly, he nodded, then pushed himself out of his seat, searching for the sign for the bathroom. In sync, you went to talk to the employee, but Murdock stayed standing for a moment.

You hadn’t pointed out any of the problems with his story, you just took him at his word and moved on, trying to help him with a lie. But it couldn’t have been that easy. Something would come up eventually and he’d have to face the music that he had orchestrated himself. He’d lose your laugh and the ill-fated connection you had made. He just knew it. It was only a matter of time.

And yet, surprisingly, everything continued on just as smoothly as before. In some ways, it became even better – being a murderer came with constant fear of getting caught, but also dating a murderer came with twice that amount, especially when it was concern for someone you loved. And, if one of you were caught, there was an uncomfortable choice to be made.

But none of that mattered! Not anymore. He could enjoy talking over scenarios with you without getting a heart attack whenever you got home late. Sure, anytime you went out into the public together, he spent a few extra minutes looking over his shoulder, but you weren’t doing anything illegal, and Murdock took care not to leave anything behind at crime scenes. A little more awareness was a price he was willing to pay to spend time with you.

Some of his favorite moments were spent in your apartment, and this was one of the best; the blinds were up, the door was locked, and you were leaned against him on the couch, television showing a nature documentary that he was only half paying attention to. Had it been in the depths of winter, snow floating about outside, it could have been the closing image of a hallmark movie. Though, despite it being a cool May evening, it was good enough for the both of you.

You laid your head on Murdock’s shoulder with a sigh, your hands stilled at the keyboard of your laptop across your thighs. He knew that sigh, so he drew the arm that had been strewn over your shoulder back to card a hand through your hair.

“What’re you stuck on?” he asked in a low tone that reverberated through your skin. You almost forgot what troubled you, but the screen in front of you brought it back to the forefront of your mind.

“I don’t know if this works.”

“How so?”

Instead of trying to describe the situation or awkwardly reading it aloud, you just shifted the laptop so that he could see it. Even though it was dim, you didn’t need to burst the comfortable atmosphere with a flashbang – it was a neat skill Murdock had, to be able to read in any environment, but he never explained where he learned it. You’d asked him once, but the only response you got was a wink and a smile.

It was only a short paragraph that had you stumped. When you first started, you would have called it good enough and moved on, but ever since you met Murdock, you had taken special care to make it as accurate as possible. He always got excited when describing certain scenarios to you, always took the time to be precise with what would happen, always made your writing better. It felt like an insult to him to be mediocre at his favorite subject.

He signaled that he was done with a hum.

“I’m tempted to say they wouldn’t pass out before getting to the other hand but…” he trailed off into another hum. “It would depend on their pain tolerance, wouldn’t it?”

“That’s the thing. I’d like them to pass out in this chapter, but later on, they have to have a pain tolerance high enough to run on a broken leg. I don’t really want to get rid of either one of them, though.”

Murdock’s hand in your hair paused, and, unable to see his face, you assumed that he was thinking of ways around it. You had no clue what else you could use that would give you the same effect, so you were already resigning yourself to cutting this part of the scene when he shifted behind you. You took the hint and readjusted yourself against the couch, but you shot him a confused look.

Because his glasses stopped you from seeing his eyes, you were only able to go off of the smirk that spread across his lips. On anyone else, it might have been concerning, but you knew Murdock, and you trusted him through and through. You simply tilted your head in a silent question.

“Sorry, love, I just remembered an extra shift I’m supposed to be at in half an hour. Influx of bodies this week.”

Well, that was disappointing. While you were hoping he had come up with some solution to your struggle, this was also one of the few nights that your schedules aligned. Problems with your calendars hadn’t disappeared after your first date, which meant what little free time you had was spent together, even if you weren’t doing anything specific. You supposed it couldn’t be helped, though – work was work, and Murdock took his job very seriously.

Sometimes you almost wished he didn’t, especially given the recent string of murders around the city. You didn’t like him walking off into the darkness alone. You knew he was able to protect himself, but… you couldn’t help but worry.

That worry apparently showed on your face, if Murdock leaning down to your level was anything to go by.

“Hey,” he whispered, “I’ll come straight back as soon as I’m done with the last body. I’ll be okay.”

“I know, I know, it’s just- y’know, I’ve seen the news and it’s not very assuring.”

He tugged off his glasses with one hand and used the other to caress your cheek. The touch was soft and comforting, but seeing his eyes was the thing that made your shoulders relax and edges of your mouth perk up in a small smile. It wasn’t often that he took them off, outside or inside, but it always made you feel better, as though you understood him the second your eyes met. They were the windows to the soul, after all.

“You don’t need to worry, love. No murderer is going to get me in alleyway. I’ll always come back to you, no matter what.”

To you, that was a pledge for protection against that maniac with an axe. To Murdock, that was a pledge for protection against the police who stuck their heads where they didn’t belong and got them chopped off for it.

