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dilatorywriting · 1 year

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Heroes vs. Villains : Octavinelle [Part 2]

Gender Neutral Reader x Octavinelle vs. Rielle Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: Woe to the Ramshackle Prefect, being caught up in the drama between the Disney Villains and their respective heroes. Octavinelle Version, Part 2 ie. Your red-headed hero arrives at Night Raven College and your other aquatic friends are less than enthused.

[PART 1] [PART 2]

The VDC is going to be one of the biggest events in Night Raven College’s history. It’s going to be spectacular, awe-inspiring, one for the history books. And somehow, by the grace of the Gods (or, well, Vil and Professor Crewel) you have tickets.

So naturally, Azul wants you to work through the entire thing.

“I know you don’t like people,” he’d smiled, as if he was offering you salvation on a silver platter. “And just think of it—all those crowds of sweaty, screaming, humans running around. It only seems right that I, as your employer and friend, do my due diligence to keep you safe during all of it, hmm?”

“We’re just thinking of your wellbeing,” Jade had piped in, a gloved hand pressed to his chest all innocent-like. You weren’t fooled for a second.

“And think of all the extra Thaumarks you’ll earn in tips!” Azul chirped. “I know being in a new world has been difficult for you in more ways than one, and that the financial burden in particular has been terribly unpleasant. So really, we’re just doing everything we can to assist you!”

Lies about being considerate for your ‘delicate mental health’ aside, money was good. Money was great. And besides, all you really cared about was the Choral Competition. As long as you could sneak away for that one, camping out in the Lounge didn’t actually seem like the worst idea in the world. The food was excellent, the atmosphere soothing, and the company was—

…Well.

‘Less than desirable’ would probably be an understatement. But Azul always let you take home the leftovers at the end of the night, and sometimes on colder nights Jade would make you a cup of cocoa with no mushrooms in it or anything. So maybe you could excuse a bit of sadism here and there.

So the VDC came and little, poor, you were squirreled away behind the gilded doors of the Mostro Lounge. Aside for the influx of costumers (and subsequent ‘event price hikes’), it was hardly different than any of your other shifts. The one notable difference was how often Azul swapped your station. Normally you were on door duty, or acting as part of the wait staff. But every time a group of RSA students strutted by in their fancy white uniforms, the Octo-Mer would shuffle you off to the kitchens. Or the bar. Or even his office sometimes, demanding assistance with clerical work.

Someone called your name and you lifted your head from your cloud of misery and menial labor—only half paying attention to the people you were ushering in towards the seating area. But instead of another unfamiliar blob waving you down, you actually recognized this guy. Him and his brilliant shock of red hair that you wouldn’t be able to miss from a mile away.

Lo – it was fork dude.

Or, well, Prince Rielle Tidal of Atlantica. But whatever. Man had pushed a utensil into your hands and told you to brush your hair with it. There was no coming back from that.

Your sun-kissed savior swerved through the line to greet you, nearly bowling you over in his enthusiasm. His RSA uniform was a blotch of bleached brightness against the sea of Night Raven’s black ensemble. Normally your rival academics seemed to travel in packs—safety in numbers and all that. But Rielle was weaving through the mass of grumpy NRC faces like he was perfectly at home.

“I decided to pop by to see Azul and his business—because, you know, he was always so smart and pragmatic so I knew it’d probably be really cool and whatever—but wow! It’s really you!”

“It’s really me,” you repeated, fighting to keep the chirp in your customer service voice. “So, would you like a table or—"

“Wait a second—Azul has you working during the festival?!” Rielle gawked, as if he was just realizing that he had stepped into a place a of business, and that you were wearing the uniform of said establishment. “That’s so cruel!”

Yes. Yes it was. But Azul was nothing if not cruel. And if this guy actually knew anything about him at all, he should be perfectly aware of that.

“Someone has to do it,” you shrugged. “Anyways, can I get you something to—”

“Wah, look at this! Shrimpy’s slackin’ on the job!”

Maybe you could put your head through the wall. That would probably be less painful.

Floyd, Jade, and Azul materialized behind you seemingly out of thin air. The terrible trio greeted your dour frown with varying degrees of spiteful glee. And… something else? There was a sort of tension about them that didn’t mesh with their usual haughtiness. It had cropped up for the first time a few weeks ago—that day at the beach. And subsequently the hours after when Jade had pulled Azul into his office to whisper all kinds of nonsense that was apparently ‘too delicate’ for you and whatever tolerance you’d built for these sociopaths.

“Actually, it’s my fault!” Rielle blurted, stepping smoothly in front of you with all the chivalry of a knight. You wanted to warn him that dipping into Floyd’s bite radius was a terrible idea, but at the same time, you were tired, and hungry, and very curious to see how this would all play out. “And I was just wondering—well… I—I mean…”

The young Prince was starting to splutter, his cheeks burning that same, hot, pink that they had all those weeks ago at the beach. He took a moment to clear his throat, compose himself, and then grasped your hands with both of his very neatly manicured ones.

You thought you heard someone gasp. Like in a period novel.

“I actually heard that you were at Night Raven too! And I’ve been looking all over for you! So—I—Would you—” More throat clearing. Floyd’s teeth were grinding together so loudly it almost sounded like a buzzsaw. “Do you want to get something to eat with me?”

There was a deafening crack and you watched as Jade nearly put Floyd through the floor in an attempt to keep him from lurching forward. You observed the scene before you with pleasant sort of surprise as the trio across from you erupted. Or, well, Floyd had erupted. Jade just had that perfectly polite smile on his mouth that let you know he was planning someone’s murder. And Azul looked like he’d just taken physical damage.

Huh. Interesting.

Then again, you’d known they were a proprietary bunch. And you also knew that you were the favorite chew toy around these parts. No one else was sturdy enough for the role, apparently.

“Oi, Princey,” Floyd snarled from behind Jade’s gloved fingers. “What do you think you’re—"

“I—” you interrupted, stepping between the rabid Merfolk and the would-be-mincemeat. “—would love to.”

Silence.

“…What?” Azul squawked.

“I’m due for my break anyways,” you shrugged, enjoying the horrible little surge of satisfaction warming your gut. Take that, you obnoxious fucks. You weren’t sure why Rielle and his crimson-monstrosity of a hairdo had set the three of them off so terribly, but you’d been on your feet for hours now. And missing all the food stalls, and your other friends, and you were going to take this petty revenge where you could.

You turned to Rielle with a polite little smile that you hoped looked more demure than scheming, and his eyes sparkled.

“You don’t mind eating here, do you?” you asked before shooting Azul an award-winning grin. “I’m sure having a Prince dining in would be great advertisement.”

“But of course,” he grit out. “Who would I be to turn down such a ringing endorsement.”

Rielle tossed an amiable arm across your shoulders and laughed that tinkling, church-bell, laugh of his. Floyd’s lip twitched and Azul snagged his arm quicker than a snake could strike. The snarling behemoth was promptly dragged off into the depths of the Lounge—Azul muttering something frantically under his breath that you couldn’t make out. He looked hunched, panicked. And whatever he was saying must have been serious enough to snag Floyd’s fickle attentions, because the too-tall henchman stayed firmly at his boss’s side. The pair of them vanished into the kitchens, the door slamming behind them.

“Just this way then, if you’d please,” Jade beamed, positively glacial.

“This’ll be great!” the Prince preened, keeping a loose grip on you as you both trailed a very stiff Eel through the front parlor. “I get to see all of Azul’s awesome accomplishments and have lunch with you at the same time!”

“The Mostro Lounge is a lovely place to dine,” you chirped, repeating your familiar, scripted, server prompts from memory. “There’s something for everyone.”

“Is that so?” Rielle hummed, as if in deep thought. “That’s very considerate of them.”

Plenty of people at this school liked to insult your intelligence, and you in turn liked to remind certain someones (Ace. Sebek.) that it was best not to throw stones in glass houses. But this was—you may have really found an actual, factual, ditz. Was this how Azul felt all the time? Looking down at you mere mortals with his superior IQ and cunning? Listening to Rielle’s innocent rambling made you feel like Einstein. It was… sort of nice.

My God, you were going to have be responsible for him, weren’t you? Is that was parenthood felt like?

Jade led you to a quiet booth in the back—the one with a direct line of sight to both the kitchens and Azul’s office. The one reserved for problem customers. You folded yourself neatly onto the cushioned bench and Rielle followed, sitting at your side rather than across the table. Something in Jade’s jaw twitched.

“What do you recommend?” Rielle asked you cheerfully, practically radiating enthusiasm. “I’m sure everything is fantastic!”

“Hmm… How about the Mixed Seafood Platter to start I think,” you grinned, turning your polite beam back on your unfortunate server. “With the Unagi, please.”

Beneath all that bubbling irritation, something in those bi-colored eyes gleamed with the barest hint of respect.

