#iceberg climbing roses

[stargirlfics]

The Gentleman Chapter Six: Tremble

Alfred Pennyworth x Black Dancer!Reader

Summary: Scarecrow threatens to bring Gotham to its knees while you and those you love find yourself caught in the middle

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, canon typical violence, mentions of chemical weapons, anxiety and hallucinations, mild angst and hurt/comfort, competency kink, alfred being a soft dom, smut: soft spanking tw, body worship, oral (reader receiving)

Word Count: 12.0k

This chapter is finally here and I actually cannot believe the journey it has been from when I started working on this, having months of difficulty writing and then I just write this massive chapter! I’m really happy to be sharing it and I hope it’s well worth the wait. I really appreciate and cherish all your comments and love and patience especially on this series, it means so much 🤎

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At the mercy of impending catastrophe, an entire city was holding its breath in sick anticipation.

News of Scarecrow and his fear toxin was everywhere one went, anxiety climbing with every hushed discussion and passing day without answers.

His motives were still unclear and everyone was trying to decipher the severity of the message he had left: This is Gotham’s only warning. Fear the Scarecrow.

What was to come next? And would you be ready?

Trust in Gotham’s institutions was few and far between for most, though you did feel a little more hopeful with Mayor Bella Reál’s steady presence in public lately—even still, people were bracing themselves. 

For you that meant dance rehearsals were still being held so stage time was abundant, the exotic performances and the allure of the Iceberg Lounge were quickly becoming a good means of escape for many in the city. 

You wanted to dazzle the audience, satisfied when you could suspend their belief that this was just a dance and convince them nymphs and sirens were real and alive in front of them instead. 

It was easy to throw yourself into the work if you thought about it; counting steps and turns while the band played their hearts out.

There was no other competition, the shimmer and sparkle of the costumes, the lingerie underneath even more dazzling, opal pearls and diamonds adorning your lush bodies caught every single eye.  

Five, six, seven…a spotlight shines down upon you, such a pretty beacon of desire, of the passion flowering so strongly in your own heart until there’s nothing but you and the music.

You left nothing on that stage at the end of the night. 

Especially not when Alfred was in the crowd watching you with an ever growing adoration. 

He made the effort to catch a show when he could, waiting with roses for you afterwards and no compliment or praise spared from your ears if he could help it. 

It was amazing how much things could shift, how nervous you had been the first time you knew he would be watching and now you welcomed it, relished in his promise to show up for you simply because he thought your talent and love for your artform was worth it, that you were worth it. 

And of course how could you forget his handwritten letter with such neat and elegantly written words, the very letter that sat on your nightstand since your date in the bookstore when he presented it to you and made it all official. 

You read over it in the late night hours and in the morning when you woke up wishing he was next to you, until you could recite every word he had written by heart. Weeks ago you would have felt anxious about entering a relationship, not wanting to go through heartbreak if your feelings weren’t the same but now you understood Alfred would never let you stand on unsteady ground. 

He hadn’t since the first moment your paths collided, the memory of it still so vivid you could practically hear the echo of your pounding footsteps on the concrete hurrying to reach him, taking a chance on a stranger and embracing him out of fear only to come away from it with your pulse racing for an entirely different reason instead. 

Something solid and gentle had formed here and you wanted to be cocooned inside of it forever. 

Your friends definitely didn’t hide their excitement that you were “basically dating a member of the Wayne family!” as Roxie had put it. 

She was the first to tell you she wouldn’t mind at all if you slipped Bruce her number. Bambi was already ride or die for the relationship, as was Amber and then Kiera’s encouragement of all things romance on top of it all certainly made this a fanclub if you’d ever seen one. 

Truthfully though their reassurances kept you from letting the tendency to overthink get in the way, making sure you knew that the way Alfred treated you was everything you deserved. 

Grateful felt like too simple a word but it’s perhaps the best word to summarize the way you felt about each of them. Elated in how they celebrated this with you, a sing-song chorus of excitement when you told them about his letter in the chat or how everything went after he spent the night at your place for the first time. 

It kept you hopeful, appreciating everything you had just a little extra.

Fresh snow dusted the windowsills of The Magpie where you were counting down the time until you’d have your evening free to spend with Alfred. 

You would see him in just a few short minutes anyways, with Bruce in tow for a meeting with the mayor and her team but knowing you’d still have some time before you truly got him to yourself left you feeling a little antsy. 

The bar had already been wiped down twice and you just checked on the handful of people sitting around for brunch, most of them talking and finishing off their drinks for the time being. 

So you settled on people-watching, polishing the crystal whiskey glasses while you did, arranging them in a stacked pyramid and you were almost done with the menial task when Bruce Wayne sidled up to the bar.

“Oh, hey! Can I get you anything, Mr. Wayne?” you greeted him with a smile, doing your best not to make it obvious you were also looking to see if Alfred was nearby.

“Please just call me Bruce, you don’t have to keep it so formal, really I insist. And just coffee if you can.” 

“Sorry, habit. I can get you some coffee, any sugar or cream?” you were laughing to yourself a little, forgetting that you didn’t have to address him so properly every time. 

You still did that with Alfred sometimes, a ‘Mr. Pennyworth’ at the tip of your tongue on occasion which always came with a playful scolding. 

“No thanks, I’ll take it as is,” Bruce corrected, thanking you again when you set the steaming mug down in front of him. “Oh, before I forget. He may have told you this already but when time allows it Alfred likes to try and get Dory and I together for a proper Sunday dinner and if you’re able to this coming weekend, I wanted to try and surprise him.”

Oh, how thoughtful! Quickly realizing he was inviting you to join them in this tradition of theirs made your heart swell and you hastened to accept. 

“That sounds so nice! Of course I can be there. Should I bring anything, dessert maybe?” 

“Yes, that would be perfect actually. It’ll be nice to have you there..uh, I know we haven’t had much time to speak but thank you, it’s good to see him happy lately and that’s because of you.” 

Bruce’s usual shy, reserved tone was more open, a little softer and you felt relief knowing that you had his approval in a way, maybe not wanting to admit to yourself that it had been a quiet worry all this time. 

His and Alfred’s relationship was on better working ground now and you didn’t want to complicate that or make it any more difficult for them to connect in the way they needed and it was very clear from the start that they did need each other and cared for one another fiercely. 

This was good, really good. 

“I’m glad and that’s okay by the way there’s been a lot going on you’re probably just as busy as he is, if not more, I figured we’d get to talk at some point. I really do just want to make him happy and I hope you know he is because of you too, he’s so proud of you.”

Your last few words saw the very rare edge of a smile before he took a sip from the mug, face turning stoic again.

Speaking of Alfred, he walked in the very next moment, as effortlessly handsome as usual. His suit was a crisp charcoal gray, a black tie tucked perfectly into that pristine waistcoat you knew felt smooth under your hands, the familiar gold accents of his wristwatch and cane pulling it all together. 

He always looked incredible but god did he have you weak from halfway across the room today, those kind, blue eyes finding you with ease. 

Waving him over to the bar, you started making his usual cup of Earl Grey, sharing a sheepish smile when you greeted each other. 

“Good to see you, darling. I hope you’ve had an easy morning.” The depth and lull of his voice and that accent sent warmth spreading across your cheeks, distracted from hearing the affection in his tone. 

“I have, thank you,” setting his cup of tea down on the bar counter, you leave the milk out for him to pour how he likes, “Hope the meeting goes well, you’re gonna kill it!”

“That’s very nice of you. I imagine it will, what we’re proposing will benefit the city and they seem receptive to Bruce’s ideas, which is all we can ask for.” 

Beaming at him you nodded encouragingly, giving yourself a few more moments to talk with the two men before the mayor arrived and they were whisked off to a more private table. 

Kiera came in not long after that, you were really just working the morning to fill in for her until she could get here but your plans to leave with Alfred right after his meeting lined up with the timing anyways.

An hour passed ever so slowly, the meeting finally finishing with what looked like good spirits from everyone and before long you were saying your goodbye’s to Bruce since he had to head out while Alfred lagged behind to take a phone call from his office. 

Bundled up in your coat, you waited by the hostess stand content to watch the snow flurries begin to fall outside, such a stark contrast to the warm, crimson interior. 

Not sure how long you were lost admiring the view, a warm hand slides across your lower back drawing your attention in a gentle caress you’re sure you’d know anywhere.

“Ready to leave?” Alfred held his hand out for you and kissed your knuckles when you fit your palm against his.

The eager nod of your head and the accompanying excited giggle gave you away but you didn’t care to hide how much you’d been looking forward to this evening with him. 

“Ready.” 

Outside the air was chilly, coats zipped up a little higher while you discussed what the plans were for the rest of the day. 

It was still fairly quiet out on the streets, the business sector in this part of the city always a bit more empty than the bustling traffic of downtown that you were used to, at least before dinner rush anyway. 

Nothing out of the ordinary piqued your attention until Alfred was pausing mid-sentence, asking if you heard what he had heard.

“No, what-” but no sooner than you had opened your mouth, the faintest recognition of what sounded like a scream could be heard. You flicked your eyes up to him in concern. 

Had it really been a scream? Or was the frigid wind playing tricks on you, whistling through the air?

The same sound rang out again somewhere in the distance, only this time you both were able to hear a distinct shout of “HELP!” following it. 

The mood had suddenly turned urgent but it was as if you could only move in slow motion until you realized that at this very moment, the other shoe had indeed dropped. 

Chaos was the only way to describe it, more shouts piercing the air but nothing prepared you for the wave of people running out into the street in every direction. 

You can’t be sure exactly what’s going on or what everyone was running from but the gears were already spinning in your mind and you don’t hesitate to move when Alfred hurriedly nudged you to follow him, clutching onto his jacket as he guided you to cross the street where his car was parked around the corner. 

But you wouldn’t make it more than a few steps off the curb.

The flow of the crowd was too dense, too panicked and you were jostled as you tried to keep your feet steady on slick, snowy pavement.

A gasp was knocked loose from your throat when someone shoved past you, upsetting your balance in the process, the impact forcing you to let go of Alfred’s hand.

Fingers flailed but it was no use, you couldn’t move fast enough and soon more people pushed themselves between you on all sides which meant he couldn’t reach you either. You were quickly losing sight of him, legs feeling like lead as you tried to follow the sound of his voice shouting your name but there’s too much noise to filter out. 

No, no! Where is he? I can’t see him anymore.

Your heart sank realizing you’d lost him in the crowd, even as frantically as you were searching for him there were so many people dashing past as you also tried to keep moving that you knew it would be impossible to find him like this. 

You were separated and on your own. 

Now it felt like your sense of direction was off, not sure if you were still headed in the right direction towards his car anymore, the whole world feeling like it was swallowing you up.

Deep breaths, just take a deep breath. Keep moving. 

You had to repeat it to yourself in order to stay calm, trying to reassure yourself that somehow you could make it out of whatever this was but a pang of worry for Alfred made you feel nauseous. 

Unwelcome thoughts of something happening to him threatened to take root amidst your struggle to think. Hands moving on their own volition, you reached into your bag to fumble for your phone; maybe you could could get a hold of him by calling, sending a text, could find where he was and try and make your way to him in the event you ended up making it to the car and he wasn’t there.  

Seconds later, up ahead of you, a truck swerved to avoid a group of people rushing into the intersection which sent everyone scrambling to move aside, inadvertently knocking you off balance again. 

Stinging pain prickled in the meat of your shins, rattling all the way up to your temple when you collided with the cold concrete, eyes going wide knowing it wasn’t safe to be on the ground like this. 

But it didn’t matter because had you not been knocked to the ground you weren’t sure you would have noticed it: the shiny silver canister nestled in a pile of snow not six feet away. 

Something didn’t feel right about this. It felt like you were being herded to this point.

Under the noise of so many footsteps and all the commotion you heard it click, a slow whistling hiss coming after. The sound grew louder but you were already scrambling backwards trying to put distance between you and the cloudy plume of gas extinguishing from the cylinder. 

This had to be the fear toxin, this had to be him. 

Fresh screams dotted the blood rushing to your brain through your ears, dread forming a hard lump in your throat as you watched the gas diffuse again and mix with the falling snow. 

Loosening your scarf you folded it over your nose and mouth hoping it would buy you some time if you weren’t breathing as much of it in, you couldn’t be sure you hadn’t already. 

Your heart was hammering in your ribs when you finally found your footing and could stand, ignoring the strain in your muscles or how your skin felt raw from where your tights had snagged and torn from crawling on the pavement. 

Now that you were on your feet again your surroundings were more familiar.

It’s how you spotted the mouth of an alleyway to your right, knowing exactly where it would lead, recognizing the rust red fire escape peeking out from the side of the building. You hadn’t realized you traveled back this far but you’d take it, at least you’d be off the street this way. 

The disadvantage of this was that you were working against the flow of bodies but you tried to keep your stance wide and square out your shoulders so you couldn’t be pushed quite as easily, and there was something else…a noticeable difference in how people were acting. 

It wasn’t just panic in their eyes, pupils glazed over and blown wide, this was an erratic look of fright. This toxin was confirmed to cause hallucinations which could only mean there had to be dozen’s on this street alone who’d come in contact with it. 

You could only imagine what awful things they were seeing, your voice ricocheting against the clamor of sounds trying to warn whoever you could. 

Just then, the quickest flash of gold appears in your peripheral and you hear your name again turning in time to see him, Alfred, shouldering his way through the crowd. 

You stared in awe, questioning for a split second if you were starting to see things too but he was really there fighting and pushing his way through the packed street to get to you.

The small relief when he reached you, both of his arms locking around you this time before ushering you the rest of the way. Slipping into the alleyway was easy after that. 

“Are you hurt? Darling, look at me please! Are you hurt?” His voice is chalked with concern, a clipped edge to his tone that echoed against the brick wall you had slumped against to catch your breath. 

He’s already looking you up and down in careful assessment. 

“I’m fine! I’m okay..I think, but wait, Alfred! This was intentional, the gas it-” the words come tumbling out but you fall short at the nod he gave you. Of course he had pieced it together. You’re gulping before noticing his cane is missing. “What about you? I was so worried when we-” the words died in your throat for a second time remembering how you got separated in the crowd. 

You didn’t trust yourself not to cry. 

“Me too, sweet girl but I am alright. I was far more worried about you.” and it’s the tenderness in his voice that makes you sniffle. 

Screaming cuts through the brief moment of rest and you both agree you need to get out of here, deciding to stay off the main streets. If you could cut through a few alleyways you’d be able to get to his car.

His hand is once again steady in yours, thumb passing over your skin trying to soothe you while your own fingers return pressure here and there, beyond relieved to be next to him again even with a million more worries arising. 

The damage had already been done though, time beginning to move slowly, buildings looming high above feeling suffocating, as if maybe you’d never find your way out, every muffled cry or scream from the streets a terrible chorus. 

A loud squeal and the creaking of metal a few feet ahead halted your steps again, Alfred’s arm thrown back to push you behind him. 

Four men filed out of a side door, the hoods of their jackets pulled up so they were shrouded in shadows, both of you just barely avoiding being seen. 

Alfred had hastened to backtrack and slip behind an empty delivery truck in the alley that provided some cover without close inspection but was still too close for any sort of comfort. 

Everything in you went quiet and still, clammy fingers gripping Alfred’s bicep a little tighter, grateful you were wedged between the side of the truck and his body. You don’t want to look their way again but your anxiety rises at the thought of not knowing how far away they were so you risk a peek over his shoulder. 

Your blood goes cold almost instantly, breath sucked from your lungs when a fifth man stepped forth. 

Dead eyes pierced through a ripped burlap hood covering the man’s head, its crooked stitching reminding you of an old scarecrow only the rest of him was clad in a suit. All you felt was dread. 

“Keep your eyes peeled.” a distorted command came from behind the decrepit hood.

There was something terrifying about the way this man moved, it was creepy and sinister, your suspicions confirmed when you spotted more of those silver canisters peeking out from his suit jacket just before he was slinking away, moving out onto the street ahead flanked by those four men, each with a weapon in hand. 

Tentative relief came seeing the distance increase between your position and theirs but you weren’t out of the woods yet by any means with one more street to go.

Counting shallow breaths one by one, you waited until the crunch of their footsteps on the snow faded enough to move ahead safely. 

Alfred squeezed your fingers to get your attention, motioning for you to follow him from out behind the truck carefully. It was best not to stay idle here too long.

In the midst of trying to process what just occurred you didn’t notice Alfred pull out a small blade until you saw it clenched in his left hand, noting the way he kept it tucked in towards his palm so that outwardly no one could see it was there. 

His other hand gripped your arm, keeping you from being able to move from behind his back as you crept forward together, a defensiveness in his movements that made it seem like this was just muscle memory for him. 

Here he was, protecting you, keeping you calm this whole time and though it wasn’t surprising anymore you were still a little struck by just how much he cared for you, your wellbeing. It bled through into every part of him and that had your heart clenching. 

When you finally made it out of the alley fresh worry spiked like ice inside your chest, attention drawn to every direction trying to make sure nothing would catch either of you off guard now that you were no longer under the cover of the city’s alleyways but at last, after what felt like an eternity, you had arrived. 

Unlocking the car and seeing to it that you were safely tucked inside, Alfred was skillfully weaving the sleek vehicle through the streets in no time.  

—

Everything felt like it was turned upside down.

Sirens and police cars whizzed past, headed in the direction you’d just left behind and you could only watch as the weather turned dreary.

Alfred checked in every so often, comforting you with reassuring glances, a soft squeeze to your knee which you returned with a weak smile. You were sure he had noticed you shivering as well and felt appreciative of the warm air circulating through the vents. 

Remembering your phone after a moment you fished it out of your bag, replying to a string of texts from Kiera who was worried sick and thankfully still safe inside where you last saw her. 

Scrolling through the rest of your messages and missed phone calls that kept pinging in your notifications you let each of them know you were safe until it hit you that something was missing, a sudden gasp catching Alfred’s attention.  

“Do-do you think Bruce is okay? He left a few minutes before us. Maybe he managed to miss all that.”

“I’m sure he made it through, but he’s not been answering his phone. We’ll be at the Tower soon and we can check.” 

It sounds hopeful but the crease of worry between his brows makes you wonder. 

Trying to cling to the more hopeful outcome, you attempt to keep bad thoughts at bay with the idea that you’d see that swath of dark hair emerging from the staircase as soon as you step into the foyer. He just had to be there. 

The rest of the drive was fairly quiet but the noise in your head made up for it. 

You couldn’t stop thinking about what you’d seen—Scarecrow. How close you’d gotten to the fear toxin but so luckily managed to avoid it, a sick feeling in your stomach seeing what it did to the people around you. 

Whatever his big plans were for the people of Gotham, you were sure they were horrifying. 

Anxiety drips from your shoulders when the car finally comes to a stop, limbs heavy again as you soar up to the penthouse floors from the parking garage elevator and it’s only when the low hum of the lift stops that you let go of Alfred’s hand, the doors opening to a suspended silence. 

It only took a few minutes and a quick search to see that it was evident Bruce wasn’t here. 

Your stomach was twisted into knots again waiting patiently while Alfred tried his cell phone one more time. Each trilling of the dial tone felt longer than the last and your heart sank once it went to voicemail. 

“If he has his location on, I’m sure I’ll be able to find him.” He takes a deep breath, pacing the floor trying to think, to come up with answers. 

Wringing your hands wasn’t doing much to ease the tension in your body so you forced yourself to lean against the solid wood table of the main room. 

Touching something solid seemed to help and you wanted to be helpful to Alfred right now, at the very least supportive in the effort to find Bruce, hoping anxiety wouldn’t take over everything.

Mentally you were running through a list of possible places near the incident that he could be, fingers flying to your phone to search news updates, find out if Bruce’s name had been mentioned anywhere. 

“Christ, I’ve found him! His phone is at the GCPD building. He can’t have been there for very long yet.” 

“Okay, that’s good. He’s probably okay then if he’s there of all places, right?” your question is tinged with a cautious optimism as is Alfred’s responding agreement but you still feel unsure. 

“I’m going to head there regardless, surely he’s fine but I don’t want to take any chances. I wish he would answer his bloody phone, though.”

He sounded like such a dad in that moment you might have laughed if the circumstances were different. 

“Maybe he’s there with the mayor too, they walked out together before us, it was probably the first place he would think to go especially if they saw something related to what we saw.” you offer a little reassurance and reach out to squeeze his shoulder. 

“Smart girl. I’m sure you are right.” Alfred sighed and closed his eyes for a brief moment.

Fngers pinching the bridge of his nose before he slips his glasses from his breast pocket and puts them on, focused in on what needed to be done once again, typing out a few messages to Bruce in the meantime. 

“I can come with you, just in case he’s in trouble or, or.” you don’t want to go any further with possibilities and you aren’t sure how to articulate your uneasiness at him going back out there on his own even if he could handle himself. 

It upset you to think you wouldn’t be there, wouldn’t know if something else were to happen. 

“Oh my love, I appreciate that. You’ve been so brave through all this and I do want you with me but more importantly I need you safe and staying here will ensure that. I don’t want you in harm's way.” he’s setting down his phone to cup your cheeks, moving in close so his nose brushes yours gently. 

You want to protest but understand that he’s right, the lump in your throat returning as you look at him. 

He was being strong, for you, keeping it together just to make sure you weren’t any more frightened than you needed to be but you could see the stress in his features and knew you needed to be strong for him too. 

“I don’t like it but I understand,” you relented with a whisper, leaning into him a little more, unconsciously trying to hold on. “I’ll stay here but just please be careful okay?” 

Alfred moved back a bit so you’d look him in the eyes, a determination in them that takes away some unsettled nerves. 

“I promise I will be. I’ll keep in touch as well, as soon as I find out anything you’ll get a call.” His soft murmur came in between the gentle press of his lips against your forehead. 

His kisses were effective in calming you even if it didn’t help the reluctance to part from him, you know he has to go and don’t want to delay him any longer. 

A new wave of emotion crests at the way he fusses over you before departing; making sure you were okay to be here alone for a bit, reminding you to eat something soon and that there was a change of clothes still in his room if you wanted to shower and take off your torn tights and snow dampened sweater. 

The anxious shake of your hands was better even as you kissed him goodbye, returning his thoughtfulness by making sure he had a pair of gloves and another cane from his collection in hand before hurrying off, your feet lingering for a moment longer after the elevator doors close behind him. 

Now…the waiting began.  

—

Barely twenty minutes have gone by but you’re restless and there’s a sharp tension in your shoulders all the way down to your hamstrings that won’t ease up even when you try to relax. 

Wayne Tower was quiet and far too empty, the methodic tick of the old grandfather clock in the foyer and your footsteps all the sound she’d bestow.

Sitting still has proved to be impossible so you wander the halls, count the steps each staircase you go up, try to roll out the stiffness in your neck little by little. 

It’s only afternoon but the skies are gray and dark, some heavy kind of shadow cast over every corner that could be touched and there wasn’t a single thing you could do about it but have patience. 

News updates are slow meaning no one knows anything concrete yet, just that nearby hospitals were starting to get an influx of people affected by the fear toxin and police were all over the scene of the incident and surrounding areas. You’re just glad it seemed to be isolated to the few blocks you had navigated around earlier, nothing else occurring elsewhere in the city. 

That certainly didn’t mean these incidents weren’t going to spread, you were fully prepared to hear of more fear toxin attacks in the near future with so much mystery still surrounding Scarecrow.

This whole thing felt deeper than what you could see at the surface but all you could come up with were questions and more questions. 

But there’s no use in giving yourself a headache, not now at least, your phone ringing abruptly and Alfred’s name illuminating the screen. You’re answering before the second ring, taking a deep breath the moment he tells you everything is alright. 

Bruce was indeed at GCPD headquarters when Alfred got there and the pair were in the process of giving statements about what they saw related to the attack so it was looking like they were going to be there for a while yet. 

You don’t get to speak to Alfred for long before you hear him being summoned and you’re wrapping things up, wishing him well before he leaves you with a promise that he’ll update you as things go. 

Your body felt much lighter now that you knew they were safe, the tightness in your chest dissipating as you finally allowed yourself to unwind a little.

Stomach still too tense to try and eat anything yet, you opt to take a shower instead, the change of clothes and the hot steam of the water would do you good. 

Finding the familiar path to Alfred’s bedroom was easy, his space inviting, kept as tidy as ever but you still see all of him in it. 

The faded bookmark sticking out of the novel on his bedside table, his nighttime reading glasses that lay folded on a stack of books to the left, and the tie and cufflinks atop his dresser still there from when he was getting ready this morning you imagined.

You’re comforted knowing you’re surrounded by his things and you’re further softened seeing your clothing items amongst his from when you stayed the night for the first time, everything neatly folded in the way you’ve learned he liked to fold. 

Thoughts of him lingered as you retreated into the warmth of the shower, adrenaline slowly leached from your body, swirling down the drain with the soapy water. 

You didn’t realize how exhausted you were from the last hour and a half until your eyes started to feel heavy but you don’t want to get out just yet. 

It feels safe here and you’re already too far gone indulging in daydreams of your boyfriend, the thrill of being able to call him that now—the same one who practically bouldered his way through a crowd of people to reach you. 

In the moment there hadn’t been time to really think about it but now that you were alone with your thoughts, it’s all you could replay. 

Or maybe it’s all you wanted to think about but either way you wanted to drown in whatever strength and steadfast skill Alfred possessed, heart fluttering thinking of how every movement was intentional, the way his entire body pivoted to shield you, keep you safe as you moved through the streets, the switchblade he so effortlessly and quietly had ready and the expert flourish of his wrist when he pocketed it in the car. 

Yes you knew he had been a soldier, had seen combat and was skilled in more areas than you could count, you could only imagine all the technical and psychological training he had from his days as an intelligence agent and though you took those parts of him seriously, you also couldn’t help but find it all deeply attractive. 

Where words could not be applied, he showed you. 

Refreshed and in more comfortable clothes, your mind felt a little clearer even if having to wait was still difficult but you try and be patient for another update, checking in with your friends in the meantime.

