Yoba (malicious Addition)

bothering him

pirates of the caribbean really introduced an eldritch octopus man who kills indiscriminately and torments the dead as their poster villain and then you watch the movies and it's like, "oh no, actually the worst villain in this series is a small white british man who functions as the herald of capitalism" and that was very very brave of them

Screaming crying and throwing up this man deserved BETTER 😭

One thing that originally struck me as odd was how young Finnick acted in CF and MJ whenever he was being authentic, considering he was 24, as in seven whole years older than Katniss and Peeta. Then I realized that the reason he was still acting like a teen, basically, was because he had probably gotten stuck mentally at the age of 15-16, when he first started getting trafficked by Snow. He was still a child when he was pimped out, and since then he had very little time or opportunity to be real, perhaps some stolen days with Annie and Mags. Aside from that, his life was hardly his own. His trauma always kept him trapped in adolescence.

😫😩😭

He likes his coffee black in his kitchen at 7

Back with chapter five!! Things are starting to pick up now 😈 please feel free to leave any and all feedback!!!

tw: fighting, bodily horror, mentions of death, war

Ch. 5

The air in the room was thick with anticipation. The humidity was rising, heavy breaths hanging on every crevice. As the door clicked shut behind the last soldier, May cleared her throat and rose from her seat. Her men followed suit, standing straight with their hands behind their backs, eyes straight ahead: alert, at attention.

May raised her hands and subtly relaxed her wrists, allowing her men to sit. May remained standing at the head of the table, solid chair sitting crooked behind her. To her left sat Oryn, starring directly ahead, eyes fixated on a random point in the table. Next to them sat Alec, blushing and trying his hardest to keep his composure at being invited to such an exclusive meeting. To May’s right sat the head of her personal guard, Lieutenant Demetrius.

“Thank you,” May started. Oryn—through quick glances—was making eye contact with each soldier around the table, intentionally or not. “I have several things I must get off my chest this evening, all of which are meant to benefit you—all of you—in the long run. There may be outrage and there may be those who would rather walk away in peace. Either is fine with me; your servitude is a gift that you may revoke at any time.” She looked towards Oryn, who’s unhooded figure looked more ethereal in the waning sunlight, skin seeming to sag in certain places and be pulled taught in others.

“The skirmishes between us and our fellow countrymen must come to an end.” May’s eyes scanned the room, searching for the first sign of upheaval from her men. Not one of them stirred.

She folded her hands on the table as she continued, swallowing a lump forming in her throat. “It is with great sadness that I report to you all the death of our beloved High Councilor of Ilucia,

The very air in the room became stagnant, the unsteadiness rolling through the room like a wave. Each man around the table had a look of distant mourning—a mask to disguise their fear.

The guard’s words were sharp as he spoke, “Tt was Giardin.”

The small crowd murmured, more men agreeing silently with each passing second.

May sighed, sitting up straighter in her seat. She knew the accusations would come, but not this quickly. “I’ve already considered him the cause, but it was unfounded upon further inspection.”

The loud grumble they gave in dissent reminded May of their loyalty to her and how fickle a thing it was.

“The border disputes have never been an act of unperturbed violence; we marched in fields, we followed oaths, and both ourselves and Giardin’s men have carried the Crown Banner into every battle fought. The disgusting act of murder upon our Holy Councilor does not spell anything close to the Lord who, may I mind you, has done nothing but fight with honor.” May looked from one man to the next, her conviction unwavering.

The silence was heavy.

There was a soft shuffle near the other end of the table before a young man spoke, “Honor?” His breaths were labored, his shirking eyes never daring to make eye contact with May’s own. “That scum… Has fought with honor?” His crude laugh echoed in the suddenly cold office.

May’s jaw tightened as she stood from her seat, the young man doing the same.

“The man kills your kin—has been trying to stake his claim in what’s belonged to your family for more generations than his own has walked the sodden dirt he calls his own duchy… That man is far from honorable, my Lady.”

