#i can't believe this is canon. i'm weeping. this is incredible

[egophiliac]

the gang's all here! commence slumber party

[butchsophiewalten]

So i’m sure your planning on making a post about the minisode later, but I wanted to ask anyways if there was any spaces or FJW.com tidbits that like, offer some info on why or how “bon” can just shift between his special form and animatronic form:

(concerning the doorway scene)

I know FJW had some old pages which went over the nature of spirits and ghosts, but can’t for the life of me remember them alluding to this freak being able to like, teleport and shapeshift? (This could totally just be a cool one off cinematic moment with no real explanation, but was just curious if you had anything on this.)

This is such an incredibly interesting question and I'm so glad you're asking me this since it's something I've put a lot of thought into since watching Hotline for the first time, and I do have a specific answer that makes a lot of sense to me. Though I think the 'truest' answer is probably closer to it being a one-off cinematic moment, as you point out.

The first thing that honestly stands out to me with Bon in Hotline is that he's seemingly quite far into his physical transformation due to post-extensive object possession, despite the short taking place in 1977, and thus being only three years after 1974, where he presumably had only recently begun inhabiting the Bon animatronic, as the vessel's appearance was not yet impacted so much by Bon's presence.

He's already quite tattered and dysfunctional, and he has a slash above his eye that emulates the one present on Bon as a white specter.

The reason I point this out is because I think it exemplifies just how deeply Bon and his vessel have enmeshed at this point, despite the relatively little time he's spent within it. (Though, to be fair, the possessed doll described in the Findjackwalten page about post-extensive object possession took only two months before it was able to weep and feel pain, and three years before it could speak.)

This is pretty tangential but it does make me wonder to what extent Bon is even able to separate from his vessel in this depicted point in the timeline. I sort of like the idea that he can't really separate from the animatronic much anymore, but I sort of doubt that would be the concrete canon, and I'm not married to either particular answer. It makes sense to me that he'd be much more thoroughly tied to his vessel after years, but I also think all the subtle imagery and blink-and-you'll-miss-it appearances of ghostly specter Bon would be sorely missed if it became impossible for him to separate from the animatronic completely.

Back to the actual question you're asking me. The most important thing of note to me about this jumpscare scene is that Bon very quickly flickers between appearing as the animatronic, then as the white specter, then the animatronic, and then he's a ghost again.

To me it certainly doesn't appear as if Bon is literally 'exiting' the animatronic and leaving the empty vessel behind. It's as you say, he appears to be "shapeshifting".

My honest explanation is something like this: Many of The Walten Files' visuals are intrinsically filtered through the perspective of its characters and of its narrative forces. Think of Stanley Kubrick's The Shining (Self-admittedly one of Martin's favorite movies, and quite a significant influence/inspiration behind his work): The film depicts many scenes that are intense, dramatic, and horrifying; yet some are impossible. A significant contention of analysis of the film concerns how many of the scenes are "real", and how many are delusions created within the minds of its characters. This exact concept is meditated on in virtually all horror media, or even media in general. What is reality? What makes it different from the way that we view it?

Plenty of things in The Walten Files, I believe, are not meant to be interpreted literally, at least in the case of thinking 'such and such irrefutably happened, exactly as it was depicted here.' This is especially true as it concerns ghosts: how they view the world, and how they are viewed by people.

And this really connects back to a Bon Idea I've been brewing in my head for a while. Wherein I like the thought that, even without anything about the animatronic vessel necessarily changing, Bon's real feelings and intentions can be paranormally communicated to an observer though the animatronic. Like how in the real world, a supposedly haunted object can be described as emanating feelings like malice or fear, even as the object itself remains ordinary.

David is afraid. He's perhaps not thinking rationally. And when he looks at Bon, he sees something scary, because this is what Bon is hoping he'll see. The tension in this scene, as a piece of fiction, is accentuated by the drama of Bon struggling to squeeze through the door, and then flying through it in a sudden, shocking moment. But perhaps in a purely objective, "real" version of the scene, as would be viewed by an unbiased observer, Bon's physical struggle through the door would be much less, and in actuality he only ducked through it-- with David's heightened animal fear exaggerating the reality of what he saw.

To me, I like this answer quite a lot, as I'm sure you can tell with how wordy and flowery I've been with describing it. Maybe it's not that satisfying to say "I'm not so sure this actually happened," but I LOVE thinking about the way The Walten Files plays with perspective and interpretation, especially in how it dwells on ideas as perspective-driven as guilt and grief now and into its future. It's fun!! It's unreliable narration the whole way down!!!

[twignotstick]

Flowers for Venus

She's here~ 🩵

Note: This story is based on @cupcakeslushie 's Empyrean Weeping au. These characters are not my own, and this story is in no way canon to the main story. I really made a lot of assumptions here, so this must be emphasized.

Tags: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, ROTTMNT, Venus de Milo (TMNT), NOT MY CHARACTERS, Empyrean Weeping AU, experimentation, mental issues, perspective shifting, intentionally written to be confusing or leave out information at times, they are all family your honor

Warnings (if there's anything I should add here, tell me please!): childhood trauma, abandonment issues, physical violence, repeated mentions of medical(?) procedures

Words: 6,472 🪦

Summary: Venus had one person in her life, and that was what mattered. Until she didn't.

----------------------

“I'm going to fix your body.”

The young turtle gazed up into the glass chamber before him, observing the mangled, underdeveloped, and weak body within. The vitals displayed around it were at acceptable levels; nowhere near as good as needed to survive out of the chamber, but acceptable considering the circumstances.

Not acceptable to the young turtle in front of it.

“You should be out here, learning with me. Being my sister. So I'm going to fix you.”

The turtle within the chamber did not stir- only breathed, as blood was forcefully pumped through its nonfunctional veins.

----------------------

“Huginn and Muninn helped me find more books to help you!”

Three- he had realized that the body in the chamber may not yet know his name, and so he introduced himself not long ago- bounced on the balls of his feet. He had one book clutched close to his chest, with others strewn about the workspace he had made around the chamber.

“Yokai biologists have very interesting methods! I plan on attempting some of them soon- Pops said he is going to get me some more materials before I try. He said that Witch Town will probably have what I need. The fusion of biology and mysticism is incredible! Oh! Oh! And!”

He dropped the book that he was holding on the floor carelessly, tripping over his own feet as he ran over to a table to show the body's closed eyes another. This one was thicker.

“Muninn says that this one was written by a human! ‘Mary Shelley’. It's called ‘Frankenstein’. I believe that's a name too- the surname of the main character. I haven't read it yet, because I haven't had time to. However, maybe with your improved cognitive function as of recently, it could be beneficial for me to read it to you!”

Three got no response, but he could have sworn that a part of the body's brain scan spiked.

“I can't start now. I have to finish my work on the developmental errors in your lower arm, but as soon as I finish that and find what I need to find, I'll start! I'm really curious about human literature.”

Three got to work, as the mind within the chamber grew curious.

----------------------

She didn't quite know what time it was, but she knew what was supposed to happen at this time. The voice was supposed to make noises in the room- Three, that was his name- and he was supposed to talk to her. Her? She thought that sounded right.

Three had told her about pronouns. He had said that since she was biologically female, it was assumed that she would go by she and her. Just like he was male, and went by he and him.

He had said that her name was Five.

Even so, Three liked calling her Vee, justifying it with the reason that they “matched”. Five didn't quite understand where the name came from; perhaps how her name was spelled? F-I-V-E, that was what Three had told her. T-H-R-E-E, that was his. But he spelled Vee as V-E-E. Maybe that's why they matched. Both had two E's in their name.

Their names were numbers too. One, two, three, four, five. She wondered why she was Five, and he was Three. Where were One, Two, and Four? Were they there, but she couldn't hear them? Was Pops another name for One? Pops and One weren't anything alike. She wished she could ask all the questions she had in her mind.

She wished she could see. Maybe that would explain why Three hadn't spoken yet.

Just when she was starting to believe that he may not speak to her this time, Three made noise. She couldn't see, but he stumbled through the door and sat down in a chair near her with a smile on his face. He looked at her, she could feel it.

“I'm sorry I'm home late, Vee. I met a new friend today! But don't tell Pops. He's a human.”

Five knew that word. Weren't those bad?

“Timothy isn't like other humans, though. He's nice! He showed me some insects and told me their names. Surface bugs are very different from normal ones! I think I might ask Huginn and Muninn to retrieve me some books on surface entomology. I can tell them that it's biological research.”

Entomology. That's a big word. What does that mean?

“Entomology means the study of insects, by the way. It's a very interesting branch of science. Timothy said he has books that tell him the names of different insects at his house. Oh, and a house is where humans usually live. Not a lab, like we live in. Or… a glass chamber, like you live in! Though, technically your chamber is within the lab.”

The lab. She wondered what the lab looked like.

“I think that I may be able to replace your eyes soon. I've been developing a prototype, hopefully it shouldn't take me too long to finish! From there, I just have to work really hard to get your other physical errors fixed, and then you can come out here! Maybe I can even bring you to meet Timothy!”

Timothy. That was a nice name. Not as good as Three or Vee, though. They matched. Though, maybe Timothy matched too. She didn't know how to spell Timothy yet.

Maybe they could match anyway.

----------------------

Three stumbled in today. Vee couldn't see it, of course, but Three had tripped, holding in tears. His chest just wouldn't stop hurting. Pops had said he could walk it off, so that is what he tried to do.

He couldn't walk much longer, falling to the floor in front of Vee's chamber. She enjoyed hearing the sound of his breathing, but she never liked it when he breathed this heavily. That meant he was hurt and crying. That meant Pops had done an experiment or a test. That meant Three didn't have the power to work on her body. He would always apologize for that. Of course, that never stopped him. She always heard him working.

“...V-Vee…”

That is her name. He loves to remind her of that.

“M-maybe…” Three gasped deeply, holding the breath for longer than he should before slowly releasing it. “Maybe if… I finish you… he w-won't do this to m-me anymo-ore…”

Vee couldn't feel his eyes on her. Until she could.

“I've shown him y-your guts alr-ready, though… maybe he won't won't w-want to v-vi…vivi…”

That's not how he's supposed to say her name. It's Vee.

“...Vee? Vee~”

That's right.

“Veeveeveevee…”

Is that right?

The mumbling of her name faded away, turning into slow rasping breaths.

She didn't want him to be hurt and crying anymore.

----------------------

“I want to make you as strong as One is. Or, at least, he should be. I haven't met One. Or Two. Or Four. But Pops says that it's impossible for you to be that strong. You're a box turtle, designed for defense. Anyhow, it's more important that I develop your muscle mass enough for you to stand independently first.”

Vee wondered what One, Two, and Four sounded like. Maybe their voices were jumpy and squeaky like Three's was now. Maybe they were sweet, like his was before. She wondered what Pops sounded like.

“Four is a box turtle like you. He developed properly, but don't feel bad! He got stolen away, so really, he got the short end of the stick! You're living the life of luxury.”

So many types of turtle. Did that mean they couldn't match anymore?

“I showed Timothy some sketches of my work with you. He got this really weird look on his face, and I thought he might not believe that I could fix you. But, he promised that he did believe in me! And he said he can't wait to meet you!”

Surely, he was just jealous of Three's hard work.

“I'm still working on your eyes. They're causing me more problems than I thought they would, but I think I'm getting closer to a functional product! It's just taking a while to find a good base that can survive the transfer.”

