#hammerhead? i can just picture him as a hammerhead shark since that almost half of the spider-man villains are animal and creature-like

[jyrinestories08]

Instead of just bringing other older characters from the MCU like kingpin, kate bishop, ant-man, daredevil for the mcu spider-man college storyline

Why not just give us characters that we haven’t seen yet in the MCU like gwen, harry, felicia or even a mcu version of norman osborn

If you people are going to say is “but he already fought green goblin in smnwh”, the reason why i want to see a mcu norman osborn is just to see how peter would interact to a guy that he hates so much and i want to see him as the main bad guy for the arc so peter can feel gaslighted by harry since harry is his best friend and he doesn’t want to say that he’s spider-man or saying that norman is a bad guy

And also…why not make a romantic subplot between felicia hardy who is in her teen college years and peter would somehow have feelings for her and move on with mj

“But he loves mj so much”

I feel like he has to move on already for her since that he’s in a different school already, he moves on the stark stuff, happy doesn’t even know him anymore, aunt may died, his best friend and girlfriend doesn’t even know him anymore and so he is now in a new life, no stark tech, no wealthy home, just a life where it’s hard but you can make it better

[twistedtummies2]

Gotham’s 31 Most Wanted - Honorable Mentions

It’s New Year’s Eve, everybody! Just as I did back in October with my “31 Days of Disney Villainy,” before I begin my countdown of my Top 31 Favorite Batman Villains – one for each day of January – I want to go over some of the baddies who sadly didn’t make the cut. These are the Terrible Ten who ALMOST got onto my main countdown, but for various reasons ultimately didn’t quite manage it. Some of these guys are more well-known than others, so we’ll see how many you all recognize. With that said, before the countdown begins at midnight, here are my Honorable Mentions for Gotham’s 31 Most Wanted!

1.     Calendar Man.

Julian Day, a.k.a. Calendar Man, is a villain who has had a lot of ups and downs in his history. Depending on who you ask, he’s either one of the dumbest Batman villains ever made, or one of the most underrated. I fall into the second crowd. The Calendar Man is a deranged crook who commits crimes themed around holidays and seasons. I actually find that to be a very interesting concept, and I’m surprised that so many people dislike the character, and that for a long time he was considered something of a joke. In more recent years, however, the Calendar Man has been making a slight comeback; he’s still often the butt of bad jokes, but more people seem to be waking up to the potential this guy has to be a legitimately interesting and/or intimidating dastard. However, while I do have a soft spot for the character, I just like other rogues better. Not much else to it.

2.     Clock King.

As I said yesterday, when naming the rules for who could qualify on this list, I would not be including “crossover rogues.” These are villains who are TECHNICALLY part of another superhero’s rogues gallery, but whom Batman has faced on numerous occasions. Batman has faced Lex Luthor more than once, for example, but I think it’s fair to say no one’s going to lump him in with the same crowd as Clayface or Catwoman. Similarly, King Shark has appeared in various forms of Batman-related media, but he’s really a villain of Aquaman’s. With this in mind, there are four villains who I felt I just couldn’t COMPLETELY leave out of the running, despite them being those sorts of rogues. The Clock King is the first one. The original Clock King, William Tockman, was a foe of Green Arrow, and was, in my opinion, a better villain than people often give/gave him credit for. However, the character really took off when he first appeared in the 60s Batman TV series, and then got even more attention in a few appearances in “Batman: The Animated Series” and its spin-offs. In fact, the latter version was so popular, THAT version of the Clock King – Temple Fugate (pictured above) – later replaced Tockman, though even he was really more of a Teen Titans villain than a Batman rogue. In fact, while the Clock King does keep appearing in Batman-related media, I’m not even sure if the two have ever even MET in the comics. I will admit that he feels like he fits right in there, and I’ve always had a real soft spot for this villain, but I didn’t think it was right to place him on the list.

3.     Deathstroke.

Ever since the “Arkham” video games, in particular, I always hear Deathstroke referred to as a Batman Villain. I’ll confess that it’s always cool, both in and out of comics, to see him square off with the Dark Knight, but Deathstroke really isn’t a Batman Villain in the strictest sense. Much like the Clock King, in the comics – heck, even in other media – he’s typically depicted as the arch-enemy of the Teen Titans. I guess you could say this perhaps makes him Robin’s arch-nemesis, but that’s not quite the same thing. I do love Deathstroke – he’s definitely one of the greatest DC Villains out there – but I don’t think he fits here any more than Clock King does.

4.     Gentleman Ghost.

This is the third example of a villain who I didn’t QUITE think counted as a Batman Villain. And of them all, he honestly came the closest. See, in the comics, I’m not even sure if Batman and the Clock King have ever met, like I said; and in regards to Deathstroke, sure, they’ve fought on several occasions, but Deathstroke is pretty much well-renowned as the foe of the Titans, and especially Robin. Close, but no cigar. The Gentleman Ghost, however…I keep feeling like DC WANTS to make this guy a Batman Villain definitively, but haven’t quite done so yet, if that makes sense. This dapper phantom thief is TECHNICALLY an arch-enemy of Hawkman & Hawkgirl, of all characters. However, in other media, he often seems to have no set foeman, and in perhaps his most famous incarnation, from “Batman: The Brave & the Bold,” his origins were outright changed to make him a Batman Villain, with no ties to Hawkman whatsoever…in fact, did the Hawk family even APPEAR in that show? I sincerely can’t remember right now, so if anyone can remind me, please do. On top of that, not only has the Ghost faced Batman in the comics, but in one particularly seminal story – “All My Enemies Against Me,” in which a whole group of Batman Villains teamed up to try and take down both the Caped Crusader AND an invading Killer Croc – Gentleman Ghost was included among the ranks. Keep in mind, he was kind of the one odd guy out: all the other villains, from obscure ones like The Spook to more popular ones like Penguin, were DEFINITELY Batman Villains. So to see Gentleman Ghost counted among those ranks was a bit strange but also seemed to indicate he’d found his niche there. However, he’s never been OFFICIALLY counted as one of those villains, and again, in the comics, he’s still most closely tied to the Hawks, or at least the Justice League. So even though I was EXTREMELY tempted to count him on the Top 31, I felt it was still cheating.

5.     King Shark.

Our fourth and final villain who I didn’t really think counted as a Batman Villain. Just like the Clock King and Gentleman Ghost, King Shark has been in a lot of Batman-related media, but in the comics, his encounters with the Dark Knight are fairly minor. He’s real arch-foe is Aquaman, unsurprisingly. This is one of the reasons why I feel I can’t count King Shark on the main list, but the other is that I legitimately have an issue with the character: he’s constantly changing. True, comic book characters change frequently, and villains like the Mad Hatter and the Joker have undergone significant tonal shifts over the decades…but with King Shark, it seems like every single writer who uses him has a 100% different way of handling him. Sometimes he’s a strong and noble warrior; sometimes he’s a blood-hungry, animalistic monster; sometimes he’s a wisecracking psychopath; sometimes he’s actually fairly nice polite until his instincts get the better of him…heck, even his APPEARANCE changes constantly! Sometimes he’s a Great White, sometimes he’s a Hammerhead, sometimes he’s a Tiger Shark…there’s just an absolute zero for CONSISTENCY with this guy, and it drives me up the wall! In recent years, the character has become more popular, but I’ve never really been able to latch onto any version of him more than another, and I’ve never really had any strong attachment to him in general. I don’t hate the guy, I just wish people would handle him better.

