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The Return of Glen Canyon This piece was originally published in High Country News and appears here as part of our Climate Desk collaboration. There is the crumpling, the mess. A marina that once floated in a cove has been towed out of the shrinking lake and dropped in a field of Russian thistle, its metal pontoons partially sunk into dry, crack-crazed soil. Cooler doors stand open—the marina was once known for its ice cream—and conduits hang from ceilings, wires stripped. Any restoration might look like this at the start, might exude the strange ugliness of decay. Dangling Rope Marina, the size of a couple of convenience stores, once sold 1.5 million gallons of gas every year, powering the hundreds of boats that, on any given summer day, plied the watery pleasure garden of Lake Powell. Now, its outer doors hang half-open; the interpretive displays bleach in the sun. The official reason for its 2021 closure was “significant wind damage and low water conditions.” The cove it once occupied is disappearing, turning back into land as the lake levels fall. The depth of the surrounding bay has dropped from about 200 feet to 35 feet, and only one of the boat ramps is still operable. Lake Powell, like its downstream neighbor Lake Mead, stands at a quarter of its full capacity. An increasingly arid climate, high demand from thirsty agriculture, and the bad math embedded in the century-old compact that divides the Colorado River’s water have shrunk the two reservoirs to levels not seen since they were first filling. On Lake Powell’s new shoreline, old boat propellers lie in the dust along with scads of sunglasses. Red plastic drinking cups, some bearing names scrawled in Sharpie, have yellowed to the color of piano ivory. At its low point last year, Lake Powell’s surface was only 32 feet above operating levels for Glen Canyon Dam’s hydropower intakes, reducing the dam’s power output by half. If reservoir levels fall as dramatically this year as they did last year, the hydropower system—which supplies seven states—will fail. If the reservoir can no longer release adequate amounts of water from the upper reaches of the Colorado, downstream water rights could be rendered meaningless. Lake Powell, the second-largest reservoir in North America after Lake Mead, is on its way out. Water levels in the canyon system have fallen more or less steadily for two decades, and refilling it to full capacity, or even half capacity, appears to be off the table. The current policy of the U.S. Bureau of Reclamation, which manages both Powell and Mead, is to prop up Powell by taking water from smaller reservoirs upstream, reducing releases into the Grand Canyon and Mead, cutting back water use throughout the Colorado River Basin, and praying for a good snowpack. All this may succeed in maintaining Lake Powell at its current diminished level—if only for the time being. Faced with rubbish, disarray, and onrushing disaster, it would be easy to stop here, to throw in the towel—yet another artifact frequently found on Powell’s former beaches—and head home. Let’s keep going, though; as this story ends, another is emerging. I first visited Lake Powell in the 1970s, when I was in grade school and the new reservoir was still filling up. My dad and his friends rented a houseboat, and as they motored up the lake’s San Juan Arm—the drowned final stretch of the San Juan River—I sat on the bow with my bare feet dangling, my toes splitting the dreamlike panorama of reflected cliffs. I remember a landscape composed of three bold swaths, like a tricolor flag: the bright blue of the sky, the hard, voluptuous curves of the earth, and the unfathomable blue of the water. I had no idea why there was so much water here; I knew nothing of the dam downstream. When we anchored, I ran barefoot across naked sandstone, unaware that the rising waters would soon cover it. I was a Sonoran Desert boy from the Phoenix area, where my landmarks were tall cactus and snaggletooth mountains. Lake Powell showed me a sandstone desert shaped like soft-serve ice cream—the sensuous heart of the Colorado Plateau. One evening, as we made camp, thunderstorms roamed the desert, booming in the distance. Suddenly, the entire northern sky turned molten red. Sunset had already passed; the adults talked among themselves, wondering what had caused the sky to glow. A forest fire, perhaps? But there was no forest nearby to burn. Finally, they decided it had to be the northern lights, visible from unusually far south. The night bristled with a sense of mystery, smelling of far-off rain and buzzing with the grownups’ concern. Surrounded by water, bare stone, and a sky on fire, I felt as if I’d landed on an alien planet. Not until my 20s, when I began working as a river guide, did I learn about the reservoir’s ruinous backstory. The Colorado River Compact, signed in 1922, divvied up the river’s water between seven states, made only a glancing acknowledgment of tribal water rights, and left no water at all for the river itself. (The compact also seriously overestimated the river’s average flow, meaning that the river is usually left with less than nothing.) The agreement, which made it clear that the water was to be used for development above all else, laid the legal foundation for federal dam construction on the river. First came Hoover Dam, behind which Lake Mead began to rise in 1935; about three decades later, when Glen Canyon Dam was close to completion, Lake Powell started to inundate the sandstone labyrinth of Glen Canyon, the hydrologic and ecological core of the Colorado River system. Over the years that followed, 186 miles of river were swallowed by a lake. The late Katie Lee would have kicked me in the shins for calling Powell a lake. One night, at her dinner table in Jerome, Arizona, I told the fiery activist—in her 80s at the time—that I thought Lake Powell was beautiful. By the time I was born, it had already been filling for four years, and I had never known Glen Canyon. Katie brought out a dictionary and read the definition of “lake” to me. Powell, she said, is a reservoir, not a lake; it’s man-made, not natural. It’s a goddamned monstrosity. It’s a goddamned monstrosity. Earlier that day, she laid USGS maps from before the dam across her living room floor, matching up their edges so the river appeared to flow. The river was blue and thin and wound like a snake through dense brown contour lines. She traced its course with her finger and told me about sandbars in the sun and secluded grottos. She began to cry. At the dinner table, sitting with her partner, Joey, she said that if I thought the reservoir was beautiful, we couldn’t be friends. We managed to be friends anyway. Over the years, I invited her to visit the reservoir with me, to float on this paradoxical body of water and look down into its depths. I wanted her to point out the places where she had once rowed and scrambled, built driftwood fires, stood naked against warm sandstone. She told me to stop asking. For more than half a century, Katie Lee railed against what she called Lake Foul, calling for the dam to come down so that the river could flow again. By the time she passed away at 98, in 2017, she had inspired generations of activists to keep the memory of Glen Canyon alive. Under blue skies last October, I joined three others in a wooden dory fitted with a 4-horsepower electric motor. We put in at the last functioning boat ramp at Bullfrog Marina, not far from the dilapidated remains of Dangling Rope, and headed south, downstream. The dory, named Stella, is a sleek craft made for lakes and ocean travel, constructed in Flagstaff, Arizona, by master dory-builder Brad Dimock. My wife sat up front, holding the coiled bowline, and the dory’s owner, a mutual friend, ran the tiller in the stern. I sat in the middle on a heap of dry bags, ready to take the oars if we needed to maneuver through narrow side canyons. We moved south at 4 mph, about the speed of the Colorado before the dam impounded it, accompanied by the quiet buzz of the boat’s solar-powered motor. The bread-loaf cliffs of Navajo sandstone passed slowly enough for the buttes and arches to casually turn their faces, nothing hurried in their demeanor. We passed over the ghostly forms of rock steeples and buttes, green ogres rising from the depths. Within a year or two, they will likely touch the surface, and then keep rising. We drew Stella into the shade of an alcove and cut the motor, drifting into a natural stadium inundated nearly to its ceiling. When Katie Lee floated here 70 years ago, this yawning mouth in the canyon’s architecture sat 200 feet above the river. She would have looked up and marveled at the underside of this cupola, a dome the size of a baseball field set high against the sky, out of reach. Two years ago, this entire feature was underwater, invisible. Now, thanks to the recent, rapid drawdowns, the rock dome hung 20 feet above us, sparking with reflected light. Gentle waves gulped and echoed against the stadium’s back wall. In a decade or two, the dome may soar again. The green ogres we see below the surface may rise again and tower over our heads like gigantic statues. In the face of a water infrastructure calamity, what may become the largest restoration project on Earth is progressing with little assistance from us. Could I convince Katie Lee to come with me now, knowing what we would see? The lake is now as low as it was in 1967, four years after the reservoir began to fill. But I don’t think she would be impressed; to her, even the shrinking reservoir would look like a corpse. Remembering the beauty buried below, she might vomit over the side of the boat, cursing me for bringing her here. Every river that feeds the Colorado is a mud bath, and in the spring and after storms these tributaries turn a dense red, brown, or green. The Colorado itself carries tons of sand, silt, mud, rocks, and gravel, evidence of the geologic breakdown of the Rocky Mountains and everything around them. Since the 1960s, all of that sediment has been accumulating at the bottom of Lake Powell—especially at its northern end, where the river’s current slows, stills, and drops all that it carries, leaving the lake crystal-clear. “If you can’t see it, it’s really easy to ignore,” said Cari Johnson, a field researcher and sedimentology professor at University of Utah. Johnson studies the deposit of mud, silt, and sand that she and many other geologists informally call the “Dominy Formation” after Floyd Dominy, who led the construction of the Glen Canyon Dam as the head of the Bureau of Reclamation in the 1950s and ’60s, and who argued vigorously that silt would not be an issue at Lake Powell for thousands of years. This particular formation, Johnson said, is “anthropogenic sedimentation,” and it can be a hundred feet thick or more. “Its origin is fundamentally tied to human interactions,” Johnson said. “This reservoir sediment would not exist if there wasn’t a dam.” The Dominy is a new geologic layer, with its own canyons and hard-packed plains, and it’s a mess. When it emerges from the reservoir, said Johnson, its fissures belch up biogenic methane from the rotting cottonwood, willow and oak groves that once flourished in Glen Canyon. She described tons of water caught up in sediment and blocks of slumped material, crooked and collapsing around dark cracks. “I get nervous walking around on it,” she said. “Some of these fractures are deep. They are ready to fail.” “Some of these fractures are deep. They are ready to fail.” Johnson looks at Lake Powell as a vast sedimentology experiment coming to its conclusion. As its water drains, she and her colleagues can see what’s left behind. “I understand why management agencies, river runners and everyone else is focused on water,” she said. “Sediment is the underappreciated part of the system.” In Stella, our dory, we pulled to shore in a side canyon where the Dominy Formation has been above water for a couple of years, its hardened clay surrounding boulders the size of houses. I climbed through sandstone hulks decorated with thousands of desiccated quagga mussel shells, finally reaching the top of the white bathtub ring that commemorates Lake Powell at its fullest. The ring, which consists of evaporated minerals, clings to the native rockface like a smear of powdery cement, draped like a banner across every cliff. When I was a kid, the water had nowhere to go but up. Now the ring is a hallmark of the reservoir, a baseline we may never return to. I used it to mentally refill the full pool, imagining water covering the boulders, benches and pinnacles below me. Looking down on the canyon where we’d moored, I saw a clear stream flowing along its bottom, slicing through the Dominy Formation and pushing out the mess, flood by flood. Geomorphologists have been surprised by the speed at which the hard muck departs. I asked Johnson what she thought of the speed, and she said, “Drastic. It’s changing so fast.” Recently, she and her colleagues went to Dark Canyon, a tributary of Glen Canyon, to document depositional patterns in its reservoir sediment, which was more than 25 feet thick in places. When they arrived, they found that the entire layer had been scoured out by a flash flood. In days or weeks, tons of sediment can be carried off to the lower reaches of the reservoir, mud compounding mud. The problem simply relocates—and accumulates. It's easy to become disoriented in the canyons of Lake Powell, gas motor stinking and roaring, boat slaloming into hallways made for giants. Right turn, left turn, left turn, right. I’d jumped into a skiff with a 40-horsepower motor, which was three times faster than Stella’s but whose noise made it harder to talk and harder to listen. The cliffs, in shadow at the end of the day, now moved by too quickly, like a record playing at the wrong speed. Eric Balken, the 36-year-old head of the Glen Canyon Institute in Salt Lake City, steered us into a dimming enclosure of Navajo sandstone, throttling down as walls closed in. He knew of a place where Stella could catch up to us and our group could camp, but the shorelines were changing so fast he couldn’t promise it still existed. Balken, whose nonprofit advocates for Glen Canyon’s restoration, feels differently about this reservoir than I do. He doesn’t like it one bit. He first glimpsed the place during a high-school road trip to southern Utah with a group of friends. “We hung out on the shores of one of the big beaches near Wahweap,” he remembered. “I think my reaction was that it was odd to see so much water in the middle of the desert. I didn’t know the story of the dam, and it wasn’t till after that trip that I began to learn about the story of Glen Canyon and the tragedy of what was lost.” When he was 19, he started working for the institute, and he’s been there ever since. Lake Powell, Balken said, is hot right now. Members of Congress, water authorities, scientists, and journalists want to see what’s happening here, and Balken has accompanied many of them into the canyons. If you didn’t know the reservoir well, you might not notice anything out of place, but if you’ve been here as many times as Balken has, it’s obvious that it’s changed. Parts of the upper canyons that were documented by photographers in the 1950s and ’60s—long believed to be lost for good—are now fully exposed. A famed landmark, Cathedral in the Desert, has been transformed. Last year, boats visiting it pulled into the smooth round vault of a canyon bottom, tying off next to a clear waterfall that descended through a great hourglass in the rock. This year, visitors must tie up their boats downstream, then walk for 15 minutes up a creek already brimming with waist-high cottonwoods and willows. The cathedral itself smells like a herbarium, pungent with vegetation. Springs that were known only from old photographs are dripping and bubbling again, sprouting delicate fronds of maidenhair ferns. In a year, the walk to Cathedral in the Desert may take 20 minutes; in five years, an hour. When there was no reservoir, visiting the cathedral meant walking six miles up one tributary and then another, a journey shaded by cottonwoods and cooled by trickling streams. As our metal skiff scooted up the still-flooded side canyon, photographer Elliot Ross, a few years younger than Balken, straddled the fuel tank. Ross looked down the barrel of his lens as we peeled through a reflection of cliff walls shaded to the color of a bruised peach. For the last year and a half, he’d been exploring Lake Powell and its fans of sediment with his camera, documenting their emergence. He could do nothing but grin in the shade of this canyon, saying, over and over, “There’s so much happening right now!” We slowed as we entered the cove