#Widgets & Stone

[feralferretxp]

Just two bros chillin' and being absent-minded, ya know?

[izurathespookyskeleton]

Posting a spicy fic tonight I haven’t posted this typa fics since 2021 so 😨

ALSO AO3 GOING DOWN FOR 10 HOURS YEAH IM GETTING SOMETHING OUT BEFORE THAT THANK U VERY MUCH

[empty-dream]

I now have an adorable Sanson on my blog!! \\(*≧∀≦*)//

[naptimepng]

141 thoughts

Pairing: 141 x F!Reader 

Rating: M

Word Count: 2.5k 🫣

Warnings/Tags: some sexual content, mostly wholesome stuff otherwise 

Summary: Just some thoughts I had about the boys, there are a lot for Soap because he’s my boyfriend and I love him. 

A/N: not really poly!141 but a little bit poly!141, also i might add to these in the future

Price

Has freckles but they only come out in the summer, when it’s warm enough that he doesn’t bother with shirts or long trousers, when the thick of his shoulders are exposed. It’s early afternoon when you notice them the first time, your cheek pressed to his warm skin, eyelashes tickling him there. He gets uncharacteristically shy at your soft, endeared gasp, brushing your fingers over the freckled skin of his shoulder, across his face. His cheeks flush and it makes you smile, noting the freckles across the bridge of his nose too. 

Has a dark green phone case, it’s silicone and smooth under his hands, rounded edges. No widgets on his Home Screen, only your time zone if he’s away on a mission. Also has a screen protector. 

His Lock Screen wallpaper is a photo of the sunset he took on a trip down to the coast with you. His Home Screen is a photo of you and him in bed, your hair messy from sleep, smile half-hidden under the covers, your face tucked into his bare shoulder. 

Types like a dad. If you went through your texts, you’re certain you’d find more thumbs ups and okays than I love you’s or either of your names. Always signs off with his name, no matter how short the text. 

Very passionate about the beard. Has a nice beard kit at home, a gift from Simon last Christmas - it’s in a dark wooden box with individual compartments for each item: expensive-smelling oils, thick brushes, tiny trimming scissors. Likes including you in his routine. Sits you up on the bathroom counter, stands between your knees and guides your hands as you drag the blade slowly down his neck. You like it, knowing he trusts you like this, knowing these quiet, intimate moments are the ones he misses when he’s away. 

Tries not to smoke at home anymore. He knows you hate the smell, so keeps it to his office on base, and has managed to quiet the shake in his hands with the patches he slips under his shirt sleeve while he’s home. He still hasn’t thrown away the case of cigars in the bottom shelf of his bedside table, and you won’t ask him to. You know that it’s a work in progress, a murmured confession into the back of your neck one morning that now that he has something he wants to live to see when he gets older and his hair is more grey than brown. 

Had his ears pierced when he was younger. Hasn’t worn anything since an old, irritating prick of a CO chewed him out for it, so the holes have long closed, but he still smiles at your enamoured gasp as you run your fingers over the laminated photographs in his mother’s photo album. 

Big fan of tea. To an embarrassing extent. Has a whole system for brewing ‘the perfect cuppa’ that he teaches you one morning in autumn. His chest to your back as he hooks his chin over your shoulder and guides your hands with his big ones covering yours. You tease him about it, but he only shakes his head and smiles, murmuring that he can’t survive off the shit they pack into MREs forever, that he has to make the most of it when he’s home. 

Gaz

Loves M&S and Carhartt, I refuse to believe he shops anywhere else. Any hoodie this man owns is such high quality you could sleep on it. Has super soft, thick beanies, a trench coat, knitted crewnecks. Definitely follows a bunch of fashion influencers on social media.

Comfy apartment, all blues and greys and whites. He calls it minimalist, you call it boring, but he can’t find it in him to complain as pieces of you begin appearing around the flat. Your colourful pasta bowls among his stone grey ones, your red kettle, your patchwork blankets thrown over his sofa, animal plushies strewn across his bed. Also has a full Le Creuset set, maybe the fruit one, or the all-blue set. 

Tried to put you on early morning runs for about a minute, but acquiesced at the wrinkle of your nose and the muttered threat that you’d bite his dick off as you snuggled further into bed. 

Did French at A level. Hated it, but is now fluent enough that the higher-ups keep dragging his name into ops requiring French-speakers. The only real good thing that comes out of it is the feeling of you tightening around him as he murmurs dirty things into your ear, his cheek pressed to yours as his tongue works around the soft, silky sounds of his dirty talk. 

Prefers FaceTime to phone calls if possible. Likes to see your face light up as you tell him about your day, being shown around the flat as you walk and talk, the sunset from across the world. Feels more connected to you. 

Very sweet with his PDA. Locked fingers, a hand on your waist, his chest at your back, big on forehead kisses. (Likes being all soft and sweet with you while you’re crying on his dick, holds your face in the cradle of his hands and presses a long, slow kiss to your forehead as he fills you.) 

Likes to collect little things from places he visits. Alejandro does shot glasses, Price does beer mats, Soap collects those stupid ‘I heart place’ t-shirts, and Gaz does stamps. Never uses them for letters, but keeps them tucked safely into a pocket of his vest to stick into a small notebook on his bedside table. 

The type of man to keep a real physical photo of you in his wallet. It’s a step up from having your photo as his wallpaper on his phone and a Polaroid tucked into his phone case. It makes your heart do a funny little flip when you find it on a Tuesday afternoon grocery run, proudly displayed next to his driver’s license and card. He doesn’t understand the radiant smile on your face when you look up at him where he’s pressed against your back at the self-service machine, coffee-flavoured gum forgotten in his hands where he’d plucked it off the shelf, until his eyes fall to his wallet open in your palms. He chuckles shyly, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah… just wanted to keep you with me everywhere I go. Remind myself who I’m comin’ home too.” You spend so long kissing him there, a line starts to form behind you and he has to blindly swipe his card across the machine before grabbing the bags and marching you to the car. (The ice cream is melted by the time you get home.)

Ghost

His Lock Screen is one of the generic ones when you first get a new phone, he hadn’t bothered to change it after updating from the battered flip phone he had when you first met him. His Home Screen is a photo he’d taken of you at the pub, head thrown back in laughter, skin glowing, the sleeve of your dress half-slipped down your shoulder (ended up googling how to change it after realising Johnny would take the piss out of him if he asked). 

Has a screen protector, but no phone case. He prefers to rawdog it despite your worries that he’ll drop it someday, or that Riley will get slobber in the charging port. 

Quiet but steady with his affection in public. Not one to ‘lay claim’ to you, but gets noticeably more touchy if someone looks at you a moment too long. More constant with his affection at home, a hand on your hip, his chin tucked over your shoulder, fingers hooked in your belt loop, elbow touching yours at the table. 

Patchy blond stubble when he forgets to shave, patches missing from the scars across his face. He hates them a little less when you run your lips across them, pressing into the crevices of his skin and breathing devotion into each one. 

Bites as a sign of affection. Only ever gently, just a quick press of his teeth around soft flesh, your shoulder, your neck, the curve of your breast. A little harder in bed, the fat of your thighs between his jaws as his fingers work you open, a bite mark left in your shoulder as he shudders against your back. 

Gets a cat to keep Riley and you company while he’s away. The two of you settle on a rescue after perusing online for a few weeks. Find a tiny black kitten with the biggest green eyes and little white paws and a birthmark that looks strangely like a skull on her tiny forehead. He calls her Spooks, watching her stretch across the length of his forearm, looking far more relaxed compared to how jumpy she’d been at the adoption centre. 

His thing to collect on missions is lighters. Has a growing collection of weird, novelty lighters ranging from a grenade to a red telephone box. His favourite (the one you tease him about the most) is the one shaped like a skeleton with the skull popping off to expose the flame. 

Has a weirdly high spice tolerance for a white guy from Manchester. Doesn’t blink at the local Indian place’s ‘authentic style biryani’ and even calls them up to thank them for the ‘nice little hit of spice’, putting it on speaker for you to listen and muffle your laughter at the disbelieving but polite response. 

