When Grace is six years old he receives his soulmate’s first lost item. It’s a strange hollow cylinder, similar to a pencil, semi-translucent and blotchy brown. It looks like glass, but it can’t be; Grace has dropped it several times in his clumsy enthusiasm, and hasn't broken nor chiped. He is absolutely overjoyed by the fact that he finally has a soulmate, even if he has no idea what the object actually is. His parents are mostly just relieved that their son has stopped crying over not having a soulmate.
Grace goes to class the next day and shows everyone his soulmate’s strange object. He tells them it’s a pencil cover, something to make pencils look nicer. The classroom stares at him strangely, and his teacher gives him a look of pity, Grace in his young enthusiasm doesn't notice, too enamored with the object in his hands.
His bullies catch wind of it quickly. Grace is a weak kid, an easy target. They rip the cylinder from his hands and throw it to the ground. The cylinder doesn’t break, but something inside Grace does. He feels small, insignificant. He cries to his parents about what happened, but his father only tells him he was stupid for taking something precious to school, where things are always lost or stolen.
Grace drags himself to his room, whimpering softly. He doesn’t know where to keep something so important without losing it. In the end, he places the cylinder inside a shoebox. He doesn’t have anything better.
__________
Grace is twelve when the second object from his soulmate arrives.
One morning he wakes to find the strangest thing sitting on his pillow. For a second, he wonders if he lost a tooth and this is some bizarre version of the tooth fairy, but that’s impossible. Which means it came from his soulmate.
He jumps around the room in excitement.
It’s a small figure, around the size of his fist, mostly turquoise with brown spots that somehow blend together beautifully. It looks like a mix between a crab and a spider, five limbs attached to a rounded carapace that spikes upward. The material almost looks 3D-printed, though Grace has never seen anything quite like it before.
It’s gorgeous.
The figure immediately becomes Grace’s most precious possession. He tells no one about it because he wants it to be his and his alone. He keeps it on his nightstand because he wants to fall asleep looking at it and wake up to the sight of something his soulmate once touched. Whenever someone strange comes to the house or his parents visit his room, Grace puts the figure into the shoe box.
With it comes a realization: his soulmate must be an artist, someone who loves arthropods and strange little creatures.
That realization quietly shapes Grace’s future.
He studies biology in school, always choosing every science elective he can. Eventually he discovers that molecular biology fascinates him even more. Sometimes he thinks, distantly, that he owes his soulmate everything. Without them, he might never have found what he loves.
Turquoise becomes Grace’s favorite color.
______________
Grace is eighteen, living in his tiny student apartment after starting college early, when the next item appears.
The box itself is the first thing that catches his attention. It’s made from the same strange material as the cylinder his soulmate sent years ago. Grace turns it over carefully in his hands, marveling at it before opening it.
The lid is covered in strange mathematical symbols.
Inside is, frankly, junk.
At least that’s the only word Grace can think of for the bizarre collection of trinkets, rocks, and crystals filling the box. Nothing looks functional, yet Grace loves every single piece anyway.
One crystal in particular catches his attention. It’s transparent with flat sides, though it isn’t any polyhedron he recognizes. A hexagonal prism sits at its center, and the whole thing glimmers beautifully in the light.
The next day, Grace visits one of those tiny crystal shops with incense smoke thick enough to choke. He asks the woman behind the counter if she has a way for him to wear the crystal safely.
The woman is older, dressed entirely in blue, her hair pulled into a tight bun. Her sharp green eyes settle on the crystal the moment he places it on the counter.
“Otherworldly,” she murmurs as she touches it briefly . “Your soulmate is unlike anyone else. Just like this gem.”
Grace freezes.
He never told her it came from his soulmate.
Still, he leaves the shop wearing a spiraling wire pendant that cradles the crystal safely without altering it. The word otherworldly lingers in his mind the whole walk home.
It feels right.
From then on, Grace never takes the pendant off. It stays tucked beneath his shirt, resting close to his heart. The junk box becomes the new shoe box and the upgrade heals something within him.
At twenty-four, he receives another figurine.
This one is smaller and rounder than the first, almost its complete opposite. Grace finds that oddly amusing and terribly endearing. It’s mostly brown, but three of its limbs are tipped with the same bright turquoise.
The figurine becomes his little companion while he works on his thesis in the research lab.
By now Grace has a few friends, enough people around him that he feels comfortable showing off the gifts from his soulmate. They coo over the little crab-like figure, fascinated by its curious design.
For once, life is good.
____________
When Grace turns thirty, life reaches its lowest point.
His thesis about water not being necessary for life is treated like a joke by the scientific community. No one gives him a chance. Linda, his girlfriend, cheats on him with Mark—her soulmate. Objectively, Grace knows it never would have worked; they weren’t each other’s soulmates. But the silent treatment and her sudden disappearance still hurt deeply. He spends days crying, trying desperately to understand where he went wrong. He wonders if something is fundamentally broken inside him. Maybe he doesn’t really have a soulmate. Maybe he’s simply meant to end up alone, because not even his parents love him, he hasn’t spoken to them in four years.
Eventually, Grace becomes a teacher because he has nowhere else to go, nothing else to, the best he can do is to put his science knowledge to work.
After his first day teaching, he returns to his tiny apartment exhausted, only to find another gift waiting for him.
It’s a scale model of a solar system. Not Earth’s solar system, but something entirely alien and impossibly beautiful.
Grace cries the moment he sees it. Because he does have a soulmate. Someone out there likes the same things he does. Someone out there exists.
The gift gives him hope.
So Grace throws himself into teaching. He teaches his students about space with colorful models and impossible enthusiasm. He takes control of his life again, and for the first time in years, it feels good to make a difference in the world, even if it’s only through children who leave his classroom loving science just a little more than before.
________
At thirty-two, Grace is a well-established teacher in his community. The kids adore him. He holds the unofficial title of coolest science teacher in the school, and nobody fails his class.
Life is genuinely becoming good.
Then Eva Stratt appears.
The Petrova crisis drags Grace into becoming the right hand of the most powerful woman on Earth. The pressure is unbearable, and the number of people they fuck over in the process is catastrophic. Part of Grace would rather stay in his classroom teaching children about planets and cells.
But another part of him is enthralled. Astrophage is everything he ever dreamed science could be.
And then it happens.
“Dr. Ryland Grace, you have to go as the Hail Mary’s scientist.”
“I put the ‘not’ in astronaut,” Grace jokes weakly, voice trembling around the words.
“You have three hours to decide.”
“I… I don’t want to go. I’m not made for that.”
“Yes, you are. You have the coma gene and are the leading expert in astrophage. Apprehend him.” Her eyes are cold.
“No—NO! I’m not gonna go!” They chase him. Karl included. That betrayal hurts far more than Linda’s ever did.
They force him to the ground.
“Don’t worry,” Stratt says, holding up a syringe. “By the time you wake up, you won’t remember any of this and will do your job right”
“You’re murdering me,” Grace sobs into the pavement, salt tears soaking into the ground.
Chapter 2 →
Thank you for reading!! Coments and kudos are highly apreciated.
Sorry fot the late update,.Today more comunication going on.
Rocky was surprisingly easy to understand and get along with. His impeccable memory allowed him to learn English at an astonishing pace, and together they made remarkable progress combining their knowledge of astrophage. Even though saving their worlds should have been their highest priority, Rocky constantly asked personal questions.
Grace found it deeply embarrassing when Rocky started returning things he had lost over the years. The alien seemed endlessly fascinated by every little detail of his life. Rocky brought out stacks of papers he had collected throughout the years and asked Grace to explain them. Grace had to tell him that humans perceived the world through sight rather than sound, and that the reason Rocky could faintly hear the paper at all was because Grace had pressed hard enough into it to leave impressions while writing during stressful moments.
Rocky had somehow managed to preserve years' worth of notes. Some came from Grace's research days, including drafts of his failed thesis. Looking at them brought back a wave of unpleasant memories. Naturally, Rocky became fascinated by the research and asked endless questions. Grace explained everything: his ideas about life without water, the scientific backlash, and how thoroughly his career had imploded. Unlike many of his former colleagues, Rocky seemed genuinely interested. Even though biology wasn't his field, he offered thoughtful observations and surprisingly eloquent questions.
When Rocky declared that he intended to share Grace's ideas with other Eridians, something warm settled in Grace's chest, even though he was also dying from mortification on the inside.
"Then later, other papers came. Rocky could hear these better. Grace seemed more frustrated." Rocky waved around a bundle of colorful drawings.
Grace laughed immediately.
"No, Rock. Those are drawings my kids made for me."
"Grace has offspring and didn't tell Rocky? Mad, mad, mad!" Rocky trilled in exaggerated offense.
"Haha, no. I'm a teacher. Those are drawings from my students."
Rocky paused.
"Rocky not understand word."
Grace smiled.
"I teach. I pass information to the next generation. And I was a pretty cool teacher. The kids loved my class." He couldn't help the pride in his voice. Out of everything he'd accomplished in life, being the cool teacher was on the top 5.
Rocky tapped happily against the floor.
"Rocky understand. Eridian word is ♩♬♬♪."
Grace quickly typed the translation into the computer.
"Grace would be very good parent. All pebbles would love Grace and learn all human things."
Grace immediately felt his face heat up. People didn't compliment him often, and Rocky somehow managed to do it constantly. He was suddenly grateful Eridians couldn't see color.
"What made Grace become teacher? And why teacher on space mission?"
The question made Grace hesitate.
"I have to tell you something, Rocky." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't actually know. I know I became a teacher because I got kicked out of the scientific community, but I don't remember why I volunteered to save the stars."
Rocky tilted slightly.
"Grace also lost memories?"
"Yeah. Humans can't remember everything like Eridians can, but my memory is especially bad right now. The travel sleep the coma messed me up. A lot of things are missing. They're coming back slowly, but there are huge gaps."
