#solid stone turns to clay

[randyzorra]

Can't stop thinking abt my pirate au

[fanneyxxx]

@randyzorra ughhhh so i read the new chapter of SSTTC and got inspired a little \im not really good at drawing

[marlynnofmany]

One Peril of Package Delivery

“Do you think this floats?” Paint asked, hefting the plasticky white box that was our delivery for the day. It had a label on top but no visible seams; I wasn’t even 100% sure that it opened, much less what was inside it. We weren’t paid to know.

“It kind of looks like it should,” I said. “Let’s not drop it in the river and find out. Sure you don’t want me to carry it?” I stretched out my long human arms as we walked.

“Nope,” Paint said cheerily. “My turn.” She rested her lizardy snout on top of it, clutching the thing like an orange-scaled toddler with a toolbox made for adults. It was a cute sight. I kept that observation to myself.

A stiff breeze made me glad for my coat. This was a solid walk between the spaceship and the client’s home, and while the scenery was nice, it was a bit cool in the shadows. Properly dressed, I could appreciate the alien trees that twisted into improbable spirals of blue bark, alongside this tributary of the river full of sparkling crustaceans. The rest of the crew had split up to follow different tributaries, with different deliveries, but those were surely not as pretty as this one.

Paint didn’t shiver at the breeze, because cold-blooded lizard aliens don’t shiver. She had a small heat shawl that looked like a red bandana tied around her neck. She’d assured me that it would keep her plenty warm, since it had little heat pockets of something-or-other that would generate warmth. And with the red on top of her mottled orange scales, it made her match the kind of Painted Sunset she was named for.

We’d been walking long enough to make me regret not asking to use the hoverbike when the tributary widened out into a lake, with the client’s house smack dab in the middle. It was an artful weaving of curved wooden beams, decorated with clay mortar and narrow stripes of wildflowers planted between the beams. Not a window or door in sight.

I’d noticed before that a lot of alien species could be compared to one Earth animal or another, sometimes subtly and sometimes in very obvious ways. The clients we were delivering to today were basically civilized beavers. I found this very funny in a way I couldn’t have articulated, so I kept that to myself too.

“So, do we just yell from the shore?” Paint asked, slowing as we approached.

“I think I see stepping stones,” I told her. “Let’s get a closer look.”

As we followed the shoreline, the stepping stones came into view. They turned out to be stepping logs, planted in the mud of the lake bottom, with a platform waiting in front of the house made of the same woven beams. No garden on this one, though. Just slippery-looking moss.

Oh, and a lantern on a post that glowed like a miniature sun. If I didn’t miss my guess, the little box near the top of the pole looked like a doorbell.

“I think our drop point is over there,” I said, coming to a stop near the first stepping log.

Paint held the box more tightly. “Really? Surely they’ll hear us if we yell loudly enough.” She looked around in that jerky lizardlike way, clearly hoping for any better options.

I wasn’t happy about it either, but at least the steps were close together. The only other sign of civilization around was the sharp drop-off of water at the end of the lake — this really was a beaver lodge; they’d even made a dam.

“Are these safe?” Paint asked, poking one clawed foot at the nearest log.

“I should hope so,” I said. “I don’t know how they expect to get their deliveries otherwise.”

Paint pulled her foot back. “Can we try yelling first?”

I shrugged. “Worth a shot.”

So we both stood there and shouted like the politest of absolute maniacs, and it did no good whatsoever. Either the sound didn’t carry through walls and/or water, or the client wasn’t home. Or they didn’t care about the package. But probably they just couldn’t hear us.

“Do you want to stay on the shore?” I suggested. “My legs are longer; I can handle the steps.”

“No, I can do it.” Paint stood tall like a confident toddler with a toolbox, and stepped carefully onto the log, tail waving for balance.

“At least let me carry the box,” I said. “Pretty sure I can hold it with one arm if it’s not that heavy.”

Paint’s eyes were wide and her mouth open for nervous breathing as she looked down at the water. “Yeah, okay.”

I put a foot on the log next to her, noticing that it wobbled slightly (which was just spectacular for morale), and I cautiously took the box. When I had it, Paint turned and leapt to the next log.

It really wasn’t that heavy. It probably floated. I was not going to find out. I tucked it under one arm and followed Paint.

We made it to the platform without any major disasters. There was indeed a doorbell on the lamp post, which Paint pressed triumphantly. Then we stood on the platform and waited, with Paint holding onto the pole for support and me wondering what the inside of the house looked like. Was the client in the bathroom? What was that even like here?

I saw motion in the water first, and pointed it out moments before something the size of a Saint Bernard surfaced with a splash in front of us.

Paint yelped and stepped back, her grip on the pole the only thing keeping her from scampering off the platform entirely. I jumped too, but held my position and got one shoe wet for my troubles. I was immediately 15% colder.

“Give it already,” demanded the client, perched on the underwater structure that held the platform up. He may have been an alien beaver, but his fur was all blue stripes like a fashionable tiger, and he was definitely glaring at us.

I stood up straight. “Payment first, if you please,” I said in my best customer service voice. I really hoped that this client wasn’t going to argue about it. This was a terrible place for that kind of debate.

But the client just grumbled and rummaged in a belt pouch that I hadn’t realized he was wearing, then slapped a handful of sparkly coins onto the platform. They looked like the local currency we’d been told to expect: something made from the shells of crustaceans like the ones filling the river upstream. I had no idea if it was enough. I’d just have to hope it was.

“Thank you,” I said, handing over the package.

The client grabbed it, grunted, and disappeared with a smaller splash this time. I shot Paint a relieved glance while I pried the coins off the muddy wood. Washing them at the edge of the platform was a tempting idea, but I didn’t want to drop any, so I just rubbed the mud off as best I could and shoved them into an empty pocket. Hooray for pants with lots of those.

I rinsed my fingers in the chilly water, rubbed them dry on my pants, then turned to Paint. “Ready to go?” At her eager nod, I started across the logs, with every other step squishy and cold.

The logs were mostly stable. Mostly. All but that last one, which gave in an alarming way when I hopped across.

“Watch out for th—”

Splash.

“Paint!”

The water was deep for the shoreline, and she sank nearly to her nosetip, arms flailing in a useless way that was more instinct than thought. I reached out for one and caught it, leaning and praying to anything that would listen that I wasn’t about to fall in too. I managed to haul her out, splashing icy water everywhere.

She wasn’t moving much, stiff with cold-shock, the shawl sodden and useless. I scrambled to grab handfuls of leafy weeds to dry her scales.

Hopefully these aren’t something toxic that wasn’t in the briefing, I thought grimly. Nothing to do about it if they are.

“Turn over; I’ll dry your other side,” I directed, unfastening the shawl.

Paint moved one arm, slow as a sloth. I rolled her over onto dry ground, then did my speedy best to get most of the water off. It didn’t help. She was hunched over and staring like a cold-blooded creature in dire straits indeed.

