#esp since i still feel love for the things i do like | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

itspheenixbaby · 2 days ago

Text

introduction

🎶 now playing … honey - erykah badu

for years i avoided scripting “world changes” to my desired realities because i knew it would fundamentally alter my culture and the state of the world in general. if you take away racism, you dont have rap. if you take away colonialism half the world doesnt have a lingua franca. since i got my shifting “start” on tiktok, my decision to keep the world the same was seen as “wrong” or “bad”. when it was anything but (at least from my pov) all i wanted to do was preserve the culture(s) that i had come to love so much.

but eventually either the peer pressure or just curiosity got to me, and i decided. what the hell, sure. lets get rid of every traumatic racial or social event thats still an issue in the modern day that i can think of. and thank God i caved, because the world i ended up building is ten times cooler.

(i only script this in realities where it probably wouldnt matter either way. like its not in any of my marvel based realities because the usa’s historical events are so deeply tied to all their plots to me itd feel weird to take it out. but for most of my desired realities set on earth, yeah this is our history.)

(i also never try to make the world perfect but what id describe as a “semi realistic good-ending”)

for the rest of this ramble, keep in mind when i say “america” or “american” im referring to both north & south americans. like how you’d say european or asian. if i mean to say united states of american 🇺🇸 , ill probably just say yankee(s) or yank(s). just because my familys jamaican and thats what they call us as slang lol.

alternate history, aka historical algebra

🎶 now playing … agua de beber - astrid gilberto

some people just script “racism didnt happen”; “the us is different/fairer” or “slavery / indigenous genocide didnt happen” but im very detailed. so that just felt like a cop-out. and all events are instrumental to shaping the cultural, social and even economic landscape of all my cultures. therefore, i had to come up with a way to get a mostly similar afro-america, usa & jamaica while re-doing all cultures major past atrocities. but how do you do that? well its pretty obvious. injustice and our cultural traumas didnt just pop up out of no where, so you have to change the history. if you build a home with a crooked foundation, obviously the entire house will be lopsided.

because both north and south america already have similar histories, it wouldnt get the effect i want if one nation was unaffected by colonialism/slavery/indigenous genocide and every other one was or vise versa. so any historical changes would have to be pan-continental.

indigenous-americans

to set a steady and mostly ethical foundation, indigenous culture unfortunately couldn’t be too much of the same. i considered making it that native americans and settlers were just harmonious, but like…realistically, even if they did okay it, who wants some random mofos just strolling into your land and establishing themselves? not me. especially not without indigenous americans holding the same power / advancement in general. you could still reasonably have some kind of racial tension, even if you scripted out racism. and again, i know in some countries esp south america, indigenous-settler relations in the past and the modern day arent as abysmal, but hell if im going all out scripting for a handful of countries why not include everyone? like what the hell, sure.

anyways in my desired reality, indigenous americans keep most of their fundamental culture. but unlike our reality, they were all *extremely* advanced. especially compared to the other four populated continents. characteristically they were a curious people, which is why their educational systems, economics & problem solving were ahead of their time. one example of this is the PCT.

the PCT isnt its going to be the “official” name, but im terrible at naming things, so were going with that. anyways, PCT stands for Pan Continental Transit. it was established in around the 1000s. the PCT is exactly what the name implies. its a road (not a literal modern one, think like the silk road) that goes from canada all the way to argentina. it includes the major carribbean islands too, so nobody gets left out. the PCT transported items, people and ideas across both continents at rapid paces. which will explain ; north & south americas extreme advancement levels, the lack of resistance to cultural exchange & the vast intelligence of the people.

other than the PCT, another key example of the curiosity of indigenous americans was their growing degree of influence. instead of europeans “finding” the americas, indigenous americans “found” eurasia & africa. they especially traded and interacted with western europeans and western africans. this interaction lasted a few hundred years before immigration waves began in the 1500s-1700s. in my desired reality, immigration was a natural step following cultural interest instead of an intrusion.

footnotes / effects ;

indigenous americans mingled with other cultures already, so foreign disease wouldnt have killed off their populations.

indigenous-american culture is respected and rightfully mainstream.

there was no reason to war with indigenous people, and it likely wouldve gotten shut down quick due to their advancement & control over both continents.