“But of course. If you’ll excuse me.”

Once Jade had retreated, Rielle relaxed back into his seat with a theatrical sigh. He brushed his neat swoop of hair off his forehead, like he was wiping away sweat from a workout.

“Phewf! Not that Azul’s friends aren’t nice and all, but they always give me a bit of the heebie-jeebies.”

That was the kindest word for ‘intense murderous aura’ that you’d ever heard.

“A bit, yeah,” you agreed easily enough. “So how do you know Azul?”

“Oh!” he perked right back up. “We were classmates! When we were younger. He was always really quiet, but also really smart! Is he still like that? Quiet—I mean. Reserved.”

A memory struck you then—of standing at Azul’s side in the lobby of the Atlantica Memorial Museum. You remembered his hesitant determination as he replaced his old class photo on the wall. The picture of a tiny, rounder, Azul standing off to the side—hunched, grey, and miserable amidst a sea of laughing faces. You couldn’t remember if there had been a brilliant slash of red mixed in there anywhere. You hadn’t even bothered to check. Because why would you have even deigned to look at the faces of a group of bullies?

Something soured in your gut.

“I wouldn’t say that, no,” your smile sharpening a bit at the edges. “He’s actually very talkative. It’s hard to get him to shut up most of the time.”

“Really?” Rielle gaped. “Wow! That’s awesome!”

Jade slithered by to drop off your appetizers, and if he noticed the slight drop in your mood he didn’t mention it. He was in and out in a flash. You could just see the whisps of his teal hair disappearing back into Azul’s office.

“Enough about Azul though,” Rielle waved off, reaching for the platter. “Tell me about you!”

“Me?” you echoed, bland. “But isn’t Azul your old friend?”

The Prince waved you off once more, cheeks pinkening all over again. “I can talk to him whenever. I’d much rather hear about you! You’re—You’re interesting!”

Now, that was probably a genuine compliment. You doubted Rielle actually meant to slight your friend companion boss by implying that the most ambitious, intelligent, cunning, and well-dressed merman on campus wasn’t interesting enough to converse about—that all of Azul’s efforts to bring himself out of the shadows and onto center stage were still wanting. But that bitter thing in your stomach was raring for a fight.

So you ruffled around in your uniform pocket and pulled out the little notebook you used to tally orders. You shot Rielle the brightest, sweetest, smile you could and watched his stupidly pretty face light up redder than his hair.

“Actually,” you giggled—giggled. Like a freak. “I’d love to hear about you.”

“He’s going to say something!—”

“What doesn’t Shrimpy already know, huh?” Floyd griped. “And I mean, didn’t you steal Ramshackle? You really think bubble-butt out there can do anything to make the Prefect hate you?”

Azul paced. And paced. And paced.

“It’s not about hating me,” he hissed, fighting the urge to wring his hands. “It’s about realizing there are better options out there, and—”

“Bubble-butt is a better option?!” Floyd cackled.

“Stop interrupting me!”

“Then stop whining,” the eel droned, flopping his head back against the couch. “You shoulda just let me squeeze ‘em.”

“We do not need to spark an international incident in my restaurant,” Azul repeated. Though it sounded less like he was trying to convince Floyd than himself. “Rielle Tidal is a Prince—”

“—a shitty, turd, leftover, Prince—”

“—who we must treat,” Azul grit out, “as such.”

There was a firm rap against the door and Jade slipped inside. Azul had to fight the reflex to pounce on him immediately. Instead he took a moment to pause and straighten his suit jacket. His fingers were shaking and he was sure that Jade would have seen, but thankfully there seemed to be a single shred of mercy left in his Vice-Warden’s cold, withered, heart, and the trembling limbs were not mentioned.

Jade cleared his throat and Azul leaned forward, anxious.

“I think you may be overthinking things,” he said, calm as a cucumber, and Azul wanted to scream.

“It’s not paranoia, it’s being prepared,” he snipped. A pause. “But why do you say that? What happened? Did something happen?”

Jade smiled that placid smile of his. “No.”

“No?” Azul repeated, flabbergasted.

“No,” Jade shrugged.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Floyd piped in.

Azul was just about to turn and remind his wonderful subordinate just how terrible he could make his existence when there was another knock at the door—lighter than Jade’s but just as familiar. Not a moment later, your head popped through the crack and you peaked inside wearily.

Azul hastily cleared his throat and Jade’s grin turned smug.

“Pr-Prefect! Can I help you with something?”

Floyd snickered under his breath and Azul mentally added another three hours onto the bastard’s nightly dish duties.

You stepped inside and tossed a tiny notebook down onto his desk.

“Here,” you said, with a grumpy sort of frown on your face. “All of Prince Rielle of Atlantica’s stupid wants, hopes, and dreams. You better be able to put this to good use you stupid mafioso wannabe, because I’ve been listening to this guy ramble on about himself for ages now, and I’d rather get drowned by Jade and Floyd again.”

You turned without another word and slammed the door behind you.

Azul gaped wordlessly at the pile of tiny pages splattered across his desk, and the familiar curl of your handwriting filling each and every one of them.

“Oh,” he breathed.

“Oh indeed,” Jade grinned.

#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #Jade Leech x reader #Azul Ashengrotto x reader #Floyd Leech x reader #Rielle x reader #My Writing #Octavinelle x reader #twst x reader #the tweels #jade leech #floyd leech #Rielle #Heroes vs. Villains #Heroes vs Villains Octavinelle Part 2

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saltysaltdog · 3 months

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Narinder and his relationship to the bishops. What caused their falling out?

The game tells you everything you need to know... (Spoiler, it was Leshy)

"Hapless Leshy" is how Haro describes them. And that just means he's very unlucky, unfortunate... doomed.

Leshy is the youngest god, the god of Chaos and flux. For a lot of people when they imagine Chaos, they think of something ever changing, a sensory overload that's never consistent and with no repeating patterns. Constant change.

Notably, Narinder doesn't have anything bad to say about him. His dialogue is limited to one line. "Leshy fell before you like a grain of sand before a tidal wave." Considering how verbose Narinder usually is this should strike you as odd. He comments about how happy he is with seeing the others fall, but not Leshy. He even holds himself in check if you do something that really upsets him, like sell out Ratau (cough cough) but he can't bring himself to demean leshy in the same way, nor celebrate at all.

He should be a natural ally to Narinder, who wanted change. And yet he's not.

"He was unalike the rest of his kin. While others dealt with flux; chaos, famine, pestilence, war. Things in which their constancy must transpose. And yet he was the inevitable; the obstinate and irresistible. The one who waits. Truly peculiar, 'twould then seem, has appetency to invite the novel and the new, break ancient vow and primordial bond alike. Traditions stagnate and appetites augment, nonetheless. Doubt tears faith asunder."

Switching between two states: change, is the natural order of things, Leshy should be inviting chaos, causing it... And there lies the problem.

Bonds of familial duty, turned instead to chains. Most voracious of appetites, curbed and contained. Most infectious of ideas cut off and cauterised before given chance to rot and spread. Cruel, verily. Alas, what other recourse was given? How does one kill Death? ... Alas. One cannot."

The final lines imply that they sacrificed their power, their growth, to stop Narinder, but what if it wasn't him they were doing it for?

Hear me out. Leshy is the youngest and the weakest, it could be that his powers couldn't handle the rate at which things were changing. If so, then he would only be an obstacle to Narinder. At first it would be fine, but if Leshy didn't get better, if the bishops couldn't cause meaningful change, new things, if change itself was making him sick and "Doubt tears faith asunder": wouldn't it be the one to "break ancient vow and primordial bond alike" be first in line for having the blame cast on them?

We don't have a clear idea on what shenainigains Narinder was up to, but both he and Shamura tell us one thing he was working on.

"The blame hangs heavy 'round my neck. I introduced him to ideas of change..." ".... Death cannot flow backward."

Bringing the dead back to life.

He praises you for doing so in response to one of his quests on his quest line. But that's not to say it's all he was working on.

Hang tight, because this bit is up for interpretation:

These guys.

Cute mushroom guys that infect you and try to turn you into a mushroom too, and once you die you can be replanted, again and again and again and again and a- its basically immortality!

They live in Narinder's domain, and yet they are Menticide Mushrooms from Anura given a follower form. They are unnatural, and fiercely hunted when they visit there, so they are not endemic to the area. If Narinder was playing with Nature's laws, turning mushrooms into people, or people into mushrooms, then what's to say he wasn't trying it on anything else?

Like say maybe... plants?

Yes.

Now technically a lot of enemies you fight have plant like features, so many in fact that it's like they were mass produced, existing everywhere except the silk cradle: Shamura's domain of war.

