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slxsherwriter · 9 months

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Monsters in Plain Sight

Pairing: None. Hints of Otis Driftwood x female reader

Warnings: Cursing, violence, gore, the Firefly clan

Word count: 4.2k

A/N: This is my first foray into the Firefly family and the fandom as a whole. The idea took root and refused to let go. What had started off as just a short one shot turned into this with the plan to continue. I mean, who would have more fun with some creatures of the night than the Firefly clan? Read on below the cut.

The moon was high overhead, the rural, rugged landscape seemingly devoid of all life. Motion was scarce to nonexistent and silence reigned. The stench of death and decay hung heavily in the air, though it wasn’t obvious to most. To you, yes. Ruggsville County always held the heavy scent of death, both decayed and fresh. The problem was that most didn’t have the heightened senses to be aware. Not unless they were right on top of the source.

You knew better. While the county had not been home your entire life, you had spent the better part of ten years around these parts. For as rural as it was, hunting was abundant when needed. Plenty of tourists drove through the area, meaning they were free picking. If you didn’t get to them, some of the other monsters that hide behind human skin would surely use them as playthings.

It was hard to ignore the Firefly clan when the source of that scent of death hung so heavily from their property. After all, it spread out for well over a mile from the home. It had been on a hunt one night that you had stumbled onto their property, chasing down a member of a group that had become dinner and chew toys for the wolf. As a lone werewolf, you had taken to avoiding most people and this place was high on the list. Common sense and self preservation had demanded that the place be given a wide berth but in your eagerness to tear down the escapee, you had run directly to the home.

It was from behind one of the many rusted and abandoned vehicles on the property that you hid as your prey stumbled to a door and slammed their fists against it in pure desperation. Blood caked her face, her shoulder torn open from where your claws had pierced through flesh. If she thought that she would receive salvation here, she was sorely mistaken but it was hardly something that she could know. Your prey had been lost for the evening and it wasn’t worth losing your shroud of secrecy and anonymity. Seclusion and isolation was best for your survival so with a low growl, you were forced to retreat. She would end up among the decaying soon enough.

*********

That had been three weeks ago. Again, a respected, invisible boundary to their land had been given. The problem? There had been a distinct lack of people moving through the area and you felt the beast entirely restless beneath your skin.

There hadn’t been any hunters in the area in the last six years. Was it safe to begin showing your face among some of the local hunts? Probably not but at this point, it was either that or settled off the measly scraps of the few animals that called this part of Texas home. It wasn’t enough to satisfy the cravings. Especially as the full moon drew closer. Nothing settled the animal that was a part of you as a proper hunt, the screams of humans as they realized all the nightmares that they had dreamed of were true.

You had taken to camping out at the gas station and roadside attraction that was run by one of the men that was of the Firefly family. Even fewer people knew about their connection but it was impossible not to make the connection as the same scent clung to his skin as it did the land. Each person also had their own unique underlying scent. Subtle but present to you. Something you had trained yourself to notice in case there was a hunter that trailed you. Better to know where they were ahead of time and try to be three steps ahead. It was a trick that had kept you alive when you were far younger and significantly less experienced at covering your tracks and making sure loose ends were tied up.

Tonight, the first thing that you noticed was a suspicious looking fellow hanging around about twenty feet away, hidden just off in a small set of bushes across from the front door. Your nose wrinkled in distaste. Sour. He smelled incredibly sour. Not good for eating but certainly for something to sink your teeth into. It would be worth the horrible taste that would accompany him. But for the time being, you held back and observed.

When he pulled a mask over his face, it became apparent what he wanted to do. A mistake on his end for multiple reasons. Before you could do anything about it though, he was rushing to the door. Feet were carrying you to the door before you could think about it. The need and urge for violence was far too overwhelming. It needed to be sated, the beast needed to be quelled before you lost all control.

As you opened the door, the shaky head turn told you that the man wasn’t ballsy enough to really be doing something like this. It made sense that the sour smell clung to him. Desperation when it wasn’t from utter fear for a life held a far different scent. One that was unpleasant at the best of times.

“Listen lady, get out of here.” Cute that he thought he could order you around. The man behind the counter, Captain Spaulding himself, was holding his hands up, middle fingers high in the air. An amusing position though you could barely spare another glance in his direction. Missing the way that intrigue sparked his gaze, head cocked slightly to the side as you stepped into the shop further.

“No, I don’t think I will.” Defiance in your tone, a grin slowly appeared on your face. A look that had the man shifting his weight on his feet. He couldn’t keep the gun on both of you but it really hardly mattered. While the pain would be a bitch, you had doubts he was sporting silver bullets in his gun. Therefore, the damage would be temporary.

“Are you fucking crazy?” There was a waiver to his hand, eyes flicking back and forth between you and Spaulding. As if his brain was racing to see if somehow this was planned between the two of you.

“No clue who the fuck she is. But I like her.” If he really liked the macabre, he was going to truly enjoy what happened next.

“Oh, fuck this.” The man turned his gun to you and shot. The bullet hit your shoulder, which just tore an inhuman growl from your throat as you launched your weight forward. The shift happened in seconds, your form changed before their eyes, just as your jaw clamped around the guy’s throat.

“Holy mother fuck!” The shout of the other registered but you were far too busy clamping down on the man’s throat, crushing bone beneath the powerful bite and feeling far too satisfied as blood hit your tongue, coating your maw. Claws dug into his shoulders, deep wounds that scrapped bone. He was dead before you both hit the ground though that didn’t stop you from pulling back, the wet sound of flesh tearing filling the area around you. Blood splattered almost everywhere.

Your focus shifted back to the owner of the establishment, seeing a glee overtake his features rather than horror or fear. There was just a hint underlying somewhere but his joy was far more palpable. The show had clearly been enjoyed and now there was something entirely new to unpack. Backing off the body, it took just a moment longer to shift back to your more inconspicuous form. The first time that you had done so in front of someone that you hadn’t planned on killing. A risk. Massive if you were honest and hopefully it panned out in your favor. Being alone was wearing on your stability. Wolves were natural pack animals after all. Among the killers perhaps you could find yourself a place. The worst that could happen would be having to end their lives, doubting that they could end yours.

“Now that was quite a show! And from such a pretty little lady.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. Not the first time that you had heard comments about you being this small little thing compared to the beast that you became. Frankly it became rather annoying after awhile. Clean up needed to happen. The question was, did he want the body? You sure as shit didn’t plan on taking it as you spat out the blood that lingered in your mouth. It tasted as poorly as anticipated. “Not the sort of shit you see every day and I specialize in freaks of nature. Just what are you?” He had stepped around the counter now. The man in the clown suit seemed to be no slouch himself, moving with the smoothness and threat of a predator. He may be human but his instincts were just as honed as yours were. Something that surprisingly puts you at more of an ease than perhaps it should have. Like spirits recognizing like spirits perhaps. A snarl ripped from your throat though when he stepped just too close.

Your response brought a sound that couldn’t be called anything other than a giggle from him. Amusement shining in his eyes.

“Oh, I really like you.”