Eyes. One more sense. He taught her the five: touch, taste, sight, smell, and hearing. She had hearing- or at least, she believed she did. She didn't know what else this could be. To have two senses would be marvelous.

Three's voice went away, leaving a rubbing sound. He had told her what that was. It meant he was “rubbing his hands together”. It was a “nervous habit”.

“Pops told me… he told me that talking to you was ‘fueling my delusion’. I know that, logically, you're comatose. Your body isn't supposed to work right now, for the sake of your life.”

That made sense. She was hurt. Three said that if she came out of her coma as she was now, she would die. Dying wasn't a good thing.

“But I really want you to hear me. Even subconsciously. So- so that way, when you do wake up, we'll already be friends! A-and you'll already know so much about me, so I just need to know about you!”

That sounded nice. Vee wanted to tell him about herself. Maybe she'd know just what that meant by the time she got the chance.

“I promise I'm going to fix you soon. It'll be no problem!”

Vee liked that.

----------------------

Three was hurt and crying again. But this time, he didn't come to collapse by her chamber. He was far away, in the workspace. Vee didn't want him to be hurt and crying anymore. Three had said that hurt could mean dying. Three couldn't die yet. Vee still had to tell him everything about herself.

He wasn't even saying her name this time. He was saying the human's. He was hard to hear, so quiet, so far.

Timothy.

I'm sorry, Timothy.

What does that mean?

I'm so, so sorry.

What does that mean, Three?

Please, Tim.

Three?

Please forgive me.

I'm sorry.

I'm so, so sorry.

Three?

Three, please. She wants to understand. She wants to know you.

I want to know you. Talk to me, please. Tell me everything. Tell me about Mary Shelley. Tell me about entomology. Tell me about One. Tell me about Two. Tell me about Four. Tell me about Pops. Tell me what you're working on. Tell me how you want me to be better already so I can hold your hand and talk back. Let me hold your hand.

Tell me what's wrong.

“---ee? Vee, I'm ---y, I'm here, plea--- calm down. I'm here, please. Do I need- do I need to sedate her? I-”

He's not crying anymore. He's talking to her.

“Vee? Five?”

That's right.

“Should I read to you? W-Would you like that?”

She would.

“P-progress report 13. May 23rd. It happened today. Algernon bit me.”

Flowers for Algernon. Surface literature. Of course he would read surface literature now. He was just thinking of Timothy.

Every time Three would read this specific story to her, he would explain that the first few progress reports were intentionally written with poor spelling and grammar. He would spend the whole time explaining the correct way to write the sentences, up until the writing became legible. Then, when the writing returned to its sorry state, he would resume his corrections.

“I visited the lab to see him as I do occasionally, and when I took him out of his cage, he snapped at my hand.”

Vee knew the end of this story.

“I put him back and watched him for a while. He was unusually disturbed and vicious.”

It never ended nicely. They always had to die.

“May 24th. Burt, who is in charge of the experimental animals, tells me that Algernon is changing.”

She didn't want anyone else to die.

----------------------

Something was different. Where once there was a lack of anything, now there was something. Something Vee didn't have the knowledge to understand just yet. She couldn't understand light. She couldn't understand color. Now, it was right in front of her.

A blur of a color she didn't know the name of, green, with a dash of another, purple. Three's voice came from it.

“Eyelids are open. Should be working. Just one last test-”

Three grabbed a small blur- a silver flashlight- and shined it into her eyes. Her muscles instinctively tried to close her eyelids, but there just wasn't enough power behind it. They stayed open enough for Three to see the pupils constrict.

“Yes. Yes! YES! They work! Yes!”

Three sounded happy. That was good. Maybe he looked happy, too. Vee didn't know what happy looked like yet.

“...I have to show Pops. I have to show Pops! Wait! Stay right there!”

Three left the room, and Vee thought deeply. “They work”. Three had said that her eyes “didn't work yet” before. So that must mean that they work now. That meant that she was seeing. This was what she had been looking forward to ever since Three had attempted to explain the abstract concept of seeing.

This was it.

Those colors. The nameless ones that she didn't know- the ones she didn't even know how to identify as colors- that was Three. That was the face of the voice who had been her only comfort for all of time. That was the face of the person she wanted to comfort. The voice that she heard crying and hurting. The person she wanted to hold the hand of.

The door to the room opened again, and Three returned with a taller figure. Vee had never heard him before, she was sure of that when he got close for her to hear his breathing. Maybe she could have seen him before. He was tall, and covered with new colors. She couldn't name them, but they were gold, blue, and magenta.

“Look! Look! Her eyes are functional now! They constrict and dilate! Watch!”

Three held the light to her eyes once more, and her pupils shrank again.

The new voice only grunted.

“She's so close to completion now! Th-there are only a few more developmental errors, and she just needs a little more muscle mass-”

The tall figure lashed out at Three, as another color, magenta and pink, writhing, latched around Three's throat. He was held off the floor, just a few feet. His happy breathing stopped.

“You have obsessed over this project for too long. Your progress has been agonizingly slow, and this is what you have to show for it?”

A new voice. Deeper. More menacing.

Pops.

Three gasped for air, trying to respond.

“I suppose I must also involve myself. Your inefficiency up to this point will not be forgotten.”

The writhing mass slammed Three into the floor as the tall figure walked away, shutting the door behind himself.

Three heaved shaky breaths from his spot in front of Vee's chamber. He almost sounded like he was crying and hurting.

Was this what crying and hurting looked like? Curling over yourself? Was that what she was doing? She was supposed to be hurting. She didn't think she was crying, though. Could you hurt and not cry?

Could you cry and not hurt?

Three moved onto his knees, placing one hand on the glass. His face looked different, as if the light reflected off of it differently. His eyes looked at her. For the first time, she could feel and see it.

“I'm going to get you out soon. Then… then you can be here with me. And Pops will be proud. And I'll have you, my sister. Forever, and ever, and ever. And no one will take you from me.”

Three smiled, leaning against the glass and falling asleep.

That sounded nice.

-----------🕷️-----------

“What is this?”

Vee stood over Three at his workbench, looking down at the sketch he was working on. It looked familiar, like other ones he had made, but the notes around the margins were different.

“Oh, it's another collar for Big Mama. She has someone joining the Nexus who has some immunity to electricity, so I have to work on an alternative design…”

“How does it work?”

Three looked up at Vee as she smiled softly. She loved doing this. Getting him talking about the things he knew about.

“Okay, well, since the regular electric shock won't result in what we're going for, I have to find another method of keeping the fighter in line. So- so this collar is designed to tap straight into the nerves in the neck- focusing mainly on the more secondary nerves, but also creating a pathway to the spinal column if needed. With this, the nerves can be pinched all at once, effectively paralyzing the wearer!”

Vee looked over the sketch, resting a hand on the desk next to it. “And why is this collar shaped so differently?”

Three brightened again. “Oh, well, for one, to create a visual distinction that makes it easier for Big Mama to know what type of collar it is. But also, because the specific yokai has… no neck? Sort of? They have shoulders, but it would be somewhat easy for them to slip a standard collar off. So, alternative design! And this one can be green.”

“Very good. I'm sure Mother would appreciate the change in aesthetic.”

The stone in her pocket began to glow.

“Speak of the Devil, I suppose.”

Five slipped her mask on quickly, then answered the call. “Hello, Mother.”

“Turtley-boo! Hello! Where are you, my dear? I couldn't find you!”

“I had to deliver this week's recording to Three. I'll be returning home shortly.”

“I would hope so! Everything here is always such a tissy-tassle when you're over at that terrible place. Oh, do come home quickly, please. Your mama is getting lonely.”

Vee looked to Three, and they exchanged a soft look, even behind Vee's emotionless mask. “I'll be there in a moment, Mother.”

----------------------

This was wrong.

This was all wrong.

She was supposed to be worried about being taken from him.

What could she do, now that he was taken from her?

Four was gone. Then Two was gone. Vee thought, surely Three wouldn't be that dumb. Three was smart. He cared about her. He wouldn't leave her.

So where was he now? On the surface, living with rats and humans.

And she was left behind. Stuck under the thumb of a spider that claimed to be her mother. Forced to witness the violent aftermath that had come when Three disappeared, as Lord Draxum berated her and her mother for letting Three get such delusional thoughts in his head. Ideas that made him weak and stupid. Hopes that his family cared for him. 

But he left his family, didn't he?

She was supposed to be his sister.

And he left, in search of a family that didn't even know his name. His face. His voice. That voice was supposed to be hers. The one who took care of her. The one that fixed her.

Draxum may have caused her birth, but Three gave her life.

Didn't that matter to him?

She had been so scared of being taken from him, Vee didn't even consider the idea that he may be taken from her.

Fighting against him was something from her worst nightmares.

This couldn't be happening.

This was all wrong.

----------------------

Empty apologies.

He left, all because of a stupid dream he had been chasing. He left the family he had because of some dumb idea of a family that he had romanticized in his head. He left her.

Maybe he never cared about her anyway. She was just a toy to pass the time.

She wasn't real, anyway. Just a monstrous body given life.

----------------------

“Hi, Vee!”

Four approached her, sitting down cross legged on the floor beside her. He examined the blade she had been sharpening with an odd fascination.

“Where'd you get that?” He asked innocently.

“From Mother.”

Four straightened. “O-oh. Guess I shoulda… guessed that, huh?”

“Maybe.” Of course he should have. Who wouldn't recognize one of Big Mama's weapons?

“Hmm…” Four rocked back and forth, holding his feet. “Do you feel alright with me calling you Vee? I know that's what Donnie calls you, but I know he has like… a thing with names.”

“I’m Five,” she said bluntly, looking up at Four for a moment. “But I don't mind being called Vee.”

“Cool!” Four smiled, almost as sweetly as she remembered Three doing. “What's it short for?”

Vee paused and looked back up at Four. “Sorry?”

Four blinked. “...Vee. What's it short for?”

She squinted. “It stands for the roman numeral for Five. It isn't ‘short’ for anything.”

“Oh. Well, that's not right.” Four shook his head disapprovingly. “You need to match with us!”

That made Vee think. “Match?”

“Yeah!” Four shifted to sit on his knees. “See, cause I'm called Mikey. That's short for Michelangelo. He was a human artist in the Renaissance. And Raph is Raph, short for Raphael. And Leo is Leo, short for Leonardo. And Donnie is Donnie, short for Donatello!”

Vee put her blade down on the ground, giving Mikey all of her attention. “So they match because they're all artists?”

“Well, and since they're from the Renaissance, and since we've all got nicknames!” Mikey grinned. “Do you… want a name that matches with ours?”

“Yes.” Vee answered before she could really think about what she was saying. “I-I mean, I don't really need one, but-”

“Sweet!” Mikey patted his hands on the ground. “Now, what names could work… Genevieve? No, that would be Jenny… Vivian? Nah, that's not good enough. Oh!”

“What?”

“Well, I know all of our names are from artists, but, uh, what if your name was from a piece of art?”

Vee thought for a moment. It was certainly true that she wasn't like the other turtles. Obviously, her name would have to reflect that.

Though, maybe being a work of art wouldn't be so bad.

“Sure. But tell me the name before I agree to anything.”

Mikey's expression suddenly shifted to a more serious one. “Of course. How about… Venus de Milo?”

Venus de Milo.

“...what is it?”

