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PHM BIG BANG REPOLL

Big Bang definition: Writers sign up to take part in the challenge and begin writing stories. When the early drafts of the stories are available, each one is assigned one or more artists, or artists might claim stories from posted summaries. Artists create fanart to go along with the story. (taken from fanlore.org)

This event would be going on during the wait for the phm movie, so posting would be during early march/late february! Creation times for art and writing would be 2-3 months each

Please reblog!

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My sister noticed that and I immediately went “Oh yeah the ship just periodically releases beetles for the astronauts to hunt. You know. For enrichment.”

She didn’t buy it, obviously, but it was still a funny thought

I love how you open up PHM to see a diagram of a spaceship that looks pretty normal, but the nosecone is labeled "beetles"? like, obviously there's going to be an explanation in the book, but. beetles. that's it. no context. spaceship with beetles.

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Holy shit if they have Rocky speak in his actual musical language and put subtitles of what he's saying that would be my fucking dream

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UHHHHHH PHM EDIT 🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯

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can anyone find the hat he’s wearing here? I’m not having any luck and I want it for when I see the movie next year lol

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GUYS IM GOING TO ACTUALLY DIE OMG OMG OMG

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Since my designs of Johannsen and Vogel both have glasses it was suggested I draw Mark stealing their glasses while on the ship. Thought it was a cute funny idea so here that is! You can decide if this is pre-mission or post-mission, it's good either way I think :o)

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Ryland Grace has the worst case of Main Character Syndrome. Bro actively tried to remove himself from the narrative and Stratt was like “Nah. You gotta save the world whether you want to or not.” Poor little meow meow wet cat scientist can’t catch a break

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Mark: So then I started burning hydrazine in the Hab

Ryland: On PURPOSE?!

I’ve seen some more idiotic readers go “Mark and Grace are just the same people.”

if they’re the same people, explain this:

Mark Watney: *at any minor inconvenience * FUCKING FU— Ryland Grace: *world-ending, life-threatening news* holy moly

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Hello Hail Mary Nation, is this anything?

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of course you're aroace, your favorite book is project hail mary

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A Way Home

Blake/Schofield, fix-it, fluff, hurt/comfort

Ao3

Thank you so much @carrotcakecrumble for beta reading 🩵

Schofield returns when the cherries bloom again and that seems to Blake the natural order of things, like the change of seasons or the snow melting. It's been a year since he left Blake, dazed and in pain, with the convoy, promising to come back home.

"Still hungry, huh?"

Schofield points to a piece of bread with cherry jam in Blake's hands. He ran out of the house as he was, in a crumpled shirt, holding a sandwich.

"And you still look like an old sad caterpillar."

Schofield laughs and hugs Blake, a little clumsily with his newly healed arm. Blake knows everything from the letters. A broken elbow, he thinks, is a small price to pay for returning home before the war ends. Maybe smaller than he paid himself.

Anyway, they're both alive. The king and country no longer need them.

Myrtle circles around Schofield, like an excited puppy thumping their legs with her tail. As if she understands who has come and what he means to her owner.

"How's your arm?" Blake asks worriedly, as Schofield leans to pet the dog with his left hand.

"Better than it was. Only bends to one side again."

"Sco!"

"What?"

"Come in. Mum'll be back in a couple of hours. She'll love you, for sure!"

"Hope so."

Schofield smiles like a man who has just learned how to do it. Then he follows Blake into the house.

They eat potatoes with pork and drink tea. A little too early for a lunch, but Schofield swallows the food with such greed that Blake thinks he must not have eaten the entire journey. Or just got nervous, for Blake it has always worked like that.

"Have you found someone? A lass?" Schofield asks with his mouth full.

"Oh, yeah, I did."

Schofield's face is getting longer.

"What's she like?"

"The prettiest girl in the world!" Blake laughs. "Her hair is light red, she has big hands, a pale face and usually looks as if she‘s found a lizard under her clothes, but feels too shy to shake it out."

"Curvy at least?"

"Nah, flat as a board."

"Fancy the ugliest girl in the county? So much like you, Blake."

Schofield grins and looks at Myrtle tapping his lap with her clawed paw. His trousers are all covered in red dog hairs.

Blake's mother comes back soon after, earlier than expected. She's happy to see Schofield, who seems a little embarrassed by her attention.

"Was it you who saved Tom's life?"

"Not sure."

"That's him," Blake smiles.

It's a beautiful windy spring day and Blake drags Schofield to the orchard to show him the cherries. He tells him about every single tree and Schofield listens quietly with such a serious and concentrated look that Blake can't help laughing.

"Are you trying to remember everything?"

"Just an old habit. What's that tree?"

"A plum."

"I can‘t see any difference."

