#sk victory

[luc-elementix]

Exploring Ever After High's "Rip-Offs" - A fairy cool video by Darling Dollz on YouTube

Btw, if someone have the characters e-books from the official Fairy Tale High website (the links sadly don’t work anymore!) I would love to read them!

PS: The Fairy Tale High theme song is good! You should listen it! =D

Watch also his other videos:   - Overexplaining The Ever After High & Descendants Feud   - Ever After High: In Defense of Apple White 

[electric-butter-slug]

Happy Depressing Election Results Day to all who celebrate. I've changed my mind on my stance about politics because after a bunch of reflection, there actually IS a wrong answer when you vote for a party that promises to erase trans rights on day one. I'll be smoking a fat one and hoping it was all a nightmare 👍

[grian-updates]

Grian uploaded a short!

It is a big boom, I agree

[thegnomelord]

Good Dog

CW: NSFW, DARK-FIC, murder, gore, power imbalance, size difference(reader's bigger), description of torture and brainwashing, oral, anal, blood as lube, plot and exposition with porn, pet play(collars and leashes), toxic relationship, dub-con, very very self indulgent.

Моя гончая- my hound, Хороший солдат - good soldier, Расслабьтесь, братья мои - relax, my brothers, приносить - fetch, есть - eat

The thick door and walls of the private room do nothing to damped the bass of the club pounding in his ears, the annoying music made bearable by the high of a recent victory. Puffs of cigarette smoke lazily curl in the air as Makarov leans further back into the couch, the buzzing sting of a fresh tattoo helping him relax. The scent of expensive liquor only adds to the heady atmosphere, crystal clear vodka swirling in his glass before Makarov takes a sip. His dark eyes peer over the rim of his glass, like doorways to a dark abyss, his gaze dancing across the faces of his most trusted men before settling on the lieutenant's as the man tries to prove his worth with pointless words.

Above all else, Makarov values loyalty.

It doesn't matter how strong a man is if he can't follow orders. The number of soldiers he can lead is pointless when he can't keep his men alive. How well he can shoot is meaningless when he can't devote himself to a cause. A man who is disloyal is a man of single use.

Makarov doesn't even try to listen to whatever drivel the lieutenant's spouting, he doesn't see a reason to sour his mood when he already knows everything: the embezzling, the lying, the adorable double agent act. He has you to thank for that, you'd sniffed the lieutenant out the second you met him, diligently uncovering every speck of dirt the lieutenant had attempted to hide from Makarov.

And you? You are very loyal. His loyal hound.

His fingers curl around the leash, the smooth black leather sliding against his calloused palms. A barely there tug is all it takes for you to lean down over the back of the couch, bracing one large hand near his head for support as the other remains over the grip of your sidearm. You loom over him, and while Makarov may be a fearsome man, he can't deny the type of foreboding fear a goliath like you inspires — a towering figure always a step behind him, broad body big enough to easily cover him fully if you need to take a bullet for him, arms strong and palms wide to easily crack a man's skull.

Settling the glass down he takes another drag of his cigarette, "Hound," Another tug — sharper, harsher; such a small correction yet the fact you needed it at all has acrid disappointment burning on your tongue — makes you bend down more, your face now next to his. He doesn't draw attention to the reprimand, breathing out a puff of smoke near your face. "Were you listening, моя гончая?"

It's a pointless question, he knows you were listening, he trained you to. But he asks because he loves to see the way your eyes darken, jaw tight. The cigarette smoke dances in the air, making the club's low lights reflect off the sharp spikes adorning the thick collar snuggly wrapped around your throat. Your day collar suits you well, no different than the spiked collars put on hunting hounds.

"Yes sir." You answer, your attention now solely on the lieutenant.

Makarov hums, eyes flickering from the lieutenant to you. "And?" He chuckles and lets the leash go, his word keeping you in place as he casually pats your neck. "What did you hear?"

"Lies. . ." The slow slide of his fingers across the uncovered parts of your throat makes your breath stutter, static crackling beneath your skin. "I heard lies, sir." Your answer causes the lieutenant to try and sputter excuses and denials, all cut short by the harsh look you give him.

Makarov chuckles, hooking a finger over the silver loop at the front of your collar, pulling on it and tilting his head so his lips can ghost across your jaw. "Хороший солдат." Makarov murmurs. His stubble scratches your skin as his lips brush a path to your ear, so very close to a lover's kiss.

But a brush of skin is all it is. Nothing more. Your body earns for more, to turn your head and experience the bruising possessiveness of his kiss once again, to feel his teeth bite down on your lip until blood floods both of your mouths. But you don't move; A spoiled dog isn't loyal and Makarov won't lavish you with attention for nothing. no — you must earn it.

"Stay." The soft 'click' of the leash unclipping sounds the same as a sentencing gavel, the strip of leather falling away until only his word keeps you from tearing the lieutenant's throat out with your teeth. Makarov smirks against your skin, his words honey sweet to your ears as he whispers: "Sick him."

That seals the ex-lieutenant's fate.

You're on the lieutenant in an instant, crashing into him like a truck. Makarov leans back and lights up another cigarette as you stomp down on the man's leg, all the weight you carry around bearing down on his bones until they break, erasing any foolish thoughts of escape when you snap the bones of his other ankle; Makarov has truly taught you well.

The screams of a traitor are much better than the atrocious club music, letting him enjoy the smooth burn of the vodka as another stomp breaks a couple of ribs. Some of his men are still nervous around you, trying not to shuffle in their seats lest they grab your attention and become the new outlet of your violence.

"Расслабьтесь, братья мои." Makarov gives a charming smile, resting his ankle on his knee as he takes another drag. "Hound is well trained, you have nothing to fear." He chuckles, lazily watching you as he holds conversation with his lieutenants. Honestly, you're like a dog with a new toy, tossing the man around and pinning him down under your heavy body, each swing of your fists steadily turning the ex-lieutenant's face into pulp.

It's as entertaining for him as it is therapeutic for you.

And to think Price had tried to suppress all that beautiful savageness you possessed.

Makarov remembers how you'd been nothing but a snarling and cursing ball of anger when his men had captured you after a botched mission. He had been both annoyed and amused by how loyal you were to Price, weathering every beating and starving and humiliation with the same 'fuck you' response, baring your teeth like the cornered dog you were. With days turning to months and your resolve refusing to waver under their 'care' Makarov had considered just putting you down, sending a nice video of blowing your skull open to Price but oh — is he glad he decided to indulge in the game your stubbornness presented.

He set out to train you like he would any mongrel mutt, clear expectations making it easy to tell whether your actions would get you a reward or an even worse punishment, giving small rewards for the behavior he wanted; not snarling at him might earn you a better meal. Biting your lip and taking your beating without back talk could get you a couple of minutes outside the claustrophobic walls of your cell. Letting him touch and inspect your body without complaint might reward you with a book or some other little creature comfort he could, and did, easily take away the moment you stepped out of line.

Of course you were weary, perceptive enough to know when he was scheming. But every man has his limits, yours were simply reached when he handed you official C.I.A documents proclaiming you as K.I.A, the mission itself creatively rewritten to sound like you had gone and deserted to the enemy — no one was looking for you, no one was coming to save you, your captain, Price, wasn't coming to save you.

He had taken great enjoyment in running his fingers across your scalp as you clutched the documents in a white knuckled grip, your mind far too worn down to question or guard against the soft touches. His lips had brushed against your ear, soothingly raspy voice comforting you — you're a good soldier, strong, reliable, everything a commander could dream of. It wasn't your fault you trusted the wrong man, truly, what a shame to have your loyalty repaid with betrayed like that.

After that, it became laughably easy to train you. He stuck with simple commands, spoken only in Russian so he could amuse himself with the way your head would tilt before you'd perk up, recognition making your dull eyes brighten before you did what he wanted in exchange for a small scrap of his affection, learning to seek his praise and appreciate his touch even when your body still prickled with disgust. So when he handed you the knife, standing so close you could have easily slit his throat, and ordered you to kill another member of your previous taskforce, you hadn't hesitated for a second. "Good boy." He had purred, caressing your jaw as he used his thumb to wipe away the blood staining your cheek.

"Hound." His voice is as effective as any physical tug on your leash, making you stop mid punch with your fist inches away from the ex-lieutenant's caved in face. You're covered in blood, the rich crimson bringing out the violence swirling in your eyes.

Yet you look at him with utter adoration he wants to shove his cock deep down your throat just so he can see your tears smudge the blood on your cheeks. "Приносить." He taps his thigh.

You nod your head, grabbing the knife strapped to your thigh. There's no hesitation in your movements as you shove the knife into the ex-lieutenant's throat. An arc of blood spurts across your front when you yank it out just to stab another spot, the man coughing and choking as you cut through cartilage and muscle until with a good yank and a sickening 'crack!' you separate the head from the body.

Makarov had never seen the appeal of large hulking brutes until you — your body had filled back out with muscle and fat nicely after you became his, towering body demanding attention simply by existing as you stand up. The loud stomp of your feet and the blood staining your body making you look like a barbarian, casting a shadow over him before you kneel at his feet, offering the decapitated head as a knight does to his king.

Oh yes, he definitely sees the appeal now.

"Good dog." He purrs, reaching out to stroke your jaw, smearing some of the blood with his thumb. Fingers sliding down to hook on the silver ring on your collar he pulls your head closer. "Do you think you earned a reward?"

It's a test. One you're intimately familiar with. The judgmental stares of Makarov's trusted men are the last thing in your mind when the closeness of his body and the sharp crisp scent of his cologne threatens to shatter your resolve. "Only if you permit it, sir." Your throat feels dry, trying not to show how eager you are for his attention as you place the head on the floor so you don't get a drop of blood on him.

Makarov smirks, "Smart dog," His hands move to the back of your neck, unbuckling the collar. You're no longer ashamed to admit you feel naked as the thick piece of leather is pulled away; the time when you didn't have a collar wrapped around your neck feel like a distant memory and now the sensation of breathing without it pressing against your skin is disturbing. You have to bite your lip to keep the low whine from escaping your chest.

His hand wraps securely around your throat, bringing your breath back to you. Your Adam's apple bobs beneath his fingers as he traces the 'V.M' shallowly carved across your throat. "It's already starting to fade." He tuts, squeezing his fingers to restrict your breathing just the slightest bit more. "We'll need to have it tattooed. That would be nice, yes?"

You suck in a sharp breath, "Yes sir."

"Хороший солдат." He purrs. He pulls out another collar from his pocket and you feel yourself chub up in your pants just at the sight of it. It's the chained pronged one he uses exclusively when he wants you to pleasure him, particularly because it leaves such pretty bruises along your skin when he tugs on the leash.

You eagerly tilt your head back to bare your throat, a shudder rushing down your spine as soon as you feel the cold metal against your skin. You stay perfectly still as he secures around your neck, the sharp pull of the leash making the prongs dig into your skin, prickles of pain making you even harder. "Go on," Makarov hums, spreading his legs wider so your attention falls to the hard bulge in his slacks, his belt undone but the rest left to you. "есть."

You don't think you could enjoy servicing him as much as you did if he didn't let you work for it, the reward made sweeter because you earned it. Truly, he's so good to you, you'd thank him profusely but he hasn't given you permission to speak freely. So you lean in, careful not to get blood on his pants as you take the metal zipper between your teeth and pull it down. You've done this enough not to have any problems undoing the button, your hands obediently planted on your thighs and your gaze firmly on him so you can see the pleased smirk that spreads across his features when you bite the band of his boxers and pull them down until his cock springs out, already hard.

A pleased sigh escapes him when your warm lips wrap around the head of his cock, the leash wrapped firmly around his hand and the slightest tug on it has pain prickling down your spine. "Моя гончая, don't waste my time." You can't help but whine lowly at the admonishment, quickly trying to make up to him by sucking on the tip and licking the slit in just the way he likes it.

His leg shifts, hard boot coming up to grind the sole against your clothed cock. "That's better." The praise makes you moan deep from your chest and try to take more of his cock into your mouth, your boxers wet and sticky against your own cock as you give an experimental hump of your hips against his boot. You scrape your teeth along the vein on the underside of his cock and it earns you a rough grind of his boot. His hand tangles in your bloodied hair and pulls you down until his cock bumps the back of your throat.

You nearly choke from the sudden pressure, trying to fight off the reflex to pull back and gag. "Look at me." His order rings clear in your head, your eyes meeting his as he grinds your nose into his pubic hair, tears prickling the corners of your eyes as your lungs start to burn. You fight through it, the fluttering of your throat making him five a small, rough, moan and fuck — you're hard as a rock.

Just as you feel like you'll pass out on his cock he lets you off, yanking your head back. You're only given a few seconds to take a sharp breath of fresh air before he pushes your head back down. You're prepared this time, hollowing your cheeks and relaxing your throat, swallowing around his hard cock. The way you suck Makarov off is wet and sloppy, stealing ragged breaths when you can as you trace the veins of his cock with your tongue and gently nibble on the base when his cock's fully sheathed in your throat, knowing exactly how to please him. Your efforts are rewarded with the salty taste of precum on your tongue, hearing him occasionally mutter his praises in Russian, none of his words snagging on your mind like sharp orders so you let yourself drift in the pleasure of servicing him, subconsciously grinding your cock into his foot.

