#rereading it is certainly interesting

[octoir]

i’m bored and currently procrastinating on at least 3 major projects…

so what if i did actually finish that tompercy life debt thing

[forgetful-river]

It's sad but I'm not really into Homestuck right now. I've been more interested in my physical art and writing recently and I don't want to abandon this blog to be updated once a year for 4/13 but I also don't want to just shove my original work on people who follow me for Homestuck content.

[unsettlingcreature]

Logged into my kindle account for the first in a long time to do my regular cathartic read of AFTG and got jumpscared by Dick Fight Island. Like wow. I really paid for that. And read it. Wowie zowie.

[jagged-peaks-number-1-fan]

see the thing about clear sky that drives me in fucking sane is that it's impossible to separate his likability from his character. like. it is through a LOT of charisma and ability to find what motivates the new cats (from fear to pride to dreams of conquering one's enemies) to fight and die for him. he is extremely charismatic, even when he's being horrible. in fact, it you cannot divorce his terribleness from his charisma. there is something about him that makes other cats do many things for his approval, which he knowingly uses to his advantage. im obsessed with him and i need him dead (at the same time)

case in point: his scolding woud have much less effect on jagged peak if the latter didn't look up to him so much.

[ambrosiagourmet]

I've been thinking about Laios' succubus lately. Mulling it over a bit.

Because I've seen these pages brought up a fair bit, but almost entirely in the context of shipping (on all sides, really). And I really want to understand what they are doing for the story beyond that.

When I went back to reread the scene and section, a few things caught my interest: the way Laios responds to both forms of his succubus, the themes of the volume the chapter is found in, and the other events of the chapter itself.

So let's dive into those three things, and what I think they say about the succubus scene's purpose.

Laios is never fully frozen by the succubus

So. If you compare Marcille and Chilchuck's reactions...

to Laios':

-

There is a difference. Sure, the basics may look the same once it turns into Scylla Marcille, but even then, it functions differently.

Chilchuck and Marcille are completely frozen once they catch sight of their succubus. Izutsumi, as well, isn't able to look away, and completely freezes up once her 'mom' starts talking to her. As Chilchuck describes, "just looking at them makes you unable to move."

And yet, Scylla Marcille has to actively convince Laios to comply. He even looks away from her at one point!

Laios accepts this succubus, but he is never actually helpless to it in the same way. Taken in? Convinced? Sure, at least enough to let things happen that he probably should question more than he does. But magically compelled? Not really. Not the same way as everyone else is. So that's interesting. But let's move on for now.

2. Volume 9 is all about drive and desire

I don't often look at chapters within the context of the volume they are included in, but I think there's some really fun things to be found with that perspective in mind.

For one, volume 9 starts with an exploration of what desire brought Laios to the dungeon:

And ends with a question of what desire brought Laios to the dungeon:

It's also very concerned in general with questions of why people do what they do. Why they are in the dungeon, why they are with the people they are with, why they stay, what they fight for.

In addition to Laios, we see it with Marcille...

Izutsumi

Kabru

and Mithrun

Hell, we even get it for the demon!

It's certainly not the only volume concerned with desires and motives, but it is particularly focused on these ideas.

The succubus scene fits quite well into the ongoing question about desires, especially Laios' desires. It is even placed at an interesting spot within the volume. The volume is six chapters long, and the scene takes place at the start of the 4th chapter. It's almost smack-dab in the middle.

With all this in mind, it is interesting that, with both versions of the succubus Marcille, it's not totally clear which parts of her Laios is rejecting.

The first version of Marcille looks human, but Laios attacks when he identifies her as a monster. The second Marcille looks like a monster, but he seems to believe that she is the real (human)(ish) person that he knows. So is he rejecting the monster at first, and then accepting the person? Or is he rejecting humanity and only interested in the monstrous?

Something to consider as we look at the next point...

3. the rest of the chapter is a seduction, too

This is one of those things that might not be apparent on a first reading, but is crystal clear on a revisit. We see the succubus try and charm Laios over 7 pages, and then see the Winged Lion do the same thing for the next 19.

Much like the succubus, it offers the mingling of monsters and humans. Much like the succubus, it offers belonging.

(and this is the point where I absolutely must also link this post by fumifooms on the succubus, which has some great ideas on how the scene is informed by Laios' trauma and desire for acceptance!!!)

But, back to the point. The Winged Lion wants to feed on Laios just as much as the succubus did, and it uses similar strategies to try and make that happen. Though this chapter isn't really the turning point for the next Lord of the Dungeon (it is Marcille who will, eventually, become the Lion's next victim), it certainly behaves like it is.

Laios is convinced. The succubus gets its meal. By the end of the volume, the reader begins to understand how concerning his desires are. Together, it is all very good at building up that sense of dread and pending disaster, as we see exactly how and why Laios might just fall into the Lion's open arms and bring about the end of the world.

-

So that's the three things I noticed. But there's still something I want to touch on by looking at the way these observations overlap, and what they reveal, together.

As I said, by the end of the volume, you can feel the tension growing. Just as Kabru and Mithrun do, you look back for an answer to the questions that have been built, chapter by chapter: why is Laios here? Where will his loyalties fall? This chapter, and scene, seem to prove the inevitable truth: he will choose the monster, of course. He will choose the seductive, easy power of the Winged Lion.

But the details of what actually happens tell different story: one in which the Lion is wrong.

First, as a reminder - even in Scylla Marcille mode, the succubus never fully entrances Laios. It convinces him, but it doesn't have him completely under its thrall.

Similarly, in the dream, the Lion does convince Laios to embrace the world he is offering. But even within that dream, Laios continues to ask questions that will be vital to him later. It is because of those questions that Laios comes to a new understanding about Thistle.

And it's this realization that he cites later as part of his reason for refusing the Lion's offer.

He is thinking through things the entire time, just like he continues to question the succubus even after it turns into Scylla Marcille.

Laios also expresses an interesting reason for why he wants to see the future of this world. He's not just invested because it would mean people liking what he likes, or him getting to spend time with monsters. The thought that comes immediately before his acceptance is about what he wants for monsters and people.

I don't think it's a coincidence that this statement - "we're living beings that share the same world, but all we can do is keep killing each other" - can apply to the various humans races just as much as it does to humans and monsters. The thing he is thinking about here isn't just a matter of his personal daydreams. It's an idea that underpins every conflict in the story.

Laios caring about how people as well as monsters in this manner is something that the Lion gets wrong every time. Even at the end, he still frames Laios' desires entirely around hating people and loving monsters.

The Lion has heard him express an opinion about the future of the world! It happened right there in the dream, right in front of him! He just didn't take it seriously, and didn't view it through any lens other than "Laios likes monsters more".

He's convinced that he understands how to get to Laios. Maybe the Lion can't truly see everything, or maybe his vision into everyone's deepest desires has made it hard for him to realize how much choice still matters. That people can, and do, choose which desires to act on, and how to act on them.

Whatever the case, he's wrong about Laios, and the story shows us this over and over again.

After all, look at how the succubus interaction plays out:

A monster uses Marcille to appeal to Laios...