“Yeah, well. Hunting has been some slim pickings lately so I had to take what I could get. Should I leave him here to be added to your collection?” Your nose wrinkled. “Fucker isn’t going to do me any good. Tastes as rotten and spoiled as a carcass out in the oppressive, lizard scalding Texas heat for days on end.” The comment brought another laugh from him, though there was a moment where the amusement had dropped and the simmering rage beneath the surface threatened to appear. You pointed to your nose as if it answered how you knew about it without any other explanation. But the man didn’t know any better even if he had just seen your other form.

“You seem confident in that.”

“Can smell it for miles. Not a scent that can be caught by humans, but the decay and death rolling off this place and that family home extends for quite awhile. And before you say anything else, I’m the only one of my kind in the area. No one else knows about it. Been laying low here for nearly ten years now.” His gaze narrowed, lips thinned out and nearly disappeared for a moment in the facial hair that adorned his chin. Nothing else was said for a few moments but I sensed movement in the back, another two living bodies by the smell of things. His expression cleared, a wide smile reappearing on his lips. Surely that look had put plenty on edge.

“Fucking surprise there,” he admitted. “But guess there are other things that go bump out in the fucking night. Long as my family ain’t in your sight.” You felt a tinge of amusement at that.

“Your family’s seen my handy work before. Ain’t got any interest in taking out the shared hunters of the land.” Which was the truth. You really did not have a desire to tear the family apart. “As for what I am? I’m a wolf.”

“Impressive as shit is what you are. Never seen a man’s throat torn out so fucking easily. And that change was quick.” A low hiss came from you as the bullet finally worked out of your shoulder, dropping to the floor with a small ting. The wound healed over before his eyes. “Well, fuck me. Even more fucking impressive.” You looked at the spot in your shoulder before feeling the grin take over your features without warning. One that could not be fully controlled. Perfect timing for your body to do what it needed, letting the man across from you know that you weren’t that easily disposed of, that it wasn’t just all fang and claw.

******************

Things from there had happened at a seemingly rapid pace. After more than fifteen years on your own, one act had brought about a drastic change. Spaulding hadn’t insisted that you meet the family but he certainly inquired about having you around more. The crude sense of humor and the fact that the man didn’t bat an eyelash at your tendencies, going so far as offering the bathroom to let you clean yourself up when you came in bloodied, meant that you could call him a friend. Of sorts. Hell, on occasion, you even provided some bones for him to add to his entire set up, after he had allowed a traveler or two to wander a little too close to your hunting grounds.

You had exchanged names after a couple of weeks, you discovering his by accident and offering yours in return. That hadn’t settled it though. He wasn’t content calling you by your name. Which was fine by you since you hadn’t heard it in years. As if fucking with you, he had taken to calling you Bunny. A hint towards another Marx brother’s thing if his name was anything to go by. It annoyed you for about the first week before you decided you saw the humor in it and accepted it.

It was a natural thing, for you to finally have a run in with a family member since you began visiting Spaulding weekly. Having gone from no interaction, beyond your prey, to having someone there was something that you couldn’t easily give up right away. Especially not someone who was a kindred spirit.

It was a quiet night, without the prospect of any travelers on the horizon. You were leaning over the counter, discussing his fried chicken, something that had become a favorite of yours, when the door behind opened up loudly. A grunt issued from the man across from you as his eyes traveled up to see who it was that had come wandering in. When he didn’t say anything, you found your interest a little piqued. Brow cocked in a silent question, the clown didn’t give a single thing away.

“Got another piece fer yer ride.” Not another happenstance individual that was out of gas. There was a familiarity to whoever it was since Spaulding was still leaning over the counter.

“Then stop standing there and bring it the fuck in.”

“Fuck you. Get off yer fat ass and come help me.”

“You wanna do all that shit, do it your fucking self.” Oh, these two definitely knew one another. Though that didn’t stop the hostile tones.

“It’s fer yer fucking business. Get fucking moving, bozo.” A chuckle came before you could stop it, thoroughly amused by the exchange. The glare from Spaulding barely registered, though the sounds of boots hitting the floor closer to you did.

“Fuck you Bunny,” Spaulding spat. “Why don’t you go help this asshole? Standing around here enough, might as well get some fucking use out of you.” You straightened up, eyes narrowed. A low growl was given, though you had no intentions or real desire to hurt the man that was across the counter from you. Arguments and cursing was pretty much the basis of his relationships it seemed. Besides, what the hell were you going to do? He was your only friend on the hellhole known as Earth. He knew your secret, you knew his. Neither of you had sold the other out.

“The fuck you on about?” The other voice decided to chim in and you finally turned to look. He was far closer than what you typically allowed. Lanky but strong, his frame had that same sort of silent promise that Spaulding’s did, though he looked like he could move a hell of a lot faster. And probably do some more damage. Far more predatory than Spaulding too. The beast knew when it had met another and for the first time ever, the wolf part of yourself was actually content with the presence of another. Not a threat. No. Even if arguably, he was one.

“Otis, this here is Bunny. She’s been coming around here a lot and helping out. She’ll help you out no problem.”

“Don’t look like she can lift shit.And the fuck you mean helping out?” Before you could retort, Spaulding broke out in amused laughter.

“Son, you don’t know shit. Let the little lady help you on out.” At that, you thew the bone from the drumstick that you had been gnawing on, at him, half eaten. Crunching on the remaining bone, you turned to face Otis fully.

The appraisal was obvious and not quick. His eyes slid over your form and felt heavy enough to be a physical touch. The wolf both bristled and keened, something that caused a nagging throb right behind your eye.

“Let’s get this shit over with so I can finish my dinner.”

“You didn’t catch dinner, Bunny.” You flipped Spaulding off and Otis was obviously confused by the statement, glancing back and forth between the two of you before finally grunting and accepting that you were going to help him with whatever it was that needed to be brought into the roadside establishment.

His presence seemed to loom overhead, demanding attention in a way that you had never experienced before in your life. It had you staying quiet, more than usual. Otis seemed observant, even beneath the bluster of rage and impatience. It left the sensation of being so thoroughly and utterly exposed.

"The fuck did he mean you hadn't caught dinner?" He couldn't have missed the growl in the crowded store. You can to a beat up truck and in the back was something under a trap. It had an odd cross between death both human and animal and formaldehyde. That always burned your nose in the worst possible way. Otis apparently caught the look on your face and scoffed. "Ya can stand it in there but this is what causes ya to fucking make a scene?"

"It ain't the smell of death. It's that preservation shit. Unnatural." The distaste was obvious. "Burns like a mother fucker and leaves a rotten taste in the back of my mouth. Rather chew on one of those dessicated hands that Spaulding's got in there. Dry as shit and rotten but at least it's fucking natural." There was a moment of pause, his hand stuck on the tarp that kept the object hidden. From the way that his lips curled, something about your comment and perhaps your appearance pleased him.

"Them shits ain't chew toys."

"Everything's a fucking chew toy if I want it to be." At this, you willing flashed a set of razor sharp teeth. He leaned in closer, as if wanting to inspect them but there was something else in the way that he eyed you. That instinct was proven correct when he grabbed the back of your neck. It caused another growl to rumble from within, a repeat but far more aggressive than what you had displayed inside.

