Grumpy! Angry! Stupid!

Hi,I’m Juliet!! 22, She/They Nice to meet you!! : D SFW Blog

[cocoa-critter]

Juliet’s Masterlist

HELLO! My name is Juliet, and I’m a severely under-qualified writer. LMAO.

I mostly write tickle fics, but sometimes I write other stuff too.

Fandoms: Project Hail Mary, TMA/P, Malevolent, Sherlock Holmes

Currently focusing on: Project Hail Mary

Age: 22

Pronouns: She/They

Requests/Asks: ALWAYS open :)

- SFW Blog -

Find my work below the cut!

FanFiction:

- Project Hail Mary:

❀ Worst Aid - Lee!Grace, Ler!Armando

Ryland sustains a minor injury, due mostly to his own clumsiness. As Armando tends to him, Rocky gets a crash course on just how sensitive the human nervous system is.

❀ Bakin’ Biscuits - Lee!Grace, Ler!Rocky

Rocky is allowed on the bed to supervise Grace while he sleeps, which is closer than he's ever been. With the new proximity comes a new Eridian habit that Grace hasn't yet encountered.

❀ Loosen Up! - Switch!Stratt, Switch!Grace

Long after the rest of the Hail Mary team has gone to sleep, Atratt and Grace find themselves unable to sleep, wired, tired, and in need of distraction from the stress of the most important mission in history.For however brief a time.

❀ Hold Still! - [BloodyMary] Lee!Simon (Iron Lung), Ler!Grace

It's been about a week now since Simon found himself aboard The Hail Mary in quite possibly the worst and weirdest Ryland had ever seen a human in. Now that he's settled, it's time for a checkup!

❀ Live Demonstrieren - Lee!Grace, Ler!Roxky and Pebbles

Today, Grace's class focuses on the differences between human and Eridian anatomy, with Rocky as a special guest teacher. Naturally, when the ever fascinating topic of the nervous system is covered, the pebbles have a hard time wrapping their minds around particular human responses to touch.

❀ Star-Crossed Loners - [BloodyMary] Switch! Grace (PHM), Switch!Simon (Iron Lung)

Grace finds Simon staring out at the stars, and finds himself not only explaining the marvels of our universe to him, and learning a bit about Simon’s home universe as well. When the conversation takes a bleak turn, a mutual cheer-up naturally follows.

❀ The Agreement - [BloodyMary] Lee!Grace (PHM) Ler!Simon (Iron Lung)

 Grace points out something about Simon that he'd love to hear more of, And Simon points out something about Grace that he's sick and tired of. An agreement is achieved!

❀ Sit UP. - [BloodyMary] Lee! Grace (PHM) Ler!Simon (Iron Lung)

Despite constant reminders, Grace cannot seem to remember to fix his posture when he sits. Just as Simon predicts, his back starts to hurt because of it...

❀ Pebble-Sitting - Lee/Ler!Pebbles Lee/Ler!Grace

Grace is tasked with taking care of three pebbles for the afternoon, despite not being the world’s most confident babysitter.

❀ Info-Dumping - [BloodyMary] Lee! Grace (PHM) Ler!Simon (Iron Lung)

Grace has a bit of a habit of rambling on about the things he enjoys. He becomes self conscious when he believes Simon is annoyed by him, and decides to stifle himself for Simon’s benefit.

❀ Tap Out! - Lee!Grace Ler!Stratt

Grace is bored, and just a little bit tipsy. Instead of going to sleep or doing ANYTHING else, he decides to bother Stratt to entertain himself. She’s thrilled…

❀ Secret Science - [BloodyMary] Lee!Simon (Iron Lung), Ler!Grace (PHM)

Grace has been withholding a personal science project from Simon, knowing that if he were to find out about it, he would not be happy. Simon finds out about it, and is not happy...

❀ Precarious Plant - BloodyMary] Switch!Grace (PHM) Switch!Simon (Iron Lung)

Simon runs into a problem in the greenhouse, and needs Grace's help to retrieve a plant that's, annoyingly, just out of reach for the both of them.

❀ Whose Hero? - BloodyMary] Lee!Grace (PHM) Ler!Simon (Iron Lung)

Grace is struck with the debilitating fear that he hasn't done enough, and could possibly be responsible for the detriment of Earth, and struggles with the guilt. Simon reassures him, and keeps him company, just to keep an eye on him in the wake of a panic attack.

❀ Deep Breaths - BloodyMary] Lee!Simon (Iron lung) Ler!Grace (PHM)

Simon falls under the assumption that the Hail Mary is not only on a fixed oxygen supply, but running low. Grace does his best to convince him that there's nothing to worry about.

❀ uno OUT - [BloodyMary] Lee!Grace (PHM) Ler!Simon (Iron Lung)

Grace, Rocky, and Simon decide to kill time playing Uno with a deck Grace found in the crew cabin... whole ship mad fr.

[cocoa-critter]

That’s it bro I’m gonna project my STEAMROLLER HYDRAULIC PRESS CRAMPS ON RYLAND GRACE.

COMPUUUTAAAAAAAAH.

[duketod]

pt 1

[cocoa-critter]

I’M ILL. THEYRE SO SILLYYYYUHHHH :((((

[cocoa-critter]

If you’re interested in ideas for Simon’s terrible horrible no good very bad day fic, maybe something where he’s ashamed/hates his mutations, specifically the ones on his face? Cause I can’t stop thinking about him getting so angry with how he looks that he tried to yank out the teeth with pliers. Don’t know how successful he’d be but he’d damn sure try. I get that it’s a pretty heavy topic & you might wanna pass on it, but just thought I’d share! I’ve been LOVING all your fics!

ABSOLUTELY I’LL WRITE THIS.

Yo this is SUCH a peak suggestion ohhh my god,,, I love me a dark heavy topic to write about, I NEVER mind!!’

ALSO TYSM FOR ALL THE LOVE!! I always love seeing your little notes on your reblogs TEEHEE

Tooth & Nail

This one’s dark, gang. Not the whole time, of course, but hot mama this was a hell of a write- LMAO.

I feel like I apologize for something every time I post but whatever bruh. I’M SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. a lot came up while writing, I had to cut and rewrite a lot of it… I’m afraid it might be a little disjointed?? But maybe I’m overthinking… anyway, as usual, there will probably be typos. I’m blind, siIIIGH.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Lee!Simon (Iron Lung) Ler!Grace (PHM)

TW’s: heavy mentions of blood, depiction of a severe mental break, self harm, teeth, and the removal of them, swearing

❦ Simon cannot stand the appearance of his new mutations, nor the discomfort they cause. Attempting to take matters into his own hands, he leaves Grace to pick up the pieces, which thankfully, he’s more than willing to do.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Half the battle of recovering after physical trauma is the physiological condition.

The human body can find a way to function, even under the most obscure circumstances. With enough time, life will find a way to persist.

It may not look the same as it did before… smooth lines become jagged, even tones become blotchy…

But cells, blood, muscle, organs, and skin don’t care about how they look. Life in a body is about utility, not aesthetics.

As true as all of this is, ithe words fall meaninglessly flat to someone who may be physically healed, but not entirely emotionally.

Words can only go so far…

-

“Don’t pick at your skin, Si, you’ll irritate it.”

I mutter, hunched over a hunk of metal I was in the middle of clumsily dismantling, removing hammed screws with nothing but thick, hooked pliers and hope.

“It’s itching.”

I look up to see where Simon was scratching, since I’d only responded to the sound before.

His hand, clawed and rigid against the marred half of his face, raked at the skin around the split that gave way for long, sharp teeth protruding from the back of his upper and lower jaw, across almost to his canines.

I nod slowly. “Yeah, that area’s gonna be a little sensitive for a while. Still, don’t mess with it.”

“It’s been months- everything’s done healing… it’s just this stupid face thing!”

“Well, the skin on your face had to stretch and break in… kinda unconventional ways to accommodate your new teeth, so your body’s still acclimating.”

“God I hate these stupid fuckin’ things.”

“Your teeth?”

Simon grunts in reply, leaning back in his chair. There was a resentful darkness in his eyes.

“Why? I think they’re awesome!”

“You think everything’s awesome.”

“Somethin’ wrong with that? I’m a positive guy, what can I say.”

Simon rolls his eyes. “They make everything 10,000 times more difficult. Eating, talking - I bite my tongue like… five times an hour… and they’re just hideous- I mean- why on the outside of my face?!”

“Hey, hey - first of all they’re not hideous, don’t say stuff like that. You’re just not fully used to them yet. As for everything else, that’s just dental recovery, bud. I mean, yours is a special case, sure, but all your symptoms are normal!”

“How the fuck would you know?”

I smile, setting the pliers down.

“When I was in my 20’s I had to get my wisdom teeth taken out. All four of ‘em. I knew it was important, I knew I had to do it, but you wanna know what I did?”

Simon tries to look disinterested, but he takes the bait.

“What.”

“I waited. Years. Like, four years. I was in excruciating pain all the time, they were growing in crooked, and bashing into other teeth and impacting them- oh it was a nightmare. Once I finally bit the bullet and got them all removed, and got all the teeth I messed up in the process fixed, you wanna know how long it took for me to fully heal up?”

“…How long…”

“Two. Years. Two years! My jaw was so sore and jacked up the first six months alone, my brother had to feed me soup like a baby. I couldn’t talk, eat, sleep comfortably, or use a straw for at least 3/4 of that time. And I managed to give myself a dry socket at some point too… beside the point. What I’m saying is, I get it. It’s normal. And my dental work was internal.”

“…Why the hell did you wait so long?”

“I’m scared of the dentist- is that really what you gleaned from my story? My dentophobia?”

“Is that a word?”

“I promise it is.” I chuckle, reaching across the table to catch Simon’s hand before he instinctively scratches at his face again.

He groans. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, just be careful.” I smile, releasing his hand, and going back to my work.

Simon nods slowly.

“It’d be so much easier if I could just-“ he snaps his fingers. “Get rid of them. Have a symmetrical face again…”

He sighs, carefully watching me pull and yank at old nails, wiggling them out slowly but surely.

“Symmetry is so overrated. You’ve got character this way. I would have killed to look that cool as a kid.” I smile.

Simon hums softly.

I take a look at the clock mounted on the lab wall. It’s getting to be evening - not that it matters in space anyway.

“Why don’t I make us some ramen?” I suggest, sitting upright on my stool. “It’s soft and easy to eat. Won’t irritate your jaw.”

Simon chuckles. “Everything we eat out here is soft.”

“Wrong. You ever try uncooked ramen?”

“Raw?!”

“Yeah, with the seasoning backet sprinkled over it? It’s great! It’s like a bag of chips’l

“Euch…”

“Oh come on, it’s the same thing as cooked ramen, just dehydrated! It’s not bad!”

Simon wrinkles his nose.

“Whatever, hater. Go wash up while I get supper ready.”

-

It’s been fifteen minutes…

Thankfully our soup was well insulated in the food heating system, so I wasn’t nexissarily worried about dinner getting cold.

I was concerned about what could possibly be taking so long.

“Grace!”

“Woah-! Rocky! Hey bud- w-where have you been? I haven’t seen you for hours.”

I’d been so lost in thought I hadn’t even heard Rocky’s thundering hamster ball careening down the hall… somehow.

“Rocky working up in cockpit.”

“On what..?”

“Third chair. Rocky make chair for Rocky!”

I tilt my head, hands on my hips.

“You already had a chair, buddy- yours was the copilot seat. What, you don’t wanna be my copilot anymore?”

“Rocky still copilot. Two copilots now! Rocky give human chair to Simon, and Rocky build new chairthat can accommodate ball!”

I smile. Honestly, that’s really sweet of him.

“Ohhh Rocky that’s really nice of you to give your old chair to Simon, I’m sure he’ll really appreciate it.”

“Good good good.”

Roxky shifts around proudly in his ball, trilling softly.

“Speaking of Simon… he’s taking forever to come up to eat.”

“Why, question?”

“I dunno! I sent him down to wash up almost 20 minutes ago…”

Rocky stands still, a stream of clicks echoing through the hamster ball.

“Rock, you don’t have to spy on him I’m sure he’s alright-“

“Rocky see Simon in bathroom in dorm.”

“W-what? Still?”

“Sitting on floor, statement.”

My heart sinks. “On the floor?”

Rocky trills in reply.

“Cannot see much else. Very still.”

“Like- alive still? Or passed out still?”

“Cannot tell, statement.”

I hufff, hesitating for a moment, before starting off to the dorm.

“Rocky come too, question?”

“N-no bud, you stay up here for now. I’ll call if I need you. I don’t wanna overwhelm him.” I call over my shoulder as I jog through the lab to the hatch.

I pass the table I had been sitting at with Simon e just a little while ago. Everything was, for the most part, in place…

But my pliers were missing…

-

“Simon? Simon! Where are you, man?! Your noodles are getting cold!”

…no reply.

I crawl down the ladder, doing my best to be as quiet as I can.

“Simon..?” I reach the landing, standing still, waiting for any sign of life.

There’s a rustle from the bathroom. Found him.

“I’m coming in, bud… just- just a warning…”

“N-no…”

I freeze. That’s Simon’s voice for sure, but he sounds different… weak, maybe.

“Not an option.” I don’t mean to sound as stern as I do.

I take a deep breath, and approach the open bathroom, knocking on the wall to announce myself before turning the corner.

Oh my god… oh my god oh my god…

“H-holy crap- Simon?!”

The hunched, heaving figure in the corner doesn’t reply.

I can see red, but I can’t see the source. It’s on him, there’s some streaked on the floor, and he’s got his hands clenched by his face.

He’s got something.

“SIMON-! Simon, drop it, NOW!”

I shout, rushing into the room barely large enough for one person, let alone two.

I nearly slip on a small, slick puddle of blood, steadying myself on either wall, before dropping down in front of Simon, who I’m not even sure is fully aware that I’m here.

He’s breathing heavily, so much so that he’s growling upon every exhale. His eyes are wide, looking through me, rather than at me, both hands, real and prosthetic, grotesquely sparkling with blood, wrapped around some kind of tool.

My pliers.

The blood’s coming from his mouth… the teeth on the side of his face.

“Simon, listen to me… drop the pliers. Now.” I plead with him, desperately trying to keep my voice calm and even.

I want to reach for the pliers, but any number of things could happen if I make the wrong move here.

I could jab him in the face, I could accidentally aid in removing whatever he’s got a hold on - anything could happen. My safest bet was to talk him down.

“Simon. Can you hear me? I need to know that you can hear me.” I shuffle closer to him. My knees streaked red, but I don’t care.

I carefully raise my hands, opting to take Simon by the shoulders in an attempt to ground him.

“I’m here to help you - I’m not here to do anything but help you.”

“You can’t help me.”

“Yes I can! Let me try!”

“There’s NOTHING YOU CAN DO.”

He lurches at me, and I tumble backwards, landing on my elbows.

Simon lets go of the pliers with the stronger, xenonite hand, using it to prop himself up above me. That’s progress. He’s only holding them with his thumb and two fingers now…

“Simon-“

“NOTHING.” He grits through his teeth, blood dribbling down his chin, landing like raindrops on my thankfully red shirt.

“Try me, Simon! I can’t help you if you don’t tell me how I can!” I can feel my heart pounding through my chest.

“I want them gone.” Simon’s voice is deep, manic.

“You want what gone…?”

He grips the pliers tighter.

“Y-your teeth! Ok, understood, you’ve want them gone…”

“I look like a monster…”

“No, you don’t, I promise you don’t…”

“I want it all gone, Grace… I want the gills gone, I want my face back… I want these fuckin… teeth…”

He sits up, gripping the pliers with both hands again, eyes squeezing shut.

“NO-! NO NO, SIMON, STOP!” I sit up, grabbing Simon’s wrists, desire my better judgment.

“I JUST WANNA BE NORMAL AGAIN. I DON’T WANT TO BE UNCOMFORTABLE ALL THE FUCKING TIME.” His voice breaks, slurred through his gritted teeth.

“OKAY, T-THAT’S REASONABLE! JUST- LET GO SO WE CAN TALK!” I plead, doing my best to pull his arms outward to release pressure on whatever tooth he’s got a hold on.

“WHY DOES IT FUCKIN’ MATTER TO YOU?! YOU DON’T KNOW THE HALF OF THE PAIN I’M CONSTANTLY IN.”

“EXPLAIN IT TO ME, SIMON! I’M ASKING TO UNDERSTAND!” I shout, putting everything I have into dislodging the pliers.

Simon is much stronger than I am, especially on adrenaline.

Brute force alone isn’t enough… I have to think of something else.

I look at my hand, streaked with Simon’s blood, and I have an idea. Understanding the risk of injury to myself, and more importantly, to Simon, but it’s my best shot.

I weigh my options, deciding it’s worth a try.

I loosen my grip with my left hand, letting Simon gain control of the pliers. I ease up with my right hand as well, lowering the resistance between us.

I swipe my hand upward, as though I slipped, sliding my palm against the hook of the pliers, hissing in “pain” and yanking both my hands away, holding my left tight.

“AH-! Crap-!” I wince, looking down at my unscathed hand, groaning and hunching over.

“GRACE-!” As I’d hoped, Simon’s attention diverts to me, and he reaches a hand out to me, lowering the pliers with the other.

I grab his arm tight, yanking him towards me, flipping both of us over, landing Simon on his back, stunned.

Both my hands find Simon’s wrists, pinning them to the floor. The xenonite elbow joint hisses and clicks in protest, and I make a note to take a look at the damage is no doubt caused later.

“Drop the pliers.”

“WHAT THE FUCK?!”

“NOW. DROP THEM.” I shout.

Simon winces, opening his hand, letting the bloody tool fall to the ground.

I flick them away with two fingers, and they skitter across the floor, out of Simon’s reach.

“How much damage is there.”

“Get o-“

“Answer my questions, or I will put you under and look for myself.”

“Is that a treat?”

“It’s a promise. What did you do with the pliers, Simon?”

“…two.”

“Jesus…”

“They were coming out anyway.”

“What?!0

“They were already loose.”

“You can regenerate teeth?!”

“Yes.”

“What..? Whatever, Fine, fine- then why are you bleeding so much?!”

“They weren’t completely loose.”

I can feel my stomach turn.

“Let me see.”

Simon narrows his eyes at me.

“I’m trying to help you, let me see the extractions, so I know how I can help you.”

He hesitates.

“Open.”

Slowly, Simon loosens his jaw, opening his mouth. The left side opens just a little wider to account for the extra teeth behind what used to be his molars.

I can see two, dark, reddish black sockets among the spiked teeth. They weren’t too big, nut they weren’t the cleanest extractions either.

