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BLOG DIRECTORY (under construction)
Easier way to find all my sillies!

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I cannot express how much God of War: Laufey means to me. Just watching the hair physics made me get so emotional. Sheâs so strong and just and beautiful Iâm going to lose my mind.
Mister Arataka and his messy ass car
Arataka before bed

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I got locked out of my Apple ID and now I canât use procreate for a week. Iâm very upset.
Iâm plotting a reader x Reigen 18+ doujin/comic and Iâm genuinely losing sleep over how big I should draw his dick. He could simultaneously have a micro and a 12 inch I CANT CHOOSE. I need an intellectualâs opinion. Please, if you are willing, what are your thoughts on this matter? Also, I love ur writing sm omg ur goated
Youâve come to the right place as I do, in fact, have a PhD in phallic studies with a focus in the aforementioned speci(se)men.
FIRST AND FOREMOST, it must be noted that he is a grower, not a shower. But worry not, when presented with the right stimuli, the growth rate is exponential.
SECONDLY, while the size is debatable, I, a seasoned scholar with many years of study, believe the phallus of Reigen Aratakus is neither too big nor too small. This is what we in the field call âthe sweet spot.â The length can be anywhere between 3.5 to 6 inches once fully erect.
THIRDLY, while on the subject of size, the subjectâs uncircumcised girth is on the slender side. The circumference, for lack of a better word, is not intimidating: perfect for a first-timer or experienced partner.
IN ADDITION, the glans are a soft pink and connected to the shaft by a tight frenulum. The tip is more pointed than most and does have a tendency to leak copious pre-ejaculate when aroused.
MOVING AWAY FROM THE PENIS, it would be a disservice to not mention the blondish hairs in his pubis region. In addition, his scrotum is on the heavier side, but not overtly large.
Thank you for coming to my TEDxxx talk.
Please send in your work for research purposes.
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THANK YOU PROFESSOR!!!!
Reigen of the day
I watched you change. | TikTok
hail mary, full of--

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QIFREY & AGOTT Tongari Boushi no Atelier 01.05 ¡ "The Dragon's Labyrinth"
I didn't realize how starved I was for a depiction of girlhood in anime that was not for the male gaze until I started watching Witch Hat Atelier.
I find myself subconsciously bracing for a voyeuristic camera angle or inappropriate interaction, and I feel a huge sense of relief when that doesn't happen. And then I get mad that I've been conditioned to expect that in anime about young girls.
In conclusion, I love Kamome Shirahama, and I love women in media.
âËĘ âď¸ âË âĄ ďž. content warnings + author's notes ⤸ nsfw. reigen arataka x afab!reader. using a fleshlight on him :-) thank you to the lovely kiokantalope for your message of support <333333
You never thought a scarcely-furnished 1R apartment could feel like home, yet here you areâ standing in the middle of it all with your hair pushed back, a duster in one hand and a microfiber cloth in the other, because youâre doing some housecleaning. You saw Reigen off this morning, feeling real housewifey. You kissed him goodbye and everything; if anyone deserves a ring on your finger, itâs you.
But youâre getting ahead of yourself.
Youâre not doing anything too crazy; you sweep, mop, kill many a dust bunny, and now youâre just emptying his only cabinet to wipe down the surfaces. You grab a box from the middle shelf, making a mental note to remind Reigen to go through it because you sure as hell won't. Theyâre his things and just because youâve been together for a while now doesnât mean all privacy goes out the door.
But the box is a lot heavier than you thought and just when you think you have a good grip on it after juggling it between your arms, it topples to the floor.
i just love all the stories about production on project hail mary. they didn't use a single green/blue screen in the whole film. they built the whole interior of the hail mary. the petrova line scene was done practically by putting infrared lights on a chicken wire cage. rocky's voice was one of the puppeteers because he did such a good job during filming that they couldn't imagine anyone else voicing him. and rocky was a practical puppet/animatronic! sandra huller picked sign of the times as her karaoke song and she asked her daughter if it was still a cool song. i just feel like there was so much love making this film and im obsessed
imagine going to take a shit and your friend is like can i watch

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love hypotheticals.
summary: after stratt hires you on as a documentation specialist for project hail mary, you find yourself being more and more drawn to one dr. ryland grace. (part ii here!)
pairing: ryland grace x reader
word count: 4.5k
tags: (set on stratt's vat, pre-tau ceti) meet-cute, strangers-to-lovers, forced proximity, workplace relationship, idiots in love, fluff, will they/won't they, documentation specialist!reader
cross-posted to ao3
What would you do if the apocalypse started?
