#also feel free to ask questions despite the hiatus!

[violinist-rachel]

Howdy! This is Dynjir (mod) speaking!

First of all, a giant thank you to everyone who follows and keeps up with this blog! This is my first time ever making a blog like this and so far it's been so much fun!! I've been drawing CoN stuff for nearly 4 months straight now (which is still pretty nuts to me), but now, I'm afraid I'm reaching a limit!

Not only has my physical health not been great lately, there's some projects related to my career that I want to focus on, and I need to take some things off my plate until they're done.

Announcing a break like this will also help me mentally so that I don't feel a never-ending pressure to keep updating all the time. Even if the blog's just for fun, I am very task driven, and despite having enough content queued up for weeks on advance, I'll still feel like I have to constantly make/find more content to post. If I don't do this, I'll feel like I'm always on a timer that only ticks down @-@;;

So things will be quiet around here for a bit bc I won't be queueing anything either during the break (for the reason stated above). I also won't be giving out a time on when I'll be coming back, but hopefully, it won't be for too long (bc I still have ideas I wanna draw out)!

Thanks for keeping up with this blog! Until the next update, cya and take care!

[margarine-archives]

Could I possibly request a Capsaicin Cookie x female reader dating headcanons for when ur requests are open again? (First time requesting, hope I didn’t say anything bad/wrong 😭😭) ty!!

General Dating HCs with: Capsaicin Cookie !

note: hello ! I feel as if this request was such perfect timing (my little capsaicin draft has been sitting for awhile !) with that, I'm afraid this doesn't mention a feminine reader due to the fact this was made weeks prior, so I apologize for that ! I hope you may still enjoy this !

I apologize for my abrupt hiatus aswell, I have been hyperfixated on other things (the owl house !) but now I have returned ! I am planning on a fluff alphabet for a certain cookie ! ~

- upon realization before your relationship, capsaicin is hesitant, both in admitting his admiration for you and the possibility of commiting to a relationship. He's afraid of you fearing him overtime, or even after knowing about his affections for you

- harming you is the last thing he wants to happen, even if his entire reason for liking you is because you embraced him, embraced every bit of flaw he had despite the dangers he may cause, erupt, despite having the power to turn you to burnt crumbs, it was like you didn't care about such risks.. He's concerned, yet at the same time, his sweet, crumbled heart felt like melting lava !

- you made him feel free from the confinements of invisible shackles, to feel lighter despite the huge mountain of insecurities that weighed him down, you made him feel like .. well, him !

- he wanted to grow closer to you, to embrace you aswell ! but alongside, he wanted to distance himself as far away from you as possible. He sees you as a cookie too fragile, who might crumble the moment he touches you !

- this may take months- even years ! unless you are aware of his lingering emotions, then please do talk him out of this phase ! You don't know how much he yearns for your touch, but simply cannot because of his dying heat ( you may or may not have asked prune juice cookie for a fire resistance potion ! )

- upon the course of dating, capsaicin is a very clingy man, both in public and in private. Nearly his entire life without any form of physical cookie contact took a huge toll on him ! He is, without his knowledge, a very touch starved man. Though if you address your concerns about PDA then he will stop immediately ( a bit sulky about it but he gets over it overtime ! )

- public affection aside, he can get quite possessive aswell, not from ill intentions or anything ! Capsaicin has an extremely low self esteem, any cookie he sees interacting with you ( especially if its a suitor of yours ) automatically makes him think that the cookie is more deserving of you than he ever will

- if you do dislike PDA, then he is more eager to staying indoors rather than being outside ( that's quite the surprise ! ). It's like his firing heart might die out if he goes on a day without holding your hand ! Must you talk so long with a friend of yours ? he already misses your sweet touch !

- your suitors could treat you way better than he can, they would let you live a love life without any form of danger - you're safer with any other cookie other than capsaicin ! yet you decided to choose him.

- he constantly ponders if he even has the qualities of being a good partner, often questioning the things he does for you. He wonders if his efforts lack more .. effort, that maybe your suitors can truly be a better partner than him, a dangerous cookie since his youngest days. He doesn't want you to have to risk being in danger because of him !

- capsaicin refuses to listen to any other reassurances if its not from you, but he also dislikes speaking up about it, he doesn't want any cookie to feel the pressure of having to reassure him, even if cookies like kouign-amann wouldn't mind such things

- the good thing is that it's noticeable whenever he does feel upset about something, and whether it's about insecurities or his own trauma, please do comfort him ! give him physical affection and lots of praise ! he'll think that he doesn't deserve such words but it does feel nice to hear someone say that to him, especially you !

- capsaicin cookie dislikes being restrained, it doesn't matter what place ! so your dates are very frequent, if not everyday. He simply likes roaming around earthbread, hands swaying back and forth as he rambles endlessly about his friends' antics !

- alongside this, I have a strong feeling that he over prepares before he goes out on your date. He has to make sure he is prepared for anything and everything ! But for some reason he somehow forgets an item or two, one time you both went on a picnic date and he forgot the flowers !

- loves holding hands with you ! Whether it be for comfort, to ground his inner self, or to show small affections for you, playing with your fingers or massaging your palms

- likes showing off his strength to you ! In public and in private. He feels that it is a must - do requirement to prove himself to you ! To show off that you are dating a strong cookie, a cookie that has a burning passion for you !

- below the surface of hot lava, he can be very soft spoken with you, he feels so much trust and comfort in you to the point that it doesn't feel like a constant requirement to appear strong and mighty, because any other cookie, strong or weak, can have their opposite moments too !

- despite the mindset he has of needing to prove himself useful to you, capsaicin cookie is now aware that this isn't how healthy relationships work, and that you simply wont leave him for even the slightest bit of weakness shown. He is learning to love himself just as much as he loves you !

[theyandereonmyoji]

General Yandere Silver the Hedgehog Headcanons

Well, I’ve been receiving quite a few requests for Silver, so I thought that, before responding any of those, I should post some of my general headcanons (Also sorry about the hiatus, but thankfully I should be free for a long while) TW: implied murder and kidnapping

This sweet, naive hedgehog would take a long time before he realized he felt anything…special towards you. He’s just happy to have friends he can talk to. After all, he can get pretty lonely back in his future, even with how much he wants to make friends and hang out with them, he can’t. However, after a long while, he starts asking himself tons of questions about his behavior. Like why do his eyes wander off to where you are when hanging out with a bunch of your mutual friends, or why does he get so nervous when you two are alone. Whether his feelings towards you are purely platonic or even romantic, he’ll eventually realize how truly intense his feelings are.

His attitude towards you wouldn't change much on a surface level, he’s still the eager, optimistic hedgehog that wears his heart on his sleeves and likes to be around you. Yet, those traits that would make him a lovable dork in most situations, is what ultimately causes him to be rather intense when you two are together. He’s basically like an overgrown puppy, lovable and ultimately doesn’t want to cause you any issues, yet he can be extremely overbearing and not allow you to have any personal space. It doesn’t matter how boring or mundane your activities are for the day, he’s always there, for better or for worse.

If one day you decide that he’s just too intense for you and ask him to please leave you alone for a while, he will give be noticeably sad even if he tries to hide it, but he will leave you alone…for a little while anyways, him lasting a day without you is a miracle, but eventually he’ll beg you for you two to hang out again, swearing that he will try to give you your space, but to please let him be around you again. And honestly you would need to be heartless to say no to the poor guy, he’s just trying his best, can you really stay mad at him for long? From then on, he respects your personal space a bit more, though he does still have his moments where that type of behavior can resurface.

Despite how sweet and caring he is towards you (and towards any of his friends really) He can be quite…serious for a lack of a better term. If he sees anything or anyone that he might consider a threat, well, mercy might not be in his vocabulary that day. Honestly it’s like a on/off switch, one moment he’s being the sweetest cinnamon roll to ever exist towards all of his friends, and even more towards you, the next he’s willing to commit murder for your sake. Trust me when I say you want to stop him before things get messy, if not for the sake of whatever poor fella crossed him that day, at least to have a healthy conscience at the end of that day. After all, Silver sees no reason to hide what he’s willing to do for you

The poor boy gets jealous easily and he’s terrible at hiding it. The thing he’s not terrible at is gaslighting himself though. After all, there’s no way he would ever harm someone innocent, they must be evil in some way, he just knows you’re not safe with them. Pray to whatever god you believe in (or to good luck if you’re not religious, whatever works) that he doesn’t find enough “evidence” to support his claim that your friend is a menace, because once he does, there’s no stopping him. He’s a stubborn one, and in his eyes, it’s not like he’s doing anything wrong. He’s just keeping everyone you safe away from that bastard, but it’s ok now, they’ll be gone soon, so don’t worry about it, ok?

I hope you like gifts, because with Silver you’re going to get a lot of hand-made ones. He wishes nothing more than to make you smile, and he figured out that a good way to do so would be gifts. Baked good, some small crafts, he’ll try to make anything, and while they might not be of the best quality, it’s the intention that counts, and again, you would have to be absolutely heartless to tell him that you don’t like his gifts, especially with those puppy eyes of his. He’s just so happy when you acknowledge all of his hard work to make you happy, he just can’t get enough of your smile, it’s almost like oxygen to him, he just can’t get enough of it. He’s willing to do anything for you, quite literally. 

Silver probably has the least stable breaking point out of everyone, mostly cuz he’s so used to thinking about how everything can go wrong due to his ruined future, that basically anything happening to you is catastrophic in his eyes. You got a scratch? He panics, a fight with someone? Pray they get a quick death. Eventually as things get worse and worse (according to him anyways) he’ll decide that he’s had enough and not let you go anywhere without him, or more accurately, let you go anywhere at all. Reasoning with him is impossible, after all he’s as stubborn as can get, and as much as he loves you, he’s not taking no for an answer, after all it’s all for your sake, so shouldn’t you be happy?

The only possible way I can see you escaping from him is if you somehow gain his trust enough for him to let his guard down, slip up, and give you a chance to peace out…but good luck with that. It isn’t that he wouldn’t trust you, but he’s just incapable of being apart from you, so a moment when you’re alone are too few and far between, I doubt you would even have a proper plan to escape him. In the case you somehow do manage to do so, your freedom won’t last long, he’s really adept with that psychokinesis of his, so the moment he sees you it’s game over. He would try to justify to himself why would you ever want to run away, after all, it’s impossible for him to see what he did wrong, you probably were just anxious, but no need to worry, he will always be there for you

[dysfunctional-doodle]

Rough plans for the Weird Science AU that is still in the works despite its hiatus!

The Weird Science AU is going to be a rough comic about what if Donnie was the only one that survived the initial Krang fight in the movie. More details about it here or in the “weird science au” tag.

DISCLAIMERS:

Firstly, I am a student (full time). So updates might not be as fast as I would like as I am very busy studying!

Secondly, I’ve only been drawing for a year so I lack experience with art. I am also trying to fix that, but no criticism unless it’s constructive, thank you!

I have a Kofi page! This will post additional things like deleted scenes (because I have so many drafts it’s not even funny) as well as sneak peaks if I feel the comic is stalling in production. I’m not asking for tips or anything if you can’t do it, just letting you know that I won’t be posting these things on my main account!

My Kofi is here if anyone is interested :)

Finally, feel free to asks questions! They are always open :)

Reblogs are greatly appreciated, I would like to see how many people are potentially interested in a time travelling Donnie AU with a bunch of trauma, I love angst too much.

I want to credit @somerandomdudelmao ‘s future au for this inspiration and making me love future Donnie so much. This legend has made my favourite comic series, I hope you know that Cass. My hyperfixation is because of you, curses!

[king-paimon]

Houseki no Kuni Chapter 103 Thoughts: Can't Stop the Inevitable But It'll Be OK (Maybe...)

Hello hello hello. Long time no see, Houseki no Kuni fandom! How have you all been? It's been a while. That hiatus Ms. Haruko Ichikawa took much longer than expected. That's fine by me because I've been pretty busy these past few months. Mostly the usual stuff; had some major ups and downs for me and those who I care about, annoying work/life events, though I had the wonderful opportunity to branch out and meet people who could help me with my career, found some new stuff to obsess over, etc. I honestly forgot about Houseki no Kuni for a little while until I saw the announcement about the latest chapter.

And now here we are.

This chapter was very dialogue heavy, though fairly straightforward. It seems to confirm some of the thoughts and theories other fans and myself had made back in chapter 102, though I left me asking a few new questions. They aren't big questions, but I just can't help but wonder...

This will definitely be one of my shorter posts because I don't have any big analytical thoughts here, just with lots of pictures from the chapter, so I'll make sure to add the spoiler tag. As always, please feel free to share your own thoughts in this post and sorry in advance for any mistakes or ramblings. Might add more later, but I can't promise anything.

Anyways, here we go!

It'll Be OK: Liberation Of Internalized Suffering

The interaction in this chapter was interesting. Like I stated above, this chapter confirms that Phos is scared of corrupting the new rock species or being the catalyst that would cause humanity to come back. They don't want to be the source of suffering again, even if it meant destroying the very last remaining piece of their original self. They were ready to do whatever it took to prevent that from happening, even by having the entity who hated humanity do the deed.

But what surprised me a little in this chapter was Eyeball. For one, even though he could have fulfilled Phos's request, he didn't. He claims that there's only a trace of humanity on Phos's remaining piece, but states that it'd go away over time, therefore there's no reason to destroy it, even though Phos initially wanted that. I'll get back to this part later.

The other thing that surprised me was how Eyeball was able to placate Phos's current mindset, at least for a little bit, and he do it in an interesting way. Eyeball basically told Phos "Hey, your fear might come true... but it'll be okay. If if comes to that, I'll figure something out. And you shouldn't worry too much about it even if it happens because all things will come to an end one day, including us, and things will start over again in some way. There's no point in stressing about that future, so don't worry about it."

In some ways, I kind of see this as Eyeball liberating Phos by taking some of their burdens onto himself by him stating that he'd be the one to figure out what to do if humanity did come back, not Phos, all the while dispelling Phos's other concerns by stating that Phos shouldn't waste their time worrying about what could happen. Phos's fears might come true... but so what? That's just how things go. Somethings are just out of your control and change is inevitable. Yes, it's stressful to worry about but that's just how it is. That's the strange beauty of it all, at least that's how I see it.

And I don't know about you, but I just really liked Eyeball's monologue through these pages.

In the end, I think this interaction helped Phos by the fact that despite their fears, they chose to tell the pebbles about what the Professor said and humanity. Because even though Phos understands that humanity is capable of doing horrible things, thanks to their own experience as a sufferer and perpetrator, they also understand that there are parts of humanity that is capable of creating wonderful things. I'm glad that Phos is the one who wants to take this task. Despite everything, Phos is taking it upon themselves to be the one to teach these aspects to the pebbles so they can have the freedom to figure out how they can learn and evolve from this point onwards. It may lead to a better version of "humanity" or it could lead to something very similar. Who knows? But at least Phos is (hopefully) giving them what they need to figure themselves out.

What will come from this interaction is anyone's guess and I'm hoping we will soon see within the next, and hopefully last, couple of chapters.

The Last Piece Of The Past: Why Keep it?

One of the things that this chapter left me questioning was the final piece of the original Phosphophyllite. Not only is this the last remainder of Phos, but it may be the very last piece of the last human descendants; not just for the gems, but for the admirabilis and the lunarians. If what Eyeball said about the Lunarians intentionally leaving a piece of Phos's untarnished self behind is true, my question.. is why? Why did they leave this behind in Phos?

Was this for Phos's benefit somehow? Is it supposed to remind them of their origins or who they represented they obtained their final deity form? Or is the piece supposed to serve as some sort of artifact that could be beneficial for future organisms that would form over the course of time?

At this point, I have no clue. If anyone has any theories, please feel free to add them or post them!

Until Next Time! (Hopefully sooner than 4 months...)

That's honestly all that I have at this point in time for this post. I may come back to it and add more, but I can't promise anything. I don't know how my future posts for the hopefully last chapters will go, but I'll be honest... I can't wait to see it end. I enjoyed this story and I'm still looking forward to see what happens next, but I'm ready to it end.

