Tumgik
randomwriteronline · 8 hours
Text
Mata Nui probably has an incredibly nebulous concept of how he is A Whole-Ass God to the MU beings bc you know, theyre his bodys microorganisms and he isnt actively There to receive all the worship and stuff, and since he spent roughly 99.999% of his life completely alone just looking at stuff and taking notes i think that if he was indeed directly exposed to the cult of himself via hordes of matoran actively worshipping him and treating him like a divine being come down on earth it would take him twelve seconds to go "oh! oh i hate this actually" and try to awkwardly shuffle his way out of it while still being nice
he might also drop a wild existentialism bomb on the spherus magna people by casually mentioning when hes asked what he believes in since hes, yknow, A God, and the great beings are clearly not worth believing in, that he sort of believes in The Great Spirit who is NOT himself but a different, larger Great Spirit in whose body lives the entire universe. who then of course is also part of yet another even LARGER Great Spirit and so on and so forth. everybody else just got a dose of cosmic horror with their lunch but he just thinks its a normal thing to think since thats just how he and the MU were
15 notes · View notes
Text
they're always adding cybernetic things to organic beings but i think i should slowly add more and more organic things to a robot. you run on blood now. neurons integrated into your circuitry firing pulses of electricity. what is life but water, electricity, and organic molecules. are you alive? you will be.
2K notes · View notes
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
creatures, bodies and heads
4 notes · View notes
randomwriteronline · 3 days
Note
Orpiment AU is new to me, what's the general premise of it?
I have a post explaining it (its in the tag) but essentially its an au where Pohatu is evil. He refused to get in the codrex and after failing to evacuate all the av matoran from karda nui he was taken in by the brotherhood of makuta, where he latched onto teridax like a puppy and good ol terry used that to his advantage in his plan to take over the universe. By the time Pohatu appears on the island of mata nui hes constructed a faulty version of the events of karda nui where his siblings purposefully abandoned him and is completely dependent on teridaxs approval.
2 notes · View notes
randomwriteronline · 4 days
Text
Pohatu looks at him. If he could cry, he would.
The specific words are lost, but he remembers they are spoken in a baffled tone, more desperate than bitter. He remembers he is, literally, between a rock and a hard place - three walls of rock to be specific, and with his only escape blocked by the Toa of Stone who cornered him to get answers out of him.
A silly idea, he would scoff - to go and ask for information to the one who hates to speak. But Pohatu is not stupid, he knows that, and he must have figured it was his best shot, and he was right.
He is good at singling out the weak links, after all.
He remembers his eyes. He remembers his questions growing more frantic. He remembers him growing angrier by the second.
He remembers how he yells in his face with one last furious sob.
He remembers how he runs off, faster than he can keep track of him.
That's the last he sees of him.
He remembers going back to Tahu. He remembers telling him. He remembers his brother groaning angrily, deciding to cut their losses. It's not like the Order will just leave one of them to die here, anyways. They'll get him. He remembers not being comforted by the thought. He remembers (recognizes only now that he's older and wiser, because back then he was too caught up in wondering what if it were me defecting instead of him? Would he still say that? Would I be just as expendable? to recognize his brother's feelings) Tahu not being comforted by it either.
He remembers answering to the rest of his only somewhat worried siblings that Pohatu found something to keep himself busy, that's all, and will simply join them later - a lie, another one in a long line.
He remembers asking himself briefly, anxiously, just before the long sleep could ensnare him, if Pohatu would be alright.
If he would find a way out of that death trap.
If they would ever see him again.
Then his head hurts worse than Karzhani and he squeezes his eyes harder with a suffering whimper, turning to his side, reaching out as best as he can to touch his temple - there is a dent there, he's sure of it, as large as a boulder, and his skull hurts so, so badly - only for a hand to still his palm.
"Hold on, hold on," says a voice that sounds like Jaller, even though that's idiotic because they lost their younger Toa siblings earlier, when they dove in the waters to escape the Rahkshi.
Some kind of heat presses against his wound: he hisses, but it hurts less than it already did. It's almost soothing.
When he opens his eyes he is laying on the ground. Noticeably, earth-ground. Not rock-ground, or protodermis ground. Lewa is holding his hand. Jaller is, indeed, right next to him, tending to the dent in his head, working to make the metal malleable enough to pull it back into shape. Kongu seems to be doing something similar to Onua, who is not conscious yet. Nuparu is trying to work on the cave more, raising the ceiling, widening the space, and Gali is telling him to rest because he looks exhausted. He insists he can do it. Hahli tells him to shut up and that she'll handle the rest. The sound of water being pulled into the air and pressurized enough to carve through the walls clues him on the fact that yes, he did hear something like waves earlier. There must be an opening onto the sea close by. Or a hidden passageway into deeper waters. Tahu's voice reaches him from impossibly far away. He is asking if he's alright. He hisses back some kind of affirmation.
Once the pain ebbs enough for him to be able to sit up without feeling like disassembling himself, Onua is almost awake too.
He can see the small pool from which his younger sister is drawing her element from here, although it's fairly dark. Once the stream is allowed to stop, the surface remains troubled.
Where is his sword? Ah - there.
A large splash.
Hewkii emerges from the pool with a grunting cry, beaching himself onto the wet ground hard; tightly secured in his arms Takanuva, maskless, breathes long and harsh through his mouth, sputtering as air fills his lungs once more.
His bruised wrists tremble as he holds onto his brother of Stone.
11 notes · View notes
randomwriteronline · 5 days
Text
"Pohatu!"
Huh.
Lewa sounds... Worried?
Something must have happened. Hopefully it wasn't a Makuta attack. It'd be weird if neither Krika nor Pohatu were there to fight with their siblings - although the Toa have no reason to believe their brother of Stone has any business with the Brotherhood beyond knocking their masks into the bog water with a roundhouse kick, so really there's nothing to worry about. If he mentions he met a Makuta they'll likely assume he simply came across one and was briefly busied with not being pummelled into protodermis hummus against the nearest tree.
He touches down bouncing once, twice, to slow his momentum before he comes too close to that coward's trap; his Le-brother lunges for him to wrap his arms tight around his neck in a nearly suffocating hug.
His own limbs encircle the other's back in a lukewarm embrace, half stunned, half puzzled.
Alright. Something has happened.
The question now is, frustratingly: what, exactly?
"Where have you been?" Onua, for once, is quicker than him and gets to ask first. He sounds almost... distraught.
Pohatu turns to him with the unpleasant feeling of being in the dark about something squirming familiarly around his heartlight: "Swamp?" he replies a little dumbly pointing behind himself. "There aren't that many places to be down here, I met a big bugger-"
"All these years?" Gali continues. She is not talking about the swamp. She is worried, heartbreakingly worried, just as much as her brothers. "What happened to you? Where were you?"
Kopaka says nothing, but he looks at him. His eyes seem guilty.
Pohatu looks back at him in earnest confusion.
"The Codrex," Tahu visibly struggles as he searches for the correct string of words in his choked up throat for a moment, torn between reaching out with his hand and holding back.
The fog clears instantly.
"You weren't in the Codrex," he tries. "You weren't with--"
Pohatu shoves Lewa off of himself with a stiff thoughtless movement: "Ah," he says. "Good."
The other five blank.
