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gumycandyyy · 7 months

Note

Heyo I'm here to request that Male Reader x Winter King you wanted-

Anyways, can you write for a male Reader that used to be Simon and Betty's friend before the crown and the Mushroom War, who randomly shows up in the Land of Ooo? As in, Simon thought that they had died a long time ago, alongside Betty, but the Reader had survived through some odd means and got reunited with him?

Lol, if that's too much, then I'm sorry. It could be a fic or Headcanons, whichever you prefer!

⠂"ʏᴏᴜ'ᴠᴇ ɢᴏᴛᴛᴇɴ ᴏʟᴅ."⠐

⠂"ᴡᴇ ʙᴏᴛʜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ."⠐

AHJFHJGSKHA HOW DID YOU KNOW I WANTED TO WRITE ABOUT SIMON?? I LOVE THIS WET CAT.

Winter King actually isn't this one, because I wanted to focus on Fionna and Cake ver. Simon

Male reader

Platonic/Romantic (I'm leaving it ambiguous, because I mean, c'mon. It's Simon.)

Type: Headcanons (With a drabble and oneshot mixed in)

Summary: An old friend shows up after a bunch of time-related shenanigans, and is finally ready to settle back down in Ooo. Though this sudden happening is quite a shock to Simon.

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-You used to be an old family friend of Betty's, and met Simon through her.

-Y'all were really close, and they invited you over for dinner every other weekend.

-But one day, you just...

-Vanished.

-Everyone thought you were kidnapped, and Simon and Betty were heartbroken.

-However...

-Through some odd means, you were kept alive for a thousand years.

-It all started one weird day when you bought a little doodad from a garage sale.

-the next thing you knew, you were in a big yellow cube with a pink wall guy.

-Apparently the little thing you bought was an item from another universe, and it was janking up Ooo.

-Aaaaand technically you just committed a serious crime by purchasing the little thing.

-And whether intentional or not, you now had to go on trial for this little accident. You tried to explain what happened, but you were found guilty.

-You were sentenced to a thousand years in some donked up time jail.

-Apparently, you wouldn't age in there, and a thousand years would pass on Ooo before you were set free.

-It was the worst thing that could've ever happened to you.

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-The time jail kept you from losing your sanity, and a thousand years later, you were released.

-You were teleported back to Ooo, which looked quite different than how you remembered it.

-It felt like an eternity since you've seen rolling green hills and a clear blue sky. An eternity since you've breathed familiar air.

-You heard something, about a hundred yards from you.

-You approached the loud noises to see some buff dude with a sick beard and robotic arm beating up some one-eyed monster.

-He punched the creature, and it was sent flying towards you.

-You ducked, and the dude noticed you.

"Ah, sorry man! Didn't see you there!"

-You assured him it was nothing.

"You're not from around here, are you?"

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You shook your head, then blinked confusedly. Well, technically you were. It had just been 1000 years. You tried to get your story straight, then told the guy.

"Woah, so does that mean you're technically a time traveler?"

You shrugged. Time travel hadn't been proven yet, has it? You weren't sure. You asked the guy his name, so you didn't have to refer to him as just 'the guy.'

"Oh, yeah. Name's Finn. Good ol' Finn the H."

"The H.?"

"Y'know, the Human?"

But you were human too. With all due respect, you asked him about his strange surname.

"Oh, uh.. My real last name is Mertens, but I like 'the Human' better. It's only recently other humans have started living in Ooo. So I'm kinda seen as 'that one human' y'know?"

You nodded, trying to make sense of what he said. what had happened that caused humans to leave Ooo? How was that even possible?

The two of you talked for a short while, and you learned a little bit about Ooo. You were used to knowing a lot, but you barely even recognized this place.

"Oh, you're from the 20th century, right?"

You nodded.

"I've got a friend from then, maybe you'd like to meet him? He's one cool dude."

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-You agreed politely, wondering if this 20th century man would help you adjust to life in whatever century this was. What century was this anyway? 30-something?

-Finn ended up taking you to a scrappy little bar filled with people that looked to be made out of candy.

"Anything you'd like to order?"

"Nothing for me, Dirt Beer Guy. Maybe he'd like one, but we're just waiting for-"

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"Simon?"

You stared in disbelief at the face of your old friend, who looked at you with the same expression. He was carrying something under his arm, but he dropped it in shock.

"No way, you know him? That's awesome!"

Simon slowly walked up to you, as if afraid you'd disappear at any second. Tears welled up in the both of your eyes, and you had to suppress breaking down right there. It hadn't occurred to you that this 20th century man could've been Simon, but now that you were seeing him, you realized you subconsciously wished it would be him.

He spoke your name softly, not much more than a whisper, as if anything louder would cause reality to shatter, or one of you to wake up from a dream.

"You... You're really here, aren't you?"

You nodded softly, not daring to say a word. Tears spilled out of your eyes, and Finn looked slightly confused.

"Do you guys, uh.... Wanna step out for a minute?"

You agreed, still quietly, saying it would probably be better to not make a scene. Finn gave you a thumbs up and shooed you out, saying he'd wait for you when you got back inside.

You stepped out of the little bar with Simon, realizing it got dark out while you were inside.

"So..."

"How about we take a walk?"

You nodded, falling into step with Simon as you walked into a nice little forest. The small stream rushing by provided ambient noise.

"How are you here..?"

Simon asked, with an air of disbelief. He blinked, wiping his glasses and rubbing his eyes. As if you'd disappear once he'd open them. You explained what happened, and suddenly gasped.

"If you're here, that means Betty must be here too, right? Where is she?"

Simon sighed, bringing his arms up to hold himself.

"She's..."

"She's not."

You decided not to pry, but you couldn't help but notice the sinking feeling in your gut. She was one of your best friends, and she was gone. But she was Simon's fiancee. It must have hit him harder, whatever happened to her. You'd ask later, when the emotional turmoil between the two of you wasn't so fresh.

You walked in peaceful silence between the two of you, listening to the sounds of the stream, or chirping crickets.

You took that time to study Simon, how his appearance changed, and things that stayed the same.

Same fashion sense,

same goofy circle glasses,

even the same walk you remember.

There was a white streak in his hair now.

Wrinkles on his face.

Something about him just seemed so...

Sad.

"You've gotten old."

Simon smiled, though it seemed bitter.

"We both have."

"I missed you, Simon. Not a day went by that I didn't think of you, Betty, or any of our other friends."

Simon stopped walking, and you copied. He seemed as if he was about to cry again. To be honest, you were too. Talking about all of this while looking him in the face didn't fare well for your emotional state.

He took off his glasses, wiping at his eyes. Simon smiled bitterly through it though. He seemed to be so lonely. You wondered where he lived now.

". . ."

He wiped his eyes again, then looked straight at you with an unwavering gaze.

"You have no idea how much we missed you. Even years after you disappeared, we still looked. Even when the police failed, we still-"

He inhaled sharply, breath shaking. He turned his head away, as if ashamed of his emotions.

You placed your hand on his shoulder, trying to provide comfort. Simon suddenly wrapped his arms around you, pressing his face into your shoulder. You returned the embrace, holding onto him just as tightly.

Simon's breath shook, and you softly rubbed his back. You had no idea what he's gone through, and you were genuinely unsure whether you were helping or not.

