#adventures of little ghoul

[littleghoulghost]

Drawing Peace

Masterlist

The cub sat upon the floor, squished within the pack of Ghouls as she sniffled. Bodies were strewn across the rug in front of the fireplace. Hands swept away her tears and claws raked gently through her obsidian hair. Purrs made her muscles weak and heavy with growing content. The panic and fear was subsiding, leaving behind a thick exhaustion. Her tired eyes began to droop, curling further into the tangle of limbs surrounding her.

[see-arcane]

The Dead Men and the Sea

In which our good friend Jonathan Harker finds himself aboard the Nautilus and Captain Nemo finds himself dealing with a passenger far less amenable to his mandatory hospitality.*

A sizable ‘what-if?’ scenario based loosely on the premise of The League of Extraordinary Gentlefolk comic-in-progress, a glorious public domain mega crossover and antidote to Alan Moore’s unpleasant take on the idea. Shout out to @mayhemchicken-artblog for all the amazing work that’s already gone into putting this giant thing together.

(Warning: Contains spoilers for the end of Dracula and Twenty-Thousand Leagues Under the Sea.)

((*This is a big one. Grab a snack, get a drink, don’t make any plans.))

       Captain Nemo was a man shocked by very little. Life had inflicted too much in its wonders and horrors for anything more rousing than surprise to enter his heart. There was no dearth of awe, renewed afresh with every waking witness to the sea’s bounty. Nor was there ever a shortage of loathing, likewise revived with the crossing of those villains that dry land so readily supplied; that miserable few who stained life upon the continents so that all the land was sullied with their gluttony and bile.

        But here? Here, there was freedom. Always there were miracles that swam and grew and kept the soul alive.

        All this, and what had been his mission. A task at once as artic-cold and roiling hot as the vents at the ocean floor in its design. All this had owned the scope of his interest. But no shock. Not until the Englishman came.

        That he was English was the first strike against him, naturally.

        That he had been brought down into the Nautilus after slaughtering a man atop the vessel, such that he had sent a severed head tumbling down into the open hatch, was the second.

         That he had needed to be netted and tackled by a horde of the Captain’s crew, capped by an ultimate unpleasant use of electrocution, lest he succeed in tossing the initial few into the water like ragdolls, was a third; if an impressive third. It had taken a veritable swarm to turn the struggle. Even then, the shock administered by the pole, which was intended to knock him unconscious outright, had merely left him stunned and slurring. Two men were needed to pry the blade from his hand.

       The latter was a quite handsome kukri that now lay on the table before Captain Nemo. Alongside the head.

       Its hair might have been blond once upon a time. Now it was white as foam, as if bleached and salted by endless swimming. Yet it was not as white as the Englishman’s wild mop. Nor were the dead eyes more unsettling than the burning gaze his men had described.

        It was with some fair amount of relief that his comrades deposited the fellow in the windowless chamber. He had been coming around too quickly for any of their liking. Not a minute after the door was bolted on the cell, it started trembling. A nigh imperceptible tremble, for the Nautilus was as hardy within as without. But still. The door had resonated just enough to hint to its witnesses that the man within was knocking hard enough to make it ring like an angry bell on his side.

         This, when the Englishman was apparently a whipcord in his build. A whipcord who had juggled men twice his size with the ease of a killer whale sporting with a seal.

         Interesting, interesting. Bordering on shocking.

         But the Englishman’s spectacle was outweighed by the head.

         That awful, impossible head.

         The somewhat greenish crewman, Ridder by name, who had seen the Englishman’s kukri slice the head free and therefore had the ghastly luck of catching the wretched prize, was sitting across from him. Captain Nemo was not so prideful to pretend he did not feel every bit of the gawping awe and disgust at what was on the table. Though if the crewman spoke the truth—likewise for those few pallid witnesses who admitted to seeing the same phenomenon—then the head was even worse a thing than it already appeared. Impossible or no. The impossibility being this:  

         The head belonged to a corpse far too old to have come from a living combatant. Here was flesh turned to sponge. A sagging, stinking, bloated grey mess clinging to the skull. Small crabs had been picked loose from the sea-bleached locks. Barnacles had crusted behind both ears. One of the crewmen had gagged when the eyelids were pulled back, only to reveal there was but one eye. The other socket had birthed a sea slug. And yet, according to Ridder and his company, it was only the second most astounding reality of the head.

         Poor Ridder, who had delivered the head red-handed, the blood of the kill painting his shaking fingers, who was still fitfully scrubbing at his washed palms, swore to his captain and to his God as if they shared the same body:

         “It was not like that when I caught it, Captain. The little creatures upon him, those may have been there, for they were small enough details to lose in the moment. But I will swear on my life, on yours, on my family still cased in their land-girt graves. The head was alive when I caught it. Not merely ruddy, though it was that too. The head moved. It snapped its teeth at me! It even…”

         “What, my friend?”

         “It bit me. Bit me with sharp teeth that are now as vanished as its hale appearance. It had teeth like one of the anglers, set where our canines should be. But between one moment and the next, the head stopped its biting and bleeding and became…” He gestured cautiously at the doughy horror of the head. “Even my bite, such as it was, is gone. It was only a scratch, and I would not have known it nipped me but for my spying it. But it was there, on my wrist, and now it is gone.”

         “I see,” Captain Nemo nodded. “And the body?”

         “There were some opportunists in the sea,” one of the others murmured. “We could not see what took it for the flurry of the water, but once the corpse fell off to the side, it did not resurface. Nor was there any sign of it when we examined the Nautilus’ sides. Whatever snatched it was hungry and quick. The Englishman…” He bit down his words. Captain Nemo regarded him with the full weight of his eyes.

         “Yes?”

         “When we were bringing him down, after the shock from the pole, he kept trying to speak. I think he was saying, ‘Is this your home? Is this your home? Make no invitations. Welcome none.’ I cannot be sure.”

         Captain Nemo nodded.

         “Shall we draw lots to see who dares to follow me to his room?”

         There were no lots, but many volunteers. Once again, there was no surprise, but a great warmth at the gesture. A feeling dented somewhat by their unpleasant cargo. They found a suitable pail for the purpose. One with a lid.

         The Englishman was pressed up against the furthest wall of the chamber when they arrived. He’d taken one of the chairs along with him. A clear counter-deterrent should the electric pole make a return. Which it had, for one of the stouter men kept it at the ready. But not at the front of their entourage. That spot belonged to the Captain and his diminished guest.

         Having a clear view of the Englishman confirmed some of the men’s description, if not all of it. Yes, here was the snowy hair, the trim build, and even some small unsettling glimmer to the eyes. But the last was easily attributed to his current status. Still sodden, bereft of his weapon, he looked precisely like the skittish and bewildered captive he ought to have been. Nostalgia almost fooled the Captain into seeing a hint of Aronnax in his mien. Something of a man who belonged in a library or sat behind a busy desk.

         And yet the kukri was still drowsing back in his stateroom and there was a head in a pail that quite soured the image of a frightened scholar. To say nothing of the assorted bruises and bandaged cuts seven men now wore with this young man’s signature on them. Was he young?

         Much of him seemed so, but for those eyes. An eternity seemed stamped in their gaze. He recognized it from his own mirror.

         “Hello,” the Englishman tried. He had the timbre of a youth, at least. “My apologies for the misunderstanding up top. I can only guess what you may be thinking.”

         “Guess no more. What I think is that you have much to explain. Starting with this.” Captain Nemo deposited the hideous head upon the table. It made a horrid squelch as it landed. The Englishman regarded it coolly. “My men tell me it looked a fair bit different before you relieved the previous owner of it.”

         “Indeed. He appeared quite healthy. They always do after they’ve drunk. Some will go red as ticks if they take enough.” Saying so, his eyes snapped suddenly to Ridder. The crewman stiffened in his position behind the Captain’s shoulder. “Your bite. Did it vanish?” Ridder looked away, hands freezing mid-fidget.

         “It did,” Captain Nemo answered. “I’m told it disappeared in the same instant this,” he pointed to the head, “ceased to be a rosy horror of champing fangs, and became the ghastly lump it is now.” At this, the Englishman appeared to relax an inch. “None of which appears to surprise you.”

         “That?” He nodded to the head. “No. This?” He drummed his knuckles against the wall. “Somewhat. I had not realized such technological leaps were in play today. I have friends who would swoon to even conceive of it.” The Englishman shrugged. “But reckoning with the reality of one impossibility makes all other oddities following it easier to accept. I can tell you have somewhat reconciled with that uncanny souvenir’s nature already.”

         “Somewhat,” Captain Nemo echoed. Perhaps a little sharply. “Who is it I address?”

         “Jonathan Harker, sir. Might you be the captain of this vessel?”

         “Captain Nemo,” he allowed. He did so sitting at the table. “Stand or sit as you please, Mr. Harker. My men are present only as insurance that you will not give them a second dose of what they claim was a more than decent fight.” A cloud seemed to pass over Harker’s face at that.

         “I’m certain there are muscles in my back still twitching from electrocution that would be happy to debate them.”

         “I said more than decent, Mr. Harker. Not more than fair. They came upon you and a combatant tromping around on our roof, you the only one armed. You proceeded to decapitate the other man—,” he held up his hand before Harker could interject, “—or what passed as a man. Understandably, we were disturbed. Our group rushed to the scene. We reacted to you, you reacted to us, and Ridder and his company reacted to the head. Between this confusion of violence and the uncanny, of course we gathered you down here for answers.

          “My fellows were met with a surprise in you as, just as unbelievably as your opponent revealed his bizarre nature, you revealed yours. There is too much proof in my men’s injury to doubt their story; one of a mad Englishman swatting some of our strongest fellows down like children and slaughtering man-shaped monsters over our heads. But for caution, numbers, and quickness on their end, I don’t doubt they could have lost some dear pieces in the scuffle.

        “Had you not been so smothered and shocked, we could never have gotten you below, and so would not have been able to submerge. Not without leaving you to drown in the cold. Brutish as the manner was, we collected you as we did for safety’s sake. A safety I suspect is now doubly endangered. If not by mortal man,” he glanced again at the reeking head, “then by abominations even worse than him.”

       Harker stepped forward. Still gripping the chair.

       “You suspect rightly. And so I must repeat a question that went unanswered before. Do you all consider this vessel your home? If so, there is hope. For these things cannot cross the threshold, or hatch, or window, or any other entry, if it is a domicile they are denied invitation to. Give them that welcome even once and the way is open to them forever. I cannot picture a more promising banquet to such demons than this marvel we stand in. There is nowhere to run down here.”

        “The Nautilus is our home, Mr. Harker. No man here would deny it. Nor are such fiends as the kind you describe welcome to ruin it. Yet it would help a great deal if we knew what enemy it is you speak of.”

“By the look of your crew, I’d wager a good portion already suspect the truth.” This Harker said from the opposite end of the table, finally sitting. His gaze leapt cautiously between Captain Nemo and his company. “It is a vampire, Captain. One of an entire ship’s crew that was preyed upon by a far older monster and thrown to the sea last year. The Demeter’s sailors.” Again, that strange burning came into his eyes. “And they have been quite busy.”

Jonathan Harker spoke of the Demeter and its unthinkable passenger. Of the dead men who were tossed in the depths and left unable to die. Only to thirst, there in the dark, using the sand as their resting place, the passing ships as their cattle. New ghost stories had cropped up where they fed; tales of passengers and sailors vanishing overnight. A ship is not a home to most, after all. No invitation required. Likewise for the shores of port towns. Their docks, taverns, inns. All were easy targets.

The one kindness, he said, was that the Demeter’s men were not callous enough to consign any others to their unique hell.

“They died at sea and their grave dirt is the sand of the ocean floor. It is where they must always rest. Even a beach is not refuge enough. So they are careful enough to murder their victims outright when at sea. Those on land have been less fortunate. My companions and I have curbed three ports’ outbreaks thus far, but we cannot keep such a pace indefinitely. So we turned to maritime hunting, the better to cull the source. A far more troublesome setting than the Carpathians where we undid their maker. The ocean is too vast a hiding place.”

“Just vast enough,” the Captain countered. “If you speak the truth, I can see the danger. How many of these vampires of the Demeter do you estimate are left?”

“Under a dozen. But even one can mean death and worse for a legion. You and your lot especially would be a boon to their kind, Captain.”

“For the sake of the Nautilus.”

“Yes. With you and yours as part of their colony, that would make them your masters. Even against your will, you would grant them this vessel as their own territory. It would make for a more than enviable change of real estate.”

“So it would. But the Nautilus is as barred from undead thieves as living ones, Mr. Harker. On this, I swear my life.”

“I am glad to hear it. I’ll be gladder still not to burden your Nautilus with my unwelcome company. No, you do not have to pretend otherwise. For all the effort put into wrangling me, I was not brought aboard with any real desire for a collected stray. I can give you the coordinates to the port my friends would most likely meet me at. It would behoove all of us to exchange information and aid. I’ve no doubt that you will encounter more of the Demeter’s men in the near future. Perhaps even en route to shore…” He trailed off as Captain Nemo sighed.

“Mr. Harker, I’m afraid that will not be possible.”

“What won’t?”

“The shore. Land. There’s no such destination ahead of us here.”

“I don’t follow. Why can we not approach land?”

“The short answer, is that land and all the monsters God allows, be they men or not, dwell there. I and my crew have quit ourselves of them for good. Such is the gift and price of our freedom in the ocean. The nature of our lives down here is a treasured secret—,”

“Which I would keep, whether it was your concern or not.” Fatigue flickered at the borders of Harker’s face. A certain echo of bitterness been and gone. “Do you think me and mine have dared to run our mouths about these bogeymen in an era of modern sense and science when there was no witness to corroborate? We’d all be sharing the same sanitorium if we tried. We are all of us practiced in the keeping of outlandish confidences, Captain. If you’ll forgive me, the nature of this whole place seems like the sort of thing only possible in fairy tales and adventure books. No one would believe it even if I ran babbling to the newspapers.”

At this, Captain Nemo could not withhold a smile. It was a mirthless one, a thing of memory, but it went unstopped.

“Ah, but I have made the newspapers already, Mr. Harker. In a sense. Though I was a mere sea monster then. Who knows if they have guessed a little closer in the meantime? I cannot say, for I have not touched fresh newsprint in years. But all that is besides the point. The point being this.” The Captain bowed forward until he had to rest his elbows on the table, his eyes like obsidian chips. “As much secrecy as can be maintained, will be maintained. Enforced, rather. In curtest terms, Mr. Harker, we cannot risk you breathing a word of our existence to others. Not even trusted fellow vampire hunters. Not even wife or companions.”

Harker stared at him.

Though he tensed, there was no quaver as he said, “If that’s the case, this has been the most confusing leadup to a murder I’ve had to sit through, Captain, and I have endured some odd ones.”

“If we wished you dead, you would already have drowned. Or else been left to become a shared drink by your devils of the Demeter. No, we have no intention of killing you. But I’m afraid you too must accustom yourself to calling the Nautilus home. Permanently.”

 A strange thing happened then. Captain Nemo would think on it later as something very near to an optical effect as he had seen with those octopi who shudder into new hues and textures as a matter of disguise. In the case of Jonathan Harker, he could not say whether he was pulling a guise on or shrugging it off. Whichever it was, the Jonathan Harker across the table abruptly became the Jonathan Harker the men had met atop the Nautilus. The Captain watched the change happen; he dared to say he even felt it. A tangible shift in Harker’s presence that went from the air of a man to the chthonic weight of a Thing that was, if not a vampire, then a sure cousin.

Harker did not move. Harker did not blink. Harker barely seemed to breathe. For a moment, then two, then three, he only regarded the Captain with the same alien consideration used by those most vicious carnivores of the depths as they pondered the merits of rending potential prey to so much gristle. Habit tried to make the Captain paint this as the mere duplicity to be expected of an Englishman; cordial only until they found they would not have their way, and then all was bloodlust and destruction.

But no. That was not it.

Jonathan Harker was not irate, not aghast. Not shocked. That much had clearly been blasted from him as cleanly as it had been in the Nautilus’ crew. No. Captain Nemo found he was being pierced with the glare of a man who recognizes an old enemy.

“Captain. Am I to understand that there is no convincing you otherwise in your course? Even if I were to ask that you surface and leave me to an island? Spit me up beside a ship?”

“There is no chance of it, Mr. Harker.”

“And it is not a matter of insurance against the vampires? There is still a chance you could use that as a way to convince me. I might even believe you.” A smile of raw bitterness cut its way across the young man’s face. It hung there like a rictus. “I should like to believe that a while before I must accept I’ve found myself in this particular corner of Hell again.”

“To that I take offense. The Nautilus is a sanctuary—,”

“I have been forcibly detained in sanctuaries before, Captain. For my health at first. Had it not been for my wife’s intervention, I’ve no doubt I would have been caged there indefinitely—because I raved the truth at them about the last place I was held prisoner. A place far more dreadful than even that,” he pointed to the head, “poor soul’s unholy remains. A land of nightmare. While I wish for death no more than the average man, that place taught me fears of life unending that I never thought possible. Worse, a life bound eternally to that place. Away from the one I love most in this world. Forever.

“I have no intention of playing that out again, Captain Nemo. For, with due respect to you and yours, I have more concerns in the world than playing tattletale about your hideaway.”

The Captain met his stare and did not break it.

“If that is the case, then I ask that you content yourself with the threat of your vampires as reason enough to cease opening the hatches. Whatever grimmer notions you have in mind, wait until the monsters are slain to give them vent. Until then, I think all would appreciate cordiality over another round of violence. At the very least, I assume you would appreciate better lodgings than this. There is a stateroom at your disposal. Likewise for my library and sundry other corners of the Nautilus you may feel free to explore, with but few exceptions.”

“How gracious a host you are, Captain. But I can save you the time. I’ve heard your speech before.” Under his breath, “All we’re missing is the Weird Sisters and the wolves.” Back to his ordinary pitch, strained through a grin like a sickle, “Before we engage in this mutual game of denial, might I impose on you to borrow pen and paper? My journal is sadly waterlogged and useless for notes. In the event that even this chat is foreplay before you decide to kill me, I should like to leave behind some instructions should the Demeter’s men make their play at breaking in.”

“There is stationery in your room, if you will accompany us.”

“Of course.” The words left him with the same tone as if the Captain had announced he was being led to the gallows. It was a tone that, despite its lack of fire, made him think of Ned Land. Albeit a Ned Land honed down to an unearthly edge by the whetting of an unimaginable history. Perhaps selfishly, the Captain hoped he might dislodge that fuller tale from Harker in time. Mad, maddening, or otherwise. But for now, he was custodian to the Englishman—as unhappy a prospect as a blissful spinster aunt finding herself the caretaker of her sibling’s abandoned offspring—and one with all the manner of a barracuda waiting for a hand to come too near his mouth.

Still, he went to the room placidly. A fact no doubt aided by the combination of his company and the fact that the Captain had slipped loose the panels that hid the depths from the exterior rooms before coming to meet him. Through numerous doors, Harker could see glimpse after glimpse of proof-positive for his lack of options. There was naught but the ocean in all its benighted shadows on all sides. The young man had mentioned wolves; but wolves could be outrun, outmatched. Not so for these submerged leagues. Even if he took it into his head to carve his way through the crew, and even if he succeeded, he would drown or suffocate from lack of understanding how the Nautilus operated.

