#free my girl she did literally nothing but get harassed

[iambecomeahamburger]

Um, so, about Lucy Barker

*rant incoming*

you know that fandom phenomenon where female characters will literally get hated on for being interesting (free my girls they did all that but your honour i do not care). lucy barker did NOTHING. NOTHING to deserve the hellish events that unfolded in her life, and she still gets hate. i have many thoughts about this, many of which i cannot properly articulate.

im gonna be so honest, pre-ruthie ann miles, the sweeney fandom was not so kind to my girl as they are now (2023 toddhead nation you are everything to me) and this i think was mainly the burton film enjoyers who hardcore shipped sweenett in the most uninteresting way possible.

REAL sweeney/sweenett enjoyers know that lucy is a pivotal and interesting character who took nothing but ls from life, and that sweenett only works as a ship if what you love about it is how deeply problematic and messy it is. I rest my case.

[trans-wojak]

Cool so if misandrist anon gets to be a hateful bitch to all men do i get my get out of jail free misogynist card? I've been sexually harrassed as a 10 year old by both, but men were forced to apologize to me by other men and women, while if i was harassed by women, they thought they did absolutely nothing wrong even though i felt way more violated. I was only ever groped by women in my whole entire life. It heavily affected how my sexual orientation manifests (my attraction to women can be uncomfortable because of fear of them breaching my boundaries and treating it as an innocent joke). Men are always friendly and speak kindly to me at work but women keep taking out their anger from home at me. My boss is completely ostracised by women at work because she (yes, my boss is a woman! And her boss is a woman too!) reminds them of company policies when they get ridiculous with their demands, like wanting to have double break time compared to other departments and do no extra work to make up for it. We have one other man in the department and they keep emotionally manipulating him into working second shift in the evenings week after week because they don't want to do it, despite it being literally part of their job to be on rotation for the second shift (he shouldn't be doing this because it breaks worker safety laws).

Radfems are so fucking stupid it's unreal

Literally, like I’m technically bisexual but I have a preference for men. But I also find it’s just too hard to date women, I always constantly got put down for the same behaviours THEY do (being open about attraction and talking openly about sex). One time when I lived in shared housing, it was predominantly with women and we had music videos playing. A chick appeared wearing short shorts and I said “hell yeah” - I immediately got attacked by the girls in the room, along with my ex girlfriend trying to tell me I don’t need to be a womaniser to “act like a cis man” to be a man. While those same women would sit around discussing in detail how much they love big cocks, eating ass and licking out pussy.

I’ve been groped by a woman before, and when I tried to tell people in the friend group they told me it was my own fault for not speaking up when it happened and she didn’t really mean it. But if a man did that, they would have called him a violent rapist. Like, I wasn’t even trying to get her to be “cancelled” I’m pretty sure some of it was a misunderstanding cause I went into freeze mode but when I told her about it, she blew me off and tried to say if I don’t speak up it’s my own fault.

Also, whenever I rejected sexual advances from ex girlfriends cause I wasn’t in the mood they would start accusing me of not thinking they’re pretty/hot and I’m like no I just don’t feel like it. I wasn’t given any gentle affection, it always was assumed I wanted sexual intercourse if I was affectionate when really I just wanted to cuddle.

I swear some women will use the fact they have kids to get out of doing their part at work. It’s one thing for people to be courteous and help out but to basically force others to take all the “bad” shifts is so frustrating. Especially when these days, both parents work. And women are allowed to be verbally aggressive and no one thinks is wrong, but if a guy does it everyone acts like it’s the same as physical violence. Whereas for me, I see it the same way. At the share house, one of the women and me got into an argument. She started yelling, screaming and throwing things. I told her let’s stop please, this is scaring me. She started laughing at me and got even MORE aggressive. Like I had to threaten to call the police to get her to stop.

I try very hard to be conscious, I’m on the spectrum and at times I don’t realise the volume of my voice. Especially when I feel strong emotions. When women have told me it’s making them uncomfortable, I ask why (cause I don’t realise my voice volume) and they accuse me of pretending to not know.

Being an autistic man is harder than an autistic woman. Autistic women are seen as cute, quirky and shown sympathy for mishaps in social interactions. People assume the best intentions from them. But autistic men are seen as creepy and full of ill motives. My life was easier when I was a girl cause no one treated me with all these rigid boxes. Now I’m treated as a fucking creep automatically.

I see women as people and people can be crappy. They aren’t special. They shouldn’t be granted special treatment just for being a woman.

[acourtofthought]

listen I love Feyre to my very core, she's my favorite FMC since I read these books and in this entire series but god she's such busybody sometimes and tries to be an expert matchmaker like Rhys but honey... no!

like that time she suggested about Az and Elain in acowar and Rhys was like "Feyre, I love you but shut up this is not in your league" thats what I gathered from Rhys reply lmao

GIRL YOU LITERALLY KNOW THESE PPL FOR A FEW MONTHS HOW DO YOU KNOW WHAT THEY NEED AND WHAT IS GOING ON INSIDE THEIR HEAD? I'm quite certain she just wanted it to keep it in the family at that point bc did she forgot Azriel is "in love" with Mor before she suggested that? and Rhys had to aggressively shut that idea down lol. tbh I love that Rhys stopped her right then and there bc obv he knows him better than Feyre. they've known each other for +500 so ofc he can guess Az feeling on the matter and Az himself confirmed it in the bonus chapter (that Rhys also suspected) Az only wants Elain for release and nothing else.

and now her comment on them lead to her being the biggest e/riel shipper and e/riels LOVE to brag about it and its quite funny bc I think it was only that one time!!! we see Feyre encouraging Elain to talk to Lucien and even in her bonus chapter in acosf she wanted to suggest Elain to use Lucien's gloves that he gifted her but she didn't (which i hope she'd learned to not be a busybody after what happened with Lucien in acofas and Mor lecturing her to let them figure it out themselves)

After getting this message I didn't respond right away. I wanted to think back over the series because you are 100% correct but your correctness is even more far reaching.

In ACOMAF we have the following:

Feyre thinking that the reason Lucien had issues with Ianthe because she and her family fled during Amarantha's reign.

The actual reason Lucien had issues with Ianthe is because she sexually harassed him.

In ACOMAF, we have Feyre think Ianthe is her friend.

Later we find out that Ianthe was only ever self serving.

In ACOMAF Feyre kept wondering if a mating bond with Tamlin would snap into place.

The reason that didn't happen was because Rhys was her mate yet she was clueless about that until the Suriel told her.

In ACOMAF we have Feyre think about how Nesta and Amren would be fast friends.

In ACOWAR, Nesta and Amren were fast friends but not LASTING friends. Their friendship fell apart in ACOFAS and it never really recovered. I think they're in a better place after SF but they'll most likely never be as close as Nesta is with Gwyn and Emerie.

In ACOMAF, Feyre mentions how she sometimes notices Mor watching Az. She also asks Mor what she feels for Az which Mor deflects only for Feyre to then think, "but almost in answer, Mor declared, "Paint Azriel's. Next to mine".

Only that all fell apart in ACOWAR when Mor's preference came to light, something Feyre never suspected.

In ACOMAF, Feyre thinks how Az and Cassian could wipe Lucien off the planet.

But in ACOSF, we see Lucien command Cassian with a single word.

In ACOMAF, Feyre does say Elain would cling to Az to have some peace and quiet and how handsome they would be.

And in ACOWAR, we do see Elain and Az sharing moments of peace and quiet however, that seems to rapidly be falling apart in SF. Feyre once wanted peace and quiet too and at first she was happy with Tamlin until the peace and quiet no longer suited her. Similarly, we see Elain want to finally break free of her peace and quiet and Az is the person (after Nesta) who wants to keep her in her box of safety. He even spoke out against her AFTER Elain told Nesta off so it's doubly as problematic. Also, Feyre thinking of Elain and Az being together because of their physical appearance is the most superficial thing. It speaks nothing of their personalities or what they want from a partner, what their values are. Not to mention it reduces Elain to a "doll to dress up" or whose only worth is her beauty, just as their mother always did.

In ACOWAR, Feyre worries whether they can trust Lucien. Whether he would try to grab Elain, to sell them out.

Her fears are proven unfounded when she slips into Lucien's mind and realized he only has concern for Elain. Also Lucien regularly helps out the NC, sharing information with them, the opposite of selling them out.

In ACOWAR, Feyre questions why Lucien and Elain are mates without putting any consideration into who they are and what they want in a partner. She asks RHYS if HER SISTER is a match to Lucien 🤦. Her entire argument is based on the fact that Rhys and Tamlin's parents weren't a match for one another so maybe Elain and Lucien's is poor match too. Even though the reason Rhys tells us for WHY his parents weren't a match would not apply to Lucien and Elain and WOULD actually apply to Az and Elain.

