#but in the last 1.5 weeks it’s gotten really bad

[herawell]

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[bloatedandalone04]

Wrapped Around Your Finger - Part 1.5

Series Masterlist | Original Fic

➪in which anakin and the guys are granted a break, but that still didn’t give him any hope that he could actually fix things between you and him - but that also didn’t stop him from trying.

PSA: strongly suggested to read the warnings before proceeding.

WC; 3.2k | Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡ | THANK YOU FOR 4.6K FOLLOWERS

Anakin was sitting quietly on the couch as he half listened to Theo and Helena talk at the table on the bus. 

They had been discussing something in hushed whispers for a while now, but Anakin still had no idea what they were talking about. He couldn’t focus on anything right now as he scrolled through the text thread he has with you, his expression one of misery and agony. 

He knew you were back in LA by now. You had to be. You were probably packing your things as he sits and lets his eyes flicker between his bandmate and manager. 

Anakin had left you so many messages by now, and you haven’t replied to a single one. He felt pathetic and worthless, and he hated himself. 

He dropped his phone with a huff, instead deciding to trace his index finger along your handwriting on his wrist. It can’t be over between the two of you. It just couldn’t be. You were everything to him, his entire world. How was he supposed to do this without you? 

“Helena, please, just a few weeks,” Theo begged, and Helena sighed as she rubbed her forehead harshly. “My sister just told me that our mom is getting worse. I can’t let her go through that by herself anymore. I can’t not be there for them anymore. Please.”

Anakin’s mood deteriorated further at his friend’s pleas, and he wished there was something he could do for Theo, but he can’t even fix his own mess. “I know, Theo, I know,” Helena mumbled, standing up and rummaging around in her bag. “I’ve been trying to get this thing pushed back ever since you know who decided to touch broody over there.”

The not so subtle dig had Anakin rolling his eyes and picking at the threads on the blanket he threw over his lap. “Well, can you?” Theo asked desperately. “Get it pushed back? Just a few weeks. I need to be there if my mom-” he cut himself off as he refused to say it out loud. 

Anakin felt tears prick at his eyes as he stared at the floor. His heart ached for Theo, and it ached even worse for you. How had things gotten this bad? Just to make things that much more tragic, it seems like Clara and Vinny’s relationship was on its way out, too. She had left last night on a flight back home, and Vinny hasn’t been out of bed ever since. 

Seriously, how the fuck had things gotten this bad?

Helena looked at Theo with poorly concealed pity, and she sighed as she ran her hands through her hair. “Okay, Liz’s contract will end soon, and I think I’ll be able to get the next few weeks pushed back, so she won’t be welcomed back on the tour once things go back to normal,” she started, sitting back down at the table and looking between Theo and Anakin. “So that might help fix his problem.”

She gestured over to Anakin, and he just scoffed, wondering why she was talking about him like he wasn’t sitting less than three feet from her. 

“I think I can have all of you on flights back home by the end of the week, I just need to make a few calls,” she stated and Anakin’s scowl disappeared almost instantly. 

“What?” He asked in disbelief as Theo made a beeline to his bunk to begin packing. “Really?”

Helena nodded, flipping through a notebook with various names and phone numbers in it. She was old fashioned that way, despite being not much older than Anakin. “Don’t quote me on that, but I think I can do it,” 

Anakin sprung up, the blanket falling to the floor as he pulled her out of the chair and wrapped his arms around her. “Thank you,” he rasped, aware that she might not be able to get the tour pushed back, but she was going to try, and that’s what counted. “I owe you. For everything.”

Helena huffed quietly, pulling away to look him in the eye. “We’re a team, Anakin. You guys are like my family at this point,” she murmured and Anakin felt more tears gather in his eyes. “You know I’ll try to do anything I can for you three.”

“I know,” he whispered, “Still, thank you.” 

The next morning, after Anakin got about an hour and a half of sleep, he was waiting anxiously to hear if Helena had managed to get the tour postponed. He was sure Theo had been up all night, too, if the way he couldn’t seem to get comfortable in his bunk across from Anakin’s was anything to go by. 

When she announced that she was able to push the tour back a few weeks, Anakin booked the first flight back to LA and had Theo beside him on the plane. Vinny was in no rush to go back, so he decided to stay behind for a few more days. 

Anakin had sent you a quick text before he boarded the plane, which read, 

I’m coming home. I’m going to fix everything, I promise, Princess. I love you so much. 

And when he got into an Uber after the flight, he saw that you had read his text, but didn’t reply. That was the first text of his that you had read, and as pathetic as it sounded, it gave him hope. 

Theo was in the car with him since they had decided to ride together. He lived a few minutes away from yours and Anakin’s apartment, so he would be dropped off after Anakin. He didn’t even care that Theo would involuntarily be listening to the voicemail Anakin is forced to leave you as you had once again ignored his call. “Baby, it’s me,” he started, glancing over at his friend and feeling grateful for the way Theo turned his body towards the window so Anakin could have at least a little bit of privacy in the car. “I’m ten minutes away from our place. I’m so sorry, for everything.”

He ended it after that, even though he had so much more to say. He wanted to save himself the embarrassment of pouring his heart out to you over the phone, just to have you delete it without even listening to it. 

When the car pulled up outside the apartment complex, Anakin reached over and hugged Theo. “I hope things get better for you and Mary and your mom,” he mumbled, hearing Theo sniff quietly in response as he tried to hold off tears. “Text me if you need anything, okay? I mean it.”

Theo nodded and pulled away. “Same to you,” he says with a forced smile. “Y/n will forgive you. You’ve been together for too long to just give up on it now.” 

Anakin returned a half smile, squeezing his friend’s shoulder before grabbing his bag and getting out of the car. He watched it pull away from the curb as his hand dug around in his bag for his keys, and he almost cried when he finally found them. He hadn’t used them in so long, and he was hit with the memory of the last time he was here. It was the day he left for the tour with you by his side. 

If he could go back and do it again but better, he would in a heartbeat. But he couldn’t. He just had to deal with the consequences now. 

Anakin blinked a few times as he entered the lobby and headed right over to the elevators, taking one all the way up to the fifteenth floor as he tried to think of what to say to you. 

Would you even be there? Did you read his last text and flee the second he got on that plane? God, he hoped not. 

He was a shaky, sweaty mess as he reached the floor you and he lived on, and his nerves were slowly taking over as he neared the door. Anakin couldn’t believe how nervous he was about entering his own apartment and facing you, the girl he’s loved for five years now. It had never been like that with you. Ever.

As he stuck the key in the lock and turned it, his heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. He hadn’t seen you since that night in the dressing room nearly four days ago. He had so much to make up for, so much to apologize for, and he could only hope that you would listen.

When he pushed the door open and stepped inside the quiet apartment, his heart fell at how dark it was. He was sure you weren’t home and hadn’t been for a while, but then he heard some movement to his left, and he dropped his bag instantly and entered the living room. “Princess,” he whispered when he saw you sitting on the couch, your old Uni hoodie covering your upper half while a blanket covered the rest of you. 

Your hair was tied back and your eyes were sad and empty, and when you looked up at him, you dropped your phone onto your lap with a quiet huff. “Oh, you actually were ten minutes away,” you mumbled. “I thought you were lying.”

Anakin shook his head as he scanned the dark living room. It looked like you had been living in here since you got home. Water bottles, your mugs he teased you about on the day you moved in, and cracker boxes were scattered on the coffee table he and Vinny put together. “Why…why would I lie about that?” He rasped, stepping further into the room. “Why would I lie to you?”

You tore your eyes away from him and shrugged. “Because you’ve done it before,” you simply answered, looking back up at him with tears in your eyes. “You said you loved me. And that I was the person you wanted forever.”

“Baby,” he gasped and made it over to you in three strides. 

“Why are you home, Anakin?” You asked, making him stop a few centimeters away from the couch. And you. “Why are you here?”

Anakin felt hopeless and on edge. How was he supposed to fix this when he didn’t know where to start? “Because I love you. And I want you forever. Just you,” he answered. “I never lied about that.”

You bite down onto your lip and reach up to wipe at your eyes with your sleeves. “Um, Kenneth read my short story. I finished it on the flight back to London,” you tell him and he stood still, letting you say what you needed to. “He loved it. Um, he wants to get it published.”

“Y/n,” he said quietly, feeling so proud of you even though he was also feeling terrified. “That’s awesome, baby.”

You drop your hand onto your lap and look up at him with a heartbroken expression. “It’s about you,” you confess. “About us. About…how much I love you and…it’s our story, Anakin.”