where Balken hoped to set up camp. On shore, three river otters assembled like siblings, slick and whiskered. They bobbed around each other, so close together they seemed like a single animal, a three-bodied mustelid. Their ancestors were introduced in Utah in 1989, long after the state’s otter population had been hunted, trapped, and fragmented to extinction. The newcomers thrived, and otters are now seen down the Green and Colorado rivers and on Lake Powell. “They don’t want to give up this spot,” Balken said over the motor’s putter. He pushed the boat closer as the otters wove around each other and entered the water, slipping under the surface, out of sight. We hopped ashore onto a hard pad of the sand that caps the Dominy Formation. Ross pounded the sand stake with a mallet and tied off the bowline. We were home for the night, Stella an hour behind us. An hour's walk up a clear, sinewy creek, where the land had been exposed for three or four years, we found Gooding’s willow and coyote willow. Another few years higher, we found an 18-foot-tall cottonwood, its trunk bigger than two hands could encircle. One of the first plants to show up after the water recedes is Russian thistle, or tumbleweed. A single prickly tumbleweed can consume 40 gallons of groundwater over its lifespan, but this non-native species is also known to draw toxins out of soils, possibly clearing the way for the willows and cottonwoods that follow it. I saw a few shoots of tamarisk, another non-native, in the canyons, but cottonwood saplings numbered in the hundreds. The original ecology was returning. David Wegner, one of the founding members of the Glen Canyon Institute, is retired from the U.S. House of Representatives, where he served as a member of the senior staff and specialized in water, energy, climate change and science. He recently visited Lake Powell, and when he saw a 50-foot-tall cottonwood standing where he’d previously known nothing but water, he hugged the tree. A place he believed to be lost, a place he never expected to see firsthand, had returned to the world. He sees the drawdown as an incredible ecological opportunity. After two dams were removed from the Elwha River in Washington, “we spent millions on reshaping the rivers, millions on replanting,” he said. “We have spent zero on the restoration and recovery of Glen Canyon. It is re-establishing with absolutely zero investment from us.” It is, without doubt, erupting with life: On a Dominy bench, alongside rabbitbrush and ricegrass, we found a flaming green cannabis plant. Maybe someone dropped their stash over the side of a houseboat in 1985, letting the seeds sink into anaerobic depths of sediment, where they were preserved until the day when the plant could sprout and its chunky buds glint crystalline in the sun. Recovery on one side of the dam is disaster on the other. The newly exposed land falls within the 1.25-million-acre Glen Canyon National Recreation Area. According to the 1979 General Management Plan for Glen Canyon, the water portion of the lake is managed as recreation, whereas the land, for the most part, is considered a “natural zone” and treated as wilderness. Most of the emergent canyons and landforms are wilderness by default. Not all of the conservation news from Glen Canyon is glowing, especially when viewed from downstream. The dam’s penstocks, which take up water from Lake Powell and send it through the hydropower turbines, are no longer drawing from the cold deep tank of the reservoir. Instead, they’re pulling from just below the surface, and that warmer water is heating up the river below the dam, making it more hospitable to the non-native sport fish that live in the reservoir’s upper layers. Now, more of those fish are being flushed through the turbines, and surviving to compete with the Grand Canyon’s carefully curated native species. Fish biologists are especially concerned about the humpback chub, which is already hanging by a thread. Meanwhile, Glen Canyon Dam is still holding back a mountain of sediment, starving Grand Canyon beaches and other streamside habitats of material that would otherwise have gradually flowed downstream over the decades. Downstream river levels throb and dwindle in accordance with the dam and its electricity demands, not seasonal rhythms. The incoming sport fish are one more insult to an already abused system. Recovery on one side of the dam is disaster on the other. Could the lake ever cover Glen Canyon again? “It may come back up a few feet here and there because of variability in our water supply,” David Wegner told me, “but I’m not hearing from anybody who looks at the existing data, and the structural deficit that occurs from over-allocating a diminishing supply, that the water will ever come up.” I took the question to Brad Udall, a senior water and climate research scientist at Colorado State University’s Colorado Water Center. How many heavy winter snowpacks would be needed to put Powell back on the rise? “Five or six really big years in a row,” Udall said. “Given the demands on the system, that’s how much it would take to turn this around.” While Udall celebrates the return of Glen Canyon, and is as likely to hug a tree as Wegner—in his 20s, he worked as a river guide on the Colorado—he is chilled by the possible ramifications if Lake Powell drops below its current levels. “I think there’s a real reason to keep water above the penstocks,” Udall said. Below that, he added, is “dangerous territory.” The danger lies in the engineering of the dam. The penstocks are positioned more than halfway up the lake side of the dam, 333 feet above its base. If water levels drop too close to or below the penstocks, they will no longer supply water to the hydropower turbines. Levels have recently drawn near enough to the penstocks that air bubbles pulled from near the water’s surface might begin to collapse, or cavitate, as they pass through the turbines. The resulting pressure waves can tear apart a tunnel’s innards, eroding concrete and threatening the dam’s integrity. During the floods of 1983, cavitation caused the interior of one of the dam’s spillways to disintegrate; by the time it was shut down, the passage was vomiting boulders and concrete. Ninety-six feet below the hydropower penstocks are four tubes designed to release excess water through the dam during wet years, which might provide a last-ditch route for water if the reservoir continues to drop. But Udall said these bypass tubes were never designed for constant use, and he worries that they will not reliably move water downstream. Udall’s hope, for now, is to keep lake levels where they are, even as snowpack declines. Current water restrictions for downstream users, even those enacted under emergency drought policies, are not enough, he said. Less water must leave the reservoir. He sees a greatly reduced Colorado River below the dam, enough for boating but with no more big flows. “Cuts need to happen this year, more than are being recommended. We need to protect that power pool at Powell.” If water can no longer pass through Glen Canyon Dam, the Grand Canyon will all but dry up, and Lake Mead will rapidly dwindle. Seven states will lose the hydropower they receive from Glen Canyon Dam. Over the century since the Colorado River Compact ignored Indigenous rights to the river, 17 of the basin’s 30 federally recognized tribal governments have established legal rights to water below Lake Powell, but many are still battling for access to that water and for a long-denied role in basin negotiations. If water stops flowing through the dam, these sovereign nations may never see their rights fully realized. “This river is our namesake, it is our life,” Amelia Flores (Mohave), chairwoman of the Colorado River Indian Tribes, said in testimony to the Senate Committee on Indian Affairs in March 2022. “And if we do not control our water, history tells us that others will.” In the summer of 1998, when I rowed baggage rafts through the Grand Canyon, the flow on the Colorado River often exceeded 20,000 cubic feet per second and Lake Powell was nearly full. By the time Shyanne Yazzie, a 30-year-old guide who grew up next to Glen Canyon Dam in Page, Arizona, started working in the Grand Canyon in the late 2010s, typical flows fluctuated between 12,000 and 18,000 cubic feet per second, and outflows from the dam have continued to decrease. “Now, when we have 12,000,” she said, “I think we have so much water!” The rapids are getting rockier, harder to navigate, and less conducive to rafts made for big water. Yazzie said that the rumor among her fellow guides is that next season’s flows could drop to 3,000 cubic feet per second. Yazzie was born on the Navajo Reservation, and her Diné ancestors have lived in and around Glen Canyon for centuries. She was raised with Lake Powell, camping on its shores with her family and riding Ski-Doos to Lone Rock, a landmark that used to stick up from the water like a giant thumb and now stands on a barren desert plain. Yazzie wants Lake Powell back, but she feels torn. “It would be amazing to see the untouched Glen Canyon,” she said. “It would be amazing to see the water go up, because so many people rely on it.” When she was a kid, she said, the lake’s water rose high enough for boats to pass under the sandstone archway of Rainbow Bridge. But she knew that, according to Navajo tradition, it was disrespectful to go under the arch; one should go around it. In the mid-1970s, three Navajo Nation chapters, along with several individual tribal members, unsuccessfully sued the Bureau of Reclamation and other federal agencies over Lake Powell’s imminent flooding of burial grounds and other sacred sites near Rainbow Bridge. Now the water is a mile away and the bridge stands alone in the desert, its old self. Yazzie’s mother, Joanne Yazzie, was born not far from Page in the community of First Windmill, Arizona. She recalls visiting Powell in high school in the mid-1980s, when water levels reached their peak. Releases roared from the dam, swelling the river to more than 100,000 cubic feet per second as it entered the Grand Canyon. She went to the lake when her kids were little, and over the years she watched its level fall, but until recently, the water was still high enough to feel abundant. Now, she said, it feels different. “Places where we used to go swimming, we can’t, because there are canyons and cliffs,” she said. She sees a world out of kilter, and sees what’s happening to Lake Powell as part of the dislocation. “In the Navajo culture, we think we’re really in deep trouble right now,” she said. Like her daughter, Joanne Yazzie wants to see Lake Powell at a healthier, higher level. “The lake does help the people,” she said. “Not only us, but down the river where it’s even drier. We have to think of the whole picture.” At dawn, Eric Balken and I sat in Cathedral in the Desert, listening to the waterfall echo within its scalloped sandstone. Sunlight was half an hour from touching the highest cliffs, six hours from reaching us. Sitting on a sandy slope of eroding lake deposits, we looked up to where, not long ago, the dual pontoons of houseboats would have motored above our heads. With his voice resonating inside the cathedral, Balken asked, “What would we have to sacrifice to refill the reservoir? Are you going to let Lake Mead go dry and then jeopardize the water infrastructure in the Lower Basin and their water security? That’s a hard sell. Lake Mead’s the more important reservoir.” The Lower Basin includes all those with a legal claim to Colorado River water below Glen Canyon Dam: tribal governments, the national government of Mexico, and the state governments of Arizona, Nevada, and California. These governments and their people need their water, Balken said, and both Powell and Mead are holding it. The decision to keep Lake Powell or let it go, he said, will have nothing to do with recreation or hydropower, much less this waterfall and its maidenhair ferns. “It’s going to be a decision about water storage and allocation,” he said. “And nothing else.” Last spring, the Interior Department set new emergency guidelines for dam operations on the Colorado, reducing releases from Glen Canyon Dam and increasing releases from reservoirs upstream. These higher reservoirs are now bottoming out, bridge pylons standing dry so that Powell can survive another season. The federal government has ordered all of the Colorado River Basin states to dramatically cut their water use — or have it done for them. Balken said, “The Bureau of Reclamation, if I had to bet money, they’re going to hold back more water in Powell in the next few years, and they’re going to cut down delivery downstream. They’re already doing fill-Powell-first de facto. They are so afraid of operating below power pool — not because of hydropower, because of water delivery. They’re going to do everything they can to prop it up above minimum power pool until they physically modify the dam.” For Balken, salvaging this reservoir is the wrong decision. Operating at these levels in a drying climate is unpredictable and dangerous, and it involves curtailing downstream deliveries. “If we’re rethinking the delivery obligation, why aren’t we rethinking the dam?” he asked. “We keep walking down the path of decisions that were made in the past, even if they’re based on flawed assumptions. Why not re-engineer Glen Canyon Dam, let the river run free, and put the water in Lake Mead?” He sees this future as almost inevitable. Having two reservoirs, Mead and Powell, both atrophying at once is like having too many bank accounts open with too little money in them, he said. In this time of triage, Balken thinks we need to focus on Mead, and let Powell go. A datura plant with creamy white blossoms grows between the legs of a half-buried beach chair. A sunken boat turns to bones. If you dig down deep enough to reach a layer spiked with metal pull tabs, you’ll know it was deposited in the late 1960s, when the lake was filling. As the dam’s floodgates closed, archaeologists scoured Glen Canyon, collecting what they could, relocating artifacts when possible, and documenting thousands of sites ancestral to at least seven modern tribes. The predominant rock art found here, which is 3,000 to 5,000 years old and mostly sunk beneath the reservoir, is called Glen Canyon Linear, a skeletal, checkerboard style depicting animals, humans, spirit beings and geometric forms. These Indigenous ancestors lived in a sprawling desert sanctuary of rivers and springs. Their rock art style extends for a hundred miles or more in all directions, and the center of the style, its type locality, is the Glen. These Indigenous ancestors lived in a sprawling desert sanctuary of rivers and springs. The exploitation of the river and the canyons has also destroyed much of its human history. Three-quarters of the ancestral sites within the reservoir are thought to have been destroyed, often by the lashing of boat wakes or by visitors who could step off the deck of a speedboat and into the door of a once-inaccessible cliff dwelling. As the reservoir filled, graffiti rose with the lake level, and higher and higher rock art sites fell prey to vandalism. What endures, in many places, are toeholds. In a landscape of cliffs and precipitous falls, First Peoples pecked ladders into the rock, vertical paths to cliff dwellings and granaries. While skimming a sandstone wall in the main channel with Stella, we came upon a set of ancient toeholds, out of the water for several months at most. As we slowed, water from a passing speedboat bucked around us. The holds led to an alcove that must have once held a rock-and-mortar structure, long since erased by visitors and waves. Falling from these steps would have probably meant death, a hundred-foot tumble past ledges, slopes and cliff bands. Today it would mean plummeting into the water. A story from the Hopi, direct descendants of these stairmakers, says that the previous world flooded — filled with water all the way to the top. It was a catastrophic end, a drowning. The people who escaped made it to the current world, in some tellings rising on a reed boat, in others climbing a ladder. They found their way up from the flood and arrived in a dry, sunlit land above. This is how the first people came to the world. Stella bucked and sloshed on the waves. We held her gunnels, enchanted by this ancient stairway, each hold big enough for a few fingers or toes, just deep enough to nick the rockface with shadows. Where the cliff went underwater, the holds turned green beneath the surface, then black, then disappeared. They looked like the tip of a ladder leaning against the rock, a way up from the dark. https://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/glen-canyon-lake-powell-drought

