#no but i bought it bc i think she might die soon so i can flip it and make some coin

[tzmlle]

oo i bought a first 100,000 edition of madonnas porn book and it just came

[frankieunscripted]

My reasons to hate Drake

First things first, I'm the reales- wait, wrong theme. First of all, I would like to say this is NOT an unbiased recap, this is literally just me listing things I've hated about Drake for years. You might as well join in on the hate train. Go watch some YouTube video essays on this if you wanna know more!!! You'll find plentyyyy

Certified Pedophile ("allegedly"): Texting teen girls until they're of age and then go and date them. ew.

Cosplay Gangsta: disrespecting the culture as a whole, but especially what hiphop is about. Flexing money, cars, girls, drugs, clothes bc he never understood hiphop was never about flexing, but about being heard bc you're oppressed, about revolution. Now we got his die-hard fans running around acting like this is true rap. no. "You don't know nun bout dat!"

Culture Vulture: jumping from trend to trend in order to make it "his own", faking accents that he has no business playing with and dropping them as soon as he's done with this specific type of genre bc it's not trendy anymore. Adapting whole "personas" around this, instead of just merely collabing with other artists. Jamaican and African accents are just 2 examples here.

Blackness: Drake never really got out of his acting career. Back on DeGrassi he was acting as a high school jock. Now he's acting like a tough black guy who's from the streets and knows what it's like to be down bad, when this was never his life. Lil Wayne warned him to never change and act tough just bc he would sign to Weezy's label where the rappers were predominantly "gangsta type dudes". And what did Drizzy do? He's acting all tough and "outta dem streets". He's clearly overcompensating for not feeling black enough (I've already reblogged 2 posts about this, pls see these for further context). Drake's mad for not being referred to as a rapper who speaks on being black, when in reality the black experience was never of topic in any of his songs. He also doesn't give back to the community.

Lil Wayne: Drake had relations with fellow rapper Lil Wayne's gf (she actually was of age, ayoooo!) while Wayne was away in prison. Wayne got word of the fact his gf was cheating on him with the young guy he signed under his label and was pissed. Drake, in an effort to smooth out the situation, got Wayne's face tattooed on his arm. Say what you will about portrait tattoos, but this story is just so fucking typical Drake. How the fuck do you think this is gonna help anyone?

Validation: Drake donates money in the music video for God's Plan, only to earn more money with that video/song than he donated in the first place. He felt good about donating and then never did that shit again.

Numbers: As a great man once said: "Crack fiends bought 10 million rocks, that don't mean it's good. It don't mean nothing." (As you can imagine, that man was 2Pac). And with that I say that proving your worth in the industry by numbers don't mean a lot. It means you and your team figured out the market and started producing stupid, vapid, but terribly long albums to maximize streaming numbers, automatically bumping up your place in the industry. This is about quantity, not quality - good rap/ hiphop was never about that. Drake actively validates his music and status with his fame, money and streams and neither him nor his fans seem to get that says nothing about the artistic value of his music. "Numbers lie too, fuck your pride, too!" (I mean really, Baby Shark has 14 Billion views on YouTube - you think that's REAL artistry, Mister Aubrey?)

Cocky Ass Bitch: I would be okay with a lot of his music if Drake just knew his fucking place. He went pop ages ago, but still people (including himself) refer to him as a rapper - no even, as THE rapper, placing him in the Top 3. Sometimes I feel like y'all do this, just to piss me off personally. Apart from everything else wrong with Drake, there's nothing wrong with liking music like his persé. Not everyone likes conscious/ deep stuff and sometimes, when you with the homies, you just wanna chill and listen to something "mindless" - MIND you, I'm not looking down on "non-conscious" rap, I'm just saying not every artist has to be woke/ deep all the time and some "empty" party anthem about girls, fashion, cars and alcoholism is fun at times. These party anthems deserve their place. And a child actor turned rapper turned POP STAR is valid in my books - just not if it's Drake. Apropos cockiness: The dude compares himself multiple times to Michael Jackson and while that got a few good lines out of him, I believe it's close to fucking blasphemy. Drake and MJ on the same pedastal. I mean sure, questionable stuff happening with kids, both of them wildly successful in their industry (mind you, streaming like today wasn't around back then and many of the numbers cannot be compared), but one of them a real talent and the other one some guy who more or less made it as an industry plant. "I can dance like Michael Jackson? / I'd argue your skills really lack, son!" (okay sorry, I know, that was corny as fuck xD) Dude is flexing with numbers instead of poetic abilities -

About the art itself:

Ghostwriters: "What poetic abilities?", I hear you ask - Yeah, don't think I forgot! Best believe I been cooking this one. There's evidence for Drake having ghostwriters - which on its own is fine, don't believe every star writes every single bar on their own. My problem with this is, that Drake keeps his cocky attitude, even though many of his hits aren't really Aubrey-written and also many ghostwriters never get their credit (this is why they're called "ghostwriters", I know that this is not something specific to Drake, but slapping one more name on the credits ain't that hard, when you're worth a billion bucks already). This is the rap equivalent of flexing your homework when you know DAMN WELL copied it off of your best friend and did nothing for that success. I guess his song Right Hand wasn't about a romantic interested after all, but the dudes who been writing it!

STOLEN SHIT: Why in hell is no one mentioning this on here? Drake is KNOWN for stealing other artists' verse metres (referred to as "flows", y'all tumblr, idk how much you guys do know, okay?), melodies, whole beats, samples or verses in general. In no other studio would you see mentions of a "reference track" concerning songwriting. They take a song as reference and build around it as they construct a beat. There's PLENTY of evidence for this happening, one story really had me baffled, where a young indie-rapper met Drake in the early 2010s, gave him his CD to listen to and a whopping 5 years later the indie-rapper realizes Drake just fucking stole his entire song (a really personal one at that) on his latest album back then. Being indie, of course the guy had little to no means of fighting back with lawyers or anything, man's was working a 9to5 job and had other stuff going on. Before you wanna argue with me though: YES. There is a difference between stealing and paying hommage. One famous example is Drake biting Eminem's Superman flow on Chicago Freestyle: "But I do know one thing though/ Bitches, they come, they go/ Saturday through Sunday, Monday / Monday through Sunday, yo/ Maybe I'll love you one day/ Maybe we'll someday grow". The only good thing Drake ever did was changing Em's "Bitches" to "Women" on his song. Other than that: exact same few bars. This is a hommage. Why? Because Eminem, that's why. You can pay hommage to great, well-known artists with good bars. It takes a common ground of knowledge from artist to audience to make a hommage like this work. That can go well. Kendrick copies the flow of a Kanye West song on HiiiPower and it works just fine because you listen to either of the song and think: "Ah yeah exactly, that one part, okay, I see you." You don't pay hommage to a small, unknown, indie-rapper by copying his whole verse about his Mom, when you would never say stuff like that on your records before. You don't, because it wouldn't work. None of your listeners would understand the innuendo at all, because no one ever heard of the "great guy you'd be paying hommage to". So shut up.

Music: It's just not that good. Like yeah, he had a few bangers, but let's not exaggerate. Artistically Drake does not offer anything. If he ever did, he probably left all of that on the first few albums he still rapped on. His delivery sucks, his singing voice sounds like he's tryna be The Weeknd at times but isn't. The lyrics aren't special. What the fuck?

Euphoria: Even before getting deeper into hiphop, I've always hated the way Drake presents himself. When Kendrick said: "I hate the way that you walk, talk, dress" I felt that. I hate the way he "raps", the way he drags his words, the way he laughs, the way he "sings". Just a whole lotta shit I dislike about the guy.

Sneak Dissing: If you want beef then get in line, don't just kinda allude to it, you weak ass bitch

SENSITIVE ASS BITCH: I love a man who's in tune with his feelings but Drake being the cosplaying gangsta clown he is, acts like he's all tough when in reality, you can't really say shit to him, cause he "can't let this shit slide, ay".

Kendrick's Control Verse drops - a verse calling out multiple rappers saying Kendrick will come for them in friendly competition for the crown of being the best. Drake was mentioned. Everyone thinks it's kinda cool and goes along. Drake is mad. In an interview he basically said he found it fake because the next time he saw Kendrick "it was all love" and that he wanted it "to be real. Let it be real then". Okay crodie, next time you get called out in a fair rap competition, best believe I'll sock you in your fucking throat, I gotchu.

The Weeknd doesn't sign to Drake's label OVO after working with Drake for a while. Drake is mad again and feels betrayed. Why you gotta be like this?

Kendrick says that he doesn't wanna collab with Drake because their music is too different, not because of anything personal. He just doesn't see it happen in the near future because it would not match artistically. Drake gets mad.

Drake stopped beefing with Pusha T back in the day. Probably because he exposed his son. But still, if you want beef, then clean up your plate, bc you eat what you order and dont't just start to "let this shit slide, ay"

("allegedly") being involved in XXXTentacion's passing back in 2018 over beef. This beef started because of the flow of X's popular song Look at Me!, which Drake stole shortly after letting X know his management would contact him about a possible collab. As you can imagine, X was never contacted by Drake's people. The kid was 20 years old, man. He said some outrageous shit at times, but no one deserves to go out like he did.

Also, the famous DMX ("Y'all gon make me lose my mind!") once said in an interview that he'd like to punch Drake in the face and I support that. Kendrick and his homies laughed at the clip - as did everybody else, cause it's hilarious if a beast and a legend of hiphop hates Drake. Drake was mad at Kendrick laughing about it and not taking it seriously. What did he expect? Should Kendrick have went after DMX and made him apologize for what he said about lil Aubrey? How old are you? 5?

Drake gets mad at a lot of shit - bottom line. I could go on and on, but I've been writing this for hours, it's half past 3 am and I wanna sleep after uni and work, y'all.

DURING THE DISS-ERTATION: this section is about shit Drake did during the beef with Kendrick.

Saying Kendrick's Like That verse was weak af. That's your core response? Someone flames you and people are already throwing ass to the mere sound of it and you think: "Huh, that sucked anyway." Pathetic.

Calling Kendrick short (over and over and over again) as if his height is under his control/ his fault? - as if that takes way from Kendrick's skill, Kendrick's allegations againt Drake! - as if that means ANYTHING AT ALL to people over the age of like... 12?

Going after anybody's family in the first place. I know nothing is really "off-limits" in a rap battle like this, but please have the fucking decency. Don't mention my Momma, my kids, my dog, my fam, my friends who ain't got nothing to do with the fact that I hate you. I will say I am not proud of Kendrick for getting down on that level himself - but I would be lying if I said I didn't enjoy Meet The Grahams and the sheer panic it induced. And sometimes I gotta be a little childish and yell "But Aubrey started ittt!"

Hitting on Whitney in The Heart Part 6. Don't go for another man's treasure, you absolute dog. Accusing Whitney of being unfaithful. My friend, this beef is about us (the Culture) hating you and the things you do. Stop trying to shift this into something it is not.

Reacting to diss tracks via instagram stories and memes, like he's that one popular girl in 7th grade who's gotta clap back to something someone said in school on her IG. Shut up.

Calling The Weeknd and his manager gay. Are we not over homophobia yet? Being queer is not an insult. Also falsely "accusing" people of being gay is uncool as fuck - but oh "You don't know nun bout dat!" bc false accusations are basically everything you do - and also possibly outing someone like that is fucking hurtful as shit. I know the people involved are probably not queer at all, but if they were - period.

Using AI in a song at all. Drake, you already proved you suck. Don't force it down our throats. What part of you thought it would make you look good? What part said it would be good to do in a diss track, when the world knows diss tracks are even more a show of capability than other songs. Nah, you go and use AI. Idc about your "mind games": Using AI Snoop Dogg is just weird as fuck cause the Doggy is still well and alive - if you want him to feature on your song, call the legend and ask hi- oh wait, you knew he woulda said "Aww hell nah!" cause everyone hates you? Huh. Snoop probably woke up one day, hit a blunt and asked "When the FUCK did I collab with Drake?". Anyway, using AI 2Pac is straight up disrespectful, when you know damn well the guy would've hated you if he knew who you'd become. Just doing this because it's 2Pac, because you can and not even asking for permission of Pac's people is crazy. Glad the shit was taken down anyways.

The 8 Mile "Airing Out Your Dirty Laundry"-Trick before the big battle does NOT invalidate future claims on you diddling kids. No. Not even if 2Pac says it first. Nah.

His Damage Control Effort in post to make it seem like/make us believe that he's in control, when Kendrick has been bodying him is hilariously embarrassing. Anyone can claim the mole was fake "all along" after it happened.

