i mostly write for Project Hail Mary, and Good Omens, but feel free to request anything, I'll try my absolute best to write for it! Please also feel free to request cross-overs, i love love love writing them, I try my best to keep all my fics gender-neutral, for I want anyone to enjoy my content!
PLEASE, please, please, have proper etiquette when requesting something, for i am a human being! not just someone who you think only exists online, I have had multiple times deleted asks and I HATE deleting asks, so please, be kind.
Not embarrassed per se for her multiple lapses; she had already owned up to each and every one of them during many sleepless moments playing over in her head about how badly she botched the betting pool she organized and the numerous other mistakes she made in front of others until every little aspect of the "Oops" moment became smooth from repeat experience; that part wasn't difficult.
What was truly difficult for Yn was not the acknowledgement of her failure, but the ability to accept that she had made that mistake as a matter of fact. Accepting that she had caused pain and suffering to someone she cared about. Accepting that in order to get her life back to normal, she had no alternative than to live through this with each subsequent day that passed. Each day, she faced the same realization; however, even if she did apologized to the other person in an articulate or flowery way, the damage had already been done. Unable to use any type of guilt; time could not be rewind. All guilt did was weigh heavily on her heart and follow her for the rest of her life.
The guilt had been a constant presence in her life for over two weeks now. It had accompanied her to classes, had sat next to her during lunchtime, and had stayed around her mind during every moment she was alone. She had gone over the conversation that she and Colt had had at the most inappropriate times: when she was brushing her teeth, when she was waiting for her coffee, when she was staring blankly at presentation slides she should have been paying attention to. Each time she would leave the memory with the same feelings of shame, frustration and no closer to figuring out how to fix the problem. Because that was the real problem right? Since Yn had always approached conflicts with the belief that it was possible to resolve them if you worked hard enough, she assumed that most misunderstandings could be worked through, most hurt feelings could be healed, and most friendships could recover from errors made. Each time Yn tried to reach out to Colt to build their friendship again, she only seemed to create more distance.
But what really bothered Yn in this situation was the silence.
The silence was what bothered her most.
Yelling would be better for her; yelling makes for a connection. An argument would be better; an argument means he still cares enough to express it through her. In contrast, he has retreated into an area she cannot begin to relate to. His responses have become brief and conversations have ended before they ever began. As soon as she comes to him, he suddenly has to be somewhere else. No one else would see these behaviours as they are so subtle but she sees them. She knows them because she knows Colt well enough after years of being around him. Once you learn someone's patterns, then their patterns of absence can never be avoided.
Which was exactly why she found herself standing outside his classroom on a Thursday afternoon instead of heading home.
As she stepped out into the broad expanse of the corridor illuminated by warm sunlight streaming through large windows that ran along one side of the hallway, she could see golden shadows on the shiny wooden floor made by the students who had already walked through. The sounds of many voices echoed off of the walls in varying degrees of clarity; there were fragments of conversations, bursts of laughter, and the occasional noise made by chairs sliding across the floor of the classrooms; a faint smell of paper and dust and multiple cups of spilled coffee from earlier due to the students. This was the sort of day or type of corridor she would call a regular day or corridor. And it was a so-called ordinary corridor or so-called ordinary day, yet Yn felt extremely uncomfortable as she stood there with her backpack hanging from one shoulder, looking at the closed door at least every other second while trying to pretend she wasn’t.
After a while, she realized why the situation felt so strange.
She was doing exactly what Colt used to do.
The realization arrived so suddenly it almost made her laugh.
How many times had she left a classroom to find him waiting outside? So many that it was no longer strange to her. His presence was just a part of the environment. She could remember many afternoons that she had walked out of the classroom after class and had seen him standing against the wall nearby, use his phone as he waited for her class to finish. Sometimes he would greet her with a funny joke, sometimes launch right into whatever crazy story he had been waiting to tell her, or simply walk alongside her, as if it were completely normal. She had taken all of those encounters for granted. Now that she looked back, she realized that she had never appreciated the fact that they happened over and over again. Colt had always been there for her in little ways, and it wasn't until they were gone that she began to realise how much he put into being there for her.
The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth.
She shifted her weight and checked the time on her phone again. Five minutes until the class ended. Five minutes that somehow felt significantly longer than five minutes had any right to feel. Her lock screen reflected her own expression back at her for a brief moment before fading dark once more. She looked anxious. More anxious than she cared to admit. The sight irritated her slightly.
This was ridiculous.
She was not waiting outside a classroom like a nervous teenager.
Except she absolutely was.
The embarrassing part was that she wasn't entirely sure what she planned to say once Colt appeared. She'd spent the walk over rehearsing possible conversations, only for every version to fall apart halfway through. Sorry felt insufficient. I've been trying felt selfish. I miss you felt far too vulnerable. Every sentence she considered seemed wrong somehow, either because it centered her feelings instead of his or because it failed to capture the complicated knot of regret she'd been carrying around for days. Eventually she'd given up on scripting the interaction altogether and settled for showing up. Surely that counted for something.
The classroom door opened before she could lose her nerve.
Students spilled into the hallway in groups, their conversations immediately blending into the surrounding noise. Yn's attention snapped toward the doorway so quickly it made her feel foolish. One by one, unfamiliar faces emerged from the room. A few glanced at her before continuing on their way. Others remained engrossed in their own conversations. The flow of students continued for nearly a minute, and with each passing second her pulse seemed to climb higher.
When she finally spotted him in the sea of students, Yn felt like throwing up. Fuck, maybe she might throw up. Her nose scrunched as she clenched her hands into fists at her sides. Shit. Maybe she shouldn't have come after all. Maybe Jody was right and she should just let him be until he was ready to talk. Maybe she was stupid for thinking she could fix things right away—
As though sensing her gaze, Colt looked up.
Oh man, she missed him. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed him until that moment. Missed seeing him. Missed talking to him. Missed the easy familiarity that had once existed between them. She really missed her best friend.
Something inside her immediately sank because she saw the moment he recognized her; saw the brief flicker of surprise cross his features and saw it disappear just as quickly.
Damn.
Yn huffed out a breath, hyped herself up in her mind, and forced a smile as she approached Colt who stood awkwardly at the side.
"Hey."
Colt's eyes darted everywhere but towards her.
"Hey."
Yn's eyes gravitated towards his hands. His fingers were fidgeting with his phone while he deliberately avoided looking at her. His response was polite but it was the sort of politeness you'd usually reserve for strangers. Yn hated it immediately.
"You got a minute?"
She knew he had a minute. She knew that Colt always made sure that he was free after his Thursday afternoon classes. She knew that he would say no. And Colt knew that she knew too.
"Not really."
There it was. Like he'd already decided his answer before she even asked. Yn nodded, pursuing her lips as she tried to laugh it off. It didn't hurt. It didn't hurt at all. She was trying, goddamnit. So hard. She was standing there, making an effort, and he wouldn't even look at her.
"Okay," she said, dragging the word out. "Then thirty seconds?"
"Yn."
She chose to ignore the warning in his tone. She'd already come this far.
"I'm just trying to—"
"Talk to me?" he cut off, his heel bouncing off the floor. "I know. And we've already talk. Can I go now? I have something to do."
Yn stood as Colt brushed past her without another word. She just doesn't understand anything anymore. With a heavy sigh, Yn turned her heel and left the hallway long after he'd gone. The worst part of this whole situation was realizing that, for the first time since she'd met him, she couldn't fix it.
I have seen a few people try their hand at a bloodymary god au so i thought I'd try my own version. Hope you enjoy:
Tw: description of death, starvation and mutations
••••••••••••••⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅•••••••••••••
Flashing light, blaring alarm,a cabin drenched in red light. One last half heard screech of “warning hull compromi-” And then you wake up.
Breathing heavy despite no longer needing air. Head spinning. Hands sweating. It takes you a moment or two to calm down.
Feeling the cold of the void between your fingertips, grounding you, slowly coming back to reality.
You were no longer in the star-burst… the only surviving member of what was supposed to be a crew of 23. Humanity's last hope…No, that was all behind you now.
No you were sitting on your bed of stars, created with your own two hands.
You were the god of the stars now.
You didn't quite understand why a higher being took pity on you of all creatures, giving you a second life as a holy deity of all things…but then again...
None of you 3 did.
Because yeah you weren't the only mortal turned god doomed to die in space.
“Are you okay?” You jump again, so lost in your head you didn't even hear the god of the sun approach.“Solis! I-” “Please.. I've told you before… just call me Grace” The god smiles at you disarmingly, comforting in its brightness despite the horrors he went through…both of you went through.
The god of the sun was as bright as they come both in personality and brains.. as well as literally. A continuous glow coming from the man wherever he went…which made it even more concerning you didn't notice him.
