LUNA

Hi guys :) (In da clerb, we all 18+. Anyone under, gets a juice box and cut fruit. ರ⁠_⁠ರ)

[dyanasaur]

Hey, I'm Luna! The reading, writing Dyanasaur :)

This where I repost stuff, do the occasional post, but I write too! ✍️

I have a bunch of interests & probably get a new hyper fixation every so often bc I don't know how to enjoy things normally😅

[azaablue]

the best fanfiction you've ever read was written by a woman in her 40s before she made dinner for her kids. it was written by a teenager after school when they should've been studying for a history test. and a barista came up with the idea while they cleaned the espresso machine and busser fact-checked it on their break and the post-doc edited between writing grant proposals and the nurse apologized for typos in the notes after a long shift and behind every drabble and one-shot and multi-chapter fic there is a person with a wonderful and interesting and chaotic life and it is such a privilege that we get to be apart of it because they decided to do this thing we all share, for fun.

[collarado]

cherry on top being "English isn't my first language"

[collarado]

Ryland & Reader headcanons (FLUFF)

Semi-filler because I lost my flow writing reqs.

♡ Ryland loves sneaking his hands underneath your shirt, not with intent but absently seeking warmth. He finds comfort in skin-to-skin contact, his calloused hands idly tracing the curves of your body in quiet worship. Sometimes Ryland would slip his hands down the waist of your pants to graze your thigh, but not any further. He just genuinely loves touching you and being close every chance he gets.

"That tickles!" You giggled as Ryland's hands lifted your shirt just below your ribcage, large hands gliding over your body reverently as he pressed a kiss against the crook of your neck. "Mm, stay like this f'me, please." He pleaded, voice muffled against your shoulder, his stubble slightly tickling your skin.

♡ While Ryland is more of The Beatles or "dad rock" guy, he'd definitely give your music genre a listen. He loves knowing what you listen to, often commenting about the songs you play on speaker. If Ryland liked the song enough, he'd search it up on YouTube and save it in his favourites (I think he's more of a YT guy than a Spotify guy) and will play it in his classroom whenever he gives desk work or he stays after-hours to grade assignments.

"So this is who you listen to. I've heard of them several times." Ryland remarked as he observed you bouncing to one of their songs as you made breakfast. "Yeah, they're my go-to artists." You offhandedly replied as you slid him a plate. He hummed, pecking your temple as he ate. Little did you know, Ryland is remembering to add that song into his YouTube folder for later.

♡ One time Ryland's students introduced him to matching bracelets and trinkets? He's over the moon (cough) when he comes home to your shared apartment, holding up two bracelets he made. Sun and moon with your initials and his. He carefully slips the one with his initials onto your wrist, lifting it and giving it a soft kiss right onto the pulse. ( cliche but he'd 100% do that)

You were briefly startled when Ryland practically flew the door open, nearly dropping whatever you were holding. "Ry-" He went right up to you, practically bringing his wrist right up to your nose. "Look!" He bounced on his heels, eyes sparkling as he looked at you expectantly. "Whoa okay, let me take a good look." You laughed as she slightly pulled back, blinking at the bracelet he wore. A beaded one, with your initials and the moon. "It has your initials!" Ryland exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear as he watched you inspect the charm on his wrist.

"I can see that." You nodded. "I made one for you too!" Without moving his wrist, Ryland moved his free hand as he fished out something from the pocket of his suit, bringing up an identical bracelet, this time with the sun and his initials. "Here, let me.." Ryland lifted your wrist, slowly sliding the charm over your palm. His thumb brushed over your wrist, bringing up your hand to press his lips right against your pulse. "Now we bring each other wherever we go."

