#like sure i can make stone and bone tools if i need to

[rhysintherain]

Watching Alone really drives home the low success rates of a single human hunter and makes you appreciate the value of food that can't run away.

It's also a really good example of how hunter gatherer subsistence works.

If you leave 10 humans in the environment with limited resources and no contact or rescue party, 9 of them will be dead in 90 days.all of them will be dead in a little over 100 days.

Even with 2 people, starvation tends to set in after a couple months.

And yeah, people from hunter gatherer cultures they'd probably be better at this than a bunch of Americans who do it as a side hustle, but there's only so much one person can do in one day. It's almost never enough.

It's too much for one human to collect enough berries to have vitamin c through the winter. It's too much for one human to hunt and process enough big game regularly to feed themselves. it's too much for one human to build an insulated home and then monitor their heat source to keep that home from catching fire.

It's too much to make and use sharp tools without injuring yourself, and it's too much to try and do all the work hurt if you do. It's too much to go out and find more food when your inability to find safe food made you sick.

On the other hand, if you put 10 people out in the environment together with limited resources and occasional contact with other small groups, you'd have a community that could last indefinitely.

For all that we glorify stories of the lone individual against the environment, it very much isn't how we evolved to survive.

[kastalani123]

The Riordanverse is, ultimately, a children's series so it's expected that the nitty-gritty, darker details of certain things get omitted. Still, I think it'd be interesting to see the demigods, each raised for slaughter in their own way, be the soldiers, the victims, the prey that they grew up to be for both godly and mortal reasons.

Percy always keeps Riptide in arm's reach, always keeps his fingers curled around it, ready to unsheath it every waking moment. He sits and stands with his back flush against walls, eyes and ears always open to seek the slightest hint of danger. He trusts Paul, he trusts Chiron — he still watches every minute shift of their expression, of their body for warning signs. He keeps outside Dionysus's range, ensures he always has an open exit within reach. The smell of alcohol makes him dizzy, nauseous; his thoughts leave his body sometimes, when it gets bad enough.

Annabeth keeps a packed bag at the bottom of her closet when she stays at her family's home; she has places she can stay and her parents and Chiron have been good, but her feet still itch when they frown a time too many. Nobody knows she still sees spiders sometimes, feels her skin itch with their crawling. She makes Percy swear he'll never leave the room before she wakes up unless it's truly necessary. She puts boards on her bed's edges so she'll never fall while she thrashes from nightmares; falling would only make it worse.

Leo sits far from any open fires and leaves if people start roasting meat; Plan C is used sparingly once he isn't constantly fighting for his life. His tool belt can't make food, but it stores more granola bars than he could ever carry without it. He makes himself near-unnoticeable earplugs after New Year's and he avoids looking at himself; his body is too whole for being blown to pieces and half the time he's sure the chunks are rotting around Camp Half-Blood where they should've fallen. He tries to keep from unnecessary interactions; he can't have things tying him to some place, not when he's mapped out dozens of escape plans. He smiles longer and wider than ever before.

Hazel doesn't wear jewelry; the only exception is a wooden bead bracelet Nico gave her after she rejected a golden necklace. Walls close in around her, dust and liquid clog her throat, stones crush her bones– she comes back to the present. She clings to affection like a drowning man to a piece of wood, but keeps watch for signs that it'll turn against her. Silence haunts her every step; she keeps an MP3 player and headphones with her at all times to drive it away.

Frank gathers up his form and pours it into a mould of himself, does what he can to keep it from spilling through the cracks. His fingers are littered with scars and scratches, with a trail of broken mirrors left behind in their wake. There are always voices arguing in the back of his mind — not his father's, but not his own, either; just a phantom screech pulsing through his head. He drowns them by sinking into new responsibilities, new dangers, shaping himself to fit while trying to remain himself. The crackle of burning wood follows him everywhere he goes and he can do nothing to down it out — only stare at whatever he had managed to save from his suicide to remind himself he does not need to worry about it; he has already crumbled into ash.

Piper dives into Oklahoma, into mortality, like she'll suffocate without it. She remains far from everything, though not far enough to be out of the loop, because she needs to know about every prophecy, every end of the world, every step and challenge her friends face. She calls them on a bronze-infused phone, not a rainbow, even if the camera and the notifications and the everythingness of it blind her like a spotlight and the thrum of electricity runs through her veins like venom. She paints her face a bit misshapen here, a bit discolored there, a bit unsettling everywhere, and Shel understands. She understands and she loves her and she says it's beautiful not in aesthetics but in the potential protection it provides, as Piper intended.

Jason had learned every rule with the mere intention to break it, to tear through the chains of military life that had been clamped around his throat for as long as he could remember. He had chased life, rather than the survival he had clung to for so long — packed every second of his ticking down time with it. Finally with freedom, but so little time with it, he snatched every piece of it he could: a mortal highschool, a movie theatre, a mall shopping spree, a room of his own — all carefully documented in stacks of journals, ever breath of air and glimpse of the sun, with copies upon copies stashed away so that his memories could never again slip away like sand between his fingers, so that his friends had something of him left, after his life of nothingness.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Up All Night 1

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, narcissim, probably name calling and nasty words, other dark elements. Proceed with caution. (older!reader)

Note: I wasn't serious about this but now I were. Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

You rub your cheek as you check the time in the corner of the screen. You should’ve been gone an hour ago, you should have your bottle of shiraz and your episode of housewives to keep you company. You don’t know why you expected that, nothing ever goes to schedule, not with your boss.

You sigh at his empty office. You haven’t seen him for two days. He has an automatic reply that he’s ‘working remotely’. You know Mr. Drysdale well enough. He doesn’t work outside the office, he barely does anything at the office.

You go back to the PDF, your red notes in the margin of the manuscript. Big meeting tomorrow. Hopefully your boss got that message. You can only imagine what would happen if a publishing house missed their introductory conference with a major writer. That could mean thousands, if not millions, in losses. Somehow, you suspect you won’t have to imagine.

You finish the chapter and press your finger to your phone. It lights up but you don’t have anything more than the several reminders you set for yourself and automated notifications from apps you never use. Drysdale…

His last name rolls from your throat without meaning too. Something about him just irks you to the bone. Maybe it’s envy, or at very least, resent. You’ve worked all these years in the publishing business to become an assistant, all while he was born into his editor’s chair.

Another bubble pops up. You’re not the social media type. You never got much into it. Your generation came a bit too early for that, but you’ve found with men like Drysdale, narcissists really, it is a great tool.

You tap the notification and it opens the story. There he is, taking a shot with a pair of statuesque twins. Not the best look for an editor, on that night, of all nights. 

You clamp your lips shut and flare your nostrils. Right. You close your laptop as you see Eugene making his sweep. Once security pops up, you know you’ve got to go. You pack up your things and say hello to the man in the blue uniform on your way out. He knows you by name too.

You shift your glasses on your nose, the little rubber pieces starting to squeeze your bridge. You come out the front of the building and make your way to the only car left in the lot. You throw your bag in the back and drop into the front seat.

No wine for you. You’ll have to stream the episode when it comes out on Prime. You set a new alarm for the morning, early enough for you to make sure Mr. Drysdale meets his obligations.

📗

As expected, you don’t have a single call from Drysdale. You’ve left several messages since your alarm blared and broke through your four hours of sleep. You see his last activity on Insta from three in the morning and you want to throttle your own phone. This isn’t good.

You have only enough time to get yourself ready. Your morning routine of a perfectly portioned breakfast and precisely brewed dark roast is nixed. You get in your car with coffee in a travel mug. You have only one thing on your mind.

As you draw up the long drive to the ultra-modern facade, the revulsion courses from your stomach into your throat. There’s something about his style that makes your eyes roll. So obnoxious and absurd. He’s exactly a caricature of a silver-spooned brat.

You park behind the beamer and take a draw from your insulated mug. Ugh, you need caffeine, you need strength and patience. You put it back in the cupholder and force yourself out of the peace of the front seat.

You stride up the white stone walkway and hit the doorbell. Once. Twice. Five times before you admit you will not receive an answer. You bring up the emergency file in your phone and key in the door code. Drysdale would shit if he knew his mother sent you it but she is a lot smarter than him. It makes you wonder how the apple rolled so far away after falling.

You let yourself in. It’s quiet but for the catch and skip of a forgotten record. You go into the front room. Open bottles of liquor forgotten on the glass table, a broken glass on the floor, and the record player crackling through the speaker.

You pull the needle off and pause to look out through the transparent wall that gives a clear view of the entire room. You know Drysdale to be shameless but really?

You put your phone away and approach the stares. The large gap between each gives a sense of vertigo to your ascent. You get to the top and head down the hall, glancing down over the entryway as you do.

You carry on and open a door; closet. The next, a bathroom, the other, a bedroom but not used. And finally, you find the door you’re looking for. On the other side, Mr. Drysdale sleeps with his ass naked in the room, upside down on the bed with his head hanging off the foot. The same woman from his Instagram are entwined with him as they sleep the right side up. Ugh, you don’t want to picture it.

You go into the en suite bathroom and take the sleek black plastic cup from beside the sink. You fill it with cold water and unhook the amber satin robe from the door as you pass. You march to the bed and dump the water onto Ransom’s head, watching it splash down his back.

He yipes and whips his head up with an unattractive snort, “what the fuck–”

“Robert Laing is due at nine. It’s ten to eight.” You drop the robe over him carelessly and spin on your heel, “let’s go., Mr. Drysdale.”

[val-of-the-north]

Potential Ensha info from the DLC

Me and @katyspersonal were hoping for more potential lore on Ensha, surprisingly enough... and we might have actually got our wish somehow. Let's take a look at the description of Ensha's bones for a second, as well as their properties...

While they don't look it at first glance, the description specifies the bones are "golden", and they can replenish HP when it's reduced. Gold and healing go hand-in-hand in Elden Ring's setting, so this propriety makes sense by considering the golden nature of the remains.

This description alone doesn't tell us much however. It describes the remains as belonging to an ancient lord named Ensha who is currently known as a soulless king. However, Shadow of the Erdtree might give us more hints about who he was prior to becoming an elaborate set of armor.

In the Lands of Shadow we can come across a very rare crafting material, mostly found around Scadu Altus and in the Shadow Keep and Fort of Reprimand. It is also held by the various Black Knights found around the world. This material is the Blessed Bone Shard.

These blessed bones shine gold with the blessing of the Scadutree, and can be used to craft many interesting items, including Festive Grease, Golden Vows (the tool, not the incantation), and Sunwarmth Stones. Two out of three of these items are directly aligned with the Golden Order (though the Festive Grease is likely part of the Shaman tradition which Marika made sure to somehow preserve), and one of them is directly tied to HP regeneration, the same passive power as Ensha's bones.

Since the other ingredients needed to craft it are a Spiritgrave Stone and a Black Pyrefly, neither connected to healing, I assume that part of the power comes from the blessed bones.

If this is the case, could it mean that the ancient lord Ensha participated in the Crusade as a warrior on the side of the Erdtree prior to his death? And that his bones were blessed because of his great service, as it was "the greatest honor that can be granted to the dead" after all. Him being some sort of lord or king might have also allowed his remains to be brought back to the Lands Between for a proper burial, or maybe even to craft this armor as a means to immortalize him. If so, his death must have been prior to the Lands of Shadow being hidden away by Marika.

Now, one could still question why Ensha's bones aren't as shiny as these shards are, but perhaps his blessing has faded with time. After all, the potency of the blessed bones we pick up is much greater than that of his armor, offering continuous healing to everyone nearby as opposed to just when our health gets low.

I think Ensha himself might have rested peacefully for years until after the Night of the Black Knives or the Shattering, which led to the rise of Those Who Live in Death through Deathroot. There is a possibility he himself is part of them, especially with the way he is described.

He is soulless, which has a deep connection to both Godwyn and other perished Demigods of the Night of the Black Knives. There seems to be a connection between death, undeath and the lack of a soul, strengthening the connection between Ensha and the undead.

He is further described as the king of the "lost and desperate", which seems to harken back to how Fia describes Those Who Live in Death as "the meek, and the many".

The connection seems slightly more obvious, as in Japanese she refers to them as "the weak" (弱き者) and she describes herself as their "guardian/protector" (庇護者). Meanwhile, Ensha is the King of those who "cling to/depend on" him (縋り付く) which seems to hold similar connotations of a weaker group of people needing a stronger figure for protection. In that case, Ensha might have been a surrogate king of sorts, but clearly not good enough to truly become their lord, a title fully reserved for the godly flesh of Godwyn. Or maybe, just like Fia, he was simply a self-appointed protector for them and had no higher aims.

The way in which he operates is still quite a mystery though. The man who wears the armor is also named Ensha, just like this ancient lord, so unless he is simply cosplaying him, there might be something deeper going on...

The DLC also introduced an interesting NPC enemy: Rakshasa. Named after a demon, the description of her armor makes a peculiar comment about following a certain path to "become" Rakshasa itself, hinting that the woman we just beat was just one embodiment of it.