“Grace… I'm… I'm okay, thank you just..” “Memories?” Your eyes find the god again, a patient, warm look in his eyes…
You remember when you first woke up here… laying in the void after experiencing your own death in what felt like slow motion but must have realistically been a few seconds, sure this was some form of afterlife. Panicking, screaming and then looking into those eyes. The sun shaped iris had unnerved you then…yet it was all too familiar now.
“Yes..” The god sits down next to you softly, the stars cradling his form as they do to you..swirling , adjusting ,holding, recognizing the god and following your untold command..your own feelings for the beautiful man betraying you.
“Do you wish to talk about it?...only if you feel comfortable of course!” You sigh..you dont really like to think about it but bottling up never helped anyone…besides he knew your story already… as you knew both of theirs.
“My death…as it is most nights” You remember the feeling..the ship ripping apart… the giant star you were meant to find collapsing. Creating a black hole that teared you and everything around you apart with it...remember your insides turning to 'spaghetti'... even if it was a quick death…it didn't feel like one…Ever since you woke up alone on deck it had felt like the start of a slow years long death but...you did it…you saved humanity…you kept the earth from being torn apart…and you gave your life for it. The contraption to stop the blackhole was made to be dispensed from the ship and not get sucked in with it… but it worked one way or the other… guess the time calculation of how long it would take to collapse was just slightly off.
“Yeah ..i get that”Rylands death was not quick like yours was…it was slow...painful. starving to death on the way to erid. A hero to two worlds in the end.
It was ironic really… Simon died for a moon, Ryland died for a sun and you died for a star..and yet here you were, the god of the moon, sun and stars respectively.It would have almost been cruel in its irony if it wasn't your second chance at an actual life.
“I’m sorry...this must seem like stupid whining to you-” “No. It's not. The way you died was horrible and it's obviously still affecting you. You don't need to feel bad for talking to me.” The stars below him react to his words , twinkling, holding, glowing. Closer. Warmer. Betraying your feelings for the god and his comforting words even more.
“I …thank you..even if I can't quite believe it yet… It means a lot.” “Then I'll keep telling you for as long as you'll let me” And there it is again...that smile. So warm and bright it could only come from the god of the sun himself.
You cough into your hand, trying to hide the shacking of your voice. “Lets change the topic…i'd rather think about something happy for once..how is earth?”
Unbeknownst to you this was the perfect segway for the plan he and the other god had set up. “Earth is … great! Actually! Egh- humans are advancing beautifully! They have discovered copper actually! They are progressing quite fast!” “Copper already?! It feels like yesterday that they discovered stone!” “Time feels different when you are immortal doesn't it?" He laughs softly before continuing, "...Do you want to see it?”
You sigh, getting off the bed of stars, a few of them trailing behind you missing their creator already. “Yeah… that sounds lovely…I could use the distraction” Grace smiles getting off the bed as well, holding out his hand for you to take. You blushed softly, desperately praying the older god would not notice.
You had been here for quite a bit now…but nowhere near as long as the gods of the sun and moon had… moving around through big stretches of the endless sky at light speed was still a struggle to you… not as elegant at it as the gods who had a few thousands of years more practice than you.
You put your hand in his getting ready for the sudden movement and off you go.
You'll never quite get used to it. Floating through the sky at speeds not even your ship could have reached…traveling the universe like it was yours. No need for food, for air, for water. Just somewhat needing to keep balance which was easier said than done with these speeds. He pulls you along gently, holding you so you won't fly off while trying to keep enough distance for you to be comfortable.
You move past many sights, meteorites and shooting stars, planets and galaxies, moons and suns, light and dark. It's beautiful ,it's breathtaking in a way that even the flow of eternity could never extinguish. Ever changing, ever new, ever beautiful.
And the sight of the god holding you close certainly doesn't hurt.
It takes you no time to reach the planet you were searching for….milkyway ,the third planet from the sun… this universe's very own earth. Not as old as yours had been … but now yours in its own way…Yours to shape and help grow… Yours to guide and yours to be worshipped by…still a foreign concept to all 3 of you but it came with the territory.
It was strange… to have the planet you once risked your life for now be small enough to fit in your hand. Of course you could shrink down and visit any time you'd like, you, Simon and Grace had done that many a night, but still… another thing to get used to.
Right now you were around the same size as the planet.However the first thing you notice when you come closer is not the planet. But rather the god floating in front of it.
Simon doesn't need to hear none-existent footsteps to feel your approach. He just knows, a feeling in his lower stomach as familiar as the unnecessary rise and fall of his chest. It's a sight to behold, the way the god's hard-set features melt into an easy cool smile as he turns around to greet you two, the way his own body starts to glow, reflecting the light of both your own glow and Rylands.
If the god of the sun was beautiful as a breezy summer’s day ,intricate patterns where scars once sat and glowing skin, the god of the moon was the beauty of a cloudless night's sky. Still sustaining many corruptions from the death that once plagued him. His left cheek still adorned in sharp teeth and his left arm replaced with a prosthetic of pure moonlight. Beautiful long hair and his own patterns dancing over his skin. His left eye glowing a bright brilliant white while the other one held the swirling blackness of night.
His appearance is not the only thing changed by the blood that once swallowed him however.
“My Stars, my Sun” His voice is deep yet warm as he greets you. Relaxed in a way that's rare for the god even after such a long time of freedom. “Lunae!” It slips before you can stop yourself. He chuckles, “Always so formal. How long has it been.. only 5000 years?” His tone teasing not cruel though.
You chuckle awkwardly rubbing the back of your neck. “Yeah..something like that” “You don't have to always use my god name stars… or would you prefer stellae?” “No..i dont mind your nicknames” You say eyes so focused on looking anywhere but the god in front of you you completely miss the look the two others are giving each other: nervous, yet hopeful.
Quickly wanting to change the topic from the awkward silence however you try to get back to the reason you were here in the first place: “So ..Grace said the humans had reached the Copper age?”
The god’s eyes fall back to you quickly. “Egh yeah! It's still early on..but yeah!”
Simon floats you closer,close enough to be able to peer down onto the earth through the clouds. Seeing humanity very much still in its beginnings ,starting to flourish truly… was a beautiful sight to behold.
All 3 of you would show them the way. A better way. One that wouldn't end in the disasters you 3 had to face. Betrayed,broken and alone.
Seeing them learn to use tools was something …seeing them learn to optimize those tools was something else entirely.
But again the gods were not doing as you expected, not following your disciples every move with their eyes as you had been…but instead they were following you. Love sick gentle eyes reaching for the wonder in yours.
They had known each other a long time. They had loved each other a long time…and they had both fallen in love with you and had been keeping that secret for what felt like a long time. But no more…today was the day. They would tell you. Both of you so lost in your thoughts for entirely different reasons that neither you nor Simon noticed your still intertwined hands. The hand touching your body glowing brighter than any other part of him.
Simon’s and Grace's eyes find each other once more. Nodding, taking a deep breath before finally deciding this was it.
“Stellae?”
You laughed softly at Grace's words “oh who's formal now-” turning around only to see the serious look on his face, your laugh immediately gone. “is everything alright?” Your voice is small, quiet. Ryland's eyes go wide, “YES! Yes! Nothing's wrong! Everything is great! You know typical god stuff egh-” If it weren't for Simon interrupting him the man would have probably panically rambled on for gods know how long.
“What he's trying to say is that everything's okay.” Grace blushed slightly, obviously embarrassed by having lost his cool “Yes..” “Then what's up? What's with the serious faces?”
Simon runs his thumb over your fingers softly suddenly making you VERY aware of the still present contact…he looks at it unsure, before lifting it to his lips and pressing a kiss to it softly.
You're sure you look like a deer in headlights right about now. Simon can hear your unneeded heartbeat going wild in your chest…his hearing one of the things mutated alongside his appearance…he used to hate it. Hearing your heart going crazy,hearing the pulse pumping wildly through your veins…your breathing getting heavy…he thought you feared him… he really hopes this isn't fear now. Please don't let this be fear.
Grace floats closer reaching for your other hand holding it softly and breaking you out of the trance Simon had placed on you. “Starlight…we wanted to ask …if maybe..” “Dinner? Just us 3? We don't really need food anymore but it's still nice now and again.”
You stare at both of them dumbfounded...both of these incredible men..wanted dinner with you? ...you never dared even dream of something like this...as much as you loved the idea you always assumed they were devoted to each other and only each other. For a moment it's all too much the stars around you growing to a brightness almost rivaling the sun himself. Blinding. Your mind spiraling, your head screaming and then you just…stop.
Taking a breath, calming your racing heart and mind and taking a step back. Both Simon and Grace already getting ready for a rejection.
You smile gently. “Id love nothing more” They both look at you then. Pure wonder on their faces. Ryland can't help but pull you in. Wrapping his arms around you tightly.
You return it quickly. Tears threatening to spill. Sure you have touched in your time here plenty of times but the touch-starved-ness still got to you from time to time.