"Simon..?"

His grip on you loosened, and he looked up at you.

You said nothing else, but you gently rested your forehead on his. He sniffed, then took a deep breath. Your hands fell to his waist, while his rested on your shoulders. Simon closed his eyes, cherishing this small bit of comfort.

After a few moments, Simon pulled away, bringing his fist up to his mouth and clearing his throat.

"W- well, today was certainly... Eventful."

You laughed softly, agreeing with his remark. The two of you walked back to the little bar, realizing you'd gotten farther from it than you thought you did.

Simon cleared his throat yet again, once you reached the outside of the bar.

"Yeah, Simon?"

He thought for a moment, then spoke.

". . .Thank you."

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Thanks for reading! I absolutely loved writing this, and Simon needs a hug.

Your complimentary artwork ^^

reblog for a beginner writer?

#no beta we die like Jake #simon petrikov x reader #fionna and cake #fionna and cake x reader #pre fionna and cake events #simon petrikov #simon petrikov is a wet cat #fandom #brainrot #finn the human #adventure time #simon needs a hug #fanfiction #selfshipping community #simon petrikov x male reader

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slaygentford · 7 months

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I've got a bad feeling. (the sopranos 1.05)

#Is anyone else seeing my vision.#queued this pre surgery.#my last communique with humanity.

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nat-ter · 3 months

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Bruce had never met Superman face to face but he still hated the alien and thought of him as a threat and he was convinced his boys did too— except his kids are traitors. They each met Superman individually and found him really friendly and nice. At first, they were all hiding the fact that they were friends with Superman from each other, and especially from Bruce. So while Bruce was obsessed with coming up with contingency plan after contingency plan to take down Superman— even though he didn't try to kill the alien yet since Superman was still doing good for the people and Bruce couldn't just attack someone who hadn't done any wrong yet— the kids were making excuses to go meet Superman in secret and Bruce just went on oblivious to the fact that his kids are backstabbing demons.

Of course they lied to Superman too, about Batman's opinions of the Man of Steel, and the various plans he had made to kill said man. They always came up with reason after reason why Superman shouldn't or couldn't meet Batman, sometimes it's getting so ridiculous they were sure even Superman would call their buff. But sweet, ol' Kal never did.

Eventually, they found out that none of them held a grudge against Superman like Batman did, so they all teamed up together and cover for each other whenever one of them spend time with Superman, or cover the fact that Superman came to Gotham one too many time than he should. And it was the one thing that all of them could work together on without fighting or insulting each other. At one point, to keep their secret friendship with Superman, Dick even went so far to wear Batman's costume and meet Superman as Batman because Superman had wanted to meet Batman really bad and they were running dry on why Batman couldn't make time to meet the neighboring hero, and it wasn't like they could just ask Bruce to meet him considering the large collection of Kryptonite in the Cave. And they didn't exactly want their mentor to find out they had went behind his back and formed a friendship with who he swore was his mortal enemy (B's dramatic like that).

They tried to broach the subject of partnership with Superman to Bruce once in a while, of course, but every single time they were either shot down immediately and called ridiculous for even thinking about it or they had to sit through a dramatic monologue about how Superman couldn't be trusted and why they should stay away from him.

But Superman could fly and had superspeed so of course they couldn't stop him if he were to randomly come to Gotham and speak with Batman as if they were friends. Which was what exactly happened. Dick, as Batman, had warned Superman to never, ever come to Gotham without prior notice and to make sure no one notice his presence while he was in the city ("but you can totally see my kids. I'm cool with that." "Oh? Thanks, Batman. But... you know you sound younger than I thought you would." "Uh... yeah, I. Ehem. I'm very in touch with the modern lingo."), and Superman had readily agreed citing about respecting each other's boundaries and all, so the kids thought they were in the clear. But of course, there would be an emergency when even Superman wouldn't have the time to page first before coming right into Batman's turf and ask for his help.

So on a relatively quiet night, Batman was perching on a gargoyle while the newest Robin was scouting out the alleyways for any trouble. And Superman decided to touch down on the roof behind the crouching Batman and said, as if they had met before, as if they were close friends who hang out every once in a while, "Good evening, Batman. It's nice to see you again. Sorry I couldn't page first, and I hope you're not too busy because I have an emergency and I could really use your help."

Batman had gone rigid in a second and through gritted teeth, said, "Superman."

Upon hearing the name through the comm, Damian panicked and immediately sent out an emergency alert to his brothers before grappling to the building where sweet, clueless Superman with his sweet heart was facing the big bad Bat of Gotham who had been stockpiling on kryptonite for years, waiting for the day he would fight Superman. Which was the first mistake.

Because of course Superman, friendly Superman, with heart the size of the Sun, immediately recognised Robin. And of course, clueless Superman with his dumb, harmless 1000 megawatt smile was waving at Robin as if they were friends, as if they knew each other, as if Robin didn't hear Bruce grumbling about each piece written about the good deeds the Superman did every other day.

The others arrived at the scene faster than they would have at any night. Panic stricken and scared shitless of Bruce's wrath. And of course Superman immediately greeted them as soon as they got there.

Batman had merely narrowed his eyes when Superman had waved at Robin, and barked, sharper than he had before, "What the hell are you doing in my city?"

Superman looked taken aback but he was quick to recover. Seems like whatever emergency he got was more prominent than figuring out why his sort-of-not-really-friend was behaving weirdly. "Like I said, I have an emergency and I could really use your help, Batman."

Batman scoffed but with the voice modulator it sounded garbled and hard for the ears. "And what makes you think I would help you?"

Superman blinked. "What do you mean— Why wouldn't you help me?"

"First you encroach into my city without even asking for permission, talking to me as if we are— friends. And then you ask for my help as if I would just drop everything on my plate and follow you. Who do you think—"

But Batman's rant was cut off by the arrival of the other three heroes who stood at the edge of the roof, looking sheepish and guilty, breathing heavily in the quiet night. Superman looked at them, bewildered and surprised to see all the Batfamily in one place but smiling wide nonetheless because he was happy to see his little friends together. It had always been two kids or one. Never three, never all of them and certainly not with Batman in the mix.

"Oh, hey, Red Robin, Nightwing and Red Hood...?" Superman waved awkwardly by the end of his greetings, looking unsure. "Sorry," he said and actually curled in on himself a little as if he's self-conscious. "Are you guys on a big case? I didn't hear anything so I thought you weren't busy. I guess I could try to contact Wonder Woman if you have your hands full."

Superman turned to Batman but Batman was slowly turning his head towards where his kids stood at the edge of the roof. He was eerily silent and motionless making the kids take a step back nervously. Superman watched the scene with a frown, pulling his eyebrows together so tightly they almost meet in the middle. He was starting to detect that something wasn't quite right.

"Explain." Batman barked.

And Superman's face scrunched up even further. Clearly the man was deep in thought. "You know," he said slowly before none of the kids could speak. "Batman. You sound really different than the last time we met. Or any other time, actually. It's as if you're..." he trailed off, staring at Batman's feet, lost in his thoughts again.

"What." Batman shifted slightly. "We've never met before."

"Oh," Superman breathed out, his face going slack. He turned to Nightwing and the young hero immediately stood up straighter. "It was you."