african-americans

african-americans, in my desired reality alternate history left africa and resettled in the americas on our own jurisdiction. so then what drove us out of africa? i came up with a few sensible reasons. those escaping tribal conflict and exiled rebels were a large amount of the resettlers. an interest in american education / ideas was also a driving force considering the intellectual power of native americans in this au. and since in my desired realities african-americans were seen as equals, a desire for financial opportunity also drove immigration. and since as i mentioned before native americans frequently interacted with west africans, immigration was already feasible.

pan africanism continues to exist in my desired reality, but it formed in a different way. thats where liberia comes into play. because the amount of west africans leaving the region caused an economic slow/drain, large amounts of west africans returned to africa and formed liberia. slowly but surely, the nation began to thrive. the prosperity trickled down to other west african kingdoms/nations/city-states turning liberia and the general west-african community extremely financially successful. in my desired reality, liberia continues its economic brilliance to the modern day. boasting one of the worlds best economies and largest populations. (mostly west african / african-american though).

footnotes / effects ;

african-americans & africans arent treated or seen as less than by other races & ethnicites.

african-american & african culture is respected.

african-americans mostly have african surnames.

african-americans have always had ethnic or racial pride and known our history.

asian-americans

a. so just for funsies, i scripted in a whole ethnic group. i didnt have any clue what to call them, so i pulled the name “jiuyuan” out of my ass. this group set history as the largest wave of collective east asian immigration out of the continent. with estimates of six million individuals leaving asia for the americas. so, whyd they emigrate? well…its complicated. a chinese former military general formed a new religion/mindset. this religion, yuanism, was cut throat and brutal with remnants of witchcraft/shamanism. it was thought to have been causing a stir across asia. so its practitioners were generally shunned from mainstream society. since they had difficulty finding work and adjusting to society, a vast majority turned to maritime based occupations. this continued for a few hundred years until the exiles began. by taking advantage of decades of maritime knowledge, jius fled persecution in east asia and resettled in the americas. particularly the carribbean, central america and coastal south america.

b. i scripted this change for the dumbest reason. i wanted to keep the name “west indies”. so i scripted in another important group of asian americans ; indo-carribbeans (who, yes, i know already exist in our original reality) but in my desired reality, they didnt come to the americas because of english colonialism/labor. indo carribbeans arrived in large quantities to various carribbean nations (including non-english/patois speaking ones) from western india in the 1500s. would be the second largest wave of immigration from asia to the americas, at around four million. they were merchants, aristocrats, pirates and traders. but they were already so well established and so integrated into carribbean cultures before the cultural solidification of europeans that the region was named “after” them. which in my desired reality is why the carribbean is also called the west indies. (clever, aint it 😉)

european-americans.

europeans still emigrate to the americas for the same reasons, but their effect is extremely different.

european-americans would have more cultural similarities with mainland europeans and possibly more syncretism with indigenous and african cultures in general.

instead of slave labor, you might’ve had very wealthy families or individuals relying on a non-race-based system similar to european feudalism to farm crops in southern states / fertile countries. or mining, entrepreneurship, military, local government & trade/shipping (majority directly tied to mother countries / europe). and even then, none of those would be european dominated.

footnotes / effects ;

no jim 🐦‍⬛, encomienda system, white washing, anti-race mixing or wh1te supr3macy. (censoring bc tumblr might not let me post)

nationality is seen above race in their communities.

most slurs including the n-word probably wouldnt exist.

colonialism

yes, i kept in colonialism. how else would we be speaking english/spanish/portuguese/dutch/french? but it does run differently. i mentioned this system in another post, but europeans were only rulers in name. in actuality, it was locals (of all races, including european) that were running the show and typically more concerned with their own agendas than loyalty to the motherland(s). (P.S, i wonder if when i shift this would cause an “untrustworthy american” stereotype in european media 🤔) this is also the case for asia & africa but even more so because there were less europeans & bigger populations in most of those countries.

naturally colonies did adopt some aspects of european culture including; language, christianity/catholicism, art forms (such as visual arts, music, films, dance & sports) and cultural beliefs, including those spread from movements such as the enlightenment. all with varying degrees of alteration and syncretism.

race

european-americans / europeans wouldnt be able to establish racism (which fun fact was partially invented to pit the poor against each other in our cr 😍 i love rich people), and any attempt would obviously be obsolete because in this reality each race has no reason to not be seen equally.

another non-factor is the classification of race into categories like “black”, “brown” or “white”. while in my base reality i dont find an issue with these terms, i dont think itd be realistic in this context. color based terms would likely be seen in the same way as how asians & indigenous people see the terms “yellow” or “red”. what i figure would actually be the case is either continental or region based ancestral classifications. and even then i figure the classifier level would prioritize nationality, followed by ethnic group and finally any broader racial categories.