But you're not mentally gone enough not to notice the squeaking of chairs, your body tensing as you pull up enough so only his head remains in your mouth, your head turned just enough to throw a sharp glare at the other men in the room. Makarov having his guard down like this makes you tense, violence buzzing beneath your skin from the ingrained need to protect him.

"Hound." Makarov's growl is followed by another sharp tug of the leash, the dull ache of the metal prongs digging into your skin dissipating some of your aggression. "Did I tell you to stop?"

You shake your head as best you can, a pathetic whine escaping your chest from the way the pain makes your cock even harder. Satisfied, he eases the leash, letting you return to your work. His head lolls back, lazily looking at his men. He couldn't care less who sees you like this, but now he wants your full attention on him. "Leave." He gives the simple command.

You track the sound of shuffling feet as you take him fully into your mouth, making him hiss a curse under his breath. Nuzzling your nose into his curly pubic hair you breathe in his musk, his heel grinding firmly and consistently against your hard cock, pleasure pulsing through your veins with such intensity you're worried you'll cum without permission, low whines escaping your throat.

He pulls you off him suddenly, your lungs burning as you gasp for air. You expect him to paint your face with his cum, stake an obvious ownership over you. But he doesn't, pulling you by the leash and leaning down to mash your lips together, teeth biting down on your lip until it bleeds.

Makarov's kisses are rough and demanding, the sweet drug your body's been craving, teeth clicking together and tongues swirling in each other's mouths. The firm grind of his boot against your crotch makes you moan lowly, a sound he happily swallows down and nearly shoves his tongue down your throat. You part far too soon, your body craving much much more, but he doesn't let you stew in the disappointment of a short kiss — it's an owner's responsibility to spoil his pet — mumbling against your lips. "Prepare me."

A full shudder runs down your spine and you surge to follow his order. Makarov loves the determined look you get in your eye just as much as he loves the rough way you grip his hips and hike them up so you can pull his pants and boxers down his legs. Your bloodied fingers grip his hips and pull them down until his ass hangs off the edge of the couch, throwing his legs over your shoulders and he can feel the muscles deep in his back strain as you nearly bend him in half, his hard cock and hole bared for you.

It's a vulnerable position, trapped between your bulky frame and the couch he has no way to escape. And if anyone else were to attempt this he would feed every inch of their flesh to themselves. But Makarov relishes the knowledge that he's in control, a single word from him would make you stop regardless of how hard and wanting you were, your loyalty to him as real as the dead man's blood you dip your fingers in to lube them.

Your fingers circle his hole before you press the pad of your finger against it. Without the heat of battle the cold viscousness of the blood feels disgusting, making him shiver and his rim flutter against your digit. But the discomfort is easily forgotten when you apply pressure, the steady and persistent way you push your finger in forcing his muscles to yield. "Shit-" Makarov clenches his teeth; your fingers are so large just one feels like two of his own, the gnawing pain of your finger pushing deeper just amplifying the pleasure of being stretched open and your other hand loosely stroking his wet cock.

You don't go slower than you need to, perfectly trained to know how to move your fingers to keep him teetering on the edge between pleasure and pain, each shift and slow drag of your finger pulling deep grunt and soft breaths from between his clenched teeth. "Yes, there you go." His praise makes your heart melt and cock throb in your pants, the pull of the leash bringing your lips together in another harsh kiss. You swallow his moans greedily, pushing a second finger in and curling them in search of his prostate, your thumb incessantly rubbing the space between his balls and ass to trap the spongy flesh between your fingers.

He nearly chokes you with how hard he yanks on the leash, hips pushing back into your hand and walls clenching down on your fingers. The stinging ache of being stretched open mixes with the building pleasure, leaving his skin feeling like a live wire. His teeth dig into your lip until it bleeds again, heels digging into your back. He grinds his hips down on your fingers, muttering praises against your lips as you push a third finger in and force him to take it.

He can't wait any more, gripping your hair and roughly yanking your head back. "Fuck me already." He growls, licking the blood staining your cheek.

You scramble to do as you're told, continuing to stretch him open as you undo your belt and pants with one hand, your hard cock bobbing against your abdomen. Pulling your fingers out you scoop up more blood, the cold helping reign in your lust as you lube up.

Before you can do anything he reaches out to grip the base of your cock, his hold firm and just at the cusp of pain. "You'll be good, yes?" He growls against your lips. "Fuck me good and hard?" His hand moves, stroking you slowly, evenly coating the blood along your cock. "I don't need to show you how to use this thing again, do I?" There's a dangerous edge in his voice.

Fear shoots down your spine, mouth going dry. You'd been too eager for human touch when he first let you mount him, and when you came seconds after getting inside him he'd been less than pleased by your abilities. You couldn't feel your cock for a full week after he'd tied you down and used your cock until you couldn't cum, using a cock ring to keep you hard and using you until he was satisfied.

You quickly shake your head. "No sir," You choke out and bare your throat. "I can do it, I'll be good." You promise.

His hold loosens, tugging you by the hair so he can peck your lips, his tongue licking over the small wound he'd made. "Don't fail me now."

You steel yourself like you're going to war, pressing your cockhead to his hole. Your nails dig into his hip, your grip ironclad to keep him still as you pull him down more and simultaneously push in. There's a second of resistance before your head pops in, the pleasure of entering his velvet soft insides being met with sharp pain as his teeth chomp down on your shoulder through your shirt. It all mixes in your brain into pure bliss, your hips bucking up into him automatically until you're bottomed out. You hold him close to you and leisurely grind your hips, letting him get used to the mind numbing stretch.

Fuck— Makarov may see the appeal of brutes but impaled on your cock he feels like he's being split in two, lungs burning and he can almost swear your tip's poking his diaphragm. He chases the pain more than the pleasure, heels digging into your back to give him some leverage so he can push his hips into yours. "Yes," His head lolls back when you slowly withdraw, only to suddenly snap your hips and hilt yourself inside him again. "-fuck, yes!"

The blood keeps you from tearing him apart but there's too little of it to keep him from feeling the painful stretch, the slow movement of your hips making his thighs shake. "Harder," He demands, yanking on your leash and biting your shoulder again. "Make me feel it." His voice is rough with a demand, because men like him never beg.

"Yes sir," You manage, bracing your feet and setting a rough pace, rutting into him like an animal. He muffles his sounds into your shoulder as your cock saws into him, his walls fluttering and clenching around you so tightly it feels like he'll snap your cock off. You do your best to focus on him and his pleasure, but the tight heat of his hole is rapidly melting any control you have, your cock throbbing and leaking precum inside him.

"Sir, please-" You whine, your muscles tight and your balls feeling so full you feel like you'll burst, your voice full of need. "I'm so close."

“Not yet.” He growls, pushing his hips down to meet your thrusts, your hand stroking his cock. “Make me cum first.” He growls.

You hold back a pathetic whine and redouble your efforts, your rough thrusts bruising his ass as you fuck into him, aiming to nail his prostate every time you bottom out. He wails, whole body shaking, his cock throbbing in your hand and leaking a puddle of precum on his stomach.

Makarov cums without any warning, going rigid and biting your shoulder even harder as pearly cum shoots from his tip, his walls clamping down on your cock. "C- cum!" He snarls, voice muffled, and it's all you need. Bottoming out fully you moan as you shoot his insides full of your cum, rocking your hips and grinding your cock against his prostate to prolong both of our highs.

You hold him close as you come down to reality but the way his walls clench around your cock makes you feel like heaven. His hands grip your jaw, bringing you down into a disorganized sloppy kiss. He's boneless in your arms, his walls continuing to flutter around you. "That was good." He slurs, chest rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath. "Good dog."

The tug of the leash is expected and Makarov kisses the corner of your lips, tongue swiping across your skin to lick up more of the blood staining your lips. "Clean me up." He orders, "Lick up your mess." He growls, and there's not a single part of you that would refuse him.

Tag list: @lieutnt, @pastelclovds @thee-great-enigma @vladimirking24

[terras-domain]

can you tell me on how bad you want Sullyoon? what'll you do if she gives you consent?

AN OFFER I CAN'T REFUSE

Male Reader X Seol Yoon-A (Sullyoon)

Tags: Rich Male Reader, Bratty Sullyoon, Unhealthy Spending, Lip Gloss, Cumshot, Voyeurism

terra's note: hello! Been a while since I've been writing huhu ;-;. Hope you're all doing well. I got quite a line of requests on hold so I better get to it haha. Sorry to the anons waiting for me to actually move my lazy ass, I'll try to set a little time frame for me to do these requests so I can actually write stuff I've been having in my mind. In any case, enjoy~! (And I love you all <3)

"Oppa~! I told you I want to go out shopping again~"

My thumbs could only rub my temple, trying to make sense out of her words. This is her third time this month where she's on a shopping spree. And Sullyoon's shopping addiction isn't any normal addiction, she could range from a thousand to probably fifty thousand dollars just in one day. I might have the money for it, but if she keeps doing this, time will only prove my girlfriend's shopping addiction could only make me go bankrupt.

"But babe...you just went shopping last Wednesday no?" I asked, resting by the couch and stretching my arms to wrap it around Sullyoon. The bratty Yoon-A pouted in dissatisfaction. Honestly it's very cute when she does that face, but it's just not a good day when she keeps nagging and whining about me not giving her enough money to feed her crippling addiction with designer clothes and expensive bags that she barely ever uses. "I know, but oppa. Today there's a special event at the Chanel boutique at the mall. And I want it!" Her eyes starts to pull her trump card, puppy eyes with her soft face resting on against my chest, almost like cat begging for food by purring at me. "Fuck, this brat really doesn't let up easily!" If only I had the guts to say that out loud. Only monologues from the voices inside could be made as a response. "Fine. We can go and take you shopping." Sullyoon's crocodile tears almost got sucked back into her retina from how happy she is to hear the news, smiling ear to ear in victorious. "Yeaaaay~ I love you oppa!"

"But..." I cut off her victory celebration, smirking as I looked back at my girlfriend's pretty face. "Only if you agree to my terms." I continued, making the ecstatic Sullyoon puzzled. "What is it oppa? What's your rule?" "You can spend as much as you like baby. I'll treat you like a princess. But I want to have you as mine 100% today, and you can't say no~" My face looked back at Sullyoon, knowing this type of offer would definitely make her have second thou- "Sure, no problem!" Her quick answer shocked me. Without a single hesitation she wants to take the deal so easily.

I brought her to the bedroom, handing over a small well decorated box, containing a buttplug inside it. "I want you to wear this babe." I ordered, which created a smirk on Sullyoon's face as she laid in bed, spreading her legs as she slowly pushes the sex toy inside her anal hole. "Happy now, baby?" She asked, an eyebrow raising high up, showing this is light work for her. "Oh Sullyoon I love it," I smiled, pecking a kiss on her lips as I rubbed her back door, pushing her buttplug a bit deeper inside while I caress her smooth silky cheeks. "But we're only getting started~"

I asked Sullyoon to come to the mall in a crop top, which of course she has to oblige from the rules we set up together. Though as much as I want to make it a challenge, I couldn't dare to leave her out cold in the mall while shopping, so I lent her my cost to wear while we walk around and look what her lust for expensive products lead her to. She first went to a an SK-II outlet, looking for some beauty products, particularly a new makeup set. It's not like she ran out of them, she just wants a new colour.

Sullyoon tested out a new cherry pink shade on her plump lips, slowly filling in her lushes lips with the colour. It made me hard from how she's so attentive when doing so, causing me to pitch up a tent underneath my pants. "Ughhhh babe...you look hot as always~" I grunted, looking at her painted mouth, smiling back at me as the staff starts to approve how pretty Sullyoon is wearing it. "Thanks baby, it's special edition lipstick by the way. Hope you don't mind that." FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS. God she's really trying her best to drain every penny out of my wallet or something. "Fine...you can buy that-" I surrendered. It was a good colour on her, and it looked so hot I can't say no to that. "but only if you suck me off while wearing those lipstick hehe"

I dragged Sullyoon with me towards a shelf where people don't check out much. Pushing her down on her knees I pulled out my cock to let it land on her face. "Wait...bae not here" Sullyoon pleaded, the shame kicking in as she doesn't wanna get caught, she's an idol after all. My face didn't change expression at all, not even an ounce of my body cared about her pleads. "Well you're not shy using my money." I replied while my hand reached the back of her head. "So you better keep up the shameless act, slut!" I continued as my hand pushes Sullyoon's gorgeous face to take my cock, forcing it in her throat. "Ughh.... mmmhhhh!" Sullyoon groaned in retaliation, but not for long. This isn't the first time Sullyoon suck my boner, so it's not hard for her to take it in and work me up.

