Flame | she/they | 20s | Heya! You can call me Flame. This is intended to be a sfw fluff & tk blog, though there may be some occasional gray area (which of course will be tagged). I sometimes do some writing or drawing of my own, but it'll mostly just be me reblogging everyone else's wonderful work.
Welcome to this little corner of the internet. Here is where I make and reblog fluffy, sfw fan content. The goal is to compile and collect in one place all the fan stuff that makes me happy. Things like: romance, hurt/comfort (emphasis on the comfort), tickling, and tooth-rotting fluff. For me, this blog is the equivalent of curling up next to a cozy fireplace to enjoy a bit of warmth and comfort. And I've got a spot right next to me that I've been saving just for you :)
So grab a blanket, some marshmallows and chocolate if you like, and get comfy.
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Fandom: Project Hail Mary x Iron Lung (Bloodymary)
Word Count: 2542
Lee!Grace, Ler!Simon
Summary: Grace is being a little shit and won't go to sleep, so Simon tries to make a deal using a game that Grace taught him.
AN: Originally put in a request for a fic with this premise... But I don't think it's being used, so I'm doing it myself :3
“Simon Simon Simon!”
Simon immediately looked away from the screen of the projection room, alert instantly. He scrambled to his feet, already in front of Rocky’s xenonite ball.
“What?? What happened??”
“Calm! Simon dramatic.”
Simon huffed softly. “Well you sounded panicked. You can’t do that and expect me to not freak out a little bit.”
“Dramatic,” Rocky repeated.
Simon dragged his hand—his real one—down his face, his words muffled slightly. “Okay, what’s the matter?” he asked through a sigh.
“Grace being stupid. Grumpy. Angry. Mostly stupid.”
“Are you just wanting to insult him or is there a real problem here?”
“Not sleep! Stupid because no sleep! Rocky no can convince. Simon Grace mate, so Simon convince!” Rocky explained.
“Is he ever gonna learn to go to s— Wait. Mate? Rocky, he— He’s not my mate.”
“Mate. Simon Grace in denial.”
“I’m gonna mute your translator.”
“Again. Dramatic. Go get Grace sleep!”
“Fine. Just— drop the mate shit, okay? We’re just friends,” Simon tried again.
“Denial!” Rocky said as he scurried away.
Simon sighed. It’d taken a while for Simon and Grace’s interactions to not be awkward anymore, even longer for them to actually become friends. He didn’t want Rocky to ruin that with all his ‘mate’ talk. It’s not like he hadn’t… considered it before. But there were far too many risks there. If anything went wrong… Well, they were stuck on a small ship with a blunt alien who wouldn’t make things any easier.
Sure, he caught Grace staring sometimes, but that was just because he was a scientist. Of course Simon was interesting to him with all his… mutations. And the times he sought out Simon to talk or hang out was just because they were friends, and Grace hadn’t had any human contact in who-knows-how-long. The times Grace comforted and held Simon after his nightmares? That was just Grace being Grace. He wouldn’t just let someone suffer without trying to comfort them.
So yeah. It was too risky to consider something that was so likely to go wrong.
He headed to the lab, where Grace was hunched over a microscope. Even with the discovery of… whatever it was that killed and threatened stars (Astro something?) and its predator (some kind of amoeba), they still fascinated Grace to an extreme amount. He was constantly studying it, and it was cute how invested he was.
Wait. Cute? No, not cute. Just… Never mind.
“Rocky’s on my ass about getting you to bed. When was the last time you slept?” Simon asked, his arms crossed as he leaned back against the table.
“Uh… It hasn’t been too long,” Grace answered. He looked up from the microscope, meeting Simon’s eyes with a smile. The smile he always gave when he talked with Simon, the one he loved to see.
Simon raised a brow, giving him a look that screamed ‘Really?’.
Grace cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay, fine. …About three days?”
“Uh— Three days?? We went to bed at the same time the past two nights. The fuck did you do, wait till I fell asleep then snuck out?”
Grace gave his own look, one that very sheepishly said ‘Maybe?’.
Simon huffed through his nose softly, shaking his head. “Alright, c’mon,” he said as he walked by Grace and grabbed his arm to pull him away.
“Si! I’m close to another breakthrough!” Grace nearly whined.
“You always say that.”
Grace pulled his arm out of Simon’s grip. “I’m fine, I’m a fully grown adult—”
“Okay, then act like one and go to sleep at a decent fuckin’ time, and maybe I wouldn’t have to drag your ass to bed every night.” Even as he berated him, concern laced his voice through the growl.
“Simon, really. I’ll live.” Grace sat down in his chair, taking his glasses off and hooking them onto his shirt.
“Simon says.”
Grace snickered, “Simon, that’s not how it works.”
Ever since Grace had told Simon about the game ‘Simon Says’ from back on Earth… Yeah, Simon abused it often. How could he not? There was a whole game centered around doing what he said!
“Simon says it is.”
“Well, Grace says it isn’t. And Grace also says that he gets more time to study the Taumoeba.”
“It’s not called ‘Grace Says’. And the tow-moeba will be there in the morning.”
“Taumoeba. I’m not going to sleep yet,” he said as he turned around in his chair.
“...I’ll make you a deal.”
That got Grace’s attention, and after a moment, he swiveled right back around. “I’m listening.”
“I’m liking this Simon Says thing—”
“Really? I never would’ve guessed.”
“Shut up. It’s funny. So… We’ll keep it nice and simple. We’ll play a round. You win, I’ll let you work till you drop. You lose, and you go to bed. Deal?”
Grace raised an eyebrow. “That’s it? What’s the catch?”
Simon could barely keep the smirk off of his face as he held up his hands. “No catch. I swear.”
“...Okay. Deal.”
“Perfect.”
In all honesty, this probably wasn’t the best idea on Simon’s part. He knew the basic premise of the game, of course. But he’d only learned it a few days ago. He didn’t know if there were specific strategies or ways to throw Grace off. Meanwhile, Grace had several years of playing this game. …Maybe? He didn’t actually know how often people played it. Was it just children? Or was it a sport? Either way, his point still stood; Grace was much more familiar with this game than Simon was, so logically, this wasn’t the best idea.
However… Simon was, unbeknownst to Grace, giving himself an advantage.
“Simon says… Stand up.”
Grace stood up, his hands in his pockets. “You’re gonna make me humiliate myself.” It wasn’t even a question.
A small smirk crept onto Simon’s face. “I never said that.”
“You didn’t not say it.”
Simon shrugged slightly. “Raise your right hand.”
Grace didn’t move a muscle.
“Simon says… Do a handstand.” The idea was random, but he had to give Grace the illusion of this being normal.
“A handstand?? Simon, do you want me to die??”
Simon just shrugged again with a smug grin. “I mean, you can always just give up so we can go to bed…”
Grace gave him a dead-pan look. But he placed his glasses on the table and stretched out his arms, hyping himself up. Simon was doing his best not to laugh, though he was truthfully ready to catch or steady Grace… just in case.
Grace raised his hands and flipped into a handstand, actually managing to stick it for a few seconds. His shirt fell down to his shoulders, and Simon’s eyes widened slightly. He forced himself to look away from any exposed skin—he wasn’t a creep. He cleared his throat, ignoring the sudden warmth on his face. But then Grace began tilting forward slightly, trying to walk on his hands to keep himself upright.
“Shit!” Simon stepped forward and grabbed Grace’s legs. He chuckled as he helped get Grace’s feet back down on the ground and grabbed his arm to hoist him up. “Didn’t even last four seconds.”
“Shut up, that wasn’t voluntary!” Grace shoved Simon paired with laughter of his own.
“Woah, Simon never said to shove!”
“That’s not how it works!”
“Fine, fine. …Simon says lay down.” Finally his plan was going into action.
“Uh… weird, but okay.” Grace laid down on the ground with his hands folded over his stomach.
Simon’s laughter had faded, his smirk returning and taking over. “Simon says put your arms above your head.”
Grace seemed confused, but reluctantly followed directions.
“Now, Simon says keep ‘em up there.”
“This better not be what I think it is. …Simon, do not!” Giggles already began spilling from Grace’s lips just from Simon taking a knee next to him.
“What?? I haven’t even dohohohone anything!” Simon chuckled.
“Yet!”
“Hey, you can always just put your arms down so we can go to bed.” Simon grinned as he straddled Grace’s hips. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he was damn proud of himself for this idea.
“...You suck.”
“What was that?” he asked, reaching out to run his nails up and down Grace’s side. He let out a squeak and tried to curl his body away without moving his arms, burying his face into his right one.
“Sihihihihimon! This isn’t— fahahahahahahair!”
“Seems pretty fair to me. You agreed to play.”
“You sahHAHAID— thahahahat thehehehere WAHAHAhahsn’t a cahahahahahahatch!!”
“Yeah… I lied,” Simon said without even a hint of shame in his voice. How could he feel bad when Grace just looked so damn cute?
“Yohohohohou SOHOHOhohon of a bihihiscuihihihihit!!”
“Language, Angel,” Simon chuckled, knowing damn well he was being a hypocrite.
“You— Yohohohohou say thehehehehe f-wohohohohord— EHEHEHEHEVERY HOHOHOHOHOUR!” Grace squealed and arched his back as Simon buried his very bearded face into Grace’s tummy and blew a raspberry right below his belly button. Grace was holding onto his blond hair, tugging it in his attempt to keep his arms up.
“Don’t rip your hair out,” Simon chuckled as he sat back up.
“Dohohon’t— act like ihihihihihit’s not yohohohohohour fault!” Grace retorted through residual giggles.
“My fault? You’re the one who agreed to play the game. And right now, Simon says keep your arms up. Simon also says… don’t laugh.”
“What!? Si—” Grace shut his mouth immediately when Simon began drawing slow, torturous circles in the scientist’s armpits. Simon watched as Grace buried his face into the side of his arm in an attempt to muffle any giggles.
“Remember what happens if you lose,” Simon teased with a smile, laughing when Grace squealed behind closed lips because he was now tickling along the blond’s neck. He could feel Grace’s feet pounding against the ground underneath him, which did nothing in his favor.