“Okay,” I said, thinking quickly. “Let’s get you off this cold ground and give me a hug.” It took some doing, but soon I had my crewmate on my lap with my coat wrapped around her. Wow, that was cold. Like hugging an ice pack.

She moved a little, nestling close.

“Does that help?”

A tiny nod.

“Can you stand?”

Headshake.

“Okay.” I thought some more. “New plan. Do you know what a piggyback ride is?”

Of course she didn’t, but it gave me something to talk about as a distraction while I pried her away just long enough to flip my coat around with the opening in the back, and urge her to climb on.

“No one’s been able to tell me why it’s named after pigs, and not an animal we actually ride, but my guess is that there were farm kids involved,” I said as she got settled. “They’re small enough to ride a pig. Not a terribly safe choice though, depending on the pig.” I freed a hand to grab the shawl and squeeze out the water before shoving it into a different pocket. Then, before I stood, I got out my phone and called the ship.

Kavlae answered. “Hey Robin, what’s up?”

“Medical emergency,” I said. “Paint got cold.”

“Got it. How cold?”

“Fell in the river, which is frigid. Can someone grab the hovercycle and meet us with a heat blanket?”

“Already on it. Eggskin!” she yelled for the medic and ended the call.

“Hhope … fast,” Paint hissed.

“Even if they’re not,” I said as I pocketed my phone and got to my feet, “I’m about to be. Nothing raises body heat for my species like a little exercise. Let’s see if we can make that heat blanket redundant!”

I took off across the grassy shoreline, pretending I was carrying one of my baby cousins who happened to be incredibly, dangerously cold, but was warming steadily.

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come!

[junkanimate]

EHY I'VE BEEN READING A LOT OF FANFICTIONS LATELY

I know, who would have guess?? Anyway I wanted to send some appreciation all around to some of the fanfics I've read, because writers need some more appreciation in general.

so, in no particular order:

✨Here's a list of fanfics I've read/I'm reading that I think they're pretty good✨

Solid Stone Turns To Clay by @randyzorra - MK fic

A solid Johnshi fic set in a pirate au, I'm absolutely obsessed with it. It's a beautiful slow burn, where Johnny is a disgraced bounty hunter who's trying to regain his fame by stealing The Shadow, legendary cursed ship. Ship that so happens to have a certain someone as her captain. Honestly not only I love the romance, but also the friendship between Johnny and Kung Lao and Johnny and Baraka.

Beware that this fic is tagged as explicit, so check the tags carefully

Back There by houndhead - MK fic

Ehy, have you ever thought that Raiden wasn't there when the others went to Outworld to find Shang Tsung? Yeah what if they never told him what happened back there because of good ol' classic trauma? I'm in love with this concept and houndhead explores it in a very interesting way, showing us how each character would act after experiencing what happened at the lab. I also really love how the characters interact with each other, in the last chapter Tanya and Tomas are just perfect.

Raise The Blade (Make The Change) by cherrycola94 - MK fic

A very fun Johnshi fic that's written a little bit like a script, it has some added scene set before the game, some exploration of the canon through a Johnshi lense, ad finally it continues as a post canon, with a very fun story. While I was reading it I could see in my head the scene perfectly, like it was actually a movie. The second chapter has an AMAZING SCENE, like I was so in love that I have a wip of that scene. I should come back and finish it honestly. The new chapter had exactly the kind of scene I was craving for recently, I'm so happy they wrote it!

But I lowered my sword when you held me and swore (you'd stay, stay, stay) by @necromanticzz - MK fic

It's a johnshi fic with a Kenshi pov, where Kenshi has so many walls up doesn't want any help but Johnny just seems to be able to go through them without any problems. Honestly I also advice the other fic necromanticzz wrote about them, the way Kenshi gets chracterized in both of them is just *chef's kiss* perfect, beautiful, amazing. The two fics are just my favourite in the way Kenshi is written, applause all around, love it.

Koffee Shop Kombat by @loujitsushotsoup - MK fic

Because a classic coffee shop au is always needed. We have multiple ships, different writing styles between chaptes, changing with which character's pov we are following, and I love the creativity that was put in it. You maybe saw this post where I drew one of the scenes in this fic, so YOU KNOW that I mean it when i say that I love this fic. And I'm a big sucker for coffee shops as a setting, really love them in real life as well.

Cole's Chilli Recipe by @before-time-had-a-name - Ninjago fic

Another fic where I drew one of the scenes and it's because it deserves it. It's a lostshipping fic, very sweet, very cozy, honestly Cole and Geo make me incredibly emotional everytime and this fic also straight up picked me up and squashed me. I saw in some of the reblogs on my post that people went to check out the fic and I'm so happy about it because they deserve his work to be checked out. And honestly if I can give her more spotlight I will take the chance. Go check out this fic, it's very cool.

Here Comes Casey Jones by Invader_Sam - TMNT MM fic

Very sweet rasey fic that takes place post movie, with the turtles going to highschool and Raph meeting for the first time Casey Jones. What can I say? I just really love Rasey, and I love they're both clearly crushing on each other but they're not really saying it. And the fact that there's no unecessary teenage angst, they just really like each other, and I love that for them ❤

Think Of It As War Paint by less_depresso_more_espresso - TMNT 2012 fic

Another Rasey one, short and sweet, where both of them honestly are giving so much gender in my humble opinion. It's hard to explaning it without just saying all the fic, so we could say it's about them just chilling on a roof.

A Garden Across Our Collarbone by PittedPeaches - LMK fic

I think everyone and their mom already know this fic, and if you don't it would be my honor to talk to you about it. This for me is THE spicynoodle fic, it was one year of my life and honestly at the end of it I cried. This is a soulmate au, where demons sometimes have soulmates, and when that happen it's like they share skin, so they can write stuff on their body and it will appeared on the skin of their soulmate. It mostly starts like a rewriting of seson 1-2-3 by Red son's pov with this new dynamic, and then it becomes a new original timeline. The way this fic is everything to me, every chapter was an incredible experience, I fell in love with this fic at every chapter. So many beautiful scenes, written so beautifully, as I said this fic was 1 YEAR of my life. It was also a very difficult year, and I'm honestly so happy that this fic was there for that time of my life.

Desde el Principio by ShippingMyWorld - Nicktoons United fic

Okay idk If you saw me reblogging a bunch of Nicktoons fanart like two days ago, but just so you know I'm totally going into the rabbit hole of this fandom and I will be lost for a while. Now, this is a Danny Fenton/Manny Rivera fic, the tag has only two fics and both of them are from this writer.

I wish I had this commitment in my life, to just being THE ONLY one creating a specific content for something and still having the motivation of doing it

I read this fic last night, I finished it at 5 a.m. and I do not regret it at all, this was amazing

I actually recommend reading both fics because they are very good, I'm giving a shout out to this one because I think it's the one that made the biggest impact to me personally. ShippingMyWorld you did it, you converted me, I ship this now.