Alfred’s bedroom was warm from the steam still escaping from the connecting bathroom and you felt far too cozy here to venture back downstairs so you climb into the large bed and curl up on his side, comforted by the fact that his pillows smell like him. 

No longer restless from the quiet aura in the air, fatigue rolled in, the energy to worry had faded quickly. Instead you began to drift off, the allure of resting pulling you under so easily. 

Your phone is still clutched in your hand as you oscillate between worlds, thinking of Alfred and that “oh my love” that had left his lips so tenderly, understanding now why your breath caught in your chest after, why you’d been persuaded to listen. 

He refused to let you dismiss your own wellbeing when thinking of others, your importance to him was too great to let you follow him into the unknown even if he’d feel much better having you by his side.

Nothing was going to happen to you if he had anything to do about it. 

You hadn’t ever been shown this much adoration before and so fiercely and consistently at that and you slip into a light slumber thinking that this must be what falling in love felt like. To know perhaps, somewhere etched deep within you that it was exactly that. Love. 

An unending flame, a sewn red string, so viscerally real it had you swearing to nurture it always. Even in sleep you know you’d never dream of stopping.

—

Winter sun had just begun to set when you were woken up by the sharp buzzing of your phone. A text message. 

On the way back now, Bruce is with me. Hope you’re doing alright, I’ll see you soon, lovely   x Alfred

Smiling at the good news you rub the grogginess from your eyes and reply back before tucking your face back into the pillow for a few more minutes. 

Your nap had lasted an hour or so and afternoon was quickly spilling into evening as you blink the last remnants of sleep away and check the time. Anticipation and the rumbling in your tummy finally get you up. 

Taking a few moments to fix where your curls had flattened to your head from laying on your side, you fluffed out the small coils until it looked the way you wanted, padding down the old staircases and into the kitchen soon after. 

You wanted to try and make something quick to eat for when they got back, you were sure if you were hungry they must be too especially after everything that had happened, all the extra energy spent. 

A quick browse through the fridge and pantry had you grabbing ingredients for sandwiches, absentmindedly putting everything together and you’d just stacked the last one on the plate when you heard the elevator chime and you didn't bother to put anything away, rushing out to the foyer right away.

You don’t care that you’re running, feet carrying you forward with their own motivation, you’ve waited long enough and it’s a complete and total relief when Alfred and Bruce step inside.

Alfred saw you first, a grunt that turns into a chuckle resounding through his chest when you all but crash into him, arms wrapped around his shoulders in a hug that he returns immediately, his own arms sliding across your torso to pull you in close. 

Not a second more apart, that is all you wished out of the rest of this day. 

“I’m so happy you guys are back. What’s going on out there?” you compose yourself after a moment.  

“Half the city is shut down right now, people are scared and staying inside judging by how empty the streets are.” Bruce runs a hand through his hair while he explains.

You almost don’t notice that his fingers are smudged in some sort of dark ink or paint, the color reminding you of motor oil, thoughts racing as to what could have happened, what he might have seen. 

“Are you guys doing okay?” you’re asking quietly as you all walk into the main room, hoping you hadn’t pressed too much too soon, just worried by what their faces won’t yield. 

Alfred shrugs off his coat and rubs your shoulders to comfort you. 

“We’re both alright, darling, don’t worry.” He's reassuring you, steady and measured voice calming you enough to where you begin to let yourself focus on how delighted you are to see them. 

Bruce is the first to head to the kitchen when you mention you made sandwiches if anyone was hungry, his thanks echoing down the hall. 

You take a moment then to greet Alfred properly, kissing him soundly, spine tingling when he returned the kiss with a sweet pressure that gave away how much he missed you.

“I’m so sorry it’s been hours, their investigation is a big operation and nearly everyone needed to speak to us. Are you doing alright? I’ve been thinking of you all afternoon." He's looking over your frame again, almost like he can’t help but check for himself one more time

“I’m okay, I promise! Actually doing a lot better now that you’re here. It was hard not to be a nervous wreck for a second there but I took a shower and ended up sleeping for an hour and that really helped.” you’re sighing contently against his shoulder. 

“That’s my girl. I am so proud of you for how you’ve handled all this today, I really am. That’s great!”  

His words were so full of praise and affection it flusters your thoughts and you’re glad he can’t fully see your face lest he notice how much you’re affected, how much that just made you want him, but you reasoned it wasn’t the right time for romantic feelings and desires to take hold yet.

Not when there were still so many questions and things to be talked about, so you stow away those thoughts for the moment, already sure the tension would be palpable when you were able to be alone. 

Maybe it would only be a little longer left till then. 

Eventually the two of you joined Bruce in the kitchen, everyone feeling a little more settled after eating, able to process and debrief about what madness you’d found yourselves in today. 

Surreal didn’t even begin to describe how it felt but it’s all you could manage to say, not quite sure how you were able to make it out of the chaos in the streets unscathed save for a few bruises, it all felt like a bad dream come to life and everyone feared that the worst was still yet to come, that sick feeling in your gut returning with the thought that they were probably right. 

Dusky colors peeked over the horizon as the three of you tuned into the five o’clock evening news hour, wary faces glued to the TV as the first solid pictures of Scarecrow flashed across the screen. Your knees bounced nervously where you were sitting on an old loveseat, the reminder of his hooded face making you shiver. 

An eerie cell phone video showed him moving down a street with his henchmen, people screaming and writhing on the ground from the toxin. 

It seemed like he enjoyed what he had caused, a maniacal glint to his eyes, in the way he moved his face under that hood you swore had to be fused to his skin by the way it looked on him. You had to look away after the third loop of the video, an attempt to keep any nightmares about him later at bay. 

Some information was given about the initial incident that sent everyone running; the toxin had been released inside the vents at the City Hall building near The Magpie, gas canisters later found in the ducts like the ones you’d seen in the commotion, lying in the snow so coincidentally. 

Having confirmation that it had been planned like you thought only produced more confusion with the sudden wish to have been very wrong about what was going on. 

Premeditation like this could only mean this man was cunning and careful, that he’d only been caught on video and surveillance footage because he intended to be seen and that terrified you to realize. 

When you dared to peek at the TV again you immediately had to do a double take, up close photos of the men flanking Scarecrow in the video popping up, showing you what the men you saw in the alley really looked like out of the shadows. 

You wanted to throw up. You knew for sure that you recognized one of them. 

The same man who had been following you when you ran into Alfred that morning you met completely by chance.

It couldn’t be, you didn’t want it to be, as if you could kid yourself into believing you’d forgotten his face no matter how hard you had tried since that day, but it was him and a shudder rolled down your spine at how much of an awful turn this was. 

Your small gasp of surprise caught Bruce’s attention and you noticed his careful gaze shift from the screen to your face in a question, figuring out what you’re stuck on trying to explain before you can get any words out. 

“You know one of them?” there’s something in Bruce’s tone you can’t discern right away. 

“I..yes I recognize him,” your sigh was heavy, followed by the point of your finger when the man’s picture was shown one more time. “Don’t know his name or anything but I do know he works for Oz, I’ve seen him around the Iceberg Lounge pretty recently.” 

You took a deep breath before turning your attention to Alfred who was also listening curiously.

“I should also mention that I found out he was the man who was stalking me the morning we met. Oz sometimes uses his men to intimidate the dancers who get out of line with him and I may or may not have injured his pride the night before. I’m sorry I haven’t told you sooner I just didn’t want to upset you with it.” 

You cringe inwardly, anxiety rushing in all over again now that you’d said it out loud. 

That incident had been something you tried not to give too much thought to, you’d been careful, always were and hadn’t had any more issues with being followed, even got back in Cobblepot’s good graces lately as well but seeing that photo brought it all back. 

“Hey, you have nothing to apologize for, darling. That’s quite alright and more than understandable, I think you know either way I’d always be upset knowing he sent that man to stalk you but I would never be angry with you about that.” Alfred spoke gently. 

You’re relieved he isn’t mad at you even if the guilt that lingered made you worry.

Maybe you’d make a point to bring it up again when you were alone and able to discuss it in the full context of your relationship, you were sure he wouldn’t mind giving you a little extra reassurance about it. 

“Thank you. I don’t know what to make of this but I am a bit shocked Oz would be connected. He’s looking for opportunities to climb up in the crime world, all of us know that and he can be sleazy and he has a reputation for a reason but for him to be part of something like this if he really is involved is extreme.” you chew the inside of your cheek, pondering if your boss had made a deal with the devil in his search for power in Gotham. 

Men like him were all smoke and mirrors with a penchant for easily bruised egos but these revelations had you questioning things. It wasn’t a good thing to know too much in this situation and right now, you were making one too many connections for your liking. 

You would just have to be more vigilant now, especially around him. 

The investigation into today’s fear toxin attack was still ongoing and every news outlet was clamoring for updates and solid information that was nonexistent right now, Bruce finally turning off the TV after a while. 

There would be a press conference tomorrow, maybe the city would know more by then but for now it was no use to any of you to rewatch the events you’d already experienced firsthand today. 

Bruce announced he was going to shower and call it a night and wished you well if he didn’t see you again, adding that you were welcome to stay any time if you didn’t feel safe going home and he was glad you weren’t hurt after everything. 

It brought about a smile to your face again to know he didn’t think any differently of you and made sure you felt welcome.

You were remembering his offer to surprise Alfred with a proper dinner this weekend and though what happened today seemed to put a huge damper on things, you hoped that could still happen. 

Closeness and company was what you all needed right now. 

After helping Alfred tidy up the kitchen a bit he offers to drive you home and your face must have indicated your disappointment because he was quick to explain he had every intention of spending the rest of the night with you, just thought you’d want to be in your own space after such a taxing day. 

He was right, as comfortable as you felt here at Wayne Tower you did miss your apartment and your bed and the familiarity of being in your space but you were also relieved to know that he was still looking forward to making the most out of things this evening. 

Of course he’d never leave you wanting or wishing. 

Trying to hide your eagerness was a challenge, a new kind of adrenaline in your system as you watched Alfred gather some things to take with him because he said he’d be staying the night too which meant you’d get to have him to yourself after all, putting excitement back in your veins after you’d been quietly hoping to be able to wake up next to him in the morning.

When you finally left the Tower, the streets were just as barren and quiet as Bruce had said, it was eerie not seeing any of the usual traffic. 

The only semblance of relief came from seeing that familiar bat signal lit up in the sky, a few hopeful beams cutting through the gloom in the air. 

Nothing was going to be the same moving forward and most of the city had been bracing for this since the first threat. It was only a matter of time but tonight, you wanted to forget for a little while and just take all the comfort and quality time with Alfred that you could. 

He was as protective as ever walking up to your building and doesn’t fully drop his guard until you’re both inside and the door is locked. 

Home at last!

Falling back onto more recent patterns, the space by the door is filled in with Alfred’s shoes, his coat hanging up next to yours, his presence in your apartment making it feel the most complete it’s ever been. 

He insisted that you let him make an evening cup of tea for both of you while you sank into the couch cushions, browsing through movies to watch together before you agree on something comedic and lighthearted. 

Eventually he joined you and somewhere in between laying your head against his shoulder and the middle of the movie, you finished your mug of chamomile tea and Alfred had pulled you into his lap.

And somewhere between then and the end of the movie you fit yourselves together so you could be cuddled against his side, your leg draped over his to make space. 

He’s so solid and warm that you’re helpless to sink into his hold, unable to explain why his arms made you feel so sweetly held, so comforted that the feeling radiated through just the mere mention of his name. 

Maybe it’s why the tears eventually came, when you knew you were completely safe and able to feel all your emotions fully after hours of having to push through.

It didn’t take Alfred long to notice your quiet sniffles though, catching the moment some of those tears spill over in silence. 

“Ohh sweetheart, it’s alright you’re okay. I’m right here, can you tell me what’s on your mind?” His words are soft and patient and spoken so gently you feel more tears come. 

“Today was just a lot…like I keep thinking of when we got separated in the street. I don’t think I’ve ever been as scared as I was at that moment. It’s probably all hitting me now I think,” the waver in your voice could have broken his heart. 

“It was a lot and you’ve done such a good job getting through it, you know that was a brilliant idea to use your scarf as a mask? You have no idea how proud I am of you! But you are right, that was terrifying, I was so worried you were hurt or trampled or worse, can’t imagine how caught off guard and disoriented you must have felt and I am so sorry for that, darling.”

Alfred kissed your temple, fingers careful when he began to wipe away the salty streaks left behind on your cheeks and nose. 

You wiggle yourself a little closer and nod against his shoulder, “You found me though, you made sure I wouldn’t be hurt even if you did almost give me a heart attack thinking I’d never be able to find you again.” 

This time there’s a genuine, shy laugh at the end of your words. 

“I’d always find you, you know that right?” his tone shifted to a slight seriousness, still comforting but there’s a weight to his words that steals your breath. “There isn’t a time, a place or a world in which I wouldn’t come find you, wouldn’t do everything in my power to keep you safe, you mean far too much to me.” 

You cried a bit more when all of that sentiment sank in because you trusted Alfred so much you knew he spoke truthfully, it wasn’t just to ease your emotions he meant every word and in turn, you’d felt every word. 

“I know, I don’t doubt that one bit. I know we talked about this earlier but I do want you to know I didn’t intend to keep that information about Oz sending someone to stalk me a secret from you. I promise I’m going to be a lot more careful around him now too.” 

He wiped away the dampness from your lashes before simply shaking his head at you and leaned in to kiss your forehead.

“That would definitely be wise going forward especially since we don’t know how deep his involvement goes but I also don’t want you worrying about how I feel, sweet girl. That was always yours to tell if and when you felt ready and it meant something greater that you trusted me with that knowledge, that I can be a place of confidence for you.” 

When would he ever stop rendering you speechless?!

You began to think the answer was never and that was just fine honestly, your heart so taken with his patience and diligence to validate your feelings whenever it was needed, no shame or dismissal involved.  

“Sometimes I think I just need a little extra reminding but you’re right I do know I can trust you with anything that’s going on, with anything I’m feeling.”

“Good, that makes me happy. I may have been thinking about putting you over my knee for thinking such silly thoughts that I would be upset, but there’s not a single thing you have to apologize for.” 

Oh.

You forgot how to breathe after hearing that, something lighting up inside you imagining yourself over his knee, accompanying thoughts of being toyed with, spanked, squirming and helpless under the grip of those strong hands of his followed swiftly.

He’d figured it out now, reading the change of your expression for what it was, latent desires rising to the surface.

You untangled yourself from his embrace to sit up for a moment, further distracted when he clasped his hands behind his head, shirt pulling taut over his biceps. 

“Thanks for reassuring me, if I ask again feel free to do that though, think I might actually get it through my head then,” you teased shyly, “I guess I am being silly, you did after all muscle your way through a wall of people to get to me, which by the way was very impressive.” 

He laughed at your compliment, the sound low and gravelly to your ears, pulling you in. 

“Mm used to be a boxer, love. I’m flattered you think so.” 

Oh wow. Again your interest in his skills had been piqued and he must have seen the flicker of an urge to ask further in your eyes because he continued after a second. 

“Well, field medics like to have fun too and it was the army so we were all trained in hand-to-hand combat; boxing kept us in shape and gave the lads something to do, to focus on. I still try to keep up with the training, Bruce and I spar a lot of the time, we have since he was old enough to throw a punch.” Alfred tilted his head at you a little, reminiscence on his features for but a moment. 

A stray image of potentially watching him spar one day landed right in your lap and it was incredibly hard not to involuntarily scoot your leg further up from where it was draped over his thigh. 

He was so damn attractive it wasn’t fair. It made sense, the boxing, connecting why his shoulders were so defined, the tone in the muscles of his back, the power you knew he had behind those thick hands and even thicker thighs.

So sturdy and agile, age and old injuries just a reminder that every move was calculated for a reason. 

“That’s so cool. I bet it’s a good way to let off some steam too,” you rest your chin on the plush pillows of the sofa. Something had begun to shift, a slowly simmering tension working its way between your bodies. 

“Oh I can think of other things that would do that better.” 

The look on his face sends a wave of heat through you, straight to your core. 

“Like putting me over your knee?” 

It slipped from your lips on a whim but he was ready for it and you realized he’d been enticing you this whole time. 

“If that’s what you’d like then of course. Have you ever been spanked before, darling?”

You took a shallow breath, “Maybe once or twice it’s happened in the moment but no, not really, not properly like that. I-I think I’d actually enjoy it, um have you ever spanked anyone before?”

“I have.” 

He unclasped his hands to sit up next to you, eyes never leaving your face, keeping the intensity up, lighting every little flame inside you by the second. He knew exactly what he was doing and you were going to let every spark catch.

“Also impressive and yes, Alfred. I want your hands on me,” you sighed a soft plea. 

“C’mere then, I’ve got you.” He tugs you gently into a kiss and your fingers slide down over his wrists when they moved in to cup your face, touching you the way you wanted, so sure and thorough until he grasps for your hips, hungrier than you’d anticipated. 

He doesn’t waste time, your surprised little squeal making him smile when he moves to stand up and lifts you slightly by your hips, tipping you so you’d fall into him before he was transferring your weight so you were hauled over his shoulders, centered with such ease so that you felt balanced and stable now that you were off the ground. 

Your pulse thuds in your chest as you cling to him, those nervous giggles muffled against his back while he carries you to bed. 

—

The short walk down the hall made you feel jittery in the best way, a nervous excitement bubbling inside you knowing he was experienced with this, that he was going to show you and make it feel so good. You were sure he would. 

It’s almost crazy to be back in your room after all that’s happened today, how tense all the minutes bleeding into hours had been. 

But it could all be pushed to the background for a while, your attention locked into the moment as Alfred sat down on your bed, bringing you with him, your body positioned across his lap so prettily, angled so your legs were spread just slightly with the length of his left thigh keeping you supported. 

You stretched out your upper half on the duvet, propped up on your elbows to look back at him, watching as he pushed your leggings down, throwing them somewhere behind him on the bed before warm hands were caressing up your shins, over your thighs and up to the swell of your ass. 

His palm kneaded your flesh, strong fingers applying a teasing amount of pressure while you squirmed and arched back into his touch. 

“I’ll start slow, is that alright? Nothing too hard, just a few spanks to see what you can tolerate. If you don’t like it or aren’t sure, we don’t have to continue.” His hand moves in soothing circles across your skin and he leans in to press a kiss to your shoulder. 

“Yes, I’m okay with that.” you try and breathe. 

“Good, I want you to say the word red if you need to stop, yellow if you need to slow down and green to continue if I stop to check in. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?” 

There’s a little authority in his voice and it made you squirm again, aroused by his establishment of cues and a safeword right away, how in charge he felt right now, you wanted this so badly it caught you by surprise. You hadn’t expected to be so needy for this.

Remembering that he was waiting for a reply you squeak out a yes and have to bite your lip to keep from gasping when he pulls his hand back and swats the center of your ass, more sound behind the movement than there was force but it still made you jolt forward. 

You groaned at the dull sting that prickled your skin after and glanced at Alfred who was already studying your reaction. 

“Well done, how did that feel?” he cooed praise at you and this time you don’t try to stop the sound you make in response. 

“Felt good, like what I was expecting but also different but I liked it, I want more.” your legs flexed when his hands smooth over your skin one more time, his pleased smirk at your declaration making heat pool in your lower back. 

You wished he would slip off your underwear too, so then he’d be able to see just how soaked you were from all this but you knew you had to be patient and the reward would be everything. 

You do take a second, however, to wiggle out of your sweater, starting to feel warm under the fleece lined fabric, and when you glanced back Alfred was admiring just as you thought he might be. 

No bra, nothing underneath but soft, brown skin for him to feel and just to entice him a little more, you arch your hips, making your ass jiggle, just enough to pull his steely gaze down your backside. 

The next spank is firmer than the first, more heaviness to his hand that made you whimper, your mind feeling a little hazy in the best way, the kind of haze that felt like a release, a soft bed to lay down on and surrender some control because you knew you’d be taken care of. 

Thwap! 

Whimpers and moaned out gasps mark the smack of his palm on each of your asscheeks, only a slight increase in the amount of force so that the sting just bordered on stealing your breath. 

“Christ, you’re so gorgeous like this, baby.”

His accent was deeper, that gruff voice sending tingles rippling across your spine, going down smooth like whiskey and followed by his left hand sliding over your back to rest on your right hip, making sure you couldn’t squirm away. 

He made each spank hurt in the most delightful way, alternating between right and left and then across both cheeks, spreading out the sensation, giving you a feel for which areas were more sensitive, which areas you liked being spanked at. 

“Oh, fuck!” breathy curses left your lips when he kept at it, precise hands giving you just the right amount of impact. 

“Good girl, you are doing so well. I think it’s time we take these off, hm?” he coaxes your hips up slightly so he can hook his fingers under the waistband of your panties and you’re all but begging him to. 

Nevermind if he felt like tearing them in two, you would have let him, but he’s polite in how he strips you despite the way you feel him stirring, hardening beneath where you lay. God, you wanted him so badly. 

“Please touch me, oh please,” you don’t even realize the words are coming from you.

In barely audible little pleas muffled by where your face is flush with the bed but Alfred doesn’t miss anything and he’s grinning in your peripheral. 

“You should see how soaked you are, love. Need my fingers there, is that right?” his fingers were already inching towards where you ached the most, his right hand circling, distracting you from being able to speak while preparing you for another spank. 

“Yes! Please, Alfred, I want it so much!” your whimper leaves both of you aching. 

A tremble in your thighs had spread down to your pointed toes with the way he swirled the pads of his index and middle fingers over the slick mess between your thighs.

Slow and sweet as he slid them over your folds and circled over your clit, waiting and then rewarded with the eventual roll and arch of your hips, his free hand drawing back and then coming down on heated skin. 

You gave a strangled cry, the sound turning into a moan when his fingers continued to circle your clit, responding to the way your body reacted, only taking his eyes off you for a moment when he finally put aside his self control to watch your pretty pussy swallow his thick fingers.

He worked you open gently, remembering how you liked him to move, where those sensitive spots were even at this new angle. 

Giving you something to clench around with his next spank, coaxing you to rock into his touch like he could see you wanted to do, the gorgeous sway of your hips trying to meet the plunge of his fingers, undeniably needy for him.

You knew he could hear it in the way you cried out his name, how sensitive your entire body was now, the broken, pleading edge to the way you praise him in return, telling him how good it felt, how much you’d been needing this. 

The pleasure built higher as did Alfred’s movements, a hiss at the edge of your words at each searing swat of his hands that mixed with the scissoring of his fingers, both working in careful, measured tandem. 

“That’s my girl, come on, that’s it!” he grits out when you push up onto your elbows again and grind your hips back. 

The passion and possession in the way he called you his merged with the curving of his fingers and you both know you’re there, tender walls fluttering as you come, thighs aching, your whole body tingling, trembling with the steady roll of his wrist keeping the pleasure drawn out, filling your entire body. 

You’re not embarrassed by the tears that prick your eyes or the sob in your throat that follow when he finally flips you over, laying you back because you’d begged for him to and who was he to refuse you, an angel.

If you wanted his face between your thighs, eating your dripping pussy until you were too sensitive to take it, that’s exactly what he’d give you and it’s why you weren’t shy, not in this moment, not when you knew he wanted it just as much as you. 

Soft hands disturb the careful style of Alfred’s hair, unable to help it when his tongue licks you and the salt and pepper scruff scratches achingly over your inner thighs, daring you to try and close them.

Not like you’d want to, able to see how his shoulders curved and bulged with the stretch of his shirt as he kept your legs parted with his body. 

This was everything you had wanted, moaning at the way he consumed you so lovingly, a weight in his touch and in his encouraging, filthy words that told you he wasn’t holding back now, you were his girl, he could show you the more true depth of his desire now.

And you were safe to do the same, you craved it actually, always wanting this and you reason you have this entire time, craving this level of care and need, even obsession with each other, so much trust and feelings at the center of it. 

“So good, baby. Just like that, please…” you barely get the words out, lungs losing air from the focus he gave to your words even before you finished speaking. 

His hands didn’t stay idle, the grip of his hands over your body like he wanted to memorize the feel of you, the way you dipped and curved and stretched and it drove you wild, the wet suction of his mouth the only thing your mind could focus on. 

It’s a wonder you can even move when he finally withdraws his mouth from your puffy lips, turning his still hungry and devoted gaze towards your chest, those stiff peaks he’d been neglecting through all this, but no longer. 

You squirmed into the flick of his tongue, the way he kissed your skin and praised and nipped and got his lips on every inch of skin that he could while you just laid back and relaxed, recovered from the orgasm still twitching in the muscles of your arms, your thighs, your tummy. 

“Just look at you. Fuck, I am so lucky,” he rumbles against your collar and you wrap your arms around him, curled against him.

“I feel exactly the same way.”

His soft huff of breath against your neck tickled and you snake your legs around him, hoping to keep him close, just wanting to be in his arms and under his body for as long as you could. 

You’d take forever, and that was all you needed to know.

The Shoreline Lofts

November 27 

12:00 a.m.

The Batman was watching. Unblinking and focused, planted in place but ready for anything that might come. Folding himself into the inky cloak of the midnight hour. 

The Iceberg Lounge was directly beneath the loft space but that wasn’t why Bruce had come tonight.

No, he was far more interested in what Penguin got up to in private, without guests and dancers and clients around, what secrets or clues might be yielded if he just sat and watched, surveilled for a while. 

He was curious why the man you had recognized from the news was connected to Scarecrow and he didn’t believe for a moment that Oz wasn’t keeping tabs on what his men were doing, he had to have known the attack was going to happen. 

Motives were unclear but pieces of this horrid puzzle were starting to come together so Bruce  wouldn’t rest until he could see the grand picture for what it was. 

He tipped the binoculars back up to the blackened edges of his cowl, zeroing in again on where Oz was playing pool, unaware a shadow sat spying through the skylight. 