Something shifts in the world around them and tilts it all askew, paints the air with a strange imperceptible color that makes their heads light, their footing unstable, their eyes unfocused. Their Stone brother is the same - his silhouette has been changed by the adaptive armor but he looks the same, they recognize him, they know him, right? He is still their sibling, he is still the same, the exact same, in his usual body with his usual gaze and his usual voice, but then why - why does this Toa look nothing like him?
Tahu flinches when his shoulder is grasped.
"Do you remember the energy storm?" Pohatu asks, sounding the exact same and yet completely, impossibly, horribly different.
"What?"
"Do you remember the energy storm?"
"Pohatu, I - you - where, how did you-?"
"The energy storm, do you remember it?"
"You weren't with us, all this time- how did you get to-"
"ANSWER THE QUESTION!"
They recoil.
Pohatu doesn't shout like that. Pohatu doesn't speak like that, quick and far too straight to the point. Pohatu doesn't grind his fingers that hard into what little of a shoulder a piece of armor might expose. Pohatu doesn't stare that harshly. Pohatu isn't that furious.
"The energy storm!" he insists, snarling - Pohatu doesn't snarl - "Do you remember that!"
"Yes," Tahu spits out.
"Good!" and his tendons hurts when they are released.
Pohatu doesn't stand like that. Pohatu doesn't look at his siblings like that - with a growling scowl so sour it almost makes their stomachs twist. Pohatu doesn't look like Takanuva does since a shadow leech bit him, he doesn't look like the Shadow Matoran, he just looks like himself; but Pohatu doesn't act like that.
He gives them all a quick glance, looking for confirmation on their faces beyond the stunned concern. The storm's mention and his cold eyes seem to do the trick as he catches small affirmations.
"Call it a feeling or a hunch or what you will, but something tells me there's going be another one coming down soon," he tells them with that voice that is his own yet doesn't sound like him - to them, at least, because they had yet to hear this facet of it which he's allowed to stew silently with the rest of his bitter fury. "And it'll turn Karda Nui into a nice big open air common grave, if you five keep sitting around this chunk of metal waiting for our little siblings to get fried out of the air like Nui-Rama."
The information takes a moment to sink in.
He watches their eyes widen, understanding dawning within them. They know now as they knew then what an energy storm is, what it means, the destruction it brings.
They begin speaking, they ask him how he knows - he answers harshly, flippantly, relishing in how they wince back as if stung or bitten each time he responds to their kind tones with hisses and growls that are so deeply wrong to their audio receptors - they start planning, and he retains no information whatsoever of whatever Tahu starts prattling about (a strategy, of course, because he is the leader, and a leader makes strategies and plans escapes and runs away when the ship begins sinking) because he sees his foot shift, he sees his hand beckon the rest of them towards him, he sees him make his way toward the inside of the Codrex, and white hot rage bursts out of him in a shout that he can't hear himself.
He can only tell he's shouted because his body is tense as it leanse forward, his lungs are empty, and his disgustingly spineless siblings are shaken and terrified as they turn to him.
He's not letting them escape on their own this time.
"None of you will be doing anything until we get the Matoran out of here!" he roars again. "Especially getting into that thing!"
"It could hold answers - helpful tools," Onua speaks in his warm enveloping tone. A hand reaches out for him, to soothe him, to try and calm him, return him to his normal self--
He's swatted away sharply, so hard that his wrist hurts.
His brother glares venomously: "It doesn't," he decides snapping back at him, "You're just trying to escape again, aren't you?"
"Again?"
"Don't play dumb with me! You said you remembered!"
"But it wasn't--"
"We're doing it my way this time! And you'll better comply or upon the name of the Great Spirit I swear I'll crack that infernal machine open like a Pokawi egg if you try to set a single foot in it!"
"Pohatu!"
He has no idea who is speaking: the voices and masks and colors melt together, his head spins, the heat of his anger turns his thoughts into a tangled mess that starts wrapping tight around his lungs to squeeze every breath of air out of him; so he flies away, diving briefly into the swamp, terribly close to the water, before rising back up along one of the trees, towards the stalactites.
(Somewhere far away a chunk of stalagmite blows up, scaring the wits out of Bitil. As his heartlight flashes madly the Makuta curses the Toa of Stone under his breath.)
Someone calls for him.
He ignores them and continues flying.
He's so furious that he nearly crashes through the branches.
A sense of nausea builds up in his throat like vomit.
The voice reaches him, shouting his name almost right in his audio receptor: his arm is grasped, wrenched up, his body unbalanced and turned upside down. He twists in the air aimlessly for a few seconds before he manages to stabilize himself again and regain his bearings enough to search for whoever jumped him.
Gali floats slightly above him, her eyes disbelieving and hard behind her mask: "What is happening?" she demands to know.
Pohatu glares at her. Then, out of nowhere, his brows unfurrow, his face softens, he breaks into his easygoing smile: "Nothing," he blatantly lies with his playful tone and no intention of masking his rage nor his sarcasm behind it, "Nothing ever happens. Didn't you know that, sister? This afternoon we're going to have a tea party with the Makuta and wait for the energy storm to decide the air is a bit too brisk to come down this week, and then tomorrow we'll all attend a nice Kohlii match the Av-Matoran are setting up with the Piraka as the referees."
"Stop it!" she shouts. His little show unsettles her immensely, and the fact only makes him glad. "What's happening to you?"
He laughs: "Nothing, I told you," and he does a little loop to keep from shattering a fallen stalactite in half, "Nothing ever happens to me! Why would anything happen to me?"
It scares her even more. "I said stop it! You're not like this!"
Oh, he isn't?
He isn't like this?
If she knew. If only she knew.
She would hate him as much as he hates her again.
"What's wrong with you, brother?" she cries. She really does sound like she's going to sob. "What happened to you? What is making you act like this?"
Oh, but didn't she say she remembered?
Didn't they say they remembered?
Liars. Liars. Liars. The bile surges back to cover his eyes, to coat his mouth with its horrid taste. He can barely breathe.
"Nothing!"
"It can't be 'nothing'!"
"I said, it's nothing!"
"Pohatu, please!"
He thinks of driving his hand right through her heartlight.
Gali watches her brother stutter, suddenly frightened by something she cannot see nor hear not imagine, she watches him lose height for only a moment in which he seems to plummet into the bog below: before she can fly down to his rescue he spins up again, twirling away from her. She follows his trajectory until he lands, heavy and tired, on a sturdy enough branch.
He hears her touch down a few steps away from him much more gracefully. Keeping his eyes shut at least spares him from having to look at her.
He is a Toa. He has a code to follow. Even when it's hard.
Even when it would make it all so much simpler.
Even when it would be so deserved.
But he is a Toa.
Not a Bohrok.
Not a Rahkshi.
A Toa.
And he doesn't want to kill.
"Pohatu," she calls again, so gentle, so sweet. Her hand sits on his shoulder, pulls away slightly when he flinches at the contact, lays once more with an even lighter weight. "Brother, I'm begging you. Speak to me. Share what hurts you."
You know exactly what it is, sister.
All of you do, and you pretend otherwise.
You left me. You planned your escape and went through with it.
You left me to do the work of six Toa alone because you were too scared of dying like the Matoran you didn't care for.
It was your plan from the beginning, wasn't it? It must have been. Otherwise it makes no sense. I was never part of your escape either, was I now. Because I was never as good as any of you.