“It's a statue from ancient Greece. She sorta got her arms ripped off, but she's still incredibly beautiful and detailed, and a very widely known masterpiece! Wait, lemme see if I've got internet-”

Mikey fumbled with his phone, desperately trying to gather some internet signal in the depths of the Hidden City. Meanwhile, Vee simmered in the thought. A statue, broken, never to be truly as it was before. And yet, it was beautiful, not just because of what it still had, but because it had lost. It had persevered. Because something so beautiful was never truly perfect. That was what allowed it to be beautiful instead.

Maybe that beauty made it perfect, anyway.

“I like it.”

Mikey's eyes flitted up from his hunch over his phone. “Oh? Great!” He corrected his posture. “How ‘bout you try it out? Introduce yourself to me!”

Vee cleared her throat, checking her own posture out of habit. “Hello, Michelangelo. My name is Venus de Milo. You may call me Vee.” She extended her hand for a handshake. Mikey met it vehemently.

“Perfect! Now, you match with all of us! Man, the teamwork and collaboration on this mission is gonna be on point!”

Venus smiled, turning the interaction around in her head.

Maybe she could be a masterpiece.

----------------------

Donnie loved to talk. Vee always knew that. But, for too long, she had never noticed how much he loved to be listened to; to have another directly engaging in the conversation. Once she learned that, she learned that she had a love for listening.

It was sometimes hard for her to understand her own wants without comparing them to the wants of others. She loved to listen because Donnie loved to talk. She loved to spar because that made Raph happy. She loved to ask questions so Leo could explain the nonsensical movies he showed her. She loved to eat because Mikey loved to cook.

But right now, none of that really mattered. Donnie was talking, and Vee loved to listen.

“Splinter told me that I could make him, as long as I make sure he doesn't turn, like, evil or anything. Though, honestly, if a robot uprising were to happen, I think it would be smart to just accept fate.”

Donnie was cleaning up some sort of schematic on a bean bag as a movie played on the TV. Vee sat next to him, not paying attention to the film at all. Screams about hot food went in one ear and out the other.

“So these are the plans you have so far?”

“Exactly!” Donnie brightened, then slumped as he came to a realization. “He's actually based on a design I made before you got out of your chamber. P-... Draxum destroyed that one, though.”

“Oh.” Vee slumped a bit as well. “I wish I could have seen it. Maybe I'd be more helpful now with these designs.”

“Uh, y-you don't have to worry about it!” Donnie waved his arms frantically. “It was my fault you were stuck in there anyway.”

“No it wasn't.” Vee looked at him blankly. “It was Lord Draxum's fault. He made me faulty. You helped me. You fixed my body.”

Donnie flustered, scratching at his neck. “W-well, not really. I didn't even-”

“You gave me my eyes. You gave me purpose.”

He looked at his sister, hands shaking almost invisibly where they gripped his sketching paper. Something strange came to his eyes- a shimmer, one that she knew. “I-I'm-”

“If you say you're sorry one more time, I might just rip your tongue out.”

“But I am! In more words than I can say, I am! You cared about me so much, and I just left you without a second thought. No apology I can give can ever make up for that.”

Vee sighed, shaking her head, looking at Donnie with tired eyes. “You're right.”

Donnie's nervous energy evaporated and he stilled.

“No apology will ever be enough. When you apologized to me, I didn't forgive you. When you apologized to me, I hated you.”

Venus paused, questioning whether or not she should continue. When Donnie gave no reaction, she decided to.

“When you tried to explain what had happened, I hated you. When you asked for my help, invited me in, told me you wanted me back, I hated you.”

Genuine tears started to well up in custom built eyes.

“B-because… because I couldn't believe you. You left me, and that was what was real. That was what mattered.”

Donnie took a breath in, as if to add something, but ultimately decided against it.

“Part of me still doesn't believe you.”

Months of worrying. Months of waiting. Months of simmering in hatred for the one person she had convinced herself she could trust. Months of wondering, “Would he have stayed if I had been better?” Months of unbridled rage towards her creator, who couldn't have waited just a little longer to make her right. Months thinking of her other so called “brothers” who stole her brother away.

He said no one could take her from him. So why would he throw her away?

“But you showed me otherwise.”

She never knew how to put these things into words. There was something difficult about bringing her thoughts out in that way. Because of this, she could never really tell Donnie how it felt when he first showed her that room he had prepared, which he left mostly empty for her to decorate herself. She could never explain how it felt when Splinter traced her stitches, complimenting how wonderfully they framed her features. She could never properly thank Raph for expressing his admiration for her fighting style. She couldn't express the joy she felt when she saw Leo do something that would make him feel embarrassed hours later. She could never say anything more than “It’s great” when eating one of Mikey's meals, one that should make a food critic cry.

“So you don't need to apologize anymore. You showed me how you cared, and that's all that matters now.”

Vee grabbed Donnie's hand, and the two shared a wordless understanding.

You can cry and not hurt.

----------------------

Vee woke up to the sound of someone else moving around the lair.  All of her brothers were still covered in blankets around her, and a blank tarp hung on the wall stood in front of her that she vaguely remembered watching a projected video essay on before she fell into slumber. There was only one person missing from the scene…

As she pushed herself to her feet and walked into the hall, Vee came face to face with a still bonnet wearing April.

“Oh, morning, Vee!” April greeted energetically. “What're you doing up already?”

“This is a normal time to wake up, isn't it? You're awake.”

April hummed. “I guess you're right. I'm just used to the guys sleeping in super late. You hungry?”

Vee nodded, following April silently into the kitchen. Just a short time ago, she would have wanted to cut April's head off, purely because of her human existence. Now, she felt a strange, foreign comfort around the human. Not quite like she felt with her brother, or her other brothers, but something akin to it.

April started loading up the toaster, grabbing some spreads and setting them out on the counter.

“Got any plans today, Miss Milo?”

Vee chuckled. “It's Miss de Milo, and, uh, no. You got any plans, Miss Neil?”

April laughed in turn. “Actually, I do. And since you don't have any, I was hoping you might help me out with mine.”

Vee nodded, letting her continue.

“I brought some stuff from my place to do a spa day, slash makeover day. Figured you might want to join in.”

Vee thought for a moment. “I know what a spa day is, but what is a ‘makeover’?”

“Well, it's like,” she hesitated, “it's when you put on a ton of makeup and wear fancy clothes and stuff. Not because you're not pretty, but it's just… it's a way of making yourself feel good, y'know? You've worn makeup before, right?”

“No.” Vee shrank slightly. “Mother said that it would be a lost cause. That's why she gave me the mask instead.”

“Oh.” April shook her head, scrunching her nose. “Oh, no, no. That's not gonna work. You are going to be pampered, Miss de Milo. That is an order.”

April strode out of the kitchen, and Vee followed slowly behind. Before she could see where April had gone, there was the telltale sound of a pillow being thrown into someone's face.

“Owf- wha- hey! What was that for?” Leo grumbled through the grogginess of waking up.

“We've got a busy day ahead, boys! Gotta eat breakfast so we can get to work!”

“Busy day?” Mikey asked, slightly more cognizant than Leo. “What are we doing?”

“Makeovers. All of us!”

Vee finally caught sight of April in the hallway of the living room as she saw Donnie jumping up from where he was laying. “Are we gonna do nails?!” He shouted excitedly, running up in front of April. “Can I pick the colors?”

“Of course you can, bud. Just go eat some toast first,” April responded, patting his shoulder.

Donnie hurried to the kitchen followed by his brothers, who were all still wiping the sleep from their eyes. After that, breakfast went quickly.

Raph drug a stool into the bathroom in front of the mirror, where Vee was instructed to sit. Soon, she was surrounded by her brothers and April, with a large makeup bag in the human's hands. She put the bag down on the counter, taking out a liquid foundation in the perfect hue for Vee's skin.

“Where do you even find this stuff? Party City?” Leo asked, taking out another foundation from the bag that matched his own skin.

“No,” April scoffed, preparing her workspace, “I get it online. Its makeup, not face paint. It just happens to be green. Are you complaining?”

“No, ma'am.” Leo quickly shut himself up.

“Good. Now, let's get some jobs set straight.” April started gesturing to the brothers one by one. “Donnie, you're in charge of picking colors out, and themes. Mike, you're executing Donnie's ideas, because his hands are way too shaky. Raph, my bag's in the other room, go pick something out. You'll know what I mean when you get there. And Leo, you're in charge of music and talking. Tea spilling, gossip, whatever.”

All of the turtles nodded in response, and Raph walked out to find April's bag.

“Now, Vee.” April put her hands on Vee's shoulders, looking her straight in the eyes. “You just sit here, close your eyes, and relax. We've got it all handled.”

“Okay.” Vee hesitated, closing her eyes slowly, before shooting them open again. “Wait!”

April hummed, hovering the makeup sponge she had prepared in the air.

“Can you, uh… can you leave my stitches? Not cover them up, I mean.” She couldn't help casting a glance at Donnie, who gave a timid smile.

April relaxed. “Course, Vee. Now, close your eyes and let us work our magic!”

Vee complied, and she found herself surrounded by sounds. A strange nostalgia filled her chest.

“What we thinking, D?”

“How about, uh… this?”

“Ooo! Perfect! Can I get, uh… that one first?... Thanks! Okay Vee, I'm gonna grab your hand now. It's gonna be cold!”

“What am I supposed to even talk about? I don't have any tea.”

No need for sight. Hearing those voices, comforting her. With a slight drone of music alongside.

“How about your date with Usagi?”

“Wh- April! It wasn't a date!”

“Hey! No shoving! This is a delicate art, Leo!”

“Ugh, fine.” Another shove.

“Hey! No shoving me either! I didn't even say anything!”

“Yeah, but April's busy, Mikey's busy, and you gave me a weird look.”

“I gave you a normal look. You obviously went on a date. Vee, you know?”

Vee laughed just a bit, trying not to move and disturb April's work. “Donnie's right. It was pretty clearly a date.”

“No, it wasn't!”

“Just tell us what you did, Leo.”

Unlike before, she had other senses. But somehow, removing this one made her feel comfortable. Knowing that someone else was taking care of her felt so good.

When she felt Donnie's scar covered, calloused hand grab onto hers, the comfort felt warmer.

“We didn't even-”

“Hey, April? How's this one?”

“I think it's great, but how ‘bout you ask Mister Manicure?”

“Oh. Mike?”

“That's perfect, Raph! You got any accessories?”

“Maybe in my room… lemme go check.”

The sound of heavy footfalls walking away.

“Alright, I'm gonna be working on your eyelids, so it's gonna feel a little weird. Just try to stay loose.”

“Ooo, you are gonna look so good!”

Vee allowed the sound to envelop her entirely.

“Listen, we didn't go on a date, we aren't even a thing anyways.”

“I'm going to fix your body.”

“Usagi would be very hurt it he heard that. You wanna tell him, D?”

“You should be out here, learning with me.”

“I can text him right away-”

“NO!”

“Being my sister.”

“Just admit it, Leo! You're down bad for the bunny!”

“He still hasn't admitted that?”

“No, Raph! Because I'm not ‘down bad’!”

“So I'm going to fix you.”

“Okay, keep the volume down. I gotta concentrate…”

Time passed shapelessly. Vee interacted in the conversation when asked, but otherwise, she let the noise flow over herself. Before she knew it, she was being told to stand up and having fabric pulled onto her arms, with a ribbon being tied over her shell.

“Okay, okay, just a few more touches-”

“You've been doing ‘a few more touches’ for five minutes, Donnie. She looks great!”