Now, Ensha would be a bit different, but what if he also worked in a similar manner? As in, those who wear his remains become him by extension. But in that case, why would this king follow Gideon Ofnir? Is it because of his desire to reach the Haligtree? Perhaps he wants to confront Miquella since in his kindness he seems to have forsaken Those Who Live in Death, and if the Golden Epitaph is to be believed, agrees and maybe even endorses their destruction.

The vow of peace of the Roundtable Hold might be why someone like D doesn't strike him down on the spot. Or maybe hiding as a simple suit of armor proves to be quite effective in avoiding detection from the hunters of his kind.

[sol-consort]

I’ve been thinking about hands, and how meny fingers I use

Like I be using all them digits

Y’think the other mass effect aliens would ever look at them five fingies and be like damn, might be helpful? Or do they think human and batarian hands are weird/uncanny?

(I don’t really count asari as five-fingered, because the whole ‘parasite that looks different to each viewer’ hc thing)

That depends, how do you feel about these hands, anon?

What about these? Do they fill you with fascination? Curiosity? Disgust? Intrigue? Can you imagine their texture?

Would you ever fall in love with a sentient person who has any of the above hands? Would you have them as a friend? Would you trust them to watch your back in battle? Would you hand them their change with the receipt?

How would they hold a pen? How would they write your name. Can they play the piano? The lyre? Maybe a lute? Would they be cold or warm in winter?

We can figure out how hypothetical aliens would feel about human hands by figuring out how we, the humans, feel about alien hands. And animals are the closest things to aliens we have currently.

Whatever answers came to your mind, aren't far off from what Mass Effect aliens would feel about human hands. Just like looking at the hands of a orangutan can cross into the uncanny valley territory, aliens with similar biology to humans (non-shapeshifter asari for example) might get an uneasy feeling looking at our non-blue hands. Or maybe drell get queasy at seeing our scale-less limbs, much like you'd feel seeing an animal with transparent skin with all of its organs on display, the fact you can see human veins and skin stiching makes any species with some sort of protective layer extremely anxious at first glance.

The most important part of any given hand is the opposable thumb. At least that's the conclusion humans came to, since it was what allowed us to seamlessly transition from animals into the stone age and weild tools.

But most hands start as feet—not our current feet designed for bipedal movement, but a prototype—so did ours. Evidence suggests that humans evolved thumbs and tool-making front "feet" while we were still quadrupeds!

We learned to create before we learned to walk on two legs! then it lead to our spines being fucked opsies

Human hands are also... kind of weird, don't you think? I mean.

This is some eldritch horror type shit.

The bones of your arm literally cross into an X when you flip your hand 180 degrees, to a lot of aliens who cannot flip their arm, this must seem absolutely horrifying. Imagine an alien being able to turn their head 180 degrees like a freaky owl, wouldn't that phase you at least a bit? Yeah, that's how those aliens view our arms.

Don't get me started on how some people can flip their arm 360 degrees...

Human fingers are special in the way they have more joints than most animals. Our biology meant for dexterous fingers that excel at delicate work. And the fact we can control each finger separately, bend, and curl it. Every single finger might as well be counted as a separate limb.

If you want a comparison, we don't have the same degree of control and awareness over our toes. Besides the big toe and pinky, the middle ones are hard to move separately. Sure, with practice, you can get better at it, but it's still much harder to flip someone off with your toes than with your fingers. It's not impossible, but hard.

To put more emphasis on just how much of an important position our hands hold, each finger, not hand, but finger, has its own area in the cerebral cortex.

While your toes—with the exception of the big one—share the same somatotopic map.

Our wrists are an intricate fragile design. They have a limited number of use. The thin skin above the radial artery easily allows you to find your pulse, while most animals, our size, have their wrists covered in protective layers.

We were made for tool-making and tinkering, which is what I'm getting at. Turians didn't need to make weapons (for a long while at least) when their claws and thick metalic hands could easily tear the meat off of bone whole, while humans had no other choice. Why our teeth aren't as sharp, why our legs aren't as fast, why our punches don't pack much in comparison to that of a bear or else; our natural evolution invested so much into making us resourceful tool-makers.

You know the saying when you're holding a hammer, your brain views it as an extension of your body rather than your hand holding a tool?

We don't need layers of insulation, we can make clothes. We don't need protective shells, we can make armour. We don't need claws, we can make swords.

So can other species, yes! But they arrived at that stonewall stage much later than humanity who hit their physical limits pretty early which forced them to relay on tools, therefore altering our biology to be precise tool-makers (and keep in mind evolution takes THOUSANDS of years to come into effect)

But to make, to create anything, you need high tier hands with opposable thumbs—how the elcor and hanar evaded that requirment, I'll never know. Flexible, precise fingers with total awareness and control are valuable add-ons that allow you to jumpstart civilisation.

A lot of aliens wouldn't be able to play our instruments, but we might be able to play their instruments if we create synthetic attachments to add-on to our hands because it's unlikely that their hands move in a way that we cannot replicate. I could hold my last three fingers together and attempt to write like an angara, but an angara can't separate their last three fingers and attempt to write like me.

We always poke and prode at our bodies, seeing how we can improve it, why surgery is so common nowadays, why CRISPR technology is being reserched earlier than it should relative to how neglected other branches of science are.

Because humans cannot wait to play god with their bodies!

We still want to tinker and make toys, be more efficient with our creations, invent even more complex instruments, add more buttons to a videogame controller.

The asari hands evolved (or were genetically engineered by the protheans) for biotics and mass effect field handling, the turian hands for cutting and slicing, the krogan hands for splitting skulls, the drell hands for insulation against the burning sand, etc etc.

The human hands for creating.

Would other species want our hands? Depends on what the species values. Turians and krogans would think living with our hands must be a nightmare, drell would find them overexposed and too... wiggly.

Salarians might see the benefit of having fingertips smaller than your fingerbase... unless their inflated fingertips allows for a better grip on small tools?

What I think most aliens would be the weirdest about when it comes to humans is our hair, straight legs, and chest if we follow the asari are shapeshifters HC.

Hair as in all hair. Body hair, head hair, eyelashes and eyeybrows, and even pubic hair.

It's all just... so weird to them.

They call it fur. They 100% call it fur. The only reason we even classify hair as hair is because we have it, so we're particular about categorising it and just why it's different from fur.

But, at the end of the day hair and fur are made out of the same thing, tomayto tomahto, to them, it's just fine fur.

On the other hand, our head hair might remind them of trees. In a nice way? Think dangling vines of leaves, like those of a willow tree.

It's made of keratin, just like our nails, and most aliens have nails, yet none of them have even a single strand of hair. Except the other animals on their planet definitely have hair/fur, so why is everyone else so weirdly smooth?

When your only interaction with a certian biological trait is within the animal kingdom and... pets of your civilisation, it builds a certain impression.

Like he we coo at krogans having tails, the other alien species must think our hair is absolutely something to fawn over. I feel like a lot of aliens would unwarrantly touch your hair at the start of the human integration, try to pet it, before they got the memo that humans absolutely abhor the act and turn hostile if done to them.

It's like common courtesy not to touch human hair, they still think about it tho. Maybe if you're close to an alien and hang out a lot, one day they hesitantly ask to touch it because they've always been very curious, and you oblige.

They're probably surprised to find out it's a dead part of your body. We can't feel anything in our hair except at the root. But they get the memo that hair is an important part of self-expression in humans. Be it dyeing it the most vibrant colours and spending hours styling it, or covering it in headwraps and hijabs with a beautiful pin or two at the corner.

I see the asari especially loving the curly hair, more specifically the kinky type and how it holds its shape. The process of braiding it takes an immense amount of focus and effort, the results being breathtaking. It's the height of elegance to them.

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, washing your hair in the sink before applying oil and brushing it, each time one of your alien roommate pass by, they get completely intrigued by the process and just stand watching you work on each knot by the open door.

By the time you're finished styling it, like a handful of aliens are just standing there, completely enamoured, some even taking pictures.

[alice-after-dark]

The Red King and the Unicorn - Legends and Lore

Heavily inspired by The Last Unicorn, Howl's Moving Castle, and Beauty and the Beast.

Sorry it's been a while since I updated one of my AUs! Been busy with my current wip. Hope you guys enjoy!

They say the Red King is a fearsome thing, a being known across the land for his powerful magic and cruelty. Clothed completely in the color of blood and with the rotted antlers of a deer, they say he crawled from the depths of the abyss, a foul evil creature made of darkness and screams.

They say when the moon rises high and full he will hunt, devouring the souls of those unlucky enough to enter his path. Parents warn their children to never venture into the forest at night, for if they did the Red King will catch them and eat them bones and all. Or perhaps he will curse you with his terrible magic and leave you to suffer for all eternity. Those who live to tell the tale are often driven mad by the encounter, too frightened to even describe what they saw. They say he can change form, taking on the shape of whatever you fear most.

They say Red King lives in a castle made of dark stone. It sits high on a cliff's edge, its tall twisted towers overlooking the sea. Those who pass through its doors never return, eaten soul and all by sharp teeth meant to rend flesh from bone.

"Niffty, dear, hand me the salt, please?...thank you."

That's what they say.

Vox watches from his place on the couch, still wrapped in the throw blanket someone had laid across him, as this creature of darkness fusses about the small kitchen. He's making some kind of stew and it smells incredible. Niffty flutters around him, fetching ingredients and chattering happily. The Red King nods along as she babbles before finally interrupting her to request she fetch everyone for dinner.

The goblin woman nods eagerly and waves at Vox. "Pretty horse! Dinner is ready!" She skips away then, presumably to find Husk. Vox jumps when he suddenly finds the abyssal being beside him.

"Do you need assistance getting to the table?" The Red King asks. "It's my understanding you were having some difficulty this morning."

Vox blushes, remembering how he's nearly fallen down the stairs, and nods. He takes the hand offered to him with hesitation and he is instantly reminded of the night he was taken away from the carnival. He'd offered him his hand then too.

He can feel their bond through the contact and the unicorn stands on shaky legs, but the Red King holds him firm. "One step at a time, dear." He places his other hand on Vox's lower back to hold him steady. Vox nods and does as instructed, hobbling ungracefully over to the table. "You'll get better with practice," the king says, helping him into a chair. "It took Husker some time to learn how to walk on two legs as well. You'll adapt."

"Um...thank you," Vox says, voice barely above a whisper. It still feels strange to speak again, after being forcibly silenced for so long. The Red King places a bowl of stew in front of him and waves a hand.

"Eat. You're far too thin as it is. I'm sure the others won't mind if you start without them."

"O-okay."

It only takes him a couple tries to get a good grip on the...well, he doesn't know what this one is called, but there's no fork so Vox assumes this is what he is meant to be using for the meal. He's not quite sure he's doing it right, but his hold is firm enough that he's satisfied. His first try makes him realize the tool is upside-down and after a quick correction, his second attempt is much more successful, if not a little clumsy. Still, the food makes it into his mouth and he smiles.

"This is...really good." He takes another bite. He only gets silence in response and when he looks up, the Red King is watching him. He's still smiling, but there's something about his eyes that makes Vox feel like he's actually frowning. "Is...something wrong?" His heart begins to slam in his chest. Something unpleasant tingles through their bond.

To his shock, the Red King almost seems embarrassed at having been caught and he looks away abruptly. "Nothing is...technically wrong, no. I suppose I just...I usually add much more flavor to my cooking, but I toned it down some because I wasn't sure if it would be too much for you so soon. What have they been feeding you that has destroyed your palette so?"

Vox isn't sure he entirely understands. The food seems incredibly rich to him. But the being's last question has him sinking low in his chair. "Hay, mostly. Sometimes scraps of raw vegetables." He eyes the remnants still on the counter with disdain. The Red King follows his gaze and his eyes go sharp.

"Their prized catch, fed like a common mule? If you weren't immortal, you would have starved. It's no wonder you were so weak when we found you."

"Um...how did you find me? I've been trapped there for years and never once has anyone tried to rescue me."

The king waves his hand at the bowl. "Keep eating while we talk. Truth be told, we weren't looking for you. It was a rather happy accident that we stumbled across your imprisonment. We had thought everything at the show would be fake. Imagine our surprise to find the genuine article locked up in a tiny cage."

Vox curls in on himself a little as he takes another bite, the warm stew sharply contrasting the memory of the cold cramped space that had been his home for years. "I...thank you...for rescuing me anyways."

"Now, none of that. We've already made our bargain. No further sentiments are necessary."

Vox opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the arrival of Husk and Niffty.

"Fuckin' mandrakes," Husk hisses as he stomps into the main room. His fur is matted with dirt. "Al, you mind?"

Al?

The Red King points in Husk's direction and a small whirlwind kicks up around him, gathering the dirt from his fur and carrying it back the way Husk had come. Husk's fur puffs up in a fashion that looks so ridiculous, Vox has to hide a snort behind his hand.

Husk grumbles. "Ha ha, very funny."

"I like to think I am," the king replies, chuckling as the manticore smooths down is fur.

"I'm funny, but looks aren't everything!" Niffty giggled. Vox doesn't understand the joke, but whatever it is, Husk and the Red King don't seem to enjoy it as they share a disapproving look between the two of them.

The king steeples his finger together. "Niffty, darling, what have I said about self-deprecation?"

