ready to traverse through the stars? this is your captain, ozren, speaking, and we hope you enjoy your journey here with us! if you need further assistance, you may contact me using my card.
ozren. eighteen. any pronouns. filo. intp. multi.
oh, a new passenger? try not to get lost, will you? refer to the navigation panel if you need help with looking around. may the stars guide your travels, passenger!
the navigation panel ── .✦
THE PLANETS
── co-worker!ryland grace. headcanons.
THE STARS
── no. 1 party anthem. ryland grace.
── saudade. ryland grace & colt seavers.
── olivia rodrigo made me do this. multiple ryan gosling characters.
THE GALAXIES
── all this time (i have been yours). akaashi keiji.
THE UNIVERSE
── always taste like you. ryland grace.
the light brush of skin,
a trail of warmth in its wake —
the rival of stars.
i hope my presence here is not too missed. i apologize for disappearing for quite a while. i reached a slump while plotting atly and i have ultimately decided it would be for the best if i took some time away from the series to collect my thoughts and motivation before i proceed and burn myself out more. a writing block is an illness i would not wish upon my worst enemy. good news though, levi fanfics have aided me throughout my recovery so i can say for certain that i'll be back on my feet soon enough! i cannot wait to share the next chapters i have planned. i'll see you until then!
CHAPTER EIGHT: maybe that means he's into little girls (written chapter)
A little girl, no older than seven, face planted onto the gym floor.
Yn's hand flew to her mouth as she desperately tried to stop herself from laughing. It wasn't the injury that was funny. God, no. The poor kid had tripped over nothing and hit the polished floor with all the grace of a falling sack of potatoes. For one terrible second, there had been a moment of stunned silence as every student within a ten-foot radius collectively stared at her. The girl's limbs sprawled awkwardly beneath her, one sneaker having flown off entirely during the impact, and the sheer unexpectedness of it all made a laugh bubble in Yn's throat before she could stop it. She pressed her lips together so tightly they hurt, shoulders shaking as she fought to maintain some semblance of maturity.
Unfortunately, the little girl chose that exact moment to burst into tears. Loud tears. Her face scrunched up, her mouth opened impossibly wide, and within seconds her wailing echoed throughout the entire gymnasium. Several students turned to stare. A few looked vaguely concerned. One boy, standing nearby, appeared deeply embarrassed on her behalf.
It wasn't her fault that she started quietly laughing, Yn thought, as she hid her face with her hand. Something about children falling and then crying was immaturely funny to her. She can't help it!
When Yn managed to clear her throat and her laughter subsided, she already found Ryland crouched beside the little girl, the cluster of fifth graders that he had been teaching left abandoned for another volunteer to take over and teach. Yn smiled. She was not a bit surprised by how this was playing out.
Over the past few hours, the organization had been touring different parts of the elementary school as part of their outreach program preparations, and if there was one thing Yn had learned about Ryland Grace, it was that children adored him. Which, admittedly, made very little sense. On paper, Ryland should have been terrible with kids. He was awkward, long-winded, and frequently incapable of simplifying explanations. Half the time he became so excited about a topic that he forgot other people weren't operating with the same level of enthusiasm. Yet somehow elementary school students followed him around like ducklings imprinting on their mother.
The reason, Yn suspected, was that Ryland never talked down to them.
Even now, kneeling beside the little girl, there was no trace of condescension in his expression. No exaggerated baby voice and no patronizing smile. He spoke to her the same way he spoke to everyone else—with patience, sincerity, and complete attention. Whatever he said was lost beneath the noise of the gymnasium, but the girl's crying gradually softened from dramatic wailing into intermittent sniffles.
Yn's smile widened. It was absurdly endearing.
"Why do you look like a proud mom?"
Yn nearly jumped out of her skin.
A yelp escaped her before she could stop it as she whipped around, hand pressed against her chest. Standing behind her with entirely too much satisfaction written across his face was Matthew.
"You son of a bitch," she hissed.
Matt laughed immediately. "That's the second time this month."
"You can't just appear behind people!" Yn exclaimed with a hushed tone, slapping his arm.
"I very clearly can."
"You almost made me see the gates of heaven, asshole."
His grin only widened.
"Skill issue."
Rolling her eyes, Yn turned her attention back toward the gym floor before she became genuinely tempted to push him. Beside her, Matt followed her line of sight and immediately spotted the source of her attention. His expression shifted into one of understanding.
"Ah."
"Don't."
"I'm not saying anything."
"You literally just made a face."
"I made no such face."
"You absolutely did."
Matt ignored her entirely.
The two of them stood side by side watching as Ryland continued his conversation with the little girl. Whatever crisis had occurred appeared to be nearing resolution. The child had stopped crying altogether now, though she still looked mildly offended by the entire experience. Ryland said something that caused her to giggle, and the sound carried faintly across the gymnasium.
Matt snorted.
"You know," he said, folding his arms across his chest, "I don't think I've ever seen him interact with a kid who didn't immediately become obsessed with him."
"That's because he's nice."
"Plenty of people are nice."
Yn considered that.
It was true enough. Kindness wasn't exactly a rare trait. Yet Ryland's version of it felt different somehow. He often seemed entirely unaware of the effect he had on other people. His kindness existed in small, thoughtless acts. In the way he remembered details nobody else remembered. In how he never made somebody feel stupid for asking a question. In how he always seemed willing to stop what he was doing if someone needed help.
"Maybe because he's genuine," Yn said finally.
"What?" Matthew glanced at her, his eyebrows twitching and lips pursing into a pout. "I'm genuine too but kids don't flock me like that."
She shot him a look and gagged. "You're literally the fakest person I know."
Across the gym, Ryland looked up, his entire face brightening as soon as he met her eyes. The corners of his mouth lifted into a small smile, warm and easy and entirely unguarded. Yn felt herself smile back before she could stop it. Beside her, Matt made a noise.
