#it’s all stories that are told and retold over and over again

[jerreeeeeee]

11yo me obsessed with coyote trickster myths would be going fucking wild over pib’s scene

[audarcy]

The original percy jackson series is about cycles of abuse and neglect, right. Were introduced to percy as a kid who has clearly been left behind by a school system that has given up on him, restless and unengaged and self-defetist because hes been given nothing that works for him and no one even tries to meet him where he is. Then hes told no, listen, your neurodivergence is amazing and you just need to be given something that actually utilizes your unique palatte. And thats obviously the uplifting idea rick wanted for his kids, right. But once we get to know chb the same cycles are happening there too. There are kids "left behind" there too for one reason or another, because their parents dont want to claim them, because their parents werent important enough to get a cabin. Do you get it, all the kids who dont fit the most common neurotypes get shoved into the same closet. Kids are being left in a cruel world to fend for themselves without the tools they need. Theyre dying because no one bothered to accommodate them. Its such an obvious parallel that the first chapter introduces a teacher whos written to be especially hard on percys disability and she turns out to literally be one of these monsters trying to kill him. Meanwhile sally jackson tells him she named him after Perseus because she wanted a redemption for a hero whos story ended in tragedy. Meanwhile every book in the series replicates a greek myth step for step until the moment they break the cycle. Annabeth, playing Odysseus, is talked down from her hubris and grounded by her friends. Percy, playing Heracles, meets someone wronged by the original Heracles and rights his wrongs by refusing to go down the same selfish path as him. Monsters are reborn because they are--as the books explicitly call them--achetypes. These kids are stuck inside the cyclical nature of mythology because thats what happens to mythology, it gets retold over and over again. But these are the kids who have to live it. The series ends with percy being offered immortality and he rejects it because he wants to use his godly favor to force them to break their cycle of neglecting their kids. The series ends with a declaration that we cant keep letting this happen. The very first book offees the same choice. It ends with percy refusing to keep the head of medusa as a spoil of war, refusing his heroic reward. He lets his mother have the head and use it to kill gabe. Isnt that fucking crazy for a kids book? Gabe wasnt a Monster. He wasnt going to Turn to Dust and Disappear in a narratively convenient way. He was a living breathing mortal dude and percy and his mom killed him without remorse. Break the cycle of abuse!!!! Dont let this happen again!!! Anyway thats why the original percy jackson series is Hey where are you going with our breadsticks

[piningforstan]

Talking in Your Sleep

Part One | Part Two

Summary: You start to suspect that there’s more to Stan than what he tells you, at least while he’s awake. Asleep is a different story.

Pairings: Stanley Pines x GN! Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: Not really any? Let me know if I missed one

A/N: All Most of my oneshots are inspired by songs I guess😂 I’m thinking there might be 2 or 3 parts to this one

Stan lied.

To everyone.

Perhaps it was delusional to think that it didn’t apply to you. You, your reasoning was, were special. At the end of the day he crawled into bed next to you and pressed his cold toes to your calf, laughing as you squirmed away. You made grocery lists together and raided the aisles for food and supplies. It was you that he whispered his fears and hopes to.

So you thought nothing when he lied to the tourists, lied to the banks, lied to the man who “dropped” his wallet (Stan had pickpocketed it and you forced him to return it). You thought nothing when the lies bled into your daily life, domestic bliss disrupted with the occasional white lie. You told yourself: everyone does it.

It didn’t mean anything.

Right?

The room in the Shack that you stumbled upon on accident one day while looking for warmer blankets. “My brother’s room,” he told you. The brother, that you knew, was dead. You let it be, didn’t ask questions. But if it was his brother’s, why did all of the books say his name? Stanford Pines. Scrawled in margins and on the wall like a hasty addition. You didn’t have time to inspect it too closely, but the handwriting looked too neat to be Stan’s — tidy and cramped, unlike the sprawling letters you had seen him print on your paychecks.

STNLYMBLE his license plate read. It wasn’t his brother’s car, he affectionately retold stories of his time in the vehicle before. Maybe it was a tribute of some kind?

A million instances that accumulated in your mind like clutter in an attic, each one a box that you labeled and tucked away for later.

The first snow had just coated itself over Gravity Falls when the sleep talking started. You were roused awake by Stan twitching and muttering, the alarm clock blinking the time at you from the nightstand.

Too early. You rolled over, trying to grasp at the last remnants of your dream. It wasn’t much longer before he was muttering again, louder this time, hands clutching at the sheets and his face scrunching in unmistakable pain.

“Portal…help…” whatever disturbed his dreams made no sense to you here in the real world. You listened quietly. “I promise, Ma…I promise.”

Segments of promises and reassurances, bits of stories that you hadn’t heard before and couldn’t parse out yourself. It didn’t concern you at first, chalking it up to stress — about the Shack during the cold winter months, or maybe whatever work he did in the basement.

And then they became more specific. Unsettling.

“I didn’t mean to. It was an accident. An accident.” Sweat glistened on his forehead and wet the dark curls at his temples. The weirdest part is when he would whimper: “I’m sorry, Ford. I’m sorry. The portal…”

The portal, the portal, the portal — the one reoccurring connection to all of the sleep talking.

The dreams were worse during the holidays; Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years. It was sometime after the beginning of the new year and you were nestled into one another on the couch when you asked him, “What’s the portal?”

Stan kept his gaze on the TV but his body stiffened beneath you. “What?”

“The portal.”

“What’re you talkin’ about?”

You don’t know why, but you sensed that you’ve crossed a line, somehow, said something wrong. In an effort to lighten the mood, you injected a hint of humor in your voice, “You’ve been sleep talking lately and you keep mentioning a portal. Is it a bad dream or something?”

“Or something,” Stan coolly replied.

A beat passed between you, tension palpable. The TV flickered off. Stan untangled himself from you without a word and started up the stairs. You stumbled after him.

“Stan, what is going on?”

“Nothing,” he said, whirling on you, one hand braced on the rail. “I’m tired is all.”

You steeled yourself for an argument, aware of it approaching like a storm on the horizon. “For weeks — months — you’ve been having these awful dreams and talking about someone named Ford. And a portal.”

Sometimes you wake up in tears. Sometimes the pain in your voice is enough to make me nauseous. Sometimes you cry for forgiveness.

“S’probably nothin’.”

“Nothing? Stanford, I know something is wrong.”

You had both made it to the landing now, an old fashioned draw. Shadows thrown across his face, Stan possessed an unpredictable air, sharp and glinting like the blade of a knife in the dark. It slipped away just as quickly as the image had impressed upon you. Did you imagine it?

His features arranged into a semblance of shame, sheepish in nature. “I jus’ don’t wanna talk about it, alright? I’m sorry you had to deal with that. You ain’t gotta worry about me, doll.”

You wanted to press the matter. Wanted to know why he was being elusive and why his explanation rubbed you the wrong way.

But you didn’t.

A month or two passed. Spring lingered in the woods, melting snow and glimpses of greenery. You hadn’t mentioned the portal or the dreams again. Stan would go some nights without sleeping at all. You knew this only because you would wake up at night and roll over, expecting his warmth and finding the bed cold and empty.

“What are you doing in the basement?” You asked one day when you were feeling particularly brave. Stan was your kind-of boyfriend, after all, and you asserted to yourself that you had the right to know where he spent most of his time.

Stan, shoveling food in his mouth, shrugged and replied in a muffled tone, “Science stuff.”

He was off doing science stuff when you poked around the entirety of the Shack, searching for this alleged basement. How could there be no doors? You patrolled the perimeter of the building and spotted a cellar but it refused to budge. It unsettled you that couldn’t find an entry to the basement and hadn’t thought to even look before now.

“You wouldn’t want to see it, it’s boring,” he would tell you and you would believe him, his large hands roaming over your skin. “I can think of much more fun things to do up ‘ere.”

It worried at the back of your mind constantly, this idea that you were just another victim in Stan’s lies. Were you being dramatic?

The answer came to you in the dark of the night, moonlight spilling over the floor in silvery bars. Stan woke you as he staggered out of bed, muttering and bumping into the dresser that now hosted a mixture of your clothing. You sat up.

“Stan, honey? Where are you going?”

He never ceased his muttering to answer, persisting down the stairs in his sluggish manner. You grabbed a robe and threw it over yourself, following after him. After several more attempts to get his attention, you came to the conclusion that his sleep talking had now progressed into sleep walking. You knew you should’ve woken him but you curiously trailed behind, through the living room, the kitchen, and into the gift shop.

A blue glow from the vending machine washed over Stan as he ambled towards it, thick fingers pushing the buttons. Was he just hungry, sleepily venturing for a midnight snack? You wouldn’t put it past him. You reached out a hand, ready to rouse him from his trance, when a strange whirring emitted from the vending machine.

Shock rooted you in place as the machine didn’t release any food but rather swung open miraculously on its hinges, disclosing a corridor instead. Stan never even hesitated as he just continued on, broad shoulders and bedhead disappearing around the corner.

Rendered motionless for several moments, you finally decided to go after him. Where was he going? He could hurt himself.

You shuffled into the corridor. An uneasy feeling descended upon you like the legs of a spider, brushing against every inch of your skin. The chill cutting through your robe told you that you were being led further under ground, finally emptying into an enormous room.

And it wasn’t even the size of the room that surprised you, but rather the gigantic metal contraption crouched to one side. From what you could tell it wasn’t working. A huge, darkened eye stared at you from the middle of the rafters.

A window?

A portal.

Stan had ceased his dreamlike ambling to stand before this machine, gazing up at it like it might offer him some kind of absolution.

Your voice, small and afraid: “Stan?”

The trance broke, a taut rubber-band snapped in the way that his shoulders rounded and he glanced around in confusion. You could only imagine the look on your face as he turned to you.

Your name left his mouth, panicked. “What are you doing here?”

“Stan, what is that? Where are we?” Hysteria gripped you. “What’s going on?”

“You shouldn’t be here,” Stan replied.

“Did you…did you make this? What is this?”

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let’s go upstairs. I can explain all this. A’right?”

“No, Stan, I’m tired of all of the lies and the sneaking around. I’m staying here. And you’re going to tell me what’s going on.”

A defeated expression crossed his face. He went over to a panel of controls and leaned against it, hip and elbow. “Ya know I would never hurt ya on purpose, doll. I-I care about you.”

You wanted to soften. But you held yourself strong, heart fracturing. “Stan?”

“I guess I don’t know where to start.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, then slowly began to unravel the story that you had pieced together over the time. Except, this time, details were changed— the truth, you realized, not the altered version he had given you.

Everything you thought you knew about this man, this man that you loved, disappeared and took on a new form. The childhood in New Jersey accompanied by a twin brother. His years as a drifter a result of his father kicking him out, not a pursuit of freedom and independence. Even the Mystery Shack, his name, wasn’t his.

Stanley Pines, he said.

Stanley. Not Stanford.

And his brother wasn’t dead but lost in time, and he was trying valiantly to find him again.

“All of this, all of the lies…are for him. It’s my fault that he’s gone and I need to fix my mistake.” Stan’s voice had taken on a strained edge, on the verge of tears. “I’ve made so many but this one…this one I’m close to fixing.”

“You come down here to work on a…portal,” you said, not sure what else to say.

“It’s the only way.” Stan took a step towards you, then thought better of it. “I-I didn’t wanna lie. But I had no idea how much you would mean to me. It was one lie an’ then another and I couldn’t take any of ‘em back. Not without you lookin’ at me like how you are now.”