Blake is beside himself with happiness. Sco is here, alive. His cheekbones are sharper than Blake remembers, he has dark circles under his eyes and his movements are stiff as if he is afraid of sudden pain, but that's the same old Schofield.

"Sco!" Blake calls in the dark right after turning off the light.

"Huh?"

Schofield takes Joe's bed and Blake feels like his brother's home too. Joe wouldn't mind, that's for sure. Blake imagines that when he comes back he will rush to marry his Helen and they will live in a little brick house with a brood of little Blakes. As for Schofield, he will be able to stay here, as if he was their third brother. Blake smiles into the darkness, pleased by these thoughts.

"Have you seen your family?"

"Sure, I did. Where do you think I left my uniform?"

"Drowned in the sea?"

"No, my mother and sister need floor rags."

"They won't use it like that," Blake objects.

"Too bad."

Blake wakes up in the middle of the night and raises himself on his elbow to look at Schofield, like a small boy receiving a long-desired gift and unable to wait for morning to look again at his treasure. Schofield lies on his back, his eyes open, a beam of moonlight crossing his face and chest.

"Sco, are you sleeping?"

"Yes," he answers immediately.

"You need sleep, Sco."

"I just woke up. It's all right, Blake."

He wants to protest, but his eyes close against his will. In the morning Schofield looks normal, vinegar faced and concerned as usual, staring at his omelette as if it told him some bad news.

"Good morning, Mum. Good morning, Sco."

"Hi, Blake."

"Good morning, dear."

He puts some omelette and toast on his plate and sits down at the table, noticing that mother looks at Schofield with the same fondness she always looked at her own sons with, small wrinkles gathering in the corners of her eyes. Blake is overhelmed with tenderness, he wants to shout how much he loves them both, but instead he hugs Myrtle. She barks twice and tries to get in his lap.

It's a cloudy April morning, grey, green and white. Blake and Schofield walk on a country road while Myrtle runs ahead of them sniffing roadside bushes.

"You never asked how I got this," Schofield says, moving his right arm, and Blake notices a pink scar peeking out from under his rolled up sleeve.

"I thought you didn't want to say. Same as your first wound stripe."

"No more wound stripes. Just a silver badge to avoid being handed white feathers at every turn."

"I was given one," Blake says. "I mean, the feather, before I got my badge."

"What did you do? Pull up your shirt?"

"No, I told her I was wounded in the service of His Majesty."

"Typical Blake."

They keep walking along the road in silence, listening to the birdsong and the distant knocking of a hammer. It rained before dawn and the air is fresh, cool and full of scents of spring grass.

"I don't remember much about the Somme," Schofield says suddenly.

"You do. But you don't have to tell."

He looks at Blake gratefully, with some wise sorrow deep in his eyes.

"As for this," Schofield says pointing at his elbow, "I just fell back into the trench when we went on the attack. That's all."

"Your own fault?"

"No, knocked down by an explosion."

"Should have done that sooner."

"If only you'd told me that before."

Next night Blake is woken by a strange sound similar to a voiceless scream. If ghosts existed they would scream the same way. However, Blake hasn’t decided yet if he believes in ghosts. He quietly gets out of bed and goes to the source of the sound. It's Schofield. His face turned to the wall and clearly having a nightmare. Blake reaches out to him and gently touches him on the shoulder. Schofield falls silent, then grabs Blake's hand. He smells like sweat and wet hair.

"There, there, you're home," Blake reminds him, "it's all over."

"Blake. I'm fine. Go back to bed," Schofield says abruptly, with a cracked voice.

"I'm staying here." Blake crawls under the blanket and kisses Schofield on the back of his neck.

"Not giving up, right?"

Schofield turns to Blake and hugs him. His face looks like a pale spot in the dark. The clock on the wall is ticking loudly, through the sound of rain from afar comes a barely audible locomotive whistle.

"No."

"Was I screaming? Ouch! Careful! The arm."

"Sorry, Sco!" Blake whispers. "No, not screaming. Rather howling, like... Like if my house was haunted."

"I hope Mrs Blake didn't hear."

"She‘s a deep sleeper."

"Hope so. You're not going to go back to your bed?"

"No."

"You will stay here on this narrow bed and make me sweat like hell?"

"Yes."

"Won't leave me alone even if I tell you to?"

"I won't." Blake buries his nose in Schofield's chest.

"Thank you," Schofield says, slowly stroking Blake's hair.

The rain beats harder on the roof and windowpane, when it ends all the ground will be covered with white petals. Blake is falling asleep and thinking that the way back from the war for Schofield will be long and difficult, but he's already set foot on the path.

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stray nation WHERE ARE YOU

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HAPPY NEW YEAR have some fords :)

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the tfone gang,,,,hrrghhllkkk bee my beloved they could never make me hate you