6.     Maxie Zeus.

Much like Calendar Man, Maxie Zeus is one of those villains who, depending on whom you ask, they’ll either call one of the dumbest supervillains ever made, or one of the most underrated. Admittedly, between the two, I prefer Calendar Man, but there’s actually a lot of untapped potential in Zeus. The key problem with this character is essentially not his fault: he’s inspired by the campy character of King Tut from the 60s series. (He was adapted into comics himself, incidentally, but that version sucks in my opinion, and is hardly ever used…good riddance. I’ll stick to Victor Buono, thank you.) For those who don’t know, King Tut was a professor of Egyptology who, due to a mental issue, came to believe he was the reincarnation of the famous pharaoh. In Maxie Zeus’ case, he was a gentleman who came to believe he was actually the Greek God of Thunder, Zeus. Just as Tut thus embarked on a mad quest to turn Gotham into his new empire, Zeus plans to turn Gotham into his new Olympus. With such daffy inspiration, you can see why Zeus would be underestimated, and in recent years he’s often been depicted as a “joke villain” - similar to characters like Condiment King. However, in my opinion, Zeus actually CAN work as a legitimate antagonist when handled by the right people in the right way, and I even think that’s been done a couple of times. I tend to think he gets a bad rap. Still, again, there are other villains I simply like more.

7.     Orca.

Dr. Grace Balin used one of those handy-dandy super serums to transform herself into a half-killer whale, half-human hybrid, all in a plan to try and wreak havoc on her hated nemesis: a nasty woman called Camille Baden-Smythe. Dubbing herself simply “The Orca,” she began to rain destruction down upon her enemy, constantly leading to face-offs with the Dark Knight. However, at the end of her first adventure, Balin was mortally wounded, and found the only way to survive was to permanently become the Orca. Since then, the Orca has gone from vigilante to frequently more of a true villain, and still makes off-and-on appearances in comics and even spin-off comics…though, unless you count a jokey cameo in the LEGO Batman Movie, the comics have so far been her only home. I know a few people who are big fans of the character, and I actually have a soft spot for her, too. I just didn’t like her QUITE enough to include her in the Top 31.

8.     Professor Radium.

Now, chances are, even if you happen to be a major comic book fan, you’re probably wondering “Who the Heck is Professor Radium?” Don’t worry, you’re not alone in that. Professor Radium is an EXTREMELY underrated and equally extremely little-known and little-used supervillain who I actually have a personal nostalgia for. In the core comics, he was once a well-meaning scientist who wanted to use radiation-based procedures and special formulas to enhance and extend people’s lives. In a twisted paradox of fate, he wound up instead turning his skin a glowing green, and developed a “Touch of Death.” Radium, in his initial appearance, desperately tried to fix his condition, but the mixture of the accident plus his tragic situation led to him steadily going insane, and he was seemingly killed at the end of the tale. He would later return many, many years later, however, forced to resort to a life of crime due to his terrible condition. I actually found out about Professor Radium through means that are somehow even more obscure than the character himself: the Batman comic strips. Yeah, Batman had a comic strip, all the way back in the 40s, and Professor Radium was one of the few villains from the core comics to appear. (It figures.) The comic strip story was essentially a remake of his origins, but now with a darker twist: his story starts the exact same way, until Radium has a chance encounter with a man planning to commit suicide. He “helps” him with his powers, and from that point on, instead of trying to fix his condition, Professor Radium decides to use his “Touch of Death” as a “Good Samaritan.” He begins bringing the peace and bliss of death to unhappy people, so they no longer have to endure the torture and pain of life. This version, too, was seemingly killed…and since this version never appeared again (his was the last story arc in the strips, and this take never carried over into mainstream), we can presume that death was permanent. I find both takes on Professor Radium to be surprisingly tragic, complex, and fascinating villains, especially for the time period. His occasional, albeit often minor, reappearances in more recent years have helped to ensure he isn’t COMPLETELY forgotten, but I really would like to see a proper new reinvention of this villain. He’s got a lot of potential that hasn’t been fully realized.

9.     The Spook.

In the 1970s, the Spook – real name Val Kaliban – was one of Batman’s most recurring villains. In his original format, the character was a former member of the mafia with a fascination with escape tricks and illusions; after faking his own death to escape from prison, he began using this knowledge to commit crimes – everything from finding masterful ways to escape from robberies, to selling “escape insurance” to caged crooks and busting them out for a hefty fee. Starting in the 80s, the Spook began popping up with far less frequency. Attempts were made in the 90s to reimagine the character; that version had him as a nameless black ops soldier who, traumatized by a mission that went horribly wrong, actually believed himself to be a ghost. It was an interesting, radical reinvention, but it never really went anywhere; future stories would feature Val Kaliban again, and no mention has been made of that second Spook since. As of now, the character has not been seen in the mainstream since 2006, when he was seemingly killed off during the events of the storyline “Batman & Son.” However, the Spook HAS appeared in some comics from spin-offs and crossovers, and is known for – both in-universe and in reality – going long periods of time without so much as saying “Boo” before popping up once more. I personally really like this character, but I guess there are just others I like more or have more nostalgia for.

10.  Tally Man.

The much-underappreciated Tally Man is a villain who I really wish I could love more than I do, if that makes sense. This somewhat theatrical gun-for-hire came from a tragic and disturbing childhood: his family was regularly harassed by a mobster who demanded they pay protection money for some sort of debt. Eventually, the boy that became Tally Man snapped and beat the mobster to death, after the man attacked his mother for not paying him. He was sent to prison, and in the intervening time, his mother killed herself, while his sister went insane. The boy became obsessed with the idea of debts not being paid, and turned to a life of crime: he acts as a sort of agent of Karma, in his own mind, collecting “pounds of flesh” for the highest-paying crooks from their enemies, their clients, and so on. I really love the character’s design and past, but the problem lies in his actual appearances. Tally Man first appeared in the immediate aftermath of the famous “Knightfall” saga. At that time, Bruce Wayne was out of commission, and the Batmen Tally Man faced were actually people taking his place while he recuperated. To me, that’s kind of cheating; it’s not quite the same when you’re facing an Imposter Batman, if you get my meaning. After these initial appearances, Tally Man quickly descended on the ladder of villainy: he ultimately just became little more than a stooge – an average gunman with kind of a cool name, effectively a mere pawn used by more popular rogues, most notably Two-Face. Heck, even his crazy costume was eventually eliminated, as a second Tally Man took his place, and was REALLY just a normal gunman with a cool name. There was nothing about the second one that made him any different from any normal gangster character. Since then, the character has totally disappeared. Apparently there were plans for him to appear in the DCAU, but that never came to pass. I really wish the character had been used better in the comics, and I hope he makes a comeback that fixes these issues.

And that concludes my list of Honorable Mentions for my Top 31 Favorite Batman Villains! As I said before, the countdown proper starts at midnight, just in time to ring in the New Year! I’m fairly sure the first choice on the list will be quite a surprise. ;)

HINT: …I seriously don’t have a hint for the first guy, just…I’m pretty sure you’ll be in absolute DISBELIEF at who it is. That’s all I can give you for now. I’ll do better next time. XD

[dammit-stark]

hear me out or don’t but BUT,,, stevetony shark tank au

thor (no last name, just thor- like zendaya but four times her size and the personality of an overgrown puppy) is known for being from old, old money. so old, that even his frivolous spending problems (emphasis on problem) hasn’t so much as made a dent into his cash. he’s known for investing just as frivolously as he buys his yachts, but somehow he’s so inherently lucky that even though he invests in the companies the other sharks all but laugh off the air, he almost never loses money on an investment. oh, and he also is the notorious and very outspoken owner of an adult ‘play’ company that creates facilities with foam pits, etc for adults.