His statements strengthened the men’s resolve, their eyes becoming certain in their own convictions. May ran her fingers through her cropped hair, taking a step away from the table to get a better look at her men.

She looked at Oryn, then at Demetrius. He nodded, knowing what would come next.

The fire was powerful behind her, roaring in the mantle as it cast dramatic shadows upon the Duchess. Her eyes were hard, yet her voice was on the edge of wavering. The weight of their lives was behind her, supporting her, supporting Ilucia. Without them backing her, what was she?

“I’m ending the dispute.”

The slack jaws and shocked faces were no surprise. This war had been funding them for much longer than May would like to admit.

“But—”

May held up her hand in protest, the guard’s mouth falling shut. “It has to end. I will no longer permit any more of my men to die fighting a battle neither shall ever win.”

He held her gaze longer than he should’ve, but May wouldn’t break it. She would show her men she was still strong, despite pulling out of a generation’s long skirmish. She had more important things to focus on.

Demetrius grew restless in his seat as he watched the May’s play of dominance. He was ready if the man didn’t back down.

“You can leave my service, if you’d like,” May said, relaxing her stance as her gaze hardened.

“I have dead brothers to avenge,” he mumbled, trying harder with each passing moment not to shrink from her watchful eyes. “Our men. Your men.”

“Do you want to die fighting the same war your father fought? The same war your sons will fight? Do you think I want more of you to die for a lost cause?”

He stepped back as he broke her gaze. “Lost cause? They all fought—died—for a lost cause?”

“The border is set, men. The dispute is done. Leave your pin on the table if you’re leaving,” she said, sitting back in her chair as the man stared at the floor beneath his feet.

“What did you give him?”

She sighed, shaking her head.

“You must have given him something!” The anger in the man’s voice was growing, his brow bunching as the veins in his neck bulged, “What did he demand for his peace?”

To everyone’s shock, May laughed. She laid her head back against the hard chair and laughed, going as far as to wipe a tear from her cheek and flick it towards Demetrius.

“He came to me asking how I infiltrated his home, wondering how I killed his High Councilor.”

The few who had started to remove their pins quickly stopped in their tracks, immediately looking back at May.

“I had met him to discuss my own predicament in much similar terms, but he seemed to have beaten me to it. We paid each other nothing besides the intent to bring forth the sacrilegious killer and have him pay his dues,” she placed her hands on the table in front of her, leaning over herself as the fire behind her cast the shadows of a warrior upon her. “I won’t fall victim to whatever plan is being hatched by whatever man is hatching it. Is that clear?”

She had managed to bring them back within her grasp, but knew it wouldn’t be easy to continue to hold them there.

The remainder of the meeting went as planned, the opposition to the truce floating away with the realization that there would be no more fighting upon the muddy banks, death spilling upon the shoals and staining the flow of the river.

They didn’t seem to mourn the holy man Voth much after the announcement of the ending war, instead choosing to celebrate bringing in a new era of peace.

She let them cheer as they ran to meet their wives through the manor corridors, choosing instead to meander a bit longer in the office with Demetrius after she’d dismissed them.

His jaw was sharp and tight as he faced her, slowly shaking his head. “They’d have more to celebrate if you told them the truth,” he said, unabashed as was his way.

May met his eyes, pleading dripping from her own. “What they did to Giardin for refusing—”

“Is not our responsibility!” His heavy fists slammed the solid table, the wood shuddering underneath them both.

May met his strength with her own. “Who are we if we let them win?”

The silence between them was quick in passing, but heavy in foreboding.

“You’ve never been religious, May—”

“This has nothing to do with the church, Demetrius, and you know it. What he’s doing… it’s wrong. I don’t want to sign them up for a war. A real war, with more than a few hundred men marching upon one another.” She scoffed, tilting her chair back towards the fire, “They don’t know what real war is.”

“They’d immediately support him. He’d be getting rid of all tithes, forever.”