When one hand scratched behind his ear with the other one scratching at his tummy, he finally dropped his arms and started trying to push Simon off. “OKAHAHAHAHAY o— ohKAHAHAHAHAHAY! I GIHIHIHIHIHIVE UHUHUHUHUP— SIHIHIHIHMohohoHOHON!!”
“I dunno… I think I gotta make sure you’re fully tuckered out.” Simon grinned, reaching back and squeezing up and down Grace’s thighs. Grace squealed once more, grabbing onto Simon’s legs while his own thrashed and kicked.
“Geez, Ryland, nearly kicked me!”
“IHIHIHIHIHIHI’M— sohohoHOHOHORRYHYHYHYHY!!”
“Nope, that’s a punishable offense. And you, Sir Savior… have been sentenced to more raspberries,” he said gravely, as though he’d just condemned Grace to death. He began slowly, oh-so-slowly, leaning downwards.
“NO! No no no Sihihihihihi— we can talk ahahahahabout— THIHIHIHIHISAHAHAHA SIHIHIHIMOHOHOHON—!”
Simon’s face was currently buried into the side of Grace’s neck, his own face a bit hot from the proximity.
C’mon, Butcher, get a grip. You’re just tickling him, get your mind out of the gutter.
If Grace had the same thoughts, he was far too preoccupied with the raspberries Simon was blowing over and over again. The side of his neck, the back of his ear, his shoulders, his collarbone, making sure to use his beard to contribute. Grace was shrieking and laughing, back arching as he held onto Simon’s shoulders.
Simon gave him a final raspberry on the inside of Grace’s collarbone before finally pulling away slightly—the sight made him melt. Grace’s hair and shirt were disheveled, his face red and his eyes closed as he took in air through residual giggles.
“You okay, Angel?” Simon asked, his voice softer.
“Y— Yeheheheah…” Grace giggled, opening his eyes to look up at Simon. …Which was when Simon realized he was probably a little too close. They gazed at each other in flustered shock before Simon cleared his throat and sat up fully.
“Good. That’s— Good. C’mon, it’s time to get you in bed.” Simon stood up, crossing his arms as he smiled fondly down at Grace.
“Nooooo…” Grace rubbed his face, yawning.
Simon chuckled. “Seems like the tickling did a good job of tiring you out, huh?”
“Shut up.”
The brunet extended a xenonite hand to help Grace up, who took it gratefully. Simon hauled him up, and wow, did Grace look exhausted. He looked dead on his feet.
“...Alright,” Simon muttered to himself before scooping Grace up in a bridal carry.
“Woah—!” Grace exclaimed, holding onto Simon’s shoulders. “Simon, I can walk.”
“Yeah, but you looked about two seconds away from face planting, so I’m saving you from a broken nose and a pissed off Rocky.” He stayed put for another second in case Grace actually wanted down… but instead of protesting, he just closed his eyes and hesitantly rested his head on Simon’s shoulder.
Was that… no, no. Ryland's blush was just residual from the tickling. It had to be. Simon’s, however? …What blush? There’s no blush. None.
Simon walked to the sleeping quarters, admittedly struggling a bit with getting down the ladder while holding Grace. But he could feel the blond dozing off, and he’d be damned if he made him get up.
After a bit of struggling (and nearly slipping a few times), Simon made it down. He laid Grace down in his bed, smiling softly and pulling the blanket over him. He gave his friend one last longing look before turning to leave. But Grace’s voice made him stop in his tracks.
“Si?”
Simon whipped around. “Yeah?”
“...Can… you stay?” he asked, his words a bit slurred from sleepiness and his eyes only halfway open.
“...Huh?” Did he hear him right?
“One of the reasons I haven’t been sleeping… is because I’ve been getting nightmares.”
Simon’s brows furrowed. He knew all too well about nightmares. “About what?”
“...The beetles. That they… never made it back to Earth. I— I keep seeing my friends…”
Simon sighed softly. “Why didn’t you tell me? Fuckin’ idiot,” he said affectionately.
“I didn’t wanna worry you.” Grace yawned.
“You’re not worrying me, dumbass.” Simon hesitated before gently carding his fingers through Grace’s hair.
Grace leaned into it, sighing softly through his nose.
“I’m sure the beetles made it back. Hell, you sent four of ‘em. What’re the chances that they all didn’t make it? Don’t answer that question,” Simon said when he saw Grace start to open his mouth. “It’s not your responsibility anymore, Ry. You did your part. You did all you needed to do, and you were fuckin’ awesome while doing it. Okay?”
A soft grumble in response.
“Okay?” Simon repeated, moving to lightly scratch behind Grace’s ear.
Grace snorted softly, giggling and curling up. “Okahahahahay, okay!”
Simon snickered softly and retracted his hand. “But, to answer your question… Yeah. I’ll stay with you.” He crawled in bed with Grace, giving him as much space as he could. But when Grace cuddled up with him, oh, all willpower shattered. How could he not cuddle back?
Grace exhaled softly, face nuzzled the slightest bit into Simon’s chest. “...Night, Si…”
Simon smiled. Maybe it was because of the shock that wow Grace wants this too, maybe it was the fact that Grace had been getting nightmares, maybe it was because Simon was tired as well… But he softly placed a kiss to the top of Grace’s head, really hoping he wouldn’t regret it later.
“Goodnight, Angel.”
For the first time in a week, Grace slept nightmare-free.
really scared to do this but uhmmmm hi @amazingmsme i made fanart of your bloodymary fic it was super awesome amazing and cool and im totally super normal about it
Summary: Three years into the journey back to Erid, Rocky has become familiar with all the things that once made Grace seem strange: his hands, his face, his habits, his emotions—and most of all, his laughter.
When Grace starts spiraling over his dwindling food supply, Rocky decides it is his duty as best friend and crewmate to cheer him up by any means necessary. What begins as laughter-provoking antics slowly turns into something deeper: a quiet reflection on joy, survival, and the strange ways two species can feel connected across the stars.
Words: 4445
Dynamics: Lee!Grace, Ler!Rocky
A/N: This was supposed to be a short writing exercise on how to describe laughter, but then it somehow led me to introspecting about the universe, as one does lol.
———
I don’t completely remember what was running through my mind when my ship’s cameras and the petrovascope spotted another ship in the Tau Ceti system. A ship that, by the looks of it, was alien-made. My thoughts were probably something along the lines of ‘holyshitholyshitholy–’ and ‘oh thank fuck I’m not alone anymore’.
Thinking back, it probably wasn’t wise to just assume they’d be friendly, and I didn't even consider what they would look like. I was too focused on communicating and connecting our ships so we could meet.
All of which is to say, I was totally unprepared when we were right in front of each other, and I couldn’t help the scream that came out of me. Grace looked like nothing I had ever seen or could ever imagine. He was so tall, standing upright on his two limbs while only having two others instead of three. And his whole body was covered with flesh while the harder material was inside. It’s like if you turned an Eridian inside out.
Don’t even get me started on his strange habits as well. Using the same orifice to talk and eat? Ugh.
He was freaky. Well… the keyword being was. Things are different now.
His fleshy hands aren’t strange anymore–they’re the hands that fly the Hail Mary, do complex calculations and big science, and make chains (many many chains).
Hands that bred taumoeba. Hands that pulled me back to safety.
And his body isn’t strange anymore either. It’s just his body, that does crazy dangerous EVAs, that has a beating heart that proves he’s alive, that shows love through a hug or friendly pat. His face and his mouth are now just his identity. A window to his emotions: a smile to show joy, eyes that tear up when sad.
Now, when I look at Grace and all the things that make him different from me, freaky is the word furthest from my mind. The only words I have now are… that's my best friend. Three years into our return trip to Erid, all the aspects that make up Grace have become familiar to me.
Most familiar of all is his laughter.
Ironic, considering how little of it I heard during our mission. There wasn’t much time for joking around, both hyper-focused on saving our species. But now, time is all we have.
Between keeping ourselves busy and entertained, and learning more about each other, the opportunity to hear all the different ways Grace laughs has been plentiful. I think I have each one memorized.
His chuckles are little more than a deep rumble in his chest, a sound almost meant for only himself. Soft, fond, and relaxed, they usually appear when he's recalling a time one of his students said something clever, or when he thinks I’ve said something funny accidentally.
When he does manage to let slip some giggles, they sound fluttery, bubbling out of him in a continuous stream before boiling over into full laughter. I think most of the time they happen because he's trying not to laugh, as he’ll often duck his head or cover his mouth to stifle them. Maybe he's embarrassed—they’re much more high-pitched than his normal speaking voice, but I always find them adorable. They're reminiscent of the flute-like voices of eridian infants.
It’s particularly funny when Grace is surprised into amusement. He lets out sharp barks of laughter, sometimes accompanied by a quick clap of his hands or slapping his knee. It’s like he's so suddenly taken by hilarity it needs more outlets.
It’s even more funny when Grace snorts. It happens rarely, and only when he's caught completely off guard, surprised into laughter that’s so deep and hearty it comes out his nose. I think it’s hilarious, not just the sound but because Grace gets so embarrassed by it—apparently even in human culture it’s a silly sound.
Perhaps the most rewarding is when Grace finds something really funny, like a joke I made (on purpose), or our silly banter, or even a dumb scene from one of his movies. His laughter comes from his stomach, loud and boisterous, and it makes his eyes water and squeeze shut, nose scrunching too. Sometimes it overcomes him so much that he has to hold onto something to keep upright, or wrap his arms around his abdomen. It’s like for a moment he feels completely safe and unrestrained, forgetting about the Hail Mary, the beetles, and the dwindling food. Instead there’s only happiness in its purest form—and it's one of my favorite laughs of his.
But not my all-time favorite.
My all-time favorite is the one he's making now, when I have him pinned to the floor of the ship, one claw digging into his middle and another two scribbling under his arms. The laughter that’s pouring out of him can only be described as cackles—loud, wild things interrupted by startled screeches and utterly beyond his control.
“ROCKY! S-STOP IT!” he shrieks. I don’t have his arms pinned, so he's torn between trying to wrench my claws out from under them and slapping at any part of my xenonite suit-covered carapace he can reach.
“Mmm,” I trill in mock contemplation. “No. I don’t think you’ve had enough penance yet.”