“SHH! Don't rush perfection, Nardo.”

Vee blushed. “You really think I look perfect?”

She felt Donnie's eyes on her. “You always have.”

Mikey awed. “Okay, okay, okay, now you can look!”

Vee opened her eyes, just as Donnie moved to the side so she could see herself in the mirror. She saw that the fabric put on her was a dress, very light blue and with flowery embroidery patterning on the bottom of the knee-length skirt. Her claws were painted with pastel colors, with a light blue backdrop behind white daisies, each having an undertone of a different color: reddish-pink, blue, orange, purple, yellow, and green. On her face, a soft blue eyeshadow was put on her eyelids, with small painted daisies incorporated into her eyeliner. Similar flowery bows were placed down the length of her braided mask tails. Donnie quickly shuffled behind her to put a necklace on her neck, with a daisy shaped pendant.

Vee found herself speechless, staring at the stranger that had been pulled out of her own skin.

“Is it alright?” April asked hesitantly.

As she rubbed her lips together, Vee forced herself to look up at the ceiling. She waved her hands at her face.

“Oh- Oh! Its waterproof! You're good!”

“It is?!” Vee squeaked, struggling to hold herself together.

“Yeah, yeah, it is!”

“That's s-so cool!” Vee finally let her tears loose, still waving at her face while nervously laughing.

“You like it? Do you like the flowers? It was Donnie's idea!” Mikey asked, beaming as bright as the sun.

“Yes! Yes, I do, thank you!” Vee paused in her flapping to look over her hands again, and the dress, and her face.

Her flowers.

When she looked to Donnie, he looked as if he couldn't be happier.

“Well that's good, cause they cost me my dignity,” Leo groaned, despite the smirk on his face. “By the way, I call next.”

April patted his shell. “Alright, Leo. We'll make you pretty so you can look good for Usagi.”

“Great, because I- Wait! HEY!”

Vee was laughing loudly now, wiping her tears delicately with a single finger. The argument slowly turned back into background noise, as Leo sat on the stool instead, squabbling far too much for April's liking. Donnie recruited Vee for color picking and inspiration searching.

And so Vee let herself exist there, not worrying about mattering or being wanted. Not worrying about if the one she cared about was hurt or crying. Not longing for another sense to experience the world with. Not questioning if she may be taken away for good. Not asking if she really had a family. Not wondering if she did something wrong, or if she even had the right to call herself alive. Not waiting for someone to talk to her.

She had her flowers, and words could never compare.

○●○●○●○

Finally, she is here. I went a little wild on this. There are just so many parts of Vee's story that I can't wait to see. She's my little brainworm 💖

I'm glad that I can get this out before the @tmntaucompetition ends, especially since EW is in the finale. Go vote for them!!! I love them so dearly :)

I'm going to edit the first chapter of my own iteration, (currently titled Second Shot), and post that soon. I simply must get my boys out into the world, especially after discovering @dluebirb's TMNT AU family reunion. Lord knows they need friends.

GO VOTE IN THE TMNT AU COMP! AAH!

Broken Brothers (and How to Fix Them)

[kianaisspiraling]

*inhales*

WILD LIFE WILD LIFE WILDLIFEWILDLIFEWIL—

Okay okay so so far I've only watched Grian's pov but I'm gonna be binging soooo many others right after this.

First off- Skizz, Mumbo and Grian is just. Such an unexpected and silly group, I love them. Skizz, loyal to the bone. Grian, loyal but can switch sides if needed; won't betray you first. And Mumbo; the least loyal guy on the server, goes completely bonkers the moment he turns red

They also all just like. Carry themselves so seriously? But will very quickly devolve into being incredibly silly? So so silly. They will NOT last long, they're gonna fall apart faster than the Southlands for sure with the cheating allegations Mumbo is throwing at Grian, but it'll be hilarious :)

Grian: apologizing for knowing the wild cards beforehand

Me: smiles and adds it to the pile of Watcher Grian lore

Moving on from them:

*inhales again*

MISSING DOG FOUND-?!?

AND WE GOT TREEBARK BACK!!!!!! :D

The sheer happiness I felt when I saw Ren back oh my void, we missed you buddy. Martyn immediately pairing up with Ren whenever they are on the same server has my heart. They're theatre kids your honor. Can't wait to see Ren pull out his guitar <3

We also have TEAM CRINGE-FAIL-?! Lizzie, Scar, Jimmy all on the same team-? That's amazing. It would be hilarious if THIS is the season Tim wins. SURELY having such a high concentration of loser (affectionate) energy will circle around to make them clutch. Surely. It's their moment.

Smth smth, Lizzie and Scar were the only two people alone last season. Smth smth, Lizzie died first and Scar last. Smth smth, Scar reaches out an unconditional hand to Lizzie, offering her an ally because he knows what it's like to be without. Smth smth, Lizzie accepts because she knows waiting for allies leads to none. They're friends now :)

I also heard Scar brought the reputation points back?? If that's true then oml we're so close to getting a Third Life parody. So so close, especially with Scar falling off a cliff and dying while singing, claiming that everything that touches the light is his. It is SUCH a good season for us folks that never left the desert. Bonus points if Grian ends up with Scar after the Sub-One Club inevitably crumbles.

We've ALSO got the op, terrifying duo of Gem and Joel. They are going to be SO unhinged. They will be the chaos group this season, mark my words. They will inevitably fuck shit up and I am WAITING for it. Manifesting Gem or Joel win >:)

And over here we've got three of the divorce quartet (Scott, Pearl, and Cleo) allied with the local supportive dad (Impluse). Ladies, gentlemen, and everyone outside or in between, we once again have the girls, the gays, and ImpulseSV. Gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss, girldad <3

The three of them just reminiscing on Double Life while Impulse stays quiet, internally remembering his little life in the suburbs with Bdubs as they stirred the pot and watched drama unfold. He DOES NOT have anything to add to this conversation on messy divorce.

Also apparently Scott canonically believes that HE'S the reason Jimmy broke the canary curse and Scar won in secret life?? Because he stopped them from allying together last season or something?? That's just wonderful to me. I don't think he's entirely wrong either, they would've destroyed each other SO quickly

Now, getting on to BigB and whatever he's got going on. Something DEFINITELY happened to him in that hole last season, because he is getting increasingly cryptic. OF COURSE he would live in the Pale Garden with the Creaking. Where else would he go??

I absolutely love everyone making BigB a Creaking hybrid, but hear me out: BigB has ALSO been made a watcher by the fandom in previous seasons because of things like the Nosy Neighbors in Limited Life and his Whole Thing in Secret Life, right? You know what the Watchers are often compared to? Biblically accurate angels. You know what the Creaking has been compared to? Weeping Angels. BigB is a Weeping Angel.

(Maybe Weeping Angels are a type of Watcher. they're closely related to the Creaking; perhaps they made it?)

(I have not watched Doctor Who, though I'd like to. All I know is that Weeping Angels are VERY Watcher-core to me <3)

Finally we have a classic trio of Etho, Bdubs, and Tango. They're taming horses, they're non-stop bickering, they DO NOT share, it's every man for themselves. Tango is third wheeling Ethubs so much rn. They get on each other's nerves. They're besties, after all they keep putting themselves together no matter how much they bicker. Team BET ily <3

Love that Etho IMMEDIATELY tries to ally with the local Watcher for inside information, but Grian refuses to give it to him. It was worth a shot, buddy. I adore every second of screen time in which Grian and Etho interact. They are SUCH a good duo for me. One Stick Wither and Etho's Dishwasher, you will forever be famous <3

Anyhow, I think that covers everything I have to say for now, having watched one pov and scrolled Tumblr for a while. I cannot WAIT for this season, as there's a lot of stuff from previous seasons coming back, with Renchanting, the divorce quartet, Scar bringing back reputation points, and more. I can't wait to see this unfold :D

[eriexplosion]

5 6 7 10 for Star Wars violence 👀

OKAY TIME FOR THE VIOLENCE (I don't know how actually violent these opinions are but pretend I am Very Vicious)

5. Worst blorboficiation?

sdfsdifj REGRETTABLY... OBI-WAN.... I love the man but fandom characterizations definitely show some Popular Guy Character Syndrome where it's all about how sad and tormented he is and while I respect that as a lover of tormented men, it is certainly an experience when you're like, reading a CodyWan fic and Cody is comforting Obi-Wan through his tragic past like he's never gone through anything difficult in his life. Also some of Obi-Wan's fun edges are sanded off, he's more generically sassy but considerate of others feelings and kind, etc, and like. He's not UNkind. But this is a man that faked his death and did not tell his emotionally unstable best friend like that was going to do anything but drive Anakin absolutely batshit insane. He watched like ten clones in a row die without a reaction and then the instant a Jedi died they all had to stop for a funeral. He tried to get Luke to kill Vader WITHOUT telling him who he was. He's kind of an idiot and can be kind of an asshole. Let him hurt people's feelings! Let him be socially inept! He is a dipshit not a harmless weep blob!

(This ties in with my desire to see CodyWan fic where they straight up get in a fight but is not ENTIRELY connected to that)

6. Opinion on canon and/or fanon use of the secret child trope? Discuss.

It works for Luke and Leia and I think it should have stayed at that. I'm not a big fan of the Palpatine reveal for Rey but I didn't want her to be a Skywalker either, sometimes you want a main that is Just Some Guy, doesn't need to be a secret child of anyone. In fanon I just REALLY do not like it, partially because it's plugging in a blood relation where it doesn't need to be. The other part is that I have mostly seen it for Obi-Wan and Satine with that Korkie kid and with how utterly repressed those two are at each other I refuse to believe they ever successfully fucked.

7. What is the weakest piece of canon writing?

It feels like cheating to say the sequel trilogy mostly because I never finished it so a thing that I definitely finished and loved but makes no sense - AOC is not the strongest movie but ROTS was like, fully just a series of cool scenes stitched together to approximate a movie. And don't get me wrong, I adore the prequels. But the only one that I think succeeds as a Movie is TPM. ANAKIN'S FALL ESPECIALLY IS NONSENSICAL AS SHIT. Like the underlying motivations are there but they were not pieced into anything resembling a coherent narrative. You have a start point, an end point, and everything in between just kind of jumps around with I think the weakest point being the Tusken Massacre - it's treated more like a sign of Anakin's potential darkness than anything when like. That's a whole village. He killed a whole village and it never comes up again! Lucas apparently didn't consider it that big a deal!

It's to a point where I actually think the massacre can't be addressed from a fully in universe perspective, because there's no actual way to twist it around so that it makes sense for that not to be enough to Make Anakin Fall without breaking the already very loose rules of the universe. Most other Star Wars points I can figure out some kind of justification for how it works in world, but to explain how Anakin wouldn't fall here you just have to kind of confront that Lucas is both not a very good writer and also approached the Tuskens with an incredibly racist viewpoint given that he doesn't appear to see their deaths as fully Counting, unlike the Jedi younglings in ROTS. It's a plot choice that, if treated with the full weight it would narratively deserve, completely unravels the entire rest of the series, the only way to make the storyline of everything else WORK is to take it out or change it so much as to be an entirely different scenario, and I can't think of any other things that fuck it up THAT bad.

10. What’s a ship you've unwillingly come around to?

I think 'unwillingly' is overstating it (but then I rarely DISLIKE a ship, so there's usually not much Unwillingly about it) but I thought Tech/Phee was cute at most until everyone started being Like That about them. Now I want them to kiss and get married onscreen. I hope that she hits that every night. Phee deserves whatever she wants.