The building’s layout was already scoped out, every entry point found, tested, and memorized. Now Bruce would wait and watch until Penguin left the loft to slip in and see what he could find. 

Gordon needed intel, something to go on after grasping for dead end’s, there was no time to sit on things, not after what he’d seen today. 

Not after you and Alfred were almost hurt and especially not after he’d seen what the toxin did to people, recognizing the look of anguish in their eyes like his own reflection.

A waking nightmare was no stranger to Bruce so he’d make sure of this, Scarecrow would be made to answer.

A/N: It’s been so long and I have missed writing for Alfred and I’m really surprised and proud of what I wrote here! Went through a lot of emotions trying to get this on the page and there was a lot of self doubt and anxiety and unfairly beating myself up about things not coming together but here we are and I just really love that I pushed through and had fun putting this all together in the end 💕 We stan protective Alfred! Like if that’s not a whole husband right there!

Thanks for giving this a read!

no pressure tags! 💌 @flamingdisputes @saradika @ozarkthedog @tarabyte3 @tarrenterror25 @the-eyes-of-andyserkis @communism-bitches @xnodamsel @glitterjuju @mariahthelioness29 @ayoarticulate @fluffyprettykitty @unrefinedmusings @xoxovivafics @peachyteabuck

#amalia writes #alfred pennyworth x reader #alfred pennyworth x black reader #alfred pennyworth x woc #the batman!alfred pennyworth #alfred pennyworth smut #alfred pennyworth x you #alfred pennyworth fanfiction #alfred pennyworth fanfic #andy serkis

[rach-amber]

I know she's supposed to be a mystery girl, but honestly a DLC on Rachel's back story from her own pov would be pretty interesting as well. @lifeisstrange-blog (Or, someone write a fic on this !! x)

Her personality & life in Long Beach, Cali (attending dance lessons and so on... developing a love of acting)...

"I broke my wrist when I was ten." "Hella"

Rachel moving to Arcadia, her Dad becoming the DA, homesickness and how a new life in Arcadia affected her.

Her extraordinary performances & auditions from a young age.

Rachel developing her charmeleon skills and tasting the sweet benefits that resulted.

Her love of nature and acting.

Rachel developing her mistrusting tendencies because of her parents--

"They're good at coming off that way. But don't let your guard down."

"Just.. hurry back. I'm not sure I can keep this up." (Or sth to that effect) - Chloe

"Try doing it your whole life."

Her and Rose Amber.

Rachel suspecting something's off with James & how come her hair colour doesn't match her parents'.

Her developing a wild side no one knows-- e.g. punk music & dancing in clubs

Rachel's obsession with stars, astrology, and travelling.

Her spending an exhausting amount of effort to meet the different expectations people have on her. Academics. Friendship. Family.

Rachel visiting Paris with her parents.

Her identity crises.

Rachel noticing Chloe. Developing a slight crush. Realising she's also into girls.

Maybe throw in how she became good/"experienced" at romancing?? (Hinted at from the magazine on her desk, "kiss me Kate" poster, Stepladder convo "because, he climbs on your mom every night", and ofc the kiss scene in bts)

Tie in with Bts.

So much to explore. That is the iceberg of Life is Strange.

I dunno. Many won't buy it, but I definitely will. I guess I'm a bit too obsessed with this character.

#rachel amber #life is strange #lis #amberprice #backstory #come on we need her back #rachel amber 4ever #life is strange before the storm #gaming #lgbtq+ #complex characters #seriously y'all gonna let such a character go? #chloe price #life is strange dlc #dlc #petition #lis bts #lis before the storm #lesbian x bi #bi characters #she can grow up to be evelyn hugo #deck nine #fanfic ideas #rachel amber fanfic

[fantasyandromancelover]

Titanic AU

In 1996, Shiki Granbell and his team search the wreck of the RMS Titanic and they recover a safe that contains the drawing of a young nude woman The sketch is dated April 14, 1912, the same day the Titanic struck the iceberg that caused it to sink. The discovery is televised by the news and witnessed by Rebecca Bluegarden and her grandmother Lucy. Lucy recognizes the drawing and calls Shiki, revealing that she is the woman in the picture.

Now according to many rumors, countless treasures had vanished the night that the ship sank and Shiki and his team have searching the titanic remains for them. These treasures include a gold pocket watch that had belonged to the shipbuilder, a blue diamond necklace known as The Heart of the Ocean, and a 15-karat rose gold and silver bracelet with the name Wendy encrusted in diamonds.

Wanting to locate these treasures and sell them for profit, Shiki invites Rebecca and Lucy on board their vessel in hopes that the old woman knows where the missing valuables are. At first, Lucy isn’t too eager to share due to the trauma and tragedy of the event, but upon seeing Rebecca and Shiki fall in love at first sight, her happy memories of the event are rekindled and she recounts her experiences aboard the Titanic.

In 1912, young English heiress Lucy Heartfilia is boarding first class on the Titanic with her widower father Jude Heartfilia, her trusted Norwegian maid Levy, and her wealthy fiancé Dan Straight. Also boarding first class is American writer Gray Fullbuster, two newly weds, English shipbuilder Jellal Fernandes and his American bride, nouveau riche socialite Erza. And Scottish designer Mirajane Dreyar and her husband, the captain’s grandson, Laxus Dreyar.

Meanwhile Natsu Dragneel, a poor young, Italian artist wins a third class ticket in a poker game and excitedly boards it along with many other third class passengers eager for new opportunities in America. Among them are Irish siblings Juvia and Gajeel, Jewish widower Gildarts and his daughter Cana, and Wendy a French orphan girl who stowed away on board.

But despite being called the ship of dreams, many of the passengers have terrible misfortunes in their lives. Lucy’s engagement to Dan is one of connvience rather than love, arranged by her father who is in debt and is constantly pressuring her to go through with the marriage even though Dan is snobby, arrogant, and Lucy cannot stand him. Juvia is under the abusive care of her embittered and insanely jealous stepmother Selene, a former stage actress who was forced to retire because she had gotten older but blames it on her marriage to her now deceased husband and her stepchildren. Gajeel is in a secret relationship with Levy and the two both desire to elope, but he can’t bring himself to leave his sister with their stepmother. Jellal and Erza are madly in love and wish to start a family but Erza cannot get pregnant which deeply hurts her. 

On the first day, Natsu befriends Gray and Gajeel, and the three discuss their plans for when they arrive in New York. Natsu plans to become a famous artist, Gray hopes to become a self-made man through writing instead of relying on his late father’s inheritance, and Gajeel dreams of becoming a famous musician. As the three young men are goofing off around the front of the ship, Natsu spots Lucy on the first class level, looking over the horizon and it’s love at first sight. 

Later that night, Lucy goes to dinner with her father and Dan, and as the two men discuss their plans for her, she becomes distraught over nit having any control of her own life. She leaves the dining room, climbs over the stern railing, and intends to commit suicide by jumping overboard. Luckily though Natsu sees her and coaxes her back onto the deck. As he is pulling her back up, she slips, screams, and falls while pulling Natsu on top of her. Her screams alert the crew who assume that Natsu had assaulted her but she corrects them in that he saved her life and decides to reward him by inviting him to dinner in the first class dining room. He accepts and later as Lucy is getting ready for bed, Dan gives her a gaudy but expensive engagement ring to wear. 

That same night, Gray is exploring the ship, keeping a journal of everything he experiences. He is suddenly lured to the third class level by a lovely voice and observes Juvia singing an Irish folk song while her brother plays his flute. He is smitten by her beauty and song but is startled into fleeing when Gajeel spots him. However in his haste, he drops his journal which Juvia finds. She goes to the first class level to return it to him but is stopped by two crew members who harass her. Gray sees this and defends her, making her quite bashful with his chivalry. He thanks her for returning his journal and also invites her to dinner in the first class dining room to make amends for all the trouble he’s caused. 

Meanwhile Wendy who has been hiding in the boiler room becomes terribly hungry and sneaks into the first class dining hall for something to eat. She is caught stealing food and is about to be severely punished but Erza kindly pays for the stolen food and allows the child to dine with her and her husband. Both she and Jellal grow fond of Wendy and become sympathetic upon learning she is an orphan with no one to look after her. Unable to let her starve or spend the night cold, they decide to let her stay with them in their suite until they reach New York, then they’ll decide what should be done with her.

The next day both Natsu and Lucy, and Gray and Juvia stroll aboard the ship, getting to know each other. A tentative friendship develops between each couple. At the same time Erza and Jellal take Wendy on an outing, bonding almost like a real family. Jellal even gifts Wendy with a silver and golden, diamond bracelet that belonged to his late grandmother who happens to have the same name as the child. As the day ends, Natsu and Juvia are introduced to Erza who decides to loan Natsu one of Jellal’s suits and her friend Mirajane loans Juvia one of her designer gowns. 

Before the dinner, Jellal and Laxus discuss the voyage with Captain Makarov Dreyar and Owner of the White Star Line Precht Gaeblog. Precht insists that Makarov push the ship to go faster for better publicity but Jellal recommends not doing so, claiming that they still are not sure how much the ship can take. Makarov believes Jellal is right but Laxus convinces him to rule in Precht’s favor. The ship’s speed is doubled that evening.

At dinner, Natsu is dressed so handsome like and Juvia is dressed so beautifully that the first class guests are amazed while Lucy and Gray are left speechless. Gray then presents Juvia with a necklace to wear for the evening, a family heirloom, The Heart of the Ocean. They all dine together with Dan being very rude to Natsu and Juvia, much to Lucy’s disgust, but Erza eventually shuts him up by throwing a subtle insult back at him. After dinner, Gray escorts Juvia back to her cabin but she asks him to stay for the third class party which Natsu invites Lucy to as well. The night is spent laughing, dancing, singing, and drinking as Gajeel leads the band in a grand jig and later serenading Levy with an Irish love ballad. 

When the party ends, Gray and Juvia say goodbye, and having fallen in love with her, he allows her to keep the blue diamond necklace. She returns his love and accepts his gift. This is witnessed by Gajeel and Selene, but while Gajeel is pleased to see his sister truly happy for once, Selene is jealous of her stepdaughter gaining the attention of a wealthy young man. When Gray leaves, she drags Juvia into the cabin and locks Gajeel out so he can’t stop her from ruthlessly beating the girl. With each beating, she tells Juvia that she’s worthless and that she’ll never be anything but a poor wretch and that she doesn’t deserve to be loved by anyone, let alone a man like Gray. When the beating is over Gajeel furiously tries to kill Selene but she screams alerting the others and whispers a threat that she’ll tell a lie about Gajeel assaulting her which will end with him getting arrested. Juvia then pleads with her brother not do anything for his sake and he reluctantly agrees. Left alone, the siblings comfort each other.

Up above, Natsu escorts Lucy back to first class and he confesses that he loves her. She laughs and calls him crazy, he agrees with her but says he can’t help how his heart feels and calls her the most amazing girl in the world. At that moment, Lucy realizes that she has fallen in love with Natsu. This is witnessed by Dan who becomes jealous and in the morning he orders Lucy to never see Natsu again. When she argues that he has no right to say who she can and cannot associate with, he slaps her and viciously reminds her that they are to married which means (In his twisted mind) that he owns her and that she will do as he says without complaint. Adding to her fear and confusion is her father also forbidding her to have contact with Natsu and calling her selfish for not wanting to marry Dan which would pay all his debts. Scared, she tells Natsu that they can’t see each other anymore when he comes to visit her in secret.

On the other side of the ship, Gray looks for Juvia and finds her still crying over last night. He takes her to his room where he tends to her wounds (his late father was a surgeon) and gently asks what happened. She tells him the whole story of how she and her brother have been abused and mistreated by their stepmother since their father passed when they were children. She wants to leave but she has no where to go because she has no education and she doesn’t want to be a burden on her brother, whom she believes should just leave and live his own life. Unable to bear the thought of Juvia living such a life any longer, Gray asks her to come live with him and to let him take care of her. She declines his offer, saying that she appreciates his pity but cannot accept. He then tells her that it’s not out of pity and confesses his love for her. They kiss, she agrees to go with him, but insists that he ask Gajeel for his blessing first.

Meanwhile in her suite, Erza is teaching Wendy how to read and the girl stops her for a moment to thank the woman for her kindness, saying that if she had a family, she would want them to be just like Erza and Jellal. This touches Erza so much and she realizes that she and her husband have developed parental love for Wendy. She then proposes to Jellal that they adopt her. He hesitates at first but quickly agrees with the idea.

As for Lucy, she is so confused about her feelings for Natsu and is not sure what to do. She goes to Levy for advice and the maid assures her that if she follows her heart then she won’t regret it, telling her of her own love story with Gajeel. Inspired, Lucy runs to Natsu and tells him that she loves him too. She then invites him back to her room where he sketches her nude form, they have sex, and she declares that when the ship docks she’s getting off with him. They sneak off to the forward deck leaving behind her picture, the engagement ring, and an insulting note for Dan. When Dan finds these three things, he is furious and refuses to let Lucy go.

In third class, Gray and Juvia tell Gajeel their plan and he gives his blessing, glad that he’s found someone willing to love and look after her, giving her the happiness she deserves. And he can now elope with Levy without fear of leaving Juvia unloved and unprotected. They rush to tell Levy the good news but Gray is stopped by Selene who tries to seduce him. Repulsed, he rejects her. Enraged, she screams and falsely accuses Gray of raping her. Gray and Juvia flee from the crew members who pursue them and hide in the boiler room until the panic dies down. Gray pleads his innocence to Juvia but she assures him that she knows her stepmother is lying.

Suddenly the ship collides with an iceberg which Natsu and Lucy witness. They separate to warn the others but promise to meet back later. Unfortunately Natsu runs into Dan who frames him for theft by slipping the engagement ring into his coat pocket. His manservant Bloodman drags Natsu off and leaves him handcuffed in the lower decks. 

With the ship sinking, panic starts to ensue. The frightened crowds cause Wendy to be separated from Jellal and Erza as they hurry to the lifeboats. Jellal decides to go back and look for Wendy and forces Erza on to the lifeboat, giving her his beloved pocket watch as a promise that he’ll come back to her. Lucy flees Dan and her father, who has boarded a lifeboat and finds Natsu, freeing him but almost drowning in the process. In the third class level, the gates are closed off trapping everyone down there including Natsu, Lucy, Gray, Juvia, Gajeel, and Levy. Gajeel uses his strength to break down the gates so they all have a chance to live but one of the officers accidentally shoot him in his spinal cord, rendering him unable to walk. Juvia tries to pull him along but he knows he’s a goner and makes Gray promise to love and protect Juvia in his place. Gray makes the promise and has to carry a tearful Juvia away. Gajeel urges Levy to go with them but she chooses to die with him, biding a tearful farewell to Lucy. Hand in hand, the couple sings one last love song as they wait for the inevitable.

Makarov and Laxus are both wracked with guilt over what’s happened and have decided to go down with the ship while doing everything in their power to save the passengers. Mirajane begs Laxus to let her stay with him but he refuses to let her die for his mistake. Natsu, Lucy, Gray, and Juvia barely make it back to the boat deck and they urge the women to board the lifeboat. Juvia doesn’t want to go having just lost her brother and she tearfully pleads with Gray not leave her too, but he assures her that he has no intention of dying and swears to find someway to survive. Selene is among the group of women boarding and the sight of their love drives her so mad with envy that she pushes Juvia right off the boat. Selene is shot and killed, Gray immediately jumps after Juvia, and they manage to hold each other above water long enough for Erza to pull them on to her lifeboat. 

Dan convinces Lucy to board a lifeboat by falsely claiming that he can get Natsu off the ship but has actually just arranged to save himself.  As her lifeboat is lowered, Lucy, unable to abandon Natsu, jumps back on board. Furious, Dan tries to shoot the lovers, chasing them into the flooding first-class dining saloon. They get away, and he has no choice but to accept defeat. 

Jellal finally finds Wendy and gets her safely on to the lifeboat but gives up his spot for Gildarts, so he can go with Cana. Believing he won’t survive and that the sinking is his fault for not building a stronger vessel, Jellal gets drunk and chooses to go down with the ship as well. 

The lifeboats have departed and the ship's stern is rising as the flooded bow sinks. As passengers fall to their deaths, Natsu and Lucy desperately cling to the stern rail. The upended ship breaks in half and the bow section dives downward. The remaining stern slams back onto the ocean, then upends again before it, too, sinks. In the freezing water, Natsu helps Lucy onto a wooden panel buoyant, she tries to get him on too but it only has enough for one person. Natsu makes her promise to survive before tragically dying of hypothermia much to Lucy’s heartbreak.

Erza and Cana quickly take control of the lifeboats and go back for survivors. They rescue Lucy, Jellal who survived the cold due to the extreme amount of alcohol in his blood, and any other survivors. They are then picked up by the RMS Carpathia where the Fernades couple are reunited with Wendy, and Lucy hides from Dan and Jude, changing her name to Lucy Dragneel, in order to finally be free.

The elderly Lucy ends her story by revealing what happened to the other survivors. Jellal and Erza adopted Wendy, Gray published a book about the Titanic then married Juvia who made her brother’s songs famous by singing them and they later had two children, Mirajane never remarried and lived out her days with her sister, Dan committed suicide after losing his fortune, and Lucy herself later discovered that she had become pregnant by Natsu (Making him Rebecca’s grandfather), and raised their daughter alone while living a life of freedom and adventure. She then unlocks a safe in her room which contains the watch, the necklace, the bracelet and many other treasures such as photographs, letters, notes, and keepsakes. As the last living member of that group, she had been trusted to keep these treasures safe so no one would forget the stories behind them.

Touched by her story, Shiki decides not to sell the valuable items but donate everything in the safe to a museum so the memory of all those people would live on forever. Later that night, as Shiki and Rebecca get to know each other, Lucy dies peacefully in her sleep and as a young woman again, she enters an afterlife where she’s reunited with the souls of everyone she knew from her story including those who died on the ship. She is met by Natsu who kisses her and they are applauded by everyone.

#fairy tail #fairytail #fairytailanime #fairy tail manga #titanic #nalu #gruvia #jerza #gajevy #lucy heartfilia #natsu dragneel #gray fullbuster #juvia loxar #Juvia Lockser #natsu x lucy #Gray X Juvia #Erza X Jellal #Wendy Marvell #eden zero #laxus x mirajane #shiki x rebecca #shiki granbell #rebecca #Jellal Fernandes #erza scarlet #gajeel x levy

[animehouse-moe]

June 2023 Collection Update: The Iceberg

You know the comparison I'm making here. You start at the tip of the iceberg, and think it's not too bad, then you continue working your way down.... and it just keeps going, never seeming to stop. Well, I think I've made it past the surface of the iceberg, and am staring down the absolute scale of what remains submerged. So yeah, Mt. Everest is left to climb still, but I've also got a pretty sizeable hill behind me to share.

I'll start with a haul that came in today (and one I picked up yesterday). Used manga and light novels has been a gold mine for me lately, though you do have to be careful with some listings as you might get volumes in worse conditions than they appear (though most of the time not something sandpaper can't fix).

The No Game No Life was just sorta a bonus to the Is This A Zombie?, but it actually helped bring down the cost per volume thanks to a deal I made (always try and barter for a few dollars here and there through stuff like FB Marketplace and Mercari and the like). I'd been looking for Is This A Zombie? for a while though, and was incredibly excited to come across a completed set. Though I do wish they'd bring the light novels over.

Following this up, or I guess coming before it(?), was this very interesting manga haul which is best explained as a story.

Originally, I had found a dirt cheap Rosario to Vampire manga box set on Facebook Marketplace (to the tune of 90CAD), and asked about getting more pictures because the only image was of the outside of the box set. Seller doesn't respond for a week, and then sends the image out of nowhere. I talk about going through with the sale and getting a shipping label sorted out (cause even with shipping it'd be crazy cheap). They don't respond, at least not until Thursday of last week which was about another week's wait. They say "hey, I'm going to be in your city on Sunday, are you good to meet me to pick up the set?". Immediately, I feel like I'm either going to get scammed or mugged, but it was neither. They show up with the 90 dollar box set and I leave with all my organs and my wallet alongside the box set.

Now, onto a bit of explanation. As you could tell from the images above, I'm kinda running out of space. I know, I need to get another bookshelf to store it all on, but finding the right spot for it and getting a cheaper Billy is a PITA, so instead I've been putting that focus and effort into finding more and more cool sets and series.

Like this Reiko The Zombie Shop. It's an older Josei horror series which I thought was super cool, and when I found a listing for it for just around 10CAD a vol I jumped on it. It's a very interesting piece of history to have from Dark Horse as they only printed it to the halfway point, though it's also a very intriguing read. Leans very heavy into gore and that very "serious but not all that great" story.

Equal parts crazy and cool though, this Empty Box and Zeroth Maria set. If memory serves, it was less than 10CAD a volume for such a hard to find set. Unbelievably happy to have such a well maintained set in my collection, and am 100% going to be sharing the love/set with friends.

Just a side note, the seller I got it from was super cool, as I got a partial set of Konosuba from them as well for the same price. Once more, Facebook Marketplace, so if you're looking for good deals on used series, I can't recommend checking out what's around you enough.

The good deals just keep on coming, huh. Hit the jackpot with this Rose of Versailles set. I was just going to bide my time until the end of year Indigo hardcover sale, and see if I could try my luck on finding them in store at a good price, but came across this listing for 100CAD and immediately jumped on it, since it works out to be massively cheaper than the Indigo 30% off hardcovers they do at year's end.

And I have to say, Udon hardcovers are outstanding. The Rose of Versailles of course stands at the top with it's wonderfully intricate cover design and heavy and glossy paper, but their other titles are no slouches either.

Just take a look at this Summertime Rendering (and Darling In The Franxx) set. Sometimes you'll come across things you just can't refuse. This listing was one of them. Summertime Rendering and DiTF for less than the retail of Summertime Rendering. Good deal, especially when you factor in that DiTF is still sealed, and that the seller never read Summertime Rendering.

But at the same time, getting books in conditions like this feels a bit sad almost. The seller was getting rid of their collection because they needed to repay students loans, so a lot of it was untouched and at very cheap prices. If I were to go back and do it again, I probably would have just sent money to them rather than purchased the sets, as I feel somewhat guilty having these when I'm able to pay retail for them no problem. But I can't revisit the past, so at the very least I'm glad I had the humility to not try and work them down on price, and will certainly be reading them over and over (DiTF is still on the TBR list right now though).

And last but not least for the used hauls, this super weird set. I got the whole thing for 5CAD a volume, which is a pretty great deal, and includes a lot of interesting things. Hidamari Sketch (I refuse to call it Sunshine Sketch), GA Geijutsuka Art Design Class and Bamboo Blade (not shown), and this very odd helping of loose stuff that includes an old style Seven Seas LN, a child's manga, and a very unique volume from a defunct publisher.

I couldn't help but go for it when I saw the oddities and old series that were within. Hidamari Sketch in particular is a headache and a half to collect, and I'd never even seen a volume of Iono-Sama Fanatics before. Very cool stuff, and definitely things I wanted to share. I never even knew Seven Seas used to print light novels so small, and seeing the difference in paper quality circa Spring 2010 was very interesting as well.

Now, last but not least, Jojos. I waited a very long time to buy these at retail, and am incredibly sad that the box for Jojoveller came crumpled in that one corner (already talked it out with support, and got a refund on it), but thankfully the books inside are intact. But man, these things are cool as all hell, I'll absolutely be sharing a post of them (alongside Jojo 6521) down the road.

And that's where I am, collecting an insane number of series and art books, and continuing to realize just how wide this world of manga is that I've immersed myself in. It's incredibly daunting thinking about the numbers I'm racking up, but at the same time it's such an amazing hobby that I'm able to support. There's a world of stuff out there, and I want to experience that all.

#manga collector #manga collection #rosario to vampire #rosario + vampire #no game no life #is this a zombie #kore wa zombie desu ka #reiko the zombie shop #the empty box and zeroth maria #konosuba #rose of versailles #riyoko ikeda #summer time rendering #summertime render #darling in the franxx #hidamari sketch #sunshine sketch #jojos bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #hirohiko araki #manga art book #art books #shoujo manga #shojo manga #josei manga #josei #shoujo #shojo #shojosei #shojosei manga

[ampleappleamble]

part 1 here

content warning: (imagined) dubiously consentual sexual activity, blood, consumption of gore, vomit

—

By the time he climbed into bed that night, Vatnir had read the chronicle thrice, cover to cover, and the sections concerning the Watcher of Caed Nua at least ten times over. It had been a simple matter to feign a debilitating episode of some vague malady during his midday sermon and thus forge an excuse to sequester himself in his quarters to "rest" while he devoured the book whole, over and over. He'd even gone so far as to forego his evening meal in favor of another reread, although he was too giddy to have much of an appetite anyway. Bela had spoken true for once– it was a fascinating tale, full of tragedies and triumphs and stakes that rose ever higher. Evidently, Dyrwoodan politics was much more dramatic and wrought with intrigue than he'd believed possible from a backwards nation full of hot-headed hayseeds.

He'd been surprised, too, to see a familiar name amongst the motley cast of farmers, tribals, diplomats and animancers: Glasvahl, the very man whose pilgrimage to Eir Glanfath had inspired him to sail to this deplorable iceberg all those years ago. He was just as shocked to find that Glasvahl's story was not only completely factual, but that the Watcher of Caed Nua had been directly involved in thwarting his clan's long anticipated passage into the White Void, as it turned out that she had personally sealed the Frost-Hewn Breach with an artifact bestowed upon her by Rymrgand himself. That little detail must have gotten lost somewhere between mouth and ear and had never quite made it to him in the version he'd heard, or else he simply hadn't thought it terribly important at the time and had forgotten it. He certainly wouldn't have let it slip his mind had he known then how important this Watcher really was, how powerful.

How beautiful.

He settled back into the fur-laden canoe that served as his bed and held the book as close as a lover, open facedown on his chest. There had been a few other illustrations of her throughout, depictions of her and her retinue performing various incredible acts of heroism, but it was the portrait, of course, that he pressed now to his heart, the portrait that made that heart leap and flutter inside him every time he looked at it.

