Latest Posts by vesperlf - Page 6
when i say 'i want worse graphics' ppl assume i mean 'i want stylyzed instead of realistic' then get mad at me for saying it wrong (???) so let me be clear:
i want worse graphics. i want the models topology to be a bit off, i want the rigging to have a few verts mis-weighted, i want the final model to not be accurate to the concept art cuz it would have been too labor intensive to make the scarf that long. i want the shading to do the thing where a real time character shadow is casting on top of another baked in shadow. i want whatever eases the devs workload and prevents crunch so they can go home to their loved ones and actually enjoy their life outside of work
and im not kidding
VUATA
"The…the ship," the Vo-Matoran gasped, dragging herself up onto the rocks.
She collapsed, mask down. Waves crashed against the jagged shoreline. A few remnants of shattered debris drifted in and out with the foam.
"Are you injured?" a voice called. The Vo-Matoran looked up to see one of the Ga-Matoran standing over her. She stooped and pulled seaweed from the Vo-Matoran's mask.
"I am whole," the Vo replied slowly. "But the ship…"
"The ship is gone," the Ga said, helping the Vo to her feet. "Come further up, away from the water. The sea is still dangerous."
The other Matoran were gathered in a low flat place in the center of the island. Low thunder carried on the breeze.
"I have found another," the Ga called out as they approached.
"This is good," the Fe replied. "We are six now."
"A good number," said the Ko. "More fortunate, given our plight."
"We must make another search, on the next cycle," the other Ga said. "But now that we are six…"
"We must take council," said the Onu. "Yes, it is time."
They drew the Amaja Circle in the gravel, and each Matoran took up their place on its margin.
The Ko cast a pale stone into the center of the circle. "We must devise a plan to escape," he said. "We will be needed at our destination."
"How?" the Fe ventured, pushing forward his ruddy stone. "The ship is destroyed, and we cannot rebuild it now. We have no materials…"
"I believe," the Onu said, "that we must stay put, for now."
"Survive here?" the Ko asked. "For how long?"
"Until we are rescued," the Vo said, setting down a quartz stone.
"No–until we can create a new vessel," the Fe countered.
"It would be a great undertaking," the Onu said, musing. "The seas here are treacherous."
"Too great an undertaking for us," the Vo said. "Surely--we are only six, and we have no Turaga."
"Not too great," one of the Ga chimed in. "We are builders, after all–each of us, in our own way."
"But how--"
"--We must rely on the Rule in Absence," the Ga finished.
"It is true," said the second Ga, the one who had found the Vo by the shore. "We have all that we need here."
"Agreed," said the Onu.
"The island is desolate," said the Ko, "barely a mound of rocks. And see how the smoke of the eruption obscures the sky? The stars are closed to me."
"For now," the first Ga replied. "Until then, the Rule in Absence shall guide us."
The Ko did not reply. He removed his stone from the circle.
They cast the sixfold lot, as the Rule required. The first Ga who had spoken was chosen as Elder. Now she was no longer Ga, but Raga.
A light snow of ash began to fall.
======
They scavenged the margins of the island for the first few days, gathering the remnants of their wrecked ship. The Ga and Raga attempted to swim out to the reef, but found that the ocean was still too heated to endure. The horizon was a mass of steam, and the ash fell steadily, coating both land and sea in gray.
Three masks washed ashore--those of the two Ta and the Po. The Fe examined them and found them to be undamaged.
"It is likely," the Ko said, "that the bodies have gone unto Mata already. They have no need of these anymore."
The masks were stored in the makeshift Suva that the Onu had piled up--they were precious. A hut of driftwood was soon erected nearby, and the Matoran rested there in shifts, out of the wind and the falling ash.
One evening, they drew out the Amaja once more and assembled around it:
"The next task is for you," said the Elder, pointing to the Vo. "We have made shelter, and the Suva is finished for now. What remains is…the Vuata."
"I…I have not studied the formation of Vuata, Elder," the Vo said. "Only tended to it and its power-flow."
"You are Vo, are you not?"
"I am."
"And we are without Bo-Matoran here, who might be capable of the cultivation by proxy. So, the Duty falls to you."
"I see, yes. But…it is…I am--"
"--I have studied this knowledge, Elder," the other Ga said, putting her stone into the Amaja, alongside the Vo's quartz. "I have also studied much of the knowledge of flora. Perhaps I can--"
The Elder raised a hand, shaking her head.
"No, according to the Rule in Absence, each Matoran shall perform the Duty of their building and design. No other."
The Ga nodded slowly, removing her stone from the circle.
"You shall begin tomorrow."
The Vo stared off at the murky horizon.
"I will."
In the morning, the Vo, Ga, and Fe went down to the shoreline. The Fe carried a special vessel he had shaped from scrap metal. The upper portion of the vessel was filled with a layer of protodermic ash, and below that was a small opening covered in fine mesh.
They filled the vessel with seawater, letting the liquid protodermis filter through the ash into the lower container. After repeating the process many times over, the Ga judged that the water was sufficiently purified. She turned to the Vo, who sat a short distance away, meditating.