Making fun of Kendrick for his verse on Taylor Swift's Bad Blood is just stupid. Look at all the features Drake does. Rihanna, BadBunny, DJ Khaled, Future, PartyNextDoor, Lil Wayne, Diddy, Nicki Minaj, Wizkid, ..... the list is so fucking long (I'm just picking at random songs at this point, cause I do not want my browser/spotify history to be associated with Drake's music. I don't wanna go out of my way to say he NEEDS these people to stay relevant but let's face it: His discography and his success would be different if it weren't for them

Acting like he's so great for "finally making Kendrick rap again" - Sir, you don't write your shit on your own, stfu. You don't invest time and effort into your vapid albums. YOU should be thankful for Kendrick destryoing you, giving us the best few lines out of you in a long time.

Not addressing important shit. We been over the allegations, I will not repeat them in this post cause this is already long enough. BUT y'all on the same page as me, aight? Instead of addressing EVERYTHING, he just responds with diss tracks that aren't terrible but really not THAT good, yk? Not going into the shit that we want to se addressed.

Acting like disstracks need replay value. Idk if this is a Drake or a fanbase problem, but people really act like Drake's tracks were better, bc you can listen to them more casually. "Kendrick basically made a whole song about Drake" - THIS IS WHAT A DISS TRACK SHOULD BE! Notice how we don't call every song containing a diss immediately a "diss track"? That's why. Diss tracks were meant to hit your opponent in the stomach with witty bars, double entendres, nice delivery and good production. Diss tracks weren't meant to be club bangers - bonus if they do end up being some though, looking at you, Like That and Not Like Us.

Not reading into stuff properly or just not listening. This is a small one, but ngl I hate the fact they got the Mother I Sober reference wrong (The song is NOT about Kendrick being abused, BUT about Kendrick not being abused and his Mom NOT believing him and passing her sa trauma onto him, even though he didn't experience that). Also Kendrick explicitly says "DOT, the money, power, respect / The last one is better" on Like That and Drakes response (again) is "Huh, I have way more money than you and in the industry, I'm way more powerful than you. Also, you so short tihhihi." BITCH he SAID respect was the most important of the three and you disrespect him, not by calling him out by his wrong doings but by picking on physical features the man cannot change like a 5th grade bully.

Anyways. phew. If you made it this far... wow. I'm impressed. I'll keep updating this. Thanks for coming to my beef talk.

EDIT: Thank y'all for the positive reactions on this post. If you seek more info/ want me to further explain stuff/ have even more dirt on Drake, let me know and we can work something out. -Frankie out

[nyaagolor]

Finished Episode 4 and got through the first few chapters of Episode 5, so I’m back with some theories / questions / thoughts. I realized I probably should have been adding the spoilers tag to my posts so that will be rectified soon!! But anyway:

Theories:

1. Who is the person who called Natsuhi on the phone?

We have already established that Natsuhi is likely hallucinating based on her scenes with Kinzo and Beatrice, so I don’t think the kid is real. (She could also be lying but I’m biased in her favor bc I like her). If said child is actually 19, that would put him as a year older than Jessica, smack in the middle of when Natsuhi was having fertility issues. I don’t think it’s too much of a stretch that in her extremely heightened state of anxiety around the family conference (all about inheritance / family / lineage), she might be haunted (both metaphorically and literally) by her miscarriage / fertility issues. I’ve been under the assumption that Jessica is not Natsuhi’s child— she’s Krauss’ kid by another woman, but Natsuhi raised her for image related reasons (Krauss didn’t want to get a divorce or admit his wife’s “failure”, but wanted an heir regardless). The person on the phone might be the ghost (literal or metaphorical) of Natushi’s final unsuccessful pregnancy, especially if she was far along before the miscarriage— he ends up being a representation of her trauma and guilt at her fertility issues

2. What happened on the island with Ange?

Her bodyguard actually followed her, sniping and killing the blacksuits and Kyrie’s bitch of a sister whose name I’m forgetting. He kills Ange at the end because Okonogi would be the next person to get the inheritance and that’s what he’s been after in the first place

3. Why could Ange revive Sakutaro?

Maria was mistaken, Sakutaro is not homemade. Rosa bought a factory plushie and passed him off as homemade, so Ange just bought another one. My theory is that Rosa will die by my blade

4. What the fuck did Battler do?

I was initially under the impression that Kyrie killed Asumu to get her man (slay queen or whatever) but now that I think about it it’s not impossible that Battler did it. Did he drive her to suicide? Accidentally kill her and it was made to look like a suicide? Why does he not remember? Why does him not remembering make Beatrice suicidal???? Is Beatrice Asumu???? Is she a ghost that Battler made up in his grief? actually probably not I don’t think they would do that. whatever

Da Rules! (or at least the way I understand the rules of the game to work)

- Magic can only do things that are also possible by humans, meaning every magical act has some kind of trick

- Only the outcome as Battler sees it matter. In essence, everything before the catbox is opened does not need to be taken as fact

- “Mystery” is not “Anti-Fantasy” and shouldn’t be treated as such. “Mystery” is too restrictive, and nuance is important

- Everyone has the potential to be an unreliable narrator. Some are outright lying (hideyoshi + eva in chapter 3), some genuinely believe what they are seeing (Maria, possibly Natsuhi), and some I just don’t trust on principle (Kyrie, Rosa, the limited omniscient narrator)

Questions I still have:

- How did Asumu pass off Kyrie’s kid as her own. Like genuinely what the fuck is the logistics of that??????

- What do I have to do to convince Natsuhi to get a divorce

- When are Battler and Beatrice finally going to make out. I’m waiting.

[strawbrygashez]

Cal x Derick HCs \(^_^)/ tw for sh and uhh I guess things similar

•Literally the most freaky couple ever. They cut each other, can and will tell you the most disturbing facts out of no where like how successful certain suicide methods are and the process of body a decaying, will be that annoying ass couple that sit in the hallway together, will tell each other that they thought about killing each other the other day and swoon over it and .. just stuff like that. Horrible for each other but also they are on the same exact wave length and it’s like they can read the other’s mind.

•They talk about the weirdest shit that won’t make sense to anyone but them and neither of them are ever caught off guard over what the other is talking about. like Cal talking about aliens or Derick talking about how how he’s gonna get a new box cutter to cut himself soon because he lost his old one. To them it’s just the same as an old couple talking about what was in the newspaper today.

•Cal bought them matching friendship charm bracelets 😋 they collect charms that remind each other of the other. They both wear them all the time.

•They have a little jar of each others blood. How romantic🩸maybe they’d put some into necklaces that have a tiny little jar u can put whatever into.

•Derick is always holding Cal from behind since he’s a good amount taller. He does it even more so because it makes Andre uncomfortable seeing them handsy.

•They write poems together! A common theme in their poems is dying and being one together.

•Romeo and Juliet core. They want nothing more than to die together one day

•Not only are they freaky but they are also cringe. They are that video of that girl saying ‘stop ✋’ after some dude recorded her resting her forehead against her mans forehead. They cuddle all the time and once Cal comes out and tells his parents he’s with Derick and they accept it, they are all lovey dovey when Andre is over and it makes him want to vomit.

•Cal likes how tall and weird/out of it Derick is. When he’s quiet he’s almost got this kinda Michael myers thing about him and cal loves it 😛 He’d probably beg him to dress up as some silent horror movie character for Halloween so he can ‘freak out’ cal. Weirdo.

•They find the weirdest books and movies to show each other. Like really weird dark or artsy shit. The only thing they don’t have similar taste in is music. Cal can’t stand Derick’s screechy black metal and Derick thinks most of Cals whiny emo grunge music is lame but it’s alright :) They can settle on stuff like NIN, KMFDM, Type O negative, Deftones, Prodigy, and Rammstein. (And maybe just a little Marilyn Manson)

•Speaking of bands, once Derick gets with Cal he’s inspired by all of Cals band shirts to get some of his own. Mostly all of them are black metal bands but Cal will still steal some every now and then because the designs are admittedly really cool. Derick would only wear one of Cals if he absolutely had to (also I dunno if Cals shirts would fit him too well bc I think Derick might be a tiny bit broader)

•Andre becomes an absolute angel in Rachel’s eyes compared to Derick. While Andre just made her kinda uncomfortable and worried, she’s sure Derick has a dead body in his basement 💀

•Cal and Derick smoke and drink a lot. Their favorite place to is in grave yards.

Kinda related, not really, but they like to lay down on the ground together in grave yards and talk about how they want to be buried together ‘like this’.

[wikiangela]

wip wednesday

I wasn't gonna post anything until I get back from my vacation but I'm reading the prequel to "they both die at the end" and it prompted an idea of a little crossover sad fic with a tragic mcd ending and I'm gonna break my own heart with this one for sure 😂 (@thebravebitch said what I have so far is good and I trust her judgment lol ❤️)

so here's a little snippet I wrote on my phone bc I couldn't help myself and wait a few days 😂

______

His phone ringing wakes him up. At first he's confused, not registering it's his phone, since it's not even his ringtone. It takes him a few seconds to recognize it, and when he does, he looks at his phone and freezes, the words "DEATH-CAST" showing up as the caller ID.

He doesn't panic. When he answers the call, they'll tell him he's going to die in the next twenty four hours - or, twenty two hours, since it's after 2am already, they took their time to deliver this news. But he doesn't panic, he doesn't worry, he just freezes, and wonders if he should answer the call at all. After all, he's not even sure he believes in this whole damn thing.

One thing he does know is that no one will even try to convince him that he's going to die soon. They don't know shit.

*

It's not a new information that Eddie Diaz is what can be classified as a skeptic. He's not a believer in supernatural forces, magic, jinxes, ghosts, lately he even struggles with religion, despite his abuela's best efforts. Everyone in his life is aware of that.

So when this dude showed up out of nowhere claiming he can predict when people are gonna die, with no details or explanation, and give them one last day to sort out their affairs and say goodbye - Eddie called bullshit. He wasn't about to spend money on the off chance that they'll let him know when he's about to die. With being in the army, shot at every day, and even now with being a firefighter, he's aware of his own mortality more than your average person, he's already had more brushes with death than most people.

But he bought the subscription anyway, for his whole family. He had his parents, his abuela, his tía, and his wife trying to convince him, and they didn't succeed - he still thinks it's bullshit - but at least that got them to shut up about it. So, since then they spent thousands every year on subscribtions to this dumb service for himself, Shannon, and Christopher, and it was a waste of money, in Eddie's opinion.

And then, shortly after he moved to LA with his son, when he reconnected with his estranged wife, trying to see where this would go, but no matter what, his son was getting his mom back, and things were starting to look up again - Shannon got the call.

Eddie didn't belive it, but she did, and she decided to live this day like it's her last - which it ended up being, after all, but Eddie's still not sure if it wasn't some freak coincident.

That's what he's trying to tell her, when she's asking for a divorce that they don't have time to get finalized before he becomes a widower. She looks at him over the table in the little café they met, and there's nothing but peaceful acceptance, mixed with a bit of sorrowful regret for what she'll miss, in her eyes.

"Please make sure Christopher remembers I love him. I loved him, and I'll continue to love him from wherever we go after." she says with feeling, but at the same time she's almost casual about it. As if the prospect of dying within who knows how many hours wasn't a big deal. As if the only big deal is leaving her child once again, this time permanently.

Eddie can't take this. He won't believe this.

He still has trouble believing when he arrives on a call to a car accident later, and sees Shannon lying there on the street. Logically, he knows it makes sense, there's been a lot of people he's heard about who got the call and died, there's no reason not to believe it. But there's also not a lot of reasons to believe it, it might all just be a coincidence. Eddie's not about lose Shannon. Chris is not about to lose his mom. It's not fair. And he can't help blaming the stupid Death-Cast program.

____

No pressure tags (I'm on vacation and I'm barely on here so I really have no idea who already did it lmao) @panbuckley @honestlydarkprincess @jamietarts @shortsighted-owl @elvensorceress @translasso @alyxmastershipper @silentxxsoul @mrevanbuckley @buck-tartt

[rotting-genshin-brain]

Sky's Rambles

(AKA: I'm sorry to whoever actually reads this because IDK if you'll be able to make sense of my ADHD and Autism brain clashing)

Can Lyney get a rerun already? I wanna get his weapon and C6 Lynette. Like, I'm TWO CONS OFF

That being said, the upcoming banners are 90% useless too me. I have c6 every 4 star and have both 5 stars. I might go for Kazuha's weapon but like, I don't use him enough to justify that. I don't use him at all really. I prefer Venti for CC bc he has tighter CC and longer stunlock. I think the most I use Kazuha is...my Lyney team. Tbh. I don't even think I use him much there either. I have a C6 Layla and she buffs normal and charged attacks + applies cryo and shields. I only use Kazuha if Layla is taken for another team (which is a lot...Layla is the only shielder I use really since I don't have Zhongli yet. He's the only archon I have yet to get bc I got Raiden while pulling for Cheveruse.