His head thunks against the floor in defeat. “Ngh–aHAH!” he tries to reply but he’s laughing too hard to get any words out. I am curious what he has to say though, so I move my hands from his armpits and instead trace around what he calls a ‘belly button.’ It still tickles him a lot, but less so he can actually get words out.
The smile on his face is stretched so wide that it shows all of his teeth. He takes in a shuddered breath and chokes out between his giggles, “P-penance for what?!”
“You were moping. No moping allowed on the Hail Mary.”
“Wha—but it’s MY ship!” he tries to protest but more giggles interrupt his speech. “Ehehe—I can m-mope if I want to!”
I let out a chittery laugh at that. He can be so whiny.
“Nope. Not allowed,” I reiterate. I use my fingers to skitter up and down his sides, making sure to tweak his bottom ribs whenever I reach them. It makes Grace arch his back and then flop back down with a cackle each time.
In truth, this isn’t made to be an actual ‘punishment’. I mean, Grace was moping, that part's true. Just before I wrestled him to the floor he was looking over the Hail Mary’s food storage, doing some calculations with his face pulled into a frown and muttering to himself. Based on his calculations, the last few months of our trip will be difficult for him. Grace is worried.
But I hate to hear him like that, and there’s nothing more we can do about the food anyway. So naturally, it’s my job as his crewmate/best friend to take his mind off it, cheer him up a bit. And if tickling him to pieces is the quickest way to accomplish that, well, then you really can’t blame me.
It also gives me the opportunity to hear his loudest, silliest laughs, the kind he only does when he's forced to let go of his worries and submit to this playful stupidity. As an added bonus, all that laughter sends sound waves bouncing off my carapace, giving me the clearest image of Grace yet. Hey, I gotta get something out of this too, ok?
Grace is shoving at me with both hands now, eyes squeezed shut and head thrown back in laughter. He's not strong enough to push me away even if he wasn’t laughing himself out of oxygen.
“Gah! G-get offa me, doofus!” he manages between desperate gasps for air, each one collapsing back into laughter.
I hum a high, amused note, and pull back on the tickling a bit. I still use one hand though to poke randomly around his stomach, enough to keep him twitching.
“Have you laughed all of your mopes out yet?” I ask teasingly.
Grace drags in deep breaths now that he has the chance, but each one has a leftover giggle or two tacked onto the end. He flops an arm over his chest and I feel him sag into the floor.
“Ugh…” he wheezes. “You’re… the worst…”
I dig sharply into his sides. “Answer the question.”
He yelps and his hands fly down to grab mine. “Ah! L-let me think, dang it!”
A few beats pass before Grace comes to a verdict. He crosses his arms, and schools his face into one of defiance—or at least he tries to. There’s a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth that gives him away.
“I think there’s one still rattling around in there,” he says, and oh, if I know a challenge when I hear one…
“Is that so?” I reply. I grab his wrists and start to slowly raise them over his head. That cracks his defiant facade immediately, his eyes widening and a helpless smile spreading across his face. He starts tugging fruitlessly at my hold, and I think it’s that moment he realizes the situation he put himself in.
“Wait wait wait! Rocky no! H-hold on!” he splutters. The second his arms are firmly over his head and there to stay, frantic, high-pitched giggles begin bubbling out.
Mhmm, I quite enjoy this part. Grace is absolutely terrible with anticipation, a fact I love to take full advantage of. With one of my arms pinning Grace's wrists, it leaves my other two open to hover threateningly over his underarms and upper ribs.
“Don’t worry,” I say, my voice laced with sticky sweetness. “I’ll help you.”
I feel Grace's whole body try to flinch away, but I’ve got a strong grip on him as well as some of my weight pinning his hips down where I sit on top of him.
“J-just hold on a second!” he cries, his eyes unable to look away from my wiggly, xenonite-covered fingers. Laughter is on the edge of each of his words.
Slowly, I lower my wiggling fingers closer to his body. As I do, Grace's giddy, nervous giggling gets louder and more frantic, and his squirming increases tenfold. When I reach just the edge of his clothes and brush them gently—not even technically touching him—Grace bursts out into loud, belly laughter.
“No no NO!” he screeches, and his legs kick out helplessly behind me. “S-stahahp it!!”
I pull my hands away, and Grace goes back to desperate, sputtering giggles. Hah, I can’t help but laugh along with him, his reactions are over the top and hilarious.
“Wow,” I say around my own chirpy laughter. “You are so fucking ticklish, Grace.”
I hear the blood rush to his face at that, and he tries to hide it in his arm. It’s a very subtle sound, one I only know to listen for because Grace explained that humans' faces flush when embarrassed.
‘Definitely sold yourself out there, friend,’ I think to myself.
“You’re the most ticklish human ever, aren’t you?” I continue to tease. Grace lets out a growly whine that trails off into more desperate giggling. He tries clenching his teeth together, but it does nothing to stop the embarrassing sounds, instead making his laughter come out in a hissy sort of way around his teeth and the wide grin he's wearing. He starts shaking his head helplessly, already accepting his demise.
Alright, time to stop teasing and get to the real deal. I drop both my hands to scribble his underarms and massage at his top rib. The reaction is explosive; Grace cracks into laughter so loud that he's absolutely glowing in my perception, every detail of his face and the playful torture he’s experiencing crystal clear to me. He even makes enough sound waves to illuminate every small detail of the room in my vision without my need to tap a claw or click a sound.
“No—! R-rock—! Gah-ahAHAHA!” is all he can manage between his hysterical laughter before he peters out into silence. I can tell he's still laughing though—his whole chest is shaking and I can feel his stomach muscles convulsing beneath me where I have him pinned. His mouth is stretched into a wide grin and he takes in a breath here and there too, but no audible laughter follows it. Just his feet slapping the ground occasionally behind me.
I really enjoy this type of laughter too. It’s not my favorite, but more so I just feel real smug anytime I manage to drive him crazy enough to laugh himself fresh out of sound. He even has a few tears leaking out of his eyes, and those are rewarding too. I’d much rather he leak from overwhelming mirth and laughter than from sadness and pain.
But the tears also signal that Grace is at his limit. I pull my hands away from his tickle spots and instead rub soothingly at his sternum, chasing away the last of the tingly feelings.
Grace does his best to melt into the floor as the lingering titters fade away. He wraps one arm around his middle and rests the other one on top of my arm that’s rubbing his chest while he catches his breath.
“Ohoho man…” he breathes. “I’m sohoho gonna get you b-back.”
I hum a note. “Can’t. I’m not ticklish. Not like you,” I tease. That’s totally a lie, but not one Grace is strong enough to disprove, an advantage of our anatomical differences.
We sit for a moment while he recovers until he finally props himself up on his elbows.
“You know, one of these days I’m gonna have Mary toss you out the airlock. See how well you can tickle me from the vacuum of space,” he says with a grin.
My hand stills on his chest, and I tilt my carapace. “You’d toss your best friend into space?” I ask, playing along.
“Oh, definitely,” he nods. He picks up the tool I use to weave xenonite that’s resting on the floor. I don’t use it much now, since I used almost the last of my xenonite stores to make my dexterous suit. (That probably wasn’t wise to do, but it’s worth it to be able to come into Grace's atmosphere completely and interact in this silly way.)
It also means that the tool, which I had brought to Grace's side to show him, has been sitting on the floor for a few weeks. Grace waggles the tool in front of me. “Place would be a whole lot cleaner without you leaving your stuff everywhere, don’t you think?” he teases, and draws his knee in to knock against my carapace.
Well then. Seems the moping is gone and replaced with sass. Not quite what I was going for.
I sing a low, jokingly offended note.
“I see. Well, before you do that, there’s one spot I’ve never tried before. We should fix that, in the name of scientific discovery of course.” I slide off his middle and move down towards his socked feet, grabbing hold of just one ankle.
Grace begins smiling immediately, and tries to tug his leg back. He's not using his full strength to do so, and combined with his smile I know he doesn’t actually mind this at all. We’ve never talked about it out loud, but I know we both think this silly, stupid kind of play is really fun.
“Wait, wait! Maybe we can compromise,” he says, voice wobbly with the beginnings of laughter. “I don’t have to toss you out, just your stuff—AH!”
He's cut off by me taking off his sock and swiping my fingers up and down the bottom of his foot. I was serious when I said I’ve never tried tickling here, and I regret that now because this is a really sensitive spot. Grace drops my xenonite weaver and falls onto his back again, laughter renewed. He's still trying to tug his leg away while the rest of his body is free to squirm now that I’m not on top of him anymore.
I only tickle him for a few seconds before stopping, given I already put him through the wringer before. When I stop, Grace throws an arm over his face while some lingering hiccupy laughs fade away. I’ve still got a hold of his ankle, though, and this time poke his largest toe.
“Are these ticklish too?” I ask, genuinely curious. It’s already surprising he'd be ticklish in this area, since he literally walks on them every day. Humans are fascinating like that.
Grace huffs a residual laugh and says “Maybe,” which I take as ‘Definitely yes.’
“Why are these ticklish but the ones on your hands aren’t?”
He shrugs and looks down his body at me. “I’m not sure,” he answers honestly. “Might be evolution-based. You need your toes to walk, but you can live without fingers, so maybe it’s the body’s way of making you protect those more.”
He pauses before adding, “I actually knew a guy once who’s missing six fingers—wha—?! H-hey!” He gets cut off by more giggles as I attempt to scribble at his toes.
“I was talking!” he laughs. “Rude! Nahahah—ouch! Hey, careful!”
I rip my hands away. “Sorry sorry sorry! Are you alright?”
“I’m fine, you just pinched me a bit. Your fingers are a lot bigger than human ones.” That’s true. It makes tickling this delicate area difficult. I wonder…
I re-grip his ankle and slip my xenonite weaver over the suit-clad fingers on my other hand. The weaver is almost like a second skeleton, with braces hugging my forearm and hand. Delicate articulated prongs extend beyond each fingertip, tapering to points far finer than my own fingers could ever be so I can weave small strands of xenonite. With the tool powered down, however, they’re nothing more than slender metal finger extensions.