He realizes that something about the situation is wrong, and rejects her.

It changes strategies, and makes new offer: to turn him into a monster.

It also assures him that his friends are, or will be, taken care of.

He accepts. Or rather, allows the monster to have its way with him.

But Laios is not as helpless as he initially appears, and what the Lion thinks is a successful seduction also contains the seed of an idea that will allow Laios to later resist him.

We even get to see Izutsumi playing a similar role in both instances, as the one person fully able to take action in the face to the illusion.

The story lays out what is going happen, and then explicitly tells us that the demon and the succubus are thematically related.

The chapter performs a great sleight of hand here - everything about it seems to indicate that Laios is doomed give in to the option to have his deepest desires realized. But if you look closer, it also contains the evidence that he won't. There's a lot more going on for him.

Yes, he still falls for obvious tricks. He is still extremely into monsters, and he still doesn't feel like he fits in with other people. He may, deep down, crave to surrender to the monstrous - to let it absorb him. But he questions more than he seems to. He considers more than people realize. He cares so much more than anyone gives him credit for.

And I think this is part of why we see the succubus called back to so many times, especially with the wolf head addition to his Monster Form, which he specifically added due to his encounter with the Scylla Marcille.

This all stays with Laios. It doesn't just foreshadow the path of the story, it is fundamental to how and why he walks that path. It's not about him choosing monsters, and it's not about him choosing people. It's about how he considers both, and cares about both.

And it's about the forces that think they already know his answer. Mithrun and Kabru. The Winged Lion. The succubus.

It's about how they are wrong.

[stargazersroom]

Time for translations of Galactic! [White beginning scene] Are you stuck in the infinity room with us? We are here Untill there's nothing left [Mumbo/Grian hug] I'm sorry (repeated) [Tango 1] There's no reason to get out Stop her [Black scene] I'll answer [Tango 2] We're friends

[There it is! It's not much but it was fun to make ^^ hope y'all enjoy it]

[wyrmwinds]

crying about Hermes and perhaps thinking a little too deeply into amaurotine society’s imperfections I think. And how Hermes and Adra are similarly hopeful and hopeless

[godzexperiment]

speaking of canon medias- it's still amusing that 1 variation of lucifer who is like 'i only care about & tolerate few people one of which is my niece who i look out for'

and then just his casual 'let me use my brothers death explosion to create an new universe peace out'

[kettle-bird]

And we sang dirges in the dark The day the music died... Woof, so, been at work on this in between comm work and college for a solid while now- the decision to draw that many hands was certainly a choice on my part- but I read, reread, and rereread @modmad's brilliant fan comic The Ascension of Thespius Green and I absolutely couldn't get it out of my head, and I knew I couldn't rest until I did art about it, hence- this!

Seriously, if you're into Great God Grove, have a passing interest in the game, or just want to cry over the song Time in a Bottle, I cannot recommend this comic (and quite frankly all of the comics Mod has made) enough.

[dissociativewriter]

Unnatural Affinity- Part 1

Isekai!Reader x Love and Deepspace

wc: 2.3k

cw: ANGST, depressed reader, allusions to self harm, reader is not MC, reader has a defined personality, I fear you can tell she's a self-insert, eventual contact with all love interests, no guaranteed happy ending

Synopsis: You hadn't been okay mentally. When going to meet your friend for lunch, you suddenly find yourself plunged into the world of Love and Deepspace as a close friend to the main character. Would you be able to find your place in this world not made for you?

author's note: So this is technically based on @ixloom819 ‘s post on affinity levels with an Isekai!Reader, but I made it very angsty and didn’t actually address the affinity levels in this part (we’ll get to it eventually, I swear. Probably in the next part, actually.) Reader has a lot of oddly specific personality bits here and there that are very much just me so uhhh sorry <3 also the song that is consistently referenced is Vienna by Billy Joel (it’s my favorite <3) Also MC is named Em because I saw another creator call her Em Cee so I decided to use that to instead of searching for a new one to use!

Series Masterlist

You rose with a jolt.

You had plans today.

You rolled over, checking the time.

11:30.

Weren’t you supposed to meet at 12:00?

You jumped out of bed, running straight to the bathroom. You would have to forego much of your “get ready” routine if you wanted to be on time. Quickly brushing your teeth, arranging your hair in a way that didn’t look like you just rolled out of bed, throwing on some jeans and a cute top conveniently sitting at the top of your drawer, and you were pretty much ready to go.

You grabbed your tote bag, tossing in your laptop, a journal, your pencil case, an old, heavily annotated copy of Frankenstein you were currently rereading (and trying to ignore your past, somewhat cringy annotations), and a small bag of snacks.

You checked the time again.

11:48.

Not too shabby.

Although getting ready was an easy, albeit rushed task, getting to the cafe you were meeting at on time was an entirely different and much harder issue. Through some stroke of luck, you’d manage to get to the bus station just in time for it to leave. And you found a seat!

Maybe today was going to be a good day. You were certainly due for one, you thought.

You knew why your friend had asked you to meet up, of course. You put your earbuds in, cueing your favorite song.

Slow down, you crazy child. You’re so ambitious for a juvenile. But then, if you’re so smart, then tell me, why are you still so afraid? You let the music wash over you, the soft piano soothing your nerves as you relaxed your shoulders.

She was worried. You didn’t blame her. You hadn’t exactly been the pinnacle of happiness these past few months. Your recent self-imposed isolation probably hadn’t helped with that.

Your hands, resting on your thighs, flexed restlessly. You could almost feel the outline of every single cut you’d made.

No matter what you’d say, no matter how many I’m fine’s you’d muttered, you knew.

That was not what a healthy person did.

You thought of a journal entry you’d written, what seemed so long ago now.

‘I think it is the true human experience to want more than you have. But I don’t think this emptiness is innate in the human experience. The feeling never leaves me, it’s encapsulating. I feel absolutely nothing so completely. I cannot bring myself to care about my passions, my friends, my self.

I don’t think I can handle anything more than the burden that is my existence. My days are filled with distractions and entertainment, and my night are spent mourning lost time. I desperately want something worthwhile, something meaningful. I desperately want an adventure, with romance and risks. How am I supposed to find that in this world?’

It was an entry you’d thought about a lot. A bit melodramatic, sure. You’d probably been reading Sylvia Plath or something before writing it. But there was still truth to it. You told yourself you’d be fine, you’d get better. And the glimmer of hope at the very end of the entry served as a testament to you that it could get better:

‘But then, I guess those distractions were meaningful if they brought me happiness, however temporary. All emotions are temporary, so this should also be. This feeling will leave. And maybe I can have the adventure I dream of, maybe that is the dream of all creatives. Why else would these feelings and this imagination be given to humanity?’

You still didn’t know where these words had come from. It was a blur of existential crises and anxiety attacks and nights spent sobbing. You could understand the logic behind the words, and they’d helped you before. Briefly. But emotion does not bow to logic, and you soon found yourself drowning again.

Slow down, you’re doing fine. You can’t be everything you want to be before your time.