But he wouldn’t tell you that. You didn’t need to know; it would only make you worry more, and that was the last thing he wanted.

Slowly, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against yours. His thumb continued to stroke up and down your cheek, but his hand that held his glasses maneuvered so that he could comfortably cradle the back of your head. On your part, it took you a second to melt into his hold, but melt you did, and you found yourself pushing off the couch to get closer. This was nice. This was safe. Not the safe that you had months ago, the kind that was unbearably boring and made everything else monotonous, as though you were frozen in a block of ice. This was the safe that warmed the ice ever-so-gently until you were pulled out into a protective embrace. The pressure of Murdock against you, no matter the point of contact, was a reminder of that. Your doubtless safety.

When he pulled away, you couldn’t stop the little sound that escaped you, disappointed for a reason different than before, but Murdock only responded with a smug chuckle.

“Later,” he muttered as he replaced the glasses over his eyes, “but I have to get to work.”

He made as if to brush a hand through your hair again, but he smoothly switched directions and grabbed your laptop from where it had slipped during your little moment.

You huffed an indignant, “Hey,” but it was no use.

“This is coming with me.”

“And why’s that?”

“I might be able to figure out your problem while I’m out. It’ll give me something to think about while I wait.”

You rolled your eyes but put up no other resistance. You certainly weren’t going to get anywhere with it, and a break from a screen sounded good about now.

“Fine,” you said as you reached for the TV remote, “just don’t go looking through my files.”

His grin stretched wider. “No promises.”

That look. It was stupid, cliché even, but it made your heart flutter every time it was directed towards you. It showed up in soft moments, in your playful banter, in your affectionately-termed lectures when you wanted to know how long someone could go without oxygen. You’d never taken a picture of it because you never felt the need to; there was always the confidence that you would see it again and capturing it beneath a glass cover was a lot like admitting your time was limited. That was something you didn’t want to risk.

With the flutter replaced by a heaviness, you waved goodbye to Murdock as he waltzed out of your apartment door, your laptop under his arm and keys in his hand. Late night shifts meant that you would go to sleep alone but wake up held securely in a hug that you never felt begin. You guessed that you were a heavy sleeper, or he was just careful not to disturb you when climbing under the sheets.

Though, that theory was put under strain when you stirred to the sound of your bedroom door opening and closing early in the morning, blearily opened your eyes at a rustling, and twisted around to look at who had entered the room.

The moon draped Murdock’s red and black clothes in a milky sheen of light. While he peeled off layer and layer of fabric, you tried to make out the shapes of color that painted his body. They almost looked like splatters – the product of darkness – with their odd angles and droplets against his skin – the aftereffects of sleep – and the way they smeared as he drew his shirt over them – the fantasies you were so prone to indulging in.

You whispered into the shadows where he stood, “Welcome back.”

He laughed to himself under his breath before padding over to join you. You opened the bed for him and held the sheet up until he was safely nestled at your side, arm thrown over your shoulders to guide you closer.

“It works, love.”

“Hmm?”

“The hand thing. They can pass out at the fourth finger and still hobble their way down a hallway with a broken leg. I think it just takes them realizing what situation they’re in for the adrenaline to work its magic.”

“Huh—” you shifted so that you were looking him in the eyes, “—how’d you find that out?”

In the darkness of the room, silhouetted barely by the moonlight but altogether protected from the outside world, he smiled at you and pressed a kiss against your lips. It only lasted a second, two at most, but you couldn’t deny the faint taste of something unusual. Iron?

He drew back before you could figure it out and whispered, “A body came in with the kind of damages you wrote about. Did some tests and it turned out they were put in pretty much the same situation.”

Your eyebrows furrowed and the corners of your mouth turned down. What were the chances?

“Should we be worried?” you asked, mind running wild with questions. Was it just a coincidence that it was the same scenario? Was it just a coincidence that it happened the same time you wrote about it? Was it a coincidence, was it a coincidence?

Murdock broke you out of those thoughts with his words resonating through you. “What did I say before?”

“I know, but…” You couldn’t finish, but you didn’t need to for him to understand. Just saying the words aloud made a certain feeling stir in your gut. Maybe it was simple fear, maybe it was a small glimmer of guilt – either way, it distracted you enough that Murdock had to bring you in impossibly closer for you to snap out of it.

“Love, he won’t hurt me and he’s not going to hurt you.”

His breath fanned over your hair as you slotted your chin over his shoulders.

“I’ll make sure of it.”

[Thank you for this request! I don't know why I have so much Murdock content considering he shows up for fifteen seconds in a completely missable and frankly irrelevant chunk of Space, but, y'know, I love him, so it's fine. Also, I totally used some of this so vent about how hard it is to search for that blood loss question. Again, thank you for requesting <3!]

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