then there’s natasha romanoff. she’s the most quiet on the panel, but her looks mean more than any of the terse sentences she parses out. nat is often the one that entrepreneurs are most afraid of facing. shark tank legend denotes the way you can tell when she’s in/out based on a single eyebrow raise. nat has a monopoly on real estate along the whole western coast, though not a lot of people know her name. Her net worth has never actually been confirmed. the producers had asked her to appear on the show mostly as a joke, but then she actually agreed to do it, and now she’s a series regular. when an up-and-coming entrepreneur is invited on the show, they inevitably find a terrifyingly bare wikipedia page titled natasha romanoff: shark tank.

clint barton’s internationally recognized clothing brand has a multibillion dollar networth and continues to grow. clint built his company from the ground up and never lets himself forget the stark bankruptcy that he came from. his personal net worth is disguised by his untucked shirt, mischievous smirk, and the dirty joke often right on the tip of his tongue. clint is well-versed in the language of his gut feelings and is known to offer a deal or back out of one before the last word of the first pitch has been said.

beside clint, billionaire maria hill has her hands in almost every money-making industry that exists in the modern world. from food, to real estate, to service, to chotchsky informercial products, maria does it all. she and her husband nick are known for building their security company from the ground up then selling it for billions of dollars. she would almost be as hardcore, inconspicuous, and sharklike as nat with her steady, measuring stare if she didn’t have the propensity to laugh uproariously at a frivolous products. usually when maria laughs at your product, it means that thor and clint will begin a bidding war over your business soon after. a rumor floats through the halls that they do that because she neurolinguistically programmed them to do so.

then there’s tony stark, billionaire, philanthropist, playboy tech mogul that inherited his father’s name and company then nurtured said company into the highest grossing tech conglomerate in the world. his temerity in the industry and his lightning-fast turnover rates has earned him the nickname ‘mr invincible’. he’s not known for being nice or playing fair, he’s known for investing a lot in a little and making big money, he’s known for making people billionaires, and he’s known for having an ego the size of the New York skyline and a list of bed partners to match it. he’s known for being a goddamn legend.

and then there’s soft spoken steve rogers, impassioned entrepreneur with a heart of gold and a tangible passion for his product.

bruce banner is the kind producer who has been giving steve all the helpful advice he could possibly ask for since the moment he’d received the email informing him his product pitch would air on shark tank in november. even steve can tell that Bruce works hard from the show, spending long hours at the studio, emailing potential entrepreneurs day in and day out, often weighed down by stacks of folders filled with product pitches. he thrives off of caffeine alone and his hair never looks brushed. he was the one who had been the final word in convincing both tony and nat to join the show.

he hovers around the makeup department while the stylists do the final camera-ready touches on his entrepreneurial finds.

“just go out there, make sure to look them in the eyes, and don’t stop your pitch no matter what they might do to try to trip you up beforehand, got it?” bruce says, one last time. steve straightens out his lapels, stands tall, and nods, “you’re gonna do great, steve.”

when steve steps into the shark tank, half a dozen human-sized cameras rotating around him like hammerheads leading him to his doom, the most terrifying, unprecedented thing that could possibly happen happens. natasha takes one look at him and laughs.

“Oh my god,” she wheezes- while the others occasionally will laugh at an outlandish valuation, nat has always stayed straight faced, never once laughing on camera. now, it’s like looking into the laughing eyes of a fire-breathing dragon, “Oh my god, Tony you’re gonna have a field day with this one.”

steve hasn’t even introduced his product yet, hell he hasn’t even pitched it’s name and the unlaughable sea creature is laughing like a banshee at a open mic night. he has zero clue what’s going on.

tony, sitting beside nat, however, seems to know exactly why she’s laughing. that’s how things are in the shark tank. even tony stark is capable of embarrassment apparently, as he blushes faint pink just at the round of his cheeks and glares at his fellow shark. he hisses under his breath, “shut it, princess. you’re gonna lose this pitch for all of us before it even starts.”

she continues to laugh, muttering just under her breath so only the sharks can hear her, “oh my god he’s like the painted picture of your type, oh my god.”

steve remembers bruce’s words and starts his pitch, jaw tight and chest heavy with nerves.

by the time he’s done, nat has stopped her cackling and steve has all five sharks listening raptly to his pitch.

“so what do you say, sharks, who’s ready to come with me as we put my product in households all over the world?”

the sharks are completely silent. tony taps his pen against his notebook, and for a second there steve thinks to himself well shit I did a really good job fucking this up, didn’t i?, then suddenly tony’s grinning and half the sharks are leaning forward eagerly.

“props to you,” clint says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs with a sloppy grin, “that’s got to be one of the best pitches we’ve had. i mean, you made stark over there speechless and he never shuts the hell up.”

“oh be quiet, barton. the adults are talking,” tony chides, looking up from his legal pad to watch the way steve bounces on the balls of his feet, “steve, i wanna make you a deal.”

that makes clint shoot forward, both feet hitting the ground as he swivels himself around so he can see Tony’s face, “seriously? already?“

“oh so now you care about people making guy decisions, Barton?”

“You don’t even know his numbers!”

“I know I like the product,” tony says simply, eyes never leaving steve’s entrepreneurial take on a parade rest. steve kinda feels like his throat is closing up. Barton continues to bicker.

“mr Stark,” Steve says suddenly, talking over Clint’s rambling, “You said you had a deal for me?”

“yes,” Tony looks down at his notes then back up at Steve with a grin, “I want to give you exactly what you asked for. no change in dollar amount, no change in equity, plain and simple.”

Steve can’t help it, he gawks, “are you- are you kidding?”

“nope.”

“is there a catch? do you want royalties or a salary or something?”

“not unless you’re offering.”

“I wasn’t,” Steve says quickly, “That’s a very generous offer, mr stark, but I-“

“You want to hear if the other sharks have offers,” tony finishes for him, eyes burning into steve’s skin, “don’t worry. I’ll wait.”

it’s a good thing he’s willing to wait because after he gives his numbers, there ends up being a five-way bidding war over Steve’s company before he’s able to choose his future partner. Steve really doesn’t want to muck this up. he had gone in praying for something as little as a nod of approval, and now he’s standing under the lights of television cameras and the scrutinizing gazes of five billionaires, and being forced to choose from the whole lot of them.

thor and clint end up partnering together on a deal that’s mostly a time-filler, nowhere near as serious or as appealing as tony’s offer. steve politely turns it down, and clint laughs behind his hand. maria considers throwing an offer onto the table, even does so briefly, but retracts it as soon as nat pitches her offer, straight faced as she claims there was nothing she couldn’t bring to the table that nat wouldn’t.

then nat offers almost twice as much cash for the same equity as steve first asked for, and tony visibly flinches beside her. tony immediately triples his offer.

in the end, Steve’s left looking back and forth between nat and tony like a ball in a ping pong tournament. both investors try to convince him to pick their increasing offers of capital.

“tick tock,” maria chimes, note pad folded neatly in her lap as she summarizes the available deals for steve who stands there with two incredible deals waiting to be picked from, sweating nervously.

“come on man,” clint calls out exhaustedly, “Just go with your gut feeling. who do you want to work with?”

“tony,” Steve says so immediately it’s almost like the word was just waiting in his throat, ready to pounce, “I mean, mr stark, I would love to take your deal.”

tony grins and stands up, and steve instantly knows he made the right choice. when tony moves in to hug him, steve is able to see the way nat sits back in her high-backed leather seat looking entirely.... pleased?

“can’t wait to start working with you, steve,” tony says into his new business partner’s ear, and steve realizes he can’t either. he’s ecstatic that he made a deal, and with tony stark nonetheless, “we’re gonna do great things together.”

steve waves earnestly behind himself as he exits from the shark tanks, large wooden doors snapping shut as he reenters an all-wood hallways covered in green screens and the backstage crew descends on him once again.

another camera turns onto him for his final talking head and on off-screen producer asks him how he feels about the deal. Steve can’t help it, he beams.