Smut will be posted next, ty for reading 🫶

[mrs-calhoun]

just thinking about how i haven't seen anyone talking about ryland with a partner who also has glasses. AND as someone who wears glasses i feel like it's my duty to expand on this thought. 🤍

ryland who at first would get really flustered whenever your glasses would bump together when you kiss. he knows its not a big deal, but he's always worried it hurts you somehow. he'd have your face in his hands, kissing you gently, pressing into you a bit and your frames clash awkwardly. he pulls away, brows pinched together in worry, "oh- sorry baby."

ryland who gently takes both of your glasses off when you're sleepily making out before bed. one of his hands will be tangled in your hair as his other one reaches for your glasses. you reluctantly break the kiss, allowing him to take them off. he looks down at you sweetly as he removes them and gently sets them on the bedside table. you blush as he looks back to you, pupils blown and full of adoration. "you're so beautiful, honey..."

ryland who thinks its so cute when your glasses slide down your nose as you bounce up and down on his cock. you're sweating, barely holding on as you ride him sloppily. his hands are gripping your hips, honestly doing most of the work at this point as you've long been fucked out. he looks up at you, glowing, head tilted back, letting out the prettiest moan he'd ever heard. you looked down at him then, through your foggy glasses, they've slid down to the tip of your nose. you whine, orgasm approaching fast, "thats it, theres my girl/boy, come for me"

[546potspansnroaches]

"what yaoi, question?"

[lana-is-reading]

i live! here's part 3 🎉

(working on this again after having to rush to finish work for finals has been a balm on my weary soul, but also i feel slightly insane bc i was tired of drawing and i am recovering by drawing🧎)

part 1, part 2

[lana-is-reading]

here's part 2 of this stupid brainrot if you're unfamiliar here's part 1 🎉

part 3 now up

[houujin]

A relatively messy study/fanart for project hail mary, the last month has really awakened my inner space loving child again

Also fun fact, while drawing Man of war by Radiohead started randomly playing which i think is very veru fitting for this

[windynebula]

I'm gonna say something incredibly 30-year-old and I'm going to ask you to not judge me while I'm trying to be genuine and real. Okay? Here's my truth.

A piece of lettuce can really elevate a sandwich. The fresh crunch? Unrivaled. Peak. Poetic cinema.

[somepomegranatetea]

she's platonic about it but in my opinion, stratt 100% treats grace as her dead wife. she keeps a tacky fox trinket in her coat pocket. there's a framed photo of him in her study . he's grinning goofily in it (bc he's a dork). new guy like: is that her husband? / no, dumbass, it's dr. ryland grace, 1/3 of the hail mary mission. / oh, fuck. were they... ? / yeah, it's unclear. black-and-white montages of grace messing around in high-level meetings play every time stratt contemplates committing more environmental crimes. she looks up at the night sky and vaguely wonders if he's enjoying his space ramen. that's her dead wife. she killed him.

[elletromil]

a lost embrace

so i was fully planning on working on wide awake counting stars or and the sun did not compare today but then i saw @lana-is-reading absolutely fantastic artwork and after getting permission to do so, i simply had to write something for it

i had lotsa fun writing this today so hopefully you'll all enjoy reading it too!

thank you again @lana-is-reading for inspiring this :D

title is from the song "Who Is She ?" by I Monster because well the song was suggested with the artwork, i had to listen to it while writing

a lost embrace

Every night, it always starts innocuously enough.

Grace is standing on the shore, staring at the horizon, gentle waves lapping at his shoes.

It's the kind of dream he's had often, even before the Eridians build him an ocean. Even before he woke up in space with no clear memories of how he had gotten there. Even before he's first learned anything about the Petrova line.

This is different however.

When he used to get similar dreams, his surroundings were just meaningless backgrounds conjured by his sleeping mind. No dream were exactly the same as the previous one.

Now… Now even though he can't explain how he knows it, he knows that it is exactly the same dream, night after night.

The same strange reoccurring dream…

Because while it starts normally enough, the way it progresses leaves him gasping for breath upon waking, as if he's just narrowly escaped drowning.

More and more, he wonders if that's not precisely what's happening.

So, the dream starts the same.

Grace standing on the shore, staring at nothing in particular, blue ocean deceptively calm.

What alerts him that something is coming from the depths, he cannot explain. It's not anything observable at first. It's more of a feeling. And as much as Grace does not like such subjectivity, there's no denying it.

Why else would he drop his gaze to the ocean moments before the hue starts morphing from vibrant blue to deep purple to unsettling red?

