#excavator hunter

[fishnchip3011]

my pookums

[dragonsongmakhali]

Does your OC have an enemy? What happened between them? Is it mutual or one-sided? Is it petty or serious? Is one party seeking revenge? Does one person want the other dead or are they content to hate them from afar?

Makhali doesn't have any enemies - that she knows of. She tends to forget slights rather quickly, opting to avoid confrontation in favor of group coherence. Even if something truly bothers her, she's generally pretty good at putting on a good face and training it out later. It takes a large transgression to get her truly angry - and being that these sorts of transgressions are often physical harm against her or her friends, that generally ends in deadly violence.

That doesn't mean that she hasn't rubbed people the wrong way throughout her life, though, and there are those that still harbor grudges against the auri woman to this day. Sometimes, it's for something as simple as an allagan relic falling into her hands rather than theirs (she was simply there first, she opines, it's a risk of the profession), though that doesn't usually draw up any assassination contracts on her. Other times, it's more personal - she left a lot behind when she chose to leave the Steppe, people included - but they don't want her dead.

Thank you for the ask @oh-yeah-no! :D

[probablyasocialecologist]

There is a growing body of physiological, anatomical, ethnographic, and archaeological evidence to suggest that not only did women hunt in our evolutionary past, but they may well have been better suited for such an endurance-dependent activity. We are both biological anthropologists. I (co-author Cara) specialize in the physiology of humans who live in extreme conditions, using my research to reconstruct how our ancestors may have adapted to different climates. And I (co-author Sarah) study Neanderthal and early modern human health. I also excavate at their archaeological sites. It’s not uncommon for scientists like us—who attempt to include the contributions of all individuals, regardless of sex and gender, in reconstructions of our evolutionary past—to be accused of rewriting the past to fulfill a politically correct, woke agenda. The actual evidence speaks for itself, though: Gendered labor roles did not exist in the Paleolithic era, which lasted from 3.3 million years ago until 12,000 years ago. The story is written in human bodies, now and in the past.

[...]

Our Neanderthal cousins, a group of humans who lived across Western and Central Eurasia approximately 250,000 to 40,000 years ago, formed small, highly nomadic bands. Fossil evidence shows females and males experienced the same bony traumas across their bodies—a signature of a hard life hunting deer, aurochs, and woolly mammoths. Tooth wear that results from using the front teeth as a third hand, likely in tasks like tanning hides, is equally evident across females and males. This nongendered picture should not be surprising when you imagine small-group living. Everyone needs to contribute to the tasks necessary for group survival—chiefly, producing food and shelter, and raising children. Individual mothers are not solely responsible for their children; in forager communities, the whole group contributes to child care. You might imagine this unified labor strategy then changed in early modern humans, but archaeological and anatomical evidence shows it did not. Upper Paleolithic modern humans leaving Africa and entering Europe and Asia show very few sexed differences in trauma and repetitive motion wear. One difference is more evidence of “thrower’s elbow” in males than females, though some females shared these pathologies. And this was also the time when people were innovating with hunting technologies like atlatls (spear throwers), fishing hooks and nets, and bow and arrows—alleviating some of the wear and tear hunting would take on their bodies. A recent archaeological experiment found that using atlatls decreased sex differences in the speed of spears thrown by contemporary men and women. Even in death, there are no sexed differences in how Neanderthals or modern humans buried their dead or the goods affiliated with their graves. These indicators of differential gendered social status do not arrive until agriculture, with its stratified economic system and monopolizable resources. All this evidence suggests Paleolithic women and men did not occupy differing roles or social realms.

[nahoney22]

My Honeyyy, it's me again🥰

I have another request if that's okay. I was wondering if you could write something with Tech x female reader? The bad batch go out to like a casino or the beach or something to have fun and at first Tech feels out of place, but then reader helps him come out of his shell and have fun and enjoy the day? Pre-TBB era and including the other three boys as well if that's okay.❤️

Love you so much❤️🫶🏻

At the Seashore

Tech X F!Reader

word count: 1.9k

A trip to the beach was well needed amount the Batch but thrown out of his comfort, Tech is not best pleased. So what can you do to help and will some feelings be shared?

warnings: safe for work, female reader, friends to lovers, interrupting and brotherly bickerings but mostly fluff 😊

authors note: thank you for another request darling! Sorry for the wait and enjoy 🤍

Under the scorching sun and with the soft white sand beneath your toes, you recline on the sunbed, savoring the serene sound of tropical waves caressing the shore. But amidst this idyllic scene, the unmistakable sounds of Hunter, Crosshair, Tech, and Wrecker engaged in bickering pierces the tranquility. And your brief moment of peace.

Scarcely two minutes into your well-deserved relaxation, your name resonates through the air. Despite your initial attempt to feign ignorance as if you didn’t hear them, you can't escape the shadow cast over you. With a deep sigh, you lift your shades to rest on your forehead, and your gaze meets Tech's. You tilt your head up. "Is there a problem?"

"Wrecker insists on digging a hole," Tech replies matter-of-factly.

You blink in response. "And?"

"I fail to discern the merit of excavating sand," Tech states plainly. It's obvious that Tech, out of his element at the beach, struggles to grasp the essence of relaxation and enjoyment. He's far removed from his usual domain of gadgets and intricate machinery, unaccustomed to the simple pleasures of leisure.

You offer a reassuring smile. "It's just a bit of fun, Tech." You slip your shades back over your eyes, reclining once more with your arms outstretched beneath your head. "Why don't you try building a sandcastle or something?" You gesture dismissively, but Tech responds with a disdainful scoff.

"That would be a squandering of my skills and time," he retorts, folding his arms across his chest and surveying the beach for something, anything that might pique his interest. Yet, it appears that nothing does.

With Tech's persistent presence and the likelihood of having little time for relaxation, you decide to make the best of the situation by involving him. Sitting up, you ponder for a moment and then propose, "How about a swim?"

As you look Tech over, you notice he's wearing swimming trunks and has begrudgingly left his usual attire behind. It's a rare sight to see him out of his usual Tech gear, and you appreciate the change, even if his expression lacks enthusiasm. "Perhaps," he replies, "although swimming does not particularly interest me either."

Determined to find an activity that suits both of you, you stand up, slip on your sandals, and throw on a beach shirt over your swimsuit. You beckon for Tech to follow.

“Where are we going?”

"You'll see. If swimming, digging holes, or building sandcastles don't appeal to you, maybe this will be more to your liking."

Tech watches you with intrigue as you walk off, stepping over Wreckers hole that he was starting to dig with Hunter all the while Crosshair lazed on the sand with not a care in the world. But, Tech follows.

On the way, you both made small talk. You and Tech got on well but not to the point where conversations naturally flowed. Usually your chats are to do with battle plans and what he needed you to get when you offered to do supply runs. So, it surprised you a little when he seemed genuinely interested in how you were and finding things lately.

The lively chatter however dwindles as your destination comes into view.

Before you, a rocky beach stretches out, and as you stand, hands on hips, your initial excitement wanes upon witnessing Tech's thoroughly unimpressed expression. "What's wrong?"

"You've brought us to yet another beach," Tech observes flatly.

"Yeah, but this one's different. It's got rocks," you point out, hoping to pique his interest.

Tech adjusts his goggles and gives you a skeptical look. "And you believe this would be more beneficial for me?"

Exasperated, you seize Tech's hand before he can protest and pull him forward. Your footsteps crunch against the scattered stones, shells, and pebbles littering the beach's southern side.

"There's a lot you can discover among these rocks," you explain, stooping to pick up a rock and handing it to him.

Tech remains unconvinced. "I'm acquainted with the properties of most rocks and stones, but I fail to see the amusement or fascination in this," he remarks. However, noticing your hand still held by his own, he swiftly apologises after you ask for your hand back and releases it, displaying a faintly bashful expression that you decide to overlook as you move forward. Just for now.

Undeterred, you pick up another, slightly larger rock, and with a gesture, ask for the rock again.

After he promptly releases it, you manage to crack the rock open against another, revealing its inner properties. "See?" you say, hoping to spark his curiosity. "Can you identify what this is?" You point to the intricate details within.

Tech examines it closely, his interest visibly piqued. "I'm not entirely certain… I've never encountered anything like this before."

Encouraged by his intrigue, you gesture toward the expanse of rocks around you. "Well, there are many more to explore and learn about. I assume you brought your datapad with you?"

He responds with a subtle scoff, reaching into his trunk shorts' pocket and producing the datapad with a casual wave. "I never go anywhere without it."

As hours pass, a part of you yearns to return to the sandy shores and witness the inevitable impressive hole Wrecker has surely dug by now. However, another part relishes the quiet moments spent alone with Tech.

After each exploration of a rock or stone, Tech approaches you, offering detailed insights gleaned from thorough scans. It proves to be surprisingly informative and captivating.

While you are examining some shells, a glistening object catches your eye. Crouching down, you sift through coarse sand, shells and pebbles until you uncover a beautiful jewel.

"Looks like you have found a pearl," Tech comments from behind you, momentarily startling you. He crouches beside you and scans the pearl with his device. "A valuable one, indeed."

"Really?" you ask, surprised, twirling the pearl in your palm. "It's so pretty."

"And so are you."

"What?" you inquire, caught off guard.

"Hm?" Tech turns to you, wide-eyed, realising the compliment slipped effortlessly from his mouth.

You gaze at him, equally surprised, but a grin lights up your eyes as you know Tech often spoke aloud regardless of anything and was not one to tell fibs. "You just said I'm pretty."

Tech inhales deeply, his gaze momentarily averted as he navigates through his whirlwind of thoughts, considering whether to retract his words. Yet, he questions why he should. "I suppose I did," he admits, clearing his throat and glancing between you, the pearl, and his device. "Because it is true."

Your heart flutters, genuinely touched by his sincerity. It's been a while since anyone has offered such a compliment, and today, you find yourself leaning a bit more emotionally towards Tech. "Thank you," you reply softly, maintaining eye contact, "I think you're pretty handsome too."

Behind his yellow-tinted goggles, Tech's eyes widen, a shallow breath escaping his lips. "You don't need to say that just because I did."

"But I genuinely mean it," you affirm, and as Tech meets your gaze again, an almost imperceptible force draws you both closer.

Suddenly, the crashing waves become distant as your focus narrows to him, noticing the subtle way his eyes trace the contours of your lips.

In that sudden and somewhat surreal moment, as both of you lean in closer, the warmth of Tech's breath brushes against your face until—

"What are you two doing?"

Startled, you both quickly pull away, straightening up as Hunter, Wrecker, and Crosshair approach across the pebbled shore. Your hands tremble slightly, and Tech appears a bit perturbed by the sudden interruption, finding it challenging to meet your gaze.

"We found a pearl. Or rather, she found a pearl," Tech states nonchalantly, gesturing towards you while burying himself in his datapad once more. You're grateful for his understated response. You didn’t want the others to catch on to what just transpired—or what could have transpired, for that matter.

As Wrecker enthusiastically invites everyone to check out his hole, he slings his arm around your shoulder, drawing you into a side hug to inspect the treasure in your hand. "Is that it?" he asks, pointing at the small bead, earning a playful eye roll from you.

"The hole isn't that impressive, Wrecker," Crosshair comments with folded arms, provoking a snide response from Hunter.

"Bet if you made that hole, you wouldn't be saying that," Hunter retorts with a smirk before turning his attention to the pearl in your hand. "Huh, is it valuable, Tech? We could sell it."

Your heart sinks at Hunter's words but you’re not naive enough to understand why he would be interested in getting it sold. The GAR isn’t paying all too well recently so some extra credits would go a long way.

Tech, understanding the potential financial strain on the group, acknowledges the pearl's value. "Yes, it is rather valuable," he confirms, tucking away his datapad as he joins you and Hunter. However, as he looks at you, he can't ignore the silent plea in your eyes. "But only to very rare sellers. It's best to put it back where it came from."

Hunter scrutinises Tech for a moment, glancing between you two. You make a conscious effort to avoid eye contact, attempting to keep your heartbeat steady so he didn’t sense it.

"Very well," Hunter concedes, though a hint of skepticism lingers. "Are you two done here? We should start heading back to the ship."

"Yeah, we've had a good day. Even Crosshair," you tease, earning a rare chuckle from the usually stoic sniper. "And I want to check out the hole Wrecker dug anyway."

As the others begin to walk back, Tech nods to Hunter, signaling their imminent departure. The weighty unspoken tension between you and Tech lingers in the air, a thick reminder of the almost-kiss and Tech's choice to lie for your sake.

Silent, the two of you walk side by side, both seemingly on the verge of saying something. "Do you still have the pearl?" Tech breaks the silence, prompting you to halt and examine the pearl resting in your palm.

"Yeah. Do you want it?" You offer it to him, extending your hand. With the gentlest touch, he closes his hand over yours, folding your fingers to conceal the pearl within your grasp.

"You should keep it. You gave me something to focus on today," Tech remarks, a small, sweet smile gracing his lips. "I appreciate the effort you put in."

"And I have to thank you for not letting Hunter sell it… it’ll be a good reminder of today.”

Tech releases a breath he didn't realise he was holding, stealing a glance at the rhythmic crash of the soft waves. A surge of sudden courage propels him to voice what he had been contemplating. "Though I do believe the day would have ended better if…"

You observe him closely, your heart racing, sensing his unspoken desire. "If what?" you gently urge him on.

"If we did kiss," he blurts out, taken aback by his own admission. But the emotions he's been harboring are too potent to ignore.

You chew on your lip, feeling the shy but undeniable urge to heed Tech's request.

Slowly, you lift a hand to his cheek, leaning in as your lips meet his. He responds, arms wrapping instinctively around you, pulling you close. He’s timid but eases into the kiss like an expert.

You didn’t even care if the others turned around and saw, it was just the perfect end to a good day.

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[andmaybegayer]

roasted some of those hazelnuts. Made me go hunt down that quote from that forest gardens of Europe blog post:

Hazel was the original Tree of Life for Mesolithic Europeans. The nuts are about 60% fat and 20% carbohydrates, and contain a wide range of proteins, vitamins and minerals - a few handfuls can cover most of a person’s daily energy needs. Its branches, tall and flexible but slender enough to cut with a flint axe, were used for tools and firewood. Mesolithic thatched huts were often made with hazelwood beams. From cradle to grave, the people of Mesolithic Europe relied on hazel more than any other single plant. Excavations of habitation sites from this period can turn up hundreds of thousands of roasted hazelnut shells. For over five thousand years, this single plant was the lifegiver to nearly all of Europe’s people.”

— Max Paschall, The Lost Forest Gardens of Europe

I can believe it! I've eaten like, half of these and they're filling. If you were a mesolithic hunter gatherer you could really get a lot done with this shit.

[ardafanonarch]

Hi there! This blog is a very cool concept.

If you feel up to it, I'd like to know where the idea of Maedhros as a diplomat and scholar comes from.

In fic he's often portrayed as such in Valinor, serving at Finwë's court, sometimes being close with Fingolfin, bring into linguistics, etc.

Thank you!