“I couldn’t have asked for a better outcome,” he admits, eyes bright. bruce gives him two smiling thumbs up, “In fact, I gotta admit, I’ve always had kinda a crush on Mr Stark, so I’m really excited to get the chance to work with him.”

shark tank cuts to a commercial break.

in november when the episode airs, tony and nat are doing their weekly watch party, just the two of them, popcorn, and copious amounts of alcohol as they lounge on tony’s luxurious couch in malibu.

when segment’s through, nat is laughing to tears. it’s only a side of herself she ever shows in private, when they’re both dressed to the nines in $20 sweat pants their assistants surreptitiously purchased from some nondescript mall. the irony is that if tony ever told anybody he witnessed this, they probably wouldn’t believe him anyway.

nat’s bent over with laughter at the way steve blushes so innocently and how tony can’t quite look away.

“you two,” She wheezes, “are going to be so disgusting oh my god.”

tony slumps farther into the couch, simultaneously relieved and disappointed when steve’s face fades into the shark tank logo then a commercial for hemmorhoid cream. nat doesn’t stop laughing.

“oh shut up,” tony groans, “it’s not my fault i’m not a heartless monster like you.”

nat continues to cackle even after the next entrepreneur struts across their stage.

[brosura]

memento mori (the curious case of the baker on baker st.) pt. 4/4

Word Count: 4629 Rating: T probably Pairings: Prompto Argentum x Ignis Scientia Warnings: minor character death, major character death (VERY temporary), alcohol consumption, survivor’s guilt, mentions of child abuse/neglect

“Ignis Scientia, young baker and private investigator’s assistant, has a peculiar gift. With a touch, he can bring the dead back to life.”

AKA the promnis pushing da*sies au no one asked for

in the final chapter, four rowdy boys and a good dog do a stake-out

big thanks to @danielkesslers for the quick read n check!

[start with part I here] [read part II here] [read part III here] [fic on ao3]

“This isn’t our old neighborhood,” Ignis observes, as they all pull up to the Hammerhead garage in Gladio’s little electric car.

The facts are these.

The Hammerhead garage, owned by a certain Cid Sophiar, is housed in the remnants of an old small aircraft hangar. For years, local elitists in the community have insisted that the giant hammerhead shark - a grand old thing Cid had built on top of the garage as soon as he’d come across enough scrap metal - be removed to avoid lowering property values. And for years, Cid Sophiar has told them, in no uncertain terms, to “shove off, ya nasty city rats.”

At any rate, it’s become something of an establishment for car people and mechanics alike, and it’s garnered the reputation as the place in town to go for a tune-up or an upgrade. That’s what had drawn a young Prompto in after he’d taken his father’s car into the shop for him. What had prompted him to take his first and last job as an apprentice to the head mechanic in the shop.

“Y-yeah,” Prompto stutters. Basil is sitting in his lap, a pre-emptive measure since they’ll be keeping each other company while Ignis, Gladio and Noctis talk to Prompto’s old co-workers. “I sort of listed my boss in my emergency contacts? I don’t know, I didn’t really want my parents to know where I was going, and I was worried the company would send them mail, so I put my workplace as my permanent address.”

“Makes sense,” Noctis says. He’s been a remarkably calming presence in all this, and an excellent sport to sit through a murder investigation that he had no reason to be invested in. Ignis owes him as many tarts as he wants.

“Um,” Prompto starts, bouncing a leg nervously as they all move to exit the vehicle. Basil’s tongue flops erratically out of her mouth. “Could you guys like, send a signal or something? If they’re ok?”

“I’ll leave my phone with you,” Noctis says, already removing it from his pocket. “Ignis’ll text you with an update.”

Prompto gives him a grateful nod and a nervous little smile as he takes the phone, then they’re heading out of the car and pushing open the front doors to the garage.

“So,” Noctis draws out the syllable in the buzzing silence of the lobby. “What happens if the murderer is like… there.”

“Let me worry about that,” Gladio says, rolling his shoulders. “Just try not to get in the way.”

“Of what?” Ignis snorts. “Your ego?”

“Nice try, Ignis.” He sends him a cocksure grin. “You don’t see the take-down so I don’t blame you, but I’ve wrestled my fair share of perps. Guy coming from behind? Plastic bag? Not a lot of confidence there. I’m sure I could beat him hand to hand.”

“Oh man,” Noctis deadpans. “Ignis, let’s get out of the way. It’s his ego.”

“Very funny,” Gladio says with a roll of his eyes.

“Well, what’s the joke?” comes a high-pitched and smooth voice in a southern drawl as a young woman steps behind the counter with a friendly smile.

Ignis instantly recognizes her as the young woman from the funeral. Only this time, instead of her Sunday Best, she’s wearing a set of coveralls that are zipped down to the waist, fastened there with a knot tied with her sleeves. And she’s covered in grease, even the t-shirt underneath the coveralls and her baseball cap weren’t spared. Even so, she’s very pretty, so Ignis isn’t surprised when Noctis balks and shrinks subtly behind him. He never was good at meeting new people, much less new attractive people.  

But Gladio has no such qualms. He’s leaning over the counter like he’s an old friend, all charm. “Nothing worth repeating, ma’am.”

“Aw, shucks. Ain’t no need for all that fancy business. You can call me Cindy, darlin’.” She gives them a wink. Ignis can feel Noct’s panic rising behind him. “What can I do for you boys today? Something with your car need fixin’?”

“No car trouble today, Cindy.” Gladio says with an amicable smile. “My name’s Gladio, and I’m actually a private investigator. These two are my, ah, assistants. We’re currently looking into the death of a Prompto Argentum.” The name scarcely leaves Gladio’s mouth before Cindy’s entire face falls. “Take it you knew him?”

“Yeah,” Cindy says, taking off her cap to run a hand through her hair. “Yeah, I knew him.”

“Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?” Gladio asks, gentle. He waits for Cindy to nod before continuing. “He listed this garage as his last workplace, and we were hoping to speak to his boss. That you?”

“Not exactly.” Cindy bites her lip, looking thoughtful. It occurs to Ignis that Prompto might have picked up the habit from her. “Look boys, why don’t you come to the back with me? I reckon whatever I can’t answer, Paw Paw’ll be able to. He runs the place.”

She gestures for them to follow her behind a closed door, then winces as if remembering something. “Just- Just let me do the talking first, alright?”

“Is he mean?” Noctis whispers, looking nervous. “Ask Prompto if he’s mean.”

Cindy ok. Ignis texts, dutifully. Is boss mean?

Very mean. Prompto responds. Then there’s a picture of Basil. For support.

“Yeah, I knew Prompto.” Cid says with that southern drawl, sipping lazily at a cup of coffee that they’d all seen him pour whiskey into. If he wasn’t sure before, Ignis knows now that it’s Cid and Cindy that gave Prompto the habit of switching to the accent. “One of my older staff, quick with his hands. For a smart kid, he sure was a real idiot.”

“Paw Paw,” Cindy hisses. She gives them an apologetic look. “Paw Paw took him on as an apprentice when he was just a little thing. Couldn’t have been more than seventeen. He didn’t talk about it much, but we knew his parents didn’t pay him much mind, so we tried to make him feel like he was family here.” She sighs. “He was a real sweet thing. Didn’t deserve to go the way he did.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Gladio says with a cold detachment that might have seemed professional if Ignis didn’t know that it was merely a product of the ‘real sweet thing’ in question currently sitting in his car with a very small dog. He leans forward, fingers steepled over his own mug, filled with only coffee. “We’ll try to get out of your hair as soon as possible, but could you answer a few of our questions?”

“Shoot.” Cid gives them a half-hearted wave and takes another long sip from the mug.

“Right, could you tell us if you noticed anything strange about Prompto before the trip? Like, was he behaving strangely or was someone asking questions about him?”

