#Small Home Solar System

[maybefae]

Messages From Your Forever Person

Pile 1 - Pile 2 - Pile 3

Remember, this is a general reading and it may not resonate for everyone or completely. Tarot is a tool to help guide but you are responsible for your actions and life, you choose your path.

Just a note!: I don’t like doing general love readings because I don’t feel like they are as personal as, well, personal love readings, but I had the urge to make one. Your forever person can be what you consider your significant other, long-term partner, or future spouse.

Tips!

|Pile 1

Tarot: King of Pentacles, The Fool, Ace of Pentacles, Three of Pentacles, Black Numen, Six of Wands, Knight of Pentacles, Three of Swords, Ace of Swords, The Star, Ten of Cups (Bottom of the Deck:

Oracle: Uplift, Forgiveness, Consistency

You know how the planet Jupiter is the defender of our solar system? How Jupiter pulls asteroids away from Earth and even take the hits itself? That’s the energy of this person. As soon as I pulled the cards, I got the feeling of comfort from a strong and stable energy. I must say, this person also has a comforting smile and as soon as you look at them, your nerves will instantly be soothed. They feel like they are standing beside me, hands in pockets, as they watch me write this. They could have a favorite cream cable knit sweater that they like to wear as soon as there’s a chill in the air. 

They are very patient and have the mentality of “it doesn’t have to be perfect, it just has to be done”. You could suffer from anxiety, but I feel this panicked and shaky energy coming from you. I don’t know if you used to be yelled at or punished for doing something wrong by a parent or partner, but it feels like you are terrified of doing anything around your forever person at first. And there are cards here that are telling me that you have been hurt in the past. It seems like this could be the first safe and healthy partner you’ve had. This could just be the first partner you’ve ever had and now you're 20/25+ years old and you don’t know what you’re doing, which brings out this anxiety towards this relationship. But your partner here holds a lot of patience and comfort for you! They really love you. Honestly, this is really fucking close to unconditional love (which is rare). They hold no judgement towards how you operate now because of your past, absolutely not. And they want you to know that. It’s like they have told you this but you continuously don’t believe them, which does hurt them a little ngl. The Jupiter reference could be what this was for. They will take the small hurts you do but persistently and consistently show up until you believe in their love for you. And it’s not that you don’t know, but there is a voice in your head that makes you doubt often even if there isn’t proof of those thoughts. 

God, pile 1, they love you. They are such a steady energy. They are also very stable in the physical and spiritual realms. They are a very hard worker and would do anything to help your dreams become a reality. Your dreams are their dreams and vice versa. They really just want a peaceful home life with you honestly; they like the simple things. I think a good personality reference would be the husband to the pregnant wife in Kiki’s Delivery Service. 

They really want me to drive home the message of forgiving yourself, pile 1. Sure, your actions or thoughts do hurt them sometimes, but they don’t really want that to be the focus. They want you to be aware that they do but in a way to help you heal. They aren’t your past partner, they aren’t going to react like your parent, they aren’t playing you just because you haven’t had a partner. It’s heartbreaking that you would dare to even compare them to others. Maybe this person hides a lot of their hurt not to upset you and this is a hurdle that they have to work through. It’s only really coming out towards the end so that’s why I want to say that. 

I think this message was to let you know how the beginning part of your relationship will be like. They just want to make you aware of it, maybe so you can comfort the insecurities you have so the beginning won’t be as difficult.

|Pile 2

Tarot: Ten of Swords, Queen of Pentacles, Six of Swords, The Hierophant, Three of Pentacles, King of Cups, Three of Cups, The Sun, King of Pentacles, Seven of Pentacles, The High Priestess, The Moon

Oracle: The Moon (again!), Wept Breath, The Chariot, Vulnerability, Divinity, Sacred

Before I pulled the cards, I heard six months to a year or eight weeks. I don’t like to do timing but that’s what I heard. So if that feels right to you, then take it. Or somewhere between a waning crescent and a waning gibbous moon.

Honestly, they are just happy to be here. I think they were ready to give up on love after so many failed attempts and heartbreak before you came along. And you honestly could’ve sworn off love too but you saw them and was like “I want that one.” This is the black cat, golden retriever pile. Raven and Beast Boy, Maleficent and Diaval, or Roger Rabbit and Jessica Rabbit. 

The vulnerability oracle strongly comes from your side. It does come from theirs but they admit that they were practically enchanted by you. “The idea of giving up on love was a stupid idea on their part, sorry your highness, that was my bad.” They just folded and they would happily fall under any love spell you send their way. They are obsessed with you, in the most healthy way possible. They are banging the table with their fist, credit card in hand. There’s an energy that you were in the same room with them and kept your eye on them because you were drawn to how “pathetic” they were. You couldn’t help yourself so you gave in. There’s also an energy of “of course, you’re the fated one to be with me.” You two end up talking and you could kinda bust their balls a little, tease and be a little sassy, but they keep up with you and “pass your little test.” 

I don’t think they were necessarily a player in the past but they had quite a few lovers and most of them played your person. They could have the vibe of one just from how cheeky and flirty they are but those thoughts are soon squashed with you seeing how pathetically devoted they are to you. They are just a lover at their core, they like to keep things light and fun, but they also know how to be serious and fix any issue that comes up in the relationship. They would truly do anything for you. This could come from an insecurity of not getting the love they needed from their past partners so they are overcompensating to keep you in love with them. :( 

Are these the older daughters/siblings that I usually get? There could be something here that they have a pretty put-together family and you’re the first partner that the family actually loves. You could honestly get the love and care that you missed out on with their family. 

God, I keep seeing your partner looking at you with the biggest heart eyes and they do this all the time, which could make you so flustered. This could be one of the things about them that honestly gets you to melt a little and lower some walls you have up. This feels like a love that you probably didn’t get to experience in your teen years but this will span on until you're old and wrinkly. They will carry the “honeymoon phase” through the rest of your lives. You know those videos that people make of their parents being in love and fooling around? That’s you two! 

There’s just an overall feeling of excitement coming from them. They could talk about you a lot to their friends and family, but not in a bragging way. They are just so happy with you and thinks you’re the most beautiful person they have ever seen. I heard “A wish I didn’t know I was wishing for.”

|Pile 3

Tarot: Two of Cups, King of Swords, The Hermit, The Fool, ? Dreamworld (reconnection), Six of Wands, Two of Wands, Four of Pentacles, Five of Cups, The Chariot (rest, feeling at home)

Oracle: Serenity, Sincerity, Respite, Surrender

If this resonates, this could be a lover you had that had passed away.

For others, this pile is for the ones who believe in lifetimes before the one you’re currently living. Energy is recycled after all. This is the more mystical pile. 

Your person here has a large energy and could come off as cold and intimidating. They have come to me wearing all black, leather boots, and darker hair. They have very muscular arms and a broad chest, very tall. They could be goth. This could’ve been them in the past life or that is how they show up in this lifetime. They have their head down as they stand beside me and there is an energy of wanting you to know they are here. Their soul does watch over you and guide you but they may stay quiet and don’t give you many signs or messages that they are around. But I suppose they came through today to say hi! 

They are very protective over you and they think you’re a ray of sunshine that graces their life. They aren’t one to show many emotions nor really speak them out, but you accept this and know that you are deeply loved. They know you doubt that they even exist or if they are coming or if they love you and so they are very hesitantly showing up through this reading to say that “I’m on my way” and “just sit tight.” They could have a deeper voice. They could give you reassurance if you ask for it, by the way! They want me to specify that so they don’t come across as heartless. I think you’re the only one that they truly love with their whole being and they do make it known, but if you need a little verbal reassurance, all you gotta do is ask. They are a cat person.

There is something here that you may have lived in timelines where they never got to exist in, like it has been a long while since you two have been together. I heard, “I waited for the right time.” There could’ve been timelines where your lives probably wouldn’t have worked together or it was going to end in tragedy “like the one I met you in.” So they had to wait. And they watched over you through each timeline. Everytime you didn’t get to live a happy lifetime or if your partner of any lifetime didn’t treat you right, it would make your person terribly upset and they couldn’t do anything about it. They are very upset while they show this to me, angry and frustrated. But this lifetime is the one where you two will finally be together. 

You could feel like you are meant to be someone, like a little void spot where your soul is…and you could be waiting out until you meet this person. You actually could’ve done this for the past three lifetimes (which you probably lived more happily than others). And this could’ve been a lifetime where you planned to do the same thing, but your person is coming in. You will be suspicious but you will probably be very enamoured by them. They are different than others and stand out to you. I think they like to rub your back because I just got the feeling of someone doing that to me. They let you be your bubbly and lively self and actually love that about you. They have complete trust in you. They may be on the more quiet/shy side but you two work together perfectly. You two can rest easy in this lifetime. 

Dividers: @inklore

[v6quewrlds]

imagine joe coming home to your baby.

author's note⠀⁎⠀the vibes are so sinister on here so here's some fluff. part two to this blurb that y'all screamed at me for.

The click of the garage door echoed through the quiet house as Joe's car pulled in. She looked up from her book, the dim light of the bedside lamp casting shadows on her face. She glanced at the clock on the bedside table; surprised to see that it was already past midnight. The Bengals' first road game had gone late into the night, and Joe had texted her that the team plane was delayed.

Her heart fluttered as she heard his key in the lock and the gentle thud of the door closing. She set the book aside and sat up, her eyes searching the darkness for a glimpse of him. Joe appeared in the doorway, his broad frame outlined by the moonlight spilling through the window. He looked tired but there was a softness in his eyes that spoke volumes about his relief to be home. She couldn't help but smile at the sight of him, his backpack slung over his shoulder, the scent of his shower gel still lingering faintly in the air around him.

"Hey, babe," he murmured, his voice thick with exhaustion.

"Welcome home," she answered back, her voice low and warm.

Joe dropped his bag and shuffled over to the bed, his movements slow and deliberate. He leaned in to kiss her, the tips of his fingers tracing the curve of her cheek. "Did she go down easy?" he asked, nodding towards the baby monitor.

She nodded, her smile pulling at the corners of her lips. "Yeah, I could tell she missed you though. She was glued to the TV, bouncing around in her jumper, babbling every time she saw you with your helmet off."

Joe chuckled, the sound warm and comforting in the stillness. "Yeah, my mom sent me a video. How was she with my parents?" The mattress dipped slightly as he sat down, the weight of his weariness seemingly lifting off him. She shifted her position, her arms wrapping around his waist, her chin resting on his shoulder.

"You know she loves them," she said, her voice filled with affection. "They had a blast. She even tolerates being held by other people when you're not around." She kissed his jaw lightly before adding, "But she definitely prefers her daddy."

Joe leaned into her touch, his eyes drifting over to the baby monitor. He could see Amara's chest rise and fall rhythmically, the little angelic face a picture of peace. "I thought we'd be back in time," he said with a sigh. "Wanted to tuck her in, tell her goodnight."

"I know," she soothed, her hand moving to the back of his neck, her fingers gently massaging the tension there. "You can go check on her if you want? Make sure she's okay?"

Joe nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. He turned his head to kiss her once more before standing up and making his way to the nursery. The door creaked open softly, Amara's little face illuminated by the solar system nightlight on top of the dresser. He stepped in, the plush carpet muffling his footsteps. She looked so tiny in her crib, her tiny hands balled into fists, her eyes scrunched shut in a deep sleep. He leaned over the rail, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. Her skin was warm and soft, and she smelled faintly of baby powder and vanilla.

He lingered for just a minute more, adjusting her purple onesie as gently as he could before turning to leave. She was waiting for him in bed, her eyes closed but her breathing not yet even. He slipped under the covers, pulling her closer into his arms, and whispered, "Goodnight." Her response was a sleepy mumble, her body immediately curling into him.

He wasn't sure when he drifted off, but the sudden shrill of the baby monitor jolted Joe awake. The digital clock on the nightstand read 3:17 AM, a stark red in the darkness. She stirred beside him, mumbling something incoherent. He nudged her gently. "I got it," he whispered, slipping out of bed and into the hallway.

The nursery door was slightly ajar, and the light from the monitor cast a soft glow across the room. Amara's cries grew louder as Joe approached, his heart swelling with a mix of concern and love. He picked her up, her tiny body wriggling in his arms, and sat down in the rocking chair. He cradled her close, her warmth seeping into him, and began to rock back and forth, whispering soothing words into her ear.

"What's going on, pumpkin? Did you have a bad dream?" Joe's voice was low and gentle. He rubbed her back in slow, circular motions, his thumb tracing the line of her spine as he waited for her sobs to subside. Amara's cries grew quieter, turning into hiccups before she sniffled and nuzzled into his chest. He could feel her tiny heart beating against his own, a rhythm that never failed to soothe his own racing thoughts.

"That's better," Joe murmured, kissing the top of her head. He held her close, the rocking chair squeaking softly in the quiet room. Amara's eyes searched his face in the dim light, and he offered her a small smile. "I missed you, princess," he whispered, his voice hoarse from the post-game fatigue. "I'm proud of you for being so good for Mommy. She told me you didn't give her any trouble while I was gone."

She woke to the sound of Joe's hushed speech, her sleep-heavy eyes focusing on the empty space beside her. She glanced at the baby monitor and saw Joe rocking Amara in the nursery. A warmth spread through her chest, watching him in that moment, soothing their baby girl with such tenderness. She slid out of bed and tiptoed down the hallway, the soft glow from the nursery guiding her.

As she approached the nursery, she caught the sound of her daughter babbling softly, and Joe's soothing whispers. She could see his profile in the moonlit room, the love, and dedication etched into the lines of his face as he rubbed Amara's back, pressing soft kisses to her cheeks and forehead between his words. The scene was so intimate, so beautiful, that she almost felt like an intruder, despite it being her own family. She leaned against the door frame, taking in the sight of her husband and daughter, their bond strong in the face of the brief separation.