Feyre is young and she doesn't always the see others clearly but that's ok because she's learning as she goes. She's asking these questions because this entire world is new to her and the why and the how's of it are something she's trying to figure out.

But anyone taking her thoughts as gospel as she's stumbling through it all is looking to the wrong person for predictions.

Feyre (in the original trilogy), Nesta (for the first 3/4 of her book) and Az (even now), for as great as they are, were /are not the characters to look too for clearheaded opinions because they are too close to certain situations, too emotional and too wrapped up in their own confusion about everything to be valid resources. Feyre and Nesta especially were all over the place. For example one minute Nesta was going on and on about how Elain is good and special and that's why Nesta protected her at all costs, and the next Nesta is furious with Elain, claiming she was "undoubtedly wholly convinced of her own innocence, her innate goodness" and mad at Cassian for defending Elain.

So again, I think much of what those three say / think in regards to Elain, Lucien, and Az needs to be taken with a grain of salt

Cassian was the one who predicted Nessmerie and guess what? They ended up being as close as sisters.

Rhys was the one who said that he might need to pull some threads in regards to Nessian and guess what? They were mated in the very next book.

Mor predicted that Lucien was trustworthy enough to enter Velaris and guess what? He didn't steal Elain away and he never sold out Velaris to anyone and helped provide information to the NC about Autumn.

We have Cassian telling us that Nesta was wrong about Elain being loyal like a dog, Rhys admit that maybe Elain behaves in certain ways because of the way the sisters treat her, we have Rhys and Mor tell Feyre to stay out of things with her meddling. We have Amren tell Az he's wrong about Elain. We have Rhys express genuine concern over the way Az spoke of Elain. These are characters who are a few steps away from it all and able to think more rationally because they aren't as personally invested in what happens. Feyre feels guilty for her sisters being made so she was desperate to throw Elain in any direction she thought might snap her out of her depression (except giving her a real chance to interact with her mate). Nesta and Az have / had too much of their own self loathing to see anything clearly. But in my opinion, Cassian, Mor, Rhys and Amren are the voices of reason when it comes to what's going on with Elucien and E/riel.

[skaruresonic]

Wood and I watched an LP of OMORI a couple of weeks ago and the entire experience left me feeling cold because I've literally seen everything it tries to do done in other games, oftentimes better. If you've played or watched an LP of Yume Nikki, trust me, you're not seeing anything new. At no point was I frightened or moved. In fact, it had maybe one (1) semi-original idea. Beyond that, it was just stereotypical RPG Maker fare. Also, it's one of those games people hype up because OMG Feels, but when you really start scrutinizing the plot and characterization, it falls apart. For example: the game really wants us to sympathize with Aubrey, a girl who canonically decided to bully her former friend based on nothing more than her wrong assumptions, because she Has a Rough Home Life (a sentiment that borders on victim-blaming; also conveniently neglects the fact that her victim has an equally rough home life) and Has a Sad about the death of her other friend. This ignores how A.) everyone is impacted by her friend's death, not just her, B.) does assuming your former friend is a creep warrant verbal abuse and physical harassment that you then rope other people into flinging at him for four years? Why are you crying about being a bully when, by your own admission, you are one? The manner in which Mari's death occurred and the actions the characters took thereafter is loaded with so many unfortunate implications that it almost makes the game's entire premise seem disingenuous. The game wants to frame itself like SH2 for Tots. To wit, Sunny feels guilty over causing his sister's death, but that guilt is largely undeserved because his depression is simply bullying him into thinking he's unlovable uwu. Well, that's not precisely true. Not if you look at the situation objectively. His guilt is largely earned for covering up her death and framing it as a suicide, and letting his friends, family, and community suffer the pain of believing his sister's death was a suicide for four years. OMORI wants to be a narrative about the redemptive power of forgiveness in a situation where forgiveness would absolutely not be guaranteed or even expected. Yes, the death was accidental, but the framing it as a suicide and keeping silent were deliberate acts which, whether Sunny wants to admit it or not, did cause harm. This isn't a situation where our buddies Depression(tm) and Anxiety(tm) are exaggerating one's guilt over imaginary crimes into suicidal ideation, he's suicidal because he wants to escape the very real guilt HE SHOULD FEEL over the wrong HE DID COMMIT.

This isn't even getting into the fact that OMORI dangerously trivializes suicide. In order to wake up from White Space and thus progress, you need to force Sunny to stab himself in the gut with a knife. You are forced to do this at least three times in the game. Because making suicide a game mechanic a la fucking Mario warp pipes in no way trivializes it. :) There's an RPG Maker game, Blank Dream, which deals with very similar subject matter. The protagonist wakes up in limbo after having attempted suicide. The objective is to hop inside her memories, represented by mirrors, and commit suicide in each of them, or break the mirrors, in order to fulfill her wish of never having been born. At some point, you obtain a knife. Stabbing yourself is a free action that can be performed at any time in the game after acquiring the item. The player is equally free to choose NOT to do it as they are to indulge their curiosity, thus bolstering the game's theme that even though suicide may be an option, it is not the option. Choosing to stab yourself results in a Game Over. As it should. Somehow OMORI didn't quite get the message.

on a somewhat more morbidly hilarious note, I laughed my head off when I learned that Basil had hanged Mari with a jump rope. oh the bathos

[papirouge]

I’m from the us and I wonder if some of these more hardcore trad girls who wish we all lived in the 40s and 50s are aware that their idolization of 50s housewives is based on fake ads. So many women back then were either on drugs given to them by their doctor or hid their true feelings out of fear from their husbands because husbands back then were able to throw their wives into psychiatric hospitals for lobotomies if they had a mental breakdown over their lives or anything. Some girls were lobotomized just for being more free spirited and less like a “lady” and their families sent them to those hospitals. My grandma who lived through that time worked as a nurse had a lot of sad stories of meeting women who were trapped in abusive marriages, having kids they didn’t want and since postpartum depression wasn’t understood well, the “therapy” offered was electroshocks to the head or something else. And they knew that they would be thrown into mental hospitals and kept there until the doctor claimed those women were “cured” - there are other things I remember talking to grandma about before she passed, and while I like some of the aesthetics of trad living, there’s a lot of ignorance from young girls who don’t know the reality of what a lot of women had gone through back then :/ it’s not just sitting in a kitchen eating aprons and baking cake all day.

Well, I have nothing to add because you pretty much said it all, but overall I'm SICK of revisionist vision about womanhood and how women have been treated in recent History

You nailed it about 50s/60s housewives, but tbh I'm still seething about how some radfem try to rehabilitate 00s icon as some martyr of modern pop culture when they have done objectively awful things and that the way they've been treated by media can't solely be inputted on misogyny

Paris Hilton? the woman who infamously said lesbians were disgusting on tape and has an obsessive hate boner against Black men (there's this story floating about her saying she and Vin Diesel hooked up in a club and when she realized how 'dark' he was on more natural lights, dumped him💀)?

I wouldn't be surprised radfem would still defend her though, saying shit like "sHe wAs so YouNg" .....when homegirl was already in her 20s and that being young isn't an excuse for homophobia or racism 💀 Paris Hilton was quite awful in her peak (mid-late 00s) and she being antagonized by media was quite understandable actually. It was literally her brand. Zoomers who barely lived in that era have no idea of what they're talking about.

Her PR machine went OFF with that documentary about her abuse in that rich kids school and did an excellent job glossing over the many shady shit she did afterwards under the "disturbed rich girl" shtick....

I have second hand embarrassment watching (lesbian) radfem who bought into it and jumped on the rehabilitation bandwagon....

And TBH /unpopular opinion/ but I feel the same about Britney. Homegirl went off the rails after her In the Zone album, and as shady her family was, there was solid ground in putting her under tutorship (her erratic behavior, marrying that paparazzi guys, shaving her head, then assaulting journalists.... Regardless her -understandable- reasons for behaving like this (mental illness, mind control, etc.) those were valid ground to put under legal check, and I'm sick of people acting that there were some sort of mediatic conspiracy against Britney to make her fall out... Media harassment was just the nail on the coffin - she being overworked and controlled all her life was the main reason for her snapping like she did.

And don't get me started about Amber Heard stans acting like anyone supporting Johnny Depp has been brainwashed WHEN JOHNNY DEPP IS A LITERAL HOLLYWOOD ACTOR WHOSE STARDOM/FAME PREDATES THE INTERNET CONTAGION EFFECT PARTISANSHIP. If anything the general public supporting him instead of Amber is the organic status quo, and the only 'internet brainwashing ' was those viral tweet/Tiktok seeking to "expose" Depp and rally people to Heard's cause, which is a tactic that even Heard applaud , see :

You see TikTok defending Depp so you start being on his side? "YOu'vE beEn bRainWashEd"

You see Tiktok defending Heard so you start being in her side? "THats sO rEasDurIng to rEad #thetideisturning"

I just loathe how flipflopping these people are when it comes to interpret turn of events depending whether it fits their bias or not.