Now these plant creatures fight for the bishops, but that's not to say they are natural. We get normal frogs, insects, fish, etc, but we only get these plant-like worm followers after Leshy turns them into plant like creatures. I don't believe you can randomly happen across them. Perhaps these constructs were originally developed to ensure protection of his siblings, something to prevent them from wasting followers on defending their realms from weaker gods. Or launching assaults. After all, don't many people have a primordial bond to the land they grew up on? Having your favourite tree attack you would suck.

While maybe not a direct result of Narinder, although I wouldn't put it past him to look at a worm and crown and go "oh this'll be funny", I think it's possible that no other plant creature developed consciousness, that Leshy is special, unique, alone.

Perhaps everyone had different ideas on how to help him.

It's up to personal preference the order of events and the degree of sentience the plant enemies have, and thus the mental age of leshy when he became a god, but I'm inclined to think that Narinder still considers Leshy his baby brother, one who would be spared if he could.

(He also made the undead enemies you fight but that's probably obvious.)

But this is all speculation, entities like the gold loving tree exist, so there could be old entities that are plant based kicking around. And the mushrooms could just be from the giant dead god skull being a god of decay. It's hard to know for sure.

It'd be so funny if we could plant that mushroom and grow a giant god. Unlikely though.

So Leshy's existence is unprecedented, Chaos itself to many who see him. But why doesn't chaos help him? Narinder speaks about the "unordered beauty of his realm..." and his attack patterns are technically random, but most Bishops speak on their domain a lot.

Leshy doesnt.

"Winds of change blow; dost thou sense it? Around us, the world creaks and turns. Afore, it stood immobile. Motionless centuries grow rust. Now leshy has fallen..."

His domain was stagnant. Leshy is concerned with Narinder being a heretic, and thus you, because your rituals don't align with the old faith's practices. But since those "traditions stagnate", it makes sense why he is the least revered among his siblings, his grasp on the order, what those rituals are supposed to bring, isn't that good. He's probably just doing them because he's supposed to without understanding the greater purpose of them.

"The worm, it is hungry. It feeds. It partakes of our flesh. But that is the price for safety. For that we gladly give it all we have."

His average followers don't even use his name, or maybe they aren't really his followers at all? It's hard to know for sure.

"I recall Leshy. Prior to yourself, he was the last to bargain with me. Adept as he was, he rose quickly to the challenges of Godhood, aided by his siblings. Many were drawn to his chaotic ways"

He was helped out a lot by his siblings, likely to the point he would have died if he was alone.

do Narinder's siblings really think Narinder could have attempted to kill leshy after being perhaps monumental in causing his existence?

Part 2: yep.

Narinder says that Shamura "could never handle the multitudes of a being such as I" (paraphrased. I'm lazy.) Which we are to take as a statement on what he wanted to attempt with his power. With the sins of the flesh update however it might not be that simple.

Sup you slithery bastard.

What's key here is listening to how the other bishops talk about Narinder. Leshy refers to him as a heretic, Heket as a monster they chained below, Shamura as a brother and Narinder.

They used the term red crown for him, but with the notion of it's own independence Kallamar becomes the most relevant.

Kallamar: "Shamura, the Red Crown grows stronger by the day. Already it has succeeded where he has failed before. Leshy has been slain!"

There's a collective understanding of who "he" is. Narinder. But it is interesting that Kallamar never directly uses the term to refer to Narinder, only using pronouns. Isn't the vessel's success Narinder's success? This makes it sound like the red crown is an entity of its own, succeeding where Narinder failed, at least in Kallamar's mind.

It should be noted that Kallamar doesn't refer to you as the red crown during the events of the game. You are the vessel of it. Then when he needs to insult you, critter, beast. Then as a final plea, lamb. Before that however, after he figures out you arent leaving he tries to bargin with the crown directly.

It seems you cannot be stopped by disease or hunger. And he sends you back from death stronger each time. Please know, it was not my idea to cast out the Red Crown! The other Bishops, my siblings, the blame lies with them. Please, I beg you, spare me. Kill Shamura, but do not send me to my death. Do not send me to him!

Then finally, in post game, likely before seeing Kallamar again, when you have gathered enough sin the seller will ask you:

"I have dealt with Gods, and often pondered; does the Bearer wear the Crown, Or the Crown the Bearer?"

"Stay back! Stay away! Mercy, Red Crown, mercy..."

Of course once you have him as s follower and he realises you are not walking puppet for damnation personified he chills out.

According to the seller "Foolish though he may have seemed, he wielded the power of his Crown without discrimination." Meaning Kallamar might have the most experience with how screwy the crown may be on the minds of followers, and potentially gods if Chemach is anything to go by.

In this sense Kallamar might be the only one who believes Narinder to be innocent- in the sense that he was not in his right mind when he did whatever it was that made the bishops think he was trying to kill leshy- imagining him to be under some kind hypnosis, unable to tell friend from foe. So he always separates the two just in case. That being said, the need to imprison him for was probably encouraged by him.

Of course this all relies on the "he" mentioned being Narinder and not like Ratau or something. Kallamar does know him by name, weirdly enough. "Your friend Ratau was the last vessel sent against us," which begs the much funnier question that how does he know his name? Did they talk? Did Ratau just scream an introduction before every fight? Presumably that was decades ago Kallamar how do you even remember?

Not the worst ship I've seen.

All fun aside, some of Heket's lines can also be interpreted this way.

Heket: "So it is true. The Red Crown sits upon the brow of another."

"The Bishops… my family. Have they not suffered enough? Have I not suffered enough? We fought, pathetic vessel. We bled. We grieved. And yet the Red Crown wants more. No more."

"Pathetic, sniveling, vile puppet to the Red Crown. You have felled the youngest of us. We are the Bishops of the Old Faith. We protect against heresies such as yours. /....We will not tolerate such blasphemy. Your sins are many, and for that y... "

"You there, vessel of the Red Crown! Bow to me, or you will regret it!"

"It was not so long ago that we cast out the Red Crown. A mere thousand or so years. The heresy it preached could not be tolerated. Such noxious ideals... it could not be allowed. For this most damning of sins_"

The mention of sins and heresy is interesting because more less or we just got here. There's the idea that the crown itself is heretical, perhaps not just as a symbol. Since you know, it tells us to gather sin. But of course, in typical play you have murdered her followers in at least four crusades against Leshy then her so, plenty of heresy and sin there.

Theres no much we can gleam about Narinder's actions, but her dialogue suggests her battle with Narinder stemmed from what he wanted to accomplish/his vision for the future, rather than any attempts on Leshy's life- at least not directly- and considering Narinder says "Heket's words were more toxic and foul than the mushrooms that grew in her domain." I think they may have fought over policy and doctrine a lot. After all, nothing would be so wounding to Narinder than himself to be wrong and someone else to be right.

He calls her "arrogant" but Haro called her "temperamental". The two may not conflict, since haro also says she's "afeared by none" which is to say scared by nothing, not that in her rule nobody was scared of her. The seller calls her "vicious" and a "wicked beast", but also amusing in a way, which I'm more inclined to believe is him saying she was annoyingly persistent in trying to get past him into his portal thing than any form of true disdain. Then again she might have just eaten the god tears to see what they do instead of trading them. So many fun possibilities.

That being said, how do we reconcile Kallamar's belief that Narinder tried to kill Leshy with Heket's main complaint being his ideas?

Shamura.

Part 3: the tl;dr.

Shamura introduced Narinder to change, but according to Haro this should have been something he already knew from being around his siblings since their domains "transpose". Famine: feed. Plague: cure. War: peace. Chaos: order. So this has to be something different.

Shamura's domain used to be knowledge but now she is known for war. Her aspect changed, and it's likely this is what she means.

Narinder wanted to change Leshy's aspect. It would solve all his problems, allowing his other siblings to experiment instead of just stamping out anything new. Once he was set on his course Shamura couldn't stop him.

If leshy was already struggling and tried listening to Narinder and changing how everyone saw him, already having issues with cult management, this could have killed him. A god is nothing without followers. If Narinder started his plan without letting Leshy know, it definitely could have killed him.

The plan would require everyone's cooperation to work, rituals rewritten and spreading word of the change fast enough to keep it from being changed back. Shamura would have argued against it, noting issues that if brushed off by nari would set off Heket and they'd argue viciously, probably about Narinder's character and how callous ignoring the risks are. If Kallamar was put on the spot, already being a cowardly person he wouldn't be of any help. And the fight would continue.

It's possible leshy would have tried it just to stop his siblings, and done catastrophic damage to himself. After all, he's the only one who is said to eat the sacrifices directly. It's possible whatever happened forced him to need to eat food, something the gods usually don't bother with.

This would have cemented his belief in the rules as they are now, instead of however lax he may have been before. He may have liked the mushroomos or learning to make plant people before then and might have been the only one who was interested in what Narinder was doing and not trying to stop it.

You may think yourself righteous in your service to HIM. But you should not be so trusting of the Chained One.

