novō.

professional passer-by.

[unrelaxing]

a b o u t m e :

arby

seasian oceania-dweller in her 30s

fandom lurker since 03

favourite character haver

occasional writer, more than occasional reader

interests: films, books, history, scrapbooking & all things spooky

current fandom: project hail mary ◇ grocky ◇ bloodymary

archives: @brain-bookmarks ◇ @body-bookmarks ◇ @biro-bookmarks

warning: serial blocker ◇ adult content

[ icon by artsy-moonwalker]

[loversmore]

OLIVIA RODRIGO STUPID SONG (2026)

[treecitysessions]

Why does everyone think fiction is just fantasy wish fulfillment now and not like an exploration of themes and ideas

[holdoncallfailed]

richard hell's apartment (via)

[urbnite]

[ghstwht]

Happy pride to whatever the hell these two have 🙄🏳️‍🌈

[capitanpoops]

just a dream

[hirsuteandcute]

I'm just going to say it - body hair (and beauty standards in general) is truly one of the final frontiers of women's issues in the West. Too many women just love their gilded cage too much. It shocks me how virulently women will defend it. I barely open my mouth and the "well I like how it feels. it just makes me feel cleaner. sensory issues. I do it for me. feminism is about choosing (to conform)." brigade come rushing in by the dozens.

Well I don't like how it feels. I don't feel cleaner without body hair. I don't prefer not having body hair. But who will advocate for women like me, but me? For women who do like hair removal, they are advocated for every time they step out of the house and see 99% of the female population also conforming to that standard, or when they watch a movie and see all the shaved actresses, or view an advertisment, or open a magazine, or watch a music video, or scroll through social media, or walk down the streets without receiving insults and glares for having a completely normal bodily feature.

You genuinely can't even point out that hairlessness is a man-made standard without women losing their shit and acting like they are totally immune to propaganda they've been exposed to from birth. I'm so tired.

[unrelaxing]

the siren call of a fic tagged "Bottom Bradley Bradshaw"

[dozydawn]

lucy liu, 1999.

[rylandsgrace]

Iron Lung (2026) // Project Hail Mary (2026)

[astrotheyge]

'YOU'RE A LONG WAY FROM HOME. I'M A LONG WAY FROM HOME TOO.' PROJECT HAIL MARY (2026) COLOR PROJECT + RAINBOW

[unrelaxing]

Bradley is asexual, and he's open about it, though mostly it's just him reiterating that "he's not interested" whenever his fellow aviators make comments.

Jake has known Beadley for over ten years, and despite Not Knowing The Lingo, he's gotten the message: Bradley Bradshaw does not have sex. Further clarification after a drunk night out: he is repulsed even by the thought of it.

He takes that to mean he doesn't have relationships, because to Jake, they come together.

He learns the difference eventually, but continues to keep Bradley firmly in the NAH category, because Jake fucking loves sex and he's just not interested in being in a relationship without it.

Except... Jake realises he and Bradley are compatible in ways he's never been with anyone else. They talk for hours, once, about everything and anything, a quarter sniping and bantering, a quarter the most delving psychological shit, and half utter nonsense that's still the most invested he's been in a conversation.

Bradley loves cooking but hates cleaning, Jake doesn't know shit about the kitchen but keeps everything spotless.

Bradley gets invited to the Seresin house alongside the Daggers and somehow his nieces and nephews don't even remember anyone else — they're all just obsessed with Bradley.

The worst thing is, everyone starts to see they're perfect for each other, too. Javy starts making comments and Nat starts making Shovel Talk Is Coming eyes at him and Admiral Kazansky Nods at him once and Mav seems to hate him more than ever.

There is no Big Moment, at the end of the day. Bradley doesn't nearly die during a mission, forcing Jake to realise how much he needs him. It's just all of them hanging out as a group, Bradley doing the UGLIEST honk laugh at a joke Jake has made that no one else finds funny, and Jake realises he wants a relationship with Bradley more than he wants a relationship with sex. That he has his right hand, and his left, and his goddamn foot if that's what it takes, but at some point in his life intimacy has become talking for hours and someone who always laughs at your jokes rather than sex.

And because Jake has no impulse control and no shame, he asks Bradley out then and there, in front of God and every asshole who will never let him live it down.

[somepomegranatetea]

Grace tries copying the tones using the keyboard.

Rocky hums. “Close. Skip first note.”

“Why? You always include that.”

“This means… of Rocky, possessive. Of the speaker.”

“My.”

“Correct. But only for names.”

“So you’re calling me…?”