Itâs a stupid hypothetical that you make up when youâre trying to get to know somebody. Something you say at two in the morning at a sleepover, or at work in the break room with absolutely nothing to do. It isnât seriousânever thatâuntil the Petrova line. Until the pending death of the Sun. Until Eva Stratt comes knocking on the door of your high-rise apartment, asking youâreally, telling youâto abandon your day job and leave for overseas.
She has you document everything. You take notes on all the major classified meetings. You transcribe conversations between officials, especially the particularly tense ones. When youâre not writing, she has you in front of a printer-scanner, making copies for the bi-weekly organizational debriefings. You went to school for technical writing, and now, it appears that youâve been placed into the absolute life-or-death version of a dream job. It could be worse. You could be at home, knowing that the next thirty years will spiral into world crises and war over rations. At least youâre doing something.
Her latest project for youâand, allegedly, the most importantâis technical writing regarding astrophage. For the past few weeks, youâve done nothing but compile information from Strattâs several global microbiologists. It isnât until the big breakthroughâthe âgreat American scientistâ who figured out how to breed the little thingsâthat the ball starts rolling. Youâve been hearing all about him, no matter how unwillingly. Thereâs plenty of reserved comments from Stratt about how reclusive he seems to make himself. From the scientists, who praise his findings. From the agents, tooâa schoolteacher, heâs a schoolteacher, and he dresses like one, too.Â
The first time you meet him truly is ultimately⌠gratifying. Dr. Grace lives up to expectations. Youâre at the other end of the table when Stratt leads him in: a mousy, blonde-haired thirty-year-old man. Glasses askew, and dark-blue eyes blown wide. It takes a lot of will for you not to tilt your head at the sight of himâthe way his eyes dart around the room, his unsuccessful attempt to back himself out of it. Itâs⌠amusingâlike watching a baby bird get coaxed out of the nest. What comes next is rather productive. You type fast on your laptop: astrophage, single-celled, Venus, high-CO2, breeding, replication by mitosis. You arenât able to focus much on him, per say. Itâs more his words, his cadence when he talks about the discoveryâand the following queries that come with debriefing him on Project Hail Mary. Heâs cute. And there isnât enough time in the world for you to think that.
â
The next time you see him is in the mess hall a couple days after. Clearly, Stratt has him settled inâprobably placed him in a nice bunk with another one of the old scientists. He sits mulling over a bowl of cereal, looking almost identical to the way that he did in the meeting room. The greatest change, clearly, is his choice in clothing. Heâs got a knit cardigan on, over some punny science t-shirt that you can only vaguely read. Dr. Ryland Grace sits alone. And, heâs in your spot.
Your imagination runs its course. Maybe, he likes solitude. Maybe, heâs still facing the fact that this ship is filled with some kind of Sisyphean effort to try and save the planet. Youâre very sure, looking at him stirring his spoon pointlessly in the bowl, that this situation is too big for him. He wants to go home. Youâve got your own tray of breakfastâoats and bottled juice. Clearly, youâre not used to the barrack-like quality of the ship quite yet, or else youâd be able to sit down with just about anyone else. The only downside of your job is that you donât have very much time to talkâburied in screens and stacks of files. You sit alone, too, most of the time, in this very spot that Grace has decided to occupy for himself.
You approach him slowly, waiting for him to notice your presence on the other end of the table. Itâs regrettable that he doesnât, so caught up on the swirling quality of his cereal. You have to knock your knuckle on the edge of the tabletop. âDr. Grace,â you hum. He retracts his hand from his spoon like itâs red-hot and stands up to greet you.
âHi,â he says, pulling his own tray back to make room for yours. âPlease, please sit down.â You wonder if heâs going to try and reach out to shake your handâbut heâs back down as soon as you swing your leg over the bench. You follow suit, giving him a polite, tight-lipped smile. Grace hums, eyes squinting as he taps his fingers across the tabletop. âI recognize you,â he says, âYou had the, uh, fast hands.â The observation comes out of his mouth disjointed and awkwardâbut, straight to the point.
âStratt hired me on as a documentation specialist. Fancy title for making sure that everything gets dated and down on paper,â you tell him. You almost want to light up at the thought of him picking you out in that stuff-full roomâbut youâve got to keep your cool. âIâve been assigned to record all research regarding the astrophage.â Which means youâre going to spend a lot more time together.
