#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.

[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.

[tempest-loupnoir]

Reasons why Robert E. O. Speedwagon is in my opinion, the best character in Jojo’s Bizarre Adventures and one of my favorite characters I’ve gotten to know in recent years.

One: Speedwagon would have been a terrifying gang boss in any show that did not involve supernatural freaks and zombies. He Clobbered zombies with a sledgehammer. Which he could swing with One Hand! Just his hand! Do you know how heavy a sledgehammer is?! I’m average sized with average upper body strength and I could barely lift it off the ground with both hands and my back put into it. Speedwagon makes that chunk of rock look weightless.

Speedwagon is a sharp shooter. He sniped Dio right above the eye In The Dark. That would have been the end of their troubles then and there if Dio didn’t already have Plot Armor with a freaky acupuncture vampire-making mask.

Speedwagon has precise control over a sawblade projectile that he could catch and toss with just His Head! He knew exactly when and how to flip it onto his head with a flick of his finger after making it boomerang around him In A Blizzard! And he threw it with perfect accuracy across several meters in said snowstorm, with enough force to cut through a very beefy arm and hit bone. While He himself was dodging a knife that was kicked at his face! He still cut a man with his hat, even after dodging and having his aim thrown off! Can you imagine fighting a guy with that kind of eye for causing the most damage to you possible with long ranged weapons? The scariest types of characters to fight in battle games are the ones that can take away health points without being in your range to fight them or block their melees! And he was ready to fight with his fists, too! He probably had several knives hidden on him.

Speedwagon’s home street was the most dangerous place in Victorian London. London was the culture hub for both Europe and the United States back then. He had at least 35 men in the anime under his command, many of them designed to resemble serial killers in pop culture movies like Jason, Freddy Krueger, and Edward Scissorhands. He had a martial arts master as his backup and best friend. He had a homemade car! In 1888! Before most rich people had cars! Speedwagon was the boss of the most deadly gang in a very influential area, and he had connections with people all over England. He knew about the murders and disappearances in Wind Knight’s Lot, all the way in Southern England Before Baron Zeppeli did!

In the manga, Speedwagon flipped backwards from the roof of the carriage through an open window into the carriage. A move he likely practiced for robbing moving carriages back home… He bashed in a zombie’s skull with the sledgehammer mentioned earlier while surrounded by an army of them, and was not shown with any wounds or fear during the fight.

He climbed a stone wall and a multi story building at 1 am in the blustery cold of a December night with no lights to guide him, sporting a broken arm in a cast and sling, plus broken ribs and internal injuries (we were told a piece of bone pierced his lung early in the first battle against Dio). All because he Had to make sure his new friend did not succumb to depression and die. All he wanted to do was hold Jonathan’s hand and tell him he wasn’t alone.

Speedwagon’s trademark scar likely took many months to heal from. At a time when poor men like him wouldn’t be able to get good medical care, If any, and also hospital sanitation was completely absent. The dub has him mention Florence Nightingale, the nurse who first told medical workers that they needed to wash their hands and tools before doing surgery and while treating patients… Just imagining the kind of dismal sanitation back then, when raw sewage was still dumped in the Thames river… UGH. And Speedwagon bore that scar for life. It had to have affected how he ate, drank, spoke, and slept. This man is the poster child for Tough and Gritty characters.

His greatest super power? His keen eye! He figured things out in a glance, hence his narrating what’s happening (which was necessary in the manga since the manga is a bit confusing to follow with all the sound effects and gore flying). Even 75 year old Speedwagon was able to figure out a supernatural foe he’d never seen before was using a wind vortex to injure Caesar. He warned Caesar, a Hamon warrior who specialized in using air for his attacks, that he needed to close his eyes to avoid losing them! 75 year old Speedwagon with a brain injury still needed a straitjacket to keep him from committing (trigger warning!) suicide off camera with a piece of glass he hid in his hand, and he was still fiery tempered and determined to fight Nazis with all his might! He Only worked with them when the whole world was at stake and the only thing he gave them besides Hell was giant flashlights. That’s it. Giant UV flashlights. He didn’t even want help when he was stuck in a straitjacket watching a supernatural giant consume and destroy an entire army of Nazis. Speedwagon has a very strict moral code.