Your eyes find Simon standing off to the side… staring as if he thought he did not deserve it or did not want to ruin the moment. However, that was stupid. So you extend your arm as far as you could ,grab him by the lavender robe he usually wears and pull him into you. Surprising the man and making a panicked yell leave him as he falls into both your and Rylands arms, causing both of you chuckle softly.
You were all alone for so long. Alone and doomed to die a painful death in space. And yet you would do it all over again, If it meant ending here, crushed between the two people you cared about the most.
And somewhere out there in another universe is a little eridian who can't wait for the next letter from his sun god of a friend to tell him all about this. Not the first eclipse. But the first one where the stars seemed to sing.
And right here and now the gods could not have been happier even if they tried..Because after all this time...they finally had their stars back.
summary: the way you and ryland grace got involved with the hail mary are polar opposites. he was forced on this mission against will, despite wanting to live. on the contrary, you volunteered on this mission to die. both of you get caught up in the antithesis of your initial reasoning as ryland finds someone to die for, and you find someone to live for.
tags: somehow angsty?? i meant to write fluff?? reader is lowkey suicidal lmao, reader joined the hail mary to die, rocky mentions and many tears, mentions of eva stratt
Ryland Grace seems to be under the false impression that you are everything he is not.
Being alone in a confined space for so long, you were bound to talk a lot, and it was only a matter of time the topics brushed over how and why you ended up floating in space to find but a semblance of hope to save your planet before extinction in the vast void of the universe.
"Why did you join the mission if you weren't, you know..." Grace trails off, sheepish in his inquiry, "... Sure?"
"Your eloquence astounds me, Doctor Grace," you chuckle, giving him a half hearted shrug. Not meant to be a full reply, but to convey your stance on the matter.
"I had the gene. That was the most important factor, I think. Everything else they could just hammer into my head pronto before launch. Same for the whole astronaut training, apparently." With a contemplative hum, you purse your lips, "Though I suppose it helped Stratt immensely that I picked things up super fast." Purely to show you have a speck of modesty left; "Not to toot my own horn, but to totally toot my own horn," you tack on as an afterthought, just so Grace doesn't think of you as an arrogant ass.
"All the horns are yours to toot, honestly," Grace lifts up both hands in surrender, then gesturing at you with open palms as if to say the stage is yours. "I had heard your name come up multiple times the moment I was cleared to handle confidential information." He mirrors your earlier shrug, like he doesn't want to fully commit to his perception. "Stratt sounded oddly self-assured, like you were the one ace up her sleeve that wouldn't fail her."
That draws a short bark of a laugh out of you. Eva Stratt is many things, but unprepared is not one of them.
Having blind faith in people, also. Not her style at all.
"That's an exaggeration," you push at his shoulder like you push away the ridiculous idea, "I had many back-ups like everyone else, I assure you." Stretching out your legs, you sink back into the impromptu pillow fort with a sigh, "I trust your judgement. If you say so, that is how it must've looked like to an observer. Even if so, it's probably just that she saw high odds of success with my presence or something. Nobody is indispensable to Stratt."
"Oh, I would know."
The bitter chuckle that leaves his lips drip with venom.
... You probably shouldn't ask, but what is humanity without curiosity?
"Could be a different case for you," Nodding, you carefully try breaching the subject. "She was very insistent that you join. I know she's bossy and persuasive, but I still cannot fathom how she managed to convince you. That's Stratt, alright."
It takes you a second that might have come off as you underestimating him.
"Not in a bad way!!" Before he can speak, your hands fly up in defense, "I mean, you just seemed so..." Rolling your hands before clasping them together once you scrambled for the appropriate word for long enough, "... Hesitant. Not to say you were meek or bad at your job or anything, but I was under the impression that you didn't want to be involved any more than the bare minimum needed for the science." Taking a breath through your teeth, you offer a quiet "Sorry."
"You're right on the mark," he says, tone somber, and oh, you're not sure if you can bear to look at him. You have come across him with a mournful expression on his face once or twice, seemingly expressionless but the bleak mood hanging heavily in the air as he watches the stars; and it tugs at your heartstrings in all the wrong ways. "She didn't."
"Hm?"
"She didn't convince me."
Heart dropping to your stomach at the implications, you turn your head to face him at the speed of a medieval gate opening.
"I didn't volunteer," His mouth twitches up, though it's more a grimace than anything else, "I refused — tried to escape when she tried to force me into it. The memories are still a little spotty, but I remember being hunted down."
The sheen of tears in his eyes reflects your own, your lower lip wobbling as he continues; "The grass against my cheek. Uncomfortable pressure on my lower back. A rainbow. The feeling of an intrusive needle in my neck."
They didn't give him a choice. He was hunted down like an animal and forced on a suicide mission with one order, all in the name of greater good. And yet.
And yet he works to help those back home — home, if you can even call it that with the newfound revelation. You cannot imagine being stripped of your autonomy in such a way and still have the resolve to help the very people that betrayed you.
Sure, it is not the entire population. A powerful few, if not just one, but still. You don't dare label him a saint or assume his feelings on the matter, with considerable effort.
The feeling of being betrayed, deceived, far outweighs the sorrow, your resentment manifesting itself as molten anger streaming down your cheeks.
How dare they. How dare they.
"I'm nothing like you, Yao, or Ilyukhina," Grace mumbles, the words haphazardly thrown together as he moves to get up. "Sorry I'm not who you think I am."
Your hand flies to latch on his wrist so hard you hear one of your joints pop.
"We," Swallowing thickly, you close your eyes to pull yourself together, trying to refrain from choking on your words, "We were told you agreed. Yao was against forcing you from the very beginning, as were the rest of us. Stratt said after a long discussion, you wanted to be put in the medically induced coma before launch for nerves or something—!!"
Bile raises in your throat. Your ignorance makes you feel almost complicit in what happened to him, even if you had no say in the matter.
"I'm so sorry," you barely manage to get the words out, lightly tugging at his wrist.
Grace crumples in your arms like a flimsy doll, fingers clumsily digging into your shirt in a poor attempt to hold onto you — or to hold himself together. You can't tell.
"Thank you," you barely hear the words, muffled by your own shoulder, "It's nice to know at least some cared."
Your circumstances could not have been more different. The revelation hangs in the air, present yet not in focus.
It's not like you had someone to die for, you have told Grace that much. No heroism or bravery was involved in your decision, you did simply because you could. No grand aspirations behind it.
It would be nice to be hailed as a hero if you succeed, though it's a double edged sword. You have enough grasp on history to know how quick people are to pin the blame on whoever is the easiest target, in which you and Grace are the very ones.
"I still think that you're extremely brave." Grace croaks, breaking the silence. The glassy sheen in his eyes match yours.
Craning your head to meet his gaze, you can't help but furrow your brows in disbelief. "... I just told you I wasn't thinking much of anything. Might as well have been on autopilot the entire time."
"Doesn't change a thing," Grace shrugs with a surprisingly smug smile that comes with proving himself right, pinky bumping against yours as he adjusts his position gaze at the pixellated beach more comfortably, a small oop— sounding in the room at the contact.
"I think you're extremely brave, too." Before he can pull away, you curl your pinky around his, grip loose in case he wants to pull away, "Brave, and kind."
His pinky curls around yours. The gesture feels like making a small promise, though you don't know what you're swearing to.
The space walks are the fun part of this entire ordeal, rare as they are.
Grace — Ryland, disagrees. He has always been more at home in the lab, which, you get it, him being the lead scientist, and being the only one who can manage to get something done and all.
"Are you sure about this?" Ryland grunts, hooking a foot in the net as he spins around, trying to put his suit on to accompany you, despite it being more strategically aligned to have someone on base at all times, having insisted you don't go exploring alien territory on your own.
Especially in the form of a golden ship at least three times as long as Hail Mary harbouring intelligent life.
"More than," you chuckle, floating over to zip him up, stabilising both him and yourself with practiced ease. "We're not saying anything, though. Can't risk jinxing it. But they did invite us in the form of attaching themselves on our ship, so at least we're not uninvited guests. All implications included."
"Alright, yeah, got it, no problem," Ryland rambles, releasing a shaky breath as he raises his chin as you zip him up, giving you the most unsure thumbs up combined with the soggiest look you have ever seen.
Holding back a giggle, you pull his helmet closer, though you make sure to splay a palm over his head to mess up his hair affectionately before putting it on him, finally baiting an exasperated chuckle out of him.
He still looks like an elastic band stretched too thin, threatening to snap any minute, though. Like, you're sure he's going to get cramps from how tense he is from nerves.
The solution to such a problem comes to you in the form of latching onto one another, which proves surprisingly effective.
Until Ryland gets startled upon first contact.
The scream scared off himself, you, and the creature, until the situation was somehow diffused, and hopefully written off as a misunderstanding on both sides.