Maedhros the Diplomat (with an Addendum on Maedhros the Scholar)

[~3.4k Words]

Ah, Maedhros. A treasure trove of fanon for our first excavation. As this is also our first investigation of characterisation, let’s establish a structure for talking about characters.

There are two ways that we learn what a character is like from The Silmarillion:

The narrator tells us, either: a. with short, pithy statements (someone is “wise” or “steadfast” or “greatest”) b. with longer descriptions

We deduce character from their actions and their relationships to others.

Using this structure, let’s look briefly as what we know about Maedhros.

1a.

Maedhros isn’t “mightiest in skill of word and hand” like his father or “the strongest, the most steadfast, and the most valiant” like Fingolfin. He isn’t even noted as being particularly good at anything like his brothers Maglor “the mighty singer,” Curufin “who inherited most if his father’s skill of hand,” or Celegorm, Amrod, and Amras who were all skilled hunters. He’s not even noteworthy for any negative traits like Caranthir, “the harshest of the brothers and the most quick to anger.”

Despite being one of the story’s protagonists, and certainly the most narratively prominent of the sons of Fëanor, all Maedhros gets in this category is “tall”[1].

1b.

In this category, Maedhros gets more fully fleshed-out:

[At Lake Mithrim] Maedhros in time was healed; for the fire of life was hot within him, and his strength was of the ancient world, such as those possessed who were nurtured in Valinor. His body recovered from his torment and became hale, but the shadow of his pain was in his heart; and he lived to wield his sword with left hand more deadly than his right had been. The Silmarillion, “Of the Return of the Noldor”

Maedhros did deeds of surpassing valour, and the Orcs fled before his face; for since his torment upon Thangorodrim his spirit burned like a white fire within, and he was as one that returns from the dead. The Silmarillion, “Of the Ruin of Beleriand”

Perhaps one of the most striking descriptions of Maedhros comes from an abandoned alliterative verse poem, The Flight of the Noldoli (=Noldor), published in The Lays of Beleriand and dating to 1925 — about a year before Tolkien first put the “Silmarillion” into a prose format in the annalistic-historical mode of the published text.

... and Maidros tall (the eldest, whose ardour yet more eager burnt than his father’s flame, than Fëanor’s wrath; him fate awaited with fell purpose.) Flight of the Noldoli, lines 123-126

Fire, valour, pain, deadliness, wrath, doom. Taken alone, these passages don’t exactly suggest "diplomat and scholar," yet those qualities are a cornerstone how we often see Maedhros discussed and portrayed by fans. So why?

2.

Maedhros the Diplomat, at least, seems to be based on what he does in canon.

Pausing for a moment, what does it actually mean to be "diplomatic"?

Here’s from Merriam-Webster under diplomatic:

[…]

of, relating to, or concerned with the art and practice of conducting negotiations between nations: of, relating to, or concerned with diplomacy or diplomats.

employing tact and conciliation especially in situations of stress

And for diplomacy:

the art and practice of conducting negotiations between nations

skill in handling affairs without arousing hostility: TACT

It’s worth noting that the first use of the word diplomacy dates to the 18th century (1766) and the concept itself is somewhat anachronistic to the pre-modern world of the “Silmarillion.” However, it’s not difficult to apply the spirit of an “art and practice of negotiations between nations” to First Age Beleriand. We’ll also consider the secondary definition of “tact.”

The Case for Maedhros the Diplomat

Let's look at some times that Maedhros practiced diplomacy and was diplomatic:

1. Waiving his claim to the kingship of the Noldor in favour of Fingolfin:

For Maedhros begged forgiveness for the desertion in Araman; and he waived his claim to kingship over all the Noldor, saying to Fingolfin: ‘If there lay no grievance between us, lord, still the kingship would rightly come to you, the eldest here of the house of Finwë, and not the least wise.’ The Silmarillion, “Of the Return of the Noldor”

Is this an instance of diplomacy? Yes: resolving conflict by removing one’s own claim to a title.

Is it diplomatic? The dialogue seems pretty tactful — demonstrating deference, employing flattery and logic — and is definitely an improvement on Fëanor’s approach to the contested kingship!

2. Brother-wrangling

There are two significant instances of this in the Silmarillion:

resolving conflict

After an argument breaks out between Angrod and Caranthir over Angrod’s authority to act as messenger to Thingol, “Maedhros indeed rebuked Caranthir … But Maedhros restrained his brothers, and they departed from the council…" (“Of the Return of the Noldor”)

Is this an instance of diplomacy? Yes: removing threats to peaceable relations between rulers.

Is it diplomatic? Since we don’t know exactly how Maedhros rebuked Caranthir and restrained his brothers, it’s hard to say how tactfully it was done. Maybe.

removing to the Eastern march

There Maedhros and his brothers kept watch, gathering all such people as would come to them, and they had few dealings with their kinsfolk westward, save at need. It is said indeed that Maedhros himself devised this plan, to lessen the chances of strife, and because he was very willing that the chief peril of assault should fall upon himself. The Silmarillion, “Of the Return of the Noldor”

Is this an instance of diplomacy? Yes: again removing threats to peaceable relations between rulers. Also involves gathering followers. Notably, the strategy seems to have worked for as long as it lasted (that is, until Celegorm and Curufin found themselves in Nargothrond).

Is it diplomatic? Again, unclear how Maedhros executed this plan, but the narrator’s tone here is quite approving so it’s reasonable to assume that it was done tactfully.

3. Remaining on good terms with the other Princes of the Noldor

A few examples of this:

Continuing from the preceding passage, “he remained for his part in friendship with the houses of Fingolfin and Finarfin, and would come among them at times for common counsel.” (“Of the Noldor in Beleriand”)

Is this an instance of diplomacy? Yes.

Is it diplomatic? Yes: extra diplomacy points for taking it upon himself to go to them.

He (with Maglor) attended Mereth Aderthad, the Feast of Reuniting. (“Of the Noldor in Beleriand”)

Is this an instance of diplomacy? Yes, though showing up to the High King’s peace party seems like pretty bare minimum lordly behaviour, not exemplary diplomacy.

Is it diplomatic? We don’t know except through the absence of any evidence to the contrary. Since the Mereth Aderthad was overall a diplomatic success, it’s reasonable to assume Maedhros contributed to that success and stayed on his best behaviour.

He (with Maglor) goes hunting with Finrod. (“Of the Coming of Men into the West”)

Is this an instance of diplomacy? Sure: a leisurely hunting trip with the cousin whose kin you once killed (oops) is a good move.

Is it diplomatic? Again, lacking evidence to the contrary, reasonable to assume Maedhros behaved himself and the trip went off without conflict.

Remaining on good terms in particular with “Fingon, ever the friend of Maedhros” (“Of the Fifth Battle: Nirnaeth Arnoediad”). The anecdote about the history of the Dragon-helm (below), which has it pass from Maedhros to Fingon, additionally attests that these two “often exchanged tokens of friendship.”

Is this an instance of diplomacy? Yes: in particular, the exchange of tokens of friendship between rulers.

Is it diplomatic? Unless we imagine Fingon was himself tactless (which is contradicted by what we’re told about him elsewhere) and their friendship was built around being mutually despicable (see: Celegorm and Curufin), fair to assume this was all done courteously.

4. Making alliances

with the Sindar

We know that many Sindar outside Doriath joined themselves to and followed the princes of the Noldor, presumably including the sons of Fëanor. (The Grey Annals §48 in The History of Middle-earth Vol. 11: The Wars of the Jewels, and elsewhere).

with the Dwarves

In the preparations for the Nirnaeth Arnoediad:

... Maedhros had the help of the Naugrim, both in armed force and in great store of weapons; and the smithies of Nogrod and Belegost were busy in those days. The Silmarillion, “Of the Fifth Battle: Nirnaeth Arnoediad”

Also, from the Narn i hîn Húrin in Unfinished Tales:

[The Dragon-helm of Dor-lómin] was given by Azaghâl to Maedhros, as guerdon for the saving of his life and treasure, when Azaghâl was waylaid by Orcs upon the Dwarf-road in East Beleriand.

Azaghâl then sacrifices himself and his people at the Nirnaeth, making the Fëanorian retreat possible.

with the Easterlings

But Maedhros, knowing the weakness of the Noldor and the Edain, whereas the pits of Angband seemed to hold store inexhaustible and ever-renewed, made alliance with these new-come Men, and gave his friendship to the greatest of their chieftains, Bor and Ulfang. And Morgoth was well content; for this was as he had designed. The sons of Bor were Borlad, Borlach, and Borthand; and they followed Maedhros and Maglor, and cheated the hope of Morgoth, and were faithful. The sons of Ulfang the Black were Ulfast, and Ulwarth, and Uldor the accursed; and they followed Caranthir and swore allegiance to him, and proved faithless. The Silmarillion, “Of the Fifth Battle: Nirnaeth Arnoediad”

the Union of Maedhros

Perhaps Maedhros' most-cited and most famous act of "diplomacy":

Yet Morgoth would destroy them all, one by one, if they could not again unite, and make new league and common council; and he began those counsels for the raising of the fortunes of the Eldar that are called the Union of Maedhros. The Silmarillion, “Of the Fifth Battle: Nirnaeth Arnoediad”

And [Maedhros] gathered together again all his brothers and all the people who would follow them; and the Men of Bor and Ulfang were marshalled and trained for war, and they summoned yet more of their kinsfolk out of the East. Moreover in the west Fingon, ever the friend of Maedhros, took counsel with Himring, and in Hithlum the Noldor and the Men of the house of Hador prepared for war. The Silmarillion, “Of the Fifth Battle: Nirnaeth Arnoediad”

Are these instances of diplomacy? Yes: protecting neighbours, gathering followers, establishing partnerships, forming alliances with other groups of peoples, and organising a major offensive on a common enemy.

Is it diplomatic? Again, absence to the contrary and general success suggests Maedhros conducted himself tactfully in all of these dealings. One thing: I have seen a tendency in fandom to credit superior leadership and diplomacy on the part of Maedhros and Maglor for the fact that their Easterling allies remain faithful while Caranthir’s do not. Maybe; but bear in mind that’s a deduction, not something the text explicitly states.

I am sure there are other tidbits here and there to support the diplomatic ability of Maedhros, but I think we have enough here to conclude the Maedhros the Diplomat is a fanon characterisation with support it in canon.

The Case against Maedhros the Diplomat

So Maedhros was a diplomat; but was Maedhros an exemplary diplomat, as the prominence of his characterisation as such would suggest, or just an average one? Let us look at some of Maedhros’ diplomatic failings.

1. hubris, attempted deception

Look: we can’t neglect that Maedhros is behind one of the most disastrous failures of diplomacy in the First Age — his attempt to parley with Morgoth that ends up getting him captured.

Though not in the published Silmarillion, in the 1937 Quenta Silmarillion, Fëanor with his dying breath tells his sons “never to treat or parley with their foe.” (§88). (Christopher Tolkien drew from a later text, the Grey Annals (1950s), for the account of the death of Fëanor in the published Silmarillion where this command does not exist.) I cannot help but laugh at the fact that following this exhortation Maedhros immediately turns around and attempts to parley with Morgoth and outwit him.

Perhaps diplomatic relations with Morgoth are impossible, but then why accept the offer to parley at all? And what’s up with trying to beat Morgoth at his own game (deceit)? Honestly, Maedhros. Not your best moment.

We can say that he learned from this, but it does put into question the idea that Maedhros’ diplomatic training and excellence go back to his Valinorean days.

2. disdain of and aloofness towards another ruler

We saw how Maedhros restrained his brothers in the council where Angrod brought news from Thingol, but what about how Maedhros himself behaved at that council?

Cold seemed its welcome to the Noldor, and the sons of Fëanor were angered at the words; but Maedhros laughed, saying: ‘A king is he that can hold his own, or else his title is vain. Thingol does but grant us lands where his power does not run. Indeed Doriath alone would be his realm this day, but for the coming of the Noldor. Therefore in Doriath let him reign, and be glad that he has the sons of Finwë for his neighbours, not the Orcs of Morgoth that we found. Elsewhere it shall go as seems good to us.’ The Silmarillion, “Of the Return of the Noldor”

Fandom loves the line and I can’t disagree that it’s an epic mic drop. But was this really the most diplomatic thing to say? In the Grey Annals, it is said that “the sons of Fëanor were ever unwilling to accept the overlordship of Thingol, and would ask for no leave where they might dwell or might pass.” (§48). (Interestingly, there does seem to have been a point, before word of the kinslaying at Alqualondë was out, that Thingol for his part was at least neutral on them, saying, “Of his sons I hear little to my pleasure; yet they are likely to prove the deadliest foes of our foe” (“Of the Noldor in Beleriand”)). Arriving at a new place and refusing to treat with the person who claims kingship of those lands — and apparently for no other reason besides disdain of that person’s ability as a ruler — doesn’t seem particularly diplomatic.

3. not supporting a superior's initiative

We saw evidence of Maedhros cooperating with the other princes of the Noldor, but that doesn't mean he threw his support behind them at every occasion to do so. When Fingolfin — supposedly, thanks for Maedhros, High King and his superior — tries to rally the Noldor to assault Angband, almost everyone was “little disposed to hearken to Fingolfin, and the sons of Fëanor at that time least of all.” (“Of the Ruin of Beleriand”).

This statement is frustratingly vague so I won’t speculate much besides to suggest that there could be something suspect — and undiplomatic — behind failing to support the initiative of the High King to whom you so graciously ceded your claim.

4. Oath-related diplomatic failures (kinslayings)

The extent to which the oath is to blame for events is a sticky issue and not the subject of this analysis, but since fulfilling the oath is essential to Maedhros’ character, it’s impossible to avoid it entirely.

The narrator of the Silmarillion is actually quite generous towards Maedhros when discussing the role of the oath in his failings, so it’s no surprise that many fans are likewise generous.

For example:

I quoted above the passage about Maedhros taking “the chief peril of assault” upon himself and remaining “for his part in friendship with the houses of Fingolfin and Finarfin,” and it is perhaps the strongest evidence for Maedhros’ diplomatic excellence. It also ends with the ominous words: “Yet he also was bound by the oath, though it slept now for a time.” (“Of the Return of the Noldor”)

And when the concept of the Union of Maedhros is introduced, we are told: “Yet the oath of Fëanor and the evil deeds that it had wrought did injury to the design of Maedhros, and he had less aid than should have been.” (“Of the Fifth Battle: Nirnaeth Arnoediad”).

Both of these passages remind us that the oath — a vow to vengeance — is in the long-term at cross-purposes with cooperation and diplomacy.

This becomes especially evident when a Silmaril ends up in the hands of those who should be allies: other elves.

For Maedhros and his brothers, being constrained by their oath, had before sent to Thingol and reminded him with haughty words of their claim, summoning him to yield the Silmaril, or become their enemy. The Silmarillion, “Of the Fifth Battle: Nirnaeth Arnoediad”

The narrator pins this failure of diplomacy on the oath. But, as Maglor will point out in his final moments with Maedhros, the oath does not state how and when they must fulfill it. Is it a mark of a good diplomat to use “haughty” words in making a request? And what about what follows Thingol’s refusal?