"Well, shit," he laughed. There was a smugness to the words before he was pulling back, though not before giving a tight squeeze to the back of your neck. "I can see why Spaulding keeps you around." You snorted and worked the tarp off the piece now that he seemed ready.

"He doesn't keep me around," you grumbled, bristled at the notion. "Mutual understanding is more like it."

"He gave ya a name. Don't think I didn't catch that shit. Means he is keeping you."

"Fuck off. I'm kept by no one. Ain't some God damn pet." In the blink of an eye, you had a knife to your throat, just as you were getting ready to climb into the bed of the truck. The cold steel was tight enough and sharp enough that you could barely feel it but it was slicing into skin, droplets of blood pooling. He was damn fast for a human. Real damn fast.

"The fuck you ain't." He pressed a little harder but you remained calm, lip twitching just a bit against the unpleasant sting. Otis had no idea that it wouldn't kill you. Not unless he decided to clean slice your head off. An all our snarl worked from your lips this time, feeling the beast simmering right below the surface. There wouldn't be control if he kept pushing.

And push he did.

"Bet yer skin would look real nice added to this piece." The blade drug upwards just a bit, the careful refinement of years of practice showing as he worked skin away from muscle.

Pulling away happened simultaneously of the shift. The screeching of claws against metal rang out in the empty desert air.

Clearly loud enough to cause Spaulding to come racing from inside.

"The fuck is happening?" Otis was grinning as he stared you down, eyes shining with fascination and a darkness that could verge into lust or hellfire. You weren't sure which way would be more beneficial. The wound was already healing, you had put some distance between yourself and him.

"Why the fuck ya been keeping this girl here a secret, Cutter?" You could practically hear the eye roll from the older man.

"Oh, for fuck…put the God damn knife the fuck down you idiot. She'll tear your scrawny ass in fucking two. You ain't gonna do shit with that knife before she guts you."

"Ya picking sides now?" Otis didn't turn his attention from you, even as he spit the words at Spaulding. Even so, you decided to be the one to back down. It wasn't a submission. No, that was a fact that you refused to believe or acknowledge. While he was a threat, there was still no real desire to gut the man and standing there ran a higher risk of someone seeing something that they shouldn't. It was simply self preservation that made you stand down. Besides, taking the fight with Otis would put you at odds with the entire family and isolate you once more. It was also the smarter decision.

With a roll of your shoulders, your form shrunk right back down. Though this time, the man seemed interested in the twisting, cracking of bones and stretching and thinning of flesh as things changed.

"Don't wanna fucking fight. Not you at least." A hunt would be a good thing but that didn't seem to be happening any time soon. Not with how desolate the landscape had been the last two weeks. "Let's get this inside." You could hear Spaulding laugh as Otis grunted once more. After a few more seconds, his knife finally lowered and he was inching forward once more to get the latest piece of the artwork off of the truck. This time, he was the one to hop into the bed, sliding the piece towards the edge while you kept it steady. The formaldehyde was still strong and burned but you kept a straight face this time, not at all wanting to let an inch of it slip.

There was an odd silence between all of you, something that you were not keen on breaking right then and there. Carrying the piece inside with Otis, Spaulding directed you on where it was going to be set, leading you further into the place than you had ventured before.

It was actually a pretty impressive set up and admittedly, if Otis was indeed the one making them and not just transporting them, he was pretty damn talented. Twisted, but incredibly talented. Something that you could appreciate as you stepped back once it was in place.

One more step back and your back met the chest of a warm body. It certainly wasn’t Spaulding. Otis wrapped an arm around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder as he looked at the piece with you. He smelled of death and the farm that he lived on, a combination that wasn’t really that off putting, even if you would have preferred to not be in the man’s grasp. The hold was tight, signalling that he wasn’t planning on letting you go any time soon. Breaking out of the grasp might just cause another fight and really, you didn’t want to hear Spaulding bitch about anything breaking.

“Have to admit, it’s pretty damn impressive,” you found yourself murmuring as a way to break the silence. “I don’t got the eye for it. Never have, even if I have wanted to.” His fingers were trailing along your stomach. Not an entirely unpleasant feeling. Maybe you really had been devoid of touch too long.

“You two get fucking moving! I got a customer!” Spaulding’s voice rang out. You pulled away from the man, who was caught off guard by the sudden action, his fingers grasping tightly at your shirt, clearly not wanting to let you away. But it didn’t matter. The potential meal was too enticing.

“All right, fuck calm down!” Otis called back to the other before turning his attention back to you. “You wanna stick around and not end up a part of this? Let’s see what you got.” Grinning, that was a challenge that you were all too happy to meet.

#otis driftwood #otis driftwood x reader #house of 1000 corpses #slasher writing #slasher x reader #house of 1000 corpses fic #otis driftwood fic

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bubblegum-blackwood · 3 months

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VC Fic Rec Friday!

Here are some fics I read recently that I quite enjoyed

Boats Against the Current by @covenofthearticulate - Louis/Lestat, E, 5608 words

This is such an angsty and wonderful little fic! It's so good how you can feel how much Lestat cares, how much they both love each other despite everything that's happened, despite all the invisible scars they've both accrued over the years. The unique closeness of the fledgling-maker bond is really palpable in this, the way Lestat understands what buttons to push and when to give Louis what he needs, so devastatingly soft and sweet and yet angsty at the same time. This fic wrecked me, even just reading back over my comment I need to go lie down and just wallow in Loustat 😅 it is everything to me. And to copy and paste the words I added to my bookmark: Impossibly tender and unspeakably powerful. An exquisite read.

Climb to the Sun by @apoptoses - Armand/Daniel, E, 6313 words

This is just so cool! The prose is so vivid and captivating, and the imagery is *chef's kiss* and so so fun. It perfectly captures the warring parts of Daniel, where on the one hand he knows what Armand is and wants to keep himself away from such a monster, but on the other hand he's so into it and part of why he's into it is because Armand is not human and can easily hurt him!!! Just!!! 🥵🥵🥵 I'm a sucker for this kind of stuff and this does it so well.

The Velvet of Cold Flesh (series) by anonymous - Marius/Armand

I'm recommending the whole series rather than just one work LMAO part one is 3848 words and part two is 25812 words (for now!) and they're both E. This series is the first omegaverse I have ever read, like ever ever, and I think it was such a perfect introduction to the genre for me! It's funny, it's sweet, it's utterly filthy, and I am in absolute shambles lmfao. It's everything I never knew I needed. Such a lovely AU of the Venice years that captures their characters so well! It's amazing!