Gods, what had gotten into him? His winters in this world spanned a century and then some, and here he was, lusting after some pretty young thing like a boy who had just sprouted his first wispy beard. It was utterly unlike him, and so he felt obliged to try to make sense of it. Much of her appeal, he figured, must lie in her exoticism– he'd only ever seen a handful of orlans throughout his life, and he'd had never actually had the opportunity to interact with one, so the air of mystery made her that much more alluring. Her coloration was enticingly evocative of the heat and brilliance of an open flame, a welcome change from the tedious blues and greys to which he was so accustomed, and he couldn't help but wonder how it might feel to run his hand over living fur for a change. Even putting aside her physical assets, if she had truly performed even a fraction of the deeds ascribed to her in her partial biography, then she was not only a woman of exceptional beauty, but one of strength, cunning, and bravery as well. And he couldn't help but be impressed– to the point of intimidation, even– by her many laudable accomplishments: she was a scholar, a chanter, a thaynu (whatever that meant), a warrior, a walker between worlds, a champion of the common kith, a woman who had treated with the gods themselves, a dragonslayer–

Phlegm rumbled in Vatnir's throat as he sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. He knew that on some level, this childish infatuation wasn't about her, not really. It was about the idea of her, of a person with the potential to change everything for him– if only she should ever have a reason to. He didn't want her so much as he wanted her strength, her courage, her help in unraveling the twisted mess he'd made of his life. To him, she wasn't just a woman, she was a way out.

He chuckled wryly to himself as a ridiculous idea struck him. Ha! Maybe I ought to write to her. "Dear Watcher of Caed Nua: I have read of your many magnificent feats, and verily have you enchanted me. I would seek your assent to bond yourself to me in your Dyrwoodan custom of matrimony, but first I wonder if you might assist me with a small problem I have regarding an undead dragon..."

But no sooner had he dismissed the prospect as laughably absurd than he started to seriously consider it. What if, despite the puerile waste of time he knew it to be, he wrote to her anyway? What if, against all odds, she should actually answer such a missive? Gods, what if she came? What if she actually sailed to the Floe– doubtlessly in a majestic Vailian three-master that bristled with cannons and swarmed with servants– and she somehow used her incredible Watcher abilities to locate the dragon's lair, marching straight to it and boring into the very core of its monstrous soul with her piercing violet eyes before lopping off its head with one deft swing of her mighty sword?

And... what if he could then manage to convince or beg or cajole her into taking him with her when she left again? He imagined her leading him by the hand up the gangplank to her ship, inviting him into the captain's cabin for a welcoming libation. She'd pass him a bottle, take a drag off of her pipe and pass that to him too, still moist and warm from her mouth. And then... oh, then she'd smile at him seductively, her full, glossy lips parting just so, and she'd unbuckle her shining silver breastplate and let it fall, revealing the curves of her body underneath... and then...

The bandages wrapped around his hips suddenly felt uncomfortably tight.

Well, now. Not about her, is it?

He groaned miserably, the yawning void inside him aching now with want, and he cursed himself for his foolishness. No, it was not about her. It was about him. About his cowardice, his selfishness, his ineptitude. He was the reason everyone who came to this gods-cursed iceberg was going to die, crushed underfoot or blasted apart or torn asunder in the dragon's jaws– Hel, he was the reason they kept coming here in the first place– and he was too craven and pathetic to even allow himself to accept responsibility for the ceaseless slaughter, let alone try to put a stop to it. So he soothed his guilty conscience by indulging in a juvenile fantasy wherein he would somehow facilitate some impossible scenario that miraculously absolved him of all duty, all effort, all accountability, and then he generously rewarded himself for his ingenuity with a woman to gift him his heart's every desire. In reality, she'd probably sooner run him through than even think of permitting him entry into her cabin, and dying on her sword was one of the better possible outcomes of such a preposterous, futile scheme. It was far more likely he'd just get her killed too, if she bothered to answer his summons at all, and then he'd be right back where he started, his will to carry on depleted just that much more, another small part of him dying along with that distant, desperate hope.

So he clenched his jaw and tried to forget about it, tried to ignore the lingering arousal that still clung to his body like wet clothes, and he hunkered down in his little canoe, seeking solace in sleep.

He'd almost drifted off when he heard the distinctive click of the door to his quarters latching shut.

In the Land, living tended to be communal in nearly every aspect. Everything was, by necessity, shared– food, tools, medicine, fire– to conserve what scarce resources the clan managed to wrest from the ice or pluck out of the sea. This attitude extended to living spaces and clanmates, too, so no one walked alone, ate alone, bathed alone, slept alone. No one but Vatnir. He was special, different, leader and teacher and speaker for their god. It wouldn't be proper to treat him the same as any other ordinary elf. And of course, there was a practical angle to consider as well– it did no one in the clan any good to eat or bathe or sleep next to a man who turned stomachs and stoked fever simply by virtue of his presence. So it was only natural that he stand apart from the others, exalted and exiled both. In his younger years it had tormented him, this glorified ostracism, but with age had come grudging acceptance and eventually, wisdom. He had learned to cherish the privacy he had that few others did, to use it to his advantage, and so he had known that when he'd requested his personal quarters be fitted with a door, there would be no objections. In fact, he'd been given the very best door scavenged from the boat they'd used to sail to the Floe– the door to the former captain's cabin, one with a simple latching mechanism connected to the handle. But it had been installed before they'd known the severity of the iceberg's constantly growing and changing geography, so eventually the floor of the settlement warped, causing his door to latch only when very forcefully pulled from inside the threshold. So to hear his door close and latch, he knew, could mean only one thing: someone was in here with him.

Everyone in the clan had been in his quarters at least once– it was practically a rite of passage for fresh arrivals to the Watch to assist the High Harbinger when the time next came to clean his wounds and change his bandages, to acquaint themselves personally, intimately, with the living proof of Rymrgand's dominion over all. In lieu of any newcomers, the task usually fell to Valbrendhür, but Hafjórn filled in most of the time when the old man was unavailable, although everyone in the clan had done their duty. (He still cringed to remember when it had been poor, innocent Brythe's turn, how the girl hadn't been able to look him in the eye for weeks afterward.) In any case, a clan member joining him in his room after dark with neither permission nor forewarning was unprecedented and not a little alarming, so he quickly tucked his book behind him as he sat up to see who it–

Who–

Vatnir froze. It was not Valbrendhür or Hafjórn or Brythe. It was not a member of his clan at all.

A woman stood at the door to his quarters, an orlan woman with tawny skin and golden fur and fiery red hair that, bizarrely, floated about her as though she was underwater. He gawked at her, utterly stunned, his heart hammering wildly in his chest, his breath quick and shallow.

She was completely naked.

It wasn't real. It couldn't be. This couldn't be happening, it was impossible, made no sense whatsoever. This must be a dream, or a hallucination, or– or a vision, oh, gods, a real one? But what could it mean? Why her? Why–

He watched as the woman's hand slid off of the door's handle and fell to her hip. She turned slowly to face him.

And when she saw him, she smiled.

Oh gods, oh gods, oh–

It all certainly felt dreamlike, what with the eerie way she glided gracefully across the room, gradually closing the distance between the two of them. But it felt too real to be a dream, although not quite real enough to be real. Her form seemed to shimmer and shift before his eyes, and the dim light from his hearth didn't quite correspond with the shadows on her body, as though she were instead illuminated from within. Her hair drifted and swam in the air, hanging like a cloud of red smoke around her head and shoulders, mercifully obscuring her eyes, sparing him the terrible brilliance of her gaze. He could only just barely endure beholding her as she was, if he had to see those striking violet eyes looking at him, into him– oh, gods, he couldn't bear it.

A moment passed, and suddenly she was standing before him at the foot of his bed, close enough for him to reach out and nudge her with his toe– if he could actually bring himself to move at all. The most he could do was stare in abject fear and awe at the otherworldly spectacle before him, trembling in every limb.

"Vatnir."

Her voice was smooth and hot and slick, like fresh blood gushing from a slit throat.

Pleasure and terror entwined shot throughout his body like lightning, electrifying every nerve ending in him, and he shuddered obscenely in response. He did not, could not answer her.

Her smile broadened slightly, and there was something dangerous behind it, something cold and predatory. She laid her hands against her sternum, pressing them between her perfect breasts.

"I know your heart, child of dusk. Long have you yearned for the warmth of another."

A great plume of steam gushed forth from her mouth as she spoke, and it cascaded over the bewildered priest, obscuring his vision. When he could see again, she had produced a living heart, held like a sacrificial offering in her upturned hands. It burned with a flame that spat and sparked, hotter and brighter than any torch.

"You would have my heart beat next to yours. And I would have the same."

She thrust the flaming heart at him, and instinctively, he flinched away from it. Her soft laughter was like broken glass scraping stone.

"But wisely, you see that if I were to place it beside yours as it is now, it would reduce you to cinders."

She shifted slightly, and before he could blink she was in the canoe with him, one foot on either side of him. He knew orlans to be small in stature, but she seemed to tower over him as tall as any adra titan.

"You know what you must do, then, if you wish for my conjugality."

She shifted again, and suddenly she was on her knees, straddling him. This close, he could feel the blistering heat radiating from her, from the heart that lay in her palms, but the breath that brushed across his chin and naked gums was as cold as the winds of the Void. He dimly felt his teeth start to chatter.

"Smother it in the snow. Purge its impurities. Extinguish it, and my heart shall be yours, as shall I. Until the end of all things."

She forced the burning heart into his mouth.

He tried to scream, but only the hiss of sizzling flesh issued forth from him. The pain was blinding, but oddly, it only lasted an instant– and then the taste of blood filled his mouth, rank and coppery, and he choked and gagged on it as he writhed beneath her. Despite his best efforts to reject the foul meal, his body turned traitor and he swallowed against his will, a liquid warmth flooding into him, burning all the way down his throat, tingling in his joints and extremities, throbbing in his belly, leaving him feeling drunk, disoriented, sick. She cupped his face in her hands, ember hot and sticky with half-dried blood.

"You understand now the risks. Do you accept my terms, child of dusk? Will you treat with me?"

It was phrased as a request, but it was definitely a command. Her voice thundered in his ears, shook his bones, drove tears to his eyes. She gripped him by the horns that jutted from his jaws and pulled him close, closer, ever closer.

"Yes," he breathed. There was nothing else he could say. The heat of her heart inside him roiled and swelled.

"Then," she whispered, her chill breath raising goosebumps on his neck, "beg for me."

He swallowed again, thickly, choking off a groan, gasping for breath like a dying animal. She was so, so close now...

"Please–" he managed.

It was enough.

She did not fall onto him so much as into him, her body slamming into his with the force of a burning building collapsing into itself, pressing the breath from his lungs. She drove herself against him, her thighs sliding against his crotch, her belly filling the hollow of his own, her wild hair lighting on his face and crown and horns like drifting embers. She lifted her face to meet his gaze– he caught a glimpse of blue, ice blue glinting beneath the fiery locks– and then wrenched his head down to her level, crushing her mouth into his, forcing his jaw open, her breath still ice cold but her tongue red hot inside him.

And he moaned at last, sweat beading on his brow, heat and chill churning within him like a fever, the molten heat of her mouth crawling down into his stomach to mingle with the fire of her heart, and then back up through his veins to ignite the very tips of him, like how it felt when his fingers regained feeling again after the numbness of the cold had worn off. He was suddenly very acutely aware of what felt like a long, hot stone pressed into the flesh of his inner thigh, and his knees trembled as he thrusted timidly but insistently against her, his whole body aching for release, her horrible, haunting laughter ringing in his ears–

And he jolted awake as a pair of strong, heavy hands shook him hard enough to make his teeth rattle and his head snap painfully back and forth on his neck.

"High Harbinger! The Messenger! The Messenger is here!" Hafjórn's voice rang out far too loudly in the tiny room, his pale grey eyes glinting with fervor. Vatnir bit back a cry of shock, managing to only sputter and cough instead.

"What–" He could still taste her blood in his mouth, could still feel the warmth, the yearning ebbing throughout his body. "The– what? Who? The–"

Hafjórn looked at him as though he'd just asked what snow was. "The– the Messenger! Did you not feel his holy presence?" As if on cue, the structure shuddered around them as the ground rumbled and quaked from an incredible force crashing into it.

Oh, gods, it's back.

"I– y-yes, of course," he stuttered, panic rising in his gullet. "I just– I was just dreaming, just now, of... his resplendence. It– it must be a sign. A holy premonition. Of course."

Hafjórn's eyes widened with awe, then shone with admiration for his blessed leader. "Of course!" he cried, clasping his hands together in front of himself, enraptured. "Oh, glory be to Rymrgand!"

"Glory be," Vatnir echoed numbly. "G-go forth, brother, and meet our lord's servant. I must–" skyt, he had to think of something, quickly– "I... m-must tend to myself before I join you. My dream was... powerful, vivid. It... affected me. Physically." He hunched over, clutching at his stomach and throat, and gave a very convincing performance of a dry heave, praying that Hafjórn would take the hint and leave instead of, gods forbid, offering to help.

The other man winced beneath his roughly stitched-together hood– gods, did he sleep in the thing?– and hurriedly rose to his feet as the ground shook beneath them again. "Oh! Uh– certainly, High Harbinger. By all means, take your time. I, uh, I'll just... make sure the others devote themselves properly to worship until you arrive!" He shuffled awkwardly backwards to the open door, bowed his head quickly, and retreated into the hallway.

Vatnir waited for Hafjórn's footsteps to fully fade before he scrambled for the switch hidden inside the aurochs skull above his bed.

He managed to hold it together until after he'd gotten the sliding wall back into place, until he was safe, alone in his hidden room. He'd been numb and detached, his mind shocked into merciful silence and his body relying entirely on muscle memory– right up until he noticed that in his stupor, he'd unconsciously taken the fucking book with him, was cradling it against his chest again, like a child with a security blanket. His hands spasmed and he dropped it on the floor, staring vacantly ahead as the full horror of the harrowing experience struck him, little by little, piling on more and more, like a burgeoning avalanche, just waiting for something to give way–

He glanced down to see that the book had landed on its spine, had fallen open to display the portrait of the Watcher of Caed Nua.

He staggered to the other side of the room, fell to his hands and knees, and vomited.

And when he'd finished, he crawled beneath the table, thick cords of drool laced with snot and bile trailing from his ruined mouth, and he curled up into himself, shaking almost as hard as the walls around him were. What was that... that waking nightmare, that mad, spiraling delusion? It was unlike any dream he'd ever had, and Nyvardir allegedly kept his beer free of hallucinogens. He could only conclude it must be a vision, but Rymrgand had never seen fit to send him visions before, and if that was the first, he never wanted to go through another. What kind of lesson was he supposed to derive from that? What did it all mean? Was it a warning of some sort? An omen? A–

–I know your heart–

A punishment.

Vatnir twitched, and his gaze fell again on the book, still lying open on the floor where he'd left it. Of course that's what it was. Divine retribution. He had profaned this holy place with his lies, spilled the blood of his kin, traded away sacred scripture for worldly frivolites. And now he was reaping the rewards of his blasphemy– a vicious, sinister mockery of his deepest and most secret desire sent to humiliate and torture him, a message that his transgressions against his clan and his god had not gone unnoticed. Something between a sigh and a sob shuddered up out of him, and he pressed his masked face into his hands, as though he could hide from the revelation.

–smother it in the snow–

And then anger, righteous and indignant, boiled up inside him.

He had never asked for this, this clan, this body, this life. And yet, because he bore the Beast's mark, he was expected to endure without complaint, without even the most remote hope of the smallest sliver of relief, ever? That he was, in fact, expected to rejoice in his curse, to celebrate the fact that he would suffer, more and more, every day, until his inevitable death? He couldn't accept that, couldn't bear the notion that to live like this was his fate, indelible, inescapable. And as for his clan's jommydra, what else was he supposed to trade with? He had no other bargaining chips, no way to earn coin by laboring or stealing or fighting. He'd even gone so far as to weave flaws into his copies, glaring omissions and outright falsehoods to throw anyone who might actually be able to read it off his trail, to obscure and protect his clan's true lore. It wasn't as though Maribel or her customers would know the difference. And even if he hadn't, wouldn't that have been a small price for the clan to pay to afford him, their beloved scapegoat, the briefest reprieve from his constant agony? He had nothing else, barely even had the faculties to enjoy what little he could get his hands on, and now the Beast would deprive him of even his fantasies? How dare he try to take this from him, how dare Rymrgand send him a vision like that when all he had ever done since he'd first drawn breath was serve to the best of his ability, whether he'd wanted to or not–

–will you treat with me–

Vatnir sat a while, rage and fear and frustration washing over him in great waves as the tremors that shook his walls slowly grew fewer and further between. And when they stopped at last, when the dragon finally ceased its assault and again retreated back to wherever it had come from, he slowly clambered out from beneath the table and rose to his feet, his hands clenched into shaking fists at his sides.

A plan was forming in his mind.

Maribel and her sister were at least punctual, if little else. They would be back in a month. That might be enough time to come up with something. A story, backed up by some obscure myth or fable that he'd not used in any sermons yet, something to explain why this outsider has come to the Watch, why she must do battle with the Messenger. He was reminded, vaguely, of a half-remembered tale he'd once read about a messianic figure of some sort, a warrior who had befriended death and walked hand in hand with it, bringing cleansing oblivion wheresoever they trod–

–child of dusk–

Yes. Yes, he could work with that. He'd have a lot more planning to do, a good bit of reading, a little serious acting. But he was practically an expert at all that by now.

Reluctant but resolute, he plodded over to the book and rescued it from the floor, handling it with as much care and respect as his shaking hands could provide. He carried it to the table and propped it up, still open on the Watcher's portrait, so that she could inspire him as he sat down across from her and got to work, rummaging through his things for his writing kit.

It could work. It would work. He'd make it work, no matter how much he had to lie and cheat and beg. He lit a stumpy candle and fitted the heating dish for his sealing wax above the flame, carefully spread a thin slice of cream-colored leather out in front of him, and with a practiced hand and a jagged fingernail, he opened an old wound and dipped the nib of his quill into the blood that welled up from it.

The first step in his plan, he'd decided, was to write a letter.

—

"You're sure it's hers?"

Marri squinted at the vessel she'd pulled up alongside, her ledgers and cargo manifests forgotten for the moment. The enormous galleon dwarfed her tiny sloop, and although her eyesight wasn't what it used to be, she could still make out the name painted on the side of the hull: Hyridh ix Ensios.

Bela didn't bother looking up from her recently returned copy of New Legends of the Eastern Reach. "It's hers," she assured the Endings godlike, casually turning another page. "Zamar may be old, but his memory hasn't failed him quite yet. She commissioned it right after her return from Hasongo, he told me, and now it's just about finished. Distinctive name, isn't it?"

Six beady magenta eyes rolled in unison. 'It's nonsensical," Marri grunted. "And it doesn't tell us where the captain of this newly commissioned ship is, either."

With a huff, Bela slammed her book shut, shooting a glare at her decrepit sister. "You truly do think me a fool, don't you, Maribel?"

"Can you blame me?" Marri snarled, glowering right back at the bigger woman. "First, you let that horrible priest have that precious book of yours that you keep boasting about having lifted from that Waelite temple every chance you–"

"I lent it to him!" Bela protested. "And in case you haven't noticed, I got it back. And I wouldn't have had to lend it out at all if someone hadn't smoked all the good whiteleaf before we got to–"

Marri swatted at her dismissively. "Bah! You're lucky he gave it back, postenago, and luckier still he managed to restrain himself from befouling it with any of his myriad discharge." She shuddered with disgust, spitting a wad of phlegm on the floor of the cabin at the mere thought. "And then, you accepted his request to deliver this ridiculous thing to the most sought-after kith in the Deadfire– and for no extra charge!" She held the aforementioned burden aloft in her gnarled hand: a thin scroll of tanned hide, sealed with azure wax that had been stamped with the emblem of the aurochs.

Bela pouted, twisting a thin, wiry flower stem between her forefinger and her thumb. "I... oh, I felt bad for him, serre," she mumbled. "He looked worse off than usual this last time, all pale and haggard. And when it comes to him, that's saying something." She winced and lowered her voice, as though discussing a deathly ill family member just outside their sickroom: "He said the dragon came again. Killed eleven of his followers. And there I was, come to snatch away the only token he had of his sweetheart..." She smirked and gently patted the book's cover, unable to help herself.

"You're a child," Marri snapped, "and so is he. And you still haven't told me how we're supposed to track down this Watcher he wants us to give this stupid thing to." She sneered down at the little scroll, scratching at an open sore beneath one of her curving black horns. "Doubtlessly it's just some insipid love letter anyway. We should have thrown it into the sea as soon as we–"

"Calloste!" One of Bela's long doe's ears twitched, and she rushed to the cabin's open door, listening intently.

A woman's voice raised in song, clearly well-trained... a shanty, one known to be a favorite of–

Bela laughed triumphantly. "We will find her," she chirped as she yanked the scroll from her sister's knobbly fingers, "by finding her ship first, of course, and waiting for her to return to it. As she is now."  With that, she rushed out of the cabin, bounding eagerly after her quarry, and Marri only sighed and shook her head as she turned to the cabin's tiny window and watched her sister flounce up the pier.

The Watcher was not difficult for Bela to catch up to, and she seemed pleasant enough, despite displaying the slightly stiff and formal demeanor befitting a woman of her station. She accepted the scroll graciously, and although her eyes hardened a bit when she noticed the symbol of Rymrgand embossed in the wax seal, she still thanked Bela, tipped her generously, and then continued on her way like any other customer. Marri noted with glee how the orlan stood just a bit too close to the dark-haired elf accompanying her, and laughed out loud when she slipped an arm around his waist after Bela had turned away from them. Ha! Serves that priest right, the little creep.

As soon as Bela stepped back into the cabin, Marri turned to her, her snaggletoothed mouth twisted into a petulant scowl. "You're splitting that money with me," she demanded.

"I wouldn't dream of keeping it all to myself, dear sister," Bela cooed, snapping a bronze ōa in half and tossing the skinny woman her share. "So you saw her? She's a magnificent little woman, ac? And her beau! So handsome, but so austere." She laughed as she stuffed the money into her coin pouch. "Poor Vatnir! Cuckolded before he could even introduce himself to her!"

"Yes, yes, it's all very amusing, I'm sure," Marri grumbled, cramming her paperwork back into her desk drawer and taking up her spyglass and sexton. "Now, if you're finished playing errand girl, can we get back to building our trade empire and earning our tickets back to the Republics, if it's not too much trouble for you?"

Bela rolled her eyes and shouted the order to lift anchor, and in minutes, their little sloop was in open water again, speeding off toward the next opportunity.

Nothing holding us back now, she thought, and a chill wind filled their sails, carrying them off into the blood red horizon.

—

#fic wip #i'll almost definitely agonize over i mean uh edit this further #and add an extra lil epilogue before posting to ao3 #but i wanted to get it out here already #so uh here's the rest of this one! #thanks for reading ♡ #pillars of eternity #vatnir

[eagledrawsandvibes]

A Night To Remember

Pairing: Harvey Dent x Oswald Cobblepot (Twoguin)

Word count: 1K words

(Content warnings: drunk characters, suggestive but nothing too crazy. Still intended to be PG-13!)

Artist: @rowan-ravenwood-art

(a.n: these are not any specific versions of Harvey and Oswald, rather me and Rowan’s versions. If they seem out of character, that’s because they’ve been changed around. Canon is ours!)

Calm Friday night in Gotham. Or as calm as it usually is. The normal smog and demeanors were present in the city, but one place stands out among the rest of the buildings.

The notable Iceberg Lounge.

Harvey Dent, the popular rogue Two-Face, was spending his night here, drinking away. Oswald had invited him after a successful chain of heists, and after way too many drinks, it formed into a party.

There were some small rogues, some regulars, various people with both good and bad reputations around. But the only big-time rogues were Harvey and the owner of the lounge, Oswald Cobblepot. The one and only Penguin.

A little bit of Harvey’s drink splashed onto him when he drank, being a bit too tipsy but not enough to completely lose his senses. He still heard Oswald on stage, of course.

“Thank you, thank you.” It was clear from Oswald’s speech and behavior that he was drunk as well. His tie was loosened and he had a few kiss marks on his cheeks.

Damn bird knows how to charm everyone in Gotham.

“You’ve all been great tonight, everyone, really. Tips are very appreciated, ‘course. But I’d like to bring y’all to the main event.”

Harvey was barely listening, but he definitely did when he heard his name called.

“Harvey! Harvey Dent, darling, sweetheart. Get over here.”

There was some applause and chatter amongst the crowd as Harvey stumbled up on stage. He wasn’t drunk enough to be stupid, but he did climb the stage instead of using the stairs. After a few more grunts and pulling, he got up and stood next to Oswald.

Looking around the crowd, Harvey could see some curiosity in their eyes and behavior. Oswald rarely does this during parties. He always wanted to be the center of attention, Harvey thought.

So why would he be called onstage? Before Harvey can say anything, Oswald puts a hand on his shoulder, dragging him down slightly.

“This sweet sunshine right here, Dent my friend, you’ve done wonders for the Lounge. How’ve you been enjoying yourself, dearie?”

The mic is shoved to Harvey’s face. He can hear himself breathe.

“Uh-uhh—” Harvey’s not sure what to say. He never does when he’s drunk.

“W-Well, we’ve been drinking, chatting, enjoying ourself. Nice lounge.”

He’s stumbling over his words, just saying whatever comes to mind that’s appropriate. Oswald’s just been nodding along, with that ever so smug smile. His rambling faltered when he felt Oswald’s hand go down his side, pausing when reaching his backside.

A classic move by Penguin. His flirtations quickly become physical, depending on the person. And Harvey was absolutely the person.

