#head empty only thoughts of nui...

[anbaisai]

the perfect place to hitch a ride

[rahiwatching]

Fan Theory: Like Ogres and Onions, the Matoran Universe has Layers

This theory has been rattling around in my head for some time, I might make a Knowledge Tower video about it someday, but I’m not certain if its a good fit, given its more of a theory than anything where I actually do some science in it. Maybe you all can let me know if this is a good video idea in the notes?

Anyway, the crux of this theory is something to try to explain how all of this:

Actually fits into the body of the GSR.

This is a long post, so I’ll put the rest under the cut.

We already know from Greg quotes that the MU map isn’t really to scale, its more to show the rough position of the islands rather than their actual relative size compared to one another, hence why Odina is so large, and why Voya Nui seems to take up most of the southern continent despite being described as being relatively small in story.

But even using this as a guide for placement only, it still doesn’t really gel with the actual layout of the Great Spirit Robot, with everything in the torso area having to be squished up into the upper torso given the empty space in the abdomen.

This is further compounded by this image, which places the giant vortex in the endless ocean that leads to the great waterfall in the middle of the chest of the GSR, once again placing both the southern continent and Karda Nui squarely in the upper torso:

I’ve seen more than a few fan maps of the MU that try to address this problem, but all the ones that I have seen have never quite been satisfying to me, they make the southern continent especially far too small than what the storyline suggests it should be in order to get everything to fit.

But my solution, which I don’t think I’ve seen elsewhere before, came to me when I remembered that Karda Nui was in a dome that was underneath the southern continent - it was on a separate layer. And, well, Karda Nui can be on a separate layer, why not other sections of the MU as well?

That thought let me to making these maps of how I think the MU could possibly be laid out:

As you can see, from this layered approach, not only can you fit everything in nicely, but you can also keep the continents large without having to compromise to make them fit in. It even allows for additional domes that could house some of the other locations / smaller islands that are mentioned in the story that are not included in the official map. I did also play around with the size of each island compared to the offical map, given Greg already confirmed that the sizes on it were not accurate and so I could maximise the liveable land area of the MU.

I also used the fact that Greg has confirmed that ways to get into Karda Nui are via portals (with the canon one known being near the southern continent and also being where Destral moved itself to during the Karda Nui arc) to get around the issues not only of travel between layers, but also of travel between the head, torso and limbs without having to mess around with relative positions of those places moving when the robot moves its joints. The way I figure it, if the portal took up the entire sea gate tunnel width, then it could be entirely possible that the inhabitants weren’t aware they were going through a portal at all, it could just look like a regular tunnel to them, leading to the MU map from the inhabitants perspective I included here too.

I’ve tried to include as many canon compliant details into these maps as I could (e.g. connections between the torso and arms at multiple points to explain the routes taken by the Federation of Fear, room in Artakha and Xia’s domes for the islands they used to share them with before they were destroyed, the position of the pit being based both on proximity to Daxia but also on the placement of Mahri Nui in the Faber concept art above etc.), but I may have missed some details, so do let me know if you spot any.

I could also potentially use these maps in the future to work out things like total land area of the MU for the Faber and Farshtey sizes given I can determine the area a pixel represents in each, so these could be quite useful to Knowledge Tower videos in the future, but first I’d like to get some peer review on the core ideas from the wider fandom here on Tumblr.

What do you think of the maps and the idea behind them?

[builtbybrokenbells]

belladonna | prologue

Too beautiful to resist, and too deadly to survive; the tragic tale of belladonna in all its glory.

Masterlist

Pairing: Danny Wagner x f!reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: mentions of toxic family situations, swearing, smoking

Welcome to the show 🥰 I’ve been incredibly excited to share this with you, so stay tuned for more!

WHERE IT ALL BEGAN

When faced with the tragedy of remembering, it is often perceived as something beautiful.

After living a life as painful as your own, reminiscing on the past is neither easy nor enjoyable.

A deadbeat father, and a stepfather who was present yet absent all the same. A mother who was all but kind, and two brothers who were made fully responsible for all of your successes and failures.

From the moment you were born, life seemed to find every possibly opportunity to strike you down. Despite the relentless effort, you stood up, you kept going, and you survived.

You did not realize until you were much older, but surviving was the easiest part, and the difficulties most often lie within the aftermath. Picking yourself up while still struggling with knowing who you are proved difficult, but you managed to settle yourself into a routine and found a safe place to rest while you pieced together your own personality. Just when you thought you could finally put the burden down for a moment, you found yourself amidst the hardest challenge of all; living a life that was far different than what was destined for you, yet still plagued with the memories of the little girl who once ran so you could walk.

You spent every waking moment avoiding the memories housed in your brain, and when you could no longer avoid them, you crumbled to the ground as you faced them head on. You deconstructed every notion you had of yourself and rebuilt from nothing so many times that your head began to spin when you thought of it for too long. You became a stranger to avoidance, and you made friends with your own demons. Eventually, you made a life out of the hurt that once limited you.

At a diner off the edge of town, you worked night shifts and weekends to make ends meet while you spent the daylight chasing after a dream that you feared might never come true. You went home every night in the dark, the smell of the deep fryer still lingering on your clothes as you smoked as many cigarettes as the walk would allow. When the sun rose in the sky, you would drag yourself out of bed and sit in front of the large panel windows in your living room and write until your mind went numb.

Stories of everyone and everything, synopses of books you wanted to, but would never publish, and poems to air out your own, relentless thoughts. Journals sat around the room, stuffed so full of pictures and words that the spines were near broken. Single pages floated around the space, some with only one word, and some with so many that you could barely read it underneath the mess. You did not have a lack of imagination, nor a lack of patience; writing is a long process, and a good book will take years (That’s what you told yourself, anyway). You lacked inspiration, something to give you the motivation to keep writing and to keep trying, even if you failed. You needed something to write about, because recounting your own tormenting sadness and loneliness was becoming unbearable.

You searched in dive bars with cheap liquor, wondering if you would find meaning at the bottom of (another) empty bottle. You searched in coffee shops with signs that were faded and falling down. You looked for it at the supermarket, in the reds of the strawberries and the greens in the apples. Your eyes gazed up at the old city buildings, wondering if an idea would spark from the crumbling cement and moss-ridden stones. Sometimes, you would pick the sprouts of weeds from the sidewalks to bring home with you in hopes that their beauty, despite their nuis of the gray concrete jungle aesthetic, would flood your mind with some type of passion.

Not even a life blooming amidst the city's fascination with destroying anything green could pry your mind away from the same old boring topics. Months of searching left you with nothing, and eventually, you began to give up on the idea of a muse entirely.

In the serenity of the diner on one particularly late-night shift, cutting through the stagnant air and filling your lungs with a breath of hope, you finally understood that a muse is not something that you go in search of, but rather something that seeks you when the time is right. The laughter was so beautiful that it made your knees go weak and your chest ache for a moment. You wondered how someone could evoke so much emotion within you without you even seeing their face.

The time, of course, was perfect, but when you finally caught sight of the thing you had been craving for so long, you realized that you were not prepared for what the search would bring.

In the diner booth, huddled in the very corner of the building by the window onlooking the streets, sat a man who turned your whole world upside down in an instant. A tattered band shirt with the sleeves cut off and a worn out logo magnified his strong arms, and his curly hair hung down over his shoulders to frame his beautifully crafted face. His jawline was sharp, angling down into a soft chin, and although large, his nose was stunning. His eyes, even from far away, managed to make your stomach flutter with curiosity.

He did not notice you, but god did you notice him, sitting across from a faceless man with long hair, laughing at a joke that was shared between them. His company, although facing away from you, seemed like the louder of the two, and his character bled from him as he spoke. You could not even muster the strength to crane and look at his face, because whatever he looked like paled in comparison to his company. You felt frozen as you watched from the kitchen window, hanging on to every small expression and drinking in every beautiful laugh that fell from his lips.

The first night he visited the diner, you could not find the courage to speak to him, nor could you even bring yourself to walk out into the dining room while he was still sitting. Despite your lack of conversation, you ran home that night and did not get a second of sleep; your nose was buried in a journal and you were too busy pouring your heart out on the paper. You wrote more than you ever had, and with more emotion than you could ever muster before.

The nameless boy was everything you were looking for and more, and proved that a muse was more than a ruby red strawberry amidst unripe fruit, and much more than a measly weed growing between the cracks in the sidewalk. You had been aimlessly searching for inspiration within the inanimate without even considering the fact that the most profound words would be inspired by a living, beating heart.

You vowed that the next time he stepped foot in the diner, you would make your move. You would introduce yourself, smile and take his order as if he hadn’t completely changed your world without even knowing it. You needed more than an echoing laugh, and more than a glimpse from around the kitchen wall. You needed to know him, down to the very things that made his heart beat.

Firstly, you needed his name, and without it, you could not find any more passion. You had milked every opportunity from the miniscule amount of time you had been blessed with his presence (which, admittedly, was a lot).

You needed him in your life, and you needed more than you could even begin to comprehend, because after a lifetime dedicated to forgetting, you found something that made you desperate to remember.

Unfortunately, your life had proved that remembering would ultimately be your demise, and your unwillingness to forget him would turn out be your worst nightmare.

A muse is a source of inspiration in all forms, and the most deadly (and the truest) form of inspiration is a heartbreak greater than itself.

Daniel Wagner was in fact your biggest muse, and to be a true source of inspiration, he was also destined to be the biggest heartbreak you had ever experienced.

05.19.22

06.21.22

07.04.22

08.02.22

08.31.22

09.15.22

Character Guide

Y/N

Vincent

Dylan

If you would like to be added to the taglist, please fill out this form 🤍

[lazuli-writes]

Sighs

summary: San scolds his duckie

pairing: Lee Donghyuck x Choi San

genre: smut / porn with barely any plot

estimated word count: 1000 words

a/n: Merry Christmas and happy holidays 🩵 This was inspired by their majesty themself, @atiny-piratequeen mahalo nui loa for both the inspiration and positive energy sharing you’ve given me to be able to complete this—I can’t believe this wip was born in late October… and I actually completed it, thank you so much motha!! Remember folks, copying other people’s works is plagiarism and that’s illegal. Don’t be that kind of person. Anyways, hope you all enjoy it :)

©little-lazuli. Do not copy, repost, or translate without permission

Donghyuck’s grip tightened as time seemed to halt. The sensations that danced in and around him, swallowed Donghyuck whole. Consuming him and leaving him nearly pliant, with all his strength being used to ground himself in his embrace of San.

“P-plea-”

“Quiet.”

One command. One simple command was all it took for Donghyuck to mentally retract. His mind rushing to fill his train of thoughts, left empty by his gradual impaling upon San’s cock.

The elder lathered his neck with love bites. Lips, tongue and teeth all gradually traveling across Donghyuck’s neck and collarbones like a calligraphy pen, imprinting its identity upon its canvas.

“I told you to trust me”

Donghyuck whimpered, the spearing upon his core barely starting and already he was breaking at the seems. His limbs that trapped and locked itself around San’s neck and waist shivered under the desired invasion.

“I told you to be quiet… why couldn’t you?”

“I-I-“

“Quiet!”

Donghyuck screamed as a spongy head first kissed the realm of his prostate, before suddenly weighing down upon it viciously. San, leeching harder upon the younger’s neck, paid no mind to the pleasurable wails coming from the one sitting upon him.

Spots and darkness started to flood Donghyuck’s vision as he still awaited for San to fully sheath himself. This was the deed that almost always took the longest. San was nothing short of impressive in all that he did and all that he was.

And it left little for Donghyuck to wonder on why the simple act of inserting himself into the younger was always a prolonged activity.

“One thing I asked of you tonight. One thing. And you couldn’t even do that.”

Donghyuck was trapped between heaven and hell. The immeasurable divinity he felt under San’s every kiss, bite, touch and caress clashed with the sharpness of his lover’s words. He should have been able to do it. He should have kept his bratty mouth shut. He should have kept those mean and jealous words from spilling.

And yet he didn’t.

And now he would pay back what was due.

“I’m s-sorry… I’m so sorry h-hyung.”

Donghyuck’s struggled to voice his thoughts through the hiccups that infected his vocal cords, a side effect of the ever growing tension building within his core. Growing like a wildfire. A volcano simmering and stewing in its heat. Pressure building from within, awaiting for the prime moment to rupture and explode.

The sudden press of San’s hips against his shivering rear left Donghyuck’s sanity nearly depleted, with San as the only foundation left for him to mentally stand upon.

“You know… that was very bratty of you. To run your mouth to your dongsaengs like that.”

Each word from the elder became pronounced with a thrust of his hips into Donghyuck. The younger could barely maintain what little sanity he had left with every new bruising kiss to his core. Only tears could spill down his naked form as Donghyuck hid his face in shame and pleasure within the crook of San’s neck.

San eased his grip on his mate’s waist as his thrusts slowed to a halt, the elder’s nerves finally thawing with every sob Donghyuck struggled to hide. The elder’s once vexed demeanor crumbling under the weight of Donghyuck’s tears.

“Duckie… why didn’t you listen to me? I told you to trust me. To let me handle them. Why could you not do that… just this once?”

Pulling back to gather a look upon the other half of his soul, San would thank their current bodily position—with his cock cradled by the gods gift to him—for it was the only reason his heart didn’t shatter at the sight before him. Of his Donghyuck falling into the depths of his emotions, tears staining his cheeks and soft hiccups choking his baby.

“B-because….”

Donghyuck paused, taking a second to gather the last of his thoughts as a finger that wasn’t his own wiped away his tears. The younger’s grip on the elder didn’t falter in its desperation in being close to his mate, tightening as Donghyuck accepted the weight of San’s forehead upon his own. The two sharing a breath, with only each other in their entirety.

“Because you’re mine.”

Donghyuck barely spoke those words aloud when the sudden crush of San’s lips met his own. A warmth consumed Donghyuck further and further as he suddenly found himself enclosed between the sheets beneath him and San blanketing him completely.

And with barely a moment to catch his breath, Donghyuck felt San’s apology and adoration.

He felt San’s apology with the fingers that danced upon his skin. Traversing from its place upon his hips until it secured itself upon Donghyuck’s neck and jaw.

He felt San’s adoration when the elder’s other hand grasped Donghyuck’s cute cock. Fondling the adorable appendage, circling its head and stroking it to a desperate completion.

Donghyuck could only hold on tighter to his hyung before his lungs let loose a torrent of pleasured sighs. With his mind slowly ascending too high in the clouds and his release painting much of San’s navel white.

“My duckie.”

San almost chuckled at the way his words went unheard, as the now relaxing form of his boyfriend began to slip from its embrace to the elder. San was quick in maneuvering his love to lay limply upon their bed as he hovered over Donghyuck, like a beast delighting in its prey before completely devouring him.

“I-I… I sorry hyu-“

Donghyuck’s slurred words were cut off with another soulful kiss from San. The elder’s lips and tongue controlling the younger completely. Forever breathtaking, all consuming and irrevocably powerful in leaving San’s soul imprinted upon Donghyuck’s very own.

“I forgive you my duckie.”

And with those last few words, Donghyuck granted his beloved hyung a soft smile of acceptance before using the last of his strength to interlock his fingers with San’s as he awaited for more.

A sigh was all Donghyuck could grant San as the elder soon closed the space between the two.

[randomwriteronline]

"Pohatu - fancy seeing you here."

Nokama smiles a little more when the Toa turns to her. He sits slightly hunched on the edge of a cliff overlooking the sea, powerful legs swinging idly in the emptiness that divides the rocky wall from a plummet into the ocean, completely unafraid; the unusual shape of his Kakama Nuva greets her wordlessly.

"I hope I did not bother you," she continues gently: "You seem so caught up in your thoughts, these days..."

A comfortable silence follows the pause she allows to hang.

For a moment a sense of dread creeps along her spine, around her arms, ensnaring her neck: Pohatu, whose voice rattles the mountains, stares at her eerily quiet with a terrifyingly blank gaze and a lack of emotion in his expression.

But he blinks, and his eyes widen, and he says: "What?" as he leans his head forward. "I'm sorry Turaga, I was not listening."

She exhales, amused, as the broken tension allows her shoulders to sag a little: "I only mentioned that you seem very distracted as of late - even during Vakama's tales."

"Ah," he replies with a slightly embarrassed laugh: "I guess my head likes to be in Lewa's domain far more than my feet do in Onua's."

Nokama laughs with him: "May I?" she asks.

He gestures to his side amiably, inviting her to sit with him: "Of course, of course."

It's surprising how little he's worried. Even her head starts to spin from vertigo when she dares to look down at the swirling waters, and she is the furthest thing from the infamous Po-Matoran hydrophobia; yet he sits there without the barest hint of concern despite knowing very well he would sink to the depths of the ocean horribly easily.

Pohatu looks again to the horizon.

He's unusually unreadable.

"I've spoken with the Mahi of Po-Koro, on one of my visits," she tells him - her Rau's abilities have already been unmasked by now, so it's less strange than it could be - "They've told me you quite love to pamper them, more than the Hapaka."

His laugh vibrates out of him, but she notices he does not smile as wide as the sound would imply when he simply shrugs: "I like horns."

They've told her that, too.

"What troubles you, Toa of Stone?"

He glances back at her: "Nothing."

"Yet your mind is so often elsewhere, and you almost don't look like yourself. I've come to know you, Pohatu - I wish to help, if I can."

Nokama's gentle worry makes him sigh deeply: "You're as good a teacher as Toa Lhikan thought, Turaga," he replies with a heavy tone. "Very attentive."

She looks to her feet: "Vhisola was proof otherwise," she mutters.

Pohatu tilts his head: "Then it just means you've gotten better."

The Turaga smiles: "You're always too kind."

He does not reply to that.

His fingers sink into the stone of the precipice to rip a chunk out of the cliff like it's nothing; he tosses the rock from palm to palm absentmindedly, neck craned back to look at the sky.

"I'm just thinking of Po-Metru."

Curiosity, then. "It's only natural," she soothes him: "Your siblings wonder about Metru Nui too. Gali has asked me about Ga-Metru and the Great Temple quite a lot in the past few days. I'm certain Onewa will not be too shy to answer your questions."

She watches him pull one knee up to lean his chin on it: "I don't have many, to be honest - not about the city."

"Really?"

A shrug: "Turaga Vakama is very good at descriptions."

"Ah... Yes, he is, isn't he."

The Toa does not smile back at her; he keeps looking further away into the endless sky, as if to pull on the rest of the ocean with his mind until the other side of the island appears on the horizon.

"What is it, then?" Nokama nudges him. "What doubts take hold of your focus?"

He does not answer immediately.

The rock falls back in his hand perfectly each time he juggles it.

He does so halfheartedly, distractedly - in the same way he sits at the Amaja circle and looks at her brother speak as though he could see right past him, through him.

"The Matoran come from there," he finally says.

She nods.

At last, his strange nearly impersonal gaze returns upon her mask.

"Do you know where we come from?"

It takes her a moment to understand who he speaks of: "You come from the canisters," she answers, because that is nothing if the truth. "You come from the sea."

"The sea bears life - the sea bore us," he says under his breath at that, as though he is repeating a memory. It sounds a lot like Gali.

She nods: "That is as much as we Turaga know."

"And nothing else?" he insists. His words don't hold any desperation, but there is something in them she can't explain with any other term. "Did we have anything before that?"

"No, nothing. Nothing that we know of."

"You were Matoran. You became Toa. Do you not remember us?"

"No - you were never in Metru Nui. We never could have met you there, not even as Matoran."

"It remains we must have been Matoran. Isn't that right?"

His tone is... It strikes her enough to make her stagger before she can offer a response.

He sounds like...

He sounds like them, in a way.

He sounds like he is testing her - to see if he can trigger a specific reaction from her.

His tone is somewhat methodical, scientific, like a researcher interrogating a subject to observe the effects of whatever he's administered them; it is that of calculated questions that one already knows the answer to. His mask is unreadable, incomprehensible - not for a blank anonimity but instead an overwhelming amount of minuscule tells and signs that muddle the waters of his emotions, obscuring them within their own cacophonic confusion.

If only she too knew the answer.