(if you peruse my page, you’d see that in my idol dr me and most of the members of my group are classified in accordance, if an example is needed)

and thats it for the americas. now onto things i scripted for other regions/countries/continents or just the world in general. this is a lot more general because im jamaican-american so i dont know jack shit about any other nations histories to feel i should change anything (or even have a place to), but here it goes ;

most stuff is made regional/domestic. aka not everything is from china! literally only because i miss seeing “made in usa” or even “made in mexico” on things :(( like switch it up.

everywhere would be classified as a “first world country” by my original reality standards.

europe as a whole still has hella lions.

women & men have always been equal.

east asia is slightly more advanced than the rest of the world.

more places maintain “traditional” architecture styles. i heard in some european countries they dont build anything thats not cohesive with the older buildings and i was like, why dont we all do that???

the principal monetary system might not be capitalism (or communism, for that matter) i feel like i made the world so different im unsure if itd even still “work” but it might be idk.

and now, here goes the rapid fire intended cause & effect round explaining why the historical changes i scripted matters, if its unclear. but im no historian so i could be inaccurate on some things.

no indigenous genocide & thriving pre colonial pan-americas -> all nations in north/south america have further opportunity to become economically stable & explains the continents diversity without decimating an entire population.

pan-american road -> pan-americanism spreads, usa / canada is less likely to play “big brother” (or even be able to) with other north & south american countries. yankees automatically become like way less xenophobic/racist/isolationist because they never were.

global first world + peaceful status -> less over immigration from foreign countries to the west because there isnt a need to. more immigration in general because of cultural interest/work/school, but from everywhere to everywhere. less need for war & conflict because theres less injustice. less racism & xenophobia because no groups can be seen as literally having less. more technological & economic advancement because of a higher education rate.

fem/male equality always -> more technological & economic advancements because of an always larger work force. better mental health because gender norms (while they could still exist) wouldnt be nearly as intense on both genders. possibly more peaceful politics / social scenes because of more nuanced perspectives being highlighted and masculine energy wouldnt be a status quo.

no racial hierarchies -> no systemic racism in general. ameircan or european racism / xenophobia doesnt exist much less spread to other regions and continents.

weaker colonialism -> while europe & the west in general would still be extremely culturally & economically dominant, other regions and even entire continents would be on the same level….and the term “the west” might not be used? whats more plausible (even though its dated downnn in this reality) is probably old/new world.

more stuff made domestic/regional -> more equal financial clout. higher global production power. less unsafe work conditions. and more employed people everywhere.

europe still has lions -> europe just became like ten times cooler???

fun fact im lowkey planning a 1600s-1700s carribbean / american / yankee dr based on this alt history. itd be FUNN. and you just know the carribbean piracy golden age would just be bat shit insane too. also sooo excited to see different countries take on fashion, since the euro influence wouldnt be as universally strong.

and old hollywoods gonna be way more diverse so that’ll be cool to watch.

28 notes · View notes

catsafari25 · 1 year ago

Text

A/N: Hello again, and with this I think (?) I may have succeeded in writing enough bionicle fic to get it out of my system (unless another plot bunny hits me like a cannonball, but... eh, we'll see) and thus, here is the companion piece to the Vakama & Roodaka oneshot.

This time, exploring the scene where Vakama entered the Great Temple, from his side of things! This was also partially inspired by the scene in Challenge of the Hordika where Nokama is almost physically repulsed in trying to enter the Great Temple :)

In the tunnels beneath the temple, Vakama must stoop.

At first he shuffles, mutated arm tucked against him and his sole hand brushing only briefly along the floor to steady himself, but the passages are dark and deep and lined with creatures which seek out the weak. The eyes that watch him are not hungry. They keep their bellies too full for that.

In the end, it is easier quicker to drop to all fours, to share the weight between claw and tool that feet alone cannot. His altered form folds into the new stance with frightening familiarity. It's comfortable.

Natural.

The crown of his mask grazes the tunnel's ceiling, but only in passing. His gait is sure. Well. Surer than the ungainly slouch it had been before.

