Moesha
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Summary
Jackson Healy is getting a new apartment, whether he wants one or not.
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Science and Progress (Do Not Speak as Loud as My Heart) by Brokenpitchpipe
Fandom Project Hail Mary (2026), Project Hail Mary - Andy Weir
27 Jun 2026
- Words:
- 76,948
- Works:
- 3
- Bookmarks:
- 142
Bookmarked by Moesha
03 Jul 2026
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Summary
Blackmail. Illegal porn. Undercover at a gay bar. The Nice Guys sure are at it again.
“Porn? I can throw a rock in this neighborhood and I’m gonna break the window of a porn store.”
March gestured anxiously, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Healy paused. “Ohhhhh. The nasty stuff. Whips and handcuffs. Girls and animals.”
“Close,” March said, grimacing. He really, really didn’t want to have to explain this. “Think more like…. Disco.”
“Disco?” Healy raised an eyebrow. “What, like the queer music? You think the back room of that store is full of porn for… For disco fans.” He nodded thoughtfully a couple of times. “And you’re an expert about this?”
For a second the whole world went white around the edges and March thought he might pass out. He was too sober for this conversation. What exactly had Healy noticed that morning, how obvious exactly had his full-body reaction to Healy’s hand on his neck been? “I was a happily married man!” March said, and as soon as it came out of his mouth he knew it was wrong. Too fast, too high-pitched, too loud.
Incriminating.
Bookmarked by Moesha
02 Jul 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
“You’re holding up okay?”
Healy shrugged. “It’s not too bad. Although someone seemed pretty confused and mistook me for his father.”
March choked on his beer and very nearly snorted it out his nose. “He called you Daddy,” he translated, sounding strangled.
“Yeah?”
“That’s not — That’s different. Jesus Christ.” March coughed a couple of times.
Healy looked puzzled.
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Summary
Healy didn’t have a body count. He wasn’t Jack the Ripper… or Amelia’s mother. But that’s not to say he was a saint. Blueface was dead because of him, and John Boy would have been too if Holly hadn’t stepped in.
This may be the one and only time Healy would ever break that promise. It was almost half past ten by now, and most neighbors would be asleep. If he acted quickly, none of them would hear the gunshot or Johnson scream. It had to be quick, despite how badly Healy wanted to slow down and make that fucker suffer.
Johnson’s hand- probably sweaty, clammy- had found a new home on March’s ankle, where his slacks had ridden up, where his knees were bent.
Squeeze. Settle. Squeeze. Settle. Thumb-rubbing back and forth.
“Holly,” Healy whispered, rounding the counter. “Get the gun.”
__________Or: Healy is jealous of March's cop friend and does something about it.
Bookmarked by Moesha
01 Jul 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
holy fuck. equal parts touching and hot and hilarious. Too many amazing lines to quote but “luckily, Healy has a thing for seafood” is now my latest vocal stim. this fic is so in character and perfect and literally-laugh-out-loud funny and did I mention HOT? lordy I am sitting in a puddle
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Summary
Healy rubs the back of his neck, sweating from the midday sun, wipes his palm on his jeans. He's getting soft in his old age, he guesses. A hard man who doesn't know how to defend himself from scared young girls.
Or, he supposes, idiot thirty-something single fathers.
Bookmarked by Moesha
30 Jun 2026