"What else Grace not remember?"
Grace thought for a moment.
"The faces of my parents. Why I chose bioengineering. Why this necklace feels so important." He lifted the crystal pendant hanging around his neck.
"It looks like clear quartz with a black dot inside. I like it a lot, but every time I try to take it off, I feel awful. Like I'm doing something wrong."
The moment he finished speaking, Rocky practically slammed himself against the xenonite wall, trilling loudly enough to make Grace jump.
"Mine! Mine! Mine! Rocky gave to Grace! Gift so Grace could have piece of stars!"
Grace blinked.
"What?"
"Rocky sent crystal years ago. Rocky worried because gift came back. Rocky thought Grace died."
The words hit him like a physical blow.
A memory surfaced instantly.
Eighteen years old. A strange box from his soulmate, full of crystal and rocks.
One crystal that had felt special.
A pendant shop.
An old woman telling him his soulmate was otherworldly.
Grace laughed helplessly.
"Oh my God."
He touched the pendant lovingly.
"You gave me this."
"Yes!"
"Thank you, Rocky."
The alien practically vibrated.
"Thank you for giving me that memory back. It was important."
"Rocky happy, happy, happy to provide for Grace."
Then Rocky hesitated.
"Would Grace allow Rocky to improve courting gift? Metal holder ruins sound."
Grace felt warmth bloom in his chest. The idea of letting Rocky redesign the pendant should not have felt nearly as intimate as it did.
"Okay."
Rocky practically exploded into excited whistles.
Then another thought struck Grace.
"Wait. Rocky. What do you mean the box came back?"
Rocky's excitement immediately faded.
"Years ago Rocky suddenly received mountain of things. Many, many, many things. Then silence. Long silence. Rocky thought soulmate died."
Grace froze.
"The coma."
Rocky nodded.
"The moment I entered the coma, all my stuff must have gone back to you."
His mind raced. That wasn't supposed to happen. Soulmates occasionally received objects after severe memory loss, but comas? That didn't make sense.
Unless...
(You are murdering me!!)
The memory slammed into him so hard it stole the breath from his lungs.
No image.
No context.
Just terror.
His own voice screaming.
Earth beneath his face.
The certainty that he had not wanted to be there.
Grace went pale.
He hadn't volunteered.
Had he? He knew he wasn't meant for the stars, like the sacred nerd he is.
His stomach twisted.
Rocky had disappeared back into the tunnel before Grace could say anything, leaving him alone with the crushing realization.
A few minutes later Rocky returned carrying a familiar box.
"Rocky give Grace back box. Grace should have memories."
The box slid through the airlock.
Grace stared at it.
"So I get the box back, but not my clothes?"
Rocky immediately looked smug.
"Those clothes are Rocky's nest."
"You are evil, Rock."
"Correct."
Grace laughed despite himself.
Inside the box sat decades of memories.
"Oh, I remember this. It lived on my desk. My study companion." Grace laughed and held the figurine up for Rocky to listen to.
"That is ♩♬♬ ♩♬♪♪. Rocky wanted it back but felt bad taking it."
Something about Rocky's voice sounded strange. Was that sadness? Guilt?
"Who is that? You can have it back if you want. The one I really like is this one."
Grace pulled Rocky's figurine from his pocket and held it up, smiling.
"That is Rocky's partner. Living partner. Together for over one 180 years."
Grace froze.
"Wait. Rocky, you're married? Or... have a life partner? Do Eridians get more than one soulmate or..."
It felt like a bucket of cold water had just been poured over him. He had been starting to enjoy Rocky's company and the idea of him being his soulmate, but if Rocky already had a partner, then Grace would be nothing more than a homewrecker. Maybe Rocky's clinginess wasn't romantic at all. Maybe Rocky had simply been alone for too many years and was latching onto the first person he'd been able to talk to in decades.
"Grace not worry for ♩♬♬ ♩♬♪♪. Eridians can have more than one partner. Neither Rocky nor ♩♬♬ ♩♬♪♪ found soulmate, but we love each other very much. Very compatible. Created beautiful melody together." Rocky hesitated.
"Is Grace upset that Rocky has other partner?"
He had folded in on himself, making himself look smaller, as if he were afraid of the answer.
"No, no, no, Rock. It's okay." Grace immediately waved his hands. "I was just worried about interrupting your relationship. Your partner was already there, and I'd just be... an extra. Humans usually only have one partner."
"Oh." Rocky's claws rubbed together anxiously. "Does this mean Grace does not want relationship because Rocky is already with ♩♬♬ ♩♬♪♪? Humans only get one partner. Rocky cannot leave ♩♬♬ ♩♬♪♪. Love them too much."
The conflict in Rocky's voice made Grace's heart ache.
"Hey, hey, hey. We can figure something out if your partner doesn't mind. I just don't want to break anything between you two, okay?" Grace said gently. "Most humans are monogamous, but we can try. I can meet your partner first and see what they think of me. Im an alien after all" He attempted humor.
The idea of joining a relationship that had already existed for almost two centuries was intimidating enough. The fact that the relationship involved aliens made it even stranger. Still, that was a problem for another day.
"Grace wants to meet ♩♬♬ ♩♬♪♪?" Rocky practically vibrated. "Happy, happy, happy! ♩♬♬ ♩♬♪♪ is going to love Grace. Grace is smart, and ♩♬♬ ♩♬♪♪ is ecologist. Cares very much about others, like Grace"
"They sound lovely, Rock. I'd love to meet them someday."
Rocky chirped happily.
"Would you mind if I gave them a human name?" Grace asked.
"Please! Please! ♩♬♬ ♩♬♪♪ would love. Rocky wants Grace to love ♩♬♬ ♩♬♪♪."
Grace thought for a moment.
"Hmm... what about Adrien? Does that sound pretty to you?"
Rocky immediately erupted into delighted trills.
"Yes, yes, yes! Very beautiful noise coming from Grace."
Chapter 1
Sorry for the late update! I try to make each chapter at least 1,000 words long, though I'd like them to be even longer. I also aim to update at least once a week, but I've been feeling a little dry on ideas lately. This chapter covers the rules but barely.
This chapter was originally supposed to cover the fishing incident, but I got distracted by other things, and the fact I didn´t wanna go into heavy writing territory,honestly. Writing and exploring their growing connection is something I enjoy and necessary to the plot.
I hope the next chapter is a lot longer and includes all the scenes I originally wanted to write, because if I keep getting sidetracked like this, the story is going to end up much longer than planned—and I have several other projects I need to be working on too.
When Grace is six years old he receives his soulmate’s first lost item. It’s a strange hollow cylinder, similar to a pencil, semi-translucent and blotchy brown. It looks like glass, but it can’t be; Grace has dropped it several times in his clumsy enthusiasm, and hasn't broken nor chiped. He is absolutely overjoyed by the fact that he finally has a soulmate, even if he has no idea what the object actually is. His parents are mostly just relieved that their son has stopped crying over not having a soulmate.
Grace goes to class the next day and shows everyone his soulmate’s strange object. He tells them it’s a pencil cover, something to make pencils look nicer. The classroom stares at him strangely, and his teacher gives him a look of pity, Grace in his young enthusiasm doesn't notice, too enamored with the object in his hands.
His bullies catch wind of it quickly. Grace is a weak kid, an easy target. They rip the cylinder from his hands and throw it to the ground. The cylinder doesn’t break, but something inside Grace does. He feels small, insignificant. He cries to his parents about what happened, but his father only tells him he was stupid for taking something precious to school, where things are always lost or stolen.
Grace drags himself to his room, whimpering softly. He doesn’t know where to keep something so important without losing it. In the end, he places the cylinder inside a shoebox. He doesn’t have anything better.
__________
Grace is twelve when the second object from his soulmate arrives.
One morning he wakes to find the strangest thing sitting on his pillow. For a second, he wonders if he lost a tooth and this is some bizarre version of the tooth fairy, but that’s impossible. Which means it came from his soulmate.
He jumps around the room in excitement.
It’s a small figure, around the size of his fist, mostly turquoise with brown spots that somehow blend together beautifully. It looks like a mix between a crab and a spider, five limbs attached to a rounded carapace that spikes upward. The material almost looks 3D-printed, though Grace has never seen anything quite like it before.
It’s gorgeous.
The figure immediately becomes Grace’s most precious possession. He tells no one about it because he wants it to be his and his alone. He keeps it on his nightstand because he wants to fall asleep looking at it and wake up to the sight of something his soulmate once touched. Whenever someone strange comes to the house or his parents visit his room, Grace puts the figure into the shoe box.
With it comes a realization: his soulmate must be an artist, someone who loves arthropods and strange little creatures.
That realization quietly shapes Grace’s future.
He studies biology in school, always choosing every science elective he can. Eventually he discovers that molecular biology fascinates him even more. Sometimes he thinks, distantly, that he owes his soulmate everything. Without them, he might never have found what he loves.
Turquoise becomes Grace’s favorite color.
______________
Grace is eighteen, living in his tiny student apartment after starting college early, when the next item appears.
The box itself is the first thing that catches his attention. It’s made from the same strange material as the cylinder his soulmate sent years ago. Grace turns it over carefully in his hands, marveling at it before opening it.
The lid is covered in strange mathematical symbols.
Inside is, frankly, junk.
At least that’s the only word Grace can think of for the bizarre collection of trinkets, rocks, and crystals filling the box. Nothing looks functional, yet Grace loves every single piece anyway.
One crystal in particular catches his attention. It’s transparent with flat sides, though it isn’t any polyhedron he recognizes. A hexagonal prism sits at its center, and the whole thing glimmers beautifully in the light.
The next day, Grace visits one of those tiny crystal shops with incense smoke thick enough to choke. He asks the woman behind the counter if she has a way for him to wear the crystal safely.
