draw everything june 15
I think this is the only bionicle one I'll do for this challenge since I'm a little worried about straying too far from the reference, but it was fun to try :D the pose reference was like this:
will byers stan first human second
noise dept.
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
macklin celebrini has autism
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

roma★

oozey mess

Peter Solarz
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
taylor price

occasionally subtle

izzy's playlists!
$LAYYYTER
Sade Olutola

tannertan36
d e v o n
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ

pixel skylines
seen from Spain

seen from Malaysia

seen from Canada
seen from India

seen from United States

seen from Malaysia
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seen from Brazil

seen from Brazil
seen from United States
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seen from United States

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@infinite-rahi
draw everything june 15
I think this is the only bionicle one I'll do for this challenge since I'm a little worried about straying too far from the reference, but it was fun to try :D the pose reference was like this:

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Chapter 6!
https://archiveofourown.org/works/68962071/chapters/231370246
OcTOAber #6: Gali watches the sunset
Actually, why DID the Agori make a robot that big and just decide to fill it with its own lifeforms which were essentially just their own size. Like. Were they planning on riding in the ship one day. Why didn't they just make a Meet Dave situation
This is why I theorise that the Matoran's bodies were originally developed as an immortality by consciousness experiment, possibly because some of the Great Beings predicted an event like the Shattering. But it happened sooner than expected, and the project was subsequently retooled to give the bodies artificial intelligence to serve as autonomous drones.
Perhaps they tried to persuade some Agori to join the robot's population, but the Agori had absolutely no trust in the Great Beings after the Shattering.
I have vague memories of a BIONICLE website where it was an exploration of the island of Mata Nui from the perspective of a human anthropologist on an expedition there. It was set up like the island was newly discovered by humans but was abandoned by the Matoran, so the human expedition was trying to figure out what kind of culture lived on the island.
Can't remember if it was an official site or a fan site, does anyone know what I'm talking about and have a link for it?
Found it!

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He's Always Been Dead
So... I have a completely uncanonical idea for Bionicle I'm turning over in my head.
What if Mata Nui was a title more than a person? Like "the Great Spirit" sounds more like a title than a name, right? What if the use of the Ignika was less like an electric paddle--because the Great Spirit was always already dead?
Basically, in this alternate story, the original Mata Nui (the spirit controlling the GSR) died as the result of the Great Disruption. The sacrifice of Jovan's teammate wasn't to die but to become the next Great Spirit. This is why it's necessary for wearer of the Ignika to "die": they become the next Mata Nui.
The Great Spirit who falls asleep at in the Cataclysm isn't the first Great Spirit--and it might not have been the second. Perhaps, after Jovan's teammate also died, the Ignika was next worn by a Makuta, sacrificing himself as nobly as the Toa before him had, but this left enough clues that--for the first time--someone pieced together that it wasn't the same Great Spirit reawakened, but the Makuta in an elevated position.
Naturally, it's Teridax who figures this out, explaining both where his ambition to "become" the GSR comes from and why he calls the sleeping Mata Nui his brother. Sleep spares him the pain--of betrayal.
Teridax's plan is to be the one to wear the Ignika, but after that whole "Takutanuva" thing, he no longer has a body to wear it. His backup plan may originally have been to try wearing the Ignika while inhabiting the Maxilos robot, but either he realised that wouldn't work (maybe he tried, before the Mahri got there), or he found a backup plan.
The being subsumed by the Ignika to become the next GSR would lose a lot of their memory and self (it is, after all, a sacrifice--and the truth of what happens wasn't know until a Makuta--a being of greater innate power than a Toa--did it), which Teridax wasn't keen on, and after being subsumed, the Ignika still had to be taken to the Codrex to upload the new Mata Nui. Teridax saw his opportunity to avoid the obliteration of his self and in his disembodied state had the perfect opportunity to slip in ahead of the new Mata Nui when the Ignika arrived in the Codrex and started the upload process, taking control of the GSR as the new Mata Nui while circumventing the loss of self supposed to go with it.
What this means, of course, is that the "Mata Nui" of 2009-10 is actually Matoro. And perhaps, after having had a Makuta as the last Mata Nui, the Ignika didn't obliterate everything that had made Matoro himself, and when he incarnates on Bara Magna, he begins to remember who he was and what has happened to him.
This is, of course, a transparent alternate reality that allows Matoro to survive. But it also sheds a little light on Teridax and his "brother"--and maybe on Teridax's destiny: he was supposed to become Mata Nui, but he was supposed to yield to his destiny and surrender himself, rather than to grasp for it.
Oooooo this is an interesting take
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.
Day 14: Roam
The pose archives' challenge on Bluesky.
Kranas Konroled