Two: Speedwagon also was ahead of his time as far as racial tensions go. You can see Asians, black men, etc in his gang, and just like Erina Joestar, he was quick to accept/adopt an orphan African American teenage thief on the street simply because he was kind. Speedwagon would have related to Smokey’s background and his determination to stand by his friend, even though they were both hopelessly incapable of lifting so much as a finger against their super-powered supernatural foes, and he made sure that boy stayed safe. No Nazis were going to hurt his friend!

75 year old Speedwagon was still Strong As Heck to hold an unconscious 6 foot tall muscular warrior woman in his arms without staggering.

He traveled around the world before he turned 25. He worked his backside off trying to provide for a widow and two children on his own, and could not manage it, so one of the babies had to go to a monk friend. He no longer wanted to stab and rob people for a living, so the only way he could earn enough through honest means was to find a raw material in high demand before someone else did and stake a claim on it. He had a super keen sense of smell and that likely helped him find the undiscovered oil reserve while he was crawling around, penniless, in the Texas desert under a scorching sun. He nearly died trying to provide for Erina and George 2. The fact that he was smart enough to start his own business instead of selling out to the first plonker to offer him a fat check, and he figured out how to work with those same pricks who used to snub him when he was a thief and beggar, speaks a lot to his adaptability and observation skills.

Three: He didn’t let becoming a billionaire overnight change him! He provided for his slum friends, too. They had better clothes when they saw Jonathan off on his honeymoon, and it’s likely they were Speedwagon’s first employees when he decided to navigate politics and try to make a nonprofit organization for medicine, archaeology, habitat and cultural preservation for animals and people (he knew what it was like to lose everything; there is no way he’d turn his back on people being slaughtered for eugenics during WW1. He likely tried to help evacuate and protect people during that). And because he knew someone made that mask that ruined the Joestars’ lives, he kept searching for other supernatural threats to humanity. He was humanity’s first line of defense, just like SHIELD in Marvel comics, and he did it quietly without government assistance or journalists documenting his progress.

Because of Speedwagon and the Joestars, Georgia got its first black mayor before desegregation happened in the United States. Because of Speedwagon and the Joestars, humanity was spared from a cruise ship full of zombies that would have eaten New York City first in 1889, and then plagued and brought down the entire United States in months, and they stopped even more powerful vampires from feeding on the entire world in 1920. (And kept that power out of Nazi hands). He protected the identity of the Hamon clan, too. The Nazis would not have known about it if Caesar had kept his mouth shut.

Four: Speedwagon’s legacy is so powerful that even in an alternate universe where he never met Johnny Joestar, he still started his Foundation to help people, and his Foundation still ended up entwined with the Joestar family. His legacy helped the Joestars in the mainverse for over a century, and it has the same potential in the new verse, an alternate world where previous characters and their traits are mixed with others. For Speedwagon to still be Speedwagon and still have the same destiny, even though everyone else (except spoilers for Jojolands) and everything else was completely changed… That says something, doesn’t it? The author might not ever use Speedwagon again but his name has been in eight of the nine stories so far. That’s more than any other character Araki created.

[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.

[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

[barkspawn]

your recent sam oneshot was soooo good!!!!! can you write one where the farmer has been overworking for a few days and is exhausted mentally/physically, then elliott comes over for a visit and finds farmer about to pass put so he scolds her for overworking and takes care of her?? thank you��

I will not lie to you - I struggled a bit with this one. It's like I knew what I wanted to say but words were not my friend. If it's weird or you hate it, lmk and I'll try again for sure lmao. I started this bc I had writers block, so it all helps anyway.

Also y'all thirsty af for Elliott lmao.