Amara's eyes grew heavy, and her breathing evened out as she drifted back to sleep in Joe's arms. She stepped forward, watching as Joe carefully set her down and made sure she was snug in her crib. He took a moment, his hand hovering over her tiny chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breaths.

[brokeyourbones]

DP PROMPT

Danny wants to be an astronaut. It's been his dream since he was a little kid, and everyone knew about it. I mean, just one look at his bedroom and you'd know.

Posters about the stars and galaxies were everywhere, he had a map of the solar system taped above his bed.

One of his favorite things to learn about was the history behind how people begun to explore space. And one of his favorite stories, despite its bittersweet end was Laika.

A stray dog pioneer, sent up into the great unknown, despite knowing that she wouldn't come back. The amount of times he cried over this dog was insane. Learning that the technician kissed her nose before she got suited up, that one of the scientists brought her home the night before her exploration so she could play with her kids.

Danny had written one of his favorite papers on Laika and got an A+ on it. After his...incident, he could sort of see himself as Laika.

Sent into a great unknown place. Not being able to ever fully return to what you once were. It was comforting to know that there was someone out there that understood him.

Danny was watching the stars again, in the park late at night. It was one of the few times he got to just...be himself. He had his telescope all set up, and began to look for the planets.

He paused as he looked at Jupiter, seeing something small, lying atop its rings. It seemed to notice him too; turning its head. Danny froze falling backwards as it jumped toward him, through his telescope, as if it were a mini portal.

Danny felt a soft body land on him and he groaned, looking down at his lap and seeing a startlingly familiar dog laid across his lap, a smile on her face. Laika.

"What the-" Before he could finish, the small mutt leaned up, a cold tongue licking his cheek. He laughed, rubbing the slobber off. "Hey! What was that for?"

Laika barked in his lap, and Danny watched as she ran off, before chasing after her with a smile. "Wait! Come back, Laika!"

He stumbled as he noticed the building she sat in front of. The observatory. Danny bit his lip, glancing down. He wasn't technically allowed in the building after dark, but Phantom was.

He hid behind a tree while transforming, following Laika as she went inside, going through the walls with ease. Danny followed her up the stairs, watching as she looked up at the stairs above them all.

"You know-" Danny started, huffing as he sat down, Laika laying her chin on his lap as she looked at him. "You helped us all reach the stars, Laika."

Laika paused as if considering his words. She turned onto her back, looking at the galaxy above, her eyes reflecting the shining stars. Danny's hand reached her stomach, scratching it as she whined happily.

"You're the reason other animals didn't die, all because you let us learn," Danny murmured, looking up to the stars as well, and he wondered if she got to see earth from above. "They say earth looks like a small, blue ball from above. Did you try and catch it, Laika?"

————

Danny stood in his space suit, a smile on his face as he looked down at Laika, who sat next to him. She smiled, panting happily at him, rubbing her cheek against his leg.

She'd been here with him, through every lengthy test and trial he had to go through to finish his dream.

And she'd follow him back into space, and finally be able to watch the stars and run across the planets and follow his ship through the cosmos, all while Danny watched with a smile.

[reasonsforhope]

"Evening is approaching at the confluence of two rivers in the Bay of Bengal — the Payra and Bishkhali. Still, the fishermen at the pier in Gazimahmud village are busy preparing for the next day’s work — every boat here is now illuminated by small solar-powered devices.

“Solar power is now not only in homes, it is also at our work. Now, there is no rush to return home when it is evening,” says fisherman Altaf Hossain, who is arranging fishing nets in his boat so that he’s ready for tomorrow.

Hossain is now able to work longer hours and boost his income, and he doesn’t have to worry about his wife and kids at home at night. The children sit under a solar-powered light to study, while Hossain’s wife, Roksana Begum, does various chores.

“The sun gives us light both during the day and at night,” Begum says. “It has made our lives much easier and has changed our livelihoods.”

Gazimahmud village is about 30 kilometres away from Barguna Sadar, the southernmost district of Bangladesh. A winding road leads to this village, where the sea and two rivers meet. The people of this remote community still remember the devastation caused by the powerful Cyclone Sidr in 2007, when 30 locals died. When the storm hit, it was difficult for many to reach safety as the entire area was dark. Now, thanks to most of the houses in the village having solar power, the community feels better prepared for future disasters.

“We have more faith in solar power, because, when a storm comes, the electricity connection may be disconnected or the power may be turned off, but solar power helps us to find a safe shelter by showing us the way,” says resident Monir Hossain.

Unprecedented success

Bangladesh has implemented the world’s largest off-grid solar power programme, with 20 million people across the country benefiting, according to the World Bank.

What began as a pilot project in 2003, involving 50,000 households, ultimately reached 14% of the population within 15 years, while some 200,000 rural businesses and religious facilities benefited from the Solar Home Systems (SHS) initiative as well.

The programme, which officially ran until 2018, was implemented in partnership with the private sector. Among other measures, the state provided generous incentives, such as tax breaks, for rooftop solar installers, and also focused on ensuring financing mechanisms were in place.

Together with 56 partner organisations, the government installed 4.1 million solar systems in remote areas by 2018.

According to the World Bank, the initiative has improved health and living conditions — including by reducing the use of kerosene lamps and thereby tackling indoor air pollution — and boosted school attendance. It also led to household solar becoming “a credible electricity source”.

“The Solar Home Systems programme has shown that millions of dollars raised internationally can be efficiently leveraged to provide loans of as little as $100 in remote corners of the country, enabling a rural household to purchase a solar home system,” according to Amit Jain, a senior energy specialist at the World Bank...

To clean up its power grid and contribute to the fight against climate change, Bangladesh plans to install 4.1GW of renewable energy capacity by 2030, up from around 1.2GW today."

-via The Progress Playbook, March 10, 2025

[swiggity-swexual-i-am-asexual]

Basically, it’s discovered that to help stabilize Danielle, aka Ellie, it’d be best to have her be smaller. She refused to be turned into a kid by Frostbite/her own power ability, when Danny remembered the shrink ray his parents made. The side effect is that they’re kind of stuck as humans when they’re that small—they can use some ghost powers, but basically, it’s a weird side effect of the shrink ray. That’s canon, by the fucking way, lmao

Anyways, so Ellie agrees, and Danny will shrink himself with the ray to her size to help her out when needed/when she wants company her size, with Jazz, Sam, and Tucker occasionally helping out. Sam buys one of those really ornate Victorian dollhouses, with wooden everything, and Danny does some… renovations… so that it no longer opens and is a proper house. There’s still some oddities because it’s a dollhouse originally, but it was easier and faster to give her a home. One of the first additions was a water/wastewater system, followed like two hours later by an electrical system. Since it was so small, Danny was able to do it fairly quickly in his big size, occasionally going small and using the small window for using his powers to double check on things.

The water system had to be refilled every week, unless hooked up to a plumbing system in a house, which Danny made some outlets for in Jazz’s room—it was easier and had significantly less questions/didn’t stand out as much if placed in Jazz’s room. They usually did it every three days, though, as the plug-in process was still a bit… hinky. The tanks for holding the water were in the ‘basement’, which was mostly inaccessible from the inside of the dollhouse but basically looked like a big stand the dollhouse stayed on. Like someone ripped a full house out of the ground WITH the basement attached. There was a small access hallway down some stairs in the house for the clean water system, though.

The electric system was fairly simple, as it didn’t cost much energy to light a dollhouse and heat/cool water. There was an AC unit, Ellie’s request, but it hardly was used and was fairly efficient just due to pure size. It was fueled by ecto batteries, which Danny made sure had a few rechargability options—just because it was efficient energy didn’t mean it didn’t ever need recharging. There was a very small ecto filter, but due to its relative small size, was easy to clean and was fairly stable, so they had a whole closet of them just chilling out, both filled and empty. The battery itself could be charged by ecto sources, Danny’s own blood, or ambient ectoplasm gained by using something that looked like a solar panel and a satellite dish had a child that the batter could be placed in. The hookup also allowed for like… normal D cell batteries.

They would buy dollhouse furniture, and occasionally just buy the big version then shrink it down. Ellie had a huge old house to herself, basically, might as well go ham. And she had a fun time with the designer doll clothes Sam liked to get, although the cheap doll clothes from the store were also fun. Best option was just buying normal clothes and shrinking them, but using things that were already small or just making stuff using normal sized objects was fun.

At some point, though, the Fenton siblings decide to go on a trip. Ellie begs to be taken along, and Jazz agrees—there’s a doll showcase in Gotham, and Jazz wanted to see if anything caught Ellie’s interest. Danny, having a room in the dollhouse himself, also went along. Might as well make it a sibling’s trip, right?

Ellie can be full size for small chunks of time, which they did while exploring the expo. They found some cool things to add, and some doll clothes Ellie was far too interested in trying on, as well as some to force on Danny later. He sighed, but like—that’s his little cousin-sister, he’d put up with it. After all, he learned how to plumb an entire (miniature) house in two days when she refused to move in until it had a fully functional bathroom, so.

Anyways!

They have a fun time, and sure, lugging the relatively giant dollhouse was a PAIN, but it was Ellie’s home, and some stabilizing tech made it relatively safe to move without risking everything freaking breaking. They load everything in again, and the dollhouse is now restocked with clothes, tiny furniture, and a lot of shrunken supplies—some foods are just hard to work with full size, and are easier to shrink, okay? Also soap, paper goods, pencils and pens, books, etc. Jazz loads the thing into her car, and Danny offers to stay with Ellie in the dollhouse—so Jazz gets them in, and shrinks them down, holding onto the shrink ray in the meantime.

All is going relatively well in Gotham traffic until there’s a rogue attack.

Go figure.

Jazz ends up unconscious, and Danny and Ellie can’t do anything before the rogue is taken care of and a paramedic team comes up. They hide back in the dollhouse, listening as the medics say she seems to be okay, just unconscious. A relief, but now they’re taking Jazz away. Fenton luck states she’s one of the few actually injured. The Bat Brigade comes by, and Batman notices that there’s a wallet for one Danny Fenton. Red Robin confirms that Jazz was likely here with at least two other people, based on the ticket stubs for the expo. However, there is a strange lack of social media presence, Danny doesn’t have a photo ID, and there’s no way of knowing for SURE that it was just Danny with her, if it was just two other people, or if Danny was in the car with her. Still, as they can’t find him but DO have his sister and his wallet, they assume he might be missing, possibly kidnapped.

The Gotham PD of course take in the car, although it’s pretty trashed. Knowing well and good that the dollhouse and such things are actually quite expensive, Commissioner Gordon mentions that it wouldn’t be a bad idea for Batman to maybe hold onto the Fenton’s things that *aren’t* related to the investigation.

Batman just takes everything. Including a rather peculiar looking gun that seems to have sustained some damage during the attack and car crash.

Gordon sighs. Figures.

So, Danny and Ellie end up in Wayne Manor. Most of the things end up in the Batcave, but Alfred insists that they place the doll things upstairs in the manor proper—the cave isn’t *that* damp, but doll things are small and delicate. So, upstairs they go.

At first, it’s fine. Danny and Ellie are fine in the dollhouse, and it’ll be at least a week before any of the systems NEED to be worked with.

Then Ellie ends up with a massive migraine. She gets them, on occasion, a sort of growing pain. Usually, they just shrink some medicine for her as she needs it, because she’s like—twelve. While they did have some medicine that had been pre-shrunk, when they were stocking up in Gotham, it turns out pain medicine was more expensive there. Not by much, but they figured—they’ll just stock up in Amity Park, they’ll be there in two days.

Haha. Nope.

So, Danny finally has to venture out. He lucks into finding the first aid kit—why there was one in the main living room, he’s not sure—and is currently working on trying to get open the blister packet of an ibuprofen when Alfred finds him.

Alfred stares at this tiny boy with a tiny make-shift knife trying to get into… over the counter pain medication.

Danny stares at this butler guy who had very gently cleaned the outside and noted the strange fact that the dollhouse did not open.

Danny waves at Alfred.

Alfred waves a tiny finger back.

“Hello,” Alfred says softly, which is fantastic because loud noises could get painful—part of the reason for Ellie’s headache was an argument between Tim and Damian. “How do you do?”

Danny hesitates, before he makes an exaggerated so-so gesture.

“You understand me?”

Danny nods—it’s rare for people to understand what he’s saying when he’s 5 inches tall.

“How wonderful,” Alfred smiles. “And how can I help our young guest tonight?”

Danny gestures to the blister packet.

“Pain medication? Isn’t that a little bit large for you.”

The teen thinks for a second on how to communicate. He points to the pill, then makes a slight show of pretending to grind something, like a mortar and pestle.

Thankfully, Alfred got the idea. “Would it be easier if I ground it up for you?”

Danny takes a moment to think before accepting with an enthusiastic nod.

“Very well,” Alfred says, taking the blister packet in one hand. He then hold his other out, palm up, like a platform. “Would you like to come with me?”

Danny ‘his survival instincts died when he did’ Fenton gets into Alfred’s hand.

Alfred grinds up the pill into a fine powder. Danny hands him a tiny bottle—still large in Danny’s hands, as it was not a shrunk bottle—that he had tied around his waist. Alfred fills it, and hands it back.

“I assume you came from the tiny house we have in our living room?”

Danny again nods. Alfred takes him there, setting him down outside the front door. Danny bows, and sure it’s Japanese as hell, and he’s white as all get out, but it’s a generally understood gesture of thanks. He hopes.

Alfred understands it just fine. “I bid you goodnight, then. Perhaps we will talk more, when you are feeling better?”

Danny hesitates, again, but he nods. Alfred had been nice enough, so far.