"Ughhhh just like that Sullyoon baby. Keep going babe." I grunted as Sullyoon's mouth got to work, her lips locking my cock between them, her tongue swirling on my tip. It's so good I couldn't help but let a few moans escape my mouth, immediately covering up my mouth hoping nobody hears us. "Mmmh nghhh~" Sullyoon's eager slurping kept my mind occupied, enjoying the sensation of her mouth working up my cock just like she does it every other night. The way her round pearl like eyes stare at me so innocently whilst her mouth work my cock like a pro, it's enough to make me lose my mind. "Ughhhh baby I wanna cum." I groaned, not like Sullyoon can stop me from cumming. We had a deal, and I want to get as much of from it! I started to cum, blasting rope after rope of cum in her mouth, shooting it inside her throat. "Mmmmh~ ghhhhck!" Sullyoon grunted, trying to avoid gagging as she receives my thick load of semen deep in her mouth. It felt too good, I accidentally shot my cum on her pretty cherry pink lips as I pulled out. "Oppa....the lipstick" she looked up, disappointed and shocked. " Awwww don't worry baby, I got some paper towels to clean you. And we can go buy that lipstick now hehe~"

Beep

And there goes a 5000 dollars. All for her lipstick. Well it doesn't really matter, since I got a good blowjob from Sullyoon thanks to it. We kept walking around the mall when Sullyoon pulled me towards a boutique. "C'mon oppa. I wanna look here next!" She dragged me in, and just like that I could already feel my money flowing out of my pockets.

The best part of shopping for Sullyoon's clothes is watching her obsession with clothes. The tight and short shirts she wore, exposing her smooth and silky tummy just gets me going. I just watch as she picks one shirt after the other, pairing her crop tops with skirts and jeans, her eyes couldn't stop looking at them. It felt like forever, but it was all worth it to see Sullyoon's beauty with her fashion sense, changing from one pair of clothing to another like it's a fashion show. Not only did I enjoy watching her having fun trying out all these clothes, my cock also was enjoying the sights of her visuals entertaining and her sexy body exposed.

"...and that's the last one." Sullyoon giggled, twirling as she shows off the last piece of clothing she was trying on and got in the fitting room to change up. I couldn't keep myself calm anymore. Following her inside, I could see her slowly undressing herself, dropping her skirt down to reveal her round butt. Smirking, my hand swings towards her left cheek, smacking her ass which make her jolt. "Ngaah~! Oppa-" she couldn't finish her sentence, my hand already on her mouth, covering up her moans with my palm. With my cock twitching, itching to penetrate her, I couldn't care less of where I am, and how wrong it is to do this. My cock immediately pushed it's way inside Sullyoon's tight pussy. The sensation of her cunt taking in my thick rod made me grunt in pleasure, slowly putting up to a slow speed while my hand kept covering her soft tender lips, making sure she doesn't let out any loud moans to attract the staff or other customers of our little party in the fitting room.

"nghhhh mmhhh~" Sullyoon's muffled moans vibrate on my palm, heating up from the breath of her moans. As much as this must be embarrassing for her, I know she's loving it, enjoying the sensation from getting fucked in standing doggy position and being able to see her reflection of her getting railed in front of her. "Are you enjoying it baby?" I loosened up my hand, letting her finally speak when it looked like she can control her moans for now.

"Aaah~ aaah~ fuck" Sullyoon's moans were audible if someone walked near the fitting room. Thankfully the day wasn't too busy and not many customers were around. "Oh Sully look at you taking this cock like a good girl~" I grinned, pistoning my cock hard inside her, causing her moans to be a bit louder, but she did well to suppress them. With my rod fully indulged in Sullyoon's tight cunt, my grunts were also inevitable. Our moans together inside that small room, with the thought of getting caught was so hot.

I tried to push my luck harder, unlocking the fitting room door and opening it wide, letting the view of me being inside Sullyoon up to anybody that is remotely close to it. "Oppa! What're you doing?" Sullyoon wanted to scream, it was obvious. But she also didn't wanna get caught, so she said that in a whispering yell. "Oh baby~ don't tell me you're not into it~ you're getting wetter already." I smirked, with my cock getting harder for her as I thrust in and out of her, Sullyoon doing her best to cover up her moans from being pounded from behind. Sullyoon could feel my cock growing bigger inside me, knowing what's about to come. "Oppa, if you wanna cum, please cum inside. I can't get caught with my body covered in cum again." She begged, with her cute face doing puppy eyes at me. Adorable.

"Hmmm that sounds like a good idea babe~" I pondered on it, before finally I pulled out. " But I think I'm the only one able to make the calls here~" I giggled as I started to rub Sullyoon's clit, massaging it while my finger pushes inside her, fingering her. It made the cute Nmixx member to moan loudly for a second before being covered by her two hands. I kept going, moving my fingers in a frenzy inside her pussy, making her legs shiver. "Mhhhh, nghhhh-!" Sullyoon's muffled sounds was all over the place as her eyes rolled back, and her legs now tremble as she cums, dripping out her climax from the pleasure of my hands finishing her off. "That's a good girl Sullyoon~" I praised her, letting her take her time to grasp herself. While she's doing that, I kept jerking off, stroking hard as I take aim on her nice bubble butt. "Fuck I'm gonna cum-" I grunted, shooting rope after rope of cum on her ass cheek, covering her with my cum as her bodily liquids drip from her pussy to her thighs.

And there goes more of my money, spent for Sullyoon's lust for fashion. "That was fun, wasn't it baby?" I asked Sullyoon, who was getting exhausted from getting railed. Her face a bit pale from exhaustion, but she looked happy with the stuff she bought. We both walked out of the mall and got in my car to reach home. "I'm just happy it's all over" Sullyoon sighed in relief, leaning to her seat. "Oh? Who said it's over? I think the deal was 24 hours~" I reminded her, which made her look at me in shock. "You're not gonna be shopping for a while when this day ends, babe hehe~"

[krashlite]

another impulsive animatic! I thought about SL too hard, blacked out, and this is the result hehe

OBLIGATORY ADVERTISEMENT FOR LILLIAN VANDAAM’S MUSIC SHE’S VERY GOOD ANYWAYS

HI YES DETAILS

His hair is short in the earlier sections but when he adorns his flower crown it’s grown much longer- showing he’s been there Alone for months at this point

The task papers vanish after being completed/failed, meaning that the papers around the statue/buttons aren’t his, they belong to the other people on the server. He took them back to SK because he refused to bury them with their task

Despite the lyrics implying Scar is Saturn, he bears no celestial imagery. The other winners have their “crown” of the sun, the stars, the moon, and mars, but Scar refuses his, instead dawning a flower crown of his own creation. This is His victory and no one else’s

[gh0stsp1d3r]

Can I request JJ and Pope being in poly relationship with a female reader? NSFW and SFW pls if you can

AHHH id love to THANK YOU SK FORB THIS

SFW

- they’re very much so in denial at first, and they both are strictly dating you for a little. That is until you finally get them to admit how gay they are for each other.

“Just admit it, you guys are so in love!” You attempted, watching both boys shake their heads but look at each other at the same time.

“Nope.” JJ protested.

“I mean… I’ve thought about it, but I don’t think I really…”

JJ’s eyes snapped up to meet his, quirking an eyebrow. “You’ve thought about it…?”

you’re wearing a smirk and clapping your hands together in victory.

- anyways they are literally the best bfs ever. popes the more calm and romantic one. He’s the one that ends up cleaning your guys messes a lot.

-and JJ is the more chaotic but charming one. It’s a perfect balance.

- days usually start like this…

“JJ, what did I tell you about leaving your clothes on the ground?” Pope groaned, frustrated as he picked up the boys dirty clothes and threw them into a hamper.

“Sorry!” He shouted from the living room, you giggling at the boys.

- anyways dates are a mix of super cute and also chaotic. Like you guys cannot go anywhere without jj saying some dumb shit that makes you both look at him with a “seriously dude?” look.

- but you both love him for it anyways.

- JJ is also the most protective one in the relationship. Doesn’t let anyone say shit about either you or pope. has gotten into multiple fights for it and will continue to do so, Pope is lecturing him and telling him to stop before he gets locked up and your wrapping his wounds. He is more obvious and loud about his affection.

- and Pope is the most secretly affectionate out of the two of you. He showers you both in compliments, most of them discrete.

- JJ is one for pda and pope is not.

“Jesus, stop- stop, both of you.” He shot you both warning glares, watching you both be those couples who couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

“Oh, so I have a super hot girlfriend and im supposed to not wanna touch her all the time? That doesn’t make sense.” JJ teased, wrapping an arm around you.

“We are literally outside a McDonald’s.”

- they both scream casual dominance !! specially pope

NSFW

- okok AHHH. pope is much more gentle with sex, he’s the one telling JJ to be slower sometimes, to go easier on you..

- JJ is more fast and fervent when it comes to sex. He practically pounces on you both.

- THREE. WAY. KISSES!! All of you love em and they’re just so so sexy.

- and watching pope and jj kiss? oh my fucking god.

- you all pope always have hickeys. Jj just loves them too much.

- if you’re into anal, JJ loves fucking your ass while Pope has your pussy :3 he calls it his hole, and pope calls him a freak for it.

- speaking of freakiness I think we all know jj wins in that category. He dgaf, he pretty much down for anything and everything.

- also pope has the biggest fucking load ever. when you first fuck you and jj are like 👁️👁️ does it ever stop?

- two words. Eiffel Tower.

- you ask to hold them when their soft. And jj is like why not and pope looks at you both like you’re from another planet.

[beneathstarryskies]

Summary: It's been centuries since Ganondorf's victory in bringing Hyrule to its knees. However, victory is lonelier than he'd anticipated. The once great Demon King is a shadow of his former self, drinking his way through the castle's wine cellars and mumbling to himself in the dark. That is until one brave stranger wanders through the castle gates, led by curiosity...Or perhaps fate.

Word Count: 5,002

Warnings: mentions of violence, depression, Ganondorf is a recluse, beauty and the beast AU, might be OOC but i don't care this idea wouldn't leave me alone until i wrote it so here we are, overall it's pretty PG

Taglist: @emmacornell, @actuallysaiyan

In the remnants of a castle once grand but now desolate, Ganondorf wanders the halls alone. Some days he is focused on working his way through the wine cellar, but other days he mutters quietly as he wonders where it all had gone wrong. He’d achieved everything he wanted. He sits upon the throne of Hyrule, the entire realm under his control, yet as centuries pass the emptiness in his chest persists. Even the people of the realm stretching from the deserts of Gerudo to the flatlands of Akkala noticed the grip of the once fearsome ruler lessening. Only occasionally would he exert his dominance again, as though only to remind them he is still present. Even the darkness of his gloom seemed to fade from the landscape as life returned to normal for the people of the realm. Tales of the great demon king who once took over the kingdom are still passed from grandparents' mouths to the eager ears of children, but Ganondorf as they speak of him almost feels like fiction. 

It was this sense of safety and curiosity that led you to Hyrule Fields. A thin layer of snow is falling on the landscape as you walk through the fields. Your eyes widen as you see the castle, and the now-empty town surrounding it. The walls are covered in a thick layer of ivy vines, now brown and barren from the cold air. You carefully walk forward, tiptoeing past the gloomy black and red sludge as you pass through the gates. As you explore the once great Castle Town, you remember the stories you’d been told as a child. The horrible stories of a great big demon who took the form of a horrible pig. Every little noise sent your mind into a frightened frenzy, and you were beginning to wonder if staying here much longer was worth indulging your long-held curiosity about the castle. 

Ganondorf became aware of the intrusion when he wandered outside of the master bedroom onto the balcony. He looked down to see the tiny form of a Hyrulian woman poking around the old stalls in the market. Every so often he noticed her flinching and looking around as though frightened. Her attention soon turned to the wide doors of the castle. He recognized her intentions almost immediately, and he threw on a cloak to meet her at the door. 

When you push open the double doors, you let out a squeak of surprise at the large figure looming at the bottom of the stairs. Long red hair falls in front of his face and glowing yellow eyes stare at you with malice as he growls. 

“What are you doing here?” his voice, even as a whisper, echoes through the empty halls. 

“I’m sorry,” you stammer as you try to back away. You trip over your own feet and fall backward.  Just before you hit the ground, a large hand catches the front of your cloak. Suddenly, your feet are no longer on the ground. Ganondorf lifts you to force you to look into his eyes. 

“I asked a question, little one,” he snarls. “What are you doing here?” 

“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” you stammer as your hands instinctively come to his wrist, grabbing on in case he drops you. “I thought--” 

“You thought the castle to be empty,” he finishes your thought. “Perhaps I have been too kind to your people, allowing them to live too comfortably. My existence having been relegated to folklore and legend, is that it?” 

“No!” you cry out, the thought of your kingdom being punished for your stupidity makes your skin crawl and your chest tightens with guilt. “No, it’s just…Me…I was curious.” 

“Oh,” he pulls you closer. “Curious? You wish to see my castle?” 

His words lull you into a false sense of comfort as you mistake his annoyance for understanding, “Yes, your Highness.” 

“I see, little one,” he throws you over his shoulder. “You wish to see my castle and know its secrets. I see…Well, I shall make sure you spend all the time you have left within the walls of this castle.” 