You really couldn’t blame your friend for worrying, you thought as you stepped off the bus. Even though there were glimmers of hope in your otherwise bleak mindset, you knew you needed help on some level. Maybe she could help, maybe she would realize what you were trying to say as the words died in your throat. Maybe she could recognize the storm brewing inside you.

Maybe, for one time in your life, you could feel truly seen.

Now, for the first time since you received that text inviting you out, you were actually looking forward to seeing your friend. What was once dread for an intervention where you’d be forced to dodge your feelings and hide them so as not to be a burden, became excitement as you realized how dearly you had missed your friend.

Isolation was nice for a time, yes. It allowed you to gather your thoughts. But then the thoughts came too fast and too much. Maybe a break from the overwhelming thinking would be nice. Maybe you’d laugh again.

You peeked through the windows of the cafe, and, not spotting your friend, decided to wait outside under the sign.

You sighed, a bit regretful that it’d taken you this long to feel not completely shattered again. You’d lost a lot of time mourning the future you couldn’t have and the past you couldn’t erase, neglecting the present all the while.

Well, it’s time to live in the present, you thought as you shut your eyes, enjoying the cool breeze on your face. It’s time to recognize the beauty of life for what it is.

Maybe happiness wouldn’t be that hard to achieve.

The breeze grew colder, and you let out an involuntary shudder. It was so warm today, you knew the weather was supposed to stay warm, so why was the temperature suddenly dropping?

Your headphones let out a harsh crackle before the sound fizzled out completely. You could still hear the ghost of the lyrics if you listened hard enough.

You’ve got your passion, you’ve got your pride. But don’t you know that only fools are satisfi—

“There you are!” You cracked an eye open. The voice wasn’t familiar, but not unknown either. The girl in front of you smiled bright. “I thought you’d be late. Again.” There was an obvious teasing each to her voice, as if you knew each other.

You didn’t, right?

You looked around at the street around you, startled to realize that it had completely changed. The bus station was gone, the sushi shop across the street replaced with an arcade. The city you were now in was nice. Sleek. The kind of stuff they show in Sci-Fi movies. Oddly familiar, too. You looked up above you, trying to catch a glimpse of the sign hanging above your head.

Destiny Cafe.

Wait.

Destiny Cafe?

You felt your throat tighten. You looked around, more attentive this time, searching for any sign that you were right and this wasn’t just a coincidence. When you caught sight of an Otto-Bot, you knew.

You were in that game. That stupid game you’d downloaded a few months ago out of curiosity. The game you’d spent too many hours in, finding comfort in the words of men who did not exist.

If you really were in Love and Deepspace, would that make you the main character? That’s usually what happens in those Isekai stories, right? Your thoughts whirled before you were brought back by the expectant stare of the girl in front of you. She doesn’t look like Tara or any of MC’s friends, you thought, so who could she be?

You examined her closely. She was almost like you. As if her appearance were a distant echo of your own. But upon closer inspection, you could see: where your eyes had many flecks of colors, hers had only the one. Where your skin had a blemish here and there, a slight change of hue, hers remained consistent. She was too clean, as if there were no substance at all. And that wasn’t even considering her perfect pale skin, or long, sleek black hair. That was when you realized, and a wave of disappointment flowed through you. This was her.

Everything about her seemed so two-dimensional, a constant reminder that this was not a version of you or even an independent person, but the Main Character of an otome game.

This was the figure in all the promotional art.

This was the main character of Love and Deepspace.

Not you.

Her.

After all, why would it be you, when she was standing right next to you?

“Hello? You’re staring off into space. Are you okay?” She waved her hand in front of your eyes. Your gaze snapped to hers. Though her brows were drawn in concern, you weren’t sure you could name a single emotion behind her eyes. “If you’re not feeling well, we can always go home… We don’t have to go out today if you don’t want to. Don’t feel bad for saying you don’t want to just because it’s my first day back here in a few weeks.”

You looked at her, your confusion only growing. How can you figure out what the hell is going on without seeming absolutely insane? “…Sorry, I hit my head really bad earlier this morning, and I’m having trouble remembering things. Could you just give me a quick sum-up of what’s been happening?” It wasn’t perfect, but maybe you could get some answers.

The furrow in her brow deepened. “You… don’t remember?” She suddenly grabbed your arm. “Do you remember my name is Em?!”

So that was her name. “Of course I do!” you chuckled. “Just give me a run-down of the past few months, maybe it will jog my memory.” You smiled, hopefully convincingly.

It seemed to do the trick, because she smiled back before diving into what seemed to be her life story with great enthusiasm. “Well a few months ago, I went to the N109 Zone for that one secret mission, do you remember that? Well anyway I was gone for a few weeks, I spent a lot of time with my friend Skye. I’m pretty sure you meant him, we saw him at that work karaoke party?”

Skye in the N109 Zone. You realized with a start: I’ve met Sylus! At a work party? Surely you’re not a hunter. You realized Em was waiting for your yes or no before continuing, so you gave her a slight nod to go on.

“Right, so, after that I took a few missions with Xavier, helped out Rafayel with bodyguard duties or whatever, and had to go see Zayne for a ton of things because apparently my heart was beating arrhythmically. Turns out I’m fine, just a lot of excitement happened, you know? Anyways, after that I took leave for a few weeks to go to Skyhaven. You remember that, right? I remember I told you a lot cause you were using your access for research to help me out.”

Access for research? What kind of purpose did you serve in this plot line?

“I got in a bit of trouble with the Farspace Fleet, but everything’s fine so don’t worry! And now I’m here to meet up with you ‘cause I missed my roomie!” She gave you a tight hug.

She certainly had a lot of energy, you noted.

So from what you gathered: You were roommates with Em and you both worked at the Hunter’s Association. It seems she’s pretty up-to-date as far as the main plot line goes. That, unfortunately, means you’ll be left in the dark for a lot of future events. You’ll have to go off of only the secrets you know from the game.

You mentally thanked yourself for not neglecting any of the Love Interests. You knew they were all extremely important in the world, and, despite having a favorite, you participated in events and games with all of them. All of their affinities were relatively high, meaning you knew a lot of lore.

That could come in handy.

You were still struggling to realize your importance in this world, though. Surely, if you were this close to the Main Character, you contributed something, right?

Would you be able to find a happy ending in this game?

Em continued jabbering on, mentioning little memories and conversations you two had shared.

You stared at her blankly, unsure of what she was talking about. It certainly sounded like something you would say, or something you would do, but you had no recollection of any of it.

Then, it came to you.

Fragments, at first. Memories of a life that wasn’t quite yours. One somewhat empty. One that seemed hastily added in at the last second. One that didn’t hold importance in a world as vast as this.

An afterthought.

You decided to eat lunch with Em. ‘You’ had apparently promised her a lunch date, after all. You didn’t go into Destiny Cafe, and you weren’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. It almost felt like breaking the fourth wall to go inside, and you were afraid of what you would find when you entered.

Would it feel as empty as Em’s eyes?