âImportant work. Historians will love you if everything turns out how itâs supposed to,â Grace nods. In truth, youâd never considered your job in that light. In your head, Stratt had simply wanted documentation as a contingency. If all Hell broke loose, thereâd still be the logs that you maintained of all the work of the scientists, the engineers, the researchers⌠You hadnât been able, in the rush of it all, to consider what it meant long-term.
âRight,â you chuckle, âAnd molecular biologyâll make a pretty shrine for you, too.â Itâs a silly thoughtâFather of the Astrophage, on a platinum plaque. The flattery makes him shift in his seat, index finger coming up to push up his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. You have to soak it in a little bit, his nervousness up-close. Itâs charming.
The two of you sit in silence for a moment, making ample use of your food by using it to keep quiet. Grace has his cereal, and you your oats. Itâs easy. You feel like a little kid again, trying to make a friend in the cafeteria; youâre sure thatâs what it looks like, too. You take a moment to crack open the lid of your juice, and Grace takes the opening. âIs this where you wouldâve wanted it to end up?â he asks, âWhen⌠everything, you knowââ
âWent to shit? No, not at all,â you huff. It comes up again. What would you do if the apocalypse started? Except, this time, itâs very clear that neither of you have much of a choice. Yes, itâs definitive now. Grace doesnât know how he got here, still, despite the briefings. Heâs in the middle of the ocean, and so are you; he wants advice. âI think most people hope for a conservationist sort of end. Like, in the middle of the redwoods, in a tiny cabin with a stone chimney, or something.â
He lets out a dry chuckle and stifles it quickly with the back of his hand. âIs that what you wanted?â
âNo. I mean, I think Iâm where Iâm supposed to be now. Itâs this or slow, slow death.â For an unquantifiable amount of people, you could add. You find it better not to.
âAnd, your familyâ?â
ââknows Iâm here, if you can believe it. Strattâs act of kindness. They think Iâm doing administrative work for the U.N., which isnât a complete lie,â you murmur under your breath. He can only nod solemnly. Carefully, you recall: âShe told me that you didnât⌠have anyone to contact.â
He doesnât seem phased at all by the inquiry. âNo, no. My parents passed away before I finished doing my doctorate. They were older. I moved to the Bay for my tenure track after that. It was the easiest decision I couldâve made, consideringââ He doesnât have to spell it out for you: he bombed his own career with a single dissertationâit was teaching or nothing at all. And, all things considered, Grace really loved to teach. âI lived alone in the end. No dog, one ex.â
Ex. You think itâs probably too soonâand, too much pressureâto tell him that you donât have anyone else waiting for you at home, either. In some twisted way, you might want him to be curious about it. To wonder if thereâs someone waiting for you at the shore, or if youâre hooking up with one of the pilots on-deck. Itâs all a bit of harmless fun. Vaguely, you explain, âI had an apartment, too. Nice place. Took forever to hunt for it, lock down the lease, decorateâand then, nothing. Had to surrender the keys after Stratt made it clear she wanted me on-board.â
â
Itâs all been a little bit less lonely since Graceâs boarded the ship. You practically have to be glued together on account of Strattâs orders. âHe should rarely leave your sight,â she tells you over dinner one night, in a cleared navigational deck, âItâs imperative that you have his calculations recorded down to the decimal and uploaded to the database.â Really, it isnât the hardest task. After that first breakfast, he seems generally comfortable in your company. He floats towards you, seemingly, more than you do him. The greatest tell is his punctuality. Grace makes it early enough to morning meetings so that he can position himself right beside you.
When thereâs much more dull conversation being held about different nations providing staff or material, you notice that he has the tendency to get more⌠distractable. Beneath the table, you can feel his knee brush against yours as he bounces his legâsole of his sneaker scuffing against the floor. Of course, he doesnât have nearly as much reason to listen when the conversations turn more diplomatic and less scientific. And, while youâre supposed to pay attention heartily and take your extensive notes, Grace is on the less helpful end of the spectrum.
He likes to pass notes. They vary in topic and seriousness. Thereâs one particular morning when he chooses to be heavy-handed with them. It starts as soon as the representatives begin to argue. With nimble fingers, Grace slips the note right next to the trackpad of your laptop. Britain is a tool. Britain being the politician from Britain, an older man with too-tight trousers who dissented to almost everything Stratt had to offer. You take the card and slip it between the front cover and the first page of your notebook.