If only (she assumes) he had not forgotten it.

"I imagine as much," Nokama finally replies. "But you six are special, Pohatu."

"You were chosen by Mata Nui himself," he interrupts her. The kindness in his voice is nearly an afterthought, but he masks that fact well. "I would say you too are not necessarily as ordinary a bunch as any Gukko flock might be in Le-Wahi."

She chuckles despite the strange atmosphere: "Oh," and then she laughs, and she laughs some more, bent over herself to try and stifle the giggles that bubble in her chest, "Oh, be careful not to say that in front of Tamaru or Kongu, lest you want a very angry lecture on how the Gukko force is so very different from their wild siblings."

Pohatu's smile is lukewarm.

The Turaga recomposes herself quickly when she takes in his lack of amusement: "But you are different," she insists. "You are something more than what we were or could have hoped to be."

"That sort of thing doesn't spring out of the ocean from nowhere."

"That sort of thing is what legends and prophecies are made of. Your arrival was foretold in stars that cannot be rewritten; you came to aid us, delivered upon our shores by the elements themselves; you battled against the Great Spirit's most insidious, terrible enemies, and defeated them. You are special. And perhaps you had no need of a Toa Stone to become who you are."

The reply she gets is a silent stare.

The rock creaks from within the Toa's grip.

If she were looking at it she'd notice the liquid manner it behaves.

"It's a sad idea," he finally says, "To be born only to fight."

The Toa protect, for that is their duty; the Matoran create, for that is their destiny.

Her hand lays on his arm with a kind, humid pressure.

"I may very well be wrong," Nokama reassures him now. "I've told you, not even we Turaga know much."

"You know prophecies."

"Those can only get us so far. And they can't see the past."

"I wish they could," Pohatu says with a focused gaze.

His eyes are locked onto her own.

"I will pray the Great Spirit to bring you answers soon, Toa of Stone," she promises - because what else can she do? How else can she reply to the perfectly still stare that seems to pass through her, carving holes within her head with the precision of a sculptor? "So that you and your siblings will never have to feel as you do now again."

He does not move.

Then, at last, his head tilts with a tired, relieved smile.

"Thank you, Turaga," he tells her earnestly. "I hope so too."

Nokama grins back at him, so gentle, so sweet - so glad that the disquieting spell is over and the Toa is once again fully himself.

She raises herself from her seat with a bit of a struggle, helped upright by his powerful arm. Another burst of vertigo makes her sway for a moment as she catches sight of the long fall into the waters, head feeling light before she imperiously shakes the sensation out of it: there is nothing to fear, the cliff won't fall. Even Pohatu has gone back to swinging his legs in the nothingness with the carefree movements of a Matoran dangling from a jungle vine, and if he is not afraid then she has no reason to be either.

He does not move to follow her.

"I shall return to Ga-Koro now," she tells him: "Soon enough we'll have to carry the boats to Kini Nui, and I ought to make sure they're nearing completion."

"Call Taipu when you need to move them, if my brother is too busy listening to stories - I'm sure he'll be happy to help," he suggests.

Her smile confirms that his poison is mistaken for a lighthearted jab: "A good idea. I will ask Whenua to send him to us, if he is not busy enough already and wishes to lend us a hand. You should be off too, listening to stories like your siblings, should you not?"

Head thrown back and legs stiffened, the Toa whines like an annoyed child: "But Turaga," he exaggerates his whimpering drawl to kick a laugh out of her shoulders, "I don't wanna!"

"Neither do I want to go fetch Nixie out of her observatory for the eleventh time today, but duty call us all the same."

He huffs and pouts dejectedly as his body slumps on himself in a comical manner; his furrowed brow clears into a simple smile as Nokama hiccups chuckle after chuckle at his stellar performance.

"There's still a little while," he bargains with her.

"And will you be at Kini Nui on time?"

"Am I ever late?"

No, she can't argue with that. Her eyes shine with affection as she lays them on him again.

"Alright," she pretends to concede with a sigh, as though she were doing him a big favor. His grin amuses her to no end. "But make sure to be there."

He places a hand on his heartlight: "I will be."

"And try to focus, as best as you can."

"I will try my hardest. I just need to clear my head a little more, and then I'll be the most captive audience Turaga Vakama has ever had."

"I'm certain you will. I hope the sea brings you solace, Pohatu."

"Thank you, Turaga. Goodbye."

She does not see his cheerfulness drop in an instant as soon as her back tells him she will not turn to look at him again, smile flattening, eyelids drooping, eyes hardening. He watches her until she disappears from view with a face devoid of love and a sizzling in his heartlight that almost makes him feel sick; the stone in his hand squeezes through his fingers like putty, slithers between them, takes a slug-like shape as it coils around his digits squirming like a worm emerging from a fresh tomb into a summer downpour, before he lets it collects itself in his palm once more.

He crushes it gently and looks down only when he opens his palm again. It looks like a Kane-Ra bull. He tries again: this one is a Makika. A Fikou. A Dikapi. A Tunnel Stalker. A Husi. A Fusa.

A Turaga with their mask shattered.

Without a word he presses the rock with both hands to somewhat shape it back into a proper sphere, carefully, taking his time.

He kicks it as far into the ocean as he can. His eyes follow its trajectory until the distance turns it far too small for him to distinguish it against the flickering gleams of the waves in which it no doubt sinks. He continues to look at the calm waters, legs swinging idly much like branches in a light breeze.

The sea bears life, Gali said; the sea bore us.

Pohatu looks into the cradle of his siblings' rebirth thoughtlessly, quietly, hating it as much as he hates them for not swallowing them whole.

[outofgloom]

THE MADNESS OF TURAGA

“Where are your Matoran, Bahtu? I’ve seen no one on the hike up here.”

The Turaga fiddled idly with his stick. His eyes wandered around the empty village.

“They are...they are gone, old friend.”

“Gone?”

“Yes.”

“Gone where? And why? What happened?”

“They were...broken.”

“Explain! Who did this?”

“Now calm yourself, my friend. My nerves are not what they used to be.”

The Toa stepped forward, lowering his voice.

“Tell me what happened, Bahtu. Was it Zygl--”

The Turaga began to speak gravely:

“It started with small things, you see. Day by day. Small changes. Small...deviations. A lost minute here or there. A construction made slightly different from the Standard. A repair completed with...I don’t have the word...”  The Turaga gestured limply, “...a ‘flourish’, maybe, as the Great Beings might have said. Maybe that.”

“I don’t underst--”

“--All still workable, to be sure,” the Turaga continued unbothered. “Still workable, but...but deviant, you see. Not according to the Great Standard. The Saa Nui is very demanding if us, as you know. And to stray would be disastrous.”

“So you say. And what then?”

“Oh, what then...let me see. Well, then came other strange things. The Matoran would...would talk to each other. Have you ever heard of such a thing? Not simply transmitting information, I mean, but...but talking for its own sake. I would catch them sometimes, coming around a corner, speaking about something or other that was clearly beyond the scope of that moment’s Duty. And though I corrected them, still they persisted. Even worse: they whispered instead. So many whispers. The village was full of whispering, day and night. I could not stop them all.”

“Go on.”

“Oh yes, yes, and then there were questions.”

“Questions are not out of the ordinary.”

“Of course not, no...but these questions were different. They began to ask all manner of things, inane things, like ‘Why do the sky-stars burn out at night?’ or ‘Where does the Great Spirit live?’ Once, one even asked me ‘Why should we work to fulfill our Duty?’”

The Turaga shook his head, “I was aghast, as you may imagine. I did not know what to say! I sent that Matoran away to work on the mountainside, away from the others, for a time, lest they...lest they ‘talk’ about it.”

“I still do not see what--”

“--And that’s not even the worst of it! Oh, my friend, one day...One day, they asked me for names. New names. Can you imagine it? Each and every one of them I named when they were brought forth from the eles raliska--gave them the embodiment of their Duty, their place in our world, and they thought they knew better! I could not bear it then. So...I sent them...away.”

“Where? To work on the mountainside?” The Toa looked up, scanning the hills in the distance, “Where did you send them?”

“No...to be mended.”

A light breeze made the thorn-trees rattle on the edge of the village. The shadows of the crumbling huts crept longer. The Turaga stopped fidgeting.

“You sent them to--”

“--To Him, yes! It was the only thing to be done.”

The Turaga began to gesture agitatedly, his words pouring out faster: “I put forth the summons, you see, and the Great Crabs came up from the sea, and--”

The Toa stepped closer, cutting him off:

“You know that few have ever returned from His Land. You know this.”

“Oh...I know. But it was right. They were too far gone. It would have been a disaster if I hadn’t. And if they do not return, then...well, more can be called up, if Mata wills it, and I will give them their names, and...”

“How long ago.”

“I...oh...perhaps some days--”

“--all of them?--”

“--...or years?” the Turaga mused. “My timing is all off now, you see, without the rhythm of their work. But it will soon be put right. Soon. Do not worry.”

“Years...” The Toa shook his head, “So you have been here alone, all this time. Doing nothing.”

“Waiting! Preparing! It will all be put right soon. Soon! You’ll see.”

“I cannot see that. The village is...”

The Toa looked around at the ruins of the village once more, lapsing into silence.

“They were broken, old friend. I could not let them suffer in that way. It was not right.”

“Did they fail in their work?”

“They deviated. It was necessary.”

A long silence followed.

“I see now,” the Toa said at last, in a quiet voice.

“Ah, that is good. You are a Toa, after all! Of all beings, you would understand. It had to be done, to keep the order of the world. It is what we are made for, you and I.”

Lesovikk’s hands closed slowly, slowly into fists, clenching until the armor of his gauntlets creaked. His gaze narrowed to a point, fixed upon the small, pathetic being before him. The wind died.

“I am not a Toa anymore.”

[ctrl-alt-tahu]

A Bionicle Advent Calendar: December 12 (Day 12)

The Prompt: Put your characters on different sides of a court case. They can be the defendant, prosecutor, lawyer, or witness.

The dismantling of the Matoran universe was barely underway, and the first parts of Metru Nui were being prepared for removal to a new Metru Nui (“Metru Nuva,” “Metru Nui Nuva”—“Metru Metru Nuva Nui Metru Nuva Nui”, depending on who you asked), when a tall figure arrived, walking across the already drained Silver Sea—a not entirely safe region yet, as the aquatic Rahi and various delicts had only been cursorily removed.

“Lariska, you shouldn’t be here,” she was told by Norik, who traded shifts with the Toa Mahri to guard the excavation of the city, while the Toa Nuva guarded the beginnings of the future city and were the Matoran’s contacts with the Agori and Glatorians.

“All beings not involved in their local reclamations should be evacuated to the planet,” said Gaaki.

“And this is not Odina,” said Bomonga.

“I’ve already been there,” said Lariska. “I’m not here for a fight, just to retrieve what’s mine.”

“You don’t have anything here,” said Norik, confused.

“In fact, I do,” said Lariska. “I’m here to retrieve Nidhiki’s personal effects.” She held out a folded letter that had yellowed with many years and smelled of dust. The Last Will and Testament of Toa Nidhiki.

~*~*~*~

There was nothing simple about it. The Toa Hagah took Lariska straight to Dume, wanting nothing to do with it. Dume insisted that any property Nidhiki had left in Metru Nui had been forfeited to the city upon his betrayal. Lariska countered, producing another document from her library: a set of etched copper sheets from far earlier years of the Matoran Universe, outlining the treaties between Metru Nui and the Barraki domains.

“Nidhiki was a citizen of Le-Koro Tren Krom, part of the Kingdom of Kalmah. He never took citizenship in Metru Nui. It is forbidden under this treaty to seize the property of any subject of Kalmah.”

Dume would have dismissed the matter out of hand, were he the only Turaga. The treaties with the League of Six Kingdoms had never been formally abrogated, but no one had cared about them after the Makuta had dealt with the Barraki. Further, as a Toa Mangai, Nidhiki’s duties to Metru Nui had left him with certain duties, which he had broken.

But Dume was not the only Turaga of Metru Nui anymore. Tahu had whispered words in Lariska’s favour to Vakama, and Onewa cared not what Dume preferred: the law must be followed. Whenua and Nokama were persuadable and curious, and Matau was more than willing to ruffle Dume’s feathers. It was easy to get quorum and require the matter be litigated. Dume wanted nothing to do with the matter and yielded his right as the senior Turaga to try the case. The others deferred to Onewa.

Wanting nothing more than to establish binding precedents and shape the laws of Spherus Magna even more than those had written on Mata Nui, Onewa was looking at the biggest picture possible. Did Matoran law bind Toa (and Turaga)? The authority of the Turaga had always come from their Destiny as changed Toa—that is, from the authority of Mata Nui himself, but did that authority still hold outside the Great Spirit’s body and after the fulfillment of his purpose? How did Matoran law interact with non-Matoran, non-Toa, non-Turaga? This was a very pressing question as they built a new society rubbing shoulders with the Agori, and relevant here too: was Nidhiki still a member of their species, of their community, after he not only betrayed the Mangai but was mutated into some other sort of being.

But before the trial could quite commence, Kopaka and Pohatu returned with the freed denizens of the Red Star, and the whole community—already turned upside down by the emptying of the Matoran Universe—was shaken and stirred by the arrival of beings thought long dead, including a key witness in the matter of Lariska’s suit—and a possible higher judge than Onewa: the returned Turaga Lhikan.

At first, heading of those who had returned from the dead, Lariska thought to look for Nidhiki, but he was not there, and no one she spoke to had seen him on the Red Star. He must have been obliterated, not killed, when Teridax had absorbed him—there was nothing for the Red Star to revive. Well, thought Lariska, that just made the matter of his personal effects all the more urgent.

[snowpeawritings]

oh hear is a fun scenario Kill la kill Ryuko's and satsuki reaction to there male S/o saving them whiles wearing senketsu / junketsu (yep in the activated forms) and their male S/o looked hot whiles wearing them

Reader is male

CW (CONTENT WARNING): Swearing, suggested sexual content, diverging from canon events, slight gore, blood tw, slut as an insult is used once

❄ Snowpea’s words: THIS REQUEST SOUNDS SO FUNNY BUT I LOVE IT SDFDSFLH

| Ryuko Matoi |

God, why did anyone allow students to have military-grade weapons? Carrying Senketsu in your arms, you hurried across the broken debris of the school as you tried to find some semblance of another human person. Goddammit, of all days that a random Satsuki-lackey could attack, why on a day where you had to submit files for the teachers? Sometimes you curse yourself for being a class president. But you had to hurry. It was your fault that your girlfriend is practically defenseless without Senketsu. God, why would you reassure her that she didn’t need Senketsu when you two are in the lair of your enemies? Why are you such a bad boyfriend? Feeling a tug on your arms, you looked down to see Senketsu’s only eye looking annoyed. You raised your eyebrow, only to wonder if you were monologuing your self-hatred on being a bad boyfriend. You stretched his fabric, glaring at the eye on the collar. “Can it! I’m very stressful right now!” Jumping on a concrete ledge, you carried yourself up and scanned the area with the leverage. This is was left of the cafeteria, you recalled, you were sure you saw Ryuko running in here as soon as the rando attacked. A tug from your arms and soon Senketsu was pointing at a certain direction. Your eyes widened, looking at where he was pointing and you felt your heart jump out of your throat. Her battered body slumped against the counter, looking so foreign when you were so used to her having less clothes on when she’s injured. ... That came out wrong but regardless, you hurried to her. Senketsu already extending his sleeves just so he could reach her but a giant force stopped you in your tracks. Skidding your feet on the ground, you nearly stopped in front of a giant syringe. It’s eerie-looking liquid made you squirm as you stepped back. Looking back, you gasped at the skimpy nurse outfit the assistant student was wearing. You recognized her as one of the student assistants that helped the nurse when she was out of commission but you never talked to her before. You tried your best not to squirm at the amount of skin she was showing as she twirled a scalpel in her fingers. “Look at you, little student assistant! How adorable that you came here for you girlfriend!” You steeled yourself, clutching Senketsu like he could comfort you. “Shut it. I’m not above hitting women, you slut.” She immediately raged, taking more scalpels from behind her (how does that tight thing hide those scalpels?) and brandished them dangerously. “No one gets to call me a slut and gets away with it!” You yelped when she threw them at you. Your legs immediately running behind any obstacle that could block them but you were fucking sure she must’ve taken strength enhancement drugs because of the scalpels stabbing right through the concrete, leaving holes after its wake. It only took one lucky swipe on your cheek to make you flinch. Soon, three more scalpels stabbed you in the calf as you screamed in pain. Crumpling down on the ground, you clutched Senketsu tightly around you. Tears of pain formed in your eyes but you refused to let them fall in fear of fueling her ego even more. “Who said you were going to hit me?” She cackled, hearing something move from the ground as something metal skid across the debris. You gasped, taking gulps of air as you crawled away from her. Away from danger and try to recuperate but all you could muster was pained gasps before ultimately slumping down on the floor. In your delirious haze, you heard Ryuko’s voice screaming out your name. It was a welcome voice but it wasn’t enough to wake you up. Black spots soon spread to the corner of your vision as you let out a shaky breath. “Sorry, Senketsu.” You coughed out, the fresh scar on your cheek now dripping blood. “Guess your gonna listen to me monologue even more...” You were afraid to see any sort of sharp object come and kill you, so you closed your eyes and awaited the final blow. Senketsu struggled in your grip, feeling his sleeve wipe against your cheek where it was bleeding. You chuckled weakly. Leave it to Senketsu for comforting you, huh? ... Why do you feel so cold? Opening your eyes, you looked down to see Senketsu stripping your clothes hurriedly. The sight alone made you wake up and scramble to get Senketsu off of you. In your panicked state, you could barely register an ‘Oh my!’ from the skimpy nurse or Ryuko’s aghast screams at Senketsu. With you only in your undergarments, you shivered at both the blood loss and the cold before Senketsu opened his giant maw. You couldn’t even let out a scream before you felt the kamui swallow you whole. Outside of the kamui transformation, Ryuko could feel her heart jumping out of her chest when she saw Senketsu swallow you just like he had with her. What would this mean? Does this mean you’ll sync with Senketsu? Will you get to hear Senketsu? Would you suffer blood loss like she has before? Those questions rang across her mind like a bell but she didn’t even question the most important part until the transformation finished. Feeling blood rush to her cheeks, she screamed out an “Oh my fucking god!” Senketsu said in passing that her father had worn Senketsu, the image not wanting to be imprinted on her mind so she pushed it back to the farthest reaches of her mind. But seeing you don Senketsu had brought all of the embarrassment back full force. Your entire upper torso was naked, letting the entire world see your chest and stomach as the sleeves covered your arms and neck. Senketsu’s eyes were still the same, sitting in front of your clavicle as he stared at you in concern. She was sure he was asking you if you were okay. That’s not even the last of it. Looking down was a horrible plan when she saw the skin-tight black and red suit hugged your legs deliciously. She saw how the skin just spilled from the clothes as the pants were hung low on your hips. She hated it even more when the lines and the suspenders pointed straight at your crotch area and oH GOD DON’T GET HER STARTED WITH THE CROTCH AREA-- “Senketsu!” You screamed at the kamui, stretching the suit on your thighs like it would help. “What the fuck?!” [Sorry, but you were going to die.] He stated simply before his eye moving towards the assistant nurse. She still looked dazed, a hot blush painting her cheeks as she stared at you in hunger. [And you’ll still die if I continue to drain you, so hurry up and get her already!] You gulped, cringing at how the suit on your neck stuck to the skin. You sighed before crouching down, arm brought back and glared at the offender. With the combined strength of Senketsu, you jumped, going at almost lightspeed before throwing your fist at the girl’s face. Feeling her bones crack under your fist brought you a sense of euphoria as she was sent flying across the room. Her now-unconscious body broke through the wall and the wall after that and soon, there were 4 holes in the shape of an assistant nurse. Steam from Senketsu poured out from you like a pipe. You breathed in and out heavily, the rush exhilarating to you. Quickly realizing about your girlfriend, you whipped your head to see her only to find her absolutely red and steaming. You hurried to her and if it was possible for her to be flustered more, it’s happening as you knelt in front of her and carried her away from the rubble. Since you have godlike strength now, it was a cinch to carry her with even one arm. “Babe! You okay?!” Oh god, she can feel your pecs oh god this is more skin she’s touching in her lifetime oh god oh shit oh god-- “Ryuko?” You questioned gently, not wanting to surprise her out of her flushed-stupor. You could see her eyes trying not to stare at your chest or your crotch but it was incredibly obvious. [... She’ll be fine.] Senketsu said after a beat. If one were to listen closely, one could hear the mirth in his voice when watching Ryuko getting turned on from you wearing him. [We should go home and get treated immediately though.] You nodded at Senketsu, securing Ryuko more firmly in your hold (and making her break down even more) as you hurried to the Mankanshoku’s place. Maybe one day, Senketsu thought, he would make you wear him again just to tease her.

| Satsuki Kiryuin |

“God fucking dammit--” You seethed, adjusting your belt to cover your crotch more. “I’m gonna murder that fucking blonde bitch I swear--”

Trying to aim at Nui, your finger hovered over the trigger before the modified sniper rifle shot the specialized needle. The needle to stop Nui in her place flew across the air before impaling an empty space.