Anakin’s shoulders dropped at that. You were so sweet and kind and too fucking good for him. He never deserved you. “Then publish it,” he mumbled, his own eyes welling up with tears. 

“I can’t,” you cry, covering your face with your hands. “It’s too much. It reminds me of us too much, and I don’t even know what we are anymore.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his head, unsure of what to say to that. How does he make this better? “I’m yours,” was all he could come up with. “Even if you’re not mine anymore.” 

Those words physically pained him to say, and they only made you more upset. “Fuck, Ani,” your voice broke as you called him the name he only ever let you call him. “Why are you back?”

Anakin cleared his throat and pressed the heel of his hand against his eyes. “Theo’s mom…she got worse and they don’t know if she’ll be okay or if she’ll make it,” he whispered, knowing that his friend wouldn’t be mad he told you that. Theo was your friend, too, after all. 

Your eyes widened at that and you sat up, sniffling as you began looking for your phone. “That’s…that..” you trailed off as you lifted the blanket and grabbed your phone. “I should call him. I should..call him and..” 

You were becoming less and less in control of yourself, and Anakin could see the way you were getting yourself worked up. “Hey,” he mumbled, grabbing your wrist as you started to stand up. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” you whispered and he saw tears roll down your face again. “Why wasn’t I good enough for you? What could I have done?”

A broken gasp left his lips and Anakin fell onto the couch next to you, pulling your body into his arms as you cried against his neck. “You’re enough,” he promised, cradling the back of your head and holding you tight. “You’re more than enough. Baby, you’re…you’re everything to me. My whole world. I’m so fucking sorry for what I did, for what I allowed to happen.”

You cried harder against him, bunching up the fabric of his shirt in your fists. 

“I should’ve been there for you. I should’ve been there to support you,” he mumbled against the top of your head. “I’m so proud of you, of everything you’ve done. I’m sorry if you feel like you can’t bring yourself to get your story published because of me. I don’t want you to hold yourself back because of me.”

You cling onto him and lift your head. “I don’t know what to do, Ani,” you sobbed. “Please, tell me what I should do. Please.”

He could see just how much you needed help, and how you needed to be guided right now. And he would help you for as long as you needed, even if it ended up with you kicking him out afterwards. “What will make you feel better? Do you want me to leave? I can give you some space or time or-”

“No, I don’t want that,” you shake your head and crawl onto his lap. 

“What do you want, princess?” He desperately asked. “What can I do?”

“I want things to go back to how they were,” you cried. “I want to feel like I did before when I look at you. It hurts, Ani. I can’t do this anymore.” 

Tears fell from his eyes and landed in your hair as he held you impossibly closer. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I love you. I’m sorry.”

You were shaking against him and he felt terrible. This was all his fault. “I want to hurt her,” you mumbled. “I hate her. I fucking hate her, Ani. I hate her for what she did to you.” 

“I hate her, too,” he pathetically agreed and you lift your head. 

“What are we going to do, Anakin?” 

He lifted his hand and smoothed out your messy hair, trailing his thumb down to your lip afterwards. “That depends,” he murmured. “Do you still want me? Could you ever forgive me?” 

You brace your hands on his shoulders and nod. “Maybe…eventually,” you answer. “I still want you.”

A breath of relief left his mouth, but he still wasn’t happy with himself. “I’m back home for a couple weeks, and I’m going to spend every single day making this up to you,” he promised. 

“Then you’re back on tour?” You quietly asked and looked down. “With her?”

“No,” he said quickly. “Helena said something about pressing charges before I came here, and I might go through with it. She won’t be there, I promise. She’ll never be around me or you or us again.” 

“Do it,” you encourage, grabbing the hair on the back of his neck with shaky fingers. “I don’t want her near you ever again. I hate her so much.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” his lips curved upwards just slightly as he gently massaged your hips. “That was quite the nose job you gave her.”

You laugh quietly, lifting your gaze to meet his. “I need to know that it was a mistake, Anakin,” you went back to being serious. “If you felt anything for her, even a little bit at all, I’m out.”

Anakin panicked and shook his head. “Never. I never felt anything for her,” he assured you. “She means nothing to me at all. You’re my girl, the one I want to be with for the rest of my life. I’ve known that since I was seventeen years old.”

You nod, trailing your fingers through his hair. “You promise?” You asked and he nodded instantly. “Okay…okay. Ani, these next couple weeks…I need this to be okay. Maybe not completely fixed, but…okay.”

“I’ll fix everything,” he swore, pulling you against his body again. “I promise you, I’m going to make everything okay again. I love you so much. I always will, you’re it for me. My one and only.”

You give him a small smile, tracing your fingers along his cheek before leaning up and kissing his jaw. “I love you,” 

Hearing you say that had his heart skipping a beat. “I’m so sorry. I’m going to fix this,”

Anakin kisses you all over your face before letting you sit in his lap for as long as you wanted to.

It wasn’t okay, what he did. He knew that. But he was going to make damn sure that he made everything right again. He had to.

-

Three weeks later…

Being back on stage after the brief break Anakin was given felt great. 

He loved being on stage, loved the lights and the screams of fans and the feeling he got from it all.

But it wasn’t what had him feeling so happy right now. 

Theo’s mom had pulled through and was getting better by the day, and was able to stay awake for most of the day now. When she regained control of her voice, she practically forced Theo to go back and finish the tour, and told him that she would be there when it was over. 

Vinny and Clara broke up, but are still friends, and Vinny decided to focus on music and the band. He had even started writing a few songs about the experience that he couldn’t wait to get out there. 

And as for Anakin, he was getting ready for a court date that was set for a few months from now. He did press charges against Liz, and though she claimed she was going to fight it, he knew he had a whole team behind him. There was no way she was winning this thing. 

And you. His sweet, beautiful and smart girlfriend. Well, he was gaining your trust back more and more as the days went on. You allowed Kenneth to send your story to his publisher, and it would be released by the end of the year. 

He was so proud of you, and when he began singing the first verse of Wrapped Around Your Finger, he glanced over to his right and saw you standing next to Helena backstage, a smile gracing your lips and the red rose he had given you before going on stage in your hand. He knew you were proud of him, too. 

And he knew things would be okay.

-

Goodbye, my Rockstar and Booknerd. Til we meet again.

Thank you to everyone who read and followed along with this series. I loved writing it so much ! And thank you to my sweets, @everydaydreamer for the original fic idea. Who would’ve thought we’d end up here?

[scoops-aboy86]

The aftermath. I'm not sure how many more parts to this story there will be, but at least a couple.

Anyway, Eddie Munson lives, baby!

Part 1, part 1.5, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8 of the love spell no go au

Scrying isn’t something Eddie has delved into much but he knows a scrying plane when he sees one. The shallow water beneath his feet ripples out with every step, echoing out into infinity. He can hear hundreds of thousands of voices whispering just on the edge of hearing, too quiet to make out, and pinches the inside of his wrist to see if this is a bad dream he can simply wake up from. 

… Nope. 

There’s nothing to see and nowhere to go, but he tries. He picks a direction and walks for a long time. 

A very long time. Until—

“Eddie?”

He whips around, and a girl who may or may not have been there a minute ago regards him with big, tired eyes. Younger than him. Shaved head. 

“That’s me,” he replies warily. “Are you… the party’s Supergirl?” Dustin had said something about her losing her powers, but she must have found them again to be here. 

She smiles a little at that, a small but genuine thing. “I’m Eleven. You can call me El, or Jane.”

“El-or-Jane it is,” Eddie replies with a bow, and that one earns him a laugh. 

“You are funny,” she tells him. “I’m glad my friends in Hawkins had you to help them.”

When Eddie goes to protest that she has it backwards, they’d helped him, El informs him that his ripcord spell had killed Vecna. She’d been in his mindscape when the others’ attack on the dark wizard had begun, the red hell dissolving around her, putting her out of range while Eddie was casting. But Vecna, through his hive mind connection with the bats, had been front and center, and it had zapped him like a bug flying into a light bulb. Enough for whatever power had kept him alive through the ravages of interdimensional travel and decay and being set on fire to be snuffed out. 

El had hurt him, and his physical body had died of the burns from Robin and Steve’s Molotovs and bullets from Nancy’s sawed-off, but it was Eddie who struck the final blow. Otherwise, Vecna might have crashed through that window onto the front yard below and still gotten up again to slink off, lick his wounds, and continue his assault on the Right Side Up. 

“I think we use our powers very differently,” El tells him thoughtfully, and isn’t that just the understatement of the goddamn year. “I don’t understand what you did, or how, but… thank you.” 