#Craig Childs #Atlas Obscura

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pandemicperipatetics · 1 year

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Kerala Road Trip

Walking in Munnar’s tea plantations

The Verdict: We felt Kerala was not bad, but overhyped, egregiously overpriced in December, and not worth the opportunity cost of traveling to a country with good tourist infrastructure (potable water, good roads, access to information for travel planning, decent affordable lodging, competent customer service, etc.).

Why Kerala? We needed to be in south Kerala in late December for a wedding and wanted to tack on a ~week-long vacation somewhere warm and nearby. We had originally hoped to travel to Sri Lanka but changed plans due to the political situation there in 2022. We loved our trip to the Maldives after the last time we were in India, back in 2019, but figured we should try somewhere different this time. Traveling somewhere further like Thailand, Bali, etc. seemed too far/tiring. So we decided to spend our week exploring different parts of Kerala, a state we have long been intrigued by given its renowned progressive politics and high literacy rate, the famous backwaters houseboat scene, and my interest in seeing south India, which I have never visited despite having been to India ~15 times.

Trip Overview:

Kovalam: Beach town at the southern tip of Kerala. We started by spending 4 nights here specifically for the wedding. It was fine, but not a place we’d go out of our way to visit. Since we were only there for the wedding and didn’t do any tourist activities, we won’t focus on Kovalam in this post.

View of the water from Leela Kovalam, the resort we stayed at

Alleppey/Kumarakom: Alleppey (aka Alappuzha), on the west coast of the state, is the most famous area for taking a houseboat on the Kerala backwaters. When we were planning our trip around August, about 4 months in advance of our travel, we had a really hard time finding a decent houseboat with reliable reviews so we opted to skip this. (Our friends found a ~$400/night houseboat on Airbnb that had great reviews and they really liked it). Instead, we stayed nearby at Kumarakom Lake Resort, a very nice but crazy expensive luxury resort. [4-5 hour drive from Kovalam]

On a sunset boat ride on Kumarakom Lake

Thekaddy: On the eastern side of Kerala; known for Periyar National Park, a tiger reserve where it turns out nobody ever sees the tigers. We had planned a half-day hike in Periyar with the hopes of seeing wild elephants and other wildlife, but unfortunately missed the tour. We stayed at another ridiculously expensive resort here, which wasn’t anywhere as nice as Kumarakom. Thekaddy is skippable. [4 hour drive from Kumarakom]

Traditional dance performance at our hotel in Thekaddy

Munnar: In the northeastern corner of Kerala, Munnar is known for its scenic tea plantations. The scenery really did deliver, but everything else about our experience here was so poor (the process of trying to book a hotel, get information about activities/tours, find safe restaurant food in town, constantly getting ripped off, commute times, safety on the crowded and winding roads) that we cannot recommend it. [4 hour drive from Thekaddy]

Walking on a tea plantation in Munnar

Kochi: We ended our trip at Kochi airport, from which we flew to Mumbai. We had the chance to spend a couple hours in downtown Kochi, which was compact and charming, but didn’t have time to check out other neighborhoods.

Kumarakom Lake Resort

Inside Kumarakom Lake Resort

We spent 2 nights here and the experience was basically perfect. It was about as similar to the Maldives as anywhere I’ve been -- standalone villa with a private plunge pool, charming decor, gorgeous views of the lake, 5-star service, delicious food, activities like yoga, pottery making, etc. Even though it was so comfortable, in my opinion the $400/night room rate is still completely egregious for India. You can travel to Italy, Switzerland, Spain, Scotland, etc. and stay in beautiful hotels that are less expensive and easier to get to from the western world (the drive to Kumarakom from Kovalam was long and uncomfortable). I wouldn’t go out of my way to come to Kumarakom unless I already needed to be in Kerala for some other reason. If you are here, then yes, it is a lovely property to visit.

Note: We stayed in a villa, not a houseboat, because reviews of the resort’s houseboat stays did not sound great.

Nearby Activities

On the drive up from Kovalam, our driver recommended we stop at Jatayu Earth Centre, which has a cable car up to a massive sculpture of a famous bird from The Ramayana. I’m not big on tourist attractions or cable cars in third world countries, but it was actually pretty cool. If you’re staying at Kumarakom Lake Resort, I’d scurry along to make the most of your time there, but if you don’t have anywhere to be, this could be a nice stop.

Walking around the Jatayu monument. The dedication to “women’s safety and honour” is a specific reference to The Ramayana storyline.

Thekkady

We spent 1 night at Spice Village, an “eco-resort” in Thekaddy. Like Kumarakom Lake Resort, it was also egregiously expensive and had delicious food. The room was a standalone thatched hut that was pretty nice inside, if not Kumarakom-style luxurious, and the activities were interesting -- a traditional dance performance, cooking demonstration, and nighttime walk with the onsite naturalist, whose fascination with plants, insects, and animals was truly contagious. Unlike Kumarakom Lake Resort, the service was not particularly attentive or helpful and we felt less insulated from the discomforts of traveling in India (i.e., sewage smells in certain parts of the property, thumping music from a neighboring resort late into the night, the room safe didn’t work, etc.). We wouldn’t travel all the way to Thekkady just to stay at this resort.

We saw quite a few spiderwebs on our nature walk at Spice Village.

Nearby Activities

Our driver advised us to stop at Deepa World, a spice plantation, where a tour guide who spoke decent English took us on a 20-minute walk and showed us different spice plants. It was only INR 100 (like $1.20) per person and it was actually a really neat experience, especially as we then kept spotting a lot of these spices growing in the wild around Kerala.

Our tour guides in Kerala were consistently excited to point out cardamom pods growing in the wild.

Although we unfortunately didn’t get a chance to visit Periyar National Park, my sense from reading online reviews is that we didn’t necessarily miss too much.

Munnar

The tea plantations were so beautiful and lovely to walk through, but the experience of staying in Munnar was really not great. We stayed for 3 nights at Fragrant Nature Munnar, a supposed 5-star hotel that surprised us with its dilapidated condition, lackluster service, and yucky food (I honestly didn’t even know that Indian food in India could taste bad until we stayed here...). Finding lodging in Munnar was a frustrating process because it was difficult to understand which hotels are actually good (this one had just as good Google ratings as hotels that we later learned are actually decent) and when we did get leads on “good” hotels, they tended to be unresponsive, unhelpful, and/or scammy during the booking process. I even asked for leads on Reddit, and the responses indicated that a lot of Kerala hotels’ online reviews are fabricated by the hotel owners and therefore aren’t trustworthy. Everything was extremely expensive around Christmastime -- as context, our Munnar lodging was significantly more expensive and probably less nice than a Motel 6 in the rural U.S. While we weren’t specifically looking for luxury stays -- especially after breaking the bank in Kumarakom and Thekkady -- we just wanted a place that was clean with safe and decent-tasting food (very important because in Munnar you’re totally dependent on your hotel for your meals). The difficulty of finding this was a huge turn-off and is frankly a huge reason I would not recommend visiting here.