Amelia was tired to her core, emotionally and physically. She had planted way more than she could handle in the hopes it would bring a more profitable harvest. With that and the new chicks and cows, she was insanely sluggish. It had been only 3 days since she planted all of the seeds and Shane helped move the animals into their respective homes. 

Your grandfather did this every day. You can do this too and you know it. 

She sighed as she took one last swing at a small boulder to the west of her lake. The rock cracked as it fell into a pile of stones. She gathered them and felt like she was walking through jello as she walked to the cabin. After a millenia, she dropped the stone into the chest, her tools following. She hesitated with the ax, eying a few more small logs she surely could make it through. The thought alone was dizzying enough, let alone the very idea of even walking to the damn thing. 

She stood there for a while, deciding if it was worth it (and definitely not trying to ground herself because she definitely was not dizzy).

Push through. It'll be worth it. 

"Amelia, darling?" Elliott spoke softly, as if he didn't want to spook her. It didn't work however as she gasped and dropped the ax, barely missing her foot as she turned, too fast, to face him. He had just stepped closer, for which she was thankful because otherwise she surely would have fallen forward and passed out. She caught his arms to steady herself as he held on to her as best he could. His eyes widened in panic for a moment before catching on to what was happening, "firstly, love, are you alright?" His tone was laced with worry, but he couldn't hide the hint of frustration. 

She suddenly felt small, biting her lower lip. She and Elliott had only started dating at the beginning of winter and he came to know just how dedicated to her farm she was. He had even talked to her just last week about not overdoing it when she went over her plans for Spring with him. She stepped forward and leaned into his chest, burying her face in his neck, "yeah.. just tired I think.." she hummed as he wrapped her in a gentle hug. Elliott was a brilliant man who could do anything he wanted to… other than deny any affection from his farmer. He sighed as he rest his chin on her head, giving her the courage to come clean, "I've… been working all day. With the animals and crops and debris… I've been busy."

She felt him tense around her before pulling back to really get a look at her. Her eyes had bags like none he'd seen and she had dirt smeared over her face and hands. His frown deepened at his observations, speaking his last one aloud, "since the beginning of Spring, I assume. You've been working yourself to the bone?" She took her lower lip between her teeth and looked away. Why on earth did she feel like she was going to cry? She gave a small nod, still not able to meet his eyes. She waited for him to scold her - to tell her how stupid and careless for her own health she was, but it never came. Instead, she gasped as he scooped her up in his arms, bridal style, and walked her into the cabin. 

Okay, so Elliott is stronger than he looks… Need to take advantage of this information in the future.

Her arms held tight around his neck, terrified she would fall, though she knew he wouldn't let her. He moved to place her in her armchair, not wanting to dirty her bed with the dirt covered overalls. He’d clean it later if need be. She frowned as he pulled back, kneeling in front of her with a look that was almost sad. Her limbs felt like wet noodles, otherwise she would pull him into the chair with her and just hold him. 

"Tell me which you would like first, love," he reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, "a cup of that lavender tea you love or shall I run you a bath?"

She perked up a little at the thought of both before she was overcome with emotion, with love for this man, which terrified her. 

She laughed, the sound quiet and tired, "El, I'd fall asleep in the bath and that's hardly how I'd want you to find me: naked and drowned in an old clawfoot tub." 

He cracked a smile then before taking her hand and kissing her knuckles just once, "I.. could come with you. You could relax while I-"

"Are you serious?" Amelia spoke, the words skipping past her brain before they escaped. He looked wounded for just a moment before his kind smile returned. She widened her eyes before reaching to cup his face, "no, no. Not like that, I just mean… is that really how you'd like to see me naked for the first time? Covered in dirt and bruises?" She half smiled, almost expecting him to agree and back off. Instead, he seemed to think for a long moment. 

"It wouldn't necessarily be with the intention to see you naked," he failed to stop his smile, "though I will not pretend it is not an added bonus," she felt her cheeks warm as he continued, "I want to make sure you're safe, dear. I want to take care of you, but only if you're comfortable."