Using a second hand, I grip his big toe and pull it back, stretching his foot and other toes, then hover my third hand wearing the tool over them. Grace understands immediately what I’m about to do because his eyes widen and his mouth opens to protest, but he’s too late.
I dance the tips of the thin prongs at the base of his toes and in between them too, for good measure. This was a fantastic idea. Grace begins shrieking and yanking at his foot harder than ever before. It’s no use though, I have an iron-clad grip on him.
“Holy—argh nohoho!” he practically screams. “T-thahat’s terrible!!”
I chirp giggles along with him and decide to try something hopefully worse, scraping the prongs up and down the bottom of his foot in addition to his toes to see what happens.
“FUCK!” Grace yells before being consumed by more screechy laughter. His whole body does a funny sort of roll, and his free foot starts kicking at me with surprising strength. It’s not enough to stop me, but it does actually make me stumble a bit.
I burst into laughter and it mingles in the room with his. Wow, this really makes him lose his mind if it gets him to actually curse. I’ll definitely be doing this again sometime—this is fun.
Grace practically wails my name, the last note of it soaring to an impressive pitch. It’s time to stop. I don’t want to actually ruin the playful moment we’re having. I pull all my hands away and sit next to Grace, giving him the space to roll onto his side and pull his knees to his chest, catching his breath.
“I ha-hate you…” he huffs weakly into his knees. Mmm, liar.
Eventually his breathing slows and he uncurls himself. I move to sit beside his head with my legs tucked underneath my carapace. He always calls that position “loafing,” and when he cracks an eye open to glance at me, he huffs out a few chuckles.
Feeling a sudden surge of fondness, and perhaps a tad bit of guilt, I use the weaver to stroke through Grace’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. He hums a contented note and goes boneless under the touch, eyes slipping closed again.
“You done torturing me?” he asks sleepily.
I hum a note myself, amused. “For today.”
Grace smiles softly at that, eyes still closed. My amusement melts into something gentler. “Are you feeling better?” I ask, softer now. Sincere.
He opens his eyes and looks at me. “Yeah…” he says, a smile still on his face. I sense some tension pulling at his brows, though.
“It will be ok, Grace. We’ll work out a solution when we get to Erid. I promise.”
He nods. “I know.”
We fall into a comfortable, companionable silence and stay like that for a while. Grace’s breathing returns to a slow and steady rhythm as I continue to brush the prongs through his hair, lost in my own thoughts.
“What are you thinking about?” Grace asks softly. He looks like he’s on the verge of falling asleep.
I brush his bangs back and soothe them down. His hair is getting quite long. I like it, it makes it even more soft and fluffy. “I’m thinking about our theory.”
“Which one? Panspermia?”
“Mhm.”
It’s something we talked about early on in our mission, when we discovered that the planet Adrian did indeed have life. A lot of life, actually, in the form of bacteria, amoebas, and other single-celled organisms. What are the chances of Earth, Erid, and Adrian all evolving life separately from one another? Life that uses the same basic machinery: DNA, ATP, familiar cellular structures, and, in some organisms, even mitochondria?
To me, it seems low. Possible, maybe. But low. Our three star systems are not that far apart, really. Yes, Earth and Erid are sixteen light-years apart, with Adrian somewhere between us, but that is close compared to the vastness of the galaxy. The Milky Way galaxy spans about 100,000 light-years. We’re practically roommates, if you consider the observable universe and its trillions of galaxies.
That’s where our theory comes in. Panspermia is the idea that life didn't just start all on its own on our planets. It came from somewhere else. Where? Who knows, but the theory is that billions of years ago some ancient life form “seeded” Earth, Erid, and Adrian with life by way of a comet/asteroid, or something. Then life did what it does: evolved over billions of years into different forms that seem completely different from each other, but share many similarities if you look small enough. Humans, Eridians, and astrophage. We may have done billions of years of evolution separately, but the point is that if you go far enough back on each of our branches, we’re joined by one common but ancient ancestor.
We’re cousins. Very very very distant cousins, but family all the same. Or that’s what I like to believe. We don’t have real proof of this theory, but it makes me feel closer to humanity—closer to Grace. And it’s interesting to think about in these quiet moments of companionable space travel.
“I used to think you were as different from me as two things can be,” I say.
Grace smiles. “Oh? Was it the leaky space blob-ness?”
I chuckle out a chord. “That was definitely part of it. But now…”
“Now space feels a whole lot smaller, and we feel a whole lot closer,” he finishes for me.
“Yeah.”
He reaches up over his head and brushes his fingers against mine on the hand not combing through his hair, just absentminded touches. He likes to fidget while he thinks, and enjoys being close too.
“Isn’t it fascinating how both our species evolved to have laughter? I mean, that can't be a coincidence,” he says. It’s like he read my mind. That’s what I was about to bring up next.
“It would be a huge coincidence, yes,” I say. “I think it's further evidence for our theory. That we’re connected.”
It’s not definitive proof in the slightest, barely a correlation. But I choose to believe it is. The universe can be terribly ugly, but there’s also so much beauty in it, so why couldn’t this one beautiful thing be true too? That the sounds of joy prove we’re connected, even light-years apart?
“Laughter connects the universe…” Grace says wistfully, his smile growing. “That’s a nice thought. I like it.”
I like it too. I feel a deep warmth wash over me, a sense of happiness and belonging—and I’m still light-years from home.
“I’m happy I evolved to meet you, Grace,” I say. “I’ve never had a friend like you before. Someone who understands me in ways I can’t explain, because I don't need to with you.”
“And I’m so grateful I get to hear your laughter,” I add.
I hear that subtle rush again—Grace’s face flushing with shyness—and it makes me chuckle. I can’t see the color, but I trace a finger over what I know is his reddened cheek, just to let him know I’m aware of what’s happening.
Grace shoos my hand away playfully and huffs, embarrassed.
“You're such a sap,” he says. “But… I’m happy I evolved to meet you too. I’m happy we get to laugh together.”
———
We made it to Erid, and it’s good to be home.
The last few months of our trip—and the first stretch of time on the ground too—were indeed difficult for Grace. His coma slurry and taumoeba shakes were enough to keep him alive while we figured out a solution. But just barely.
Every day he slept more. His cheeks hollowed further. He smiled less. I stayed by his side through it all, diligently watching as he slept, thinking of the days where we talked about the universe and filled our ship with laughter.
Those were dark times. But I’m so grateful they're behind us.
Now, two years after we made it home, the scene looks quite different: My beloved Adrian and I are in Grace's biodome. It's stocked with plenty of nourishing food for him. His stomach is soft, his ribs no longer sharp beneath his skin, and his cheeks are rounded. He’s going to start teaching soon, and it’s the most excitement I’ve seen in him for a while. My Adrian says one of their dry, witty jokes, and Grace has to hold onto me to keep from falling over in laughter.
It’s a beautiful sound, and I hold it close to my hearts. I am so grateful I get to hear it again, and I know I'll hear it for years to come.
———
A/N: there we go! Hope you guys enjoyed! Here are a few questions that I'm curious what your guys answers are:
What do you think of Panspermia? It’s a real theory, that life on earth started because a life-containing asteroid crashed here. And if it happened to earth… perhaps it has happened elsewhere.
What other completely normal human things do you think Rocky would find fascinating/horrifying?
Do we like the Rocky pov? Would we mind another one bc I have a short one in mind, same dynamics but I swear I have plans to switch that up too lol
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.
“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 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..?
summary: first part of potentially a series 👀 in which rocky and grace argue over which of them is more of an evil deadly monster. they're both space orks.
note: i need all the fics about the differences in their evolution stat. i love the hunting trope (ambush vs persistence) so much, i think it's such a fun idea.
I'm really confused.
The Hail Mary is not a big ship. It took me less than 20 minutes to explore every room after I first woke up - and that's with having forgotten to walk after not moving a muscle in over four years. Just 20 minutes.
I've been looking for Rocky for over two hours now.
"Rocky?" I call out into the dormitory that I've already checked three times.
I frown with my hands on my hips.
We both have our days when we really need our own space. For the most part, we'll usually respect it and leave the other be as well as we can, but in living quarters this small and with a roommate who can hear through walls, me-time is always more of a we-time. Surprisingly, it hasn't been too bad. We both know what the alternative is like, and I think that's given us enough perspective to not just be tolerant of each other's constant presence, but straight up clingy for it. Even this late in the game. So I'm beginning to feel small-to-medium amounts of disturbed. I might not be able to see through walls, but I've never had trouble finding him before-
"What the-!"
I snap my head around, eyes bouncing from spot to spot. I feel the hairs of my neck stand and the flesh of my arm pimple with goosebumps.
There's nothing there. Nobody there. No Rocky there. Rocky is the only person who could be on the ship. Heh.
"Okay, buddy. If you're trying to mess with me because of what I said, I'm sorry! It's not gonna work!" I call out, trying my best to keep my voice from betraying the unease I feel in my gut. I feel like I'm being watched.
Before his sudden disappearance, Rocky and I had a bit of a discussion over who, in our scenario, would be the horrific monster alien that poses an extinction threat to the other's species, and who would be the chum. We've tallied up the points so far and learned the terrifying histories of each other's evolution and special adaptations. It got more and more heated as we tied in counter with each other over and over. I'd win the balancing on one foot contest, he'd win the 'has five legs and has no need for stupid balance' contest. So on and so forth.
After a few hours of this, my blood was up. I (cockily) suggested performing a live demonstration of a perfect monster for him when we touch down on Erid. I may have said something about getting the entire Eridian race under my squishy and opposable thumb. Starting with Rocky's mother.
So now Rocky's missing. For the first hour, I worried I took it a step too far. Maybe your mom jokes are a line you just don't cross in Eridian culture, and I offended him so badly he took his new EVA suit out through the airlock because of how much space he needed from me. But now, I'm pretty sure he's messing with me. Because I've felt him watching me for a while. I just don't know where from.
It's really quiet on the ship. I've never known Rocky to be light-footed, and it's starting to get unbearable not being able to hear him. I'm about to ask Mary to start singing for me when-
All of the lights suddenly turn off, with Mary's voice piercing through the silent darkness. "Automatic lighting disabled."
Mm no. I hate this. "Uh, no no no. Lights back on, please?"