Batman's head snapped towards where Dick was standing with his hands literally clasped behind his back like a soldier. "Nightwing," growled Batman. "Explain."

"Uhh..." said Dick eloquently.

"Red Robin." Bruce barked when Dick fell into silence, unable to come up with a plausible excuse, or to tell the truth.

"Err..." said Tim, swaying a little on his feet. He hadn't had enough sleep or coffee in him to live through the situation.

Batman did not sigh but Bruce Wayne did. A lot. And the kids had a knack of bringing out the dad side in him so Batman sighed through the voice modulator before he could think better. He had always suspected that his kids were up to something but he was so consumed with the thought of the alien— who was now standing in front of him with the world's greatest kicked puppy eyes in the world for some reason— he had stupidly thought whatever shenanigans his sons were up to, he would be able to deal with it later. Of course, he had never thought that his kids were dirty, backstabbing demons.

"Father," Damian finally said, but only because Jason had been signing at him to do so, telling him to use his puppy eyes since it still seemed to work on Bruce. "This is a misunderstanding."

But apparently they were dealing with the full Bat tonight, despite the involuntary sigh, because Batman did not slumped down his shoulders like he always did when Damian turn on his pleading eyes, instead he stood up straight as ever and met Damian's eye straight on. Jason was sure he could hear thunderstorm coming their way.

"A misunderstanding." He repeated flatly.

"Yes." Dick quickly said and Jason gave him a side eye. Dude, he thought, I just convinced the demon child to throw himself under the bus, why are you still talking.

"How is this a misunderstanding." His tone was so flat it didn't even come out as a question.

"I don't understand," Superman said instead, before anyone could reply Batman. He turned to the kids, his face set in disappointment so similar to Bruce's the kids actually flinched back. "You told me Batman was okay with me hanging out with you guys... And he told me— Oh. Nightwing. Right."

Batman's shoulders went impossibly more rigid. "You have been... hanging out."

"Err," said Nightwing, Red Robin and Robin simultaneously. Jason wisely kept his mouth shut. But Bruce's eyes still landed on him. Jason groaned in his head. So much for staying undetected.

"Red Hood," Bruce said slowly, very pointedly. "I thought you hate Superman."

"Yeah, well." Jason shrugged with nonchalance he didn't feel. "Turns out, he's a pretty great guy. So, kudos to him. Yay...?"

"You hated me?" Superman asked, looking dejected. Like someone kicked his dog and Jason knew he had a dog so the expression was even more daunting. And Jason wasn't having any of it, okay. Kal-El had literally given Red Hood his Ma's secret recipe for the perfect cinnamon roll. Which tasted like heaven (sorry Alfred). They had a bond, okay. No way he would let Superman see him as some cynical asshole. No way.

"Not fucking fair. It was the old man who went on and on about how you can't be trusted while making weapons to kill you. So, in my defense, it was hard to like you when all your flaws and possible weaknesses are pointed out in an alphabetical order." He threw a quick glance at the old man he just threw under the bus. Bruce looked unimpressed as ever. "But that was before I met you and found out that you're actually a chill dude. With a mother who's, like, the God of Baking."

"Superman doesn't have a mother!" Batman, honest to god, spluttered.

"Yes, he does." The young heroes said in unison.

"His world is dead. His parents are dead." Batman needlessly emphasised the word 'dead', for which he got four pairs of unimpressed eyes.

"B, have you ever heard of adoption." Dick said, emphasising the last word just to spite Bruce. Because of course Bruce did, if not, three of them wouldn't be there.

"You have Earth parents!" Batman exclaimed quite unlike himself, pointing a finger at Superman as if that's an accusation.

"You want to kill me." Kal whispered, his puppy eyes back on full effect.

Batman shifted uncomfortably. It was one thing to plan ways to kill someone, even if they're alien, it's completely different when said someone you wanted to kill was confronting you about the very thing.

"Yes." Damian reaffirmed. Ever the literal. "Father has been producing a variety of weapons to weaken you, hurt you and eventually kill you with the material called Kryptonite."

"Robin." Tim hissed.

Damian was still a growing child, emotionally and physically. But even he knew that when his any of his brothers said his name like that, it meant he had crossed a line he shouldn't have without realising he did.

"But you have nothing to worry about, Kal." Damian quickly amended. "Should father try to use these weapons under unwarranted circumstances, he will find the stock empty. We have contingency plans for father's contingencies—"

"Damian." It was Dick this time, who quickly moved and put a hand over Robin's mouth. He didn't even realise his mistake, not any of them did, actually.

"What." Batman said. Mostly confused. He couldn't even find it in himself to be furious at the moment. He was just flummoxed.

"Oh. Uh." Superman stammered. "Thank you? That's really nice of you."

An awkward silence befall the rooftop as each hero stood awkwardly where they were, barely breathing, motionless, not knowing what action to take next. Eventually Batman shifted an inch.

Oh no, thought the boys, he's going to go on another rant.

"You went behind my back," Batman started with a dark voice. "I warned you about the danger and you dismissed it. You went and made an alliance with my enemy." Here, Superman let out a protesting noise which could also he offended because, really? Enemy? Batman ignored it. "Not only that, you made plans to go against me. Instead of talking to me, you decided to oppose me. I have trained you and taught you everything you need to know. I take care of you and make sure to meet each of your needs. And this is what I get in return. Betrayal. You did not listen to me and—"

But he was cut off by a sardonic voice. "Master Wayne," said a voice from the batcomm each Bat was wearing, and Superman with his superhearing could hear it loud and clear too. "Considering your history of doing what you were told not to do, are you sure that you should be giving this speech?"

"Alfred," Batman said, sounding almost petulant.

"It is your fault, afterall, that you did not seek out Superman first before deciding who he is and what he is like. It is a good thing, if I may be so bold to say, that the kids see past the mask and befriend Superman in spite of what you have to say about him." Batman looked at Superman who was standing there awkwardly, staring at Batman. Bruce sneered, unable to help himself.

"Quit that," Alfred admonished. Bruce immediately dropped it. Superman blinked. "Now, Master Bruce. I agree that Master Dick, Master Jason, Master Tim and Master Damian should have come forward with their established friendship with Superman but considering your opinion on him, I believe it is understandable that they hesitated to do so." The aforementioned young boys nodded their head at Bruce. "That is not to say, however, that their behaviour shall go unpunish." Now they were groaning and Bruce had a little smile of triumph. "Perhaps, a few days off petrol and reflecting on our behaviours would do us some good. Including you, Master Bruce." Bruce immediately dropped his smile. Why him, too? Alfred answered right away. "I believe you realise now that you have been acting brashly the past few years. Now, we know that Superman is not as aloof and alien as we had previously thought. He is more earthbound than we believed him to be. If he were to go, he will have someone to miss him."

The kids nodded again. Superman just stared at Bruce with wide eyes and an expression Bruce couldn't put together. Whatever, Bruce had no time to care about him. He turned slightly away to whisper to the comm.

"But Alfred—"

"None of that now. I suggest you send the young lads home and we put this discussion off for the future."

In the ensuing silence, Superman softly breathed out: "Wayne."