The surrounding tissue was red, swollen, and littered with pokes and nicks from the pliers - failed attempts to grip onto a tooth.

I grab Simon’s chin, tilting his head to catch the low light at a few different angles, making sure I haven’t missed anything.

“Two extractions, no fragmented teeth left behind … minor abrasions in the gums and surrounding tissue…” I sigh, releasing Simon’s face.

Simon rests his head back on the floor, closing his mouth again, and I sit up on his hips, taking a long breath.

“That the fuck were you thinking?!”

“Woah-“ Simon flinches, looking up at me like I’m out of my mind.

“Do you have any idea how much danger you could have put yourself in?! Any idea at all?!”

“…”

“What if you struck a larger vein? W-what if you gave yourself some crazy infection that neither myself nor Armando could handle?!”

“Gracie, I-“

“There’s a nonzero chance that you could’ve… I-… how many… never mind.”

“What?”

“Nothing, never mind, I do t wanna know.”

“What were you gonna ask? You want me to talk things out, let’s start here.” Simon says softly.

“Fine. How many times have you done this? How many times, while I have been busy, sleeping, or otherwise occupied, have you been down here mutilating yourself to make yourself less of a monster that you never were to begin with?!”

“…Never.”

“Bull.”

“I promise, Ryland, I’m being honest.”

“You’re not just saying that because the teeth have grown back, and if never know the difference?”

“No.”

I sigh, nodding my head slowly.

“Please don’t ever do this again.”

“Okay…”

“I’m serious.”

“I know.”

“You scared the hell out of me.”

“…I’m sorry.”

“No… no, don’t be sorry, it’s selfish of me to make this about how I feel- c’mon, sit up.”

I scoot myself back, freeing Simon’s legs from under mine, and he sits up slowly.

The moment he’s upright, I reach out, and pull him into a hug. The tightest I’d ever held him.

Simon’s hands find my back, holding me just as tight, his head buried in my shoulder.

“Are you in pain?”

“Not really… just sore.”

“Adrenaline…”

“No…”

“No?”

“No, remember I said they were already on their way out? Besides the initial… resistance, there was barely any pain. Kinda like a paper cut. Doesn’t hurt a lot, bleeds like a gunshot.”

“Okay- Simon you don’t have to explain this to me right now- we can do this later.” I pat him on the back a few times.

“It’s find. Talking through it helps. R emember the eel tooth I gave you?” Simon pulls back from the hug, and points to the xenonite pendant on my chest with a tilt of his head.

I look down as well, lifting the pendant in the palm of my hand to take a closer look at it.

“See how the root is shorter? Thats exactly how my teeth look. They’re not embedded as deeply as human teeth are.”

He’s got a point. At the top of the curved, saber tooth, is a short, flat root, barely half an inch long.

“Fair enough… ok, fair enough.” I let the pendant drop back down to my chest. “Shouldn’t be too hard to patch you up then… c’mon.”

I release Simon, and stand up, brushing the wrinkles from my shirt.

“But… The bathroom- I- shouldn’t I clean this up first?”

“I’ll handle it later.”

“Grace, I fucked everything up in here, I can clean it myself.”

I sigh shaking my head. “I said I’ll handle it later. I really don’t want you in here by yourself any more than absolutely necessary. It’s fine, I scrubbed the whole ship clean of ocean blood, I can handle half of a half bath.” I extend my hand down to Simon, with a thin lipped smile.

He hesitates for a moment, opening his mouth as if to protest. He thinks better of it, nodding, and accepting my hand. 



-

“Okay, swish this around and spit it back out.”

“Why do I have to spit it out?”

“It’s salt water with peroxide.”

“What-? Is that safe?”

“What’re you worried about safety for? Didn’t you tell me you drank isopropyl alcohol?”

“Same thing as the stuff you drink.”

“…vodka? Ethanol? No, not the same at all. A-anyway, yes, peroxide is perfectly safe fo sterilization purposes. It’s just water with an extra hydrogen atom. H2O2. It will upset your stomach if you swallow it though, especially mixed with salt and blood.”

I hand Simon a warm plastic cup, and he takes it, covering the toothy half of his face with a hand, sealing any gaps as he swishes the water around.

He winces - fron the sting of the salt in the extraction site, and whatever little nicks and cuts he’d made around his mouth, I imagine - and spits the now bright scarlet solution back into the cup.

“Yeah… doesn’t feel great, I know. But it’ll keep the area clean. I’m gonna have you do that twice a day until the new teeth starts coming in, and the internal cuts heal up, just to minimize infection risk.”

Simon nods, watching me set down a bucket of steaming, soapy water, only filled an out a quarter of the way for conservation sake.

“Shirt please.”

I have Simon seated on the dorm floor, with a few towels draped over his lap, and on the floor under him, hair tied back in my best attempt at a bun.

He slid off the black t-shirt without protest, setting it down beside him.

Thankfully there wasn’t too much blood on his chest or torso.

I think being in a dim, dark bathroom made everything look worse than it was. The majority seemed to have soaked into the collar of the shirt, concentrating the thicker streaks to his face, jaw, neck, and a few smatterings on his collar.

His hand was washed, and his prosthetic was removed to be properly repaired and sanitized. I could make quick work of the rest.

I wring out the sponge, bringing it up to Simon’s shoulder.

I don’t touch him until he gives me the cue to do so. Once he nods, I gently scrub away at the red streaks.

“I uh… I don’t know, I guess I thought it would make me look more normal…”

I raise a brow.

“What’s up?”

“Taking the teeth out, I mean… I dunno.”

Oh…

“Ah, okay. I can live with that reasoning. A little skewed, but…”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll give you two answers - one from a scientist, and one from a friend.” I dip the sponge again.

“Let’s say for a sec that your teeth didn’t regenerate, and you wanted to remove them all, given your current condition.” I start, scrubbing away at the top of Simon’s chest. “The extraction points would be visible from the outside, based on how those teeth are rooted, and once the wounds healed and closed, the scarring would most likely leave dents in your cheeks and jaw. Not to mention, you’d probably be in a world of pain… I don’t know what you consider “normal”, but that surely wouldn’t be it.”

Simon hums in thought.

“Now, as your friend, I really don’t think there’s any need to get rid of your teeth at all. Simple as that.”

“Why? I mean, thank you, but they’re so obtrusive, and they get in the way…”

“Same with my arm. My acid burnt arm, neck, and chest. I’ve lost so much feeling in the most random little areas, the skin is rough and tight and discolored and dry… but it’s part of me now. Ryland on earth would probably hate the way Ryland in space looks with a broiled body - or maybe he’d love it, I dunno, he’s a strange fella - but regardless, it’s part of me, my body, and my story. The series of scars tells a crucial story about how I got here… why I’m still alive, and what I’ve endured to still be breathing today.”

I tilt Simon’s head to the side to remove the blood from his jaw and beard.

“And the same goes for your scars, aand your mutations. Like yeah, old Simon didn’t ask for saber teeth, two sets of gills, one red eye, and a missing arm, but without gills, you would have drowned! That alone is incredible! Look at how much we’ve been able to learn about you through the changes your body’s endured! I- I mean it’s incredible! You can breathe fhrough four different parts of your body, you’ve got teeth that can rip through metal, dude- you’re a biological marvel! You could be from Marvel!” I smile, pulling back for a moment to assess my work. He was nearly clean.

Simon ponders my words for a while.

“…Thank you, Grace, I- I really do appreciate what you’re saying-”

“But…”

“But… even still- I just feel like I look scary. That’s not- I don’t think it represents me anymore.”

“Scary? Y’think?” I frown.

“Yeah… right?”

“If that’s really what you’re worried about, you’re a good looking guy, Simon. And that’s with scars and mutations. Good looking people tend to look even better with battle scars.”

“…What?”

“I’m being serious! How many movies have we watched with protagonists that take hit after hit, bump after bruise, and by the climax of the story, they look like the most powerful person in existence?”

“Those are movies. That’s fiction.”

“I could be convinced that you’re a movie protagonist like that.” I shrug, setting my fists on my hips.

Simon lets out a quiet, amused chuckle, which I’m ecstatic to hear.

“I’m just sayin’… I know I’m biased here, but I don’t think you need “symmetry” or stupid boring average features to be normal. You’re cool! You look cool, Simon.”

“…Thank you…”

“Don’t mention it… plus, I mean you’ve got fanged canines, which is like… objectively attractive…”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, I genuinely didn’t near you. You know my hearing’s shot.”

I clear my throat, willing away the red heat on the tips of my ears, and reaching back for the sponge, squeezing it a few times to reignite the suds.

“Just talking to myself. Anyway, I’m just about done… and now you smell like lavender, thanks to whatever infinite shelf life NASA soap they sent me out here with.”

“‘Now’? You sayin’ I smelled bad before?”

Yes. Like iron, sweat, and man. But I’d never say it like that.

“You said it, not me.”

“What?!”

“Hey! I’m just sayin…”

“Oh come on! Gimme a break, I’m aquaphobic. Rocky gets to walk around smelling like cat piss all the time, and you don’t say shit!”

“Ammonia, first of all, ok? It’s not cat urine, Rocky doesn’t even know what a cat is.And besides, that’s not his fault. His atmosphere is made of ammonia- and he doesn’t have an olfactory system, so he can’t smell anyway.” I huff.

“That’s probably why he still hangs out with your funky butt when you haven’t showered in days, stinkfish.” I chuckle, making a few final passes with the sponge over the side of Simon’s neck. I take extra care around his gills, though I can see his shoulder twitch.

“Stinkfish is ridiculous.”

“You know It was funny.”

Simon huffs, shaking his head.

“Oh- see?! You laughed! Told you!”

“That wasn’t laughter, I exhaled at you.”

“What’re you a bull?” I raise both index fingers to the sides of my head, letting out a heavy huff like an angry bull.

Simon gives me a thin lipped smile. Tough crowd…

“Oh come on, that’s a weak one. Let’s see that pretty smile with all those pretty teeth.” I snicker.

“Absolutely not.”

“Please?!”

He rolls his eyes at me.

Abandoning the sponge in the bucket beside us, I take Simon’s face in both my hands.

“Get the hell off me Gracie.”

“One smile. For the both of us. C’moooon.”

Simon narrows his eyes at me.

With the tips of my fingers on both hands, I gently scratch behind Simon’s ears, whatching his poker face shift just about as fast as the iodine clock reaction.

“GrahahAhahace! Get the hell away from me-!”

He rounds his back, shrugging his shoulders up.

“Oh! Oh, what’s this?! I think we’re getting somewhere!”

Simon attempts to grab both my wrists, only managing to grab one, forgetting he’s currently short one hand with his prosthetic missing.

“Ohhh, tough luck, buddy, your shields are down by half, womp womp!” I move one hand up to gently scritch along the spiked shell of Simon’s altered ear, tracing the fin-like shape as though I were trying to commit it to memory, and rolling the sturdy spiked tips between my fingers.

“AAAAahahahAHA- s-shIHIHIT- A-AH- AH-!”

Simon snorts, tucking his chin down towards his chest.

“Nuh-uh. No no no, Look up, look at me.” I purr, tilting my head to stay in his sight line.

“Shut uhUHUHUP-! Fuckin’ asshole!” Simon hisses.

“Up up, Simon, c’mon. My face is up here- lemme see yours!” I move one hand to his chin, tilting it up with a little resistance. He finally relents, keeping his face straight with mine.

He wears a reluctant, wobbly smile - still trying to hold himself together, but for what reason, I really was t sure.

That’s alright. Easy fix.

Without warning, I shoot my hands down under Simon’s arms, scratching against the uppermost rungs of his ribs.

“AaAAAHAHA-! WHAHAHA?!” Simon shrieks, wobbling backwards, rolling onto his back.

I follow him down, skittering lower, down his ribs.

“There we go! Look at that handsome smile! Tktktktktk!” I bring a hand down to his knee, squeezing the muscle just above it over and over.

“SHUHUHUT UP! A-AHAHAAAAAA- UUURGHAHAHA!” Simon growls through his laughter, thrashing around under my hands.

“Settle down, jeez! You’re gonna kick me in the nose!”

“GOOHOHOD.”

I gasp. “You would never.” I give Simon’s side a pinch, earning me a sharp jolt.

Simon lifts a leg at me like a cat gearing up to swipe.

“I wish you would!” I playfully threaten.

He kicks blindly - not quick enough to hurt me, if it were to land, of course.

I catch him by the ankle, turning my back to Simon, and putting his ankle in a headlock.

“NO! M-NONO WAIT- WAIT- I- I’M SORRY-!”

“You’re sorry you got caught, dummy.” I smile over my shoulder at him. “I’m a twin for Pete’s sake- you think I don’t know how to catch a kick?” I chuckle.

With my free hand I suddenly rake at the bottom of Simon’s socked foot, playing a little rougher than I usually do.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH-! A-AHAHAHAHAHA- SHIT SHIT SHIHIT FUCK-! GRAHAHACE-!”

My goodness he’s loud… I wince, honestly not expecting him to scream bloody murder.

“Holy crap! Seriously?!” I look back at Simon again, and he’s covered his face with his hand, shouting into it, writhing around violently.

“GRACE- PLEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAAAAA- AAAAAHAHA-!” He can hardly form coherent sentences

“Grace please what? Use your words, please.”

“SOMEWHERE EEEHEHELSE-! I- PLEHEHEASE-!”

I smile at him over my shoulder. Honestly I’m thrilled he seems to be enjoying himself.

“Move your hand away from your face and I will.” I drag all five nails up from heel to toe, waiting for him to consider my offer.

With a howl of laughter, Simon forces his hand down to his side, cackling freely into the echoing air of the dormitory.

“OKAHAHAHAY OKAHAY STOOHOHOP! STOP! MAAAARY! MARY!”

I slow to a stop. Releasing Simon’s ankle.

“Good evening, Simon.” Mary replies through the intercoms.

“Stop bothering Mary, man, I already promised I would stop.” I sit up beside Simon, allowing him to catch his breath.

“UuuuuuUUUGH.”

I smile, giving him a squeeze on the shoulder. “You alright?”

“Mhm…”

I nod, smiling rather fondly at him.

“…why are you staring at me like that?”

“I’m just sitting here!”

“Smiling like an idiot! What?!”

“Nothing! It’s nice to see you smile!”

“Oh shut up.”

“What! I’m being serious! You’ve had a tough day! Ohhh what is it a crime to wanna see you happy?!”

“Why’re you being so saccharine sweet right now?”

“I’m not!”

“Yes, you are!”

“I think you’ve just been so mean to yourself all day, you’ve forgotten how love, care, and kindness are supposed to feel, you semi-aquatic storm cloud.” I jab him in the navel to punctuate my point.

Simon jolts with a strangled wheeze.

“Who’s the last person to actually treat you with kindness, hm?”

Simon is silent for a while, pondering, while I patiently wait, sitting crisscross beside him.

“…”

“Wow, seriously? The bar’s so low it’s in hell, huh…” I mutter.

“Do you count?”

“…You have to be joking.”

“I’m being serious!”

“No! Before me! Pre-Hail Mary!”

“…”

“No one?!”

“Nothing springs to mind…”

“Man… no wonder you’re so tough on yourself…”

Simon shrugs.

“We’re hopeless…” I joke, shaking my head.

“Hang on, who the fuck is ‘we’?”

“Us. Simon Fisher and Ryland Grace.”

“I’m not hopeless, I’m a work in progress. I just have my moments.”

I give him a look.

“And today was one of those moments.” Simon mutters.

“…”

“…”

“I’m really the last person in recent memory to be nice to you?”

“In all memory.”

“…jeez.”

“Yeah.”

“How’s it feel?”

“So bizarre.”

“Really?”

“Yeah- before, any positive interaction was uh… y’know, was expected to go both ways.”

“Transactional.”

“Exactly. I do something for you, you give me something back. Problem is, if you’re too nice, you end up getting ripped off, taken advantage of… So it’s not entirely a matter of everyone just being as asshole. You learn to keep your guard up. Safety, and all that.”

“Man, that’s brutal.”

“Mhm.”

“…”

“You don’t… feel like that here, do you? Like you’re indebted to us, or feel like you need to stay on guard?”

“No, no… not anymore.”

“Anymore?!”

“Well I didn’t know what I was up against before, or who you were… I- I dunno, it took time to trust you, but I can comfortably say that I do now.”

I nod slowly, eyes fixed on the floor. There’s a melancholy sort of happiness in my chest that I’m unsure of how to emote.

“I’m still coming around emotionally… evidently… but for what it’s worth, you’re the first person in my life that I feel like I can trust not to stab me through the back of I turn around. And maybe that’s because you saved my- oh- ohhhh shit… Gracie…”

I sniffle, wiping my eye with my sleeve.

“N-no, no it’s- I’m fine… I told you I’m a crier.” I chuckle through my wavering voice, smiling down at Simon.

Simon snickers, sitting up slowly, opening his arm out.

I fall into the offered hug, a bit dramatically, but the sets par for the course.

“Y’know, now that I think about it, I really didn’t get a lot of hugs back home either…” Simon mutters, wrapping an arm around my back.

“Oh come on, now you’re just trying to make me cry.”

Simon shrugs. “I mean… it’s kinda funny…”

“Ohhh you jerk!” I scoff, dropping my hands down to Simon’s hips, digging my thumbs into the bone like drill bits.

“SHIHIHIT-! A-AHAHAHA- OKAHAHAY!” Simon wriggles, trying his hardest to get away.

He manages to turn, but I catch him around the waist before he can scamper away.

The tractionless towels on the floor give way under his feet, and he tumbles onto his side.

“Unbelievable.” I tut, shaking my head. “You think it’s funny, huh?”

I push Simon down onto his stomach, giving him barely a second to catch up before I latch onto his ribs, scratching with purpose.

“A-AHAHAHAHA-!! I- IM SOHOHORRY!!”

“‘Hilarious! Grace cares about me so much it makes him cry!’ Thats what you sound like.”

I rake my fingers up and down Simon’s ribs, feeling the seams of his gills close tight under my nails.

“I- I’M SORRY, IT- AHAHA-! IT ISNT FUNNY, i’M SORRY I- AHAHAHA-! SHIIIHIHIHAHAHAHAHA AAAAA-!”

“What’s that? I can’t really understand you…”

I turn my wrists so that my fingers scratch against the grain of Simon’s gills, my nails every so often briefly catching on the edge of the plates, not enough to lift them, but definitely enough for him to feel it.

“AAAAAA- *hic* AHAHAHAHAHAHA- GRAAAAHAHAHACE! A-AH AH-! I SAID I’M SORRY! *hic* OHOHOH GOHOHOD!!”

“Ha! Aw, you’ve got the hiccups?!” I chuckle, moving down to the lowest pair of gills.