The creature is extremely intelligent, and you love it immediately.
Similarities in culture is not impossible by any means even across stars, though it's still astonishing that body language and gestures convey their meaning this well, mimicking aside. You gesture for it to wait, and after a few demonstrations, it understands, and waits. Mimicking the gesture as closely as his physiology will allow, it tells you to wait as well, and you wait.
God, you're communicating. You're actually communicating with an alien creature.
You decide to take shifts to avoid losing time — or brainpower. Ryland tripped four times just trying to bring a clock over, and you walked in circles back and forth between Mary and the Blip-A for seven minutes before it dawned on you that you forgot what you were searching for.
The process of breaking the language barrier is as close to smooth sailing as possible after the arrangement, so much so that after you take off the soundproof earphones when you wake up, a robotic voice greets you.
"Hi friend!"
You take off your eye mask to see Rocky greeting you with a three-clawed wave.
Any semblance of sleep you had in your body evaporates.
"Hi Rocky!!" you coo, voice going up several pitches from excitement as you jog to meet him behind the xenonite, waving at him before turning to Ryland, "You gave him a voice?"
"Makes things a lot easier," he tilts his head, voice laced with sleep. "Welp, guess it's my turn to sleep." He places a hand on your shoulder, lingering before it slips off your bicep, "Knock yourselves out."
"What Grace mean, question?" Accompanied by two taps for emphasis.
"It's an expression, Rock. He means have fun."
There is a void all around you.
No sound, no sight, no feel. No memory of what happened.
Inhale, exhale.
You feel your lungs fill with air before you force it out. That means you can breathe. Good.
There is still no feeling in your fingertips. Nor your face, for that matter, and you worry it's blunt force trauma. Chances of you being treated in some void pool meant for sensory deprivation is quite low. You try shifting your weight somewhere to test where you are. On the floor, probably, until you feel your entire weight pull you down, and suddenly you're like a marionette on a string.
Not the floor, then.
The tension tells you you're strapped in, and—
Blue eyes blown wide with terror flash in your mind. A hand reached out towards you, not your face, but in front of it before your memories cut off.
You yank the safety belt off with pure muscle memory, your entire body protesting as it tries to stand upright, your arm shooting out to find support wherever the panels are.
Your senses come back to you slowly, like static sounding more and more coherent until you stumble upon a channel when searching for one in the radio.
The once muted sound of beeps are now deafening alarms blaring in your ears. The once blurred lights are now blinding as they flash red. The smell of something burning makes you gag.
An inhuman wail makes its way to your ears, and the sight that greets you is of Rocky in the corridor, trying to pull a limp Ryland towards the Lab.
Rocky is out of his space, wisps of black smoke rising out of him. So I no die in Grace and friend atmosphere, you recall. Ryland is unconscious, and probably in worse shape than you are.
You lunge forward before your brain can register what you're seeing.
"Your results are everything I could hope for," Says Stratt, and though her voice remains stoic as ever, you can tell she's impressed as she looks over the report in her tablet, your chest swelling with pride. "To call your body durable would be an understatement. Your performance has not fallen under the optimal metrics in any of the environments we tested you for; not to mention your short recovery time. The textbook definition of sturdy, really."
Your hand hooks into the back of Ryland's collar as you throw your body forward to drag him faster without falling over, barely managing to avoid slamming into Rocky, putting one foot in front of the other with unprecedented determination.
The moment Armando is in sight, you grab the first thing you can reach, which happens to be the insulated blanket Ryland has left lying around, and you flick it in Rocky's direction.
Before you can rasp out the command; ever so smart, Rocky steps onto the blanket, and you waste no time dragging him to his enclosure with all the strength you can muster, even with the world swaying beneath your feet, vision growing dim.
The small wail that comes from the medical bed falls on deaf ears.
"I will make it," you hiss, more for yourself than for Rocky, eyes trained on the clear xenonite, "I've got you, buddy."
Only one out of you three set out on this mission to die. You're not about to let either of them be the ones to die, not when Ryland wants to live. Not when Rocky has a mate, a home to return to.
Your hand slams on something as you lose your footing, though you make sure to curl your arm up, just to save Rocky a few steps.
"Please, God, anyone—" you croak, not having the strength to even lift your head to see if Rocky made it, "Please let them make it. Let them live. Kill me instead. I'll do anything. I'll die, I'll live— anything."
Your world descends into darkness like your plug has been pulled.
"Eye movement detected. Good morning, Doctor Grace."
There is an eery stillness around him.
Blinking to shake off any uncertainties he has, Ryland sluggishly gets up, gaze dropping to a faint trail of black, peppered with red spots, leading out of the lab.
Dread weighs on his shoulders heavier than a boulder as he moves slowly, trying to brace himself for whatever sight that will greet him with each deliberate step.
He sees you first.
Laying face first on the floor, your face is shielded by your arm curling around your head. If he didn't know any better, he would have assumed you had taken a particularly nasty fall but was too embarrassed to get up.
Swallowing thickly, he brings a shaky hand to your neck, resting his fingertips on your pulse—
There is a faint rhythm beating against the pads of his fingers.
He releases a breath he didn't know he was holding, curling in on himself and squeezing his eyes shut, letting his tears fall.
Your other hand reaches out to the xenonite, towards Rocky, and a sob tears itself from his throat when there is a slight move, quiet wheeze of a sound, followed by a thrum.
"Thanks for watching her sleep, pal. I'll take it from here." Hesitantly pulling away from you, he braces a hand against the xenonite, his voice cracking, "I'll watch you sleep, too. But, uh... you gotta wake up, okay? You both do."
✶⋆.˚ summary: the petrova line was simply just a space misunderstanding, the petrova task force was supposed to dissolve, but that doesn't stop the monthly dinner.
✶⋆.˚ yaps!: HI GUYSSS so sorry I haven't been posting that much!!!! I've been so busy travelling around before school starts again lolz, kept on seeing angst about these goobers now i wrote this. mkay bye.
The kitchen of Eva Stratt’s temporary, heavily secured estate in the suburbs of Geneva smelled like caramelized onions, roasting garlic, and the sharp, unmistakable tang of a vintage red wine that cost more than Ryland Grace’s monthly teaching stipend used to.
There was no Astrophage. The sun was not dying. The Petrova Line had turned out to be an anomalous, beautifully complex, but ultimately harmless solar phenomenon—a cosmic hiccup that required a massive, global task force to investigate, only to culminate in a collective, international sigh of relief. The world wasn’t ending.
But Earth’s most chaotic, brilliant, and mismatched group of scientists and bureaucrats had already been thrown together under Stratt’s iron thumb, and by the time the "apocalypse" was officially canceled, they had realized something utterly baffling: they actually liked each other. Or, at the very least, they couldn't function without each other's specific brand of madness.
Thus, the monthly Petrova Taskforce dinners were born.
You stood by the kitchen island, a glass of white wine resting between your fingers, watching your boyfriend, Ryland Grace, passionately explain the cellular structure of a specific type of mold to Olesya Ilyukhina. He was using a breadstick as a pointer.
"I'm telling you, Olesya, if you don't control the humidity in the incubation chamber, the whole culture turns into a tragic, fuzzy soup. It’s basic biology!" Ryland’s eyes were wide, his hands moving in those frantic, expressive arcs that you had fallen deeply in love with. He was in his element—entirely safe, entirely nerdy, wearing a soft, slightly faded shirt that you had stolen from him at least three times this month.
Olesya, lounging back on a barstool with her boots resting casually on a rug, scoffed and took a long swig of her beer. "Grace, you worry too much. In Russia, we let the mold grow. Sometimes it makes the cheese better. Sometimes it makes the vodka stronger. You are too delicate."
"I am not delicate!" Ryland protested, though his cheeks flushed a faint pink. He looked over at you, practically begging for backup. "Tell her, honey. Tell her I’m not delicate."
You chuckled, stepping closer and leaning your shoulder against his. The warmth radiating off him was an instant comfort. "You cried last week because a stray cat wouldn't let you pet it, Ry."
"It looked hungry!" he defended, a pout forming on his lips, though he instinctively reached out to wrap an arm around your waist, pulling you against his side. His thumb brushed sweet, rhythmic circles against your hip through your sweater. "And it had very expressive eyes."
"You are a soft man, Ryland Grace," Dr. Martin DuBois chimed in, walking into the kitchen with a platter of perfectly seared steaks. The French scientist looked relaxed, his usualy stiff posture softened by a few glasses of wine. "But we love you for it. Or, at least, we tolerate it."
"Thank you, Martin. I think," Ryland mumbled, though he couldn't hide the soft smile playing on his lips. He pressed a quick, affectionate kiss to the top of your head, his breath warm against your hair.
