save an astrophage

probe a molecular biologist

[rylandgraceismygirlfriend]

hey. hey you. this is my blog. you are looking at my blog.

my name is morg, he/him. I'm a writer/artist and you're (hopefully) going to be seeing some writer/artist stuff on here! this is sort of a side-main blog so my irls and cool moots don't find the god awful x reader content,,

fandoms: Project Hail Mary, The Umbrella Academy (comics & show), The Mentalist, Jojo's Bizarre Adventure, idk man we ball

ihatetheumbrellaacademy -> rylandgraceismygirlfriend

TUA Matchups open!

[c4ndyc41n]

they’re angry cause they can’t breathe 😔

[bibigo-lover]

ilyukhina meeting colt for the first time and she’s like “grace #2 go flip that car i want to see it roll.”

[sunthoon]

Project Hail Mary fans after finishing the book and the movie

[wariowaregirl]

five five five five five

[bittersweetresilience]

not to be insane but this is literally the hottest kill in rygos's entire filmography

[bibigo-lover]

once again, you asked and i shall deliver 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

general coltland headcanons:

ik people headcanon ryland being the younger twin BUT don't be fooled, ryland is the older twin!! he's like 1-2 inches shorter than colt and colt is the more extroverted twin so he gets perceived as the older twin. BUT in my heart of hearts, ryland is the older twin

(as mentioned before we know ryland canonically having tattoos) so they tried getting matching sibling tattoos but colt HATES needles and ryland loves making fun of him because colt, the stunt man can be thrown around like a rag doll but can't stand the sight of a needle (ryland has already gotten his, he's just waiting for colt to get over his fear of needles)

ryland: you can be set on fire and crash a car but can't handle a little needle? colt: i get paid to do those things, needles add no monetary value to my life

ryland was the more reckless one when they were kids but after breaking his arm when he was 8 it lowkey scarred him and so he was more cautious but as they grew up colt developed the adrenaline junkie gene

okay here's what you really asked for LOL

coltland x reader headcanons:

they never had a serious rivalry between the two of them growing up and that bled into their adult and romantic lives because they usually don't have the same type so they've never fought over someone before

BUT once they met you and realized that the other also liked you, it kinda turned into a petty competition between the two of them, trying to one up the other in some (not so) subtle ways.

colt learned your coffee order and would get you it. ryland would get your favorite snacks and save them in his classroom and gave them to you if you were visiting and hanging out in his class. or if the three of you are hanging out, colt would inch closer to you if you were explaining something or brush off some lint he saw on your shoulder while shooting a smug smile at his brother

though once it gets to the point where you start to notice the tension between the two of them, ryland and colt have to have the conversation about their feelings about you and they think the other is a better fit to be with you

so they're both still pining and none of you guys are getting ANYWHERE with your feelings and everyone is stuck in this limbo of yearning and confusion

sorry i yapped but you asked for it 🤷‍♀️

OK (aside from older!ryland I LOOOVE HIM):

i can definitely see a world where colt and ryland share this mutual friend who they’ve known since college. you were ryland’s friend first—which he probably feels a little bit of superiority complex there, realistically. but, getting to know the both of them, you’ve realized that you’re able to get along well with both of them. it’s a mix of one-on-ones with both of them and hangouts with all three of you—but long story short is that you spend a lot of time together. a little part of you can tell right off the bat that they’re both into you—but really you decide to look past it for the sake of you all having a balanced friendship. again, you really do value both of them.

the (best) worst part is them both coming to the other to say they’re going to finally ask you out. colt tells ryland he’s going to ask you to the movies, and ryland tells colt he’s going to ask you to the pier. it’s basically simultaneous, and they’re both SO intent from that point on about winning you over. then comes the acts of service. they’re always opening doors for you, making sure you always get the shotgun (colt loves being the one who’s driving—his car and all), someone’s arm is always on your shoulder or hand is always resting on the small of your back. not to mention they both take so much time and care into making sure that you’re doing well. between the both of them, you’re getting treated out to coffee and meals constantly, and you’re almost close to shutting it all down.

of course, you only actually consider it when you notice them getting snippy with each other one night. probably just an overall moodiness that you can already sense coming off of them, layered with a little bickering. seeing ryland and colt be short with each is a no-go, and you end up telling them both that you’re going to call it early and ditch them to eat dinner at their apartment. they’re like “okay perfect, let’s go” and you have to sternly tell them just drop you off. you hate being mad at them. and that car conversation after dropping you at your apartment is like pulling teeth. they argue first about how stressed you seem (it’s definitely the other’s fault), until they can come to a consensus that they’re both to blame. colt thinks ryland’s better for you because he’s got a steadier, more domestic life teaching—and ryland thinks colt’s better for you because he’s got a much more interesting life to offer you. and they can both agree, really, that they want you to be the happiest you can be.

and the truth is that you can’t tell which one you want more. you love them both for their own specific reasons. you’d probably rather die than admit to colt and ryland that you legitimately can’t choose one or the other. besides the taboo, you think it might (1) go to their heads and (2) make things far too complicated. so, in the meantime, all three of you have to endure the ultimate in-between. which probably results in a lot of… test dates, test kisses… none of you can think of a better idea (and you really can’t be mad about it).