“Y- *hic* YES- YEHEHES-! I DUHUHUNNO WHYHYHY-!”

“Diaphragmatic spasms. They can easily be triggered by excessive laughter. Makes total sense.” I shrug.

“Y-YOU’RE SU- *hic* SUCH A FUCKIN MEHEHRD, MY GOHOHOD. STOOOHOHOP!”

I finally bring my hands to a stop, sliding them up to Simon’s back.

“Don’t you *hic!* dare.”

“No, no, I’m done, promise. Let me try something. For your hiccups.”

“What- ouuugh…” Simon groans, his body relaxing into the floor as I dig the heels of my hands into the muscle, slowly sliding upward.

“Relaxing your diaphragm with firm pressure… it relaxes the diaphragm, encouraging the spasming to stop.” Suddenly, I lift my hands away, folding them against my chest, though he can’t see with his head faced down.

“But I guess if it’s too nerdy, I won’t use my understanding of anatomy to help you.” I shrug.

“N-no no… *hic* I’m sorry, it’s not nerdy, Gracie… M’sorry.” He mumbles with an oddly desperate whine.

Oh how couldn’t I smile at that? I can’t help but wonder how many other people had the privilege of his trust the way I do right now… if anyone at all.

“Alright then.” I replace my hands on Aimon’s back, gently working the muscles around his diaphragm, wincing at just how tense he was.”

“You’ve gotta start stretching, Si… you’re wound tight like a guitar string.”

“I do. *hic* I just hold onto a lot of stress.” He grumbles.

“A knot or two is stress. This is insane.” I shake my head, continuing to coax Simon’s muscles to settle and relax.

Little more than a few minutes pass, and Simon’s hiccups fade.

“Better?”

“Mhm…” Simon mumbles.

His arm is bent at the elbow, supporting his head, which is turned to the side, eyes closed and relaxed.

“Sleepy?”

He groans in reply.

I carefully climb off of him, beginning to gather up the long forgotten towels, bucket, and sponge, sliding them away to be properly dealt with later.

“Well you can’t sleep on the floor…”

“Watch me.” Simon mumbles.

“Not a challenge. C’mon- just- at least get up on the bed down here. I won’t make you go all the way upstairs.”

“Tha’s your bed though.”

“Mhm. It’s better I keep an eye on you tonight anyway.”

I take a seat on the edge of the bed, pulling the quilt back, and patting the mattress.

“C’mon. You sleep, I watch.”

Simon doesn’t move for a moment, only offering me a heavy sigh. Before long, he groggily stands himself up, shuffling over to the bed.

I smile, letting Simon take the space between myself and the wall, and he plops down like a sack of potatoes.

A small, wall mounted light is perched above the night table - I flick it on, and pick up the book on the table.

“Mary, dorm lights off, please.”

“Dormitory lights: off.”

The room falls into dim, warm light from the fixture beside me. Simon sighs quietly, turning over, and resting his head on my shoulder, his body just about as close to me as possible without his atoms passing straight through mine.

I wormmy arm behind him, combing idly through his hair, along his scalp.

“Grace..”

“Hm?”

“…I’m sorry. About earlier…”

“Please don’t start with the apologies again.” I sigh.

“I- I just…”

“There’s absolutely no reason for you to apologize for a mental breakdown you couldn’t control, okay? Get that out of your head. It’s okay.”

“…”

“All I ask is that the next time you feel like you’re on the edge of your tipping point - for any reason- come to me.” I say softly. “I will always be here for you, but I can’t help to my fullest potential if you don’t let me.”

“M’sorry...”

“No, no sorry. Just say “okay”.”

“…okay.”

I smile, gently scratching the back of Simon’s head. “Good. Now go to sleep.”

Simon sighs, relaxing into the silence.

“…Angel?”

“Human?”

“Love you…”

I feel my heart swell. How many people has he said that to before?

Better question, how many people have ever said it to him..?

“Love you too.”

At least one.

[cocoa-critter]

Yall this fic im working on is

long.

Honestly if it’s under 7k I’ll be shocked.

Another one I’m gonna need yall to really pay attention to the TW’s for…

I’ll see yall at some point!!!

[cocoa-critter]

Break Time!

Somethin’ a little different for dinner tonight, team… please don’t crucify me…

Been wanting to write Coltland twins content for a WHILE, So if this sucks just know that it’s my first attempt, and I’m also just a little guy. And here’s my customary typo/grammar apology too…

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Lee/Ler!Colt (Fall Guy)

Lee/Ler!Grace (PHM)

TW: swearing. A lot of it. From Grace too - this is grad school Grace. He had a lot less of a filter o think.

❦ Grace hasn’t been heard from for weeks, burying himself in schoolwork. Colt drops by to make sure he gets some enrichment time away from his computer.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

“RYYYYLAAAAA- oof- goddamnit…”

The door to my apartment jostles, and I hear the thunk of body weight against the outside of it.

I groan, dragging a hand down my face, and look at the time at the bottom right of my screen.

It’s 9:45 pm. What the hell is he doing here so late?

“Pull the handle up, not down, Colt.” I grumble through my hand.

I know the cacophonous ruckus of my twin brother anywhere. I didn’t even have to ask who was there…

“I knew that.”

“Evidently not.”

There’s some more fuss with the latch, and finally the door swings open.

“RYLAAAAAND GRAAAAACE!” Colt shouts, arms out like he’s awaiting applause and camera flashes.

He steps through, letting the door slam behind him.

“This is an apartment complex. You realize this, yes?” I don’t bother to look over at him.

“Uh… yes? Obviously?”

“Then why are you making the most noise physically possible- shoes. Shoes off before you step in my kitchen.”

Colt scoffs, kicking off his boots and nudging them to the door with his foot, hands raised in surrender.

“Sorry, mom, jeez.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Colton?”

“Government name? Both syllables, huh? Oh You’re pissed.”

“No, I’m busy. I’ve got a lot of work I’ve gotta finish up. And funny enough, no Colt is required for me to complete any of it… huh, imagine that…”

Colt hums, shrugging indifferently, shuffling into the kitchen.

“You chose to put yourself through discretionary, extra school, big guy. That’s on you.”

“Spell discretionary.” I sit back, folding my arms, watching as Colt opens the fridge I pay for, rummaging through it.

“Uhhhhh… d… e…”

“Forget it. Also I’m securing myself a career with this d-i-s-c-r-e-t-i-o-n-a-r-y, extra schoolwork.”

“I already have a career, space-face. That doesn’t work on me.”

“Space Face..?”

“Yeah- all the uh- acne you got goin’ on there… looks like-“

“Got it. Thanks.”

“Point still stands. I’m already employed.”

“Your career involves you getting thrown out of windows.”

“Yeah. And I get paid to do it. It’s awesome.”

“Tell that to your osteoarthritis in thirty years…”

Colt snickers, finally making a selection from my fridge, land popping the tab on a can of my Diet Coke.

“Ok, what’re you doing in my house.”

“Apartment, kiddo.”

“You’re twelve minutes older than me. Don’t call me that.”

“Twelve minutes wiser.” He takes an obscenely long drink of my Coke. “Can’t i just visit my brother? Jeeeez.”

“Typically, no. Usually comes with a caveat.”

I groan, hunching back over my laptop, leaving the room in silence for a few, blissful moments.

Colt, ever the fiend for attention, gets bored of my silence, and saunters his way over to me from the kitchen, standing behind my chair.

“What’ ha eorkin’ on?”

“Physics.”

“That’s a looot of letters where numbers should be.”

“They’re variables, Colt.”

“Why is that division problem so long…”

“One more time i will ask you why you’re here before i call Court.”

“Funny you should say that. He’s the one who told me to drop by.”

“Why in earth would he do that to me?” I hiss, clicking away at my keys.

“He said you’ve been avoiding his calls…”

“So? I avoid your calls too. And Holland’s.”

“Yeah, but that’s like, totally normal. You never ignore Court.”

He had a point. I’d been so swamped with grad school work that my phone had pretty much stayed on ‘do not disturb’ for the better part of two weeks now. Everyone who had attempted to contact me was left in radio silence. My brothers included. I guess Court finally got worried enough to send out a search party.

“He’s worried about you, man! You haven’t said a word to any of us in weeks! It’s like you’ve fallen off the grid! You’ve been so quiet even Holly’s concerned.”

“Oh so the whole family’s on my ass, awesome. You all know I’m in grad school, yes?”

“We know you’re in school dipshit, we just get worried when we don’t hear from you for forty days and nights.”

“Busy…”

“You probably haven’t slept in who knows how long.”

“I’ve been sleeping just fine.”

Colt huffs, a hand snakes around the side of my head, grabbing me by the cheeks, tilting it up and back. My brother stares down at me with a raised brow.

“So then all the darkness under your eyes is what, a stylistic choice then? Trying a new look?”

“Shut up.”

“I dunno! Maybe it’s Maybeline!” He chuckles, releasing my face. “C’mon. Just take a break for a little while.”

“Colt, I’m not joking I’ve got a lot of work to do, and it’s all gotta be done in two weeks!”

“That’s plenty of tiiime!”

“Every school project you’ve ever had, you waited until 6:30 the night before to do. Do not talk to me about time management.”

“And I aced them.”

“Barely passed, and aced, are two very different things.”

“Whatever, asshole. I’m just askin’ for one night off. One night! Come onnnn.” Colt walks around the side of my, leaning against my dining table. It shifts back a bit, and he stumbles like the ground’s been swept out under him, but recovers quickly.

“What the hell would we even do, anyway?! Theres nothinf to do!”

Colt opens his mouth to speak.

“If you say bar, club, or party, I’m gonna freak out.”

“…Order shitty food and watch garbage tv?”

Hard to say no to that…

“With whose money, exactly?”

Colt gives me a devious smile, reaching in his pocket, and producing a card I couldn’t recognize the branding of.

“With the studio’s money.”

-

“What the fuck is an enchirito..?” Colt wrinkles his nose at the container, passing it to me as I sit down on the couch with two soda cans.

“It’s exactly what you’re holding. An enchilada burrito.”

“Looks Like a box of swampass, but… alright.”

“Okahahay, says the guy with a Mexican pizza. What the hell is that?!”

“Hey! It’s fine Mexican cuisine!”

“Spell cuisine.”

“Q…”

“Unbelievable.” I chuckle. “At least mine’s a combination of two actual Mexican foods.”

“Concepts, of Mexican food.”

“An enchilada and a burrito? Real foods, bud.”

“None of this is real… I’m pretty sure you could leave this stuff out in the sun for 20 years, and it wouldn’t change.”

“You suggested this- would you shut up and sit down and turn the goddamn tv on, Colt?! Jesus…”

Colt makes a show of snatching up the remote up from the coffee table, switching the television on.

“Alright, what kind of sloop are we feelin’ tonight…”

“Any of your movies streaming anywhere?”

Colt gives me a cold side eye, I snicker.

“TLC?”

“Mmmm, nah, too exploitative.”

“Yeah, true…” Colt grumbles, taking a bite of his affront to Mexican food.

“Oh! There’s that obstacle course show you used to like! Y’know, with the water underneath?”

“Wipeout?”

“No, no… the actually athletic one.”

“Oh! American Ninja Warrior!” Colt beams.

“Yes! That one! Is it on anywhere?” I lean back on the couch, taking a bite of my food.

Colt hums to himself, opening the search bar, and slowly clicking through the letters.

I roll my eyes, snatching the remote. “I’m gonna show you something revolutionary, okay? Ready?” I press the very obvious voice command button on the center of the remote, and say- “American Ninja Warrior.”

The tv loads, and within a few seconds, the show is playing.

“Oooh bougie.”

“It’s a Roku, dummy. We’d be here for hours if it were up to you and your typing.”

“Shh, shut up, my shoes on.” Colt reaches over, waving a hand in my face to shut me up. I snort, slapping his arm away.

“OOOOOOOW.”

“Shhh! Colton! I have neighbors, you lunatic-! I didn’t even do anything!” I whisper-shout at him, pointing my fork at him. “Watch your show and be quiet!”

-

“I could have landed that.” Colt huffs, closing his box, and setting it on the table.

The show had been on for twenty minutes, and I’d honestly started to zone out.

“Landed what?” I focus back in.

“Watch the replay. Look”

“Oh Buuuuullshit! No you could not!” I scoff as the scene is replayed in slow motion.

“I’m trained to do that!”

“You are trained to get hit by cars, and set on fire. Not to swing around on monkey bars. That’s like a five gap!”

“I could do it.”

“Wrong. Look- watch the replay again- look at the size of that gap between him and the platform.” I point to the screen.

The particular part of the course that the contestant failed on was something of a trapeze jump from a round, unstable platform, across a wide open canyon, to the sturdy, blue dividing platform between obstacles. The contestant hadn’t built enough swinging momentum on the trapeze bar to carry him all the way across the expanse, and plummeted into the water.

“Psh. Lightwork.”

“You’re full of shit!”

“I’m not!”

I turn to Colt. “Then prove it.”

He looks over at me - not completely unwilling. “How? I’ll do it, but how?”

I hadn’t t gotten that far… I figured I would call his bluff, but of course he was completely willing.

“Do you still have that pull-up bar that I got you that you never use because you hate me and my gifts?”

“First of all, yes, it’s in the doorway to my room, drama queen. And second, you are not swinging off of that in my apartment.”

“Why?! THATS be perfect!”

“It’s not made for that much inertia! You’ll rip the wall down! And if really like to keep my deposit on this place!”

“Spell inertia.” Colt crosses his arms.

“I-n-e-r-t-i-a.” I say with a smug smile.

“Whatever. Well how am I gonna prove I can make the jump if I can’t use the bar?”

I think for a moment, taking a deep breath.

“Oh!”

“What?”

“There’s a playground out back of the building. There’s a set of monkey bars.” It wouldn’t be perfect, but it’ll do. All we needed was to settle a score.

“Is it open right now? It’s kinda late…”

“Like you care.” I scoff.

“…Yeah, you’re right.”

-

The metal gate clicks closed behind me, and Colt lands on the ground a few paces beside me, having opted to jump the fence instead.

“There was a gate right there.”

“What would I do without you, Mr Holmes?” Colt slides his hands in his pockets, shoving me with his shoulder.

The park was dark, lit only by ambient San Fran city light, and the nearly full, waxing moon.

It was the type of park playscape that would look like a sprawling kingdom to a little kid. I know I would have thought so.

There were four, tall spires, arranged in a square, with bridges connecting them all together. Each spire had a different attraction - slides, climbing nets, a rock wall, and the fourth boasted a sturdy platform that served as the launchpad for monkey bars. A set of eight swings stood off to the left, and a few of those centripetal spinning rides sat a few paces away.

In the daytime, the rubber padded park looked fresh, lively, and inviting, but in the dark, it looked more like a haunted house for kids.

“This park is loaded” Colt nods with a smile. “We woulda had the time of our lives here back in the day.”

“You say that like we’re ancient- we’re 24.” I chuckle.

“Still! It’s been a long time since we were the intended height for a playground.”

We make it to the monkey bars, and Colt climbs up onto the platform. He grabs hold of the first rung, letting his upper body hang, as he watches me scope out the dimensions of the set.

I pull a tape measure from my cardigan, and begin unraveling it.

“You keep that thang on ya, huh?” Colt chuckles.

“Don’t ever let me catch you saying ‘thang’ again.”

“I’ll be sure to say it more. How much distance do I have to clear again?”

I drop the tape, and walk back a few paces under the bars.

“From the bar you swung off from… you’ve gotta clear six.”

“Six?! I thought it was five!”

I smile. “It is, just making sure you’re posting attention. Four feet. I suggest swinging from this rung.” I pout up to the bar five away from him.

Colt stares at the bar, and at the four foot mark indicated by my tape measure.

“Yeah, that’s doable.”

“We’ll see. And please don’t hit your head, I’m tired of seeing your pathetic ass in the hospital.”

“I won’t, I won’t. Now move.”

Colt hoists himself back up onto the platform, taking a deep breath.

“Colt please be careful.”

“Awww you love me.”

“Don’t push it.” I step out of the way of the jump.

“Ready?” He nods to me.

“Mhm. Three… two… one… go!”

On my signal, Colt takes a three step running start off the platform.

He jumps low, steering his head clear of the bars, and catching the fifth rung with both hands.

He swings forward, letting go, and landing on the rubber floor with a grinding halt, letting himself fall the short distance down to the ground, sitting on his bottom.

I trot over to assess his landing.

“Oooh… just shirt… you landed at about 4.6…” I acted disappointed, but I was stoked to be correct in assuming he couldn’t make the jump.

“What?! Bullshit.”

“Look!” I sit down, and I point to the tape measure on the ground, a half a foot in front of him.

He scoffs, extending a leg out dramatically, landing beyond the tape.

“There. Made it.”

“Stop it, you were short six inches, I was right.” I nudge Colt’s leg back with my foot.

“Let me go again.”

“Hell no!”

“Why not?!”

“You get one chance at it!”

“What the hell?! We didn’t agree to that!”

“That’s how they do it in the show, Colt! One shot, and if you don’t make it, you’re out!”

“Does this look like American Ninja Warrior to you?”

“Worse, it looks like a closed playground at 11 at night with no safety pool, and plenty of things to crack your empty coconut head on when you slip and fall.”

“Oh whatever you just don’t wanna be proven wrong. You know I could make it…”

“Nohoho! I don’t care an out that! You tried, you missed, we’re done!” I shrug.

“Oh I’m going again.”

“No you’re not!”

Colt narrows his eyes at me for a moment, before attempting to break for the platform.

As he turns his body to stand, I hook my foot in front of his, and he stumbles back to the ground, falling flat like a bug.

I snort, doubling over, cackling shamelessly at my brother.

0ohhh yea, hilarious. Real funny.”

“I didn’t think you’d fahahall so hard! I- haha-!” I wheeze. “Did they teach you that ragdoll move in crash dummy school?” I snicker.

Colt slowly raises himself upright, glaring at me.

“Stohohop staring at me like you’re gonna rush me!”

“What if I am?”

“…”

“…”

I take off like a bat out of hell. The soles of my converse grind across the rubber padded ground as I struggle to find traction.

Once I get my footing I’m off like a jet, and I know Colt’s hot on my tail.

He had always been quicker than me, ever since we were little. I could never manage to beat him in a race… but in a game of chase, all I had to do was pivot, and I’d buy myself a few, precious seconds.

And that’s exactly what I do.

I run a couple more yards, before quickly rotating on my heel, hooking a sharp left, ducking into the center of the four-towered playscape. I hear Colt slide to a clumsy stop, disoriented, before finally taking off after me again.

“Haha-! All these years and that still works?!” I taunt.