Batman immediately went rigid, and so did the other young vigilantes. How the hell—

"Bruce... Wayne...?" Superman searched Batman's covered face as if he was trying to see if he was actually coming to a concrete conclusion.

"Oh," Alfred said, surprised and guilty. "The supersenses have slipped my mind. My apologies, Master Bruce."

For the first time in his life, Bruce didn't know what to do. Of course his immediate response should be deflection. But how could you lie to Superman about the very thing he just heard. The kids didn't seem to know what else to do either.

"Perhaps, you should ask Superman to come over for tea if his emergency is not an emergency anymore and we could talk about this in a more secure place." Alfred smoothly continued. No point in lying now. Superman had heard what he had heard and it was unlikely that he could be convinced that his superhearing was faulty.

Superman blinked a few times as if to clear his thoughts before he cleared his throat. "Yes, uhm. I was going to ask Batman to help me take a look at some data about a shipment from Gotham to Metropolis that was to happen tonight. I have reasons to believe that Luthor is involved and when Luthor is involved—"

"Kryptonite is involved." Bruce finished it for him.

Superman looked at him, seemingly a bit surprised. "Erm, yes. That. But I think it has already happened so... I'd have to follow it up tomorrow. So. Uh. I have... time?"

Batman narrowed his eyes and stayed silent.

"Bruce." Alfred said.

"C'mon B," Dick piped up. "The worst has already happened."

"I concur, Father. Kal-El now knows who you are, it is only best that the matter of discretion be properly discussed." Damian nodded sagely.

"The fuck, old man, are you still contemplating this?" Jason raised his arms in disbelief. He's so done with this family.

"Language, Master Jason."

"Uhh..." Tim swayed on his feet.

Batman sighed again. Dammit. Instead of showing his discomfort, however, he growled out a mean, "Fine." And then he grappled towards where he parked the Batmobile. Those brats could find their own way home and Superman? He could fly anyway.

Turned out, Superman could fly with four more passengers and Red Robin's bike that the kids used to get to that building. Although Bruce later gave Kal a piece of his mind about safety and the standard amount of people Superman should carry during flight without putting anyone in danger.

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satoshy12 · 3 months

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Adult Dan, Baby Danny and Dani

Poly Dan x Harley x Ivy

Jason x Jazz

Harley heard how someone new had killed the Joker and made her way to thank them; after all, he took all that the Joker had in money and goons. She saw the "Crime Boss" trying to feed two toddlers a bottle and failing…

That was how Harley and Ivy ended up as Mom Ivy and Mom Harley to the toddlers.

Don't ask how; Ivy was just so happy she could touch the four without them dying or being poisoned so she moved in. + Dan just gave up on the world.

What has he done to be punished that way? Tell me, Clockwork!

First, he turns him more human!

Then he sent him here with his younger self's clone, his younger self, and sister to this dimension!

And then he meets a Clown who tries to kill him only for him to rip out his head (think of Gojo taking Jogo head).

Then he has to try to find a way to take care of two babies and a teenager, only for that crazy lady to walk into his life!

The next thing he knows, he is living with her and her girlfriend. Somehow being together with both! + Both Ivy and Harley think that Dan was bad at naming children, who names them Daniel/Danny and Danielle/Ellie. At least Jasmine is a different name, but then she is his little sister. + Robin Jason. Jason was pretty proud to tell Batman that the Great Robin had found the one who killed the Joker. "He was a Dad who Joker attacked and he killed him in self Defense. Case Closed. Bonus He has a cute sister!"

Not that anyone would put him on trial in Gotham, even if Batman or the police tried.

So Batman and Jim made sure that the Joker was really dead and didn't fake it. GCPD: " His head is 10 meters away from his body!" James Gordon:" Just to make sure of it. We will Burn the body now." + And Jason in school talked to the sister of the one who killed the Joker, for a mission he says.

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diana-andraste · 3 months

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John Gilbert and Edna Tichenor in Tod Browning's The Show, 1927

Available to watch on Amazon

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ecoamerica · 21 days

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youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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illustratus · 1 year

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Pandora by John William Waterhouse

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jayrockin · 11 months

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Anonymous asked: Bip, do YOU have a music preference? :)

Another eccentric A.I. form of... music? Temporal decoration? Is huge files of recursive self-deleting code they repeatedly download for the apparent aesthetic entertainment value.

#it's a bop!#megaforum is a human social media site designed to be used across interstellar internet (sometimes just called mega)#megaforum is like reddit-ish with subforums but beefier personal profiles and the massive usage of pre-musk twitter #bip #runaway to the stars #jayart #comic #character ama #also hi im still alive and finishing these i swear

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hoomandoescosplay · 3 months

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On The Air | Alastor x Reader Oneshot

In the early morning I feel Alastor get up from our bed causing me to slightly groan and pull the covers up a bit more.

I hear a muffled laugh come from him as he walks into our bathroom to get ready for work. I shift my position a bit, getting more comfortable to drift off again.

Eventually he comes back in, one more time, and leaves a gentle kiss on my forehead. “I love you my darling. I’ll be back home before you know it.” I mumble an incoherent response back, still being half asleep, before he leaves heading out to the radio station.

─── ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ───

I wake up noticing the empty, and slightly cold spot, next to me. Sighing I sit up to stretch before getting out of bed and walking into the kitchen to make myself some breakfast.

As I enter the kitchen, I see a tray of toast with butter and jam, an omelette, and a plate of sausages and potatoes. Alastor even prepared my coffee just the way I liked it.

After taking note of the thoughtful breakfast I noticed a note as well. I picked it up to read it as a smile engulfed my face.

Don't worry about breakfast, I prepared it for you, my darling.

I shall be home later today as the radio station has requested for me to stay longer tonight.

I’m sorry I won’t be home as soon as I originally thought today.

I’ll make it up to you darling. Kisses.

- Al ♡

Ever since we started dating, before that even, Alastor always tried his best to make me happy and put a smile on my face.

While I’m a bit sad he has to work a few extra hours today it also gives me more time to get some last minute gifts I wanted to give him today.

I stretch once more before grabbing the plate of sausages and potatoes along with the omelette to heat up over the stove.

I flick on the radio and start humming along with the song that is playing. As I continue to heat up the food, I hear something over the radio. It's Alastor's voice, he's on air at the moment making me smile.

“And that was some wonderful music for you. Now back to your wonderful host, here's me, Alastor!” A clapping track plays after he finishes his sentences causing me to roll my eyes playfully.

“How is everyone doing today? I'd hope well considering it’s Valentine’s Day.” He takes a second to pause. “I'd like to talk with you about something important as always - it's not the time to panic, but I think we should all remain vigilant because of the terrible events happening in nearby cities.”

I turn off the stove and slightly tune out his voice talking about the recent murder spree happening around our city.

Placing my food onto the dining room table I walk back into the kitchen to bring the radio with me into the dining room as I catch the last bit of his spiel on the recent murders.

“As always, I urge you all to stay cautious. And if you want to, you can always call in here and we'll chat. The police have assured us that they are working hard and that we should have no grounds for concern... But still, stay vigilant, my friends, stay vigilant.”

Taking a breath he starts up again. “Onto some lighter news, let's talk about Valentine’s Day. anyone want to call in and tell us what date you have planned for your special someone?” he asks in his radio voice as I start to eat my breakfast.