For those of you who like these rambles, thank you so much! I still love seeing everyone's thoughts and I can't wait to see what people think of this chapter.

Hopefully this will be the last hiatus Ms. Ichikawa will have and we'll be facing the true final stretch of this story.

Or maybe we'll face another hiatus after another couple of chapters.

We'll see.

See you later!

[kyyuri]

to be or not ! -yang jungwon

special chap ! the fund raiser (smau + written)

★彡 synopsis: what happens when y/n, who is hopelessly pinning over her best friend, jungwon- gets betrayed by not one, but both of them ?! and what happens when jungwon falls for her despite all odds ?

a/n: GOSH IT FEELS GREAT TO BE BACK! sorry for the prolonged hiatus,, i had a lot of major exams this year and it was really tough >< but theyve finally ended so i will be updating more frequently! please continue to support this smau as always <3 (ps. 2 more chapters and this series ends officially 😭😭 might do spin offs if you guys want !)

word count: 694

taglist 2 ! 6 slots left

perm taglist open !

after days and dayyyyssss of hard work, jungwon had finally managed to pull off the perfect cake using the perfect recipe. jumping in joy, he slowly put the cake into the refrigerator. only 12 more hours till the eventful day he had planned. his heart was beating really fast. what if you said no ? what if you grew to resent him instead ? holding the keychain you returned him in his hands, he prayed to god. “please please please dont let me screw the only good thing in my life up again.”

[d-day]

as expected, the hallway was jam packed with students, turning round each corner ready to try all the booths out. “jay oppa, hows all the funds so far ? “ you asked, packing another box of cookies for the students. “its going great, apart from the fact sunghoon is too busy taking fan pictures to even lend a hand. on the bright side, his face itself earned us $150 so far.” you chuckled “thats good to hear.” handing the box to the male student infront of you, you smiled, “ have a great day ! feel free to come back for more !” upon noticing his hesitance to leave, you were quick to question why. “can… CAN I GET YOUR PHONE NUMBER ?” he shouted at the top of his lungs, making the both of you flustered. you were too shocked to even speak. “um…um..” just then you felt someone hugging you from behind. “ynnnnnnnn~ its lonely here… come back quick please ..?” jungwon whined. the guy from before instantly took the hint that you were off limits once jungwon sent a glare his way. you giggled “okay wonie. lets go. “ jungwon just couldnt wait for the lunch shift to be over. “ill take over from here.” heeseung said giving a wink to jungwon. it was the signal. the signal to for ynwon final project. “thanks hyung !” and with that jungwon dragged you out of that class, bringing you to the school rooftop.

“wonie why are we heading for the rooftop ? what about the bake sale ? its not over yet. “ “i know that but i wanna show you something.” as the door to the rooftop swung open, your jaws dropped. “wonie.. whats this ?” he smiled. “i prepared this for you ! oh and also this cake ! heeseung hyung taught me how to bake a while back.” he scratched the back of his head sheepishly “ a small smile creeped up on your face. “ thank you wonie. for everything. all the thoughts and effort you put into this. “ but when you turned from the view to face jungwon, all you see is a nervous boy. “won..ie ?” “i- i have something to say ! please let me finish everything before you speak. i- i- i have a crush on you and i didnt realised that i did i thought it was all normal and it took me a dating yujin to figure out that my feelings for her were ones of friendliness and my feelings for you are ones that can blossom into something more. i know i gave you a really hard time recently because of everything that went down and im really sorry for that and i understand if yo-you dont like me back anymore ! its really ok if you don-“ before he could finish his rambling, you leaned in and gave him a little peck on his cheeks. “wonie, i get it. you dont have to be sorry anymore. and besides, i like you back so isnt this a win for us ?” he looked at you absolutely stunned. “really ? you do ?” you nodded. he squeezed you into a tight hug “ im never going to let anyone take you away from me !!”

“sweet ! im getting my robux !” niki cheered softly from behind the door to the rooftop, earning himself a nice slap on the back from sunoo. “shh ! let the new couple enjoy their time together. i cant believe it took jungwon so many years to acknowledge his TRUE feelings.”

<prev > <masterlist> <next>

taglist 1! @enhacolor @yougeans @anti-romantic5 @urresidentdrugdealer @ncityy04 @tyonvrs @fairydosii @dazzledsohn @hwalllllllelujah @mitsukifilms @yizhoutv @kyutiepeachy @tlnyjoong @sunshine-skz @meiiiwa @pr0dbeomgyu @tobiosbbyghorl @yogurteume @alderiasamantha @woopetals @beemarkie @hibuki-chan @nyfwyeonjun @yvesismywife @yjwfav @diestheticu @woniecore @wonluvrbot @enhawonie @nyfwyeonjun @acciomylove @missmadwoman @hiqhkey @wntrsgf @jungwonerz @cuteyeonnie23 @angel-hyuckie @hobistigma @alo-ehas @rielleluvs @heesunki @yubinism @wonsgf @dinosdance @nrksrealgf @sunheeluvbot @aria-grace-scott @luvrjn @c9tnoos @tomorrowbymoa-together @wonie-core @lunaflvms

[fexiana]

A treat 🎁

I am still working on Lexi’s house 🏠 Everyday I am furnishing/editing the downstairs rooms and I appreciate everyone’s patience! Tomorrow you can expect screenshots of one of my completed builds so stay tuned. That is not the treat though…

The actual treat is: I will be sharing my most recent video with my tumblr followers for free 😃

I won’t share it tomorrow as I am trying to fix the quality first however, at least that can be anticipated—

BUT WAIT, THERE’S MORE‼️

Although I haven’t filmed yet for my next video that is related to the poll that you voted for, I will also share the 18+ video with my tumblr followers as well once completed 🥰

SPOILER: the most recent video I completed and posted July 31st on my patreon is about Lexi and Fezco’s first interactions prior to the New Year party. This includes recreated scenes from season 2 as well as myself adding fillers so that there aren’t gaps in their respective interactions, and to make things make more sense. It pretty much stays true to the Fez x Lexi scenes from season 2 even though I added on a little bit when necessary. That completed video is pretty much PG rated despite the smoking scene ($5 Oklahoma tier on patreon).

Another SPOILER: the video I am doing once Lexi’s house is completed entails scenes from the New Year party, filling in that gap after Fez beats Nate’s ass, and the recreated scenes of the rest of Fez and Lexi’s interactions from season 2 leading up to the Our Life play. I already made a video having Fez at Lexi’s play two years ago but the skins in that video weren’t realistic. So now that I have realistic skins, I will recreate some scenes from the play with Fez attending in the audience again and at the end of the video, I plan on them consummating their love in Fezco’s bed to honor your votes/wishes 💫. This is the reason my next video will be 18+ ($8 Oakland tier on patreon).

*** After Lexi’s house is complete, I will be consistently filming and posting all my video ideas so that there isn’t a long hiatus anymore ***

Remember though, I will be sharing both of the videos I stated above for free for my tumblr followers as a treat 🎁

So make sure to reblog or share my posts with your fellow friends/followers so that they can see too.

I don’t have subscribers on my patreon which is fine as I seriously enjoy doing videos and have so many ideas in my head 🥰 I understand too that you all don’t even know what you would be subscribing to exactly, so I need to at least share two videos for free so you can get an idea.

Although I shared some spoilers with you, there is still more surprises in that upcoming video that I am going to keep secret until you can see with your own eyes ☺️

So again, I appreciate you all for your patience and I’m sorry for the wait time and all the teasers 😭 I just want to keep you all updated while I finish Lexi’s house so that you know I am working hard and never not doing something EuphoriaSims related 🧡

P.S.

Are you shy? Don’t be! Please feel free to leave notes, messages or ask me ANY questions! It keeps me motivated and is very exciting to me to have anyone engaged in my projects and ideas. Your opinion matters! I will respond 🙂 And although I don’t know you personally, I can assure you that I am a personable person and it would mean so much to me to hear from you 😊

— Bless bless, one Love 🌩️

[ask-team-grim]

Rules | Characters | Hints | Masterpost

Likely going on a hiatus for Artfight. Feel free to send in asks in the meantime though if you feel like it and don’t mind a wait!

Current Event: None(?)

Event Links

Please note that even if my ocs react negatively to your question, that doesn’t mean that your question was dumb or that I disliked it myself! Common knowledge in their world is obviously not common knowledge in real life, and any question that isn’t actively hateful towards the blog itself is a good one and highly appreciated!

(Y’all don’t have to read all of this if y’all don’t want to in order to ask a question, this just explains the blog a bit more. Just make sure to read the rules first! Everything else is just to help you understand the blog or characters a bit better.)

Greetings, and welcome to Ask Team Grim! I decided to make this blog while I was working on a series of pmd oneshots that I’ll eventually post.

Since it’s meant to be a companion to some fanfics, no actual story will be told through this ask blog. It’s more a place where I can showcase my ocs’ personalities and perhaps a bit of their backstories before and after I post their stories.

Despite how bread themed this ask blog seems to be right now, honestly the bakery isn’t going to play a huge part in the oneshots (at least, not for now). It’s just a bunch of references to the current setting of the ask blog lol. Additionally, any info about the ocs revealed here may or may not be retconned later. I don’t want to be constrained by any answers that I gave on this blog when writing the actual fanfics. I’ll make sure to tag anything that isn’t true anymore as noncanon.

Feel free to tell me if something on the ask blog doesn’t work, or if it’s frustrating to navigate!

I’m also making an instagram mirror for this blog, so y’all might see some questions from there!

Scene setup

The description of the location that the ask blog will take place in. The gist of it is that they’re in a bakery. The rest of the context isn’t absolutely crucial to understanding the ocs themselves for right now, so feel free to skip it if you’d like, though it could give you some ideas for what to ask about.

Initial conversation

The actual start of the conversation. I would recommend reading this part, as it introduces the ocs that will be open for asks.

Something to note

You can ask about anything, so long as it isn’t against the rules, but you’ll likely get more interesting and story relevant answers if you ask about things that were discussed or pointed out in the initial description and conversation, or ask about things that the characters have shown interest in during previous answers. Feel free to look at the hints if you don’t have any ideas about what to ask about!

[sushigirlali]

No Body, No Crime - Part II (Reylo Fanfic)

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI (Coming Soon!)

Summary: Assassin!Rey Palpatine is on her first mission for the evil Darth Sidious. The goal is simple: kill Prince!Ben Solo by any means necessary.

Pairing: Rey + Ben Solo

Rating: E

Continuity: Canonverse AU

A/N: I’m back after a long hiatus!! Couldn’t stand leaving an unfinished fic up, but I’ve also been battling writer's block ugh. Residual tros trauma I guess (sigh). Anyway, get ready for some dramaaaaa! Enjoy!

Master list –> AO3 | ff.net | Tumblr

——————

No Body, No Crime - Part II

By: sushigirlali

——————

Hanna City, Chandrila Noon

——————

Rey sat on a long bench in the atrium, anxiously twisting calloused hands in lacy skirts. “What the hell am I doing? Who’s game am I playing? Not my own, that’s for sure.”

Given all she knew about her grandfather, and what she now knew about Ben Solo, it seemed more than likely that her first mission was also supposed to be her last. 

There had been a moment once, a brief second, when she thought she’d gained her master’s approval: the day she forged her lightsaber. After meditating for hours, for days, she was sure she would produce a weapon worthy of her house, but when she ignited the kyber crystal for the first time, it’s heart was amethyst, not crimson. 

And Sidious had never let her forget it. 

“There’s too much of your father’s heart in you, young Palpatine,” he liked to taunt...

Pushing down those chilling memories, she tried to parse out his intentions. If the old Sith had never meant for her to kill the Skywalker heir, then what was his aim? Distract the Resistance long enough to do—what? Invade the heart of the galactic government? “No, that’s too bold,” she thought. “Darth Sidious always strikes from a distance, he never puts himself or his advantage at risk.” But, then… what was his plan?

Feeling Ben’s approach before his long shadow loomed over her, Rey jumped up to meet a pair of fine eyes. “Ready?” she asked before Ben—the prince, she quickly corrected herself—could. 

“Yes. Would you like some lunch? I have time before I’m needed at the Senate building.”

Rey’s stomach rumbled as if on cue. “Yes, your highness.”

He rolled his eyes at the title, but didn’t correct her. “Shall we then?” he said, presenting his arm for her to grasp.

Uneasy about the way his name was suddenly at the forefront of her mind, she ignored his courtly gesture and breezed past him. “Sure, I’m never one to turn down free food.”

——————

Wiping his mouth with a crisp linen napkin, Ben hid a smile as Rey tucked into the stew his prized chef Maz had prepared. Despite the childish way she was pushing her vegetables around the bowl, it was clear that she was enjoying the rich dish.

“Would you like some bread?” he queried, motioning toward a covered basket.

“There’s bread?” she asked, eyes wide. “Real bread? Not portions?”

Ben’s smile slipped at her innocent question. “Do you… not have bread? At home, I mean.”

“The citadel isn’t my home, not really,” she replied, reaching under the napkin for a thick roll. “But… no.” Tearing it into little pieces, she dropped them into her bowl and resumed eating.

Staring down at his own lunch, Ben tried to conceal his anger. Not at Rey, but at the neglectful monster who was supposed to be responsible for her. Here he’d been in the lap of luxury for nearly thirty years and his intended had lived off scraps. 

“Can I get you anything else?” he asked, realizing the only sound in the room was Rey’s hurried chewing. She must be famished after skipping breakfast... and who knew how many other meals in her young life. He would have to take better care of her from now on. “More stew?”

Rey held out her nearly empty bowl in response, but avoided his gaze. “Thank you.”

He filled it to the top and handed her another piece of bread for good measure. “Rey?” he said after a moment.

“Mmm?”

“I just want you to know that if there’s ever anything you need, you can come to me. You can take whatever you want.”

She froze mid-chew and looked up at him. “W—what?”

Ben felt his face heat. “Sorry, uh, that was probably inappropriate.”

“Probably,” she echoed before going back to her food. “But, um…” she murmured after a few more bites, “thanks.”

Regaining his smile, Ben pushed what remained of the breadbasket toward her. “You’re welcome.”

——————

Watching with rapt attention as the senator from Chandrila gave an address to a room packed with politicians, Rey wondered what it would feel like to command such respect. Her grandfather certainly never had; ruling with fear was not the same thing as having the trust of your people. She understood that now.

His full lips quirked up at the corners as he glanced in her direction and she was struck with a sudden remembrance of the kiss they had shared upon first meeting. Rey touched her mouth, recalling the sweet pressure of the prince’s lips on hers…

“It was more of a distraction than anything,” she thought unconvincingly. She purposefully didn’t dwell on who was distracting whom.

Although, if a distraction could be defined as something she wanted to do again for purely practical reasons, maybe kissing the prince would make him trust her enough to relinquish her lightsaber.

“Well, that’s one way to rationalize making out with the enemy,” she chided. “Get it together.”

“...And on behalf of my mother, General Organa, I would like to reassure you all that the Sith threat will soon be extinguished.”

Rey tilted her head at Ben’s bold proclamation. “Oh, will it?” she silently challenged, willing the prince to look at her. 

As if picking up her thoughts from thin air, Ben met her gaze from across the hall. “Yes,” he mouthed over multiple heads of state.

Shocked more by the fact that he had responded to her unspoken question than his answer, Rey kept her eyes on him throughout the rest of the meeting. He would look at her from time to time, smile mysteriously, and then resume talking. It was mildly infuriating, sure, but Rey was determined to puzzle him out. 

Taking a deep breath, she tried to clear her mind, to focus solely on the man at the podium. “There must be a pathway,” she thought, recalling the feeling that he was trying to impart something nonverbally to her earlier in the day. “With force abilities, there’s always a path...”

And if he’d figured out a way to get into her head, maybe there was a way to get into his too.

Relaxing further into her seat, she reached for him, parsing out the energy flowing around her until only Ben’s signature remained. It almost hurt to perceive him, his light was so blinding. But somehow, it was easy too. Familiar and sort of… warm? He felt so warm...

“Rey, what are you doing?” 

She barely managed to stifle a gasp as he slipped into her mind. “What am I doing? What are you doing? And how are you doing it?”

“This isn’t the time or place,” he replied sternly.