Tbh, I'm glad the upcoming banners are worthless to me bc I have a guarantee for Arleccino (thank you Itto for breaking my win streak. I'll 100% get you next time.)

Also, the starters are in the Chronicled Wish banner and its a higher chance of getting them bc its a smaller 4 star pool. But the thing is, I want Amber. I fucking love Amber and if they dont give her a skin soon I will riot. But like I'm only getting Lisa. I have a c4 Lisa now. I love Lisa. She's so fucking pretty and she's my second strongest starter (Kaeya...isn't built. Amber's my strongest and my only starter to hit 50k as of rn.) But like-

My starter luck is good in the worst way. I got c1 amber forever ago, bought c2 from the shop after Neuvie's banner, got c2 Lisa from singles i got FROM ASCENDING LISA and took way too long to get a c1 Kaeya.

Lynette is so pretty. Like, I have a nuzlock account and she's one of the characters on it and I'm just like

Every time because she's so pretty.

I'm not one to do this much, but Arleccino's idle leaks marked her the first Genshin character to get a "mommy" out of me. Then as a meme to my gf cause she was the one showing me: "Mommy? Sorry. Mommy? Sorry. Mommy? Sorry. -deep as I can manage voice- Father."

We fucking died.

Probably gonna make a post about my teams I have set up one of these days.

If they run arleccino with a wanderer rerun im going to simultaneously die and ascend because Im a wanderer main, but i want arleccino, but that will also mean theres a chance to get that damned bell at r2 while pulling for arleccino's weapon.

I have, 100%, called wanderer's bell Titty Remembrance bc i couldn't remember how to spell Tuttulyas whatever and I gave up.

My favorite no resin things to do with friends:

Bootleg windtrace: hide and seek but we have to chase each other and its fucking terrifying half the time

Randomizer: i spin a boss wheel i spin a character wheel. Assign characters and try to beat the boss with said characters. Reroll if the boss is immune only if the character is catalyst. Cue confused and terrified screaming for bosses that you don't know the mechanics of. It's more fun when using someone's world who has all bosses open. (Thats the only reason I soloed lvl 90 Raiden with a lvl 40 Dori and a lvl 60 Candace.)

I'll add to this later with reposts.

[pigeonwhumps]

1, 3, and 20 from the WIP asks?

Thanks for the ask!

1. Which of your OCs have you think, changed the most since you created them and subjected them to the events of the story?

785. Her rescue arc has changed a lot, from simply being bought from Eleanor by Anita to being returned by Eleanor to the WRU and her memory wiped, before Anita gets her.

And, again, with the memory wipe... although it doesn't work totally it changes her a lot. Her personality not so much as her memory – but she's changed over the years since her first memory wipe, and that gets set back. She doesn't remember Theo anymore, beyond vague familiarity. It changes their relationship a lot.

So... yeah. She changes a lot, both within the story and the story itself.

(and yes, she does get a happy ending, don't worry too much – it hurts but it gets better)

(and she also needs a name. Soon)

3. Who is the hardest OC to write?

It's a cross between Indigo and Segun. It's probably bc I haven't written much for them, but I have a scene with them both in that I'm struggling with a bit because it's hard for me to give them different enough voices. I just... there's three whumpers in this series and while I've got Abbie pretty much figured out (kudos to Whumptober and the crossover), I cannot for the life of me get my head around the other two. They need to be different. If it was just one I'd be fine, probably, but with both Indigo and Segun... yeah. Hard.

Ah well. I'm sure I'll figure it out.

20. Which OC have you considered saving, that die in the story?

There are two, BUT if I tell you one it'll totally give it away. And they only die technically, they're still in the story, just... different, so (and it's a long way off, my ideas might still change).

Lord Wulfric, though. I can tell you he dies because that piece is so close to being done and I'm not actually sure it's much of a surprise that he does.

[chenlesfavorite]

mona…..why you gotta put me in this position i can NAWT be out here related to haechan 😫 (…..i’m still gonna read it…..i just might pretend we besties)

i’m so excited for the story i know you’re going to do such a great job and i can’t wait to see what evil plans you have in store for us — just read the first chapter and never apologize for being unhinged we embrace that shit

i hope you’re doing well! as you can tell i did not die and i also didn’t cry (i almost did) so my mom can SUCK IT (that woman is praying on my downfall-my biggest hater fr) yeah you should see her reenact me crying she thinks she’s REAL funny a big heehee haha moment for her

i wish you were able to see them :( honestly i hope everyone who loves them gets to experience that at least once i’m so very grateful to my parents who bought me the ticket for my birthday and i’m so grateful to nct dream who have helped me through the darkest times in my life

they were all so beautiful and oh my god chenle bias wrecked that entire arena i swear he was eating up the attention gah it was incredible i just wish renjun could have been there (so so happy he’s healing privately and at his own pace i wish him nothing but the best) i had such a fun time but now we back and locked in for this story ☀️

p.s- nct edit account you say (i’ll be waiting for this info…even if i have to wait my lifetime)👂but thank you for being the only one who enjoys the unhinged stories of my homie hopping agenda (we’ve mellowed a little haechan has me in a chokehold)

SORRY HEHEEEE😭😭😭 but have no fear!! bc in my next smau, u won’t be related to hyuck!! ☺️ he’ll end up as ur bf!!! (Is it too early to say that i already have my next smau planned out…)

OOHHH I don’t think I have any evil plans for ts one 🤔 besides a lil angst that’s not even angst tbh it’s just [redacted] … no spoilers yet heh… I shall embrace the unhingedness 🙌

UR ALIVE!! WE CHEERED!! IDK HOW U DIDNT CRY, I TOTALLY WOULD’VE😭 LMAAOAOSJ UR MOM IS SUCH A TROLL I LOVE HERRR

someday in the future i will see them🙏🙏🕯️🕯️ SOO HAPPY YOU SAW THEM THOOOO, i can’t imagine how unreal the experience is😭

the chenle effect makes its appearance 🙏🙏 HES TOO FINE AUQIOEOWKDKWKDKDN like the concert clips ive seen of him omg… don’t get me started

hopefully renjun comes back soon all healthy and happy and everything is sunshine and smiles again 😋 NOW WE LOCKING IN!!

gonna def be waiting… for a while… but who knows maybe ill share some of my edits on here 👀

U ARE SOO WELCOME, i was so entertained reading that ask😭

HAVE A GREAT REST OF UR DAY/NIGHT ☀️ ANONNN

[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​

[realcube]

class 1-A’s love languages headcanons 💕

tw// swearing, crying, she/her reader

Yuuga Aoyama

his love language is words of affirmation

like tell him that he looks fabulous but he is also a talented hero 

and. he. will. die. 

of happiness ofc 🥰

and whenever you are feelin’ insecure he’ll do a pretend fashion show with you to boost you spirits (o゜▽゜)o☆

Mina Ashido

her love language is physical touch

but not in a *holds your hand 🥺* *kithes🥰* sorta way

but rather in a

“YOU’RE SO FKN CUTE, (Y/N)!!!” *aggressively pinches your cheeks*

and whenever she kisses/hugs you, it’s always a surprise attack form behind

she is also 159cm in height (almost 5″3)

so if you are shorter than her, she’ll sprint up to you and before you have time to react, she’ll engulf you in her arms

if you are around the same height as her, she’ll sneak up to you and try to jump onto your back, peppering you in neck kisses

and if you are taller than her, she’ll grab your hand and place a kiss on the back of it 

Tsuyu Asui

i think her love language is gift giving 

but not typically gifts from the store

it’s usually cute flowers or any sort of pretty flora that she finds on her walks 

and she’ll sometimes come to your room just before lights-out and hand you a shiny rock or a colourful flower like “hi, (y/n). i found this flower in the park a nd it reminded me of you. so here, i hope you like it.”

then you cry (❤´艸｀❤) it’s too precious

also when she visits your dorm, she notices that you have a jar filled with all the flowers she’s every gave you and shE BRAIDS THEM INTO YOUR HAIR

and if you don’t have hair, she makes you a flower crown out of them

Tenya Iida

the king of gifts periodt ✋

to him, gift giving is kinda like a sport and if it was, he’d definitely be winning

he’ll be out getting groceries or sumn then he’ll pass the candy aisle and just *flashback to 3 months ago when y’all were studying together and you randomly said you were craving sour patch kids*

then he buys two packs of sour patch kids (❤ ω ❤)

so obviously excels during holidays like christmas, valentines day or your birthday 

and if you make it explicitly clear that you need something (ex. water, medication, cutlery, soap etc.) and you will go get it in x amount of day(s)

expect it to be in your hands within 1-9 hours 

“Iida, you didn’t have to rush out to get me Ibuprofen - I was going to go get some in a few days anyway.”

“Yes, but as a hero in training, you must agree that seeing your partner potentially suffer to due a preventable cause would be inhumane.”

“I-..”

Ochaco Uraraka

her love language is probably quality time

OR words of affirmation BUT ONLY ONLINE

like irl she loves going on lil’ picnic dates with you or dates to go watch the sunset or star-gazing..or literally anything where she gets to spend as much time in your presence as possible

you could literally take her on a date inside the sewers and she’d be like 🥰

in the moment (during the date) she just looks at you and wants to tell you how beautiful you are but she is way too nervous

but as soon you leave she texts you sumn like ‘OMG >< YOU ARE SO GORGEOUS 😍 AND I WANTED TO TELL YOU SO BAD BUT I COULDN’T 😩’ 

also, hypothetically, if she had a phone which supported social media platforms like Instagram and Snapchat 

she would definitely be the sort of girl to post cute candid pics of you on any special occasion and i mean ANY

like she doesn’t want to just random post pics of you bc she thinks that’d be weird so she looks for any excuse she can

deadass she’d post a beach pic of you and her on her insta with a caption like, ‘happy pancake day to @y/n.l/n 🥰💖 on our first date we shared a stack of pancakes so this is a really special day for us 💓 i’m so blessed to have a stunning, smart, amazing gal like her by my side always 💕’

Mashirao Ojiro 

he’s a physical touch kinda guy

sometimes he’ll randomly drape his tail over your shoulder to pull you close

or he’ll pat your head with either his hand or tail when ever you do anything remotely impressive

“ooh, i’ve apparently taken 17k steps so far today, ojiro.” 

then he’d be like “that’s good” *pat pat* 

he also gets butterflies whenever you hug his arm or tail while he is talking to someone

AND HE WILL KISS YOUR WOUND BETTER IF YOU GET A PAPER CUT OR SUMN

Denki Kaminari 

bb is blushing profusely when you hand him a pikachu plushie , saying it reminded you of him

before that, he was probably a physical touch sorta guy but once he realised how awesome and special that simple action made him feel, he became a gift-giver 

however, 99.9% the gift is a plushie and the other 0.1% it’s a doll

(he literally bought a whole fkn barbie bc you owned a dress similar to the one the doll was wearing)

“it looks exactly like you!” 

“i don’t think so..” “it literally does!”

anyway, whether he is at the mall, in the town, in a gift shop or at the carnival, if he sees something that he knows you’d like or that reminds him of you, he’ll stop at nothing to get his hands on it

flashback to that one time at the carnival, there was a stall that had a huge fkn Kuromi plushie up for grabs 

so he asked the lady running the stall if he could have it and she said it was all his, if he could get a ball into the basket 3 times in a row

-- my man was sTANDING THERE DESPERATELY TRYING FOR 30 MINUTES STRAIGHT 😭

and once he figured he couldn’t do it on his own, he got the bakusquad to help him out 

(bakugo was all like ‘i’m not helping you, dumbass’ but kirishima convinces him to give it a shot and as soon as he misses on the third shot, he is livid.)

(”YOUR STUPID PARTY GAME MUST BE BROKEN, LADY!”)

anyway, after an hour of holding up the line, the lady just gave the plush to kaminari for ¥1000 

but it was all worth it after he saw how thrilled you were 🥺

he came round to your dorm one day and noticed every plushie he had ever given you, sitting on your bed 

you told him that they help you sleep and he just..died..