A waterfall we saw in Munnar

Nearby Activities

While Kumarakom and Thekaddy were basically about the resort experience, Munnar is all about the gorgeous natural beauty that is available for all to enjoy, regardless of your wealth/ability to stay in a luxury resort. And what is specifically unique about the views here are the stunning tea plantations!

Our favorite activity of our entire Kerala trip was a half-day hike booked through Viator (Mountain Hiking through Munnar Tea Plantation, operated by the Munnar Tourist Information Office). Not only do we generally love hiking, but we had a chance to walk through gorgeous tea plantations unlike any landscape either of us has experienced. There were vibes of Hobbiton, Vietnamese rice paddies, and the lush Scottish countryside. If after reading this post you for some reason still decide to travel to Munnar, we highly recommend doing such a hike!

On the tea plantation hike

The other activity we tried in Munnar was a “Jeep Safari” that our driver told us we’d really like (hard not to believe he wasn’t getting a kickback from the tour operator). We got driven around to some waterfalls, a scenic viewpoint, and a dam, none of which were really that great. It was also very overpriced for India (US $50 for a 3 hour tour, at least half of which was spent just being driven around). We do not recommend it.

Jeep Safari scenic viewpoint

In terms of other activities, we read about recommendations to visit Eravikulam National Park and the scenic viewpoints at Top Station, Madupetty Dam, and Echo Point. These are all extremely popular destinations among Indian tourists and given the crowds, long commute times, and middling reviews we read online, we decided to skip them.

Logistics

As I referenced in the Munnar section, planning the logistics of our entire trip to Kerala was a real pain -- far more difficult than anywhere else we have traveled. There was very limited information available online and the Indian travel agents we got connected to during the planning process were unprofessional and unresponsive, so we ended up choosing our hotels based on recommendations from family friends and online research (which obviously didn’t work out well for Munnar). We learned that booking directly through the hotel’s website is the most expensive option (though probably the least painful, as you don’t have to deal with time zone differences, language barriers, and the general annoyances of dealing with Indian customer service staff). However, there tends to be a substantial discount if you contact the hotel directly. And apparently you’ll get an even lower rate if you go through a travel agent. Which brings me back to finding it awful to try to work with Indian travel agents...

#kerala #munnar #thekaddy #kumarakom

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harshalbw · 2 years

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House for Sale in Thanjavur

HOUSE FOR SALE IN THANJAVUR

Purchase Property these and different elements make this project a genuine incentive for cash. Multi-family house - Often seen in multi-story confined structures, where each floor is a different condo or unit.

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Different classes Igloos Cabins See List of house types for a total posting of lodging types and designs, land patterns for shifts on the lookout, and house or home for more broad data. Terraced house - various single or multi-unit structures in a persistent column with shared dividers and no mediating space. Real estate developers in Thanjavur they are having so many plots to sale. They are the wonderful real estate for this selling related House for sale in thanjavur.

Apartment is a kind of building shared by various homes, regularly with pads or condos on each floor and with shared entrance flight of stairs access found House for sale in thanjavur.

Semi-separated residences Duplex - Two units with one shared divider. Homes can be ordered by and how they are associated with adjoining homes and land.

Private land might contain either a solitary family or multifamily structure that is accessible for occupation or for non-business purposes. Various kinds of lodging residency can be utilized for a similar actual sort.

For instance, associated homes may be possessed by a solitary element and rented out, or claimed independently with an understanding covering the connection among units and normal regions and concerns.

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fancyflowerglitter · 2 years

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Are you looking for amazing Plot for sale in Thanjavur?

Plot for sale in Thanjavur:

Really take a look at your region Stressed over the new area?

Feeling somewhat sceptical? Presently you can check the neighbourhood before you begin living in it. Disconnected residences Lodges Part level home Chateaus Manors Segregated house or single-family confined house Cabins Compact abodes Trailers or private trains - A full-time home that can be (in spite of the fact that could not by and by be) portable on wheels. The limits of the condo are for the most part characterized by a border of locked or lockable entryways. Confided in Property Buyer Meet trusted and confirmed manufacturers, with property counsels from Thanjai Property to assist you with observing your fantasy home. Private Projects Observe forthcoming new lodging private land projects in Trichy. Significant classifications Joined/multi-unit abodes A singular unit in a multi-unit building. Houseboats - A drifting home Tents - Usually brief, with rooftop and dividers comprising just of texture like material. Different classes Igloos Cabins See List of house types for a total posting of lodging types and designs, land patterns for shifts on the lookout, and house or home for more broad data. Terraced house - various single or multi-unit structures in a persistent column with shared dividers and no mediating space. In thanjavur they are having so many plots to sale. They are the wonderful real estate for this selling related Plot for sale in thanjavur.

Agreeable - A kind of various possessions about Real Estate Promoters in Thanjavur wherein the occupants of a multi-unit lodging complex own portions in the agreeable company that claims the property, giving every inhabitant the option to involve a particular condo or unit. Apartment is a kind of building shared by various homes, regularly with pads or condos on each floor and with shared entrance flight of stairs access found Plot for sale in thanjavur.

Semi-separated residences Duplex - Two units with one shared divider. Homes can be ordered by and how they are associated with adjoining homes and land. Private land might contain either a solitary family or multifamily structure that is accessible for occupation or for non-business purposes. Various kinds of lodging residency can be utilized for a similar actual sort. For instance, associated homes may be possessed by a solitary element and rented out, or claimed independently with an understanding covering the connection among units and normal regions and concerns.

#Plot for sale in thanjavur

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stickbetty23 · 2 years

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Why Might Buy Several Things Now

Cost is noted on our questionnaire simply to obtain an appreciation of what kind of money the boat buyer is prepared to invest; no part of thinking about $400,000.00 vessels if $250,000.00 is the money he in order to offer spend. A standard houseboat comes complete having a fully equipped kitchen - stove, refrigerator, pots, pans, etc. Furthermore, they usually have a gas grill so which you cook within deck when you purchase. There's a bathroom some thing or two (sometimes more) bedrooms. Everything is compact and built in, giving you plenty of room to relax and enjoy travel effort. When you dock, you just start unfolding and couches in order to beds, a lot of. How motivated is the seller? Many owners in order to sale their boat as shortly as practical and anything nearby to an asking price may be acceptable. Which are happen often but this will sometimes. Be careful what you say are not able to afford. A lot of the important around things that you want. Let's say view a yacht in the harbor. You might not want to buy a yacht, which often case, it does not impact of which you regard it as being "too too expensive." However, if you really wish to take your kids to Disneyland and you chant until you get it how unaffordable it is, you are positioning it further off from you plus your kids, and you are clearly unwittingly blocking resources from coming can make that trip easily moderately priced. This is a time when you wish for to don't forget that thoughts are things, so pay focus on what you say until you've got it. Our freshwater capacity was 90 gallons. We will likely make the 90 gallons are two weeks, including daily showers, washing the dishes, and our water supply. If you are to how to buy a boat from a private seller from a non-public seller then take your time to make your mind up. Inspect the boat carefully; look for scratches, cracks, dents additional damage. Test the cables and the steering. Precisely what people even consider hiring a nice boat surveyor to complete a complete certified check. how much does it cost to buy a boat might seem costly at time but it is able to give the peace of mind of knowing you have a great deal, and haven't been sold on the Suwannee. Look for highly-regarded and trusted local dealers who inspect their boats and present servicing and after-sales maintenance and tune-ups. Dealers and brokers must be able to "stand by" their boats as they had them inspected themselves.

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sandeepsrk007 · 2 months

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Navigating Kochi in Style: A Guide to Cochin Car Rental Services

Introduction: Kochi, often referred to as the Queen of the Arabian Sea, is a vibrant city that seamlessly blends history, culture, and modernity. From its bustling streets lined with colonial-era buildings to its serene backwaters dotted with traditional houseboats, Kochi offers a myriad of experiences waiting to be explored. And what better way to navigate this enchanting city than with the convenience and comfort of a rented car? In this blog post, we'll take a closer look at Cochin car rental services, helping you choose the perfect wheels to embark on your Kochi adventure in style.

Kerala Car Rentals: Cochin Car Rental is a trusted name in the industry, offering a wide range of vehicles to suit every traveler's needs. Whether you're exploring Kochi's historic landmarks, such as the iconic Mattancherry Palace and Fort Kochi, or venturing into the picturesque countryside, Kerala Car Rentals has you covered. Their fleet includes everything from compact cars for solo travelers to spacious SUVs for families, ensuring a comfortable and hassle-free journey through the city.

Zoomcar: For those who prefer the freedom of self-drive, Zoomcar provides a convenient and flexible car rental solution in Kochi. With a simple booking process and a diverse selection of vehicles, including hatchbacks, sedans, and SUVs, Zoomcar allows you to explore Kochi at your own pace. Whether you're visiting popular attractions like the Chinese Fishing Nets or discovering hidden gems off the beaten path, Zoomcar offers the freedom and flexibility to create your own itinerary.

MylesCars: MylesCars is another popular choice for car rentals in Kochi, offering a range of well-maintained vehicles at affordable prices. Whether you need a car for a day of sightseeing or for a longer road trip around Kerala, MylesCars has a variety of options to suit your budget and preferences. With convenient pickup and drop-off locations across the city, as well as flexible rental plans, MylesCars makes it easy to explore Kochi and beyond without breaking the bank.

Avis India: For travelers seeking a premium car rental experience, Avis India provides luxury vehicles and personalized service in Kochi. Whether you're attending a business meeting or exploring the city's cultural attractions, Avis offers a range of high-end cars, including luxury sedans and SUVs, to cater to your needs. With professional chauffeurs available upon request, Avis ensures a comfortable and luxurious travel experience, allowing you to relax and enjoy the sights and sounds of Kochi in style.

Savaari: Savaari is a trusted name in the car rental industry, known for its reliable service and well-maintained fleet of vehicles. Whether you're traveling solo or with a group, Savaari offers a range of options, including budget-friendly cars, premium sedans, and spacious SUVs. With 24/7 customer support and transparent pricing, Savaari ensures a stress-free and enjoyable experience from the moment you book your car to the end of your journey in Kochi.

Conclusion: With its rich history, vibrant culture, and breathtaking scenery, Kochi is a city waiting to be explored. Whether you're visiting for business or leisure, renting a car in Kochi offers the flexibility and convenience to make the most of your time in this enchanting destination. With a variety of car rental services available in Kochi, you can choose the perfect vehicle to suit your needs and preferences, ensuring a memorable and enjoyable travel experience in the Queen of the Arabian Sea.