Also people need to stop expecting another #freebritney moment whenever they think a woman gets unfairly treated by the media. Britney was America's sweetheart. No other female celebrity comes close to the impact and influence she got on a whole generation of girls, who later on became publicist, journalists, blogger, etc. and held enough mediatic leverage to make that movement happen. That's not going to happen for Heard who, beside wifing Johnny Depp, is a literal "who", and is nowhere near having the endearing aura of Britney (doesn't Heard have the reputation of behaving poorly with people? She spat on her assistant face when she complained about some stuff💀)

[simmerdowndee]

GROVE-ING TOGETHER/NOAH'S HEART EPISODE NINE PART TWO

Theo and Noah told us that they made dinner plans for us, so Alyse and I went shopping to buy something nice to wear. I also wanted to shop for a dress to wear to our vow ceremony.

Dakota: It’s so beautiful here. Alyse: I know! I am so excited Theo mentioned this trip to Noah. Dakota: We definitely wanted you guys here. You guys have been a big support system through some of the “tribulations” we have endured. Alyse: You and Theo were always going to be fine. He’d let everything go if it meant to just be with you and his family. Dakota: I know. He really is the perfect husband. Alyse: Well actually Noah… Dakota: *Laughs* Alyse: Dakota, look at that dress! Dakota: Alyse, that would look amazing on you! Alyse: It would be my perfect wedding dress. Dakota: You should get the name and designer, that way if you decide to come back to get it, you can request it! Alyse: That is a great idea! We did start planning the wedding. Nothing serious, but ideas. Alyse: Tartosa was actually my top destination… Dakota: I would also get some measurements done. Alyse: Hopefully I don’t change in size…

Alyse doesn’t know that part of this shopping date was to get a feel for what she would like to wear to her wedding. Theo gave Noah the idea to just have it while we’re here. He still plans to give her a big wedding with her family and friends, but still wanted something cute while they were here. I am here to get the dress details, so I can have Noah come and buy it for the surprise ceremony.

Dakota: I think I like this one for my ceremony. Alyse: Its beautiful! Its perfect for the occasion.

Alyse and I finish up and then head back to the rental to get ready. I’m so ready for dinner, I’m starving.

Alyse and I head down to dinner with the guys.

Alyse: Oh, this is so cute. Dakota: Oh babe, I like this outfit on you. I like it a lot…. Theo: You look incredible baby. Noah: Ew. Dakota: How are you being a hater, your wife is literally right there? Alyse: *Laughs* Noah: The entire time we’ve been here, all you two have done is hump and flirt. Dakota: How do you know we’ve been humping? Huh? Alyse: Koda… you aren’t particularly quiet… Theo: No, she isn’t. At ALL.

Oh my god, that is embarrassing…

Dakota: Lets get some wine, shall we? Theo: *Laughs*

We sit down and have some wine while we wait for the food to come out. Noah hired some popular chef to cook for us. We really are being spoiled on this trip.

Alyse: Theo, how is work? Theo: Pretty good. The company is in a really good spot financially. I have been meeting with a lot of big names in the tech industry. They either have projects they want me apart of or business deals. I don’t want to take on anything serious right now. I am enjoying the flow. Dakota: He’s a celebrity now, he won’t admit it. Theo: I don’t like the spotlight; I just want to create. Dakota: He also has developed a fan club of women.

Alyse: Oh my god, I know. Have you seen some of the comments under your simsta post Theo? Alyse: They LUST after you. Noah: They don’t know that his wife is a lunatic.

Dakota: Hey! I am not….. that bad. Theo: *Laughs* Dakota: Oh, I wanted to ask… how is everything going with... you know who. Alyse: Noah and I met with Dr. Hart to see what I could do. I have grounds for a harassment and intimidation suit. Noah: We are done with his little games. Theo: He’s such a tool. Theo: I heard you were ready to fight man. Noah: I had every intention on swinging but… Alyse: He wasn’t worth it and I don’t want to visit my husband in jail. Dakota: I would’ve got you off charge free… Alyse: Dakota… Dakota: What, we are lawyer’s girl? Theo: You just like violence. Dakota: I’m a violently go straight to sleep tonight. Theo: I never said I didn’t support it…… Noah: Just wrapped around her finger…. Alyse: You are one to talk.

Dakota: Get him! Noah: We have to fight back man. Theo: Yeah… that’s all you bud. I like humping my wife.

Dakota: I know that’s right!! Noah: Well, tell her to be a bit quieter… Dakota: Okay, moving along…. Alyse: *Laughs* Alyse: Are you guys excited about the ceremony tomorrow? Dakota: Yes, I am so excited. Theo: I may have added something to mine… Dakota: You did? Theo: Yeah, I think you’ll love it. Dakota: I’m sure I will baby. Noah: Ew, again. Dakota: I’m about to send you home. Everyone: *Laughs*

The chef brings us our food and we enjoy the rest of the night spending time with our spouses. I am nervous for tomorrow, although I shouldn’t be.

[saucedxlls]

it's like 12:30am and im pretty sure im sleep-deprived but

been on the feminist side of pinterest and that whole man & bear debate is soooo dumb, every man boy who was upset or angry instead of questioning for even a second why a woman who feel safer knowing she's near a wild animal than a man should not have been validated, and all the reactions from different men kinda prove the whole reason this question was asked, women, how many times have you heard a man tell a rape joke along the lines of "well he's a man i mean what did she expect?" and there was not to nobody upset about this? cause i've heard it both in real life & on TV (i'm am a literal minor) sooo all the guys saying "what? do you think all men are wild animals who can't control themselves" need to see all those dumbass jokes and be honest about how many they found funny

in a church a old man can to the front and said this "there's more women wearing shorts and skirts than long dress, lemme tell you, if i'm on the court and you say you were raped and you were wearing that, i will let that man go free" not even lying, nobody was upset (atleast the people watching him say this) and that man is a PRIEST, people go to that man for advice!! how tf did we as a society fail so horrifically that we let a man saying thing's like "rape's ok if she's wearing revealing clothing" give people any advice?

also, if you're a guy that got upset and don't understand why women choose bear, lemme explain, a woman on twitter said that she choose bear and the men in the comment section said things like "boy, when i'm done w/ you i'll make you wish you picked the bear" or un-censored images of women getting mauled by bears, a child on tiktok said that she choose man, a quick look at her pf would have told you she's a minor, and yet multiple men replied with maid outfits + oil or descriptions on how they would "reward" her

in both cases the woman got harassed with threats, "oh well that last one wasn't meant to be a threat" 1: she's a minor & 2: saying fetish-y stuff to someone w/o knowing if they would be okay with that on a mass scale is harassment

also, ladies, this doesn't make hating men okay, if he's a pedo or rapist, hate all you want, but if it's just some guy you know nothing about then there's no reason to be hateful, also men, just being cautious is not hateful, things like "kill all men" or "women are better" are, and if you can't tell i have a tip for you: reverse the statement, "sorry i'm not gonna go home w/ a random guy" to "sorry i'm not gonna go home w/ a random girl" see, not hurtful or mean, "well you're a guy so i'm better" to "well you're a girl so i'm better" see, this is hurtful w/ malcontent behind it

any women who says men are useless except for their money are just as bad as guys who say women are useless except for their bodies, it's the same for race, if a white person says all black people are thefts or druggies they're racist, if a black person says all white people are thefts or druggies they're also racist, same with men & women, saying hateful thing against men are still bad and sexist, sexism against men is still sexism

also, trans people, if you question things because you just don't know or because it doesn't make sense to you, that's fine, if you try to make a trans person justify why they are the way they are to the point they're uncomfortable, that's not fine, same with gay person, non-binary person, transgender person, bi person, ace person, or just apart of the LGBTQ community, you don't have to accept it and if you think "man, i could never be gay or trans, that's weird" that's fine, you can think that, but all we ask is for you to be respectful, "so, how's did you find out you were trans?" is fine "trans people aren't real and you are still the same person you were before" isn't

anyways, thanks 4 reading my rant bye :D

[shakespeareofficialaccount]

You know it’s easier to just block people and move on. I follow your blog but it is honestly so exhausting to read the back and forth between you and other blogs. I get that what they are saying is not something either of us like or agree with but my god, harassing strangers over and over is taking things to an unnecessary extreme. I’m afraid someone you or others harass might actually hurt themselves and no matter what they believe that is a shitty thing to wish on a literal human being. I’ve known people who have hurt themselves after getting harassed online and it is devastating. It destroys a family and causes all around trauma for everyone who was close with them. It’s fucked up to encourage this. I’m sorry to say I will be unfollowing and blocking your account because I just can’t be associated with that or with people who think certain types of people deserve harassment. It’s just really triggering for me to see and I hope you can understand why it’s bad even if these people fundamentally disagree with you. It’s time to be the bigger person and stop giving the rest of us a bad reputation because you don’t know how to curate your own online and experience. Sorry for the long ask I just wanted to tell you why I feel I have to unfollow. Hope you get to a place in your life where you can understand how harmful your words can be even if you thing someone deserves them.