The dining room table was a massive oak slab, large enough to seat the entire remnants of the task force. At the head of the table sat Eva Stratt. Without the weight of saving the human race on her shoulders, she looked younger, the sharp lines of tension around her eyes mostly faded. She still wore her suits, and she still possessed an aura that could make a grown military general weep, but tonight, she was currently engaged in a heated debate with Yao about the logistics of international shipping lanes.
"I’m just saying, Yao," Stratt said, slicing into her steak with terrifying precision, "if the Chinese maritime authority worked with the European sector on those specific routes, we’d cut transit times by four days."
"And I am telling you, Eva," Yao replied, his voice calm, measured, and entirely unbothered by her intensity, "you cannot legislate away a seasonal typhoon. Nature does not care about your logistical spreadsheets."
Across from them, Dr. Lokken and Annie Shapiro were deep in their own world. Lokken was sketching something on a paper napkin with a stolen eyeliner pen, while Annie leaned over her shoulder, pointing out flaws in what looked like a satellite orbital trajectory.
"If you angle the solar arrays like that, you lose 3% efficiency on the pivot," Annie pointed out, taking a sip of her sparkling water.
"Yes, but you reduce the mechanical stress on the primary gear by 12%," Lokken countered, not looking up. "I will take longevity over a 3% dip any day."
You watched them all, a deep sense of contentment settling over you. Next to you, Ryland was happily piling mashed potatoes onto his plate, his eyes scanning the spread with genuine joy. There was no dread here. No countdown clocks. No looming starvation of the human race. Just a bunch of incredibly smart, incredibly weird people eating dinner.
"Hey," Ryland whispered, leaning close to your ear so his voice wouldn't carry over the din of Lokken and Annie’s debate. "You doing okay? Not too overwhelmed by the circus?"
You turned your head, your nose brushing against his cheek. "I love the circus. Especially the lead clown."
He gasped, a dramatic, offended sound, though the crinkles around his eyes gave away his amusement. "I am a respected scientist, I’ll have you know. A former academic! A man of letters!"
"You have mashed potatoes on your chin, mr. respected scientist," you teased softly.
Ryland immediately froze, his eyes darting sideways as he tried to wipe it away with his sleeve. You caught his wrist, laughing gently, and took a napkin to dab away the rogue food. He stayed perfectly still, his eyes softening as he looked down at you. The look in his hazel eyes was so intensely fond, so completely devoted, that it made your chest ache in the best possible way.
"What would I do without you?" he murmured, his voice dropping to a sound meant only for you.
"Probably die of a preventable lab accident," you whispered back.
"Fair point. Entirely accurate."
As the dinner progressed into the dessert phase—a magnificent chocolate tarte that Martin had brought from a local bakery—Stratt tapped her wine glass with a silver spoon. The sharp clink-clink-clink instantly silenced the table. A habit was a powerful thing; when Eva Stratt signaled, people listened.
She stood up, looking around the table at each of them. Her gaze lingered on Yao, on Martin, on Olesya, Lokken, Annie, and finally on Ryland and you.
"Four years ago," Stratt began, her voice carrying that familiar, commanding weight, "we were all locked in a vat, staring at data that we thought meant the end of the world. We were miserable, overworked, and sleep-deprived."
"You threatened to throw me in a military prison, Eva," Ryland pointed out cheerfully.
"And I would do it again, Grace, don't interrupt my speech," Stratt said without missing a beat, though there was a rare, genuine smirk on her lips. The table erupted into soft chuckles. "My point is, we were brought together by a crisis that didn't happen. By all accounts, this task force should have disbanded, and we should have gone back to our respective corners of the globe, never speaking again."
She raised her glass. "But we didn't. Because apparently, none of you have any other friends who understand your specific brands of insanity. So, to the Petrova Taskforce. Long may we argue over dinner."
"To the Taskforce!" everyone echoed, glasses clinking across the table.
Ryland clinked his glass against yours, his fingers intertwining with your free hand under the table. His grip was warm, solid, and reassuring. When he drank his wine, he didn't take his eyes off you.
"So, Grace," Olesya called out, leaning forward and resting her elbows on the table. "Now that the world is officially safe, and you are no longer a glorified high school teacher, what is the next big project? Are you going to finally cure the common cold, or are you still playing with your little Petri dishes?"
Ryland set his glass down, pulling his shoulders back defensively. "Hey! My 'little Petri dishes' are currently mapping out a highly resilient strain of deep-sea bacteria that could revolutionize bioremediation in oil spills. It's actually incredibly cool."
"It sounds like a lot of sitting and waiting," Annie teased, a mischievous glint in her eye. "You should come over to the aerospace division. We’re launching a new atmospheric probe next month. Real engineering. Real explosions."
"No explosions!" Ryland said, pointing a finger at her. "I like my eyebrows exactly where they are, thank you very much. Besides, I have a very busy schedule. Teaching my university classes, running the lab..." He glanced down at you, his expression softening instantly into something so sweet it could cause cavities. "...and taking care of my favorite person."
"Ugh, look at them," Olesya groaned dramatically, though she was smiling. "They are like two puppies in a basket. It is sickening."
"Jealousy doesn't suit you, Ilyukhina," Martin chuckled.
"I am not jealous! I am a creature of iron and winter. I do not do... mushy." Olesya shuddered jokingly, taking another bite of her chocolate tarte.
A few hours later, the dinner party began to wind down. Yao and Stratt were sitting on the plush leather couches in the living room, a chess board between them, playing a game in absolute, intense silence. Lokken and Annie had moved to the balcony, watching the distant lights of Geneva and speaking in low, quiet tones about funding grants. Olesya was sprawled out on an armchair, fast asleep with an empty dessert plate resting on her stomach. Martin was in the kitchen, meticulously rinsing the wine glasses because he "simply couldn't trust Eva's dishwasher to do it correctly."
Ryland had steered you toward a small, secluded alcove near the back of the house, where a massive bay window looked out over a darkened, manicured garden. A soft rain had started to fall, the tiny drops drumming a peaceful, rhythmic beat against the glass.
The room was dimly lit, illuminated only by the ambient glow of the hallway lights and the occasional flash of distant sheet lightning. It was warm, quiet, and completely removed from the brilliant minds arguing in the other room.
Ryland sat on the wide cushioned window sill, pulling you down between his legs. You leaned your back against his chest, sighing happily as his arms immediately wrapped around your waist, pulling you securely against him. He rested his chin on your shoulder, his soft curls brushing against your cheek.
"You smell like vanilla and that fancy soap Stratt keeps in the guest bathroom," he murmured, his voice a low, rumbling vibration against your back.
"It's expensive soap, Ryland. I had to make the most of it," you whispered, tilting your head back to look at him.
He smiled, a slow, lazy thing that reached all the way to his eyes. He leaned forward and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. It tasted like sweet chocolate and red wine. When he pulled back, he didn't go far, keeping his face inches from yours.
"I'm really glad we came tonight," he said softly.
"Me too. Even if Olesya spent half the night making fun of your biology rants."
"Hey, she respects my intellect. She just expresses it through aggressive teasing. It's a cultural thing, I'm sure of it." Ryland chuckled, shifting his weight slightly so he could tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered on your jawline, his thumb tracing your lower lip. "But seriously. Looking at them... looking at you... I just feel incredibly lucky."
"Lucky?"
"Yeah." Ryland looked out the window at the falling rain, his eyes reflective. "Think about it. If that stupid solar line had actually been a threat, we’d probably be in some tin-can spaceship right now, crying over freeze-dried food, praying we don't accidentally blow ourselves up. I would have been pulled out of my classroom, thrown into some terrifying government black site, and I might never have met you."
You reached up, placing your hand over his where it rested on your waist. "You think you wouldn't have found me?"
"I think I would have looked for you," he corrected gently, turning his gaze back to you. The intensity in his eyes was staggering, filled with a profound, unshakeable certainty. "In every universe, in every timeline, I think my brain would just naturally gravitate toward yours. Like a homing beacon. But I'm really glad we got the universe where we just get to go to dinner parties, teach students, and come home to a bed that doesn't rely on zero-gravity tethering."
You twisted around in his embrace so you were facing him properly, draping your arms over his shoulders. "You're a hopeless romantic, Dr. Grace."
"I am a man of science," he countered, though he was already grinning, his hands resting comfortably on your waist. "And scientifically speaking, you have a highly measurable, statistically significant effect on my dopamine levels. It’s basic chemistry."
"Oh, really? Is that a peer-reviewed study?"
"I'm currently conducting the long-term trials," he whispered, his eyes dropping to your lips. "The data is very promising. Highly repeatable results."
"Show me the data," you challenged softly.
Ryland didn't need to be told twice. He leaned in, closing the distance between you with a kiss that was entirely different from the quick, playful ones from earlier. This one was slow, deep, and thoroughly intoxicating. He pulled you flush against him, his hands sliding up your back, his fingers gripping the soft fabric of your sweater as if anchoring himself to you.