You cursed, hearing the blonde bitch’s giggling.

Getting away from your position, you hid for cover as you reloaded your rifle. You took a glance as you do, the reloading becoming second nature to you. The battered down slums of the city made the situation even more dangerous as a dense fog crawled into the vicinity. The tall, dingy houses for squatters towered over you as you controlled your breathing.

You, Satsuki, and Nonon were supposed to be back at Nudist Beach base. It was supposed to be an in and out mission. But some fucking blonde bitch had to step in and ruin everything for the heck of it.

Sucking in a breath, you whipped around the corner of your cover, rifle aiming at the air before gasping at the sight.

“There you are!” Nui said gleefully, waving Satsuki’s lifeless body like a light stick. “I was wondering when you were gonna show up!”

Satsuki’s battered body made your blood boil but it made you furious even more when Nui waved her around like she was nothing. What made you afraid even more was that she wasn’t wearing Junketsu. The sight of her being only in her undergarments while Nui paraded her around had never made you want to stab the needle right through her other eye.

You gripped your rifle, taking aim at Nui. “Drop her or I’m fucking dropping you.”

She giggled, dragging Satsuki’s body in front of her. Blood dripped down from her numerous cuts, decorating the ground as her limbs swayed. You could see her chest still moving but it doesn’t ease your worries.

“Don’t you dare or else you might drop your partner!”

You snarled, hands shaking on your weapon. Satsuki’s bangs covered her eyes as her mouth was hung open. But you could see them moving for a small moment.

Your heart dropped.

You nearly dropped your rifle but you took hold. Seeing Nui’s stupid smile behind Satsuki’s shoulder made you fume but you can’t just tear a whole through your girlfriend. Even if she wanted you to do it.

You were sure Nui would’ve been impaled just to see it too.

You slowly lowered your rifle all the while glaring at Nui but not until the shrill shriek of “Aim your fucking rifle back, overachiever!” before feeling cloth cover your vision.

Nonon, who was trying to find you and Satsuki ever since being separated from you two, breathed heavily from constant shouting and carrying Junketsu. Yes, while she had proper vocal training and breathing exercises so that it wouldn’t tire her easily, having to carry a sentient kamui was hard enough as it is. She was careful not to nick her skin on anything sharp so that Junketsu won’t react.

“I don’t know what’s gonna happen,” She started, staring at Junketsu eating you whole, “but I sure hope something good happens!”

She then turned to her best friend, glaring at Nui as she stared in curiosity at your transformation. “Hang in there, Lady Satsuki! I’m sure your boyfriend can handle Junketsu!”

Hearing the transformation stop, she quickly turned to you, about to bark orders but could only let out a squeak of embarrassment.

The transformation ended, leaving you wearing a version of Junketsu that was reminiscent of how Satsuki wore them. Your entire upper torso was naked, save for Junketsu’s ‘eyes’ covering your shoulders and your arms which were covered with the white and blue sleeves.

What made it worse is that the suspenders pointed all down to your crotch area, the frills on the thigh-highs accentuating the spilling of your skin over the boots. Nonon, as Satsuki’s best friend, tried to avert her eyes from you but the sight of you looking so fucking sexy wearing Junketsu was forever imprinted in your mind.

“Oh?” Nui drawled out. “How interesting! The lover wearing the kamui and withstanding its hunger?”

“Hey!” Nonon screeched, glaring at her despite the redness on her face. “Don’t you dare ogle him!”

Satsuki, who was nearly unconscious for the whole time, twitched under Nui’s grip. She coughed out blood as she stared at you. You were still standing proud, your rifle aimed at Nui with newfound vigor as the strength that flowed through Junketsu now flowed with you.

She never could’ve been prouder for you.

Amidst her weakness, she smirked at you, printing the image of you standing proud wearing Junketsu in her mind. “Make her pay.”

[pahrak-the-sinnoh-slizer]

Right of Law, Section XXVII

(Zaekura meets again with the Le-Koronans, while the situation surrounding Civitas Magna’s kolhii tournament begins to escalate.)

“Everyone will be so happy to see you!” Tamaru said as she bounced down the path.  “We were all worried sick!”

Zaekura walked a few steps behind her, flanked by Charla, Antroz, and Emsar.  “Yeah, dealing with Atero wasn’t exactly easy, but we managed.  I’m hoping it’ll go a little smoother when we have to take the fight to them.”

Tamaru hummed.  “That’d be nice...you controlling Atero.  Ah, here we are!”

They arrived in a clearing lined with scores of people: Matoran, Toa, Glatorian, and Agori of all kinds, some on solid ground while others perched in the surrounding trees, creating a circular wall of eyes all trained on the visitors.  Zaekura felt like she was trying to walk underwater.

“Okay, everyone’s here!  Go on, Zaekura.”

“Right, of course.  Um…”

She found herself unable to recall the words she had prepared.  Charla set a hand on her shoulder then, reminding her to breathe, and she was able to relax a little.

“First of all,” Zaekura said, “I’d like to thank you all for welcoming us.  It isn’t lost on me how out of the ordinary this gesture is, nor the implicit risk my being here carries.  My name is Zaekura.  Up until recently, I lived a very quiet life...but now, the Great Beings have it out for me, since I’m one of the rare few who possess the same potential as them.  I’ve had to fight to defend myself, and it’s been…quite an adjustment.  But now I realize this isn’t just about me.  Countless lives have been destroyed by the Great Beings, and countless more live in constant fear of them.  And I want that to end.  So now, we’re fighting to stop the Great Beings and take control of Spherus Magna, to reform it into a place where nobody has to live in fear.”

Quiet murmurings rippled through the crowd.  To Zaekura, it was nearly deafening.

“I know that I can’t do something like this on my own, so I’m asking for help from anyone who’ll listen.  We’ve approached you because we think Bota Magna’s natural resources would be a big help to our cause, but if anyone wants to join the fight, we’ll gladly take you.  No matter what, though, I want you all to know this: you are welcome any time.  Even if I go back empty-handed, each and every one of you will be free to come and go from my territory as you please, and we’ll fight just as hard to defend you.  I don’t need anything in return for that.”

The chattering grew louder.  Kiina emerged from the crowd then, saying, “You say you’ll defend us?  How do you plan to do that?  You’re provoking the Great Beings, fighting nonstop against an insurmountable enemy.  That doesn’t sound safe in the slightest.”

Zaekura breathed.  “I understand your concern.  There will absolutely be risk, I won’t deny that.  Our current forces include several Makuta, a few hundred Rahkshi, the militia of both Xia and Mahri-Nui, and a large number of Vorox under the command of the Sand Lord.  Several individuals have already requested to be part of a team dedicated to protecting Bota Magna, if you’ll have them.”

Kiina grumbled—not a very clear response, but it was the only one she offered.  Taipu was next to emerge, waving and calling, “Hey, Zaekura!  Did you get a chance to try out Nuparu’s invention yet?”

She smiled.  “I was able to take a look at it and test it out.  That’s one impressive machine!  We’re still working to reproduce and install them, but we should be using it in a matter of days.  Thanks again, Nuparu.”

Taipu shook Nuparu, who tried to hide his grin.  Zaekura waited while the chatter continued.  Soon, Takua came forward, saying, “I can’t speak for everyone, but...I think you make a pretty good case, Zaekura.  The fact is, we are living in fear—I don’t think that’ll change much whether we stay here or come back to the city.  Being that close to the fight is definitely scary, so I understand why someone might prefer to stay here.  But, a chance to change things, to make a future where we don’t feel like we have to hide...that sounds pretty good too.  If you show me a team that I’m convinced can keep Bota Magna safe, I’ll be willing to fight alongside you.”

New energy rushed into Zaekura.  “Thank you!  I’ll bring them out to meet with you as soon as possible!”

The Le-Koronans talked amongst themselves.  Taipu and Nuparu came into the clearing, the former saying, “We’re definitely coming back with you!  This is so exciting!”

Gradually, more and more Le-Koronans followed suite.  One of them, a Toa of Earth with weathered black and purple armor, came up to Zaekura and smiled at her.

“I can tell that you have a good heart, dear,” she said.  “I’m a bit too attached to these woods to leave now, but I want to offer you what help I can.”

“Oh, thank you very much, uh…”

“The name’s Korgot, dear.  I’ve become very familiar with the lay of the land here, so if you’re looking for spots to mine or to log, I’ve got a few in mind.  Just promise me you won’t overdo it.  The people are important, but we have to take care of the jungle itself, too.”

“Korgot.  Yes, I promise.  Thank you so much!”

They briefly discussed when would be a good time to send a mining team, and then Zaekura answered the questions of a few more Le-Koronans until it seemed everyone’s decision had been made.  She gazed over them all, ultimately turning to Charla.

“I’d say this went well.”

Charla giggled.  “I’m inclined to agree.  Is there anything more you wanted to add, or do we just have that final matter?”

Zaekura glanced back at Emsar, and the Vortixx came to her side.  Turning back towards the Le-Koronans remaining behind, she said, “There’s one last thing before we go.  I wanted to let you know that Emsar here is venturing deeper into Bota Magna; she’ll be fine on her own, I just didn’t want anyone to be surprised if they saw her.”

Takua looked up at Emsar.  “Alright.  Where’s she headed, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Valwahi.”

The clearing grew eerily still.  Quietly, Takua repeated, “Valwahi?”

Zaekura nodded.  “Like I said, I’m asking anyone who’ll listen.”

“Do you think they will?  The Valwahans aren’t exactly the most understanding bunch.”

“I have to try.  Even if we can’t become allies, maybe I can at least make peace with them—that’d be one huge load off my plate when getting things in order once this is all over.  Though, I could be thinking a little far ahead with that...”

“Heh...I guess a little optimism doesn’t have to hurt.”  Facing Emsar, Takua said, “Good luck, then.  Don’t hesitate to ask for help if things go wrong.”

“Much appreciated, but you needn’t worry about me,” Emsar said.  “I’m quite prepared should events take a dire turn.”

The Le-Koronans began to scatter, as did Emsar.  Antroz said, “Emsar.  Please do be careful.”

She grinned back at her.  “You too, Makuta?  I thought you of all people would know better.  Your lack of faith in me is demoralizing.”

“It is precisely because I have faith in you that I’m letting you go alone.  This is something that only you can do.”

Emsar paused, then turned away.  “Hmhm...you’re still no fun.”  She disappeared before anything else could be said.  

Zaekura turned back to her party, now far larger than the one she had entered with. “Alright.  Let’s get everyone back to Xia!”

“Um…”

She realized Tamaru had come up behind her.  “What’s up?”

Tamaru fidgeted, eyes scanning back and forth over the dirt.  “I, uh...I’ve been giving it a lot of thought...I didn’t say anything before because I hadn’t really decided, but now, I…”  She shut her eyes tight.  “I-I want to come with you!”

“Really?  If you need more time to think, that’s okay.”

Tamaru shook her head.  “No...I need to go before I lose my nerve.  I mean, I am nervous, but...if I can really be myself around everyone...I guess I feel like I just have to know.”

Zaekura nodded.  “I’ll do whatever I can to help.  Are you ready to go?”

After taking one last look back into the jungle, Tamaru nodded.  “Yeah.  Let’s go!”

***

Hewkii raced down the field, battling for control of the ball with a Toa of Earth.  He pulled back his kolhii stick; the Toa of Earth, expecting him to knock the ball forward, shifted his weight to block.  Hewkii then swung his stick around, hit the ball back the way they had come, and immediately leapt back to scoop it up.

“The Hydruka’s Hewkii has finally wrested the ball away from Dosne!  He’s headed right for Kazi, and the Iconox Iron Wolves’ goalie sure doesn’t look ready for him!”

Hewkii carefully observed the Toa of Ice he needed to aim around.  Kazi was laser-focused, but stiff in his movements.  He could hear Dosne approaching—at the last second, he threw the ball with all the force he could muster, and it sailed just past Kazi to the cheers of the crowd.

In a special balcony high up the arena’s wall, Ekimu laughed at the spectacle.   “That Hewkii’s pretty good!  Maybe I shouldn’t kill him after all.”

Standing next to him, Ahkmou chuckled.  He busied himself jotting down notes for an article, but his thoughts were elsewhere.  This is the opposite of what I wanted.  The tournament was supposed to distract these common idiots from the rebellion, but everyone’s heard that Hewkii’s defected—with him center stage, I’m sure it’s all they’re thinking about!

He joined Ekimu’s cheer as another ball was set into play.

Sure, no one’s stupid enough to speak out while Lord Ekimu is right here, but that’s ignoring the bigger picture.  This is long-term, delicate work.  If I don’t think of something fast, it’s all going to go right down the drain…

Hewkii leapt in to intercept Dosne’s shot.  Swinging around, he then sent the ball flying back across the court, catching Kazi completely by surprise.  The crowd roared.

“Incredible!” the announcer cried.  “The Mahri-Nui Hydruka have won by a landslide!  Looks like they’ll be moving onto the next round, folks!  I know I don’t want to be the team unlucky enough to go up against them!”

Ekimu applauded with the crowd, but his hands steadily fell still.  “Alright, game’s over.  You can come out now.”

Ahkmou looked over his shoulder, expecting to see one of the Makuta coming to join them.  But he couldn’t quite make out what he was looking at.  The shadows in the balcony moved strangely, almost as if they had a will of their own, refusing to surrender the visitor to the light; all Ahkmou could see clearly was an organic purple face with numerous ridges over where a nose and mouth should have been.  Confused and terrified at the sight, Ahkmou could only remain silent.

“Forgive the intrusion, Lord Ekimu,” the face said.  “We wanted to consult with you, to clarify our orders before acting.”

Ekimu continued to watch the field as the two teams exited.  “Who are you?”

“I am Eliminator, of Odina.  The Keeper’s realized that the operatives sent previously failed to carry out Lord Heremus’s orders, so my partner and I have been dispatched to rectify the situation.”

“So that’s it.  You want Hewkii, I take it?”

Eliminator’s face moved, the shadows moving with it.  “He seemed like a good place to start...but, since you haven’t intervened thus far, we suspected you had another plan.”

“I wouldn’t say that.  I just don’t want the kolhii tournament interrupted.  Once his team’s done, take him if you want.”

Ahkmou jumped as a sudden burst of energy appeared in the space next to Eliminator.  The energy grew into a swirling portal, and out of it stepped another being: he was tall, at least twice the height of a Matoran, clad in blue and gold armor that shone through the darkness that clung to his companion.  Ahkmou didn’t recognize the gold mask he wore, but he found his eyes more drawn to the enormous double blade he carried.

Kneeling, he said, “If I may, Lord Ekimu.  I think there is a much more fruitful route we can take.”

Ekimu grunted.

“Once the tournament has concluded, we will see that Hewkii and his team remain here in Civitas Magna...and be sure that the whole planet knows it.  I have heard that Zaekura is quite the bleeding heart, and I am certain that if she knows one of her allies is being held here, she will march in an effort to save him.  Once we have lured her in, Eliminator and I will capture her and bring her to Lord Heremus—what happens to her associates will be no concern of ours then.”

“So we bait her out.  What was your name?”

The being grinned.  “I am Brutaka, my lord.”

At this, Ekimu finally turned around.  After staring at Brutaka for a few moments, he said, “I thought you sounded familiar.  Good.  If you’re here, then the Keeper must be done messing around.”

The crowd began to cheer as new teams took the field.

“Go ahead,” Ekimu said as he turned back to watch.  “As long as you don’t make a move before the tournament’s over, I couldn’t care less.”

Brutaka nodded.  “Of course, Lord Ekimu.  If you’ll excuse us.”

Another portal opened, and Brutaka disappeared into it.  Eliminator was already gone by the time Ahkmou turned to look.  Facing the field once again, the Toa thought, Odinans...and they’re going to draw Zaekura here...how am I going to cover that up?  Can our public opinion survive something like this?  If we lose control of the people…

“Ahkmou.”

The Toa started.  “Y-Yes, my lord?”

“You’re nervous.”

“Ah...I was just shaken by such a sudden arrival.  I’m sorry, my lord: I’ll focus on my job.”

“Good.”

Ahkmou watched as two new teams met in the center of the field.  If we lose control of the people...then that means I failed to do what the Great Beings asked.  What will happen to me then?

Outside the stadium, Gaaki and Tarduk regrouped near the south entrance.  Flipping through her notes, Gaaki said, “Well, that should be enough of a sample size.  Any favorites among the people you asked?”

Tarduk squatted next to the wall with a sigh.  “The Hydruka are the talk of the town, surprise surprise.  Remains to be seen if Ahkmou will even let us publish all this.”

“Same on my end.  A couple of die-hards for the other teams, but they hardly have enough to say to fill a feature.  A full day’s work and we’re probably going to end up with a block under the horoscopes…”

Tarduk craned his neck.  A particularly dense section of crowd had gathered on the other side of the street, thick enough that he couldn’t see exactly what had drawn them.  He went to push his way closer, Gaaki following for lack of any other distraction, but the Ga-Matoran soon began to fall behind.  Glancing back at her, Tarduk saw that her eyes had gone wide.

“What’s the matter?” Tarduk asked.

“You mean you don’t…”  She shook her head.  “Er, right, you can’t see from here.  Come on!”

Gaaki dove into the crowd.  Tarduk began to have second thoughts, but, figuring it was too late now, went in after her.  At the epicenter was a Toa of Stone wearing a Komau, with various stone carvings laid out before him on a blanket.  The sign behind him made the Agori stiffen: “CARVINGS FOR SALE!  ALL PROFITS HELP NYNRAHN REFUGEES!”

“Gaaki,” Tarduk said, grabbing her by the arm.

“I’m just looking,” she said, picking up a small carving.

“With your hands?”

“Yes.”

The Toa of Stone turned towards them.  “Anything you’re interested in?” Gaaki set the carving down.  “Just browsing.  This is impressive work, uh…”

“Onewa.”

“Onewa...oh, you made the statue they added to District 2458’s historical center!”

“So someone does remember!  Maybe that commission was worth it after all.”  He turned away for a moment to make a sale.

“What brings you here?” Tarduk asked.

“I’m an old friend of one of the players in the tourney.  You know Hewkii?”

Tarduk stiffened further.  “...I’ve heard quite a lot about him.”

“We go way back.  Though, I ended up not being able to get a ticket...but, at least I have a chance to sell some of this work.  We need all the help we can get.”

Gaaki prepared to ask something.  Tarduk tugged on her arm.  She debated continuing anyway, but then the crowd began to quiet, and they both turned to see why.  Their spines turned to ice at the sight of Vamprah cutting through the masses.

“Ah,” Onewa said, climbing to his feet, “that took longer than expected.  Not the Makuta I was prepared for, either.”

Vamprah stalked forward without a word.  Just as Onewa was about to say something more, the Makuta snatched him up in his claws and hurled him against the arena wall.  Total stillness fell over the crowd.  Turning to the remaining carvings, Vamprah waved one hand and unleashed a burst of Plasma, melting them in a matter of seconds.  Then, he turned around to see Onewa slowly getting to his feet.