She looked over his face, contemplating. She felt a little bad for making it seem like that being naked had implications. She was a little self conscious, and when she had imagined the moment they shared together, completely vulnerable, it was under very different circumstances. This would be no less intimate though, the thought of his gentle touch over her aching body made her face warm more than she'd felt before. They had decided to wait to do anything beyond kissing for the sake of pacing. After shitty relationships on both parts, they thought slow would be best. 

She wasn't hesitating in shock or disbelief at his offer, but she was shell shocked at the sudden realization that she truly loved this man. She was shocked that he could care enough that he would go to these lengths for her at all. 

She broke into a small smile and nodded a bit, unable to find the words for the moment. His smile was one of relief as he moved to stand, pressing a kiss to her forehead, "relax here. I'll go run the bath now." 

She watched him as he walked away, rolling his sleeves up as he made his way into the bathroom. She rested her eyes for just a moment before he was suddenly back, carefully lifting her once more into his arms. 

"I can walk, you know.." she mumbled into his neck, earning a small smile in return. 

"Perhaps, but you also deserve to be pampered every so often," he punctuated the thought with a kiss to her head before setting her down to stand before him. He took a hair elastic from the shelf above her sink, "may I?"

"El, you don't have to ask me for those kinds of things," she smiled and hummed, accepting the gentle kiss he stole in return as thanks. She watched as he ran his fingers back through his hair, pulling it back into a messy bun. Her staring must have been painfully obvious, causing Elliott's hands to pause at the button of his shirt, seemingly a little embarrassed by the direct attention. 

Well, fuck. I love his hair but it should be illegal for someone to make something as simple as pulling their hair back sexy.

"Are you still certain you're okay with this, love? I don't want you to feel forced," he stepped forward, hands on her shoulders, "you're hurting. Yoba knows I wouldn't try anything now, no matter how beautiful you may be."

She smiled and nodded, shifting to un-clasp her overalls, letting them fall and pool at her feet. She still had leggings on underneath for warmth and a long sleeved shirt. Her body protested as she lifted the shirt over her head, wondering if Elliott was sneaking as many peaks at her as she was of him. She reveled in the fact that they were comfortable enough to be able to do this. Of course she was definitely interested in exploring other ways to, well, explore him. Though, maybe when her body wasn’t protesting simply because she was standing.

She tossed the rest of her clothes into a small pile before turning to Elliott, who tried so hard and failed at hiding the light rosiness in his cheeks. 

"Are you okay to step in or shall I help you?" She knew that he was aware of her capability to step into the bath and he was being playful, the smirk she grew to adore playing at his lips. She shook her head and gave a small, unintentionally breathless laugh as she watched him climb in, his arm extended to her. Once she stepped in, he lowered himself before shifting and helping her so she sat with her back to his chest. She knew her hands were trembling, but still she leaned back into him, the feeling of his bare skin against hers unlike any feeling she'd ever felt. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder as he wrapped his arms around her waist, as careful as humanly possible not to cross any lines in the brief moment of affection. 

She could hear the smile in his voice as he brushed one of his thumbs against her spine, admiring the tattoo there, "I didn't know you had these.. They're beautiful." She leaned forward a bit so he could see, though the soap had to have clouded the water. After a minute of tracing his finger along the design, he spoke once more, his voice soft, "you are beautiful, Amelia. More so than I could begin to explain."

She bit her lower lip, feeling a bit more at ease (and less pained) in the hot water. After a long moment, she was able to speak, "I'm so glad you think so," she laughed quietly, "and thank you. For that and for everything tonight." She shifted and watched as one of his eyebrows flicked upward. 

"Oh, you're still not off of the hook, darling. You are very much in trouble," he stated, leaving Amelia completely unsure if he was kidding. 

She felt a little like a kid who was caught doing something they shouldn't. 

Elliott chuckled at her expression before reaching for the shampoo, "relax, dear. No punishment," he glanced up at her, catching her staring in both confusion and disbelief. As he met her eyes, he smirked and leaned in to press a small kiss to the corner of her lips, lingering for a moment, "not yet, anyway."