May shook her head. “I’m not in support of the tithes, Demetrius. You know this.”

He nodded, folding his arms in front of him as he sighed. “You’ll have to tell them at some point. Sooner rather than later. Either that or risk your head.”

“I know,” she let her chair fall flat to the floor again, leaning her elbows on the table. “But not yet.”

-

Oryn didn’t know how to feel. They didn’t know what to say. The thought of May killing something sentient, something living, let alone commanding an entire… What was it called?

Alec skimmed another couple of pages before handing the book over to Oryn. He stood from their plush seats, rummaging through the scrolls littering the desks and shelves. “This passage is about the main structure of the Councilors,” he said, a distracted air about him. He wouldn’t look Oryn in the eye and didn’t want to stand too close; his fear was palpable, but Oryn could see the spark in the child’s eye, too.

Oryn shifted in their seat, sinking a little deeper into the cushions. “How do you want to go about this?”

Alec froze mid stride between one bookshelf and another, fumbling with the small stack of scrolls in his hands. “Well,” he started, “Our Lady wants me to teach you. That’s… that’s what I’m doing.”

“Well, yes,” Oryn sighed, “but I image there’s got to be a whole lot of information to cover.” She looked around the archive from where she sat, never having seen a room so tall with shelves so large. So many books to read, so much to learn. It was just a tad overwhelming.

Alec tapped his foot on the stone, a soft echo resonating around the archive. “Yes,” he nodded, “there is. Here, I’ll have you start with some of the basics of the clergy, then some old hymns and poems…” he nodded, growing more confident with himself. “I’ll put together a few of the basics for you to read through while I try to form some semblance of a history lesson.” He turned and started down the hall, mumbling to himself about which books he should pick first.

After his original search down in the archive, Alec knew he’d need to make some changes if he were ever to find what it is he was searching for. The layers of dust and debris could be hiding any number of precious tomes holding exactly what he was looking for. Things were strewn about without rhyme or reason, and Alec took upon the task of fixing it. Although it had only been a few weeks since he began, the polished stone floor and fresh candles made the place where Oryn sat seem completely different than the one Alec had first entered.

He didn’t know if his father would be proud or enraged at his current position, flitting amongst stacks of books instead of training to fight, yet taking direct orders from the Duchess herself. He wouldn’t worry about that now, though—he had lessons to prepare, books to find. He was getting better and better at pushing things from his mind, like the fact that the man he’ll be spending the majority of his time with is a beast wearing sheep’s skin.

Oryn started reading the book laid on their lap from the page Alec had flipped to.

The torment cascaded through the flesh of what was once man, devouring a soul in exchange for sanctity. To live safely amongst the banished demons, you had to become one. An act of evil that has occurred only once throughout the history of our realm, shattering the unity of man and the vitality bestowed upon us by our Gods. In doing so, order had lost all meaning and Natural Chaos enveloped the land, any semblance of what was once holy lost among those maimed in the sacrifice, their secrets disappearing with them upon their deaths.

A large portion of the rest of the page was an author’s note, pertaining to the time skip in this particular text. Several centuries of strife and chaos and ruin befell humanity, with most being hunted for sport by the rampaging beasts fueled by our indecision and selfishness.

It was with great hardships that the Council was risen, restoring holiness to a dying race. It was with a Herald’s blessing—glorious in its horrifying visage—that all was saved and greatness restored. Upon his descent—

Boots thundered down the hall as what sounded like a full battalion of soldiers making quick pace through the manor. Muffled orders were shouted, someone on the other side of the door sounding afraid.

“Shit,” Alec scrambled out from the tall shelves, dropping the large stack of scrolls and books and parchment. “Sounds like a call to arms,” he muttered, looking towards Oryn. “There hasn’t been one of those in well over a month now…” he rambled, his eyes constricting as the door was opened with force.