Rocky repeats the word: “My Grace. Yes.” 

“Are there other Graces? Why do you need to specify?”

Rocky considers this, tapping his xenonite-encased claws idly against the floor. 

“No other Grace,” Rocky says. “We just do this.”

“Like an honorific,” Grace guesses. “It goes before everyone’s name? Everyone you know?”

Rocky whirs in surprise. “No, no, no. Not at all.”

“Okay, then who? What makes me qualify?”

Rocky is silent for a moment.

“...Does this offend Grace?” he asks, voice lower. 

Grace blinks. “No! I don’t think so. Is there a reason to be offended?”

“Good,” Rocky says, relieved. Grace is starting to recognize what Eridian relief sounds like. “No, no reason.”

“Who else do you call that?”

“You don’t have this on Earth?”

Grace considers. What for, friends? He couldn’t call Marissa “my Marissa.” That would be weird.

“I still don’t know what it means,” he settles on. “So I couldn’t tell you.”

Rocky groans in frustration. He’s a very impatient tutor. “We just say it.”

“Are you my Rocky?” Grace asks. He hits the two keys to make the my note. 

“I don’t know!” Rocky says. “You decide this.” 

“I decide? Who do you use it for?” 

“You. Adrian. I will use it for my pebbles.” 

Grace blinks. “So few?”

Rocky shifts. “I am… you do not have the word yet. Eridian who works alone often, not close to many other Eridians.”

“What, mechanical engineer?”

Rocky chitters with amusement. “Acceptable.”

“Is Adrian your only friend?” 

Rocky draws back, like he’s taken offense. “I have friends. Coworkers. But different.”

So just Adrian. And him. 

“This worries you,” Rocky says.

“Adrian is your mate,” Grace points out. “I’m not your mate.”

“Correct. You are not. You do not like to be a mate.”

Grace isn’t sure how to respond to that, so he ignores it.

“I’m your friend,” Grace says. 

Rocky hesitates, for a second. “...Correct.”

“Like your coworkers.”

“No.”

Grace sighs, rubbing his hand across his face. Okay, maybe that’s fair. It’s not like he felt about any of his coworkers like he feels about Rocky.

“Best friend,” Grace amends. “You’re my best friend, too.”

Rocky hums. “Acceptable.”

“Just acceptable? Now you are offending me. Can you just explain?”

This makes Rocky fall silent for a minute longer than usual. Grace is half-ready to apologize and to say let’s move on and to retype his own name without the superfluous my. 

“The Earth ‘best friend’ is not strong enough,” Rocky says finally. “It does not translate this way.”

Grace runs his fingers through his hair, a little nervous, for some reason. “Okay.”

“It is…” Rocky pauses. He has to pause more often, now that they’re not using the translator, to simplify his language. “It means that I am not Rocky without my Grace. You are part of… of the whole. When I wake up, I think of you. When I work. When I eat. When I think I am going to die.”

Rocky speaks slowly, but it’s still a lot of Eridian for Grace to grasp all at once. Even as he works out the sentences in his head, he can feel hot tears rising in his eyes.

“It means that when you are sick, I am sick,” Rocky continues. “And it means I will take care of you, because taking care of you is taking care of myself.”

Grace bunches up his sleeve, wiping it across his face, blinking furiously.

Rocky’s voice is soft. “So Grace is part of Rocky. Grace is like a cell. You see? My Grace.” 

Grace is quiet, for a moment, trying to get himself together. When he speaks, his voice is shaky.

“...Oh.”

Rocky hums, pressing his carapace gently against Grace’s arm. “You are leaking. Does this make you sad?”

Grace shakes his head, sniffing, crossing his arms across his knees and resting his chin on his sleeves. “Not at all.”

“Good, good.”

“I feel like that,” Grace mumbles. “Just like that. Just exactly—exactly like that.”

“About your old mate?”

“Don’t act stupid. You know I’m talking about you.”

Rocky hums, burrowing closer. Grace curls one arm around his carapace. That’s not enough, so he leans over, dropping his head down so his forehead presses against the xenonite. 

“My Rocky,” Grace whispers in English. 

“My Grace,” Rocky echoes in Eridian. Grace can recognize the note at the start. He will add it when he plays Rocky’s name. 

“How long have you called me that?” Grace asks. “Must’ve been a while. I didn’t notice it change.”

“Long time,” Rocky agrees. “Long, long time.”

[petaltexturedskies]

F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Beautiful and Damned

[notholaenas]

want want want

[theartofmadeline]

happy pride! this dragon is gay <3