#wedding car rentals #premium wedding car rentals in kerala #self drive car rentals in trivandrum @lowest price #cochin car rental

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pinkviolin23 · 2 years

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South Lake Tahoe Vacation Rental

youtube

If you ought to go on a houseboat vacation, you will have to know something about the high and low seasons. Throughout the high seasosn, expect to pay as much as $1,500 to $3,000 1 week depnding on facilities available. A low season price can be between $800 to $1500 depending on facilities a lot more. Simple, he rents one from a boat rental. These rentals are agencies that let out boats to people for a certain number of hours including a specific rate. Always be for this reason these kinds of rentals have opened up along finance institutions of many rivers and lakes. The great thing about boat hire is that you aren't stick together with actual vessel that you first invest within. You are able to hire lots of different types of boat and you will probably try out different forms of vessel and soon you will find right up until that you like. You can also match will likely determine boat a person can hire into the number in people who you're likely to have while on the actual journey with someone. Which means that if it's the family it is hire a compact and cheaper vessel we will still be in a posture to accommodate your friends as obtain hire a larger boat anyone need if you want to. Take a week off work and let your family members do so as well. Boot mit Jetski, and get around. Not only will you become closer with the family members, furthermore you'll be able to relax and unstressed. There team is their pride and joy. German fans are full of passion and also lively also. They treat soccer as Americans treat ball. Germany soccer is indeed the most crowded and enjoyable sport for that. They have several players too that well known and designed for. Miete ein Hausboot for places to visit in germany is located somewhere South of Munich but I'd have to actually search for exactly where it is always. There is an old monastery atop a Bavarian foothill for the Alps. This monastery overlooks a small lake and beside the lake there is very large mud perforation. The sticky mud is super fun to roll around and wallow appearing in. Locals claim the mud that is not merely mineral dirt but rich in decomposing plant matter has good health for pores and skin too. Love it if more wish I'm able to give you must directions many people I met at Octoberfest took us and also. Some marinas have special amenities like spa salons, restaurants, private pools and shuttle services. These accommodations, however, will supplement your total balance. If you think you might have - great - this might be the perfect marina in order to. If not, however, then what's the point to be charged something if you aren't likely get a? Canoe - A canoe is a calming experience you may drift slowly along the banks as you your fill of the scenery around you. Never be in a rush when in the Canoe - it would ruin the charm for this experience.

#ibiza #barcelona #Spain #Mallorca #menorca #malaga #palma #la palma #airbnb #boat #yacht #vacation #rent a boat #rent a yacht #boat rentals #yacht rentals #boating #fishing #hotel #sleep #stay

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hometoursandotherstuff · 3 years

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I would call this cute little 1981 houseboat a bargain- It’s for sale for $24,900 and moored in Guntesrville, Alabama but it doesn’t matter, b/c you can take it wherever you want to.

How sweet is this little red gingham sitting area? This, as well as the dining table, convert to beds. There is also plenty of sleeping area under the main floor.

As the captain is driving the boat, family & friends can sit with him/her.

Down the stairs is this surprisingly full kitchen- it has good counterspace, storage, a full stove, fridge, and double sinks. Plenty storage, too.

Awesome dining seating.

For a small boat, it has big features, like a full-size shower.

The size of the bathroom vanity is impressive. Nice big mirror, too.

Up here is another captain’s area so he/she can enjoy the upper outside deck w/friends.

There are 3 outside decks to enjoy fun in the sun. This is a compact little party boat.

Technical stuff: Both of it’s engines were professionally replaced in 2018 and have only 1200 hours.

https://oldhousesunder50k.com/c-1981-gibson-36-houseboat-for-sale-in-guntherville-al-under-25k/

#little houseboat #bargain houseboat #compact houseboat #long post

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decorsity · 6 years

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The Mothership Solar Powered Houseboat by Mothership Marine

(more…)

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#australia #boathouse #compact living #design #floating house #houseboat #tiny house movement

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fragileizywriting · 3 years

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C'est la Sea

pairing: Luka / Marinette word count: 9,111 chapter: 1/2 rating: E summary: There’s a mermaid in his bed. A pouty, pretty mermaid on his bed. “Why are you wrapped up like a sushi roll, sweetheart?” “It’s cold,” Marinette shivers, just to prove her point. She collects an edge of the blanket to cover herself back up and make a bigger mess out of the covers, trying to tuck in her tail. “Why is it colder on land than it is on sea? How are you able to withstand this much frost, Luka? Even my scales are starting to go stiff.”

AO3 | Chapter One | Chapter Two

I just can't stop myself from writing Lukanette...

Written for my lovely and beautiful friend @valiantlyjollynightmare !!! Your mermaid AU is so wonderfully written and it gives me so many feels that I had to get the mermaid fever out. Please enjoy!!!

Life is simple and stagnant on land and it goes like this.

Wake up. Put on clothes. Find breakfast somewhere in the tiniest kitchen he’s ever been a witness to. It’s compact to the point that it’s hysterical, and it would probably fit someone of normal size. She’d fit in the kitchen just nicely, because things are about her height and eye level, but he has to crouch in order to see inside the fridge. Why are things so small?

Either way, after breakfast he leaves the house and goes to class.

And the classes are mind-numbing, and repetitive, and after the longest chapter of marine ichthyology he almost sleeps through, he’s on his way to find his friends. He’s made a couple of friends for the few months he’s been around, and tries to socialize with them after most of his morning classes have finished, and attempts to enjoy their company before the second block of afternoon classes happen. His friends are kind, and also in the same field as him, so they’ve mostly come close out of the nature of being in mutual classes, but they’re not anyone he’s really gotten close to.

So he’ll eat lunch with them, at some point. Start his next block of classes, and try his best not to roll his eyes at the casual inconsistencies referenced in the slideshow. Find his friends again, if any are available after class, and eat dinner at some point. Walk home, and politely decline any and all attempts to hang out after they’re finally done for the day— after all, everyone knows that he’s extremely busy studying for his classes.

They ask about her often, ask if he’ll be going to visit her for whatever break they have that gives them a sliver of days between classes, asking for pictures of her and well wishes. They ask about her students, ask if she’ll be getting anything for teacher appreciation week that’s common in Canada, and ask about how his life and family are back there before he transferred.

He makes up lies as he goes, of course, because he’s never actually been to Canada and certainly has never been to Quebec, but it seems to be working. His vague knowledge about the West Atlantic works in his favor because none of his classmates are from there, nor have they ever gone themselves. His friends mean well, knowing the feeling of longing when it comes to missing another person, and always offer condolences to the transfer student who seems to be a fish out of water in a new country with a funny Canadian accent, but they aren’t aware of the true nature of his relationship with her.

They know that he’s married. Human customs are similar to his, and the gold band on his left ring finger is a clear sign. Some people he’s met over the past couple of months have shied away and lost interest in him when they’d looked down to see that he never takes the ring off— he doesn’t hold it against them. His friends speculate about how she manages to handle the long-distance without him, but they have no idea just how hard it actually is.

Because they don’t know about the bond fever.

The fever that makes it harder and harder to breathe without her.

Every moment not thinking of her is just a distraction. Every moment not being next to her is biding time. Food tastes bland, music sounds wonky, and all his body wants to do is move. Staying still will make him curl up and stagnate for the rest of his days, and if he wants to leave this part of his life as fast as possible, he can’t afford to stop moving.

So, he’ll arrive home after school, and check up on the coral and fish in his tank to see if everyone in there is fine and not having a turf war without his knowledge. He’ll attempt to have a conversation with his fish, and feed them until they complain, because he’s never gotten the hang of actually taking care of pets. He’ll spin his ouroboros as he continues to waffle between staying and powering through, or the second option of leaving everything behind and dropping everything in favor of her. Work out to get rid of feelings of loneliness— of this horrible, aching bond fever that grips his heart enough to squeeze and hurt and make him regret ever turning to the surface in the first place.

He’ll take the scenic route, along the shore, looking over the ocean he knows and loves dearly. The sun will set over the sea as he takes a break when the buildup of lactic acid in his body gets too painful. It’ll take him hours, probably, of hard running down by the water, but it’ll be enough to get him to stop thinking about her for even a smidge.

Take a shower, afterwards, and making absolute-positive sure that his ouroboros is safely and securely wrapped around his wrist, lest he loses his sea legs— and try to talk to his fish again to get a conversation. Try to finish his homework before passing out asleep on his bed.

Sometimes he remembers to pull the bedsheets up on him. But most of the time he falls asleep in whatever position he’s laid himself down onto the bed, waking up with his arms and legs facing all the wrong way and the alarm on his phone blaring at him to wake up. He wakes up stiff, and sore, but there’s barely any time to sit back and relax before his day starts all over again.

Rinse.

Wash.

Repeat.

Over and over until the days glaze and mesh in his head.

He’s tired— the fish are his only true company, for now, and they rarely talk to him unless they’re begging for food. Sometimes they have a conversation with him when he really gets personal and deep with them, but they don’t really offer much advice, other than the occasional idea to spice up his diet and take a new route to school.

There’s nothing that can get him out of this slump. Nothing above land, anyway. Some days, on the weekends when he has enough time to, he opens the windows that box his mattress as well as the windows in the living room, and lets the salty breeze fly in through the whole houseboat— indulges in the idea of being back home with her— before he begrudgingly faces back to the stacks and stacks of homework piled on his desk.

It’ll be worth it. Just a year and a half left. The ring on his finger is proof enough of that. The bond fever may hurt, and may try to push him to go home, but he knows that she’ll be upset with him if he doesn’t finish school. She’ll probably shove him back up here herself, with her pouting and determined face. She’s docile, but bull-headed, and sometimes the storms in her eyes are as terrifying as the sea he’s from, and he’s certain that she won’t be satisfied until he has that diploma in his hand.

So, he puts his bag down by the door, kicks off his shoes, deadbolts the door behind him, and goes hunting for anything in his fridge that is available. He’s hungry, and he’s far more metabolic in this form than in his normal one, something about being on land just makes him hungrier— and nothing is safe from him when it comes to food.

His houseboat is about the size of a clam, the kitchen itself smaller than a pearl, but the ceiling is tall enough so that he doesn’t have to keep his head down whenever he walks around, so he can’t exactly complain— even when he opens the door to his fridge the size of a child, there’s nothing but a lettuce head that is definitely more white than green, a small box of blueberries he buys every time he makes eye contact with it in the store and thinks of her, and his leftover carton of eggs. The box of blueberries is full, still, and he’s convinced that he leaves it in the fridge until it rots just in case she ends up showing up and wants her favorite food.

But…

Life is simple, and stagnant on land, and he’s forgotten to do groceries this week.

Rinse, wash, and repeat.

He makes quick work of making the saddest scrambled eggs he could possibly produce in his lifetime, using up all of the leftover eggs— six of them, and he won’t be able to regret the amount of food he’s eating until he wakes up tomorrow with absolutely nothing to eat— and proceeds to bin the shells immediately. He eats over the sink, a utensil in one hand and the handle of the pan in the other, spooning and chasing runny eggs into his mouth, barely paying attention to the flavor.

He’s famished. And it’s not like he’d even be able to taste the flavor, anyway, from how bad his heart hurts. Bond fever is a finicky thing.

At least he remembered to throw the eggshells away in the proper place, instead of letting them clog up the sink.

He’d compost them, if he had any plants to take care of— but that’s always been her department, not his. The walls of his one-bedroom one-bathroom boat are sparse and empty— simply just a bed with a comfortable duvet and blue sheets, his tank full of fish that don’t offer enough company, a desk with some shelves to study at, lined with textbooks, and a wobbly table to eat at. He’d splurged on the extra desk— he could’ve just used the eating table— but knew it was probably better to keep his school papers and food away from each other. Besides, the back left leg of the table definitely looks like it’s about to cave at any point. It’s why he’s started just eating standing up and over the sink.

