#he's perpetually starstruck

[wlntrsldler]

bad for business | luke castellan

warnings: loser!luke agenda is strong with this one, insecure!luke because of reader's judgmental siblings but they get over it later on, suggestive content but nothing explicit, luke being happy and in love (we need more of this; i'm pointing the finger at myself, i need to write happy luke fics) aphrodite!reader x luke, in an alternate universe where the betrayal didn't happen

based on bad for business by sabrina carpenter

i. he's good for my heart, but he's bad for business.

"she's probably going to dump him soon, anyway."

"she's just doing it for the tradition, obviously."

"she's too good for him."

sometimes luke just wanted to tell them to shut up, but he's already on thin ice with-- well, everyone at camp. they weren't a fan of the smell of cigarettes that lingered on his clothes, or the ugly scar on his face (this, wasn't his fault though. if anything, they should hate his fucking dad for giving him the quest in the first place), or the fact that he's somehow dating the most popular, gorgeous, and brilliant girl at camp.

you, y/n y/l/n, the favorite daughter of aphrodite. at first luke thought that you'd be just like the rest of the aphrodite girls (he's not one to perpetuate stereotypes, being the victim of it all his life, but the aphrodite kids always turned their noses up at him so he didn't feel too bad dishing it out), but then you smiled at him with your pretty, pink lips and luke knew he was a goner. he didn't stand a chance (not like he fought it too hard anyway)

you made an effort to remember his name, say hello to him when you passed by him, and you even went as far as asking him for his opinion on things.

"what do you think of this strategy, luke?" you asked, staring at him directly. the entire blue team was arguing loudly (luke thought their strategy fucking sucked and was a sure way for the ares cabin to, once again, demolish all of you, but he was going to keep that to himself) before your soft voice broke the noise. everyone stopped in their tracks because why the hell were you talking to him? asking him for his opinion?

he blinked, even looking behind him in case there was some other kid named luke that he didn't know about. when he finally realized that you were talking to him, he managed to stutter out that the plan was fine. you looked at him skeptically, penetrating the persona he put up with everyone, but decided not to push him anymore and simply nodded.

when the red team, led by the ares cabin, of course, handed your asses to you on a silver platter, you found luke at dinner and sat directly in front of him. chris, who was just as starstruck as luke that you were sitting with them, immediately scrambled off his seat and mumbled some half-hearted excuse to leave the two of you alone.

"so, spill," you said, planting your tray of food on the table. "what did you really think of the strategy?"

your conversation went from strategy to your life to his life to everything and anything until you two were the last two people left. he was glad when people finally got tired of gawking at you and him. (many in disbelief, all in jealousy that you decided to sit with him) you didn't seem to mind the stares, though, luke figured it was because you were used to it. it was hard not to stare at you.

luke thought that dinner was just a glitch in the matrix, that it was just some weird anomaly that would never happen again. he was just thankful that it happened; but then the next day, your perfectly manicured hand knocked on the hermes cabin door and you stood in front of luke with a timid smile on your face to ask him to train you in sword fighting.

luke got dressed at record speed. chris woke up after the third time luke hit his head under his bed when he was trying to find a semi-decent shirt to wear to your sparring session (maybe one that didn't smell too much like cigarettes). chris sat up on his bed, eyebrow quirked, with a teasing smile on his face.

as luke was racing out the door, he looked at chris, "don't start.''

chris threw his head back laughing, "i didn't say anything."

luke threw a pillow at chris with an oomph before rushing out to meet you.

the training sessions slowly morphed into sitting next to each other daily during meals, then into hanging out at campfires, until it got to the point when there wouldn't be a second of free time where the two of you wouldn't be together. luke could feel your siblings shooting daggers at him whenever he was alone, like a warning to stay away from you, but it's not like he was the one initiating things.

sure, he would follow you around the ends of the world if you asked (or even if you didn't, let's be honest here) but luke didn't want to test his luck so he just went with the flow. sometimes, he just wanted to talk to your siblings to set the record straight.

"look, i'm just as fucking confused as you are," he would say, "i don't know why she's hanging out with me either."

as much as he enjoyed your moments together, a piece of him still worried that you were just being nice. maybe you were this way with everyone. maybe he just likes you so much that he's making up these scenarios in his head.

he tried to talk to chris about it, but that proved to be the wrong decision because it's not like the boy had any experience either; he was pining over clarisse. the blind leading the blind, truly.

and then one day, while you and luke were sitting beside the water, after a long day of training, you looked over at him with an unreadable expression.

panicked, luke immediately straightened his back and twisted his body to face you. he wanted to reach for your hand to comfort you, but decided against it. he didn't want to make you uncomfortable. he cleared his throat, "what's wrong?"

"why haven't you asked me out?"

you would've thought percy summoned a cold wave to crash into luke with the way he was sitting there frozen. luke was looking at you blankly, like his brain was short-circuiting. it was a habit of his to blink and tilt his head to the side whenever he was shocked.

"huh?"

you were frowning now, "do you not like me? i'm sorry, i guess i was just reading the situation wrong."

"woah, pause," luke leaned in closer, inspecting your face to see if there was a punchline about to drop like it was a gotcha! moment and all of your siblings would come out from behind the trees to laugh at him. he found no sign of such a thing. "do you like me?"

"luke, i've been so obvious," there was a hint of embarrassment in your voice and luke wanted to kiss it away. your cheeks were dusted with the lightest shade of red as you chewed on your bottom lip. "i thought maybe you liked me too, but i guess it was all in my head. i'm sorry-- forget i even said anything."

"yeah, i don't want to forget it," luke shook his head, now stumbling over his words. his brain was working again, sort of. "i like you, too. like really like you. sorry, you just caught me off guard for a sec."

"you do?"

"gods, i really really do."

you beamed at him and luke was so thankful that he was sitting because his knees would've buckled at your reaction and humiliated himself by falling face-first in the water if he was standing. he was especially thankful that he was sitting when you climbed onto his lap to make out with him until both of your lips were bruised.

ii. i'm mad for you, it's sad but true, and you know it. you're on my mind, you stole my life and it's showing.

word traveled fast after that. when you walked into breakfast with luke's arm around your waist, the whispers started. luke thought the staring before was bad, but this was on a new level. he felt the other aphrodite kids following his every move, poison in their eyes.

when you sat next to luke, impossibly close to him, chris' eyebrows rose in glee. he motioned to the both of you with his spoon, flicking drops of milk with the motion, "what's going on here?"

"i'm luke's girlfriend now."

luke nearly choked on the apple he was eating when he heard the words leave your lips. yes, he knew that you were dating now (his pathetically hoarse voice saying, "will you be my girlfriend?" after the hours-long makeout session the night before haunted his dreams last night; he wanted to keep his cool so bad, but it just wasn't possible when you were sitting on his lap, all pretty with your thighs on either side of his, lips glossy with his saliva instead of your typical lipgloss), but it was the first time he heard you refer to yourself as his girlfriend. his girlfriend.

"nice," chris raised his hand up for a high-five, which luke was about to complete, but chris pulled his hand away, "not for you, dude."

you giggled and high-fived chris, making luke look between the two of you in bewilderment.

"what the fuck was that?" luke asked. when did you and chris get close?

"this is embarrassing," you started, looking down at your plate of food. you were dragging your spoon across the blob of oatmeal, "but i talked to chris about you last week because i was so sad that you haven't made a move yet. i just wanted to hear his opinion on things in case i was just being stupid."

"why didn't you tell me this?"

"i tried!" chris argued, laughing a bit when luke's face turned red, "plus, i didn't want to tell you that me and y/n had a conversation because i had faith that you'd make a move! i obviously bet on the wrong horse, though, because y/n made the move."

"oh my gods, i'm a loser." luke groaned, tossing the apple on his tray. he lost his appetite. "you mean we could've been together this entire time?"

you placed a hand on his thigh, making him turn his attention to you. you gave him a comforting smile that he quickly reciprocated. you gave his thigh a soft squeeze, "it's okay, luke. we can make up for lost time."

luke smirked at you, "tonight?"

"dude, i'm trying to fucking eat."

luke threw up the middle finger to chris' face before connecting your lips.

to luke's surprise, your relationship didn't really change much after putting a label on it. (the changes that did occur were that now he can kiss you freely, which he was thankful for, and that you were even more touchy with him, which he was extremely thankful for because he loved having you next to him at all times. he was so smitten with you.) he realized then how blind he'd been the entire time because you were so very obvious about your feelings for him, he was just too stuck in his own head to notice it.

he started being outwardly affectionate with you, gaining more confidence while he was on your arm. his favorite thing to do was to wrap his arms around your torso and bury his face into the crook of your neck. he loved hearing you erupt in giggles when his curls tickled your skin. he was drunk on you and you didn't mind one bit.

you even said that you were more attached to him than he was to you (he looked at you like you had three heads because it couldn't have been further from the truth.)

he took you on little picnic dates and made you jewelry that you wore proudly, and you wore his clothes (he would be lying if he said that his heart didn't skip a beat when you walked out of the aphrodite cabin sporting his hermes sweater) but above all, luke loved the way he could talk to you about everything. he told you about his mom, his dad, his doubts and his insecurities, and you listened. you would sit there, hands in his hair, while he laid on your chest. he didn't know the last time he felt safe, but with you, he always did.

iii. all of my friends think i've gone crazy, but they don't know me like my baby.

luke tried to ignore the fact that there were running bets from campers about how long you two would last, but it was getting to him. he'd heard it all; a week, two weeks, three months. he fought the urge to roll his eyes when he heard the jingling of drachmas being passed around when you and him were seen together after someone lost their bet.

it's been two months but people still believed that you two were going to break up soon. the idea of it made luke feel sick. he couldn't imagine a life without being yours anymore. truth be told, he was wholly yours the minute he met you, but after every kiss, every hug, every second with you, he was just falling deeper in love with you.

it was a little scary.

"hiya, baby," you greeted him, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders.

you started calling him the pet name a few days into dating and luke actually whimpered when you did it the first time. you loved getting these reactions from luke and his little sounds (both innocent and not-so-innocent) only spurred you on. when he's with you, luke turned into this mush, always wanting to be held by you or touching you in some way.

"hi," he mumbled, leaning up to place a quick kiss on your lips.

you hummed happily before resting your hands on his back, "baby, you're tense. are you okay?"

"yeah," luke replied, but his furrowed eyebrows said differently.

"no you're not," you walked in front of him, wrapping your arms around his torso, "what's going on?"

luke sighed, "everyone thinks we're gonna break up-- or more specifically, everyone thinks you're gonna break up with me."

"do you believe that i'll break up with you?" you frowned, loosening your hold on him. "did i do something that made you think that?"

"no, no," he said, quickly. he pulled you closer to him, not wanting you to let go of him. "i just-- i dunno. everyone says i'm not good enough for you, and i know i'm not, and it's getting to my head a little bit."

you looked up at him, removing your hands from around him to reach for his face. you brought his face down closer to yours to pepper kisses all over it; his cheeks, his lips, his scar, his jaw. "i think you're perfect."

"you have to say that 'cause you're my girlfriend," he playfully rolled his eyes, but he couldn't stop a goofy smile from forming on his face due to your kisses.

"yeah, i am your girlfriend," you reminded him, placing a longer kiss on his lips now. your lips moved together, making luke's hands wander to your lower back to push you closer to him. you pulled away, breathless, "listen to your girlfriend, baby. i'm not going anywhere so don't worry your pretty little head about it."

there were still moments when the voices of the other campers bounced around in luke's head, but you were always there to quiet them with your reassurance and your love for him.

eventually, people stopped talking about you and luke and accepted that you two weren't breaking up anytime soon (they were about six months too late, in luke's opinion). he even managed to win over your siblings later on (kind of; they still don't talk to him unless they have to but they smile at him now, but luke isn't picky; a win is a win)

luke was happy and in love and it was all thanks to you.

#frances writes #frances song fics #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan x yn #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan x you #percy jackson fanfic #percy jackson #pjo fanfic #pjo series

[art-of-firefly]

Bingo for akamomo because I've seen it around a lot recently and it baffles me and I want more perspective. :D

Ok, I'm so glad you asked because I have a LOT of thoughts on this one! At first glance it sound like a crackship, but somehow it makes a lot of sense ? If we only take into account the main story, it doesn't shows much but the light novel and its adaptation make it so much more interesting.

First of all, they are both very smart, the two most intellectual characters in the GOM. At Teiko, Akashi was probably the only one Momoi could have deep and interesting conversation with. It must have been really refreshing for both of them. Midorima is nice and all, but his perpetual need to beat Akashi at something (Shogi, school grades, etc.) must be exhausting at times. With Momoi he could have fully genuine conversation.

In the Replace novel (and it's manga adaptation) Momoi is completely starstruck by Akashi, it's emphasized by the fact that most of the Teiko Era chapters are in her pdv. Every single time Akashi appears or is mentioned she think about how impressive and smart he is (it's really adorable). She has a blind trust in him and his decisions, but despite how highly she thinks of him she always acts normally around him.

Akashi helped her out multiple times, he is very caring and thoughtful towards her, making sure she'll get to play with fireworks with them after their passage at the commissariat, including her when the GOM plays together, helping her find the lipstick her mom want (and those are just the first three examples that came to my mind, the novel are full of them) Which, i concede, the real Akashi is that way toward everyone, but Momoi is usually the one who takes care of others, so this is the only relationship she has where it feels like it goes both ways. Although rare, when Akashi needs help with something, it is shown several times that she is the one he goes to.

Something the fandom seems to completely forget: it was Akashi who discovered Momoi's abilities. It's thanks to his trust that Momoi was able to truly become a player in her own right instead of just being part of the club because Aomine joined. He is the one who shows the most respect for her abilities (who are in my opinion among the most broken in the GOM). He truly thinks highly of her and he praise her several times for it, whether she is here or not. And finally, they were the two most desperate to keep the team together when everything goes to shit. Both of them are shown very lonely before the team becomes real friends and this is their first experience with a group of close friends. Losing that broke them both in different ways. (yes, other things played a role, but it was a very important factor.) Their friends are the most important part of their lives for both of them. Kuroko's focus was on basketball and his drive to show them how their way of thinking was wrong regarding basketball.

I'm really sorry for the length, I underestimated how much I like this ship. It's not my favorite ship for either of them, but it's probably my second fave for both. I don't think they would ever date, but if they did, they would be the most perfect, healthiest, cutest couple ever. (And the GOM would be bound to stay friend forever thanks to their combined effort and scheming, perfect)

#I probably forgot a few things #but it's already long enough as it is... #akamomo #akashi seijuro #momoi satsuki #they both deserves the best #me : i don't care about ships #also me when i receive my first ask : let me write an essay about them really quick #knb

[paperpeacock]

notice me was so good!! will there be a part 2? :)

Hi! I'm sorry this took so long, but I'm so glad you wanted another part of this because I really enjoyed writing it! like that last piece hope you enjoy this one, the final part to notice me.

Keith x reader - Notice me Part Two

Being born into perpetual darkness means you’ve never been exposed to the light of day, the sun’s rays can only flash in the dark of your dreams. Many have been shrouded into said darkness, bound to roam their midnight world. But let this be known, it only takes a spark to light a flame, and once lit, it's only a matter of determination to keep it alive. 

“What were you thinking? The paladins can't afford to lose focus!” she shrieked; wide eyes boring into your own. You had been arguing for the past hour, as you sat upon the bed and watched your sister paced about the room. “Do you want to jeopardize this mission?” 

“No, I just- it just happened...” You reasoned. You watched as Allura tucked a strand of hair back into her lavender mane, sucking in a deep breath. 

“Well don’t let it happen again” Her words sliced upon your fluttering heart, sinking deep into your once excited feelings. “I expect better of you Y/N” and with that she left, airy gown wafting pass, leaving misery in her wake.  

The following days, you decided it was best to avoid Keith, after all, he saw how enraged Allura had gotten. But never the less your mind was still plagued with thoughts of the ravenette, a moment so electrifying cannot simply be forgotten. And it wasn't, for the Red Paladin wanted nothing more than to see you. 

You sat cozied upon your bed, haloed in the fluorescent light of your room. You had yet to fall asleep, head swarming with too many thoughts. You recalled the argument you had with Allura, your spirits sunk as you could only be a mere distraction to the Paladins, never could you aid them but instead just had to get out of their way. It wasn't fair, you too were a Princess to, but treated like the ghost of the castle. 

Knock, Knock, Knock 

It was late, you suspected everyone to be asleep. Who could come knocking on your door? And better yet why? Well to cease such questions you approached the metallic door, allowing it to slide open. Standing behind, painted in the stygian darkness of the empty hall, stood Keith.  

“Keith?” You quietly called. You wore your pajamas and socks, appearing mellow and soft compared to the shadowy figure who stood in front of you. 

“Hey” he drew closer, pushing his head in towards the light.  

“Why...Why are you here?” You murmured. 

“Uh, could you put your shoes on? I'd like to show you something” You quirked a brow, but then let out a laugh. 

“...Okay?”  You giggled reaching out for the polar boots. Unlike your unbending, unyielding and uncompromising sister, you were quite lenient and open. Something that pleasantly surprised Keith. “But wait” You paused. “What about Allura?” 

“What about Allura?” he repeated back, stepping further into your room. 

“We shouldn't be doing this” Your eyes sunk to the floor, gazing upon your shoes. Once again you let yourself get carried away, too starstruck to pay attention.  

“You're acting like we’re about to rob someone” he laughed, mischief coloring his eyes. “Y/N, what you decide to do isn't up to Allura” Your gaze travelled up towards his own, eyes dripping in starlight, gazing in a newfound wonder. Your head kept hammering down the same grating concerns, but you had long left it in the safety of your room as your heart joined the midnight prince and his plans. 

The two of quietly crept through the darkened castle, making your way to a discreet exit point. Huddling close to one another, making out smiles through the stygian night. You tried to quite your excited giggles, but your heart drummed beneath your chest, your eyes looked adoringly upon the locks of stygian hair in front of you, as if this all was just a dream. Finally, an exit point had been reached and you both stepped into the world outside.  