"It's ready," the Ga said. "Have you meditated on the process?"
"I…I have," said the Vo, opening her eyes. "I believe I am centered."
"Good, you most only remember: sharp and deep is the action. Once should be enough."
"And it will…will it…hurt?"
"I don't know. I'm sorry."
"I've heard that the mechanisms are quite complex, and, um, fascinating," the Fe said, fidgeting.
He offered the vessel, to which he had affixed a spigot.
"Thank you."
"It is time," said the Ga. "We will be right here with you."
The Vo took the vessel and exhaled slowly. Then, she raised it to the aperture of her mask, and inhaled.
Sharp and deep, she inhaled the purified liquid protodermis--did not swallow it, but aspirated it sharply into her Vo-Matoran lungs, which were made differently from other Matoran.
It hurt. She dropped the vessel, doubled over. The Ga moved to steady her. The pain burned deep in her chest, but she held on, did not exhale. It was her Duty. She focused, as the Ga had told her, and the burning centered itself down, down into her core. Her heartlight beat rapidly, more rapidly each minute. At last, she looked up. The Ga and Fe helped her to stand, and they made their way back to the encampment.
The Onu had cleared a space, turning up the rocky ground and plowing gray ash into it. The Elder came out of the hut, followed by the Ko, as the three Matoran approached. The Vo stepped forward, arms spread. Her heartlight glowed bright in her chest, and the Elder nodded approvingly.
"Come. Here is the place."
The Vo stepped forward into the empty space, and the Onu patted the tilled ground. She knelt in the earth.
A whining, whirring noise began to rise on the air--a mechanical sound, like that of an engine powering up. It hurt.
The Vo looked back over her shoulder, eyes wandering, until they fell on the Ga.
"I-I..." she stammered, jaw clenched, "I am...afraid."
"It is almost done," said the Elder.
The whining noise increased.
"We will be here with you," said the Ga, quietly.
"You will not be alone."
The noise reached a crescendo. The Vo doubled over once more, and heaved. A bright spark of something issued from her mouth and went down, down into the ground.
Her eyes and heartlight winked out. The body fell heavily to the earth.
=====
It was a red evening, as the stars burned into night over the sea. The fog and smoke on the horizon had cleared in recent months--enough now to glimpse the husk of the volcanic island which had been the cause of their shipwreck, a low smudge against the sky.
They could not reach it, of course. The waves broke sharply against submerged reefs all around, and the ocean still boiled angrily in some places. Somewhere out there was the wreck of the Fe's skiff, and the Fe along with it. Only his mask had returned to them, as with the others. That was how they had decided that long-term survival was their only option--even the Ko had agreed.
The Ga had descended to ground-level less than an hour ago, as was her habit before the night set in. She passed the Onu on her way down to the ladder; he was always more comfortable closer to the earth.
She made a brief search of the shoreline. Sometimes debris still washed in, although collecting driftwood was much less vital to them now. She checked for erosion on the eastern point of the shore, and made a note to tell the Onu that it had progressed a small amount. He probably already knew.
After that, she waded into the surf and hauled in one of the cage-traps, retrieving its catch of small Rahi crabs, endemic to the area and useful for their shells and sharp claws. She hung the catch upon a rack further up the rocky shore, noting also that the trap would needed to be mended. Good practice for the Ko, maybe, now that the stars had become visible consistently and he had calmed himself. She verified the tideline again, judging that the tide was near its lowest point by now, and replaced the marker stones. The tidal range was of the variable kind in this region of the world, and had to be monitored carefully. So many things to monitor, to keep track of. But they all did their part: it was a matter of survival.
Next, she turned her attention to the Tree.
The Tree rose from the center of the island, straight as a pillar. Its roots covered much of the ground now, burrowing deep into the earth, and its canopy now shaded nearly the entirety of the island's landmass. It had grown quickly in its early days, and its roots were mature enough now even to drink the unpurified seawater.
She made her way along the narrow pathway that ringed the Tree's base. The path was a natural formation, allowing access to the various apertures and ports that issued from the trunk. There were even natural handholds in the metalwood of the tree's surface where the roots emerged and one was obliged to climb over. This was the nature of Vuata. Like many other forms of plantlife across the world, it was made to serve a particular purpose. The Tree was their livelihood--the producer of all the things needed for the continuing of their labors.
At last, the Ga stood before the great aperture which led down into the Tree's Karda, the core which produced energy for the Tree's growth, and which provided vital sustenance to the Matoran, when needed, as well as power for whatever mechanisms they built.
The Karda was the heart of their island now. It glowed blue-green, pulsing gently. She made sure to keep the area free of debris, clean and orderly, as much as she could.
It was not technically her Duty, but it was right.
They had buried the body of the Vo there, in the same earth, after...afterward. The body would not go unto Mata, the Raga had said, for there was no fatal malfunction, only a...transferal. A change in life-functions. That was what the Raga had called it. Even so, she liked to come to this place when she could. She had made a promise, after all, that the Vo would not be alone.