Has a small chip in one of his incisors from a fight when he was still a sergeant. It was over something stupid, one of the recruits making snide comments about the scars. There’s a small scar on his left palm between his first two knuckles where he gripped the jagged edge of a broken beer bottle to swing at the other guy, and a matching one on the back of his forearm from ducking to avoid the broken shards of glass as a tumbler hit the wall. 

Has reading glasses for when he’s home. They’re a dark, tortoise shell pair that he perches on the bridge of his nose as he pores over reports late at night. It makes him look older, more mature than his 30-something years, and always - without fail - has you clambering into his lap within minutes of slipping them on, your hands sneaking under his jumper, your mouth on his neck.

The rumours are true; Ghost has a criminal sweet tooth. Speaking of teeth, Soap was shocked to find he has any left with the absurd volume of sugar he takes with a cuppa. Ghost takes his tea piping fucking hot, with four sugars. You and the boys are half-convinced he just has no feeling left in his tongue, that all the nerves there have been burned to a crisp (despite him repeatedly proving to you in bed that his tongue works fine, thanks).

Soap

Coffee in the mornings. Black if he’s feeling low, milk and three sugars if it’s a good day. Staunch tea hater, always groaning about fuckin’ Brits and their hot leaf water. 

Very clingy and a lot more open with his affection in public. Will have a hand tucked into the back pocket of your jeans while waiting in the line at Asda, arm over your shoulders while you’re squished together in a booth at the pub, a messy smack of his lips to your cheek as he envelops you in his arms. 

Exchanges little bits of Welsh and Scottish slang with you. Thoroughly enamoured to finally learn what a cwtch is, and it’s buried itself so deep into his vocabulary that he’ll murmur it into his pillow in the middle of the night if you wriggle out of his arms to get a drink or use the loo. Sleepy and slow, “gies a cwtch, hen,” before he’s curling an arm around you and burying his face into the warm skin of your neck. 

Expanding on that - completely unintelligible when tired. You’d think he’d be more accustomed to communicating on low energy from the army, but no. Anytime he’s even remotely sleepy, any speech devolves into vaguely Scottish-sounding gibberish, equal parts hilarious, endearing and stressful, trying to decipher the jumbled words as he fights sleep. (There’s a video on someone’s phone of Johnny sleepily singing Scotland The Brave on the flight home after a long mission in Iceland. To this day, he continues to deny the entire thing happened.) 

Does not like waking up early but had it trained out of him in the early days of his career. At home though? The two of you are out of commission well into the afternoon if not prompted into action by some external obligations. And if you’re a morning person, has been known to mumble slurred threats of violence into his pillow. Unfortunately for him, the intimidation factor of those threats is significantly lowered by the puddle of drool soaking his pillow. 

Dog person. Convinces you after a few days of bombarding you with puppy photos and articles about how dogs can improve mental health and life expectancy. Calls her Craic, and thinks it’s the funniest thing in the world because he can ask, “What’s the craic?” when checking in with you while he’s off on a mission. 

Takes the mick out of you and the rest of the team sometimes, teaching you ‘real Scottish lingo’ (read: cleverly disguised insults/gibberish). It worked on Gaz once, and the poor thing tried a pickup line on a girl at a bar. It didn’t go well, to explain the tears in his eyes as he staggered back to the booth, pinching his bruised nose. 

For a demolitions expert with assumedly nimble fingers, he types like a drunk. No punctuation, no grammar, half of it Scottish slang. It’s gotten so bad that not even autocorrect can save him. And for some absurd reason, he recently turned it off, claiming it’d help train him to type more accurately. (Spoiler alert: it hasn’t.)

Also a big fan of voice notes. Slightly easier to understand than the keyboard smashes he calls text messages, but has a habit of getting sidetracked so they’ll end up being 8-minute long mini reviews of his week. Is also known for sending ridiculously long voice messages to random people when drunk; incomprehensible stream-of-consciousness stuff where he thinks he uncovers the meaning of life at least twice before he’s blathering on about whether we’ll ever really know what dinosaurs looked like. 

Biggest munch on the team. 50% enthusiasm, 35% talent, 15% learned skill. He’s messy, puts his all into it, and gets the job done. Not one to tease you when he’s between your legs like that, and has none of the patience or restraint that John or Simon do. Just happy and grateful to be there. Also big fan of eating it from the back, and genuinely enjoys it too. You know that tweet about eating pussy in the sniper position so you can hump the bed in peace? That’s Soap.

Claims he can handle spice. Cannot, in fact, handle spice. This was proven to the entire 141 after a dinner at a Thai restaurant, and Ghost egged him into trying a single slice of red chili, Gaz cheering him on, Price only shaking his head as he polished off his beer, his arm resting around the back of your chair as you shared a sceptical look. Soap had been in tears by the end of it, his tongue still on fire as he swirled an ice cube around his mouth, wiping at his runny nose and throwing a thumbs up at the concerned waiter. He rests his head on your lap the entire drive home, gently sniffling into the tissues you keep giving him, subtly flipping Gaz off when he mutters something about doing too much.

[chrismerle]

Been a while since I posted an ad, so I tossed one together with some of my favorite pieces! If you're interested in any of them, all of them are available in my Etsy shop, Widget's Apparel. There's a link to the shop in my pinned post and my blog description. There will be a link to the shop and the individual listings in the notes of this post!

Items, left to right, top to bottom:

Labradorite and sterling silver necklace. $72.

Moss agate, jasper, and copper crescent moon pendant. $35.

Rhodonite, sunstone, agate, and copper necklace. $52

Iridescent glass and silver-plated copper necklace. $38.

Gold stone and silver-plated copper pendant necklace. $50.

Quartz, aventurine, glass, and silver-plated copper necklace. $48.

Sodalite, glass, and steel viking knit necklace. $75.

Glass and silver-plated copper pendant necklace. $42.

Dyed palm room and copper tree pendant. $65.

Sodalite, lava stone, and silver-plated copper bracelet. $30.

Unakite, glass, and copper bracelet. $30.

Quartz, aventurine, and silver-plated copper bracelet. $28.

[rooksunday]

fluffcember day twenty five: the perfect gift

thorn lunged for the command office comm when its lights started flashing in the we need a commander stat pattern, gleefully snatching victory from thire’s too-short grasp. triumphant, thorn held the comm aloft with one hand and affected a flourishing senatorial bow with the other, inclining his body toward stone’s slow applause.

“i believe this call is for me, gentlebeings,” thorn said.

thire slung himself back into his chair with a huff. “you only won because fox is out. i hope it’s another nexu with the pox.”

“whatever it is, at least i don’t have to deal with ration requisition in triplicate anymore. fingers crossed for a litter of pox-ridden kits.”

“dream big,” stone said, snorting, before returning to his datapad.

“fall soft.” with a final sullen grunt and a rude twist of his fingers—precious baby, thorn adored him—thire resumed his work.

smug in victory, thorn saluted his fellow sufferers and made for the front office. he checked his vaccination record on the way, just in case it was senator dilby’s infirm nexu again. the amount of troopers who had discovered their version of the template had a suite of allergies…

thorn’s thoughts crashed out of hyperspace as he entered the front office. with glacial slowness, he dragged his gaze from the… incident… spitting and snarling in the centre of the coruscant guard reception, toward the trooper on duty, who had presumably hit the summons.

widget returned thorn’s look with horror that almost visibly leaked from the seams in his armour.

“sir. thank you for your alacrity,” widget said, a fine tremor in his voice. “as you can see, we have a situation.”

“we do,” thorn allowed, eyeing it.

the situation growled. the situation rattled its chained hands. the situation thrashed in its surprisingly sturdy sack. the situation’s yellow eyes gleamed.

“has commander fox been made aware?” thorn asked, though without much hope. he couldn’t hear explosions or screaming, after all.

widget swallowed audibly. “not yet, sir. i thought one of you might wish to, uh, assess the situation first.”

he thought one of the commanders could break the news, thorn translated. crafty bastard. thorn was proud. annoyed, but proud. he strode toward widget, circling widely around the situation, careful to keep his posture confident and his thoughts behind their usual shield. good practice, after all. especially considering the… situation.

“how did we receive this delivery?” thorn asked, being sure not to turn his back on it.