The woman is older, dressed entirely in blue, her hair pulled into a tight bun. Her sharp green eyes settle on the crystal the moment he places it on the counter.
“Otherworldly,” she murmurs as she touches it briefly . “Your soulmate is unlike anyone else. Just like this gem.”
Grace freezes.
He never told her it came from his soulmate.
Still, he leaves the shop wearing a spiraling wire pendant that cradles the crystal safely without altering it. The word otherworldly lingers in his mind the whole walk home.
It feels right.
From then on, Grace never takes the pendant off. It stays tucked beneath his shirt, resting close to his heart. The junk box becomes the new shoe box and the upgrade heals something within him.
At twenty-four, he receives another figurine.
This one is smaller and rounder than the first, almost its complete opposite. Grace finds that oddly amusing and terribly endearing. It’s mostly brown, but three of its limbs are tipped with the same bright turquoise.
The figurine becomes his little companion while he works on his thesis in the research lab.
By now Grace has a few friends, enough people around him that he feels comfortable showing off the gifts from his soulmate. They coo over the little crab-like figure, fascinated by its curious design.
For once, life is good.
____________
When Grace turns thirty, life reaches its lowest point.
His thesis about water not being necessary for life is treated like a joke by the scientific community. No one gives him a chance. Linda, his girlfriend, cheats on him with Mark—her soulmate. Objectively, Grace knows it never would have worked; they weren’t each other’s soulmates. But the silent treatment and her sudden disappearance still hurt deeply. He spends days crying, trying desperately to understand where he went wrong. He wonders if something is fundamentally broken inside him. Maybe he doesn’t really have a soulmate. Maybe he’s simply meant to end up alone, because not even his parents love him, he hasn’t spoken to them in four years.
Eventually, Grace becomes a teacher because he has nowhere else to go, nothing else to, the best he can do is to put his science knowledge to work.
After his first day teaching, he returns to his tiny apartment exhausted, only to find another gift waiting for him.
It’s a scale model of a solar system. Not Earth’s solar system, but something entirely alien and impossibly beautiful.
Grace cries the moment he sees it. Because he does have a soulmate. Someone out there likes the same things he does. Someone out there exists.
The gift gives him hope.
So Grace throws himself into teaching. He teaches his students about space with colorful models and impossible enthusiasm. He takes control of his life again, and for the first time in years, it feels good to make a difference in the world, even if it’s only through children who leave his classroom loving science just a little more than before.
________
At thirty-two, Grace is a well-established teacher in his community. The kids adore him. He holds the unofficial title of coolest science teacher in the school, and nobody fails his class.
Life is genuinely becoming good.
Then Eva Stratt appears.
The Petrova crisis drags Grace into becoming the right hand of the most powerful woman on Earth. The pressure is unbearable, and the number of people they fuck over in the process is catastrophic. Part of Grace would rather stay in his classroom teaching children about planets and cells.
But another part of him is enthralled. Astrophage is everything he ever dreamed science could be.
And then it happens.
“Dr. Ryland Grace, you have to go as the Hail Mary’s scientist.”
“I put the ‘not’ in astronaut,” Grace jokes weakly, voice trembling around the words.
“You have three hours to decide.”
“I… I don’t want to go. I’m not made for that.”
“Yes, you are. You have the coma gene and are the leading expert in astrophage. Apprehend him.” Her eyes are cold.
“No—NO! I’m not gonna go!” They chase him. Karl included. That betrayal hurts far more than Linda’s ever did.
They force him to the ground.
“Don’t worry,” Stratt says, holding up a syringe. “By the time you wake up, you won’t remember any of this and will do your job right”
“You’re murdering me,” Grace sobs into the pavement, salt tears soaking into the ground.
Chapter 2 →
Thank you for reading!! Coments and kudos are highly apreciated.
When Grace is six years old he receives his soulmate’s first lost item. It’s a strange hollow cylinder, similar to a pencil, semi-translucent and blotchy brown. It looks like glass, but it can’t be; Grace has dropped it several times in his clumsy enthusiasm, and hasn't broken nor chiped. He is absolutely overjoyed by the fact that he finally has a soulmate, even if he has no idea what the object actually is. His parents are mostly just relieved that their son has stopped crying over not having a soulmate.
Grace goes to class the next day and shows everyone his soulmate’s strange object. He tells them it’s a pencil cover, something to make pencils look nicer. The classroom stares at him strangely, and his teacher gives him a look of pity, Grace in his young enthusiasm doesn't notice, too enamored with the object in his hands.
His bullies catch wind of it quickly. Grace is a weak kid, an easy target. They rip the cylinder from his hands and throw it to the ground. The cylinder doesn’t break, but something inside Grace does. He feels small, insignificant. He cries to his parents about what happened, but his father only tells him he was stupid for taking something precious to school, where things are always lost or stolen.
Grace drags himself to his room, whimpering softly. He doesn’t know where to keep something so important without losing it. In the end, he places the cylinder inside a shoebox. He doesn’t have anything better.
__________
Grace is twelve when the second object from his soulmate arrives.
One morning he wakes to find the strangest thing sitting on his pillow. For a second, he wonders if he lost a tooth and this is some bizarre version of the tooth fairy, but that’s impossible. Which means it came from his soulmate.
He jumps around the room in excitement.
It’s a small figure, around the size of his fist, mostly turquoise with brown spots that somehow blend together beautifully. It looks like a mix between a crab and a spider, five limbs attached to a rounded carapace that spikes upward. The material almost looks 3D-printed, though Grace has never seen anything quite like it before.
It’s gorgeous.
The figure immediately becomes Grace’s most precious possession. He tells no one about it because he wants it to be his and his alone. He keeps it on his nightstand because he wants to fall asleep looking at it and wake up to the sight of something his soulmate once touched. Whenever someone strange comes to the house or his parents visit his room, Grace puts the figure into the shoe box.
With it comes a realization: his soulmate must be an artist, someone who loves arthropods and strange little creatures.
That realization quietly shapes Grace’s future.
He studies biology in school, always choosing every science elective he can. Eventually he discovers that molecular biology fascinates him even more. Sometimes he thinks, distantly, that he owes his soulmate everything. Without them, he might never have found what he loves.
Turquoise becomes Grace’s favorite color.
______________
Grace is eighteen, living in his tiny student apartment after starting college early, when the next item appears.
The box itself is the first thing that catches his attention. It’s made from the same strange material as the cylinder his soulmate sent years ago. Grace turns it over carefully in his hands, marveling at it before opening it.
The lid is covered in strange mathematical symbols.
Inside is, frankly, junk.
At least that’s the only word Grace can think of for the bizarre collection of trinkets, rocks, and crystals filling the box. Nothing looks functional, yet Grace loves every single piece anyway.
One crystal in particular catches his attention. It’s transparent with flat sides, though it isn’t any polyhedron he recognizes. A hexagonal prism sits at its center, and the whole thing glimmers beautifully in the light.
The next day, Grace visits one of those tiny crystal shops with incense smoke thick enough to choke. He asks the woman behind the counter if she has a way for him to wear the crystal safely.
The woman is older, dressed entirely in blue, her hair pulled into a tight bun. Her sharp green eyes settle on the crystal the moment he places it on the counter.
“Otherworldly,” she murmurs as she touches it briefly . “Your soulmate is unlike anyone else. Just like this gem.”
Grace freezes.
He never told her it came from his soulmate.
Still, he leaves the shop wearing a spiraling wire pendant that cradles the crystal safely without altering it. The word otherworldly lingers in his mind the whole walk home.
It feels right.
From then on, Grace never takes the pendant off. It stays tucked beneath his shirt, resting close to his heart. The junk box becomes the new shoe box and the upgrade heals something within him.
At twenty-four, he receives another figurine.
This one is smaller and rounder than the first, almost its complete opposite. Grace finds that oddly amusing and terribly endearing. It’s mostly brown, but three of its limbs are tipped with the same bright turquoise.
The figurine becomes his little companion while he works on his thesis in the research lab.
By now Grace has a few friends, enough people around him that he feels comfortable showing off the gifts from his soulmate. They coo over the little crab-like figure, fascinated by its curious design.
For once, life is good.
____________
When Grace turns thirty, life reaches its lowest point.
His thesis about water not being necessary for life is treated like a joke by the scientific community. No one gives him a chance. Linda, his girlfriend, cheats on him with Mark—her soulmate. Objectively, Grace knows it never would have worked; they weren’t each other’s soulmates. But the silent treatment and her sudden disappearance still hurt deeply. He spends days crying, trying desperately to understand where he went wrong. He wonders if something is fundamentally broken inside him. Maybe he doesn’t really have a soulmate. Maybe he’s simply meant to end up alone, because not even his parents love him, he hasn’t spoken to them in four years.
Eventually, Grace becomes a teacher because he has nowhere else to go, nothing else to, the best he can do is to put his science knowledge to work.
After his first day teaching, he returns to his tiny apartment exhausted, only to find another gift waiting for him.
It’s a scale model of a solar system. Not Earth’s solar system, but something entirely alien and impossibly beautiful.
Grace cries the moment he sees it. Because he does have a soulmate. Someone out there likes the same things he does. Someone out there exists.
The gift gives him hope.
So Grace throws himself into teaching. He teaches his students about space with colorful models and impossible enthusiasm. He takes control of his life again, and for the first time in years, it feels good to make a difference in the world, even if it’s only through children who leave his classroom loving science just a little more than before.
________
At thirty-two, Grace is a well-established teacher in his community. The kids adore him. He holds the unofficial title of coolest science teacher in the school, and nobody fails his class.
Life is genuinely becoming good.
Then Eva Stratt appears.
The Petrova crisis drags Grace into becoming the right hand of the most powerful woman on Earth. The pressure is unbearable, and the number of people they fuck over in the process is catastrophic. Part of Grace would rather stay in his classroom teaching children about planets and cells.