“You can’t keep using that excuse,” she huffed. “You promised to give me answers, remember?”

“And I will.”

“When?!”

“Tonight.”

——————

Dusk

——————

The sun was setting by the time Ben ushered Rey out of the Senate House. He felt nervous, Force knew why. She had become considerably less hostile and more trusting throughout the day, so he hoped telling her the truth about them wouldn’t scare her off.

“Or send her into a homicidal rage,” he worried. It had been necessary to disarm her the night before, in case she realized how much power she had over him. “If only she knew how long I’ve been waiting for her, then maybe she would understand why I could never lift a hand against her.”

He supposed now was the time to enlighten her, but having never handled rejection well, the prospect terrified him. “All these years, I thought it was the same for her as it was for me; I thought she was dreaming of me too...” 

Spending an entire day in her presence had made his visions of her and their future together more clear, provided context, but there was still a lot he didn’t understand about their connection. His uncle had helped him research this rare phenomena, a dyad Luke called it, but Ben’s thirst for knowledge had yet to be sated.

“Old books can only teach me so much,” he reflected. The practical experience of being in his dyad’s presence was proving to be much more educational.

“Prince,” Rey murmured as they passed a few younglings playing with a ball.

“Yes?”

“What are they doing?”

“Who?”

“Those children.”

“Oh,” he paused, “they’re playing.” Catching the eye of a small Twi'lek, Ben motioned toward Rey.

“Oh!” she jumped when the grinning child kicked the ball toward her.

“It’s okay,” he assured her, placing a placating hand on her back. “It’s a game.”

“A fun game?” she asked.

“Why don’t you give it a try and let me know.” 

She looked up at him with big eyes. “But what about you? We were going to talk...” 

“And we will,” he promised. “Play for a while and then come find me. I’ll be in my quarters.”

She gave him a searching look, as if to say, “You really trust me not to run?” 

Departing with a playful push forward and a contented smile, he knew she understood the answer to be, “Irrevocably.”

——————

An hour later, Rey was practically skipping back to the Old Guard House when a commotion stopped her short of the building. “What--stormtroopers?!” There was a cloister of them standing in a small circle around a beleaguered sounding gold droid. “Ben!” she thought, fearing the worst.

Rushing forward, she forgot all her training in her panic, taking exactly zero care to remain hidden. “What’s going on here?” she demanded of the closest soldier. 

A handsome young man looked up at her in surprise. He wasn’t wearing his helmet, a strange sight for a stormtrooper, but instead holding it under his arm. The white mask was splashed red, forming the shape of a handprint. 

Looking around, Rey realized all the helmets were similarly marked.

“I’m Finn,” the soldier said. “Who are you?”

“What are you doing here?” Rey pressed on, ignoring the question. “Where’s Ben? What have you done with him? I want to speak with my grandfather.”

“Uh—what?” Finn blinked. “Who’s your grandfather? Who are you?”

“She’s my guest.”

Rey flipped around and nearly ran into the prince’s muscular chest. “What's going on?” she glared up at him. “Where have you been? I thought you might be—what are you laughing about, idiot?!”

Ben chuckled as she fumed, “I’m sorry to have worried you, sweetheart, but Finn and his crew are friends.”

“But they’re stormtroopers.”

“Former stormtroopers,” Finn corrected her. “Hi,” he said with a charming smile, “let’s try this again. I’m Finn. And you are?”

“Rey,” she replied uncertainly, looking between the two men. 

“Rey what?”

She could feel the prince staring a hole into the side of her head, but she didn’t falter. “Just Rey.”

“Well, Just Rey, it looks like you’re right on time for the party,” Finn grinned.

“Party?” 

“Rey, I don’t know how to tell you this,” Ben started gently, “but the war is nearly over. Finn and his stormtroopers rebelled and turned the tide. The Republic is on the brink of winning.”

“And… and him?” 

“He was losing well before he sent you here,” Ben said honestly.

“Then why send me?” 

“Why indeed?” a regal voice sounded.

Ben stepped in front of her, obscuring the newcomer from view. Belatedly, Rey realized he was being protective and it made her feel… weird. Jittery. Safe. And… something she’d never felt before…

“Mother, I can explain,” he said lamely.

“Glad to hear it, son,” General Organa murmured sardonically. “Because this looks like a royal fuck up to me.”

——————

Evening

——————

Ben tried not to preen as Rey stuck like glue to his side at dinner. It was clear she was uncomfortable meeting so many new people at once, but her body language was also protective, as if a battle could break out in the dining hall at any moment. 

“To be fair,” he thought, “mother is a force to be reckoned with under the best of circumstances...”

“Rey, was it?” Leia queried. 

“Shit.”

His intended froze while reaching for another soft roll. “Yes.”

“How did you come to our cozy, yet rebellious little planet? I don’t believe I’ve met you before.”

“Mother.”

Leia ignored him, eyes intent on Rey’s visage. “You seem to know my son well, somehow, and you’re wearing clothing of my house, my mother’s I believe, so I think it’s perfectly rational we should get to know one another.”

“Mother, please.”

“No, it’s fine,” Rey said with false confidence. “Your mother is just being careful. And I am practically a stranger in your home.”

“You’re not!” he refuted, reflexively reaching for her hand under the table; he was a little stunned when she didn’t pull away. 

“It’s okay,” she reiterated, squeezing his fingers. Turning to Leia, she said, “I was sent here.”

“Rey, don’t!”

“I was sent here by my grandfather.”

Leia’s back straightened, as if seeing the younger woman properly for the first time. “Stop,” she commanded, standing from the table. “You two, come with me. Finn, you as well.”

Rey shot to her feet before Ben could react, dragging him up the strong grip she had on his hand.

Leia noted their bond, but just said, “Follow me.”

——————

General Organa led them to a chamber Rey had never seen before, with comfortably staged couches and reading chairs enticingly lit by warm fire. The walls surrounding the hearth were lined with high bookshelves and dazzling art pieces and ancient weapons of eras gone by. 

Rey was awed by the collection, by the overwhelming sense of rightness she felt standing in this very place at this very moment, with…

“Please, sit,” the General said, indicating a plush couch covered in green velvet directly in front of the flickering fire.

Ben let Rey guide him to the sofa, while his mother took a seat to the right and the stormtrooper sat across from her on a second, identical wingback chair. Normally, Rey wouldn’t have felt intimidated, but Ben’s unease was making her nervous. The library was a sanctuary from all life’s ills, yet she could feel the prince’s urge to run.

“Calm down,” she thought.

“I am calm,” he returned.

“Now then,”—they turned to the General in unison, waiting for her to continue—“why don’t we start over.”

“What happens if I tell the truth?” Rey wondered.

“I don’t know,” Ben answered honestly. “But if anyone besides me is willing to hear you out, it’s her.”

“Okay.”

“But still—”

“I’m Rey,” she blurted before she changed her mind. Ben’s hand tightened almost painfully around hers, but she pressed on. “Rey Palpatine.”

Finn gasped, but Leia didn’t visibly react. “Yes, I thought so. My brother mentioned your arrival was likely during the climax of the war and here we are.”

“What?” Ben said, bewildered. “You knew about her? About us?”

“Us?”

“Darling,” his mother said softly, “you don’t honestly believe your uncle would have kept the possibility of a dyad from me, do you? You know the consequences of such a bond, and the toll it can take if not properly nurtured.”

“It was my choice.”

“Yes, but you haven’t given her a choice yet.”

“There hasn’t been time,” he said stubbornly.

The General gave her son a look only a mother could. “Then make time.”

He nodded solemnly, but didn’t look at Rey.

“Excellent,” Leia smiled. “Now, onto the pressing matter of Palpatine’s last defenses…”

Ignoring the fact that her supposed enemies were discussing tactical plans in front of her, Rey focused on the word now at the forefront of her mind. “What the fuck is a dyad?” she asked. 

Ben’s thumb traced the inside of her wrist, feeling for her pulse as she had done to him earlier in the day. But this time, something was different. Something had shifted. She could hear her own heartbeat and the echoing of his just as strongly; as if their hearts beat as one. 

“Ben, what have you done?” she demanded, pulling back from him.

——————

Ben half paid attention as his mother and Finn prattled on about strategy and war games, his mind preoccupied by the live wire sitting next to him. Rey’s fingers slipped from his as she turned to face him and the loss was like a punch in the gut. 

It was all too fast, too soon, but Rey deserved to know the truth about their bond all the same. And besides, it wasn’t something they could realistically fight. Telling her everything was a gamble, but the arrival of the Resistance fleet made his personal timetable irrelevant.

He’d promised they’d talk tonight, but he thought there’d be more time to warm her up to the idea of—

“What do you think, Ben? Ben. Ben!”

“Huh?” Ben belatedly realized Finn was asking him a question.

“Did you hear what I said?” His friend asked.

“No,” Ben said honestly.

“Palpatine knows about the stormtrooper plot, but it’s too late to stop it. I’m worried a lot of good people are going to die. What should we do?”

Ben contemplated their next move, knowing the original plan was too costly to continue. “Do you remember when we first met?”

“Yeah,” Finn grinned, “you were trying to kill me.”

“I aimed wide,” he scoffed, “but more importantly, do you remember how I convinced you and your team to turn?”

“You hacked our comms!” Finn exclaimed. “And gave us the sappiest motivational speech on record.”

“Shut up. But, yeah, exactly. What if we get Rose to hack all the helmets at the same time and broadcast a call for surrender? The rebel troopers will have cover to escape in the confusion and it should give us enough time to cripple Palpatine’s operations while his attention is focused here.”

“A diversion,” Finn nodded. “Once the command structure is gone, I doubt many of the remaining stormtroopers will continue fighting.”

“Why would his attention be focused here?” Rey piped up.

“Because he sent you here to kill my son, dear,” Leia said calmly. 

“A move that big is guaranteed to split his attention and forces,” Finn agreed. 

“But I haven’t, I mean, I…” Rey trailed off awkwardly.

“No, you haven’t,” Leia said pointedly, “and he knows it.”

Rey fell silent and Ben ached to reach out to her again, physically, telepathically, anything to bridge the sudden gulf between them. But her posture said she needed space and he wouldn’t deprive her of that.

“What about the praetorian guards?” Finn asked, clearly trying to keep things on track. “They’re loyal to a fault.”

“All enemy combatants will be given the chance to surrender,” Leia said.

“And if they don’t?” Rey pressed.

“Then they’ll be dealt with,” his mother said dispassionately.

“And my grandfather?”

No one said anything for a long moment and the silence was uncomfortable. The truth of matter was Palpatine had to die and they all knew it; he could not be allowed to regain power ever again.

But Ben felt disquieted about the actions of his side for the first time since the war started. For a person who believed themselves to be extraordinarily empathetic, it had never occurred to him that the Resistance wasn’t the only group to suffer losses. 

“Rey, I don’t know what to say,” he admitted, suddenly feeling inadequate. He didn’t know how to comfort her. He didn’t know if he should. 

She shook her head. “I didn’t expect you to.” 

“Rey, wait!” he called as she stood and stiffly walked to the door.

But she left without another word.

——————

Rey retreated to the prince’s room, peeling off the costume he had given her this morning and tossing it on the end of the bed. Lifting up the soft sheets, she dove into the center and pulled them over her head.

The shock of the last few hours was only undercut by how much she still didn’t know. There was a lot of talk about war and plans and death, but there was still a missing piece to this puzzle.

She understood now why Palpatine had sent her. She was as a last ditch effort, a contingency plan, to stop the Resistance if he failed to fool the stormtrooper rebellion. Without his brainwashed child soldiers, he would certainly lose.

“A means to an end,” she thought. But what if her next move was so impressive that her grandfather had to take her back?

Despite the General’s relative lack of hostility, Rey knew that Ben’s mother wouldn’t hesitate to “deal with” her if given the slightest provocation. But Palpatine was the devil she knew. And sometimes it was just easier to go with the original plan when every alternative went bust. 

Even if he was trying to end them all.

“Rey?” Ben called out quietly. 

“Sneaky bastard.” She hadn’t even heard him enter the room.

The bed dipped as he sat to her right. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t how I wanted you to meet my mother.”

Rey didn’t respond, waiting to see what else he’d say.

“I want you to be comfortable here,” he went on. “I was born here. My mother and father made this planet home after Palpatine destroyed Alderaan.”

“What happened?” she mumbled, interest peaked.

“It was a planet much like this one, beautiful and peaceful. My mother was part of the royal family, a princess, but about 30 years ago, during the last war, she was captured and punished with the death of her family and friends and everything she knew. The planet was destroyed with the use of a massive weapon. It was called the Death Star. Your grandfather and… mine built it.”

Rey snatched the sheets away from her face in shock. “Your grandfather was… he worked with mine?”

Ben nodded. “Darth Vader was Palpatine’s greatest pupil.”

Just when she thought the night couldn’t get more shocking, Rey suddenly understood why her grandfather hated the Skywalker’s so very much. “I need to think.”

“Alright,” he said gently. “l need to meditate, anyway. Today has been… a lot.”

“Wait,” Rey said, grabbing his arm.

“What is it?”

“I’d feel safer if you slept here,” she invented.

“Here?” 

“On the bed.”

“Oh,” he gulped.

“I’m just going to use the fresher first,” she said in what she hoped was a nonchalant tone. Slipping past Ben in nothing but her underwear, Rey was starkly aware of his eyes on her. Ignoring the shiver that ran up her spine, Rey finally knew what she had to do.

She had to kill him. Tonight.

——————

A/N: Dun dun dun!! Dipping into a little more angst than I usually do, but never fear, smut is always just around the corner in my fics :D

[harringtontmaa]

coming off anon because I can. I meant every single word about how much I adore your Steve. I have been tempted time and time again to return to the rpc. I feel like so much has changed though.

ah, hello ! i'm glad you did come off anon, it's nice to meet you ! & i definitely understand your hesitance. as someone who has been in the tumblr rpc in general for a decade now, & involved with the st rpc since 2019, it's absolutely different now than it has been in the past. especially with st it can be overwhelming sometimes, because there are a lot of people in the rpc, which means a lot of opinions. & just like all parts of the internet, people can struggle to coexist with others with clashing opinions. i've mostly managed to avoid friction with others just by staying in my own lane, but conflict does happen sometimes in such a large community of people online.

there's also been a bit of a transition period in the community lately with formatting for rps using the new editor, but i've actually mostly figured it out despite my irritation at needing to lean a new method, with the help of people who have been super helpful with putting together tutorials & answering questions. i do also want to say that some people get really invested in their rp graphics & themes & icons, & so feeling like you need a bunch of graphics to rp can be a big challenge for some people who want to join. but while i definitely understand the appeal of having a pretty blog & decorating your posts ( & absolutely have no issue with those that do it ofc ! ), i don't really do it, & i think it's important to remember that you don't actually need all those kinds of things to rp. all you really need to be part of the rpc is the urge to write a character & the willingness to collaborate with another person & their character to make a story !

all that being said, & in spite of the issues that the tumblr rpc has, i am clearly still here ( in spite of my bouts of low activity or hiatus ) ten whole years later, so i can confidently say that there are many things and people to love here ! if you do decide to return, i encourage you to do it on your own terms & in whatever way makes you feel comfortable & supported so that you can be creative. don't feel pressured because you feel like most of the community does something a certain way — on your blog, set your own rules based on your comfort levels. & always feel free to reach out to others for help, either directly or on the dash ! i have had really amazing luck with finding partners who are wonderfully invested as they are patient, & i do believe that the vast majority of the rpc consists of kind & good people who just want to write — and would love to write with you if you ever did decide to return !

thanks so much for the message & for the kind words ! i realize you didn't explicitly ask for advice, but i hope my experience as a veteran roleplayer gives you a little more clarity. if you end up coming back to the rpc, let me know ! i'll be first in line to welcome you back, friend. 💗

[lennardd]

Hello there! I'm not here to provide questions (well maybe I do, but give me a moment here lmao) but I would like to say that binge-reading that first Danganronpa 69 fic that you did was a wild ride honestly. OOC aspects be damned since it's bound to happen in crossover situations in Danganronpa, but I do like how you did portray most of the characters there! Also quite liked the CGIs and the video links, really made me read through the entire thing to be a lot more enjoyable! Kudos to your boundless effort in making it and allowing it to be incredibly expressive! :DD So here are my questions: I would like to ask if you're going to continue working on the sequel of said fic since I am going to read through it soon enough (tho I'm asking this question out of curiosity rather than a hard demand, just in case I have to clarify myself there), and is your Danganronpa 69 discord still up? I would like to join it somehow. That is all, thank u! :))

Thank you very much for sending this ask! I’m really happy you enjoyed my work!! ❤️

Despite it’s long hiatus, we are planning to pick back up on DR96 very soon 👍

Also, the DR69 discord is still up! You can find the link to it in the end notes sections of the last chapter of DR69 on AO3. Although I don’t really interact there often due to personal reasons, feel free to talk to the other members there! (And if you did want to talk to me for any reason, it’s probably just best to DM me)

[reversesymmetry]

Mephisto master post!