He walks you upstairs and tosses you into an empty bedroom. Before you can scramble to your feet the door is being slammed shut, and you hear the unmistakable click of a lock trapping you inside. You crawl to the door, standing on your knees as you bang on it desperately with shaking fists. 

“Please,” you call out. “I’m sorry! Please let me out! I’ll leave! I promise I won’t tell anyone I saw you!” 

Your cries and pleas fall on deaf ears. Ganondorf closed himself off to emotions like pity and empathy long ago. He ascends the remaining stairs to go to the master bedroom once more. He grabs his earlier forgotten bottle of wine and throws himself into his chair. He throws his head back and finishes the bottle in one long gulp. His heart is racing as he thinks about you. Your pitiful eyes as you tried to explain yourself, and then your tiny hands on his wrist to cling to stability. There’s something about your curiosity and bravery that piqued his interest. He can’t remember the last time someone ventured to the castle. 

Your cries and pleas continue for hours until you wear yourself out from exhaustion. You crawl onto the old bed and you begin sobbing until you fall asleep. 

_____

Ganondorf awakens when the sun is high in the sky. He has almost forgotten about having locked you away. You on the other hand have been awake since dawn. You’ve torn the room apart in search of some sort of escape. Realizing the king had you locked up tight, you felt a wave of defeat crash over you. 

“Damn it all,” you cried out and fell onto the bed with an annoyed sigh. Tears sting your eyes, but you try to hold them back. 

You could feel Ganondorf approaching before you could see him. His looming presence was difficult to ignore. He pushed the door open, not feeling even a moment of remorse as he saw your pathetic form on the bed. 

“You’re lucky it’s been ages since I’ve had anyone in this castle,” he speaks. “I require a new servant.” 

You sit up on the bed, turning to him with a look of indignation. 

“Who says I’m trying to become a servant?” you ask. Immediately you regret the question when his eyes begin to glow with anger. He reaches out to grab you by the collar of your dress, and easily he lifts you off the ground just like before. 

“The alternative is death,” he growls. 

You had no choice but to give in to him. He drops you back onto the bed before turning away. His imposing figure stalks to the door, only stopping for a moment to look over his shoulder at you. 

“Start by cooking breakfast,” he says, his voice a perpetual growl. 

You don’t know what else to do. There’s not much you can do besides go along with his orders. You go downstairs, and it takes a bit of searching before you find the kitchen. There’s almost no food in the pantries, only a few things you assume he must have gathered on his own at some point, or perhaps those from neighboring villages brought in the goods as offerings. You’re staring up at the shelves trying to plan a meal when his shadow looms over you. 

“A farmer nearby brings supplies,” his voice booms through the pantry. “In return, I keep the monsters off his sheep.” 

“Why would you?” 

He answers your question with another, “What threat does a farmer hold to my rule?” 

You don’t turn to him, instead, you reach up to the high shelf where there’s a bag of flour to try to reach it. You expect him to help you, but he doesn’t. He stands back and smirks as you climb up the shelves to grab the bag of flour and start to pull it slowly in the hope you can shimmy it down. Instead, it falls and bursts on the floor. 

“Now you have a breakfast to cook and a mess to clean,” he chuckles. “It’s good to see you can keep yourself busy.” 

He leaves you alone, and you manage to clean up. Then, you cook a nice meal considering what little you have to work with. After that, he tells you to pick a room and begin cleaning. 

The days continue in this manner. You cook and clean in the castle. Occasionally you manage to tease some semblance of conversation from him, if grunts and the occasional sarcastic quip can be considered as such. To your surprise, he’s not cruel to you. He’s just cold, almost apathetic as far as you can tell. You’re mostly kept to your own devices, which is lonely. As long as you do the chores, he doesn’t have much to say. 

Considering his indifference, you didn’t think he would put in any effort to stop your escape. Being able to explore the castle on your own for so many hours of the day, it had taken you a week to muster up the courage to try to leave. However, as soon as you passed through the gate gloom hands surprised you and dragged you back to your quarters. If he had known of your attempt to escape, he never spoke a word of it to you. 

_____

Ganondorf isn’t accustomed to having company anymore. The centuries have passed, and his former companions have fallen by the wayside. Either having fallen in battle or to the ravages of time. He tells himself he’s a lonely old fool the first time his heart races when you attempt to make casual conversation with him. 

His heart pounds even more so when you shyly ask if he misses being in Gerudo Town. Nobody over the years ever had the bravery to ask such a deeply personal question. You were sitting on the sofa by the fire mending a hole in your skirt when the question fell from your lips as simply as asking if the sky is blue. He looked up from the flames. 

“What a bold question little one,” he commented as he took a deep breath to prepare his answer. “I miss my sisters most of all, but none of the sisters I knew are living any longer. Those who inhabit that place are now strangers to me as I am to them.” 

A pang of sadness hits your chest, “Are there other things you miss?” 

“No, not necessarily. The blistering sun and unforgiving sands hold no sentiment except for how they made me strong.” 

“I see,” you say and quickly return to mending your clothes. 

“You need more attire,” he says. 

“You don’t need to worry about that.” 

“Ah, but you’re wrong. It is because of me that you are here, therefore it is my responsibility to care for you.” 

Your mind feels blank for a moment. Was that kindness? From the mouth of the demon king himself? Before you can say anything, he rises from his seat. He doesn’t bid you goodnight before disappearing. Nor do you notice him locking the castle up like he usually does at night. 

The next morning when you awaken, there’s a a pile of neatly folded clothes placed on the armchair in your room. You look through the clothes carefully. Among the more casual pants and blouses, you also find a beautiful gown. The material is soft, emerald green with gold floral embroidery along the hems. You assume it must have been by mistake that he brought something so elegant and beautiful to you. With great care, you hang the gown in the wardrobe, where among the shelves you find a new pair of shoes and a winter cloak. 

You get ready for your day, dressing in the new clothes he brought, and then busy yourself with chores. It’s nearly night when you hear Ganondorf stir. Looking to thank him for his gesture, you quickly make your way towards the staircase to greet him. However, the words are caught in your throat when you see him. 

He’s dressed in a fine, majestic robe. You recognize the patterns on it as being Gerudo. His hair is tied back, and the red beard that had been down to his chest when you arrived is neatly trimmed back up to his jawline. 

“Did you have something to say?” he asks, hoping to put a stop to your wide-eyed gaping. How long has it been since someone looked upon him with awe rather than fear? 

“Y-you look nice,” you smile shyly, having forgotten your original intentions for the moment. 

“Ah, yes,” he nods. 

You look down to the floor again then the thoughts return to your mind. You bounce softly on your toes and your eyes light up. 

“Thank you for bringing me new clothes!” 

“I told you I would,” he comes down the rest of the stairs and looks down on you but not with malice. “Did you find the gown?” 

Your eyes widen. So it hadn’t been a mistake? 

“Y-yes, I did! It’s so beautiful.” 

“I was hoping you’d wear it tonight,” he doesn’t sound as authoritative as he’d hoped to. 

“Oh, sure. I’ll put it on after dinner.” 

“No, don’t worry about dinner. Go change now.” 

With a short, courteous bow you make your exit. Upstairs in your room, you quickly bathe and then slip into the beautiful gown. Upon inspecting your appearance, you decide a bit more effort needs to go into it if you’re to wear such an opulent outfit. You brush your hair and braid it neatly.

 As you set to work on your appearance, you wonder what Ganondorf has planned for the evening. You’ve never seen him quite so…Handsome. He’s all cleaned up and dressed like the true king he is. Surely he wouldn’t go to so much effort for you, would he? No, you tell yourself that’s not possible. Perhaps he’s just having a bit of fun with you. After all, he’s been in this castle by himself for centuries. It would make sense for him to take to a bit of fanciness since he has someone around to share it with. 

Somehow imagining him seeing you as more than just a servant makes your heart flutter. You tell yourself you must be insane for thinking this way. Yet, he’s become more than a master to you. You’ve spent long nights sitting by the fire, listening to his tales of times long past. Somewhere among hearing his childhood tales of starvation and heat among his people and witnessing the opulence Hyrule hoarded, you began to understand his anger. Perhaps you couldn’t fully condone his path, but you could understand why he would grow to desire the conquering of the kingdom. You began to see through the dark, foreboding reputation of the demon king. 

As you descend the stairs, you notice more light in the castle than you’re used to at this time of night. The grand chandelier in the main hall has been lit along with the chandeliers on the stone walls throughout the corridor leading into the ballroom, as though lighting your path. As you open the large double doors, you see a dining table set up by the large windows looking out onto the courtyard. It’s filled to the brim with fruit, cheese, and dried meats. A bottle of wine is chilled by two glasses. Ganondorf stands nearby, his back straight as he stares out the window with his hands locked behind him. 

“Your majesty,” you say to get his attention. 

He turns to you, his eyes widening momentarily before his face returns to being neutral. 

“You look lovely,” he whispers, almost too quiet for you to hear it. You bow politely. 

“Thank you,” you smile. 

“I have set up dinner,” he explains. “You asked me once what it was like being the king of the Gerudo. I thought I would show you how I ate then.” 

“Oh?” You approach the table, and he quickly pulls the chair out for you. You thank him as you sit down. 

“The heat was intense. So, I often tried to eat light yet still filling meals. I ate considerably more than this, of course, but I thought you’d appreciate having more variety.” 

“You put this together?” 

He smiles as he begins pouring the wine, “Yes, of course. Can’t I do things for myself? Or do you wish to take care of me completely?” 

Your cheeks heat up at his double entendre. It takes you a moment to regain your bearings, trying not to imagine what all ‘taking care’ of him might entail. 

“I suppose it’s just unexpected.” 

He places a glass of wine by your hand, and you hear a deep chuckle from him as he sits across from you. 

“Believe it or not, back then I didn’t have many servants. The Gerudo people are prideful therefore believe it or not, they didn’t bow to me like I was a child in need of praise. I was proud to be self-sufficient.” 

“I see,” you smile. “So, what is all this?” you gesture to the ballroom all lit up and with a few flower arrangements scattered about.

“I thought you might enjoy a bit of grandeur,” he sighs. “Must you ask so many questions?” 

Your cheeks burn as you look down at your plate, “I only wished to know.” 

“All in due time,” he answers before beginning to pile his plate with food. 

You follow along, taking a bit of all of the offerings. It was a nice, light meal. Leaving you full, yet still energetic instead of ready to fall asleep in your chair. The wine made your cheeks burn and your muscles feel loose. Ganondorf encourages you to eat more if you need more, and you’re surprised by the way he seems to be taking such care of you even though he doesn’t seem the kind to have a caring bone in his body. 

After the two of you finish your meals, he takes your hand and leads you to the middle of the ballroom. He explains that he wishes to teach you some of the traditional Gerudo dances. He explains how often in his time as King, the dances would be performed with two women. However, as time passed and the Gerudo became more focused on finding husbands they began altering the steps. 

“Women are strong and can stand on their own, but I suppose as time passed they wanted to be more meek to attract husbands,” he explains as he shows you the steps as intended which would see your hips swaying carelessly. “Are you meek?” he asks with a teasing smile. 

“For you?” you giggle. “I think not.” 

He laughs, surprising you deeply yet thrilling you none the same. Soon he has you pulled close as you perform the steps as he’d showed you. One large hand rests on the small of your back as he guides you to move along with him. The ballroom is large, and it’s perfect for what he does. Every corner is explored by the gentle tapping of your feet, barely out of synch considering the difference in your size. 

“Come,” he says as he pulls you closer. He gently guides you to stand on his feet. The weight doesn’t seem to bother him as he holds you as close as he can. He moves the two of you as gracefully as waves across the ocean. There’s a softness in his eyes as he looks down at you, and finally leans closer. 

“Are you…?” 

Before you can speak, and ruin the moment, he presses his lips to yours. The warmth of his mouth spreads through you, lighting a fire in the pit of your stomach. His hands rest upon your waist and his feet go still as he loses himself to the kiss. Your fingers are small and gentle as they comb through his fiery hair. Finally, the two of you separate. He almost looks ashamed of his actions. He steps away, looking around the room like a wild animal in a cage searching for an escape. 

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he whispers. “Intimacy shared when one is bound is a violation.” 

“Gan…Wait,” you grab his hand but he quickly pulls away. “I don’t feel that way with you.” 

“It matters not what you feel. The truth is unchanged. If I’d not forced you here, then this moment would have never come to pass.” 

“No, please-” 

“You should leave,” he growls. “Do not look back at this place. Leave me here.” 

“Just listen to me,” you plead. “Please, I want to stay!” 

“Leave! Now,” he bellows through the halls. “Do not ever return!” 

Tears fill your eyes as the sting of rejection fills your chest. You want to open your mouth and tell him how badly you wish to stay. Throughout your time with him you’ve seen him grow from being a reclusive, grumpy king to showing the side of him that’s charming. You’ve found yourself growing more confident and content as well. Despite everything, you seem to have brought out the best in one another. Yet, he’s pushing you away now. 

“If you do not leave, I will kill you!” he snarls, the threat as empty as the wine bottle on the dining table. He’d never be able to bring himself to harm a hair on your head. 