"Automatic lighting disabled. Manual override required." Her voice is so much louder in the dark.
"Manual-" I huff. "How am I supposed to manually override if I can't see anything?"
"The manual override is located in control-"
"Yes, Mary, I know." My voice wobbles in steadily growing terror. I slowly feel my way across the dormitory before I stop suddenly in the doorway - the long, black corridor in front of me.
Rocky is in the control room. That's how he did all this fudgery with the lights. My heart picks up speed, and my nerves assure me that something (Rocky! Rocky is the only other person on this ship!) will attack if I go up there. Gulp.
I back up a bit from the doorway, turning over my options in my head - which is working in significant overtime. I feel sweaty looking down the corridor, but I refuse to take my eyes off it.
Rocky is currently in the control room, but he switched the lights off like this on purpose. He knows how useless I am in the dark. And he can see through walls, so he knows exactly where I am right now and there would be no purpose in hiding. He's probably on his way to me right now, and I'm defenseless. Unless he's already at the end of the corridor just staring at me.
I squint down the corridor. Do I see his figure at the end of it? Well, whatever I'm seeing, it looks nothing like him. Too big, too wrong.
My thoughts are starting to drift into stupid territory and my mind is playing tricks on me. I try to shake it off, wiping my sweaty palms on my pants and taking deep breaths. I know he's trying to scare me, so it's stupid that it's actually working. Rocky is my best friend. He's not a monster. He'd never really hurt me-
I hear the rapid sound of footsteps charging towards me from the end of the corridor. I scream, scrambling backwards as fast as I can. It's not fast enough. A shrieking invisible thing tackles me and I brace for-
A pillow softens the blow to my head from the ground. Once all my scream putters out, I wheeze from where Rocky is squeezing me tightly.
"Wh-whhhyy.." I gasp pathetically.
"Grace get too cocky. Needed to teach a lesson," Rocky's cheery, friendly voice chirps. It does good for soothing the terror bells still ringing through my head and body. So does the squeezing. "You were sooo scared. Did not know heart can get that fast!" he sings in joy.
"Ugh, whatever! I wasn't that scared," I grunt, trying to wriggle my arms free from the death hug. I can't help the small smile that forms in my relief. "I was more afraid that you were actually mad at me."
He titters at me. "You're lying. You're scared even now. Your body-nerve-system still think I will eat you," he shimmies his carapace onto my stomach, and I grunt and tense at the nuzzling. "Maybe will. Show who is the better monster."
"Ew!" I start to laugh stupidly - the energy built up from all the terror needing to be released somehow. "No, please! At least kill me first. Or start your process over there. Away from me."
My body-nerve-system has taken over and is wiggling uncontrollably, trying to avoid his consistent nuzzling. "Pf- stop it!" I snort.
"Why, question? Thought Grace not scared." He wiggles more emphatically.
"Ah- I'm not!" My knees knock against Rocky's back as my body tries and fails to curl in, my stomach feeling more sensitive the more he moves. "I'm worried your biology is going to take over and unload on accident, thinking it's dinner time. Okay- Rhhoc- hehehe- quuuit it!" I whine, embarrassed about not being able to hold back my giggling. He's doing this on purpose.
He trills a noise of offense. "You are disgusting. That could never happen. Eridians too dignified. Ripping apart prey must always come first." He moves my arms away from my body just enough to tickle my sides and, despite expecting it, I explode.
"AGH- No! hAhahaha!!" I can never really talk when he does this. What I'm trying to say is, no! hey! get off! but unfortunately all I can manage to get out is convulsive giggling. My arms snap in over and over to protect my sides, but they're blocked by his rock hands. I only succeed in bruising myself a little.
"Don't laugh," he says while laughing himself. "encourages hungry-feeling!"
Ugh. I never win this challenge. I hold my breath, clench everything, and put every ounce of willpower I have to try and contain my giggles. Surprisingly - still squirming and with my eyes squeezed shut - I almost manage it! Until Rocky moves further up into my ribs. I whimper and fall back into hysterics.
I try to flop around to deter his hands (too many hands!!! too many hands!!) but my torso can't move at all under his FAT body. My legs are free to kick in and out as much as they want at least, but it doesn't do anything to stop him either. I can't stop it.
I continue to strain, but my head falls back in resignation as I laugh. I regret it immediately. The position turns a desperate intake of breath into the loudest snort ever. Rocky stops then, but I hardly feel relief from it - he only stopped because he's laughing at me so hard that now he can barely breathe.
"G-gett offff..." I gasp through giggles. His laughter is making him shake over my stomach again, and I'm so hypersensitive that I can't stand it. I squirm to no avail.
"♫♪what♫noise♪♫♪~~!!" He dissolves back into his amusement without finishing his sentence. I burst out into full belly laughter again despite the heat in my cheeks. His giggles are so contagious. And his vibrations are still tickling me down to the bones. I think I might die. Atleast I'm taking Rocky down with me.
Mercifully, Rocky climbs off me after a minute. His legs are weakening from laughter and he doesn't want to crush me for real. I curl up the second I'm able to in a way-too-late reaction to preserve my vital organs from tickle torture.
"I see now," he giggles. "Sensitivity is good defense. You become so funny, nothing can eat you. Predators too busy laughing."
"Please be quiet," I groan. I take a steadying breath. "Alright, I admit it. You're scarier out of the two of us. You ticked all the boxes that scare humans the most. Silence, darkness, surprise attacks. You'd definitely be able to take over humanity before I can take over Erid. Your mom would destroy me."
"No," he sighs through his vents, and I frown in confusion. Rocky's not one to reject a win. "Grace scary too. Stealth is part of Eridian nature. Know how to stay silent. Not detectable," he shudders. "You detect anyway. Almost catch me many times with crazy light detectors. Scary."
I smile incredulously. Fascinating! "So, all that just for us to tie again?"
"Grace winning for now, actually. We move ticklish from weakness to strength," I gape at him, but he cuts me off. "Serious about good defense. Funny, funny, funny."
"What- that's not- it's.." I stutter helplessly. "You're ticklish too! You know what, I'm hunting you next time."
"Grace not stealthy. Cannot ever surprise Rocky."
"Humans don't hunt our prey like that anyway. We just keep following them until they get too tired to keep running," I lean in as Rocky shies away. "We get them in their sleep, you know. When they're the most vulnerable. You might hear me coming, but you won't be able to stop me."
"♫♪!" he shakes his carapace like he's snapping himself out of it, then rushes me to start poking my sides and stomach.
"He-hey!!!" I giggle and push at him.
"Grace not trick me," he trills, but I swear I detect notes of relief when he hears me laugh again. "Can not scare me. Grace is best friend. You are not monster."
Summary: Grace is malnourished. Rocky has his ways of helping.
———
Rocky isn’t nearly as subtle as he thinks he is.
After we’d reached Erid, there had been a few years of me living in the Hail Mary at the top of the space elevator. While Rocky went down to Erid to sort out bureaucratic things and the Eridians worked on synthesizing food and a biodome for me, I stayed with Armando and tried not to die.
It wasn’t easy. I had been subsisting on Taumoeba and coma slurry (and eventually just Taumoeba when the coma slurry ran out). I had every sickness imaginable (scurvy, anemia, beri beri, you name it). And I dropped at least 40 lbs. Maybe even 50 or 60. I stopped measuring after a while—too demoralizing.
About a year ago, they finished building my biodome and I’d moved in. They also had created food for me that provided all of the necessary nutrients. For a while it was just like the coma slurry, which they adapted a few flavors of to make it taste better. But about 8 months ago they figured out meburgers. Pretty awesome stuff.
I’ve been steadily gaining back my weight and my strength, and I’m no longer sick with everything anymore. But Rocky has been concerned about my weight gain—I can tell. Which brings me to the point: he’s not subtle at all.
On the Hail Mary, Rocky had built a xenonite skin-tight suit out of the last dregs of his xenonite supply. Once he did that, it wasn’t long before he discovered how ticklish I am. I’d explained to him what tickling is and it became part of our routine. He’d tickle me every few weeks or so to get me to admit something, to get me to go to sleep, to mess with me, to get me to stop annoying him…the list goes on. I even figured out how to tickle Eridians (rougher scrubbing on sensitive spots like joints, vents, etc. if you’ve got an Eridian of your own to torment), leading to some pretty epic tickle fights to pass the time. It stopped as I got weaker as we approached Erid, but he’d still tickle me gently when I was struggling to sleep. However frequently he used to do it, it’s nothing compared to the way he does it now.
Now it’s like every week. Actually, it’s exactly once a week. On the same day of the week. At the same time. So, not subtle. Only issue is, I still haven’t figured out why he’s doing it.
I’ve got a hypothesis though.
Recently he’s been nagging me to weigh myself. I haven’t done that since the early days on our journey when I’d first switched to Taumoeba after running out of coma slurry. At the time I’d been worried about my nutrition, before I realized it was hopeless and I was going for surviving, not thriving. I keep saying no because it’s complicated in the biodome—weird simulated gravity and the lack of a proper scale. And also I’m a little scared to see the number—I can definitely see and feel how much my body has changed, progress aside.
So he’s been checking up on me in other ways. Weekly “appointments” to assess my weight gain by ti—
I stop typing mid-sentence as Rocky knocks (bangs) on my door. I get up, pausing to steady myself as a wave of dizziness hits me, and go to open the door.
“Grace! Took so long to answer door,” Rocky complains.
“Hey, Rock,” I say. I step aside to let him in, rolling my eyes and closing the door when he chirps at me to do so.
“Okay, Mom,” I grumble as we settle on the couch. I flick on the TV I’d built from various screens from the Hail Mary. We’ve taken to idly watching Earth TV while hanging out as background noise. I’ve been too tired recently to go for walks.
“Rude,” Rocky grumbles, poking me in the stomach. I recoil from the poke. Here we go again. I check my watch. Yep, it’s 4pm on a Tuesday. Predictable.
“Rock,” I grumble. My voice is a bit whiny.
“Yes, Grace?” Rocky says cheekily, clawing up my ribs. I squirm in place, letting out a few stifled chuckles. I feel him pause for half a second at each rib, feeling it slightly. Yeah, I think my hypothesis is correct.