And that's the list, thank you so much to every fanfic writers that give us such amazing art everyday, you're the backbone of fandom!

[twst-drabbles]

Scarabia 6

Summary: Jamil was cleaning the dinner table and you had to pick him up by his shirt to get him to stop. That’s your job. And also because you wanted to vent and mess around with him a little bit. Grudges are not easy to get rid of.

(Hehehehehe Janitor is bullying Jamil this time.)

“Buddy,” you quite literally picked Jamil up by the back of his collar, forcing him to drop the dinner plate back on the table, “I’m being paid to clean up this mess. Just leave it there. I’ll get it done.”

You didn’t have to pick him up like a wet cat but there’s just something about Kalim’s buddy that makes you want to egg him. His expression was always on the solid side, but wasn’t quite as true a stone as he wanted it to be. It reminded you of cracked clay plates on the ground, or layers of paints that were wrinkled and aged by time. Just made you want to dig your fingers in there and see what lays deep beneath.

You’ve seen the amount of times Jamil hissed under his breath and strained out a smile towards the oblivious crowds. That fake and poorly done vision of innocence that he gives to the bright Kalim. It’s different to Jade’s, as he was never one to pass up an opportunity to unnerve others. Jamil and Jade may both be calm, but one of them was certainly not composed.

You don’t like to butt into people’s business unless it affected your salary or health in any way. You generally leave stuff well enough alone since it always brings about trouble, however…

However, you have a certain amount of pride, a confidence in your mind and senses if you will. Those were the things that you had to use to survive without much injury. The few things you had, you kept a grip tighter than anyone, making sure they were always at full peak so that no one can push you around without you winning in the end.

You suppose the reason why you liked messing with Jamil as much as you do was because he violated one of those things that you took great pride in. That Snake’s Charmer of his, making you say things you never want to, having your head be filled with a dream-like fog until he was done with you. You have an ironclad grip on your sense, so much so that you never confused your dreams for memories. Of course you would notice this unique magic.

And you hated it.

You hated it, because how dare he wrangle you into something you don’t want to do. How dare he treat you like a puppet to say what he wants to hear. How dare he be the same scum that has festered in this college, so engorged on their own magic and pride that he thinks nothing of taking control over your words and actions.

So you couldn’t help the sneer on your face when Jamil said with a smile, “Oh there’s no need. It’s my duty to do at least this much. I’ve been doing this for so long that I get uncomfortable if I don’t this.”

“Ah, but Jamil,” dear, dear Kalim leaned from around the corner, wet rag at hand to assist in drying the forks and spoons, “I’ve noticed you’ve been stressed out lately, so you have to take a break.”

Courtesy of you, of course. Compared to the regular campus, cleaning Scarabia was absolutely heavenly and left Jamil with little to nothing to do. He’s not lying about being stressed when he’s not doing everything.

“Kalim, what did I say about being in the kitchen?” Jamil sighs as he reaches for your fingers, trying to pry them off but to no avail.

“It’s okay! I’m not cooking. I’m just drying like the Janitor told me to,” you cast Kalim a glance complete with a raised eyebrow, “Oh right! Jamil! You need to sleep! And that’s an order!”

Good boy. Now will Jamil follow suit in being a good boy as well?

The force of Jamil’s turning head had him swinging from your grip, “What? Kalim, uh, wait a moment!”

“Go to bed!”

“I’m taking you to bed,” you set Jamil straight with a shake of your hand, gripping Jamil’s chin to force his eyes forward, “And close those eyes and mouth of yours. Wouldn’t want to strain them now, would you?”

You can feel the way his jaw tightened, forced to swallow his pride to continue seeming innocent in front of the other students you’re passing by.

Honestly he could just kick you out at any time. Sure you have connections with the faeries and the staff members, but you can’t be worth it by this point. Is he hoping to find a way to break you down? To taste a victory that he constantly holds himself back from with that act of his?

It's almost cute really, like a school boy trying to beat his rival because he has a crush on them.

[ha1azian]

Artistic

In which you are a simple artist.

From the vast sprawling lands, to the large stone walls erected in the distance, you had immediately recognized the scenery.

How could you forget such a sight?

Iconic as ever, it was the land of Mondstadt. A sight you could've only dreamed about seeing in the real, yet, it was as real as anything. As solid and feeling as the earth you stood upon.

From the way the grass softened under your feet to the way the breeze cooled your skin from the warm rays. Loud echos of nostalgia rang clear in you head, loud echos soon turned to memories of eons past.

Memories which detailed the years of careful design to create the land and their inhabitants. Hand sculpted to the highest degree with a millennia of planning and creation, the land in which you stood upon was your own.

You were a god — no, you were simply an artist. An artist whom delicately sculpted a world from simple clay.

[jaylienpotter]

1st October (sry I'm late) @prongsfoot-microfic prompt "solid"

Workshop

James Potter was helping his father with their family business - pottery. Which, as it can be guessed, goes back many many generations. They not only made it to sell in a shop or to individual requests, they also recently started offering affordable classes.

"Hi, sorry I'm late. I'm here for the pottery workshop?"

"Welcome! Yes, can I-" His dark eyes settled on the young man in front of him. Silver grey eyes, matching an equally cold complexion. He had black hair, like James, but long, wavy, effortlessly beautiful. The sharp features of his jaw and shoulders probably had Potter linger for too long.

"Sorry! Uh, can I have your name, please?" He pushed his round glasses up his curved nose before they fell from how fast he looked at his papers. He was not being subtle. Thank the Gods for his Indian mother for giving him a darker complexion, otherwise the warmth he felt on his cheeks would also be visible.

"Sirius Black." Fuck, even his name is hot. "Cool name." You're cool.

"Thanks. It's a star. Has the class started long ago?"

"No, you're good! It's right there at the left." The guy turned towards the door and damn, he had a good profile. He could be a model.

"Thanks, mate. Will you be my teacher?"

"Oh, no. I'm just here at the front. My dad's the one teaching." James did enjoy the whole process, of messing with the wet clay to create any shape he'd like and watch it become solid, his piece brought to life. But it wasn't his passion. He was more than happy to help the business, however.

Stone eyes looked him up and down, making his hands sweaty. After a nonchalant "shame", Sirius went to class, leaving the other boy speechless. The Guns and Roses cropped top paired with low leather pants left too much to the imagination.

[sandshadow9]

Love Language

“Are you okay? You’ve been staring at that scroll for hours.”

Peril watched as Clay heaved an enormously dramatic sigh and flopped his head on the desk. It hit with a rattling thunk.

“I knoooow,” he moaned, his usually adorable face scrunched in misery. “I’ve been trying to write this letter to Umber for hours but it’s really super hard.”