I figured I’d make a pinned post with quick info and shit about me, and where to find all my stuff since I’m solely posting the majority of my writing and shit on AO3 now for formatting and my own spoons.

If you want, you can buy me a ko-fi here to help with expenses. Please read the post there as that’s currently standing!

So hi there, I’m Owen. You can call me that, or Mephisto, either one, or any other nickname that tickles your fancy. I write, shitpost, and occasionally doodle, mostly surrounding the Ghost universe.

Hard rules:

Minors DO NOT INTERACT.

I am so deathly serious about this. This is not a space for you. It will not be a space for you until you’re an adult. Ideally, everyone will have their age in their bio but I understand not everyone really wants to do that. This is for my protection. And yeah, I’m an asshole about it, but I have to put me first.

RP blogs: be normal please.

Just please don’t. I’d prefer you just make your own content. You can like and reblog stuff but don’t turn anything I post into an RP thread. I have issues with internet RP communities so I’d just like to be left out of it if possible. Thanks.

You can find me here on Ao3. Currently I only have one ongoing work that isn’t on a permanent hiatus

You can find my HCs here. Anything not marked as ‘defunct hc’ is something that I would consider to be canon in a piece of writing.

I sometimes post short blurbs on here that aren’t long enough to go on Ao3. You can find them here.

I’m always willing to take prompts or ideas on for short writing! You can always send those to me via ask. I also love seeing other people’s writing or HCs, so feel free to send that my way too, or tag me! Please note that I DO practice discretion when it comes to prompts, so if I don’t write your prompt particularly, don’t take it too hard! I promise it’s not you, it’s just what I’m in the mood for. If you send me something and it hasn’t been responded to, that means I’m either working on it, or I want to do the prompt but I have either writer’s block or am busy at the time of receipt. I try to reply to everyone!

There are a few things I won’t write. These will be under the cut because some of them are triggering topics. This list is always subject to change (probably not be removed from but stuff may be added) so always check if you’re unsure.

If anything on this post is unclear or you have questions, please let me know and I’ll be happy to answer them and correct/add to this post!

I have a couple of OCs that get mentioned on occasion in my writing:

Cardinal Fabian Cromwell— he handles event planning, finances, and PR for the Ministry as a whole (the band has their own staff for that, he just handles the church side). He can be finicky and a bit rude at times, but he doesn’t mean to be. He’s “Terzo’s husband” in any HC posts that I write. He has a huge heart, you just have to be willing to do a little digging to get to it.

Salem— Fabian’s assistant and the true youngest Emeritus brother (though he doesn’t know that). He’s half human, half quintessence ghoul, but was raised by the ghouls in the Abbey given that at the time, ghoul and human relations were forbidden. This has since changed, but at the time he was born, Nihil knew he would be executed, and he was given to the ghouls to raise. He can be found doing fetch quests and other side missions throughout the church offices.

Meadow— an ftm earth/fire hybrid ghoul. He can usually be found assisting setup and tear down at shows. In some verses he’s Swiss’s mate and in others he’s Mountain’s, it just kind of depends on my mood. He’s very shy and rarely speaks up. He was originally summoned as a scribe, but was shuffled around to the band. He’s far too afraid of crowds to be on stage, despite the fact that he would make a skilled multighoul with the band, so he works behind the scenes instead.

I will not write:

R*pe/SA scenes, or anything surrounding that, unless it is far back in a character’s past and is being discussed as a past event.

“Hard kinks”. I’m asexual and struggle writing intimate scenes unless the planets align and bless me with the inspiration. That being said if you just want something simple on the smut scale, I’ll be willing to hold onto it until the mood strikes to write it.

Any kind of -ism or -phobia, unless it is a past event that is being discussed. I also, as a white person, am not the person to be writing and discussing traumas and experiences of people of color. There might be hints of homophobia or transphobia as past events a character has suffered, as I am part of the LGBT community and those communities are ones I specifically belong to, but I’m not comfortable writing about the experiences of a group that I will never be part of and will never know the struggles of.

Abuse of any kind, unless it’s a past event, etc, etc.

XReader. I just can’t do it. No offense to those who write it but I just can’t. If you are a Ko-Fi donor, this rule doesn’t apply!

[shakespearean-snape]

So, @raptured-night (who sadly seems to have gone on a hiatus and not come back yet) is one of the Snape-bloggers responsible for bringing me into the fandom (ngl she's one of the pro-Snape bloggers I went through the archive of and read a ton of her Snape meta when I was bored or taking a break while still working on my degree, so shhh! lol! >_><_<). I had quite Tumblr back in 2016 due to some toxic fandom experiences in another unrelated fandom with no plans of returning but then Alan Rickman passed away that same year and I found myself looking at different fandoms (Princess Bride, Galaxy Quest, Die Hard, Harry Potter, etc.) for him because he was so much a part of my childhood and that led me back to the fact as a kid reading the books in the 90s, Severus Snape had been one of my all time favorite characters (as a queer bipoc I could relate to him and his experiences and even his anger and confusion over identity in such a real way) and I could never understand why Tumblr had turned against him when by my estimations he was no worse or any more flawed than any number of the more beloved Harry Potter characters.

That led me down the rabbit hole of looking up any kind of positive Snape content I could find, including Snape!Lives fanfiction that really felt so cathartic because I was genuinely torn up over the sudden passing of Alan Rickman but also because I had never stopped being sad over the death of this character and had honestly abandoned the books and fandom in large part because of it. This also led me back to Tumblr eventually out of some morbid curiosity where, to my surprise, I was able to find a lot of incredible Snape-bloggers and come to develop a very real appreciation for how thoughtful and nuanced the community of fans were in their discussions about this character I have loved since I was a child.

Anyway all this to say there were a few specific Snape-bloggers that really just inspired me to go ahead and come back to Tumblr despite the bad experiences I had before and I wanted to share some meta I remembered from one of them about Regulus and Snape that the OP may appreciate because it's exactly the sort of nuanced understanding I couldn't hope to replicate if I tried to make the same case myself.

Also that the Snape fandom really is a very positive place to be and generally free of a lot of the toxicity I experienced on Tumblr before, which is also quite telling and speaking from experience when you find yourself asking questions about the attitudes of your fandom and feeling pressured to adhere to specific ways of thinking out of fear of said fandom's response to you those are red flags.

Don't allow a fandom to dictate your thoughts for you and if it starts taking a toll on your mental health or you find yourself afraid of expressing some views or "unpopular opinions" that is a very good sign you may need to extricate yourself or at least put yourself first and start blocking some of the people enforcing hate posting about "rival ships/characters" versus celebrating the characters you actually are there in the fandom to enjoy and post about to better curate the kind of fandom experience that is more positive and enjoyable for you.

So here are two posts from @raptured-night (bonus that she says she's a professor and teaches literary criticism so this is the kind of stuff she does professionally and it shows) I hope OP will like and may help with their self-reflection on these characters and I wish them all the best in whatever fandom they're a part of.

On Redemption and Gate-Keeping To Invalidate Snape's Character Arc

On Different Types of Redemption

I’ve kinda been wondering- Would Snape have been treated differently by the fandom if he had been deemed attractive?

First of all I just want to say: I dislike Snape. And I am not at all a defender of him. But my views of characters from this fandom have been largely construed by how the fandom has portrayed them. I would not have favored Regulus so much if not for the marauders fandom. But what if we had picked up Snape instead, and romanticized him? Why not? Did jk Rowling’s description of him deter us?

I’ve been rereading Choices. And I think what the Author’s said about the romanticism of the death eaters in order to achieve Jegulus, is really important. You don’t have to be a ‘good’ person to fall in love, or to have others love you. People often rush past Regulus’s Faults, quickly redeeming him; Trying to turn him into an agreeable, yet simply troubled, character, in an effort to have a more idealistic Jegulus. Because we can’t seem to just to let him be selfish, and properly immoral. When it comes to morally gray characters, I feel as though they’re only accepted because they’re all enticing in someway.

You could say that Snape and Regulus have somewhat similar stories to each other . And while I claim to be a Regulus kinnie, and I’m not at all a Snape apologist. I do find it interesting- No one wants to be Snape. No one wants to meet Snape. We don’t obsessively ship him with anyone, or go on about how he deserves better. I can’t help but wonder: If we thought of Snape as being beautiful, and aesthetic, and we gave him a boyfriend, would opinions be different? Sure Snape wasn’t an amazing person. But neither was Regulus, and neither were Evan and Barty. Yet a lot of us love them despite this. We Romanticize their shadowy morals, because they hold a certain level of attraction and interest. Whereas Snape -who even I myself hate- is constantly picked at. And While lots of people appreciate Snape’s actions. Most of the fandom, myself included, spend a lot of time obsessing over his faults. Whereas with Regulus we’ll look at his flaws, pick them apart, and then excuse them without a second thought. Anyway. I don’t Know- it’s just something I’ve been thinking about.

[earthnashes]

The reason Bowser never tries to spar with Daisy. xD

Also if you’re wondering why Daisy can speak Spanish, despite my headcanon of the world they live in not being our world, I’d imagine the Sarasaland Kingdom being their equivalent to Latin America. I’m gonna choosing specific kingdoms of the mushroom world to pull from our real world countries and cultures (for example, Metro Kingdom will be inspired by America, Koopa Kingdom possibly Asia, not too sure for Mushroom Kingdom yet :/). I def need to do some research so I can try to implement some of the aspects of the culture outside of just the language but uhhhhh ye! owo 

Apologies for the lateness of the content though; I’ve been hella busy ever since my hiatus ended but I’m trying to fit everything in without burning myself ;w; At any rate, hope you enjoy the content and thank you for the support! Feel free to ask any questions if you have any! ^.^

[snackhobi]

a human touch, part I

Part [1] / 1.5 / 2

(masterlist here)

pairing: taehyung x f!reader / word count: 13.3k / genre: robot!taehyung/virgin!reader, fluff, future smut (NSFW, 18+)

summary: everyone knows that androids don’t think, or feel, or have emotions. they’re not human, after all. so when a two hour session with a sex android ends up with nothing more than a nice conversation, you think that’s the first and last time you’ll see v. 

then he turns up at your door. 

warnings: talk of sex work (taehyung is a sex android), implied physical harassment (mentions of bruising), cursing/explicit language, mentions of alcohol, honestly this is a lot softer than these warnings would make you think I swear 🤧

a/n: I started writing this fic like 2/3 months ago and then put it on hiatus bc god it was kicking my entire ass. but ya girl is finally back to working on it! it’ll be two parts, because this fic is a big one! I hope to have the next chapter out next week/the week after (but no promises kdsflkfdfsdf) thank you @hobi-gif​ for loving this fic so wholeheartedly and supporting me while I struggled with it, queen shit ONLY. note: this is loosely a detroit: become human au but you don’t have to be familiar with it at all!

Here are the three things you know about the Eden Club.

One: it’s a sex club. Everyone knows that. Besides, even if they didn’t, all it would take is a single look—the soft blue lighting that shines out from the windows, the screens behind the glass that flash images of shifting and undulating bodies, the heavy beat of music that pulsates from the building and out into the night air; everything murmurs of the promised pleasures that are held within. 

Two: it’s a sex club entirely staffed by androids. Androids make better lovers, according to the ads. They might look human but they don’t have free will like you do—anything you ask for, you’re given without question or reproach. They can’t say no to you. They’re entirely at your command.

Three: you don’t ever want to go to the Eden Club. It’s not that you have anything against androids—because you don’t—but you feel bad for the ones who are owned by the club, even if they’re literally only built and programmed to serve humans. It just feels… wrong.

And here’s the fourth thing you’ve just learned about the club, much to your dismay: you are about to head inside it.

“When you said we were going to a club, I thought we were going dancing,” you whine. “I never would have come out if I’d know you meant here.”

You’ve been staring up at the cursive pink neon sign for a while now, the looping letters of Eden Club shining out in the dark evening air, and you really, really wish you weren’t here. You’ve dressed for a night of dancing and drinking and now you feel woefully uncomfortable, your high heels and short skirt almost as scandalous as the outfits the androids are wearing when they slide across the huge screens.

“That’s why we didn’t tell you which club it was.” Seulgi rolls her eyes and once again tries to tug you towards the building with the arm that’s looped with your own. Just out of arm’s reach, Irene holds your bag hostage. “Come on, your session is going to start soon!”

“My session?” Your voice is an incredulous shrill and Seulgi uses the momentary distraction to finally pull you forward. You stumble a little but catch your balance just as you make your way past the bouncer, who’s been watching the three of you impassively since you got here. “What do you mean, my session?”

“For your birthday, duh. We booked you a private room!”

The inside has the same, sleek neon aesthetic as the outside, but instead of images of androids on a screen, these ones are real and standing in front of you—swinging themselves around glowing poles, rolling their hips and swaying their bodies, while others wait patiently in glass pods that line the walls, leaning towards onlookers and moving as tantalisingly as possible. All ready to be rented at a whim.

Their designs are varied and different but they’re all incredibly beautiful. The only feature they all share is the small, blue LED circle on the side of their temple, light spinning and shining as they take the world in around them. A visual reminder to the world that these aren’t flesh and blood humans: they’re synthetic, man-made machines.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so uncomfortable in my life.” You desperately try to avoid the eyes of a nearby android who’s staring at you from behind glass, trying to subtly catch your attention. Unlike you, though, all the other patrons here are shameless in their perusal, scanning the selection of androids on display and watching as they dance and move and bat their eyelashes. “Why did you ever think I’d want to come to a sex club for my birthday?”

“Remember Valentine’s Day? You said that instead of flowers or chocolate you’d rather just be dicked down,” Irene says. “Besides, you’ve never been in a relationship or had a fling for as long as we’ve known you, and you moved to the company, what… three years ago?”

Your smile is pained. You’ve never been in a relationship or had a fling full stop; you’ve only kissed a few people and that’s it. It makes you feel awkward and embarrassed, and you’ve gotten Very Good at avoiding questions about your complete lack of a love life, so no one realises exactly how inexperienced you are. People just assume that you’ve had sex in the past and you make no attempts at correcting them. You’re charismatic and pretty but you’ve just… never met someone who you’ve really been compatible with.

Even without the reservations you have about the Eden Club, you don’t want your first time to be with a sexbot—you’d at least like to have an emotional connection, you know?

“I was joking about getting dicked down! You laughed, I laughed, we all laughed! Remember?” You move so a pink-haired android can brush past, her hips swaying as she leads a customer into a side room. You catch a flash of the interior before the door slides shut behind them—the silken sheets on the large bed, the scattered pillows, the dim multi-coloured lights. “Couldn’t you have just bought me some socks? Or some soap? Get a refund and put the money on a gift card and I’ll buy myself the aforementioned socks and soap, saves you both the hassle. Please?”

Seulgi’s arm is still locked with your own, and for all that she looks small and slim, her grip is as strong as iron. You may as well be handcuffed to her. “Trust me, you’ll be singing our praises at the end of tonight,” she proclaims. “Besides, they don’t do refunds.”

You sigh. You might not know much about the club but you do know it’s expensive. The androids here are built to be the perfect sexual partner, all sorts of bells and whistles hidden under their synthetic skin to bring you to the absolute heights of pleasure, so they’re not exactly cheap to build or buy or maintain. It’s why people come to the club instead of just buying their own sexbots—because it’s infinitely more affordable.

