I was really confused at first why bloodymary had become a ship, as I am with most cross media ships/cross media content in general. I thought they were just both movies where a man was sent on a one way mission and fans had seen that and thought, "but what if they had each other," kind of in the same way they'd made parallels between Simon and Laika—they had nothing to do with one another but there were shared similarities. And I didn't think too much into it, just cause all the content was cute and made me feel a bit happier about how everything went down for Simon.
For the most part, I don't interact with cross media content cause my little lizard brain can't comprehend it—like yeah, a world in which the Winchesters met the Cullens would be compelling, but the way those two universe operate, they don't have any real cross-compatibility. But I understand that fandom doesn't operate that way for everyone, and the lack of compatibility wouldn't drive people absolutely insane the same way it did me.
And then I watched Project Hail Mary, and I saw that the compatibility of these two universes was not impossible, that they both literally revolve around the stars dying, but Iron Lung could just be in a much more distant future, or even an alternative timeline where any number of things prevents Ryland's findings from being discovered and then used (or, even, a universe where it is found, by the astrophage evolves and is no longer predated by the amoeba).
Either way, loved those movies, love this ship, and I need to see Markiplier wrapped up in Ryan Goslings arm.
Post Script-any good Bloodymary fanfiction recommendations would be greatly appreciated.
I’m not good at writing sorry, and English isn’t my first language. First smut ever as well.
This second part is here!
“I don’t have a partner.”, is what you say to your mom when she starts asking details about your personal life. Understand her, she’s worried you might end up like that one crazy aunt who lives with countless cats. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
She’d say she gets it. No truly, she does. It’s just that she doesn’t want people to think there’s something wrong with you.
See, you’ve never been with anyone else long enough. You dated guys back in high school and college, but it wasn’t… how could you say it? Concrete.
Just a hobby or something you do because you feel forced to. Because truly, you’re not interested by human. All the times you lie in bed with a guy, every time they "fuck" you or made "love" to you, you weren’t truly there. There’s always something missing to your puzzle.
Until you pay a visit to your concerned mom, a few meters away from a private beach. You’d sneak in at night. You toss all your clothes on the sand and jump into the waves. It feels nice, you let yourself relax and float around.
You’ve heard of hybrid creatures before. It’s rare to witness such things outside of the city or specific farm, where they are created. You’ve never heard of sea hybrid creatures before, though.
So, when you swim back to the shore, you’re surprised to hear a distant male voice singing.
It’s beautiful, otherworldly melody. You turn around and notice a silhouette surfacing from the darkness. With the moonlight blinding you, you can’t make out his face but as his voice rises louder, you know it’s coming closer.
You step back, you’re still wet and naked. You don’t have time to dress, just take your belongings and leave. But, you can’t. You feel drawn to him, to his melody. You want to hear him sing more. Louder and clearer.
Slowly, your feet walk you back to the waves. Inside your own body, you’re now an empty shell and you need to be filled with his voice. Your senses are numb, everything is distorted and blurry.
The man extends his arms to you, long yet neat claws await you. As your waist immerses, he comes closer to you and finally reveals himself. He is tantalizing, his hair sails along on his neck and shoulders ; you wonder how could his hair be dry already if he just emerged. His ruby red eyes detail you with a fierce hunger, of what kind you have no idea.
He strokes you cheeks with a tenderness that doesn’t match his cold attitude. As his song ends, your senses collide with your mind and chorus…
“Danger!”
Your fear stand on end, to his amusement. You see yourself watching your mom’s cat toying with a spider, a smile on your face. You try to leave, to scream but he holds you still as his claws scissors your flesh. “He’s not moving at all”, you thought. What a tragic yet romantic way to die.
The man leans over you, your nipples rub his chest. His skin, if you look attentively, is covered with thin scales ; gills stripe his trapezius muscles. His fresh lips brush yours. You gasp, and while lips parted he slips his pointy tongue inside.
This can’t be happening, you just needed air not to get abducted by a sea hybrid. But what can you do against a creature like this. The way his fingers pinch your nipples has your crying for more. You never felt like this before, so aroused and wild in the arms of any partner. Maybe this is it, this is what you needed all this time.
The merman could feel you like each part of your body was confessing to him. How neglected you’ve been your whole life, and he is more than willing to concede to your desires.