It was a violet wasteland, filled with rolling winds that gathered glittering dust from the ground, it stretched out for infinity, an ocean of lavender plains. Unlike the ill-lit castle, this place was illuminated by millions of stars and two big, pearly moons. However, these stars were quite unique, they appeared in all the colors, as if millions of dreams were cast in the far reaches of space, filling this hollowed relm with color and light, much like sprinkles on a cake. 

“Wow...” you whispered, wide eyes reflecting splashes of color and glitter. 

“Pidge said that the stars look this way because of something in the planet's atmosphere, changing them to look all colorful” he too gazed upon it. You stayed in a tender silence, eyes roaming about the sky. The wind raked past, tugging gently upon the fabric of your clothes and strands of your hair, you turned to face the paladin.

“Keith?...” 

“Yeah?” 

“Why did you take me out here?” you shyly called. 

He drew close, standing before your smaller stature. He brought his hand towards your face, palm cold against your cheek as he glided it towards your head, pushing away your hair. 

“You can be really dense sometimes” 

He planted a kiss on your forehead. Causing your chest to erupt in a swarm of butterflies and your face to glow in a fiery scarlet. The paladin lent you a cocked smile. If Allura didn't want him to lose focus, he definitely lost it now, gazing upon your adorable fluster. It was never imagined that the hothead of the team and the quiet ghost of the castle would be together under a starry sky, despite this it was a good pairing and not even Allura could deny that. 

#keith x reader #my writing #fiction #fluff #keith kogane #voltron

[hannie-dul-set]

i miss ur ricky fic aaaaaaa pls tell us ur dream abt silly orange cat !!

I MISS MY CAT SO MUCH IT'S MAKING ME STUPID!!!!! 😭😭😭 even my brain is making it hard for me.......the dream was slightly fuzzy but devastatingly vivid at the same time so i can't give u anything coherent......only the following information that has been haunting my entire day 💔💔

i saw him at a very crowded formal uni event or something and i was so STARSTRUCK (despite the implication that we alr both know each other) and DISTRESSED by how pretty he was that i was pacing back and forth outside the room he disappeared into, like head in hands STRESSED manically debating with myself whether or not i should walk up to him/talk to him 😭😭😭.

that stressful moment ended up being useless because he......he was the one who initiated a conversation. have no fucking idea what we talked about. all i remember is going BRRRT. BRAIN SMOKE because for some reason he started guiding me to the venue with his arm behind me hand on hip type beat because it was crowded and i was DIZZY i was OVERWHELMED because why is my innocent cute cat acting like this i cannot take this 😭😭😭😭.

the fucker intentionally led me us to two seats with a broken arm rest in between........shoulders pressed together......how scandalous.......there was a film screening or some shit but my dream self was very much still on the perpetual verge of losing it......tl dr ricky has me in a chokehold, conscious or not, in dream or in real life. thank u.

#the immense feelings of panic and stress i felt were VISCERAL i woke up shaken up 😭😭😭😭 #this was my third ricky dream i think..... first one ended up being thrown into yours to keep #second one involved a sulky cat bcs i congratulated and hugged gyubert before him.... #third one....this one....was just me going through it #he was unfortunately not very silly here. he was out for blood 😭😭😭😭😭 #i dream about my boys pretty often it's not funny 💔💔💔 uses to keep track of all my delusion fuelled dreams but lost it with my old phone #ANYWAY gosh gee how am i to study criminal law when all i thinketh is the feeling of ricky shen oh so close to me 😔😔😔😔

[calciumcryptid]

FV | Idol Heroes Trivia

World Building Trivia

Unlike other classifications, Idol Heroes main rogues are their own fanclubs. Parasocial fans work to sabotage other idol heroes to bolster their own, which can range from merchandise disruptions to destroying concert venues.

Idol Heroes are not allowed to date during their trainee days, but can date freely upon debut.

Music Idols have roughly two comebacks a year (so one January to June and one July to December), with their comebacks alongside an electronic play (EP). Albums come out about every two years, though the length varies.

Bonus singles are common, as they are either drafts that didn't fit an electronic play/album concept or explicitly for charity.

Sex work is legitimate work in the Floretverse, so porn stars are considered Idol Heroes alongside musicians and actors.

Idol Heroes don't tend to date other Idol Heroes. The theories around this range, but the common one is the assumption every idol wants to keep their collaboration pool open.

Idol-Centric Trivia

Elvan Bardakçı (Neon Lights) and Nicu Duckett (Count Choreo) constantly feature in each other's music to the point them having a song without the other is an event on its own.

Their fans are begging Orange Studio (their agency) to establish a duo for them so their collaborations are separate from solo work.

Speaking of them, Elvan Bardakçı and Nicu Duckett rule the nightclub scene. Clubbers will hear half of their discographies.

Due to Orange Studio having a good working relationship with all the other companies, there is an unspoken social rule that new idols need the approval from an Orange Studio idol in order for others to see them as a potential collaborator.

In his hypothetical wikipedia article, Nicu Duckett has paragraphs dedicated to his fashion influences alone. The man single-handedly catapulted the corset industry into stardom.

Despite their disbandment, the former members of Black⧖Widows remain close friends. In fact, Sasha Aime Siegel shot one of her music videos in Harper Thornton's (Blood Rose) brothel, and shot another music video in Indigo Sukkasem's (Winesplatter) penthouse.

The former members try to all meet up once a year, but have plenty of mini meet-ups scattered throughout the year. Fans hold out hope for them to drop a new song together, but so far there aren't any plans.

Seydou Raiden (Haietlik) completely forgot Oriana Correia (Jaguara) was signed with Aphrodisiac Agency, and was starstruck when he first met her in the office halls.

Citlalli Maina's (Dream☆Crush) music was banned in one of the petals for the longest time, but after the Univis Civil War she became the highest charting artist in the country. In fact, she was invited to perform for the inauguration of the new council which she accepted.

Shezhana Sharma (Vow Veopard) is Aphrodisiac Agency's most popular artist, and her given title 'Idol of Love' is a direct reference to Sasha Aime Siegel's title 'Idol of Sex'. However, Citlalli Maina is the one in line to inherit the agency.

Shezhana Sharma and Citlalli Maina's fans are in a perpetual war with each other, but their favorite idols are close friends. In fact, Shezhana and Citlalli wish to do more collaborations with each other but their respective genres make it hard to make cohesive pieces.

#floretverse #floretverse: idols

[rwdestuffs]

Not mad anymore, just disappointed.

So I recently recalled a relatively newish Minecraft LP that AH did where Gavin describes an incident where a branch fell on his head and he believed it was Geoff and if I’m remembering right, he still does believe it was Geoff. It was one of their Hardcore or “YDYD” videos if I’m remembering that right.

Now, I want to preface this with a “None of this excuses the shitty things that these shitty people said or did” but… What’s the Over/Under on the really crappy people who were in close and constant contact with the founders having their bad traits fostered, propped up, and amplified by this sort of attitude from the founders? I wouldn’t be surprised if “Connect the Hots” was all Geoff’s idea, and he made Gavin go along with it. What are the odds that Barbara was uncomfortable with the F-Slur but constant contact with Burnie erased that?

Because IIRC, Gavin was still living with Geoff at the time, and he still very much looked up to him at the time. I also heard that there were some recent stories about Gavin barricading his door so that Geoff wouldn’t break in and stick his fingers up his butt. Some starstruck young adult would probably see this behavior from someone he admired and would want to emulate it. Yeah, Gavin was an adult at the time, but he was still very young and impressionable. Same with a lot of the crappy people who looked up to and admired the people who made RvB. Same with all the other crappy people like Barbara.

I’m just wondering what caused the guys who could have been decent people to end up like this. Gavin probably could have just made his dues with his slo-mo guys stuff. People like watching things happen in slow motion, he probably could have made a good career out of that or in cinematography/camerawork. Barbara could have been a cosplayer, and could have been a streamer. Like, come on, how many people would subscribe to a pretty girl playing FPS games on twitch?- Let’s be real here, it would probably have been a lot, and she could have gotten by on that. So many of these people could have had careers not involved with RT and ended up being decent people instead of what they are now.

If anything, I’m not mad at these people anymore, if anything… I pity them. They had the chance and opportunities to be better people and then it was all quashed by a bunch of dudebro gamers basically encouraging their worst attributes. That’s why I feel bad for these guys who worked under the founders. They had every opportunity to be better, but then they ended up in the one place that not only tolerated, but encouraged that sort of toxic behavior and ended up being horrible people.

At this point in time, I pity RT more than I am mad at them. They had it all! A loyal fanbase, no corporate oversight for their content, all sorts of great and wonderful people working for them… And they decided to shit all over that by being racist, homophobic, biphobic, transphobic, stingy, and downright horrible. If anything it’s pathetic.

It’s pathetic that they couldn’t grow out of their CoD Lobby mentality. It’s pathetic that they put more money to celebrity VAs than to their own in-house VAs. It’s pathetic that they perpetuated this sort of thing in their own workplace. It’s pathetic that they all decided to be horrible people and to encourage being horrible.

Again: None of this excuses their behavior, but it is clear that it was cultivated and encouraged by the founders and their CoD Lobby attitude. These guys just refused to grow up.

The founders were horrible, and then they spread that horribleness because funny™.

I hope that they can all just find their own paths now and grow as people. Be better. It won’t make up for the damage that they caused, but maybe they can find a way to be better people for newer people.

Doing and saying dumb things when we were young is one thing. Continuing to do and say those same dumb things is another.

Like I said in the title: I’m not mad anymore, I’m just disappointed. They couldn’t clear one lousy bar of not being bad. They crashed into all the bars. And I’m willing to bet that they also did horrible things at bars too.

#rooster teeth critical #rooster teeth

[sunyot]

The Extra On the Set of Dune 2 - Pt. 1

The unforgiving Martian sun beat down on my borrowed Fremen robe, making me itch like a sandworm was trying to burrow under my skin. Being an extra on Dune 2 wasn't exactly what I pictured when I signed up for "background acting experience." It was more like "endless waiting, questionable catering, and extreme sunburn." But hey, at least I got to see Zendaya walk by every now and then, looking effortlessly cool in her stillsuit. Today, though, all eyes were on the newcomer.

Timothée Chalamet. Hollywood heartthrob, award nominee, and now, my scene partner. Okay, maybe "partner" was a strong word. More like "background noise who hopefully doesn't mess up the shot."

He sauntered into the designated holding area, a vision in dark Fremen robes that somehow managed to look effortlessly tousled, even after who-knows-how-many takes. The girls around me practically swooned, their whispers a chorus of "OMG" and "Isn't he dreamy?"

Personally, I wasn't one to get starstruck. At least, that's what I told myself. In reality, my heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Maybe it was the desert heat, or maybe it was just the sheer improbability of it all. Here I was, Amelia Brooks – bookworm extraordinaire, complete with my signature thick glasses and perpetually messy bun – standing a hair's breadth away from Timothée Chalamet, the man whose face adorned most of the movie posters lining my bedroom wall back home.

People sometimes told me I was pretty, buried beneath the layers of oversized sweaters and my nose perpetually stuck in a book. I never believed them, of course. In the fictional worlds I devoured, heroines were always brave and beautiful, slaying dragons and capturing hearts with their dazzling smiles. Me? I was more likely to trip over my own shoelaces and spend the evening curled up by the windowsill with a steaming mug of tea, lost in the pages of a well-worn novel.

And yet, here I was, on the set of a major motion picture, about to share a scene with my movie star crush. The tremor that shook the set a moment later felt strangely symbolic – a disruption to the carefully constructed reality around me. And as I found myself thrown off balance, landing squarely against Timothée's back, a thrilling, terrifying possibility sparked to life. Maybe, just maybe, this wasn't just another scene. Maybe it was the chance for a different kind of story to begin.

#film #sunyot #sunyotmedia #movies #filmmaking #classic film #movie stills #cinema #dune 2024 #dune 2 #dune 2 spoilers #dune part 2 #dune part two #dune #fanfic #dune fanfiction

[tea-with-evan-and-me]

I think it's up for everyone to decide for themselves if they agree with the age difference between Evan and Frances or not, a lot of people could not imagine to make that choice for their own lives. but ngl i find some reactions to this a bit questionable, like some anons insinuating that Evan and his friend were somehow preying on two teenage girls on a live or whatever. She was still a fully grown adult. I'm not disagreeing that obviously people in their early twenties and early 30s are usually in different mind spaces, and people can surely critisize that. but some people are acting like he did something morally wrong. i personally don't like frances, she acts really immature. But so did Halsey with the way she idolized evan like he was some god. Age isn't always an explanation for immaturity in a relationship, sometimes people just have annoying personalities.

yes, folks are bound to have different feelings about this. however, i will never discount people who feel like it's questionable and/or creepy for a significant age gap at that point in two peoples lives. as the other anon said before, this isn't the case if someone is 40 with a 50 year old. the difference between 20 and 30 is significant; there is a vast difference in life experience and emotional maturity. someone being mature for their age doesn't make a difference here - you can't cram 30 years of life experience into 20. people who watched that IG life and were uncomfortable probably felt that way because it was very obvious this was two grown men, who were entertaining these young starstruck girls, normal girls where there is an obvious power imbalance. it's just not a good vibe. with that said, i don't think there was anything nefarious on evan's part. only time will tell if he's one of those guys who ends up perpetually dating much younger girls. if he does, that's life.. that's what men like. i'm not going to sit here and act aghast, like he'd be the first or the last lol

[etymologyofmind]

Love and Honour

Karon’s left ear itched like a bastard, his body’s response to being punched in the side of the face, and with each throb of his active heart, the sensation spread maddeningly. He set his teeth against the feeling, but it was easily the most distracting thing other than the sharp angled face that kept veering in and out of his line of sight, baring teeth at him as his opponent tried to find an angle to land another blow. Blue blood trickled from the corner of the Andorian’s thin lipped grimace, the result of one of Karon’s earlier left hooks, which had caught the seasoned brawler off guard since the tightly packed Human usually favoured his right.

Karon lunged to one side as his opponent came in low for a swing, the antennae on his head twitching ever so slightly to signal the move, a tell which could get the man killed if anyone ever picked up on it. Karon’s boot turned on a loose stone as he put weight on it, and his leg swept out from under him in a spectacular skid as his momentum carried him downslope on the shale shelf they’d been brawling on, fighting his balance the whole way. Realizing he wouldn’t regain his footing and get back to a defensible stance before his opponent took the advantage, he decided on the next best tactical option, and leaned into the slide, scraping fingertips as he balanced himself down a long cliff face in forced retreat. The ten-foot drop at the bottom would have been thirty without his maneuver, but he landed in a solid crouch with no meaningful harm done, coming quickly to the ready and catching a shower of grit on his forearm before glaring up the way he came. In the black silhouette that loomed against the dark, starstruck cobalt of the night sky, two ruby glints of light danced where his opponent’s eyes shifted to decide on a next move, the faint thermographic vision that gave his race their advantage in a world of perpetual ice catching twilight like fire.  In the next instant, both were on the move.

The low ground was rarely a favourable position to take in a battle, and if the difference in height were less, or if he had to contend with weapons fire, Karon would be in much deeper trouble. As it was, since he was not seeking to escape from this battle any more than the Andorian, their separation merely added a brief reprieve to reconsider strategies as their worked out what path to take through the canyon maze to once again come to blows. The topography and geology of the area was a product of millions of years of foundation and an interplay of elements which made beauty out of the primal forces of nature: here at the lowest points, harder rock tabled under a thousand generations of sand sediments which had been lain in carefully layered iterations when this desert had been an ocean abyss: patience and curiosity could unearth the remnants of not only the creatures which had drifted down into the lightless fathoms to feed anoxic creatures that picked clean their glistening bones, but the fragments of societies which had come later, when the water drained away to fill other chasms, leaving glacial drifts and swamplands to press slate and shale overtop of the finer grit below. Ice ages had come and gone over the world Karon sprinted through now, until the vulgar brutality of summer flooding had begun to carve writhing channels of smoothing water though ever-deepening corridors, molding the terrain into a brain-like, soft-curved, ridged and wrinkled labyrinth that defied any description that did not include the terms ‘stark’ and ‘beautiful’.

Sweat mixed with dust dredged out of the poetry of deep time as Karon wheeled around another turn. He could feel his breath, just as he could feel his ear, and the sting of his own salts as they seeped into the corners of his eyes. The perspiration was a result of the exertion rather than the environment: while this was a desert, it was the kind which forsook any semblance of heat when the sun disappeared, and the few rocks which did retain heat throughout the canyons quickly bled it out into chill, biting winds that sapped warmth from the bones. This was an equalizing factor in his current dilemma, as the Andorian who was currently hunting him back was built for colder climes, and would have trouble keeping up with his metabolism if he had to contend with the heat as well. Under the burning sun, Karon would have been uncomfortable, but functional, while the Andorian would need to retreat into shadow and possibly more extreme solutioning, lest he suffer from heat stroke severe enough to kill. Instead, Karon needed to keep moving, keep his blood pumping and his body churning, or the chill would wick his sweat away with his vitality, and he would freeze under the summer sky.

He careened around another corner, instinct blaring that now would be when battle was rejoined, and he was not disappointed. Whether it was how long he’d been moving, or some other subtle sense of predatory awareness that told him he was not alone, he came around the corner to the onrushing shape of a swooping, booted leg, directly at chest height. Had he been unprepared, the axe kick would have taken him out at his center of balance, probably folding him in half as it bounced the teeth out of his head on the stone below. Instead, he caught the kick mid-momentum, turning into its source, and pulling the Andorian off his feet in a throw which used his own inertia to power through. His opponent folded his knee rather than let it be twisted, and jumped into the throw in order to capture some control of his direction and speed, so that when Karon released him it was into a controlled tumble back down the corridor rather than as a pancake into the wall. Still, it looked painful, and it took Karon as much time to stop and regain his balance as it did for the Andorian to roll to his feet at the end of the corridor, shirt torn in half, and pants shorn away at each knee. It didn’t seem to slow the alien at all, however, and the two rushed to meet in the boxed clearing that had been chosen for the ambush.