More chatter, and you can already see him scribbling out the next one behind his walled-up hand. You peek over, and he slides it determinedly towards you. Hope they do something other than eggs today at caf. Yes, theyâd served it five days in a row. You decided to keep your complaints about it in for the first three days, and broke on the fourth. Grace had heard the bulk of your argumentâthe grittiness of powdered eggs, and how youâd kill for a stack of pancakes. This note, you slide back over to him. Itâs not nearly as taboo as the first, which means he can have it back.
The last one Grace has for you comes a whopping ten minutes later, after he gets pulled into a conversation about laser tech for the breeding tanks. Once that devolves into yet another disagreement, he turns his attention back over to you. This new note, he makes sure to fold in half before lodging it beneath the keyboard of your computer. It takes you another five minutes of conversation lulling for you to open it. You pry the two edges open to read it: What do you do with sick chemists? Helium. What do you do if they die? Barium.
This one makes you snort to yourself too loud for your liking. You brush the index card into your lap with your nose scrunched in realization of how much of a slacker you must look like. This routine of yours is beginning to set itself in most morning meetings, and youâre beginning to wonder if you should start giving him the silent treatment. Grace appears rather proud to have made you laugh, chest puffed out; he tries to hide his smirk by looking down at his lap. If Stratt has an opinion about it, she doesnât say anything.Â
â
Youâre staring, and you really canât help it. Grace has his cardigan shedded and strewn across the nearest lab chair. Heâs doing an awful lot of calculations, something on astrophage power output that youâll have to ask him to spell out for you later. The graphic, of course, is no better than the rest of the shirts heâs worn all week. But, the real kicker is the way that the fabric of his short-sleeves are hugging around his biceps. You couldn't have guessed that Grace would be so⌠fit.Â
You canât take your eyes off him now, as he takes a black Expo marker to the surface of the whiteboard. The shirtâs tight. Youâre checking him out. It isnât until he peeks over his shoulder at you that you become all the more conscious of it. Itâs a fleeting moment; unwillingly, you peel your eyes off of his and onto your laptop on the desk in front of you. Youâre supposed to be compiling a folder to send out to the Payload Systems team. Not⌠this.
âSorry,â you shoot out mindlessly. You make an exerted effort to examine the inventory list on your screen and cross-check it with another spreadsheet on the tab over. Busywork. Itâs better to look like youâre doing literally anything else.
Grace doesnât take his eyes off the board as he continues scribbling across it. He lifts the marker off the board a moment: âWhat for?â
You suck in a deep breath. An apology implies that youâve got something to be sorry about. You want to leave nowâbut thereâs really no good excuse to. Stratt is off-site, which means that youâre only doing busywork âtill sheâs back with new news. So, you elaborate with an empty ââŚNothing.â
âO-kay,â he enunciates. You canât do anything but return back to your screen with an attempt at dutifulness. Grace stays at the board, head tilted to write some undecipherable combination of greek-letters at the upper-right corner, and you can go back to your previously abandoned work. Itâs almost machine-like, the way in which he scrawls the information from left to right, without any hesitation. You write several lines down on the notepad to your left: Hermle centrifuge machine needs replacement. Polypropylene for containment units â CNPC bulk load. And, messily, at the corner of your page, In love with Grace?
Itâs difficult to tell. Youâre together ninety-percent of the time. Youâre clearly attracted to him and his square frames and his dad clothes. He makes you laugh, lets you use his old iPod to listen to Oasis. And maybe itâs the close proximity speaking, but you feel deeply about Grace in a way that you arenât sure how to describe. Like now, as he caps the white board marker and slides it into his back pocket, before coming over to check on you with quick steps.
âOn a scale of one to ten, how illegible is that?â he asks you. You try not to cave as he rests both of his hands on the edge of your desk, toned arms straining right beside you. You squint as you stare at the board, trying to make sense of the numbers.
âI think I can get everything down except for that bottom-half. Itâs not your handwriting, just the formulas,â you admit. Youâd never been one for complex mathematics, and you need to make sure you can get the equations recorded exactly as they are.
He hums, âThat isnât bad at all. For now, just note the biomassâcircled and labeled it wet weight, in tons. If you need to, you can send the number out to DuBois, see if I got the match right, and IâŚâ Grace trails off, picking up the mug that he has set on the desk next to you. He makes an additional effort to peer into your own empty mug, before picking it up with his other free hand. âWill be right back.â He carries them out of the room without another word. Another plus: he fetches you drinks without any asking.
