It is objectively at least a little funny to me when people draw Crocodile super muscular 'cause like, sure, his torso may be as wide as a brick wall, but y'all seen his arms and legs?

They're skinny as shit, this man has never lifted a thing in his entire life, he probably doesn't even know how to run. Like Oda can draw people with muscular limbs, this shit's intentional

The Road to Anywhere: The Full Story

Prologue

For as long as I could remember, my life was something that pleased me and my Momma, the Red Queen. In fact, it never even once occurred to me why I looked... different from her.

I stood behind her, sat beside her. After lunch each day, I would be sent to my room to play with my toys. My life as a princess was divided into periods: I’d wake up, I’d eat, I’d play, I’d bathe, I’d sleep.

There were no windows anywhere in the palace. Not that I minded, though, since Momma told me life was better here, and that I didn’t need to go outside.

My Momma knew everything and she’d always take care of everything.

At least, she said she was my momma.

What a lie that was.

Chapter 1

It all began one day when, after lunch, I went to my room to play with my toys.

That’s what I was doing when I heard the sound from above.

Whiiiirrrr...

I had never heard anything like that before.

Whiiiiirrrr...!

Is that getting louder? I remember thinking, before...

CRASH!

Right at that moment, a strange, big metal thing on a chain fell through my ceiling. It looked like the letter ‘T’ with hooks at the bottom.

It was followed by a boy jumping down through the hole it’d left, a cord attached to him. I’d never seen him before. I’d never seen the color he was wearing before, either. I thought that Red and Pink were the only two colors there was. This new color looked... well, cold. At least, it reminded me of coldness.

Aside from the cold color, his clothes were also odd. He wore a vest with a hood and short pants, and he had no shoes on, only wrappings. (Then again, I wasn’t wearing any shoes either.) Was this boy what Momma would call a ‘peasant’?

He looked me over and said “Are you Garnet?”

I was tempted to ask How did you know my name?, but I was so surprised at what just happened, and what was happening now, that I just replied, “Y-Yeah.”

“Okay then, come along with us,” he said, putting an arm around my waist. “We’re running away together”

I could hear Momma and her guards coming. They must have heard the noise from my room. “But what about-”

Before I could finish, he tugged at the cord. It jerked him upwards, taking me along with him.

I looked down just in time to see Momma through the hole the boy’s metal thing had made. She didn’t look scared or worried for me. She actually looked really mad.

Outside, it was warm. The sky was the same color as the boy’s clothing, with fluffy, floating things without any color, and a big ball of light that hurt to look directly at. The cord pulling us up came from a flying thing, which was like my toy boat but gigantic, attached to an even bigger balloon, hovering above the palace.

We were hauled aboard the boat by what I later learned was called a ‘winch’. Two others were there, another boy and a girl, each dressed in another unfamiliar color. The other boy wore a color that reminded me of the big light-ball in the sky, while the girl wore a darker color that was kinda similar, but not quite. She was dark-skinned, and she wore a vest and had no pants or skirt, just two strips of cloth that hung down in the front and back of her bare legs. He had on puffy, short sleeves and pants with toeless leggings, and wore a strange hat.

They helped the two of us aboard, then shut the door behind us. “Cast off!” the boy in the funny hat exclaimed.

I was a little scared, but also curious. While they pulled up the ‘anchor’ (Because that’s what they called the metal thing.), I took a look around.

The boat had a small house in the back, and near that was a large, round thing. The boy in the funny hat came over and spun it. “Let’s go!”

The boat turned in the direction the round thing was spun, and it flew away from the palace. 

When we were a good ways away, I asked “So, where are we going?”

“Anywhere that’s safe from people like that tyrant.” the boy who brought me aboard the boat replied.

“Tyrant?!” I was shocked at what he said. “How could you say that about my Momma?”

What the boy in the funny hat said next startled me even more. “Princess... the Red Queen isn’t your mother.”

“What?” I couldn’t believe what I just heard.

“She’s your master,” he said. “At least, she was, but hey, you’re free now! We’re all free, here.”

“What are you talking about?”

They then told me everything, about the world, about themselves, about the flying boat that they called the Luminus, and how they found each other and me.

First, the realm of Arc was divided into four: the Red Lands (where I lived before they came to get me), the Blue City (where the hooded boy was from), the Green Country (where the girl was from) and the Yellow Kingdom (where the boy in the funny hat was from). Humans (that’s what they called people like us) were like any other animal here, except that rich folk (like my ‘Momma’) were allowed to keep them as pets.

The boy in the funny hat was called Blane. By mistake, he had learned the truth about a man he had called his ‘father’, the Yellow Count, who also owned a tool called a compass. From what I was told, compasses normally point in only one direction so that you know where you are. But this one was special; It could point in the direction of wherever you wanted or needed to go. When Blane escaped, he stole the compass, which led him to the other two.

Hinto was the hooded boy’s name. He was trapped in some place called a ‘zoo’, after being captured by the Blue Baron. Blane met him there, and rescued him.

The girl, Orrin, was also in a zoo, which was owned by the Green Duchess. The Duchess also owned the Luminus, which they stole after freeing Orrin, and before the Compass led them to me. They only learned my name when they overheard the palace guards talking about me and the Red Queen, how I’d been ‘adopted’ after my real Momma died.

Now here we were, the four of us on what was called an ‘airship’, and they were asking me to join them in looking for somewhere, anywhere that they could be free.

“So, what do you think?” Blane said to me. “You up for adventure?”

When you’ve spent your entire life in one place, following a routine, only for you to suddenly leave that place, with that routine broken, the change actually feels nice. Was this what being free really felt like? Nobody telling you what to do, how to act? I had heard of freedom from the Red Queen’s subjects, but to actually feel it sent a chill up my spine, yet at the same time it felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. 

“Okay,” I nodded. “I’m in.” The other three smiled. I smiled too.

And that was how, for the first time in my life, I found new friends.

Chapter 2

There’s a castle somewhere on the outskirts of the Yellow Kingdom. We parked the Luminus next to it and walked up to the door. It was locked.

“Hello?” Blane called out. There was no reply.

“Anybody there?” I called. A strange face appeared at the top of the rampart. It looked like his helmet was his head, and he had holes instead of eyes. He called back to us: “Hello! Who’s this, now?”

“We’re just travelers,” Blane lied. “Who lives here?”

“It’s our castle,” the man responded. “We are all its proud lords and masters. What of it?”

“Not much,” Blane explained. “Just let us stay here for a while, and-”

“Out of the question!” the man exclaimed. “You are human-types! You are so far below us, you lowly little garbage man!”

“Okay, that’s it. I’ll show them what we humans can do.” Hinto started to march up to the door, but Blane stopped him.

“You don't scare us, human vermin!” the man boasted. “Go and soak your heads, ye seeds of stupid people! I pick my nose and wipe it on your blimp! You and your silly, so-called human trrrravelllllers!” He trilled the Rs, and somehow, the Ls in travelers, before making a rude noise by sticking his tongue out and blowing.

“What a weirdo.” I said to Blane, who I noticed was getting irritated. “Now look-” he began.

“I don't wanna talk to you anymore, you empty-headed human waste dispenser!” the man interrupted. “I fart in your faces! Your mother was a bonnacon and your father smelled like Limburger!”

I didn’t understand half of what he just said. Orrin called up to him “Anybody else up there we could talk to?”

“No,” he replied. “Now leave these premises, or I shall taunt you a second time!”

“Okay, look,” Blane declared. “We need a place to stay, so we're not going anywhere until-”

BOING!

It was at this moment that a large round thing (I later learned that it was called a ‘pumpkin’) was launched over the rampart.

“OH, DEAR GODDESS!!!” Blane shouted.

We all scattered as the thing smashed on the ground. Before we knew it, they were throwing fruits and vegetables at us while cackling like maniacs. In the end, we ran for it.