"That I shouldn't do it, but it's fine. I know I'm ugly. Daddy used to tell me so all the time." The tiny woman has already helped herself to a bowl and is settling into her seat beside Vox.

"And what have I said about your father?"

"That he tasted like shit!"

Husk chokes on a laugh, the king sighs low, and Vox nearly drops his...stew eating tool.

Tasted?!

The Red King clears his throat. "Well, yes, but also I believe I have told you that he is, in fact, a wretched imbecile who couldn't tell his arse from his elbow. Why would you trust the word of a man with so few brain cells? You're a lovely woman and I won't hear otherwise."

Niffty giggles and digs into her stew happily. Husk starts talking to the king about the state of the garden, everyone seemingly oblivious to the dumbfounded unicorn at the end of the table.

TASTED?!

---

Husk being in charge of the garden was inspired by @hiemaldesirae's comments on a Hazbin poll about who would have a succulent garden.

[disco-elysium-via-polls]

This tray is full of dice -- colourful polyhedral dice. Hundreds of them.

The candy dispenser has been repurposed to contain thousands of dice.

🎵 Polyhedrons

NOVELTY DICEMAKER - "Hello, I'm Neha." A bird-like woman sits on a throne of tools, with emerald light shining through her hair.

"Did you try knocking on my window? I must have missed you, I've been listening to my *milieus*." She taps on her headphones.

"So, what kind of die are you looking for?"

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - Could this be the malicious Entity? Perhaps it's wise to go along with this *masquerade* for now...

VISUAL CALCULUS [Easy: Success] - She's got a direct view to the backyard. You should interrogate her about the lynching.

"Hold on, what do you mean by *milieus*?"

"You must have me confused with someone else -- I haven't knocked on your window."

"Why are you asking me about *dice*?" (Move on.)

"Never mind, I'll be back later." [Leave.]

NOVELTY DICEMAKER - "Yes, a milieu is like a call-in station. You need a two-way radio to access one. That's why I have these." She pats the headphones on the table.

"Mostly they just teach you to swear in different languages, but some of the stations can be quite interesting. I was so absorbed, I must have missed you knocking."

2. "You must have me confused with someone else -- I haven't knocked on your window."

NOVELTY DICEMAKER - "Then how did you get inside? By the south entrance?" She blinks. "You know what, it doesn't even matter. What matters is that you're finally here. Let's talk dice -- did you have something specific in mind?"

3. "Why are you asking me about *dice*?" (Move on.)

NOVELTY DICEMAKER - "I'm a novelty dicemaker," she says. "Tell me the name of your role-playing system and I'll make the die you need. That's why you're here, yes?"

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT [Medium: Success] - As she speaks her bone-like fingers fiddle with a ring. Her bones light, but her hands strong.

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Easy: Success] - Role-playing games? You know the one made by Fortress Accident. Does that count?

"Sure, I like role-playing games and I need some dice."

"Maybe. I'm not really sure why I'm here, honestly."

"No, I was looking for something else..." (Squint your eyes mysteriously.) "*Answers*."

"I'm not interested in buying dice right now. I'm a police officer and I need to ask some questions."

NOVELTY DICEMAKER - "How strange," she says. "Well, if you're interested, my rate is 10 reál per set, unless you want something really unusual..."

"Take a look around and see if there's any particular stone you want to use." The walls around her are covered with rows of precious stones and minerals.

CONCEPTUALIZATION [Medium: Success] - It almost looks as if the stones and dice are a natural part of the room, growing out of the shelves like stalagmites.

SUGGESTION [Easy: Success] - This person means you -- or no one else -- absolutely no harm. She will answer freely and honestly.

DRAMA [Medium: Success] - No falsehoods are present. She's a novelty dicemaker and doesn't have anything to hide. Ask what you need.

"How did you become a dicemaker?"

"Okay. I'd like to order a die from you."

"What do you know about the man who was lynched behind the Whirling-in-Rags?"

"Hey, where are we anyway? What is this place?" (Look around the room.)

[Leave.]

NOVELTY DICEMAKER - "How did I *become* one? It was a business decision. I was a regular jeweller at first, but that's an unfocused field -- with too much competition."

"Some of my friends were role-players. They asked me to make some polyhedral dice out of cobalt. That was my first order. I grew it from there."

"Do you like role-playing games yourself?"

"Understood."

NOVELTY DICEMAKER - "Not especially. I like working with rare materials and a steady pay. And role-players as customers -- they're nice people."

RHETORIC [Medium: Success] - Some of those nice people have big bucks to spend on novelty items.

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] - She's thankful for the security they provide her.

3. "What do you know about the man who was lynched behind the Whirling-in-Rags?"

NOVELTY DICEMAKER - "Nothing, really. I didn't know him."

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - Who cares about the dead body? We might be dealing with a *malignant entity* here!

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant looks at his notebook, then the woman under the large window...

"Your window looks directly onto the courtyard. You're saying you didn't see or hear *anything* unusual last Sunday evening?"

NOVELTY DICEMAKER - "I'm sorry, detective, but -- as you know -- I usually have my headphones on when I'm working. It shuts out most of the daily ruckus behind my window."

"What do you mean by the 'daily ruckus'?"

"And you never took your eyes off the work to look out of the window?"

"Do you often work Sunday nights?"

"I see. Thank you for your answers." (Conclude.)

NOVELTY DICEMAKER - "Well, there's always something going on in the Whirling's backyard..." She stops to try and come up with an example.

"During daytime there are usually those kids… And lately I've been seeing a lot of drunk workers hanging about. Must be because of the strike."

DRAMA [Medium: Success] - She's heard of the murder, but did not see it, sire.

EMPATHY [Medium: Success] - She's not sorry to disappoint you. Informing on someone in a murder investigation would intrude upon her focused existence.

NOVELTY DICEMAKER - She looks up at the window... Pale light comes in. "But I never saw anyone during that fateful Sunday night, I'm afraid."

2. "And you never took your eyes off the work to look out of the window?"

NOVELTY DICEMAKER - "I might have," she admits, "but in this case all I would have seen is my own reflection staring back from the darkness."

VISUAL CALCULUS [Challenging: Success] - It's light here -- but dark in the yard at night.

NOVELTY DICEMAKER - "It's really hard to make anything out in the yard when it's dark outside. Besides... I rarely get up to look out the window when I'm in the zone."

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Challenging: Success] - This person values focus above all -- she keeps her sharp sight on the instruments before her.

3. "Do you often work Sunday nights?"

NOVELTY DICEMAKER - "It's an odd profession -- making dice for people -- but I like it. And I *prefer* doing this to sitting at home."

4. "I see. Thank you for your answers." (Conclude.)

NOVELTY DICEMAKER - She nods.

"Anything else, officer?"

4. "Hey, where are we anyway? What is this place?" (Look around the room.)

NOVELTY DICEMAKER - "We're inside the chimney of an old central furnace. It's strange, I know." She looks at the ruddy bricks that make up the walls -- even though they've been repainted there are still signs of coal-black soot here and there.

"But when I arrived here, all the other rooms were taken, so I had to build myself a makeshift home. Besides, I don't really have to pay any rent here, so that's a plus."

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - Plaisance was right... There's an entity living in the chimney! You should ask her about the curse.

AUTHORITY [Medium: Success] - Does it mean she's *unlawfully* occupying a part of the house? Shameful!

KIM KITSURAGI - "Creative." The lieutenant looks around the spacious room, its ceiling fading into shadows above.

REACTION SPEED [Medium: Success] - When she arrived here, there was no room anywhere else... She must've known the other businesses.

5. "I've heard this place is cursed. Did you know that people call it the Doomed Commercial Area?"

NOVELTY DICEMAKER - "I've heard the stories," she nods, as the wind howls in from the furnace shaft above. "But I don't think those stories are true."

"Wait… how do you explain what happened to all those companies then?"

"Plaisance is the one who sent me. She's convinced that the place is swarming with malicious energies."

NOVELTY DICEMAKER - "It's just capitalism." She shrugs. "We only hear about tales of success, so it's often surprising to realize how many ventures actually fail."

"Plaisance is the one who sent me. She's convinced that the place is swarming with malicious energies."

NOVELTY DICEMAKER - "Plaisance, the bookshop lady?" She raises her brows. "I've heard that her business is doing rather well. Have the *energies* spared her somehow?"

"Actually, the bookstore isn't doing that well. There are hardly any customers and she has to exploit her own daughter to keep the company going."

"The curse is just biding its time before it strikes again. Sooner or later everyone will fail -- even her."

"I don't know why the bookstore hasn't gone bankrupt yet -- that's what I'm here to investigate."

NOVELTY DICEMAKER - "Alright. But it's not just the bookstore that's still up and running. What about the Whirling-in-Rags? Some people say it's part of the building complex."

"Hold on, the Whirling is part of the Doomed Commercial Area?!"

"Yes, but it's still a separate building. The malicious energies can't reach there."

"No, the Whirling isn't doing well either: its waitress just took off and customers have trouble paying bills."

"You're right, the Whirling doesn't really look like it's cursed."

NOVELTY DICEMAKER - "You could say so. Both houses were built at the same time and under the East Delta Commerce Centre project."

3. "You're right, the Whirling doesn't really look like it's cursed."

NOVELTY DICEMAKER - "And then there's me..." She sighs, looking at her messy work table. All kinds of tools lie there scattered, from knives to carving files to wire cutters.

"I've been here for 14 years, selling novelty dice to role-playing enthusiasts. Not exactly a million reál business idea, yet somehow I've survived despite the talk of malicious energies. Strange, isn't it?"

HALF LIGHT [Medium: Success] - It's because she's in cahoots with the demons!

DRAMA [Medium: Success]- Maybe it's just because she's so talented that she's been able to woo the curse?

"Plaisance thinks it's because you're the *source* of it. A malignant entity."

"It's because you're competent, and dedicated to your craft. The curse doesn't affect people like you."

"The curse will get to you, have no doubt about it. It just doesn't care about earthly time frames."

"I'll be the first to admit there are many inconsistencies in this so-called 'curse'."

NOVELTY DICEMAKER - "Malignant *entity*, what does that even mean?" The dicemaker laughs. "Some kind of sorceress? What about you, officer? Do you think I'm the *malignant entity*?"

HALF LIGHT [Medium: Success] - The jig is up! The she-demon knows you've uncovered her true identity.

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - Time has come to face the Source. Fear not, for the forces of the universe are supporting you in this psychic quest.

[taggedmemes]

SENTENCE MEME ⟶ PRYCE AND CARTER'S DEEP SPACE SURVIVAL PROCEDURE & PROTOCOL MANUAL / PAGE 681 - 770 tenses and wording may have been altered slightly for ease of sending! always feel free to tweak the sentence to fit your muse.

'the maximum number of times you are permitted to yell, "GET ME OUT OF HERE" over the full duration of your mission is fourteen times.'

'don't threaten anyone with black magic unless you can actually back it up.'

'the best diplomacy is much like the best beef jerky -- salty but durable.'

'brevity is the soul of wit, and you have productivity updates to submit.'

'duct tape can be used to keep your shoelaces tied. if they become untied more than twice in a day, use of it is compulsory.'

'you are just being targeted by heroically determined scam artists.'

'sometimes - much as i hate to admit it - you can't improve on mother nature.'

'in an emergency, take stock of the tools at your disposal. then take stock again. restock, repurpose, reuse, recycle.'

'only you can prevent space fires.'

'watching a horror movie burns more calories than any other film genre.'

'"social media" was developed to manipulate the masses with an unhealthy addiction.'

'rigidity will inevitably result in your untimely death.'

'people remember favors, insults, compliments, politeness, and grand larceny. in that order.'

'i don't care what it told you, i repeat: radiation is not your friend.'

'some things are too serious to ever be joked about.'

'most conflict arises our of confusion.'

'if you can't be in the place you love, be in space.'

'begging gets you further than you think.'

'remember: you can't help if you can't breathe.'

'juggling in space is not a problem, it's just a challenge.'

'encouragement only in moderation, please. you don't want to get carried away.'

'the arm is always gangrener on the other side. amputate before it's too late.'

'urine is a very practical source of potassium.'

'you do not need to be stronger than ten men as long as you are stronger than each of them.'

'the generic space suit helmets are just as good as the brand-name ones.'

'you're going to be hungry and just have to work through it.'

'waiting for someone to change is a waste of time.'

'forcing someone to change is vastly more effective.'

'dehydrated corn meal is just regular corn meal.'

'the key to understanding ancient hieroglyphics is to embrace the concept of fluidity of meaning.'

'you probably do not speak to your parents as much as you should.'

'THE REVOLUTION IS NOT NOW.'

'biospheres never work as well as you want them to.'

'names have power over things.'

'names are a transient, ephemeral concept. blood, flesh, and bone offer immediate, palpable results.'

'microorganisms share your space, your water, your air, and even your body. you are never truly alone.'

'biologically and chemically speaking, there technically isn't anything on a cellular level that says the human body /has/ to die.'

'don't fraternize with the enemy.'

'don't fraternize with the frenemy.'

'always include first aid supplies in your survival kit.'

'you /do/ have a survival kit, right? one you carry with you everywhere, /right/?'