Carefully, always carefully, Peril approached the desk. The light from her firescales joined with the small halos of orange that flickered from the candles that lined the desk. Beneath Clay’s head was a piece of parchment half filled with his signature left-leaning scrawl. She glowered at it. “Want me to burn it for you? Would that make you feel better?”

The smile that fell across his face was like a summer wind under her wings. “That’s very…sweet, Peril, but I don’t think that’s going to solve my problem.” He lifted his head, his sweet brown eyes flitting across the page sadly. “I just… never really got good at spelling and stuff. I want to get better, but every time I try to write to someone or help a student with their work, I end up getting all confused and mix my letters up.”

Peril leaned over his shoulder, eyeing the evil paper that dared to hurt Clay in any way. The written text had several sections that had been marked out and re-written. At the bottom of the page was a word – at least she guessed it was the same word – rewritten in multiple ways and scratched out every time.

“What’s…gongeous?”

Clay put a talon over his face. “I’m trying to spell gorgeous. I’ve been sitting here forever trying to spell it.”

“Oh!” Peril said brightly, titling her head to the side. “G-O-R-G-E-O-U-S. Gorgeous!”

Clay looked at her wonderingly, like she had just shown him a portal to an endless field of cows. “Peril…yes! Thank you! That’s exactly it!” Quickly he began scribbling down the letters. He smiled down at the parchment, a weight lifted from his wings, and then he looked back at her in a way that stole the breath right out of her chest. “You’re so smart. I wish you could help me write all my letters.”

                                                 ~~~

In Turtle’s opinion, a SeaWing was the perfect dragon for a midnight snack stealth mission to the kitchen. First of all, he could see in the dark so no worrying about slamming into walls or stumbling down the wrong tunnel. Secondly… uh… he didn’t actually have a second point down yet.

The list was still a work in progress, after all.

As he approached the entrance to the library, he noticed that the solid darkness eased into something more shadowy and flickering. Light filtered out of the library entrance and fell over the stone cave in warm puddles of soft orange. Alarmed, Turtle realized someone must have left a candle burning in the library.

Being the self-preserving and heroic dragon he was, Turtle immediately hurried into the library to save the school.

He did not find a candle. What he found instead was a hundred times more dangerous.

Peril was sitting in the library, holding some thin granite slates in her burning talons. Turtle recognized them as the slates Starflight had made so that he could read by touch. Luckily they also doubled as fire-proof reading material.

Peril was studying the text so intensely that Turtle had to clear his throat several times before she looked up.

“Go away. I’m busy,” she said.

“Okay but…what are you doing?” Turtle asked.

“I’m reading the dictionary,” she stated mater-of-factly, “and memorizing the spelling for each word.”

Turtle considered this. He considered it for several minutes, turning it around in his head so many times it made him dizzy. Finally he asked the only question you can ask in this sort of situation. “But…why?”

Peril looked up from her reading, her eyes dreamy and unfocused. “In case… someone needs to know how to spell a word. Then I can always be ready.”

Turtle decided not to point out that there were easier ways to check one’s spelling that didn’t include memorizing the dictionary. But, it was late and he was hungry.  

“Well… have fun with that. I’m off to find some leftover croissants.”

“Bring me back some, would you?” Peril asked, and Turtle stifled a groan. He and his stomach had really been hoping to finish off whatever was left.

But then he turned back and saw Peril, his best friend in the whole world, sitting on her own in a dark room.

He sighed to himself and, being the heroic dragon he was, promised to be right back.

[vanillaxoshi]

Api:

Ugh uhh huh?

(Looks forward at Cahaya’s direction and sees Captain Vargoba standing behind him)

C-Cahaya- 

(looks at Cahaya being blast off)

CAHAYA!!!

(Doctors said that Cahaya could not survive)

What do you mean he could not survive?!? (holds the collar of one of the three doctors)

Api calm down!

But Air-?

Calm down Api (gently holds Api)

(Api looks towards the window, seeing his brother lying inside lifelessly)

Api panted as he woke up from his nightmare. He isn’t getting any pleasant dreams since his brother almost died in space and right now is showing no signs on getting up soon. 

Huh? Api?!

Cahaya turns around and looks at Api who was still taking deep breaths with tears welled up in his eyes

“If only I would have been cautious, he wouldn’t have been thrown out to space by that maniac captain” whispered Api to himself 

He’s blaming himself?

“Sorry Haya………I failed to protect you”

You never failed Api

“C-Cahaya?” Api widens his eyes but he felt that he wasn’t able to move his head or yet again his eye balls

You did what you could and that’s enough for me

“But-“

Captain Vargoba was not an easy villain to be defeated, shouldn’t you be proud that I defeated him?

“At what cost you idiot?!”

Api-

“The cost is too high to be paid by us!”

Cost of my pride?

“Your recklessness! I am supposed to be the reckless one not you!”

Sorry

“You’re sorry won’t pay anything!”

You say sorry to me all the time, I forgive you don’t I?

“You do maybe…”

Even if it’s forced by Tanah 

“Why do we have to go there?!”

Then return back being you 

“What is that supposed to mean nerd-“

“Huh?!”

Api comes out of the trance and looks around. He just looks at his brother’s bunk beds next to his own. Ah- yeah! They are staying in the temporary rooms Tempur A provided them, his was shared with Air and Daun. He looks at his brothers sleeping but he fails to find the certain one. 

I will be back soon, take care of yourself and sorry for my actions!

Yes! He heard it again! But from where? Was he still dreaming? 

“What happened Api?” said Air as he stirred in his sleep, “You’re having nightmares?”

“No….” 

“It was a beautiful dream” said Api unconsciously to himself, “You idiot! You can’t just leave this conversation in between” mumbled Api as he lays back down in order to return to that dream and continue his talk with his younger brother.

You idiot! 

Saying so Cahaya shakes his head 

I gotta do some filling in his brain

Still….it was exquisite for him to see his brother sleeping peacefully 

Sleep well Abang

Air:

Beautiful dream? Did he heard that right?

Air ignored his thoughts as he got up and looked at his right to see his brother sleeping peacefully 

“Maybe I was just dreaming?” He mumbled.

He lazily rubbed the back of his neck when he felt his locket was loose and it fell. He caught it with his reflexes and was glad he did or else he might had lost it too

He looked at the locket as a certain memory flashes in his mind

“Hahaha why is this box so tiny?!” said a seven year old Api laughing cheekily 

“Api don’t make fun of it!” said Tanah while shaking his head

Air just rolls his eyes at his twin and looks at the gift package trying to open it. This was the last gift left to be opened by him on their birthday and he knew it was from his youngest brother 

He unwraps the package and finds a box in it. He opens the box and there was a locket inside it which was made of dried-solid clay and stones, it was colourful, rough, messy but most of all it was cute. It looked like a mixture (or fusion) of water and sun symbol

He looks ahead to find his youngest brother enjoying his cake with Daun and Angin, he looks back at the locket, smiles and wears it around his neck excitedly 

Air gently rubs the old rough locket remembering that memory while another one flashes in his mind 

“Water Bubble” An eleven year old Air calls out his water bubble behind Cahaya in order to protect him from those rockets Probe launched at him 

He quickly runs at his brother’s direction, “Are you ok?”