You ended up finding a quiet sandwich shop. It was cute, homey, and you could feel yourself settling into a rhythm with Em. While you ate and chatted, attempting to seem casual and familiar in this setting, you watched her closely.

She was almost like an extension of yourself. You could see your own influence, seeping in from your various choices in the game, no matter how small. But she was still her own person.

You would never be her, you realized with a pang in your chest.

Never carry that importance.

So what was left for you?

A secondary character meant to fade into the background.

What fate awaited you?

Had anyone even bothered to weave the strings in the fabric that is your destiny?

comments and reblogs appreciated! <3

masterlist

[vangelini]

Boyfriend For the Night | Spencer Reid x Reader

Part 2, Finale!!

Summary: During a night out with the team, you and Spencer find yourselves together at the bar. So, when a creep tries to pick you up, he tries his best to defend his best friend (by being MORE than just that…)

Tags: fluff, pining idiots, BAU!Reader, Fem!Reader.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption 🤷‍♀️

Words: 1.4k

|

It was often, after difficult cases, someone on the team would shout out a suggestion of “what’s everyone doing tonight?” or “anyone wanna go get some drinks?” This time, it just so happened to be Penelope.

“Come on, you know it’ll be fun,” she pleaded to the boy genius packing up in the bullpen.

“I don’t know, Garcia. I’m not sure how much fun I’ll be,” Spencer gave a tight-lipped smile, putting another file in his over-the-shoulder bag.

“Pretty Boy, you’re plenty of fun,” Morgan jested, one arm around Garcia. “Plus, I think Pretty Girl is going, too,” he smiled.

Spencer knew that was your nickname, given affectionately by Derek. He mulled over it in his mind. At least, if you were there, he might have someone to talk to about common interests. You were, after all, the only one on the team that could follow along with his ranting, taking the chance to blab about your own latest interests, as well. “Fine, I’ll go,” he came to the conclusion that hanging out with team would probably be more exciting than rereading a scientific journal to the soothing sounds of Vivaldi. Plus, he would get to see you outside of work.

“Yay!” Penelope clapped her hands together, her blonde pigtails bouncing. “This’ll be so much fun!” She grabbed Morgan’s hand and started walking out of the bullpen. “See you guys there!”

—

You spotted him as soon as he walked in, grinning wide with a small wave.

“Spencer!!”

He laughed, waving back, in response. He scooted in next to you in the tight booth, his leg hitting yours. “What did I miss?” He asked, smiling at the team.

“Just hearing about Emily’s worst dates,” you smiled up at him, elbows on the table.

“Captivating,” he joked, a little stiff from the close proximity between the two of you. Spencer couldn’t deny that he was attracted to you. Well, he could, and he has been, ever since he met you. Sure, it earned him some teasing from the team, but you weren’t free from it either. ‘That’s just what happens when a man and woman are friends,’ he rationalized. But your relationship was closer than just friends. (Best friends?) It was hard to ignore the way you turned to him, when in a group, or how you always lit up when someone mentioned his name. And if Spencer was trying to hide how big his smile got when he got to rant to you about his favorite subject, or how much you two laughed about who-knows-what in the bullpen when the team wasn’t around, he wasn’t doing a very good job. And he certainly wasn’t doing a good job now, trying to keep his composure as you giggled next to him, as the conversation went on.

“Well, I’m getting another drink,” you spoke between a laugh. “Spencer, you wanna come with?” He looked up at you, standing with your purse over your shoulder.

“Sure,” he smiled, following you out of the booth and to the bar.

“I’ll have…” you leaned against the bar, tapping your chin in thought. “Whiskey and coke, please,” the bartender nodded. “Spence, you want anything,” he looked down at you, hands in his pockets. He squinted down at the little plastic menu that the bar had printed out.

“Just club soda, please,” he smiled shyly at the bartender. You stood up, leaning your hip on the counter.

“I’m glad you could make it,” you spoke to him, smiling.

“Me too.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I love Penelope, but I can’t hear about what she does in the bedroom with Kevin anymore,” you laughed at the end of the sentence. Spencer did, too.

“I know what you mean,” he noticed the way you messed with the zipper on your jacket as you spoke to him, a habit he picked up on quickly, when he first met you. “However, I think listening to Morgan talk about his one night stands is arguably worse,” he laughed.

“It’s SO much worse!” You hit him on his sweater-clad arm, playfully, a wide smile pulling up at your flushed cheeks. He laughed with you, putting his head down a little to hide the blush that bloomed up on his nose.

“Only about fifty percent of first dates result in a second one,” he continued, cracking his knuckles nervously. “there are ways to increase that likelihood, like a good first impression, or establishing shared interests early on,” he gained a little confidence. “actually, over sixty eight percent of successful couples report that they were close friends before dating,” he spoke the last part before he could think about it. After he realized what his words might have suggested, he closed his mouth, turning away shyly. You smiled to yourself, putting your head down a little. “That’s, uh, probably why Morgan hasn’t found someone yet,” he turned back to you, smiling tight-lipped. “At least ONE reason,” he laughed. His lips pursed gently, his chestnut hair dangling around his ears. You looked up at him gently as he loosened his tie, still laughing a little at his joke. Your eyes wandered toward his lips. He licked them nervously, glancing back down at you, eyes scanning your face.

You were snapped out of you Reid-filled daze when an unknown man spoke up next to you.

“Hey, pretty lady,” his voice was gruff and had an inflection that somehow communicated that he had never touched a woman in his life. “Can I buy you a drink?” You turned around to see a man no older than thirty smirking slyly next to you, leaning on the bar. He absolutely REEKED of cigarette smoke.

“I’m okay,” you smiled nervously, subconsciously moving closer to Reid. The doctor narrowed his eyes, a little put off by the advance.

“Come on, pretty girl like you, here all alone?” He advanced. “Let me buy you a drink,” he reached out to put a hand on top of yours, but Spencer stepped in.

“Uhm, actually, she isn’t here alone,” he ran his hand through his hair nervously, giving the man a tight-lipped smile. The man looked between you two, a confused look on his face.

“For real?” His voice came out like gravel, and he scoffed a little bit.

“Yeah, for real,” you grabbed Reid’s hand, squeezing it. “I’m here with my boyfriend,” his heart skipped a beat or two when you called him that. Boyfriend. He couldn’t help but smile proudly at the man.

“You’ve GOTTA be joking,” he slurred, laughing.

“No, she’s not joking,” Reid stood up straight, tucking his hair behind his ear. “And, actually,” he began, his tone changing to how it usually did before he went on a rant. “According to surveys, around seventy percent of women find unsolicited advances in bars to be unwelcome and uncomfortable, rather than flattering,” he pressed his lips together, shrugging a little while squeezing your hand. You couldn’t help but giggle at his attempt to scare the guy off. The man just stood there, confused. “Studies show that people decide within the first seven seconds if they're interested in someone. If you come off as aggressive or disrespectful, your chances plummet, which,” he looked back at you, smiling. “I think is what happened here,” he was proud of himself; you could tell.