I got accusations of homophobia and hate asks and I’m the harasser? Dude, I put the TERF on DNI and said she was violating TOS. I can say that if I want, nothing wrong with that. I wasn’t even all that rude, considering how disgusting she is. She also invalidated pans, aspecs, trans people….and as someone who thinks they’re ace and pan/bi, it’s fucking horrible. Also, she called it a mental illness, and that’s also fucking horrible. I got called slurs, and told to keep quiet, and had my friends be treated in absolutely abhorrent ways. I do not try to harass people, anon. I stand up for what I think is right by spreading awareness, and the backlash makes me defend myself. I stand up for my friends, who do not deserve the crap they get from random anons seeking to poke their noses into others’ business. I get anons, telling me things like this or worse, and I speak my mind. Honestly, I don’t mind you unfollowing and blocking me at all, if that is what you think of me. I am sorry if it made you uncomfortable, but let’s get this clear: I never asked you to follow me, or watch this ‘back and forth’, or associate yourself with me. You did so of your own free will, and are hence allowed to unfollow me whenever you wish. This is, however, my blog; I may say what I want here. In my humble opinion, an unnecessary extreme would be treating a trans man as a girl, and his defenders as, quote unquote, ‘stupid bitches’. It’s more than a little hurtful to have your and your friends spoken to in such a way by random people. FYI, I’m a minor, too, so a lot of this is quite new to me. I’m sorry if I triggered or offended you. Please consider this from my point of view: the exact same things you mentioned previously (self harm, depression, etc) can happen to me as well, or anyone faced with things like this. Really, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve considered that. This is a grey area you choose to talk about, but I will accept it and move on. You are, by the way, encouraging this TERF harassment in some way with your asks. Thank you for your kind hopes, anon. I wish you the same.

[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​

[takamishinko]

karasuno and nekoma scenario + headcanons for ftm reader

pronouns: he/him

warnings: dead naming, slight harassment and tranphobic comments like using the wrong pronouns.

a/n: this was a request from @mi-ts i hope you enjoy this and this is what you're looking for :) i added in some headcanons of my own as well. pls tell me if i said anything offensive in there by accident, i was also super tired when i wrote this so pls excuse me for any mistakes :'D

karasuno:

i feel like the entire team is pretty supportive and definitely not transphobic

the only person that i could possibly think of that doesn't understand transitioning would be tanaka but even then he'll still support you in whatever decision you make

let's start off with the first years

hinata and kageyama definitely uses correct pronouns though i feel like kageyama might forget sometimes but he'll just use they instead

tsuki doesn't care much and i don't think he cares a lot about anything other than maybe yamaguchi

yamaguchi would be really sweet about it, correct pronouns 100%, no mistakes or mess ups. he'll probably pay more attention to you and help you with whatever you need

kinoshita and narita are both super supportive people so they wouldn't care that much but they would definitely use right pronouns and all that

ennoshita is kind of the leader of the group right? i feel like he would advocate your pronouns only if ur comfortable with it though

alright third years

suga.

supportive supportive supportive super supportive

makes sure your absolutely 120% comfortable with your surroundings and if there are people bothering you he's not scared to get asahi and daichi to square up with them

daichi is pretty lowk about it. respectful of course. always tries to help you with suga but doesn't end up helping a lot but that's ok

lastly asahi would be…

pretty nervous about making sure he doesn't use the wrong pronouns or make you uncomfortable

like overly cautious but you find it funny and adorable

__________

"yo y/n! what took you so long? practice started 10min ago." tanaka shouted from across the gym.

"sorry…i got caught up with something." you replied with a sad tone in your voice.

the team immediately noticed something wrong. you were usually a pretty cheerful person and sulking like that didn't seem right to them. 

"woah woah, you good man?" noya said while tapping you shoulder.

"yah i'm fine guys, thanks." you lied.

"even a dumbass like hinata and king over there would know you're not fine, what's wrong." said tsuki.

"hey we heard that! but seriously y/n-kun, is everything ok?" hinata said while walking over with kageyama. 

"it's nothing much really… some second years called me uhh… "baby girl" today and asked me if i had anything to do after school. they wouldn't let me go either even after i told them i had somewhere else to be…. and the fact that i'm not a girl anymore." 

"they fucking what now?" suga said with an incredibly hostile smile on his face. 

"do you know their names?" daichi asked.

"yah its f/n l/n and f/n and l/n…" 

"those two sons of bitches??" tanaka and noya screamed in unison. 

"yah do you guys know them or something?" 

"they're in the class beside ours, we don't know much about them except that they're annoying as fuck. they've been making girls uncomfortable all year long." noya replied.

"oh… they must've thought i was a girl since i didn't wear a… y'know." 

"that's still no reason to do that to you y/n. first of all you weren't comfortable with them flirting with you, second of all you also told them that you're a guy and they still called you that." asahi said 

"yah that's true." daichi said with the rest of the team nodding their heads in agreement.

"don't worry y/n, we all know it's not your fault the binders don't work. no matter what you wear or how you look, the team will always see you as who you want to be!" suga said with a bright smile on his face this time.

a smile appeared on your face with warm thoughts entering your mind. knowing you have friends that care about you this much is truly a blessing you don't want to lose. 

"on a side note, suga and i know those 2 as well. in fact we know their homeroom teacher too, i'll go report to their teacher tomorrow. he loved suga and i, we were his best students." 

a small giggle came out of you and so did some happy tears. 

"thanks guys! it really means a lot." you said to all of your friends.

the rest of the practice was filled with joy and laughter. a few days later you received a handwritten apology from the two assholes you were talking about.

__________

nekoma:

same as karasuno i'm almost 100% sure none of them are transphobic and they would all be supportive. same case of tanaka with yamamoto though if anything

after you came out kuroo just gave you his signature smirk and a big thumbs up and continued to do his chemistry.

kai.

omg don't even get me started

he is SO supportive and just the nicest person possible

he's not aggressively supportive like suga but he's literally just always there for you. before you even realize you need something he already has it.

water, food, whatever it is.

yaku (personal nekoma fav), super chill about it

"oh cool, just let me go tell lev so he doesn't mess up your pronouns."

"lev for the last fucking time it's y/n and he/him it's not that hard to remember."

bonks lev everytime he messes up but he eventually got it

fukunaga just goes: 

":3 👍" 

so precious, never messes up your pronouns and names

kenma definitely doesn't mess up, remembers it well and i think he would just be like:

"cool, make sure you let the team know. especially lev…"

yamamoto would maybe mess up but he's trying his best

inuoka and shibayama:

i love these 2 so much btw^

inuoka would be excited cuz this is the first time someone ever came out as trans to them.

shibayama is just beside inuoka also being excited and nodding his head agreeing with everything he says

in conclusion these 2 are baby

__________

"hey guys what's up!" 

"ah y/ns here." kai said with s bright smile on his face, greeting you to practice.

"yo! what's up we're just getting started can you help me set up the net?" yaku said while waving over to you.

"yah i'm on my way give me a sec." 

"kenma go help yaku-san get off your game." kuroo said while poking at kenma.

"give me a sec. I'm almost finished." 

inuoka and shibayama were on the side listening to yamamoto talk about something. you and shōhei rushed over to help yaku with the net. 

"there, all done. thanks guys. kuroo let's start practice." yaku yelled

"yah everyone get ready-" 

just as kuroo said that, two boys entered the gym. they didn't look like they were up to anything good so kuroo stepped up and asked them what they're here for. 

"how can i help you two?" 

"we're just here to find d/n, oh there she is. hey~ you haven't answered our question yet, you free this weekend sweetheart?" one of the boys said as he attempted to move closer to you.

kuroo lost his shit immediately and pushed them away from you. 

"first of all his name is y/n, second of all it's he. lastly if you don't have anything else to say, please leave, our practice is about to start." 

"chill captain~ we just wanted to talk to this beautiful lady over here." 

"for the last fucking time you bastards it's-" yaku cut off kuroo before he could finish.

"leave it to me. you, tall one on the left, f/n l/n from c/n right?" yaku asked.

“y-yah why?” 

“your chemistry mark, 53% and you didn’t pass the test you took on thursday.”

“w-what ??! i don’t even know my mark yet how do you-”

“and you, the stick on the right, f/n l/n. you’re even worse, 49% as your total and your test? i’d embarrassed for you.”

“what the fuck?? w-who are you?!”

“yaku morisuke, 3rd year. the assistant for your chemistry teacher. now if you don’t want your marks leaked to the entire school i suggest you leave y/n here alone and get out.”

“tch yeah whatever !” the 2 boys said as they scurried away. 