“Yeah I am fine” exclaimed Cahaya 

“What are you doing here?? Didn’t Tanah tell you to stay at home?” asked Air calmly with a hint of worry in his voice

“I just came out to help Tok and now you can see” said Cahaya lazily 

“You should have backed away! Do you know how dangerous it is?!? You don’t even have your powers” 

“I am fine until and unless you guys are around!”

“Where are you now?!?” whispered Air gently 

I am here 

“You said you will be fine when we’re around”

I am fine

“But we’re not! No one is! Petir, Tanah and Api blame themselves, Angin always fake smiles and Daun has locked himself away from us”

And you’re unaffected?

“Who said you that? I miss you”

“I miss everything”

“I find those dreams better than reality where everything is normal”

But still you cannot deny reality 

“…”

You should strengthen your self and others right now Air! I know our times are tough but grieving will not help

“…”

I am alive…. I am in coma……. I will wake up soon and I need your strength 

“…..our strength?”

Yes….maybe seeing you all positive will strengthen me to wake up sooner?

“Cahaya-“ 

“Huh?!” 

Air blinks.

What just happened?

He looks around but everything was just quiet except those snoring sounds from Api

Was he dreaming?

He don’t know that!

Air looks at the locket in his hand which he was gripping tightly. He wears it back again and lies down on bed. He was feeling different, he felt he had different energy, he felt……hope? In what? 

He was too lazy to think about that 

He closes his eyes to drift himself back to his dreamland 

Maybe he could find his answers there?

Sleep well Abang

Cahaya smiled as he felt a force pulling him backwards 

Trio Ori are still left!! Tbh I am deeply thinking about their interaction……I wanna try filling it with more angst

Let’s see what I could do!!

Welp- atleast Daun was asleep the whole time-

Cahaya being sweet to his brothers while being in an out of body experience

Trio ori would definitely deal with this awfully like the rest

Petir and his whole older brother gist

Angin and his supposed strong mental stability now broken

Tanah and the protective mother/leader thing

But still wonder what would happen

[winged-midnight]

[ A video is attached. ]

[ The camera turns on to almost complete darkness in low quality with a soft click as the recording device is set down on a solid surface- wood, if you had to guess.

There's a bit of giggling in the background.

"Hi, Rotomblr," a voice whispers into the mic, shaking with suppressed laughter. It's a little pitchy. "Nox here. Gonna be recording because I can't type well on my phone, and my parents TOOK MY LAPTOP! So I can't use it to type! The indignity!" there's a quiet gasp of pretend shock, and more giggling. "I'm with my friend- uh. Hey do you want to pick an internet name for yourself?"

Someone whisper-shouts back. "What?"

"Internet safety. Not giving out your real name. It can be whatever you want!"

"Can I change it later?"

"Sure." The camera shakes a little as it's readjusted. Nothing much has really changed, of what you can see. It's still just staticky blackness. "But uh. You figure that out, I'm gonna do the thing."

"Oh ho, the thing?"

"The thing, the thing, the thing!" There's a bit more quiet giggling from both voices. "Anyway, uh. Hi Rotomblr!! You know the little project I was talking about? Talked about. A bit too much perhaps?" You can hear cloth ruffling. "It's almost done, it's almost done!"

"Almost done, almost done," the other voice joins in on the whisper-chanting. "It looks. Amazing. By the way. You are so talented-"

"Oh hush you," comes the playful reply. "You've said that already so many times."

"The people of the internet should know!"

"It's going to be so fabulous they won't need to be told," Nox jokes lightly. Cloth ruffles again. The two laugh giddily.

The camera shakes a bit. "Anyway. Welcome to my workshop," Nox announces, their voice hushed but still full of excitement. There's a quiet click, and a second later, gentle yellow light illuminates the screen.

The camera takes a moment to focus again, and when it does, it takes another moment to process what you're looking at. It's a sculpture of Palkia, from the waist up, easily at least three feet tall as it sits on a paper-covered tabletop.

The details aren't all correct, but they're extremely intricate. The person holding the camera slowly pans around to get a view of the sculpture from as many perspectives as possible. There are runes on the edges of the cylindrical base of it, painted with rich purple and gold.

The claws are smooth and graceful and the plate-armor of the forearms has sharp edges on the ridges and gentle curves in between. The blade-wings on its back are long and sharp, extended and curled slightly inward to create a feeling of wrapping around space, the spine is shaped with care and it runs down the neck and fades as it reaches the top of the head and the lower length of the back.

In this specific sculpture, the mouth is closed, the eyes wide open and half-painted purple. It looks like it could be alive and moving, were it not trapped in stone. The pose conveys a kind of power and movement that you can't quite put to words.

On Palkia's shoulder guards, a Pale Sphere glitters from where it's embedded in the clay. It's a huge, visceral thing, a titan rising with wings outstretched and arms open wide. Its shadow flickers dimly in the lamplight.

A few seconds later, the light clicks off and the camera is plunged back into darkness. "Can't have my parents knowing," Nox mutters under their breath. "Anyway. I really like it," they whisper. "One of my best to date, I think."

"If you didn't like it, I'd be disappointed," murmurs their friend as they audibly flomp into a pile of blankets.

"You flatter me."

"Not flattery. Just truth. It's really beautiful."

"Glad you think so!"

"...Oh! And. I thought of a name, I think."

"Oh? Do tell do tell!"

"If Pokemon professors can be named after trees, I guess historians can be rocks. Call me Garnet. She/her, by the by."

"Ohhh that's a good one! Would've thought you'd go for something more...purple. Though. You have very uh. Purple vibes."

"So I've been told," Garnet says offhandedly. "But Garnet can be purple. Purple-red. Rhodolite. Very pretty."

Nox lets out a soft gasp. "I didn't know that!"

"Now you do."

"Thanks- uh. Garnet!"

Garnet laughs softly. "No problem."

"And. Thank you for. Being here."

"Think of it as a sleepover. It's no big deal." Garnet's voice takes on a protective edge. "Couldn't leave you hanging."

"...I appreciate you a lot."

"Come on, you cheesy sap. You're on tape right now."

"Heh. Right. Yeah. We should...go to bed, soon."

"That's an idea."

"A good one."

"True."

The microphone crackles a little as the recording device shifts again. "I'll post the finished product once I'm dooone," Nox whispers into the mic. "Going to bed now bye!!" ]

[ Video ends. ]

[arathain]

A Star of Dawn

The child, perhaps nine years of age or so, hid inside the cupboard, cutlery and tableware prodding in all the uncomfortable places. They did not see the room outside the cupboard, as instructed - quite probably for the better. The two caretakers were armed with a plain shortsword, the door barred with a wardrobe. The singular window's shutter was locked tight, as all the shutters in the town would've been by now. Even through the walls of the room & cupboard, screams and footsteps were audible in the distance. A shudder, the floor vibrating powerfully. Another. The cries went silent. The caretakers gripped their swords tightly, readying themselves as best as they could, given their meagre martial arts training.