Night had fallen. The Ga returned to the sturdy rope ladder which hung down the trunk of the Tree. Her tasks were done, and they would all be turning in the for the night soon. All except the Ko, who usually rested during the daylight so that he could star-gaze at night...
The great ripple that moved through the world almost didn't register to her senses as she climbed, except for a subtle pause in the movement of the waves below. It was accompanied by a noise: a slow distant rushing.
The Onu--sensitive to the slightest of world-movements--was already calling out a loud warning from the branches of the Tree above by the time she realized what was happening, and that the dull roar that had sprung up in her ears was not wind, but water.
The tsunami struck the island and washed over it with fury. Liquid fire sprouted along the horizon as the distant volcanic island was ripped apart by a second eruption. Flaming rock hissed into the sea, and the stars were once again blotted out by smoke.
Somehow, her grip on the rope-ladder did not fail. She twisted and whipped round in the surging water, and the heat made her cry out involuntarily. Then she struck hard and felt the yielding wood of the Tree against her body.
She heaved upward with a wrenched arm and grabbed another handhold on the ladder, then realized that she was moving upward. Her eyes cleared for a moment, and she saw the other Matoran hauling frantically on the ladder, dragging her up out of the raging maelstrom. The Tree swayed, and the Ko nearly fell from his perch. She was out of the water.
She looked down, and with a shock she realized that the island was gone, completely submerged.
"We almost have you!" the Raga said, heaving on the rope.
She bounced off the trunk again, and heard the Tree groan with the strain of the waters. Then hands were on her, dragging her up and into the safety of the lowest branches, which grew in the shape of a platform.
"Are you injured?" asked the Ko, "I see...Your shoulder is damaged. I shall endeavor to--"
"It is not finished!" said the Raga, pointing into the distance.
"Hold fast," said the Onu, gripping them both with his large hands.
Another vast wave bulged up from the horizon and smashed against the Tree. They all heard it, felt the pain of it. The world was all red and black now, as the volcano flared up.
The Ga struggled to her feet with an effort and looked downward toward the base of the Tree. The Karda. Through the rising steam she could see it: the core was still submerged. Its light flickered beneath the waves. The Karda shall drown, she thought.
If it died, so would they, soon enough, and it would all be for nothing.
"The Vuata!" the Ga cried, pointing. "It is in danger!"
The Tree shuddered again.
"Its roots are deep," said the Onu. "But I am unsure."
"I did not foresee this," said the Ko miserably. His precious stars had been wiped away once more.
The Raga stared for a moment, down at the heart of the Tree, which she had commanded to be planted.
"I shall do it," she said slowly. "It falls to me. The Rule in Absence states that--"
The Ga had already dived from the branches, straight down into the crashing waves, where the Karda glowed blue-green and beat, beat like a heartlight, down into the place where vast energies pulsed against the onslaught of the elements, down amongst the roots of the Tree, where the Vo had been buried with her mask. The Ga fell into that place, and swam strongly, despite her injury, and pushed through...
And in those final moments, before her own core reinforced the Karda of the Tree with new energy, there was a little fear, but not much.
===
A Nui-Kahu flew through the high atmosphere, wheeling above the ocean. Below, a mess of islands spread across the surface of the silver sea, and the Toa of Earth that clung nauseously to the bird's back noted that they were clearly the result of past volcanic activity.
At the center of the ragged archipelago, a low cone was still visible above the waves. According to the Toa's briefing, this volcano had been disrupting the marginal sea-routes for many years, but only now had the Lord of the Continent seen fit to dispatch someone. Unfortunately, that someone was him.
The Rahi bird descended mercifully to the blackened shoreline, and the Toa slid off with relief. He stamped his feet a few times in the dirt to reassure himself and calm his motion-sickness. The Kahu squawked and looked at him disdainfully, flicking mud from its wings.
"Stay put, please," he clicked in the bird's language. "This shouldn't take too long."
The crater itself was only a short hike and a scramble up the irregular slope, but even before he had reached the scorched rim and looked down, he'd begun to suspect that his intel was a bit outdated. Although it had clearly been a very lively firespout in the past, the volcano was now quite dead. Not even a wisp of smoke rose from the blasted core below. The wind was dry and ashy in his mouth. He scratched his mask. Had this trip been for nothing, after all?
Reaching out with his elemental powers, he scried downwards into the depths, feeling out the placement of the earth, its layers stacked one atop the other, sensing out the places where it was cold and hard...and where it was hot, made pliable by the magmatic flows that crisscrossed the underside of the world.
There was nothing here. No heat. No pressure. Strange.
He shrugged and turned to go back down the slope. It would be a short mission report for his superiors in Metru Prynak after all...
Something caught his eye, off to the right, where the distant shoreline curved into a small bay. A shape stood out against the gray stone. In his Matoran days, the Toa had been a historian of sorts, although nothing so grand as the Archivists of the City of Legends. It wasn't really on his list of directives, but surely it wouldn't hurt to investigate this place thoroughly...