“Oh shut up Ry, it’s the only trick you have.” Colt ducks into the courtyard as well, taking a few steps in, and pausing to take a breath.

“And it still works!” I chuckle through deep, ragged breaths. “I mean, you’ve already given up…”

“No I have not…”

“Yes you have! I’m looking right at you.”

“…I was just getting close enough to you to do this…” Colt takes a long step forward, swiping his hand out, and slapping me on the shoulder before I could move away. “TAG!”

“Tag?! Wgahahat?!”

Colt cackles, taking off in the other direction.

“What the hell, Colt?!” I start after him with an exasperated huff. I duck through the playscape again, out to the open park, head on a swivel.

I’ve lost him already.

“Up here, blind bozo.”

I whirl around to see Colt standing on the elevated platform of one of the castle spires, smiling down at me in the moonlight.

“How in the hell…”

I shake my head, turning, and climbing the ladder up the tower, as Colt scampers away across the connecting bridge.

I hoist myself up, and by the time I get a visual of my brother, he’s on the opposite tower to me, staring back.

I make a move like I’m going left, he flinches to the right… I hate this game.

I stand there for a second, thinking through my next move.

He’s not an idiot, he’s gonna take off the opposite way I go… maybe if I false start and only go a couple paces, he’ll run the other way and be far enough along, so that when I pivot back, I’ve got him-

“Todaaaaay, Ryland.”

“Shut up.”

“Come make me!” He flips me off from across the castle.

I huff, deciding to put my plan to the test.

I lurch right, taking four or five steps.

Just as I expected, Colt vanishes to the left.

I turn again, going back the way I came.

“WOAH-! What the fuck?! Oof-!”

We meet on the connecting bridge, and I slam into him, the both of us tumbling down to the metal, wrestling for the upper hand.

“Did you teleport?! How the hell did you get to me?!” Colt growls, shoving at my arm with one hand, and my face with the other.

“No! I just- urgh-! I just predicted how you’d move, and as usual, I was right!” I move my head out of the way, managing to get a leg over Colt, swinging myself upright, holding him down to the platform with my body weight.

“I’m not that predictable.” Colt huffs, trying his hardest to push me off.

“Wrong.” I swat his arms away, snickering down at him. “I told myself if I fake you out, you’d take off running full speed the other way, and that’s what you did!”

“So that’s what you were doing standing there buffering?” Colt snorts.

“Shut up, I was thinking.” I shove a hand under one of his raised arms, jabbing him through his jacket.

Colt shoves my hands onto away with a gasp

“Ha! Are you seriously still ticklish, Colton Seavers?”

“I literally just moved your hand away.”

“Yeah, and you gasped!”

“So fuckin’ what?!”

I smile, reaching down and squeezing Colt’s sides with an obnoxious “tktktktk!” Sound.

His muscles tense, but he barely reacts.

“Oh come on you’re holding it in!”

“I’m not holding shit in!”

“Ok well- you just ate a Mexican pizza from Taco Bell, so I know that’s a lie…”

“Not what I mean, dumbass.” Colt rolls his eyes. “I’m trained to take hits and impacts.”

“Oh bullshit!”

“Try!”

I scowl at him, taking him up on the challenge.

I jab him in the side, ribs, chest, and stomach, and all I get is the occasional sharp exhale.

“See?” He smiles proudly.

“Ugh…”

“YOU on the other hand…” Colt shoots both hands to my hips, squeezing me firmly.

I shriek, teetering backwards, and Colt slowly sits up, our positions switching horrifyingly quick.

“You’ve never grown out of it, have you?” He swings a leg over me now, anchoring me to the playscape like I had done to him a moment ago, the moon behind his head casting him in ominous shadow.

“C-Colt-! CohOHOHOLROHON-! N-NOOOHOHAHAHA!!”

“Ha! You never lost it! Ohhh this is incredible!” Colt grins, dragging his hands up and down my ribs, fingers vibrating maddeningly fast against the bone. 

“COLT ATOHOHOP! I- IT’S LATE WE CAN’T MAKE THAT MUHUXH NOISE OUT HERE!”

“Then shut up. You don’t see me screaming bloody murder.” He snickers, bringing both hands up to my arms.

“Hey- you when we were little, and Holly was trying to position us for some dumb family photo, and you freaked the fuck out when he grabbed you by the arms?” Colt gripped my by the shoulders as he spoke.

“Cohoholt… c’mon…”

“You think that still works?” He tilts his head, suddenly grabbing me by my biceps, squeezing up and down my arms, shoulder to elbow.

I snort, thrashing around in place. Why does that even work on me?”

“AAAHAHA— STOOOHOHOP XOLT AAAHAHA-!”

“No way! Oh god I’ve gotta tell him about this later! You’re ticklish in the weirdest places, man.” He turns his wrist to skitter his fingers over my elbow, and I jerk like I’d been shocked.

“AaaAAAAH! DON’T!” I theash around under Colt’s weight, only managing to turn myself onto my stomach, and give an honest effort to pull myself away.

“Where the hell are you goin’ Ry?” He grabs me around the waist, digging his fingers into the bone of my hip.

“AAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHA-! STAHAHAP STOP STOPIT!!”

“My god, I’m just holding you- I’m not even tickling you, you’re moving against my hands.” He chuckles, moving his hands up to my back.

“Now this, you can laugh about.”

“SHIHIHIT- AHAHAHA-! AGH-! COLT KNOCK IT OHOHOFF!!” I cry out, pounding my fist uselessly on the platform.

Colt runs a knuckle up and down my spine with one hand, the other scratches shapes between my shoulder blades.

“COGOHOLT! YOU’RE GONNA KILL ME!” I twist my head to the side, rather disgustingly, on the platform floor.

I catch a glimpse of the door to the building opening from the inside… crap.

“WAHAHAIT! STOP-“

“What?! My god, I’m going easy on you!”

I jerk to the side, throwing Colt off balance, forcing him to pay attention.

“SHHH- Stohohop! I’m serious, quiet!” I push myself up onto my elbows, and signal for Colt to be quiet.

He scowls at me.

“What?!” He whispers.

“Would you open your eyes and observe?! The door! To the building! Look!” I point to the apartment building.

Colt crawls beside me, peering through the bars of the playscape bridge.

Light spills out from the hall inside, and a figure stands at the threshold.

“It’s security you idiot! I told you we couldn’t be loud.” I hiss.

“That was all you, bud.” Colt shrugs.

“You were making me laugh. Would you get down?!” I grab Colt by the front of the jacket, and yank him down beside me.

He bumps his forehead against the bars, eliciting a metallic, reverberating bang.

I snort, putting a hand behind Colt’s neck to keep him down.

“Asshole-!” He whispers.

“Shhh!”

Finally, after a few agonizing moments, the door closes again, and the figure is gone.

“What a shit security guard- he didn’t even come out and check…” I chuckle, looking over to Colt, who I’ve still got by the scruff like a cat.

He gives me a strained “mhm” in reply.

“What’s your deal?”

“Let goho of me.”

I furrow my brow.

“Why’re you so tense? Did you hit your head that hard?”

“Get your hand off my neck.”

“What-? Why?” I repositioned my hands slightly, barely brushing his skin, and he flinches.

I grin.

“Ohhhhh.”

“What?” He hisses.

“Oh don’t give me attitude! You are ticklish, you stupid fuckin’ liar!” I scratch a finger behind Colt’s ear, and he jerks his shoulder up like he heard a mosquito fly by.

“HA!”

“Fuck off!”

“Oh what, the University of Crash Bang Pow didn’t train you not to react to low impact tickling?”

“That doesn’t even make any goddamn sense, tickling is tickling.”

“Ohoh no it’s not. There’s two different types.”

“Oh for god’s saaaake of course your nerdy ass would know that.”

“There’s this, which is called gargalesis…” I sit up and reach my hands over to squeeze roughly at Colt’s sides, to which he barely reacts, flinching, swatting my hands, and flipping himself up onto his side to glare at me.

“And then there’s this, knismesis.” I smile, reaching down to gently skitter over Colt’s stomach.

He jumps, rolling completely onto his back, with the most frantic, high pitched laughter I’d ever heard from him.

“H-hahAHAahAHA-! W-WhAT THE FUHUHUCK?!”

“It’s a much more instinctive kind of reaction- usually triggered by a bug landing on your skin, or a foreign object brushing by you… much deeper ingrained, and harder to just ‘teach yourself’ not to react to.”

I explain, bringing my other hand up to join the first, tracing abstract shapes all over Colt’s torso, scribbling my fingers all the while.

He seems almost paralyzed like this, unable to move or fight back, just lying back with hands bent in the air like a t-Rex, giggling and wheezing.

“A-AahaAHHA- OKAHAY THANK YOU PROFESSOR.” Somehow, even through his laughter, he managed to nail the snarky attitude.

“Hush. Clearly you’re enjouoyourself, or else you would have moved by now.”

“I- I CAHAHAN’T! AGH-! SHIHIT- AH-! AH-! NOT THERE! NOHOHO!”

“Where?”

“S-STOMAHAHACH!”

“That’s not your stomach, this is your epigastrium.” I draw a large circle with my finger on the area between Colt’s chest and stomach, marking the area.

“W-WELL GET AWAY FROM MY EHEHEPIC GAS STATION, BITCH!”

I chuckle. “Fine! Here!” I shrug, opting to scratch under Colt’s chin instead. I was having a blast.

“E-EHEHEheheEheHEHAHA- fuhUHUCK-!” Colt curls up on himself, kicking a leg out.

“What’re you a dog? Whats happening with that leg?!” I chuckle, finally letting go, Giving Colt a break.

“Ugh! Oh my GOD that sucked.”

“No it didn’t, you weren’t moving an inch.”

“I told you! I couldn’t! It was like I was stuck there!”

“There’s no way it was that bad.”

“You literally laughed so loud that security came putskde.” Colt sits up, pointing at me.

He got me there.

I grunt in reply.

“Speaking of, how are we gonna get back upstairs?”

“Through the door, and up the elevator? What’re you talking about?”

“No- ‘through ne noor!’ Obviously, dipshit, but clearly security’s been tipped about someone making noise out here. Won’t they get suspicious?”

“They’re gonna see that it was a building resident, and someone who looks a lot like him hanging out in the park, coming in for the night. It’s not a max security prison, Colt, I pay good money for the privilege of wandering around whenever I like.” I say, hoisting myself up with the painted metal bar as a support beam.

“You’re sure they won’t care?”

“Dude, where do they keep you between shoots, Alcatraz? No, they won’t give a shit.” I reach a hand down to Colt, and he takes it, yanking himself up with a grunt.

We both fall silent for a moment, before Colt sighs, looking over the edge of the playscape rail.

“Think I could land that jump?”

“Colton.”

“Yes or no.”

“No nets, no cushions, no harnass…”

“You don’t think I can?”

“You’ll land it. Gravity will make damn sure of that. I can’t promise what condition you’ll be in when you get there.”

Colt hops up onto the railing with surprising ease.

“COLT. Get the fuck down, you psycho- DUDE!!” My heart falls just as quickly as he jumps.

He freefalls down the six-ish foot drop, tucking and rolling on impact with the rubber floor. He stands up, turning around to look back at me.

“Parkour!”

“I’m gonna throw up. Don’t ever do that again.”

“Your turn!”

“Oh youre outta your mind.”

“C’mooon it’s not that far!”

“No, I think I’m gonna use the ladder that the park engineers so graciously provided, thanks.”

I swing myself around, descending the ladder, and hopping down onto the ground.

“Lame.”

“Safe.”

“No, you’re lame.”

“Well, I’ve broken significantly fewer bones than you have being lame, so I’m comfortable with that.” I pick up my tape measure on my way around to Colt.

“High risk, high reward.”

“What exactly is the reward of you risking your life doing reckless, clearly dangerous stunts, besides just saying you did them?”

“It looks cool, and it gets me work. And, if I break something, and show up to work in a cast, all the girls feel super bad for me and dote on me the whole time.”

“Wow. Compelling.”

“It is if you like girls… it anyone for that matter…”

“Yeah. Wrong guy.” I chuckle.

He throws an arm around my shoulders as we walk back to the building, thankfully opting to use the gate this time.

“Feel better after taking a break?”

I think for a moment. “Yeah, I do… I feel kinda behind on work though.”

“Ryland, I guarantee no one else has touched their work yet, if you’ve got two whole weeks to do it. You’ll be fine.”

I sigh. “I guess.”

“And even a rush job from you would be better than a week’s worth of work from anyone else.”

“You think I’m smart, huh?”

“Annoyingly so. Excruciatingly so.” Colt chuckles, jabbing me in the rib to drive the point home. I snort, leaning away.

“Okahahay! Okay… thank you, Colt.”

“Anytime.”

I step forward to enter the building code into the keypad, unlocking the door with a click, and holding it open for Colt.

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

“Can I stay over? Please please please please?”

I groan. “It’s like midnight, Colton…”

“Please?! I haven’t seen you in like a year!”

“Three weeks…”

“I’m in twin withdrawals…” Colt sighs, leaning his weight over me.

“Oh my god.”

“I’ll buy breakfast tomorrow! Please?! Wherever you want!”

“…Fine, Fine. Yes.fold the couch out.” I deadpan.

“YES!”

“shhh!”

“Right… yes!”

[cocoa-critter]

I have a couple bloodymary fics in progress rn, but I got the random urge to write Coltland, so….

We’ll see how this goes lmao

[milotkls]

everyone needs to post more lee!stratt!!! immediately!! this is a scene from "loosen up!" by @cocoa-critter .. everyone go read juliets stuff its amazibg . we need more tickly stratt in the world

op is a minor, please keep in mind when interacting

[cocoa-critter]

IM GONNA START UGLY CRYING.

ARE YOU KIDDING!?? THIS IS SO INCREDIBLE.

MILOOOOOOO YOU ATE WITH THIS. I mean you always do but IM BIASED ON THIS ONE IDGAF

[cacoonedmoonworm]

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE CAN YOU MAKE A FIC ABOUT SIMON GILLS OR SOMETHING?? (Like the art you just made and I just love that I’d love to see a fic about it)

Itchy Gills

𖥔 YES YES OF COURSE! Thank you for reaching out <3 I didn't know if you specifically meant with like the q-tips in the drawing so I added them in anyway! This was super fun to write but i struggle with Simon hard ngl! Ive read so many fics and hics about to characterize him i found it so hard to commit to one I think lol! Also this fic got away from me, sorry its on the longer side and i feel like it may be a bit word-y? But i hope you still enjoy it! 𖥔

𖥔 Slight spoilers for both movies and book! 𖥔

Summary: This ask was based off of this little doodle/character sheet I did of Simon! Simon is having gill problems and Grace offers to help!

Lee!Simon/ Ler!Grace/ Rocky is just there fr

Word count: 4,315

“Are you like, okay?” I ask Simon. For the last eight minutes, yes, I kept track; he’s been scratching at his middle. At first I didn't even notice; we were sitting watching some random movie, and then I heard his fidgeting. And then he would stop, then scratch again. 

We haven’t known each other long. Only a few months have passed since we scooped his soggy, blood-covered butt out of space, and we’re still getting used to each other's constant company.

“Oh—uh yes. Sorry.” I watch as his hand drops to his lap as he refocuses on the screen of the little laptop. Only moments later I see him try and rub at his side again. I can tell he’s trying to be silent after alerting me to his itching.

“Okay. What's wrong?” I sigh with a grin. He looks up at me again but continues his scratching.

“Nothin’. Just itchy.” His eyebrows furrow together as he moves his hand to the other side of his torso and starts scratching more.

“Very itchy, statement.” Rocky adds from across the ship. “Annoying.” Simon rolls his eyes with a huff.

“Yeah…you’ve been doing that for minutes on end. Clearly it’s not ‘nothin’.” I turn my body to him, raising an eyebrow. 

“It’s my gills. They just itch. I don’t know," he mumbles as he pulls his hand away but then starts moving his elbow back and forth against his side. I stifle a laugh at the shimmying motion he makes, and he flicks his eyes to glare at me.

“Sorry, sorry!” I hold my hands up in defense. A frown makes its way to his face as he goes back to using his nails. 

“It just won’t stop.” He grimaces while shifting uncomfortably, rubbing his back against the pillows under him. Although he’s never let me touch his gills, I do know they wrap around his back.

“Doooo you want me to take a look~?” I know my voice comes out eager, too eager, and he frowns in my direction again. Sue me, the man’s got gills. What scientist wouldn’t want to have a little look? 

I’ve asked before and have gotten hard “no”s in response, but I haven’t given up yet! I can help but be curious about how he ended up like this.

“Is good idea. Help Simon make less itch noise.” Rocky’s voice has a hint of annoyance to it as Simon just huffs again. They both have become almost like bickering siblings over time. Although a little bumpy at the start, Simon and Rocky's dynamic has become very entertaining.

A giant smile grows on my face as I do my best at giving another grown man puppy eyes. He frowns more, staring, but keeps shifting side to side against the pillows. Shame be damned, I even clasp my hands together like I’m praying and bat my eyelashes at him. 

“God, fine. Stop. This is sad to watch.” He relents, grumbling with a sigh.

“Yesss!” I quickly get up and reach a hand out to Simon to pull him up and towards the lab. 

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🛸── .✦

I, of course, put on gloves and sterilize everything. I have a little cart full of supplies I may need placed right next to me; I can’t be too prepared. I’ve been waiting to get a proper look at Simon’s mutations the moment he got on this ship, and it’s finally happening! The man won’t let me touch him in general, so this moment is great progress!

I glance up at him, and although he doesn’t express much emotion in his face, I can tell he’s nervous. His shoulders are tight and turned inwards, which makes him look small while the end of his tail flicks nervously.

We’ve stationed ourselves on the table under Armondo, and Simon is perched on the edge, absentmindedly kicking his feet.

“Relax. I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do before I do it.” I try to give a reassuring smile, but my excitement overshadows it. I reach for the hem of his shirt, and he lifts his arm up and out.

"Okay," he breathes out. “I just don’t like people dissecting me.” Well, most people wouldn’t.

“I’m not gonna dissect you, I promise.” I reassure myself as I pull up the tee and gasp immediately.

“Ew.”

“Ew?” He repeats from behind his shirt.

“Ew but fascinating," I smile.

“Gee, thanks, Grace. That's really helping with my body image.” An amused chuckle leaves my lips at his comment.

Long strands of something that looks like mucus stick to his shirt, connecting to his gills. 

“What’s wrong?” His voice wavers a bit as he shifts on the table.

“Your…slimy?” 

“Slimy?” 

“Like sticky, I guess.” I pull his shirt the rest of the way over his head, careful not to get any more of the foreign substance on the rest of his body.