The door flew open, smashing against the wall together with the wardrobe. Pieces scattered across the floor, with parts of the wall paint having flaked away to reveal the brick underneath. Through the doorway stepped an unassuming figure, cloaked in grey garbs. A half-mask covered their mouth and nose, two vertical slits streaming down from the tear glands of the eyes. The hair was an unassuming dark brown, streaked with hints of grey. They unsheathed a sword, if you could call it a sword - a solid piece of black granite, sharpened to absurdity. Abruptly, the leftmost nurse dashed towards the figure, sword descending with all the strength they could muster.

With thorough disinterest, the grey being grasped the sword by the blade, the inside of their glove absorbing the cut. Twisting, the sword broke, and the battered nurse could only gasp as the Mason cut twice, stone cleanly cleaving from the clavicle to the midriff, and again, horizontally. The eyes of the murderer were pointed in the direction of their victim, but thoroughly blank - as if seeing past the nurse altogether. With a rise of their left hand, the ground shook, thousands of tiny spikes protruding from the stone bricks directly opposite to the second nurse. With a gurgle, they fell to the floor, countless tiny red splotches forming on their back. Inside of the cupboard, the child could barely contain their fear. The Mason sheathed their sword, looking down on the corpses below them.

'Idiots' the Wheel-Bearer muttered, as a shadowy figure silently ran down the corridor behind them. 'One and all dancing on thin air.'

Turning back to see the one approaching, their voice slit through the air; 'Is the apparatus destroyed? The physickers dead?'

'Aye, sir.' The hands and knives of the Thronebreaker Shadow were painted with blood as they reached into one of their myriad pockets, and extended a blade-like sliver of crystal, tied down intricately with rope. 'The fruits of their labour, in all their glory.'

The Mason carefully grasped the combined effort of a century of alchemists, the crystal dancing as it refracted light in countless, pointless ways.

'Missed the mark by a tad, there.' they said, studying the essence of the artifice. 'A unique approach to be sure, but unacceptable in its intended use.'

The Mason's head turned towards the cupboard. 'Although, a more appropriate use might've presented itself.' They turned back to their compatriot.

'Prepare the Walkway back home; burn the entire complex down as well. It is best if we eliminate all traces of what was being sought after here.'

As the Shadow departed, the immortal-killer walked over to the cupboard, and, without a hint of hesitation, smashed it into the ceiling. The child shrieked as shards of clay and porcelain cut their face and arms, woodchips scraping against their skin. Laying broken on the floor, the small one coughed up blood as the Mason grabbed them by the neck, lifting them up so as to inspect them. Their eyes widened; still seeing past what they were looking at, however it seemed that, for a brief moment, a brand new vision was revealed to the lifeless orbs.

'Oh, you'll do.' The mason stabbed the primitive crystal kris into the child's nape, sending convulsions throughout the body as the crystal fused with the child's self, guided by the Mason's hand. 'You'll do well. I may not be a child of the Bud or the Blossom, but even the graceless I may yet serve the Twin-Dragon Wheel. Tell me, what is your name?'

The slivers of clay and porcelain flew off of the child as the magical stone-and-metalworker's hand moved, the crystal in the child's body bringing them back to bearable conditions once more.

The child hesitantly spoke. 'I'm J-'

Cut off before being given a chance to barely start, the child flew against the wall, bones cracking as the blunt of the Mason's stone-sword retreated into its sheath. With a twist of the hand, the child was brought back to a state just undamaged enough to be able to stand straight. Raising a hand to their chin, the Mason lowered themselves to look down upon the tiny one.

'Do not utter such useless words. You are nothing, were nothing, and, given your circumstances would be any different, would've been ash soon. Alas, your existence has the potential to feed the Twin Ouroboros, and that is a task I wouldn't dare to intrude upon. What are your parents' names?'

The child hesitated, silent in fear.

'Tell them to me.'

As the child opened their mouth to speak, they were thrown across the room once again, the Mason's blade ringing as it retreated into its sheath once more. Once again, the child was raised up, brought back to just before the brink of death.

'Your parents are dead or dying, and their essence is a disgrace to existence itself. A name must be earned, and they've long lost any right to such distinguishment. Given time and effort, your existence shall warrant a name for it; now, tell me. What is your name?'

With fear in its eyes, the child hesitantly whispered. 'Nothing. I have no name.'

The Mason straightened upright, still looking down on the now time-scattered child, their upbringing soon to be wiped off of the annals of history. 'Rule of the third - very well, you are salvageable.'

The Mason grabbed them by the nape and dragged them, their feet sliding across the planks. The halls they were dragged through burned with a blue flame, parting before its creator. Through the blue haze, the child saw corpse after corpse, being consumed by flames fed from the very essence of their previous owners. As the alchemists' mansion Blossomed blue and the Mason stepped through the Walkway, the child drifted away, their exhaustion sliding their eyelids shut.

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

The young adult circled the colourless meal on their plate with a three-pronged fork, the individual spines sharper than they have any right to usually be. The table, akin to the room itself, was plain and stone-cold - potentially owing to the fact it was made of said stone. Footsteps. The clank of cruel metal against the stone floor rang as the Mason entered the small kitchen, the two lanterns newly invigorated with blue flame. Rising a chair out of the sheer rock, the solitary Wheel-Bearer sat in front of the budding chrysalis. The no-longer-child but not-quite-adult immediately straightened and set down their fork - for the house, and the child, were the Mason's, and their existence was leveraged on serving their assigned purpose.

'What stands in your path?'

The adolescent looked at their 'mentor' bewildered, waiting for an elaboration. When one inevitably did not come, they gave in and hesitantly asked. 'Pardon?'

The immortal-killer sighed. 'You do not make progress. You have not made progress. The wheel does not budge for you. What stands in your path, to hinder you so?'

Looking down at their plate through their newly-made crystal glasses, the adolescent failed to provide an answer. While they held faint memories of occasional cruelty from the Mason, the being has never failed to provide for them, and allowed them to foster their skills whenever they provided. In contrast, the adolescent failed miserably at trials of power and wit, unable to impress in any degree. To say the young one felt useless was an understatement, to say the least.

'I- I do not know.'

The Mason stood up, the chair underneath crumbling to dust. 'Very well.'

With a single motion, the seat the adolescent sat in shot up through the roof, the stone tiles retracting to make space for the average-sized figure. As the young one got up, the Mason effortlessly climbed onto the rooftop, gazing at the stars above.