Therefore [Thingol] sent back the messengers with scornful words. Maedhros made no answer, for he had now begun to devise the league and union of the Elves; but Celegorm and Curufin vowed openly to slay Thingol and destroy his people, if they came victorious from war, and the jewel were not surrendered of free will. The Silmarillion, “Of the Fifth Battle: Nirnaeth Arnoediad”

What do you mean, “made no answer”? The narrator explains this away by saying essentially that Maedhros was too busy to bother, but is it the most diplomatic to just… stop communicating with the king who had the Silmaril, and whose support would really be quite nice to have in the upcoming war? And what about Celegorm and Curufin’s decidedly undiplomatic threat? Long gone are the days of effective brother-wrangling, apparently. (So far gone, in fact, that by the time Celegorm carries through on his threat and the sons of Feanor attack Doriath, Maedhros seems to have deferred to Celegorm’s leadership.)

The oath is again blamed for Maedhros’ change of course regarding the Silmaril at the Havens of Sirion. Having initially “withheld his hand”:

… the knowledge of their oath unfulfilled returned to torment [Maedhros] and his brothers, and gathering from their wandering hunting-paths they sent messages to the Havens of friendship and yet of stern demand. The Silmarillion, “Of the Voyage of Eärendil and the War of Wrath”

As with the “haughty words” to Thingol, was “stern demand” the most diplomatic approach? Would better diplomacy have made a difference? Well, maybe. I don’t think the discussion between Maedhros and Maglor was inserted into the narrative without thematic purpose — and one of those purposes is, I think, to reveal the slippery space of conflict between obligation and choice; between that which must be done and how it’s done; between the morality of keeping one’s word and the morality of doing the right thing.

Does the oath itself turn an otherwise mild and affable Maedhros into someone haughty and stern? Or are those flaws he already had and which are brought to the fore by the constraint of the oath? Well, examine the evidence for yourself — and allow the imagination to roam.

Final assessment: Maedhros is a good diplomat, certainly compared to his closest kinsmen. But just like Maedhros isn’t the tallest (no, really, he’s not — but that’s another excavation), he’s perhaps also not the best diplomat on the political stage of First Age Beleriand.

[1] If we go beyond the published Silmarillion to the “Shibboleth of Fëanor” (in History of Middle-earth Vol. 12: The Peoples of Middle-earth), we learn that he was a red-head and apparently “well-shaped.” For an author who is notoriously sparse with physical description, Tolkien did seem to have a lot of ideas about what Maedhros looked liked!

Addendum: Maedhros the Scholar

“Diplomat and Scholar” do seem to go hand-in-hand in the fandom’s most popular versions of Maedhros, but I focused on the former for this Ask because there really isn’t much in canon to directly support Maedhros’ skill as a scholar.

The Noldor, as a culture, are loremasters. Fëanor, Maedhros’ father, was one of the most notable of these loremasters, even credited with founding the school of Lambengolmor, Loremasters of Tongues ( in the essay Quendi and Eldar in The History of Middle-earth Vol. 11: The War of the Jewels).

But, when Tolkien gives examples of elven loremasters, who, he says, were also “the greatest kings, princes and warriors,” he names Fëanor, Finrod, the lords of Gondolin, and Orodreth. No mention of Maedhros. And, when discussing which sons of Fëanor took an interest in language, he mentions not the eldest, but Maglor and Curufin. (Both in The Shibboleth of Fëanor.)

So there’s nothing in canon to suggest that Maedhros wasn’t a scholarly type, but it’s not something he’s noted for. His most remarkable trait remains “tall”.

[vintage1981]

The Life and Deaths of Christopher Lee Kickstarts Deluxe Blu-ray Edition

The Life and Deaths of Christopher Lee mixes traditional documentary with a dash of fantasy. It is narrated by Christopher Lee himself... in the form of an elaborate marionette, voiced by Peter Serafinowicz. The marionette was custom designed and built by Arch Model Studios, who made all of the puppets for Wes Anderson's Fantastic Mr. Fox, Isle of Dogs and Asteroid City and Tim Burton's Frankenweenie. 

The film combines new, exclusive interviews with filmmakers, including Peter Jackson, John Landis and Joe Dante, friends and family members with animated flights of fantasy from a wide variety of artists including 2000AD's Simon Coleby, award winning stop-motion animator Astrid Goldsmith and the legendary illustrator Dave McKean who directed, scored and animated a whole chapter of the film himself. 

Spanning eight decades and almost three hundred films, Christopher Lee became famous for his iconic performance as Dracula. But he was so much more than just the Hammer Horror roles he is so fondly remembered for. His career took him from uncredited parts in 1950s swashbucklers with Errol Flynn, through famous performances in 007 and Star Wars films, cult hits like The Wicker Man and The Return of Captain Invincible, right up to a lead role in cinema's biggest event - The Lord of the Rings trilogy. Along the way, he worked with everyone from Orson Welles to Mario Bava, Jess Franco, Tim Burton, Martin Scorsese and Steven Spielberg. 

Yet his story is so much richer than just his career. Lee was born into Italian aristocracy, with a military career shrouded in secrecy and kept his private life closely guarded. Some of his ventures and adventures seem highly improbable yet, as the film reveals, he often found himself in unexpected situations - he witnessed the last ever death by guillotine, was cousins with 007 creator Ian Fleming, he met Tolkien, performed with the classic Saturday Night Live line-up, was a friend and neighbour of Boris Karloff, he was the oldest person to ever get on the Billboard music charts (with his own Heavy Metal album), was an expert knife thrower, professional opera singer and a Nazi hunter. And somehow, he also managed to appear in almost 300 films of both the highest and lowest quality imaginable. 

The film is finished and producers Jon Spira and Hank Starrs want to share it with you by producing a top quality Blu-Ray with great extra features and a really amazing LIMITED/NUMBERED EDITION COFFIN-SHAPED BOX SET, full of goodies, which will look killer on the shelf of any discerning cineaste. The jewel in the crown of this box-set will be a 3D 'death mask' of Christopher Lee designed and produced by Arch Model Studio exclusively for this set. They also want to host some screenings - both online and in real cinemas - so we can all experience it together and you can get to meet some of the people behind it.

Making this film has been a fascinating journey - producers excavated the British Film Institute archives where they hold Lee's personal collection of scrapbooks detailing his career in his own hand, been given access to personal photos from the family archive, they met and interviewed his closest friends and family from all over the world and we've worked with some incredible artists, puppeteers, animators, musicians and filmmakers to bring his story to the screen in the most cinematic way. Whether you're a fan of Horror, Star Wars, Lord of the Rings or just cinema history in general, we think you'll be delighted by this revealing and eclectic documentary.

Risks and challenges

The film is fully edited and ready to go. This Kickstarter is to fund the final bits of post-production and the production of a fantastic Blu-ray and deluxe collectors edition box set as we're all still committed to physical media. Please note that all illustrations of rewards are designs/prototype images. The final items might differ - we hope they'll actually be better.

[tofu83]

Lottery To Upgrade 3

Knowledge bank

Sebastian was a genius and a university professor, proficient not only in history but also in biology. His academic status is admired and his teaching is loved by students. Because being obedient to Masters in his capacity helps maintain social stability and makes humans more willing to be dominated by aliens, he is also exempted from participating in the lottery.

But he actually secretly excavated the history erased by Masters and studied the physiological functions of alien creatures, hoping to find a way to fight back against Masters, free mankind from the fate of slavery, and regain freedom.

"I seem to have found it! The weakness of these bastards is actually..." His excitement lasted less than three seconds because the door of his secret laboratory was destroyed.

"Professor Sebastian, you have been accused of illegally spying on Master's secrets, and you must immediately participate in the lottery! In order to thank you for your contribution to society, the winning rate is 100%!" The leader of the hunter bot pronounced his fate.

"No! It's just one step away from success!" He tried to escape, but was soon subdued by a hunter bot and injected with a mysterious liquid and passed out.

"Expert bot-SN001 active, ready to serve and advise" the newest humanoid robot woke up and stand at attention. Its appearance was half human half machine, smooth and muscular, wearing nothing but a pair of briefs.

"Oh My God! Professor Sebastian? Is it you?" a young scientist who was Sebastian’s student could not believe what he saw.

"It is Expert Bot-SN001. Professor Sebastian is ceased to exist but his personality is stored in database. Do you prefer this bot simulate his personality?"

"Oh yes!"

"Confirmed." The robot nodded and asked, "what’s the question?" in Sebastian’s tone.

"It’s really you! What happened to you?"

"I volunteer to become the first expert bot. This kind of robots stored the most amount of information about our Masters. It’s mission is to make humans understand Masters better, so that they can be more reverent and obedient to Masters. It is the most advanced non-combat robot."

"I don’t understand. Why such a successful person like you would like to be converted?"

"I tried to explore a method to destroy Masters’ rule but failed. Thanks to Masters for keeping me alive and instilled all knowledge of Masters in my mind. Therefore I understand that human have no chance to win the war against Masters. Masters are much more powerful and advanced than us. I'm stupid but I can be saved, as long as I become a robot and spread the master's knowledge and disintegrate the human resistance consciousness."

"So you wanted to resist Masters and you know the weaknesses of Masters now?"

"Warning!" Sebastian became Robot mode again and said "Inappropriate questions are detected and education is required immediately"

"Wait! I just…" But the young scientist couldn’t finish the sentence. In front of him, the robot became completely naked and on its crotch was a phallus shaped hypno-gun emitting beam to the young man’s head.

Moments later, the young man snapped to attention and said out loud, "I understand! Masters are great. I obey Masters’ rule without question!"

The Expert bot-SN001 made its groin area cover in briefs, and asked again, "any more questions?"

"No, sir! All I should know is Masters are great. I will convert more men to robots for Masters. Thank you, sir. Have a nice day!"

"Have a nice day, too!" While seeing the young man leaving, Expert bot-SN001 experienced a long time of pleasure, it knew it served Masters well and was glad that it could be an obedient robot forever.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Passionate Dig || Bucky Barnes

Character: TreasureHunter!Bucky × Archeology!Reader

Summary: Archaeologist Y/N and treasure hunter Bucky clash, sparking an unexpected romance during an excavation of ancient relics.

Warning: I wrote this in my phone. I'm sorry if the story not good 😂.

Y/N meticulously brushed away the layers of dirt covering an intricately carved relic, completely engrossed in her archaeological work. Her team, equally dedicated, carefully documented their findings in the newly discovered tomb.

As Y/N delicately handled the artifact, one of her co-workers, Alex, approached with furrowed brows. "Hey, Y/N, you might want to see this," he whispered, nodding discreetly towards the entrance of the tomb.

Following his gaze, Y/N caught sight of Bucky, the notorious treasure hunter, skulking around the excavation site. His rugged appearance and confident stride made it clear that he was up to something.

"Ugh, Bucky," Y/N muttered, frustration evident in her voice. "What's he doing here? This is an archaeological site, not a marketplace."

Alex raised an eyebrow. "Think he's after the same relic we are?"

Y/N scowled, watching as Bucky eyed the team's equipment with a suspicious gleam in his eye. "Probably. He cares more about the price tag than the historical significance."

As Y/N observed Bucky's actions from a distance, Alex let out a sigh. "You know, Y/N, Bucky might be onto something. He found that legendary gem a while back and now he's practically a star – the modern Indiana Jones."

Y/N shot Alex a disapproving look, her irritation palpable. "Fame and fortune shouldn't be the measure of success in archaeology. It's about preserving history, not becoming a celebrity."

Alex winced as Y/N pinched his ear. "Ow, okay, okay! I get it. I just thought it'd be nice to have a bit of recognition, you know?"

Y/N softened her tone, reminding him of their shared passion. "Alex, we're here to uncover the past, to learn and share knowledge. That's worth more than any gem or fame. Don't forget why you joined archaeology in the first place."

#######

Observing Y/N engrossed in her work, Bucky couldn't resist a smirk. He leaned against a nearby pillar, his eyes never leaving her. "Look at the little archaeologist in her element," he mused to his assistant.

His assistant chuckled. "She seems serious about this stuff. You sure you want to mess with her?"

Bucky's smirk widened. "Oh, I love a challenge. Besides, teasing her a bit might spice things up around here." Her passion for archaeology, combined with the fire in her eyes, intrigued him more than he cared to admit.

During their lunch break, Y/N found herself face-to-face with Bucky near the excavation site. He flashed a charming grin, holding out a sandwich as an offering.

"Care for a break from dusty relics, Y/N?" he asked, his tone dripping with casual allure.

Y/N eyed the sandwich skeptically, raising an eyebrow. "What's the catch, Bucky?"

He chuckled, leaning in with a glint in his eye. "No catch, just an offer. I've got a lead on another site. We could make quite the team."

Y/N scoffed, taking a step back. "I work for history, not for profit."

A sly grin on his face. "Why stick to old relics, Y/N? I've got a lead on a thrilling adventure. Join me."

Y/N shot him a skeptical look. "I'm not interested in your version of thrill, Bucky. I value history, not chasing after your treasures."

His gaze locked onto hers, a daring challenge in his eyes. "You're missing out on a different kind of richness, sweetheart."

Y/N retorted with a smirk, "I'll pass. My passion is in preserving the past, not in your reckless pursuits."

Under the moonlit night, Y/N couldn't resist the allure of the excavation site, a place where history whispered its secrets.

As she quietly approached, she was startled to find Bucky already there, his shadow blending with the darkness.

"What are you doing here?" Y/N questioned, her irritation evident.

He flashed a mischievous grin. "Couldn't resist the call of adventure. What about you?"

Y/N rolled her eyes. "Unlike you, some of us value a good night's rest. Now, what are you really up to?"

As they bickered, a glint caught Y/N's eye. An ancient chest, adorned with intricate carvings, lay partially exposed. Their argument ceased as their attention shifted to the unexpected discovery.

Bucky's eyes widened with a glint of greed. "Now, this is what I call a find! Let's see what treasures lie within."

Y/N stepped forward, a stern expression on her face. "Absolutely not, Bucky. We're here to preserve, not pillage."

He smirked, the tension between them palpable. "Come on, sweetheart, don't be so uptight. This could be the biggest discovery of our careers."

Y/N's voice turned stern. "We're not taking anything until we properly document and understand its historical significance."

The heated argument between Y/N and Bucky echoed through the still night air, their voices carrying the weight of conflicting desires.

As they continued to clash over the ancient chest, unaware of their escalating volume, Y/N's supervisor, Dr. Reynolds, stirred from his sleep. And because the others are complained saying "Both of them are arguing again."

"What's going on here?" Dr. Reynolds's stern voice cut through the darkness as he approached the excavation site, his silhouette outlined by the moonlight.

Y/N and Bucky, momentarily stunned, exchanged guilty glances before attempting to explain the situation simultaneously.

"She's being overly cautious, doc. We've found something extraordinary, and she wants to play it safe," Bucky argued.

Y/N shot back, "He's trying to exploit our discoveries for personal gain, disregarding the significance of our work!"