“yaku-san!! that was so cool!!” everyone said.

“don’t worry about it! it’s what y/n deserves” he said with a huge thumbs up.

[trans-wojak]

Regarding your post about Palestine I definitely agree. Its honestly become a trend among "those" types of people to "support" Palestine, not because they actually care but because it suddenly became trendy to do so and they're just like "alright if I want to be seen as woke I guess I'm doing this now" and they begin spamming posts with the hashtags free Palestine, acting as if its a new thing even though its been going on for years.

I've also seen MANY and I mean MANY "woke" people using this whole thing to disguise their blatant antisemitism, they blame all Israeli's and all Jewish people for whats going on instead of the people ACTUALLY RESPONSIBLE, its to the point where some girl on TikTok said "Jewish privilege" was a thing and the video as far as I know is still up

Its honestly just a repeat of people showing "support" for BLM when police brutality became a "trending topic" back in 2020 even though police brutality against black people has obviously existed years before 2020

These people don't even do anything to "free Palestine" anyways, they just put a Palestinian flag in their bio, flood everyones page with posts about Palestine and call it a day, they don't donate anything or give anyone links to places we can donate, they don't talk about ways we can help, its just blatant that 90% of these people just want to keep up with the "trend" and as soon as this whole thing with Palestine isn't as "popular" in the media they'll just stop posting about it and begin talking about the next big problem going on

It was the same when the whole thing with Ukraine and Russia happened, everyone on TikTok made the Ukrainian flag their pfp, at most made 1 or 2 videos and did nothing else

And I will not even get started on those people who are like "If you don't make posts about Palestine you're evil and are contributing to genocide" because god forbid I don't want to talk about people dying and stuff

I've seen literal 13 year olds and teens get harassed for not talking about Palestine, what the hell is a child gonna do about freeing Palestine?!

(of course these issues are important, and what has been going on with Palestine and Israel is obviously awful, but I'm sick of people using it to get clout, using it as an excuse to crap on Jews, and just seeing it as a "trend" and not an actual problem)

Couldn’t have said it better myself, this is 100% how I feel too. I’ve seen these woke types literally say things like “guess the Jews learned nothing from WW2 now they’re just being Hitler” like bro?? That’s like saying America is responsible for Britain colonising over the world because they’re both predominantly Anglo christian nations.

This war has been going on since like, before 1950 from what I remember. No one remembers Ukraine now, no one mentions BLM, even though police brutality has been a thing since FOREVER especially targeting minority groups.

That chick was deadset being transphobic (not that I actually care, I just like irony) and she’s acting like she’s actually a good person because she spams the internet with shit about free Palestine lmao

I’m actually Jewish, I don’t have any ties to the culture cause my grandfather passed away really young. But there are deadset people still out there who deny the Holocaust happened and I’m seeing a lot of these people post “look a Holocaust survivor said X about Y, it means it’s true!” Like bro, just like Israel doesn’t represent all Jews, neither does one guy.

I simply don’t think wasting energy on caring about this is a good use of emotions or empathy. Unless people actually donate money and PHYSICALLY make an impact, it’s nothing more than signalling how “good” you are to me. I don’t pay attention the news on crap like this cause I don’t need to worry about it, it does not affect me and there’s nothing I can do even if I feel empathy or sympathy. Literally nothing changes besides I wasted some energy. Is it self serving? Yes. I just say the quiet part out loud. I don’t want to listen and talk about war crimes, it’s not productive nor interesting to me. I block tags about it but people rarely tag and it gets posted in meme tags, also by meme pages cause it’s trendy. It’s boring and I’m sick of seeing pretending they are these great activists for clicking reblog on a post they have no idea if it’s even verified.

[chaoticbritishqueen]

Phrases I've overheard/said over my second year at Uni:

"I went out last night, and I only got sexually harassed once!"

"When they said free donuts here, I wasn't expecting a nightclub-" "a cafe maybe? But not a nightclub"

"A 53 year old man came onto me once, and asked me why its weird for 19 year olds to date men in their 50s- like dude, if their age ends in TEEN, skip it, your old enough to be their father."

"That's just basic white girl music" "BITCH, I'm Indian, I love Taylor Swift." "Oh I'm so indie look at me I don't know who Taylor swift is"

"Who developed CRISPR-cas9?" "Emmanuelle and Jennifer Doudna" "OOOOH THEY'RE WOMEN-"

"What size do bras go upto?" "Huh?" "Like D?" "D?!?! IF THEY ENDED AT D I WOULD BE FUCKED" "E?" "Higher" "REALLY!?"

"You really think that being Russian makes you a minority?!"

"My grandad's wife is Chinese! She taught me to use chopsticks" "wait... you're part Chinese?" "What, where'd you get that?!" "You just said your grandads wi-" "I WOULD HAVE SAID GRANDMA, why would I refer to my grandma as my grandads wife and not my grandma?" "Good point-"

"They're watching Grey's Anatomy in leacture" "mood" "they'll probably learn more from that than today's leacturer"

"GIGGLES STOP MAKING ME FUCKING LAUGH"

"Oh god I turn 20 next year." "Omg your so old" "wait she's old, I'm 28" "REALLY?!" "What year were you born" "2002" "2002?! I'm also 2002- YOU ALSO TURN 20 NEXT YEAR" " I FORGOT"

"I'M GOING TO TAKE AWAY YOUR RIGHTS!"

"It's spooky season bitches, time to make a viking funeral for a pumpkin"

"You somehow made shaggy sexy? I'm actually impressed."

"Why are you looking for a boy?!" "HE'S LOST AND ONLY 18"

"I love candy canes!!" "Me too!" "You can make the ends really sharp and threaten people with them :)" ".....WHAT?"

"STOP LAUGHING" "NO YOU STOP LAFFING" "wait... WE SWAPPED ACCENTS"

"OUCH, i don't even have a dick yet, and THAT still hurt my ghost penis"

"Isn't that one of the easiest unis to get into?" "Yeah, why's you think I go there?" "OMG-"

"You said strap on, Continue."

"My tragic backstory is that I have a TV in my room?" "No, it's WHY you have a TV in your bedroom" "oh"

"Hong Kong is the plymouth of asia. Umm no offence" "WOW... how bad is Hong Kong"

"You know what I thought when I first met you?" "What?" "Wow, this girl has a lot of hair"

"Pain and pleasure use the same parts of the brain. That's why knives are sexy."

"Sorry that we straight crimed you"

"I'm ace, not blind" "you should put that on a Tee-shirt"

I'm sorry, but any disappointment you have for me is on you for believing in me"

"I'm not sexy, but I can wink"

"Are you not attracted to leonardo Da Vinci?" "The turtle?" "NO...he means Dicaprio!!"

"I would kill for socks worn by lady Gaga, not into feet but it's Lady Gaga."

I have hairy toes..." "so do I!" "Hairy toe gang!"

"Can people stop falling in love with me?! Its getting ridiculous." "I've never heard of this problem before.." "I KNOW I SOUND SO VAIN, BUT LIKE CAN THEY STOP?! I don't want another awkward conversation!"

"This body is crispy"

"Imagine a watermelon! Wait no, that's too big. Imagine a small watermelon! And put it in a balloon of water and hit it against a wall. That's what happened to that brain"

"Can someone tell me when I'm gonna die from the covid jab? Because I'm on number three and still nothing yet? I'm bloody waiting"

"Sorry my hearing is shit" "side affect of being high?" "Huh?" "Side effect" "dude, I'm literally deaf-" "oh-" "Like Permnant hearing loss here"

"I'm not about to ask my 12 year old sister what kind of fanfiction she reads."

" if we have to accept the autism, then you have to accept being a furry. I don't make the rules."

“Where did we get to?” “Ah yes, tongues battling for dominance”

"to be fair, I'm closer to becoming an evil scientist than a platypus..."

"would you like a nipple clamp?"

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

𝑀𝑎𝑓𝑖𝑎! 𝐴𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑧: 𝑆𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝐻𝑖𝑡𝑠 𝑂𝑛 𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝐺𝑖𝑟𝑙𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑

Warnings: Some situations such as violence and harassment are implied here. Don't read if you're sensitive to such topics.

Disclaimer: In no way am I condoning, supporting, justifying or encouraging mafia activities or lifestyle. This is all fictional and not meant to represent real life scenarios.

✿*:･ﾟ𝓚𝓲𝓶 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓰 ﾟ･:*✿

Hongjoong for once had a whole day free from dealing with any business deals that he of course wanted to take you out. Knowing you enjoyed the outdoors, he decided to take you on a romantic stroll through one of his many parks in the city. Just you two, hand in hand, with his men watching over you from a distance of course. Your safety was his top priority at all times.

He excused himself only for a minute to call up the restaurant he wanted to take you to afterwards, make sure all the preparations were ready. Satisfied that his orders were perfectly carried out, he started walking back to you and stopped when he saw someone standing too close to you for his liking. He scoffed, he couldn't even turn away for 2 minutes cause some asshole is already flirting with you.