Without another word, you run upstairs to pack your few belongings.  _____

You were surprised by the greeting you’d received when you’d returned home. Your family was delighted to see you. Your mother doted on you for days, having spent the better part of a year thinking you had abandoned the family or worse got yourself killed. You have always been a curious one, after all. After all of your family realized not only were you in good health, but you weren’t going to share what you’d been through it was business as usual. There were chores to be done on the farm, and you were eager to busy yourself with mindless work. 

You missed him deeply. It was a surprising turn, even to you. At night when you sat by the fire, you often found yourself asking your family philosophical questions they couldn’t answer all that deeply. In your mind, you could almost hear the way Ganondorf would have answered them. The way he almost seemed to purr in the back of his throat when he sat back in his chair, rubbing his beard, as he considered how to answer your best. You remembered the way his eyes would light up when you’d managed to push a topic he was particularly interested in. His eyes would light up when you would argue with him, confidently asserting your thoughts, as though he was proud of you for being so willing to stand up to him. Meanwhile, you felt suffocated by returning to your old life. Your family are kind people, surely, but they’re also simple in their desires. You missed the thrill of being close to someone who had a worldview so interestingly different from your own who could both challenge and be challenged in exchange. 

Yet, you worked. Finding solace and quiet in the familiarity of it all. It was the same thing you’d found yourself doing up until the fateful day you had been at the castle. 

Did he know how much the time you spent with him meant to you? Somehow you felt that question burning in your mind for weeks. Maybe if you had told him the truth of your feelings sooner, then he would have never sent you away. If he had known you didn’t feel imprisoned with him, would he have let you stay by his side? Would the budding feelings between you have finally bloomed? Not having the answers to these questions was enough to drive you to madness. And yet…The answers would not come. 

Months had passed when the adventurer arrived. His name was Link, and as your family served him dinner he explained his mission. He was to free Hyrule from the Demon King, Ganondorf. 

“The Demon King has been silent for many years,” your father said. “Is such a feat really worth laying down your life for?” 

“He may be silent for now, but the conquering spirit in him still remains. Hyrule will not be free until he is gone,” Link replied. 

“Will peace truly ever return?” your mother asked.

“Yes,” Link said, with an unwavering resolve. “Princess Zelda will take the throne, and restore prosperity.” 

As all of you laid down in your bedrolls that night, you had tried to push away the fear. He had made sure you no longer felt like he was your problem, therefore you felt it was in your best interest to pretend it wasn’t. Whether Ganondorf lived or died, should have been of no concern to you. 

Yet, the next morning, you rise with the sun. You quickly go check the spare room, and see that Link has already left. His blankets are neatly folded and there’s a small pile of money off to the side. 

“No, no,” you whisper to yourself. 

You run to the stables and take one of your family horses. You ride towards the castle, praying that you will make it in time to save Ganondorf. Although truth be told, you didn’t know if it was entirely possible. 

The sun is shining brightly overhead, the sky a cheerful shade of blue. In the distance, you can see a dark, gloom-filled cloud hanging over the ruins of Hyrule castle. You wonder if Link has already made it there, and is now fighting Ganondorf. There’s a strange conflict brewing in your chest because you understand why Link wants to defeat him. You just can’t stand the thought of losing Ganondorf. You keep replaying that night in your head, and you wish more than anything that you would have fought harder to stay by his side. Knowing you may never get to tell him the truth of your feelings makes your heart sink into your stomach. 

As you arrive at the castle, the clouds of gloom have begun to fade. Leaving only rainclouds in their wake that are slowly being pushed aside by the soft breeze. Does this mean it’s over? Ganondorf has been defeated? 

You leave your horse by the gate and run past the walls. You see his large form hunched over on one of the balconies. Link lunges with his sword, and suddenly Ganondorf falls. He lands with a loud crash on the ground, sending cracks through the stone from the impact. Link stands at the edge of the balcony and crawls onto the ledge. He points an arrow bathed in divine light down at Ganondorf, aiming for the finishing blow. 

“No!” You cry out as you run to Ganondorf’s rumpled form. 

“Huh?” Link gasps as he sees you throw yourself over Ganondorf. Your considerably smaller form does nothing to truly shield him, but Link knows you wouldn’t be able to withstand the blast from the light arrow. “Move!” Link calls down to you. 

“No! I won’t!” 

“Little one,” Ganondorf coughs. “It’s over…Do not…” he trails off when he sees the tears rolling down your cheeks. He can’t remember the last time anyone cried for him, or if they ever had. 

“Please, I won’t let you die,” you cry softly and bury your head against his chest. You don’t care about the blood and grime covering him. You feel his large hand on your back, his fingers curling through your hair. 

“I’m glad you came, if only so I could see you one last time.” 

“Don’t say that,” you whisper. “Don’t speak that way.” 

Link jumps down, landing with a thud on his feet, “You don’t understand. I have to finish him. Ganondorf has to die so Hyrule can be saved.” 

“Why does he have to die?” you sob as you continue clinging to him, your tears soaking into his tattered clothes. Link looks down, unsure of how to answer your question. Truth be told, he didn’t truly understand himself. Ganondorf had practically been dormant for half a century, and the monsters had slowly begun to fade away. 

“It’s fate,” Ganondorf tells you, continuing to rub your back. “Stand aside, little one. Do not weep for me anymore.” 

“Ganondorf, I can’t leave you like this,” you whisper. “I love you.” 

“Love?” he whispers as though the word is one he’s never heard. He wants to laugh, not at your feelings but at the notion of someone feeling something so gentle for him. “I…I love you as well, but it matters not now.” 

You look up, expecting to see Link standing over you. Instead, you see his retreating form. Almost seeming to sense your gaze, he looks over his shoulder. “Make sure he doesn’t give me a reason to seek him again. The two of you find somewhere to go, somewhere far away from here. I will tell everyone he’s dead.” 

“Thank you,” you whisper through gentle sobs. 

Ganondorf can hardly believe his ears. Had the hero truly decided to spare him? He couldn’t imagine a time when something like this would happen, and yet he knows there’s something he’s never had before…Rather someone. You must be the most precious thing he’s ever held in his arms. 

You embrace him again, savoring the beating of his heart and the warmth of him. Still alive, still breathing. He touched your hair, feeling the soft strands between his fingers. When you finally look up at him, there’s a sweet smile on your face despite the tears in your eyes. Then, you lean down to kiss him. His heart soars from the gentle affection. 

 It would seem fate had something different in store for him this time. 

[spacexseven]

sorry for the late reply! And to answer some of your questions in the tags, it’s actually all three. A “final girl” is a basically a trope that means a character (usually protagonist) that is “pure, feminine, and the victim” during a horror film. They’re usually a victim of chance or have a distant past connection to the killer. Be it their intelligence, connection, or simply pure luck, the final girl is able to avoid death until the end where: 1) they survive to the end and defeat their killer 2) they escape or 3) they die regardless. I was thinking of killer! yan bsd, but I was also intrigued with a victim/final girl! bsd. An example of an idea that’s currently plaguing my mind is Final Girl! Nikolai. I liked the idea of a serial killer targeting magician/or whimsical (maybe ability users) people and choosing nikolai as target. cat and mouse chase, and they end getting the drop on him (how? idk). Its kinda a slow burn horror, but regardless nikolai fights back. this is a gist and example. Tuna, i’m so sorry about throwing this ramble dump at you. 🙈 this is just an idea, nothing you actually have to do. im just happy sharing this with you - 🦄

ahahahaha....there was a lot i had to say about this, but i kept it as brief as i could because i Might...might do a series/oneshot w this au. Maybe &lt;/3 thank you for sharing this gem of an idea i am very excited to dig in nomnomnom. tagged under 'sk reader au 🐟'

gn! reader, is a serial killer & implied to have an ability that can 'collect' other abilities. can be read as a yandere reader.

cw: stalking, murder, violence

ability users are fascinating little things.

especially when they try everything in their power to stay alive. it's a wonderful sight, to see those that always stood above regular people, to see those regarded as gifted, desperately attempt to survive. there was something intoxicating about holding power above the same ability users that were feared by all.

but your interest was less in the users and more in the ability itself.

there was a lot you hoped to learn about abilities, regardless of the type. there must be a reason as to why some were sentient, why some were so much more powerful than others, why some were uncontrollable, and the best way to learn, was of course, through the ability itself. you were willing to do anything to satisfy your curiousity, even if it meant the user had to die for their abilities to join your collection.

you had fond memories with all of them; flawless made for an exhilarating fight, always a step ahead until you sunk your claws into the frightened figure of a dark-eyed ability user, rashōmon was unique, the dark mass almost besting you, but, in the end, you stood victorious over a sickly body—even if you hadn't gone after it, this was an ability that wasn't meant to survive for long, and you liked to think that it was for the best that it joined you instead of disappearing with its user. and of course, discourse on decadence was unforgettable. you remembered it belonged to some goverment agent who was hot on your trail—it was the closest anyone came to stopping you—and your most recent kill.

usually, you didn't like picking favorites. each ability was fascinating and unique in its own way, but it was undeniable that one in particular stood out to you.

the overcoat was an interesting ability. at first sight, it appeared quite simple, but you had viewed it in action too many times to know just how frightening it was. how easy it was to turn it into a lethal weapon—to reach in and twist out a limb or to drain out the blood from a vein. the seemingly unlimited potential of the ability, however, was only one of the aspects that intrigued you.

generally, you've never cared for the users as much as you did their abilities. while you enjoyed the brutal torture you made them suffer, and you liked hunting them down, they always came secondary to their abilities. you didn't care to know their names or their personal stories. despite all that, a name—nikolai gogol—had made his way on your list of targets, scrawled next to his ability.

it'd only take you a minute to identify nikolai in a sea of people.

whether he had the scar over his eye showing or hidden, whether he was wearing glasses or colored contacts, no matter what wig he wore or how ordinary he tried to look, you would immediately be able to point him out. no disguise, no false identity could hide him from you—you know this because he's tried, many times now, to fool you. but you've always known it was him, from the slightest strain of his voice when disguised, the unsettling blankness in his gaze when he looked at you, the subtle upturn of his lips when he approached you. you knew it was him from the way he titled his head when asking you a question, the way he said your name, and even the syllables he stressed when he spoke.

he approached you first as a police officer, then as a detective, a local politician, and even an assassin. You had already noted down each encounter you had with him, the details of each false identity, and what you had learned from it. it was a feat in itself that nikolai had survived so many encounters with you. perhaps it was because of your growing obsession with him,

(somehow, you always knew that your last victim would be nikolai. he'd be a fitting end for your legacy, as the ability user who had been watching you from the very start. the only ability user you could see as more than a shell for his powers. the only one who escaped you once.)

initially, you believed that nikolai followed you around for self-driven justice, to punish you for your crimes. (the policeman getup convinced you of that much), but instead of lunging at you, he watched, enraptured, as you stole the perfect crime, and he followed you closely as you stalked the user of falling camellia, doing nothing to stop you either time. and every time after that, be it walking past him in the busy streets of yokohama or meeting him as your taxi driver, nikolai had yet to try and expose your crimes and exact revenge. he never held a blade up to your throat, never used the very frightening ability of his on you.

his passivity, however, did nothing to quench your bloodthirst.

it was you who attacked him first.

you're no stranger to hunting down your prey. it was something you anticipated now, the sound of footsteps making their way around corners, the sight of shaking shoulders and trembling hands as they hid behind walls, the way fear consumed them when you finally cornered them; you relished in the hunt as much as you did the result.

nikolai doesn't make it much of a hunt. he's quick, with his coat fluttering around him. his footsteps, you remember, are light and quick, his breathing staggered as he laughed wildly. he snatches up your gun with a hand through his coat, and shoots blindly. there is despair consuming his mind, no panic climbing up his spine. his heart rate accelerates not out of fear, but out of thrill, and he looks at you with unrestrained elation. this was no hunt, nikolai wasn't hiding from you—this was a chase. just as you approached a dead end, and you think you can finally, finally, shove him into a corner, nikolai turns to smile at you one last time, before disappearing into a flurry of his coat. as you stand alone, a dark glove laid on the floor ahead of you catches your attention; his glove might have caught on a jagged end and fallen, you think. after cleaning up his mess, you silently pocket it, still haunted by that uninhibited look and that devilish grin.

nikolai is everywhere after that, taunting you.

he sits across you from the train, he takes your order in a restaurant, he applauds you from a distance, after watching you drag away yet another body, congratulating you on another successful kill.

"next time," he smiles at you, all coy and enticing, "i hope it's me."

you hope so too, but you don't let him have the pleasure of knowing that. the scowl on your blood-streaked face sends him spinning away in giggles.

it wasn't the next time, but after a few more dead bodies and many more warnings about your work are played on the news, you meet nikolai again. nikolai gogol is no easy prey, but you're not one to be bested twice. this time, you don't let him run. you're finally on top of him, blood pooling out of where your knife was stuck in his thigh, his coat ripped off him and abandoned somewhere else. it would be so easy to kill him now, so easy to watch him bleed out and claim his ability as yours, but for the first time, you hesitated on delivering the killing blow.

this time, it's not the ability you're after, is it?