He swims you both to the shore, his tail whips waterspouts effortlessly. With delicacy, he lay on top of you. His hair hangs over your visage, you can’t look away from him. You’re falling in his trap. But you don’t care.
Not when he breaks the skin of your throat and drinks your blood out of it. Not when he leans over your breast to suck both your nipples. And not even when his head sets above your pussy as his laps at the wetness running down your entrance.
You’re shameless, really. Your mother has reasons to be worried about you, and you know. But you don’t care about finding someone to please her expectations. It’s alright if you stay alone for one more year. Right now, you’re feeling something, and this something is melting your insides in the best way.
So you’ll let this merman fuck you senseless if it means feeling something for once.
He’s doing great, more than great actually. His tongue do wonders, but seing how long it is, you’re not surprised. He sucks your clit, his wet muscle rolls around it ; he even give it kitten licks to drive you crazy.
“Fucking yes—!” You catch yourself laughing yet moaning like a whore. His hands caress the skin under you thighs then push your knees to your collarbone. You’re exposed to the night, to the moon and his ruby red eyes. You see him devour your cunt with his eyes, ropes of drool drop on you before he gets back to work. You push his head deeper, he hums softly, approvingly. The vibrations make you cry louder, but who cares, it’s just you and him.
You feel yourself coming, it’s dangerous –outrageous even. You feel your limbs jumping and cold sweat rippling to your core. But the merman holds your thighs, he grounds you to the sand as the tidal wave between your legs violently crushes you. You don’t recognize your own voice, and you have no idea of the mess you just created.
“You’re so good, so good.”
Stars illuminate your vision, your back is arched as far possible. You’re recovering slowly, but you both aren’t done with one another yet. He lets go of your knees then crawl on top of you. This time, you kiss him, you rolls your tongue around his and suck it, you caress his cold skin.
He takes your hand and guides it to a wet slit. You don’t understand at first, you thought he was a male. Not that you mind at this point. Until you push your index through his open to touch something hard.
He moans, his forehead rests on you shoulder. He keeps the hands stroking him in place while his other hand possessively hold your hips. He’s soaking wet down there. You lean forward, your lips brush the slit and you swear he whines. With your tongue toying his underlying erection, his melodious voice rings through your body. Slowly, not one but two cocks arise. The base are shy pinkish but the pointy tip are raging red. You meet his eyes, needy and desperate.
With both of your hands, you pump his cocks suggestively. He throws his head back, hissing under your touch. He says something but you don’t understand his foreign language. He kisses you fondly while you keep working his sensitive area. He squirms, his groans tell you everything you need to know. You feel him twitch and before he comes, you bottom out his cock down your throat. The merman hisses and pushes your head to the base. Ropes of cum fill your stomach.
You cough, out of breath but he isn’t satisfied yet. He pushes down and mounts you once more, with his cocks out. He didn’t waste time nor did he give you a warning. He bottoms you out like a fierce beast.
“Ahn fuck!”
His hips rolls around yours, sensually and effortlessly. You hold on him for dear life as he beats your cunt with his cock. You can feel him inside spreading your walls. You can take so much, you try to roll to the side, but he presses your head against the sand. He’s fucking you hard, he drags his cock out painfully slow then slaws his hips to the bottom.
“Fuckfuckfuck!”
The pleasure feels unreal, you never felt that before. Yet it’s happening, he’s rearranging your inside.
Cold hands flip you over, one leg rests next to his gills. He has you open like a book, before pumping your pussy. The merman watches your eyes cross as he fills you to the brim.
He takes his other cock and push it inside your already full pussy. Your eyes widen.
“Wait! I can’t— I can’t it’s too—!”
But he does not listen, he pushes himself down your sucking walls. He pinches your nipples and thrusts deeper and deeper until his cocks bruises your cervix. Your whole body is bouncing on his cocks, it’s so fucking good. You don’t even understand how this is possible.
His thrust gets messier and wet, his breath is shallow. He kisses every part of you he can reach, licks and sucks your skin with energy. You’re almost there, you can feel it. Your legs shake uncontrollably, you bite your lips to hold back the huge orgasm building up.
But does want you to, he gives hard hips thrust as he speaks into your ear.
“Cum.”
Hips thrust.
“For.”
Again.
“Me.”
Fuck!
You can’t hold it anymore. A few seconds later, you’re squirting all over his torso. Your mouth is shaped like a O as you let out a silent scream. Your head falls back on the sand, you can barely keep your eyes open. Your consciousness is drifting away.