Not long after he asks for people to call in, someone's voice is already being heard through the radio.

The woman on the line is excited and speaks quickly: “Oh, I’ve got the best plans! My boyfriend and I are going out for dinner at a fancy new place we’ve been dying to try and to top it all off he said he would take me to one of his favorite spots. It's going to be so romantic.” She swoons and I can only assume blushes as well.

“Ah, how romantic. I do hope you have a wonderful time.” Alstor says as she thanks him before hanging up. A he takes a few more callers before he starts introducing the next song he has lined up to play.

I finish my breakfast and start to pick up the tray to bring into the kitchen for me to start cleaning.

I take the radio with me once more back into the kitchen. “Coming up next, the most romantic song I’ve ever had the pleasure to hear. All the ladies, all the men, get ready cause this song is going to just melt your heart. This one’s for you, everyone, and you especially, my love. This song is just for you. I hope you enjoy it.” I blush and roll my eyes playfully as I start to wash the dishes.

“Such a lover boy.” I mumble with a smile starting to spread on my face. The song ends much too soon and Alastor starts to talk on the air a while longer once more.

I shut the radio off after drying my hands and head into our bedroom to get dressed for the day. Getting dressed quickly, I check the time. It's still early morning which gives me more than enough time to do some shopping before he gets home.

I finish getting ready quickly and start to walk to the shops nearby to get a few things. I’ve been eyeing some new bowties I’ve seen and decided it would be a good idea to get him a new one along with some other small gifts.

The short walk ended as I walked into a store. As I browse I immediately see the bowtie I’ve been eyeing for weeks. It's a beautiful piece and I think that he would love it.

I also see some other romantic items, like a box of chocolates, a teddy bear, and a beautiful bunch of flowers. I decide to get all of the items and head to the register to check out.

I am happy with the selection I’ve made, and I feel like Alastor is going to be very happy with his gifts as well. The cashier rings up my items quickly. I pay the cashier and leave the shop with my bag of gifts. Satisfied with the amount of gifts I found I decide head back home.

─── ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ───

Opening the front door I walk inside making sure the door closes behind me before I place down the bag in the living room.

Glancing at the clock I notice I have a bit more time before Alastor said he’d be home. I decided to relax with the extra time I have by reading a book.

I unpack the gifts and set them on our bed for Alastor to walk into as a surprise when he gets home. I grab the book off of my nightstand and head back into the living room, sitting down and starting to read.

A few hours pass and I get through most of my booth until the phone starts to ring. Closing my book, I place it on the table next to me and walk over to the phone.

I picked it up and said a small “Hello?” waiting to see who is on the other end of the line.

“Hello my darling, I just wanted to give you a quick call to let you know that my day is taking longer than expected.” He pauses to sigh as I lean against the wall. “I’m sorry, I had so many plans for us today and it’s just not seeming to work out.”

I put a smile on my face hoping I can convince him I’m not disappointed we probably won’t be doing anything tonight.

“It’s alright Al, I promise. Don’t stress yourself out over this. Well just do something tomorrow.” I can hear him sigh again, clearly disappointed he has to stay late.

“Are you sure?” he asks, “You’re not disappointed?” I feel my heart melt a little at how much he cares. “Not at all,” I reply, trying to convince him.

Alastor pauses and sighs again. “I really wanted to do something special for you today. I wanted today to be special and romantic…”

“I know, I know. But it’s okay. We’ll do something extra special tomorrow alright?” I say trying to make him relax a bit.

He sighs again, but this time he sounds slightly more relieved when I assure him that I’m not disappointed. “Alright,” he says, “You’re right. Tomorrow, definitely. I love you.”

I smile. “I love you too Al. I’ll see you soon.” I hang up after and head back to where I was sitting in the living room.

Sitting back down I decide to go back to reading my book. A few hours pass, and as the afternoon begins to roll around.

Looking out the window an idea pops into my head causing me to grin. “That doesn’t sound like such a bad idea.” I say to myself as I get up and head into the kitchen.

I grab a small basket and start putting together a small dinner. After finishing making the simple meal I pack up the basket with the food, a bottle of wine, and some plates and utensils.

The dinner looks lovely, quite a romantic gesture that he is sure to appreciate. Deciding to bring a small romantic dinner to Alastor at the radio station was a brilliant idea on my part I think as I take one last look around to make sure I’m not forgetting anything before I head out.

─── ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ───

Upon arriving at the station a few of Alastor’s coworkers greeted me and some even engaged in some small talk.

After getting past the lobby and some of the offices I start making my way to where Alastor’s studio and office is. I take a peek through the window connected to his office and see he’s not live right now. Taking the opportunity I opened the door.

He jumps in his chair, quickly turning to me with a surprised look on his face. Seeing me standing there with a basket filled with a romantic dinner causes that surprise to quickly turn into a big smile.

He stands up to come over to greet me, kissing me on the cheek as he wraps his arm around my waist.

“You didn’t have to come all the way here to bring me dinner darling.” He rubs small circles on my waist with the hand wrapped around me as I smile up at him.

“I know but I felt bad that you had to cancel our plans due to working late so I wanted to bring the dinner plans to you.” I grin at him as I lean into his touch a bit more.

He stares at me with utter adoration as he speaks up. “Happy Valentine’s Day my darling. I couldn’t have asked for a better surprise today.” He says pulling me in closer to him as he kisses my lips quickly.

I smile during the kiss and it grows wider as we part. “Oh trust me this isn’t the only surprise.” He raises an eyebrow at me causing me to laugh. “I got you a few more gifts. You’ll have to wait to see what they are until we get home though.”

Alastor’s face lights up when you give him that hint. “This day just keeps getting better and better.” He says excitedly. He gives me another kiss on the lips, but this time it lasts longer.

“I guess being on the air today was worth it then.” Alastor replies as I start to laugh again.

396 notes · View notes

autisticlancemcclain · 6 months

Text

Everything is burning.

For too long he doesn’t move. His limbs are leaden, pulled heavily to the ground, and his neck is too weak to keep up his head. Smoke curls in the air and settles sleepily into his lungs. Shredded metal and broken glass glint and shine under the full moonlight, and through his half-lidded eyes it looks like stars. Every inhale is laborious, but the churned earth feels shaped to the contours of his body, like a mattress designed specifically for him. He could close his eyes, just for a moment, and rest, recover from the strain of the crash before moving forward. It would be easier. Just a short rest, a moment to sleep, to heal.

Sounds of a forest surround him. A steady chirping that must be crickets, a hooting that can only be an owl. If he strains his ears farther, there’s the chittering of something scurrying up and down trees, and the heavier thumps of something bigger stomping about. Behind that, there are voices.

Shouting. And the bark of what has to be dogs, and the ever so faint revving of vehicles, slamming doors.

Get up, urges a voice in the back of his head. Get up now.

He tries to comply. He cracks open his eyes – when did he close them? – and hisses at the onslaught of light, of beams of searching torches and painful flashes of red and blue. All of a sudden he’s made aware of the flames inching closer to his legs, and the wing of his ship, torn off the body, pressing him into the ground.

“Not good,” he croaks, trying to wiggle his toes. Thankfully, he can, although movement reminds his body of itself, and the aches and pains start to come alive – his entire head pounds, and nausea coils around his stomach, and something burns and pulses in the meat of his calf.