Walking up behind the man, he tapped his shoulder.

"I suggest you walk away now before I get angry." Was his only warning.

The man scoffed and looked Hongjoong up and down.

"And who are you to think you can order me around short stack?" He mocked him.

Hongjoong simply snapped his fingers and in a matter of seconds, all his men came out and stood around them, awaiting for Hongjoong's next instruction. The man was now visibly shaking as he realized that he angered the wrong person.

Cocking his head to the side, Hongjoong smirked at him before saying:

"Now...... do you want to walk away peacefully or shall I have my men 'escort' you out?"

✿*:･ﾟ𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓢𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓱𝔀𝓪 ﾟ･:*✿

It was a regular occurrence for Seonghwa to take you clubbing. Fancy clubs were usually the place where he had business talks with other mafia leaders. You honestly never felt it as if they were business meetings. You always ended up having fun and more likely than not, Seonghwa ended up pinning you underneath him before the night was over.

It was a new club where you two had to go. Seonghwa knew the risks of wandering into new territory, but there never seemed to be a problem....until now. His eyes were quick to signal out a guy who had been watching you too closely. Clearly, he didn't know you were off limits since he started trying to grind against you, holding your hips in place while you tried to get away from him.

Slamming his fist on the table, he got up and marched where you were. He sharply pulled the man off you before landing a hard punch right in his face. The man stumbled backwards to the force of Seonghwa's hit, landing on one of the tables behind him. He looked up and saw Seonghwa staring daggers at him.

"Consider this your first and only warning: don't ever come near her again. Got it?"

The guy simply nodded and scrambled to get away from Seonghwa's menacing presence. Looking back at you, he held your hands and scanned you all over to make sure you were all right.

"Are you ok?" He asked, his anger now replaced with tenderness and concern for you.

You nodded, thankful he was always there to help you.

"Come on love. Let's get out of here. I don't ever want to come back to this place again. "

✿*:･ﾟ𝓙𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓾𝓷𝓱𝓸ﾟ･:*✿

Yunho always used violence as the last resort in any situation that involved criminal activity. And although you knew who he was and what he did, he preferred to have you know as little as possible about his job and to not see any of it. He'd rather you not be in danger or get so scared that you'd leave him.

He tried to keep you as hidden as possible, but eventually rivals found out about you and sent someone to stalk you out. Feeling overconfident one day, the man cornered you in an alley, pushing you up against a wall.

"So you're Yunho's little bitch is that right?" He smirked, looking you up and down.

You tried to push him away, disgusted and terrified of him, but he just held you in place.

"I love it when girls like you put up a fight. Makes it even more exciting when I'm destroying their little pussies."

You were in the verge of crying, when you felt his weight pulled away from you. Opening your eyes, you saw Yunho's men holding the guy down, Yunho himself standing over him.

"You're going to regret calling my girl a bitch and daring to put your filthy hands on her."

He whispered instructions in one of his men's ears and they took the man away, ready to deal with him as he deserved. Yunho turned his attention back to you. He cupped your cheeks and held you close.

"Baby I'm so so sorry. I swear to you, I won't let anything like that happen again."

✿*:･ﾟ𝓚𝓪𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓮𝓸𝓼𝓪𝓷𝓰 ﾟ･:*✿

Your new coworker had really been getting on your nerves lately. He was the type who couldn't take no for an answer, even after you said you had a boyfriend and even kept a picture of you and Yeosang together in your office.

Since he never went past asking you out or pestering you, you couldn't quite escalate it to your supervisor. So you just tried to avoid him at all costs. Yeosang asked you once if you wanted him to get involved.

"It's not that serious. Besides, I'm sure you have more important things to deal with than my tiny annoying problem." You joked with him.

Taking your hand, he placed a gentle kiss on it.

"Nothing is more important than you."

You really thought Yeosang wouldn't get involved. But one day he decided to go pick you up at your workplace. He was glad, and so were you, that he decided to come. Your coworker decided to take things up a notch and actually press you against your desk.

"Don't worry about your stupid boyfriend. It'll be our little secret."

Yeosang slammed the door open, rage pouring out of his body. His presence itself was intimidating that your coworker quickly stepped aside from you.

"Baby, would you mind waiting outside for me?" Yeosang sweetly asked you, but you knew there was anything but sweetness in what he was going to do.

You nodded your head and went outside, closing the door behind you, the last thing you saw was Yeosang walking up to your coworker, who had terror all over his face.

"Looks like you and me are going to have a little 'chat' about respect and why you should stay away from my girlfriend."

✿*:･ﾟ𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲 𝓢𝓪𝓷 ﾟ･:*✿

You were patiently waiting for San to arrive. He told you he was going to be a little late to your date. It didn't bother you as you were currently holding Byeol, playing around with her on the bench. It wasn't unusual for you guys to bring her along on your dates. After all, she was your guys' little baby.

"That's a really pretty cat you have there."

You looked up and found a young man smiling down at you. You thanked him and he bent down, asking you permission to pet her, which you allowed him to. He didn't seem dangerous.

"What's its name?" He asked as he ruffled the cat's ears, which apparently Byeol didn't seem to really like, evident by her squirming around too much.

"Her name is Byeol." You answered him as you tried to calm Byeol down.

"Very pretty name for such a pretty pussy."

You almost gagged at his use of that word and were taken aback when he placed his hand on your thigh.

"Makes me wonder if her owner's pussy is just as pretty."

You were about to tell him off, but a voice beat you to it.

"It most definitely is."

The man was briskly pulled up by none other than your boyfriend San, who was not at all happy.

"Unfortunately for you, you'll never find out. Now I suggest you just walk away. I don't want to cause a scene in such a public place, especially not in front of my two babies."

The guy simply nodded and walked away when he caught sight of San's gun poking out from his jacket.

"That guy was such a creep. No wonder Byeol instantly didn't like him." You scoffed.

San smiled. "She's always been a good judge of character."

✿*:･ﾟ𝓢𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓲 ﾟ･:*✿

You scrolled through your phone as you waited for Mingi to come out of the building. It wasn't unusual for you to know about what he did. One time you literally walked in on him beating a man half to death. Those kinds of things didn't surprise you anymore. Besides, you knew underneath that deadly mafia leader mask, your boyfriend was an actual baby and softie for you.

You weren't a part of his business, however his subordinates knew who you were and thus treated you with utmost respect, because no one dared to face Mingi's wrath if he found out any of them tried anything on you.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing out here so alone?"

You turned to find a sharply dressed man next to you. You saw the familiar crest on his suit jacket, signaling he worked for your boyfriend. But he must be a rookie since you've never seen him before and he had the audacity to talk to you like that.

"I'm not alone. Simply waiting for my boyfriend." You responded nonchalantly, hoping he'd go away.

"Playing hard to get are we now?" He stepped closer to you, his fingers grazing your hair ever so slightly.

Stepping away, you turned to face him with a glare.

"I really suggest you don't get any funny ideas and just walk away while you still have the chance."

The man chuckled at your warning, you however just kept a straight face.

"Come on doll face. Why don't you let me show you a good time?"

The sound of a gun cocking was the only thing heard after he finished his sentence. The frightened look on his face was unmistakable as he felt the barrel of the gun pressed to the back of his head. The fright turned to pure panic when an all too familiar voice said:

"You should have taken her advice when you had the chance."

The man started mumbling out apologies, absolutely terrified of Mingi ending him. Mingi decided to have some pity on him after looking over at your concerned face. He quickly put his gun away before ordering the men behind him to escort the rookie back inside.

You knew Mingi wouldn't let the guy off so easily though.

"Don't be too hard on him honey. After all, he's new. How could he have known?" You fake pouted as you adjusted Mingi's tie.

Mingi smirked down at you. Grabbing one of your hands, he pressed a chaste kiss on one of your fingers.

"Fine. But I'm making sure that the first rule all new recruits know is to not even look at you."

✿*:･ﾟ𝓙𝓾𝓷𝓰 𝓦𝓸𝓸𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓰 ﾟ･:*✿

Wooyoung had absolutely no chill in his line of work, and he especially had no chill when it came to you. He was the type of leader to kill a man on sight if he caught him staring at you for too long. He had learned to tone it down though. You didn't like seeing his aggresive side and so he tried to keep most of that away from you.

This particular night, he decided to take you out to a bar/nightclub. It was a place that was particularly visited by people in his line of work, which is why if anybody died by the end of the night, no one would be fazed by it.

Wooyoung excused himself from your table and went to the bathroom for a bit. You sipped on your drink and looked around for any familiar faces. You looked up when you felt someone sit down, expecting to see Wooyoung, but instead seeing a complete stranger.

"So.... how much?" Was the only thing he asked.

"I- I'm sorry?" You didn't understand what he was asking.

The guy rolled his eyes.