#vcficfriday #vc

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monsterfloofs · 1 year

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Hi there! This is for the Emoji Monster Challenge: 🎻🐊🎀. Hope you have fun x)

Crocodile Monster (Jonas) x Anonymous Reader (Sfw)

(Yay!! Thank you! I had a lot of fun, I normally don’t try to draw crocodiles, so this was a challenge for me! I love Jonas already, he is a cute beanie who likes to play music and wants to make friends but is a shy outcast! :’O Also! I drew my little stand in human with the silly phone dating app picture, because that was the first image that came to mind with the emoji’s you sent me xDD So I thought that would be fun to include it! But, in all truthfullness, trying to help Jonas find a partner is ultimately going to backfire. . . because there is someone he already likes A LOT and gets super shy around. ;’)))))) Hope you like the short! )

The air was hot and muggy, as fireflies danced and jittered between tall thin trees. The humming of frogs and crickets buzzed in the air around you. Punctuated by the splash of something moving in the water. Lily pads speckled along its dark surface, dotted in clusters. Almost nightfall, the last twinkle of sunlight glittered across the still and silent pool.

You walk along the boarded walkway, head up and alert as you make your way across the largest and darkest of the vast lake. The wooden walkway was constructed like veins that were inlaid overtop of the swamp below your feet. But despite the trek, you knew the path well, and took it many, many times to visit a friend that lived at the very edge of town.

You heard him, before you saw him. A ramshackle house in the very heart of the dark water. The sound of music joining the hush of sound from the unseen critters that surrounded you. The sound of a deep reverberating sound of a cello washing over the thickets of tall whispering grass.

From the glow of yellow you can see a hulking figure, with a large instrument hugged to their chest. His head was down in concentration. Your steps slowed and grew careful, as you crossed the threshold over the land that marked his home.

You kept silent as you pulled up an empty seat to listen. The sound was inexplicably sad and melancholic, it made you wonder, if not for the umpteenth time, how the rest of your village would be weary of such a creature that could pour their whole soul into the music they played.

And as the song came to a close, a bright yellow eye opened, then as if an invisible wire was connected from his eye to his nose, his snout lifting to look at you taken aback.

You wave your hands in a silent hello, before they fall back onto your lap to patiently wait for Jonas to continue. A roll of a growl sounded at the back of his throat, a sound you had distinguished long ago to be made from his nerves. The growl jars into an awkward sneeze. He shakes his head, reptilian eye focusing on your uneasiness.

“What are you doing here?” The sound is grating and deep, coming from someone who normally doesn’t make it a habit to talk to others.

You point at yourself with a smile, “Me? I just came to say hello, I didn’t mean to intrude! I can go if you want.”

Jonas blinks, and growls again, before he lifts the bow back to the Cello, glancing back at you multiple times before he continues. You lace your fingers together and close your eyes. You hope that one day he could be comfortable around you, but for now, having tolerance for your presence was good enough for you.

The last liquid drops of sunlight disappear into the water, as a sky fades to deep pink, oranges to purples and deep navy.

#monster x reader #monster x human #sfw #exophilia #crocodile monster x reader #crocodile monster x human

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nicklloydnow · 7 months

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“The surface of the planet today is covered in a chain-linked mesh of associations that join together to form a man-made network of irregular density.

Through this network, society's lifeblood circulates. The transport of people, of merchandise, of commodities; multiple transactions, sales orders, purchase orders, bits of information, all pass each other by; there are also other, more strictly intellectual or affective exchanges that occur. This incessant flux bewilders humanity, engrossed as it tends to be by the cadaverous leaps and bounds of its own activities.

But in a few spots where the network's links are weakly woven, strange entities may allow a seeker, one who "thirsts for knowledge," to discern their existence. In every place where human activity is interrupted, where there is a blank on the map, these ancient gods crouch, huddled, waiting to take back their rightful place.

As in the terrifying interior Arabian desert, the Rub-al-Khalid, from whence a Mohammedan poet named Abdul Al-Hazred was returning around the year 731 after ten years of utter solitude. Having grown indifferent to the practices of Islam, he devoted the year that followed to writing an impious and blasphemous book, the repugnant Necronomicon (several copies of which escaped the pyre and traversed the ages) before being devoured by invisible monsters in broad daylight at the Damascus market square.

As in the unexplored plains of Northern Tibet, where degenerate Tcho-Tchos lope around in adoration of unnameable deities they qualify as "the Great Old Ones."

And as in the huge expanses of the South Pacific, where the paradoxical trails of unexpected volcanic convulsions at times produce utterly inhuman sculptures and geometry which the abject and depraved natives of the Tuamotu archipelago worship, crawling forward on their upper bodies.

At the intersections of these channels of communication, man has erected giant, ugly metropolises where each person, isolated in an anonymous apartment, in a building identical to the others, believes absolutely that he is the center of the world and the measure of all things. But beneath the warrens of these burrowing insects, very ancient and very powerful creatures are slowly awakening from their slumber. During the Carboniferous age, during the Triassic and the Permian ages, they were here already; they have heard the roars of the very first mammals and will know the howls of agony of the very last.

Howard Phillips Lovecraft was not a theoretician. Jacques Bergier clearly understood that, by introducing materialism into the heart of fear and fantasy, HPL created a new genre. It is no longer a question of believing or not believing, as in certain vampire or werewolf tales; there is no possible reinterpretation, there is no escape. There exists no horror less psychological, less debatable.” - Michel Houellebecq, ‘H. P. Lovecraft: Against the World, Against Life’ (1991) [p. 57 - 59]

#lovecraft #hp lovecraft #houellebecq #michel houellebecq #necronomicon #bergier #jacques bergier

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mariacallous · 3 months

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A technology company that has been essential in keeping far-right and extremist websites online was acquired last year by a firm that operates an empire of shell companies across the United States, according to people familiar with the deal.

Epik.com has been for years the go-to domain registrar for websites that other companies refuse to do business with. Sites dedicated to white nationalism, QAnon conspiracy theories, and harassing transgender people were all welcomed by Epik. Now, it appears that Epik’s new owner may abandon the extremist fringe and shift its customer base toward companies seeking to operate in the shadows.

Rob Monster, a born-again Christian who founded Epik in 2009, had been key in keeping many of the most extreme websites online. He often went to great lengths to personally defend the sites and extolled the virtues of free speech. Epik was sold to new ownership last year after the company unraveled amid allegations of gross financial mismanagement.

An accounting firm hired by Epik to conduct a forensic investigation alleged that Monster had misappropriated more than $3.5 million, according to an internal preliminary report obtained by WIRED. More than $1.5 million was attributed to Monster personally withdrawing funds from the company. Nearly $2 million of Epik funds was used in Kingdom Ventures, Monsters’ venture capital firm, according to the report.

Monster didn’t respond to multiple requests for comment.

The buyer of Epik’s domain registrar business was a brand-new company that had been incorporated in Wyoming weeks before the sale was completed last summer: Epik LLC. The owner of Epik LLC, according to two people familiar with the deal, is Registered Agents Inc. The company confirmed its ownership in a press release late Friday night.

Registered Agents Inc. and its subsidiary companies claim to have offices in every state and Washington, DC. Its services allow companies to operate anonymously in a jurisdiction of its choosing. Registered Agents Inc. says it provides services to over 1 million companies.

The founder and owner of Registered Agents, according to two people familiar with the company, is a man named Dan Keen. In an email, a lawyer for Registered Agents Inc. says Keen is not the owner nor an employee of Registered Agents Inc. or Epik, and that he acted as a consultant in the acquisition.