Danny heads in, quickly measuring out the medicine—shrunk pressure plates and scales and weights made what it was measuring relative—to him the weights on the hand balance scale felt the same weight. Ellie got her medicine, and they both went back to sleep.

He told her in the morning what happened. Ellie was strangely gung-ho about meeting this butler guy, and so—when no one else was around—, she and Danny went onto the tiny balcony as Alfred came in to dust.

“Oh my,” he said. “There’s two of you, now. Should I expect more?”

Both of them did an exaggerated ‘no’ dance.

“Very well, I don’t believe I’ve introduced myself. I’m Alfred Pennyworth, the family butler. Welcome to Wayne Manor.”

[kryptonitejelly]

art donaldson x childhood friend reader who he hasn’t seen in a long time (whose had a crazy glow up) visits him at stanford at the same time as patrick and patrick starts hitting on her (him and tashi are in an open relationship) and art gets jealous.

(maybe she tells patrick she knows he’s in a relationship and he tells her tashi wouldn’t mind and she would probably be down to join idk)

art donaldson x reader // challengers // fluff; happy ending

a/n: i did not hit the prompt on the head 100%, but i’m not mad at it. this ended up turning into a monster i had no control off and ended up being alot longer than i expected (i haven’t done a word count, and did not mean for it to spiral into this but i enjoyed writing this very much). i am an art donaldson defender and this is my way of giving him everything he deserves (i hope you guys can see what i subtly tried to do in places - please leave comments/reblog if you see them, it would mean the world). also i typed this entirely on my phone without proofreading - you’ve been warned.

edit - as a disclaimer, i do not purport to comment on the victim/villain/any dynamic in the challengers universe. this space is purely for delusional thoughts and fiction only (see also)

-

Good luck.

Art shoots the text off to you before taking a swig out of cup of diet coke he has in hand. He leans forward, his forearms on his knees, teeth crunching on ice cubes as lets his gaze sweep across the court in front of him. It is devoid of players but already has the umpire and linesmen ready and waiting.

You’ll buy dinner if I win?

Art doesn’t expect to get a text back, so he checks his phone absently, but his face breaks into a tiny grin as he sees your reply. Most other players would have been hyper focused in the moments before a match but you, in the breezy light hearted way you always were, still had it in you to joke around.

Yes, but if you lose…

Art sends his response, the tiny grin still on his face.

I’ll feed you.

Your reply is fast and it makes art shake his head lightly a quiet chuckle dropping from his lips. He is just about to type another reply but is interrupted by the loud cheers that erupt from around him. Art looks up from his phone to see Anna Davies walk out on court in the same colour red as he had on. He claps politely with the rest of the men’s team who he was sitting amongst in the stands, in a show of support.

Art catches sight of Tashi and Patrick, both perched a few rows down from him with the rest of the women’s team both clapping and hollering in support. He notices the turn of Patrick’s head, no doubt to check in on Art but he doesn’t tilt his head or smile back in acknowledgement as he usually would - he is far too distracted by you.

Art can feel his jaw slacken slightly as you walk on court. He knows what you look like, but you in the flesh - Art thinks you are breathtaking. Your top is in a shade of your college’s colour, paired with a white tennis skirt that shows off a pair of toned, long legs. He catches a glint of metal just above your ankle, and he finds himself squinting in a feeble attempt to make out the look of the ankle bracelet that you have on. Art moves his gaze your face, taking in what he can see from his perch on the stands as you walk out towards your designated bench on the court, bright neon green bottle in hand, your tennis bag slung on a shoulder.

You had been close back home for most of your childhood and more formative teen years, and the both had kept in touch since he left for Stanford and you to your own school of choice, but too infrequently - the occasional text, more frequent reaction or comment on each other’s social media and the small conversations that spiralled from those interactions - like two planets orbiting in the same solar system, but not close enough. Life had overtaken, the excitement of moving your separate ways to a new environment, of college - tennis, academics, people, parties, it had overwhelmed you both, individually and together - made you just about forget that you had each other.

Art is transfixed. You are, lithe, glowing and with a hop in your step - Art finds himself questioning why he had never made more effort to keep you closer since you had both gone on your separate paths. He watches as you settle your bag on the bench, turning your gaze to the stands, eyes narrowing from the glare of the sun as you search the stands, only for your gaze to fix on his. Art sees you smile, lips turning up as you wink directly at him. It makes a series of heads turn to look back at him - your fellow team mates, the small group of supporters from your college who had come along, and the Stanford women’s team plus Patrick, half curious, half puzzled. Art can only raise a hand beside his chest in greeting as he remembers to breathe, letting the air he had been holding in his chest out.

He sees turn away while reaching for your phone which you had wedged in between the band of your tennis skirt and skin. Your fingers flying over the keypad briefly before you toss the phone into your tennis bag, hand fishing out your racket. Art feels his phone buzz in his hand and he looks down at the text that had come through.

Stanford still hasn’t taught you the right way to wear a cap huh.

Your text, a reference to his penchant for securing his cap on backwards, makes Art laugh, out loud, the sudden sound causing his team mates to crane their necks in attempt to look at his phone. Art swats them away as he refocuses his attention back on you, watching as you do a few hops, shifting your body weight from side to side before walking to your position on court, racket in hand. You lose the coin toss, and Anna choose to serve and yet your demeanour is one of ease, something Art can’t help but think is so stark in contrast to Tashi before a match. You aren’t smiling anymore, and yet in an unexplainable fashion, Art can feel you smiling as you bend to ready position, your hands flipping the handle of the racket around, poised to receive. He sees Anna toss the ball, her back arching, hand shooting up, before she connects her serve, and he watches you receive it with ease, your body moving in a smooth motion as you hit it back. Your strokes have their own weight and intention behind them, they are careful, thought out - but what surprises Art is he sees little calculation behind each. Instead, he watches as you let yourself feel each shot, as you let your instinct take control with each step. Art sees himself moving pieces of chess across the court when he watches replays of his game, but with your game, - Art manages to see colour, life, ease. He sees something he hasn’t seen in his tennis since he had last played with you, Art sees fun.

-

The match isn’t long drawn out, you win - effortlessly, just as each of your strokes and movement are. It frustrates Anna, as is evident from the increasing number of unforced errors she makes on her art which leads to her swearing loudly as you easily hit the last heavy, driving it quick and to the opposite corner of the court from where she is positioned. Art finds himself clapping enthusiastically along with the crowd as the umpire calls the game.

-

“You never told me you had such good looking friends,” Art feels an arm sling itself around his neck, pulling him close as he stands outside the court, waiting for you to finish your match debrief with the rest of the team.

“Shouldn’t you be with Tashi?” Art questions as he tugs himself out and under, away from Patrick’s hold. His eyes remain focused on the door of the tennis court, waiting for you to emerge.

“Some strategy meeting,” Patrick offers as explanation, “refocusing or something like that.”

Art starts to say something in response only to be stopped by the view of you walking out from the courts. You both lock eyes, not too similar from how you had with you on the court and him on the stand. Art thinks that your smile is more brilliant up close.

Neither of you say a word, as you walk up to him, hands reaching up to tug his cap off his head only for you to pop it promptly on your own head, the right way around.

“The right way,” you say in greeting, pointing towards his cap which is now sitting on your head, the Stanford red a confusing contrast to your your top, now a loose fitting tshirt in your college colours, as Art chuckles while running a hand through his hair, attempting to shake out any flatness.

“The red looks good on you.”

“Perhaps I should transfer.”

“Didn’t peg you for a traitor,” Art teases which makes you laugh.

“Do I get a hug,” you ask, both of you oblivious to Patrick who is just watching.

“C’mere,” Art says, his words inviting, but just almost slightly shy as he opens his arms to you. You step into his embrace, arms slipping around his body as Art brings his arms around your shoulders, hands bumping into the tennis bag you have on your shoulders. His embrace is familiar, and you let yourself relax into his hold.

“Could I get a hug?” you hear a different male voice chime in and you pull away to look curiously at the brunette who is standing just beside you both.

“Fuck off Patrick,” you hear Art say with no bite, but notice as he steps just that one inch in front of you in an attempt to place himself as some sort of barrier between you and the brunette.

“Patrick Zweig,” the boy says, ignoring Art as he proffers a hand to you which you shake to be polite while introducing yourself.

“Do you go to Stanford as well?” You take in his attire of jeans and a white tee, the lack of red - you would guess not but it didn’t hurt to ask.

“I’m just visiting,” he says, “I’m actually playing on tour.”

“Losing on tour,” Art corrects.

“Your tennis is insane,” Patrick comments, ignoring Art, “when will I see you on tour?”

“I don’t intend on turning pro,” you respond with the flash of a smile.

“Why?” Patrick continues the conversation, now slightly befuddled, “you’re a natural.”

You shrug with a laugh, not answering and simply brushing off his question.

“Why don’t I take you to dinner and you can tell me why.” Patrick’s statement makes Art roll his eyes.

“Aren’t you taking your girlfriend our for dinner?” Art chips to which Patrick simply shrugs not phased in the slightest and answers with a no.

“Thanks, but I already have a dinner to cash in on,” you offer Patrick a smile, before glancing at Art.

“I’m sure Art wo-”

“Nope, fuck off Patrick,” is what Art says again, not even giving the other man a chance to finish his sentence. It makes you laugh, but you follow as Art grabs your hand, tugging you off in a direction away from Patrick.

“It was nice meeting you Patrick,” you call out, turning your head towards him giving him a wave with your free hand, “good luck on the tour!”

You walk for a minute or two more until the tennis courts are out of range before Art stops. He lets go off your hand, but reaches instead to grasp the top of the tennis bag on your shoulder. You raise a brow questioningly only to have him tug again with a slight tilt of his head. You relinquish the bag to him and he hoists it on his shoulder instead.

“What a gentleman,” you joke, but with a smile on your face.

Art does a mock bow with a flourish of his hand which makes you laugh with a shake of your head.

“Your chariot awaits my lady,” he extends a hand to you, waist still tilted in a bow, but his head up and looking at you.

“Lead the way,” you place your hand on top of his again.

“My car is that way,” he says jerking a thumb towards his right as he intertwines his fingers with yours. Its the second time in the day where he’s holding onto your hand but you don’t think too much of it and neither does Art. It feels right, comforting, familiar and like it’s supposed to be - and you go with it.

-

“Sorry about Patrick,” Art says as he fiddles with the paper casing of the straw. You are both sitting in a booth, plates cleared, your drinks left in front of you. Art is leaning back but being across him you can feel his knees knocking into yours. Dinner had gone by way too fast for Art’s liking. There had been both plenty to catch up on, as well as new information to learn and yet - it had felt like no time had passed between you both.

“He’s a bit of an ass isn’t he,” you say as you lean back, a mirror of Art. Your comment elicits a bark of laughter from him.

“Girls don’t usually say that about him.”

“What do they say?”

“Well not say, but they usually fall at his feet or into his bed,”

“No,” it makes you crinkle your nose while you shake your head.

“His girlfriend Tashi,” Art says, fingers still fiddling with the wrapper, “we played tennis for her number, she chose him.” Art said referencing the tennis match between him and Patrick. His sentence is blunt, to the point, and yet manages to be vulnerable at the same time. Art surprises himself as the words slip out from his lips so easily but it feels easy to tell you, safe to let himself be vulnerable, fine to let you view him for who he truly is.

You both sit in silence for a beat or two, the only sound between you both being the rustle of paper in Art’s fingers.

“Well,” you begin, “if she made you play for her number, maybe its for the better you didn’t win.”

Art’s fingers give pause and he looks up at you. His expression is unreadable, but you don’t feel like you’ve said anything wrong - just the obvious.

“I guess you are right,” he says after a few seconds of silence, before raising his head to look at you. There is a small smile on his face that you can’t quite place.

“When have I been wrong Donaldson?” You challenge in jest as you lift a leg under the table to jostle one of his lightly. Art leans forward, managing to capture one of your legs, your calf in the warmth of his palm.

“You really want me to start?” Art questions as you wriggle your leg in attempt to get away but no no avail.

“No.”

“Let’s see, the time we were six and you thought that the way to get strawberry milk was to dump pink food colouring in normal milk.”

“Stop,” you protest, but with a laugh on your lips.

“Or the time we were ten and you were convinced that the park we passed by on the way home from school was haunted and we had to sprint past that stretch of sidewalk for 3 whole months.”

“It was creepy!”

“How could we forget the one time we were thirteen and you thought that the way babies were made wa-”

“Arthur Donaldson,” you protest, managing to wrestle your leg out of his grasp which has grown looser with each anecdote. It allows you to set your foot on the ground, body shooting up to lean across the table, your palm coming to cover Art’s mouth to prevent him from announcing any further recollections from your youth.

You can feel his breath hot against the palm of your hand as his muffled laugher fills the space of your booth.

“Art,” you huff, relinquishing his full name for his nickname again. You move to drop your hand from his face, but Art catches a hold of your wrist. You sit back down, butt hitting the seat again, but with your hand still stretched across the table, wrist still loosely wrapped in one Art Donaldson’s hand. His shoulders are still shaking, now with a silent laughter.

“Art,” you try again.

“I’m sorry, it’s just so funny,” Art exhales, trying to collect himself as best as he can. He doesn’t remember the last time he laughed like this, freely and with such reckless abandon over something so innocent.

“Your dedicated court jester, always here to serve,” you mock with a roll of your eyes.

“You’ve been derelict in your duties,” Art says, now calm, but his eyes still twinkling under a mop of strawberry blonde hair. He keeps his tone light but what he really means to say is that it has been too long. You chuckle, not really having an answer for him.