The sound of the rain outside seemed to fade into a gentle hum, swallowed up by the warmth of his mouth, the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart against your chest, and the absolute safety of his arms. Ryland kissed you like you were the center of his universe—not a dying star, not a world to save, just you.
When he finally parted from you, both of you were breathing a little heavier. He rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, a breathless, blissed-out smile on his face.
"Yeah," he breathed, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your sides. "The data is definitely conclusive. You're stuck with me."
"I think I can live with that," you smiled, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He smelled like laundry detergent, rain, and the faint, comforting scent of the outdoors. You let your eyes close, completely content to just exist here, wrapped up in him, while the brilliant minds of the Petrova Taskforce bickered softly in the next room.
By midnight, the gathering had officially dissolved. Yao had won the chess match (much to Stratt’s quiet, simmering annoyance), Olesya had woken up long enough to demand a ride from Dr. Lokken, and Annie and Lokken had finally stopped talking about orbital mechanics, now, Annie and Martin are the ones to argue about who was paying for the Uber.
Ryland was holding your hand as you walked out to his modest, sensible sedan parked in Stratt’s driveway. The rain had slowed to a gentle, misty drizzle, making the asphalt shimmer under the streetlights.
"Do you want me to drive, Ry? You look exhausted," you said, noticing the slight droop in his eyelids as he unlocked the car.
"No, no, I got it," he said, opening the passenger door for you with a dramatic bow. "A gentleman always drives his brilliant partner home. Plus, I like watching you listen to your true-crime podcasts in the passenger seat. Your concentrated face is very cute."
You rolled your eyes but climbed in, laughing as he closed the door safely behind you.
The drive back to your apartment was quiet and peaceful. The heater hummed a warm, steady stream of air against your ankles, and the dashboard glowed a soft green. True to his word, Ryland kept one hand on the steering wheel while his other hand remained firmly planted in yours, resting on the center console. Every now and then, when the traffic slowed, he would lift your hand to his mouth, press a soft kiss to your knuckles, and then return it to its resting place.
When you finally reached your apartment, the clock was nearing one in the morning. The apartment was cool and dark, a stark contrast to the lively, brightly lit estate you had just left.
As soon as the door clicked shut behind you, Ryland kicked off his shoes, shed his heavy jacket, and immediately slumped onto the living room sofa with a dramatic, full-body sigh.
"Oh, thank science," he groaned into the cushions. "My couch. My beautiful, beautiful couch."
You walked over, standing above him with an amused smirk. "You act like Stratt's house wasn't equipped with literal luxury furniture."
"It's too fancy," Ryland said, turning his head so his cheek was pressed against the fabric, looking up at you with big, sleepy eyes. "It expects too much of me. This couch knows I am a goblin who likes to eat cereal out of the box at two in the morning. It accepts me."
"And do I accept you?" you asked, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead.
"You tolerate me, which is even better," he grinned, reaching up to snag your wrist. With a gentle tug, he pulled you down onto the sofa with him. You yelped in surprise as you tumbled onto his chest, but his arms were already locked around you, rolling the both of you over until you were tucked securely against his side, his long legs tangled with yours.
"Ryland, we need to brush our teeth," you complained, though you weren't making any move to get up. The couch was incredibly comfortable, and Ryland was essentially a human radiator.
"Five minutes," he mumbled, his eyes already closed as he buried his face in your neck. "Just five minutes of gravity simulation. Then we brush teeth."
You smiled, letting your body relax completely against his. You listened to the steady, slowing rhythm of his breathing, the soft patter of the remaining rain against your own bedroom window down the hall, and the utter, beautiful silence of a world that was completely, boringly, wonderfully safe.
"I love you, Ryland," you whispered into the dark room.
He didn't open his eyes, but a soft, deeply contented smile broke across his face. He squeezed you just a little bit tighter, holding you close to his heart.
"Love you more," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. "To the moon and back. Or, you know... just right here. Right here is perfect."
i love annie shapiro and her not having any filter "sorry i had to go use the restroom, i was peeing myself" and her nerdy excitment to get to learn from grace
i love olesya ilyukhina, her bravery and childlike innocense, hugging the earth's dicatator like nothing, taking her teddy bear to a suicide mission, and literally sacrificing her life for humanity without a second thought
i loved dr. lokken's pride and her beef with grace about his theory
i love eva stratt and her love for humaity being so big that she had to destroy herself to give humanity a real chance to have a future
most just rocktiz (but also some x ryland grace x reader sprinkled in there)
a/n : this is a culmination of things based off the book, the eridian biology doc, movie, other peoples hcs, and my own personal ideas!
★ in my head rocktiz is more like movie!rocky since well he is based off james ortiz.. but he 1000% has more of book!rocky’s sass (ik movie!rocky is sassy too but my god is he sarcastic in the book)
★ his hand are very dexterous- a little rough given that he’s an engineer and is constantly working with xenonite but still very nice
★ ^a very tactile person. needs to have his hands on you/grace.. also very fidgety- his fingers are always tapping on something (habit he picked up from grace)
★ picks up a lot of habits from grace in general- the tapping, the glasses thing, the hand on hip pose (grace picks up a lot of habits from him too- especially the way he talks)
★ he has a couple of scars on his arms from working as an engineer
★ I don’t usually think about/have added it into my blurbs about him but I loveee four armed rocktiz
★ but even without his other set of arms he is strong. not like super buff, muscle-y strong but he can easily pick grace up and move stuff around the ship kinda strong
★ I’ve gone back and forth on this but I think I’ve settled on rocktiz being 6’2 (so about the same height as grace who is six foot exactly) (I also just really enjoy the thought of human adrian being like seven foot tall)
★ amazing singing voice- also can play piano/pipe organ (grace finds him some kind of music software(??) on the computer to show him what he sounds like and since he has perfect memory it’s pretty easy for him to get the hang of it)
★ ^hums when he’s bored/working on something
★ mm sensory issues.. HATES anything wet or squishy… (except for you and grace of course)
★ ^not good with spatial awareness (my translation of eridians having poor spatial memory). tilts cups of water too far back too fast and spills all over himself, stands in grace’s way, and accidentally elbows you all the time
★ so in summary.. adhd + autistic rocktiz lol
★ visual learner- easiest way for him to learn and remember something is by seeing/actually doing it
★ refuses to sleep anywhere but on you or grace’s chest (he needs to hear your heartbeat to fall asleep)
★ ^sleeps like a rock (pun intended)- he falls asleep fast too
★ he will (what you can only describe as) purr if you run your fingers through his hair
and then some honorable mentioned/other people’s headcanons of rocktiz I really like…
★ blind rocktiz!!
★ @/girlrust’s rocktiz w an oxygen cannula
★ honey hamm sent me a wonderful pic of @/ewereka on tiktok’s rocktiz w piercings and ahhh (I’d like to think that’s where his adrian pieces translate to!)
and while i’m at it, you ppl need to LAY THE FUCK OFF THE DAMN AI AND EITHER START READING OR WRITING FANFIC LIKE REAL, INTELLIGENT PEOPLE DO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
wherein valentine's day is not ryland grace's favorite day of the year — and the bar downtown seems to offer an unusual haven past midnight.
Liquid sunset was poured directly into his veins.
The burn touched his tongue first, bright and sharp like a match in the dark. Then it descended, dragging a ribbon of warmth behind it, slipping down his throat and blooming beneath his ribs. He can almost imagine it there: a small amber lantern being lit inside his body.
The warmth spread outward from his chest like ink dropped into water, staining everything it touched. His limbs grew pleasantly heavy, as if gravity had become affectionate. The weight of his own body felt less like a burden and more like being wrapped in a blanket fresh from a dryer.
Ryland sat on a lone stool by the wall, cheek resting on his fist, as his eyes dragged leisurely through the bar.
Valentine's day had technically ended an hour ago. The paper red hearts still hung crookedly above shelves of liquor, but they looked exhausted now, their shadows stretched thin beneath ochre lights.
Spilled beer soaked into old wood, citrus peels abandoned beside cocktail shakers, and expensive perfume clung stubbornly to the air after its owner had already left while cigarette smoke drifted in every time the door opened, bringing with it the cold February night.
A woman sat alone at the other far end of the counter, absentmindedly tracing the rim of her wine glass. Two men occupied a booth meant for six, staring at a basketball game neither seemed interested in.
His eyes found his glass of beer once more, fingers lightly tapping the surface before curling around it, and bringing it back up to his lips.
Warmth spread through his veins, turning his bloodstream into a slow-moving river of gold. The muscles of his shoulders had loosened as the sharp edges of the evening began to soften. The music — which had been little more than background noise — began to feel closer, wrapping around whispered conversations like velvet ribbon.