The blue skinned man went low, even as Karon went high with an overhand swing aimed at the crown of his head. It missed, grazing a solid, muscular shoulder just as it pistoned into Karon’s ribs, taking him clear off his feet and skidding him back two meters across the rough stone. He could feel rock chips biting into his skin, and kicked a knee up between them to throw his opponent off overhead. He was slower than the Andorian to get up, however, and found himself rolling side to side to avoid sharp kicks which rained down around him, aimed at his chest and head. Timing himself, familiar with the dance-like Andorian martial art his opponent favoured, he crossed his arms over his face in time to catch one of the blows, and quickly spread them wide in a tearing motion which twisted his opponent’s leg around sharply, eliciting a surprised cry from the as-yet silent alien overhead as he collapsed on his face in the dirt. This time, they both got up at about the same time, both warier, and both slowing down as the exertion began to catch up with them.

“You are playing hard today,” said the Andorian, his hands waving mesmerically in front of him, black gloves clearly curled as if to clutch one of the ice-carving knives his people used for everything on their home world. He stepped carefully, keeping his core protected, hunched away as his blue blood soaked into his clothes from the various exposed flesh wounds. “If you fought like this every day, I dare say no one would ever beat you.”

Karon lunged forward, his own hands spread wide for the time being, exhibiting a grappler’s stance even though he didn’t much favour the technique. His hands snapped and grabbed at the Andorian’s fingers and wrists, looking for some opening to pull him off balance and change his footing. He didn’t deign to answer the compliment, knowing it to be a front for a coming taunt: Andorians did that, it was their way, never a kind word without a waiting taunt. Fortunately for Karon, knowing this gave him the advantage of knowing it would signal the next attack as well.

“No one but me, anyway!” a feint, a lunge. Karon braced for the first, thinking he’d catch the second reeling swing, typical of the fighting stance his foe affected, and was caught entirely off guard as the Andorian stooped nearly all the way to the stone floor before rocketing up in a haymaker uppercut that knocked him clear off his feet. This was a human move, not an ice-fighter’s attack, which relied on fleetness and spinning momentum, feeding their curved pushblades the momentum to cut through enemy defenses and gut a foe too slow to match their partner’s cadence. The punch would have been brutal on the wiry fighter’s arm, probably breaking knuckles and making the man ache to the shoulder, but it had a spectacular effect on Karon’s more massive frame, not only taking him by surprise, but sending him for a loop that sprawled him head over heels.

The world spun, filling with stars that seemed to swoop in from the dark sky overhead, and he couldn’t hear anything but the rushing thrum of blood coursing through his veins for long enough that a sluggish voice inside his head had to coax him into action, demanding to know how long he was going to be out. He had no idea how long he’d been prone before he levered himself up onto a forearm, spitting a wet tooth out onto the dry grit, and wobbled to his feet. His vision swam into focus, and he could see his opponent reeling back, clutching his arm, swearing in a language the universal translator dubiously refused to clarify. Karon ran the back of his hand over his lips, under his nose, swiping the copious blood away from both in a fruitless gesture that only served to hurt. The Andorian looked at him, eyes widening at what he saw, as vessels had burst in each of Karon’s eyes, leaving them red deepening into black.

“Karon, I…” he began, but the Human didn’t let him speak. He lunged forward, falling into a compact boxer’s stance as he went, feet shuffling over the hard ground. The Andorian initially gaped at this attack, before jumping back to put some distance between them, eyes hardening. He changed up his stance, taking on another Human martial art stance, a low profile Wushu stance that protected his damaged arm behind his body, while positioning him for footwork and kicks. Karon didn’t hesitate, diving in to engage like a shark tasting blood. Karon pressed in fast and hard, deflecting the Andorian’s fleet, but low power kicks with arm blocks and short jabs. His eyes were locked on his opponent’s face, and everything he caught came from instinctual peripheral senses. As soon as he had reach, his opponent would slide back, putting himself deftly out of range, but Karon pursued each time, dauntless, perhaps unhinged in his dogged pursuit. It wasn’t long before the blue skinned man was trying to skirt along unyielding cavern walls, unable to take his eyes off of Karon to take in the terrain, forced to rely on his hearing and the sensory inputs of his frantic antennae to tell him where to be. That was when Karon had his reach.

The first blow to land shot through the Andorian’s defense, grazing his cheek as he barely pulled his head aside in time. It was followed by another and another, quick jabs which travelled just far enough to deliver the message before pulling back into a defensive posture. Blue blood erupted from his opponent’s mouth and nose, staining his knuckles, mingling to violet with his own iron-rich hue. The few retaliatory strikes which made it out of the ice-man’s corner were easily deflected, or absorbed by the solid wall of the boxing posture in front of him, and suddenly it was a one-sided fight. Blow after blow sailed out of Karon’s vicious square, bare knuckles ringing against darkening blue skin as he pummeled hit after hit against the Andorian’s weakening defenses, and rattled his solid, broad-browed head with tooth-shaking, viper-like strikes. It took seconds for his opponent to collapse under the hits, falling heavily back against the sandstone wall, and throwing his arms up to defend himself, cupping his antennae protectively under his palms.

Still the human kept firing punches, his tunnel vision blurred red with his own blood, now pooling behind his lensed corneas. He struck an exposed ear, crushed a broad vein on the back of a blue hand, and fractured his opponent’s wrist. The Andorian shouted pained, wordless complaints, shock and agony mingling in his voice as he cried out: “Karon! KARON! Stop! Stop!”

But he did not stop. He did not hear. He just kept punching, fighting, feeling nothing but the blood, feeling nothing but the light headed sensation of his mind drifting from his body.

“Computer! Yield!”

A third voice, gruff, iron-hard, and stern. Instantly, to the friendly electronic chirrup of acknowledgement which came from somewhere behind the stone walls, somewhere past the dark sky, the room around the fighters froze. Photonic feedback blazed a bright white around Karon’s fists as some textureless density manifested itself between him and his felled Andorian prey. The shock of it collapsed Karon’s elbow, as it was something like punching his way into a bucket of sand when he was expecting to hit a target half a foot further on, and he lost his balance, tripping into a wall which suddenly wasn’t there. The twisted corridors and starlit night gave way to the black and yellow grid of the holodeck as photonic energy dissipated with a vacuous hiss, leaving both combatants sprawled out, broken and exhausted, on the vaguely rubberized floor. Medics rushed to each of them, finding neither in good condition, and a concerned murmur, previously masked by the program’s ambient noise cancellation, filled the empty space. It took a long moment before someone deigned to applaud, and the effort was followed by a half-hearted rejoinder from some of the rest of the gallery.

The third man stooped, his dark-skinned fingers closing around the cracked molar which Karon had spit after he got to his feet: unlike the rest of the scene, it had not faded with the cooling lamps of the holo emitters, and Captain Durok of the house of Maleth rolled it in his palm, heedless of the mess. He raised a well groomed, if pronounced eyebrow, and strode over to the Andorian who still clung to consciousness on the floor. He patted the tooth against the man’s battered chest, capturing the grip of the hand the man raised to defend himself in his insensible state, and pulling it to cover the grisly prize. “Well fought, Thy’ren. You do your family honour.” Praise to which the man quieted, for the tone it was delivered if not for the words themselves.

The captain conferred briefly with the medics, enough to know that Thy’ren Shurel would recover, if with some lasting need to recuperate from such a ruthless beating, before he levered himself to his feet and walked over to the other prone man. An Emergency Medical Hologram has been summoned from the Holodeck interface to help tend to his injuries, the modified Mark 1 showing deep concern for his patient, given the Voyager Protocols it had been given to upgrade its matrix with. Durok traced his black-nailed fingertips across the smooth brow of his forehead—strange for a Klingon—with a sigh, both of concern and of appreciation for Karon’s demonstrated bloodlust. Durok was an older captain, in his mid-seventies, and while not yet an old man by any means, tempered of his youthful furies by a life of experience. He’d known many warriors like Karon, but it never ceased to amaze him to see the fury rear its head in a Human.

Many Klingons, and many Andorians for that matter, let alone the other accumulated races which came in and out of Federation embrace over the years, underestimated the Humans, who spoke softly, often spoke of diplomacy and ideology and peace. Few seemed to see these intrepid explorers as more than a naïve, soft-bellied race, unfit for the hardships of interstellar space. But Durok was as much a historian as he was a warrior, and he had learned of the history of the Human race, enough to fear them like the wiser of his ancestors had, enough to respect them like the smarter of his ancestors had, and enough not to distrust them, like the more foolish of his ancestors had. T’Kuvma had warned the great houses about the Federation not because of the Vulcans, or the Andorians, or the Tellarites, but because of these small, child-faced diplomats and their soft tongues, this after the Klingon species had been undeniably changed by disastrous experimentation with the Augmented Humans even their own kind had seen fit to reject. Time and again, from the brink of extinction, this tenacious species had defied all odds, and time and again when faced with the wrath of his own people, they had proven themselves worthy of the glory of Sto-vo-kor and the disdain of Gre’thor all at once. They were not a people to be taken lightly, and as Durok’s fingertips graced the arrow point insignia at his breast, marking him as a Star Fleet officer along with the pips at his throat, he considered the duality of their message of peaceful enforcement, and how readily they had led more mature space-faring races into a galactic community by the nose.

He shook his head to clear it, and knelt by the man on the floor. The holographic specialist bypassed his usual routine, and simply gave report of the patient’s condition.

“I have no idea when he lost consciousness, but it was certainly before he stopped moving,” the hollow man began. Despite his occasionally craven pacifism, Durok liked the hologram, who like most of his kind hadn’t chosen a proper name for himself despite having made a full-time hobby of considering it. Much like the humans who had crafted him, the Doctor was full of nuance and accidental depth, surprising skill, and cunning beyond the semblance of a simple computer simulacra. Humans had a habit of that, as well, and the modern mythology was littered with stories of the anomalies they had encountered, or even crafted, and either tamed or succumbed to. The Doctor continued when Durok met his look, acknowledging him in silence.

“He has fractures in both his hands, which is to be expected, as well as a number of abrasions in his extremities. I’ve reviewed the footage since being brought online so none of that is surprising. One of his retinas has become entirely detached, while the other is barely hanging on, and I’ve had to alleviate the pressure in his eyeballs in a rather primitive effort to save them.” The operation in question had had the obvious result of draining blood out of the man’s face through small stents in the corners of his eyes, which had been immobilized by a neuro-cortical inhibitor clipped to each temple. “He’s got numerous broken teeth, one of which I just watched you give away like a crackerjack prize, a dislocated jaw, broken in two places, fractured orbitals, and ruptured eardrums. As if that weren’t enough,” he said, adjusting the dial on one of the inhibitors with a worried look, “he’s suffering from atlanto-occipital disclocation. Mister Shurel literally kicked my patient’s head off, and got beaten half to death for the trouble. I don’t think I have to tell you how I feel about this, Captain.”

Durok looked around the small circle of medics who were attending with the EMH, seeing his medical Chief of Staff included among them, preferring to defer to the hologram’s diagnosis while she worked on treating the injuries. She was Bolian, a usually exuberant race, and now her focus prevented her from chiming in. The medical tricorder in her hand was helping her locate fractured bones and torn ligaments, and apply regenerative energy pulses indirectly to a tool held by her chief surgical assistant. Together they were literally re-attaching Lieutenant Karon Andersen’s head to his neck enough to risk any form of transport away from the holodeck for further care. Durok stroked his thin moustache thoughtfully before clapping the holographic Doctor on the shoulder, and using him to lever up to a standing position. “When they recover,” he began, knowing with full confidence that they would, in fact, recover, “I would like you to refer both of them to psychiatric care for a therapeutic course before allowing them to return to duty.”

Everyone nearby halted, surprised by the order. The still spread through the gallery in a wave, and died in much the same way as the medics resumed their duties, and the spectators started discussing the latest gossip. The EMH stood up, leaving himself behind as he did so, so that two of the balding men were now wandering the holographic room, with one following at the captain’s heels. The second man spoke, quietly, aware of the listeners nearby.

“Not that I am not pleasantly surprised, Captain, but given the nature of this exercise, and the fact that you continue to promote this training, an accident like this was inevitable, eventually. Do you expect that the injuries will do something to either of their morale?” in his typical obtuse way, the Doctor had split his personage, but not his focus, and he was so fixated on the physical and complex injuries of his patient that he had not considered other contributing factors.

Durok sighed, and lowered his voice. “No, Doctor. I do not think it’s the injuries which will take their worst toll. We aren’t here because a sparring match got out of hand, we’re here because our crew has suffered a loss, and grief has made a weapon of brothers at arms.”

He rubbed his palms together, and the red, human blood which had dried there balled up and peeled away onto the floor to be recycled by the cleaners. Would that an injury of the spirit could be so easily discarded. “Doctor, I know you feel that these exercises are barbaric, needless, and dangerous, but they are a deeply entrenched part of many cultures. Your programming, and your evolved sense of self, both allow you to see them as you do, but have yet to allow you to see them as we do. I do not hold this against you, as you are a young, growing man, with much time left to come to know battle as we ‘organics’ do.” When the EMH moved to respond, the captain put his hands up, smiling, downward in a Klingon gesture of intellectual submission which had colloquially translated to ‘please let me finish’.

“When people fight, it is as insightful as when people dream. It opens pathways to the spirit which would otherwise be masked by propriety, by society, by guile. We Klingons are very honest with this practice, perhaps to the detriment of other methods of self care, but we are not alone: warrior cultures such as the Andorians, the Bajorans, the Cardassians, even the Jem’Hadar embrace this truth when others fail. It is more than Catharsis, Doctor, it is truth in a language as primal as the melting pot soup you find in each of our blood.” He turned his hands upward, glancing at the ceiling a deck above. “And when no other truth satisfies a question too primal to be worked through with reason, when emotions fail, and turmoil is the only sea to sail, battle brings us closer to knowing ourselves, and each other. These men did not attempt to kill each other here today, they simply almost did so, because they were seeking to know in their own way the answer to a question denied to them by death.”

The hologram swallowed, his mouth broadening in acceptant disapproval. His subroutines were an ever-growing web of interlinking ideas, pathways growing like a hungry mind, trimmed and tailored by favoured algorithms which had taken on a mind of their own. His processing would require that he investigate the cultural claims Durok had made before dismissing them outright, and it was likely that not enough information as immediately at hand for him to form a rebuttal, so there would be some time before the program that was the Doctor’s spirit could produce more than a facile, predictable response. Durok respected that he did not try: it was the thing which convinced him that this hollow man at his side was more than a set of logic gates with attitude.

The captain continued. “We lost four crewmen to senseless deaths on our latest assignment, Doctor. Can you not tell me that you wish you understood -that- better? That your program doesn’t yearn for a vindication of their unworthy demise? They were good men, good women, and they were our kin; we loved them, and they were taken from us by, what, an artifact of a people whose own deaths are so long lost to the annals of history that they would need to steal from us to make a last ripple in the cosmos?”

Not a week before, on an away mission led by Lieutenants Andersen and Shurel, two junior officers and a detachment of the science team had uncovered a device entrenched in a time capsule, buried under the rubble of a society which had lived and died on a world which had once been M-Class, and was slowly regaining its livable sovereignty without the impediment of an indigenous sentient species. They had followed protocols, but the device had been trapped, intentionally baited for the curious, and the antimatter explosion had erased their lights from the fabric of life without thought, or will, or remorse, simply ancient, directionless malice. It was a death without honour or sense. Durok’s brow knit and he closed his eyes.

There was silence. The Doctor did not speak, but pain lit his features, and Durok knew it to be genuine. Nearby, not quite out of earshot for the keen hearing of a Caitian and a Vulcan who were discussing the fight, a low sound of dismay cracked the cold demeanor of the young Vulcan science officer who had lost her bunkmate to the tragedy, quickly to be muffled by the embrace of her shipmate to surprisingly little protest. Durok swore under his breath, and knew that what he’d said would spread, for better or worse. He felt the menace of tears in his own eyes as he felt the loss of his crew again for the hundredth time this day, and every day since, and shook his head to clear the feeling away. He stepped away from the wall toward the center of the holodeck, and barked for attention.

“Ka’vek, my worthy crew! Attend.” Quickly, all the gathered on the holodeck stilled, though the medics kept working. Durok paused, and addressed the computer. “Captain to all crew; computer, record message for all incapacitated, or off-duty members.” An affirmative chime. A moment’s pause.

“It is long past due that we should gather to honour our dead. We have held the ceremonies to witness their military release, but an empty coffin cast among the stars is not closure. Two weeks ago, we surveyed another M-Class world which was riddled with beauty and mystery, and left surveying drones to gather for us what many on our ship would have rather found themselves. Our mission has express directives for where we should proceed next, but it allows us leeway for discovery and innovation which might enrich the culture of the Federation, and all those who benefit from its insights. I say there is no greater enrichment than to honour our family by returning to a time and a place when we were together, bonding, and sharing passion for our true mission among the stars. We will return to that world, which our late survey team affectionately named ‘Light After Dawn’ in the unofficial register, and we will share a ceremony of Du’khev’do mehet, a telling of lives.  We will go to where, and when, they were with us, and we will share ourselves with their spirits to herald them to their afterlives with honour, dignity, and the favour of their crew.”

He paused, aware of his responsibilities as a Star Fleet Captain to be considerate of other ideologies, and went on. “For those of the crew who do not ascribe to such beliefs, hear this: even should the dead not need to hear our voices raised in their honour, the living among us do. We are what remains here of their stories, of the people they were, to us, and we will carry the burden of their absence forward for all our days. But we will not do this alone. Through them, we are together, and through each other, we are family. Qapla'!”