“I trusted you,” you breathed.

“I’m still me.” He flinched. “Well, kinda. Besides the name and everything. That hasn’t changed. The way I feel about you hasn’t changed.”

“What do you mean? Everything has changed,” you snapped, “Everything I know about you is a lie! I don’t even know what to think right now.” You shook your head as if to dislodge the torrent of thoughts. “You led me to believe that you were someone else. That your brother — who is actually you? — died. I grieved him with you, Stan. And you just lied to me again and again like it was nothing. How do I know I can trust you?”

“I’m tellin’ you, I didn’t want —”

“To lie? But lying is what you do best. It’s all clear to me now. I-I can’t do this. I need air.”

Your feet carried you without permission, away from the strange basement and the portal and Stan. Stanley. Not Stanford. You heard his heavy footsteps as he chased after you, one hand on your shoulder and spinning you to face him.

“Don’t go. Please. I can make this right.”

“No, you can’t.” You fought back tears as you looked at him, so heartbreakingly handsome and wounded and earnest. “I can’t be with someone who I don’t even know. Everything about us has been built on lies.”

He didn’t try and stop you as you stepped out of his grip and back into the gift shop, nor did he follow you. You shoved out onto the porch and into the greying, mushy snow, gathered in piles in the corners of the forest. You didn’t know where you were going, but you couldn’t be here.

[rninies]

✮ the coffee shop encounter - gojo satoru

synopsis: gojo loves retelling the story of how you two met, and that just creates a disaster for you.

warnings: fluff, gn!reader, chaotic first meet, gojo teasing reader — wc: 681

notes: i love chaotic first meet because it's the funniest thing Ever imo lol. but if this did happen to me irl i probably Would just dig myself a hole and hide there forever

“baby, do you remember the first time we met?” satoru asks as you are both lounging on the couch after a tiring day. “have i told you i fell in love with you just because you smiled at me from across the coffee shop the first time we met?”

“yes, satoru. you’ve reminded me this every day.” you sighed in response, already knowing where this is going. “do you have to keep reminding me about our first meet?”

“you know how forgetful you are! what if one day you lose all your memories and forget me? what if the only thing you remember about me is that we met in a coffee shop?” satoru makes an excuse, dramatizing it for effect. “then, i can take you to the coffee shop and you’ll smile at me again and we’ll be reliving our first meet up all over again! isn’t that romantic?”

“okay, first of all, why does it have to be me who loses my memories in this fantasy world?” you asked. “and second of all, this is never happening,” you say, instantly crushing satoru’s dream.

satoru pouts and scoots closer to you, pulling you closer by the waist, hand resting comfortably there. he takes a deep breath. “i know. but our meet-up was adorable, you have to admit that.” he says. “oh, but i do remember a certain someone ended up tripping over a chair and ended up falling face first in front of.”

you gasped, turning to look at him. “i can’t believe you remember that! why would you remember the whole thing?! i thought you-”

“hey, it’s not my fault i have perfect memory.” satoru laughs. “i tried holding in my laughter but i couldn’t because it was too funny. everyone had concerned looks on their faces but i just-” you slap your hand on his mouth, preventing him from saying anything else. everything satoru says turns muffled.

“shut. up.” you gritted your teeth. “don’t even speak about this topic anymore.” satoru licks the inside of your hand, making you pull it away immediately. “ew! what the fuck, toru?”

“you didn’t even let me finish!” satoru complains, shushing you. “oh, and after you fell and i finished my laughing fit, i asked if you were okay and your face was all red- god knows if it was because you fell or you were embarrassed. probably both, no?” you immediately slap satoru’s arm. “ow! what did i do to deserve this?”

“you just retold the most embarrassing moment of my life!” you groaned, trying to escape from the couch but satoru pulls you back down, preventing you from leaving. “hey! let me go!”

“let me finish my story and then you can go, yeah?” he gives you a smug smile, knowing his going to win anyway. you groaned, immediately slumping back onto the couch, arms crossed in front of you. “thank you.” he kisses the top of your head. “after i asked, you just nodded your head and rushed outside! can you believe that? i tried helping you but you ran from me! am i that terrifying to be around?”

you remembered very clearly. too embarrassed to say anything, the only choice you could make was to run, ignoring satoru’s calls even if you desperately wanted to stay and talk with him more back then. “hey, imagine being me for a second. would you even stay to say you were okay?”

“yes, obviously!” satoru replies immediately. “you know what i would say if i were you?” he raises an eyebrow and you wait for his continuation. “i would look up at you and say ‘wow, you have the most beautiful smile known to existent’ and just stay like that on the floor.”

you blinked twice before bursting into a fit of laughter. “what?! what kind of imagination is that?” you can’t help but think about how ridiculous that answer is, especially with satoru saying it with a serious look on his face. “you are crazy, gojo satoru.”

“yeah, crazy in love with you.” he says, giving you the duck face.

tagging: @planetnini @xintre @kyoghurts (send an ask to be added!) <3

[tryagainstarlight]

Cursed to wander. Cursed to travel roads already done. Cursed to repeat, over and over. Cursed to listen to these voices who are meant to guide. Cursed into despair, torment, and death. Cursed into losing oneself. Cursed into being the lead actor in a play told eternal.

And so I ask, and so we all do, about this blessing disgusted as a curse :

Oh, Universe.

At whom were you so angry at?

Blessed to watch. Blessed to see battles already won. Blessed to know how it ends. Blessed to see it all again. Blessed to guide The Lost One, in torment and obligation. Blessed to revel in Guile, Glee, and Joy. Blessed to be oneself behind a mask without a past. Blessed to recast the lead into their role and watch it all unfold.

And so I ask, in return, about this story retold:

Oh, Audience.

To whom is watching the show?

[leynaeithnea]

Thank you Jorge-Rivera-Herrans

I spend the past three hours obsessing over EPIC (again)

The storytelling is the most beautiful thing in existence.

When I say I love multimedia cinematic storytelling.

This.

This is what I mean.

The music

The lyrics

The vocalists

The audio design

The storytelling

The production

The passion of the creator

The fandom

The themes and questions of morality

The complex and lovable and hate-able characters

The animators incredibly talented visualizations

The fact that this is retelling a story that has been told for more than two thousand years and still keeps getting retold, people from different millennia and all centuries have listened to and read this story

Everything about this is the peak perfection of art, storytelling and the phenomenon when humans join forces brought together by a vision and passion and pouring their heart and souls into a project to create something that will be forever unique

I am so grateful to live during a time where this exists.

[strawbeerossi]

I Can See You

18+ Content. Minors DNI

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Aaron Hotchner

Description: When a new agent joins the team, she's beloved by everybody and Aaron admires her dedication. He admires it so much that he fantasizes about her in every possible scenario to the point where he has to distance himself. One day, she confronts him.

Content Warnings: Power imbalance with leader/team member , reader is flirty with Hotch and loves seeing him flustered, he gets tired of her running her mouth, exhibitionism kink (kinda?), spanking, reader is gagged with a necktie, praise, degradation, fingering, unprotected sex.

Word Count: 2.6K

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Tags 🏷️ @beardedhotchh @pastanoodles11 @morgthemagpie @x0xonatalie

This has been rewritten twenty times. I had to post this before I deleted it all over again. So, I'm sorry in advance if it isn't like my usual writing.

Aaron Hotchner was the stoic, fearless leader of the Behavioral Analysis Unit. He took pride in his strength and dedication to his career, even if most people didn’t understand how he could pull countless hours in a career field that took a physical and mental toll.

His life revolved around his job, his son being his other top priority, even though he really couldn’t very well balance things the way he intended. His loyalty to his career took a good amount from him as well. It could drain his sanity and a divorce came out of it.

He was tough, keeping his composure through some of the worst things imaginable when most others would crumble under all the pressures of a demanding career as well as a failed marriage. However, it numbed him from the horrors, making him tense all the time.

That is, until Y/N showed up at the BAU for an interview to take over an available position. She was the top of her class at the academy. She was physically, academically, as well as mentally strong enough to handle the job and she had a backlog of receipts to prove it. 

Her life was spent with training, her father being a general in the United States Marine Corps, wanting his daughter to follow in his footsteps. 

Imagine his shock when she used every piece of knowledge she had in order to get into the FBI. 

It was a smart career choice for her. She could handle herself in the toughest of situations, being trained how to get through the most intense of scenarios. She also liked putting in her thoughts and ideas to a group who openly accepted them, nothing being shut out because she was the youngest of the team.

She was an asset.

Aaron had told her plenty of times how lucky they were to have her, how she was a tremendous addition to an already powerful group of profilers. She had a lot to learn but she was pretty well off. 

Y/N loved her career and her team. However, Aaron Hotchner piqued her interest. He was well known as the leader of the BAU who has had a rich career and he had many written articles and other pieces of information that retold the stories of the most intense cases he ever had to get into.

It didn’t help that the man was sex on legs. 

He was attractive, the smallest things he did captured her attention in such a way that there were vivid fantasies and daydreams of things they could do. She liked to think that she could show him things he hadn’t seen in years, if ever..

So, that was when she was planting subtle seeds. There were lingering touches and flirting that would make Derek Morgan blush. It was innocent enough, the casual flirtatious remark that would have the unit chief flustered, cheeks a shade of dusty pink.

The idea of being with a member of his team seemed wrong. Not only was it a ton of paperwork but it was also an H.R. nightmare.

It couldn’t stop him from fantasizing though. All the ideas he had about bending her over his desk, his tie forced into her mouth in order to muffle the cries and moans that would spill from her lips.

This was dangerous territory to tread. Yet he liked the game, the risk of it all. The problem was that he couldn’t very well just come on to her, the biggest risk factor being the word spreading across the office. That was the last thing either of them needed.

These vivid fantasies forced him into hiding, his office being the place he’d be able to be alone in. The same office where he’d glazed his knuckles with cum just thinking about the sheer idea of having Y/N under the desk, her lips enveloping his cock like she was made for it. 

It was one of those days where he had to hide away, the quiet nature of the office being contributed to paperwork being caught up on and files being put away. Aaron was doing his best, gazing at an open file while he was tapping the back of the pen against the desk. 

His mind was quite adventurous today, his cock hard and luckily concealed by the desk he was positioned at. All Y/N did was sip her coffee from a straw, her lipstick staining the metal straw from the tumbler as she was enthralled in her own paperwork. 

Somehow, that was enough to have him trembling in his office chair.

It was pathetic, like he was reliving the times of being a horny teenager who got turned on by damn near everything in sight.

However, it wasn’t long until he heard a knock against the door, gaze tilted upwards. That was when his worst fear entered the room. Y/N. The one who had him hard as a rock at his desk, the one who had been giving him hell for the months she’d been working there.

“Y/L/N. What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to drop off a file for your review.” Her words were soft as she held it up. “Also, can I talk to you?” 

Fuck.

“Of course. Shut the door.” 

The minute the door was shut, that was when that suffocating sexual tension was filling the room, so bad that he was sure he wouldn’t be able to breathe until she left. “What’s the problem?”

“Are you mad at me? Because you haven’t spoken to me. You actively ignore me.” Her boldness was something he expected, the woman not being one to lightly word anything. 

“Of course I’m not mad at you. I don’t see why you’d think I’ve been avoiding you.”

“You run straight to your office! Don’t bullshit me, Hotchner. What did I do?”

