#the kin were getting more and more organic

[julijbee]

playing pathologic 2 as a disconnected ndn hitting harder than local man expected, more at 8

[tanadrin]

There is an obvious objection to evolutionary models which assume that our strongest social ties are based on close biological kinship: many humans just don’t like their families very much. And this appears to be just as true of present- day hunter-gatherers as anybody else. Many seem to find the prospect of living their entire lives surrounded by close relatives so unpleasant that they will travel very long distances just to get away from them. New work on the demography of modern hunter-gatherers — drawing statistical comparisons from a global sample of cases, ranging from the Hadza in Tanzania to the Australian Martu? — shows that residential groups turn out not to be made up of biological kin at all; and the burgeoning field of human genomics is beginning to suggest a similar picture for ancient hunter-gatherers as well, all the way back to the Pleistocene. While modern Martu, for instance, might speak of themselves as if they were all descended from some common totemic ancestor, it turns out that primary biological kin actually make up less than 10 per cent of the total membership of any given residential group. Most participants are drawn from a much wider pool who do not share close genetic relationships, whose origins are scattered over very large territories, and who may not even have grown up speaking the same languages. Anyone recognized to be Martu is a potential member of any Martu band, and the same turns out to be true of the Hadza, BaYaka, !Kung San, and so on. The truly adventurous, meanwhile, can often contrive to abandon their own larger group entirely. This is all the more surprising in places like Australia, where there tend to be very elaborate kinship systems in which almost all social arrangements are ostensibly organized around genealogical descent from totemic ancestors. It would seem, then, that kinship in such cases is really a kind of metaphor for social attachments, in much the same way we’d say ‘all men are brothers’ when trying to express internationalism (even if we can’t stand our actual brother and haven’t spoken to him for years). What’s more, the shared metaphor often extended over very long distances, as we’ve seen with the way that Turtle or Bear clans once existed across North America, or moiety systems across Australia. This made it a relatively simple matter for anyone disenchanted with their immediate biological kin to travel very long distances and still find a welcome.

love the idea that humans avoiding their annoying family by moving hundreds of miles away is part of our ancient evolutionary inheritance

[bluecookies02]

ℕ𝕖𝕦𝕧𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕖 𝕩 ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕��𝕣

𝕞𝕚𝕝𝕕 𝕟𝕤𝕗𝕨; 𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕤𝕥 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕒 𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕡𝕪 𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘; 𝕕𝕣𝕒𝕘𝕠𝕟 𝕞𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕔𝕪𝕔𝕝𝕖𝕤

Neuvillette hated spring.

He doesn't seem like a man that would ever give something enough attention to hate it, not to that extent at least.

He enjoys watching the flowers bloom, listening to birds chirp as he files away reports in his office right before his scheduled leave, making everything neat and organized to soothe his eyes upon his return.

Neuvillette also loves the scent of pollen that fills his senses when he opens the windows to let fresh air in.

But there's a longing in the depth of his chest that every spring brings. A heat in the pits of his stomach.

It was a reminder that he was spending another year alone, whereas his instincts yearned for him to get out and hopelessly search for another of his kin.

But his kind was either long gone across this nation or already mated.

Others were likely far away in the lands he was born in, which if he ever knew the place of, with years he has forgotten.

In those somber weeks he craved to fly free and search until his body fell tired, his wings cramped and his body could no longer wonder in circles.

He has tried, only to end up hidden in a cave when he could no longer walk nor roam the skies.

The hormones in his body tend to get uncontrollable, even for a composed man like him, leaving him hunched over, sweat sticking to his skin as he tirelessly wastes a load after load onto the rubble, knees weak and jaw clenched.

He found it pathetic often, remembering the diverse literature he read over the decades, where people referred to this act as "relief".

There was no relief for him...he would have never call it such a thing.

He might've been far from home then, but Fontaine's skies always roared with heavy rain as he wailed inside his hidings.

Desperate, naked, in more senses then one and utterly, undoubtedly defeated.

Shame often urged him to seek shelter, a place where noone recognized him, but a nation you hold dear to your heart sometimes can provide certain comfort.

He soon resorted to staying in a cabin near the borders of Fontaine, hidden between tall hills that no human would be silly enough to visit, especially during weeks where the lands were known to flood for the past decades.

There might be no tell in when it would rain during any other period in this weirdly cursed land, yet they all knew that this prognosis was spot on every spring.

Neuvillette makes himself at home after a long trip, dusting off the shelves and changing the cabin's large bed into fresh sheets.

He's long past the age of roaming.

He should be entering his sixth millennia soon? Maybe?

Yet the once cold cabin doesn't fill him with dread anymore, warmth engulfing the space as he falls into bed with his lover, one that he stopped searching for but who has found him in these recent years nonetheless.

Today makes another year of which Neuvillette embraces spring with joy, and if the people of Fontaine looked up at the pouring sky a little harder, they'd see silky white and mellow in place of dark and gloomy that once were.

[kisses4kaia]

based on this .. hehehehehehehehehe also corio is very joe goldberg in this one. (dedicated to my baby 🤍. @casualhedonists)

coriolanus snow had many a screw loose, and you were not oblivious to that fact.

the thing about power-hungry psychopaths, is they are aware that their greed will never be fulfilled if they reveal their true intentions at the jump. coriolanus snow was dangerously good at playing the game, and he was not used to losing. you had almost let it go over your head, the red-like-blood hued flags, but something inside you had signaled, more like alarmingly blared, that something was very, very wrong with the boy you thought loved you.

and so, on a storming and unbecoming night, you packed up your whole life, leaving behind your people and all that was familiar, and you moved to district 4 and set up residence on the beach. you’d met a man, a gentle, caring, fisherman. no, he could not afford to buy you diamonds, but he could string organic pearls on a chain and that was enough. you ate all the fish your heart could ever desire and you let the sun kiss your once pale skin; which was due to the constant cover of clouds and gloomy mist in the capitol. you were content with your little life, truly, up until you received word your mother was sick and needed her next of kin to help her sort the affairs that would allow her to move peacefully onto the afterlife that awaited her.

the trip was short, but every second of it was spent with a worry for your mother gnawing at your heart, and apprehension to see a certain white-as-snow haired boy. you’d brushed off all thoughts, and figured since the capitol was a big city, the chances of you seeing him were slim—especially considering you’d seen in the newspaper that he was making a name for himself in the political world of panem. he most likely was much to busy to care or even become aware of your returning.

you were wrong. the second you stepped through the gates of panem’s state of the capitol, you felt eyes on you. even after checking over your shoulders and finding nothing but stone architecture on display all over the city, the uneasiness of it all still twisted your gut.

nonetheless, you spent your time in the city of lights and glamour as intended, caring for your mother until she succumbed to a painless, peaceful, death. you saw to the funeral details with a heavy heart, and it was there you felt your heart drop to your toes. the man you’d spent so many years away from, standing in all his haughty glory. his ultramarine, icy, eyes containing nothing but a crazed longing within them. he’d stood across the cemetery in a long, black, fleece, trenchcoat. his hair was no longer a mess of ruddy, gold, curls, but now a styled as a contained, important, slick back—hauntingly, he resembled a ghost, and in a way, he was. a ghost of your past, the scariest one. his eyes glued onto yours as the pastor spoke a few words in honor of your late mother, and you had to swallow your fear for what would follow after the ceremony.

the second the final ‘amen’ left father glenndon’s lips, you turned on your heels, whispering a quiet goodbye to your the soil your mother laid beneath and made a break for it. he was so tall, legs so long and graceful, he caught up with you within a moment. as his cold, ring cluttered, fingers brace the sides of your arms, forcing you to a halt against the tallest stone grave in all of the graveyard, obscuring you from anybody’s view—which only fed your terror—you had to focus on your breathing so as to not let fearful tears slip from your eyes. “get your hands off of me,” your voice was shaky, because you knew just how unpredictable he could be and right now, all that you knew for a fact was that he wasn’t above tearing apart your life right here if you made the single wrong move. he did have the money, influence, and power for it, after all. coriolanus’ voice was sickeningly sweet, gentle, akin to your man back home. “hey, hey, i won’t hurt you, i promise. just wanna talk, that’s it, hm?” his hands move from your shoulders to your face, caressing his thumb against your tear-stained cheek. you shake your head, to deny the request and to get the feeling of his skin off of yours. “no, no. please, coriolanus, let me go home. i have a fiancée, who loves me and-“ your rambling is cut short but a wide-eyed, almost concerned, interjection from him. “he doesn’t love you like i do! i would kill for you, do you understand? he wouldn’t go to any lengths necessary to keep you safe—can’t you see that? i mean, there isn’t a line in the world that i wouldn’t cross for you! i’m not mad, i forgive you for leaving, i know you were just scared, just wish you talked to me, is all. please, dove, come back to the capitol. i haven’t been able to manage since you disappeared. can’t live without you, dove, i won’t,” you wince at the nickname, not having heard it since you left. “i can’t. i have a life in four, snow. i can’t just leave,”

there’s a pained flinch at the use of his last name, having been so used to your sweet, little, pet names you once used just for him. you probably call your fisherman back home those things now, and that thought made his blood boil more than any other. suddenly, almost as if stepping into a role, a character, his eyes deepen, like a bottomless pool of sorrow. “you didn’t seem to think so all those years ago,”

his devastating voice, his despaired, tragically blue, eyes distorted your judgement, and all of a sudden, he wasn’t coriolanus snow anymore. he was corio, your corio.

somehow, in some weird, twisted, round-a-bout way, that’s how you ended up here, writhing on his fingers, his venom-slick sweet nothings spilling into your ears as praises as you come undone on his hands. then on his tongue. and finally, after he’d spent so long giving himself orgasms with only the memory of you spurring him, you’d unraveled on his cock.

and he knew, he had you. he knew, baby came home.