Eddie is uncomfortable being thanked, when all he did was run and then pin all his hopes on one last-ditch effort. He jams his hands deep in his pockets and rocks back on his heels, sending out more ripples to nowhere. “Yeah, well… It’s been a hell of a week, all I want to do now is get some fucking sleep.”

El looks perplexed by this, then firm as she shakes her head and holds out her hand. “You have been asleep for long enough. I promised Steve I would bring you back.”

And, okay. Eddie isn’t really one for taking the hands of strange children (he’s in his twenties now, fifteen-ish is a child, shut up) and letting them lead him around, but he thinks he’d do just about anything for Steve. 

Seeing Eddie’s eyes flutter open sends a shock of electricity through Steve. He barely remembers to give El the tissue waiting in his hand before swooping in to scoop up one of Eddie’s with both of his, enveloping pale fingers while careful not to jostle the iv line connected to his wrist. “Eds? Eddie? You with us, man?”

And when those eyes settle on him immediately upon focusing, like Eddie had already known where to find him, Steve feels that zing again only stronger. 

“Mm,” Eddie croaks in agreement. 

Robin is at Steve’s elbow, already handing him the bowl of ice chips (all Eddie is allowed right now) so he can spoon a few pieces in through chapped lips. 

“Eddie,” Dustin says tearfully, and Mike and Will have to immediately restrain him from tackling the guy who just came out of a fucking coma in a relieved hug. 

Steve holds Eddie’s hand again while he sucks on the ice and Nancy goes to let hospital staff know that he’s awake. 

It’s a few more days until Eddie can stay awake long enough to really talk, and a few more after that before he starts remembering the answers to the questions he keeps asking. 

“Is Dustin okay?”

Broken leg, but it’ll heal. 

“What about Max?”

Two broken legs and two broken arms, but she’s already been discharged in casts and a wheelchair. She’s staying with the Sinclairs so she isn’t home alone while her mom’s at work. 

“Did we win?”

Vecna’s dead, the three gates closed, and the Upside Down sealed away for good. Plus, they didn’t lose anyone this time; Hopper is even back from the dead. So yeah, it’s a win. 

“Do people still want to kill me?”

Jason Carver had been arrested for assaulting Lucas, which had lost him a lot of standing with the town. (Not all of it though, so not nearly enough as far as Steve is concerned.) He’s now the lead suspect for the attempt on Max’s life, and it turns out that his only solid alibi for Chrissy and Fred’s murders had been Patrick. Eddie is still known as the local freak, but he’s at least no longer wanted for multiple murders. 

“Where’s Wayne?”

Sometimes Mr. Munson is there to take this one, but most times, like today, Steve has had to explain that he’s working a shift at the plant. But he knows that Eddie’s alive and innocent and going to be okay, and he’s already planning to visit again as soon as he clocks out. 

“It’s really over?”

Steve answers all of these, like he has before, and holds Eddie’s hand while he processes everything all over again like it’s the first time. It’s not Eddie’s fault; they’ve had him on a lot of pain meds. 

“… I’ve asked this before, haven’t I?”

That’s new. Steve nods, then closes his eyes and lets out a heavy sigh. And lets it out, finally. “I am so goddamn mad at you. I told you not to be a hero. What the fuck about that did you not understand? And then you went and nearly died.”

The look Eddie gives him is the clearest it’s been all week, sad and unsettlingly resigned. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“You’re—” Steve stops, presses his lips into a thin line, pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “Sorry? That’s it?”

Eddie looks down at their still-joined hands like he doesn’t understand why Steve still wants to touch him. He feels so fragile and washed out against the white of the hospital bed and the pale hospital gown, a nasal cannula holding back his limp and unwashed curls where it hooks over his ears. “What do you want me to say?”

“That you’ll never do it again,” Steve replies, the words immediate and hot on his tongue. “Shouldn’t be too hard, it’s not like there are any more dark wizards or demon bats to chew half your skin off.”

He almost feels bad at how Eddie’s big eyes seem to get bigger, and definitely wetter at the corners. But he’s got his own bites, itching like crazy as they heal beneath the bandages hidden by his polo, and he’s been sitting in this hospital chair for what feels like forever while Eddie was in his coma. His back twinges when he moves, and he hasn’t been sleeping well, not even when Robin stays over. Everything feels uncomfortable and stressful and this idiot almost died and he can’t, absolutely cannot go through it again. Ever. 

“Steve, I… I won’t, I just… I was stupid and forgot about the vents. I wasn’t trying to be a hero, I just wanted to fix what I fucked up.”

“Well you are,” Steve manages to say, despite his throat feeling increasingly tight and his own eyes starting to feel hot. He wipes at them roughly. “A fucking hero, I mean. You ended it. Butthead,” he adds, giving Eddie’s hand a tight squeeze. 

That is what makes Eddie’s eyes spill over with a wet little sound sneaking out between his lips. “It was the ripcord spell. I ended everything. So… you’re mad, I get it, and if you don’t want to be friends anymore—”

“Of course I don’t want to be friends,” Steve interrupts. “I want to date you, you idiot. I told you that already.”

“But the love spell—”

“Fuck the love spell. Maybe it made me fall in love with you one time, but I fall for you all over again every time I see you, Eds. So when you’re healed up enough, I’m going to put you in a wheelchair and push you to the hospital cafeteria so we can have our first official date over the shittiest food in the known universe, and the only thing that’ll stop me in said universe is if you don’t want to.”

Eddie stares at him for a moment, a wonderful hope going from spark to steady glow in his expression. “Are you going to let me finish a sentence on this date?”

Steve smirks, but behind the mask of confidence he has the same wonderful relief welling up in his chest and he’s not actually sure he’s hiding it well. “Play your cards right, and sure.”

He’s never seen a brighter smile than the one Eddie aims at him. And yeah, Eddie is frail and scarred and still connected to a worrying amount of beeping hospital equipment, but he’s also just beautiful. “Then I accept, big boy. It’s a date.”

Tag list (comment to be added): @hotluncheddie @8em-em-em8 @anaibis @connected-dots @lawrencebshoggoth

Part 10, part 11

[meeeeeeese]

Moose's Guide to Quick and Easy Gold

So I get the vibes in the community here that a bunch of people don't really know all the tips and tricks to making easy money, so I thought I'd do a writeup on some of the small ways I make gold in Guild wars 2

Trick 1: You have wealth you don't know about

An inportant thing about Gw2 is that a lot of the wealth it gives out isn't in actual gold but in materials that you can then sell for gold. For a lot of people I think its easy to just click 'deposit all materials' and then forget about it. For me personally I have only 100 gold in my wallet but If I were to empty out my material storage I'd gain an additional 300 or so gold. The site GW2 efficiency is really helpful for telling you what high value items you might be holding on to, though It takes a bit of setting up.

Trick 2: Sell Orders!

Admittedly this is something I'm bad about, but if you can delay your gratification, but when you sell something don't fulfill someone elses buy order and instead, set up a sell order. I'll give you up to 10% more gold out of everything you sell

Ok now onto the acutal wealth generation methods

Trick 3: Send your least favorite character to the New Kaineng Jumping Puzzle

Jumping Puzzles in EoD reward jade runestones from their final chest, which go for 80 silver on the trading post.

Find the wiki page to get you through the jumping puzzle here, though there are often commanders on the New Kaineng lfg offering teleport to friend transport to the end of the puzzle. Basically you get a character to the end chest and every reset log in on that character and get your free! runestone, almost a gold for ~30 seconds of work

(as a note you only get the runestone once per day per account so don't send multiple characters there)

Trick 4: Leivas Hands out Gold, make sure to collect it

Ok not actually but he may as well. So this guy who hangs out in Arborstone, once you've gotten the Globalization mastery, will sell you 5 antique summoning stones every week for a grand total of 10 green prophet shards, 10 unusual coins, 100 imperial favours, 7000 karma and 1 gold. The summoning stones can then be sold on for ~3 gold each, netting you a profit of 14 gold for going up to an npc and pressing 'f' (or whatever your interact key is)

Trick 5: fast and profitable metas you should be doing daily

Let me introduce you to my favorite wiki page:

the event timers list

This lists out every meta event and world boss that'll be happening soon and all of them will give you at least something, and the meta's from HoT onwards awards you a hero's choice chest that'll contain at least one of these valuable materials to choose from: amalgamated gemstone (60 silver), jade runestone (80 silver), ancient ambergris (1 gold 70 silver) or an antique summoning stone (3 gold). It should be noted the last 3 only appear in the EoD meta's, for all other times choose the amalgamated gemstone.