[bibigo-lover]

miniature space opera (I).

summary: as ilyukhina's standby for project hail mary, your social life on the vat faces a lot of scrutiny. your interactions with grace seem to be her primary source of entertainment. (part 1/???)

pairing: ryland grace x gn!reader

word count: 4.2k

tags: fluff and humor, romantic fluff, not actually unrequited love, mutual pining, developing relationships, platonic soulmates (w/ ilyukhina!), coworkers-to-lovers, fear of death, planned slow burn — canon character death next chapter, engineer standby!reader, gn!reader

cross-posted to ao3

“I do not understand how nobody sees it but me. It is so obvious,” Ilyukhina says to you one day, on your usual overlook platform on the top-surface of the Vat. There’s a good view here of the aircraft runway. All the flight crew look like little dots buzzing around the jets, making sure everything’s staying in order. You’ve gotten into the habit of coming here on breaks lately, when Stratt doesn’t have you two doing training and briefings. As Ilyukhina’s shadow for Project Hail Mary, you’ve spent the majority of your time together; it’s clear that the time has gotten you both much more comfortable around one another.

Especially when Ilyukhina’s being so easily forward about your thing with Grace. She nudges your elbow with her own. “There is… eye-tag during every debrief. It is very painful to watch.”

You shake your head eagerly, “There’s no eye-tag.” Her observations don’t exactly come in vain, despite your persistence against them. It’s her third time bringing it up this week (clearly, out of conversation points a month on the ship). It’s true: you have a terrible habit of staring, even when you’ve tried to convince yourself on multiple occasions to just quit it. You’re simply stubborn and don’t want to admit it to her.

“You look at Grace, Grace looks at the wall. Grace looks at you, you look at the wall. Grace pretends to read file,” she plots out for you methodically. “This happens every time.” It can’t be every time, but she may be seeing something that you don’t.

So, you tell Ilyukhina defiantly, “It’s a workplace. There isn’t any space for… eye-tag.” It’s impossible to look her in the eyes when you’re clearly fibbing. So, instead, you decide to trace the movement on one of the gunmetal-colored jets getting ready to take off. It propels forward on the track, too slowly.

“I think DuBois and Shapiro have already made much space,” Ilyukhina smirks. “We work on the ship, we live on the ship. Because you are working does not mean you cease to be attracted to each other.” Your failure to respond to her observation only makes her more stubborn. Ilyukhina raises her hands up to tighten her ponytail closer to her scalp. “In fact, I am positive co-habitation breeds attraction, like moth to flame.”

“Okay. That’s completely untrue,” you insist. Though, you’re very sure that seeing Grace intermittently in the halls of the Vat—when neither of you can sleep, restless in the middle of the night—does heighten the feelings that you do have towards him. Her line of reasoning is nothing but legitimate. “Grace is great, but I don’t see him as anything but a colleague.”

“Then, you won’t care that there is betting pool for Grace’s intimate relations with Stratt?”

You nearly choke on air. “What?” Ilyukhina tilts her head, as if surprised by your not knowing. The collar of your bright yellow jumpsuit feels tighter than usual—and it’s palpably hotter now, despite the fresh ocean air. Your brows furrow. Could it be true that everyone but you heard about a bet? Are Stratt and Grace actually sleeping with each other? Then, Ilyukhina pats you on the center of your back with a dry laugh.

“There is no pool for Grace and Stratt. It is a joke.”

“Oh my God.” Now, you can’t tell what’s more embarrassing—the fact that you believed her, or how much it actually bothered you. You let your head hang, and begrudgingly, she rouses a smile out of you. The buzzing sound of jets blurs out Ilyukhina’s relentless laughing. She pushes you lightly by the shoulder, cheeks practically glowing at the sight of your dismay.

“Laugh. Please laugh. It is funny—I make you worry your pretty head over Dr. Grace,” she jests, “You care for Mr. Middle-School. It’s cute, like 2000’s rom-com.”

—

It’s unlucky that you collide with Grace head-on not long after this, on your way to the conference room. You’re walking through the apportioned lab section of the Vat all too weary of who you might bump into—and suddenly you’re crashing into an expanse of blue propylene—the flimsy lab coat of one Dr. Ryland Grace. You’re trying your hardest not to burst into a nervous fit of laughter as he turns around and steadies you with a clipboard and a pen in either hand. You can see his eyebrows raise above the frame of his glasses. “Oh, I was just looking for you.”

“You were?” You’re lucky that he doesn’t seem to be very affected by your tone, sliding his pen over the curve of his ear and keeping the clipboard tucked at his side. His glasses glint. While the two of you are standing rigid, face-to-face with one another, the rest of the science team seems to be working rapidly around you. Like usual, there’s always tests to be run, especially with regard to the astrophage fuel systems. Everyone’s hot on their feet, save for the three of you.