"Oh my fucking god."
Yn didn't take her eyes off of Ryland. "What now?"
"Maybe that means he's into little girls."
The laugh escaped before she could stop it. Loud enough that several nearby volunteers whipped their heads around towards them with curiosity.
"Holy shit, Matt." She smacked his arm immediately.
"Ouch!"
"What is wrong with you?"
"I'm just saying—"
"Don't say things. Please for the love of God, shut the fuck up."
Matt doubled over laughing while rubbing his arm, and Yn shook her head, still grinning despite herself. When she looked back toward the gym floor, Ryland's smile had disappeared.
The expression lingered for a fraction of a second as his gaze flickered briefly between her and Matt before settling into something unreadable. Ryland turned back toward the little girl, offering her a hand as she climbed to her feet, his attention returning fully to the child.
Yn couldn't help but wonder what the hell that was about.
"You guys seem close."
Yn looked up, crouched onto the concrete behind the school, a lit cigarette halfway to her mouth. The afternoon sun hung low enough to cast long shadows across the narrow stretch of pavement, bathing everything in a warm amber glow that did little to soften the exhaustion weighing on her shoulders. The outreach program had kept them moving for hours, bouncing between classrooms and activity centers and endless introductions until her social battery had finally waved a white flag. Sneaking away for a cigarette had seemed like a perfectly reasonable solution.
Ryland had his hands inside his pockets, staring at the cigarette pinched between her index and middle fingers. He sighed, walking towards her before crouching as well without a word.
"I don't think you should be smoking here," he said.
She stared at him. His brows were slightly furrowed together paired with the corner of his lips curving downward. His hands were no longer in his pockets, they were fidgeting in front him. She noticed that about him fairly early on. Whenever Ryland felt uncomfortable, his hands always seemed to find something to do. Sometimes he adjusted his glasses. Sometimes he tugged absentmindedly at his sleeves. Sometimes he linked his fingers together only to immediately pull them apart again. Now, they hovered awkwardly between his knees. Yn simply shrugged, bringing the cigarette to her lips.
"I'm outside, in open air, away from all the children," she replied. "I can smoke here."
The end glowed orange as she inhaled. Then, she exhaled slowly. A thin stream of smoke curled upward into the afternoon air before dissolving completely.
From the corner of her eye, she watched Ryland watch her.
"What?" Yn asked.
Ryland blinked. "What?"
"You're staring at me," she said.
"No, I'm not," he stammered, heat suffused his cheeks all at once.
Yn snorted and took another drag. Beside her, Ryland watched the cigarette again. Then her. Then the cigarette. Then her. The pattern repeated enough times that she eventually rolled her eyes.
"If you're going to lecture me, just do it."
"I'm not gonna lecture you."
She just hummed disbelievingly, watching the smoke dance in the air.
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable. It rarely was with Ryland. Conversations with him seemed to operate according to entirely different rules than conversations with everyone else. There was no pressure to constantly fill empty space. Sometimes the two of them simply existed in the same place for a while and somehow that was enough.
Eventually, Ryland spoke again.
"You never answered my question."
Yn glanced at him. "What question?"
"The one I asked before," he said, pausing as he seemed to hesitate. "You know. You and Matt."
She quirked an eyebrow at him as she asked, "What about us?"
Ryland's jaw tightened slightly, his fingers tangling before untangling again. Yn sighed loudly, causing him to look at her.
"We're just friends," she said.
Yn didn't know why she was telling him this. Or why she's even reassuring him in the first place. It's not like Ryland was privy to her private life and relationships. Technically, they weren't friends. Yet. At least, they're still not close enough for that. They're more than strangers but not more than acquaintances. That was it. And yet, she still felt like she had to tell him she and Matt were just close friends after being part of the same organization for so long. Like... her and Colt. But obviously Colt is more closer to than Matt was. Obviously. Hence she told him this.
For reasons she couldn't explain, Ryland seemed to relax.
Colt, reading that twitter post, having an epiphany about why and how the relationship ended, ready to pour his heart out to get you back: "take me back and i'll do a flip"
lets be real, he got on yn's roster because of a flip in the first place 🙏
in which, after listening to olivia rodrigo's new album, you began a twitter thread unprompted and unprovoked, assigning each song to one of your exes. what you didn't expect was for it to come back and bite you in the ass.
like what i write? please support me by buying me a coffee!
pairing: multiple ryan gosling characters/reader
tags: crackfic, oneshot, social media au
im trying to assign rygos characters to olivia rodrigo's songs on her new album rn and all i know drop dead belongs to ryland grace not bc im biased and expectations goes to ken for obvious reasons i think. and im lowk strugging for the others.........#thoughts about this
im trying to assign rygos characters to olivia rodrigo's songs on her new album rn and all i know drop dead belongs to ryland grace not bc im biased and expectations goes to ken for obvious reasons i think. and im lowk strugging for the others.........#thoughts about this
ryland grace knew his brother was friends with all sorts of troublemakers and constantly surrounded himself with bad influences. but maybe not all of them were that bad after all—not when he was friends with you.
pairing: ryland grace x f!reader
status: ongoing
tags/warnings: strangers to friends to lovers. university au. coltland twins + older brother gentry au. blended smau. inconsistent posting schedule. hurt/comfort. rocky is a bernese mountain dog. kys/kms jokes. suicidal but as joke but not as a joke. mentions of partying/clubbing. alcohol use. smoking. suggestive at a certain level. lots of cursing. everyone here is ooc lowkey. no beta we die like the sun. warnings may change as the story progresses. mdni.
taglist: open, reply to be added
INTRODUCTIONS: colt has skid marks | group 5 gen chemistry ii
PROLOGUE: fuck you and fuck your apologies
CHAPTER ONE: wtf is a ryland
CHAPTER TWO: pathetic, good for nothing, wet cat loser
CHAPTER THREE: etsy witches, get him!