“Nothing! You’ve done nothing.” 

She didn’t believe him, eyes narrowing as she leaned back in the chair behind her. She was sure why he ignored her. Or maybe it was just a delusion she had where he actively wanted her just as badly as she wanted him.

“I see the way you look at me, Aaron.” 

“Excuse me?”

“You think I can’t tell? You think I didn’t notice the way you make it a point to brush against me? The way that you wait for me before you even attempt to walk down the hall?”

Fuck. She was a better profiler than he gave her credit for.

“I don’t know-”

“You think I also didn’t notice the way that you looked at me when I was sipping my coffee? The way that you just had to run into your office before anything could be noticed? Aaron, you’re a profiler. You should do better at hiding your reactions.”

The words had him flabbergasted, mouth open in disbelief from the indication that he’d be turned on by something as small as her sipping a straw. Too bad she hit the nail right on the goddamn head.

“This isn’t appropriate. I advise you to leave my office.”

“Walk me out. Or are you too afraid to show me how right I am?”

The silence after that was loud. It was like Aaron had to collect himself.

“That’s what I thought.” Y/N taunted, making the male finally stand up from his desk. That was what caused her to shut her mouth entirely, looking at her boss wide-eyed as if she’d just gotten in trouble.

“What? You’re not gonna talk anymore? I think you’re getting too smug with this.” He spoke, voice low as the tone of authority took over. He walked to the office door to lock it, lowering the blinds soon after to avoid the whole office looking inside.

“Nothing to say?” He asked, arms tucked over his chest as Y/N was slowly looking away. “W-well..”

“Pathetic. I knew you were all bark and no bite. It’s a shame.” He tsked, head shaking with disapproval. “Now get up.” 

Y/N was slow as she was standing up, her face flushing as she could feel arousal soaking into her panties at his authoritative tone, his eyes dark as he watched her body rise from the chair before her arms were behind her back.

“You’ve been pushing my buttons ever since you started with the flirting bullshit.” His veiny hands were moving to remove the tie from his neck, eyes watching her figure as she seemed frozen; a deer in headlights.

“I think it’s time to give a cocky little brat what she wants. Open your mouth.”

With an eyebrow raising, Y/N slowly let her mouth fall open. The moment she felt the tie being stuffed in her mouth, she barely had time to process what was happening before she was being bent over the desk.

There was a mess of files and other items that she’d landed on, head tilting to the side as she let her eyes stay on Aaron.

He looked at her with hunger, like a predator stalking its prey and ready to pounce at any given point. The normally beautiful honey colored irises were clouded over with deep lust, his hands running down her hips while he was situated behind her. 

“You need to be taught to respect your unit chief. I’m not gonna tolerate your behavior any longer after this.”

The woman was keeping her eyes on Aaron, body making an effort to push back against his for any ounce of friction. “Ah! No ma’am.” The man began, hand roughly coming down to give her clothed ass a rough slap. 

The sting had her moaning around the tie in her mouth, tears brimming her eyes from the pleasurable pain, body jerking when three more hits were coming down. “You’re not getting what you want. You are too entitled and I’m sick of it.”

His hands were moving to grip her hips, thumbs running over the skin under her shirt just to feel the warmth of her soft skin. “Let me know if you want me to stop at any point.” He spoke, tone hard yet his demeanor softened.

Last thing he was going to do was do anything that she was uncomfortable with. 

When there was an indication that she wanted him to keep up with his motions, his hands were moving to bunch up the skirt around her hips. Aaron’s eyebrows raised in curiosity. “Look at how wet you are.. I haven’t even done anything to you yet.” His hand was running up the back of Y/N’s thigh, continuing onward until the palm of his hand was flush against her clothed cunt, the warmth radiating against his hand as he was adding pressure, chuckling at the muffled whine.

“So desperate. Gonna fuck you with my fingers, think you can handle that?” He asked, finger slowly moving to push her wet panties to the side, thumb making its way to her clit, eliciting another muffled moan. As his hand was pulling back, he let his middle finger slowly run through her folds, the arousal generously coating his finger before he was slowly pushing it into her tight heat.

He could’ve came in his pants right there, mouth open slightly as he was greeted with warm, velvety walls that were tightening around the digit from just how desperate the woman was. “Keep still.” He warned, watching the hips try and rock against his hand.

“You were talking so much shit earlier. Now look at how desperate you are,”

The words caused Y/N’s body to shudder with anticipation of getting more than one finger, playing his game and cooperating.

“There we go. See what happens when you listen and you’re not combative and smug? I just might like you better with my tie in your mouth.” He snickered, a second finger slowly sliding into her dripping cunt as he worked on scissoring her open. “Fuck, you’re such a pretty little thing.” He praised, unholy sounds of squelching filling the room from her wetness.

As his fingers curled upwards, he couldn’t help the chuckle that left his lips as soon as she was gasping around his tie, his fingertips pushing the spongy spot inside of her that had her eyes fluttering shut, drool from the corners of her mouth due to the tie starting to run down her jaw.

Thankfully, Aaron had an extra so this wouldn’t be suspicious when the other profilers were surrounded by Y/N after the deed here was done. If anything, this appeared to be a typical conversation between one of the team members and their leader.

When her walls were spasming around his fingers, he took the opportunity to slip both fingers out of her cunt while chuckling at her whine in response to that. “Such a needy little slut. Don’t worry.. I’m gonna take care of you. Just gotta keep quiet.”

The words made Y/N’s pussy clench around nothing, a muffled moan filling the office as the sound of his belt being undone chased behind it. After tossing the belt to the side, he pushed his pants down along with his boxers. 

“Shh, I know.” He whispered as if it were a secret between them when he could hear her whines of impatience, his hand wrapping around his hard cock, hand giving it a few lazy tugs to prepare himself. He let his thick tip tease her folds, spreading her slick around as if the two needed lube. “Alright. Ready?”

With one hand on her hip, he was slowly pushing his cock into her tight cunt, groaning lowly as he watched her pussy envelope his shaft, swallowing him to the hilt while her hands were holding onto the desk tightly.

He waited a solid minute for her to adjust, his hand rubbing her lower back in an effort to soothe her, wanting to have her as comfortable as possible. 

When she was giving him the sign she was ready, he was rolling his hips slowly, the man letting out a soft breath that he didn’t know he was holding in. Bringing both hands to grip her hips, it wasn’t long until he was doing deeper, faster strokes. 

“Fuck, bite my tie harder, darling. You’re being too loud.” He murmured, hips continuing to slam into hers as a thin layer of sweat was collecting on his forehead. With the desk rocking at a rhythm with Aaron’s thrusts, it was no surprise when some papers or files were falling to the ground around the desk. 

He wasn’t gonna worry about that now.

Currently, he was too focused on the rough snap of his hips against Y/N’s, the sound of skin crashing against one another as well as their combined noises filling the office, the desk making its own audio debut as he got a bit rougher as he was fucking her pussy raw.

“Fuck. I’m gonna cum.” He growled, cock twitching as he could feel Y/N’s tight cunt clench him in place, his hand now reaching down to find her throbbing, desperate clit to bring her to relief. 

As soon as he could feel her velvety walls pulsating around him and the feeling of her creaming on his cock, that was it for him. His nails dug into her hips, no doubt leaving crescent moon marks while her cunt was milking all the cum that Aaron had to offer.

“Y/L/N,” He spoke, chest rising and falling as he was working on catching his breath, his hand moving to her mouth to retrieve his now soaked tie. 

“You need some lessons on manners for that fucking mouth of yours.” His voice was low as he was pulling his cock from her warmth, watching his cum leak out of her pussy before slowly pulling her panties back up. 

“I think I know just the way to help you though,” 

[kogratorm]

Okay, listen.

We are all deeply saddened by the situation lurking over our cubitos, but let me explain why Q!Roier's reaction is understandable and genuine. Despite his hurt caused by Q!Cellbit, I don't believe he truly meant what he said.

From a realistic standpoint, it's completely natural and not at all unreasonable to feel angry if someone from your family (especially someone you're close to) is murdered. EVEN WORSE, BY YOUR GROOM. The situation itself is incredibly absurd and it's completely valid for Q!Roier to feel the way he does as a real person.

We all joked that Q!Roier would be his fiancé’s apologist, but it's valid and real that he didn't. However, when he said "Te odio" (I hate you) in that moment, he did mean it, but not in the way everyone is interpreting it.

He hates that Q!Cellbit initially lied, whether out of fear or not.

He hates the feeling of being betrayed by Q!Cellbit, someone he placed trust in, much like he did with his friends (Q!Spreen, Q!Missa, and even Q!Quackity), as well as Cucurucho.

He hates that the story is being retold.

He hates being the one who's traumatized every time; he has experienced it multiple times, so it's only natural for him to react defensively, saying things without thinking, to protect himself.

I would even dare to say that the presence of Q!Quackity might have triggered memories of the past situation with Q!Spreen, regardless of whether Q!Quackity was actually trying to help them this time.

Does he hate Q!Cellbit?

Perhaps. Right now, he definitely hates him. He told Richarlyson that if he were to send an elegant (vent) mail, he would only say hurtful things. Because he IS in fact hurt, and that IS valid.

However, the real "hate" here is directed towards the pain he is once again enduring.

Q!Roier is so traumatized that he's already accepting Q!Cellbit as just like the others, not wanting to hear anything he has to say. To be fair, it's difficult to listen to someone who has taken the life of someone you cared about.

Unlike the others, Q!Cellbit told the truth and sincerely apologized right away when he found the courage to do so, despite being advised otherwise.

He was afraid, but he still spoke the truth.

He did it because he didn't want their marriage to be built on a lie, not when it was already heading in that direction.

If only Q!Roier knew how abnormal it is for Q!Cellbit to tell the truth and how much he would have preferred to lie his way out of it.

But he didn’t.

Q!Cellbit choose to not hold on that lie. He is fully aware that his actions were unforgivable. He doesn't expect forgiveness from Q!Roier.

bicrysis @ Twitter:

They love each other deeply, they are hurt by the mistakes they made and the damage it brought, but the love is still there. Just because Q!Roier isn't as much of a hopeless romantic as Q!Cellbit doesn't mean his feelings are any less valid. It doesn't mean that he didn't love him and doesn't continue to love him.

It is exactly because of this enduring love that the hurt runs so deep.

The depth of their love intensifies the impact of the current circumstances, making it all the more heart-wrenching. The realization that someone Q!Roier cared for, someone he entrusted with his heart after everything he went through, could commit such a grievous act... It cuts deeply into Q!Roier's soul.

But, the same love that hurts so much, might guide them through the turmoil, offering a chance for forgiveness, understanding, and ultimately, redemption.

In the midst of this tragedy, the strength of their love remains an anchor, a glimmer of hope that refuses to be extinguished. It is a testament to their resilience and the depth of their bond.

And that gives me hope. I can, indeed, see hope in that.

But only after everything that needs to be hurt is hurt.

And everything that needs to be healed, is healed.

[...] Love can be good, it can be bad, it can be hurtful, it can be joyful. Love is a compilation of every feeling a human is going to feel in their life.

[angelof-thevoid]

The Crucible / Undefeated

“Is it… True? what Lord Shaxx said?” asks one of a fire team of guardians who approach Ikora as she reads. She smiles and lets out a short chuckle before looking up at them. “Depends on what he said. In most cases he enjoys flourishing a story, but there’s always some amount of truth to them.” The guardians nod and shuffle a little nervously before her.