Ilyukhina is making matters a lot worse, the way she’s glancing between you and Grace like she’s viewing the Sunday morning cartoon. You want to get on your hands and knees and beg her to stop, but there isn’t any chance for you to—especially considering that Grace is so intent on informing you about whatever it is. So, you have to settle with the sight of her batting her eyelashes at you tauntingly.

“Well, Stratt is looking for you and—well, both of you—to run through the sampler simulation in an hour.” Of course, you’re both well aware. Grace murmurs, “And there’s also a fitting for the new jumpsuits. She wants to make sure they fit okay.”

“You’ll be in attendance, Grace?” Ilyukhina gives him a vacant grin. You don’t know what she’s thinking, taunting him. Clearly, it seems to be working, because Grace is shoving his free hand into his pocket, with nowhere else to put it.

“To run you through the astrophage filtration system, yes. But, I’ll be, you know, in the other room during the,” Grace assures, rather unnecessarily, “fitting portion.” There was no implication at all that he would be. Ilyukhina’s going bright beside you again at the mere sight of him floundering at the two of you. It’s in accordance perfectly with her little rom-com viewing. And while you’re trying your best to keep a kind smile at Grace, it’s impossible not to note the way that he’s avoiding eye contact like the plague. So, you must both be pretty frightened by each other. That’s good to know.

“It’s only changing into suits, Grace.” Ilyukhina chuckles, “PG-13. Do not worry.” She nearly wants to call him prudish. The word’s dancing on the tip of her tongue, but she’s kind enough to the both of you not to push his buttons any further. Instead, Ilyukhina takes her arms up and swings them around both of your shoulders. It’s a very happy trio, the three of you, though she’s the most happy of all. Though you’re mildly embarrassed by the whole scene, Ilyukhina’s smile is contagious. 

—

The setup for the fittings is simple. Stratt is having all six of you—Ilyukhina, Yao, DuBois, and their backups—toss red jumpsuits over a tank top and government-standard briefs. She’s repurposed a larger storage closet into a changing room for the six of you to use one by one—complete with a body length mirror. You’re slipping the torso half of the jumpsuit on, pants already shrugged up your legs and over your waist. Once you zip it to the top, you find yourself in a hurry to get it all over with. It feels strange to have a spacesuit to go on this mission that you’re so unlikely to get sent up on.

You exit out of the hallway and down the hall to the conference room. There, all six of you are clad in your red jumpsuits—littered with all sorts of different patches to delineate rank and status. It’s very… real, even more so than the yellow suits you’d been given after recruitment. Grace is hugging the wall with his clipboard held over his chest. You feel inclined to look over at him, and he’s staring right back at you with a dewy look in his eyes. You tilt your head at him, and he only looks down at the clipboard in his hand. He’s running over—or, at least pretending to run over—the sampler instructions for the six of you. You find your gaze rushing over to Ilyukhina, who’s already shooting you a little wink and grin.

You look down. Stratt clasps her hands together softly: “I am hoping these are sufficient. I ordered them with specific measurements, unlike your standard launchsuits.”

“I think mine is snug in the chest,” Ilyukhina teases, tugging at the center of her zipper. It’s a low-hanging fruit, her risqué joke. Stratt is about to grumble about the tailor, or something of the like, when Ilyukhina rushes out a smiley. “No, I am kidding. It is perfect.” 

“The suits are great, Stratt,” DuBois assures, hands in his pockets. You think he may be more focused on the fit of Shapiro’s jumpsuit than he is on his own.

Yao nods, kind eyes flashed straight towards Stratt. “You’re assuring our comfort. That’s the most we can ask for.” She returns a soft smile that lasts only for a moment, before she seems to look away. You’ve seen this before; she’s occupied by yet another task in her mind.

“Good, good. It’ll be easier now that we won’t have to send them back. I’ll have them packed alongside your set belongings.” Stratt takes her phone out of her front pocket, presumably to pass along the message. As soon as she pockets the phone, she’s looking over the six of you to check for any last palpable signs of discomfort. Without any, she nods. “Okay. Change out and leave them on the table folded, please. I’ll have a runner pick them up.”

The meeting on the astrophage sampler is due next, but you’ll have to get out of the jumpsuit before then. You’re not surprised to see DuBois and Shapiro volunteer to change out first. Together. In the meantime, Yao, his double, and Ilyukhina seem to be talking briefly about the quality of their patches—better than the yellow suits, they both agree. Ilyukhina sits on the conference table, while the other two sit down on the nearby foldable chairs. It’s all so calm; you’re still not able to wrap your head around it.

Grace finally braves it to approach you. You appreciate it, really, considering how much you’re letting the room move around you. His eyes flit over the patch on your chest—last name embroidered across the patch on your chest, under a pair of gold wings. Then, his tender blue eyes flash up to look at your face. You’re hopeful that his examinations aren’t making you look as anxious as you feel. “You look like a certified flight engineer,” Grace tells you.

“Let’s hope not, right?” It sounds cowardly for you to say aloud. You regret it as soon as it slips out, and the thought of any of your colleagues picking up on the remark terrifies you even more. From the looks of it, they’re already well-captivated by their own conversations. No need to worry.

