i will be back soon, guys. i finally broke free from a ridiculously toxic friendship with the girl that has made my days both the best and the worst ones (interchangeably) of my existence. i will miss our good days, but they aren't worth the bad ones.
i am starting to watch Supernatural (currently on s1 ep4) and will start writing for the s1!winchesters soon enough. i'll also take up and continue with the PHM fic, stop crying your heart out, so yeah, stay tuned!
thank you ALL for your immense patience, love yall<333
gyys i am so sorry, i will be going into a hiatus for an indefined period of time. my life just got destroyed and turned upside down by someone i thought was my friend and i could trust.
so im leaving yall for a while to recover from ts she just put me thru, focus on myself and mmy recovery, and also on my just blooming love liufe and my exams becuase i have literally just butchered my whole final note on a subject becaus ei could not stufy for this subject thanks to this person.
this is sooooo specific iām sorry ā¦. soft dom tyler durden x puppydog boyfriend (afab nonbinary) fluff -> smut šš perhaps puppy boyfriend wants tyler to wrestle/playfight with him but tylerās scared of being too rough or something I donāt know i just like this guy so much and LLLOVE the idea of him being a big softie 4 his partner but still letting them be in on the fighting thing uahaha ā¦.. if you need more details lmk i will 100% dm you LOLL
im sorrryyyyy:(((( i only write for fem reader, i'm sure there are other writers out there who can carry this out perfectly tho!<3
BESTIE ARE YOU STILL IN NEED OF SIMON IRON LUNG REQUESTS.... asking for a friend....
YESSSSS. YESYES YES!!!! ALL THE ASKS I'VE GOTTEN ARE FOR BLOODYMARY/IRONMARY AND NOT THAT I'M COMPLAINING BUT PLEASE SEND IN SOME JUST FOR SIMON!!!šš»šš»šš»
hii^^ I totally get if not but could you write a platonic ryland grace x teen reader where she was brought on the ship with him?? she wakes up after him and is like panicking at first. have a great day, take care of yourself and stay hydrated<3
haihai! if you want something like this i would reccomend checking in my Ryland Grace x reader tags because I've got a fic with three parts (and more in the works) that is this exact same plot and the third part is basically this request!!<3333
please dont scream at me in anons bc im sensitive and cry about it every time, thanks xx thank you to @jamesdeanbby for the inspo ily xx
this is my back up account. i will repost all my fics here as my blog has been marked as mature. consider this a fresh start?
would anyone fw me writing things for my harry potter oc? he's an old fashioned loverboy, Cajun catholic aristocratic of the high society, super into the whole courting stuff, into swordsmanship, into horse riding (has a white horse named Sugar) knows how to play violin, has daddy issues, is a tortured poet, super melancholic, is a total pretty boy, just wants to be loved, is a Ravenclaw and is a total crybaby that cries over anything and everything.
and, oh, did I mention his faceclaim is Aaron Taylor Johnson in the movie Anna Karina?
hiii! Hope i'm not bothering u, i'm just asking cause i feel kinda bad - I mean, idk yet if i should feel bad or not, let me explain
So, some recent time ago i sent a angsty request for house md with a toddler!reader, but then after i sent i kept wondering later if maybe what i asked was way too angsty and could make you unconfortable...? idk if i crossed the line with the angsty part, i never know what type of angsty writers are willing to write haha but i have to make sure yk (and if i did made you unconfortable, srry :/
NONONO IT'S OKAY! DW! i just have A LOT of asks and I hadn't gotten time yet to work on yours im so sorry for the wait :((((
Hi! I hope youāre doing good! I was wondering (when you have time ofc) if youād be willing to do a teen!reader fic. My wording might be odd so I apologize for that. Like the reader was somehow on the ship with the Convict/Simon and the Eridians(? Idk how to spell) found them/the iron lung vessel itself. Like how would Simon and Ryland and reader work together or around each other? If you wouldnāt mind could it be kinda hurt fluffy if that makes any lick of sense. (Iām sorry if this doesnāt make sense bc Iām tired and it just popped into my brain) (do with that what you will). Have a good one and eat sum and drink sum!!
ā šš®š«š§š¢š§š . ā R.G & S.T.C ( BloodyMary )
pairing dr. ryland grace x simon the convict & teen! reader šŖ½.
synopsis š„§ just Simon being batshit overprotective over you.
content š„§ canon typical violence mentions (iron lung), fem teen reader.
š¬ : i love crazy possesive overprotective simon if you can't tell btw !
Simon woke up wrong.
There was no other way to describe it. His eyes snapped open in the darkness of the dome's night cycle, and the first thing he registered was absence. The space beside him in the blanket nest was cool. Empty. You had shifted in your sleep, rolled away from him, and now there was a handspan of distance between your back and his chest.
That handspan felt like an ocean. Like the blood ocean. Like the moment in the submarine when the hull had buckled and he had reached for you and his fingers had brushed nothing but cold metal and rising water.
His chest seized. His lungs refused to fill. He was burningāno, he was on fire, a slow, internal immolation that started in his gut and spread outward until his skin prickled with heat. His pulse hammered in his ears. His hands trembled.
Where is the kid.
It was not a question. It was a primal demand, the kind of thought that existed before language, before reason, before anything except the animal need to gather the pack and protect the young.
I need the kid. I need to keep the kid close and safe. I need her against me. I need to feel her breathing. I need to know she is real. She is alive. She is not drowning. She is not calling my name from the other end of a dying submarine while I cannot reach her.
He moved before he could think. His arm shot out, hooked around your waist, and dragged you across the remaining distance. You made a soft, sleepy sound of protest. You were barely conscious, still swimming up from whatever dream had held you, and then Simon was wrapped around you.
His chest pressed to your back. His arm locked over your ribs, pulling you so tightly against him that there was no space for air between your bodies. His face buried itself in your hair at the back of your head, where he could feel the warmth of your scalp, smell the faint scent of the soap the Eridians had synthesized. He inhaled.
Deep, shuddering breaths. In through his nose, out through his mouth. Your scent filled his lungs. Your warmth soaked into his skin. Your heartbeat, a small, steady pulse against his sternum, slowly, slowly, began to calm his own.
You, still half-asleep and desperately touch-starved, did the only thing your body knew how to do. You relaxed into him. You tucked yourself back against his chest like a small animal seeking warmth. Your hand found his arm and held on. A quiet, sleepy murmur escaped you:
"Simon? 'S early.."