“I don’t need your statistics, Einstein, I think-“

“Actually, Einstein had an IQ of about 160; I have an IQ of 187, an eidetic memory, and can read over twenty thousand words per minute,” this effectively wore the creep off, because he just mumbled an angry ‘whatever’ and walked away toward another group of girls.

You looked up at your friend and broke into laughter. He joined. “I cannot believe that worked,” you squeezed his hand a little, turning to face him.

“Honestly, me either. I figured he would either get bored and leave, or end up punching me,” he laughed out. “I may be in the FBI, but I don’t think I can handle a drunken bar brawl.” The bartender set the drinks on the counter in front of you and you gave him a small smile, grabbing yours. “The team’s probably waiting for us,” Spencer grabbed his drink, dropping your hand. You picked it back up, looking up at him.

“Just in case we come across any other creeps,” you smiled, a warmth running through the both of you.

“Good thinking,” he mused, squeezing your hand tightly, walking back toward the booth.

Morgan spotted the both of you, turning away from his conversation with Hotch.

“Oh? What’s this? Pretty Boy and Pretty Girl holding hands,” he crossed his arms. You rolled your eyes at the comment.

“Some weirdo tried picking me up, so,” you held your intertwined hands up so they could see. “Reid is my boyfriend, for the night,” you smiled, taking a sip of your drink. It was, supposedly, just for the night, but Spencer liked the sound of that.

And, admittedly, so did you.

(‼️💕IF YOU LIKED THIS, REQUESTS ARE ALWAYS OPEN💕‼️)

[lannistertwinz]

I was going through the notes I took the last time I reread Cersei’s chapters in A Feast for Crows, and this parallel between Cersei’s first and last chapter stood out to me as especially interesting:

She followed them back inside and watched as they bundled the girl up in her father’s bloody blankets. Shae, her name was Shae. - A Feast For Crows, Cersei I

"I had the Blue Bard delivered to the High Septon, as Your Grace commanded. He is here now, somewhere down below us. My whisperers tell me that they are whipping him, but so far he is still singing the same sweet song we taught him.” The same sweet song. Her wits were dull for want of sleep. Wat, his real name is Wat. - A Feast For Crows, Cersei X

These lines are easy to overlook, but I think they add a subtle touch of humanity to the character. Not in the sense that Cersei is weighed down by guilt over how she used and discarded these people — Shae, through false promises of wealth in exchange for her testimony against Tyrion; Wat, through the torture she ordered to extract a false confession against Margaery — but in the sense that, in those moments, she does register them as real individuals. Almost intrusively so — which is likely why George set those lines in italics.

The idea of naming as a form of recognition — of seeing someone beyond their reputation, outward image, or social role — is a recurring theme in the series, most notably in the dynamic between Jaime and Brienne. In that light, these passages with Cersei feel like part of the same thread: an acknowledgment of personhood.

Which, again, seems deliberate, as George also shows Cersei willfully denying said personhood to characters she vilifies — precisely through her refusal to speak their names, replacing them with something derogatory instead:

"Allow me a moment to dress. Ser Osmund, you shall accompany me to the Tower of the Hand. Ser Boros, roust the gaolers and make certain the dwarf is still in his cell." She would not say his name. - A Feast For Crows, Cersei I

"Your Grace has forgotten the Lady Sansa," said Pycelle. The queen bristled. "I most certainly have not forgotten that little she-wolf." She refused to say the girl's name. - A Feast For Crows, Cersei IV

[fazedlight]

Venture (a continuation of Ferrari)

“There’s some steel under that Kansas wheat,” Lena smirked.

Kara glanced nervously at Kal, only to note that Lena’s eyes landed on her soon after. How much do you know?, Kara thought, watching as Lena turned in her chair to glance out onto the city, explaining her orphaned background. It was a strange and disconcerting interview, leaving both Kal and Kara uncertain as to what to do next.

Kara didn’t expect to see Lena again later that day - saving her, this time, instead of grilling her (or destroying another luxury vehicle). Wherever Lena fell on the morality spectrum, she was clearly not the one behind the Venture’s explosion. She was a target.

Soon after, Corben would be shot, Kal would write a favorable article about the Luthor, and Kara would once again affirm to herself to keep an open mind. “I didn’t see your name on the byline,” Lena said, eyes almost sparkling at the suggestion. Kara smiled back, and immediately after marched into Cat’s office.

But the real surprise came when Kara got home.

A private courier came to her door, carrying a simple brown envelope. “Kara Danvers?” the young man asked, receiving a nod and a signature from Kara before scurrying off for his next assignment. Kara frowned, closing the door before tearing at the envelope. This is from Lena Luthor?

Her eyes widened at the contents. A Ferrari order slip, complete with an address in Italy and written permission for Supergirl to carry the car away. A location on a private rooftop parking garage in National City, to deliver the vehicle to. “Whenever is most convenient for you,” Lena’s handwritten note said.

She knows who I am, Kara thought, glancing up with wide eyes, before looking back down, rereading the note. How…

Well, Kara had a task.

She found herself taking off early the next morning for Maranello, soon finding herself carrying off a platinum convertible, identical to the one she had destroyed. Her fingers itched at the container, hoping that Lena would be there when she landed with the car.

Kara hadn’t expected the tight leather tank top wrapped perfectly around Lena’s body, causing Kara to momentarily drop the cargo while she desperately remembered how not to swallow her own tongue. Luckily, she had been able to catch the crate before it crashed through the roof of LCorp Tower. She placed the crate down softly on the parking lot, landing beside it. “Miss Luthor,” Kara said.

“Thank you,” Lena replied, glancing appreciatively at the car.

“How did you know?” Kara asked. How did you know who I was?

Lena quirked a brow. “Those glasses do nothing for you, Supergirl.”

Kara watched as the other woman took steps towards her, as she tugged her coat closed against the cool morning air (or perhaps to prevent Kara from being further distracted). Lena paused a couple feet away, opened her mouth as thought to speak, but hesitated - mouth closing again in a thoughtful frown.

“Are you alright?” Kara asked.

“Yes,” Lena responded, “Just- thinking about us. I don’t want to scare you.”

Scare me?, Kara thought. The note had certainly made her feel… uneasy. But Kara knew that Lena had given a critical card away in letting Kara know she knew her identity. It was a gesture of goodwill, not a threat. “I think I can take you,” Kara tried to joke.

Supersenses are a funny thing. Kara could easily detect the slight dilation of interest in Lena’s pupils, the small uptick in heartbeat. “I certainly wouldn’t mind,” Lena said breezily, resulting in heat burning on Kara’s face at what exactly that meant.

But Lena moved on. “The bigger issue is that I have kryptonite,” Lena said, “Lex’s kryptonite.”

“Kryptonite?!”

“I would never use it against you,” Lena said, “Or- well-”

“Or?” Kara asked. Or?! “You want me to believe you’re the good Luthor, who also wants to use kryptonite on me?”

“Yes,” Lena said, “For good reason.”

Kara’s brow crinkled. This is insane.

“I’m part of an old money family. A circle that receives… certain invitations,” Lena said, “To certain kinds of entertainment.”

“Entertainment?”