He's the only one to comment on how your quest could be perceived as the right thing to do. He's been there himself and suffered for it.

Even so, Camellia still grows in the dark woods. They are the flowers that grow around any red crown rooms you may find, making them explicitly tied to Narinder.

And with Narinder's inability to celebrate his demise....

They couldn't quite bring themselves to hate the other.

#cult of the lamb #cotl narinder #cotl shamura #cotl leshy #cotl kallamar #cotl heket #cotl #cotl bishops #add it to the list #character analysis is pretty fun in this fandom. you get to hold up pieces and puzzle out how they fit.#cotl ratau #salty art

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goodeapple · 3 months

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unravel me

The dragon must have three heads...

pairing : Aemond x Ysilla (Rhaenyra'sDaughter!OC) x Baela

warnings : it's a three for all (ffm), breeding, tongue twister, under negotiated/undisclosed kinks

word count : 2,000+

title from "Unravel Me" by Sabrina Claudio

“So good for me, my love.” Baela whispers against her cheek, and her tone is so pretty and praising that it sends Ysilla whining, and she burrows her face into her cousin’s naked shoulder. Soft hands slip over her back, fingertips dancing up the curve of her spine like a snake in the sand. Wisps of Baela’s curls tickle her face, the moonlight strands pecking her with a million tiny kisses.

A brush of lips at Ysilla’s right shoulder signals the last piece of her puzzle notching into place.

The sound that builds in Baela’s chest is more that of a rabid beast than a Velaryon Princess.

“She's mine.” Baela snarls, pure dragon, and yanks Ysilla closer to her. Their breasts meld, their skin sticky from the summer heat that refuses to break, even though night has fallen and blanketed the scorched earth below. Baela clutches her tighter, rolling Ysilla forward along the thigh squeezed between her legs. Ysilla’s breath hitches, eyes glassy, and she rocks her hips back and forth, grinding her wet cunt along the smooth ridge of it.

A snicker, mean in sound and careless in its release, is an answer Baela does not want to hear.

Aemond curls his hand around Ysilla’s ankle and with one good, strong tug, he rips his niece away from the other girl, splaying her out on her belly, her legs suddenly dangling off the side of the bed. Ysilla gasps, startled at the new position. She feels him press up behind her, the linen of his trousers soft and thin. Her arousal starts to soak through the fabric, and she tries not to arch back into the bulge she feels nudging apart her folds.

“Let’s not talk about who this one belongs to, girl,” Aemond brings both of Ysilla’s wrists behind her, securing them with one hand at the dip of her lower back, spacing her feet further apart so she’ll be a bit more stable for what’s to come.

“Because when it’s my cock inside of her, she loses all fucking thought.”

Baela glares at him with enough hatred to fuel a thousand fires. Ysilla stares, drinking in her cousin’s state as if she is a cool drink. She was made by the Gods themselves, Ysilla swears it. Long, powerful legs that climb to muscled thighs- rider’s thighs before the curvaceous flare of her hips demands devotion. Then, up to a tapered waist before her chest blooms with beautiful, bouncy breasts that Ysilla always seems to find in her mouth. All of her gorgeous, heavenly body wrapped up in smooth, lucious sunloved skin that seems to glow and whisper take me, take me, take me into your den and keep me. It’s one of the many reasons Ysilla asked for her hand, even though her other was already entertwined with Aemond’s.

Through all of that, the pinched look on her sweetheart face detracts from Ysilla’s happiness. How many times must they go through this?

“Enough you two, I’m tired of hearing your- nnngh.” Ysilla cuts herself off with a guttural groan. She’s so wet, absolutely dribbling with want from Baela’s sweet touch that Aemond slides inside of her without any resistance. He drags her back and forth off of him, her trapped arms easy for him to loop his own through and puppet master her through their coupling. The bedspread crinkles under their movements and the softness scrapes at her nipples that sends bolts of overstimulation streaking through her tendons. He finds that perfect spot inside of her, as if his cock is a compass determined to find her pleasure, and drives the blunt mushroom head of himself straight into it overandoverand over again.

Ysilla screams, smothering her face into her sheets. She shoots up onto the tips of her toes, her peak washing through her like a tidal wave but Aemond doesn’t pause in his pace, fucking her through it brutally, her walls fluttering weakly at his assault. He’s trying to prove a point, even if it’s at her cervix’s expense. But Ysilla can’t bring herself to mind, her brain a puddle sloshing between her ears.

“Baeeee-la,” Ysilla slurs. It’s hard to think, to talk, to breathe while Aemond does his best to fuck her stupid. Her paramour looks at her, the venom in her beautiful brown eyes dissipating to make room for tenderness and she sits up straighter, giving over her full attention.

“Yes beloved?” Aemond growls at the name and Ysilla manages to curve her leg around his calf, stroking up and down the muscled limb. He’s such a boy- never knowing when to share.

“You didn’t… finish earlier…” Ysilla manages to croak out, biting at her lip as Aemond drags himself through her walls in a way that makes her ache. Baela gifts her a small smile, at the ready with a dismissive shake of her head.

“No, no.” Ysilla answers before she can be told. She twists around, giving her lover a pleading glance. His skin is slick, glistening like his bejeweled eye. Scars and muscle weave a story Ysilla knows every word to, her husband a man just as complicated as he is handsome. Aemond nods, unlacing his arms from hers only to circle one around her hips. He always needs to be touching her. Ysilla slithers up his body, enjoying every ridge and dip along the way.

“You’re doing so good for me, sweet boy. Taking such good care of me. How I love you so.” Aemond blushes, she can tell from how hot his face feels where he presses it to her neck. Ysilla drops a kiss beneath his ear, stroking the arm around her lovingly. He reaches up to cradle her breast in his hand, and he plucks and pulls at her nipple in a way that has her gushing.

“Come here, ñuha prūmia." Ysilla lets her eyes fall heavily onto her lonely lover, her voice deep and thickened. It’s constant work, to spread her attention (her admiration, her desire) between her husband and wife. Their hers but not each other’s, not even with all of Ysilla’s begging and pleading. She only pokes them enough when the time is right, careful about toying across their battle lines.

Baela blinks, unable to tear her stare from the veiny, pale hand swallowing up her wife’s tits. Aemond is so much bigger than both of them, so much stronger, it’s a bit intimidating. Sometimes, when Uncle and Niece get lost in each other, her rage dims into something more… warm. The intimidation into something a lot like yearning. Baela doesn’t entertain that feeling.

The dragonrider comes back to herself, seeing an expression that’s far past pleading spelled out on Ysilla’s face.

“Now, Baela.” She blushes, a perfect cherry tint to her umber skin and Ysilla is so fucking hungry for her. Baela crawls forward and while Ysilla loves her face as much as the rest of her, the swing of her breasts is hypnotizing. She’s finally close enough, the sweet mint on her breath wafting over Ysilla’s face and the Princess finds her fingers and laces them with hers.

The girls’ lips brush, demure and proper, something barely considered as a kiss. Baela frowns, trying to stomp down her jealousy as Ysilla breaks away to gasp out a cry. Being made to share her wife with a man who she knows to be undeserving of her drives her to madness. Having to witness him bedding her is like salt in a wound and some days, the only thing stopping her from tearing through The One-Eyed Prince with her teeth is the pleading purple eyes of her ābrazȳrys.

Baela could- no, can make Ysi cum harder, moan sweeter, love deeper than he could ever hope to. Spitefulness bites at her heart, and her voice crawls up her throat, forming into would you like me to leave you two alone? until Ysilla rolls her head forward and lets the longing in her eyes drip over Baela like hot wax.

“Spread your legs for me, Bae.” Baela sighs happily, her girl’s attention back to where it should be. She settles back on her elbows, butterflying her knees apart and offering herself up on a platter. Who is she to deny her Queen?

Ysilla dives in, all tongue, lapping her cream with a hunger reserved only for their bedchambers. Baela drops her head back, a ragged gasp ripping from her throat. Her hips swivel off the bed, rising to fuck Ysilla’s eager tongue. She can’t help it, when she reaches up to cup her own breast and rolls the plump weight in her skilled hand. She tangles her fingers in Ysilla’s roots and pulls, slanting her face harder into her soaked cunt.

Aemond moans and it’s such a nice sound, Ysilla will try to have him make it more often. He’s rutting into her, animalistic and fevered, spurred on by the sinful painting his wife and her lover make right before him. Ysilla slips a hand between her legs, caressing her clit in a way that sends her spasming and her husband groaning. She lets her slick pool over her fingers, getting them nice and drenched before tearing away from herself, and sliding them into Baela’s tight hole.

“Ysi!” Baela gasps, hips bucking wildly and if it were just the two of them, Ysilla would climb on top of her and ride. “Ysi, fuck, don’t stop!”

