this blog is very messy and not very active. will organize eventually.
i am quite new to tumblr and i'm still trying to learn how it works.
a very beginner fic writer
always looking for new friends, don't be shy!
i like criminal minds, doctor who, good omens, supernatural, stardew valley and a lot lot lot lot more but those are the mains.
i have recently discovered i have a proclivity towards tickling. if you find it strange so do i. but i will be using this space to explore it. thank you and have an amazing day 💗
GIYS IM ACTUALLY SO SORRY I TRIED TO DO THE COOL THING WITH SIMOINS TEETH BUT I LVITERALLY COULDNT DO IT WITHOUT IT LOOKGN WEIRD I NEED TO FIGURE THAT OUT
https://x.com/sillyguy300/status/2061303897130402288?s=46 look at how cuteee
I SAW THIS POST ON TWITTER GENUINELY ONE MINUTE BEFORE THIS ASK WAS SENT JSKKKDIDJNND omg. i was just going through the artist's stuff. they're so talented.
so cute i sploded 💥rip grace doomed to lose every play fight for all of eternity forever
Oh god, where to start You have MAJOR baggage Mommy/daddy issues GALORE, so much trauma to fill a whole season You cry every time you get hugged Oh and you're probably the most on screen abused character, sorry! Tumblr would defend you with their LIFE and I can't even mention the fanfics, the fandom is dividend between wanting to comfort you or to explore your trauma so much it would make a therapist cry"
୨ৎ I THOUGHT THAT I WAS DREAMIN' (WHEN YOU SAID YOU LOVE ME)
⤷ summary: ryland likes to stay up. you like to keep him company.
⤷ tags: ryland grace x reader, fluff, 1.5k words
⤷ prompt: "literally if u wreck ryland dead i’ll buy u flowers <33"
⤷ author's note: literally no one asked but i love frank ocean
"yeah." you laugh before he's consumed by his own anxious thoughts. "i'd like that."
"okay." he whispers, a promise splashing in the cold air.
"okay." you echo as his hand circles your waist, thumb brushing over your hipbone, guiding you to his seat like a fiery lantern in the darkness.
it strikes you as intriguing, the way ryland grace is undoubtedly a night owl. his ability to stay up for hours past midnight, pondering over his scientific discoveries is both admirable and incomprehensible to you.
late in the night, you're up for a cup of water, and a quick trip to the bathroom. light radiates from ryland's workspace, constant in the way the earth circles the sun. gentle clinks and clatters echo where he researches deep into the night.
he tries not to wake you. you wake anyway.
you don't mind. not even a little. you like watching him work through your bleary, half-awake eyes. it's silent, and peaceful. therapeutic, even.
he doesn't notice when you peek through the gap, the lights of the hail mary illuminating his silhouette with a golden glow. the blonde strands sit on top of his head, shimmering like a halo.
it becomes something akin to a ritual: you'll pull on a pair of cotton socks so your feet don't snag on the floor. gliding along the surface, the occasional beep from machinery causes your heart to jump.
you do find it hard to make up new excuses for the growing dark circles under your eyes, however, and though you know ryland wouldn't mind having a late-night lab partner, it's obvious that he would usher you to bed immediately, caring for your well-being far more than his own.
sometimes, the sound of ryland's soft snoring drifts into your ears.
you'd grab a blanket, sneaking into the laboratory, skipping past the part of the floor that always creaks, and place a blanket on top of ryland's rising and falling breaths. you'd always take his crooked glasses off of his face, stifling a giggle when you see the trail of transparent drool at the corner of his mouth.
you don't do it every day. not at first, at least.
but these visits become increasingly common, until you spend hours sitting cross-legged outside ryland's door, drowsy and fatigued and still, unable to look away.
you spend half the time thinking about how nicely his glasses frame his face, and the other half wondering how his ears never seem to hurt from the temple tip digging deep into his flesh.
when he glances up, you duck. your presence probably doesn't go unnoticed, though: you can tell by the way he's smiling at the now empty crack of the door.
you feel ashamed, somehow. like you're intruding, cutting through the quiet, cool atmosphere of the ship and the matchless bond between ryland, and his beloved molecular biology.
tonight is no different. you're on one of your late night treks when a shadow hovering in the hallway stops you dead in the tracks.