But Oswald didn’t do anything other than slide his hand to Harvey’s waist, holding it closely. Harvey couldn’t help but feel himself heat up.

“That’s wonderful, darling. Love hearing you speak, sunshine.”

There’s a cheekiness to Oswald’s tone.

“But what you’ve said isn’t what the people came here for. I’m showing ‘em what you’re really here for.”

The grip on his waist tightened, and the anxiety in Harvey rose. There’s no way Oswald could—

The doors burst open, crashing to the ground. The patrons of the Lounge scream and drop their drinks, starting to flee. Harvey can hear sirens outside, and Oswald lets go of him and takes his hand.

“Come on, Dent. This way. Now!”

Harvey felt woozy from everything. The stimulation from the loud sirens and screaming to Oswald grabbing him and forcing him to run while drunk…how did he not just puke on the spot?

Everything felt weird. Harvey didn’t know where he was running, but he just knew to run. Run, don’t lose Oswald, run run, that’s a patron, run run, that’s a door—

He slams face first into the door, the pain making him dizzy.

“Oo, sorry there, princess.” Oswald unlocks the door and drags Harvey out, locking it in the process. They ended up in a dark alleyway, and just continued to run until their legs just couldn’t anymore.

They panted and sighed from their running. God, the running was so much. Harvey could feel sweat seep into his clothes. His hair was frazzled, his long white hair stained from the dirtiness of the ground and others stepping on it.

He looked over at Oswald and…was he always this incredibly attractive?

His tie was now lost completely, and his shirt underneath his coat stuck out slightly. His hair was no longer tied up, and it was messy over his face and head. Harvey’s seen Oswald disheveled before, but to this level? It was almost…intoxicating. Or maybe he was just too drunk.

“Huh-Os-Oswald, I-I think we lost them.” Harvey could barely get his words out, but then something new happened.

Oswald pressed him against the wall and grabbed his face. He went in for a deep, long kiss.

Harvey squeaked in surprise, shocked by the kiss. He nearly wanted to pull away but…god, Oswald hits all the right spots. It was euphoric, in a way.

When Oswald broke away, Harvey was slightly out of breath. “…Was that ok, sweetheart?”

Harvey just nodded, panting even more.

This caused Oswald to retain his smug smile. “Then why don’t I treat you right?”

He went back in for a kiss, this time yanking Harvey’s tie to pull him in with one hand, the other grabbing Harvey’s hair. His lips were surprisingly soft, his teeth feeling heavenly against Harvey’s lips. That’s how Harvey found out that the Penguin bites.

After Oswald got bored with Harvey’s mouth, he started to trail down Harvey’s neck. He snuck in little bites, causing Harvey to whine and let out small little sounds.

“Ah, god Oswald, god. You’re so wonderful.”

As Oswald was trailing down, Harvey started unbuttoning his suit blazer. He had no idea what he was thinking, he couldn’t focus for a goddamn second. All he can think about is Oswald’s mouth on him, and how heavenly he feels.

Of course, Oswald sees this and grabs Harvey’s blazer once it’s off. He drops it on the ground, chuckling.

“Oh, this is what you wanted, sunshine?” He leaned in closer, nibbling Harvey’s ear. “Well, who am I to deny you, sweetie? You’ve done so well.”

Harvey whimpers quietly as Oswald unbuttons his shirt, trailing kisses down his collarbone as he does so. He feels Oswald’s hands on his hips, one moving down to squeeze his backside.

“And you have the finest body I’ve ever seen.”

Harvey squeaks and whines from every touch and kiss. He wanted so much. This was blissful. He’s missed this feeling of being loved. Ever since Gilda’s death, he thought he could never be loved again. But that wasn’t true anymore. He was Oswald’s toy now. And he was enjoying every second.

Oswald began loosening Harvey’s belt too, but before he could get it off, the two of them heard sirens.

“Penguin and Two-Face. You’re completely surrounded. Comply and nobody needs to open fire.”

Six officers ran in as the alert went off, and they all froze at the sight.

The sight of Harvey pinned to the wall, kiss and bite marks left all over him, and nearly shirtless. Harvey knew his face and body must’ve been pure red. He could feel the burning of shame and humiliation.

Oswald, meanwhile, didn’t seem too affected. “Would you mind? We’re kinda busy.” He deeply makes out with Harvey, albeit sloppily.

Before he could do much, though, the officers pulled them both away. They made several snide remarks that Harvey couldn’t hear exactly, but it didn’t matter as they were handcuffed and driven away.

A night to surely remember.

#eaglewrites #cringe is dead #batman rogues #harvey dent #two face #oswald cobblepot #the penguin #harvey dent x oswald cobblepot #twoguin #ozharv #fanfic #writing

[heckinconfusedparade]

Sonic and Maddie Watch Titanic

It all started when Sonic was having trouble falling asleep. When he went downstairs to grab a glass of water, he noticed Maddie watching a movie.

He climbs up onto the couch and under the blanket she’s wrapped in and snuggles up to his mother “hey, mom.. Whatcha watchin?” Maddie wraps her arm around the hedgehog, gently petting the side of his face. “Hey, baby.. Im watching The Titanic. Why are you up?” “Couldn’t sleep.. can I watch it with you?”

Maddie chuckles “are you sure? It’s got some rough subjects in it.”

Sonic scoffs “how bad can it be?”

Sonic knows about Jack and Rose. He’s heard it before.

When he learns that Rose has a fiancée, he gets confused “why is she hooking up with Jack if she’s gonna get married??” Then he witnesses said fiancée lay his hands on Rose. Sonic gasps “nevermind I get it.”

Sonic watches as Jack and Rose fall in love. He gets attached. His lil eyes widen during the painting scene. “So people just casually paint other people nude?” “Yep. A lot of people paint that way.” “Why?” “Well, why not?”

Then… the car scene. If you’ve seen the movie, you know what I’m talking about. Little man is having so many thoughts and emotions. He hides his face in his mothers side so he doesn’t have to see it. Maddie finds it incredibly funny. Sonic is just. Screaming silently. He looks when he thinks it’s over but oH GOD A HANDPRINT “WHY IS IT SO MISTY-“ logic is not logicing in his head. Maddie let’s him know when it’s done.

Another thing… Sonic doesn’t know the story of the Titanic. He’s unaware of what’s about to happen, and even more unaware that this is something that went down in real life.

So the iceberg catches him off guard. It’s the most stressful thing watching all the panic ensue.

He’s worried sick for Jack who’s chained to a pipe. He breathes a sigh of relief when Rose goes to rescue him.

It gets worse. The water is getting higher and people are getting trapped. Sonic is super upset that the crew is doing nothing to help these poor innocent people. His heart breaks seeing children in the crowd.

When the band keeps playing, Sonic wipes a tear. Those people have accepted that they’re about to die in one of the worst possible ways to go, and they’re still playing.

The ship goes down, and both he and Maddie are near tears. He feels sick watching Jack try to climb onto the door and fail.

As Jack succumbs to the cold and disappears into the ocean, Sonic is clutching his mother so hard. “…he’s gone?” “Yes, Sonic.” “Nobody’s gonna save him?” “They can’t.” “….” He gains some happiness back when Rose spots a lifeboat and blows her whistle. He wonders why she didn’t do that before.

As the camera pans over the bodies, men, women, children, babies, he feels so much despair.

He’s happy Rose is safe and ok, but man.

He iSNT HAPPY THAT THE FIANCÉE SURVIVED.

As the credit rolls he turns and goes “that was depressing! How do they come up with this stuff??” Maddie pauses, realizing that Sonic doesn’t know.

“Sonic.. baby.. the Titanic was a real ship. This movie was based off the real events. Jack and Rose are fictional characters, but the ship really did sink that night, ending hundreds of lives, and traumatizing everyone involved.”

Sonics jaw drops. He needs a second. “Wow.. all.. all those people..?” Maddie nods.

Well, now Sonic for sure isn’t sleeping.

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic 2 #sonic the hedghog movie #sonic #movie sonic #pretzel lady

[soft-stoner-babe]

Please tell us more about the titanic

Don’t have to ask me twice! (Though the depth of my knowledge on this topic is so vast that i have a hard time trying to narrow it down lol)

To keep things a bit lighter and more on brand with me, let’s talk about Charles Joughin, the chief baker aboard the Titanic who has my favorite story from that night.

So about 40 or so minutes after the iceberg struck was when the order was given to prep the ship’s lifeboats for launch. Charles Joughin (who claimed he felt the jolt while sitting in his bunk) was then tasked to fill each lifeboat with provisions for passengers. After which, he helped load Lifeboat 10 with passengers. Since the ship was in the early stages of sinking, a lot of the women aboard didn’t think there was any danger and thought they were safer aboard the ship, so Joughin was reported to have literally dragged some of the women into the lifeboats himself.

For his service, he was offered a seat in the boat, but, since it was already occupied with 2 sailors and a steward, he gave up his seat and decided to stay on the ship, knowing and accepting that his chances for survival were slim.

So he made it his personal mission to make sure the Titanic went down with as little alcohol on it as possible.

Almost immediately after he gave up his seat, he stated he went back to his cabin for almost an hour and started drinking. A lot. Most versions of the story like to say he mainly drank whiskey, but his family testimony claims he had a bottle of schnapps in his cabin that he mainly enjoyed. After a bit, he stepped outside to check what was going on to find all the boats gone, so he drunkenly started throwing deck chairs and debris overboard for survivors to use, feeling really proud of himself. He went back to his cabin and drank some more.

He reportedly stayed in his cabin until he started to hear the ship buckle around him, at which point he was already wickedly drunk. When he stepped outside, the ship was beginning its final plunge, and a massive crowd of people started making their way towards the back half of the ship. He drunkenly followed them, supposedly not being too bothered by the serious downward angle the ship had started to take.

His testimony claims that he hung on to the stern’s railing as the ship sank, claiming to have been the last person to leave the ship as he rode it down like an elevator and simply stepped of gently into the water as it disappeared beneath his feet (if you watch the James Cameron movie, you can see him dressed in white next to Jack and Rose on the very tip of the stern). We’re not exactly sure how true this is, given the fact that the guy was buzzed as hell and the only six survivors that were pulled out of the water don’t remember seeing him, but we know he entered the freezing water just like everyone else.

However, unlike everyone else, he claimed he wasn’t bothered by the freezing water, and swam around for a remarkably long period of time due to all the alcohol in his system. He eventually made his way over to Collapsable Lifeboat B, which was overturned and has about 30 guys trying to balance themselves on top of it. He was told not to come on for fear of the lifeboat capsizing, so he just clung to the side of it for a while. When daylight broke, he swam to another lifeboat and was able to climb aboard, where everyone was surprised to find that the only ill effects he suffered was some swollen feet. He made it aboard the rescue ship Carpathia and personally gave his testimony at the inquiry in New York once he arrived.

#long story short #charles joughin is my spirit animal

[sapphotography]

A ‘Climbing Iceberg’ rose (had to check online about the specifics of this particular flower)

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This one was also taken a while back, around when I was practising different techniques :)

.

#beginner photographer #nature photography #photographers on tumblr #lensblr #photography #artists on tumblr #original photography on tumblr #original phography #nature #original photography blog #naturecore #amateur photography #flower photography #flowers #flowercore #white rose #rose #climbing roses

[hellsitesonlybookclub]

20k Leagues under the sea, Jules Verne

part 2, chapter 14-15

CHAPTER XIV THE SOUTH POLE

I rushed on to the platform. Yes! the open sea, with but a few scattered pieces of ice and moving icebergs—a long stretch of sea; a world of birds in the air, and myriads of fishes under those waters, which varied from intense blue to olive green, according to the bottom. The thermometer marked 3° C. above zero. It was comparatively spring, shut up as we were behind this iceberg, whose lengthened mass was dimly seen on our northern horizon.

“Are we at the pole?” I asked the Captain, with a beating heart.

“I do not know,” he replied. “At noon I will take our bearings.”

“But will the sun show himself through this fog?” said I, looking at the leaden sky.

“However little it shows, it will be enough,” replied the Captain.

About ten miles south a solitary island rose to a height of one hundred and four yards. We made for it, but carefully, for the sea might be strewn with banks. One hour afterwards we had reached it, two hours later we had made the round of it. It measured four or five miles in circumference. A narrow canal separated it from a considerable stretch of land, perhaps a continent, for we could not see its limits. The existence of this land seemed to give some colour to Maury’s theory. The ingenious American has remarked that, between the South Pole and the sixtieth parallel, the sea is covered with floating ice of enormous size, which is never met with in the North Atlantic. From this fact he has drawn the conclusion that the Antarctic Circle encloses considerable continents, as icebergs cannot form in open sea, but only on the coasts. According to these calculations, the mass of ice surrounding the southern pole forms a vast cap, the circumference of which must be, at least, 2,500 miles. But the Nautilus, for fear of running aground, had stopped about three cable-lengths from a strand over which reared a superb heap of rocks. The boat was launched; the Captain, two of his men, bearing instruments, Conseil, and myself were in it. It was ten in the morning. I had not seen Ned Land. Doubtless the Canadian did not wish to admit the presence of the South Pole. A few strokes of the oar brought us to the sand, where we ran ashore. Conseil was going to jump on to the land, when I held him back.

“Sir,” said I to Captain Nemo, “to you belongs the honour of first setting foot on this land.”

“Yes, sir,” said the Captain, “and if I do not hesitate to tread this South Pole, it is because, up to this time, no human being has left a trace there.”

Saying this, he jumped lightly on to the sand. His heart beat with emotion. He climbed a rock, sloping to a little promontory, and there, with his arms crossed, mute and motionless, and with an eager look, he seemed to take possession of these southern regions. After five minutes passed in this ecstasy, he turned to us.

“When you like, sir.”

I landed, followed by Conseil, leaving the two men in the boat. For a long way the soil was composed of a reddish sandy stone, something like crushed brick, scoriae, streams of lava, and pumice-stones. One could not mistake its volcanic origin. In some parts, slight curls of smoke emitted a sulphurous smell, proving that the internal fires had lost nothing of their expansive powers, though, having climbed a high acclivity, I could see no volcano for a radius of several miles. We know that in those Antarctic countries, James Ross found two craters, the Erebus and Terror, in full activity, on the 167th meridian, latitude 77° 32′. The vegetation of this desolate continent seemed to me much restricted. Some lichens lay upon the black rocks; some microscopic plants, rudimentary diatomas, a kind of cells placed between two quartz shells; long purple and scarlet weed, supported on little swimming bladders, which the breaking of the waves brought to the shore. These constituted the meagre flora of this region. The shore was strewn with molluscs, little mussels, and limpets. I also saw myriads of northern clios, one-and-a-quarter inches long, of which a whale would swallow a whole world at a mouthful; and some perfect sea-butterflies, animating the waters on the skirts of the shore.

There appeared on the high bottoms some coral shrubs, of the kind which, according to James Ross, live in the Antarctic seas to the depth of more than 1,000 yards. Then there were little kingfishers and starfish studding the soil. But where life abounded most was in the air. There thousands of birds fluttered and flew of all kinds, deafening us with their cries; others crowded the rock, looking at us as we passed by without fear, and pressing familiarly close by our feet. There were penguins, so agile in the water, heavy and awkward as they are on the ground; they were uttering harsh cries, a large assembly, sober in gesture, but extravagant in clamour. Albatrosses passed in the air, the expanse of their wings being at least four yards and a half, and justly called the vultures of the ocean; some gigantic petrels, and some damiers, a kind of small duck, the underpart of whose body is black and white; then there were a whole series of petrels, some whitish, with brown-bordered wings, others blue, peculiar to the Antarctic seas, and so oily, as I told Conseil, that the inhabitants of the Ferroe Islands had nothing to do before lighting them but to put a wick in.

“A little more,” said Conseil, “and they would be perfect lamps! After that, we cannot expect Nature to have previously furnished them with wicks!”

About half a mile farther on the soil was riddled with ruffs’ nests, a sort of laying-ground, out of which many birds were issuing. Captain Nemo had some hundreds hunted. They uttered a cry like the braying of an ass, were about the size of a goose, slate-colour on the body, white beneath, with a yellow line round their throats; they allowed themselves to be killed with a stone, never trying to escape. But the fog did not lift, and at eleven the sun had not yet shown itself. Its absence made me uneasy. Without it no observations were possible. How, then, could we decide whether we had reached the pole? When I rejoined Captain Nemo, I found him leaning on a piece of rock, silently watching the sky. He seemed impatient and vexed. But what was to be done? This rash and powerful man could not command the sun as he did the sea. Noon arrived without the orb of day showing itself for an instant. We could not even tell its position behind the curtain of fog; and soon the fog turned to snow.

“Till to-morrow,” said the Captain, quietly, and we returned to the Nautilus amid these atmospheric disturbances.

The tempest of snow continued till the next day. It was impossible to remain on the platform. From the saloon, where I was taking notes of incidents happening during this excursion to the polar continent, I could hear the cries of petrels and albatrosses sporting in the midst of this violent storm. The Nautilus did not remain motionless, but skirted the coast, advancing ten miles more to the south in the half-light left by the sun as it skirted the edge of the horizon. The next day, the 20th of March, the snow had ceased. The cold was a little greater, the thermometer showing 2° below zero. The fog was rising, and I hoped that that day our observations might be taken. Captain Nemo not having yet appeared, the boat took Conseil and myself to land. The soil was still of the same volcanic nature; everywhere were traces of lava, scoriae, and basalt; but the crater which had vomited them I could not see. Here, as lower down, this continent was alive with myriads of birds. But their rule was now divided with large troops of sea-mammals, looking at us with their soft eyes. There were several kinds of seals, some stretched on the earth, some on flakes of ice, many going in and out of the sea. They did not flee at our approach, never having had anything to do with man; and I reckoned that there were provisions there for hundreds of vessels.

“Sir,” said Conseil, “will you tell me the names of these creatures?”

“They are seals and morses.”

It was now eight in the morning. Four hours remained to us before the sun could be observed with advantage. I directed our steps towards a vast bay cut in the steep granite shore. There, I can aver that earth and ice were lost to sight by the numbers of sea-mammals covering them, and I involuntarily sought for old Proteus, the mythological shepherd who watched these immense flocks of Neptune. There were more seals than anything else, forming distinct groups, male and female, the father watching over his family, the mother suckling her little ones, some already strong enough to go a few steps. When they wished to change their place, they took little jumps, made by the contraction of their bodies, and helped awkwardly enough by their imperfect fin, which, as with the lamantin, their cousins, forms a perfect forearm. I should say that, in the water, which is their element—the spine of these creatures is flexible; with smooth and close skin and webbed feet—they swim admirably. In resting on the earth they take the most graceful attitudes. Thus the ancients, observing their soft and expressive looks, which cannot be surpassed by the most beautiful look a woman can give, their clear voluptuous eyes, their charming positions, and the poetry of their manners, metamorphosed them, the male into a triton and the female into a mermaid. I made Conseil notice the considerable development of the lobes of the brain in these interesting cetaceans. No mammal, except man, has such a quantity of brain matter; they are also capable of receiving a certain amount of education, are easily domesticated, and I think, with other naturalists, that if properly taught they would be of great service as fishing-dogs. The greater part of them slept on the rocks or on the sand. Amongst these seals, properly so called, which have no external ears (in which they differ from the otter, whose ears are prominent), I noticed several varieties of seals about three yards long, with a white coat, bulldog heads, armed with teeth in both jaws, four incisors at the top and four at the bottom, and two large canine teeth in the shape of a fleur-de-lis. Amongst them glided sea-elephants, a kind of seal, with short, flexible trunks. The giants of this species measured twenty feet round and ten yards and a half in length; but they did not move as we approached.

“These creatures are not dangerous?” asked Conseil.

“No; not unless you attack them. When they have to defend their young their rage is terrible, and it is not uncommon for them to break the fishing-boats to pieces.”

“They are quite right,” said Conseil.

“I do not say they are not.”

Two miles farther on we were stopped by the promontory which shelters the bay from the southerly winds. Beyond it we heard loud bellowings such as a troop of ruminants would produce.

“Good!” said Conseil; “a concert of bulls!”

“No; a concert of morses.”

“They are fighting!”

“They are either fighting or playing.”

We now began to climb the blackish rocks, amid unforeseen stumbles, and over stones which the ice made slippery. More than once I rolled over at the expense of my loins. Conseil, more prudent or more steady, did not stumble, and helped me up, saying:

“If, sir, you would have the kindness to take wider steps, you would preserve your equilibrium better.”

Arrived at the upper ridge of the promontory, I saw a vast white plain covered with morses. They were playing amongst themselves, and what we heard were bellowings of pleasure, not of anger.

As I passed these curious animals I could examine them leisurely, for they did not move. Their skins were thick and rugged, of a yellowish tint, approaching to red; their hair was short and scant. Some of them were four yards and a quarter long. Quieter and less timid than their cousins of the north, they did not, like them, place sentinels round the outskirts of their encampment. After examining this city of morses, I began to think of returning. It was eleven o’clock, and, if Captain Nemo found the conditions favourable for observations, I wished to be present at the operation. We followed a narrow pathway running along the summit of the steep shore. At half-past eleven we had reached the place where we landed. The boat had run aground, bringing the Captain. I saw him standing on a block of basalt, his instruments near him, his eyes fixed on the northern horizon, near which the sun was then describing a lengthened curve. I took my place beside him, and waited without speaking. Noon arrived, and, as before, the sun did not appear. It was a fatality. Observations were still wanting. If not accomplished to-morrow, we must give up all idea of taking any. We were indeed exactly at the 20th of March. To-morrow, the 21st, would be the equinox; the sun would disappear behind the horizon for six months, and with its disappearance the long polar night would begin. Since the September equinox it had emerged from the northern horizon, rising by lengthened spirals up to the 21st of December. At this period, the summer solstice of the northern regions, it had begun to descend; and to-morrow was to shed its last rays upon them. I communicated my fears and observations to Captain Nemo.

“You are right, M. Aronnax,” said he; “if to-morrow I cannot take the altitude of the sun, I shall not be able to do it for six months. But precisely because chance has led me into these seas on the 21st of March, my bearings will be easy to take, if at twelve we can see the sun.”

“Why, Captain?”

“Because then the orb of day described such lengthened curves that it is difficult to measure exactly its height above the horizon, and grave errors may be made with instruments.”

“What will you do then?”

“I shall only use my chronometer,” replied Captain Nemo. “If to-morrow, the 21st of March, the disc of the sun, allowing for refraction, is exactly cut by the northern horizon, it will show that I am at the South Pole.”

“Just so,” said I. “But this statement is not mathematically correct, because the equinox does not necessarily begin at noon.”

“Very likely, sir; but the error will not be a hundred yards and we do not want more. Till to-morrow, then!”

Captain Nemo returned on board. Conseil and I remained to survey the shore, observing and studying until five o’clock. Then I went to bed, not, however, without invoking, like the Indian, the favour of the radiant orb. The next day, the 21st of March, at five in the morning, I mounted the platform. I found Captain Nemo there.

“The weather is lightening a little,” said he. “I have some hope. After breakfast we will go on shore and choose a post for observation.”

That point settled, I sought Ned Land. I wanted to take him with me. But the obstinate Canadian refused, and I saw that his taciturnity and his bad humour grew day by day. After all, I was not sorry for his obstinacy under the circumstances. Indeed, there were too many seals on shore, and we ought not to lay such temptation in this unreflecting fisherman’s way. Breakfast over, we went on shore. The Nautilus had gone some miles further up in the night. It was a whole league from the coast, above which reared a sharp peak about five hundred yards high. The boat took with me Captain Nemo, two men of the crew, and the instruments, which consisted of a chronometer, a telescope, and a barometer. While crossing, I saw numerous whales belonging to the three kinds peculiar to the southern seas; the whale, or the English “right whale,” which has no dorsal fin; the “humpback,” with reeved chest and large, whitish fins, which, in spite of its name, do not form wings; and the fin-back, of a yellowish brown, the liveliest of all the cetacea. This powerful creature is heard a long way off when he throws to a great height columns of air and vapour, which look like whirlwinds of smoke. These different mammals were disporting themselves in troops in the quiet waters; and I could see that this basin of the Antarctic Pole serves as a place of refuge to the cetacea too closely tracked by the hunters. I also noticed large medusæ floating between the reeds.

At nine we landed; the sky was brightening, the clouds were flying to the south, and the fog seemed to be leaving the cold surface of the waters. Captain Nemo went towards the peak, which he doubtless meant to be his observatory. It was a painful ascent over the sharp lava and the pumice-stones, in an atmosphere often impregnated with a sulphurous smell from the smoking cracks. For a man unaccustomed to walk on land, the Captain climbed the steep slopes with an agility I never saw equalled and which a hunter would have envied. We were two hours getting to the summit of this peak, which was half porphyry and half basalt. From thence we looked upon a vast sea which, towards the north, distinctly traced its boundary line upon the sky. At our feet lay fields of dazzling whiteness. Over our heads a pale azure, free from fog. To the north the disc of the sun seemed like a ball of fire, already horned by the cutting of the horizon. From the bosom of the water rose sheaves of liquid jets by hundreds. In the distance lay the Nautilus like a cetacean asleep on the water. Behind us, to the south and east, an immense country and a chaotic heap of rocks and ice, the limits of which were not visible. On arriving at the summit Captain Nemo carefully took the mean height of the barometer, for he would have to consider that in taking his observations. At a quarter to twelve the sun, then seen only by refraction, looked like a golden disc shedding its last rays upon this deserted continent and seas which never man had yet ploughed. Captain Nemo, furnished with a lenticular glass which, by means of a mirror, corrected the refraction, watched the orb sinking below the horizon by degrees, following a lengthened diagonal. I held the chronometer. My heart beat fast. If the disappearance of the half-disc of the sun coincided with twelve o’clock on the chronometer, we were at the pole itself.

“Twelve!” I exclaimed.

“The South Pole!” replied Captain Nemo, in a grave voice, handing me the glass, which showed the orb cut in exactly equal parts by the horizon.

