#I’m not in control of my own tags

[velvetjune]

“Darkness flowed from Cauldron Lake. Gaze into the black mirror of the lake, you'd see it all around you, and you'd understand, it was already out, already where you were. It was already too late.”

�� Alan Wake 2

[toxintouch]

Yooooooo, you write fan fictions, don't you? Halloween is, like, right over there *points*. would you be willing to do one of mhin taking sparrow ghost hunting? and maybe even having a "guest appearance" of a certain shadow manipulator?

if this has already been done, could you point me in the right direction?

thank you~

I've never seen a fic like that but omg. This is such a brilliant idea, I love how all the pieces come together so perfectly–Vere being said to be responsible for his fair share of local ghost stories, mentions of Mhin and haunted houses in the Uquiz results… Premium thoughts.  I had a lot of fun writing this, ty for giving me the prompt!! :>

It took a couple of extra days but it's also longer (~2900 words) so hopefully that makes up for it.  p.s sorry if u meant it to be more gen bc I wrote romantic pining lol Volume Warning! Ambiance (~BEAUTIFUL FOX NOISES) for y'all /j

Cold Spots

You pull your cloak tighter around yourself, sheltering your remaining body heat from the howling wind.  

You ignore the shiver that creeps down your spine.

You’ve been warned that the night is chilly in Eridia at this time of year, but you haven’t quite scraped together enough coin to afford more layers.  So you huddle closer to the swaying lamplight of the Wet Wick, attempting to leech warmth from the cheery (if occasionally overwhelming) atmosphere of the bar.  You’re on edge, wary about straying too far from the Wick’s affable open doors and the balmy light spilling out of them.

You crane your neck to peer as far as you can around the corner without moving, eyeing the myriad of nearby alleyways, all full to the brim with shadows, searching for a familiar splash of moonlight and blue sweeping through the night.

 That’s when you feel eyes on your back.

You freeze, all of your senses on high alert.

“You’re where I asked you to be.”  Mhin says in lieu of a greeting.  You startle, reeling around to face them.  Even when you're expecting them, they have the uncanny ability of sneaking up on you.

“You say that like you’re surprised.”  You chide, in mock affront.  “You’ll notice that I’m also on time.”  Your giddiness shows on your face, a smile tugging at your lips.

“Don’t act so pleased with yourself,” they snipe while rolling their eyes, “for anyone else, that’s the bare minimum.”  They frown, looking you up and down with their arms tightly crossed. “...Is that what you’re wearing?”

Any further quips you have for them die in your mouth, drowned out by nervous chuckling.  You realize they must be asking (in their own way) if you’re not going to get too cold.  You know you could just ask Leander or Kuras for some seasonally appropriate attire but you’d rather not rely on further charity if you can’t help it.  Hence: “I’m, um, warm blooded?”  You mean to inject an appropriate amount of bravado into your voice, but it comes out as more of a question.

Mhin sighs, long eyelashes brushing their cheeks as they close their eyes for one long moment.   “Sometimes I wonder…  Fine.  Let’s just get going.”

The floorboards shriek beneath your feet as you step across the threshold.  The entire shack seems to groan and sway, protesting audibly against the wind.  You stick close to Mhin’s back as they hold their gas lamp up, casting an eerie glow about the interior of the abandoned building.  Their keen eyes do a quick sweep before they nod decisively and usher you inside with a single precise motion.

The bellow of the wind sounds almost like a scream as the door shuts behind you.

“So, what are we looking for, exactly?”  Your voice comes out hushed, the haunting atmosphere insisting that you behave accordingly.

“Likely nothing.”  Mhin responds.  “Actual ghost sightings are very rare.  And of those, few recorded instances come from trustworthy sources.  People in Eridia can be quite superstitious.  Count on rats or other pests.  It’s more plausible that this is a mere infestation rather than–”

The roof above your heads gives a long, low creeaaaak.

You both pause for a beat, listening to silence.

“How would we know if it's a real ghost?”  You ask, more out of curiosity than anything.  You’re not about to waste the opportunity, if Mhin is willing to keep talking.

“Depends on the type of ghost.”  Another protest from the floorboards as Mhin wanders further into the dark.  Since you don’t have a lantern of your own, you have no choice but to follow close behind.  Unless you want to stumble around with nothing but the shatters of dusty moonlight cast through the cracked windows to guide your way.

Mhin and you make a quick round of the small building, finding it mostly empty, only a few pieces of broken furniture left behind.  You draw closer to the back wall, carefully avoiding moth-eaten curtains, heeding Mhin’s warning about a small step.  Based on the layout, you think this place might have been a bar or entertainment hall of some sort.  You imagine it had a nice, cozy parlor at one time, though now it’s fallen into squalor.  As Mhin examines the walls for signs of pests and other clues, you examine the graffiti strewn across them: crude jokes and lewd drawings, mostly.  Some scattered names, belonging to people and gangs you’ve never heard of before.  