IT MADE HIM SO FKN HAPPY TO THINK THAT YOU TREASURE HIS GIFTS SO MUCH (≧▽≦*)

Eijirou Kirishima

his love language is words of affirmation imo but with a sprinkle of physical touch 

like whenever he sees you looking nice or sumn..he’ll just tell you

he has no shame and why should he? he’s just telling the truth

if you walk into the room looking ✨immaculate✨ he will tell you 

he’s just like ‘if nobody else is going to say it then I will.’

when your face lights up after he has just told you that you’re beautiful or that you’re one of the most likeable people he’s ever met; it makes his day every. single. time.

the sprinkle of physical touch is because he tells  you what he is thinking all the time

and he thinks you’re stunning even when you are lounging around the dorm complex in casual wear and no makeup

so he’s aware that he might’ve watered down his compliments a bit by saying them too often 

(even though he’s telling the truth every time)

so he likes to give you hugs and kisses to express his affection without  seeming like he’s buttering you up

Kouji Kouda

honestly, idek which category he falls under bc he does so many different things to show his love

like, he’ll use his quirk to get a butterfly to land on your head so you can take the perfect photo for instagram

he always holds your hand in crowded areas so y’all don’t lose each other

(he would end up crying in the corner of a Hot Topic or sumn if he couldn’t find you tbh)

he writes mini-love notes v. late at night and uses his quirk to get an insect or bird to carry it up to your room

religiously takes you out on dates to the park

or library/study dates (p≧w≦q)

Rikidou Satou

acts of service but mostly to do with baking

if his s/o doesn’t like sweet treats then..it just..can’t work

he’s very good at noticing when you are down and what he bakes depends on the severity of the situation

like, if you’re just a bit bummed because you got a bad mark on a test, he’ll bake cupcakes and leave a few outside your dorm

obvs accompanied by a cute lil note abt how proud you make him and how you’re the most diligent person he’s met so he knows that you’ll succeed if you just persevere

and as soon as you come to him with your improved mark, he’ll bake you a cake with ‘congratulations, (Y/N).’ written on it

Mezou Shouji

acts of service. but like..service service

he treats you like royalty-

he is the kind of bf to give you his jacket if you’re cold

he can and will use his quirk to form more arms just so he can hold your bags along with his own

if you enter is dorm and he doesn’t offer to take your jacket immediately then i’m sorry to inform you but that is not shouji..that is toga in disguise 

you’ll never have to open a door if you are walking next to him and don’t you dare even try to 

just an overall gentleman tbh 

sometimes you try to get him to stop being so kind bc you’re afraid ppl will think you treat him like a butler 

so he’ll be like “sure ..

i’ll hold just your gym bag rather than your gym bag and school bag.”

“don’t hold any bags, shouji..”

Kyouka Jirou

her love language is definitely quality time

there is nothing she loves more than vibing with you in her room - whether y’all are studying, cuddling, playing videos games or something else - while chill music plays in the background, either from a playlist or from her playing it herself on one of her instruments 

and sometimes when she’s feeling especially comfortable, she might hum a tune or sing some lyrics to match the mood

she asks you for suggestions for music to put on bc she loves introducing herself to new music

but when you’re concentrated,  she doesn’t want to disturb you so she just puts on a playlist she made prior 

she doesn’t create a new playlist each time you hang out but there is at least 10 new songs added to it every day 

the playlist is called ‘lazy days w/ (y/n) 💕’

anyway, she just loves hanging out with you bc you’re one of the very few people who don’t annoy tf out of her 

also - she’d never say it aloud but - she thinks you’ve got a very comforting presence and you make her feel so exhilarated whenever you laugh (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

Hanta Sero

Sero loves spending as much time with you as possible - hence, he’s a quality time sorta person

but i also think he’s barely a quality time guy bc he expresses his affection in so many different ways

he’s like a mix of 4

( not gift-giving, whenever it comes time to get you gift for whatever occasion, he’s always stumped and ends up asking someone for help)

he preforms acts of service in a sense that if you are both cuddling on the couch and you are cold - even if he seriously can’t be assed to move - he’ll force himself to get up and bring you a blanket

he is really good at compliments bc he barely has a filter so if he sees you looking good, he’ll straight up tell you

plus, he loves seeing your reaction - especially when you get all flustered

and physical touch bc..cuddles :)

to him, there is just something reassuring about having you in his arms

Fumikage Tokoyami 

a quality time man mwah

he doesn’t play music on speakers when y’all hang out though, he just likes to sit with you and either mindlessly chatter or chill in comfortable silence 

he also doesn’t put in earbuds bc he thinks it’s rude 

(you assure him that you don’t mind if he puts his earbuds in but he is always like..no..)

he just loves your company bc he seriously can’t think of somebody he’d rather spend his time with 

also he is convinced that he does things 10 times better with you around

when he’s not with you though, he misses you- like- seriously

sometimes he’s just out with his friends or watching a movie with his family and he is just like ‘this’d be more fun if (Y/N) was here-’

and you said that you missed him too when y’all weren’t together 

so he did the reasonable thing and made you a playlist for you to listen to whenever you missed him ( •̀ ω •́ )

he sent you the link and your heart stopped bc it was literally called ‘i love you 🖤’ AND THAT WAS THE FIRST TIME HE’S EVER TOLD YOU THAT AAAAA

‘you’re so sweet, tokoyami 🥺 i love you tooooo’

and good thing that was over text bc otherwise you would’ve seen him blushing profusely (= ╯▽╰ = )

as for the contents of the playlist; it’s probably quite diverse

some alt pop, some indie, a bit of R&B, pop rock and a lot of Metal/Rock 

Shouto Todoroki

his love language is acts of service

most of them are school related though

he can easily tell if you’re struggling with the coursework and asks you if you want go on a lil study date at the library or in his dorm 

he also helps you with homework or explains the material to you if you don’t understand it

and he’s the best teacher since he’s extremely patient and well-spoken

if you’re feeling under the weather, he’ll head to your dorm to fetch your notebook so he can write the class notes for you 

and he’ll put in the effort to make them as similar to your other notes as he can

so he flicks through the pages and (for example) if you have a highlighting code, he’ll look for the legend and highlight the notes he took accordingly 

once school is over for the day, he goes to your dorm to drop off the notebook, putting it back in the respective part of your bag

and the next day when you open your notebook to check the notes, you notice that he wrote a little note for you;

‘get well soon 💛’ 

it was a simple, kind gesture but the small details like how he coloured in the heart with a glittery yellow highlighter he must’ve took from your bag had you blushing (^///^)

also, whenever you’ve scheduled a study date at his dorm, there is no way in hell you’ll walk into his room and there isn’t 2 bowls of fresh soba sitting on the desk

no way. impossible.

(or if you don’t like noodles, then two bowls of rice.) 

Tooru Hagakure

physical touch bb

she just likes you to know that she is there 

also she loves how soft your skin is ^^

she really likes surprise hugging you from behind and you’d think that she’d be very good at that considering that she is.. invisible.. but she’s really not

she has very unique and recognisable voice 

and whenever she creeps up behind you, she’s always snickering quite loudly 

but you like seeing her happy when she thinks she surprised you so you just think to yourself ‘get ready to pretend to be shocked’ 

so as soon as she wraps her arms around you and goes ‘boo!’, you jump and always say the same stupid line you wish you would   stop using but it just comes out naturally

“ope, didn’t see you there, tooru.”

but it makes her laugh every time so maybe it’s not such a bad habit

Katsuki Bakugo

he’s definitely a physical touch kinda guy but tries to be an acts of service man..y’know?

he doesn’t want you thinking that he likes hugging, cuddling, kisses or any of that none-sense bc..he is a big macho king explosion murder 

and he knows that if he gets to comfortable with showing affection through physical touch, it’d become a habit then he might do it in public and the last thing he wanted was a rumour coming out that ‘king explosion murder is actually a huge cuddle-bug dork!’

so he hides it the best he can and expresses his love by like letting you wear his hoodie and not cussing you out when you do something stupid

but the fact is, nothing makes him feel better than holding you in his arms - under a blanket or not -  with your face buried into his chest and your arm lazing draped over his shoulder

he usually does a good job at resisting his urge to randomly kiss you or take your hand in public

but there was that one time

luckily, it was on a date rather than on a school outing so it was only you who knows about it 

it was probably around 6 months after y’all first started dating and he took you on a date to the carnival

there was a gang of boys who looked around a few years older than y’all and they were chatting amongst themselves until they approached the line you and Bakugo were waiting in (to get onto a ride at the carnival) and the group of boys stood behind you in line

at first everything was alright; they were just chatting while you were raving on about the ride to bakugo but he kinda tuned you out after he heard one of the guys say something along the lines of

“she’s kinda hot- a bit young but so fit. i think she’s from the UA too.”

that comment was enough to make his blood boil but a separate comment from one of the other guys tipped him over the edge,

“yeah and look at the guy she’s with. he’s the feral guy that needed to be put in chains at the sports festival - how embarassing.” he snickered, which was genuinely one of the most annoying noises bakugo has ever heard

his voice was low, in a whisper so they probably didn’t expect bakugo to hear it over the background noise of the carnival along with the girl yapping in his ear

but he did

and when i tell you this man was livid 

in that moment he seriously considered just turning around and burning each and every one of those guys into a crisp

but the law-abiding citizen and hero inside him said no 

instead, he fiercely snaked his arms around your hips to pull you into his chest and looked over his shoulders to shoot literal daggers at the guys

he led you out of the line for the ride in silence and you followed him without question - having heard the things those guys said but choosing to pretend as if you didn’t 

“What was that about?” You finally asked as he brought you over to a bench, pulling you onto his lap

“Nothing.” He said, oddly calm as he stared into the void

“Okay.” You rolled your eyes, deciding not to pry as you obviously already knew what provoked him to do that. “I’m gonna go get some cotton candy then. Do you want some?”

“No.” He replied monotonously, allowing you to hop off his knee but immediately grabbing your hand, preventing you from going any farther than arms length from him.

“you needy cow.” you giggled, playfully kicking his shin, “I’m so hungry - let me go!” 

“No.” He replied in the same monotone voice. “I can’t be assed to move.”

You leaned back, pulling your whole weight backwards to try get Bakugo to release his grip on your hand and eventually he gave in and got up, sluggishly following you to go get cotton candy 

you gleefully popped some of the delectable fluff into your mouth before sneaking some into bakugo’s mouth too.

 “are you gonna let go of my hand any time soon?” you asked, wanting to hold the bag of cotton candy for yourself but instead having one hand interlocked with his and the other being used to rip small pieces off as Bakugo held the bag in his spare hand 

“No.”

[(a/n): not the over-used jealousy trope 🙊]

Izuku Midoriya 

definitely a words of affirmation kinda guy

bc he knows what it’s like to have to go through life with barely anyone besides your mother telling you that your great and that you’re worthy. it’s depressing and traumatic and he wouldn’t wish that misery on his worst enemy 

so he’s like your personal hypeman :)

making sure that you always feel appreciated, confident and loved 

during the sports festival or anything similar, he’s always louder than the cheerleaders when it comes to your turn to shine

“GO, (Y/N)! YOU’RE SO POWERFUL, YOU CAN DO THIS! I BELIEVE IN YOU! REMEMBER TO BREATHE!”

slightly embarrassing for him but when he sees you smile confidently back at him, every ounce of embarrassment melts away and he is just filled with joy

he gets really emotional sometimes as well 

but not like ‘you just faced an opponent and won bc one all your hard work and training - i am so proud of you’ sorta emotional

but like ‘omg you walked into his dorm wearing a new dress and you look really beautiful and you smiled at him so emotions wash over him and he just cries bc he realises how lucky he is to have you.’

he loves to receive words of admiration from you too though

one time you wrote him a birthday card and signed it off as ‘the future wife of the #1 pro-hero’

and as badly as you wanted to just sign it as ‘from the future pro-hero 😘’

you didn’t bc you knew how happy the other option would make him

Minoru Mineta

idk perversion ig?

wait no his love language is titties and/or ass

Momo Yaoyorozu

gift. giving. 

like you have no idea how much serotonin she gets when she sees you overjoyed at gift she gives you

bc in her mind she knows that it was her that made you that happy and no amount of trophies will ever compare to how accomplished she feels for being the reason behind your smile 

she’s a QUEEN 👑 UGH 😩💓

[locktobre]

bcbd thoughts

right away I see that this is only an hour long, so... it’s not a movie, then. it’s a one hour special, again. I feel like I’m already gonna miss the extra 20 minutes just like dolphin magic but we’ll see I guess. maybe it’ll be a mercy that it’s shorter.

the opening credits/dream sequence was nice. the animation on the city is decent, and the monochrome thing was kind of cool.

her being on stage reminded me a little of Eden, and then immediately I missed Eden so much. they would never let a version of Babs be a bitch now and that’s such a shame.

so now we’re joking about George tracking Barbie’s cell phone? bc that’s fine and not at all an invasion of privacy or anything. also, you can check flight statuses on the internet so that’s really not necessary. also, why the fuck didn’t Barbie call them once she got off the plane? or at least text? I always text or call my mom when I land, and frankly I’m not even as close to my mom as Barbie claims to be to her parents. and I did that when I was 17 traveling alone, too, so it’s not just something I do as an adult. it’s part of the responsibility of traveling to let ppl know that you got somewhere safe so they don’t worry about you. what the fuck Babs.

was that honking supposed to be like censoring the cabbie swearing bc I would love that. let the cabbie say fuck.