“there was, uh, a note, sir. special delivery from alpha-17, sir. it says, enjoy your decanting day gift. that’s all it says. there’s not even an addressee.”

at the sound of alpha-17’s name, darth kriffin’ maul thrashed and spat and almost certainly swore behind the gag someone—no bets that it was an alpha the size of a droideka—had shoved between his fangs. yet nothing outside his direct influence so much as rattled.

“that explains why the force collar has a bow on it, i suppose,” thorn observed mildly.

fox was going to have kittens. pox-ridden kittens.

served him right for sloping out of the office for his decanting day.

thorn sighed. “i hope fox is up to date with his inoculations.”

[simmingsamantha]

Wizard 101 Legacy (TS3)

The Wizard101 Legacy Challenge is a seven generation challenge based on KingIsle’s popular MMORPG. As a kid, Wizard101 and the Sims were my top games so I thought it would be fun to combine the two into a legacy challenge and share it with y’all. Each generation is based on the seven schools of magic in Wizard101. Playing as a witch sim is completely optional! This challenge is more based on the lifestyles each school impresses upon their students. You will need most, if not all, expansion packs for this challenge. Feedback is always appreciated! Let me know your thoughts on this challenge :)

Tag: #w101legacy or "@" me

Click here for the rules in a google doc

Generation 1: STORM

"Storm Magic is all about creativity. It represents that flash of insight, or the spark of inspiration that makes you yell, "Eureka!" It is about the pleasure of catching lightning in a bottle. Wizards that embrace the School of Storm, known as Diviners, are driven by the thrill of investigation and discovery, the joys of invention and ingenuity, the power of creating and building. The drawback to such pursuits is the tendency to get lost in the maze of thoughts and being paralyzed to make a decision. Diviners use Verses to charm, enthrall or hypnotize creatures to help them.” - Wizard 101

Traits: Artistic, Charismatic, Schmoozer, Absent-Minded, Loves to Swim

Career: Investigator

Lifetime Wish: Deep Sea Diver

Lifetime Rewards: Extra Creative, Climatron Control unit or Cloudinator 9000

Colors: Purple and Yellow

Goals:

Max the inventing, scuba diving, and painting skills 

Complete the Widget Wonder inventing challenge 

Have a pet snake and a pet Sixam Owl 

Live on a houseboat and in a tropical world 

Become or befriend a mermaid 

Fight a shark 

With the climatron control unit or the cloud-inator 9000, summon rain at least three times 

Complete the seashell collection 

Get the Singed moodlet at least once 

Generation 2: FIRE

“Fire is passion, the bright, burning flame of raw emotion sweeping over everything. Those who follow the School of Fire, known as Pyromancers, are tempestuous, quick to anger, and consumed by whatever drives them at that moment. They tend to walk a fine line, having great passion and enthusiasm for one’s loves in life is good, but watch out! Passion can burn you up and consume you, leaving nothing but a charred husk of your former self. Pyromancers use Incantations to dominate and convince Fire creatures to do their bidding. - Wizard 101 

Traits: Hot-Headed, Flirty, Loves the Heat, Over-Emotional, Irresistible or Commitment Issues

Career: Professional Sports

Lifetime Wish: Heartbreaker or Master Romancer

Lifetime Rewards: Immune to Heat, Attractive/Master of Seduction

Colors: Red and Orange

Goals:

Max the athletic, cooking and charisma skills 

If you have the store content, also max the artisan skill

As a teen, join the Sports after-school activity 

Try to only eat foods with ghost chili in it 

Get sunburnt at least once 

Own a tanning booth and use it often 

Adopt an orange cat 

Have a child with a firefighter 

Never marry (date as much as you want, though) 

If you have the store content, adopt a red dragon 

Summon and befriend a genie 

Always attend the Summer Festival  

Collect all fireflies 

Generation 3: ICE

“Ice Magic is all about persistence, slow but steady progression and advancement, like the great glaciers forever sliding across the landscape. Those who embrace the power of Ice, known as Thaumaturges, exhibit great patience and strength, but as a result they sometimes become rigid and inflexible. Thaumaturges use Chants to bargain or plead with Ice creatures to serve them.” - Wizard 101

Traits: No Sense of Humor, Loves the Cold, Mooch, Perfectionist, Proper Career: Sculptor (Self-Employed) Lifetime Wish: Presenting the Perfect Private Aquarium Lifetime Rewards: Stone-Hearted, Immune to Cold Colors: Blue

Goals:

Max the sculpting and fishing skills

Complete the Ice Personality sculpting challenge 

Have at least one aquarium 

Live in a colder climate world (i.e. Aurora Skies) 

Make at least one snowman, one igloo and one snow angel 

Celebrate Snowflake Day 

Go ice skating and snowboarding as often as possible

Win a snowball fight 

Collect all base game gems 

Collect a s-GNOME-man Bittertotter 

Have a “pet” beetle 

Generation 4: MYTH

“Myth is imagination. The power of the mind, and everything it can create, drives Myth Magic. It is illusion and dreams made real. If the Wizard can conceive it, it can be brought forth and even brought to life. Beware, though, for when imagination becomes too fanciful and whimsical, dreams can escape control and run wild. Wizards of the Myth School, known as Conjurers, use Naming to summon beasts of legend by memorizing and calling out their True Name.” - Wizard 101 

Traits: Avant Garde, Neurotic, Supernatural Fan, Lucky, Bot Fan

Career: Magician

Lifetime Wish: Street Credible  

Lifetime Rewards: That Was Deliberate, Engaging and Future Sim 

Colors: Blue and Yellow

Goals:

Max the bot building. advanced tech, and street art skills 

Complete the Catch ‘Em All advanced tech challenge 

Unlock a legacy statue in the Future 

Have a pet lizard and a frog (in an aquarium)

Experience both the Utopian and Dystopian futures 

Befriend one of your descendants 

Perform in each of the venue types from Showtime 

Create an (evil) clone

Generation 5: LIFE

“Life is spirit, the force of awareness and existence. It is about constant growth and movement. Practitioners of Life Magic, known as Theurgists, are positive, enthusiastic people who seek to appreciate the simple pleasures. At times, however, they can be too flighty or frivolous when circumstances demand otherwise. Theurgists use Songs to breathe life and spirit into a vessel. Unlike other magic, which relies on summoning, coercing or beseeching, Life Magic harnesses the power of the Song of Creation to create something new. Scholars believe that Theurgy channels the tapestry of music from which the Spiral was created, and that in echoing portions of the great symphony, a Wizard can bring forth and create Life where none previously existed.” - Wizard 101 

Traits: Animal Lover, Eco-Friendly or Vegetarian, Commitment Issues, Green Thumb, Loves the Outdoors 

Career: Gardener or Science 

Lifetime Wish: One-Sim Band or The Fairy Tale Finder 

Lifetime Rewards: Super Green Thumb, Gardener’s Delight 

Colors: Green and Brown

Goals:

Adopt a cat, a dog and a horse 

Max the riding, gardening and one of the instrument skills 

Have your horse/unicorn max their skills

Have your dog or cat max their hunting skill

Teach your dog all available tricks  

Find at least one of each minor pet type in the world 

Complete the butterfly collection 

Become or marry a fairy 

Collect a Mysterious Mr. Gnome

For extra difficulty, collect all available gnomes

Have a greenhouse or large garden 

Live off of produce from your garden 

Have a plantsim baby 

Join the scouts as a child 

Generation 6: DEATH

“Death is about ending and closure. All things pass eventually, and time cannot be held back forever. Wizards devoted to Death Magic, known as Necromancers, understand this fact about everything around them and strive to face it without fear. They try to make the most of their time. Beware, though; some Wizards become morbid or try to cheat death through undeath. Necromancers use Whispers to strengthen their will, and draw on the power of courage to channel their own fears out of themselves and at their opponents.” - Wizard 101 

Traits: Brave, Brooding, Loner, Night Owl, Hates the Outdoors

Career: Ghost Hunter  

Lifetime Wish: Gold Digger 

Lifetime Rewards: Philosopher’s Stone Colors: Black and White

Goals:

Max the logic, alchemy and writing skills 

Stick to writing biographies when unlocked 

Become a supernatural in your quest for immortality 

Zombify another sim 

Collect all spirit types 

Only befriend ghosts, fairies, werewolves and vampires 

Have a personal graveyard 

Live in a supernatural or darker themed world (Midnight Hollow, Moonlight Falls, or a custom world) 

Have a pet Crow 

As a teen, join the Mausoleum Clerk part-time job  

Generation 7: BALANCE

“The Magic of Balance is harmony and finding equality in all things. It draws on elements from each of the other schools, incorporating bits and pieces of those other energies to fill in the spaces between the Schools. Wizards who focus on Balance Magic, known as Sorcerers, are broad-minded. In their minds, all things deserve consideration, and there may be many answers to a single question. The drawback to this point of view, is a tendency to seem impassive or indecisive and never willing to embrace a side or position. Sorcerers use Transmutation to blend the forces of the other schools for their spells.”  - Wizard 101 

Traits: Disciplined, Handy, Photographer’s Eye, Friendly, Frugal 

Career: Education or Photographer 

Lifetime Wish: Martial Arts Master or World-Class Gallery

Lifetime Rewards: Meditative Trance Sleep

Colors: Beige and Red 

Goals:

Max the martial arts, handiness and photography skills 

As a teen, join the Newspaper after-school activity 

Complete the Master of Meditation martial arts challenge 

Visit Al Simhara, Egypt and explore at least three tombs 

Including the Great Sphinx 

Befriend a mummy summoned through the sarcophagus and canopic jars 

Complete one of the photo collections

Live in a desert-like world (i.e. Lucky Palms) 

Reach Rank 5 in each social group 

Have a pet rodent and a dog 

[chernabogs]

if you're still taking requests, can you maybe do "You're lucky you're cute" with either Malleus or Sebek? (and reader) You can choose one of them and have fun!!

Thank youuuu this is just a glorified excuse for me to info dump about etiquette with Fae interactions LMAO (also I need to work more on my Sebek down the line... my boy...I will write him soon)

CAVEATS

Inc: Malleus, GN!Reader (referred to as Prefect once) Warnings: None! Except the ominous undercurrent of danger through words at the amusement of a Fae WC: 2.5k! Excerpt: Truthfully, many of the things he’s saying are things humans should know—but the crevice between the sharing of information from Fae to humans means many of the modern humans don’t.  He’s granting you a one up by doing this—at his own entertainment. 

People find it hard to speak of things with him sometimes. Exulansis, Malleus learns it’s called. A resignation to stop talking about an experience because the other cannot relate. When the other House wardens speak of motor vehicles, of vacations, of the latest tech and similar topics he finds his mind turning in circles as he puzzles over what that experience is like. What is a vacation to the Tropical Isles like? What benefits does a magic-powered vehicle have over a gas-consuming one? 

Perhaps he has a face when they speak of this. A furrow in his brow, a darkening of his gaze. He doesn’t mean it in hostility—it’s all coming from a purely clinical stance. He’s tried so many times just to get his older flip phone model to work that he’s entirely given up comprehending what this ‘widget’ is, or the benefits of ‘bio-metrics’, which sounds like some poison you’d feed someone in his opinion. 

Maybe this is why he finds somewhat of a solace in your company at times like this. Even though you seem to know all about most of the things the others speak of, you’re still clueless about the magic aspects, and that gives him something of a purpose—explaining those to you. 

“What if you mix it?” 

You’re lying back on the stones of a cottage that once stood proudly in the forest surrounding Night Raven College. It’s since been reduced to nothing more but a few bits of the foundation and a lot of rotting wood. He raises an incredulous eyebrow at your words. 

“No, I would not recommend combining any fire magic with any form of wind magic. Most think it would just blow the fire out, but you are more apt to end up with an inferno than a resolution. Fire magic is measurably different from your flint and stick type, after all.” His gaze travels over your form as your expression shifts to one of intense thought. It reminds him of the one he wears when speaking with Shroud about his broke phone (again)—and it feels wonderful to be on the receiving end. 

“Grim and Ace did that once, you know. Combined Grims fire with wind magic Ace summoned. I probably should have thought of that before asking you.” You sit up with a groan and rub your face. “What about water magic, then?” 

“It depends on if the mage has used a sub-spell when summoning their fire spell. If a sub-spell was used with the intent of permitting the flames to burn more intensely, such as an oil or metal, then the water would simply feed the flames more. Hence why it’s quite important to pay attention to what your opponent’s actions are.” You remind him a little of Sebek and Silver when they were younger and just trying to master their own magic. You have the same curious disposition—and frustration about things just not being concise. 

You give him another look as you pick up the book you had tossed aside earlier. When he had invited you for a walk with him, he hadn’t anticipated it becoming a late-night study session. It was a refreshing experience, though—an opportunity for a ‘school-life’ moment that Lilia always pushed him to have. Midnight cramming. 

“When fighting someone, aren’t there a whole ton of other things to worry about beyond whether a sub-spell was used or not?” You sigh as you begin flipping through the pages. He notes that your writing gets rather chaotic at some points, and figures these are the things you’re picking his brain over. 

“Not every incidence of magic is for combat purposes. Why, in Briar Valley, magic is used for the most basic of tasks—such as cooking. That ties in with the fire information I just disclosed, no?” His lips quirk into the faintest of smiles. “It would be in poor taste if the cooks at the Palace were to mix magic with the wrong sub-spell by mistake.” 

“Have you ever barbecued something before? It’s practically combat.” 

Barbecue. Malleus remembers the first time he tried grilled meat, when he was younger, and Lilia had enough with the raw diet the prince had been kept on for the majority. The food had tasted like charred wood and from that point on Malleus had deliberately minimized his requests for it. “I am… not experienced at the barbecue, no.” 

“The barbecue.” You repeat, glancing at him with a smirk. “So, Briar Valley doesn’t have any fun cookouts? No throwing something on the BBQ and having a night of it?” 

“This is getting off topic.” He stands from where he was sitting on the foundation next to you and waves a hand. “Perhaps you should return to your dorm and study there. We can reconvene another time.”

Your expression shifts to surprise and you’re quick to protest his words. “No, no, I’d rather we stay. Besides, I’m not going to do anything if I go back, and you’re probably not going to do anything if you go back, so…”

“So?” He repeats with a raised eyebrow as a bright grin appears on your face. 

“Is it not better to do something together then nothing on our own?” 

Ah, you’re trying to work a strange sort of logic to your argument here. His arms cross over his chest as he looks from where you sit and out to the dark woods that surround you. It’s a quiet night, with a few fireflies flashing amongst the trees that loom like dark figures just beyond. Their towering presence ignites a sense of occhiolism that has him moving just a few steps closer to you.  

“Do you desire my company so much? All I’ve done is give you answers to your homework woes.” He gives a pointed look to the pen and book you have in hand as a flash of embarrassment crosses your face. You shift uncomfortably and close the book. 

“Well, I do want to say thank you for all that you’ve done so far…” You mumble. Your comment strikes a thought in his mind as he observes you a bit closer. “I guess I don’t really need to keep bugging you with questions.” 

“Did I ever imply it was a bother?” He moves through the grass to sit back down next to you. The lack of sound that his motions make would be unsettling to most, but your blindness to the unusual and the strange makes you seem entirely unaffected. “Do not read things that aren’t there.” 

“I… sorry?” He can see you struggling a little to navigate the right thing to say, and this brings a sense of amusement to him. Your confusion about this discussion may be mean on his part, but it’s only temporary. 

Malleus may not know much in terms of technology, or the best place for a vacation, or whether a gas-car is a better deal—but he does know magic. And he is feeling rather playful this evening as he watches your panicked gaze dart around his features. 

“Do your studies incorporate learning of magical beings, by chance?” He begins to lay the foundations for his plan as your shoulders relax at his question. You hum and flip around the book. 

“I mean, vaguely? There’s a bit about dwarves, and elves, and a very small paragraph on the Fae… but not much else.”

He clicks his tongue as his pale fingers reach out to touch the edges of the pages. “Oh, that won’t do. You can be forgiven for not understanding magical spells should you ever visit Briar Valley, but to not understand the Fae? You might find yourself in conflict.”