Keen is intensely private, according to multiple people who have worked with him who requested anonymity to discuss details of the deal. “He has made it his mission in life to be invisible,” said one. “He’s someone who likes to operate in the shadows,” claims another. Keen is a serial entrepreneur who previously ran a lawn care and tree-trimming business, according to public records.

Keen has no website or social media pages. Emails sent by Keen don’t include a signature. Attempts to reach Keen for comment led to a reply from Bryce Myrvang, a lawyer for Registered Agents Inc.

Using a registered agent to incorporate a business allows the owner to shield who actually owns it. A registered agent will act as an official point of contact for a company, receiving legal notices and mail, and filing incorporation documents with the state. In Wyoming alone, Registered Agents Inc. represents around 50,000 companies, according to the Wyoming secretary of state.

For example, a company that uses Registered Agents Inc. to set up shop in Wyoming would have its address listed as 30 N. Gould Sreet, a squat one-story building in the town of Sheridan.

A local paper in Wyoming, The Sheridan Press, reported in August 2021 that scam business had been linked to the 30 N. Gould Street address, where more than 20 registered agent firms claim to have their offices. An editor's note added after publication stated, “It remains completely legal for registered agents to do what they’re doing under Wyoming Statute.”

A 2022 investigation by the International Consortium of Investigative Journalists found that “oligarchs, criminals and online scammers” have used registered agents to operate in the United States and shield their true identity.

Registered Agents Inc.’s acquisition of Epik allows the company to extend its offerings to the internet, providing its customers another layer of anonymity for their websites.

“This most recent acquisition provided an opportunity to expand our business offerings to include a business email address, a domain name, and open source website hosting at a reasonable cost,” Myrvang tells WIRED. “Registered Agents Inc. now has the capability to establish an entire business identity for its customers in less than 10 minutes.”

Clues about changes within Epik first emerged in January, when the company terminated its relationship with Kiwi Farms, a notorious trolling site whose users are dedicated to perpetuating never-ending drama and misery. In a series of bizarre and now deleted tweets, Epik claimed it suspended Kiwi Farms in response to a US court order and that the site hosted child sexual abuse material. In response, the Kiwi Farms administrator began crowdfunding money for a defamation lawsuit against Epik. “You specialize in defamation, revenge porn, harassment, and hate speech and you want to sue us? We will expose all your and your users dirty secrets and they will be permanent public records,” the EpikLLC X account replied. “The judgment we will win against you will follow you the rest of your life.”

It was as if a new set of trolls with an entirely different worldview had taken over Epik.

“Alright all Whiny, Beta Snowflakes. Our DEI hires of the month canceled #Kiwifarms,” another post from EpikLLC read. “We don't like hate speech, porn, or doxxing. #JoeBiden will fix it! 2024!”

Some of the tweets trolling Epik were later deleted. “If such comments and or interactions on X were found to be offensive, Epik LLC formally apologizes to those individuals and or company,” Myrvang, the company's lawyer, says. “Further, the appropriate action has been taken internally in relation to the comments made on X.” It’s unclear if Epik’s new owners singled out Kiwi Farms or if it has booted other sites from its service. “Epik.com’s Terms of Service has been updated to maintain compliance with all regulatory requirements,” Myrvang says. When asked if the company has stopped working with other customers, Myrvang says, “Epik LLC will suspend and or terminate relationships with any company and or individual who violates its Terms of Services.”

In late 2022, Epik customers began reporting that they were suddenly unable to withdraw money from Masterbucks, Epik’s payment platform, which facilitated buying and selling pricey domain names. One customer, Luigi Marruso, posted on the domain name forum NamePros claiming that Epik was holding onto $1.5 million of its money. In an email to WIRED, Marruso says he still hasn’t been paid back.

Another customer, Matthew Adkisson, sued Epik and Monster, claiming they had mismanaged or embezzled $327,000 from him as he sought to purchase nourish.com. Epik later settled with Adkisson.

Claims like Adkisson’s began to pile up on forums for professionals in the domain name business (known as “domainers”), and Epik was in serious financial jeopardy.

Epik’s customers, fearing the worst, rushed to get their money back from the company. Epik even had outstanding debts with ICANN, the nonprofit that serves as a global administrator for the internet, according to legal filings.

“They were using customer funds to fund its operations. People started asking for those customer funds back, and they couldn't pay them,” says Andrew Allemann, a journalist who covered the fiasco for Domain Name Wire. “There was a run on the bank, and the money wasn’t there.”

In September 2022, a new CEO was installed at Epik in an attempt to stem the bleeding and settle the company’s debts. Epik, once valued by an investor at around $150 million was sold for around $5 million dollars in June 2023, according to a purchase agreement released as an exhibit in the Adkisson lawsuit. Much of the $5 million purchase price was allocated to paying off some of Epik’s debts. It’s unclear if the terms of the final deal match the one released as part of the lawsuit, but a source familiar with the acquisition says it was generally similar.

The rest of the debt was left with Monster. Just how much Monster owes former customers and vendors is unknown. Two former Epik customers told WIRED they’re still waiting to be paid back $38,000 and $20,000, respectively.

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fallen-symphony · 12 days

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Anonymous Asked:

"Sync, it looks like they broke that red haired sprit with all they are doing to him. I got an Idea for you. Why not trying to bring that red haired to your side make him your apprentice teach him your ways? since he is turning into an Adapt now."

"Me? Take an apprentice? That never crossed my mind. But the idea is to switch him to our side, so..."

"I'm not letting that happen! I'm taking Roy back, you hear me?!"

"You asked your question at a bad time. We're still in the middle of a battle..."

"Solo, we need to focus on getting Roy out of here! If we don't hurry, Asimov will try to erase his memories!"

"Grr... Fine... But I will make them pay for this once Roy is safe!"

"You think I'm just going to let you take him?! I don't think so!"

"This is a whole new low for you, Asimov! You did some terrible things... You're even part of the reason I may never see Joule again! But this!? Turning people into Artificial Adepts?! When you and I we both experimented on and were turned into Artificial Adepts ourselves?! What made you decide to turn into the same kind of monster that turned us into weapons and made us forget who we were in the past?!"

"It's quite simple, Gunvolt... I want a world where everyone is an Adept rather than a pathetic, powerless human. That's why if this succeeds, I can turn everyone in every dimension into Adepts! The humans who feared us for our power will be erased, whether it's from being made into the very thing they feared... Or be destroyed!"

"Quite the ambition you have there... You remind me of someone I used to work under... But whatever. I'll do my best to get these guys off your back while you continue the procedure..."

"No... I have a score to settle with Gunvolt. I'm fighting, too!"

"Suit yourself!"

The opposing sides clashed. It was Sync vs. Solo (Rogue), and Gunvolt vs Asimov.

Meanwhile where Roy was, his restrains were being removed by an invisible individual.

"Psst... Roy..." the individual said, "My name Elise... I'm a friend of Solo and Gunvolt's. I'm using an Invisible Chip right now. Quickly! Let's get you out of here while the enemy is distracted."