I still maintain that this “summer program” thing is bullshit and Babs should have been going off to college. I know they won’t let her grow up but it makes more sense than this does. also, you’re telling me there’s no summer programs for acting/whatever in LA? seriously? she HAD to go across the country for this? and her parents let her? they don’t even trust her! they said that 2 seconds ago! or is tracking her cell phone the reason she’s allowed to travel across the country (to Willows and Florida and Hawaii) by herself in the first place? I hate this I hate it so much already

The Handler Arts Academy... oh I’m feeling emotions

“luck’s got nothing to do with it. you worked your tail off for this” SHOW ME FOR WHEN, PLEASE. this could have been an actual arc of the show, a goal Barbie was working towards that could thread thru multiple episodes... but no. this came out of nowhere. I’m STILL saying that Amelia bought Barbie’s place here bc FUCK YOU SHOW

“I hope I’m good enough” you’re a mediocre rich white woman, you can do literally anything you want.

why is her guitar shoved in a cardboard box and not, idk, in a guitar case? that’s stupid. also, that’s an open cardboard box, so how did that travel on the plane? a closed cardboard box, fine. should be a suitcase, but fine. but this just makes no sense and I am not going to let it slide bc I hate this continuity and everything about it.

however, I will give Brooklyn a pass for the open cardboard box bc she literally lives in NYC and didn’t have to take a fucking plane to get here. she can carry it like that if she wants.

“as long as you don’t break [my leg], we’re good” I’ve already seen Brooklyn in a cast, so... does Malibu literally break her leg later on? even on accident... jesus christ.

is this Russian(?) custodian lady gonna be the antagonist/villain? bc I’m already not vibing with that. not at fucking all.

how the FUCK could they show up a day early? why would they not show up on the day they’re supposed to? that doesn’t make any sense! and if they’re NOT supposed to be there yet, then there would be no staff there to watch them, so they should have to come back tomorrow! they shouldn’t be allowed to be by themselves in a school like this! I’m assuming this is to facilitate a day of bonding without stupid things like classes in the way, but they could have written an orientation day or something in that would have made more sense, and as I said, I am not inclined to give them a pass on anything these days. fuck you all.

so, room assignments are alphabetical... I guess that kind of explains them being in the same room, altho it does feel coincidental that they wouldn’t be, like, in neighboring rooms. also they didn’t animate little signs on the other doors, even with nonsense text if they didn’t want to put other names up, so their door really sticks out for no reason. also, shouldn’t it say “Barbie Roberts & Barbie Roberts” or some other way of having both names on the door? also, if the school knows they have the same name, couldn’t they put middle initials or something? we know Malibu is Barbie M. Roberts, and I will generously assume that Brooklyn’s middle name is something else, so that would have been fine. this really feels like the administrators don’t give a fuck, and in a supposedly prestigious school, I don’t buy that.

so, Brooklyn has been training every summer in different programs, very intensely, to get in here... and Malibu trained on the internet. what have I been saying about Malibu’s white mediocrity? hmm?

even after that (lackluster) montage, it feels way too soon for “Before Us.” I don’t believe they’re best friends who warrant a song about their friendship. I don’t believe that at all.

I like the bald fashionista being on the billboard, that’s a nice touch.

Malibu bringing up her vlog like that gives me hives. she has already stated multiple times that she does that to help ppl, not for clout, and yet. here she is. being a fake ass bitch once again.

Brooklyn and Emmie’s story is already way more interesting than this and I’m pissed that’s just backstory.

LOVE that green-haired dude. idk where you’re going with that drum but godspeed my dude.

I’m assuming that’s Emmie incognito in the back, but... what’s she doing here if she’s already famous? pulling an Erika Juno?

Dean Morrison seems cool

(is it too early to ship Brooklyn x Emmie?)

if pets are allowed in this school, I’m SHOCKED Malibu didn’t bring Taffy. truly fucking shocked.

Rafa reminds me so much of Jacques Rousseau

“the only labels we believe in are designer” so Rafa’s gay, right? Barbie’s first gay character? I can only assume

the ballet thing still doesn’t make sense to me, if their goal is to be on Broadway. ballet is an entire art and discipline in itself.

fencing makes more sense, bc stage fighting is a thing.

‘work it’ is even funnier than I imagined. Malibu you’re such a fuck up. and I can’t even cut you some slack bc earlier you said your training was “internet.” you didn’t work for this and you don’t belong here. die.

if this was PCS, Malibu would have been kicked out already. YOU WERE NOT PREPARED FOR THIS. WHAT HAVE I BEEN SAYING FOR MONTHS.

so, the ‘work it’ montage clearly showed the passage of time, it’s been at least a week, and... Malibu hasn’t talked to Ken at all during that time? this is the first time she’s telling him about Brooklyn?

ok, confirmed to be a week. and she hasn’t talked to Ken. of course. they are so close of course she hasn’t talked to him in a week, especially when she’s been struggling so much and would need to vent to a friend about it. of course.

so, Emmie is pulling an Erika Juno. at least she’s in disguise.

jesus christ, they’re really having Emmie be exploited by her own father??? JESUS.

ok Brooklyn x Emmie is sailing.

Brooklyn’s mom is an airline pilot, that sounds cool.

so the dresses are powered by the magic of friendship? cool. that’s stupid.

of COURSE Emmie’s dad is the board member. jesus christ I hate this dude.

okay, so she DIDN’T break her leg, it’s only a sprain. thank god. poor green-haired drum dude.

saying “epic fail” in 2021 unironically is not cool, mattel. unless I’m even more out of touch with the youth than I thought, but I’m pretty sure about that.

wait, so Brooklyn was dancing... and now she’s on crutches again? what is this montage? they fucked up here.

of all things to kick Malibu out for, they’re saying she pushed Brooklyn? why not all the fuck ups in her first week?

also, Rafa was taping that class so how do they not bring that up immediately? that’s the whole reason they were dancing over there in the first place! (so he might not have caught anything, but still, I have to assume that’s going to fix this bc that’s what these movies do.)

I really like Malibu’s leather jacket look, but she does look a little bit old I think. Brooklyn’s leggings look is nice, too.

okay, so Brooklyn suddenly believes the unnamed witness over the girl she sang ‘before us’ with? okay. I told you this friendship was a crock of shit. they don’t trust each other at all! Brooklyn should have been angry when she first fell, and it builds to thinking that she was sabotaged, but she brushed it off... and now she’s pissed. that makes no sense.

this friendship breakup song also means nothing to me bc their friendship fell apart for such a stupid reason. fate didn’t tear you apart, you tore yourselves apart by not trusting each other. stupid little children.

if Brooklyn’s ankle isn’t completely healed aka still painful, she should not be dancing on it, she could injure herself more or at least prolong the healing process.

ok, so NOW, after Malibu has already been expelled and sent back home, they remembered the video. these kids are so fucking stupid. and of COURSE the unnamed witness is Mr Miller! Emmie, you ALREADY KNOW that your dad is shady as shit and wants you to get the Spotlight Solo! HOW DID YOU NOT PUT THIS TOGETHER IN 5 SECONDS? I DID

so, Mr Miller thought Malibu was Emmie’s biggest competition for the solo? Malibu, the spectacular fuck up? not Brooklyn? or any of the background extras? I refuse to fucking believe that. I REFUSE.

how did George and Margaret just let Malibu get expelled without flying out there to fight the charge? seriously?

how is is Brooklyn singing ‘before us’ in-universe such that Malibu recognizes it? you’re breaking the conventions of musicals! I don’t get this!

I like Brooklyn’s mom being a pilot less after it’s been used to facilitate this bullshit part of the plot.

again, just “Barbie Roberts” makes no sense. where’s a middle initial to differentiate them! SOMETHING! I know they’re doing the finale together, but still, it’s STUPID.

shipping Rafa x green-haired drummer dude bc I can

where’s the Emmie doll for this movie?????? I’m so disappointed. also the other outfits, the leather jacket and leggings ones, I swear those weren’t dolls either. what the fuck

I see more fashionistas on billboards at the end! I really like that

so the custodian wasn’t a villain... then why that introduction for her? that went nowhere

is “Big City Big Dreams” supposed to be Emmie’s song? that Malibu lips-synced to on her vlog (apparently)? I can’t tell by the voice and they don’t list the voices for the songs in the credits

overall, once again it largely made no sense. idk if it would have benefitted from 20 extra minutes of screentime bc nothing really happened.

also, what the fuck happened to Mr Miller? he just keeps on exploiting his daughter? and for that matter, what happened to Emmie’s mom? bc she lived with her, and then all of the sudden her dad was in her life again and exploiting her, so... what did mom die? did he kill her? what am I supposed to think? and Emmie’s STILL stuck in that situation? girl. what the fuck

also of course they were too cowardly to confirm anything about Rafa. of course.

[angeltrapz]

oosdkk dude im sorry ur mood dropped too.. i hope u feel better soon <3 but like i wld love 2 hear more abt ur thoughts on Art in general bc Boy Is He Interesting, and also a lil more abt Daniel coming out as nonbinary to his dad (whether he knows Eric is trans or not at that moment skjdfhdskf)! + if ur feelin it just more abt Mallick in general ESP cuz we agree that Brit doesn't make it thru V

djhfjdks thank u sm <3

okay Art first. I genuinely wonder abt him so much, something in specific I think abt is that aside frm Amanda (+ Eric, obviously, but talkin abt disciples) Art is one of the only trap victims EVER 2 be tested twice and it’s like... what’s that abt? Why? as u’ve said b4 it rly depends on how you personally view his character: whether he’s a disciple or not. fr me, both options are equally plausible, n honestly I don’t rly confine myself to either; it sorta depends on what I’m feeling/writing. if we’re talking abt art being a disciple, then the Spinecutter not going off (one of my BIGGEST questions) makes total sense, as Hoffman’s side of the trap was never set up to work either, + Jigsaw disciples have a history (aside from Lawrence) of appearing as victims in other tests/traps. if he were not just another pawn and was in fact a disciple himself, then the Spinecutter was never meant to go off - it was there just to make Eric think it COULD go off/make it look convincing to outsiders. which brings me to ANOTHER question: what does Art know abt Eric? does he know anything? what does he think of Eric?

(lil side note: if Art is a disciple, then I kinda wonder if it’s a lil bit of a Hoffman + Lawrence situation where Hoffman didn’t know abt Art either? just bc he looks so shocked when he sees Art’s face fully fr the first time... that could’ve just been acting on Hoffman’s part but IDK. food fr thought)

personally, I feel like Art probably does know a lil bit abt Eric - at the very least, he’d know tht Eric had been previously tested + failed by John’s rules, but then I feel that he wld also know Eric didn’t rly have a chance in his second test. that is why Art trying so fucking hard to keep Eric alive is interesting 2 me: what is his motivation 2 do that? like he’s been told Eric’s basically just there to get Rigg to participate, he doesn’t have any personal obligation or anything like that. sure, the aim is to keep Eric alive + see if Rigg can pass his “test,” but nobody said anything about grabbing a man you barely know around his ankles to keep him frm hanging himself w a noose made of chains. nobody said anything abt speaking to him so softly, not even raising your voice beyond saying “hey,” and asking him do you understand? when you tell him to keep still and prevent him frm killing his counterpart (which, if Art is a disciple, he knows it won’t, but he still speaks to Eric so softly, so compassionately, doesn’t he?)

nobody said anything abt grabbing him around the waist and steadying him again after being punched by said man. but Art does that. he stabilizes Eric’s feet on the ice as best he can and he keeps his hips straight and he basically says “look, we’re all stuck here, you need to keep it together ‘til that clock counts down if you want us to live, but I’m giving you a choice,” and he presses the gun w the single bullet into Eric’s hands and tells him it’s up to him. nobody said Art had to care but he does, I think, and it’s just like. he really didn’t have to keep Eric alive over the course of Rigg’s test. he didn’t. but he did and I just,, where does it come from? why does he care? this is even going beyond the fact that we’ve talked abt them being together after their test in a scenario where they both survive - I just think that Art at his core is a very stubborn but very compassionate person, whether he wants 2 be or not. like he HAS to know that kind of involvement cld prove to be extremely detrimental but he cares. I feel like that says a lot abt him (even if he does call Eric an asshole a couple times while doing it,,).

plus I also just. I think his reason for being tested (as it seems to be in most cases) is extremely flimsy. he was doing his job. he’s a LAWYER. often times it has nothing 2 do w personal feelings; they’re there to do their job and sometimes, unfortunately, that is defending possibly reprehensible people (in cases like Rex’s & Ivan’s). + John was already upset w him regarding their argument abt the urban renewal group so like it just feels So Very Petty, y’know?? even in the scenario where he IS a disciple, testing him twice seems entirely like John having a personal vendetta against him. Amanda is the only other person to be tested twice aside from Eric, so like. what. is that abt Mr. Kramer.

like I’ve said b4 in dms one could argue that Art is grey morally, bc we never rly see anything of him outside of flashbacks + acting as a test controller in IV, esp given that he... rly doesn’t seem too bothered abt it all? which is fair. but I also feel like the concern he shows towards Eric is smth to be considered as well.