I looked at the last rays crowning the peak, and the shadows mounting by degrees up its slopes. At that moment Captain Nemo, resting with his hand on my shoulder, said:

“I, Captain Nemo, on this 21st day of March, 1868, have reached the South Pole on the ninetieth degree; and I take possession of this part of the globe, equal to one-sixth of the known continents.”

“In whose name, Captain?”

“In my own, sir!”

Saying which, Captain Nemo unfurled a black banner, bearing an “N” in gold quartered on its bunting. Then, turning towards the orb of day, whose last rays lapped the horizon of the sea, he exclaimed:

“Adieu, sun! Disappear, thou radiant orb! rest beneath this open sea, and let a night of six months spread its shadows over my new domains!”

CHAPTER XV ACCIDENT OR INCIDENT?

The next day, the 22nd of March, at six in the morning, preparations for departure were begun. The last gleams of twilight were melting into night. The cold was great, the constellations shone with wonderful intensity. In the zenith glittered that wondrous Southern Cross—the polar bear of Antarctic regions. The thermometer showed 120 below zero, and when the wind freshened it was most biting. Flakes of ice increased on the open water. The sea seemed everywhere alike. Numerous blackish patches spread on the surface, showing the formation of fresh ice. Evidently the southern basin, frozen during the six winter months, was absolutely inaccessible. What became of the whales in that time? Doubtless they went beneath the icebergs, seeking more practicable seas. As to the seals and morses, accustomed to live in a hard climate, they remained on these icy shores. These creatures have the instinct to break holes in the ice-field and to keep them open. To these holes they come for breath; when the birds, driven away by the cold, have emigrated to the north, these sea mammals remain sole masters of the polar continent. But the reservoirs were filling with water, and the Nautilus was slowly descending. At 1,000 feet deep it stopped; its screw beat the waves, and it advanced straight towards the north at a speed of fifteen miles an hour. Towards night it was already floating under the immense body of the iceberg. At three in the morning I was awakened by a violent shock. I sat up in my bed and listened in the darkness, when I was thrown into the middle of the room. The Nautilus, after having struck, had rebounded violently. I groped along the partition, and by the staircase to the saloon, which was lit by the luminous ceiling. The furniture was upset. Fortunately the windows were firmly set, and had held fast. The pictures on the starboard side, from being no longer vertical, were clinging to the paper, whilst those of the port side were hanging at least a foot from the wall. The Nautilus was lying on its starboard side perfectly motionless. I heard footsteps, and a confusion of voices; but Captain Nemo did not appear. As I was leaving the saloon, Ned Land and Conseil entered.

“What is the matter?” said I, at once.

“I came to ask you, sir,” replied Conseil.

“Confound it!” exclaimed the Canadian, “I know well enough! The Nautilus has struck; and, judging by the way she lies, I do not think she will right herself as she did the first time in Torres Straits.”

“But,” I asked, “has she at least come to the surface of the sea?”

“We do not know,” said Conseil.

“It is easy to decide,” I answered. I consulted the manometer. To my great surprise, it showed a depth of more than 180 fathoms. “What does that mean?” I exclaimed.

“We must ask Captain Nemo,” said Conseil.

“But where shall we find him?” said Ned Land.

“Follow me,” said I, to my companions.

We left the saloon. There was no one in the library. At the centre staircase, by the berths of the ship’s crew, there was no one. I thought that Captain Nemo must be in the pilot’s cage. It was best to wait. We all returned to the saloon. For twenty minutes we remained thus, trying to hear the slightest noise which might be made on board the Nautilus, when Captain Nemo entered. He seemed not to see us; his face, generally so impassive, showed signs of uneasiness. He watched the compass silently, then the manometer; and, going to the planisphere, placed his finger on a spot representing the southern seas. I would not interrupt him; but, some minutes later, when he turned towards me, I said, using one of his own expressions in the Torres Straits:

“An incident, Captain?”

“No, sir; an accident this time.”

“Serious?”

“Perhaps.”

“Is the danger immediate?”

“No.”

“The Nautilus has stranded?”

“Yes.”

“And this has happened—how?”

“From a caprice of nature, not from the ignorance of man. Not a mistake has been made in the working. But we cannot prevent equilibrium from producing its effects. We may brave human laws, but we cannot resist natural ones.”

Captain Nemo had chosen a strange moment for uttering this philosophical reflection. On the whole, his answer helped me little.

“May I ask, sir, the cause of this accident?”

“An enormous block of ice, a whole mountain, has turned over,” he replied. “When icebergs are undermined at their base by warmer water or reiterated shocks their centre of gravity rises, and the whole thing turns over. This is what has happened; one of these blocks, as it fell, struck the Nautilus, then, gliding under its hull, raised it with irresistible force, bringing it into beds which are not so thick, where it is lying on its side.”

“But can we not get the Nautilus off by emptying its reservoirs, that it might regain its equilibrium?”

“That, sir, is being done at this moment. You can hear the pump working. Look at the needle of the manometer; it shows that the Nautilus is rising, but the block of ice is floating with it; and, until some obstacle stops its ascending motion, our position cannot be altered.”

Indeed, the Nautilus still held the same position to starboard; doubtless it would right itself when the block stopped. But at this moment who knows if we may not be frightfully crushed between the two glassy surfaces? I reflected on all the consequences of our position. Captain Nemo never took his eyes off the manometer. Since the fall of the iceberg, the Nautilus had risen about a hundred and fifty feet, but it still made the same angle with the perpendicular. Suddenly a slight movement was felt in the hold. Evidently it was righting a little. Things hanging in the saloon were sensibly returning to their normal position. The partitions were nearing the upright. No one spoke. With beating hearts we watched and felt the straightening. The boards became horizontal under our feet. Ten minutes passed.

“At last we have righted!” I exclaimed.

“Yes,” said Captain Nemo, going to the door of the saloon.

“But are we floating?” I asked.

“Certainly,” he replied; “since the reservoirs are not empty; and, when empty, the Nautilus must rise to the surface of the sea.”

We were in open sea; but at a distance of about ten yards, on either side of the Nautilus, rose a dazzling wall of ice. Above and beneath the same wall. Above, because the lower surface of the iceberg stretched over us like an immense ceiling. Beneath, because the overturned block, having slid by degrees, had found a resting-place on the lateral walls, which kept it in that position. The Nautilus was really imprisoned in a perfect tunnel of ice more than twenty yards in breadth, filled with quiet water. It was easy to get out of it by going either forward or backward, and then make a free passage under the iceberg, some hundreds of yards deeper. The luminous ceiling had been extinguished, but the saloon was still resplendent with intense light. It was the powerful reflection from the glass partition sent violently back to the sheets of the lantern. I cannot describe the effect of the voltaic rays upon the great blocks so capriciously cut; upon every angle, every ridge, every facet was thrown a different light, according to the nature of the veins running through the ice; a dazzling mine of gems, particularly of sapphires, their blue rays crossing with the green of the emerald. Here and there were opal shades of wonderful softness, running through bright spots like diamonds of fire, the brilliancy of which the eye could not bear. The power of the lantern seemed increased a hundredfold, like a lamp through the lenticular plates of a first-class lighthouse.

“How beautiful! how beautiful!” cried Conseil.

“Yes,” I said, “it is a wonderful sight. Is it not, Ned?”

“Yes, confound it! Yes,” answered Ned Land, “it is superb! I am mad at being obliged to admit it. No one has ever seen anything like it; but the sight may cost us dear. And, if I must say all, I think we are seeing here things which God never intended man to see.”

Ned was right, it was too beautiful. Suddenly a cry from Conseil made me turn.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Shut your eyes, sir! Do not look, sir!” Saying which, Conseil clapped his hands over his eyes.

“But what is the matter, my boy?”

“I am dazzled, blinded.”

My eyes turned involuntarily towards the glass, but I could not stand the fire which seemed to devour them. I understood what had happened. The Nautilus had put on full speed. All the quiet lustre of the ice-walls was at once changed into flashes of lightning. The fire from these myriads of diamonds was blinding. It required some time to calm our troubled looks. At last the hands were taken down.

“Faith, I should never have believed it,” said Conseil.

It was then five in the morning; and at that moment a shock was felt at the bows of the Nautilus. I knew that its spur had struck a block of ice. It must have been a false manœuvre, for this submarine tunnel, obstructed by blocks, was not very easy navigation. I thought that Captain Nemo, by changing his course, would either turn these obstacles or else follow the windings of the tunnel. In any case, the road before us could not be entirely blocked. But, contrary to my expectations, the Nautilus took a decided retrograde motion.

“We are going backwards?” said Conseil.

“Yes,” I replied. “This end of the tunnel can have no egress.”

“And then?”

“Then,” said I, “the working is easy. We must go back again, and go out at the southern opening. That is all.”

In speaking thus, I wished to appear more confident than I really was. But the retrograde motion of the Nautilus was increasing; and, reversing the screw, it carried us at great speed.

“It will be a hindrance,” said Ned.

“What does it matter, some hours more or less, provided we get out at last?”

“Yes,” repeated Ned Land, “provided we do get out at last!”

For a short time I walked from the saloon to the library. My companions were silent. I soon threw myself on an ottoman, and took a book, which my eyes overran mechanically. A quarter of an hour after, Conseil, approaching me, said, “Is what you are reading very interesting, sir?”

“Very interesting!” I replied.

“I should think so, sir. It is your own book you are reading.”

“My book?”

And indeed I was holding in my hand the work on the Great Submarine Depths. I did not even dream of it. I closed the book and returned to my walk. Ned and Conseil rose to go.

“Stay here, my friends,” said I, detaining them. “Let us remain together until we are out of this block.”

“As you please, sir,” Conseil replied.

Some hours passed. I often looked at the instruments hanging from the partition. The manometer showed that the Nautilus kept at a constant depth of more than three hundred yards; the compass still pointed to south; the log indicated a speed of twenty miles an hour, which, in such a cramped space, was very great. But Captain Nemo knew that he could not hasten too much, and that minutes were worth ages to us. At twenty-five minutes past eight a second shock took place, this time from behind. I turned pale. My companions were close by my side. I seized Conseil’s hand. Our looks expressed our feelings better than words. At this moment the Captain entered the saloon. I went up to him.

“Our course is barred southward?” I asked.

“Yes, sir. The iceberg has shifted and closed every outlet.”

“We are blocked up then?”

“Yes.”

#hellsitesonlybookclub #bookblr #jules verne #books

[20k-leagues-speedrun]

CHAPTER XIV THE SOUTH POLE

I rushed on to the platform. Yes! the open sea, with but a few scattered pieces of ice and moving icebergs—a long stretch of sea; a world of birds in the air, and myriads of fishes under those waters, which varied from intense blue to olive green, according to the bottom. The thermometer marked 3° C. above zero. It was comparatively spring, shut up as we were behind this iceberg, whose lengthened mass was dimly seen on our northern horizon.

“Are we at the pole?” I asked the Captain, with a beating heart.

“I do not know,” he replied. “At noon I will take our bearings.”

“But will the sun show himself through this fog?” said I, looking at the leaden sky.

“However little it shows, it will be enough,” replied the Captain.

About ten miles south a solitary island rose to a height of one hundred and four yards. We made for it, but carefully, for the sea might be strewn with banks. One hour afterwards we had reached it, two hours later we had made the round of it. It measured four or five miles in circumference. A narrow canal separated it from a considerable stretch of land, perhaps a continent, for we could not see its limits. The existence of this land seemed to give some colour to Maury’s theory. The ingenious American has remarked that, between the South Pole and the sixtieth parallel, the sea is covered with floating ice of enormous size, which is never met with in the North Atlantic. From this fact he has drawn the conclusion that the Antarctic Circle encloses considerable continents, as icebergs cannot form in open sea, but only on the coasts. According to these calculations, the mass of ice surrounding the southern pole forms a vast cap, the circumference of which must be, at least, 2,500 miles. But the Nautilus, for fear of running aground, had stopped about three cable-lengths from a strand over which reared a superb heap of rocks. The boat was launched; the Captain, two of his men, bearing instruments, Conseil, and myself were in it. It was ten in the morning. I had not seen Ned Land. Doubtless the Canadian did not wish to admit the presence of the South Pole. A few strokes of the oar brought us to the sand, where we ran ashore. Conseil was going to jump on to the land, when I held him back.

“Sir,” said I to Captain Nemo, “to you belongs the honour of first setting foot on this land.”

“Yes, sir,” said the Captain, “and if I do not hesitate to tread this South Pole, it is because, up to this time, no human being has left a trace there.”

Saying this, he jumped lightly on to the sand. His heart beat with emotion. He climbed a rock, sloping to a little promontory, and there, with his arms crossed, mute and motionless, and with an eager look, he seemed to take possession of these southern regions. After five minutes passed in this ecstasy, he turned to us.

“When you like, sir.”

I landed, followed by Conseil, leaving the two men in the boat. For a long way the soil was composed of a reddish sandy stone, something like crushed brick, scoriae, streams of lava, and pumice-stones. One could not mistake its volcanic origin. In some parts, slight curls of smoke emitted a sulphurous smell, proving that the internal fires had lost nothing of their expansive powers, though, having climbed a high acclivity, I could see no volcano for a radius of several miles. We know that in those Antarctic countries, James Ross found two craters, the Erebus and Terror, in full activity, on the 167th meridian, latitude 77° 32′. The vegetation of this desolate continent seemed to me much restricted. Some lichens lay upon the black rocks; some microscopic plants, rudimentary diatomas, a kind of cells placed between two quartz shells; long purple and scarlet weed, supported on little swimming bladders, which the breaking of the waves brought to the shore. These constituted the meagre flora of this region. The shore was strewn with molluscs, little mussels, and limpets. I also saw myriads of northern clios, one-and-a-quarter inches long, of which a whale would swallow a whole world at a mouthful; and some perfect sea-butterflies, animating the waters on the skirts of the shore.

There appeared on the high bottoms some coral shrubs, of the kind which, according to James Ross, live in the Antarctic seas to the depth of more than 1,000 yards. Then there were little kingfishers and starfish studding the soil. But where life abounded most was in the air. There thousands of birds fluttered and flew of all kinds, deafening us with their cries; others crowded the rock, looking at us as we passed by without fear, and pressing familiarly close by our feet. There were penguins, so agile in the water, heavy and awkward as they are on the ground; they were uttering harsh cries, a large assembly, sober in gesture, but extravagant in clamour. Albatrosses passed in the air, the expanse of their wings being at least four yards and a half, and justly called the vultures of the ocean; some gigantic petrels, and some damiers, a kind of small duck, the underpart of whose body is black and white; then there were a whole series of petrels, some whitish, with brown-bordered wings, others blue, peculiar to the Antarctic seas, and so oily, as I told Conseil, that the inhabitants of the Ferroe Islands had nothing to do before lighting them but to put a wick in.

“A little more,” said Conseil, “and they would be perfect lamps! After that, we cannot expect Nature to have previously furnished them with wicks!”

About half a mile farther on the soil was riddled with ruffs’ nests, a sort of laying-ground, out of which many birds were issuing. Captain Nemo had some hundreds hunted. They uttered a cry like the braying of an ass, were about the size of a goose, slate-colour on the body, white beneath, with a yellow line round their throats; they allowed themselves to be killed with a stone, never trying to escape. But the fog did not lift, and at eleven the sun had not yet shown itself. Its absence made me uneasy. Without it no observations were possible. How, then, could we decide whether we had reached the pole? When I rejoined Captain Nemo, I found him leaning on a piece of rock, silently watching the sky. He seemed impatient and vexed. But what was to be done? This rash and powerful man could not command the sun as he did the sea. Noon arrived without the orb of day showing itself for an instant. We could not even tell its position behind the curtain of fog; and soon the fog turned to snow.

“Till to-morrow,” said the Captain, quietly, and we returned to the Nautilus amid these atmospheric disturbances.

The tempest of snow continued till the next day. It was impossible to remain on the platform. From the saloon, where I was taking notes of incidents happening during this excursion to the polar continent, I could hear the cries of petrels and albatrosses sporting in the midst of this violent storm. The Nautilus did not remain motionless, but skirted the coast, advancing ten miles more to the south in the half-light left by the sun as it skirted the edge of the horizon. The next day, the 20th of March, the snow had ceased. The cold was a little greater, the thermometer showing 2° below zero. The fog was rising, and I hoped that that day our observations might be taken. Captain Nemo not having yet appeared, the boat took Conseil and myself to land. The soil was still of the same volcanic nature; everywhere were traces of lava, scoriae, and basalt; but the crater which had vomited them I could not see. Here, as lower down, this continent was alive with myriads of birds. But their rule was now divided with large troops of sea-mammals, looking at us with their soft eyes. There were several kinds of seals, some stretched on the earth, some on flakes of ice, many going in and out of the sea. They did not flee at our approach, never having had anything to do with man; and I reckoned that there were provisions there for hundreds of vessels.

“Sir,” said Conseil, “will you tell me the names of these creatures?”

“They are seals and morses.”

It was now eight in the morning. Four hours remained to us before the sun could be observed with advantage. I directed our steps towards a vast bay cut in the steep granite shore. There, I can aver that earth and ice were lost to sight by the numbers of sea-mammals covering them, and I involuntarily sought for old Proteus, the mythological shepherd who watched these immense flocks of Neptune. There were more seals than anything else, forming distinct groups, male and female, the father watching over his family, the mother suckling her little ones, some already strong enough to go a few steps. When they wished to change their place, they took little jumps, made by the contraction of their bodies, and helped awkwardly enough by their imperfect fin, which, as with the lamantin, their cousins, forms a perfect forearm. I should say that, in the water, which is their element—the spine of these creatures is flexible; with smooth and close skin and webbed feet—they swim admirably. In resting on the earth they take the most graceful attitudes. Thus the ancients, observing their soft and expressive looks, which cannot be surpassed by the most beautiful look a woman can give, their clear voluptuous eyes, their charming positions, and the poetry of their manners, metamorphosed them, the male into a triton and the female into a mermaid. I made Conseil notice the considerable development of the lobes of the brain in these interesting cetaceans. No mammal, except man, has such a quantity of brain matter; they are also capable of receiving a certain amount of education, are easily domesticated, and I think, with other naturalists, that if properly taught they would be of great service as fishing-dogs. The greater part of them slept on the rocks or on the sand. Amongst these seals, properly so called, which have no external ears (in which they differ from the otter, whose ears are prominent), I noticed several varieties of seals about three yards long, with a white coat, bulldog heads, armed with teeth in both jaws, four incisors at the top and four at the bottom, and two large canine teeth in the shape of a fleur-de-lis. Amongst them glided sea-elephants, a kind of seal, with short, flexible trunks. The giants of this species measured twenty feet round and ten yards and a half in length; but they did not move as we approached.

“These creatures are not dangerous?” asked Conseil.

“No; not unless you attack them. When they have to defend their young their rage is terrible, and it is not uncommon for them to break the fishing-boats to pieces.”

“They are quite right,” said Conseil.

“I do not say they are not.”

Two miles farther on we were stopped by the promontory which shelters the bay from the southerly winds. Beyond it we heard loud bellowings such as a troop of ruminants would produce.

“Good!” said Conseil; “a concert of bulls!”

“No; a concert of morses.”

“They are fighting!”

“They are either fighting or playing.”

We now began to climb the blackish rocks, amid unforeseen stumbles, and over stones which the ice made slippery. More than once I rolled over at the expense of my loins. Conseil, more prudent or more steady, did not stumble, and helped me up, saying:

“If, sir, you would have the kindness to take wider steps, you would preserve your equilibrium better.”

Arrived at the upper ridge of the promontory, I saw a vast white plain covered with morses. They were playing amongst themselves, and what we heard were bellowings of pleasure, not of anger.

As I passed these curious animals I could examine them leisurely, for they did not move. Their skins were thick and rugged, of a yellowish tint, approaching to red; their hair was short and scant. Some of them were four yards and a quarter long. Quieter and less timid than their cousins of the north, they did not, like them, place sentinels round the outskirts of their encampment. After examining this city of morses, I began to think of returning. It was eleven o’clock, and, if Captain Nemo found the conditions favourable for observations, I wished to be present at the operation. We followed a narrow pathway running along the summit of the steep shore. At half-past eleven we had reached the place where we landed. The boat had run aground, bringing the Captain. I saw him standing on a block of basalt, his instruments near him, his eyes fixed on the northern horizon, near which the sun was then describing a lengthened curve. I took my place beside him, and waited without speaking. Noon arrived, and, as before, the sun did not appear. It was a fatality. Observations were still wanting. If not accomplished to-morrow, we must give up all idea of taking any. We were indeed exactly at the 20th of March. To-morrow, the 21st, would be the equinox; the sun would disappear behind the horizon for six months, and with its disappearance the long polar night would begin. Since the September equinox it had emerged from the northern horizon, rising by lengthened spirals up to the 21st of December. At this period, the summer solstice of the northern regions, it had begun to descend; and to-morrow was to shed its last rays upon them. I communicated my fears and observations to Captain Nemo.

“You are right, M. Aronnax,” said he; “if to-morrow I cannot take the altitude of the sun, I shall not be able to do it for six months. But precisely because chance has led me into these seas on the 21st of March, my bearings will be easy to take, if at twelve we can see the sun.”

“Why, Captain?”

“Because then the orb of day described such lengthened curves that it is difficult to measure exactly its height above the horizon, and grave errors may be made with instruments.”

“What will you do then?”

“I shall only use my chronometer,” replied Captain Nemo. “If to-morrow, the 21st of March, the disc of the sun, allowing for refraction, is exactly cut by the northern horizon, it will show that I am at the South Pole.”

“Just so,” said I. “But this statement is not mathematically correct, because the equinox does not necessarily begin at noon.”

“Very likely, sir; but the error will not be a hundred yards and we do not want more. Till to-morrow, then!”

Captain Nemo returned on board. Conseil and I remained to survey the shore, observing and studying until five o’clock. Then I went to bed, not, however, without invoking, like the Indian, the favour of the radiant orb. The next day, the 21st of March, at five in the morning, I mounted the platform. I found Captain Nemo there.

“The weather is lightening a little,” said he. “I have some hope. After breakfast we will go on shore and choose a post for observation.”

That point settled, I sought Ned Land. I wanted to take him with me. But the obstinate Canadian refused, and I saw that his taciturnity and his bad humour grew day by day. After all, I was not sorry for his obstinacy under the circumstances. Indeed, there were too many seals on shore, and we ought not to lay such temptation in this unreflecting fisherman’s way. Breakfast over, we went on shore. The Nautilus had gone some miles further up in the night. It was a whole league from the coast, above which reared a sharp peak about five hundred yards high. The boat took with me Captain Nemo, two men of the crew, and the instruments, which consisted of a chronometer, a telescope, and a barometer. While crossing, I saw numerous whales belonging to the three kinds peculiar to the southern seas; the whale, or the English “right whale,” which has no dorsal fin; the “humpback,” with reeved chest and large, whitish fins, which, in spite of its name, do not form wings; and the fin-back, of a yellowish brown, the liveliest of all the cetacea. This powerful creature is heard a long way off when he throws to a great height columns of air and vapour, which look like whirlwinds of smoke. These different mammals were disporting themselves in troops in the quiet waters; and I could see that this basin of the Antarctic Pole serves as a place of refuge to the cetacea too closely tracked by the hunters. I also noticed large medusæ floating between the reeds.

At nine we landed; the sky was brightening, the clouds were flying to the south, and the fog seemed to be leaving the cold surface of the waters. Captain Nemo went towards the peak, which he doubtless meant to be his observatory. It was a painful ascent over the sharp lava and the pumice-stones, in an atmosphere often impregnated with a sulphurous smell from the smoking cracks. For a man unaccustomed to walk on land, the Captain climbed the steep slopes with an agility I never saw equalled and which a hunter would have envied. We were two hours getting to the summit of this peak, which was half porphyry and half basalt. From thence we looked upon a vast sea which, towards the north, distinctly traced its boundary line upon the sky. At our feet lay fields of dazzling whiteness. Over our heads a pale azure, free from fog. To the north the disc of the sun seemed like a ball of fire, already horned by the cutting of the horizon. From the bosom of the water rose sheaves of liquid jets by hundreds. In the distance lay the Nautilus like a cetacean asleep on the water. Behind us, to the south and east, an immense country and a chaotic heap of rocks and ice, the limits of which were not visible. On arriving at the summit Captain Nemo carefully took the mean height of the barometer, for he would have to consider that in taking his observations. At a quarter to twelve the sun, then seen only by refraction, looked like a golden disc shedding its last rays upon this deserted continent and seas which never man had yet ploughed. Captain Nemo, furnished with a lenticular glass which, by means of a mirror, corrected the refraction, watched the orb sinking below the horizon by degrees, following a lengthened diagonal. I held the chronometer. My heart beat fast. If the disappearance of the half-disc of the sun coincided with twelve o’clock on the chronometer, we were at the pole itself.

“Twelve!” I exclaimed.

“The South Pole!” replied Captain Nemo, in a grave voice, handing me the glass, which showed the orb cut in exactly equal parts by the horizon.

I looked at the last rays crowning the peak, and the shadows mounting by degrees up its slopes. At that moment Captain Nemo, resting with his hand on my shoulder, said:

“I, Captain Nemo, on this 21st day of March, 1868, have reached the South Pole on the ninetieth degree; and I take possession of this part of the globe, equal to one-sixth of the known continents.”

“In whose name, Captain?”

“In my own, sir!”

Saying which, Captain Nemo unfurled a black banner, bearing an “N” in gold quartered on its bunting. Then, turning towards the orb of day, whose last rays lapped the horizon of the sea, he exclaimed:

“Adieu, sun! Disappear, thou radiant orb! rest beneath this open sea, and let a night of six months spread its shadows over my new domains!”

#20k leagues speedrun #20000 leagues under the sea #part 2 chapter 14

[queenclaudiabrown]

Ocean Eyes | X: Poseidon's Son (Part 2)

     Claudia, Jenny, Danny, Patrick, Charlotte, Becker, Connor, Caroline Sarah, and Emily stood ready to receive the royal entourage.  They were dressed in a variety of styles and levels of formality, but they all knew that it wouldn’t matter to the merfolk- they had little understanding of human social norms and rules.