Dr. Reynolds raised an eyebrow, a mix of curiosity and irritation on his face. "Alright, enough. Let me see what you've found."

As they presented the ancient chest, the supervisor examined it with a discerning eye. "This could be a groundbreaking discovery, but we must handle it with care. No reckless actions."

Y/N nodded, shooting a defiant glance at Bucky. "Exactly, Dr. Reynolds. We need to document its historical value before anything else."

Bucky sighed, reluctantly agreeing, "Fine, but let's not waste too much time. There might be more treasures waiting to be uncovered."

Dr. Reynolds then dropped a bombshell that left Y/N speechless.

"Y/N, Bucky," he said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, "you both found this relic together. Your collaboration could bring a fresh perspective to our research."

Y/N's eyes widened in disbelief. Bucky, on the other hand, wore a knowing smirk, confirming the truth in Dr. Reynolds's statement.

"As much as your approaches differ," Dr. Reynolds continued, "there's value in combining your strengths. Work together, but remember, history is our priority."

Y/N, still processing the revelation, mustered the courage to ask Dr. Reynolds, "Why would you suggest we work with Bucky? Our principles are vastly different."

Dr. Reynolds sighed, acknowledging her concern. "Y/N, we need a new sponsor for our archaeological endeavors. The exposure that comes with associating our team and Bucky's name could attract the attention and funding we desperately need."

Y/N frowned, skeptical of the compromise. "But his methods and intentions..."

Dr. Reynolds interrupted, "I understand your reservations, but sometimes we must adapt to the circumstances. This collaboration could open doors for us, offering opportunities to explore history that we wouldn't have otherwise."

Bucky chimed in, his tone surprisingly sincere. "I may not be your ideal partner, Y/N, but I know the value of a good find. Together, we could make headlines and secure the support we need."

Bucky, seizing the moment to inject his trademark charm, couldn't resist a teasing remark. "Looks like we're stuck with each other, Y/N. Who knows, maybe you'll learn to appreciate my methods."

Y/N shot him a skeptical look. "Don't get too comfortable, Bucky. I'm only doing this for the sake of the team, not because I suddenly appreciate treasure hunting."

He chuckled, the smirk never leaving his face. "We'll see about that, sweetheart. Get ready for an adventure you never knew you needed."

Taglist:

@thezombieprostitute

@ordelixx

[haggishlyhagging]

Although there have been exceptions, the evolutionary model of man the hunter-warrior has colored most interpretations of Paleolithic art. Only in later twentieth-century excavations in eastern and western Europe and Siberia has the interpretation of both new and old finds gradually begun to change. Some of the new researchers were women, who noted the female genital imagery and also leaned toward more complex religious rather than the "hunting magic" explanations of Paleolithic art. And as more scholars were secular scientists rather than monks like Abbé Breuil (whose "moral" interpretations of religious practices colored so much of the nineteenth- and early twentieth-century Paleolithic research), some of the men who reexamined the cave paintings, figurines, and other Paleolithic finds now also began to question tenets once accepted by the scholarly establishment.

An interesting example of this questioning relates to the stick and line forms painted on the walls of Paleolithic caves and engraved in bone or stone objects. To many scholars, it seemed obvious that they depict weapons: arrows, barbs, spears, harpoons. But as Alexander Marshack writes in The Roots of Civilization, one of the first works to frontally challenge this standard interpretation, these line paintings and engravings could just as easily be plants, trees, branches, reeds, and leaves. Moreover, this new interpretation would account for what would otherwise be a remarkable absence of pictures of such vegetation among a people who, like contemporary gatherer-hunter peoples, must have relied heavily on vegetation for food.

In Paleolithic Cave Art, Peter Ucko and Andrée Rosenfeld had also wondered about the peculiar absence of vegetation in Paleolithic art. They further noted another curious incongruity. All other evidence showed that a particular kind of harpoon called biserial didnt appear until the late Paleolithic or Magdalenian age—even though scholars kept "finding" them in "sticks" thousands of years earlier in the wall paintings of prehistoric caves. Moreover, why would Paleolithic artists want to depict so many hunting failures? For if the sticks and lines were in fact weapons, the pictures had them chronically missing their targets.

To probe such mysteries, Marshack, who was not an archaeologist, hence not bound by earlier archeological conventions, thoroughly examined the engravings on a bone object that had been described as pictures of harpoons. Under a microscope he discovered that not only were the barbs of this supposed harpoon turned the wrong way but the points of the long shaft were also at the wrong end. But what did these engravings represent if they were not "wrong way" weapons?

As it turned out, the lines easily conformed to the proper angle of branches growing at the top of a long stem. In other words, these and other engravings conventionally described as "barbed signs" or "masculine objects" were probably nothing more than stylized representations of trees, branches, and plants.

-Riane Eisler, The Chalice and the Blade: Our History, Our Future

[fishnchip3011]

sdv oc brainstorming

[crusty-chronicles]

Sandwiched between (Ging x Reader x Kite)

Synopsis: Getting a little too drunk, you and your friends start getting frisky. Unfortunately for you, you're sandwiched between a man who wants to ruin you and another who treats you like glass.

Part 2

NSFW, So minors get out 😤

Warnings: threesome, fingering, anal, vaginal sex, drunk sex, friends with benefits kind of, cum, hickies, AFAB reader, slow burn I guess, I love me some exposition okay. 🥺

----------------

It's a bit hazy to you how it started. The feeling of soft kisses under your jaw and the scrape of stubble across your neck had distracted you. Fingers working to rid you of your clothes while others eagerly touched exposed skin.

It must have had something to do with.....

Oh

You remembered now.

------------------------

It was rare the three of you were in the same place. Ging always on the move searching for new ruins. Kite constantly traveling to complete new surveys on recently discovered species. And you changing labs every now and then to study the stars.

It was miraculous, really, that the three of you had ended up in the same town. A few quick phone calls later, and you had all agreed to meet up at a bar to celebrate the new discoveries. (Although it took a little more convincing for the flakiest of the group to say yes. Namely, saying you'd tell his son where he was if he didn't get his ass over there.)

The bar you'd chosen to meet up in wasn't too crowded. The noise level was decent and the atmosphere was cozy. Surprisingly, Ging was the first one to get there.

Who made sure to let you know when you arrived last.

"Well look who finally decided to make it? I've been waiting for an hour."

You directed your attention to Kite.

"We've only been waiting twenty minutes. He's already on his fifth shot," he said while gesturing to a very pouty Ging.

"Ass, couldn't even wait for me to get here to start drinking." Your tone was teasing as you took your seat.

"Yeah, yeah. What kept you anyways? I mean it was your idea to go out drinking. You'd think the one who suggested it would be here first." Ging grumbled. Reaching for another shot before you stole it from him.

"Hey, it's not my fault I was late. Some braindead idiot lost all the research we gathered. We had to manually log in everything again and make several copies just in case. Such a pain."

You threw your head back and downed the shot. Your face scrunched up at the strong burn in your throat.

"Getting shit-faced tonight, I see?" You noted.

A huff of amusement from your left.

"You'll be more than shit-faced if you keep stealing his drinks. Here, this one's not as strong." Kite nudged a small glass towards you.

You took a swing and were delightfully surprised. The drink was a little sweeter and not too rough going down.

"You know me so well." You wriggled your eyebrows at the taller male, making him thwap the back of your head.

"Ow. Ging, Kite's bullying me." You whined.

"Good. That's what you get for stealing my shot. You owe me fifty cents for that by the way."

"Fifty cents? You're such an ass."

With the drinks flowing, you all became a little looser. Laughing and shoving each other for what felt like the first time in years. Faces tinted rosy shades from the alcohol. It was a pleasant change of pace from working tirelessly as Hunters.

"So what did you find?" You questioned Ging.

"Believe it or not we excavated a bunch of tombs. There was some dead language scrawled on the top of them that we're probably gonna decipher tomorrow."

"You got pictures?"

"The association doesn't really want that stuff out there yet."

The three of you looked at each other in silence for a second. Then drunken laughter rang out.

"Yeah fuck that, I've got ten. Wanna see?"

Ging pulled out his phone and placed it in the middle. He leaned over your right shoulder while Kite leaned over your left. Sarcophagus-like tombs were displayed on the screen.

"Okay Mr. Lurka Ruins. Fancy stuff." You then turned your head to address Kite.

"And you? What freaky little creatures did you find?" Your words were starting to become slightly slurred.

"My team and I managed to discover fifteen new species of insect."

You opened your mouth to speak, but were cut off.

"And before you ask, yes I did snag a few pictures. Here."

You sat contently as Kite's phone swapped with Ging's in the middle. Your eyes lit up with each new bug.

"You found those all here?"

"Yeah.... Now what have you been up to?"

Both men watched as you giddily reached in your pocket.

"Not to brag buuuut- Guess who discovered a planet!!!"

You switched on your phone and proudly showed your lock screen. A dark blue orb with black rings of stardust.

Ging let out a low whistle before speaking.

"Damn, not too shabby. Your little telescope picked that up?"

You nodded enthusiastically, a sight that was endearing.

"Hell yeah! And I'm working on a better model to be able to make out the details better. Three stars here I come!"

You had accidentally leaned you all the way back into Kite. You flashed a bright smile from your position. He grinned back before continuing the conversation.

"And you're gonna make sure to apply for it right? You're not gonna be lazy like Ging."

A protest of 'Hey' from the scuffed-up Hunter as you righted yourself up.

"Nope. Ging always sets the worst examples, like parenting." An offended gasp was heard.

"Kite, Y/n's bullying me!"

You stuck your tongue out.

"Can't you two argue without putting me in the middle?" Kite said, his tone exasperated.

Your playful banter with your friends was cut off by a stranger approaching. A tap on your shoulder had you swiveling around on the barstool.

"Can I help you?" You figured whoever it was just wanted directions.

Unbeknownst to you, it was some skeez who was hoping to get lucky tonight. He noticed you sitting down, along with your choice of company. A very scuffed up looking man who was probably homeless and wandered into the bar. And another gaunt dude who looked like a fragile push over.

Obviously you were in need of someone better. A pretty thing like you would do wonders for him.

"You most definitely can."

The semi-sober one of the group, Kite, was able to pick out this guy's predatory tone easily. A look at Ging told him he wasn't too fond of this stranger either.

"Why don't you ditch these losers and spend your night with a real man?" The skeez had a smug smirk on his face.

You, however, were not amused.

"Excuse me?" You weren't too thrilled about some stranger ruining your night with your friends. But this guy didn't take the hint.

"No need to be shy. I promise you'll enjoy yourself if you come home with me tonight."

You laughed, but it was a mocking one. And even though both men wouldn't have hesitated to put this guy in his place, they knew you could handle it yourself. Plus, you'd probably be upset if one of them tried to step in.

"Ten bucks says they kick his ass." Ging addressed from over your shoulder.

"Twenty says we get kicked out for it." Kite added.

Attention was back on you as you slammed your drink down at the guy's pestering.

"C'mon, don't be difficult. I can give you double than what these guys are paying."

Yeah that dude was fucked.

"Well 'these guys' can probably fuck me better with their fingers than you can with your two centimeter dick. And it's kinda sad, dont'cha think? Paying someone to touch you because no sane person would ever try?"

The skeez froze. Anger replacing his smug expression.

"You know what, you're a slut anyways."

Ging looked over at Kite once more.

"Fifty says we have to pay for damages."

You shot up from your seat and approached the man. The anger turning into shock as you lifted him by his collar and slammed him through a table. You were very respected in your field, and they knew you wouldn't take being talked down to. Plus, your already short fuse was made even shorter thanks to the drinks running through your system.

You wiped your hands on your slacks and returned to your seat.

"Fucking hell. There goes my night." The bartender eyed you as you sat down. You quickly offered up your card.

"Here, for the table."

Your expression turned grumpy, turning to look behind at the mess you made and grumbling out profanities.

"Think it's a sign I should stop drinking?" You asked.

"You should. But are you really gonna commit after you've been pissed off?" Kite responded, trying to help distract you.

"Absolutely not. If anything, I'm gonna destroy my liver and get the biggest hangover of my life tomorrow."

Even though the conversation started to shift little by little, a certain Ruins Hunter couldn't shake your earlier words out of his head.

'Well 'these guys' can probably fuck me better with their fingers than you can-'

An idea said so offhandedly, it shouldn't be taken seriously. Yet here he was, unable to rid the image of you spread out so nicely, crying at the way his fingers hit all the right spots inside you.

A thought he would blame on the alcohol for fogging up his good judgement.

And it had him thinking. Maybe both of you could celebrate in a different way tonight. To be fair, you were all just about to be kicked out of this shit bar for using that guy to destroy the table. Besides, if you got uncomfortable, he'd stop and that would be that. No harm no foul.

So he leaned over, stubble brushing against your ear as he spoke.

"You know, if you really wanted to test that earlier theory out, I'm open to it."

You choked on your drink the moment those words left his mouth. Immediately your face went a darker shade and you sputtered for a response.

"You are honestly the worst." Your eyes looked everywhere but at him.

"Yeah, but I think I know my way around a body or two. Let's have some fun tonight. We did come all this way to 'celebrate.'" Then a bite to your lobe.

And the touch wasn't unwelcome. The advances weren't icky like that other drunk's. They made you feel hot and bothered in a very good way. Maybe it was the buzz of alcohol in your system. Maybe it was because you knew Ging so well. Or maybe, just maybe, it had to do with the fact that your other friend was right next to you watching.

----------

Kite knew what Ging was doing, and he wasn't too happy about it. The dirty things being whispered in your ear had your legs squeezing themselves together. Your reaction was very much positive. And he wouldn't deny your earlier words having an effect on him too. But he was not about to let his best friend whisk you away to go fuck somewhere.

At least not without trying to woo you himself first.

Cautiously, he placed his hand on your thigh. The act catching you off guard and effectively sending shivers down your spine.

Heat starting to pool in your stomach from both of their ministrations.

Kite flashed you an innocent look when you directed your attention towards him. Hand inching higher up your thigh, lightly caressing your covered skin.

Then another lustful murmur in your ear from Ging.

"Looks like someone else wants to have fun. Think you have enough room to fit the both of us inside?"

The thought had you squirming. And as tempting as it was, this was neither the time nor place.

"Both of you behave. We're in public." But the hand on your thigh dipped between your legs and the lips against your ear trailed down to your neck.

--------------------------

You'd given in quickly after that, dragging the both of them out and towards your apartment. Which was fortunately close by. And thank god it was because as soon as you opened the door, enthusiastic hands were back on you.

"Play nice," You warned after Ging had turned your head away from Kite's to stick his tongue down your throat.

A grumble, but no further protest as you all stumbled towards your bed.

A soft kiss that turned feral from the silver haired hunter. Bottom lip being tugged by his teeth. You gasped lightly at the suckling sensation on your neck from the other male. Both of them working together to rid you of your shirt.

"Feel good? No regrets?" The question was mumbled against your skin by Kite.

How sweet.

Your bra was quickly discarded and one of your nipples was enveloped by Ging's mouth.