You left me. You left me, and you planned to leave me. You didn't tell me anything. You didn't care if I would have looked for you while I was dying. You didn't care if our little brothers would have called for you. You left us all to die and you planned for it. From the start.
You disgust me. You left me. You left me. You left me.
"I'm worried," he says, because that too is true.
Gali's arms embrace him kindly, pushing his head to lay on her shoulder. He'll let her believe the shiver that courses through him is out of a need for comfort instead of repulsion.
"We'll get them all to safety," she whispers. Her tone is soft, almost lulling him to sleep.
"When?" he asks. He feels so tired. "Is there even enough time?"
"There will be," his sister reassures him as her hand cradles his nape. "I promise they'll all be on their way to Metru Nui before the storm can start forming. We'll make sure of that. Me, our brothers, and you. United, it won't take long."
It wouldn't have taken long back then either, he thinks, but the bite in his thoughts is too weak to voice them. He is so tired. So exhausted from his anger. Gali is so comfortable. So kind.
It's a trick.
It's all a trick.
He has to remember that.
Anger helps him remember that.
His siblings hate him.
It's all a trick.
Just a trick.
The stuttering sound of a pair of rockets approching them has his sister turn slightly. Her grasp on him loosens, and he pries himself away from her hold despite some traitorous speck of his mind begging to be allowed to lean on her. It's a trick, he chastises it as he finally opens his eyes to see who's coming: just another dirty trick.
Lewa touches down almost next to them, jittery and anxious. He looks at Pohatu with a certain fear behind the goggles of his mask.
His brother replies to his frightened gaze with silence.
He and Gali speak - of what, Pohatu can't tell. He's so tired. When at last he forces himself to be mentally present to the conversation, it seems they have reached an agreement.
"I will reassure our brothers, then," she says. "We'll be there to help you before you know it."
"Heartthanks, Watersister," Lewa nods relieved.
They watch her disappear downwards again. So it seems they will be handling the first few evacuations on their own, and then the others will join them.
It's good to see they have a bigger sense of duty than they used to.
Or at least, that his rage scares them more than death.
Fingers grab him before he can lift off, in an unsteady grip: "Pohatu," his brother calls with a trembling voice.
When he turns to finally face him fully, Lewa looks at him no different than he did when he first arrived on the branch: frightened, concerned, jittering. He grasps his forearm with both hands, like he's afraid he'll slip away from him.
"We need to go," Pohatu tells him simply. He is so tired.
"You," his brother begins softly, but it takes him another moment to word his thoughts properly: "You... How... Are you?"
"Tired."
"Are there - offvoices, like the mindkraana, in--"
"I am just tired. Let's go."
He winces hard at the harsh words, but he holds onto him still: "Stonebrother - you were... You weren't with us. In..."
"I wasn't. Let's go."
"Wait - wait, please..."
He sighs. He feels so tired. So tired. Why is he so tired.
"If you weren't... If you..." Lewa struggles. He is deeply worried. For him. "Where... What... Happened, to you? During all this time?"
His legs ache and twitch to kick him off this blasted branch. His body screams at him to knee the Air Toa in the torso hard enough to cave his armor into his lungs.
But the building bitterness hemorrhaging from his every joint after he allowed his tightly compressed rage to blow out of him is eroding his strength the more poisonous it becomes instead of fueling him as it has so diligently done for the past one hundred thousand years, and he is so tired.
"Now isn't the time to talk about this," he snaps.
"But it will be?" his brother insists.
He is so, so, so tired.
"Later." he concedes. "Once all this is done."
"Heartpromise?"
Somehow, he manages to fake a convincing smile: "Heartpromise."
Lewa smiles back at him, heartlight a little lighter.
They lift off together.
7 notes · View notes
randomwriteronline · 6 days
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
full bodies and a bust! With some attempts at clothing! Wow
feat. in order: Krahka, Ehlek, Matau, Pohatu, Vezon, Artakha, Tamaru, and Karzhani
5 notes · View notes
randomwriteronline · 6 days
Text
Tumblr media
green n blue bonkles (in love)
7 notes · View notes
randomwriteronline · 6 days
Text
rinse and repeat
His job was a grisly one- find the works of the avatars, document them, and then undo them. Then prevent them. Most of the avatars did not like him constantly 'destroying' their work. Most. Not all of them.
rated: T warnings: described death. AU: TMA Length: 1,500 words (short-medium) notes: i don't know much about TMA, but im having a fun time with friends talking about aus so :3
gift fic for @halfusek ft. magenda (as i unaffectionately call this one)
ao3 link here
The pervasive smell in the room clued him off before anything else. It was the sense of dread worsening that immediately followed, an apprehension that made his stomach knot. A flashlight was beaming towards his feet, red slick appearing at the edges of the fallen beam.
Johan did not want to turn on the light, though he could see the words superimposed on the wall above the small switch, a demand rather than a thought. Steeling himself, he flicked it on, filling the room with an unsteady, buzzing light. 
Immediately, regret- no, not regret, some other sad emotion- filled him. 
The filing room had a desk with three chairs in the center- or usually situated in the center, as they had been moved aside for a ladder that now took stage center left. A few papers were scattered about, ruffling Johan mildly. However, his job was not a pleasant one, and sometimes included observing mis-managed paperwork, and… other, worse things. Such as the corpse - his true purpose for entering the room. He noted the body, at true stage center, was perhaps two or three hours old. 
It was a gruesome death. 
Suffocation, electrocution, and decapitation all played their roles. 
It was hard to tell which had killed him, though Johan snapped on a pair of gloves, and set himself to documenting the gritty scene. 
A ladder. 
A box of tools. 
Electrician’s gear taken out. 
It seemed like Bert- the man had taken upon himself to fix a faulty wire. Johan followed the trail to the circuit board and fuse box, and broke past the paneling to see the back of the fuses. 
A group of four were miswired. The dead man had turned off the wrong one, without even knowing it. 
It made Johan frown and sigh. How pointless. 
He returned to the ladder, climbing upwards. Several wires were already dangling loosely, and Johan narrowed his eyes as he attempted to determine the sequence of events.
One of the wires hummed quietly.
Johan traced its path, noting the bloodied loop at one ridge. That would be the decapitation, potentially if the man had fallen forward. Pulling out a tape measure, he checked the likely trajectory. Unfortunately, it lined up. Which meant that indeed, the decapitation had happened last. 
A pity. 
It would have been the fastest death. 
Johan nudged the ladder. It was sturdy. He looked along the wire, along the corpse. 
The bruising by the neck was no longer severe, as it all had been, well, cut, but from what he could see, there had been significant pressure upon it. If Johan were to piece together the order of events (which was exactly what he was doing at the moment), he would have said as follows.
Bertrum turned off the fuse box, unaware that what he was turning off had nothing to do with the task he had taken upon himself. As the light switch was off, and the flashlight lay dimming, Johan decided that the man had not bothered to check the lights when he entered the room, setting down supplies. Had he paused to ensure that the fuse was off, he may have survived. 
Doubtful.
Some other unfortunate happenstance would have occurred, perhaps more grisly than this. 
Regardless. Continuing reconstruction. 
Bertrum had then climbed up the ladder, and began working on rewiring the faulty electrical system. A significant burn on his hand, searing through to his flesh, explained the rest. While he was removing the old wire, he had gotten entangled, and as he had tried to pull it off, his hand brushed an unexposed part of the live wire. Then, with his body stiffening to the current, he must have lost his balance.