“It’s been a while,” you finally admit, both your hands now resting on the table between you, you wrist now lying upturned in Art’s open palm. You had always been close

“It has, hasn’t it,” it isn’t really a question. Art has missed you - something he hasn’t realised until today. He had let himself be distracted by the complex, focused toxicity that was tennis, Patrick and Tashi, letting himself get sucked into the whirlpool, that he had forgotten to hold on to the things that grounded him.

“Maybe we should change that.”

“We should change that,” Art corrects you and you can feel the tips of your ears burning, and the skin across your cheek bones tingling for some reason.

-

You aren’t quite sure how ended up here, but one thing had lead to another as you both made your way out of the restaurant and back to Art’s car, and the next thing you knew you were heading back to his dorm to watch reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer for some reason.

“How do you not find her hot?” You ask again for the tenth time as you both focus on the screen of Art’s laptop which is perched half on his thigh and half on yours. You are both sitting on his bed, shoulder to shoulder, both of your heads damp from (separate) showers in Art’s ensuite, and you smelling quite like him from having used his toiletries and borrowing a short and shirt set, both of which which were a baggy fit for you.

“I don’t know, I just don’t.”

“You’re rubbish Donaldson,” you snort, nudging your elbow lightly into his ribs with a simultaneous yawn.

“Tired?” Art asks, as you stifle another yawn.

“Yeah,” you accept, seeing little point in trying to hide it. You had after all, played a match today.

“I should really get back to the hotel,” you mumble, the back of your head leaning against the wall beside Art’s bed, eyes closing.

“You could just stay here,” there is a hint of hesitation in his voice because he isn’t sure if you’ll stay.

“Here?”

“My bed’s a double,” Art shrugs, “it would also be quicker for you to get to the matches tomorrow.” You aren’t playing but Art knows you would be expected to show up as a supporter for the series of matches between your two schools that continued tomorrow.

“Are you sure?” You don’t mind, after all - it’s Art, the boy you had known growing up, shared milkshakes and apple slices with after school, but you wanted to be sure he was truly fine with it.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Art moves to shit his laptop, lifting himself to bend over the edge of the bed to place the laptop on the floor, “you can take the inside.”

He flops down on the outside of the bed that is further from the wall too easily, his right hand going behind his head. Him moving forces you to move in tandem as you flop down on Art’s left, legs scrambling under the covers which Art has somehow managed to worm his way under in the flurry of movement.

Art reaches a hand over, his arm extending over you in the process to hit the light switch that he has beside his bed. It plunges you both into darkness, the only light the faint glow from the street lamps creeping in from below his curtains, and the glow of his digital clock.

You flip onto your right side, eyes closed, missing the turn of Art’s head as he observes yours features, closed eyes, lashes, nose, lips, finding his gaze lingering a moment too long on your lips.

“Stop staring Art.”

“Am not.”

“I can feel it,” you respond, lips curving into a smirk. It was a habit he had developed from the sleepovers you both had either in his living room or yours when you were both younger. You would close your eyes, just about to doze off, only to hear the faint shifting of a head against a pillow while Art turned to stare at you, his blue-brown eyes boring into you.

“Am not.”

“Go to sleep Art.”

-

“So I guess I’ll see you around,” You are standing just a distance off the side of the bus which is supposed to take you back to campus. The matches for the day had ended, with your school having won by one match.

“Yeah,” Art replies, drawing out his words as he takes you in, he finds himself think that he had very much preferred you in his clothes despite them being oversized and not as well fitted as your own. You had managed to change into a fresh set of school colours before the matches started earlier that morning, having pleaded with your angel of a roommate to help you lug your overnight bag, which you hadn’t even had the chance to unpack the night before, over to the courts before the matches had begun. She had taken one look at you in Art’s tshirt, shorts with his hoodie thrown over, and had given you the widest smirk known to man despite your insistence that nothing had happened.

“I think you are scheduled to come play next month,” you refer to the Stanford men’s team, “I’ll see you then?”

“Or I could see you next week?” Art says almost shyly as he raises a hand to rub the back of his head. Art was a walking oxymoron, easily grabbing your hand, asking you to sleep in his bed, and yet somewhat bashful in the moments in between, “the drive over is an hour, max.”

“I would like that,” your response earns you a mega watt smile, his eyes twinkling at you. You both hear voices calling Art away from the bus, one male, one female - but Art ignores them both.

-

“Yeah and I told her-” your sentence is cut off by a nudge to your shoulder.

“Stanford” you friend explains with slightly too much glee in her voice. She had seen the smile on your face after returning from your away game last weekend, and the way you had been constantly glued to your phone, grin on your face, laughter peppering your days, the name Art Donaldson a constant fixture in your notifications.

Your head swivels up and to your left to spot Art leaning against his black jeep, hands crossed loosely across his chest. He smiles when he sees you, and your face mimics his expression.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” you friend calls out as she pushes you in Art’s direction. You pull a face at her while rolling your eyes, but letting your legs carry you towards Art.

“Are you stalking me Donaldson?” You ask in jest. Art had texted you half an hour earlier, asking which part of campus your last class of the Friday was in and where he should pick you up from.

“Hundred percent,” he says as he opens his arms; you step into his embrace for a brief hug, before he turns to open the car door for you. You unload your bag from your arm, dropping it onto the floor of the passenger’s seat before climbing in. You move to close the door, but Art is in between you and the door, reaching over to click your seatbelt into place.

“Ready?” He asks, and you nod, gazing into bright blue-brown eyes.

-

“Positivism,” Art says simply at your question of what theory of jurisprudence he found himself most inclined towards. You think for a moment, the side of your face propped up with a hand, elbow on the counter of the bar you both are seated at, your body turned towards Art who is likewise, facing you.

“Positivism,” you roll the words around your tongue, “I guess it tracks,” you shrug, before raising a brow slightly, “but how does an engineering undergraduate so much about jurisprudence?”

“I read.”

“On jurisprudence?” You frown nose wrinkling as you reach your hand out to place the back of it against Art’s forehead as if to check if he had a fever, “are you alright?”

“You mean you don’t read engineering daily in between sets?” Art questions you with mock horror as he reaches up to tug your hand down from his forehead. Your hand ends up, yet again, in Art’s, which is resting on his knee.

“Why engineering, and not something with a lighter course load?” The underlying question is clear - Art had every intent of going the pro track post-Stanford, and it wasn’t that he would be making full use of his degree anyway.

“I don’t want the only skill I have to be hitting a ball with a racket,” he shrugs, “it feels good to know I can do something else.”

You hum in bother understanding and agreement as you feel Art’s thumb begin to stroke the back of your hand. It distracts you, his calloused thumb sliding across your skin.

“In another life I’m sure you would have made a darn good engineer Art Donaldson.”

Your words make Art laugh, something he found himself doing a lot with you.

-

“So, this is me,” you point towards the dormitory buildings up in front and Art slows his car to a stop, pulling the gear into park. He kills the engine before hopping out of his seat. Your hand is on the handle of the door, ready to open it for yourself but Art is faster, his hand on the outside lever, pulling the door open for you.

Art offers you a hand as you hop out of the jeep before he shuts the door behind you.

“I had fun tonight,” you find yourself saying, suddenly feeling slightly shy for reasons you cannot fathom.

“Me too,” is what Art says in response, his hands stuck on the pockets of his jeans, heels rocking in a back and forth motion. You see his gaze on you, locking with yours before flickering to your lips. It makes you bite down one on side of your lip, an action which causes Art to gulp, making the Adam’s apple on his throat bob.

“We should do-”

“Can I kiss you?” Art blurts out his question in a burst and you can see his face flush slightly as he asks, a surprising and yet apt contrast to the Art who had no qualms about holding your hand in his. You feel your heart quickening, and with the silence between you both - you almost feel as if you can hear each beat.

“Yes,” you breathe out, a small nod accompanying your response. You see Art’s gaze flicker to your lips again, but you would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about this.

Art takes a step forward, pulling his hands out of his pockets. You feel him cupping your face gently, and you tilt your head towards him. Your eyes flutter close and your lips meet.

Art’s lips are softer than you imagined. You feel his hands move, slipping down the sides of your body, circling your waist and pulling you closer. You drop your bag off your shoulder onto the floor as your hands move up, one to cradle the side of his face, and the other reaching behind, fingers weaving into soft curls as you tug him closer towards you. First kisses with someone new had always been awkward for you - teeth, lips, noses, as you each try to figure out the grooves and crannies of each other, but with Art - there was no such thing. It felt as if you both had learnt each other long ago, each in and out, the curve of his neck, and the the planes of your body.

You break the kiss first, pulling away, eyes still closed, feeling as if the breath had been knocked out of you in the best way. Your forehead pressed against Art’s, body held firmly against his.

“I hope you aren’t going to send me packing after that.” Your eyes flutter open at his words.

“You packed an overnight bag didn’t you?”

“I might have,” Art pulls you even closer, his arms wound tight around you.

“Presumptuous much?” You run a hand through the front of his hair, pushing his fringe back.

“Just good at reading the room.”

-

12 years later

The skin across your knuckles are visibly tight, your hands clenched into fists, the only sign of the nerves that have taken over and riddled your body. Your eyes are shielded by dark oversized glasses, but your pupils are darting left and right as the final point of the match plays before you. The stadium is silent, save for the pop of the ball and the grunts from the two players on court. You hear an exceptionally loud grunt, the whizzing of a racket whipping through the air, and then you hear it before it hits you - the roar of the crowd, the thundering claps, and you feel your body freeze as even the announcer goes wild.

“Art Donaldson, ladies and gentleman, our new US Open champion.”

You remain glued to your seat despite the commotion around you - family, Art’s team, cheering, jumping, excited hugs being passed around. Your eyes watch as Art runs towards the center of the net, hand raised as he waves to the crowd around. He shakes his opponents hand, before waving to each section of the stadium in thanks of their support and there he is, jogging towards you. His hair is dripping with sweat, plastered to his head, shirt clinging to his body. He extends a hand to you even before he reaches the sideline and your body reacts from habit, standing, your hand extending back towards him. A warm hand, the back of it still slick from sweat grasps yours, tugging you forward lightly.

“Hi,” is all he says as Art’s lips meet yours. Art enjoys the tennis, but he doesn’t need it - doesn’t need the tennis, the fame, the money, or the trophies - all he needs is you.

You hear the crowd go wild at the display of affection, the announcer’s voice booming over the sound system with something about Art Donaldson and his wife, but it all fades - the commotion, the sound, the people, the tennis, because all you see is Art.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[makeitmakesomesense]

The Next Copernicus

Scarlett Johansson x Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: This is a lovely prompt from a lovely anon. It also uses a prompt from @taylorswiftmicrofic for the 16th of January, which is 'golden'.

.

Sometimes Scarlett gave you a look. 

It was a careful kind of look. A cautious smile and a long stare. 

It was gratitude. 

Usually, you’d reach for her hand. You’d give it a small squeeze and let her smile widen with the easy pleasure of being together. 

You didn’t say anything because she didn’t need to be grateful. You had no right to expect a beautiful life to be simple. For one thing, it wouldn’t be half as interesting.

.

The introduction to Scarlett’s daughter was always going to be a slow one. You supported it readily. It was easy to tell that they were each other’s world.

When Scarlett talked about her daughter, you could tell you were listening to her biggest fan. It was the kind of endless love that can’t hide itself. A dry comment about her never-ending princess phase, sounded too tender to be sarcasm.

Scarlett asked you about the future after only a few dates. You could tell she was nervous about bringing it up. She told you that she knew it was stupid to be asking. She told you she didn’t really expect any answers. 

You’d been expecting the conversation. With her career, an international co-parenting arrangement and a young daughter. Scarlett was like the sun in a complicated solar system. There was no question of expecting all the sunlight for yourself.

You told her that. In a stumbling explanation that sounded silly to your own ears.

Scarlett’s smile softened. She gave you a careful kind of look.

‘I’m not really the sun.’ She said after a moment. ‘Sometimes none of it is easy. I’m not easy. Sometimes I’m horrible. I’m mean and tired and stressed because everything is going wrong and it feels like my fault.’ 

You remembered the last date you’d had with her. It had been the evening after Scarlett’s daughter had left to stay with her father. Scarlett had barely mentioned that fact in passing when she’d invited you to her house.

Something had felt off from the start. A quiet exhaustion from her that you couldn’t place. Scarlett kept closer to you than usual but you could tell her mind was farther away. She started telling you she was worried about a new project she’d signed up for, and then she trailed off halfway forgetting her train of thought.  

She’d offered to cook on the phone, but when it got late she just shrugged and suggested take out instead. She drank more wine than usual, in that melancholy way that means it’s not about the wine. You could tell she didn’t like her home so empty. When you suggested staying over, she’d looked relieved. 

Scarlett’s life was complicated in ways that you knew you didn’t understand.

.

‘I’m not the sun.’ Scarlett repeated carefully, her tired stare willing you to heed the warning.

‘Okay.’ You’d shrugged, with a smile full of playful disagreement. You reached out casually until your hand brushed her arm.

You pretended to hiss out as you yanked your hand back. You pretended to cradle it to your chest.

‘Wow you’re like a million degrees.’ You muttered. You glanced back up to Scarlett and her smile full of exasperated fondness. 

You pretended to squint, shading your eyes. ‘Sorry, you’re just so blindingly bright.’

Scarlett smacked your arm playfully and then she kissed you with an urgency that told you everything she didn’t say.

.

You first met Scarlett’s daughter through a series of carefully constructed casual meetings. You came to hang out with her and Scarlett for a few hours one Saturday. You’d arrived more prepared than you’d ever been for a job interview.

Your Disney Princess knowledge was immediately to the test and you rattled off information confidently about Elsa and Anna and the overall state of Arendelle. 

After you made a comment about something being ‘so Olaf’, Scarlett turned to you with an exaggerated look of surprise.

‘I studied.’ You whispered with a wink as you grabbed her empty coffee mug and left to go refill it. Scarlett’s lips pressed together as she tried not to give you her widest smile. 