But she would never let him live like this.

It’s a clean house, and everything has its place, but it’s barren. Almost as if he doesn’t really live here.

And to be honest, he doesn’t. Physically, he spends most of his time here, but— bond fever makes him completely and totally disoriented. Mentally and emotionally he is nowhere near land, but rather in her arms, away from this simple and bland house.

But if she were here… truly here, instead of a fleeting moment…

She would decorate the walls with paint. Put up shelves. Print out photos, and frame them, because she’s enamored with the idea of ink and stains and items that permanently stain other things. She’d taken up to painting quite well, the last time— buying a selection of beginner’s acrylic gouaches in many different colors, and had set to work painting for the first time in her life. The world had exploded onto the canvases. Boats, sunrises, shores from distant islands, a turbulent and salty sea— she’d painted like she was taking a photograph and was developing it right onto the canvas.

He wishes he had the paintings with him now. Anything and everything to keep him company— any remembrance of her is such a blessing. He’ll take it all, if he can. Somedays, the ring on his finger just isn’t enough to keep his heart from hurting. He’ll catch sight of a bolt of ruffled pink fabric in a store window that is so glossy and sheer and delicate that he’ll find himself spinning his ring nonstop, dreaming of being together with her again.

Just a year and a half…

She’d line the shelves with rocks. Trinkets. Keychains from cities they’d gone to together, braided knots, and beautiful jewelry. And how could he forget the plants upon plants she’d shove into every square inch of the place, to the point where the houseboat would be a living and breathing creature from all of the greenery? Sunflowers— peonies— roses— lilacs— geraniums— tulips— every flower she could possibly find at a flower shop would somehow make it onto a flat surface in the houseboat.

This houseboat is empty without her. He spins the ring on his finger, thinking to himself about her— wishing and longing to see her. Just a year and a half more. He can visit on holidays, if he can afford it— but this isn’t just for him. It’s for her, too.

He flicks the light on in his room after washing the dishes, in the process of taking off his shirt, getting ready to try talking to the fish today in the far corner, the furthest away from his full-sized mattress, before giving in to go on a run along the docks. He almost throws his shirt onto the bed— when— well.

That’s when he notices the mermaid on his bed.

The sleeping mermaid on his bed.

She’s dozing off— hidden under his blanket, the mass of blue covers pulled tight around her naked shoulders. One of her pale arms has escaped from the mess she’s made of the fabric, and it hangs off the bed— steam rising softly off of her skin like she’s slowly being cooked, matching ring glinting in the light of the lamp on his nightstand. His eyes widen at the sight of her— the slow and soft drag of her tail fins against the floor as she inhales and exhales, because even curled up she can’t fit all of her on the mattress. She’s never been considered large, not proportionately, but the tail fins are long and delicate, and the mattress is far too small to fit the both of them if he were in his normal form too.

Pink, shimmery and translucent fins flutter as if caught by a slow breeze— petal-like in shape and it always feels silky against his fingertips whenever he’s touched her in the past, and today it looks no different. He follows the line of her fins back up to her tail that disappears underneath the comfortable blanket, where she’s wrapped herself to keep warm from the stale and stagnant air that permeates the room. He’s always liked the temperature around him to be colder, because of how he grew up, but she’s never been able to handle the slight freeze unless she’s been charmed, the little reef-dweller. Either charmed or wrapped up so tightly around him in order to soak up his body heat, nearly squeezing him to death. He sleeps with an eel of a woman, whenever they’re together, completely and totally reluctant to ever let him go.

Like now.

She’s here.

Here.

Strangling the blanket around her shoulders to keep the cold away from her.

His heart squeezes, and he finds himself on his knees, not exactly kneeling on the mattress but rather the floor just in front of her— gently parting the blanket enough to locate her other arm. She hums at the back of her throat when the cold air reaches and pebbles her porcelain skin— face pinching softly at the cold— before she blinks awake when he whispers her name in order to rouse her.

He’s always loved her blue eyes. Especially when they look at him, shining and shimmering like diamonds. “Mmmm?”

“Hi,” He checks her ears for her own magical charm. They’re there, and safely secured on her ear lobes, two perfectly beautiful pink pearls. They had been wedding gifts to her from her job at the school, that many of the parents had chipped in to get her a charm that would be able to withstand long periods of time outside of the sea, and he’s never been so grateful as now to see her wear them. “How long have you been here for?”

She’s always been a slow riser when she wakes up, so the first few seconds of her being conscious again are routinely docile and sweet, and today is no different. Her face softens the moment she recognizes where she is and who she’s looking at, a certain sweetness in her eyes that makes his heart hurt. “Luka? Oh, oh— Luka—”

She latches onto him tightly, pulling him close by her arms around his neck and shoulders with a happy noise. She smells of the ocean, even though she’s dry— her soft black hair just as silky, and just as long as it’s always been. It spills between his fingers as he combs through it, almost liquid on the web of his fingers and down his wrist, and he spends a moment or two just basking in her warmth, basking in the way she sighs against him. She kisses the closest skin available to her, which seems to be his shoulder, his collarbone, his chest, and his bicep— smiling happily up at him when he pulls away enough to look at her in the eyes.

“Marinette— Marinette— I can’t believe you’re here.”

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Her eyes look glassy with tears. “Your fish told me you would be home later— why are you here so early? I thought I had time to surprise you and greet you at the door.”

“You must’ve slept for too long,” He noses at the shell of her ear. “This is about the time I get home every day. But little pearl, what are you doing here? Did you travel safely? Don’t get me wrong, please— I’m so thankful— but when did you show up? No injuries? It’s not a holiday at home, I don’t think, is it?”

“I’m okay. Everything’s okay. No one saw me, and no one tried fishing for me. I just couldn’t keep waiting for you to come back,” She hums. Marinette’s always been a singer, ever since they met for the first time. Always a tune in her voice, always singing and humming away like a never-ending record player. “I’ve missed you so much, Luka, you have no idea— so I just decided that today was enough waiting. I dropped everything off and told my parents that I needed to see you— you, my darling sky.”

“I’m so glad you’re here.” He kisses her. And then again. And then again. And again. He keeps doing it until it hurts to not breathe— but even then, he doesn’t really find the desire to pull away. After all, this is much easier than what he’s dealt with for the past year. “Every day, my heartache just keeps getting worse— this is horrible. How are we supposed to keep this up for another year?”

“And I thought the wedding would’ve been the hard part of all of this— turns out that the bond is just as real as they say.” She giggles as she pulls him closer. He leans over her, wrapping an arm around the smallest part of her waist, resting his open palm on her upper back to support her as he lays her back down. She’s handsy— he doesn’t blame her— brushing her fingertips on all the skin available to her, making an unsatisfied noise when she reaches his jeans. “Take these off?”

Ah. Lovely Marinette. Always so handsy and desperate for close contact— as if he’s any better. He hasn’t seen her in so long, he’s seconds from stopping the pleasantries and letting her know just how much he’s actually missed her. “But—”

“You’ve never been shy before.” She clicks her tongue with a silly little eye roll. She traces his tattoo on his arm, a small smile on her face, following the compass rose’s north tip up his arm. She makes it to the boat with seven sails, before looking up at him rather confused. “There’s nothing you haven’t already shown me— I’ve seen every single centimeter of you and every last scale. Unless— uhm— has something changed?”

“No, nothing has changed— relax that worry in your eyes.” He laughs, and can’t help himself when he kisses her again, slow enough to distract her as he pulls his jeans off, leaving his boxers behind. Her eyes blow wide at the sight of him naked, save for the jade ouroboros around his wrist and the band of his underwear. He hopes it isn’t inside out. “I just meant that I’ve barely been able to look at you, and I know you won’t let me go until it’s tomorrow if I let you have your way. You’re hidden underneath the blanket— let me look at you first before your tail disappears. Why are you wrapped up like a sushi roll, sweetheart?”

“It’s cold,” She shivers, just to prove her point, attempting to pull a fast one on him and reaching for the waistband of his boxers before he snags her wrist with a laugh. Thin and soft shoulders curl underneath his palms in an attempt to stop heat from escaping, and she collects an edge of the blanket to cover herself back up and make a bigger mess out of the covers, locks of her hair spilling over the blanket, pooling to where her waist should be. She tries to tuck in her tail with mixed results. “Why is it colder on land than it is on sea? How are you able to withstand this much frost, Luka? Even my scales are starting to go stiff.”

“Reef-dweller,” He grins.

“Yes, yes, continue to make fun of you poor wife who cannot contain heat because of biology. But you don’t have your scales on you right now, you sea serpent.” She pouts. “I should be much more suited for this cold than you should be, right now.”

He guides her burritoed form closer with a warm smile. Her fins flutter, delicate and sweet, as he pulls her close enough for her to rest part of her tail on his lap as he gently reaches for the edges of the blanket again. “It isn’t actually that cold. You’re just losing heat so you can get your sea legs, remember?”

“Unfortunately, I’m starting to remember the hard way. Stars, I keep forgetting how uncomfortable the transformation is. Maybe I’m doing it on purpose.”

“Let me see you,” He noses at her jawline.

“Only if you promise to warm me up after,” She teases, and she actually manages to snap his waistband against his hip, making him hiss at the sensation. She giggles, kicking up her tail delightfully at the noise he makes. “Please, sky?”

They’re politely ignoring the way he’s starting to fill out his underwear already at the sight of her. It’s instinctual, of course, because of bonds and magic and, well, it is Marinette that’s looking at him like she’s famished. “Of course. You don’t even have to ask.”

Steam billows from the opened pocket of the blanket the moment he unwraps her and finally takes a good look at her. Sweet stars, he’s missed her so much, and he shows her just how much by touching her everywhere. She shivers under his fingertips as he traces the small scales that line her chest and stomach. They’re starting to retreat and fade, now that the drying process is finishing up, but she’s still completely smooth and too scaled to have her human characteristics just yet.

“You’re shivering, my sweet pearl.”

“Yes, but— your hands are so warm,” She sighs.

There’s a gentle swell to her chest, hidden beneath the neat rows of hazy pink scales, but the swell isn’t as much as what she has in her human form. He’d learned early on, when they’d first tried their magic charms and had gained their sea legs, that he loves all versions of her body— including when her chest fills his palms with such softness he feels like weeping, with pink peaks that make her sing whenever he tweaks them. Everything about her is delicate, like the world’s most fragile flower.

But very soon, he’s going to end up with an entirely naked woman on his bed instead of a mermaid. Both are lovely ideas. He’ll be able to watch her wobble on her sea legs for an hour or two before she relearns her balance, and have to guide her by her naked hips if she wants to leave the room. She’ll probably want to stretch her legs, and take a turn about the very small boathouse, but they probably won’t be able to leave the house today. That look in her eyes is telling.

As if he’s any better.

He traces the rows of scales down her stomach, the scales getting thicker and larger as he reaches just about where her tail technically begins at the hips. Her arms, too, have patches of translucent pink scales that are starting to disappear in favor of just skin, and he follows the long line of her tail down with a palm.

He skirts over the area that he knows she so desperately wants to guide him to, gaining a brief huff and pout from her as he instead grazes along her scales all the way to her long and beautiful curtain fin. His touches are soft, and barely noticeable— but it’s enough to get her to twitch.

He starts to tickle her.