[agirlism]

SPOILERS FOR COBRA KAI SEASON SIX BELOW.

Well, there you have it, Robby won a fight, he beat Miguel and he became Captain. This was a small victory to appease Robby fans, as if we didn't already know that he's the better fighter. It all just feels lacking. And it is now clear, more than ever, that he won't be winning the Sekai Tekai, and the writers of CK will be handing it over to Miguel, as usual. Robby's character won't get the justice it deserves, Robby won't get the win he deserves. And Tory turning to Kreese, her "leaving" Robby proves he'll lose. Because if Kenny is Robby's weakness, then Tory is certainly his strength, his win against Miguel made that clear. During his fight, when he saw her, he gained on Miguel. Now, during the SK, my boy's got to lead his team to victory, fight against the best there is while his girl fights on the team against him. Tory and Robby not sticking together, not winning together, him not being able to be there for her in her grief, not being able respond to her violence with softness, him not being able to hold her down, her not being on "his side", her not being his strength, will cost him in the tournament. Why can't my babies be happy?

[dinofromspac3]

Could you write a 10th or 11th doctor (whichever you prefer) with a reader of an alien race whose planet/civilization blew up during the time war? perhaps they have sort of an unspoken hatred for the doctor because they blame the time lords, but then become friends' overtime when they comfort each other and then there is lots of fluff and plantonic cuddles?

Also, your writing is so amazing and I really look forward to all the future stories you create regardless of if you wright this one!

Yes! I absolutely love this idea, and I hope I did it justice! I took a few creative liberties, but the undertones of it all are the same.

I chose to do 11, because I think this arc would hit him a bit harder, due to all the left over anger and rage he is just starting to overcome from the Time Lord Victorious.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Also, just a PSA for other’s who have made requests. I’m not ignoring them. I write as inspiration comes. Please have patience, I will get to it eventually! Thank you <3

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Learning to Forgive

Doctor Who Masterlist

11th Doctor x Platonic!Alien!Reader

You never thought it would be possible to hate the man who saved your life. That, however, was before you knew who he was. What he was. And when the Head of the Wyxthar Council, announced his race, like it was common knowledge, your blood ran cold.

Time Lord. The people who used your home planet, and countless others, as free battle terrain in the last great Time War, as if there weren’t millions of lives being disrupted and ended on each one.

If it weren’t for your parents, who had sent you off in a tiny shuttle, alone, just a child, to be jettisoned off to a small barren planet just outside the war zone. You’d also be dead. And as the shuttle grew further away from your home, you watched as the entire planet was blown into oblivion, pushing you further and faster into the black of space.

It was the worst day of your life.

And now, as you stood there with him, having previously called him a friend, you watched as his usually cheerful face grew just a little cold and remorseful.

His hand went to gingerly grab ahold of yours, as if he needed comfort, which seemed utterly ridiculous to you. What would he need comforting for? You felt his skin brush against yours, but you pulled away quickly, taking a step back to create more distance.

The face he gave you, full of concern and confusion, only made everything you were feeling worse, and a deep anger bubbled up in your stomach. The kind of anger than made tears burn in your eyes and your body start to tremble slightly.

You mind was racing. Everything he had told you about himself, the TARDIS, the writing on the console that seemed just a little too familiar. He said he stole the TARDIS, could he have been lying to you? Thoughts buzzed around in your head at a million miles per second and all you knew was that you had to get away from him. And you had to get away fast.

Before you knew it, you had turned and ran. Ran away from the council. Ran passed the TARDIS. Ran into the city, hoping to find somewhere to hide. You could hear him calling after you, but you didn’t dare look back. You just kept running until you hit water, and you collapsed on the foreign beach.

You stayed there for a long while. You watched the sun set, as tears dried on your face. Angry at him, for not telling you. Angry at yourself for not noticing sooner. Feeling derailed and lost. Where would you go from here? Maybe the locals would be kind enough to lend you a shuttle. You certainly couldn’t go back to life with the Doctor after this.

But alas, in the dark of the night, that familiar groan of the TARDIS sounded behind you. You let out a shaky breath and closed your eyes, hoping you were imagining his presence, but the soft crunch of a boot on sand could be heard before you felt him sit down besides you.

“What happened back there?” He asked, and your gaze turned back to the sky.

“Why did you never tell me who you were?”

He was silent for a while. You heard him sigh, and in the corner of your eye you could see his head fall to his chest. “I don’t know.”

“My planet is gone because of you, and your people,” you said bitterly, and quickly. “I am alone in the universe, because of you.”

“I know,” he said, softly, and solemnly.

“And you knew about me, and my past,” you started to cry again, as the words flew out of your mouth. “You knew all along, and you never told me.”

“I was frightened—

“Frightened?” You scoffed, cutting him off. “You don’t know what frightened is. Don’t you dare. Frightened, is when you’re just a child, floating away from your home planet, from you family, just to see it explode before you, along with everyone and everything you know!”

“Y/N,” he called to you quietly, his voice full of remorse and regret. “I know, I should’ve told you. I was just afraid, that if I did, I’d lose you.”

“Well, that’s too bad,” you retorted, keeping your gaze locked in front of you. “Because now you have.”

“Please, don’t do that,” he pleaded with you, but you just shook your head, when you saw him look at you from the corner of your eye. “Please, Y/N, let me explain.”

You wanted so badly to get up and leave him there, and you knew if you did he’d let you go, not wanting you to feel trapped by him. But you stayed.

“I didn’t agree with what my people did,” he began to explain. “But you have to understand, even if they hadn’t fought on other planets, the Daleks still would’ve killed everyone. You’ve seen the Daleks before. You know what they’re like.”

“I know,” you said, still not wanting to believe him, but what he said made too much sense. You remember what the Daleks were like as a child, just a faint memory, and then when traveling with him, you’d run into one or two. They were hateful creatures. You knew that. They’re whole purpose was kill anything and everything that wasn’t a Dalek.

And suddenly everything bubbled back to the surface and tears flowed down your face again. The Doctor frowned, and sighed. You knew he hated to see you upset. You knew, truly, he was your friend, no matter now much you hated him, or… wanted to hate him.

He didn’t say anything. You thought he might. You thought he might ask you not to cry, or if you could ever forgive him… and to be honest, you weren’t sure if you could. No, he didn’t say anything, except a soft utterance of your name, as he wrapped his arms around you, holding you as you wept.

The world seemed so quiet. The water in front of you gently fell upon the shore, and the stars twinkled in the dark orange sky of the foreign planet. And the Doctor held you. There was no judgment, no expectations, just pure understanding and compassion.

You hated it. You truly hated it, how safe you felt in his arms, but there was no denying it. He was your best friend. He’d probably always be your best friend. No matter what he did or what happened between the two of you. He always understood you.

And after several moments of just quiet, when your tears had slowed, he spoke again, softly and kindly. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” you replied, in a voice just above a whisper. “Doctor, I…”

“It’s okay, Y/N,” he said. “I understand. I’ll find somewhere nice, where you can start a life. Any life you want.”

You shook your head. “I don’t want that,” you countered. “I have the life I want. Traveling the stars. I just… I don’t know if I’ll ever truly forgive you, but I’m willing to try.”

And then he smiled, and pulled you a little closer. You just sat there, probably for hours, staring up at the stars. This was right, and you supposed with how long ago his terrible truth was, perhaps it was time to learn how to forgive.

[luc-elementix]

Fairy Tale High e-Books

Yesterday, in my last post, I asked if anyone knew how to read the ebooks from the Fairy Tale High website ...and guess what? I’ve finally found them! In fact, when you click on the links to read the ebooks on the home page, it gives you a wrong URL adress... but the ebooks are still available. 

Here are the links to each of them for those who want to (re)discover this lost media:

 - Teen Alice   - Teen Belle  - Teen Cinderella  - Teen Little Mermaid  - Teen Rapunzel  - Teen Sleeping Beauty  - Teen Snow White  - Teen Tinkerbell

And because I’m a big fan of the theme song, I also share the little music video!  =D

(Now, back to Ever After High content!)

[journeytothewestresearch]

So, what IS the Samadhi Fire/True Fire of Samadhi? It can't be an average flame if it can take out Sun Wukong himself in JttW and the name sounds like it means something, but I can't find any context when I look it up.

Journey to the West states that Samādhi fire is not like earthly or heavenly flame. It is something more. Part of a poem in chapter 41 reads:

(Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 2, p. 225)

The general concept of Samādhi (Sk: "concentration"; Ch: sanmei, 三昧) refers to an advanced level of meditation where one can "establish and maintain one-pointedness of mind on a specific object of concentration" (Buswell & Lopez, 2014, p. 743). Some Hindu and Buddhist sources associate it with a spiritually cleansing flame. One example comes from the Gaṇḍavyūha section of the Avataṃsaka Sūtra (Ch: Dafang guangfo huayan jing, 大方廣佛華嚴經; compiled by the 3rd or 4th-century CE). 

Sudhana (Ch: Shancai tongzi, 善財童子; i.e. Red Boy), the holy work's protagonist, seeks out 53 teachers in the course of his spiritual cultivation. His ninth instructor, a learned Brahmin named Jayoṣmāyatana (Ch: Shengre poluomen, 勝熱婆羅門; lit: "Victorious Heat Brahmin") is said to have achieved "the light of the concentration [i.e. Samādhi] of adamantine flame" (jingang yan sanmei guangming, 金剛焰三昧光明) (Clearly, 1993, p. 1218). The fire that he produces is so powerful that it scares even the gods and demons. Though, the point of the flames appears to be incineration of the ego and desires and illumination of the mind. Sudhana follows his instructions by throwing himself into the fire, thus gaining a higher level of spiritual knowledge.

Here is a translation of that section of the sutra (warning: it is wordy):

(Clearly, 1993, pp. 1217-1222)

A Song or Ming-era Japanese painting of the fire brahmin and Sudhana.

Sources:

Buswell, R. E. , & Lopez, D. S. (2014). The Princeton Dictionary of Buddhism. Princeton University Press.

Cleary, T. (1993). The Flower Ornament Scripture: A Translation of the Avatamsaka Sutra. Boston: Shambhala.

Wu, C., & Yu, A. C. (2012). The Journey to the West (Vols. 1-4) (Rev. ed.). Chicago, Illinois: University of Chicago Press.

[cherrybombfangirlwrites]

One to Five (WIP Tag)

tagged by: @tabswrites thanks!

tagging: Open Tag and soft tagging @drabbleitout | @rhikasa | @i-can-even-burn-salad | @anthros-vintas-archive |

@afoolandathief | @thewritingsofevbrowne | @writing-sigh

Rules: Follow the prompts, change one if you like, and tell the lovely world of writeblr a little something about your WIP! Answers to the prompts can be in the form of quotes or anything you’d like!

I'll do FSF for this one (since I did TCIO for the last one), under the tag because I shared writing snippets:

One Word to describe your wip: Chaotic (of course).

Two lines that you love:

It's hard to choose just two so here are my more recent ones (yes both are from Raven's POV XD)

He pulled himself back into Dante’s saddle, and reached out, gratefully taking Sapphire back into his arms. He could feel the sleeping curse taunting him with her slow even breaths and heartbeat.

The aching feeling in his chest became a soul shattering wound that crushed everything inside him.

Three times you cried while writing:

I don't cry while writing, I laugh evilly while drinking my readers tears lol. So instead, here are three times my readers will cry:

Pretty much any of the death scenes for the half of the main cast that dies (Tris, Lan, Erica, Max, Elliot, Hestia, and Sapphire :D). I made those scenes pretty heart wrenching XD. Particularly their loved ones' reactions

The physical and mental effects that those characters experience after being resurrected (i.e. Sapphire's nightmares, Tris's uncharacteristic anger issues, etc)

Triveya's struggles with self hatred, burnout, and extreme rejection sensitivity

Four feelings from your characters:

1) Desperation and Worry (Raven's POV)

Like handling a delicate flower, he scooped Sapphire out of the wagon. Since he could feel a chilling breeze coming down the mountain path, he made sure to wrap her up in the warm blankets. He went over to get back on Dante, but paused, unsure how to get back on with his arms full. He struggled in silence for a minute before Snow came over. She held out her arms. “I can hold her while you get back on,” she said softly. Raven’s face twisted in stricken confusion for a second, holding Sapphire closer to him. Snow held out a hand to put on his shoulder waiting for him to give an alright. He gave a short nod, and she firmly squeezed his shoulder. “You can hand her to me for a minute, and I’ll hold her while you get back on Dante. Then I’ll hand her to you, alright?” Raven swallowed thickly, his mind moving painfully slow. Then he nodded, and forced his arms to loosen, and let Snow take Sapphire from him. He pulled himself back into Dante’s saddle, and reached out, gratefully taking Sapphire back into his arms. He could feel the sleeping curse taunting him with her slow even breaths and heartbeat. His breath shuddered as he tightened his grip on Sapphire, pulling her close and resting her head on his chest.