As his message tapered, members of the crew on all 8 decks of the Nova II-Class explorer ‘Vellouwyn’ brought hands to their com badges, many dipping their heads, murmuring a quiet ‘Qapla’’ in response to their captain’s message. The Vellouwyn was a small ship, made for science and research, and her crew were close for all their many, varied differences. They would return together to Light After Dawn, and together they would celebrate their lost friends in the memories before they were gone, rather than being left only to mourn the absence of their passing. Somewhere in a holomatrix in the heart of the ship, algorithms which had festered and stalled in an effort to reconcile a concept as hard as the division of zero began to heal: understanding the difference between the shock of sudden loss, and the blending of change as a wound draws strength from the tissue that surrounds it, spreading the bruise, but healing the injury.

In a quiet place, beneath conscious thought, Lieutenant Karon Andersen dreamed of a blue skinned girl who had smiled at him in the mess hall the night her brother had given her away. In a quiet place, beneath conscious thought, Lieutenant Thy’ren Shurel dreamed of the love in his new brother’s eyes as he looked on her hope-filled face. Together, they mourned each other, and shared a silent dream.

[kaffeebaby]

BIG TIME AGREE!!! victor is fascinating, hes socially aware enough to hold interesting convos but unhinged enough to impress upon a coworker that his life is perpetually at risk the longer they work in tandem. plus he's prob be entertained by gale ooh-ing and aah-ing after trying to pretend to be indifferent to save face. also their weird bitchy tension fuels me. clarinet lady suggested maybe victor wanted to join in on a cook and gale blew him off in an esoteric gatekeepy way because hes a scientist and victor is just hired muscle as far as he can tell

So real!!! I'd like to think that Gale would warm up to cooking with Victor, but he'd definitely be like "Well I'm a man of SCIENCE and it took me weeks to learn the recipe, so it has to be WAY over your head."

Also, Gale being way too soft for the criminal life and being somewhere between starstruck and horrified at the same time seeing everyone else's battle scars.... Bashing my head into the wall. He is so smart but also so stupid and in the completely wrong field. What if a meth cook was a lamb that became a human person and was insanely gay

#<3 #gayest meth lab in history

[garsideofthemoon]

KinnPorsche + Chuang 2021 but Kinn’s Lelush

thx to the ppl posting about kim!lelush I have been Thinking about kinn!lelush.

This got crazy long so the meat and potatoes is going under a cut. But BASICALLY I felt bad for kinn bc he didn’t get to chase his singer dreams in canon

ofc this makes negative sense on its face so how I justified it is kinn and his bodyguards sneak into chuang 2021 to see kim, who is legitimately there to compete. He’s a mix between mika and jing long (amazing singer, already signed/established, tends to sing slower songs, song went viral on tiktok) but slightly better at dancing lol. Chay is also there as a li louer/fu sichao type who got in on the strength of a killer audition tape and the fact that he’s studying music at anantarameka (he is a year or two older here).

Anyway porsche was not invited to Sneak but he tags along bc chay is there!!! he can see chay from afar!!! see his bro doing well!!!!! and ofc kinn is pissed etc etc

they get in by pretending to be staff or some shit. and kinn is like hi baby bro!!!! and kim does a gr8 impression of a wet cat

in the midst of all of this covid travel regulations change (chuang 2021 was filmed in late 2020/early 2021) so a bunch of ppl who were supposed to be in the cast can't come. Chuang 2021 was marketed as a super international show where contestants from around the world would create a global group.

So what does the production team do? they cast any and all sufficiently attractive available foreigners (this really happened on Chuang btw lol. If you remember that group of randos including princeton man and the ukranian guy w pipes that's how they got casted lmao).

Lucky for them there's a bunch of hot thai dudes!!!! right here!!!! who are already 'employed' by the company!!!!!

big is dead set against being a part of this mess. kinn knows he shouldn't but a part of him remembers how much he used to love singing. Porsche, who a) notices the look on kinn's face and b) is always in for chaos somehow finagles the group into agreeing to audition

they end up doing the league of legends song (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=heNs_uWbJVk) bc I think that would be fucking hilarious. Instead of real choreo porsche and big spar while kinn sings. kim is horrified and chay is confused. Ning Jing makes some cutting remarks about big's perpetual stankface. Porsche and Kinn get voted into the show while Big is relieved to be kicked out lol.

Chay and Porsche have a talk and Porsche explains that he got roped into auditioning w his boss but doesn't tell Chay about the mafia. The way choosing rooms worked in Chuang 2021 was that whoever got the most votes (I think from fans???) got to pick a room first. Kim is in the first tier bc his established fanbase. After that is Porsche, Kinn and Chay in that order. Kinn orders Porsche to get a nice room for him or some shit and they end up in a double. By the time Chay gets in the only beds left are the ones in the 8 person rooms and the other bed in Kim's room (Kim wasn't popular enough to get a single lol). So you have KinnPorsche and KimChay roommates.

In this universe Kinn hired Porsche right before Kim and Chay left for Chuang, so Kim is aware that Kinn hired a Suspicious Bodyguard but didn't get a chance to investigate Porsche so doesn't know anything about Chay. Chay is ofc starstruck. At first Kim has his Wik Persona(tm) up but over time he and Chay become songwriting buddies and get close ;). Kim asks Chay to be the unofficial director of his vlogs (fans could vote for contestants to film vlogs about their life at chuang etc) so between that and Chay writing songs for other people (like during the theme song challenge) fans get to see more of Chay and he becomes more popular.

MEANWHILE Porsche is glad to see Chay but is getting bored. Kinn is trying to surreptitiously manage Theerapanyakul Affairs(tm) while half-assing dance practice and singing his heart out. He quickly establishes himself as a Twink Magnet(c) so Porsche gets sexiled a lot. As a result Porsche ends up in a bunch of ppl's vlogs etc and gains a small following that way.

Thanks to their fanbases all four end up on an ep of one night werewolf which lead to extreme chaos. Kinn ofc wins by a mile.

The Chinese New Year celebration happens and off camera someone sneaks booze into the dorms. Kinn and Porsche get wasted and make out.

Then the first elimination performances come!!! Porsche is in the love me ready are you ready group and is Camp(tm) (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PjL12GZejYU). Kinn is in that one breakup song and wows the judges with his singing though they say he needs to loosen up on stage. Chay is in loverboy88 (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1ZqmnvrsOL0) and plays the guitar. Kim either gets you need to calm down (kimlor swift!!!) or Lit (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zkXRk_CCc0s) to 'show versatility' aka look like he's about to murder everyone.

Both Kinn and Porsche fully expect to get kicked off. Kinn ropes Porsche into helping him with his vlog where they open a mocktail business for a day or something. During this Porsche realizes he's gotten to see a different side of Kinn (joyfully singing! getting along with civilians! not being a bastard!) and has his oh fuck I've caught feelings moment.

Time to see who got eliminated!!! Porsche despite serving Charisma Uniqueness Nerve and Talent gets kicked off. Kinn is SHOCKED to learn that he made it through and is in the top 20. Kim is in the top 10 and Chay is in the top 30.

In the second elimination both Kim and Chay pick the group where you get to write your own song. They spend a lot of time together and are v much catching feelings. Kim is conflicted bc on the one hand Chay is the brother of mr sus bodyguard but also is v talented and has become someone Kim wants to have in his personal + professional life. Chay is living his best life working with his phi and idol.

Meanwhile Kinn is in a bit of a bind. Mafia things are ramping up back on Thailand and he's still stuck in the competition. Vegas is trying to make a move on the major family and there's only so much Kinn can do from afar. He starts asking fans to not vote for him and says he misses family etc. I'm blaming covid on why intimidating production doesn't work. Kinn decides to do the crab dance song (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3jQwpKM5-Eg) bc he figures it's not in his wheelhouse and he'll get cut.

Surprise surprise fans are endeared by his 'I want to go home and support my family' thing!!! He gets into the next round!!!! So do Kim and Chay (their song gets the most votes of the night).

Now Kinn is fully like oh fuck. He keeps being like please send me home to Thailand etc etc and turns into a meme in China (much to the surprise/amusement of the Chinese triads lmao). In the third elimination they have to sing with a girl so Kinn picks the least romantic song (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5VgNdVzYpDc). Unfortunately his fangirls go wow so cool!!! lmao

But anyway during all this Kinn is in his room with the empty bed that was Porsche's and thinking about how he felt so happy around Porsche etc etc, how he felt relaxed around Porsche and like his mafia side and the rest of him could coexist around Porsche or something. So now he's mooning about Porsche while fucking every remaining twink (much to Kim's revulsion).

Kim is doing his whole tortured love shtick and not communicating with Chay. They end up on the same group doing this song (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TrcjG2w69uM but with a lady in there somewhere). There's a lot of belligerent sexual tension going on and the producers make a meal out of Kim and Chay's ~~ falling out(?????) ~~~

Anyway all three of them get into the final. Vegas is doing shenanigans in Thailand while this is going on that Khun + the bodyguards are dealing with while Korn is Disapproving. There's a phonecall/video message thing before the final with Khun and 'Kinn's friends' (aka the bodyguards) including Porsche who says some shit about his time at Chuang (aka coded love message lmao). So Kinn is having Feelings. This turns out to be Kim's phonecall too when Khun breaks out the baby pictures lmao.

Kinn does some kind of ballad for the final and pours his whole heart into his performance. All the angst he's suppressed re wanting to be a singer and giving it up for the mafia, about wanting Porsche but not being able to have him, not living up to Korn's expectations etc pours out. It's a gut wrenching performance.

Kim performs why don't you stay. Chay performs his own song about Kim. They both get into the group but Kinn doesn't (thanks Kinn's fanclub!!!). Cue Kinn bolting out of there like Lelush did and Kimchay doing the Oscar+Yetao handholding thing.

Then Kinn hightails it to Thailand without catching covid somehow and deals with vegas + gets with Porsche

#this is so long #kinnporsche #what do I tag???? #kimchay #probably shouldn't tag chuang lmaoooo #but yeah god bless the ppl who were talking about kim!lelush #awakening all my love for chuang

[race-jackson]

who else is ready for the spider-man 2 press tour where tom holland will be so distracted and excited about being in the same movie as jake gyllenhaal that he gives away the whole plot before the marvel snipers can take him out?

#tom holland #jake gyllenhaal #marvel #spider-man #peter parker #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #i am #that poor boy #he's perpetually starstruck

[dadsbongos]

i'll miss you

Movie/Show/Game: Marvel Dynamic: Steve Rogers/Reader Warnings: endgame spoilers ig but like it’s been a bit so just see the movie Summary: Steve just hopes that leaving isn’t something to tear you apart. Word Count: 1.3K ~~~

You watch Sam glide a hand over the shield, his shield. Then the eyes all turn to you as if suddenly remembering you were there. Bucky reaches for your hand hesitantly because while he knows this experience, he'll never know the actual feeling. Comforting was never his forte, especially after just regaining the sense of who he was. He doesn't fight when you pull away to stand in front of the elderly replica of the man you'd loved. The man you'd thought loved you.

There's a pause as you study the lines in his face, the weathered skin, and the peppered hair. He's lived out a full life and he chose to do so without you.

"Would you have been happy with me?"

"Don't - " Steve's voice is no longer tinged with the harshness of youth as he speaks, "don't do that to yourself."

"So, no?"

He isn't smiling anymore, and that almost brings you enjoyment to see his lips stretched to a frown. To see that he isn’t happy almost makes you forget what he’s done to make you wish displeasure upon him. Then you notice the pity in his eyes and it reignites the fresh fire.

“Don’t look down on me,” you shake your head, “You don’t get to do that, you’re the one that left… you left for Peggy…”

Steve presses his lips into a thin line before speaking, “I’m sorry. I wasted years of your life and you didn’t deserve that. I never wanted to hurt you but I did, and I’m sorry.”

“Did you ever think of me?”

Bucky and Sam awkwardly retreat from the growing quarrel.

“I did,” he nods slowly, “I thought about all of you.”

“Steve, you know that’s not what I meant,” your voice wavers with the lump of budding cries in your throat, you move to sit beside him and place your head in your hands, “Did you ever regret it?”

“Sometimes, but…” he shakes his head, “it wasn’t about our life together. I want you three to be okay and I can’t be there anymore. For that, I’m sorry.”

You brush away at the wetness gathering along your waterline, “I hope it was worth it, Steve.”

“I think it will be,” he hesitates but grasps your hand anyway, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have led you to this. I hope you can find someone better than me, I really do.”

“I wanted to marry you, Steve,” you gently squeeze his hand, “I really did. I thought you were the one.”

“I’m sorry, this isn’t fair to you. It never was.”

There’s silence between you before you lean in to press against Steve’s shoulder and ask, “Did I ever stand a chance against her?”

“Do you want honesty or comfort?”

“Honesty, I think.”

“You did,” he sounds certain, and that honestly doesn’t do much to mend the ache inside your chest, “If I didn’t see her when I was returning the stones, I would’ve come back to you and lived out our lives together.”

It does nothing to comfort you, knowing you were so close and yet always stuck in second place. An afterthought when he saw the woman he was truly meant to be with. Mrs. Peggy Carter-Rogers.

“You three should take care of each other,” Steve murmurs, “I can’t be around forever.”

The words do even less to placate you, the idea of having to stay close with your ex’s best friends - your best friends by extension - having to relive the memories of both them and Steve in your history. But Steve was old and you did care for Bucky and Sam. You didn’t know if you could stay with them until you died as he wished, but you didn’t want to lose them entirely - but you’re not sure either of them is intent on staying in contact much longer anymore. Even so, you nod slowly against the withering captain’s shoulder and promise him you will. You’ll watch the boys and stay with them like he promised to you. And maybe that makes you similar because you know you won’t be trying that hard to cling to them if they run away.

It’s a few more minutes of silence before Bucky and Sam return and it’s a few more weeks until you see either of them again. From the few texts and calls that’d gone back and forth between you three, you’d gathered that Sam returned to Louisiana and Bucky was court ordered for therapy. Steve was admitted to a home for the elderly not too long after his return from replacing the stones. Which led to the running encounter between you and Bucky in the lobby of the caretaker facility Steve was staying in.

“You said you were his son?” you whispered to him, eyes narrowed.

“‘Friend’s daughter,’” Bucky scoffed, “Could you be less suspicious? At least say niece or something.”

“I’m not gonna sit here and call my ex my uncle, that’s fucking weird,” you grumble so the nurse leading you towards Steve’s room can’t hear you.

Bucky searches for a comeback before shrugging, “I can see where that’s deterring.”

“I know.”

You’re both let into the room, Steve looking to the doorway as you enter. He smiles slightly at the sight of you two and waits for the nurse to leave to speak, “I’m glad you’re both together.”

“We try,” Bucky gives a strained smile, hoping Steve doesn’t catch the lie. It’s almost sweet, how hard Bucky tries to make Steve think his last wishes are being kept alive.

You reach out and gently brush your fingers through Steve’s thin, grey hair, “How’ve you been? Are the caretakers good to you?”

Steve smiles again and ignores the questions, “Have you gone back to the coffee shop by the old compound at all? That barista was into you.”

“I haven’t, and if I had, I don’t think they were into me. I was an Avenger, they were probably starstruck at best.”

“Then what about the, uh, that lobby manager for the old apartments,” the one they shared when Sharon was an unsuspecting nurse across the hall and Peggy wasn't in the picture, “They asked if we were just roommates, that had to mean something.”

You don’t think about your words before they come out, “You sound like Nat.”

The room’s silence is deafening and you wish you could go back in time and take it back.

All of it.

“You should be happy too,” Steve reaches up shakily to take your wrist, pausing your combing of his hair, “I want you to be happy.”

Bucky pats your shoulder, and if you didn’t know him so well you could almost take him as anything other than teasing, “I’ll help ‘em find a date, punk. Don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah, the guy who had his first date in seventy years and didn’t even finish it is gonna find me a lover,” you sarcastically huffed, “Fucking genius idea.”

“Hey,” Steve weakly protested, “language.”

“Alright, grandpa,” you pat his shoulder softly, “get some rest, I’ve got another old man to get to therapy.”

“Hilarious,” Bucky shakes his head, but follows your lead in patting Steve’s arm, “I’ll be back next week, punk.”

Neither of them wants to face the reality that one week, Steve won’t be there to chide them for their language or try and set you up on dates you don’t need. Steve leaving was selfish - of course, he deserved to do something for himself, but not like that. Not when he’d be leaving two friends, a fiancé, and a world in desperate need of him. Not when he was leaving you.

“See you later, old man,” you mutter, tapping Steve’s bed frame as you leave, no matter how much your own head screams at you to stay and tell Steve how much you hate him for leaving you for a past he’d grown out of. How much you wish he’d stayed. How you wish you’d been the one to return the stones, even if to just ensure he’d never seen Peggy.

You bid him farewell and take Bucky to therapy even though you know doing so perpetuates the illusion that anything other than petty attachment to Steve is what holds you to either Sam or Bucky.

#steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america x reader #steve rogers angst #steve rogers and reader

[flourgirl]

Sleepyhead

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: Peter will try just about anything to help out the very pretty insomniac from his math class.

Work Count: 11.2k

Warnings: Just some sweet, pure fluff with a few curse words every now and then.

A/N: Either the tags aren’t working for me or you guys just didn’t like it, but the final part of “Even If It’s a Lie” has been out for a few days now if anyone’s interested in reading it 🥺 Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this super long piece I’ve been working on to help me get through finals <3

“Touch you softly I call you up late at night No doubt it isn't right But you could be my one and only” -Softly, Clairo

Peter had seen you around campus a few times, but it wasn’t until you started sitting two rows ahead of him in his linear algebra class that he really started to notice you. 

He thought you were really pretty, and he liked how cozy you always looked in the puffy winter coat you kept on in the perpetually freezing lecture hall. You took a lot of notes, which told him that you cared about the class, and never showed up without a giant cup of iced coffee.