"How much for spending the night with you?"

You couldn't believe this. He actually thought you were one of the prostitutes that worked in these types of places.

"Excuse me?" You scoffed, completely disgusted by him.

"Oh come on now. You don't look like you'd be so expensive for a whore-"

He was cut off by Wooyoung's hand that pulled him out of the booth.

"She's not a whore you dirty motherfucker. You certainly have a lot of balls to come up and disrespect her like that."

Wooyoung scoffed before reaching into his pocket and pulling out his gun.

"Don't worry, I'll fix it right now."

He pushed the guy back into the seat and moved you away from there.

"Close your eyes babygirl, I don't want you to see this."

You obeyed immediately. The sound of the gun blasting and the guy's piercing scream is was enough for you already.

"Keep them closed until I tell you to." Wooyoung whispered in your ear as he guided you out of the bar.

✿*:･ﾟ𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲 𝓙𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓱𝓸 ﾟ･:*✿

You were well aware that Jongho had many enemies. Being one of the youngest mafia bosses in the city, not to mention the most successful, he had a lot of people wanting to end him. That never happened though. He was too strong, not just he himself physically, but his whole organization was practically unbeatable.

You've had a couple moments where you'd run into one of his rivals. Nothing your doting boyfriend couldn't handle. He was always around to make sure not 1 hair on your head was touched.

Finally having some free time, Jongho decided to take you out and show you off. He stepped aside for a moment to take a call and when you were alone, someone approached you.

"Did you come here alone?"

You shook your head. "No. I'm here with my boyfriend."

The man chuckled. "Really? And where is this boyfriend? I don't see him."

"Why don't you turn around?"

You and the man both looked up at Jongho standing there.

"Now you see him." Jongho had a fake smile plastered on his face.

The man clicked his tongue in annoyance.

"Choi Jongho......guess there wasn't much to see."

At his insult, a few of Jongho's men stood up immediately, ready to end the man if necessary. At the same time, the other guy's men stood up as well. Didn't take long for you to figure out he was an enemy of your boyfriend.

Jongho actually stood there calmly, raising a hand signaling his men to back down.

"Let's not make a spectacle in front of my lady all right?"

Jongho took your hand and placed you behind him, tucking you away for safety. He then proceeded to roll up his sleeves.

"Besides, we're grown men.....so let's settle this like men.....just us two."

Gifs not mine, credit goes to their respective owners.

[arvandus]

Hello! Happy 750!!! So I have this OC with a singing quirk. She’s basically like Giselle from enchanted where she can control the people and animals and occasionally plants and wind with just her voice. However she processes everything around her as music so it’s constantly playing in her head and gives her severe insomnia. She’s also a member of the LOV so I was wondering what her interactions with each of the members would be like but mostly Dabi. Would they find her annoying or fun? Up to you

Thank you! It took me a little bit to dwell on this one, because the idea is so interesting! But I finally got hit by the Inspiration Imagination, and here we are! I hope you like it; I've adjusted it to x Reader per your request, and I hope you don't mind I took just a little bit of creative license for the Reader's perspective and how to describe her quirk.  I also kept it very Dabi-focused in the interest of time.

Dabi x F!Reader w/ a singing quirk (SFW)

💙 It would be a rocky start at first. Dabi would have difficulty trusting you, simply because your quirk is so powerful. Anything that could potentially take away his free will would make him mistrustful and want to avoid said threat like the plague - or remove it entirely.

💙 But Shigaraki says you’re off limits, so he settles to keep you at arms length while at the same time keeping a close watch on you. One wrong slip, and he’ll handle you himself (or so he tells himself).

💙 He also mistrusts you because… well… as a fellow insomniac, he knows that you’re up at all hours of the night. He’s not sure why, of course… he never knocks on your door to ask. But he hears you shuffling around in your space, pacing in your room. What could possibly keep you up so late every single night? What’s got you looking so exhausted every day as if you never sleep? He’s convinced that you’re a spy, somehow sending messages to their enemies when everyone is asleep. Except he never hears you leave your room. Never hears you talking to anyone. So there must be something he’s missing.

💙 You’re an enigma to him, and it drives him crazy. Dabi doesn’t like unknowns.

💙 On your end, Dabi drives you nuts. He’s an asshole, every word that falls from his mouth laced in backhanded compliments and passive-aggressive accusations. You’d come close to using your quirk on him on many occasions, just to make him shut up or leave the room. Fortunately for Dabi, you have a personal code of honor that you abide by, and controlling people through your singing is only reserved for your enemies.

💙 He’s not your enemy… not yet at least.

💙 You know why he doesn’t trust you, and you don’t blame him… and he's certainly not the first person to be suspicious of you. But does he really gotta be such a dick about it? You try to be upfront with him, to explain that you live by a code and he’s safe from your quirk, but it makes little difference. Dabi doesn’t trust easily, and promises mean very little to him.

💙 His trust is finally gained when you use your quirk to save him and the other league members from certain death. There’s nothing quite like the sensation of hearing the beautiful notes of your voice while in freefall and then feeling himself being caught on a strong wind current, only to be set safely on the ground seventy meters below.

💙 After that happens, he begins to take an even greater interest in you, but this time with more curiosity and less mistrust.

💙 He starts poking and prodding, some questions being asked directly, while others are only implied. After all, he loves his little mind games, and even more so, he loves getting under your skin, especially since you refuse to use your quirk on him. It’s basically given him a ‘get out of jail free’ card for being a brat.

💙 He really, really wants you to prank the others using your quirk. And your little miss “I’m a good girl with a special code of ethics” makes the game that much sweeter. After all, you’re just as much a villain as the rest of them. If Toga can go around swinging her knives from her fingertips, then why couldn’t you sing a little song now and then?

💙 But Dabi quickly learns that you’re just as stubborn as he is, if not more so.

💙 Even so, it’s frustrating for you because if it were anyone else you wouldn’t have put up with this level of bullshit. The persuasion, the flirting, the school-yard level dares… the man has no shame and tries every tactic in the book to try to get what he wants from you. What makes it even worse is that a secret part of you enjoys his mischief. His ideas are tempting sometimes. Especially when the other league members annoy you.

💙 On top of all that, he is strangely alluring, even with his scars. And more importantly, the ‘song’ his body gives off is, well, a pleasant one to say the least.

💙 Every person has a ‘musical aura’ more or less, a small symphony of heartbeats, breaths, and something more… ephemeral. It comes through in the way they move through the environment, in the way the air particles are displaced around them and vibrate with their energy.

💙 And for some reason Dabi’s song is practically intoxicating, just like his sharp blue eyes that always seem to pin you down, heavy lids held up by a cocky smirk.

💙 The two of you reach an impasse in your battle of wills, an unspoken stand-off that never wanes. And it’s upon this competitive dance that the two of you begin to build some strange sense of camaraderie.

💙 He’ll eventually give up on his desire for pranking his comrades when he sees you use your quirk on heroes. But not just any hero, of course…

💙 Imagine Dabi’s glee when you use your song quirk to make Endeavor literally dance as the large man’s face flushes red with rage. It was intended to keep him busy while the League made their escape. But it makes it all over the news of course, and becomes viral online for months. The laughter that the two of you share when you get back to the hideout lasts for hours as you watch the news replay the scene over and over it. It really never gets old.

💙 Oh man, does he like you even more now. You’re his new favorite person. And he finally stops harassing you about using your quirk on the League members, instead finding much greater enjoyment in targeting different heroes together.

💙 There will come a time that he’ll catch you on one of your many insomnia-induced nights. It’s a hard one, sleep being kept at bay by the musical cacophony surrounding you, despite your obvious exhaustion. Your strength finally shatters, and you break down into tears in your room in frustration.

💙 Guess who ends up knocking on your door?

💙 Of course Dabi heard you. For months he’s been listening to the pacing of your feet or your frustrated sighs through the thin, old walls. It’s almost become a lullaby to him by this point, a way for him to know that you’re safe and sound… more or less.

💙 “What’s wrong, doll?” he’ll ask, as he stares down at your tear-streaked face. “I can hear ya through the walls, so don’t gimme any of your bullshit excuses.” Anyone else would hear the mockery in his voice, but for you with your quirk, you can hear the song of caring weaved through them, a hidden secret that you’re sure even he doesn’t realize is there.

💙 He won’t wait for an answer as he enters your personal space and makes himself comfortable.

💙 His sudden presence and that comforting familiar song it brings with it soothes more than you’d like to admit.

💙 But you do admit it. You admit to everything. The fatigue you feel, the way your quirk makes you suffer, and how for some reason, the song of him puts you at ease, drowning out the other noise. It’s like your inner radio is tuned just for him. Normally you wouldn’t admit to any of this of course, but you’re well past the point of exhaustion now, and your brain isn’t running as smoothly as it normally would. So what did it matter if you told him everything? You really didn’t have the strength to care anymore.