“Heh...you live up to your reputation,” the Toa said.  Blood could be seen dripping from the gashes left in his armor.  “Guess that’s what I get for pushing my luck, huh?”

Vamprah advanced towards him again.  Tarduk struggled to keep Gaaki still.

“But...I’m not gonna make it that easy for you.”  Onewa took something in his hand, a pellet of some kind, and grinned as he crushed it.  In the next instant, he was gone.

Vamprah froze.  He scanned his surroundings, but saw no trace of his target.  Giving one last look to the crowd, Vamprah unfurled his wings and took to the skies, slowly coasting towards the inner city.  Gradually, the crowd scattered, while Gaaki just stood staring at the still-warm slag that had been beautiful carvings mere seconds ago.

“He got out,” Tarduk said.

“Yeah...this time.  But with Vamprah hunting the Nynrahns, their chances look pretty bleak, don’t they?”

Tarduk sighed.  “What can we actually do, Gaaki?  If we step out of line, we’re going to disappear just like Kodan.”

“I know!”  Gaaki turned and rubbed her temples.  After a bit of thought, she said, “Tarduk...don’t tell Ahkmou we were here to see this.”

The Agori raised an eyebrow.  “Why not?”

Gaaki locked eyes with him.  “Please, just don’t.  He can’t know.  If he does...then nobody else will.”

It took Tarduk a long time to decide on his answer.  “Alright.  But there’s nothing else I can do to help you, Gaaki.  Terrible as things are getting, I just don’t see an opening yet…”

Gaaki nodded.  They parted ways then, Tarduk heading into the stadium while Gaaki found a secluded bench to rest on.  She glanced around, making sure no one was looking, and then pulled at the corner of her breastplate, opening it just long enough to remove a small crystal she quickly tucked into her bag.

A few witnesses are easy to dismiss.  But if everyone sees what happened, then at the very least they’ll have to work a lot harder to lie.  I’ll need to be careful about exactly what footage I use...but by this time tomorrow, I’ll make sure everyone can see the truth.

[fanfictrashdump]

Universe in a Jar - Phase 4 fic

OK. I did something. A few days ago I reblogged this post about the magical trio. And then my brain went off on a monumental tangent and this happened. It’s not my fault, really– Loki is my all-time fave, Wanda could murder me and I’d thank her and Stephen is a smart, sassy bitch... all wins.

So, here, y’all can have it. I might leave it there or I might continue depending on my mood. 

Characters: Stephen Strange, Loki, Wanda Maximoff, OC

Rating: T? Language!

Summary: Baby-sitting beings arguably more powerful than him goes awry for Doctor Strange. He knows one person who can possibly keep them isolated and out of trouble. Well, he knew someone who could... he hasn’t seen them in decades and for stupid reasons.

XX

"Wait here. No funny business."

Doctor Stephen Strange half-dragged himself upright to deliver the warning. The portal-hopping and timeline clipping involved in the last twelve hours–if he could even call them that–of his life had really taken it out of him. Who knew fixing tears in the time-space continuum was so exhausting? Doctor Who made it look like a breeze!

Setting his companions with one last threatening glare, he walked up to a faded, run down apartment door with a crooked six hanging just above the knocker. In all honesty, the place looked even worse than what he had anticipated when the hospital directory gave him the address. Still, he knew he had made it here for a reason, despite the fact his stomach was roiling and begging him to reconsider. This was his Hail Mary. Tightening his jaw and frowning himself into another set of early wrinkles, he pounded the wooden entrance so hard the six righted itself.

A minute or so later, the door swung open, a woman filling the empty frame just long enough to lay eyes on the doctor.

"Nope."

The door slammed shut with a noisy shudder just as Stephen opened his mouth. He swallowed the dozen or so expletives that were threatening to wriggle themselves free from his throat. Instead, he straightened his hoodie, loosened his neck with an audible crack, and took a deep breath before the side of his fist struck the door four times.

Pound. Pound. Pound. Pound.

Silence.

Stillness.

His companions beginning to titter in the background because for all his pomp and attitude and the timelines are not to be meddled with–I am the Sorcerer Supreme, he could not get a single human to open the door.

Pound. Pound. Pound. Pound.

His teeth ground together harder in annoyance. "Seph! I have absolutely no problem in staying here all day. Making a fuss. Screaming at your door. Waking the neighbors. Being a nui–"

The door swung open, then. Stephen was met with a frown and eyes dark as storm clouds and for just a second he forgot why he was doing this. "What the fuck do you want?"

His expression softened under her glare, if only minimally. There was a reluctance in his frame that refused to give up even as he said the words. "I need help, Seph." His eyes flittered briefly over his shoulder and it was just long enough for the woman to notice that the sorcerer was not alone.

Standing on her tiptoes, she looked over his shoulder. Just down the harshly lit hallway, two figures–woman dressed in dark red and a man in an all black suit–stood watching the interaction and chattering among themselves. Her expression lightened just a fraction. "Who's the cutie?"

Stephen looked back, furrowing his brow and taking careful inspection of the other two before directing his attention back to the woman at the door. "Which one is the cutie?"

"Take your pick," she challenged back and even though his initial instinct was to roll his eyes and scoff, a little smirk tugged at his lips.

He whistled, gesturing the door with his head. His companions perked, if only due to sheer curiosity about this new person. "Wanda, Loki, meet Dr. Persephone Hale." He sighed, shoulders slumping in anticipation for what was to come out of his mouth. He gathered the most sincere look he could muster and held her gaze. "Please?"

A million expressions fluttered through her features, including a peculiar twitch of her nose he knew only happened when she was about to do something she really didn't want to. He tried not to celebrate the victory too soon. She was, after all, making him wait for it. After a moment of internal deliberation, she stepped aside and Strange signaled in no uncertain terms that the two needed to step inside.

"Thank you for having us. I'm sorry if we're intruding." Wanda looked tense as she spoke, like they had already had plenty of doors slammed in their face. Or perhaps she was just sensing the thoughts and emotions of their host and fearing the worst.

Seph waved her in. "It's not a problem. I am glad to help an Avenger and… an alien god." She offed them both a forced smile. "Where'd you leave the horns?"

Loki chuckled, straightening his suit. "They didn't go with the outfit. May I?"

"Of course. It's him I'm not crazy about."

The smile on Loki's face grew as he sidled past her, leaving Stephen to glare at them both. "Seph–"

"I don't care. I don't care about whatever excuse you're about to give me–"

"I'm sorry! I can't do anything else other than apologize."

"Yes, you're right. Why would the Sorcerer Supreme even bother with the lesser mortals?" With an icy glare, she turned on her heel and stomped into the apartment, though she left the door open in invitation.

Drawing a long sigh, Stephen reconsidered turning time back just ten minutes and foregoing this whole disaster before realizing he had no other choice, and so he followed her in and closed the door behind him.

The entrance hall of the tiny Bronx apartment melted away after a few steps, replacing stale summer air with a crisp country breeze. Faded blue flower-patterned wallpaper was familiar at first sight, as was the well-loved wooden stair banister, worn in places where the steps were squeaky from nights of trying to sneak in after curfew. Knick-knacks and pictures crammed into every possible space brought back memories that he had long since locked into the back of his mind and forgotten about. Everything within his line of sight brought with it a prickle and tingle of a life past but still haunting him, and he loved and hated it in equal measure.

"Who devised this portal? The work is rather formidable," Loki remarked, breaking the silence, in the closest thing to awe that any of the others had ever heard.

"Oh, i-it’s nothing impressive." Seph quipped, brushing away the compliment.

"So you studied alongside Strange, then?"

"No. Not magic, at least." Persephone gestured with her index around the room. "This is the only thing I can do."

"A feat like this without any of those silly rings that he needs? Impressive." He paced around, touching invisible seams and humming to himself. "With a little training you could do very well for yourself." Neither doctor could decide whether the tone he was using was encouraging or threatening.

"I don't think so," she replied, fidgeting in her oversized cardigan. "I was put off early on."

Despite the fact he was pointedly looking out the window, Stephen could tell Seph's gaze had fallen onto him. There were a million other things he would rather do than have that conversation–a root canal with no lidocaine, for example. He, instead, forced his focus on staring at the house sitting a couple of hundred meters away. The red trim of the roof was looking faded and the gutters were a little loose but it did not seem like the house was in total disrepair.

"I haven't been home in ages," he muttered, off-handedly.

"Oh! Weren't you born and raised in Manhattan? At least according to the Times, anyway." The sarcastic tone Persephone used made an uncomfortable weight press down into his stomach. He opted to count how many missing shingles there were on the roof.

"Ah, so there's history. That explains the dread at having to come to her door," Loki announced genially, clearly in need of some entertainment. "Wanda, you've lost our wager."

"Loki," Wanda warned, taking the time to fix him with a look before gesturing at the other two. They seemed to have been fighting a war entirely through stares.

"Which door leads outside?"

Seph rolled her eyes. "Which fucking door do you think leads outside, Stephen? I thought you were this hot shot genius doctor!"

"I am asking because that door," he gestured at the front door, "leads to the middle of nowhere in the Bronx."

"Then maybe don't take the door that leads to the Bronx, then, jackass. Or better yet, do. Until now, you've never had a problem finding a door away from me."

"That–" He killed the retort before it had a chance to meet the air and instead pivoted his questioning. "Is the key still under the mat?"

"I don't fucking know. Where did you leave the key twenty-whatever years ago you last graced your own doorstep?" With that last remark, she stormed off and up the stairs, cardigan billowing behind her, while Strange wrenched the back door open and threw himself into the field between the houses.

Wanda and Loki shared a look before making themselves scarce, elsewhere.

XX

About an hour later, Wanda opened the door to what she presumed was the main bedroom and peeked inside. Persephone lay with her limbs splayed out, dark curls smushed on one side, blinking blankly at the ceiling. With a sigh, she opened the door a bit more and let herself in.

"I hope you don't mind. Loki and I made some tea. And he might have eaten a whole sleeve of Oreos."

Seph laughed despite her gloom and shuffled to sit up against the headboard. Wanda smiled, offering her an extra mug in her hand, steam billowing from the top invitingly. "Sorry. I've been a terrible hostess."

"You're more hostage than hostess at the moment. I don't blame you." Wanda sipped at her tea for a minute in tense silence. "So, when did you and Stephen date? And how did he fuck it up?"

The responding snort was heartfelt and led to a long laugh. "No. Stephen and I have never dated."

"But there is history."

She ruffled her curls back into shape, out of nervous habit more than concern, and sighed. "Hard not to have when you've known him all your life. He grew up in that house across the way."

"I assumed as much." She gave her an encouraging smile, like a mother coaxing her teen into conversation. It worked exceptionally well on Seph. "Come on. We were neighbors growing up does not cover the level of tension from earlier."

Seph shrugged. "We both wanted to be doctors. I followed him to the same schools, undergrad and med school. We were pretty much our own support system. His sister passed, and his parents, my mom. We always figured it out together–"

There was a bit of confusion in the witch's face. "OK. That sounds really sweet, though."

"–and then one day I told him a secret. I told him I could make doors go to other places and I showed him, and I haven't seen him since."

“Ah, right.” Wanda winced. "That… sucks."

"Yep." She popped the 'p' before sipping at her tea.

"But when he got into magic, surely he–?"

"Nope." She swallowed at a lump in her throat and pushed away the ball of emotions that thinking on that day was dredging up. "That day he said I was crazy, that I drugged him. I've never heard an apology but he somehow gets to be Sorcerer Supreme."

Wanda sighed, taking a long draw from her tea before adding. "Jeez, what a dick."

"I'm assuming this scrawny, little thing is him," Loki remarked from the door, startling both women. He held out a framed picture of four children. "I am assuming he was bullied on that haircut alone."

"No worse than being the only Black kid in school in a small town in rural Nebraska," Seph retorted with a wry grin. Loki considered and shrugged, sitting at the bottom of the bed with what appeared to be a pack of saltines. "That's his little brother, Victor. He's the taller kid. The girl is his sister, Donna. That's the last picture we took before Victor died."

"Didn't his sister die, as well?" Persephone nodded. "So, they've all died. Seems like he's a harbinger of bad luck. Maybe we'd do well to stay away," he quipped, tossing the picture onto the mattress.

"Yes, tell us about harbingers of bad luck, Mr. I've Died More Times Than I Can Remember," Wanda sassed back, much to the other two's amusement.

"I have a question, Lady Hale."

She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Seph is fine, Loki."

"These portals, can you make them go anywhere?"

She shook her head. "Only places I've been to, sorry. Can't send you back to whatever planet you want to run off to."

He tsk'ed. "Well, it was worth a try."

"What did you two do to get stuck with the magic police?"

"Created a whole new reality by escaping my first arrest" "Held a whole town hostage in a fake TV show." They replied simultaneously.

"Fuck. No wonder he's desperate," Seph muttered to herself. "Why doesn't he just keep you in the fancy sorcerer place?"

"Too many artifacts to play with." "Too many books with dark magic."

"OK. He's clearly in over his head. No wonder he came here. There's no way he could keep you both controlled and contained without the..." She gestured around the room to signify the magic of her bubble.

"It's nice to let him pretend." Loki offered with a wink. "It's endearing."

Persephone laughed, sparing a passing thought to the idiot who didn't know what he got into. "Well, if you're stuck here, anyway, there's plenty of bedrooms. The bathroom is down the hall. Make yourself comfortable and relax. I'm going to go get dinner started."

Wanda smiled, stretching happily. "I'll take you up on that. I need a shower and some sleep."

Loki smirked. "I'll join you in the kitchen, if you don't mind."

XX

When Stephen returned, a long while later, he was immediately drawn to the familiar smells permeating the house and warming him from the inside out as much as the soft, honeyed whispers being exchanged in the dim light of the kitchen. He found Loki and Persephone at the stove, speaking in hushed voices, closer to each other than he would have deemed appropriate–definitely flirty. Loki had changed out of the black suit into a pair of joggers and a dark green tshirt and seemed downright at home bantering with the human over the simmering pot. His ease made Stephen's left eye twitch immediately, some long-forgotten jealousy roiling in his chest and clenching his fists on their own accord. He cleared his throat loudly to pull their attention.

Seph rolled her eyes and turned back to the pot to stir, though Loki lingered close for a few extra moments before taking half a step back.

"I guess the fun police is back," she muttered under her breath and Loki chuckled.

"Loki, could you go check on Wanda, please?"

"Wanda is sleeping, so no." He turned back to his companion, whispered something into her ear that made her giggle and turn to face him, bottom lip caught between her teeth.

The way his eyes trailed from her lips to his gaze made something snap inside the sorcerer. "Just get lost, will you?"

Seph craned her neck, fixing him with a glare. "Leave him alone. This is my house." Loki grinned, leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek with a smug glint in his eye.

"I need to talk to you."

"Funnily enough, I heard all I needed to two decades ago, so…"

"Persephone, I am not playing here, I–" His demand was cut short by the flickering of the walls. Invisible curtains dividing this world from the little ratty apartment in the Bronx were faltering. Just beyond the constraints of the space, a whole new area, neither New York nor Nebraska, was reflected for just a second before it flashed back.

"It's alright, darling. He knows he has no authority here. Settle down, dove," Loki cooed cautiously, eyeing their surroundings with caution. "Do you want me to give you a moment with him?"

Seph sighed, studying Loki’s expression before nodding reluctantly. "Like I have a choice with this idiot."

"Very well. I will make myself scarce." He inclined his head at her, a gentle smile attached. Once he turned, he gave Strange a dirty look with a multitude of silent warnings and retreated to the living room.

Stephen snorted. "What did you do, bribe him?"

Rolling her eyes, she turned back to the stove. "Nope. He was hungry. I fed him. You'd be surprised how much less surly he is when he's full."

He frowned. "We ate before coming here."

"Hm… what's your excuse, then?" After a minute of silence, she glanced over her shoulder to check he was still there. He was. Unfortunately. "Besides, he eats three times as much as you do. Whatever you had wouldn't have made a dent."

"How do you know that?"

She let out a single laugh. "It's this revolutionary practice called talking. You wouldn't know about it, scalpel jock."

"Here’s a thought. How about you let your disdain for me go long enough for us to have a conversation."

The spoon in her hand slammed into the pot with a splash, driving bits of stew everywhere. Reality flickered within the portal and time dilated just long enough for him to notice before everything went smashing back into place. She was good at repressing these feelings, he knew. She must have spent their decades apart trying to control herself, unaided, and now it was his fault that she was losing control.

"How can you pretend that the single worst day of my life is just water under the bridge, Stephen?" She turned from the stove and he noticed her eyes glowed faintly in their intense hazel. "You accused me of drugging you, of deceiving you! I was grieving, my life was a mess, and I suddenly opened doors to places I hadn't been to in years, entirely by accident." She began to close the space between them, rounding the kitchen table. He felt like he should make a hasty retreat but found he lacked the ability. "I was terrified. I needed you! And you left me! I had no one!" Her voice cracked at the end, eyes filling with tears as she did all she could to retain the glare she was directing at him. "And after all that shit, you find magic and you–you didn't even have the decency to come and talk to me until you needed something."

"I didn't understand what had happened, OK? I opened your closet door and stepped into my childhood bedroom, Seph! How was that logical?"

"How did you think I felt, fucker? I was the one doing it!" Her voice rose to a shout and Stephen was quick to match it.

"I'm sorry! OK? I am sorry. I shouldn't have left. I should have reached out to you sooner. I should have helped. I am sorry. I'm s o r r y, but I was a dumb kid and the girl I was in love with could make distances shrink into nothing and I panicked!"

"You should've stayed gone, then," she replied, icily. "Because the boy I was in love with died when you left me alone in that room."

Cold filled his veins, and his spine quivered at her words. This was pure hatred, plain and simple. He couldn't find it within himself to blame her, to logic his way out of his role in her misery. Every excuse he could offer could be countered with 'yes, and it was happening to her, too'. She had been his one support through every bit of rotten luck he ever had. And he left her to her fate in a strange city without a lifeline. He never imagined he would be back to have this conversation, to pick at the scabbed-over wounds he had inflicted long ago.

"Persephone… Seph…" His hands tentatively grasped for her shoulders and gave a squeeze. She flinched, but did not pull away. "I am so sorry." With a little more coaxing, he had enveloped her in his arms, his nose pressed into her hair and inhaling the familiar scent of coconut. "I'm sorry. I am sorry," he chanted, feeling the front of his shirt dampening with her tears as her shoulders relaxed and molded into him. "I am going to make it up to you. I swear."

Persephone sniffled, pulling away from his frame. "I've waited a lifetime for you to come back for me." She blinked and tears streamed down her cheeks. "But I don't want that, anymore.” She made distance, wiping at her eyes and steeling her resolve. He wanted to pull her back to him. She needed to understand his point of view, though it suddenly occurred to him that he never bothered to understand hers. “You're welcome to stay as long as you need. But this isn't fixable, Stephen."

After a tense moment of staring at each other, she skirted past him, ignoring his protests and pleads to talk, opened the pantry door and disappeared through it with a ripple. 

“Stellar job, Strange. Now we’re stuck until she gets back,” Loki commented as he slipped into the kitchen, grabbed a bowl of stew and sneaked back out. 

For once, Stephen did not argue.

[writerfromtheshore]

Kraata Hunting

“So what was it?” asked Matau, impatient for answers. The other Turaga looked at Whenua with similar expressions, anticipating his answer.

“The Matoran said it was some sort of ship,” said the Turaga of Earth.

“Like the Vahki transport we drove?” asked Vakama.

Whenua shook his head. “No— as in an actual ship. Some sort of warship. I have not been out there myself, but from the descriptions my scouts gave… definitely something used in war.”

“What did they find on there?” Nokama asked.

“Weapons, charts, all sorts of things,” Whenua said. He placed a parcel on the Amaja Nui storytelling circle. A series of very thin tablets, very flexible in nature as compared to what the six of them were used to. Paper. Passing it around, each of them looked through it, eyeing the peculiar text on the pages. Nuju clicked and whistled incessantly as he squinted at the contents of the parcel. Any attempt by Nokama with her mask of translation provided to be useless. None of them knew what the writing could mean.