But still he can move.

Forcing his arms to function, he grounds his hands under him, pushing upright. His body feels heavier than it has ever felt before; the task feels herculean. The unrest in his stomach becomes violent, swirling, and he has to stop before he’s even sitting upright, eyes stinging, teeth clenched, breathing deliberately and sharply through his nose until the nausea settles again. The world spins, when he’s finally sat upright, and he has to give himself a moment for that to pass, too, but the shouting voices and stomping feet get louder, and he knows he doesn’t have much time.

“Okay,” he whispers to himself, praying that Perseus and Ursa and Leo guide him. “Okay, let’s get out of here.”

He curls his gloved fingers under the ruined edge of the wing, careful of the sharp shards of torn metal, and heaves, pushing and biting back a loud cry as the effort of freeing his legs tears something in his shoulders, hurts something in his back. The wing is heavy and he’s lucky he’s merely trapped under it rather than pinned; if the ground wasn’t supporting so much of its weight then the onus would be on his legs, and he’s sure he would lose them. His body is sorer than it has ever been in his life, and everything hurts, but he is grateful for that at least.

With the freeing of his legs comes the hard part. He doesn’t trust them to hold them, at least not at first, and he’s scared of what might happen if his brain tells them to move on their own. So he wraps his hands around his ankle and pulls, so his foot slides close to his rear and bends his knee, and does the same with the other, so he is sitting with his knees nearly pressed to his chest and his feet flat and steady on the floor.

“Okay,” he whispers again to himself, shaky this time. He bites off any other words, snapping his mouth shut, focusing on breathing. Okay. He braces his palms on the cracked and sparking remains of the control board the pushes with all his strength, steadying himself on wobbling legs and knocking knees. He holds himself steady, breath held in his lungs, for the count of fifteen ticks, carefully testing with his hands still steadying himself, the ability of his legs to hold him up.

Carefully, nervously, he lifts up his hands. He sways, for a moment, but manages to stay upright. On the high of that success he straightens to the best of his ability and surveys the smoking remains of his crashed ship. It’s not very salvageable. Scrap metal, maybe, but everything else…

He swallows. It has been two deca-phoebs since he left home. Six pheobs since he last passed a satellite up to date enough to talk to his family face-to-face. He hasn’t seen home in so long that sometimes he struggles to remember what it felt like to lie in his bed, not just the nest he built in the cab of his ship. The ship, with its purple glowing lights and well-worn buttons and weird old sounds and familiar walls is the only piece of home he has left. Maybe forever, now.

He shakes himself. The voices are closer, now, the barking of dogs closer still. He doesn’t have time to dwell. He forces himself to shift around some of the ruins, digging through cracked polymer and cracked glass to find anything salvageable and portable; anything he can find in under thirty ticks. He manages – thankfully – to find his pack, half-burned as it is, that he knows holds some clothes and supplies. He finds his comm, too, although it’s cracked clean in half. He brings it anyway.

His head swivels to the treeline as he hears a barked order that sounds like it’s barely out of eyesight. He has to go. He doesn’t have any more time.

Choking back tears from two different kind of pain, he stumbles his way out of the wreckage and sprints for the trees, as far away from the voices as he can manage. He only hopes that he’s not trailing blood – and that the humans aren’t faster than he is.

———

Keith grew up on stories of Earth.

His father told him hundreds. It’s like a hundred planets in one, he liked to say, and when Keith was young and still fit in the crook of his father’s arm he’d look at him with wide eyes and try to imagine it. Dozens of nations all trying to coexist in one space. All the culture and language you could ever dream of, naui jag-eun tamheomga, everywhere, at once.

When Keith was a kid he couldn’t get enough of it. When he was a teen he couldn’t, either; he’s never not been fascinated with the heritage he’s never shared with anyone he’s ever known. His bedtime stories were of scientific discoveries his father witnessed in real time, of athletic feats of which Keith could barely conceptualise. And when he ran out of real stories, he told Keith stories of thousands of years of myths, of gods and angels and monsters. And of course when Keith had the first inkling of an opportunity he packed a ship, kissed his mother goodbye, and flew off on a several hundred million lightyear journey, his field journal blank and begging to be filled and his father’s voice echoing in his head.

His father prepared him for everything. Keith knew every star on the journey, recognised the curve of every planet in the solar system. Upon sight of the Great Blue Dot he could barely contain his excitement, thrusters at full force.

His father told him everything. As far as Keith knew and has always known, his father knew everything.

His father didn’t tell him that the second his ship showed up on government scanners, he’d be shot out of the sky.

Keith found that one out the hard way.

———

There’s a light up ahead.

It’s yellowed, and old. The bulb has not been changed in a long time, and dead moths pile inside the class lamp cover. Cobwebs wrap delicately around the iron frame. The light seems out of place with the cottage it guards; not in appearance, but in liveliness: the cottage is dark and well-maintained. The ancient beckoning of the lamp post seems at odd with the sleepy youth of the red-bricked little house.

Keith is starting to get a little delirious, maybe.

Stumbling, he approaches the cottage. He has long since lost the voices and hunters, if that’s what they were, distracted no doubt by the remains of his ship. He hasn’t heard them in hours.

But the moon crests higher and higher overheard. And the torn flesh of his leg – cut deeply by a shard of shrapnel – bleeds sluggishly with no sign of stopping. And he is tired, and every step is harder, and the adrenaline only continues to fade, and the point in which he will no longer be able to go on is rapidly approaching.

And, most damning. Humans are pursuit predators. As far as he goes – if he is not sheltered, they will find him. Now or days from now, he cannot stay hidden.

He’d like to choose the terms in which he is discovered.

He forces himself to the cottage, injured leg dragging behind him, vision getting blurrier with every step, breaths getting shallower and shallower. The steps are real wood, cured and stained and worn, and Keith mourns for a moment that he is about to ruin them with the spill of his own blood and the tracked mud and grease on his clothes. His father wore a necklace, every day of his life, a leather cord with a rubbed-smooth charm of carved wood. In all the many planets Keith has visited, he has never seen real wood. Dried plant matter, in abundance, and every kind of polished stone, polymers created from nothing and glass melted from every kind of sand, but wood is, at least as far as anyone knows, completely unique to Earth. Keith has always been fascinated by it.

His strength leaves him at the door. Like his strings were cut, he falls to his knees with a heavy thud, and must claw his way close enough to knock. The tap of his fist against the worn green door is hardly loud enough to be audible, but it is all he has strength to do. He slumps against the doorframe and mentally apologises to whatever old lady lives in this house, because she is going to have the fright of her life seeing his corpse on her doorstep when she wakes up in the morning. That, or a trail of blood from where the people who shot him down are going to drag him away.

Either way, not good.

He’s sad, as he lay there dying. That is of course not a revolutionary feeling to have, but it’s of no consequence. He wishes he saw more of Earth. He wishes he got to stop at all the places his father talked about so fondly. He wishes he was able to tell his mother goodbye. He wishes, perhaps most urgently, that dying hurt less. He had been too shocked to hurt, when he first crashed, but it’s been hours now and his body won’t let him forget it. Everything hurts, and his throat is dry. He hates it when his throat is dry. The wooden doorframe digs into his back, at least, and it’s not a pleasant sensation but he reaches out and strokes the grain of the wooden door anyway, feeling the chipped away pent, squeezing his eyes shut and pretending he’s running his thumb around his father’s pendant.