You smirked knowingly as you left.

.

It took six months to get to an easy rhythm. 

The first time it happened, Scarlett called you with barely hidden delight in her voice. She told you that her daughter had asked if you were free that Saturday. And if you’d ever been to see the ducks at the local park.

The stamp of approval from Scarlett’s daughter was slow to achieve and then unwaveringly absolute. She held your hand for an hour, pointing out the best parts of a park that was very ordinary. She explained which ducks were nicer than the others.

That night, after her daughter had gone to bed, Scarlett stood with you in the kitchen. You were going to leave any minute but the triumph of the day had kept you a little longer. A glass of white wine in one hand. Scarlett undid her hairstyle, letting the loose hair frame her face. Her eyes glittered when she looked at you. Unthinkingly perfect. 

Scarlett moved closer to you, she let her head rest on your shoulder. You swayed together to imaginary music. You kissed her hair and let the golden waves fill your mind. She was daylight in the morning, even at night. 

.

Going public was a phrase that you started to hear more and more. You must have missed the first time Scarlett had tentatively dropped it into a conversation. You’d clearly missed a few more cues. 

That’s what you learned when Scarlett returned to the bedroom to wake you up, still in her gym clothes from an early morning workout.

There was something confrontational about her stance at the end of the bed. The sharpness in the way she busied herself, changing into her clothes for the rest of the day.

‘You practically live here already.’ She told you in a slightly tense tone. 

‘I do.’ You agreed unsurely, trying not to look as sleepy as you felt. 

‘I know it’s horrible when a relationship goes public.’ Scarlett continued with a brittle kind of force. ‘No-one knows that better than me. It’s always horrible. It’s never easy. Last time -.’ She hesitated as she caught herself falling into a story about her ex. 

‘He hated it.’ You surmised carefully, offering her a cautious smile. 

‘Yes.’ Scarlett’s gaze turned worried now. She threw her t-shirt into the laundry basket. She paused for a moment, pretending to look out at the view of the backyard. After a moment, she asked quietly.

‘So, what about you? Would you hate it too?’

‘Being with you?’ You teased, leaning forward to touch her bare back reassuringly. You felt her relax at your touch. ‘Being with you anywhere, any time, any place. That’s the dream.’ 

Scarlett pressed her back against you and you heard her sigh. She reached for your hand and gave it a wordless squeeze. 

You yawned suddenly, your body reluctantly accepting that you were definitely awake. 

‘I don’t know how you can sleep so long.’ Scarlett teased suddenly as she turned and reached around your body for a fresh t-shirt. 

You rolled your eyes and pretended to look outraged. ‘Hey! Do you know how hard it is to try and fall asleep next to the sun?’

You felt the playful whip of the t-shirt against your shoulder and the stupid smile spreading across your face. 

.

Nothing was going to plan. 

The live Frozen show was everything Scarlett’s daughter had dreamed about. 

The traffic meant you were probably going to miss the first ten minutes. 

You were all officially blaming the traffic and not Scarlett’s urgent work call that had delayed leaving in the first place.

You sat in the back of the taxi, talking to her daughter and pretending Scarlett didn’t look stressed out of her mind. You watched her in the corner of your eye, refreshing her email impatiently for whatever they’d promised to send on the call. 

You were engaged in a lengthy discussion of ranking all the best Disney princesses. You were asking every follow up question you could think of, just to make the conversation stretch out. 

Scarlett shot you a look of quiet stress and you tried to give her a small smile. Her expression shifted into one of disappointment. At herself, at her unrelenting work life. The complicated balance you would never understand. 

‘Which princess is your Mom?’ You asked loudly, giving Scarlett a pointed grin as you sat back and let her daughter present one of her favourite discussion topics. 

When the taxi finally pulled up outside the theatre, there was a brief moment when everything felt lighter than air. Your arm was around Scarlett’s waist, her hand was on her daughter’s shoulder.

As you left the taxi, you realised you were just down the street, as close as the taxi could get to the front of the theater. 

You heard the first click and felt Scarlett tense instantly beside you.

It was something like facing a swarm of animals. 

You met an onslaught of paparazzi like you had never experienced before. You moved forward instinctively, leaving Scarlett’s daughter sandwiched safely in the space between yourself and her mother. You pushed forward, trying to clear a path through the sea of shouting people. 

Despite the bedlam, you heard one of the worst noises you’d ever heard. 

Scarlett’s daughter let out a quiet, worried cry. You felt yourself react before your mind had engaged. 

You spun around, lifting her up easily. You didn’t have time to understand what had scared her.

‘Hey. Watch it.’ You snapped at the crowd. ‘You could hurt my kid.’

You felt the burrowing of a small face against your neck and knew your only option was to get to the theater as fast as possible. 

You didn’t pause until you were inside the silent theater lobby. A member of staff gave you a wide eyed look. 

Scarlett came in behind you a moment later. 

‘Sorry.’ You murmured, as you walked over to give her a careful hug. ‘I thought hurrying was our best option.’ You gave a meaningful glance at her daughter. 

Scarlett wrapped her arms around the pair of you. She kissed her daughter’s head. She gave you a look full of warmth. It told you everything you needed to know. You smiled back and reached down to let her daughter stand back on the ground. 

You took one of her daughter’s hands and Scarlett took the other.

‘Please can we hurry up.’ You pretended to whine suddenly. ‘I really don’t want to miss my favourite songs.’

Scarlett gave you your favourite fond smile as you all walked together to join the audience. 

.

In the brief respite between two songs enthusiastically chanted by the very loud audience, you leaned over to Scarlett.

‘Two suns.’ You told her with a smile. Scarlett’s head tilted in confusion as she leaned closer. 

‘I’m the next Copernicus.’ You told her stupidly. ‘I’m the first person to realise.’ 

Scarlett looked at her daughter, standing out of her seat and ready to sing loudly again. 

‘Two suns.’ She murmured. 

You nodded with fake solemnity. 

‘No wonder we always need the air conditioning on.’

Scarlett gave you a look. It was a careful kind of look. A cautious smile and a long stare. 

You reached for her hand and gave it a small squeeze. You let her smile widen with the easy pleasure of being together. 

You couldn’t ask for anything else.

.

.

Requests are still very welcome for future January fics. More info in the pinned post if you're interested in requesting. <3

.

[plethorawrites]

Can i please request batboys x reader whos really flirty and comments a lot of inappropriate things?

Of course you can!!! I hope you like it.

Bruce: Wouldn't even blink. But only because he's heard some of the most unhinged ever said on earth and everywhere else in the solar system. Inside? This man is trying his best not to let his eye twitch when you walk behind him at his desk (either at WE or in the cave) and run your hand over his chest, leaning down to whisper in his ear "Why don't you work on something else with those fingers for a while?" He's a sensible man, so most of the time your teasing won't get much of an outward response (aside from his ears turning a bit redder as you nibble on them, trying to provoke a reaction as he types) but you know it's rattling him inside. Just like you know that at a later date he'll remind you of every single time you've teased him, realizing that he was just accumulating valid reasons to torture love you for an entire night with at least 4 breaks in between. One would think you might stop, knowing that every time you said something inappropriate at the wrong time he added it to the running tally in his head and began thinking of new ways to get back at you for it. But you don't.

---

Dick: Does a whole ass double take. He's standing in the kitchen when out of the corner of his eye he sees you sucking some of the frosting you made for some cupcakes off your fingers and to say he nearly falls over would be an understatement. He whips his head back around, nearly tripping over the rug under his feet when he realizes his eyes weren't in fact deceiving him. He'd be flabbergasted when you, with all your adorable qualities like a soft smile and gentle eyes look up at him not breaking eye contact while you swirl your tongue over your own fingers cleaning them. He swallows hard, trying desperately not to make it into something it's not because there's no way you of all people could be purposely teasing him like that. "What is, baby? Mad I'm not sharing?" You ask, scraping the side of the bowl for leftover frosting, holding your fingers out for him. "Want some?" It's then that he realizes you were in fact doing this on purpose. So much for the cupcakes, he thought, crossing the room to lift you onto the counter, much preferring to eat you instead.

---

Jason: Blushes harder than you've ever seen before. I'm talking, redder than his red hood. His eyes widen and immediately dart down to the menu when he feels your foot creeping up the side of his leg at lunch. In public. He clears his throat, trying to remain calm, asking what you want to eat. You just sip on your drink, tilting your head a bit. "Are you on the menu?" You ask, causing another small hitch in his breath. He laughs nervously, swallowing harshly before looking up at you, his cheeks tinted bright red as he struggles to find any words. Your foot creeps higher up his leg until he jumps slightly, his elbow knocking the table making it rattle. "You trying to kill me, doll?" He asks, taking a sip of his water to fill his dry mouth. You just shrug. "Just trying to find a way to keep you at home tonight." You were sick of going to bed alone and if this was what you had to resort to—starting foreplay several hours earlier in the day to tempt him into staying with you—then so be it.

[keferon]

Titan LL!

Heavens, I love Titan LL.

...You know, since nobody's doing anything, I think I'll try something. Dibs!

.*.*.*.

Lost Light is named after a day of mourning.

He doesn't feel like it.

Perhaps it was a wish made upon the smallest of the youngest batch of Titans, brought online shortly before fires of revolution blazed across Cybertron and it's domains. For the mourning to be the least in the coming times. Perhaps they succeeded, but joke's on them. Lost Light may have been online through the times of grief, but grief does not touch his spark. It's another element of his surrounding, like floating rocks, clouds of solid something, solar winds, the works.

Well, for a given definition of "online", because, he, his batch and some older Titans were moored in random spots in the system, just away from Cybertron itself.

The new batch was mostly stationed in the shadows of Cybertron, in vain hopes of civil war going away quickly. But sometimes, when the fighting peaked and threatened to reach the moons, they were herded away and over to the system's edge, near the border of termination shock. There were a lot of visible stars here. And Primus, there was nothing more Lost Light liked more than those beautiful, beautiful stars.

The first Titans were sparked to carry their Cybertronian brethren beyond the embrace of their homeworld to the stars and defend them on the way. Not all Titans functioned as deep-space transport nowadays, but that was the original idea behind their frametype. Wayfarers.

And just when Lost Light started to go mad between moorings and itched to stretch his warp drive, because Primus and Unicron conspired to punish him specifically for his hubris, the Quintessons struck.

And Titans of Cybertron, eternal guardians they are, stood as the first line. While the little ones below scrambled around and got their priorities and slag-all in order, they stood. And together they withstood successfully. Neither Cybertron nor any planet in it's system fell to the Quintessons. It was not a clean victory, and Quints broke the lines to land incursions, but the Titans weathered enough that the little ones on the grounds were not overwhelmed. They endured the first of storms.

In the end of the beginning, the home system was safe, the civil war was over, and the Titans under the newly united Cybertronian High Command were partially reassigned to the outer fronts.

Now, Lost Light is a tiny Titan. An unusually tiny Titan by Titan standarts. He heard it was because there was a mix-up of vessels for reforging into Titanframes, and his was made from a late shipment two classes below specification.

His largest configuration houses in theory a thousand crewmembers. He prefers his smallest, which should hold above a dozen, but he does not have even a dozen of a crew anyway. He is still a Titan, and can comfortably rip into one, two, three Quint ships, but he cannot withstand a dozen, and Primus below, Quint ships in outer space come in waves and swarm like the squids they are. Instead, in this war he does he does best of what he does - he runs. He is small, his warp drives and bridge generators are the best among his batchmates, and he is fast. So he runs.

There's no Quint blockade that can stop him. Perhaps his cargo hold is not the largest, but if he is given a delivery, he will deliver it as soon as possible, come Pit or high tides. There's no escort craft that can keep up with him (and let's be honest, they are already understaffed enough that they simply can't find proper escort for his size), so he runs alone. If the Prime himself needs an express delivery, Lost Light is the Titan for the job.

He sees a lot of stars on his runs. He is pretty sure some of them are at least unclaimed, and some may be uncharted at all, so he marks them all on his maps. For later! Once the war ends, the beautiful, beautiful stars are his! He amasses a lot of maps, colors and marks them in the brightest hues his software comes with.

And some little ones even ask after the maps. Not like he hides them or something.

So, when the Prime calls, he comes.

Prime waits for him in the hanger personally. Together with the usual retinue, very much less usual very large pile of maps, boards and documents, a Perceptor hidden behind the pile of stuff (Xanthium talks about her favorite gunner a lot, when they have time to catch up), some twitchy engineer and his frequent passenger of express ferry Head Tactician Prowl.

Who has something very tiny enthusiastically crawling on him. Something so tiny, he has to recalibrate his inner and outer sensors for recordicon contact. His optics were hit in bot mode by rocks larger! Which were sometimes crawling with assorted space crustaceans! Come to think of it, thos crustaceans moved similarly...

And, because he is better at acceleration than braking, first thing Lost Light does is voice this observation.

"Prowl, sir, you've got crabs"

...

That was a start of a wonderful working relationship. Once they calm the tiny organic down from laughing, that is. It's name is Jazz, and it needs a ride home. Home which is besieged by Quintessons, and likely is near a fortified outpost, if not a starbase.

Strictly speaking, usually Titans are kept apart from organics, because they are usually very small, and tend to rot and fossilize. But since Lost Light is also very small, he got a direct invitation to an organic planet and immediately engaged his internal environmental system to produce enough oxygen. This is a chance of a lifetime!

Which brings him to his current... Problem?

The thing is, Jazz apparently has comrades. They pilot simulacrum frames specialized in Quint killing, which is very much respectable. And Lost Light's alt-mode's hangar bay may be a little tight in this configuration, but still compatible with them.