Itâs more quiet when heâs out of the room, presumably at the espresso machine just down the hall. In Graceâs absence, you can actually think more clearly about the situation. You know that Shapiro and DuBois have their own version of a relationshipâalbeit, more or less casual. At the end of the world, nobody really bats an eye about it. All things considered, itâs actually better for morale. You have to wonder if thatâs in the cards for the two of you.
It isnât long before he comes back with the two mugs. First, he places his a safe couple of inches away from your computer. Then, he makes a slow gesture for you to take your mug out of his hands. âCareful. Itâs hot,â he tells you softly, running his hand beneath the bottom of the cup to swipe off the possibility of a wet ring. As he gingerly passes the handle into your hands, your fingers brush against one another comfortably. You note, eyes glancing up from the steaming cup, that thereâs a faint blush littering his cheeks. But, heâs too intent on the handoff to take his eyes off the coffee to look up at you. Yes, you think, In love with Grace.
â
Once you figure out that fundamental fact, you start to think it over too much. Thereâs nothing necessarily wrong with your finding. Itâs natural, and probably inevitable, for you to have fallen for him. Whatâs more anxiety-inducing is what youâre supposed to do about it. Under any other circumstances, youâd be okay keeping your mouth shut and letting the opportunity pass you up. But, considering the timeline of the Earth at present, it seems like thereâs no time to waste. At the end of the world, it isnât the sort of thing you should keep to yourself. You should tell him. And still, youâve been sitting on the idea of it for weeks.
You really hope that Grace hasnât figured it out, as observant as he isâbut itâs really very clear to everyone else on Project Hail Mary. You can tell by the way they watch you both, like it's morning television. Grace rambles on about astrophysics, and you listen. He goes off on tangents about old and wrong college professors, and you laugh. You talk about your life before the project, and he listens with his chin resting on his hand. He asks you questions about what you used to do, where you used to goâlike youâre another thing to learn. And everyone fawns.
Itâs a good night when you hole yourself in your bunk room. All the engineers and specialists and to-be cosmonauts are all gathered together for drinks and a movie. The simple act of slipping away, letting people assume that youâve got a migraine or an extra load of paperwork, is easy. Itâs in the comfort of your tiny twin bed that you get to listen to the ocean and wailing ship creaks, window propped open to let in the fresh air. Itâs strange to think that this room has been yours for so many months; the gunmetal ceiling of it is familiar now.
You get to enjoy this for upwards of an hour, until footsteps come clunking down the hall. Youâre sure you know who they belong to. Thereâs a couple of soft, metal knocks on your door. âHey, buddy. You sleeping?â Itâs Graceâs muddled voice on the other side of the door. âDinnerâs up and everybodyâs wondering where youâre at.â
You raise your head off of your pillow, âDoor's unlocked. Just come in.â Itâs a quick scramble for you to sit up and toss your legs over the side of the bed. As soon as Grace makes it through the doorway, you give him a sheepish smile and a wave.
âJeez, itâs freezing in here.â Graceâs cardigan is hanging on his right hand. Another tight tee tonight, vintage tour shirt for The Beach Boys. You have to look away as he tosses it on the desk chair adjacent to your bed and as he comes up to sit right beside you. âYou know,â he starts, lowering onto the hard mattress, âIf youâve been feeling overworked, I already told you Iâd tell Stratt I could handle my own documentation for a week. Itâs lab standard, anywayââ
Heâs not making it any easier for you. âNo, itâs fine,â you insist. It isnât very easy to tell him that youâre not overworked, that you just have stupid feelings for him. Your refusal only makes him work harder.
Dismissively, he continues, âYou can just sit there and watch me work. Read a book or something. A little bit of downtime isnât going to be the end of the world. And, yes, I know how it sounds given the current circumstanesâbut I think you definitely deserve it with the amount of running around that you do.â Heâs getting rather impassioned about you resting, so much so that when you mumble out his nameâa soft-spoken âGraceââhe doesnât even pick up on it. He only marches on, âWhen you think about it, itâd help my research, too. Because if youâre stressed, Iâm stressed. And thatâs just no good.â
âRyland,â you blurt. He halts, lips parting and closing. You never call him that, and now he seems very, very dazed. You explain, âIâm not overworked. I just needed a bit of time to think. Alone.â
âRight,â he cedes. âIâm sorry.â You can see his shoulders slump in the slightest, all guilt-ridden about having disturbed you. Grace leans weight onto his sneakers, clearly in an attempt to get off your bed and dismiss himself. Too easily, you reach for his arm to hold him in place.