He looks down at himself and makes a face at the goo. 

“What is that shit?” He wastes no time reaching down to his opposite side and presses a finger into it and pulls away. It looks thick and coagulated and has a slight green hue to it. “Nasty.” 

“I don’t know, but I have a feeling your itching and rubbing probably made it come out.” I grasp his wrist and pull the mucus-covered finger closer to me. 

He suddenly shoots his finger in my face, and I jump back. “Ew dohon’t you dare!” I lean away from his finger as a smirk makes its way to his features.

“What? Just helping the scientist get a better view is all.” Evil snickers leave him as I bat his hand away. It's nice to see him be a bit playful.

“I don’t need your help, thank you.” I hold a hand out, and he gently places it into mine. I grab a towel to wipe off the gunk for him as he hums a thank you.

“Okay, I'm gonna touch them, alright?” Simon nods. The motion is small, almost reluctant. I move my hands towards his side and immediately notice how tense he is. Every muscle is tensed, like he's bracing for something painful.

"Hey," his eyes flick to mine. “You can tell me to stop.”

He stares at me for a second and then nods again. I don't think he fully believes me and that realization hurts more than I expect.

My fingers hover near the nearest gill. Up close, they're stranger than I expect. So thin. Delicate. Way more delicate than the rest of Simon. Just as I'm about to touch, they close. I pull my fingertips back, and they open again. Once again, I try to reach in, but it closes before I get the chance.

“Uh, Si? Could you stop doing that?” I pull back as they open again.

“I-I can’t help it.” He squirms. “It’s just happening.” 

I hum in thought for a moment. “Okay…try to cover your eyes.” 

“What?” He looks at me confused, and I can tell he’s getting anxious again. I know this is a big ask for him; he’s quite vulnerable right now, and asking, ‘Hey, could you also make it so you can’t see me, either?’ is going to be hard for him.

“Simon, you can trust me. I’ll stop when you say so, okay?” His eyes squint at me, like he can't quite tell if I'm lying.

“Okay.” And he hesitantly reaches his hand up to cover his eyes. I glance down and see his body has instinctively closed his gills once more. He’s clearly bracing himself for whatever I’m about to do, but I stay quiet and still. Slowly I see them flutter open again as he relaxes and I reach down to hook a finger underneath the lowest gill on the side without an arm, pulling it open slightly.

I flinch as an honest-to-god screech rips itself from Simon's mouth, but I keep my finger latched on. I hold as still as possible, slowly glancing up to Simon’s face. He looks just as shocked as I am but with a smile plastered across his face.

"Uhhh, Simo—“

“Second human okay, question?” I hear Rocky frantically ask while scuttling down the hull. See, Rocky does care as much as he says he doesn’t.

Before I can ask or respond, soft, quiet giggles start spilling from Simon’s lips. His hand is firmly latched on my own but not moving or pushing, just holding it still. His other gills tighten, and I feel the pressure as the one I’m touching tries to do the same.

Rocky has made it to us and has climbed next to Simon, on the side I’m currently touching. He clicks and taps his leg.

“Simon ticklish, question?” 

Oh. Ohhhh.

My finger twitches, and he lets out a squeak with more laughter. I realize this is the first time I've seen a smile this big on him. It completely changes his face. Usually Simon looks worn out. Guarded. It's like he's waiting constantly for something bad to happen. Now he's laughing so hard he can't hide it. The sight sends a weird flutter through my stomach. I decide that's probably just relief.

“GRAHACE! I-I dohon’t knohow AH—WHAHAhat tohoho dohoho!” He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head rapidly.

“Um, just try and hold still so I can at least get a look inside.” A bewildered smile grows on my face, and I grab a little flashlight and hold it up close to the opening.

“Oh gosh. Simon…” It looks extremely gunked up in there. 

“Very bad.” Rocky leans close, clicking more to get a better look. “Why leaking, question?”

“WHAHAhahats wrohohong?” His body starts to twist and pull itself away from me. 

I remove my finger, leaning away as my mind races.

“Do the gills on your neck itch too?” I question as Simon takes in deep breaths. I peel off the dirty gloves and start putting a new pair on.

“Yeah, buhut not as muhuch as these ones.” He gestures to his ribs and sighs. “Why?”

“It is, like, very very clogged and congested in there.” I say while trying to think of theories and remedies at the same time. “How long has the itching been going on?”

He looks away. “Twenty-three days.”

“...You counted?”

"Yes."

“Simon! Why didn’t you say anything!?” I point an accusing finger at him. I really thought he would have trusted something like this with me at the very least.

“It’s my first time with gills; I don’t know what’s considered normal!” He scoffs.

I guess he has a point.

“Do you feel sick, like a head cold or anything?” I reach up and feel his lymph nodes for any swelling. His pulse pitter-patters against my hands as I feel around his flesh, careful to avoid his gills on his neck. I notice how his eyes shut and he shifts his chin up more. 

“Not at all.” He looks back up at me with worry, eyes blinking. He sure doesn’t sound nasally or anything.

“Open your mouth for a sec.” He hesitates but does as he’s told. As much as I want to take a look around the mutated parts, I decided now’s probably not the best time. I hold his tongue gently out of the way with a finger while shining the flashlight at the back of his throat. 

“No redness or swelling, and I don’t see mucus running down the back of your throat either.” Crap, I was really hoping a simple cold would be the problem. At least it would have been an easy fix, but now I don’t know what to do.

“Disgust. That happen to humans, question?” Rocky settles himself next to Simon, a claw resting on his thigh, I'm assuming in comfort.

“Yeah. All that stuff is connected in human bodies, so it was very possible that could have been it…but I don’t think it is. You don’t look sick or sound sick.” I pull my fingers from his mouth with a sigh. I take a few steps back and start to pace in a circle.

I need to think about this from a different angle. Simon isn’t really a human anymore, biologically speaking. What would cause just his gills to get congested? No. He is human. I think that’s the issue.

I feel Simon staring. Not glancing but staring. I've learned the difference. Most people look but Simon studies you. It's like he's trying to solve a puzzle that nobody else can see. Solve you.

He starts to scratch at his sides again, getting the substance on his hand. I walk back over to him and stand still in thought for a moment.

“Stop that.” I swat at him, and he grumbles with a frown. 

“Hm. I have at least a theory and a possible solution.” I take his hand and wipe it off again, scrubbing under his nails.

“Let’s hear it. Not much else we can do.” He looks away and into his lap. 

“I think it’s because you're not actually using your gills.” His eyes quickly meet mine again. 

"Yes, I do? I breathe through them, too, along with my face holes.” I smile a bit.

“No, no. You're not using them as gills. Like in water or, for instance, a blood ocean.” He raises an eyebrow. “If you were in some sort of liquid, the constant filtering would keep your gills clean and free of debris. You don’t have the chance to do that, so it gets all goopy in them. Bodily mucus that normally would build up would wash away, keeping bacterial and fungal growth in check and such. On top of that, dead skin cells and environmental debris could also cause irritation, leading to infection.” I try my best to explain to them.

“But how come I haven’t had any difficulty breathing?” 

“Like you said, you’ve just been only breathing through your face holes instead.” I slip off a glove and press it to his forehead. Yeah, I think he’s warm. I grab a thermometer and hand it to him. 

“Under your tongue, please.” He complies, his eyes crossing as he stares down at the thermometer in his mouth.

He looks ridiculous. Kinda of cute, actually. 

…

Anyway—

“Good theory. Make sense.” I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face at Rocky’s praise, hoping it comes up my expression form my previous thoughts.

I hear a beep and pull it from his mouth. Yep. He’s got a fever. 

“Well… I think it confirms at least some of my theory. You got a fever. I have a feeling your gills are infected.” 

“Bad bad bad.” Rocky anxiously taps his claw against the table, noticeably shifting closer into Simon's side.

“What can we do?” Simon’s voice shakes slightly.

“Well, Armondo will give you the best antibiotics he has, and we’ll try to clean out as much as we can.” I walk over to grab some supplies from a nearby closet and then a cup of lukewarm water.

“How are we gonna do that?” He calls after me with a frown.

I walk back up and show him a container of Q-tips with a sympathetic look. 

He glares down at the supplies, then glances up at me. “I don’t—is there another way?” I see a smile start to fight his way into his lips as he hugs himself.

“I don’t think so, Si.” He scoots away from me. I really don’t want to do this either, even if I find it very scientifically interesting and endearing on his part. I was hoping that when I finally got a good look at his gills, it would be his choice, not something he had to do. 

“Look. I know you know you're very sensitive there. The only way I’ll be able to clean all 12 of your gills out is if you sit still, and we both know you won't," I firmly try to say while sounding soft. “Rocky, I'm going to need your help with this.” 

Simon’s head flings to Rocky. “Wahait, wait! Why don’t we juhust see if the antibiotics work?” He pleads, now shifting away from Rocky too.

“If we don’t clean it out, it will stay infected.” He looks giddy and desperate and nervous at the same time.

“Why can’t we—“ 

“Simon. “If the situation gets worse, I don’t know how or where it could spread through your body. You're a medical phenomenon, and there is only so much I can do with the knowledge we have.” I reach out and pull his head to my chest with a chuckle. “I can’t let you die on me because of an infection.” I can't fathom losing him now just after I found him. Maybe it sounds selfish, but after thinking I was never going to see and touch another human being ever for the rest of my life, I'm desperate to cling to him with everything. He says I saved him, but I really think he saved me too.

I smile despite myself when his fingers curl into my shirt. Such a small thing, barely a tug. But Simon almost never reaches for people first with affection. The fact that he's doing it now makes my chest feel strangely warm. I pretend not to notice the small action. He’d probably let go immediately if I pointed it out.

“I know.” He mumbles into me as I stroke a hand through his hair.

“How Rocky help, question?” Rocky stands up and stretches a little.

"You're going to have to hold him still. He’s gonna squirm a lot.” Simon huffs in response but doesn’t deny it. “Lay back on your side. We’re going to do the one on your left. You won’t be able to fight me as easily.” 

He’s gone silent but does as he’s told. Rocky stands over him, pressing his carapace into his torso below his gills, effectively pinning him. A claw grabs onto Simon's hand to hold it still while his other holds his shoulders. His back is pressed into me; he’s facing away from me.

My eyes wander to his back and tail. Fleshy spikes grow from his spine; they almost look like cartilage, but maybe firmer? And then there's his tail. I've never seen how it actually connects to his body until now. The spikes along his spine follow all the way down his tail until the end. 

His body really is amazing. 

Wait. Not like that.

…Scientifically.

…

Mostly scientifically.

I rip my eyes and now blushing face from his back and notice he’s started squirming already, and I see a grin pull at his features. His body trembles as I continue to prep my area. 

I grab a Q-tip, soak one end in the water, and get ready to start, but then I see Simon has closed his gills again. Right.

“Rocky, can you spare a hand to hold the flashlight? I’m going to need to hold his gills open.” Simon tensed up more at my words. I pass the light to Rocky before looking back at his gills.

“Yes. Right here, question?” 

“Yes, perfect!” But his gills have yet to open again. “I need you to calm down, Simon.” I giggle a little while looking over his side.

“I’m trying!” It comes out frustrated, but you can hear the smile in his voice.

But after a minute they don’t open. After 3 minutes they still haven't opened. We're unfortunately going to have to pry them open. I grab a pair of tweezers that are specifically rounded off at the end. I carefully slip it under the skin's fold, and Simon jerks hard with a squeak. I push it up, opening the flesh, and I’m once again looking at how horrible the buildup is. 

“Okay, I'm starting. Simon just…try your best?” I really don’t know what else to say.

I push the Q-tip in and start wiping across the filaments, careful to not press in hard or damage any tissue.

“EEEAHAHAA—WHAHAHAIT!!!” Simon screeches from below me. His legs are kicking out wildly already, shifting underneath Rocky.

“R-RYLAHAHAND—HA-NOHOhohooo *SNRK* EAHAHAHAHA—!!!“

I try to gather as much mucus as I can and scoop it all out at once. I pull out the rather large mass and place it aside, and what do you know? I can see white, pus-like substances mixed with the other goo. I knew it; he does have an infection. 

I grab another Q-tip as Simon is shrieking under me. I can actually see the pinkish red color of his insides now as I swipe across the flesh, gathering the last bits I can see. I think that should be good.

“FUHUHUCK RYLAhahand! EEK—WHAHAIT!!!”

 I pull back, and Simon heaves, going limp, and Rocky eases up a little. 

“Second Grace very loud. Very ticklish, statement.” Rocky comments and gets a groan from Simon in response.

“How was it?” His face is beat red, but I can feel a slight gust of air pushing through the gills I just cleaned. Thank goodness cleaning it out seems to be helping.

“Fucking terrible. What do you think?” he mumbles, and I watch as he shoves his face further into the table. 

"Okay—well, I'm going to start on the next one, okay?” I try and soothe as much as I can as I press into his side again.

“SHIHIHIT! I-IT TIHIhihickles—*snrk* nohohoHOHO—!” His tail started to thump against the table as Rocky scrambled to hold it down and out of the way. I pull away as the claw holding the light falters a little as Rocky struggles to keep Simon down without hurting him. I feel him twist as he rolls onto his back.

“No. Simon stop twisting over.” Rocky scolds while rolling him easily back over and pinning him on his side. 

“Actually, could you roll him on his stomach? I need to get to the parts that wrap around his back.” He trills out an acknowledgment while he starts wrestling with Simon again.

“NOHOHoho nohohot thehere—oof!” Rocky not-so-gently flips him over and sits on his lower back, and I feel air being forced through his gills as Rocky knocks the wind out of him. His tail wiggles wildly toward the end, where Rocky can't reach as his legs desperately kick out. I pull Rocky's claw back over to reposition the flashlight. 

"I'm sorry, bud.” I scrape some more at the filaments and pull the rest of the grunk out, careful to hold the skin open gently. 

I see and feel his body shiver beneath my hand. Goosebumps race across his skin, the reaction immediate. He lets out a squeal and arches his back as I hit a particular sensitive spot. His muscle jump as his tail gives another loud thump against the table.

“EEAHAHAHA AH—OKAYOKAY I-I NEEHEhehed AHA BREHaheak hahahe…hehe…” I chuckle, pulling away. 

I decide to test my luck and gently run a hand over his back. The tension doesn't disappear immediately. At first he lies there breathing hard and I finally feel his shoulders drop a little. His tail stops thrashing about and the muscles under my hand loosen one by one. Like he's realizing that I'm not actively torturing him anymore. Simon lets out a sigh, sinking back into the touch. I avoid the spines running down his back but lightly draw my nails over the skin on either side. 

After a moment I ask, "Ready for round two?”

"No," but he nods yes, relinquishing his hand to Rocky again and bracing himself.

I start the process all over again with the others.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🛸── .✦

I finish wiping clean his skin, feeling the ridges of his gills along his middle. He's still squirming and giggling slightly, but I can tell he's drained. Rocky climbs off of him and pulls him upward into my arms.

I wrap my arms around him before he can decide otherwise. Simon practically melts. Just enough for me to feel the tension slowly draining out of him. His forehead bumps against my shoulder. For a moment he simply sits there breathing. Safe and exhausted. I run a hand through his hair. Then again and again. Each pass seems to pull another ounce of tension out of him. I see Rocky do the same and rub soft circles into his shoulders, letting out soft hums.

"I'm sorry, Si.” I chuckle but only get a weary sigh in response. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah…I'll live…I think.” I feel him snake his arms around my middle, pulling me closer, and I can't help the blush that dusts the tips of my ears. Simon's hair is sticking up everywhere, curls messy and tangled. It would have been funny if it weren't weirdly adorable. 

“Y-you know we still have to do the ones on your neck, right?” He pulls away just enough for him to stare into my face. His eyes are glassy with tears and he's got this shocked and pitiful expression. I guess he forgot he had the other gills. 

“Okay. Let's do those ones tomorrow. How's that sound?” His body relaxes back into me with another sigh. “But you can't back out; they need to be done, Simon." I get just nods in response. I card a hand through his thick hair, hoping it soothes his nerves.

"We're also probably going to have to do this regularly. Like a monthly cleaning type of thing.” He tenses up again. "It's just going to get infected again, but hopefully, if we keep up with it, cleaning regularly should be quicker and easier on you than a ‘deep clean’ like today or tomorrow."  

“Okay.”

“And you have got to tell me if you start itching or hurting at all in the future! I don't want a scare like this again.” He squeezes my middle more and I notice his tail sway softly from side to side.

“I promise, Angel."

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🛸── .✦

𖥔 Sorry its on the longer side, hope you liked it and it's what you were talking about!𖥔

[cocoa-critter]

STOP THIS IS SO PEAK. OUUUGH MY GOD.

[cocoa-critter]

Dare I suggest—

(and please don’t burn me alive I’m so scared to put in a suggestion as it is my first time interacting with anyone on tumblr EVER)

—a lee!Grace fic, ler!Simon became Simon doesn’t think Grace values himself enough..? 👀👀👀👀

Or Simon noticing that Grace doesn’t really think he’s all that special and needs some reminding.. 👀👀👀

/nf obvi, okay have a good day/night I love your fics so so much

OMG HI!! PLEASE DON’T BE SCARED THIS IS SUCH A FABULOUS IDEA!!

ABSOLUTELY I’LL WRITE IT!! TYSM FOR REAXHING OUT!!! 🩷

Amazing Grace

Oh words can’t describe how stoked I am to write this. Anon you ate with this, thank you so much sEEEHEHEHEHE. I dropped everything for this.

This turned out lowkey a lot shorter than I thought it’d be?? Whatever I still like it, and I hope yall do too. EVERYONE SAY THANK YOU ANONNN. (As usual I have the editing skills of a 5th grader so pls excuse me…)

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Lee!Grace (PHM) Ler!Simon (Iron Lung)

TW: Swearing, as usual, mentions and descriptions of burn scars/injuries, arguing, and very briefly kissing. Nothing crazy, just be aware!

❦ Grace has an incredibly difficult time accepting compliments, despite them being well deserved. Upon dogging a little deeper, it seems Grace has low self esteem all around, whether he knows it or not. Simon takes it upon himself to help turn that around.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Tap tap tap

I drum my fingers on the table idly, eyes shut in focus.

“…88.” I say with a nod, opening my eyes, and taking a bite of my burrito.

“Go fish.” Simon replies around a mouthful of his own food.

“Ugh- chew your food, please.”

“That’s what I’m doing.”

“Without talking.. Food’s gonna fall out the side of your face, which I’m not interested in seeing.” I wrinkle my nose at him.

Simon swallows the bite of food, clearing his throat, and making a performance of licking his exterior teeth clean with the long, sharp tongue I often forget he had.