Also Anakin/Padme probably counts because I did not actually go into the clone wars watch WANTING to love Anakin but Whoops. WHOOPS. So that meant I got An Affection for the two of them in all their messy stupid as shit glory.

[rescue-ram]

6, 11, 18 for the writer asks

6. First fic/pairing you wrote for? (If no pairing, describe the plot)

Kdjfjd. Don't remember the first real proper fic that I wrote, but I think the very first fic I ever posted to the Internet was like. "What if Pippin had a Yokomon." And it immediately got deleted by the mods on FF.net for being ""spam"" kfkdk.

11. Weirdest thing you’ve ever written/thought about writing/etc.?

I got pretty wild with Kinktober this year- I think the wildest thing I published was the Hawnk voodoo doll fic kfkdkd, though Trapper Jesus is probably a v close runner up in terms of deranged premises. I- and I am genuinely mortified about this kvkkfd- almost wrote a vore fantasy fic (aka character fantasizing about vore/cannibalism, not enacted.) I half-started it and then realized no- no matter how convinced I am this character could plausibly do that- I absolutely can't publish that kdkdjkf.

ACTUALLY 18. How old were you when you started writing fanfiction

Like 10 or 11 kfkck

EDIT I'M AN IDIOT AND COPIED THE WRONG QUESTION FROM THE ASK MEME BUT I SPENT TOO LONG ON THIS LVKDKXJCM

18. Favorite Fic By Another Author

I COULDN'T PICK JUST ONE Links and squeeing below the cut.

Your Cowboy Days Are Over by Sam Donne is one of those fics I read a little too young but is so good- it's exploration of memory and trauma and parental love and the trolley problem is woven in with this great sci-fi setting and a resistance story. Absolutely phenomenal. Another fic by Sam Donne- Nebraska, an Iron Man fic- is a fic I read once a year every year for over a decade and made me weep uncontrollably at multiple points every time. It's one of the most intensely psychological fics I've ever read and dealt phenomenally with depression and autism and the nature of consciousness, and it fundamentally shaped my language of grief. It also currently only exists as a print out in a fire proof bag next to my social security card. The thought of losing that fic forever genuinely makes me gnaw on things!

One other SGA shout out: A Farm in Iowa by sheafrotherdon. My best friend and I were completely obsessed with this series in high school. Sweet wholesome AU fluff, absolutely bucolic.

In adjacent Stargate fandom, cleanwhiteroom recently posted a revised version of Force Over Distance to AO3 and is working revising on my personal fave of her stories Mathematique! Incredibly compelling slow-burn of a plot with deliciously ambiguous relationships and consciousness blending that questions the nature of self and other. Extremely concept rich story.

The Heart's Obligations by schemingreader I THOUGHT was lost media but it is found!!!! Augh. The ULTIMATE transformative fic to me- so wildly AU from its source material, Harry Potter, it's practically an original novel and yet the knowledge that this ISN'T original and IS informed by outside context changes the way you read it. Really well written and well researched historical novel with lines that have stuck with me for well over a decade.

For Man from UNCLE, couldn't decide between Wonderland and Partners, both by Pat Foley. Really interesting and realistic take on the canon material and makes great use of the Cold War setting.

Force of Nature by Jenna Hilary Sinclair for Brokeback Mountain is an ABSOLUTELY TRANSCENDENT "What if Jack didn't die" fic that is so so realistic and well written and touching. Not a happily ever after fic, but also not needlessly cruel, but a very compelling story of Jack and Ennis making a real relationship work while staying closeted in rural New Mexico. Incredible characterization, good OCs, plotty and long enough to lose yourself in, incredibly influential on my writing in ways I can't even express, you WOULD NOT BELIEVE MY SQUEE when I saw she was writing a sequel after a ten year hiatus!!!!

Graduation by bat400 takes some of the dark storylines from Star Trek Enterprise and plays them out without giving them a neat resolution an episodic TV show demands. Fully explores the depths of tragedy but still pulls it back up to that Star Trek optimism at the end without undermining what came before at all. There are some annoying formatting issues in the AO3 copy from when it was imported, but the story itself still shines. A really well written story about grief, moral injury, and recovery.

Okay we've officially exhausted my "off the top of my head" all time favorites and I'm now mentally gibbering to myself about what else I should mention because clearly I have many favorites that rotate in the back of my mind the way normal people think about scenes and quotes from real books or poems jfkdn.

We will close with Sins and Virtues by Quordle, because I VIVIDLY REMEMBER the experience of reading this I think in high school. I remember pawing thorough livejournal for TrapHawk fic recs, absolutely QwQ at the dearth, and there was like. A single line in a review for another fic, "inspired by the excellent Hawkeye/Mulcahy fic Sins and Virtues by Jane Carnall" and I was SO COMPLETELY GOBSMACKED by the concept of shipping Mulcahy with anyone but especially Hawkeye, I just had to track down this fic. I eventually found her personal archive and started reading the series like "Okay... Okay... Augh. AAAAAAAUGHHHHHHH." I was seriously getting up to pace multiple times during Such as We. Something that really made the series stand out to me was how DIFFERENT it felt. It didn't follow the usual rhythm of tension and release in shippy fics, used none of the usual tropes or short hands- it felt very original, and I loved how historically grounded it was. Like I'm sure you've already read it but if anyone else reading this hasn't, highly highly recommend!!!

[hekateinhell]

"And did you somehow peek in my WIP notes and see that I'm gonna have rockstar AU Lestat with snot, tears, ruined eyeliner and mascara on his cheeks as he gets dped?"

As he gets what 👀👂🏼 it's Armand and Louis doing the dp right? the AU queen strikes again pls you’re so galaxy brained 🥹 Lestat’s heart-shaped hole CANON as far as I’m concerned 🫶🏻

“And even more incredible to me is that Anne said she did that intentionally to make her male characters more relatable to a female audience.” AND IT WORKED lmao. Every time she has Lestat or Armand weep for whatever reason I’m like BITCH ME TOO. Like that one picture of Lily Rose Depp crying her heart out at some birthday party? That’s them and that’s me 🥲☝️

Also yes I did send a message last week! I think I’ve figured out what was happening but sadly I didn’t save the message because I typed it directly into your ask box and hit send without thinking twice. Basically every time I send someone an ask on mobile I’m taking a huge gamble lmaoo, sometimes it goes through, sometimes it doesn’t and I have no way of knowing unless they reply. Last week I took a few gambles and both tumblr and god failed me 😭 It was just me gushing over your #vckinkweek entries tho! It took me a WHILE to get caught up but I loved them both sm and I can’t wait to see what you come up with for vamptember xoxo DA ❤️

'Lestat's heart-shaped hole' is my new favorite phrase bless you DA 🫶🏼

yes of course, Armand and Louis 🥹 I've been wanting to do this one forever, I hope I can get it done while I have the next couple weeks off but we'll see! there's a few different kinks I want to throw in there and it's always a balancing act rip

same same, reading VC is a visceral experience for me; I am gutted, I am sick, I am crying each and every time!

lord it figures god, tumblr, and the universe failed us both last week 🤧 I can't believe this broken site is the best place for us to fandom, that's so sad. but I'm glad you enjoyed the stuff either way! I'm happiest with the knifeplay one and I'd love to expand on it sometime soon. I wanna get gory, I think it would be healing for them all 🥰

the thought of vamptember coming up in three weeks scares me, I'm not ready

XOXO

[almostempty]

!!! @miss-oranje-disco-dancer i'm SO glad you read it!

*it's probably weird for me to take out a single piece of dialogue like this but i just feel like this specifically really caught me as something that encapsulates his voice

ok no because you totally get it, it just felt so right, it was like half the reason I wanted him to stay

*this is the only that i want with a man, not kidding, like i could do a self-psychoanalysis here but i can *feel* this right now.

I feel u on this, deeply

*her thinking she wants him to play it off (us both - me and reader- believing he will) but admitting that she *does* truly want to let her guard down

Totally, the bracing for impact, trying to ignore the hope heheh

*dolores dei with her golden lungs

I wasn’t familiar, but I’m glad you mentioned this and got me curious. Just reading the wiki page about her was really interesting and the art is beautiful

*slut slut slut!!!

Heheheheheheh

*i love angsty javi

U and me both

*he can't help being kind of a horndog (if you will), but he's such a lover. javi falls in love with every woman it's canon

Right! As he should!

*stop making me think about his nipples!!

HAHAHAHAAH whoops

*holy shit this was so hot!!!!!!!!! i love her

<333333 same

*gorgeous gorgeous line of imagery

I’ll be here gently weeping about this ty

*but for some reason "you'd like to hear more of his voice" makes me feel something

RIGHT

*such good characterization of him. and i love the way they feed off of each other, the chemistry (reminds me of javi and helena where you can just *feel* it emanating through the screen)

Um thank you thank you, that’s incredible. i was waffled a lot over what felt right with that part

*if you know anything about me, you know that i *hate* happy endings (usually)

Heheheh will keep in mind

*it didn't feel over the top

I really didn’t want it to be an eye roll inducing ending, but for some reason the more I edited, the more they seemed to have a connection worth exploring, I'm really glad it didn't seem too over the top

THANK YOU SO SO MUCH for reading and for sharing your thoughts, that really means SO much to me, I keep rereading all of it <3

Maladaptive Coping Mechanisms 

Part 2

Pairing: Javier Peñal x f!reader

Summary: Looking for an escape from a horrible day, you take a sexy stranger home from the bar. 

Warnings: smut, pwp, dom reader/sub jav undertones, switch reader/ switch javi undertones, oral sex, piv sex, AU unprotected sex has no risks bc it's fic, pwp but some feelings involved, pet names, dick & pussy pronouns,

Notes: still practicing, would love feedback, constructive criticism, or delusional inspiration <3

thanks to @miss-oranje-disco-dancer for your thoughts on part 1, i hope this part lives up to the first, and to @gothcsz for encouragement, and the kind anon who asked for part 2

WC: 5.3K

AO3: here

Part 1: here

It hurts gasping to catch your breath. Lungs filled with water. Eyes shut so tight a dull headache starts behind them. Every second feels like an hour. In your empty room, alone in your bed. Drowning. Sweat cooling and drying on your skin as the airconditioner hums. A sticky, wet pool of come between your legs. Damp, sweaty sheets. Great, add them to the laundry pile and everything else from your life you’d like to toss out the window. And over what? A man you said ten words to before your smile and fingers digging into his bicep begged him to fuck you? 

When you open your eyes, you can still see his staring back at you deep, warm brown. A new mirage to haunt your mundane existence. You can still hear his baritone voice scratching your ears. You blink and blink, but it doesn’t fade. Javier is standing before you. No shirt on, jeans unbuttoned. Sweat on his golden chest still casting an ethereal shine. He’s holding a fresh glass of water. Your dehydrated body salivates. He’s not a mirage in a desert, though. His shirt is still on your floor with yours. 

You scowl at him, drawing a confused look from him. 

“Something wrong, cariño?” he asks pointedly. 

“No.” 

He sets the water down but doesn’t move closer. He gives you a look. Like he knows your ‘no’ was bullshit. How would he know? He doesn’t know you. Irritation creeps in, replacing the suffocating emptiness. He places a hand softly on your thigh. Gentle so you don’t bolt and run into the street to get hit by an unsuspecting driver in the dark, unable to see you until their headlights flood your eyes and reflect. 