To be continued...

#new data discovered (ask)#data analyzed (answered)#mystery data (anon)#sync attacks with fonic artes (ic)#solo has pulsed in (ic)#em wave change! on the air!#rogue has pulsed in (ic)#gunvolt strikes! (ic)#good and evil clash (blog jump cameo)#Asimov strikes back! (ic)#Elise keeps calm and slithers on (ic)#tales of the abyss #megaman star force #azure striker gunvolt #(Sorry this took so long...)

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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 5 months

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For anyone who follows gust & flame - which I think is very few of you, but still 😂🤣…

I apologize for my infrequent updates. I’ve been away for the past month, with a lot of family drama and stress. (Nothing serious. Just petty stuff that’s exhausting and annoying lol.) And I’m also dealing with a wedding that I’m a MOH in. On top of that, I’m in the busy time of year at my job.

So what little free time I have is spent trying to relax or give myself a mental break.

You guys have been super understanding and patient, which is why I wanted to explain my lack of updates.

#acotar #gust & flame #invisibleanonymouonsters #invisible anonymous monsters #update

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nairafeather · 2 years

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Heart of Steel - The knight and his princess

@invisibleanonymousmonsters

Help me... I'm out of control

#heart of steel #house of the dragon #invisible anonymous monsters #criston cole #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader

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northernolddragon · 1 year

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maybe the creators wanted to do the same thing with Syanna as with Olgierd. at the beginning our ataman is a son of a bitch but over time we get to know his story, we feel sorry for him and we save him. syanna is a revenge-seeking fallen princess who thinks her sister has betrayed her (this is the most important point in all of this) when Geralt travels with her through the land of fairy tales, he learns her story and it turns out that there is a small misunderstanding between the sisters, so the player should want to reconcile them. and it's a big smelly shit. all the blame is put on Dettlaff who was just a tool (let's put a knife in prison the victim bled out because of it) that's why I don't like this ending very much. it's really a shame that cdpr promotes such a thing. the moral of this is that you can commit the worst crime, set beast on people and if you have connections you can get away with it.

There should be ending where both sisters się and dettlaff alive. Weird that Geralt didnt ask the unseen elder just to stop Dettlaff.

Oh, I didn't think about those parallels. Interesting thoughts, dear anonymous! Syanna, to some extent, evokes sympathy, one can really sympathize with her, remembering her revelations to Geralt in the Land of Fairy Tales. In the same magical world, there is also a reference to Blaviken, just a mention, why, sometimes, you think that Syanna is the same Renfri. It becomes a pity for her after the story, which is so reminiscent of the story of the robber from Blaviken. Only this does not negate her cruelty to Dettlaff. Her calculation, about his naivety and feelings for her. Her reprisal against the knights guilty of 'persecution'. And unfulfilled revenge on my sister.

Olgierd had a slightly different situation, since Mr. Mirror deceived him, taking advantage of his despair. Or rather, he didn’t even deceive, he skillfully manipulated at the moment when Olgerd was most susceptible to influence. He later tried to return the opportunity to break the contract - as we know, he did not succeed. The terms of the contract had to be respected. Syanna, on the other hand, acted of her own free will and did not at all regret what she had done. Instead of Gaunter, she had the Black Sun. And she believed that since they had made a monster out of her, they should not be disappointed. Although I think she might have veered off that path, like Regis, who curbed the bloodlust. With Geralt, a conversation started about the possibilities of choice. She chose the worst. Which is extremely sad.

I guess the Unseen Elder didn't intervene, as he has little interest in the outside world. He only helped in one of the endings to summon Dettlaff (he killed Geralt twice because I asked more questions than I needed xd) . This being is indifferent to humanity. And she would intervene if something really serious happened, threatening the code of vampires and their rules. Recall the story of Khagmar. If I remember correctly, Regis mentioned, that the Unseen Elder were involved in the execution of the judgment. Having unlimited possibilities and power, they remain completely neutral until the moment of resonance in the world of relative. Probably, what Dettlaff didn't fit into this category. It seems to me that for such an ancient being, Dettlaff's emotions were a childish prank.

The best outcome would be, that the end of the storyline was accompanied, of course, by the reunion of the sisters, a celebration in honor of this event and the help of Geralt along with Regis, and the living and invisible Dettlaff. I don't blame the developers for recreating the realities of life, where having a title and a connection with a high-ranking rank can escape punishment worthy of punishment (not necessarily death), otherwise an innocent creature, who was taken advantage of will be in a bad position and with a complete list accusations. The same injustice, that often prevails. Made endings without 'happily ever after'. Because Toussaint is still not such a fairy tale.

#ask

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crush3dmary · 1 year

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A bit late for the ask game, but I'm gonna throw a freeform at you.

What is one question on the list that no one asked, but you were really hoping they would?

If none apply, use this as an excuse to just info-dump whatever thing you've been wanting to go crazy about!

Ahhhh my treasured mutual thank you so much for the ask!! I think I'm going to use this opportunity to info dump about my current longfic wip, because I'm really excited about it!

Philosophy of a Knife is a yugioh canon rewrite au where Bakura wins and Ryou becomes a vessel for Zorc's power. I have a lot of big plans for it, but it's really a glorified character study with an alternate interpretation of Ryou. I once heard the interpretation that Bakura is a manifestation of Ryou's own intrusive thoughts and I thought this could be an interesting thing to explore alongside the concept of an unreliable narrator as he starts to lose his grip on reality more and succumb to his more carnal urges, inspired by my very real experiences with ocd/intrusive thoughts. The first chapter is pretty canon compliant so far to the manga but I'm planning to have it diverge pretty significantly around battle city. And there will be card games! I learned how to play Duel Monsters for this! I really committed to the bit for this one. If you guys want a preview of the first couple paragraphs, I shared this in a few servers so I don't mind sharing it here too. Under a cut to be safe.

Absolute power corrupts absolutely.

Ryou would learn this the hard way—he'd always considered himself the kind of person that others don't remember, someone forgettable, his anonymity nearly paralleling invisibility. It was only when he lost that resource that he would realize how much of a divine sanction it was.

If one had asked him seven months prior where he imagined his sorry life, the last thing he would have said was "acting as a vessel for the dark God Zorc Necrophades", but even if his life before the Ring was relatively mundane, going about the motions like it were a series of small tragedies, ever since his body became communal, all he could say for certain was that his days were unpredictable at best.

Nobody had told him when he accepted Zorc's soul that the Darkness felt like fire and ice in his veins, something swimming through his arteries like the aftertaste of grief that had clouded his senses since the day he got the phone call saying they're dead, and now you're not just lonely but alone. Nobody told him that he'd feel it skittering across the hairs of his neck like the most graceful of insects, and more than that, nobody told him that nothing would slow the process of his own decay.

A panic that wasn't his washed over Ryou's body as he doubled over, coughing and choking, a malady that had nowhere to go. Jagged nails dug into the pale skin of his forearms, drawing blood that stained the tips of his fingers onyx. Soon after, one of his hands came up to rest over his open mouth, and he retched.