Framed in the center, though, there's a huge riot of colorful paint.  An abstract painting with no proper canvas.  It's beautiful, somehow, though hauntingly morose.  The artist has contained their work in a neat square, not a single streak of color escaping the precisely imposed prison.  You’re not sure what the intent of the artist was choosing somewhere like this to display it…  

“Is there a type of ghost that makes artwork?”  You wonder aloud.  You almost wish that Mhin would hand you the lantern so you can get a better look.

Mhin clicks their tongue, sparing barely a glance toward the makeshift painting.  “I wouldn't define that as art.”  Mhin follows the line of the wall to the corner, their lantern held up to the wall.  “That’s just…paint.  If you’re looking for ghosts, try looking for scratch marks.  Those are a possible indicator, though not always a reliable one.  A sudden feeling of hot, or cold–any otherwise unexplainable temperature change.  A strange odor…”

You give the air a sniff.  “...I don’t smell anything.  Do you?”

“Dust.  Rotting wood.  And you’ve stopped using Leander’s bath soaps, which I’ll commend you for.  Why anybody would want to smell that strongly of–”  Mhin stops and gives a short whiff, their mouth slightly parted.  Their brows furrow. “It is unusual…I don't see or smell any signs of rats or roaches.  No vultures either…”

“Maybe something else scared them away?”  You posit.  You shuffle closer to Mhin, not liking the way the shadows around you seem to flow and ebb the longer you look at them, your mind making up shapes.  There’s a silly part of you that wants to feel Mhin’s cloak between your bandaged fingers as reassurance that they’ll stay close.  They’d probably hate to know that you see them as something to cling to–a source of comfort, safety.

You try to take another step closer to further dampen your trepidation, but instead you trip over– something–and stumble directly into Mhin.  They catch you on impulse, strong and quick enough to steady you with one arm while holding the lantern with the other.  You breathe an apology, your lips bumping against their chin as they help you get your feet back under you.  

You both search the ground to determine what knocked you off your balance.

It's a dirty old rug, rucked up at one edge.  

A long line of what appears to be claw marks lies half uncovered below it.  Mhin kneels beside the marks, studying them intently, carefully moving the rug to reveal yet more splintered wood.  “I’m not sure what could have done this,” they admit.  “The marks are fresh, but none of the dust was disrupted…”

The floorboards groan another protest, though it bounds off the walls in strange ways, making it difficult to pinpoint exactly where the sound originated.

“Aural contortions.”  Mhin announces.  “And a feeling that you’re being watched.  Reflective surfaces will behave oddly as well.  Hold this.”  Mhin hands you the lantern (more: shoves it into your grasp, really) reaching into their satchel.  Their nimble hands pull out a handful of alchemical concoctions, one which shines like the inside of a seashell, a tiny silver locket, which they flick open to reveal a small mirror.  There’s symbols etched into it, so old and worn away you can’t make them out.

You draw the lantern closer at their behest, illuminating a small smile spread across their face.

Is Mhin …Having fun?

“Is there anything I can do to help?”  You ask, hoping they don’t notice the warmth in your voice. Getting scolded would kind of ruin the mood.

Mhin glances up, blinking at you like they almost forgot you were there.  Their tongue peeks out, wetting their lips as they consider.  “Yes,” they finally agree, “would you–”

The lamplight is smothered by an unknown force.

The cracked streams of light from the window are gone, leaving you in darkness.

Mhin swears, their voice distorting as if they are suddenly very far away.  A moment ago they were crouched beside you, but the shadows surrounding you are so inky you can’t make out their silhouette at all.  Instinctively, you reach your hands out in front of you before freezing and reluctantly forcing them back down.  If both you and Mhin end up stumbling around with hands outstretched, there’s a possibility that they might accidentally grasp onto you and disrupt your bandages.  (You wish you had given into your desire to hold onto them earlier.)  

You whisper their name, frantic, hoping they can hear you.

“I’m here,” Mhin assures you, their voice pitched low and cautious.  You feel the gentle press of a foot against yours, a light tap of reassurance against the side of your sole.  “Stay close.”  There’s a brush of fingertips against your back.  “If the entity is particularly powerful, it will be able to move objects,” Mhin cautions, “but a ghost should never be capable of causing harm to humans directly.  And there’s not much in here that it could throw.  Just stay calm.  If you don’t keep your emotions in check, it will only be more incensed.”

Light flashes through the room again in a spotlight, guiding your gaze to a particular area of the building.

The abstract mural is defaced, dripping black liquid splattered boldly across the wall like arterial spray.  You retreat a step, feeling something wet beneath your feet.  There’s a sharp, astringent tang in the air.  Musty and earthy-floral.  Old velvet and leather, parchment and fresh paint.