“Can’t say I did,” Cindy answers. “He’d been jittery to be sure, but he seemed more excited than anything. Wanted to know what it was like to travel and all that, but Paw Paw and I don’t leave the garage much ourselves.”

“And he didn’t have a stalker or nothin’, if that’s what you’re asking,” Cid grumbles. “Real shy boy, stayed out of the spotlight. Took years for him to warm to me and Cindy. Woulda noticed if someone came round askin’ for him. Hell, half this garage woulda noticed.”

“Alright,” Gladio says after a pause. He’s making a show of jotting down notes, but from Ignis’ perspective, he can tell they’re just chicken scratches. “How about after the trip? Anything strange happen around the garage recently? Anyone acting strangely?”

Cindy purses her lips. “Hm, couldn’t say. Why do you ask?”

“We’re just pursuing the possibility that the murderer might have been personally connected to him.”

“Well, you can quit pursuin’,” Cid says with finality. “I know my people, none of them would do anything as sinister as you’re implying, city slicker.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Gladio smirks. “Last question, and we’ll be on our way. I understand he’d listed you as his place of residence, and the cruise ship might have sent you his personal effects.”

“Yeah,” Cindy sighs. “Yeah, we got ‘em.”

Gladio leans forward, grin almost predatory. “Mind if we take a look?”

“Well,” Noctis chuckles. “Those are definitely tonberries.”

“That they are,” Ignis says, turning the tacky plastic tonberry around in his hand. They’re heavy, but he’s not sure if it’s real or the imagined weight of knowing Prompto lost his life for these little things.

“So, what do we do now?” Noctis asks, fiddling with his own tonberry.

“We leave them,” Gladio says.

“Excuse me?” Ignis finds he can’t sound affronted enough. “Are you suggesting we continue to put Prompto’s friends, his family by the sounds of it, at risk?”

“They’re at risk whether or not we take the things,” Gladio growls, crossing his arms. “The guy probably went through Dino’s papers and came to the same conclusion as us. The fact that Cid and Cindy haven’t noticed anything says he just hasn’t acted yet. We take them and he gets here and can’t find them? Doesn’t look good for Cid and Cindy.”

Cid and Cindy who, they’d since learned, lived in a small attachment off the side of the garage. Loathe as he is to admit it, Gladio does have a point.

“So what?” Noctis asks for the both of them. “We just let him take them?”

“We leave them,” Gladio explains, poking a tonberry at them in a way that might have looked dramatic and inspired if it weren’t for the fact that it was a tonberry. “And then we wait.”

The facts are these.

Ignis Scientia - twenty-two years, six months, three weeks and five days old, veteran baker, practiced private investigator’s assistant and novice stake-out participant - wishes he’d charged his cell phone.

There’s only so much tenseness stretched between the silences he can take, after all. And with Noctis and Gladio on the other side of the garage - Noctis had split up the groups with a sly look to Ignis - there’s no one else to direct his attention towards.

Well, there’s Basil. But Basil - at a scant 5.5 pounds - is too light to disturb the eggshells they’re currently treading on, and she walks between Ignis and Prompto’s laps in Gladio’s car unaffected.

“So,” Prompto finally says. “Wanna, er, wanna talk about it?”

“About what?”

“The ‘it’s not an unfamiliar feeling’ thing,” Prompto explains. He switches into an exaggeration of Ignis’ accent for part of it, and Ignis finds himself equal parts charmed and offended. “Wanna talk about it?”

It’s not something Ignis was prepared to talk about, he’d been able to put off the memory of his mother and Prompto’s father for this far. But, he can’t lie to Prompto, not anymore. Still, he’s afraid to use the details. “I made a mistake when I was younger, when I first learned about my powers. I lost people who were very dear to me and I knew it was all my fault. I thought I was a monster, that I didn’t deserve anyone’s kindness. If Noctis hadn’t been a nosy little boy so intent on befriending me, I’m not certain where I’d be today, to be honest.”

Prompto lets out a hum, curling up in the seat to hug Basil, who has settled in his lap.

“You’re not,” he says after some time. His fingers curl and uncurl in Basil’s fur, who pants obligingly. “You’re not some monster. You know that, right?”

“Some days more than others,” Ignis admits with a rueful smile.

Prompto frowns. “I mean, I’m sorry if I made you feel that way. I know I kind of yelled at you.”

“You were right to. Even it was a lie of omission, I still lied to you and I kept making excuses to lie to you. You deserved to know the complete circumstances of your, er, revival.”

“Yeah, yeah I mean you’re right about that, but I didn’t have to say all that shit about not wanting to talk to you.” Prompto turns to give him a bashful little smile. “To be honest, I was really overwhelmed and I just didn’t want you to see me cry. That would have been really uncool.”

“I understand the desire for privacy, but rest assured I think crying’s a perfectly natural response. Had our positions been reversed, I would have cried at the outset,” Ignis reassures.

“Well, yeah maybe, but you’ve got that perfectly chiseled face and all that,” Prompto says. Ignis waits for him to stutter and blush, but he doesn’t. Instead, he keeps going. “Hell, you probably look great when you cry! All dramatic and noble. Totally unfair, because I just get all red and splotchy. It’s very unattractive.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say I want to see you cry anytime soon.” Ignis laughs. “But I think you’re perfectly attractive, no matter the situation.”

Prompto scrunches his nose. “There’s a word for that. Starts with an N.”

“Are you suggesting I’m a necrophile?”

“Yeah, that. And I mean, you are flirting with a dead guy,” Prompto says, but he’s smiling as he says it.

And it’s that warm, longing smile Ignis didn’t think he’d see again, one that pulls at Ignis’ own lips until he’s smiling in return. Suddenly they’re both children again, back in that tree at sunset. Only this time, Prompto is looking at him with the same wonder that must have been written on Ignis’ face that day. Ignis wishes this was some fantasy land, he wishes he could lean in the way he wants, give Prompto a kiss the way he wants.

But once again, Ignis’ wish wasn’t granted. This wasn’t a fantasy land. It was a stake-out.

And they’d just missed their murderer.

The facts were these.

The man that breaks into Hammerhead in the dead of night has made a substantial name for himself by having no one know his name. He’s mysterious, dresses in all black, takes cash only, and was promised a very hefty sum from one Izunia, A. for retrieving a pair of plastic tonberries. Extreme sentimental value, he’d been told. 

This has resulted in more murders than he’d initially planned, but he’s not one to complain. The plastic bags that rest in his back pocket are the closest thing he has to a signature, and it’s unfair that he’s so rarely appreciated for his work.

It seems there’s no need for his special methods today, though, because he makes it through the garage undetected. After a moment of searching, he finds the tonberries in a suitcase next to the familiar camera of the boy he’d murdered on the cruise ship. Secretly, he’s glad it seems intact. It would have been a shame to break such a nice camera.

He’s just congratulating himself on a job well done after no end of inconveniences when a flashlight draws his attention.

“Put the tonberries down,” a gruff voice whispers.

He does not put the tonberries down. 

No, he throws the closest article of clothing he can find from the suitcase at the shine of the flashlight and runs. He can hear a muffled curse as the gruff-voiced man makes chase, but neither of them make it very far before he’s colliding with two more people.

“-mpto!” comes an alarmed cry, but he pays it no mind as he catches the smaller one around the throat. For now, at the very least, the body in front of him will shield him if his pursuers have guns and value their friends.

“Don’t move!” he growls, fumbling in his pocket for his knife, but as he fumbles, he finds himself crinkling the plastic bag on accident.

“Oh, fuck no,” his hostage growls. “Not again.”

Then he’s being flipped, dropped ignobly on the ground for someone as professional as him. This won’t do, naturally, so he grabs his hostage-turned-assailant’s hand and kicks at his midsection, flipping him in turn onto the ground and pinning him there by his throat.