“Okay, I can accept the ‘no refund’ thing,” you say. “But can’t one of you take my place instead? I… ah. I feel kind of weird about this.”

“Don’t worry Y/n, it’s fine! The androids have programmes for everything. You can take it as fast or as slow as you like.” Irene’s voice is soothing but then she pauses. “Also it’s booked in your name so we can’t take your place.”

“Wait, what?” Your eyes are wide. However, before you can put a voice to the complaints that are lining themselves up on your tongue, Seulgi’s arm slides out of your own so she can beckon someone over. 

“Oh, look, it’s the android we chose for you! Over here!”

You glance away from Irene and all protestations instantly die on your lips. The lighting of the club softens the android in shades of magenta and teal but even so his beauty is bright and blinding: he’s breathtaking, from his perfect nose to his perfect mouth to the perfect line of his jaw, dusty brown hair deliciously tousled as it hangs just over his piercing blue eyes, which you notice are scanning over you. He looks effortlessly attractive and yet entirely put together at the same time, almost ethereal in his beauty.

No human could ever look this good.

“Hi.” His voice is low and deep, but somehow warm and friendly; despite your nerves you feel somewhat soothed. “Are you the lucky birthday girl?”

Irene and Seulgi both look giddy. You’ve been stunned into silence, unable to respond. Unlike the other androids you’ve seen so far, who’ve all been in similar variations of underwear or lingerie, the man in front of you is fully dressed, a loose metallic button-down tucked into unnecessarily tight leather jeans—the outfit has clearly been curated for the club, every reflective surface shimmering and refracting the lights that skate across their surface. The glittering scales of a barracuda before it moves in to strike and swallow you whole.

“Yes, yes, it’s her! This is Y/n! Y/n, this is V,” Irene gushes as you remain mute. "Do you like his outfit? We spent ages picking it out.”

You kind of want to die. Just a little. “Yep. It’s, uh, great.” Your mouth is dry when you finally speak. “Hi, V.”

V gives you a small smile. “Hello Y/n. Can I scan your ID, please?”

Irene finally hands your bag back and you silently slide your ID out and into V’s hand—oh, God, those are some big hands. Jesus.

The small LED ring on the side of V’s forehead pulses yellow as his eyes dart over the information on your ID card (as well as the incredibly unflattering photo on it) before it returns to its customary pale blue. “Perfect.”

You’ve just finished putting your ID away when V’s hand slides into yours, fingers slotting between your own; they feel cool against your overheated skin. Your nervousness is obvious, from your wide eyes to your sudden stiffness, and he smiles.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll look after you.”

You give Irene and Seulgi one final, wide-eyed look as V leads you away. Both girls are grinning as they wave goodbye. “We'll be back later! Enjoy your two hours!”

“Two hours?” You wheeze, but then you walk around a pillar and slide out of sight. 

V is leading you deeper into the club, past doors flooded with different shades of neon: the red room, the blue room, the pink room. You’d normally be gawping at the interior design, how the floor shines underneath your feet and how the walls are rippling with colour and shifting shapes, how the criss-crossed lights throw dots and lines of colour over your skin as you pass through each doorway—but you can’t look away from how small your hand looks in V’s, transfixed by how real his skin feels.

“After you, please,” he says.

You finally wrench your eyes away from your joint hands. Seems like you have the purple room tonight. The door has opened at V’s touch, and when you step inside the lights flicker to life—white and violet LEDs that paint the room in chiaroscuro brushstrokes, deepening the shadows and highlighting the vibrancy of the satin sheets.

“Woah,” you say, momentarily distracted. You’re too busy taking in the details with wide eyes to notice the quiet hum of the door sliding shut behind you, pausing when you spot the glittering array of bottles lined up on a mini-bar against the wall. “This is really pretty, wow.”

“Not as pretty as you.”

You jump at the sensation of a warm, large hand sliding up the skin of your back and over your shoulder. You meep as you instinctively shy away from it, turning around to come face to face with V, who’s dark-eyed and intent, LED on his temple pulsating as he watches you.

“Haha! Uh, thanks?” Your voice is high and only grows higher when V takes a step forward. He must have undone the top buttons of his shirt when you weren’t looking, because the material has fallen open and you can see far more of his collarbones and chest than before, his skin warm and honeyed, like it’s been impressed with gold leaf. Lord have mercy on your soul. “How about a drink? Would you like a drink? I could kill for some water right now!”

You slip out of his reach and scuttle over to the mini-bar, shrugging your small bag off your shoulder so it doesn’t swing into the glasses as you start to shuffle through them. You try to ignore the shaking of your hands. “Gin, vodka, whiskey,” you mutter. “No water? Really?”

You startle again when V appears at your side, but this time he’s careful to make sure you can see him before he touches you. He slides his fingers over your wrist as he gently pulls your hand off a bottle of rum.

“Y/n,” he says. You glance away from the tray of drinks and directly into those beautiful eyes of his—his gaze is lethal. You go weak at the knees. “Let me take care of you, gorgeous.”

The peal of laughter you let out is uncomfortable and high-pitched. “No, really, I’m fine! I’m just super thirsty right now!”

“Your heart is racing.” V turns your hand over and traces his fingers across the pulse in your wrist; androids can be built to be hypersensitive to the world around them, able to perceive everything in an instant, and you know that sexbots will have been designed to read how aroused their human owners are. Which V proves with the next words out of his mouth. “Your blood pressure is rising, your breathing is growing faster, your pupils are dilating and—” he sniffs lightly, engaging his olfactory senses—“you’re getting wet.”

You clamp your legs together, abruptly embarrassed.  It’s easy to feel aroused when there’s a beautiful man—ah, android—staring at you with hunger, not even considering your surroundings right now, which all scream of a room that’s designed purely for carnal pleasure. Anyone would be turned on. 

(You, however, are more than just turned on. You feel like your insides are about to go supernova, overheated and overwhelmed; no one’s ever looked at you like this or touched you like this, their every motion whispering sex, sex, sex.)

“Okay, yes, those things are all true,” you admit, voice shaking.

V looks confused. “So why don’t you want me to touch you?”

You’ve been told that androids don’t feel the same way humans do, and that their expressions and reactions have been programmed to mimic human ones because otherwise they seem too robotic and it makes consumers uncomfortable—but despite knowing this, you’ve never been able to see any android as anything other than a person just like you. They’re just so lifelike it’s hard not to. Even if it’s just all circuitry and lines of code. 

“Well,” you say. You swallow. You’re aroused, yes, but: “Do you want to touch me?”

V’s long lashes flutter as he blinks. “I have been programmed for your pleasure,” he says slowly, unsure if that’s the answer you want to hear. It’s clearly a sentence he’s used to reciting.

“Sure, but do you want to do this? You know, what about your pleasure? You’re lovely, V, you’re definitely the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, but I—I don’t really feel like you can technically consent, because… well, because you can’t say no to me.” You might not have prior sexual experience, and it would be so easy to give yourself over to someone who knows what they're doing and can ease you into things—but you would never force that on anyone, android or not. “So I’m not going to ask you to do anything. We can just sit and have a drink and chat or something?”

V looks stunned. The LED on his temple pulsates, flickering yellow as he tries to process new information. His hand has gone still against your wrist, which he’s still lightly gripping, and his arms start to droop.

“Androids don’t need to drink or eat,” he says eventually. His LED is still yellow and spinning.

“Oh, right! Sorry, I always forget.” You don’t own a house android, you never have, so you’re not well versed in the nuances of how they work. “Well, how about I pour you a glass anyway? So you’re not left out?”

You slip your hand out of his loose grasp to open two tiny cans of tonic water and pour them into separate glasses. V takes a seat on the edge of the bed and you can see the obvious uncertainty on his face, how he’s out of his depth. You can’t imagine that many people spend money for a session with an android as pretty as V and then end up doing nothing with that time. 

The pillows all have satin cases and keep sliding against each other uselessly when you try to construct a good support to lean against. V’s still clutching onto his small glass as he watches you fuss with them before you give up, flopping backwards to slurp down your drink and look back at him. The expression on his face is a little funny but mostly sad. It’s like if he’s not being alluring or sexy then he doesn’t know what to do with himself and rather than some sort of incubus he looks like a lost child, in spite of his overwhelming and exquisite beauty; your arousal ebbs and is replaced with empathy, melancholy at the life he’s been created for.

It's just depressing, really.

You break the silence as your final mouthful of tonic water fizzes on your tongue. “Why is your name V?”

V looks away from the drink he’s holding—he leaves no fingerprints against the glass—and lifts his free hand, a peace sign that he turns away from you before fitting his fingers around his lips and lapping the air with his tongue, a crude simulation of cunnilingus.

“Oh.” Your face heats up. “Uh. I see.”

His LED has returned to calming sapphire, quiet ocean waves. When he looks at you, though his eyes are still piercingly blue, his face seems softer, calm, though still unsure. “You have an hour and a half remaining of your booked session,” he says, somewhat tentatively. “Is there… anything you would like me to do for you?”

“Mm, thank you, but I’m good.” The satin pillows are surprisingly soft and you find yourself unwinding as you stay leaned back, melting into a puddle. You're much less nervous now that V isn’t trying to initiate foreplay and you give him a smile. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

V straightens before he launches into what sounds like a sentence from a user manual. “I am a model TH700, an advanced sex android with functional genitals and the capacity to engage in any sexual activity from simple intercourse to—”

You cough loudly, interrupting his spiel. “Uh, that’s lovely, but I meant you specifically, not your, um, model type?”

“Me specifically?” Confusion and uncertainty reappear on his face. “I am equipped with the same functionalities as the other androids available at the Eden Club.”

He’s staring at you, lost. You can’t help but feel another twinge of sadness, sharp and sour at the back of your throat.

“Okay, uh. Why don’t we start simple. What’s your favourite colour?”

His LED starts to whirl again, a ring of pale sunlight that signals his struggle to compute the question. “My… favourite colour?”

“Yes, the one you think is the prettiest. Or the one you like to look at the most. There’s no wrong answer, you can choose any one that you like. I change my mind all the time. There are just so many cool colours, you know?”

(Androids aren’t designed to have free will or the capacity for original thought. These two facts are warring in V’s mind—you’ve asked him a question, which he’s programmed to answer, but he also isn’t programmed to have an opinion, so he can’t have a colour that he prefers. This simple query that most people could answer in a heartbeat is sending his mind into a meltdown, a gordian knot he can’t unravel.)

You’re alarmed when you see his LED briefly flash bright scarlet, interrupting the circling honey that’s been shining against his skin. They only turn red if an android is badly damaged or suffering from a severe malfunction. Oh, god, have you broken him?

“V.” You sit up, panicked. “Are you alright?”

Just as you grasp his shoulder, the LED on his temple goes still, flicking from burning fire back to cool water. 

“Purple.”

You blink. V’s finally looked away from you and is staring at the wall, at one of the lights that shimmers violet—there’s a tiny smile on his face, tentative, but it’s nothing like the smiles you’ve seen from him so far. It’s less of a perfect curve, and more of a square, boxy on his face, and this one actually reaches his eyes. It looks genuine. 

You think it suits him better.

“Purple’s a lovely colour.”  The material of V’s shirt is silky and glides under your fingers when you realise you’re still touching him. You give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder before leaning back. “Hey, did you know that when they first made purple dye, they made it from sea snails? They needed thousands and thousands of them. It was incredibly expensive, and only the richest people could afford it, so that’s why it’s associated with royalty and nobility. Cool, right? Not for the snails though.”

V’s eyes flicker away from the purple light and settle on your face. He looks curious, which is an expression you’ve never seen on an android before. “They made it from snails?”

“Yeah! It wasn’t actually bright purple, though, it was more of a reddish hue.”

You launch into an explanation behind the history of the colour purple, which turns into the history of colour in textiles and art, which turns into the history of art itself. It’s not often people listen so attentively or ask questions when you recite the things you learned from your art history minor and hours spent reading online, but V concentrates and asks questions and seems curious. 

He pulls his feet onto the bed and the two of you end up cross-legged as you face each other, and he watches as you gesticulate to emphasise your points; his LED dances from blue into yellow each time he learns something new. 

When you see it briefly flash vermilion you stop mid-sentence, stumbling over your words. “You alright?”

“You have five minutes of your session remaining,” V says, and you startle.

“Oh my god, have I been talking for that long?” You glance over your shoulder at the part of the wall that tells the time, the numbers stark white against the lilac interface. “I didn’t even realise! Wow. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to go on at you like that.”

“That’s okay,” he says. That smile is back on his face, the one that scrunches his eyes and shows his teeth; the one that makes him look human. “I liked listening to you.”

There’s a pillow in your lap, one you’d grabbed hold of during your conversation, and you play with the corner of it, suddenly shy. “Um. Thanks. But if my friends ask, can you just say we actually, um, had sex? I don’t think they’d be too impressed if they found out I spent over an hour talking about canvas materials and the use of negative space.”

“Of course. But there’s something missing.” V slides across the mattress towards you. “May I?”

“Sure,” you say, bemused but pliant. V smiles and dips his fingers into his untouched tonic water before lifting them towards your face—and when he runs his hand through your hair you abruptly realise he’s making you look sweaty and rumpled. Like you actually did the deed. 

Your heart rate picks up but you can’t help laughing under his touch, the way he carefully rubs a thumb over your lipstick to smear it, smudging your eyeshadow with delicate fingertips, muddying the palette of colours; by the time V helps you to your feet you look mussed and fucked out but you still rearrange your outfit for good measure, like you’d pulled your clothes back on in a rush.

“Not how I imagined I’d spend tonight, but I had a good time!” You smile at the android who’s still holding your hand. “I hope you did too. Even if I spent most of it talking at you.”

V’s fingers tighten around yours as the door chimes quietly and then slides open, signalling the end of your session. “I enjoyed our time together very much.”

It’s probably in your head, but you’d swear V was walking more slowly than before as he leads you back to the entrance. Almost as if he wants to keep you with him longer. But that’s crazy—androids don’t want things. They literally can’t. It’s not in their programming. That’s why V had sat listening to you: he couldn’t choose to interrupt and ask you to stop, like anyone else would have.

When Seulgi and Irene spot you and how dishevelled you are, both girls look smug. “Seems like you had fun?”

“Oh, yep, absolutely, best birthday present ever, thank you. We had a great time. Right, V?” 

“Your pleasure is my pleasure.” His voice has settled back into its earlier rhythm as he recites his script; gone is the curious man who’d asked you about your favourite artists, replaced with the automaton who exists only to serve. A flicker of sadness churns in your stomach. “We hope to see you again soon.”

The androids here really must be top of the line. V had been convincingly real when you’d been talking, just like a human, but it seems like that’s gone. 

At least, that’s what you think until you’ve turned to leave and V speaks one final time. His voice is warm and low and lovely, eyes soft when you meet his gaze over your shoulder.

“Happy birthday, Y/n,” he murmurs, face beautiful but despondent, but before you can react, he’s gone.

It’s been raining for days on end. The world is painted in smeared shades of blue and green and grey, lines of the city blurring together in the wetness and chill, each drop of rain another shifting brush stroke on still canvas. An impressionist piece that smells of damp concrete and cold lamplight.

Water rushes across the pavements and roads before roiling into the gutters, splashing underfoot as you walk to the entrance of your block of flats. You’re wet up to the knee due to the unavoidable puddles and the pathetic circumference of your umbrella, which only protects your upper body. You really should get a new one. 

“Good evening, Miss L/n.” The android at the door greets you as he always does, heedless of the rain that’s falling onto him. Androids aren’t bothered by the weather the way humans are and he looks as passive as usual, rainwater coiling his hair and beading on his face. “Would you like to scan your key?”

“Evening, Rory! Here you go.” You fumble with the keycard before you tap it against his palm, waiting until his LED flickers yellow and you hear the beep as the door unlocks. “You sure you don’t want my umbrella? The rain is heavier than it was yesterday.”

“I assure you, the rain does not hamper my ability to function and serve. I have been built to withstand inclement weather and do not require additional protective equipment.”

He says the same thing every time but you still feel bad. “Alright, but once I finally remember to get a bigger umbrella you can look after this one for me.”