“Luka,” She slaps her tail on the mattress in an attempt to make him stop tickling her, and her hand grabs for his— but her laughter is so contagious he can hardly stand it himself. “What— ha— what are you— oh, stars— d-doing?”

“I haven’t seen my wife in almost a year,” He gives her a smile, laughing at the way she squirms uselessly under his hands. “Can I not touch her?”

“You can touch— but—” Such sweet laughter! “But why— oh! Why touch me there when I’m ticklish?”

“Oh? Would you rather me touch you higher?”

“Yes,” She giggles. “Oh, please, I know exactly where I’d like you to touch me. But buy me dinner first, at least.”

“I’ll do more than that, sweetheart.” He licks his lips, watching the way she shifts to prop herself on her elbows. She blows her bangs out of her face when it starts to fall across her lashes, looking at him with sparkling beautiful eyes. She’s so pretty. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and all of that, but his love for her has never diminished in the first place. Sweet beautiful melody. “What is it that my lovely girl wants?”

“Hm…”

“Make it count, of course. Your tail is going to disappear soon.”

“How about: you tell me that you want me like this, sky,” She peeks at him from under her lashes.

He wants her in any form, this won’t be too hard. “I want you.”

She’s feeling cheeky, isn’t she? That smile is proof alone. “Tell me you need me.”

“As if I have to say that.” But she prods him with a cute pout when he rolls his eyes, and he acquiesces: “I need you.”

“Tell me you can’t live without me.”

“I’m miserable without you. So miserable.” He means it. And she knows it. “I don’t want to keep doing this long-distance anymore. I’ve never been so miserable.”

She tilts her head to the side with another hum, looking around the room. “Tell me you’ll let me decorate our home— it’s so bland in here. Where are all the flowers? The music?”

“Please decorate—” His brain flatlines. “Wait, decorate? This house? This— our— house? Home?”

“Surprise!” Another peal of laughter escapes from her, and it follows through her body to a delicate flick of her tail.

His eyes widen. “You— you’re staying?”

“Yes!” She nods, shimmying on her elbows as she grins. “Yes yes yes!”

“But— Marinette— you—” Sweet stars, she’s staying. She’s staying. How could he ever want her to go? The love of his life, the jewel in his heart, and his wife— staying for longer than a few fleeting moments when she can afford to slip away from home? Oh— oh— his heart could burst.

“I can’t stay away from you.” She confesses, cupping his hand and kissing the gold band on his finger. She balances her upper weight on her other elbow, but doesn’t seem to struggle under her own weight. “I’m tired of being away. The bond is making me miserable, Luka, and I’ve had just about enough of it. So, I decided to make it easy on the both of us.”

“But—”

She winks. “I know.”

“And—”

“Yes, that too.”

“Also, your job—”

“I know,” Her laughter is so sweet. He can’t even finish his sentences without her answering as if they’re on the same wavelength— oh— he’s missed this woman so much. “I know, sky. I know. But all of it will be there still when we go back next year. My students won’t go to the next teacher until five years from now. I’ve already talked to the other teachers about me disappearing off with you for a year.”

She… she would really be willing to give up everything, just like that, just for him? Her students, her daily work, her desire to teach? Her desire to nurture? All of it, just to be with him? “I can’t do that to you, little pearl. I know how important your students are to you— I can’t ask you to stay away from them. Maybe I should just go home with you, instead.”

“Luka, honestly! You’re not doing this to me, I want to stay with you— and you better finish this degree of yours. You’ve worked too hard! You know why I couldn’t come with you in the first place, but a year has changed and things are better now, my parents got help from a new family that’s moved into the reef. We can afford a year away from home now, my sweet. A real year away. You know I get one year off to stay with my bond.”

“But that was only as soon as you get married— that was, sweet stars— it was eleven months ago.”

“And I never used it,” She informs him, as if he hadn’t also spent the last year lonely and miserable. “So it’s still viable. I told you, I already talked to the other teachers.”

“But our family—”

“—is completely and totally better off without me constantly sighing in their ears.” She shrugs with a soft smile. It’s a little difficult, given that she’s still propped up on her elbows, but she makes it work. “If I touched my ring one more time in front of my mother, she would’ve personally pushed me out of the ocean herself. Not to mention your mother, telling me that ‘it’s not good to leave your bond alone, lassie. Bonds need to be cultivated, lassie’. Two mothers pushing me up onto the docks, telling me to sleep easy for at least one night. Better me than your mother dragging you back home to deal with me and my nightmares.”

She looks thin. Thinner than usual for springtime, and her face definitely looks a little darker than usual. His poor Marinette, how could he have done this to her? But it’s not like he isn’t affected in the same way, either… all of those nightmares and dull days, wishing to see and hold her. “Have you been eating? You’re looking thin.”

Perhaps they shouldn’t keep trying to test the universal truths with their bond. They really need that year together, don’t they?

“Me? You look thin, Luka.” There’s a frown making its way to the edges of her lips. “Is there not enough food for you? When was the last time you ate?”

“Tuttering pearl,” He murmurs. “Always worrying about me.”

“With good reason to,” She pouts. “Of course I worry about you, sky. What kind of spouse would I be if I didn’t ask my husband if he’s okay? Not a very good one, right?”

“I’ve been eating okay. I eat more in this form.”

“You look pale, my sweet.”

“You’re not the only one who’s been having trouble,” He admits. “Life has been so stagnant without you that I’m kind of just running like a machine. The days are all a blur, and it’s gotten to where I don’t even remember days unless I have a test or homework due that day. I already knew that university was miserable, but— ah, little pearl— don’t cry. It’s alright.”

Marinette’s going to burst into tears. “How stupid of me, leaving you alone.”

“No, sweetheart. You didn’t leave me alone.”

“You’re not as healthy as you usually are,” She hushes a bit when he kisses her, but it’s not enough. “I should’ve been here.”

“No. No, you didn’t do anything wrong. I was the one who left, and I shouldn’t have done that to you. To us.”

“I should’ve come with you.”

“I should’ve waited.” He kisses her again. And again. And again. “I should’ve waited just a little longer to come back up here.”

“You would’ve missed the scholarship if you had. Life could’ve waited for us back home— I should’ve come with you.”

Her tears taste like the ocean, too. “It’s okay, pearl.”

“Oh, sky,” Her eyes are so watery, even as he tries to calm her down with a gentle hand running down her scales. “What idiots we were.”

He tries for a smile. “Everyone told us this would happen.”

“They did,” She nods, sniffing into his palms as he cradles her face and wipes her lower eyelids free of tears. “They did, and we didn’t listen, and it’s cost us a whole year away from one another. How were we supposed to know it got this bad? It hurts to breathe without you.”

“I guess we were just supposed to listen to them,” He kisses her when she tilts her head up in an indication that she wants his lips on hers. He kisses her enough to make her eyes slip shut, and for her body to shiver as he reaches around her again to hold her at the waist. Sweet, sweet Marinette.

“Never again. Never ever again. I’m so thankful I’m here— I won’t let you go. I need you so much. Will you have me forever?”

There’s no need to ask. “Always. I did end up bonding with you, after all.”

She snorts, almost surprising herself with the noise. “A wise choice, you know. I’ve been told I’m very ‘agreeable’.”

Luka finds himself smiling. “Which parent said that?”

“Her child was impossible to console, every morning there was a new battle with this student. Every afternoon his mother would tell me that if no one ends up bonding with me by the following winter, she’ll start courting me herself, completely oblivious to the ring on my finger. She’s amazed at how easy I handle children, and I’m amazed she can just ignore the clear signs of me having bond fever for this long.”

“You’re perfect at your job,” They both laugh when he’s close enough to her to press his forehead onto hers. “But remember that you’re not the only one that wants to take care of their loved one. No more bond fever. I promise.”

“Definitely not. I’ll make sure to chase it out of our bodies on my own, if I have to.”

“Won’t stop until it’s gone?”

“Making up for the time we spent away,” She nods. “It might take us a little longer than normal, from how bad the fever’s gotten, but I don’t think you mind.”

“Greedy.” He grins. “How will I survive?”

She folds herself around him, encircling him as tightly as possible while still allowing him to move his arms. There’s genuine muscle behind the delicateness of her scales and fins— and while she can’t actually hurt his skin with her scales from how tough-skinned he is even in his human form, he is worried that she might accidentally hurt herself by how brittle and fragile they are. She’s still drying out, going through the process of getting her sea legs, meaning that her tail and fins aren’t as slippery as they usually are. “You’ve been captured, sky. No use trying to escape now.”

Their charms soak up most of the oils on their body, allowing them to fully dry out and gain human legs. Marinette is in the final moments of the transformation, which gives him about thirty more minutes of enjoying seeing his wife like she normally looks before she’s safely hidden amongst other humans.

But still, unbeknown to his wishes to see her completely laid flat, she continues to wrap around him, humming at the back of her throat as she soaks up his body heat, coiling around him like an eel. Cold little pearl. “Still freezing, my sweet?”

“I’m feeling a little better. I don’t think I’m losing any more body heat, but I’ll take any opportunity to be attached to you. I don’t want to let you go for the next ten days. Or weeks. Or months. What do you say to a whole year of us together in this bed?”

“We need to eat at some point.”

“I believe you said that there are delivery services available?” She hums. “I really liked pizza the last time. Do they make pizza with blueberries on them?”

“I’m not sure they do.”

“They should,” She makes a happy noise. “The taste would be sublime. Blueberries are so wonderful. Or how about blueberries and peaches on the pizza?”

“Humans would probably tell you that the pizza you’re craving is a crime.” His laughter is genuine, bubbling out of him at the idea of Marinette eating a slice of what humans consider revolting. “They don’t put fruit on them.”

“They’re missing out on flavors they never would’ve imagined.” She pouts.

“What are we going to do with your horrifying taste palette? You have the appetite of a sea-dweller. Are you sure you’ve lived your entire life in the reef?”

“All of my years, yes.” She giggles. “I don’t imagine I would be a very good sea-dweller. Much too cold down there.”

He smiles when a shiver travels down her tail at the thought of the water. “Oh, yes, how could I have forgotten that I promised to warm you up? Maybe I should cash that in now.”

A hand makes it to his boxers. She snaps his waistband with another version of her soft smiles and those wandering, glittering blue eyes, and, oh— it’s impossible for him to take off his underwear like this, with her tail completely wrapped around him like she’s a snake— but his wife is nothing short of persistent as she kisses his side. He shivers when her tongue sneaks against his skin, wet and moist, and he can feel himself involuntarily twitch his toes at the feeling. “Maybe I should warm you up instead, sky. You look like you’re having a rough time.”

“Absolutely not.”

“But—”

“You are hopelessly mistaken if you think I’m going to allow you to have free reign of my body before I’m able to enjoy the last sights of you like this.” Even as his toes continue to twitch with the way she mouths at his ribs. “You ravenous woman. You’re terrible at sharing, and I’ve missed you very much.”

“Oh, it’s not as if I can’t just take off my earrings and let you enjoy touching my scales some more.”

“You know what I mean,” He scrunches his nose. “Let me do this properly.”

“I’ll let you do whatever you’d like as long as I get to go first.” She tugs at the elastic. “Please? Just a few minutes, Luka? A decently sized amount of time to get my mouth on you?”

Oh, conniving mermaid. “I do not make deals with you. The last time I did, I ended up getting married to you.”

“As if that’s a bad thing!”

“I don’t regret it,” He shares a grin with her. “Definitely not. But you just have a way of convincing me to do things.”