With that aside there are 3 events in particular that you should try to get done that'll take 10 minutes or less

first up is the Legendary Ley-Line Anomaly, the naked man. The timer's page tells you which zone it'll spawn in and when it does you have to seek it out and murder it. Mounts are very recommended because this thing dies fast. Anyway when you kill it, it drops 2 things: a mystic coin (1 gold 20 silver) and some vendor trash worth 50 silver, pretty gold for 5 minutes of work

next is Dragonstorm. It happens once every 2 hours starting from the eye of the north and affords you the opportunity to beat up Ryland. If you join the public option you join a crowd of up to 50 other people and its easy enough that you could even afk if you wanted (though that would be very rude). Anyway once you murder the champions and blast the dragons you get to watch them share a passionate kiss as the die and you then get 2 gold straight up, 6 memories of aurene (worth 1.5 gold in total) as well as a chance to win the lottery and get ascended weapons or, even rarer, the very expensive eye infusions

Finally is Tequatl the Sunless, a world boss in Sparkfly Fen that awards you 1 gold straight up as well as a chance at an ascended weapon as well as a bunch of materials and unidentified gear

speaking of which all the other events give unidentified gear too and they aren't actually terrible rewards, you can get a pretty penny from selling them.

Trick 6: Daily Rewards

Firstly, just logging in every day gives you a sadly decent amount of income, mostly in laurels and mystic coins. Coins can just be sold if you're after cold, laurels can be spent on a variety of stuff. And if you're looking to turn a profit, HERE are the best ways to do so.

Also, do your daily achievements people, sometimes they're a pain but the daily completionist gives 2 gold as well as 15 achievement points, more than most other achievements in the game. Also they drive you towards content you wouldn't do otherwise (the daily achievements are the reason why I've done most of the jumping puzzles). Also If you're bad at any of the dailies on offer, usually a bunch of other people are also trying to do dailies and they're often willing to help. I see mesmers porting people through the daily JPs all the time.

Trick 7: Spirit shards can be converted to Gold???

I admit, this isn't something I do myself but if you're accumulating spirit shards like I am there are methods to turn them into gold

They're listed HERE

(again, this isn't something I've tried myself, I can't vouch for how well it works and all the methods require a starting amount of gold. But if you're desperate it might be something to consider

But I want more Gold, how do I get it?

If your looking for serious gold farming there are probably better guides than this but here are a few pointers to start raking in the money

1: As far as I understand, Drizzlewood Coast is the most profitable activity in the game, gold per hour wise. Runs take a while and you kind of have to pay attention to maximise gains but, if gold's what you want this is a good option.

2: Look for meta trains, I notice them happening a lot around reset, basically its a group that goes from meta to meta doing them in sequence. There are a few guilds that do them every day so if you see a train, chances are its on at the same time every day. I find them to be pretty chill, offer some nice variety in content and offer good rewards as well.

3: Fractals. Yeah I know this is getting into endgame content but doing T4 fractal dailies every day gives you around 20 gold straight up, a bunch of materials worth even more gold and a decent chance at ascended armor and weapons (and so many ascended trinkets, seriously at this point they get auto-salvaged if they drop)

Apart from that, pretty much everything in this game gives you some amount of rewards, even if they aren't entirely obvious, so don't stress too much, provided you aren't roleplaying in the serrated blade or whatever (Though good on you for having fun!) you're likely earning some amount of income. Even if it's only in materials

[grippingbeskar]

Congrats on 2k!!!

Was hoping you could do obi-wan with a mix of 🥂5 and 🥂7?

—omg thank you so much for this one!! it inspired me a lot BCCCCCC

this could be read as a little 1.5 part of a welcomed distraction & an unsurprising development. you can read it between part one and two for a little extra SPICE to ur reading experience. also i didn’t edit this super close so forgive any spelling mistakes 😭

dedicating this to @kyberblade !! ty for always being lovely and sending me the best spicy fics. and for telling me to write this bc my obi-wan fics would crash and burn w/o u 😭❤️

— prompts:

🥂5. shh. there are other people in the room.

🥂7. we have to make this quick.

“Yes, that’s exactly the problem! There’d be way too much movement at once, and the kids need stability. You can’t just change up their schedule like th— Obi-Wan, can you come here for a second?” You call out, and he takes any chance to get away from the mind-numbing conversation he was currently trying to phase out, nodding at the councillors and taking the few steps backward to come next to you.

“Have you spoken to Master Kloon about the extension of the arena in the East wing?” You go to put your hand on his arm, but the builder you were talking with is staring too intently, and you lose your nerve. “Without it, the kids would have to go back to the old building on Coruscant halfway through their second semester. It’s too much moving.”

“I’ve already sent the message, but he’s off world until next week.” He says in his most calming voice, but you are too strung out for him to have any effect. Here, he is powerless to help you. With all these people around, at least.

“Okay. Okay— that’s fine, we’ll just have to delay the building in the East all together—“

“But then where will we start?” The man in front of you asks, and you take a deep breath in before answering.

“The… you can start the—“

“We have five hundred guys out there. We need to start something today.” Obi-Wan goes to say something, but you speak before he gets the chance.

“Yes. I know that, which is why you can all start the removal of the old common room. There’s tonnes of old furniture to be lifted out, and we need to break the walls down before we can start the conversion. That should last you until next week?” The builder doesn’t have anything to say— it’s a bad job, one that he had clearly hoped to avoid by coming a week early, but he just stands back, bows, and once his back is turned, you finally let out a frustrated sigh.

“You handled it well.” He wants to reach out, do something; anything instead of just standing here like he’s just another person in the crowd to you. But he’s not. He knows if he can just have you alone for more than three seconds—

“Your Highness? We need to discuss the blueprint plans for the East Wing.” Your eyes find his, and it takes everything in him not to throw you over his shoulder and run you out of here.

Ever since the council had chosen your planet to be the next home for a new Jedi academy, he hadn’t gotten a second of your time. Even when you managed to sneak away in the middle of the night, the two of you were both so exhausted that you could hardly manage more than a few stolen kisses goodnight before you fell asleep. Not that he didn’t savour every second your skin was next to his, something he was constantly in search of during the day and never able to obtain— but he needed you. And he knows you need him too.

He turns, catching you on the arm. Your eyes are wide when you turn back to him, not shock or concern, but just curiosity. Almost like you were challenging him— questioning how the hell he was going to get you out of this one. He hadn’t really had any ideas, just the thought of letting you go, not seeing you or touching you for days was making him irrational. So, he does the most unprofessional thing he thinks he’s done in a long while.

“I was speaking first, Your Highness.” You turn your back to the group of people, all murmuring to each other, so they can’t see how your eyebrows raise and the giant grin on your face.

“Oh?” Despite your smile, your tone remains completely regal and composed. “You think you are a more worthy use of my time then the other forty men waiting for me?”

He knows it’s on purpose. It’s true— there is a giant group of men waiting for your attention, but it’s the way you say it. That secret smile on your face, and the way you nearly purr the words at him.

“I know I am.” You scoff, and that is entirely real— no royal tone about it.

“Perhaps I need to speak to you in private, Master Kenobi, so you can learn how to better speak to your allies.” Instead of replying, he takes a step to the side, allowing you to lead him out of the room.

The rest of the people behind you look slightly scared for him, but as soon as he turns the corner, your hand shoots out from a doorway, yanking him inside. When he gets his bearings, he realises you’ve pulled him into the supply closet— random items shoved on shelves surrounding you. He very quickly loses interest, because then you pull him again, your face shrouded in the dim light, but he knows exactly where you are once you lean forward to kiss him.

His whole body relaxes as your hands thread through his hair, and the sound of your soft moans as he presses into you is music to his ears. He holds you by your hips and lifts you up, sitting you on the desk behind. It would of made him blush— how quickly you open your legs for him and pull him against you, but he’s too needy, too much time as been wasted for even the slightest hint of modesty.

“Let me—“ Obi-Wan starts, but you shake your head and kiss him again. In truth, he wanted to jam this door closed and keep you here for the rest of the week. It was the first real time he’d gotten with you in what was— he couldn’t think right now, but he wanted to make up for lost time. He could feel you against him, warm and needy and wanting and all he could think of was dropping to his knees in front of you.

“No time. Please… I need you to fuck me. Now.” Your hands fist tighter in his hair, kissing down his neck and as much as he wants to take his time, relieve all your stress from the inside out, he knows you’re pressed for time, and he could never say no to you. “We have to make this quick.”

With your legs spread open for him, he can’t help but slip his hand between your bodies, swallowing your soft moans when he slowly circles your clit over the fabric of your underwear.