“Takua ranted about weapons when he returned to Ta-Koro,” said Vakama. “Something about wielding a sword with what seemed to be the power of a Toa.”

“He does not even know what a Toa is,” the Ko-Matoran Matoro said, translating for Nuju.

“I have never whisper-heard of power-charged elemental weapons before,” said Matau.

“What super Toa could possibly have these?” Onewa asked.

“I do not think what the Chronicler encountered was from a Toa,” Whenua said, the unease apparent in his voice. “Unless some other society south of Metru Nui that we did not know of which immigrated to the surface, it seems as if these weapons, this ship, all of it— comes from somewhere else. We may not be alone on this ocean up here.”

“I second our earth brother,” said Matau to everyone’s surprise. Pulling something from his pack, he placed a mask on the table alongside the notebook log Whenua produced.

“What kind of Kanohi is that?” asked a bewildered Nokama. Vakama, the only one familiar with masks from the group, shook his head. The shape was totally alien to him.

“That is the thing, teacher-sister,” Matau said. “This is definitely not a Kanohi. I can think of all the masks I have spot seen in my life—add-including the ones the Toa Mangai wore-sported— and this resembles nothing I have seen.”

“This isn’t even protodermis,” Whenua agreed upon closer inspection. “Where did you find it?”

“A Matoran brought it to me,” Matau began. “The last time Nokama and I potion brewed, when Makuta spurred a sickness upon us— I sent my Gukko Force into the jungle for one of the ingredients. They said they ended up in the Fau swamp, and found a figure buried under the mud. This was what it was wearing.”

The six of them sat in silence for a moment, each feeling uncomfortable in their own way. All were certain the figure Matau spoke of was not a Matoran.

“This place was never on any maps of the universe, was it?” asked Vakama. Whenua shook his head.

“There could be others, south of the sea gates, who came up through the Great Barrier as well,” said Whenua. “But no language like this— to my knowledge— was ever used in the history of the universe. Skakdi, Vortixx… nothing comes to mind when I look at this journal.”

Onewa frowned. This discussion was getting them nowhere.

“If there is someone out there coming to this island, let them come,” snapped Onewa. “We will deal with them then. There is no need to get worked up about something that may simply come to pass. We can sit around Amaja Nui all day telling ghost stories, or we can discuss more pressing matters. There was something else you brought us together for, Whenua, was there not?”

The Turaga of Earth nodded. Reaching into his pack, he pulled out a long cylindrical container. The other Turaga leaned in, but could not identify the contents of the container. “You may want to step back for this,” he suggested to the group.

The rest of the Turaga looked uncomfortably at each other before heeding Whenua’s advice. Twisting the lid of the stasis tube, he unscrewed it and placed it on the circle before all of the Turaga.

A chilling hiss came from the tube as whatever was in there woke up. Onewa, Vakama, Nokama, Matau, and Nuju all peered suspiciously at the opening, only to withdraw in disgust when the creature within slithered out into the sand of Amaja Nui.

The snake like thing peered groggily at each of the Turaga. Then it gave a hiss, recognizing what it was that stared at it. The creature coiled up and lunged at their masks. It only got its head in the air before it jerked back to the sand— if not for Whenua’s badge of office pinning the creature’s tail, it would have latched itself onto the Kanohi of one of the elders.

“Seven levels of Karzahni!” Matau swore, brandishing his Kau Kau staff. The little buzzsaw on the Turaga of Air’s badge of office began to whirl. “What is that thing?”

“Do not kill it!” insisted Whenua. Matau looked at him incredulously, buzzsaw whirling, before lowering his staff.

“Kraata,” growled Vakama. “Where did you find it?”

“In a mine, trying to corner one of the workers,” Whenua said. “As soon as I captured it, I knew the six of us had to talk.”

“Another ugly Rahi beast,” Matau said. He watched the Kraata scream as it tried to writhe out of the grip of Whenua’s drill. “So what?”

“These are not just Rahi, Matau,” Whenua shook his head.

“Remember the Rahkshi from the Fikou Web, brother?” asked Nokama. “These are what pilot them.”

“So they are Makuta spawn,” the Turaga of Air said. “Have any Rahkshi been spot-seen on the island?”

Four of the Turaga shook their heads. Vakama, on the other hand, stared at the Kraata with an empty eyed gaze, his mind elsewhere. The Turaga looked at each other, familiar with this expression.

“No, they are not here,” Vakama said. “But one day they will be. Makuta has made Rahkshi with several Kraata before, in one of his lairs between here and Metru Nui. One of his thousand contingency plans.”

“Another vision?” Onewa asked. The Turaga of Fire nodded, frowning at the creature.

“And that is not the only concern with these Kraata,” said Whenua. “Vakama, you brought the mask, as requested?”

Vakama nodded, producing the requested item from his own pack. Even though he did not have his forge anymore, he did still produce masks, on the off chance they did run out of the cache they had retrieved from Metru Nui.

He placed the Kanohi within the sand circle, near the still struggling kraata. The painful screams changed as the Kraata noticed the nearby mask. Whenua looked at his cohorts, and then lifted his drill. The Kraata squirmed free, slithering in a beeline for the mask. The grey silver sheen of the unworn surface became rusted and pitted where the creature touched it, infection coming over it as quickly as a passing shadow.

The Kraata slithered though and around the mask while it changed, the screams a moment before now gentle growls. It was almost as if it were cuddling it. The Turaga watched this happen, repulsed— the perverse affection the infectious creature had for the mask made the elders feel uneasy.

“Just as I thought,” Whenua whispered.

“Is that—“ Matoro said, translating for Turaga Nuju as well as asking of his own accord.

“That is how the Rahi here have come to serve the Makuta,” Whenua said. “Kraata can corrupt the masks they wear. I believe since these come from Makuta himself, it gives him the ability to assume control over the mask and the Matoran wearing it. Or in our cases, the Rahi.”

“So what do you suggest we do?” asked Nokama.

“Look for them in and near your Koro,” said Whenua. “I have more than enough stasis containers to store these things in.”

“And just leave stasis tubes laying around for the Matoran, or even the Makuta, to find?” Vakama asked.

“There are several caves in Po-Wahi, far enough away from where any Matoran would venture,” said Onewa. “We can store them there.”

Whenua nodded thanks to the Turaga of Stone. “We need to find and capture these things before they infect the entire island.”

Several of the Turaga nodded in agreement, accepting their new mission.

“Why can’t we just kill these things?” Matau asked, raising his buzzsaw in confusion.

“Because we need to study them,” Matoro said over the clicks and whirls of Turaga Nuju. “Like Turaga Whenua just said— I am not calling him that, Turaga Nuju—we need to figure out what they can do to the island.”

“If they can corrupt Kanohi with just a touch, who knows what other havoc they can wreak on the island,” Whenua added.

“It will be messy if we do just kill them, brother,” Onewa said. “We can’t leave our mess for the Matoran to find.”

“There is still a lot we do not know about these things,” Whenua said. “The records in the Archives exhibits were vague at best. Aside from cutting them up, how else can they be killed? Can they infect masks even if they are dead? What other powers do they have?”

“It sure seems you are skip-missing an opportunity-chance to experiment-test,” Matau grumbled, crossing his arms and nodding at the Amaja Nui circle before them.

“The more we can capture, the more we can study,” Nokama advised.

“Matau, this is more than Whenua wanting to play Archivist,” Vakama said. “The Kraata pose a danger to us. These are the Makuta’s creatures. After all we did to escape him, his Visorak, and all the other stuff he threatened us and the Matoran with, we are just going to let another one of his creatures slip into our villages and ruin all our hard work?”

Matau looked down at the creature. “You’re right, firespitter,” he said. “Whenua is right. We’ve collect found the Great Disks, homes for our village people; what’s another scavenger find-hunt?”

“Thank you Matau,” Whenua smiled. “May each of you go back to your villages with a sharp eye. I will have stasis tubes sent out to each of you. For now, Onewa, you can show me some of your caves on the trip back north. May your villagers be safe from the Kraata’s reach.”

“And the Great Spirit watch over us all,” added Nokama.

***

Matau swung through the trees of Le-Wahi, grabbing vines as he travelled back to his village.

The meeting was on the forefront of his mind, very much annoying him. But why? He had collected a lot of things over the years on this island. Various fruits, types of bark, all little knick knacks in nature that caught Matau’s attention. What was one more scavenger hunt? he thought to himself.

This collectible you cannot leave lying around your hut, a little voice in the back of his mind told him. That was the uncomfortable part. Matau enjoyed collecting fun things… but this was business. More serious business than just an ivy that made his organics itch from time to time. And on top of all the Rahi attacks they had to look out for, this was just more than a simple challenge.

The Turaga of Air forced himself to stop thinking for a moment and enjoy the jungle around him. Rahi could be heard in the distance, but for the most part, it was quiet. The sun shone from some hole in the jungle canopy. The day was good.

Perhaps he would go food hunting to lighten his mood. Collect something fun, and ease into it. There had to be some bush, some tree, something around here which grew some food for him to collect. Matau swung, grabbing onto each vine as he looked around for crop…

Look up— no one ever looks up, he thought to himself. Matau looked up, eyeing the vines he grabbed. Each line was tough and firm, but coarse, the outer skin of the vines like a hard leaf. He grabbed them skillfully and he swung through looking for fruit—

The next thing he grabbed was definitely not that. Instead of the firm, rope like texture of a vine, his hand closed around something soft and slippery. Matau’s eyes lit up with shock as he looked up to see what he had grabbed.

You have got to be joke-kidding me! the Turaga of Air thought, as the yellowish Kraata screeched under his grip.

The initial shock of grabbing something living made Matau jerk back, letting go. His momentum carried him forward though, and having let go of the previous vine, he fell fast toward the grounds of Le-Wahi.

***

As a general rule, Onu-Matoran did not take well to brightness. Spending most of their time underground left their eyes weak in sunny circumstances— having adapted to seeing in the dark, daylight was almost painful.  

Their Turaga was no exception. Whenua's eyesight was terrible in comparison, if not worse than, his villagers. And having used a Ruru during his time in the caves of Onu-Wahi made his tolerance for the desert sunlight almost unbearable.

Much to Whenua’s dismay, the journey back to his home in the Great Mine ventured through Po-Wahi. He and Onewa ventured on Mahi steeds over the desert, looking out onto the very sunny horizon.

Onewa had said there were caves he knew of where they could store the captured Kraata. Whenua was eager to see them, so they could begin this new project. The brightness did not settle well with him, but nevertheless, he followed atop a Mahi steed. The Turaga of Stone led the way, dead set with a particular destination in mind. The majority of the venture through the canyons had passed almost wordlessly. Onewa hardly stopped to check for direction or rest.

“You know Po-Wahi well, brother,” Whenua remarked. “Is this near where…?”

“No, but I first ventured out this way when I looked for a way back,” Onewa said. “There were a few spots where I wanted to settle Po-Koro. When we returned with all of the Matoran, I spent a lot of time surveying the land. Spent the better part of ten years figuring out which tunnels connected to below, and which were just caves. Helped me figure out where exactly to settle Po-Koro— far away from anywhere a Matoran might figure out a passageway to below. I know this entire region better than the Makuta knows even his own shadows.”

Ten years. Whenua raised his eyebrows. They had already been here on Mata Nui for a few centuries, but ten years in of itself…that was a long time to be cave exploring. “So this cave, for the Kraata… where exactly is it?”

Onewa turned on his steed and smiled at his brother. He could see the Turaga of Earth’s eyes were straining in the bright light.

“Not far now, Whenua,” Onewa smiled.

Whenua spent the rest of the ride staring narrow-eyed at Onewa’s back.

***

The Turaga of Earth was more than relieved when the canyons rose around them, shade finally falling onto their path. Whenua glowered for a bit as his eyesight adjusted, almost able to see Onewa’s smirk from behind him.

They dismounted after maybe an hour of riding, somewhere deep in the winding crevices of the canyon. The two of them looked around, seeing the empty area around them. No Matoran was anywhere close to here. Besides their steeds, no Rahi roamed around the place. This was not somewhere one would roam to by accident. Definitely somewhere where you would go to hide something, Whenua thought.

“Not even Takua could find this place,” Onewa said, satisfaction in his voice. Petting the Mahi, he nodded for Whenua to follow him just a little further.

The cave mouth yawned open for them, a veil of deeper shadow hanging over the entrance. Whenua nodded his approval of the place. Isolated, protected from the elements, it could be the perfect hiding spot.

Small little lights wandered over the walls of the cave, but Onewa dismissed them. Electric spiders. Natural guards, he insisted, in case the Kraata found some way to escape their tubes. Whenua nodded, remembering his Archival days where he put Electric spiders into stasis. Even after several transformations, he could still feel the shock on his fingertips.

Whenua took his drill and traced it along the cavern walls. Just as he did in Onu-Koro, he sensed the walls for empty pockets, places unwelcome guests could nest in. The drill, combined with his connection to the element of earth, could sense tunnels and cavities in the walls. But here, he found none.

“Well?” Onewa asked. “Do you approve?”

Whenua withdrew the stasis tube from his pack and set it down against the wall. He was more than satisfied with the place. Smiling, the Turaga of Earth shuffled to the entrance of the cave. Raising his drill to the canyon wall, he carved in a quick sketch of the Kraata.

***

The sound of chiseling was practically music to Whenua’s ears. After wandering with Onewa to Mata Nui knew where in the Motara desert, he finally had a sense of where he was. The pair had almost reached to Po-Koro— and better yet, in Whenua’s opinion, a tunnel that led back to Onu-Koro.

After years of excavating for raw carving material, the area surrounding the Po-Koro Quarry was riddled with cavities, the result of years of Po-Matoran mining material for their statues. Little alcoves littered the open pit mine, as Matoran over the years would pull from anywhere and everywhere for stone to use. This had caused quarrels between carvers every so often, some Po-Matoran accusing others of toppling their greatest creations for material. (Hafu was a frequent complainer, to which a time came where Onewa was given him his own private section of the quarry-canyon.)

The Turaga dismounted for a rest from their ride, having been traveling on the Mahi for the better part of the day. Onewa took a moment’s leave from the Turaga, going around to inspect the carvings his villagers were producing. Whenua watched as the Turaga of Stone dolled out advice to the craftsmen. He would point here or there on a statue, gesturing with his hammer to show how they could carve out the details they desired.

Whenua surveyed it all, feeling satisfied with his day. He had traversed a good part of the island, and more importantly, accomplished something with the other Turaga. Other than the matters of the ghost ship, he felt as if they finally were competent overseers of their Matoran. Setting his staff down, Whenua smiled.

A reverberation alerted Whenua. Looking around, he could feel something in the earth, something moving through the ground around the carvers. It was faint, it was small, but still, it was something. The Turaga of Earth looked over at his guide, whom was still occupied in teaching a Matoran.

Another Matoran caught his eye. The carver was standing back from his creation, tools held up in a menacing manner. His carving however, looked far from finished. Whenua, curious at the observation, made his way to the carver.

“What goes wrong with your creation?” he asked.

“There is something— something coming out of the stone!” the Matoran said. “I was chiseling a detail on the lower part of the Kanohi, and my chisel went through the rock. Then dust came out— a lot of it— and something popped out! But it ducked back into the stone, and another hole formed!”

Upon closer inspection, the Matoran’s confusion was clear. The carving, a larger rock, was slowly falling apart. The Turaga looked over the carving, concerned. There was something inside, slowly eating away at the rock. He placed his staff on the stone. The drill of Onua was not best when inspecting a stone removed from the ground, but it was still able to pick up some things.

By this point, Onewa had come to the Matoran’s side, equally concerned as Whenua about the rock. Putting his hand to the rock, he nodded.

“There is definitely something in there,” he said. “I am sorry carver, you have done wonderfully on this piece. But whatever it is, I need to do this.”

“By all means, Turaga,” the Matoran said, stepping back.

Onewa nodded, appreciating the Matoran’s understanding, and kicked the mask. With a solid blow, it crashed to the floor of the canyon. The stone rolled over to its side, where several holes bore into the back of the statue. Whenua’s eyes lit up as he saw the tail of… some sort of creature… slither into the back of the statue. He frowned, not liking the look of what he saw.

“Get your brothers away from their carvings,” Onewa ordered the Matoran. “Who knows what this is, and what others may be in the stone. Turaga Whenua and I will deal with it.”

The Matoran nodded, running off to his nearby cohorts.

“It’s one of them,” said Whenua. “A Kraata.”

“You act scared of them, brother,” Onewa said, brandishing his hammer. “I can take care of them with this.”

Onewa concentrated hard on the stone, feeling the structure of the carving. With his hands on the structure, he could feel the space inside, the stone being eaten away from the inside out. He listened to the holes, listening for slithering noises coming from out of it.

And before he knew it, two of them popped out of the structure. Two slimy, screeching Kraata, baring their mandibles at the one who disturbed their new home. Onewa pursed his lips, bringing his hammer down on the yellow and metallic colored one. The second, sand blue one sunk back into its hole as it listened to the hammer come down on its brother.

But the rock rang as he missed his target. “What?” Onewa asked no one in particular as he raised the hammer. No concussed Kraata was underneath as Onewa lifted the face off the carving. “My aim never misses!” he cried out angrily.

“Try again, brother,” Whenua urged. The Turaga of Stone did not look his way, simply focusing on the holes in front of him. Hand on the rock, he felt the Kraata slithering, coming up to check if it was safe…

This time a light grey one poked its head out, before sneaking back into the stone. Onewa slammed the hammer down on the spot where it had been, completely missing the window in which the snake poked its head out. A second too slow to capture this one.

“Your drill,” Onewa barked at the Turaga. “It can sense the changes in the stone?”

Whenua nodded, noticing Onewa’s curt manner.

“Place it on the side,” Onewa told him. “And tell me when they are coming up. There are three of them.”

“Three?” Whenua asked, barely hiding the joy in his voice.

Onewa frowned. “Yes, you lucky archivist you. You’re getting your Naming Day presents early. Just let me know where they are coming out. I will take care of the hitting.”

Whenua nodded, standing to the side of Onewa with his own badge of office. He could feel the Kraata within as they forced away the stone, trying to find a new way out of the rock to avoid the hitting menace.

“Ready?” Whenua asked. “Left!”

“Down!”

“To your right side!”

“Up!”

Whenua barked each time, and Onewa swung, but each time the Kraata dodged his attacks. The Turaga of Stone grew more frustrated with each miss, becoming more curt and erratic with his strikes. Soon he was not even hitting a hole, just wacking the stone at any point he could. Whenua noticed the carvers had gathered in a group not far off from them, watching the show.

“You know what?” Onewa said, throwing his hammer to the ground after several dozen attempts. “Forget this. We are going a different route.”

“I’m not sure if that’s—“ Whenua tried to caution. Onewa ignored him, his Komau beginning to glow. He stared at the rock hard, until almost as if on a string, each of the three Kraata slid out of the structure. Staring at them with an intense hatred, he smashed his hammer on each of them, knocking the first two unconscious. Whenua watched wordlessly, wincing as his fellow Turaga hit each of the specimens.

The last one however, Onewa’s hammer froze just inches above. Whenua looked at his brother, then at the Kraata.

“Why are you hesitating?” asked Whenua. Onewa gave no answer. Instead he just stood there, in a trance, hammer hovering over the creature.

A moment passed, and Onewa brought the hammer down on the creature. The final Kraata went limp, and Onewa lowered his tool, using its staff for support. He breathed heavily.

“Are you alright?” asked Whenua.

“The Makuta,” Onewa panted. “He has a telepathic link with these creatures. One is stronger than the others. But he can feel their thoughts.”

Whenua’s fingertips suddenly felt tingly. It was moments like these he wished he had archival tablets to write on. “What did you see?” he asked.

“A bunch of things, things I couldn’t describe even if I wanted to try,” Onewa said. “But then I heard his voice.”

All joy from the moment before flooded out of Whenua, leaving him with a sense of dread. “What did he say?”

“He knows we are hunting the Kraata.”

Whenua swore.