CHAPTER FOUR: easy, white chocolate
CHAPTER FIVE: you're such a fat fucking chud
CHAPTER SIX: wait im bored, delete my number rn
CHAPTER SEVEN: my sleep paralysis demon's twin
CHAPTER EIGHT: maybe that means he's into little girls
CHAPTER NINE: a hello kitty pajamas girl or a goth femboy?
CHAPTER TEN: the living conditions of a poor victorian man
🍦 Teacher!Ryland Grace x f Teacher!Reader
tw: Age gap (8yrs), Teacher inaccuracies (I’m not a teacher), slowwwburn, Grace being dorky, reader is super cute and silly, they go on little teacher adventures, they both fell first, miscommunication
wc: 1.9k
Plot/notes: When Mr.Grace completes a couple of his science units early and has an extra three weeks on his schedule he asks the neighborly humanities teacher for help entertaining his students. The two of you create a science and humanities project for your 8th graders and along the way slowly start to get to know the other teacher across the hall.
Just wait until the students start to notice the tension between their two favorite teachers, or when they start seeing the two of you leave for lunch together… you’re in for a long end of the school year.
Every five-minute passing period you would stand outside of your class and monitor what was happening in the halls.
A kid running, one skipping, and one that was dragging their bag on the floor.
"Remember Isaac, we need to keep our backpack on our back." You would use a soft tone with the children and help make sure they were being safe in the west wing of the school.
It wasn't a job you were assigned. More like one you volunteered for... Or one you made up.
Your humanities class was right across the hall from the science teacher's.
You saw him at the monthly meetings, a couple PTA sessions (only when there were baked goods), and of course outside of school when he was getting on his bike (that yellow rain coat wasn't hard to find).
But you loved leaning against the lockers by your door and peering into his room. Most of the time he had kicked his feet up on his desk, his worn converse always untied. He’d be leaned back in his chair during passing periods, typing away on his laptop with his glasses low on his nose.
He had models for anything and everything, all strung around his classroom, your favorite being the solar system he made himself. He had posters plastering every wall, and most importantly he had science equipment scattered across every horizontal surface.
Keeping things tidy was not one of his strong suits. You knew this because of the way the collars of his shirts looked when he got into work in the morning, his glasses that hung off one ear, and the right cuff of his slacks still tucked into his socks so they don't rub on the chain of his bike.
Part of you loved it. That part of you couldn't help but have a crush, and in a middle school no less, you felt like you were 13 again and should write in your notebook that he rocks your world.
It was harmless. And having someone to admire at work made your 20 minute travel in your shitty old car with a broken stereo at 7am that much better.
-
You’ve volunteered on and off for the library the past couple months, mostly in the mornings before the chaos of school started. The schools librarian was old and often needs to take time off. So it’s good that Cleveland had you.
But, honestly you did it because you liked scanning books with the little laser gun. Plus it gave you extra time with the kids, you got to know what they were reading, what was interesting and what books they were choosing for their book reports that they would do in your class.
You got a bit of extra cash on the side from the job. And who better than the humanities teacher to be the part-time librarian?
You were logging a new series of books into the machine as a teacher came up to your desk, tapping his finders idly along the vinyl.
“Hi.” You greeted the teacher with a sweet smile. “How can I help you?” You set down your laser gun and looked up at the blonde.
“Ms.Whyen, right? Pronounced like the letters Y and N?”
He must’ve remembered the introduction you made to the rest of the teachers at the beginning of the year, explaining how your name was pronounced. “Yup. That’s me.”
The teacher pauses for a moment, not realizing how he should best move forward. “Well… I was just wondering-”
You stayed silent, waiting for him to continue. Your heart beat just a bit faster as you scanned his face, never really ever seeing him this close up. He was freshly shaven and his hair was just washed probably this morning. You wondered if he’s ever done anything to his eyebrows… they’re perfect.
“I was wondering if maybe you would want to-”
Go on a date?!
As your smile began to unfold the teacher cleared his throat, pushing up his glasses and standing up a bit straighter. “Can you help me find the science textbooks?”
“Oh.” Your face scrunched awkwardly. Of course he wasn’t going to ask you out, you’ve never had a conversation. “Oh! Of course.” You walk behind the counter to meet the teacher on the other side. “Right this way Mr.Grace.” Your smile was plastered on top of the awkward demeanor you felt deep in your bones.
He followed behind you as you took him to a section of the library. “You know me?”
“We’re across the hall from each other.” You talk over your shoulder as he trails behind you. “We have been all year.” You add the last bit slightly quieter.
“Right. Right.” He snaps his fingers and hits his fist against his palm making a small cascade of little noises.
Truth is he knew exactly who you were, but he couldn’t tell you that for whatever reason he held.
When he showed him all the books he thanked you and met you at the counter later with a small pile.
“So how has your year been?”
“Oh it’s been fantastic!” You smile. “What about yours?”
“Eh.” He holds up his hand twist git from side to side. “Kind of an emotional roller coaster.”
“Oh, well, maybe you’ll get a break this summer yeah?”
He smiled awkwardly, nodding along to whatever else you were saying.
Truth is he already had these textbooks in his class. But he had lost his courage and needed an excuse. When you see the books in the return pile tomorrow morning you might be curious.
-
During your free period you would sit at your desk, eating your snack that you got from the vending machine that was hidden in a corner of the teachers lounge.
You had just figured out how to work the machine so it stopped eating your crumpled dollar bills and giving you error messages. Now only if you could figure out how to make sure your snacks didn’t get stuck…
You'd keep your door open just in case your coworkers (or one in particular) walked by and needed to ask a question. Which rarely happened.
Part of you knew he didn't have a thing for you, or maybe he was still with that other girl he got into an argument with once over the phone..?
But you couldn't help yourself, your love life was so boring it would put your students to sleep. And day dreaming about the man across the hall wasn't hurting anyone.