“Thought you’d left,” you answer quietly but honestly. You don’t know him. Why do you care if he thinks you look pathetic? 

“That fast? Without a shirt?” 

You shrug. 

“You want me gone?” He asks, revealing nothing about his own desires. Stoic and frozen to avoid bias. 

“No,” you shake your head, grab the water, swallowing and swallowing. It's so cold it hurts. You hope it never runs out. He can’t see who you really are if you’re hiding behind a glass. Despite your wishes, the glass runs dry. Javi takes it from you and sets it down. 

You look at the man in front of you with sober eyes. He’s incredibly handsome. Without being fueled by blind rage, alcohol, or a contagious horny fever, you aren’t quite as confident. In fact, you suddenly feel overcome with vulnerability. A cord of insecurity wraps around your throat, constricting. You reach for another cigarette to escape the sensation, but Javi intercepts. He takes your hand in his, pulling you towards him until he gets you out of bed and standing before him. He pulls you towards his broad frame and holds you tightly. Pressed against him, chest to chest, you listen to his deep, slow breathing. Skin to skin, he co-regulates you like a baby, fragile in his arms. 

You fight against it. Feeling pathetic. Unable to bare your fangs. Unable to slash with your claws and push him away. He holds you too tight. A heavy lump in your throat renders you unable to speak. Too raw. You’re lost at sea. Circling a whirlpool of dark thoughts. You wait for his rejection. An excuse. A line. A wink and a slap on the ass. A reason to stop fighting and drown. You shouldn’t care if he leaves or ruminate on what he says. He was a distraction. A hot, talented, unforgettable distraction. Another cigarette to burn down to your fingertips and discard in the pile of ash. 

As if, once again, he could hear your hurricane of thoughts bellowing and howling for your attention, Javi shushes you. 

“Quiet.” He runs his fingers up and down your spine. A little light shimmers behind your ribcage. His touch is soothing, and his voice is grounding as he hums into your ear about how soft your skin is. You inhale, your face pressed against his body. He’s spicy, earthy, and smoky. You bite and lick at the flesh you can reach. A barely there noise rumbles in his throat, only for you, only for the ear flush against him, flesh and blood. 

“Shhhh,” he murmurs, “enough.” The light in your chest flickers again. It’s dim, but still, it could guide someone through the dark forest of viscera in your chest cavity to your heart. You shudder. Letting someone follow that beacon through the labyrinth to your jagged, glowing soul? No. What if they see the ugly shape, naked and scarred and bruised? What if they know what you need? What if they give it to you altruistically. 

A stony scowl sets in place. Corners of your mouth weighed down and brows drawn tight. You break out of his hold. Rough and harsh against the warmth between your bodies. 

“How do you know?” You demand an answer. 

“Know what?” 

“Why are you shushing me?” 

“Too loud up here,” he taps the pad of his finger to your temple. A fissure streaking down your stone barricade.

“How do you know?” 

“You have tells.” 

“You don’t know me like that,” you jab a finger at his chest. Hostile and baiting. 

“I’m observant,” he says like it’s a reasonable explanation, unperturbed by your bristling. You stare at him expectantly, waiting for more. Might as well cross your arms and tap your foot. Observant? What the fuck does that mean? 

His hands flex at his sides, his mouth twitches, and then he rolls his shoulders, staying loose and relaxed. Like some thought just rolled through his whole body. “I’m not a good guy,” he says like it’s a fact. Not a threat or self-deprecating. Neutral. 

“But, I know what I’m good at,” he continues, “you clench your jaw, start breathing shallowly, and your eyes–” 

“Got it. I’m a walking billboard,” you cut him off sharply. 

“No.”

You stare back at his face. Unreadable. You wonder what his tells are. 

“I’m observant,” he repeats. You raise an eyebrow at him. “And,” he pauses, “I may have some special training and experience.” 

“In …observing?” 

“Something like that.” 

“What are you Javi? A PI? Secret agent man? FBI?”

“DEA.” 

“DEA?” 

“Formerly.” 

“Formerly? Did you get fired? Caught on the take? Testing the product?” 

He snorts at you. You cracked a smile out of him. It softens you. A playful ease reemerging.  

“Retired.” 

He’s a man of few words, it seems. His walls have a strong foundation. You scrutinize his face and body swiftly and blatantly. 

“You either have some freakish age-defying genetics, or the DEA retirement age is earlier than I thought,” you muse, earning a little huff of air that sounds like a stifled laugh from him. 

“Chose an early retirement; resigned.” Something else is on the edge of his tongue. It doesn’t formulate. 

“Did you like it?” You ask with sincerity. He blinks. Unprepared for that question. Shit, was that the wrong thing to ask? You notice the lines in his face. He runs his thumb across his bottom lip in thought. You wonder if that’s one of his tells. It’s kind of a slutty one, you think to yourself, suppressing a smile as you focus on his mouth. His lips. Soft and plush. The way they fit against yours– 

“I don’t think so,” he decides, “maybe early on.” 

You smile up at him, “s’good that you’re out of it then,” you say with an assertive nod. 

He nods back with a deep exhale. Release. Like he’s letting go of something, but his eyes seem unfocused now. Another tell? Maybe you need special training to know. He seems far away in his head. Withdrawing. No, you want him to stay present with you. You liked how it felt when he appeared connected. Here. With you. You liked his confidence. The chemistry egged you on like you both were in on a secret. You think you might know how to bring him back. Plus, he needs it, you decide. You aren’t done with him, and he hasn’t disappeared completely. You readjust internally. More. You’re still smiling, but with an edge he hasn’t caught yet. 

“Hey, Javi?” You purr. 

“Hmm?” Still faraway. 

You pick up one of his hands in both of yours and kiss each finger. Watching his face. Looking for the light behind his eyes. The tactile sensation draws it out like a stagelight, he’s fixed on your mouth. The size of your hands around his. The hunger in your eyes when you look through your lashes at him. 

“What else are you good at?” You drop your voice. Your demons chitter and flap around the room. Maybe they’re chasing his. You drag his fingers down your body. Slowly. Both your heads droop, chin to chest, watching the private show. Just for you, except it’s for him. Between your breasts, down your soft belly. Lower and lower. Breathing your shared hot air. All you can hear is the fan in the airconditioner and your pulse. Time weighted down by the tension. You pause. His hand is heavy, dead weight in yours, letting you have him. You reverse, tracing back up, the same path, until you’re about to kiss his fingers again, but instead you wrap your lips around one and suck. 

“Fuck,” his eyes widen briefly, and his jaw hangs slack. You pull off his finger wetly. Alluring. You don’t have to act. The expression forming on his face brings out your devious seductress. Smiling, wide. You bite your lip, toning it down. Batting your lashes at him. You’re like an image from a dream he’s been having since he was a teenager. He hopes he doesn’t wake up from it. 

“Javi?”

“Yes.” 

“What else are you good at?” you repeat. Tolerant of his lapse in responding. For now. 

The switch flicks. He regains autonomous control of his limbs. Hands curl around your form, until one rests along the back of your neck, fingers slid into the hair at the base of your skull. The other wedges between your legs. Hot against the sticky mess you’d been forcing yourself to ignore since he first got out of your bed. He’s here, back. 

“Good at making a mess of this pretty little pussy.” 

“Mmm,” you agree. His voice unlocks something ravenous. 

“Good at making you come wrapped around these fingers,” he slips and swirls them through the mess between your legs. Obscene. 

“Mmm.”

“Good at filling you with this cock until you forget how to say anything ‘cept for ‘please, Javi’,” he declares as his other hand wraps yours around his growing length. 

“Yes.” 

“Good at giving you something to feel,” he continues on. He is no longer a man of few words; he’s not a laconic lover. A filthy little devil dances on his tongue. He’s a willing vessel. Tugging at your hair and slipping through your folds. 

You giggle airily, and he pauses his running list of sex skills, waiting for an explanation. What could possibly be funny to you right now. 

“Giving me something to feel,” you slip between another giggle. “Right now,” you pull at his wrist, “I feel like we could use a shower before we keep going. We’re messy.” 

He laughs with you, and you adore how his eyes crinkle when he smiles wide. 

You wash each other in the shower with care. Roles reversed from the cab of his truck, you sternly demand he behaves in the shower, citing an unreliable hot water tank. It’s hard to resist fooling around covered in soap, but he holds up his hands in surrender. He promises to behave. But his cock refuses. It pokes and prods at your soft belly and lower back. Teasing. Begging to be scolded for disobeying. Protesting in opposition to Javier’s earnest affection. He’s gentle washing your back. Vulnerable letting you wash his. It’s rejuvenating. He cleared your mind earlier, and gave you something to feel, with care and attention. You commit yourself to returning the favor. You’ll give him a break from whatever led him to brooding on a barstool. 

You have a feeling he doesn’t give up control very often. He’s such an attentive listener, though. He’ll do great, you decide. 

He knows something has changed. Wretched observant thing he is. 

You are busy thinking, but you don’t have the same look on your face as you did at the bar or when he came back to your bedroom after getting more water. Your mind is racing, but with vigor. It radiates through the hot steam. A sparkle in your eye. Fluid movement. As if it were all premeditated, you dry off and direct him. 

He’s bewitched by the riddle of you. Bold and quick witted, but raw and honest. It’s easy to notice when you’re lost in your head, but he can’t predict you. Time speeds up and slows down in your presence. Like he was knocked out cold, face to pavement. Then thrown in the backseat of a speeding car, but it’s on a cross country trip. When he makes eye contact with you in the rearview mirror from the backseat it’s unnerving. Is he your hostage? Were you the getaway driver? 

You catch him drifting away. Naked and wet in your too bright bathroom, exposed like he’s on an operating table under the bright fluorescent lights. You watch as he towels off on autopilot. 

He realizes he wants to stay longer, not because he knows the broken look from your face earlier, but because something else already stitches you together. You’re peculiar. Direct. Expressive. His speed. Some unspoken understanding, resolute and vibrant. Cutting through the void of the unknown. Real. He can read when you disappaer, but he can’t predict you. 

Javi shakes his head to himself, lost in this train of thought. You’ve known her for a few hours. A couple drinks, sex, and a shower, he reminds himself. He also knows how you taste and how you feel wrapped around his cock, whining please, and that thought fans the flames. 

Enough. You decide. He needs this. 

He smells fresh and sweet from your body wash as you lead him back to your bedroom. He pulls your back into his damp chest, running his hands along your body and nearly purring in your ear. Good.

You whip around and take a step back, surprising him. He hesitates. You’re analyzing. Calculating. Your eyes drag over his body. His big brown eyes and kiss-swollen lips register that you pulled away from him. His hands flex like a predator, ready to grab and pull you back to him, but restrained. His cock reaches out towards you unabashedly, shouting for your attention. 

You can’t help but feel the smile you feel pulling at the corners of your mouth. 

“Javi?”

“Yes?”

“Are you good at following orders?”

“Nope.” 

You laugh, surprised by his quick honesty. 

“Kind of oxymoronic,” you ponder. 

“How?” 

“Well, now I don’t know if you should earn my favor for answering honestly or if I should prepare a punishment if you’re going to misbehave.”

Something flickers across his face. He swallows it. 

“Let me try again.” You move closer and cup his cheek in your palm like he did to you when you first sat on your bed for him. You look into his eyes and speak softly, “You gave me what I needed earlier. Made me feel so good I forgot everything else.” He waits for you to continue, but you feel his chest puff with pride. “I’d like to give you what you need now, Javi.” He swallows again. You wondered if he’d have a quip for that, but he looks so serious. Focused. 