Another short hike brought him to the remains of a camp, likely Matoran in origin based on its size. The firepit and remains of a small shelter were all covered in a healthy layer of ashen dust, just like everything else on the island. More notable, however, was the standing stone that had been erected just up the slope from the encampment. This is what he had seen from above.
It was a rounded pillar carved from the volcanic rock of the island itself, clearly having been shaped with some skill--probably by a Po- or Onu-Matoran. On the surface of the pillar, many words were carved. He stooped and gently blew away the accumulated ash from the surface, then began to read:
"Omokulo the Earth-Tiller carved the words on this stone. Tykto divined by the stars that it would be read in this place, one day, and Raga Peyra commissioned its writing to complete the cycle."
The signature was a practice of the northern chroniclers and record-keepers, although phrased a bit archaically. He read on:
"This is the bio-chronicle of our cell, isolated from the Great Whole by the wrath of nature. Nevertheless, we have kept to our Duty, and followed the Rule in Absence."
The Rule in Absence...How long ago had this been written? There was only the Rule of Order now, after the Barraki and their Wars of Order. He scuffed his fingers along the stone, tasted the dust. Perhaps a century old, maybe more...
"We were six at first, and by the sixfold lot we chose an Elder, as the Rule in Absence requires. We raised the Suva for safekeeping, and the Vewa for shelter. Then we made provision for continued survival and labor, as the Rule in Absence requires. Therefore, Ka'o the Channeler initiated the making of Vuata."
He paused for a moment, amused at the word. These Matoran must have been from the central environs--or even from Metru Nui itself--to call it that. On the continent, they still preferred the archaic form, Vo-Ata, the Source of Energy...
"In the time that was to come, Vuata grew and became the body of our world, which sheltered and protected us. By Ka'o we offer this memory, and by Idda who went unto the Karda when it was threatened, though it broke the Rule in Absence. We offer this memory unto the Great Spirit. West from this pillar it can be seen. It will be with us always. It shall not be forgotten."
There was so much written here. Interesting to be sure, but too much to sift through. He focused and scanned the stone with his Mask of Memory instead, storing the visuals so that they could be more closely examined back home.
West from this pillar it can be seen. The line stuck in his mind. He turned and squinted toward the horizon. The sky was still bright at midday, and he cursed that he'd forgotten to bring the tinted lenses for his mask. Earth Toa weren't exactly known for their keen eyesight.
He walked back into the encampment. There seemed to be nothing else of interest for him here, and the day was getting on. Putting a finger to his mouth, he let out a shrill whistle and soon after the Nui-Kahu landed by the water nearby. He was preparing to mount up and begin the long, unpleasantly high-altitude journey back, when he stopped again.
Something was nagging at him. Something down there...beneath his feet. Deep in the earth, he could feel it now, or was it just his imagination?
Closing his eyes, he searched deeper. Not here...not there...no. Wait--there! A small source of heat in the bedrock, very deep. He traced it like a thread. Westward, out to sea.
But that wasn't all. There was something else down there too--something not made of earth. He could sense it by the absence it created, coiling around, following along the vein of magmatic pressure. The Kahu gave an unhappy screech as he abruptly waded into the surf to get a better read. Up to his waist, the waves buffeted him as he pushed his seismic senses to their limit. At last, he got a glimpse, saw the bigger picture. Yes, it was familiar.
Clouds covered the brightness of the sky for a moment, and his eyes snapped open. He could see a shape on the horizon. From above, he had thought it was just another island, maybe another volcano. But now he knew he was mistaken.
He returned to his flying mount and coaxed it back into the air. The scattered islands around the area were a wreck, washed clean by the violence of nature more than once...but never again, it would seem.
Vuata grew and became the body of our world
which sheltered and protected us.
Deep beneath the earth he had felt the stirring of roots, tangled in the veins and rivers of underground heat and drawing from their energy.
By Ka'o we offer this memory, and by Idda
who went unto the Karda when it was threatened
though it broke the Rule in Absence.
Mighty roots, choking the errant volcano into extinction and returning peace to the islands and the sea.
We offer this memory unto the Great Spirit.
West from this pillar it can be seen.
On the edge of the horizon it loomed, huge and unshakable. Dark branches lifted upward and outward across the ocean.
It will be with us always.
It shall not be forgotten.
It's kind of based on priorities and thought process, I guess? The point of a thumbtack-braid is to make them stop, and pain is just a side effect. The point of punishing someone is to hurt them, regardless of whether it makes them stop.
Based
There's this idea, fairly common in society, that mental illness is for teens and up. Children are happy little creatures, generally, right? Sometimes they're abused and the trauma can make them mentally ill, but that's not common.
There are two fundamental problems with this attitude. One, it's incorrect to assume that trauma is the only reason a young kid can be mentally ill. Two, trauma is more common than people think. I'll be covering the first problem in this post through the lens of my particular experience.