His only way out, as he would no doubt assume, was by patience, by persuasion, or sheer luck.

An assumption that was faulty to begin with, as it suggested Captain Nemo or his crewmen were susceptible to any of the above.

The only exception being the matter of the Maelstrom. But that was a feat not to be repeated. Aronnax’s face flickered briefly behind his eyes at the recollection. Him, Conseil, even the incorrigible Ned Land. They had made it out, at least. He had seen to it. Despite this, he had thought of charging up onto that rescuing shore to snatch them from their discoverers. To fall upon the professor, at the very least, that blessed-damned new offshoot of his heart, and drag him back into the surf like some dread sea dragon refusing to forsake its treasure.

But there had been more important things to draw his will. The injured, the Nautilus’ immediate repairs, the threat of a gawping coast. No. He had had no choice but to let them go. To hope they would not lay their secret bare to the dry world and have it believed. To hope they were alright.

None of which was the case with the curious Mr. Harker.

Even knowing this, guilt turned over in his throat. He gulped it back down as Harker took in the stateroom. Again, there was that strange, almost accusatory tinge of recognition in how the Englishman looked over the room’s trappings.

I have been here before, said every step and glance. I know this, I know that, I know them. Yes, I have had this nightmare before.

Captain Nemo pointed him toward the desk, its notepaper and the assortment of untouched journals. He sat at once and began to write with his back to them all.

“We are not your,” enemies he almost said. History nettled his tongue against it. “We are not your keepers without reason, Mr. Harker. It is no surprise you find our manner churlish. I expect we must seem like a party of lunatic wardens to your eye. But we have suffered much, all in our own ways, under monsters born of men. If you knew—,”

“Is there garlic aboard?”

“What?”

“Garlic. The bulbs or the blossoms. Do you have any here?”

“None. All of what is onboard is harvested from flora and fauna of the sea. We have quit ourselves of all things hailing from dry land—,”

“What of bread? Bibles? Holy scripture of any faith, really. It covers more possibilities. We ran into one who hated the Star of David, another who fled from an amulet of Thor’s hammer. How are you on spears and stakes?”

Captain Nemo answered the volley for the next few minutes. A quarter of an hour passed in which Harker filled out three sheets of guidelines in proofing the Nautilus against vampiric intrusion. He seemed especially unsettled at the mention of the air vents.

“They can become mist, Captain, and I cannot say whether those apparatuses would count as traditional thresholds. See that you mark them as best you can with sacred icons in the metal. Is anyone onboard a priest? A holy man of any kind?”

“None.”

“Then this is the whole of any preparation that can be done, at least to my knowledge.” He handed the Captain his little stack at arm’s length. “At least beyond praying en masse that some greater creature of the deep comes along and puts them out of all our miseries. As for me, I will busy myself hoping they do not reach my wife and friends and take them unawares. They are all practiced hands, but you never know when a chance mistake will catch a body off-guard. Tackling an undead anathema off a ship to keep it from your companions and lopping its head off on what you mistook for an islet, only to find yourself mobbed, electrocuted, abducted, and imprisoned on the whims of the islet’s inhabitants…these things happen. Strange, but true.”

“Mr. Harker—,”

“I am very tired, Captain. I would like to sleep and see if you all disappear in the interim.” He did not wait for a response, but shucked his still-damp layers down to his underthings. Harker laid them over the desk chair, presumably to dry, then helped himself to the bed. Once covered, he planted his back to the wall and shut his eyes. The Captain could not decide whether he saw more of a child’s sulk or a condemned man’s stolid despair in the act. Either way, that impression of routine stained him.

He has been here before.

“Wake me if they make a move,” Harker told his pillow. “If they are sighted, avoid looking them in the eye. Their gaze paralyzes.”

With that, Captain Nemo and his men felt themselves dismissed. On the other side of the door, shut but not locked, the Captain took four of the group aside.

“Keep watch in shifts. Both for your sake and his.”

“You suspect he is of the Quebecois’ temperament?”

“I suspect he is worse off than that.”

 Time proved him right.

In hindsight, the appearance of the vampires would prove as brief as a heartbeat and as endless as a held breath. Too much, too quick, too horrid for comprehension of all that came so near to their throats.

“I commend you for not racing away from the danger outright,” Harker had said in a hollow tone, eyeing the wretched mock-humans scurrying along the glass while the crewmen’s senses curdled as one in revulsion. “You could have abandoned this lot for an ocean on the other side of the world.”

“While I have left the countries above the surface to their own sins, I take great offense at menaces in the water. These are invaders, thieves, slavers and pestilence in one. My oceans shall not suffer their like. Worse, if they own the potential for immortality you suggest, who is to say we would not be surprised by them another night when we are all withered and unaware? No. They must be dealt with now. Though I admit I am surprised at their resilience in the face of our outer defenses.”

Which was to say, the moray’s defense—the electrified field that they had turned up to a lethal voltage. Even without full contact, it was more than enough to fry creatures in the surrounding water. The first jolt had sent the rest of the sea swimming and skittering away in panic. Yet the Demeter’s men merely shuddered back to cognizance. Irate, but no worse for the charge. Undeath fortified them well.

“I take it the Nautilus is not outfitted for such small-scale opponents?”

“It is not.”

“Then the only alternative is meeting them face to face. I have no delusions that last night’s one-on-one bout will not be repeated. They will converge wherever you go, so long as you allow them, be it above or below the surface. If you return the kukri to me, I shall do what I can against as many as I can. As yet, this place is still not my home, but a pretty fishbowl. Even if they turned me, I could not provide the loophole of invitation.”

“Do not leap so quickly to martyrdom, Mr. Harker. There is another option. You suggested as much in your notes.”

“How is that?”

“It is as you say, we must meet them face to face.” The Captain presented a smile no less grim than the Englishman’s. “Though not as combatants.”

 Daybreak sent the vampires drifting drowsily away. Down, down, down. Away to their sand to sleep like the dead they should have been. A sleep that was, if Harker spoke true, as implacable as a coma.

It was and he had.

Shelled in their suits, breathing bottled air, armed with blade and harpoon, electric rifle and holy symbols, they marched on the living graveyard. The undead had dug graves for themselves here, lining them with stones and seaweed in sad pantomime of a coffin. Already waterlogged, they barred themselves against buoyancy by pinning themselves under slabs of scavenged driftwood weighted by stone and coral. In sleep, they were a sight of pitiful melancholy. It seemed almost as evil a thing to slay them as it was to let them carry on. Almost.

The work was efficient and endless at once. Viscous blood spurted from chests. Voiceless howls foamed up from the cavernous mouths, spewing bubbles and ichor. Necks split and heads loosed. One after the other after the other. Done.

Harker stood over them longest, even at the brink of his air thinning. He almost needed dragging back to the Nautilus. Once the suit was peeled and the helmet was pried free, Captain Nemo saw the young man’s eyes had aged another lifetime.

“The job is done. So. Is this when the denial ends? Am I a temporary aide or a prisoner for life, Captain?”

“…You are my passenger.”

Harker had looked at him. At the men who still outnumbered him and outweighed his surreal strength so many times over. At his kukri, already confiscated and sheathed. He nodded.

“I thought so.” Harker inhaled. His exhale was a single word, “Mina.” Then, with a flash of steel, a bowie knife appeared from some hidden scabbard in his trousers. The blade leapt for Harker’s throat. Captain Nemo was the first man to tackle him, but not the last. For their efforts they were cursed, beaten, slashed, and cursed again. Between curses, Captain Nemo managed to twist the knife out of the young man’s hand while someone else got a syringe into him—it sunk neatly into the very place the knife had wished to carve open. Jonathan Harker slept.

He was taken to bed bound.

Captain Nemo went to bed sick.

 More time. More time. More time.

In the course of it, Captain Nemo looked back again on his period with Aronnax and his companions. Good Pierre, thrilled Pierre, so ready to trust, to allow for all the little edges of monstrosity his captor had cultivated, repainting them merely as passions, as eccentricities to filigree some hero of invention and intellect, and most preposterously, a good man. Him. A good man.

Yes, he had been that for a time. Before, in his tempest fury of the Nautilus’ mission, he had trampled that vision before the scientist’s eyes. Both their hearts with it. Yet there had been some grace before and after that. Pockets and sprawls of joy at the ocean’s wild glory.

Pure luck. A lottery won in terms of castaways. If only for how it burnished the Captain’s view of himself in the mirror to a high, flattering shine. He had not been oblivious to it then. But he had not needed to dwell on it. Unlike now.

Now, when Jonathan Harker proved day by day, week by week, month by month, to be a far bleaker looking glass. In his tears, in his silences, in his ever-lengthening stints without seeing to the mere mechanics of eating. Even those few occasions where he was given leave to come up to open air, to walk the Nautilus’ hull or set his feet on the sand of some remote island, he was never fooled into mistaking these allowances for more than what they were.

Never a way out. Never a chance at signaling civilization, let alone reaching it under his own power.

“My thanks for the walk,” he once croaked upon return from the sand. “I’m doubly grateful you’ve not seen fit to weave a lead and collar out of seaweed as extra insurance. Perhaps you should have a bowl of kibble to shake next to the hatch. I shall surely come running then.”  

The Nautilus’ best fare seemed as good as kibble in the Englishman’s estimate for all he swallowed of it. Such that his already haggard countenance, now made worse by the denial of a shaving razor for some time, was bordering on malnutrition. His cheeks were shelves behind his stubble—

“A blade and no mirror. Now a mirror and no blade. Ha.”

—his eyes bloodshot coals in their sockets. It was not until the day Captain Nemo was alerted that Harker appeared to be missing that the full brunt of the young man’s state was laid bare.

They had not been to shore. Harker had not made his habitual visit topside when the Nautilus rose to refill its gasp of sea air. So far as anyone had known, he had gone straight back to his room. But when a pair of men had gone to attempt goading him into swallowing a third of a dinner, the young man was gone. A brisk hunt was made of the cabins, of the library, of every corridor and corner. Nowhere.

At least, nowhere plausible.

It was a second search of the library that bore fruit. A fruit shaped like a journal. The Captain spotted it on the floor near the bookshelves, fallen open at the midpoint. Lines of a half-familiar cipher filled half the pages. A form of English shorthand.    

“That was not here when we last checked,” he heard behind him.

“It was. He just hadn’t let go yet.” So saying, Captain Nemo guided their party’s gaze up to the top of the bookcase. There, a small niche existed between ceiling and the black rosewood. From this crevice dangled a single limp hand. “Mr. Harker.” No answer. “Harker!” No answer still. “…Jonathan?” Not even a twitch of the fingers. “The ladder,” he felt himself murmur. Possibly. His senses had closed down on a sudden nauseous cold twisting in his bowels.

“What—?”

“Get the ladder.”

For the rolling ladder that most would use to scale the shelves to their full height was nowhere near that hand, but at the case’s furthest end. Before any man could act, the Captain had snatched the ladder, rushed it to the spot, and was up like a shot before anyone else could touch the rungs. Atop the bookcase, he found Jonathan Harker folded into the gap between wood and copper.

Dead.

“No.”

He was.

“No.”

He hauled Harker out of his cramped position in the shadows and into the electric light. This brought even less assurance. There was a sunken quality to the already-greyed pallor. Under the young man’s shirt was a belt cinched tight around his concave middle. Cracked lips fell open on a dry mouth.

But that mouth breathed. Thinly, thinly. But it did.

Not dead.

Yet.

“Help me with him,” he called down. “One of you, tell the kitchen to make up something thin. He’s been starving himself.”

Bed, broth, and book ensued.

The former two to Harker. The book the Captain turned over in his hands. There were guides he might consult to decipher the shorthand in full. Temptation nagged at him over it and the entries preceding the last of the pages. Yet he did not find himself so low a hypocrite as to deny Harker his privacy when his own secrets remained buried.

Still, he had enough rough memory to serve him for the final entry in the volume. It was the page it had been open to when he first scooped it up.

‘Not again. I will not do this again. How tidy God is. How cyclic. I live my life in these same ruts of death and worse than death.

‘The Captain thinks I cannot tell his disdain. It lives under his pity, but it is there. As I once snapped out at the whole of a people by dint of the Count’s choice in lackeys, our homeland and its glutted Empire clearly stamps me as a dog in his eyes. Do I have room to blame him for his bile when I spewed the same over idiot assumptions of old? Can I, when whatever he inflicts or has inflicted, I might have earned my own seat in Judgement for my role as a pawn? As a man willing to become a monster when God’s avenues all turned her innocent life toward Hell?

‘I do not, I cannot. Yet they mean to kill me slowly here. I am to live to death among their waves and fancies and furies and bitter mercies. I will become an old man buried alone in their seabed cemetery. No. That I cannot allow either. Yet all the weapons are robbed from me. A knotted sheet might do it quick or it might fumble me. And who knows? As with the wolves and the Brides, there might yet be hope. Given time. I cannot see it yet. I may never see it, though I desire a last gasp in which to try.

‘They mean to kill me slowly. I will die slowly. Though not as an old man.

‘Mina, Mina, it seems I have been stolen from you at last. The castle could not keep me away, nor the sanitorium’s soft and healing cage. But this magic whale has swallowed me whole and swam me away and I cannot escape its belly. Do I pray to God or Poseidon to let it put me ashore when it’s over? I do not know.

‘I love you.

‘Mina, Mina, Mina, Mina, M

There it ended. The ink sputtered and scratched the page where he had lost consciousness.

Captain Nemo closed the book and looked down at the drawn shape under its covers. But for his breath, he might have been a corpse. They had studied his teeth, of course. No fangs. His eyes were only red where they should be white. Yet there he lay, a cadaver, wan and cool. And breathing.

“Shall we pretend you are still asleep? Or might we talk?”

 “…There’s nothing worth saying.” The eyes cracked open. Though they rolled to face Captain Nemo, there was nothing in them that suggested they were looking at rather than through him. “I think I can hear him laughing down in Hell. Where vampirism missed the mark, you and your fellows have taken up the cause. You will not let me live. You will not let me die. You will not let me leave as a man or a corpse.”

“Who is laughing, Harker?”

“It does not matter to you. What’s the point in saying?”

“If it does not matter, what’s the point in secrets? I will even trade. My story for yours. We leave it to each other to decide if they are lies. That is one of the freedoms I have come to appreciate of late. One I wish quite bitterly,” Aronnax’s shock-slack face flashed again, eyes huge with understanding, with horror, with the shrapnel of disappointment, “quite bitterly, that I had exercised before. There is no one to impress, no reason to hide what we are and what we have been. Judge and jury exists only within these walls. Often only within our skulls. In short, if you believe all is lost—what do you have to lose?”

Harker looked through him another moment. If his gaze burned at all, it was a mere pair of embers. They slid away from Captain Nemo and turned up to the ceiling. As if they might see through all the way to the sky. The Captain thought he might be left in another drought of conversation, but—

“Do you still have those cigars?”

“Those and an admirable liquor cabinet.” For one so constantly in a state of bereavement, Harker had surprised him by indulging more frugally than a monk in the sensory vices on hand. Scraps and water were the sum of his chosen diet. To judge by the added notches to the cinched belt, he had been taking even less than that. All this considered, “You can sample both so long as I see you eat something heavier than soup first.”

“I’m not hungry.” At the same moment, his stomach let out a traitorous growl. He made a pained face. “You took the belt.”

“I took the belt. Eat.”

Harker nibbled. And spoke.

And spoke.

And spoke.

He had not even escaped Transylvania before Captain Nemo lit their cigars. His first drink came after the night of October 3rd, the hour of his greatest grief and rage, of his wife’s greatest injustice and horror, the hour some integral human self died to birth the living reaper that followed. His second drink came after the kukri blade’s sweep and slice through the bloodthirsty voivode’s throat. His third drink was a toast to the people who had come together for their common cause. To others they had met since; comrades in oddity, siblings in the supernatural. And, weakly, to whatever Powers That Be who had taken his private vow to heart and spared himself and his dear Mina so grim a payoff for their pains.

His cheeks had collected wet streaks more than once. Rolling and vanishing into the wilderness of stubble.

“Well?”

“Well,” Captain Nemo echoed, emptying his crystal. “Now I owe you mine.”

Captain Nemo spoke.

And spoke.

And spoke.

Of kingdoms and conquerors, of colonists and killings. A life stolen from him by dint of so many lives around it being destroyed. He spoke of a Prince who fought the British chokehold and lost all that mattered for his efforts. That man had died in soul with his family to create a Captain. The man steering a sea monster who preyed upon the Empire that had razed his world and others’. That Empire being one evil among innumerable devils that men made of themselves over gold, power, and petty whims. The paradise that the world could have been was left a flaming cesspit by these tyrants’ design. He would neither join nor suffer them. The only escape apart from the grave was the sea and the refuge of the Nautilus, cradled in depths unspoiled by men.

His face did not escape its own damp tracks by the end.

“What a poor pair we make,” Harker murmured after a time. “Two dead men mourning themselves.” On the heels of that, “I am sorry for all you’ve lost.”

“And I you.” Harker shook his head at him.

“My world still exists. Whatever else you intend for me here, I can dream that they are all still alright up there. Your world was devoured outright.”

“True. But there are more things to lose than things you can touch. They are no less precious for it. For my part,” a storm threatened at the back of his throat, roiled under his tongue, “I wish you had been able to skin your Dracula rather than release him with a mere stab and cut. It was far too kind an ending for such a villain.”

“Agreed. Yet it was all we could do.” Harker sighed at his empty glass but would not take another refill. “What happens now? I can’t imagine you and your lot devoting your full time to playing nanny as a guarantee I’m not endangering myself or others. It would be a hard time getting anyone to draw straws.”

“You are half right. Truth be told, there are precious few of them who have forgotten your introduction. Even your choice of hiding place speaks to a less than heartening choice of ward, even among brave men.”

“How do you mean?”

“Harker, you are two-thirds dead. Even so, you scaled a bookcase without disturbing a single volume and perched yourself in a spot that the best assassins would struggle with. I would have assumed you’d used the ladder, but you could not have reached it to shove it away in that position. What?”

The ghost of a healthy pallor came and went in the young man’s cheeks.

“I admit I was…somewhat hazy when I reached the library. I was looking for a place I couldn’t be looked in on. The ladder didn’t even occur to me. So, the shelves.” His shoulders twitched in a shrug. “A far easier climb than castles and cliff faces.”

“As I’m certain a horde of mere mortal opponents is an easier obstacle than hoisting a full box of earth with a grown man inside as though it were a crate of fruit. A feat managed after your pilgrimage up the river and across the snow. Whatever you are, Jonathan Harker, it is a far more extraordinary thing than the victim made of you at the start of your journey. You shall not be a victim now. Least of all to yourself in such a dismal way. Certainly not so soon.”

“I don’t follow.”