You’re being a creep, Peter told himself. He had thought about switching seats to somewhere in front of you, so he could actually listen to his professor discuss permutations instead of staring at how you chewed on the end of your pen when you were thinking.

It was even worse when you started sleeping in class, your soft hair falling around your shoulders as you leaned your head against your desk. It seemed like all the coffee in the world couldn’t keep you awake, and Peter wondered if he should ask if you wanted to borrow his notes or something. But that would mean him admitting to looking at you way more than he needed to, and that was weird, so he quickly dropped the idea.

Still, he was worried about you. So when he came back from patrol in the middle of the night and bumped into you outside of the dorm kitchen, he figured it would be the perfect opportunity to introduce himself and maybe even find out why you were so tired all the time. 

The only problem was that he had accidentally knocked your pan of banana bread out of your hands, and you were currently staring at it laying on the floor with your sleepy eyes, not saying anything.

“Shit, uh, I’m so sorry,” he told you, crouching down to scoop up the remnants of your late-night snack into the pan. “Were you really up baking at 3 a.m?”

You blushed a little, starstruck that the cute guy from your math class was talking to you. “Um, yeah. I couldn’t sleep, so I figured I’d come down to the kitchen while nobody else was here and make something. Baking always helps me calm down, and so here I am. And here we are. And there’s my bread, all covered in whatever kind of dust the custodians refuse to sweep down here.”

He offered a soft smile, and it made you feel better about the fact that you were rambling way more than you wanted to.

“I’m Y/N,” you continued, gently taking the pan from his hands. “You’re in linear algebra with Professor Meyers, right?”

“Yeah, you, um, you sit right in front of me. Well, not right in front of me. Two rows in front of me. Shit. I’m not creepy, I promise. It’s just… uh… My name is Peter and I’m going to stop talking now.” 

That couldn’t have possibly gone any worse, he thought. You were probably thinking he was a serial killer or something.

“It’s okay. I know you sit behind me,” you reassured him. “You answer a lot of questions.” He was cute and smart, and you hoped he couldn’t notice how flustered you were to be this close to him.

“What are you doing up so late?” he asked, which made you laugh at how ironic his concerns were, considering he was also wandering around the dorm basement at this hour.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you replied, sitting on one of the benches that jutted out of the walls of the corridor. “I mean, you’re here too. At least I was baking. What’s up with you?”

You had a point. “I had an emergency… with my internship. I work for Stark Industries, and Mr. Stark rang me in the middle of the night to come to the lab immediately for something, so, yeah. That’s why I’m awake right now.”

“Okay,” you said, not buying his story. “So that’s why you have a black eye and you’re lurking in the basement hallway? Did Tony Stark punch you?”

Fuck. Did he really have a black eye and not notice? He didn’t think that Doc Oc’s stupid mechanical arm had punched him that hard, but apparently, he was wrong. And now he had to come up with some reason as to where it came from, although he could already tell that you were about to call his bluff.

The only solution he could think of was to change the subject. “Why are you always asleep during class?” he blurted out, causing you to give him a funny look before frowning down at your slippers.

“Isn’t it obvious,” you yawned, stretching your arms out in front of you. “I’m an insomniac. It’s actually kind of funny. I never really had any problems with falling asleep until I moved here. Maybe it’s the cold weather or the constant pressure to get good grades, but I just can’t sleep anymore. It sucks.”

Normally, you’d never tell this much about yourself to somebody, let alone a complete stranger. But somehow, you felt really comfortable around Peter. There was just something about him that made you feel warm and fuzzy inside.

Peter caught himself staring at you again, your baby pink pajamas a far departure from how put together your usual outfits were. Even without your makeup or hair done, you were still the prettiest girl he had ever seen. For some reason, even the dark circles under your eyes were really cute to him.

“You never answered my question,” you reminded him, hoping that he’d say something to fill the awkward silence. “What’s with the black eye and wandering around in the middle of the night? Are you some kind of superhero?”

“What? No! That’s crazy. Me, a superhero,” he laughed awkwardly, wondering if you had somehow figured out his secret identity. Had you spotted him that one time he made sure that you and your friends got home safely from a late-night study session? Even so, you totally couldn’t have known it was him, right?

“Relax, I’m just joking,” you giggled, thinking about how cute he looked when he was flustered. “Although my friend did tell me she thought she saw Spider-Man a few weeks ago on her way back from a party.”

“Haha, yeah,” he breathed out, a wave of relief washing over him. It was times like these that he really started to appreciate how well-hidden his muscles were underneath all of his oversized sweaters.

“Does that hurt?” you asked, bringing your hand up to lightly brush his lip, which was bleeding. He flinched instinctively before settling under your touch, your eyes focused on the small cut. “I have a first aid kit in my room if you want some help cleaning it up.”

“Oh, no, it’s cool. I wouldn’t want to bother your roommate,” Peter told you, scooting further away on the bench, nearly falling off the edge of it. Ned hated it when he stumbled in at some ungodly hour after patrol and woke him up. 

“Don’t worry about it,” you said, standing up and gesturing for him to follow you. “I have a single.”

Peter looked at you in awe. Freshmen never got rooms to themselves, and yet somehow you had one. “Okay, fine. But only because I’ve never actually seen a single in this building before.”

“That’s cool with me,” you smiled, reaching for his hand so he could keep up with your pace. He noticed that you were chewing some of the banana bread, which he really hoped was from the part that didn’t fall on the floor. To be fair though, it did smell really good.

Not only did you have a single, but you lived on the first floor. Peter couldn’t believe how lucky you were, considering the building that the two of you lived in didn’t have any elevators to traverse its seven floors.

He was even more shocked when you opened your door, revealing the coziest dorm room he had ever seen. How on earth did you transform the glorified prison cell into something that felt so... comforting? From the twinkling lights that were wrapped around everything and the soft rug under his feet, Peter found it really hard to believe that you had trouble sleeping here.

“Sorry, it’s a bit messy,” you apologized, piling your many throw pillows and blankets into a basket to clear up some space on your bed. “You can sit here.”

If this was messy, then Peter and Ned’s room needed some serious help. “No worries,” he said, watching as you rummaged around your drawers in search of your first aid kit.

Eventually, you found it hidden under a bunch of graph paper and colored pencils, untouched ever since your overprotective grandparents had helped you move in. “Here we go,” you mused, now looking inside it for alcohol wipes and band-aids.

He winced as you rubbed the little cloth against his lips, and you made sure to be more gentle as you cleaned up the other cuts on his face. Thankfully, nothing was bad enough to require stitches, something you were seriously under-qualified to do.

All Peter could focus on the entire time was how close you were and what it would be like to just kiss you right then and there, but he knew that was way too forward of him. Plus, he didn’t even know if you liked him like that. Surely you were just being nice.

Still, the way he caught you staring into his brown eyes after smoothing a band-aid on his forehead made him think otherwise.

“You’re going to have to tell me eventually who beat you up,” you sighed, gathering up wrappers to throw away and tucking the first aid kit back into its place in your drawers.

“It’s a long story,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding your stare.

“I’ve got time,” you replied, climbing onto your lofted bed to sit next to him, innocently brushing your bare leg against his jeans, which made his breath hitch. “Tell me about it.”

“Uh, how about another time?” he stammered, hopping off the bed and running his hand through his hair. “After class tomorrow, or something. It’s getting pretty late. We should, um, go to sleep.”

“You can stay here if you want,” you offered, his eyes widening at your invitation. “On the bean bag, I mean. It’s actually really comfortable. You mentioned something about bothering your roommate and I figured that maybe you’d like to avoid the trouble tonight.”

“Oh…” Peter hesitated, looking for a reason to say no. He knew he’d never be able to sleep knowing that you were in the same room as him. “I don’t have any pajamas.”

“True,” you agreed, a little disappointed that he wasn’t interested in sticking around.

“I don’t actually even wear pajamas to sleep,” he continued, making you look back up at him instead of playing with the hem of your shirt. “It’s just… I sleep in my boxers.”

“I’m sorry for asking. I didn’t mean to put you in an uncomfortable situation,” you sighed, your face hot with embarrassment.

“It’s not that! I mean, I do want to stay here. But, uh, you… well, you make me really nervous, Y/N,” he muttered, his glance bouncing around the room.

“Why?” you asked, your brows furrowing. “Did I do something?”

“No, no! Nothing at all. I promise, okay?”

“Okay. You can, um, get ready for bed, I guess. I promise not to look,” you assured him, turning on your side to face the wall.

“Thanks. Yeah, alright.” You heard him fumbling with his clothes, his sneakers making a soft thud on your floor. You did your best to resist the urge to glance back at him.

“Can I just use any of these?” he asked, although you had no idea what he was talking about.

“Peter, I’m not looking, remember? You’re going to have to be a little more specific than that.”

“The blankets. Do I just pick one, or are you particular about them?”

“Oh. You can use whichever one you want to. But the coral one’s the softest and my personal favorite.” Peter stared at the basket in confusion. To him, they were all just pink. But based on touch alone, he pulled one out that he figured was a little more orange than the others.

He walked over to the light switch and flipped off the overhead fluorescents, letting the room be illuminated by the warm glow of your fairy lights, which weren’t too bright, but still twinkly and beautiful.

“Goodnight, Peter,” you whispered, snuggling into your comforter in the hopes that your heartbeat would slow down and let you fall asleep for once.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” In a matter of minutes, you could hear his soft snoring, and you figured that it would be okay just to take a quick peek since he’d probably be bundled up in one of your blankets.

His hair was perfectly messy, and he looked so cozy wrapped up in the blanket you had recommended. Still, as much as you could stare at his adorable face all night, you were exhausted. Burying your face under the covers, you did your best to calm your nerves and get some rest before class tomorrow.

----------------

“Peter,” you whispered, jostling him lightly by the shoulders in the hopes of waking him up. “Uh, we have an hour before class. I was thinking that it would be enough time for you to go shower and change, and then we could go get coffee or something.”

He blinked back up at you, amazed at how well he slept on your bean bag. You had already gotten ready for the day, doing your makeup and picking out one of your many fluffy sweaters to keep you warm in the New York snow.

“Thanks, that sounds awesome,” he yawned, accepting the hand you held out to help him up. The blanket fell, and you stared at each other in shock, having forgotten that Peter was in nothing but his underwear.

You dropped his hand as fast as you could, covering your eyes. “Oh my god! I’m sorry. Shit, I completely forgot, Peter. I’m so sorry. I’ll let you get dressed.”

Peter watched as you stumbled around the room, your eyes squeezed tightly as your hands attempted to guide you away from him.

“Y/N,” he started, catching your attention as you nearly ran into your bed frame. “You can open your eyes. Really, I don’t care if you see me like this if it means I can keep you from breaking your nose.”

You hesitantly opened your eyes, relieved that Peter had already managed to pull his pants back on. Still, he was completely shirtless, and you found yourself staring at the abs you would have never expected to be hiding underneath his clothes.

Moments later, you averted your gaze, although you knew that he probably noticed you looking at where was now covered by his plaid button-down and dark blue sweater.

“I’ll, um, be right back,” he muttered, before practically sprinting out of your room and up the stairs. You groaned in embarrassment, burying your face in a pillow before attempting to take a quick twenty-minute power nap.

Peter couldn’t believe it. Sure, he had thought one time about you seeing him without clothes on, but this wasn’t how he thought it would go at all. Still, the image of you staring at him shirtless, your face flushed, made him feel like he was going to have a heart attack.

“Dude! There you are,” Ned screamed, startled at his roommate’s unexpected entrance. Peter panted, having run up four flights of stairs as fast as he could. “Wait a second. Did you finally get laid? Is this a walk of shame?”

Before Ned could praise him any further, Peter was grabbing a change of clothes and sprinting towards the bathroom. Don’t think about her, he begged himself.

The memory of your leg touching his last night immediately came to mind, and Peter was so angry at himself for being this starved for physical intimacy. To be fair, though, you were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, and so he cut himself some slack.

Shit, he told himself, making sure the water was set to cold. He needed to calm down, but instead, his thoughts were stuck on how good you looked in your pajamas, but also how good you would look without them and—fuck it. 

Peter liked you a lot, and if thinking about you like this in private kept him from being a complete weirdo in person, then maybe he just needed to get his feelings of desperation over with.

When he came back down to your room about thirty minutes later, you were still super tired. You trudged your way towards the door, your hair now noticeably messier than earlier, but at least that meant your nap had been a success.

His hair was still damp and this time he was wearing yet another blue sweater, which made you wonder if he ever wore any other color. He had his backpack slung over one of his shoulders and a nervous smile on his face as he locked eyes with you.

“Hey,” he said, pushing some of his hair out of his face. “Are you ready to go?”

You leaned against the doorway a little bit, letting out a yawn that was literally the cutest noise Peter had ever heard in his life. “Yeah, let me get my backpack.”

“It’s so heavy,” you continued, rightfully complaining as the weight of all its contents practically pulled you downwards. “I think it’s so stupid how almost every professor bans computers from class. Like, it’s not fair that I have to lug around three textbooks every day. I don’t have time to run back to my dorm in between classes like some people!”

Peter frowned. Three textbooks were nothing to him, but he knew that you didn’t have spidey-strength and that you were also pretty tiny compared to him. It must’ve been hell on your back to be carrying all that stuff around every day.

“I can carry it for you,” he offered, holding out his hand to switch with you. “Here, you can take my backpack if it’ll make you feel better. I have a lot of programming classes today, so I’ve only got my laptop and a notebook in there.”

You gave him a look of gratitude as he traded bags with you, literally taking the weight off your shoulders. He was right. His backpack was much more manageable for you, even if the dark grey contrasted with the light colors you always wore.

In contrast, it looked kind of odd for him to be walking around with a backpack that was covered in a soft pink floral pattern, much like everything else you owned, but the sight of him carrying your books brought a smile to your face. 

It was one of the sweetest things a guy had ever done for you, and Peter wasn’t even your boyfriend. He probably didn’t even think of you in that way.

“Uh, where do you usually get coffee?” he asked, slowing his pace so you could keep up. He felt bad seeing how tired you were, no doubt due to the lack of sleep you got last night.

“The Starbucks next to Hendrie Hall,” you replied, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. “You?”

“I don’t drink coffee,” he admitted. “I’m actually more of a tea person.”

“Oh,” you hesitated, wondering if it was worth it to walk all the way across campus just for a caramel ribbon crunch frappuccino. “We could go somewhere closer then.”

“It’s okay,” Peter reassured you, grabbing your hand and pulling you along to your destination. “I like walking.”

----------------

You hadn’t really talked to Peter since that morning before class, but sometimes you would peek behind you and catch him stealing glances at you. Eventually, he had started to feel brave enough to give you a little wave whenever you caught him looking at you. Well, at least the times when you were awake.

One day, not even the loud shuffling and growing chatter of your classmates exiting the lecture hall could wake you up, and Peter figured he better do something before you got chewed out by one of the TAs.

“Y/N?” he said, leaning closer so that you could hopefully hear him. “Y/N. You gotta wake up. Class ended three minutes ago.”

He shook you a little bit, nervously hoping that you wouldn’t mind him touching you. Your eyes fluttered open, and you smiled softly as soon as you realized it was Peter. 

“Oh. Thanks,” you said, standing up to slide your empty notebook into your backpack. Your hand brushed the side of your mouth, making sure you hadn’t drooled onto yourself.

“You can borrow my notes,” he offered, glancing at you sheepishly as you gathered up your coat and fixed your hair. “If you want to.”

“That’d be great,” you sighed, wondering whether you should skip your next class and just go take a nap. At this point, you weren’t even bothering to put on makeup and you basically wore whatever clothes you had that weren’t already sprawled across your room.

“Are you alright?” Peter asked, walking close to you to make sure you didn’t fall over. He knew you were an insomniac, but you looked seriously sleep-deprived today. “Have you been sleeping at all lately?”

“Nope,” you huffed, lugging your perpetually heavy backpack along. “But I’m skipping the rest of my classes today. I’d rather lie that I’m sick through an e-mail than have to explain to my professors why I was sleeping during their classes.”

“Fair enough,” he agreed, stopping you in your tracks to take your backpack from you. “I’ve actually got some time before my next class. I can walk you back to your room and give you my notebook if that’s okay with you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you told him, reaching to take your bag back from him, although he didn’t let you. 

“Y/N. Come on, you’re exhausted. At least let me carry your stuff, alright?” He had such a kind look in his eyes, and you certainly didn’t have the energy to keep arguing for no reason.

“Okay.” You crossed your arms, the cold air slowly waking you up as the wind hit your face. Your ears were super cold, but you were glad you had pulled your hair into a quick braid to keep it from flying everywhere.

It wasn’t long before you were kicking your boots off in your dorm room, your teeth chattering as you wrapped yourself in a blanket. 

“Do you want some tea?” you asked Peter, inviting him to sit down wherever.

“Sure, but I thought you drank coffee,” he reminded you, watching as you pulled an assortment of tea bags for him to choose from.

“I do,” you said, handing him the box and running to your bathroom to fill up the electric kettle. “But you drink tea.”

Peter’s ears suddenly felt hot. You had gotten tea just for him. Or maybe you were just a really good hostess and kept some around for all of your visitors. Probably the second option, he thought.

“Are you even allowed to have one of those?” he asked as the two of you waited for the water to boil.

“No,” you laughed, sitting next to him on your bed. For someone with so much space to themselves, you really needed to invest in more places to sit. “But you can’t have candles or fairy lights either, so I guess I’m just a rule breaker.”

“Guess I’ll just have to report you to the RA,” Peter teased, getting up to make himself a cup of earl grey. “Do you have any sugar?”

“Top drawer on the right,” you replied. “Do you have a sweet tooth?”

“Yes.” You watched as his lips blew on the tea to cool it down before remembering that it was weird to stare.

“You should let me bake something for you. What’s your favorite dessert?” You were kicking your dangling legs, suddenly feeling a lot more awake than this morning.

