I Think I’ve Said This Before But I Really Like The Idea Of The Nuva Adaptive Armour Morphing To Fit

THE MADNESS OF TURAGA

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

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

“They are…they are gone, old friend.”

“Gone?”

“Yes.”

“Gone where? And why? What happened?”

“They were…broken.”

“Explain! Who did this?”

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

The Toa stepped forward, lowering his voice.

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

The Turaga began to speak gravely:

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

“I don’t underst–”

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

“So you say. And what then?”

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

“Go on.”

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

“Questions are not out of the ordinary.”

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

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

“I still do not see what–”

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

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

“No…to be mended.”

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

“You sent them to–”

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

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

The Toa stepped closer, cutting him off:

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

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

“How long ago.”

“I…oh…perhaps some days–”

“–all of them?–”

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

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

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

“I cannot see that. The village is…”

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

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

“Did they fail in their work?”

“They deviated. It was necessary.”

A long silence followed.

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

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

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

“I am not a Toa anymore.”

people who dont experience it cannot comprehend how awful executive dysfunction is. I WANT to do the task, i have the resources TO do the task, i will feel better having DONE the task

but i cant fucking do the task

i need to be snuggled so bad

it fucking sucks how you can do all the therapy and self healing in the world and you still have to wake up living under a capitalist death cult that's killed community and crushes your soul

oh no , the dog is drinking the wave equation

when i was a straight boy, i said so, at least to myself.

it was always "pretty girls" and "beautiful women" shown to me, described to me. men were "handsome", but that's not an aesthetic judgement. it's a recommendation for marriage that could be based on other traits.

a good-looking man's portrait was almost always painted to what would make him look good to straight men, not those who wanted to fuck.

it seemed like desire for men was alien, an unexplainable, unrelatable magical feeling that others were mind controlled by.

until, eventually, i found that desire.

yet, it still feels wrong to use the same descriptions. masculine men are still, generally, not pretty to me. but i. i want to kiss them so much. i want a better word. help.

being attracted to men is not shameful or regrettable and if you think this is a 'needlessly arguing for the norm in a community of outsiders' post then you're part of the problem

Something that I get chills about is the fact that the oldest story told made by the oldest civilization opens with "In those days, in those distant days, in those ancient nights."

This confirms that there is a civilization older than the Sumerians that we have yet to find

Some people get existential dread from this

Me? I think it's fucking awesome it shows just how much of this world we have yet to discover and that is just fascinating

*through gritted teeth* you are not a child taking a test with the purpose of getting the highest score, you are an adult trying new things and finding ways to enjoy your life, make mistakes, be a beginner, be mediocre, be where you need to be, be unlikeable, just. be.

i want casual, everyday autism in shows. i want autistic characters who need sensory symmetry, who casually mimic anyone's touch on one side of their bodies on the other (or who have friends who do it for them). i want a friend with flashcards or signals for when their friend loses speech. i want people on video calls and body doubling when they do jobs. i want people having conversations without eye contact. i want excited stimming. i want to see someone getting really excited about the tiniest thing thats related to a safefood or a special interest. i want casual, everyday autism.

(edit: october 22, 11:04am - "nonverbal" -> "nonspeaking") (edit: october 24, 9:44pm - "nonspeaking" -> "loses speech")

The fact that boygirl adequately explains my gender but girlboy does not implies that gender is noncommutative. I’d be surprised if it was associative too.