“Wh- whahaha- why are you dohohoing this?”
He stops. “Is funny,” he replies.
I catch my breath. “Nope. You’re not telling me the full truth.”
Rocky does that shifty thing he does when he lies. I wiggle my fingers at him. “Do I need to tickle the answer out of you?” He trills in indignation that the roles are being reversed.
“Fine. Rocky tickle Grace to check health.”
I hum, satisfied. “What aspects of my health?”
“Feel for… muscle development. And weight gain.”
“Y’know, if you wanna feel me up, you could just ask,” I say. I laugh at how steam hisses from his vents in flustered frustration. Man, fake flirting with Rocky will never get old.
“Stop making joke. Is serious. Rocky worried.”
I sober up. “Okay, sorry bud. I- I get it. I’m worried about myself too. But… we can just talk about it. You don’t have to sneak around.”
Rocky taps his claws together. “Grace… Grace lift shirt and show Rocky if improvement?”
I sigh, blushing slightly. Privacy isn’t really a thing anymore. But I still get shy about being asked to strip—especially since my body’s so different from normal, from when I first met Rocky. I know he knows that. I pull my t-shirt off.
Rocky’s claws trace down my ribs. I try to stay still for him. The bones protrude obviously. His claws make their way to my stomach, and he makes a pleased noise as he feels the development of muscle and fat there. “Grace more than skin and bones now,” Rocky states.
“Yeah, bud, I’m getting better,” I say, chuckling softly as he prods at my belly button. I flex my abs for him. He makes a surprised noise. I think it’s hard for him to remember sometimes how squishy humans are.
When he’s satisfied I put my shirt back on. He cuddles up to me, tracing his claws through my hair. I let my eyes flutter shut, enjoying the pampering.
“Grace,” Rocky says, interrupting my slow drift into an afternoon nap.
“Mm?” I mumble.
“Rocky still like tickling,” Rocky says, his tone slightly shy. “Can tickle Grace without checking for health, question?”
I laugh, and I can feel my cheeks heating up. “Yeah, you can, buddy.”
I finally watched Iron Lung so this is a bloodymary tickle fic! Personally I wrote it as platonic, but take it however you like.
I didn’t try to come up with a backstory for how Simon ended up on the Hail Mary - I’m not good enough at fiction for that lol. Feel free to fill in the blank with your own favorite theory.
Discussion of PTSD/trauma and Simon learning to trust Grace :)
Ler!Grace, Lee!Simon
Summary: Simon doesn’t know what tickling is. Grace is, as ever, happy to enlighten curious minds.
———
“Simon?” Grace called out, peering nervously into the dormitory. “I’m here to check on your arm…”
Simon startled, then forced himself to relax. “Uh, okay, yeah.”
Grace nearly beamed at the fact that Simon was letting him help. It had been a rocky road getting Simon to trust him. He still couldn’t wrap his head around what possible science could’ve led Simon to appear in his airlock, mutations and all, covered in blood. From what he’d managed to piece together, it’s clear that the two men came from very different universes.
Grace bumbled over and kneeled next to Simon. He gave the younger man the benefit of the doubt as Simon fidgeted nervously at the proximity. He could tell Simon was not used to care, medical or otherwise. Grace carefully unwrapped the bandages on Simon’s amputated arm and inspected the wound.
Simon had never felt this clean before. He’d ardently refused when Grace offered to help him wash (“Are you out of your fucking mind?!”), but had cooled down when Grace showed him the sponge bath area and given him privacy. His body was clean. He smelled decent. He was even wearing clean clothes—Grace’s.
A lot of laundry had been done on the Hail Mary since Simon appeared—he’d bloodied a lot of sheets. Grace seemed to have endless patience. Simon didn’t understand it.
Grace made quick work of the injury originally. Simon hadn’t trusted Armando, so the robot had given verbal instructions while Grace tended to Simon’s wounds.
Simon watched as Grace hummed something to himself and re-bandaged the wound. It felt strange to Simon that Grace was the one kneeling. He thought it should be him, prostrating himself for his sandy-haired savior. He didn’t really believe he was alive, still. He felt that some part of him had been transported to an alternate reality—Heaven, maybe—while his true self died an infinite death in the blood ocean. He felt grateful that his soul, his consciousness, was here in this bright and quiet place.
Grace patted Simon’s shoulder gently. “All done,” he said, face sunny and open. Grace couldn’t believe there was another human with him. He asked Rocky about a million times if his alien friend was seeing Simon too, worried he had finally lost it.
“Thanks,” Simon said gruffly. Grace’s eyebrows raised before he could school his expression into neutrality. Simon had seemed grateful from his body language, but was wary of him and hadn’t spoken much, not even to say thank you. He’d only asked questions with a fearful undercurrent in his voice.
“It’s no problem,” Grace said. “Really. I’m happy to do all of it. I’m just glad to have company.”
Simon nodded. A moment of silence passed before Simon spoke up again. “Can I show you something?”
Grace perked up. “Of course.”
Simon used his free hand to pull his borrowed t-shirt over his head. It was a bit of a struggle, and Grace almost intervened, but he didn’t want to embarrass or rush Simon, so he waited patiently. He glanced away for a second when Simon’s chest was revealed, not wanting to make him uncomfortable, but looked back when he understood it was a medical question.
Simon lifted his amputated arm and used his good arm to point to something just below his armpit. It seemed to be a growth, but not like the tooth mutation on Simon’s face. It was a brownish mutation with tendrils spreading across Simon’s upper ribs.
“I think it’s the thing that was grabbing at me back in the sub,” Simon said. “I- I wasn’t sure what it was, so I don’t know how to explain it. But I don’t think it’s part of my body.”
Grace nodded. “Do you want me to try to remove it?”
Simon hesitated. “I just… I don’t want to touch it myself,” he said anxiously.
Grace’s brows furrowed. He could tell there was some trauma there. “Okay,” he said. “I can try.”
Grace reached up and skimmed his fingers gently over the substance. It didn’t grab onto him or move in any way, so Grace assumed it was stable. He grabbed a pair of tweezers and started to gently pry it off. Simon winced a few times, but ultimately the substance came off cleanly, leaving only a small patch of irritation on Simon’s ribcage.
“See? All better,” Grace said warmly, relieved himself that it came off without a struggle.
Simon’s torso sagged in relief. “Thanks,” he said again.
Grace grinned. Two thank yous! Take that, trauma therapists. Maybe one molecular biologist is enough to cure PTSD.
Well, maybe I’m getting ahead of myself a little.
Simon’s expression turned slightly puzzled at the big smile, but he dismissed it as another Grace quirk. Grace wasn’t like anyone he ever met. He lowered his amputated arm slowly.
“Hold on, I want to put something on the rash,” Grace said. He grabbed a tube of something or other and propped up Simon’s arm gently.
Grace squeezed a dollop of the cream onto his finger and dabbed it gently onto the rash. Simon twitched.
Grace paused. “Does it hurt?”
Simon shook his head. Grace continued. Simon shifted again.
“Are you sure?” Grace asked.
“Yeah, I- it just feels weird,” Simon stammered.
“Weird how?” Grace murmured, finishing up with the rash cream as quickly as possible to limit discomfort.
Simon lowered his arm. “Like, itchy? But not like usual. It makes me feel kind of…warm.”
Grace frowned. “Hmm. Can I try something?”
Simon shrugged.
Grace ran his fingers gently around the rash. Simon shivered.
Grace chuckled. “Oh, I know what it is,” he said. “You’re ticklish.”
“I’m what?”
“You don’t know what that is?” Grace said in a shocked tone.
“No,” Simon said self-consciously.
“Huh,” Grace said, sitting back on his heels. “Tickling. It’s a nervous system response to protect vital organs. There are places on the human body that are more sensitive. If someone else touches them gently, you feel kind of tingly and often it will make you laugh. Different people are ticklish in different places.”
“Why…why would you do that? It sounds dumb,” Simon grumbled.
Grace smiled. “It’s like play. Kids do it. Sometimes people do it when they’re adults too. I don’t know, it’s just to be silly.”
“Oh,” Simon said, a punched-out sort of noise. Play. Not much time for that in Eden. That explains why he hadn’t heard of it.
Grace waited patiently for any further reaction. He started to pack up the medical supplies he’d used, giving Simon space.
“Can I try?” Simon spoke up.
Grace turned around. ”Hmm?”
“Can I try the tickling thing?”
“Oh,” Grace said, blushing slightly. He shifted to sit next to Simon instead of kneeling in front of him. “Yeah. Sure.”
Simon waited patiently, if a little apprehensively. There was a moment of silence. “Are you going to… do anything?” Simon asked. “Never mind, this is so fucking stupid, I—“
“No, hold on, it’s not stupid,” Grace said gently. “I just didn’t want to overwhelm you.”
“Okay,” Simon said. His voice was unusually small.
Grace ran his fingers gently on the same spot he had before, just on the side without the rash. Simon’s good hand instantly batted Grace’s hand away.
Grace paused, withdrawing his hand. “You good?”
“Sorry, instinct,” Simon muttered. Grace swore he could see a hint of red on Simon’s cheeks.
“All good,” Grace said cheerfully. He lowered his hand back to Simon’s side and squeezed gently.
Simon let out a choked sound, twisting away from Grace’s hand. “Wh- why does it feel like that?” Simon said, his voice a bit higher pitched than usual.
Grace chuckled. “It tickles,” he replied. “Weird, huh?”
Simon’s frown deepened, but so did his light blush. Grace took this as a sign to continue, knowing Simon was much stronger than him and could stop him if necessary.
Grace squeezed gently up Simon’s side again before landing a few pokes on Simon’s belly. Simon didn’t laugh, but a few more grunts and choked noises escaped his mouth.
“You’re not gonna laugh?” Grace asked, an endeared smile on his face. “You’re allowed, you know.”
“A-allowed?”
“Yeah,” Grace said gently, sensing that there was more behind this request than Simon was letting on.
It was quiet for a moment. Simon jerked again as Grace’s fingers played around his bellybutton, a blunt “hah” noise forcing its way out of his mouth.
“You say I’m allowed,” Simon grunted, “but don’t you gotta actually make me laugh first?”