“But first, I need to know if you’ll be good for me, Javi. Can you do that? Can you be good for me?” 

You feel him melt slightly, into your palm, nearly imperceptible the weight shifting into your hold. 

More. The wildfire within you is lit. Blazing. 

“Yes,” he nearly whispers. A flush of heat crawls up his chest. 

“Can you follow my orders?” 

“Yes, mi reina,” he said, consenting. That’s new. 

“Mmm,” you purr at him. 

“Does your pretty cock know that?” 

He blinks with a thin veil of confusion at you. Uncertain. 

“Yes,” he confirms. 

“Look at me,” you order. 

You sink to your knees in front of him. You ego does flips in your stomach. He looms over you, but you hold the reins. You pepper little kitten licks up the underside of his shaft, holding his eye contact and pausing. You rest your soft cheek against his thigh. He’s tense. Waiting to know the rules. 

“Does he look greedy to you?” You study the precome weeping from the head of his cock inches from your face. 

“No, mi reina.” 

“No?”

You avoid his crying erection and impishly toy with his balls. Lazily, you kiss and lick and suckle at them for your own enjoyment. And when you stop, you feel the weight of his gaze, and his unanswered questions, the payback. 

“So good for me watching and not touching,” you praise. “But, baby, look. He’s drooling like a rabid dog.”

You swipe up a trail of the glistening fluid with precision, doing nothing to relieve him. He swallows tightly, his body buzzing with tension like a livewire. He finds it easy to dole out pleasure, direct his energy towards someone else, drown in unraveling a woman’s desires. But your knowing look at him is unnerving. Rattling his bravado. You move with precision, intensely. 

“Tell me, Javi,” you peer up at his face, “do you have a greedy cock?” 

You’re going to ruin him. 

“Yes,” he relents through an exhale. You’ve found it. Kept locked in a cage. Leashed in the dark. How did you find it? Did he lead you there? 

You tilt your head at him. 

“Yes, mi reina,” he adds. 

“Say it for me, baby,” you push. 

He takes a shallow breath. You grin at him like a Cheshire Cat. 

“I have a greedy cock, mi reina, a greedy disobedient cock.” Unlocked, you pocket the key. You’ve unleashed something within him. His feels a swirl of sick pleasure twisting in his core. 

“Yes,” you exclaim with a bright look that gives him a rush. He wants to keep making you look like that. 

“You can touch.” You reward him. Too easy. 

He reaches for you, and you swat at his hand. 

“No, baby, you can touch your greedy cock, not me.” 

A whiny little groan comes out of him, prickling with need. 

“Slowly,” you add, watching as he obeys. His hand pumps slowly. You can’t resist. Holding out your tongue, you move close enough that his rosy head taps against your wet tongue just long enough to get a taste. You hum. Pleased with his obedience and the taste of him. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, closing his eyes tightly. 

“Your eyes stay on me, though,” you remind him gently, with leniency for his current state of executive functioning. 

“Would you like to know a secret?” You tease as you stand up and lean into his ear. 

“Yes,” he pants. Breathy and gravelly. Delight coats your expression, you 

“I like your big greedy cock,” you lilt. 

A soft whine is pulled from his throat. You frown dramatically at him. Causing him to pause his tense strokes and his brow to furrow. You love the intoxicating feeling of having him at your mercy. 

“But you already knew that,” you admonish, shaking your head at him. 

“Already knew that,” he repeats. You’re not sure he could tell you what he just agreed to know. 

“Not a very good secret then, I guess,” you think aloud. You’re light and lucid, bouncing around him as he’s anchored in the quicksand of your spell. 

“But do you know,” circling behind him, you press your soft tits into his back, and you continue to rasp towards his ear, “how wet my pussy is now? Just from the idea of taking your cock down my throat? She’s about to drip down my legs.” 

“Fuck,” he pants again and stops moving. You feel like the sun. You urge him to turn towards you as you crawl onto your bed and lay in the center. His eyes flick all over you, wanting to see everything. 

He’s fighting to figure out where to lock his eyes. It feels euphoric to see how openly aroused he is by you. 

“Did you know that?” You repeat. 

“No.” 

“S’what I thought,” you reposition yourself, “you wanna see for yourself?” 

“Yes,” he answers rapidly. Eager. 

You show him. Parting your legs to display the evidence. So wet and tender for him. 

You’re locked in a timeloop. When you see his eyes flood with lust, and his body tenses, your desire swells in your core, flooding your glossy folds. When he sees your glistening sex fluttering and pulsing, it nearly brings him to his knees. A horny sisyphian wet dream. Turning each other on. But, crucially, you know how to break free. 

“You wanna taste?” You ask. 

��Yes, please.” Good manners. 

He starts to move towards you, and you press him back. 

“No, baby, lay right here, and I’ll give you a taste.” 

He’s obedient. Settling next to you. For a moment, he has the urge to drag you by the hips to sit on his face. To take you for himself, no games. But then he hears your sweet voice praising him and feels overcome with a dizzying sense of validation. 

“So perfect, baby, look at you,” you continue showering him with adoration. You’re mesmerizing with your sweet scent, wet lips, and your glassy eyes. Too good for him. He doesn’t deserve your attention like this. 

You see the crease between his brows as he starts to overthink. Enough. You bite sharply at his nipple, and he yelps and gapes at you. You straddle his waist and give him a stern look. 

“Stay here with me, Javi,” you order, ”don’t disappear in there.” You tap a finger lightly against his temple. He nods. 

You hover over him and slip his swollen head through your folds, easily coating his length. He shudders and groans. So openly vocal and responsive to you. That’s good. I like to hear you, baby. You use him as you please, like a toy circling your clit. But it’s everything about him that saturates you in pleasure. 

“Feel so fucking good,” you praise before pulling back and shifting down between his legs. 

You lick and suck your arousal off of him. Loud and messy. You climb towards his face. “Open,” you place your hand under his jaw, “taste,” you murmur before feeding your tongue into his mouth. Kissing hungrily he lets out desperate, deep groans. Relaxing into your movements he simply accepts what you give and lets you feel his uninhibited reactions. 

He finds you vexing and tantalizing. Letting him touch and taste, but not directly. He’d have half a mind to argue with you—despite having tormented you just the same—but how you light up and laugh when you best him fills him with a more profound desire. He likes how you look when you’re in charge. He likes that he just has to keep up. He likes being all consumed by the present moment, so caught up in you he can’t think about anything else. 

You break away, seemingly satisfied with his participation thus far. You’re ethereal and glowing above him. 

You slide down and return to your retribution. Teasing by lightly drawing your fingers around his leaking cock as it lies against his lower abdomen. You revel in delight over his muscles tensing and flexing, and he huffs impatiently as you increase the intensity of your vengeance. You trace the same outline with your tongue; you use his moves from earlier, breathing warm and cool air over his length and watching it twitch. 

You stare up at him as you run the flat of your tongue from his balls up to his tip. He looks wrecked, staring back at you, and you feel powerful, holding his attention.  

He catches the flash of a smirk before you slip your mouth around his tip and nearly overwhelm him with the warm slip of your tongue and the pressure of your mouth wrapped around him. 

“Fuck,” he rasps. 

You don’t let up, swiftly taking him further down. You focus on breathing and working him into the back of your throat, then back to just the tip. Your saliva drips and coats him as your hands work in time with your bobbing head. It’s messy, and the noises are pornographic as you pour your enthusiasm onto him. He’s cursing and groaning while you continue on, and you can’t take the sight of him anymore. You pull off him and crawl up the bed on your hands and knees. You sit up and pick up one of his hands. 

“Javi, I have a problem,”

“Shit, what?” 

“When your cock is in my mouth, my pussy gets jealous. She’s too empty,” before he can respond, you drag his hand through your obscenely wet folds. 

“Fuck,” he chokes out. It must be his favorite word. 

“Mhmm,” you agree. 

“Use me,” he says in a hoarse voice. 

“I intend to,” you reply. 

And you do. You ride him with an unrestrained vigor. You start bouncing up and down, tossing your head back to give him a little show. You drive him into a frenzy as you freely describe how good he makes you feel. And when he looks wholly fucked out, you taunt him for looking so pleased when his body is yours to use. 

When he breaks, you feel his hands caress your body greedily. He squeezes at your hips, and he gapes with stars in his eyes at your tits perfectly filling his hands. He gropes at your ass and digs his fingers into your plush skin, pulling you down harder onto him with each bounce.

You consider how you might torture him further for touching without asking, but decide you just need to see him come undone. A single thought crosses your mind like a brilliant marquee on an empty boulevard.

He remains happy to obey as you instruct him to swap positions. 

“You’re going to keep fucking me hard and deep while I come on your cock,” you order as you trail your hand down to your clit to your liking. 

“Yes,” he agrees. “Come. Come on my cock.” He chants raggedly as you do. Your orgasm ripples across your body until the oversensitivity hits, and you press your hand into Javi’s chest. He pauses, hovering over you. You breathe as you come down and observe the exertion written across his features. 

“Again,” you state, and he slides back into you. “I need it now, Javi,” you continue. “I need you to come. Fill me up. Just like you promised.” 

You can’t get there with him again fast enough, but don’t need to. You just want to feel him deep inside you, releasing everything he’s got. And he’s more than willing to follow orders. He thrusts into you deeply until his hips jerk, and you can feel him pulsing inside of you as he comes. 

“Please, take it.” You make out in between words that he smothers in your skin.  

When he collapses on top of you, and your fingers rake through his hair, it’s as if he turns to liquid, and your soul absorbs him up. 

You hum contentedly at him and push until he rolls off. 

You order him to stay in bed before you’re off to clean up, bring him a towel, and of course, refill water glasses for both of you. As you walk into the kitchen, you see the flashing light on your answering machine. You didn’t notice it when you got home earlier, but it reminds you of the reality of the night. You know it’s a scathing message from your ex for walking away hours ago. 

You feel a thread of annoyance, but it doesn’t escalate as you return to your bedroom. 

Javi is where you left him and watches you with a funny look in his eyes as you carry on about your tasks until you return to his side. He likes seeing you move about your space, naked and unhurried. How insistint you are about taking care of him, it feels natural. 

“What?” you grill him for staring. 

“Nothing, nothing,” he assuages, raising his hands in defense. 

You like how he looks in your bed with his dewy skin and mussed hair. 

“Seems like you can be good at following orders,” you note.  

“Depends on who’s doing the ordering, I guess” he shrugs, and you roll your eyes. 

You offer him a cigarette and notice the time on the clock on your nightstand. 

“It’s late,” you state, and he nods, taking a long drag. 

“Stay,” you suggest, hoping it doesn’t sound needy. 

“That an order, mi reina?” 

You didn’t expect to hear that endearment outside of sex. It makes you float. 

“Yes.” 

“Good.”

He’s there. In the morning when you wake up. Taking up too much space in your bed, sprawled on his stomach. Trapping you under a heavy arm. Snoring hot air into your shoulder. His body is a furnace, the sheet balled up towards your feet, leaving his bare skin exposed to the morning light. His smooth back and the curve of his ass are candid and honest next to you. You figured he would’ve disappeared before you woke up. Like a cryptid. You thought you’d be searching for any trace that he was real. Fortunately, you are surrounded by evidence. He is real, and unguarded. And somehow weighing your whole body down with just one arm. You squirm trying to check the time and he stirs. You still. 