But another part of him is enthralled. Astrophage is everything he ever dreamed science could be.
And then it happens.
“Dr. Ryland Grace, you have to go as the Hail Mary’s scientist.”
“I put the ‘not’ in astronaut,” Grace jokes weakly, voice trembling around the words.
“You have three hours to decide.”
“I… I don’t want to go. I’m not made for that.”
“Yes, you are. You have the coma gene and are the leading expert in astrophage. Apprehend him.” Her eyes are cold.
“No—NO! I’m not gonna go!” They chase him. Karl included. That betrayal hurts far more than Linda’s ever did.
They force him to the ground.
“Don’t worry,” Stratt says, holding up a syringe. “By the time you wake up, you won’t remember any of this and will do your job right”
“You’re murdering me,” Grace sobs into the pavement, salt tears soaking into the ground.
Chapter 2 →
Thank you for reading!! Coments and kudos are highly apreciated.
Messaging the alien goes surprisingly well. They understand most of what Rocky is trying to tell them, even if they are painfully slow to respond, both through messages and in person.
The alien—his soulmate, maybe—is a very elongated, thin creature. It has four limbs and a small round structure perched atop its torso. It stands on two limbs and uses the other two to interact with the world around it. Rocky waits patiently while the creature finishes arranging its thing on the tunnel. Once it finally settles down, Rocky raises himself to his full height, chirping and trilling with excitement.
"Greetings, greetings, greetings! Space alien and maybe mate! Amaze, amaze, amaze! You mate? You lose so many things. Why so many? Why so many years of silence? Rocky very, very, very worried. Bad, bad, bad."
The alien freezes. Rocky waits for some reaction, wondering if it is listening to his words or to his movements. Wanting to reassure it that he understands the atmosphere difference between them, Rocky points toward the message cylinder.
Nothing.
The alien doesn't move at all.
Instead, it slowly slumps against the barrier.
Confused clicks and whistles escape Rocky. Why is it doing that? Rocky taps harder against the xenonite, curling his claw into a fist and knocking against the transparent wall. The alien finally seems to return to itself.
Then it stands up.
And leaves.
Rocky stares after it in disbelief.
What!?
The alien just fuking left.
Rude.
The alien does not return for 10,800 seconds.
Rocky waits the entire time. Patiently. Angrily. There is absolutely no way this creature could be his soulmate. His soulmate would not be this stupid, this rude.
Eventually, the alien returns, although it somehow looks even thinner than before. Rocky briefly wonders if it shed layers while it was gone or maybe is another one. Rocky stands immediately. He balls his claws into fists and shakes them dramatically. The alien visibly flinches.
Good.
Let it be known that Rocky is not happy.
Pointing once more at the message cylinder, Rocky repeats the gesture. This time the alien seems to understand much faster, they open it and bob up and down rocky guesses this a god gesture.
The creature retrieves something from its clothing, lowers itself to the floor, and carefully holds the object up against the barrier.
Rocky taps the wall a cuple times, listening.
And freezes.
It is the figurine.
The figurine of himself.
The one he had made all those years ago to sit beside Adrien.
He was right. This is his soulmate. Rocky explodes high-pitched whistles and excited trills bursting from him as he spins in place, waving his arms wildly. He presses himself against the barrier as closely as possible, desperate to be nearer.
Mate.
Mate.
Mate.
The alien seems confused by Rocky's excitement. It takes an embarrassingly long time before it finally presses one of its claws against the opposite side of the barrier, right above his own. .
Rocky's hearts flutter.
Its claws are big.
Rocky loves having big mates.
Then the alien starts making noises, and suddenly liquid begins pouring from the larger openings on its face.
Rocky recoils a bit.
Leaking.
His mate is leaking. A leaking space blob.
Disgusting.
Disgusting.
Disgusting.
Rocky will love them anyway.
The sounds his mate makes are incredibly simple. No layering. No harmonics. Just basic noises one after another. Rocky gets the distinct impression that these people are somewhat underdeveloped and cannot properly hear the world around them. The alien appears to have only one sensory receptor; whenever it works on something, it always turns the same side of its body toward the object.
Mate continues gesturing between Rocky and the figurine, waving its front limbs dramatically. Rocky hopes it is not some kind of threat display.
Then the alien leaves.
Again.
Rocky stares after it.
They are doomed.
There is absolutely no way they are going to advance on the astrophage problem or on their relationship.
Matwe returns almost immediately this time, thank Erid, carrying a small round object. It places the item against the barrier before pushing it through the exchange box.
Rocky eagerly retrieves it, assuming it must be some kind of courting gift.
Instead, it is a strange object that stretches, half of it immediately melts, rocky is more than used to the synthetic material slipping through his fingers, now it makes a lot of sense all the things his soulmate lost would melt and brook in Rocky's atmosphere, mates atmosphere is much different, but he would have never guessed the condition would be so extreme. Rocky pulls on it, hoping its function is still viable.
It snaps back and smacks his claw.
Ow.
He does it again.
And again.
And again.
Maybe mate is not that bad after all, it's fun like a toy.
While Rocky entertains himself with the fascinating object, mate moves closer to the barrier. One side of its body rests only centimeters away.
Rocky hurries forward, pressing his carapace against the transparent wall in what he hopes is an obvious nuzzle.
Mate immediately gets up and leaves.
Rocky whistles mournfully.
Apparently mate does not enjoy cuddling.
Mate returns carrying several objects. A rectangular device and another smaller round one are carefully placed on the floor. Mate taps the round object repeatedly, it has symbols and they are pointing at one especially. before holding up a single digit.
"One."
Rocky chirps in response, numbers, they are trying to communicate through numbers.
Rocky answer back “ ♩♬♪ “
The machine repeats it.
Rocky freezes. Mate makes a noisy main orifice open and body vibrating, it's beautiful.
A machine that remembers sounds.
A machine that teaches language.
Amaze.
Amaze.
Amaze.
So so so smart, maybe mate is not completely stupid after all. Maybe mate can help with a astrophage problem.
GRACE POV
Grace has to retreat back into the Hail Mary because he is having a crisis. A full-blown, scientifically unmeasurable crisis.
His soulmate cannot be an alien.
There is simply no way.
Soulmates are supposed to be people. Humans. Maybe someone from another country. Maybe someone he'd never met. Maybe someone weird.
Not an extraterrestrial rock crab-spider.
And yet...
That hoodie is his, irrevocably, undeniably his. The faded university logo, the coffee stain beneath the letter C, the frayed cuff he'd chewed on while studying for exams.
The hoodie he lost years ago, the hoodie currently being worn by an alien.
Grace spends three hours pacing through the Hail Mary trying to come up with literally any other explanation.
He fails.
Eventually, he gathers enough courage to return, this time he leaves the EVA suit behind. If his soulmate wanted to kill him, he would have had plenty of opportunities already. Instead, he grabs the alien figurine from his workbench and marches back down the tunnel.
The alien is waiting, with balled fists and shaking them, Grace flinches. He didn't expect the alien to be angry, although to be fair grace did abandon it for 3h.
The moment he gets closer, it starts tapping against the xenonite barrier. Grace has mentally named the transparent material xenonite. He figures he has the right as the first human in history to discover it.
The alien immediately points behind Grace, that´s what they might have been pointing at before.
"Oh."
Right there's a cylinder. Feeling slightly embarrassed, Grace retrieves it and finally opens it. Inside are several beaded loops. His first thought is to hand cuffs the second is decoration, but after a closer inspection he realizes they represent molecules.
A laugh escapes him.
Of course.
Of course his alien soulmate is a molecular engineer.
One loop represents oxygen.
Another ammonia.
Then Grace kneels in front of the barrier and slowly pulls the figurine from his pocket.
The reaction is immediate.
The alien practically explodes.
It spins in circles, chirping and whistling so rapidly that Grace loses track of the sounds entirely, it climbs so high in pitch Grace stops hearing entirely. Its front limbs wave wildly in the air in what can only be described as alien jazz hands.
Grace cannot help laughing. The giant rock spider is actually kind of adorable, like an overexcited puppy.
The alien suddenly presses itself against the barrier. As close as physically possible.
Grace hesitates only briefly before placing his hand against the transparent wall opposite one of the alien's claws.
The creature immediately leans further into the contact.
Nuzzling.
It is nuzzling the barrier.
Trying to get closer.
Grace feels something inside him crack.
Not painfully.
For the first time since waking up, he doesn't feel alone.
Not completely.
Not anymore.
A few tears slip down his face before he can stop them.
He isn't exactly thrilled that his soulmate turned out to be an alien rock spider.
But the alien clearly likes him.
And after everything—the memory loss, the deaths, the impossible mission—having someone look at him like that feels nice.
Unfortunately, feelings are secondary to science.
So Grace retreats once more, returning with a measuring tape, math and numbers are a universal language. The measuring tape lasts approximately thirty seconds, on the rocks environment.
Then it melts.
Grace stares.
The alien plays with the tape, uncaring of the melting plastic on hand, which is weird because the alien should feel curious about the melting substance, if they are scientists which he should be from what he has seen so far.
The remains of the tape drip onto the floor.
"Oh."
Another realization hits him.
The pens he's been losing since forever are made of plastic.
The hoodie.
The countless things he'd lost over the years.
The alien doesn't react at all.
Like this is normal.
Like it has seen melting plastic thousands of times before.
Which means—
"Oh no."
The alien knows exactly how much random crap he must have lost in his life.
Every lost pen.
Every broken pencil.
Every misplaced notebook.
Every forgotten piece of junk.
Every single embarrassing item that vanished over the years.
His soulmate has been receiving them.
All of them.
Grace buries his face in his hands.
"Please tell me I didn't lose anything too embarrassing."
The alien whistles happily. Which somehow feels like a bad sign.
Grace leaned closer to the barrier trying to see across into the alien space but its pitch black, his light stretching only so far he tried to see further he leaned closer to the barrier and tried explaining to the rock to look at the numbers.