You listened to his class during your free period too, always amazed about how much noise and laughter came out of his room. Being a new teacher was hard, but being a new teacher next to one fantastic science teacher that always left his students amazed by his knowledge was… tricky to say the least.
You sat at your desk during lunch, granola bar in hand and your laptop propped open on your desk top.
You hear a slight knock on your door and find your classroom neighbor standing in the boundary between your room and the empty hallway.
“What are your kids are learning about?" He leans his left shoulder against the doorframe and crosses one of his legs behind his other, trying his best to act cool.
"Sorry?" You cover your mouth as you chew the last of your granola bar.
"I was thinking we could team up."
You tilt your head at the teacher in front of you.
"Like they could do a project between both of our classes." Mr.Grace pushes off the doorframe when you motion for him to come in. “I did cross-class projects in my middle school.”
"Okay, well." You dust off your jeans as you stand up. "What kind of project?"
"See, thats why I need to know what they're learning about."
You laugh a little, adjusting your hair. "We're wrapping up writing non-fiction. Short essays and such." You pull out an assignment for today that you haven't given out yet. "See." When you point to the questions and the blank space for them to build a body paragraph you see the gears in his head start working.
"Okay, thats actually perfect."
"It is?" You question.
"What have they been writing about?"
"Whatever they want to research." You flip through some of today's turn-in box. "A lot about cats and dogs, food, someone wrote about their sister which seemed a bit odd, oh and apparently the students here really like you."
"Me?" He looks genuinely confused.
"Yeah, multiple wrote about science and quoted you as a source." You pull a couple papers out of the stack for him to read.
"Woah." He looks genuinely stunned. Like somehow he didn't know that the laughter and happiness that poured out of his room was because of him. “I did not consent to being on the record.” He jokes.
“They really like you.” You don’t notice the stars in your eyes as you look at him, but he does.
He huffs a small laugh.
"No I mean it. I see the way you engage your students. They come in here telling me all kinds of facts after listening to you.” You take a moment trying to think of what you were told just last period. “Like, a laser can get trapped in water." The last couple of words get a higher pitch as you question what you're saying, not knowing if the 13 year old was messing with you.
"Yeah, because of total internal reflection. Only really works with a jet of moving water though. Heavy water particles and such." He shrugs his shoulders.
You scoff at him. "You are so over qualified for this job." A small laugh escapes you. "I wouldn't be surprised if you had like a big fancy degree."
Theres a short pause before Ryland continues. "So, about the project." He taps his fingers on the wood of your desk like how he grabbed your attention in the library. "How about, they research something in my class and they write about it in yours?"
"You really want to oversee thirty students with all kinds of different projects?"
“Yeah.” He scoffs and shrugs his shoulders that are draped in the zip-up hoodie he has on. “How hard can it be?”
You take a moment to think about the proposition.
“Please?” He gives you a small smile as he holds his two palms together.
“Why?” You don’t mean for it to be a rude comment but he never comes into your room and you’ve never had this long of a conversation with him. You can’t help but wonder if he has an ulterior motive. Especially after the events of this morning.
“Okay, well we wrapped up the lesson on sound waves early and the lesson on the solar system even earlier than that. We have a solid three weeks where nothing is planned and creating a whole new lesson plan seems like too much.” He runs his hand through his hair. “And I think my brain will start melting if we watch Bill nye re-runs for three weeks.”
You laugh, you weren’t going to say no to him, even from the start. “Sounds good Mr.Grace." You smile at him, placing your hands on your hips.
"Is this where you eat lunch everyday?"
For a second you're worried he's going to call you lonely or make fun of your measly granola bar. "Um, mostly.”
"Maybe I can stop by more often." The left side of his lips quirk up in a small smile and you agree with a quiet blush, not noticing his heart almost beating out of his chest.
Authors Note!
౨ৎ‧₊ . I hope you liked chapter 1! I have a lot more to post! If you have any ideas or requests feel free to checkout my inbox . ₊‧౨ৎ
.ೃ࿔*:·Links to stuff/ masterlist ... navigation ... Series Masterlist!
Next chapter!
° ⊹ ⊱ Please don't steal my work. Other interactions like reblogging, liking, and commenting are super duper appreciated. ⊰ ⊹°
p.s. tell me if you find an error or if you think I should change anything I am open to feedback! <3
🍦 Teacher!Ryland Grace x f Teacher!Reader
tw: Age gap (8yrs), Teacher inaccuracies (I’m not a teacher), slowwwburn, Grace being dorky, reader is super cute and silly, they go on little teacher adventures, they both fell first, miscommunication
wc: 1.9k
Plot/notes: When Mr.Grace completes a couple of his science units early and has an extra three weeks on his schedule he asks the neighborly humanities teacher for help entertaining his students. The two of you create a science and humanities project for your 8th graders and along the way slowly start to get to know the other teacher across the hall.
Just wait until the students start to notice the tension between their two favorite teachers, or when they start seeing the two of you leave for lunch together… you’re in for a long end of the school year.
Every five-minute passing period you would stand outside of your class and monitor what was happening in the halls.
A kid running, one skipping, and one that was dragging their bag on the floor.
"Remember Isaac, we need to keep our backpack on our back." You would use a soft tone with the children and help make sure they were being safe in the west wing of the school.
It wasn't a job you were assigned. More like one you volunteered for... Or one you made up.
Your humanities class was right across the hall from the science teacher's.
You saw him at the monthly meetings, a couple PTA sessions (only when there were baked goods), and of course outside of school when he was getting on his bike (that yellow rain coat wasn't hard to find).
But you loved leaning against the lockers by your door and peering into his room. Most of the time he had kicked his feet up on his desk, his worn converse always untied. He’d be leaned back in his chair during passing periods, typing away on his laptop with his glasses low on his nose.
He had models for anything and everything, all strung around his classroom, your favorite being the solar system he made himself. He had posters plastering every wall, and most importantly he had science equipment scattered across every horizontal surface.