***

He didn’t know how long he was out, but Matau jerked awake with a shock. Sitting up he gasped, and then immediately groaned. He was limber for a Turaga, yes, but sometimes he forgot that he was not a Toa anymore—despite how briefly he had been one— and that his current body did not take to impacts as well as a Toa did. Still getting used to this frame, even after a century or two, he thought to himself.

As the pain subsided the Turaga of Air looked around, momentarily forgetting why he had fallen to the forest floor. He fell from vine swinging! Oh, how the Le-Matoran would laugh at him if they ever heard of this…

He had been swinging, and grabbed onto a vine. Except it wasn’t just a vine, he remembered, the incident coming back to him. There had been… a Kraata on the vine. And if he remembered correctly, the Kraata had fallen off of the vine to the jungle floor with him.

But his mask… with a cursory inspection, Matau took off his Noble Mahiki to see that it was fine. A few dents and scrapes over the years, but it was otherwise perfectly uninfected. No Kraata had touched it.

If the Kraata hadn’t touched it, was the creature still around?

Putting his mask back on, Matau looked at his surroundings. The snake like creature he had grabbed on the vine was a handful of hues of yellow, yet he only saw green around him.

Picking up his Kau Kau staff, the Turaga looked around. But more importantly, he listened. The area around him was quiet.

He could hear his breath and the sounds of the Rahi in the distance. But the sounds in between the two… There was faint breeze that blew through the jungle, and Matau stood attentive as it rolled over the plants. Yes, there it was, rustling much of the plant life, lightly but slightly… and the sound of shuffling on the underbrush made by a creature trying to stay hidden. Oh yes, it is still around. Matau smiled as the sound reached his audio receptors, his eyesight sliding towards where the sound came from. He raised his staff noiselessly to the brush, and gave a quick whirl of the buzzsaw to scare the creature.

The Kraata shot out of the brush, frightened. In a blur, it snaked toward a tree. Matau lunged after it, swinging his badge of office at the creature. Hold on, he thought as it slid under another bush. The creature spawn I grabbed on the vine was yellow. This one… this is green?

The Kraata had slipped through the bush, and was making a beeline for a tree a few bio away. Matau darted after it, swatting at the creature with his staff. He watched it as he chased, amazed that now the Kraata was taking on the color of the tree stump.

Never mind what color it is, just grab the forsaken thing.

Reaching the tree a few seconds ahead of Matau, the thing began to climb up the tree to allude capture. Matau was faster though, grabbing the thing by the tail. It hissed as it was pulled back towards the ground, the Turaga yanking hard at the creature. It hissed and looked back at Matau.

“Get— back— here— you—slimy— piece— of—“ he grunted.

The Turaga was unable to finish his sentence. The Kraata, not taking too kindly to the tug on the tail, forgot about its ascent on the tree and lunged at the Kanohi of the green one.

Matau fell on his back for the second time that afternoon. The Kraata was in his grasp fully now, albeit an arms length away. It writhed and screamed whilst trying to wriggle free. The Turaga grabbed the creature with as much of a vice grip as he could, trying to keep the thing away from his mask. The Kraata refused to submit, resisting any attempts to be subdued by Matau’s hand. What was he going to do with the thing?

“Don’t you ever tire?” He yelled at it. Getting to his feet, the Kraata still thrashing around in his grip, Matau went over to the tree it tried to climb and did the only thing he could do. Giving a solid swing, he swung the thing’s head at the tree it so desperately clung to moments before.

That did the trick. The snake went limp, suddenly stopping its struggle. The brown hue of the creature’s skin changed, until it was back to the yellowish color Matau had originally seen it bearing.

“So, you can camouflage-change,” the Turaga of Air said. He thought back to what Whenua said about the Kraata possibly having powers. “Well, earth brother,” Matau said aloud, “looks like you were right about that.”

Kongu wandered through the village square of Le-Koro, helping transport goods from one end of the village to the other. He looked very surprised when Turaga Matau came bursting from the trees, swinging in to land on the platform. For his advanced age, it was always impressive to see the Turaga performing acrobats as if he were one of the Matoran.

“Turaga Matau!” Kongu cried, excusing himself from the transport for a moment to greet the Turaga. “You have returned! Did the council-meeting with the other elders go well-fine?”

The Turaga nodded, but there was clearly a sense of stress on the noble Mahiki the elder of Le-Koro wore. “As well fine as it could have gone, vineswinger,” Matau said. “Can you get a Gukko and a carry messenger ready? I have something to ship-send to Turaga Whenua.”

***

Far beneath the Po-Koro Quarry, Makuta brooded.

In the brief moment Onewa had tried to control the Kraata, he had glimpsed Makuta’s mind. In reciprocation, Makuta had sensed the Turaga’s simple thoughts, and seen what he and the others were trying to do. Now he contemplated the information he had gained.

“The Turaga wish to eradicate my Kraata from their paradise,” rumbled Makuta. “They seek to capture the seeds of my sons.”

“But Onewa,” Makuta said as he looked upwards to the ceiling of his lair. “Turaga of Stone… for being such a solid leader, your understanding of the situation is like the rocks you strike. Very hollow.”

Makuta approached a control panel deep within the recesses of the Mangaia. The lair was his, yes, but the cavern predated him by many millennia. This panel, an ancient piece of technology, was one of the mechanisms original to the cavern. It allowed him to manipulate the island above, in ways that his powers could not yet achieve. Makuta now tapped into it, preparing to counter the elder’s plans.

“I wish for the same things you do, Turaga,” Makuta rumbled as he activated the systems of the panel. He had great powers on his own, yes, but devices like these had power on another level. “The Kraata… they allow me to control the Rahi, and I do so in our best interest. They guard the tunnels, the ways back to Metru Nui. I keep the Matoran far away, in their villages, until the time is right— a time that I have chosen— for you to return to the City of Legends.”

The panel whirled to life, and Makuta manipulated the controls with glee.

“So, Turaga, you wish to hunt,” Makuta said. “But how can you capture what you cannot see?”

[supernova1us]

Makuta Nova Bio

this is the full life biography of makuta nova, one of my OCs. decided to write it like one of the online serials from G1. points to anyone who can find the reference to g2 in here(and its not the one you might think it is)

Since her creation, Makuta Nova was highly proud of her race and dedicated to the brotherhood as a whole. She was always a fierce warrior but mostly analytical, preferring command and tactics to combat.

Physically, makuta nova was tall and elegant but intimidating in appearance. Her size was average, not towering, among her own kind but most beings of the matoran universe would be looking up to meet her gaze. She wore bulky armor on her upper body to belie her slender frame and present a more intimidating visage. She wore the sleek mask of probability, its curves and points sweeping backwards. It was black save for a pointed red crest at its tip. Its power enhanced her already cold decision making. From behind her mask she had long, triangular antlers protruding straight outward on each side of her head. Her armor was black with white and red highlights; a battle skirt, open in the front, hung from her waist. When forced to partake in battle, she typically wielded a double bladed sword in combat, her signature weapon, as well as a long bladed whip on occasion.

In the brotherhoods years of their assigned role of creating rahi, she is credited as the designer and progenitor of the Manas and Kikanalo, for which she was very proud. Early in the makutas history she had a decent, though like all makuta, distant, relationship with the toa and matoran. She was made the "guardian" of Iron-Forge, a small island set in the silver sea between the northern and southern continents. It was the home of a large settlement of Fe-matoran. Proud of her rahi creations, she saw many of them brought to the island. She also developed a fondness for collecting rare or powerful Kanohi masks, often hiring dark hunters, lone toa or other rogue beings to seek them out for her. The jewel her collection was the powerful, Cephalopod-like mask of control.

Eventually, the fateful day came which changed the destiny of the makuta forever more. Teridax, the makuta of metru nui and closest confident to both their leader miserix and the great spirit himself, inproduced "the plan". Said plan was the overthrowing of mata nui himself and for the makuta to take control of the matoran universe. This was also a clear attempt by teridax to wrest control of the brotherhood for himself. She was one who intended to side with Miserix against the plan, sensing it a folly to attempt. It was clear where such thought had crept in from, with the failed attempt at the same by the barraki warlords, teridax regardless apparently found himself inspired. The two battled, and teridax stood triumphant. Miserix was intelligent and cautious, but lacked the ferocious drive teridax could achieve when pushed. Afterwards, she did wish to stand with miserix against Teridaxs coup' but passed due to using her mask to sense the result that it would produce. Teridax was ambitious and brutal but also intelligent, charismatic and seductive. For whatever their many reasons for doing so, the majority of the brotherhood rallied behind him.

Of the 100 makuta that existed, only 5 foolishly chose to stand with miserix in his defeat. They paid for that decision with their lives, as she would have if she were not as wise as she was. Teridax took command of the makuta, and preporations for "the plan" were set in motion. Miserix of course needed to be dealt with, and Krika was made responsible for his termination. A short time later she did learn of krika's sparing of miserix and, holding both makuta in high regard, and believing it to be a wise decision, concealed the truth. Miserix might very well prove to be an important factor someday.

She was one of the only makuta who voiced against their transformation into pure energy forms. Despite that their bodies were evolving to this state on its own, she hypothesized the possible future risks it presented but was overruled by teridax. Now an energy form, she had the Nynrah Ghosts reinforce her armor but ensure her appearance remained unchanged. She joined in the collective deceicion by the makuta to shun their inner light, making them pure being of shadow. This would make them stronger and ensure greater success to their ultimate goals in her mind. She rather enjoyed the power over shadow that this change gave her.

Over the many years of preparation of the plan, she filled her role, ruking her designated island. As the fe-matoran, as toa, were soon considered a threat to the makuta, she kept a strong authoritative hold on them. She eventually grew to resent teridax and vindictively fostered advancement in the matoran on her island as a form of defiance. It was her belief that the toa of iron, which the brotherhood had begun to closely monitor and even kill, could be properly used by the makuta rather than seen as threats. However, upon hearing that there was a surviving toa of iron, zaria, who had slain another makuta, she personally dispatched dozens of rahkshi to hunt him down. She feared that the toas existence would somehow be blamed on her and all that she had worked towards on her island would be torn down. The rahkshi always returned empty handed, for which she terminated them herself.

She remained on her now fortified island, overseeing the safety of her matoran on the day of the great cataclysm. The result of its effects left her island in perpetual night from that day on. She forbade contact with other islands in attempt to keep the matoran of her island unaware of the makutas treachery against mata nui. She wisely protected herself during the brotherhoods war with the order of mata nui by misleading and militarizing the fe-matoran to be hostile to the order.

She survived to see the completion of "the plan"; teridax taking control of mata nuis body and the entire matoran universe. This however led to the loss of the matoran of her island, who fled to metru nui, no doubt learning finally of the deeds of the makuta there. With the deaths of many of the brotherhoods high ranking members on Karda nui, and mourning krikas death, nova was promoted to chief of the remaining makuta under teridax. Many had been killed also in the war with the order of mata nui, and their numbers were now only at 42 makuta, including teridax. She reluctantly but dutifully abandoned her island and followed his commands, advising the inexperienced new turaga ahkmou and leading the other makuta in producing more kraata to bolster the rahkshi army. Sensing the inevitable treachery of teridax, she gathered a small group of like-minded makuta members to escape into hiding when their task was complete.

They did, and none too soon as teridax indeed moved ahead with terminating the other makuta very soon after his takeover. Though they escaped, they were not free of his gaze or his omnipotent power. With destral no longer safe, they fled to Iron Forge, only to find it in ruin and overrun by hordes of the now corrupted rahi, a cruel jest by teridax. He personally slew the other makuta, maliciously leaving nova for last to perish at the claws of her rabid creations. She fought fiercely and without mercy, slaying many but was overcome by the wild horde. Though her body was destroyed in the gruesome onslaught, her antidermis survived and possessed the body of a kikanalo she had disabled. She was only spared complete obliteration by teridax as unseen goings on drew his attention. She did sense the survival of another makuta; miserix. Perhaps that he is what had drawn the new gods attention, or he could proave a valuable ally against teridax. Regardless, alive for the time being, she chose to remain in this form, hidden and in exile, allowing the matoran universe to believe the remainder of the makuta were now extinct. With her original mask destroyed, from her ruined palace she retrieved the mask of control, anticipated its possible future use.

Sometime later, with the long awaited death of teridax having come, and sensing the survival of miserix, she migrated to spherus magna in her rahi form. Her goal was finding The Nynrah Ghosts to rebuild her a proper body. After some months, amid the chaos of the exodus and merging of the peoples, she did locate them. They were of course less than reluctant to help a makuta, but the mask of control as a bartering chip proved impressive enough to convince them. A new form, modelled on her original body, even with a new mask, was built and her antidermis transferred to it. She then used her shadow powers to render all the ghosts temporarily comatose, only so she could take back the mask and leave. This was the first of many dangerous, calculated risks she would need to take to survive.

She covertly managed to locate the matoran of her former domain, and through pretty words and manipulative truths, won back their loyalty. She then appeared before the new government of spherus magna; the toa mata, turaga, agori chieftains and glatorian leaders. She made her intentions clear; she wished to have place in the new world, free of past misdeeds of the makuta. There was not full truth to that but it was enough. There was still mistrust, hate and a mind for vengeance in these who she was beseeching to. She had brought her loyal matoran with her as a show of her "better nature" and as her trump card, presented the mask of control. Tempting that she was handing over a means for them to control her if they chose, and giving in to that as an act of good faith.

These events managed to gain her what she desired; amnesty, a small kingdom of her own in which her matoran can live and a voice in the new government. She was no fool or lover of peace time; there were always plans and always threats. She had recruited a horde of the nomadic skrall, both male and female, to act as her countries military and enforcers. The glatorian strakk, an outcast of his kind, she also took in, making him her bodyguard, finding his greed and battle lust easy to manipulate.

While she relished her new lordship, always her mind was on what troubles may come her way. Toa, the order, miserix; so many with a mind for vengeance may come looking for her. Precautions were set in place for quickly summoning the toa for aid, but for now, the "mistress of shadow" as she came to be known, intended to relish her days under the sun.

[ligit-squid]

Remembrance of A Bond

The sun was beating down on anything its rays touched, the sand hot to the touch and creatures escaping to the shadows to cool down. In the water, dolphins chirped and clicked, whistling to each other. They took turns springing into the air above the water. Sea birds soaring in the air and watched below them. One dipping down to catch a fish that was close to the surface.

On the beach, two teenagers were busy playing a game. Tossing a small, hand-sized rubber ball at each other, hoping the other will catch it. One was a boy, who had raven hair and olive tanned skin. His brown eyes were bright with enjoyment. He was wearing a loose blue and white striped tank-top, and a pair of tan cargo shorts. A homemade thread bead bracelet was on his wrist, decorating it was a sandbar shark tooth.

The girl was wearing a white crop-top with a flowing knee-length skirt, a white tank-top and around her neck was a shark-tooth necklace. She, like the boy, ran in the sand with bare feet. Around her head, she wore a headscarf, hiding what was underneath.

“I’m throwing it farl, Troy!” the girl called out, trotting backward. She threw the rubber ball at him, but he didn’t catch it. It soared past him while he tumbled backward into the sand. The boy—Troy, huffed and got up, brushing away the sand that had collected on his clothing. “Good throw, Lian!”

The girl smiled, “Thanks for the compliment, Troy. Maybe one day you’ll be good as me,” her tone was tantalizing. Troy laughed and grabbed the ball that was in the sand a few feet away from him.

“Kids’, sandwiches are ready!” a woman in her late thirties or early forties called out from the porch of the beach house. The two teenagers laughed and shoved each other while retreating to the hut. The woman from before smiled as she watched them, only the slightest frown at the tips of her lips. Lian and Troy finished shoving at each other and went inside, quickly sitting down and eating their sandwiches.

“Gracias, Mrs. Haku, for the sandwich,” Troy said, though his mouth was still filled with ham and cheese sandwich.

“Thank you, Troy—now, please finish eating before you talk,” the older woman chuckled. The boy listened and continue to eat away at the sandwich. Lian, unlike Troy, ate hers at a slower pace, occasionally stopped by small fits of coughing. During one of her fits, the headscarf had started to slip. Lian noticed and simply took it off. It revealed an almost bald head—only a few strands of hair in some places.

“Your father is due home any minute now, Lian,” Mrs. Haku spoke up. She was filling the feed for the parrots, whose cage was in the corner.

“We’re still doing the campfire later, right?” Lian asked. Mrs. Harper laughed half-heartedly.

“Yes we’ll still have the fire, the rain from yesterday wasn’t enough to make the logs wet,” the older woman said. The two teenagers gave their announced excitement, Troy even shooting up and shouting his excitement.

“Troy, I’m just as excited as you, but we don’t want Emilio to cause a disturbance,” a man said from the door, a grin on his face. He was tall with a sunburned tan, his dirty blond hair in a man bun.

“Papa!” Lian ran over to him and wrapping him in a hug. He gave a throaty laugh but hugged her back.

Ollie, the family’s dog, skittered in through the door after the man. It’s colored coat covered in wood shavings and grit. 

“Ryan! Clean Ollie off before he comes inside! He’s going to make a mess,” Mrs. Haku exclaimed. The man laughed.

“He can come run in the water with us?” Troy suggested.

“Alright, but Lian, you need to take your medication soon.”

Lian had been a very sick child throughout her school years, missing a lot of days and constant trips to the clinic a few towns away. Doctors claimed it as ‘poor genetics’. It wasn’t until she was fifteen they did a blood test, that’s when they found out she actually had leukemia. It was a devastating discovery, but Lian wanted to keep everyone happy. She continued on with life like before, but with more medications and occasional chemotherapy. Over the time she’s gone through chemo, her skin got paler, she started to lose weight, and her hair started to fall out.

Her father—Ryan Haku—was reluctant to put his only child on the medications and chemotherapy. He eventually put her up for it, hoping it could stop cancer from spreading. Ryan’s wishes weren’t heard, unfortunately. In recent months, their family doctor at the clinic broke the news to them that Lian wouldn’t live to be nineteen. It broke them, knowing their daughter would pass away before them.

Troy had been by Lian's side through those hard years. He was only half a year older than her, and they both turned out to be good friends. Best friends. Troy and Lian were a Romeo and Juliet type of relationship. They loved each other, but Lian was destined to pass away. Troy, however, promised he’d stay with her till she couldn’t anymore.

“When are we having the campfire?” Lian asked.

“As soon as your mother gets the food ready,” Ryan replied, retreating to Nalani and his shared bedroom.

“I have everything ready so we can all head down to the beach,” Lian’s mom—Nalani Haku—mused. She was in the kitchen again, grabbing different foods and drinks into the carrier bag that laid on the counter.

Troy and Lian were already heading for the door, Ollie in tow behind them. The border collie yapped away as it chased after the two young adults, happily jumping in the waves that crashed on the beach. Troy and Lian ran after the dog, laughing while splashing each other. Nalani and Ryan went to join them, sitting a bit away from the water and sat down. Nalani set her bag down beside her, Ryan tweaking the strings of his old ukulele. When the two teenagers were tired out they joined the adults by the now burning fire. The heat from the flames danced on their skin as their shadows stretched out on the sand. The sound of the wood crackling and crashing waves filled the air but was interrupted by a soft strum on the ukulele.

“Mahalo nui ia Ke Ali’i wahine. ‘O Lili’ulani ‘O ka Wo hi ku. Ka pipio mai o ke anuenuehi,” Ryan started to sing, strumming the ukulele’s strings.

“Na waiho’o lu’u a halikeole’e. E nana na maka i ke ao malama mai. Hawai’i akea I Kaua’i. ‘O Kalākaua he inoa. ‘O ka pua mae’ole i ka lā.” Ryan continued singing as Ollie bounded over, sitting at his feet.

“Ka pua maila i ka mauna. I ke kuahiwi ‘o Mauna Kea. Ke ‘ā maila i Kīlauea.” Troy joined, swaying slightly. 

“Mālamalama i Wahinekapu. A ka luna o Uwēkahuna. I ka pali kapu o Kau’auea.” The two of them sang, their voices being carried on the wind. The gentle strumming of the ukulele mixed with their sound, creating a beautiful melody.