Driven by nothing more than greed- rocking back into Aemond, pushing her face forward against Baela, Ysilla drowns herself in the scent/feel/taste of them, feral and needy and endlessly ravenous.

“Silli, iksan jāre ribazmoqitta kesīr.” Aemond curses into the back of her neck before he lifts her up, hunching over her back and fucking into her like she’s a ragdoll, like she’s just a hole for him to dump his cum into, like she’s a Dornish slut busy with her Velaryon consort- fuck!

His release takes him by the throat and squeezes. He thrusts deeper, however possible that may be, his spend sloshing from her juicy walls as he burrows into her womb. Aemond collapses onto her back. His heavy breaths at her neck and the weight of him on her is a comfort, keeping her pinned so she doesn’t float away from her body. It keeps her focused too; she still has a job to do. Her jaw aches but she fights through the burn with gusto, her focus unwilling to waiver.

Aemond’s left hand joins her hold on Baela’s leg, his pale fingers digging into the dark flesh. They’d look so good together, so right. They’d fight before they’d fuck, or maybe both at the same time. Baela’s hand wrapped around Aemond’s narrow neck, choking him out as she bounced on his lap. His hand striking each of her ample cheeks, the buttery globes quaking before he snaked his long fingers to the dripping honeypot purring between her thighs. Ysilla wraps her lips around her cousin’s pretty little pearl and sucks, long lost in the haze of her fantasies, curling her fingers up to press at the spongy spot that undos all of Baela’s ties.

Baela shouts, back bowing and head flying back, her curls waterfalling off her shoulders. She searches blindly for Ysilla’s wrist, desperately yanking her hand still when she finds it, guiding herself through her own peak and humping her wife’s fist to draw out her tremors. Ysilla flicks her tongue over the wiggling flesh, reveling in the sharp rise of her wailing.

Aemond’s thumb strokes Baela’s quivering calf as his other goes to strum at Ysilla’s button like she’s a harp string. The Princess shudders, finally giving herself over to euphoria, cushioning herself between both halves of her world.

Baela flexes her toes, her whimpers dying out, deep rattling breaths taking their place. Aemond hums, sated and sound, edging Ysilla up the bed so that they can both curl up and rest. Baela presses the sole of her heel into his forearm to stall his movements, in a way that’s not quite as threatening as it appears tender. He drums his fingers down her leg, before pinching at her ankle. Ysilla watches and smiles, peppering kisses along the silky skin of Baela’s inner thigh. She pulls out her fingers gently, making sure to go nice and slow, letting her feel every inch that pulls out of her. Her wife shivers, crossing her thighs, perhaps suddenly aware of Aemond’s heavy eye getting quite the view of her womanhood.

Ysilla lets herself be selfish, happy that Baela is still lost in the clouds before she turns to her husband. Grinning slyly, she feeds her fingers into Aemond’s mouth, his hungry tongue swirling around them and sucking ravenously.

Se zaldrīzes ēdruta emagon hāre heads.

ñuha prūmia . my heart

ābrazȳrys . wife

iksan jāre ribazmoqitta kesīr . I'm going crazy here

se zaldrīzes ēdruta emagon hāre heads . the dragon must have three heads

#hotd #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #baela targaryen #baela velaryon #aemond tagaryen x oc #aemond targaryen smut #baela targaryen x oc #baela targaryen smut #aemond x baela #baemond #ysilla targaryen

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verytallfox · 9 months

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The Sounds of Nightmares Episode 5: A Deluge of the Inevitable Thoughts

Right off the bat, we learn the Ferryman is likely the archetypal “guardian at the threshold.” Additionally, Noone has an OCULAR TUMOR in her brain?! She has a fucking eye-thing in there and it is what’s pulling her into the Nowhere.

Next, Noone gives Otto the chewing out of his life. He doesn’t want to listen to her about her parents, and she calls him out on his bullshit. She agrees to tell him about her latest dream so long as there are no machines this time. He agrees.

There’s a role reversal now: Otto will be lying down with a blindfold on while Noone tells him her latest trip to the Nowhere. Otto hopes that Noone can somehow transmit her dream into his head.

Noone is in a sewer setting. There’s lots of children and there’s waste and there’s messed up pipes. Also, unfortunately for Otto his plan is working.

Also, THERE IS A NOME!!! The same noise, the same description, and the same mannerisms! Noone calls it a “little mushroom fairy.” Noone also hits a nasty child with a brick who presumably seeks to hurt the Nome. The Nome guides her to a room full of scavenged junk and treasures, all compiled into piles, dropped down from the world above for years.

There’s also an abandoned child’s “propeller cap” that Noone suspects the Nome’s trying to show her.

There’s also a man, who empties his pockets with his goodies. He was seen before with a beeping device. He’s horribly distorted, his head a mess like most others in the Nowhere. Said head is swollen with the back sagging behind his head, mistaken for a sack for Noone. And she knows he used to be human. He became one with the sewers.

(Cutting out excessive summarization of the episode, there’s a chase, a tidal wave, and cruel singing)

Finally, the Ferryman appears and speaks in riddles that Noone has determined the meaning of: if she gives in to his world the suffering she feels in her own will stop. She suggests that CiCi (?) abandoned Otto because she had enough of his shit. He stumbles out of the room in shock.

Otto’s demeanor changes from this and he’s colder to her from here on out. She also discovers the tumor’s existence. He’s unprofessional and no matter what she said she’s a child and he’s an adult so fuck him, grrr!

Later that night, Otto decided to use a device on Noone to locate the tumor, believing it to be the gateway to the Nowhere. Noone is coming in and out of sleep and Otto is unhinged. He has some sort of brain imaging device and he finds her tumor. Upon viewing it, it LOOKS AT HIM, and its stare is seemingly painful. As it watches him, the machine breaks.

Something has happened to Noone…

And we’ve been cliffhangered. In the words of the great Rouxls Kaard:

GOD. DAMN IT.

Some analysis:

I fucking loved this episode. Of the few legitimate theories I have (this episode mainly backs up the ones I already there), Eyes in your brain lead to the Nowhere, the Ferryman is its guardian, and it can bleed into our world too are all that’s new. Pretty simple!

Also, I believe the “bag-headed man” was once a normal child or normal man, and he’s meant to embody some sort of desire or hunger along with the nasty children. Noone’s explanation of him and the children each wanting what the other has also is meant to parallel to some degree her and Otto.

Additionally, the propeller cap is either the man’s or the Nome’s. As for the children, I don’t think those children were always children (assuming they even are children now) or perhaps they originated in the Nowhere. There’s something wrong with those guys.

I think the man might be in Little Nightmares 3. There was a suspiciously sewer-themed area in the trailer so fingers crossed!

Also, I believe CiCi is Otto’s sister. There’s mention briefly of Otto being just a boy and also looking “nothing like” his sister.

Lastly, something bad has happened to Noone y’all. I don’t know what, but I think the answers fall under two categories: physical harm or vanishing. We’ve got one more episode left and I can’t wait for it.

EDIT

Holy shit I can’t believe I didn’t consider that they both might be in the Nowhere now. I honestly love that idea, along with the possibility that the final recording will be taken while in the Nowhere. LOVE THAT!

Apologies if this summary heavy, but I hope this gave folks some delicious morsels to nibble on until next week! Thanks for reading and god I love this fucking podcast so much, it has filled the Magnus-shaped hole in me hearto. Anywho, toodles!

#the sounds of nightmares #little nightmares #the ferryman little nightmares #noone #tson

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nawysstuff · 6 months

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Silent Torment, Echoing Cares

Focused character: Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto.

More stsg angst cuz we live for pain 😤

"I know he has the hint that something is off but I won't let him confirm his suspicion, I know he means good for me but....To be cared for is to be weak."

The incessant ringing of the phone, the 72nd time, echoed in Satoru's throbbing head. and Satoru couldn't bear it any longer. "God, I wish I could break that phone," he muttered to himself, half-asleep, body burning with an unusual fever. Normally, sickness didn't touch him due to his "infinity," but when it did, he hid it with the façade of strength, unwilling to show any weakness.

Half-asleep and disoriented, he questioned the time. "7, 10, or maybe 3 pm? How long have I been sleeping?" The relentless ringing ceased only to be replaced by the unwelcome chime of the doorbell. "Who could it be?" he groaned, dragging himself out of bed. "Who is it?" he asked, his voice devoid of energy, receiving only silence in return. With reluctant steps, he opened the door to find a tall man with long, black hair in a bun, holding a bento.

"Yo, Satoru," the man greeted with a forced cheerfulness, offering a homemade mushroom soup. "I made everything from scratch. You'll love it." Despite the throbbing in his head, Satoru managed a lifeless "thanks" before slamming the door shut. "I can't let him witness me at my lowest," he thought bitterly. "I know he has the hint that something is off but I won't let him confirm his suspicion, I know he means good for me but....To be cared for is to be weak."

