#always a scary thing to think about!

[not-poignant]

The angsty boys really out here learning and growing, huh?

Do you think a character can be more emotionally mature than their author? As an author of many years, have you identified any blind spots in your characterization and therefore been able to learn and grow personally through said realizations?

P.S. The past few excerpts have been so soft I just want to print them out, shred them up, and use them to stuff a stuffed animal so that I can squeeeeeeze them. Ugh, I can’t even stand it 💛

Do you think a character can be more emotionally mature than their author?

Oh absolutely.

I would even go so far as to say this is actually more common than the opposite.

Authors are good at writing what they've never had any experience in. This includes writing characters funnier than they are, smarter than they are, dumber, cooler, more emotionally mature, more immature than they are. It's not just about writing settings they've never been in, jobs they've never had, life experiences they've never gone through, on every level you just can't know if something reflects the author's experience in that thing, including their maturity.

I've had readers assume all kinds of things about me based on my writing, and I'd say a good chunk of it isn't true! (Though I'll always feel touched by the military person who assumed I had military experience because I wrote it like someone who had lived it - I don't have military experience, I have a good imagination. That's my job).

As an author of many years, have you identified any blind spots in your characterization and therefore been able to learn and grow personally through said realizations?

Yes and no.

Fiction makes things a lot easier than they are in reality. The fact is a lot of PTSD takes years and years to recover from. Most of my stories are over in 6-12 months (within the timeline of the actual narrative itself.) Fictionalised healing narratives give characters happier endings, faster. It distills something of the human experience for people, and gives us all a road map, but it's not always a very realistic one, or it is, but only in some ways and not others.

Like, I have definitely learned things from my characters, but there's also been things I haven't been able to apply to myself. Writing the character isn't 'doing the work' for example. Knowing that communicating hard things is important doesn't actually make doing it any easier. Seeing lots of examples of characters surviving the process doesn't always make it possible to feel like you're going to survive the process.

It's why when people tell me 'this story made me realise I needed to see a therapist for my own issues, I'm doing so much better now, thank you for helping me do this' I have the urge to say 'thank you' but also a massive urge to tell someone that like, they were the ones who made themselves do it, who found the strength/courage, who self-reflected, who were ready or had a 'right place right time' experience to go on that journey. And some of those people are far more healthier mentally now than I am. I've actually watched like real people read some stories, have some realisations, and now achieve things in their life I still struggle to.

My job is to be good at imagining things and conveying them, but that doesn't mean I - or any other author - picks up the skills or emotional maturity or even knowledge that we write down! It would be great if it worked that way.

Anyway TL;DR it is possible to grow through writing (and reading) characters, but it's also possible to just write stuff and not actually change / grow from it (at least not in a way that's immediately noticeable).

As for blind spots in my own personal character, I'm constantly confronted by them. I have a lot of flaws as a human being!

[choccy-milky]

how to scare a goody two-shoes ravenclaw 👵🏻

[2129888]

@pkaykim i'm so happy i got to be your secret santa this year wow... your art is like a balm on my soul but also makes me crazy every time i see it cannot stress this enough big fan. anyways until i learn how to write fanfic please take this missing moment in comic form! class 2-4 i pray for you...

@oofurixmas thank you for all your hard work organizing this event! the dedication and love of oofuri fans is always so amazing to see!!

[itsahotminuteinbetween]

small vent comic

(And more venting in the tags)

[phoenixkaptain]

I love Luke who is beloved by his students, but I also, at the exact same time, love Luke who is feared by his students.

Master Skywalker whose reputation precedes him. The galaxy as a whole believes that he killed Darth Vader and the Emperor both. The tales say he faced them both, entirely alone, and then got out unscathed.

Master Skywalker who floats through the halls, appearing like a specter, invisible to all but the most proficient at finding Force signatures. He speaks to Jedi of old and meditates unmovingly for hours and his stare pierces through to the soul of whoever receives it.

Sometimes, Master Skywalker vanishes into thin air without a trace. His students either find themselves faced with Leia Organa, a fearful person in her own right, an older student, or some random, wandering Jedi that rumours have claimed to be long dead. Master Skywalker vanishes and reappears without explanation, only offering a smile when asked where he was, his responses always vague.

Master Skywalker who is always fully covered, only one hand remaining bare. Nobody has ever seen him look disheveled. Nobody has ever been able to catch him unaware. Whenever anybody knocks on his door, no matter what time it is, he is always sitting in pristine robes, ready to scare off any troubles that find his students.

Just. Master Skywalker who once faced a black hole and won. Master Skywalker who killed a rancor. Master Skywalker who blew up the first Death Star. The most terrifying man in the galaxy, and he’s only more mysterious the more time one spends around him.