Where I live, you can be diagnosed with bipolar disorder at 18 years old. You cannot be diagnosed with bipolar disorder as a minor. This poses a problem because my age of onset was in first grade, roughly six years old. Because of the fact that I was very young and new to the world, this was also the age of my first suicide attempt. Thinking I wouldn't be able to pass a spelling test genuinely felt like something worth trying to die over. So, I ate some hemlock, since I'd read about Socrates being killed with it. Luckily, I ate western hemlock, an unrelated species, and just felt kind of sick.
I'm not recounting that for fun or pity. I'm recounting it because children with mental illness are in genuine danger because they have little to no experience with managing their emotions, have little to no concept of the idea that their life can change and improve, and are dismissed by adults. I told a teacher that the test made me want to die, though not that I'd attempted to, and it was brushed off as little kid hyperbole. If I had used a method that was effective rather than one I thought would be, I would have been dead at six years old.
I would not receive medication that worked even a bit for another two years. I would not receive treatment for bipolar disorder specifically for ten years, and that required my PCP fudging the reason for the medication because she was afraid I would die if she didn't, and diagnosis was still two years off at minimum. I received a formal diagnosis at age 19, thirteen years after onset.
But surely that's uncommon, right? This story is a huge edge case, right? I actually have no idea, because age of onset and age of diagnosis are massively conflated for most disabilities. Policies like the one in my area that restricted bipolar diagnoses by age can artificially raise the age of "onset", in my case by thirteen years. The general idea that children are somehow immune to mental illness can also delay diagnosis by several years, perpetuating the idea that young children can't be mentally ill. The data on when people start experiencing mental illness is inherently skewed upwards, and I frankly don't have a good estimate on how bad that skew is. If anyone does have that data, please chime in.
Listen to children. If they're saying they're sad all the time, that they don't care about anything, that they don't see a future for themselves, those are signs of depressive symptoms. If they say that tests make them feel sick, that they can't do anything because they're scared, that they can't breathe and freeze up, those are signs of anxious symptoms. Many children talk about imaginary things, and that's just fine, but slip in a question or two about them to make sure that the kid is just playing, and not experiencing psychosis.
Children are new to the world and vulnerable, and they don't know what's normal and what isn't. They need people who are more experienced watching out for problems they might be having, and listening when they talk about having problems. If you can, try to be the person who perceives them, and tells them that things can be better.
I think the bicycle helmet discourse really just reinforces the idea that people believe that accidents only happen to the stupid and careless, and that people who get hurt somehow deserve it. And since nobody wants to believe themselves to be stupid, or thinks they could be careless or distracted, it's not necessary to take precautions.
And then they take safety advice as an insult because telling someone to be safe is seen as an accusation of being stupid and irresponsible, and not just a value neutral acknowledgement of statistical inevitably. We see it with masks, and seatbelts, and now bicycle helmets because everyone wants to believe they're too clever to get hurt, and too lucky to get hurt badly, until suddenly you're not and you have to resign, in shame, to being one of the people you previously saw as annoying nags, assuming you're even still alive.
i think part of what bothers me (among many other things) about the dilution of punk on here lately is that it erases so many other subcultures.
like, a lot of people on here seem so desperate to label themselves and anything they like as punk despite it not having any relation to punk music or aesthetics (which, yes, is necessary to associate something with a music-based subculture), because they're hoping to get non-conformist brownie points on the non-conformist website. and if you really are non-conforming to a great deal of present social norms, that's great, but that doesn't mean you're punk, because punk doesn't have a monopoly on non-conforming.
the term you are looking for is counterculture, and there are many of them. there were many of them before punk, and there have been many of them since punk.
what do you think hippies were/are? why do you think conservatives hated them so much? are you gonna call hippies punk too? what about rap, hip hop, reggae? disagreeing with the status quo is not purely a punk thing, and we are doing so many countercultures a great disservice by pretending like anything that disagrees with something is punk.
it's not just musical subcultures either. many of us are already part of a non-conformist counterculture simply by partaking in queer culture. if you don't like punk music and styles, you aren't punk, but that's fine. calm down. take this coming from a punk as myself: if we have the same political goals, but you don't like my weird crusty bands, you are not punk, and i will still be delighted to throw bricks with you.
A lot of people aren’t fans of Plasma as an element. The secondary elements have very few references in the actual story of Bionicle, Plasma especially. Given its redundancy with Fire, it’s not hard to see why it was the most voted out element in this poll. I have a soft spot for it though, and not just because I have a story idea with a Toa of Plasma I’ve been rotating in my head for the better part of two years now… Anyway, I figured I’d take a go at coming up with a (metaphorical and literal) place for Plasma as an element so it's not just Fire+.
Su-Wahi is an expansive badland, inhospitable to most. Special care must be given when traveling; similar to Fire or Stone aligned regions, the heat is omnipresent, and water is scarce. Unique to Su-Wahi, however, is the radiation. Without preparations, spending too much time in the region will make travelers sick in a way normal medicine cannot cure. The most striking feature of Su-Wahi is the Sun. The massive light is embedded into the ceiling of the dome, similar to the Sun Holes of Metru Nui, but never dims.