Another speaks up, “So… Do you really hold the crucible record for the longest win streak and are the reason that his helmet is missing a horn?” Their expressions display a mix of awe and fear of her. Ah. New lights for sure. These are old stories about her that have been retold several times, but Ikora had to admit she still reflects on them a little fondly. Even Shaxx still finds the loss of his horn amusing and even gushes about what a mighty battle Ikora gave him. 

“Yes, it’s true.” She sets down the book she was flipping through for personal research and turns to fully face them with her arms crossed behind her. The group lean in, minds open to hearing her version of the stories. 

“In the dark age, it was a very different time compared to now, a time before we were guardians who strove for peace and protecting humanity. Some still had those goals back then, though maybe not always accomplished by the best methods. Others cared more about personal power and chose to be rulers of humanity, calling themselves warlords. They would force those under them to hand over precious limited resources, often at the cost of themselves and under threats of death.”

“Even worse, there were times they were used as meat shields when conflicts arose between immortal risen, most often over territory. It was… A dark time.” As if we haven’t had several since, Ikora comments to herself. “Sometimes we aren’t our best selves during them, and that includes Lord Shaxx. He wasn’t the worst, arguably he was doing what he thought was best for those he deemed his charge.” 

“But still, that power structure wasn’t good, and Lord Shaxx proved himself to be quite formidable in maintaining his lands. Until I came along.” Ikora smiles and winks at the three guardians as they give her their undivided attention. She may not have the same flair for dramatic retellings but it’s nice to know that she could still get others to listen. 

“In those days, I wasn’t a warlord but I wouldn’t say I was my best self either, but I like to think I was at least on the path. I was also quicker to resort to my light and weaponry in those days to handle things instead of talking. So when word about an apparently “undefeated” warlord reached me, I heard a challenge.”

“And a challenge it was, we made a real mess of the area we fought in. Trading bullet for bullet, light for light, one rez after the other. It was…” She trails off a moment. “Exhilarating. A battle with someone who was even in power makes victory all the more satisfying, and I definitely reveled in it afterward. I took the land as promised and freed it to humanity.” 

“Whoaaaaa,” the third guardian responded. “Okay, but then what about the crucible record story?” “Yeah, tell us about that next!” pipes up the first again. Ikora finds herself quickly endeared to the enthusiasm of this bunch as she softly laughs. “Now that is a more recent occurrence. As I’m sure Lord Shaxx informed you, the crucible is about forging guardians into better fighters by pitting ourselves against each other, to sharpen ourselves into being the best at combat to face any future foe.”

“So as I told you before, I was often eager to rise to a challenge. Only this was at least cooperatively sanctioned violence instead of a sloppy skirmish over land or a tense encounter that resulted in a permanent death.” She stops for a moment. “At least, usually it’s for sport to strengthen our skills. Some have tried to use it for other means.”

“I participated in the crucible very extensively for a time in my long life. Every day I went in with the goal to be better than I was the previous, and I did excel! Through that hard work I earned a reputation of being one of the best with a 25 win streak.” Ikora moves one of her hands in front and balls it into a fist before slowly releasing, ”But the glory of the crucible still left me wanting.”

She moves her arm behind her back once more joining with the other. “After all, what good is organized arena combat when not every battle is a show of physical prowess? What about the fights that aren’t met through bullets or paracausality or fists?” The silence hangs for a moment as Ikora patiently looks at the three of them like she expects an answer. 

“It’s, also important to have mental fortitude and be strategic in mind?” Answers the warlock of the group. Ikora grins proudly at them. “Correct. It’s not enough to be physically capable, but mentally and strategically as well. Which is why it’s also important to know and learn as well as train to fight. Neither is enough on their own, they are both parts to the whole of being a guardian.”

The warlock beamed at getting the answer correct as she continued. “It’s also good to not know and fight your enemy but be able to know and fight yourself. There will be times you struggle, physically, mentally, emotionally- and it’s important to take care of yourself too. The things we deal with and go through can be a heavy burden, which is why it matters to be able to rely on your fire team, and be reliable in return.”

Ikora crosses her arms in a relaxed manner over her chest, raising one finger. “So remember, it’s not just important to be physically strong and to use your light. You must also be strong of mind and to maintain both by taking care of yourselves, and each other.” The three nod to each other and in acknowledgement of Ikora's words, taking them to heart.

"Good." She smiles again. "Walk steady in the light, guardians."

[heyitsspiders]

Lucifer x Transmasc! Reader - Falling for the Fallen Angel - Chapter 5

Out Flying

You wake up and you feel pretty good considering everything that happened. Lucifer makes you feel even better.

Intimate kissing

You slowly woke up, dull aches coated your body as you shifted. You opened your eyes before sitting up, rubbing your eyes. Where were you? It took you a moment to fully take in your surroundings. Oh, it was just your room. 

You look down at your body. You were now shirtless with bandages wrapped around your torso. You felt pretty good considering you had been stabbed and had part of your wing ripped off. You gasped quietly as you looked at your torn wing. It was repairing itself. Very slowly, mind you, but it was, like a lizard regrowing its tail. It felt so weird. You flexed your wings and winced in pain. 

Okay, so, not doing that. You sighed and leaned forward, your elbow resting on your thigh and your head on your propped up hand. What now? You couldn’t get up, you didn’t want to risk reopening any wounds or somehow hurting yourself more. You suddenly jumped as you heard the door creek open. You turned and locked eyes with Lucifer, who’s eyes widened and a huge smile spread across his face.

“Twist!” He ran up to you and wrapped his arms around you, “You’re awake!”

He pulled away quickly, his hands on your shoulders as he looked at you with worry, “Are you okay? How do you feel?”

You gave him a wide smile, “I feel good considering I was brutally attacked. Better than I would have expected. Just some aching and dull pain.” It was nice to know he cared so much about you.

He sighed with relief, “I’m glad, I was able to heal your wounds for the most part. I didn’t want to accidentally mess up anything so I let your body do the rest. You sinners have insane healing.”

He glanced down at your banaged body and you couldn’t help but shift nervously under his gaze, your face starting to warm up. He quickly looked away and cleared his throat, his cheeks turning faintly pink. He looked back at you with a soft smile and warm eyes and you realized he was missing his white overcoat. Ah, it must still be dirty. He wrapped his arms around you again, bringing you closer to him. You leaned into this warmth as you returned the hug. He felt so safe. 

The two of you stayed like that for a few minutes before pulling away. Lucifer moved to sit next to you. “So,” he started. “What happened?”

It took you a moment, your memories from the previous night fuzzy. You recounted the events, explaining what the attack looked like and what they did. Your body ached as you retold the story, as if it was happening all over again. His eyes sharpened as you told him, but it was quickly gone. He rested a firm hand on your shoulder, aggression lingering in his grip. You were thankful that it wasn’t towards you.

“They won’t hurt you again, darling.” 

While he was threatening the person who hurt you, you couldn’t help but melt. You gave him a soft kiss on the cheek and his intimidating stature dissipated, instead shifting into a soft one.

“You know, last night was the first time I even tried to fly,” you began, “and despite the circumstances, it felt pretty freeing,” you said, looking up at the ceiling. For that brief moment you felt like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders, like you were no longer chained to the ground. 

Lucifer smiled and nodded, “I get that. Flying is a great feeling.” He looked away nervously before looking back at you. “I know you can’t fly right now, but, uh, would you like to join me on a little trip?”

You looked at him and then back at your sore body, “I’m not sure on how well I can walk-”

“Nonsense, I’ll carry you!” He said as if it was nothing. And to him, it was. His angelic strength easily lifted you like you were the air itself.

He gently grabbed you and carried you bridal style, you settled into his arms as he gracefully walked out of your room and down the hallway. Your heart pounded quickly in your chest as the demon king cradled you.

Sudden panic hit you, “But wait- my job! I need to work.” You have had too many days off recently, you had to keep working! What would Charlie think? Oh, you didn’t want her to be mad at you.

Lucifer laughed and tore you from your worry, “As if, darling. You are injured, didn’t you just tell me you weren’t sure if you could walk?”

You grimaced. You hated feeling useless but there was no point fighting Lucifer on this, it was clear he wasn’t going to budge. Plus, he was right. While sinners have incredible healing capabilities, you still needed more time. You sighed and continued to let yourself be carried by the King of Hell to the lobby. 

Angel Dust looked at you from the bar and raised an eyebrow, “Damn Baby, you sure do waste no time.” He teased, downing more of his drink. 

Husk didn’t seem to really care, continuing to wipe the counter and occasionally taking sips from his bottle. Charlie ran up to the two of you, bouncing with a wide relieved smile on her face.

“You’re okay!” She cheered, hugging you while you were still in Lucifer’s arms. She broke away and looked at Lucifer, “Where are you two going?”

Lucifer smiled, “I was going to show him around the sky.” As he spoke his wings unfurled.

“Oo! Have fun!” Charlie smiled and turned back to Vaggie and what looked like blueprints. 

Wait, blueprints? 

You tried to crane your neck to get a better view but Lucifer opened the doors and the blueprints were now blocked by doors. Lucifer smiled down at you as his wings shot up and came down powerfully. Before you knew it you were in the air, the wind playfully whipping through your hair. You gripped onto his vest and squeezed your eyes closed as he held you tighter. 

Once he began to glide peacefully, you finally opened your eyes. You gasped, the view was breathtaking. As the wind gently whistled through your ears you soaked up as much of the sight as you could, taking in every little detail you could make out. The two of you glided down over the city and you could see the demons below you go about their day as usual, shoving past one another to get where they needed to be. With another powerful beat of his wings the two of you were propelled forward, weaving through the tall buildings. Lucifer held you close to his chest the entire time and you never feared falling. You knew if you did he’d be right there to catch you. 

Lucifer spun upwards in the air, tossing you into the air. Before you could yelp in surprise, Lucifer’s arms were wrapping around you once more, his soft lips pressing against your forehead. You felt dizzy with adrenaline as you smiled up at him. Lucifer loosened his grip on your body and shifted to holding your hands. You were now being held from a frightening drop only by your hands, but still you held no fear as Lucifer looked down at you with a huge smile. He flew up, holding your hands so that the two of you were eye to eye as if you two were standing on thin air. The two of you spun in the air, stopping high up. It felt like time stopped as you and Lucifer hovered in the high for a brief moment before gravity started to weigh down. 

As you two fell, Lucifer brought you into a warm embrace before kissing you passionately. You moved your hands to the back of Lucifer’s head, pressing his face further into yours as he lowered his hands to your waist, pulling you closer. Blood pumped loudly in your ears as the ground came closer but all you could focus on was Lucifer. You gripped his hair as your tongue playfully begged to be let in. Lucifer grinned before allowing you to do so. The two of your tongues danced as you fell. Your desire grew, one of your hands trailed to the front of Lucifer’s head as you now held the side of his face affectionately.

Just as the buildings came into reach, Lucifer spread out his wings and the two of you jolted back into the sky. He pulled away as he turned onto his back, lovingly holding you against his chest. He floated along the currents as if he was simply in water. He rested one of his hands on your head as you laid against him. Your heart was beating a million miles per hour. This was amazing. 