He collapses onto the bed, limbs heavy and lifeless, burying his head in the pillow as if seeking refuge from the relentless torment. As he succumbs to the exhaustion that engulfs him, he slips into a restless slumber, plagued by a profound sense of despair.

Hours pass like a relentless march, the ticking clock echoing the oppressive silence in the room. "I feel like I'm fading away, why is that?" A fleeting thought echoes through his clouded mind before he's abruptly jolted awake. Confusion and disorientation grip him as he attempts to make sense of his surroundings. "Wait, who—?" His body remains unresponsive to the touch, and as awareness seeps into the recesses of his consciousness, he discovers a cold towel draped across his forehead. Ghostly fingers linger on his cheeks, leaving behind a haunting sensation. A voice, laden with a blend of frustration and concern, slices through the hazy fog. "Oh, Satoru, why are you so stubborn?" The words reverberate, a painful reminder of his own resilience. Opening his eyes, he's met with Suguru's gaze, a portrait of worry and empathy etched onto his face. In that moment, the weight of his own obstinacy and the genuine care reflected in Suguru's eyes converge, creating a tempest of emotions within him.

"Suguru?" Satoru croaked.

"Good, you're up. Eat something and take your meds. I know you haven't taken any," Suguru declared, a tone of exasperation tainting his words. With an air of forced cheerfulness, he collected a plate laden with food for Satoru and handed it over, a smile masking the underlying gravity of the situation. "You're such a big baby. You don't always have to hide yourself behind walls. Sometimes, you need to let them crumble. Let me see where you're hurt. Let me take care of you," Suguru continued, his words cutting through the air like shards of glass. "You may be touted as the strongest, but we're all humans, and we all have our limits."

As Satoru took in Suguru's genuine concern, it was as if the walls he had meticulously built around himself began to crack. A bitter mix of vulnerability and resentment surged within him. Someone willing to go this far for him tore through the carefully constructed barriers, and the realization hit him like a tidal wave. His heart ached as he nodded, tears streaming down his face. In that poignant moment, he grappled with the bittersweet truth – the undeniable warmth of being cared for was inseparable from the piercing agony of acknowledging his own need for love. "To be cared for is to be loved," he whispered, the words catching in his throat, an anthem of both solace and suffering.

AN: NAWY HERE🌼 AHHHH I WANTED TO POST ON MY BDAY SO BAD BUT HEY WE ARE LATE BUT WE ARE HERE, MWAHAHAH 👹

#geto suguru #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #jujutsu geto #jjk fanart #satosugu #hidden inventory arc #jjk #jjk geto #jjk gojo #jjkedit #jjk satosugu #jjk satoru

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thislovintime · 1 year

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Performing in Houston on October 27, 1979; photo via RockinHouston dot com.

“The Great American Food and Beverage Company is an institution in [Santa Monica, Calif.]. […] A waiter in his ‘30s, older than the others, made his way to the podium, banjo in hand. He seemed strangely familiar in an unusual outfit whose suspenders gave him a whimsical air. He was very thin, with an angular, almost bony face and straight, mid-ear length dirty blond hair that was parted in the middle. That was all fine. But he also had a mustache and bags under his eyes that somehow didn’t seem quite right. […] Then came the memory of who he was. His name was Peter Tork, and more than a decade ago he was one of the four Monkees […]. And now Tork was a singing waiter. I assumed that few would recognize him — and that he’d probably rather not be recognized. So I decided to respect his privacy. But then, on the way out, he overheard me mention to someone that I was a writer visiting California to do some celebrity interviews, and he said to me, just a trace of bitterness in his voice, ‘Hey, how’d you like to do a story on a former great?’ Peter Tork now lives with his wife and two small children in Venice, Calif., […]. His home is a ramshackle duplex with badly chipped white paint on the outside and a gate that’s locked by a clothes hanger. Inside, the apartment has second-hand furniture with wobbly legs and sports bare wood floors of the kind it’s not fashionable to leave uncovered. An old sheepdog with a very doggy smell lies under an even older piano. In 1965, Peter Tork was washing dishes in Huntingon Beach, Calif., for $50 a week when he was recommend for the Monkees by a musician friend named Stephen Stills […|. ‘In those days we were both folksingers, and we were known as the two cats who looked alike,’ Tork said. ‘He turned me on to the situation.’ […] Today Peter Tork is 36. In his three years as a Monkee, he guesses he made a million dollars. Except for a trust he can’t touch until 1985, it’s all gone. ‘It just poured through,’ he recalled, without being at all maudlin. ‘It was like a tidal wave after a drought. The amount was so grotesque that I didn’t know what to do with it. I spent hundred-dollar bills like quarters.’ He calls himself a socialist now and says he’d be ‘philosophically and religiously prone to give that kind of money away anyway. But I dribbled it away.’ And that bothers him. ‘ I lived in Studio City in a big house that cost too much. I didn’t know how good I had it. I had no basis of comparison. I never got competent professional advice (from his producers, on how to invest his money). I’m bitter about that. They didn’t know how to handle a flash rather than someone who’d clawed his way to the top. Now I’ve been on the fringes. Now I know what it’s like to claw.’ Among other things, the fringes found him busted for alleged dope dealing. ‘It was ‘72. I was caught coming across the border from Mexico with some hash in my pocket,’ he said. ‘For a while, they thought they’d get me for a big smuggling rap. I ended up spending just three-and-a-half months in custody. I recommend it to all my good friends.’ After that experience, he worked for three years as a teacher. Then the school closed in the midst of a strange embezzlement scandal. So Tork decided to take another stab at show business. He has reactivated some old contacts and recently tried out at Paramount for comedy spots on ‘Happy Days,’ ‘Laverne and Shirley’ and ‘Mork and Mindy.’ ‘ I’m trying comedy because I know I’m glib, and I know I’m good at it,’ he said. ‘And I’m taking acting lessons. I’ll be glib one day in drama too. ‘Maybe first I can get a walk-on, then some solid comedic roles, then maybe in time a feature role in another series, then films, then maybe I can make enough to finance my music, which is really what I want to do,’ he said, the bounds of his quite sincere fantasy mushrooming in a minute. […] In the meantime, while he waits for a casting call, his show-business career still consists of The Great American Food and Beverage Company, where he has worked since last summer. ‘It’s something to do with my hands while I’m waiting,’ he said. ‘It’s a place where you’re allowed to sing, and everybody uses it to keep their chin up while waiting for their big break — like “The Gong Show” or something.’ A touch of bitterness there, again. ‘It’s just that the people don’t shut up (at the restaurant). I wish they would. You basically have to drown them out. But… it is a chance.’ With that, Peter Tork picked himself up to go to work. It was his turn to wash dishes.” - article by Steve Sonsky, The Miami Herald, February 18, 1979

“Well, what I thought was great was that [Peter] always seemed to be humble and very, very gracious in his actions and his attitude. He always treated everybody with respect. He stayed low-key until we would kick up with a group number and then he would join in. […] Everybody else has been joking about how he wasn’t Pete, he was Peter. You can tell a lot about a person when they do whatever they need to do for their family. And the only thing else that I would add is that the fact that he stayed so humble and so gracious after a lot of us had grown up with him as an icon means a lot.” - D J Barker, Tales of the Road Warriors, 2019 (x)

“I worked with Peter in the mid seventies. A kinder, gentler, gracious and giving human being you could never find. His sense of humor and positivity was a gift to all of those lucky enough to be around him. He loved his life, (in spite of it sometimes!)[.]” - D J Barker, Facebook, February 13, 2023 (x)

“There was a period where I was broke. And I called home, I said, ‘Send money.’ ‘No, sorry, kiddo, you’re on your own.’ So there was a restaurant, a two-restaurant chain, there were two restaurants — a short chain, a very small chain, two links — in L.A. called The Great American Food and Beverage Company. And the trick to this establishment was that you had to be a musician, you had to audition to work at this restaurant. And I really, really, really, really, really didn’t want to work there, but I really, really, really needed the money. Anyway, so I’m standing in the kitchen, it’s my first day, and I’m dressed in this ridiculous outfit, and a bunch of us are lined up. And the coked up manager was marching up and down in front of us like a drill sergeant. And as we’re standing there listening to this madman, the kitchen door swings open, and who should walk in but none other than Peter Tork from The Monkees. And I watch Peter Tork walk by me, take a time card and punch in the time clock and get in line right next to me. And my mouth dropped open. And it became evident at that point that he was working as a waiter at the restaurant. And this is Peter Tork from the fucking Monkees. This man was, you know, as big, if not bigger, than The Beatles in the U.S. at one point in his career. And I watched my whole life pass before my eyes.” - Matthew Wilder, Speaking of Music with Jason Faber

More about Peter's time at the Great American Food and Beverage Company in a second post.