"i've seen you. watching." it says. scrutinising, but not commenting on the way your throat lumps nervously when you swallow.
"sorry," you say. "did i bother you?"
"no, no." ryland steps forward into the light, and his face is illuminated- he's smiling, like the thought of you having the ability to pester him in the middle of the night is laughable.
"so- um." you fidget with the ends of your hair, messy and tangled from slumber. "i guess i'll go back-"
"wait!" ryland says quickly. too quickly. "do you want to... maybe stay up with me?"
you realise that he's given this some thought, the spark of eagerness in his eyes giving him away. he's scared, nervous. like the thought of you rejecting him and going back to sleep would kill him.
"yeah." you laugh before he's consumed by his own anxious thoughts. "i'd like that."
"okay." he whispers, a promise splashing in the cold air.
"okay." you echo as his hand circles your waist, thumb brushing over your hipbone, guiding you to his seat like a fiery lantern in the darkness.
ryland's lap acts as your seat, his right arm draped over your waist. barely there, but pulling you gently backwards so you ease into him.
you can sense his heart beating at the back of your spine. you're too exhausted to watch whatever he's doing, but your fingers tinker with the small hairs on his arm, trailing where his blueish veins are visible.
you move down to his fingers. they're smooth. heavy. you trace the warm lines of his palms down a path and the the body behind you suddenly goes very still.
you can hear ryland's pulse patter faster, and faster, until his heart is racing. you keep going, painting paths along his hand and he flinches. you feel a shaky inhale travel from his stomach across his torso.
he's ticklish.
suddenly, you're wide awake. but you don't want to inconvenience him any more than you already have, so you muffle a giggle into the soft sleeve of your pajama top.
"what's so funny?" ryland looks at you. you don't miss the traces of pink at the tip of his ears.
"nothing." you attempt to school your facial expressions into neutrality.
he knows that you know. he lands a soft squeeze at the side of your stomach where his hand rests, making you yelp. you're too drained to retaliate, so you let it go, and he lets it go.
you drift off, soon after, to the gentle rhythm of ryland's steady heart, and the incessant growling of the spaceship.
you don't notice when a blanket is wrapped around you, nor when a certain scientist presses a soft kiss on the top of your head.
it's a shame ryland never wakes up in the morning, though.
despite how understanding you are to his tendency to work into the small hours, you can't bear his insistence to stay in bed for "five more minutes". it's gone on for a full hour.
you can't imagine how he finds such comfort in the bumpy mattress, and the endearing silence from the night before has eviscerated in response to his unintelligible grumbles and protests, causing you to descend into a type of indescribable rage.
"ryland." your patience is long gone. "i need help with the centrifuge setting."
he doesn't respond.
you swear under your breath.
and now, the fucker decides to look you dead in the eye, awake and all, and utter the patronizing word.
"language."
"are you- oh my god- you're kidding." it's hard to put into words the kind of aggressive frustration that overcomes you at the moment.
you take his unacceptable behaviour into account when you climb onto the lump of ryland on the bed, perching on his hips.
he blatantly ignores you.
"last chance," you say.
silence from the other end.
you shove your hands into ryland's ribcage through the blanket and he jolts, stuttering giggles bursting out of him. it's so cute, and uncharacteristically ryland, that you can't help but coo at him. he blushes at the sound, writhing under your touch.
his movements are slow and clumsy, and lethargic, and his lack of sleep does nothing to help. he squeezes his eyes shut like he can shut out the feeling, but pries his eyelids open the second your fingers travel to the middle of his stomach.
"noho," he sniffles, a persistent smile tugging at his lips. "nohot thehere, plehease."
"and why should i listen to you?" your fingers dart under the blankets, then under his shirt, stopping for anticipation. a pair of blue eyes widen in response. "you never listen to me."
ryland pouts- pouts and your heart melts at the sight. it only intensifies the need that gnaws at you, though- the need to tickle him within an inch of his life.
you begin to trace patterns over the soft skin of his stomach and his laughter hitches when you hit a particularly sensitive spot. he's giggling now, really giggling, a wheezy, choked sound that erupts out of him.