Grace is more forlorn than anything else at the remark. “You wouldn’t want to get sent up?” You’re embarrassed to admit it, but you really are as scared as Grace is about the whole one-way trip scenario. You’ve heard the way he talks to Yao, like he’s already a walking international hero. You’re almost completely sure that the two of you are in the same boat. Lacking a bravery gene.

“I mean, Ilyukhina seems pretty psyched to get sent up. It is pretty epic,” you admit to Grace. “But, uh… I’m only here because Stratt needed expertise. I think she values that even more than she does willingness. There’s no point in trying for a Hail Mary if you don’t even know how to throw.” Grace laughs dryly. You’re trying hard to blink away the rising glossiness of your eyes.

“All things considered, it’s better if you stay down here,” he tells you. That’s a… funny thing to say. You want to ask him a simple follow-up—How so?—but it’s all too quick that Stratt is walking over to pull him aside.

“Your presentation, Dr. Grace,” she says gently. He’s supposed to be setting up a laptop and pulling it up on the projector for you all. Grace gives you a curt nod and a soft “sorry,” needed elsewhere. While he’s following Stratt to the other end of the room, everyone’s still changing out to their everyday jumpsuits, and Ilyukhina is back over to you. You stiffen up as she gives you a swift pat on the back.

“So, the verdict is yes?” she hums. “You are going to marry after I am sent into space? If I make it my last wish, you will have to do it.” Ilyukhina’s too big of a fan of that humorous morbidity. It’s worse now that she’s trying to use it against you. You still have an eye on Grace, seeing him hunch over this military-grade laptop to pull up his PowerPoint. He’s running his hand over the coarse cut of his blonde hair, waiting for the presentation to load.

Dr. Grace would just be too ideal. He looks too much like the kind of person you’d want to spend early mornings with. Late nights, too. All things considered, you do that now with all your working on the project—but it’s nice to imagine how it’d be with a little second-floor apartment in San Francisco, close enough to a nice expanse of park. Or, a bus line to take down to the beach. You know Grace loves the beach. On the high chance that you’re not getting shot up into space, it wouldn’t be the worst thing to stay in contact with him. It’s better if you stay down here.

One look at Ilyukhina and she’s already slipping you an affectionate smile. It’s like she can see right where your head’s at, because the wordless way that she nods her head toward you is nothing but good-willed. As much as she likes to tease you about your ongoing Grace issue, Ilyukhina must see it in the way you look at him. There’s a potential for something really good among this calamity that is the Petrova Line. She wants it for you.

Ilyukhina only takes her eyes off you when she sees DuBois and Shapiro have come in—in just their project-hoodies and joggers, a little bit more breathless than normal. She gives you a soft push in the direction of the door. “Your turn to change, now. Go, go,” she shoos you. You shoot her a raised brow, and she can only jut her chin out towards the conference table. She wants you to secure a front-seat for this presentation of Grace’s. Only the best for her backup.

—

It’s getting closer to launch, and you’ve gotten the OK to move operations over to the ground base in Russia. You’re trying your best to commit this image to memory. Ilyukhina. The tiny disposable coffee cups in your chilled hands. The two of you perched on your usual platform like two little morning doves. A high vantage point over an endless expanse of water. The time for her send-off is coming far too soon. “You’re sad. You wear it so clearly,” Ilyukhina says to you, “Terrible poker face.”

“We’ve been on the deck of this ship every other night for, like, months now.” It’s been a comfort, you think, away from all the mission talk. It’s hard for you to let go. “We could always just find a roof or something once we arrive at the launch facility,” you tell Ilyukhina.

“It will be not as cool, but a roof will do,” she agrees. “I have been to the Cosmodrome five times before. It is a nice campus. Multi-facility. Lots of rooftops to pick from.” Both you and Ilyukhina know the truth; once you dock, there won’t be much time for roofs or chats—too busy with last-minute preparations and training to the end of the line.

 “It’ll be just as foggy. Just not… oceanic.” It’s bittersweet, really.

Ilyukhina takes a deep breath in and out, alternating her coffee cup between her hands. “Stratt says she has ordered copious alcohol for tomorrow night. It is a… last hurrah. I think you should spend it on Dr. Grace.”

“We can’t just split off,” you protest. It’s supposed to be celebratory for everyone. For Ilyukhina, Yao, and DuBois, especially. It feels selfish to take yourself out of that room with them. They’re on such limited time. But Ilyukhina is shaking her head, eyebrows creased together as her lips purse. 

“Of course you can,” she chuckles, “We do karaoke, we dance, we party. Annie and DuBois will sleep with each other early in the night. Just sneak away—it is easy.”

“And then what?”

“Drink together. Sleep together. It doesn’t matter,” Ilyukhina says. “It’ll be good for you to know each other sooner rather than later. Besides, who will be there to sit on roofs with you when I’m gone?” You’re not sure what you’re supposed to do after this project, when they’re all gone—if you’re supposed to keep an eye on the luminosity or keep going on with your life. You’re not sure that both are possible.