The two of you floated and drifted through the skies for a while, it was very tempting to fall asleep but you wanted to be awake for every moment you had with him. Your head was nestled comfortably against his chest and you could hear the thump thump of Lucifer’s heart. You breathed in the calming scent that he gave off, those crisp honey apples dancing around in your head. You sighed contently closed your eyes. You’d never felt happier than right now. Lucifer’s fingers lightly played with your hair as his other hand rested softly yet firmly on your back to keep you from falling. 

Lucifer’s grip tightened and you opened your eyes and peered up at him. He smiled at you nervously before leaning over to kiss your forehead. He opened his mouth as if to say something but shook his head. He held you closer as he flipped back over and landed smoothly in front of the hotel. He gently set you on the ground, letting go of you and instead reaching to hold your hand. You smiled and held his hand as you two walked into the hotel. Your hair was a wild mess from the wind and your cheeks warmed as Angel looked over at you and whistled. 

“Someone had a fun time.”

You used your free hand to cover your face as the two of you continued to walk. Lucifer walked you to your room, opening the door for you and bowing, smiling all the while. You rolled your eyes before giving him a kiss and walking in. You sat on your bed and realized you had been shirtless this whole time, the only “shirt” you had being the bandages. You rummaged through your clothes before slipping into something comfy. You flexed your wings, they felt better than this morning. 

You flopped onto your bed and stretched. Lucifer sat down on the edge of the bed beside you, his hand reaching over to once more play with your tangled and messy hair. You winced as he pulled at a knot.

“Sorry, darling,” He said softly, waving his hand as a comb appeared. “Can you sit up for me?”

His voice was like honey to your ears as you sat up, your back to him. He hummed and started to gently brush your hair. The tangles slowly unraveled under his soft and precise motions. The comb felt like heaven against your aching head and helped rid you of the feeling of filth that came with tangled hair. As the comb slayed the last knot, he set it to the side and pulled your back to his chest. You leaned into his warm, cozy embrace. You were hunched over a bit which allowed him to rest his chin on the top of your head. He hummed happily. 

“Darling,” He started, you could hear the smile and excitement in his tone. 

You peered up at him, looking at him with curiosity in your eyes. He pulled you so you were now facing him properly, his eyes sparkling. 

“I have a surprise,” he is practically vibrating with excitement, “I’m moving into the hotel!”

[holymusicalmothman]

Daughter of Courage - Chapter One

You are here! >>> Chapter 02

Been a hardcore Legend of Zelda fan (cosplay, collector, gamer, reader, whole shabang) for 20 of my own 27 years. I wrote this a long while ago in a journal back before any news of TOTK or the LoZ Movie. I like it, and if you guys like it, I'll keep going.

The pre-calamity timeline has been stretched out so that they're 22 instead of 17 when the Calamity. I wanna say Hyrule has a legal age of 17 like in Harry Potter, but for the sake of me being able to make this work in my head they're 22.

Daughter of Courage Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Read it on AO3! I tend to update non-reader insert content here first!

Pairing: Link x OFC/ Original Female Character

Word Count: 3.2k

Prologue

There was once a legend retold time and time again throughout the span of Hyrule's years.

A legend of a chosen here, a young man chosen by the goddess Hylia herself. A legend of a brave princess, blessed with power and ability. And a legend of the plague of darkness that sought to consume the land. 

That was how the story went. A knight, a princess, four Champions, a kingdom. All fell before the Calamity's thirst for destruction. Some people endured it with the hope that the hero would one day return to save them from the darkness.

Yet, for one of the races of Hyrule, there was another. The Gerudo never failed to remember the girl who had been alongside the heroes. No other legend spoke of her, and there were no songs sung. 

Yet had it not been for the selfless sacrifice of the young woman, the four champions, along with the knight and the princess, would have perished long before they could have even attempted to stop the Calamity. 

But those who have been chosen by fate are not easily erased. Especially one who had been watched over so keenly by the eyes of Courage herself.

Chapter One - Daughter, Remember

She was a wanderer. Or at least that's what she thought. She had awoken on the ground in Faron woods, unable to remember a thing, including her own name. As she traveled through the Faron region, stopping at stables and sheltering from rain under abandoned ruins with other travelers, she noticed that none ever looked at her with a spark of familiarity. They didn't recognize her. It was discouraging, but she persisted. She was on her own, a feeling that, deep down, left her off balanced, like something was missing. 

Places tugged at her mind as she traveled, the siren song of a memory that was now out of reach. Some places jumped out at her more than others, but alas. It only left her mind feeling muddled and wrong. As if everything she saw wasn't how it was supposed to be. She found it left a sour taste in her mouth. 

But she continued on. 

Her feet continuously, almost unconsciously, carried her back to Faron Woods. She never could venture far from it, as if something within was calling to her, begging her to find it. The woods held a missing part of her and she would continue to search for it. And, each time she did, she found herself deeper and deeper in the forest. 

It was on one of these adventures that she found Kass, a Rito bard. He was kind, shared some food with her, and watched her with a twinkling eye as she delved deeper into the woods. He had told her a tale passed through history over their shared meal. It had been taught to him by his own teacher: A tale that spoke of a great dragon hidden in the deepest part of the wood.

And so, off she went.

She reckoned the statue did indeed exist, and must've had something to do with the great dragon Farosh, whom she had come to enjoy watching as they journeyed across the sky. 

The sun had just begun its descent when her gray eyes found the first two pillars.

Almost overgrown and hidden away, two large pillars marked the entrance to a canyon of sorts; dragon heads resting at the top of each, decorated with moss and an age granted upon them only by the years of elements.

The sight of the dragon heads spurred her onwards, determined to reach the end despite the encroaching nightfall.

The path opened up right as the world was bathed in moonlight. The ground bore the evidence of recent moblin and lizalfos camping, and yet there wasn't a beast in sight.

She crept forward carefully, just because she couldn't see anything did not mean that there was nothing. 

At the far end of the area was a large stone dragon head, mouth gaping open, a paved pathway cracked with age lead into its gaping jaws. The sides around it were set with deep pools of water.

The Spring of Courage.

She knew it. She had been here. Once. Long ago? In another lifetime? The answers were currently lost as she gazed at the dragon. And yet, after a moment, the young Hylian gave into the unexplainable tugging she felt as she took into the scenery. She moved forward.

The call she had been feeling multiplied tenfold as she walked further into the dragon's maw, watching as a faint light steadily grew brighter ahead of her. Another stone pathway led her into a smaller area with a pool of water and a statue of the goddess Hylia.

Still trusting her intuition, the young woman outstretched a hand, placing it on the statue.

The stone was cool to the touch under her hand and she briefly wondered what she was doing there. 

A woman's voice, warm and powerful, echoed through her.

Hero of the land, friend of Hyrule's Golden Daughter, closest of the Champion of the Kingdom...For days you have traveled both paths known and unknown, some even traveled unknowingly...Your courage and perseverance have not wavered...You have passed the trials set before you by Farore and you have proven your worth...Now, remember...

Hateno Stables - 16 Years Before the Calamity

"HEY! THAT'S MY APPLE TREE! GET DOWN!" A young girl of just six summers stood at the foot of an apple tree with her hands on her hips. Her gray eyes glinted as she stared at the object of her ire.

A boy, close to her own age if not the same, simply glanced down at her, his own blue eyes regarding her in momentary annoyance. Despite her angry stance, he deigned that she posed no threat to him and resumed his quest for an apple.

The now flabbergasted young girl thought quickly, beginning to fling pebbles at his hand with frightening accuracy. 

The yellow haired boy cried out and quickly drew his hand back as he glared at her fiercely. 

"You can't do that to me! I'm a knight of Hyrule!" He said angrily.

At this, the girl only began to laugh. "No you aren't! You're too small!"

The boy tried to retort, to gain back the upper hand in the conversation, however, he was unable to make himself heard over the other's giggles and he clambered down from the tree. He stood in front of her, bright blue eyes gleaming.

"I am too a knight!"

The brown haired girl was unimpressed and the pair began to bicker back and forth until she called for a duel.

"A duel?" 

She nodded. "I challenge you, Apple Thief, to a duel."

Before he could even argue that that wasn't even his name, she had scurried away into the stable for a moment before returning with two wooden swords.

"Come on, we can use these! My big brothers use them for duels all the time," she began leading him away from the farmhouse and stable, towards the main road leading to Hateno. "We have to go closer to the road, though. My brothers don't like me playing with their things and they won't see us over here!"

The now bewildered young boy could only follow. 

They stopped just barely out of sight of her home. "Alright, this should be far enough." She handed him one of the wooden swords. "Ummmmm...Oh! Rules! The rules are...."

She thought for a moment. Rules had to be sensible. Her mother had told her that most rules would keep her safe, and every duel had rules according to her brothers. "The rules are...oh! We can't go in the road. We can't hit each other on the head because it hurts, and the first person to get knocked down loses. Ready? GO!"

And with that, she flew at him, barely giving the boy a moment to defend himself. 

The Stable Daughter of Hateno fought with all the ferocity of a Lynel. Having grown up with two older brothers who did not share easily, she had learned nothing of surrender.

The boy soon fought back just as equally, if only to prevent the childlike shame of being bested by a girl. 

Travelers passed by the pair, watching with amusement as they journeyed to either the village on top of the hill or the stables at its base.

A pair of Gerudo women were the first to actually stop and watch the young children's 'duel'. Their leader had sent them on an assignment and had sought to rest at the inn before the long return to the desert.  They watched the pair, impressed by the tenacity of the young girl. 

The battle came to a close as she thrusted the wooden sword forward, catching her opponent with a harsh jab to the stomach. The air left him and he landed on his rear, the wind having been knocked out of him.

"I win!" She danced in a circle, triumph etched upon her face. 

"That's not fair!" The boy protested. "I've never been in a duel before!"

The girl stopped and pondered it for a moment. "Then we'll simply have to duel with each other until you can win." She held out a hand to help him up. "I'm Kaileigh."

"I'm Link."

Hateno Stables - Nine Years before the Calamity.

Seven years had passed since that fateful day and the summer sun still found the pair immersed in a furious duel. 

Link had bested her years prior, yet by that time they simply viewed it as training. So it continued. 

Now, both were at thirteen summers of age and on the brink of new chapters of life.

Link would leave the next morning for Castle Town to begin as a Squire and, eventually, become a knight. 

For Kai, she too would leave the home she had always known. The two Gerudo women who had watched their first duel had carried word of the fierce child back to their chief and, once a year, there would be another Gerudo visiting Hateno, stopping to see if the young girl still fought with such fire. If anything, those flames had only grown, 

The previous year, the right hand of the Gerudo Chief had stopped at the stable and spoken with her and her parents. It had been shocking to say the least, as the Gerudo were not a people who were in the habit of training many outsiders, especially ones so far from the desert. But they had seen something in Kai, and Urbosa herself wanted to train the young girl. It was an offer that had, until now, been unheard of. It had been an honor impossible to turn down and now the next morning would find Kai on her way to the desert to be trained as a Warrior. 

So the pair fought as they had for years, the knowledge that they would not see each other for an undetermined amount of time resting heavily in their young minds. They had become inseparable over the years, the closest of friends, and the knowledge that they had to part was better off ignored on their final day at home.

Castle Town - Five Years Before the Calamity

Urbosa, Chief of the Gerudo, had included Kai in her entourage for a visit to Castle Town. And, while it was an honor to have the Chief include her, Kai couldn’t help but wonder why. There had been plenty of visits to the heart of the Kingdom before, each taken without her. The young Hylian’s sudden inclusion confused her.