"yohu arhe soho dehead." the words come out stuttering and slurred through hiccups and it's mean, you know that, but you can't help it- you giggle at his ridiculous state. the redness on ryland's ears migrates to the apple of his cheeks, swirling patches of pink living on the surface of his skin.
"are you gonna get up?"
ryland doesn't respond. wow, he's persistent.
"you really want me to tickle you, don't you?"
ryland stares at the ceiling, an unwilling giggle bubbling up his throat. you take the bottom of his chin between your fingers and tilt his face so he's looking at you.
he flushes a crimson shade, and you pinch his cheek. he's so fucking cute. you press sloppy kisses over the soft skin of his neck, and he shrieks right into your ear.
"ryland!" you scold. "are you trying to make me deaf?"
"sohorry- i'hm sohorry- noho, DOHON'T!" his rambling apologies do nothing to deter you when your thumbs latch onto the crease of his hipbone, rubbing tiny circles and he squeals. he's batting at your fingers uselessly, and his usual strength has somehow evaporated.
"and what have we learnt today?" you smile as you emerge victorious.
"ih'll gehet uhp nehext tihme!" ryland's trying to speak through his broken giggles, and the sight is so amusing to you that you land a few extra pokes on his torso. he twitches at each one, his face crinkling in mirth.
all your effort's gone to waste, though. you're still sleepy from the night before, and when ryland reaches up to hug you, your back tightly pressed against his chest on the bed, you fall into unconsciousness almost immediately. the centrifuge lies on the bench, long forgotten, and it beeps in protest.
this, too, becomes a ritual after your late nights: ryland's refusal to rise, your half-hearted attempts to wake him, and the way you inevitably end up fast asleep with him anyway.
neither of you acknowledge that this is a weak excuse to feel close to each other; nor when you’re pressed up against the warmth of ryland's arms, it finally feels like home.
dialogue inspired by @wren-kitchens fic!! this was so stinkin cute and the dookiepost comic does not do it justice. i took the liberty of making gracehorror bc i found it funny.
💬 7 🔁 26 ❤️ 105 · i can see what you're doing (and it's working) · 3746 words
i’ve always been a fidgety person—tapping on any surface de
Kinda a short one tonight, gang I do apologize... This idea just sorta popped into my head on a whim earlier so it’s not as fleshed out as my other stuff.
BIG fan of the sibling dynamic of these two, and I had to write it out. EHHEHEHEHEHEE ENJOY ENJOY
🚨 TW: mentions of alcohol/being tipsy. Not to an absurd degree, but be aware!
Lee!Grace Ler!Stratt
Grace is bored, and just a little bit tipsy. Instead of going to sleep or doing ANYTHING else, he decides to bother Stratt to entertain himself. She’s thrilled…
“Stratt.”
I nodded in greeting, pushing my way into her office, and flopping down on one of the chairs.
“Dr. Grace.” Stratt nods back, typing away at her desk.
“Im bored.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that, Dr. Would you like for me to find some more work for you to do?” Stratt’s tone was flat, and she didn’t look up from her laptop.
There was next to nothing to do on Stratt’s Vat after hours. Once the labs closed for the night, it was either drinking and shouting in the lounge, or bedtime.
I spent a little while in the lounge already tonight, but nothing particularly interesting was going on, and I had already reached my two drink limit, so here I am. Bothering the only other person I knew would be awake at this hour, and not getting wasted.
“Oops, sorry…sorry about that…” I mutter as I knock a book from the shelf in attempt to pick out another one.
Stratt sighs at her desk.
“Trigonometry… wow. Tough stuff.”
“You are an expert in physics, molecular biology, and astronomy.”
“Yeah, but trig is still… pretty tough stuff…” I slide the book back into place, but jostle the others in the process, creating a domino effect down the row. I manage to catch it before everything falls over, standing like an idiot, arms outstretched to full wingspan, holding the books together on the shelf.
“Is there something I can help you with, Dr. Grace? Or are you just planning on knocking down and rearranging everything on my shelves and making noise while I try to get world-saving work done?” Stratt’s tone snapped, slamming her laptop close and meeting me with a cold gaze.