'don't say, "ding dong, the witch is dead," unless you're absolutely sure you've killed that witch.'

'sometimes, ketchup can make all the difference in the world.'

'sticks and stones can break your bones, as well as wrenches, winches, bookshelves, computer towers, large-caliber weapons, engine components, automated doors, large falls, power drills, saws, cleavers, nunchucks, icicles, tripping, laser cutters, mines, grenades, golf clubs, and late-stage osteoporosis.'

'the definition of torture does not currently include poetry slams. but don't push it.'

'while plungers will not solve /every/ problem, you may be surprised by /how many/ problems they can solve. keep no fewer than four on hand at all times.'

[outpost51]

Happy WBW! What are the customs around being invited to someone's house in the world of your WIP? (Is it rude for me to bring a gift? Do I have to take my shoes off before going inside? Things like that!)

NOPAL!!! be normal be normal be normal be normal be norm-- I AM SO GLAD YOU ASKED.

[encyclopedia falls through the cut]

ah, shit.

SO, let's go through the aliens i've built so far in Xatal:

**note: these are planetside, traditional living arrangements. when in doubt, ask your host!

Cazen:

Call when you reach the outer bounds of your host's territory -- this is usually marked in some way by a small fence, a garden, or painted rocks. It's polite to announce yourself before the proximity alarm does (so the proximity alarm can be turned off), especially if there are pups napping.

If you're invited over for a meal, make sure your host knows about any special dietary needs before the day of your visit; cazen are accustomed and adapted to living in resource-scarce areas, which means there isn't typically an alternative available, and it's both rude and distressing to invite someone over for a meal and be unable to feed them.

On that note, if you are invited over for a visit, but no meal is mentioned, do not assume you are going to be fed. Resources may be scarce, or as Cazen like to stick with small groups, your host may simply want to catch up for a short period, and then have their house empty of company. You may be asked to stay longer -- there is no social consequence for accepting or turning down this offer.

While not required, if you can spare the credits, you'll get bonus points for asking if your host needs anything from the market/grocer/trader -- even if you're going out of your way to help, it's polite to frame it as if you were "going there anyway."

Uknuks:

Have you been vetted by the patriarch? You're welcome any time. You don't even need to call -- you might not have a "traditional sit-down-and-eat" type of visit, but for an uknuk, spending time together is spending time together. They follow the “friend of my friend is my friend” rule, though, so you may be invited to dinner at a random dwelling. Enjoy!

Bring. A. Gift. It doesn't matter if it's your first time there or your hundredth time. It should be something practical (like tools, nice throw blankets, etc) or food/drinks. Crop seedlings are also accepted, but ask first to make sure they can grow in your hosts' climate, there is room for them in the communal garden, and that they are attractive to local pollinators!! Bonus points for asking what they need, double bonus if you bring something that contributes to the community!

If you're asked to help, you help. The community won't take advantage of someone, and they'll accommodate disabilities and limitations! Usually, if you're taller than 3'... you're on "high" shelf duty.

Don't pick up the uknuks. Don't do it. Unless you're adopted family or a crewmate. And then bully (affectionate) your uknuk "siblings" relentlessly. The kids might try to climb you, though, and in that case, enjoy your armload of fuzzy little babies.

Sodai:

You will be handed the bread vessel. SMASH THE VESSEL. DO IT. There's a round stone on the table. Hold it with both hands, flat side towards the table, and drive it straight down onto the stone. There will be a ruckus. Feel free to scream along.

If you cook bone-in meat close to your visit, save the bones and bring them along! You don't really have to do anything with them either, just shove 'em in a clean bag!

There will probably be fermented meat on the table. You don't have to eat it (you might not even be able to), but try not to make a face.

Post-meal preening and naps are customary! You can turn down the preening, but I guarantee that meal will put you right to sleep!

Ix'ai:

If it's just dinner, you'll be dining out -- research the place you're going to. Follow the dress code, don't over/underdress, look over the menu and have an idea what you're ordering before you go. Your behavior and appearance reflects on your host! No pressure LOL! Forget to look at the menu? Be honest, and ask your host what they recommend 😌 problem solved!

Holiday? Get ready to meet your host's entire family. You will be dubbed gazagaza at the door and held to the same standard as the rest of "the kids." It's fine, you're probably getting a crash course on the ride over -- no, you're not driving yourself there!

Unless asked, don't bring anything but yourself. It implies that the family cannot provide for themselves, and that they're doing so poorly they can't provide for you as well. If asked, it will be a bottle of mid- to top-shelf liquor or a specific wine -- this is for the owner of the house, who your host will introduce you to. This bottle will be opened and served at dinner.

For the love of all that is good and right in the world, do not remove your shoes. Everyone will probably be outside anyway, unless the weather is bad.

Zal:

Ix'ai etiquette on steroids. If you're invited out, you'll be picked up at a specific time (do NOT be late). Ask your host for a meal recommendation and don't offer to pay -- communicate when plans are made that you want to pay for yourself, otherwise just let your buddy spoil you.

If you're invited over, it's a date (romantic or platonic). That's an intimate friends activity! Tell your host they have a beautiful home, remove your shoes if asked (usually dependent on the weather, it's all about keeping the floors clean!), enjoy the tour and the candlelit dinner. It's going to be over the top. Zal like their ceremony!

Don't bring a gift unless you're courting. Bringing a gift is an expression of courting. Yes, even a bag of chips.

As for Other Etiquette:

When visiting someone on a station:

DO ask which dock to use (yes, this goes for public transport as well).

DON'T assume your host is paying for your docking fees or taxi fare, but DO communicate about it ahead of time.

DO offer to bring along a snack or something they can't usually get on the station!

When invited onto someone's ship:

DO greet the captain, if they're not the person who invited you!

DON'T wear strong scents! You're in an enclosed, filtered space!

DON'T bring large gifts, or anything with non-recyclable packaging.

When invited to Eir Terminal, specifically:

If Bax requests your presence, you go right away. You will probably have to wait when you get there, but the important thing is that you are on time.

[eridan-amporaa]

Also I wanted to like- speculate/discuss on what these guys' Sylladices and Strife Decks would be (Strife Decks will be in a separate ask bc uh. This got long lol)

Streber - wire puzzle, to fit with his love of inventing. When Streber attempts to take an item out, he will be presented with a mess of wires he needs to connect to the right nodes. When solved, he gets the item

Radford - movie trivia. Simple enough, though has comedic potential if someone else tries to use it and is immediately stumped by some b-movie horror knowledge only Radford knows

Ross - I feel like Ross would go for something straightforward, like Array. However if he or his dad are musicians I could see him having a Simon Says-like Modus where the card plays a string of notes and Ross has to copy them back

Roy - idk why but I see him having something money-related, probably bought by his parents. My idea is that he can "deposit" items freely, but to take them out he needs to either pay for it with money or an item of equal or greater value to the item he wants to take out (there'd be an "eject all" button that spits out both the items and any deposited money so it's not like, completely impossible to access anything). Roy swaps this out with a far less convoluted Modus the first chance he gets lol

Robert - idk why but I feel like he'd go for one of the board game ones? Like Jenga or Operation. Something simple, but fun

Speaking of the board game Modi... I imagine similar to Jade's grandpa, Pump and Susie's parents got them a bunch of board game Modi for Christmas, and the two just picked their favorites

Susie - Pictionary. Easy enough and fits with her love of art, even if it's a bit obtuse at times

Pump - Ouija. Works like Aradia's, just in English. Due to his connection to Heir of Light Skid, to Eyes, or both, the spirits usually end up giving him what he wants, making it a relatively easy Modus for him to use

Skid - I had a bit of trouble coming up with something for Skid, because I wanted to have it be spook-related in some way while not just giving him another Ouija board. I then realized... Maze Game Modus! Skid drags a dot through a maze, and when he reaches the end he gets his item. If he fails the maze a loud scream will play, and sometimes he intentionally fails just to hear it. It's based off the Scary Maze Game :>

Sometimes Skid and Pump also swap Modi for fun!

I couldn't come up with anything for Kevin or Ethan, unfortunately. Maybe Kevin could have like a gumball or capsule machine Modus, where he turns a crank and gets a random item, but I have no idea what to do for Ethan

i love all of these!! maze game modus is so funny to me actually

i think kevin would prolly have an array modus actually, eventually his terrible luck using any fun-ish modus would get the best of him i think ;u; maybe he'd get the gumball one back postgame but its just not practical when you have the worst luck on in paradox space lol

ethan... hm. not really sure what he'd use, prolly something spooky. maybe something based on excavation? he canonically collects bones in the forest so it kinda fits. like. big block o dirt/stone wtvr pops out and he has to break it open. maybe he'd have some sort of tool to help with that (chiselkind?) in his strife deck just to be safe

ross would prolly have a music-based modus, yeah. i made one up kinda recently (its what i would use lol), melody modus! each item is assigned a short tune which you have to repeat to get something out. you get to pick the tune, tho. i can see him using video game songs for it - zelda theme, green hill zone, white space... megalovania-

rob could get the memory modus, i think hed be good at that one

roy would prolly end up borrowing a spare modus from susie - prolly jenga modus, seems abt right

[thepodcasthoard]

Podcasting in 2023: What You Need + 9 Steps To Get Started

Part 1 l Part 2 l Part 3 l Part 4 l Part 5 l Part 6 l Part 7 l Part 8 l Part 9 l

The tenth article Sydney gave me is one with a broader scope. It covers not only how to start a podcast, but what one really is. Since you're here, I'll skip over that part. If you want to start one, you already know what one is.

The article covers basic things to get started- a microphone, a room to record in, editing software, headphones, and a hosting site.

Then it's time to cover how to start a podcast.

Pick a theme you're compelled by

Ideally, you'll have an audience or at least a potential one in mind. This article goes into more depth. It's geared towards brand and company podcasts, but it does talk in depth about the importance of niches.

The article urges you to take into account a few factors:

Has another podcast covered this podcast, and if so how can I make mine unique?

Is the topic still relatable?

Will the topic have an audience?

Is there enough meat on the bone for a season?

Now, I'll throw my two cents in here- no idea is original anymore, they've all been done before. You can bring the best uniqueness to your podcast by using your best asset- you. Be yourself, and your podcast will automatically be different. And as far as 'still' relatable, there are nerds out there that are super into neolithic stone tools, so I wouldn't worry too much about that. In my life experience, as long as you're passionate about the subject, people are attracted to that passion and are willing to hear you out. As far as the audience question, the same answer applies- if even one person likes it (that person is you, by the way), then others are no doubt into it. The last question is certainly more important- you want something substantial to talk about, so don't niche down so much you can only think of two episodes.

There's a video linked under this step, which provides more information on the article as a whole.

2. Decide on show format

There are a lot of formats out there, and each one of them is suited to that podcast for a different reason. So choose one that speaks to you and think about how your ideas can fit under that umbrella.

3. Use your existing network

Use your social media, talk to your friends and family. Also, try to reach out to communities that talk regularly about your topic- this article recommends facebook groups, but I'd bet reddit is also a good choice (I don't personally use reddit, so I can't say for sure).

4. Record and edit

Don't panic at this stage. Think of it as a trial run to get the kinks out. Just make sure you hit record- you can't edit what you didn't capture. You'll find ways to streamline as you go along.

5. Finalize name and artwork

This article recommends waiting until this point to cement your ideas, because as you worked on planning you might have pivoted slightly away from your original idea. Plus, once you have that first episode you might find inspiration in it.

6. Make a website

Consider this your podcast's home base. Anything related to it- transcripts, show notes, etc.- will have a central place to live.

7. Promote

The only thing I could think of when I was reading this section was 'If you build it, they will come.' But this isn't the Field of Dreams. You'll have to work to get ears on your podcast. Put it out there so people know it exists- it may be just what they're looking for. This article goes more in-depth on growing a podcast.

8. Track your metrics

Once your podcast is running, keep track of it. Note what works promotion-wise, and also see where your numbers are. As a side note from me- don't obsess over this. You might see 'only' twenty people, but those are twenty individuals who took time out of their day to listen to you.

9. Monetize

The article mentions that sponsorship, affiliates, and membership services are all ways to make money from your podcast. As an aside from me, I would caution you about doing this too soon- no one likes having brands shoved in their face, and most likely you won't get brands to partner with you when you're just starting out.

[cryunderthewillowtree]

Coral Streaks – Chapter 8

Synopsis – In which she loves him, but he's utterly, painfully clueless. Awra always believed love should be easy – a beautiful gift from Eywa herself. But when she falls for the oldest Sully, it's a love filled with trial. A tale of coming apart and finding your way back.

Related Warnings: Eventual Smut (Aged Up Characters), Language, Descriptions of assault, Harassment

Characters – Neteyam x Fem Metkayina!reader

Related Tags: Major Angst, Slow-Burn, Friends-To-Lovers, Heartache, Tension, Hurt/Comfort

Notes: Posting this from my Ao3 account, please feel free to head over there to read this story as well! I realised only after being 14 chapters in that I spelt Omatikaya wrong this entire time – my apologies in advance. But please enjoy this story nonetheless!

[Do not interact with this story if you are underage.]