“So, what now?” I asked once we were out of their throwing distance.

“We can’t just straight up go in there,” Hinto said. “Unless we sneak in there...”

After a while (don’t ask how long) we had this large wooden creature (”It’s a cat,” Hinto said) built and ready for action. We made it hollow, so that we could go inside it. We rolled it up to the door, and hid inside it before they could see us.

Outside, we heard the door open, and then them talking, before the whole thing started to move with us inside.

Once we felt it come to a stop, Blane whispered “So, now what?”

“Now, we wait for the perfect chance to jump out, and-” Hinto started to explain, when suddenly...

BOING!

Everything lurched. We all screamed. It was pretty scary. Then, with a crash, we landed.

They had just launched us out of the castle.

So we gave up on trying to get in.

In a jungle somewhere in the Green Country, there lives a monster with seven heads. We learned this the hard way when we were trying to see if we could build a house for ourselves.

We were planning on what kind of house it should be, when it came bounding over.

“Halt!” it said. “Who art thou?”

“We’re just passing through.” Orrin replied.

“Human travelers, eh?” One of the heads said. “In that case, I shall have to kill you.”

“Shall I?” another head asked.

“I think not.” a third head objected.

“Well, what do I think?” the second head proposed.

“I think kill them.” yet another head joined the conversation.

“Oh, let's be nice to these kids.” the third head suggested.

“Oh, shut up.” the leaderly head grumbled.

“Could we just-” Blane began.

“And you too.” the leaderly head interrupted.

“Come on, let’s bite their heads off!” the fourth head said.

“Oh, bite your own head off!” a fifth head barked.

“Yes, do us all a favor!” A sixth one agreed.

While the heads argued, we snuck back to the Luminus and left.

The Luminus had this box thing that was called a ‘radio’. When the airship was stolen, that radio was broken so nobody could use it to track us down.

Which is why, as we were trying to figure out our next move, we were stunned to hear it come back to life, even though it was beyond fixing.

A female voice came out of it, clear as crystal. “Little ones,” it cooed. “Listen close and listen well. I know of someone who can help you.”

“Oh, really?” Hinto was suspicious, and I can’t say I wasn’t, too. “Who would help people like us?”

Her response was a surprise. “Another of your kind. A wild woman. The enchantress Sigal.”

“Another human?!” Orrin gasped.

The voice continued. “She knows of a cave which no one has entered. Wherein is carved the location of a most wonderful haven. Seek you the Fortress of Lost Dreams...”

And with that, the radio made a crackling noise, then was silent.

“The Fortress of Lost Dreams?” I didn’t know what to make of it and, from the others’ expressions, neither did they.

“It is kinda suspicious,” Blane said. “What do you think?”

“Maybe it’s a sign from the Goddess!” Orrin suggested.

“Yeah, it was a woman speaking to us,” said Hinto. “And the radio should be dead.”

“Well, I guess it’s worth a shot.” Blane decided with a shrug.

“Okay,” I agreed. “Let’s go!”

And off we went.

Chapter 3

The one thing we didn’t count on, when we told the compass to take us to Sigal, was flying straight through what was called a ‘stormcloud’.

During my time in the Red Palace, I had heard the occasional storm. I listened to the booming thunder from my bedroom.

But here, out in the open, there were also these flashes of light that came with the thunder, called ‘lightning’. Water also seemed to fall from the sky.

“Just a little storm,” Blane called out. “No big deal!”

The thunder was louder here than in the Red Palace. I ran for the Luminus’ hold, my hands over my ears.

And that was why I didn’t hear the others warning me that I was too close to the railing.

BOOM!

The thunder and lightning came too close to the Luminus for comfort, and I slipped, startled...

...and I fell into nothingness.

The next thing I knew, I was below the Luminus, seeing the airship getting smaller and smaller. I thought I heard Blane screaming my name.

In that moment, I felt like my mind was big enough for only two thoughts:

I must’ve fallen over the side,

and

I’m gonna hit the ground and SPLAT,

both of which were stating the blatant obvious.

It was like every dream of falling that I��d ever had, just a fast drop straight down. Luckily for me, there just so happened to be a group of houses right below me, and a man pulling a cart with a giant pile of straw. That’s where I landed.

Unfortunately, that’s also how I got mistaken for a human witch from the sky. As I crawled out from the straw, I heard other people whispering about me, and these strange beings approached. They had long, stiltlike legs, and they moved along like some demented caterpillar. (I only know what a caterpillar is from a book on bugs I had in the Red Palace. It was the only book I had.)

In a few seconds or so, they had surrounded me. I couldn’t run away even if I wanted to.

“Careful lads,” said the one at the front. “No telling what kind of dark magic she’s capable of working.”

“Am I in trouble?” I asked them.

“I’ll say you are,” said the leader. “You are hereby charged on suspicion of witchcraft, and shall be brought to the Mayor of Freymere to be judged forthwith.”

And with that, they were skittering off to the ‘town hall’, carrying me with them, while a crown of people followed.

They carried me into a place that must have been the town hall, and there they dropped me and retreated to a respectful distance.

Pardon the interruption, Sir,” the leader said. “But as you can see: we’ve caught a witch. May we have her locked up, or burned?”

The Mayor seemed to take interest, as the crowd shouted stuff about burning me. “How do you know she is a witch?”

Someone shouted “She fell from the sky!” which the others confirmed.

“Bring her forward.” the Mayor ordered, and the tall beings did so.

“I’m not a witch.” I told them. I explained that I had just fallen from an airship. He looked me up and down, then asked the crowd “What makes you think she's a witch?”

"Well, she turned me into a toad!”

Everybody turned to look at the man who had spoken, whom I had clearly not turned into a toad. “A toad?” the Mayor questioned.

There was a pause, before the man said sheepishly “She could’ve.” The people then began to shout “Burn her anyway!”, but the Mayor calmed them down.

“There are ways of telling whether she is a witch,” he said, and the mob begged him to tell them.

“Tell me,” he asked “What do you do with witches?”

The outcry of “Burn ’em!” echoed through the town hall.

“And what else do we burn apart from witches?” the Mayor proposed.

“More witches!” shouted a man who was then nudged by the lady next to him. Someone else suggested “Wood!”

“So,” the mayor said. “Why do witches burn?

The people stood in complete silence, thinking. Finally, one of them spoke up. “'Cause they're made of... wood?”

“Good,” the Mayor smiled. “So, how do we tell whether she is made of wood?”

“Build a bridge out of ‘er!” The man who had been silenced said.

“Ah, but can you not also make bridges out of stone?” the Mayor replied, to which everyone muttered “Oh, yeah...”

The Mayor then asked “Does wood sink in water?”

“No,” the people answered. “It floats! Let’s carve her into a boat! Put her in the lake!”

“What also floats in water?”

Everybody started giving different answers each:

“Bread!”

“Fruit?”

“Uh... soft sand!”

“There’s a kind of rock that floats, I think...?”

“Leaves!”

“Paper! Wait, that gets soggy...”

“Seafoam, seafoam!”

“Sponges!”

“What about a goose?”

Everyone stopped and looked at the tall beings’ leader. “Exactly!” The Mayor nodded. “So, logically...”

“If... she... weighs the same as a goose...” the man at the head of the crowd spoke slowly. “Then she's made of wood.”

“And therefore...”

The people seemed to come to a realization. “A witch!”

They dragged me outside, to the Mayor’s scales, which were the biggest I’d ever seen, and they sat me down on one end. They had an animal (That must be a ‘goose’, I thought) that they put on the other end. The scale must have been off-balance, because I seemed to weigh the same as the creature. As the crowd dragged me to a wooden pillar sticking out of the ground, I shouted and shouted but nobody listened to me.

But then, just before they could tie me up, I saw my friends.

They were pummeling everyone who was unlucky enough to be in their way. When they got close enough to me, I reached out my hand. Blane took it.