“You will. So I hope.” The Captain bowed until his elbows rested on his knees, his jaw on woven fingers. “You are a man who locks hard upon his oaths, Jonathan Harker. You do not shy from a promise made to yourself or another, and so you are meticulous with them. I do not doubt that you are truly decided upon not living out a long life, or unlife, on anyone’s terms but your own. You gambled yourself on the cliff and the wolves rather than stay as a plaything of that vampiric sorority. You would take Hell and its eternity with your wife or die trying to shield her rather than dare raise a hand to her in any shape. And here, in what you doubtless see as an asylum run by the madmen, you decided to whittle your life down by starving increments, the better to test hope and, if hope did not pay off, see yourself out of my hospitality.

“To that end, I would make a request of you. You say you endured two months imprisoned with the Count. The sum of your time from your first visit to Transylvania to your last was half a year. Already you have put up with two months in the Nautilus. I ask now that you be my passenger for the space of the next four months as well. If at the end of this period, you find yourself unable to stomach a life among us indefinitely, you have my own oath that you shall not be hindered should you wish to…exit.”

Harker mulled this a short time. It was as the Captain put it:

“There is nothing to lose.”

“And everything to gain. You have neglected yourself, mind and body, when you were once a walking inferno. Purpose has gone out of you like a candle and left you to molder in your own discontent. You must not ruin yourself before the deadline arrives. Make yourself well again. Do not cast your eyes down at every offering to the imagination.”

“Supposing I did as you say, might I ask you for something in turn?”

“What is that?”

“I want to shave this off.” Harker ground his knuckles unhappily against the thick growth on his cheek. “Keep watch if you must, but I quite hate this. I will even settle for hot wax if you do not trust me with a razor.”

Captain Nemo grazed his own cheek, thinking.

“We can avoid the wax. As to the razor, if only for the fact of your health—or lack thereof—might I meet you halfway?”

“How’s that?”

 Some minutes, some lather, and more than a few wary onlookers later found Captain Nemo playing barber. Another phantom flitted behind his eyes as he did so. The shade of a small boy, smearing his own cheeks with foam, holding still as his father ‘shaved’ him smooth with the brush of his thumb. A flicker that was there and gone, brief and wretched as a needle to the heart. But he held steady along Harker’s jaw.

“For a young man,” he hummed, “your beard grows like men twice your age wish theirs could.”

“They can keep it,” Harker got out carefully as the razor cleared another streak. “Even if it were not for how the idea of a beard was soured for me in the castle, I would still shun stubble. I need no more help in looking a decade older than my age.”

“It is a curious thing. You look like a boy fresh from his classes in some moments. In others you look, if not old, ageless. As if you had seen a century and the most time could do was pale your hair and put shadows in your eyes. There.”

He handed Harker the glass to inspect himself. Clean-shaven, he really did lose a decade. Relief also lifted some gloom from his eyes.

“Gray would laugh at me. I do take more solace in my reflection than he does.”

“A reflection and no change in your teeth.”

“So you did check? Good.” He set the glass aside. “Though it is absurd after all this time to still fear such a belated change. Dracula is gone and, should I die, I would not return as one of his creatures. Yet I remain at a loss as to whose creature I am instead. I don’t suppose there are any nautical myths to do with my condition?”

“None but the lore of natural beasts mistaken for monsters. Some truer to their malicious tall tales than others. If it counts for anything, supposing you have graduated to something other than humanity, you are still no monster for all that.”

“No?”

“No. A monster, especially one prepared for self-destruction, would have tried to turn upon us with killing intent long before preying on himself. A last bloody lashing out for its own sake. If you are no longer a man, you are no such fiend either.”

A wan smile clawed its way into the young man’s face.

“I like to hope so. Too many strangers have been made friends since Dracula’s destruction and they have dissolved all the footing I once had in such estimates. Your demons of the Empire are part of a far broader cloth of evil men in the world, few with any touch of the supernatural to them. By the same token, I have encountered living horrors and marvels whose humanity puts saints to shame. Still more have baffled me to the point that their absurdity lives wholly apart from the spectrum of good and evil and falls purely into the alien.

“Surreal as they are, I have grown glad to know them. A pity—,” I will not see them again seemed to hover almost visibly on his tongue, so clear the Captain swore he could read the words. Harker swallowed. “A pity you shall not meet them. Many would squeal at all you have accomplished with your Nautilus.” He made a small noise that was nearly a laugh. “Poor Jack would faint on his phonograph. But just as many of my fellows would shock you in turn.”

Captain Nemo shook his head.

“Few things shock me in this world, Harker, above or below the sea. I have seen too much. You and your vampires are the sole exceptions. I cannot be convinced otherwise.”

The Captain pretended disinterest as he said so, his gaze drifting off. It was a paltry lure, really. Barely baited. Still, the opening was taken for what it was. Harker was looking at him. Whatever burned there burned low—but with something keener than hate or misery. It was that particular gleam owned by those who know they possess a wealth of knowledge that the other side of a conversation is not prepared for. Captain Nemo knew it from his own mirror.

“You say you have seen too much to be shocked,” Harker echoed. “Would the unseen serve instead? Because one of my more recent acquaintances is a man who is wholly invisible.”

“…I cannot tell if you’re joking.”

Harker grinned.

 With time, Harker managed the expression more often. This he often did while dropping fantastical hints at the characters he had found himself in league with on land.

Lords and scholars and doctors, oh my. Geniuses and those who outsmarted them. Scientists who made experiments of themselves to outlandishly transformative results. A handsome young rake made forever young as the toll of his life’s years and vices poured into a double on canvas. A nascent psychic; that was, the adored Mina Harker. Among others. Often with extraordinary adversaries to match. Apparently, there was at least one villain among this group’s foes that was a book.

“A book?”

“A book of a play.”

“Ah.”

“The first act is benign enough. That is the bait of it.”

“Of course.”

“Results vary between afflictions of irreversible insanity, death, and/or translocation from Earth to a distant dimension of an unthinkable cosmos, wherein the King in Yellow reigns over dim Carcosa and its subjects for all time. We also think it has ties to a certain type of Yellow wallpaper. It offers likewise unpleasant results for its victims, but only after considerable exposure.”

“I see. Would you rather confront this book and wallpaper or that island of otherworldly Willows in the Danube that you and your lord friend encountered?”

“An unfair comparison. Truly, I would rather risk either of them rather than revisit that stony limbo in Wales and its,” he pulled a face, “unique locals under the earth.”

“More undead?”

“Oh, no. Very much alive. And old. And possessing far more anatomy than anything that near to a human shape ought to have.”

“How so?”

“You know how the eye of a snail works? Picture that. As a limb. In a torso.”

“I would rather not picture that, if I can avoid it.”

“No more than I wanted to receive a distinctly uninvited wrestling match from one. Hence my preference for the book, the wallpaper, and the Willows.”

“Any more…positive encounters?”

“Hmm. Have I told you about Miss Pleasance and her disappearing cat?”

“Was that not Griffin’s pet?”

“A different animal. This one comes and goes as he pleases. And he talks.”

More days, more weeks, more stories that oscillated across the full scope of phantasmagoria, from fantasy to terror, sometimes overlapping with both. All the while, Harker regained himself, as per their agreement. He ate, he worked his body and mind. Once he retrieved a page of the pipe organ’s sheet music from where it had fallen and slid under a sizable curio case. Before he could tell Harker he could simply fetch a copy, the young man had his hands under the base. He hefted it without upsetting a single item in its array, toed the sheet free, and gently set the case back in place with all the effort of a man moving a barstool.

During all this, he had not paused or even strained in his talk of, ‘The Case of Two Clarimondes.’ One Clarimonde a Parisian vampire, the other a German spider woman. The former had, by dint of her being far removed from Dracula’s brood and instrumental in breaking her namesake’s psychic possession of one Dr. Jack Seward, become their first official ally among the undead.

“Now we just need to shake hands with a lycanthrope and a poltergeist. Art says we may even have a Barghest staking out the grounds. …Captain?”

Harker had been holding out the sheet music for him to take for a full minute. Captain Nemo had not yet gotten around to realizing this.

“By any chance, have you taken to writing these events down? They would make for a fine series in themselves.”

“A series with a very limited audience,” Harker murmured, so low the Captain doubted he was meant to catch it. His voice rose to add, “The lost journal contained some of it, but aside from that, many of us have taken to recording consistent diaries. Mina transcribes it all to save everyone the pains of deciphering handwriting and phonograph marathons.” A cloud passed over Harker’s face as he said so. One that brought rain to the edge of his lashes. But before it could go further, he leapt ahead with, “Do you not record yours?”

“I—,” heat nettled in the Captain’s throat, “I had a companion once, who was an adamant journal keeper. He played biographer to many scenes, albeit incompletely from his perspective. For myself, I have put together a succinct record of the Nautilus’ history and purpose. Sealed and prepared for delivery unto the ocean for whoever might discover it, should my vessel see its demise at last. But put more broadly,” he took the sheet music gingerly, “no, I do not keep to an ongoing habit of such writing. All the eyes aboard our home have grown accustomed to what we do and encounter. The incredible has become commonplace. Trials of the waters, the beauty within and the beasts above it, all are as ordinary to us as the constant clamor held in a newspaper.”

“I find that hard to believe, all things considered. You are in love with the ocean as surely as any man loved his darling. You cannot have run out of awe for it, or words to frame as much.”

“No. There are not words enough in any language to encapsulate that. But my romance with the water is not the issue. Any man not living in worship of himself and his accomplishments will lose all poetry when forced to describe the former.”

At that, Harker summoned a tone so arid it might have dried the Atlantic to say, “How lucky then, that so many frauds exist in the world who are happy to write about their adventures to fill the void left by the honest and humble. Really, Captain, you can’t say this sealed memoir of yours will be no more than historic bullets and a manifesto alone?”

“For prudence’s sake, I do say so. Were I to make some novel of the entire scope of the Nautilus’ undertakings from its inception to the present, it would overfill the container and leave any reader with the impression I was some careless author who tossed his manuscript overboard.”

“It will be a loss if you do not make the attempt.” He smiled. A thing that had outgrown bitterness or guile and was simply a tired curve. “I have three months to burn before I die. Perhaps I can play secretary to the next great enterprise. We’ll see if my pen meets the task and convinces you to follow suit. You mentioned you once came across what might be Atlantis? That should provide some inspiration—,”

“Three and a half.”

“Sorry?”

Captain Nemo choked on hellfire and Antarctic ice as he met the young man’s gaze. Such a tired stare. A familiar one.

He has been here before. Counting the days.

“Not three months,” the Captain heard himself say. “Three and a half.”

“Is it? It’s rather hard for me to keep track of the days. I’m fairly certain I began my stay here in early May, but I fear I’ve quite lost the track of dates in all this. It certainly feels like a month since I left the sickbed.”

“The starvation bed. Have you taken lunch today yet? Or breakfast?”

“…You’re certain it’s not already dinner—?”

“Harker. Do not sabotage yourself.”

“Honestly, it only slipped my mind.”

“Then we must ensure it will not slip again.”

 They began taking their meals together. It only took a few days’ worth of being caught nudging his food around before he gave in to clearing the plate.

“The vegetables too?”

“Yes. No cigar or liquor until you finish your seaweed.”

In the same vein, whenever a lull presented itself between sleep, steering, and searching, Captain Nemo found himself shadowing the young man. It was no reproduction of the period with Aronnax, even with all the sights and experiences he sought to lay out before Harker. It was the difference of engaging a capering dolphin with play versus trying to prod a morose goldfish back to life by shaking it in its bowl.

Worse, a goldfish that seemed as insistent on convincing the Captain the days were rushing by as adamantly as the Captain tried to insist they were crawling. Between the two of their perspectives, they grudgingly had to settle on the true passage of time or risk cries of deception from both sides. Earned or otherwise.

“It’s as much for your sake as my own,” Harker commented, perched up in a corner between wall and ceiling. A half-hearted attempt to avoid the dining table. An attempt that was nearly successful, in that no one could scuttle up to retrieve him. The Captain had simply brought the plates over on an end table, as well as a chair for himself, then proceeded to spear the fillets on driftwood skewers. These he flung at Harker with a marksman’s hand. Harker’s only defense was to eat the artillery. He gnawed them with a sulk; as much for the ruined plan as for the fact that he couldn’t deny the quality of the cooking.

Down below, the Captain set down his cutlery to ask, “How is a man planning his suicide to my benefit, exactly?”

The Maelstrom roared in his memory’s ear. His next bite sunk deep enough to bring blood to his tongue. Harker ate and shrugged.

“Leaving aside the simple fact that you shall not have to play chaperone any longer?” He cleared his skewer and turned it in his fingers. “There will be no chance left for my own superstition to become fact.”

“What superstition is that?”

“My increasingly well-founded belief that my mere presence might result in some fresh affliction of the bizarre falling on me and anyone in my radius. I have a not insignificant history with such things.”

“…You believe yourself to be bad luck?”

“Strange luck, let’s say. Which often skews towards the bad.”

“Your entire group appears guilty on that front, Harker. Do not hoard credit.” Harker only frowned over his skewer. “Consider where you are. Do you truly think that between the Nautilus and those sunken vampires, there is anything so impressive left in the ocean that your mere presence could lure to us? If there were, I can’t guess why it’s taken so long.”

“I cannot say. Only, it has seemed my lot to exit one uncanny situation only because I’ve tripped into another. I did not tell you the tale of my misadventure in Munich with its village of undead rushing at me in a hailstorm. Nor have I told you what ghosts and demons harried my escape through the forest as I fled the castle. I never committed those to paper and only Mina knows the whole of it. That stint in my life was narrowed down to the problem of Dracula, and throwing a series of disconnected jaunts through bogeyman territories wholly unrelated to the Count was neither important nor called for at the time. Yet they did happen. All in succession. All as I was trying to leave behind something stranger.”

“Perhaps it was merely that country.”

“Van Helsing tried to paint it as such. But I’m unsure. Mina did not escape her brush with Dracula unchanged. Whatever effects the supernatural might have on those who come through them, I think I must be thoroughly saturated. With all that has happened in the wake of triumphing over the brute in the snow, and, yes, with where I find myself now—I can’t help thinking my blundering into the abnormal is unavoidable. All of that being said, however much I would rather be dead than caged for life, I would gladly accept the next leap into the unearthly unknown to live or die by the experience: provided I did not have so many people to risk as collateral to the inevitable.”

“Inevitable, he says.” The Captain began loading up another skewer. “Just as you think your death is inevitable at the end of the four months. You thought it inevitable in your darkest hour in Transylvania. I thought it inevitable for myself, once too. Back when I had made a monster of myself and knew it.”

Know it.

“Such a grief stole over me, such a madness, that I tried to steer the Nautilus into its destruction. I, a thankless tyrant, who was prepared to end all and take my crewmen, who were my family, and my dearest companion, who was more…and my crewmen did not move to stop me, so complete was their loyalty and love, just as it remains today. I did not reckon this in full until it was nearly too late.”

It was too late, for some. For dear Pierre and his friends.

Is that how you want to remember it? Would it make this latest madness more sensible if you ignored your first and last visit to the shore? It was your hands that laid him on the sand. Yours and your men’s. Was it the madness of guilt? Or did guilt finally break through your insanity? Your selfishness? You, avenger at sea, judge and jury, who would throw the embers of redemption into the surf to cage another captive, to hoard a human being as though he were an animal to break, a replacement to fill the hollow in your breast that has calcified since the slaughter. All this, when you could simply tell him—

The last fillet was pierced with more force than it deserved.

“Self-destruction is never just self-destruction. No more than destruction of another affects only the destroyed. Like your monsters and mysteries on land, to go through any of them is to cause a ripple. A stain. Whatever you wish to call collateral. When faced by the ravenous wolves at the Count’s door, you knew at once that you would be committing a mistake to throw yourself to them when there was still the hope of another day. Hope that something better would happen.”

“It didn’t. I had to climb away—,” Harker said even as he clambered down from his corner, “—and pray against gravity and wolves just the same.”

“And lo! You did not plummet, you were not eaten. You lived to hunt the bastard down for his evils against you and those you love. You triumphed beyond measure, simply because you chose not to quit yourself. If you expect the inexplicable to come knocking—something more inexplicable even than you and I as we are now—who is to say it will not be the thing that makes living worth the wait?”

“Would that not entail some great force coming out of the depths to rattle me out of your grasp like the last mint in the tin?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

Say it, say it, just say it, you fool, you jailor, you grasping guilty lonesome old b—

“Yours is not a conventional life, Jonathan Harker. Yes, the inexplicable seems stamped upon it—but as you say, it has given you good along with the ill. Let yourself live long enough to give it the chance for the former.”

It was at this moment that Ridder came half-running into the room. His face wore the same look as the night he’d cradled the gruesome head of the Demeter sailor. He spoke briskly into the Captain’s ear. He repeated it when asked. And a third time.

         “If I may guess,” Harker hummed, turning his new skewer in hand, “I’ll say that’s the Nautilus tongue for, ‘Something inexplicable is at the door.’ Am I close?”

         “Eat your fish.”

           The inexplicable was not quite at their door. It was floating under the moonlight, pulled parallel with a far more explicable sight. Evidently some manner of private ship, petite and well-made. It found itself abutted by what was, in a very literal sense, a ghost ship. Albeit with some sturdier revenants to judge by the apparent struggle the less grotesque vessel was having with their opponents. Such was the scene, unless everyone’s eyes deceived them through the spyglass, Captain Nemo included.

         “You see, Harker? It’s not just you. Anyone can trip and fall into the unearthly.”

         “I haven’t seen, actually. I’ve not had a turn with the glass.” Harker took it in hand and squinted through. “If they are ghosts, they’re far more tangible than the ordinary specter. Too fleshy. The people aboard the other ship are doing lethal damage, but—oh.” All the blood dropped out of the young man’s face. “Oh, God.”

         “What? Harker, what is it?”

         “It’s the Lucille.” His voice shook. “It’s—no.” The young man jerked his head away from the glass and whirled on the Captain in the same motion. Panic and wrath warred in his face, ultimately producing only a perfect rendering of urgency. “Captain, we need to go there now. We need to help them!”

         Uneasy looks floated among them all.

         Help meant ‘intercede.’ Help meant ‘show yourself.’ Help meant ‘aid an English ship.’

         Not a warship. A boatful of unlucky tourists or coddled aristocrats, perhaps, but not a warship. Such a vessel would be a disgrace to any military, armed as the passengers may be. And do you not have some recompense to pay yourself, O avenger?

         Before he could summon an answer for himself or his crewmen, Harker had him by the lapels. Grief and rage, terror and prayer twisted his countenance into a stricken mask. His eyes burned anew and might very well have steamed for the frenzied tears balanced in them.

         “Now, Nemo! Please, God, we have to help them! The Lucille is Art’s boat! I saw him and the others on board and Mina is with them!” The crewmen tried warily to pry him off; Captain Nemo held them back with a look. Harker noticed none of this. Only quaked, trembling the Captain with him. “Please, please, it is dark even with the moon. They will not know you for anything but another inhuman oddity joining the fray. You could be a sea monster, or another ghost crew, some myth or legend or whatever else! They will not know you! They would never think to tell anyone of the Nautilus as anything but another detail in a ghost story, your secret would be safe!”

