best of the best :))
(Open, Moderated)
Recent works
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Summary
Ed is an engineer aboard the Revenge, an interplanetary research vessel on a multi-year mission to study Jupiter's moon Europa. An accident requires that Ed awaken from cryostasis over six months early, and finds his only companion to be Stede, the ship's onboard AI. They develop an unconventional friendship, but is it possible to have more?
This is classic mutual pining with a sci-fi twist, inspired by all of my favorite stories about the nature of personhood.
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“You–” Ed was struggling to parse what Stede was saying. “You’re playing your version of this song for me, right now? Like, in real time?”“Yes, Edward, that’s correct,” said Stede softly.
Ed’s brain momentarily seized up. He supposed it made sense that Stede was capable of learning a set of rules to do something like arrange and play a piece of music. There was something unnerving about this song, though. It felt, well–it felt organic . Reactive. Almost collaborative in a way. Ed was lost in the push and pull of it, until the last notes softly petered out.
“So, what did you think?” asked Stede. It sounded nervous again. Why the hell would someone program an anxiety response into a bot?
Series
- Part 1 of Starry Eyes and Counting Down to Zero
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Through the crowd of swirling fabric, Stede spots what could very well be the most handsome man he's ever seen in his life. He's statuesque against the grand backdrop of the wall, tall and tanned skin, with a cropped beard and the gentle curvature of muscle prominent under the strong lines of his coat. His mask of choice is difficult to make out from this distance, but it's something close to canine, with thin, sharp slits for eyes, and then there's the matter of his hair—all curly and dark, with delicate, premature silver whispering at the temples, and much longer than anything Stede's accustomed to seeing amongst the upper crust. He has the sudden urge to pluck the ribbon holding the man's hair in a delicate ponytail free and run his hands through the ensuing waterfall.
Stede's cheeks go hot at the thought, and the effect is dizzying. He pulls at the cravat around his neck to loosen it, hoping for a miracle of breeze to cool him, and as he does—
The man looks back at him, and he's caught.
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“What do you want me to do with your face?”
Ed can think of several things. He has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from letting out a fucking giggle. Is he going to become someone who giggles, too? Iz might actually die. “Your call, Captain, this is obviously your thing.” And then, only because he can’t help himself: “Do whatever you want to me.”
“Oh! Well. That’s—well,” Stede stammers, turning a lovely shade of pink right before Ed’s eyes. Okay, that may have been a bit too much, then. Oops.
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That’s it. You’re alright. You’re just too damned gorgeous to die, aren’t you? Devil doesn’t want the competition. Reckon you could stick a pitchfork in me any day.
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In which Stede is a touch telepath, and Ed has been desperate for someone who understands him.
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"So what brings you out here anyway?"
Ed's out of the blue question at least answers Stede's anxieties about radio etiquette. He pulls the walkie from his pack and stares at it, deciding how much of his life he actually wants to share with this complete stranger.
"What brings you out here?"
or: Stede takes a job as a remote forest fire lookout in the summer following his divorce, with a plan to find out who he is, and what he wants his life to be. With the help of the enigmatic lookout on the other side of the forest, he ends up getting more out of the experience than he could ever have hoped.
Series
- Part 1 of seven point three miles
Recent bookmarks
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somewhere, somehow, you understood by Zelkumy
Fandoms: Arcane: League of Legends (Cartoon 2021), League of Legends
19 Jan 2025
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The first thing he noticed was the smell of sulfur and rot, gas leaks tinted with mercaptan, air dense, thick and hard to digest, worsening his nausea.
The second thing he noticed was the floor he was sprawled onto, cobblestone filled with holes that gathered puddles, the stone was slimy under his fingers, and his attire was stained by mud—over other things.
The third thing he noticed was a crushing hand to his neck and a punishing choke to his wind pipe.
or: Jayce meets the Machine Herald, and he makes him remember what loves feels like.
Series
- Part 1 of Communication is a skill we don't have
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Half a decade after Viktor leaves Piltover for good, a fragment of Hexcore permanently adhered to his soul, an old friend comes to him for help. This wouldn't be an issue, if the same old friend hadn't spent the last five years trying to hit him, very hard, with a really big hammer.
“You’re not real,” Viktor repeated, closing his eyes. Even with the knowledge that this was a dream, the gentle touch unraveled him. There was an impact crater where his heart should be.
The calloused pad of Jayce's thumb found the corner of Viktor’s mouth. “All right. I’ll bite – what’s your evidence for this hypothesis?”
Viktor smiled into the touch, felt it tug against Jayce's thumbprint. “Isn’t it obvious? You haven’t tried to kill me yet.” -
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Summary
In which Ford's attempt to survive entirely on caffeine and paranoia suffers some pitfalls, and things happen differently in 1982.
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Try Me Once More by Mackaley
Fandoms: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens (TV)
04 Mar 2020
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“Actually, can you do me a favor? No tempting. No sins. Just a way for us to spend some time together while I finish what I need to do.”
Aziraphale considered it and then nodded. “Well, I don’t see why not.”
“Can you pretend to be my wife?”
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Or, 9 Times They Get Married + 2 Times It Was Actually Real.
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Must he spell it out for him? “You could…” Aziraphale looks him up and down, then cocks his head towards the poncy fellow up on the balcony, raising his brows pointedly. “You know.”
Possess him? Crowley frowns and asks, “You think so?”
Aziraphale nods, eyes wide. The visual alone has instantly vaporized any alcohol content in his body.
“I—well.” Crowley considers it, then winces. “I haven’t actually poked inside someone since… oh, gotta be 71, I think. Antoine Gay. Bollocksed that one up.”
Aziraphale blinks, taken aback. In his (admittedly frequent) imaginings of Crowley in bed, he never envisioned him as the ‘poker’, necessarily. He seemed like he’d much rather enjoy getting poked instead. Repeatedly. Passionately. Perhaps up against an opulent pillar.