We ran for our lives, out through a gate and through the woods, until we were back at the Luminus.

As we took off, I breathed a sigh of relief.

We made it out alive.

Now we just needed to meet Sigal.

Chapter 4

The compass led us to a rocky area on the border, between the Blue City and the Red Lands. That’s where we found Sigal.

She was casting spells on a pile of burning sticks, changing the colors of the fire. Hinto got her attention. “Are you Sigal?”

She looked up at us, and her mask, which made it look like her eyes were the size of ping-pong balls, startled me. “I am she.”

We told her that we were seeking a certain cave, and that we needed her help to find it. “You seek the cave of Ganamar?” she said.

“Yeah,” Blane replied. “Can you take us there?”

“Yes, I can help you find the cave, and the last words of the sage Donnan carved within.” Sigal began to lead us along a particular path. “But follow only if ye be youths of valor, for the caverns are home to a beast so ruthless, so clever, that no human can outwit it and escape with their life! The stolen treasures of its victims lie strewn about its lair! And so, brave adventurers, if you do doubt your courage, come no further! For death awaits you all with big, nasty fangs!”

We arrived at this opening in the ground, with Sigal telling us to go in. It lead into some kind of rocky chamber. We were making our way through when Orrin suddenly cried out “Look there!”

Just as we’d been told, there were words carved into a wall.

They read:

And then, below that:

“What is that?!” Hinto stared at the last word.

“He must've died at the end of it.” Blane guessed.

“If that’s the case, he wouldn’t even bother carving ‘Aaarghh’,” Hinto argued. “He'd just say it!”

“Well, that’s what it says here,” Blane pointed out. “Unless he was dictating it and the guy who wrote it took down his death rattle.”

“What about that ‘great peril’ he mentioned?” I asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Blane pondered. “Wonder what he meant by that...”

“Whatever it is couldn’t be worse than me.”

We all jumped at the unfamiliar voice and turned around. Behind us was this creature with an almost human face and sharp teeth.

It was one of those moments in our adventure where we all knew what this thing was without a doubt. Sigal had warned us about him.

As the Beast prepared to pounce, Hinto hissed “Somebody do something!”

That somebody turned out to be Orrin. “Wait, wait!” she cried. “What if I teach you a knock-knock joke? You go first.”

After some consideration, the beast said “Knock-knock.”

“Who’s there?”

The Beast paused. Orrin exclaimed “He bought it! Run!”

So we did. However, getting back to the exit was easier said than done: there were two tunnels ahead, and the Beast was bounding after us with a “Hey!”

“Compass, get us out of here!” Blane ordered the compass, and the arrow pointed at one of the tunnels. Immediately, we all ducked into that tunnel.

We came out of the cave, and bolted for the Luminus without looking back. We scrambled aboard and quickly launched into the air before the Beast could reach us.

The Luminus kept going up, higher and higher, until it seemed like we were sailing on the colorless stuff, the ‘clouds’.

Blane had just asked the compass to take us to the Central Wastes, when something jolted the airship from below. We ran to the side and looked down.

There was a huge mass below us, like a statue bigger than our small airship. When I looked closer, I could see that it was a giant woman who looked like she’d been carved out of stone and weathered down, yet she was flying through the air like she weighed nothing at all.

“It’s a skymaid,” Blane said.

By chance, she was flying in the same direction the compass was pointing, so we let her take us along with her.

And soon, we were there.

Chapter 5

The Fortress of Lost Dreams towered above the Central Wastes, almost touching the sky. Once we lifted the Luminus off of the skymaid’s head and touched ground, we went in.

The fortress wasn’t as colorful on the inside as it was on the outside. In fact, it was a bit creepy. We were looking around, trying to figure out what to do next, when we heard that voice again.

“Congratulations,” she said. “You made it. You’ve done well in bringing the compass to me.”

The owner of the voice wore the strangest, darkest dress I’d ever seen, and her skin was the color of milk. Before any of us could say a word we were surrounded by dolls, made of metal and string and old parts of clockwork. They were beautiful, but scary.

I knew then we’d been tricked.

Before we could make an attempt to escape they crowded us. One of them snatched the compass. Two more of them held a huge net. As we were trying to get the compass back, we were all wrapped in the net. It was a little like being dropped into a web of darkness, and in the darkness we screamed and struggled, until we were tumbled out of the web into a cage.

We were lowered into a pit with vines growing around the sides, and they left us there.

“So, what now?” Orrin was obviously worried.

I didn’t know what to tell her.

Blane looked around. He looked dejected.

Then his eyes widened, and he didn’t look anywhere nearly as dejected anymore.

“Look around us!” he said. So we did.

We realized that there was a way to escape. This is how we did it.

First, we all pressed ourselves against one side of the cage, and reached out to grab the vines. We pulled with all our strength, reaching out and grabbing higher and higher vines, until the cage was off the floor.

We kept climbing the vines while still in the cage, until we reached the top of the pit. We heard voices, then.

“Ere, I saw the lords ‘n ladies arrivin’ just a min' ago; What’s the mistress summoned ‘em ‘ere for?”

“Oh, that? Just to bear witness to when Empress DeVoid connects her wand to that compass she got.”

"A compass?”

“A magic compass, mind you. A recent acquisition by the Yellow Count, until it was stolen, but the Empress tricked the thieves into coming here. They’re in the dungeon now.”

“What’s so special about this compass?”

“It always guides you wherever you want to go. With the Empress’s wand, it can even open gateways! Even to places beyond Arc, if you know what I mean.”

“Aha, so she can finally dethrone the Great Banisher Lady Alba ‘erself, eh?”

“Indeed. You know how Her Majesty the Empress has been yearning for her vengeance on the Goddess. Come, I want to see what the Cosmic Gardens look like.”

As we heard them leave, Orrin whispered “She’s gonna do something terrible to the Goddess, isn’t she?”

“We can’t let her.” I replied.

“So, how do we get out of here?” Hinto asked.

“Uh...”

At that moment, one of the vines that we were clinging to snapped. We were so surprised that we all lost our grips.

We fell, screaming, back to the bottom of the pit. When we landed, the cage broke open. Good thing none of us were hurt.

“That works,” Blane groaned.

We got out of the pit by climbing on the vines. Now that we were free, we were off to save the Goddess. All we had to do was get the compass back and get out.

To be honest, we weren’t expecting it to be so complicated.

Chapter 6

We crept through empty corridors, making our way through the Fortress, trying to find DeVoid, our hearts pounding in our ears.

Finally, we came to a great door, hearing more voices on the other side. I recognized two of them: DeVoid and the Red Queen.

“I don’t know what kind of time you call this. I’ve been worried sick about my Garnet.”

‘Patience, Dahling. Soon, you shall all see your precious pets again, just as we shall gain all the power in the world.”

Carefully, making sure that the door didn’t make a sound, we snuck in. We saw DeVoid and the Red Queen with three others - I knew they were the Yellow Count, the Blue Baron and the Green Duchess.

DeVoid held up a stick thing (A ‘wand’?) and attached the compass to one end of it.

I felt a wave of energy crackle through the air. My friends felt it too, from the looks on their faces.

The doll servants applauded as DeVoid looked proudly at what she created.

“Now then,” she said, putting the scepter down on a table. “Let us fuse, and so combine our strength in the coming revolution.”

She began to glow, and the other four were drawn towards her, along with the dolls. For a moment after that, I couldn’t make out where the woman I thought was my ‘Momma’ started and where all the others ended.

What came out in the end was some sort of multi-armed... thing that was dark all over. There was barely any color to them. They looked like something out of one of those spooky stories I heard the servants tell back at the Red Palace, only this was all too real.

“Now we are one,” the Specter spoke, and their voice had an echo.

By this time we had crept over to the table with the scepter. Quickly, I snatched it... just in time for the Specter to turn around.

“You little THIEVES!” they bellowed. We decided to run, then.