The comedic potential of this scenario is unparalled.

[mishy-mashy]

Imagine we get to the Paranormal Orphans chapter (410) in the anime, and instead of a normal narrator like Midoriya or AFO, it's just- Present Mic.

*Present Mic*

DAMN MAMA-RAKI! YOU REALLY GAVE BIRTH TO THAT?!

If only he was swept away by the river at birth and drowned- COUGH!!!

[turtleblogatlast]

[ cw: violence mention / death mention / ]

Will never stop thinking about how Leo, all alone in an endless void and being beaten again and again and again by the only other living thing around, still finds comfort in that space. The situation he was in was completely hopeless, and in any other circumstances he would not have escaped, at least not fast enough to save him from permanent (or even fatal) damage, be it physical or mental.

And yet, despite the bleakness of his situation, despite the agony and helplessness, all he needs is one glance at a crumbled photograph, one glance to remember his family, and that’s enough of a reason for him to smile.

Maybe that’s why his powers center around manipulating space - because no matter how much space is between them, no matter how dire his own situation may be, just the thought of his family, alive and okay, is enough to give Leo hope.

[t6fs]

The last several months have been a vortex and i'm really struggling to keep up but at least there's the consequences to @zeebreezin 's actions on discord.

[shallowseeker]

I was thinking about Cas's little sarcastic dig in Family Matters here ("Of course. Your problems always come first.")

Sam, and especially Dean, don’t want to be treated like they’re being babysat by Cas, yet in the early days, they often hope Cas will be endlessly available, invincible, and strong.

(And it's complicated because... compared to them, Cas kinda IS!!!)

Cas, for his part, occupies a complicated space for them. While he is given room to be vulnerable at times, he’s also relied on to be everything at once: Dean's partner in times of trouble, someone who will "be there when Sam calls" and "tear the attic up for Sam," all while shouldering cosmic battles.

The irony is even deeper when Cas gets referred to as "a child" or "a baby in a trench coat"—yet his strength, sacrifice, and loyalty are counted on without question.

(Cas is often goaded into being stronger, of course, because Dean is scared and needs that strength from Cas more than Dean needs it from anyone else, even if Dean doesn't understand why that is. And even if Cas doesn't catch everything in those references, Cas can't help but FEEL that expectation.)

///

BY ANYWAY, BOBBY. In Weekend at Bobby's, Bobby is SOOooooo parent-coded in this episode in a way that kinda parallels Cas in s6.

It's an off-key parallel, but both Bobby and Cas are expected to be there. Bobby without "selfish" complaint, Cas without visible weakness.

Their struggles often go unnoticed unless voiced outright—something Bobby, in true crusty Bobby fashion, has no prob doing in Weekend at Bobby’s:

INT. BOBBY’S HOUSE – NIGHT BOBBY: I – I hear you, son. I – it just ain’t a good time. DEAN (over the phone): Yeah, okay. You know what – Forget it. I mean I'm baring my soul like a freaking girl here and, uh –And you've got stuff to do. So that is – that's fine. That's fine but, seriously, a little selfish. Not all about you. [Bobby gets angry and leans forward.]

///

Dean is going through a LOT, but it's funny how like a child he comes off here. He's spinning out, and he has "no one to talk to," and Bobby's his DAD!

Dean invokes his own emotions like "baring his soul," and is clearly taken aback when Bobby isn't immediately receptive. It shows how Dean expects Bobby to always be there, without question, no matter what Bobby might be dealing with.

That’s classic "invincible parent" territory: the idea that their needs are secondary, or even non-existent.

(Aside// This is sometimes a bit how Sam can treat Dean throughout the run of the series, and how both boys occasionally treat Cas in s6).

///

And then Bobby tears them a new one!!! :D Yay!!! It's a real family moment and I LOVE IT:

DEAN (putting Bobby on speaker after Bobby tells him to go get Sam): You're on speaker, Bobby. BOBBY: Sam. Dean. love you like my own. I do. But sometimes [Bobby pauses and takes a long drink.] Sometimes… You two are the whiniest, most self-absorbed sons of bitches I ever met! I'm selfish? Me? I do everything for you! Everything! You need some lores scrounged up – You need your asses pulled out of the fire –You need someone to bitch to about each other – [Sam looks at Dean, puzzled.] BOBBY (over the phone): You call me and I come through – Every damn time! And what do I get for it?Jack with a side of squat! DEAN: Bobby – BOBBY: Do I sound like I'm done? Now look. I know you've got issues. God knows I know. But I got a news flash for you. You ain't the center of the universe! Now, it may have slipped your mind …that Crowley owns my soul! And the meter is running! And I will be damned if I'm going to sit around –And – and be damned! So how about you two sack up and help me for once? Dean looks very humble and Sam calm. SAM: Bobby, all – all you got to do is ask. DEAN: Anything you need... we're there.