Lena bit nervously at her lip, watching Kara with concerned eyes. Kara found herself shifting on her feet, tilting her head in thought, trying to convey an openness that she wasn’t entirely sure she was feeling.

But it was enough for Lena. “How would you like to take down an alien fight club?”

----

Continued in Fight Club.

[after-witch]

Bookworm [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Title: Bookworm [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Synopsis: Mahito doesn't like that you have an interest in a book character.

Word count: 1787

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, mentions of other people being tortured/killed, supreme self indulgence of the highest order

“Who is the smiling man?” 

The silence that had existed between the two of you was broken by a question that made you flinch. Well, why not? Mahito has been quiet all morning--and afternoon, actually, which perhaps should have startled you more than his sudden words. 

But you were too happy to enjoy some quiet (you would never say “peace and quiet,” not down here, not with him); all too happy to curl up in your haphazard nest on the floor with some books that took  you away from this place. Away from Mahito.

Who was, of course, still here. Lounging in his hammock with a pile of books sagging down the netting. 

You couldn’t tell exactly what he was reading from down here--you probably needed new glasses, a subject you were certainly not going to bring up with Mahito, who might reiterate his offer to “fix” your eyes. It looked like a bundle of pages stapled together. Maybe he went to the library and printed off obscure articles to read again. 

“Hey,” he calls down, and the first hint of worry begins to prickle on your arms at his uncharacteristically serious tone, “Answer me.”

Your mind stutters, tries to put one word in front of the other, and make sense of it all. 

The smiling man? The smiling man, the… ah. From Small Spaces. The otherworldly supernatural entity who lives in a world behind mist and has a penchant for making deals with people for their greatest wishes. 

It’s not your fault that you haven’t thought about him in ages. It’s not like you had copies of your books with you, and the fun you had with imagining him in an endless number of scenarios had fallen by the wayside considering your circumstances. 

It’s hard to daydream about worlds behind mist and cornfield servants when you’re watching people be turned into grotesque experiments that had them, sometimes quite literally and loudly, begging for death.

Mahito is looking down at you now, staring expectantly. 

“He’s a character,” you say, fidgeting on the floor. “From a book series.” You look down, flip a page in your book, although you haven’t finished reading the last one, and ask, casually as you can muster: “Why?”

Mahito, up above, flips a page. You can hear the wobble in the paper--not a bound book, that’s for certain. And there’s some low, primal sense that shivers through you which says, plainly, that he’s actually reading whatever’s in front of him. 

“You write about him a lot.”

Oh.

Low, slimy dread filters into your stomach. Thick and gelatinous, resting at the bottom of your belly like an unwanted slug. 

“I… don’t know what you mean,” you say, voice only half-there, because while you are apparently stupid enough to lie to Mahito’s face, you’re not stupid enough to think he’ll believe you. 

You are just stupid enough to think that he won’t know exactly how deep your interest in this particular character goes; before Mahito took you, you thought about him all the time. You’d take walks and daydream about him, write story after story; you’d even commissioned fanart of him, because it wasn’t like there was a plethora of fanart for a character from a middle grade horror book. 

Mahito huffs out a sigh. Quick and short, it sends a shock right down your stomach. 

“Get you a man,” he starts, and confusion buzzes through your brain until he continues. “Who is an otherworldly entity that is so petty when an 11 year old beats him that he traps her in another world, leaving her to a fate worse than death, and laughs until he cries about it.”

You wrote that. There’s a vague memory of when you posted it--after you’d taken a walk, you think, and reread your favorite parts in the books for a few hours. But the way Mahito says it makes it sound--you don’t know how to explain it. Like saying the words out loud almost pains him; they come out clipped and bitter. 

Bitter? But why?

He doesn’t stop there. He reads something else, voice getting higher, almost mocking the way you talk. And that bitterness is still there, a thread continuing through every syllable.

“What if we kissed in the corn maze before you turned me into a scarecrow servant whose soul slowly gets dried out and useless and in the end you feed it, crunchy and tasteless, to your hellhound.” 

He takes a breath. Then--

“One particular aspect of the Smiling Man’s cruelty that I truly adore is that he can make people feel understood. He can make them feel like he cares, like he’s lending a listening ear, like he’s wanting to help them out and make them feel nice.”

Another breath--and he continues, again and again, reading your posts. Quoting your stories. Listing off the titles, the imagine posts, everything you’ve said about him.

All the while, bitter and mocking, his voice raising now and then in an imitation of your own. 

Then he gets to the last page of his clearly self-created tome and stares down at you, waiting, expectant. 

And you… you actually glare up at him. 

Because you're scared, sure. You’re always scared in some way, when you’re with Mahito. But there’s something else too, something that digs its way out of the rot in your gut and sticks up a petulant middle finger.

How dare he do this. How dare he take something that was yours and make it his; put it in his mouth and sneer over it. 

“Have you been--” Your mouth sticks together, refusing to let you accuse him of what you know he’s been doing. Stalking your online profiles. “That’s… that’s private,” is what you finally mutter, cheeks feeling hot and that half-buried petulance pushing you forward. “It’s not any of your business.” 

“Private?” He mutters the word softly, cradling the sound.

And then--

Mahito doesn’t often move fast around you. He prefers to be slow, languid. Calculating. You think it’s because that terrifies you more.

But now, in a moment, he goes from being slouched in his hammock to leaping down and crouching right in your face--there’s sudden pain in your head, and you realize he’s grabbed your hair and yanked it back.

That metaphorical middle finger sinks back down into the slimy gut sludge.

“Not from me,” he says, low, a warning. “Not for you.”

This is all it takes for tears to prick inside your eyes.

Mahito’s lips quirk up. Just a little. Just enough for you to notice.

“You’re going to cry already? I didn’t even do anything.”

Your eyes dart up and back, towards where he’s currently gripping your hair hard enough for it to sting.

He sighs through his nose. “This isn’t anything. You know that. Don’t be childish now.”

But--he lets go of your hair, and doesn’t grab for you when you scoot backwards on your blanket nest. Instead, he plops himself down, crossing his legs and resting his chin on his elbow.

You don’t speak. You don’t want to, and you don’t know what to say. Sometimes it’s better to be quiet around Mahito, so he doesn’t get ideas. Although he comes up with them on his own just fine, even if you try to stay silent.

It’s Mahito who breaks the silence.

“Why do you like him so much?”

How silly, to feel embarrassed right now. With the creature in front of you, and what he can do. But that’s what makes your cheeks burn: embarrassment. 

“I don’t know,” you mumble, because while you are stupid in so many ways, you’re still smart enough to know he wants an answer. “I guess I just like antagonist characters sometimes.” Well, most of the time. But it’s better to keep that from Mahito, if you can.

Mahito’s lips quirk here and there while he thinks. Then he looks at you with something like genuine confusion.

“You say that you like how awful he is. The awful things he does. So…” He tilts his head a little. “You should like me. Right?”

Your fingers pick at the loose threads of your clothes. Your eyes don’t meet his entirely--they flick up and down, from your legs to his face. 

“It’s not the same thing,” is what you come up with. But how to explain that to a curse?

