michmarybell



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    Ryland Grace is human. He’s strange to the Eridians for a whole host of reasons, and not just because he’s leaky, or immodest with eating, or that he can apparently see colors. He says and does a lot of things that seem made up.
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    Returning soonish! (Edit made 9-13-26)

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    17 Aug 2026

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    Grace is unprepared for the level of love that all of Erid seemed to have for him. It was vaguely terrifying, but also.... nice? To be cared for. To be wanted.

    It gets worse when they find out the circumstances of him ending up on the Hail Mary.

    When his declining health necessitates a trip back to Earth, he is faced with a planet of Eridians that love him so fiercely and wonderfully that it finally starts to break through his crippling lack of self worth and bloom into something incredible.

    And Earth? Earth has to deal with an Erid that is prepared, protective, and most of all, pissed.

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    17 Aug 2026

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    “What are you talking about?” Grace's fingers played quick chords as he spoke. He didn’t even look as he did it, but it did not make them any less purposeful.

    “Discussing possible reasons why Tau Ceti is not infected while other stars are,” Eva replied deftly. “I would invite you to join, but we were just finishing—”

    “Oh, that’s easy.” His hand twisted a knob, and the notes came out sharper. “It is infected—Petrova Line and everything.”

    In Grace's opinion, dreaming about time traveling is no excuse for getting out of practice with his Eridian. To the rest of the Petrova Taskforce, it seems a bit odd that their resident Astrophage expert has suddenly taken to carrying a keyboard around and playing it whenever he speaks. Eva Stratt resolves to figure out what is going on.

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    17 Aug 2026

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    Aziraphale felt his cheeks flush pink. “Yes. Well. It appears to be a curse for a cheating lover. The design is to create an ever-increasing obsessive need for the person who—”

    “I’m well aware of what it does,” Crowley interrupted. Aziraphale glanced up from the book and took in Crowley’s stance, the apparent lax posture belied by the way he was clutching the edge of the countertop with white knuckles. Aziraphale swallowed.

    “Is it…” Aziraphale faltered, then tried again. “Is it…” painful is how he told himself he wanted to finish the question. There was no other possible word to end that question that Aziraphale wanted to know.

    “Don’t play dumb, angel. It doesn’t suit you.” Crowley’s voice was low, an edge of something to it that Aziraphale hadn’t heard since the Tadfield airbase, the moment Crowley was ready to give up and accept the apocalypse. He met Aziraphale’s eyes. “You know who I want.”

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    28 Jul 2025

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