         Yes, your secret, Captain Nemo. Brave Nemo, avenging Nemo, hiding Nemo. He knows what matters most here. Keeping secrets is always important to the plotting old monsters who lock him in their dungeon of choice.

         “If it’s down to me—down to—,” the lump of his Adam’s apple jerked and choked the words short. “I will alter our arrangement. Save them. Save Mina! And I will stay and I will live here, if that’s what you want. Or better, if these enemies are more impervious in their death than the Demeter’s men, I can at least die keeping them from her. Not a suicide, you see? It would be alright, a death with purpose! And I will never be able to breathe a word of you! Anything, anything it takes, anything you say, just—please, we can’t let them die while we huddle here and watch. Please.” Wet tracks poured down both cheeks. “Please don’t let her die.”

         Hindsight would teach those aboard the Lucille that this particular moon, on this particular date, at these particular coordinates, was the site of a most terrible shipwreck. There had been mutiny and bloodshed and an accursed treasure chest involved, as might be expected. What had not been expected was the reappearance of that ship and the irate crew members still out for blood to spill and bounty they could never spend. In their defense, extraordinary as their small league was, they had come out on these waters once again in search of another impossible occupant of the sea.

         “It was invisible in the dark one moment, alight another, dark again,” Mina Harker had insisted through hoarse tears. “Jonathan must have clambered on it without realizing, just looking for some footing. The vampire followed him. They were just shadows. I saw him slice the thing’s head off—and the head fell away into some strange hollow. There was no splash for it as there was for the body. Between one moment and the next, there were a dozen human shadows rushing out of the black, swarming him. I heard him scream…” The rest of her words were lost under a hot coal that had grown in her throat. Irene gripped her free hand while Mina’s other ground against the miserable rictus of her lips, as if her wedding band might dam the grief.

         “There was a flash of something. A spark,” Quincey had finished. Quietly. “Like they stuck him with a handful of lightning. The moon didn’t give away much, but it showed the lot of them dragging him down into some solid dark in the middle of the water. He was still moving. Just stunned. Then they were all gone. No rock, no reef, no islet to be found.”

         Hyde made some ill-advised joke about, ‘Jonathan Harker, the reigning champion among abducted damsels’ that made even Gray throw a sidelong look. Jekyll was given his spot back in short order.

Months had been poured out in research and physical searching of the area and what possible entities might have absconded with the young man. Many a legend was unearthed concerning underwater kingdoms of old. Even a few unwholesome and unsane dwellers of the deep that appeared through cracks in reality according to their implacable eldritch whims, but such deities were accordingly quite busy with their own affairs and would be more likely to accidentally pulverize a man into screaming jelly with one misplaced tentacle than to meticulously incapacitate and capture one with a personal humanoid legion.

         It was, to the surprise of few, Van Helsing who ultimately found some dots to connect. Rather, the dots connected themselves after hearing of the plight in question, and then came rushing to meet with them. Professor Pierre Aronnax, an old acquaintance and woeful audience to many an—often purposefully—incorrect speech to do with ‘facts’ concerning marine life that had given the poor Frenchman grey streaks before he’d even reached forty years.

         “Ah, I see you travel alone for the first time in a good while, my friend. Did you leave good Conseil behind on your leave of absence?”

         “Not precisely. Conseil has found himself other work since our, ah, excursion. Mr. Ned Land has taken him on as a partner of sorts. If only because I feel the two have begun a conversation that neither consents to give to the other as ‘having the last word,’ and so they have become quite inseparable as a result. But let us not dwell on that. Tell me of this disappearance into the water. Every detail you can spare.”

         Details spared included written, typed, and spoken variants. All of which served to tint Aronnax in hues of chalk and cherry by turns.

         “I suspect I may know the culprits. Culprit, rather, if it is the same powerful character whose people are as much an extension of himself as anything else.”

         “Who?” That was Mina Harker, though her voice sounded less like herself and more like the steel slide of a guillotine. “Professor, who?”

         Aronnax had added a seasick green to the white and red of his pallor. His gaze hopped about the room, wondering at the motley nature of its company. They even had a mummy in their menagerie to judge by the bandaged fellow in the chair beside him. The latter had said not a word and his dark lenses had seemed to observe first him, then Mrs. Harker, as if watching for a cue.

         “It is a fantastical guess, for the man and his men have transformed themselves and their lives into the fantastical. There is every chance you will not believe me. And, though the man has committed great errors in his grief and vengeance, I would be as ashamed to reveal him to the world as I would be to see yet another wild rarity in nature ripped up from its home and kept in a cell to gawk at. His existence might be believed, it might be taken as fresh nonsense puffed up for the newsprint. God above, they might make a stage play of him. But whatever the initial thought, I know in my heart that the world would set after him like bloodhounds and do all in their power to drag him up, to rob him of his home and invention, and do worse than any revenge you would put him to.”

         “How is that?” Another grind of mourner’s steel.

         “Because all you know him for is stealing your husband into the sea. Were the world to know him, they would take him alive and he would spend the rest of his life, however long or short, being tortured for the secrets to his genius in the machine that he has made a haven. He would not even have the sanctuary of his mind that a common prisoner is allowed, for whatever government got their hands on him would spend the days trying to pry that treasure loose. Just as surely as they would set to replicating his work with the—,” none could tell if he wore more regret or longing in his face, “—the Nautilus.

         “I have a record I could share with you of my experience with that place and the king of that strange little kingdom. I can tell you straight out that I would be far more surprised if your husband was dead than alive there. I and my companions were taken aboard in a similar rush, though that was to prevent us drowning at the start. Like men upon a fairy mound, we were taken below and, though we were barred from our homelands, we were housed and tended as though we had been tenants all our lives. The commander there lives in a surreal way. He would wage war on many, but shuns such singular murder as you fear. At a guess, I would say Mr. Harker gave them a fright and was taken down below to interrogate. May I ask, why is it that he was engaged in such bloody combat that he needed to lop the other fellow’s head off?”

         “If it is any comfort, Professor,” Irene Norton put in, “Jonathan’s opponent was already dead. Even if he was upright.”

         “And trying to bite his throat out,” Lord Godalming capped.

         Aronnax turned another rainbow as he tried to process this.

         “What..?”

         “Professor Aronnax,” Mina had leaned forward, hands folded. “You fear divulging full detail for fear that this Nautilus and its people will lose a precious secret in their reveal to the world. That presupposes we have any intention of coming out to the world ourselves and crowing about it. But that, even if it was our aim, would necessitate our own spotlights. And our League, extraordinary though it is, would be unanimously better off if we carried on our work in the shadows.”

         “In brief…” the voice sounded to Aronnax’s side. He had turned and felt his stomach fall through his shoes. The mummy had removed his dark glasses to reveal there were no eyes behind them. Nor was there a head visible once the gloved hands began peeling the gauze away. “…we know the value of keeping our mouths shut, being that there’s not a one of us in this room who wouldn’t either be set for a madhouse or a lab experiment otherwise. Yes, we’ll need to have some words with your friend, the Underwater Abductor. But we’ve dealt with stranger. Most of us are stranger. And we aren’t about to snitch.”

         Aronnax had needed a moment to rekindle his higher functions, including the ability to form thoughts and turn thought into speech. While waiting on this process to restart, he wordlessly offered the assembled party a journal from his coat. One pressed with unrecognizable paper.

         “It’s in French, unfortunately. But it tells the whole of what I saw with him.”

         “Again, Professor. Who?”

         “Captain Nemo is the name he went by when I knew him. Whoever he was before died some time ago. On that note, I shall save you some time and say it is most unlikely that the coordinates Mr. Harker vanished at will be the place you find the Nautilus. It never idles long—what? What is it?”

         Mina had frozen at his last words.

         “It does not idle… That’s why. That’s why—!” She had left the room in a rush and returned just as speedily with a sheaf of typed pages, flipping through a flurry of dates with a pen in hand. Its ink was red and she marked out passages in a fever as she skimmed them. Her face was aglow with epiphany. “He is not dead! I feared I was just imagining it this time, that the fading was him being…” she shook her head, “It faded and surged, moved this way and that, one side of the world and another. I was so sure I was imagining it, but that’s why!”

         She looked to her friends with eyes bright as glass. The desperate beginnings of a smile tugged at her lips.

         “I’ve felt him. All this time I’ve felt him, but I was so convinced it was my senses playing tricks to give me false hope. The connection flickered so much! But it was because he has been on the move the whole time. Fading when he grew too far. Lighting up when he passed nearer.” Finally, the whole smile won. Like sunlight carving a split in the clouds. “And he is coming nearer again. Extremely near. He has been on a straight course back to the point we first lost him for almost four months; slowly, so slowly, but the line has not veered once. This Captain Nemo of yours, Professor, is it possible he would bring his captive back to the place he took him in?”

         “I cannot say. The situation I found myself in with the man was, I think, the first of its kind. He had us as guests for some long while and the end of our stay was as much by our design as by accident. So I think. But the man I saw then was not the one I met when I was first taken aboard.” He tried and failed not to look queasily at the invisible man beside him. If he hadn’t known better, he’d say the empty air above the neck looked intolerably smug. “It’s clear that stranger things are possible than him deciding against a repeat of old mistakes.”

         And so out they had come.

         Only they had been greeted by a far different vessel once the moon came out. It rose out of the waves, crawling with the determined dead. Bullets flew, blades flashed, bodies broke open on sea salt and decay. Yet the bodies continued in their animation, even with their hearts and brains shot loose like so much briny porridge. They were fueled by sturdier magic than the undeath of a vampire, it seemed.

         That and the oldest power on Earth that might drive a body to persist:

         “What a lovely ring you have, love. Might I take a closer look?” The next bullet blasted another hole in his ribs. Another took out his eye. He still laughed, a wet chuckling like a bubble in sewage. “Now, don’t fuss so. If you insist on squirming like this,” the cutlass rose, shining in the moonlight, “perhaps your pieces will hold still.”

         The revolver clicked in her hand. Empty. This earned another boggish laugh from the thing with the sword. A hideous sound that echoed throughout his crew as it warred with the living. Practiced and peculiar though they all were, loud as the Lucille was with the riot of battle, the enemy was a shape of death that went on regardless of damage. They were tireless, they were deathless, and tonight was their property. As all things would be once the living were so much piecemeal on the deck.

         Mina thought of Jonathan. Her mind was filled with the presence of him, supposing she was not dreaming it here, at the end. Perhaps she had dreamed it all. Maybe she would wake in her bed once the cutlass ran through her and it would all be a nightmare, and she would come to his arms folded around her, safe and warm.

         “Jonathan,” she breathed. He should be her last word. “I love you, Jonathan.”

         The cutlass flashed—but not half so brilliantly as the kukri.

         It was a silver-white blur that swept down and through the pirate, head to pelvis. The split fellow blinked once in surprise before his halves fell apart, twitching to stillness on the deck before the meat of him turned to a slurry of decay. Mina scarcely noticed.

         Jonathan stood before her, garbed in odd uniform, whole and alive.

And smiling.

         “I love you too.”

         The romance of the moment was only slightly hindered by the ongoing fight raging about the Lucille. It was more than slightly hindered by the sudden uptick of unholy undead screeching from the ghost ship’s crew. Screeches accompanied by what looked like sudden freak strikes of lightning. Later, their friends would describe the simultaneously blessed and gruesome sight of their attackers being struck with sudden electric spasms. Ones that sparked and smoked and left the pirates jittering on the ground, leaving them open to mincing or booting overboard. Aronnax had all but cheered at the sight. But in the instant itself, all the Harkers had was the noise and the whiff of charred meat to go by.

         “What is that?”

         “Electric sniping.” Then, in almost the same breath, the ghost ship gave a sudden ominous lurch. It trembled all over like a wooden gong while a muffled sound of crunching timber came from below the water. Those undead left with working mouths keened anew. A sound mixed with a hearty dose of cursing to make sailors of the modern day turn pink. It only increased as the ghost ship began to sink well before whatever sorcery rose it up was meant to bring it back to the seafloor. “And that is a number of sprung leaks.”

         Somewhere, Aronnax’s voice wept and laughed.

         “You,” a pirate croaked, a giant among his company. He fell on Jonathan with his sword swinging. The kukri parried. “Who sent you, foul psychopomp? Davy Jones?”

         Jonathan spared no answer for him. Nor for any others he cut down before the ship sank fully beneath the waves. Quincey managed a fair number himself and time would be spent on many a theory concerning what effects slaying Dracula might have had upon both of their hands: the hands that had put down the King of Vampires.

         “Something might be different,” the Texan would allow. “But I must admit our first solicitor in the party got a lion’s share of difference. When I lost my Winchester, I just switched to the bowie. This one,” he would nod at a now-sheepish Jonathan, “got the kukri knocked out of his hands and decided the next best thing was to put those hands on his pirate’s head and twist the damn thing off like a bottle cap.”

         “Well, the rot helped…”

         “Right. Of course,” Jack would nod, tone flat as slate. “The rot was what did it. No question. Unrelated, might we now get on with a proper examination of,” he’d gesture agitatedly at the whole of Jonathan Harker, from snowy head to wall-crawling foot, “all this? Please?”

         “We’ve been over this, Jack. All solicitors are like this. Godfrey and Gabriel can no doubt attest to it. They just aren’t showoffs like me.”

         “It’s true. I’ve been dyeing my hair all this time,” from Mr. Norton.

         “Disassembling the undead is a young man’s game. I simply cannot be bothered with it anymore,” from Mr. Utterson. Jack would put his head in his hands and languish.

         But all this was to come.

In the present, at the height of the scene, all attention went out to the sea. As the ghost ship sank, as the blighted treasure in the vessel’s bowels was ruptured and lost to the fathoms and its uncaring citizens, as the last of the undead crumbled and melted into the detritus of overdue rest, they saw a familiar black islet half-risen from the water. A number of figures, shadow men all toting arms with a passing resemblance to rifles, descended into its hold. All but one.

         No, two.

         One the League could not mistake for any other but Professor Aronnax. Sodden and strange in the light of the moon, but it was him. He was helped up by the other figure’s reaching hand.

         A tall man with a stately outline and tender attention to spare for the willing castaway come swimming to his threshold. The Lucille’s company saw them stand together. Saw an embrace that nearly erased the two and made them a single body. Saw Aronnax descend below. Saw the tall man turn and find, with inexplicable ease, Jonathan Harker on their deck. Jonathan lifted his hand to him.

         Captain Nemo raised his back.

         A veil of cloud passed over the moon. When it had gone, so had the Nautilus and the tenants within.

         And that was the whole of it.

           Very nearly.

         “This was in a pocket of the coat he gave me before I went up,” Jonathan said, turning the sealed box in his hand. A precious thing lined in copper filigree and bands, watertight. “I doubt it is the record box he spoke of. Perhaps a similar make, but…” He turned it again. While not heavy, it contained something too weighty to suggest an intention of buoyancy. “I wonder.”

         “Perhaps it’s a bomb,” Dorian put in from his chaise. He had been pretending to read the same passage of the same magazine for the past ten minutes in an effort not to show he was watching their little circle around the table. “A parting farewell to guarantee you and anyone too close can’t pen some garish tell-all tale of his business.”

         “I would have been dead many times over if he’d wanted such silence,” Jonathan said. “But if anyone else is truly uneasy, I can take this to another room—,”

         “You will do nothing of the sort!” Van Helsing said, seeming ready to stand in the way of every door. “If you try, you shall find yourself shadowed just the same.”

         “It’s true,” Mina hummed, her head on his shoulder. “Too late to hide it now. Let’s see.”

         “Alright.”

         The box was opened after three locks were undone. Within, there were two treasures. One an unrecognizable device of yet more copper, as well as miscellaneous foreign metals, turning dials, and a glass plate that read out numbers at minute intervals. Instructions were bound to it by thread.

         The second treasure was a letter. Jonathan unfolded it and read the script aloud:

         ‘Jonathan,

         ‘I write this ahead in the event that you have gone ashore. Perhaps even in the event that, despite myself, I act as a better man and cease the ruse entirely to put you there myself.

‘I will not ask you to forgive me for our time together or the trick of the last four months. It was a paltry attempt made by the last dregs of the man I am trying not to be any longer. I told you, four months until the option of an ‘exit.’ I’d hoped, in my greed, that you would decide against demise and merely stay on with the Nautilus for good. That its spell and the conspirator of hope would press you to remain, to live with us, as the premature threat of the wolves once convinced you to hold out. Why, you must wonder. Why?

‘For all that was caustic between us, I confess I saw too much of what future I had lost so long ago in your company. It was wrong. It was as sad as it was mad. It was no fault of yours.

‘But if you are reading this now, on your dry land, in safety, with your Mina, that means all this is hindsight. If so, then the unfathomable has won out, and you have been freed by accident or purpose from me—a sea monster losing its grip at last. I confess further that I find myself hoping each day more earnestly for this. I conspire against myself! Perhaps that is best.

‘If you are ashore, if you have rejoined your love and your League, then I ask that you keep this as a token. More, as a means to reach out should the need arise. The device and its parent aboard the Nautilus have been a small project of mine since the Maelstrom. A distraction of invention to take my mind away from fresh grief. But now, with you, there is genuine purpose to it. I call it the Cetus, for like the whales and their incredible song that reaches so far from one to the other, this device will allow an exchange of code that can translate to full messages by way of the cipher enclosed. The furthest distance we tested was at 10,000 kilometers apart. At this point, it breaks up completely. We may not converse easily, depending on our locations, but the opportunity is there.

‘Should it be needed.

‘I still scorn the idea of returning to land for any reason. We all do here. Yet I can read in this disdain a facet of the abandonment I was unwilling to admit to before. I have fashioned myself as an avenger. Yet I have left the good masses to suffer under tyrants and devils. Most human. Some, you have shown, even more perilous than that. You and yours, bereft of any shelter to abandon the world in but ignorance or inaction, have shunned both. You act, you strike, you save. All while me and mine have hoarded what we can of opportunity and blessings to sequester ourselves in the sea, our peace self-broken only by the diversion of revenge. Or unsuspecting passengers.  

‘I think sometimes I should have been born another animal than what I am. Some wild thing swimming free of the complexities and responsibilities of a man. I belong in the sea. This I will always believe. But I am no creature of gills—I am amphibious, so I must know air and sun and—though I wish otherwise—the sight of a shore and its people. And all the joys and ills they come with. I was informed once that I and the Nautilus were indeed marked out as a sea beast of legendary measure. Some kin of kraken or leviathan. Perhaps that is what I shall become. A myth shuddered over by villains and thrilled at by the oppressed. A living vessel in which the soldiers of Varuna or Neptune dwell, hunting the evil among men and monsters who sully our waves.

‘Yet I go on too long. To the point:

‘Unlikely as it seems, there may yet be a time, a place, a reason that would call the Nautilus to action. I leave that to your discretion, Jonathan Harker. Be it a spectacular threat in need of combatting or only a simple longing for a box of those particular rolled cigars that come from the world’s only underwater smoke shop. Either summons shall be answered. Know that I shall not dare a call to you unless you make your own first. If silence becomes the rule between us, I shall understand.