-

+ YESS NONBINARY DANIEL I know I’ve mentioned it b4 but for reference, I read Daniel as masc nonbinary (he/they)! so I feel like Daniel wld b pretty comfortable w his identity, he’s never rly had a reason not to be (it’s rly anyone’s guess here tho bc we never see Eric + Daniel + Kate... as a family unit, for obvious reasons), so I feel like he’s vry chill abt it? and in the scenario where Eric survives n is dating Adam, I feel like Daniel wld talk 2 him abt it first (Adam is an adult they quickly come to trust + he’s vocal abt being trans himself so there’s that added layer of understanding - other than his mom maybe Adam might b the first person they come out 2). they’re just kinda like “so I wanna tell my dad I’m nonbinary but like I’ve literally never thought abt coming out what do I do” and Adam’s just like. Aha. bc he knows Eric is Also Trans so like, he doesn’t tell Daniel that bc it’s not his info to share, but he’s definitely like “oh it’ll totally be fine. trust me you have no reason to worry” so Daniel’s just like Okay. I Got This

+ I know I mentioned this in dms but Daniel wld absolutely wear those floral ripped hem skirts over jeans, so I feel like on one of his visits to his dad’s, he just. wears that combined w a completely random niche graphic tee he bought when shopping w Adam (I adore this hc n I am Holding Onto It) n is just like. not super open abt it bc he doesn’t know what to expect? he just kinda waits fr Eric to comment on it but when he doesn’t, Daniel gets nervous n is like “do I look okay?” and Eric’s rly chill abt it, like “yeah! it looks vry cool, vry alternative.” n like Daniel is relieved, of course, but also he’s just like God Pls Say Something so he just comes out w it like “okay this is not working. I’m nonbinary.”

and he’s COMPLETELY SHOCKED when Eric is just like “oh why didn’t u say so? do u have a different name u wanna go by? is Daniel still okay?” bc he wasn’t sure how much Eric knew, so he’s just like “uh no Daniel is still good, he/they pronouns though” and Eric’s just like alright cool but internally Daniel’s just like ??????

n THAT is when Eric asks him 2 come sit out on th front steps w him n is just like. “I don’t think I ever told u this but I’m trans. I transitioned during training in my early 20s” n Daniel is nodding while internally he’s like Adam I’m gonna throttle u. he worked himself up fr NOTHING. he just kinda laughs abt it and Eric is like “are u good?” ‘cause he’s a lil worried but then Daniel just smiles and is like “yeah I’m fine! just realizing I had nothing 2 be worried abt” and it’s a rly good moment fr them. they sit out there together talking abt their experiences for quite a while n at some point Adam steps outside 2 find them deep in conversation + he just smiles n goes back inside bc he cares abt them both so much and seeing them talk like that makes him so 💞💞 (Eric is SO PROUD u can see it on his face)

-

ohhh gosh Mallick,,, I spend a lot of time thinking abt him actually. he’s just one of those characters I feel vry connected to (me 🤝 Mallick: Ambiguous Disorder 💕) n one I got surprisingly attached to? hello (he IS one of my f/os)

I feel like Mallick is a very lonely person at his core. the way he sort of clings to Brit (w out the whole like. adrenaline of being in very very real danger w ppl trying to kill u SEVERAL TIMES) somewhat confirms this fr me. this is someone who has no reason to look out fr him, no reason to keep protecting him when their fellow captives hit him over th head w a club or attempt to push him into a bathtub to ELECTROCUTE him, but she keeps doing it and he’s just. in awe of it a little bit? ‘cause she could just let Charles knock him tf out or let Luba push him in but she fights for him, some1 she has no obligation to n met fr the first time literally when they woke up.

the moment they share b4 they stick their arms into the saws to activate the 10 Pints of Sacrifice is so very vulnerable and maybe even a little tender. yes he calls her a monster, yes she calls him one back, neither of them deny it. it’s an admission and an acceptance. they’re monsters, sure, fine, okay. but they are monsters and they are in this together. Brit tells Mallick it’s okay when he says he can’t do this alone. she says okay, okay, it’s okay, we’ll go together. and they help each other secure their tourniquets and they stick their hands in together bc it’s the two of them, literally hand in hand, fighting for their lives n for each other n they’re in so so much pain but they are doing it TOGETHER. I lose it thinking abt it!!! they even have a head bonk moment!!! I very much feel like it has some cinematic parallels to Adam & Lawrence’s moment in SAW 2004!!!!

+ as u mentioned, we both share the thought that Brit likely died since she wasn’t present at Bobby’s meetings, and. I want to touch on how fucking despondent and lost Mallick looks when we see him again in 3D. lights on but no one’s home. I feel like for Mallick, losing Brit was losing the first chance at a real connection he’s had in god knows how long - and for him, that’s just very shattering. he’s been thru hell, he’s watched three people die right in front of him, he sawed his ARM IN HALF, n the person he went through all of that with didn’t make it. but he did. and I feel like for Mallick that’s just like... he doesn’t understand it. but he feels even lonelier than he ever has b4 because the One Person who was there w him thru it all, the one person who could ever possibly understand what happened that night, is gone.

the Mallick we see in V would NEVER sit down n willingly listen to Bobby Dagen’s bullshit abt loving yr scars n taking pride in the fact u survived. he wld hate that man with a passion n I am very much sure of this. the fact that he’s sitting in that chair looking numb and glassy-eyed and silent? Mallick is trying to find some1 to connect to, find a place where maybe he belongs. trying to fill that hole that losing Brit made. why else wld he be sitting there, listening to someone he would ordinarily tell to shove his self-love bullshit up his ass? he’s lost. he’s just trying to keep his head above water and find a way to shore even though everything in him is fighting not to. he’s adrift without her.

+ ALTERNATIVELY, bc the reality of that is just. crushing n maybe not where I needed 2 go, in the scenario where Brit survived + just doesn’t want to put up w Bobby’s bullshit, I imagine them to actually move in together after a lil bit of time getting 2 know each other better w out the pressure of “oh god we’re gonna die.” she kinda helps him build up a sense of self-worth bc GOD it’s practically non-existent n thinking abt possible reasons why makes me sad. she’s definitely just like “no, you do deserve to be cared for and you deserve help when you need it, you deserve good things n to be happy.” she just kinds shuts it down while still making sure to talk 2 him abt WHY he feels that way (she’s not dismissing, but she’s trying to nip it in th bud) n Mallick is just like. huh. bc no one’s really done that fr him before. but it rly does end up helping in the long run, even if it is a very slow pace toward actually getting 2 a place where he recognizes his own worth + realizes he deserves all the things he wants Brit 2 have too. they’re there for each other thru thick n thin and if they made it thru their game, they can make it thru anything.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

AHHHHH YOU ALWAYS KILL IT W SONG REQUESTS (as you do w everything else you write bc it’s all gold). may i pls ask for only memories remain by my morning jacket w cal if you could 🥺

Hi, love! Thanks for your patience while I finished up some schoolwork before I got this request!

CW/TW: Mentions of Death. 

_______________

Calum grunts as he pushes up off the floor, hands pressed into the mattress to help assist him. It’s less his back and more of his knees that are not pleased with him. But he does this every so often, kneels on the floor on your side of the bed and digs out that shoebox full of pictures, your engagement band. He made sure that you kept the wedding ring itself. He wanted you to take that with you. 

He should probably stop calling it your side of the bed--your scent hasn’t grazed that pillow in nearly three years. The nightstand is missing your mug in the mornings and your glasses that you always forgot where you put them down. Even if you did remember to hook them around your neck, the second you pulled the glasses down you’d forget instantly where you put them. And Calum wouldn’t be laughing at that, but sometimes he’s not sure how you got around in the world. You always told him glasses weren’t important; they were replaceable if you somehow managed to lose them for good. The only things you didn’t forget were the important things. 

And it’s true. You remembered birthdays, anniversaries, just how the kids liked their plates arranged when they were younger and how a kiss to the back of Calum’s neck would always make his shiver spine. You remembered all the quirks to the dogs and you’d remembered songs from decades ago like they were still new to the radio. 

Settling onto the edge of the bed, Calum pulls up the top to box and right on top is the letter you wrote to him while he was on tour, all those years ago. He had saved it, doing his best to preserve it in your handwriting but he had typed up and saved another draft of it, so he’d never forget it. 

 Dear Calum, 

You might think I’m crazy. But I can hear the laughter in the walls--the sound of you laughing at all my purposefully bad dance moves and I can hear the kisses you give to top of Duke’s head. And I know the house is empty except for me and Duke. I know you are miles away. I know you are dazzling thousands every night. But if only they could hear what I hear in the walls. Your bass occasionally thumping the pictures frames and the shrieks when we fail at some new recipe and resign to take out. If only they could hear, the sound of you when you’re murmuring gently in your sleep or the snores that keep me up some nights. If only they could hear the whispers we don’t want to give power too, the anxiety that sometimes build, but knowing that the two of us can confide in each other. 

If only I could capture what I hear just below that too, and send that to you as well. If only I had a way to let you hear what I hear. If I could tell you sometimes I hear a baby’s laughter, or the bickering of sibling. If only I could tell you about the years I hear waiting for us in this house, maybe other one--a place bigger for the dogs and kids. I can hear the splash of our pool with kids from the neighborhood. 

I don’t know if you hear that too in the house when I’ve gone for a conference or even if you imagine it when I’m just in the next room. I know I do with you. Even if you’re just outside with your trainer, I can hear the house whispering for more. And I could totally be projecting on some poor house, that doesn’t ever have wants or desires, just an existence that which is it content with, but there is something happening, something that I want to let you know about. It hasn’t been easy for ys, but it’s always been worth it. I know our options around children may be a little tough, but I think it’ll be worth it. 

I could easily call you, I could easily text you all things. But, no, I must write it down, as some way of working through my own thoughts. I hope I don’t sound crazy. 

Though I can hear it now, you tsking at me with a shake of your head and a single raised digit--I am never crazy, just always thinking. Just always working through the thoughts that run faster than me. 

I hope you’re well. I hope the tour’s going well and you’re sleeping good at night. Have you tried that lavender like I told you about? Duke’s well, in case you’re wondering. He did well at his checkup today, just sleeping a lot still. Vet says it’s normal for a dog his age. But when he does get a good burst of energy he’s happy to trot around the backyard or around the block. He’s still eating well, so don’t fret about that. Your old man’s still kicking it. He told me to tell you, he’s not going down anytime soon. He’s just taking it easy. 

The weather is LA is turning for a bit. We’ve had some clouds for the last few days. But it’s been nice. You’d be displeased, needing that sun. But soon, you’ll be back home--see your mom and dad and be able to get that Australian sun. 

Love you, Calum. To the ends of the earth, back again, and beyond. 

Yours truly, 

Dearly Beloved. 

He’s not sure when calling you his dearly beloved became a thing. You’d remember. You’d remember to the exact date, time, and happenings. But Calum can’t seem to remember that kind of stuff. He just remembers watching you run after the kids as they shrieked about bath time and how you like kisses right on the back of your ears. 

It’s a strange thing, to remember that, remember all the times he could sneak up behind you to kiss the back of your ear and watch you jump in the shock contrasted to the way you felt cool in his hands as he turned your head one last time to kiss the beloved spot and the way dead weight is actually much heavier, the way it took so much more effort to place your head back upright than it ever took to gently cup your chin and instantly you’d turn to him, with a smile on your face. 

Calum places the letter to the side and finds your favorite old t-shirt--it was hardly a t-shirt anymore. The hole in the armpit was spreading just a little but it held the name of your old university and you wore it for everything from weeding the garden to painting the bedrooms, to gutting the kitchen during the remodel. 