💙 “Your quirk is fuckin’ weird.” he admits. Then a grin will spread across his face. “You like my ‘song,’ huh? C’mere.”

💙 He’ll have you lay down with him on your bed and hold you close to him, your head on his chest as he rests his chin in your hair. “Does it help?” he’ll ask.

💙 Shockingly, it does. His music surrounds you, and you close your eyes as you let it cover you like a warm blanket. Everything else seems to fall to the wayside, your tired brain only able to focus on one melody - his. Before you can even nod in response, you’re fast asleep.

💙 It’ll become a habit for you two now… On particularly hard nights, he’ll keep you company and hold you. And maybe… maybe he’ll start letting you keep him company when he has hard nights too.

[greensaplinggrace]

What Is There To Celebrate About the Darkling? (Part 3)

1 2 3 4

His shadow powers are so badass, literally how could you not celebrate him for that alone?

Villain wears black trope REPRESENT.

The way his cloak billows dramatically in episode one before Alina enters the Fold.

The way his cloak billows in general.

His little face in the background after his and Alina’s first kiss as he tries to compose himself.

Him knocking on the table in episode five when he gets back to see Alina. My mans was so hopeful that he’d finally get to third base with the love of his life. RIP.

Large hands. Very tall.

The way he literally cannot tear his eyes away from Alina during the entire scene where Alina dresses him and they have their first kiss.

The softest looking hair I’ve ever seen. I can’t believe Alina got to run her hands through it and she still left him.

How he urgently looks around for Alina outside after she leaves in episode five, right before he confronts Baghra. He’s very frantic and panting and clearly concerned and not being subtle at all about his emotions.

Also the way he walks when he’s leaving Baghra, with his hands stuck out to the side and his fists clenching and unclenching as his form grows smaller in the distance. He looks like a tiny penguin waddling away.

Son’s evil dastardly bastard plans once again thwarted by own mother. Can you imagine living for an eternity and never being free of your parents? Fuck all that other shit, no wonder he went darkside.

“She is all that matters now, not me. She is the future. She is the one-” SIMP

His little smile before he goes to answer the door after they kiss. The way his hold on her lingers as if he can’t bear to part with her. Forehead touch. They are giggling.

The way he runs back in for another kiss. This man is so gone it’s not even funny.

He calls her to him in the books and she spends the entire time agonizing over how upset he’s going to be. The man literally just wants to ask her about her day.

Defends Alina to Baghra after he witnesses her getting harassed. Defends himself to Baghra after she treats him like shit. Love that for him.

“I made something.” / “Let me make a mark on this world before I leave it.” / “It’s my own name I’m afraid of forgetting.” / “He understood then. The Grisha lived as shadows, passing over the surface of the world, touching nothing. Forced to change their shapes and hide in corners, driven by fear as shadows were driven by the sun. No safe place. No haven.” / “There will be, he promised the darkness, words written upon his heart. I will make one.”

Him offering Alina his kvas. They drink from the same glass.

Sasha “no thoughts head empty only Alina” Morozova having to look away and calm himself when Alina licks her lips after drinking his kvas.

Literally his entire confrontation with Kaz. Absolutely hilarious. Local centuries old Black Heretic gets bested by a teenager with one (1) flash grenade.

“I never intended for it to be the blight it’s become.” - Genuine regret. A+++.

Asks Mal what Alina’s favorite flowers are and then gives them to her. Was it manipulative? Yes. Was it awful? Absolutely. Was it the funniest and smoothest shit I’ve ever seen? 100%. I laughed my ass off.

Alina: *enters the fete dressed in the black kefta* *Darkling.exe has stopped working*

This man takes one look at her lack of guards and goes: what’s more important than how beautiful the wifey looks? her safety. *protective bf mode initiated*

He admires how pretty he appears in the mirror of his room with absolutely zero shame and 100% pride. We stan a vain icon in this house💕. Also the mirror is in front of the bed?!?! 👀👀👀

His knife ring.

“You looked like you needed saving,” as fire plays across his features and he looks at Alina with an expression that makes my soul want to splinter into pieces. The implications, the pain.

Will display his complete and utter adoration for Alina in front of the entire Court including the King and Queen despite the fact that that is the worst thing he could possibly do in the political environment.

“No ordinary tracker. No ordinary girl. Orphans of Keramzin reunited. AdOrAbLe.” - How do you say you have issues without saying you have issues?

The way he eclipses Alina when he’s stepping down from the dais. The inherent romantic symbolism of the eclipse and what that means for him.

Him getting excited about the stag to the point where he’s eagerly rummaging through the maps on his table and urgently asking Mal tons of questions.

The five second delay in his thoughts as he processes that Mal isn’t cooperating. Poor guy really thought that everything was finally coming up Sasha for once.

He constantly uplifts Alina after Baghra’s emotional abuse. He constantly helps her with her self esteem and reassures her that she’s doing well and that she just needs more time.

“Yeah I don’t know what Baghra’s summoning ability is,” he said, like a liar.

Even after Baghra suggests that Alina left he doesn’t believe it. He has to hear it from Kaz after searching for ages before he finally begins to believe it.

“You smuggle Grisha out of MY PALACE!”

Titty grab during the kiss scene.

He lifts her up onto the table!!

Local whipped dark overlord gets excited that Fedyor has found Alina and has to suffer through the embarrassment of acting like a lovesick fool when he learns it’s just about Nina.

His relationship with Nikolai.

The fact that Alina’s scarf blows past him before they even meet.

The way he nods with such an understanding expression when the Conductor is lying his ass off as if he sympathizes with everything the other man is saying and isn’t secretly planning his elaborate murder.

Puppy dog eyes all the time.

Every time his smile is forced and ingenuine and he looks like he’s about to stab someone.

Every time his smile is genuine and he looks super soft and loving.

“You have no chance, ShAdoW mAn.” Literally how is he ever going to recover from this.

His hands motions when he summons. I just think they’re neat.

He kills the Conductor. Hated that guy. And he looked sexy as fuck doing it.

He hates the Druskelle, he hates the Ravkan monarchy. I can relate.

He’s NOT a bootlicker, unlike some.

Dad mode gets activated when David raises his hand. Aleksander just goes along with it like an exasperated father.

Ben Barnes nose scronch.

He begs for Luda’s life.

“Merzost feeds on us. I forbid it!” two seconds later *frantic rummaging through notes on the merzost* *reading the Forbidden Knowledge™ without any hesitation* *Immediate Disaster Occurs*

“Mom look what I made!” “Your art is atrocious and you’re no longer my son.”

His history was written by the victors. The tale of the Black Heretic is straight up propaganda by the corrupt monarchy.

Immortal old man caught in a young adult love triangle: I read your letters. Malyen “what the fuck is happening on this here day” Oretsev: ??!?!?!!! who even are you??

Aleksander admitting he needs Alina.

Darklina hand holds.

He did not have to make that episode eight hand-hold on the skiff so sensual but he did it anyways.

The way he hides under his cloak like a turtle when Jesper shoots at him.

He looks so awkward and isolated at the fete surrounded by all of those colorful nobles.

He’s always ready to murder a bitch and honestly I respect that.

Would kill for his gf.

That entire scene where he kisses Alina in the snow in the books like the most awkward motherfucker and then goes “wtf just happened?! Darkling out” before fleeing the scene of the Emotion.

He’s eternally confused by his feelings for Alina and it’s hilarious.

“Looking for trouble, and if I cannot find it I will create it.”

He’s basically just a moth attracted to a fatal light. RIP.

The way he throws open double doors like a man on a mission.

“Follow.”

He’s utterly precious and I would die for him. 🖤

[elmaxlys]

Akira Mado and Kiriko Kamata for the character bingo?

Ooh the pretty girls! Thank you :D

Akira:

The * on free space is for my special note of a normal "i like her" she's great. wish we had seen more about her and her old man. what do you mean I'm predictable.

Now a comment on the rest because I know I'm being mean and unfair.

The thing is, I am, how to say that, overly protective of my boy Koutarou. I know my hobby is to make him cry and also literally everyone in Tokyo Ghoul, including Donato, has done worse things both in general and to him, but I. cannot forgive her for the sexual harassment of my boy. I am really sorry, Akira. You fuck very hard but alas you did that one thing several time and I still dream i could punch you and knock a few teeth :( didn't help when you punched Haise :((( I still love you a lot I promise.

Kiriko:

Note: WIFE

And now on to serious things:

Everyone else is wrong about her as sort of because frankly we didn't get enough of her to really, you know, actually know her so both my view and everyone else's rests on basically nothing. That said, I am always correct about everything and this includes everything I say about Kiriko. The fact that the sk8 fandom thinks like a 3 y/o on average sure helps me with my confidence on that one

Salad spinner as sort of because I do not put her in there alone. *throws in ADAM, Tadashi and Langa too* hehe >:3c