In the dim light of the garage, he just makes out the face of the man, only to find it eerily, eerily familiar.

“Didn’t I kill you?” he asks, incredulous.

But that’s all he gets to ask because the lights flicker on to reveal the scene. There’s him, the nameless man on an errand from a mysterious Izunia, A. halfway through strangling what should have been a dead man on the ground. And then there’s three men frozen in place and scattered about the room, each looking on with some kind of horror at the man in the doorway.

And then there’s the man in the doorway.

“Oughtta read the sign, boys,” Cid Sophiar says, cocking his gun. “We’re closed.”

And that is how Cid Sophiar, age sixty-two, shoots Prompto’s would-be second time killer dead in the Hammerhead Garage.

“You sure your friend is ok?” Cid grumbles, pouring more whiskey into his whiskey. “Looked to be in a real bad situation when I walked in.”

They’re all sat in the office that Gladio had questioned Cid and Cindy in, trying to ignore the dead body in the other room, evidence that their stake-out had been... too active. 

Distantly, they can hear Basil barking from the car that Ignis and Prompto had fled from in haste when they’d seen Gladio’s shaky flashlight signal from the opposite side of the garage before they’d walked directly into a short-lived hostage situation.

By some miracle, Prompto had the sense to look away when Cid had turned the lights on, and Noctis had the foresight to grab one of the shirts from Prompto’s suitcase and throw it over his face when their culprit rolled, lifeless, off his body.

“He’s fine, sir,” Ignis says, as Prompto - t-shirt wrapped around his head- frantically gestures with his hands a message that he must hope comes off as ‘Yeah, really fine!’ “He’s, ah, he’s just very shy to be seen by other people. This whole experience was very...trying, as you can imagine.”

“I can imagine just fine,” Cid says with a laugh, seeming more charmed than anything by Prompto’s strange behavior. “That big old boy was lookin’ right at you, wasn’t he? Taught him not to trespass in a mechanic’s garage, though, I sure did.”

“That you did,” Gladio chuckles. 

“You really think that’s the little asshole that killed Prompto?”

“I strongly believe it, sir,” Gladio says. “I’ll be sure to inform the police so you can collect the reward.”

“Reward was shootin’ that bastard dead,” Cid grumbles. “Well, I reckon I’m not gonna complain about some extra gil, either.”

Noctis, as if sensing Prompto’s anxiety, asks, “Your granddaughter ok?”

“Oh, Cindy’s just fine.” Ignis can see Prompto visibly relax next to him. “Out on the town with her girl. Reckon she’ll get a surprise out of watchin’ the cops draggin’ a body out of the ol’ garage, though.” Cid turns to Prompto, but Prompto can’t tense because, again, he can’t see it. “You oughtta head out then, I reckon. Can’t imagine it’s much better gettin’ gawked at by a bunch of boys in blue.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Noctis says, getting up. He pulls Prompto up by the hand and starts to lead him out of the room, pausing only to give Ignis a look of comfort. “We’ll meet you guys at home.”

And they’re gone just like that. The three remaining men in the room sit in companionable silence until the police arrive, broken only when Gladio curses.

“When did that little brat steal my keys?”

The facts are these.

Noct’s apartment is a spacious penthouse loft on the top floor of one of the only high-rises of the small town they live in. It includes such features as a living room with floor-to-ceiling windows and a small balcony with several struggling houseplants that offers a perfect view of the city. As such, it’s the perfect place to get a breath of fresh air after a particularly long talk with the police, and the perfect place for a dramatic conversation.

“So,” Prompto says, sliding down to sit next to where Ignis is leaning against the railing of Noct’s balcony. He slips two bare feet between the bars of the balcony to kick them over the expanse. Basil waddles to his side to shove her face between the bars. “Bummer about the reward, huh?”

“Well, Cid seems to have some ideas on how to spend the money.” Ideas, of course, that he’d been sure to outline to Gladio and Ignis in the thirty minutes it had taken for the police to show up.

“I’m glad,” Prompto smiles. “He’s a grumpy old guy, but he’s nice. He deserves some cash.”

“I’m inclined to agree, but I’m also not above wishing to see some of that reward money.”

“Same,” Prompto laughs. Then he tenses, ever so slightly as he continues. “I was kind of hoping to pay for that funeral director’s, well, funeral.”

“Ah,” is all Ignis can think to say.

There’s a pause where the only things that they can hear are the quiet sounds of the restless town beneath and Basil’s quiet pants.

Then Prompto laughs. “Think they give employee discounts for funerals?”

Ignis gives him a fond smile that Prompto returns, then he’s looking out over the city again, fingers coming to tangle in Basil’s fur.

“Y’know, to be honest, when I found out that guy died for me, I felt really guilty,” he admits in a soft voice. “But it wasn’t because I thought I should trade my life back for his or anything. It was- Well, I just scared myself because I was so relieved. It felt so selfish, but he was like, sixty or something, and I remember thinking ‘at least it wasn’t a kid,’ like somehow that made it better. And I was happy to be alive or whatever, but it was just… so much at once and everything was so fucked up. It’s fucked up, isn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s ‘fucked up’ to be happy to be alive,” Ignis answers. “I think that’s just how it is.”

“Yeah,” Prompto breathes. “Yeah, maybe. Either way, I was hoping I could get rid of the guilt by paying for this dude’s funeral, but I guess that’s out of the cards.” He looks to Ignis with a hopeful expression. “Was he really that much of a dirtbag?”

“Dirtiest of the bags,” Ignis says. “Absolute scum.”

“Wow, what happened to ‘don’t speak ill of the dead?’” Prompto laughs.

“Well, I’m sure the rules can be suspended for a man who regularly stole from the dead.”

“Oh, wow, he really was a scumbag.” Prompto blinks. “I thought you guys were just trying to comfort me.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you,” Ignis says, casually.

But Prompto turns to him with a knowing look in his eye. “Really?”

“What are you trying to imply?”

“Nothing,” Prompto laughs. “Nothing, I just. I figured it out, you know. What you were talking about in the car. My dad, that was you, right?”

“Er,” Ignis chokes.

“No, it’s alright, it’s alright,” Prompto reassures. “I’m not mad about it, I don’t blame you. I just wanted to tell you that.” Prompto pulls his feet from off the edge and puts Basil in his lap, curling up into a little ball around her. “My dad, well, he was kind of an asshole, when I think about it. Yelled a lot, drank a lot. Never hit me, but I wasn’t really around for him to try. Y’know, the reason why it seemed like I was outside all the time was because I pretty much was. I’d spend as much time out of the house as possible just to avoid him. So, you can quit beating yourself up about that.”

He lets out a shaky breath. “I was a kid and it was scary being alone, but I think my life would have been a lot worse if I stayed in that place.”

“Prompto,” Ignis chuckles something that’s at once solemn and fond, caught between his sadness at the pain in Prompto’s life and the joy at seeing him finally wanting something for himself. “You died.”

“Yeah, but I got to solve my own murder!” he says with a grin, honest and bright. “I mean, how cool is that?”

They both laugh at that, then Prompto’s looking at him with that thoughtful, longing expression. After a moment, he hums and uncurls himself to stand up in front of Ignis.

“Hey Iggy?” he asks, reaching into his back pocket to produce a plastic take-out bag. Have a nice day! it says in cheerful letters. “Mind doing me a favor and putting this bag over your head?”

“Plan on killing me?” Ignis jokes, but he’s taken the bag and is pulling it over his head regardless. “I suppose that’s karmic justice, in a roundabout sort of way.”