It was said – back when Matoran were awake to say such things – that even the strongest swimmers of Ga-Metru would hesitate before plunging into the depths of the protodermis sea. Not because the creatures there had any fondness for the taste of Matoran. In truth, it was thought that the rahi actively disliked the flavour. No, it was because the way Matoran swam was indistinguishable from the rahi's usual prey. Only when they had sunk tooth and jaw into their meal would they realise their mistake.

It was an annoying, if harmless mistake for the rahi.

Matoran couldn't say the same.

Vakama's early crawl through the passage had been like that of a Matoran swimmer: functional, but slow and indiscernible from wounded prey. Creatures drag themselves down into these depths to die, in hopes that they will be devoured only when they are too far gone to feel it. The eyes are patient. They will wait to see if this newcomer is similarly inclined.

And so when Vakama drops to his haunches, the eyes blink. Reassess. He moves less like the hunted and more like the hunter now, more predator than prey, and the eyes – and teeth – keep their distance after that.

The path Vakama stalks through was once a protodermis pipe, made obsolete even before the cataclysm. Newer conduits had been built, more efficient, more resilient, and this one had been disconnected but never dismantled. When he reaches its origin, it takes some effort – and his blazer claw – to break the seal across the hatchway, but when he does, one of the temple's protodermis purification chambers looms above him.

The room beyond is quiet.

Unmarked.

He doesn't realise he's stopped until the chittering of his audience draws closer. The snarl he throws back echoes off the pipe's walls, and the eyes retreat, but do not leave.

Vakama curls his hand around the lip of the hatch, and then falters.

Something is wrong.

It's not a pain, because the feeling does not hurt as it ought, but something is undeniably, fundamentally wrong. It causes his breath to catch, his hand to flinch, and it would be so easy, so easy, to turn and walk away, only...

Only he came here for a reason.

The wrongness flares, amplified for a moment, and then he pulls himself up. The eyes watch, but do not follow. Do they feel it too? Can even such base creatures sense the innate malice the temple exudes?

He clambers out of the purification chamber – empty and abandoned now – and stumbles upon his landing. He catches himself, but does not rise back to his feet.

Wrong.

This is wrong.

And at the edge of the wrongness there is a strange sort of terror. It dreads the same way the fire fears the sea, the same way the prey fears the predator; it is the meeting of two primally antithetical forces where only one can survive. It whispers turn back through his mind.

He moves into the next room.

It's one he knows well. Light filters down from the rot-stained windows, centering – as it had the day he'd first seen it – on the suva, and casting long sentinel shadows of the columns standing to attention around it. A crack mars the suva, its stone dome now split cleanly in two from the quakes, and – drawn by some desire he cannot identify (instinct, curiosity... nostalgia?) – he approaches.

It seems so small now. Even bowed and altered in his Hordika form, he looms over the Ta-Metru symbol he'd once had to stretch to reach.

Unbidden, his hand moves to the niche where once he'd placed a Toa Stone – where once he had though himself chosen, duty-bound, destiny-gifted – and falters a breath from the stone.

The wrongness spikes.

Screams.

And with a twist of something he will not call horror, he understands it is not originating from himself.

But from the temple.

It is repulsion. It's alienation. It's recognising him, but as other, as rahi.

It's disgust that a monster would dare enter its sanctuary.

In the Ta-Metru carving, stone once polished to the point of fragmented reflection, he sees a glimmer of his own face. Neither Toa nor Matoran. Nothing blessed by Mata Nui.

Vakama recoils.

And then a wave of his own disgust, propelled by that fury that runs so close to the surface now, rolls through him. If you didn't want us as the Toa, you should've stopped Makuta from choosing us, he thinks, and digs his claws into the stonework.

The wrongness sings.

But he knows it for what it is now, and his morphed, clawed hand gorges scars through the carving. The stone is soft. Its makers had never imagined someone would take a blade to it.

There comes a tapping from across the room, echoing brazenly off the ancient stone walls, and Vakama retreats instinctively into the shadows. A Rahaga enters.

Norik?

No, this Rahaga's armour is more akin to a Po-Matoran than a Ta-Matoran's, the colour of dust and stone. Vakama tries to recall the Rahaga's name – and then dismisses the attempt.

It won't matter, in the end.

The Rahaga walks as he always has, stooped and slow, but clearly unhindered by the temple. He passes by the suva and runs one gnarled hand across the stonework, his movements marred by curiosity rather than reverence.