âNo, I want you,â you retract it just as quickly with a blurted, âHere. I want you here.â Grace looks more puzzled than before, but sits himself more comfortably on the end of your bed. Open to listen. You clasp your hands together, âOkay. Iâm going to give you a hypothetical⌠Say, you have a decent life, nothing crazy. Good job at a library. Itâs modest, and youâre happy with it. Go You have a good place, good friends. No⌠partner.â Maybe, the two of you are more similar than you realize. âAnd thatâs okay,â you add, paying no mind to the way Graceâs eyes soften behind the lens of his glasses.
You carry on: âYouâve been okay with that for a decent amount of time. Then⌠apocalypse starts. You find somebody by chance, who youâd probably never cross paths with otherwise, and you realize that you like being with them. And, suddenly, because the apocalypse has started, you probably wonât have another opportunity to like another person like you do this one. And you really like the one.â You can feel your palms clam up at the confrontation of it all, the vulnerability.
He blinks slowly once. Then, twice. Grace raises a slow index finger up towards himself, eyes peering just over the frame of his glasses, âThatâs me.â He states it out like an educated guess, cut-and-dry.
âNo, itâs Yao,â you shoot back. âYes, itâs you, obviously. Who else would it be?â
âOkay,â he says, hand reaching up to take his glasses off. Grace stands up with a deep breath, hand ruffling through his spiky-blonde hair as he walks further away from your bunk. Again, he mutters out a soft, âYeah, okay,â not far off from how he looks trying to expand out a calculation. Grace taps his foot on the floor, paces left, then right, rubs his palm over the scruff on his face. A torturous lack of response. Then, finally, he turns around. âSo, the whole time you werenât just really into microbiology?â
You have to gawk at him. âAre you being serious?â He looks completely serious, glasses hanging off of his chin, blue eyes inspecting the irked look on your face with doe-like curiosity.
âWell, can you blame me? Youâre gorgeous, and youâre also impossible to read.â Gorgeous? He thinks youâre gorgeous. Thatâs nice. You can feel the warmth bloom in your chest at the implicationâbut you canât help but scoff out of pure offense. He puts his hands up in a haphazard shrug. âI mean, now that I know, it makes a lot more sense why you look at me like⌠that. I wasnât totally sure.â Now, it seems that heâs making a bit of a game out of it. You donât care to ask him to elaborate on what âthatâ looks like.
Stubbornly, you tut, âIâm taking it back. Iâm taking it back, and it was completely hypothetical!â You stand up from your spot on the bunk, walking narrowly past Grace to your desk. Briskly, you pick up his cardiganâdisposed of on your desk chairâbefore bunching it up and shoving it towards him.Â
âNo, no, noâyou canât take it back. Catâs out the bag,â Grace insists teasingly, hands clinging to the cardigan. Before you can completely let go of the woollen fabric, he makes sure, next, to grasp his hands over yours. Theyâre significantly larger and warm, too warm; with your hands plastered to his chest, there isnât really anywhere for you to go. You think he must feel the nervousness practically radiating out of you, because he seems to slow down: âOkay, Iâm being difficult. I can grovel if you want me to.â Graceâs voice lowers down into a rasp.
Thereâs a cockiness about it that you havenât exactly seen from him before. You canât tell if itâs making you flustered or annoyedâboth, likelyâand in some bout of courage, you get on your tiptoes to press your lips against his. The cold, metal frame of his glasses nudges against your face as the two of you kiss. Grace takes one hand up to cradle your jaw, and you can hear a quiet, satisfied hum come out of him. It does live up to hypothetical expectation, the way his body melds against yours clumsily around the barrier of the cardigan. Itâs very him, and itâs very you.Â
Grace can barely be convinced, with your hands pushing back against his chest, to let you take a breath of air. Once the two of you split, Grace has a sideways smirk. âI really like you, too. Not sure if I made that clear,â he murmurs. âSo, would you come grab dinner with me?â
Grace explaining to Rocky all of the resourceful low cost ways he is collecting materials for his Eridian students to do experiments and Rocky going "If you need something just ask. We can make it for you question?" and he doesn't understand why Grace is tearing up (His classroom budget on Earth was $100 for the whole year).