[sweetbutpsychobutsweet]

Smoke, Iron, and Thorin

Chapter 1

Thorin Oakenshield x Fem!Reader

Summary: you prepare for the quest to reclaim Erebor by meeting your kin in the home of a very disgruntled hobbit. However, you don't expect to face your first obstacle before you even step foot out the door, when an unexpected ghost from your past darkens the door of the hobbit hole.

Warnings: eventual smut, no use of y/n, angst

Word count: 1833

Author's note: This is my FIRST fic! The beginnings of this story have been sitting in my computer for sooo long and for whatever reason today I just decided to jump headfirst into being a Tumblr writer! I'm still very new to this, so I welcome all kinds of constructive feedback/criticism. If there are any warnings/tags you think I missed just let me know :) Reader is AFAB! half dwarf/half human, but still grew up in the halls of Erebor. We'll get more into her background and her history with Thorin later on in the series! Enjoy!

“What do you think they’ll have?” Filli asks with giddy excitement as they pass each hobbit hole on their way through the shire.

“what do you mean?” you ask absentmindedly, scanning each door for the symbol Gandalf instructed you to look for.

“For supper of course,” Killi replies. “He said there would be lots of food, and no one can cook quite like a hobbit can.” you can’t deny the intoxicating aroma that has seeped into your nose with every inhale since the moment you arrived in the shire. Freshly baked bread, patiently cured meats, and hearty stews seem to be baking all around you as the sun finishes its descent behind the lush rolling hills of the shire.

Darkness has settled all around as the inhabitants of the hobbit holes settle in for the evening. The only remaining light comes from the lamps illuminating the doorways and the warming hearths inside every cozy little hole.

“I see it!” You shout triumphantly when you glimpse the blue mark glowing on the green door of a hobbit hole.

The two dwarves are so anxious for a hot meal that they’ve already bounded up to the door to ring the bell before you can even blink.

The front door is pulled open abruptly and a very frustrated hobbit groans at the sight of you. A reaction that is not all that uncommon while traveling with dwarves, so the three of you greet him enthusiastically regardless.

“You must be Mr. Boggins,” Kili begins.

“Nope!” the hobbit shouts, “you can’t come in, you’ve come to the wrong house!” he tries and fails to close the door on the three of you.

“What?!” you all shout in confusion. Knowing there is absolutely no way you are at the wrong door.

“Has it been canceled? No one told us.” the brothers protest. 

“No, nothing’s been canceled,” the hobbit starts to explain.

You all sigh in relief and continue to push your way further inside.

The home is filled with the overlapping chatter of dwarves and the clattering of weapons being tossed into the arms of the frazzled hobbit.

Dwalin’s booming voice greets the three of you, quickly recruiting you all to join in the organized chaos that is preparing the cramped dining room for even more dwarves to arrive. 

Food is tossed about, ale sloshed onto the floor, and poor Bilbo’s house is an absolute wreck. You can’t help but feel sorry for your host, but you also can’t bring yourself to pull away from the merriment just yet.

It had been so long since you’d last been around so many of your dwarven friends. Up until beginning your journey several weeks ago, you hadn’t even seen Kili and Fili for many years. 

But their mother, Dis had always been a very good friend of yours. Ever since growing up Erebor, you had felt as closely connected to her family as she was to yours. 

Unfortunately, due to the arrival of a dragon, and stubborn dwarvish pride you had long ago gone your separate ways. Save for the occasional letter. Much like the letter you received asking if you would be willing to accompany her two reckless sons on their latest journey.

Kili and Fili were not exactly known for their self-preservation instincts and the journey that lay before you would not be an easy one. But even if it weren’t as a favor to Dis, you would have said yes regardless. Nothing in the world would be able to prevent you from helping to finally reclaim your homeland, and defeat the great beast that took so much from you.  

Several pints of ale have loosened your inhibitions and you now find yourself laughing and singing along with the rowdy bunch, not a care in the world.

Until a heavy knock comes on the door.

Silence falls over the hobbit hole.

“He’s here,” says Gandalf.

“Who’s here?” you ask in confusion.

No answer comes, and everyone is suddenly averting their gaze from yours as Gandalf crosses the room to open the door. You have a bad feeling about what’s on the other side.

Gandalf pulls it open with a flourish and is greeted by a deep voice. A familiar voice.

No, you think to yourself. It can’t be.

But sure enough, Thorin Oakenshield is stepping through the front door. 

He says something to Gandalf but you can’t fully make out what it is.

Your ears are ringing loudly and a white, hot flame is blazing deep inside your belly.

Suddenly you’re back to the last time you saw him, years ago. Tears streaming down your cheeks in the doorway of the dusty old inn.

“He looks more like a grocer than a burglar,” Thorin laughs as he turns towards the dining room. Where his eyes immediately lock with yours. You can see the exact moment he realizes you’re there. His eyes widen in shock and your name slips past his lips in a breathless whisper. 

For what feels like the longest second of your life, he simply stands there taking you in. From the braided strands framing your face to the silhouette of your long green traveling dress. You could almost swear he looked…happy to see you. 

And that only adds more fuel to the fire inside you. 

“Thorin,” you growl and curl your fists at your side. “What are you doing here?” you hiss.

He narrows his eyes back at you. “What am I doing here? I am the leader of this company, what are you doing here? It isn’t safe for you, lass.”

You scream in frustration. The sexist pig! You have just as much of a right to be here as everyone else and he knows it. Your arm reaches up of its own accord to smack that self-righteous look right off his face. But before your hand can make contact Fili grabs your arm and pulls you away.

You whirl around and shove him away from you.

“You!” you glare between Kili and Fili redirecting your anger. “You lied to me!” they both start to protest but before they can form a single sentence you hold up a finger and they both fall silent. 

“You told me, he wouldn’t be here! You looked me right in the eyes and lied to my face,” you grind out, barely containing the urge to strike them both upside the head.

“We didn’t want to,” Fili begs.

“It was our mother’s idea, she knew that was the only way you would agree to come.” Kili finishes.

You laugh humorlessly. “And she was absolutely right, I’m leaving!” you turn on your heel and march straight towards the door. But before you can fully push past him, Thorin’s hand encircles your wrist and firmly pulls you back to look at him.

It was a mistake letting yourself stand any closer to him. As soon as you do his scent envelopes you. Smoke, iron, and Thorin. You yank stubbornly on his grip, desperate to put some distance between the two of you but he is too strong. 

“Wait,” he whispers to you, both commanding and desperate. “You cannot make the journey back alone, it is already dark, who knows what is lurking along those roads-”

You scoff and reach your free hand behind you for the dagger concealed underneath your corset. Before he can continue you have it pressed firmly against his throat. You apply just enough pressure that you know he can feel the blade stinging against his skin, but he doesn’t even blink. You lean in closer to him looking deep into his eyes.

“I can take care of myself,” you whisper. “I’ve had a lot of practice at it as of late.” And he loosens his grip just enough for you to yank yourself free. You remove the dagger from his throat and attempt to resume your departure, but this time it is Gandalf who stands in your way.

“I am sorry we misled you, my dear. But I’m afraid we cannot accomplish this task without you.” you lift the dagger up defiantly and point it at his chest, but you both know it is an empty threat.

“I don’t care,” you reply. “It’s not my problem.”

“You do, and it is,” the wizard replies. “I know how you’ve spent the last years, you are the only one who possesses the knowledge and connections we need to accomplish this feat.” 

You hear the whispers of confusion from behind you. They clearly didn’t know how you had dedicated the last several years of your life to searching, reading, and studying every resource you could get your hands on in preparation for this exact task.

“I know how badly you wish to return home,” Gandalf continues, as if he could read your mind. “A great deal was taken from you that day, and you are not the type to let that stand. So the question remains: who deserves your wrath more at this moment? Thorin or Smaug?”

You let your arm fall back to your side, tucking the dagger back away.

“Who says it can’t be both?” you challenge him.

Gandalf laughs and shakes his head.  

“Oh you are part dwarf indeed my child. Hold onto whatever anger you wish. But don’t let it get in the way of you reclaiming your homeland, defeating Smaug, and finally laying your parents to rest.”

You clench your jaw in frustration. You know he’s right, but you hate to admit it.

“We can do this without her,” Thorin grumbles from behind you. “If she wishes to leave she can, I’ll have someone escort her home safely.” 

You finally whirl around to glare at him again. He doesn’t want you here, he doesn’t think you can do it. He doesn’t think a ‘helpless girl’ can hold her own on a dangerous journey such as this one.

You smirk back at him defiantly. 

“On second thought,” you place one hand on your hip and extend the other out toward Balin. “I’ll sign that contract now,”

Thorin grumbles and glares at you in protest. 

Balin moves faster than you’ve ever seen the dwarf move, handing you the contract before you can change your mind or Thorin can argue against it. 

You scribble your name at the bottom and shove it into Thorin’s chest as you saunter past him in search of another pint of ale.

You lost count of how many more drinks you downed before passing out in one of the soft armchairs by the fire. 

You stir briefly when a familiar scent meets your nose and a thick blanket is gently draped across your sleeping form.

You could swear you feel the whisper of a touch ghost across your cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. 

But before you can wake any further, a deep voice starts to sing:

Far over the misty mountains cold…

More voices start to join in the melody, and before you know it you are lulled deeper and deeper back into a dreamless sleep.

Next Chapter

[oonajaeadira]

A Welcome Home At Resolution Ranch

Fandom: Kingsman: The Golden Circle / Jack "Whiskey" Daniels

Pairing: Jack Daniels x reader

Reader: Adult female. Former agent, now the manager at a guest ranch. No other physical descriptors; no use of y/n.