The issue is, one of those simulacrums which Lost Light got to shelter, a pleasantly painted one (flame patterns are always in vogue! No matter what anybody says!), appears to have broken down. Which made the organic inside very upset. At least he thinks it's upset, he is not very good at reading organics. Those "humans" do have fields, but they are very dull in comparison to Cybertronian ones.

The little organic with great taste is shouting what appears to be obscenities at unresponsive frame and alternates this with begging. Lost Light is floundering in his processor. The organic performs some indecipherable actions towards a fuel line of some sort with a tiny wrench. He's been at it for hours. None of the others from Jazz's makeshift warband returned yet.

This means Lost Light is responsible as the hosting Titan. Lost Light is usually alone. He does not quite know how to host other Cybertronians for prolonged periods of time, let alone organics. He hopes he maintains a nice oxygenated atmosphere.

He cannot watch this anymore. He has to gather all his confidence in his circuits and do something. Like talk to an organic without Prowl or the twitchy engineer (Swear? Swole? Swire? Swalter?) present. And, well, he'll figure how to decelerate later!

"Little one, do you require any assistance? I do have an internal welder somewhere..."

The organic startles, almost falling from it's precarious perch at the simulacrum's locked elbow joint, catches itself in time, and glances around. Then it glances up. And around again.

"I haven't hit my head that hard, yes? Is there someone here?"

"Well, yes? I mean no offence, but you're inside me"

Silence answers him, quickly broken by laughter. He remembers Jazz laughing. It is a similar laugh. He thinks he likes this laugh more.

"Well, I did not expect the ship to be speaking too. I really should not be surprised after this whole month"

At least the organic isn't despairing anymore? Lost Light thinks he can see a smile on it's face if he strains the camera.

"Technically, I'm a Titan. I'm a ship in the same way Deadlock is a,,, what you call small ground vehicle... Car? If I want to, I can be a building."

"Wait, but if you're the ship... How big do you guys come?!"

"Very. Now, little one, do you want my welder or not?"

Another wave of laughter follows.

"I do have a name!"

"You did not introduce myself"

"Cheeky. And yet, you did not introduce yourself either, big ship"

"My designation is Lost Light, and I'm the best Titan Courier this side of the galaxy"

The organic seems to finally locate his internal camera and so it points at it with it tiny wrench. Lost Light thinks it likes it's smile too.

"Well, nice to meet'cha, Lost Light. Name's Hot Rod. Now, about that welder..."

Lost Light rummages in his inventory for his favorite welder, mountable on a cargo manipulator. It is surprisingly elusive.

"I have it, I have it.... somewhere. It's been a long time since I patched up myself."

"...You patch yourself up often?"

"Nowadays not much, I'm a very good runner, and... Aha! There it is!"

Hot Rod look very, very happy to see the welder-wielding cargo manipulator. He is so much smaller than the tiniest little ones he carried. He reminds Lost Light of something that escapes his processor.

"Thanks, big ship. I hate ruptured lines. God knows when Ratch and that Swerve guy will be back"

"I'm not that big, you know. And I'm glad to be of assistance"

Despite pointed critique from the organic called Ratchet later on, Lost Light considers his skills with a welder in his internal cargo manipulator arms to be above average.

Hot Rod thinks so too, and ire of a medic shared is misery halved in Lost Light's books.

And then it hits him.

He reminds Lost Light of those beautiful, beautiful distant stars.

Lost Light prepares a very tiny datapad for a very big map.

.*.*.*.

...And here it is. I got possessed. Guest-starring my basic knowledge of astrophysics and bad jokes.

OOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHH I LOVE THIS TAKE ON THEM SO MUCH

[endearng]

Supernovae

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader Summary: Spencer doesn't matter where life leads you, as long as it takes you back to him. Whatever it is between you, he doesn't want to let it go, even though he can't speak those words. WC: 3k Warnings: pining. pining. pining. oh and there's also drinking and brief mentions of a case. nothing too hard. fluff with an open ending. <3astronomy metaphors<3 A/N: I'm a tad obsessed with bittersweet pieces lately. Feedbacks are highly appreciated! <3 Masterlist | dividers by the lovely @cafekitsune <3

From the other side of the street, an elderly woman watches two people sitting and talking. It happens periodically. Weeks would go without her seeing their young, bordering naive faces. Sometimes, their lips move alternately. Simultaneously, at other times, voices mingle together excitedly and hurriedly, even though she can't hear them. The exchanged smiles and stolen glances don't go unnoticed by her either, but the young duo seem to ignore them altogether. When the young woman drinks, the glances would linger for just a moment more as they sat closer to each other — it seems as if that their senses become heightened, asking, demanding for more of each other.

Across the old woman's house, up on the roof of the building of the apartment you share together, you and Spencer sit together, like you do many nights when you have the time and he is at home. The chilly wind makes your hair stick in every direction and the warm beer is oddly soothing, but what really gets to you is your companion. Next to you, Spencer has his legs crossed as he rants about the last book he had read about the solar system. It is a sight to behold. You, a little inebriated, and Spencer speaking to his heart's delight, not a care in the world. If anyone who knows him were to witness that moment, they would twist their faces in confusion as to how could such different people be around each other so naturally, so peacefully?

The answer is one neither of you are ready to acknowledge. Perhaps it is better to let it pass unnoticed.

On one side, you, who drinks much more alcohol than anyone he knows (he doesn't know many people). Secretly and selfishly, you live with an aching relief that he is the one you get to share your space with after searching endlessly for an apartment and a companion who wouldn't annoy or bore you to death. Then, came Spencer. Quiet, soft-spoken, endearing and full of unique... quirks. At first, you thought it was better to leave him be, not to pester him with your bad habits. But as fate would have it and since things don’t ever go your way anyway, you found your way to him, because of course he was the kind of person to light up and fuck up your entire world as you gradually get to know him. It was with you that Spencer learned how to throw in the towel, since you always have a very compelling way to show him he’s not always right. So, this is what you have, a delicate routine, both of you dedicated to your unique choreography of pushing and pulling away from each other, aware and respectful of each other's boundaries. It worked, for the most part.

Things started to get ambiguous when Spencer began to toss and turn, unable to sleep, unable to hold himself together. Then, it became your job, for some nights, to comfort and lull him to sleep. Spencer, who was so composed and serious all the time, clung to your side like a baby who was too afraid to live life with and through its own limbs. You would always wake up before him, dazzled by the sight of his parted lips and by the small noises he let out while he was sleeping. You never complained, too afraid he would pull away from the brightness your heart would show if you were to ever say anything to address the situation. No, it is better like this. Sitting together, him by your side, you felt happily bitter — at this point, you wouldn't know what to do without him in your life.

Now, though, this is getting out of hand, the way you struggle to absorb his words, unlike you normally can. You blame it on the alcohol. You are lying. Mostly, to yourself.

As you smile at him, your silent way to tell him you were listening, Spencer feels seen. Your tousled hair, the flush in your cheeks and your sparkly eyes makes the universe and its complexities seem so simple compared to the maelstrom of feelings brewing inside him. He looks at your lips and remembers the day he quietly traced them with his fingertips as you slept, allowing himself to the simple action of touching, without feeling wrong or disgusting for wanting it. Long before he slept on your bed for the first time—your offer and his reluctant acceptance, fearsome of what it could lead to inside his own head—, Spencer daydreamed about you. Something about you makes something inside him snap and light up. Almost as if reading his thoughts, you ask softly, "Tell me about supernovae."

At that, he perks up, eyes brimming with excitement and joy. You and him, alone, together.

You, you, you.

Your question felt fitting. So he answers.

"There are two kinds of supernovae." He starts, as if warming up for the word vomit that was about to make its way out of his lips. You smile, already familiar with the sight and the fluttery feeling in your heart when you knew he was going to explain something to you, especially. "The first type, which is the one most people know about, happens when a star collapses because it runs out of fuel. Um, when that happens, the pressure drops, which makes the star explode." He continues, gaze unwavering. "What keeps a star together are two forces that are mutually opposite forces. The star's gravity tries to keep it as small as possible whereas the nuclear fuel, burning in its core, creates pressure. The two forces, when imbalanced, hence why I talked about the drop of pressure, cause a supernova. It is the biggest explosion us humans have ever taken notice of."

A swig of beer and your heart drops to your stomach at his soft, content features. "What about the other type?"

"Oh, this one happens between two stars. When they orbit one another." He replies, almost bashfully now, having your sole attention on him. "One of them has to be a white dwarf whose size has to be similar to Earth's. If the white dwarf pulls too much matter from the other star or collides with another, it can explode. Supernovae are not very common, but when they do happen, the explosion is so bright that it can outshine galaxies for up to months." He finishes, looking up at the sky above you.

Don't they sound like us?

His hyper-focused mind makes up the question, but he suppresses his lips from muttering them. He shrugs, almost imperceptibly, as you take another sip of the warm beer. Suppress it. It's for the better. "Hey, uh, I was meaning to talk to you about something," you begin.

"Of course. What is it?"

"I'm leaving for a few days," you say, face lighting up in sheer joy after a flash of something he couldn't quite figure out. "Godmother-slash-aunt duties."

Spencer feels confused, a mix of feelings taking over his senses. On one hand, he is happy for you for having somewhere safe to come back, for having a good relationship with your family, for being important for them. On the other hand, he feels almost betrayed and sick with the bubbling jealousy to the point of mentally scolding himself from thinking it. You are important to him, too. He is already used to your quiet yet steady presence around the house — you have a very stable routine and it’s rare for him to come back home after working hours and not seeing you right away. Spencer, albeit knowing it was nonsensical and selfish, feels almost abandoned. He attempts a smile, but his heart isn't in it. "Okay... I'll... I'll take care of the apartment."

"Oh, you better," you quip, trying to shrug off yet another ambiguous moment. "If I come back and there's a pile of dishes in the sink, you'll regret it."

He winces, attention diverted briefly to the shame about his sluggish ways when it comes to household chores. "Okay, okay. I will keep an eye on it. Or don't eat anything at home—"

"You better not survive solely on take-out food."

Spencer groans, but it isn't half as serious as he tries to make it out to be. "Fine. Fine."

He could do it. Or at least, he thinks so.

—

Countless days, countless cases, an inhuman amount of sheer violence and grief. Two weeks. Fourteen days. 336 hours. 20160 minutes. 1,290,600 seconds of not seeing your face.

Yet, Spencer has had time to lay at night, sometimes wide awake, wondering what were you up to, wondering what you two would be doing if you were here, in your apartment. His mind is always wandering to all sorts of possibilities that revolve around you, but he brushes aside the one about telling you everything. It is far too risky, and he finds that he wouldn’t be able to deal with the aftermath if things ever went wrong between the two of you. No. He would not be responsible for it.

The loneliest night thus far hits him hard. The team had just finished what had been truly an awful case at work and his mind was all over the place, sleep deprivation stopping him from making connections and defining patterns as he normally could. Getting home, he feels tired, guilty, angry, upset... He plops down on the couch, burying his face in one of the cushions and groans loudly. A few moments of external silence go by, even though his mind thrums with the sense of failure.

Begrudgingly, he stands up and takes a long shower—the running, steaming water does little to quench his turmoil. After putting on a fresh change of clothes, he finds his way into your bedroom instead of his. Soon enough, he is buried in your covers, holding a shirt you'd forgotten to put in your suitcase. Lying on your bed, he feels as if he was there for ages, the restlessness and cortisol levels giving way to a steadier breathing rhythm and a slower, calmer pace in his heartbeat. Smelling your shirt softly, he processes what longing feels like. An undeniable force tells him that you exist in a bigger space than you cared to think, that your gravitational pull is too strong on him. A poor single, lonely star amidst the galaxy.

His cellphone—a much too technological device, that he had bought upon your insistence of being able to reach him faster— rings. He picks up after reaching for it, not minding to see whoever was calling. Spencer figured that it would be someone close enough to not mind his overall moodiness, so he picked up either way.

It was your voice. "Hi." It makes him shiver in relief, but he brushes off as a coincidence, the way you two are so connected that upon his discomfort you were the one to reach out for him.

"Hey."

"You were going to bed, right?" He hears the question, a hint of hesitation covering your tone. "Sorry, sorry."

"No, I... I'm glad you called."

"Oh, okay. I just wanted to check on you. How are you, Spencer?"

"I'm... I'm doing good," he says, clutching your shirt tighter. He clears his throat, willing his voice to not crack. "How are things going over there?"

"I think the best part about being a godmother is that I can return her to her parents whenever she gets too much," you quip, chuckling, which brings a small grin to Spencer's face. "But, yeah, things are going great."

"I'm happy to hear that."

"You're not busy, are you?" You try again, fearing having ripped him from his job or his rare moments of free-time.

"No, no," his voice trembles as he denies it, and he inhales the lingering perfume on the shirt, which rests just against his face. "I'm... I'm happy you called."

I miss you.

Talking feelings—despite knowing pretty much everything about them, such as what caused them—is not very familiar in Spencer's life. The words never feel right, so he often decides to not say anything. Tonight, though, it's different. Like he fears you're not coming back, so he tries. "You never mentioned... You never said how long you'd stay with your family. When... when do you fly back?" He asks, a glimmer of hope blooming in his chest at the thought of having you close to him again, even as his voice cracks at the last word.

"In two days." You answer, and he wants let himself believe there's relief in your voice. "I'll be back in two days."

"Good."

"You better be there to welcome me," you jest, and his heart feels a lot warmer with the joy in your voice.

"I will," he replies, not entirely sure whether he'd be able to. He wants to believe he will.

—

He isn't there. You don't hold it over his head—there are several miniatures of your favorite pastry sitting on the counter. Your heart swells at the thoughtfulness, and you know he had done them wishing he could be here to talk about the process firsthand. He isn't. So you wait for him to come home.