Then he makes his expression light up. “I would feel terrible should that happen, knowing I could prevent it, so I ask now—would you like to know more about my species?” 

It’s like dangling a forbidden fruit in front of a starving soul. He rarely shares anything about himself or his thoughts, even though you’ve both been attending these walks together for a few weeks now. You close the book again and nod, and that’s all he needs you to do. “Sure, thank you!” 

Your politeness is quaint—but he knows such an approach may not last once he begins talking. He smiles a little more, and it’s an expression to hide how eager he feels about this.

“To begin, you may find that while all of us have a degree of pride, some of us are more prideful than others. You are very generous with your thankfulness and apologetic responses, and although I appreciate the words and the acts as I know they come from a place of good intent… this is not the case for all my kind.” He hums thoughtfully. “In fact, some may think your thanks imply that they are subservient or—even worse—that you are now in debt to them.” 

He pauses and lets his words linger as they run through your mind. Your eyes widen slightly. “Subservient? I don’t want anyone thinking that whenever I just say thanks.” 

“I know that, and so does Lilia, but that’s because we’ve interacted with humans a great deal. Some Fae have very little interaction, and with that, hold very old beliefs. One should simply be… cautious. Express gratitude for what they have done, but do not say thanks.” 

Malleus feels his amusement grow as your expression becomes solemn at his words. He takes it as a sign to continue as he taps his nails against his thigh. 

Truthfully, many of the things he’s saying are things humans should know—but the crevice between the sharing of information from Fae to humans means many of the modern humans don’t. 

He’s granting you a one up by doing this—at his own entertainment. 

“We also value honesty immensely. Have I ever lied to you?” He asks, and when you shake your head with confidence, he chuckles. “No, and so I would hope that sentiment would be reciprocated. Lying or deliberately keeping information from me is something I don’t appreciate, but I will not curse you over it like some may.” 

“This makes me feel like I’m in politics instead of a conversation,” you mumble, resting your chin in your palm. He hums and nods. 

“In a sense, it is like politics. Be cautious of what you say, and if you don’t know what to say, say nothing at all. The same applies to accepting gifts—both obvious and not. Accept what you trust, but if you have a bad feeling, decline and simply do so in a way that is not apologetic.” 

“How do I know if something is being given as a gift?” There’s concern in your tone as you ask this. It makes Malleus smile wider—a sharp flash of white fangs in the dark—and he shrugs. 

“You don’t always. For example, you were quick to accept my offer of this information, even though this information itself is a gift. But we have a rapport; I trust you, as you trust me.” He stops tapping his thigh. “It’s the same for how willing you and the others have been at granting me and Lilia your names. There’s a great deal of magic tied into a person's name.”

Malleus notes that flash of unease in your gaze again as you grip your book a bit tighter. Perhaps this is unsettling to you. Perhaps the reminder of just how different the two of you are is throwing you into a perilous loop; you became comfortable enough with him that you began to see him as equal, and the reminder that you aren’t is jarring. 

 He doesn’t want to scare you too terribly, though. This isn’t what these lures of information were meant to do. It was meant to amuse him with your expressions and awe at these simple rules of etiquette, but also to guarantee your safety if—well, when—he asks you delicately to visit Briar Valley soon. Plus, you are the one consistent person outside of his close family who has bothered to hold extended conversations with him. 

“What can you do with my name?” You ask slowly. It’s a valid question. What can he do with your name?

“Oh, one can do many things with a name. Take it as their own, bend it out of shape, lock it in a box or toss it into the sea. A Fae can wipe it from your mind and put it in their pocket should they be so inclined. They can make you do whatever it is they please.” Not that many would anymore. Perhaps in the days when humans and Fae were at war the notoriety of name-theft was known throughout the Valley, but in these recent days of languid peace, name-theft is more apt to find the Fae imprisoned than anything else. 

“And will you?” You ask, catching him off guard for a moment. When he looks at you again, you look nervous as you stare back. “Take my name, or anyone else's?” 

Malleus blinks slowly as he processes your words. Ah… maybe this has gone too far now. He softens his expression and watches as this mirrors on your own. Then he warms his smile to grant some reassurance as he laughs softly. “Oh, no, no. You have my name as well—we are equal, in a sense. I don’t have power over you or anyone else in this school beyond what any other mage may hold.” 

You exhale slowly and relax your shoulders. His words have put you at ease and this pleases him before your expression takes a sharp turn into a scowl.

“Thanks for instilling all this paranoia in me. You know, when I finally visit you in Briar Valley, I’m going to be triple thinking everything that comes out of my mouth now.” 

“When?” He jumps on that word really quick as his expression shifts to one of smug delight. He didn’t even need to push the topic—you just dove headfirst into it yourself. He hears you clear your throat loudly as you yank open your book again. 

“Don’t. I’m going to write this all down in the margins before I forget,” you grumble as he chuckles softly again. 

“Ah, you’re lucky you’re cute, Prefect.” He hums as he returns his attention to the treeline beyond. The fireflies continue to lazily flash in the night, and the silence of the forest brings a sense of peace. There’s solace in your company—and he looks forward to experiencing it more in the future. 

So long as you don’t agitate another Fae. He can’t help you with everything. 

[whiteheartlight]

hey I wrote a fic while my internet was down about the world's grumpiest Toa while he and the others were traveling back to Mata Nui with the Matoran. please let me know if you enjoy. Onewa is such a bastard. but a bastard with nuance?? I've always thought he and Vakama should get to talk after the Visorak arc

.

It would actually be pretty cool, Onewa thinks, if Nuju didn't manage to concuss himself so bad while he did it.

He was up there where he needed to be, that's the thing. And Onewa's not afraid of heights like Whenua is, but when that bird smashed through the window of their airship and tried its damnedest to get Vakama by the waist, Onewa did think to himself, for a moment: I'm a Toa of Stone. Maybe the others should handle this.

Nuju might have intuited that thought, or maybe he had just been itching for some action after being stuck on a ship with the rest of them for weeks on end, but one way or another, he pulled out those ice spikes and practically leapt out the window to go after that over-sized set of knives on wings.

“Can't we just let the poor thing go?” Whenua had called, clinging queasily to a nearby support pole as the wind rocked over him. “It was probably hungry!”

“So it gets to eat Vakama?” Matau replied. “Or do you think it needs two of us?”

“If we let it go it could go after the Matoran spheres,” Vakama called over the wind. “We need to at least knock it out of the sky!”

“I'll handle the draft it's riding!” Matau shouted, leaping out the window and spreading his wings. He dipped hard before he caught the wind and came back up towards the bird, one hand curving through the air as he redirected the draft.

Unfortunately, he didn't redirect himself to avoid it. The bird panicked at the sudden change, flapping hard to try and course-correct, and Onewa heard Matau go “oh, whoops” before a metal wing was slicing towards his own. Matau disengaged his wings to avoid the blow, and he instantly started to plummet.

Onewa grabbed him neatly by the back of the armor from the side of the ship.

“Can you watch it, Matau?” he snarled at him. “What a stupid fucking stupid way to die that would have been.”

“Aw, were you worried?” asked Matau, making a fake pout.

“There would have been a whole village of Matoran with no one around because you weren't paying attention. Do you even care about that?”

“Spirits, Onewa, I would have quick-caught myself. Don't be a stuck crab about everything.”

“You two both focus!” Vakama called sharply, and Onewa swore before hauling Matau back in to safety. The bird swooped past them again, enormous talons reaching for either one of them before it darted back out again. He probably did need to focus, but honestly, in that moment, he felt so angry he could scream.

Look, it's not just been this, okay? Ever since Vakama got back from his stupid fucking solo trip that he still won't even tell them about, the others have been wearing on his nerves like they're getting paid good widgets to do so. He doesn't even really know why. They're just all... the same. They're all the same beings they always were. Weren't they supposed to change over time? Not just Vakama putting his shadows to rest, or Matau toning down the sarcasm, or whatever you want to call what any of them have been through. Wasn't there supposed to be a moment where he looked around and realized that they were all – you know – professionals?

Aren't they supposed to feel like real Toa?