Rating: T. Fluff.

Warnings: A little bit of angst, but on the edge of healing

Summary: When the news comes through that Jack met his end in Cambodia, you know better.

A/N: Well howdy, friends, and welcome to a good, soft, fix-it fic. What inspired this? @writeforfandoms did when she sent in an ask for a game....

"I wish you would write a fic where Jack is fine and nothing hurts and there are stars in the sky and there is plenty of banter and softness. Maybe horses."

Since her birfday is this week and writing Jack for each other is a love language, this is especially for her. <3

“You sure I’m ready to go on my own?”

Charity is a good girl. A little accident-prone at times, sure, but it’s mainly out of a lack of confidence. She’s got a real knack with the horses though, and you’ve learned to let her be on hand whenever the ranch has new guests check in; that million-watt smile of hers is worth a welcome mat covered in gold. She is Jack’s kin in every way, except he sucked up all the ego in the family and left little over for his niece.

Handing her the roster clipboard, you grant her an approving grin. “You grew up on these trails. You know them better than I ever will. You’re every ounce the guide any of us are. Now you’ve got eight guests riding with you this evening, two of them are about your age, and pretty handsome young gentlemen. You’re about to win the hearts of some suitors with that sweetness of yours…and if not, then for sure their grandparents. Have fun. Oh,” you remember, pointing to a name on the roster, “this lady here is a bit of a tick, but she has it bad for Morgans. Put her on Sasha and she’ll be shining so bright there’s nothing gonna dim her stars.”

“But Sasha’s your horse.”

“She won’t mind. Now get. And remember–”

Charity rolls her eyes. “Don’t let anyone tell me that they know horses better than I do, I know.”

“Good girl. Now you do a good job on your first solo run and I’ll have a big surprise waiting for you when you come back, hear?”

“I’m not a kid. I don’t need a reward.”

Turning the girl around by the shoulders and sending her off in the direction of the stables, you refrain from swatting her playfully, showing her the respect of a coworker. “And I’m not baking you cookies either. I’m not going with you tonight because I have something I gotta do. You’ll get the benefit of that thing whether you do a good job or not. I was trying to be encouraging.”

Her black braid swings down her back as she walks off to her task–both excited and scared, clutching the clipboard with both hands. 

“Oh, and Charry?” She stops to turn and listen. “Don’t put anyone on Whiplash. Leave her in the stable tonight.”

Once she’s given you a nod and marched out of sight, you wander back into the main lodge and relieve everyone for a few hours. You’re ready to take the front desk on your own. No worries, you explain, there’s only one guest booked to come in in the next hour and everyone else is out on the twilight ride. You’ll take it from here.

Once the lobby is quiet, you prop yourself out on the porch in a rocking chair with your boots up on the railing, tip your hat down low, and keep your eyes on the horizon--gradually more pink and gold by the minute--where any cars coming over the mile-long driveway can’t pass your notice.

It’s been six years now since you were secretly decommissioned from Statesman and your agent status revoked. Emotional trauma is a hell of a thing, and some agents take a beating. When head of the organization deems an agent unfit for duty with needs of long-term recovery and care, it’s their call to order it and–with the help of one other top officer–secretly install the probationed agent in a situation where they are anonymous and removed from any society that they could harm or could harm them. The organizational file would relate how the agent was killed in action, with the true story being kept by the two in charge. A total erasure of personage, total disappearance.

If and when the agent passed an evaluation and elected to return, they became extremely valuable as a secret operative, since everyone would assume they were deceased. 

If they decided not to return, the agency made sure they were provided for. For life.

Sometimes they came back; thrill of the hunt, what they know best and all that. But overall, the return rate was low. Something about a slow down calls after a life of deception.

In your case, Jack was chosen as Champ’s second and–having always been one of the only agents that damn cowboy liked working with–suggested you head up his family ranch for your rehab period. Tasked you with making it a nice working vacation ranch for families. Came out and visited you often enough to make sure you were getting on.

And, of course, to make sure you were getting off too. 

There was a lot of hay on property, and Jack was a damn nice rolling partner. Said that he liked that he never had to pretend with you. Not now, not ever.

And you always felt exactly the same.

But the timing was never perfect. And the world had always needed one or the other of you to save it.

Distractions.

After the requisite five year probation, Champ and Jack made the ceremonial trip out and asked if you’d like to be re-evaluated and “reborn”. As much as you’d been itching during the first couple of years to get back in the game, the quiet life had softened your body and won your heart. You’d gained the trust of the employees. Knew all the horses and their idiosyncracies by heart. It had become your home. Walking away to spend days without sleep, lying, taking lives without stopping to think twice….just didn’t appeal anymore.

With Champ’s understanding, you had respectfully retired, and with Jack’s blessing, you’d planted yourself permanently. The ranch was your calling. Your heart. Even with some of Jack’s relatives working and living here it could get lonely at times, but then you’d catch yourself watching the fireflies in the sunset or riding Sasha through a particularly pretty meadow and everything seemed right with the world.

And hells. If the lack of companionship was the only thing you had to complain about, well the universe must have heard. It’s rung the hospitality bell for you.

Taking the letter out of your pocket, you glance over it one more time. An announcement of an agent down. Cambodia. Drug conspiracy. Agents Galahad, Galahad, and Merlin of Kingmen, London. Agent Whiskey showing mental trauma and poor judgment. A violent engagement. A meat grinder. Signed by Head Agent Champagne.

So that’s the story they assigned him, huh. A meat grinder? Really? So stupid. But then, you got to assist in penning your own death, so it makes all the sense in the world that Jack got to have a say in his. Of course he was going to go out in the corniest way possible, of course he was.

Tsk. A meat grinder. Jesus.

Before long, the stars are starting to peek out and there’s a plume of dust on the horizon. Then a black car at the core of it, making its way along the drive. By the time it pulls up in front of the porch, you’ve hidden the letter back in your pocket, stood and made your way to the bottom of the steps. 

Two doors open. From the front a driver emerges, short and sturdy, young and hale, heading for the trunk to retrieve luggage. But when the back door opens, there’s the duo of a boot and a Stetson which emerge together then unfold into a tall, cool drink of Jack Daniels.

It’s a showdown at twilight, but you both keep your hearts in your holster for the time being and instead reach for your sass. “Driver? This here’s a working ranch, so you can just leave the luggage. Guests here are required to haul their own.”

They do as they’re told with a nod, dropping two suitcases and a duffel in the dust. The whole time Jack stands, unmoving, hands on hips, watching with a bemused incredulity as the driver then simply gets back behind the wheel and literally drives off into the sunset, leaving Jack's bags like carrion.

“Well shit. Is that any way to welcome a man home?”

“Maybe I just wanted you all to myself, cowboy. You ever think of that?”

There’s a delicious moment underscored by cricket strings that allows for both of your grins to stretch to full capacity.

But still, he’s a man whose wind has abandoned his sails and you both know why he’s here. It doesn’t mean he’s not still Jack Daniels though. And while he might not come at you with an oppressive swagger, he still comes to you, the cockiness giving way to a genuine fondness.

“Well. Hello, gorgeous.”

“Let me guess,” you tease, opening your arms to guide him to his landing, “You have a pack of cold ones and your roomie’s out so I can scream your name as loud as I want.”

His embrace is more than just happiness to see you. It’s heavy with relief, with longing. He needs it from you as much as you from him, and he hums low into your neck as he lifts you so that your toes just leave the ground before plopping you back down. This is the point where the usual hug might end, but he stays. He stays just a few more breaths and you can tell he’s taking a cure in the moment.

“Come on, cowboy,” you hum into his shoulder. “Let me help you with these bags. I prepared the best room in the house for you.”

Silently, you both heft a suitcase and he takes the extra duffel, and you make it up the stairs of the main house to the biggest bedroom and flip on the light.

“Isn’t this your bedroom, Brandy?”

Throwing a suitcase on the quilted bed you shake a finger at him. “Uh uh uh, that’s not my name anymore, Whiskey.”

He follows suit, unburdening himself. “And that’s not mine. Belongs to Ginger now.”

You can’t--and won't--hide your delight. “Well hot shit. Good for her. She’s always wanted to go out into the field.” But it’s also bittersweet. It's been six years. “How is my girl?” 

“Oh, she’s doing real fine. Took over as Champ’s right hand when I went out and Tequila hopped the pond to work for those Brits.”

“Damn. Well, I’m proud of her. I wish I could tell her. If I could have just had one more agent to keep in touch with….wait.” Something in Jack’s little smile gives you pause. “Waaaaait a minute. Did she–???”

He finishes the thought for you. “With the transfer of title, she also became Champ’s number two. So she’s got access your retirement file. I’m sure she’ll be booking a vacation here soon enough.”

Turning to the window and clamping a hand over your mouth, you hold your own reflection and do your best to keep the tears for later. It’s been six years and your old friend is in Kentucky right now, finding out any day now that you’re not dead after all, that you’re only a plane ride away. A long dreamed-for reunion is coming. Oh god. 

But Jack’s here now, and he’s going to need your support. And of course he’ll demand your attention–”You never answered my question. Where are you sleeping if I’m in here?”

Turning to him, you wink. “Who said I was moving out of this room?” His blush signals that you’ve just out-Jacked Jack Daniels. Stepping in closer, you take his hand. “Hey. I just wanted to give you a view of the stables. If you want me here, I’ll share the room with you. If not, the guest room is free and I’m comfortable sleeping there too. This is your home now, cowboy. I want you to see the sun in the morning. Give you a reason to get up every day.”

“Sunshine’s wherever you are, partner. It’d actually be real nice to have a reason to stay in bed.”