He doesn’t quite hear Prompto’s response over the crinkle of the bag, then suddenly the plastic is being stretched over his face and for a moment Ignis thinks, ‘ah, he really is trying to kill me.’ But then warm hands come to cup around his cheeks and there’s a gentle press against his lips and Ignis can’t think anything at all.

It’s a chaste kiss, necessitated by the plastic bag, and only a moment, but it’s more than Ignis could have imagined. Prompto, it seems, was the imaginative one between the two of them. It’s not his first kiss, not even his second, but it’s the first time he’s kissed someone and imagined a future instead of only the worst case scenarios. It’s the first time he didn’t wish anything was different.

But it’s not long, and he’s left standing dumbstruck in the aftermath as Prompto tugs off the bag and fumbles with it in his hands, a light blush dusting his cheeks.

“I was kissing this big smiley face, so that was a little weird,” he laughs, a little nervous and a little breathless, as he stretches the bag out in his hands. He slips a hand inside. “And you used tongue! Look at you, Iggy!”

“I, er, I was caught up in the moment.” Ignis stutters out a laugh of his own.

“Careful,” Prompto teases. “Last time you were caught up in the moment, you killed a guy.”

“Hey!” Noctis cuts in abruptly, slapping a hand against the sliding glass door, making the both of them jump. “If you two are done flirting, I’ve got something to show you.”

“How’d you manage to steal those?” Gladio says, incredulous.

Those being the tonberry statues that Noctis had, apparently, lifted while leading Prompto out of the garage.

“We all have our vices,” he says, in lieu of a real answer. They’ll have to have a talk later, but that can wait because Noctis turns to Prompto, who’s turning one of them over in his hand and says, “Wanna do the honors?”

Prompto grins and raises the thing above his head. “This is for getting me murdered!”

The cheap plastic comes away with a crack to reveal the telltale glimmer of pure gold, the trait that’s likely responsible for the unexpected heaviness of the statues and the fact that someone had been willing to kill for them. This means nothing to Basil, who approaches the statue to lick at it.

“’They’ll make you very, very rich,’” Prompto breathes, remembering Dino’s words.

“Very, very quick,” Gladio finishes, testing the weight of one of the statues in his hand.

“Speak for yourselves,” Noctis shrugs. “I’m already rich.”

The facts are these.

Ignis Scientia - twenty two years, eleven months, three weeks and five days old, full-time baker, part-time private investigator’s assistant and host/co-star of a recently developing series of instructional cooking videos titled Baking with Basil - is about to have the best birthday of his life.

The reason for this being the man curled up on Noct’s couch. Prompto Argentum - recently re-raised freelance photographer, roommate (of Noct’s) and boyfriend (of Ignis) - isn’t doing anything in particular. He’s just existing, just breathing, and to reiterate, he’s Ignis’ boyfriend. And it’s the most wondrous thing Ignis could have hoped for. There’s nothing better he could have imagined in twenty-two years, eleven months, three weeks and five days.

“What are you staring at?” Prompto says, pushing his glasses farther up his face.

“Nothing,” Ignis gives him a fond smile. “I just like to look at you.”

“That’s gross,” Prompto says, scrunching up his nose. But he’s grinning. “Noctis, hold my boyfriend’s hand.”

Noctis, who’s been mercifully accommodating of Prompto and Ignis’ peculiar circumstances, merely makes a noise of understanding and flops out a hand for Ignis to hold.

“So, wanna take a trip for your birthday?” Prompto says with a smile.

“I’m not averse to the idea,” Ignis says, but that’s entirely an understatement. He’d go anywhere with Prompto, at this point. “What did you have in mind?”

Prompto’s grin turns mischievous. “Definitely not a cruise ship.”

THATS IT! (or is it?)

i may revisit this AU in the future! but for now, i have to work on my WIP for the big bang and some other stuff!

hope you enjoyed!

[readbookywooks]