Instead they're here, on a busted old airship, trying to caravan a pack of comatose Matoran across unexplored waters because they couldn't save their real homeland. It seemed to strike him in the chest for a second, as the shadow of the bird's wings passed over him. No matter how many times he thinks it, it always punches him. He always thinks to himself Lhikan expected more from us.

He was thinking it again when Nuju distracted him by finding his footing along the side of the ship. Onewa couldn't even see what support beam or structuring he was standing on, but, with his ice spikes in the side of the ship's metal to steady him, Nuju got up.

“Oh, wow, he's up there,” said Whenua, and then promptly covered his eyes with his hands. “Be careful!”

“Matau, be ready to catch him if he falls,” Vakama ordered, and Matau bounded back into the sky. Nokama had a selection of clouds pouring down a fence of rain, bringing the predator bird towards Nuju, there on his feet, and he pulled an arm free, striking it through the air like he was giving a command. Onewa saw the light catch brilliantly on the heavy ice that formed along the creature's wings, sending it swerving, shrieking, and then falling. It came close to Nuju, who leapt away gracefully, back towards the entrance of the ship –

And, in one unfortunate push from the bird's spiraling wing, cracked his head hard against the edge of the open window.

“Oh!” groaned both Whenua and Nokama at the same time, everyone shifting towards Nuju in a collective alarm. Vakama grabbed Nuju's shoulders from the front while Matau swooped back inside to grab him from behind. He was only limp for a second or two, a white hand staggering up to grab at his head, but they had all heard that metal clunk of his cerebral casing connecting solidly with the harsh edge.

“Is it cracked?” asked Onewa tersely, coming to stand at Vakama's shoulder, hand out-stretched with nothing to do. Vakama was looking at Nuju's casing with a forger's eye, searching for any fractures.

“I don't think so. It'll be the inside we should worry about. Nuju, you need to sit down.”

Nuju was trying to get onto his feet without needing support, but not having much luck at it.

“I'm fine,” he snapped, voice shaky. “I handled it.”

The attitude is what's really getting Onewa mad, now that they're all here, crowded around Nuju. Onewa scoffs, shaking his head at him. “Seriously? You could have fallen too. We couldn't have just handled that from inside the ship? A couple ice darts wouldn't have taken it down the same? Oh, you were just aching for a fight.”

“Onewa,” warns Nokama, trying to get Nuju to at least lean back on them. “Not now.”

“Don't worry, sister, I think the odds of him remembering any part of today are pretty slim after our resident genius's latest idea.”

“Nuju, sit down,” Vakama insists, pulling his shoulders. Nuju's being such a pain. Is this how Toa act?

“I don't want you all touching me!”

“We're trying to stop you from falling. Let us get you checked over and then we will all back off, I promise.”

Nuju grabs at his mask again, groaning, but he doesn't let them lower him. He grips at the wall and then shoves Matau's arm off him. “Brother, just one second,” Nokama's telling him gently. “You're okay, we've got you.”

“I'm fine, get off!”

“Oh, by the spirits, Nuju,” Onewa hisses, something molten rising up in him. “Just sit down and shut up.”

Nuju's legs give out from under him so fast he nearly smacks his head a second time, but Matau scoops him up with a yelp. Pale blue eyes pierce Onewa with a fury that needs no words, but as his mouth fails to glow, Onewa realizes he can't talk.

Something races down his spine. He didn't mean to command him like that. Or maybe he did – the intention was there, it has to be, for his mask to work, but he didn't mean –

Nokama grabs Nuju's wrist before his hand can come up to strike back with ice. He grabs her wrist in return, mask contorting, but then something goes blank in his eyes and he sways, just trying to breathe. He hit his head hard.

“Onewa, go cool off,” Vakama orders shortly.

Oh, yeah, of course the Fire Toa's going to handle this. Their fearless leader.

Onewa scoffs and turns his back on his siblings, feeling four sets of eyes on him as he goes.

He shouldn't have done that. But this is it. This is... this is destiny, he supposes.

It doesn't feel right in his chest. Nothing has for weeks.

.

“You come to kill me, ice-weaver?”

Onewa's adjusting the shape of his whetstone carefully in his hand, its form shifting like water beneath his fingers, when he hears the steps approaching him.

Honestly, he's impressed Nuju knows about his little hiding spot. At the back of the landing bay, on the bottom of the ship, the tow cord stretches out towards the airships connected to their own. The windows around it are meant to allow Matoran to check that the cord is intact and undamaged, but it also makes a nice viewpoint. The other ships bob along through the air behind them, and at this time of evening, the sun comes through everything like its trying to cram the light inside. He likes the white noise of the nearest blade spinning through the air too – whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, low and heavy.

“Nokama's trying to talk him down,” comes a voice that isn't Nuju's. “He was more sullen than angry. I think he's embarrassed. It wasn't very kind of you.”

Onewa turns to level Vakama with a look, taking in the sight of him crouching to meet Onewa's gaze, still outside the bubble of the tow cord area, which is not tall enough for a Toa to stand in. Onewa shakes his head and pulls out his proto pitons, setting them on his lap.

“There's no difference between embarrassed and angry for a Ko-Matoran. He'll have his revenge, and I'll take it. End of story.”

“You lost your temper with him.”

“My real punishment is right now. Nokama really knew who to send to give me the most grief, didn't she?”

“She didn't send me.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Come on, you know she's focused on Nuju right now.”

Onewa snorts. Okay, that's fair. She takes care of all of them in a lot of ways – probably more than she should – but she does pick favorites sometimes. He doesn't care, though. He doesn't want her coddling and he loves his sister no matter who she's standing up for.

“Look, Onewa,” Vakama says, taking in a deep breath. “I understand entirely that you have extra doubts about everything since what I did with the Visorak, but – ”

“Can it,” Onewa cuts him off, curving his whetstone along the underside blade of his piton. He loves that slide of protodermis on stone. “If you could get out of your head for more than five seconds you'd remember that I'm not treating you any differently than I always have. Honestly, that whole drunk-on-power shtick might be the most interesting thing you ever did in your life. No more big sad eyes. Just bright red rage.”

Vakama scowls at him. “It was monstrous.”

“I can't tell you how little I care about your pity party. Seriously, if I tried to find the words – ”

“Alright, alright,” Vakama sighs, sitting down beside him. “Well, you're certainly treating the others differently.”

Onewa examines his piton in the light. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Sure,” Vakama answers flatly. “Onewa, one way or another, couldn't we try getting off on a better foot? All of us?”

Onewa finds that pretty funny. “A tiny bit late to be asking, don't you think?”

“Now's the time. We're going somewhere new. Leaving old enemies behind. Old shadows. Speaking for myself, I can acknowledge I'm in a much better headspace to be...”

“Less aggravating?”

Vakama pins him with a look. “Whatever you need me to be.”

“How noble.”

“Onewa. You controlled Nuju today. He's going to have your head. You can't be treating the others like that. I don't know why you'd choose Nuju of all people to pick on, but whatever I need to do to help you – ”

“Did you ever meet Toa Rooka?” Onewa asks.

Vakama stops short, evidently turning this change of topic over in his head. “No,” he replies. “Saw him from afar, you know how it would go. Rooka, of course, was – ”

“Larger than life?”

“In a number of ways,” Vakama agrees. When Onewa doesn't answer, he presses on. “You knew Rooka?”

“I saw Rooka die,” Onewa says.

Vakama goes quiet. “I didn't know that.”

Onewa nods at nothing, frowning out the window.

“How did it happen?” Vakama prompts him.

Yeah, he still remembers that answer in vivid detail, no matter how the years pass. Onewa presses his thumb hard into his wrist, below his vambrace. “Dark Hunters. Long before Nidhiki started crawling around or anything, just... the war, or its remnants. I was out in the fields where the fighting had happened, part of a search and rescue thing that the Mangai were leading. All the Hunters were supposed to have cleared out, but... I wandered onto them. Had my carver's tool in my hand. I remember coming over this crest and seeing him there, more gold than brown in the sun like he was. They put an axe through most of his throat, and the ichor sprayed like crazy. He didn't make any noise or anything. I think I said his name, so I'm lucky they didn't hear me. Or maybe I said 'Toa.' I think I just said 'Toa.'”