Grace squinted, unable to discern if that was humor or a genuine question. He settled for humor, based on the set of Simon’s eyebrows. “Wha- are you saying I’m not doing a good job?” Grace exclaimed.
Simon looked up into Grace’s eyes with an expression of mild mischief.
“Wooow,” Grace said, a smirk spreading across his face. Internally, he was delighted that Simon was opening up and not being afraid to push back at him a little. “I can’t believe this. Mr. Big Scary Blood Ocean is provoking me for tickles.”
“No I am fucking not—“ Simon protested, but he was cut off by honest-to-God giggles as Grace squeezed up his ribs.
“Such a mouth on you, Si,” Grace scolded lightly. He dug a thumb into Simon’s pectoral muscle in retaliation.
“Ahaha- Si?” Simon grunted, squirming away and trying not to smack Grace’s arm with his good hand.
“You don’t like it?”
A few breathless laughs later, Simon replied, “It’s fine, I guehehess…”
Grace tormented Simon’s top ribs until the man was shaking and huffing with silent chuckles. He was impressed Simon hadn’t pushed him away yet.
“You‘ll tell me when you’ve had enough, yeah?” Grace asked.
“Y-yeah,” Simon said through gritted teeth.
“Hmm,” Grace hummed, switching it up to try scribbling down Simon’s neck. He immediately tried to protect it with his shoulder, making a hissing noise followed by a few nervous giggles.
“It’s funny, you’re making noises like you’re in pain but you’re laughing,” Grace observed in a murmured tone.
Simon flushed at being scrutinized. “No, it’s cute,” Grace assured him. This did not help with Simon’s raging blush.
Grace’s fingers migrated around the curve of Simon’s shoulder and snuck under his good arm, scritching gently along the soft hairs there. Simon jerked with a startled laugh, trapping Grace’s hand inside.
“Aww, man,” Grace said playfully. “I’m stuck.” He pouted comically, wiggling his fingers around.
Simon was beyond giggly. “Noho you’re not- gehet the fuck outta there- ahaha…”
“I’m 100 percent stuck and I can’t possibly get out,” Grace insisted with a cheeky grin. “Tickle tickle, Si…”
“What- why would you fuhucking sahay that?!” Simon exclaimed through a few snort-laughs.
“Ohoho, did you just snort?” Grace chuckled in adoration. “Uh- It’s like a thing you say. To tease the person getting tickled.”
“Why does it make it so much worse…” Simon whined.
Grace lifted his extra arm and found Simon’s other armpit, giving it the same treatment. “Because it’s silly, and it tickle tickle tickles!” He said in a goofy voice.
Simon endured about another minute of being tickled under both arms, doubled over as if in pain but giggling towards the floor of the ship. When he finally had enough, he twisted his torso sharply and essentially shoved Grace away.
Grace backed off instantly, his smile fading. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Simon said gruffly.
Grace nodded slowly. “You know, if you say ‘stop’ verbally, I will stop,” he said gently.
Simon looked up. “Really?” He hated how needy his voice sounded.
“Yeah,” Grace said. “Pinky promise.”
Simon looked at the proffered pinky, and then down in his lap. He seemed to think for a second. Then, he made a decision.
He offered Grace his amputated arm to meet the pinky in the middle, making Grace burst into amused giggles. “Sorry,” Grace chuckled. “I offered a one-armed man a pinky promise. Not my finest.”
Simon smiled despite himself at Grace’s laughter. A proud feeling expanded in his chest at having made him laugh.
“Thank you,” Simon said for the third time that day before he could stop himself. Grace just smiled.
He watched Grace collect himself, and he let Grace help him put his shirt back on. He felt warm inside. If this was Heaven, he didn’t want to come back to life.
He shook his head slightly to dismiss the feeling. He cleared his throat, smoothing his face into his usual serious expression. Simon trailed after Grace as he made his way to the lab—a part of the ship he hadn’t explored yet.
Grace looked back, surprised but glad that Simon was following. He continued walking, a new bounce in his step.
“So,” Simon said eventually when he was seated across from Grace, watching him fix a broken piece of lab equipment. “Do you talk to everyone like they’re a child, or just me?”
I felt like writing something with a lil kick to it today, gang. Been inching closer and closer to angst day by day LMAO. THE PEOPLE WANTED MORE BLOODYMARY. COME GET Y’ALL DINNER.
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Switch!Grace Switch!Simon
-
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.
-
“Ah! There you are. Good morning!” I call down the long, wide central hallway of the ship, raising a mug up towards my newest shipmate in greeting.
He… doesn’t acknowledge me. I frown, but I don’t take it personally. It’s the first time either of us had been around another human being in quite some time. We’re both bound to forget some basic courtesy once in a while.
“You’re up pretty early- did you sleep okay?” I come to a stop right beside Simon’s seated firm. His legs were bent into his chest, and his head rested against the curved wall of the observation window, staring out at the stars.
Was he… sleeping? Or just staring. I couldn’t really see his face from where I stood.
“Mornin” came a deep, rumbling voice. Spooks me every time. But, that proves he’s awake.
“Made you some coffee.” I said, extending a mug his way. When he didn’t turn to take it, I gently set it on the floor beside him, and backed away, taking a seat on the other side of the observation window, our bodies facing each other, both of us looking out the window.
A long, comfortable silence falls between us.
“Can I ask you a stupid question?”
“There’s no such thing as a stupid question.” I reassure, sitting up, and giving Simon my full attention.
“What’s that? Out there? That bright streak of light?” Simon asks quietly. I look out at the watercolor stain of gas and stars that painted its way across our field of vision.
“Oh, that there? That’s the Milky Way.” I say. “Well, one arm of it. The Orion Spur.”
“The Milky Way…”
“Right, yeah, our galaxy.” I say with a patient smile.
Simon stares at me like I’ve just suddenly started speaking French.
“The uh… the spinning, superstructures that-“ I sigh. I’ve lost him.
“One second.” I set down my coffee mug, stand up, and jog off to the lab to retrieve a whiteboard and a marker.
I didn’t know much about Simon at this stage of the game, but one thing I did know, was that he was not from our universe. I’m still trying to wrap my mind and my math around how he managed to jump from his universe to ours- especially with no subatomic consequences…
Maybe where he’s from, basic astronomy is lost on him.
“Ok, scoot.” I plop down right beside Simon, probably a little too close, but whatever. He slides over to give me some more room.
I bite the top of my Expo marker, pulling it off, and letting it drop.
“So-“ I begin crudely drawing an image of a galaxy on the whiteboard. “This here, is a galaxy. They are supermassive, gravitationally influenced structures that are made up of gasses, stars, planetary systems, and debris- all rotating around a central point.” I tap the center, oblong shape with my marker. “In the middle of every galaxy is what’s called a. Lack hole. These ones in particular are immense, but we can talk about those later.”
I look over at Simon to make sure I’m not losing him.
To my surprise, he was entranced, leaning over my shoulder with intense curiosity.
“There’s a few different types of galaxies out there- elliptical, spiral, peculiar-“
“Which one is the Milku Way?”
“Ha! Good question! We live in what’s called a ‘barred spiral galaxy’. That just means that the central bulge has a longer, more elliptical shape, as opposed to a more compact circular shape.”
“Huh…” Simon nods slowly.
I erase the image with my sleeve, and replace it with a sketch of the Milky Way. Something I was well accustomed to drawing for my class.
“So this here is the galaxy were in. The Milky Way. See how I made the center longer? Kinda looks more like a bar, right?” Simon nods.
I draw a large dot on one of the small arms of the galaxy. “That’s us! That’s where we live.”
“Kinda far from the center-“
“That’s a good thing. You really don’t wanna be too close to a black hole. Gravity gets stronger, time gets funky-“
Simon looks a little lost.
“Let’s shelf that for later. Here, look.” I point to another arm of the galaxy, one not too far from my “you are here” dot.
“That is what you’re seeing outside.” I say with a confident nod, handing the white board to Simon.
He takes it, looking for a long while at myrathee crude drawing, then back outside.
“How big is the Galaxy- if that’s all we can see?”
“Rough estimations put it at about a hundred thousand light-years in diameter. The actual, D25 isophotal diameter is 26.8 ± 1.1 kiloparsecs, is you wanna get fancy with it.”
“Iso..”
“It’s so not important, sorry. Just sick with the first figure.” I shrug.
“Alright. So… all galaxies are that big?”
“Oh, well there’s a pretty wide range of sizes a galaxy could be, but ours is pretty industry standard, yeah.”
“How many stars are in here?” He points to the Milky Way scribble on the whiteboard.
“A few hundred billion. Most estimations say between one hundred billion and four hundred billion.” I say.
“How do you just know that?”
“Teacher, remember?”
Simon hums in reply.
I stay quiet for a moment, letting Simon digest the information I’ve thrown at him.
“…Please- don’t take this as an insult of character, because I know you’re an intelligent guy- but… did you… have you really never seen galaxies in your home universe?” I ask cautiously. “Jeez that sounded really rude- I- I’m so sorry-“
“It’s alright. I’m not offended.” Simon shakes his head. “And no, I’ve never seen a galaxy. Or a star. Heard of them, but-“
I stare at Simon with clear confusion on my face.
“Did your home planet have like- a super dense atmosphere?”
“Planet?”
“…”
Simon shook his head.
“Space Station.”
“So wait- you lived on… a space station, but never saw a star or a galaxy…”
“That’s right, yeah. There- there are no stars or galaxies. Or planets.”
I stare at him.
“Cosmic void?”
“No. Everything disappeared. Ways way before my time.”
“…”
“Something happened. No one knows what or why, but 300 years ago… everything vanished. No stars. No planets. Nothing.”
Simon looks up at me.
“They called it The Quiet Rapture… My entire universe is empty.”
There isn’t a sentence I could think up to fully encompass the wide range of emotions I felt hearing that. Disbelief was a strong top note, followed my shock, and underlined with pity.
As long as he’s been alive, Simon had never seen a single thing in his night sky.
All the heavenly beauty, tantalizing mystery, impossible objects, unexplainable phenomena - everything that made the universe - my universe - worth pursuing an understanding if… simply didn’t exist for Simon.
I’m quiet a long time, and so is Simon.