Calum bought exact matching t-shirts and made small decor pillows for the kids, sprayed your signature scent onto them so they could sleep easier at night. But they still curled up in bed with him, hugging their pillows, faces buried into the pillows on your side of the bed. He’d rather them take the last of your scent--he’s happier that they got those moments. 

“Pops, I don’t understand this math question,” Trey states poking his head into the bedroom. 

Calum snaps his attention up from the box and nods. “Coming. Algebra, right?”

“Yeah,” he nods, leaning into the molding. It’s crazy to look at him now, how he’s almost surpassed Calum in height. At fifteen, Calum thought he’d surely still have a few inches maybe a foot over him. Calum remembers when Trey found out he had officially been adopted but the two of you. He was six and cried more than Calum or you did--though the margin was probably still pretty close. It couldn’t have been nine years already. 

“Do-do you have their glasses?” Trey asks quietly. “Today’s been hard. And I feel silly with a pillow in my lap as I do homework.”

Calum walks over, box in hand. “I kept a lot of their smaller things. Whatever you need--it’s always in this box.”

Trey pulls your glasses from the pile, noticing other letters and pictures scattered about in the box. He spies the college t-shirt but just next to it is a picture of you and Trey. He’s in your lap, giant headphones over his ears. “Is that from the first show I went too of yours?”

Calum only briefly catches a glance at the photo before Trey’s fully plucked it from the box. “I think so.”

Trey immediately places the glasses back into the box but holds onto the picture. “Thanks.”

“Of course.”

“So, do you happen to remember anything from Algebra?”

Calum laughs at the tease and put the box down on the dresser before following behind Trey to the living room. Brandy sits at the coffee table, her stack of color pages and pencils spread out. Calum did his best to keep her doing art. It was hard after you first died.  But slowly over the years, she’s gotten back into it. “You all good?” 

She nods. “All good in the Hood.” She got the phrase from you and here Calum was, with Brandy at ten, and he was sure she would never let the phrase die. 

Calum stops just for a moment to kiss the top of her head and then carries on to the dinning room table. “Okay, so I know I’m not a math whizz like them. But your old man still knows a thing or two about a thing or two,” he returns to Trey’e earlier quip. “Now let’s see what new math magic they have you all working in.”

Trey laughs, slipping the tiny photo of him into the back of his phone case so it shows out to the world. “You calling it magic does not make me feel better.”

[okaybutlikeimagine]

PREVIEW: Will You Take Me as I Am?

i’m working on a fic for @biillys for something long overdue that i almost feel embarrassed talking about bc?? it was so long ago that the fundraiser has since been cancelled! have i apologized enough yet??? i don’t think i have!!

ANYWAY the title is “Will You Take Me as I Am?” and it was supposed to be super light and fun and happy and it will be but it’s also going to be angsty bc Quarantine is doing some Shit to me over here ~♥ BUT it will have things including, but not limited to:

- Billy, Steve, Max, and El bickering over music

- big long road trip to Cali

- stupid roadside attractions

- sunny summer days in San Diego

- Billy’s friends from back in the day (bc he had them and we need to talk about that!!!!)

- Max Max Max Max and Max bc Max is so good and we need to talk about her too

- Tony fucking Hawk

it’ll hopefully be done soon! this is just a super tiny snippet bc i feel awful for not having it finished yet and i need to post something or i’ll cry. so!! @biillys, i love you so much and hope you’re well and it’s COMING but until then, have this slightly sad but also heartfelt scene with our little Disaster Siblings! ♥

(title from California - Joni Mitchell bc DUH)

~ ♥ ~ ♥ ~ ♥ ~

Driving Max to school doesn’t set Billy on edge anymore.

“And it’s just so stupid because Cindy swears to everyone that she looks like Molly Ringwald. She doesn’t stop talking about it! Like anyone even cares.”

As irritating as it might be to hear about 9th grade gossip.

“And she still makes fun of my hair. Because it’s not the ‘right’ shade of red? What the hell?”

Billy smirks and listens vaguely and thinks about a few months ago. He remembers when the fall air bit him hard. When it felt invasive and aggressive and piercing rather than just present and embracing and knowing. The chill doesn’t hurt him anymore. The sound and smell of the farms doesn’t boil his blood anymore. The idea of Max having a life here doesn’t grind away at his memories anymore.

He’s laughing without hearing her. He vaguely hopes she doesn’t take too much offense by it, but the rest of him doesn’t really care. She’ll just hit him and grumble and he’ll give a vacant yet amused apology and they’ll continue on their car ride listening to Joan Jett.

Except she doesn’t hit him. His chuckles die down and the only sound through the car is Joan Jett wailing and Max tapping her fingers on her jeans.

It’s got Billy curious. He looks over quickly and sees her mouth moving- mumbling to herself.

“Telling yourself secrets or something?”

She glares, but it’s half-hearted. She chews on her lip and then she’s looking back down at her lap.

Billy’s just a little tempted to just let it all slide, but...

“Alright, what’s up?” He caves.

The quiet of the car makes Billy nervous. The air is whipping past them through the slightly rolled down windows, shoving itself into the absences of their conversation. Billy’s fingers start fidgeting with nerves and he’s on the verge of cutting in before she can get any words out, but then Max is speaking, hurriedly and with a furrowed brow as she says-

“How old are you again?”

Billy pauses.

“The hell kind of question is that?” He asks, looking over at her incredulously, confused at the question. She’s still trying to glare.

“Shut up! Just… you’re like… graduating soon… right?”

Billy raises an eyebrow at the road.

“No, Maxine.” Billy says with dripping sarcasm. “I love high school so much I was thinking of just staying there for the rest of my life.”

“Let me talk!”

“I am letting you talk! You’re just saying stupid shit!”

“Augh, you are so annoying!”

She’s crossing her arms now, and for some reason Billy can’t find it in himself to be amused by it. So instead he heaves a little sigh and bites his lip and waves for her to continue.

She sighs back.

“It’s just… my birthday is kinda close. And yours is like, right after that. And I was… just thinking. The other day...”

She trails off, hands fidgeting and head turned to the window. She doesn’t pick back up the conversation. Iggy Pop is howling through the radio, now.

“Thinking? Pretty dangerous thing to do when you’re-”

Max hits Billy with the hardest glare yet of the car ride. He concedes.

“Alright. What were you thinking about?”

The glare softens. Her eyes fill with worry… and nerves. Billy finds something vaguely reminiscent in them, even if it’s not exactly the same as in his memory. He knows he’s being a little shit but he hasn’t done anything to warrant fear... has he? He racks his brain while they sit in the silence she lets settle between them.

“I was just thinking about… well… remember that one birthday?” She’s had a few birthdays while they’ve shared a roof. A couple of them he’s purposefully decided to forget-most notably that first one. “When you took me to the boardwalk?”

That one he definitely remembers, with more color than most memories. She was turning 12- it was right before they found out they were moving. Things had been going so well. That birthday saw them walking down the boardwalk together to pick up some ice cream sundaes and talk about friends. Old ones and new ones. Gossip and interests. Max has mentioned that birthday a few times before- she says all the time it was the first time Billy treated her like a real person. Like a sister. He used to roll his eyes at her confession until he stopped. Because he realized maybe she was right. Maybe before that, “sister” wasn’t really in his vocabulary- not with a real definition and most definitely not with a face.

It was a nice day. They skated down the boardwalk and he taught her a couple of tricks on her board and he bought her something from the knick-knack store at the corner where the boardwalk met the street. She smiled at him genuinely for the first time ever. It seemed like they could be friends.

He chews the inside of his lip. He doesn’t like to think too far past that memory.

“Yeah, I remember.”

She’s fidgeting still. He wants to slap her hands to get her to stop because it’s making his leg twitch.

“Well I was just thinking about it. And… and… well…”

She’s picking at her cuticles. He winces whenever he sees her do that. He used to do that too. Used to bite at them when he was nervous, so much it’d make his fingers bleed. He’s stopped for a year or so now. She’s still doing it. He wonders sometimes if she picked it up from watching him and his shifty eyes. He can’t take watching her so nervous and he’s starting to feel on edge and-

“Spit it out, Max.” His voice is a little snappy, but he really doesn’t mean it. She sighs rather than glares.

“Are you still gonna move out to California?” She asks, all the words slurred together like they’re one but it doesn’t matter, because Billy understands them all.

He loses his breath for a second. When he looks over, he sees her eyes are screwed shut, but then she opens them and there’s tears there. He hates seeing tears there. Something squeezes his heart at the thought that he’s responsible again... only this time he doesn’t even know what he’s done.

“Uhm-”

“Like after you graduate.”

“Uh-”

A tear falls down her cheek.

“Shit.”

She looks down at her lap. Billy looks back at the road and has to hit the breaks hard when he realizes he’s about to run a stop sign. He takes a deep breath.

“Maybe. I dunno.”

“Take me with you.”

It’s sudden. He’s staring at her and she’s staring at her hands, picking at her cuticles viciously. It’s the faint sound of someone honking behind them that gets Billy to start driving again.

“Not like… forever...” Max says in such a small voice Billy is speechless. “Just for… a little bit.”

They ride in silence for a bit. They’re almost at school. Billy almost wants to stop the car because Max is going to cry and she’s gonna be pissed about walking into school while crying.

There are too many thoughts swirling through Billy’s head, some of them colored like a carnival, before Max is speaking again.

“I just… I miss home.”

It punches Billy in the gut. His memories fade to the sand and the waves and teaching Max how to break through the surf. He’s swirling down into thoughts of ice cream and babysitting her and walking along the boardwalk and telling her to make sand castles while he ran away with his friends. Tanned skin and sun-bleached hair and darker freckles blooming on their faces.

“It was stupid.” Her voice cuts quickly through the fog of memories. “Forget I said anything.”

“What? No.” Billy can’t forget. He doesn’t know how to answer but… but she’s crying and he’s not going to pretend like that’s not something he should be worried about.

“No, it’s stupid. You’re gonna be going with Steve. I don’t even know how I’d get back… it’s fine-”

“Are you trying to live with your dad?” Billy asks because it’s the only thing that makes sense to ask right now. She shakes her head vehemently.

“No no… I wanna live with my mom. I wanna stay here. I just wanna… visit, I guess…”

He so often forgets she’s still such a kid. She’s four years away from where he is. She’s four years away from being able to be independent. From having the ability to leave. They moved and Billy felt like he had been put in a cage. The word “landlocked” was the cruelest, harshest, most disgusting word imaginable to him because to him the only synonym was “trapped”. He knew it meant staying for another two years. He didn’t think about how for her it meant six. For her it was either plant your roots or let them dry out and crack in the Indiana sun. He couldn’t see that as he screamed at her back then.

“I dunno, I just miss it.” She says, but it’s quiet as she wipes at her cheek with the back of her hand.

Billy pulls into the school and picks a spot in the back of the lot, even though the bell is gonna ring soon and it’ll probably take too long to walk onto campus. She’s still sniffling a bit and his heart is squeezing tight. His chest is constricting. He’s watching Max right now and thinking about how the Billy he was a few weeks ago and even beyond was making a whole plan to just fuck off to California with Steve. How he didn’t even give a thought to leaving Max behind with the knowledge that he’d be back in the San Diego sun. He’d be back where the world made sense and she’d be here still shoving her roots in the ground to find some comfort.

Now suddenly he can’t imagine ever doing that.

“Well uh…” He starts, but his voice is bubbled. He clears his throat and tries again. “I still gotta convince Steve… I was planning on taking him just for a trip over there. Just so he can check it out and see if he likes it.”

He hasn’t even extended an offer yet, but she turns to look at him and the only way to describe her face is glowing. She’s so hopeful. Her eyes are wide and her mouth is slightly tilted up into a smile, open a little in shock. He just shrugs it off, even though it lights up his chest.

“I guess we can squeeze you into his fancy little car.”

“Oh Billy thank you.”

She reaches across the center console to wrap him into as good a hug as she can. He rolls his eyes, but he pats her back as he does it.

“Yeah yeah… chill out.” He sounds tired to his ears, pulling away from Max and getting ready to leave the car when-

“We should take El, too.”

“What?”

Max crosses her arms, suddenly looking pretty bossy for a girl with tears still shining in her eyes. Billy can’t say he’s exactly surprised at seeing her capable of that.

“We should take El too.”

“You just invited yourself and now you’re inviting other people?”

Her brows furrow.

“She’s my best friend! And she’s like... your sister now, right?”

“Yeah yeah, but-”

“I’m going to be there all alone with just you and Steve! I’m gonna need someone to keep me company while you two try to suck face.”

“Okay I get it-”

“Plus she’s never seen the ocean! She’s never left Indiana… she’s barely left Hawkins! She needs something like this-!”

“Al-right! Alright, I get it. I’ll ask Hop, alright?”