“Chocolate cake. With chocolate frosting,” he said in between sips, walking back over to you. With you on the tall bed and him standing, your faces were level with each other.

“I’ll have to make you one to thank you,” you smiled, peering into his eyes. Peter felt your heartbeat quicken, and the grin on your face as you stared at each other made him weak in the knees.

“Can I get those notes?” you asked, making him remember that people don’t just look at each other and say nothing like that.

“Oh! Yeah, definitely.” He quickly set the mug down on your nightstand to rummage through his backpack, flipping one of his notebooks open before handing it to you. “There are the ones from today, but all of the ones I’ve taken this semester are in there too.”

“Wow,” you laughed, making a worried expression form on his face.

“What’s wrong? Are they not good?”

“No, it’s not that. They’re just, uh, very thorough.” He had basically transcribed your professor’s lectures onto the pages. “You must write really fast. But thank you, Peter. I really appreciate it.”

Peter nodded before nervously gulping down the rest of his tea, not even noticing how hot the liquid still was as it nearly burned his throat. 

“I should go now,” he started, looking around the room for his things. “I want you to get some rest, Y/N. Please.”

He had this look in his eyes that was so genuine—so full of care and concern—that it made you want to do whatever he asked you to.

“I’ll try,” you told him, awkwardly rubbing the top of your arm in the hopes that you could actually fall asleep after he left. “Have a nice day, Peter.”

“Bye, Y/N. I’ll stop by later,” he said, already halfway out the door. “For the notes, I mean! Uh, bye. Again. Okay. I’m going to go now.” 

You giggled, giving him one last wave before he left. Like magic, the more you thought about how Peter was worried about you, the easier it was for you to drift off into a peaceful sleep, finally feeling at ease for the first time in weeks.

----------------

You woke up later that day to Peter knocking on your door, this time standing next to some guy in a brightly colored Hawaiian shirt.

“Hi, Y/N,” Peter greeted you. You looked a lot less tired than when he saw you this morning, which relieved him. “This is my roommate, Ned. He just wanted to know who I’ve been hanging out with, so I hope it’s okay that I brought him here to prove you’re real and not a figment of my imagination.”

Ned leaned closer to you, your hair still a little messy from your nap. “Blink twice if he’s paying you,” he whispered, causing you to giggle. Peter looked on nervously, unsure of what his best friend had just said to you.

“What did you say!?” he asked, lightly pushing Ned on the arm, knowing that it was probably something meant to embarrass him.

“Ow! Okay, now I’m really not telling you,” Ned replied, rubbing the spot where Peter had just hit him.

“Y/N, what did Ned say to you?” He turned to you, a worried look on his face as you and Ned held back your laughter. Peter’s face turned as red as a tomato, making you instantly feel a little bit bad. 

“It was nothing, Peter. Really,” you said, pulling him into the room with you. “It was nice to meet you, Ned. I’ll make sure he’s back before curfew.”

Ned laughed, offering a quick thumbs up and mouthing “I like her” to Peter before you shut the door on him.

“I knew that was a mistake,” Peter sighed, his back against the door. You were still a bit giddy from the exchange, giggling softly as he slowed his breathing.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed around me,” you reassured him. “We’re friends, right?”

“Yeah, of course. It’s just that…”

“What?” You could barely hear him as his voice trailed off.

“Well, uh, not all of my friends are, you know…”

“Spit it out, Peter,” you said, leaning closer so that you could hear him better.

“They’re not as pretty as you,” he muttered, making you blush at his words. Did he really think you were pretty?

“Oh. Thanks,” you smiled, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. Peter lifted his head up, relieved that you didn’t think he was a creep or something.

“Your notebook’s on my desk,” you continued, stepping back a little to give him some space. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding as the distance between you and him grew. “I just took a bunch of pictures, so I can look at them on my computer whenever.”

“Alright, awesome,” he said, walking over to collect it before turning back to you. “How’d you sleep?”

“Pretty well, actually. The best I’ve slept in a while. I think you’re some kind of good luck charm.”

“Really?” he asked, a little surprised that he had been helpful.

“Really. You know, I’ve been thinking…”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe it’d be nice if we hung out somewhere that wasn’t my room all the time,” you said, a hopeful look in your eyes. “If you want.”

Peter had never noticed it before, but the two of you really did spend most of your time together in your room. It really was a nice room, but it made sense that you’d want to get out of it every once and a while.

“I’d like that. What did you have in mind?” Play it cool, Parker, he told himself. You can freak out with Ned later.

“How about ice cream on Friday?” you suggested, which came as a bit of a surprise to him.

“In the middle of winter?” As far as Peter could remember, you were always cold.

“Yeah. I really love ice cream,” you added, smiling up at him.

“Okay, then. Ice cream it is,” he agreed. There was absolutely no way he could ever say no to you when you looked at him like that.

----------------

“May! No, it’s not a date. She’s just a friend. Yeah, I got it. Open the door, pay for her, don’t be an idiot!” Peter sighed into his phone, hoping his aunt’s unwarranted crash course on first dates would be over soon. “Yes, I’m wearing the green sweater. Thanks, love you. Bye!”

“I have no idea who told her I had a date tonight,” he groaned, slumping down onto the couch next to his best friend.

“I texted her,” Ned replied nonchalantly, not even looking away from whatever video game he was playing. “Knew you’d need some kind of pointers. Y/N is way out of your league.”

“Hey!” Was he right? Yes. Did Peter need to be reminded of it right before his not-a-date date with you? Definitely not.

“Come on, you know I’m right. It’s Liz Allan all over again. I have no idea how you keep pulling all of these pretty girls, but hey, credit where credit is due.”

“You’re so mean.”

“I keep it real and you love it. Good luck, man.”

“Bye,” Peter grumbled, slipping on his coat and walking out of their room. Four flights of stairs later, he was at your door.

“Hi!” you squeaked, wrapping your arms around him. This was the first time the two of you had ever hugged and Peter was not going to forget about it anytime soon. “Come in. I have a surprise for you!”

“Here,” you continued, holding out a blue and white beanie for him. “I made it for you. To match all those blue sweaters you wear all the time.” Except this time, he was wearing a forest green one, which brought out the slight hazel tinge in his eyes.

“You made this for me?” he asked, eyeing the different stitches you had used and fiddling with the pom-pom on top. It looked store-bought.

“Well, yeah, silly. I just said that,” you replied, hoping that he liked it. With all the time you didn’t sleep, you were knitting anyway, but this was a special present for him. “Try it on.”

“I didn’t get you anything,” he sighed, pulling the hat onto his head. He looked really cute, the ends of his wavy hair peeking out from underneath the brim.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said, pulling him out of your room and towards the front of the dorm building. “Getting to hang out with you is good enough for me.”

“Where’d you learn how to knit?” Peter questioned, walking alongside you on the snow-lined sidewalks. With how cold it was, and considering he didn’t have a hood on his coat, it seemed like perfect timing that you had given him a hat.

“My grandma taught me,” you shared, taking in the twinkling of the streetlamps and how they bounced against the snow. In New York, that was practically the closest you could get to stargazing. “My, uh, grandparents actually raised me.”

“Oh. I was raised by my aunt and uncle,” Peter confided. It made you feel not so alone to find out that he didn’t grow up with his parents either, even though you knew firsthand just how hard it was.

“Do they live around here?” you asked, stealing glances at him and how rosy his cheeks were in the cold air.

“Yeah, my aunt lives in Queens,” he told you, staring at his feet to both avoid eye contact and make sure neither of you accidentally slipped. Not that he wouldn’t catch you, but he wanted to be safe. “My uncle actually passed away a couple of years ago.”

You stopped walking, immediately feeling a sense of regret. “I’m sorry, Peter. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s okay, Y/N. There was no way for you to have known that,” Peter reassured you, his warm breath coming out in clouds, and he reached for your hand to run his thumb across your knuckles. He gently pulled you along, keeping you from dying of embarrassment in the middle of campus.

“What about you? Are you from around here?” he asked, hoping to break the silence and make you feel a little bit better.

“No, I just moved up here for college. I grew up in Texas but moved to North Carolina when I was 13, so I finished school down there,” you explained, Peter suddenly noticing a slight Southern twang to your voice. “I just really wanted to go to school in a big city and not next to a farm for once in my life.” 

“That makes sense,” he laughed, wondering what it would be like to live somewhere else. “I’ve only ever lived in New York City.”

“Do you like it here?”

“I love it. Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, to be honest.”

“Me either,” you sighed, squeezing his hand tighter as the two of you enjoyed your walk in the snow.

It seemed like forever before you reached the ice cream shop, but you didn’t mind. That just gave you and Peter more time to get to know each other better. Turns out you both competed in academic decathlons, although you were more of a math person and he preferred science.

“Okay, you’re wrong. Night at the Museum 2 is so much better than the first one. I mean that kiss between Ben Stiller and Amy Adams? The Jonas Brothers as little cherub angels? Name one thing from the original that tops that,” you ranted in between spoonfuls of peppermint ice cream.

“I just really like when the little cowboy and gladiator are driving that toy car around,” he reasoned, subtly admitting defeat.

“Don’t even get me started on why the second Shrek movie—”

You were interrupted by the sound of Peter’s phone ringing, and you immediately recognized his ringtone as the Coconut Mall theme from Mario Kart. He peered down at his phone screen, sighing and mouthing an apology to you as he accepted the call.

“Uh, hey, Mr. Stark. Did you need something?” Well, at least you knew he wasn’t lying about his internship at Stark Industries. “Toronto? Tonight? I’m kind of busy.”

There was a long pause as Peter mentally kicked himself for talking back to Tony, resulting in an earful about how being an Avenger should always be at the top of his priorities.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I’ll be right over… but I need a favor. Could you send Happy to pick my friend up? Yeah, it’s the ice cream shop on 1st. Thank you so much, Mr. Stark. Bye.” He frowned at you, and you could tell from what you had heard that he had to go.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. It’s just, something came up last minute and Mr. Stark really needs me to go on this business trip with him,” he apologized, pulling his coat on. “But, uh, he’s sending a car for you. So don’t worry about walking back alone, alright? I’m so sorry. I’ll make it up to you when I get back, okay? Bye!”

“Oh, okay. Bye!” you managed to call out before he was running out the doors and down the street. Lots of customers were staring as you awkwardly gathered your things and went to go wait on the sidewalk.

A few minutes later, a shiny black car had pulled up to the curb in front of you, a man rolling down the window.

“Miss Y/N? I’m Happy Hogan. Mr. Stark sent me to drive you home,” he called from the driver’s seat, before getting out to open your door for you. You stepped in, a little starstruck at how nice the car was. You had never been in anything this expensive before. 

The two of you were sitting in silence until you finally got the courage to speak up. 

“Mr. Hogan,” you started, causing him to turn down the smooth jazz that had been playing on the radio. “Do you know why Peter has to go to Toronto?”

“Yes,” he replied, glancing at you in the rearview mirror. “But I can’t tell you that.”

“Oh, okay,” you accepted, shifting to look out the window at all of the places in the city that you hadn’t yet gotten the chance to explore. 

Eventually, he was dropping you off in front of your dorm, and you were trudging inside to your room to sulk about how your not-a-date date with Peter had gotten interrupted. You stared at your ceiling all night, wondering when the next time you’d see each other would be, and whether or not he’d come back with the same cuts and bruises as when you had first met.

----------------

Peter had been gone for six days and counting, and you were starting to worry that he might never come back. You had already started missing him the night he left, and now it was just some agonizing waiting game for him to return.

You must have spent hours in the basement kitchen before deciding to visit the fourth floor where Peter lived. You knocked on the door and was quickly met with Ned’s shocked expression.

“Uh, hi, Y/N. Peter’s not here right now. Did you need something?”

“I know,” you acknowledged, holding up the plate in your hand. “It’s just, well, I’ve been baking a lot and I didn’t really know who to give all of these cookies to, so I was wondering if you wanted any.”

“Oh, in that case, sign me up!” You watched as his face lit up as he noticed the assortment of chocolate chip, sugar, and snickerdoodle cookies all still warm from the oven. He offered his hands out to take the plate from you, which you happily relinquished. 

“These are really good,” he complimented, his mouth full of a sugar cookie. “Can I keep the rest of them?”

“Yeah, of course,” you answered, doing your best to smile despite how much you wished it had been Peter opening the door. “I’ll see you around, Ned.”

“Hey, Y/N,” he called out to you, making you turn around on the stairwell. “Don’t worry. I’m sure Peter’s going to be back any day now.” You nodded, offering him a wave and walking back down to your room.

Turns out Ned had been right. The strange noises outside of your window were masked by how loud you were jamming out to We Didn’t Start the Fire by Billy Joel, jumping around and listing off the lyrics that had never made much sense to you. Peter knocked louder on the glass, startling you as you quickly switched off the music to investigate.

“Holy shit,” you whispered, squinting your eyes to make sure you weren’t hallucinating. “Spider-Man? Is that really you?”

You fumbled to push up your window, extremely confused as to why one of the Avengers was outside your bedroom this late at night.

“It’s me, Y/N,” he explained, his voice suddenly becoming extremely familiar. Your eyes widened as you realized who was behind the mask.

“Oh my god! PETER?” you screamed as he slipped through the window, pulling off his mask and clapping a hand over your mouth.

“Don’t freak out. It’s okay. It’s just me, okay?” he stammered in an attempt to get you to calm down before an RA heard. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I really wanted to tell you, but we were in public when I left, and I couldn’t risk it. And I didn’t want to text it or do it over the phone because it’s kind of a big deal, so I figured I’d just come to see you as soon as I got back and Mr. Stark said that you have to promise—”

“It’s okay, Peter,” you interrupted, wrapping your arms around him and burying your face into the very weird material of his spider-suit. “I won’t tell anybody.”

He softened under your touch, resting his head on top of yours. “I like your dance moves,” he whispered, making you glare up at him, your face suddenly very red.

“How long were you watching?” you groaned, dramatically throwing yourself onto your bean bag, your face covered by your hands.

“Only for about a minute,” he answered, pulling your hands down so you could see him grinning at you. “I especially liked how you used your hairbrush as a microphone. Plus, I thought we agreed to stop being embarrassed around each other?”

“Well, that was before I knew you were freaking Spider-Man!”

“Okay, fair enough,” he agreed, nudging you to scoot over and make room for him.

“So, that’s what that whole Toronto thing was?” you asked as he sat next to you, your knee touching his.

“Yep. There was this thing about aliens and these guys that could shapeshift. It’s a lot to explain.”

“Are you going to keep that thing on all night?” you asked, gesturing at his outfit, which was very tight and very distracting from whatever alien story he had to tell.

“Oh. Yeah, I guess so,” he shrugged. “I don’t have anything on underneath it.”

“How scandalous,” you teased. “Not so family-friendly after all, huh, Spidey?”

“Oh, shut up,” he quipped, rolling his eyes as you let out a long yawn.

“Have you been sleeping much?” he continued, suddenly remembering the issue that had brought the two of you together in the first place.

“Of course not. I’ve been too busy worrying about my classes and, oh, just some idiot I know that abandoned me in the middle of an ice cream shop. Pretty sure he said he’d make that up to me, by the way.”

“Okay, okay. Message received. What would you like?” Please say a kiss. Please say a kiss. Please say a—

“Can I meet them? The Avengers, I mean. It’s not like anyone else really has a secret identity except for you.”

“Oh. I mean, I’d have to ask Mr. Stark and the rest of the team and see if they’re cool with it, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“Awesome! You’re the best,” you chimed, wrapping your arms around him and planting a kiss on his cheek.

It was then that Peter decided he would just never be able to wash that side of his face again, his heart nearly skipping a beat.

“Peter,” you said, breaking the silence he had left the two of you in. “I’m tired.”

“Me too,” he sighed. “I should head up to my room. Gotta make sure Ned knows I’m still alive.”

“Yeah, of course,” you agreed, standing up to see him out. “Aren’t you worried somebody will see you, though?”

“Y/N, it’s 4 a.m. I’m pretty sure that you and I are the only people on campus that are awake right now.”

“Oh, right. Still, be careful, okay?” you told him, slightly worried at his secret identity being found out by some college kid that just couldn’t stay off Twitter.

“Will do,” he said, smiling and giving you a little salute before leaving.

----------------

A few days later, before you could even greet him, Peter was already walking into your room. It was 10 p.m., a little earlier than when he usually came over, but by now you were used to him showing up at your door unannounced.

He was already wearing his pajamas, a t-shirt with a science pun and some flannel pants that he had invested in to avoid any more awkward moments between the two of you. You were dressed in leggings and a sweatshirt, the clothes you usually threw on after class just in case you fell asleep on accident. There had been more times where you had woken up sweaty with your jeans stuck to your legs than you were willing to admit.

“Okay, so I asked Mr. Stark about your request and he told me he doesn’t think now is a good time, but…” he grinned, holding out a giant cardboard box with some kind of minimalist home appliance on the front for you to look at.

“Am I supposed to know what that is?” you blinked back, trying to figure out what the hell you were staring at, considering that all of the text written on it was in a language you didn’t know how to read.

“It’s some fancy white noise machine from Japan. If I remember correctly, Mr. Stark said he made Pepper order it because I wouldn’t shut up about you, and it would be in everybody’s best interest if you got some sleep, so I could stop annoying him and the rest of the team.”

“Oh. That’s pretty thoughtful, I guess,” you said, gathering things off your floor to make space for it.

He set the box down on your rug and got to work opening it. Meanwhile, you were busy translating what exactly Tony Stark had so generously gifted to you.

“Peter, wait. This thing is like $300. Doesn’t he know that you can just look up whale noises on YouTube for free?”

“Yeah, but this one adjusts its volume based on the noises around it, has a light that simulates the sun rising, and has an alarm noise that’s supposed to support healthy cortisol levels.”

Peter peered up to see your arms crossed and brows furrowed, it suddenly becoming clear to him that the things he had just listed meant very little to you.

