Crow

Bottom line? Both types of enjoyment exist and that's that. Adult sfw enjoyers arent secretly fetishists if they say they aren't. It's possible to love tickling in a nonsexual manner. It's also possible to love it both ways and differentiate how you feel. Everyone has their own unique experience and connection with stuff like this and it's fruitless to try and tell each other what we are and how we feel.

Everyone is valid and deserves to be here, and there shouldnt be this weird war between nsft and sfw >:(

Fandom: Iron lung and Project Hail Mary

Summary: How did he get here? It was a question Simon had asked himself a lot during his life, normally with a bitter tang. Lately though, that question has a different tone as he builds his new life on Erid, and forms a relationship with its only other human resident.

Words: 1004

Dynamics: SFW, Ler!Simon, Ler!Grace, Simon x Grace

———

How did he get here?

It was a question Simon had asked himself a lot during his life, normally with the bitter tang of resentment, anger, confusion, or the crushing unfairness of it all.

How did he get here, watching the very last tree of Eden shrivel and die?

How did he get here, fighting in a war and taking the fall for the actions of other men? Men who blew up Filament Station and didn’t have the decency to live to see the death and destruction they caused.

How did he get here, getting shuffled from a prison cell to an iron casket? Sinking to the bottom of a blood ocean and fighting for his life, fighting to simply stay alive please please god I want to live…

How did he get here, on an alien planet—a planet that should have been taken by the Quiet Rapture like the rest of them? Cut from the bowels of the iron lung and awakening in a geodesic dome filled with the soft sounds of a beach. Missing his left arm, gaining extra teeth embedded in his face, and left wondering what was fact and what was hallucination. Here, a place crawling with sentient rock creatures, and the piercing blue eyes of the only other human for light-years around—how did he get here?

Many of those questions would remain unanswered, taunting and grating in the back of his mind for the rest of his life. Others were answered by a soft, warm voice, admitting to only knowing part of the story but promising to help fill in some of the missing pieces.

It took time.

A lot of time, for the horrors of his life to dim a little, enough to start living.

It took time for his remaining arm to loosen, to resist the urge to hold up his fist and fight fight fight. Time to accept that he was safe here, he didn’t need to be so guarded. To allow a hesitant smile to find his face when he watches his blond-haired companion bicker with his rock friend. Even more time to allow himself to seek out Grace's company on purpose, to allow a friendly pat to his shoulder, to parry one of Grace's corny jokes with a dry one of his own.

It took time still to be able to shock Grace with a surprisingly gentle hug, given after a very thoughtful gift of a little sapling. To forget himself and laugh freely in Rylands presence—Ryland now, no longer just ‘Grace’—and cherish the returned laughter. To form a relationship where shy smiles were reciprocated, trust was threaded into every interaction, warm lips met warm lips, a hand finding a home in his hand.

All of this took time, yet he still can’t grasp the changes sometimes.

How did he get here, where Simon can allow himself to feel like a boy again, meeting every tease with one of his own? Where touch doesn't mean pain, but merely affection and stupid play. Where he trusts Ryland enough to let those two hands taser his sides again and again, until eventually the man pushes his luck one poke too far.

How did he get here, chasing Ryland across the beach, the man’s laughter ringing in his ears and a mischievous smile on Simon's face, retaliation firmly on his mind?

He decides for this moment he doesn’t care how he got here, not when he finally catches up to Ryland, his lone arm wrapping around the man’s waist and pulling them both to the ground.

“You don’t know when to quit, do you, you stubborn thing?” Simon growls playfully as he wrestles Ryland into a pin. It takes some maneuvering with only one arm, but he manages it: one of Ryland’s wrists trapped beneath his knee, the other held above his head in Simon’s remaining hand.

Ryland is still huffing from the chase, but his smile is unmistakable, and the flush in his cheeks has very little to do with the exercise.

“You just make it so easy,” he counters, and there’s laughter at the edge of his words.

“Easy?” Simon questions, his brow quirking up in offence but a grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I make it easy to taser me because I only have one arm?”

There was a time this would have been a sensitive topic, but not anymore. With Ryland, who makes him feel loved despite his mutations and missing arm, there is room for this playful teasing. Simon is secure in the knowledge that it stems from love and the deep comfort they have found with each other, and never malice.

Rylands smile grows, and he meets Simon’s eyes with a defiant twinkle.

“Yeah, basically,” he says, and juts his chin out, a nonverbal sign for ‘what are you going to do about it?’

Simon flicks his eyes up and down Ryland, considering his options. He knows what he wants to do, but doing it now might be difficult.

Ryland knows what Simon wants to do too. He flashes him a smug smirk and, apparently convinced he’s won, says, “What a shame. No arms left to tickle with.”

God, he can be such a brat. Simon loves it.

But he also can’t let that attitude slide, so when the idea strikes him, he acts on it immediately. Without fanfare, he lets Ryland see his grin grow a bit wider and more mischievous, and then ducks down.

He buries his face into the side of Rylands neck and unleashes a devastating onslaught of ticklish raspberries, kisses, and nibbles. He makes sure to get at his ears too—using the scruff of his beard to his advantage—and he basks in the explosive laughter and desperate squirming it causes.

A rumbling chuckle escapes him and joins Rylands shrieks and wild cackling—and while he presses his ever growing smile to Rylands neck to deliver another vicious raspberry—he has a thought.

He's not sure how he got here, but he's so happy he did.

———

A/N: … remember when I said I didn’t write for bloodymary? WELP. Listen, it’s not my fault. All the adorable fics and art on here have inspired me, even though I only saw iron lung once months ago. I had this image in my head of Simon pining Grace but not having enough arms to tickle so he has to get creative, and if I could draw I’d be unstoppable, but I can’t, so you get this. TAKE IT.

Anywho, I promise I’m writing the Ler Grace fic lol, it seems I just needed to torment him one more time. He's just SO Lee coded istg.

have some chibi bloodymary doodles bc some lady screamed at me at work and this cheered me up

Meanwhile, they're DELIBERATELY scribbling at your wing pits and nuzzling and muttering teases into the feathers.

If you don't feel like doing that just Lee Grace is fine hehe ^^

YES there is so little lee Rocky he needs to be knocked down a sassy peg or two sometimes please take this platter of zero gravity tickles

I headcanon that Rocky’s laughter just translates to just random chords and his habit of repeating words for emphasizing is just like.. tenfold