"Go back to sleep." he rasped. His voice was wrecked, rough with something he couldn't name. "Justā¦ stay. Stay here."
"Mm'kay.." you agreed, already fading. "Stayin'."
You were asleep again in seconds, your breathing evening out into the soft, rhythmic cadence of deep rest. Simon did not sleep. He lay awake in the dark, holding you, counting your breaths, pressing his thumb to your wrist every few minutes to feel your pulse.
The burning did not stop. But it becameā¦ manageable. Bearable. As long as you were in his arms, he could breathe. As long as he could feel you, he would not burn alive.
When the dome's light cycle began (a slow, gradual brightening designed to mimic a natural sunrise) Grace woke to an unusual sight.
Simon was already awake. Sitting up against the wall of the blanket nest. And you were in his lap.
Not sitting beside him. Not leaning against him. In his lap. Curled up sideways like a cat, your head tucked under his chin, your legs drawn up, your hands clutching the front of his shirt. Simon had one arm wrapped around your back and the other hand tangled in your hair, fingers slowly, rhythmically stroking through the strands.
Grace blinked. Rubbed his eyes. Looked again.
"Morning.." he said cautiously. "Everything okay?"
Simon's head snapped toward him. For a momentājust a momentāthere was something feral in his eyes. A warning. A threat. Stay back. Don't come closer. She's mine to protect.
Then recognition flickered across his face, and the feral light dimmed. Not disappeared. Dimmed.
"Fine." Simon said. His voice was flat. "Everything's fine."
It was clearly not fine. Grace had spent enough time around traumatized people, had been a traumatized person himself, to recognize the signs. Simon's jaw was clenched. His shoulders were tight. His eyes kept darting to the dome walls, to the door, to the Eridians moving past the observation window. He was scanning for threats. Constantly. Compulsively.
And he would not let go of you.
You, for your part, seemed unbothered. You were awake now, blinking sleepily, but you made no move to leave Simon's lap. When Grace set out breakfast, you accepted a cup from him with a quiet "thank you" and drank it while still tucked against Simon's chest.
"You gonna get up today?" Grace asked, aiming for casual.
"Maybe," Simon said. "Later."
"Simon needs a hug." you announced, in the matter-of-fact tone of someone stating an obvious truth. "A really long one. I'm helping."
Grace's lips twitched upįŗards towards a smile. "Is that what's happening?"
"Yep!" you said. "I'm very helpful."
Despite everything: the tension coiling in his gut, the burning under his skin, the relentless need to keep you close, Simon felt something loosen in his chest at your words. You weren't scared of him. You weren't confused by him. You justā¦ accepted. You curled into him and called it helping, and maybe, in some strange way, it was.
The episode did not fade as the day wore on. It just got worse.
Simon followed you everywhere. Not walked beside you, followed. He was a shadow, a second skin, a living tether. When you went to the food preparation area, he went with you. When you sat down to look at the Eridian specimen containers, he sat behind you, bracketing you with his legs, his chest against your back. When you stood up to stretch your legs, he stood with you, his hand finding the small of your back, pressing there like a brand.
He touched you constantly. Not gently. Not the soft, tentative touches of the past few weeks. These were possessive touches. Anchoring touches. His hand on your shoulder. His arm around your waist. His fingers wrapped around your wrist, thumb pressed to your pulse, counting, counting, counting.
You did not mind. You were a tactile creature, starved for physical affection, and Simon's intensity did not frighten you. You had seen him feral beforeāin the submarine, in the first days on Eridāand this was not that. This was something else. Something desperate and scared and hungry.
So you leaned into him. You patted his hand when it tightened too hard on your shoulder. You hummed softly when he buried his face in your hair. You reached up to poke his cheek when he looked too pale, too tense, too much like he was trying to hold himself together with sheer willpower.
Grace tried, in his gentle, patient way, to intervene.
Mid-morning, he approached with two cups of water. He held one out to Simon. It was a peace offering, a gesture of care.
"You haven't eaten much.." Grace said. "Or drunk anything. You need to stay hydrated."
Simon stared at the cup. His arms were wrapped around you from behind, his chin resting on top of your head. You were sitting between his legs, playing with a piece of Eridian fabric, completely content.
"Not thirsty." Simon said.
"You're lying," Grace said mildly. "I can see your hands shaking. Dehydration makes tremors worse."
"I said I'm not thirsty."
There was a warning in his voice now. A low growl. Grace recognized it for what it was: not anger at him, but the defensive posturing of a wounded animal protecting its most valuable resource.
He set the cup down within Simon's reach anyway. Then he stepped back. Gave him space.
"Okay," Grace said softly. "Okay, yeah. The cup's there if you change your mind."
He did not try again for several hours.
By midday, Simon was visibly struggling. His skin was pale, sheened with sweat. His hands shook slightly even when he wasn't reaching for you. He was grinding his teeth (you could hear it, the soft, rhythmic click-click-click of his jaw working/.
You had shifted positions several times throughout the day, always within the circle of his arms. Sometimes you sat in his lap. Sometimes you leaned against his side. Sometimes you lay with your head in his lap while he stroked your hair.
Now, you were sitting cross-legged in front of him, showing him the knots you had learned to tie from an Eridian instructional hologram. Your fingers were nimble, precise. You had always been good with your hands, the submarine had demanded it.
Simon watched your fingers move. His own hands rested on your shoulders, thumbs tracing small, restless circles on your collarbones.
"You're really good at that," he said. His voice was hoarse. He had barely spoken all day.
"Thanks," you said, beaming. "Do you want me to teach you?"
"ā¦Maybe later."
"Okay"
You went back to your knots. Simon went back to watching you. The burning in his chest had not stopped, but it hadā¦ settled. As long as he could see you, touch you, hear your breathing, the fire was a companion rather than an enemy.
By late afternoon Grace found Simon standing by the dome window, staring out at the Eridian landscape. You were in his arms again, literally being carried this time, your legs wrapped around his waist, your arms around his neck, your cheek pressed to his shoulder.
You were almost too old to be carried like that. Almost too big. But Simon didn't seem to notice or care. He held you easily, one arm under your thighs, the other across your back. His face was turned toward the window, but his eyes weren't focused on anything outside.
"Simon," Grace said quietly, coming to stand a few feet away. "Talk to me."
"Nothing to talk about."