The moment he pulled away, he cowered with revulsion when he saw that his blood and bile were black.

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aftonfamilyvalues · 4 months

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You're such a a goober. Trans women can't be bigoted towards cis women due to the immense difference in population&their non existent political power. nothing a trans women does, takes anything away from cis women. But cis women have all the power to oppress and take away from trans women. Also they're both women. Cis women are more likely to be assholes to other cis women. A cis woman, is more likely, to be abused, by another cis woman. Like, by a landslide. So no, if I was white(I'm indigenous) and I disagreed with a person from an oppressed group, I would not be bigoted towards them, because I have all the power and privilege to destroy their lives and I'm not a heartless insecure monster afraid of a made up boogyman. On the other hand, as an indigenous person, I DOOOOO speak up against the majority white population and I DOOOO tell them to go back to Europe. You see the difference there? Also it's a meme. A joke. A representation. Do you look like a wojack irl? Does anyone? You get roasted once and now you call for the genocide of trans women? Boo fucking hoo. You work tirelessly to take away trans women's ability to live and live safely. Trans women roasting you just hurts your little sensitive insecure feelings. There's a huge difference there. Also for that one wojack meme used against you, there 50000 more made to make fun of how trans women look. Grow up and stop being so sensitive. Trans women are not hurting you just bc they called you ugly. You still have access to all the privileges that they don't have access to. Specifically bc you are an insecure child who can't recognize that others suffer more than you.

transwomen are male and therefore retain male privilege and oppress female people on the basis of sex. them perpetuating misogyny is exactly the same as any other male person doing it. they still live in a world tailored to their bodies (invisible women is a great book that goes into all those details, from the way cars are made to the dosage ls and research of medicine) and no amount of estrogen or surgery changes that. its not an equivalent to your scenario.

anyway ive never called for any "trans genocide" youre just writing anonymous essays and making insane assumptions in some womans inbox because she pointed out transwomen cheering on misogyny and perpetuating misogynistic beauty standards. op of that tweet deleted the meme and apologized for being misogynistic by the way, you should totally go blow up their twitter dms because apparently realizing that meme was misogynistic is super offensive.

#ask

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kevinsreviewcatalogue · 7 months

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Review: The Invisible Man (1933)

The Invisible Man (1933)

Approved by the Production Code Administration of the Motion Picture Producers & Distributors of America

Score: 3 out of 5

Having just moved to Boston, a natural destination for a horror fan like myself has been the city of Salem, Massachusetts about 40 minutes north. I have indeed, like a dirty tourist, partaken in many of the attractions that have made Salem famous, but one place I imagine will be a repeat destination for me is the Cinema Salem, a three-screen movie theater that not only hosts the annual Salem Horror Fest but also, this October, is running many classic Universal monster movies all month long. For my first movie there, I decided to check out The Invisible Man, the most famous adaptation of H. G. Wells' 1897 novel, and I was not expecting the movie I got. Don't get me wrong, it was a good movie, albeit an uneven one. But if your understanding of the Universal Monsters is that they're slow, dry, classy, and old-fashioned, you'll be as surprised as I was at just how wild and funny this movie can get. What would've been just a passable horror movie is elevated by Claude Rains as an outstanding villain who may be literally invisible but still finds a way to hog the screen at every opportunity, one who singlehandedly made this film a classic and part of the horror canon through his sheer presence. It has a lot of rough spots, but I still do not regret going out of my way to see this in a theater.

The film opens in an inn in the small English village of Iping, where Jack Griffin, a man clad head to toe in a trench coat, hat, gloves, bandages, and dark goggles, arrives in the middle of a blizzard. We soon find out that he is a scientist who performed a procedure on himself that turned him invisible, and shortly after that, we find out that this procedure drove him murderously insane as he came to realize that he could now commit any crime and get away with it because nobody will even know how to find him, let alone arrest him. Immediately, we get a sense of what kind of man Griffin is as he attacks the inn's owner for trying to get him to pay his rent, then leading the police on a merry chase when they step into try and evict him, his crimes only escalating from there.

Rains plays Griffin as a troll, somebody for whom the ultimate real-world anonymity has enabled him to let out his inner jerk, and he relishes it. He frequently drops one-liners as he harasses, assaults, and eventually outright murders the people who cross his path, and packs an evil laugh with the best of them. At times, the film veers almost into horror-comedy as it showcases the more mischievous side of Griffin's crime spree, such that I'm not surprised that some of the sequels to this that Universal made in the '40s would be straight-up comedies. That said, Rains still played Griffin as a fundamentally vile person, one who forces his former colleague Dr. Kemp to act as his accomplice knowing he can't do anything about it, kills scores of people in one of the highest body counts of any Universal monster movie, and clearly seems conflicted at points about his descent into villainy only for his power to seduce him back into it -- perhaps best demonstrated in a scene where he talks to his fiancée Flora about how he wishes to one day cure himself, only to slip into ranting about how he could then sell the secret of his invisibility to the world's armies, or perhaps even raise one such army himself and take over the world. The Invisible Man may be the most comedic of Universal's "classic" monsters, but the film never forgets that he's a monster. What's more, while the seams may now be visible on the special effects and chromakey that they used back in the day to create the effect of Griffin's invisibility, a lot of it still works surprisingly well. Already, as I dip my toes into the classic Universal horror movies, I've started to notice why the monsters have always been at the center of the nostalgia, discourse, and marketing surrounding them, and it's because they and the actors playing them are usually by far the most memorable parts of their movies.

It's fortunate, too, because I've also started to notice a recurring flaw in the Universal monster movies: that the parts not directly connected to the monster usually aren't nearly as memorable. I've barely even talked about Griffin's fellow scientists, and that's because they were only interesting insofar as they were connected to him, which made Kemp the most interesting non-villainous character in the film by default simply because of how Griffin uses and torments him. Flora, a character original to the movie who wasn't in the book, felt almost completely extraneous and had next to nothing to do in the plot, feeling like she was thrown in simply because the producers felt that there needed to be at least one token female presence and love story in the film. When the film was focused on Griffin, it was genuinely compelling, whether it was building tension (such as in the opening scenes at the inn, or Kemp's interactions with Griffin) or in the more madcap scenes of Griffin's mayhem. However, when the film diverted its attention from him to the scientists and police officers searching for him, it quickly started to drag. This was a pretty short movie at only 70 minutes, but it still felt like it had a lot of flab and pacing issues.

The Bottom Line

The monster is the reason why people remember this movie, and what a monster he is. Claude Rains and the effects team took what could've easily been a cheap and disposable adaptation and made something truly memorable out of it, even if the rest of the film doesn't entirely hold up today. I still think the 2020 version is a far better movie, but this was still an enjoyable, entertaining, and surprisingly wild time.

#the invisible man #1933 #1933 movies #horror #horror movies #science fiction #sci fi horror #claude rains #james whale #universal monsters #universal horror

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deldeldel90 · 1 year

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Power, he knows, is all he actually wants.

He's King, of his land, of that dim-witted pretty-faced traveler's land, of each kingdom he's ever laid his red eyes on. One day, soon, he'll reign.