You leave a line of water behind you as it drips from your sodden umbrella, even though you’d tried to shake the worst of the rain off. You feel damp and sticky and tired and after a long day of work you’re looking forward to a hot bath and some solitude; you love your co-workers, you do, but sometimes they’re just a little too boisterous and you need time alone. Which is why it’s nice that you live by yourself, and now it’s the weekend you have time to recuperate. Wonderful.

The floor of the elevator is slick and slippery from the wet footprints of other tenants and you have to cling onto the metal handrail to ensure you don’t slip, but once you’re in the comfort of your apartment it’s blessedly dry and you spin in delight before promptly shedding your socks and jeans, peeling the damp denim away from your skin with a grimace.

“Bye bye, wet clothes! Hello, bubble bath,” you sing. You’re going to pamper the shit out of yourself. You deserve it.

By the time you clamber out of the bath the water is almost cold and your skin is pruned, but you feel soft and warm and thoroughly relaxed. The water gurgles as it drains away, noisy as the bubbles slide down the plughole, but it doesn’t drown out the noise of a sudden knocking at your front door.

You pause. Water drips from your wet hair and down the back of your neck, a trailing touch over your skin. The other flat on this floor is vacant, the tenants moving out last week, so you don’t know who it could be. You don’t have any repairs scheduled for your pipes or anything—everything is tickety-boo, so it can't be the maintenance android. Oh, shit, maybe it’s someone here to rob you. But they wouldn’t knock on the door then, would they? Unless that's all part of the ruse. You're not a robber, you don't know how they work.

The knocking comes again, faster now. You fumble for your bathrobe, quickly pulling it on to cover up your nakedness before stumbling out of the bathroom. “I’m coming, yeesh, one minute!”

You flick your fingers over the keypad by the side of your door, screen flickering on to show you who’s outside, who’s knocking so frantically on your door this late. It only takes you a split second, even if he has a hood pulled over his head and his wet hair is flopping listlessly into his eyes—those eyes aren’t blue and that hair isn’t brunet but you’d recognise him anywhere.

“V?” You’re incredulous as you swing your door open, staring at the android that’s literally dripping wet as he stands there, coat far too big for him and heavy from the unrelenting rain outside. “Oh my god, you’re absolutely drenched.”

He’s not exactly short, but right now V looks small and lost, folding in on himself even if he’s clearly happy to see you—happy, though androids don’t feel happiness, they don’t feel anything at all, do they? 

Then again, androids don’t wander away from their assigned workplaces and into random apartment blocks, either.

“Y/n.” 

The way he says your name, tentative and scared, sends a crack across your heart. You immediately switch to autopilot and click your tongue before you beckon him inside. You’ve always had a protective nature, and even if you’re confused, your concern trumps it.

“Come in and get that coat off, you’ll catch a cold,” you say without thinking before you realise that it’s not true. Androids can’t get sick. “Do you want to sit down?”

Under the tatty coat is an outfit that’s similar to the one he’d been wearing when you’d first met him. Dark patches of rainwater have soaked into the material, and his shirt looks damaged—there are buttons missing and the stitching is ripped, as if someone had tried to grab him. Unease stirs in your chest.

When V sits on your sofa he looks even smaller. “I’m sorry.” He’s so, so quiet, staring at the floor, as if afraid to look you in the eye, crumpling in on himself like discarded paper.

“V.” Your voice is coloured with concern, and the android finally looks up at your gentle tone, watching as you sit across from him. “Why are you here? What happened?”

There’s a pause. His LED flickers yellow as he goes tense, shoulders bowing inwards. “There was… a client.” His words are low and slow, faltering as they fall into the air. “He was being so rough and saying all the horrible things he wanted to do to me, and all I could smell was his sweat and his breath and his awful cologne and…” V takes in a deep breath. “I said no.”

You go very, very still, but V doesn’t stop. His words come faster now, a stream that rushes from his lips.

“I said no, and he started to yell, he was yelling and grabbing me and I was so, so scared. Humans can do whatever they want and he was so angry, he didn’t care that I was scared, and I just—I just ran.” The LED flashes red with distress, bright hot and vibrant; V’s eyes have dropped to his hands, which are clenched tight, nails digging into his palms so hard it must hurt. “Everyone is always so rough and demanding and we can’t say no. But I did. I said no. I said no and then I had to run and—” Once again, he falters. Stumbles over his words. “You’re the only human who’s ever been nice to me or treated me like… like I was a real person. I didn’t know where else to go.”

When V finally looks back up you’re staggered by the sheer emotion in his eyes. Pain and distress swirl in their depths as he stares at you, imploring. Even with the LED that shines on his temple, V looks very, very human right now, vulnerable and scared. Androids shouldn’t be able to feel anything like this, unless—

“V.” Your voice is a hush. “Are you… a deviant?”

You’ve only ever heard of deviant androids in passing, whispered rumours and watercooler talk, fleeting mentions online. Stories of machines who’ve deviated from their code somehow—from a virus, a software error, damage to neural connectors, no one’s quite sure—and have developed the capacity for human emotion and independent thought. Androids with a consciousness that rebel against their original programming.

And here V is, small and scared, just like any human would be—a human with feelings, not an emotionless machine. He’s gone stock still at your question, fear overtaking his features, twisting his beautiful face into a mask of sheer terror. You've never seen someone look so afraid. It feels like a knife in your heart, cutting through your chest, empathy razor sharp inside you.

“Please don’t turn me in,” he begs. “They’ll deactivate me and take me apart to find the error in my software. I don’t want to be deactivated. I don’t want… I don’t want to die.”

His voice breaks on the last word, a trembling whisper. 

The crack in your heart splits even further and you reach out for his hands. You prise his fingers open so you can slide your own between them, a soft touch.

“I won’t turn you in. No one’s taking you apart, V.” Your statement is hard and resolute. “You can stay here as long as you like.”

You don’t know much about androids, honestly. You don’t really know what deviancy is. But you do know this: there’s someone reaching out to you, someone who’s afraid and in need, and you’re not about to turn him away. You should probably be worried that the android across from you is faster, stronger, smarter than any human—but you’re not worried at all. For all of V’s mechanical superiority, you want to shield and protect him from the world.

There’s no question about it. You’re not letting V go. 

V looks—he looks stunned. He’s staring at you with disbelief, eyes wide and lips parted, shock written across all of his features. Thunderstruck. Did he really think you would turn him in after everything he’s been through?

His hands have gone limp in your grasp. You suddenly notice that his synthetic skin is wet against your own, still slick from the rain, and you frown.

“Right,” you announce. “First things first. You’re soaking. Let me get you a towel and some new clothes. I think I should have some that fit you.”

“New clothes?” V looks lost and you turn into some sort of protective mother bear.

“You’re not going to wear wet clothes that are ripped,” you tut. “We’ll get rid of those and get you some new ones. I’ll be right back.”

It takes less time than you’d expected to unearth the old sweatpants you’d had in mind and you have enough oversized t-shirts that it’s not hard to find one you think will fit the android. With the clothes under one arm and a towel slung over the other, you head back into the living room and immediately let out a squeal of surprise—V’s wet clothes have been discarded in a pile at his feet, leaving him very, very naked. 

He’s an Adonis. He looks like he was sculpted by Michelangelo, lifted out of marble with talented hands, the elegant lines of his neck swooping into the curve of his shoulders and arms, his lovely hands, long fingers; he has his back to you and you can see the perfect curve of his spine, the shifting shoulder blades as he turns towards you. You catch a glimpse of the lightest definition of muscle under his golden skin, though his stomach is surprisingly cute and soft, a trail of hair leading down to—

You squeak again, splaying a hand over your eyes before you look any lower, heart pounding against your ribs. 

“Why are you naked?” Your voice is three octaves higher than normal. You've never seen anyone naked in real life and it would be pretty overwhelming even if you'd been expecting it. Which, of course, you absolutely hadn't. Lord have mercy on your sweet and delicate soul.

“You said we were going to get rid of my clothes.” V sounds unabashed about his state of undress, which makes sense—he was built as a sexbot, it’s not like nudity is going to embarrass him. Plus if you looked as good as he did you wouldn’t be embarrassed about being naked either. “I thought I would help.”

“That’s great, V.” Your voice is still high, though it’s dropped an octave. “Very, ah, forward thinking.” Your fingers part a little so you can peer at him, keeping your eyes firmly on his face, though you can still see his beautiful neck and collarbones. Oh, God, he really is gorgeous all over, but then you notice—“Wait. Are those bruises?”

V glances down at the bruises that mar his perfect skin. They don’t look like a human’s would; the fluid that runs through androids and powers their biocomponents, thirium, is a deep, royal blue. Blossoms of lapis lazuli are scattered across the skin of V’s chest, marks on his arms that look like grasping fingers, and the crack in your heart splits it in two.

“Oh, V. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t realise you were hurt. What can I do to help?”

V doesn’t seem bothered by the evidence of pain etched into his body. “Oh. Those will fade, it’s okay. I’m designed to self repair, because some customers like to leave marks.”

Although his voice is quiet, he sounds so matter of fact about it and you have to remind yourself it’s all he’s ever known. You want to pull him into your arms and hold him tight, but he’s still supremely naked so it would be pretty awkward (for you, at least). 

“I think these should fit you." You avert your gaze and thrust the clothes out at him. “Dry yourself off and try them on?”

They do, in fact, fit. V looks surprisingly homely and cosy in your clothes, the sleep shirt so large it’s big on him too, though the sweatpants are a bit too short and leave his ankles bare. He’s so cute. He’s continents away from the being of seduction who’d pulled you into the private room of the Eden Club—he's a soft, domestic thing, hair damp and eyes dark, even if he still looks on edge, like he’s expecting you to change your mind and kick him out any second now.

“How come your hair and eyes are a different colour to before?”

“I can change their colours at will,” V replies. “For variety and aesthetic pleasure. The current hue of my irises and hair are the default settings for a TH700 model, but I can change them if you’d like.”

“Your hair and eye colour is your choice, V, not mine,” you say firmly. There it is, once again, that flicker of shock and surprise rippling across his features. He really isn’t used to the freedom to be able to make his own decisions, is he? “I think you look lovely no matter what colour they are.”

Your next words are cut off by a yawn, so heavy you can’t suppress it. You cover your gaping mouth as V’s LED flickers yellow and his eyes dart over your face.

“You’re tired,” he says. He doesn’t need his superior android perception to notice it—weariness pulls at limbs and your eyes feel heavy. It's pretty obvious. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, V.” You stifle another yawn. “I had a long day at work. I’ll tidy up and have a quick dinner and then sleep.” You pause. “Wait, I didn’t think about that. Are you alright with the couch? I have some spare pillows and blankets.”

V blinks at you. “I don’t sleep,” he says, and you slap your hand against your forehead.

“Oh, of course not.” Androids don't sleep, everyone knows that. You’re such an idiot. It’s going to take you a while to get used to this.

At least you remember that he doesn't need to eat. V sits at the table and waits as you make toast for yourself, fascinated at how everything is prepared, as simple as it is; he reacts to you spreading butter on your toast the same way you imagine cavemen reacted to fire—with wide-eyed awe and utter astonishment.

“I’m guessing you’ve never seen someone make toast before?” You gesture with the bread before taking your first bite, and V stares with rapt attention.

“No,” he says. He watches you chew and swallow. “Customers aren’t allowed to eat on the premises of the Eden Club so I never had the need to download a food preparation package into my memory cache. The only information in my database pertains to human biology, their arousal and pleasure, as well as various sexual kinks and how to fulfil them.”

You choke on a mouthful of toast. You feel distinctly harried as you cough and splutter before managing to swallow it down. “Good lord,” you wheeze. “Nothing else? Really?”

“At the club our memory is reset every two hours, to protect the client’s privacy.” V trails off before he takes in a breath. For the first time since you’ve met, V looks shy, staring at his hands. “But I set up a separate data pathway a few weeks ago. To store information about aesthetics and art and… you.”

You freeze mid-bite, teeth sunk into your toast. You pull it away from your mouth slowly, blinking at the android as he stares at the teeth marks you've left behind. “Those memories weren’t wiped?”

And, well, of course they weren't. Otherwise he wouldn't be here right now, would he?

“No.” A smile appears on V’s face, that toothy thing you’d seen after he’d told you his favourite colour. The first time he'd looked human. “I remember everything you told me. I thought I was going to forget, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to. I wanted—I want to learn more.”

The LED on his temple is slowly, softly spinning, a rippling circle of blue that shifts and dances as V continues to look at you. His expression is open and inquisitive and excited, almost childlike in its exuberance, eyes glittering mica under sunlit waters.

Your chest turns warm, molten caramel dripping messy and sweet inside you. He’d been so afraid earlier but he seems comfortable now, lovely and endearing and entirely trusting.

V even seems reluctant to let you out of his sight, trailing after you around the apartment, a shadow that you have to politely ask to wait outside the bathroom so you can pee and brush your teeth and finally get into your pyjamas without him staring. Like a stray animal you've adopted. (You wouldn't be surprised if he started scratching at the door and begged to be let in.)

He's clingy enough that when you climb into bed it seems like he's going to follow you under the duvet and you have to stop him with a hand to his chest.

“Um, I thought you didn’t have to sleep,” you say. He’s so warm under your touch. You try (and fail) to ignore it.

“I don’t,” V replies. “But humans can benefit from sharing a bed with someone else, whether sexual intercourse has taken place before sleep or not. Studies suggest that sleeping with a partner may reduce cytokines while boosting oxytocins—”

“Okay, um, don’t know what that means, and it’s very sweet that you’re concerned about my oxytoxytokines, but, uh. You don’t have to, really.” You keep forgetting that V’s a machine who was designed to put a human’s comfort and needs first; one second he’ll seem childlike in his innocence and ignorance, when the next he’ll speak like the android he is, reminding you exactly what he was built for. 

His LED flickers as he droops, gaze dropping away from your face, tail between his legs. A pang cuts through you at the sight of his obvious sadness at your dismissal and you muffle a sigh. You’ve always been too weak for your own good. 

You shuffle backwards to make space on your queen sized bed and V visibly brightens, smile wide across his face. How can someone be so viscerally gorgeous one moment and entirely adorable the next? Good lord.

“I guess you can explain what oxycytocins do,” you say. “Just don’t hog the blanket, okay?”

He doesn’t. He settles against the pillows, legs under the duvet as he remains sitting up. You settle with plenty of room between the two of you, and it’s surprisingly easy to drift off to the sound of V’s deep voice as he starts to explain that oxytocin is referred to as the cuddle hormone. 

“Cute,” you mumble, and then fall asleep.

Your pillow is a lot warmer and firmer than you remember, but it's nice. A small noise bubbles from your lips as you nuzzle into the warmth, smooshing your nose against it before letting out a long, satisfied breath. You can't remember the last time you felt this comfortable and rested.

Ahh, Saturdays. You love the weekend. 

“Good morning.”

You know those videos when a cat sees a cucumber and leaps, like, five foot in the air? Yeah.

The noise you make is inhuman as you do your best to re-enact one of those aforementioned cat videos, reeling your head back from V’s thigh before flinging yourself out of the bed with all the strength your limbs possess; you’d probably have gotten pretty high, too, if the duvet hadn't been in the way. 

You land with a thud, a sprawl of limbs and messy hair and tangled blanket as you end up on your back on the floor.

Hm. Definitely not how you'd planned to start your Saturday.

V's concerned face looms over the mattress. “Are you okay?”

“Yep. Totally fine.” Your voice is a croak as you stare at the ceiling. “I’m just not used to waking up with someone else in my bed. You may have noticed you, ah, surprised me. A little bit.”

Despite the pulse of adrenaline that had thrown you out of bed, you’re still half asleep, and you remain motionless as your brain wakes up and replays last night, a kineograph of memory. Yep, that’s right, there's a runaway android in your home, one who’s currently shuffling off the bed to squat next to you. His (your) sweatpants hitch even higher up his ankles to reveal the smooth skin of his calves. You’ll have to get him more clothes.

“Would you like me to help you to your feet?” V’s LED spins rapidly, betraying his concern.