'The stars are curious, among the cycle. Seemingly ageless, they nevertheless pop in and out of existence in due time; their lifespans simply outshine a mortal one by aeons, forever out of reach.' Looking back at the adolescent, their eyes seeing past, the Mason stared. 'This is your purpose. That is the end of your journey, the culmination of your purpose; your death will blind a thousand eyes, and send the Wheel reeling forward. With time, and the care I grant unto you, you shall be fit for this express purpose; only power can be your salvation.'

The adolescent stared at them, wide-eyed.

'S-so, my only purpose is to die?'

The Mason's eyes narrowed, the grey irises drilling into the young one's own. 'If you do not find another way, yes - that shall be your purpose. Only if your existence will be noteworthy, may you escape the Wheel by serving it.' With that, the roof parted underneath them, and they walked out of the small stone house, opening a Walkway to stifle places far removed. As the wound in the world's fabric closed, the child looked up longingly at the astral objects above, grasping. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Astron woke up, rising against the wooden table, as the first rays of the morning sun illuminated Rat's hideaway log cabin. Rubbing their eyes and adjusting their cheap yellow glasses, they gathered their sketches and stowed their books away, lest Rat see what they're researching. The Mason's works, as well as miscellanities on the occult they gathered from their travels. Insofar, their search did not bear many fruit, however they were determined to find the truth of what 'Circle-Breaker' meant, and, perhaps more importantly, to discover who it was that so effortlessly put an end to the Mason altogether. Perhaps, there were other things that this being could bring an end to, or better yet - elevate.

As they gathered up the last of the papers, one of the pieces gave them pause - a singular sketch of the old dining hall at the Perch; Lux, Freak, & the Mason all together with them. Holding it tightly, they walked outside, the mountain valley laid out in front of them.

They squinted as the golden rays of the sun hit their eyes, hands firmly gripping the veranda below them. Looking up, the stars faded, but not in the mind of Astron. Grimacing, they painstakingly tore up the small sketch, letting the tiny shreds be scattered by the wind. Heading back inside, a single, soft mutter escaped from under their breath.

'No cost too great.'

[randyzorra]

normal pirate activities

[antebellumite]

ok it's Been Some Time, but have some possible ring options for ghost king henry clay + what they're based on + backstory potential:

Peppermint. One of Henry Clay's favorite treats when he was alive, and one of the first rings that he made out of the ashes of the soldier who killed him. A simple design, red and white, this ring provides the owner with a spiritually charged broadsword ready for vengeance.

Cranberry. Halfway inside-joke, halfway reminder-of-how-far-we've-come. Cranberries are one of the first trees grown in what would eventually become Prince Hal's City-On-A-Hill. Made from the ashes of a ghost that dared to oppose Clay's city-building efforts. One slightly more sophisticated ring, golden with a red ruby stone carved into a berry shape. This ring provides a long spiritual whip for it's user, capable of great damage.

Hairdo. A simple gold ring because HC's hairstyle is an essential part of him that must be commemorated through jewelry. This ring, formed from one of the first ghosts that HC tried to do some experiments on, produces a beam of harsh light that's able to carve holes in people and buildings alike.

Raccoon. A silver ring with Clay's mascot on it- cunningly made from the ashes of a ghost-political rival of Clay, or perhaps a poor ghost that just upset him in some way or another. Either ways, our favorite ghost king decided to teach them a lesson. This ring turns into a rope, unbreakable, malleable, able to cling to the most unlikely of surfaces!

Quill. This soft ivory ring, with a feather dangling from it to symbolize Henry Clay's skill with writing, debate, lawyering, and oratory, can turn into two poisoned daggers. It was made in the beginning stages of the First Crimson-Golden War, ashes from one of Crimson Sword's followers. Thanks to the endless resentment of the Crimson Sword follower, this ring provides an endless amount of poison for the dagger without any additional spiritual power needed to keep the poison on.

Star. As a reference to the Western Star, Henry Clay's moniker, this star is golden with purple silk inning. This ring can turns into a series of shurikens, also star-shaped, that can be controlled and flown about. They might also be seen-through like drones, hard to say. Born from a ghost killed in the rush to Mt. Tong'lu.

Coins/Cards. A ghost foolishly bet their ashes against Henry Clay in the Gambling Den once, and now he's made into a gold, silver, emerald, and ruby ring that can turn into a flurry of throwable coins and pieces of paper-useful for tracking and hunting down notable ghosts or mortals. Each individual coin has a bit of 'sense' that can be transmitted back to the Ghost King.

Horses. This ring is solid black diamond, depicting some of the horses that Prince Hal breeds. This ring produces a magnificent spirit-horse able to hunt down monster and people alike, as well as doubling as a wagon-pulling beast of burden itself. Yes you can ride it! With permission! Probably made from yet another Crimson Sword follower during the Second War, tbh.

Scroll. Another reminder of Henry Clay's wonderful oratory abilities. Made of pearl and moonstone. This ring causes explosions and burns, made from the ashes of a failed Yong'an Uprising revolutionary.

Smiles. Sapphire and Orange-Crystal, with masks on it to symbolize Clay's Mask of Smiles [ not that anyone will ever know ].... this ring bears some remarkable similarities to a certain other Calamity, but maybe...I must be seeing things, yes. Anyways, this ring turns into a fancy gun with bullets. It also might be Henry Clay's own ashes.

Snuff. Golden Star loves his snuff. Shiny, multi-colored opal ring with a stone of pure black glossy obsidion. This ring makes a spray and/or injectant that can put a man through extreme hallucinations, putting them to sleep, a different reality, see horrific monsters, etc, etc. This ring was formed from a human follower of Golden Star that he made into a ring in order to honor the devotee.

Handshake. Based off HC's notable nature of Compromising and pacificating! An engraved bronze ring/finger guard with striped brown onyx and a wooden fix. Unlike Clay's other spiritual rings, this ring creats a Dome of Protection over an area or person, protecting them from as much harm as the spiritual rings can withstand, as well as safety from any of Golden Star's other spiritual attacks. Also unlike other rings which were made from ghosts, this one is imbued with the essence of a dead god... who isn't actually all that dead... who is up a running even with their ashes in another ghost's hands... a dead god who, as a byproduct of being the one who's ashes are what are guranteeing the Dome of Protection, is himself inherently protected by it for eternity... interesting....

This definately isn't all of Henry Clay's rings ofc: he no doubt has several more with spiritual bo staff/spears/nunchucks/etc as their spiritual outlet! But these are what I've thought of so far.