The rage arrives a fully-formed creation. It drowns out the wrongness, floods the apprehension, and he is moving before he's decided that this is the path he wants.

It is not pain, for it does not hurt as it ought.

But it does still hurt.

Whatever the Rahaga might once have been, they are old and weak now. Four are captured before Vakama's rage has a chance to cool, but the ire is no less dangerous when it does.

(That's the thing about Ta-Metru; it's not a place of fire so much as it is of magma. And magma doesn't extinguish with the cold; it sets. It moors itself into place, an unmovable, burning force.)

The rage settles, solidifies around his heart and lungs and carves a home between his breaths.

(Magma is not fire. It does not leap blindly from one source to the next. Instead it advances. Slowly. Steadily. It finds a channel, a destination, and it engulfs all in its path until it reaches it.)

He finds the last two remaining Rahaga, pathetically ignorant to their brothers' fates and still scavenging the temple for answers. He hears the way Norik appraises his sister's translation, relief clear in his voice that they are one step further on this wild rahi chase. Relief, surely, that the Rahaga are one step closer to regaining their Toa form.

(And Vakama's anger has found its destination.)

He does not descend on the Rahaga's leader the way he has the others. No. Norik will know what's coming for him first. He gets to fear. Vakama waits until Gaaki has gone, until Norik is alone, and then he circles. The wrongness thrums in his veins, weighing him down and labouring his breaths. It doesn't matter. Let Norik hear his approach.

Norik doesn't try to run. Vakama will give him that much. (A wise choice. Vakama intends for this encounter to last, but if Norik runs, Vakama cannot be sure he won't chase.) Instead, the malformed once-Toa calls out and actually tries to approach him. Stupid. Doesn't he know that he won't win any fight, transformed as he is? As both of them are? No, instead, he tries to talk. As if they are equals, as if Norik has done anything to deserve his respect rather than his scorn. As if he has earned the temple's forgiveness for his trespassing.

Even when Vakama raises the fate of Norik's fellow Rahaga, Norik attempts to sway him with the illusion of reason, talking of duty and unity, as if he's not using the other Toa Hordika to chase after a rahi myth for his own desires. As if their roles are in any way comparable, both Toa of Fire once, both leaders, it's true, but Vakama hasn't forgone his duty to chase after selfish needs.

And it stops now.

Vakama circles closer, and Norik is still talking, unease in his voice, but not fear. Still searching for the right words to turn Vakama to his bidding as he has the other Toa Hordika. Ever the voice of two-faced logic.

Why won't he just shut up?

Does Norik think him to be as gullible as the others? As quick to desert his duty as them?

And Vakama knows he wants – needs – to shake that assurance, that arrogance out of Norik. Needs to see that facade of self-righteous wisdom crumble into the terror of his situation.

The growl begins deep in his chest and, unleashed, it becomes a roar. He rears out of the darkness, into the weak sphere of light surrounding Norik – and there, there he finally sees true fear fill the old fool's eyes.

Something slams into Vakama and he reels, his roar cut short. His hand reaches automatically, defensively, to his mask. He finds only water there. It clings to him, imbued with some sort of power – he can feel something other in it – but otherwise impotent.

"Leave my brother alone," Gaaki snarls. She stands in the doorway, small and hopelessly overpowered, but her shoulders are tensed with a stubborness Vakama recognises. Already, her spinner is powering up for another shot.

Well. Two can play at that game.

Vakama's rhotuka fires into motion, but the water has seeped into the mechanism, and dowses the fire before it has a chance to catch. He gives it a withering look, before turning the expression onto Gaaki. "Very clever."

Another water spinner hits him, but this time he is braced for it and all it does is wash harmlessly off him.

"Is that all you have?" he asks. His blazer claw splutters, but the claws on his hand flex. After all, there's more than one way to defang a muaka...

Gaaki steps back. Good. She knows she's outmatched. "It's a devastating attack underwater," she offers, and her words are strong but there is a cracked edge to them.

"Then you'd better start finding a puddle," Vakama growls, "before my claws find you," and he drops into a run, feet pounding and fangs bared and that ever-present wrongness humming about him.

She doesn't flee. Just like Norik, she stands her ground, gnarled fingers wrapped tight around her staff. Her eyes are hard, but he sees the way her hands shake.