When she rouses again, she thinks she’s still dreaming. The air is warm, and she feels lethargic; like her bones were weighed down with a thousand stones. When she moves her head, her neck protests, a sharp pain on the side of her neck richochets down her chest and back. It’s agony when she tries to sit up, and she hisses in pain. As she does, she hears gentle footsteps clatter towards her. Warm hands find themselves on her shoulders, and a familiar face comes into view.

“Mother?” She asks, and realises how hoarse her voice sounds. “What happened? Where am I?”

Her mother shushes her, sliding a hand under her head to support it as she helps Awra to sit up. Awra feels her back protest, a soreness down her back that makes her wince. “Ouch.” She mutters, hand coming up to massage at her neck, fingers kneading into the muscle for some relief. Her mother gently pries her fingers away, and Awra groans from the pain. 

“You fainted,” her mother answers, voice clouded with worry. “And you took a great fall.” She reaches for a salve on the nearby table, stirring the mixture with her fingers before slathering it over Awra’s neck and back. The salve is balmy and viscous, providing a cooling sensation which helps with the pain. Awra lets out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. 

I fell? I don’t remember– And then it comes back to her. All at once, her head flashes with hurt – memories from earlier today flooding back. The panic, fear and suffocation. Her head pounds, and she groans as her eyelids flutter.

“My beloved? You need to rest.” Her mother hurriedly places the bowl of salve down, the bowl clattering noisily against the wooden table. She feels hands on her shoulders, urging her to lie down again. “I was hoping to let the salve dry, but it’s better if you lie down and get more rest.” Awra hums in agreement, bile rising in her throat as her head throbs. She hadn’t felt this sick since she was a child – she really wasn’t looking forward to the vile medicines she’d surely have to take. 

As she settles herself against the pile of bedding, her vision clears up. Lying down helped with the headaches and nausea, and she finally notices she’s in one of the many healer maruis. They are smaller than the average marui – fully stocked with medicines and other mixtures of her mother’s concoction. These marui are meant for healing, meaning the Metkayina visit them only when injured or ill. She hadn’t been in here since she was a child, and she lets out a huge breath, taking in her surroundings.

The marui is dark, with little windows letting light in. She’s thankful for that, because the light would surely hurt her eyes and make her headache worse. It smells medicinal, with a woodsy undertone from the tools the younger healers would use to pound herbs for medicines. She turns slowly, wary of the twinge in her neck. There’s a small wooden table, where her mother is currently busying herself pouring and mixing. Ugh, she groans, medicines. Her stomach churns at the thought, groaning in protest.

“I can hear your thoughts from here, my beloved.” Her mother says, mirth in her voice. “Don’t think you can squirm out of your medicine this time.” Awra snorts, typical of her mother to read her mind at all the wrong times. 

“I know.” She lets out a low chuckle, throat raspy and dry. “Could I get a drink of water too?�� She asks, rubbing her throat tenderly. Her mother nods, slipping out of the marui with promise of a drink. She relishes in the silence, shutting her eyes as she exhales. With her mother out of the marui, she could finally let her mind wander to this morning. What exactly had happened? She was still confused about what happened. She had been talking to her parents about Iknimaya when they brought up Te’lau. Oh. She had started having difficulty breathing when they had mentioned Te’lau, and suddenly she just fainted. She shudders at the memory, the ghost of the feeling of drowning of land still breathing whispers over her throat and in her chest. 

Get a grip Awra, get a grip. She places a hand on her chest, willing her heartbeat to slow. Inhale, exhale, just like you teach the Sullys, she thinks. The irony of it all has a small smile tugging at her lips. Look at you now. What would others think of you – crying over your Iknimaya when the Ometicayans were out there fighting a war with the Sky people. The thought has her gulping, an image of a battle-torn Neteyam flashing in her mind. What would he think if he saw me like this. Probably that I’m a weak, frail little girl. She lets out a shuddery exhale. 

Her ears twitch as footsteps enter the marui, and a small bowl of water is placed near her mouth. She lifts herself up slowly, bracing on her elbows as she takes a sip of the water. After being unconscious, the water tastes like heaven – refreshing on her parched tastebuds. After, she takes the vial of medicine handed to her, gulping the bitter liquid down hastily. She swallows her saliva to rid her mouth of the taste, feeling her nausea wane slowly and her stomach settle. Her mother is next to her, holding the bowl of water while running a hand down her braids comfortingly. 

“Drink slowly, my beloved. You don’t want to choke.” She hums, tucking a braid behind Awra’s ear. Awra nods, swallowing another small mouthful of water before lying down again. The bedding is scrumptiously soft against her back, and she savours the feeling as she blinks up at her mother. “You gave me and your masempu quite the scare this morning.”

Awra forces out a guilty chuckle, swiping at her lips to rid it off the water droplets. “Sorry.” She mumbles.

“Is something happening with you?” Her mother asks, placing a hand on Awra’s forehead. “You’ve been different lately. Is something on your mind?” Awra hates the way her stomach sinks when her mother asks her that – she knows her mother means well; but she’d never divulge how she truly felt. She’d be disappointing her too much, and it would hurt to see her mother disappointed. 

She swallows. “I’m fine mother.” Her mother doesn’t react for a moment, just smoothing over her hair gently. 

“My beloved, one does not simply faint while feeling fine. Surely you must know I will not believe that.” Her mother chides. Awra cringes, mind racing with excuses. 

“Uh–”

“Is she awake?” Thank Eywa. At that moment, her father enters the marui, holding a spear in hand. “Ma’ite, how are you feeling?” He asks, walking over and crouching down next to her mother. Her mother acknowledges his presence with a nod, and he nods in return. They’re achingly formal, and she thinks about her potential mating with Te’lau. Was she destined to a life preceded by an arranged union? Misery, she thinks. 

“I’m fine, maseumpu.” She answers, swallowing. “Just a little dizzy, but I should be fine.” He nods satisfied, before turning to her mother with a huff.

“The Sullys are trying out the Tsurak now,” he lets out a disbeliving chortle. “Toruk Makto is keen on mastering it today.” Awra smiles at that, thinking of her favourite Sully. She imagines Neteyam on the back of an ilu, pretty braids falling to frame his face; and that smile. Dazzling and so genuine, it makes her heart ache with want. She tries desperately not to let her mind wander the the previous night’s events, afraid of the lovesick expression she might wear. It would be hard to explain that to her parents.

Her mother stifles a laugh as well, standing up with help from her father. “He is as brave as he is stupid.” She utters in a hushed whisper, bracing a hand on her belly. “But he has a strong heart. That I can see.”

Awra stares on at her parents exchange words, laying on the bedding unmoving. She can feel the salve work wonders on her back and shoulders – the ache already lessening into a dull throb. When she shifts, it no longer sends shocks of pain down her body. She heaves a sigh of relief – she wouldn’t have to spend the day bedridden then; stuck under her parents’ watchful gaze. She was already itching to sneak out, maybe ‘accidentally’ run into the oldest Ometicayan boy. The thought made her smile, and she pursed her lips to stifle it. I’m such a child, she thinks, giggling like a child over a silly crush. Eywa, what would others think. 

“Your mother and I are going to tend to the Tsurak, “ her father interrupts suddenly, lightly tapping the base of his spear on the floor, “get some rest then join us for dinner in the evening.” Awra just nods, mind already formulating ways to excuse herself to see the Sullys. Her mother leaves her with a gentle pat on the head, and her father leads them out of the marui and off in the direction of the cove where the Tsurak are tethered. 

“Finally.” She heaves, body melting into the bedding. She rolls her shoulder, slowly bringing her body up off the soft pile of animal pelts. She gingerly rubs her neck, still a little sore before giving herself a quick sniff. “I stink.” She groans disgustedly. Hours laying still left her feeling stiff and smelling less than pleasant. A quick shower would do me some good, she grimaces, and a change of clothes too. She realised she’d been wearing the same top for days – a change was definitely in order. 

After retrieving a change of top and loin cloth from her family’s marui, Awra sprints towards the small cave hidden at the far end of the village. It’s secluded here – water trickling from up the island formed a small clear pool; wearing down the rocks till it formed an overhang. The cave was her own personal haven, nothing but the sound of dripping water to lull her into relaxation. No one but her sister knew about this cave, it was their secret hideaway when the pressures of life proved to be too much.

She lets herself float in the water, cherishing the rare moments away from the hustle and bustle of village life. The water laps at her braids, gently washing away the dirt and grime in her hair. She undoes her braids slowly, letting her wavy locks dip in the cool water. It feels heavenly against her scalp, and when she rubs her fingers into her hair to clean it, she feels a purr rumble in her chest from the sensation. She scrubs at her arms, then legs, humming quietly to herself. Her humming echoes in the cave, and covers the sound of tentative footsteps approaching.

“Awra?” She barely registers herself scream, the shriek bouncing off the walls as she rushes to cover herself. “Sorry!” Comes the person’s reply, but she doesn’t look up at the person; too flustered and worried about covering her body.

“Sorry Awra, I saw you come in here and I–”

“Neteyam?” She shrieks, confused. She looks up with a flush, to find him standing with a hand over his eyes. The Ometicayan boy is perched ramrod straight at the entrance of the cave, one hand clamped over his eyes while the other is extended towards her. “What–how?” She yells.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry. I just saw you leaving the village, and I followed you here but I had no idea you’d be–I didn’t mean to–” He’s stumbling over himself, a purple flush on his cheeks that is now travelling down his neck. “I wasn’t trying to peep or anything. I–” He takes a deep gulp of air, hand falling to his side. “I was just trying to talk to you.”

Awra has one arm over her breasts, neck-deep in the clear water. She can feel her cheeks warm at being in such close proximity while nude, but a tickle of anticipation flickers from chest to tail. She clears her throat, the sound ringing out in the cave. 

“I can leave. I’m so sorry again. Please forgive me.” He says, turning around slowly, still blind. “Lo’ak told me you were coming this way and I just hoped to speak to you about yesterday to see if you were okay. But I’ll go now, sorry–”

“You could join me,” she starts, heat rising to her face. “If you’d like.” 

Neteyam freezes where’s standing, tail going stiff at her words. She bites her lip. Awra’s never been this bold before, and even now, she’s not sure where this courage is coming from. She chalks it up to the medicine her mother had gave her earlier – she must be on some sort of bravery streak. The silence stretches on, and slowly morphs into an awkward tension. She’s panicking now, spiralling as Neteyam stands still at the entrance of the cave. She lets her eyes travel up his back, following the natural curve of his spine. She notices the dimples, was it what it was, at the bottom of his spine; right above his tail. His arm quivers where he’s been holding it to his face, desperate not to let himself peep. What a gentleman, she thinks. 

He’s still silent. Standing rooted in that one spot. Awra’s heart sinks, and embarrassment grips her. It’s official. She’d ruined their friendship or whatever this was. Her question was completely unacceptable, and had either offended or disgusted the Ometicayan boy. She was going to have to apologise, preferably while dressed, apologise to his parents or–

“Okay.” She freezes. Okay? Did he just say okay? She blinks in trepidation, not believing what she just heard. Her ears swivel, trying to listen out for his response. As if he read her mind, he simple repeats: “Okay.”

“What–”

In one swift motion, Neteyam turns with his hands still on his eyes and removes his loincloth. It’s her turn to flush violet, face dropping to look down at the water immediately. “Neteyam–”

A loud splash, and he’s wading up to her with one hand. She’s still in shock by the time he’s right in front of her, towering over her with a small smile on his lips. She’s a little over 8 feet, and he’s easily 10. “You–I can’t believe you just did that!” She whisper-shouts, smacking him on the chest. 

He chuckles. “Can I remove my hand?” Her mouth drops open at his question, and for a second, she thinks he’s trying to tease her. But his expression remains serious, a hint of a smirk on his lips. She mulls over it for a second, biting her lip at the tell-tale warmth that coils in her belly. “Awra?”

“Okay.” She says, she lets her hands fall from her chest and they float beside her. “You can see.” He smiles, and brings his hand away from his eyes. She expects his eyes to drop to her chest and roam across her body, but he stays at eye-level, gazing at her with a soulful expression. She’s suddenly overwhelmed by the pure intimacy of it all – they’re standing chest to chest, naked in a cave far away from the village. Eywa must be testing me. 

He tries to act nonchalant, gazing up at the ceiling in an effort not to stare at her. “Do you come here often?” She’s buzzing with nerves, and barely hears his question.

“Huh? What?” She blanches, and he laughs. 

“Do you come here alot?” He repeats, looking at her. He’s incredibly close to her now, and if she inched just a bit closer, she’d be able to feel his breath on her lips. That would be nice, she thinks, but inappropriate. 

“Yes. Some–sometimes when I need uh, a break from my parents.” She says, stuttering. “It’s my secret spot, only Tsireya and I know about this place.” He smiles at that, eyes turning into half-moons. “And I guess now you do too.”

He chuckles. “I guess you’re right. I promise to keep it a secret.” Awra smiles, resisting the urge to shove him playfully. The water feels warm now, gently lapping against their bodies. Her eyes drop to his chest, eyeing the many dark blue freckles and markings. Each one is unique, and forms a constellation on his chest. Neteyam stifles a laugh. 