2) Pain (Cassandra's POV)

Cassandra had been stabbed before, sure- she was a pirate, injuries came with the job. But Mother Hallya this one really hurt. They’d been victorious, luckily, and taken a few prisoners while Gar Face retreated with what was left of his crew and ship. As the smoke from cannonfire drifted away and they got the ship back on course, Cassandra’s sword slipped out of her hand and clattered to the deck. Red bloomed across her shirt, and she quickly clamped a hand to the wound. Thankfully, it was on the left side- so it was less likely that something important had gotten hit. It still hurt like a bitch however, and she’d already lost a lot of blood. She felt Felicity’s hand on her shoulder, and looked to her first mate. Through blurry vision, Cassandra could barely make out Felicity’s hand motions, asking something along the lines of where she’d gotten injured and how much blood she’d lost.

3) Rage (Sapphire is feeling the emotion but it's Raven's POV)

"HEY! UGLY, EVIL, THIEVING FAIRIES!" The red fairy whipped around so fast her skirt caused a wind gust. "How dare you-" Sapphire stormed through the fairy clearing, brandishing his sword with both hands. She was struggling a bit to hold it up, but there was a determined rage behind her eyes that made it clear the sword's weight wouldn't be a problem. Her hair was a bit messed up, red curls that fell out of the small braids on the side of her head in crazed whisps. The other fairies and animals in the clearing scrambled away with shrieks and cries of terror, stampeding away as she tramped through the grass and plants. "Yeah," Sapphire shouted, "I'm talking to you three!" With a grunt, she lifted Raven's sword and pointed it at the three fairies. "You don't know what you're messing with girl," The green fairy said, "We have magic beyond your human comprehension! Do you have any idea what a fairy can do?" "I know that you're ugly, evil thieves and kidnappers," Sapphire said as she charged at the fairies, getting right in their faces. "Now let my bodyguard go, or I'm about to become a very angry, sword wielding problem for you."

4) Love (Elliot's POV)

“I’m not leaving you-” “I’ll be ok, I’ve been alone for so long I’m used to it now,” Hestia told him, “One of those roses can heal your father, and he and your family need you.” Grabbing both of her hands and turning her to face him, Elliot looked into her warm amber brown eyes that glowed like a comforting fireplace during a blizzard. “I will come back for you.” Hestia looked away, slowly shaking her head. “No one’s ever stayed this long. And I know you’ll forget about me.” “Hestia.” She hesitantly looked back at him, tears starting to burn behind her eyes. Elliot dropped both her hands to gently cup her face. “It’s not goodbye forever. Once my father is well again, I’ll come back for you. We’ll see each other again, I promise.” He leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, having to raise up on his tiptoes a little bit. Both of their faces were wet with tears now as he pressed his forehead against hers for a minute. Hestia softly guided his hands away from her face and kissed his cheek, barely there for fear that it may never be returned.

Five tropes featured:

Very tired, devoted bodyguard x chaotic, hotheaded princess

A different princess that's smart and intelligent but also dumb as rocks XD

Magic that can kill you or make you go insane :)

Hot swordfighting sapphic pirates

Found family but they're all dumbasses that share one collective braincell

(and more fantastic ones of course, but those are the ones I can think of off the top of my head)

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@mjjune @fiercely-raging-writer @wildswrites @corishadowfang

@surroundedbypearls @serenanymph (send me a message to be +/- from the taglist <3)

General Taglist: @enchanted-lightning-aes @thatprolificauthor @wip-nook @writeblrsupport 

@outpost51 @dustylovelyrun @thelaughingstag @jacqueswriteblrlibrary (send me a message to be +/- from the taglist <3)

[gacha-incels]

you can see more than a few similarities between the “original gamergate”, the DOA “gamergate 2” and what’s been happening with the misogynist men freaking out about 🤏 in South Korea. This time the western gamergate incels hate “woke” and “cultural Marxism”, before this it was “SJWs”. In practice their hatred is targeted on the same groups no matter what the year. In SK it’s “megal femi/ feminists” (megalia feminists) and “PC” (politically correct). These men pretend to care about things like “ethics in gaming journalism” or “extreme misandrist feminists”, the topics are smokescreens they use to legitimize their violent hatred of women, minorities, lgbt, the disabled, etc. as shown above with the quote from the Discord chat. I think the shock for many people regarding the Korean incel situation is that the companies they target very often will grovel and beg for their forgiveness, thus validating the delusion of some radical feminist boogeyman placing secret signs in gacha games or cartoons.

for the western gamergate men, their white supremacy is also a huge factor. They form communities and shape their own identities based on hatred and fear.

The “threat” in this case of “gamergate 2” is Sweet Baby Inc.

From the way social media is set up now, it’s easy for these men to rapidly fall into extreme echo chambers. They are angry about the hardships of life and are champing at the bit to direct that anger at an easy, identifiable cause. Can’t find a job? It’s too hard to recognize and understand the force and destructive nature of capitalism, it’s not a concrete thing you can attack right now and they have typically already been indoctrinated to believe anything criticizing capitalism is some scary evil communist ploy. So they turn their ire to an easily identifiable group, like immigrants attempting to live and work in the US. Why are these people trying to escape their countries? Don’t think about it! Can’t get a girlfriend? Surely it can’t be that you need to improve yourself, socialize and not see women as conquests? No, it’s the fault of those damn feminists! Of course these are flippant simplifications of issues that can be studied and analyzed in regards to society, family, religion etc and how propaganda from these sources can beget the type of male who is primed for indoctrination as well but I’m trying to be brief. A lot of this hate and fear also comes in tandem after any type of hard won victory (no matter how small) for any demographic these men are not a part of, they see it as some catastrophic loss of power because they are so used to absolutely everything being made for them or in their power. They think society runs “correctly” because they hold absolute power, so they push back (often violently) on anything they deem an challenge to this. In terms of videogames, this is why they believe just having a main character who is not a white male means “society hates men”or “games are not made for ‘us’ anymore”. You can see this type of attitude emerge in Korean men as well, regarding backlash to more women entering the workforce and gaining more rights. the following is just one example-

After a short period of time, men in these spaces get so indoctrinated that actual facts are false to them if it goes against what they WANT to believe. They don’t want to challenge and evaluate their own thoughts because it’s easy to keep hating. If you’re from the US (or familiar with its political landscape over the past decade+) and this reminds you of the alt-right playbook, it’s because Steve Bannon saw the original gamergate and utilized the force of these angry males.

As the excerpt stated, these men see videogames as “a final escape for a generation of angry young white men,” essentially power fantasies that still reinforce and flatter their sense of importance over the “other”. (Of course the Korean incel demographic is not white and is not living directly in a white supremacist western society so this isn’t a 1:1. regardless that does not stop them from being racist.) In some ways this is from lack of inclusion of some demographics, in some ways it’s reinforced by having the “other” be in what these men see as their rightful place in society. So because of this, you see a LOT of these men foaming at the mouth when they believe a female character design is not “sexy” enough, because her job is not to be a character in a story, it’s to titilate the male viewer while he plays he game. She is made FOR him, for his pleasure first and anything else second. If she isn’t hypersexualized then she does not exist, she is failing the one job she has in these men’s eyes. You can see this in the way men talk about the upcoming “Stellar Blade”game from the developers of the gacha game “NIKKE”. Gaming presents this “sanctuary” for men, many eventually cutting themselves off from reality to live in this fantasy world- an act that can be dangerous for those around him.

Anyone who is new to gacha games, I need you to understand this is how the typical male gacha gamer views an all-female cast especially- they are there to titilate the perceived male user while he “buys” them, gives them orders in gameplay and reads the story. It’s still their male power fantasy, this is why tensions are extremely high when they think a “feminist” works on the game, and/or they think a male character looks “weak” or is sexualized in the same way women are sexualized. They want a clear divide of the sexes (designs of powerful men VS very thin, highly sexualized women), and this type of design threatens that. You can read more on gacha designs here on this blog, I don’t want to rewrite that whole post here. When they think a character is not sexy enough, they will illegally mod the game to change that, you can see in this image the Genshin Impact (a game the korean incels have now dubbed as a “femi game”) character “Shenhe” whose outfits were not deemed sexy enough, so the men modified the clothing on the left (costume and original outfit) to the “clothing” on the right while also increasing her bust size significantly.

This isn’t meant to be an analysis but rather a basic overview and reiteration of some aspects that made up the western “gamergate” situation using plain language. I linked the sources for everything directly on the images. Whenever I do an actual analysis there of course will be more sources and less copy&pasting directly from them lol

[randomwriteronline]

The sounds of cooing and raucous voices sputtering out something akin to words was a good sign, they both thought as they approached the room. A few healers were standing around the doorway, watching in curiously and giggling to themselves at the poor attempts at language coming through the thin barrier dividing them from the beings who were not their patients.

Whenua stood beside them, his short hunched stature causing him to go mostly unnoticed; he crossed his arms behind his back, made a show of trying to peek through the curtains, and finally whispered in a conspiratorial tone: "What are we laughing about?"

One Ice Agori jumped so high that they nearly cracked their skull on the ceiling.

The onslaught of hurried embarrassed apologies that followed wasn't that loud, but there were enough beings talking at the same time as they scrambled against the wall to completely cover the vocal progress coming from the adjacent room, clumsily backing away from the two Turaga in a burst of sudden bashfulness.

Try as she might, Nokama could not hold back a quiet chuckle as her brother scattered the healers away with an imperious wave of his hand, so very unlike him.

He maintained his act as he side-eyed her: "Well?" he hissed with a self-importance that would have once fit Matau perfectly, only making her giggle harder: "What is there that you find to be so funny? Is it me? Ah! It is, isn't it? Have you no respect for your elders? Such irriverence! Why, you young ones, growing ever cockier by the year! When I was your age, young lady, we- we would- we had-"

At that point they were both too overwhelmed by their own laughing fits for the charade to continue - bent over their knees and sustaining each other from the shoulders as their frames rattled and rattled with the sound of pocketfulls of spare change.

"Oh!" a squeak reached them. "Would you look who's here!"

Their racket had not gone unnoticed, evidently.

The two Turaga hurriedly calmed down once more before entering the room. They had to keep at least some semblance of decency and intrigue about themselves.

Their one-hundred-percent dignified appearance from behind that thin excuse of a curtain was met by the lopsided smirk of an Agori with a heavy metallic sheen to her skin and the both excited and curious gazes of a pair of suddenly quiet beings.

"Ulagha!" one of them beamed, smiling so brightly that his entire face seemed to lit up.

"Raise your tongue!" Krahka chided him: "You need to block the air at least a little bit if you want any of that to make sense! And roll the arr further down your throat!"

He huffed, wiggling in his seat but still grinning as he repeated, slower, following her instructions: "Tu - rrra - ga!"

"Hello!" Nokama replied just as giddy.

"Ayam Poha - tu! Toa ov Tohn!" he continued - and instantly his face scrunched up in displeasure at his mispronunciation, the arms he'd thrown triumphantly in the air retracting immediately while his nose curled up and he tried again, phonemes tangling in his mouth: "Ton. Tohn. T- thon, thon, thon, thon! Thon!"

"Easy now, easy-"

"BONES!" he cursed out loud: "BONES! STONE! STONE! STONE! Ayam Poau- Po - ha - tu, To-a ov Sss-tone! Stone!"

"There you go!" Whenua hollered back.

With a victorious shriek the Toa pumped his fists: "Toa ov STONE!"

"Of," Krahka corrected.

"STONE!"

"Of stone."

"TOA OV STONE!"

"Alright, we'll fix that later."

"Aycan peak! Ps- sk- spkspk- seek- pek- sep- BONES! Ssspeak!"

Nokama beamed, eyes alight with pride: "You can indeed!" she laughed exuberantly as she streched out her arms towards him. Pohatu slammed his head in her palms much like a Hapaka pup, perhaps even a bit more forcefully than she would have liked, and let her sway it left and right while gently squeezing his cheeks between her fingers. "How lovely to hear you again!"

His laugh was as thunderous as she remembered, filling the entire room effortlessly.

"He's not that good," Krahka huffed. She didn't get all these compliments when she figured out speech in a handful of minutes...

Her student stuck out his tongue at her.

She stuck it right back at him.

If she'd still been a teacher, the Ga-Turaga would have felt compelled to break up their bickering; having trained herself on the most inane of her brothers' arguments, however, she simply turned away from their childish display to put all of her attention on the one being who still had not uttered as much as a sigh.

"And you, Kopaka?" she grinned at him. "Would you like to share your progress with us, too?"

The Toa treated her to as blank yet least annoyed a gaze as he could.

His lips moved forward, as if to send her a kiss: then he whistled.

Whenua widened his eyes: "No," he whispered.

Kopaka looked straight at him and whistled twice again, adding an inquisitive inflection to the sound.

"No," the Turaga repeated. His finger pointed right at the organic being's chest; his gaze had turned dead serious. "Do not do this to me. Speak."

Another whistle.

Whenua smacked his hand on his leg: "No!" he wailed in a state of total despair, "I will not take this! We do not need another one who speaks solely in bird! I know you can speak - Pohatu, tell him to speak! Tell your brother to speak!"

