second star on the right

“You identified it. You plotted its orbit and location. You name it.” “This is you ship. You name.” I shake my head. “Earth-culture rule. If you’re at a place first, you get to name everything you discover there.”

project hail mary + book quotes 5/?

"It would have been easier if you'd just said yes."

You’re out of touch, I’m out of time.

Always delightful when a canon makes daemon AUs incredibly easy and glad we all agree Ryland Grace's is a fox. BUT. HEAR ME OUT:

She had tried — a long time ago — to explain it by precedent. To show that, historically, it wasn't even that uncommon among daemons, and surely not worth remark. After all, didn't Fulvia wage a war independent of Mark Antony, because she loved Rome more? Didn't Crick publish papers under her own name, without Watson? (Later, of course, it occurred to her that these were perhaps not the best examples to bring up when trying to convince people of her competence.) "No," she says, instead of any of that, and "no," louder, when she hears the syballant hiss of "witch" come from someone she can't see. She isn't severed from him, they just … like doing different things. They're voracious for information and good at multitasking. Well, Eva is. Grace, she doubts sometimes. Sensing her thoughts turn to him, he ramps up the urgency, pressing it against the inside of her skull — right behind her eyes, like a dehydration headache. She says only, "excuse me," and steps aside. Grace shoves two images through the chink in her attention in quick succession; Carl's face, and her cell phone. Sighing deep and world-weary, she shifts her papers to one elbow and thumbs her phone awake, open as it almost always is to her contacts list. She scrolls down to "Carl (American SS, Honors, Don't Ask For Crime)" and dials. He picks up on the first ring. She hears a brief cacophony of hand drills, a daemon's excited screech, and Carl, distant, saying, "hang on, ma'am." The next moment, it's Grace yapping at her. "Eva! Eva!" She can picture him clearly — not from any daemon telepathy, but purely by having had him within arm's reach all her life; his ears pinned back like a puppy, his shoulders wriggling, crouched a polite distance from Carl so they wouldn't be in danger of touching but also stretched towards the phone, tail puffed up. "Eva! Guess what!" "What?" she says. "Carl and I made a baby!" "What," she says, in a completely different tone.