Mahito frowns. 

“I don’t understand.” No bitterness, no pouting. A simple statement of fact.

“He’s not real.” You swallow against the minefield that all of this is making you step through, hoping you’ll avoid them. “But you are. That makes it different.” 

Mahito leans forward, grabbing your wrists, pulling you closer to him with a yanking, childish gesture.

“So you should like me more,” he says, a slight pout in his tone. “Because I can really do those things.” His eyebrows raise, and you swear you can hear a buzzing light bulb go off. “I could turn someone into a scarecrow for you.” He smiles, sudden, excited. “Do you want me to find some school children to torment?”

“No!” Your voice cracks. There are brief images in your mind--the people he’s tortured and killed, experimented with, before you were here and while you’re here and probably after you’re dead and gone--and you shake them away. 

Mahito’s eyebrows furrow. He groans and rolls his eyes backwards until they are entirely white, not in mockery or an attempt to scare you, but in irritation. Fingers squeeze your wrists briefly and let go, and you stay quiet, trying to fight your urge to cry, until Mahito slowly rolls his eyes back to stare at you.

His gaze flicks over you, until he catches your eyes with his. 

“You won’t write about him anymore.”

You don’t take a moment to answer this time.

“I won’t.”

“You won’t read those books anymore.”

“I won’t,” you stay. “I haven’t. I--don’t even have copies anymore.”

Mahito smiles, a little. Maybe it’s a good thing you never asked him to find you a copy, a thought which had been a brief temptation a while back.

And then he leans in closer again, until his nose touches yours.

“You won’t think about him anymore,” he says, quiet, solemn. Not an order but a matter of fact. 

You don’t answer. You swallow against a bitter taste in  your throat; you swear, sometimes, that the sludge in your gut is real and tries to make its way out sometimes.

Mahito presses his nose against yours until it starts to hurt.

“You won’t,” he says again, this time more to himself. “I’ll make sure of it.”

[yrenesbrainrotss]

aeveryone so often writes about what would happen if the reader got into the Dream BBQ world, but what would happen if ENA got into the human world and met the reader? This could happen in many ways, but the most understandable one for me is through the BATHROOM. I don't know if this will be interesting to you, but I would be very grateful if you would consider this request)

A/N: Hellooo! I managed to write your request FINALLY and i hope it came out okayyy🫶🏻

read pt.2 here

Enjoyyy💘

•Summary: You meet a strange barely conscious girl.

•pronouns : not specified

•warnings :none!

♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱

Trying to hold on to your last drop of consciousness felt like a real chore right now.Cheek smushed against the palm of your hand, a pencil in the other as you tried to desperately revise for your upcoming test, seemed like a desperate attempt at staying awake. The letters on the white paper in front of you seemed to move and dance , your brain fog making it hard to decipher or make any sense of them.

Your roommate was gone at another party tonight, and it seemed like you were the only one wasting your youth on learning and overworking yourself. She was usually like this,always having some sort gathering with her group,always visiting places while you were stuck in your small college dorm room.You weren’t failing classes and you certainly weren’t a genius, the efforts you put in school only made you an average student trying their best to hold on to their scholarship. Instead of rereading that paper in front of you your mind kept drifting to your highschool days.

You were thriving back then, never missing a party or event, living life to the fullest. You even had a boyfriend and a friend group with whom you’d always hang out and go on road trips with. Unfortunately you all went on separate ways, two of your friends wanted to pursue a career in law and the other medicine, like you. As for your boyfriend, you didn’t really miss him, you knew your relationship wouldn’t last forever,the thought of going to college was a very painful thought for him, so it was only natural you left him behind for an attempt at a life you desired.

As these thoughts plagued your mind you felt a sudden urge to go to the bathroom. You swinged your legs off of the bed and carried you sleepy self across the squeaky wooden floor. However,now in front of the white bathroom door, the sound of a few bottles clattering could be heard from behind it. You took a few steps back,a grimace plastered on your face. Maybe it was a bat? You did forget the small bathroom window open..

You hesitated for a moment but you pushed the restroom door open,peeking your head through the door slowly,with caution. Gazing across the bathroom you didn’t notice anything out of place, maybe your laundry threwn on the marble tiles but the coast was pretty much clear. “Huh…am I being paranoid right now..maybe i should really get some- AH!”

As you closed the door and turned around you were met with a pair of wide eyes boring into yours. You backed away against the wall completely frozen-your mouth couldn’t muster any words due to your shock,your heartbeat was ringing in your ears, and you were sure they could hear it too. You started to edge along the wall, barely breathing, but they moved with you—like they weren’t gonna let you out of their sight.

At closer inspection you could see that this person was a young woman, maybe in her 20’s, kneeling on the floor with her hands in her lap,with a short black bob and bangs. Her clothing reminded you of an asian highschooler,with a green hat to match her shorts. She looked pale and almost sick,eyes wide and empty bored into your very own wide glass orbs.

“Uh..can I help you…miss..?” You asked nervously.

Still stuck with you back against the wall,you tried to speak up through your fear. She just tilted her head sideways and parted her pale-bluish lips “Ena…”. Then,she tries to stand—slow, unsteady, a hand gripping the edge of a desk chair—but her legs gave out almost immediately. You catch her before she hits the floor. Her body’s cold, heavy with sleep and the weight of what you supposed was a really bad hangover. Sighing you curse yourself for your bad luck and massage your temples in exasperation.You hesitate for a moment, glancing around the room. The floor is out of the question so it’s gonna be your bed then.

You lift her cold body and gently support Ena in your arms and carry her to your plush bed. She stirs a little as you lay her down, murmurs something incoherent, then curls up against the pillow. You stand there a second longer than you need to, watching her breathe,thinking about how in the world you got into this position,a strange sick woman in your bed,sleeping without a care in the world,then head to your roommate’s empty bed for the night.

You’re almost asleep when you hear the sound of the squeaky bed next to you, then the soft clicking of a pair of shoes. A moment later you feel the mattress dip behind you-her weight settling next to yours. She makes herself comfortable,her forehead pressed lightly against your back,a arm sneaking underneath the covers and embracing your warm middle. You let out a small gasp,surprised by the coldness of her arm and her boldness, you however didnt make any attempt at pushing her away or ushering her to go into the other bed in the other side of the room.

You turn, slowly, carefully, and she meets you halfway—tucking herself against your chest like she’s been there a hundred times before. Without thinking, your arms go around her. She sighs, content, and your body relaxes into hers like it’s the only place it wants to be.

You hold her close, instinct more than intention, your hand resting gently on her back. She fits against you like she’s been there forever, like this is normal. But it’s not.

Just earlier, you didn’t even know her name. You found her in your bathroom—barely conscious, hungover, looking at you like she wasn’t sure what planet she was on. And now she’s here, in your bed, curled up in your arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You exhale slowly, fingers brushing through her hair, soft and tangled from sleep. She shifts slightly, and without thinking, you press a kiss to the top of her head. It feels too intimate, too easy.

What the hell are you doing?