“Plus, he’s a literal billionaire, so I don’t think it was that big of a loss for him,” he added.

“Fine. Let’s just hope this thing works,” you sighed, watching as Peter leafed through the instruction manual before tossing it behind him. “It’s a little early to go to sleep, though.”

“Y/N, plenty of people go to sleep at 10. Not everybody is nocturnal like you.”

“I guess you have a point,” you agreed, kneeling down beside him as he fiddled with all the settings.

“I know,” he said with a smirk as you rested your chin on his shoulder to get a better look at what he was doing. “What time do you want to wake up? 7 a.m. would give us time to go get breakfast before class, but we could do 8 if you wanted to sleep in.”

“We?” you mused, liking the sound of that. “I guess that means you’re staying here tonight?”

“Well, yeah. I’m not letting you have all these overpriced rainforest noises to yourself.”

“Do 7. We can go get those blueberry muffins that you like,” you decided, standing up to get Peter’s makeshift bed on your bean bag ready. “Do you actually like sleeping on this thing, or were you just trying to be polite the first time I asked?”

“Dude, that thing is awesome. It’s like I’m on this little cuddly cloud, and then you add all those warm blankets and the twinkly lights and it’s the perfect recipe for me to fall asleep.”

“Wow,” you nodded, looking around your room to see all of the things that Peter was talking about. “I wish it worked that way for me.”

“Maybe it will, tonight.”

It didn’t. You were tossing and turning for nearly an hour to the agonizing sounds of birds cawing and the occasional monkey chatter, all set against the backdrop of a heavy thunderstorm. To be honest, it was something that would’ve given you nightmares when you were little.

“Y/N?” Peter whispered from the floor. “Are you sleeping?”

“No.”

“Me neither.”

“Could you turn that thing off? It’s really distracting me.”

“Yeah, of course,” he said, leaning over to switch the noise machine off. “Can I ask you something?”

“You can ask me anything.”

He hesitated, not really sure if he should ask the question that he had been thinking about for a while now. “How old were you when your parents died?”

You had to think for a moment, not really sure about the answer. For as long as you could remember, you just lived with your grandparents. “Um, well my mom left when I was a baby. And I think my dad passed away when I was four.”

“Oh,” Peter mumbled. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have a parent leave you, but he didn’t want to pry just in case it was a sensitive topic. “Are your grandparents from your mom or dad’s side?”

You rolled over to rest your head on the edge of your bed so that you could see him better. He looked so cute bundled up in all of your blankets, his hair already a bit messy. “They’re my mom’s parents. It’s weird. I see a lot of pictures of her from when she was growing up, and I look so much like her, but she’s basically a stranger to me.”

Peter opened his mouth to say something else, but there was a long pause and he decided not to.

“What about you? How old were you when your parents passed away?”

“Five or six. They met while working at the C.I.A. together, but most of my memories are from the stories my aunt and uncle told me when I was growing up.”

For a moment, neither of you could find the right words to say to each other.

“Peter,” you spoke up, interrupting his thoughts. “I’m really glad I met you.”

“I’m really glad I met you too.”

----------------

Peter’s next plan of action involved even more advice from his fellow Avengers, and you were not looking forward to trying out any of their suggestions. 

“Okay, so, Steve—I mean Captain America—said that when he was little, you know, in the 1940s, all he had to do was drink a glass of warm milk before bed.”

“I’m lactose intolerant,” you groaned, crossing your arms.

“I just saw you eat an entire pint of Ben and Jerry’s in one sitting the other day.”

“Regular milk has almost 15 times more lactose than ice cream. You’d think a science nerd like you would know that.”

“I’m a geek,” he scoffed, clearly a little bit offended. “Not a nerd.”

“Yeah, I can see that now. It’s okay, though. At least you’re pretty,” you said, pinching his cheek.

“Just try it,” he grumbled, handing you the warm glass and waiting impatiently for you to take a sip. If anything, the milk did a better job at keeping you up that night than putting you to sleep. Not even thirty minutes after you had gone to bed, you were feeling sick to your stomach.

“I hate milk,” you gagged, Peter holding your hair back as you kneeled over the toilet bowl. “My grandpa could never get me to drink it as a kid.”

“Is that why you’re so short?” he laughed, helping you up. You glared at him as you moved to the sink to wash the acidic taste out of your mouth.

“Shut up, Parker,” you quipped, tired and grumpy from how terrible you felt. “Let’s just go back to sleep.”

“Alright, munchkin,” he smiled, pulling you out of the bathroom and back towards your bed.

Somehow, the warm milk wasn’t even the worst of Peter’s ideas, because a few days later, he was standing at your door with a bottle of some Asgardian sleep aid from the lightning god himself.

“Are you sure this is safe for me to drink?” you asked, your eyes widening as you stared at the silvery liquid that was almost shimmering.

“Uh, I’m about 87% confident you’ll live,” he said, “But I’m 100% sure that it’ll work.”

“Gee, thanks. Now I really want to drink this weird alien potion,” you sighed, looking at him nervously.

“Just drink a little bit and see if you feel anything,” Peter encouraged, leaning over your shoulder. You nodded, hesitantly bringing the drink up to your lips to take a sip.

“This stuff tastes amazing,” you mused, taking a bigger gulp this time. “Like a blue raspberry slushie.”

“Whoa, that’s enough,” he warned, taking the bottle from your hands before you could drink any more of it. “We don’t want you to go into a coma.”

“I don’t feel anything,” you shrugged, frowning back at him. “Maybe I should—”

You stopped mid-sentence to let out a loud yawn, the potion starting to take effect. Peter caught you as you slumped down in your chair, helping you into bed.

“Okay. I definitely feel it now,” you admitted, already half asleep. Peter tucked you under your blankets, placing a kiss on your forehead as your eyes fluttered shut.

“Sweet dreams, Y/N,” he whispered, turning off your lights and softly closing the door behind him. 

For a moment, Peter had thought he had finally found a solution to your insomnia. At least before you slept through class the next morning. And then the day after that. But it wasn’t until the third day that he really started to freak out.

“Where’s Thor!?” he panted, having run all the way from his class over to the Avengers Tower. Wanda and Vision stared back at him from the kitchen, very confused at what he was so panicked about.

“He’s in his room,” Bucky called from the couch, his mouth full of popcorn as 13 Going on 30 played on the big screen. “What’s going on, kid?”

“No time to explain. Gotta go!” Peter called, sprinting up the stairs towards Thor’s room. He knocked frantically until the door finally swung open.

“Greetings, young Spiderling. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Thor smiled, his long, golden hair shiny as ever.

“I think I killed my almost-girlfriend!” Peter blurted out, practically sweating from how stressed out he was. “She drank that stuff you gave me and she hasn’t woken up in three days now!”

Thor chuckled, patting Peter on the head. “Do not worry, my brother. I’m sure she will wake up given time. It was a very potent drink, after all. Calm yourself.”

“Okay,” he sighed, relieved to know that he hadn’t poisoned you to death. “Cool. Cool, cool, cool. She’s fine. Everything’s fine. Thanks, man. I’ll, uh, I’ll see you around.”

“Farewell, Peter. May we meet again soon,” he grinned before closing the door in Peter’s face.

On the way back down the stairs, Peter figured he’d give you a call and see if you were still sleeping.

“Hello?” you groaned, your throat dry from just waking up. “Peter, what the hell happened to me?”

“THANK GOD YOU’RE ALIVE!” Peter yelled into the phone, making you recoil from the volume of his excitement. “You’ve been asleep for three days, Y/N. I thought you were dead.”

“I am very much alive,” you laughed, slowly feeling the potion wearing off. “Where are you?”

“Uh. I may have run all the way to Midtown to ask Thor if I had killed you,” he admitted, feeling you roll your eyes through the screen. “I was worried, okay?”

“Now you know how I feel whenever you leave for a mission,” you countered, glad that Peter couldn’t see how much you were blushing. “Hurry up and get your butt back over here. I have the weirdest dream to tell you about.”

----------------

Even if you still weren’t getting a full eight hours of rest at night, it was obvious that all of Peter’s efforts had vastly improved your sleep schedule. Over the past few months, you had gone from staring at your ceiling all night to actually being able to stay asleep for small periods of time.

“Your eyelashes are so long,” you mused, playing with Peter’s hair. He was sitting in between your legs and How the Grinch Stole Christmas was playing on your TV.

“Really?” He tilted his head back to look at you, batting his eyelashes and making you giggle.

“Yes. It’s not fair that boys get all of the pretty eyelashes,” you pouted, watching as the Grinch explained his plan to steal all of Whoville’s presents to his dog.

“I think yours are pretty,” he replied, a soft smile on his face. “But there’s a rogue one just hanging out on your face right now.”

“Can you get it?” you asked, your eyes still glued on the TV screen. Peter nodded, twisting around to gently brush the eyelash from your cheek.

“Do you want to make a wish?” he laughed, holding the little eyelash on the tip of his finger in front of you.

“Okay,” you agreed, squeezing your eyes shut and blowing it away. When you opened them, Peter’s face was only inches away from yours.

“What did you wish for?” His gaze shifted downwards to look at your lips for a split second, before returning to look into your eyes.

“I can’t tell you, dummy. Then it won’t come true.” You weren’t about to tell your best friend that you wished for him to kiss you. At least not now, while the two of you were stuck in this really weird “not dating, but more than just friends” limbo.

“Fine,” he frowned, crossing his arms and pouting in a way that you recognized had been mimicked after you.

“Don’t make fun of me,” you said, mirroring his stance. Your puppy dog eyes were definitely a lot more convincing than his.

“I’m not.”

“Uh-huh, sure. You smell really good, by the way. Well, your hoodie does. I could just wrap myself up in it and fall asleep.”

“How come you’ve never mentioned that before? You could’ve been out cold every night months ago!”

“Guess I was just too distracted by your dreamy face,” you teased, causing Peter to blush.

“Whatever. Seriously, though. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know. I think it took me a while to realize how sleepy I got whenever you were really close to me,” you shrugged. “You’re not mad at me, right?”

“Of course not. But if I had known sooner I would’ve just given you one,” he said, slipping the hoodie over his head and handing it to you. “Here, put it on. You better fall asleep instantly or I’m calling bullshit.”

“You caught me, Peter. This was all some elaborate plan for me to steal one of your hoodies.”

“Just put it on. The suspense is killing me.”

You rolled your eyes and pulled his hoodie on. Just from looking at Peter and how slim he was, you never would have guessed that it would be this oversized on you.

“How do I look?” you asked, striking silly poses in front of him. Peter involuntarily licked his lips and he knew he’d be replaying this image of you in his head for the next few weeks.

“You’re going to have to keep that,” he stammered, doing his best to hide how much he really liked seeing you in his clothes. “It looks a lot better on you. I, um, have to go do my homework. And call my aunt. And walk my roommate.”

Peter stumbled to his feet, staring at his wristwatch to maintain his act that he was late for something before grabbing his things and heading out the door, making sure to hold his backpack in front of him. “Let me know if the hoodie thing works. Bye!”

----------------

Brushing off Peter’s strangely abrupt departure from last night, you nuzzled into your pillow, the warm morning light spilling through your curtains. Last night had probably been your best sleep in months, and you even got to wake up late since it was Saturday. Things probably couldn’t have gone any better.

Before you knew it, you were running up to Peter’s room and banging on his door. He opened the door on your fourth knock, right after Ned had chucked a pillow at him, and you were met with his sleepy eyes and messy hair.

“It worked!” you yelped in excitement, twirling around and still wearing his hoodie. “Well, kind of. I fell asleep after about an hour, and then I slept for maybe three after that. But I had to pee in the middle of the night, and when I got back into bed I couldn’t fall back asleep until 6 a.m.”

“That’s some good progress,” he yawned, stepping out into the hallway to keep your little celebration from bothering Ned too much. “If only we could get you to sleep the entire night.”

“I know right. But I’m so happy!” you cheered, wrapping your arms around him. “We finally did something right!”

“We need to celebrate!” you continued, grabbing Peter’s hand and dragging him down the stairs. “Come on. We’re making you a chocolate cake!”

You stopped by your room on the way to the kitchen, piling a bunch of ingredients into Peter’s arms from your mini-fridge and various shelves.

“Okay, eggs, flour, butter, sugar, chocolate. Damn it. We’re all out of milk.” You side-eyed him, remembering the whole Captain America induced fiasco from a couple weeks ago. 

“I think we might have some in our room,” Peter laughed. “Ned drinks a lot of milk mixed with Milo powder. It’s some obsession he picked up when his family took a vacation to Australia. I’ll go get it.”

He set all of the ingredients you had given him on your desk and sprinted back up the stairs to raid Ned’s stash, already thinking of ways to apologize for it later.

A few minutes later he was knocking on your door, out of breath, and dressed to brave the many inches of snow that had fallen overnight. 

“We didn’t have any milk,” he panted. “But I can run to the dining hall and get a few cartons.”

“I’ll go with you.” You quickly pulled on your snow boots and layered your puffer coat on top of Peter’s hoodie, wrapping a hand-knit scarf around your neck just to be safe. “All ready.”

Getting the milk was the easy part. Making sure you didn’t die of frostbite was another story. By the time you and Peter got back to your room, your nose was super red and you couldn’t feel your toes.

“Okay,” you said, your teeth chattering. “I thought I was used to the snow by now, but that was something else.” You dropped your coat on the ground and climbed into your bed, burying yourself under your comforter.

“I thought we were making a cake,” he laughed, walking over to see you peeking out of the pile.

“Cake will have to wait,” you whined, your voice slightly muffled by the blanket. “Come here. I need some of your body heat.”

“Okay,” he stuttered, kicking off his sneakers and climbing in beside you. He had sat on your bed a lot since the two of you met, but this was the first time that he was actually laying in it. You snuggled up to him, and he hesitantly wrapped his arms around you.

“This is nice,” you sighed, nuzzling your head into his chest. “Is this one of your superpowers? Spidey-warmth?” Peter let out a soft laugh. It was silly but true. Ever since the bite, he never really noticed how cold it was outside anymore.

“Y/N,” he whispered, tightening his grip around your waist. Your head was nestled underneath his chin, and he could smell the faint citrus scent of your shampoo. “I need to tell you something.”

“What is it, Pete?” you yawned, your eyelids heavy from how comfy Peter’s cuddles were.

“I love you.” He held his breath, nervously waiting for you to respond.

“I know,” you giggled, intertwining your legs. “Sometimes, you talk in your sleep. You’ve probably professed your love for me at least eight times by now.”

“Oh.” Peter had no idea how he was supposed to respond to that.

“Don’t worry. I love you, too,” you assured him, grinning and placing little kisses on his jawline. “I thought that was obvious.”

“Maybe you could make it a little more obvious,” he mumbled, his heartbeat getting quicker as you shifted up to kiss him on the lips, your hand running through his hair.

“I will,” you smiled, your forehead resting against his. “But after we take a nap, okay?”

“Okay,” Peter agreed, snuggling as close as he possibly could to you, never wanting to let go. In no time at all, he watched happily as you fell asleep in his arms, wondering how the two of you hadn’t thought of this sooner.

----------------

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#peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker fluff #peter parker imagine #peter parker oneshot #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker #spiderman #spiderman x reader #marvel #mcu #tom holland x reader #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fluff

[swagforov]

time after time (tokigou)

“Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up.”

 ― Neil Gaiman, The Kindly Ones

    If there was anyone who reminded Goh the most of stars, it was Tokio. Tokio, with his beautiful snow-white hair that fell in fine, silver strands around his face, his startlingly golden eyes that sparkled regardless of the time of the day. Tokio, who laid down beside him on the grass and watched the stars with him and made up constellations of Pokemon in the sky. Tokio, who Goh brought soup with star-shaped carrot slices for him the next day, only to be left alone in the pouring rain, waiting for a boy who would never come.

    Goh was seven, chasing Mew down in the Ilex Forest. Goh was seven, running into Tokio. Goh was seven, laughing and running and talking to Tokio, and Goh was seven, falling for the boy with stars in his eyes. (While Chloe’s stars faded and dulled, Tokio's shimmered so brightly, Goh was pulled into his orbit, wishing and wishing over and over again for Tokio to come home to Vermillion with him, so that the light of his stars can stay for ever and ever with him, so that he would never be left alone in the darkness again.)

    “Oh, I forgot a real great one!” Goh exclaimed, turning his head over to look at the boy lying beside him. For a moment, he was enraptured by the way Tokio's eyes gleamed as he stared up at the night sky that stretched over them. Too big, too vast, it threatened to swallow them up, but Tokio seemed right at home among the stars. A child of stardust, Goh thought to himself. Under the silver starlight, he looked a little like Celebi too, and he wondered why Celebi wouldn’t show itself to him.

    The night air was cold but Tokio was warm, and the earth beneath them radiated a pulsing heat, the song of Nincada whispering into the quiet night. 

    “Space really reminds you of Rayquaza, yeah?” he said, turning his eyes to the night sky, and he swore he almost saw the great, twisting green body of the Sky High Legendary Pokemon slithering between the stars and soaring up into outer space. Beside him, Tokio let out a small chuckle, and Goh’s heart skipped a beat.

    “That one’s really cool,” he agreed in his quiet, singsong voice. “But I think more of Jirachi.” 

    “Once every one thousand years, the light of a comet and a pure singing voice will rouse it from its near-perpetual slumber,” Goh narrated, starstruck by the mystery of cosmic Pokemon and the magical feeling of the quiet night with Tokio by his side. “It wakes for only seven days.”

When he looked over at Tokio, who had rolled over to his side, clutching his arms. He felt a jolt, something crawling up his throat. A bad feeling. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Tokio smiled sheepishly. Even that small smile of his made Goh’s heart flutter, just a little.

