RozaLaii



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  1. Rec *

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    One Grace-sleep is not so long.

    It is not “night,” but Grace calls it night, and so Rocky does too. One human night. One third of one human day. One three-hundred-thousandth of Rocky’s life so far.

    This is what Rocky tells himself. He folds up on his xenonite shelf above Grace’s sleeping area, and he listens, and he fiddles with his clock, and he tells himself that it is not so long.

    ~~~

    Rocky has lived through the deaths of many of his friends. He does not want to lose Grace.

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    27 Aug 2026

  2. Rec *

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    “Grace can feel song, question?” Rocky asked, slower than usual. The cooing had lulled him, too.

    I… Maybe? Yeah,” Grace whispered, and Rocky had to focus to understand the slurring.

    “Humans can feel sound, question?”

    Grace huffed a small laugh. “Sometimes, yeah. For example, when the sound is… very low and loud, we can feel it in our chests.

    “Song is neither low nor loud.” That would have an entirely different effect.

    I know. I can still feel it, I think. It’s strange.

    “Good strange, question?”

    Good strange, yeah.

    Grace could feel sound. Grace could feel Rocky’s songs.

    Hmm.

    Rocky discovers nature's laws aren't as inflexible as they'd thought. He puts this to good use.

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    14 Aug 2026

  3. Rec *

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    It’s the same now, with Ryland. Frozen like a prey animal caught in a trap, a frog paralysed with venom; his traitorous body still shaking like a mutt from the leftover adrenaline and the sudden, overwhelming terror that, once again, he has revealed the brutality of himself, the ugly violence comprising the foundation of who he is, to someone he cares for.

    And once again, they will leave him for it.

    Driver almost kills a man. Ryland watches.

    This fic now has a sequel!

     

    Translations available!

    Vietnamese: STAY by Cua Nướng

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    10 Aug 2026

  4. Rec *

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    Hours later, Rocky wriggles awake. The pain has eased. His heartbeats have slowed. His cells are still functioning. There is no falling apart. He can hear the scritch-scratch of his five claws on Xenonite. He can hear the machines, humming their false song. He can hear the silent expanse of space. The distant stars. His friends, dead in the hull. And the building feeling, deep in every cell — every fibre of his body — that something is so incredibly wrong.

    Rocky knows this disease. Exhaustion. And all alone in space, there is no cure.

    It is a primal requirement that Eridians sleep only under the trusting gaze of their companions. Rocky spends forty-six years alone in space.

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    06 Aug 2026

  5. Rec *

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    06 Aug 2026