The texture of the wood suddenly disappears, and his back hits the ground. His eyes flutter open, whole seconds after he is laid flat on the ground, and hovering above him is the blurry silhouette of a man glowing gold; curls of hair shining flinted silver in the bright light of the moon, stars dotting the apples of his cheeks and bridge of his nose, mouth curved like the arm of the Milky Way, and eyes the deepest, darkest, widest brown he has ever seen, like two glowing black holes boring into his soul.

“Oh,” are Keith’s dying words, faint and echoing and awed. “Dad was wrong. Angels are real.”

———

The tips of cool, uncalloused fingers brushing under his hairline rouse him from slumber, frowning. Mom must be wearing – gloves? But that doesn’t make sense. He’s never seen her wear gloves before, even when he’s been sick. Her claws tear right through the fingers. It doesn’t make sense.

“Mom?” he murmurs, voice scratchy, trying and failing to force open his heavy, heavy eyelids.

“Go back to sleep,” she whispers, not sounding like herself at all. She must be sick, too. “You’re still all fucked up. You need it.”

Keith’s eyebrows furrow. He wanted to talk to her. There was something he wanted to say to her. There’s something faint and muted pulling at the back of his mind; something about his mother, about talking, about pain and sleep and sorrow. He needs to wake up.

But he’s so tired. And his eyelids are so heavy. And sleep pulls, at every corner of his mind.

“Okay,” he sighs, and sinks back into it.

———

“Whatever the hell you are, you’ve made a mess of yourself. Dumbass.”

———

There are voices again. Arguing. Fear pricks at Keith’s veins, and it’s enough to propel him out of whatever blackness he’s been resting in, enough to force his eyes open. He squeezes them shut again on reflex, hissing at the onslaught of sunlight pouring in from the wide, open window, counting to three before opening them again under the shield of his hand.

He doesn’t recognise the room he’s in.

It’s strangely shaped. Almost cave-shaped, really, with rounded edges instead of sharp corners. Except the window is so big it bleeds light into every single crevice of the room, leaving no room for any cave-like impressions. The walls are painted with soft, muted murals, of hanging vines and falling leaves and ants marching a line on a tree. Dozens of shelves are filled with more rocks than Keith has ever seen in one place, even in his godfather’s labs and archives. The bed itself is huge, taking up half the room, enough so that Keith could sprawl if he pleased and not touch any edge. The comforter is huge and thick and almost stiflingly warm. The door is contrasting to the energy of the rest of the room, covered in vibrant stickers and sprawled in messages and almost graffiti-like lettering. It’s cracked open slightly, and through it Keith can hear two voices arguing: one stiff and demanding, the other angry and shrill.

“I have no idea what the hell you’re on about,” hisses the angry voice, defensive. “No one has shown up at my door. I’ve seen nothing strange. Everything is as normal as it always is. The only odd thing is the slew of trespassing assholes dressed in uniform who won’t leave me the fuck alone –”

Keith’s head lolls backwards, strength seeping out of his body. The sunlight is warm and smells good. The fear that had dragged him awake has ebbed, somewhat, because the voice – the angry voice – is protective. There is someone guarding Keith’s six.

He lets sleep swallow him again.

———

He dreams, finally, of flying on wings of hollow bones and stretched skin, and being shot out of the sky. And of a bright yellow canary, snatching him from his freefall and floating him gently to the earth.

———

“If you woke up soon I’d appreciate it, you know. I’m running out of excuses to buy saline bags. Shit is getting suspicious and if the local town thinks I’m a vampire trying to keep my personal bloodbag alive, I’m fucked.”

———

Keith awakes, finally and fully, in the middle of the night. A half moon shines bright into a bedroom that feels unnervingly familiar, like the watercolour memories from a dream. The cloudiness that’s been ever present in his head has finally faded, and the only thing rolling in his stomach is hunger. There’s still a heavy ache in his leg, but it’s manageable. It’s dark enough that his eyes don’t sting.

His mouth tastes like something died, then was revived, then shat on his tongue. It’s unpleasant.

Nervously, fully expecting a half-movement to crumble his body to dust, he peels back the disgustingly fluffy comforter, slowly pivoting his half-upright body until his feet are planted on the rug-covered floor. He rests there a moment, frankly a little breathless, but braces on palm on the nightstand and one on the bedspread and readies himself. Teeth grit in determination, he pushes, leaning on shaky arms until he trusts his legs to hold up his body.

They do. His one leg aches in a pain he’s only felt in Marmora training, but it holds him, and when he tests a tiny step forward, it holds him then, too.

Slowly, conscious of his space and his body, Keith inches forward.

It takes him longer than he would like to cross the minimal space between the bed and the door, but he does it, and he ignores the sardonic voice in his head that wants to do anything but celebrate. He rests again at the door frame, hand clutched at the top of it, stretched out in a way that feels unbelievably good (well, as stretched out as he can be with his head brushing the doorframe). His lips quirk up when he realises it’s made of wood, half-remembering his dying internal rambles. He wonders if building with wood is a common Earthen practice, or if whomever owns this cottage is just unbelievably wealthy. Maybe all Terrans are.

Once his breath has evened again and he thinks he’s good to go, Keith peeks down the hallway, nerves dancing down his spine. The two rooms branching off are dark and soundless, but there’s a small light on at the end of the hall where it opens up, and the soft sound of clinking glass. Someone is awake.

He closes his eyes, pulling back from the doorframe and closing his shaking hands into fists. “Just do it,” he whispers to himself. It’s not like they don’t know he’s here – someone has been keeping him alive, after all. He didn’t just recover – well, half-recover – from a massive crash by himself. That kind of thing kills a person, actually. “Stop stalling.”

Jaw set and shoulders square, Keith stalks forward. It’s hard to stalk with a heavy limp, but he thinks he manages. His cousin has always told him that power comes from audacity, and she has plenty, so. He should be fine so long as he emulates her, which he would rather crash from space again than admit but he does often.

He turns the corner at the end of the hallway and it opens up into an open kitchen and living space. There are no overhead lights but lamps and candles litter the space, making everything glow quietly. A light floral scent fills the air, but Keith isn’t sure if that’s from the candles or the bouquet of purple flowers that might be lavenders placed carefully on the centre of a – wooden – table. More shelves line the walls, filled with more than just rocks this time, and the walls are painted with bright swatches of colours; muted in the low light but visibly more sunshiney and abstract than the bedroom. The fridge is covered in photos so thickly that the door isn’t even visible. The counters are a mess of opened ingredients, some of which Keith recognises, and a slew of utensils and bowls in various states of disarray.

A man stands at the centre of it all, back turned to Keith.

Keith clears his throat.

The man whirls around, startled, and when he sees Keith he screams at the top of his lungs, mixing bowl clattering to the ground and splattering batter all over the floor and half the cupboards. Keith steps back, heart pounding in his ears, hands held defensively in front of him, mind screaming with various iterations of oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. He’d thought he was safe, that his presence was known, that –

“Oh my shitballs,” the man wheezes, hunching over slightly. “Oh Joseph and Mary and Sweet Baby Jesus. Fuck. My heart just clawed its way up my esophagus and threw itself out of my mouth, actually. Holy shit.”