The alien comes closer the flat rock side directly against his face, no eyes, no sensor of any kind but lots of noise.
Of course.
The alien is blind and moves around with echolocation.
When Grace returns again, carrying two computer taped and one of those big round clock with raised numbers, the alien is still waiting patiently.
Waiting for him.
The realization sends an odd warmth through his chest.
The alien immediately perks up upon seeing him and presses closer to the barrier.
Clingy.
Very clingy.
Grace is beginning to suspect his soulmate might be clingy.
The thought should bother him.
Instead, it makes him smile.
Together, separated by xenonite and incompatible atmospheres, they begin the long process of teaching each other numbers, words, and language. He holds a finger up and says.
"One."
Rocky chirps in response “ ♩♬♪ “
He saves it to the computer and then plays repeat. Rocky startles when the computer replies Grace laughs. It's cute. Yeah he has decided to name the space spider crab soulmate Rocky, very original he knows. But he refuses to call it alien.
For the first time since waking up aboard the Hail Mary, Grace finds himself genuinely looking forward to tomorrow.
Brander shouldn't give into his desires nor to the charms of the shadows lord, yet here he is face down on silky sheets Maul whispering sweet nothingness into his ear.
Brander is not sure how he ended up like this—naked, face down on silky blood-red sheets, body trembling. The galaxy’s Shadow Lord behind him, caressing him gently: one hand running circles on his raised hip, the other tangled in his scalp, clawed fingers threading through his hair. A man like Maul shouldn’t be this gentle, yet the carefulness with which he treats his body threatens to undo him.
“Let go…” Maul murmurs.
He squeezes his eyes shut.
The hand in his hair tightens, pulling not enough to lift his head from the mattress or to truly hurt, but enough to send shivers down his spine. He whines.
“That’s it~” Maul’s voice is on his ear, silky smooth and syrupy sweet as his nose drags across the shell of his ear. He presses a soft kiss behind it. Brander trembles, biting his tongue to keep the sounds that threaten to spill out. He feels Maul’s chapped lips curl into a smile against his neck, hears the soft chuckle, he groans helpless.
“You look so gorgeous trying to resist the dark side,” Maul whispers, his hot breath making him twitch. “Do not resist, dear. Give in to your desires.”
Maul’s hips press forward, meeting him—cold metal and hot flesh, a strange sensation. Still, Brander pushes back into it, the need in his body overriding any rational thought. He shouldn’t—he really shouldn’t. He has a duty to Coruscant, to his son… and yet no one has ever touched him this sweetly. Not even his wife. The desire for more chokes him.
“Good. Let yourself be selfish. Enjoy what you are freely given.”
The praise destroys him. He whines loudly, body going lax as he gives in to the Shadow Lord’s touch.
The hand on his hip slides down, brushing past his member before curling around his thigh, just shy of his balls. The hand in his hair moves to grip his jaw tightly, pulling him up. His back arches as Maul lifts him, he moans, Maul rumbles in appreciation. His jaw aches in a way that makes heat coil in his gut.
Maul tilts his head, angling their faces closer. The yellow of his eyes looks almost golden in the dim light, all-consuming.
The hand on his thigh tightens, sharp nails digging into soft flesh. They don’t quite draw blood, but it’s close. The hold is possessive, pushing Brander's rear against Maul’s crotch. He can feel the hardness pressing against him—he’s seated on the Shadow Lord’s lap now, legs spread, pinned in place by that heated gaze.
“Beautiful,” Maul whispers against his lips.
The kiss is hot and messy. Brander gasps and Maul’s tongue slips into his mouth, hotter than anything else. The hand holding his jaw loosens, sliding down his chest, caressing his pecs lazily. He has to strain to keep up with the kiss, head tilted at an impossible angle.
Maul is making him work for it.
It’s degrading—and yet here he is, whining and gasping for more. It’s filthy, and he wants it. Spit runs down his chin and chest. Losing balance, he reaches up, gripping one of Maul’s horns for leverage.
Maul growls, biting into his lower lip. It hurts—just enough. He feels the skin break, tiny pinpricks of blood, and it feels so good when Maul laps it away.
“You are just so sweet, aren’t you, dear?” Maul says, almost adoringly.
Brander whines and tries to follow him, desperate for more. Boldly, he tugs him closer by the horn.
“So needy,” Maul chuckles darkly.
He pushes Brander back down, pinning him beneath his bulk—hips raised, chest pressed to the mattress, back impossibly arched, arms stretched above his head.
Brander looks back, eyes hazy, expression wrecked. He wants—needs—more. A needy little cry escapes him.
“I’m going to take such good care of you, dear.”
Maul leans down and kisses him again, harder this time. Their teeth clash, and somehow it’s even better. Maul pulls away with another nip to his lips.
Brander lies there, waiting for the next touch.
“Aren’t you the best? I don’t even need to restrain you,” Maul says, eyes bright as he admires his handiwork—Coruscant law enforcer reduced to a whining mess on his bed.
Maul nuzzles the back of his head, and Brander hums in contentment, eyes drifting close.
It’s a distraction.
A finger presses inside him, and he cries out in surprise. It doesn’t hurt exactly, but the sensation is unfamiliar—strange, overwhelming. He whines in discomfort.
“Don’t worry. I’m going to make it good for you,” Maul murmurs against his neck, sucking a mark into his shoulder, sharp fangs grazing his skin.
Another finger follows. Brander gasps, writhing. Maul shushes him, his free hand wrapping around his cock—not stroking, just pressing and releasing, enough to distract him, but not enough to offer release. Meanwhile, Maul continues marking his shoulders and collarbone.
The thought of being so thoroughly marked—owned—should disgust him.
But it doesn’t.
All he can think of is tomorrow morning, putting on his uniform, knowing the evidence of tonight lies hidden beneath it… still feeling the ghost of Maul’s tongue and teeth on his skin, as he parades around like the picture perfect of that he isn't.
He shivers.
The pressure builds, shifting into something new—something he can’t quite name. He needs more. Maul seems to sense it, pressing in a third finger. The stretch burns, uncomfortable at first—but then Maul spreads them, and it’s like stars ignite in his veins.
He moans loudly, pushing back.
“More…” he pleads, voice broken.
“Of course, dear.”
Maul withdraws, and Brander whines at the loss. He wants it back.
Maul lifts his hips higher, forcing his back into an even deeper arch. Brander can only think about how much it will ache tomorrow—and how much he wants that ache.
“Deep breath, love.”
He obeys.
Maul pushes in slowly. The stretch is overwhelming—almost too much—but also incredible. Brander moans into the sheets as Maul continues, the ridges along his shaft dragging against every sensitive spot inside.
Finally, they’re fully pressed together.
It’s too much—he feels split open, his entire world reduced to that single point of contact.
Maul gives him a moment before beginning to move, a slow rocking motion that makes him gasp.
“You are so tight… sucking me in.” there is marvel in his voice.
The pace builds gradually, until Maul is thrusting harder. Brander fists the sheets, overwhelmed. Then Maul shifts his angle
And Brander sees stars.
He cries out, pushing back desperately. He needs more. Maul responds immediately, driving into him harder, rougher now. Each thrust pulling broken sound from him.
Maul growls above him, gripping his waist, forcing him back to meet every movement.
Brander obeys eagerly.
Teeth sink into his shoulder again, and he shudders. The rhythm becomes erratic—Maul is close, and so is he. A hand slides down, stroking him in time with each thrust.
He breaks with a desperate moan, spilling into the sheets. His body clenches, and Maul growl's, biting down harder as he thrusts one final time, warmth flooding inside him.
Brander collapses, unable to hold himself up, gasping for air, oversensitive.
Maul pulls out carefully, then gathers him up, turning him onto his back. He leaves briefly, returning with a cloth to clean them both.
Brander is already half-asleep by the time Maul covers them with a blanket.
SUMMARY: Maul teaches Brander how he would like to be ridden. Brander is absolutely loving it.
___
Brander is on his knees, legs folded and spread wide, naked, arms cuffed behind his back with his own restraints. He stares up at the Shadow Lord, Maul, in his naked glory as the other gazes down at him.
He is a thing of beauty. The man is rough and rugged in a way that makes him gorgeous. The metal of his legs curls around his battered thighs in a possessive hold, the white scars around the connection looking almost luxurious, as if they were placed there on purpose.
Brander looks up at him, eyes glowing golden in the low light. They gleam like forbidden treasure, and Brander wants that gaze on him forever. His chest is beautifully sculpted, the swirling patterns of red and black accentuating each muscle and dip of his pectorals, the silhouette of an inverted heart on his chest, making it all the more enticing.
Maul is like a force of nature, uncontrolled and harsh, but also gentle in his own twisted way. He treats Devon kindly, and he hasn’t hurt Brander yet—mind you, he has him in his room, in his stronghold.
Maul caresses his head, clawed fingers finding purchase in his hair.
“Ever seen a Zabrak cock?” Maul asks.
Brander shakes his head. “No…”
Maul grins.
He pulls Brander’s head closer to his hard cock. It carries the same patterns as the rest of him, red and black mixing in a mesmerizing way. He isn’t ridiculously long or thick, but Zabrak anatomy is clearly different from human anatomy. The head is red and unmarked, not as bulbous, sharper, almost arrow-like. The base is distinctly thicker, and Brander wonders if Zabraks knot, if he will ever be trapped under Maul, stretched wide just for him.
There are small barbs along the underside. They might hurt on the way out—or they might drive him wild. He wants to split himself open on that gorgeous cock—but not tonight. Tonight, the Shadow Lord is teaching him pleasure, so he can learn for future encounters.
And isn’t that a thought, to be like this again, on the receiving end?