His words spread through you like a good bourbon. “Good. I was hoping you’d say that.” It’s a warm moment, new for both of you. Instead of the thrill of the promise of sharing a bed and the obvious adventure that awaits, you have something now that you both never had before–time. Time to hold. Time to breathe. Time to heal and take it soft and slow. “Come on, cowboy. I wanna show you something.”

Picking up his Stetson from the bed, you place it lovingly on his head, your fingertips lingering as they trail down his sideburns. He wears the hat well, and the facial hair. And the deep adoration. Before he gets lost in the moment, you lead him out of the main house and down toward the stables.

“So. A meat grinder.”

He grins as he watches his feet, big hands swinging at his side. “Can’t blame a man for people wanting to remember his demise. That one’ll be talked about.”

“Little over the top, isn’t it?”

“That’s the way I went in, apparently.”

“Stupidest death I’ve ever heard of.”

“But you’ll remember it, won’t you.”

Rolling your eyes, you lead him to one of the front stalls of the stable. “Yeah, but I’d never believe it. Jack Daniels? Taken down by an unarmed, unstable agent and his apprentice? This hulk of a man tossed around and yanked into a grinder as if there’s one big enough to take you?”

“You’re real hung up on the meat grinder part, aren’t you. You do know the target was actually processing people and making them into burgers, right? I don’t see why it’s so unbelievable–” But he stops like stone when you reach your target stall. “Is that…Well slap my chaps. That’s the prettiest mustang I’ve ever seen.”

“You like her?” Clicking your tongue, the lithe and beautiful bay immediately comes to you, tossing her mane, ready for the apple you’ve got on offer. And when you hide it behind your back, she knows to put her nose to yours, to nuzzle you gently. “This is Whiplash. Fast as a shooting star and twice as bright. Picked her out myself. Helped Charity to train her up, which is why she’s also sweet. That girl has the patience of a saint. Must get it from the other side of the family. But this mare was a passion project for both of us. Thought you might like to claim her,” you say, handing the apple over to him and, with it, Whiplash’s attentions. “Anytime you need to clear your head, she’ll run you to the moon and back.”

Jack holds out the apple reverently with one hand, running the other along the mare’s neck. “Always wanted a mustang. Thought I’d have to settle for the automotive variety. They’re not the kind of horse you keep at a pedestrian ranch for just anyone to ride.”

“I know. It was meant to be a surprise for your next visit. But now that you’re here to stay, she’s even more yours than she was before.”

Now it’s Jack’s turn to hold those tears for later, his beautiful brown eyes gathering up all the rising moonlight. Swallowing hard, he gives you a nod, a thanks that he can’t put into words just yet. Instead, he deflects. “Where is my favorite niece?”

“Your only niece is out leading a twilight ride. It’s her first lead. I told her I’d have a reward waiting for her when she got back as long as all the guests are alive and kicking. She doesn’t know you’re coming yet.”

He nods. Goes back to petting Whiplash. The full day and the journey finally come to settle on him and all his thoughts seem to rise to the surface and float in his tired expression.

You reach out. Hook a finger in his belt loop and give it a coy tug. “Hey. Can I ask you...what happened, Jack?”

He has to take a breath. Two. Then he gives Whiplash a final pat and takes your hand, weaving it through the crook of his arm, and you wander out into the darkening pasture together.

The mission was nearly doomed from the start. With Tequila down and Harry still recovering and Eggsy still green, it was just a mess. It didn’t help that his heart wasn’t in it, that he kept thinking about his loss so many years ago, that maybe it was better if all the addicts were just taken down in one fell swoop so they could stop hurting themselves and everyone else. Running the New York branch and distribution on top of fucking saving the world every five minutes–the burnout was getting to him and just made him fixate more. 

Harry saw through him but misinterpreted his reluctance. Harry shot him to take him out of commission, knowing full well that Ginger could fix him. Jack went back into action too soon, too hot. Went straight to Cambodia. Joined in the fray. Ended up taking out his rage on Poppy and brutally jamming a needle in her neck, overdosing and killing her rather than neutralizing her and taking her in as he should have. Harry and Eggsy were kind. Stood up for him with Champ. Helped to corroborate a story so he could step down. Jack let the record show that they were the heroes so they could go back to the Kingsmen in triumph and he could heal in peace.

This is what surprises you the most.

That Jack let himself go down as the bad guy.

“You could have just said you were taken down by one of Poppy’s men and walked away a martyr.”

He simply watches the first fireflies come out in answer to the first stars, squeezes your hand a little tighter, shakes his head. “If I’d had my head in the game, a good agent wouldn’t have died. Merlin. His name was Agent Merlin. Damn fine man. And if Harry and Eggsy hadn’t been the excellent agents they are, my lapse of judgment could have killed a lot more folks. This is my way to atone.”

“And there’s no way in hell you’d let anyone think you got taken down by some nameless thug.”

“Shit. Got me there.”

All you can do is show agreement with a knowing nod. “You know, when I first came out here, I couldn’t wait to leave. But you knew, didn’t you. You knew that I needed this.”

“I did.”

“Cocky bastard,” you mumble in loving admonishment. “Did you understand that you were nearing the end too? That you were sending me out here to give me time to be ready to bring you home?”

“I wasn’t aware of it at the time, probably a little too confident to ever think I should stop.” He turns to you, a sweet little apology in the corner of his smile. “But maybe a little part of me knew.”

“Yeah, that little part of you has gotten me into trouble before.”

He huffs a little laugh, tilts your chin up with a knuckle. Still holding your hand and sliding it inside his jacket against his chest he whispers, “Ain’t the part I was talking about, sweetheart.”

When he kisses you, it’s a different Jack than the one you used to settle for on occasion. This Jack is ready to put down his revolvers and his whip, ready to concentrate on himself, on you, on a life far from trouble. His kiss holds in it the promise of summer sunsets and long trail rides, of barbecues and lemonade and lazy mornings sleeping in. And there will be stars that are brighter...and nights under them for just the two of you. It’s a kiss that leaves no doubt that there will be many more to follow, each one with its own brand of sweetness and a happy ending well-earned.

No more distractions.

Time enough.

_____

MASTERLIST

CHARACTER MASTERLIST

[seat-safety-switch]

Organizing a workshop is virtually impossible. If you try to plan ahead, you’ll quickly find out that your amazing plan didn’t match with reality. Eventually, you will run out of bins before you run out of kinds of things, and the entire endeavour will go to hell in a hand-basket. Having one bin store two kinds of things is awful, maybe even more so than having a bin that stores one single lonely, unloved part that you nevertheless will hold onto until your next of kin have to throw it away for you on the afternoon after your funeral.

If you look online, you’ll find a lot of fancy, designer-esque photos of workshops. They’re clean. They’re sorted. They’re well-lit. Everything is within reach. The secret, explain the owners, is minimalism. Make sure you only have good stuff, and put it back where you take it out. What they don’t show you is the entire basement full of random garbage that they’ll spend a whole weekend in as soon as they realize that their grand plan didn’t include a security-bit Torx T8 driver.

Me, I have a very different strategy for this. I buy doubles, triples of tools. Back in the day, tools were expensive, and having two sets of screwdrivers was a ridiculous, bourgeois expense. You’d buy one set of screwdrivers and hold onto it forever. Nowadays, tools are cheap. Why would you bother spending all that time walking upstairs to go get a Phillips #2 from your workshop when you could just buy another $16 set from Home Depot and chuck it downstairs, vaguely close to where you might have to work on a badly-made, inexpensive clothes dryer?

If there is a downside to this behaviour, it’s that once you use every room in your house for tool storage, you give up all hope of ever being able to quickly locate tools at all. In a workshop, there are only a few logical places in which to lose a wrench. On the workbench. Under the workbench. Under another tool. Inside a project. Raccoon took it, the little bastard. In the rest of your house, who knows? Last week I found a 3/8″-drive stubby ratchet inside my furnace when I went to go change the filter.

[thatfeelingwhentheshowisover]

Coomer: his greeting dialogue trigger is broken, he has multiple consciences going at the same time due to his clones he feels their pain and fear, his body loosely resembles a humans due to the replacement of limbs with robotics and generous removal of organs with few being replaced

Bubby: no real noticable glitches cept the car, he has pyrokinesis and can fly(fr spin dashes in the boss fight), he resembles a human more than Coomer but is more physically resilient than a human since he is the "ultimate lifeform"(Shadow kin fr)

Tommy: no glitches but does have an "auto aim" due to being an NPC and is scared by this, the full blown human of the science team, he made Sunkist when he was younger and he learned how to read sweet voice because of her

Darnold: no glitches but his programing prevented him from joining the team even though he wanted to, he invented most of the Gatorade flavours and is rich from the royalties, he is a normal human, and he is a workaholic

Forzen: he can glitch to random areas on the map but he doesn't have any real control over where he ends up, he joined the military so that he wouldn't have to pay for college, he never expected to be put into action, "Team Nice" was made up by the rest of his actual assigned group because they all decided he was useless and wanted a way to send him away, him and Benrey "were" friends because they got into a heated argument about gamer YouTubers they'll get over though

Benr(e)y: got a respawn glitch a no clip glitch and his code got sorta overwritten with the code for The Nihilanth near the end, before the events of the game he was a volunteer for human experiments with xen crystals which caused his ability to use sweet voice and increased resistance, possibly why he was used as a vessel for the messed up Nihilanth code

Gman: has no glitches but is fully aware, his "employer" is the game itself he was to ensure the game continued as it was meant to, Benry's glitches did complicate things like how the time freeze didn't effect him, Mr. coolatta can freeze time and has connections to most files within the game

Gordon: is the host for the player and looses consciousness once the game starts, as the vessel he cannot die no matter what happens, the player can see the world as it "truly" is, before game Gordon was chosen for the xen experiments but was declared a failure because he didn't change as noticeably as Benry(let's just say there's a reason he's the player character)

[spooky-pomegranate]

A letter from Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley

Summary: Ghost writes you a letter after Price unexpectedly sends you into witness protection, breaking your heart. With a looming threat of an attack from a terrorist organization on the horizon, Ghost urges you to mend fences with Price or at least play nice until the enemy is thwarted. Should you hear him out?