“Always so needy for me.” You whimper as your forehead falls to the crook of his neck. “So perfect. I missed you— I…”

“Fuck, I know. I’m s-sorry I just… fuck, please. Tonight. You have to come and find me tonight.” He was already nodding, his mind filling with all the possibilities. “Please, Obi-Wan.”

“Shh. There are people in the other room. You don’t want them to find you like this, do you?” He pulls your underwear to the side and lines himself up with you, running the tip of himself over your clit making you bite down on your bottom lip. “Imagine their faces— Your Royal Highness, spread out for her council member so desperately.”

“Obi-Wan…” You sigh and he doesn’t waste another moment, slowly sliding himself into your heat, delighting in the relieved sound you sing into his ear. “Oh fuck…”

“You okay, my love?” You hum into his neck, nodding as your hips roll to meet the movement of his.

Every thrust has him seeing stars behind closed eyes, and the way he can tell you are trying to keep yourself quiet only drives him to fuck you a little harder. It’s a mean thought, the more deranged part of him that only you seem to awaken makes him want the others outside to hear you.

He wants them to know how good you are, how you are so strong and smart and break so easily for him. He can’t take his eyes off the way he can see the frustration of your conversations melt away, and you let yourself completely fall apart with him.

“Close— fuck, don’t stop.” You whimper and tighten around him. Items fall off the shelves around you but neither of you care enough to stop, and even Obi-Wan can’t contain the sounds he makes as he feel you cum around him. The feeling breaks him, too, and both of you move out of sync to ride out your rushed orgasms together, the room full of hot air and pleasure.

“Fuck, baby.” Obi-Wan kisses your collarbone, then your neck, and finally finds the energy to kiss your lips, tasting sweetness like he’s never had. It was always like that, kissing you. You were unlike anything he could remember— not even the Outer Rim had anything that tasted as good as you.

“I missed you so much.” You begin to catch your breath, and he helps you off the shelf, taking his time in letting the fabric of your dress drop. “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy, I just needed you so bad and that guy was driving me up the wall and… fuck. I missed you.”

“I’m happy to have been useful, Your Highness. I am ready to serve in any way. At any time.” Your smile nearly lights up the room, and he puts his hands on your hips, slowly drawing you towards the door. He kisses you on the top of your nose, and even after everything you just did, the gesture makes you blush.

“Can’t we just stay in here?” You press your forehead to his, and both of you sigh, knowing you wish you could.

“I wish we could.” He flicks the lock on the door, and you groan, kissing him for a final time before leaning to whisper in your ear.

“You better come find me tonight. I have a whole list of ways you can be useful.” His eyes widen when the light of outside floods the storage room, and it takes him several moments to collect his thoughts before he can find his legs and walk out to follow you.

He watches you from across the room as you return to your conversations, breezing through them with a new found sense of calm that he claims reason for, and begins to count the long hours before he can have you in his arms again.

[yourgamemasterthewhiterabbit]

The great regular sleep experiment 2024 part uh... "pillow"

Okay, so what happened is the night before last I looked up everything I needed to go get my ID, and discovered that -technically- I didn't have anything that qualified as "proof of identity" because both my cards were expired and as a disabled person I can't qualify for a credit card, can't drive etc... In fact I can't even acquire something on the list. All the proof I have of who I am and where I live is technically only qualified as "proof of address", Having my passport -night- fix this, but my ex husband's father still has that.

So I decided that I'd show up with all I had, and if they were obtuse about it I would write angry letters exhaustively until there were policy changes. It's bad enough they make you get a new ID and health card every 2-5 years and that they make you pay for the photo ID. The applying online options would be great except you aren't allowed to the moment your card has actually already expired. I think there should be exceptions to a lot of these things for the disabled and especially for anyone on a disability pension.

I also decided that the best way to make sure I could get in and out as fast as possible was to get the earliest morning appointment I could and keep it, and I -could- book online so I did.

But then, it was my night sleeping shift, and even though I took sleeping pills and did everything I could... Not only could I not sleep at 10, but I couldn't sleep at 12, etc and so on until I had just laid in bed doing nothing until 5 ish am... At which point I had no choice but to get up because the walk there was going to take 1.5 hours min, and I had to eat and drink first, but also have time to pee after that had fully processed so I don't have to try to use a public toilet, etc... You know how a 9 am appointment means needing to be up at 4 when you're otherwise disabled and/or have autism/adhd...

So I fucking went to get my ID so sleep-zombied that I think everyone I encountered just assumed I was stoned AF, just absolutely wizard high at the government offices.

And I got my ID, but I hadn't brought my cane and I already could barely walk due to not sleeping, and kept tilting to the left because of trying to keep weight off of my right foot. I stopped at a dollar-store on the way home because it was right at opening and I needed to this week anyway to get the treats that make Pumpkin actually eat his food. Anyway point is I was walking way slower on the way back and the appointment was already at 9 am so I didn't get to bed until past 12.

And I slept! And then I was barely awake long enough to eat and went back to bed by 7 pm, and then I slept! On and off a lot until 6 am [I had moved my 5 am alarm later]...

And I am hoping I can sleep again in about 15 minutes, otherwise I am not going to recapture my 10-2 sleeps and my schedule will be soundly fucked up, all because I had to try to replace my ID.

[No I could not just take a cab or bus for the same reasons I never can without it being a near guarantee of being exposed to corona]

Oh yeah! The pillow! Turns out a shallow lumbar pillow for my lower back helps with my spine trying to be too straight all the time. The lower curve of my back and upper back have both been vanishing and my disks have been trying to curve out sideways because of it, and I have really shitty connective tissue, so I have been trying to keep my lower back curved the right way when I sleep so I don't develop an abnormal curve to my spine. For normal people this would be a process that takes years to cause problems and years to adjust back, or surgery, but my connective tissue is weak and stretchy and this kind of shit can happen to me and reverse int he span of a month. Unfortunately, correcting how bad my spine has gotten means an increase in the number of headaches I am getting again.

It also turns out that a lower back pillow that slips out of place is HORRIBLE for your back though, so ymmv.

So yeah, looking forward to my new ID photos looking utterly fucked... Which -frankly- is how I am going to look opening my door to buy alcohol or having to show up at a medical facility anyway.

That is, unless they pull the same shit as last time and send me my ID with the OLD photos because they can't see the age difference between them and think the older photo is better quality. They KEEP doing this, they insist I have to go in and take my mask off for a new photo [risk of corona and all], and then they just use the last one I took for them when I was still wearing makeup [more fem?]... Which is over 10 years old at this point, btw, it's just still on my last most recent ID because whoever is making the cards seems to prefer it. Like I don't care if I still look the same age, or younger with no makeup, I don't like having to show people an ID that looks like a 'modeling portfolio' pic and feels like misgendering. People already almost refuse to believe my ID is real because I look too young, I do not need them also thinking I don't look like the same person as in my photo because I don't look fem enough. I keep trying to take a more neutral looking photo and they keep opting out for me.

Whatever, they're telling me it's good for 5 years now.

[unicornachos]

personal post!

hey hi I’m alive sorry for abandoning my blog for like 1.5 yrs??? I had a bunch of health issues and mental health stuff too :’) 

Like very full on... god what HASN’T happened. 

My body had a weird reaction to the covid vaccines in 2021? I ended up in hospital etc and was sick with mystery fatigue and shit for months and months.... I think I went to hospital like 4-5 throughout 2021? My body seems fine with the MRNA boosters I’ve gotten so maybe something in my body just hated the astrazeneca vaccine?? I’m kinda bitter about it bc of the ambulance bills I had to pay, but still, thank god for vaccines amirite

then, the apartment I was living in and loved got bought by someone who then wanted to move in, so I had to leave the place I loved living to somewhere still nice but way more expenno, and my health issues kinda continued?

then I started a new job

then my mental health got REALLY bad over the 2021/2022 christmas period to the point where I had to call an ambulance for myself bc my mind was in such a bad place. 

Then I started taking SSRI’s for depression/anxiety, but I had this weird reaction to the drugs and we think I had serotonin syndrome because of its interaction with the asthma meds I’ve been taking all my life? But at the time no doctors would listen to me and basically gaslit me into thinking all the pain was just a physical manifestation of my anxiety. Anyway, it caused some of the most horrific pain i’ve ever experienced in my life, in particular nerve and muscle pain in my legs, and I had to shower sitting down for weeks, couldn’t walk much around the house, and needed super strong meds to knock me out so I could sleep. 

I slowly healed and could walk again and do normal stuff for me around... late April?

While I was recovering I stayed with my mum but still paying rent in Sydney bc all my shit was there, so in June I killed my lease, put most of my shit into storage with a friend’s parent’s mini warehouse they use for their business (absolute legends and wholesome humans and I sent them money every month lol) and moved back home.