"Mmm, feels great. But you're both going a little slow." You pulled away from the duo and shimmied out of your pants. A noticeable damp spot on your panties as you spread your legs open.

"Fingers only. And if you can make me cum in twenty minutes, we can do whatever you want. Sound fair?"

If they weren't hard before, they most certainly were now. A shared look between the two. It would be a team effort.

You were pushed lightly down on the mattress and watched as troublesome clothing was discarded. Hats and cloaks thrown to the side so they wouldn't get in the way. You let out a noise of disapproval as your poor underwear was ripped to shreds.

"Here, get these wet for me." Ging placed two of his fingers in front of your mouth. You obeyed and suckled on his calloused digits.

"Help us get you started, okay?" A different set of fingers placed themselves against your lips. You opened up and let them slide in. Your warm tongue taking turns wrapping around each one.

Your mouth would definitely be a point of interest later.

Even though you were soaking at this point, it didn't hurt to add a little more natural lubricant. In fact, it would probably feel even better.

Once they were sure their fingers were wet enough, they were removed from your mouth with a 'pop.' Never one for patience, Ging quickly thrusted his fingers inside your welcoming hole. You let out a hiss from the stretch that turned into a whine as Kite applied delicious pressure against your clit.

"Fuck!" Neither of them were going slow. If anything, they were speeding up at the sound of your pleasured cries. The fingers thrusting into your cunt grazing your g-spot. The ones circling your sensitive bundle of nerves were precise and unrelenting.

You feebly moved your hips to try and match their pace. A feeling of pride and smugness at the fact that you were coming undone so quickly. That yes, their fingers were proving to be more than enough for you.

But you needed to reach your high faster if other activities were to happen. The sooner you did, the better the night would get.

"Let's switch," Ging suggested. Kite stopped his movements for a second to hear him out.

"Your fingers are a little longer and mine are more calloused. Worth a shot, dont'cha think?"

A devious smirk made its way onto the taller male's face, understanding what Ging was getting at.

"Oh most definitely."

You were left confused as both men pulled away. Only to practically scream as bigger fingers plunged into your needy cunt and repeatedly hit your g-spot, along with rougher ones abusing your puffy clit. It was different than before. Better.

And the combined stimulation had your legs shaking. The coil in your stomach tightening at an alarming pace.

"Right there!" You encouraged. The fast pace from before was back. A few more well-coordinated movements and you were cumming hard.

Your legs fighting to close, but the death grip on your thighs prevented them from doing so. Both men wanting to see your climax in full.

The tremors going through your body. The way your hands fisted the sheets above you. Your pussy clenching around nothing as Kite removed his fingers. And your release leaking down your legs.

It took you a second to catch your breath. The haze in your mind clearing up and noticing the lustful stares from your friends.

"How long was that?" You asked. Regardless, you'd still let them do what they pleased with you. You were in no rush to cut tonight short after that.

"Fifteen minutes." Ging proudly announced.

You let out a small laugh.

"Hey what's funny!?!"

"You being so excited, stupid."

A small slurping sound interrupted your banter. The need in your core was back as you watched Kite lick his fingers clean of your juices.

He flashed you a wolfish grin when he met your gaze.

These men would be the death of you.

"So what's next? You fuck me?" Maybe you were a tad bit more excited than you should be. But after seeing what they could do with just their fingers, you were eager to see what they could accomplish with more.

"Doesn't sound like a bad idea." Ging said, discarding his shirt before moving to undo his pants.

"Who would you want inside?" Kite asked, starting to strip down as well. Your answer was immediate.

"You, obviously."

"What!?!? Why does Kite get to be inside!?!" Ging complained. You gave a small glare in return.

"Remind me again which one of us has a kid? Maybe if you'd brought a condom I would consider it." It sounded like you were lecturing a child. And in a sense you were, a man child to be exact.

A possessive hand pulled you forward.

"Did you bring a condom?" The question was genuine from Kite, who was not prepared to defend against why he should be the one fucking your cunt instead of a protected Ging.

"Why would I bring one?!?! It's not like I knew I would be having sex tonight!!! And you didn't bring one either! It's not fair!" Ging pointed an accusatory finger at the silver haired male.

"Yeah? Well I trust Kite's pull-out game a helluva lot better than I trust yours. Zero beats one," You butted in.

"Fine, but if you get pregnant we'll all know who the father is."

"And I'll probably be a better one than you," Kite defended.

"No. No, no, no. I am not getting knocked up. You-," you pointed at Kite. "Are going to pull out. I'll buy some plan b in the morning. And you-," you pointed at Ging this time. "Need to decide where or what you want to fuck."

A beat of silence.

"I want your ass. Good with that?" A fair trade if he was being honest. He'd get to hear you scream and fuck the next best thing.

"I can make peace with that. So do we just...." You'd never been in a situation like this before. You didn't know who went where or what the proper position would be. All three of you on shaky knees on top of your bed. It was new territory that not even the wonders of booze could downplay.

"Here. Face me. Arms up here. And wait for Ging to go in first. Then we'll ease you down on me. Okay?" Kite's directions were comforting. His soft tone doing wonders to relax your body.

So you listened and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, waiting patiently for the man behind you to make his move.

You felt a finger prod at your ass and jumped.

"What? You've never had something in your ass before?" You weren't too fond of the teasing tone Ging had.

"No shit Sherlock. So you better go slow. And be damn grateful you're the first one I let in there!" You threw over your shoulder.

A finger pushed into you, the feeling foreign. Your body tensed up at the unfamiliar intrusion.

"Relax, it won't hurt that bad." Ging assured.

Another entered. Both thrusting into your ass slowly, spreading your tight ring of muscles open. Prepping you for his achy cock.

He was desperate to just shove himself in and chase his own high, but you were his friend. And your comfort came first. Even if he wouldn't admit it out loud.

So he took his time getting you accustomed to his fingers. Gently pushing in and out until he added a third.

You made a noise of discomfort at the added stretch. Fingers digging into Kite's shoulders to ground yourself.

"You're doing so good. Just relax, okay? If it hurts you can scratch me. But you'll be fine." A kiss on your pulse from the silver haired Hunter.

You nodded, feeling Ging remove his fingers and something bigger poke at your entrance.

"Take a deep breath and count to three. I'll go as slow as you need. Promise." You were surprised by how sweet Ging was being.

Aww, he cared.

You did as he instructed. You took a deep breath. One. Two. Three-

"SHIT!" You tried to move forward to get away from the burning intrusion, but Kite's grip kept you in place. You didn't know if it hurt so badly because you'd never done anal before, or if Ging was just too big for you to handle.

Either way, you endured the pain as best you could. Nails unfortunately breaking through Kite's skin. A damn shame.

"You're taking me so well. Already halfway in. Just a little more and we can take care of you. Don't be stupid and force yourself if it's too much, kay?"

A jolt of pleasure at Ging's praise. Not enough to dull the pain of your hole being stretched, but it was a start.

The feeling of lips against your neck distracted you. Your grip relaxing slightly.

"Almost there. Let me give you a reward for being so good."

The calloused pads of fingers made their way back to your clit while tender lips made their way to your chest, hand and mouth messing with your perky buds.

The pain was mixing with pleasure in a way that left you breathless. Unable to identify if you liked the combination or not. You felt Ging bottom out at last. He kept still, hands having a steady grip on your hips.

"There we go. Wasn't too bad now, was it?"

You shook your head, body trying its best to get used to the new sensation of having your ass full.

"Told you you'd be fine. Now, are you ready for me?" Kite whispered softly to you.

"I'm ready." You figured this would be the easy part. It was something you'd done before. Something familiar. It wouldn't hurt.

At least that's what you had thought.

Kite rubbed his member against your entrance, gathering slick so he would slip in easily. He aligned himself properly and pushed in slowly. Wanting to savor the feeling of you wrapped around him. He was surprised to feel how tight you were.

He barely registered your nails digging into his shoulders again until he heard you sniffle. Looking up, he saw you fighting back tears.

Concern for your well-being filled both of them.

But it wasn't because you couldn't handle it. It was just-

"Why the fuck are you both so big!?!" You whined.

It might've not been the best thing to say while both of them were getting adjusted. Neither of them could control their body's response to your words. A harsh snap of the hips from Ging and a hard thrust from Kite at your admission.

"Shit, don't say things like that yet. We're gonna hurt you, dumbass." Ging lectured, trying his best to keep still inside you.

But the thought that they were the biggest you've ever had, was making it very hard.

"S'not my fault. Feels too full inside." Both of your holes wrapped snugly around their cocks.

Another involuntary thrust inside you.

"Just tell us when you're ready. Can't hold back if you keep talking." Kite groaned against your ear, having fully bottomed out.

Your body felt hot, unused to being filled so well. Core burning with need at the fact. You were in for a long night.

"Okay. Go."

You felt them pull out slightly, the sting from your ass slowly dissipating while the uncomfortable stretch to your cunt became pleasurable.

Both setting a slow pace to get you used to the feeling. Lengths dragging against your sensitive walls until it drove you crazy. You might not be able to walk properly tomorrow.

"Faster, please." Your voice shaky with your request.

Hands around your hips tightened along with another set above them.

"I thought you'd never ask," Was Ging's cheeky response before ramming himself back in. The sudden harshness from his movements earning a gasp. The force making you crash into Kite's chest.

"Make sure to let us know if it's too much." Soft words before he righted you up and started slamming into you.

Immediately your eyes lulled up into your skull. Your cunt and ass taking them over and over. A loud squelching starting to fill the room. Grunts and groans sounding in your ears.

You couldn't help but throw your head back at a perfectly coordinated thrust from both. With your neck bared open, rough lips quickly attached themselves to the skin.

Your arms reached behind you to pull Ging closer, encouraging his assault against your neck. Crying out as he bit down on a sensitive spot.

You were vaguely aware of another set of lips trailing down to your chest. Eyes widening as a wet heat enveloped one of your nipples. Tongue lapping the sensitive bud before switching to the other.

You moved one of your arms back down and fisted silver locks, tugging Kite closer to your chest. The feeling of both mouths on you causing your holes to clench down.

It was getting harder and harder to form a coherent thought. Your throat going sore from your cries. Your poor body caught in a tug of war between the two men. Arms wrapped tightly around your body to angle themselves better.

Cocks hitting you in all the right places even though their movements greatly differed.

Ging's were fast and erratic, like he was jackrabbiting into you. Kite's were deep and sensual, like he was savoring your warmth.

It was hard to tell which you liked more. The brutal pace inside your ass stretching you like no one else had. Or the loving one inside your pussy that opened you up nice and slowly.

It didn't matter either way. What mattered was the way both had you seeing stars behind your eyes at the unwavering pleasure.

Your head was turned sharply to the side. Rough lips covering yours with an eager tongue slipping past. A groan from the Ruins Hunter as your tongues danced together, the taste of liquor a friendly reminder of tonight's earlier events.

Your head was guided away from him and towards a softer pair of lips. Kissing you tenderly before licking your lips for entrance. You obeyed and whined as Kite's tongue swiped across the roof of your mouth, getting a proper taste of you.

He pulled away with a string of saliva connecting the two of you.

The sight had your body tensing up and clenching down as your orgasm approached. You felt a smirk against your shoulder before a husky voice filled your ears.

"You liked being fucked, huh? Like having your little ass pounded into? Like Kite's cock splitting you open? Gonna cum already? You're such a baby."

Heat flooded your belly at Ging's words. Grinding your hips back into him as the coil wound itself tighter. Then there was a gentler voice in your other ear. One that was less cruel but had a very similar effect.

"That's it. You're squeezing me so tight. You enjoying yourself? Feel nice fucking your best friends? Cuz it sure as hell feels nice fucking you."

Your head felt dizzy from the different tone in words. Both making your slick drip down in between your bodies. You just couldn't hold on anymore, the shafts pounding into your holes becoming too much.

"Cumming! Gonna make me cu-ahh!" You let out a scream at the feeling of fingers rubbing against your clit once again. And it would have been comical to see both fighting and swatting the other away to touch your sensitive nub.

Key word: would've.

But the added sensation only had your mind going blank. The coil snapping as you spasmed around Kite's cock and clenched down on Ging's. The pleasured little ripples letting them know you'd reached your high.

Neither of them stopped to let you catch your breath. Even as tears of overstimulation started to form. You were just so nice and tight around them. Your gooey walls discouraging them from pulling out.

Until Ging got the bright idea to change things up a bit. This position was a little awkward and you did just cum twice.

You were lifted and swiftly pulled off Kite's cock, much to his displeasure and confusion.

"Wh-? Hey!"

"We'll have more fun this way."

You were set down ass up and face in front of Kite's dick. If you were being honest, you didn't mind this new change of position. The only thing you missed was being filled up so perfectly by both men. But this would do just fine.

------------------------------------------

An: A cliffhanger??? Yes, now all of you go to horny jail. I'll finish up part two later this week. I didn't expect it to be this long so the original warnings are gonna change around a bit.

[paganimagevault]

Tomb of Yu Hong 592-598 CE. Link to my blog at bottom with more sources and description of individual images.

This is probably a Sogdian tomb. Interestingly, the man has a haplogroup that was widespread amongst the blue-eyed Mesolithic/Neolithic Western Hunter Gatherers (WHG are probably where blue eyes originated from) and the haplogroup is found today most prominently in Sami, Finns, and Estonians. His wife has a haplogroup found prominently amongst East Asians. Based on her East Asian origins and the inclusion of some Turkic-looking people in the tomb's artwork I would assume she was probably a Turk, herself. The long-haired men without halos (e.g. panel 4) are probably Turks, that was a typical appearance for them during this time period. Men from other surrounding populations such as the Sogdians, Huns, Tocharians, etc. typically kept shorter hair that didn't go past their shoulders. More info:

"The man buried in the tomb went by Yu Hong (Chinese: 虞弘; pinyin: Yú Hóng; Wade–Giles: Yü Hung; 533–592 AD), with Mopan (莫潘) as his courtesy name, who was a Central Asian, probably of Persian or Sogdian origin, and practiced Zoroastrianism. He had settled in Early Middle Period China during the Northern Qi, Northern Zhou and Sui dynasties. This tomb is so far the only archaeological find in the Central Plains region that reflects Central Asian (Western Regions) culture. The epitaph found in the tomb records that he was a noble of the city of Yü-ho-lin / Yuhelin (尉紇驎) in the mysterious Yu country (魚國), assumably for which he is named, because the two characters 虞 and 魚 are homophones.

According to the epitaph, Yu Hong started his career in service of the nomadic tribe at the time, known as Ruru. At the age of 13, he was posted as an emissary to Persia by the Khagan of Ruru, as well as Parthia, Tuyuhun and Yuezhi. Later he went on a mission to the Northern Qi, Northern Zhou and Sui dynasties. He served as chien-chiao sa-pao fu / jianjiao sabao fu (檢校薩保府, lit. “acting director of the office of Zoroastrian affairs”, or “Sogdian affairs”) during the Northern Zhou period. The term sa-pao / sabao (薩保) comes from the Sogdian s′rtp′w, means a “caravan leader”.