“Morning,” he grumbles. Of course his morning voice is sexier than you could’ve imagined. 

“Morning.” 

He peels his arm from your skin, releasing you. Free to stretch you reveal the ache in your shoulders from sleeping in that position with a groan. The room smells like sweat and sex, with faint notes of your shampoo and his aftershave lingering on your pillows. You instantly miss his touch, despite the fact that you were overheating from his warmth. You wait for a clue. What happens next? He was supposed to be temporary. A high you chased. Just a distraction, help you avoid reality and your emotions. But you like having him spread out on your mattress in the morning. You’d like to hear more of his voice. 

He flips onto his back and scoops you under his arm. Oh. Head on his chest. You hear the strong beat of his heart in his chest. You might as well try. 

“You want–” “Can I–” 

You both laugh, your head bumping into his chest. You urge him to go first. Reveal his hand. 

“Can I take you to breakfast?” he asks, “maybe after another shower,” he adds considering whatever fluids are still pasted to his skin. 

You couldn’t have resisted the smile spreading on your face if you’d been warned ahead of time. You know he feels it pressed against his skin. 

“I was going to offer to make coffee, but that does sound better.” 

“Good.”

“Plus, I could use a ride back to my car. It’s still outside the bar.” 

“A ride, hm?” His voice melts over the top of your head. You’re not listening to the words. Floating in a cloud. Just the baritone of his voice keeping you in the air. “C’mere, I’ve got a ride for you, cariño,” he growls into your hair before pulling you all the way on top of him. You shake with airy laughter, sitting up. Your laugh lights up his eyes. He looks at you like he wants more. 

It’s enough. 

[reilliane]

I just had to share a brainworm I had for Vigil after your stories made me bawl in my room at 1AM!! This isn't a request or anything, I just had this sink into my head and needed to throw it at someone!!

I can't help but imagine an AU where Kazuha's sister was found by the Shogun's forces just a breath away from death and her unconscious self dragged before the Raiden Shogun for judgement. With a fugitive and the perfect leverage right in front of them, Yae Miko is put to work on resuscitating her and bringing her back to health.

Thus begins the years spent in total isolation as a hostage for the Shogun. The only contact she gets is when she gets her meals or Kujou Sara's rare visits.

Flash forward to Aether arriving to liberate Inazuma with Kazuha when Sara intercepts them with an offer from the Raiden Shogun. In her eternal mercy, in exchange for the fugitive and the visions of the leaders of the rebellion, she will free Kazuha's sister.

Her proof of her survival is yards and yards of embroidered fabric. All decorated beautifully with thousands of maple leaves. Years of work all showing Kazuha how long his sister has been trapped, and the thought that maybe if he'd done just a little more that night they could spent all those years together

and the thought that he abandoned her still alive out in the cold

Omg the angst fuel in this is so splendid, the tea is bitter, I like it so much- (Oh the healing wonders of Electro)

I couldn't resist expanding your idea, darling anon, I hope you don't mind. If a short appears with this idea, it's dedicated to you

More under the cut because it got incredibly long hehe

I'm not kidding, it's long- (✿◡‿◡)

I think this idea of yours will work best after Signora's death, where the Traveler rendezvoused with Gorou, Kazuha, and the resistance. Sara is quick to recover and call after them—the Traveler won in the duel, why not propose an exchange, then?

Imagine Kazuha refusing to believe it at first because he was there- he was there when MC took her last breath. Or so he thought.

Then just- Sara taking MC from the dungeons to have her kneel at the steps of Tenshukaku and oh boy, the reality crashing down on the poor man.

Right there, reliving the moment his friend went through is his sister—her [c] eyes still have the gleam, but they're so- so foreign now. It's like they've lost all hope, they're there, but incredibly distant.

Kazuha faces a crossroads and everyone is looking at him. Will it be betrayal or not? I strongly feel, though, that he won't abide by the exchange, but oh how it just crushes him.

He tearfully rejects the offer and that's when Ei strikes—and of course, we have to stick to canon- he manages to awaken Tomo's Vision and boOOOM!

The very moment the Traveler is taken back to Ei's Euthymia, you can bet that all hell broke loose. Nothing but burning hot red is what Kazuha sees and there is only one goal in mind, he must get MC back—even if it means making an enemy of the Tenryou Clan by smiting Sara.

Kazuha's already weeping by the time he manages to save MC and all that leaves him are apologies—starting from the very start.

For being distant, for only making amends when it's already too late, for leaving her behind despite it being her wish, and for not choosing her earlier. MC's without a doubt the sacrificial kind, he knows she would prefer it if her brother chose Inazuma over her, but still.

The guilt, dears, the guilt-

And he just holds her in his arms, rocking them both so gently like MC did when they were younger. Caressing her hair, whispering his apologies amidst his tears, promising to keep her safe, promising to be a better brother.

And- and, though MC does not respond verbally, still stuck in the eternal horror she's faced alone, she just- holds her sibling's arm, and the latter breaks apart immediately.

MC's recovery process will take a long time and just having her there spaced out makes Kazuha remember all the tragedy- and then he's silently tearing up again.

Oh and for more angst? Just MC looking at him- blank and out of it, but she wipes his tears away, regardless. Poor Kazu just spirals down into anguish even more.

All that traveling he's so desired? To travel the world? They're gone.

He will be by his sister's side all the time during her healing, taking baby steps, slowly reteaching the beauty of the world like she's done for him. It's hard and it's a long way to go, but it will have its merit.

And just imagine the bittersweet feelings that rupture when one day, someday, he's cooking some food for them when he hears it-

"Kazu,"

He just- stands there frozen because did he hear that right?

And he turns- and MC's standing there- although she looks as if she's come from war, the light is back in her eyes and she's gazing at him the same way when there were no troubles for them.

Then just- oh my goodness- him just whispering a trembling, 'nee-san..' in disbelief. Then his mind kicks into motion and his tears are springing back again- and another crying session starts, but the difference now is that MC is actively responding.

She's healed—she's alright, she's back, she's alive.

And Kazuha won't make the same mistakes again.

(Actually he did, and that was burning their dinner lmao- but that's alright, because their first bonding time after so long is cooking! :DDD)

[zilveninde-blog]

pridevowed  no offence but i don’t understand anyone who’s...

noctis is smelly

that’d be ok i can’t smell him anyway but the spine. 

the non-existent spine. 

                   regis u fucked up and u know it.

[sublimesublemon]

just rewatched. play-by-play thoughts below:

the visual cues are INSANE. the flickering of gwen between gwen and spider-woman just as she's walking through the world is beautiful.

love the hair. it's like an asymmetric half-undercut and i love that for her

i can't believe that not only did gwen lose her peter, but she KILLED her peter. i don't think was alluded to in the first movie, just that she lost him - that SHE was the cause is just. FnJWGNWielsFWS. so good. and that scene of spider-gwen fighting her lizard (peter) very dramatically but with music that's just kinda standard casual flashback music is. so good

is that jk simmons voicing jj jameson? yep, yep, sure is. sony really owns all the spider-man property in the world, don't they? they can kinda just do whatever they want to with all that ip. incredible

as fun as all the variations of animation was in the first movie, they seem to be amping it up even more in this one, and it's STUNNING - the renaissance vulture is (mwah) chef's kiss

i'm always intrigued when media makes a commentary on what is or should be considered "canon." i feel like it's easy to do that wrong, but simultaneously there is no bad opinion on canon

love a guy who doesn't really understand his own powers yet

jk simmons is jj jameson in literally every single universe. that's so fucking funny

"i'm not your guy in the chair" LMAOOOOO shots taken at the mcu, love to see it

we just gonna kinda handwave away this counsellor being racist towards miles and his family huh

"hypothesis: i'm going to put my head into this hole." that's not a hypothesis lmfao i love a bad guy who's a scientist but also dumb as rocks

wait hold the fuck up that's the convenience store lady from venom.

AND THE FUCKING REAL-ASS DAILY BUGLE LEGO SET THAT YOU CAN PURCHASE IN REAL LIFE????? and ofc jj jameson is still jk simmons. this is so fucking funny

there is something inherently romantic about two spidersmen swinging thru the city together

miles and gwen sitting just having a heart to heart on the underside of a balcony, upside down, looking at the cityscape, upside down. this is. gorgeous. genius.

i feel like im at an age where i understand both miles's pov and his mother's pov. this scene is making me very emotional

pavitr prabhakar yes yes yes

HOBIE YES YES YES YES YES spider punk yes yes yes yes yes yes ye yse yse syfb eysf usefvSHefeWjksfobWHEs im in love

i truly cannot say enough good things about this animation. like when they're in the presence of anything multi-universal everything just gets weird and scratchy and like a mishmash of styles and it's. lovely. it's genius. i cannot say enough good about how this movie looks, holy SHIT

i love what it says about spiderman as a character that when the 4 spidersmen are unable to stop the building from falling, they immediately jump into "get everyone tf out" mode. they don't go back to trying another way to stop the building, they don't fret or weep, they just start going. cause like, sometimes you can't stop the threat. sometimes the best you can do is protect people from being harmed by the threat. that's who spider-man is, man

all the spidersmen living upside down is silly, but c'mon. how are you not gonna have fun with this concept

why does the horse need a mask? "to conceal her face." infallible logic.

DONALD GLOVER???????? AS THE PROWLER???????? YESSSSSSSS

love that when miguel's giving his "i'm spider-man" schipel, he's melancholic about it, not excited. like that alone tells you what you need to know about him. fantastic directing

"wanna see pictures?" "she's right there" oh so he's maes hughes. fantastic

OH SHIT THEY GOT GARFIELD IN THIS SHIT. bro seriously sony understanding that they own all the spider-man media is very good. i keep saying that, but i can't get over it

TOBEY MY BOY YOU'RE HERE TOO!!!

god i love hobie

ALL THE SPIDERSMEN yes ye syes yes yes eya f

god this whole idea of a society of spidersmen is just. absurd. it's ridiculous. on its face it's so dumb. and i love it

ALFRED MOLINA

"i feel bad--" "GOOD." good. very good response.

miguel's whole thing about how miles shouldn't be spider-man bc the spider that bit him was from another dimension is, like, antithetical to the whole idea of spider-man. it doesn't HAVE TO be a special person. the fact that it's almost always peter parker is happenstance. it doesn't HAVE TO be anyone. spider-man could be ANYONE. that's the whole POINT

"everyone keeps telling me how MY story is supposed to go. nah. i'ma do my own thing." YES YES YE SYE YES this is what it's like to grow up. this is a coming of age story

this movie is so beautiful.

HOBIIIIIE love that man

"i can do both, spiderman always does both" YESSSSS that's the POINT i love this i love this movie so much

no matter how many times i see a straightup 2D spider-man in this movie i'm like yo. yooo. brilliant

"what did you do to your hair" is such a genius way of indicating miles isn't in the right universe. nothing has changed about his hair in the whole movie. he didn't do anything different with his hair, but he isn't in the right place

oh so it's a coming out allegory too

god this movie is so beautiful. it's a cacophany of animation styles and it's just. incredible.

not gonna name any specifics bc it's just out today but dude i am currently 10 minutes into spiderverse2 and it is. SO good. i was honestly not holding my breath bc the og was so good and like truly how can you make an adequate sequel to that masterpiece?

but whoops, seems like they did!