Demetrius’s hulking figure stood in the door frame, his great-axe looming at his side in his shadow. Guards and soldiers alike rushed behind him down the hall, getting louder and louder as each order was barked from the many superiors heading to the center of the fight.

“Attacked from the southwest. Looks like Lord Giardin’s banner, but we can’t be sure. Duchess has asked I take you to safety,” he said between heavy breaths, sweat staining his brow. He had fought already tonight, and would have to fight yet again.

“At… attacked?” Alec muttered, his skin starting to pale.

Demetrius sighed, grabbing the boy by his shaking hands and turning towards Oryn. “Follow me. Stay close.”

He turned quickly from the room, Oryn following in his wake. It was tumultuous to make it through such a packed hall. As the majority of them turned off into separate halls and headed towards their designated battleground, Demetrius and his motley crew headed up a winding staircase.

He continued his brisk jog up the stairs, pulling Alec along with him. Oryn’s chest burned with the exertion as they went through one door into another hall and up the second—or was it the third?—flight of stairs.

The screaming only got louder with their ascent, the battle on the ground accelerating quickly. The screams of the fighting and dying, the roars of the flames as barns were lit ablaze, the shrieking of steel on steel…

Oryn’s blood rushed hot through their veins as the sounds seeped deep into their skull, striking something primal within their core. Their hands shook as they ascended the rickety ladder after Alec, Demetrius having headed up first. The sounds abated as they were muffled by the final floor of the manor, the hatch being pulled shut tight behind them, Demetrius effectively sealing them in.

💙Mr.Qi💙

An amazing author that deserves your read!!

The General Prologue

Hello to any and all who find this post! I decided to take a chance here and post the general prologue for my fantasy novel. I've been (very slowly) chipping away at it for the last three years or so and I'm hoping hearing people's opinions on it might help to reinvigorate that spark to keep going. The chapter itself is below the cut and features elements of high fantasy, cosmic horror, animal death, and other unsettling imagery, so reader discretion is advised. Thank you for your time and attention, welcome to a small corner of my imagination :)

Prologue

“Be kind to the stranger. Give them food and drink, but never let them stay the night; the world turns real unfamiliar when the sun goes down.” 

~Red Ridge Mountain Proverb~

Elisenda

Of all life’s simple pleasures, Elisenda’s favorite was sitting with her dog and watching the sunset. Every evening, once the day’s work was done, she would reward herself with a cup of tea and barley bread, soaking up the last rays of the dying sun and greeting the pale light of the newborn moon. She practiced this tradition for the better part of forty years with various companions at her side, though none could replace her sweet late husband Horatio. 

It had been him who convinced her to slow down and enjoy what her late husband called “life’s little miracles.” If only he had known just how much of a miracle he was; friend, father, and husband. Elisenda saw her Horatio’s face every day in their son Alfi, another one of her former gazing companions, who had just recently taken up the habit of missing the sunset in favor of sneaking off to see the miller’s daughter after he finished his chores. 

The amber of the horizon stepped back to allow the full beauty of the scarlet sun to flourish. As she sipped her tea, Elisenda broke off a small chunk of bread and tossed it down to Lady, the family dog, who enthusiastically wagged her tail for more. The drink’s warmth mixed with the cool breeze of the new night’s air, creating a sensation like no other. Elisenda closed her eyes, taking in the full majesty of nature’s splendor. 

When the sun's light had finally died and the night’s bugs began to sing, Alfi had yet to return home. Usually he would be certain to get back to their farm before dark, as there were all sorts of dangerous creatures that could harm a fourteen-year-old boy. Few more minutes, then I’ll get to worrying, she thought to herself. 

Elisenda gazed up at the night sky, seeing all of the stars looking down on her, wondering if they truly were angels, just as her mother had once told her. One thing that was certain, the veil that used to shine so brightly had dimmed over the course of her lifetime. No matter what religion people devoted themselves to across these lands, all acknowledged the great rip in the fabric of the sky only visible at night above the Red Ridge Mountains. 