The confusion turned to shock when the newly-eighteen year old was informed that she was to accompany the Princess for the day.

Princess Zelda had seemed surprised as well, but recovered quickly and led the other girl off to her study.

The Princess had been reading over what appeared to be ancient manuscripts, written in strange scribbles, for a while before setting them down with a sigh. She turned to Kai, who was admiring the view of Hyrule offered by the large window.

“How is it that you came to be among the Gerudo?” Zelda asked.

Kai turned, startled. She had thought Urbosa had wanted her to keep an eye on the princess, to make sure she was safe. She had not been prepared for a conversation.

“I don’t mean to pry, I’m simply curious. I’ve never heard of the Gerudo accepting someone who is not of their race among their warriors?”

Kai was used to the question, as many travelers had asked her the same. She told the princess how she had met her best friend when she was a young girl and also managed to catch the attention of the Gerudo simply by dueling.

“He and I left Hateno when we were three and ten, he came here to be a knight actually. We’ve kept contact the best we can with letters.” Kai explained.

A flicker of mild recognition passed across the young Princess’ face. She stood from her desk and gestured for Kai to follow her. “Come, maybe we can find this friend of yours.”

The girls walked through the castle halls side by side–at the princess’ insistence–and they found in each other similar spirits. The young princess was happy to share her studies with someone and Kai found her theories genuinely interesting. As the pair made their way to the training yard, they passed by the open doors of one of the vast rooms used for more private meetings. The king and chief watched the young girls pass by, talking animatedly as if they had known each other for years.

“A friend would do the Little Bird some good, Rhoam.” Urbosa stated. “Kaileigh is a capable warrior.” 

At the last addition, the King simply nodded. 

Kai and Zelda did indeed manage to find Link. They had observed the soldiers training for a short while before training had finished. The moment the soldiers were released for the day, a headful of blonde hair had made a beeline for the pair, Link bowed respectfully to the princess before tossing all proprietary out the window and catching Kai in a bone crushing hug.

It wasn’t far too much longer that Kai would be assigned as Zelda’s Lady’s Companion: A friend to the young woman, yes, but also a sworn shield maiden set to defend the Golden Princess should the need arise. After a while, the two were as close as sisters, they trusted the other with everything. 

As for Link and Kai, once again spending every day around the other again, their own relationship seemed to blossom, moments spent whispering in castle alcoves, timid words and small smiles in passing through the halls, nights spent on rooftops talking about anything and everything while the constellations twinkled overhead. 

The Lost Woods - Two Years Before the Calamity

So this was how it was going to be.

Kai had watched from beside Zelda as Link drew the Master Sword from its pedestal, the blade not resisting in the slightest. Nausea rolled through her as she watched in silence, anxiety and worry forming a ball in the pit of her stomach as horror and fear made itself at home in her bones. 

Link fought through the others congratulating him to her side, grabbing her hand and thus breaking her reverie. 

Gray and blue eyes met, both sad and fearful.

This was the end of the world they knew. Calamity was coming.

Kakariko Village - The Night Before the Calamity

The inn in Kakariko Village was nice. The villagers used fallen Cucco feathers to stuff pillows and mattresses and it was supposed to be very comfortable.

But the night sky found them both on the roof, Kai staring absentmindedly into nothing as Link sat close beside her. The Calamity was going to come any day now, they were doing everything they could to save Hyrule, but the drowning anxiety within her said it would all be for naught.

Calloused fingers threaded through her own and she blinked, shoving her worries to the side as she looked at Link. 

“You okay?” he asked quietly, the hour far into the night. 

“What if we fail? What if all of this has been for nothing?”

He sighed, scooting closer so that their shoulders were touching. “Then we fail. But at least we tried. It’ll be okay in the end, Kai.”

She laughed softly, “Us against the world? Betcha didn’t think we’d end up here when you decided to steal apples.”

Link smiled at her. “I’d do it again if it meant doing everything over again with you.” He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

East Lanayru Gate - The Next Day

The ground rumbled beneath their feet. Time was up. Calamity was upon them.

Zelda, Kai, Link, Urbosa, Mipha, Daruk, and Revali all shared knowing looks as they quickly went over the plan when a roar suddenly split the air just past the opening of the canyon. A lynel. The forces of Ganon were upon them.

Kai drew her spear from its holster upon her back.

“Go!” She yelled. “Champions to your Divine Beasts! Link, get Zelda out of here!”

His eyes had been wild and distraught. He stepped towards her as if to stop her and she only moved out of his reach with a sad smile. They needed time to escape, and she would have to get it. 

“I love you, I’ll meet you in Kakariko when this is all over.” Her voice was quiet and a look of panicked anguish escaped his soldier’s grasp of emotions as she backed away.

“Kai–”

“Take Zelda and go.” She ordered before racing towards the oncoming enemy.

Lynel’s were easily her least favorite of the monsters that spread their filth like a disease across the face of Hyrule. Large beasts, somewhere between a lion and a horse, known to decimate anything in their path.

It wasn’t unheard of for a single person to take one down, just extremely difficult.

Kai sent a quick prayer to Hylia as she took a fighting stance, aware that her friends were still watching her with fear. 

She turned to them, avoiding Link’s eyes this time. “I said go! Stop Ganon!”

They jumped into action and Kai turned back to the fight, focusing on the oncoming threat.

As the beast approached, she sighed. Most lynels had red manes, this was no ordinary lynel. The silver sheen of its hide was unmistakable. 

The fight began and she dodged the heavy blows, her spear aiming for the beast’s ankles and, when she had an opening, it’s chest. She focused on trying to immobilize it.

As the fight continued, her fear only grew as she noticed none of her attacks seemed to be doing much. She wasn’t going to win, there was no way she could outlast this enemy. In the back of her mind she knew she was distracted and desperate and scared. Her movements become sloppy and slow.

She managed to land a few direct hits to the beast, bringing it to its knees, a flicker of hope shot through her and Kai turned to gain enough momentum for a heavy strike, 

Only to catch a charged arrow in her back.

As the electric current sent her body seizing she briefly wondered if it had been enough.

For her, the fight was over.

She only hoped they could still win. 

Next Chapter!

I would love to keep going and write more and share more of this story, but only if someone else is gonna read it, I'm totally down to keep building into TOTK!

[basilone]

Hiya friend, could I please request #2 "honey" forrrrr....Darlene? <3 — @shoshiwrites

Of course, of course! 💙 Here she is, finally truly at home in her natural habitat, and who else would she meet......

honey

He has heard her whole story before he’s had a chance to meet her.

It’s the sort of thing that rankles him these days. Word traveling so fast on base you’d think it’d taken flight from one end to the other in record time. Opinions being spouted off until they’re fact, facts being retold so often that one needs a flashlight to find anything true by the end of it, and judgment coming hard and fierce between it all.

She’d been subject to enough of that. Don’t need a lady mechanic round these parts, or so the base had buzzed. Don’t need that sort of bad luck. He’d archly reminded some that they’re not on a boat and no woman – alive or dead – should be treated like some ill omen. A harbinger, if Curt’s many sordid nearly Irish tales are to be believed. (They aren’t. Gale knows this. Curt does, too. They’re told anyway.)

As far as stories go, hers contains nothing Gale hasn’t heard before. She’s hardly the only one hailing from Georgia – the many Dorrance-Joneses on base alone provide a veritable invasion from that state – and she’s nothing special with the down-on-my-luck-making-my-own-way patchwork history of odd jobs and family quarrels. Nothing to write home about.

“You all right there, honey?”

Gale blinks. Stares at the riot of red curls perched precariously atop a very, very freckled head. There’s a dark grease stain on her cheek that travels streak-like into her hair, just above her ear, as if she’s tried and failed to wipe it off with her sleeve. She’s a little gap-toothed, if the flash of a quick grin is anything to go by, which might be the first real thing he learns about her without there being a known story attached.

“Ah asked,” she repeats, sing-songing her words back to him, “you all right there, Major?”

“Just fine, Sergeant.” He nods at her. “How is she?”

“She’s a beauty.” There it is again, that little flash of a gap between her front teeth as she smiles. “Should be up and purrin’ in your ears again by tomorrow, sir. Wasn’t a whole lot wrong with her, but ah liked workin’ on her. Sorry to say them feathers took a beatin’, though.”

He eyes the wing she indicates with a wave of her hand. “Walk me through?”

“Sure thing, honey.” Teeth worrying at her lower lip. A look in her eye that’s almost contrite. “Sorry. Major. Right this way, sir.”

Gale stuffs his hands in his pockets as he follows in her footsteps. Observes her repairs done to the wing with the same critical eye he would Lemmons’s repairs – cursory in some places, nuts-and-bolts details in other places – and isn’t surprised to find she knows precisely what she’s doing. She’s worked on fighter planes. Bombers. Jeeps, even, if John’s to be believed. Her work’s not a mystery. Nothing to pluck an ill omen out of thin air over, either.

“Question,” he says, then, and it’s only practice that keeps a smile off his face, “how does one get honey from Major?”

She doesn’t miss a beat. “You ask nicely. Sir.”

“And you don’t apologize about that from now on, either,” he hums, nodding at the wing more than at her. “Understood?”

Her low, warm chuckle is answer enough. “Ain’t even shown you her new iron belly yet, sir. Would reserve judgment on me until then.”

No, Gale almost says, observing the stubborn set of her shoulders and the flicker of determination in her dark eyes, I think I have the measure of you just right, Mayfair. “As long as she flies, Sergeant,” he says instead, “I will be the last to judge.”

[jedineedlove]

Macaque's Death & Samadhi Fire Timeline?

Hello Everybody I am currently making a LMK Fanfic for the first time and I thought to go back over the episodes for more details and research for it. As I did I had some thoughts come to mind and thought I share them with all of you for some feedback.

I am far from saying this is canon or anywhere close to facts but something about the Samadhi fire and Macaques death has me puzzled I went back to episodes and scenes of those shown or mentioned and I came to a conclusion.

Once again I am not saying this is fully true but I think we have the timeline of those events of the LMK Universe wrong. Many and I mean many say and even draw out the events of those two being during the Journey of the West but I thought something about that was off as I looked through flashbacks of those events.

Let me start from the very beginning. It started with seeing the flashback of Macaque's death as LBD threatens him and reminds him that she brought him "back to the mortal plane".

In this picture, you can see Macaque & Wukong fighting against each other staff to staff. This is a scene paired together with Macaque's death this is advertised as the fight that ends him. Many even a majority believe that Macaque died like he did in the JTTW to Wukong after he tried to interrupt the journey.

But I don't think that is true something caught me off guard, it was the outfit that Wukong is wearing in this scene. He is wearing his armor and he is lacking his golden fillet. Many may say the fillet is glamored and he was allowed to wear armor somewhere down the line on the journey but I don't think so if you look at what he looked like during the flashbacks the show gives us.

In these flashbacks from the memory scroll, Wukong is solely in his pilgrim clothes with the fillet in clear view. Not only that but the book image of Wukong has the fillet with no armor in sight.

You may argue but what about the Samadhi Fire scenes. Well, I also believe that did not happen during the JTTW either. In this universe from what I have seen and heard the Samadhi fire was not added to the novel. Tang referred to the Fire as "said in legends" when he retold what he knew about it not "as said in the JTTW".

Also When Mk and Tang went to FFM to find the Vase. When Tang told MK about the history of it. He mentioned that the goddess Quan Yin filled it with an immense amount of water to help Wukong fight a demon Tang could not remember the name of.