He had later served as a provincial governor in the Sui dynasty government, a chieftain of the Central Asian people who had settled in China during that period. Yu Hong died at the age of 59 in 592 AD. His wife survived him by six years, and was buried in the same grave in 598 AD.

A study on ancient DNA reveals that Yu Hong belonged to the haplogroup U5, one of the oldest western Eurasian-specific haplogroups, while his wife can be classified as haplogroup G, the type prevalent in East Asia.

The age of U5 is estimated at between 25,000 and 35,000 years old, roughly corresponding to the Gravettian culture. Approximately 11% of Europeans (10% of European-Americans) have some variant of haplogroup U5.

U5 was the predominant mtDNA of mesolithic Western Hunter Gatherers (WHG) [this is where blue eyes probably originated from].

U5 has been found in human remains dating from the Mesolithic in England, Germany, Lithuania, Poland, Portugal, Russia, Sweden, France and Spain. Neolithic skeletons (~7,000 years old) that were excavated from the Avellaner cave in Catalonia, northeastern Spain included a specimen carrying haplogroup U5.

Haplogroup U5 and its subclades U5a and U5b today form the highest population concentrations in the far north, among Sami, Finns, and Estonians. However, it is spread widely at lower levels throughout Europe. This distribution, and the age of the haplogroup, indicate individuals belonging to this clade were part of the initial expansion tracking the retreat of ice sheets from Europe around 10,000 years ago.

U5 was the main haplogroup of mesolithic European hunter gatherers. U haplogroups were present at 83% in European hunter gatherers before influx of Middle Eastern farmer and steppe Indo-European ancestry decreased its frequency to less than 21%.

Today, haplogroup G is found at its highest frequency in indigenous populations of the lands surrounding the Sea of Okhotsk. It is an East Asian haplogroup. Haplogroup G is one of the most common mtDNA haplogroups among modern Ainu, Siberian, Mongol, Tibetan and Central and North Asian Turkic peoples people (as well as among people of the prehistoric Jōmon culture in Hokkaidō). It is also found at a lower frequency among many other populations of East Asia, Central Asia, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, and Nepal. However, unlike other mitochondrial DNA haplogroups typical of populations of northeastern Asia, such as haplogroup A, haplogroup C, and haplogroup D, haplogroup G has not been found among indigenous peoples of the Americas."

-taken from Wikipedia

[outofgloom]

[This story is the last in my previously-posted anthology of Bionicle short fiction, to which it lends its name]

AIKURU

We arrived at the site before sunrise. It was in a place north of the ridge called Sakerra in the language of our Skrall guides. The discovery had been made only five days ago, and as we made our way down from the wind-worn crags, there were no apparent signs of raiding. 

A structure was there in the valley, just as the flyover had reported. It was of the same gray, stonelike material from which all Their architecture is made—so old now that it no longer gleams in the light, but somehow still smooth to the touch.

As soon as we reached the lower steppes, our rangers set about the task of making provision for departure. Four days were allotted to us, and then the existence of the site would be announced to the Quadrate at large. After that, the System Adherents would claim their rights, and the site would be swallowed up in pilgrimage.

The structure was immediately familiar to me as we approached: a broad circle, rounded at the edges, raised from the ground by perhaps two spans to form a low column or stage. Half of the structure was covered beneath a berm of sediment, probably deposited by one flash-flood and then partly washed away by another. We immediately began the process of excavation, except for Neisa, who took up a position on the west side of the structure with her tools for assessing angles and spans, ready to note the position at which the red dawnlight would fall. It was a typical measurement, given the theory that such shrines were oriented in a significant way.

First with shovels and then with small brushes of fine wire, we cleared away the dust and caked mud until the entire circumference was revealed. As I had suspected, the entryway was already opened, and it too was filled with earth. Most of the first day was spent this way: in turns, we sifted through each layer, revealing step by narrow step the spiraling staircase that characterized shrines of this type. They were an original icon: the prototype for the modern chapels of the System Adherents. 

I was halfway down the second bend of the staircase, carefully cleaning dirt from the lip of the next step, when Osphos summoned me from above. I emerged with my bucket and saw that he was crouched over the shrine’s far edge. I stepped across the rolls of harak-cloth that had been laid down for the protection of the exterior and made my way over. 

“Lytus!” he said, seeing me approach. “Look here.” He pointed at the stone surface before him. 

We had already noted the usual markings on top of the shrine: the eighteen-fold division of the broad circle, the components of which descended into a staircase when the shrine was opened. That was nothing new, but here there was something else. Small symbols were carved around the outer edge of the circle; very worn, but still visible.

“They showed up once we cleared off enough sediment,” Osphos said.

“Are they makoki-symbols?”

“Herem’s Eye, that’s the word I was thinking of! Makoki-symbols, yes,” Osphos said. “Ever seen them on a structure like this?”

“No, never. Are we sure they’re original?” I crouched, put an eye close to the surface. “There’s graffiti sometimes, bone-hunter codes, the Matan inscriptions on the eastern sites... These are new to me.”

“Any guess as to what they might signify?”

“Well...” I sat back on my heels, rubbed my eyes. “Makokori are early period, and we don’t find them past Second or Third Myriad—not in the tablets or kini-ruins. Prior to that, they’re inscribed on doorways, and some of the Machines. There are theories that they signify keystones, or some kind of locking mechanism.”

“Fortunate that this shrine is already unlocked for us, then.”

“Yeah... I suppose these symbols might help date the shrine. If they’re original, this might be one of the earliest sites we’ve found. We should do an analysis of the sediment back at Naqua.”

“Already collected some samples. I’ll take a rubbing as well,” Osphos said. “How’s progress on the interior?”

I brushed off my hands. “We’re close. Another turn and we should be at the bottom. I could use more help.”

Osphos snapped his fingers to the other workers who were combing the field-grid for artifacts.

“Double-time on the stairs for the next few hours,” he called. “I want to see the bottom before Solis is down. Let’s move it!”

*  *  *

We did not reach the bottom. Normally, shrines of this kind exhibit two or three turns of stairs and then level out in a circular chamber. Not this one. Solis had set an hour ago, and still we were digging, our work illuminated only by pale quartz-lanterns. Stair after stair we exhumed, always expecting the next to be the last. But after six turns, descending fully twelve thori—or about six of Their bio—into the earth, still there was no end.

Osphos finally gave the command to stop, frustrating though it was, and we began to pack up the tools. I was at the bottom of the excavation at that point. The air was thick, and my back hurt from crouching for so long. I began to gather the various shovels and brushes that had accumulated around me, handing them up to Neisa on the stair above me. 

“Can you handle the rest?” Neisa nodded to the remaining implements.

“Right behind you.” I stood and stretched my limbs in the cramped space, then reached for my tool-bundle and bucket.

Something caught my eye—a glint in the quartzlight, a fragment of something sticking out of the mass of earth before me. I rubbed my tired eyes, blinked away the settling dust. It was still there. 

Wordlessly, I snatched up a brush and began to sweep away more dirt. It was metallic—a shaped metal object. There was a corner and a round sweep and...

“Lytus?” Osphos’s voice filtered down from above. He was annoyed. “Pack it in. We’ll get back to it first thing in the—”

“I’ve found something!” I called back. “It’s an object. I’m not sure...”

Eyeholes. A facelike shape. My heart thudded.

“It’s a mask,” I said excitedly. “One of Theirs.”

“What?!” Neisa had come back down the staircase. Light from her lantern spilled into the space. “What condition?”

“Intact, I think.”

She knelt down beside me with a brush of her own. Together we worked to carefully expose the surface of the mask. The sediment here was dry and loose, spilling away in small showers of particulate. All at once, the object came free, along with a mass of unpacked earth. Out of instinct, I put out a hand to catch it.

“Watch it,” Neisa said. “Careful not to—”

I was standing on the stairs, alone. Light was coming from somewhere—not quartzlight, from somewhere below me. Coming up out of the stone itself. I was descending... or had I been ascending? My mind was kuru, and... What? Dark. Foggy. My mind was foggy. What was happening? Where was—

Suddenly the ground lurched, and there was a roaring noise above. I staggered against the smooth poha... no, stone. Against the stone, and the avo flickered below me. The light flickered, rather. Then another tremor knocked me sideways, and stars broke out in my aku as my head struck the poha hard. The avo went out, and the roaring was all around, and it was kuru, ai kuru, ai kuru ai—

“...touch it,” Neisa finished. The metal of the mask was cold against my fingers. The stairs spun, and I felt sick for a moment. Then it was over. I quickly transferred the mask to a strip of harak-cloth, handling it gingerly.

“What was... What did you say?” I shook my head. “Don’t touch it?”

“Yeah... uh, you alright? You look pale.”

I grinned. “I’m fine. Could use some fresh air though. You feeling superstitious or something?”

She scoffed. “I don’t know why I said that. It was silly.”

“You know they say these masks trap the souls of their wearers...”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Neisa bent down to examine the artifact. “Amazing. I’ve only seen them behind glass, or in the sterile rooms at Naqua.”

“Yeah, this is... It’s a find,” I said. The mask felt heavy and solid in my hands.

There was a murmur on the stairs, and I could hear Osphos’s grumbling voice descending toward us. He turned the corner.

“What now?” he said. “Tell me you’ve found something to make this worthwhile.”

“Think so,” I said, holding up the mask.

“What’s that?”

“Are you blind?” Neisa laughed. “It’s a Kanochus Mat—”

“No,” Osphos said, pointing past us. “That.”

There was a cavity in the wall of earth before us. It must have opened up when we removed the mask. 

“The bottom!” Neisa said excitedly. She moved forward, shining her light through the gap. 

She stopped. It wasn’t the bottom. I could already see. My heart was still thudding. It was dark. It was roaring in my ears. There was a smell, strangely metallic... and another shape sticking out of the dirt. Not a mask.

Fingers. A hand. An arm.

A face. Flat, blank eyes. A circular, wedge-like mouth. Open.

One of Them.

*  *  *

We stood around the examination table with its harak-draped contents—Osphos, Neisa, and myself. It was afternoon, and Solis was already falling toward the horizon, casting red shadows through the fabric of the tent.

Osphos broke the silence: “I don’t need to impress upon either of you how significant a find this is. Maybe the most significant I’ve overseen.”

“That’s for sure,” Neisa said. “The protobiologists back at the Institute would lose it if they knew...”

“They would, and hopefully they still will.” 

We had worked to remove the body from the shrine over the course of the day—Osphos, Neisa, and myself, in shifts. It had been difficult work, but uneventful. Bit by bit we’d brushed away the packed earth and ancient sediment, revealing more and more of the remains. Now extricated from its tomb, the body lay on the large table before us, still wrapped, ready to be examined.

Before today, I’d only ever seen bits and pieces, partial casts of exoskeletons, mock-ups of skull-like faces... But this was different. It was completely intact, as far as we could tell: head, torso, limbs. A monumental find. The first complete specimen of what we called Matorus Matans. 

“Before we start, there’s the matter of our timetable,” Osphos continued. “We obviously weren’t expecting a development like this, and that means priorities have changed.” He looked at me: “We might not get back to the shrine. I’m sorry, Lytus.”

My heart sank. “You’re sure? The shrine is pretty significant on its own, and we still haven’t reached the base layer.”

“It’s not going anywhere. The Adherents can have their Node if they want, and we’ll work something out via the Institute later if necessary. These... remains... have to be our focus now. I want them cataloged and prepared for transport offsite.”

“Offsite?” Neisa raised her eyebrows. “That’s pretty drastic.”

“There’s good reason,” Osphos said. “The Adherents have some odd notions when it comes to remains of this kind.”

“I mean, they’ll want them interred I suppose, but...”

“Maybe. It’s complicated—”

The tent-flap opened, and someone else entered carrying a bundle of implements. It was one of the junior researchers—Cyrcia.

“Yes?” Osphos said flatly.

“I told her that she could observe,” I said, beckoning her in. “Neisa and I thought we could use an extra set of hands.”

“You’ve done catalog before?” Osphos asked.

“Yes, I have,” Cyrcia replied. Her eyes passed over the table and its contents, then back up. “It’s a real honor, I’ve gotta say—”

“I’m sure it is. Grab a tablet, and get ready to make notes.” Osphos turned to the table, cracked his knuckles. 

“The light’s a bit better now. Neisa, will you do the honors?”

Neisa began to carefully pull back the cloth that covered the body while I unrolled a bundle of fine tools. The limbs and lower torso were still encrusted with sediment. I’d start with that while Neisa took her measurements. We each began to call out observations in turn for Cyrcia to transcribe. We moved quickly, notating and tagging the legs and the squared-off feet, then the lower torso with its segments, then the upper torso.

“One and a half thori across the chest,” Neisa called out, “and we’ll say ten sub-thori for the arms...”

“Primary exoskeleton is of common morphology,” Osphos said. “Similar format to those recovered from the Galian Sea. Connective tissues are mostly decayed...” 

“Some surface corrosion around the joining plates,” I added. “Centerline and upper shoulders. Only 1-2 ditori of penetration. Make note for dating purposes, mark upper-left buckle for cross-sectioning...”

“Twelve sub-thori across the lower mid-section. Five sub-thori for each of the radial pistons...”

“Tissue residue along the clavicle struts. Mark for lab-sampling. Limbs and neck will need to be secured for transport...”

Finally, we reached the head. I tugged the cloth upward and pulled it off. Cyrcia gasped and put a hand to her mouth.

“First time?” Neisa said, smiling.

“Yes, but... shouldn’t it be... shouldn’t it stay covered?”

“It’s a corpse,” Osphos said. “Just a body, like yours or mine. Several ten-myriads older, but nothing to be afraid of, despite all the superstitions.”

“Right... sorry.”

“Can you handle it?”

“I can.”

“Good. Let’s keep going then. And remember—no souvenirs. We’re not bone hunters here.”

Neisa rolled her eyes. The practice of fashioning talismans from Their relics and remains had fortunately been curbed in recent centuries, though you could still find them in the odd back-alley market. 

We finished primary cataloging, and Osphos stepped to one of the crates, removing a bundle he had stored there. He moved back to the table and unwrapped it. Smooth metal glinted in the tent. Two eyeholes stared up at the tent-roof. Cyrcia’s eyes goggled at the ancient mask.

“Shall we do a match-up?” Neisa asked, nodding to the exposed face. “This would have been the specimen’s personal Kanochus. It must have been separated during whatever flood or mudslide buried the shrine.”

There was a noise in my ears. Roaring noise, and a memory of a dark place... I shook it off as Osphos moved to the head of the table after double-checking the mask’s interior. He lowered the mask gingerly over the face, lining up the mouth-apertures. There was a faint click. Neisa leaned over to see how it fit over the side-vents—

Dark eyes glowed, and a light winked on in the center of the chest. Pistons hissed. Joints creaked. The body sat up suddenly in a shower of dust, limbs convulsing, fingers clenching and unclenching. I stumbled backward in shock, tripping over the low crates that lined the tent-wall. The masked face swiveled mechanically in my direction, and there was a noise. Not a noise—a voice. The rounded wedge-mouth was grinding out syllables at me. Alien sounds. Alien words. I put up my hands to ward it off, and—

Everyone was standing still. The eyes were dark. The body had not moved. I was sitting on a crate, my ears ringing. Neisa was looking down at me with a concerned expression. 