But Pohatu only grinned as wide as he could and shook in his seat, legs tangled and swinging - not even trying to hide his amusement.

The Turaga turned to his old friend: "Krahka! Tell him to speak!"

"But he is speaking," she replied innocently as she batted her lashes, "Just not your language."

Watching him grip onto the cot for dear life as he whined and sobbed dramatically loudly while letting himself sink to the floor, this close to biting a chunk out of the mattress in frustration, was certainly something. What exactly that was was hard to tell, but the other four beings could agree that it was at least very funny.

When Whenua finally pulled himself up, he looked like he had been through the trials of the Hordika again.

"Kopaka," he began, pointing his finger at the Toa of Ice once more. "Listen to me very carefully. You cannot do this to me. I've stomached Nuju speaking only bird for a thousand years, I physically cannot handle a second one like that. You will kill me. You will kill your brother's Turaga. Do you think Onua would appreciate that? I know you can speak. Now take a deep breath, and say something. Normally. With words."

Teridax had awaited thousands of decades to see his plan come to fruition - millions of days, billions of hours, trillions of seconds, all for a moment of glory that barely lasted but a fraction of the anticipation and planning behind its very achievement.

The pause before Kopaka's answer was somehow more excruciating.

Might have been his dead stare in the Turaga's eyes.

Or the fact that he followed his instructions to the letter, likely for the sake of torturing him further.

His lips parted first to take a deep, deep breath, filling his chest.

They parted again to then exhale all that air - very slowly.

Parting a third time, he inhaled shortly.

And finally, mouth protracted to whistle, he said, deadpan: "No."

Whenua sunk back to the floor with a loud whimper.

Two seconds later he sprung back to his feet: "You PIRAKA!" he shrieked, and menacingly swung his fist down on the cot several times as the Toa picked himself up and leisurely walked on the mattress to hide behind his brother, who was convulsing uncontrollably as he laughed harder than his stomach could take, "You Vatuka! You Makika-faced fiend! So much for being made by Artakha - get back here, you spawn of Karzhani! You make me believe you can only--!"

"He couldn't even speak avian," his sister cackled for the sake of increasing his brother's relief and anger at the same time, "My Rau couldn't even translate him! He was just whistling!"

"WHAT!"

Pohatu kept rocking back and forth wheezing hysterically to the point where he was about to start crying.

"You shut up, you overly meaty Vako!" Whenua yelled again.

The Toa tried to answer to the insult with something in tone as best as his still clumsy speaking capabilities could allow him to - instead coughing up a storm as he choked on a breath when he attempted to stop his crazed giggling a little too quickly, needing his brother to (extraordinarily gracelessly, to be quite honest) slam his open palm a few times on his back like he was trying to shatter his spine to smithereens in order to dislodge whatever disgusting thing was stuck in his throat.

At last he sucked in a huge breath, mouth opening wide in a grin as the sound of a creaking window escaped it: "Aploghy tim-one tim-too tim-thrr earh-tauraga tim-one tim-too."

"Oh!"

"Ah - yes," Krahka bit her lip, face scrounched up in an almost pained grimace: "That. I was going to mention that."

"Lang stone-pattern same-not, be?" Nokama whirred, hoping her memory was simply a little faulty. The words came out of her like the intermittent clicking laments of a floppy disk drive allowing its contents to be downloaded slowly.

"Smaae-not, bee," Pohatu confirmed - not without struggling to imitate something at least close to the correct noise a few times.

Kopaka rolled his tongue deeper down his throat in something akin to a purr: "Frrreim-uorrrk an- anao- amu- anolam- anomelie," he tried to explain, modulating squeaks by imposing his dull greyish teeth and tongue against his lower lip to try and correct his pronounciation - though much of it was beyond his control.

His frustration was mitigated slightly by Nokama's humid palm laying on his hand. He focused on the texture of the protodermis on his skin before he started scowling too hard.

The Turaga turned to their friend, speechless but with eyes open wide, completely baffled.

Krahka could only shrug: "They're not built for it."

"What do you mean, not built for it?" Nokama sputtered before she could hold herself back: "It's our language! Our first dialect! All Matoran are made with an immediate knowledge of it - what do you mean, not...?"

"Framework lang compat-not," the Rahi repeated: her Agori-like face morphed into a mixture of mechanical features, reminiscent at once of both all the former inhabitants of the Great Spirit Robot and none of them, so that she could illustrate the problem as they moved in an unnatural manner as she continued speaking in screeching whirrs, clicks, buzzes, clangs, clunks, and so on. "Unit mec-not lang maker lang part-plural present-not. When: lang maker-yes lang part number-plural mod-not. Ice-toa stone-toa find-yes number-plural rrr-lang part click-lang plus maker-yes part-part-part iiii-lang-dif minus lang part-dif number-plural mod-not."*

The information did very little to comfort the Ga-Turaga. She looked awfully beside herself.

"But you do understand it still - you did understand all that with no problem, right?" Whenua turned back to the Toa as he gently clunked: "Comp-yes, be? Comp-correct-yes, be?"

"Com-ies arth-turrga, bee," Pohatu reassured him.

The other winced a little, but he smiled: "And you can still say a few words," he reassured Nokama, rubbing her shoulder comfortingly. "Pronounciation leaves a lot to be desired, but based on how you spoke earlier it's safe to say that's not your forte."

The Toa of Stone dropped his shoulders with a cartoonish pout.

"Corec," Kopaka coughed.

His brother shot him a glare that wouldn't have been out of place on Nuju's face during one of his worst days.

The other Toa smirked with a smugness worthy of Onewa.

It was very short-lived, as he instantly dropped it and paled when Pohatu pointed at his nose with a brand new vengeance in his own dastardly grin as he only said: "Sayit."

Krahka tilted her head.

Then she grinned too.

Horrifyingly, because of the completely mechanical face.

Pohatu pressed harder on Kopaka's nose: "Sayit."

The Toa bit down on his lip and scowled.

"Sayit!"

"Come on, Kopaka," Krahka drawled with a honey-sweet tone, "Don't you want to show them how good you are?"

He shot her a look that could have killed her if she'd been any weaker a being and tried to stand up to walk out of the situation as he'd enjoyed being able to do in these past few days; he was instantly grasped and manhandled until he was essentially dangled before the Turaga, trying as hard as he could to hold himself back by clawing onto the cot with his dull fingers: "Sayit!!" his brother insisted with a wail, shaking him up and down like a jammed up pepper grinder.

"No!" he growled back quietly as his cheeks grew darker.

Pohatu leaned down to the baffled Turaga with a conspiratorial smirk: "Ee kip sain da vecas ee nos ee can mes i'ap," he stage-whispered, completely forgoing any lesson he might have been given on proper phonology in favor of fluid if only vaguely comprehensible communication.

"Can-NOT!" his brother corrected.

"Aysay da!"

"NO! Ee- Yu, say-d, can!"

"He's right, you said 'can', not can't." their teacher intervened: "You're really bad with plosives."

He very maturely replied by blowing her the loudest raspberry he could and resuming shaking his poor frazzled brother by the shoulders whilst gargling some sort of inarticulate howl.

The sheer tenacity with which Kopaka was holding onto that terrible mattress was probably only matched by a Bohrok's drive to clean.

Krahka's hyena-like cackle briefly interrupted his concentration so he could shoot her another positively deadly glare - which meant that he was taken completely aback when he was finally ensnared from beneath the armpits in a grapple, lifted halfway in the air, and launched together with his brother as the both screamed back onto the bed.

The Rahi kept laughing as the two tussled like a pair of angry manuls, needing to bend down on her knees before her lungs collapsed and she fell to the floor.

She waved at the worried friends to reassure them: "Let them, let them - pups like them need to play!"

"I think they're trying to bite each other," Nokama objected.

"That's a common play-pattern," her brother intervened too quickly.

While he nursed the shoulder she'd punched, the Ga-Turaga turned back to the still cackling beast: "What is this even about? What would elicit a reaction like this?"

"Nothing! Absolutely nothing!" Krahka howled back, overwhelmed by a fit of giggles for a few more seconds before she could return to a semblance of composure: "Your little Ice Toa is a big ol' show-off, is all! He decided he was good enough to recite a rhyme from memory as his first real attempt at speech, and he-"

"SHAT!" came from the mess of organic matter, promptly followed by a "SAYIT!" followed in turn by a loud frustrated shriek.

"And he did bad. Like really bad."

"SHAT!"

"SAYIT!!"

"NO!"

A loud, almost metallic sound rang out for a second, and then Pohatu yowled as he rolled on his back with his faulty leg that didn't seem to want to heal in his hands, accusing a certain degree of pain to the limb through variations of ahia-ahio-ohiohi-ahiuiah.

Kopaka pointed a finger at him as though he could have stabbed him with it, hissing: "Yu, de-serv, it."

His brother briefly stopped nursing his calf to slam a hand on his bicep in what would have more clearly been the first half of a crass gesture if he hadn't been laying face up in the spit image of a stuck dermis turtle.

"I could give you a penalty for that!" Whenua warned him.

To which the Toa of Stone rightfully protested, squashing his brother's face in his hands: "An ee don ghe uan?"

"By the tail of the Rahi Nui, you are abysmal at talking," Krahka sighed. "And you could do it from the second you were awake..."

"Shat ap, ayam jas fas."

"There is not a single right phoneme in that sentence."

"Ayam jas fas!"

The sound of their bickering did not bother the Onu-Turaga as he mused over the barely comprehensible complaint his brother's Toa had brought to his attention.

He turned to his sister: "What is it that you used to teach in Metru Nui, again?" he asked, "Was it hystory? Or language?"

"A bit of both," she replied, the hint of a twinkle in her eye telling him that she must have caught on to what he was thinking: "Though literature was also on my curriculum."

Whenua made a big show of humming and thinking, even playing with the chin of his mask like he'd once seen some Ko-Metru scholars do when they were so deep in their mostly useless ponderings that they wouldn't even notice where they were going until they smacked their faces against a wall, before litting his pale green gaze finally settle on Kopaka's dark face.

The organic Toa was giving him a look that promised frigid anguish if he even just thought of putting his idea in motion.

"Does your leg hurt very badly, Pohatu?" the Turaga asked with not a single hint of fear towards the silent threat at him, since he knew it was all hot air anyways.

A disgruntled wail was answer enough.

"Then a penalty for Kopaka is indeed in order. I'm certain you're curious about that rhyme they mentioned he could recite, sister?"

Kopaka hissed through gritted teeth: "No."

"You don't get a say in this," Whenua shut him down immediately.

"No!"

"Why, dear brother, I am curious," Nokama replied.

"No!!"

She laughed a little more gently as she noticed the Toa's embarrassed darkening cheeks as he sunk his nails into the mattress, and waved at him reassuringly: "Oh, come now, I've heard all sorts of terrible recitals in my time from Matoran who should have had a much better grasp on their tongue than you do right now, it'll be nothing special! Here - come closer, say it into my audio receptor. That way nobody else will hear. Is that alright with you?"

For a second, considering the way he trembled in his seat and the perfectly immoble seething squint of his eyes, her interlocutor seemed moments away from grasping her mask and disassembling her entire body like a puppy tussling with a porcelain doll.

Then, blushing so furiously that his face might as well have been made of coal, he did lean very close to the Turaga (avoiding eye contact at all costs) and complied.

His lips moved imperceptibly for a few seconds, making almost no sound at all.

He was so quiet in fact that Nokama had to interrupt him and ask, as sweetly as possible: "Could you repeat that a little louder, please? I can't hear a thing."

Head sinking into his shoulders from embarrassment, hearing Krahka's mocking giggles behind him, and feeling Pohatu's eyes pierce holes into his back, the stoic Toa of Ice thought the loudest most terrible curse that could come to his mind in the hopes that it would automatically transfer into their brains and raised his voice just enough for the Turaga to actually make out the words.

If he had gotten a limb cut off it would probably have been so much less painful than this.

The second Nokama pulled away and joined hands in front of her mouth to carefully choose her words he was frankly ready to just spontaneously shatter into a quadrillion pieces.

He did crumble a little when she placed a kind palm on his arm.

"It was a commendable effort, and I praise you for trying your best in your current conditions," she started, so immensely sweet in an attempt to soften the blow that was inevitably coming (she stopped briefly to shut up Krahka's new batch of chuckles with the most killer glare in the repertoire of any being of Water) before finally taking a long breath and admitting: "But that was really, really bad."

Kopaka curled into a ball, lowered himself to the floor, and scuttled under the cot and across the room in pure shame.

Pohatu nearly choked again as he laughed as loud as he could.

He choked for real when his brother landed a whole elbow in his stomach with a pounce that would have hurled the both of them right off the bed if the Rahi present hadn't shifted just in time to contain them - though that could not stop him from contuining to howl his hilarity, all while getting pelted in as many furious slaps across his face and body as the Ice Toa's hands could withstand before they caught on fire.

--

*Organic beings don't have anything to produce most of these sounds with, and even when they can only a few can be modulated. They did discover a variety of purrs and tongue-clicks - and that they can do those weird lip-teeth-tongue squeals - but they can't articulate much else.