Severing his throat on the wire. 
Johan was meticulous in his documentation. If he was not, he may miss something in the next run that would result in another failure. Or he might get himself… quite hurt. Usually the latter always left him snapping awake in his threadbare bed, gasping for breath and with a dull painful sensation in his chest, ready to try again. However, that was an outcome he tried to avoid. 
Speaking of things that one tried to avoid….
Johan heard him before he saw him, the slightly off rhythm gait giving him away. Glancing around the room with a sigh, he acknowledged that:
Magenta had some connection to the death;
OR
Magenta was drawn towards it, like a fly to rotting flesh.
It may have been both. 
He said nothing as the other lanky man entered the room, smiling. 
Magenta surveyed the scene calmly, suppressing a shiver of delight. He said nothing to Johan, who was marking which of the wires were live. Johan rolled his eyes, and went back to examining the bad wire to determine where its true source really was to make sure that when he corrected this misconstrued blip, he did it properly - once. Magenta watched him work with a smile blandly painted over his face.
Eventually, Johan pulled out a chair, on the opposite side of the table from the corpse, and sat in it heavily, another sigh fighting to escape him. Magenta watched keenly, though his eyes were half open. Johan moved back a second chair, silently expectant, and Magenta sat in it. 
“This one is fun, isn't it?” Magenta commented lightly, a smile still on his face. Johan shrugged glumly, staring at the paperwork before him instead of the body just beyond the desk. Unique, certainly; saddening, yes. Not quite so ‘fun’ for him, especially when one considered what his job entailed.  “Don’t look so down, Jo!”
“Kinda hard not to when there’s a dead body in f-front of me,” Johan retorted, brow furrowing and mouth twitching downwards. Magenta shrugged, smiling still. “And when it’s so….”
“Purposeful?” Magenta questioned, teeth glinting in his smile. Johan stared at him, not enjoying the shudder of upset that he tried to hide. Magenta noticed it anyway. “Well, maybe that’s not the right word. Artistic might be a better one.” 
“Right,” Johan mumbled. It surely was an artistic death. “Maybe the creator might have done well to warn me. Content warnings or w-whatever.” 
Here Magenta frowned. 
Johan looked away, abashed. 
“S-sorry. That was unkind of me. I’m on edge.” 
“Sure,” Magenta rolled his eyes, leaning back. Johan stood, picking up the clipboard, making some final measurements and documentations. “Don’t forget the dead fuse.”
Johan tilted his head as he looked at him. Magenta raised an eyebrow, a silent dare to check him. Johan saw no need to do so- as he would be able to check when he would do his… ‘cleanup’. Not to mention, despite the man’s goals, Johan trusted Magenta. Which may have been the fault of memories not his own.
The older man matched the tilt of his head, humorous.
“What?” he asked, a slight grin at the edges of his mouth. Johan’s lips parted to say something, and then closed. Magenta’s smile broadened cheekily, eyes flashing. “Oh, dear. Be more careful, Jo! We wouldn’t want…” Magenta glanced at Bertrum’s mutilated, burned corpse, fighting his smile from growing wider. “An accident.” 
“Why d-did you tell me about it?” Johan asked, faced with a troubled emotion that he locked up and decided that he would not think about or confront. Magenta’s smile remained unchanging. “Mag….”
The other man stood up, still evenly looking at Johan.
“You’re smart, Jo,” the avatar of The End chided, tapping the end of Johan’s nose. “Think about it.”
“The resetting, I kn-know,” Johan replied, pursing his lips. He knew why Magenta was much more tranquil and compliant around him than the other essences of fears, who generally disliked watching Johan undo their work time after time. Not Magenta, though. Magenta was quite happy with the fact that he was able to expand on his medium repeatedly thanks to Johan’s role. “But why warn me a-about the fuse not working? You know what h-happens to me if… an ‘accident’ does occur.” 
Magenta shrugged, smile still on his face. 
“Thought it might make your day a bit better,” Magenta brightly replied. Johan looked away, face warming. “I’m sure that whatever weird process renews you is no party.” 
“It’s… it’s definitely not, no,” Johan agreed, feeling pain creeping along his spine. He exhaled, softening, managing a small smile on his stressed visage. “So… I thank you.”
“It’s nothing, Jo,” Magenta’s own relaxed smile was dazzling, toothy and bright; yet sharklike. It made a trickle of fluster bloom in Johan’s chest, worsened by his next words. “I’m sure you’ll figure out a nicer way to thank me, don’t you think?” 
Johan did not reply, looking away, face heating considerably. Magenta laughed a little, a chuckle, and Johan’s blushing intensified. A hand brushed his cheek as Magenta sauntered out of the room. 
Johan watched him leave, words he could not describe resting on his tongue, unsure if he should go after the man, properly ‘thank’ him.
Instead, Johan checked his paperwork, inhaled, and reset.
8 notes · View notes
randomwriteronline · 6 days
Text
In ICU
Exactly what the title says. Im in ICU for severe frostbite on both legs (frankly its a miracle i still have them. Or that im alive for that matter)
Tumblr media
Good chance I'll need surgery on them later and guess who's still too poor for that? Given the changes theyve been trying to make to tje healthcare system recently, im not sure im covered
Anything helps, p@ypal me at: [email protected]
$0/$1000 CAD
3K notes · View notes
randomwriteronline · 7 days
Text
Tumblr media
mouse drawing hard
4 notes · View notes
randomwriteronline · 9 days
Text
He hears him before he sees him.
That is not something that will ever change - in a sense it is quite comforting, that even in a constantly mutating world one thing can remain the same: the fact that he is still heavy enough to make his arrival sound like an approaching thunderstorm, that he has not lost the peculiar gracelessness of his brand of speed, that he likes to run his mouth just as much as his legs.
"You're a lot thinner than the last time I saw you," Pohatu tells him.
Krika regards him with half-lid eyes: "And my brother's leash is just as tight around your neck still, it would seem."
"Stop that," the Toa shuts him down instantly, his genuine amiable tone gone in an instant to be replaced by a cold vitriol. If the Makuta had a tongue, he might have considered biting it. "That joke has never been funny in the first place."
"It is no joke, Toa."
"Then find something else to greet me with, Makuta."
To say Krika had felt something deeper, once, for such a sad being - to say any of them had at some point been moved towards him by something other than an awkward pity, a half-hearted annoyance, a slight cautious curiosity - would be maybe not a full lie, but certainly an exaggeration. None of them was attached to him enough to pry Teridax's hold off of him until it was too late to even try to get through to him, after all; so perhaps this sudden rush of melancholic compassion is akin to a crocodile's tears after it has senselessly devoured its own young.
It remains that, for a reason unknown, the towering insect-like being tilts his head to better observe the warrior before him.
"You're much more orange than I remembered," he indulges him: "And somehow even shorter."
A booming laugh: "It's the armor," Pohatu replies so wonderfully earnest and open and bright as though he had never once been angry in his frighteningly bitter life: "Too compact."