There's an animalistic instinct within him that urges him to flee. Something within that screams at him that he is prey and whatever is coming is predator.

He stays rooted in place.

Because there is another part of him warring with that same timeless instinct, something distinctly human that whispers that there is much more happening. It's not just his natural scientific curiosity coming into play either.

It's the same complex combination of emotions that makes him look down in the first place. It's that queer feeling of resonance that prevents him from running away when it becomes clear that the ocean has turned to blood.

It's when that realisation hits that a hand, tentacle, outgrowth limb reaches out for him. It grabs at the cuff of his pants and Grace is still stuck between two states, between fleeing and staying. He falls backward, landing ass-first into viscous crimson warmth. He barely even notices.

His whole attention is focused on what is emerging in front of him with its maw gaped around large serrated teeth.

It's horrifying lonely monstrous…

He can't possibly begin to describe what he is looking at, not if he wants to keep his sanity intact. He can't, not without getting the terrible impression that it is all some unspeakable distortion of himself.

But no. That would be complete arrogance.

This is definitely something completely separate from him.

The proof of that is in its bottomless gaze.

In the dark eyes that have started haunting even his waking hours…

Those he can describe.

Beautiful.

At that point of the dream, there is no sound to be perceived. It reminds Grace of space. Somehow, even knowing he's still lying in the sand and ocean-turned-into-blood, the comparison doesn't feel wrong.

The easy explanation would be that this is simply because it is part of a dream. After all, a dream doesn't need to make sense. But that doesn't feel right.

It doesn't explain how Grace – even without sound, even without any words shared – how Grace can still understand him.

Understand how he would beg night after night.

Come, he begs Grace, voiceless. Find me.

And before Grace can reply – before he can make a choice…

Grace wakes up gasping in his bed on Erid, the distant sound of waves crashing on the artificial shore definite proof that he's no longer in the dream.

He wakes up and stays still, catching his breath and doing his best to ignore the metallic tang in the air. He stays still, feeling the echo of his alien loss in his own slowing heartbeat. Feeling lost.

Unlike dreams from before, this dream-

(the same strange reoccurring dream)

-doesn't get clouded into mist. No matter how long Grace stays awake, the-

(horrifying lonely monstrous)

-details do not lose their sharpness.

It takes weeks before Grace finally mentions it to Rocky. Weeks before he admits he's started to believe he's being hunted. Or even, possibly, haunted.

By then, there is no more ignoring the smell of iron whenever he wakes up. No more ignoring the nosebleeds.

No more ignoring that there is something wrong with him.

And yet, when Grace tries to explain the dream, only one word passes his lips.

Beaufitul.

[lana-is-reading]

Alexa play Who Is She? by I Monster

this crossover is insane and i love it sm, i needed to add my own two bits into the sandbox, so here, eldritch AU be upon ye

part 2, part 3

[mildmayfoxe]

1) any stretching is better than no stretching

2) any vegetable is better than no vegetable

3) statistically you will never be the worst person at anything, there is always someone in the world who is worse at stuff than you are

[carpenter-sab]

Project Hail Mary (2026) dir. Phil Lord & Chris Miller

[rylandgraces]

Project Hail Mary — 2026, dir. Phil Lord & Chris Miller

[cleo-fox]

Writing tips:

“You feel the bulge in his pants” - implies that you are feeling some guy’s penis, may be sexy depending on context

“You feel the bugle in his pants” - implies that this guy has a military horn in his pants, invites confusing questions like why does he have that and how big are his pockets

[maple-seed]

Both options convey that he's horny

[cleo-fox]

How dare you be funnier than me on my own post

[sentienceoverload-29]

Hey do you guys think that Grace begins to check all measurements with a neurotic precision and paranoia post-coma? Do you think every time he has to measure anything he double triple quadruple checks he did it right and gets Rocky to look at it? Because a fuck-up in measurements is what got him here? Because if just one person had looked at the astrophage and realized there was too much of it, he would never have been sent out? None of this would've happened? His friends wouldn't have died in that explosion? Do you think he does this with everything, not just science experiments? Everything is?