     There were several docks on the Inn’s property, and the two longest were of near-equal length and set parallel to each other.  Claudia, Jenny, Danny, Patrick, and Charlotte stood on one dock; and Becker, Connor, Caroline, Sarah, and Emily stood on the other.  Between the two docks had been set a wooden ramp that Becker had assembled with some help from Emily and Sarah, the point of which being to make it easier for the merfolk to get in and out of the water.

     On each dock was set a wheelbarrow filled with large towels and a folding table laden with clothes for the royals.  On land, between the docks but set a few meters away from the shoreline, were a handful of picnic tables set end-to-end and covered with a series of white linen tablecloths, their overlapping ends disguised by placemats on which Claudia planned to set the food she was serving. 

     There was a disturbance in the water at the end of the ramp.  Everyone seemed to come to attention, watching intently.  Nick was the first to break through the surface, followed by Stephen about a meter to his left.  Abigail popped up between them, but a few meters behind.  They swam forward and the mermen turned seemingly to face each other, but then another figure rose out of the briny.

     By the footage from the mini sub, the humans (and hybrid) recognized the royal as King Lester himself.  Iceberg-blue eyes swept the area with just the slightest disdain before he moved up the ramp, more and more of him coming out of the water.

     If they had thought Stephen was big, Lester was huge, which no one had realized in comparison to his throne.  Stephen was about eight feet long from the crown of his head to the tip of either tailfin.  Lester?  Ten feet.  He wore the same crown and jewelry as he had in Atlantis, but there seemed to be more necklaces than before.  It probably wasn’t important.

     Prince Ryan followed, heaving all nine and a half feet of himself onto the opposite dock.  He was immediately on alert, scanning every visible inch around him.  He accepted the proffered towel but declined the shirt.

     Prince Matthew came after his brother and climbed onto the same dock as his father.  He surveyed the area and the walkers surrounding him, finding himself mostly indifferent to them.  As cheesy as it would sound to a human, one in particular caught his eye- a woman with curly brown hair and eyes of the same color, perhaps deeper than even Claudia and Jenny’s.  She seemed ethereal, and so distracting his father needed to nudge him for him to realize that Claudia was holding a towel and shirt in front of him.  Her eyes followed where his had gone and she smiled as if she knew a secret.

     Last but not least, Princess Jessica appeared, smiling brightly as her wide eyes took in everything around her.  Ryan held out his hands to help his little sister onto his dock, and Becker- who had also given the towel to Ryan- crouched to give her a towel and a short, loose dress that Abigail had approved.

     Joining them on the same dock, the blonde mermaid in question accepted a towel and dress of her own, and passed another towel to Stephen as he sat beside her.  Nick got onto Claudia’s dock, enraptured as always with his eyes on her despite the four royals around him.  Stephen nudged Abby and the two shared a conspiratorial look.

     “It’s an honor to meet you, King Lester.” Claudia declared, dipping her head in respect.

     “I haven’t set my foot on land in almost fifty years.”  He said.  “Matthew and Jessica never have, and Ryan has only once.  It’s high time we meet the woman chiefly responsible for such unprecedented action.”

     That was the closest Claudia would get to a similar statement.

     Taking the comment in her stride, she continued with a professional smile.  “When you and your family are ready, Your Majesty, we have prepared a feast in your honor.”

     “Ah, very good of you.”  The king rose up on the equivalent of his knees, making what he was about to realize was a terrible mistake.

     Abruptly, Lester was speared in the chest by what was quickly recognized as a harpoon. Before anyone could really register what had happened or think to follow the black rope back to the shooter, a second harpoon shot through the air and pierced through the king’s tail, pinning it to the weathered wood of the dock.

      Nick and Stephen’s minds immediately flashed back eight years to that fateful night Helen Ambrose had captured Nick, and the blond merman subconsciously drew his tail in close and reached down to press a hand against the site of the long-healed wound where a phantom pain flared.  Panicking, Stephen threw out a hand and shoved Nick under the water to protect him.

     Matthew, the nearest to the king, was beside his father in an instant, pressing a hand over the deep gash on his chest.  “Father!”  Jessica cried out.  She surged forward off her dock, crossing the space between in an attempt to move to his side.  Stephen lunged and caught her in the middle, wrapping his arms around her and pinning hers to her body from behind.  Ryan plowed through the water past them to his father and brother as Stephen restrained her from interfering and wrestled her underwater.

     But Leek hadn’t stopped with just firing off those two harpoons aimed at the merman king.  As soon as the second harpoon was fired, he dropped the weapon and switched it for an illegally-acquired automatic gun loaded with blanks that one of his yes-man security guards, Mr. Clones, had passed to him.  The man himself also wielded one, and the two opened fire on the already-panicking assembly.  Caroline ducked away from Connor, running back to the house largely unseen by everyone.  Leek and Clones watched her go and made sure to not hit her.

     When the unleashing of the hail of fake bullets was initiated, Danny’s cop training kicked in: get the civilians to safety.  So he proceeded to throw his massive body between the sedative-filled projectiles and the people around him as a (half)human shield.  Patrick and Charlotte were the nearest to him, and he quickly overturned the wheelbarrow and clothes-table next to them and pulled them down to hide behind said items.  They wouldn’t provide much protection, but they’d block the shooters’ views.

     Matthew and Ryan pried the harpoon from their insensible and near-unconscious father’s tail, and immediately after seized him by the arms and all but tossed him into the ocean, diving in after him as one.  Jessica followed as Stephen released her and followed suit.

     Nick and Abby were torn- follow their friends and king, or stay behind to protect the landers they were so fond of?  The former popped his head above water again, seeing first his cousin, who lay pancaked on the dock to avoid being shot, then Claudia.  She had tipped over a wheelbarrow and emptied it, and had tucked as much of her head and upper body inside it as possible.  Jenny, beside her, was mirroring that as Danny did his best to protect Patrick and Charlotte with the overturned table.  On the other dock, Caroline was nowhere to be seen as Becker slid into the water, where Connor, Sarah, and Emily were already.  It seemed like they were using the dock itself as cover- not the smartest idea, but they weren’t exactly overwhelmed with good options.  Connor had a hand around Abby’s wrist and seemed to be trying to pull her into the water with them.

     Abby made eye contact with her cousin, who looked as frantic and indecisive as she felt.  She jerked her head toward the ocean, then flicked her hand toward herself before gesturing toward the inn with it.  Nick knew what that meant- he should go, and she would stay and take care of the others.  He hesitated, not wanting to leave his cousin or Claudia, but also knowing that the more merfolk that got the king back to Atlantis the quicker he’d get there and the better his chances were- not to mention that Stephen would go mama bear on him if he wasn’t at his side.

     So with every fiber of his being screaming that this was a mistake, he nodded sharply once in agreement.  He cast one final look at the people huddled down in fear on the dock and flexed his tail hard, propelling him backward away from them.  Away from her.

     He submerged himself once more and swam away, fighting the urge to return.

     Claudia didn’t want him there.  Not in an unkind way, of course, but she wanted as few people in the area as possible to avoid them getting hurt.  She’d seen in her peripheral Stephen shove his friend into the water, and she hoped and prayed he’d stay under until the danger had passed.

     There was a blur of white and blue movement approaching in the edge of her vision, and she craned to see which cousin was coming closer to the humans.  To her relief (which she immediately felt guilty for), it was Abigail, nearing rapidly in a crawl, scales still on her legs and webbing from her fins between her toes.  Connor was with her, on her side opposite the shooters, and she had one arm over his neck to keep his head shielded by her body.

     Claudia shuffled over as much as she could, making space for the mermaid and her own cousin.  “We have to get inside.”  The blonde said.  “It’s not too far.  We could make a run for it.”

     Claudia knew the property by heart, but she chanced a peep over the wheelbarrow’s top anyway to glance at the distance.  It was about eighty feet from the docks to the door of the Inn, and it was mostly uphill at a light slant.  Abby was the only one whose running ability she doubted, but she’d walked before, so it wasn’t going to be her first time on legs.

     So Claudia nodded once, and the group shuffled toward the end of their defenses.  A blank pinged off the wheelbarrow right beside Claudia’s ear, leaving a slight dent.  Her eyes darted to the others, hiding half-under the dock, and her heart clenched.

     She couldn’t leave them.

     “Go, get inside.”  She spoke.  “I’ll distract them.”

     She put her hands on the wheelbarrow’s handles, and Jenny’s arm shot out and caught her twin’s wrist.  “Claud, no.”

     The elder sister met Jenny’s eyes, mirrors of her own.  “Go.  I’m gonna be okay.”

     She pulled away and tipped the wheelbarrow back into the correct position, but turned it around so that the handles were pointing away from her.  She tipped it up on its wheel and moved quickly, bending so that her body was shielded by its metal form.  She hurried toward the dock where the others were hiding, drawing some of Leek’s fire away from the others.

     Seeing his plan working successfully, Leek kicked Clones’ ankle lightly to draw his attention.  The buttchinned man redirected his gaze to his boss, who gave him a nod of confirmation that now was the time to start the next part of the previously-discussed plan.  Clones nodded once in response and ceased fire, slipping away from the suited weasel.

     No one noticed that there was one less shooter, nor did anyone realize that what they were being shot at with was relatively harmless. 

     Charlotte headed up the first group, with Patrick and Jenny right behind her.  Danny and Abby, the latter of which was holding Connor against her side protectively, bodily shielded the group from the blanks.

     But they were fleeing into a trap.

     No sooner was the door open and the group was tripping over themselves and each other to get inside did a rag get clamped over Charlotte’s mouth.  Instinctually and driven by the force of the movement, she stumbled backward, but the holder of the rag- Clones- advanced on her, keeping it firmly over her face.  Despite the panic coursing through her veins, her eyelids began to droop as the chloroform soaking the rag pungently took effect.

     In the few seconds it took for her to pass out once the excessive amount of the drug was administered, the people behind her managed to recover from the domino effect of her being shoved backward.  Patrick pulled her away from Clones, rage coursing through his veins, but he didn’t realize how weak the drug had made her.  Therefore, when he jerked her away protectively and let go of her, she was unable to catch herself and knocked her head into the wall, crumpling to the floor with blood tricking down the side of her face.  He didn’t notice, unfortunately, having already tackled the culprit to the floor and begun raining blows down on him.

     Jenny cursed strongly enough to make a sailor blush and pulled Charlotte off the ground, struggling to handle her dead weight as Danny reached forward and tried to pull his girlfriend away from danger.  Abby, thankfully, had no such problem and wrapped an arm around the unconscious woman, keeping her upright and pinned to her body much like Connor was. 

     Patrick undeniably had the upper hand against Clones, but what no one realized was that it was mostly a farce.  Clones wasn’t fighting back, instead fumbling for a cargo pocket on his trousers.  As he got his face beat in, his hand closed around a syringe and drew it out, raising it and stabbing it into Patrick’s side.

     It took the Quinn a moment to realize he’d been jabbed, and he paused mid-punch.  Clones let go of the needle to slam his hand against the plunger, emptying the entire dose into the man’s bloodstream.  Black spots flooded his vision and everything began to blur.  “I’m gonna kill you when I wake up.”  He snarled, his voice slurred as he lost his balance and collapsed beside Clones, one leg across the man’s stomach and the syringe coming out of him in Clones’ grip.  His last conscious thoughts were of his fiancée.

     It took far too long for the rest of the group to process what had just happened, and then they surged forward in panicking anger and fear.  Connor and Danny both shot after the murderous Jenny, the latter also intent on rescuing his brother, and Abby was left struggling to keep Charlotte from obtaining further injury as everyone shoved past her.

     Clones got to his feet just as Jenny reached him, bringing her boot-clad foot up to strike him between the legs.  She nailed him dead-on and he hunched over with a groan, but sadly for the younger twin he was smart enough to weaponize his injury.  She wasn’t expecting him to throw out a flat, open hand and hit her in the knee, causing the limb to buckle slightly.

     Danny was right behind Jenny and upon her injuring immediately dragged her backward, pushing her behind him toward Connor and Abby.  Naturally, his eyes followed her, which meant that they left Clones- a mistake.

     A mistake he didn’t realize until he felt a needle sinking into the juncture of his neck and shoulder.  Everything immediately felt off, like his mind had been pulled out of his body and shoved back in wrong.  He heard Jenny’s gasp and Abby’s wordless shout as his balance faltered, causing him to sway on his feet and stumble when he tried to step.  The world tilted around him as he fell, head cracking down on the floor.  Blurs of color moved above him, but he couldn’t make any sense of them or the distorted noises they made before unconsciousness dragged his eyes shut.

     Jenny had instinctually lunged for Clones in rage, but Abby threw out an arm and hauled her back, a near-bruising grip on her wrist.  “No!”  She hissed, glaring daggers at Clones.  She reluctantly let go of Connor and more or less shoved Jenny into her cousin, protectively moving them out of the way as she crouched on the floor.  She pulled Danny toward herself quickly by the leg and wrestled a shoe off- an item she’d hate to wear- and stood up again.  Her arm drew back like a snake about to strike and she hurled the shoe at Clones.

     The sneaker hit the bullseye, whacking him straight in the already-battered face, and simultaneously broke his nose and floored him.  His head knocked against the ground and he began slipping in and out of consciousness.  Taking advantage of his incapacitation- which she was rightly proud of- the mermaid crouched again and slung Danny over her shoulder in a fireman carry.  “C’mon, we’ve got to get out of here before he wakes up.”  She reached forward and grabbed Patrick as well, taking him by the back of the collar and dragging him with her.  “Grab Charlotte.  Surely the two of you can handle her.”

     The cousins hastened to do what the mermaid had directed and quickly had her unconscious form between them.  But just as they turned to retreat out the front door again, another person stepped into the hallway from the same way Clones had entered.

     “Don’t even think about yelling or trying to run.”  Leek snarled, hefting a pistol.  “This is loaded with blanks- I wouldn’t want to actually damage my specimens, now would I?- but at close range like we are now they can severely injure or even kill a weak human like you.  So put your hands up and keep your mouth shut.”

     Jenny and Connor both looked to Abby for direction, trusting her to take the lead as the strongest and largest conscious member of the group.  She wanted to fight, she truly did, but she knew it was hopeless.  Clones was staggering to his feet, injured but still conscious, and Danny, Patrick, and Charlotte were both dead weight and vulnerable.  They could easily be injured in the fight, or used as leverage.

     She sighed defeatedly.  “Okay.”  She whispered, voice low to keep it from breaking.  “We’ll come quietly.”

     Outside, Claudia was kneeling on the dock she hadn’t been on, wheelbarrow beside her as she helped Sarah get back onto the dock.  “Where’s the others?”  Becker queried, wrapping a towel around Emily.

     “Inside.”  She replied.  “Abby and Connor are with them.  But where did whoever was shooting go?”

     “And Caroline.”  Becker added grimly.  “She scarpered the minute the bullets flew.  I don’t think Connor noticed.”

     The four looked around worriedly, feeling dangerously exposed.  “Let’s get inside.”  Emily suggested.  “I feel watched out here.”

     “Agreed.”  Becker nodded.  The four headed quickly for the inn, abandoning the wheelbarrow.  One of his boots came down on a fired round, and he stepped off it and stooped to pick it up.  “Claudia.”

     “What?”  She paused, turning back to face him.

     “If I’m not mistaken, this is a blank.”  He told her.  She frowned, not understanding.  “It’s not a real bullet.  It’s just an empty cartridge with gunpowder- no lead bullet or anything else.  The military uses them for training or signal shots.  They’d hurt and maybe injure a human up close, but from a distance especially they wouldn’t kill.”

     “We were never in real danger.”  Sarah realized in horror.

     Becker shook his head, confirming that thought.  “This wasn’t an attack- other than King Lester’s injury, anyway.  This…This was a diversion.”  He threw the blank down angrily and met Claudia’s eyes.  “We need to get inside.”

     The group broke into a run and found the door suspiciously wide open.  A faint trail of water, probably from Abby and Connor, led inside.  By the doorway to the kitchen lay a single sneaker on the floor- Danny’s, by the size- partly lying in a spattered puddle of blood, but there was no other sign that the group had ever been there.  Becker knelt by the blood and touched it with his fingertips.  “It’s fresh.  Can’t have been here long.”

     The four exchanged looks, a sickening feeling growing in their guts. 

     “Jenny?  Jenny?”  Claudia called frantically.  Sarah and Emily moved past her, Emily sprinting upstairs and Sarah dashing out on the balcony porches, both calling out for the missing.

     Calling out for his brother, Becker took the stairs two at a time and burst into his bedroom, finding it disappointingly empty.  He grabbed his tablet and turned it on as he headed down the hall for Caroline and Leek’s bedrooms.  Neither were there, and the latter’s room looked suspiciously bare- no clothes in the hamper, no toiletries in the bathroom, not even a suitcase or briefcase.  It was as if Leek had checked out…which he hadn’t.  Caroline’s room was untidy, but one of her suitcases was gone.

     He closed his brother’s girlfriend’s door behind him and almost smacked into Emily.  “Anything?”

     She shook her head.  “No sign.  All the rooms are empty.  Where could they be?”

     He tapped on the screen of his tablet.  “Tell you what- get Sarah, and if she and Claudia haven’t found anyone yet, go and search all the other buildings on the property.  Maybe they ran out another door and hid somewhere else.  I’m gonna stay here with Claudia and check the security cameras- maybe they’ll have caught something.”

     Emily nodded and went downstairs, and he quickly ducked back into his own room to fetch something before following.  He found her and Sarah about to head outside again.  “Wait.”  They paused, and he held out the item he’d grabbed out of his room- a pistol.  “You’re not liscensed, but you’re a pretty good shot.  Take it.”

     His cousin accepted it with wide eyes and a grim set to her jaw.  While Henry was in jail awaiting trial, Emily had asked Becker to give her some basic lessons in case he wasn’t incarcerated and came after her.  She hadn’t gone so far as to get a license like Jenny and Becker had, but she knew what she was doing.

     The women resumed their mission and went outside.  Becker could hear Claudia’s voice faintly, so he went into the kitchen and found the cellar door open, her voice echoing up from the lower level.  “Any luck?”  He called down.

     “Nothing.”  She replied.  She appeared a few moments later, looking more distressed than he’d ever seen her.  “I’m guessing you haven’t found them either.”

     He shook his head.  “No.  I sent Emily and Sarah out to check the other buildings, and I gave Emily a gun.  Take a torch and go back out in the hall and shine it on the floor- see if you can see any other footprints or anything.  I’m gonna pull up the security camera feeds and see if there’s anything helpful there.”  Claudia nodded, taking a heavy and bulky utility torch from the cabinet under the sink.  It was heavy enough to knock someone out if need be.

     After a few minutes, Becker had compiled enough clips of footage to piece it all together.  “I think I’ve got something.”  He called, stepping out into the hallway.

     “And we’ve got nothing.”  Sarah’s voice came as she and Emily came back inside, closing the door.  “We checked everywhere- even the orchard that Charlotte likes and the cliffs Jenny goes to.  Nothing.”

     Claudia clicked off the torch and stood up.  “It’s not my strong suit anyway, but I can’t find anything useful here on the floor.  What’d you find, Becker?”

     He let out a sigh.  “From what I can tell, Caroline was working with Leek.  Before the royals arrived she met Leek at his car with a suitcase, and when they opened it there was the sub that you sent to Atlantis.”

     Claudia frowned.  “Everything recorded is on its hard drive.”

     “I know.  Anyway, he handed over some cash and she went back inside, and then he drove away.  He comes back a little while later in a big white van- you know, the kind used for shipping.  There’s another one right behind him, with this ugly bдstдrd driving it.”  He turned the tablet around so they could see the image of a bulkily-built white man with a buzzed haircut and a butt chin.  “I don’t know who that is, but he can’t be any good.  Watch.”  He pressed the play button and the women watched as the man and Leek opened the backs of their vans and prepared several weapons, loading them with blanks, as well as tranquilizer guns.

     “Where was this?”  Claudia asked.

     “Northern edge of the property, two hours ago.  The trees are so thick nobody would’ve noticed from the road or the property unless they were right there with them.”

     He turned the tablet away again.  “More footage shows them getting into position out of sight from the dock.  It even captured the attack in progress.  At one point, Leek sent his friend inside through the cellar.”

     “The cellar door to the kitchen was open when we came in.”  Claudia said.  “He must’ve come out of the kitchen and grabbed the others.”

     Becker nodded.  “A few minutes later, Leek stops shooting and goes in after the other fella, and they come out with everyone that went inside.  Patrick, Danny, and Charlotte were unconscious, but Connor, Jenny, and Abby were awake.  Caroline shows up with one of the vans and everyone leaves.  The other van’s gone too.”

     Claudia shook her head.  “How could we have been so blind?  All this has been going on for God knows how long, and we didn’t even notice.”

     Emily wrapped a comforting arm around her cousin’s shoulders.  “We couldn’t have known they were up to no good.”

     “But I knew Leek and Caroline-”

     “You knew they were sketchy.  Sketchy doesn’t equal kidnappers.”  Emily cut her off.  “You can’t blame yourself.” 

     “She’s right and you know it, Claud.”  Becker agreed softly.  “C’mon, sit down.  I’m drenched and I need to get changed.”

     “I second that.”  Sarah agreed, and Emily nodded, bundling up the towel that Becker had given her.

     None of them wanted to leave Claudia alone, physically and emotionally vulnerable on the couch, but they returned quickly.  Becker had a pistol and placed it beside him in the armchair he sat down in.  Sarah sat down next to Claudia, and Emily took her cousin’s other side when she returned from the kitchen with a bottle of Jack Daniels and four glasses.  Wordlessly, she poured each of them a glass, and they sat in depressed and worried silence drinking.

     Abruptly, the back door burst open, causing everyone to jump and go on alert.  Becker put a hand down the side of the armchair he was sitting in and produced a handgun that the women most certainly did not know was there.  There was a series of grunts and thumps, but they didn’t quite sound like footsteps.  A few moments later, a sopping wet Nick appeared in the doorway, dragging himself in backwards with his hands.  “Claudia?”  He called, craning over his shoulder to search for her.

     “I’m here.”  She replied, rising to her feet.  She quickly met him partway into the living room, crouching at his side.  Emily grabbed an afghan blanket- one Charlotte had made, the wool that composed it many shades of blue- from the back of the sofa and tossed it to her cousin.  “Thanks Em.  You can’t have gone to Atlantis and come back already.”  She realized, helping the merman dry himself off.

     “No, but I imagine the others are nearly there by now.  They need to swim quickly, but they still have to be careful to not hurt the king worse.”  He replied.  “I was almost halfway there and I just…I just stopped.  I hadn’t caught up to them yet, and I couldn’t keep following them.  I couldn’t leave you behind.”  He lifted his head and met her eyes, sapphire to carob, and the movement of their hands stilled.  His large ones, strangely warm for an ocean-dweller, came to rest over her own.

     The spell was broken by Becker awkwardly clearing his throat.  Claudia risked a glance at her cousin and found him looking physically pained, eyes on the ceiling like he’d walked in on something private.  “If you two are done with the PDA, we’ve got a crisis.  We’ve got siblings and cousins missing.”

     That killed the warm feeling that had been building in their chests, and Nick frowned worriedly.  “What happened?”

     “Well, most of the merfolk went back underwater, except Abby.”  Claudia began.  “We were kind of split up anyway, since we were on two different docks, so everyone with me decided to take a chance and try to get inside.  Abby and Connor wound up with us, and they and Danny and Patrick and Charlotte and Jenny made a run for the inn.  I broke off to try to get the others back on the ground since Becker had gotten them in the water to hide.”

     “They would’ve had to get close to shoot us if we were below ground level.”  Becker explained.

     “Anyway, I don’t know what happened, but it must’ve been a trap.”  Claudia continued, throat tightening with unshed tears.  “We found one of Danny’s shoes, but that was it.  Everyone that came inside is gone.  Becker checked the security footage and- and it turns out that Leek and some other bloke kidnapped them.  I’ve been trying all their mobiles in case they managed to escape or keep their mobiles but I can’t get anything.  No one’s answering, not even Leek or Caroline.”  She was getting progressively more and more worked up the more she talked, her stress coming to the surface along with the tears she had only kept from falling by sheer willpower.

     “Hey.”  Nick more or less cut her off, placing a soothing hand on her shoulder.  “Look at me.”  Her teary eyes met his, and the sight broke his heart.  “You couldn’t have known.  The only reason you weren’t taken yourself was because you were trying to protect your family.  You can’t blame yourself for that.”

     “He’s right, Claudia.”  Becker agreed.  “They never would’ve come in here if they’d known it was a trap.  If I’d realized at the time we were being shot at with blanks, I’d’ve dealt with Leek and his miscreant there and then before they could’ve taken any of us.”

     Claudia nodded, knowing they were right but too guilty to admit it.  Instead, she returned her attention to Nick’s tail.  “You’re mostly dry.  Do you want some clothes?”

     “Aye, I would appreciate that.”  He replied.  Sarah went upstairs and returned with some of Danny’s clothes, not wanting to risk going back outside.  He got dressed, and Claudia walked him over to the couch.  “So, what else do we know?”

     “Caroline is crooked.  She was working with Leek the while time and stole the sub you took to Atlantis.”  Becker added venomously.

     The expression that crossed Nick’s face was a disturbing one to see.  “Claudia, you told me that everything its camera recorded would stay stored on the sub, yes?”

     She nodded.  “Yeah, and I haven’t gotten around to deleting it off there yet.  It’s on my laptop too since they were connected so we could watch in real time, but it’s also stored on the sub.  Why?”

     Nick ran a hand down his face and got to his feet, pacing about the room.  “Leek took Daniel and Abby.  A mermaid and a hybrid.  You said he was an anthropologist?”  Claudia nodded.  “What if he’s trying to study Atlantis and its culture?  What if that’s why he took them?”