You realize, with a sinking feeling of cold terror, that the black ichor on the wall spells your name.

    Eyes on you.  

Touch like a gossamer spider web.  Brushing against the nape of your neck.

“Mhin,” you whisper urgently.  “Something just–”  

The cold hits you then.  Bone deep and all consuming.  Judging by the way Mhin swears, they must feel it too.  Whatever this unknown entity is, it’s close.  And it wants…

Shadow flickers, fingers reaching for you, claws grasping, white glint of teeth.

Mhin sneers audibly, reaching for you and reeling you in by your cloak just before the figure can snatch you up.  Their arm wraps around you, guiding you with them as they recede.  They sweep their stiletto in a wide arc and you hear the clang of metal on metal, though you have no idea what it was that Mhin hit.  Their night vision must be immaculate–you can hardly see more than the fresh glint of their stiletto blade.

“Turns out it is a vermin infestation.”

A bark of laughter.  

Very familiar laughter.

The door starts to rattle on its hinges, moving to the rhythm of Vere's glee.  Mhin walks over to it, dragging your shaking body with them.  With a definitive kick from Mhin and a final cackle from Vere, the door bursts open.

Mhin tugs you out into the open air and slams it behind them.

“Awful fur-bag.”  Mhin spits the words out like the mere thought of Vere leaves a bad taste in their mouth.

You’re far enough away that the black paint clinging to both of your shoes is no longer leaving footprints, but you can’t say the same about the bone deep cold.

You’re shivering so hard your teeth start to chatter, adrenaline magnifying the chill in your bones.  How did Vere even do that?  You rub your arms and nearly stumble into Mhin in the process.  Their features twist into a half-formed scowl, eyes sweeping you before softening into something more delicate.

You find yourself staring into eyes that seem to catch the moonlight, words caught in your throat.

“You’re freezing.” Mhin murmurs, resting a hand against the curve of your cheek, testing your temperature.

You’re surprised at the contact.  Mhin is always so careful about touching you–it’s something you appreciate, usually, this unspoken agreement between the two of you; Mhin doesn’t ask intrusive questions, just makes silent hypotheses and treats your personal space with care.  You appreciate it–usually–but sometimes, (constantly), you wish…

Mhin’s thumb pets against your jaw.  They glace away from you as they do, unable to hold your gaze, but they don’t remove their hand, even as the moment hangs heavy in the air.  Their hand is soft, you think, fingertips like silk, though you can feel the thick calluses built up at the meat of their palm.  Likely hard won and harder lost, trophies from their time as a freelancer and whatever secret misfortune befell them what led them to Eridia.  Unthinking, you nuzzle into their touch, luxuriating in the coveted feeling of skin on skin.  You have half a mind to turn your head, press your lips against their calluses, kiss them like you’re drawing poison from a wound.

Mhin catches your chin between their thumb and pointer finger.  Their grip is assertive, certain.  You’d worry that you’ve angered them somehow, but the intensity of their gaze, the subtle tilt of their head, the flush of their cheeks, the featherlight caress of their breath on your lips…

–You think they might–

They back away abruptly in one smooth stride.  Their hands work quickly at the intricate clasp on their cloak.  Oh, now they’re really looking away.

“Wear this while we head back.  You didn’t come to this city to die of cold.”

They look at their bracers pointedly as you hesitate, as if itching to adjust them.  You slowly reach out and put the garment on.

The trek back to the Wick is uneventful.  The occasional star glances out from the pall of clouds constantly lingering in the Eridian sky.  You look for the waning moon, finding its reticent light and following it home.  You return Mhin’s cloak at the door, careful to hold it in a way that allows them to take it without having to touch you – touch your bandages.  

Mhin looks, oddly, a little reluctant to see it returned.  You’re not sure how else you can possibly read their body language.  Their hunched shoulders, the downturn of their mouth, their uncharacteristic lingering.  Holding the cloak in their hands like they can’t quite decide what to think of it.

They let out a sharp breath.

Mhin levels you with a pointed glare as they settle their mantle across their shoulders, affixing the clasp without need to look down.  “Buy some warmer clothes.” they order, “Tell Leander that the contract is complete and the buyer’s ‘ghost problem’ is solved.  The building should be fine for renovations, just tell them to start their renewal project on a day when the Senobium is actually holding Vere’s leash.”

  “You’ll come back for your cut tomorrow…?”  Confusion rolls off your lips.

“No.”  Mhin crosses their arms again.  “I just told you to buy some warmer clothes, didn’t I?  Consider it hazard pay.”  Again, that disgusted tone Mhin reserves for Vere.  “Even with that taken into consideration, you’ll still owe me, though.  Don’t forget.  I’ll collect some day; everyone does in this city.”