He k owes it freaks me out when I do remember. It’s the only non-human thing about him that does, come to think of it, which he finds sick joy in, I imagine.

I shudder, looking down at my food. “So unnecessary…”

“There, Princess. It’s gone.” He deadpans. I roll my eyes.

“Thank you.”

“What’s 88 mean?”

“Nothing… I was just doing some mental math.”

“Mental math, huh?”

“Yeah. Working on some tests in the lab, and I was trying to calculate how many days it’d take for one of my samples to quadruple, based on the environment.”

“Huh, cool. Can I test you?”

“…test me? Like one of the samples-?”

“No- no, your mental math.”

“Oh! Yeah sure, okay. Shoot.” I reach in my pocket, and pull out a small, blue, NASA branded stress ball.

I guess that’s all the Hail Mary team thought we’d need to handle the stress of the mission…

I toss it to Simon, starting an impromptu game of “the stress ball is lava.”

He catches it with his prosthetic hand, smirking at me. “You stay ready, huh?”

“So I don’t ever have to get ready. Hit me.”

“What’s… 88 + 88?” Simon sits back in his seat, tossing the ball back to me.

I catch it, passing it from hand to hand.

“Seriously? 176.” I toss it back.

Simon catches and holds it, takes a moment, calculating it himself, before nodding. “Yeah, that’s right… probably too easy for you…”

I shrug.

“Okay, how about… 1,114 x 24?” The ball’s in my court again.

I stare off for a moment, thinking.

“You’re burning...”

“Shhh, I know, it’s excruciating, hold on.”

“Quickly, Gracie!”

“That’s… oh jeez, uh… twenty six thousand… uh… seven hundred thirtyyyy six.” I throw the ball to Simon.

Simon blinks at me. “Mary, what’s 1,114 x 24?”

“1,114 x 24 =26,736.”

“No shit! You got it!” Simon smiles with a slow nod, setting the ball on the table. I guess we’re done.

“I- well it’s just multiplication- anyone could work it out.” I look off to the side, a little sheepishly. I can feel my cheeks lighting up red.

“Not that quick- that’s pretty impressive. Whats the square root of 6,422?” He quickly picks the ball up again, launching it at me this time.

“Where are you getting these numbers?” I chuckle as the ball hits me in the chest, and I scramble to catch it.

“Just answer.”

“80.13, I’m a science teacher, I’m gonna know how to do math- it’s really not that impressive.” I say, stuff ing the ball back into my pocket.

“Yeah, but not everyone is smart enough to be a science teacher.”

“No, no that’s not true- intelligence is learned, not innate. Anyone can learn a discipline of study if they put in the effort.”

“How humble of you.”

“That’s- what?! I’m not being humble! I’m being serious.”

“Seriously humble.”

“Stop.”

“Would it kill you to take a compliment?”

“I Take compliments just fine, that’s not what’s happening right now, this is just a conversation.”

“You do?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Alright, fine. I think you’re very handsome.”

“I… what?! Th- that has nothing to do with being good at math, we’re t-talking about being good at math.” I scramble to put the words together.

“I know, but you would have been prepared for me to say ‘I think you’re very intelligent’. Had to catch you off guard. You failed.”

“No I didn’t!”

“You deflected. You ignored the compliment. Whats your deal?”

“I don’t have a deal, Simon.”

“Defensive…”

“Stop.”

“Your face goes red as the ocean, and you look farther into the distance than you normally do.”

“Oh now you’re psychoanalyzing me?”

“I’m not doing psyco-nothin’!I don’t even have to! I’m looking dead at you.”

“Well knock it off!” I say with an exasperated huff, my knee bouncing nervously under the table.

“You’re sweating.”

“It’s stifling in here.”

“It’s a crisp, bone chilling 68° in here upon your request.” Simon chuckles.

“I run hot.”

“You’re anemic with ice cold hands.”

I groan, taking a final bite of my food.

There was enough burrito left for two, maybe three bites, but in my haste to remove myself from the room, I opted to shove the whole thing in my mouth like a squirrel.

“Woah- you got all that..?” Simon chuckles, raising a brow.

I attempt to speak, nearly choking on the burrito, slapping a hand to my mouth.

Simon smiles, standing up to collect our trays. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.” He taunts, taking my empty tray from the table, dropping a passive kiss to the top of my head before walking away, to which I reply with an annoyed grumble.

Before he gets too far, I reach back, shoving my apparently freezing cold hand up the back of Simon’s shirt, planting it firmly on the small of his back for just a moment, before he hisses, and stumbles away.

“AGH-! Jesus-! You arctic bastard.”

I snort, covering my still full mouth.

“We’re gonna work on taking compliments, Hracie. Because that was pitiful.” Simon calls back as he turns the corner.

-

“Toss me that shirt by the ladder, could’ya?” I blindly point back with one hand, collecting laundry from around the dorm.

“This one?” Simon asks.

“…is it by the ladder?” I ask, without turning around.

“Yeah.”

“Is there… anything else by the ladder?”

“Not that I see, no.”

“Then yes, that’s the one.” I stand, turning around with a half full bin of clothes in my arms.

“Okay, attitude.” Simon retorts, throwing the shirt at me. It hits me in the face, but lands down in the bin.

I don’t flinch. We do this every laundry day.

In order to keep ourselves from becoming disillusioned with the idea of routinely washing our clothes, Simon and I made a game of tossing clothes into the basket while we gathered them up. The longer we kept it up, the more competitive and serious of a weekly ritual “Laundryball” became for us.

A direct hit to the face was an immediate foul, and voided any points that the shot had the potential to earn. I’d be a fool to l move and give him the point. Especially since Simon was currently up by several points.

“That’s a point! Mark it down!” Simon cheers.

“No, that’s a foul! You threw it strait at my face!”

“You could have moved!”

“And Lincoln could have moved out of the way of the bullet. Booth would’ve still been guilty for the attempt.”

“Who?”

“Yeesh- We’ve gotta teach you history… whatever. No points.”

Simon glares at me.

“How is that not a point? You hit me last time and you still got the point.”

“There’s a difference between me throwing the shirt, and you moving in the way of it while it’s in mid-air, and you throwing the shirt directly at my face.”

“Hardly.”

“No, there’s a clear difference. Mine was a fair point, yours is a foul.”

“Whatever… shit’s rigged.”

“You’re winning at laundryball! What’re you talking about?!” I point to a whiteboard on the wall that’s been divided into two halves, one with red tally marks, one with blue. Simon’s side, the red side, had significantly more tally marks than mine.

Simon grumbles.

“Aim for the basket so you can keep that lead.” I smirk, setting the basket down. Simon picks it up after me, taking it away to collect the last of the scattered laundry.

“Should probably throw this in too, huh…”

I look down at the shirt I’ve got on. White, with red trim, with racing flag decals on the chest.

Being a lighter colored shirt, it was already susceptible to stains, discoloration- the works. I liked to wash it a little more often than my other shirts, just to keep it nicer for longer.

“I guess. Doesn’t look that dirty to me, though.” Simon shrugs, tucking the basket under his arm, against his hip.

I”Can’t hurt.”

I cross my arms over my front, grab the hem of the shirt, and yank it off over my head in one quick motion, dropping it in the bin.

“Woah-! Jesus.”

“What?”

“I woulda turned around or somethin’!”

“Oh like I care. It’s just us.” I shrug, balling up my shirt, and winching it toward Simon, sinking it into the basket perfectly.

“OHHHH! That’s a point!” I pump my fist in the air, and clap a couple times, before jogging over to the board and adding a tally under my name.

Grace: 17, Simon: 26. …Still a ways to go…

“Anyway- you wandered the ship without a shirt for like a week when you woke up.” I say.

“Well that’s because I was in recovery.y skim felt like it was burning off.”

“Mmm, fair enough.” I mumble. “How’re those scars doing now, by the way? I know it’s been months now, but-“

“Fine. Hardly anything hurts anymore. Just occasional aches and nerve pain.”

“Well that’s good.” I cap the marker and set it on the ledge.

“Everything looks nice and healed now, from what I can see.” I turn, smiling at Simon.

“Yeah, I can’t…. Complain…” Simon trails off, looking at me - halfway concerned, halfway stunned

“…What?”

“Speaking of scars…” Simon points up and down my torso.

“Yeah..? What- what about them?” I cross my arms over my chest, a little self conscious now.

“How much of you is scarred up..? I didn’t realize it was so extensive.”

“Oh… y-yeah it uh…” I look down, lifting my arm. “My whole arm here, shoulder to palm… and a little bit of the back of my shoulder and neck as well. Oh, and the uh- handprint on my other arm. I kinda like that one though. Looks like a heart.”

“Those look pretty serious.”

“Mhm. Second and third degree.”

Simon grimaces.

“Oh, no It’s alright, it’s been a few years. Nothing hurts.”

“Can I ask how-?”

“I told you, didn’t I? It’s from when Rocky and I flew into Adrian to collect the samples we sent back to Earthp.” I explain, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “I blacked out from bashing my head into the cockpit wall once the gravity changed, so Rocky had to drag me down here himself.”

Simon nods, listening quietly.

“He busted through his xenonite dome to right the ship and take me to medbay, but since he’s over 200°, it meant that I got burned in the process. But I’ll take burns over a failed mission any day. We got the job done.” I shrug.

“Rocky’s that hot?! So that’s why his hamster ball feels like a furnace.”

“Yeah.”

“Brutal…” Simon takes a step towards me, raising his hand. “May I?”

“Hm? O-oh, yeah. Go ahead.”

“You’re sure it’s not gonna hurt?”

I smile, raising my opposite hand to a particularly dark splatter of scarred skin, flicking it a few times with audible force, proving that I’m well beyond any pain.

“Promise.”

Simon winces.

“It’s fine! Like I said, it’s been years now.”

Hesitantly, Simon rests his hand on my shoulder, gently scoping out the textured hills and valleys of the burns.

He lets out a low whistle, raising and turning my arm.

“I never realized how beat up were… I’m sorry- must’ve been hell to heal.”

I shrug, tilting my head. “Pshh, it wasn’t that bad- I mean- look at you! You got… crushed in a submersible, you had to fight off a viral mutation, a-and you lost an arm, for goodness sake!”

“I mean, yeah, but-“

“You had two broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder!”

“Grace, I know, I lived it.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry… I just- …”

“Just what?”

“I just don’t want you to feel any kind of way about what I’ve got going on with all you’ve been through.”

Simon frowns.

“Why are you downplaying your own situation?”

“I- I’m not.”

“You are. You constantly do. It’s starting to piss me off. Genuinely.”

I tense up a little. His voice feels far more stern than before.

“What’re you talking about?!”

“Every time you get a shred of kudos for anything you’ve done, experiences, accomplished, or said, you shrug it off! It’s beyond humbleness or self deprecation at this point, it’s habitual.”

“…”

“You’re allowed to accept praise every once in a fuckin’ while. You don’t have to be a thankless martyr all of the time.”

“H-hang on- I’m not a martyr! I’m not trying to act like a martyr! I just don’t think every little thing I do, or that happens to me is worth making a big deal about!”

“You don’t do little things, though! That’s what I’m trying to get through to you!”

“Yehes, I do!”

“Shut up and fuckin’ listen!”

“Watch your mouth.”

“HUSH.”

I flinch, Simon’s voice echoes up the walls. I shut my mouth.

“Just, shut up and let me talk.” He huffs, lowering his voice. “You survived a coma, you made first contact with alien life, you found a solution to a problem no one on your entire planet could figure out, saved the planet, saved Rocky’s planet, and just for a victory lap, you saved my life too. And continued to care for me after I tried to kill you.”

“You didn’t mean to do it, Simon, we’ve talked about this a hundred times. You woke up, you were terrified, you didn’t know who I was and you tried to defend yourself.”

“By almost slashing straight through your throat?”

I sigh, raising a hand to the thin scar on the side of my neck, before dropping it back down again.

“You missed, I’m fine. There’s no hard feelings.” I say softly. I know he holds onto a lot of guilt for how he acted when he woke up, though I try to convince him that anyone would do the same in that situation.

“See?! And on top of it you’re sickeningly selfless and forgiving. Does any of that sound minuscule to you?”

“…I get what you’re saying, but-“

“Oh for fucks sake.”

“Listen! I get it! But I had to be thrown into all these situations in order for me to do anything about them! It’s not like I volunteered! Getting on this ship was not my idea! I’m just a regular guy! I- I’m just a nerd from California! I’m not that special!”

“Well that hurts to hear- you’re ‘not that special’?!”

“Yes! I’m not… Superman, or anything!”

“Do you hear yourself?! Better yet, do you even like yourself?”

“…What a dark question…”

“Well you didn’t answer, so clearly it’s not that weird. You considered it for a second.”

“No, I didn’t. I- I like myself just fine, I just know my place.”

“Your place?!”

“Yes!”

“Your place is memorialized in stone, Grace.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“And you’re so pessimistic.”

“I’m not pessimistic. YOU’RE notoriously pessimistic. I’m realistic.”

Simon scoffs. “Realistic, my ass. Your self confidence is so low it’s in hell.”

“My self confidence is fine.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes!”

Simon laughs incredulously. “Okay, so you think you’re a good looking guy, then?”

“Simon.” I deadpan.

“Answer the question.”

“I mean- sure, I- I guess so? I dunno!”

“Out of 10?”

“…I’m not answering that.”

“Why?”

“You’re not gonna like what I say.”

“That’s the first thing you’ve been right about in ten minutes. Try me anyway.”

“…out of ten?”

“Out of ten.”

“…six. And a half.”

“Christ’s sake…”

“You asked!”

“Six?!”

“Yeah! It’s above average!”

“By one point!” Simon throws his head back. “This is ridiculous. You’ve got just about the worst self image I’ve ever seen.”

“So being realistic based on comparative data of the entire population means I have no confidence?”

“Stop saying realism. It’s not realism, it’s borderline nihilism. Looks aside, you single-handedly saved two planets, and you’re sitting here telling me it’s no big deal.”

“I. Never. Said that.”

“Then say it.”

“Say what?”

“Say ‘I saved the world.’ Say it.”

“I’m not playing this game with you, you’re not my therapist.”

“Ohoh but it looks like you need one. So say it.”

“No!”

“Gracie…”

“Why are you so obsessed with this?!”

“Because it concerns me that you’re so dismissive of yourself.”

“It’s not that big of a- woOAH-!”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Simon lifts me up by my armpits, and tosses me backward onto the bed. He holds me in place with a metal hand on my chest.

I wheeze, looking up at him.

“What the heck are you doing?!”

“I’m giving you, Ryland Grace, one more chance to prove to me that you understand your worth, and the grandiosity of your achievements.” Simon crawls into the bed beside me, his voice dropping low, almost threatening.

“Oh or what, you’re gonna hurt me?” I scoff.

“Worse.” Simon purrs.

“What’s that me-hehahAhah- w-wahahait a second Simon-!” Simon drags a hand from my hip, slowly up the side of my body.

“None of those words are the ones I’m asking you to say.”

“S-stohOHOP this ihihisn’t f-fair-! I dohohon’t have a shirt on-!”

“I told you that shirt didn’t need to be washed. Your bad.” Simon taunts, digging into my ribs hard.

“AAAAAAAHAHAHAHA-! OW OW OW OHOHOW!!”

“You always say ‘ow’ when I tickle you, but you never actually fight me or tell me to stop. Hm, what a concept.”

“SHUHUHUT UP, YOU’RE SUXH A BULLY.”

“Yeah, I’m the worst.” He drags his nails up to my stomach, shocking my system with a sharp pinch to the abdominal muscle.

“AaAAAAH-! SIHIHIMON!”

“That is my name, Angel, yes.”

“G-GEHEHET OHOHOFF-! HA-HAHAHAHA-!!”

“Are you gonna tell the audience that you saved two planets nearly single-handedly?”

“UUURREGH, NOHOHO-!”

“The. I’m not moving.” Simon shrugs. “And just for being stubborn, you’ve gotta tell me that you think you’re at least a 9.”

“YOUHUHU’RE INSANE.”

“Probably.” Simon lifts his hands up to my collarbones, drilling his thumbs in just below the bone.

I scrunch my shoulders up, making some sort of unusual sound - sort of like a strangled duck’s quack - and kick my hips, tugging at Simon’s wrists weakly.

“Get the fuck outta the way.” He hisses, gathering my wrists in his prosthetic hand, and yanking them over my head, anchoring them like a steel bolt to the mattress behind me.

“NOHOHO-! NONONONO SIHIHIMON.”

“I, Ryland Grace…” he starts, using his free hand to skitter into my armpit, now that there wasn’t anything I could do about it.

“A-AHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-!” I give up protesting, and just start screaming instead.

“Am the savior of Earth, and of Erid…”

He switches quickly to my thigh, squeezing firmly, and repeatedly, just above the knee about an inch or two.

…I never knew that was somewhere a person could be ticklish…

“AAAHAHAHAHA AH-! AH-! HOHOLY SHIT SIMON STOHOHOP-! OHOH MY GOD-!! BREHEHEAK! BREAK!!” I shout, voice high, frantic, confused, and desperate.

Simon retracts his hand, staring down at me with wide eyes.

“Did you swear?”

“I- I’m sohohorry-! I didn’t mean to-!” My face drained of color, honestly a little disappointed in myself.

“Oh my god…” Simon chuckles.

“Oh my gosh…” I mutter to myself.

“…Over being squeezed on the leg, The Mr. Professor Ryland Grace actually swore at me?” Simon smiled.

“Not at you, I’d never sweat at you- just- in exclamation- I- I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry- I’m so, so sorry- I didn’t-“

“Grace.”

“I’ve usually got a better filter than that! I dunno what that was! It won’t happen a-mmph-!”

Simon covers my mouth with his hand, and I glare at him.

“Would you hush? It’s just one curse word. You’re a grown man, you’re not gonna get in trouble for swearing. Good god. EuGH-!” Simon retracts his hand, wiping it on his shirt.

“Did you just lick my hand?!”

“It got your hand off my mouth. Mission accomplished.”

“Ohohoh you little bastard.” Simon chuckles. Immedietly he darts his hand back to my thigh, squeezing and pinching as fast as he could.

“NAAAHAHAHAHAHA-! AHAHAHAHA- *snort!* STOOOHIHOP-! AHAHA UUURRRRGH IT FEEHEHELS LIKE YOU’RE ELECTROCUTING ME-!!”

Simon huffs. “Ha! Really? It’s that bad? Bzzzzzzt. Bzzzzzzzzt.” He make a dramatic show of taser sounds, vibrating his fingers into the muscle of my thigh.

“OH MY GOOOHOHOD OKAHAY I’LL SAY YOUR STUPID SCRIPT.”