He keeps fucking you, his climax pulses in his veins and while your walls are still soaked and tight, he chases his orgasm.
He moans in your ears, his voice ignites another fire in between your legs, making you both come. This time you’re sure someone heard you, you both are way too loud. He hovers over you, his red eyes hold a love you weren’t expecting.
But you see how he keeps thrusting even after his came.
“What are you… doing?”, you pant.
But he doesn’t answer, you feel him shooting loads after loads of his semen inside your sucking pussy directly inside your womb.
Until he pushes past your cervix, making you whine. He takes his other cock and strokes it while his pumping cock feels you with something big.
“What is this?!”, you want to take it out but it’s not moving. His tip inflates to pump you with eggs and make sure you’d take it like a good girl.
The hybride massages your breast and hips while another egg stretches your womb. You watch your belly bulging with eggs and the merman pumping you full. When the hybrid pump his last baby inside you, your final orgasm makes your overstimulated body jolts.
You’re out of breath when he finally pulls his cock out of you. He strokes your cheeks, his eyes observing your belly before he starts crawling back to the ocean.
“Wait, where are you going?”
He stops before his head disappears in the darkness.
“When it’s time, come back here.”
Then he dives in the water. Like nothing happened, not like you were fucked and impregnated by a wild hybrid.
warning: lots of period sex, pussy eating, and blood. You have been warned!
A/N: I’m on my period and wanted to write something horny and comforting…
Werecreatures/hybrids are already going insane when you ovulate, but once you start bleeding they can’t resist properly mounting and mating you. You’re their sweet mate, and they both want to breed you and help with the pain by fucking you and eating you out until you’re too tired to think.
Vampires of course are immediately drawn to your pussy, the smell of your blood making them drool. Some are pushing your panties to the side the second you start your period, knowing before you do. They become attached to your pussy, and possibly save some of your blood for later once they’ve had their fill. They especially love to save your cum that’s mixed with period blood, finding the taste exquisite.
Mermen get extremely protective during this time, afraid you’ll attract some underwater predator that thinks you’re easy prey becuase you’re bleeding. They’ll get horny, but are more focused on protecting than procreating. They will slip into you and sing to you as they fill you will cum, though!
Androids are immediately worried, fussing over you as they scan your body to check your health status. They give you medicine, keep you in bed, and fuck their fingers into you to help soothe your bloody cunt. They sink their synthetic cock into you, claiming it’s to help with your pain, but really they just want to fuck that pretty pussy of yours and hear you mewl like never before.
Nagas stay coiled around you, struggling to understand your strange body and why they feel so horny and protective over you during this time. It makes them anxious, and they’re extra clingy as you keep their cock warm. They’re strangely fascinated by the way blood oozes from your pussy while they bounce you lightly, and definitely end up tasting it. They get addicted to it, now you have a needy, pussy drunk naga on your hands. At least it makes you feel better to cum while you’re cramping…
Incubi/demons of course become sex crazed, and you don’t get much rest while they’re keeping you pinned down. Your pussy is always puffy and abused during this time, and they lick up every last drop of your blood, seeing it as a sign that you’re healthy and ready to make love and produce offspring. After your period they become the clingiest, most doting partners ever and feel kind of bad that they went insane while you were menstruating.
I wonder if there are any Vulcans that have a "human kink"
Like humans are basically the complete opposite so its looked down upon to be with a human but I wonder if certain Vulcans are turned on by it...
Imagine your Vulcan boyfriend having to go home to tell his parents that he's dating a human and plans to marry you. His parents are completely shocked and can't believe that they have raised their son to be with a human.
Or maybe there are certain Vulcans that just find the smaller demeanor of human women attractive, the average Vulcan height is 6'6 so possibly they like the vulnerability of humans
i love grace-rocky-adrian poly, don't get me wrong, but i don't think it should be instant. i think it should be hard, i think they should struggle, i think it should take work.
rocky was gone for about a fourth of the time he and adrian were a couple. what's it like to wait 50 years for your mate, not knowing if they're alive? was adrian close to the families of the other crew? was there any kind of support group? was adrian the last one holding out hope for a return?
and then what's it like to wait so long, with everyone thinking they're in denial, only for their mate to beat the odds and come home? except he's deeply traumatized and single-mindedly focused on the alien he brought with him.