“…Are you scared, Olesya?”

She considers your question for only a moment, with a gentle nod. “Fear is natural. Being without fear would be like saying I have no pulse,” Ilyukhina shrugs. “But I would also like to save the Earth and then get blasted. It will be like an ultimate space opera.”

—

Everyone’s got their sweaty beers in-hand, bustling and bumping against one another. It’s strange, seeing them all like this, your mission researchers and technicians. Most of the time, you’re all occupied by the work and now, it seems that they’re occupied by nothing but the current company. It’s a small party at the possible end of the world. Ilyukhina is making the most of it now, with her cat-tee and her floral skirt—clapping briskly at Yao at the mic. She’s about four beers in and very pleased.

You don’t know how you make it over to Grace so easily. It must be her doing—her “last wish”—that causes you to pick up and approach Grace. He’s still working on a few last minute tasklists in the same black notebook that you always see him carrying. It’s as if he’s never able to stop working, amidst the rest of you. Once he sees you in his periphery, Grace sits up a little straighter on his barstool. “Shouldn’t you be up there performing something?”

You look back over your shoulder at Yao, then back to Grace. “He’s on a streak right now. I’ve been watching for the past hour and I’ve decided it’s really no use.” Grace scribbles a few last-minute notes on the corner of his current page, before shutting the notebook entirely. His attention’s on you now, kind-eyed, patient.

When you seem to hesitate, Grace exclaims. “I could grab you a beer from behind the counter, if that’s what you came over for—”

“—Dr. Grace, would you wanna go for a walk with me?”

“Outside?” Grace responds, finger pointing towards the door. He answers his own question very quickly. Of course you mean outside; there’s absolutely nowhere else to go. There’s this packed room and the empty deck. He nods, quick, “Of course. Yeah.” Grace slides his notebook off the table and tucks it right behind the counter; he’ll be back for it later. As soon as he stands up from his barstool, both Converse sneakers planted on the floor, he begins to follow you out. Ilyukhina, you can see at the sofa, gives you a raised tip of her beer. One more wink to send you both out the door.

You and Grace find yourselves traveling across a balcony railing that traces the outer perimeter of the ship. You can feel the maritime wind tossing your hair just slightly, and from the looks of it, it bristles Grace’s blonde hair, too. It’s much more calm than that crackly karaoke speaker and the shouting and the swaying. Up here, it’s quiet. You find yourself looking at him with a sort of softness. Grace’s glasses off, hanging on the collar of his polo. You can see all the pretty details of his face now, the high curve of his cheekbones, the strong bridge of his nose. And as soon as his head turns to face yours, your gaze flashes down to your shoes. What are you doing?

You can’t help it, the chuckled breath that you let out. You must be nervous, but it’s not all nervousness. “Why are you laughing?” You can hear the lingering smile on Grace’s voice when he asks. He’s a little bit confused, but he’s fond of the sound, so it’s not all bad.

“It’s eye-tag,” you tell Grace. “Sorry, Ilyukhina always—nevermind.” He shakes his head, corners of his mouth upturned into a smile. As Grace’s hands slip slowly into the pockets of his cardigan, his shoulders bump softly against your own. You try to press down that tight feeling in your chest, roused from the contact. “Are you enjoying the party?”

“As much as I can. Which is… moderately,” Grace admits. You stop on an upcoming portion of the open deck, a sort of balcony to look out at the passing sea. He comes to lean on the bar beside you. He hangs his head, propping one sneaker up on the lowest bar of the railing. “They’re going to die up there, and they’re acting like it’s New Year’s Eve.”

“Can’t blame them for trying to take the edge off a little bit,” you say, “You know how it is.” And it’s how they are. It’s an excuse that you’ve both told yourselves a billion times before. They’ve got the gene. They’re wired perfectly for this mission. After your talk with Ilyukhina, you think it still stands true.

He concurs, “It’s a lot of pressure. And after they reach Tau Ceti, we don’t know what they’re going to find—if anything. A miracle phenomenon.” Grace looks over the rail, with a shaky breath. “And we just have to let the chips fall where they may.”

“Not a big fan of free will?”

He takes one hand up to cup the back of his neck, fingers ruffling through his hair. “I like free will. And… I also like certainty.” And Grace certainly does not like death. You can’t say much against that. You’re a big fan of certainty, too. It’s a waiting game, this mission, for all the rest of you left on Earth. The ocean water below you both is spritzing up salty air; it’s so dark, even at sunset. You can barely see anything besides the curvature of the waves—the way they clash against the steel body of the boat.

Grace has his hands gripped fully around the railing, intent on grounding himself to the cold pole. “I think it’d be worth having someone to know, coming out of this.” As thrilled as you are about this sentiment, you decide to keep quiet. You want Grace to say it again. It’s better if you stay down here. With me. He’s still trying to weigh what the right words should be. After a generous period of silence, Grace decides to make the shot. “We could agree to give each other a call after the launch. In a month or so, when we have to go back to normal and then realize we can’t,” Grace suggests. “I don’t know if you’re based out of the U.S. I never asked—”

“San Francisco, right?” He inhales, maybe a little floored that you remembered, but altogether content with the discovery.