“Ea mai ke ali’i kia manu. Ua wehi ka hula o ka mamo. Ka pua nani a’o Hawai’i.” Lian’s soft voice braided into their melody as her eyes glittered joyfully. “‘O Kalākaua he inoa. ‘O Kalākaua he inoa. ‘O ka pua mau’ole i ka lā. Ka pua maila i ka mauna.”

“I ke kuahiwi ‘o Mauna Kea. Ke ‘ā maila i Kīlauea. Mālamalama i Wahinekapu. A ka luna o Uwēkahuna.” Nalani started to sing as the two teenagers started dancing around in the sand. 

“I ka pali kapu o Ka’auea. Mahalo nui ‘ia ke Kuini. ‘O Lili’ulani Wo ka ‘o hi ku. Ea mai ke ali’i kia manu.” Ollie sprung up and started running around them, it’s tail wagging frantically. 

“Ua wehi i ka hulu o ka mamo. Ka pua nani a’o Hawai’i. ‘O Kalakaua he inoa. He Inoa No Kalani Kalākaua Kulele.” The two collapsed back onto the sand in a fit of laughter, covering their clothes completely in sand. 

Later on in the evening, when both Ryan and Nalani went inside for the night, Troy and Lian—with the company of Ollie—went to the field a bit away from the beach. It was farther away from the torchlight, making it easier for them to see the billions of stars in the sky above them. The sky was painted like a canvas, the dark sky was the once black canvas, while the stars and clouds decorated it. The moon was raised high in the sky, hanging over them and the ocean.

Lian’s eyes lit up from the joy of watching the stars. She had wanted to study the stars when she grew up, but it was a lost hope. Because she was so sick all the time, Troy brought her astronomy books to read—which she loved and thanked him for.

“The first one to find a constellation wins!” Troy said suddenly. They laughed and began their search of looking for a constellation. They both spotted the Scorpius constellation, then Aquila, then Orion the Hunter. It continued for hours, looking at the stars.

During that time of stargazing, Troy started to feel distraught. He looked over at his best friend, examining her. Her body was thinner, loss of hair, needing a breathing tube to make sure she didn’t pass away in her sleep not being able to breathe. The Hispanic boy sometimes wished she’d never gotten so sick, that she never had leukemia. To people who didn’t know Lian thought of her as weak, but Troy knew better. This was Lian at her strongest. She was fighting to make them smile, to make them happy.

“Troy,” Lian said. “I want you to remember this moment. I want you to make this a special memory, our special memory.”

They had gone back to her house not long after. They bid each other goodnight before Troy headed up farther along the road to get to his house. Lian’s father was already asleep when she came inside—having a tendency of falling asleep while watching the news. She headed for her room, where she changed into her sleeping attire. Walking over to her window, she gazed out onto the empty street. The light of the moon washed over the rooftops and the long road, making everything seem monotone and stale. The only things moving were the branches and leaves on trees, the wind flowing through them. Lian sighed, closing her curtains and flipping off the lights in her room. She crawled into bed, the cool sheets sending goosebumps up her arms and legs, and stared at the ceiling. Her mother came in her room to help her with the breathing tubes, and kissed her forehead, bidding goodnight. Not long later, Lian fell into a sleep-filled world.

In only a matter of weeks, Lian’s health spiral downward. It wasn’t until August twelfth, two-thousand and eleven, at four-twenty two that Lian had passed away. Troy received a call that afternoon about Lian and immediately left to comfort his second family. Two weeks later, Lian’s funeral went as scheduled.

“We meet here today to honor and pay tribute to the life of Lian Hope Haku, and to express our love and admiration for her.

“Also to try to bring some comfort to those of her family and friends who are here and have been deeply hurt by her sudden death.

“Lian wasn't a particularly religious person, so it's befitting that her funeral ceremony should reflect what she was, ...a gentle, ...kind, …loving person; devoted to her family and friends.

“It's only natural that we should be sad today, because, in a practical sense, Lian is no longer a part of our lives, ‘we must die, we know’ said a character in Shakespeare, ‘tis but the time and drawing days out that men stand upon’, and so we all come to ponder the life and death of a truly wonderful lady aged eighteen; with confused and mixed feelings.

“For we have a powerful sense of loss; combined with a recognition that; if death must come, its as well that its not unduly prolonged, we don't want to see someone we love suffer, so this sorrow; and our sense of the fitness of things; don't sit easily together, one purpose of our proceedings here today; is in some way to try to reconcile those feelings.

“Today is also a day for memories, today will be remembered for many reasons, but mainly I hope it will be remembered by you all; as a very special day, a special day in which you shared some time with others; in order to pay your last respects; and to say both mentally and physically; a sad and fond farewell to a wonderful lady, ...lady whom we were all so very privileged to have known,” the funeral service last three hours. Ryan held his wife close to him while she wept. The ones who were to come to the funeral were her parents, Troy and his family, and other relatives. Some were close friends of Lian and the family—like Mrs. Pine from across the street, who had known the family from when Nalani was young.

Ryan and Nalani still stood beside the Banner family after the funeral. Alicia Banner had pulled Lian’s mother into a comforting hug, tears were falling down her face. Troy’s brothers and himself were in a hug as well. Diego was clutching onto Miguel’s shirt as he cried. Miguel, the oldest of the three, could barely keep himself from sobbing. Lian played a big role in their lives and it pained them to see her time come to an end so quickly.

Nalani and Ryan had decided to never move something from their daughter's bedroom. The breathing tubes and oxygen tank beside her bed served only as a reminder that she died. The friend group between Lian and Troy made memorials for the girl, their friend. They place a picture frame with a picture of her out on their porches, beside that were two candles. From then on, Troy had kept a picture in his wallet, the picture of them at the age of twelve, doing a fake wedding.

Remembrance of A Bond was written back in 2018, and was drafted into a writers competition. No winners were announced due to the competition being canceled, but me and my sister had fun writing it.

[morganvetter-blog]

Zero SR vs Energica SS9: EV Race

Brandon and I recently drove down from Monterey to LA on business. He rode an Energica Esse Esse 9 while I rode my Zero SR. One of the main features of the Energica is the full support of level 3 CCS stations which can deliver a full charge to the bike in as little as 20 minutes. One of the goals of the trip was to visit as many CCS stations down Hwy 101 as we could and determine if it was possible to make the trip entirely utilizing CCS.

Meanwhile my Zero SR was equipped with 4 digiNow SuperChargers capable of delivering 13kW from the plentiful selection of level 2 stations available at every town and sometimes in between. This gave my Zero with a Power Tank a consistent 1 hour charge time if totally empty but required use of either dual J1772 stations or a single Tesla Destination station.

On Thursday we drove down and mostly explored what was available for CCS while meeting with friendly fellow riders and documenting stations. Late Thursday night we stayed with a friend in Hollywood and discussed the plans for the rest of the trip and reviewed footage taken earlier that day.

The next day Brandon and I parted ways to take care of business but hatched the idea of a race back to Monterey on Saturday. I would be starting in Irvine and Brandon in Long Beach. Neither of us thought the other stood a chance, and we both proclaimed our own easy victories. Obviously I would win, I had consistent 11-13kW and a nearly infinite amount of stations. Brandon had powerful 23kW stations as long as he was in the greater LA area. Beyond that they grew fewer and fewer, sometimes only one per town, and in some cases the single one was offline. I fully expected him to be far ahead in the morning with me easily overtaking him when he was forced to subsyst on level 2 charging at 3.3kW. He, on the other hand, figured he would gain an insurmountable advantage early on and the times he would have to utilize level 2 would be inconsequential. We were both wrong.

The night before the race I mapped out my route via PlugShare. It should be noted that I had rode this route once before with Brandon about 15 months prior. He was my guide because he had ridden these roads constantly and knew every station along the way. I remembered a couple of his preferred stops, but not all of them. On his end, he was going on the information he'd learned on the trip down. He knew the roads but not the level 3 stations. I would also like to note that I was carrying all of the gear. This includes about 40lbs of 6awg wires and portable charging stations in the case on my bike because primadonna Brandon refused to sully the beautiful Energica with things like luggage or straps.

Saturday morning I awoke shortly after 6am. My gracious host was already awake and playing Hearthstone on his PC but offered to cook breakfast for me, which I readily accepted, not knowing which charging stations were near any sort of amenities. I was also accutely aware of Brandon's inability to function before 8am and figured I would ensure my victory by starting early. By 7:15 I had said goodbye and was on the road. Please note the awesome matching Teslas of my host. Zero hidden in middle of shot.

My first stop was a complete failure. I had planned out a reasonable office complex in Santa Monica that had a non-shared ChargePoint. I made great time, but one of the stations was taken by an EV car. As I plugged into the single station I quickly scanned Plugshare for alternatives. The Wells Fargo building nearby promised 8 J1772 stations, but I quickly discovered it was locked for the weekend, and also apparently under construction. I then wandered, seemingly aimlessly, for some time as my GPS on my aging iPhone 6 is spotty and unreliable. I eventually found myself in a paid parking lot at some sort of recording studio fussing with Tesla Destination chargers. They worked but shut off after ~4 minutes. I tweaked the settings on my chargers to skip the ramp procedure so I could just reset every 4 minutes and grab full power, but this grew tedious. A security guard wandered out after 20 minutes to investigate what I was doing, but wished me luck after I explained what I was doing. I found another potential spot for consistent charging and left having only gained about 25% battery and paying an astronomical $12 parking fee.

Brandon was awake by this point. Not only awake, but also apparently playing in Malibu Canyon a mere mile or two from me.

My next stop was perfect. It was a 4 story parking garage between Sherman Oaks and Van Nuys that promised 4 ChargePoint stations on the roof. As it was Saturday I figured it would be empty. I was right. Not only was it empty but it also had a shaded alcove with 3 benches where, presumably, employees took smoking breaks. I popped the drone out and took a little footage. I was able to get full power off 2 stations and completely top off having wasted over an hour getting lost in Santa Monica.

At this point I made sure to share my location on my phone with Brandon. He had already done so for me so I felt it was fair that he should see what I was doing. Due to the inconsistency of my GPS this did make him paranoid as apparently my map location had a tendency to warp. My next stop was one I remembered from the previous trip, the Amtrak station in Carpenteria. This one was extremely important because I remembered 4 Chargepoint plugs, bathrooms, a mini mart, and a beachfront burger joint. I arrived at around 15% charge and discovered, much to my dismay, an EV car plugged into one of the stations. These were shared stations meaning each station has the capacity to deliver 6.6kW total between 2 plugs. In order to get full power I would need to be the only one at the 2 stations. This proved impossible so I plugged in 3 of my chargers into the 2 plugs and set myself to 3/4 charging capacity.

I checked my map to discover I was actually ahead of Brandon but he was closing in fast. I thought he might watch his map and come say hi but instead just blew by on highway 1 at high speeds. 

Sadly my 3/4 charging speeds meant I would need over an hour, so I had a burger at the tiny beachfront joint. It was noon by this point. After I was done there it came time for one of the most enjoyable legs of the trip: Highway 154 to Chumash Casino. This is an absolutely gorgeous twisty road that climbs up and down the mountains and a must for anyone traveling the 101 on a bike. As it ends it spits you out at Chumash Casino which is jam packed with free level 2 charging stations. I plugged in, went inside the casino, and had some sort of asian steamed veggie bowl at the food court so I could feel good about patronizing the establishment. I don't have a photo of this because I was trying to do a facebook livestream but apparently the signal in the garage is insufficient. Refreshed and full of bok choy, I resumed my trek north.

My next stop was the Lowe's parking lot in Santa Maria. I had scouted this out on PlugShare and knew it was a goldmine. 10+ free J stations? Heck yeah. I used to live near another Lowe's that had a similar setup so I was certain this was a good choice. It was. I parked, plugged in, and checked my map. Brandon was a mere 0.3 miles away at the CCS station at a BMW dealership. It was at this point my brother texted us and said he had made a ton of cheeseburgers on the grill and we should hurry home to eat them. I found out later Brandon had not eaten all day and was basically drooling in his helmet the next few hours thinking about burgers. I sat down behind a shaded wall in the parking lot and uploaded the following picture to FaceBook:

This generated a buzz because Brandon was posting about his progress and people realized we were damn close. This, to me, indicated some theatrics were in order. I noted that my batteries were quite warm at 120F, and Zero's safety measures shut them off around 136F. However, the cautious way I was riding meant my batteries cooled down as I rode and warmed up as I SuperCharged. I knew this, and I knew how to keep them from overheating. But I posted like I was concerned about this to generate a little drama. Obviously I was going to win at this point. Brandon was a couple hundred yards away and running out of CCS stations. What chance did he have? In fact, his very last CCS station was next and it only gave 17kW. I topped off, packed up, and headed to Paso Robles.

Because I was so confident in my imminent victory I decided to delay posting of my photos until I was done and packing up rather than having just arrived. I had planned to use a high-power Tesla Destination charger in Paso Robles, but some inconsiderate Tesla owner, no doubt a paying guest of the hotel, was using it instead. Disgusted, I backtracked to the South edge of town and the promise of 4 open ChargePoint stations. There I encountered 2 homeless men keeping out of the sun thanks to a large tree on the south edge of the parking lot. I asked if I could share their shade and struck up a conversation. It was a father, Jim, and his adult son who had fallen on hard times, had been living in a shelter in San Luis Obispo, but took the train up to Paso to visit mom for Mother's Day. We chatted and he charged his phone off my bike. As we talked I checked my map and realized Brandon was literally about to pass by within 50 feet.

"Wait for it," I said to my new friend Jim. About 10 seconds later the banshee wail of the Energica could be detected. Brandon breezed through town, looked right, and gave a friendly wave and beep while heading to his CCS station. Jim was over the moon with newfound excitement. I hope he gets back on his feet.

Despite pulling ~12kW from the 2 ChargePoints, Brandon was fully topped off and heading North before I was even done. This is where it truly got interesting. North of Paso the headwinds kick in STRONG and there was literally no more CCS for Brandon. I planned to stop at a place called The Mill at 43 Olive Ranch which has several Tesla Destination chargers and a Clipper Creek J1772. The final stop would be King City which had a single Chargepoint station. Brandon would have to stop at The Mill to top off before King City, and it was basically all over for him at that point.

I pulled into The Mill to find it totally empty. No Brandon. Turned out he found a nice, fat truck to draft behind and, AGAINST ALL ODDS, made it from Paso to King City in 30mph headwinds on a naked sportbike. Hell, it killed half my battery to get to The Mill a mere 30 miles away. Tiny voices of doubt started to make themselves known. But surely he could only charge at a paltry 3.3kW in King City, right? I was drawing 12kW and could draw 6.6kW once I hit King City which was double his rate.

I cautiously drove to King City. As Brandon pointed out in one of his posts during all of this, the Zero batteries were never meant for this sort of duty. They are meant to be bulletproof. The cells are encased in a flame-retardant epoxy. This keeps them super safe but makes cooling them a bit of a challenge. Running air, water, or ice along the outside does not appreciably lower the temperature of the cells deep in the middle of the pack. They have to naturally dissappate heat. I'm aware of this so I almost never went above 70mph to allow my pack to deal with the constant stress of lugging me and all of Brandon's 6awg charging cables. My batteries never went above 124F which is, as I posted on FaceBook, where stuff gets REALLY fun. The hotter the battery the less resistance there is and in Brandon's bastardized phrasing, more opportunities for 'dank whoolies'.

I arrived in King City. This was our first stop a mere couple days before. We were both around 30% if memory served but I was charging at twice his speed at this point. This was where the biggest decision was made. Brandon assumed he had it in the bag at this point, because the road ahead was Carmel Valley G16, an incredibly twisty difficult path. I have driven this road. I've driven it in both daytime and nighttime. It is completely acceptable in daytime. Welcome, in fact.  In nighttime is is full of families of wild boar crossing the road in packs and moths that suicide into your visor and render it inoperable. No thanks. I opted to stay on Highway 101 to Salinas and deviate to Highway 68 from there. Brandon's smirk shriveled when I told him this. "But.. the twisties are where I have an advantage!" he bemoaned

"I know," I said, "I'm not a complete idiot."

To pass the time we headed to the local diner and consumed our pre-battle milkshakes while Rampage played on the TV

As my Zero SR finished charging, Brandon was only at 74%. He insisted I couldn't leave before him, and some other words I couldn't hear from my helmet as I left before him. I drove to Salinas VERY, very carefully. The headwinds were very strong and constant. I probably never went above 60mph. Up ahead were milestones I knew from months of commuting and were also the most harrowing parts of the journey. I *knew* that at the turnoff I was headed towards I would need 15% battery under normal riding conditions. I reached the turnoff at 14%. I *knew* that it would take me 7% battery to climb Los Laureles Grade to get to the EV station on the other side. I reached the grade at a low 7% and drove it at 30mph, waving any car past me. At the peak of the grade I was casually climbing at 25mph and wondered what would happen if I twisted the throttle all the way. Nothing happened, actually. I crested the peak at 2% and was horrified to remember that regenerative braking doesn't work when you're that low. I coasted all the way down to the EV stations at 2% and found all parking spots were full. Just about to give up I realized only 2 out of 3 cars were actually charging, and the 6.6kW Clipper Creek was open. Carefully I wedged my Zero between the cars without touching them and, with about an inch to spare, plugged into the station for some sweet sweet sip.

I checked my map and Brandon was lost in the deep, dark, receptionless land of Carmel Valley. I *knew* I needed at least 10% from that particular EV station to the finish line, so I opted to charge to 11% and pack up. I checked my phone again and Brandon popped into view less than a mile away. Aw, crap. I hastily packed up my EV cord and avoided hitting the charging Teslas as the unmistakable motor in the Energica passed me. Single lane road. No way to catch and pass him. Double crap. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how we finished within mere minutes of each other. He arrived at 2% battery; I arrived at 1%.

Final thoughts:

I was really pushing the Zero to its limits. Brandon was regularly dumping ridiculous amounts of power both to and from the battery. As long as Zero motorcycles have the 1C limitation on charging they won't be aimed towards any sort of touring. Or, to put it another way, if you plan a day trip that has more than 2 full charge stops, the Zero is probably not the right choice. But this was NEVER what the bike was intended for. I'm literally trying to shove a square peg in a round hole. The Energica battery, on the other hand, is more suited to dissipating heat as Brandon was not only charging at 2C or more, but as he admitted later he was often driving well above the posted speed limit*.

*allegedly

If you are in an area with plentiful level 3 CCS charging, an Energica is an incredibly viable choice for not only a daily commuter, but also for a killer weekend twisty beast. Personally I think we should embrace both. What do you guys think?

Also for real neither side is paying me for this write-up. Both Brandon and I agreed we'd like to do more of these races in the future. If you'd like to get in on this with your electric motorcycle please drop us a line. The more the merrier.

[ctrl-alt-tahu]

A Bionicle Advent Calendar: December 15th (Day 15)

The Prompt: Show one character sobbing into the chest/shoulder of the other when they think they're dead before the presumably dead character wakes up to the sound.

Lariska and Lhikan stole under the cover of darkness to one of the great storehouses of burgeoning Metru Nuva Nui. Hastily erected by Pouks, Pohatu, and Hewkii, it was little more than a giant stone box, but it was solid. It was there that the Matoran had already removed all the contents of Nidhiki’s former dwelling on Metru Nui, when it had become clear that there was a dispute over giving it to Lariska.

The storehouse was guarded, but when Turaga Lhikan approached, the Matoran keeping watch deferred to him with the instinctive respectfulness all Matoran have for Turaga (augmented, perhaps, by his legendary status among the amnesiac Metru Nuian Matoran), and when the door had opened and he passed through, Lariska dropped from the shadows above and entered behind him. The unsuspicious Matoran never even noticed.

Once inside, the door closed behind them, and they were alone. There was no light in the cavernous storehouse, filled with shelves and items in long rows, with occasional cross-aisles. Fire flickered at the end of Lhikan’s staff and by this dim light they scoured the aisles for the scratched out markings indicating where things were stored.

“That’s not a lot of flame,” noted Lariska. “The drop from Toa to Turaga is far.”