“…you didn’t save what you were working on.” I mutter, pointing to her computer. She groans, opening it back up again, grumbling something in German under her breath. Probably something about how cool I am, I’m sure.
“No one else is awake-“
“The majority of the crew is awake, and in the lounge.”
“-Hold on! Lemme finish! I was gonna say, no one else is awake and not blackout drunk, or halfway there. I don’t feel like being in that scene.”
“You drink.”
“Yeah, okay, but like… occasionally- like one drink every once in a blue moon. I literally watched Ilyukhina drink an entire Grey Goose by herself in two hours.” I say, controlling the slight slurring of my speech while I righting the books on the shelf.
I back away slowly, making sure everything is stable, before taking my seat back on the chair.
“Well if you do not feel like being in the lounge, there is a small library and an adjacent computer lab on level two, port side.” Stratt suggests.
“Why can’t I just hang out with you?!” I slouch in my seat, rolling my head back, and spinning the chair in a circle with my legs out in front of me.
“Because, Dr. Grace, I’m busy.”
“You hate me.”
“That is not true.”
“No, I think you do.”
I sigh dramatically, continuing to spin around and around. I know I’m probably being excruciatingly annoying, but I don’t care.
“You’ll make yourself sick spinning like that.”
“So you do care about me!”
“I care about you not throwing up in my office.”
I sigh, skidding to a stop on my heels. I stand up, meandering over to Stratt’s desk.
She looks up at me without raising her head - a sort of Kubrick stare, as I lean over the front of her desk, peering at her computer from above.
“Whaddya doing, anyway?” My beanie slides off my head, onto her keyboard.
“You smell like vodka.”
“I had a half a glass, leave me alone.” I had two glasses… “You ignored my question.”
“So you’re drunk and you thought bothering me was better than staying in the lounge.”
“I’m not drunk!” I giggle like an fool, still leaning over the desk.
“Lightweight. No wonder you are here pestering me like a little brother. I am trying to finalize plans for the launch site pad-“
“Holy crap is that you?!” I blurt, cutting her off, distracted by a framed photo on Stratt’s desk that appeared to depict a young, teenaged Stratt standing in the front of a group of other kids, all wearing Jiu Jitsu gis.
I pick up the photo before Stratt has the chance to take it off the desk.
“No way! You know Martial arts?!”
“Yes, Judo and Jiu Jitsu, does that shock you, Dr. Grace?”
“Not in the slightest. If you told me you were an army ranger and a Kung fu master as a side job, I’d believe you.” I chuckle.
“Look how tiny you were!” I coo, pointing at the young redheaded girl in the photograph.
“Put that down, please.”
“Can you still fight?”
“If I had to, I could.”
“Who’d win, me or you?” I ask with completely unfounded confidence, setting the photo down.
Stratt looks up at me with a flicker of fire in her eyes.
“I would. You aren’t a fighter.”
“Oh come on, I’ve got a fighting chance!” I shrug. I sure did not.
Stratt stands up, closing her computer again, without saving, and comes around the other side of the desk.
“Then let’s see.” She gestures to the empty area of carpet behind me. I turn to it, then back to her.
“Wh- here? Now?”
“Yes. You’ve possed me off and now I’d like to prove you wrong. Lets go, grappling stance.” She shrugs off her cardigan, and gestures for me to assume position.
“What’s that mean?!” I put myself into a sort of movie ninja defense pose, admittedly a bit nervous.
She shakes her head, lowering herself into something of a crouched position, and gestures for me to follow suit. I do, to the best of my ability.
“It’d be smart if you took your glasses off.” She warns.
“What? AaAAH-!” She doesn’t even give me a chance.
Stratt runs at me in a few, long, calculated steps. She grabs my left arm, slinging it over her shoulder, her head under my arm.
She drops to one knee, and in a powerful yank, flips me over her back, straight into the carpet with a thump.
I wheeze, the wind momentarily knocked out of me as I lay there in shock.
“Good Lord-!” I cough out, one hand on my chest. My other arm still in Stratt’s grasp.
“You almost killed me!”
“I flipped you from a low point, you’ll be fine. I could have flipped you standing up.”