Max seems to let up, taking a deep breath and sitting back in her seat from where she was getting dangerously close to the edge in her excitable anger.

They sit in the quiet for a second before Billy elbows her and mutters: “Trying to guilt trip me, huh?”

Max shrugs, but she’s chewing her lip and picking at her cuticles and she’s giving Billy a side eye and-

“I just wanna show her around…” Max shrugs again, like she can’t think to do anything else. “It was my home too, Billy.”

She’s still picking at her cuticles and her leg is bouncing and she… she’s so young. He’s not sure how he could forget so quickly. She left a home behind, too. And family and friends. She left a lot behind. He always forgets.

“Billy…” Max starts, voice trailing.

“Yeah?”

There’s a small beat of silence where Billy waits breathlessly.

“We’re going to California.”

It’s a statement- like there’s no doubt in her mind that it’s happening. It’s going to happen. He hears her certainty and feels it too. She’s starting with concentrated eyes down at her lap but she’s so sure it looks like it hurts.

She sniffles and his heart nearly cracks. He rubs her shoulder kind of harshly and rather than a glare she gives a sort of grateful smile. That is, before she pushes at Billy’s hand and wipes at her eye and gripes about how “we’re gonna be late.”

Billy snickers.

[snowtimeisbesttime]

Thoughts and questions on Hiveswap Act 2– Part 2.

I have finished the game proper, But I still want to play it again and get all the achievements I missed... though that will probably be on monday.

-The actual .exe file for Act 2 tripped my antivirus?? this was potentially after the game updated, as I came back after yesterday to find the game wouldn't launch because the exe was missing, and it seemed to be a false positive, but still??

-Me the second I saw you could accuse people even outside of the trial minigame: Alright, Time To Get A Walkthrough!! Thankfully I did find one, and it also was very useful for the final puzzle.

-so even if we prove Daraya's innocent, the court still Needs someone to blame... considering the shit that goes down in the clown car I'm not surprised, but apparently Tyzias knew all along that Wanshi had screwed with Lynera's journal so????

-also. I'm reasonably sure that the jades didn't actively hate each other so much back in Friendsim?? like, the only one that seems to remotely care that Lynera's going to get clown'd with extreme prejudice (though we don't see her body nor any particular splatters of jade blood in the clown car, and no clown ever talks about her, so for all we know she didn't die??) is Bronya. (apparently wanshi Does feel guilty after the fact! I got out of that car as soon as I could so I missed it.) They didn't have the “oh we're cloister mates we're super close bffs” thing either, they didn't really get along but it wasn't like a secret or anything??

-and it turns out that the purpose of carrying the E batteries all the way from Act 1 is giving them to Tagora in order to unlock the only ending where everyone survives the trial... though you can still finish Act 2 with them in your inventory, and get yet another achievement. Who will need them in Act 3, I wonder?

-apparently if you convince Chixie to give you her ticket, it turns out that Dammek had promised both her and Xefros that they'd be the fourth tetrarch (with the other two being Cridea and Fiamet), so... what the actual fuck, dude?? (I was going to ask why do they have tetrarchs if they still don't have Four Guys but... we've only heard that from Xefros, who would only have heard that from Dammek, right?)

-The ceruleans and indigos are... mostly the same as they were in Friendsim? Remele's not only a painter now, but also a (fanfic) writer and a sculptor, and Mallek might or might not be involved with the rebellion (and he's keeping a quadrant open for someone). It would seem that Elwurd does genuinely like Joey, enough to keep helping her out at least, while Ardata's as bloodthirsty as always. Meanwhile, Galekh's quirk's still kind of a pain, Amisia is baby and still friends with Chahut, and Nihkee's thankfully not looking to train people this time.

-The clown car though. Oh my fucking god the clown car. I figured Marvus was probably up to something but holy shit. Let's add Lynera and Baizli to the List Of People He's Perfectly Fine With Getting Murdered For Unknown Purposes.

-also this is Round Two of Xefros getting really hurt and basically walking it off, only we Actually see him get hurt this time (not in his sprites tho). Can someone give my son at least a fucking bandaid or something??? (Joey does get sad sprites for that section of the game, but her animations for interacting with like the elevator in the blue car still have her smiling)

-Chahut's basically the same as she was in her Friendsim, if only more actively murdery. Having her constantly poking holes in Joey's evidence of her “murders” was fun (bc she was probably taking it the most seriously of all the clowns), but also annoying because she kept trying to poke holes in Joey's evidence like ma'am the fucker with the tophat already bought it pls chill

-Karako's just hanging out with the clowns for some reason?? And there's no acknowledgement of his status as Bronya's charge in Friendsim, he's Peak Cloun now.... like, they could have it so Karako came along with the jades to the train and Then he met the other clowns and decided to hang out with them? Maybe because the jades kept arguing about the book and he was the only one that Could get away from that, and that could have been the reason Marvus decided to go check that out...

-The Soleils... oh my god, the Soleils :((( Baizli fucking dies and Barzum gets understandably fucked up by it, especially considering that they were heavily implied to be two halves of the same troll (as opposed to “regular” troll twins) in their Friendsim and their new Troll Call bulletpoints... she'll probably come back in Act 3 (I'm thinking 1- as an antagonist and 2- really wanting to murder us to avenge her brother), but who knows how long that will take...

-also another thing with the clowns is that they were completely separate in Friendsim... Chahut went to clown church, Karako was doing his thing in the Alternian wilderness, the Soleils were stuck on the Spooky Groundhog Manor and Marvus had a bunch of fellow rapper clowns... so to see them all together in full circus* mode here's kind of. Weird?? like, we knew that the jades and the teals personally knew each other even if they all did completely different bullshit in their routes, but we've never had something like this for the clowns as far as I remember. Iirc none of them even interacted in Friendsim proper.

-*perhaps not full circus. I didn't stick around too much in the clown car, but only Barzum seems to actually care that Baizli died, and Xefros said that Marvus let him go after Baizli went out of the car...

-Ngl I'm rooting for pale xefjoey all the way. Xefros seems to be coming into his own a bit, and also realizing that Dammek's been a dick to him– not to mention he literally killed a clown to protect Joey, and psychically curbstomped Azdaja earlier when he attacked her. Sadly, the train fucking exploding kind of interrupted the Character Development Combo he had going on. (Dammek's gained a decent amount of Asshole Points in Act 2, but we might get a somewhat clearer picture of him when we finally get to talk to Cridea and Fiamet?? And of course when Hauntswitch comes out, though that's almost definitely going to take a good while...)

-OR we could get that fabled Friendsim 2: Hiveswap Main Characters Edition?? like, we're almost definitely going to get Something while we wait for Act 3- we might as well finally get to know more of our main cast!

-Even if the plot important characters survive the train's destruction, there's still a good bunch of background characters that will probably die, particularly in the burgundy & bronze car*... I hope Joey doesn't have to see that, she's already had enough of a wake up to Alternia's true nature. Both Joey and Xefros deserve a peaceful start to Act 3 actually.

-*isn't the lusus car right behind that one??? oh god I hope all the lusii are okay, Xefros did mention their quest to get medicine for Ladyy almost right before the train blew up...... random aside: it would seem that you CAN give Skylla the vet kit! It didn't work when I tried yesterday, but apparently that achievement was broken.

-What blew up the train?? if it was Fiamet's lusus as @/boulevardofbrokenmemes said... then why? Why would Fiamet want to stop Joey and Xefros from getting to Jeevik Week?

[dinokeis]

self ship with tsukki things

putting this under a read more bc it’s actually really long and i go off on a tangent quite a lot

also i know this is really unrealistic but let a girl live out her dreams :”-)

how we met + first impressions:

so im an exchange student at tsukki’s university

lets just assume i can already speak pretty fluent japanese OK

we met through common friends

like we were planning a surprise birthday party for said friend and we both had to communicate with each other to plan it and all

tsukki hates parties but he felt bad if he didnt help out at least since this friend was his roommate after all and his roommate did help him cover some chores occasionally

so during the actual day of the party we “officially” met and tsukki was being all snarky and his usual salty self and i was like “ok who is this tree and why is he so salty” but i just brushed it off bc i aint got the time to deal with it

THEN HE PROBABLY SAYS SOME SNARKY REMARK TOWARDS ME LIKE i was trying to put up the birthday banner or something and make sure it’s aligned but im short so the struggleTM is real and tsukki sees it and hes like “wow even on a chair you still need to tiptoe”

and im like “??????? at least i dont get hit in the face by door frames” yes i know im lame i cant think of a comeback nOW

and in tsukki’s head hes like “OH?” bc people usually dont sass him back and hes just so amazed and that i dont look japanese but i speak fluent japanese ???

so he got curious and just snooped around and found out that im actually an exchange student and then he kinda gets interested in me bc i make pretty good snarky remarks and we both have the same vibes and all issa same tired of your shit energy

also when i got a proper look at tsukki i was like “the tall guy in the glasses is hella cute” AND I LOVE HIS SALTY REMARKS TOO

i took the first step and like contacted him and befriended him and we both found out more about each other and got closer

how we got together + dates:

ok so im stupid and i actually cant tell when someone likes me you have to actually spell it out for me

tsukki and i spent a lot of time together like just the both of us and we both studied together and ate together whenever we had the time

tsukki is smart and he wants to keep his grades up and im just trying my best to even pass i am so bad at studies but we’re both in different majors so we just study together and make sure that we dont get distracted and lazy (me especially)

i drag him to school events he didnt plan on going initially

so like we had a lot of “dates” to cafes, libraries, me just crashing at his dorm room

i go support him at his volleyball matches and he does the same for me at my table tennis matches

somewhere along the way i get confused with my feelings and all like do i like like him or am i just being nice ???? what if he doesnt like me back ??? what do i do ???? but i dont tell anyone about it and i mainly keep it to myself 

and tsukki realises that he likes me but he doesnt act on those feelings bc i didnt exactly show any “signs” of liking him back

so here comes the slow burn and all our friends can tell we both like each other but one is stupid and the other is stubborn and they both know that we both will just give them the death glare about it

until the last week left of my exchange and im packing up my things to fly back home and tsukki is helping me pack

and he saw that i had put up a picture of the both of us from one of his volleyball matches (it was my favourite picture of us) and in that moment he realizes that he might have a chance bc i dont exactly like to put pictures up and ive said that only if it meant a lot to me i would put it up

so he just went like “fuck it shes leaving and god knows when i’ll see her again”

AND HE JUST TELLS ME “so uh i like you”

and im just in shock and all and i start crying bc like i came here for exchange and to make memories but here i am falling in love with this tall french fry and now im going back soon and basically im overwhelmed with emotions

and tsukki doesnt know what to do bc he has never actually seen me cry ??? i dont cry in front of people unless im really comfortable with you and trust you wholely

hes trying to comfort me and figure out what to do and i tell him everything that i had bottled up and was feeling

AND THEN after i had calmed down he went and bought a whole strawberry shortcake and we just ate the entire thing in one sitting

i love strawberry shortcake i refuse to have any other cake but that for my birthdays

on the day i had to fly back home tsukki sent me to the airport and he asked me if i wanted to give us a try especially with the long distance and i said yeah bc like im already in deep and i love him with my whole ass heart

after:

when im back home we facetime and talk to each other everyday

my parents asked how my exchange was and i told them about everything

except i left the part out about me and tsukki getting together and stuff bc yknow they would probably kill me if they knew i FELL IN LOVE

but they soon picked up on it bc like who is this dude im facetiming everyday and im talking in japanese too instead of english and they suspected

so my mum just casually “you guys are together right”

and i cant deny it bc im as red as a tomato

during one of his breaks he actually flies over to visit me and im just A CRYING MESS AGAIN bc this boy would do anything for me even though he acts all unbothered on the outside

he flew all the way to see me im :”-)

HE MEETS MY PARENTS

my mum, upon seeing him personally for the first time: *looks at me and goes* “why are you so short”

me: “hes ???? literally ????? a tREE ??????” (also mum youre only slightly taller than mE)

tsukki is all nervous bc my parents dont speak japanese so he has to speak to them in english and hes worried that his english isnt good enough but MY MUM IS ALREADY IN LOVE WITH HIM AND MY DAD TOO

my mum says his english is better than mine

we’re still together even after we both graduate and i decide to move to japan so no more long distance and we get to see each other more !! (plus ive always wanted to move to another country and now i have an actual reason too !!!)

also we both have a killer death glare get on our wrong side and prepare to die

basically i love this tall salty boy and i would die for him

everyone wonders how i deal with his salty ass but it’s just im equally salty and we both love that about each other

THE END

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also im just gonna tag @raevaioli bc i wanna see the raeji ;-)