[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.”

[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.'

[volt-race-art]

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.”

[tolkien-feels]

But Aman elves may have had wooden/ toy swords, or something like swords, because you have woods. And in woods, there could be wild animals and swords/ weapons could be an act of self defence?

But knives existed, I'm sure, since elves are canonically meat eaters as well, and to cook chicken, or some meat, you'd need knives?

Idk, but that conception seems pretty nice to me.

I don't know when you sent this but I address most of what you're saying here.

I also didn't mean to like, Forbid People from having other headcanons. That's more of an... "I really feel so passionately about this headcanon and I think it's supported by canon!!!" (Though I guess I could have worded my original post less judgmentally? But I really didn't mean it to be Authoritative, I just thought it was such a niche post it'd be ignored, so I didn't put any effort in making sure I expressed myself well.)

I do think Aman elves would have toy weapons, but specifically hunting weapons. Not that you would be able to hunt with a toy, but like, that'd be what they'd be mimicking. Spears, bows, maybe even traps. You... could I guess conceivably hunt with a sword, but it really is the worst possible tool for that, so I don't think adult elves would have used swords in Aman - again, I think Tolkien makes a big deal out of elves stockpiling swords because of what they represent: a weapon suitable for fighting other elves (and elf-like creatures) and not much more.

I also do think knives and maybe even daggers existed (although I tend to think early ones would more commonly be made of bone or stone than of metal), but if toy versions of them are being used, it's probably to play at either hunting or keeping house, not to battle.

Which goes back to my point - I think elflings in Aman might play at things like chasing each other, or pretend to hunt animals or even monsters. I can't imagine though that they would playact battles, which is pretty much the main way a toy sword can be used. Even if they playacted battles - say, reenacting the wars of the Valar - I think the Valar would strongly disapprove of it, and the Amanyar would discourage it rather than encourage it by giving them toy swords.

Again, I'm not saying people shouldn't headcanon it, but that's the reasoning for my headcanon.

(I do think it's possible that elves already had swords before Aman, but I don't think you must headcanon that, so I don't.)

[grumpy-zane]

In Which a Retired General Enters Limon

Cryptor scowled as he sat in the luggage car of the train. It was horribly bumpy, incredibly warm, and overly crowded with cargo boxes and supplies. He couldn’t afford a ticket to be in one of the main passenger cars, nor did he want to ask Cyrus to help him with anything, so he settled for stow away.

Sure, Dr Borg *was* the one who ripped his soul out of the departed realm and shoved it into a compatible vessel, but that doesn’t mean he had to become some sort of friend to the doctor. Why, it just didn’t make sense to Cryptor why he would even do this in the first place, but he didn’t get any answers he wanted to hear. 

"I just think everyone deserves a second chance. Now I did consider making you head of the sentry units but, well, I wouldn't want to put a ghost in a place where it rains often!" Cyrus had laughed, much to the annoyance of Cryptor, "but its clear you don't want to stay around here either. So! I have the perfect place for you to become re-established in the world of the living." 

The trains' wheels screeched as it braked in spurts, gradually slowing the vehicle to a stop. He took no time to pull open the door and wedge hiself between the side and the subterranian linestone wall. Working his way towards the front of the train he managed to scooch his way to the main stations general opening, a wide subterranean space upheld by wood and steel beams. It would have felt a lot bigger if it weren't for the fact that it was filled up with tourists from all walks of life. 

Cryptor weaved his way through the main streams of traffic, rudely shoving people aside who moved too slow for his liking. Forcing his way up the stairs, his optics shrunk at the drastic change of light. 