"You've been like this all day. The kid's been great, she's handling it like a pro, but you're scaring me. A little."
Simon's jaw tightened. For a long moment, he didn't respond. Then, so quietly Grace almost didn't hear it:
"I woke up and she wasn't there."
"She was right next to you."
"Not close enough."
Grace understood. He truly did.
He thought about waking up on the Hail Mary, alone, with nothing but the hum of the engines and the cold weight of amnesia pressing down on him. He thought about the first time he had realized Rocky was real. not a hallucination, not a fever dream, but a person. And how terrified he had been of losing him.
"She's not going anywhere." Grace said. "You know that, right? She's safe here. The Eridians aren't going to hurt her. I'm not going to hurt her. And you're not going to hurt her."
"I know."
"Then what's the problem?"
Simon's arms tightened around you. You made a small, sleepy sound, you had dozed off against his shoulder, lulled by his warmth and the rhythm of his breathing.
"The problem," Simon said, "is that I know exactly what it feels like to hear her cry out for me and not be able to reach her. And I will never, never, let that happen again. Even if it means I have to hold her every second of every day for the rest of my life."
Grace nodded slowly. He wanted to argue. He wanted to say that this wasn't healthy, that Simon needed to find a way to cope that didn't involve physical restraint, that you were a teenager and you needed space to grow.
But he looked at you, asleep in Simon's arms, peaceful, trusting, utterly content, and he thought: Maybe this is what healing looks like. Maybe it's messy and uncomfortable and too intense for outside observers. But maybe it's also exactly what they both need.
"Okay," Grace said. "Okay. I'll stop trying to fix it. Justā¦ drink some water, alright? For her."
Simon hesitated. Then, slowly, he shifted you to one arm, you didn't wake, just curled tighter against him, and reached for the cup Grace had brought. He drank half of it in one long swallow.
"Thank you, Simon." Grace said.
"Don't thank me," Simon muttered. "m'not doing it for you."
"I know. That's why I'm thanking you."
When the dome's light cycle was beginning to dim, simulating dusk, by late afternoon. You had woken from your nap and were now sitting in Simon's lap again, because of course you were, playing a simple counting game with a handful of small Eridian stones.
Simon's was not calm, though. He was wired, every muscle in his body taut, his eyes tracking every movement in the dome. When an Eridian passed too close to the observation window, he had physically turned you away from it, shielding your body with his own.
But something else was happening, too. A quiet desperation. A need that went beyond physical proximity. Simon kept opening his mouth like he wanted to say something, then closing it again. His hand kept tightening on your shoulder, loosening, tightening again.
You noticed. You noticed everything.
"Simon?" you said softly. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"You keepā¦ you keep doing that thing. With your mouth. Like you wanna talk but you can't."
Simon was silent for a long moment. Then:
"It's just-... is there something you want? Something I canā¦ do for you? Today has been- I know I've been..."
"You've been hugging me," you said simply. "That's not a bad thing."
"It's not normal."
"Who cares about normal? Cause I surely don't."
Simon let out a breath that was almost a laugh. Almost.
"Kid-"
"I'm serious. You needed a really long hug. I gave you a really long hug. That's justā¦ being friends."
"Is that what we are?"
"We're friends that survived." you said. "That's even better than just friends."
Simon looked at you, really looked at you, for the first time all day. You were so young. So small. So impossibly brave. And you were looking at him with those steady, knowing eyes, and you were not afraid of his intensity, his possessiveness, his desperate need to keep you close.
"What do you want to do?" he asked. His voice cracked on the last word. "Right now. What do you want?"
You thought about it. You looked around the dome: at the Eridian technology, at the specimen containers, at Grace sitting across the way with his data tablet. And then you looked up, at the ceiling, where the Eridians had projected a simulation of the night sky.
"I wanna see the real stars." you said. "Not the fake ones on the ceiling of the nightlight projector. The real ones. Through the telescope."
"We can do that," Simon said immediately. "I'll take you."
"I want Grace to come too."
Simon went very, very still.
"...What?"
"I want Grace to come," you repeated. "He knows the constellations. He can tell me the names. I wanna learn them."
The burning returned. The jealousy. The possessive, territorial no that rose up in Simon's chest like a physical force. He did not want to share you. He did not want Grace's presence, Grace's voice, Grace's gentle explanations. He wanted you to himself. He needed you to himself.
But you were looking at him with those eyes. Trusting. Hopeful. And you had asked for so little, in all the time he had known you. You had never complained about the food, the cold, the fear, the nightmares. You had bitten your knuckles bloody to keep from crying. You had dissociated rather than burden him with your terror.
And now you were asking for something so small. So simple. To see the stars with both of your people.
Simon's jaw worked. His hands clenched into fists, then unclenched.
"Okay," he said. The word came out strangled. "Okay. Grace can.. come."
Your face lit up like the stars you wanted to see.
"Really?"
"..really."
"Oh, thank you, Simon! Thank you thank you thankyou!"
You threw your arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. Simon closed his eyes. He held you. He breathed you in.
She's happy. She asked for something, and I gave it to her. That's what matters. That's all that matters.
The burning did not stop. But itā¦ shifted. Became something warmer. Something almost bearable.
The night cycle had fully settled over the dome. The Eridians had dimmed the artificial lights, allowing the natural darkness of the planet to seep in. Through the observation windows, the real sky was visible: vast, endless, scattered with unfamiliar stars.
Grace led the way to the observation platform. It was a natural rock formation, elevated and stable, where the Eridians had mounted a high-powered telescope designed for human use. The climb was short but steep, and Simon insisted on helping you up every step, his hand never leaving your back.
Grace set up the telescope, adjusting the lenses and calibrating the focus. His movements were practiced, efficientāthe same steady competence he had shown on the Hail Mary. When he was finished, he stepped back and gestured to you.
"All yours, kid. Take a look."
You approached the telescope with the reverence of someone approaching an altar. Your hands trembled slightly as you gripped the eyepiece and pressed your eye to the lens.
And then you gasped.
The stars were not points of light. They were worlds. Swirling masses of gas and dust and fire, so far away that your mind could not comprehend the distance, but so bright that they burned through the darkness like beacons.
You saw blue stars and red stars and yellow stars like the one Earth had orbited. You saw nebulasāclouds of color that stretched across the void like cosmic paintings. You saw the silhouette of a nearby moon, pockmarked with craters, hanging in the blackness like a silver coin.