Though much smaller and less impressive than any of the districts in Metru Nui, Su-Metru is the largest settlement in the region. The city is centered around its refineries and power plants, both literally and metaphorically. Six residential districts form a ring around the city, where the Matoran can live, relax, and sleep between their 6 hour shifts. These work days may be much shorter than what other Matoran are used to, but the work is dangerous, and mentally and physically taxing. The system was designed by the Turaga council to ensure that the plants and refineries were always staffed by well rested workers with clear heads. The central principle of Su-Metru is Responsibility, the synthesis of Duty and Unity. The knowledge that their negligence could lead to disaster weighs on the city's inhabitants constantly.
In the badlands of Su-Wahi, certain rare ores are mined and sent to the city, where they are processed, refined, and enriched, and then inserted into objects called cores. When power is applied to these cores, the enriched protodermis turns into ionized protodermis, which gives off tremendous amounts of heat. Inert cores are transported to reactors, where they are used to boil large amounts of water to spin turbines and create energy.
The most powerful cores are sent to the largest reactor in the city, the Kaita Engine. In the heart of the city, twin rings, multiple mio in circumference, accelerate ionized protodermis. The two beams are directed into a central chamber where they collide and produce staggering amounts of energy. Curiously, the walls of the central chamber seem to then absorb the energy. The exact nature and origin of the Kaita Engine is only known to the Turaga council. Being allowed to work at the Kaita Engine is considered a great honor, and an even greater responsibility, as it is widely believed that the absorbed energy provides power to Mata Nui himself. Long ago, a series of accidents caused the Kaita Engine to be temporarily turned off. To the horror of the Su-Metru inhabitants, the sun itself began to go out.
There are only a few settlements outside of Su-Metru, the majority of which are mining towns. In an obscure corner of the desert lies the Deep Vault, a massive construction patrolled by an especially surly group of Su-Matoran. Here, spent cores, radioactive waste, and other irradiated objects are contained deep underground. Giant stone spikes and walls cordon off the field, and massive signs warn off tresspasses, their messages repeated in Matoran, Skakdi, Vortixx, and Makuta. Nothing of value is buried here. This is not a place of honor.
While the ore used to create enriched protodermis is mined in Su-Wahi, the rare metals used to build cores and reactors are primarily imported from Earth and Iron aligned regions. The city also imports from Water and Ice regions for coolants for their reactors, and medicine that treats radiation sickness that is produced in the Green aligned regions is in high demand.
The primary export of Su-Metru are the enriched protodermis cores, the specialized containment cells used to store and shield them, and Su-Matoran operators. Ionized protodermis has a myriad of uses, but Su-Matorans refuse to sell powerful cores unless an engineer is also employed, to ensure they are used properly. Many cities and organizations have their own ionized protodermis reactors and employ Su-Matorans on a permanent basis to operate them. Other operators make regular trips to deliver fresh cores and transport spent ones back to Su-Wahi to be buried in the Deep Vault.
Given their dangerous cargo and important duty, traveling Su-Matoran are granted freedom of movement and are rarely accosted on their travels. Yes, that Su-Matoran could be carrying information from an enemy faction, but they could also be transporting radioactive material that could make everyone on your island sick if it gets into the ground water. Because of this, Su-Matoran are also employed as couriers and messengers. Traveling Su-Matoran need to be resourceful and prepared, and have more than a passing knowledge of first aid and medicine; some Su-Matoran choose to devote themselves to healing and become doctors. Species and elements of all types employ Su-Matoran as site managers due to their strict adherence to safety protocols, and though they have no special resistance to energized protodermis, and it has completely different properties than ionized protodermis, Su-Matoran are still the first ones contacted when it needs to be dealt with.
Su-Matoran are serious, no-nonsense types with very little tolerance for tomfoolery. The hotheaded, rash Ta-Matoran put them on edge, and more than one Le and Po-Matoran have found their playful mischief has made them an enemy for life, no matter how many times they say “it was just a prank, brother.” Su-Matoran get along with the stoic and mature Ga, Ko, and Onu-Matoran, but are still unlikely to fully trust them. It’s not that they don’t want to trust them, it’s that they can’t afford to. Matoran of Lightning are the most likely to make true friends with Su-Matoran. They can bond over the dangerous work and responsibilities they share, and the Vo-Matoran’s optimism tempers the Su-Matoran’s pessimism.
Becoming a Toa does not relieve their responsibilities, it just gives them new ones. Wielding elemental plasma is incredibly dangerous, and many have sworn off using their powers until they are trained by a more experienced Toa. Most Toa of Plasma join teams in pairs, one acting as a mentor to the other. Even experienced Toa prefer to work in teams with others of their element; they consider the redundancy a benefit and not a limitation. Of course, not all Toa of Plasma have the benefit of being trained by another of their kind…
Another notable inhabitant of Su-Wahi is the local Makuta. Su-Matoran are resistant to the high amount of background radiation, but Rahi are not. The radiation causes mutations both in individuals and across generations in a way different than what energized protodermis, Visorak venom, or a certain Vortixx’s Rhotuka can create. The process has fascinated the local Makuta, and though technically they are assigned to the broader region, they spend much of their time in the badlands. Unlike others of their kind, the Makuta is sympathetic to the Matoran. They've spent centuries studying the awful effects radiation has on the body, and have stationed multiple Rahkshi of Quick Healing across the city to provide care should an accident occur. In the most extreme cases, heavily injured Matoran are transported to the Makuta’s lab to be treated. Eccentric and single-minded, other Makuta have written them off as a non-issue. They even survived Teridax’s coup of the Brotherhood and later take over of the universe, making them one of the last few Makuta left on Spherus Magna.