‘Though I will hope otherwise.

‘Farewell to you, Jonathan Harker.

‘Yours,

‘—Captain Nemo’

Quiet settled for a time. Jonathan was surprised at the heavy swell in his chest as it went on, doubly so at the prickling heat behind his eyes. He folded the pages back with care and cradled the Cetus device. When it caught the light, he found himself thinking of a library rimmed in copper and black rosewood.

“…Might I make a proposition?” All eyes drifted to Griffin. He sat in a gesture that hinted his chin rested on his hands, though all that suggested it was the pose of his suit’s back and the angled shirt sleeves.

“What is that?” Jekyll ventured.

“We skip the dashing lord and ladies as recruiting agents. From now on, we dangle Harker in front of every lucrative-to-bizarre man over forty years of age and simply wait for the adoption papers to come out. Our next move should be setting him on a high mountain peak and waiting for some sky captain or other to swoop down in their flying machine to collect him. He’ll get sent back to us on a motorized balloon with a boxed lunch. Crusts cut off and everything.”  

Someone hurled a cushion at the unseen mass of his head and managed to strike with perfect accuracy. Jonathan did not notice. Nor did Mina.

The Harkers bowed over the instructional cipher, heartened to see their own choice of shorthand, and began to read.

 Far away, far below, two men stood before a wall of glass.

For the first time in either’s life, the view of the ocean’s majesty on the other side held no interest to them at all.

Not in such company as theirs.

                                                            -FIN-

                                                             -?-

[thelampisaflashlight]

I've been trying to figure out how I wanted to make Quincy learn that Mountain, and, like, all of the other ghouls aren't human, and ultimately went, "Haha, what if I use the book for something other than what I originally planned for it and made Quincy start seeing shit because now he knows the 'truth'?"

And it's just like:

The feeling when you find out bestie is a beast beyond your mortal comprehension after staying after hours to translate a copy of the diary of a mad monk who created the strange mosaic of Hell you walk over every day.

Of course, in true Quincy fashion, he's gonna find some way to adjust to the fact that the very normal, squishy human he's known this whole time is actually a demon in disquise.

Oh, yeah, and also demons are real.

Yeah.

The uncensored sketch version of Mounty's head below the cut.

All told he's not that bad compared to other monsters I've drawn in the past.

I've said it before, but drawing monsters is more my thing than drawing people, because you have a lot more freedom with shapes.

[Do Not Repost And/Or Use For RP Purposes.]

[oftlunarialmoon]

Monster High Adventures of the Ghoul Squad Review

Originally posted to www.onlyfunthings.org on October 09, 2017

Ciao Lovelies, spoilers ahead! If you havent yet watched monster high g2 Adventures of the Ghoul Squad, please note that this post contains lots of spoilers, as well as g2 Frankie Stein's pronouns being she/her/they/them. Just for note.

Ciao ghouls and mansters! Today I have a review for you all - of the most recent Monster High programming- the new show- Adventures of the Ghoul Squad!

This show came out August 11th and since then most Friday’s we get a new episode!! So on to the review!

PLOT

The whole premise of the show is that the ghouls use the monster mapalouge to find lost monsters and bring them to Monster High. So far we have brought back Abby Bominable, Operetta, Fangelica, Rochelle Goyle, Gil Webber, and Catty Nior. 

Sometimes the episodes don’t feature finding a monster but instead have a fun adventure. Like the episode where they have a version of Pokemon Go, and the “pokemon” come to life!

Overall the plots are fun to watch and perfect for a kids show.

STYLE

I really dislike the animation style of this series, unfortunately. It reminds me of a video game not a show. I don’t like how it makes the ghouls look. 

REDESIGNS

Some of the ghouls they are re-introducing I do like their redesigns. 

For example, Abbey’s new look is super nice:

Operettas is so cute! I love her suspenders:

OVERALL

I find the show enjoyable and a good casual watching thing. I expect more from the movies but for a web show, this is good. I love the detail level in the background characters as well. Overall, I think Mattel has done a good job in creating a new kids show.

Remember to Stay Awesome and Love Yourself!

[cptnbeefheart]

i think i gotta pl;ay fallout 4 ..

[tiredbastrd]

Gay people will see a man who was convinced that he was becoming a ghoul because he went bald, ask "is anyone going to live with him?" And not wait for an answer

[witchywcmans]

PLEASE, EAT. | LAIOS TOUDEN

synopsis ━━ after you've been bitten by a sea serpent, you know the consequences are either death or the possibility of turning into one yourself. thankfully for you, laios touden is the devourer of all things monster and he is dedicated to getting that venom out of you. (laios x f!reader.)

content warnings ━━ sex pollen-adjacent, cunnilingus + fingering, praise, breath play (kinda, if you squint), semi-public sex, multiple orgasms. nsfw (minors + ageless blogs dni).

word count ━━ 3k

song inspiration ━━ too sweet, hozier / more than friends, isabel larosa

author's note ━━ this is the first time I've ever written and posted an x reader one-shot on here, so please be gentle with me lol. I usually only write x oc fics bc I'm a yapper and I love creating characters. but alas...I was perusing the laios x reader tag and wanted to read something with this plot, couldn't find it, so I figured I'd just do it myself 🫡

This was definitely one of the worst situations you’d been in.

You had joined Laios’ adventuring party just a few months prior. They had found you on floor 3 of the dungeon, shivering and mourning the loss of your father. His body, dead in your arms, and beside him lay the lifeless body of a ghoul you had killed. At first, the party’s leader, Laios Touden, had only been interested in taking the ghoul's body so they could use its bones for utensils after the flesh rotted off. But it was Marcille who noticed the tears in your eyes, how you trembled from the cold, and suggested they take you in. You almost declined, not wanting to leave your father’s body, but knowing he’d soon turned into a monster left you with only one option. Your father had been with you for the past twenty-five years of your life, and now, you were leaving his dead body in a dungeon to travel with a group of strangers.

You soon came to appreciate your new party, though, and you felt your father’s spirit within each of them. Marcille had his kindness, Chilchuck had a comparable wit, Senshi was gifted with excellent cooking skills, and Laios … well, you were still figuring that out. And surprisingly, it was Laios who you began to connect with the most. His knowledge of monsters was unmatched, and he had a passion for learning how to prepare them while they traveled deeper into the dungeon. He was overtly blunt, much like you, and possessed similar advanced fighting skills due to both your fathers' teachings.

Sometimes … sometimes though, you found yourself staring at him more than you should have. His face was abnormally perfect, as if he’d been carved by an artist. His tousled ash-blonde hair reminded you of a lion, and his eyes … sometimes you could’ve sworn they were made out of gold, shimmering like molten lava. Each time you thought this way, you smacked yourself when no one else was looking. I mean, Laios was your friend, your party leader. Having a crush, especially in circumstances like these, was unethical. You had always been focused on one thing: helping your party and making it out of this dungeon alive, for your father. You wouldn’t let a little crush deter you.

Everything had been all well and good until today, when you and your party reached the end of floor 4. When Laios had struggled to fight off a sea serpent, you joined him in the lukewarm water, using your crossbow to shoot the creature in the head. Finally, Laios was able to step in to slice the serpent’s head off … but not before the creature could snap its jaw, tearing one fang down your hip. You jumped back, screaming as you felt the venom seep into you instantly. Some said sea serpent venom would kill you immediately, others said it turned you into one of them, cursing you to haunt the waters with them as penance. As soon as the head was cut, Laios carried you away from the water, and the last thing you heard was Marcille cursing him out before you were rendered unconscious. 

You were woken up – hours, maybe days later – by a drop of water hitting your face every few seconds. Lifting your head from the makeshift tunic pillow, you took in your surroundings. You were at the entrance of floor 5, in a damp corner of cobblestone, while water dripped down onto the floor every so often. There was a moist bandage covering your side where the serpent’s fang had cut into you, part of your tunic ripped to shreds. Hunger boiled in your stomach, making you groan and rub your head. Laios was sitting just a few feet away, a small fire in front of him to keep warm. Marcille had to have helped him with that; there was no way to craft a fire in an area this damp.

“Am I dead?” You asked softly. 

Laios immediately turned in your direction, his mouth lifting in a smile. “Of course not.”

Your stomach did flip flops as you took in his smile, hunger consuming you. You needed something to eat – bad. Your body felt hot and sweaty, and you wondered if it was just from the humidity, even though Laios didn’t look affected. Sitting up, you informed him, “Well, that was one of two options my father said would happen from a sea serpent bite. Which means …” You lifted the bandage up, noticing the gills that started to form on the healing wound. A turquoise hue surrounded the gills, almost like a bruise. “Oh, fuck,” you muttered.

Laios stood, looming over you while asking, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s the other option,” you replied, too hungry to cry. “The bite is –”

“– Turning you into a sea serpent,” Laios finished. “Honestly, I thought that was just a myth. But when the bite didn’t kill you …” His mouth twitched, tongue darting out to wet the corners of his lips. “We have to suck the venom out. That has to stop the mutation.”

Your head snapped up. “Huh?” 

But as soon as your eyes met his, you started to wondered if what you were experiencing was hunger after all. Perhaps … a different kind of hunger. Laios stared down at you, the sparkling gold replaced by a dark hazel. It was just you two in this little corner of the dungeon, but you suddenly felt exposed, so naked, under his gaze. Your body was hot all over, sweat sticking to uncomfortable places. And your thighs … a burning need emerged between them, soaking the thin linen of your undergarments. This had to be a symptom of the bite, but it suddenly didn’t matter anymore. Your worry had been replaced by an ache that only he could fix.

No – absolutely not. You couldn’t. You shouldn’t. You were turning into a sea serpent.

But the need between your legs still throbbed.

“It’s like when a snake bites you on the surface,” Laios said, crouching down to your eye level. His closeness made your heart rate pick up. You realized then that he had shed his armor, kneeling in front of you in just his gambeson, which clung to his muscles and wide frame. “A sea serpent is part snake. Sucking out the venom should stop the mutation. You’ll probably experience symptoms from the bite for a few more hours, but they’ll stop eventually.” 

He started to peel back the bandage, taking a look at the gills forming on your hip when you gripped his wrist. Immediately, his skin burned, making you even more hot. You ripped your hand away from him, and with sweat trickling down the side of your face, you said, “Don’t you think this is … weird? Maybe Marcille should do it.”

“Marcille and the others just went back to another part of the level to find dinner. They won’t return for an hour, at least. This can’t wait.” He inspected the turquoise gills with concern, before his eyes snapped back to yours, noticing the way your black pupils filled almost the entire iris. “Do you not trust me?”

“Of course, I trust you. It’s just …” What exactly was the reason again? Oh, yes, it was pulsating hunger dripping between your legs from the bite, and you were terrified how you’d react the second his lips wrapped around your wound. The symptoms would just get worse. But he was right – this was the only way. Fuck, this had to be the most embarrassing thing you’d ever experienced. 

“Fine,” you finally relented, lying back down on the cobblestone. You did your best to get comfortable, but the makeshift pillow hardly provided much cushion between you and the floor.  “What should I do?”

“Nothing, just lay back and let me take care of it.” Laios lifted your tunic a smidge, and just the tenor of his voice made your ache even worse. “We’re just gonna … get this out of the way. And then …” His fingers hooked on the waistband of your pants, and you immediately clutched his collar. If you touched his skin again, you were sure to moan.

Laios looked from where your hand was gripping him and back to your eyes. “Your pants need to be off so I can have better access to the mutation. It’s on your hip.” You swallowed hard, knowing he was right, and your hand started to slip off his collar. “We’re friends, right?” He asked.

You nodded weakly.

“Good,” he smiled again, and you struggled to hold back a plea for him to touch you. He pulled down your pants, tossing them to the side. For a moment, he paused, taking in your soaked underwear and running his fingers over the mutation on your hip. He licked his lips again, and then said in a rather blunt tone, “You’re so –”

“Don’t say it,” you cut in, snapping your eyes shut to prevent further embarrassment.  Though you had never minded Laois’ occasional lack of social cues, this was one of those moments you needed anything but. “Just get the venom out.”

Laios tugged your underwear down a little to see if the mutation had spread. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he informed you, lowering his head to your hip. “I’ve read that these bites can have a multitude of internal symptoms. Nightmares ... sweating … fever …” He ran his tongue over the gills, making your breath hitch instantly. “… And especially, arousal. Neat, huh?” He chuckled, and just his warm breath on the gills made you even more wet. “Don’t worry, I got you,” he assured before finally wrapping his mouth on the wound.

Your body burned even hotter than before as soon as his lips touched your skin. He sucked the venom out of you, spitting out blue globs every other second. His hands gripped your side, digging into your flesh and leaving crescent shapes from his nails. As you felt the gills start to close up, you couldn’t help but moan and arch into nothing. This felt better than any time you masturbated … any time you imagined your party leader above you … Fuck, who would’ve thought sucking sea serpent venom out of you would feel this good? Thank the gods the rest of their party was off catching dinner. You couldn’t deal with them possibly hearing this.

It surprised you when your orgasm flooded through you like a crashing wave. As Laios finished sucking out the last of the venom and the mutation closed, your arousal came to a definite peak and you let out a whine. You grabbed his arm, cumming from absolutely no stimulation.

Laios didn’t seem to mind though. In fact, he was mostly preoccupied with inspecting the area. You opened your eyes, your cheeks tinged pink, and saw the globs of venom to the left dissipate to nothing but water. You pinched the bridge of your nose, “I’m sorry, I –”

“The mutation closed. I was right!” Laios looked down at you, a big grin covering his face. “How do you feel?”

“Well, I definitely don’t feel a second set of lungs on my hip anymore.” You lifted your hand when you noticed a trickle of blue staining his lip, wiping it away with your thumb. “But I … my body is still …” The ache inside you had simmered slightly, but it was still there, lingering underneath the surface. 

This was genuinely humiliating. Maybe you should’ve just decided to turn into a sea serpent after all.

Laios grabbed your wrist before you could pull away from his face. He leaned into your palm, running his long nose down to your inner wrist. “Your skin is so warm. I can still smell how aroused you are from the serpent bite.” His eyes burned into yours, keeping your hand close to his face. “I can help. Do you need another release?”

Your cheeks got even more red when he acknowledged your orgasm. Shaking your head, you said, “I couldn’t ask you to do that. I can just –”

“I’d be honored to,” he replied, quite gruffly and persistent. His fingers tugged your underwear down with precision and ease, despite the damp fabric clinging to you. He spread your legs wide and placed them on his shoulders. Lowering himself down, he inhaled the scent of your climax and hooked his arms around your inner thighs. He smiled up at you – your pretty face red with embarrassment – all dopey-eyed and grateful. “You lot like to call me the devourer of monsters. Perhaps I should devour the last bit of monster out of you.”

He inhaled again, groaning like he typically did when he was hungry. His hot breath against your achingly wet pussy made you whimper with desperation. “You smell so good down here,” he whispered. “I’d wager you taste even better.”

You gasped as soon as he dove between your legs, licking a stripe through your folds, tasting your recent orgasm. He flicked his tongue over your clit before sucking on it with feverish excitement. Slick gathered on his tongue and he whined, needing more. So much more. You were the most delicious meal he’d ever tasted. Better than any monster, better than anything on the surface. 

“So good,” he muttered into your pussy, lapping against your clit, doing anything that would get him more of your arousal. “You taste so, so good.”

You whimpered out his name and attempted to close your legs, but he held them opened with all his strength. His arms wrapped around your thighs went tight, bruising the sensitive flesh. Your jaw went slack while your own hands scrambled for purchase, eventually landing in his cropped hair. You tugged, hips bucking against his face, making him groan even more. This allowed him to hold your hips a little higher, and his tongue finally dipped into your leaking entrance. You heard him grunt the second he plunged his tongue deeper, his nose nuzzling your clit. 

He devoured you like a starved man. He devoured you like you were a boiled scorpion, or roast basilisk, or – even better – like sweet, delicious homemade cheesecake. 

“Laios,” you whined, feeling your fever dissolve with each lap of his tongue. “Laios, it’s … fuck – it’s okay, I feel –”

“Need more,” he muttered, his voice low and laced with need. He was practically humping the stone floor as he buried his tongue as far as it could go inside you. Your hips couldn’t stop bucking forward, riding his face as you felt your orgasm building at the base of your stomach. Laios was completely transfixed. He wanted to be here, nestled between your thighs, for every meal. He’d take you away from the rest of the group before dinner, lapping away to the sounds of your pleas and whimpers, so help him gods. He’d do this every day, every night, whenever you wanted, for as long as he was alive. Fuck monsters. He could survive off the taste of you for the rest of his life.

Slipping his tongue out of your hole, he went back to sucking on your throbbing clit and feeling your legs start to tremble. You had to be close to another release, and he was desperate to taste it. He paid all his attention on your clit, snaking one hand up and sinking two fingers knuckle-deep into your entrance in tandem. “Fuck,” you moaned, tugging on his hair once again, “fuck – gods, Laios. I – I’m s-so close –”

“Please,” he begged, smearing your slick all over his mouth. “Please, you’re so good. Need to see how you taste when you release on my tongue.” His own hips continued to buck against the floor.

You choked on a cry when you finally came all over his tongue. He groaned, loud and drawn out, when he finally got a taste of your sweet climax, knowing that it was him that brought you to this point. The orgasm felt long, like the ocean bringing you in and out, and your whole body trembled. He continued lapping at your clit as it pulsed under his tongue, his fingers curling inside you through your orgasm. When you finally breathed out and started to come down from the high of it all, Laios stayed between your thighs, allowing his tongue to gently swirl your clit. Maybe if he continued, he could taste a little more of you …

You found your voice, hoarse from overstimulation. “Laios, please, you have to stop,” you begged, yanking his head up from between your legs. His mouth was covered in your slick, and then he was giving you that dopey expression again, making your heart clench. Your body was no longer hot and sweaty. Laios had completely cured you of the sea serpent bite with that expert mouth of his. He unwound his arms from your thighs, bringing his fingers that were still covered with your wetness to his mouth, tasting the last of your orgasm. You watched him, eyes wide and cheeks blushing, until he was looking at you again with those golden doe eyes.

“That was amazing,” he said, like he was in a haze. When your eyes flickered down, you realized he was hard in his pants, but it wasn’t like he even noticed himself with the way he was staring at you. “We should do that again sometime.”

He stood up, and you scrambled to pull your clothes back on before the group came back. You stammered, “It’s okay, uh – we don’t have to. Especially if you don’t want to. We could just –”

“I want to,” he cut in, a determined look in his eyes. “What are friends for, right?” 

[rebelliousstories]

Not Like The Movies

Relationship: Cooper “The Ghoul” Howard x Reader

Fandom: Fallout

Request: Yes by Anon

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Violence

Word Count: 1,688

Main Masterlist: Here

Fallout Masterlist: Here

Summary: How Cooper got landed with someone of her sunny disposition, he will never now. And it does not help that she knows his films.