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madmanwonder · 9 months

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(Prompt Yasundere) Bowsette goes on a rant about Mario stopping her all the time, but some of the comments sound like she has a crush on him. When her wizard minion points this out, she goes full on denial. That is until they see see in the big screen that Mario is having a lovely moment with Princess Peach. Then she is ready to behead the princess and get the hero by any means.

"That stupid son of a Bastard...," A harsh growling voice speak in a low and dangerous voice echoed across the room. "That overconfident lowborn plumber bastard who dare stop me from taking what is mine once again!" Roared Koopa Queen Bowsette I Koopa, a stream of hot-red fire erupted from her mouth in a vivid moment of rage and hate for the short bastard.

Kamek and the minion around the throne room took one tiresome look at the hot-headed, explosive red-haired woman who was once again in middle of her rage-filled taturam about the Hero of the Mushroom Kingdom who ruined her latest scheme to take the Mushroom Kingdom from Peach again.

"Your Malevolence," The elderly wizard said in calm and even tone of voice. "If I didn't know any better. I would say that you hold great romantic infatuation for the Hero of the Mushroom Kingdom." Kamek said in a dry, sardonic voice as the other minion nodded in agreement with the elder koopa eying their queen with a curious look.

The cheeks of the Bowser turned bright red at the word coming from the wizard. "H-How do you t-threw such vile untrue accusation toward your queen!" Glaring at the calm-as-ice wizard with a glare in her red eyes. "I shall have your head on the spike!"

"And today news show us another moment between our beloved princess with the noble hero of the Mushroom Kingdom on a nice afternoon picnic date...."

"....after I kill the blonde bimbo bitch!" Growled Bowsette as she glared with hate and rage in her dead-looking red eyes as her surrounded area begin to melt under the sheer heat of her fire magic exuded out of her body like a tidal wave.

#super mario bros series #super mario bros #fem!bowser #bowser #bowsette #kamek koopa #meme post #meme prompt #yasundere meme #anon prompt #yandere #tsundere

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poems-from-around-the-world · 9 months

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A Glass Marble from Potočari/Srebrenica - Faruk Šehić - Bosnia and Herzegovina

Translator: Susan Curtis (Bosnian)

When the dead cannot speak of themselves,

not even a whimper, order that the soil be moved

into the landslide of ideas, into the twilight of the 20th century.

Or raise tidal waves of metal and glass,

let fall grey snow like the ashes from Buchenwald.

But yet again nothing happens.

The grass is the indifference of the world, fabulously combed

over their eyes like holy green hair.

A victim is a victim, languageless and forever dead

the same body, killed several times,

with heavy machines and heavy oblivion

in primary, secondary, tertiary

mass graves and the dayless abyss.

Before being shot,

the body, as if diving into a murky lake,

will hold its breath, letting it fly away

into sunlit hills, the crowns of lush treetops,

where future events are but shades of themselves already.

Our song falls apart; the dead have lost the words

with which to start the story of themselves.

Let the silvery voices say: Evil conquered us this time.

Once I remembered Buchenwald in a Buddhist monastery,

in the hustle and bustle and the sweat and thyme,

and burst out crying, copiously.

They say the soul of the world is strong,

when in the leaves of Buddha’s tree

I almost saw his face and saw for myself

that tears can defend us from senselessness,

just as a woman in Potočari had once told me,

in that field of white headstones:

children are not mushrooms.

I found my salvation in a glass marble,

that had survived the shooting in a pocket

– the only sign of life in a horizontal body,

in the cold calm of the glass.

Its colours the flags of indestructible cities,

of sun and fire, its blue stripe the smile of the ocean.

The man who had warmed it in his pocket

is now free of the sorrows of this world.

Only in a poem can you bring back the dead.

#A Glass Marble from Potočari/Srebrenica #Faruk Šehić #bosnia and herzegovina #poem #poetry #poems from around the world #translation: Bosnian

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snowfuls · 10 months

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district two's floor during ambrosia's death with @subsiist .

boredom during the games isn't a notion enobaria is familiar with. at least, not personally. she had cut down her competition within the space of a week and the arena's dry, savannah heat had taken care of the rest. no one could ever fault her efficiency nor her skill. much of which is often credited to the old man sat beside her. really, she had always possessed raw talent and all he'd done is refined it ( he hadn't even been the only one doing so ) but the capitol adored the pair of cutthroat victors together so, spun all matter of touching stories about the two. the validity of said stories often fluctuating but their bond, once brokered, was unbreakable. that much was set in stone.

it's why they can sit in comfortable silences such as this one. not that today's quell viewing was making anyone feel too comfortable at all. the caps were surely revelling at the sight of district four's pair losing it to a sector filled with hallucinatory mushrooms but as lucky from one shortly falls victim to his partner's knife ( a very real stab in the man's back ), the mood inside the tribute centre turns sour and unbeknownst to them, that's only the beginning. what follows appears to harken the end of this year's career pack, ambrosia taking the lead, acting with a voice of reason which only fills enobaria with pride... but ezra fucking klair objects. of course, he does! and like the sheep they all are, the rest fall in line, leaving ambrosia on her lonesome. the spat is a catalyst, causing her to cut and run. smart girl, enobaria thinks. they're nearing the final ten now, safer to watch what's left of the careers tear themselves apart from afar and swoop in for victory at the end than waste even more time entertaining their precious whims. she'd have likely done the same and there's a smile beginning to pull at enobaria's lips to prove it but such evident pleasure at ambrosia's decision is short-lived.

it unfolds so quickly. too quickly. a stunned ❛ what... what the fuck? ❜ uttered in reaction, not directed at her companion for she dare not tear her gaze from the screen but transfixed, lips part in what must be the most genuine sense of shock enobaria's felt in a long time. flashing rows of sharpened enamel without a second thought. claws flying out too, her deft fingertips tensing around the bright velvet of their couches as she's rendered helpless to stop the inevitable. watching on helplessly as a tidal wave, some great colossus of a thing, comes ripping through its forest sector, washing her tribute away in an instant. the sheer force of it appearing to break the young girl's body, prompting a cannon to sound on the spot as it contorts gruesomely inside the rushing water. a lump in enobaria's throat comes with it, staggering her breaths but there's little time for tears when all she can see is red. pure rage beginning to course through the victor's veins, for what had just occurred was through no fault of ambrosia's and that is perhaps the worst part of it all. she hadn't lost a fight, hadn't come up against a mutt. there was no weapon involved. she'd wanted separation from the idiots holding her back and recieved what appeared to be... petty, karmic retribution from the gamemakers for such a bold, unapologetic move in response.

seething and all but glowering at the man, enobaria finally turns to face brutus. knowing him as well as she does, what awaits her is likely an onslaught of smug, biting comments but the girl is quick to cut in first, rising from her seat in exasperation. ❛ brut, what the fuck was that?! ❜ she yells, the storm one might glimpse gathering in her brown eyes growing ever darker by the second, ❛ they practically begged us for a victor from two after last year's nightmare and then, they go and kill her off using a wave?! ❜ now, with ambrosia's vitals gone ( blackened out to indicate death ), the holo promptly displays that she's placed twelfth. for district twelve? she thinks, unable to help but notice the coincidence. someone in the gamemaker's room must have a sense of humour. how fucking quaint. enobaria wonders how funny ambrosia's death'll seem to them once she's using teeth to tear flesh from limb again. ❛ i'm going to kill them. ❜ she concludes. hyperbole... probably. she can't even be sure of just who she means yet, only that they'll pay for this. fists are clenched, her sharpened nails digging into skin, tempting the breakage. altogether craving the violence that will settle her.

#death tw #drowning tw #violence tw #self harm tw #𓂅 ⋆ ⧽ ㅤ 𝒅𝒊𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆 ㅤ ╰ ㅤ ⋆ㅤ enobaria .#featuring brutus steele .#subsiist #eventideevent03 #storm eno has arrived

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dukeofdogs · 1 year

Photo

(Text comes from Gwent’s 2022 Winter Challange.)

A Greedy God

Step forth to make an offering! And another one, and another ... and yet another, until the greedy Allgod is satisfied. Who's next?

Help the Peasant Militia

"Oh, Allgod! Help us poor wretches in need. Our wheat is afflicted with the rot, and our cattle with foot-and-mouth. Accept this humble offering in return for your mercy."

Help the Squire

"Kind Allgod, I, uh, I'm in a heap of trouble. You see, uh, well, I lost my master's family heirloom dagger in a game of cards, and really need your help. Here are some, uh, beans?"

Help the Dwimveandra

"Good morning, great one! I have a fabulous bag of mushrooms for you! And in return, could you maaaybe give me a few alchemy pointers so I could impress my mentor?"