I’m not sure how to start this. All I can hope for is that you won’t throw this letter into the ocean until you’ve finished reading it. I’ve heard Laswell sent you somewhere on the beach. That’s nice I guess. I’m not a big fan of the ocean, but I know most people are. Maybe you are. You and I never talked about anything like that, but maybe you did with Johnny? He’s a big fan of the water. He’s always yammering on about wanting to take a vacation somewhere tropical. He says tropical resorts just have ‘better water sports.’ Whatever that means. Maybe Laswell can send him your way when he starts feeling better. I know he’d like to spend the time with you. He’s a fan of yours. Kyle too. They’ve told me a lot about you over these last few days.

And I want to apologize for that. Not for listening to them, but for not listening to you. I’m sorry I didn’t get to know you on my own. You have to understand John is my brother. I don’t mean in some ‘brother in arms’ sort of bullshit way. I mean I consider him my family, my kin, my blood. He’s the closest thing I have to the real thing these days, so I’m protective of him, but I’ve done it in a way that has been unkind toward you.

I was suspicious of you when we first met. I thought that your entrance into John’s life was going to bring him harm. Whether you were going to do so maliciously or in a less nefarious way I wasn’t quite sure. But I was wrong and I’d like to apologize to you.

You have changed John. He's more at ease now than I've seen him in years. He laughs more. So much more, and it's a sound that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get out of my head. It's not a funny laugh, but one filled with genuine joy. It's stupid and infectious and it even has started to rub off on Johnny and Kyle. They both look less tense these days.

But you haven’t just made John a different man outside of the field, somehow you’ve changed him on it too. He fights differently. I don’t know how to explain it other than to say he’s more focused now. More determined. It’s like he’s fighting not just for the mission objective, but for something beyond it. Something personal. Maybe that’s just what it looks like when someone fights beyond duty or honor. I’m not sure. But you’ve made him a better soldier and leader for it. So thank you because I don’t think I would be here without your effect on him. What happened at the hangar is the closest we’ve come to death in a long time and I know that’s probably shaken John more than he’s let on.

If you are still reading this, I have a favor to ask of you. I know I don’t have any right to. My initial skepticism and rudeness toward you probably caused you a lot of pain, and for that, I am truly sorry. But John needs your help. So please come back to the States and help him end these terrorists for good.

I don’t know what’s been said between you, but I’m sure you’re in the right. Don’t tell him I said this but John tends to be a stubborn ass. So please forgive him. Or at least, help him through this and I promise I’ll keep him from you for as long as you wish.

I’ll be in your debt.

Sincerely,

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley

P.S. You two weren’t as sly as you thought. It wasn’t hard to see something more was going on between you when you wreaked like an ashtray all the time and I’ve never seen you smoke.

—————————————————————

(More from this story on AO3)

[chocsra]

"Birds in the House of Flies."

15! Chuuya x gn! asa mitaka! reader

A/N: genuinely sorry but im gonna have trouble posting since tests are a BITCH DAMN, im sorry if u sent a request itll take some time thank you guys 😭 ALSO SORRY AB THE ONE BED TROPE THINGY IM STILL WORKING ON IT WILL BE POSTED TMRW . also asa mitaka is like the only character i kin besides shoko 😭 thank uuuu for the request 🙈

content: based off the building scene in csm, oneshot, slight angst?, pre-relationship, holding hands 🥺, ooc, mentions of suicide, mafia chuuya, civilian reader, slight crack, fluff mentions of girl once

"Fuckin' hang on!!"

Those three words echoed loud in the cold air admist the darkness below your figure, each passing second felt more like an anomaly than the present taking over it's future. A dark whirling pressure pulls you down more, a completely dark void which surrounded you fully, an emptiness that induced fear, unknowingness, it was uncanny.

Despite the dreading pull along your feet, the same body parts you hated for walking - it walked you to your worst and hated places, it held you up when you would much rather decompose in the filth of your bed, something clung onto your hand and held you up even when the only vision you see is a complete reflection of your thoughts, empty.

Sometimes, you hated touch - that was a lie, you hate touch. You hate it when you get a hug that held no value, you hate it when others send warmth to your body, your cold, without any second thought. However, the hand that held yours somehow felt like holding a mug of hot tea, like intaking hot soup relaxingly burning down your throat.

The warmth that held you was a boy, you noticed the ivory complexion laced upon his warm hands, a different feeling than when he was wearing cold, leather gloves. "Dude- you gotta be shittin' me.." a husky voice sighs from the other side, hands deeply clung onto your own in a gravitational pull.

"I'm okay with falling! Just let me go.." you mumble, now you wouldn't have to meet expectations, or feel the dread of waking up ij the morning. You watched as the ability you were trapped in completely used your greatest fear against you; the dark.

You weren't sure how you got into this situation, when you were younger - some people were gifted with special abilities that defy science, yours was no different; but instead of joining an organization to be against or with humanity, you lived your life as somebody normal would.

Only now, your ability got sold for a high price on the black market, not only do criminals desire your skill, but government workers too; strangers from fucking hell. You were taken into the backropes of the Port Mafia, reigning from Yokohama, Japan; the wish was to transport you back to Yokohama in one piece, fuifilled by a trusted mafioso, Nakahara Chuuya.

He was like any other boy your age, he was a nice guy, actually; just in the wrongest, most immoral line of work, at the ripe age of what, sixteen?

And to you, a normal student, the normalization of superpowers was pretty crazy. Nakahara Chuuya was a shithead that showed you of that, he was chill but aggressive, moral but immoral, small but incredibly strong?

"No way I'm lettin' ya go, you're fuckin' crazy!!" he shouts, pulling your limp body up from the void, you pensively look down at the endless pit, reminicing moments where you were at peace. "I'm not crazy, you are! And stop fucking swearing!!" you scream back, dangling yourself and grasping onto the leather sleeves of his jacket.

"You stop fuckin' swearing!"

"Nuh-uh!!"

A heavy silence filled the void, and the sudden tug from his hands. "The ability uses your darkest fear against you, why the hell did you willingly fall?!" the boy shouts back, a little crack in his voice emerged, causing you to lower your eyebrows in slight embarrassment. "Because why would I keep living and fufill expectations I never asked to recieve?!" you answer, eyes flitting to every corner possible in that dark void, a star, a light - no, only his hand. "You can't be serious - I get it! Life is a bitch, doesn't mean you hafta kill yourself!" he argues, pulling you upwards as you dangle your body weight down.

"I am not killing myself!" you hiss, listening as Chuuya retorts with a scoff. "Yeah, you just let yourself fuckin' fall." he chews on his bottom lip stressfully, "Think of all the amazing shit you can live for; dogs, puppies, smoking!!"

"Gross!! Don't you know how much damage that smoking causes your lungs?!" you shout back, the sleeve of your uniform cuffing onto your held up arm. "Fine - alcohol!" Chuuya clicks his tongue, trying to find out luxuries of life. "That's disgusting! The blurry lines between a social drinker and an alcoholic are extremely thin!" the boy tightens his grip in annoyance, "What the hell do ya even like?! Parties?"

"Parties are a mix of sweat and loud noises that give me migraines! Not everyone is a fuckin' gangster, y'know?" the redheaded boy sighs begrudgingly, attempting to pull you up. "..I don't know what girls like, clothes...?" you pause and rub your temple with your free hand, "Just let me go already! Nobody has it worse than me!"

"Fuuck!" Chuuya groans at your dismissal, "I'll tell ya what I'm living for - I saw weird shit until I woke up in the real world when I was like 8?! Now there's a God living inside me!!" you grew silent, ".. I'm not your therapist!" you stammer, causing the boy to hiss. "[Y/N]! Let me help you so I can find out about the past I've never had." you bit your lip torn, hearing as the void went silent.

From the minimal interactions you shared with the ginger, his actions always seemed barricaded, as if he were put behind glass his whole life. And from his story, it seemed pretty right. He's far too loyal with that mafia, and blames himself for the short coming of his old organization. 'Nobody has it worse than me!' rung through your mind, god, how you internally facepalmed. You hated being touched, but you were sort of touched; and as selfish as you were, or are, you had to dress another morning successfully waking up.

"..Or else Ima call the God - O' grantors, of dark dispa-"

"Fuck! You can help me, alright?!"

[worldruins]

Meet the Remnant, my "slugcat" oc. Because I have no sense of moderation, it has an entire campaign loosely mocked up in my head- I don't have the modding ability or time to make anything of it but I enjoy thinking about it! The two iterators on the sheet are the central npcs of the campaign.

Remnant is larger, more aquatic, and faster on all fours than a slugcat. It struggles to use the same tools, carries items in its mouth, and can eat batnip and bubble weed. And, though it doesn’t know it, it is one of the last four of its kind left.