"Oh!" you breathed. "Oh my god! they're so beautiful! I didn't know they could be so beautiful!"
Grace chuckled as he stepped up beside you, close but not too close. He kept a respectful distance, aware of Simon's eyes on him, but his voice was warm and eager as he began to point.
"See that cluster there? The one that looks like a question mark? The Eridians call that the 'Seeker's Path.' They believe it's the trail left by their ancestors when they first discovered space travel."
"It's so bright."
"That one's actually a binary system. Two stars orbiting each other. The Eridians say it's a symbol of partnership: two entities moving through the universe together, bound by gravity and trust."
"That'sā¦ that's really deep."
"It is." Grace agreed. "There's another one over there.. the one with the reddish tint. That's called the 'Hearth Star.' It's the Eridian equivalent of a good luck charm. Sailors used to navigate by it."
You listened, enraptured, as Grace named the constellations and told you their stories. Your questions came rapid-fire: Why is that one blue? How far away is that one? Do they have planets? Could someone live there?āand Grace answered each one with patient, delighted thoroughness.
Simon watched from a few feet away. He had not joined you at the telescope. He stood with his back to a rock formation, arms crossed, eyes fixed on you.
But something was changing.
The burning wasā¦ receding. Not gone..it would never be fully gone, he suspected, but fading. Cooling. Like stepping out of a fever into the first gentle breeze of autumn.
He was watching you smile. Watching you laugh at something Grace said. Watching you point at a particularly bright star and ask, "What's that one called?" and Grace respond, "That one doesn't have a name yet. Want to name it yourself?"
And you had thought about it for a moment, your brow furrowed in concentration, before announcing: "I wanna call it 'Simon.' Because it's really bright and kind of scary but also really pretty and I like looking at it."
Grace had laughedāa genuine, surprised laughāand Simon had felt something crack open in his chest.
She named a star after me.
The burning turned into warmth. The warmth spread through his limbs, loosening the knots in his muscles, easing the tension in his jaw. He took a breath (a real breath, deep and full) and it did not hurt.
He watched you climb down from the telescope and run back to him, your face flushed with excitement, your eyes shining.
"Simon! Simon, did you see? Did you see the stars? There are so many! And they're all so different! And Grace said I could name one and I named it after you and now there's a star called Simon and it's in the sky forever and ever and-"
He caught you as you launched yourself at him. His arms came around you automatically, pulling you close. But this time, the embrace was not desperate. It was not possessive. It was justā¦ a hug. A long, warm, grateful hug.
"I saw," he said. His voice was soft now. Almost gentle. "I saw everything."
"Isn't it amazing?" you asked, your voice muffled against his chest. "The stars are real, Simon. They're real and they're beautiful and we can see them. We can see them whenever we want."
"Yeah." Simon said. "Yeah, we can."
He looked over your head at Grace. Grace was packing up the telescope, his back to them, giving them a moment of privacy. But he must have felt Simon's gaze, because he glanced over his shoulder and offered a small, knowing smile.
Simon nodded at him. A silent thank you. A silent acknowledgment.
I trust you. Not completely. Not yet. But enough. Enough to share this.
Grace nodded back. Then he turned away, continuing his work, leaving Simon and you to your moment.
The walk back to the dome was quiet. The Eridian night was cool but not cold, and the path was lit by bioluminescent plants that glowed soft blue in the darkness.
You walked between Simon and Grace, close enough that your shoulders brushed theirs. You were tired, the excitement of the stars had worn you out, but you were also happy. Genuinely, deeply happy. The kind of happy that made your chest feel too full and your eyes sting with tears that weren't sad.
"Thank you for taking me." you said, to both of them.
"Anytime, kid," Grace said. "The stars aren't going anywhere. They'll be there tomorrow night, and the night after that, and every night for the rest of our lives."
GUYS SORRY FOR THE INACTIVITY BUT I HAVE TWO EXAMS TOMORROW THAT I HAD FORGOTTEN ABOUT UNTIL THE DAY BEFORE YESTERDAY SO IM MAXSTUDYING RN PUTTING IN MAXIMUM EFFORT
Hiiii! could i request bloodmary x fem!reader in a romantic way but reader is from a different space ship and she ends up meeting the boys because her ship was invaded by an alien! (like the xenomorph from the alien movies) and she is the only survivor of her ship š½
ā š¦ššš¢š§š š«š¢šš®šš„š¬. šŖš®šš¬šš¢šØš§. ā R.G & S.T.C ( BloodyMary )
pairing dr. ryland grace x simon the convict x fem! reader šŖ½.
synopsis š„§ you thought you were done for when that.. thing raided your ship and killed all of your crewmates. looks like, after a surprising turn of events, you're now sharing a ship with a midschool teacher and a convict.
content š„§ canon typical violence (alien & iron lung), poly, fem reader.
š¬ : YESS MY FIRST BLOODYMARY REQUEST YESSSSSS !!!!
You don't remember the exact moment they pulled you out.
That's the first thing you'll tell Ryland and Simon much, much later. You'll tell them that the memory is a hole in your head, a black spot where a chunk of your life used to be. One moment you were in the escape pod after three days without sleep, without food, without anything except the sounds of screams and murder and cries and howls echoing in the mothership you'd left behind, and the next moment you were surrounded by light.
Not human light. Not the harsh, flickering fluorescents of the space stations you'd grown up on. This light was warm, almost organic, pulsing in frequencies your eyes hadn't evolved to process. And the shapes moving through it āEridians, you'd learn later, though at the time you thought you were dead and this was some kind of alien afterlifeāwere so incomprehensible that your brain simply refused to process them.
You passed out.
When you woke up, you were inside a transparent ball. Xenonite. Though you didn't know that yet.
The Eridians had been gentle. That's the part that fucks with your head the most, looking back. They had no reason to be gentle. You were a strange, soft, small creature that had drifted into their territory in a piece of salvage that was barely holding together. They could have ignored you. They could have dissected you. Instead, they'd built you a climate-controlled bubble: warm, pressurized, filled with a thin but breathable atmosphere. Instead they'd transported you across however many light-years to their homeworld.
You don't remember the journey. You remember dreams. Fragments. Your crewmates' faces, one by one. The thing that moved through the corridors of the Gethsemane, a smell like copper and rot and something else, something wrong. You remember being the last one. Not because you were brave. Not because you were smart. Just because the creature had to kill someone first, and then someone second, and then someone third, and then someone fourth, and you were the fifth.