“You okay, Lytus?”

“I... I got dizzy,” I lied.

“How much sleep did you get last night?” Osphos asked. He had removed the mask and was wrapping it up again. 

“A few hours at least. I’m fine, really.” I stood up, looking at the motionless body warily, trying to compose myself. No one else had seen what I had seen. It hadn’t really happened. Neisa was still looking at me. 

“Are you sure? You look a little unsettled. First in the shrine, and then this. Maybe you should see a medic.”

Before I could reply, the tent-flap opened and another worker poked his head in. He was out of breath.

“Sorry, to bother you, boss, but there’s, uh... Someone’s here to talk to you.”

“Someone?” Osphos frowned.

“There was an airship, not two minutes ago. It landed beyond the ridge, and someone’s approaching from the trail.”

“Herem’s Eye,” Osphos swore.

*  *  *

The rangers escorted the strangers—there were two of them, actually—down to the edge of the camp. 

One was tall—clearly an Athori—and as he approached, it was plain that he was fully armored; head to toe, like the Glatorian of old. The other was much shorter, bent over, leaning on a staff. It was a Skrall—an ancient one, by the head-crest. 

Both of them wore metal masks. Only their eyes were visible.

The tall one planted himself just ahead, his squared-off, armored feet crunching in the gravel. The Skrall settled himself on a low metal stool beside him.

Osphos stepped forward. “Welcome,” he said politely. “I am Osphos, the overseer of this excavation. And you are?”

“My designation is Tasius,” the tall one said. His voice rang harsh behind the mask. “I am a Toa of the Adherency, of the Ackarian line. This...” he gestured to the Skrall, “...is Tura Shozu, elder of the Adherent Node at New Tellu. We have been sent to make claim upon this site.

“You’ve lost no time, it seems,” Osphos said dryly. “I wasn’t aware the Quadrate had opened the site at this time.”

“The site and its contents must be turned over at once. We—” Tasius stopped suddenly. The Skrall had raised a wizened hand.

“You are aware,” the elder said in a thin voice, “that the Adherency is granted right of access to all sites attributed to the System of Mata, are you not?”

“Well aware, yes. That is what we aim to determine: the provenance of the site, and the proper methods of its excavation and preservation, according to our charter.”

“Preservation or contamination?” The Skrall’s glance flicked to the tents behind us. “Our intelligence has indicated that this site is of particular significance to the Adherency.”

“You can follow the proper channels to make your claims, like everyone else.”

The Skrall continued undeterred:

“We have been made aware of certain... remains... left at this site. What is their nature, and how have they been contained?”

I could see the muscles in Osphos’s jaw flexing.

“Our excavation is less than two days old. May I ask the source of your ‘intelligence’?”

“The System is knowledge. Through Unity, knowledge is shared.”

“Fascinating,” Osphos said. “Well, regardless of your sources, I can’t give you access to the site at this time. By charter, the Quadrate has—”

“Animal remains, yes? Within the structure. I was led to believe that it was a beast.”

“I’m not at liberty to make that assessment.”

“May I see the remains?”

“All materials found at this site will be made publicly available.”

“I demand to see the remains.”

“No.”

The Skrall smiled. “Thank you for your candor. We have a truth-saying, amongst the Nodes: ‘The people of the world are of one nature or the other: Look into their hearts, and you will see that they are either Builders or Destroyers.”

“With respect, I believe it may be more complicated than that.”

“Then I have looked into your heart.”

“Uh…thank you. Is that all, Tura? We have a lot of work still to do.”

“I shall take word of our conversation to the Node Hierarchy and return later.”

“Fine by me.”

The Skrall put out a crooked hand and closed it into a fist in the manner of the Adherents. He inclined his head, waiting. After a moment, Osphos stepped forward and pressed his own fist against the elder’s. Then it was over. The Athori helped the Skrall to stand, and the two of them departed back up the slope, accompanied by the rangers. Osphos stood and watched, tapping his foot. He spoke quietly, keeping his face fixed in a smile.

“So much for offsite transport,” he growled after a few minutes. “They’ll have eyes on the camp now. By Angon, if we’d been just a bit quicker...” He swore again. Then, satisfied that the rangers had escorted the Toa far enough, he turned back to the camp. 

“Nothing for it now. Let’s clean up and get things packed away. Oh, and Lytus—”

“Yeah?”

“Get some sleep—for real this time. I can’t have you falling over again during sensitive work.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

*  *  *

I didn’t sleep well that night after all. Instead, I dreamed. 

Long, complicated dreams. Dreams that didn’t make any sense. I was in the stairwell of the shrine again. I was on a bright, open plain. I was speaking words and sentences that meant nothing to me. I was running from a dark, crashing wave that rolled over me and pressed on my face, on my mouth. 

I was walking on the open plain again, and two suns were shining down on me. My face was still covered though, somehow. I reached up to claw at whatever was there. It came away in my hands. 

It was my face, staring up at me. 

I was lying in my cot, and the tent was dark. The desert night was cold outside. I shivered and turned over. There was a noise at the tent-flap, something scraping in the dirt. The dull ring of metal on poha... on stone. 

The flaps shook. It was trying to get in. It was grinding, grinding words and syllables at me, words that meant nothing. It was roaring, roaring noise and darkness, darker than the night. It was kuru, ai kuru, roaring over the camp, crashing through the walls of my tent in a wave and sweeping me down into dark, into kuru, ai kuru, ai kuru ai—

“Lytus?” Neisa’s voice brought me fully awake. It was morning. My bleary eyes focused, and I could see her silhouette through the side of the tent. “Lytus, you awake?”

“I’m up, sorry. What’s going on?”

“The emissary from the Adherents is back. Osphos is speaking with them.”

“Oh. What should we do?”

“Osphos said to stay put. Probably wouldn’t look good to have everyone out at the shrine right now.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Yeah I’m heading over to one of the storage tents to help with tagging. Want to help?”

“Sure, I’ll follow you over in a bit.”

After a few minutes, I stepped outside into the pale red sunlight. I could see Osphos and a couple of the rangers on the far side of the circle of tents. The Athori and the Skrall were there as well. Their voices echoed faintly in the morning air, and I found myself walking closer. I stepped behind one of the taller tents nearby.

“...does not accord with our canons,” the Skrall was saying. 

“I confess, Shozu—can I call you Shozu?”

“The correct title is ‘Tura’,” another voice said brusquely—the armored Athori.

“Sorry... Tura,” Osphos continued. “I’m not as familiar with the canons of Adherency as I should be, but I can assure you—”

“It is of utmost importance that we examine the site. The Kanohi in particular must be handed over.”

They knew about the mask somehow. Had they been spying on the camp?

“As I’ve said, that is something to take up with the Quadrate.”

“It is already in process, but the matter is urgent.”

“I must adhere to my charter and await further orders. Until then, we’ll continue our work.”

“We must be allowed to supervise. My companion here is trained in the handling of such objects. They must be treated with utmost care.”

“Yes, and—”

“And these remains—they must be verified. Some hapless bone hunter or a beast, I’m sure.”

“As I’ve told you, it is clearly a specimen of Matorus Matans, good Tura. There’s no mistaking it.”

“And as I have said, this is not in accord with our canons. Such things only lead to greater kuru.”

“Pardon?”

“Greater obscurity—my apologies. The Children of Mata are not some extinct automaton race. We ourselves are the heirs to the Great System Hierarchy. You must understand—”

“Your beliefs are your own.”

“...The Kanohi are precious. They connect us to the spirit of Mata, and to the spirits of those from the Before Time...” 

My mind was racing, an avalanche of thoughts, fragments of dreams. A roaring noise, and dark, and kuru... What was happening to me? The Kanohi are precious... They connect us to the spirit of Mata...

What if...?

“Only then can we hope to repair the Shattering,” the elder was saying.

“With respect,” Osphos replied, “the Shattering is ancient history. It was repaired, at least five myriads ago.”

“A common myth, but it is a great untruth.”

I could tell Osphos was short on patience by now: “I can literally point it out to you in the strata. You see that ridge there? The Sakerran Ridge? It’s the tail end of a subduction zone where the Botan and Baran plates met—”

The Skrall laughed dryly: “A fantastical narrative, I admit, that a planet could be broken in pieces. But the reality is much more abstract. We ourselves live within the Shattering, my friend: the decay of the Great System Hierarchy of the Great Beings, which they called Mata Nui...” 

“I do not—”

“We the Matoran,” the Skrall continued, ignoring him, “the Children of Mata, work now to rebuild and restore the Great System, in accordance with our canon. To connect all things together, till the scattered elements are made whole. Only then will the Great Beings return and truly heal this world.”

A long moment passed. The air was thick with tension.

“Ahem... I do not believe this conversation is productive,” Osphos said at last. “I’m not granting you access to the site at this time—no matter what your canons say. You’ll just have to wait for your request to be approved by the Quadrate, and that’s that, by Angon.”

Something happened. There was a scuffling noise, and the clank of armor.

“Hold it! That’s enough, you—”

I peeked over the top of the tent. The Athori—the one who had called himself a ‘Toa’—was standing between Osphos and the Skrall now, fists clenched. For a moment, I thought... I thought the air around him was shimmering with heat, like high noon on the desert. Then it was gone. There were rangers standing all around, and I noticed that they had weapons at the ready. One of them swung a bolas lazily.

“Control your guard, Shozu,” Osphos spat. “My reports go directly to the Quadrate. They’ll hear of this.”

“Take not the names of the Great Beings in vain!” the Skrall said indignantly, pointing a crooked finger from his stool. “The canon shall not be denied, nor shall it be mocked.”

“I’ve said all I have to say, by Angon.” He emphasized the expletive. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Tura, I’m on a timetable—”

“Such things lead only to kuru and ukuru worse! We must strive for clarity...!”

I had heard enough. Quietly I crept away between the tents, back toward the other side of the camp. The Skrall’s words spun in my mind as I walked. Kuru and ukuru worse. Something was wrong—ever since I had touched that mask... was that when it started? What did the Skrall know? I wanted to tell someone, but who would believe it? I was tired, that was all. It had been a long few days, full of strangeness and excitement. That must be it. I hoped so...

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. We didn’t get much work done—mostly tagging and storing various artifacts found around the site. I was itching to get back to the shrine, but Osphos was wary. He had sent couriers south to apprise our Quadrate contacts of the situation, but they wouldn’t be back until tomorrow. Until then, we were stuck.

In the evening, Osphos sought me out. He had a bundle under one arm.

“Here, Lytus. I’d like you to keep this in your tent.”

It was the mask. My mouth was suddenly very dry.

“Is that, uh, necessary?”

“Maybe not, but I’m taking no chances. The Adherents aren’t getting any more patient. Neisa’s keeping some other artifacts, and I think I’ll sleep in the examination tent tonight, just in case.”

“You mean... with the body?”

“Don’t make it sound creepier than it is.”

“Sorry.”

He offered the mask. I took it. My fingers felt numb.

“Tell you what, we’ll take another pass at excavating the shrine in the morning, try to get to the bottom.” 

“That’s great! I’ll have my gear ready.”

“Only one day left to go, so what have we got to lose, right?”

The mask felt heavier than I remembered.

*  *  *

I had the dream again that night, or something like it. A stairwell, a bright plain with two suns. A dark roaring... Then... Then something else. A dim enclosure. Fabric walls. A tent? I was lying on my back, and my limbs were bound tight. My face was covered, but not with heavy suffocating darkness like before. It was lightweight, like cloth. I struggled, I yelled. My words were meaningless again. 

The tent-flap shook, like last time. I could hear it, the scraping, the grinding. It was trying to get in, but I couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything. The entrance parted, and there was darkness outside. Darkness on the ground, and in the darkness... now there was a crawling thing. Crawling, dragging itself through the dust, right up to the place where I lay. I could feel it. See it, even though my face was covered. Its flat eyes glowed, and its mouth was open. Grasping hands rose up toward me and searched, reached, searched—

I was standing in front of myself, seeing myself. I was stretched out beneath the covering, on the table. I was walking under stars, and my hands were full of something. I looked down and saw that I was holding my face. It looked up at me, up at the stars. I tried to put it back on, but it wasn’t my face anymore. It was glowing eyes and grasping hands, and a mouth grinding syllables and words. It was a shape under fabric, stretched out on a table in the dark, and I stood before it, holding its face... my face. 

I clawed at the covering, trying to pull it off, but the noise was approaching again. The roaring, rolling noise, and my face... its face... my face was grinding alien sounds and alien words, and it was so dark in the stairwell, in the cold, heavy earth. So dark under the cloying wrap of fabric, so kuru it was, and ukuru worse, ai kuru, ai ukuru—

I awakened in a cold sweat and rolled over. My hands slid in sand, and a stinging thornbush brought me fully awake. I wasn’t in my cot. Wasn’t in my tent. How...? It was still nighttime, but there were lights in the encampment, and the sound of people running. I could hear voices. What was happening? I stumbled up, brushing dust from my face, and realized that I was in the space next to my own tent. I went to the entrance and looked inside. No one there. Then I looked out toward the center of the camp, trying to get my bearings.

A figure came out of the darkness, and I flinched as it grabbed my arm. It was Osphos. He was out of breath.

“Where is it, Lytus?” he hissed. “The body—it’s gone!”

“What, from the examination tent?”

“Yes that body, by Angon. Did you do something? I didn’t even hear...”

“N-no, of course not!”

“What about Neisa? Have you seen her?”

“I haven’t.”

“Have you seen anyone?!”

“No, I just woke up!”

“Adherents...” He ground his teeth. “Ah, the Quadrate will hear of this...”

“Wait—Are you sure?”

“Who else? It’s gone from the tent, but nothing else has been taken. I came right here once I realized. Where’s the mask? Has anyone been in your tent?” He pushed past me, through the entrance.

A crawling thing, a thing with glowing eyes, reaching out... but that wasn’t my tent, was it?

“N-no, no one,” I stammered. 

“Where did you put it? I have to be sure.”

I moved to the back of the tent and opened my personal crate. The hinges creaked. “It’s right here, see?”

The mask was gone, wrapping and all. Osphos saw.

“Acta!” he cursed, and then let fly a string of imprecations, invoking the dream-eater and the death-mind, among others. “What, were you drugged or something?!”

“I don’t know... Osphos, I—” I tried to get it out. “I had a dream, or I thought it was a dream. I keep seeing things...”

“Spare me.” He stormed out of the tent, and I followed, feeling absolutely bewildered. There was too much happening, too fast. 

“Go find Neisa,” Osphos ordered. “I’m heading back to the examination tent. Can you handle that?”

“Yes, boss.”

I snatched up a quartz-lantern and made my way across the encampment toward Neisa’s tent. Hers was the last tent on the outer ring of the camp. My lantern cast a pale glow over the ground as I went, and I could see that there were lights in the hills now, figures moving up and down the steppe. The rangers were likely combing the perimeter. I stopped for a moment to watch, then realized that I had stupidly lost track of which tent was which. Was Neisa on the east or the west side?