"in this new version, you play the ghost of a dream of a memory of a cyborg warrior trying to find her dead wife inside a poem"
anyways (I say this as someone who is deeply critical of the united states government, military, unchecked capitalism, police, etc) I am SICK of people treating america as if it has no cultural value or positives so….. I love u 85 million acres (bigger than italy) of national parks. I love u harlem renaissance. I love u groundhogs day. I love u sweet tea and fried chicken and jambalaya. I love u apple cider donuts and maizes on crisp autumn days. I love u 95k miles of coastlines and new england fisherman and hand knitted sweaters. I love u halloween where millions of people dress up and give candy to strangers and carve jack o’lanterns. I love u small talk and small towns and potlucks and bringing over casseroles to your struggling neighbors. I love u cowboys and ranch hands and arizonian cactus. I love u appalachian trail and dirtbikes and divebars. I love u sparklers and fireflies. I love u mark twain and toni morrison and emily dickinson and henry david thoreau. I love u rock n roll i love u bluegrass and hippies i love u jimi hendrix and nirvana and CCR and janis joplin. I love u victorian houses and jonny appleseed and john henry and mothman and bigfoot. I love u foggy days in the pacific northwest and neon signs and roadside attractions. I love u baseball and 1950s diners and soft serve. I love u native american art and pop art and poptarts. I love u blue jeans and barbecues and jazz musicians
The thing I hate most about transhumanism discourse are the appeals to "humanity". Like, "are you less human if you have cybernetics?" and "does it affect your humanity if you change your genes?"
And I just.. Look man, I'm trans, disabled, and autistic. Half the world already barely considers me human, on a good day.
So I don't think it makes sense to get mad at me for wanting fangs and a gender you can pick up on a Geiger counter.
You're yelling about this being a slippery slope, and meanwhile you pushed me down it. You can't justify annoyance at me deciding to go "weeee" all the way down.
cumming “too fast” is literally one of the hottest things possible, I don’t want to hear it slandered shut up shut up shut up shut up
Folks, imagine what our lives would look like if we valued redundancy for the sake of safety and quality of life when it came to jobs. How much could we benefit if most single person positions were occupied by 2 folks instead?
2 pairs of eyes on every task instead of one. A single person taking their well-earned vacation or maybe tragically dying doesn't cause an entire department or business to come to a screeching halt.
On top of that, think of how many positions become that much less demanding and straining when you have someone to share the load with. Why should one person break their back for eight hours a day when 2 folks can labor moderately for 4 hours a day?
We need to start demanding a little redundancy. If a job can be accomolished by a team of 4, it should be accomplished by a team of 8. I'm sure this thought won't apply universally to every kind of job out there, but I think it still has some value.
shaking six year old me by the shoulders YOU WERE RIGHT. YOU WERE RIGHT ABOUT LOVE AND ABOUT FAIRNESS AND ABOUT SHARING IS CARING. YOU WERE RIGHT. THE ADULTS DON’T KNOW ANY MORE ABOUT TRUTH THAN YOU DO. KEEP BELIEVING IN THE FAIRIES AT THE BOTTOM OF THE GARDEN. NOTHING IS “JUST THE WAY IT IS”. I AM SORRY THEY EVER CONVINCED YOU TO FEEL SHAME. YOU ARE REAL AND A PART OF THIS WORLD. YOU WERE RIGHT.
finding out your friend has a new name/gender is so hype. Like yess give us the patch notes
Real talk why does social interaction feel like you’re trying to get a good grade in being a person
Every post I make about lawns leads me back to the reality that the problem is Homeowners' Associations, so I am trying to research Homeowner's Associations (I don't know what they are exactly), and as far as I can tell they are some type of lawn mafia (?)