He drops from the air onto the sturdiest branch he could have found with his entire weight, bouncing on it as it perilously bends towards the swamp waters before struggling to pull itself back up. He dangles his feet in a carefree manner, like a Matoran who snuck away from work. A tentative fondness that was there many millennia ago rekindles for a moment only within the Makuta, to ache with nostalgia: for a moment he can almost picture his old laboratory, and the suspended catwalk that led to the shelves of viruses and carefully preserved failed attempts upon which the Toa would sit just like that so he could watch him at work without interfering.
"So," Pohatu beams: "It's been a while."
"It has."
"I met Mutran on the way here. Most of the others too - the ones up in the sky. They've gone blind, by the by."
"I was aware."
"Of the Matoran, too?"
"Yes."
The Toa hums. Evidently he does not appreciate the shadow leeches too much.
"I passed through him with my Kakama Nuva," he continues.
"Mutran?"
"Yes."
"Riveting."
"It was disgusting, mostly. Oh, and I saw Gorast. I had to knock out Photok before she'd jump on him - ah, you don't know him, right? No, he's from the stalagmites. Resisting against you. So yes, I had to knock him out and fly him to safety and then get back down. A bit of a hassle."
"How is my sister faring, in your opinion?"
"As positively furious as ever. Maybe even worse."
"She has indeed been degrading."
"Hm. Maybe it's the bog air. Or the humidity. Either way I can't really blame her."
Of course you can't, the Makuta only thinks, keeping quiet.
You are becoming ever more like her.
"Ah - watch for Takua- Takanuva. He's arrived too."
"The fabled Toa of Light?"
A nod. "He isn't supposed to be here. They sent him, I think."
"Who would be 'they'?"
"Probably the Order of Mata Nui - the Turaga don't have the means to set a single foot here, let alone send someone. You'll recognize him immediately, he's gotten huge."
"Duly noted."
"Anyhow, how have things been down here?"
Krika shrugs: "Gorast almost killed your sister," he relays. "Bitil had your Earth brother subjugated briefly, and your Fire brother - Tahu, isn't he? - nearly burnt down the entire swamp."
"Hm," the Toa only hums, monotone. "Shame."
The way he says the word causes the other being to stiffen his spine: "Do not speak like that."
"Like that how?"
"Do not be coy."
"I don't understand what you mean."
"You should not wish death upon your siblings."
"Because you don't?"
"The Toa Mata are following the path destiny has decided for them," the Makuta snaps at last. "Teridax has tried to twist and bend fate to his own ambitions, and in doing so he has doomed himself, the entire Brotherhood and you with him. To wish him dead is to wish for the Universe to keep on living - it is far from a childish desire born of an ancient grudge that has no reason to exist."
"Watch it."
The words coil quiet, dangerous, around Krika's neck much like a noose of rock.
The fallen stalactites groan like suffering Rahi as they shift.
One must wonder, between him and the last of the Makuta's sisters, if this kind of taste for cruelty is something innate or if his traitorous brother simply has a talent for driving people to it.
The silent threat is not quite empty. Yes, Pohatu will not kill him: he is a Toa (he takes pride in that for it's all that remains outside of Teridax he can still hold onto to tell himself he is worth anything) so he observes the code like his life depends on it, and it is not at all in his nature to consider inflicting pain fun, or satisfying; but he can trap him with little to no air or agonizingly crush his limbs flat between walls of stone, and his slowly marinating anger will find it endlessly gratifying despite any aversion to torture.
But Pohatu is, fundamentally, a weak being.
Oh, he has all the power he needs. His mastery over his element is egregious and his speed unmatched. But at the end of the day he is nothing but a soft toy, a spineless marionette to pull the strings of; one day - because it will happen, one day - someone will snip at a wire, purposefully or not, and that will be all it takes to send him tumbling to the floor.
His sharp limbs carve holes into the wood.
Slowly, Krika elevates himself from the bog and comes to stand upon the branch, light and graceful like a terrifyingly posed skeleton, towering over the little Toa.
His head bends down to look into blue eyes.
Pohatu simply cranes his neck and stares back, tranquil, unafraid, like a child.
"We will not leave Karda Nui," the Makuta sentences. His tone is low, funerary. "Our brother has planned our demise the moment he decided to betray Miserix. We are nothing to him, as are his Kraata, as are you. He has no need for a court beside him to rule the universe. We will outgrow our purpose soon. He will leave us to die like vermins. This shall be our grave."
A stretch of silence.
The gaze replying to his own is calm.
"Sorry," Pohatu says without even the vaguest trace of emotion.
Krika leans down, down, down, closer, until his mask grazes the other being's and his already rotting breath seeps into the seams of Artakha's armor.
"You are not exempt from this fate, little Toa." he breathes. "You are no different in his eyes from me. We are pawns. Tools to be discarded for the sake of a megalomaniac's ego. Teridax will suppress you as soon as your bones begin to creak. He holds no love for you."
"Do you?"
No answer.
"Do you love me?" Pohatu repeats. His tone holds the certainty of those who are lied to so profoundly that the truth becomes laughable to their eyes. "Do you?"
The Makuta remains silent.
"No," the Toa answers for him, "No, you don't."
There would have been a time where Krika would have scared him with a simple glare. It was the time where Pohatu was only a pitiful being who'd known nothing but fighting and fighting and more fighting, who was too curious to leave beakers untouched and kept almost dropping them.
"None of you do."
"We were fond of you," comes out of the white mask suddenly, a raucous strained sound, like something he didn't know himself.
"Yes," Pohatu replies: "Like my siblings are fond of me now. So nice, and kind, and gentle, because they don't remember they used to be the scum of the world. They've been getting memories, you know?" he pipes up - he smiles, tilts his head, leans it so close that Krika pulls back, looking almost excited. "They've been remembering things."
"Pohatu," the Makuta struggles to speak.
"They don't remember me, of course," he continues, trampling over the words the other tries to wheeze out. His fingers begin to sink into the wood on which he sits. "They have no reason to, of course. I wasn't them. I wasn't worthy of being with them. I wasn't wise or strong or stubborn enough. I wasn't memorable. Despite being there. Despite being there from the beginning just like all of them. Did you know, while we were on Voya Nui - you do know about Voya Nui, right? Ah, doesn't matter - we had to blow up a rock. A rock! A rock. And do you know? Do you know what my brothers did?"
"Your memories are poisoned."
"Tahu, and Kopaka - because they are the leaders, aren't they? They are the ones who take all the decisions and who everybody follows because they are louder than everybody else, aren't they?"
"Your own bitterness has corroded them."
"They started burning and freezing the rock. Burning. And freezing. The rock. Burning and freezing! Because that's what they do!"
"You can't rely on them."
"Because that's what they always do, that's all they can do! And I was standing there, you know, I was right there. Right there, right there next to them! A step away! Maybe two! I had to walk up to them! And blow up the rock for them! And I had to tell them, you know? Remember me? I am Pohatu! I do rock! For them to realize, oh! Yes! There is a Toa of Stone with us! How did we forget! Must have been because he wasn't in our immediate field of vision!"
"You are spiraling into your-"
"SHUT UP!"
The branch produces a ghastly crack as his fingers pierce it.
Pohato heaves, tries to keep talking, then hushes when his throat catches on a knot and the story he was telling stops sounding funny. He exhales out loud, hard, suddenly out of breath. His head feels like it's spinning and the swamp's odor does not help.
Krika observes him silently.
Hasn't this happened before? Something like this?