The Shadow Lord nudges his face closer. Brander kisses the tip. He doesn’t know how to do this—just little feathery kisses and kitten licks across the head. Slowly, he gains confidence, moving to mouth the underside, sucking lightly on the barbs. Maul hums appreciatively.
He finds himself getting lost in the rhythm, in the soft sounds of appreciation. He moves back to the head, sucking more firmly now, dragging his tongue across the slit. The hand in his hair pets him.
“Good.”
Maul’s praise is like honey, and Brander laps it up, sucking more eagerly. He takes another inch into his mouth and hums. Maul groans, the hand in his hair tightening.
Brander opens his eyes, looking up at his dark lord. Maul’s eyes are half-lidded, lost in pleasure. Their gazes meet. The hand in his hair presses down gently. Brander moans around him, and Maul gasps.
He begins to bob his head, the rhythm guided by Maul’s hand. Spit gathers at the corners of his lips, stretching as he moves. He shifts closer, his own cock hard and unattended between his legs.
He whines, looking up at Maul.
“So filthy… so pretty,” Maul croons.
The more he sucks, the more the barbs drag across his bottom lip, leaving it irritated, but the mild sting only makes his head spin further.
“That’s enough.”
Maul pulls him off. Brander looks like a mess—eyes wet, hazy, saliva dripping down his chin, lips swollen.
“You did good, Brander. So good.”
Maul lowers himself, hovering just above his lap. Brander leans forward, wanting to kiss him.
“Kiss… please…” he begs.
“So dirty, making me taste myself on your mouth,” Maul says, holding Brander’s jaw tenderly.
“You taste wonderful,” Brander whines.
They kiss.
Brander is eager, but Maul keeps it slow, like he is savoring it, like he enjoys tasting himself on Brander’s lips. He’s putting on a show, and Brander loves it. Slowly, Maul lowers himself fully onto Brander’s lap, their cocks pressed together. Brander moans into the kiss, and Maul takes the opportunity to deepen it, drawing his tongue into his mouth.
When they part, Brander is panting, desperate to touch him—but he can’t.
“You’re right, I do taste wonderful. But I think anything from your lips would taste just as good. Don’t you think, dear? ” Maul purrs.
Brander nods frantic. “Yes!”
“But now it’s time for the main course.”
Maul lifts himself slightly and wraps a hand around Brander’s cock, squeezing the head. Brander cries out—the first real stimulation he’s gotten all night. Maul positions himself and sinks down in one smooth motion.
Maul sighs, like he’s been waiting for this all day. Brander shakes, writhes, and cries out—it’s too much all at once. It’s tight, impossibly hot, overwhelming. He feels like he’s about to melt.
“It’s too much…” he gasps, pressing his face into Maul’s collarbone, body trembling.
“I can wait,” Maul says softly.
He shifts slightly, settling himself more comfortably—and the movement makes Brander wail, desperate at the sensation.
Maul looks down at him, eyes burning with mischief, but something deeper too. Hunger. He gives Brander just a moment to breathe. Then he moves.
The first motion is slow—agonizingly slow. He lifts himself inch by inch, then sinks back down with deliberate control, dragging every sensation out until it feels unbearable. Maul exhales softly, almost reverently.
Brander mewls beneath him, Maul watches him closely as he repeats the motion, savoring every reaction, every tremor in Brander’s body. Then—without warning—the pace shifts. Quickens.
Maul starts taking what he wants, faster now, his control turning into something more feral. His grin is unhinged, delighted, as Brander falls apart beneath him—moaning, whimpering, completely undone, desperate to touch him but unable to.
His mind goes hazy, drowning in heat and sensation, barely able to keep up. It takes him a moment to realize Maul is speaking.
“I used to regret what Kenobi did to me.”
The name comes out like a blade—sharp, venomous—and it sends a shiver straight down Brander’s spine. There’s something intoxicating about that edge in his voice, that flicker of darkness slipping through.
“But these metal legs…” Maul continues, voice low, almost thoughtful. “They have their benefits.” He leans down, lips brushing the shell of Brander’s ear.
“Can you guess what it is?”
Brander can barely think. He shakes his head weakly. “No…”
Maul huffs a quiet laugh, dark and pleased.
“I never tire.”
The words have a dark edge to them, they land heavy. Brader gasps.
“I can do this for as long as I want,” he continues, voice dropping further, more intimate, more dangerous. “And you… you just have to sit pretty for me, Lawson.”
Brander groans, the sound raw. His body reacts before his mind can catch up—he bucks up in a weak, desperate attempt, chasing more. Maul stills him instantly, firm, unyielding.
“Cute,” he murmurs, amused, eyes glinting. “But if you wanted more… all you had to do was ask.”
And then, Maul lets go. Not of him.
Of restraint.
His pace turns brutal, relentless. His hips snap forward, lifting up only to drive himself back down again, faster, harder, leaving no room to think—only feel. Every movement is precise, controlled, but no longer gentle.
Brander cries out, body writhing, completely overwhelmed. He tries to rise, chasing Maul’s mouth, and Maul meets him halfway.
The kiss is savage.
Messy, desperate, teeth clashing, breath stolen. Maul devours him like he’s been waiting for this, all without stopping, like he can’t get enough. Brander answers just as fiercely, even as his body trembles under the onslaught.
Maul pulls back just enough to look at him, eyes blown wide, pupils swallowing gold.
“Come for me, dear.” The command hits deeper than it should.
Brander breaks with a shattered cry, body tightening, shaking, completely at Maul’s mercy. He itches to grab those tights to hold on for dear life but he can´t and it makes it sweeter. Maul groans at the sensation, the sound low and dark, and he keeps moving—keeps taking, keeps dragging it out until Brander is gasping, trembling, oversensitive and still being pushed further.
Only then does Maul slow, he comes with a deep groan, spilling across Brander’s chest in burning white. His release burns like a brand, and Brander secretly relishes it. He exhales, satisfied, lingering just a moment longer before finally lifting himself away.
The loss makes Brander whine softly, his body collapsing forward, too weak to hold itself up. Maul watches him for a second, really watches him, gaze boring into his soul, before something softer slips into his expression.
“You did so well,” he murmurs.
He reaches behind Brander, unlocking the cuffs, then brings his hands forward carefully, massaging his wrists with surprising gentleness.
Brander barely has the strength, but he tugs at Maul’s hand anyway. Maul leans in without hesitation. The kiss Brander gives him is small, shy, almost uncertain. Maul huffs a quiet laugh, softer now, and pulls back.
“I’ll be right back.” He leaves to get something to clean them up, unhurried.
Brander watches him go, dazed, drifting somewhere between exhaustion and lingering heat. His gaze drops—just in time to catch the faint trail of his come running down Maul’s thigh.
PHLEASE write a fanfic extra points if maul bottoms (let’s ignore he’s cut thru the waist) im gonna send you my liver
The fanfic is already done with top maul, but brander pleasuring maul is something I'm not opposed to. Meaby I'll write something new this afternoon. In my mind maul has an amazing ass and cock Obi Wan knew what he was doing and sabed his moust important parts.
(it’s starting to become a very real thing—my mind is already conjuring ways to make Maul bite the sheets.)
SUMMARY: Maul teaches Brander how he would like to be ridden. Brander is absolutely loving it.
___
Brander is on his knees, legs folded and spread wide, naked, arms cuffed behind his back with his own restraints. He stares up at the Shadow Lord, Maul, in his naked glory as the other gazes down at him.
He is a thing of beauty. The man is rough and rugged in a way that makes him gorgeous. The metal of his legs curls around his battered thighs in a possessive hold, the white scars around the connection looking almost luxurious, as if they were placed there on purpose.
Brander looks up at him, eyes glowing golden in the low light. They gleam like forbidden treasure, and Brander wants that gaze on him forever. His chest is beautifully sculpted, the swirling patterns of red and black accentuating each muscle and dip of his pectorals, the silhouette of an inverted heart on his chest, making it all the more enticing.
Maul is like a force of nature, uncontrolled and harsh, but also gentle in his own twisted way. He treats Devon kindly, and he hasn’t hurt Brander yet—mind you, he has him in his room, in his stronghold.
Maul caresses his head, clawed fingers finding purchase in his hair.
“Ever seen a Zabrak cock?” Maul asks.
Brander shakes his head. “No…”
Maul grins.
He pulls Brander’s head closer to his hard cock. It carries the same patterns as the rest of him, red and black mixing in a mesmerizing way. He isn’t ridiculously long or thick, but Zabrak anatomy is clearly different from human anatomy. The head is red and unmarked, not as bulbous, sharper, almost arrow-like. The base is distinctly thicker, and Brander wonders if Zabraks knot, if he will ever be trapped under Maul, stretched wide just for him.
There are small barbs along the underside. They might hurt on the way out—or they might drive him wild. He wants to split himself open on that gorgeous cock—but not tonight. Tonight, the Shadow Lord is teaching him pleasure, so he can learn for future encounters.
And isn’t that a thought, to be like this again, on the receiving end?
The Shadow Lord nudges his face closer. Brander kisses the tip. He doesn’t know how to do this—just little feathery kisses and kitten licks across the head. Slowly, he gains confidence, moving to mouth the underside, sucking lightly on the barbs. Maul hums appreciatively.
He finds himself getting lost in the rhythm, in the soft sounds of appreciation. He moves back to the head, sucking more firmly now, dragging his tongue across the slit. The hand in his hair pets him.
“Good.”
Maul’s praise is like honey, and Brander laps it up, sucking more eagerly. He takes another inch into his mouth and hums. Maul groans, the hand in his hair tightening.
Brander opens his eyes, looking up at his dark lord. Maul’s eyes are half-lidded, lost in pleasure. Their gazes meet. The hand in his hair presses down gently. Brander moans around him, and Maul gasps.
He begins to bob his head, the rhythm guided by Maul’s hand. Spit gathers at the corners of his lips, stretching as he moves. He shifts closer, his own cock hard and unattended between his legs.