“It should be more,” agreed Lhikan, “but after the Red Star, I am a shadow of myself. My return was not… normal. We found some records, before our escape, that suggested that even in ancient times, a returned being might be weaker than they had been before, but none of them wasted away a millennium on the Red Star. I am scarcely more than a Matoran now—though this helps.” He tapped his Hau. “It was kind of Jaller to return me the original.”

He squinted at a particularly shallow etching on the end of the stone shelf in front of them.

“Though I would much prefer a Ruru or Akaku just now, perhaps even a Rau.”

“Aisle 14, Crossway 12,” said Lariska. “I think.”

“Two more, then,” said Lhikan.

Two aisles on, they entered the crossway between aisles and began to check the shelves in front of them. After only a couple minutes, they found a coarse sack on a shelf labelled “Nidhiki-Recovered Effects.” Lariska poured them out on the shelf: a few tools, some armour polish, an empty pot with dusty ancient soil crumbling inside it.

“So much legal drama for so little,” said Lhikan, shaking his head. “Is it here?”

“I don’t know,” said Lariska. She was turning over each item in her hands. She finished with the ancient clay pot.

“Yes,” she nodded, and then slammed the pot on the stone shelf, shattering it. The sound did not travel far, muffled by the many shelves. Lariska held out a small green object covered in a sap-like ichor. The lights of Lhikan’s eyes squinted at it in the darkness.

“His finger,” said Lariska. “In a preservative.”

“I didn’t know he still had fingers at the end,” said Lhikan.

“He didn’t,” said Lariska. “This is from before that—long before that. Did you know that he wanted to leave the Dark Hunters?”

“That is why he was mutated—to cut off that thought from his mind,” said Lhikan.

“I didn’t know either,” said Lariska. “Not till after—then he told me everything. He meant to leave this as a token that he still considered me his friend, his teammate.”

~*~*~*~

Hundreds of years before, Lariska had heard what happened to Nidhiki from the Shadowed One, and sought him on Odina. He had not been easy to find, having fled even the sometimes grotesque society of the Dark Hunters in his disgust at what he had become, but she knew more of his haunts than anyone else, and had found him alone atop a ridge overlooking the ocean—a tough climb for her, but easy for a Toa of Air.

Save that he wasn’t a Toa of Air anymore. Legs split in two, limbs elongated, huge claws where his hands had been, his Volitak melted into his monstrously large head. He didn’t move. Lariska reached out with her right hand—her living hand—and tried to feel lift in him. If he still had a heartlight, she could no longer see it.

“You Piraka!” she swore. “If you’ve given up on me!”

There was a gasp as Nidhiki took an involuntary breath.

“What are you doing?” Lariska demanded to know.

“I haven’t got control of Air anymore,” said Nidhiki. “I… Look at me!”

“You stupid Piraka!” Lariska swore again, ready to hit him. “You were going to leave me here in this hellhole!”

“Well, that’s not happening now,” muttered Nidhiki, but Lariska cuffed him with a slap that woke him up.

“You intended it!”

“I wanted to leave, yes,” said Nidhiki. “This island—not you!”

“Were you ever going to tell me?” asked Lariska. “Or did you mean to abandon me to serving the Shadowed One alone, just as you left the Mangai?” Nidhiki’s new open face did not hide his guilt as the Volitak might once have done.

“I was going to leave you a token,” he said. “I wasn’t just going to forsake you.” He held up a small green object. “A part of me to be with you always.”

~*~*~*~

“Grotesque,” said Lhikan, shaking his head.

“Not everything is pretty and innocent with the Dark Hunters,” said Lariska. “All things considered, I thought it was sweet.”

“And did he give it to you covered in goo?” Lariska laughed.

“No, that is an artefact of a later plan. We preserved it, hoping that having a piece—both mechanical and biological—of his original body, we might be able to find a way to restore his mutations. Now… well, I have higher hopes for this last piece of him. Have you ever heard of a Po-Matoran named Dekar?”

[beca-mitchell]

remember the day, pt. 7

Summary: Fractured, but not completely broken.

Also on AO3.

Word count: 3,192

Recommended songs: Homesick - Dua Lipa; Need You Still - RVRB.

Check out this fic's soundtrack here.

part 1 (intro/prompt) | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12

Chloe spends the next two weeks preparing herself to go back to Los Angeles. She’s going to take part-time courses - though auditing might be a better word - until she feels comfortable enough to head back to work. Her supervisor - academic and professional - had pulled a couple strings.

Chloe supposes she has a rather blessed life. She counts her blessings every night, though the blessings don’t necessarily mean more memories.

And Beca - memories of Beca are her least common memories.

Beca had suggested she listen to “Just A Dream” in her rather abrupt and short reply to Chloe’s email.

Chloe’s not sure what that has to do with the song she had brought up, but she listens to it anyway, wondering if Beca’s completely lost her mind.

The thought briefly makes her laugh to herself humourlessly because Beca’s not the one with memory loss.

The song is good though. She recalls that it came out around the same time as “Just The Way You Are”. It’s like a puzzle Beca is trying to get her to solve, but all she sees are two songs that shouldn’t go together...but they do.

She just doesn’t know how or why - just that they must.

It’s friendship and more, Beca thinks.

Co-captaining the Bellas with Chloe is something akin to a dream and nightmare. She and Chloe have very different styles of teaching and very different styles of music.

Beca is also a little prickly when it comes to her musical taste.

Despite it all, it’s all part of what draws them together and ends up ensuring that they bring home the championship for the second year in a row.

Chloe and her just work well together and she doesn’t allow herself to think beyond that.

(She does her best, really.)

Despite it all, Beca still has a Jesse and that’s that.

Beca picks her up from the airport.

It’s busy as any day in LAX. Chloe grimaces as another traveler bumps into her shoulder apologetically. There’s something messy and incomprehensible about large cities that she’s not sure she understands entirely.

But-

Beca is there, in front of her. She’s holding a little sign that says Chloe’s name with a bright yellow and orange sun drawn in the corner. It kind of looks like it was made by a kid, but it only endears Chloe to Beca more.

“Hello,” Beca says, when Chloe strolls up to her. “Like the sign?”

There is something so charming about Beca when she’s being a complete nerd, Chloe thinks. She briefly wonders how easily she had fallen for Beca’s quiet charm the first time around.

(She only wonders because she thinks she’s falling pretty quickly this time around.

Not that it’s a competition.)

“Hi,” Chloe says, though it’s quiet because it’s all she can muster. The pressure changes in the cabin, though minimal, had not helped her migraine. Standing in front of Beca now, the migraine only intensifies, even as the rest of her is assaulted by the sheer emotion she feels welling up inside of her whenever she so much breathes near Beca.

Beca looks like she’s conflicted. She lowers the sign and holds out a hand tentatively like she’s either about to shake Chloe’s hand or offer to help her with her bag.

Chloe decides that she’s going to make this decision for both of them. She grabs Beca’s arm and pulls her in for a crushing hug, feeling some weight evaporate off her chest instantly.

Chloe presses her face as best as she can against Beca’s shoulder, wrapping her arms around Beca’s body. She tries not to inhale too greedily; tries not to focus too much on the possessive press of Beca’s hands against her back; tries to resist the urge to tilt her face and just press the barest kiss against Beca’s neck.

Beca wonders what the protocol is here - what she is meant to do or say when she’s finally holding Chloe in her arms again after two months of nothing.

"I missed you," Chloe whispers.

Then again, Chloe dives in like she always has. Beca feels herself melt a little more into the hug, uncaring that people are jostling around them or that her sign has floated to the ground.

"I missed you, too," Beca says, reaching a hand up to tangle gently into Chloe’s hair, holding her tighter. More securely.

When Chloe pulls back, she smiles at Beca’s dazed expression. Beca’s hands slide from her body, slowly, as if she wants the moment to linger.

She clears her throat. “Need some help with that?” Beca asks.

“Um, sure. Just...let me…” she kneels, rifling through her bag for her migraine prescription.

Beca immediately looks concerned and she puts a hand on Chloe’s arm, stopping her. “What’s wrong? Why do you need that?”

“Nothing, just...migraine.”  

Beca nods, but keeps her eyes lasered on Chloe the whole walk to the car that’s waiting for them.

The fact that Beca has a driver is not lost on her.

Still, she’s not in a mood to question it. She gets into the back, immediately sighing when the cool and plush leather soothes her aching back. Beca follows and immediately turns to face her.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Beca asks quietly.

Beca’s concern is touching.

Chloe nods as best as she can, reclining against the car seat. Beca’s hand is comfortably on her knee and her thumb is slowly stroking at Chloe’s skin. It’s the most relaxed Chloe has felt in ages. "I'm okay," she responds as truthfully as she can.

Beca isn’t particularly convinced and she opens her mouth to ask once more, but Chloe grabs her hand and intertwines their fingers.

Briefly, before she dozes off for nap in the heavy Los Angeles traffic, Chloe recalls that Beca tends to get carsick when she’s riding in the backseat. She’s not even completely sure where the thought comes from or if it’s even true, but it makes her squeeze Beca’s hand just once before she slips away.

Beca squeezes back, she thinks.

Chloe agrees to stay in Beca’s - their - guest bedroom until her place is completely finalized. She’s renting a nice-enough place in Van Nuys, not too far from their previously shared condo in Sherman Oaks.

Stepping into their home again is like learning how to breathe again after being underground.

Except, it’s more like Chloe sucks in gasps of air, trying to figure out how to deal with every emotion running through her body.

Beca is experiencing more or less the same - though she has learned how to live with this emptiness a little bit sooner. She wheels Chloe’s gigantic luggage off into the corner before coming to steady Chloe on her feet. “Woah. Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Chloe says, before shaking her head. “I mean...I guess I was just overwhelmed.”

Beca tries not to look too eager. “Was it a memory?”

Chloe hates that she has to tell her the truth. “No, not really. Just...a feeling.” She gazes around, trying to ground herself once more. She settles, slightly.

Her eyes land on a framed photo of them together, kissing in front of the castle at Disneyland.

God.

They were so fucking happy.

Beca’s eyes catch her line of sight and she quickly takes the photo. “I’m sorry - I was going to put that away.”

The fact that Beca apologizes for having a photo of them out, it just about breaks Chloe’s heart.

“You don’t have to do that,” she says quickly. “I don’t mind.”

Beca slowly lowers the photo, though she kind of holds it close to her chest still. “I...I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, Chlo. Especially if you still can’t remember.” Beca looks down, almost reverently at the photo before looking back up at Chloe with an equal if not more passionate gaze. “I want this to work between us, okay?”

It has something Beca has considered and come to terms with: the idea that Chloe may never fully recover her memories.

But the fact remains, Chloe is here now, standing in front of Beca with a willingness and openness and desire to live . It’s all Beca needs to know that somehow they’re going to make it.

“It’s weird,” Chloe says, trying to play off the rising self-doubt, as Beca carefully puts the photo back down. “I- I feel like I need to be worthy of you again first.”

She’s trying to be more honest - more clear with her thoughts. It is meant to help her with her mental organization and communication, but all she sees is the heartbreak that flashes across Beca’s face.

“You are worthy of me,” Beca says with broken conviction. Her voice catches as her stream of consciousness just flows out of her. She has always been a little bit low on her self-restraint around Chloe Beale. “No matter where you are in your life, you always have been. Where would I be without you? You’re worth a thousand of me. You’re a much better person than I am.”

“Hey,” Chloe cuts in, immediately hating that kind of self-deprecation, especially when she knows how untrue it is.

“No, yeah, okay, I get it, you know? We both need time. I’ve been telling myself that over and over since...since Portland.” Beca seems to be speaking quicker and quicker. Chloe doesn’t know how to stop her. “You need more time. Take all the time you need. I'll…wait for you.”

You’re the love of my life.

The thought flies through Beca’s mind and she grasps at it, trying to contain it. Beca’s not sure how she let herself lose control so fast. “You’re worth all the time in the world,”  she says, ending on a whimper.

“Beca,” Chloe begins, feeling stricken.

“But,” Beca continues, looking frantically hopeful and desperately sad all at once. “You’re here and we can start there, okay?” She doesn’t bother wiping her tears, instead turning towards the kitchen hastily. “I’m gonna grab dinner from the fridge and we can-”

“Please,” Chloe whispers, taking two steps to engulf Beca in her arms. Beca trembles even as Chloe rests her forehead against the back of Beca’s head.

They must stand there for seconds, but it feels like an entire lifetime. Chloe closes her eyes and just breathes, taking in the feeling of being with Beca again - this Beca who she is building from old memories and new ones, all wrapped up in one.

“Please,” she repeats, when Beca turns slowly in her arms. Her hands come up to cup Chloe’s neck and for brief second, Chloe thinks, maybe-

Beca just buries her face against Chloe’s shoulder, hugging her close.

She doesn’t quite finish the sentiment because Beca’s tears touch her neck and she does her best to hold herself together.

Please don’t cry.

Please don’t give up on me.

The first night they spend in their new place, Chloe cheerfully pops open an expensive bottle of wine Beca had been saving for a future trip up to see Chloe’s parents or her mother.

Ignoring her protests, Chloe pours them both healthy glasses and corralls Beca out onto the balcony. Beca kind of just wants to lie down after moving all day.

“Why,” Beca says, deadpan.

“Because,” Chloe replies, gently pressing her body against Beca’s back, holding them both steady against the balcony. She rests her chin on Beca’s shoulder. “The sunset is beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful,” Beca retorts, with attitude.

Chloe clucks in her ear before gently kissing at one of her piercings. It makes her shiver, even though California is so ridiculously warm. “Stole my line.”

“Tell me, then.”

“You already know,” Chloe whispers, before tilting her head as best as she can.

Beca meets her halfway.

  It has to be the wine. Chloe’s not sure where the apologies or conversation pour out from.

They’re leaning against the railing of the tiny balcony, watching the sky’s changing colours as best as they can. Chloe wonders how many evenings were spent watching sunsets in this very spot.

“I’m sorry,” Chloe repeats, tasting guilt on her tongue. Beca still looks a little emotional. She quickly takes a sip of wine.

“Please stop apologizing,” Beca says, swirling the last bit of wine around in her glass. “It was a good thing I left, okay?” She sighs, pushing her sunglasses up to her head. Her eyes still feel a little swollen and teary from earlier, but she wants to look at Chloe without the obstruction of a lens. She misses looking at Chloe.

“I know,” Chloe mumbles. “I just…” She’s not sure.

“I was afraid,” Beca says softly. “I thought it was my fault, you know.”

“Why?”

“I thought I was the one who...I thought I hurt you,” Beca explains. The memory of seeing Chloe on the floor is still burned into her mind. “I thought I was trying to force you to remember things and it was just...hurting you.”

“You thought you hurt me?” Chloe asks. The thought never really occurred to her.

“When you...when we fought, you looked like I had just ruined your life. I was terrified that you were going to hate me.”

“I could never hate you.” It comes out on instinct, like it is her body’s natural reaction to hearing that from Beca.

A hint of a smile graces Beca’s face. “You were so upset. I realized it was wrong of me to go to Portland, especially when we both weren’t ready.”

Chloe remains quiet at that. She supposes Beca has a point.

“I was pretty selfish, wasn’t I?” Beca laughs a little. “God, when will I stop fucking crying? I’m sorry.”

“If I don’t get to apologize to you, you don’t get to apologize to me. Not anymore.”

“Yeah, okay. I can do that. Let’s do that.” Beca laughs, a little weakly, but mostly in relief. She feels lighter, somehow. Chloe has always known what to say in her moments of distress. “Let’s stop apologizing. Want to do that?”

“Sure,” Chloe says, clinking her glass against Beca’s, meeting her halfway as she always has.

They drink in silence, the remains of their dinner forgotten.

Still, Chloe burns with curiosity when she watches Beca’s profile. The gentle reds and pinks of the sunset highlight Beca’s features beautifully.

“What’s something you miss?” Chloe asks tentatively. She’s not sure how much of herself she can give to Beca - not yet, at least.

“What do you mean?” Beca asks, even though she kind of gets it.

“I...What do you miss about me?”

Then, or now, Beca wants to ask. She feels guilt and pain rise up in her at the thought. She could go on and on - maybe starting with how much she absolutely misses just comfortably waking up next to Chloe and kissing her. Or sliding her hand up her stomach, simply to hold her.

Beca laughs at how unexpectedly she feels the pain rise up inside her. “How long do you have?" she asks before she can stop herself. Chloe doesn't quite flinch, but the pained expression on her face is enough to make Beca double back. "I'm sor- I don’t know," she says quickly. "I guess...your singing, I guess. You used to...sing to me. Sing with me. A lot,” she emphasizes, trying to laugh it off. "And that was long after we left school and the Bellas."

Chloe tries not to think about how she hasn’t really sung since the accident, feeling self-conscious more than anything. She wants to return to the topic of the Bellas a bit later, but for now...

She fiddles with her phone, wondering if Beca wants her to sing still, or whether that had been some sacred tradition that she used to do with her when Chloe was in love with her.

“Do you want me to sing for you?” Chloe asks quietly. “I - I can.”

It’s the hesitance that really throws Beca - especially when once upon a time, all Chloe did was sing. She literally burst into Beca’s shower to sing with her.

It makes Beca feel greedy for some semblance of happiness again, even if it comes in these bits and scraps she’s picking up along the way. “Do you…” she hesitates. “Do you know Titanium?” It has to be about seven years old by now.

Chloe brightens and nods, suddenly feeling a thrum of excitement suddenly inside her chest. “I’ve been listening to music from those years in between. Sia, right?”

“And David Guetta,” Beca corrects automatically. If she closes her eyes she can pretend this is rehash of her freshman year. “Have you been living under a rock?” she murmurs quietly, not really expecting Chloe to hear it or understand that reference.

Chloe laughs at that, having heard it evidently. She nudges Beca's ankle with her foot gently. “No,” she responds. “Just a little forgetful.”

Beca slides her sunglasses back on her face and leans back while Chloe clears her throat. She doesn’t want Chloe to see her cry.

However, when Chloe opens her mouth to sing, Beca is transfixed.  

Chloe’s eyes are locked on her, like there is absolutely nowhere else she’d rather be. Her voice is soft, a little tremulous, and maybe a little hesitant, but she is clear and sounds as beautiful as ever.

I'm bulletproof nothing to lose Fire away, fire away Ricochet, you take your aim Fire away, fire away

Beca can’t resist - she never was able to resist an impromptu duet with Chloe Beale and she’s not about to stop now, not when they both need this more than ever.

The surprise in Chloe’s eyes when she harmonizes is fleeting because her gaze grows warm and soft, sending butterflies scattering somewhere in Beca’s stomach. She flushes under the warm California heat, wondering how it came to this - how things could have worked out this way.

The chorus comes to a close and Chloe pauses, like she’s not sure whether she should continue. She shifts, facing Beca more fully. “Was that okay?” she asks, sounding more nervous than Beca can recall hearing, ever.

Her eyes are filled with light and a beauty that Beca can’t quite recall seeing in recent months - at least, not to this extent. It makes her suck in a breath. “You sounded beautiful,” she murmurs, resisting the urge to draw Chloe into her arms and kiss her, right there on the balcony, in plain sight of her nosy neighbours.

Chloe is quiet, before she coughs. “I guess I’m a little rusty. I haven't sang since...” She doesn't need to rehash that particular memory.

Beca scoffs, though it loses some of its bite when she sniffles a little after. “You were perfect.” She ignores the waver in her voice. “You are perfect.”

It’s true. It is the inspiration Beca has been missing - the little spark of love and magic that she needs to get her through the day at work. Chloe has always been that for her and, not that Beca expected anything different, but she’s immensely pleased that she still is.

Her voice, soft and directed straight at Beca - it had been so intimate and familiar. Akin to having Chloe in her arms on a quiet Saturday morning. Akin to Chloe kissing her on the cheek after a long day at work.

“What?” she asks quietly, when she notices that Chloe is continuing to stare at her.

“I...nothing. It’s just, we sound good together. Just the two of us.”

She half expects Chloe to implore her to audition for the Bellas.

Beca wonders if the pain ever really numbs - if it ever really goes away.

It really is quite the experience, falling in love with the same person twice.

She reaches for Chloe’s hand. “We do, don’t we?”

tbc // fic tag