He'd sobbed too loud and choked on his own sadness, and the room had gone quiet and dozens of eyes had stared at him in a mixture of fear and concern.
When was it?
A hundred millennia ago?
He did not remember being comforted.
"Everybody is fond of me," he manages to wheeze: "Everybody is fond of me, and nobody remembers me."
His arms are shaking.
"My brothers sleep easy because they don't remember abandoning me and the Av-Matoran. They're fond of me because they don't remember hating me. But I know who they are. I know."
"You do not."
Blue eyes pierce through the Makuta: "And you do?" he asks, mockingly.
Krika stands his ground: "I have given your sister the chance to leave this dreadful place behind before her death was sealed."
"How nice."
"She has refused, for the sake of her brothers."
"Give her a minute."
"You have deluded yourself across these thousands of years."
"I am perfectly lucid."
"As lucid as Teridax wants you to be."
"Teridax cares about me," Pohatu says.
It is not a snarl. There is no anger in his voice. He is calm, reassured. Unshakeably certain.
He stares at the Makuta darkly.
"He's cared about me since the beginning. He has never left me to rot in my thoughts like the rest of you. He has never abandoned me." he murmurs.
His booming voice is so quiet, barely above a whisper, and as horribly bitter as Lerahk poison.
"I don't need your forgetful fondness," he speaks softly. Almost tiredly. Maybe he's done it - he's burnt himself thin at last. "Nor my siblings' two-faced kindness."
"Then you will be alone, little Toa. More than you already are."
"Don't push your own grievances onto me."
The branch sways violently.
Caught by surprise, Krika clutches the bark tight between his claws. It takes him a moment to realize he is now the only being still on it as it lashes out wildly: a flash of orange catches his attention at the edge of his vision and he whips his head around.
Pohatu treats him to an empty look, curled up in mid-air, ready to disappear.
Cold bitterness burns in his eyes.
"He is ripping you from your destiny, little Toa!" the Makuta shouts: "He is leading you to slaughter!"
"My destiny is to serve the Great Spirit; his destiny is to become it," Pohatu replies sharply above the sound of his armor's propellers, letting him know his warning has fallen on deaf ears. "If you can stomach to mention my name, tell your siblings I said hello."
His mask glows for a single instant - then he's gone.
Krika only stares at the point in space that the Toa occupied barely a fraction of a second ago, catching for a moment, impossibly slowed in time, his afterimage; for what is merely an instant it looks small and brown and tan, orange eyes gleaming with a guilt he can't let go off and a too focused vitriol that makes his heartlight stutter sickly, hiding behind a shelf in a clumsy attempt at pretending he wasn't poking curiously at the vats brimming with viruses to watch them swirl towards his finger.
11 notes · View notes
randomwriteronline · 9 days
Text
The Toa Nuva if they were a polycule: we are proud to identify as morosexuals. We are attracted to dumbasses and dumbasses only. Every other day Kopaka hatches a plan that is so irreversibly dumb with such conviction that we cant help but dream of kissing him under the moonlight
Kopaka: (traverses a lava river on an ice boat)
Kopaka: (forgets he can use his mask to look through obstacles)
Kopaka: (gets so mad he walks into a wall of fire)
Kopaka: (joins a fistfight specifically to make sure one of his siblings wins)
Kopaka: (gets a brand new flying motorbike and immediately gets it fucking stolen)
Kopaka: (instantly trusts a shady mangled beast to take him to the underworld without bothering to wonder how the hell he's going to make his way out of it)
Kopaka: I am the smartest person on the team
The Toa Nuva, in various states of undressing: brother you are so fucking stupid
39 notes · View notes
randomwriteronline · 9 days
Note
I have a question of great importance. I am writing something with Skull Kid and honestly your portrayal of them is my fave and my go to for personal canon. It is a crossover with another series. Would you be okay if I did that and added notes saying I got my skull kid inspo from you?
sure thing! id love to see that when its done btw, so if youd like to send me a link once its finished id be real happy to read
1 note · View note
randomwriteronline · 9 days
Note
i dont have a pairing prompt but what if you just put some guys in a situation - working for the company? :3
tysm for the prompt <3
Coi_ Factory
Jack's in a bad mood. T'ḥiát takes care of it. May has a not great time.
ft. @greenghostlyjekyll's Jack & @ichaisme's May :3 based on a real conversation lmao
words: 1,250 general fic warnings: light/playful violence; coil-heads
Fic under cut!
Generally, Jack was pretty chill, T'ḥiát would tell you. But really, you should not trust T'ḥiát’s opinion for diddly squat, as they tended to be an idiot. People who had worked with them would tell you that it must be that TZP that they were constantly inhaling like it was oxygen that muddled their brain to hell and back.
Jack was chill, sure, but they also did not mind if you ended up becoming mulch, as long as quota was hit and enough was made to head out to that desolate, far away planet Titan. 
Jack, dissatisfied with the newbies, and finding that they had lost one of them on quota number two, decided that the 120 chip price was more than sufficient to enlist T'ḥiát’s services once again - an idea assisted by the fact that T'ḥiát’s price of a fresh TZP can (instead of the empty canisters that the company begrudgingly gave them as payment) was 70% off in the shop. Well worth it, in Jack’s eyes. 
Especially after they were bunked up with one of the newbies on the next moon, who asked something so stupid, so ridiculous, so uneducated about Jack’s home planet that Jack only looked at them like they were crazy and stormed off, hoping they would get eaten by a spider or something.
Unfortunately for Jack, the “or something” happened, and that something was ‘got back to the ship only minorly injured from a stupid fall’. 
T'ḥiát, darting around the ship in a spazzing manner that defied some law of physics (clearly trying to savor the canister of TZP, only using it on the moons) noticed their bad mood, and zipped over. 
“What’s the matter, Jacks?” they asked, bouncing up and down. They stilled suddenly, head tilting. Someone who did not know T'ḥiát might have been unnerved. “You seem a bit miffed!” 
“Nothing, nothing, it’s fine, just…” Jack gave a quiet growl. “Somethin’ stupid is all.” 
“You can always talk to me,” T'ḥiát shrugged, hopping up on top of the controls console. “Even if you think it’s stupid, if it’s bothering you, it’s bothering me.”
“Someone just asked me, and I quote,” Jack said, raising their fingers to make bunny ear quotations in the air. “‘Does Titan have coil factories’?”
T'ḥiát stared at them - or one could assume so, by the way their blank visor was pointed directly at them without moving. 
“Oh, no.” they remarked, in denial. “No one could know that little about the moons.” 
“Well, they asked!” Jack gestured without any specific motions. Their helmet was off, so they took the advantage of being able to pinch the bridge of their nose. “Like! Buddy! Where do you think all the damn coil heads come from, Experimentation? Yeah, right, the only good that place is for is faulty V-type engines!” 
“Who asked that?” T'ḥiát wondered aloud. Jack pointed at the person ringing the company bell, and growled, “The FNG, who else?” 
“I see!” T'ḥiát replied lightly. “I’ll go give ‘em a talk.”
“You go do that, buddy,” Jack grumbled, though their mood was a little uplifted. “I appreciate it.”
“A lesson they won’t soon forget,” T'ḥiát went on, probably with a smile. Jack blinked, raising an eyebrow. “Bye!”
Jack watched them leave, and put a stick of gum in their mouth contemplatively. 
“Alright. I guess.” 