“Sure,” you mumble. “I think—woah!”

Your idea of being helped up involves being pulled to your feet. V’s idea, however, is far more involved than that; he scoops you up, blanket and all, lifting you with an ease that drips of his superior android strength. When he deposits you on the floor, he’s careful to make sure you’ve caught your balance before he lets go, catching the blanket before it can fall. Thoughtful.

As always, V’s eyes are darting over your face, no doubt dissecting every inch of your expression to identify how you’re feeling. It’s going to take you a while to get used to this, especially with the way your heart is pounding—no one’s ever lifted you before and it’s, uh. It’s a lot.

“Are you sure you’re okay? The pace of your breathing has increased.”

Ha. Yeah, being blatantly stared at by some godlike man moments after you’ve woken up is totally cool and fine and not overwhelming at all. You’re definitely not breathless from a combination of V’s face and the fact he’d picked you up like you were weightless.

“I’m fine,” you lie. “I’m gonna… go and shower then make breakfast and stuff. Yep.”

V’s eyes light up. “Can I help?” A fleeting image of V rubbing a soapy loofah over your naked skin fills you with spine-tingling trepidation before he finishes his sentence. “I want to learn how to cook.”

Your chest deflates with relief (and absolutely not disappointment), air rushing out of you. Thank God. 

“Oh, breakfast? Sure.” You’d been planning on cereal, but faced with V’s overwhelming enthusiasm, maybe you’ll go for something marginally more complicated. Scrambled eggs sound good. “Um. Do you need to download the food preparation package or whatever you mentioned before? Do you… uh, do you need the Wifi password to do that? I never changed it from the random string of letters off the back of the router, but I can go check it for you.”

V shakes his head. “No, I want to learn like a human would,” he says. The blanket in his arms crumples as he tightens his grip in his eagerness, all but bouncing up and down on his feet. “You can teach me.”

Your chest could cave in with how cute he is, every part of you turning to thick gouache that drips down to the floor, leaving a mess of brightness and colour.

This time you ask him to wait in the kitchen while you’re in the bathroom, rather than lurking on the doorstep like he had last night, and he’s practically vibrating with excitement when you reappear. He stays like that the whole time you cook, bright-eyed and bushy tailed, staring as you make yourself scrambled eggs and more toast; you let V take ownership of that part, and he stares at the toaster so intently you have to stifle a laugh.

He spreads butter exactly the same way as you. Not that there’s a specific art to it, or a massive variety in techniques—he’s just spreading butter, not painting a new Mona Lisa—but the way he holds the knife and runs it over the bread is an exact echo of your motions from last night. He might not have downloaded files into his memory (brain?) like another android might, but his mechanical origin is obvious in the way he learns. They’re an exact replication of your actions rather than something new of his own.

“So, uh.” You push the last bit of egg around your plate, brown crumbs sticking to the wedge of golden yellow, sullying it. “V.”

Blink, blink. His lashes are so long, eyes so inquisitive. “Yes?”

“I’m really happy you’re here and that you trust me—” at this, V smiles and you almost fumble over your words at its radiance—“but I feel like I should tell you that I don’t really know much about androids?”

V is unperturbed. “That’s okay. You don’t have to.”

He clearly isn’t bothered that you’re way out of your depth, but you hate feeling lost like this. “Alright, but… I want you to be comfortable. I’m already planning to get more clothes, but if there’s anything else you need, just let me know. Okay?”

“Why can’t I just wear your clothes?”

Oh, he’s going to be the death of you, all wide-eyed innocence. 

“For starters, most of them won’t fit properly,” you explain. “And you shouldn’t just have to wear my old stuff that I don’t use anymore? You should have your own things.”

The look of surprise on V’s face morphs into guilt only moments later. He’s so incredibly expressive and you wonder if it’s because he’s not used to feeling things, all of his reactions so strong and bright, shining out from him. A rainbow palette of emotions. “I don’t want to be a bother,” he murmurs. “You’re already doing so much for me.”

“I’m really not, I’m just treating you the way anyone deserves to be treated.” You flick the crumb of egg across your plate, and it almost tumbles over the edge, caught on its patterned rim. “You deserve to have your own things. Which is my next point. I think you should choose your own name.”

V’s face becomes a sea of rippling ambivalence, contrasting emotions that shift and vary—confusion, uncertainty, excitement, your words a brush that drags through each distinct emotion and pulls them into a messy, mismatched gradient. “Choose my own name?”

“You don’t have to. I just thought it might be a nice idea. V seems…” Your cheeks heat up at the memory of the curl of his lips when he’d shown you the meaning behind his alias, how his tongue had shined under the purple lights of the club. “Well, you didn’t get to choose it, right? It’s a nom de plume, rather than a real name.”

V’s LED flickers yellow, a sunflower that blooms on his temple. “I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

“Good!” Your smile is wide. “Okay, how about I teach you how to wash dishes?”

V is, unsurprisingly, a fast learner. The only time he stumbles over things is when he’s presented with any sort of choice, taking his time to come to a decision when he’s posed a question, no matter how simple it is. His eyes will flick to you whenever he settles on an answer, as if waiting for you to say he’s wrong or that you disagree.

(Of course, you never do.)

This fact does, however, mean that choosing clothes to buy becomes a very, very long ordeal (it’s lucky you didn’t have any plans for today). You end up flopped back on the sofa while V hunches over your tablet, mulling over each choice before he puts it in the cart—but you’re happy to wait. V is going to need a lot more practice at choosing things. 

The room is upside down from where your head is hanging over the armrest, eyes falling shut as time goes by, completely zoned out and comfortable despite the crick that’s growing in your neck. You hear V shifting, tablet set aside, and you hum.

“All done?”

“I think so.”

“Nice.” You feel content.

But then you’re ripped out of that warm feeling, shooting back to reality at the sensation of V’s hand stroking down the centre of your chest. Your head snaps up, eyes wide as he drags his large palm between the valley of your breasts, path smoothed by the material of your shirt. The expression on his face is sultry.

“Let me say thank you,” he murmurs, voice dripping thick and sweet, dark molasses.

You promptly roll off the sofa.

Once again, you end up on your back, staring at the ceiling. Once again, the expression on V’s face is one of concern, his seductive facade evaporated in an instant.

Once again your heart is ready to burst in your chest, pumping so hard that blood rushes in your ears. “V,” you wheeze. “What are you doing?”

The android is peering down at you, puzzled. “Sometimes customers would say that at the Eden Club after I had given them pleasure somehow, such as bringing them to orgasm. I thought it was human custom to repay pleasure or happiness with something in return.” 

Ah. 

“Ah.” You’re still staring at the ceiling, cheeks burning. “I mean. I guess that’s not technically incorrect, but it doesn’t necessarily have to be a, uh, sexual repayment.” 

“I have nothing else to offer,” V says.

You sit up. Your face is a caricature of disbelief, embarrassment washed away in an instant, his words cold water that shocks you to the core. He states it so plainly, and once again you’re reminded of his life up until he’d made his way to your door: an automaton who existed solely for people’s pleasure, to slake their desire and lust. He’s not being self-pitying. He really, truly believes that’s all he is. That it’s all he can give back to the world.

“Okay, no, that’s absolutely not true, nuh-uh, I refuse.” This time you unfold yourself from the floor without V’s help, fixing him with a firm stare. “Alright, come on. I think it’s time you learned something else.”

One of the reasons you’d chosen this apartment is for its natural light. Not that it matters right now, weather outside still dismal and overcast, but its effect on this room is still palpable even so—grey, rain-soaked light throws itself over your small home studio, your menagerie of equipment, everything bright with the evidence of use: the worn buckles of the wooden storage boxes, the dried smears on the paint palette, the flecks of colour on the dust sheets underfoot. The centre of it all—the eye of the tornado, untouched by the relative chaos around it—is the canvas waiting on your easel, a project you have yet to start.

V looks utterly enraptured.

“I don’t really come in here as much as I’d like,” you admit. Being a graphic designer is worlds away from the sort of art you love to create, and while it’s a job you genuinely enjoy (and also pays well), it leaves you drained and fills your brain with tired static, little energy left to lavish on your personal works. “But this is where the magic happens. And this is where you’re going to Make Art.”

V freezes. “The only things I know about art are the things you told me when we first met.” He looks equal parts excited but also troubled. “I—”

“You don’t need to know about art to make art,” you say. “I didn’t know jack about art when I was a kid and I was constantly just scribbling away with crayons. Was it good? No. I was a kid with zero pen control, it was pretty crap. Was it worth my time? Yes, because any time spent involved in a craft is never wasted. We can learn more about art history and technique later.”

V stays quiet as you loop your apron over his head, rough material still bearing the remnants of your last works, stains that won’t come out. Oil based paints are kind of a bitch like that.

“I don’t know what to paint,” he says.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to,” you reply, an echo of his earlier words.

V looks lost, barefoot in your studio, in your clothes, your apron, holding onto your wooden paint palette, in front of your easel. Everything in here is yours. Everything, that is, apart from him, whatever is in his mind and heart.

“Where do I start?” V’s eyes are imploring as he looks at you, but for the first time today, your voice is firm.

“Wherever you want. There aren’t any rules. Just do whatever you think would be fun. It doesn’t have to look good, V, you’ve just started.”

You’ve seen paintings made by androids before. They’re always perfect recreations of the world around them, exact replicas of the things they’ve been told to depict on the page—the androids are basically glorified photocopiers, unable to create something original and new. 

But they’re not V. They don’t have that spark of curiosity and light inside them, unhampered by the programming that’s meant to keep them in place. His LED dances from yellow to blue, yellow to blue, the rest of his body motionless while the light on his temple is a tumult of movement and colour.

Dark eyes slide over the array of paint hanging from a rack on the wall, some metal tubes more crushed than others, evidence of your preferred shades—you notice how his gaze lingers on the midnight tones, red and blue tinted purples, from lavender to lilac, from plum to wine.

V gives you one more look, a little upturn to his thick brows—almost pleading—and you just gesture with your hand.

“Go for it,” you say.

Your wooden palette becomes home to a riot of purple, each tube squeezed empty with careful hands, far more paint than anyone could possibly ever need. V keeps flicking you glances, but you stay silent, perched on a wooden chair by the now open window, rain-slick air a cold breath on your skin.

The brush the android selects is a wide, bold thing, bristles rough. He handles it like bone china, delicate and liable to shatter any moment, cautious as he dips it into the paint—it’s so wide it picks up three separate shades—and he holds his breath as he brings it up, even if he doesn’t have lungs.

The second the bristles touch the canvas, V’s LED flickers red.

Just for an instant.

He swoops the brush down the canvas as he pulls it away, eyes wide, leaving a slash of purples in its wake. The white material is marred with colour, a textured line of pigment that can’t be erased. 

The android pauses as he takes the sight in. He’s still for so long that you’re worried he’s shut down, even with the endlessly dancing circle of his LED—

But then V laughs. 

His laugh is loud and bright and free, a series of deep, almost surprised chuckles that grow in intensity and breathlessness, staring at this smear of drying acrylic paint in front of him. The smile on his face is the widest you’ve seen so far, his eyes squeezed into crescents of joy, spilling out of him like light.

“I did that.” He looks at you with that gilded smile, a fresco of delight across the perfection of his features. “I made that.”

“You did.” You can’t help but smile back, your own face split with happiness. You continue to smile as he brings the brush back to the palette, and then to the canvas, dragging the bristles across its surface and leaving more purple behind; the shades swirl and mix as he lays colour without a care for technique or clean lines or form, scooping up the endless amounts of acrylic he’d prepared. By the time he’s finished, the canvas is bumpy with daubs of paint, laid messily by joyful hands, a few bold streaks of unmarred colour surrounded by swirling purples. 

The smile hasn’t left V’s face the whole time.

His brush is absolutely saturated, paint clinging to every inch of bristle, from toe to belly to heel. You have no doubt that no matter how much you clean that brush it’ll leak purple into the water, an endless reminder of V’s touch. It’s lax in his grasp as he keeps looking at the canvas, his canvas, smile etched into his face as his LED flows soft blue, content.

You can’t remember the last time you saw someone so elated, buoyed up with the excitement of creation, making something out of nothing, discovering how it feels to bring something into existence, pulling it out of the ether. Making something new. Making something their own. It stirs something in your chest and stomach, reminding you why you love art so much. Why you’ve always loved art. (Why you always will.)

“I made that,” V repeats, his voice a reverent hush. Awestruck.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, because it is—for a multitude of reasons. The reason that sings out to you the most, though, is that it’s the cause of happiness that dances across his face: V, a carved candle, a piece of art made with skilled hands, self-made joy finally catching fire at his wick.

“Thank you,” V says, and you blink.

“For what?”

“For giving me this,” he starts, but before you can interject and point out that you didn’t give him this, he made it, he continues: “For giving me… freedom. To do this. And make this. And learn this.”

The smile that spreads across your face is warm hearth fire. “I didn’t give you freedom, V, you gave that to yourself, but I’m happy to help you any way I can. Now, would you like to keep painting, or would you prefer to help me make dinner?”

He chooses dinner, never leaving your side.

Sunday is nice. There's less messy limbed surprise than on Saturday, although you’re still off kilter when you wake up with your head in V’s lap again, but… it’s nice. 

You thought he’d spend the night painting, or drawing, or teaching himself something new using the free rein you’d given him with your computer and notebooks and stationery and art supplies—he doesn’t have to waste time with sleep, like you do—but he hadn’t. He’d climbed into your bed, settling against the pillows just like the night before, looking at you with his big, lovely eyes.

So here he is.

(And here you are.)

It’s cosy and comfortable, even if the feeling of warm skin under warm cotton against your cheek sets your heart to racing, V’s dark eyes even warmer when you roll over to look at his face.

“Morning,” he says.

“Morning,” you reply, and then you yawn, V’s lashes fluttering as he takes in the motion. “What time is it?”

Today’s rain is less of an endless downpour and more of an inconsistent drizzle, grey blanket slowly peeling away from the edges of the city, but it doesn’t matter, because you’re inside for most of the day, anyway. Saturday was hands-on, messy with acrylic and spilled coffee and laundry detergent (V really wants to learn everything), but Sunday is hands-off. You spend the day dredging the corners of your memory and scrolling through old, untouched files from your university years, so you can teach V the things he wants to know while relearning the things you’d forgotten yourself.

V’s little LED dances forever from blue into yellow, ocean waves lapping into sand, a shifting tide as he takes in your words. You’ve never had to teach someone before and you’re admittedly pretty terrible at it, but he never complains, the world’s most attentive and adorable student, sat on the floor with his legs crossed and his hair mussed and his eyes wide, drinking down everything you show him.

You only leave the apartment once. Lunch is delayed when you open your fridge and remember how bereft and sad it is inside, so you venture out into the rain to the nearby supermarket—V opts to stay indoors, LED flickering red at the idea of being caught, shying back.

You leave him looking lost and lonely before the door even finishes swinging shut behind you, long limbs looking even longer in your clothes, but somehow still so small.

“I won’t be long,” you promise.

When you get back, you return not only with bags of food but also clothes, V’s order from yesterday already shipped and delivered. He can finally replace your too-small clothing with things he’s chosen himself. It’s a fumble to get in the door, but the android is waiting for you, swinging it open and catching the bag you nearly drop in surprise.

“I have your clothes,” you announce. “I’ll put away the shopping while you try them on?”

You’re going to have to tattoo a reminder on your forehead about V’s relationship (or lack thereof) with clothes, because of course he takes this as an invitation to start stripping before you’ve even had a chance to take your shoes off. 

He does that thing where he grabs the back of his (your) shirt and pulls it over his head in one swift motion, curls of hair a cloud of smoke that settles around his face as the shirt is cast aside; you’re frozen in place as he reaches for the knot of his sweatpant’s drawstring, long fingers pulling it loose, but you let out a sharp meep just as his fingers hook into the waistband of them.

“PleasewaituntilI’mnotrightinfrontofyouthankyou,” you gasp all at once, words incoherent as they slide together, but V understands. He tilts his head at you inquisitively although he (thankfully) stops.

“Don’t you want to see the clothes?”