She looks up, an indignant expression on her face. “What! I was just admiring your skin. It’s so much deeper than ours, it’s interesting.” As she says that, she lifts a tentative hand out of the water, letting it graze across the top of her pectorals. He flinches slightly, but doesn’t pull away. She can feel his chest rising and falling under her finger, and just to tease him, she lightly scrapes her nail across the plane of skin.

“You’re making this very hard, Awra.” Comes his voice. Awra’s eyes widen, and she snaps up to look at him. The expression on his face makes her tail curl and thighs tremble.

Neteyam is staring at her, eyes lidded as he pants. His jaw is locked, and he’s licking over his lips like he’s annoyed. There is audible tension in his breathing, and his body is flexed like he’s restraining himself. The thought sends a wave of heat downwards, and her tail flicks in interest in the water behind her. 

“I’m not doing anything–”

“I didn’t want to go too far that night because I wasn’t sure if you were sure of your feelings–for me.” He explains, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want you to regret being with me.”

“Neteyam, I–”

“Awra you’re the daughter of Olo’ eyktan and future Tsahik, I was worried about what this,” he gestures between their bodies, “would mean for you. I didn’t want you to have to carry that burden by yourself. But I see now that I was wrong to be worry for you.”

Awra stays silent, heart brimming with an emotion she can’t quite recognise. He looks away, before locking eyes with her again. This time, he brings his thumb and index finger under her chin, lifting her face up. She’s sure her face is bright purple now, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care anymore. 

“I spoke with Lo’ak that night, when you ran off. He saw me sneak out, and uh, forced me to come clean if not he’d tell on me to Dad.” He recounts with a small laugh. Awra smiles. “When I told him about what happened, he gave me some advice; put things into perspective.” 

Awra laughs at that, small giggles emerging from her chest at the thought of troublemaking Lo’ak giving his older brother advice about relationships. How the tables have turned. He chuckles too. “I know, who would have thought my baby bro had it in him. But without him, I would not have earned your forgiveness, I don’t think.”

She hums thoughtfully. “And what advice did Lo’ak give you?”

“That I should worry about you, and not for you.” He answers quickly, gazing down at her. She tilts her head, pondering over a reply.

He chuckles. “Yeah, I didn’t understand the difference at first either. But he told me that I should follow my heart. And that things would work themselves out.” As he says this, he places a hand on his chest. “I like you, Awra. And I see that that is all that matters now.” 

She feels her heart well with emotion – love, happiness and confusion; a potent mix that sends tears down her cheeks. She’s crying, again, and again he’s there – wiping her tears away with small pearls of laughter. She’s happy, incredibly so. He’s smiling too, and she realises through her weary gaze that she’s so in love with his smile. 

“You’re such a cheese, Neteyam, you–” she sniffles, laughing even as the tears fall. He’s shushing her, hands cupping each cheek. “Why didn’t you just say this shit from the beginning. You’re such a huge–”

Their laughter rings out in the cave, echoing through the space. Awra feels good and content, despite the morning’s traumatic events with her parents. She can almost forget about their conversation with the way Neteyam is smiling at her – an adoringly wide grin that splits his cheeks and puts his canines on full display. 

“Can I kiss you now?” He asks, voice dropping to the same hushed tone as before. She nods eagerly, surging forward and throwing her arms around his neck. He catches her, lifting her up by the backs of her thighs and wraps her legs around his waist. She’s acutely aware of how naked they are, but his skin feels good against hers and she whines into the kiss. Their lips meet in a flurry of motion, a peck, and then another and another. Her tail flicks in interest behind her.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He gasps, pulling away. He’s panting, licking the saliva off his lips. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.”

She shudders, chasing after his lips again. “Awra, I need an answer.” He huffs out, voice desperate. “Please.”

“Yes. Yes you dumb forest–” He leans forward, slotting his lips over hers. His tongue prods at her lips, licking into her mouth like he’s dying to taste her. She whimpers, gripping the back of neck as her legs tighten around his middle. He kisses her over and over, tongue curling over her teeth and sucking on her bottom lip. She’s trembling, clawing his collarbones as his kisses turn her knees to jelly.

His hands are spread out on the undersides of her thighs, his thumb gently stroking the soft skin like he’s asking for permission. “Please, Neteyam.” She breaks away to huff out, lips puffy from the abuse. He smirks, before scraping his sharp canines down the slim column of her neck. It’s not enough to break skin, but the sensation sends her back arching towards him. He laves over the area with his tongue, circling over a spot near the juncture between her neck and collarbone and bites down. She keens at that, gasping as he sucks. His hands caress her thighs, moving higher up her thighs inch by inch. She feels her legs spread for him, inviting him to touch her more.

He’s a huge tease for a prude, she thinks, biting her lip. His hands are large and warm, and make her toes curl with need. “Neteyam–” she gasps, desperate. He shushes her, adjusting his hold on her thighs before walking towards the lip of the pool. He sets her down on her back gently, and then he’s hovering over her on his forearms. His body is pressed onto hers tightly, and she wraps her legs around his waist. He groans quietly, licking into her mouth hotly. She shivers, letting her hands trail down his body again, just like last time.

She feels his chest, and then down to his abs which quiver and flex under her touch. “Awra–” he gasps, pulling away for air. She smiles at him, eyes hooded as she palms over his chest and back. Just like that night on the beach, she runs a finger across the strip of skin on his lower belly. “Eywa–” His head drops into the crook of her neck, panting wetly against her skin. The feeling is intoxicating – the control she had over his pleasure made her insides melt and twist. 

“Please just, do whatever you want,” he grits out brokenly, “I’m yours, just please–” 

Awra smiles, scraping a nail more forcefully against the tender skin of his lower belly and hearing Neteyam’s breath hitch. She lavished in the feeling of his panting, wetting her collarbone with condensation. It’s humid inside the cave, and a thin sheen of sweat is starting to form on their bodies. He shudders against her, pressing tightly to her body. Awra reaches down, holding him firmly in her hand. She huffs out a small giggle, heart pounding with excitement at the feeling of him hard and leaking for her.

“Awra–”, he gasps out frantically, and she melts. She wraps her fingers around the width of him, rubbing a timid finger over the tip. She moans when it comes away hot and damp, clinging to her thumb as she glides down the rest of the shaft. He’s panting heavily, breathy groans as he struggles not to buck his hips. A gentleman at all times, she thinks. 

Her soft giggle catches his attention. He lifts his head, and their eyes meet. His large amber orbs, usually bright and inquisitive, are now clouded with lust; and as he leans down to kiss her his hand comes to rest on her side. She hums, gripping him firmly and sliding from base to tip. He breaks away with a harsh pant, face growing taut with pleasure. “S’good,” he slurs, swiping his tongue across his lip, “feels s’good Awra.”

A shy smile tugs at her lips. She leans forward, kissing him while dragging her palm up and down his length. He’s whining softly into her lips, and she smiles into his mouth. She pulls away, and he looks at her with confusion. She pulls her hand off him, spitting into it, before sliding her fingers around his girth once more.

“What–” He’s cut off by her dragging her hand up and down the length of him, flicking her wrist at the tip. The reaction is immediate. His back bows inwards to her, and his eyes roll back into his skull as he groans; deep and throaty. “Eywa–”

“You shouldn’t call upon the Great Mother at times like this.” She teases, still stroking him. He doesn’t answer, but his hips start to buck into her fist. It sends a fresh lick of heat to her core, and she can feel how wet she is under his pelvis. 

“Sorr–sorry Awra.” He stutters, eyes still shut with pleasure. “I can’t stop.” 

She giggles again, other hand coming up to muffle the sound. He forces his eyes open, taking in her form lying prone beneath him, splayed out under his body. He groans, hips bucking faster – a lewd squish emanating from where he’s thrusting into her hand. The sensation makes her giddy, and makes her core tingle at the thought of him thrusting into her. She shifts her hips, trying to find relief where she throbs desperately. He senses this, hips slowing as he opens his eyes.

“Can I touch you?” He asks, chest still heaving. “Please. I have to touch you.” He added, tone pleading. She nods desperately, sitting up as he leans back on his haunches. He spreads her legs, sliding his palms down the backs of her thighs to where she’s aching for his touch. 

“You’re so wet down here.” He breathes in awe, a shaky hand coming to swipe at her slit. She whines, falling back against the ground as her back arches. “So pretty, Awra. You’re so pretty here.” With one hand, he holds her open for him. She feels incredibly vulnerable – all her most secret parts laid out on display for his eyes. And yet, she feels safe. His other hand traces the outline of her pussy, collecting the droplets of moisture. Using his thumb, he rubs over her clit, catching on the nub before releasing it. Awra gasps, legs trying to shut at the stimulation. He forces them open, sliding his thumb further down and pressing. She keens at the pressure, a low sound in her throat. She can feel herself shaking, and she grabs at him, trying to get closer.

“Hold on pretty girl, I want to make you feel good.” He says lowly, voice a raspy timbre. It makes her tingle with want, and she feels herself throb at his words. 

“Neteyam, please.” She begs, eyes watering. He smiles, shushing her.

“Have to stretch you first, don’t want to hurt you pretty girl.” He hushes out. “Can I touch you inside?” She nods, a tear slipping out the corner of her eyes as she blinks. He smiles and slowly presses one slim finger inside. It stings, and her eyes water even more. She bites her lip, stifling her sounds of pain. 

“Does it hurt?” He asks, brow furrowing with concern. “I can stop–”

Awra shakes her head, holding onto his forearm to keep him in place. “It’s–it’s fine. Keep going.” He nods, turning his attention back to her pussy. He sinks his finger in, swallowing at the way she’s wet and grips at him.

“You’re so tight, pretty girl. Relax for me.” He leans down, kissing her deeply. She exhales, deep and shuddery and tries to focus on him. The way his skin feels against her chest, the way he’s looking at her like she’s the most precious thing in the world, the way he’s panting. She closes her eyes, and he murmurs: “That’s it, Awra.” She feels his finger sink all the way in, and she whimpers. His eyes are glued to where his hand is insider her, licking over his lips. 

She revels at how full she feels with just his finger inside her, and as he begins to move it slowly she gasps. “That’s it pretty girl, that’s it.” He encourages, massaging her walls with the tip of his finger. “You’re so soft inside, baby.” He grits out, eyes hazy. She can’t help the wanton sounds she makes, feeling her body open up to him pliantly. He groans at her sounds, hand reaching down to stroke himself. She whimpers, body hot as the pleasure turns her stomach molten.

“Awra, hng! Please–” He tilts his head back, putting his neck on full display as he works himself over her body The sight makes her pussy throb. There’s a damp patch where the tip of his member is laying against his stomach, and her pussy burns with arousal at the sight. He’s so desperate, and it’s all for me, she thinks. She feels her belly grow warm, but his fingers have stilled where they’ve sunk insider her. She growls in frustration, yanking his fingers out. He snaps out of his pleasured daze, hand stilling where its wrapped around him.

“Awra–” He gasps, hands comig to grip her hips. She snarls, lunging forward and grabbing him by his shoulders. He topples backwards, eyes widening in surprise as his back collides with the wet ground behind him. She’s straddling him now, tail alert behind her as she eyes him. He’s panting, neck stretched out on display for her as he licks his lips. He looks beautiful, and she feels herself grow wet at the idea of sinking down on him and just making him take it.

“You’re so submissive, Neteyam.” She pants out, a smirk tugging on her lips. His eyes widen in surprise, lips snapping shut into a thin line. He’s embarrassed, she realises with mirth. He doesn’t retaliate, the grip on her hips loosening ever so slightly. His chest is heaving up and down, and she grinds down against him to test the waters. He groans, the sound loud and unabashed. 

“Aw–awra.” He grits out, fingers digging into the softness of her hips. His eyes are half-lidded, trained on her face. She grinds down again and he gasps, the sound a lot higher and breather, and it makes her core shake. “I–I can’t.” He huffs out, blush across his cheeks. She ignores him, grinding firmly against him. 

She closes her eyes in pleasure, the feeling of his hardness on her bare pussy makes her mind spin. Her wetness lubricates the slide, and the head of his member catches on her clit on every upstroke. His gasps and moans are all she can hear, and she plants her arms firmly on his chest, grinding in long strokes until he’s reaching for her desperately.

“Awra stop–I,” he huffs out, voice strained. “Eywa, please Awra–” He reaches forward for her, but falls back against the floor. “Close–close.” He trembles as he says that, nails digging raw into the dip of her waist. She isn’t close yet, but she’s desperate to see Neteyam come undone. The thought of him in a pleasured daze with her sends liquid pooling downward, and the friction between their bodies becomes that much sweeter. His eyes are squeezed shut, eyebrows scrunched as he shudders.

“Awra, my love,” he heaves, back arching off the ground. “Sorry–I can’t” And suddenly, there’s liquid heat splashing all over her inner thighs, across the outside of her pussy and smearing across his stomach and groin. He’s almost whining, and his grip on her waist is tense. His knuckles are white, and he bites on his lip to muffle his sounds. She feels herself throb harshly at the sight of his pleasure, looking down at the translucent white mess between their bodies. She whimpers, feeling how sticky and dirty she’d become. Neteyam came. All over himself. All over me. The thought has her shivering in arousal, and she can feel how wet she is. 