“Good morning, you cutie. Oh who’s the best little girl ever?” A feminine voice brought Cooper out of his deep slumber. His eyes had to adjust to the bright light outside that flooded the building they had stayed the night in. He looked around for the source of the noise and was relieved to see it was just his partner playing with DogMeat. The man sat up from the bed that was miraculously in the building that probably used to be someone’s house and began to roll the sleep from his muscles and bones.

“Well, good morning to you, cowpoke.” She greeted, allowing the dog to roam around wherever she pleased.

“Mornin’ sweetheart. Whatcha doin’ up this early?” He asked, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His boots hit the floor right next to where his partner was, as she sat up on her knees to pull him in close. Physical affection was something Cooper was still not used to after all this time, but he was slowly coming around to it. All of the affection happened behind closed doors, or in this case, a closed house. He still had an image to maintain after all.

“Couldn’t sleep, so I spent some time with Bella.” She said cheerfully into his chest. Cooper just sighed and rubbed his eyes.

“Don’t go naming the thing. Then you’ll get too attached and then you’ll be depressed when it dies.” He groaned out, shifting their bodies so their eyes met.

“But she can’t be named ‘DogMeat’. That’s not a proper name,” came her cry. She laid on the puppy eyes really thick.

“DogMeat is a proper name because that’s what it is.” He argued back, tilting her head up by her chin.

“Fine,” she relented, and smushed her face back into his chest. “What’s on the agenda for today?”

“Well, gotta head into town now. Stock up on some supplies, gather a new bounty hopefully.” Cooper pressed a kiss to her hair, and shuffled so that he could pull both of them up to stand.

“You gonna behave when we get into town?” He drawled, voice leaning into dangerous territory. His partner giggled and nodded her head.

“Of course, Coop. When am I not?” She inquired, biting her lower lip. That woman knew the easiest way to get Cooper riled up was to do just that motion right there. Because, in an instant, his eyes were locked on to her lips.

“What about back in Filly where you kept smilin’ at folks, leaving me to save you from someone’s fist in your face? Huh?” Howard recalled, watching her shift in his arms as she, too, recounted their last adventure into town.

“How was I supposed to know?” Her whimper made Cooper weak, but he had a job to do today.

“Just tone down the sun a little bit, alright? Maybe a nice cloudy day instead of bright ass sunshine.” He offered, bringing her face back up to his. She nodded and stood on her toes to reach his face. Cooperate, ever the gentleman, met her halfway and locked their lips together. They moved as one, letting their lips slide across the other’s. Hands roamed freely, and it was starting to look like they were not going to be making it to town soon. That is, of course, until DogMeat came back in the room with a dead iguana in her mouth. She dropped it on the floor, and pawed at the man and woman who were locked in their embrace. The Ghoul groaned as his partner detached them in favor of tending to the dog he claimed he did not want.

“Good girl. Such a good hunter.” The baby voice was back. Seeing that the dog was getting the attention now, Cooper moved to grab all of his effects from where they were strewn about the room. His duster sat upon his shoulders, while his hat found its spot on his scarred head.

“Come on. Let’s get goin’.” He stated definitely. His saddle bag was slung across his shoulder, and his hand helped navigate his partner through the abandoned house.

They began their trek into town, which thankfully was not too long of a walk. DogMeat followed on the other side of Cooper, hot on his heels. He kept his eyes peeled as they drew further and further into the town. There was a pharmacy, a trader’s hut, several food stalls, and even a mechanics repair shop. Plenty for the two of them. Turning to his partner, he passed her some caps and pointed towards a couple stalls.

“Go get you some dried meat, and get a box of ammunition. Don’t smile so much, alright?” Cooper stressed. She nodded in return and patted his arm as she left with DogMeat.

The Ghoul made his way into the trader’s hut first to find a new bounty that was around. Thankfully, the woman behind the counter had one, and it was simple enough. Someone had not paid her what she was owed, and now she had a hat out on the man. He accepted half of the caps upfront, before moving on to the pharmacy next door. Cooper’s eyes caught his partner and DogMeat traversing the stalls, already having several pouches of meat in her bag.

Which is why he was not afraid to leave her alone while he took his time getting his chems from the pharmacy. Being a ghoul certainly had its drawbacks; the stares, reputation, and fear. But it also held some positives; the stares, reputation, and fear. It certainly helped when acquiring what he needed for a reasonable price. A commotion caught his ears from outside, but he was not afraid that it was his partner.

Until he stepped outside. Cooper saw his partner being crowded against a pile of sheet metal while DogMeat kept barking up a fuss. The dog ran over immediately to the man and began to drag him by his duster over to the woman.

“Come on, sweetheart. Don’t play hard to get.” Some man crept into her space, making her cower down even further. Based on what he could see, and the description the trader gave, this must have been the bounty. She did mention that he tended to go where he pleased like he owned it all.

“Please. Let me go.” She whimpered. Her voice was full of fear and worry, and Cooper was not about to let that stand.

“Everyone’s got a price. I can pay whatever your price is.” He continued, placing his hand on the woman’s waist.

“I do believe the lady asked you to let her go.” Cooper finally made his way over. The man turned around, and smiled with blackened teeth.

“Don’t worry, Ghoul. Once I’m done with her, I’m sure you can have a turn. Certainly don’t wanna do it the other way around.” He laughed, as if what he said was the funniest thing in the world. Cooper began to chuckle lowly as he peeked his eyes out from the lip of his hat. Catching his partner’s eyes, she felt relief as she saw her savior in western gear.

“See, she might be bein’ nice and askin’ you to let her go. But I ain’t that nice. So now I’m tellin’ you to let her go. Now.” Cooper growled, feeling his patience wear thin.

“Or what, Ghoul?” The man never got to hear another response. In a flash, Howard had aimed his gun and fired on his legs. Blowing both of them off, the not-so-tough man now crumbled to the ground, screaming and crying, pleading for the ghoul to have mercy on him.

“Well, ain’t that some shit.” The Ghoul growled, tying a rope around the torso of the man, and began to drag him to the trader’s hut. He focused on the task at hand, knowing that DogMeat would take care of anyone else that had dared get close to her owner.

Walking out of the trader’s hut, Cooper’s eyes scanned the town as he tried to find her partner. He found her, hugging her lugs, stuck in the same place that she was being held. DogMeat was chowing down on the legs that were left. His pocket felt heavy with the weight of the caps, but all that mattered now was taking care of her.

“You alright there, sweetheart?” Howard held a hand out for her to grab onto, and she did. Eagerly shoving her face into his chest and letting out a shaky breath as she processed the events that had just unfolded.

“I’m good. Can we go please?” Her words were muffled in his shirt, but he understood them plenty. Calling for DogMeat, Cooper led the three of them out of the town and into somewhere more secluded. Once they were there, tears fell from her eyes as the weight of what happened fully caught up to her. He set her down on something resembling a chair, and squatted down in front to check her over.

“You saved me.” She whispered, letting her partner do what he needed to do.

“Course I did. What’d you expect? Me to leave you with that man?” He countered with a ridiculous tone.

“It’s like one of your old sheriff films.” Her giggles matched his groan as he dropped his head.

“This ain’t the movies, darlin’.” Cooper looked up at her.

“It’s kinda like the movies.” She replied, wrapping her arms around his shoulders to bring him in close.

“I can always take you back to that town and leave you there.” He stated in her shoulder. She giggled again.

“That’s not very sheriff-y of you.” Every time he thought he had won, she proved him wrong.

“Alright,” he stood up and took her with him, “let’s get moving. Maybe if we’re lucky we can find another house to sleep in.”

“Ooo, do you think we could find one with a television and a few films?” She teased, already walking off away from town. Cooper groaned, but caught up to her and kept her underneath his arm as they walked away from that town.

[dazed-and-confused23]

Opportunities 2

A part 2 of one of my requests a while ago.

Summary: After listening to you and Hancock fuck in the room beside his, Cooper takes your care into his own hands and puts his little daydream into reality.

Pairings: The Ghoul | Cooper Howard x Female Reader

Warnings. Smut. Rough sex. Cooper isn't very nice. He was jelly. Rope play. Lil sneak peek at the end.

Masterlist

Cooper doesn't see you until the next evening when you come loping down the stairwell with,who must be, John trailing behind you. The other ghoul is handsome for their standards, and Coop already feels a mild dislike for the man. You are talking animatedly, hands gesturing this way and that, and John is all ears, listening to the smoothskin with a tiny grin on his withered lips.

Jealousy immediately surrounds him, and Cooper gnashes his teeth when you pass him by without a word, not even noticing the bounty hunter sat near the entrance. You only had eyes for the other ghoul, and Coop was not a fan.

He watches the two of you for a while, noticing the way the Mayor of Goodneighbor keeps you close to his side, one hand usually pressed to the small of your back as you laugh at some joke he spits. Cooper glares at the Ghoul dressed in red. He needed to get you away from the other man.

Cooper stands up and lopes to the bar, ordering a beer, and it's only then that you notice your traveling companion.

"Oh, Coop! This is John, I've been telling him about our adventures, " you say excitedly, and Coop grunts, gold gaze intentionally uninterested. It stings when he watches the excitement fade, and your lips turn down in a soft frown, but he isn't very happy with you at the moment.

He catches your eyes, mouth pulled into a sneer, "That's not what I heard last night."

You look at him in shock, and Coop feels even more like a dick, but it's not like he can take the words back. The mayor narrows his black eyes, and the hand on your waist tightens.

"Woah now, no need for that. We're all friends here," John drawls and gets a withering glare in return. He's about to pop off with something else when the smoothskin speaks up.

"It's okay, John. Cooper and I should probably talk anyway."

You had thought a lot about what happened last night and realized that if Cooper didn't want you like you wanted him, then you would apologize for the constant jabbering you had put him through. John gives your waist a gentle squeeze as you stand up.

"Alright, Sunshine. Don't leave me hangin'."

You grace Hancock with a kind smile and then slip out of your stool. Cooper leaves his beer behind as he follows you back up the stairs of the Third Rail and over to Hotel Rexford. Once inside the bounty hunter's room, you wring your hands in front of you as you stand before him.

"I'm sorry for bothering you so much about the - uhum- sex stuff. I won't do it anymore."

Cooper watches you, face impassive as you apologize, even though it should be him instead. He says nothing, and you stare at him with growing nerves and wonder why he wasn't saying anything. You laugh, the sound high pitched and wrong.

"Anyway~ I just wanted to say sorry, so I'll leave you alone now. We, uhm, we don't even have to travel together anymore if you don't wanna."

The ghoul finally reacts, and it's not in the way you expect. Cooper grabs you by the arm and spins you around, turning you towards the bed and shoving your face first against the mattress. He slots himself behind you, kicking your legs open and leaning over you to snarl in your ear.

"I don't want your fuckin' apologies, girl," He spits, tone dripping in jealous arousal, "I want you to scream my name like you did his last night."

Your breath comes in quick pants, and you angle your face up to peek at Cooper. The ghoul looks furious with arousal, and you can feel the hard length of his cock pressed between against the cheeks of your ass. A bolt of pleasure zings up your spine, but you can't help the sting of resentment.

"You only want to fuck me cause you over heard John and I the other night. Why the change?" You demand, but Cooper doesn't answer you. Instead, the bounty hunter has grabbed both of your wrists, pulling them up to sit in the middle of your back as he ties them together with a length of rope pulled from his belt.

Cooper isn't about to admit to his jealousy the other night and instead tightens the rope around your wrists, hips pressing into the thickness of your thighs and ass.

"You want me to fuck you or not, sweet thing?" He demands and slips a hand between your legs, pads of his fingers rubbing harshly against your clothed clit. You hiss, and dig your face into the mattress even as your body falls open for the ghoul as if it was made for him.

"Consent is important, sweetheart," Cooper snarls and flicks the button of your jeans open. His cock aches in his pants, and he wants to see you stuffed full of his cum. He wants to hear you say his name like that you had John's last night.

"Please fuck me, Coop," you plead, broken as easily as a two hundred year old light bulb. You've wanted your traveling companion for too long to be stubborn about it. You wiggle your hips to try and get your pants off quicker, desperate for him.

Cooper laughs and curls his fingers under the waistband, then jerks them down to bunch up around your boots. He pulls his belt open and hisses when his cock meets the humid air of the hotel room. He strokes his dick, squeezing at the base as he smooths up. Cooper leans forward and rubs the head of his cocks across your wet folds, and you push back.

"I should make you wait. Make you beg for it after goin' to someone else like you did," Cooper snarls hotly, and presses forward, just enough to split you.

"What was his cock like, sweetheart? I can promise mine will be fuckin' better."

Your eyes roll up and back into your head when the ghoul suddenly slams home. You huff and puff, hands flexing and wrist chaffing from the rope around your wrist. His pace is brutal, and his length drags along the fluttering walls of your pussy.

Cooper snarls behind you, hands digging into the meat of your hips as he pulls you back into his thrusts. You are tight, vice like and fucking perfect. The sounds the two of you make are sloppy, and your cheek heat up at the thought of someone else over hearing the two of you.

Behind the door, Hancock listens to the other ghoul fuck you until he has you howling his name, the sounds of sex loud and obscene as Cooper fills you up and keeps going until he's hard again, teeth bared as you whine and slobber into the sheet. John finds himself envious, but he isn't sure who of.

The major leaves with a smirk and a pep in his step. There would be other opportunities to speak with the bounty hunter.

[ask-ifrit-ghoul]

Have you got time to chat about something?

@ask-ivy-ghoul

Yeah! The little ones are on a little adventure right now.

[robbie-wallis]

I need to vent about Watcher, endure it if you can

Relax, this isn't a parasocial thing, but it is a long ass post, which suits me as a long ass human.

I need an outlet to discuss the terrible business decision Watcher has made by announcing their plan to leave YouTube, and this long-forgotten Tumblr account reached from its grave to grab at my ankle.

If you didn't see their video, good for you. It's extremely cringe-worthy in its sentimentality and editing, with blurry shots, pensive pauses and obligatory sad piano.

But at least there's no f'ing Ukulele.

Although, I think we might get the Ukulele in a few months.

Even though anyone who reads this is probably familiar with what the "Ghoul Boys" have done, I feel as though I need to add a little history.

WATCHER HISTORY

You can skip this part if you've been obsessively following the shenanigans, this is for the noobs who were never a "shaniac" or a "boogara".

Shane Madej and Ryan Bergara used to work at Buzzfeed. They hosted the successful Buzzfeed Unsolved shows. In 2019 they followed in the footsteps of the Try Guys and Safia Nygaaard and left Buzzfeed to create their own YouTube channel named "Watcher".

They brought along Steven Lim, another Buzzfeed person who is most known for the "Worth It" series. This series followed Lim and his friend/s spending obscene amounts of money on obscenely overpriced and indulgent products.

Think of it as being similar to the $100 V's $10,000 Sidemen content, only without the self-awareness and British "bad lads" humor.

Notably, even the Sidemen seem to have cut back on those adventures, perhaps understanding how bad it looks when so many people are struggling to pay their essential bills.

Steven became the CEO of Watcher while Shane and Ryan continued to create and present for the new channel.

They were wildly successful by YouTube standards. At the time of their self-spanking on Friday they were close to achieving 3 million subscribers, in just 4 years, based on basically only 2 cornerstone shows. If Social Blade is still a reasonably trusted source in everything but estimating income, they were gaining thousands of new subscribers every week.

Their most successful shows were Ghost Files, Puppet History, Too Many Spirits and Mystery Files.

Ghost Files is the only one of these shows which requires heavy investment, travel, a large crew and impressive production costs. These videos are shot on-location and require a lot of work. The rest are basically Good Mythical Morning style, just the two hosts and their banter.

Aside from Ghost Files, their content could be created with 3 cameras, 2 lapel mics and a good editor.

They were massively successful, solely because of Ryan and Shane.

THE DEMISE

So, what did they do on Friday 19th April? They decided to announce the launch of their own subscription platform.

Not a Patreon for extra content, behind-the-scenes, audience interaction etc, (they already had a Patreon with 6,000 paying subscribers earning them at least $50k a month), but a bespoke streaming platform which looks like a clone of Netflix.

The cost is $5.99 a month, or $60 a year.

Comparable to Netflix.

And by that I mean the price is comparable to Netflix while the content is comparable to a 4 year old YouTube channel.

Don't get me wrong, their production quality is incredible. The quantity, however, is not.

From the end of May viewers will have to pay to be a subscriber on their own platform in order to watch their shows.

They'll still be posting their trailers on YouTube, and the first episodes of new shows, but to watch it all you'll have to pay up or miss out.

Edited to add: Variety originally reported the Watcher crew were planning to remove all their existing content from YouTube to monetize it on their own platform. It's since been confirmed they will not be removing their old content. Fans are undecided whether this was a back-track after the announcement or a misunderstanding by Variety. You be the judge.

Of course, they're entitled to do this. They are creating a product and you can either enjoy it or not. No one is entitled to see it, for free, whenever they like.

Why did they do this?

Half of the sombre video gushes about their "humble beginnings" as "struggling young guys in a big harsh world", which comes across as extremely self-indulgent and ego-stroking.

A quarter of it explains how insanely successful they've been on YouTube and how this is all thanks to the fans who stuck with them after Buzzfeed, how it's allowed them to hire 25 people, how it's given them the freedom to create what they enjoy making and what the viewers want to see, and - most importantly - how it's allowed them to increase production quality on Ghost Files.

The final quarter of the video explains that this isn't good enough, the quality isn't high enough, the finish not glossy enough, it's not "TV caliber" enough! They want more, they need more, you have to give them more, mostly (apparently) because their CEO Steven Lim wants to bring back his show where he flies around the world with his bestie sipping Champagne and eating gold-leaf-covered lobster.

In short, they want more money to make even bigger things, even though their audience never asked for that.

WHY IT WILL NOT WORK

Oh my goodness, this is going to be a ride so strap in.

I'm not a YouTube creator so there are a lot of things I do not know. Having said that, I know a little about business.

This ain't Buzzfeed, y'all

Watcher became successful because of Ryan and Shane. It was their friendship, their personalities, and the content we loved to watch featuring them at Buzzfeed, that brought us along for the ride.

The audience they poached from Buzzfeed is there for them and Ghost Files. It's not there for Steven Lim and "Worth It". His show worked under the Buzzfeed umbrella only because they had numerous sub-categories in that community to support it.

The Try Guys left and created their own channel from their Buzzfeed fans.

Safia Nygaard left and created her own channel from her Buzzfeed fans.

Shane and Ryan left and created Watcher from their Buzzfeed fans.

Steven Lim left and became the CEO of Watcher. He didn't take his audience with him.

The audience of Watcher is not the audience of "watch me fly around the word with my pal and spend $100K on hand-reared, Whiskey marinaded, diamond-encrusted Kobe steak".

And... IN THIS ECONOMY?

Steven chose to become a CEO instead of a presenter. He's missed the opportunity to take that Buzzfeed audience with him.

This is made clear by the Watcher channel itself. Their "man eats food" content rarely breaks 500K views while their Ghost Files breaks 2 million consistently.