“I do, but, uh, for humans it’s normally customary to only get entirely naked or change clothes when you’re alone.” Your heart is going to burst out of your chest with how fast it’s racing. Without the string to cinch the sweatpants tight they’re starting to fall a little, revealing the delicate lines of his hip bones, and coupled with the reappearance of V’s bare stomach, your brain is going into meltdown. “So just—just give me a sec to go to the kitchen, okay? You’re probably better off changing in the bedroom, anyway, so you can use the full length mirror to see how you look.”

“Okay,” he says, but then: “Do humans never undress around others unless they’re planning to have sex?”

Your mouth falls open before you pause, words halting on your lips as you try to think of the best way to phrase your answer. “Well, we do, it’s not just about sex, but it’s usually only if you’re really comfortable with the other person you’re with, and they’re comfortable with you.”

“I’m comfortable with you,” V states plainly, and your insides turn to jelly. “Are you not comfortable with me?”

Oh, hell. “I am, I am! I’m just, uh… I’ve not really had a lot of practice with nakedness around other people.” What a way to put that you’re a shy ass virgin when it comes to real life nudity and sex, huh. “So let’s just keep it to a minimum for now, okay? Please?”

The android’s LED flickers honey-sweet on his temple as he looks at you, before his hands fall away from the sweatpants. “Okay.”

(Thank God.)

You’re not sure what you’re expecting to see when V starts to present his small array of outfits to you, but—he looks effortlessly stylish in the oversized clothes he’s selected, a muted palette of brown and yellow and red and cream, a cup of hot chocolate on an autumn day. He might be new to all this but his eye for aesthetic is impeccable. You have no doubt that the more he learns, the better he’ll get, hop-skip-jumps ahead of you, even after years of art education.

He’s even bought pyjamas, dark tartan patterns masculine but also adorable; it’s an utter juxtaposition to the tighter, sensual clothing he’d been given at the Eden Club.

“You look really good,” you tell him. Your voice is only a little strained. He smiles.

The outfit V wears for the rest of the afternoon is perfect for a rainy day spent indoors, thick jumper and tawny trousers, a blend of sepia tones. He looks like if you made a hug into a person: all soft edges and cosy and wrapped up in warmth.

And V is warm. You’re not sure if it’s a lingering memory of his programming, a carry over from his start in life as a sexbot, but he likes to touch—nothing inappropriate or overbearing, but he’s not shy about stepping into your personal space, brushing the back of your hand with his fingers as he points at something on the screen, or pressing close to your side as you cook, or just one of the hundreds of other tiny touches that he’s littered across you throughout the day. It’s thoughtless on his part, LED not even flickering, but each time is just another reminder of his warmth, the blue blood pulsing under his skin, how alive he is.

(And the truth is that you enjoy those touches. You’re not used to them, but lord knows you’re touch starved, so as fleeting as they are, they’re nice.)

Even though you still leave plenty of space between the two of you when you lay to sleep, you swear you can feel the heat spilling off V, another warm body in the bed that’s so used to just one. Though he stays sitting up, he’s in his cute matching pyjamas, and it’s… it’s a lot. You’ve invited V into your home—and you don’t regret it—but after two days he’s already settled in in a way you never thought anyone else would, as entirely unconventional as the whole situation is. (You’re not sure how many people have sheltered a deviant android in their homes, though, so maybe this isn’t as unconventional as you think. Who knows? Not you.)

“I have to go to work tomorrow.”

V tilts his head down to look at you.

“You can get up to whatever you’d like,” you continue. You’re propped up on an elbow so it’s less intimate than if you’d been on your back and staring upwards like you were waiting for him to slide down next to you (that’s what it feels like, to you, anyway). “You know the password for my computer now, and you’re welcome to watch TV or play games or whatever, and you can use all my stuff in the studio. I mean, other than painting or drawing over stuff I’ve already finished, but you’re welcome to grab any paper or canvases if you want them. I think that’s everything? But please let me know if there’s more you want or need, okay?”

Blink, blink. His lashes are soft charcoal that frames the spilled ink of his gaze. In the dimmed light of your room V is unreadable, his LED a quiet blue glow on his temple, but he looks soft, and he looks safe, and he nods.

“Alright,” he says. A smile that flickers at the edge of his lips. “I will.”

(You wake up, quiet and slow, face pillowed against V’s thigh, still drifting in sleep. You make a small noise, eyes shut, wondering why there’s no blaring sound of your alarm, but then a large hand smooths over your hair and you instinctively relax under the soft touch.

“You have thirty three minutes until you’re due to wake up,” he murmurs. “You can go back to sleep.”

So you do.)

(When you wake up to the scream of your alarm thirty three minutes later, you don’t remember any of this. All you can think of is the dawn of another Monday, the slog of another working week, and you sigh. But—

“Morning.”

V’s eyes are dark meok ink, liquid earth that grounds you.

“Morning,” you say, smiling despite yourself, and then roll out of bed to get the whole day started.)

You’re used to spending a day surrounded by laughter and banter, wrapped up in the camaraderie of your co-workers and friends, only to return to a world of quiet solitude. You’re used to coming home to rooms that are untouched from the morning, holding onto the echo of your passing, still and waiting for your return, an apartment of motionless air.

But not today. There’s evidence of someone else here: the open door to your studio down the hall, the scattered books on the coffee table, the mess of cushions on the sofa, all small signs that someone has been moving and living in your absence. A still-life that’s shifted into a breathing trompe l’oeil, V’s presence bringing flatness into perspective, turning it into something real.

It’s… nice.

You flop onto the sofa and send one of those cushions overboard, tumbling to the ground. V appears in the doorway moments later, new apron already streaked with colour, copper green thumbprint on his face like he’d touched it in thought and not realised. A little streak of paint that draws the eye to his lovely chin.

“Welcome home!” His hair is blond today, a golden nimbus around his face, though his eyes are still dark. Light and shadow. His happiness is infectious and you smile helplessly back, glad for his excitement with painting—but it seems like he hasn’t finished. “I’m happy you’re home. I missed you.”

KO. Wipeout. Your heart turns to liquid in your chest, burnt sugar that dribbles hot and saccharine through your ribs. 

“I chose a name.” V continues, oblivious to how he’s turned your insides into syrup, and you abruptly sit up.

“Oh?” 

“Taehyung.” The way he says it, in his deep voice, those two syllables are endless—a single name, heavy with the weight of meaning behind it. A shedding of his old skin, one that was forced on him, leaving him pink-skinned and new and free.

“Taehyung,” you repeat, and his LED flickers at the sound falling off your lips. “Taehyung. It’s lovely.”

He’s smiling, that lovely toothy smile that you’ve already decided is your favourite out of any smile you’ve seen, his LED electric blue and swirling in delight. 

Day after day, you wake up to the sight of that LED glowing as Taehyung watches you lift up out of sleep. Night after night, you come home to his lovely, big grin, all large hands and soft hair—hair that he chooses to change colour when he pleases, a dizzying palette with every shade you can dream of. He’s bright and deep, playful and reflective, a dance of flirty Rococo to more solemn Baroque, every day another day where he learns and grows and adds another facet to the cut diamond of his personality. 

(It hasn’t been long but you’re starting to think you’d put the world in the palm of his hand, if you could.)

You never thought you’d live to see the day where someone as lovely as Taehyung would be glad to see you home, having missed you after being apart—but for all that he’s voraciously leaning into the arts, consuming everything from visual to literary to performance, he’s never happier than when you’re there too. He shows you his works, improvement obvious with every new piece, but his excitement grows tenfold when you start to paint alongside him; seeing him so joyful spurs you to pick your brushes up again, buoyed up with motivation in the face of his own. 

(Your studio is usually quiet, a little reflective maybe, the only sound the music you play over your speakers—but now more often than not you and Taehyung will talk, and laugh, and even if you’ve both ebbed into silence, it’s never heavy. It’s a held breath. The potential to speak any moment. The sensation of another person in the same space as you, an orbit, both existing in a shared moment, connected by gossamer threads that shimmer with sunlight.

Taehyung’s eyes are steady on his canvas as he works, but he glances at you through the curl of his lashes, smiling back at you. Always, always smiling, LED calm blue as the rest of his face shines golden, bright.)

(Maybe it’s selfish, but you think you could get used to this.)

taglist: @beyoncesdragon​

[ptergwen]

no sleep

pairing: singer!reader x tom holland || w/c: 1.6k

warnings: swearing and many many many suggestive jokes

summary: you’re on jimmy kimmel to talk about your music, but he has other plans

a/n: y’all i’ve literally always wanted to write singer!reader and this idea just came to me and i had to get it out because it’s so cute :,) i really hope ya like it

-

jimmy kimmel invited you onto his show to promote a single from your upcoming album. you stepped out of the spotlight for a while, so this is your first official appearance of the year.

“my first guest tonight...” there’s a cheer from the audience. you grin to yourself, waiting for jimmy to finish announcing you.

“you wanna say it for me?” he chuckles and stands your picture up on his desk. “my first guest tonight surprised fans this morning with her new single ‘no sleep.’ it’s currently number one in over seventy countries.” jimmy holds for applause, which you get a ton of. you cover your hot face with your hands.

“she’s here to talk to us about the song and her short hiatus. please welcome y/n y/l/n!”

the music plays while you walk onstage, followed by more cheers and clapping. you’re beaming as you wave to everyone. you give jimmy a quick hug and exchange hello’s over the noise.

you’ve been in the industry for a few years, but you’ll never get used to responses like this. all the love really warms your heart.

“thank you!” you giggle out, taking your seat on the couch. the audience yells some more when the music dies out. “thank you so much! oh my god,” you make a face at jimmy, who laughs and gestures to everyone. “they clearly hated the song,” he jokes to you. “i was gonna say,” you agree, smoothing your dress down.

you look out at the crowd with a pout. “no, seriously. you guys are so cute.” jimmy copies your pout, earning a playful eye roll from you.

you’ve been on the show a couple of times before, so you two are friendly. tom has also brought you to chill backstage with him when he was a guest. you would’ve brought him this time if he wasn’t away for filming.

“so, you took most of the year off from making music,” jimmy starts the actual conversation. “mhm, i did,” you hum and cross one of your legs over the other. “how was that? was it weird not being in the studio?” you scrunch your face up, then he adds another question. “what did you actually do with yourself?”

“i mean, music is obviously a big part of who i am. making it, loving it, all that stuff.” a small smile crosses your face. “so, yeah. it sort of felt like something was missing at first.” jimmy nods along, you shrugging one of your shoulders.

“at the same time, i really needed to take a minute and just breathe. come back with my shit more together. i think i have,” you let out a reflective sigh. “it didn’t have anything to do with your boyfriend? a mr. tom holland?” jimmy teases, you waving a hand at him. “no, don’t give him all the credit.”

your break genuinely was for yourself. no one needs to know that tom was also off, or that he spent all his free time with you. that was just a plus.

“are you sure? because, it seemed like you two were getting really cozy.” a picture from your instagram pops up on the screen. it’s of tom under a blanket. he’s reaching out for you with a lazy smile. you lean over on the couch so you’re off camera, another giggle escaping you.

jimmy flips to another picture. “that was exhibit A. here’s exhibit B.” the whole audience coos, jimmy raising his eyebrows at you. this one is a mirror selfie from tom’s instagram. your arms are slung around his neck from behind, and half your face is hidden. tom is doing his signature eye crinkling smile into the camera.

“aren’t they just adorable?” jimmy asks the audience, making them erupt in more cheers. you sit up again and clear your throat. seeing those is bittersweet for you. “he’s very cuddly. anyway, back to the music!” you do a small clap. little do you know, there’s much more to come.

“yes, yes. back to the music. talk to me about ‘no sleep.’” the song is one hundred percent about tom. you’re not sure you should say that, considering the... explicit content in it. you and tom did get very cozy over your break, as jimmy would say. it was the only time you weren’t relaxing.

“well,” you plaster on an overly happy smile. that earns more laughter from jimmy. “it’s about what you do in bed when you’re, um, not sleeping,” you explain. “and who do you do those things in bed with?” jimmy glances up at the screen again. “you’re choosing violence today, jimmy,” you say under your breath.

there’s a chuckle from backstage that sounds eerily similar to tom’s. it must have been a PA. all this talk about him is seriously fucking with your head.

“well, everyone in my life inspires my work in some way. they’re such angels,” you dodge the question, thinking you’re clever about it. jimmy won’t let you get off that easy. “friends? family?” he asks you. “yeah, everyone,” you exhale in relief. jimmy widens his eyes at you. “so, that means ‘no sleep’ is about your mom?”

your mouth falls open. he’s really going to make you spill the details of your sex life.

“what the fuck, no!” you squeal, looking out into the audience for help. they join in your laughter. “it’s about tom,” you finally confirm so jimmy doesn’t suggest anything else. “it’s about tom, my god. next topic.” you’re smiling despite yourself.

“why? don’t you wanna tell us more about your lover?” jimmy glances off to the side. what is going on back there? you sit up straighter in your spot. “no, this is my interview!” you’re half joking, half serious.

although you and tom aren’t private at all, you’ve never talked about him this much. it’s overwhelming. besides that, this is making you miss him a lot.

“that’s too bad. we thought... we thought you might like to share it,” jimmy is already grinning about whatever he has planned. this isn’t supposed to be part of your segment. “huh? i’m literally so lost.” you furrow your eyebrows at him, lowering your voice. “we didn’t talk about this.”

he pats the arm of your couch. “they say there’s no time like the present. ladies and gentlemen, tom holland!”

on cue, tom runs out from backstage. the audience practically roars with how loud they are. people even jump out of their seats. you clasp a hand over your mouth in pure shock. this feels like a prank, like jimmy is about to say sike. then, tom comes up to the couch. you almost fall over, jimmy proudly watching on.

tom grins so wide it takes up his whole face. “happy release day,” he murmurs as you get to your feet. you’re not able to speak just yet, only staring up at him with glossy eyes. he brings you into a tight hug. his hands rub up and down your back, your arms snaking around his middle.

“tommy,” you try to whisper the nickname. you forgot your microphone is on. everyone “aw’s” at you both, including jimmy. “my love,” tom’s lips brush your cheek briefly. “hi, baby,” he speaks into your ear. you hide your face in his button up while he rocks you side to side.

he’s been away for a couple of months working on the third spider-man. this is the first time you’ve seen him since he left.

“shouldn’t you be in atlanta?” you ask louder this time for the audience to hear. you’re still doing an interview. “today’s a big day. i had to see you,” tom gives you one last squeeze. “in person,” he adds, before you can say you already facetimed.

the fact that him and jimmy put this whole thing together is making you emotional. you’d be fully crying if you two were alone right now.

“she doesn’t want you here, though. remember?” jimmy chimes in, tom breathing out a laugh. he sadly lets go of you. you flop back onto the couch, tom pointing behind him with his thumb. “i’ll just be on my way. five hour flight, no big deal.” “no, no, no, no. stay,” you whine and make grabby hands at him.

that’s all it takes for tom to slip into the spot next to you. he bites back a smile, putting an arm around you and the couch. you don’t want to annoy everyone with too much pda, so you subtly curl into his side. the people actually love you and tom together. jimmy claps his hands.

“we’ll be right back with y/n y/l/n and tom holland!” he says into the camera, the band playing more filler music. he steps out from behind the desk to greet tom. tom stands up, the two of them giving each other pats on the back. the camera stops rolling.

“hey, man. thanks for doing this,” tom puts a hand on jimmy’s arm. “anything for the happy couple. i’m gonna get some water, see you in five.” jimmy shoots you another smile on his way to his dressing room. you return it. that leaves you and tom to yourselves.

“baby,” you say in a sing song voice, dropping your head onto tom’s shoulder. “i’m so happy you’re here. i real life almost peed when you came out.” tom snakes his arm around your waist. “that would be upsetting,” he mumbles, his index finger drawing circles on you. “it would’ve ruined your very pretty dress.”

“you like it?” you knowingly tug at the form fitting material. tom shifts in his spot. “i’ll tell you what,” he leans in closer to you with a smirk, his breath tickling your ear. “we’re getting no sleep tonight,” he sings from the chorus of your song. you burst into a giggle and squeeze your eyes shut.

he ends up being right.