He whines, looking up at Maul.
“So filthy… so pretty,” Maul croons.
The more he sucks, the more the barbs drag across his bottom lip, leaving it irritated, but the mild sting only makes his head spin further.
“That’s enough.”
Maul pulls him off. Brander looks like a mess—eyes wet, hazy, saliva dripping down his chin, lips swollen.
“You did good, Brander. So good.”
Maul lowers himself, hovering just above his lap. Brander leans forward, wanting to kiss him.
“Kiss… please…” he begs.
“So dirty, making me taste myself on your mouth,” Maul says, holding Brander’s jaw tenderly.
“You taste wonderful,” Brander whines.
They kiss.
Brander is eager, but Maul keeps it slow, like he is savoring it, like he enjoys tasting himself on Brander’s lips. He’s putting on a show, and Brander loves it. Slowly, Maul lowers himself fully onto Brander’s lap, their cocks pressed together. Brander moans into the kiss, and Maul takes the opportunity to deepen it, drawing his tongue into his mouth.
When they part, Brander is panting, desperate to touch him—but he can’t.
“You’re right, I do taste wonderful. But I think anything from your lips would taste just as good. Don’t you think, dear? ” Maul purrs.
Brander nods frantic. “Yes!”
“But now it’s time for the main course.”
Maul lifts himself slightly and wraps a hand around Brander’s cock, squeezing the head. Brander cries out—the first real stimulation he’s gotten all night. Maul positions himself and sinks down in one smooth motion.
Maul sighs, like he’s been waiting for this all day. Brander shakes, writhes, and cries out—it’s too much all at once. It’s tight, impossibly hot, overwhelming. He feels like he’s about to melt.
“It’s too much…” he gasps, pressing his face into Maul’s collarbone, body trembling.
“I can wait,” Maul says softly.
He shifts slightly, settling himself more comfortably—and the movement makes Brander wail, desperate at the sensation.
Maul looks down at him, eyes burning with mischief, but something deeper too. Hunger. He gives Brander just a moment to breathe. Then he moves.
The first motion is slow—agonizingly slow. He lifts himself inch by inch, then sinks back down with deliberate control, dragging every sensation out until it feels unbearable. Maul exhales softly, almost reverently.
Brander mewls beneath him, Maul watches him closely as he repeats the motion, savoring every reaction, every tremor in Brander’s body. Then—without warning—the pace shifts. Quickens.
Maul starts taking what he wants, faster now, his control turning into something more feral. His grin is unhinged, delighted, as Brander falls apart beneath him—moaning, whimpering, completely undone, desperate to touch him but unable to.
His mind goes hazy, drowning in heat and sensation, barely able to keep up. It takes him a moment to realize Maul is speaking.
“I used to regret what Kenobi did to me.”
The name comes out like a blade—sharp, venomous—and it sends a shiver straight down Brander’s spine. There’s something intoxicating about that edge in his voice, that flicker of darkness slipping through.
“But these metal legs…” Maul continues, voice low, almost thoughtful. “They have their benefits.” He leans down, lips brushing the shell of Brander’s ear.
“Can you guess what it is?”
Brander can barely think. He shakes his head weakly. “No…”
Maul huffs a quiet laugh, dark and pleased.
“I never tire.”
The words have a dark edge to them, they land heavy. Brader gasps.
“I can do this for as long as I want,” he continues, voice dropping further, more intimate, more dangerous. “And you… you just have to sit pretty for me, Lawson.”
Brander groans, the sound raw. His body reacts before his mind can catch up—he bucks up in a weak, desperate attempt, chasing more. Maul stills him instantly, firm, unyielding.
“Cute,” he murmurs, amused, eyes glinting. “But if you wanted more… all you had to do was ask.”
And then, Maul lets go. Not of him.
Of restraint.
His pace turns brutal, relentless. His hips snap forward, lifting up only to drive himself back down again, faster, harder, leaving no room to think—only feel. Every movement is precise, controlled, but no longer gentle.
Brander cries out, body writhing, completely overwhelmed. He tries to rise, chasing Maul’s mouth, and Maul meets him halfway.
The kiss is savage.
Messy, desperate, teeth clashing, breath stolen. Maul devours him like he’s been waiting for this, all without stopping, like he can’t get enough. Brander answers just as fiercely, even as his body trembles under the onslaught.
Maul pulls back just enough to look at him, eyes blown wide, pupils swallowing gold.
“Come for me, dear.” The command hits deeper than it should.
Brander breaks with a shattered cry, body tightening, shaking, completely at Maul’s mercy. He itches to grab those tights to hold on for dear life but he can´t and it makes it sweeter. Maul groans at the sensation, the sound low and dark, and he keeps moving—keeps taking, keeps dragging it out until Brander is gasping, trembling, oversensitive and still being pushed further.
Only then does Maul slow, he comes with a deep groan, spilling across Brander’s chest in burning white. His release burns like a brand, and Brander secretly relishes it. He exhales, satisfied, lingering just a moment longer before finally lifting himself away.
The loss makes Brander whine softly, his body collapsing forward, too weak to hold itself up. Maul watches him for a second, really watches him, gaze boring into his soul, before something softer slips into his expression.
“You did so well,” he murmurs.
He reaches behind Brander, unlocking the cuffs, then brings his hands forward carefully, massaging his wrists with surprising gentleness.
Brander barely has the strength, but he tugs at Maul’s hand anyway. Maul leans in without hesitation. The kiss Brander gives him is small, shy, almost uncertain. Maul huffs a quiet laugh, softer now, and pulls back.
“I’ll be right back.” He leaves to get something to clean them up, unhurried.
Brander watches him go, dazed, drifting somewhere between exhaustion and lingering heat. His gaze drops—just in time to catch the faint trail of his come running down Maul’s thigh.
So far, from waking up five days ago, he has learned a couple of things.
His name.
That he is in space, which is amazing because why the fudge not.
He loves children because he is a teacher and not a weirdo. Very important.
He is somehow smart—or at least number-smart—because he definitely does not feel life-smart if the amount of time he trips over his feet is any indication.
He was recruited for Project Hail Mary because of his absurd thesis. Really had to remind me that I'm a joke to the scientific community, thank you, brain.
Something is killing the Sun. Astrophage.
He has to save the Sun. How? Who knows.
That's pretty much it.
Oh, and if he tries to take off the pendant around his neck, he is immediately overcome with irrational panic and sadness, so the pretty rock stays exactly where it is.
Over the next few days, he remembers more. He grooms himself into something resembling a respectable human being and recalls the names of a few important people: his students, Eva Stratt, Karl. No family members, though.
He watches movies and is reminded of soulmates. He can't remember what his soulmate gave him, or whether he has found them, but he's pretty sure they like rocks and crabs.
How does he know that?
Call it a hunch.
When he reaches Tau Ceti and the gravity shuts off, he immediately panics because his feet belong on the floor, not floating above his head. He does not like 0 gravity, thank you very much.
Mary engages the Petrovascope.
Grace peers through it while drifting around the control room, expecting absolutely nothing.
There is a smudge on the lens. Because sure, his scope got dirty, amazing. Except not because there is a literal ship there when he switches the view. He is not ready for the aliens.
Too bad the aliens have already spotted him.
And they're heading straight toward him.
What follows is the most absurd game of tag Grace has ever participated in. The alien ship chases the Hail Mary around Tau Ceti while Grace frantically tries not to think about how ridiculous the situation is.
Eventually, something moves along the hull of the alien vessel.
A cylinder shoots toward him.
Grace squeaks.
Actually squeaks.
"Mary, engage the shields!"
"There are no shields."
Fuck.
The aliens are going to bomb him.
No. No, wait. They're probably here for the same reason he is. Hopefully. The first cylinder bounces harmlessly off the hull. The second one comes much slower. Grace manages to catch it.
The moment he holds it, something feels familiar.
An amber box.
Filled with trinkets.
Filled with affection.
The memory disappears in the next blick.
He twists the cap open and immediately inhales.
Ammonia.
"Stupid," he mutters. "You're gonna kill yourself." and rushes to contain it.
He moves the contents into the sterile manipulation chamber and starts examining them. There's a strange ball, a miniature solar system.
Oh.
This must be their home planet. As he works, his eyes keep drifting toward the empty space on his desk. It feels wrong, like something is missing.
A crab.
His mind supplies the answer instantly.
Grace frowns.
That's ridiculous.
Still, he digs through his personal belongings until he finds a sealed bag labeled Pocket Items.
Inside are some keys with a fox keychain attached. Your house keys his mind supplies him. A bag of Skittles that are probably fossilized by now. A worn hacky sack from his classroom he feels very content to have back. .
And finally—
A small 3D-printed crab-spider thing. The moment he sees it, relief floods through him. There it is, his fingers close around the figurine. Memories flicker through his mind, research sessions, late nights in the lab, classroom desk cluttered with children's paper.
The simple comfort of having it nearby. It feels important. Almost as important as the pendant around his neck.
He has no idea why.
Grace places it beside the alien gifts and returns to work.
He's almost finished packing everything back into the cylinder when he freezes. The printing pattern, the layer lines, the texture—they look familiar. Too familiar.
He picks up the figurine and places it beside the alien model. His stomach drops.
They're nearly identical. Not just similar, actually identical.
The same manufacturing style. The same material texture. The same impossible craftsmanship.
Grace slowly reaches for the sampler, the same one that identified xenonite in the alien probe while there was no gravity and though the thing was buster. He points it at the cylinder.
XENON.
Of course.
Why the fudge not?
Then he points it at the figurine.
XENON.
Grace stares.
Impossible.
Absolutely impossible.
His Earth-made figurine cannot be made of alien material.
He immediately starts scraping samples from both objects. The cylinder barely sheds any material, and the figurine isn't much easier. By the time he's collected enough powder for analysis, he's sweating from the anxiety alone.