rocky a frantic, rushing mess between mission debriefings and worrying about grace. how long is it even before rocky and adrian get to talk? really talk. does adrian attend rocky's thrum and hear everything that happened and want to talk to him, connect, reach out, but rocky can't leave grace alone for longer than he absolutely has to. apologizes, promises they will, but he doesn't stop moving towards the space elevator.
adrian understands what's going on. logically they do, but that's all it is. logic, rationality, information, empathy. but that doesn't change the way they felt all this time, the way they feel now. it doesn't bond them to grace.
but adrian does feels gratitude towards grace! they're bursting with relief and joy and endless thanks for him both solving the astrophage problem and bringing their love home to them. that he sacrificed his life and risked the certainty of his own planet's salvation to do so.
but also, in doing so, grace has stolen rocky from them.
adrian is kind to grace, respectful towards grace, works on grace's biodome as hard and as seriously as they can. but that doesn't mean they love grace. and even if they do, that doesn't erase the pain.
and what can adrian even do with this pain? what are the social implications? eridians mate for life, so adrian has to find a way to make this work. can adrian talk to others about it, or do they fear appearing ungrateful? their mate was the only one to survive, why do they complain?
will the other crew's family still accept them into their support circle, or does rocky's survival change things? will adrian be asked to leave because their presence is a painful reminder? because adrian is talking about something else now?
do people hate adrian because rocky couldn't fix it, couldn't save them? do people take their suffering out on adrian because they can't take it out on the savior? does adrian become a buffer between rocky and the real world's criticisms and critical questionings and doubts?
what's it like to be the beloved mate of erid's savior? what social pressure are they put under? what's it like for your species to see your relationship as a poetic love story? what's it like for the planet that saved your people to be named after you?
what's it like to be constantly told how lucky you are, even when your mate never leaves someone else's side? do people see rocky and grace together and feel sorry for adrian? are people angry at rocky on their behalf? angry at grace?
...isekai, implied child abuse, reader have system.
You learned the rules of this place before you learned its language well.
Do not stand where a drunk can see you. Do not answer when angry adults call your name. Do not touch food unless you plan to swallow it immediately. Do not cry where anyone can hear you. Do not look like you are hiding anything, because people here notice weakness before they notice blood.
You still got hit, of course.
Everyone got hit by someone. Fathers hit because they lost money. Mothers hit because they were afraid. Older children hit because they could. Neighbors hit because they were bored. Strangers hit because the streets taught them that hurting first was safer than waiting.
You had been in Nostramo long enough to stop thinking that tomorrow might be different.
At first, after you woke in this world, you screamed for help until your throat felt raw. You shouted for police, for neighbors, for anyone normal. You begged whatever god had made this mistake to send you back. The first time you did that, your father in this world slapped you hard enough to make one ear ring for hours. Your mother waited until later, when he slept, and beat you for making noise that might bring trouble to the door.
After that, you learned faster.
Now you knew which floorboards cracked and which ones only groaned. You knew how long it took your father to finish the cheap bottle he hid under the sink. You knew your mother moved more quietly when she was angriest, which meant you had to watch the shadows beneath the basement door instead of listening for footsteps. You knew how to hide bruises when older boys dragged children into alleys to steal, hit, or worse.
You also knew that this city never became morning.
The sky stayed black every hour you had ever seen it. Sometimes the clouds turned lighter where distant fires reflected against them. Sometimes lightning broke open the dark for a second and showed the city exactly as it was: towers like rotten teeth, roofs packed too close together, cables hanging loose, water running black in gutters, and human figures moving quickly whenever there was anything left worth stealing.
Then the darkness closed again, and the city returned to its usual shape.
You stood outside the basement entrance and pressed a piece of broken tile against the wall..
The stone there was already covered with scratches, lines, and crooked marks. Some belonged to you. Some were older. Some might have been made by other children who no longer lived in the basement, or no longer lived at all. You dragged the tile down once more and added another thin white mark to the row.
You had stopped counting what the marks meant.
At the beginning, they were days. Then they became proof. Then they became habit. Now they were only the action of someone who needed to leave something behind, even if it was meaningless.
Rain tapped the back of your neck and slid under your shirt.
The basement door behind you remained half open, and the smell from inside drifted around you in waves. Wet fabric. Mold. old oil. Human waste. Cheap disinfectant. Rotting food. The basement held all of it and never let anything out except people worse than when they entered.