He nods, with a soberness about him. “That’s assuming I’ll stick around,” he mutters. “I don’t even know if they’ll let me teach at my school after this. Being AWOL for months. It’s, uh, to be determined.”

“It’d be silly for them not to let you back,” you insist. “You’re a model educator. The model educator.” Grace laughs—really laughs—at this thought. If he can teach astrophage, then he really can teach anything. You place a hand down on the railing, right beside his. “When we go back in, I could toss my phone number in that workbook of yours. That way you won’t misplace it.”

“It would take a Titanic-level accident for me to misplace your number,” he admits to you. And he doesn’t seem to be joking either. You have to admit that you’re pleased about the outcome of this talk. Dr. Grace wants to keep your contact. Ilyukhina will be over the moon.

“Let’s not talk about capsizing until after the launch,” you say, “It’s like saying Macbeth.” Grace nods, hand coming down to grab for his glasses. As soon as they’re back up on the bridge of his nose, he’s looking only at you, a gentle smile set on his lips. It’s difficult not to feel that blooming warmth spiking over the surface of your face. After all that denial on your end, you think that you’re right on track. Staying on the ground with him, with the mere possibility of being in-touch, is all you could really ask for.

[notsotinyblob]

We don't need a coupon. We're the government.

[wolfythewitch]

Doodles

[occudo]

They wear suits, but they don't even know basic etiquette.

inspired by @cowardsexual 's post of a very sleepy phm science team and Grace's teacher instincts

[bibigo-lover]

what do you mean HE didn't write this.

[bluemelanie]

Very much blows my mind when people infantilise Doctor Ryland Grace, a man who canonically told someone they were a waste of carbon (ie kys fucken lmao), took mystery pills (presumably in college) from strangers, literally got into a bitching match seconds after meeting Dr Lokken and ignored Armando when he woke up in favour of getting fucking drunk

[voidedscripts]

𝐀 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐀𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞...

↬ depicts: colt seavers, ryland grace, and driver

↬ warnings: some suggestive implications in drivers section, but nothing beyond that. reader is written to be wearing swim shorts and a t-shirt at one point, but no other descriptors are used

↬ notes: this was my first request, and i got so excited i finished it in nearly a day lol. everybody clap and cheer yayyy

𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐭 𝐒𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬

• two words: surf. lessons.

• remember the part of the fall guy where colt was talking about learning to surf? oh yeah. you can't give a man like that frosted tips and a house by the beach and not expect him to pick up a wave or two.

• colt is no professional surfer, sure, but he would go as far to call it a hobby. he's got a surfboard that he takes good care of, and a multitude of youtube tutorials bouncing around in his brain. along with plenty of mistakes to learn from. if anything, colts just glad he got to showcase his surfing skills to you after he got the hang of it. sure, taking falls is literally what he does for a living, but that doesn't mean he wants to wipe out in front of the person he's trying to impress.

"come on, you've almost got it!"

colt's cheering is doing little to help, and plenty to distract you. it's not his fault, really. between the harsh rocking of the waves and his intense gaze— seriously, he had the blues fucking eyes you'd ever seen —it was getting increasingly harder to stay upright.

it had been just windy enough for some mellow action on the board, but unfortunately, that meant colt had insisted on teaching you today of all days. the one comfort you had was that colt had chosen a secluded enough of a beach to spare you from any judgemental onlookers. perks of traveling all over the world to shoot stunts for movie, you supposed.

you try to remember what he told you, really, you do, ("bend your knees, ride the waves and try to relax!") but before you know it, youre tripping over what seems like air, and diving headfirst into colt's exposed chest.

"fuck!"

you both go under for a second, bubbles and sand kicking up a storm underneath the water. it only takes a moment for colt to resurface. there, he's met with the sight of your completely mortified face. whether that was from the embarassment of the fall or landing face first in his pecs, he wasn't sure. part of him sincerely hoped it was the latter

"we may have to come to terms with the fact ive been cursed to have absolutely zero coordination since birth, colt." you waste no time trying to distract from your humiliating mistake, groaning as you splash a nearby bubble in frustration. he can't help but laugh at that, abruptly clearing his throat and looking away as you shoot him a look.

"i don't know about that—"

"we have been out here for an hour and ive barely managed to catch a single wave." you deadpan at him. colt scratches the back of his neck, feeling a bit of skin peel off. shit, he'd forgotten sunscreen. oh well, that's what the bottle of alo vera in his truck was for.

"hey, at least you can stand up on the board now! it took me forever to get that right!"

"some part of me doesnt believe that." your unyielding gaze feels like its boreing a hole in colts forehead. a nearby wave bumps the surfboard into his side, and he grabs onto it before it can float away. you send it a scathing look like it has personally offended your family bloodline, and colt has to choke down another laugh.