More about the campaign below VVV

BONUS: Remnant obviously resembles a slugcat, and they are sort of a slugcat ancestor! The genomes of the pipe slugs slugcats evolved from had remnant DNA as well as the simple tool-worm base that ancients used for many creatures. The blueprints were present in the modified organisms, and over several generations and mutations began to express themselves once more. Anyway…

To start, the Remnant is living with their family in an idyllic natural landscape much like survivor and monk at the beginning of their campaigns. The incident kickstarting their journey would be them wandering off from their kin and- gameplay starts here- getting lured off by something interesting, before the wall closes quickly behind them and the player realizes they have been trapped. They find themselves in a crate lined with wet plant matter, which gets shaken and turned around for a bit before settling down. It continues with a gentler rattling and remnant is clearly being taken somewhere, but the game acts like you're in a den and, once you've eaten the food set out for you in there, you sleep.

You are woken when the train carrying you crashes. You are able to escape and wind up in a light drizzle. Numerous overseers, some purple and others seafoam green, follow you around. The artificial, dilapidated surroundings are alien to the remnant.

During the first cycle an overseer will direct you to the nearest den, but you don’t have a rain timer until the first time you hibernate. You’ve never experienced rain like this before, after all.

The fact is that the remnant and their family are primal fauna, from the old world before bioengineering and iterators. They have spent their whole lives in a carefully controlled environment, maintained at first by ancients and then the systems the ancients left behind. The mass ascension happened, and nobody really knew what to do with these creatures- depending on the species, animals in captivity were generally released to fend for themselves or set for years of being maintained by machines scheduled in advanced, automated to care for them.

Remnant is taken when the iterator Ink Stained Palms orders a specimen of one relatively hardy species to study and potentially have the rest delivered to their regions. Something goes wrong- their delivery is sabotaged by their semi-active former senior, Calls To Stony Skies. And out Remnant goes into an alien land, with each of the two rival iterators trying to lure or force it to go to them.

This generally takes the form of projections like Iggy uses to get the slugcats to Moon, though it’s two different kinds of overseer guiding you in opposite directions at the same time. There may also be introduced environmental hazards- some of the chases in Little Nightmares come to mind- to corral you toward wherever the iterator causing it wants you to go.

ISP was the one who was getting the remnant delivered to her facility. They’re a bioengineer interested in long-term ecosystem restoration. It’s come to believe there’s a natural ‘balance’ to the world that could, in time, let living things leave the cycle of their own accord if it was realigned properly.

CTSS is in a condition not unlike spearmaster moon, though his decline has been steadier and over a longer period of time. They’ve been replaced by another iterator as group senior, and derailed your journey in the hopes of using a rare animal as collateral to get ISP’s help. Watching the remnant’s struggle to survive, however, he ends up very attached to it and can’t bring himself to kill it as he originally planned to.

Though they might want to, CTSS can’t save the remnant from a more insidious fate. The air, the soil, the water itself is toxic to you, whose kind has lived countless generations shielded from the heavy metal byproducts of industry and the artificial metabolisms of those great boxes in the sky. Ascension is an option, but so is going to ISP, whose body itself possesses a complex with artificial environments much like the one you began in. It can’t protect the remnant fully, but it can offer them a longer life. There are multiple endings to the campaign, based on the order you visit the iterators in.

If you read all this thank you so much and feel free to send questions!! About my little guys.

[anxiousdreamcore]

Frontiers of Pandora story review ✨

BEWARE! Heavy spoilers ahead.

Alright, since I don’t see people talking about this game as much as I’d want on my socials, I decided to put together a little review where I talk about the story, what spoke to me, as well as some critiques.

To summarise my opinion; I love it! The story knows where it’s taking place and takes advantage of it. It covers dark topics and succeeds in staying as serious in tone as the movie franchise, which makes the campaign feel like it truly belongs in the world of Pandora.

To speak more in-depth; the plot of a Na’vi residential school had me hooked from the first moment. I think residential schools that native children were forced into are a topic not talked about often enough, so I appreciated the developers and writers bringing awareness to such facilities, even if it’s in sci-fi form. reconnecting with Na’vi heritage that was stolen from the main character and their family is executed quite well, as playing frontiers lets you get immersed into the feeling of exploration and discovery. The player is as un-knowledgeable about the world around them as the protagonist, and being able to experience new connections, abilities, places, stories and traditions side-by-side with them has been an amazing ride.

The different Na’vi cultures shown in the game are written organically. They each possess an intricate fashion based on their values, environment and history, but that is not all. Every clan has a cast of characters, bigger or smaller, who bring further life into the western frontier, help expand on the lore and provide entertainment. My personal favourites of these characters have to be Nefika and Kin, both elderly Na’vi with a welcoming presence and charm. Second to them come Eetu and Okul!

Then there is the main cast, which is MC, their three found family siblings, a.k.a the surviving Sarentu children, So’lek, Alma and Priya. We consistently stay in contact with them, both as part of the campaign and as part of our explorations, sharing experiences with them. The protagonist character is righteous, brave and endlessly adorable in their reactions to the world around them, and the trio of Sarentu forever have a place in my heart. I liked the concept of each one of the Sarentu children representing a different reaction to their past abuse and toxic relationship with John Mercer.

Nor, who had most luxury of remembering his life before being taken by the RDA, tries to distance himself as far as possible from everything human, and progressively adopts an antagonistic mindset towards his human allies, as well as a growing feeling of resentment and vengeance. I do not blame him for it and I believe it makes sense. After him comes Ri’nela, who, during Mercer’s captivity, tried staying out of sight but protecting her siblings where she could. Without Mercer, she feels insecure, constantly stumbling and at first, regularly looks guidance from Alma. She beats herself up for things that happen to Teylan and A’hari, despite being unable to have fixed them, but eventually grows into a stronger person, being able to take on the role of a Tsahik in the clan. Lastly, there is Teylan and he has to be my favorite character in the game. His bond to Mercer is strong, as T.A.P is all he ever knew, so without John, he begins falling apart. Lack of constant control and lack of ""affection"" from Tey’s "father figure" leave him feeling ten times as insecure as Ri’nela. He has a hard time learning Na’vi ways, keeps lagging behind and ultimately sticks to technology and hacking, which is worsened by So’lek’s nagging, as he obviously doesn’t know how severe Teylan’s abuse was and simply assumes that he is "lost" in the new world. Eventually, Teylan does what many abuse victims do, and returns to his abuser. An action I kind of predicted, but which still really hit me. His voice actor did an incredible job of portraying this character and the rest of the campaign I spent praying that I’ll get to bring him back home. In the end, I’m happy he’s at home and safe. 🥹💖🫶

Now to the grown ups. I don’t have much to say about Priya, but I grew fond of her. I liked her development from an awkward girl that sparks horrific second-hand embarrassment in the viewer to a resistance member who actively puts herself in the line of fire to help her friends. I found myself getting worried for her whenever she didn’t respond or was in danger.

So’lek is a character who I was immediately fond of, and I liked his growth as well. He saw himself as completely separate from human resistance members, and his thoughts are often occupied by revenge, but he comes to care for MC, the Sarentu and eventually the humans. Seeing him protect Alma when Nor attacks her was a brilliant moment.

Lastly, there is Alma herself. A very grey character who did horrible things in the past, like leading the program side-by-side with John Mercer. I liked her development, from an aloof and seemingly supportive teacher at T.A.P, to a person that orchestrated the entire project. Her grief and guilt feel organic, and I found myself having a lot of difficult feelings about her as it is obvious she cares for the Sarentu children, but her sins cannot be forgiven. I’m happy Ri’nela made the choice to simply part ways with her in peace, instead of trying to build a new bridge.

Now, for what I believe was executed badly. It’s quite unfortunate, but the game suffers from the same problem as Avatar the way of water, only quadrupled and that is; we don’t get enough time with the characters.

It feels even worse because in comparison to the movies, games don’t have to worry about pacing or time limits. The campaign can be as long as developers wish, but it came out rushed anyway. Part of the reason I got as attached to the characters as I did was because I spent time getting emotionally invested into everything they said, their minor behavioural cues and voicelines, but not everyone is as dedicated, and those people should have the right to experience a good story as well. They shouldn’t have to seek it out between the lines.

The only characters who I felt were properly developed are Teylan and Alma. They had the most extensive arcs and their growth was tied into a nice bow. But what about Ri’nela, Nor and So’lek? Nor suffers from Metkayina syndrome gets completely scrapped shortly before the finale, So’lek only gets crumbs of growth and Ri’nela is at times forgotten about completely. Her development as a character is too off-screen and between the lines for most people to catch it, and I find that sad because she’s such a sweet character when you actually get invested into her.

In the end, Frontiers of Pandora’s story feels like a good joke with all the necessary setup but only half-delivered punchline. I had very reasonable expectations and a lot of them were not fulfilled. This project is definitely miles better than whatever Ubisoft has been releasing in these last years, but I really hope that the DLCs will expand on the story further.

Verdict on the campaign; 7 out of 10. The setup and the beginning of the story were just perfect, but in the end, the characters didn’t get the treatment they deserved. Thank you for reading.

[val-of-the-north]

The insidiousness of Kin in Bloodborne

The game makes a clear distinction between the earthly, beastly nature of mankind and the higher, more sophisticated and advanced inhuman evolution offered by the stars, with one being feared and hated by almost everyone but a small group of irreverents and the other being the goal of most organizations in the setting. They crave the superior knowledge that the stars, sea and Great Ones can offer them and in their selfishness they drag the entire population through the mud, subjecting them to the Scourge that turns them into the reviled, de-evoluted monsters that infest Yharnam.

But there’s something to be noted when analyzing the result of their attempts at ascension... most Kin we see are horrifying and animalistic monsters, no better than the beasts that devour the population. Take for example the Brainsuckers. Their lust for insight isn’t too dissimilar from that of blood-drunk men for their precious healing blood. They do everything in their power to feed themselves on more insight, more knowledge... and for what? In their current state, it’s more of a craving than a meaningful pursuit. And their locations are rather telling too, as most of them are found in the base of operation of the Choir. How were these men of science any different than the commoners they deem blinded by beastly idiocy? All those sacrifices to turn into addicts themselves.