The Last Words of Captain Nemo

THE PANELS CLOSED over this frightful view, but the lights didn't go on in the lounge. Inside the Nautilus all was gloom and silence. It left this place of devastation with prodigious speed, 100 feet beneath the waters. Where was it going? North or south? Where would the man flee after this horrible act of revenge? I reentered my stateroom, where Ned and Conseil were waiting silently. Captain Nemo filled me with insurmountable horror. Whatever he had once suffered at the hands of humanity, he had no right to mete out such punishment. He had made me, if not an accomplice, at least an eyewitness to his vengeance! Even this was intolerable. At eleven o'clock the electric lights came back on. I went into the lounge. It was deserted. I consulted the various instruments. The Nautilus was fleeing northward at a speed of twenty-five miles per hour, sometimes on the surface of the sea, sometimes thirty feet beneath it. After our position had been marked on the chart, I saw that we were passing into the mouth of the English Channel, that our heading would take us to the northernmost seas with incomparable speed. I could barely glimpse the swift passing of longnose sharks, hammerhead sharks, spotted dogfish that frequent these waters, big eagle rays, swarms of seahorse looking like knights on a chessboard, eels quivering like fireworks serpents, armies of crab that fled obliquely by crossing their pincers over their carapaces, finally schools of porpoise that held contests of speed with the Nautilus. But by this point observing, studying, and classifying were out of the question. By evening we had cleared 200 leagues up the Atlantic. Shadows gathered and gloom overran the sea until the moon came up. I repaired to my stateroom. I couldn't sleep. I was assaulted by nightmares. That horrible scene of destruction kept repeating in my mind's eye. From that day forward, who knows where the Nautilus took us in the north Atlantic basin? Always at incalculable speed! Always amid the High Arctic mists! Did it call at the capes of Spitzbergen or the shores of Novaya Zemlya? Did it visit such uncharted seas as the White Sea, the Kara Sea, the Gulf of Ob, the Lyakhov Islands, or those unknown beaches on the Siberian coast? I'm unable to say. I lost track of the passing hours. Time was in abeyance on the ship's clocks. As happens in the polar regions, it seemed that night and day no longer followed their normal sequence. I felt myself being drawn into that strange domain where the overwrought imagination of Edgar Allan Poe was at home. Like his fabled Arthur Gordon Pym, I expected any moment to see that "shrouded human figure, very far larger in its proportions than any dweller among men," thrown across the cataract that protects the outskirts of the pole! I estimate - but perhaps I'm mistaken - that the Nautilus's haphazard course continued for fifteen or twenty days, and I'm not sure how long this would have gone on without the catastrophe that ended our voyage. As for Captain Nemo, he was no longer in the picture. As for his chief officer, the same applied. Not one crewman was visible for a single instant. The Nautilus cruised beneath the waters almost continuously. When it rose briefly to the surface to renew our air, the hatches opened and closed as if automated. No more positions were reported on the world map. I didn't know where we were. I'll also mention that the Canadian, at the end of his strength and patience, made no further appearances. Conseil couldn't coax a single word out of him and feared that, in a fit of delirium while under the sway of a ghastly homesickness, Ned would kill himself. So he kept a devoted watch on his friend every instant. You can appreciate that under these conditions, our situation had become untenable. One morning - whose date I'm unable to specify - I was slumbering near the first hours of daylight, a painful, sickly slumber. Waking up, I saw Ned Land leaning over me, and I heard him tell me in a low voice: "We're going to escape!" I sat up. "When?" I asked. "Tonight. There doesn't seem to be any supervision left on the Nautilus. You'd think a total daze was reigning on board. Will you be ready, sir?" "Yes. Where are we?" "In sight of land. I saw it through the mists just this morning, twenty miles to the east." "What land is it?" "I've no idea, but whatever it is, there we'll take refuge." "Yes, Ned! We'll escape tonight even if the sea swallows us up!" "The sea's rough, the wind's blowing hard, but a twenty-mile run in the Nautilus's nimble longboat doesn't scare me. Unknown to the crew, I've stowed some food and flasks of water inside." "I'm with you." "What's more," the Canadian added, "if they catch me, I'll defend myself, I'll fight to the death." "Then we'll die together, Ned my friend." My mind was made up. The Canadian left me. I went out on the platform, where I could barely stand upright against the jolts of the billows. The skies were threatening, but land lay inside those dense mists, and we had to escape. Not a single day, or even a single hour, could we afford to lose. I returned to the lounge, dreading yet desiring an encounter with Captain Nemo, wanting yet not wanting to see him. What would I say to him? How could I hide the involuntary horror he inspired in me? No! It was best not to meet him face to face! Best to try and forget him! And yet . . . ! How long that day seemed, the last I would spend aboard the Nautilus! I was left to myself. Ned Land and Conseil avoided speaking to me, afraid they would give themselves away. At six o'clock I ate supper, but I had no appetite. Despite my revulsion, I forced it down, wanting to keep my strength up. At 6:30 Ned Land entered my stateroom. He told me: "We won't see each other again before we go. At ten o'clock the moon won't be up yet. We'll take advantage of the darkness. Come to the skiff. Conseil and I will be inside waiting for you." The Canadian left without giving me time to answer him. I wanted to verify the Nautilus's heading. I made my way to the lounge. We were racing north-northeast with frightful speed, fifty meters down. I took one last look at the natural wonders and artistic treasures amassed in the museum, this unrivaled collection doomed to perish someday in the depths of the seas, together with its curator. I wanted to establish one supreme impression in my mind. I stayed there an hour, basking in the aura of the ceiling lights, passing in review the treasures shining in their glass cases. Then I returned to my stateroom. There I dressed in sturdy seafaring clothes. I gathered my notes and packed them tenderly about my person. My heart was pounding mightily. I couldn't curb its pulsations. My anxiety and agitation would certainly have given me away if Captain Nemo had seen me. What was he doing just then? I listened at the door to his stateroom. I heard the sound of footsteps. Captain Nemo was inside. He hadn't gone to bed. With his every movement I imagined he would appear and ask me why I wanted to escape! I felt in a perpetual state of alarm. My imagination magnified this sensation. The feeling became so acute, I wondered whether it wouldn't be better to enter the captain's stateroom, dare him face to face, brave it out with word and deed! It was an insane idea. Fortunately I controlled myself and stretched out on the bed to soothe my bodily agitation. My nerves calmed a little, but with my brain so aroused, I did a swift review of my whole existence aboard the Nautilus, every pleasant or unpleasant incident that had crossed my path since I went overboard from the Abraham Lincoln: the underwater hunting trip, the Torres Strait, our running aground, the savages of Papua, the coral cemetery, the Suez passageway, the island of Santorini, the Cretan diver, the Bay of Vigo, Atlantis, the Ice Bank, the South Pole, our imprisonment in the ice, the battle with the devilfish, the storm in the Gulf Stream, the Avenger, and that horrible scene of the vessel sinking with its crew . . . ! All these events passed before my eyes like backdrops unrolling upstage in a theater. In this strange setting Captain Nemo then grew fantastically. His features were accentuated, taking on superhuman proportions. He was no longer my equal, he was the Man of the Waters, the Spirit of the Seas. By then it was 9:30. I held my head in both hands to keep it from bursting. I closed my eyes. I no longer wanted to think. A half hour still to wait! A half hour of nightmares that could drive me insane! Just then I heard indistinct chords from the organ, melancholy harmonies from some undefinable hymn, actual pleadings from a soul trying to sever its earthly ties. I listened with all my senses at once, barely breathing, immersed like Captain Nemo in this musical trance that was drawing him beyond the bounds of this world. Then a sudden thought terrified me. Captain Nemo had left his stateroom. He was in the same lounge I had to cross in order to escape. There I would encounter him one last time. He would see me, perhaps speak to me! One gesture from him could obliterate me, a single word shackle me to his vessel! Even so, ten o'clock was about to strike. It was time to leave my stateroom and rejoin my companions. I dared not hesitate, even if Captain Nemo stood before me. I opened the door cautiously, but as it swung on its hinges, it seemed to make a frightful noise. This noise existed, perhaps, only in my imagination! I crept forward through the Nautilus's dark gangways, pausing after each step to curb the pounding of my heart. I arrived at the corner door of the lounge. I opened it gently. The lounge was plunged in profound darkness. Chords from the organ were reverberating faintly. Captain Nemo was there. He didn't see me. Even in broad daylight I doubt that he would have noticed me, so completely was he immersed in his trance. I inched over the carpet, avoiding the tiniest bump whose noise might give me away. It took me five minutes to reach the door at the far end, which led into the library. I was about to open it when a gasp from Captain Nemo nailed me to the spot. I realized that he was standing up. I even got a glimpse of him because some rays of light from the library had filtered into the lounge. He was coming toward me, arms crossed, silent, not walking but gliding like a ghost. His chest was heaving, swelling with sobs. And I heard him murmur these words, the last of his to reach my ears: "O almighty God! Enough! Enough!" Was it a vow of repentance that had just escaped from this man's conscience . . . ? Frantic, I rushed into the library. I climbed the central companionway, and going along the upper gangway, I arrived at the skiff. I went through the opening that had already given access to my two companions. "Let's go, let's go!" I exclaimed. "Right away!" the Canadian replied. First, Ned Land closed and bolted the opening cut into the Nautilus's sheet iron, using the monkey wrench he had with him. After likewise closing the opening in the skiff, the Canadian began to unscrew the nuts still bolting us to the underwater boat. Suddenly a noise from the ship's interior became audible. Voices were answering each other hurriedly. What was it? Had they spotted our escape? I felt Ned Land sliding a dagger into my hand. "Yes," I muttered, "we know how to die!" The Canadian paused in his work. But one word twenty times repeated, one dreadful word, told me the reason for the agitation spreading aboard the Nautilus. We weren't the cause of the crew's concern. "Maelstrom! Maelstrom!" they were shouting. The Maelstrom! Could a more frightening name have rung in our ears under more frightening circumstances? Were we lying in the dangerous waterways off the Norwegian coast? Was the Nautilus being dragged into this whirlpool just as the skiff was about to detach from its plating? As you know, at the turn of the tide, the waters confined between the Faroe and Lofoten Islands rush out with irresistible violence. They form a vortex from which no ship has ever been able to escape. Monstrous waves race together from every point of the horizon. They form a whirlpool aptly called "the ocean's navel," whose attracting power extends a distance of fifteen kilometers. It can suck down not only ships but whales, and even polar bears from the northernmost regions. This was where the Nautilus had been sent accidentally-or perhaps deliberately - by its captain. It was sweeping around in a spiral whose radius kept growing smaller and smaller. The skiff, still attached to the ship's plating, was likewise carried around at dizzying speed. I could feel us whirling. I was experiencing that accompanying nausea that follows such continuous spinning motions. We were in dread, in the last stages of sheer horror, our blood frozen in our veins, our nerves numb, drenched in cold sweat as if from the throes of dying! And what a noise around our frail skiff! What roars echoing from several miles away! What crashes from the waters breaking against sharp rocks on the seafloor, where the hardest objects are smashed, where tree trunks are worn down and worked into "a shaggy fur," as Norwegians express it! What a predicament! We were rocking frightfully. The Nautilus defended itself like a human being. Its steel muscles were cracking. Sometimes it stood on end, the three of us along with it! "We've got to hold on tight," Ned said, "and screw the nuts down again! If we can stay attached to the Nautilus, we can still make it . . . !" He hadn't finished speaking when a cracking sound occurred. The nuts gave way, and ripped out of its socket, the skiff was hurled like a stone from a sling into the midst of the vortex. My head struck against an iron timber, and with this violent shock I lost consciousness.