This website which has "HOA: Everything you need to know" provides this information:
you pay money to them every month
the money sometimes (?) is used to maintain a pool or something that you can swim in
they make up rules for things you can't do in your own house or yard
if you break the rules, they make you pay more money, sue you, or kick you out of your house
People sign a contract that lets the Homeowner's Association control their lives for the reason that they might get to swim in the pool and because of a persistent rumor that HOAs increase "Property Values" (?) although the website says "The data is mixed on whether that's true or not"
This is one of those things where it seems like we would have remembered to make it illegal by now. I live in my house and some stinky punk tries to tell me that I can't paint it a color- the very boards of the side of my house. If I continue, said putrescent busybody then removes me bodily from my home for painting the wall that I bought and legally own, rendering me homeless. This seems to run contrary to many rights and freedoms a citizen is assumed to possess
Guerrilla Girls 1991
eugenics is a big scary word and yet people that would claim to be left-leaning can very easily be convinced to be pro-eugenics if you just never use the word. like oh you think "dumb people" shouldnt be allowed to reproduce? you think "dumb people" shouldnt be allowed to have children? its kinda scary
i’m evolved i think pda is actually a good and fine thing even when straight people do it but especially when gay people do. it’s nice to see love in public don’t be a hater grab a loved one and smooch them in line for your pretzel bites or something
I hate how everything's called devices and apps now. Those are frail words with no weight and show no respect like machine and program do.
POV: mister Devon Price, PhD, telling me that I am right about everything
Source: Unmasking Autism, discovering the new faces of neurodiversity
“Perfection”
[ Version without text ]
TRY NOT TO CUM FIND YOUR DESTINY WHILE PLAYING THIS GAME!!!
During a writing workshop I took this past year, I was reading a submission from someone in the group, and the following passage hit me like a brick: “I learned the things most people don’t have to know, too, how to shut down my brain and just perform the motions when needed. I made myself into the perfect parallel, not a mirror but foam. Folding in when he needed to push down, anticipating his next move, and absorbing it in kind. I became resigned to his every need, trying to never let him get ahead of my mental preparation.” — Lizzie McCord I unpacked this with my partner, and then with my therapist, and the concept of social memory-foaming formed. Here’s my attempt at a formal definition: Memory-foaming is the process of losing, giving up, or having trouble forming a sense of self-identity, self-advocacy and self-determination in social situations, and molding oneself to someone else or to a situation. It often involves excessively conceding, bending, conforming and acquiescing to someone, either actively or passively, either as a reaction to specific feedback, or in anticipation of a certain response. It often involves making yourself as small, as accommodating, and/or as agreeable as possible, to the point of self-neglect and self-alienation. Memory-foaming is different from people-pleasing in its process of self-unknowing, and in its process of identity-anchoring to someone or something else. It involves actually taking the shape of whatever or whoever you come into contact with, and being an adaptable, soft, malleable cast, often in order to fit in, gain acceptance or maintain connection. In relationships, memory-foaming is different from compromise, generosity, accommodation, and balanced self-sacrifice mainly because of its characteristic ignorance or un-awareness of self, and the resulting extreme deference to someone else by default. It often involves the actual adoption and internalization of someone else’s perceptions and desires, and therefore often involves not knowing the difference between “mine” and “theirs.” As a result, just like real memory foam, it takes a long time afterwards to understand what was “me” and what was “them.” Sometimes, that understanding never comes.
Wow. This was a fantastic read. I think Lizzie McCord & Attlee Hall's "memory foaming" metaphor describes a psychological experience common to Autistics far better than "people pleasing", "codependency" or even "fawning" ever did.
criminal profiling is just astrology for cops
The BIONICLE world has a canonical...hell?
Oh yeah, that's A Thing. I had been toying with that as a Fun Fact, but I kind of assumed we were all like
But I'm happy to hear I can put this back on the slate! So! Today You Learned about Karzanhi!
In BIONICLE, the main inhabitants of the world are these worker fellows called the Matoran, (the people the Toa protect) and they need to keep working for their world to keep functioning (this seems dystopian to me, but the story kind of glosses over that).
The Matoran have this legend that if you're a very good little worker you're sent to Artakha, a divine workshop island kingdom ruled by an entity also known as Artakha. They would work in this ultimate workshop with Artakha to create cooler gadgets and buildings than anywhere else in the world.
But if you're a bad little worker, you're sent to Artakha's brother, Karzanhi. There bad little workers go to his dark kingdom, and are never seen again...
Obviously we have Heaven and Hell parallels here. In the actual story, most of the characters don't believe this is real. In one book, the heroes come across an evil vine creature that's named Karzanhi after the legend.
But then a bit later we find out that Karzanhi is totally real...
Except... he's kind of a doof. See, bad workers weren't sent to his kingdom as punishment, they were sent because Karzanhi's job is to fix them (these are bionic beings, remember?). The idea was Matoran who were bad workers because they needed some kind of repairs were sent to his kingdom for him to repair and send back. But Karzanhi was garbage at his job, so instead of sending them back after "repairing" them, he just sent them away, or kept them in his own kingdom. The reason Matoran never came back was because he was hiding his own shoddy work.
In fact, he also doesn't realize anything exists outside of his own work. When the heroes pass through his kingdom trying to get to the Plot, he doesn't believe that they're saving the world because as far as he knows, the world is just peachy! When he finds out from them how bad things are, he decides to take a hand in world events himself. And predictably, screws things up even worse.
[He also eventually gets a set that looks nothing like his illustration, because mutation shenanigans, but whatever.]
So yeah! BIONICLE Hell! If you ever see me use 'WTK' that stands for "What the Karzanhi?" We in the BIONICLE fandom used it back on BZPower.