In our JTTW there is only one demon we know of that could be referring to, Red Son. BUT Tang does not seem to recall the name of a major enemy of the JTTW being the fanboy of the novel as he is. Also, he does not mention the fire begins the need for the water only a demon.

The two legends are not linked until DBK and PIF tell their story of it. Even during the tale of the vase he refers to the story as being from legends not from the novel JTTW again.

This brings me back to the outfit that Wukong wears his pilgrim (fillet) outfit vs the armor using the mechanism of using character design to tell a timeline. As well as the JTTW itself some are going to argue that maybe he was let loose from the fillet early but I doubt that the fillet in the original telling could only be removed by Buddha.

Tripitaka had no control over that and during Sun Wukong's journey to redemption no way would Buddha remove it and even give Wukong the armor to go fight Macaque unless like I said earlier this fight happened after the JTTW.

That also goes for the Samadhi fire during the ritual Wukong wears the armor but no way would the pacifist and leader of the group allow his violent streaked student on the journey to enlightenment and spiritual journey to wear armor anytime for any reason or take off the fillet if he could. I do believe that the fights between Macaque and Bull King from the story happened but instead of dying on the journey Macaque died after the journey after a fight went too far. Even more, I believe that Macaque was revived sometime before or after DBK was sealed under the staff as by this image.

In this image from Macaque's point of view (During Shadowplay) you can see the feathers of Wukongs hat but also notice he is fighting fist to fist this is also not a flashback from his debut episode. Looking back at the fight again and there is nowhere anywhere during that episode was this scene possible. It was cloudy and Wukong did not use that much power, this image shows it being during a sunny day or a full burst of Wukong energy in the background.

But he never burst during this fight to make that light possible and the only time he did lift a similar pose was at a clone of MK that Macaque made he was not actually there to see this view. Meaning this had to be some time before this episode.

You can tell this was also after his death because Macque already has the X over his eye.

I also say it was after DBK sealing because of it being fist to fist from the first image I showed aka the death scene photo it was staff to staff but Wukong here is staff less. I wonder where it is?

I followed the change of Wukongs outfit and his lack there of a staff during scenes to come to this conclusion

To check out I do not accept the shadowplay Macaque made for references because he uses Wukong fillet and feather headgear together.

He uses that outfit when describing them still as friends but we saw in season four that Wukong wore the yellow hat, not the feather especially not the fillet when they were the closest of friends like he described.

Nowhere had the two headgears been seen together except here and I think that was because Macaque just wanted to drill it into MKs head who the hero character was meant to be because at this point Macaque saw him as too naive and not very smart. So used the two iconic pieces of Wukong to let the kid know.

[gingermintpepper]

Mother Love - Demeter and Persephone in poetry

Alright, so, let's finally talk about Mother Love.

I've spent the past couple of weeks compiling most of the poems from my physical copy of Mother Love into a publicly accessible google doc because there is a quite frankly embarrassing lack of archiving of this particular anthology of Dove's work and I am genuinely and greatly saddened that it is not a work more commonly brought up when discussing Demeter/Hades/Persephone retellings and reinterpretations for modern audiences.

In order to speak about what Mother Love is, I first need to address what it is not. It's not a coming of age story which portrays Persephone as a caged bird under a too-smothering Demeter. It's not a love story where Hades is some valiant hero who rescues an innocent maiden and through his love empowers her to be her truest self. It does not demonise Demeter, who has forever lost her daughter, it does not demonise Hades, who took that daughter away.

Instead, Mother Love is, perhaps, the truest interpretation of the themes of the Homeric Hymn to Demeter that I've seen, down to the structure of the anthology mimicking the hymn's narrative structure. It is the story of a mother who loses her daughter, of the grief that ensues as she worries for her, of her being pitied and given empty words instead of help finding her, of her trying to soothe herself by filling the void with new children that are not her own. It is the story of a daughter who loses her way, who went seeking flowers and was unwittingly caught in the machinations of those in higher positions of power than her, of the kingdom she is promised and refuses, of the changes she goes through in this new, strange world without her consent and how those changes will define her the rest of her life. It is the story of a lonely king overrun with ennui who wants companionship but never asks, of he who tries in vain to tempt with wealth and land and must ultimately yield to the love of a mother. Not even the lord of the dread Underworld can escape that all-consuming mother's love and this was a theme found all over greek mythology and their literature, and it is also the theme that has been unfortunately and miserably lost as we've told and retold the tale of Hades and Persephone time and time again.

Please, please read this work, and if you enjoy it, do consider picking up an actual copy of the anthology. There is so much to be gained from speaking of the Demeter/Hades/Persephone myth as one of nuance and devoid of the unnecessary moralisations and accusations that we habitually foist onto cultural figures and heroes in an attempt to validate our opinions and interpretations to our peers. In my compilation, I did leave out three poems: Breakfast of Champions, Blue Days, Nature's Itinerary, mainly because I did not think they were relevant -- but I'm always open to requests for those poems to be added to the doc if anybody gets curious. Below I've also attached a few of my favourite short poems from this anthology so people can get an idea for the content that is included in the doc.

@gotstabbedbyapen who requested a way to read these poems but could not find them, I sincerely hope you enjoy them <3

[overgrownmoon]

my thoughts on downpour

i like downpour but i do agree that some of its lore is weird. its in a weird state of canon yet not canon. its a canon AU

my solution: downpour is a story.

this is long as hell the rest is under the cut

vanilla slugcats feel like you are in charge, you are playing your own journey and experience. there is an ending, but you have to choose to go to it. everything is on you. even in hunter, your journey feels like your own, just with added challenge. downpour felt like i was playing a story. the scugs are characters that i dont have all the agency in; the plot has been written and im simply playing through it. i dont think this makes downpour bad, but it makes it fundamentally different from vanilla.

my take is that vanilla is what actually happened through the eyes of three slugcats. its their real journey through this world. they are incidental in a larger world, learning bits and pieces about the past, but never the main character. you are the slugcat, experiencing the world, making your journey.

downpour is the telling of stories about specific protagonists, perhaps oral traditions told by future slugcats. the campaigns of downpour have a plot, and you are not free to make your own choice in ending; you are led to it, as if this has already happened, and someone is recounting it. that is why the lore gets weird; these stories have been told and retold and changed, details have been lost and made up.

for me, this take would make the outlandishness of saint make sense; perhaps the real saint was a simple saintly traveler, whose story was told and exaggerated over time. maybe they became a fable, to explain the death of the computer gods. others, like rivulet, maybe really did happen, and we are reliving it like a play, acting out a story a mother tells her pups. maybe artificer became a warning about revenge and violence; gourmand a folk hero of a tribe who long ago led them to new lands.

(side note about spearmaster - i think their story is also what actually happened, but only through the eyes of the messenger. they dont have the whole story, just what they saw and did, and so not every detail is accurate. there is another thing to say here about rain world's themes of individual experiences. maybe spearmaster is recounting their own journey from their memories to SRS or another slugcat, who knows)

i like to think that this would make a place for survivor and monk's outer expanse endings make sense. they are another story, a tale of siblings who reunited, long after their original lives. it kinda leaves their journey open; did they choose to ascend or live to find each other? nobody really knows. the past has already happened and we'll never know the truth. i think thats a recurring theme of rain world; this story has already happened, this world is already dead, and you cant change it or ever know exactly what happened. you only have your own experiences and the words of others.

this is all just basically my justification for why in my own canon that im building my strategy with downpour is to just take the bits and pieces i like and leave the others behind, lmao. again, i like downpour! but i do agree that is is fundamentally different from the original game's intent. i preferred the ambiguity of the vanilla cats' endings. gourmand is still my favorite tho i love the chonk

[corellianhounds]

The Colossus of Kashyyyk

Media: An excerpt from The Princess Bride book, retold within the world of Star Wars.

Word Count: 3.1k

Rating: Gen

Warnings: Canon-typical violence

Art Credit: Brian Matyas on ArtStation

Summary: A young Wookiee is forced to contend with a galaxy that punishes those who, through no fault of their own, are different.

Note: Though the art is of Krrsantan, the story is not about him. I try to find official SW concept art to accompany these stories, but I can’t always get exactly what I want.

There was once a Wookiee born to a poor farming family on the outskirts of a world that was not their own. Wookiees are known for their exceptional strength and size, but this child when born weighed twenty-seven pounds, and he grew exponentially in size and stature all throughout his childhood. Despite his height and exceptional strength, he was a quiet boy who much preferred time spent indoors puzzling over riddles and rhymes with his mother as opposed to outside chopping wood and hunting with his father, and once the village children realized he had a soft heart, that’s when the tauntings began.

The poor Wookiee child was terrified of the jeers and mockery from his peers, to the point he would cower and hide from them no matter how much smaller they were than him. No matter how many times his father told him to stand up for himself, to push back when they did, he couldn’t bring himself to fight the other children.

Eventually the taunting came to having things thrown at him, insults thrown his way as the other boys and girls pulled his hair and stole his tools, and then it evolved into the fights, if they could be called that; the Wookiee would not fight back despite having height and strength to his advantage, until one day his father took him aside and told him plainly, “My son, you will not always have the luxury of not fighting. One day you will have to stand up for yourself, or they will never stop.”

The boy’s lip trembled as he looked at his kind and loving father, tears welling in his eyes, and his father sighed. “All right. I will teach you.”

At twenty-eight years old (still quite young for one of their kind) the Wookiee child was already two-hundred-and-forty pounds, nearly the size of an adult. His father had to look up at his child, even when the boy stooped to make himself appear smaller.

“Stand up straight, my son,” the father said. He beat one hand against his chest. “I want you to strike me as hard as you can.”

The boy protested, his eyes filling with tears. He loved his father dearly and wanted to do no such thing. His father insisted.

“Strike me,” his father repeated. “It is okay. You will not be in trouble. You need to learn.”

The young Wookiee squeezed his eyes shut, reared back, and hit his father as hard as he could, as was requested.

Two days later when his father could finally speak again he looked up at his tearful son at his bedside while his wife tended to his fractured ribs. “You are a good boy,” his father said, or at least that’s what the boy’s mother interpreted for him. “I will not be able to teach you for long before you outgrow my skills. In time we will need to find you a teacher.”

Once the Wookiee boy was able to fight back, his peers no longer picked on him. For several years he almost grew to be beloved in the village, hoisting the smaller species and younger children up by one arm effortlessly. The real trouble didn’t start until a wandering band of travelers made their way through the village and one man— a Trandoshan, no less— drunkenly mistook the Wookiee for an adult and picked a fight with him in the square as he was heading home to his parents. The Wookiee yelped reflexively, jumping back from the boorish Trandoshan smelling of ale and bad breath. The Trandoshan’s friends hooted and hollered, cheering the Trandoshan on for whatever imagined sleight he’d felt the need to retaliate against, and a gathering crowd trapped the Wookiee in the middle of a circle with only himself and his adversary in the middle, the villagers and travelers surrounding them all and cheering as if they were in a gladiatorial arena.