Help the Griffin Witcher Ranger

"Lookin' for a sylvan. Great big fat one. Lemme know if ya smelled any hereabouts. Got this this rottin' nekker head for ya in return."

Help the Halfling Safecracker

"Allgod, eh? And 'ow do I know you're not pullin' my leg? Were I you, I'd prove it. Here: a full copper - give Sigi the runs for me."

Help the Seagull

*screeeech!*

Ha! This is good. Bring more, I say! MORE!

*cough* Foul! Are you trying to poison the great Allgod?! See how you like the taste of foot fungus!

Did I not specifically demand roast boar with garlic and honey?! Scurvy on your kin till you reconsider!

I said four kegs of wheat lager, curse you, FOUR! See how you like your well poisoned!

An unworthy tribute! Prepare to face my divine wrath, mortal!

Not good enough! You have one hour to double this before I send the locusts!

Embarrassing tribute! See how your children will like being born without a nose!

Delicious, delicious! But were's the wine? A god's thirst must be sated immediately!

Is this the thanks I get for all the blessin's I've given? Bah! Bring an extra rack of mutton next time, unless you enjoy tidal waves!

You DARE make demands of the great Allgod?! A plague of ghouls on your village!

Very well! Your offerings are sufficient. I will call off the curse. For now.

#gwent: assets #gwent #sylvan #allgod #winter event #gwent: event

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goreverine-archive1 · 2 years

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i have created life (adventures in mushroom propagation)

check out her mycelium!!

myself and my partner are both educated in aseptic lab technique so it's not like we can't make our own, but it was so much easier for us to buy a pre-sterilized bag than to desperately keep sterility via a pressure cooker. unfortunately, the other bag I bought just developed green mold, which had to be tossed.

we have two more spore syringes in the fridge, and we absolutely are going to try to spawn them if this works out – next step after the grain is fully colonized is to shake it up with the substrate, then move it to a fruiting container so we can harvest its fun psychedelic contents.

i uhh forgot to label the bags when inoculating them so this is either j.edi mind fuck or tidal wave (p.enis envy x b+). great names

#◼️ ooc.#drugs cw

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simiansmoke · 1 year

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@pvachypessa

She saw the Kong going to the Stage, the pat on her shoulder wasn't unwelcome,𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒂𝒕 𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒆𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒓𝒖𝒃 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒓𝒎 𝒔𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒍𝒚. But looking at the other with a bit of a smile in her features. But a feeling hit her directly...𝐖𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐞𝐫? 𝐎𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐞𝐫? 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰... 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞...

She likes him? No. Not like that.... but she has to admit that he knows how to make her feel a bit more hapy with her position. Her job as a princess.

"Good luck! I hope the best from your show!"

Oh... The answer that he gave her wasn't expected at all, she expected him to be more crude, less kind, 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐚 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝, 𝐧𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬... 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐝. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧'𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲?

--------

PAST://

The 'good luck' gave a little pep towards his step. Mainly because he was sure to get an earful from Dad after he blew the 'show the mushroom kingdom the strength of the kong army' deal. Granted, he was still just a rookie in the army anyway, so it wasn't like that would have impressed either. Especially not with their ... current audience - sans one warlord and plus one a princess.

Thankfully his buddies were all in on getting him set up for the show, since they along with plenty others in the crowd had been promised a certain type of show, lest they would have attended.

Wandering out onto a metal beam suspended miles above the shoreline in the deep purple darkness of the stage's dimmed lights, he sighed, tapping the small mic pinned to his tie and shivering in place as the reverberations tickled his fur. This would be his shot to really impress the mushroom Kingdom...and with the chance audience he had, he was sure he could issue a compelling argument.

As the full crowd's sounds swelled and swayed around the dome, he breathed out slowly and deeply, trying to collect his thoughts. The audience wanted to see him - maybe in a certain mood, but as soon as the lights came up, he'd be there for them no matter what he felt. Pressing pause on one's self reflection was a gift few possessed to make others happy and forget their own troubles for a small duration.

Maybe that was why it was so important for folks like the princess to be out and seen. Folks calmed down and felt seen for once.

The lights in the arena snapped on suddenly, though not as bright as they would be otherwise - settling for a mix of violet and pink meshed together and lightened by a bright contour. The roar of the crowd seemed to lighten it more as many Kongs (many his friends and definitely his fans) gave their noise to the swell of voices rising like a tidal wave through the dome. The bass of it tickled his fur, and he stood to receive it on two legs, arms out to catch the vibrations of each set of sound waves.

"KONGS OF THE KINGDOM! IS THIS WHAT YOU CAME HERE FOR?" He grins at the resounding hoots and hollers, trying to block out the loud groan from the King's side of the viewing station. Dad would have to give him a stern talking to later...he'd written up TWO songs for this occasion, and he was about to let the sweeter one free thanks to a certain someone's request.

"We all want to give it up for the Mushroom kingdom tonight with this SWEET welcome!" As the screams and screeches slowed thanks to the lights dimming, DK stood ready at the bottom rebar, his gaze lifting to search the crowd near his Dad's viewing area for their guest of honor.

The music drifted through the valley of bars and blocks surprisingly well, encouraging bass beats to rock through the audience on all sides as DK addressed them huskily, swaying in place as he allowed the rhythm to move his steps knowingly along the thin tight rope between him and a tumble to a watery grave. He took a deep breath before crooning out: "Didn' even wanna go out, why'd you call me? Been a long day, and still got laundry-"

Hackles tight, he spent the next few belts leaping up to the next bar, and then the other, and one more after to the beat of- "2, 3 4...make me drink more." Settling on one of the middle foundation bars' red, steel frame, he tilted his gaze up towards the royal viewing side of the stadium, figuring she might be over there if not taking a bathroom break. "Then you walk through the door..."

As the crowd surged with screams and swoons, a potent 'we love you DK!!!' produced from somewhere in the thrashing wave, DK smiled inwardly and gestured aimlessly in the air as he paced up and down the bar. "All my friends are buyin' blow in the bathroom ~ there's people climbin' up the wall 'cause it's a packed house..." A small scream from the folks that had climbed the wall and sat on top of the arena gates made him snort as he toed the edge of the bar he was on, encouraging it to sway wildly before he tipped its weight towards the royal viewing suite. He swore he saw a pair of blue eyes up there. Maybe it was time to find out? "Who are you- what's your name? I ask..."

With a swift movement, he produced a ripe peach from behind his shoulder, giving it a spin on a finger before shining it nonchalantly on his chest. "Surprised she answer fast ~" Stomping the bar's tip forward, he rode the unstable construction piece close to the audience. "I think there's too many ~" As it drifted around the bowl, he reached a hand out to screams and hands frantic and batting for a chance to slap his on the way around. "raaandom bodies dancin' near us. If three's a crowd..."

The music seemed to pause as he took the moment to bounce from the spinning bar from one bar to another until he could hunker down on the end of the one pointed directly towards the royal suite, and the princess who sat watching inside. "Heh..." He gave a sheepish kick of his leg off the edge that he sat on, letting it swing until it passed by her just as closely as he had with the audience.

"...what would you call this?" Gently, he gave an underhand throw and tossed her the peach before the bar sent him on his way back out into the middle of the arena as it swayed from one end to the other in a pendulum style movement that could easily make anyone sick just strapped on. Instead, he stood on it on both legs, eyes closed as he continued the tribute to the mushroom kingdom's esteemed guest.

"Air ~ ? We should go some-where. You choose...I don't care." Eyes cracking, he smiled as the bar drifted back closer to Peach's chair and tipped his head back cutely as he explained himself through the lyrics. "As long as you're right here? Stay next to me-" Before the bar could send him careening to the other side of the arena again, he galloped shortly and leapt across the divide in favor of grappling onto a stationary block near the princess's viewing edge, clambering onto he top of it quickly to explain himself. "Yeah...we can barely stand ~ I'll move, just hold my hand-" He reached towards her, palm outstretched with a fond expression soaked through with a playful fondness. "...stay next to me?"

As the music died down and the audience was a mixture of screams and 'aws', DK tipped his head to the side and gave the princess a raised brow and a smug smirk as if to inquire what she thought. Unfortunately for him, his Dad seemed to beat him to the punch- with an orange bouncing off the back of his head.

"DONKEY KONG THE THIRD JUNIOR! GET YOUR ROYAL BEHIND BACK STAGE IMMEDIATELY. YOU ARE IN BIG TROUBLE, YOUNG KONG!"

Rubbing the back of his head where the orange, hit, DK huffed and quickly fixed his hair with a fluff and a finger twirl before shooting Peach a mischievous little grin.

"Catch ya later, Princess!" He cackled, flipping upside down on the block and then springing down towards a lower level with the power of a flea and twice the annoyance of one.

#//here #//i wrote u a fanfic #pvachypessa #verse;//peaches&roses #long post #//press f for bb boi

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