“And mean it?”

“YEEEEHEHEHES!”

“And promise to stop deflecting every mice thing I say about you?”

“STOOOOHOHOP. YES, OKAY! OKAHAHAY!”

“Fine.”

Simon releases my wrists, and let’s go of my leg. Immedietly I curl up on myself like a bug.

“W-what’s the script again..?”

“I, Ryland Grace…”

“Oh skip the legal formalities, just tell me what to say.”

Simon sighs. “Fine. ‘I saved the world.’”

I’m quiet for a long while.

“My god is it that hard for you to say?!”

“There’s a lot behind that I- I don’t- that’s a loaded phrase!”

“Gracie.”

“Okahahay okay, I… saved the world.”

“Louder.”

“Simon.”

He latches onto my side, leaning down, a few inches from my face.

“Louder.”

“OHOHOKAY! I SAVED RHE WORLD! I- I SAHAHAVED THE WORLD!”

“Good Job. Do you believe it?” He skitters slowly up my ribs.

“I- YEHEHEAHAHAH YES, YES!”

“Good. Say ‘I saved Earth and Erid.” He remains close.

“I- HAHAHA-! I SAVED EARTH A-AND ERID-! AND SOHOHO DID ROCKY!!”

“Mmmm… I’ll take it. But only because it’s provable.”

“OKAHAY, THEN GET AWAHAHAY!” 

“One more… ‘and I looked damn good doing it.’ Go on.” Simon snickers

“WHAHAT?!”

“You heard me loud and clear, commander. C’mon.” Simon digs both hands under my arms.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAHAHA-! OKAY I- I LOOKED GOOD D-DOING IT-!”

Simon slows his hands to a stop.

“Damn right… You’re amazing, Gracie.” I feel my face burn.

Simon smiles. He leans down, closing the tiny space between us, kissing me as I take in a greedy inhale.

For a moment, I’m frozen.

I don’t pull back, I don’t push him away.

If it were anyone else, I would. Instead, I allow my body to relax, meeting Simon with the same energy.

I could feel his sharp teeth sticking me in the lip, but I rather liked the vampire bites they left behind, so I didn’t complain, instead lifted a hand around to the back of Simon’s head, pulling him closer, remaining this way until I feel a hand snake its way up the back of my shoulder, scritching at my neck gently.

“Mmph-! MhmhmhehehaAha- come ohohon-!” I giggle into the kiss until my smile breaks the connections, and I tilt my head down, shoulders scrunched to my ears.

Simon kisses my forehead before releasing me, and pushing up off of me.

“What was that for?!”

“Making me waste a half hour reminding my savior of his worth in the universe.” He wipes the beads of blood from my lip with the cuff of his sleeve.

“Some therapist you are… and don’t call me that.” I sit up slowly.

“Why shouldn’t I? You let me get away with Angel.”

“I tolerate Angel.”

“Bullshit.” He’s right.

“Savior sounds too culty, don’t you think? That and salvation.”

“I’ve never called you ‘my salvation that’s absurd.”

“You did. Twice. Forever ago. Had to shut that down fast.” I chuckle.

“Whatever. Also you and I have very different perspectives on cults.” Simon picks up a shirt from the clean clothes pile beside the bed, and tosses it to me. “Cover up.”

“Cover what up?! There’s nothing left to cover up!” I chuckle, gesturing to my chest with a shrug.

“All of it, put a shirt on.”

“Why?”

“Your hands were freezing on my neck. I’m serious, that anemia is gonna freeze you to death.”

He had a point. It was chilly in the dorm, and my hands were pretty icy too. I slip the black shirt on, one that I’d been letting Simon use for a while.

I look down, and the shoulders and chest were significantly stretched.

“Did you start the laundry yet?”

“No… I dunno where the detergent stuff is.”

“Oh- just use baking soda and some vinegar from the lab. You don’t need much.”

“Ew.”

“What?”

“You want our clothes to smell like vinegar?”

I chuckle. “Oh, n-no, they won’t. Acetic acid and sodium bicarbonate actually work pretty well as chemical deodorizers. They trap and break down bonds in odiferous compounds and eliminate any unpleasant smell.They’re not a perfect substitute for detergent, but in a pinch it works. As long as they’re diluted in a sufficient amount of water, they won’t damage the fabric. Plus natural detergents make the waste water easier to recycle.”

“Huh… it’s crazy how you just know that off the top of your head.”

I open my mouth to say something like “it’s a teacher thing!” Or “ah, it’s just basic chem.” But I think better of it, instead giving Simon a smile.

“…Thank you!”

[cocoa-critter]

And to the anon ICON that just dropped the most PEAK suggestion into my ask box-

Forgive me diva if it marinates in there for a while, bc TRUST it’s getting written.

Idk why yall say you’re so nervous dropping ideas in my inbox- you guys are geniuses.

[cocoa-critter]

HIIII HIIHIHIHI!!!!

I'm asking anon cuz I'm nervous but I just wanna say that your fics make me so happy! I really like the way you characterize both Simon and Ryland! I just thought you should know! Keep making great fics! <33333

⏤͟͟͞͞☆

HIIIIIII!!

Hey no worries at all! Anonymous is always an option! 🩷🩷

AND THANK YOU SO MUUUUCH OMG!! THIS MAKES MY HEARR SO HAPPY!!

It makes me smile and giggle knowing people enjoy how I characterize everyone!! I was so unsure about it at first, but I’m really happy with the dynamics and stuff.

EEEHEHE YOU GUYS MAKE ME SO JOYFUL.

Thank you SOUCH Anon for the kind words!!!

[cocoa-critter]

hi !! i am a big big fan of your phm fics (thank you for feeding us <3 ), and i wanted to ask if you're ok with people making fanart of them!

and i love love LOVE your work and the way you write dialog, it makes me SO happy . whatever works, just figured i should ask!!

- @milotkls

HELLO HELO!!!

Oh it’s absolutely my pleasure to feed the masses. I’m so glad you enjoy what I cook 🙂‍↕️ 🙂‍↕️

-

AND OMG OF COOOOURSE!!!! Fan art is ALWAYS welcome!!

Literally do whatever you want!! Draw from it, take writing inspo from it, I DON’T MIND!

I appreciate you asking tho!! ALSO YOUR ART IS ABSOLUTELY ADORABLE AND FABULOUS IM SO HONORED YOU’D WANNA DRAW SOMETHING I WROTE???? Twirling my hairrrrRRRR

[cocoa-critter]

Yall seem to really rock with the comedy writing…

Tipsy Bloodymary, perhaps..?

[cocoa-critter]

My Masterlist has been Updated!

I went a handful of fics without updating… I think I was like four behind, BUT, it’s all up to date now, for all of you who like to binge straight from the list. The fridge has been restocked, including a fresh meal from just a little bit ago!

Thank you all so much for the support!!

[cocoa-critter]

Uno OUT

Guys this one is so dumb. This was an idea that popped into my head literally on a whim. I like writing funny nonsense, and y’all tell me you like it. So here’s your favorite space morons trying to learn and play uno LMAO.

Short, silly, and goofy. Needed a break from writing heavy stuff so enjoy the levity :) as usual, forgive my typos… I’m just a girl fr…

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Lee!Grace (PHM) Ler!Simon (Iron Lung)

TW: lots of swearing. Mostly Simon, of course.

❦ Grace, Rocky, and Simon decide to kill time playing Uno with a deck Grace found in the crew cabin… whole ship mad fr.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

“Does everyone have seven cards?” I ask, setting the deck down in the middle of the floor.

I had gotten my hands on an uno deck, rummaging around in crew storage. Every once in a while when I got bored, I’d go through bags and boxes to see if there was anything worth the time of day.

The three of us could do with something new to entertain us - there’s only so much we can do in the lab day after day.

I’d come to realize, however, that a game of Uno between a teacher, an ex-con, and a sentient rock would be one of the most ridiculous original experiences of this whole journey

“Yea, I do.” Simon nods, meticulously arranginghis hand.

“Yes yes, seven cards!”

Rocky holds his hand of cards up, numbers facing us. Simon and I turn away quickly.

“Woah! Rocky, bud, you don’t show us your cards, that’s like- the whole point of holding them in your hand!”

“Ohh! Sorry sorry.”

“It’s fine, just face your cards towards yourself.” Simon shrugs.

“Rocky can see all cards!”

“Then don’t look at our cards! That’s cheating!” I huff. “Okay, we ready?”

Simon and Ricky both nod, and with their signal, I reach over, flipping over the first card of the deck.

“Red Six.”

“Wait- isn’t Rocky colorblind?” Simon turns to me with furrowed brows.

“Rocky no have six. Go fish!”

I groan, dropping my head.

“No, Rocky’s not colorblind, he’s blind blind.”

“Like you?” Simon chuckles.

“Don’t you have one arm? Not really in the position to pick on disabilities. And no, not like me. Rocky evholocates to ‘see’. He can tell the difference between colors, but doesn’t see them like we do. Kinda like shades of grey.”

“…So colorblind?”

“Oh my lord- sure, yes, fine.”

“Rocky no have six!”

“Well do you have any red cards, Rock?” Simon asks.

“Mmm… yes. Not six.”

“You can still play the card.” I say. “It doesn’t just have to be a red six. It can be a card of the same color, or number.”

“Ohhh understand.”

Rocky chirps, selecting a card, and setting it on the pile.

Red two.

“Simon, your turn.”

“I know, shut up. Let me think.”

“Think?! You had all 85 years of Rocky’s turn to think!”

“SHHHH. I’M STRATEGIZING.”

“IT’S THE FIRST ROTATION!”

“Y’KNOW WHAT? HERE.” Simon slams a card down.

Draw four.

“You’re joking.”

“Rotate that.”

“Whahat?” I scoff, counting out four cards from the deck and adding them to my hand.

“That sounded better in my head.”

“Not quite sure how it sounded good period, but okay. Rocky, your turn.”

“Simon no pick new color.”

“Oh shit, uhm… I dunno, green.”

Rocky and I both groan.

“Seriously?”

“Rocky no have green!”

“Draw a card, bud. Unbelievable.” I mutter, gesturing to the deck.

“Mmmm dumb dumb game.”

Rocky grumbles, reaching for the deck with his xenonite clad claw.

-

It takes us a few rounds, but eventually we fall into a rhythm. Arguing is at a minimum, there’s hardly any questions about rules… until I’m down to my last two cards.

“YOU CAN’T STACK TWO ‘DRAW FOUR’ CARDS! YOU CAN’T STACK ANY CARDS!!”

“YEA I CAN! I ABSOLUTELY CAN. ROCKY, DRAW EIGHT, QUICKLY.”

“Why Rocky draw eight? Question?! Card say four!”

“Simon put down a-“

“You don’t have to draw eight-“ I put a hand over Simon’s mouth.

“SHUT UP. Rocky, Simon put down a draw four, and I put one down too. That means you have to draw four cards twice.”

“Bullshit.” Simon scoffs, swiping my hand away.

“You skipped me like six times! And you’re calling bull?!” I throw my hands up, getting in his face a little.

“NOWHERE IN THE RULES DOES IT SAY YOU CAN STACK DRAW CARDS.”

“House rules, Fishstick!”

“Not in House. In spaceship, Statement.”

Rocky juts in.

“Yeah! You can’t play house rules that’s not fair.” Simon hisses.

“It’s MY spaceship that’s also my hoise. Cry about it!”

“That’s YOUR thing, Cryland Grace.”

“Oh shut up you’re just pissed off you’ve got like half the deck in your hand.”

“Oooh ‘pissed’? Professor Grace is swearing now?”

”Whahat?! That’s not- YOU SWEAR LIKE A SAILOR, I DONT WANNA HEAR IT.”I bark out, shoving Simon’s shoulder. He snickers at me.

“Rocky draw cards. Is Simon turn.”

Rocky taps the floor impatiently.

“Yeah, go ahead and pick something from that Rolodex you got there.” I snicker, clutching my cards tight.

Simon growls, mulling over his cards for quite a while.

“Oh my goodness, today, Yu-Gi-Oh.”

“Who?” Simon shakes his head at me.

“Nothing, gOOOO.”

“Pick a Color, dipshit. You slapped a draw four down and didn’t choose a color.” He mutters.

“Oh… uhm. Blue.” I say, sheepishly.

“Perfect.” Simon smiles.

“Whaddya mean perfect? You’ve got 99 cards, statistically it’s not a miracle you’d have a blue.”

“Having ‘statistically’ and ‘miracle’ in the same sentence is oxymoronic.” Simon says.

“You’re oxymoronic.”

“Yeah? Get skipped, moron.”

Simon slams down a blue skip card, and I groan.

“What?! How many skips do you have?!”

“How many come in a deck?”

“Eight.”

Simon just snorts in reply. Awesome, so he has all of them.

“Rocky, your move, bud.” I sigh.

Rocky chirps, going over his cards, before placing down a blue 2.

Simon nods, reading over his hand like the morning paper, before selecting a card from somewhere in the middle, like he was an out to perform a card trick, and sets it down.

A yellow 2.

Perfect.

With a smile on my face, I take one of my cards, a yellow 7, and place it down on the stack.

“Uno!” I announce proudly.

I earn a satisfying groan from my competitors that fills my heart with joy.

“How grace have one card!! Not play fair.”

Rocky whines.

“What?! Yes I did, I played completely fair!” I chuckle.

“Hardly.” Simon mutters.

“What’s up?” I turn to Simon with a conniving smile.

“If it weren’t for that stack move you’d still have three cards. I still don’t think that was fair.”

“Ohhhh you want some cheese with that whine?” I taunt.

“Mmmm…”

Rocky shimmies in place nervously.

Simon and I turn to him, a little concerned.

“What’s wrong?” Simon asks.

“No have yellow card…”

“That’s okay, just draw another one.” I shrug.

“No, have card can play… make Simon mad.”

Oh now I’m interested.

“It’s alright, Rocky it’s just a game, he won’t be that upset.” I reassure with a sly smile.

Simon shoots me a look, and I pretend can’t see it.

Rocky deliberates for another moment, before dropping his card.

Draw four.

“Rocky choose Red.”

“HAHAAA! YES, ROCKY!” I pump my fist in the air, reaching over for a high three, which Rocky confusedly accepts.

I snort, looking over at Simon, who begrudgingly picks up four more cards, stacking them on an honest to god, second tier.

“Running out of hand to hold all that?” I chuckle.”

“Shut the hell up, Ryland.”

“Ryland?! Oh so you’re mad at me now? What happened to Grace?!”

“You’re the reason I’ve got 79,000 cards of course I’m mad at you!”

“Is it my fault?” I look around at an imaginary audience. “Or are you just really bad at Uno?”

Rocky chirps, giggling at my quip.

“I’m gonna rip you into shreds.” Simon mutters.

“Ohhhh! That’s a threat. FOUL.” I shout. “Draw four more, just for that.”

“Would you just go? It’s your turn.” Simon’s tone was low and cold. He was getting irritated, and I was loving it.

“Okay okay, Grumptopus, jeez.”

I look down at my final card, and my face twists into a grimace. It wasn’t red, or a playable wild card. Da hit.

I reach for the deck to draw a card.

“Ohhhh how the mighty has fallen.” Simon coos.

I roll my eyes, lifting the card. A red 3. Perfect.

“Oh! Ok, nice. Still Uno!” I place the card down on the stack.

“What?!”

“Not fair!”

Rocky and Simon holler over each other.

“What?! I drew a card I could use so I played it! What’re you two complaining about?!”

“Since when was that a thing?!”

“Since I read the instructions before we started the game?!”

“Rocky not hear Grace say this! Could have played many card!!”

“I wouldn’t have half the stack I have if you would have explained that!”

“I DID! NEITHER OF YOU WERE LISTENING!”

“You’re MAKING UP RULES!”

“NO I’M NOT!! CHECK THE RULE CARD!”

“You know what? Draw eight. New house rule.” Simon huffs.

“What?! No! That’s not how that works!”

“It is now.”

“You can’t just make things up because you’re losing horrifically.”

“YOU CAN’T MAKE THEM UP JUST TO WIN.”

“I’M. NOT.” I lean over to Simon, annunciating each word with a point to the face.

“Stay away from me.” Simon shoves me back with a hard push to my chest. Just for dramatics, I let myself fall back onto the floor with a thunk.

“AaaaAAAAAAAAH. OOOOOHOHOW. FOOOUL.” I shout, laying there like a dead bug.

“Grace okay question?!”

Rocky whimpers, skittering in place across the floor from me.

“He’s fine, he’s acting like a drama queen. Ryland get the fuck up, you’re scaring Rocky.” Simon sighs.

“You broke my aaaaarm.” I drawl.

“You landed on your back, dumbass.”

“…You broke my baaaaack.”

“My god.”

“Draw four and I’ll be healed… all my discs will- I dunno, realign.” I roll onto my side.

“How about I draw four liters of blood when I bite your hand off?”

“WOAH.” I flinch, sitting up and leaning away from Simon, shooting him a wide eyed glare.

“Oh! He’s healed. Christmas miracle.”

“Just spewing threats!”

Simon shakes his head. “Rocky, your move.”

“Oh! Yes yes. Rocky play red 4.”

He sets down the card, and looks to Simon.

Silently, he selects the 475th card in his inventory, placing down a red 5.

I groan, reaching to the deck again, still not having a playable card.

I pick up a green 5.

With a smile, I drop the card on the pile.

“Still Uno.”

“Get the rule card.” Simon hisses.

-

“If you can't play a card, draw 1 card from the draw pile.. If it matches, you can play it at once! See?! You selectively deaf dummies, I told you! Legal move!”

I flick the card, presenting it to Simon and Rocky.

“You literally never read that rule.”

“Someone’s listening ears weren’t on.” I smirk.

“Okay- OKAY- you know what? Fine! That’s on the card, but you know what isn’t? “Draw four stacking.” THAT’S illegal.”

“Oh my lord you’re still on that?! It didn’t even affect you! Rocky had to draw!”

“I am still on it! IT’S NOT A RULE.”

“IT’S A HOUSE RULE!”

“WHOSE HOUSE?!”

“MINE! AND MOST EVERYONE’S ON EARTH.” I shout, Simon and I once again yelling in each other’s face.

“Mary, how far are we from Earth?” Simon calls out to the ship.

“Current distance from Earth: thirteen point seven two one lightyears.”

Simon gives me a pointed look.

“Yeah, 14 lightyears away from the closest house with their own Uno Rules. Yours included.”

“This is still my house! I’d let Rocky play Blip A house rules, and I’d let you play Iron Lung house rules. You two are just sore, hating, losers.” I shrug.

“Rocky no have Uno game on Blip A. No games on ship.”