[the-starry-lycan]

Living Glass Lore Headcanons

Living Glass Headcanon Lores:

How does Living Glass work exactly? It's based off normal glass, though Resh'an modifies its density with his alchemy, and by altering its chemical structure some, allows it to enter a state which ensures it has some fluidity. The magic holding it together is derived from the will and the life-force of the being encased in the glass - essentially, as long as the entity within possesses strong enough will, it "powers" the glass, keeps it alive, and allows the being possessing it to use it as a vessel. Additionally, such shifting density means that the Living Glass is extremely durable and absorbs shock easily - though one can still be wounded through the glass, hence how B'st can be hurt and KO'd in battle. Living Glass itself is composed of similar silicate materials as normal glass, though its sheen and color is taken from quartz derivates. Resh'an likely imagined one could create different colors in it by using crystal impurities found in common gemstones (like the chromium + vanadium that makes emeralds green), and the plain glass has a green tinge like sea glass. However, to make it "living", the Glass contains crystal filaments, akin to the striations found in Lemurian Quartzes, though these are actual nervelike filaments of enchanted metal, preferably of silver-tungsten alloy, which carry the magic and electric signals that allow for one to really control and manipulate the form of the Glass. These metallic filaments also are what allows the being to feel with the Glass, as the magic surrounding the glass transforms outward stimuli to electrical impulse, and the metal filaments carry this similarly to the way nerves in the human body do with action potential. These filaments are so fine that they aren't visible to the naked eye.

The density I mentioned earlier because of Reshy's reeeeaaaaally complex magic that I won't go into because magic? It can be somewhat counteracted by temperature. B'st likely feels sluggish and fatigue in the cold because the Living Glass gets stiffer and solid (due to molecular shenanigans) - and he likely feels more frisky and active in the heat because the Glass gets more liquid and motile (more molecular shenanigans).

Living glass, obviously, can feel. B'st is able to move the stuff around and manipulate his body, and he can feel pretty well through it. What sensations can he feel? Well, temperature I imagine. Pain, too, but that's a little tough to induce in Glass Golem - he also seems impervious to most damage, as in B'st sprites we see that he does not crack. He was also able to take a hit from the Fleshmancer in Garl's place, and recover fine, so I'd imagine it takes a lot to cause B'st much pain. He can feel other feelings like pleasure and all manner of textures on the glass, just the way skin feels texture. Perhaps heat can make the Living Glass more sensitive, and if B'st chooses to prime the Glass, alter its structure some to try and concentrate the little nervelike fibers that allow him to control it - he can feel sensations more intensely. This makes the sensitive Glass good when dealing with dexterous jobs that require a lot of precision.

What does Living Glass feel like to touch? Probably feels like normal glass, but less stiff and definitely more pliant. Smooth in texture, and unless B'st is hurt or feeling bad, there'd be no cracks or surface roughness. Ultimately, it probably feels a tad like putty or molding clay, but.. more glassy? It's a weird feeling to imagine, as it's hard to imagine handling glass that isn't at risk of shattering with a distictive stiff-sharpness. Also, I imagine that if there isn't a soul inside the Glass, it turns into a sort of.. dry, silky powder, similar to a fine sand or igneous stone dust.

(Deep breath) Okay, there we are with all my ideas about how the Living Glass works! It's not really gone into during the game, so I used my brainpower to make an entire insane rambling about it :) It's a million words long and congrats if you make it to the bottom!

[ctrl-alt-tahu]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Two more, then,” said Lhikan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~*~*~

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

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

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

There was a gasp as Nidhiki took an involuntary breath.

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

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

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

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

“You intended it!”

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

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

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

~*~*~*~

“Grotesque,” said Lhikan, shaking his head.

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

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

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

[shunsellon]

The Vexos as religious leaders... But what religion may Vestal have? A Roman-esque cult to the leader? A monotheistic one telling them to "enlighten the impure" with colonization? Do they worship the Six Warriors, or do they know about the Code Eve? Or did they worship a similar set of beings they then identified with the previous seven? Is all of that at once? 1/2

2/2 Does that mean Shadow maybe conducted sacrifices to Exedra, while Mylene believed Frosch to be the same as a water deity they worshipped back in Vestal? Does Volt think Bakugan deserve the same rights as them because they're all children of the Code Eve? Does Lync "realize" the current monarchy is unworthy of their title and decides to help Alice in the hopes then a true king deserving of worship would follow? Is Gus so enamoured with Spectra because he believes him to be a Messiah? Idk 3/2 Did Keith believe he was this figure that was promises to bring an era of enlightenment and prosperity to Vestal, and that's why he changed his appearance and name? Ok, this question and the Gus one are pretty much cannon... But idk, I think this is fic material

this got long LMAO i love talking about the connections of religion to the state and social psychology so this just got me talking. under the cut so it won't clog everyone's blogs

i def think vestal lacks any solid indication to what their religion may be, if any. the most we get is the origin of their people's name but that doesn't come from anything in-canon, it's from irl history. BUT there's also the theme of their bakugan being named after greek/roman deities - helios, vulcan, hades, brontes/bronte. altair and vega (jpn name of elico) are named after stars. from this, i'd give them a polytheistic religion, maybe one modeled after ancient greece and rome. this would inform much of their collective psychology.

also, in the rare time that i'll ever back up the wikia, here's their note on zenoheld's name which i can see happening due to the pattern of vestal referencing ancient greece and rome:

Zenoheld's name is possibly a mis-transliteration of Xenoheld. Xeno- derived from the Greek ξένος (alien, foreign) and -held, with connotation of ownership, Zenoheld's name therefore means "ruler of the cosmos/foreign lands".

here's my problem with making bakugan/the brawlers deities in any possible vestal religion - if they were deities in the vestal religion, why then do vestals enslave and colonize the bakugan? aren't they supposed to be holy beings, to be given reverence to? by all accounts, hydron turning 5/6 of the original bakugan to stone (and planning to turn shun and marucho in bronze statues) should make him and the vexos the worst heretics ever. i don't think they know of the existence of code eve, either. vestals (namely spectra and clay) only get in contact with neathia by the near end of the season, and it's through fabia's encrypted message.

also, if they worship the bakugan, they should have a longer exposure to bakugan, but the timeline shows that the bakugan only came in contact with the vestals the same time it with humans, which was three years. keep in mind that religion more often than not is the justification of monarchies throughout history - japanese emperors claimed they were descended from the celestial sun goddess amaterasu, the zhou dynasty had the mandate of heaven, sultans trace their ancestry to the prophet Muhammad, and european monarchs were always in junction with the churches. even today, the world's remaining absolute monarchies either have islam or christianity as a state religion, at least if you count the vatican. but zenoheld is an old man and is the fourth of his name. it just doesn't line up with the given timeline.

spectra and gus are interesting because spectra canonically refers to himself as a god/aims to be a god, and gus' reverence for him is honestly so much like a god and its believer. gus saying spectra showed him the "light of hope," gus saying spectra gave him a reason to live after he lost and was aimless, spectra "converting" gus in a cathedral-esque setting with a painting of helios in front of them. very much religion-like. if there's any religion or belief system in vestal, it's whatever spectra and gus have going on. gus' reverence for spectra is also what supports spectra in his bid to rule vestal and the rest of the known world - it's a version of the divine right of kings.