Thirty agonizing minutes later, the spectrometer finally finishes processing.
The chemical compositions match almost perfectly.
Both samples are primarily composed of xenon-based compounds.
Grace slowly lowers himself into a chair and stares at the screen.
How the actual fuck does Ryland Grace possess alien material from his teenage years?
The alien responds to his message much faster than he did. They are most likely smarter than him.
The newest message includes two little models of the ships connected together.
What bothers Grace most is that every single one of the models is made in exactly the same style as the figurine sitting on his desk.
Grace is becoming deeply concerned. There is no explanation.
The tunnel finally connects.
Halfway through stands a transparent barrier made from a patchwork of strange stones—or xenonite. At the bottom is a clear section.
Grace taps it.
Something taps back.
The creature on the other side is brown. It has three clawed fingers. It's performing what appears to be a puppet show using tiny ship models.
The little Hail Mary model keeps moving back and forth rotating.
Then a strange figure enters it.
Then leaves again.
Then enters again.
Grace stares.
"...Are you telling me to go back inside?"
The alien enthusiastically taps the barrier.
Grace sighs and goes back, worried and turns on the gravity.
The ships begin rotating. The tunnel reconnects. Grace nearly empties the Hail Mary's supply of portable lights before stepping through.
He is absolutely not prepared for what he finds.
There is a giant rock spider wearing a bright yellow sweater.
The creature perks up the moment it notices him and rises to its full height. It has 5 legs and looks like a very rocky very big spider that could probably eat him alive.
He walks closer holding up the noodle made alien ship, the alien waves excitedly while it whistles, chirps, trills, and wiggles in place with such obvious enthusiasm that Grace almost feel calm except, because that sweater is not a sweater but a hoodie —
A hoodie from the same university he attended.
Did aliens graduate from Cleveland now? Was there some interstellar exchange program he missed?
Then it gets worse.
Much worse.
Below the faded university logo is a coffee stain.
A very specific coffee stain, beneath the C.
Grace remembers spilling coffee on himself right before a presentation because he'd been nervous. He remembers scrubbing at the stain in the dorm laundry room afterward. He remembers tossing the hoodie into the public washing machine and never seeing it again.
It cannot possibly be.
He remembers the figurine waiting on his workbench. The figurine that looks exactly like the creature standing in front of him. The figurine made from the same material as the alien gifts. The figurine that somehow appeared in his possession years before he ever learned aliens existed.
Then he looks back at the alien.
The alien currently wearing his hoodie.
Grace slumps against the wall.
Because apparently his soulmate might be a giant alien rock spider.
Said giant alien rock spider is now tapping furiously against the glass because Grace has completely stopped responding. The whistles have become increasingly offended, and the tapping has escalated into what Grace suspects is the alien equivalent of yelling.
And honestly at this point in his not remembered and doomed existence?
When Grace is six years old he receives his soulmate’s first lost item. It’s a strange hollow cylinder, similar to a pencil, semi-translucent and blotchy brown. It looks like glass, but it can’t be; Grace has dropped it several times in his clumsy enthusiasm, and hasn't broken nor chiped. He is absolutely overjoyed by the fact that he finally has a soulmate, even if he has no idea what the object actually is. His parents are mostly just relieved that their son has stopped crying over not having a soulmate.
Grace goes to class the next day and shows everyone his soulmate’s strange object. He tells them it’s a pencil cover, something to make pencils look nicer. The classroom stares at him strangely, and his teacher gives him a look of pity, Grace in his young enthusiasm doesn't notice, too enamored with the object in his hands.
His bullies catch wind of it quickly. Grace is a weak kid, an easy target. They rip the cylinder from his hands and throw it to the ground. The cylinder doesn’t break, but something inside Grace does. He feels small, insignificant. He cries to his parents about what happened, but his father only tells him he was stupid for taking something precious to school, where things are always lost or stolen.
Grace drags himself to his room, whimpering softly. He doesn’t know where to keep something so important without losing it. In the end, he places the cylinder inside a shoebox. He doesn’t have anything better.
__________
Grace is twelve when the second object from his soulmate arrives.
One morning he wakes to find the strangest thing sitting on his pillow. For a second, he wonders if he lost a tooth and this is some bizarre version of the tooth fairy, but that’s impossible. Which means it came from his soulmate.
He jumps around the room in excitement.
It’s a small figure, around the size of his fist, mostly turquoise with brown spots that somehow blend together beautifully. It looks like a mix between a crab and a spider, five limbs attached to a rounded carapace that spikes upward. The material almost looks 3D-printed, though Grace has never seen anything quite like it before.
It’s gorgeous.
The figure immediately becomes Grace’s most precious possession. He tells no one about it because he wants it to be his and his alone. He keeps it on his nightstand because he wants to fall asleep looking at it and wake up to the sight of something his soulmate once touched. Whenever someone strange comes to the house or his parents visit his room, Grace puts the figure into the shoe box.
With it comes a realization: his soulmate must be an artist, someone who loves arthropods and strange little creatures.
That realization quietly shapes Grace’s future.
He studies biology in school, always choosing every science elective he can. Eventually he discovers that molecular biology fascinates him even more. Sometimes he thinks, distantly, that he owes his soulmate everything. Without them, he might never have found what he loves.
Turquoise becomes Grace’s favorite color.
______________
Grace is eighteen, living in his tiny student apartment after starting college early, when the next item appears.
The box itself is the first thing that catches his attention. It’s made from the same strange material as the cylinder his soulmate sent years ago. Grace turns it over carefully in his hands, marveling at it before opening it.
The lid is covered in strange mathematical symbols.
Inside is, frankly, junk.
At least that’s the only word Grace can think of for the bizarre collection of trinkets, rocks, and crystals filling the box. Nothing looks functional, yet Grace loves every single piece anyway.
One crystal in particular catches his attention. It’s transparent with flat sides, though it isn’t any polyhedron he recognizes. A hexagonal prism sits at its center, and the whole thing glimmers beautifully in the light.
The next day, Grace visits one of those tiny crystal shops with incense smoke thick enough to choke. He asks the woman behind the counter if she has a way for him to wear the crystal safely.
The woman is older, dressed entirely in blue, her hair pulled into a tight bun. Her sharp green eyes settle on the crystal the moment he places it on the counter.
“Otherworldly,” she murmurs as she touches it briefly . “Your soulmate is unlike anyone else. Just like this gem.”
Grace freezes.
He never told her it came from his soulmate.
Still, he leaves the shop wearing a spiraling wire pendant that cradles the crystal safely without altering it. The word otherworldly lingers in his mind the whole walk home.
It feels right.
From then on, Grace never takes the pendant off. It stays tucked beneath his shirt, resting close to his heart. The junk box becomes the new shoe box and the upgrade heals something within him.
At twenty-four, he receives another figurine.
This one is smaller and rounder than the first, almost its complete opposite. Grace finds that oddly amusing and terribly endearing. It’s mostly brown, but three of its limbs are tipped with the same bright turquoise.
The figurine becomes his little companion while he works on his thesis in the research lab.
By now Grace has a few friends, enough people around him that he feels comfortable showing off the gifts from his soulmate. They coo over the little crab-like figure, fascinated by its curious design.
For once, life is good.
____________
When Grace turns thirty, life reaches its lowest point.
His thesis about water not being necessary for life is treated like a joke by the scientific community. No one gives him a chance. Linda, his girlfriend, cheats on him with Mark—her soulmate. Objectively, Grace knows it never would have worked; they weren’t each other’s soulmates. But the silent treatment and her sudden disappearance still hurt deeply. He spends days crying, trying desperately to understand where he went wrong. He wonders if something is fundamentally broken inside him. Maybe he doesn’t really have a soulmate. Maybe he’s simply meant to end up alone, because not even his parents love him, he hasn’t spoken to them in four years.
Eventually, Grace becomes a teacher because he has nowhere else to go, nothing else to, the best he can do is to put his science knowledge to work.
After his first day teaching, he returns to his tiny apartment exhausted, only to find another gift waiting for him.
It’s a scale model of a solar system. Not Earth’s solar system, but something entirely alien and impossibly beautiful.
Grace cries the moment he sees it. Because he does have a soulmate. Someone out there likes the same things he does. Someone out there exists.
The gift gives him hope.
So Grace throws himself into teaching. He teaches his students about space with colorful models and impossible enthusiasm. He takes control of his life again, and for the first time in years, it feels good to make a difference in the world, even if it’s only through children who leave his classroom loving science just a little more than before.
________
At thirty-two, Grace is a well-established teacher in his community. The kids adore him. He holds the unofficial title of coolest science teacher in the school, and nobody fails his class.
Life is genuinely becoming good.
Then Eva Stratt appears.
The Petrova crisis drags Grace into becoming the right hand of the most powerful woman on Earth. The pressure is unbearable, and the number of people they fuck over in the process is catastrophic. Part of Grace would rather stay in his classroom teaching children about planets and cells.
But another part of him is enthralled. Astrophage is everything he ever dreamed science could be.
And then it happens.
“Dr. Ryland Grace, you have to go as the Hail Mary’s scientist.”
“I put the ‘not’ in astronaut,” Grace jokes weakly, voice trembling around the words.
“You have three hours to decide.”
“I… I don’t want to go. I’m not made for that.”
“Yes, you are. You have the coma gene and are the leading expert in astrophage. Apprehend him.” Her eyes are cold.
“No—NO! I’m not gonna go!” They chase him. Karl included. That betrayal hurts far more than Linda’s ever did.
They force him to the ground.
“Don’t worry,” Stratt says, holding up a syringe. “By the time you wake up, you won’t remember any of this and will do your job right”
“You’re murdering me,” Grace sobs into the pavement, salt tears soaking into the ground.
Chapter 2 →
Thank you for reading!! Coments and kudos are highly apreciated.