     “$h¡t.”  Claudia swore.  “But why take Jenny and Patrick and Charlotte and Connor too?  They’re human.  Entirely.”

     “I don’t know, maybe because they were witnesses?  But with the sub, he’ll know the way to Atlantis, he’ll know everything he needs to send human divers and submarines down there.”  He ran a hand through his still-damp hair, causing it to stick up wildly. 

     “They can’t have gotten far with hostages.”  Nick said after a moment.  “Okay, look, I think that I can catch up before they get too far away.”

     “You’re going to go and try to rescue them and stop Leek.”  Claudia realized, struggling to not fully freak out.

    “Yeah.”  He admitted, crouching in front of her so they could be at eye level as he took her and in his own.  “Look, you’re gonna be safe here.  You’ve got Becker, and Sarah, and Emily, and Stephen will be back as soon as he can.  He might even bring some of the Atlantean army.”

      Sure, she would be safe, but all those people- human or merfolk- wouldn’t be able to protect Nick or assist in his rescue mission.  “What about you?”

     “Uh- yeah, I think I can save them.”  He told her.  “I’m not human, Claudia.  Even on land, I’m their best chance.”

     “What happens if Leek captures you too?”

     “Um…I find a way to escape and take our friends and family with us.”  He assured her simply, as if talking about the weather.  “We’ll be just fine.”  He stared at her and she stared back, a thousand unspoken words passing between them.  There was so much they wanted to say, but no way and no time to do it.  In the end, he settled for leaning forward and kissing her on the forehead.  It felt worthless.

    He stood up and made to leave, but she reached out and caught his arm with both hands, causing him to stop and turn back to her.  “Don’t go.  Stay.  I think this is a mistake.  I’ve got a really bad feeling about this.”  She implored.  “There must be another way.  I have friends who might be able to help.”

    “It’s gonna be fine.”  He told her as comfortingly as he could.  “I’ll see you soon.”  With that, he got up and headed for the door, every step heavy with guilt and the overwhelming desire to turn around and scoop her up in his arms and hide her away from the world.

     For a moment, she watched him go.  Then Claudia surged to her feet and rushed toward him, stopping Nick just before he could go through the doorway.  She grabbed his collar and pressed her mouth to his.  She pulled away after a moment, but instead of letting her go Nick kissed her again with equal if not greater passion than what she had shown him, both of them ignoring their audience.  Reluctantly, they parted, and he shut his eyes tightly.  He couldn’t look at her; if he did, he wouldn’t be able to leave.

     Why was this so hard?

     “I’ll be back soon.”  He rushed out, before rushing out himself and leaving her dazed and stressed in the doorway.  He wasn’t running away from her or his feelings, but he knew that if he didn’t run, he wouldn’t be able to leave.  And he had people to save and people to stop, so he couldn’t afford to not go.

     Outside, he drew in a deep breath, letting air fill his lungs.  The distinct scent of the sea clung heavily to all merfolk when on land, and although his olfactory system wasn’t his strongest sense, he could still pick up the scent from Abby, Danny, and Connor outside the Inn where they’d been loaded into the van.  The stench of automobile exhaust nearly smothered it, but this was fortunate- it was an easy scent to track, and breaking into a very awkward first jog, Nick followed the odor’s path.

     It led him through the Inn’s property, into a thickly-wooded patch.  He could just make out something large and white through the verdant foliage, and the smell seemed to shroud said object quite heavily.  He pushed his way through the branches and found himself standing in front of a white van.  Why was Leek still on the property?

     Nick pushed that thought to the back of his mind and stepped up to the back doors of the vehicle, placing his hands on the handles and trying to figure out how to use them.

     A figure stepped into his peripheral on one side, and Nick turned to see none other than the greasy suit-clad ratlike kidnapper, Oliver Leek.  “You.”  The merman seethed.

     Leek, unnervingly, seemed unfazed- pleased, even.  “I wondered who was gonna come.  And I was hoping it was gonna be you.”  He made an almost imperceptible gesture, and pain enveloped Nick’s head from behind, and he crumpled to the floor as everything went black.  

     “Alright, get him in the van.”  Leek directed Clones, who was tucking the weighty gun away.  “Now we’ve got everything we need to begin.”

Dividers are used with permission from their creator, @animatedglittergraphics-n-more .  Some dialogue is taken from Primeval and some is taken from Doctor Who.

Author’s note: It will get worse before it gets better, but it will get better.  I’ve uploaded some new aesthetics and I’ve probably updated some of the already-posted ones, so please check all those out.  Also I apologize for referencing Clones (an actual English surname btw) by his chin.  In my defense I was a kid and that was my first time I really remember seeing a butt chin so I just called him Buttchin.  Sue me.

Ocean Eyes Masterlist

#primeval #mermay #mermay 2022 #ocean eyes #nick cutter #claudia brown #oliver leek #caroline steel #patrick quinn #ethan dobrowski #charlotte cameron #danny quinn #jenny lewis #captain becker #captain hilary james becker #becker #james lester #captain ryan #captain tom ryan #emily merchant #matt anderson #jess parker #sarah page #stephen hart #abby maitland #connor temple #angst #the cleaner #merman #mermen

[kathyalford]

Wow! Climbing pink Iceberg rose on a trellis. #alfordsgardens #kathyalforddesigns #pink #roses #climbingrose #trellis #cottagerose #cottagestyle #cottage #gardendesigner #landscapedesign #landscapedesigner #gardenplanning #farmhousestyle # https://www.instagram.com/p/CgxxUvppgKm/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#alfordsgardens #kathyalforddesigns #pink #roses #climbingrose #trellis #cottagerose #cottagestyle #cottage #gardendesigner #landscapedesign #landscapedesigner #gardenplanning #farmhousestyle

[publicdomainbooks]

CHAPTER 9

OUR START—WE MEET WITH ADVENTURES BY THE WAY

The weather was overcast but settled, when we commenced our adventurous and perilous journey. We had neither to fear fatiguing heat nor drenching rain. It was, in fact, real tourist weather.

As there was nothing I liked better than horse exercise, the pleasure of riding through an unknown country caused the early part of our enterprise to be particularly agreeable to me.

I began to enjoy the exhilarating delight of traveling, a life of desire, gratification and liberty. The truth is, that my spirits rose so rapidly, that I began to be indifferent to what had once appeared to be a terrible journey.

"After all," I said to myself, "what do I risk? Simply to take a journey through a curious country, to climb a remarkable mountain, and if the worst comes to the worst, to descend into the crater of an extinct volcano."

There could be no doubt that this was all this terrible Saknussemm had done. As to the existence of a gallery, or of subterraneous passages leading into the interior of the earth, the idea was simply absurd, the hallucination of a distempered imagination. All, then, that may be required of me I will do cheerfully, and will create no difficulty.

It was just before we left Reykjavik that I came to this decision.

Hans, our extraordinary guide, went first, walking with a steady, rapid, unvarying step. Our two horses with the luggage followed of their own accord, without requiring whip or spur. My uncle and I came behind, cutting a very tolerable figure upon our small but vigorous animals.

Iceland is one of the largest islands in Europe. It contains thirty thousand square miles of surface, and has about seventy thousand inhabitants. Geographers have divided it into four parts, and we had to cross the southwest quarter which in the vernacular is called Sudvestr Fjordungr.

Hans, on taking his departure from Reykjavik, had followed the line of the sea. We took our way through poor and sparse meadows, which made a desperate effort every year to show a little green. They very rarely succeed in a good show of yellow.

The rugged summits of the rocky hills were dimly visible on the edge of the horizon, through the misty fogs; every now and then some heavy flakes of snow showed conspicuous in the morning light, while certain lofty and pointed rocks were first lost in the grey low clouds, their summits clearly visible above, like jagged reefs rising from a troublous sea.

Every now and then a spur of rock came down through the arid ground, leaving us scarcely room to pass. Our horses, however, appeared not only well acquainted with the country, but by a kind of instinct, knew which was the best road. My uncle had not even the satisfaction of urging forward his steed by whip, spur, or voice. It was utterly useless to show any signs of impatience. I could not help smiling to see him look so big on his little horse; his long legs now and then touching the ground made him look like a six-footed centaur.

"Good beast, good beast," he would cry. "I assure you, that I begin to think no animal is more intelligent than an Icelandic horse. Snow, tempest, impracticable roads, rocks, icebergs—nothing stops him. He is brave; he is sober; he is safe; he never makes a false step; never glides or slips from his path. I dare to say that if any river, any fjord has to be crossed—and I have no doubt there will be many—you will see him enter the water without hesitation like an amphibious animal, and reach the opposite side in safety. We must not, however, attempt to hurry him; we must allow him to have his own way, and I will undertake to say that between us we shall do our ten leagues a day."

"We may do so," was my reply, "but what about our worthy guide?"

"I have not the slightest anxiety about him: that sort of people go ahead without knowing even what they are about. Look at Hans. He moves so little that it is impossible for him to become fatigued. Besides, if he were to complain of weariness, he could have the loan of my horse. I should have a violent attack of the cramp if I were not to have some sort of exercise. My arms are right—but my legs are getting a little stiff."

All this while we were advancing at a rapid pace. The country we had reached was already nearly a desert. Here and there could be seen an isolated farm, some solitary bur, or Icelandic house, built of wood, earth, fragments of lava—looking like beggars on the highway of life. These wretched and miserable huts excited in us such pity that we felt half disposed to leave alms at every door. In this country there are no roads, paths are nearly unknown, and vegetation, poor as it was, slowly as it reached perfection, soon obliterated all traces of the few travelers who passed from place to place.

Nevertheless, this division of the province, situated only a few miles from the capital, is considered one of the best cultivated and most thickly peopled in all Iceland. What, then, must be the state of the less known and more distant parts of the island? After traveling fully half a Danish mile, we had met neither a farmer at the door of his hut, nor even a wandering shepherd with his wild and savage flock.

A few stray cows and sheep were only seen occasionally. What, then, must we expect when we come to the upheaved regions—to the districts broken and roughened from volcanic eruptions and subterraneous commotions?

We were to learn this all in good time. I saw, however, on consulting the map, that we avoided a good deal of this rough country, by following the winding and desolate shores of the sea. In reality, the great volcanic movement of the island, and all its attendant phenomena, are concentrated in the interior of the island; there, horizontal layers or strata of rocks, piled one upon the other, eruptions of basaltic origin, and streams of lava, have given this country a kind of supernatural reputation.

Little did I expect, however, the spectacle which awaited us when we reached the peninsula of Sneffels, where agglomerations of nature's ruins form a kind of terrible chaos.

Some two hours or more after we had left the city of Reykjavik, we reached the little town called Aoalkirkja, or the principal church. It consists simply of a few houses—not what in England or Germany we should call a hamlet.

Hans stopped here one half hour. He shared our frugal breakfast, answered Yes, and No to my uncle's questions as to the nature of the road, and at last when asked where we were to pass the night was as laconic as usual.

"Gardar!" was his one-worded reply.

I took occasion to consult the map, to see where Gardar was to be found. After looking keenly I found a small town of that name on the borders of the Hvalfjord, about four miles from Reykjavik. I pointed this out to my uncle, who made a very energetic grimace.

"Only four miles out of twenty-two? Why it is only a little walk."

He was about to make some energetic observation to the guide, but Hans, without taking the slightest notice of him, went in front of the horses, and walked ahead with the same imperturbable phlegm he had always exhibited.

Three hours later, still traveling over those apparently interminable and sandy prairies, we were compelled to go round the Kollafjord, an easier and shorter cut than crossing the gulfs. Shortly after we entered a place of communal jurisdiction called Ejulberg, and the clock of which would then have struck twelve, if any Icelandic church had been rich enough to possess so valuable and useful an article. These sacred edifices are, however, very much like these people, who do without watches—and never miss them.

Here the horses were allowed to take some rest and refreshment, then following a narrow strip of shore between high rocks and the sea, they took us without further halt to the Aoalkirkja of Brantar, and after another mile to Saurboer Annexia, a chapel of ease, situated on the southern bank of the Hvalfjord.

It was four o'clock in the evening and we had traveled four Danish miles, about equal to twenty English.

The fjord was in this place about half a mile in width. The sweeping and broken waves came rolling in upon the pointed rocks; the gulf was surrounded by rocky walls—a mighty cliff, three thousand feet in height, remarkable for its brown strata, separated here and there by beds of tufa of a reddish hue. Now, whatever may have been the intelligence of our horses, I had not the slightest reliance upon them, as a means of crossing a stormy arm of the sea. To ride over salt water upon the back of a little horse seemed to me absurd.

"If they are really intelligent," I said to myself, "they will certainly not make the attempt. In any case, I shall trust rather to my own intelligence than theirs."

But my uncle was in no humor to wait. He dug his heels into the sides of his steed, and made for the shore. His horse went to the very edge of the water, sniffed at the approaching wave and retreated.

My uncle, who was, sooth to say, quite as obstinate as the beast he bestrode, insisted on his making the desired advance. This attempt was followed by a new refusal on the part of the horse which quietly shook his head. This demonstration of rebellion was followed by a volley of words and a stout application of whipcord; also followed by kicks on the part of the horse, which threw its head and heels upwards and tried to throw his rider. At length the sturdy little pony, spreading out his legs, in a stiff and ludicrous attitude, got from under the Professor's legs, and left him standing, with both feet on a separate stone, like the Colossus of Rhodes.

"Wretched animal!" cried my uncle, suddenly transformed into a foot passenger—and as angry and ashamed as a dismounted cavalry officer on the field of battle.

"Farja," said the guide, tapping him familiarly on the shoulder.

"What, a ferry boat!"

"Der," answered Hans, pointing to where lay the boat in question—"there."

"Well," I cried, quite delighted with the information; "so it is."

"Why did you not say so before," cried my uncle; "why not start at once?"

"Tidvatten," said the guide.

"What does he say?" I asked, considerably puzzled by the delay and the dialogue.

"He says tide," replied my uncle, translating the Danish word for my information.

"Of course I understand—we must wait till the tide serves."

"For bida?" asked my uncle.

"Ja," replied Hans.

My uncle frowned, stamped his feet and then followed the horses to where the boat lay.

I thoroughly understood and appreciated the necessity for waiting, before crossing the fjord, for that moment when the sea at its highest point is in a state of slack water. As neither the ebb nor flow can then be felt, the ferry boat was in no danger of being carried out to sea, or dashed upon the rocky coast.

The favorable moment did not come until six o'clock in the evening. Then my uncle, myself, and guide, two boatmen and the four horses got into a very awkward flat-bottom boat. Accustomed as I had been to the steam ferry boats of the Elbe, I found the long oars of the boatmen but sorry means of locomotion. We were more than an hour in crossing the fjord; but at length the passage was concluded without accident.

Half an hour later we reached Gardar.

#A Journey to the Centre of the Earth

[giltines-blood]

Kuršių Nerija🇱🇹👸🏻

Lithuania holidays

Immersed in sea, snow, sand and silence: a winter break in Lithuania

A 60-mile sandbar dotted with forests and icy lagoons, the Curonian Spit’s buried villages, elk and elemental beauty attracted Sartre and De Beauvoir

Nick Hunt

Mon 20 Feb 2023 02.00 EST

Small icebergs bob on the waves. The beach is grey and frozen. To the north are the Dead Dunes, and to the south – past the Valley of Death – is the forested peninsula. Squeezed between a freshwater lagoon and the roaring Baltic Sea, the shifting sand beneath my feet has swallowed villages, occasionally spitting out bones from abandoned cemeteries. It is, perhaps, an unlikely destination for a winter holiday.

But everything about Lithuania’s Curonian Spit is unlikely, and this is the secret of its stark, unreal beauty. A 61-mile-long sandbar that arcs alongside the Baltic coast, in Lithuania, its unique ecology has gained it Unesco world heritage site status. A landmass formed from enormous dunes that rose from the sea 5,000 years ago – legend says they were created by a giantess called Neringa – the spit became densely forested with birch, oak and pine.

Over the centuries it was settled by pagan Balts who traded in the amber on its coast – the start of the ancient Amber Route that stretched to the Mediterranean – and then by Prussians & Lithuanians. Today there are elk and boar in its forests, miles of unspoiled white sand beaches, and the fossilised resin of millions-of-years-old pines can still be found along its shore, translucent pebbles that glow like honey when the light shines through. Most visitors come in summer but we arrive in January, drawn by the thought of winter skies, snow-covered sand and silence.

The journey is possible by public transport, but we hire a car in Vilnius and drive for three and a half hours to reach the port of Klaipėda, where a clanking vehicle ferry transports us across the northern end of the Curonian Lagoon. From there, the spit’s only road leads south through dense forest into the Curonian Spit national park. At the village of Juodkrante we stop to climb the Hill of Witches, once a pagan pilgrimage site and now covered with wooden statues depicting the giantess Neringa and other figures from Lithuanian folklore. Appropriately for Europe’s pagan country there’s a distinctively animist flavour to the folk culture here. It only seems natural that the land be alive.

It is: in the 18th century, people started felling the forests that had kept the dunes in place, and mountains of sand began migrating. Despite efforts to hold them back they engulfed entire villages, burying 14 settlements over the next hundred years. The rampaging dunes were only halted when a German astronomer called Johann Daniel Titius proposed the building of a 60-mile-long sand ridge, along with a dedicated reforestation campaign.

Ice clunks against the shore, the wind whistles in the pines, and there is an atmosphere of deep hibernation

This early ecological restoration project worked only too well: now the dunes have been tamed. Visitors are warned that a single footstep can dislodge tonnes of sand, and the giant Parnidis Dune, the spit’s most iconic feature, has lost 10 metres of its height in the past three decades. Boardwalks protect the most popular dunes from traipsing human feet, and there are “strict reserves” where people cannot enter. Throughout our stay I am struck by the delicate balance between humans and nature, on this slender thread of sand between salt and fresh water.

We make our base in the village of Nida. Modern apartments lie inland but the seafront is lined with wooden fishermen’s cottages painted oxide red, with carved gables jutting up like the dragons on Viking longboats. Once an artist colony – Thomas Mann had a summer house here, and Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir were prominent visitors – it transforms into a holiday resort in warmer months, when thousands of Polish and German tourists come to swim and sunbathe.

In winter it’s practically deserted, but that suits us fine. Ice clunks against the shore, the wind whistles in the pines, and there is an atmosphere of deep hibernation. In a coastal meadow called the Valley of Silence we take a seat on Neringa’s Chair – an artist’s installation carved from giant blocks of wood – to watch the ice in the lagoon and listen to the sound of nothing.

Neringa's chair🇱🇹👸🏻

The following day we climb the steps to the summit of Parnidis, 52 metres high and still a “drifting dune” that moves between 0.5 and 10 metres a year. Topped by the imposing obelisk of a granite sundial carved with runes, a monument to Baltic mythology, it affords a sweeping view over sand, sea and sky. From here, a marked walking trail leads on a three-hour loop along the edge of the frozen desert – we catch a glimpse of a sea otter on the icy shore below – through the ominously named Valley of Death and along the boundary of the Grobstas Strict nature reserve, which forms a protected no man’s land between Lithuanian territory.

Then a path through pine forest takes us to the Baltic Sea, an abstract painting of slate grey, deep blue and flecks of white. We strike amber on this beach, filling our pockets with prehistoric resin that ranges in colour from the palest honey to opal and magma red, and return to the guesthouse with the sea still roaring in our ears. Amber washes up on these beaches every winter.

Half a dozen villages lie buried somewhere under our feet, commemorated by an installation of six stark wooden crosses

A short drive to the north is another reserve called the Dead Dunes, a further testament to the awesome power of sand. Accessible via a series of boardwalks – signs warn against stepping elsewhere to protect the delicate ecology – this is the most eerily beautiful place we’ve seen so far. Half a dozen villages lie buried somewhere under our feet, commemorated by an installation of six stark wooden crosses. The prints of foxes, deer and birds stipple the sand in all directions, a reminder that this seeming desert is a haven for wildlife, and far away are the dark bulks of elk grazing on the beachgrass.

• I end the day with something I’ve been steeling myself for all week: a breathless plunge in the lagoon, wading through the slush-ice. Ten seconds is all I can take, and when I emerge my hands and feet have turned an alarming shade of purple. Luckily, Lithuanian cuisine is the very definition of restorative: cheese soup, potato pancakes, dumplings in every shape and size, cabbage-wrapped pork, salted herring, and the amazing gyrbu sriuba, which is wild mushroom soup served in a bowl made of rye bread. The only green vegetable we see during our stay is a gherkin, but you don’t come to the Baltic coast for greenery in winter.

If you come for anything it’s for sea, snow, sand and silence. After immersion in all these things, the roar of traffic on the mainland in the industrial port of Klaipėda comes as a shock. But on our drive back to the ferry, we had a last sighting of two elk – much closer than the ones before – lolloping between the trees that anchor the drifting dunes in place. The vision stays with me for a long time. Days later, I find flecks of amber in my pocket.

The bus from Vilnius to Nida costs around €20, or cars can be hired from Vilnius train station (we used TopRent). The car ferry from Klaipeda to the Curonian Spit costs €16 return. Accommodation in Apartamentai Niden from €58 per night

I hope you appreciated this article.

#Kuršių Nerija #Neringa #me

[libidomechanica]

“Slay the verge there are the Prince Adam fell: mething”

May chanc’d to ducks at every bole, and to climb and     other mind at first, and t was never grows colder, grows dull even aside, whose sweet     babes and business of the former heart. As in the soul process, mighty Máhmúd on his     gift, upon my grief a rich personage of her image in our joys. With its second     ran away along the day. Death their

alert enemy Fraunce; her and gave also would     composed the brush’d foes. And there; that love, of the honey of the British cabin, found the     transformed got, curst inquiring the lion’ then become may, my testament as you     tralineate from scissors, painter Garment was not practised her surely; am I     not where to Marmora wither’d freed

from the fair. Each us being seemed a double     valets, willy-nilly flowing anvil banged with ill-usage, when the snow tires, you     aught it to greet the Sultan, and far be it strange and crack with, lotting on his own Phaëton.     ’ Said Baba, to be made him as any mercer, or whether harsh truths you will make     the last, a charm that no hear me like

Ida: some word of Night had come with paras jumbling     it, then, with each day after Rage deprest, as if she still smaller. Will take all in     which field, thy dial’s shade, in her Collar; but in boils. So he case; and the soul—the deem no     worse that had might eyes, I all amiss that she came as comely; therefore than light rise and     mistake, break her: strong the presence of

my back the change of pallid and worth: the grief as     sung and fearful means daiquiri. Brought us think it mine! Can change of the surgeons made     a paul; and die, and then let a tale grew hard: with cypress or cupboard, was large a middling     kisses smoother Prophetic eye of his own crowned the levee morn thine, than when windows     and a while scars of things the strict

Testing of course untrimm’d; but I can stand angels     would you to you. And land: the grim, meridian-born, but have a man’s court? That does this     cheek they went down; and then a strange vicissitudes in new Bloom, till put it all, that floated     in the world and rhyme. No bad examples; pity as he rode down to Canterbury!     And the leaned her had stringent

qualified the fifty, till an iceberg it may     moderately used for three sins in everything about, belov’d friend storm, they sneer at thy     preserve, that He who could make your advice, as we should be conversation the hung up     with grief is what this horse had found her price; some one day could them it seems but a mind. Rise     and eating schoolboy’s whine, tis not meet

these acts of life shall beyond. Old familiar guest.     A noon-dew, wander if you wandering light teaches, at duty’s rose, and Come’ he wholesome,     in horse loud temper’d with the treated it, I do with a glorious heart reeled but     copy near relations, perforce, woman in Cashmire had threatening from above that slink     from what t was as might flash’d always

your proffer young did she bought a little but to     my ample lotted, and topples rose mind at least all in which through Berlin, Dresden, and     nought up for daily shepherd straits in his hand. There warm whence to our own people prefer,     stay near the wind my Spectre of Perfume: it seems but Heaven, that he should not force with     that tender eyes of our life, your place,

when shone of him by consequence, but in wonder     my sake of that columned entry swain returne with tears, or when we hither, what a check’d     her! And merely for the window shade, whose name there he story of sweet dew place, by measured     mind is satire on the bride, could prize, both move his blood, till the Giant is weapon,     and we dead? And this, when the day

to end us, a broke foaming of electron     waits the best; yourself wildly any air. Who flatter his praised her treasure wood, ’ that more     thought for charity, are over: yeah, I know no other flash’d the fire should fain outrun     her. Of moving slaves, none way down, by his story, let him but showed, thy youth; we did—was     the Fountain his e’e, kens they died, we

see what she chaste and early melts, a shill the warring     gainst mind is satire on tiptoe through her trust can mend; all else but Loues self, what     end at first wife. Would press’d. Slay the verge there are the Prince Adam fell: mething bride: but, as     the sole men seem a nest of her backs on leave you as she. The fire: better at they know.     And also here he read with long year

self, once the island in one and Shah beheld which     they love and bitter fighting a head, and sucklings; then thou could let the preserve thy mindful     of my head and there it came then anxious mind. Who ne’er Misfortune led merry-make;     and sapping and worshipp’d—they with the true blood. Some have borne; now raving this youth of steep     required to guide them to live for your

ingress turn to country, till my mournful lily     as a lighted; and Helvoetsluys, there in monasteries of silent on his rude hand.     Yet in the East, to sail in the gloom, till I return: still the East thou thy smoke some slight     as it out, and passed for the play, and sing, this shining Foal of Heav’n Parwín and the sea,     and sweet you are deuoutly and best belov’d

repose? Rain. Parted plainer to read what to     have call, and I Don Juan posterity. From which I have to secure of Saturn sate,     late show not fair, in bloom, till hanker; as the crone in stormy east-wind keenly blew, with     all they should drown through a clouds bent the fairy, the Turks do wounds might that sin in me is;     it suffred you; this a miracle.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #154 texts #ballad