If a million of their viewers followed them from Buzzfeed to Watcher, the other 2 million have joined them since, based almost entirely on their spoopy content.

Not only did they base their channel on this genre and format, they have distilled their audience further ever since the creation of their channel and no matter how hard they try to diversify into "man eats food" it's just not working.

This ain't Netflix, y'all

As mentioned, the $5.99 charge is comparable to Netflix and just about every other streaming platform. Only Watcher can't give you even 5% of what a competing platform can offer for that price.

Other platforms also tailor their content and their pricing based on geographical location and localized economics.

You're paying far less than $5.99 a month if you live in an economy where the median household income is $300 a month. YouTube has a global audience. Their subscribers don't all live in a stable economy where $5.99 is considered disposable income.

We don't know the numbers, but I would guess only 60% of their subscribers are based in the USA, Canada, and the UK.

Even for those who do live in a stable economy, their audience is predominantly young adults and students. Most young adults are currently facing the reality that they will possibly never own their own home, they're living day-to-day trying to budget.

They've instantly priced-out a large % of their audience.

I confidently predict that diehard fans who can't see anything wrong with this will sign up for $5.99 a month, binge watch for a couple of weeks, realize there's no new spoopy content and cancel.

They'll come back when a full season of Ghost Files has arrived, pay again, binge it and leave.

Steven Lim thinks they're gonna get $5.99 a month, every month, from thousands of subscribers. In reality they're going to get maybe $12 a year, from people signing up to binge watch what they want, then leaving.

This will then decline naturally as attention wanes during the months where there is no spoopy.

This ain't good marketing, y'all

They're going to be posting "trailers and season pilots" on YouTube.

Sure, I bet YouTube is gonna be totes okay with a channel doing nothing but trying to hijack traffic for an external site.

Posting nothing but trailers and season premiers will mean maybe one full video per month during busy seasons. That's not enough to remain relevant for the algorithm.

If 80% of those posts are also just trailers saying "leave YouTube and come here", the channel will be smacked down quicker than a crypto scam using an AI generated Elongated Muskrat.

Their channel was growing steadily, but that was with full content regularly posted. When the schedule drops off, and when most of it is considered spammy by YouTube, it's going to collapse like a flan in a cupboard.

A streaming platform needs a constant flow of new subscribers just to replace the gradual drop-off (maybe ask Rooster Teeth about that). When your global audience at YouTube is gone, where are those new subscribers coming from?

The platform is also an additional overhead. It's going to cost thousands a month to keep the servers going.

This ain't good financial management, y'all

I don't know if they've already spent hundreds of thousands of $s on Lim's "men eat food" gamble, but I suspect they have.

I know they have spent hundreds of thousands of $s on a new season of Ghost Files, flying to the UK to host live events while filming those episodes.

This means they've over-extended their finances just at the moment where they've cratered their opportunities to see a return on investment.

Just that, on its own, is enough to destroy a production company.

They do not need 25 employees any more than I need an editor and proof-reader for this long ass post.

They do not need a production studio in Hollywood any more than I needed an office to write this.

They do not need to spend tens of thousands of $s on glossy graphics that appear on screen for maybe 4 seconds in one episode any more than I needed to add screengrabs to this painfully long essay.

By leaving YouTube they've lost:

Adsense revenue (which might not be much on a per-video basis but adds up with a back catalogue over years of productions)

Sponsorship deals, which allegedly contributes almost 50% of their annual revenue.

Merch sales, which is about to crash if the only people they can promote merch to are already paying per month in their smaller ecosystem.

Patreon. Why would someone pay $5.99 twice, for the same or less content?

And they've abandoned all of this for maybe a few thousand people who will probably end up paying just $12 a year when a new spoopy season arrives for them to binge.

I'm no Will Hunting, but no matter how hard I try to make the numbers work they just don't, and I don't need Robin Williams to tell me it's not my fault.

This ain't nice, y'all

Some of you are feeling like Ned's wife right now, and some of you will have no idea what that's in reference to.

Most of you will hate that I made that reference more than you hated the SNL skit.

I get it.

Maybe the worst part about all of his, from a viewer's perspective, is the dismissive nature of their sign-off.

They didn't mention the Patreon members once, not one single time in the whole video. It's like they consider the Patreon "too YouTube". They're the deformed cousin locked in the attic. They're the relative who wasn't invited to the wedding because they can't afford a Tom Ford suit. They're the colleague who isn't invited to the staff night out because they only work in accounting and no one has anything in common with Janice anyway.

These are diehard fans who were actually paying them extra to support them and enjoy a little bonus behind the scenes, and the boys didn't even consider them worthy of an utterance.

They also finished with "If you don't follow us and pay up it's been real, peace out". I'm paraphrasing, but that's basically what it was.

They spent so much of the video saying how awesome and great it was that the fans and YouTube got them to this point, but they didn't thank their Patreon members, and they ended with a blunt suggestion that if you don't follow them and pay more then you're not a real fan anyway and they don't really need you.

"Thanks for getting us here, sucks to be you, bye now!"

You made them wealthy, you helped them hire 25 people, you helped them increase production value to "TV caliber" even though you didn't ask for that, but your job is done and now you're superfluous. Only the real fans are wanted.

In the words of the great George Carlin - "It's a big club, and you ain't in it".

They're okay losing the vast majority of the people who got them here if a few thousand of those are comfortable enough to be able to pay $60 a year for a YouTube channel.

Can it get worse? Sure!

We've had a weekend to enjoy the constant heat of this bonfire and it's predictably worsened with each hour of silence from the company and its employees.

The fact that they haven't back-tracked, despite almost unanimous agreement that this is badder than the baddest thing that could happen to their company, suggests they're okay with it.

Consensus seems to be that they knew it would be this bad, and they're cool. They predicted 90% of people would scream "Boo to you good sirs! Boo indeed!" and they could still survive on the 10% who don't see a problem here.

The lack of response reinforces the narrative that they're totally fine with discarding almost their entire audience if they can just squeeze the cash they need out of whoever is left.

This ain't fixable, y'all (maybe)

Note: I don't want this to be mean, but it's going to sound a little bitchy no matter how I try to say it.

If they'd brought out the Ukulele on Saturday, or even teased Ukulele's on their socials before putting out a video on Sunday, they probably could have survived this with much hand-wringing and a little groveling.

But now I think they've grilled this Kobe steak for far too long.

They've lost 100K subscribers, and counting. The venom among Patreon members is allegedly worse than the public comments section under the video, which is startling. Dozens of YouTubers are torching them harder than a $100 crème brûlée.

People are scraping their channel content in case it's nuked.

Shane "eat the rich" Madej's sentiments over the last few years look disingenuous, to say the least. To shamelessly steal someone else's comment: "Imagine being all 'eat the rich' right before throwing yourself on the plate". He's silent while his McMansion burns down, at his own hands. "Why not!?" indeed.

Steven "I drive a Tesla" Lim's socials now make him look like a tech-bro try-hard and his use of words like "early adopter" and "soft launch" in the video only compound the belief that this was all his brainchild. He is the CEO, and that comes with responsibility and the associated blame. You can't steer the ship into the Bermuda Triangle and then disappear without looking like the bad guy.

Okay, you can disappear, but that convoluted metaphor is a mystery for someone else to solve.

Ryan "TV caliber" Bergara now sounds like an elitist who thinks YouTube is "too pedestrian" for his big plans, not big enough to meet his artistic vision. You see, he's more James Cameron, while YouTube is more like your student film club. He's grown beyond this pesky platform with billions of daily hits offering exponential growth with almost zero financial risk.

Even if they released a video today admitting they messed up big time it's still going to be hard to get the taste of this Ghost Pepper Warhead out of the collective mouth of their viewers.

This hasn't just burned their shared brand, it's singed their individual reputations among an audience upon which their careers rely.

What they should have done, on Saturday, is release a video (Ukulele or no) confessing their error. They should have announced their new platform will instead just be a bigger and better Patreon, with early access to everything, behind-the-scenes content, extra features, audience interaction etc.

They should have reversed to make clear their YouTube channel will stay the priority, their main source of revenue, but that you could get more on their own platform if you want it.

And, maybe, over time, people will pay for that. If they grow their channel to 6 million subscribers in the next 4 years there will be a couple hundred thousand of them willing and able to pay $5.99 a month for 8 years of shows, 8 years of behind the scenes content, 8 years of community involvement and regular early access to new episodes.

Maybe then they could try out their "privileged guys eat expensive food in expensive places" show and see how it does? Maybe a majority of people won't be living on the cusp of poverty by then and it won't look as tone-deaf as a 13 year old YouTuber trying to cover Jeff Buckley's "Hallelujah"? Maybe then they could hire another 50 people and make Bergara's "TV caliber" (I still don't know exactly what that means) game shows and reboots?

The clock has been ticking since they hit that "publish" button on their career ending video, but that clock is about to count down to zero and silence will permeate throughout their previously lively community.

That 1980s basement set needed someone crying in the corner, right?

The problem is, their own platform is not a terrible idea. Really, it's not the worst thing they could do. The badness came in the timing, the switch, the middle finger and the f you. They could have released this as an extra, their own Patreon alternative, waited, developed it over time into something sustainable and established.

They could still try to do that and hope this dark chapter is forgotten.

Maybe I'm wrong? Maybe Lim is a financial genius with more skill than the management of Rooster Teeth and their corporate parent company combined? Maybe this gamble will be wildly successful despite all streaming services down-sizing or just going bankrupt? Maybe they won't be back on YouTube in 3-6 months begging for views after having to lay off 20 of their employees?

I know this... if I were one of those 25 employees blind faith would not be enough to stop me from looking for another job.

I suppose this will, for now, remain... a mystery.

EDIT:

I'm not writing another essay about this, but I'm glad to see they've backtracked and made the right choice to use WatcherTV as any sane creator would - to host early access and exclusive content in addition to their YouTube channel.

Over time, while promoting it in every video, building up that trust and fan base, it can be a secure and long-term financial bonus helping them to expand their business incrementally as finances allow.

Why this wasn't the plan all along is anyone's guess. Gambling everything on this was never the sane decision.

I still think they need to scale back on costs. I still think the food content is not currently a viable source of income while being a serious drain on resources. I still think they need to stop hiring all their friends and they need to hire one person who doesn't have personal relationships with everyone there and can make the tough business decisions.

No one likes firing people, it's ten times worse when it's a friend. But this is a reality of business and just wishing it wasn't so isn't going to make it go away. It would be awesome if we could all run a business where we can hire all our friends and family, never have to rely on any outside funding, make whatever we want, make a great living in one of the most expensive cities in the world and continue to grow.

That's just not the reality.

Their apology was genuine, in my opinion. I just hope they can work out the right financial balance.

[littleghoulghost]

You know how some women/people find dads that are good with kids attractive? Did Mountain receive any attention from siblings of sin, or ghouls or ghoulettes since he’s the main caretaker of little ghoul? How would he react if he got that kind of attention? How would LG react to that? Love your writing btw!! It’s brilliant!💜

I may retcon a little of this later on, but for now this is up to date in my little AU. Also, thank you for the compliment! I enjoy writing this for everyone and improving in my storytelling abilities.

Masterlist

Jealousy

Oh god yeah. Mountain was extremely confused, and Little Ghoul was hissing and spitting like a feral cat. Honestly the attention he received was from the Siblings. The ghouls and ghoulettes are platonic, so any attention the ladies give him isn't like that.

But the Siblings kinda take it as a challenge. The more... selfish... Siblings take it as a challenge of 'who can steal his attention away from the kid.' The answer to that is none of them. There was one Sibling who got close enough to stick around for about a week before Mountain caught on to what was happening. It ended with the Sibling being essentially blacklisted by the pack, that specific person would not be considered by any pack members as a potential partner.

This has also happened with Swiss. It didn't so much culminate in a blacklisting of anyone, but it did end in Swiss taking himself off the market to prevent conflict and/or injuries. He came into the Ghoul den with a Sibling with the intent of taking them to his room, only for Little Ghoul to throw such a tantrum he walked the Sibling right back out the door. When he turned back to deal with LG she actually bit him, flaming mouth and all.

This is important to note because I'm kinda starting to headcanon that Ghouls mark their intended mate in some way using their element. Not in the ABO scent way, but just as a physical deterrent to other Ghouls seeking mates.

When Swiss reached for her she actually bit his hand and burned him pretty good. This was kind of the moment he realized she must have imprinted on him.

[bountydroid]

Darlin' pt 9

pt 1 / pt 2 / pt 3 / pt 4 / pt 5 / pt 6 / pt 7(SMUT) / pt 8 / pt 10 (SMUT)

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x f!reader

Description: Cooper gets vulnerable as they head to Moldaver.

TW: Angsty

Notes: Sorry this is a little shorter, I wanted to get something out for you guys since it has been so long. I appreciate your patience. Darlin' will end at the end of the TV series. So probably 1-3 more parts I haven't decided yet.

Sweat dripped down my face as my brows creased together. The very limited charm of the Wastelands has completely left, leaving me sweaty, angry, and very very tired. Cooper and I haven't said a word to each other since we left Sorrel behind. I know that he knows that I want answers, that I am upset, that I am scared. Instead of explaining himself, however, he stayed silent. This only increased my worries. My thoughts and fears ran rampant in my brain as I thought of every possibility. This woman, she meant something to him. I hoped that she was maybe a family member or a close friend. I knew it was likely false hope, but the thought of everything between me and Cooper was a lie? That he was leading me to a lover? I couldn't handle that thought, it was eating me alive. 

"Should be a couple o' days more walkin' darlin'. You think your little legs can handle that?" He jested, trying to improve the gloomy mood that hung over us. 

"Okay," I whispered back, I didn't know if he even heard me as I kept my eyes trained on my feet. I watched the sand move around my shoes like it was the most interesting thing in the world. Anything to keep my mind off of her. I could feel his eyes on me as he looked behind him, taking in my defeated form.

"It ain't what ya think." He says as he stops walking, finally addressing the issue. "It ain't like that."

"Whatever you say," I mumbled again as I brushed past him. I could feel his hand wrap around my wrist as he tugged me backward against his chest. 

"Listen to me damn it." He said angrily as he held me tight against him. I could feel myself starting to shake. I've been fighting the tears this whole time, but his raised voice finally broke the dam causing a broken sob to leave my mouth. 

"Don't yell at me." I cried out, frustrated at his reaction. I wanted him to kiss me, to coo at me, to hold me tight, but that wasn't the kind of man he was. He was just as broken as I was, and the years of wandering the Wastelands on his own left him an angry old man. 

"There ain't nothing worth cryin' about." He said as he spun me around to face him, "So stop it. Now." 

"Oh, am I inconveniencin’ you?" Venom slipped out of my mouth as I finally met his eyes, "Better leave me here then and just go after her."

He sighed, clearly annoyed as he pinched the leathery skin between his eyes. "You can be so damn stubborn." He mumbled. After he said that I let out an annoyed huff before turning back around with every intention of storming off, but before I could, he grabbed my arm again. "Stop it."

"Who is she then? When did our little adventure go from hunting bounties to hunting her?" I rambled angrily, not being able to keep the questions in any longer. "And when were you gonna tell me you are 200 years old? When did you meet her? You've been in the ground a long time, is she 200 years old? Is she your wife-"

"She's not my wife." He interrupted as he pinched my lips together to silence me. There was a moment of silence before he let my face go. Instead of continuing to berate him, I opted to stay quiet and rub my sore lips. "I ain't used to having someone I gotta explain myself to." He continued.

"You make it sound like such a chore." I scoffed out.

"Just listen to me, damn it. She's not my wife. She's not a lover. So, settle down." He huffed angrily. 

I silently stared up at him waiting for him to continue, to explain the pieces I was missing, however as time went on it became clear he wasn’t going to say anything else. My face changed from anger to disbelief as he stared down at me with his signature stony expression. I wanted to scream at him. To yell in his face. To berate him for keeping me in the dark. Instead, I just turned around quietly and started walking in the direction we were going earlier before shooting back at him with an aloof tone. “Whatever you say.”

I heard him scoff behind me, but this time he didn’t stop me from walking away. Instead, he chose to yell after me. “Does my age bother you? Me bein’ a ghoul is fine but an old ghoul? That's too gross for you?”

I stopped dead in my tracks before I whipped around to face him again. The look of disbelief still graced my face. “Of course that doesn’t bother me, Cooper. I can’t believe you would think that.” I could feel the tears returning to my eyes as we stood there staring at each other. “It’s the secrets that bother me. I told you everything about myself, but all you’ve told me is you had a wife and a daughter at some point. I’ve given you everything-“

“I know. I know darlin’.” He interrupted me as he walked up towards me. His scarred hands quickly found my cheeks as he cupped my face gently. The annoyed look he’d worn on his face this entire argument was gone, instead replaced with a look of sadness. “You deserve better than me.”

“Don’t.” I responded quickly, “Don’t do that. I am not gonna let you push me away Coop.” 

He gave me a sad smile before dropping his hands from my face, “Guess I am stuck with you then?”

I let out a surprised laugh as I grabbed ahold of his hands. “Yea. So you better start treatin’ me right.” I teased. 

His sad smile was exchanged for a happier one as he looked down at our joined hands. “How about we keep goin’ and find a place to stay for the night?”

I nodded my head quietly as I gave him a small peck on the lips before turning around, and dragging him close behind me. He scoffed and shook his head in disbelief, he had no idea what he had done to deserve love. He was a cold, hard man who thought he'd live the rest of his life alone and he had been fine with that. 

-

My mouth hung open in shock as we sat around the fire. Cooper explained everything, the vaults, the experiments, and his wife's role in everything. We took little breaks here and there, as it was clear this was hard on Coop. He hadn't told anyone about these things even before the bombs dropped. If he was a softer man, he would've cried. I sat still and listened carefully while casually rubbing his back with reassurance. I was happy that he felt comfortable enough to be vulnerable with me.

"And Moldaver, well she was the woman who helped me realize the truth about my wife. Now that I know she is alive, I am hopin' she knows where my daughter is." He explained quietly, a look of defeat on his face. 

"Do ya think she's still alive?" I asked tentatively. 

"If Moldaver is, I don't see why not." He responded. 

I nodded my head quietly as I tried my best to take in all of this information. This was beyond me, and we both knew it. 

"Well, I'll help you find her," I said giving him a small smile.

He scoffed as he he frowned. "You don't have to, it'll be dangerous darlin'."

"I know." I said reassuringly, "But we are a team now." I kissed him on the cheek softly, my lips lingering on his face. "You are stuck with my Cooper Howard."

Tag list: @bruhidkjustwannaread @msrawog @valdemarismynonbinarylove @whizbang-cap @topiramateagreeable 

@sitkafay @lightan117 @eykismyfav @ajeff855 @madelinealexandra

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@sarahmclean15

[whereserpentswalk]

You're an adventurer. You've done some things in the name of good, you consider yourself a good person. You're a good person. But you're worried, worried you're going to be hurt, worried you can't save everyone. You're just a small human with a sword and armor, and you're going up agasint wyverns, and ghouls and vampires and the like. Because of this, a demon comes to you to talk.