We also see the Fluorescent Flowers, beings who are undeniably kin but... there seems to be nothing intelligent about them. They are ultimately just predators, luring in prey with their flower-like bait. Whatever ritual or experiment made those certainly didn’t lead to a greater understanding of the cosmos. The Scholars of Byrgenwerth themselves have long since turned into mindless sludge who attacks anything they don’t recognize, drifting away in a Nightmare far from their old world. Gardens of Eyes are also just monsters who instinctively attack us despite their supposed higher intellect.

Perhaps the Celestial Emissaries are the only ones not relegated to the role of mindless fiend yet even that is debatable. While we see their individuality still persist somewhat after the transformation (Arianna even remains passive and never retaliates unlike the others) as shown when we breach into Iosefka’s Clinic from the backside, for how long will that last? The other Emissaries we see are exactly like all other Kin, attacking us on sight and sparing no grace for anyone who approaches, showing no sign of their past humanity. And even if they do retain their intelligence somewhat, the same happens to certain beasts, like the Afflicted Beggar. Despite his condition he is capable of complex thinking, more complex than even most Kin we see, and he is able to feel things too.

Other attempts at evolution fail spectacularly and turn people into hungry monsters. Adeline, the only patient of the Research Hall conscious enough to address us is starving for Brain Fluid, and her hunger gets ravenous fast. The fact she is restrained as hard as she is seems to hint that she’d get violent, and we see many patients getting violent and even animalistic at times.

Or think of the Nightmare Apostles, once cultists of some kind, now turned to mindless spiders. The only one with a head on his shoulders and a brain to match is Patches, though he seems to be an explicit exception to the rule. [x]

No matter what, the thirst for knowledge remains the same... a thirst, a primal urge. Beastly idiocy goes both ways, but the stuck-up researchers of Yharnam don’t see it, and that’s their fatal mistake.

In the end, they were no better than the poor population. Just as clueless and obsessed with the very thing that was eating away at their humanity... but while the commoners despaired at this fate in the case of beasthood, these madmen wanted it and ruined countless lives to achieve it. Ultimately, it’s hard to feel sorry for them. They got what they wanted in their short-sightedness: absolute oblivion of the self.

[minteaspoon]

The Tides’ Captain

sad implied lucemond:(

IMPORTANT NOTE: THIS FIC INCLUDES TEEN PREGNANCY!!!! LUKE IS 15 AT THE START OF THIS FIC, SO VERY UNDERAGE!!!! DNI IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO THIS TOPIC!!!!

a/n: Luke has a son out of wedlock (it’s definitely Aemond’s), and is thus shamed and exiled by his family (with great hesitation and protest from Rhaenyra and Corlys’ side of the family, but is celebrated by the Greens)

Also, how Luke got pregnant will be up to interpretation (I personally say there’s no explanation for it, it just happened and is a complete surprise to everyone involved, which would bring potentially unhinged shenanigans and that thought is hilarious to me)

•._•._•._•._•._•

It had been six months.

Six months since Luke was found to be with child.

Six months since Luke was found out to have been bedded before marriage.

Six months since Luke had been put in front of the court and shamed.

Six months since Luke had been exiled from Westeros.

It had been six months since he’s bedded him.

The damn bastard didn’t even own up to it! But what should he have expected, with his reputation as a mutilator of kin and a bastard spawn. Tis only fair a bastard birth a bastard - at least, in the eyes of the court, and to the one he gave his maidenhood to.

The brunette even had to abandon Arrax, and was given no dragon egg to gift to his child. Something he knows the Hightowers and their allies celebrated.

Luke had sailed across the sea after hitching a ride with sailors who took pity on the poor lad. They did whatever they could to help accommodate him; fed him, sheltered him, told him stories and taught him song and dance and fishing. And in return, the exiled prince helped in whatever chores he was able.

He grew to care and love his sailor family, and they saw him as one of their own. They had even given him a new name - Prim Carlisle of the Tidefall Ship, Pearl of its crew. Luke’s little one was even given options for names by his found family; Pitt, Ervin, Arwen, Mittie, Eula, Matildah… He was leaning into naming the child either Tidus for a boy, or Joanna for a girl.

The crew had even given him his own weapon, in case he ever needed to fight alongside them - though they promise he needn’t have to, as they’d never let a pregnant fellow do heavy work, and they’ll do whatever it takes to make sure he never has to see, hear or commit any violent act. When Prim saw the dagger, he knew immediately what to name the silver blade melded into a dark hilt with small gems molded onto it - Tidal. His family laughed and teased him for such a corny name, but he stuck by it.

Before he knew it, six months had passed by, then seven, then eight and finally, he was in his last month of pregnancy. And before he knew it, he met his son; Tidus. His hair was of his mother, brown curls that framed his chubby and red face, but his eyes - they were purple.

Got something from his father, hm?

The bitter thought flew in his mind, as he smiled bitterly at his sleeping son. His birth wasn’t easy - it took Prim two days to get him out, and he had to be moved from the ship to land for proper care and assistance, as the sea is no place for anyone to give birth in. The trek to land helped in positioning Tidus correctly, so the last few moments of his birth was a success. And most importantly, Luke…Prim didn’t have to be cut open.

For a solid three months, Prim and his crew stayed on the island to rest from the chaos of birth, and the celebration of a new member of their family. After their rest, they set out yet again, this time, with even more cherished cargo with them - a child and a few girls of the island willing to come aboard and travel with Prim’s family, to help with medicine, organizing and with basic household - shiphold- chores.

Once again, Prim’s family was expanding. A few years evidently pass by, and Tidus was now three, while Prim was now eighteen. It has been three years since he last step foot on Westerosi grounds, since he had last sailed Westerosi waters, since he had last flown on Arrax in Westerosi skies. Prim was a far better sailor than he was three years prior - he was no longer seasick on deck, he knew the ropes, knew how to navigate the seas, knew how to chart and read the weather, knew how to use the stars in his predictions, and he knew how to sail and fish and hunt and lead.

When the captain of the Tidefall Ship fell to a sickness one day while they anchored on a small island, he named Prim the next captain once he hit the bucket. And when he did, his last will and command was effective immediately.

At first, Prim didn’t know if he had the ability to become captain, but with his crew’s help and his son’s encouragement, he became a feared and respected leader of a band of skilled, resourceful and “no-good” sailors under the moniker Prim Carlisle, “The Mermaid”.

It was only another three years later, when Prim and Tidus freshly turned twenty one and six respectively, did Prim decide to finally settle down somewhere cozy and quiet, where it would only be Prim and Little Tidus. When he dropped the news to his crew, they immediately went into hysterics, and immediately said they’ll settle down with him as well - though, with some prodding from Prim, they continued on their voyages, with Prim’s second in command as the new captain.

After a few weeks at sea, mapping out potential places of note good for a single parent and their child, Prim settled on a valley surrounded by wildlife and mountains and cliffs, with a meadow in the middle full of flowers with space large enough for a farm, cabin and animals.

The crew promised to come visit with gifts and trinkets and anything the father-son duo could need, and Prim held them to the promise.

Prim and Tidus lived in relative peace together in their little corner of personalized heaven. They had a cabin full of comfortable crafts by Prim and Tidus, alongside being decorated with presents from their family. They had a farm with two cows, five chickens and three sheep. They had growing crops of all kinds, as they were given many seeds by their crew to start out with. Not only that, but the girls had even given and taught him how to make the most of what little one might have during the weeks leading up to his and Tidus’ settlement.

Life was perfect for the father-son duo.

Until it wasn’t.

It wasn’t long until they hear rumors from travelers about a war brewing in Westeros, a war between family - a dance of dragons. Each side had been looking for dragon seeds to hatch and claim dragons for their side, and their reach had far extended past even the Free Cities. Prim knew better than to get involved - especially with his former family, so he made precautions to barricade both the obvious and inobvious entrances to his valley, and hid him and his child away from the skies. Only his crew knew their whereabouts, and how to get in and out.

However, these measures weren’t enough to keep him safe from someone who was desperate to get him back despite the years, and despite the fact that he never owned up to his part as Tidus’ father.

Above Prim, during a night of chill and snow, as a white and thick blanket of white coats the lands, he hears a roar that brings shivers down his spine. Clutching his crying son to his chest, who was scared for him and his mother in front of the green beast above them, in one hand while on the other, he holds his dagger - Tidal, Prim looks up and gazed past the hulking mass of flesh and scales -

And makes eye contact with a desperate, relieved and grieving violet eye.

[poppitron360]

Someone sent me an ask ages ago about my Valdangelo hcs, but it somehow got deleted? I’m really really sorry bc I missed a chance of a lifetime to infodump so I hope you’re reading this if that was you and you’ve been waiting for my response- here it is. Please please please don’t be discouraged I love it when people send me asks.

This also doubles up as the third instalment of my series about “Why Literally Any Ship Is Better Than Caleo/Deep-Dive Into My Thoughts On All Leo Ships”:

Pt. 1 Valzhang

Pt. 2 Valgrace

We were robbed of Leo and Nico’s friendship. I get that there are a lot of characters and so many arcs to give them, but I wish that Rick had given them more time to interact and spent less time on Caleo, because tbh we never really cared about Cal for any reason other than to develop the men’s arcs. Because Platonic Valdangelo has so much potential that just isn’t covered in the books, I’m gonna base most of this post on what COULD’VE been, from fannon and headcannons.