You glanced over your shoulder before stepping away from the wall.
No one called after you. No one cared enough to ask where you were going.
That suited you perfectly.
You withdrew a little farther into the narrow yard between buildings, keeping close to the wall where the broken drainpipe dripped. If your father woke early and noticed you were gone, he might come looking. If your mother reached for you and found empty air instead, she might decide you had stolen something. Either way, getting caught outside without a reason meant getting beaten. Getting caught too far away might mean not being allowed back in at all.
Being abandoned in Nostramo was not freedom.
It only meant that everyone could do whatever they wanted to you.
You moved through the back passages instead of the street. The alleys behind the housing blocks were narrower, filthier, and safer than the open road. People preferred places where they had room to chase, trap, or drag. These passages were clogged with pipes, rusted bins, broken furniture, dead vermin, and puddles that could have been water. Nobody wanted to move through them unless they had to. You did, so you used them.
Your bare soles knew where the sharp glass usually lay.
Your hands knew which walls would cut skin if you touched them.
Your ears stayed open for footsteps, voices, and the scrape of metal. Guns existed here, though you had only seen them from a distance. Knives were more common. Hands were cheapest. You had seen enough children come back missing teeth, fingers, or speech to understand how little it took for a body to become damaged beyond repair.
You turned the next corner and let yourself breathe again.
This part of the district backed onto a dumping ground that the city pretended was organized. Trucks came at irregular hours. Men unloaded crates, machine parts, spoiled food, chemical drums, medical waste, broken furniture, and things wrapped in sheets. The sheets did not always stay closed. Dogs came when there was meat. Children came when there was wire, cloth, bottles, or anything that could be sold. Gangs came when there were children.
You came because no one in your household followed you there.
The garbage yard had corners even the desperate disliked. Pools of standing water collected in pits. Sharp rebar pushed out of concrete. Steam rose from cracks in the earth. The smell could force tears from your eyes if the wind changed too quickly. It was private by the standards of Nostramo, which meant only a few people passed through each hour.
You slipped behind a collapsed fence panel and stepped into your corner.
Someone had once burned something large there. The ground was blackened, the wall nearby had peeled, and the heap of trash around it had sunk into itself. Broken containers surrounded the place like dead shells. A cracked pipe above you dripped rainwater into a metal basin turned on its side. Nothing valuable ever landed here. That was why you loved it.
You crouched and looked around one last time.
No voices. No footsteps. No breathing except your own.
Good.
You closed your eyes and said the words inside your head.
A burger and a bottle of cola appeared in your hands.
Even after all this time, the sudden weight still gave you a small shock.
It had happened by accident the first week, when you were hungry enough to hallucinate. You had thought about hot food from your old life with such desperate focus that a warm paper-wrapped sandwich had simply appeared in your lap. You had stared at it for a full minute before devouring it. The next day, it happened again. After enough testing, usually while half starving and hiding, you discovered the rule.
If you asked in your mind for a simple food you knew well, it appeared.
Not always. Not endlessly. You could not summon money, tools, medicine, or clean clothes. You could not ask for ten things at once. You could not make large meals or impossible items. But you could get enough to stay alive and keep the worst hunger off you. You had laughed the day you understood it. Then you cried, because a power useful enough to stop you dying slowly was still not useful enough to get you home.
You unwrapped the burger and took the first bite.
The bread was soft. The meat was greasy. The cheese had that artificial taste you used to ignore. The onions were sharp. The sauce was too sweet. It was perfect. It was disgusting. It was ordinary. It was the best thing you touched all week.
You swallowed another bite and listened to the rain strike metal.
Somewhere beyond the wall, men shouted over the hiss of machinery. Farther away, a siren rose and then cut off abruptly. Not ended. Cut off. That was different. You had learned that difference as well. Sounds in this city did not always stop because the event ended. Sometimes the sound source was destroyed first.
You finished the burger and tipped the cola back.
The cold fizz burned your throat and made your eyes sting. You drank every drop. Once, in your old life, you would have called the drink unhealthy and too sugary. Now it tasted like something almost sacred. When the bottle was empty, you crushed it flat with both hands and tucked it deep beneath the blackened trash.
Then you crawled under the broken pipe and opened your mouth to the rain.