Someone always has to be last.
It had been your turn to be last.
You open your eyes.
Ryland Grace has been living on Erid for approximately two weeks when he hears the news.
He's sitting on the warm sand and he's staring at the stars through the curved xenonite wall of his habitat. It's a dome, massive and circular, built specifically to house a single fragile human being on a planet where the atmosphere would liquefy his lungs and the gravity would crush his spine. Rocky designed it. Rocky built it. Rocky checks on him every few hours, despite Grace's protests that he's fine, he's okay, he doesn't need a babysitter.
"I am not a babysitter. statement." Rocky says, his voice translating through the device they built together, the harmonic bridge between Eridian chirps and human phonemes. "I am a friend. Are you eating. Question."
"I'm eating."
"You are not eating. I am observing. You are pushing the food around."
Grace sighs and looks down at the bowl of algae-paste in his hands. Rocky is right. He's been pushing it around for twenty minutes, not because it tastes bad but because he's been thinking about Earth. About Stratt. About the Petrova line and the astrophage and the billions of people who are, by now, either dead or alive or something in between.
He doesn't know. He'll never know. That's the part he can't accept.
"Rocky," he says. "can I ask you something?"
"You are asking. Statement. I am listening."
"Do you ever think aboutā"
The door to the habitat opens.
Grace flinches. The door isn't supposed to open. Not without warning. Not without his say-so. He's the only human on Erid. He's the only human within fifteen light-years, at least, probably more, unless there are other survivors out there, which there aren't, because the Hail Mary was the only ship and he was the onlyā
But the door is open.
And through it, pushed by a team of Eridian scientists whose segmented bodies are pulsing with what Grace has learned to recognize as excitement, come two xenonite spheres.
They're smaller than the one he arrived in. Transport pods, maybe. Temporary housing. Each one is filled with a breathable atmosphere, and each one contains-
Oh no.
Grace stands up so fast he drops his bowl. The algae-paste spills onto the sand. He doesn't care.
"Rocky." he says, his voice very quiet. "Rocky, what is that."
The translation device crackles. "Those are humans. Statement. Two humans."
"I can see that they're humans, Rocky. Why are there two humans in my habitat."
"They were rescued. Statement. One human was found in a damaged submersible vessel in the blood ocean of a moon in a nearby system. Second human was found in an emergency escape pod. Both humans were recovered by Eridian science vessels. Statement. Both humans require an environment suitable to human biology. Statement. This is the only environment on Erid suitable to human biology. Therefore-"
"Therefore they're staying here?" Grace's voice cracks. He can hear it. He doesn't care. "Rocky, you can't just- you can't just drop two random humans into my habitat without asking me first! I'm notāI'm not equipped for this! I'm not a zookeeper!"
"You are not a zookeeper. Statement. You are a human. They are humans. They require-"
"I know what they require! They require oxygen and warmth and- and therapy, probably, look at them, Rocky, look at them!"
He points at the two xenonite spheres, which the Eridian scientists are now gently positioning onto the sand with one of their huge transportation claws that they use to put things inside his habitat without entering. Inside the first sphere, a man. He's huge, muscular. His hair is dark and matted, hanging over a face that's all sharp angles and shadows. He's wearing what looks like a prison uniform, faded and torn, and his hands are scarred. Knuckles broken and healed, broken and healed, broken and healed until they look like knots on a tree.
The man is sitting in the center of his sphere with his knees drawn up to his chest, and he's staring. Not at anything specific. Just staring. His eyes are dark and flat and wrong in a way that makes Grace's hindbrain start screaming predator.
Inside the second sphere, a woman.
You are that woman.
You're younger than the man, he notes. Early twenties, maybe. You're wearing the remnants of a uniform: a patch on the shoulder that Grace can't quite read from this distance, a name tag that's been scratched out. You're not curled up like the man. You're standing. Standing still, your arms at your sides, your head tilted slightly to one side.
And you're looking.
Not staring like the other man. Looking. Your eyes are moving, tracking, cataloging. Every few seconds, your gaze flicks to the xenonite walls, then to the sand, then to the artificial sun-lamp in the ceiling, then to Grace, then back to the man, then to the Eridian scientists outside the dome. You're not blinking enough.
You looks like an animal that's been cornered and has given up on running and is now waiting to see which direction the killing blow will come from.
"Rocky." Grace says, his voice barely a whisper. "Rocky, no."
"Explanation. They are your same species. Statement. They need the same environment. Therefore-"
"Rocky. Look at them. They don't look- they don't look civilized. That one" He points at the man "looks like he's going to murder someone. He looks like he's done murder."
"Humans are a violent species. Question. You are also a human. Does that mean Grace is violent. Question."
"I'm cuddly compared to that guy, Rocky! I'm a teddy bear! I'm- I'm a middle school science teacher who makes beanbag toss jokes! I'm not equipped to handle whatever that is!"
Grace doesn't like this.
His hands are raised. His palms are facing you and Simon. It is a universal sign of peace, ofĀ I am not a threat, but his face tells a different story.
His face says:Ā What the fuck have they dropped into my living room.
"Rocky." he says, trying a different angle, "some humans don't like other humans. Some humans are dangerous. I'm not- I'm not comfortable with this. I didn't sign up for roommates. I didn't sign up for- for whatever this is."
Rocky is quiet for a long moment. Grace can see him through the xenonite suit, his clawed hands twitching in that way they do when he's thinking hard.
Then Rocky says. "They are same species. Statement. They need a suitable habitat. Statement. You are not allowed to refuse."
"I'm not allowed?"
"Clarification. The habitat is Eridian property. The Eridian science council has authorized the placement of these humans in this habitat. Statement. You do not have veto power. Statement. I am sorry."
Grace opens his mouth to argue. Closes it. Opens it again.
"Rocky-" he says, very quietly, "I'm going to say something, and I need you to listen very carefully. Those two humans are not normal. They are not okay. Something has happened to them. Something bad. And I don't know how to help them. I don't know how to be around them. I'm a science teacher, Rocky. I teach kids about photosynthesis. I don't- I don't do trauma. I don't do whatever that is."
Rocky's claws twitch again. "Observation. You also experienced trauma. You also were not normal when you arrived. Statement. I helped you. You helped me. Statement. You will help them. Or they will help you. Or you will help each other. Statement. This is what living beings do."