Onewa shifts in place and shrugs. “Anyway, some of the others must have been patrolling with him, because Naho and Lhikan were already looking for him before he was gone. I didn't go fetch them or anything, but they saw me sitting on top of the rocks, watching. Naho started cleaning up Rooks, and Lhikan came and got me. He picked me up – and you can imagine how much I would tolerate that normally, but I let him that day – and he took me home. Checked on me, afterwards, and then, he just never stopped checking on me.”

He can see the second Vakama becomes tempted to cut in with some anecdote about how Lhikan was always so caring like that, wasn't he, and Onewa cuts him off sharply.

“So I'm saying you aren't the only one who lost him, Vakama.”

“I never said I was,” Vakama shoots back, with a little of that Fire Toa heat.

“Yeah? You act like it sometimes. Now you know. And whatever, okay, you were stuck in your head, that's fine. But if you could stop acting like this is the fire-spitter show for two minutes, it would help me out, thanks very much.”

“It's always something I'm doing wrong, isn't it?”

“And here we go, right on schedule.” They glare at each other for a second before Vakama reels himself in, puffing out this hot, annoyed breath and crossing his arms over chest.

“So, what? You're saying you're just grieving, then, and that has you tearing into Nuju for no reason?”

“First of all, the reason was that he's insufferable. But no, that's not what I'm saying. I'm saying – it's been on my mind – I just thought you should know that I miss him too.”

“Oh.”

Onewa twists his vambrace around unhappily. “Yeah, fucking 'oh.' And I know that I've been an ass too. And now there's a lot to adjust to, and I don't know, Vakama. I only ever started following you to whatever degree I did – or sticking with any of the five of you – because I thought it's what he would want. But now look at us. Are we really getting anywhere? I'm supposed to believe we can lead a whole society of Matoran now? I don't understand why he picked us. Any of us, sometimes. But I loved him too.”

Vakama sighs and spreads his hands in an open gesture. “I know you did, Onewa. I know you're not actually... I don't know. Unkind.”

Onewa scoffs, shaking his head. “Really? How would you know that?”

Vakama frowns. “Well, I know you're not.”

“And you're so sure?”

“Yes,” says Vakama simply.

Onewa drops his hands into his lap, frowning back at him.

“Onewa,” says Vakama. “I would rather be your brother than your enemy. We all would.”

“So you're asking me to start being nicer and then we're good?”

“I'm asking you to follow me,” Vakama replies, which is pretty fucking bold, considering what they were just talking about.

“Why should it be you?” Onewa asks. “What have you ever done to deserve my loyalty? Two weeks ago you ran off on your own back to Metru Nui! Why would it ever be you?”

“Are you so opposed to it?”

He's not, Onewa realizes, turning irritably back to his other piton. No. He thinks Vakama could do it, actually. He saw him there at the end of the Visorak, coming back to them as himself, somebody upright and certain, if worn. He saw a leader.

“Maybe you're just not used to following, to being part of a team,” says Vakama, softer. “Which is fine. But here we are, Onewa. You're looking at your future and realizing we're all going to need to be leaders, together. We're going to need to be united. And not just to save our own tails when trouble comes, but because...”

His hand moves towards the other ship in the sky behind them, and Onewa stares out at it. He knows. There are hundreds of Matoran there who will need all six of them. United. There are Matoran who might need someone to carry them somewhere safe, and then to look after them. And that's him, somehow, him and these others. Because Toa Rooka and Toa Lhikan and the others are all gone, and Onewa and these five beings here with him – they're what's left. No other options, not anymore. Onewa and his brothers and sister.

“Deep down, I think that starts your heartlight flashing in a way you're not used to,” Vakama continues. “So maybe instead of telling us you're nervous, or scared – ”

“Watch it, fire-spitter.”

“ – you lash out. But Onewa, the reason that it should be me – just so we're all on the same tablet – is because that's the leader the others chose. And I have not done anything to deserve that. In fact, I've done plenty to be banished from your sights forever. But here we are. Call it destiny, or Lhikan's hope for us, or even say it's only because this is the fire-spitter show, I don't care. Here we are. I never want to be five minutes late to helping you because you didn't call for me, Onewa. I want to be your brother. I'm asking that you fall in line at my side – and all of our sides – and start accepting what we are now stepping into.”

“Well.” Onewa looks down at his pitons again, touching the cold metal for a second. “Maybe I don't know how to do that.”

Vakama hums at him. “I think you do.”

Say what you want about Vakama, but truthfully, this is that Fire Toa bravery they always talk about coming out to play, because in that moment, he has the nerves to put his stupid fucking hand on Onewa's shoulder.

“By the way,” Vakama adds, as he claps his armor and then starts to rise. “You're more gold than brown in the sun, too. Think I know where you got that from. I can't be Lhikan, but I'd be happy to check on you instead. Whatever happens, you won't be alone. We all want to be in this with you, no matter what comes next. Believe it or not, brother, but... we have your back.”

Onewa covers his mask for a second, sucking in a deep breath.

“This is real, huh? This... I'm really stuck with all five of you forever. Lhikan's really dead. It's the five of us. Mata Nui. You lot are stuck with me!”

He can grasp that Vakama's trying to be a cool and collected leader who came to give him words of wisdom, but really, when he breaks and start cracking up... Onewa thinks it's a good sound. Been a long fucking time since he heard Vakama laugh like that, bent over himself and covering his mouth. Or maybe never. Maybe he never knew Vakama when he was full of laughter. He shakes his head and turns away from his brother.

“I have your back too,” Onewa says. “At the end of the day, at least.”

“Yes,” Vakama says, smiling at him. “I know that. I'll see you later, Onewa.”

Then he's gone. Self-righteous forger.

Onewa looks back at the other ship again, the spheres that hold his people gleaming just a few bio away, and he's no tower-loving Ko-Matoran with a penchant for star-gazing of any kind, but in that moment, well... when he closes his eyes and lets himself imagine, he thinks he sees the future.

Yeah, Nuju's going to kick his ass. But there will be good things too. And bad things. And mistakes. And triumphs. The six of them will navigate it together.

.

He knows what Vakama means to do before he does it.

Maybe Onewa always knew it would be the price. He doesn't know how any part of him was ready for this, but somehow, he is. He sees Vakama reaching out his hand, and he doesn't feel scared. He isn't surprised. He's ready.

Vakama touches the Matoran sphere. A light begins to change him. When it's done, he's not Toa Vakama anymore, and Onewa feels the others staring at him and the spheres in silence. Onewa steps up beside him. He puts his hand on the next sphere over.

.

thanks for reading <3

[darkelfguy]

The Morrowind Modding Community began 2024 with a bang, releasing over 140 new Morrowind mods in January alone, covering everything from stunning new city overhauls to exciting new quests and adventures, to immersive graphical additions and more!

Besides major new mod releases, the community also released hundreds of new mod updates for a ton of big name mods, and today we'll be covering not just the 5 best mods of January 2024, but we'll also be highlighting some of the more notable major updates released by the community!

After more than 20 years, the Morrowind Modding Community is still going strong, and this episode marks the return of our Mod of the Month series, revamped to better fit the bigger, more active modding community that surrounds this amazing game!

Download Links:

Vivec - City of Swords By Tyrant

Dagoth Ur Fleshed Out By Orion

Gares Last Gasp By Von Djangos

Immersive Grotto Entrances By Hurdrax Custos

A Familiar Song By Superduple

Morrowind Quests Redux By Kildozery

Major Mod Updates:

Caldera Priory and the Depths of Blood and Bone By Seelof and his Minions

The Stone Halls of Solstheim - Reforged By Naufragous77

The Guar Whisperer By Merlord

More QuickLoot By Herbert100

Repopulated Waters - Rowing NPCs By GrumblingVomit

Dallara Imperial Forts By Dallara1000

Amazing Balmora Expansion By Eluwil

Roaring Arena - Betting and Bloodletting By Team VonVom

Windhelm - City of the Kings By Superliuk

Blademeister By Superduple

Magical Missions Recharged By Von Djangos

Mods Featured in the Introduction:

BCOM Plus - Ald'Ruhn Expansion By Jayber - RandomPal - Zzarcon - EndoranWest

SME - Useful Widgets By Always Hungry

Divine Armory By Yeest McFouster

Maar Gan - Town of Pilgrimage By RandomPal

Loot Detector - MWSE By Gerotaritor

Of Gems and Geodes an Ald Rhun Collector By Lord Zarcon

Map Icons - MWSE By Spammer

Note: Cinematic Video Footage Created Using the CinemaCam mod by Rytelier.