Neteyam is gasping, catching his breath. There are goosebumps all over his skin, and Awra traces over them with her fingertips. He smiles tiredly at her, eyes half-lidded still as he looks at her. “Sorry. I didn’t get to help you–” He starts, sitting up quickly but then grimacing at the mess between their legs. 

She giggles. “It’s okay, ‘teyam. We don’t have to do anymore if you’re tired.” She placates, wrapping her arms around his neck. He hums contentedly, leaning towards her with a small sigh. She rests her head in the crook of his neck, nose pressed to his skin. He wraps his long arms around her back, and she catches the way his breath hitches at the feeling of her bare breasts on his chest. She smiles, but doesn’t say anything. It’s extremely intimate though she’s sticky with his release – just breathing in his scent and playing with strands of his braids. She could stay here forever with him.

“Are you sure? I must apologise if I lack experience. I’ve never–” He rambles, face hot. She smiles endearingly, shaking her head as she tightens her hold around his neck. He shivers, resting his chin on her head. 

“Don’t apologise ‘teyam. It’s okay. We’ll have plenty of chances to do more next time.” She answers, a laugh bubbling up in her throat. She feels him laugh, chest rumbling with it.

“Since when did you start calling me ‘teyam?” He teased, leaning back to cup her face. “It’s always just Neteyam. Or ignoring me.” She gasps at him, and he does nothing but smile goodheartedly. His eyebrow raises, almost expecting a reply.

She blows a strand of hair out of her face, sticking her tongue out at him playfully. He chuckles, pulling her in against his chest once more. “Why can’t I call you ‘teyam. It’s a nickname. It’s cute.” She gripes, mumbling into his collarbone. She nips him playfully, and he laughs. She can’t stop the smile on her face at the sound of his laughter. 

“I like when you call me that.” He finally answers, smiling. “You should call me ‘teyam all the time from now on. Okay?”

Awra smiles, digging her face into his neck even more. “Deal.”

[volt-race]

Sometimes I will write something, don't quite know how to post it but it's going under the cut as it's semi... long? about 2 1/3 pages of text which I bet tumblr will just *love*

“Your drop pod is en route for the region of Crystalline Caverns known to be where Hivey resides”, Mission Control’s voice echoed through the drop pod comms to the miners. “As you know from the briefing on the rig, the last team who came down here for recon have lost connection with us. We aren’t certain what happened, or if Hivey had anything to do with it but until we do, assume she is more dangerous than usual, and we’ll update her files when you return with your findings”

The drop pod was tense enough a pin would’ve made any of the dwarves on it pull a weapon on reflex. Even Yavraek, who had been requested for support fire should things truly get hairy, was a touch on edge. Something didn’t track for him with all this. Hivey didn’t show hostility unless threatened, and since research into her more and more of the miners had been aware of her existence and coexisted in her dwelling. There must’ve been something else at play, he was thinking to himself as the drop pod reached its destination with a heavy thud. The four of them grabbed their weapons and tools, and stepped out into the crystal embedded caverns.

They explored, and sure enough, something bad had occurred that had left the previous team’s drop pod in a badly damaged state; huge rips and holes in one side of the machine like something had tried to and successfully opened it like a tin can, and signs of Rival Tech parts. Never a good sign, the four surmised. But no sign of the former crew- not even bodies. Maybe the bugs had already feasted on them… but that often left bones and scattered gear. From a distance, the scout, a younger recruit let out a yelp, before scurrying back to the other three with their trusty hook. Concerned, Yavraek asked what they’d seen.

“B-Big Glyphid Hiveguard with a persons’ torso! W-w-was that Hivey that Mission Control was talking a-about?” Yav nodded. “That’s her. Did she spot you?”

“I-i don’t think so… She was further in…”

The clattering of claws on the rock and stone make the frazzled miner trail off. Hivey had come to investigate where that yelp trailed to.

Two of the four dwarves went nigh instantly into a defensive position, ready to arm weapons if needed. The scout was ahead of them, raising his Deepcore Rifle to aim for the monstrous Hiveguard. When he then saw Yavraek put his hand on the barrel of their gun and attempt to lower it. The only calm one, as it sometimes is. The Scout listens to the old gunner, still trembling all over. Yavraek does his best to bring some amiability as he speaks to her. “There was a crew that came down here last before us. Maybe a cycle or two ago. What has become of them?”

Hivey visually pauses, trying to find her words. Then, her maw opens, with that familiar sound of incongruent tones and voices.

“Hurt.  Two breathing. One.  Gone.  Fiendish Rival Tech   surprise them.”

The crew takes that in. This time it’s the Engineer to speak, though still on guard

“Rival Tech got them? Bloody things… always daring to try and outdo us or get us to leave this planet. Yav, Sir- would she have any reason to lie to us?”

Yav shakes his head solemnly “No… she wouldn’t. Clever, yes she is, but not malicious. We’ve yet to ever see her attack without a prompt- except on the hunt. But we’re not her prey. Not yet at least…”

Hivey speaks again “Took to     Gyphid Tunnel. Safe. Dwarves don’t die easily! Recovering   they needed that.” “Could you take us to them Hivey?” Yavraek inquired. “We can get them back home, where medics can care for them until they’re healthy again.”

Hivey nods at the team, and leads them back in the direction she had come.

Deeper in the tunnels, and down several twists and turns, Hivey leads the four dwarves down to the burrow she’d carved out for safety. And lo, inside were two badly wounded dwarves who were resting on one another in makeshift wraps made from assorted cloth and clothes. The survivors lit up at the sight of other dwarves, they were safe! And filled them in on the full story. A Rival Nemesis had completely blindsided them, killing one of them with its powerful claws, and blowing the hole the others found in the drop pod. They managed to dismantle the Nemesis, but after it’s last laugh, they were physically exhausted and wounded badly, and blacked out before finding themselves in the den Hivey had carved out. At first one of the two had assumed they were goners and the Glyphids next meal, but that never came. Hivey never showed any aggression to them the entire time. As the team helped the two up, the engineer took one look back at Hivey to ask a final question before they left for the space rigs again.

“Why would you rescue them, if they were as good as dead? Less dwarves seems like it’d be in your favour, being a Gyphid.”

Hivey simply replied with a single response-

“Family is best   kept together.”

[seoconsultant-1]

5 Ideas For Prevent Back Injuries

One for the quick straightforward ways to handle with discomfort is to set up a consultation with a chiropractor. A person are have never been several chiropractic clinic then a person have no idea what tend to be missing. I am not a doctor, my partner and i don't enhance a chiropractor. I am just one satisfied customer when it comes to relieving back serious pain.

Dr. Novick: You only require to you should keep doing the exact things in which you were doing while you had been young. Stretch, engage in physical activities, clean living, and clients to get enough proper sleep.

Spinal manipulative therapy is not going for stopping you alone. Your local area chiropractor is likely to tell you things be needing to do at discover assist the process. These may include doing special exercises or using with special sleep aids. You should also not be determined by just your chiropractor. Community chiropractic services should be employed in conjunction with other medical treatment. A comprehensive care routine help to always make sure that you are healthy of which you have become to cardiovascular of just what causing your back downfalls.

But recognized to have the most important tools is education. Involving you personally in process through knowledge is more important than all of the stretches and back cracking you will undergo. Your chiropractor won't only concentrate on treating existing pain also show you the way to sustain the diminished pain and prevent these days from that develops.

If include backache related to ongoing prostate cancer, kidney stones or being a result in the referred pain from cardiovascular system condition, why don't we hope own gone for your medication towards the ice pack.

You will surely have problems you think require surgery, but in fact, a small trip to the chiropractor could start the healing methods. When the bones in entire body are misaligned, it can wreak havoc on your wellness. Do you have headaches? Backache? Shoulder ache? A minor adjustment is all it takes to put you right.

You always assume how the chiropractor is licensed. - When picking a new chiropractor, do your due diligence to make certain that they are licensed, certified, and actually graduated from college. Although few and much between, cases have actually occurred where people were injured by an unlicensed chiropractor. Don't ever let this be that you. It's never a smart idea to imagine anything, specifically when you may be trusting people with your overall health! However, an unlicensed chiropractor is uninsured. Locale injured by accident from the chiropractor, can't get any reimbursement to use in your pain and suffering from an insurance company.

[ndragoon]

This is coming from a PF understanding of the schools and not D&D, though they are the same except for necromancy - it is the manipulation of life energy rather than just specifically the manipulation of death/undead:

I have chosen Necromancy as my school of magic

The overriding purpose of necromancy is to continue the flow of life at any cost

What excites me the most of my school is that, sure, I can use it to raise the undead to defend myself, but I can also use them to defend others while also being able to heal others as necessary - even being able to use my own life to augment my spells and heal them even more should the situation call for it.

There is not a single misconception that makes me angry, because for every misconception of necromancy there is someone who actually does that. So I suppose that it's not the misconceptions themselves that get to me, but the application of them across everyone who follows this school.

Raise Undead. Like, yeah, you are using the bodies or bones of other beings, but you aren't really giving them *life*. It's just sheer animation like you'd see for animated constructs, and should fall under conjuration like the rest.

Evocation is hands down the most diametrically opposed to necromancy. Because whereas necromancy is about the flow of life from one to another, evocation is explicitly about the extinguishing of life and forcing it to go to waste. Plus for those who focus on animation, it destroys any materials they could have used for their purposes.

This might be a stretch, but transmutation is perhaps the closest. Where necromancy is the use and flow of life energy, transmutation is the use and flow of materials. A necromancer will take the life energy from somewhere into themselves, before giving it to an ally. A transmuter will take a rock and turn it into metal, which is then turned further into armor, tools, or weapons.

Ironically, all overlap lies with evocation. They both manipulate energy, but necromancy makes it flow while evocation is about focusing it specifically to destroy.

Aside from the aforementioned destruction, the only conflict could be with enchantments due to the clear boundaries it pushes and breaks when it comes to proper consent of allowing someone to use your life energy for anything.

I'd actually suggest both conjuration and transmutation to understand necromancy better. While neither are a perfect placeholder or stepping stone into it, transmutation helps you understand that there is always a give and take, as well as that there are limits to what you can accomplish when you are just transferring from one thing to another (rather than outright destruction and outright creation). Conjuration helps you understand how to handle an Other and keep magical forces under some semblance of control. If you can't handle a simple extraplanar being, then you might be more likely to lose control of a stream of life energy or animated bodies.

I honestly wouldn't group the schools into subgroups because as it is, they have their own distinct means and serve distinct purposes. Any combining of schools is more of a personal choice.

Magic is like information: it is always useful in some situation, even if it may not be useful in the current situation. However, when it is particularly useful in a certain situation, THAT is when it becomes extraordinary.

There is always the obvious ethical issues with using corpses for anything. Yes, you might need to defend yourself by a graveyard or somewhere similar, but it doesn't make you any better for pulling the dead from the afterlife to serve your purpose than someone who raised them to attack a village.

Enchantment has similar issues, but with the living. While I'd argue that any school shouldn't be generalized since there are no Catch-all issues for any, enchantment spells tend to be a strictly gray area regardless of intentions and is too easy to misuse if you aren't being VERY precise with how you use it.

When it comes to difficulty, illusions are the bane of my existence. My perceptions are too rooted in the material and I need to be able to feel, smell, and hear my subjects as much as I need to see them.

Abjuration is the most reassuring, though. Sure, it's good to have a way to keep people alive, but it's even better to stop them from getting hurt to begin with!

Evocation and Necromancy: what makes life energy so different from other energies that it needs a whole different teaching to manipulate?

Enchantments: What makes some spells cause blank patches in memory, but causes others to remember and know they were affected?

Illusions: why are some manipulations of shadow material that actually exist physically and others are just essentially hallucinations? Why is it that some will only affect one person, but others will affect nearly everyone who can see it? Wouldn't this just technically make part of this school evocation and the other part enchantment?

Having a fairly rigid classification system is actually a good thing, because it allows those who want to focus on a certain topic to do so, while allowing those who want to go across everything to still do so with no issue. It also allows people to focus on a specific *purpose* that they are looking for. It's easier to learn, say, abjuration in general than it is to sift through various spells and teachings trying to find the ones that would be useful when you are trying to shield others from harm.

The rigid classifications can both aid and hinder understanding. When something new is made, to helps to understand the general idea when you can place it in a school: like how if something closes wounds, you can fairly certainly place it under necromancy since it is clearly manipulating life energy to heal. But also as I mentioned about illusion magic: if you run into some beast that is acting on the instruction of a master, then you won't know if it is a type of illusion given form by shadow material or a conjuration given form by elemental material. It could actually be a shadow conjuration instead of an illusion, but you'd have people arguing and debating how to place it and how it is cast because of how it could be either school.

Magic should always be classified by the methods of which you cast it. There are a few different spells that have similar or almost exact outcomes, but the methods are totally different.

Never really thought of how well or badly they are defined. That's also not my area of expertise, so you'll have to ask elsewhere.