I groan, as Stratt stands up, dusting off her pants.
I take the opportunity to grab her by the shin, attempting to… flip her somehow..? Knock her down..? I’m not too clear on the objective, but it didn’t work.
She kicked free of my grip, grabbed my arm, and spun me onto my stomach, bending my arm behind my back, a leg swung over me to keep me down.
“OooowwWWWWW OW OW, OKAY!”
“Do you tap?” She droned.
“NO- nnNNEVER!” Now was not the time to be stubborn, Ryland.
I used my free arm to try and inch forward on the ground, desperate to wriggle free without giving up.
“AAAAHAHA! ThaHAT IS NOT FAIR!”
I shout as Stratt pinches me under the arm, sending my arm straight back to my side.
“It does not matter, this isn’t a teal match.” She says, pinching all the way down my side.
I sputter and snicker, kicking my legs behind me.
“IT IHIHIS A MATCH!! A-AHAHA!!”
“No, it is more like sparring with a stuffed animal.”
“RUHUHUDE-! AH AH AH! N-NOT THERE NOT THEHEHERE!” I gasp frantically, back arching off of the floor as Stratt drives a knuckle into the muscle of my low back. I let out a sort of raspy, out of breath cackle with the little air I have left.
“My god you are ticklish like a child. Your back? Seriously?” Stratt groans.
“I CAN’T HELP IT, I- AHAHA OW!! LET MY ARM GOHOHO IM LOSING CIRCULATION.”
“No you’re not, I’m not cutting off blood flow.” She scoffs, not letting up at all.
“AAAAAAAAAH IM DYING.”
“Tap out.”
“OKAY OKAHAHAAY I’LL SAY IT. LEMME TAHAHALK!”
Stratt pauses, lifting her hand from my back, giving me a chance to speak.
I take a moment to catch my breath…
“…You forgot to save your document again.” I mutter into the carpet.
Stratt growls in annoyance, shifting her hand to squeeze my hip. Hard.
“AAAAAAAHAHAHA IM SOHOHORRY!! IM SORRY PLEASE! YOU WIHIHIN! OW, WOMAN! MY AHAHARM!”
“I don’t win until you tap out.” She moved up to the back of my shoulder, where it meets the curve of my neck, vibrating her fingers into the flesh through the thick yarn of my sweater.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! ALRIHIHIGHT I TAP. I TAP.” I slam the ground with my free hand feverishly, and as promised, Stratt let go of me, sitting back, with a leg still swung over me.
I heaved for breath, turning my head on the ground, facing the door just as it opens.
“Everything All Right in Herr? Heard… screaming…”
“Carl…” I wheeze.
“We are fine.”
“Get her offa me Carl…”
“He challenged me to a spar and I proved to him I can beat him.”
“She tried to kill me…”
“Oh hush, you.” Stratt drove two fingers into either of my sides.
“AaaAAH! I TAPPED. I tahahapped! Stohohop that!”
Carl chuckles, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“I’m not helping you with this. You picked this fight. I know my place.” He said.
“I could beat you if I wasn’t drunk.” I mutter into the floor.
“He’s drunk?” Carl mused.
“On ‘half a vidka’ apparently.”
“Okaaay it was twoooouh…”
“That’s all it took? Lightweight.” Carl snorts.
Stratt pushes herself up, using my back as leverage, probably just to stick it to me. I wheeze, rolling into my back as Stratt stands up.
She reaches a hand out to help me up.
“No, you’re gonna rip my arm off.” I mumble, pushing myself up with some effort. “Devil woman…” I mutter.
“What’s that?” Stratt shoots me a look.
“I’d like to apologize…” I squeak out, flinching before fully standing myself up.
I wobble a bit on my feet, standing disheveled with my sweater rumpled, one pant leg hiked up my shin, hair a mess, and glasses hanging by my chin.
Stratt tosses me my hat from her desk. It hits me in the chest and I don’t react.
“Yeesh… Carl, walk him back to his bunk please, I think he’s done for the night.”
Carl nods, waving me over. “Come on. Go sleep off those two vodkas.” He says.
I nod sheepishly, shuffling off.
“Rematch when I’m at 100%?” I murmur as I walk to the door.