I backtracked. The tents all looked the same in the quartzlight. I took a different turn... and now found myself standing on the path that led out to the open part of the valley. Out toward the shrine.

There were footprints in the dirt. Very fresh. Hard-edged, square toe. Where had I seen that before? I looked up the path, raising the lantern. There was something else. I stepped forward to investigate. It was a heap of cloth, harak-cloth, in small strips. Further up the path, there was another bundle cast to the side.

I kept walking, quickening my pace. More bits of cloth here and there. More footprints. Soon, the edge of the shrine loomed ahead. I moved toward it, stepping gingerly through the rope-grids that were stretched over the ground. I made a circuit of the shrine, then I climbed up on top. I wasn’t even sure what I was looking for. I shed quartzlight all around, then I stooped to look into the stairwell. The dust on the stairs had recently been disturbed—

“Get down from there,” a voice said, and I whirled to see the towering figure of the Athori Tasius standing on the trail.

“You—” I said. “What are you doing here?”

“I have every right,” the Athori said, stepping forward. “Remove yourself from the sacred Amaja!”

I put up my hands appeasingly and complied, climbing back down to the ground and taking a few steps toward him.

“I saw footprints on the trail up here,” I said. “Were they yours?”

“On the trail? No. I came from the hills. I have been charged to keep watch over the Amaja, to make sure no one further contaminates the site.” 

“Did you see anyone come here ahead of me?”

“No.”

“There’s been a theft in the camp,” I said. “Do you have anything to do with that?” I immediately regretted asking so directly.

“Theft?” The Athori’s eyes widened. “Theft of what?” He took another step toward me.

“Uh...”

“Tell me!”

“The mask! The... the Kanohi, you call it. Someone took it tonight.”

“What else?”

“Nothing,” I lied.

The Athori said a word that was foreign to me. Probably a curse. He looked back toward the camp. His hands were clenched.

“Listen,” I said, “it looks like someone has entered the shrine. It wasn’t you, was it?”

“I am forbidden, without the Tura,” he said.

“Well, I’ll need to check inside.” I took a step back toward the shrine. “It will only take a second. If you’ll just wait here—”

A heavy, armored grip fell on my shoulder and I was forcefully turned back around. The Athori was fast, and very strong.

“The Amaja will not be touched again,” his voice said, deadly serious. I could feel hot breath through the mouth-piece of his mask. “You and your people have brought rahi upon this place, but no more. Now, I—”

He stopped suddenly, and I felt his fingers seize. He was looking past me, up at the shrine. I turned slowly.

Glowing eyes. An ancient mask. A small figure stood upon the top of the shrine, unmoving. I could see it. The Athori could see it. It was no hallucination this time. Not a dream.

“M-manas!” the Athori croaked. “Get back!”

He shoved me to the side before I could say a word.

And then he burst into flame.

Real flame, like the elementals of old who had been devoured by the Great Beings’ wrath. I didn’t even have time to register shock or surprise before the heat washed over me. Instinctively I threw up my arms to protect myself.

“Stop!” I shouted, scrambling away. “You’ll damage the site! Stop it!”

The fire whirled up and resolved into a glowing nimbus around the Athori’s hands and head. He drew a strange tool from a slot in his armor, and aimed it at the figure atop the shrine.

“No!”

Something flew out of the dark—a whirling rope-like thing—and wrapped itself around Tasius’s burning face and neck. The ends of the bolas whirled for a split second before they snapped tight, and the loud clack of the weights meeting their target made my teeth hurt. The fire went out suddenly, and the scene plunged into darkness. I heard the tramp of feet on the path, and voices shouting. Quartzlight bobbed in the distance. 

I was already up and over the top of the shrine before I knew what I was doing. The figure was gone. The opening of the stairwell yawned before me—cool dark after the furnace heat—and I was scrambling down the stairs, two at a time.

“Wait!” I shouted, but my voice was blunted on the stone. “Come back!” 

Turn after turn I went. I wasn’t thinking straight. It was pitch-black. I should have grabbed my lantern, but I had dropped it. I realized my hands were burned. They stung when I touched the wall, feeling my way along. I stumbled, picked myself up, and then felt earth against my fingers. The wall of earth where we had stopped excavating. No one was here... Had I been mistaken? Had the figure not gone back into the shrine? Maybe it had run off... 

There was light, I realized. It wasn’t pitch-black here. My eyes adjusted, and I saw with a shock that the earth wall wasn’t a wall anymore. It had been dug through, shoveled back and shored up into the walls of a narrow tunnel. When had the others done this? Why hadn’t they notified me? There were handprints in the dust, I noticed. Squared-off palm, five fingers.

Heedless, I push on, squeezing through the tunnel, wriggling on my chest. For a moment I thought I was stuck, and panic surged, but then I was through, and there was no more earth. No more dirt or sediment. The stairs on the other side were clear, pristine. We had been so close, after all. 

The light was stronger here, filtering up from somewhere below me. Coming up out of the stone itself. I had been here before, hadn’t I? No, not possible. I had just come through the tunnel... and I was descending... or had I been ascending? My mind was... my mind was kuru, and... foggy... What was I doing here again? I was waiting for something, wasn’t I? Waiting for a roaring sound... a darkness to come and cover me. I had been here many times, in my dreams.

No, that had been before, long ago. This time it was different. I was descending, and the light was getting stronger. Another bend of the stairs, and then the stairs ended.

It was a round, level, circular room—just like the many others I had seen before. The first thing I noticed was the Pedestal. In shrines of this kind, there was usually a square pedestal at one end, surmounted by a face-like image. In later types, the image was the skull of an animal, usually a Spikit or an Ironwolf.

On this one, there was a mask. It was the mask. It was glowing, and the light was coming out of every surface. My heart was thudding. 

I was not alone. The body lay in a heap on the ground before the pedestal. I could see scorch marks on its back and upper arms. I came closer and saw that it was moving slightly. Slow breaths. The eyes glowed faintly.

I touched it, gently, almost reverently. It was strange how my mind resisted the idea that this was no longer... remains... It was living, somehow. After all these eons, it was alive. The dim eyes shifted, fixed on me. The mouth moved, and the wedge-like shapes ground out their halting syllables and words, but I still could not understand. 

How had it gotten the mask?

A crawling thing, with glowing eyes, searching, reaching. 

A shape under fabric, stretched out on a table in the dark. 

What was happening to me?

I was walking under stars. I was crawling, dragging through the dust. I was standing in front of myself, looking down at myself. I was holding my face in my hands. I was touching an ancient mask in a small, cramped space, and sparks were leaping into me. Its metal was cold against my fingers. The Kanohi are precious, I remembered. They connect us to the spirit of Mata...

It was dark all around. It was roaring. It was kuru, ai kuru, ai kuru ai—

A metal hand touched me weakly and brought me back to reality. The finger pointed up at the glowing mask atop the pedestal, and I understood. It needed the mask—its personal Kanochus.The mask had activated the shrine, but the circuit was incomplete. It needed the mask back, in order to accomplish whatever purpose it intended. Whatever purpose it had been kept from all those eons ago.

There was a noise on the stairs. Voices murmuring. The thud of metal on stone. How much time had passed? I had lost track. They would be looking for me. Hopefully the rangers had done their work.

“I’m here!” I shouted up. The voices continued. The hand gripped my arm again. The mouth ground out more words.

“I know,” I said. 

I stood and pulled the mask off the pedestal. It sparked in my hands, and I felt a charge go through me... or maybe that feeling had already been there, ever since I touched the mask, days ago. Something had been clinging to me. I felt it now. Something intangible, something in my thoughts and my dreams. I had joked about trapped souls to Neisa, but now I wasn’t so sure...

The light increased. I bent toward the body... not just a body—toward the Matoran... and—

A wave of heat rushed down the stairwell, and a burning smell filled the chamber. I froze, and fear surged in my chest as I turned my head to look.

It was the old Skrall. He was standing on the stairs, leaning on his staff. His eyes were sharp behind his mask, and somewhere in the back of my mind it clicked, that although the masks of the Adherents were clearly forged like the one I now held, they were subtly different, like a picture whose original reference had been lost. A copy of a copy of a copy...

“Hold a moment,” the Skrall said urgently. “You stand on sacred ground. Disturb not the machines of the Great Beings.”

“I don’t know what that means.” I stood up and turned around slowly. The Skrall’s eyes widened as he saw what I was holding... and what was slumped behind me.

“That Kanohi...” he hissed, descending another step. “It is meant for the Children of Mata alone. You must give it to me—it is not for you to touch!”

“I’ve already touched it. It has... shown me things. Things I don’t understand.”

The Skrall’s breath hissed in his mask.

“Give it to me, and all shall be restored to unity.”

“It’s not yours. It belongs to... to this one.” I pointed at the Matoran. The dim eyes looked at the wizened elder, but the Skrall averted his gaze.

“This is not in accord with our canons,” he intoned. 

“I don’t—”

“Such things only lead to greater kuru.”

I was on a stairway. I was on a great open plain, beneath two suns. My face was covered, but it was not my face. Not anymore. It belonged to someone else.

“You’re wrong.” I held the mask close.

“The canon shall not be denied, nor shall it be mocked. Give me the mask.”

The Skrall was not alone now. Another figure moved into the stairwell behind him. A cracked and broken mask, a bruised and bloodied face. More heat poured into the chamber as the Athori Tasius descended, eyes still glowing with fire.

I shrank back to the pedestal, and the lights of the shrine brightened further. The Matoran moved pitifully. We were trapped. The pedestal was humming. Waiting. 

Waiting.

The Athori was moving, hindered by the small opening. His armored hand reached out at me, white-hot.

But I had already placed the mask on the Matoran’s face, and the charge that I had felt in my body went out of me... back into the mask, into the Matoran.

And the shrine was blazing white with light, and the pedestal was retracting into the wall. And the Skrall was staggering back onto the stairs, eyes raving. And the Athori was still moving forward, overbalanced, tipping forward into suddenly empty space.

The walls were pulled back and then were gone as the bottom of the shrine became a circular platform and dropped down, down into pitch-black. The stairwell shrank into the distance above us, and I saw the Athori hang for a moment, glowing with heat. Then he fell, whirling like a fiery meteor, right past the edge of the descending platform and away into the greater dark. 

Gone.

A few moments passed, maybe longer. I sank down on the platform, exhausted and spent. The Matoran was sitting next to me. It reached out and gripped my shoulder with its metal hand. Its eyes were glowing bright again, and the light in its chest blinked steadily, despite the corrosion and scorch-marks that covered the rest of its body. It looked at me, and its mouth shifted into a different configuration. 

I think it was smiling. 

Cold air rushed past us as we fell onward, onward into unknown. I don’t know how long we spent in that smooth descent. I looked up and saw nothing above, and nothing on either side. I wondered if I would ever see the surface again, if I would ever have a chance to tell someone. I wondered what was happened or had happened in the camp. I wondered if anyone else but the two Adherents knew what had happened to me, to the mask, to the Matoran...

Except for the light of the platform beneath us, it was dark all around. Featureless, unbroken dark. 

“Kuru,” I said aloud, unbidden, remembering the word.

“Ha te ai kuru,” my companion replied, nodding.

I shivered and rubbed my arms. 

“Ukuru,” I said.

“Ru,” it replied, standing up. “Ru te aikuru. Akuya.”

The Matoran went to the edge of the platform—too close for my comfort—and pointed out into the surrounding dark. 

“Akuya,” it said, and gestured at my... my eyes. My aku. Look. It beckoned me and pointed again. And hesitating, shivering, I rose and went to where it stood, and looked out. And I saw:

Rising up over us, ascending as we descended into the depths of Spherus Magna... Deeper than any excavation could reach, deeper than the catacombs of lost Atero, or the mass tombs of the Glatori hosts, farther and deeper than the silo-vaults of the Great Beings, or the maze-labyrinths of Old Skralla, or the vast mutated seabeds of Old Spherus... Far beyond the reach of Quadrates or Adherencies, of charters or canons...

Past the unknown dark, the aikuru...

There were stars, and two suns rising.

[hiveworks]

June is winding down, but our recommendations are never ending. Now is also a great time to remind you that our creators are supported by ad rev. When you read these comics, be sure to white list their websites and support your favorite creators!⁠

Ghost Junk Sickness by @studiocartridge

Trigger Elliot is a bounty hunter who travels around the galaxy with his not-so-fully-licensed-and-technically-illegal-hunting-partner Vahn Gavotte. They're lousy at what they do and often resort to petty tactic just to get a bounty. This is their life. Their home planet, June 7, is a world rebuilding itself form an inexplicable catastrophic phenomenon that destroyed 75% of the planet's surface. It has been 5 years since the destruction of June 7 and the planet now thrives on the transient and growing population of bounty hunters. Trigger and Vahn's routine changes when an ambiguous huge bounty surfaces; an alleged bounty hunter killer named "the Ghost" with frightening abilities and an unknown motive. When Trigger's past catches up with him, there begins a strain on his and Vahn's hunting dynamic, forcing them to become further involved in chasing the elusive and unpredictable ghost. Ghost Junk Sickness is an action packed sci-fi LGBTQ+ comic created by CARTRIDGE.

Kochab by Sarah Webb

Kochab is a YA wlw fantasy comic about two girls lost in a pile of ruins under the woods, inspired by various myths and fairytales. A lost skier trying to survive a snowy wilderness and find her way back to her village stumbles across and awakens a fire spirit trying to fix the home that she’s let fall apart around her.

Shaderunners by Alex Assan & Lin Darrow

A thousand years ago, the last colour in the world faded to grey. Now, after the great archaeological discovery of Queen Sorizahana’s shade-stocked tomb, it stands ready to enter the world again. Ironwell City will become the birthplace of the burgeoning colour industry, where colour is pumped out of factories, poured into perfumed bottles and sold at exorbitant prices to those wealthy enough to afford the luxury. At least, that’s the plan according to the Five Financiers of the Sorizahana excavation. One part Prohibition fantasy, one part Robin Hood, and a whole lot of epic heist, Shaderunners follows a group of ragtag bootleggers and bohemians who band together in an effort to steal colour from the wealthy echelons of Ironwell’s high society. Among them: a philosopher, a puppeteer, a gutter rat, an opera singer, a naval officer and a hopeless romantic. Together, they run The Glass Dial, former watch shop and future night club, where all the house drinks run red. Speak easy, pal, ‘cause the road to ruin is paved with good intentions.

Augustine by @windywallflower

Augustine follows the adventure of August and her friends: Brick, Heti and Ande as they survive in the perilous region known as the Crater. You can call them all Trouble (with the capital T) as they wrack up bounties for their rowdiness, most especially from the local head honcho Tanto the Bull. During these escapades, however, the group stumbles into an ancient artifact, a possible piece of an old myth surrounding the Crater. This discovery soon leads them down a path of chaos, chased by bounty hunters and old forgotten gods. This comic uses aspects of Greek Mythology, and delves into concepts of ancient relics and the deities they represent and what it means to find your own family.