1. They are Trauma Twinsies. By that, I mean they are both metaphors for different ways of coping with loss. Nico pushes others away from himself, not wanting to get close to anyone. Leo pushes himself away from others, hiding behind an idealised version of himself. Both believe that letting others in would just lead to rejection, and so they shut everyone out to protect themselves. But I feel like Nico copes with it a lot better than Leo does. He has an outlet for it- being emo. As someone who dabbles with emoism myself, I can tell you that, for me, wearing those clothes actually makes me incredibly happy. Nico is owning his pain. Leo is bottling it all up inside and then hiding it behind the jokes and the smiles. I feel like Nico could teach Leo to let it out a bit.

2. Also, their backstories match in more ways than one. Both their moms were killed because of a prophecy about them- leading them both to blame themselves for their deaths. Both have been treated as outcasts because of their powers, Nico by CHB and CJ, Leo by his family (and probably CHB as well, though we don’t really see how he was treated after revealing his abilities). Both ran away because of that. Both probably have religious trauma. They’ve both lost everyone they’ve ever cared about. They’re both being smothered with love and affection by Jason and the rest of the fandom. They both cope with feeling alone by spending more time talking to things that aren’t alive, Nico to the dead, Leo to his machines.

3. So imagine how they could seek comfort in each other! They’ve both been through similar things, so they understand each other’s pain way better than the others. I mean, Jason means well, but he’s never truly known what it’s like to be an outcast- he was held aloft on a golden shield and pronounced Preator. Neither of them would try to “fix” the other, and they wouldn’t try to “one up” the other either. They just share, and when the other says “that sucks”, they know that they really mean it. I imagine they sit five feet apart and just cry. No talking necessary, just silent understanding passing between them. They keep each other company, because they both know what it’s like to be alone.

4. They are both autistic (headcannon). Thank you to @aroaceleovaldez for opening my eyes to this one, and in fact making me realise a few things about myself and why I relate to Leo and Nico so much (pls go check out their posts on the subject, they do a much better job at explaining it than me). But it’s true. I don’t know if Rick did it intentionally or not, but I henceforth hath claimed them both as my kin, alongside Hephaestus himself (“I don’t understand organic life forms”- me neither, man, me neither). Leo and Nico communicate on the same wavelength, something Caleo doesn’t do. Calypso explodes at him for not fitting the “hero” stereotype, for being different. She has no patience with Leo when he does a social fuck-up, something I personally find incredibly frustrating. When he does something wrong, she just shouts at him, and doesn’t take the time to explain what he should do differently. No wonder Leo immediately got defensive! Here was this random woman yelling at him because he broke her table, and he didn’t understand what he did wrong.

5. They are both tiny- much like how Leo and Frank’s physical appearances symbolise their differences, Leo and Nico’s symbolise their similarities. Because all sad people are short, apparently. Valzhang is the yin and the yang, Valdangelo is just two yins excitedly info-dumping about their special interests, (Mythomagic, Machinery/Dragons). Their shortness could be metaphors for many things that they have in common, but I think it best symbolises their loss of childhoods. Nico has changed a lot since he was that happy little ten-year-old we first met in ttc, but Rick never lets us forget that he’s still just a kid. Leo always lacked the physical advantage in fights, so he’s had to learn from an early age to use his brains and his wits to defend himself. As a result, he grew up way too fast, but he still projects that silly, hyperactive little-boy energy as a way to mask. Calypso ridicules Leo for his height and his scrawny appearance.

6. Nico could let Leo get closure on his mom. Think about it. He’d be able to summon her, let him make peace, and let him realise that she does not blame him for her death. Nico could console Leo, reassure him that it wasn’t his fault, because Nico understands more than anybody what Leo is going through. This helps Leo on his arc way more than Calypso could, help him get closure, and learn to accept himself and his powers.

So, the summary of all these points is: They can understand each other on ANOTHER LEVEL. More than Cal and Leo ever could.

Like I said in my Valzhang post, it doesn’t have to be romantic. I hate that everything revolves around romance. Platonic relationships are important, y’all! We all need them, especially Leo, considering how insecure he feels about being the “seventh wheel”.

What ship should I do next? These are all the ones I actively ship, but anything’s better than Caleo. Liper could be fun, or Perleo. Maybe, to prove that literally anything is better than Caleo, I’ll do Leo x Octavian? Lmk in the comments.

[echo-goes-mmm]

Silas and Wren 2.0 #5

Masterpost

Previous

Next

Warnings: past dub/noncon

Silas paced in his room. 

As much as he hated solitude, he’d grown accustomed to it. Now that he had company, what was there to say?

He’d gotten what he wanted, but it didn’t help the emptiness inside him.

Typical. 

He stopped, sighing. Maybe… maybe he just needed some time. To get used to another person again; or maybe time for the pain of rejection to leave.

If it ever left.

Silas opened his door, bumping into Wren. 

Wren squeaked at the impact. He stepped back, his honey-brown eyes wild.

“Sorry,” Silas apologized. “I didn’t know you were there.”

Wren's expression shifted in a flash, from fear to a placid smile, but Silas could hear his frantic heartbeat.

“I should have watched where I was going,” he said, polite as always. “I’m sorry, Master.”

Wren was afraid of him.

Of course Wren was afraid of him; how could he expect anything different? He shouldn’t hope for anything good from the universe. Nothing ever panned out right.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Wren’s relief was nearly imperceptible, but it was there.

“What’re you up to?” Silas asked.

Wren tensed again, and Silas could have smacked himself. “I’m only curious,” he added.

“I- I was looking for a duster, Master. To clean with.”

“Oh. Uh, I don’t think I have one. Sorry.”

“It’s alright, Master, I’ll make do,” Wren said with a sunny smile. It didn’t quite meet his eyes.

Silas wondered how many smiles Wren had faked before. He was too good at it.

“You don’t have to clean for me.”

Wren shifted. “I’d be happy to,” he said. “I don’t mind, Master.”

Silas knew a losing battle when he saw one.

“Well, alright. You don’t need to call me ‘master’, though. Just Silas will do.”

“Yes, Master Silas,” replied Wren automatically.

Silas sighed internally, and went downstairs.

So much for bonding. How did people make friends?

Silas scanned the bookshelf, looking for something to read. 

Unfortunately, he had read all of his books many times, and he really didn’t feel like risking the streets for the bookstore. 

The library was outside his pitiful territory, and out of the question.

Silas worried his lip. Maybe he could send Wren to buy a book or two?

He glanced at the clock. Ten pm. The bookstore closed at nine.

It was just as well, really. He couldn’t afford to spend money so frivolously. Sure, the banks were as happy to service vampires as they were humans- money was money after all- but his pockets were not as deep as most of his kin. 

Wren alone was a sizable expense, and he had to buy food for him every week. Not to even mention furnishing the attic room. No new books for a while, then.

Silas grabbed a random title and sat in his armchair. He flipped to the first chapter, skimming the words.

Nothing jumped out at him; the plot couldn’t hold his attention. He had read it too many times.

Silas scrubbed a hand over his face. 

He missed his sired siblings, even though they disliked him. He missed games and chatter and jokes, even if he was mostly left out.

But most of all he missed Felix; the only other person in his nest that didn’t hate him.

If only things had been different.

Silas sighed, and stood to put the book away.

___________________

Wren finished dusting the top of the kitchen shelves. No one had cleaned up there in ages, and no wonder. He had to climb on top of the counter to get to it.

Wren wiped off the counters one more time, and admired his work.

The kitchen was sparkling from top to bottom. He’d even mopped the floor, despite the lack of a proper mop.

Luckily, he’d found some rags in the bathroom closet. It seemed a rather strange place to keep them, but it wasn’t his place to question his Master’s organization system.

Speaking of his Master, Silas hadn’t fed from him yet. Surely he was hungry.

Wren put the stopper in the sink and filled it with hot water. He left the rags to soak, and went looking for his owner.

___________________

Master Silas was in the living room, staring off into space. His hands were folded in front of him, and his legs were stretched out.

Wren hesitated.

“Are you alright, Master?”

Silas turned his head, his gray eyes landing on him. Master looked away after only a moment.

“I’m fine,” he said.

Wren hesitated. “You haven’t had breakfast,” he said.

“I’m not hungry. Just… bored.”

What did he mean? A vampire who wasn’t hungry? Laughable. Incomprehensible. Then again, who was Wren to question him?

Boredom, though, he could fix.

Wren didn’t particularly want to at the moment- he was probably covered in dust- but it was about time he did his duty for Master Silas.

“I could entertain you, Master,” he offered, keeping his voice as pleasant and agreeable as possible.

Silas looked at him again. Wren’s hands twitched at the hem of his shirt, waiting for the order to strip.

It didn’t come.

Silas stood up. He walked to the shelf, and pulled down a box.

Confusion and relief swirled through him. A game. Just a board game.

“Do you know how to play Carcassonne?”

“I can learn, Master.”

Silas set the box on the coffee table, and Wren inched forward. Master began to pull out the pieces, and Wren sat on the rug across from him.

One day, soon, Master Silas would take him to the bedroom and Wren would find out what kind of Master he was. What he liked, and how to really please him.

But for now, Master wanted him to play a game.

Wren tried to pay attention as Master Silas explained the rules, but a thought nagged at him.

Why didn’t Silas want to bed him? 

No one had ever turned him down before. He never really had to offer before, either. It was a given; understood that Wren was always available. No Master needed to be bored when he was around.

It had been three days and Silas showed no sign of interest.

No Master had ever waited so long. Some took him into the bedroom immediately, others waited until evening came. One in particular, the worst of them, had bent him over the nearest piece of furniture as soon as they had walked through the door. 

But three days? Unheard of.

Silas placed the first square, and Wren was struck with a horrifying thought.

Was something wrong with him?

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