"okay, maybe it only took me a few minutes but—"

"see!! i'm hopeless, and you know it. i'm like a, a uh—" youre guestiring around wildly, trying to settle on an appropriate metaphor for the situation "—fucking baby giraffe out here!"

"a cute baby giraffe."

"not helping colt!"

• even if youre not the most talented at surfing (or a complete whizz, who knows, practice makes perfect) colt still loves hanging out and playing around on the beach. volleyball, catch, seeing who can push who into the bigger wave, all that kinds of stuff. not only is it a chance to spend time around you, but he gets to try and impress you all the while. colt's not shy about liking the attention— if anything, he'll only encourage it. as long as it's you, he doesn't mind one bit.

• he's also definitely the kind of sap to write your names together in the sand, just to pout when a wave comes in and washes it away. it's the little things like that that make him so charming in your eyes.

• he adores ending the night in the bed of his truck along the beach, wrapping his arms around you while you both watch the nearby fire crackle and spark with life. a cozy blanket that you had bought for him a little bit ago is often drapped around your shoulders, sheilding you from the cold and providing cover for a few playful kisses. he loves it when he has to duck under the cover to chase after you with a little laugh, bumping his nose against your affectionately.

𝐑𝐲𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞

• ryland grace has a special relationship with the beach. it's not just somewhere to go and walk around— for him, it's a way to ground himself. to feel the waves lap against his feet as he settles in the sand, watching birds fly overhead and listening to attempts of nearby vendors to sell their food. ocassionaly, he'll find himself a returning customer, exchanging some crumpled ones in order to enjoy an ice cream on the sand with you.

• the calm evenings where the two of you simply sit and talk about everything and nothing at the same time are his favorites. between you and the beach, it's like having two of his safe spaces rolled into one. and it gives him an excuse to admire you as the sun bathes your face in rays of light, emphasizing each and every quality that he's come to love about you.

• of course, if you ever catch on to his staring he'll deny it vehemently, but that doesn't change the fact that he's positively enamored with you. the slope of your nose, the way your hair falls, how you laugh— everything. if there was a subset of science dedicated to observing and fawning over you, ryland would be the lead researcher

"are you even listening to me?" ryland's head is plucked from the clouds at the sound of your voice. he blinks once, then twice, eyes sheepishly meeting your twinkling gaze as ryland chuckles.

"...sorry, i got distracted." the edges of his cheekbones are smattered with a coloring of pink, he can feel it. the last thing he remembered was you going on about the last chapter of a book you read before he'd gotten lost admiring the curve of your lips. "in my defense, you can be very distracting."

"mhmm." your tone isn't displeased. rather, you seem amused. no, no that's not the right word. ryland thought with a shake of his head. more like adoring.

the very thought made his heart race. sometimes, with the way ryland acted, you would think that he was meeting you for the first time.. not taking you back to his special spot in the sand for what must have been the third time this week alone. what can he say, with the warm weather and the promise of school staring again soon, late summer months always left him in a good mood. especially if you happened to be by his side.

"sometimes i wonder how you get anything done around me." you poke a finger at his chest playfully, laughing as he jumps a little bit. "if it's any comfort, you're pretty distracting yourself, ry." you reach out to run the pad of your thumb along the junction between his ear and jaw, smiling softly when he sputters.

"okay, well, now you're just doing this on purpose." he accuses you without any real conviction, his voice a slight octave higher than usual. you would say later that he whined— per usual, ryland would refuse to comment.

"not my fault that you look so good in the sunset like this." you murmer, grabbing his hand and pressing a kiss to his palm. he sighs, the heat in his cheeks spreading down his neck at the sight of you. you weren't lying, either. golden hour had just started a few minutes ago, and the cool toned yellows and oranges only highlighted the angle of his jaw even more. it turned the blond hair that you were so find of running your hands through into tresses of gold.

"want to stay for a bit more then get out of here?" you suggest after pulling back. "i know you've got to head to school tommorrow to set up the classroom some, wouldnt want you to miss out on the opportunity to get a headstart at being the cool teacher."

ryland smiles warmly at you, grabbing your hand and tugging softly. "sure."

he scoots over in the sand some, saddling his torso up to yours even more. you waste no time leaning your head in the crook of his neck, the both of you watching as small waves clashed against each other along the shore. it was a familair motion, like two puzzle pieces snapping together at last. a feeling that the two of you were more than acquainted with by now.

• of course, the microbiologist doesnt just like to sit and talk. he also enjoys getting out there and splashing around a bit! he works with middle schoolers after all— ryland's no slack when it comes to playing outside, even at his age. besides, he'd be a fool not to take an opertunity to sneak glances at you in your swim shorts and t-shirt. upon noticing you doing the same, (albeit more obviously, and with a cheeky grin) he likes to blame his red face on the sun.

• and speaking of the sun, ryland likes to make a habit of covering you in sunscreen before laying down the towels. as a scientist, he knows all too well the side effects that UV rays can have on humans, and when it comes to you he's taking no chances. somehow that turns into a game too— seeing who can guess the patterns drawn on each other's back with sunscreen. never a dull moment between the two of you.