Outside the window, the city glistened with rain. Neon signs bled color onto wet pavement; red bled into pink — pink bled into gold. Headlights stretched across puddles like melted stars.
Time moved differently inside. Minutes stretched into hours, and hours seemed to stretch into days. The ice in his drink cracked softly, sounding almost like distant thunder.
The heartbroken sang along loudly to the music, raising their glasses haphazardly, clinging to one another without a care in the world. The drunk danced in the middle of the bar, arms tangled with one another, swaying slowly to the hum of the drums. Time seemed to move slowly inside.
Thoughts that usually marched in neat, disciplined lines became drifting things, floating like dust motes suspended in sunlight. Memories rose from between the crevices of the old wood — between cabinets, between floorboards, between cracks in tables: the curve of a smile, the scent of fresh rain on concrete, the bustling of traffic during early mornings.
They surfaced the way old photographs emerge in developing fluid.
With a slow exhale escaping through soft lips, Ryland melted into the stool, elbows resting on the counter as he leaned forward. He could see fragments of light behind his eyelids — red, pink, purple, yellow, and white.
He felt like he was floating on his back in deep water and realizing he no longer needed to tread.
Paired with the unhurried pulses of his heart, Ryland drifted through space. His lungs seemed to expand easier, drawing in air that felt sweeter than before. And yet beneath that warmth was a peculiar ache.
The sensation never erased loneliness. Like candlelight revealing the shape of a room after dark, the warmth gathered around the emptiness without feeling it — outlining it in gold leaf.
He could feel both at once; the comfort and the ache. The fire and the hollow space it illuminated.
The umber liquor cascaded down his throat once more — though the burn no longer felt like fire. It felt like dissolving. Like the rigid borders of himself were being softened by tidewater. The careful architecture of thoughts, worries, expectations — all of it becoming less solid.
He became a shoreline.
The alcohol became the sea.
And with every wave, all things jagged was worn smooth.
In a room filled with a diverse array of people, he felt like a grain of sand. They were one and the same — he did not have to carry his shame.
The liquor slid across his tongue like melted sunrises, smoky and sweet and bitter all at once. It tasted like burnt sugar; like cedarwood; like something beautiful left out for being unconventional.
For a moment, the warmth reached his fingertips.
For a moment, the loneliness felt elegant.
And in the hazy golden light of a bar that smelled of old wood and expensive mistakes, with the city breathing softly beyond the windows and February pressing its cold face against the glass, he understood why people stayed out long after they should have gone home.
Because some nights did not want to end.
And alcohol, glowing in crystal beneath amber lights, offered the comforting illusion that if he drank slowly enough, perhaps they never would.
The ice shifted in his glass with a soft clink. He watched it lazily through the whiskey, catching fragments of light as it turned. Gold. Then amber. Then gold again.
Around him, Valentine's was dying a slow death.
A cluster of red balloons sagged near the ceiling, their ribbons twisting in the draft whenever the door opened. Half-melted candles sat abandoned on distant tables. Someone had left a rose beside an empty booth; its petals had begun to curl inward, edges darkening like old paper left too close to a flame.
His body felt heavier but his thoughts felt lighter.
A couple occupying a booth near the back had caught his eye. Their fingers remained intertwined on the table. Every so often, one would lead forward and say something too quiet for anyone else to hear; the other would smile.
A simple thing. An ordinary thing.
The sort of thing songs were written about.
The sort of thing films ended with.
And for a moment, he watched them.
Then he looked away.
The warmth in his chest expanded slowly, like sunlight crawling across a floorboard at dawn through curtains. Not outward; inward. Settling into corners he had spent years assuming were vacant.
The whiskey had long since stopped burning. It sat beneath his bones, gentle and tepid, radiating through his skin like radio waves.
Outside, rain whispered against the windows.
The glass had begun to fog from the difference in temperature. Beyond it, the city dissolved into streaks of color and light. Red traffic signals bled into the pavement. Storefront signs flickered in puddles. Headlights drifted past like slow-moving constellations.
Everything felt distant — in the same way stars were distant. Present all the same.
A record crackled softly overhead before giving way to another song. Somewhere near the heart of the bar, someone laughed — softness spilling without restraint. The woman from earlier stood from her stool, leaving cash pressed underneath the foot of her wine glass, giving Ryland a polite nod before exiting the small bubble that the bar had created.
Life continued around him.
For years, he had treated solitude like a symptom — something that would eventually disappear once the correct person arrived.
The assumption had followed him so faithfully that he could no longer remember when it had first taken root. Perhaps it had been planted by songs playing through cheap earbuds on bus rides home. Perhaps by films that faded to black the moment two characters finally kissed, as though there was nowhere left to go after that. Perhaps by countless casual conversations that treated romance like a milestone everyone was destined to reach eventually.
A finish line.
A final piece.
A missing half.
He had never questioned it.
You do not question the wallpaper when you've spent your entire life staring at it. The thought settled over him as he rolled the whiskey around his glass. Amber liquid climbed the sides before slipping back down again. The movement reminded him of a tide; of something returning to where it belonged.
Outside, rain continued to streak the windows. Each droplet caught the glow of passing headlights before vanishing into the next. The city beyond the glass looked half-drowned in gold.
He watched it for a while.
And for reasons he couldn't quite articulate, he found himself examining the feeling he'd always called loneliness. Turning it over and inspecting its seams. The way one might inspect an old scar after years of forgetting it existed. It felt smaller than he remembered — stranger, too. Less like a wound, more like a scratch.
When he stripped it down to its barest form — when he peeled away every expectation that had been wrapped around it by songs and films and Valentine's Day decorations hanging tiredly from the ceiling — he found that the feeling itself was surprisingly difficult to locate.
He searched for it anyway.
In the tingling settling beneath his skin, in the pleasant heaviness of his limbs, in the low murmur of conversation surrounding him.
In the comfort of knowing that if he checked his phone right now, there would be messages waiting. Group chats full of nonsense. Friends sending pictures of their dinners. Someone complaining about work. Someone sharing a joke they knew he'd appreciate.
The loneliness he expected to find remained frustratingly absent.
Instead, memories surfaced.
Small things.
The best kind of things.
The memories arrived one after another, collecting quietly in his chest. And with each one, something inside him loosened. The sensation was almost physical. Like untangling a necklace chain that had been knotted for years. Like removing a stone from your shoe after walking miles with it lodged beneath your heel. Like discovering a pain you'd grown accustomed to was never actually part of your body to begin with.
The bar seemed softer suddenly. Warmer.
The amber lights blurred against the polished bottles behind the counter, their reflections stretched across the lacquered wood like pools of liquid honey. Somewhere nearby, someone opened the door.
Cold air swept through the room and it carried the scent of rain and damp concrete.
For a moment, the chill brushed against his skin.
Then it was gone.
Leaving only warmth behind.
And sitting there, watching droplets race each other down the windowpane, Ryland realized how exhausted he was.
Not from being alone — from trying to feel incomplete.
From measuring the architecture of his life against blueprints that had never belonged to him. From staring at perfectly solid walls and convincing himself they were missing bricks.
The realization settled slowly. Not like lightning; like snowfall.
There was no missing piece. There never had been. His life was not a half-written sentence waiting for someone else to finish it. It was already written with countless hands; in friendships accumulated across years; in shared memories; in familiar voices; in people who carved permanent places for themselves within him without ever asking for anything in return.
The thought filled him with an odd, aching tenderness.
The same feeling that came from returning home after a long trip and seeing the porch light still on.
The same feeling as slipping beneath blankets fresh from the dryer.
The same feeling as hearing your name spoken by someone who knows you well.
Outside, the rain continued to fall.
Inside, glasses clinked softly together.
The record crackled overhead.
Life moved forward in a thousand small directions around him.
And for the first time, he did not feel like he was standing apart from it.
He felt woven into it — threaded through it. Part of something vast and ordinary and beautiful. The whiskey glowed in his hand, warmth lingered beneath his skin. The city breathed beyond the glass, and the absence he had spent years mourning dissolved so quietly he almost failed to notice it leaving.
Like mist burning away beneath morning sunlight.
Leaving behind not emptiness — but space.
Room to breathe.
Room to exist exactly as he was.
Room to recognize that fulfillment had been sitting beside him all along, wearing different faces than the world had taught him to expect.
By the time he lifted the glass to his lips again, the loneliness was gone.