“Oh, so I convinced you to marry me? Funny, I remember something about how you were convinced you were bad for me, but couldn’t help yourself but to keep trying to court me…” She giggles when he attempts to squeeze out of her grasp, rolling his eyes affectionately. “There’s no escaping, sky. Not with your sea legs, I’m afraid.”

It’s true. He is a lot stronger than her with his tail. With just about anything, really, because merfolk from the reefs are nothing compared to the ones out in the open sea with hardened skin and longer figures, but…

“This bed will break if I get rid of them,” He manages to get one of his legs out, much to her complaints. She’s far too dry for her to keep a genuine grip on him, poor thing. “Stretch out, little pearl. I’m curious to see how well you can last.”

“Will you take me like this?” She gasps, letting him unwrap her enough for his other leg to slip out from underneath her. “Oh, sky, yes please! I’m not sure—”

“We’ll do that next time. I have something else in mind.” Although he’s willing to try. Maybe when she isn’t on the cusp of transforming out of her tail, because that would take a little longer for them to find the best position— she’s always so small and tight as it is. It would be easier in water, of course, so that she’s in whatever position is more comfortable for her, but with his ouroboros on he breathes like a normal human. Sadly, he would probably drown himself.

Marinette would kill him.

A good way to go. But still killed and drowned all the same.

She’s still ticklish under his fingertips when he brushes over her scales again, but her cheeks are slowly pinking as they make eye contact. She’s not shy— definitely not. Honestly, she’s much more adventurous than him, in this aspect, but it’s been so long since they’ve been together, and he hopes that he remembers how to please her to the point she sings. Even though she’s excited, and he can tell by the way her fins twitch at the end of the bed, she mostly keeps still as he follows her scales back to where she’s wanted him to be from the very beginning.

Ah, there she is.

This spot is definitely not dry.

Soft, and full of slick, she opens gently to his prodding fingers with a sigh. Her nails are blunt, but they feel like little needles on his shoulders as she grips him, trying her best not to squirm and overwhelm him. Her body is tightly wound, almost hurtful, and even with the slick she’s not that easy to sink into down to the knuckle like he’d imagined. He hisses at how tight she is, feeling his cheeks heat and something stir at the base of his spine, panting as he hears her squelch as he pushes in more and more. “Why are you so tight, pearl?”

“I— oh— haven’t had much time to myself, the school keeps me so busy—” She makes a noise of contentment anyway, brushing her hair back and around her as he fingers her open. She’s a pretty sight, with her hair long and flat like ribbons near her waist. If he twists his finger this way… maybe she’ll… “And you know I don’t like doing it— oh, stars! Luka, yes, more of that—”

“Easy,” He grins, making sure she doesn’t squirm completely away from his hands. She wants to stay, she does, and he knows that, but she’s always too excited to keep still and let him finish. She wants all of it. She wants all of him, and always ends up rushing to the good parts instead of enjoying the moment. “Finish what you were saying, sweetheart.”

She huffs when he stills his finger, batting her tail along the end of the mattress. “I don’t like doing it alone, you know, and it’s been rather lonely doing it.”

“I know what you mean,” He fills in the silence between her panting, twisting his finger again and making her eyes roll as a groan leaves her.

She bites her lip. “I’d rather you help me out, it always feels so much better— oh— you’re just so good, sky.”

“Oh, am I?” He meets her gaze almost challengingly, slowing his fingers down enough to get a shine back into her hazing eyes. “So does that mean you thought about me?”

Does he really deserve that fin slap onto his shoulder? He would say no, but, there’s not much of an argument to be made when she rolls her eyes. “Of course I thought about you. What kind of ridiculous question is that?”

“Let me guess,” He tilts his head to the side, blinking at her with shaggy hair in his lashes. “Did you think about the last time we did it? How I’d made you sing for hours?”

“No— I mean, well, yes— but—” She moans.

He hums. “You almost woke up our neighbors with your sighs. Pretty little thing.”

“You know, I also thought about my husband hurrying up whenever he decided to finger me,” Her smile curls silly when all he does is laugh and continue to stall. Slicking his fingers against the soft and wet slit, only gently sinking in only to pull out again, making her mewl out. “I want to get you out of those boxers, damn this tail! Your cock is calling my name, I know it— if only I had the legs to catch you with, you’d see the summit of my desires.”

“Oh, I’d love to see that. A reef-dweller, trying to outmaneuver a deep-sea dweller.”

“You’re not as scary as you think, sky,” Her shoulders shake from laughter, and he retaliates by curling his fingers just so in order to get that whine back into her voice. “I’ll— oh my— h-have you know, I got over your differentness—”

“My ‘differentness’?” He grins, but she doesn’t elaborate.

“—within the first year of meeting you. Maybe even the first month— I knew from the moment your eyes turned into gold that I was going to marry you. Our friends were confused and terrified of it— but I knew that you’re nothing more than a guppy. And I knew it from the moment you scales changed colors to match the reef that I had found my eternal love.”

“Sweet,” He muses, trying his best not to blush. “But you are still no match for a deep-sea dweller, my love. They’re tougher than nails. The bullies of the merworld.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s true.” But she doesn’t make eye contact with him anymore, instead looking down at his boxers with a knowing look. His body stirs as she continues to look at him, wetting her lips with a slow drag of her tongue, enraptured by what she sees. “The ever scary deep sea, with their terrifying personalities and scary men who want nothing more than to please their wives.”

“And I, of course, wouldn’t know anything about that.”

Something in her switches, and her gaze snaps up to his. He looks at her shining eyes, watching them widen into a lovely shape as she whines at the back of her throat. “Let me have you, Luka, before I lose my mind from how much I need you.”

His finger goes back to making her sing. “I love it when you beg, sweetheart.”

“Ridiculous man,” She rolls her eyes but it almost feels forced as her face turns redder and redder. “Just— oh— watch out, sky, because once you’re done I’ll return the favor.”

She drags him closer for a kiss. He eases another finger into her, desperate to make the humming noise turn into a full-on shout, but he gets distracted by the way her tongue presses into his. Inquisitive, as usual, his pearl is frantic for him as she curls her tongue into his mouth, parting her own lips in a moan when he angles his head to the side and nips at her bottom lip with his teeth.

She’s alive under his fingers. Tight, yes— warmer than a furnace, too— she’s everything he loves and craves. He’ll chase the bond fever out of her, too, even if it takes him all night, but the way she sings praises of his fingers curling and uncurling in her as he works her open is a sign that it might not be long before his pearl is gushing over his fingers.

But the bond fever won’t be that easy to solve. They have a whole year to make up for, of course, but he’s certain that this is in the right direction. To hell with obligations of tomorrow, or even all of the groceries he knows that they have to go and get when he has her gasping and moaning from his actions— he hasn’t heard her sweet and moaning voice in months. It’s a sweet song that he’ll hold forever in his heart.

“Luka— Luka—” She purrs.

Or tries to, at least, since they’re outside of water and the sound doesn’t travel like it should. Regardless, it’s a rumbly and poetic noise that warms him all over, evidence that the strain in her shoulders is starting to lessen, and evidence that she’s relaxing completely. He almost straddles her, his knees on either side of her tail and careful not to step on her hair, pistoning his fingers in the way he knows will alleviate that curl in her spine.

“You’re so beautiful, sweetheart,” He could watch her come undone by him for the rest of his life. “Nothing in the world compares to you.”

Oh, and he knows she loves hearing him say that. Luka knows she’s the happiest when he pays attention to her and goads her with endless amount of praise. None of it is ever lies, or forced— which is probably the reason why she loves it so much.

As if to prove his point, slick squelches out of her as she sighs. She’s taking his two fingers so well, even as it’s a tight fit, even as her body attempts to push him out because his fingers are much bigger than what her body reasonably allows to penetrate her, but still, she’s doing so well— even her scales are shining in the lamplight from the amount of fluid she’s producing, and it makes the pink scales look all the more vibrant. “Sky— oh, please, sky—”

“Just a bit more,” He whispers. “I want to watch you just for a little longer. My darling. My wonderful and absolute darling.”

“Please—” She’s babbling a bit, leaning into his hand he has at her cheek, looking at him with those diamond blue eyes. “Please, Luka, please— oh—”

Oh, he loves it when she begs.

“Come for me?” He nips at her jaw and mouth. He’d bite and lick her at the chest if she had her sea legs, but there’s nothing but smooth scales to mouth over, and it would probably be best not to get any lacerations just because he couldn’t wait for a bit longer. “Be a dearest for me and come for me, little pearl.”

Her tail goes completely rigid when she does.

He feels his fingers get squeezed just as she throws her head back, and catches sight of her earrings starting to glow. He pulls his fingers out just as the magical charms release and stain her skin, and he blinks at the sight of beautiful cream-colored legs wrapped around his hips. Not to mention her pink slit, sticky from his help— he can’t stop himself from going back to her and using his fingertips up and down the sensitive flesh that has her twitching and mewling behind a hand.

“Oh! I— I forgot I’m more sensitive—” She flinches when he comes into contact with her clit. He rolls her flesh between two fingers, enjoying that cute face she makes, before— wait— are her thighs locking because she’s— “Luka— oh stars—”

“Twice back to back, pearl?” His eyes blow wide when she comes back from gasping and crying. “Oh, sweetheart.”

“Oh. I didn’t expect— oh.”

“Sweet Marinette. You’re so perfect, just like usual.” He murmurs as she starts to settle back down, starting to slow her twitching from his fingertips. “How are you feeling?”

“Mmmm,” She hums instead of answering, and he can’t fault himself for chuckling. “That one is going to cost you.”

“Is it?”

But the sight of her is mouth-watering, so breathtakingly mouth-watering— and he’s halfway to just opening her up again with his fingers and exploring all of her new skin available. After all, the swell of her breasts is so appetizing, her face flushed and glowing as she loses a bit of steam in favor of drowsily blinking up at him— he wants nothing more than to suck bruises onto her porcelain skin and have her continuously cry out.

His own arousal is an afterthought, so long as he can keep her with him looking this beautiful and this dazed.

But the world tilts very much soon after he makes that thought.

“Yes, my lovely sky. My turn— I’ll make sure you to give you two as well.” She smiles, saddling him with a fervor that he should’ve expected by now. The space between her legs is sticky and warm, and he can feel her wetness through his boxers as she sits right where he’s sure is most comfortable for her. Her thighs feel like the perfect weights against his hips, slotting against him like a perfect pair.

Her eyes are brown, now, just as dark and vast as the sea he grew up in before meeting her. Her human eyes are beautiful and nostalgic to his past, and he finds himself captivated by them every time. He loves her in all forms, after all, bond or not— she’s beautiful to him in all versions he’s ever met her, even as he plays with the strands of her slightly shorter hair, relishing in how soft it still is against his fingertips.

“Go easy on me, scary serpent, you know I bruise easily,” He grins at her, palming up the soft flesh of her legs. She shivers at it, still sensitive after just transforming. No doubt her body is still trying to make sense of the sudden change, but she seems to be more in favor of putting all of that on the back burner and focusing on him. She captures his wrist, and kisses softly at his ring when she brings his hand up to her face— he tries his best not to pay attention to how her breasts feel like silk against his arm and elbow.

“Not a chance, my dear.”

AO3 | Chapter One | Chapter Two

#pro lukamari #pro lukanette #fragileizyfic #fragileizylukanette #lukanette endgame

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