Though all beliefs had their disagreements about how to live and who to believe in, just about everyone agreed that the massive interconnected streams of light that hung high above Cairdeas were a gateway to something greater. As to what exactly that something was, once again, there were many schools of thought. In general, people called this divine phenomenon “The Veil,” and Elisenda’s farm offered a full view of its splendor. 

While its beauty seemed like an eternal blessing, over the course of her lifetime, the Veil had changed. As a little girl, Elisenda could see the brilliant colors glowing and moving from her home at the southern tip of the mountain range. She remembered watching the way the green lights would shift their hue to shades of blue, then come back around to green again. The way they moved was like watching the very heavens dance, both awe inspiring and disconcerting in their sheer magnitude. Over the years, the colors seemed to burn more dimly, the streams seemed to shrink in their number, and the disappearance of this clear divine presence left Elisenda feeling even smaller than before.

She attempted to take another sip from her tea, only to realize there was none remaining. As for the bread, only the heel was left on the small linen she had wrapped it in. Lady, who had been patiently seated and ready to be fed another morsel, looked at it with longing in her aged eyes. 

“Here you are, old girl.” Elisenda said as she tossed her the last of the food. “Meant to split it with you, guess I just got lost in thought. S’pose that means we’re both getting a little long in the tooth, huh?” 

Lady seemed not at all bothered by the delay in delivery, instead, she was merely content to be eating. Elisenda pet her on the head, scratching between Lady’s ears with a smile. Her mind turned back to Alfi, who still had yet to return home. It’s not like him to just up and disappear like that. Her lips tightened and her heart began to race, but Elisenda kept an even tone as she spoke to her dog. 

“Go find Alfi and get his ass back here, won’t you girl?” She asked. 

Ever the loyal companion, Lady wagged her tail enthusiastically. She understood the command and darted off into the night without hesitation. Elisenda already felt better about the situation, having full confidence that her dog would bring her son back safely. She grabbed her chair and brought it back inside, along with her tea cup. 

Elisenda grabbed a fresh candle from the cupboard and placed it in the lantern out front. She created a small flame with a strike of a knife against firesteel and a sliver of wood, careful not to let it go out as she carried it outside. When she lit the flame, she noticed just how loudly the candle crackled as it burned. Elisenda closed the latch of the lantern, muffling the noise, but it still remained the only clear sound she could hear. Only then did she realize that the candle itself was not loud, but the rest of the world around her had gone silent. 

There was no familiar rustling of the corn stalks, no chirping of bugs, nor birds calling out to one another. A chill shot down Elisenda’s spine as she realized that something was deeply wrong. She wasted no time in grabbing Horatio’s old spear off the wall, quickly slipping her boots back on, and taking the lantern from beside the door. The candle within would only burn for a short while, but there was only a small yet dense stretch of forest between her and the next homestead. She hooked the light to her belt and dared to brave the darkness of the woods that divided her from her nearest neighbor, the miller. This is no time for fear. Alfi and Lady might be in trouble.

The pathways she walked day after day felt like a safe haven, leading right up alongside where the farm ended and the thicker brush began. Each step sounded as if she were throwing her foot down on the ground with all her might, but it was merely the silence of the world around her that emphasized her every movement so much. Elisenda steadied her breathing, then looked down to see the clear divide between the beaten path and the unfamiliar woods. She tightened her grip on her late husband’s spear, praying to Lugus’lumfáda for his holy protection. 

Elisenda took her first step forward, then another, followed by another, with her eyes wildly darting from side to side as she continued. You’re doing this for Alfi and Lady. You’re the biggest and most dangerous thing out here. You’re going to get them back and get everyone home. She glanced over her shoulder, noticing just how far she had progressed from the safety of familiarity. The path was well behind her, yet the only sounds she heard were still the ones she was creating. 