Rocky chimes in, having sat down, legs tucked, watching Simon and I argue, dropping a green 9 onto the pile.

“How does the rock have so many fewer cards than me?! He just drew eight!” Simon gestures to Rocky with exasperation.

“Because he plays the game correctly? Imagine that.”

“Keep running your mouth, Space Ranger. See what happens.”

“You don’t scare me, Sabertooth Tiger-fish”

Yeah?”

“Yeah, you’re all talk, softie. Play a card.” I chuckle.

“Softie?”

“Yehehes! Go!”

Simon condenses his cards into a thick pile, setting them face down and turning to me.

“Oh come on-!”

“No no, say it again!”

I lean away, giggling a little nervously now.

“I said you’re a softie! You know I’m right!”

“Hm.” Simon stares at me for a second, silently.

…

“AaAAAAH-! GET OHOHOFF!” I shout as Simon pounces at me, knocking me back to the floor, harder this time.

“I’m a softie, huh?! That’s what you think?”

He reaches for me, and I catch his hands, putting us in a stalemate, pushing at each other, myself on my back on the cold metal floor, and Simon pinning me down by the waist, leant over me.

“Simon get Grace!”

Rocky cheers.

“WHAHAT?! TRAITOR!” I gasp, pointing firmly at Rocky.

Dumb move.

Simon takes the opportunity to latch his. Ow free hand onto my ribs, digging nearly as hard as he can, and running his knuckles up and down the bones like a xylophone.

“AAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHA OW OW OW OHOHOW SIMON-! CHRIHIHIST!”

“What? Whats the problem? This is what you get for not only calling me soft, but cheating your way to an Uno.” He hisses, leaning into the pressure he was putting on my ribs.

“AHAHAHAHahAAAAAA OWWW! I DIDN’T CHEHEHEAT! HOW MANY TIMES DO I NEED YO SAHAHAY THAT?!”

“Heresay. Baseless claim.” Simon shrugs, moving his hands down to my hips, digging his thumbs into the bones, vibrating them viciously.

“AAAAAAAAHAHAHAHA OHOH MY GOD WHY ARE YOU SO AGGRESSIVE?!” I shoot my hands down to grab rather fruitlessly at Simon’s wrist and prosthetic forearm.

“Rocky.” Simon calls out.

My Eridian traitor of a best friend perks up at Simon’s call.

“Come here and hold his hands out of the way, would’ya?”

“WHAT?! NOHOHO THATS NOT FAIR!”

“Oh! And suddenly you care about fair!”

“ROHOHOCKY, PLEASE.” I plead. “HE’S GONNA KILL MEHEHE.”

“Rocky if you do it, I’ll take the child locks off your laptop.” Simon offers.

Rocky chirps, standing up and trotting over to me.

“Rocky is sorry Grace!”

He says, easily grabbing both my wrists tight in the xenonite shielded grip of his claws, dragging them back, and parking right behind my head.

“TRAHAHAOTOR!! OHOHOHAHAHAHA-!! SIHIHIMON!”

The moment my hands were free, Simon shot up to my armpits, raking his fingers vigorously there for just a moment before pulling back, wiping his hands on my chest.

“Ugh! Why are you sweating so much?!”

“BECAUSE I’M STREHEHESSED!” I shout. “GLAD IT’S REPELLING YOU.”

“Watch it.”

I stick my tongue out at him.

Simon sneers, grabbing the hem of my shirt, and ya Ming it up, forcing my back into contact with the freezing floor.

“AaAH-!” I hiss, lifting my back off the floor with a grimace.

“Oh relax. You’re such a baby.” Simon pokes a finger into my navel, sending my spine crashing back down into the ground.

“NOHOHO! NO. C’MON.”

“Take it back.”

“WHAHAHAT?!”

“Take it back. I’m not soft. And while you’re at it, admit that you cheated.”

“I DIDN’T! I’M NOT GIVING A FALSE CONFESSIOOOAAAAAAHAHAHAHA-!!”

Simon shrugs, making his metal hand into a claw, and dragging it back and forth over my stomach.

I thrash like a fish from side to side, pulling at my wrists in Rocky’s steel grip. I’d probably sooner break my wrists then wriggle them free.

Simon chuckles, watching me flounder around.

“Y’know what, Rock? Flip him over. He seems to want to anyway.” Simon chuckles.

Rocky chirps, switching my hands in his grip as I rock back and forth, forcing me into a 180 rotation, landing on my stomach. Crrraaaaap.

Instantly, I feel Simon’s hands on my back, kneading the muscle around my lower spine.

“NOOOHOHOHO NO NO NO OW-! PLEASE, SIHIHIMON THIS ISNT FAIR!! A-AHAHAHA-!”

“I already gave you your out. Comply or stop complaining.”

“WHY’RE YOU TORTURING ME FOR BEING GOOD AT A GAHAHAME?!”

Simon quickly drags his knuckles up the length of my back, and down again, making me shriek, every muscle in my body tightening up.

“STOHOHOP! SIMON, YOU JEHERK! THIS IS AS BAD FOR ME AS YOUR GILLS AHAHARE FOR YOU.” I shout.

“I’m sure of it.” He purrs, sliding his nails and metal fingertips up, over my shoulder blades, creeping them over the curve of my shoulders.

My laughter turns pitchy and frantic, and I scrunch my shoulders as best I can.

“MO-! NOHOHO! SIMON I- I’M BEHEHEHGGING YOU, PLEASE.”

“I’m not even doing anything to you, my god, this is the easiest I’ve gone on you yet.”

“DOHOHON’T GIVE ME THAT YOU KNOHOHOE WHAT YOU’RE DOING.”

“Do I?”

I growl through my laughter, shaking my head as Simon continues to skitter his fingers over my shoulders like massive spiders.

“Hey, Rocky, how wide is your wingspan?”

“Rocky. I have wings. What Simon mean, question?”

Simon snorts, the whole time he speaks he prickles his fingers across my shoulders.

“No, no, I mean how far out either direction can you reach your arms out. I need you to hold Grace’s arms out like this.”

I can’t see him with my face driven down onto the floor, but judging my what came next, I assume the brief reprieve I was granted was Simon posing for Rocky with his arms out like a T.

“Oh!! Yes yes, Rocky do that easily!”

“W-Whahat-?!” I sputter, feeling my arms stretch out to either side of me.

“Perfect.” Simon’s hands come to rest at the base of my neck, on either shoulder. “Last chance…”

“I- I’m not admitting to sohohomething that isn’t true! LeHEHEHEHAHA! NOHOHOHAAAAAHAHA WAIT LEMME TAHAHALK-!”

I let out a shrill scream, as Simon pinches the back of my neck, vibrating his hand in place.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHA-!!! STAHAHAHHAAAAP SIMON-! SIHIHIMON- C’MON!! OKAHAHAY, YOU AREN’T A SOFTIE!! OK?! LET THAT BE ENOHOHOUGH!”

“Distress detected.”

“Mary, disengage.” Simon calls out.

“Denied.”

“She needs it from you bud, tell her to disengage.” Simon pinches a little harder, moving to the side of my neck.

“I- I CANAHAHAAAN’T!”

“Distress detected.”

“Yes you can, just say it!” I can hear the snarky smile in his voice.

“M-MAHAHARY, DISENGAHAHAHAGE!”

“Unable to process response. Distress detected.”

“DAHAHAMNIT-! MAHAHARY! DISENGAGE! DISENGAGE!” I cry out.

“Distress alarm: disengaged.”

“There you go, good job.”

“DOHOHON’T. JUST GET OFF MEHEHEHE-!!”

“Say ‘I’m sorry for making up bullshit rules’ and we’ll let go.”

“NOHOHO! IM NOT SAYING THAT, I DON’T CURSE LIKE YOU DO.”

Simon scoffs, leaning down and blowing a loud, ridiculous raspberry on the back of my neck, just below my hairline.

“SHIHIHI- AGH-! SHOOT-! STOHOP DON’T MAKE ME!”

“Almost had you.”

“GET AWAHAHY I’M GONNA THROW UP, IM GONNA PEE, I’M GONNA DIHIHIE.”

“All at once?! Jesus…” Simon chuckles against my neck.

“LET ME UHUUP AND I’LL PROBE ITS A REAL RECOGNIZED HOUSE RUHUHULE. PLEASE. I- I’M GETTING LIGHTHEADED PLEASE.”

Simon seems to deliberate for a moment before stopping, placing his hands flat on my back as my body deflates into the floor.

“If you’re bullshitting, I’ll knock you out for real.”

“Okahahay… *snf*” I whine, face down.

Rocky let’s go of my arms, and I pull them in, against my torso, bent at the elbows.

After a moment, I lift up into a push-up position, sitting upright from there. My face is red and slick with tears, and I lift my shirt to wipe them away.

“Leaky…”

Rocky hisses.

“Are you crying?!” Simon huffs out a chuckle, tilting his head to get a look at me.

“No.” I wave him off, reaching off to the side of the discarded Uni game, grabbing my laptop, and dragging it over.

Simon takes me by the shoulder, pulling me into his side, somehow still unable to keep from laughing.

I really wasn’t all that upset. The tears were just from laughing too hard, but I sure didn’t mind Simon feeling bad about it anyway.

“Ohh I didn’t mean to make you cry, Angel, I’m sorry.”

“Get the hell offa me, you’re not sorry for anything.”

Simon snorts, squeezing my shoulders as I click away at my keyboard, occasionally swiping tears from my cheeks.

“Here, look, see? ‘While not an official play, stacking draw cards is a widely used, and accepted house rule in the game of Uno.” I tap the screen, looking over to Simon.

He looks rather annoyed that, as I was trying to tell him, I was correct.

“There’s no way.”

“Ohoh yes there is.”

“No way!”

“Cruel, unusual, and unjust punishment.” I sneer.

I push away from Simon, and pick up my forgotten cars, gesturing for the others to pick theirs up too.

“C’mon, let’s finish this. Rocky put down a green 9. Simon, your move.” I huff.

Simon sighs, picking up and fanning out his cards in his hand again. He hums in thought, selecting one from the middle and playing it. A yellow 9.

I gasp, a smile on my face.

“YES!” I slam my card down, a yellow 1.

“YES! UNO OUT, BEE-OTCH!”

“That counts as a swear, Gracie.”

“I don’t care, I win. Oh, what a satisfying conclusion!” I stand up with a loud clap, taking a bow.

“Play again, question? Rocky want win!”

“Oh god no- not right now. I can’t take Amy more card games with him today.” I scoff.

“Me?!” Simon glared up at me.

“Yes, YOU.” I point back down at him.

“I’ve probably got bruises cookin’ right now because of you and your sportsmanship.”

“You’re suuuch a wimp!”

“and you’re so- aggressive!”

“Your codeword is Hail Mary, and you didn’t use it once. Do NOT give me that.”

“Oh whatever! I’m going to visit Armando to make sure I’m not internally bleeding from every capillary in my torso.”

“Have fun with that. Rocky and I will play on our own.”

“Good! At least I know if you pick a fight with him, he’ll kick your butt.”

I shrug, walking off down the hall, tugging my shirt back into place.

“Oh so you admit you lost that tussle?”

“Sure, but I won the game.”

[greatleekate]

Clumsy

ler!simon, lee!grace // i’m really feeding you guys today :P (another fic idea in the works - stay tuned)

Summary: Grace is too clumsy for his own good and Simon makes an adorable discovery.

———

Grace tripped over his own feet as he walked into the lab, catching himself messily  on a spinny chair, which started to roll on the ground as Grace leaned his weight on it. Grace stumbled again, finally righting himself. 

Simon observed all of this with a blank expression, his eyebrows slightly raised. 

“You okay?” Simon asked gruffly. 

“Never been better,” Grace responded cheerfully. 

This happened often. Simon had never met a person more uncoordinated. It was strange, because when Grace was doing science in the lab he was as graceful as could be, completely in his element. At all other times, he was clumsy as a puppy. 

Now, Grace was leaned over in an awkward position, fixing something under a panel in the wall. Simon watched him unbalance himself and fall flat on his face. 

“Ow,” Grace groaned. 

Simon didn’t bother to ask if he was okay—that man seemed to bounce back like rubber. Instead, he used his good hand to scoop under Grace’s arm and pull him back up. 

Unexpectedly, Grace let out an unmanly squeak and jerked away, scrambling to turn himself upright. 

Simon raised his good hand, stumbling back a few steps to give him space. “What the fuck was that,” Simon said flatly. 

“No, nothing, sorry, you just surprised me,” Grace stammered. 

Simon squinted at him. “You’re lying to me,” he determined. 

“What? No I’m not,” Grace protested. “C’mon, do you think I can lie to people?”

Simon stepped forward again, backing Grace against the wall. “No, I think you can’t lie, and that’s why you’re being so obvious right now.”

Grace’s mouth fell open, pupils dilating slightly as Simon held him captive against the wall. 

“What? Are you fucking scared of me? Is that it?” Simon asked, his voice angry on the outside but soft and insecure underneath. 

“N-no, I’m not,” Grace stammered. “But, you’re, uh, not helping your case on the fear factor r-right now.”

Simon’s expression softened. “Sorry,” he said gruffly. “I didn’t mean to be scary. Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong though?”

Grace blushed redder. “Fine,” he whined. “Fine. It tickled a bit. When you picked me up like that.”

“It- what? You’re ticklish too?”

“Most people are,” Grace replied. “Approximately 77 to 80 percent—“

Grace cut off with a squeal as Simon grabbed him around the waist and dragged him to the floor. 

“And you didn’t bother telling me this when you told me what tickling is?” Simon all but growled. 

Grace was already laughing nervously. “I- I’m sohohorry! I didn’t think it was relevant—“

Simon settled Grace in his lap. “Of course it’s relevant.” 

Simon’s voice was right in Grace’s ear, making him squirm even more. “Ha-how are you able to move me around like this? You have one arm!”

“You’re light. Stop squirming,” Simon replied calmly. 

Grace did his best to quiet his frantic limbs. “Sihihi, let me go…” he whined. 

“No,” Simon said, hovering his good hand above Grace’s torso. He clumsily prodded Grace a few times, earning a few quiet giggles but not much else. 

“Why aren’t you laughing?” Simon muttered, frustrated. 

“You’re not- you’ve never done this before,” Grace said. 

“It can’t be that difficult,” Simon grumbled, squeezing too roughly along Grace’s side and only managing to earn a mild “ow.”

Grace started to crawl away, but Simon tightened his one-armed grip and pulled Grace back easily. “I’m not letting you go until you explain how to do it,” Simon said. 

Grace made a flustered noise and tried to make a break for it again. Simon easily flipped Grace onto his back, straddling his hips. Grace was free to squirm around, but he couldn’t go anywhere because Simon was too heavy. 

Simon planted a hand on Grace’s stomach and squeezed. That got a broken squeal out of his victim. Simon tried a few different pressures and found the best squeezing technique. He squeezed at Grace’s tummy a few times with moderate success. 

“I’m gonna keep doing this until you explain how to tickle you,” Simon said with the methodical patience of someone who had survived a literal death submarine. 

Grace squirmed around, laughing helplessly. He couldn’t find the strength to dislodge Simon’s hand. “Okahahay stop and I’ll tell you!”

Simon stopped. Grace took a minute to catch his breath. 

Grace started to explain sheepishly, showing Simon each spot and moving Simon’s hand to explain the techniques that work best. 

“I cahahan’t—ah!—believe I’m telling you thihihis…” Grace complained in the middle of his explanation.

“Keep talking, giggles,” Simon ordered. His face was serious but there was something playful about it.

“Giggles?!” Grace protested. 

“Yeah,” Simon said, proving his point by scribbling his fingers into Grace’s left ribcage. “Giggles.” 

A real smile spread across Simon’s face at the giddy squeal and laughter that followed.

“Okahahay, fine- squeezing and pinching works pretty well everywhere, but some spots are better for gentle touches, like my feet, under my arms, my neck, my stomach…”

Simon sat back on his heels, satisfied. Grace’s chest heaved as he caught his breath. 

“Are you done tormenting me?” Grace asked when he could breathe normally again.

“Tch, so dramatic,” Simon scoffed. “You didn’t say stop.”

Grace pouted. 

“Are you fucking pouting?” Simon huffed, a chuckle breaking through his words. “No no, that’s no good.”

“W-wait—“ 

Simon leaned forward, bracing his body on Grace’s hips, and pushed up the older man’s shirt to try the light touches Grace had described on his belly. The scientist immediately burst into squeaky giggles.

“This isn’t fahahair, you said you’d lehehet me gohoho!” Grace squealed.

“Yeah, but you can’t pout like that and expect me not to tickle you,” Simon justified.

Grace covered his red face and groaned in giggly embarrassment.

“Using your hands to cover your face is not a very good way to get me to stop,” Simon commented, smirking at the sight. 

“Shuhuhut uhup,” Grace whined. 

“Did you say shut up?” Simon exclaimed in fake shock. “Oh, I don’t know how I’m gonna recover.”

“You’re sohoho annoyihihing,” Grace whined.

Simon got tired of not seeing Grace’s red face and pulled his arm down. 

Grace appreciated the small break, seeing as Simon only had one arm. He took slow, controlled breaths. 

“Let’s play a game,” Simon announced. He moved Grace’s hands beside his head. “Keep your hands up.”

“What?” Grace stammered, the blush returning. 

Simon didn’t reply, instead testing all his new knowledge. He went for Grace’s underarms first, scritching softly. 

“Tktktktk,” Simon said. The inflection wasn’t quite right—too flat, unsure of himself—but it did the trick. Grace sputtered and went redder, laughing harder as his head fell back. “Oh, did that do something for you? Cute.”

Simon watched the defined muscles in Grace’s arms strain against nothing as he fought to keep his arms up. Simon alternated between Grace’s right and left underarm, making the man squirm adorably from side to side. 

“Does it tickle on this side? Hm? What about this side?” Simon teased. His technique was light and playful—the touch was somehow both rough and precise at the same time. Grace could practically hear the smirk in Simon’s voice.

“Please- plehehease Si I cahahan’t…”

Simon stopped. “Why not?”

“It tihickles too much,” Grace whined. 

“That’s the point, genius,” Simon replied. 

Grace made a series of incoherent babbles as Simon started poking down his ribs, his arms finally shooting down. Simon laughed at him a little. 

“Okay, fine, I’ll stop,” Simon relented. 

Grace panted for air. “That was sohoho mean…” 

Simon shrugged. “Tough,” he scoffed. “I’m gonna do that every day.” 

“Whyyy…” Grace complained.

“When you’re being a little shit, when you’re overthinking, when you’re refusing to go to bed, when you tickle me first or try to start shit, when you—“

“Okahahay I get it,” Grace huffed.