“They never bothered teaching us about any of it. Since everything was gone, and there was no sign of it ever returning, there was no point in wasting time on the topic of ‘what once was’.”
“So- wait- back up. If everything vanished, how were there any survivors? How are you… possible, I guess?”
“Well, the only survivors were those that were already up in space stations and spacecrafts outside of planet orbit. I descended from those survivors.”
I hum in reply, looking over at Simon. He was in horrible shape. Better now than when we found him, but still, horrible. No condition a precious, 10th generation post apocalypse human being should be in.
“If you’re a descendant of some of the last humans in existence… what happened to you..? I mean- mutations aside, you were battered to help when we found you.”
Simon sighs, nodding slowly. “I had been convicted of a crime. As my punishment I was sent on what was essentially a suicide mission - sorry, homicide mission. I didn’t fully understand the stakes when I agreed.”
I nod along, feeling a pang in my chest at the idea that we had both been sent into space to die.
“…Im out here for a similar reason.” I say quietly.
“You’re a convict too?”
“N-no, no. I meant the ‘one way trip’ thing.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Yeah, my sun was dying. Dimming because of something humanity couldn’t figure out, and the last ditch effort was to build a ship, send it to the one nearby star that wasn’t dying and figure out how to keep the Earth from falling into an ice age.”
Simon hummed.
“Wow. And… what, only enough fuel for a one way trip?”
“Yeah…”
Silence.
“Well it was very noble of you to volunteer for the mission-“
“I didn’t.” I say, a bit more sharply than I intended. “I- there was an accident with some of the crew, and I… I had to take their place…” I avoided the details, opting just for a brief summary of my final days on earth. “Anyway, your mission- your… sentence?”
“Right, yeah- I still don’t remember everything that happened during my mission, but most all of my injuries are from my unconventional incarceration. He explains.
“Are you… okay-?” What a dumb question, Ryland.
“Well, I’m here now- it’s not rusty, doesn’t smell like iron, it’s bigger than a tin can, the aliens on board are friendly, and I can actually see what the universe is supposed to look like now. I would say I’m pretty okay.” He smiles at me reassuringly.
“Well, good. I’m glad you’re comfortable on The Hail Mary.”
I take a breath. “I can’t imagine how bleak and terrifying your universe must have felt. A-and your mission? I’m- so sorry.”
“…Are you okay-?” Simon tilts his head, looking over at me.
“What? Me?! Who cares! I’m more worried about you!”
“You’re crying.”
I hurriedly remove my glasses, rub my face with my sleeve.” “Ah-, jeeez, yeah I’m fine. Please, ignore me, I’m a crier.” I chuckle.
I look back up at Simon, who snickers at me.
“You’ve got a little somethin’-“ he points to my face.
“Huh?” I look down at my sleeve… I had wiped my face with the same sleeve I used as a whiteboard eraser.
I feel my face turn red. I must look ridiculous.
“Here- hold still.” Simon leans over, licking his thumb, and reaching over to my face.
“Ew ewewew EW-! Simon, gross-!”
“Oh calm down.” Simon chuckles, rolling his eyes.
I duck back, pushing at Simon’s arm, unable to help laughing at the stupidity of the situation. Especially on the heels of such a heavy conversation.
I think we both needed the levity.
“No-! Get away! You’re gonna annihilate my particles with your alternate-universe antimatter!”
“I thought we were past the whole matter/antimatter hurdle. Don’t be univercist.”
I lose my balance leaning back, and tumble on my back. Simon, without a second arm to brace himself, falls as well, right on top of me.
“Oof-! I’m not univercist, but I AM germaphobic. Get ohohoffa me!” I snap back, pushing uselessly at Simon, who’s begun laughing as well.
“Oh whatever, I was just trying to help. You look like a bandit with that smudge over your eyes.”
I scoff. “Whatever! “ I snap back.
In a last ditch effort to get him off of me, I reach down, and squeeze Simon’s sides a few times.
I forget about the nerve-dense gills that live on the sides of his body, wincing as the sudden contact makes Simon bark in laughter.
“hAHA-! AGH. WHAT THE HELL?!”
“Sorry, sorry! I forgot about the gills!” I raise my hands in surrender.
“Yeah I bet you did.” Simon pushes himself up on one arm - damn - and braces his shoulder against the wall for support.
Without a split second to process, I let out a shriek, body tensing up and Simon’s hand finds itself latched on my side.
“Oh what, you got gills here too?” He smirks down at me, the dark observation deck casting an ominous shadow on his face. Sharp, latticed fangs glowing dimly in the starlight.
“N-no-! I- AAAHAHAHA-!! NONONO WAIT-!” I howl as Simon’s hand balls into a fist, knuckles running up and down my ribs like a washboard.
My god he was aggressive-
“A-AHAHAHAHA-! OW- SIHIHIMON-!”
“Why are you screaming?” His voice dropped low, resembling something like the growl of a lion. My ears began to heat up, and I thrashed my head from side to side in attempt to shake it off.
“PLEHEHEASE- a-AHAHA- I CAN’T!”
“I’m just trying to prove to you that we’re not gonna annihilate if my atoms interact with yours. You’re a man of science. You should be all over this.” He teases, moving his hand to claw at my stomach, just as ruthlessly as he had been with my ribs.
“I- I’M SORRY! I DIDNT MEHEHEAM TO BE UNIVERCIST. I- AHAHA-! I TRUST YOU AND YOIR ATOMS!” I plead
“You’re not putting up much of a fight, Ryland.”
“I DON’T WANT TO THEOHOHOW YOU OFF BALANCE AGAIN!”
“Oh how considerate.” His hand moves down to my hip. I buck violently at the rough squeeze, crashing my back down into the metal platform with a rattling crash.
I grimace, letting out a groan. I hit the ground hard.
Simon pulls back, looking down at me with a flash of concern.
“Shit-! Are you okay?!”
I sit up slowly, grumbling like an old man as I do - a hand on my low back.
“Yeah yeah, I’m alright.” I nod. “Good lord- why do you tickle so hard?”
“It was not that bad, you’re just a baby.”
“I’m pretty sure you’ve bruised my entire left side.”
Simon snorts. “I can’t take you seriously with that ink still on your face.”
I scowl at him.
“Hey look, a shooting star.” I point out the window behind Simon. He takes the bait, turning to the window.
I take the chance to lunge at him, knocking him over, effectively switching out positions from before.
“Ha! Shooting Stars are space rocks burning up in an atmosphere! They wouldn’t even exist out here!” I smile proudly down at Simon, straddling him by the hips.
“My God you are SUCH a nerd.” Simon drones.
“Correct!” I grab at Simon’s sides again, this time avoiding his gills for the time being.
He barely reacts outside of a startled flinch.
“What?!”
I try again. He smiles at me. I squeeze a little harder. Nothing. I poke at his stomach. A snort, but nothing else.
“Are you seriously only ticklish on your gills? How’s that fair?!”
He chuckles. “I’m just better at keeping my cool than you.” He shrugs.
“I don’t like your attitude.”
“Sorry to hear that, Raccoon Grace.”
“Alright-“
I slide my hands up just under his armpits, and slowly rake my fingers back down his ribs, feeling the edge of each of his gills as I passed them.
Simon gasps, letting out a deep laugh that rumbled up from his chest, Immedietly thrashing and twisting under me.
“Wow, yeah- really keeping your cool.” I chuckle, struggling to keep myself upright.
“SHUHUHUT UHUHUP-! ITS A CHEHEHEAP SHOT-!”
“How is it cheap?!”
“YOU WERE THE- HAHA-! YOU WERE THE ONE THAT YOLD MEHEHE THAT GILLS HAVE A BUNCH OF FUHUHUCKIN’ NERVES-!”
I move one hand up to the smaller gills on the side of Simon’s neck, scritching gently.
“Oh was that me? Hm- yeah sounds like a science teacher thing to point out.” I shrug. “And so what?! That doesn’t make it a cheap shot. It’s a smart one.” I ramble on.
“AH- AHAHAHAHA-!! GODDAMNIT-!”
“Hm, maybe the neck was a cheap shot though.” I mutter. “Not as cheap as this though.” I push Simon’s face to the side, lowering myself down, and blow an obnoxious raspberry on the side of his neck, right over the vents of his gills
“AHAHAHAAA-!! RYHYHYLAND-! GET OHOHOFFA ME-!” Simon shouted through his laughter as I blew one more raspberry.
In what seemed like a sudden surge of strength, Simon grabbed me by the shoulder, hooked one leg around one of my own, and rolled us both over with impressive force, sending me tumbling across the floor.
Simon sits up, huffing and puffing, and I remain where I land, lying on my back, giggling like an idiot on the starlit deck.
“Good toss!” I say, slowly pushing myself up, and scooting back over to sit against the wall next to Simon once again.
We both take a moment to catch our breath, the silence of the ship scored by our heavy breathing.
I pick up my long forgotten mug, taking a sip of the tepid coffee, looking past Simon, out to the stars.
“Y’know, if you like looking at the stars, we can move your bed to the observation window.” I say, breaking the silence.
Simon looks over at me. “Wouldn’t that be a little cumbersome? Lifting the mattress out of the dorm?”
“Not if we disengage the gravity.”
“Hm- I didn’t think of that.”
I smile, tapping my temple a couple times as if to say “But I did!”
Simon shakes his head, chuckling.
“You sure that wouldn’t be too much trouble?”
“Not at all! We’ve got a long trip to Erid. May as well make sure everyone’s comfortable.” I say, lifting the hem of my shirt up to finally wipe the ink from my face.
“Good?”
“Mhm, good.” Simon nods, picking up my glasses from the floor. He leans in, gently replacing them on my face, pushing th upy nose.
I regain my clear vision, eyes focusing like the lens of a camera. Simon was inches from my face, one tired brown eye, and one slightly drooped crimson eye looked into into my blue ones. His hair falling in unkempt waves over his half scarred face.
I don’t say anything. I think I have a relatively neutral expression, but I’m sickly told otherwise.
“Are you overheating or something?”
“What?!”
“Your face is burning red-“
I quickly stand up, turning towards the hallway, and starting for the dorms.
“I’m fine! Let’s see about moving your stuff upstairs.”