Hits like a tired, overlooked parent.

He reminds them he gets nothing in return from them, which is a HUGE call out to how invisible and thankless his role as caretaker has become.

Bobby’s "sack up and help me for once" is both a plea and a challenge, demanding they grow up and recognize that he, too, is vulnerable and needs support.

It's the parent figure finally voicing the toll of always being strong—for once, asking to be seen.

Dean especially is humbled here. He's been the caretaker for his family, so he gets it immediately.

How hard he was leaning on Bobby.

///

Aside/// This season, Dean's actual support group is small, maybe even consists of just Bobby and Cas. Dean is short on "Dean understanders" this season; that is, he's short on people who see his core experience as not merely a brother, but an actual *pseudo-parent. Dean is a parent of Sam Winchester: and Sam is a complicated, apocalyptic-torn person who's often saddled with shouldering waaaay too much cosmic responsibility...

...which in turn has Dean shouldering too much responsibility too!

So when it comes to Bobby and Cas, Dean puts what he can't take on them! His family!

///

But unlike Bobby, Cas doesn't ask for help.

Which... it's complicated. (And very human.)

For starters, thanks to his upbringing, Cas WANTS to be strong. He thrives and is comfortable being that. Second, there are definitely little ways Cas gets the not-so-coded message that it's bad to be weak, even if those weren't the messages Dean intended to send. (Dean is desperate for everyone to be okay, and he needs someone to want to shoulder the real, complete Dean, with all his duties and complications. And for some reason, subconsciously, Dean wants that someone... to be Cas.)

Regardless, lines like "Babies whine" and "Without your powers" dig a lot deeper than intended for Cas, because Dean didn't have the full scope of the angelic war or Cas's fears about Raphael. And even when Dean DID get glimpses of that, it didn't yield the full story.

///

For his part, Cas is keeping Sam and Dean at arm's length, trying to place them in a "these are my charges to protect" role.

Bu unlike with Bobby, who Dean firmly places in a parental role, something is trying to FUNDAMENTALLY shift between Cas and Dean.

They often find themselves eye-to-eye in the kitchen, making decisions together in a way that feels imho very spousal, creating a dynamic where Dean doesn’t quite know how to navigate this growing sense of wanting to be an equal partner with Cas.

So you get their weird push-pull power struggle between them, sniping and bitching, mirroring what happens in real-life couples early in the relationship when responsibilities are heavy and scary. It's this swirling mix of "Oh shit, I don't know what to do! And YOU don't know what to do! What do WE DO?!" And "You are such a baby / be careful you idiot / be stronger plz for the love of god"

But yeah.

So... Cas holds himself in the role of an ANGEL, remaining largely invisible throughout the season and trying his best to keep his struggles INVISIBLE too, including the war he's fighting on humanity's behalf. Cas prefers that. From a distance. Emotions are scary af; he even calls them CRIPPLING in Mommy Dearest.

(Aside///Call-forward to Mary’s: "I was trying to make things right. Just from a distance, because... being here with you was too hard. Seeing what I'd done to you and to Sam, I..." /// Mary was ashamed of her deal; And Cas was ashamed of his brothers, of angelicity itself, of what they KEEP doing to humanity.)

Anyway, Dean doesn’t quite know how to handle their strange bond, that longing, that closeness, especially as Cas insists on remaining emotionally and physically distant, trying to handle a war they can't even see.

//

As for Bobby and Cas...

While they have their moments of pushback (Bobby’s explosion in Weekend at Bobby’s, Cas’s barbed sarcasm in Family Matters), and it definitely reveals the strain they’re under...

...it often also works to underscore just how invisible their labor has become to the very people they love.

But while Dean begins to grow up enough to see and name Bobby's sacrifices, his understanding of Cas's struggle is murkier, tangled up in pride, love, and the deep, unspoken hope that Cas will always be strong enough for both of them. (Save-me-save-US-but-let-me-help-you.)

I think the thing I love about it all… is the dualistic (subconscious) desire for Cas to make everything okay versus the worry for Cas not to shoulder these burdens alone. It's SOOOOO! HNNNNNnNNnngg. It's very real.

///

EDIT DISCLAIMER: This wasn't exactly the point of this post (Bobby and Cas feeling misunderstood/underappreciated), but for completionist's sake:

Dean's grief is attenuated by the experience of being a "pseudo-parent," and definitely a caretaker in the context of "cosmic-inflicted illness," and that's a riptide that runs through season 6 in a big way. Dean needs the people he loves to SEE this aspect of his life in order to feel understood.