I started studying a certificate level course I’d been wanting to get over and done with for ages, so at the end of June I started studying.

Then once again mental health got bad, I tried SSRIs again, thinking it was me who was the problem last time I took them. BUT ACTUALLY, NO. Same physical reaction to the meds as last time, if not worse. It wasn’t my brain making shit up, it was an actual fucking drug interaction issue that ppl had tried to tell me was my anxiety and/or imagination!!! Queue horrific pain, weird symptoms, and once again the inability to walk or clean or work from anywhere but the couch.

Dr and I decided any meds that effect my serotonin levels are a no-go probably forever, and so I’ve been looking into CBD oil over the past few months to see if that will work for things instead.

Now I’m about... 2 months from that reaction, and started CBD oil 2 weeks ago (no reaction, side effects, or really anything yet) and can work at my desk as long as I have a big ass XL foot rest under my legs to keep them propped up, because I get nerve pain if I sit normally :’) I still can’t really go anywhere or walk anywhere other than around the house and for super short periods of time.

Also I powered through and finished my course just last week, so that’s out of the way at least! 

Other than that, I’ve just been like. Sleeping, reading, watching shows, napping, sleeping more, trying to eat well.... my job is a bitch but I’m trying rly hard to skill up so I can do more of what I’m interested in! I kind of don’t have energy for much else at the moment??

I have no idea if I’ll post again as regularly as I did a few years back, but I love Tumblr and I always feel glad coming back here and spending time in this place for a bit. These days I mainly only post stuff on my locked private twitter lol. But I have always preferred Tumblr’s longer format and vibes hehe.

ANyway that’s all for now! I hope anyone reading this has been doing ok. These past few years have been fucking tough and if all you have energy for is working and sleeping... you’re valid, dude. 

And if you plan to take SSRIs for your mental health, just be wary of serotonin syndrome!!!! Not enough ppl talk about it and a lot of doctors seem to have no idea it exists or also know little about it, but there are lots of cases of it in settings where ppl have been taking other meds and been given SSRIs! I’m not saying don’t take meds if you need them, but just reaaaallllyyy do your research first if you can about adverse reactions and interactions :’)

[aching-tummies]

Exhausted Inspiration

Phew. Going on 3 weeks of running on 1.5-5 hours of sleep each night. Exhaustion definitely has effects everywhere. I keep catching myself about to put stuff in the wrong place--like...opening the freezer when my intent is to open the microwave to re-heat my dinner or heading over to the sink with my phone because I'm attempting to charge it.

All of these early mornings and the stress of being exhausted and terrified I'll mess something up really bad has done a real number on my poor tummy. It's been very, very vocal lately and the noises from it just scream of distress.

I've gotten a couple of asks insisting on more stethoscope stories and I've been trying to put scenarios to words, but nothing yet. But...yeah...honestly, within the last week and a half a stethoscope was not necessary to hear my stress-y belly squelching and twisting itself into knots.

Early mornings suck because it really screws with my eating schedule. Usually, it takes around 2 hours after waking for my stomach to start feeling hungry. If I eat before my stomach is ready for anything, regardless of how big or small the amount is, I'll get twinging cramps in my belly for an hour or two. The kind of cramp where it feels like my entire digestive tract is clenching all at once. Unfortunately, early mornings and lack of sleep mean that often, I'll find myself forced to scarf something down within 10 minutes of waking because my next opportunity to eat a meal won't be for another 6-8 hours. Transit in my area is horrid so I always end up at the stop at least two and a half hours before my shift, just in case two buses skip/fail to show up (more common than one may think). This set-up means I'll often end up forced to eat a quick breakfast at home, or wandering the nearby area aroudn my workplace, looking for affordable food that is least likely to give me a stomach ache before work. Poor stomach has been through the wringer the last few weeks, being fed at odd times and with varying amounts. Honestly, it's no wonder it's just been a constant ball of 'upset' for at least a week and a half.

The noises with the stethoscope are interesting. It honestly feels like my guts are reacting to the firm thing being pressed deeply into them. The best spot I've found is somewhere between my navel and my left rib--right under either the stomach-organ itself or the duodenum. Like, if I catch it at a good time, struggling to empty the stomach-organ, then I can literally hear the stuff churning around and being squeezed through to my intestines.

Anyway...I might finally get a chance to indulge in this kink over the next day or so. It'd be nice having some inspiration.

For those asking for more stethoscope content--inspire me. Where would you put it if you were here? What state is my stomach in in terms of digestion, stress-y belly, sick? What would you do if my stomach wasn't quite as vocal as you wanted--even with the stethoscope?

[haylewilliams]

ok so i need to vent and i guess you can’t add a read more on mobile anymore?? sorry, it isnt super heavy but i’d maybe appreciate some insight because i am confused and unsure what to do.

long story short, my mom died 3 years ago in a sudden and tragic way. my best friend’s boyfriend of 1.5 years made some jokes about this multiple times, and yes they were said in jest but i realized with therapy months later that it really hurt me. my best friend is lovely but she did not say anything to him at the time and i have never gotten an apology. i clearly expressed to her a few months ago that this hurt me. she was really receptive but idk if she talked to her bf about it.

last month i was out with her and a newer friend for my bday. new friend leans over and says “is she the one whose boyfriend you don’t like?“ and my best friend clearly sees and hears this. i explained to my best friend that i had told new friend that her boyfriend wouldn’t be joining us bc we don’t get along due to some hurtful things he’d said.

i privately apologized to my best friend and i sincerely meant it, i was really upset my new friend said that. new friend also apologized.

best friend has talked to me very sporadically and basically said she’s upset that i’m telling my friends “bad things” about her. i assured her that my friends know i love her. i don’t say bad things about my friend - i feel i have a right to talk about what her boyfriend said when people ask why we don’t get along.

anyways, we have an event we bought tickets for months ago coming up soon. another friend is coming but not the one from my birthday. she canceled on me and said she wouldn’t feel comfortable going.

the weird thing is 2 weeks ago she reached out on her own apologizing for being distant and told me she isn’t angry, she just felt uncomfortable and “wanted to hide a little bit.” which is ok, but i’m very confused given her canceling.

idk what to do at this point, i just told her to only reach out when she feels comfortable talking about the entire thing, i said the back and forth without resolving anything was making me anxious.

ty if u read this lol i’m just so confused

[steamishot]

space

whoo, landed in LA saturday evening and feeling good. i usually fly jetblue but took delta to LAX this time. the flight was significantly (~1.5 hours) shorter, i assume because the plane is bigger? so the flight wasn't terrible.

matt and i have been arguing a lot more recently as new things have come up and it's uncertain again. we're reviewing the contract for southbay, but negotiating a few things. also, huntington said no last tuesday, but then referred matt to an adjacent team that's non-teaching. however, this new team is pretty cryptic and not straightforward at all. it sounded like the details were made on the fly. they asked him about his credentialing and licenses which implies they are hiring him but steered away from the conversation whenever the contract, salary or benefits were brought up. til today, they still haven't gotten back to him and he needs to sign the kaiser contract by thursday.

i made a temporary post on reddit asking the hospitalist subreddit which they would choose between these two options. the consensus is that both of these jobs sound awful, too many nights, "dogshit" salary, and overall "bad gigs", lol. fuck my life that we're living in either NYC or LA, which are both terrible cities to work in as a doctor. at the end of the day, we can't have it all and location is important to us. so, i think we can only compare to the previous offers we've had and the southbay one isn't TOO bad. kaiser is also very straightforward and provides a number of nice benefits: relocation, evening/night weekend and holiday differentials, sign-on bonus, sick & vacation time.

it's been hard to live in a studio apartment when emotional/stressful things like this arise, especially when i thought we were at the finish line and surprises continue to pop up. we both deserve our own alone time and space to think independently before coming together to discuss it - however, our physical space kinda doesn't allow that at all. even driving solo in a car in LA can provide a good headspace to think - but it's constant stimulation outside in nyc. after clearing my head and having space to think, i prefer kaiser and it seems matt does too.

my first week in LA, i want to lay low, have chill time with my family and niece, eat home-cooked food, watch shows, adjust to the environment and do yoga/walks/workouts. my internal pace is at nyc speed, and it takes time to slow it down. i feel like people move 10x slower here which helps relax me. the sounds of the birds/nature vs honking/people yelling is calming. i still feel emotional/heavy due to the continued uncertainty, and i can't give my family any answers yet when they ask questions. it also makes me less social/not want to meet up with friends yet because i feel unsettled.