So we did.

We escaped to a big room filled with bottles of swirling light of different colors. Unfortunately, it was a dead end. And the Specter was making their way in.

“We should have known you'd be clever enough to escape the dungeons,” they said. “Of course, all things must come to an end. Give us the scepter, and we’ll say no more about it.”

We could’ve just given in and done that, but we didn’t want to endanger the Goddess. So I grabbed one of the bottles and threw it at the Specter.

As the bottle smashed, a knight on a horse instantly appeared and ran them over. The Specter was stunned for a moment.

I looked at the others. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I could’ve said, but chose to not say anything. It wouldn’t matter anyway, because we were thinking the same thing.

We began grabbing bottles and smashing them on the floor, releasing whatever was sealed inside them. Gargoyles with spears, bull-headed soldiers, cannons that went off on their own, whole armies; Whatever fantastical thing was inside any bottle we broke open attacked the Specter on sight. I guess it was payback for being stuffed into a bottle.

But the Specter obviously wasn’t willing to give up. They just tossed aside the things from the bottles as they kept moving towards us. Soon there were no more bottles to destroy.

We backed up against the wall. I clutched the scepter tightly.

The scepter.

It could be our only chance... or it could end up killing us all.

I held it up, and imagined someplace as far away from Arc as I could. I thought of whatever was beyond the sky, far beyond the big glowing ball that I had learned was called the ‘sun’. I thought of somewhere that wasn’t the Cosmic Garden.

And I opened a gateway.

It was like being back in the storm: The world swirled and shook around us, but we were fine. I could see the Specter being pulled back, struggling against the wind. They were screaming at me, demanding that I close the gate, begging, pleading, then screaming.

And then they were gone, and there was nothing to be heard but the howling of the wind.

Unfortunately, the gate was pulling us through, too. We all held on to the shelves for dear life.

Then it stopped.

We all collapsed to the floor, relieved that it was over. I was wondering why it was over when I saw her. My friends looked up, and saw her too.

Her hair was long and colorless, but she was beautiful. She wore a long, elegant dress, and there was a shiny ring around her head.

I knew who she was without being told.

She spoke first, and she said “Well done.”

Chapter 7

The Goddess Lady Alba smiled. It was the warmest smile I had ever seen from anyone.

“You truly have proven yourselves worthy of a place in my court.” she said.

“Your court?” I asked.

“You mean... the Cosmic Gardens?” Blane guessed.

Alba nodded, a gateway opened behind her.

Beyond that gate, everything glittered and shimmered and gleamed. I had never seen anything so magical as that place.

“Shall we?” she asked. We looked at each other.

After a moment of consideration, I gave our answer:

“I don’t think so.”

We explained to her that there was still trouble here in Arc. Humans everywhere were probably being oppressed, treated like animals and abused and who knows what else. We wanted to change all that for good.

“If that is your final decision, then I shall abide by it. Thus, I leave you this, as the new rulers of Arc.”

She picked up the scepter and presented it to us. I bowed, and took it gracefully.

As she departed through the gate, she said “Good luck, brave ones. And should you ever need me, you know what to do.” And then she was gone.

She was right. We did know what to do, just in case.

Epilogue

We’ve had our ups and downs since then, managing the whole land, but that’s to be expected, as a family, ups and downs.

We are now the empresses and emperors of Arc, with the scepter our holy treasure. Thanks to us, human beings have rights now, and all is well with the world.

I still remember that day, when I was spirited away from the Red Palace and met Blane, Hinto and Orrin. If Blane hadn’t found out the truth about our former lives, we wouldn’t be where we are now.

In fact, it took all of us to make a difference.

But sooner or later, we’re gonna need someone to inherit the throne. Someone willing to keep the peaceful coexistence we have now.

Orrin brought up the idea of having our own children. We did had real Moms and Dads once. What could possibly go wrong with being Moms and Dads ourselves?

I just know I’m gonna be a better parent than the Red Queen ever was to me.

After all, every child has to grow up like I did.

- EMPRESS GARNET -

Could you write about BFF!Bill finding out about Tiger being insecure about her stretch marks and/or scars? This may be a bit of a self-insert but holy fuCK I'm in love with BFF!Bill and I need more of him 🥺 I just recently started getting into the fandom and I honestly??? Could not have fallen harder for him than I did reading about BFF!Bill, so thank you, amazing author, thank you

Baby thank you so much for the kind words

Look man, tiger is like all of us and she definitely gets insecure about her body. But I feel like there’s this whole other layer here too, because she’d be a little insecure regardless, but she’s literally hooking up with a dude who makes a living off of his looks. Yes, Bill is talented. But there’s no way he’d be a Hollywood actor if he wasn’t ridiculously attractive. And his costars are ridiculously attractive--women who literally just look perfect in every way--and he has to do all these lovey, sexy scenes with them and seriously sometimes it just gives tiger such a complex.

And maybe she always had stretch marks on her thighs or her breasts or her stomach, maybe she’s always been a little uneasy about them. Or maybe it’s after that wonderful sun-filled vacation they took (check the extensive blurbs in my Masterlist :-P) and it was full of rum cocktails and too much food. And I don’t know about you guys, but I always gain a shit ton of weight on vacation. I don’t work out as much or as intensely (or uh, even at all) when I’m away and I literally just eat whatever I want so like, when I came back from New Orleans I legit am still carrying around a little buddha belly filled with crawfish boils, beignets, and hurricane dranks.

But like, look. Tiger’s got some extra cushion for the pushin’ that really only she’s noticing, but she’s poking around a lot and kind of cringing whenever she gets a glimpse in the mirror before a shower or something. And it’s a little easier to ignore on vacation because as soon as she starts to get a little down about it, somebody (Bill) is shoving another rum cocktail in her hands. But it’s a bit of a different story when thy get back home and all the magic of vacation is just...gone.

And it doesn’t take long for Bill to be shootin’ his shot. It never takes long. But the plane ride back was torture because she was cold so he bundled her in his sweater, but there she was looking all cute and cuddly in his gigantic pullover and she curled up into him and put her head on his shoulder but they were on a plane surrounded by their friends, and all he wanted to do was snuggle her and kiss her but he couldn’t do shit. So they get home and haul their suitcases up, and tiger’s probably all bloated from the plane and not really feeling her best self. It’s stupid, right, but it happens--hell something so insignificant as just my yoga pants rolling down a tad and giving me a muffin top is enough to really put me in a bad mood.

Anyway, Bill asks her if she’s hungry and it’s an immediate, pretty grumpy no. And that’s fine, but when she mentions she’s going to take a shower he smirks, hugs her from behind, starts walking with her to the bathroom--she tries to smile and shove him away playfully, but there’s an ounce of worry and seriousness to it. She was around a shit ton of people today, she says, and kinda just wants to be alone for a few minutes. Bill’s not hurt by it, he knows she likes her space so with a final peck to her lips, he pats her butt as she closes the door behind her.

And he’s not worried until she emerges from the bathroom in a towel, and when he playfully goes to grab it and pull it from her, she legitimately panics a little--he doesn’t like the fear he saw on her face, the way she desperately grabbed it and held it to her. He offers her food again because she really didn’t each much today but she quietly refuses, so he fixes a snack and plops it on his lap, pulling her to the couch to cuddle. She doesn’t nibble on it despite him handing it over to her every now and then. When he’s done he puts the plate on the floor, pulling her over and plunking her in his lap, her back to his chest. He loops his arms around her and lifts her shirt a tad to rub her tummy, but she immediately grabs his hand and loops hers through it, keeping it to the side instead. Bill frowns.

“Everything okay, kid?” he murmurs in her ear. She nods, turns her head a bit to kiss him.

“Just tired bud,” she says, “Tired and a little grumpy.”