You're unpacking in the living room, humming to Drops of Jupiter, when Spencer walks through the door and you wish you could photograph when his face lights up at the sight of you—not that your expression was more subtle. Relief floods his being when he sees you, and it's clear that your absence was deeply felt, but you won't give space to such a thought. Instead, you become hyper-aware of how your bodies mold together as he approaches and hugs you, burying his head on the crook of your neck and sighing. It had been a fortnight, yet it had felt like years. Spencer wonders if you feel the same way when he's away on his cases. Probably not.

Now that she's back in the atmosphere...

"You're home," he addresses and it comes out as if he's talking about the weather, but the words and their meaning hold a deeper significance to him.

"You baked for me." You respond, giddily, squeezing him a tad bit stronger.

Pulling away, just enough to catch a glimpse of his pretty, tired face, you grin. "I missed you."

Affection was a common, safe ground for you. Something so simple that you dominated so effortlessly, and he feels a little jealous of how easy it is for you to just speak up your heart. He wonders if that's all you feel and if you're completely honest, given your comfort. He wonders if he'd be honest if he could see the world through your eyes.

Instead of answering, he rests his chin on your shoulder, unable to keep away any longer. And the closest still wasn't close enough. He pushes you gently into the couch, laying on top of you and closing his eyes as he feels your scent invade his senses and a deep feeling of tranquility wash over him. It's truly like being home. It is being home. The weight of his body presses yours on the couch, and even though your limbs may get numb at some point, you don't find it in yourself to move. No, you don't move. Instead, you gently rake your fingers through his hair, brushing a little against his ears, and the touch makes shivers erupt on his skin—thank God for his long-sleeved shirts.

He mumbles in his sleep, but you don't hear it. Missed you too.

Nevertheless, his actions are enough to tell you how he feels, but his lack of verbal confirmation leaves you hanging, but your heart feels lighter as you fall asleep under him.

—

Leaving work, you make your way to the nearest museum, where Spencer is waiting for you with one of his colleagues—they're not tagging along, don't worry. As you hurriedly make your way through the crowds, too careful to not step on anyone's foot, you look up and immediately find Spencer on the staircase. It's magnetic, the way his gaze pulls yours and it's addicting how neither of you have the strength required to look away. The coincidence makes you want to run to him, but instead, you blindly stride, the strong stare of his eyes like a tightrope over which you could walk with closed eyes. He wouldn't let you fall. If he did, he'd catch you before you hit the ground.

Here you are.

The sculptures are mesmerizing. Both you and Spencer are speechless at the beauty of it. The preciseness required to sculpture marble doesn't go unnoticed by either of you, and Spencer finds himself wishing to have you as his muse. Not that he was an artist—but he could, if he tried it—, but the thought of having you at his mercy, your body as his temple of inspiration to be passed on for infinity makes something inside him stir. His mind is suddenly plagued with thoughts of being the one to capture your beauty and turning it into art.

As you comment on trying to fight the urge to touch the marble, Spencer closes his eyes and he's able to picture your face and its expressions. The way your smile reaches your eyes, making them almost close in the shape of crescent moons... The way your lip quivers just slightly before you get emotional.

The way your lips would be plumper if he'd kissed you relentlessly, just like he dreams of doing.

Reality comes crashing faster than he anticipated when your hand unconsciously grips his bicep, unconsciously both grounding him to reality and sending his senses into overdrive. His skin dips with the gentle pressure, and he thinks of you two as statues, frozen, touching, always in each other's orbits.

Supernovae are essential to create life, despite their lethal brightness that might eventually turn into a big, black hole. Those are dangerous, sucking everything around them, dragging it inside to never return again. Nevertheless, even though you're strong, too strong, too blazing, pulling him in and he nearly tips over the edge, he musters up the strength to pull back before he's burning up in you.

Spencer, at least for now, settles for small slivers of your blinding brightness, happy to watch it happen—your life—from afar.

It's as close as he'll allow himself to get as he hopes you'll draw him in.

Tonight, the woman who sits by her window catches a glimpse of the two shadows dancing in one of the apartments through its window. It's one of her few certainties at this point in life: the young, in love couple across the street.

[nasa]

Astronomers used three of NASA's Great Observatories to capture this multiwavelength image showing galaxy cluster IDCS J1426.5+3508. It includes X-rays recorded by the Chandra X-ray Observatory in blue, visible light observed by the Hubble Space Telescope in green, and infrared light from the Spitzer Space Telescope in red. This rare galaxy cluster has important implications for understanding how these megastructures formed and evolved early in the universe.

How Astronomers Time Travel

Let’s add another item to your travel bucket list: the early universe! You don’t need the type of time machine you see in sci-fi movies, and you don’t have to worry about getting trapped in the past. You don’t even need to leave the comfort of your home! All you need is a powerful space-based telescope.

But let’s start small and work our way up to the farthest reaches of space. We’ll explain how it all works along the way.

This animation illustrates how fast light travels between Earth and the Moon. The farther light has to travel, the more noticeable its speed limit becomes.

The speed of light is superfast, but it isn’t infinite. It travels at about 186,000 miles (300 million meters) per second. That means that it takes time for the light from any object to reach our eyes. The farther it is, the more time it takes.

You can see nearby things basically in real time because the light travel time isn’t long enough to make a difference. Even if an object is 100 miles (161 kilometers) away, it takes just 0.0005 seconds for light to travel that far. But on astronomical scales, the effects become noticeable.

This infographic shows how long it takes light to travel to different planets in our solar system.

Within our solar system, light’s speed limit means it can take a while to communicate back and forth between spacecraft and ground stations on Earth. We see the Moon, Sun, and planets as they were slightly in the past, but it's not usually far enough back to be scientifically interesting.

As we peer farther out into our galaxy, we use light-years to talk about distances. Smaller units like miles or kilometers would be too overwhelming and we’d lose a sense of their meaning. One light-year – the distance light travels in a year – is nearly 6 trillion miles (9.5 trillion kilometers). And that’s just a tiny baby step into the cosmos.

The Sun’s closest neighboring star, Proxima Centauri, is 4.2 light-years away. That means we see it as it was about four years ago. Betelgeuse, a more distant (and more volatile) stellar neighbor, is around 700 light-years away. Because of light’s lag time, astronomers don’t know for sure whether this supergiant star is still there! It may have already blasted itself apart in a supernova explosion – but it probably has another 10,000 years or more to go.

What looks much like craggy mountains on a moonlit evening is actually the edge of a nearby, young, star-forming region NGC 3324 in the Carina Nebula. Captured in infrared light by the Near-Infrared Camera (NIRCam) on NASA’s James Webb Space Telescope, this image reveals previously obscured areas of star birth.

The Carina Nebula clocks in at 7,500 light-years away, which means the light we receive from it today began its journey about 3,000 years before the pyramids of Giza in Egypt were built! Many new stars there have undoubtedly been born by now, but their light may not reach Earth for thousands of years.

An artist’s concept of our Milky Way galaxy, with rough locations for the Sun and Carina nebula marked.

If we zoom way out, you can see that 7,500 light-years away is still pretty much within our neighborhood. Let’s look further back in time…

This stunning image by the NASA/ESA Hubble Space Telescope features the spiral galaxy NGC 5643. Looking this good isn’t easy; 30 different exposures, for a total of nine hours of observation time, together with Hubble’s high resolution and clarity, were needed to produce an image of such exquisite detail and beauty.

Peering outside our Milky Way galaxy transports us much further into the past. The Andromeda galaxy, our nearest large galactic neighbor, is about 2.5 million light-years away. And that’s still pretty close, as far as the universe goes. The image above shows the spiral galaxy NGC 5643, which is about 60 million light-years away! That means we see it as it was about 60 million years ago.

As telescopes look deeper into the universe, they capture snapshots in time from different cosmic eras. Astronomers can stitch those snapshots together to unravel things like galaxy evolution. The closest ones are more mature; we see them nearly as they truly are in the present day because their light doesn’t have to travel as far to reach us. We can’t rewind those galaxies (or our own), but we can get clues about how they likely developed. Looking at galaxies that are farther and farther away means seeing these star cities in ever earlier stages of development.

The farthest galaxies we can see are both old and young. They’re billions of years old now, and the light we receive from them is ancient since it took so long to traverse the cosmos. But since their light was emitted when the galaxies were young, it gives us a view of their infancy.

This animation is an artist’s concept of the big bang, with representations of the early universe and its expansion.

Comparing how fast objects at different distances are moving away opened up the biggest mystery in modern astronomy: cosmic acceleration. The universe was already expanding as a result of the big bang, but astronomers expected it to slow down over time. Instead, it’s speeding up!

The universe’s expansion makes it tricky to talk about the distances of the farthest objects. We often use lookback time, which is the amount of time it took for an object’s light to reach us. That’s simpler than using a literal distance, because an object that was 10 billion light-years away when it emitted the light we received from it would actually be more than 16 billion light-years away right now, due to the expansion of space. We can even see objects that are presently over 30 billion light-years from Earth, even though the universe is only about 14 billion years old.

This James Webb Space Telescope image shines with the light from galaxies that are more than 13.4 billion years old, dating back to less than 400 million years after the big bang.

Our James Webb Space Telescope has helped us time travel back more than 13.4 billion years, to when the universe was less than 400 million years old. When our Nancy Grace Roman Space Telescope launches in a few years, astronomers will pair its vast view of space with Webb’s zooming capabilities to study the early universe in better ways than ever before. And don’t worry – these telescopes will make plenty of pit stops along the way at other exciting cosmic destinations across space and time.

Learn more about the exciting science Roman will investigate on X and Facebook.

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

[starsandsuch]

Your 4th House Sign And Your Ideal Living Environment 🏡

Aries 4H: living somewhere that is a good launchpad for you to do other things. Only being home for short amounts of time. A place where you can be physically active: home gym, treadmill etc. A place with a good kitchen that’s well equipped: gas oven, microwave, toaster oven, etc.

Taurus 4H: living in a place that is luxurious and comfortable. A home or apartment with amenities. A home that is well built and sturdy, it has good structural integrity. Living in a area surrounded by nature, trees, flowers. Somewhere that is relaxing. Living in countryside or suburbs. Living on a farm.

Gemini 4H: living somewhere with multiples: multiple bathrooms, bedrooms, mirrors etc. somewhere where you can participate in hobbies at home. Having a garden, game room, community room etc. living with a friend or sibling. A place with good WiFi. Living in walkable city, you live walking distance to supermarket etc.

Cancer 4H: living somewhere that is peaceful and serene. Living in a comfortable environment. It is a pleasant sensory experience: quiet, gets great sunlight, prefect size etc. A place with good amount of privacy and security. Living Oceanside, near water or the beach. Living traditionally in a suburb or archetypal home. Living with family.

Leo 4H: living in a place that is like a castle. High rise apartment condo, house in the hills. A home fit for royalty. Living in a gated community. Living in proximity to celebrities. Living like royalty: having house staff. Living in an environment that looks glamorous.

Virgo 4H: living somewhere modern and clean. Everything is new, updated and functioning well. Somewhere efficient, and well organized. Properity is well taken care of. Living somewhere that is easy to keep clean: hardwood floors, marble surfaces. House is pristine and untouched.

Libra 4H: living somewhere peaceful and aesthetically pleasing. A place with good architecture, a home that is artistic in someway. It’s neutral overall: not to big or too small. It is close to city but not to far either. Prefers to live with spouse.

Scorpio 4H: living somewhere that offers privacy and protection. Living somewhere secretive that’s not accessible to public. Private gated community, hidden hills etc. Having security codes, access codes, doorman, front desk person etc. Home that has powerful spiritual energy.

Sagittarius 4H: living in and environment that is flexible. Like a studio. Living abroad or internationally. Living amongst foreigners and immigrants. Living somewhere that gives you freedom: having a month to month lease, renting short term etc. Living in a diverse major city. Metropolitan environment. Living in a big house with alot of space.

Capricorn 4H: living somewhere that is well structured. Building that is antiquated or prestigious. Home looks like office, you have your office in your house. Living in a traditional home or apartment, nothing too unique or out of ordinary. Living near the state capital or government buildings.

Aquarius 4H: living somewhere that is good for environment. Eco conscious living. Living with friends/ having communal living space. Prefers not to live completely alone but having friends, roommates or house staff. Having unique quirks in home, like gadgets, speaker system, solar panels etc. living environment is out of the ordinary for some reason.

Pisces 4H: living somewhere that is like a sanctuary. Home has powerful spiritual energy: good numerology, energetically cleansed etc. home is in isolated place. Living in home where you feel disconnected from world around you. Home seems haunted, spooky or abandoned. Living near the beach or bodies of water. Living in foreign lands. Living somewhere that’s hard to find.

[hope-for-the-planet]

From the article:

It’s difficult to overstate how rapidly Australians have embraced solar power, and how much it has exceeded expectations. In 2011, the forecast was that rooftop solar would eventually contribute 4 terawatt hours of electricity. In the context of the Australian grid, this was next to nothing – barely 2% of total generation. For some, it raised the question of whether it was really worth the cost. More than a decade on, that number has been eclipsed more than six times over in the five eastern states connected by the country’s main power grid. Rooftop solar panels connected to the National Electricity Market generated 24.6TWh over the last year of data. Put another way, homes have contributed 11.6% of electricity – nearly as much as wind farms, comfortably more than large-scale solar farms or hydro plants, and twice as much as gas-fired power. More than 3.7m households and small businesses have solar systems. It means more than one in three homes across the country generate their own power when the sun is out.

[helis97]

Dude megatronus Prime forever starving and Mad that Is hell.

Well he was Chained for a very Long Time and will he Be ever free If yes will He Be good now or Bad cause you know forever starving and wants revenge or Something.

Have a nice day and stuff bye.