You rinsed carefully. Swished, spat, and repeated the process until the taste of salt, grease, and sugar faded. Then you rubbed your fingers with mud, rinsed them too, and scrubbed at your lips. No smell. No shine. No trace.
That part mattered as much as eating.
You had never forget.
You stood, wiped the water from your eyes, and prepared to return.
You had stayed outside just long enough to quiet your stomach and your mind. The basement would still be there. The people inside it would still be cruel. The city would still be waiting to cut your throat if you stumbled at the wrong moment. Nothing improved while you hid in your corner, but at least you could survive until the next day and the day after that.
Your right foot had just shifted toward the gap in the fence when the world changed.
Something screamed overhead.
It was not an engine sound you recognized. It was sharper, heavier, and too sudden. Instinct made you drop and cover your head before your thoughts caught up. A second later, impact hit nearby with a force that punched the breath out of your chest. The ground jumped. Metal shrieked. Fire flashed white through your eyelids. Then sound arrived all at once and turned everything into pain.
Something struck your shoulder.
Something else hit the side of your head.
You were thrown forward and slammed face down into wet filth.
For a few seconds, you heard nothing except a high, piercing ring. Your mouth was full of grit. Your nose burned. Heat washed over your back, then faded enough for the cold rain to cut through it. You coughed, pushed up on shaking arms, and felt blood run down from your hairline past your ear.
“Damn it,” you muttered, then said it again louder.
Your own voice sounded thin and distant.
You rolled onto one knee and turned around.
Where part of the garbage yard had been, there was now a crater.
It had torn open the ground between heaps of waste, broken concrete, and stacked drums. Twisted sheets of metal burned around the edges. Fragments still fell from above in slow, hissing arcs. A nearby support post leaned and then collapsed into the hole with a burst of sparks. Rain met fire and became steam. The steam mixed with smoke and rising dust until the whole scene looked blurred and unreal.
Then a sound cut through all of it.
A child was crying.
You froze.
The cry came again, thin but strong, somewhere near the center of the pit.
Every part of you reacted badly at once. Panic tightened your lungs. Your stomach turned cold. Your legs tried to step backward before you even chose anything. This was exactly how people died here. Things fell from the sky. Fires brought witnesses. Witnesses brought gangs, scavengers, patrols, or killers. If someone saw you near the impact, they could blame you for anything. If you touched the wrong person, you might be accused of stealing from them. If powerful people wanted whatever had landed, then being nearby would get you shot, beaten, or disappeared.
Nothing in Nostramo was more valuable than your own life.
The crying continued.
You stared at the pit and thought of the basement.
If you delayed too long, your father might notice. If he noticed and you were not there, you might lose your place inside. That place was filth and pain, but it had a door, walls, and a corner where you could sleep if you made yourself small enough. If you lost that, then the city itself became your household. Plenty of children lived that way. Most of them did not live long.
You took one step backward.
Then another.
The child cried again, and this time there was a wet choking sound mixed into it. Very young. Very alone. Not old enough to crawl out. Not old enough to understand fire, falling debris, or the type of men who would come investigate.
Your jaw tightened hard enough to hurt.
You did not want this. You did not want responsibility, danger, or a reason to stay. You did not want a stranger's problem in your hands. You were already using all your strength to remain alive. The correct decision was obvious, ugly, and practical.
Run now.
Get beaten later.
Choose the beating.
You actually turned your body toward the alley.
Then something flickered in front of your face.
You jerked so hard you nearly fell again.
A pale rectangle hung in the air before you, bright and clean in a way nothing in Nostramo had ever been. It was translucent around the edges and perfectly still despite the rain. Letters formed across it in neat lines, sharp enough to read even through the drifting steam.
For a second, your mind went completely blank.
Then you read the text.
Welcome, host, to your journey to save Konrad Curze.
Your first mission: Rescue the infant Konrad Curze and ensure his safety.
Reward: +2 points to any attribute, +1 random dish to the menu.
Eridians cant "hold their breath" like humans do, their vents dont close completly so water can still get in, if they fall in water they drown and die. safe to say rocky is not a fan of when grace does it for fun xD
(i got the inspo for this from this fic: Enrichment by alatarmaia4, please check it out it is so funny)
Rocky is absolutely down to throw hands with his entire planet to get his best leaky space blob friend whatever he needs to survive! Now that is a best friend forever!!!
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