“I’m getting a little cold…” 

So they headed back to the main road, where they went their separate ways, agreeing enthusiastically to meet back here again the next day. It’s a promise, Tokio's voice rang in his head, and it had rung for more than three years like a haunting ghost. Yes, Tokio had haunted him for more than three years. How foolish he was to believe in his words. And yet, he had, hadn’t he? Because he had fallen for the boy with stars in his eyes, and he had fallen hard, and like any other person who falls, he was left crumpled on the ground, hurting and twisting in pain and very, very alone.

You said… it was a promise.

You said… that we were friends.

Goh was seven when he realised, too late, that too often, words fail, and too easily, promises are broken. 

***

Time was a funny thing. You think after all this time, you’d have forgotten him. But after all this time, you remember his face like it was just yesterday. You remember your conversation, his voice, his stupid laugh that lingers in your ears like a stubborn stain. It’s as if no time has passed at all. Why do I keep thinking of him? you ask yourself and you berate yourself and you hate yourself and you hate time for making you think of him as if he were still by your side when now he’s long gone. Time was a funny thing because the whole world around you seems to be moving on and changing and growing way too fast, but you remain the sad, hurt boy you were three years ago in Ilex Forest, the rain pouring down on you, relentless and never-ending. 

But time was a funny thing also because after all this time, there he is, standing a few metres away from you, his eyes shimmering like the stars in the sky as he stares at you, and you are transported back to that night three years ago where you two laid on the grass on that hill together and pointed out constellations to each other like there was no tomorrow. And maybe there wasn’t, because tomorrow was now, today, and—and—  

It took three years, but he came, he kept his promise, and he is standing right in front of you, looking at you like he found you in a constellation, and you are the only thing he sees.

    “There’s so much I want to tell you,” he says, his voice full of tears and tales and secret, shy emotion that Goh feels his feet shift against the grass on their own accord, pulled by a strange, unidentifiable force. Was it a magnetic force? Was it gravity? Or was it something more? He doesn’t know, and he can’t see it. All he can see is Tokio.

He wraps his arms around Tokio, and breathes in the scent of him. He smells like the forest, fresh and evergreen, and his warmth envelops Goh, as if saying, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. And it feels like starting over again. 

They stay like this for a while. Then they pull apart, cheeks flushed and eyes glimmering, and walk through the forest together to the top of the hill. Hand-in-hand.

#tokio #gou #horace #goh #tokigou #pokemon journeys #timelesspromiseshipping #this is actually supposed to be part of a whole fic but we need more tokigou content! #tokigou world domination begins NOW #999

[earlgreymon]

the sweet escape

enlightenmonth // [day 9-12] past or future my approach will be quite different with this one. instead of talking about their past, i'm pulling them into a historical timeline a.k.a. samurai au. this was inspired by an otome game called samurai love ballad party, and also a dorama i was watching last year called watashitachi wa douka shiteiru which was about a traditional japanese sweet shop. you will see a lot of different japanese terms here, but i will try to put the explanation with links. sorry for being late; i'm still figuring my life out. warning: 3k words.

___

There was a pavilion named Shoshoin, and even though it was made from the logs of the woods nearby, it was by no means an ordinary building. On the contrary, Shoshoin was a warehouse of the greatest knowledge in the nation—a library, as someone recently coined the term. There were scrolls about tales you usually heard from mouth to mouth, a bundle of papers that contained details about every secret a human being wanted to know, even some antiques that served like a passage to another world beyond the homeland.

Shoshoin, however, was located inside the castle grounds, and there was no way for Koushiro to access the building that easy.

His grandfather often told the story about Shoshoin when he was still alive, back when Koushiro was a little boy. Ojiisan once worked as a cook in the castle, so indeed it was based on his own experience. Every time his mouth opened for the same story, his eyes would also follow the excitement reflected in a gleam of admiration. It was as if he witnessed the most amazing thing in the world, and Koushiro—being a naturally curious person—couldn’t help but wonder if he would get the same opportunity to visit Shoshoin someday and learn as many things as he could.

But again, it was just wishful thinking. He was a mere commoner after all, trying his best to survive by running a wagashi shop. His father was bedridden and his mother was equally old even though she still had the stamina to work in the kitchen. Thus it was his responsibility as the only child to keep the business moving. It wasn’t like he despised the shop anyway; after all, it was the place he grew up in. He enjoyed the challenge of consistently carving the little details on nerikiri to resemble the shape of a flower. As much as he was curious with the hint of parchment and sandalwood from the Shoshoin, he also loved the smell of freshly made red bean paste from the stockpot every morning.

Be that as it may, the best part was serving their loyal customers. Koushiro had to admit that he was not a people person to begin with; even as a child, he had a stuttering problem due to the perpetual wariness of interacting with other people. He remembered the first time he took over the front line; he wished the shelves were tall enough to hide his face. However, he then understood how wonderful his job was after seeing the smiles of the customers or hearing the compliments on the sweets they sold. Those delightful feedbacks also motivated him to provide a better service, so he learned how to communicate appropriately, even trying to remember the name of their regulars.

Takenouchi-sama was one of their newest patrons. The first time the lady stepped into their shop a few months ago, his old habit of stuttering returned for a short while because her modest beauty caught Koushiro starstruck. Even the fukinagashi she wore didn’t manage to conceal the elegance of her short hair and bright eyes. She always came every Wednesday around two in the afternoon. Her order was also the epitome of constant: two pieces of yokan, four monaka, three warabi mochi, and six assorted nerikiri.

That Wednesday when she dropped by, unfortunately, the shop wasn’t ready to serve the monaka because they needed to redo the red bean paste. That was why the first thing he did after welcoming her was to bow as deep as possible.

“Takenouchi-sama, my apologies.” His tone was regretful but still firm. “I’m afraid you have to wait for another ten minutes for the monaka.”

The lady blinked in surprise, but not because of the news. “You didn’t even let me say my order,” she said after breaking into small, delicate laughter. Of course it was a joke, considering such formality was no longer necessary. “I don’t mind waiting, Izumi-san. Don’t worry.”

Koushiro lifted his head back; a faint blush decorated his cheeks. He tried to shoo the embarrassment away by placing the rest of her order in the box. Still, the red became more apparent when he realised that he had to do something to keep Takenouchi-sama entertained, especially when only the two of them were inside the shop. He tried to recall any information from the past he could utilise, but then he remembered they never exchanged a longer conversation beforehand. After her first visit, she always spent no longer than five minutes inside the shop. Koushiro couldn’t talk about the recent harvest like he always did when Ishida-sama came, and Takenouchi-sama didn’t seem to live nearby so he couldn’t say anything about her house like when he told Kido-sama about the porous roof.

They ended up staring at each other to fill the silence, with Takenouchi-sama eyeing him curiously and Koushiro nervously laughed, not knowing what to do. “Ta, Takenouchi-sama, I’m—”

The shop’s door suddenly slid open, and two samurai walked nonchalantly inside. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise because Koushiro could now distract himself by serving the newcomers. Takenouchi-sama also immediately scooted herself away as if she wanted to give the space; she turned and faced the wall, observing the hanging scroll like it was the most interesting thing she had ever discover. Did she just also pull the veil closer to cover her face more?

“I heard the Motomiya’s troupe will visit the castle next month,” the first samurai spoke as he waited for Koushiro to finish packing some mochi. “So Tonosama really wants to arrange a marriage for his sister?”

“That’s got to be the plan,” his friend, the one with a topknot, nodded. “The most amicable way for us to acquire the Motomiya’s land is to hand over Ojousama. Their army isn’t as strong as ours, but they managed to beat down the Hida Clan in a night. If we have to go for a battle, it’s going to be very ugly.”

Both samurai left after Koushiro gave them their order, still chatting the same topic as they exited the premise. Takenouchi-sama then returned to Koushiro; her veil seemed loosened even though she still kept her composure.

“Are you interested in the castle’s affair, Izumi-san?” she suddenly asked.

“Welll… not really,” he answered bluntly, somehow relieved because he no longer bore the weight of searching a topic. “But what I heard just now seems rather complicated. It was very unfortunate for Ojousama if she’s being pushed for a political marriage, especially if she’s really sick. I think the stress can affect her condition gravely.”

For years, the townspeople acknowledged the existence of this Ojousama, even though they never really saw her in person. She was said to be the younger sister of Yagami-sama—the Lord of this land and one of the strongest samurai ever known in history. The reason of her seclusion from the public’s eye was her poor health condition, and the Lord itself was pretty protective of her after the death of their parents, so she was never seen outside the castle.

“Oh! Now that I remember, I do have one thing I’m interested in about the castle,” he revised. “My grandfather was a cook for the Yagami Clan a long time ago. When he worked there, he found a building separated from the main castle called Shoshoin, and he always told me that Shoshoin has the answer of everything you want to know about in this world. I think that sounds grand.”

Takenouchi-sama paused momentarily before smiling in a slight. “That really sounds interesting. Why don’t you try to pay a visit?”

“I believe a layman like me can only visit a castle in the sky.”

“With your tremendous ability in making sweets, I do think you are qualified to be a castle cook just like your grandfather.”

“You’re thinking too highly of me, Takenouchi-sama.” His laughter sounded more relaxed now. “I love this shop anyway, and—”

The interruption now came in the form of a call from the kitchen. His mother just announced that the monaka was now ready. Koushiro excused himself to the back, picking up the freshly made monaka and transferred them to the shelf except for the four. He swiftly put them inside the box and handed them after wrapping the box with a cloth. “We sincerely apologise for the wait. Thank you for your patronage.”

Takenouchi-sama departed shortly after she made the payment, leaving with somehow a knowing smile on her lips. She didn’t come the following Wednesday, but another two samurai came to the shop looking for him instead. The stern expression on their face managed to make Koushiro shivered. They looked at him as if he was a criminal.

However, instead of drawing out their swords, they gave him a scroll with an official seal of the Yagami clan. It was an invitation from the castle to participate in the tea ceremony with the Motomiya in two weeks.

The samurai gave no further explanation. They only told Koushiro to came on the scheduled date and prepare two types of wagashi to be served in the reception. Koushiro and his mother were still in immense shock even after the samurai had left, wondering what kind of good deeds they had done in the previous life to be noticed by Yagami-sama. Soon after they realised this wasn’t a dream, they fell into each other’s hug—even his mother couldn’t hold back the happy tears as she kept blabbering about how proud she was.

His mother wouldn’t be able to go to the castle with him as she still had to look after his father, but Koushiro wouldn’t dare to decide the menu on his own, believing his mother’s blessing was everything. So they finally settled with star-shaped monaka and hasamigiku, and with that decision, Koushiro started to train every day so he wouldn’t make a mess when the day came.

This was, after all, a very important tea ceremony that might lead to a crucial political move if the tattletale he heard back then was true.

___

Two weeks later, Koushiro came to the castle very early in the morning, just like he was instructed. The guards immediately escorted him to the kitchen, where he then learned another confectioner was also invited—a woman named Tachikawa from the nearby town. She seemed to take this opportunity very seriously, saying that there might be a chance to work as a permanent chef in the castle.

Koushiro didn’t even consider that possibility before. He already felt honoured enough to follow the same path as his grandfather by cooking for the Lord.

As the event soon approaching, they began to assemble their dishes. Both Koushiro and his ‘competitor’ had already prepared most parts before they arrived at the castle, so plating was all they needed. Once the guests had arrived, it was finally the time for them to serve. It would be a big lie if Koushiro said he wasn’t nervous as he made his way to the hall, especially knowing that he had to explain his dishes in front of the Lord and the royal people. He just hoped that his stutter wouldn’t reintroduce itself and turned Koushiro into a laughing stock.

However, the nervousness soon vanished in a blink of an eye, and it changed into a tremendous amount of shock.

When the guards slid open the hall, of course the first person he laid his eyes on was the great Lord itself. Yagami Taichi, the famous samurai with a tale you could pass for generations. Sitting on his left side was the guest, another samurai with a strong sense named Motomiya Daisuke. The nation’s most extraordinary power gathered in a single room; hence the threatening aura was explainable.

Yet it was the lady who sat on the Lord’s right side that made Koushiro’s heart almost leap out of his chest. The brilliant bright eyes and the short hair… they were all easy for him to recognise, especially without a hood to conceal. It became more apparent as Koushiro stepped forward and personally served each person in the hall.

How come Takenouchi-sama was here beside the Lord? Wasn’t it supposed to be his sister’s place?

She only smiled when Koushiro bowed in front of her with a puzzled look, as if she could read his mind.

Fortunately, Koushiro could explain his dishes clearly, although he might lack confidence compared with the high-spirited Tachikawa-san. The Lord himself asked them to leave the hall after thanking them for the food, but it was hard for Koushiro not to leave his gaze from Takenouchi-sama until the door was completely shut.

They were told to wait because it would be rude for them to leave before the ceremony finished. Maybe it was because of the nervousness that he then got an urge to go to the bathroom. The chef gave a simple direction that sounded reachable, but the castle was so big he couldn’t help getting lost.

“WOOF!”

Somehow, he ended up on the dog’s kennel. And somehow, the dogs weren’t leashed.

“DON’T—” It was too late; the dogs had already identified him as an intruder, so the horrendous chase began. Koushiro ran with all his might, trying to look someplace to hide, not wanting to turn himself into a wagashi for the royal canines. He finally caught sight of a wooden door, trying out his luck by pushing it open before squeezing himself in and closed it back—he swore he could see the fangs within an inch from his foot just now.

Koushiro was panting hard, and even though he tried his best to stand up, his legs had already given up. As he sprawled on the cold floor, he slowly took his time to rearrange his breath. However, it was a bit of a challenge given the smell of parchment, sandalwood and kerosene that suddenly filled his lung.

And that was where the realisation hit him.

The blurry vision regained clarity seconds later with the help of little torches on the wall. In front of him were rows and rows of shelves occupied by lots of books and scrolls. Statues of weird-looking creatures gathered at the eastern part of the room, along with binoculars, globe, and things he didn’t know the names of yet—because he didn’t have the knowledge as vast as a library.

He found it. He found Shoshoin.

Koushiro’s mouth was agape. His grandfather didn’t lie when he said the place had the ability to take your breath away. It was captivating. The charm was so irresistible that he couldn’t help to approach the shelves and pick up one of the books, flipping the pages without a care that he was an intruder in this place. The first book he opened was written in full kanji; some of them didn’t make any sense that he thought it was probably not Japanese. The second book was in Latin alphabets, so he assumed it was English. The third book—

“I know you’ll be here.”

—he didn’t get the chance to open, because he immediately pulled his hand as he turned away and found the lady was standing behind.

“Ta, Takenouchi-sama?!” Koushiro didn’t care less about calling her correctly because his first priority would be to bow down for an apology. “I am very sorry for trespassing—”

But before his knees touching the ground, he was halted by a hand placed above his shoulder softly. When he lifted his face, he could see a thin smile, reassuring that there was no need to worry.

“I am actually glad you finally made it,” she said. “Both here and the tea ceremony. If I may ask, how did you come up with both confections?”

“O, oh. It’s something I thought with my mother,” Koushiro explained, still a bit nervous. “Takenouchi-sama, do you remember the last time you visited our shop? We had two samurais talking about the potential courtship between Lord Motomiya and Lord Yagami’s little sister. My mother agreed that it would be hard for the lady to face the political arrangement, so we wanted to cheer her up. We made the hasamigiku that resembled yellow chrysanthemum; a flower meaning get well soon, because we heard that the lady is not well. And the star-shaped monaka… well, we want the lady to know that no matter what happens, she will shine like a star. The lady’s name, after all, is… Hikari, right?”

Koushiro hoped he wasn’t being impolite just now. However, the woman in front of him seemed taken aback since the silence grew longer—until she ended with a sigh of relief.

“It is Hikari,” she said with a slight smile. “I am sorry for deceiving you, Izumi-san. Takenouchi was my handmaiden’s name. I borrowed her name every time I sneaked outside the castle.”

“B, but why do you have to sneak outside…?”

“You know that my brother will never allow me to go outside,” she answered calmly. “I was fallen ill when I was a little girl, and they almost lost me. That’s why he’s being protective. Overprotective, as a matter of fact. But at the end of the day, I am also a part of the House of Yagami. I have to go and see my people.”

It made sense now why she seemed anxious when the samurai visited the shop. That was obviously also the reason why she always put on a hood despite the weather. She was undercover, hiding her royal identity and trying to fit into society.

Her smile grew wider. “Your sweets give me life, Izumi-san. The warmth of your store is the reason I get excited every Wednesday. Is it too much if I ask you to be our chef and share your delights more often? Surely if you become our chef, you can live here just like your grandfather, and I assure you that you will have access to Shoshoin in your free time.”

It was such a big request that he couldn’t hide his surprised expression. Koushiro started to imagine the nights he could spend here, reading until the very morning before making dango for morning tea time. While it might be sound tiring for other people, it was enough to get him excited.

Alas, his stand was always the same, just like the humbleness that never changed in each of his smiles. “Thank you so much, Lady Yagami,” he said. “It’s an honour to get such a massive opportunity, but I’m afraid I have to turn it down. I cannot leave my store nor my parents. My father is sick, and my mother is also getting old.” He remembered how his grandfather told him the one thing he hated about working as the royal chef: being separated from his family. He could only visit his house once a week even though his house was only fifteen minutes walk, making it felt like fifteen hours away.

Although Lady Yagami fell silent for a moment, there was no ounce of disappointment at her face after hearing his refusal. In fact, her face turned brighter a few moments later.

“So your concern is you cannot be away from your dear parents, am I correct?” she rephrased. “I do not think we can invite the chef’s family to live in the castle. However, I think we can make an arrangement for Lord Yagami’s brother-in-law.”

Koushiro was always a sharp person. It was quick for him to realise the meaning, and his eyes almost popped out thanks to the conclusion.

“Izumi-san.” Her voice was as gentle as the morning dew. “Would you perhaps do the honour of marrying me?”

And now, it was his face that turned brighter—but in the colour of red.

“What?!”

#digimon #by me #fic #koukari #enlightenmonth #koushiro izumi #hikari yagami #the cliffhanger was on purpose #you can see i'm struggling