T'ḥiát came back after a few minutes of chatting with the new employee. 
“Done,” T'ḥiát remarked. “We’re going to Titan next quota.”
--
The snowy expanse of Titan loomed around them. The FNG was already in the complex, gathering loot with T'ḥiát. 
Said addict slammed down into the ship, and nudged Jack. 
“Doing well!” T'ḥiát chirped, then pressed the can of TZP to the inhalation module on their suit for exactly nine seconds. Their voice slightly higher than normal, they went on, “Going back!” 
The next time they came back with a haul, Jack grabbed their arm.
“What did you do to the newbie?” Jack asked. “Why was she so excited to come here?” 
“I told her that there were no coil factories on Titan,” T'ḥiát replied calmly, ignoring the eye twitch that was no doubt occurring behind Jack’s visor. “I told them that there’s a coin factory here and that cash registers are all the rage.”
“Mhm,” Jack contemplated their words for a long moment. Then they nodded. “They're gonna die.” 
“Ya, probably,” T'ḥiát agreed, then their arm was by their side again, as though Jack was never holding it in the first place. “Unless I feel bad enough for them. Well, going back.” 
Jack nodded, and watched them sprint off, chuckling to themself as they went back to the monitor. 
Sure enough, there was a red dot in front of the new guy. 
The new guy was strafing, one inch at a time.
Jack leaned back and smiled.
--
“Uh… can I get a bit of help?” 
The newbie’s distressed voice bounced along the corridors. T'ḥiát sighed, making their way to the sound's origin. 
“Ask nicely!” they called out, gauging the location of the lost employee. “Quick!”
“Please?” 
T'ḥiát came up swiftly, tilting their head and walking up to the coil head. They circled around it, and nodded once. 
“That there’s a coil head, alright,” they commented unnecessarily. The new guy gave a wheeze of fear. “Don’t you worry, I’ll get you out of here just fine. I see you got your cash register. May, was it?”
“Yeah- yes,” May replied, trembling hard. “I want to get out of here. Now.” 
“Calm down princess,” T'ḥiát soothed, shaking their can of TZP. “If you want, you can have a bit of this, it’ll help your nerves. Just promise that you’ll apologize to good ol’ Jack about the coil factories question when we get back. They got pretty offended by it.” 
“I didn’t think that it was an offensive question!” she defended herself with some bewilderment. T'ḥiát sighed and pushed her along. “Where are we going?” 
“Fire exit. Keep moving forward. I’ve got Mr. Crybaby.” 
“Crybaby?” 
“Don’t question it. Make a left. Your other left.” 
“To the glowing red dot?”
“That’s it. Right out there.”
T'ḥiát waited until they heard the door shut behind them before they phased through the crack.
May was breathing hard outside of the door. T'ḥiát nudged her to get her to start moving. 
“You’re a jerk,” May hissed. T'ḥiát shrugged. “I’m going to- to hurt you.” 
“Sure, doll,” T'ḥiát replied, just as peppy as usual. “That’s a nice cash register you’ve got there. Better make it count. Better crack my skull open in one shot.” 
“I’m not going to do that!?” May gasped, shocked. T'ḥiát tilted their head at her as they jumped down onto the lighting - May taking the stairs, like a normal person. They asked; “Why not?” 
“Because- because I’m not going to kill you!” 
“Coward,” T'ḥiát hummed. May stared at them through her visor. “Jack’s probably going to kill me when we get back onto the ship. Be more like Jack.” 
“Why would they kill you when we get back?!”
“You.”
Sure enough, as soon as they stepped onboard, Jack clonked T'ḥiát on the head with a shovel. They dropped like a popped balloon. May did not like thinking about the fact that their suit looked the part.
--
“Why did you save them!?” Jack demanded when they were in orbit again, shaking T'ḥiát violently. They shrugged, now next to the computer and out of Jack’s grip. “T'ḥiát! Stop teleporting!” 
“I don’t teleport. Also - I felt bad.” 
May rang her cash register. 
8 notes · View notes
randomwriteronline · 10 days
Text
"Pohatu - fancy seeing you here."
Nokama smiles a little more when the Toa turns to her. He sits slightly hunched on the edge of a cliff overlooking the sea, powerful legs swinging idly in the emptiness that divides the rocky wall from a plummet into the ocean, completely unafraid; the unusual shape of his Kakama Nuva greets her wordlessly.
"I hope I did not bother you," she continues gently: "You seem so caught up in your thoughts, these days..."
A comfortable silence follows the pause she allows to hang.
For a moment a sense of dread creeps along her spine, around her arms, ensnaring her neck: Pohatu, whose voice rattles the mountains, stares at her eerily quiet with a terrifyingly blank gaze and a lack of emotion in his expression.
But he blinks, and his eyes widen, and he says: "What?" as he leans his head forward. "I'm sorry Turaga, I was not listening."
She exhales, amused, as the broken tension allows her shoulders to sag a little: "I only mentioned that you seem very distracted as of late - even during Vakama's tales."
"Ah," he replies with a slightly embarrassed laugh: "I guess my head likes to be in Lewa's domain far more than my feet do in Onua's."
Nokama laughs with him: "May I?" she asks.
He gestures to his side amiably, inviting her to sit with him: "Of course, of course."
It's surprising how little he's worried. Even her head starts to spin from vertigo when she dares to look down at the swirling waters, and she is the furthest thing from the infamous Po-Matoran hydrophobia; yet he sits there without the barest hint of concern despite knowing very well he would sink to the depths of the ocean horribly easily.
Pohatu looks again to the horizon.
He's unusually unreadable.
"I've spoken with the Mahi of Po-Koro, on one of my visits," she tells him - her Rau's abilities have already been unmasked by now, so it's less strange than it could be - "They've told me you quite love to pamper them, more than the Hapaka."
His laugh vibrates out of him, but she notices he does not smile as wide as the sound would imply when he simply shrugs: "I like horns."
They've told her that, too.
"What troubles you, Toa of Stone?"
He glances back at her: "Nothing."
"Yet your mind is so often elsewhere, and you almost don't look like yourself. I've come to know you, Pohatu - I wish to help, if I can."
Nokama's gentle worry makes him sigh deeply: "You're as good a teacher as Toa Lhikan thought, Turaga," he replies with a heavy tone. "Very attentive."
She looks to her feet: "Vhisola was proof otherwise," she mutters.
Pohatu tilts his head: "Then it just means you've gotten better."
The Turaga smiles: "You're always too kind."
He does not reply to that.
His fingers sink into the stone of the precipice to rip a chunk out of the cliff like it's nothing; he tosses the rock from palm to palm absentmindedly, neck craned back to look at the sky.
"I'm just thinking of Po-Metru."
Curiosity, then. "It's only natural," she soothes him: "Your siblings wonder about Metru Nui too. Gali has asked me about Ga-Metru and the Great Temple quite a lot in the past few days. I'm certain Onewa will not be too shy to answer your questions."
She watches him pull one knee up to lean his chin on it: "I don't have many, to be honest - not about the city."
"Really?"
A shrug: "Turaga Vakama is very good at descriptions."
"Ah... Yes, he is, isn't he."
The Toa does not smile back at her; he keeps looking further away into the endless sky, as if to pull on the rest of the ocean with his mind until the other side of the island appears on the horizon.
"What is it, then?" Nokama nudges him. "What doubts take hold of your focus?"