From the train station, the cul-de-sac shaped town sprawled with houses and trees. It was shaped perfectly for tourism; a wide general road that looped around multiple fountains, with vendors and tourist trap buildings lining the sides set perfectly to grab your attention on your way around. Beyond the inner ring laid the hotels and saloons, and beyond that were scattered clumps of residential housing. Citrus trees lined the entire town like a forest wall, separating this breath of life from the desert wasteland beyond.  Finally, directly across from the station and town in its entirity, stood a large building half carved into the jutting canyon stone. It was the town governing building, and it was exactly what he was looking for. 

The first thing he noted upon entering the front doors was the large set of shark bones that hung from the rafters, its rib cage seemingly built into the roof support. Various glass cases lined the walls between sinage, housing historical artifacts and facts about the area. 

"Howdy," a wrangler, the towns law enforcement and DNR, greeted from the side wall, "need directions?" 

"Yes, where is your head honcho? I have a letter from Cyrus Borg that needs to be delivered to your..." what type of government did Limon have again, "mayor."

She snorted and pushed herself off the side wall, "we don't have a Mayor, but I can take you to the seinor wrangler. My name is Charleston, and you are?"

He hesitated, "Cryptor." 

"Nice to meet you, come this way." She led him down the right wing which housed more museum looking pieces. Three doors down, she knocked on the office door and twisted the knob, "Head Donna, a letter for you." 

The older woman looked up from her paperwork, "coem in." Another wrangler -Joey- fixed his posture as Charleston let Cryptor in and returned to her post. 

Immediately, the former general was pur on edge by Joeys posture. The straightened shoulders, hard gaze, hands hovering by his tool belt, and tipped hat made it seem like he was beyond ready. It was at that moment Cryptor realized that although guns were outlawed in the city, they weren't here.

"Don't mind Joseph, hes a little paranoid by newcomers. You have a letter for me?" Don asked kindly with folded hands. 

"Yes," Cry stepped forward and pulled the letter from his arm plating. "Cyrus Borg has requested that I get a job here. I figured being a wrangler would be of great benefit to you." He smiled with an air of arrogance, "A machine can withstand greater impacts than a man." 

Joey caught his side-eye and frowned.

Donna laughed in half paying attention, "Never heared of this Cyrus person, never heard of you either," she set the paper down and looked him in the eye, "you seem to think you have what it takes to be a wrangler, hm? We get a lot of people like you walking in here asking the same thing, and we always let the wastes do the deciding. I have no authority to make you a wrangler until you pass the exam, so until then, you should get comfortable with the landscape."

Part of her tone urked him, "I know what I am capable of." 

"Thats nice sweetie," she looked back at her paperwork, "Joey, show him out please." 

"Yes ma'am." He almost giddily opened the door for him. 

Cryptor glared, but turned heels. He stomprd his way down the hall and eyed the glass. He was capable alright, beyond qualified to do this job. It was easy wasn't it? Just make sure people arent doung dumb things and smile and wave, what was there an exam about that? 

Charleston felt his deep rooted rage and stepped forward from her post again, "don't take it too personally Cryptor, everyone gets turned down on thr first day. You just gotta pass fhe exam, which happens right at the end of tourist season." She informed.

"Yeah and when is that?" He snarled, "and what do I do before then? I can't live here rent free." 

She tapped her belt, "I can give you a place to stay, and the bars around are always looking for chefs and bartenders." 

He seemed to consider this, "so I have to learn to cook before I can smile and wave? How quaint," his sarcastic tone oozed, "and let me guess, I will need a uniform that I cant afford in order to work, hm?" He was only there in boots and pants, not that he or anyone minded.

Charleston hummed, "tell you what, I'll give you a grace period of 4 days for you to get acquainted with the town before I'm making you work. It'll give you enough time to see what's needed, and to get familiar with the culture. Part of bring a wrangler is upholding Limon's law, which is mighty different from the City. Here," Crptor caught the kry she tossed to him, "The farthest east house on the south side, thats mine. Don't mind the roommate, she's a little too unafraid. You two will get along great." 

He looked at the key and scoweled. At least that meant he could take a nap. In this vessel he needed recharge time, it took at a lot of energy to move it around, and the exghaustion was starting to weigh in on him.