He does get to be free and that DOES make him everyone else problem! Mainly because he is a powerhouse (a sadistic one) and has some dominion over dark-enegon! (Primus made him that way to fight Unicron).

At some point during the Autobot/Decepticon war, Quintessons’ society implodes to a point where there is no longer a society, but a bunch of individuals that use their immense knowledge and resources to take control of planets or entire solar systems. Tytanus Quintus, with his small army of genetically modified transformers, takes the dead and now abandoned planet of Cybertron (Orobhos follows him shortly after).

Quinntessa takes her fleet of warships and the Fallen Prime (aka Megatronus) and starts a nomad empire by capturing and enslaving any sentient creature that finds itself floating in space. That DOES INCLUDE any unfortunate cybertronian scatered in the cosmos after the death of their home planet. Megatronus has happily gone along with Quinntessa’ s plan because he gets to rule/torment anyone that gets caught.

Megatron gets to taste said torments when he is caught while trying to escort a fleet of refugees back to Cybertron (after the events of the movie). As stated before, Megatronus has dominion over dark-energon and Megatron happens to have his entire f@king being infused with that!

previous post about this

[reasonsforhope]

"Seventh graders at Thurgood Marshall Middle School in Rockford, Illinois are learning about STEM — but they’re also learning about real-world challenges.

The students have taken on a new project: assembling “solar suitcases” to help bring electricity to schools in Uganda’s Bidi Bidi Refugee Settlement, which is home to 270,000 South Sudanese refugees.

It’s an initiative led by We Share Solar, a nonprofit that provides science and technology learning projects for students that then go on to benefit other students in low-income areas of the world. 

The project introduces middle schoolers to fundamental electrical concepts, like positive and negative charges, voltage, amps, and wiring, ultimately producing a 12-volt DC solar power system that will be distributed among the refugee community.

“We’ve learned many things like positives and negatives, amps, volts, all that stuff, and how to wire stuff together,” Pratham Mehta, one of the Thurgood Marshall students, told WIFR News. 

“We’re taking all this stuff for granted, and other countries don’t have all this stuff, like electricity.”

The suitcases will bring electricity to 40 schools in the refugee settlement, which provide education to over 12,000 students. They are designed to be easily transported (thus the suitcase design), which makes them ideal for off-grid locations, like a refugee camp.

The panels in the suitcase collect sunlight and harness the energy in a built-in battery. It can then provide power to up to five light bulbs for 50 to 60 hours a week. Depending on the capacity of the system, it can also help power small electronics like phones or radios.

For people in the Bidi Bidi settlement — one of the largest refugee settlements in the world — this kind of power can make an enormous impact.

In fact, We Share Solar has deployed over 1,000 suitcases to “energy-scarce locations” across the world, with more than 500,000 students and teachers benefitting from the power they provide.

“The We Share Solar education program serves youth twice,” Hal Aronson, co-founder of the organization, said, “first as an educational experience for American youth and second as a renewable power and lighting system for youth in parts of the world that lack electricity.��

Along with connecting students to learning opportunities, the organization ensures each device is tested by a professional to ensure it is built to withstand energy demands. Then, the suitcases are installed by trained partners in destination countries, and students and teachers alike learn about the new clean energy technologies they have implemented.

At the start of the 2024 school year, the We Share Solar program was implemented in 13 Illinois schools, training educators in the curriculum and setting up the project across the state.

“This is just the beginning,” a Facebook post from We Share Solar states. “These passionate teachers will now guide their students in building solar cases, providing a hands-on STEM experience with real-world impact.”

-via GoodGoodGood, January 16, 2025

[thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch]

a/n: 2.3k - boothill finds you digging around in junk and then offers you a gift he hopes you won't refuse... [plsdontflopplsdontflopplsdont-]

the heavy metal clinking of boothill's foot steps clank their way to your shop's door. an all too familiar door he'd always find himself going up to whenever he was in need of repair- big or small. the swiveling security camera you keep at your entrance blinks with red-lit life and moves to start following his movements as soon as he enters it's field of vision.

who knows if you're ever actually paying attention to the camera feed or not though. you can be careless like that. sometimes you're just out- couldn't be bothered or could care less about the remote feed linked directly to your phone. other times, you're so focused on some project you neglect it entirely.

based on the sign hanging on your shop's door he was familiar with- it seemed that this time in particular you were out.

boothill didn't need to know how to write- much less read well- to take a wild gander as to where you had wondered off to. putting his spring loaded and metal jointed hands on his slim waist, his chin dips with an amused chuckle and shake of his head. the cowboy lifts the toe of his mechanical boot and twists his body fully 'round; his spurs scrapping across the ground during his lazy about-face. with one foot in front of the other and thumbs hooked through the hollow crops of his trousers, the galaxy ranger makes his way towards the junk yard.

it would never occur to the standard person to spend their free time digging around a scrap yard filled with junk thrown out for a reason- but you were anything but standard. if you weren't tinkering around in your shop or finishing up a repair or commission, you were scrounging around the grounds for material or 'hidden treasure'... which was key for just slightly more valuable junk.

a typical haul for you would be a few pieces of scrap metal you could use for wielding, the rare unstripped screw or loose gaggle of bolts, and all sorts of wire. if it saved you a few credits by finding material instead of buying them, you weren't one to argue with free trash.

passing under the wire-metal gate leading into the fenced-off territory, his thumbs still tucked into his pant legs, his ears stay sharp. listening for any sound of you digging around in some heap while his head swivels back and forth to try and catch a glimpse of you.

"ey, sugar, you around!" boothill shouts, one of his hands detaching from his hips to cup around his mouth. he wanders further in, gets more ground, before calling out the same sentence a second time. shaking his head in bewilderment on how far in you had gone digging, he goes even further still and tries calling out a third time.

"here!" you finally answer back. your voice echoes around him, bouncing off the scrap metal and spooking the rats and other critters that call the junk yard home. his head turns in the direction of your voice, the way his body leans towards it before his feet start carrying him that way never took notice in his own mind.

eventually, he makes it to you. squat down to the ground, under the rusty remains of some poor saps long eroded escape pod from whatever solar system they crashed in from. he crosses his arms, then his ankles, leaning his metal shoulder on the ruined dome you were digging under.

the ranger had no idea how long you had been out here, but judging by the half full bag you kept on your shoulder and the grease sticking to your neck and exposed skin he could guess it's been a bit. he chuckles when you dig out a rusted, broken pipe of... something, before tossing it over your shoulder with a disappointed click of your tongue and looking up at him. your cheeks had some gunk on it too, probably from you wiping the back of your gloves on it.

"fancy diggin' around in junk?"

"it's not all junk."

"the fudge it aint," he scoffs. to him, it absolutely was all junk. "this aint called the dang junk yard for nothin, sugar."

"it's a scrap yard."

"stubborn-bottom." you move to stand up, clapping your gloved hands together before taking them off so you could use your hands more freely. "good to see ya took my advice and startin' wearing some forkin' gloves around here." he eyes around at all the rust and sharp metal. "gonna get tetanus or somethin', and we can't have that."

"im liable to get tetanus from you before anything else," you joke so straight-faced it didn't feel like a joke. his crossed arms drop along with his jaw and his stance straightens as he uncrosses his ankles.

"ey', i aint as forkin' filthy as you pretend i am, and you know it." you shrug with a half smirk that was so dismissive he was tempted to keep arguing. you push the goggles you were wearing over your eyes to avoid getting anything in them and possible irritation onto your forehead. seeing the contrast between your sweaty, grease and dirt marked skin and the clean skin that was protected under the goggles had him scoff. "yer filthier than i am, by the look of things."

you roll your eyes and move to climb out of the rusty treasure trove of junk you had deemed no longer having anything of value. reaching out, boothill offers you his hand. you take it easily as he starts pulling you up and out to stand in front of him. your hand drops from his when you stand safely in his bubble, and he isn't sure if you know how close you are or not.

your nose is always so focused in tinkering around or messing with work that you can't always... read the room so to speak. its endearing, until it gets frustrating anyway.

"so, what're you here for this time? need something fixed again- i swear if you already burned through that new servo i replaced a month ago, im going to take off your arm and you won't get it back for a week."

"well, that's awful sweet of you." you knew by his dry tone and sneered lips that exposed his sharp teeth that the word sweet was definitely supposed to be a different five-letter word starting with 's'. one that his broken beacon (which you refuse to fix out of entertainment) wouldn't allow him to say.

"seems like an appropriate consequence to me, considering i don't charge you for repairs."

"i ain't here for not goose-dud repair," he hisses. "i had planned on givin' ya somethin', but based on your sweet attitude i aint so sure about it now."

"you brought me something?" he nods. "from a different solar planet?" he could see the curiosity start to ignite in your eyes. he nods again. you stuff your gloves into a pouch in your pants that he swears you've sewed another pocket into, before you're marching away from him and towards the entrance he had marched from at the beginning of this search. "well come on, let's get a moving!" you shout over your shoulder.

his synthetic voice chuckles at your back. eagerly waltzing after you.

boothill soon finds himself sitting with his knees apart and comfortably lounging with his arms on the back of your worn-down, two-cushioned couch the moment you two got back to the shop. he had taken himself to your quote- reception room, as he waited for you to unload your finds from the junkyard (meaning you just took your bag, flipped it upside and let its content spill out unceremoniously onto your worktable before you would eventually sort through it at a later time).

the tapping of his metal toes against your floor echoed dully against the rug under the sofa as you soon made your way to stand in front of him, hands on your hips and an expectant look in your eyes. flicking the brim of his hat cheekily to get a better look up at you, he lifted his chin.

"my attention is yours," you dramatically sigh, hands flaring to your sides before bouncing back against your legs.

"im flattered, sugar," he jests back. still, he shifts. the small pouch he had strung to his belt that was home to his array of extra fire rounds was soon detached from him. the string of which was used to tie it to him previously, hangs lazily from his metal fingertips. with a raised, semi-skeptical brow, you carefully take it off his hands.

"if this is some sort of prank," you warn. his hands raise in the air with his elbows still resting comfortably on the back of the cushions he was leaning against, gesturing that he meant no harm.

slowly- cautiously- you pull open the bag and remove two different items that had been nestled safely inside.

tossing the now empty bag onto the couch next to boothill's leg, you took each item into one hand and looked between them. one was a small crystal that was no larger than the center of your palm. shining a swirling color of green and blue, you could only imagine that it would look even prettier properly polished and with a light shining behind it. in the other was a small box, one that could be opened with a rusty lid. giving it a small rattle revealed something to be inside. doing so revealed a small robot that had been covered in rust, missing a robotic arm and wires spilling out from under the cracked and broken screen that would most definitely have acted as it's face.

"what's all this?" you ask softly. boothill stands from his lackadaisical lounging on your sofa to come and waltz up to your side. he pointed at the robot sitting sadly in the container he had brought him in first.

"i found this lil fella and thought you'd have a gas fixin' him right up. as for that," he points to the crystal of dual-swirling shades next, "accordin' to my scanners, that there's a pretty dadgum power source." boothill takes the small crystal from your palm and hovers it just above the robot. "it suits him, don't it?" he chuckles.

in truth, the slightly dingy looking crystal shard was too magnificent compared to the busted and rusted robot. but, with a bit of work, repair and love, perhaps the color of the crystal really would look nice against polished sheet metal.

"i figure givin' you somethin' else to tinker with would be more... enriching than just your usual forkin' machines." and it could keep you company, but he didn't say that out loud.

when you would get it working like he knew you could, maybe you'd stop and think about him while he was away chasing his reality out as a galaxy ranger. if you could just spare a single thought towards him every day because of a small robot and shiny rock? he'd be tickled pink.

"he's cute," you whisper gently and boothill wonders if you know you said it out loud at all. he chuckles, bringing his hand up to cup the designed dents atop his cowboy hat. taking it off his head, he gently drops it onto yours, gaining your attention back from the gifts he had given you.

the way you lift your eyes to look at him- filled with something akin to excitement and fondness- and gently cradle the small rusty robot with his hat now shadowing your face, he could almost hear the wires in his chest running on turbo. he'd had to cool down asap before he overheated or crashed.

taking a step back- for his own sake- he leaves his hat on your head before patting your back.

"get to it," he softly tells you. you mutely nod, an excited smile breaking out over your lips as you trot towards a different room. it was a small private work space you retreated to for personal projects. boothill was one that was usually allowed inside since this room was where he would get his tune ups most times.

with boothill following your back, he watches you trot to your work bench. you gently set the robot's box down and remove it from inside. the crystal you submerged in a bowl that you soon fill with polish to let it soak. it took all of ten minutes before you're surrounded by tools and wires and equipment made for digital repairs. all the while boothill remade his comfort in a worn-down rocker you kept in the corner, content on staying put until he was forced to leave. whether it by your or by his next bounty.

he couldn't very well leave you with his hat either, even if it looked better on you than him.

the next time boothill comes into your shop after that gift drop off, it wasn't a visit but a proper repair. running out of cooling agent for his internal hardware was just waiting for a disaster to happen. his synthetic-coded laugh burst into the room jollily as when he sat down on the stool he always planted his ass in for repairs, a small, shiny robot- with the cutest digital expressions and a small blue-green swirling crystal placed in the center of its chest- was waddling across your work bench. a vile of blue cooling agent the near size of his small metal body grasped tightly in its robotic arms.

it chirped happily with a digital reverb when you thank it for bringing the coolant over.

boothill was indeed tickled as pink could get seeing you already attached to the lil fella. he wondered what you named it.

a/n: smol robot go beep-boop (i love the idea of mechanic!reader just having a cute lil guy to follow them around like a puppy :(( [big thanks to @/birinboom and my partner for letting me pick their brain on what gifts boothill ended up giving to the reader bc i had no idea lol smooches <3]