happy things:

i bought my first arcteryx jacket about a month ago and have been loving wearing it. it's super comfortable and has great utility/wind protection. i've become a fan of the company and decided to buy a jacket for both my mom and grandma from the recent REI sale. my mom and grandma go on morning walks/hikes almost everyday so it would be quite useful. they are both really happy to receive them as gifts. doing things like this reminds me of why we're working hard.

i got a dinosaur bank painting set for my niece, because she keeps reminding me that she wants to paint. although the recommended age is 8+, she tried painting for a bit before asking me to do the rest lol. i wrapped it up for her like a present and she was really happy to receive it and paint for the first time. last night, we did "animal yoga" together following a youtube video.

i made a new friend from ceramics class. i thought she was in her 20s but found out that she's 40! she said she can be my "old woman friend" LOL. we were the only two asians in ceramics class and i'm glad she chatted me up. of course, she recently moved from SF so we have that californian similarity. i felt okay to invest energy into a friendship with her even though i'm moving bc she seems quite mobile: lived in baltimore, DC, SF, previously in NYC as well.

matt and i will go to the sheng wang show end of this month, and we booked tickets to go to our first ever concert together: odesza at madison square garden

it's awesome to see my niece after 5 months, she is noticeably taller and can communicate much more. my parents and i loooove her and miss her when she's not here lol. i plan on taking them to the infinity mirror room.

[nataliekabra]

my grandfather lived a rich, long life, but the last year and especially the last month of his life was extremely painful. his heart was beating at 30% efficiency. his lungs were in terrible condition. his stomach was in terrible condition. he'd broken his hip and he completely lost his memory. he couldn't recognize anyone anymore, he could barely open his eyes and say anything. he was plugged to life support that kept beeping 24/7. my entire extended family showed up in the last two weeks of his life to be there when it happened.

my dad didn't want me to go into his room and see him in that state. my sister didn't want to see him in that state. there was no point, they said. it's not going to help anyone and it'd be unbearable to see him that way. but I couldn't accept that. I traveled 1.5 hours back and forth from college every day during my exams week so I could sit next to him. so I could sing to him. so I could be with him. I wasn't ready to let him go. I didn't think I'd ever be, even if I'd made peace with the fact that he was practically gone already weeks back.

I'd been through this with both my maternal grandparents once already, but this was definitely the hardest. he was my idol and favourite person growing up, the first person id greet in the morning and the last person I'd say good night to before i went to bed every single day. and one thing everyone seemed to agree on every time was...they wished he would just go. it's okay. he's suffering. it'll put him out of his misery. the rest of us will be okay. we'll live.

if someone's suffering that much, isn't it best for them to leave? kinder? how long will we keep clinging to them, forcing them to suffer with less and less to live for every day?

my best friend has been extremely suicidal for at least the three years ive been close to her. she's miserable. it's constant and it's every day and everything about her life feels terrible to her. has felt terrible for years. I love her so fucking much, but it feels like I've been dragging and unintentionally guilting her to live for so long now. I know she really doesn't want to. she hasn't wanted to for a long time. she doesn't know I know but I know she cuts every day. she thinks about killing herself every day. and every day she doesn't. only for me and for her family. she constantly feels like a burden. she's lost interest in everything. she's on meds and has been going to therapy - switched therapists multiple times even - for two years now, but it has only gotten worse. she's been dragging on, just for other people, for years, she's been trying so hard and for so long.

I'd do anything to take away her pain, and I've tried. I'm not someone who lets go easily. I'm selfish. I cling on until I can.

but I know better than anyone else how bad it is. I'm the only one who knows the full extent, probably. and every day I silently ask her to stay alive feels like asking too much. I've been promising her that it'll get better for years, but it feels so empty. I got better. I know it's possible. but it's been years. I won't admit it to her, but I can't see a way out. I don't believe myself anymore. I don't know what to say anymore.

isn't it the same thing as hoping my grandfather would stay with me forever in his misery?

I don't know. a part of me wants to tell her she can let go. I don't know.

I don't know.

[manicgoblin]

whole lotta new music courtesy of ru 🥹✨

love my friends so much fr. had a really warm and tender night. got home from work, cleaned my whole apartment cuz I was slacking the last half a week or so. listened to music and shared songs back and forth with ru. kinda half assed planned a trip to chile/stay with their aunt for the summer when their semester is up. Gotta get a passport by March so we can go. talked to my sister for a while, that was nice. He came over and we made dinner. he wanted yellow rice, so I got that goin, and he made us tuna steaks and a whole lotta veggies. we snuggled in bed and watched samurai champloo and she’s the man (i was super anxious from the gummy he offered me, but we made it thru LMAO) woke up this morning to a clean space and Tsuki giving us a good morning snuggle. gotta shower, do a couple dishes, and then head into work. todays going to be good. I got this.

as a side note…

this period has been killer on my mental health. I should really look into something for it at this point. with a solid routine and keeping up with my shit consistently for like 8 months now I can actually tell when it’s getting bad again, and it’s always the week before/during my period. the depression is so much worse. the brain fog. the pain. the hopelessness. the mood swings. the flashbacks and anxiety. my ptsd/bpd symptoms are there otherwise throughout the month but for those 1.5-2 weeks it’s hell, and it’s every. single. month. I’m exhausted. I know treating pmdd is learning what works, diet changes, managing a schedule so there’s less going on that triggers the mental health symptoms, and maybe antidepressants, but something’s gotta give. having to deal with this for the rest of my life is unimaginable. it’s not exactly gender dysphoria, but I am extremely dysphoric about my period now. my gender dysphoria is so much worse during these weeks. I hate my body and the way I present around this time of the month. I really do feel hysterical sometimes. like yes whoever said your uterus was in your throat, go take a day by the seaside and bring this vibrator and cocaine with you, WAS RIGHT lol. gotta go back in to see my docs soon and talk about reworking some med options. maybe a Wellbutrin rerun. and a new adhd test. finding out that my mother has it, and that that was my first diagnosis as a child has me like “yeah hello that was the problem the whole time and then y’all traumatized me and I got personality and trauma disorders” :/ I don’t think they’ll give me adhd meds with my history of drug use, but Wellbutrin might help again…idk. one step at a time. starting a course in Jan for this certificate, working two jobs, taking my permit test real soon now that they mailed me a new test date. everything is going to work itself out because I’m taking steps to get there. some days, some weeks are hard, but I haven’t let up in the face of that. I’m proud of myself. It hurts, I’m angry, I’m sad, I’m grief ridden still, but I’m also finding joy and I’m determined. I’ve gotten better. I have to see that. On the days when it’s dark, I have to remember how far I’ve come. How much I’ve done for myself, by myself. It’s been a long road, and it’s only getting longer, but damn it the scenery is beautiful for once, I can see the scenery for once. and isn’t that the point? picking wildflowers on your way? noticing the trees sway as you move past? pointing out the mushrooms on the side of the road, watching the ants crawl over a branch, sharing bread and fruit with your friends and holding hands while you walk? my body aches, my mind aches, but I’m not alone, and the trees are swaying with me. we’ve always been in synch. I’m being held by the earth everywhere I go. I’m holding myself. I’m holding my friends. I’m holding space for the trees around me. Things are okay, even when they’re not, even when they’re unbearable, things are okay. Life goes on. I keep getting older, so does the soil and the birds and the trees.

[racingtoaredlight]

Goodnight, Sweet Prince

Disclaimer: You don't want to read this...it's brutal. I won't take offense if you don't read, but please keep unrelated comments on the Open Thread that will post shortly.

***

This is my 4th attempt at writing something that Willie 100% deserves, but I keep breaking down and I just can't stop crying. I loved him so much, it's just ripping me apart. I loved him so goddamned much.

I was so proud to be his owner. I fucking hate that term, I just don't know what else to use.

I took him everywhere I could. Everywhere he went, he drew people in...this isn't hyperbole, at least once per week I'd be stopped by someone driving and spend a minute or two chatting about him. He was everything I ever wanted in a dog...from his athleticism to his personality to his sense of humor.

Every day I'd get in my car to go home from work, I'd excitedly start my car and say "I'm comin' Willie!" But now he's gone. He's not there to come home to anymore. I walk around my house looking for him and he's just not there.

***

My past four months have been a form of hell, and I've tried really hard not to bring it here...but it's just really hard when that's all you can think about.

I've known my father was going to die since his two heart attacks on the same weekend seven and a half years ago. Those heart attacks happened a month after my beloved grandmother passed away.

I've talked about my issues with manic depression in the past, as well as openly discussed that I've been a danger to myself in the past.