That's what 12x22 is all about. The thread from season 6 to season 12 is surprisingly thick! That's why this:

prefaces this: BEING SEEN

It's not a question of how fair or unfair it is, or if he "should be" or "shouldn't be" "a parent." It's about those very real efforts being seen and understood by those around him, including the grief and continued sense of responsibility this has wrought under worsening and frankly, incredibly unfair cosmic circumstances.

[beneaththeshadows]

Mother Merciless

She don't speak. You bloody bastards cut her throat too deep for that. But she remembers.

But her eyes were the most terrible thing. Her eyes saw him, and they hated.

It is a monstrous cruel thing to lose a child.

Lady stoneheart for (a super late) Halloween art trade with the amazing (and very patient as always) @acewithapencil, I picked the OG goth couple Brynden and Shiera, and she picked Lady stoneheart!

It was once again a pleasure to make art for you, and I gotta say I quite liked the result, so I decided to also do something small in watercolors and I know I'm not very well versed in it (this is literally my 7th piece ever in this medium) but I'm glad I did it, and most of all I'm glad I did it for you!!!

So anyways, I hope it looks nice and I really hope you like it!

[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) ->

[marimbles]

someone over the age of 30 tell me it’s gonna be ok

[adhdtsukasa]

that's just a random thought that has popped in my head while trying to fall asleep, but... thinking about how tenma siblings' childhood and middle school days were filled with the fear of uncertainty of the next day, but they both probably experienced it so differently...

saki's fear of uncertainty was connected to a fear of the night — but she wasn't afraid of nightmares, of the dark or anything like that. it was not what's waiting on the other side of the dark room what was scary to her, it was what was going to happen to her that was truly frightening her so much. her days, in middle school especially, were always the same and repetitive, so she did not have to be scared of the well-known routine. but as soon as the night was coming, as soon as she had to close her eyes, she could feel this unpleasant, cold feeling creeping onto her weak body, she could hear this scary voice sound in the back of her head: what if she doesn't wake up tomorrow? what if this night is her last? how can she rest easy, when tomorrow is so uncertain?

tsukasa's fear of uncertainty was connected to a fear of the morning — he was the privileged one, after all. nights weren't scary for him, because he didn't have to be afraid of not waking up and wasting his youth forever. the night coming was just a sign of another day coming to an end and that was a good thing, because tomorrow surely will be better, right? the morning, however, was a bridge that was connecting the night with the next day; it was these few simple moments after he regains his consciousness that were going to determine this day, and he was afraid of them, he could feel this in his whole body, he could hear it deep down in his mind: is saki going to be okay today, will his family finally be happy at least for these few hours? are the things going to spiral down and will everything be even worse than it already is? will saki smile, or will saki cry once again? how can he feel rested, when today is so uncertain?

but now, they don't have to be afraid anymore. the uncertainty isn't as bad anymore.

because the night means that another wonderful day has come to an end, and the morning means that today will surely be a hopeful day full of smiles.

and they're both aware of it.

[turtleblogatlast]

i see your post about leo being relieved that hes trans because he learned his stripes would go away and i raise you: leo, who spends his entire childhood in fear because donnie told him that he will lose his stripes when he is younger, only for them all to realize hes trans when they dont

Oh…Leo having so much value in his looks and especially his stripes because they’re what make him stand out the most, and in turn it helps solidify himself a role in the team as the “Face Man.” Sure, he absolutely thinks himself good looking with or without the stripes, but his stripes are striking and he knows it, and they mean more to him than just looks anyway. Knowing all this time that his stripes were going to fade and yet still taking on his title and still being as confident as he is - imagine he’d already come to the conclusion that his worth on the team, in his family, was always on a timer.

Then that timer goes away. And he’s left with relief and tells himself that hey, he’d have been just as cool looking without the stripes anyway! But…he’s glad to keep them. Even if his role isn’t quite just “Face Man” anymore, his stripes are a part of him.

And it’s been really scary to think that someday he’d look in the mirror and see a part of himself missing.

[huevobuevo]

as any normal civilian with a normal childhood, i , too, am very normal when it comes to the wondertainment siblings in any & all universes sharing the same, incredibly unhelpful parental figure, bordering from well intentioned to straight up abusive. wow. this company sucks. dont looka t the tags

[coquelicoq]

dreams that you don't remember are so annoying. i spent the last two days completely convinced that daylight saving starts at two am tomorrow morning, wrote down "change clocks" in my planner and shit, and i was just about to do it when suddenly it occurred to me - hey don't we usually not change clocks in june? isn't it usually in march and november? what the fuck am i doing? and the only explanation is that i recently had a dream that it was going to be daylight saving and woke up and forgot the dream but the idea remained in my consciousness somehow. like what am i even supposed to do with a brain like this. which of my thoughts are for normal reasons and which are just totally made up???