“Do you want to go to bed?” he asks, and she nods. And listen, Bill really wants that closeness with her, just wants it to be all soft and slow and needy because god he’s feeling a little possessive and protective over her, but it’s not going anywhere tonight and he knows it. So instead when he lies down he just tucks around her, and he frowns when she keeps her (his) shirt on.

“Off with it tiger,” he mumbles, tugging at it, “Skin, please.”

But tiger is feeling way too self-conscious to be topless.

“I’m cold,” she says as an excuse. He tugs at her shirt again.

“I’ll keep you warm,” he says.

“Bill...” she growls in warning, and he sighs.

“Fine, grumpypants,” he mutters. And he curls around her more, but when he lifts the shirt just a tad to trail his fingers along her bare stomach, she grabs his hand again and moves it away. He doesn’t like it, but trying to talk to her about it when she’s grumpy and snappy will likely get him dead--so he lets it go.

But listen, the next morning? We all have those few seconds--moments, if we’re lucky--of sleepy bliss. The first 2 minutes when you wake up are the most glorious of the day because you literally can’t remember a single thing that would make you stressed. So maybe when Bill hugs her a little closer, nibbles on her neck, maybe tiger stirs awake and pushes back a little into him. He groans softly, rolling his hips into hers and when she whimpers a little, reaches her hand back to run through his hair, he turns her over onto her back and eases on top of her. She pulls him down for a kiss and tilts her hips up into his again, so he reaches for her shirt--this stupid fucking shirt that stopped him from feeling her soft skin pressed to his last night--and pulls it up over her breasts.

But it’s like the alarm button, and suddenly she remembered all the stupid issues she’s having lately. So she grabs it and pulls it down, sitting up and pushing him away. And that’s quite enough, for Bill. He’ll let her stew all she wants if that’s what she needs, but she got herself into a bad place and she’s just staying there...which is a no-go in his books.

“Tiger, what’s going on?” he asks softly.

“Nothing,” she tries, “I just don’t want to.”

“You wanted to a second ago,” he says, as he reaches out and tucks her hair behind her ear. Her eyes go hard.

“What, I’m not allowed to change my mind?” she challenges. Bill’s jaw ticks, because he knows what she’s trying to do. But her eyes flit down to her lap and she pulls her knees up to her chest, curling in on herself.

“Tiger, look at me,” he commands, but she just keeps her gaze averted and she bites her lip.

“Now, tiger,” he says more sternly and she sighs, closing her eyes for a brief second before she looks up at him. He puts his hands on her knees, pushing them down so she’s cross-legged and he can lean in closer.

“You can change your mind at any time and you know that,” he says softly, “But that’s not what this is.”

She goes to look down again but he tucks a knuckle under her chin, keeping it up.

“What’s going on?” he tries again. She huffs, but he keeps a hold of her chin.

“It’s stupid,” she mutters.

“If it’s bugging you, it’s not stupid,” he murmurs, “Please, kid. Is it...us? This? Do you not want to anymore?”

And you know, tiger has her faults, but Bill does too. And whenever she pulls away a tad or shirks his affections, his mind immediately goes to the fact that maybe she doesn’t want him anymore. And it breaks her heart. So she closes her eyes, cups his face gently in her hands and kisses him.

“No bud, it’s not this. I still want...us. It’s just that I..” she trails off, swallowing hard, “I gained a lot of weight vacation.”

“Tiger, it--” but she puts two fingers gently on his lips, silencing him.

“No. Don’t do that thing where you say it doesn’t matter, or that you didn’t notice, or that you don’t care,” she says but it’s not unkind, it’s just honest, “Because I notice, and I care, and I’m really uncomfortable about it.”

She lowers her fingers from his lips but he’s just watching her, taking it all in and trying to read her.

“I want...you. I want--shit, I need--that closeness with you. But I’m just really, really self-conscious right now and I don’t want to be naked,” she says, “I just have all these new soft bits and these marks that weren’t there before and--”

Tiger still has a lot of issues she needs to work out for sure, but sometimes her honesty and candidness still completely fucking flattens him and god he loves her for it. There’s a fine line, though, between honesty and self-deprecation, and she’s crossed to the other side when she starts listing off what she hates. So he gently puts a hand over her mouth, silencing her.

“Can I say something now?” he asks, raising his brows. She kisses his hand, pulling it from her mouth to thread with hers as she nods.

“As long as it’s not--”

“It’s not,” he cuts her off. He goes silent for a minute, waiting for her to meet his gaze and when she does and holds it, he speaks.

“I’m only going to say one thing,” he murmurs lowly but sternly, “I love you, tiger. You. Got it?”

She bites her lip, doesn’t say anything.

“Hey, am I talking to myself kid?” he flicks her nose,”Got it?”

“Yeah bud,” she says, “I got it.”

“Good,” he says and pecks her lips, “Do you want to continue?”

And she does, god she does, but shit she’s overthinking it all.

“Yes,” she admits, “But Bill I--”

“Hush,” he cups her cheeks with his hands, “Are you more comfortable with your shirt on?”

“Yes,” she mumbles, and he could tell there’s more but she goes quiet again.

“And?” he prompts.

“And,” she sighs, “Can you just....keep your hands up here? Hold mine or something. I’m not ready for you to be grabbing...stuff.”

“Sure, kid,” he says. And he wants to tell her that he hates it, that it’s the worst idea ever, that all he wants to do is run his hands all over her body and make her feel good. Wants to shake her and tell her that he doesn’t give a shit if she’s skinnier or thicker or softer or harder or any of that. But he knows it’s not the time, and that it won’t help. So instead he weaves his hands through her hair, pulls her head up for a kiss.

“And if you change your mind? At any point?” he asks.

“I’ll tell you,” she promises.

“Good,” he pushes her back down on the bed and juts his chin at her waist, “Take your panties off for me, kid. My hands will stay right here.”

“Oh,” she mumbles and blushes a little, “Uh, you can do that.”

He quirks a questioning brow at her, and she blushes deeper.

“I like it when you do that,” she admits, embarrassed. And she squeals when he grabs the waistband in one hand and all but RIPS them off her in one fluid motion.

And you know what? I’ll bet there’s no immediate fix to this, because it’s so deep in her head. And Bill hates it, hates that she’s so self conscious, but the only thing he can do that will help is to just...not push her limits. To give her all the affection she needs and wants but in the way that she wants it. If that means sex with a shirt on for like a month, then that’s what he’ll give her. If it means no soothing tummy pats or rubs, no hands running over her glorious body--it’s fucking torture for him, but that’s what he’ll give her. And he’ll go heavy on the praise, he’ll be really loud and enthusiastic about how good she makes him feel whenever she does want him a little closer, and it’s a slow process but eventually it’ll just help get her feeling a little more comfortable and safe again.

Ch. 1: Berk

(Play Music while reading)

Hiccup’s Pov-

"This, is Berk. It's twelve days North of hopeless, and a few degrees South of freezing to death. It's located solidly on the meridian of misery."

"My village. In a word, sturdy. And it's been here for seven generations, but every single building is new."

"We have fishing, hunting, and a charming view of the sunsets. The only problems are the pests. You see, most places have mice or mosquitos. We have..."

Sheep graze peacefully on a hillside. Suddenly one is snatched by a dragon.

STOICK'S HOUSE-

A door is pulled open... as a Dragon swoops directly toward it, Blasting Fire. The door is Slammed. The fire shoots through the slats of wood, illuminating hiccup, a gangly teenage Viking.

" ...dragons."

He exits stoick's/his house. He reopens the sizzling door, as leaps off of the front porch. He weaves through the erupting mayhem as Vikings pour out of the buildings, ready for a fight.

"Dragon" More dragons swarm in, setting rooftops alight and hauling off sheep.

"Most people would leave. Not us. We're Vikings. We have stubbornness issues. Vikings sound the alarm. Viking men and women pour out into the streets, axes in hand."

On hiccup darting through alleys, staying under eaves, making his way through the battle.