Terrified, the Wookiee dodged each blow until he miscalculated the distance due to his height and fell before the Trandoshan’s feet. The scaly, bug-eyed reptilian hissed foul words at the boy, taunting him much like the children of his youth had; Mongrel, monster, brute, he hissed, and the Trandoshan finally grabbed the boy’s vest in one clawed hand, rearing back to punch him in the face—

Only for his swing to be stopped by the Wookiee’s hand. A gasp went up around the crowd and the drunken Trandoshan’s eyes widened in alarm as the Wookiee snarled, crushing the man’s hand in his grip. The Trandoshan screamed as the boy got to his feet with one hand still on the man’s arm and the other on his neck, and in a moment of singular, uncharacteristic anger he rent the Trandoshan’s arm from his shoulder.

The crowd erupted in gasps yet again as the Trandoshan fell to the ground, writhing and bloody, though still alive. The Wookiee’s chest heaved with the effort it took to catch his breath, and as he looked around the circle of people all he saw was fear etched on every face.

He raced home as fast as his legs could carry him, tearful and apologetic. Upon telling his parents what had happened they looked solemnly at one another and decided it was time to move.

The family traveled for some time before settling down again at a new farm, but it wasn’t long until whispers of the Wookiee’s strength reached the ears of those in the city near their homestead: fearing revulsion, or worse, a mob, the family fretted over the best course of action until they were approached by a man with a dazzling smile and straight, white teeth.

“I have a proposition for your boy,” the man said, his accompanying droid translating in Shyriiwook for their convenience. “I’m the grandmaster of the local arena, and we want your son to be our new champion.

Champion? The Wookiees looked at one another, baffled.

“One fighter each week will go up against your boy in the arena, and whoever wins is given the winning purse and the opportunity to fight the following week. Only the winners from rival guilds and arenas will face him, and I’m confident he will best them all.”

At three-and-a-half meters tall, weighing six-hundred-and-ten pounds, the Wookiee boy was still only a lad by their species' reckoning, and a gentle soul at that. He still much preferred working with the animals on the farm, tending to the new sprouts in the field and helping his mother cook by the fire. The incident with the Trandoshan had been an anomaly, and one he didn’t want to happen again.

The boy’s father grunted a noncommittal “We’ll think about it,” and sent the grandmaster and the droid on their way.

The grandmaster paused at the door of their home and said, “If it helps at all, your boy will be loved by the crowds. Hundreds of people would come to see what he could do.”

Despite the reassurances of the grandmaster the Wookiee shook his head, begging his parents not to consider the man’s offer. His father sighed, knowing his son wasn’t to blame for his unnatural strength and size, but the boy ate more than he could provide on a farmer’s income, even with the meat supplemented from hunting, and soon his son would be out on his own in the galaxy and would need to find a way to care and fend for himself.

The young Wookiee didn’t want to fight, remembering the disaster that came from being forced to fight back in their home village. “It will be good for you,” his parents encouraged him. ”One match,” his father said. “If only to appease the grandmaster. After that, you do not have to fight if you do not want to.”

Resigned and glum, the young Wookiee sought out the grandmaster in the city and agreed to a match that would take place later that week.

The arena was packed to the gills with people of every cast, species, and strata, a mysterious new fighter slated to challenge the reigning champion that night. The champion was a near-human man, over two-and-a-half meters tall and built like an ox, hailing from the cold and unforgiving alpine forests of the Laer’tnom region. He stood out in the arena, beckoning for the portcullis to open and for his opponent to step out, laughing at the reticence of the newcomer. The crowd laughed with him, until the hulking shadow of a still-juvenile Wookiee had to duck under the top of the portcullis archway onto the arena platform.

The crowd fell silent. The young Wookiee stood his ground as he’d been instructed, glancing to the crowd to where his parents smiled encouragingly before facing his opponent. The man looked up at him, agog, and the grandmaster’s booming voice rumbled out over the stands.

“WELCOME TO THE ARENA!”

And the crowd erupted in applause.

As the fighters were introduced they began to circle one another, eyeing over their opponent. The ring of a bell initiated the fight, and the champion rushed the Wookiee in a flurry of fists.

The Wookiee hardly felt the blows land. He had grown substantially over the years, dense fat covering hard muscle and strong bones, and the impact was only a fraction of what he remembered his childhood tormentors levying against him. For the first time in a long time he almost smiled in the face of adversity, growling a yell that almost buckled his opponent on its own. The champion righted himself, and this time when he swung at the Wookiee the Wookiee blocked his fists with surprising speed.

Left and right they countered one another, but the boy’s tireless work on the farm and training with his father finally paid off, and he fought his opponent with aplomb, the crowd cheering deafeningly every time he managed to land a blow. What he lacked in finesse he more than made up for in speed and brute strength. The fight lasted several minutes before the champion began to tire, his swings telegraphing broadly more and more often until the Wookiee finally hit him with enough force to send him to the ground.

For a moment the room fell to a hush and the Wookiee was terrified he’d fought too hard, but the crowd once again erupted in applause as the bell rang and with relief he could see the fallen champion groan, rolling onto his back. The grandmaster came down onto the platform from above, taking the Wookiee’s paw in his hand and raising it as high as he could, (which was not all that high for the Wookiee, but he understood the sentiment all the same): he had succeeded as the victor.

For several years after that the Wookiee fought undefeated, champion after champion brought into the ring to challenge his prowess as a fighter. He made enough money that his parents no longer had to farm for hours a day in the fields, able to live comfortably on their own and harvest what they felt necessary to live on. Soon he began to travel for fights, bringing fame and notoriety to his name, increasing his opponents from one person to two-person tag teams, and eventually three, then five. The Wookiee never fought dirty, and the grandmaster had set him up for success. “The Giant” was a crowd favorite, though he kept out of the spotlight when he could in his regular day-to-day life. The grandmaster occasionally tried to persuade him to join the others of the traveling troupe on their days off, but the Wookiee politely declined, managing to slip beyond people’s observations out into whatever forested region he could find for peace and quiet in harmony with nature.

One night several months down the road the Wookiee was slated to fight five men in Laer’tnom. He was approached by somebody in an expensive suit, accompanied by three others, who politely asked him to throw that night’s match. One of the five fighters was slated to retire and had been prematurely promised the victory as a courtesy. The Wookiee frowned, not understanding: one of the thin men reporting to who he assumed to be their boss translated the Wookiee’s response, saying the Wookiee “Had never lost a fight on purpose, and he never would.” He was the reigning undefeated champion and he took pride in his work. The boss’s face grew grim, and he gestured ever so slightly to the henchman on his left, who in response revealed a carbine rifle directed at the Wookiee’s chest. The Wookiee’s senses flared, the hair of his undercoat on his neck and arms raising at the threat, and he acted on reflex without thinking: the carbine rifle was promptly snatched from the henchman’s hands and broken in half as if it were tinder in the Wookiee’s paws. He growled a retort at the now shaking men, and it would only be later after the four of them had beat a hasty retreat that the translator among them would be able to choke out what the Wookiee had said:

“I’ve never lost a fight, and there’s nobody here who can make me.”

That week’s match brought with it an aura of trepidation the Wookiee couldn’t shake. Determined to hold true to his contract he entered the arena, seeing four of his five opponents file in, each more vicious and mean than the last. Upon the last’s entry, he realized why he’d been asked to throw the match: there in the Laer’tnom arena he saw the first opponent he’d ever faced, a near-human man built like an ox, performing on his home turf.

As they faced off against him he steeled himself for what he knew would be a real fight, despite his young, inner self feeling as though he were trembling with fear, cornered with nowhere to run.

The bell rang. The fighters darted in and he fought them off, swinging and tossing them as if they weighed nothing out of the ring, pivoting to face the next as they attacked. Again and again they swarmed him, and again and again he parried their blows, wrestling them into submission. The fight wore on and over the din of the crowd he could hear the grandmaster for the first time nervous as he narrated the fight. One, two, three, four opponents fell or crawled from the ring, until finally he faced the last.

The near-human man’s nose flared like a bull’s as he breathed in agitation, squaring off against the Wookiee once more. When he lunged the Wookiee was ready for him, and he hurled the opponent up over his shoulder, using his forward momentum to throw him off his feet. The man leapt up and charged again, and it took every bit of the Wookiee’s considerable skill and power to fight him off, blocking and parrying more than he was striking his opponent.

Eventually though, the Wookiee saw an opening and ducked, ramming his shoulder into the man’s stomach and knocking the air out of him. He twisted around to put him in a submission hold, the two of them grappling to the ground until the Wookiee got his arm around the man’s neck and squeezed. When he felt his opponent go lax and pass out, the Wookiee let go and stood in the center of the ring, the victor yet again.

Only this time instead of cheers, the Wookiee was greeted with the harsh yells of the spectators yelling insults, booing and shaking their fists and taunting him, using names he recalled the children from his childhood using all around him.

“Bully!”

“Mongrel!”

“Monster!”

“Brute!”

When the crowd started throwing food and debris into the ring, the confused and shattered Wookiee fled.

There were a lot of bets riding on the Wookiee’s supposed failure that night, and a lot of people were left very angry. Furthermore, the fifth opponent was outraged by the outcome of an event he’d been assured the victory of, snarling threats across the ring as two of the men in expensive suits held him back. Without contacting the grandmaster, without sending word to his parents, the Wookiee packed his bags that night.

For years nobody saw him and he made his way doing odd jobs before ending up in the circus. He was too terrified of what might happen if he appeared in the public eye again, too worried for his parents should they become a target by association with him; in the circus he could have made money as a strongman, but he was given more food as a crewman and sideshow curiosity, and so a curiosity he remained until the circus disbanded and he found himself again without employment, and on an unwelcoming ice planet no less.

That was until the little man found him.

The Wookiee was alone on the outskirts of a small village next to a Tauntaun, and desperately hungry. He’d been chased from several other villages where he’d attempted to find work as a herder, shunned either out of fright or by accusations of being the cause of missing livestock. The Tauntaun next to him was almost his height, far too small to be considered a steed, but he shared in its warmth, thinking slowly about where he might find his next meal.

A voice rang out over the howling wind and caught his attention. He looked to the side to see a mound of fur silhouetted against the snow and heading his way. He braced himself for a confrontation, saving his energy until the mound came into view. It turned out to be a short human man inside several layers of coats and a snowsuit, carrying an electric torch and shuffling through the snow.

“Ah, the Colossus!” the little man said. “The legendary Giant! The Eighth Wonder of Kashyyyk, at last!”

The Wookiee was not a particularly quick-minded individual, but he knew a showman’s smile when he saw one. He grumbled something noncommittal, waving the little man away.

And then the little man growled in Shyriiwook, repeating his statement yet again.

The Wookiee turned, curious. “What do you want?” he responded in his native tongue.

The bald man’s beady little eyes gleamed from beneath his hood. “You have a name, Giant?” he asked in Basic.

The Wookiee growled a guttural response, giving his name.

“That’s too long to say every time,” the man said, waving dismissively. “Something shorter?”

The Wookiee was silent for a moment, but rumbled again.

“Well then, Fezzik, I have a proposition for you,” the man said, offering his hand. “One that’s going to put all your troubles behind you.”

Notes

What the Wookiee says to the betters before the final fight is reminiscent of something Dan Severn told the creative team in WWF when they pitched an idea to him he refused to comply with, and they responded by hinting that he would start losing matches if he didn’t agree. Dan Severn, an accomplished traditional wrestler and mixed martial artist, made it clear he had no problem turning any future matches into actual fights.

The final fight has elements of the infamous Montreal Screwjob that happened in the 1997 Survivor Series between Bret Hart and Shawn Michaels, but is not meant to be seen as a 1:1 retelling.