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If approached the right way by a fanfic writer, Gavla's discomfort and reclusiveness as a an Av-Matoran and becoming happier with herself as a Kra-Matoran could be seen as a trans allegory.
You could also just make her explicitly trans, separate from the whole element thing. That's also something you could do.
Hi everyone! Continuing with the month of love and friendship, I wanted to share this commission I did of Hewkii and Macku for @m4rkus_wiz4rd ,I hope you like it!! ^^.
Mutran and Vican
♫[He] blinded me with SCIENCE!!!♫
Source
Creator: SEDVR
https://archiveofourown.org/works/68962071/chapters/203130951
Sorry it's been so long, since my last chapter I've started a graduate program and a new job, and it's been kind of a lot. It's a short chapter but I'm setting the stage for the rest of the story!
MAYBE TOMORROW
Scrape-scratch-chip. Cio after cio, bio after bio. The corrosion was bad here. Lots of build-up. Hard to clean, even using the scouring tools with which his hands had long ago been replaced. Sometimes he missed them, his hands, but that was absurd. Scrape, scratch, chip. These were the tools that furthered his Matoran Duty. Why miss what was useless otherwise?
Still, it made it a bit harder to open and close the hatches....
He tilted his head for a moment, beamed his headbeam down the length of the pitch black pipe and blinked it with a flex of his undermask laterals. After a space, Shoyka's own headbeam shone out and blinked back. She was at least eight bio further down the slope. Faintly came the scraping of her own tools, the only other sound in the close, humid dark. That was good, making good time. Better than yesterday.
He turned back to the layers of proto-rust before him, cleared his vents with a breath.
Scrape-scratch-chip
Scrape-scratch-chip
Almost done, just a few more cio to clear.
Scrape-scratch...slither—
His head went up again. Headbeam shone. Two blinks, then one. You hear?
One blink. Affirmed.
Say what you will about mortality, but at least it gives folks a reason to be cautious. Being forced to do a job that will kill you every other day is wretched.

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So the Vahki were basically RoboCop but also kind of shit, and if it was taken to its logical 100% automated and comically impractical conclusion.
I see.
And then they got obliterated by the visorak.
They were machines given a limited range of emotions to motivate them to fulfil their directives, which unfortunately made them violent sadists which enjoyed fighting, chasing, and sometimes even torturing anyone they saw as disrupting the peace.
And yes, they were so ridiculously dysfunctional and counter-productive to a functional society. You had a type that would run headfirst into an open mine shaft in pursuit of a criminal. A type that loved fighting so much it would attack its own kind for fun. A type that would smash through entire buildings chasing down one Matoran. And my favourite, a type that loved the chase so much they would let a suspect go just so they could chase them down again like an oversized housecat.
And Dume (The REAL Dume) didn’t seem to think any of this was a major problem.
Well, all Dume really cared about was that after the Vahki were done the offender could return to work by the next day.
That seems to be the only reason he retired the equally awful Kralhi enforcers. Apparently property damage and PTSD is preferable to a couple of sick days off work.
Why did they not throw Dume into the sea again?
Certavus had a face.
He had to. He was a person, after all; it was only natural that he would have a face. Many had seen it, too - he was well known amongst the soldiers who'd fought beneath the Lord of Ice, as well as the frightened people who had survived the Shattering to find their resilience rewarded with an open grave of a world.
He had a voice, too. Of course he had one. It was the first thing many had heard clearly after everything they'd ever known had been ripped away from beneath their feet; it had been a welcome respite from the dust and sweat of the arena for those who'd either kicked him bloody or had gotten beaten by him.
They had become hard to remember.
What was left of him was mostly the memory of his heavy gait, of his wheezing groans.
Certavus had struggled.
He had struggled through the Core War, through the Shattering, through the first chaos-riddled years of Bara Magna. He had struggled to keep as many alive as he could by any means necessary, whether his own kin or not, as if the entire Agori populace had nothing and nobody else to rely on; he had struggled through a body that couldn't take what his endless will (desperation?) begged and screamed of him.
When had it started? His steep, terrifying decline? It was hard to remember. It didn't matter.
His grave had been decorated with bones, horns, barren branches, empty shells - an arrow, pointing downwards, as Ice Tribe tradition dictates. A replica had been made in Tajun, according to their belief that the copy of a holy place is only a fake when it is met by no faith; Iconox had allowed its existence in an agreeable silence, allowed the fleeting kinship of a shared icon.
Glatorian of all tribes let his name heat their lips with prayers.
Who else could they turn to? Who else but him, patron of their eternal war that killed no one, that truly kept the peace?
That was everything that was left of him: a saint.
A saint of struggle.
With a hollow middle and an arrow through it, pointed upwards, the hint of a terrible pain in his pose - arms stretched wide, pushing and pulling between life and death.
How old had he been? Young. The door to the rest of his life had stood open behind him.
He hadn't even seen it all settle.
He hadn't died quickly, felled in battle with a swift dance and a bloody arch carving the bright sky above him, with the vague flash of a relieved smile on a sleeping face frozen in time like a perfect funerary mask.
He had dragged himself through his endless agony for what had seemed like an eternity as his organs collapsed one after the other, their flesh replaced with steel and rubber, his blood no longer able to worm its warmth into them. He had heaved and lived through them until the prosthetics too had been worn into failure, until the hiss of his new insides had begun threatening to burst out of him and tear apart what little there was still of real within his guts.
Certavus had died on the way to his deathbed.
His corpse had been found knelt at the side of the mattress, clinging onto the covers.
The rigor mortis had lasted for hours. His muscles had kept twitching, gripping tight, still trying to climb in; still struggling.