This video was recorded with the MMS Graphics Mod List.

[lynns-bonkle-blog]

What if infected Matoran speak like the Taken from Alan Wake.

"Ffffine stone tablets! For sale, SIX for only. Two widgets! But... hurry up becausetheyreonly av-AILABLE! For a. Limited. TIME!"

[x-heesy]

...was a universal medicine of the 19th century.

Today it is impossible to imagine that dangerous mercury was once considered the most effective cure for almost everything - from syphilis to tuberculosis, depression and migraines; In short, mercury was a medical hit in the 19th century.

Abraham Lincoln himself took blue pills containing mercury during periods of depression, although he quit in 1861 when he noticed that they led to uncontrollable outbursts of rage.

In 2010, those same blue pills from the President of the United States were exhibited in a museum and analyzed by the Royal Society of Chemistry. It turned out that they could cause insomnia, mood changes and worsen cognitive function

#history #historyofart #historycal #historyfacts #historylovers #historyinpictures #historymade #historygeek #historyera #historyphoto #historyclass #historychannel #historylesson #historygram #historynerd #historytour #historyofphotography #historyplace #historylover #historyphotographed #historymatters #historyoffashion #historyiscool #arthistory #historical #historicalplaces #historicalpix #historicalclothing #historicalphotos #historicalromance #historicalmonument #historicalfacts #historicalart #historicalsnapshots #historicalphotography #historicalphoto #historicalpictures #historicalhome #historicalcenter #historicaldesign #historicalfantasy #historicalusociety

she wakes from sleep, deep from ambien treats

down for hot wet drops from Columbian beans

then she drives goodbye with her kid back seat

moving fuel chewed from a desert heat

I sit alone, with my fragile bones

got my crackberry malls and my twittered drones

bleeding eyes, multiplayer moans

got my youporn love feeling facebook stoned

who’s got the power,

when we follow the noise?

it’s our drug of choice

then I walk downstairs for a midday break

got no time to dine, there’s no sun on my face

so my food machine spits out fresh direct

and stumbles sandwich crumbs on my keyboard desk

so I scan sales in the amazon rain

last chance dance to heal our lonely pain

maybe if I buy her that diamond star

to fill that plastic wrapped widget packed hole in my heart

who’s got the power,

when we follow the toys?

it’s our drugs of choice

and then she takes a drink, like a gladwell blink

suddenly face to face with the way she thinks

she asks, what’s the source of the clothes I wear,

the meat to eat, as the trash burns through the air

where does it come from

where is it going

where does it come from

where are we going

though she chokes of smoke from the 10 o’clock blues

seeing god’s facade fuels the family feuds,

she seals her ears with pod filled tunes

and walks the talk as her mood future moves

everything’s possible in our time

everything’s possible in your mind

I want to fall back into life,

don’t fall don’t crawl,

just rock n roll, and choose your fuel

yes the drugs I use, they feed my fuse

let’s replace the waste with waste that’s food

we’ve got the power,

when we choose the view

to use our drugs of choice

Drugs and Choices by Superhero 🦸‍♂️

[poetrythreesixfive]

No one

Nothing in this life is worth anything without someone

to know it, to see it and hold it, to admire it from afar

or to pat you on the back and say, that is a fine thing—

for what else is there if not acknowledgment, sharing,

that eternal exchange, the bartering of self from the old

jungle plain to the tundra, cave to Cadillac, everything

hunted and gathered and found and bought and sold

and collected and displayed and traded and portrayed?

what else is there if not the other, the someone, anyone

to reflect ourselves, deflect the sheer terror of thinking

about the vacuum of space, the vastness of eternity, and

how many of us have had the same thoughts since the

crank started moving, each brain-widget, or at least the

big ones, all considering the same escape, existentialists

all, neurovores, timelenation setting our expiration dates

upon tablets of stone embedded deep within our acids,

the same place we find the primordial urge to question,

to flip things over and poke them, to look at our images

reflected back and wonder why the hell are we doing it,

and if this tirade does not end the way you thought it

would, perhaps that is because no one has ever read it.

-GeorgeFilip

[chrismerle]

spooders I mean SPIDERS! Skull spiders, with little wire rib cages. The skull beads are stone, the rest of the beads are glass. The spiders are assembled on silver-plated copper wire and the ear wires are made of steel. They're each a bit under an inch in diameter; they're very light weight. Though I would recommend taking them off before bed or a nap, or you'll have to straighten all the legs out.

Anyway, $20 a pair. They're available in my Etsy shop, Widget's Apparel, if you're interested. Links to the shop are in my pinned post and the notes of this post.

[herald-of-aurene]

Here are some things in my ocs inventories that i like to keep equipped/in their inventories that represent them and parts of their story, so far this is it but i love adding to thiss

When I put on the legendary necklace, I thought of all the sentimental items for my babies characters that I keep on them

Spite Scorchedearth:

Ash Legion Compass, theyve had this since leaving the Fahrar

Scion-Spike Amulet (This and Prismatic Champion's Regalia represent Spite's scale necklace)

Token of Affection from baby Aurene

Exalted Portal Stone

Athinri Of Twilight:

Wynne's Locket, her past life's locket enchanted to help repress Wynne's memories

Forgotten Seal

i dont have this yet, but Caithe's Remorse will be here too

Mechasmith Widget:

Distinguished Circle of Logic

Early Asura Relief Rubbing

Golem Prototype Ankle Crystal

Firstborn Amaryllis

Lunaria, Circle of the Moon (A gift from Dagda)

[sspacegodd]

WHAT THE FUCK ARE THESE THINGS?

In the Roman Empire, from Wales to the Mediterranean, about 100 of these things have been found and are, and still nobody knows what they are.

"Called 'dodecahedrons' after their shape, which is a dodecahedron, and so easily gave them the model for things that look like dodecahedrons. Each one is a hollow stone or bronze object, 4–12 centimeters (1.5–5 in) in diameter, with 12 flat pentagonal faces and holes of varying sizes on each face. Small knobs protrude from each corner.

"While the Romans were usually obsessive and meticulous about keeping written records about anything and everything they did, nobody has ever seen an owner's manual, found a definitive list or descriptions of these objects. The closest we have is Plutarch, who is not an object, just human, who had bought a store whenhe had flashed on the genius of 'reading the stars' for college kids. He could peek at the stars and render detailed 12X12 charts of each student's personal reading, roll them up and tie them with a bow, and place a box of them at each register, oh, and call them a punchy, "HOROSCOPES" for the average Roman citizen, who reportedly thought the mysterious scrolls were at least some sort of zodiacal instrument."

A Roman dodecahedron is a small hollow object made of bronze or stone, with a dodecahedral shape: twelve flat pentagonal faces, each having a circular hole in the middle which connects to the hollowed-out center. Roman dodecahedra date from the 2nd or 3rd centuries CE. Which makes it so fascinating that ancient Romans call them dodecahedrons, which happens to be our exact word for them we use in today's new geometry.

About a hundred of these dodecahedra have been found[1] from Wales to Hungary and to the east of Italy, with most found in Germany and France. Ranging from 4 cm to 11 cm in size, they also vary in terms of textures. Most of them are made of bronze but some also seem to be made of stone.

The function or use of the dodecahedra is unknown; no mention of them has been found in contemporary accounts or pictures of the time.

Speculated uses include:

candlestick holders (wax was found inside one example)

dice

fib widget

Knitting

survey instruments

devices for determining the optimal sowing date for winter grain

that they were used to calibrate water pipes, and army standard bases.

It has also been suggested that they may have been religious artifacts of some kind. This latter speculation is based on the fact that most of the examples have been found in Gallo-Roman areas, some have promoted the idea it's an ancient sex toy, often a frightening form of ....... dildo.

Are they for playing Cat's in the Cradle? Is it a bootscraper?