𝐃𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫

• find an empty strip of the beach, and the two of you will be driving along that thing for hours.

• driver postively loves the thrill of speading down the sand with the windows down, salty seabreeze whipping his hair around as you stick a hand out the window and smile. he gets to combine the adernaline of putting the pedal to the metal while having you along for the ride— the perfect afternoon, in his eyes. and it doesnt won't even matter if you get sand in the car. he probably stole it anyways.

• he won't do anything too dangerous if the sand is loose, but on the off chance that it has enough traction, you can get him to do some doughnuts.

• while he's not much for swimming himself, driver will lean against the car with a towel for as long as you want. he's always been more of an observer in the grand scheme of things, and that extends to you. especially you. if that just so happens to mean watching from afar as you dissapear amongst the waves, cracking a slight smile every time you attempt to coax him into the water, then so be it.

• kissing each other on the beach for hours??? yes please. we all know driver is a sucker for taking his time with you, and that extends to the top of a sand dune on the beach, the two of you gazing at the night sky and sharing soft kisses inbetween. its the quiet moments with you that he lives for. its a stark contrast to the action in his line of work. a small paradise in the shape of, well, you.

driver is silent. that doesn't come as a surprise to you— when was he not? it was one of the things that had drawn you to him at first.. with the embroidered jacket and hard set stare of his, you had expected him to be bold. outspoken. maybe even a bit brash (which was the case, just not in the way you'd originally thought). instead, you had been pleasantly surprised by his habit to listen, rather than talk. not many people have that quality nowadays, and its like a breath of fresh air.

"nice swim shorts." you're teasing him again and he knows it. it's impressive, really, how you manage to banter with him like that while practically sopping wet and dripping onto the sand below. even more impressive that you look that good doing it.

drivers lips twitch slightly as you toss a faux judgemental glace at his jeans. alright, half-faux. some part of you was wondering why he chose to wear jeans again.. they were always so hard to clean the sand off of, if the small pile of sand by his apartment door was anything to go by. he always managed to track a little home.

"you really should let me pick out a swimsuit for you. i think that would be fun." you smile as you talk, already imagining the possibilities. would he let you get something patterened? striped? maybe somewhere out there a pair of scorpion embroidered swin shorts sat just waiting to be put on. yeah, he'd like that. it would match his jacket and everything.

driver simply admires you while you ponder aloud, eventually moving on from swimwear to what the rest of the night could hold. he waits as you cycle through a mental list, ("a dinner at that nice place that stays open late, walking on the beach, heading down to the pier, although that may be closed by now.. really whatever you want—") handing you a beach towel in the meanwhile. you don't even pause, voice growing slightly muffled as you run it through your hair. you're positively oblivious to the intensity of his stare.

the moonlight softens your features, showcasing the smattering of goosebumps along your skin. driver had known that it was too late in the year to go nightswimming comfortably, but you'd waved him off earlier, claiming that a little bit of cold never hurt anyone. he resists the urge to drape his jacket over your shoulders— you'd only fret about ruining it. best to get you dry and out of the night instead.

"how about we go for a drive." he finally offers, gently pulling you in by your hips. you were only halfway done drying off, but driver doesnt seem to mind getting a little damp as long as youre the one pressed up against him. if anything, he takes pride in the excited laugh that bubbles from your throat at his move.

"at this point i'm not sure why we come here for anything else." the skin around your nose scrunches up as you grin. "come on then. let me towel off some more and then we can get going."

you attempt to take a step back, but his grip is unyielding. not harsh, nor bruising, just firm. sure of himself, almost.

"i don't mind if the seat gets wet." he whispers, breath light against the shell of your ear as he leans towards you. his fingers are ghosting along the skin of your hips, tracing small circles and.. a heart or two, you think. it's hard to tell if you were making that one up or not.

you squint at him suspiciously.

"...and may i ask where exactly we're going on this drive?"

driver doesnt say much, but with that coy smile of his, he doesn't have to. "just somewhere quiet. beautiful. dark."

you feel a heat rapidly spreading from your neck to the tops of your ears, as well as a few other places. it seems like driver notices as well, the small twitch of his lips turning into a full blown smile. a rare ocassion, and you'd be damned to not take advantage of it.

placing a quick peck to his pink lips, you're suddenly bounding over to the passengers side of the car as if he would change his mind before you got there. driver twirls the car keys in his hand as you do so, already thrumming with anticipation. he wonders if you feel the same way.

"well? we getting out of here or what?" you're the one grinning at him now, eyes brimming with an emotion hes seen on you a hundred times. it never gets old.

with a quick click to the key fob, the doors unlock, and you allow him to whisk you away once more.

[lokihiddleston]

PROJECT HAIL MARY (2026)

[rovermcfly]

rocky's crew dying from radiation exposure, something humans go to great lengths to prevent and are very scared of and grace's crew dying in their "sleep" with nobody watching, something eridians go to great lengths to prevent and are very scared of. cool book that is easy to read through your tears.

[wolfythewitch]

Oughrhdkkrd salamat, hanggang sa muli