You’re not sure what to say.  Mhin is insisting that this is just a loan, and you believe that wholeheartedly.  But that doesn’t mean it isn’t charity.  Mhin’s also offering you transparency–an open disclosure of the deal you’re agreeing to.  You take their cut, buy what you need, and resolve to pay it back when you can.  And if Mhin needs something similar in the future, you’ll return them in kind.  

You think you stumble over your words a little, but you agree to their offer.

“I’ll be back to collect another contract.  Hopefully something that’s not a waste of my time.”

And a promise to come back is a promise to see you again, isn’t it?  To include you in their life?  Is that what you’re supposed to take from this?  That Mhin cares for you, even if they won’t–

  Or is it your foolish heart, showing you a path that isn’t really there?  

“Goodnight, Mhin.”  You say the words, but their back is already turned, steps already taken.

   ✦ EXTENDED ENDING...? ✦

You putter around in your room at the Wet Wick as you go about your nightly routine. The occasional cheer or thud from below only accentuates your nervous energy, punctuating your reluctance to settle down and get into bed. You smooth the covers with your bandaged hands and fluff the pillow before extinguishing the lamplight. You tug the bedding up above your shoulders, fighting to get comfortable. As your eyelids finally start to droop, the flicker of a shadow catches your attention.   It dances and sways and bends and grows until suddenly it is right in front of you.  On top of you. Silken, blood red drips down onto your face, a knife gleam smile too close for comfort.  You breathe in a gasp, wondering if you should scream. “Vere, what–” “Shhh,” he coos, pressing a finger lightly to your lips.  His breath is hot against your skin. “I only came to keep you warm, pet.”

✦Heat Signature (Vere Continuation) ->

[itspileofgoodthings]

School is going so great and also I am so exhausted and also I am having an existential crisis

[gwengoodrich]

House M.D. reboot/spinoff no one but me would watch: Doctor Masters - recently divorced Dr. Martha M. Masters accepts a job as head of a new Diagnostic Department by Dean of Medicine Alison Cameron and forges a homoerotic bestfriendship with head of Neurology Chi Park. Episodes would focus on typical medical mysteries as Masters learns to lead her own team of ducklings and instill in them her brand of bending, but not breaking, the rules. Outside of work, Masters struggles to balance her need for control with a newfound impulsive streak, eventually managing to integrate into the local BDSM scene, becoming a dominatrix. The gained confidence from taking charge in her off-hours actually helps her become a more authoritative force as a department head.

[sarellathesphinx]

Both square enix and other players can take the idea that Cait has his own personality and sense of will separate from Reeve from my mummified hands

[neurospicyyy]

Yes, I threw fits when I was a kid.

No, I wasn’t in control.

No, you shouldn’t judge me for it.

Yes, I am aware you think I had the choice.

But surely you understand I didn’t really have one?

Surly you understand I was struggling?

That I’m still struggling?

That I always will be?

[neim-batteries-not-included]

jonathan jarchivist sims when i fucking catch you

[inkykeiji]

>.<

[solitaireships]

Found an article talking about racial imposter syndrome in mixed people who look white and finally I’ve found something that describes it

[thecryptidbard]

.

[narugen-moved]

okay if hoshina gets promoted to captain status in another division i will literally be so sad but it would be extremely fitting if he ends up nurturing a whole batch of recruits/an entire division through his kindness.. passing on the warmth that his captain showed him when they first met.. ough

[eighteenoheight]

Unpopular opinion but I actually like Jessica’s diver outfit. I think it’s camp and tacky which is very much her personality. The one leg and the high heels are so stupid I can’t help but love it.

[pinkfey]

rachel amber haters were literally like ugh i can’t believe she cheated on chloe with these two grown ass men twice her age, one of which being her violent drug dealer, the other being the guy who literally groomed drugged kidnapped and murdered her….. what a manipulative snake!!!!!

[itspileofgoodthings]

I was teaching Ophelia’s death scene this week and one of my classes spontaneously giggled when she died (because they are 16 years old and emotionally immature) and I said, in a shocked voice, “it is NOT funny” and they all insisted that it was and so I let it go but then the next day I showed them some Ophelia art, made them think about how sinister it was that her death happens offstage but is still described in such detail for the viewer, which tells us she was WATCHED but not HELPED as she died, and then played a clip from Branagh’s Hamlet of Kate Winslet singing a mourning song for her father and when I tell you how satisfying it was to hear a total and complete hush fall over the room

[foxmulderautism]

my experience as an autistic writer is my silly little story honestly feels like an alternate version of this universe that i just have access to for some reason and spectate which is why it feels so real because as far as im concerned it is real what else would it feel like to have entire lives playing out inside your head? but i don’t think i can just say that to people unless they feel the same 👍

[starstruckodysseys]

oh i am OBSESSED with this intro