"My name's Hiccup. Great name, I know. But it's not the worst. Parents believe a hideous name will frighten off gnomes and trolls. Like our charming Viking demeanor wouldn't do that."

Dragons sweep back and forth, dodging axes and blasting the Vikings who throw them. A burly warrior gets tossed in an explosion, knocking Hiccup to the ground.

VIKING: "(Fierce) Arggghhhhh! (cheery, insane) Mornin'!"

Hiccup gets to his feet and continues to rush past gigantic men and women.

"Meet the neighbors. Hoark the Haggard..."

Horak: "What are you doing out!?"

"... Burnthair the Broad..."

Burnthair: "Get inside!"

"... Phlegma the Fierce..."

Phlegma the Fierce. Viking: "Get back inside!"

Hiccup passes a silent ox of a viking, picking his ear.

Yep, just Ack. Stoik then showed up, the biggest Viking of all. He yanks Hiccup from the path of a strafing dragon and holds aloft to the crowd.

Stoik: "Hiccup!? (accusingly; to the crowd) What is he doing out again?!"

"(He looks at hiccup) What are you doing out?! Get inside!" The flames light up his scowling face and matted red beard. He sets Hiccup down and turns to the sky, searching.

"That's Stoick the Vast. Chief of the tribe. They say that when he was a baby he popped a dragon's head clean off of its shoulders. Do I believe it?" Stoick grabs a wooden cart and hurls it, knocking the strafing dragon out of the sky. "Yes I do".

An explosion forces Vikings to duck. Stoick stands firm, brushing flaming debris off of his shoulder.

Stoick: "(barking; to his men) What have we got?"

Viking #1: "Gronkles. Nadders. Zipplebacks. Oh, and Hoark saw a Monstrous Nightmare."

Stoick: "Any Night Furies?"

Viking #1: "None so far".

Stoick: "(RELIEVED) Good."

Viking: "Hoist the torches!" Massive flaming braziers are raised on poles, lighting up the night sky... and revealing swirling dragons of all types. Below, Hiccup crosses an open plaza and ducks into an open building with a tall chimney.

BLACKSMITH STALL-

He crosses behind a counter, where a peg-legged, one-armed hulk of a Blacksmith reshapes blades with a hammer and tongs appendage.

Gobbler: "Ah! Nice of you to join the party. I thought you'd been carried off. Hiccup dons a leather apron and starts to put away Gobber's scattered appendages.

"Who me? Nah, come on! I'm way too muscular for their taste. They wouldn't know what to do with all this." Hiccup strikes a bodybuilder pose.

Gobber: "They need toothpicks, don't they?" Hiccup gets to work, transferring bent and chipped weapons to the forge as Vikings crowd the counter for replacements.

"The meathead with attitude and interchangeable hands is Gobber. I've been his apprentice ever since I was little. Well...littler."

Stoick Pov-

"We move to the lower defenses. We'll counter-attack with the catapults."

"Dragon". Armed men rush past, flanking others who carry sheep to safety. Stoick follows up the rear as, overhead, a dragon strafes the rooftops with Napalm-like fire.

Back the Hiccup Pov-

"See? Old village. Lots and lots of new houses."

In response, the fire brigade charges through the plaza -- four Teens, tugging a large wooden cask on wheels. From it, they fill buckets of water to douse the flames. One among them is a cute, energetic Viking girl. Hiccup leans out of the stall to watch her.

"Oh and that's Fishlegs, Snotlout. The twins Ruffnut and Tuffnut. And..."

"(DREAMY) Astrid." A SLOW-MOTION explosion erupts behind her, framing her in a sexy ball of fire. The others join her, looking awesome and heroic.

"Their job is so much cooler." Hiccup tries to join them as they pass, but he's hooked by Gobber and hoisted back inside.

"Ah, come on. Let me out, please. I need to make my mark."

Gobber: "Oh, you've made plenty of marks. All in the wrong places."

"Please, two minutes. I'll kill a dragon. My life will get infinitely better. I might even get a date."

Gobber: "You can't lift a hammer. You can't swing an axe..." Gobber grabs a bola as he continues.

"... you can't even throw one of these." A Viking runs by and nabs it out of Gobber's hand, hurling it at a dive-bombing Gronkle. The bola binds its legs, sending it into a heavy crash.

"(Hiccup ready with the answer) Okay fine, but..." He rushes to the back corner of the stall and presents a bizarre, wheel barrow-like contraption

"... this will throw it for me." Hiccup OPENS the hinged lid of the device. An arm springs up, equipped with twin bows. They prematurely launch a bola, narrowly missing Gobber... and taking out a Viking at the counter.

Viking: "Arggh!"

Gobber: "See, now this right here is what I'm talking about."

"Mild calibration issue."

Gobber: "Hiccup. If you ever want to get out there to fight dragons, you need to stop all..." Gobber gestures in Hiccup's general direction.

Gobber: "... this."

"(Hiccup astonished) But... you just pointed to all of me."

Gobber: Yes! That's it! Stop being all of you.

"(Hiccup Threatening) Ohhhh..."

GOBBER:" (Mimicking) Ohhhhh, yes.

"You, sir, are playing a dangerous game. Keeping this much, raw...Vikingness contained. (Beat) There will be consequences!" Gobber tosses him a sword.

Gobber: "I'll take my chances. Sword. Sharpen. Now." Hiccup takes it begrudgingly and lobs it onto the grinding wheel. He stews... fantasizing...

"One day I'll get out there. Because killing a dragon is everything around here."

At the Lower Plains-

hiccup Continues. "Nadders land, gathering like seagulls around a seemingly vacant house."

"A Nadder head is sure to get me at least noticed." The Nadders clamber onto the building, tearing the roof and walls apart. Sheep pour out and Scatter. Elsewhere, hippo-like Gronckles pick drying racks clean of fish and fly off like loaded pelicans.

"Gronckles are tough. Taking down one of those would definitely get me a girlfriend." A stealthy, snake-like dragon head peeks over a rooftop, breathing gas into a chimney.

"A Zippelback? Exotic, exciting. Two heads, twice the status. A second head pokes through the door and lights it." KABLAM! The two heads fly through the explosion, their necks zipping together to reveal a single body. It flies past Stoick as he climbs to the top of a Catapult tower.

Catapult Operator: "They found the sheep!"

Stoick: "(Frustrated) Concentrate fire over the lower bank!

Catapult Operator: "Fire!" Boulders are catapulted at the corralling Nadders... Just as a huge red dragon whips past, spraying the base of the catapult with sticky fire.

"And then there's the Monstrous Nightmare. Only the best Vikings go after those. They have this nasty habit of setting themselves on fire." It emerges from the flames, climbing the catapult with a leering, toothy grin.

Stoick: "Reload! I'll take care of this." Stoick takes on the Nightmare, face to hammer.

Suddenly, a Loud ballistic moaning streaks overhead. The catapult crew ducks.

Back with hiccup at the blacksmith stall, who is looking up from his work, reacting to the same sound.

"But the ultimate prize is the dragon no one has ever seen. We call it the--"

Viking: "Night Fury! Get down!" Vikings everywhere take shelter. The moaning sound Builds.

The Monstrous Nightmare suddenly stops fighting and takes flight away from the Catapult. Stoick looks skyward.

Stoick: "JUMP!" KABOOM! The Catapult Explodes as though hit by an artillery shell... sending Stoick and the crew leaping for their lives.

"This thing never steals food, never shows itself, and..." The sound recedes, leaving the crippled catapult in flames.

"...never misses. (Beat) No one has ever killed a Night Fury. That's why I'm going to be the first." Gobber trades his hammer for an axe.

Gobber: Man the fort, Hiccup, they need me out there! Gobber pauses. Turns with a threatening glare.

Gobber: Stay. Put. There. You know what I mean." Gobber charges into the fray, Hollering.