You stare at the peeling paint on ceiling for a moment, your heart calm, your thoughts anything but. Somehow, in the blur of everything, this happened. And now she’s here, breathing slow and steady against your chest, like none of it needs explaining.

[ddragonqueenn]

To Take Care of You

Word count: 1,280

Summary: People fade from his life as fast as crops when out of season, when confronted with the fragile mortality of those he knows now, Aventurine panics. (Or, you pass out in front of him and get nursed back to health. Badly, but helped all the same.)

Tags: Mostly fluff, but it's got a sad air to it, Aventurine carries the misery with him always, the tragedy is his appeal, reader is like an irate cat who doesn't want to be held, Aventurine is trying to be silly about how much he wants to hold reader, you're not sly bitch we know you're down bad

Notes: my beta reader said it was a fun and light read, but still goes into the emotional details that I love about him. So. Have fun

Would you consider yourself a sickly person? Not by any means, no… Sure, there's an ache when you first awake, and oftentimes your joints disagree with exertion- disagree loudly. With pain. But overall, you don't suffer from anything but being lazy, truly. The tired fog is because you yearn for bed (not from a breakfast skipped days in a row. And a lunch skipped… some days you pass on dinner, too. Definitely not), sympathy should seldom be given to those who refuse to better themselves.

Aventurine chatters as you pick at your meal, paid for by the chirping peacock across. He invited you out for a bite to eat, saying he got a bonus at work and wants to spoil his dearest friend.

…You feel just a little faint, but it's brushed off easy with a bite, “...Really? Pearl voted to keep you?” You comment; something about a trial by the other Stonehearts that Aventurine had to go through after his work trip.

“Yeah- I was shocked too!” He nods, shifting up his collar. The conversation continues, Aventurine's work stories make interesting topics- though, sometimes he must be lying, an Emanator of Nihility? THEY don't gaze at anyone…

Your legs feel strangely weak as you stand, a sudden daze blurring up your vision as the table and chair become convenient supports for your stumbling body- Aventurine guides you back to the chair, hand resting on your shoulder, “Hey- hey, friend, don't stand if you can't. How about this-” the concern fades to an salesman-like voice, though his worry remains an undertone, “I could carry you back to my car! Bridal style, nice and romantic!” He teases.

You shake your head- and quickly regret the decision. Strange, dizziness like this shouldn't last too long, and you even ate something today! But, you should be in good health, therefore, you push his hand away and force yourself to stand, “I can walk-”

A statement which is quickly proven false as you eat dirt. Or… concrete. Wood? It's hard to tell what you're now laying against, but it's certainly something more solid than how you feel. Or, how you would feel, if your consciousness didn't slip as fast as your feet.

Aventurine stares down at your limp (dead?) body, frozen with a stupid smile before he crouches down, “...Friend?” He asks, mumbling a quiet apology as he presses two fingers to your pulse, the tension leaving his shoulders as he feels a consistent and steady flow of blood just under. He sighs, standing up and tapping his foot, “Oh… what to do with you, dearest troublemaker…?”

Opting to pick you up, as he suggested earlier, Aventurine leans down and scoops you into his arms, carrying you out to his car.

He stands over your bed. Sits down. Stands. Paces. Stands. He can't hold still, worry makes him sick, but he's worried over you being sick. You're hot to the touch; Aventurine replaces the towel he's set over your forehead (ignoring the fact that he did so only 3 minutes ago, his hands need to do something), wiping off his hands before he checks his phone, rereading Ratio's advice.

His eyes scan over the words from the doctor, lowering his phone to look between the text and your limp, ill body. Aventurine grits his teeth- you've been ill, but you haven't been eating. You passed out from the lack of food, a simple cold like yours won't make a person faint, but both are mixing together to make your condition much worse.

“...Skipping meals,” the hypocrite mutters to himself, “What were you thinking…” He shakes his head, standing up to go cook something.

You wake up to the smell of… soup. Soup, an utter mountain of blankets, and the walls of your room. It's a struggle to sit up, and the second you do Aventurine practically pushes you down, “No no no- stay down, it's not good for you,” he chides, “You know what is ideal for you? Liquids, salt, and actually eating a proper meal.”

You stare at him for a minute, “...How am I supposed to eat while lying down?”

…Aventurine blinks. He reaches over to tug down the blankets with a huff, “Touché. But after you finish, lie right back down- and don't forget to drink water, and stay under all of those blankets. I'm going to leave and buy some medicine for your cold.”

You swallow a spoonful of soup, chewing on a softened potato, “...I'm not dying,” you deadpan.

“You don't know that-” He toys with his gloves, tugging them down over his hands, “A common cold is much more deadly than anyone assumes. Finish that, your body needs it.”

You resent, not quite in a fighting mood. Picking through the soup, it seems to be some pre-packaged beef broth with a mix of potatoes, carrots, chicken. No noodles, though. Granted, the only kind of noodle in the house is spaghetti. You take another spoonful as Aventurine closes the door behind him.

You could've sworn you saw his hand shake for a moment.

Aventurine drops a bag near comically filled with medicines. He hands you most of the strange remedies, even child’s cough syrup and regular cough syrup- which you try to push off, before hacking up some of your own phlegm.

Sorting through his medicine, you end up taking a painkiller, the aforementioned cough syrup, and he manages to talk you into an antihistamine. Aventurine smiles, leaning back and cleaning his hands like he just finished with hard labor, “So, feeling better?”

“I just took them.” You lean over to grab your water bottle, taking another sip. Aventurine practically deflates, crossing his arms, before leaning forward to fuss with the way the blankets sit over your lap.

He brushes a gloved hand down your hair, smoothing it down, “You can't fault me for wanting my dearest friend to recover fast, can you? You wound my poor, aching heart.” He closes his eyes, clutching his own chest as though his heart were truly damaged by words alone.

“I don't need you to take care of me,” Your hands tense over the metal, head turning to the side, away from his hand, “I'll recover on my own. I don't need someone to dote on me.”

Aventurine slides his hand down to the opposite shoulder, pushing you back down to the bed. He leans down, pressing his face against your neck, down to your collar, “But isn't it nice? I bought out a whole pharmacy for you- well, not quite… But still, I'm treating you like royalty!”

Your hands push against his shoulders, “I don't want pampering, I don't want a pile of medicine I'll never use, I don't want to be treated like a hapless maiden in a tower!”

To your surprise, your pushing gets Aventurine to lift up. His expression is something you've never seen- on him that is- upset and conflicted. He blinks, stutters, stares, deciding to lean down once again, this time pressing his face to your stomach. Your strength fails you as you can barely push him off, his hands squeeze you before suddenly moving to a hug instead.

“...Just let me take care of you,” Aventurine pleads. It's weak, his voice is pathetic and small, you can feel his left hand shake as he grasps you like you'll fade into dust otherwise, “Please.”

He reaches up, interlocking fingers and- you don't have the heart to decline him further. You lightly squeeze his hand, “...Fine.”

You've recovered in due time, though… You stare at the very entertaining message from the doctor, containing an image of a poor, sickly Aventurine and text informing you that he had passed out.