Keeping things tidy was not one of his strong suits. You knew this because of the way the collars of his shirts looked when he got into work in the morning, his glasses that hung off one ear, and the right cuff of his slacks still tucked into his socks so they don't rub on the chain of his bike.
Part of you loved it. That part of you couldn't help but have a crush, and in a middle school no less, you felt like you were 13 again and should write in your notebook that he rocks your world.
It was harmless. And having someone to admire at work made your 20 minute travel in your shitty old car with a broken stereo at 7am that much better.
-
You’ve volunteered on and off for the library the past couple months, mostly in the mornings before the chaos of school started. The schools librarian was old and often needs to take time off. So it’s good that Cleveland had you.
But, honestly you did it because you liked scanning books with the little laser gun. Plus it gave you extra time with the kids, you got to know what they were reading, what was interesting and what books they were choosing for their book reports that they would do in your class.
You got a bit of extra cash on the side from the job. And who better than the humanities teacher to be the part-time librarian?
You were logging a new series of books into the machine as a teacher came up to your desk, tapping his finders idly along the vinyl.
“Hi.” You greeted the teacher with a sweet smile. “How can I help you?” You set down your laser gun and looked up at the blonde.
“Ms.Whyen, right? Pronounced like the letters Y and N?”
He must’ve remembered the introduction you made to the rest of the teachers at the beginning of the year, explaining how your name was pronounced. “Yup. That’s me.”
The teacher pauses for a moment, not realizing how he should best move forward. “Well… I was just wondering-”
You stayed silent, waiting for him to continue. Your heart beat just a bit faster as you scanned his face, never really ever seeing him this close up. He was freshly shaven and his hair was just washed probably this morning. You wondered if he’s ever done anything to his eyebrows… they’re perfect.
“I was wondering if maybe you would want to-”
Go on a date?!
As your smile began to unfold the teacher cleared his throat, pushing up his glasses and standing up a bit straighter. “Can you help me find the science textbooks?”
“Oh.” Your face scrunched awkwardly. Of course he wasn’t going to ask you out, you’ve never had a conversation. “Oh! Of course.” You walk behind the counter to meet the teacher on the other side. “Right this way Mr.Grace.” Your smile was plastered on top of the awkward demeanor you felt deep in your bones.
He followed behind you as you took him to a section of the library. “You know me?”
“We’re across the hall from each other.” You talk over your shoulder as he trails behind you. “We have been all year.” You add the last bit slightly quieter.
“Right. Right.” He snaps his fingers and hits his fist against his palm making a small cascade of little noises.
Truth is he knew exactly who you were, but he couldn’t tell you that for whatever reason he held.
When he showed him all the books he thanked you and met you at the counter later with a small pile.
“So how has your year been?”
“Oh it’s been fantastic!” You smile. “What about yours?”
“Eh.” He holds up his hand twist git from side to side. “Kind of an emotional roller coaster.”
“Oh, well, maybe you’ll get a break this summer yeah?”
He smiled awkwardly, nodding along to whatever else you were saying.
Truth is he already had these textbooks in his class. But he had lost his courage and needed an excuse. When you see the books in the return pile tomorrow morning you might be curious.
-
During your free period you would sit at your desk, eating your snack that you got from the vending machine that was hidden in a corner of the teachers lounge.
You had just figured out how to work the machine so it stopped eating your crumpled dollar bills and giving you error messages. Now only if you could figure out how to make sure your snacks didn’t get stuck…
You'd keep your door open just in case your coworkers (or one in particular) walked by and needed to ask a question. Which rarely happened.
Part of you knew he didn't have a thing for you, or maybe he was still with that other girl he got into an argument with once over the phone..?
But you couldn't help yourself, your love life was so boring it would put your students to sleep. And day dreaming about the man across the hall wasn't hurting anyone.
You listened to his class during your free period too, always amazed about how much noise and laughter came out of his room. Being a new teacher was hard, but being a new teacher next to one fantastic science teacher that always left his students amazed by his knowledge was… tricky to say the least.
You sat at your desk during lunch, granola bar in hand and your laptop propped open on your desk top.
You hear a slight knock on your door and find your classroom neighbor standing in the boundary between your room and the empty hallway.
“What are your kids are learning about?" He leans his left shoulder against the doorframe and crosses one of his legs behind his other, trying his best to act cool.
"Sorry?" You cover your mouth as you chew the last of your granola bar.
"I was thinking we could team up."
You tilt your head at the teacher in front of you.
"Like they could do a project between both of our classes." Mr.Grace pushes off the doorframe when you motion for him to come in. “I did cross-class projects in my middle school.”
"Okay, well." You dust off your jeans as you stand up. "What kind of project?"
"See, thats why I need to know what they're learning about."
You laugh a little, adjusting your hair. "We're wrapping up writing non-fiction. Short essays and such." You pull out an assignment for today that you haven't given out yet. "See." When you point to the questions and the blank space for them to build a body paragraph you see the gears in his head start working.
"Okay, thats actually perfect."
"It is?" You question.
"What have they been writing about?"
"Whatever they want to research." You flip through some of today's turn-in box. "A lot about cats and dogs, food, someone wrote about their sister which seemed a bit odd, oh and apparently the students here really like you."
"Me?" He looks genuinely confused.
"Yeah, multiple wrote about science and quoted you as a source." You pull a couple papers out of the stack for him to read.
"Woah." He looks genuinely stunned. Like somehow he didn't know that the laughter and happiness that poured out of his room was because of him. “I did not consent to being on the record.” He jokes.
“They really like you.” You don’t notice the stars in your eyes as you look at him, but he does.
He huffs a small laugh.
"No I mean it. I see the way you engage your students. They come in here telling me all kinds of facts after listening to you.” You take a moment trying to think of what you were told just last period. “Like, a laser can get trapped in water." The last couple of words get a higher pitch as you question what you're saying, not knowing if the 13 year old was messing with you.