She used the tip of her spear to push aside a large tangle of downed branches and shrubbery, only to be met with two large glowing eyes staring at her. Without hesitation she thrust her weapon forward, piercing the chest of the creature before her, yet those eyes remained open. Elisenda paused, grabbing the lantern around to get a better view of the animal she had speared. A rush of emotions came over her as she looked into the lifeless face of Lady, whose canine body was inextricably conjoined to the mess of leaves and branches, contorted into an unnatural position. 

Elisenda fell to her knees, covering her mouth to keep herself from loudly weeping. She examined the corpse of her beloved pet, finding far more questions than answers. Lady had scratches and rapidly drying blood over her eyes and snout, as if she had just been in a brutal fight. Across her back, thick vines rippled in and out of her skin, cutting through flesh with ease. The plants looked to be simultaneously impaled into Lady as well as bonded to her, with some small patches of fur sprouting along the twisted roots. Lady looked up at her owner, her jaw loosely dangling unnaturally wide, yet her gaze still held the same quality Elisenda had known since she was a pup. “What happened to you, sweet Lady?” She asked through tears.

The poor dog’s head remained upright, her eyes wide open. Her expression looked as though her final moments were those of a fear greater than any she had ever known, a primal terror that had overcome the entirety of her being. Against her better judgment, Elisenda looked into the eyes of her beloved dog one last time. It was then that she noticed a peculiarity in the lantern’s light, one eye was its usual dark brown color, but the other had a new greenish hue to it. That’s not right. Looks more like Alfi’s than it does Lady’s.

The candle began to crack over and over, the sign of an untrimmed wick and the flame burning out too quickly. She pulled Horatio’s spear from Lady’s grotesque carcass, dropping it on the ground and bringing the lantern near the open wound. Elisenda touched the odd patch of bare skin she had managed to skewer, fighting with all her might to keep the unspeakable thought in the back of her mind at bay. To her horror, Elisenda watched as the flesh of the open wound began to knit itself back together with plant-like fibers pulling each of the separated areas of flesh closer. 

She stepped back, reaching down for the spear only to be met with a thick overlapping network of roots and vines. Elisenda turned to run, but her boots refused to move, quickly swallowed by the entangled mess of vegetation. Panicked, she opened the lantern and grabbed the dying candle to try and start a forest fire, but it was too late. Vines constructed of mixed flesh and plant fiber took hold of her arms, knocking the light to the ground. 

Slithering up from the darkness, an eldritch beast, defined not by a face but by its oppressive presence, emerged from the shadows, and snaked up Elisenda’s leg until it wrapped itself around her chest. Each time she exhaled, its construction grew tighter and tighter. The light of the candle finally gave out, leaving them both in total darkness. “Lugus’lumfáda, Danu, all ye gods above are cruel monsters!” Elisenda cried out. 

The clouds that veiled the moon parted, and in the pale light she saw the twisted visage of her darling Alfi, the living memory of her dear Horatio. His slack-jawed mouth took in a pained breath. The voice that emerged carried the quality of a band of disharmonious flutes, each competing to play over the others, with every word taking great effort to pry itself from his throat. “We…are…not…gods…” 

What followed was a small twinge of pain at the nape of her neck. Elisenda tried to prepare herself for the experience of death, for an intense agony or an indifferent numbness, but instead she felt warmth moving through every inch of her body. In her mouth, she tasted a meal with the texture of beef but the taste of pork; and though she never chewed or swallowed, she already felt herself nurtured by the tender meat upon her tongue. 

Elisenda’s mind ceased to race as her rapidly clouding thoughts floated away down a river of consciousness. She had always feared dying, she had been afraid of slipping into the darkness alone, yet here she did not feel any loneliness. She felt as though all she knew was fading away, becoming a part of something more. She did not sense the cold grasp of death; in fact, she did not feel very dead at all. 

grandpa & his slimy widowed bf love loses

🐍✨

The wizards unknown hate for Qi fruit + some random sketch for tonite