A smirk crosses hiccup's face. Moments Later "WHAM!" Hiccup pushes his wheeled contraption through a wall of clustered Vikings. He weaves through the ongoing mayhem, as fast as his legs can carry him.

Viking #6: Hiccup, where are you going!

Viking #7: Come back here!

" I know. Be right back!"

On the Plain Below-

The Nadders have cornered the house-full of sheep. They close in, ready to spring upon them. Stoick suddenly appears, Hurling Fishing Nets over them. The surprised Nadders are caught. Stoick and his men rush in. A Nadder blasts a hole through its net. Stoick leaps onto it, clamping his thick arms around its head, forcing its jaws shut.

Stoick: Mind yourselves! The devils still have some juice in them.

On The Plain Above-

Hiccup reaches a cliff overlooking the smoking Catapult and drops the handles to the ground. He cranks several levers, unfolding and then cocking the bowed arms of his contraption. He drops a bola onto a chamber and then pivots the weapon on a gimbal head toward the dark sky. He listens, with his eye pressed to the scope, hand poised on the trigger. He hears the Night Fury approaching... and turns his aim to the defense tower.

"(hiccup to Himself) Come on. Give me something to shoot at, give me something to shoot at." It closes in for the final strike, completely camouflaged in the night. KABLAM! The tower topples. The blast of fire illuminates the dragon for a split second. Hiccup pulls the trigger. KERTHUNK! The flexed arms SNAP forward, springing the weapon off the ground. The bola disappears into the sky, followed by a WHACK and a SCREECH and a... (Faded scream) Ahhhh."

"Scream?" Hiccup ignore that sound.

"(surprised, then elated) Oh I hit it! Yes, I hit it! Did anybody see that?" Hiccup's victory is short-lived. A Monstrous Nightmare appears, slithering up over the lip of the cliff.

"Except for you."

With Stoick-

He was holding down the netted Nadders. He hears a familiar holler  and looks up to see... Hiccup running through the Plaza, Screaming, with the Nightmare fast on his heels.

Alarmed, Stoick abandons the Nadders and runs off.

Stoick: (to his men, re: the Nadders) "DO NOT let them escape!"

In the Plaza-

Vikings scatter as Hiccup dodges a near fatal blast. The Nightmare's sticky, Napalm-like fire splashes up onto buildings, setting them alight. Hiccup ducks behind the last standing brazier -- the only shelter available. The Nightmare blasts it, spraying fire all around him.

Hiccup peers around the smoldering post. No sign of the Nightmare. He turns back to find it leering at him, blocking his escape. It takes a deep breath. Hiccup is finished.

Suddenly, Stoick Leaps between them, tackling the Nightmare to the ground. They tumble and wrestle, resuming their earlier fight. The Nightmare tries to toast him, but only coughs up smoke.

Stoick: "You're all out." He smashes the Nightmare repeatedly in the face, driving it away. It takes to the air and disappears. Winded, Stoick turns to Hiccup.

Back to Hiccup's Pov-

"Oh, and there's one more thing you need to know...". The burnt brazier pole collapses, sending the massive iron basket crashing. It bounces down the hill, destroying as it goes and scattering the Vikings who were holding down the netted Nadders. The freed dragons escape... with several sheep in tow.

"Sorry, dad."

Village- Upper Plaza-

The escaped Nadders fly past with sheep in their clutches. The raid is over. The dragons have clearly won. The murmuring crowd eyes Stoick, awaiting his response.

"(SHEEPISH) Okay, but I hit a Night Fury." Stoick grabs Hiccup by the back scruff of his collar and hauls him away, fuming with embarrassment.

"It's not like the last few times, Dad. I mean I really actually hit it. You guys were busy and I had a very clear shot. It went down, just off Raven Point. Let's get a search party out there, before it--"

Stoick: "--STOP! Just....stop." He releases Hiccup. Everyone goes silent, staring expectantly.

Stoick continues "Every time you step outside, disaster follows. Can you not see that I have bigger problems? Winter's almost here and I have an entire village to feed!" Hiccup looks around. All eyes are upon him.

"Between you and me, the village could do with a little less feeding, don't ya think? "A few rotund Vikings stir self-consciously.

Stoick: "This isn't a joke, Hiccup! (EXASPERATED) Why can't you follow the simplest orders?"

"I can't stop myself. I see a dragon and I have to just... kill it, you know? It's who I am, Dad."

Stoick: You are many things, Hiccup. But a dragon killer is not one of them." Sting. Hiccup looks around to see many nods of agreement.

Stoick: "[Continues] Get back to the house." He looks at Gobber "Make sure he gets there. I have his mess to clean up." Stoick lumbers off in the opposite direction. Gobber leads Hiccup through the walk of shame. They pass the teen fire brigade as they snicker.

Tuffnut: "Quite the performance."

Snotloud: "I've never seen anyone mess up that badly. That helped!"

"Thank you, thank you. I was trying, so..." Hiccup avoids Astrid's glare and heads up toward a large house, standing prominently on the hill above the others.

"I really did hit one."

Gobber: "Sure, Hiccup."

"He never listens."

Gobber: "Well, it runs in the family."

"And when he does, it's always with this... disappointed scowl. Like someone skimped on the meat in his sandwich. (Mimicking Stoik) Excuse me, barmaid. I'm afraid you brought me the wrong offspring. I ordered an extra large boy with beefy arms. Extra guts and glory on the side. This here. This is a talking fish bone."

Gobber: "You're thinking about this all wrong. It's not so much what you look like. It's what's inside that he can't stand."

"Thank you, for summing that up." They reach the doorway.

Gobber: "Look, the point is, stop trying so hard to be something you're not." Hiccup SIGHS heavily.

"I just want to be one of you guys." Gobber eyes him sympathetically. Hiccup turns and goes through the front door. And straight out the back door. He hurries off into the woods, determined.

CHAPTER 2:⬇️

Day 14: Cusco - In Which I Ride Through A Desert (National Park) On a Horse With No Name (It Was Called Treacle)

We were up earlyish again, today, for the second of our booked excursions in Cusco. This day, however, we had eschewed the ATVs  to instead ride around a lovely big national park on horseback, like the rough and ready cowboys that we (I) definitely are (am).

We hauled ourselves out of lovely warm bed and into horrible cold flat and, after a frankly joyless breakfast of children's cereal, which, by this point, I am utterly sick to my back teeth of, bade a temporary goodbye to our apartment and all its resident ants and headed to our horsey pickup point: San Blas temple.

After a few (twenty) minutes wait, our driver, Marciel appeared from nowhere, like a little Peruvian goblin and ushered us into his car. He spoke no English, though insisted on speaking to us at length, anyway, so lots of smiling, nodding and saying “si” and just hoping ensued.

Marciel drove us up through the outskirts of town and, annoyingly, alongside the Saqsaywaman ruins, where he stopped, insisted we get out and take pictures from an infuriatingly better angle than we had enjoyed a couple of days ago, thereby making the incredibly gruelling uphill walk now entirely pointless on every conceivable level. Don't tell Sam, though, even though she knows and was also there.

After around twenty five minutes total drive time, we pulled up alongside the actual, for real ranch, with horses and men in hats and everything, and were quickly greeted by our incredibly lovely guide, whose name, unforgivably, I have totally forgotten- I'll call him Ruben, because I think it was probably something like that – and Robert, another punter, also from Britain, whom you could tell just by looking at, was definitely in Peru to do Ayahuasca, but was fairly nice, regardless.

After a brief bit of small-talk, which I hated, we were assigned our horses. I had, from nearly the exact moment of booking this particular tour, some month and a half prior, been insisting that my horse would be called Treacle, because for some reason, it seemed to annoy Sam and I found that incredibly funny. In actuality, my horse's name was Caramel, which I'm sure you'll agree is startlingly close to my original guess and indeed definitely close enough for me to continue referring to it as Treacle, throughout this post, which I will.