"Yeah, because of total internal reflection. Only really works with a jet of moving water though. Heavy water particles and such." He shrugs his shoulders.
You scoff at him. "You are so over qualified for this job." A small laugh escapes you. "I wouldn't be surprised if you had like a big fancy degree."
Theres a short pause before Ryland continues. "So, about the project." He taps his fingers on the wood of your desk like how he grabbed your attention in the library. "How about, they research something in my class and they write about it in yours?"
"You really want to oversee thirty students with all kinds of different projects?"
“Yeah.” He scoffs and shrugs his shoulders that are draped in the zip-up hoodie he has on. “How hard can it be?”
You take a moment to think about the proposition.
“Please?” He gives you a small smile as he holds his two palms together.
“Why?” You don’t mean for it to be a rude comment but he never comes into your room and you’ve never had this long of a conversation with him. You can’t help but wonder if he has an ulterior motive. Especially after the events of this morning.
“Okay, well we wrapped up the lesson on sound waves early and the lesson on the solar system even earlier than that. We have a solid three weeks where nothing is planned and creating a whole new lesson plan seems like too much.” He runs his hand through his hair. “And I think my brain will start melting if we watch Bill nye re-runs for three weeks.”
You laugh, you weren’t going to say no to him, even from the start. “Sounds good Mr.Grace." You smile at him, placing your hands on your hips.
"Is this where you eat lunch everyday?"
For a second you're worried he's going to call you lonely or make fun of your measly granola bar. "Um, mostly.”
"Maybe I can stop by more often." The left side of his lips quirk up in a small smile and you agree with a quiet blush, not noticing his heart almost beating out of his chest.
Authors Note!
౨ৎ‧₊ . I hope you liked chapter 1! I have a lot more to post! If you have any ideas or requests feel free to checkout my inbox . ₊‧౨ৎ
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🍦 Teacher!Ryland Grace x f Teacher!Reader
tw: Age gap (8yrs), Teacher inaccuracies (I’m not a teacher), slowwwburn, Grace being dorky, reader is super cute and silly, miscommunication, very slight angst, mostly just fluff,
wc: Not complete
Plot/notes: When Mr.Grace completes a couple of his science units early and has an extra three weeks on his schedule he asks the neighborly humanities teacher for help entertaining his students. The two of you create a science and humanities project for your 8th graders and slowly start to get to know the other teacher across the hall.
Key: ✨: smut/heavy romance🍦: fluff 🫐: angst
Week 1
Chap 1🍦, Chap 2🍦, Chap 3🍦, Chap 4🍦, Chap 5🍦🫐
Week 2
Chap 6 🍦, Chap 7🍦🫐, Chap 8, Chap 9, Chap 10,
Week 3
Chap 11, Chap 12, Chap 13, Chap 14, Chap 15
a dual pov character study on ryland grace and colton seavers as twins.
saudade
/souˈdädə/
a deep, melancholic, and nostalgic emotional state of yearning for an absent person, place, or thing.
like what i write? please support me by buying me a coffee!
wc. 2530 words
I hate my brother.
The thing about having a twin is that people think they understand it. Let me tell you this: they fucking don't. They see two kids with the same face and think that's all there is to it. They think it's some magical connection; some cosmic joke where two people share one soul and spend the rest of their lives finishing each other's sentences. Maybe that's true for some people. For us though? It really isn't. Ryland is annoying. So goddamn annoying.
He leaves dishes in the sink, he forgets appointments, he gets so caught up in his own head that he walks into doorframes and loses entire afternoons to things that don't matter — I could go on forever. He makes me worry. Constantly. I hate it. It's like the only thing he knows how to do! Every phone call that comes too late at night, every unanswered text from me, every moment where he's staring off into space with that look on his face like he's already halfway to another galaxy — and you know what? Fuck that, maybe he is right now. I don't know.
I hate that he knows me better than anyone else. I hate that he can tell when I'm lying before I've even opened my mouth. I hate that every mistake I've ever made exists in the memory of someone who was standing right beside me when it happened. And most of all, I hate that no matter how far apart we get, no matter how many years pass, part of me is always listening for him. Like some stupid biological reflex I never even asked for. Like a phantom limb. Like a song stuck in my head. See? He's fucking annoying and a nuisance in my life, if I haven't made that much clear yet — which I seriously doubt.
I loved my brother.
People sometimes make the mistake of thinking love was a simple thing. They thought it was easy because they saw us laughing together in pictures. They saw matching birthdays, matching smiles, not-so matching report cards pinned to the refrigerator, and they assumed the rest. They never saw the — uh — resentment. I don't really like using that word but, um... I think that's the best word to describe it. I think.
They never saw how much space another person could take up simply by existing beside you every day of your life. I had loved Colt the way gravity loved planets — it wasn't really a choice, you know? It was only a condition. Fudge, he had always been there, really. Every scraped knee, every Christmas morning, every fight over who got the top bunk and who got blamed for breaking something neither of us remembered breaking. Loving him had been as natural as breathing — and I know, it sounds cliché — but, uh, which meant I rarely noticed it until something interrupted it.
It's like the way you never notice your heartbeat until it skips or the way you never notice sunlight until a cloud moves over it. There had been days when I wanted him gone. Days when the certainty of his existence felt unbearable against my confusion. Days when his competence made me feel small. But even then, every memory I possessed had carried his shadow somewhere in the frame. Like a watermark pressed into the paper of my life. Invisible until you held it to the light.
The worst fucking part is that I don't even know what I'm angry about at all! That's what keeps me up at night. If he'd done something horrible, at least I'd have something concrete to hold onto. But he hasn't. He just… left. Boom! Just like that. Gone. I keep replaying conversations in my head, looking for the moment it started — the moment that he started to think about just disappearing into fucking space, I guess.