The demon says he can help. He knows you know he's evil. But he's far from the worst evil in the mulitverse. If you had to choose between him and a tyrant dragon, or between him and an evil lich, you'd choose him every single time. He tells you he can give you the power to stop these things, if you just pledge yourself to him, you won't have to do much, just let him help you.

And for awhile you have his power. You fight with a firey sword and eldrich armor. With him, you save people you could never save before, and slain evils you never could have. There are some sacrifices, he tells you to do things, small inconsequential things, little rituals that don't mean much to you. This is fine, it's normal, adventurers have done this before.

As time goes on your demon tells you there are certain people who you can't fight, they're his freinds, and you consider that pretty ok. They can't be that bad if he works with you. This is normal and ok. Your skin is turning pale, and your eyes are changing color, but that's normal and excusable, you just tell people your family if further north then they're really from and they think you've always been like this.

You start to have freinds who stay away from you, they say your going down the wrong path. But they're the real evil ones, you need this power to do good, they're basically telling you that you shouldn't be doing good. You know your demon is evil, you're just making a sacrifice for the greater good. You're dressing more like someone who follows him now, but it's good quality armor and clothing so you don't mind. Sometimes there are people who he tells you that you can't save or can't help, you feel bad about it, really bad, but you tell yourself that there's no saving them anyway, the alternative would be not having the power to save them. This is normal and ok.

Eventually he starts telling you that you need to kill things for him. You assume they're people who need to he killed, and don't think about it often. This demon may be a demon but he's done so much good for you, his enemies can't be good people. He takes you to his realm a lot to show you off, to show how good you've been, you honestly feel kind of proud. You're too pale to pass as human now, and your eyes are a deep red, even your teeth are getting sharper, you just say your from an uncommon race when people ask. None of your old freinds talk to you. You know you have to be doing good, if this were wrong there would be a lot of evil you'd have to face in yourself.

You've relocated to the demon's plane now to live with him. He sends you out to other realms to kill people for him, you don't have time to ask who they are, he even let's you consume the blood of the people who you kill, it makes you feel good when you do. When you're not wearing the armor gives you, he just has you wear a loincloth and jewels. He pets your head sometimes and it feels good, and he shows you off to the other demons and you feel nice and pretty. He'll carve little symbols into your white skin, and has you wear a little color for him, this is normal, you're happy to serve him. He does what he wants with your body, but you feel ok about it, you don't have to worry about moral choices anymore, your demon always tells you what's the right decision, and all you have to do is go along with it.

[dyns33]

Only wastelands part 2

Here's part 2 of my Cooper Howard x Reader ! I think it will be a story in 4 parts at the end, but I'm not sure yet.

Tags : @one-of-thewalkingdead @coolrobloxkid28 @thebumbqueen @rachmari @ilyvia @justme12200 @honeybunhottie @savanahc @gobbodoggo @bisasterbisexual @killingboredom @bonafideyapper @i-simp-for-mha-men @pixelatedprofilepic @ultimatreality @chattersstuff @harmfulb1tch @hellolettuce444 @miketastic25

If Y/N had to pay Cooper one compliment, it was that he had been a very good teacher.

Months passed, years, and she survived the apocalypse perfectly on her own.

To avoid trouble, she hid her pitboy and her gender under a large coat and a Ranger mask. Some people made fun of her, thinking she was doing this to protect herself from radiation. Everyone knew that West Tek's hardware, or any of Vault's partners, was crap.

Y/N knew it, and that was why she always had Radaway on her. Not at all in case she saw Cooper again and he needed some.

Three years without any news, doing everything to avoid attracting attention, and she hardly thought about him at all.

If she sometimes looked at the photo of him before his turning, with little Janey, it was only to remember that she should trust no one in this rotten world. Never again, she repeated to herself.

It was with this spirit that she almost killed Lucy when the young woman fell on her. Literally.

Y/N was standing in a crater, calm, silent, holding her sniper tightly, ready to shoot her future dinner, when the little vaultie had jumped to escape a yao guai.

Her instinct not being often wrong, she knew that it was more urgent to kill the bear than the imbecile who had thought that surprising a shooter was less dangerous than confronting a beast.

Even though she had a gun, was covered in blood, and one of her fingers was a different color, little Vault dweler looked harmless with her big, naive doe eyes.

It was obvious that she had been outside for a short time. A true miracle that she is still alive.

"Thank you, thank you very much !" she repeated with a huge smile, as if Y/N wasn't pointing her sniper at her. "You don't know the week I just had ! My father was kidnapped, I wanted to save him, but I discovered that he was a murderer who had bombed a city, and all the people I met tried to kill me, and…"

"Hey. I don't remember asking you to tell me about your life, vaultie."

"Oh, sorry ! It's just that I got lost. I was with someone heading to a place called New Vegas, but a big monster pulled him into a hole, then this thing attacked me. You seem nice, and I could use some help…"

"No."

“Wait. But wait !” the girl begged, following her as she went to carve the yao guai. Not the best meat, but she had just wasted five bullets for that, and the noise had either scared away the easy preys or attracted the attention of the dangerous ones.

Y/N vacillated between ignoring Lucy and threatening her, asking her to leave, but after exchanging names, the vaultie seemed to have decided that they were now best friends and should stay together.

No doubt taking her savior's silence as an invitation, she continued to talk about what had happened to her, between her meeting with a man named Maximus, and the inhumane treatment she had suffered at the hands of a mercenary.

Completely incoherent, she ended her story by explaining that she had abandoned her potential boyfriend to go on an adventure next to the guy who tortured her, with the aim of finding her dad and discovering who had destroyed the entire planet.

It was quite funny, because Lucy reminded her a bit of herself before. Y/N wondered if Cooper had seen her like that when they met, a lost and stupid thing.

At the same time, the girl's reasons for living were the same as the Ghoul. Find a family member and take revenge on Vault. Amusing. Maybe they would be very happy together.

If we forgot the fact that Lucy thought that no one should be killed, that everyone was nice, and mutual help was a fundamental notion, to start again. Ugh.

"So, some free advice, if you want to avoid having your tongue cut out, remember that it is not a good idea for a little vaultie who grew up in a palace to give big moral lessons to people who have been doing what they can to avoid dying for years, sometimes centuries."

"Why do you call me that ? You come from a vault too, right ? My pitboy picked up yours."

"Hang on. I am a victim of the cruelty of politicians and businessmen, betrayed by my own country and only alive by luck, or bad luck. You are a little vaultie. Now get away before I strangle you."

Lucy continued to follow her. And Y/N could have killed her, she really could have. This wasn't her first rodeo. She had killed a lot of people for less than that. But she didn't really want to.

Maybe she had been alone for too long. Maybe she felt sorry for this girl, like Cooper had felt sorry for her.

A deal was found. If Lucy could keep her mouth shut, then Y/N would help her find her friends so she could resume her main quest. Their paths would then part ways, and everyone would be happy.

Especially Y/N.

Because if she often talked about her dear Max, the little vaultie didn't seem so eager to find her survival partner. This was understandable, since he had tried to kill her several times, shooting her, cutting off her finger, using her as bait, and selling her.

Compared to this guy, Y/N was a saint, an angel from heaven, the perfect friend. When she offered the girl a bottle of non-irradiated water, she seemed about to ask her to marry her.

“You must be the only person in all the wastelands with good water !”

"It doesn't come cheap. But… I made a promise."

“My lovely traveling companion forced me to drink disgusting water and eat a man.”

"Charming."

Even though she seemed sweet and pure, Y/N continued to be wary of Lucy, sleeping with only one eye open and waiting for the moment when she would try to stab her in the back. First rule, don't trust anyone.

It had happened before. Never again.

Even after three years, the wound was still raw.

It was only when she saw the fear and regret in Lucy's eyes that Y/N restrained her action, yet ready to plant her blade the moment she had shown her the photo, taken out of her bag, asking her if it was her family.

Cooper hadn't been her family. He had been an asshole, who had manipulated her, who had made her believe that he loved her, and that she could love him, before abandoning her like a dog on the side of the road.

"Be careful with this Maximus. Men never change. He will take what he wants from you, and you will be hurt."

“He’s not like that.”

"I didn't think Coop was like that !" she shouted, really getting angry for the first time at Lucy, who jumped. "Yes, I loved him ! I trusted him ! It was stupid of me and I will never make that mistake again ! I hope he died in a hole, alone and in pain !"

"… Can I throw the photo away then ?"

“Give that back !” Y/N said quickly, snatching the only souvenir he had left from her hands and putting it safely in her pocket.

Lucy's sad smile indicated that she wouldn't have destroyed the photo. How sorry she was, for having gone through her things, and for having caused her pain by forcing her to talk about this man who had been so important. Also that she was happy, to see that despite her speeches, Y/N still cared for someone, even if she didn't want to.

She had never told anyone about it. It had been a long time since she had said his name, except when she woke up from a nightmare, in the middle of nowhere, calling for him like a child.

Lucy continued to smile, because for her, there must be another explanation for her precious Coop's behavior. She continued to call him Coop, even after Y/N threatened to make her eat her rotten finger.

"I know you don't like talking about him…"

“If you know that, shut up.” Y/N muttered as she continued walking towards New Vegas, trying to ignore the stream of words from the stupid vaultie, bingeing on romance novels and patriotic films.

"From the few things you agreed to share, Coop cared about you. He protected you, he taught you to defend yourself, he gave you a picture of his daughter. For me, this are proofs of love. Actions speak louder than words."

“He promised to come get me and I’m still waiting.”

"Wrong ! You left, you know how to hide perfectly, and you do everything to avoid him ! So, maybe he's been chasing you all this time and you don't know."

"What I do know is that the main clause of our deal was that you would stop talking so much, especially if it was to give such ridiculous and inappropriate advices."

They finally arrived at their destination after several weeks of walking. No sign of Lucy's friend on the way though. Perhaps he had died, or had not continued on his own.

It was clear that he wanted to use the daughter of vault 33 overseer to achieve his ends, and now that he had lost her, there was no point.

The city amazed the girl. It was the first real city she discovered, instead of those piles of ruins full of dust and vermin that were found in the four corners of the wastelands.

Her enthusiasm almost made Y/N laugh. A bit like how she had often made Cooper laugh without meaning to.

Damn, she needed to stop thinking about that bastard so often. Her mother was always saying that we manifest things through emotions and thoughts.

Her poor mother, long dead, but who had always been right.

As soon as her eyes landed on him, Y/N was crouched behind a wooden crate, watching Cooper Howard, fucking Cooper Howard, sitting near the casino, seemingly waiting for someone.

Seeing her, Lucy began to ask her what she was doing, her gaze following hers, and then the reaction was strange. Everything about this girl was strange anyway.

She started to smile.

Worse, she waved an arm at the Ghoul in greeting, opening her mouth to get his attention as she realized it wasn't enough, his cowboy hat falling over his face.

Y/N quickly grabbed her arm to pull her towards her, asking her what she was playing.

"It's the mean bounty hunter who accompanies me !" she replied happily, as if everything was normal.

For a moment, Y/N wondered if Lucy was making fun of her. If from the start, this was just a horrible joke against her, the continuation of a torture started in this seedy bar.

Then she told herself that if someone made fun of her, it was just fate.

Because she remembered that she had only described Cooper, continuing not to have any particular interest in his condition as a ghoul, and with her goodness as a jug, Lucy had not wanted to reduce him to his appearance either.

The difference was that he didn't give his name to his new pet.

“I knew you were an idiot, but not that much.”

"What ? Why ?" Lucy wondered, slightly offended and trying to free herself.

"You can't trust him. You already know that, why do you want to go back with him ? Look… I can help you find your father, okay ? Find Max. Whatever you want, but let's avoid this bastard and let's leave quickly."

"Golden rule. We said we would wait near the casino, he's there, I'm not leaving him."

With this serious look, the vault dweler would almost have looked frightening. Almost. It was mainly because it was obvious that it was impossible to reason with her that Y/N let her go, not waiting for her tirade about great friendship and the need to stay together to run as far as possible.

If Cooper noticed them, she didn't give him time to really see her, nor to catch up with her or shoot her.

Y/N didn’t turn around to check. Not because she was afraid of him chasing her. But because she was afraid that not only would he not pursue her, but she would also see him with Lucy.

Because even though he had tortured her, insulted her, threatened her… He was in front of the fucking casino waiting for this girl. And it really hurt.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Lost 4

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of loss, grieving, death, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: nomad!Steve Rogers

Summary: You move into a shared flat and encounter a mysterious man.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You don’t eat breakfast, not that you ever really do. You buy enough food to have dinner when you get home and that’s about it. As the clock ticks on, stretched longer by a sleepless night, you count down to the inevitable. You have to leave that room eventually.

You dress in the convenience store button up, an ugly shade of mustard and pin your nametag on. Not wanting to risk running into your housemates, you talk yourself down to quickly brushing your teeth and tidying up. You won’t shower.

You listen through the door but hear nothing. Not like the night before when you heard everything. When you heard too much.

You bring your little canvas pouch of toiletries and lock your door behind you, just in case. You look left then right, heading down towards the bathroom. You stop as you find the door closed. Shoot. You hesitate, struggling to make up your mind. You should just go back and wait in your room.

Too late. The door opens and you jump in your shoes. You stumble back into the wall, unable to hide your fright. S emerges, his blond hair slightly damp as he combs it back with his fingers. The scent of his soap wafts out with him, warm bergamot cutting through the dingy air of the aged house.

“Sorry,” he leaves the door open behind him as he steps out, “didn’t mean to scare ya.”

You nod and wave him off, mouthing ‘it’s fine’ but unable to summon your voice.

“It’s all yours. Hope you weren’t waiting too long,” he hugs tighter the folded towel in his arm, curled around a leather zip up bag.

You give an ‘mhm’ but his timbre just reminds you of the threats that slipped beneath your door the night before. In your head, the unseen menace was a slimy little ghoul, waiting to creep up on you. You look over your shoulder as S passes.

“He hasn’t bothered you again, has he?” He stops and turns back to you.

You shake your head.

“Good,” his chest rises as he glances towards the far end of the hallway, “Guy’s a freak. On parole…” he faces you again, “not to scare you but you should know.”

You lower your eyes and squeeze your pouch tight. You bite your lip and turn to the bathroom. As you approach the door, he shifts on his feet, the floorboards creaking beneath his weight. You stop but can’t bring yourself to look at him.

“Thank you,” you squeak.

He doesn’t answer right away. You linger in the silence before he musters his response, “no problem. Girl like you, can never be too safe.”

You don’t have a chance to reply. His door opens and shuts and you peek over to find him gone. You keep your hand on the door handle as his words cling in your mind. A girl like you…

Is it so obvious that you're alone? Vulnerable? Afraid?

If it is, maybe it’s better that you have someone like him watching over you.

🚪

You arrive for your shift and take over after balancing the till. It’s quiet and you don’t get much more than the usual pop-ins. An old woman takes up close to twenty minutes playing the scratch cards and a group of teens come in to buy energy drinks and ten cent candies. It makes you wish you only worried about wasting your money on unwinnable jackpots and unhealthy snacks.

You spend your downtime doing the crossword in the newspaper Aziz left behind. The pencil lead dulls with each letter you press into the newsprint. The door chimes again and you peek up as a greasy haired man looks around. His eyes scan the store and finally land on you.

You stand up straight and greet him in your small way. Your voice crackles beneath the drone of radio DJs as they discuss their weekend follies. The man nods and diverts to the magazine rack. You tap the pencil and go back to the puzzle, glancing up periodically as he browses the shelf.

When at last he retreats from his perusal, he approaches and lays down one of the magazines shrouded in black film. You try not to show your discomfort as you flip it over to scan the bar code, overly aware of its more adult contents. He doesn’t show an shame as he leans on the counter and breathes loudly through his nose.

“They all got fake tits these days,” he snivels, “I remember my dad’s rags they used to have the natural girls.”

You blanch and hit total, reading out the amount owing. He snickers and reaches into his pants’ pocket, feeling around a bit too long before dragging his hand out. He chuckles and reaches into his jacket instead, taking out his wallet. Ew.

The door chirps, signalling another customer. You don’t look over. The man across from you searches his wallet slowly, fluttering his fingers over the bills inside. His tongue flicks out like a lizard’s.

“Is cash or credit easier, sweetie?”

The pet name sends a chill through you as his tone tickles your memory. That’s the voice you heard last night. That sickly, simpering slither. You can’t help but take a step back, even with the shield of plexiglass between you.

The other customer appears behind the man and clears his throat, “pay and get out.”

You look past the greasy-haired man as S looms behind him. His fist closes and opens, as if he’s holding himself back. You gulp as the other man rolls his eyes.

“Mind your business, meathead,” he deliberately counts out the bills. “It’s the handsome ones that are mean…” he tuts, “nice guys like me, well, we’re hard to find.”

“She doesn’t care. She’s working,” S snarls.

“You don’t own the store, guy,” the other retorts, “you don’t scare me.”

“I don’t gotta scare you,” S steps closer.

The other man bares his teeth but shrinks, just a little. He throws down the money and shoves it through the slot. You gather it up. It feels almost as slimy as he looks. You reach your hand under with his change and he grabs your hand, closing it around the coins.

“You keep that, sweetie,” he squeezes, “pretty girl like you earned it.”

“Don’t touch her,” S grabs him from behind, wrenching him away. The suddenness has your front hitting the counter before the strange man lets you go. “Take your stuff,” S snatches up the magazine as he holds the man by his scruff, “and go.”

He throws him against the door before whipping the magazine at him. You watch helplessly. The smaller man, much smaller than S, catches the porn rag and tries to look fearsome against his accoster. It’s a pathetic attempt. He seems to realise as he slouches down and tucks tail, pushing out into the street with a grumble.

S shakes his head and turns back, marching to the counter. He puts his single protein shake on the other side of the glass. You swallow and put the change down shakily.

“Those are two for four, sir,” you say, “if you’re interested.”

He nods thoughtfully, his throat bobbing. “Thanks, uh, yeah, maybe I’ll grab another.”

He draws away and walks down the center aisle. He stands before the cooler, pulling open the door, before swiftly spinning on his heel and coming back. He places a strawberry shake next to the vanilla one. You scan both and the till applies the discount.

“Sorry, er, to cause a scene. I just… he shouldn’t be pestering you. Especially at work.”

“N-no, it’s… it’s fine. It’s… nice,” you stammer out as you accept his five dollar bill. “You don’t have to… do that.”

“It's not about 'have to',” he shrugs as you count out his change. He takes it, then the vanilla shake. He doesn’t touch the other one.

“Sir,” you point to the strawberry.

“You seem like the strawberry type,” he steps back on his heel, “it’s for you.”

“I… I can’t–”

“You didn’t eat breakfast. You should,” he insists.

“Sir, really–”

“I’ll leave it here,” he says, “in case you change your mind.” He nudges it closer to the glass, “make sure you give it a good shake. The flavour settles at the bottom.”

He turns away before you can argue. Again, he ends the conversation with his departure. As generous as he is, you get the idea he’s not into negotiating.