How long will her resolve last, Vakama wonders. Before or after the claws find their mark?

He never finds out.

He's knocked off his feet before he reaches her, and when he hits the ground, ropes of energy pin him to the earth, like a water-bound rahi caught in a net.

What–

Norik.

He'd forgotten Norik.

He thrashes against the restraints, but they hold strong – for now. His blazer claw splutters again, but it does nothing to the energy that binds him.

He stills as he hears footsteps approach.

The two Rahaga hobble into his line of sight. Gaaki is breathing hard, as if only now is she allowing herself to feel the fear. "You left that late, Norik," she says, and even the breath that follows sounds more like a shaken wheeze than a nervous laugh. "Almost too late."

"I only had the one shot. I couldn't afford to miss," Norik replies. "He's got our brothers. Gaaki, go find–"

"I'm not leaving you alone with him," she retorts. "I only went for a moment before, and look what would have happened if I hadn't returned."

Vakama tilts his head as well as the energy net will allow. He grins at the Rahaga, anger curdling it into a sneer. "Yes, Gaaki, you're very good bait, congratulations." He shifts his gaze to Norik. "But you've always been so good at getting others to do your dirty work, haven't you, Norik?"

Norik doesn't even have the decency of guilt. Instead, he simply looks tired. "Whatever you think you know–"

"I know the truth! You don't care about the Matoran, you only care about yourselves!" He strains against the ropes, and although they do not break, there's a little more give in them than before. He slumps back to the ground, breathing hard. "You might have the other Toa fooled. You might even have the temple fooled, but not me," he growls, and the temple's hatred presses down on him, straining his last words.

Gaaki places a frail hand on her brother's arm. "Norik," she says, and there is such unbearable sorrow in her voice. "He looks in pain."

"It's not my doing," Norik assures her softly. "My snare spinner only binds."

Vakama snarls. "I don't need pity from the likes of you. I know what you are."

"We're allies, Vakama," Norik says, in that insufferably reasonable way of his. "Friends."

"You're frauds," Vakama snaps. He twists against his restraints. They slacken, just a touch. "Liars. You don't deserve to walk these floors."

And the Rahaga stand there, unburdened by the temple's hate, strangers to this land, to Metru Nui, and yet it is Vakama the temple repulses? After everything he has forgone, the life he's abandoned, the friendships he's lost, Mata Nui punishes him?

His rhotuka fires off a fire spinner, and it goes wide, cracks a wall. Norik and Gaaki stumble back, Norik preparing another snare shot, but the energy net holding Vakama snaps. Vakama lurches forward, suddenly free, and slams into Norik.

The snare spinner wraps itself around a column. It lights up the room with crackling energy.

A blast of water grazes past his shoulder, too shy of hitting Norik to commit to taking the easy shot, and Vakama reels towards Gaaki. He fires with a snarl, but hears the snare spinner coming again and ducks at the last moment.

Again his own attack misses and the shot cleaves clean through a wall. Something on the other side begins to smoulder.

Then it begins to rumble.

It's a low sound at first, as deep as the earth and just as vast. Almost like a distant growl. But then the cracks begin to spiral out across the roof, along the columns, and the room buckles.

The light flickers. The frames of the high windows above collapse.

The world becomes fragmented, filled with flickering images. Falling masonry and toppling pillars and dust – but the sounds never relent. Even in the depths of the passing darkness, the thunder continues.

And when the dust settles, so does an awful silence.

Vakama straightens, or does his best approximation of it. Fragments of cracked protodermis fall from his shoulders, his head, his back. He withdraws the hand which has somehow found itself raised above Gaaki, knocking aside the stone slab caught against his arm.

Where's Norik?

Both Hordika and Rahaga stand side by side, that quietness disturbed only by the skittering of stone shards settling. There is wrongness in his breath, his head, and it's impossible to separate where the temple's ends and his begins. But any moment now, Norik will reappear from the wreckage, bearing that ever-same holier-than-thou look, and the anger will rise anew in Vakama.

Any.

Moment.

Now.

"You've killed him," Gaaki says, and her voice breaks that terrible stillness. She draws in a half-breath that cracks into a sob. "You've... oh, Norik..."

No.

No, it was an accident. He hadn't meant to– Norik had simply been in the wrong place. It wasn't as if he'd taken a blazer claw to Norik, or hit him directly with a fire spinner. He'd only meant to... what? What had he only meant to do?