Necromancy is the one I want to take apart to find out how everything works piece by piece. All the different movements and mechanisms that can be adapted and used in different ways. Imagine someone putting in their will that they want to be donated to the village guard after death, and be animated for however long they need to be. Constantly drawing in traces of ambient life energy to sustain themselves so they can keep watch over the town as necessary, and without a necromancer to keep them going! Or even capsules of concentrated life energy that can be used to bring people back to life who fell before their time.

My favorite necromancy spell is a great classic: heal. It does what is written on the tin, and does it well.

However, I do wish that Fungal Hyphae was never made. Not for moral reasons: I just have a phobia of fungus and mycelia.

Evocation, hands down. Like, yes, we know you can cast fireball. Yes, we know you think it is the solution to every problem. Congratulations, the boat is now on fire! How are you going to put it out? Another fireball? Talk about the meatheads of wizards...

One of the things that fascinates me, thematically, about wizards in D&D is the consciousness of their interactions with magic. They learn their craft by study, by conscious thought. And they choose their school, too, by conscious thought. When you make a wizard, you choose what elements of magic they choose to prioritise. What draws them, what repels them, what do they rely on, what do they seek out. The choice of school is as much a characterisation detail as anything else. It’s not just a case of learning spells by rote out of a book (well, no, it can be, but that’s probably a discussion in and of itself). Wizards are the class where you can dig in and get nerdy. There’s magical theory up in this joint.

The eight schools in themselves are also an interest mesh of themes and rationalisations, and that makes sense from a Doylist perspectives, because the game designers are choosing schools and effects outside the game, but it also works from a Watsonian perspective, because these are in-universe classifications based on what wizards assume is how magic works. All the spells are tied to a school, and thus the eight-school classification system, even if there are wizards who aren’t. And with any system of classification, there are arguments. Which is, of course, the fun of it.

So. With that in mind. Eight schools. Abjuration. Conjuration. Divination. Enchantment. Evocation. Illusion. Necromancy. Transmutation. Some essay questions slash thought experiments slash personality quizzes for student wizards in a D&D world, focusing on the classification of magic:

If you were choosing (or have chosen) a school of magic to specialise in, what would it be?

What do you think is the overriding purpose of your school of magic?

What element of your school of magic excites you the most?

What is one common derogatory misconception about your school that makes you angry?

What’s one spell of your school that you think should belong to another school? Explain your reasoning.

What’s one spell of a different school that you think should belong to yours? Explain your reasoning.

What would you consider the school of magic most diametrically opposed to your own? Explain your reasoning.

What would you consider the school of magic most similar to your own? Explain your reasoning.

Name one area of overlap or potential overlap between your school of magic and each of the other seven.

Name one area of conflict or potential conflict between your school and each of the other seven.

Which other school of magic would you consider it necessary of have a good understanding of in order to better study your own?

If you were grouping the eight schools into subgroups, what would the groups be, which schools would they include, and why?

Do you consider the purpose of magic to be useful or to be extraordinary? Which schools do you think best match each outlook?

What do you consider the primary ethical concerns with your school of magic? What would you consider the primary ethical concerns with each of the other schools?

Which school of magic do you find most difficult or unpleasant to work with? Why?

Which school of magic do you find easiest and most reassuring to work with? Why?

What is one question about the workings of each school of magic that keeps you up at night?

Do you think that magic should be divided into schools at all? If you think that it should, do you think that the eight schools currently agreed upon are the most accurate choices, or do you believe that they should be rearranged or replaced?

Do you believe that rigid classification aids or hinders the understanding of magic as a whole? Explain your reasoning.

Do you think that a spell should be considered part of a school of magic based on its effect, or based on the methods or rationale that created it, or based on some other criteria?

Is there a school of magic that you considered to be particularly badly defined? Is there a school that you consider particularly well defined? Do you consider this a clarifying factor or a limiting one?

Which school of magic do you most want to disassemble to base parts and understand the workings of? Is this the same school you are happiest using, or a different one?

What is your favourite spell that you have learned of? Is that spell of your own school or a different one?

What is one spell of your least liked school of magic that you consider worthwhile, and why?

What is one spell that you think should never have been invented, and why?

And, finally, just for fun and so everyone knows where we all stand: which school of magic do you find the adherents of most annoying? Not necessarily the school you think shouldn’t exist, but the one where when you meet a wizard of that school, you kneejerk want to punch them in the face, just because?

[lyrabythelake]

One Step at A Time (Legend & Wild)

This was was written for Whumptober for the fracture/are you here to break me out? prompt and I never posted it because I intended to write a recovery bit at the end which never happened whoops

Legend didn’t know how long he had been sitting in the dungeon. He guessed he was underground considering the lack of natural light, the stale, musty air, and the lack of windows. His cell was small and the darkness only made it seem smaller, the stone walls seemed to encroach on him as he lay on the dust-muffled floor, back propped up against the wall, and his leg throbbing to the beat of his chest. 

His leg was broken, he was pretty sure of that, though the lack of light hardly allowed for a detailed analysis, the crack that had sounded after the Blademaster of Wild’s world had slammed his foot down onto it didn’t leave much for the imagination. That and it hurt like a bitch.

It was a special kind of torture being isolated and in pain, the darkness letting up not an ounce of distraction and the cold so intense that he couldn’t help the muscles clenching and unclenching around the broken bone as he shivered. He had tried to escape the first day, but now, well into his third, he was too exhausted to waste energy on moving.

Footsteps approached down the hallway and he quelled the hope that rose within him, willing himself not to be lulled by the idea that he could be rescued. No one had come to his cell since he had been captured bar the one Yiga who dropped off his food and water once a day, and they had already been and gone this morning, which was why it was a genuine surprise when the footsteps didn’t pass, but instead approached his cell door.

He smiled in relief as Wild’s face came into view through the metal bars.

“Are you here to break me out?” Legend asked, cringing slightly at the hoarseness of his voice.

“Nah,” Wild replied with a smirk. “Just thought I’d stop by for a quick visit. How’s it hanging?”

“Pretty damn shit. The Yiga Clan needs to work on their hospitality, that’s for sure.”

Wild was already running his hands over the metal door, feeling for overlooked cracks or weaknesses in the structure. He wouldn’t find any, Legend had spent hours doing the same.

“The lock looks pretty old from this side,” Legend suggested, “if you had the tools, you could probably pick it in a few–”

Crash!

Legend covered his head automatically as the entire door swung open, the lock and half the stone wall next to it lying ten feet down the hallway.

“--or you could blow it up. Also a valid option.”

“We need to move quickly,” Wild told him seriously through the haze of disturbed brick-dust. “I managed to sneak in here without being seen, but they’ll have definitely heard that. Can you walk?”

“My leg– I think it’s broken. A potion should fix it up enough to get out of here, though.”

“I don’t have a potion.” Wild’s expression was unrestrainedly concerned as he knelt to have a closer look at Legend’s left leg.

“What do you mean you don’t have a potion?! Who goes on a rescue mission without a healing item?”

“There wasn’t time to make one before I left,” Wild hissed. Legend flinched as he pressed down on his bruised calf.

“Are you telling me not one of you had one to spare?”

Wild said nothing. Legend sighed.

“They don’t know you’re here, do they?”

Wild bit his lip. 

“It was easier if I went alone. We were taking too long to come up with a plan.”

“Time’s going to be pissed,” Legend told him.

“Yeah, well, I’m hoping he’ll be more forgiving when I come back with you. Now hold still, this is going to hurt.”

Wild unhooked his slate from his belt, tapped several buttons, and a piece of rope and a long stick appeared seemingly from nowhere.

“Are you ever going to tell me how that thing works?” Legend asked.

“Would if I knew.”

Wild held the stick up to Legend’s broken calf and began to secure it to his leg with the rope. Legend clenched his teeth against the inevitable pain, grasping Wild’s shoulder hard as something to ground himself with. Nausea bubbled inside him as he felt the bone shift ever so slightly beneath his flesh.

“There,” said Wild. “See? No need for a potion after all.” 

“Easy for you to say, you don’t have to walk out of here on a broken leg.”

Something clattered from down the hallway and the two of them startled. Their time was up.

“Come on,” said Wild, offering Legend his hand, “just hold onto me and you’ll be fine.”

With Wild’s help, Legend levered himself up onto his good leg, swaying slightly as the days without sufficient food caught up with him.

“You good?” Wild asked. Legend nodded, worried that if he opened his mouth he would actually throw up.

The hallway beyond the cell was just a little lighter than what he had become used to the past few days, a torch burning low throwing shifting shadows up the walls, not quite strong enough to light the other cells to a point of visibility. It was disconcerting; Hylia knew what kind of creatures the clan hid down here.

The first Yiga they encountered seemed to manifest from the darkness itself, a small one, perhaps a scout before the true calvary arrived. Without missing a beat, Wild produced a weapon from beneath his cloak and threw it hard. Blood sprayed from the Yiga’s chest and they screamed, disappearing in a shower of paper notes. The weapon flew back, and Wild caught it casually, like he hadn’t just brutally cut open a real, living person–or something resembling one, anyway.

“Is that a boomerang?!” Legend asked.

“Yeah, why?”

Legend stared at him with raised brows, not bothering to hold back his incredulity. Another two Yiga apparated from the darkness, and the boomerang sliced through them too.

“What?” Wild asked, not even a hair out of breath. “You’ve got a boomerang, I know you do, I’ve seen it.”

“Yeah, but I don’t usually use it to break my friends out of weird banana cult prisons. I would ordinarily use a sword for that.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t have a sword, so…”

“You don’t have a–?! Wait, so let me get this straight. You sneaked off by yourself to infiltrate an insane gang who all want you dead without healing potions or a real weapon?”

“I think I’m proving quite well that a boomerang is, in fact, a real weapon,” Wild contended as he sliced another Yiga through the chest with a perfectly aimed throw then wiped the bloodied boomerang on his tunic once it was back in his hand. “But yeah… when you say it like that…”

Hobbling along the corridor, all his concentration focused on breathing through the pain and not falling over or, as his increasing lightheadedness foretold, passing out completely, he didn’t notice their dilemma as they turned the corridor apart from Wild’s dry “Ah.”

In front of them stretched an almost comically long flight of cobbled, uneven steps.

“You factor this into your impeccably thought out plan?” Legend asked, deadpan, because if he had actually let himself feel any emotion at that point it may well have ended in tears.

Wild sucked on his teeth a moment, thinking. Fortunately, the Yiga seemed to have thinned out somewhat, perhaps because they were scheming a proper takedown after their initial attacks had failed.

“I’m going to have to carry you,” he concluded.

“No,” Legend replied firmly.

“Do you have any other ideas?”

“Could you even carry me?” He looked Wild up and down sceptically. He was taller than Legend, though not by much, and slimmer. Sure, he was probably packing quite a bit of muscle under his tunic given his occupation, but Legend had it on good authority that he was heavier than he looked.

Wild made an offended sort of noise.

“Of course I could!”

“Well even if you could–which I highly doubt, by the way–I wouldn’t let you.”

“Okay, do enlighten me with your brilliant alternative plan, then” Wild said as the boomerang left yet another trail of blood, and an impressively hefty body, in its path back to his hand. “And hurry up, I’m not going to be able to hold these guys off forever.”

“I’ll walk,” Legend told him with a gritty determination that didn’t quite quell the dread churning inside him. He tried not to look at the sheer length of the stone staircase in front of them.

“Legend–”

“I’ll be fine. Let’s go; like you said, we shouldn't hang around.”

Wild eyed him with a mixture of pity and doubt, but ultimately decided against voicing any of it out loud. 

“Alright then,” he said reluctantly and held out his arm for support. Legend took it gladly. His pride may have stopped him from being carried like a damsel in distress, but hell if was getting up these steps without some help.

The first step was agony. Even putting all his weight onto his right leg and hopping like a deranged rabbit, his left leg was forced to bend to manoeuvre himself up. Wild grunted as Legend leaned even more of his weight onto him.

“You alright?” Wild asked, and Legend realised with dismay that he was already out of breath–from the first step. 

“‘Course,” he grunted back.

The second step had him squeezing his eyes shut tightly from the pain, and by the third his vision was swimming with dark spots. 

“Three down… a hundred more to go,” Legend said lightly, looking up at the staircase that seemed to be getting longer and more arduous everytime he glanced at it.

“Ledge, I really think–”

“I’m fine,” he snapped.

The fourth and fifth steps had him biting down on his lip hard enough to draw blood lest he vocalise the sheer torture of feeling the bones shift in his calf. By the sixth he was undeniably lightheaded.

“Wild, I–” he swallowed, suddenly feeling very nauseous and slightly numb.

“You’re going to pass out, aren’t you?” Wild said like he had been anticipating this for the last five minutes.

“No, I–”

The world grew a little foggy, his vision misting up like the glass of his windows on a quiet winter morning. Okay, so maybe Wild had a point. 

However, his stubbornness had always been one of his major downfalls, as Ravio never hesitated to remind him, and he attempted to hop up to the seventh step despite his body’s clear warnings. 

“Please let me carry you,” Wild told him, his voice a distant whisper in the flooding waters of his consciousness.

His vision tilted alarmingly, and he managed to force out a last “I’m fine,” before he knew no more.