He does not answer immediately.
The rock falls back in his hand perfectly each time he juggles it.
He does so halfheartedly, distractedly - in the same way he sits at the Amaja circle and looks at her brother speak as though he could see right past him, through him.
"The Matoran come from there," he finally says.
She nods.
At last, his strange nearly impersonal gaze returns upon her mask.
"Do you know where we come from?"
It takes her a moment to understand who he speaks of: "You come from the canisters," she answers, because that is nothing if the truth. "You come from the sea."
"The sea bears life - the sea bore us," he says under his breath at that, as though he is repeating a memory. It sounds a lot like Gali.
She nods: "That is as much as we Turaga know."
"And nothing else?" he insists. His words don't hold any desperation, but there is something in them she can't explain with any other term. "Did we have anything before that?"
"No, nothing. Nothing that we know of."
"You were Matoran. You became Toa. Do you not remember us?"
"No - you were never in Metru Nui. We never could have met you there, not even as Matoran."
"It remains we must have been Matoran. Isn't that right?"
His tone is... It strikes her enough to make her stagger before she can offer a response.
He sounds like...
He sounds like them, in a way.
He sounds like he is testing her - to see if he can trigger a specific reaction from her.
His tone is somewhat methodical, scientific, like a researcher interrogating a subject to observe the effects of whatever he's administered them; it is that of calculated questions that one already knows the answer to. His mask is unreadable, incomprehensible - not for a blank anonimity but instead an overwhelming amount of minuscule tells and signs that muddle the waters of his emotions, obscuring them within their own cacophonic confusion.
If only she too knew the answer.
If only (she assumes) he had not forgotten it.
"I imagine as much," Nokama finally replies. "But you six are special, Pohatu."
"You were chosen by Mata Nui himself," he interrupts her. The kindness in his voice is nearly an afterthought, but he masks that fact well. "I would say you too are not necessarily as ordinary a bunch as any Gukko flock might be in Le-Wahi."
She chuckles despite the strange atmosphere: "Oh," and then she laughs, and she laughs some more, bent over herself to try and stifle the giggles that bubble in her chest, "Oh, be careful not to say that in front of Tamaru or Kongu, lest you want a very angry lecture on how the Gukko force is so very different from their wild siblings."
Pohatu's smile is lukewarm.
The Turaga recomposes herself quickly when she takes in his lack of amusement: "But you are different," she insists. "You are something more than what we were or could have hoped to be."
"That sort of thing doesn't spring out of the ocean from nowhere."
"That sort of thing is what legends and prophecies are made of. Your arrival was foretold in stars that cannot be rewritten; you came to aid us, delivered upon our shores by the elements themselves; you battled against the Great Spirit's most insidious, terrible enemies, and defeated them. You are special. And perhaps you had no need of a Toa Stone to become who you are."
The reply she gets is a silent stare.
The rock creaks from within the Toa's grip.
If she were looking at it she'd notice the liquid manner it behaves.
"It's a sad idea," he finally says, "To be born only to fight."
The Toa protect, for that is their duty; the Matoran create, for that is their destiny.
Her hand lays on his arm with a kind, humid pressure.
"I may very well be wrong," Nokama reassures him now. "I've told you, not even we Turaga know much."
"You know prophecies."
"Those can only get us so far. And they can't see the past."
"I wish they could," Pohatu says with a focused gaze.
His eyes are locked onto her own.
"I will pray the Great Spirit to bring you answers soon, Toa of Stone," she promises - because what else can she do? How else can she reply to the perfectly still stare that seems to pass through her, carving holes within her head with the precision of a sculptor? "So that you and your siblings will never have to feel as you do now again."
He does not move.
Then, at last, his head tilts with a tired, relieved smile.
"Thank you, Turaga," he tells her earnestly. "I hope so too."
Nokama grins back at him, so gentle, so sweet - so glad that the disquieting spell is over and the Toa is once again fully himself.
She raises herself from her seat with a bit of a struggle, helped upright by his powerful arm. Another burst of vertigo makes her sway for a moment as she catches sight of the long fall into the waters, head feeling light before she imperiously shakes the sensation out of it: there is nothing to fear, the cliff won't fall. Even Pohatu has gone back to swinging his legs in the nothingness with the carefree movements of a Matoran dangling from a jungle vine, and if he is not afraid then she has no reason to be either.
He does not move to follow her.
"I shall return to Ga-Koro now," she tells him: "Soon enough we'll have to carry the boats to Kini Nui, and I ought to make sure they're nearing completion."
"Call Taipu when you need to move them, if my brother is too busy listening to stories - I'm sure he'll be happy to help," he suggests.
Her smile confirms that his poison is mistaken for a lighthearted jab: "A good idea. I will ask Whenua to send him to us, if he is not busy enough already and wishes to lend us a hand. You should be off too, listening to stories like your siblings, should you not?"
Head thrown back and legs stiffened, the Toa whines like an annoyed child: "But Turaga," he exaggerates his whimpering drawl to kick a laugh out of her shoulders, "I don't wanna!"
"Neither do I want to go fetch Nixie out of her observatory for the eleventh time today, but duty call us all the same."
He huffs and pouts dejectedly as his body slumps on himself in a comical manner; his furrowed brow clears into a simple smile as Nokama hiccups chuckle after chuckle at his stellar performance.
"There's still a little while," he bargains with her.
"And will you be at Kini Nui on time?"
"Am I ever late?"
No, she can't argue with that. Her eyes shine with affection as she lays them on him again.
"Alright," she pretends to concede with a sigh, as though she were doing him a big favor. His grin amuses her to no end. "But make sure to be there."
He places a hand on his heartlight: "I will be."
"And try to focus, as best as you can."
"I will try my hardest. I just need to clear my head a little more, and then I'll be the most captive audience Turaga Vakama has ever had."
"I'm certain you will. I hope the sea brings you solace, Pohatu."
"Thank you, Turaga. Goodbye."
She does not see his cheerfulness drop in an instant as soon as her back tells him she will not turn to look at him again, smile flattening, eyelids drooping, eyes hardening. He watches her until she disappears from view with a face devoid of love and a sizzling in his heartlight that almost makes him feel sick; the stone in his hand squeezes through his fingers like putty, slithers between them, takes a slug-like shape as it coils around his digits squirming like a worm emerging from a fresh tomb into a summer downpour, before he lets it collects itself in his palm once more.
He crushes it gently and looks down only when he opens his palm again. It looks like a Kane-Ra bull. He tries again: this one is a Makika. A Fikou. A Dikapi. A Tunnel Stalker. A Husi. A Fusa.
A Turaga with their mask shattered.
Without a word he presses the rock with both hands to somewhat shape it back into a proper sphere, carefully, taking his time.
He kicks it as far into the ocean as he can. His eyes follow its trajectory until the distance turns it far too small for him to distinguish it against the flickering gleams of the waves in which it no doubt sinks. He continues to look at the calm waters, legs swinging idly much like branches in a light breeze.
The sea bears life, Gali said; the sea bore us.
Pohatu looks into the cradle of his siblings' rebirth thoughtlessly, quietly, hating it as much as he hates them for not swallowing them whole.
15 notes · View notes
randomwriteronline · 12 days
Text
Tumblr media
old compilation of SKs traced over Orkos
13 notes · View notes