Maybe it was months ago. Maybe even longer than that and I just never noticed. Maybe I missed something important because I was too busy with filming and my own goddamn problems to notice. That's the thought that really gets me. Not that he was hiding something; that he was been hiding it successfully.
Ryland has always been terrible at carrying burdens alone. Always. 100% without a doubt. He thinks he's good at it — he's not. It's funny because for someone so smart and someone who's typically always right, he was deaddddd wrong about that one. He thinks he can lock himself inside his own head and nobody will notice the cracks forming. But I've spent my whole entire life watching him (against my will, by the way.) I know what he looks like when he's pretending. I know what he sounds like when he's exhausted. I know when he's afraid. Just as Angelica Schuyler said, I know my brother like I know my own mind or some shit like that. I'm not big on musicals. Or history. Did she even say that?
But anyway, every conversation with him in the last few months has felt like talking to someone standing behind glass. I can see him. I can hear him. But there's something between us that I can't reach through, no matter how hard I try. I hate him for that. I hate him for making me feel helpless. I hate him for making me worry. I hate him because every unanswered question became a new thing to fear — and now those fears became my goddamn reality. I hate how weak he makes me feel because I hate being weak.
The strange thing about certainty is that you rarely recognize it until it begins to disappear. For most of my life, Colt occupied a space in my mind that no one else ever could. And it wasn't because we shared DNA or because we looked alike and I saw him every time I looked in the mirror — but because he was present in almost every chapter of my life. If I thought about childhood, he was there.
If I thought about high school, he was there. College, family vacations, holiday dinners, late-night conversations, terrible decisions, small triumphs, embarrassing failures — his presence was so engraved into my life that it feels weird without him. I sometimes wondered whether I would have become a different person without him. The answer was probably yes. Not because he shaped every decision I made, but because knowing someone that completely changes the way you move through the world.
It creates something like a kind of quiet confidence. A belief that no matter how strange things become, there will always be at least one person who understands where you came from. One person who remembers the same stories. One person capable of looking at you and seeing every version of yourself that came before. That knowledge had accompanied me for so long that I mistook it for permanence.
And let's be real, Colt was always more confident than I was. He was loud and — and he was always the center of attention no matter what kind of room he walked into. He just had that
I loved my brother.
People sometimes make the mistake of thinking love was a simple thing. They thought it was easy because they saw us laughing together in pictures. They saw matching birthdays, matching smiles, not-so matching report cards pinned to the refrigerator, and they assumed the rest. They never saw the — uh — resentment. I don't really like using that word but, um... I think that's the best word to describe it. I think.
They never saw how much space another person could take up simply by existing beside you every day of your life. I had loved Colt the way gravity loved planets — it wasn't really a choice, you know? It was only a condition. Fudge, he had always been there, really. Every scraped knee, every Christmas morning, every fight over who got the top bunk and who got blamed for breaking something neither of us remembered breaking. Loving him had been as natural as breathing — and I know, it sounds cliché — but, uh, which meant I rarely noticed it until something interrupted it.
It's like the way you never notice your heartbeat until it skips or the way you never notice sunlight until a cloud moves over it. There had been days when I wanted him gone. Days when the certainty of his existence felt unbearable against my confusion. Days when his competence made me feel small. But even then, every memory I possessed had carried his shadow somewhere in the frame. Like a watermark pressed into the paper of my life. Invisible until you held it to the light.
The worst fucking part is that I don't even know what I'm angry about at all! That's what keeps me up at night. If he'd done something horrible, at least I'd have something concrete to hold onto. But he hasn't. He just… left. Boom! Just like that. Gone. I keep replaying conversations in my head, looking for the moment it started — the moment that he started to think about just disappearing into fucking space, I guess.
Maybe it was months ago. Maybe even longer than that and I just never noticed. Maybe I missed something important because I was too busy with filming and my own goddamn problems to notice. That's the thought that really gets me. Not that he was hiding something; that he had been hiding it successfully.
Ryland has always been terrible at carrying burdens alone. Always. 100% without a doubt. He thinks he's good at it — he's not. It's funny because for someone so smart and someone who's typically always right, he was deaddddd wrong about that one. He thinks he can lock himself inside his own head and nobody will notice the cracks forming. But I've spent my whole entire life watching him (against my will, by the way.) I know what he looks like when he's pretending. I know what he sounds like when he's exhausted. I know when he's afraid. Just as Angelica Schuyler said, I know my brother like I know my own mind or some shit like that. I'm not big on musicals. Or history. Did she even say that?
But anyway, every conversation with him in the last few months has felt like talking to someone standing behind glass. I can see him. I can hear him. But there's something between us that I can't reach through, no matter how hard I try. I hate him for that. I hate him for making me feel helpless. I hate him for making me worry. I hate him because every unanswered question became a new thing to fear — and now those fears became my goddamn reality. I hate how weak he makes me feel because I hate being weak.
The strange thing about certainty is that you rarely recognize it until it begins to disappear. For most of my life, Colt occupied a space in my mind that no one else ever could. And it wasn't because we shared DNA or because we looked alike and I saw him every time I looked into the mirror — but because he was present in almost every chapter of my life.
If I thought about childhood, he was there. If I thought about high school, he was there. College, family vacations, holiday dinners, late-night conversations, terrible decisions, small triumphs, embarrassing failures — his presence was so engraved into my life that it feels weird without him. I sometimes wondered whether I would have become a different person without him. The answer was probably yes. Not because he shaped every decision I made, but because knowing someone that completely changes the way you move through the world.
It creates something like a kind of quiet confidence. A belief that no matter how strange things become, there will always be at least one person who understands where you came from. One person who remembers the same stories. One person capable of looking at you and seeing every version of yourself that came before. That knowledge had accompanied me for so long that I mistook it for permanence.