They will bow to his feet, backs arched, and they will beg for him — beg for freedom, beg for invasion, beg and cry and whimper, until… they'll stop because they'll realize his power, realize they can't do anything but comply to his wishes.

The war (barely even a war, he'll say) is going by smoothly, the princesses captured, their gifts to be studied, and all is well.

The look on their father's face burned into his memory. The daunting horror, the helplessness of a prey, a prey that's escaped claws and ran away, a prey that's finally been captured between the teeth of its predator.

Leland supposes he's the wolf, big and bringing fright. Powerful, the King of the woods. Stalking and hunting. Not even the squeak of the smallest bunny undermined his sight.

He sees all, he hears all, he is all.

Nothing, nobody, matters to him — not now, not anymore, the price of being great, the price of going down as a legend for the history books. He's planned too much to be won over by mere feelings.

Leland doesn't feel, he doesn't cry or whimper, he'll never beg. Emotions don't brew, don't overpower and overwhelm.

He doesn't care. He's never cared, friendship and love were all ruses to him. A task to be completed, he supposed, he just needed a reason back then, even if looking into the Ocean's gaze tugged at the invisible strings that held up his heart in his chest, even if he certainly thought an idiotic pretty boy prince mattered anything to him.

He was malleable back then, capable of being melted down and formed anew, able to be changed, able to be strung along and toyed with. It was normal, seeing how young he'd been, how he hadn't seen the world for what it was—

The world had always been the Ocean.

The Ocean crashes ships, traps them, kills and maims and holds the world's greatest mysteries. Yet, it is loved, still. No matter how ugly it can become in a matter of setting dawn.

Thunder, breaking through the air, sparking trouble, and Storm, scaring children, destroying buildings, a humid air that makes insects crawl, and those that can be only called Monsters.

The Ocean is held to sirens who reek of danger, of mystique and terrible charm. Poets write about those creatures, with feathered quills and a pitiful need to romanticize their beauty, even when, truthfully, there is none.

Nothing good ever came from the waterline, the islands that should've stayed lost. No finished stories with sunny endings ever spawned from sirens who made the captains with the ocean eyes stray.

The string closest to his heart pulled somewhere South, squeezing tight, looping and tying and enclasping somewhere else.

He shook his head furiously. No, not again.

Leland would not be played like a puppet.

He should move on to greater things, should be scoping out where to place his military forces and where his spies should head next but— he can't, not right now, at least because there's a little something in his thoughts, jumbled between much more important ones, that says he can't.

Forces him to stop and think, which Leland hates more than ever.

An obsessive desire that needs to be filled, craves to be completed. It's a goal, a simple way to boast in the face of his greatest enemy.

It controls his every step, as he walks into the prison that holds the former king of the Pastel kingdom.

He'll need to get this over with and, then, he should be able to never go again. He won't waste any more energy on somebody he doesn't care for (because there's not a single soul he cares for at all).

Without another ponder, Leland strutted into his old best friend's cell.

Jack's cell is alone. He doesn't get to linger with any other prisoners, doesn't get to mope around and gather pity. Gather any attention he must crave, the attention he used to get easily when they were both younger.

His cell is a relatively large one, by prisoner standards, void of color. Grays and blacks. A few ratty blankets because, well, it wouldn't be good for… for inmates to be cold.

Jack might get sick, after all, and that wouldn't do.

But, anyways from that, Leland savors what became of the former king of the Pastel kingdom, whose status was now of a warning to the others.

He's wearing rags, a symbol of their torn friendship, of how dumb he was to think Leland would ever want to be his friend, of how he wasn't smart enough to escape his plan.

His hair long well past his shoulders, his build frailer than ever for no reason other than choice because Leland knows he's being fed enough.

The Plaid kingdom's food isn't that terrible. Isolde, his darling wife who made all of this possible, indulges in the desserts their chefs can make.

The traitor lifts his pretty head and makes an effort to get up. He mumbles some guard's name, trailing off as he coughs piteously.

He's not sick, just starving for attention.

Jack's eyes look strikingly hollow when he looks up. A weak, sad old man, estranged from his children, no doubt plagued in memories and fears.

He'd always been overprotective, overcaring. It didn't mean much, as he'd always been a useless, spoiled prince when it came to fate, when it dwelled down to simply making the right choices.

Now, he can't do anything. All his own fault and Leland hopes that he knows it, deep in his being. He hopes it's all he can think about; how he fell into Leland's traps, how he was too stupid to notice Leland's hate, how his brainless trust in Leland brought ruin to everybody he loved.

The second Jack's downtrodden gaze hits Leland, a horror-filled recognition spreads through his expression.

He sees him, he notices him. Finally, after all these years, the only thought that can be going through that empty skull of his was Leland.

This, he thinks, almost in a daze, caught off-guard by just how overwhelming this all is, is my moment.

Jack sputters out questions. He speaks in a hushed whisper, asking about his daughters, about his land, about why, why, why—

Leland doesn't care, even if he's hanging out to each word, even if the sound of his greatest nuisance pleading for him to just listen is a far more beautiful melody than that siren, the one Jack stole and later brought home, could ever produce.

He waits until Jack's finished to say what he's been dreaming of. Once his former friend hushes, he greets him, like he would when they were young fathers getting away for the night.

Leland breathes in, readying himself, the air sharp like a knife.

"Now, friend, enough of chatter," he began slowly, a giddy, ugly beast curling up in his chest. He calls that beast Victory. "How about a game of chess, for the old times?"

The guards rush in to prepare it, hearing his words and fearing his consequences for if they aren't fast enough.

Leland can barely pick up on their heavy footsteps because all he sees, all he notices, is Jack.

Something terribly warm (the fresh-baked pastries Jack had requested from his chefs, the heat of Jack's hand pressed against his as he excitedly guided him to his ship) bursts like a dam in Leland's mind, drowning any other thoughts, when he sees the way Jack's blue eyes widen.

His enemy— oh, his enemy. Leland can't stop looking at how his knees wobble dangerously, at how his Adam's apple bobs, at every trace of obedience in him. He's terrified, shocked to his very core just looking at Leland.

"A— alright," he says but no longer adoring. His voice is laced in fear. He doesn't call him Leeloo anymore, doesn't jump straight into his arms and bury himself in Leland's chest. He just hugs himself and nods, his gaze, one that flickers with hatred, flickers with emotion that Leland wants to hoard all to himself, cemented to the floor.

"That would be nice," he tells him, sounding like it would be anything but. He looks paler than ever, like a ghost, but his eyes are so, so bright.

His eyes carry the exact moment when the sunlight hits the clearest sea. Leland doesn't think there's anything like it.

He can't stop his smile, a childish smile that practically reaches his ears, a smile he knows shows weakness but, in the company of the weakest man in all of the kingdoms, shows the power he must hold to express that.

This is power, he thinks, almost in delirium, a wild furor taking over his normal stoicism.

Leland supposes this is what it feels like to have the Ocean at one's mercy.

#cursed princess club #cross posted on ao3 #cpc oneshot #cpc leland #cpc king jack

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