Or perhaps it had never been there at all.
author's note: happy pride month to my dearest aromantics, asexuals, and aroaces :) here is a gift from me to you. writing this piece has been an emotional journey. it is, in a way, an affirmation for myself that i am fulfilled and satisfied, with or without a romantic partner, for i have my friends and family to complete me. this is your gentle reminder that the only person you have to give the look of love is yourself. the fear of growing old and alone, and eventually passing alone, is scary. but you are never alone. you have many people around you, surrounding you, who loves you and whose warmth makes your being whole. aroace ryland grace is very dear to me. i hope this piece reached your soul the same way it reached mine. i love you and i'm proud of you :)
cried. tears streaming down my face as i read this masterpiece. this captures the meaning of not finding "love" (aka the socital norm of romantic love yada yada) that well oh so perfectly, and that your friends, family, and companions are just the ones you need to live a perfectly full life 💚🥹
wishing to anyone reading this the most wonderful pride month, not only to this one, but more to come. you are loved. you are cherished! dont let any bigots tear you down!!!! and most importantly, love yourself!!! xx
✶⋆.˚ summary: life on Erid, with your awesome girlfriend, non-other than, Olesya Ilyukhina, after settling in (AU!)
✶⋆.˚ yaps!: THERES GENUINELY NO CONTENT FOR OLESYA. WE NEED MORE OF HER TBH. happy pride month, you people!!!!! this was written with fem reader in mind, #lesbian olesya not really a ryland grace x reader, pls dont mind the tag..🙏
The air in the Eridian habitat was always a comfortable, temperature-regulated warmth, but tonight, it felt exceptionally cozy.
Through the thick, specially engineered viewing port of your shared living quarters, the stark, atmospheric beauty of Erid stretched out under its dim sun. Inside, however, was a chaotic, beautiful testament to human resilience—and love.
You adjusted the soft, locally woven blanket around your shoulders, leaning back against the couch. To your left, Yao was hunched over a low table, his brow furrowed in deep concentration as he carefully moved a carved wooden piece across a handmade chessboard. Across from him, Ryland Grace was practically vibrating with nervous energy, muttering to himself in a mix of English and terrible Eridian as he tried to figure out how Yao had managed to trap his knight.
From the kitchen area, a rhythmic, metallic clinking sound echoed, followed by a soft, satisfied hum.
A smile tugged at your lips. It had been years since the Hail Mary mission had changed course. Years since the miraculous day you, Ryland, Yao, and Olesya had all woken up from that treacherous, coma-inducing journey. The odds had been stacked against you all. The statistics said some of you shouldn't have made it. But humanity, much like the Eridians, proved to be stubbornly persistent.
When the decision was made to stay on Erid—to help rebuild, to teach, and to live out the rest of your days in this strange, ammonia-scented world rather than brave the lonely void back to a Earth you barely recognized anymore—there hadn't even been a debate. You had each other.
"If you stare at the board any harder, Grace, you will burn a hole through it with your eyes," a russian, raspy voice teased from the doorway.
You turned your head as Olesya walked into the living space, carrying a tray of warm, Eridian-grown herbal tea. Her thick, dark hair was tied up in a loose, messy bun, a few rogue strands framing her sharp jawline and the soft crinkles around her eyes. She wore an oversized, faded jumpsuit that she had customized with colorful Eridian embroidery along the cuffs.
She looked entirely at peace. Completely different from the stern, hyper-focused cosmonaut you had first met back on Earth.
"I am calculating my options, Ilyukhina," Ryland shot back, though there was no real heat in it. "Yao is using psychological warfare. He hasn't blinked in three minutes."
"It is called discipline, Grace," Yao replied smoothly, finally looking up with a rare, smug grin. "You should try it sometime."
Olesya chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated straight to your core. She set the tray down on the center table, pouring a cup for the two chess players before picking up the remaining two mugs. She bypassed the open armchair entirely and opted to slide onto the couch right next to you.
The couch wasn't small, but Olesya immediately closed whatever distance was left between you. She sank into the cushions, shifting until her side was pressed firmly against yours. She draped one long, strong arm over your shoulders, pulling you into her warmth.
"You are quiet tonight, Моя радость," she murmured, her voice dropping to a softer, private times meant only for you. She pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to the crown of your head.
"Just thinking," you admitted, shifting slightly so you could rest your head against her shoulder. You took a sip of the tea; it tasted faintly of cinnamon and something earthy, a comforting recipe Rocky had helped develop for the human crew. "Just looking at all of us. We really made a life here, didn't we?"
Olesya’s grip on your shoulder tightened affectionately. Her thumb began to trace soothing, slow circles against your arm. "We did. A very strange life, surrounded by giant, intelligent spiders and eating paste for the first two years... but a good life."
"Hey! The paste wasn't that bad after I calibrated the flavour synthesizers," Ryland called out, not looking up from the board.
"It tasted like wet cardboard, Ryland," you called back, making Yao chuckle.
"See? Even they agree with me," Olesya said, a triumphant note in her voice. She looked down at you, her grey eyes reflecting the soft, ambient light of the room. The fierce, commanding glare she used to wear during training had long since melted away, replaced by a profound, gentle warmth that she reserved almost exclusively for you.
When you had all first woken up from the coma, weak, disoriented, and terrified, Olesya had been the anchor. She had held the crew together with her sheer willpower. But in the quiet moments between building the habitat and adjusting to Eridian gravity, you had become her anchor. It started with shared night watches, grew into whispered confessions of fears and dreams in the dark, and eventually bloomed into a love that felt as solid and unyielding as the planet beneath your feet.
Outside, a soft, melodic tapping sounded against the outer hull.
“Human-friends! Hello!” a synthesized, musical voice chimed through the habitat's intercom system.
Ryland instantly abandoned his chess game, knocking over his own bishop in the process. "Rocky! Sit tight, buddy, I'm opening the airlock!" He scrambled out of his chair, practically sprinting toward the decontamination zone to greet their Eridian friend.
Yao sighed heavily, looking down at the ruined chessboard. "He was going to lose in three moves anyway." He shook his head, a fond smile breaking through his stoic expression. He stood up, stretching his back. "I am going to help them unpack whatever heavy machinery Rocky brought this time. Do not eat all the ration biscuits while I am gone."
"No promises!" Olesya yelled after him.
As the door slid shut behind Yao, leaving the two of you alone in the cozy living area, the ambient sounds of Rocky and Ryland excitedly clicking and translating at each other muffled in the distance.
Olesya shifted, turning her body so she was facing you completely. She pulled the blanket up higher, wrapping it securely around both of your shoulders, creating a private, warm cocoon. She took your empty mug and set it on the floor, then took both of your hands in hers. Her hands were larger, calloused from years of hard work, but they held yours with an incredible, breathtaking gentleness.
"You have that look in your eyes again," she whispered, her gaze dropping to your lips before rising back to meet your eyes.
"What look?"
"The one where you think too much about the past," she said softly. She leaned forward, pressing her forehead against yours. The scent of her—clean skin, a hint of the ozone from the air filters, and the familiar, comforting warmth of *her*—enveloped you. "We are here. We are safe. Earth is saved, and we have a home."
"I know," you breathed, closing your eyes and just soaking in her presence. "I'm not sad, lesya. I promise. I'm just... incredibly grateful. If someone had told me back during the selection process that I'd end up living on a planet light-years away with a brilliant, stubborn cosmonaut, I would have told them they were crazy."
Olesya let out a soft, melodic laugh that vibrated against your chest. "Stubborn? Me? Never." She kissed the tip of your nose, making you scrunch it up. "But brilliant? Yes. Especially because I convinced you to love me back."
"You didn't have to try very hard," you teased, opening your eyes to look at her.
Her expression softened, becoming incredibly tender. She reached up, her thumb gently brushing across your cheekbone. "I love you, you know. More than the stars we crossed to get here."
"I love you too, 'lesya."
She leaned in, closing the remaining distance between you. The kiss was slow, deep, and thoroughly content. There was no rush, no looming threat of an extinction-level event, no ticking clock. Just the steady, peaceful rhythm of two lives completely intertwined. Her lips were soft, moving against yours with a familiar, easy perfection that always made the rest of the universe fade into background noise.
When she finally pulled back, just an inch away, she rested her hand on the back of your neck, fingers gently tangling in your hair.
"Come," she murmured, pulling you along as she lay back against the length of the couch, bringing you down with her. You shifted easily, resting your chest against hers, your legs tangling together beneath the heavy blanket. "The others will be busy with Rocky for hours. We sleep now."
"We just drank tea," you pointed out, though you were already closing your eyes, your hand finding its home over her steady, beating heart.
"Tea is for relaxation. Sleeping is also for relaxation," she reasoned with flawless, unarguable logic. She wrapped her strong arms securely around your waist, pulling you flush against her.
As the faint, musical tones of Rocky's voice and Ryland's laughter drifted through the vents, mixed with the distant, heavy thrum of Erid's atmosphere, you let yourself sink completely into Olesya’s embrace. You were light-years away from where you were born, but as you listened to the steady beat of the heart beneath your cheek, you knew with absolute certainty that you were exactly where you belonged. You were home.
As a straight woman, I need scientists to study why The Boys made Private Angel look like that. She’s the sexiest woman alive and it’s honestly becoming a public health concern. _(:з)∠)_