And let's be real, Colt was always more confident than I was. He was loud and — and he was always the center of attention no matter what kind of room he walked into. He just always had the — uh, what's the word? — the ability to draw all eyes and attention to himself, for a lack of better word. I mean, other than being loud, he was charismatic. And while yeah, it would only be natural for people to look at him because of his loud voice, his presence was loud too. And I guess that's what I admired about him.
You know what nobody tells you about growing up? One day you stop making new memories together. Nuh-uh. Nada. Not all at once, though. It happens gradually. So gradually you don't even notice it — hell, even I didn't notice it.
You get jobs, apartments, responsibilities, separate circles of friends — and suddenly years of your lives exist that the other person wasn't there to witness. You still talk, of course. And you definitely still care. But there are gaps now. Entire sections of experience that belong only to you. Most siblings probably adjust to that. Fuck that shit though because I never did!
Every time Ryland mentioned something I didn't know happened, some irrational part of me gets hella annoyed. Not because he kept it from me intentionally — hey, I'm serious! It's not because of that. It's just because I wasn't there. Because there's a selfish little voice in my head that thinks I should know everything. That I should always know what's going on with him. That being his twin should mean something more than it actually does. Maybe that's why this bothers me so much. Maybe that's why his literal distance feels unbearable. Because every instinct I have keeps insisting that whatever he's carrying, I should already know. And the fact that I don't — didn't — feels like failure.
Don't get me wrong. And I knew about his new space job. I knew that he was working as a molecular biologist again after he called that douche at the UNESCO conference a staggering waste of oxygen or whatever. I knew that he was working with the people who were working on saving the sun. I even told him that I was proud of him! What I didn't know was that he wasn't just a molecular biologist, but that he was apparently a fucking astronaut too!
In the year of our Lord 2026, you'd think he'd remember to mention something as important as like getting shot up into space inside a shitty human-made giant tin can to me. But nooooo, he didn't. And it pisses me off because I was on set that day! But you know what pisses me off even more? It's that I really doubt he voluntarily got into that tin can. And it's making me anxious because that would be scarier than him willingly getting in on it. I'd rather have him leave me by choice and... not leave me because he was forced to.
I used to believe there would always be more time. More conversations, more visits, more opportunities to say whatever remained unsaid... Time felt limitless when viewed from a distance. Like a horizon that continued expanding the closer you approached it.
Looking back, I think that belief shaped far more of my life than I realized. It allowed me to postpone things. To assume certain people would always be there waiting beyond the next obligation, the next project, the next year. Colt was one of those people. He existed in the future as naturally as he existed in the past and in the present. Heh... I never really imagined a version of my life that didn't contain him somewhere within it. Why would I, you know? And it wasn't because I lacked imagination. Jesus, no. But because some possibilities felt too absurd to seriously consider.
The absence of Colt belonged in the same category as oceans vanishing or the moon falling from the sky. Technically possible, perhaps. But not real. Not something worth worrying about. Certainly not something that could arrive without warning. If oceans were to disappear and if the moon were to fall, we'd know it. We'd see signs and proof of it. We would notice.
But I... haha. Um... I never really saw the signs that Colt would — could — be absent in my life — or that it would even be possible at all. And I... I never really considered that it could've been me who would disappear on him and not the other way around. Dang it... I'm so sorry, Colt. I didn't know I'd disappear either — I didn't even want to disappear or leave at all!
I hate my brother because he made himself irreplaceable. That's really what this fucking comes down to. Somewhere between childhood and adulthood, he became part of the framework holding my life together. Not in some dramatic way, fffffuck no. Not in a way that makes for a good story.
He just became one of those people whose existence I stopped questioning, you know? I mean shit, man. You'd do the same if you had a twin. He was the kind of person you assume will always answer the phone eventually. The kind of person you'll always have another conversation with. Another argument. Another holiday. Another year. And maybe that's unfair.
Maybe nobody should carry that kind of expectation. But it's there anyway. Every time I think about him, every time I wonder what he's doing, every time I get the urge to call him just because something reminded me of a stupid joke we made fifteen years ago. He exists in a place so permanent inside my head that imagining otherwise feels wrong. Like trying to picture the world without a sky. And — don't laugh — my whole world is without a sky now. Because my sky is somewhere in deep space and I don't even know if he's dead or alive... Shit, do you think... he's dead..? He can't be, right?
...Right?
I loved my brother because he was ordinary to me. Not extraordinary. Not larger than life. Not the amazing stunt actor Colton Seavers. Ordinary in the most profound sense of the word. Just Colt. Just my brother Colt.
He was embedded within the daily rhythm of my existence. A constant presence across decades of memories. Someone whose voice could instantly transport me backward through time. Someone whose laughter remained recognizable no matter how many years passed. Someone who knew versions of me that no longer existed and loved them anyway.
People often speak as though love is built from grand gestures and dramatic declarations. But I don't think that's true. I think love is built from accumulation. Thousands upon thousands of ordinary moments layered atop one another until the thought of losing them becomes unbearable. Colton was present in so many of those moments that separating him from my life felt like separating a river from its water. The shape would remain. But something essential would be gone.
I loved him in the quiet certainty of ordinary days. In shared memories and unfinished conversations. In habits neither of us remembered developing. In the simple comfort of knowing he existed somewhere beneath the same sky. For most of my life, that knowledge had felt permanent. Guaranteed. As we so often do. I understand now though that nothing is. Not time, not distance — heck, not even tomorrow. Perhaps that's why love matters at all. Because it exists despite that uncertainty and because it persists while everything else changes.
Because even now, facing an ending I cannot prevent, the thought that arrives first is not fear.
It's Colt.
Always Colt.
Always.
I love my brother because every single thing I hate about him exists because I can't imagine a world without him.
I hated my brother because he made that expectation feel so natural that living without it feels impossible.
I hated my brother because one day I would have had to live in a world where he is only a memory. And I loved my brother because, until that day came, he was here.