"That's notā"
But Rocky is already turning away to approach the wall of the dome, speaking to the other Eridian scientists through the wall in a rapid series of chirps and clicks that the translation device doesn't catch. And the scientists are moving, their claws reaching for controls.
They're going to open the xenonite balls.
They're going to open them right now.
"Rocky!" Grace says, panic rising in his throat. "Rocky, wait! Rocky, please. At least give me a warning. At least give me- give me a heads-up or something so I canāI don't know, prepare mentally???"
The spheres open.
The xenonite spheres retract like flower petals, dissolving into the sand.
For a moment, nothing happens.
The man (Simon, Grace will learn later) doesn't move. He stays curled up, his knees to his chest, his head down. He looks like a spring that's been compressed too tight, waiting for the pressure to release.
You don't move either. You stand exactly where the sphere deposited you, your arms at your sides, your breathing shallow and controlled.
Grace raises his hands higher. He's not sure why.
"Hi-" he says. His voice comes out too high. He clears his throat and tries again. "Hi. Hello. Um, Welcome. I'm- I'm Ryland. Ryland Grace. I'm aāI'm a human. Obviously. You can see that. I'm human. We're all human here. Ha. That's- that was a joke. Because we're all human. In this habitat. Which is for humans."
Simon looks up.
Oh, Grace thinks. Oh no.
Simon's eyes are wrong. They're not just flat, they're burning. There's something behind them, something hot and hungry and angry, and it's looking at Grace like he's a problem to be solved. Like he's an obstacle. Like he's prey.
Simon stands up.
He doesn't do it slowly. He doesn't do it gracefully. He unfolds, all at once, like a trap being sprung. One moment he's curled on the sand, and the next moment he's on his feet, his shoulders hunched, his hands curled into fists, his head low.
He's looking at Grace.
No, he's looking past Grace. He's looking at the xenonite walls. At the artificial sun. At the sand. At the stars beyond the dome. His lips are moving, but no sound is coming out. He's mouthing something.
"This is- this is my home. Sort of. The Eridians built it for me. And I'm sure you're both veryā" He stops. His eyes dart between you and Simon. "...very..Ā something. But I need you to just. Take a breath. Both of you. Nobody here is going to hurt anybody."
You do not move.
You have learned not to trust people who tell you that nobody is going to hurt you. The last person who said that was your captain, three hours before theĀ thingĀ ripped him in half.
Your eyes seem to convey your distrust.
Grace takes a step back. "Okay," he says. "Okay. Let's all just- let's all just take a breath. Nobody needs to- nobody needs to do anything rash. We're all friends here. We're all-"
Simon turns his head.
He's not looking at Grace anymore. He's looking at you.
His head turns. The motion is slow, mechanical, like a turret swiveling to acquire a target. His eyes find yours. And you see it: the shift, the calculation, theĀ recognition. A potential threat. A variable he did not account for, and variables get people killed.
And you're looking back at him.
Something passes between you. Grace doesn't know what it is. He doesn't want to know what it is. All he knows is that Simon's posture changes: his weight shifts, his center of gravity drops, his hands flex, and your posture changes too. Your shoulders square. Your chin lifts. Your trembling hands stop trembling.
"Okay," Grace says, backing up another step. "Okay. That's- that's a look. That's a look you're giving each other. That's a concerning look. Can we talk about the look? Can we just- can we just use our wordsā"
You do not know what your face is doing. You have lost the ability to control your face. Somewhere in the three days you spent hiding in the Gethsemane's air vents, listening to the creature drag your crewmates' bodies through the corridors, your face stopped being yours. It became a mask. A flat, wide-eyed, unblinking thing that sees everything and betrays nothing.
Grace sees this. His hands go higher.
Simon moves.
It's not a charge. It's not an attack. It's something more akin to a lunge, a leap, a launch. He crosses the distance between himself and you in less than a second, his arms outstretched, his hands reaching for your throat, your shoulders, your face, anything.
It happens too fast for Grace to react. One moment Simon is standing still, his head turned toward you, his breathing shallow. The next, he isĀ onĀ you. His body crashing into yours, you both hit the sand hard, the wind knocked out of you, and then instinct takes over.
You do not scream.
You have not screamed since the Gethsemane. Screaming attracts things.
But youĀ fight.
Your knee comes up between you and Simon, catching him in the stomach. He grunts but doesn't stop. His fist connects with your jaw, not hard enough to break bone, but hard enough to make your vision white out for a split second. You twist, using the leverage of the sand, and suddenly you are on top of him, your forearm pressed against his throat.
He roars.
It is not a human sound. It is something primal, something scraped out of a throat that has forgotten how to speak. He throws you off with a strength that scares Grace shitless, and now you are both scrambling, both clawing, bothĀ grappling. Silent on your end, vocal on his, a symphony of rage and survival and something that sounds like prayer.
Grace is frozen.
He's standing ten feet away, his hands still raised in that useless gesture of peace, his mouth hanging open, his brain refusing to process what he's seeing.
"Rocky." Grace hisses, his voice cracking. "Rocky, do something!"
Outside the xenonite dome, having went out just before the spheres dissolved, Rocky is watching.
His claws are twitching in a pattern that Grace has learned to recognize as excitement. He's chirping to the other Eridian scientists, his voice rapid and almost joyful.
"Rocky!"
"Is this the human mating ritual. Question."
What.
"Rocky, this is NOT a mating ritual!"
"Statement. I am observing. They are gripping each other. They are making sounds. They are exchanging physical contact. Question. Is this not how humans reproduce."
"Rocky!"
"Clarification. I am not understanding the problem. They are mating. This is good."
Grace wants to scream. He wants to tear his hair out. He wants to shake Rocky until his faceted eyes fall out of his head.
"They are not-" Grace chokes on his own words. "They are not doing a mating ritual! They're fighting! They're hurting each other! This is bad, Rocky! This is the opposite of good!"
Rocky's claws stop twitching.
"Oh." he says.
Silence.
"Oh." he says again. "Statement. I may have made a miscalculation."
"You think?"
"BUT THEY ARE SAME SPECIES. EXPLANATION. WHY DO SAME SPECIES TRY TO KILL."
"Because humans are-" Grace stops. Rethinks. "Actually, no, that's a fair question. I don't have a good answer. We just do that sometimes."