Something swings towards him and he grabs the staff before he even registers what it is.

"He's not dead," Vakama says, and maybe if he says it, he might even believe it. He snaps his gaze to Gaaki, as if her grief is bringing it to pass. "He's not. He's not as easy to kill as that. When the others– when the Toa find him, he'll be fine. Fools like him always find a way to survive."

Gaaki attempts to pull her staff free, but her strength is no match for Vakama's. He wretches it out of her grasp and tosses it aside.

"Stop that."

She doesn't listen to him, only steps back and charges up her rhotuka. The grief in her eyes fogs into hatred.

The water spinner hits him but does little more than rock him.

"Stop."

Gaaki screams, a sound of rage and anguish, and releases a volley of spinners as ineffectual as the first.

Vakama's patience – or whatever had held him in place until now – snaps. He lunges forward. His claws close around the joints of Gaaki's rhotuka and pins the mechanisms harmlessly into place, in the same manner one might pick up a baby ussal crab by the widest edge of its shell. She thrashes, but Vakama's grip holds.

"I said, stop," he snarls.

She's breathing hard, her gasps sharp-edged with agony. "You killed him," she says, voice hoarse and hateful.

His insides twist, and – Gaaki hauled by his side – he starts the ascent to where the rest of the Rahaga are trapped. He doesn't look back to the rubble. Doesn't glance for one last glimpse of Norik's resting place.

He's not dead. He's not dead he's not dead he's not

The wrongness, the hatred, has woven so deep into him, it's almost a part of him now.

Toa don't kill. Vakama can't remember who taught him that (he recalls, briefly, the flash of a gold mask, but it comes with pain – grief – and he pushes it aside before it can take root) but it gnaws at him like a trapped stone rat. Toa don't kill.

But he was never meant to be one.

And if the Great Temple – if Mata Nui – thinks a mistake was made in Vakama's destiny....

Well. That's somebody else's problem.

The Hordika that returns to Roodaka is different from the one she sent out. There's something new in his eyes... or perhaps something lost.

"How was the temple, Vakama?" she asks when it's just the two of them.

He looks to her. Beneath the anger, beneath the rahi, there's almost a haunted look to those eyes. It vanishes a moment later, but Roodaka never doubts her own eyes.

"Unwelcoming," he replies, and Roodaka smiles. She could have suggested Vakama pick the Rahaga off one by one in the chaos of Metru Nui, outside where her Visorak could have been an aid... but the temple had been too good an opportunity to miss.

"Good." She sets a hand on his shoulder. "You owe no loyalty to Mata Nui, Vakama. Not anymore."

He rolls his shoulder, but not sharp enough to dislodge Roodaka's hand.

"One thing I do not understand," she says. "What happened to the sixth Rahaga?"

The Toa growls. It is a gutteral sound, rooted deep in the chest and at home in a way it wasn't before. "You wanted a message left for the other Toa. I needed a messenger."

"Alive?"

Vakama shrugs his shoulder again, and this time she lets him roll her hand loose. "Does it matter, so long as they understand?" he growls.

No, Roodaka concedes as she surveys the remains of the Toa before her. She supposes not.

#bionicle #cat writes #lego bionicle #do i have a weakness for the hordika arc? you'll never know #(yes. look i was a well behaved 12year old kid who loved plots about characters going feral. i ate the hordika plotline up)#(and two decades later or there abouts i still have nostalgic fondness for it)#heya so how do we feel about vakama returning to the temple and finding it is repulsed by him?#a discovery that might not only confirm he wasnt chosen by mata nui but has been forsaken #and yeah this was the fic i technically titled 'damned'#but also casually thought of it as 'god called to let you know he hates you personally'#because that's definitely a normal thing to name a fic #also yes i like the idea that roodaka pushed vakama to enter the temple knowing he would feel abandoned by mata nui #and thus helps sever the 'destiny' part of the three virtues #i like the idea that just like matau had to invoke the three virtues to get vakama back #roodaka worked on severing vakamas ties to the three virtues to get him to turn his back on the others #and while she succeeded with unity and destiny #duty she could only derail or corrupt rather than sever entirely #and that (esp since duty is vakamas whole shtick) is why matau reminding him of his duty finally worked #i'll probably add this and the stasis tube au to ao3 in time #but for now it goes here

20 notes · View notes