“What,” Keith croaks, still frozen in fear.

For a moment there’s silence. Then the man still stands crookedly, but straightens enough to look Keith in the eyes. And Keith –

Keith stops breathing, because he knows those eyes.

The deepest, darkest, widest brown he has ever seen, like two glowing black holes boring into his soul.

“I am. So sorry,” he says, “for yelling. That is my bad. That is On Me. Probably freaked you out good.” He sighs, bending back down and scooping up the mixing bowl. He stares for a long moment at the mess of batter, weighing, then sighs again and more deeply and reaches for a rag. “I don’t mean to be xenophobic, promise. I swear I knew you were there. I just. Haven’t slept. In so many days. Would’ve screamed if anyone popped out, promise.”

“What,” Keith repeats, a little desperate.

The man doesn’t seem to pick up on his tone, though, continuing to work on the rapidly drying mess and rambling.

“– and it’s not your fault, anyway. Been a rough couple of weeks. You really freaked the hell outta the military, huh? I’m glad you’re up now because there was only so much I could do to keep them away. I’m sure they’ll come knocking again eventually, but we’ll figure it out then. Or you’ll go home? I’m honestly not sure. Whatever works. You can stay. I dunno. My brain’s on three percent at this exact moment.”

“You’re…not sleeping?” Intentionally, Keith avoids the whole military thing the man mentioned, because. Well. That freaks him out, if he’s being entirely honest, and he really doesn’t want to hear it. Right now he’s pretending that’s a problem for someone else. He has enough shit to deal with.

The man sighs. He looks dejectedly at the mess. Slowly, so as not to startle him again, Keith walks over to the sink, careful to avoid smears of whatever the man was making, and wets a rag to help him.

He figures it’s the least he can do.

“Yeah, well. I’ve never slept great outside of my bed. It’s cool, though. Sometimes I blink for a few seconds longer than usual and it’s like a micro-nap.”

Keith looks at him in concern. He’s staring off into space, rubbing at a spot that’s been clean for at least two doboshes now. Keith’s not even sure if he’s noticed him beside him. “That seems bad.”

“Eh. Now that you can move around, I can sleep if you’re ever up. All is well.”

“...Wait.” Keith shifts so he’s deliberately in the man’s space, which makes him startle, proving Keith’s earlier guess. “I’m sleeping in your bed?”

“Well, yeah,” he says, like it’s obvious.

Keith flushes purple. “I didn’t know I was in your bed!” It’s not that he’s…you know…never slept in anyone else’s bed before, but usually he knew he was doing it. And never a stranger’s, as evidently kind as this stranger has been.

The man blinks. “I have a guest bedroom, but you’re too tall for it.”

“Still!”

“Dude. You showed up at my door in the middle of the night after crashing into the woods so hard the trees shook, bloodied to hell and back and near death. I couldn’t just – shove you in a bed too small for you. It was my bed or the floor, and I sure as shit wasn’t going to make an injured person sleep on the floor.”

“That’s…fair, I suppose,” Keith concedes. But he’s still a little troubled. “But I’m good, now. I can – sleep in the guest room?”

He trails off a little as he suggests it, realising, abruptly, how absurd this whole thing is. He doesn’t know this person. He’s shown up as an unexpected guest to his home – hell, to his planet. And now they’re…making sleeping arrangements? Arguing about sleeping arrangements? Is Keith even planning on staying? What are his other options? How is he going to get home? What happened to his ship?

His head starts to pound again. The man must notice, because he softens.

“Man, just sleep in my bed,” he says. “You’re still hurt.” He gently pries the rag out of Keith’s hand, tossing them both into the sink and standing. Hands still gripped together, he pulls Keith up too, careful of his hurt leg and generally aching body. He begins to tug Keith back to the bedroom, guiding him around the mess on the floor.

Keith squares his shoulders stubbornly. “No.”

“Oh, for the love of –”

The man pinches the bridge of his nose, staring at Keith in exasperation.

“This is what I get,” he says, shaking his head. “For not listening to Hunk about the light. I deserve this. This is Karma.”

“I’m not just going to steal your bed and let you be sleep deprived,” Keith insists.

“Well, I’m not going to let you not steal my bed! And it’s my house, so checkmate!”

“Not doing it.”

“I’ll drag you,” the man threatens. “I did before. I will do it again, do not test me.”

“You dragged me when I was a deadweight,” Keith points out. He straightens to his full height, ignoring the screaming burning in his leg. He has a Point to make. “Go ahead and try when I’m actively resisting.”

The man glowers at him, arms crossed over his chest and fingers drumming on his bicep. He has very long fingers, Keith notices. Kind of – elegant. In a scrawny way. Keith kind of gets those vibes from him as a person.

“Oh,” the man says triumphantly, standing to his full height, too – although he still has to look up to meet Keith’s eyes. “I’ll just sleep on the floor. So you’ll have to use my bed. Ha.”

Keith shrugs. “I’ll just sleep on the floor, too.”

The man glowers at him for several doboshes. Keith stares right back, eyebrows raised.

“Are all aliens this annoying?”

“Are all humans this stubborn?”

A smile twitches at the corner of the man’s mouth. “This is stupid.”

“It is,” Keith agrees, smiling back.

“Just – sleep on the bed.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“What if I sleep in it, too? Compromise.”

Keith’s cheeks heat again, although this time he doesn’t look away. That would be – embarrassing. Far more embarrassing than simply sleeping in someone else’s bed – sleeping with them in it.

But it would get them both to sleep faster. Plus, Keith would be unconscious, so how embarrassing could it be, really? And the bed is huge, so double plus! They probably won’t even be that near each other.

“Compromise,” Keith relents, finally. The man beams, but notably there’s a bit of a flush to his ears, too.

“Come on,” he says, reaching down to grab Keith’s hand again. He does it very easily. Keith tries not to notice. “God, I’m so pumped. I love sleeping. This is going to be the best.”

“...Right.”

Keith follows him, meekly, down the hallway, straight through the second door on the left, and into the bedroom. It has remained unchanged – the comforter is turned over as Keith left it, and the light curtains are swaying, slightly, in the breeze from the open window. The man wastes no time crawling right in, on the right right, sighing loudly as he sinks into the soft mattress. Keith is much more hesitant.

“There,” the man says, as they’re finally settled side by side. “Hopefully it’s not – the worst.”

“It’s not,” Keith tries to assure, voice strangled. He lies as stiffly as he can, careful to keep his limbs to himself, not to crowd. He doesn’t want to – suffocate the man, or something. Who knows. This is a real-life human. Mom says they are largely fragile.

“Goodnight,” the human whispers, several doboshes later. His voice is hushed, sleep-thick. Keith chances a look, and finds him melted into the pillows, eyes closed, face lax. He doesn’t seem to be – bothered. By Keith. By his clawed hands, or big ears, or height. Or proximity.

Keith exhales, and lets himself relax.

“Goodnight,” he murmurs, and sinks back into unconsciousness.

— — —

later in the universe

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