"THAT IS BAD. STATEMENT. VERY BAD. BADBADBADBADBAD."Ā Rocky's legs move in an agitated pattern.Ā "THEY ALONE. THEY NEED COMPANY. GRACE DO SOMETHING. COMMAND."
"What do you want me toĀ do?" Grace hisses. "They're either highly trained in combat or they've gone completely feralāI can't tell whichāand I amĀ oneĀ middle school science teacher. I am not equipped for this. I was equipped forĀ Astrophage. I was equipped forĀ saving the sun. I was not equipped forĀ interpersonal conflict resolution between two traumatized murderers."
Simon has you pinned again.
"EDEN!" Simon howls, and his voice breaks on the word. "EDEN TOOK EVERYTHING! EDEN AND THE- THE GETHSEMANE. THE GETHSEMANEĀ DISAPPEAREDĀ AND THIS PLACE-" He punches the sand next to your head, deliberately missing. "THIS PLACE HAS SOMETHING TO DO WITH IT! I KNOW IT DOES! I KNOW!!"
You stop fighting.
Just like that. Your body goes limp beneath him. Your arms fall to your sides. Your eyes, still wide, still unblinking, find his face.
Simon freezes.
His fist is still raised. His knuckles are split, bleeding onto your collar. His chest is heaving. His eyes are wild. But something in your stillness has reached through the red haze, because he doesn't hit you. HeĀ can'tĀ hit you. Not like this. Not when you are looking at him like that.
"How," you say, and your voice is a ruin. It hasn't been used in days. Maybe weeks. You have forgotten the shape of words. "How do you know about the Gethsemane."
Simon blinks.
His fist lowers, slowly, like a machine winding down. He is still straddling you, still pinning you to the sand, but the violence has drained out of his posture. He looks confused. Lost.
"I'm.. from Eden," he says, and the words come out rough, hesitant, almost questioning. Like a little kid's. "Theāthe colony. Eden."
"I'mĀ from the Gethsemane," you say, and your voice is shaking now, cracking at the edges. "The ship. The one that went off the grid. My crew- my crew spentĀ yearsĀ trying to find you. Trying to get back. We wereĀ lookingĀ for you."
Simon's mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
"You're from Eden." you repeat.
"Yes."
"You're from Eden."
"Yes."
"The Eden."
"I'm from Eden." Simon repeats once again. His voice is harder now. Defensive. "I was there. They sent me on some suicide mission to pay my penances and you-" He looks at your uniform. At the patch on your shoulder. At the scratched-out name tag. "You're from The Gethsemane."
"I'm from The Gethsemane."
"So you did not die."
"Not when you stopped getting the signals." Your voice breaks again, and this time it's not fear. It's grief. "We were stranded for years after a collission. We tried to search for you. And thenā" You stop. Swallow. "And then the thing came. The creature. It got them. It got everyone except me. That's when we died, well, they died. I'm still here. as you can see."
Simon is quiet.
His hands are still wrapped around your wrists. He is still pinning you. His face is still inches from yours.
But something has changed.
His weight shifts. His grip loosens. He's not holding you down anymore. He's holding you still. Like he's afraid you'll disappear if he lets go.
"The Gethsemane." he says slowly. "You were on the Gethsemane."
"I was."
"And you were looking for Eden."
"We were."
Simon makes a sound. It's not a word. It's not a laugh. It's something betweenāa groan, a sigh, a release.
And then he moves.
Not to hit you. Not to hurt you.
He rolls off you, onto his back in the sand, and stares up at the artificial sun. His chest is heaving. His face is bloody. His hands are shaking.
And you're sitting up.
You're looking at him.
Your eyes are still wide, still haunted, but there's something else there now. Something alive.
"You're from Eden." you say again, like you're testing the words.
"I'm from Eden." Simon says.
You throw yourself at him.
Not to fight. Not this time.
You collapse onto him, your arms wrapping around his neck, your face pressing into his shoulder, your whole body shaking.
Simon makes a sound like he's been punched.
Simon, for his part, looks like he has been struck by lightning.
His hands hover in the air, uncertain, trembling. He does not know what to do with this. He has not been touched in kindnessāor anything resembling kindnessāin longer than he can remember. But his body knows what to do. His arms close around you, slowly at first, then tighter, until his hold is almost painful.
"GRACE."
"What."
"THEY STOP FIGHTING. OBSERVATION."
Grace turns back to look.
He's standing ten feet away, his hands lowered now, his mouth still open, his brain screaming.
"What." he says to no one. "What the fuck."
"THEY TOUCH,"Ā Rocky says, and there is something in his tone that Grace has learned to recognize asĀ wonder.Ā "THEY TOUCH AND DO NOT FIGHT. IS THIS... COMFORT. QUESTION."
"Yeah." Grace says, and for a moment, he forgets that he was panicking. For a moment, he just watches two broken people hold each other on the sand, and he thinks about the months he spent alone, about the nights he talked to a wall because he needed to hear a voice, about the first time Rocky touched his hand and heĀ criedĀ because he had forgotten what contact felt like. "Yeah, we do."
Grace approaches slowly.
He's not sure why he's approaching. Every instinct he has is telling him to stay back, to give you space, to not get involved in whatever the hell is happening. But his feet are moving anyway, carrying him across the warm sand, closer and closer to the two broken humans tangled together on the ground.
Simon sees him coming.
"Okay," Grace says, and he takes a step forward. Then another. "Okay. I'm going to- I'm just going to come over there. Very slowly. With my hands where you can see them. Because I amĀ notĀ a threat. I am the least threatening person on this planet. I am probably the least threatening person in thisĀ solar system. I once cried because I ran out of coffee. So. You know. Threat level: zero."
You watch him approach. Your head turns to track him, but your body stays still. Simon's head turns too. His eyes narrow.
Grace stops when he is standing over you. He looks down at Simon. Simon who is still laying on the sand, who is still holding you, who is looking up at Grace with an expression that Grace can only describe asĀ proprietary.
Simon's arms tighten around you.
It is not subtle. His biceps flex. His hands press into your back. He pulls you closer to his chest, and his eyes never leave Grace's face.
Grace blinks.
"Okay." he says. "Wow. Okay. Possessive much?"
Simon doesn't even know he's doing it. But his whole body has shifted, curling around you, covering you, like he's protecting you from a threat.
From Grace.