When I was on that edge, my first thought was "if I die, nobody will take Willie, and he'll end his life in a shelter waiting for anyone to adopt him." How could I do that to him again? Despite the shitstorm going on in my brain, even in that state, thinking of him cut through it enough to bring me back.

I don't say this lightly...if it weren't for Willie, I would not be here.

***

My father is in hospice and will likely pass within a week or so. The past four months have featured numerous trips to the ER, doc visits, tests, you name it...pretty much all week, every other week as the doctors kept trying their best to keep a man with a 6% functioning heart and 11% functioning kidneys alive.

The easy parts were running to his place to water his plants. Or coming over in the morning to make him a milkshake while we listen to music. The hard parts have been hanging up the phone or leaving his place, and the first thing that runs through my mind is "will this be the last conversation we ever have?"

The medium hard parts were running to the grocery store or the pharmacy in between meetings. Or preparing him 3 days worth of food in the 45 minutes I had before a guitar lesson. And 1.5 of those days I'd be throwing out the next time I stopped by.

The hardest part was wondering who'd go first.

I never complained about any of this. I'd do it again for the both of them without a conscious thought because I love them both so much. But it wears on you. Month after month does a toll.

***

I've been doing all of this, on top of an insane pace at work, on almost no sleep.

The vet told me to keep a diary of his health throughout all this. You notice a string of bad days, but the first good day and a half and all of the sudden that concern washes away. Keeping a diary allows you to get a relatively objective look at your dog's health, and notice long-term trends.

Unfortuantely...as I've known with my dad's heart condition, sleep is a big factor...I tracked Willie's sleep and got a wonderful look every day at how little I'd gotten over months. Months.

And I knew I lied in the diary. I didn't want to admit to myself that Willie's condition was getting so much worse...even if I couldn't ignore the 8th straight day he'd wake me up before 3am. Let me put it this way...in the last three months, I've had six full nights of sleep. Another 12 of days he woke me up after 3am. Every other day was a 2-3am wakeup call, and three of those days were no sleep at all.

It wasn't as simple as getting up and letting him outside to relieve his fading bladder...the next hours before I went to work were spent comforting him on the couch, as his increasingly weakening heart pounded like hell to circulate enough blood through his system.

He didn't wake me up all those nights because he had to pee...he woke me up all those nights so that I could make him less afraid of his heart feeling like it was drowning due to an edema. He'd get comforted and calm down to sleep just around the time I had to get up and get ready for work.

And every morning, every day I'd come home from work...whenever I'd leave him...there was a simultaneous terror combined with hope that I'd find him having passed away in slumber. A peaceful, painless, natural death.

***

There were so many good memories of our time together, please don't ever suggest that I'm glossing over them. I am at a certain peace...it was his time, it was a wonderful goodbye, and so many of my friends and family have come to his support, that's brought me to tears separately.

He was a special guy, he touched everyone's life that he met. He was wonderful with children, wonderful with others, terrible with other dogs (but you can't win em all).

Those memories will always come back as long as I still have a functioning brain. Right now is so close though, all I can feel is loneliness.

Over the years, I've shared numerous anecdotes of Willie because I was so proud of him that I wanted that joy to be spread to others. But all I can feel is the pain of having lost my best friend.

There's a common refrain "you don't know what you got until it's gone," or some variation of that. I thought I knew what I had in my relationship with Willie...but given this gigantic empty space in my heart, this giant fucking chasm, I somehow underestimated how much he was giving me.

***

The thing that scares me the most about the future isn't losing my father, it's losing a grasp of joy.

Pretty much everyone here knows I struggle deeply with anger issues and have a darker side that I try really hard to keep tamped down. I talked about this with my therapist yesterday before the vet came over...

Willie was always a bulwark against the darker side of my brain coming to the front. Even in my worst moods, where I'm borderline psychotic, even just looking at him would bring me to a calmer, sustainable place psychologically. "Those" days at work? They bothered me less knowing I'd be on the couch chillin' with my big boy in 15 minutes.

As his condition worsened, so did the vet bills and trips. $100 a pop, $450 for an echocardiogram here, $200 dog cardiologist fees, $180 for a Lasix IV there, $150 every month for his heart medication, $50 per month on all the stuff he needed for his arthritis, and it seriously just goes on and on. Thousands and thousands of dollars over the last four months. Nevermind the car trips there and back that wreaked havoc on his heart...

But I would have done fucking anything for this dog. Anything except selfishly keep him alive when he's telling me he just can't anymore...I knew it was the right thing, and I feel like I fucking completely betrayed and failed him, at a time when he needed me the most.

That helpless feeling..."I can't do fucking shit"...I'd find myself at 3am googling "if you love a dog enough will it live forever?" You know the answer. I knew the answer. That's where I'm still at.

***

I should've quit writing this paragraphs ago...I'm just fucking sobbing and this isn't doing me any good. And I can't just talk about the good times, because all I can think of is that those times are gone. Every time I think of something beautiful or joyful, it's immediately poisoned by an onset of sobbing because I miss him so much already.

You all know how much Willie meant to me. I don't have to make the case for that...I loved that dog more than I've loved anything in my life. And I don't give a shit if you think that's sad or immature or lame.

I kept quitting this and coming back because he deserves it. He deserves to be commemorated for the tremendous companion he was...and as much as I'd love to be able to write that piece that makes everyone happy and celebrates him, I just can't write that piece right now. The joyful memories will come when I'm in a healthier state, I'm certain of it.

But I can't keep writing this and just crying all over myself. He deserved a much better eulogy than this, but this is the best that I could do. It feels like I failed him already yesterday and now I feel like I'm failing him again.

Willie was the greatest dog in the world, my best friend, my savior, and adopting him was the single most rewarding thing I've ever done in my life. I'll love him forever no matter what. I'm just really hurting right now.

***

During this time, I've been trying to think of something to preserve his memory with what few skills I possess, and I have no idea how to do this or even get it started, but I want to start a non-profit called The Willie Fund where I can link with pit rescues across the country and provide funds for palliative care and dignified, in-home euthenasia for those in their communities that need it. I don't know where to start but I have to do something.

And thank you guys for letting me share Willie with you all these years. I'll be back at some point.

*The pic at the top was taken months ago, not yesterday...it's just my favorite serious picture of the two of us and thought it was a respectful image to remember our relationship by. I loved him so much and I know he loved me too.

[theboardwalkbody]

A. I do not like this new dashboard layout

2. There is definitely something wrong with me.

I went from being absolutely exhausted - cried myself to sleep last night, woke up crying this morning and the crying continued on and off until noon. I made a To-Do list earlier this week; vacuum, make my room tolerable (which means able to walk from one end to the other without feeling like I'm being buried alive by things). I got home around 830pm and got a burst of energy/motivation or maybe something else. But as soon as I walked in the door I took out the garbage which turned into vacuuming which turned into decluttering the desk, which turned into dusting (I have not dusted in about 1 to 1.5 years) which turned into washing the cat food bowl, which turned into washing my monitor. I still have more on my List because while I did some of it I also went and did other things I didn't plan on. (Because of my depression I don't ever deep clean so things get dusty and stuff so IDK how dusting became something I did.)

Also - TMI period stuff below the cut

It (in the TMI) honestly would explain my moods so I'm hoping that's all it is. Really fucked up bad PMS and stuff. Because I literally feel so insane I considered walking into a psych facility. I don't feel like I'm gonna hurt myself or anyone, I just feel like I am literally loosing my mind and need help calming down and thinking clearly - like I need to be rebooted.

However - my BF and I had a light lunch and a healthy dinner and between them we went for a 20-25 minute walk. I haven't gotten actual exercise in a year. Ever since I got sick back in October of last year I have spent all my time laying down. If I'm not at work or working on something that NEEDS the computer then I am literally laying in bed. So maybe the walk, despite being 9-10 hours ago, kinda helped?

IDK someone help lol

I had my period end on August 3rd and I have been spotting for like three days but today the spotting was like more than normal so I think it's actually my period but it wasn't due until my birthday (the 24th) so its like 6-8 days early if you count from the first spotting and assume it was actually not spotting. My DR says the copper "bug zapper" as my BF calls it causes spotting between periods and I've had the thing for 2 years now so I know it happens. And I have gotten a period only 21 days into my cycle before (avg is 26 for me atm) but still.

I'm wondering WHY and if its all tied together. The intense mood swings/intense depression. The spotting/early period. Maybe my hormones got confused this month and I had like a huge spike in something which triggered the liable moods and period. If it doesnt stop tomorrow I'm marking it as a period and not spotting. And it BETTER end normally and NOT last from now until when it's supposed to start and end and therefore last for two fucking weeks.

[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​