Simon does not answer. He does not loosen his grip.
"I'm not going to take her from you," Grace says, and he means it to be a joke, but it comes out softer than he intended. "I'm just... I'm just going to sit down. Over here. Away from you. Where I am not a threat. Because I amĀ reallyĀ committed to not being a threat."
He sits down in the sand, cross-legged, a few feet away. Far enough to give Simon space. Close enough to talk.
For a long moment, nobody speaks.
Simon glares at him.
It's not the same glare from before. That glare was hostile, dangerous, predatory. This glare is something else. This glare is possessive.
And you're still clinging to him.
Simon's expression softens. Just a fraction. Just enough.
And then he looks up at Grace.
"Where are we." he says. It's not a question. It's a demand.
Grace swallows. "Erid"
He then makes a gesture, motioning over to the wall behind of which there are a few Eridians congregated. Simon follows Grace's gesture.
He looks at Rocky.
Rocky waves.
Simon's expression doesn't change.
"An alien colony." he says flatly.
"Friendly aliens." Grace corrects immediately when he sees the way you tense in Simon's arms. "They're- they're nice. Mostly. They're just curious. They saved you, by the way. You and-" He looks at you. "your friend."
You blink at him.
Simon is still looking at Rocky. His expression is calculating. He's trying to understand. Trying to process.
"The aliens brought us here." he says slowly.
"Eridians." Grace says. "And yes. They brought you here. To my habitat. Because apparently I'm the only human on this planet and they thought I needed roommates."
Simon looks back at Grace.
"You're alone here." he says.
"I was alone here." Grace corrects. "Now I'm not alone. For better or worse."
Simon is quiet for a long moment.
Then he looks down at you.
"We're not leaving." Simon says, it's a question.
"Doesn't seem like we have any options here" you answer.
Grace sighs.
"No," he admits. "No we don't."
You and Simon finally separate.
"I'm from the Gethsemane." you tell Ryland, as if testing the words. "I'm the only one left."
Simon's jaw tightens. "I'm from Eden."
The three of you form a rough triangle on the warm sand. The artificial sun is dimming, mimicking a sunset that doesn't exist on this planet. The xenonite walls are glowing softly, casting long shadows across the dome.
Outside, Rocky is still watching.
He's not alone anymore. Other Eridian scientists have gathered, their segmented bodies pressed against the xenonite, their faceted eyes fixed on the three humans sitting in a circle. They're fascinated. They're observing. They're taking notes, probably, in whatever way Eridians take notes.
Grace tries to ignore them.
"You're both from the same system." he says, rubbing his temples. "That's- that's something. That's a coincidence. Or maybe it's not. Maybe the Eridians have been looking for humans. Maybe they found you because they were trying to find you."
Simon snorts. "They found me because I was drowning in a submarine full of blood."
"They found me because I was drifting in an escape pod." you say quietly. "I didn't even know they were there. I didn't even see them. I just.." You stop. Swallow. "passed out. And then I woke up here."
Grace nods slowly.
"The Eridians are rescuers," he explains. "That's- that's kinda what they do. They find things. They save things. They're curious. They wanted to know what you were. They wanted to help."
Simon's jaw tightens. "I didn't ask for help."
"You didn't have to."
Simon glares at him.
Grace holds up his hands. "I'm not saying- look, I get it. I didn't ask for help either. I was forced onto the Hail Mary. I didn't want to be here. I wanted to be on Earth, in my classroom, with my students. I wanted to live."
"But you're here." Simon says.
"But I'm here." Grace agrees. "And I'm alive. And so are you. And so is she." He looks at you. "And maybe, just maybe, that's something. Don't you think?"
You look at Simon.
Simon looks at you.
You both look back at Ryland.
"Eden." Ryland sais. "Tell me about Eden."
Simon's expression shifts. The anger doesn't disappear, it's still there, simmering beneath the surface, but something else rises to meet it. Longing. Grief. Hope.
"Eden is a colony." he says slowly. "A survivor colony. After the stars in our sollar system went out, after the Quiet Rapture, the stations started falling apart. People started dying. But EdenāEden held on. We had resources. We had leadership. We had-"
He stops.
His hands curl into fists.
"We had a religion." he says, the word bitter on his tongue. "A cult. They said- they said the stars went out because humanity had sinned. Because we had reached too far. They said the only way to survive was to repent. To sacrifice."
Your eyes widen.
"The Gethsemane ship," you whisper. "That's- that's where the name came from. The Bible."
Simon nods. "The ship was named after the covenant. It was supposed to be a pilgrimage. A mission. They sent it out to findāI don't even know what. Salvation. Redemption. Something."
"And you were on it?" Asks Ryland.
Simon laughs. It's a hollow sound.
"I was on it, alright." he says.
A beat of silence.
"So.. this is your place." you say. It is not a question.
"It's... temporary." Grace says. "The Eridians are building a ship to take me back to Earth. But it's going to take a while. Astrophage engines are fast, but they're notĀ instant. So I'm here. Living in a bubble. Talking to a rock."
"And how did you get here?"
Simon looks at him.
"Um- my sun was.. dying, the main star of my solar system y'know and they sent.. me and a few other people to try and fix it." he says. "long story short, those people died and i was alone until Rocky found me, his star was also dying, so we worked together."
"I assume something went wrong."
Simon inquires.
"You assume right." Grace admits. "Things went south in Rocky's ship so I sacrificed my return to earth to get him home safe, and he brought me with him so.. here I am."
A beat.
"I have so many questions to ask you two. But I'm not going to ask them. Because I feel like that would be rude."
Simon snorts. It is the first sound he has made that is not angry or confused. It is almost... amused.
"Rude." Simon repeats. "You're worried about beingĀ rude."
"I'm a scientist living in an alien zoo," Grace huffs, a sound almost mimicking an exhasperated sigh. "Manners are all I have left."
Something passes between you and Simon. A look. A shared recognition of absurdity. You are sitting on alien sand, beneath an alien sky, next to a man who talks like he's hosting a podcast, and somewhere outside the dome, a rock spider is watching you with what you can only assume is fascination.
Outside the xenonite dome, Rocky turns to the other Eridian scientists.
"Statement," he says proudly. "Humans are doing the mating ritual."
"I asked chatgpt" okay well I asked Tumblr and- wait, one second- there's some new yaoi lore in the space fandom or something- oh my god is that Markiplier?