After only a single incredibly ungainly failed attempt to get on top of Treacle, before finally cracking it (meaning I managed to get into the saddle- I didn't punch the horse) I was up and on horseback and officially a cowboy. Yee haw. Neat. Wowzer.

I had never ridden a horse before this point, never really having had the cause, interest or availability to, but despite feeling constantly for the first half hour or so like I was definitely going to slip off my saddle to the side and be trampled under Treacle's magnificent, pounding hooves, it wasn't all that bad, at all. It was a bit like driving a living car, I suppose - one which could arbitrarily decide to go mental and kill you at any point. I concede that does actually sound quite bad, now I read it back, but it really wasn't.

After a while, I found my bearings and settled into clopping around like I was in a very, very slow version of Red Dead Redemption. No sooner had I begun imagining myself as a cowboy, clad in a poncho, shooting all the natives to bits with a very big gun, however, than we stopped, demounted and went for a bit of a wander around the nearby Temple of The Moon.

Neat.

The temple, despite not getting to go inside it – site of delicate historical significance my arse – was incredibly neat. It was created by the Incas, as a sort of partner to the nearby Temple of the Sun, only this one was used to worship...yeah, the Moon. Exactly. You're really good at this. Apparently, though, due to the Spaniards being undeniable bastards and smashing up, murdering or building over everything Incan they could find, some savvy natives decided to cover the entire temple in soil to hide it. I have no idea how they might have accomplished this, or if indeed it is even true, but Not-Rubem says it was, and honestly? I trust him more than you. What this meant, however, was that for many years, up until even the last six or so, a lot of the temple had remained undiscovered by modern eyes and indeed, was still, in part, in the process of being excavated. It also had a hole in its ceiling, where the moonlight would shine through during clear nights, illuminating an alter, where they performed ritual sacrifices and if that ain't the most HP Lovecraft shit, I ever heard.

Our brief, though interesting interlude now completed, I hopped back onto Treacle (first try) and we continued our sojourn. Now quite enjoying myself, even when Treacle arbitrarily broke out into a gallop for a while, terrifying me ever so slightly, we climbed up through the valley along winding paths and eventually reached a genuinely very impressive viewpoint. I'd describe it as breathtaking, but at that altitude, everything is, so it would be pointless to do so.

Still pretty alright, though...

Afterwards, we sidled back down the path, Ruben talking about all the different wildlife we had seen (including apparently an Andean Condor, which I didn't realise at the time are actually quite a rare find, but also, still just birds so basically a bit shit) and plant life we were passing, making me feel every inch the outdoorsman, despite how much this sentence implies the opposite.

Despite a couple of interludes, wherein Treacle unexpectedly galloped, or launched himself over tiny puddles in the most overly dramatic way possible, crushing my hands and genitals against the saddle in the process, I was now decidedly enjoying my time on horseback and had begun to feel so comfortable that when Ruben suggested that we gallop back to the ranch on the final strait of road, I eagerly(ish) agreed. Sam's horse, however, whose name neither of us can remember, but whom she dubbed “Li'l Asshole” was not so gallop-inclined and so, once back at the ranch, we did have to wait for some time, while Sam and Li'l Asshole trotted along at entirely its own pace, which was close to that of molasses. I befriended that ranch's cat in the meantime, however, so didn't mind in the slightest. In fact, I only wish they could have taken longer.

We lunched at the ranch, “enjoying” a little packet of salted crackers, a melted chocolate cake bar and a bottle of water (and also, the ranch's cat, Arthur, now sitting on my knee, purring loudly like a big idiot) and the smalltalk began, once more.

Robert told us that his plans for the rest of his time in Peru were to attend a three week ayahuasca retreat (I fucking knew it). I mean, again, he was a nice guy, but for fucks sake, Robert. Grow up.

Conversation then turned to Machu Piccu. Robert asked us if we had been; we told him we had not. He asked when we planned to go and we told him that we had no plans to do so. We had been wavering on going, since initially booking the trip. Wonders of the world are neat and all, but when viewing them with with literally thousands of other people at the same time, for about an hour and at a cost of several hundreds of pounds, it just didn't seem that worth it and by the time we had reached the point of saying “fuck it, lets just spend the money and do it”, all of the limited entrance tickets had sold out.

Ruben, however, chipped in to tell us that the travel agency for which he and his ranch worked would have some available tickets and he may be able to hook us up for tomorrow, should we still want to go. We told him we were definitely interested and he made a quick phone-call to check availability and prices. Four hundred and fifty dollars. We weren't that interested, fuck. We sadly declined Ruben's proposal and vowed to come back at some point in the future instead, perhaps to walk the Inca trail for like eleven days to get there, which apparently, even that you have to pay for. Walking. You have to pay to walk there. Get your shit together, Peru. Absurd.

A little dejected to not be going Piccu-side, we said our goodbyes to Ruben, Treacle and Li'l Asshole and clambered back into the taxi to be briskly driven back to San Blas temple. Once there, we also said goodbye to Robert, who at the point of writing this, is probably off his little tits on drug-soup, and headed to a cafe we had had our eye on since arriving, for a bit of lunch.

Once inside, I opted for half a basil, mozzarella and tomato panini (which turned out to be absolutely gigantic; I could not even fathom eating a full one) and a frankly monstrous slab of tres leches cake. The food was incredible and honestly, definitely the best thing I had eaten on this trip. All other food I had eaten thus far (including the chicken roulade, from the previous night, which at the time, was lovely, though in comparison was like chewing through a bag of soot) can eff off into the bin, where it clearly belongs.

Now feeling a little sleepy - we had been up since like 6am, had a fairly physically demanding day and now, as I say, were full to the brim with bread and cheese – we decided to head back to the flat, despite it only being around 2pm, to nap and otherwise relax for the rest of the day and indeed, to figure out what to do with our last remaining day in Cusco, tomorrow. Tentatively, our plans were to go and see some of the other, less amazing ruins that the city and surrounding are had to offer. Did we actually do that? Who knows! You'll have to read the next entry to find out! (We didn't. We're lazy and have spent all our money.)

Out of Sight, Out of Mind - Chapter 11

Watching the three Alteans try pizza for the first time was a sight to see. They were confused by the different toppings and types, especially with the added opinions off all of the Earthlings. Due to the large group of 12 people, they ordered 6 different pizzas with different combinations of toppings. By the time the group had revealed all of their weird combinations, the Alteans and Galran were skeptical. They tried Shiro and Keith’s first because of better judgment and kept the weirdest for last. That meant Pidge would be able to eat in peace for a while.

Allura ultimately liked just cheese, Krolia liked Shiro and Keith’s, Romelle liked Hunk’s Pineapple and Ham, and of course, Coran enjoyed Pidge and Matt’s. Their pizza was basically just a combination of all of the topping they could possibly get onto a pizza. Usually, the small pizza place only allowed about three toppings per pizza, but the Holt family got an exception because they were friends of the owners.

Pidge was aching to watch some Earth movies so the group decided they should just hang out all night, but they needed a few things first. They sent Lance, Hunk, Pidge, Keith, and Matt to the corner store a couple blocks down. Ultimately, they sent Keith into the store alone, and video called him so that they would be able to see. Pidge and Matt couldn’t go in because the store was owned by family friends, and Lance and Hunk couldn’t go in because they’d visited the store a few times when they visited Pidge back while they were still in high school. That left Keith. The red paladin walked aimlessly around the store for a couple minutes, allowing the group to make decisions about what they wanted to get. They had about 50 bucks, but Keith doubted they would use all of it. Most of the items in the store were only a dollar or two.

“Stop!” Lance shouted. Keith jumped back at the sudden noise. “Pick up those. The Bugles, they’re essential!” “Bugles? Out of all the Earth foods to miss, you miss Bugles?” “Uh, Yeah! They’re a classic. Plus I need to show y’all something.” “Okay…” Laughing, Keith grabs a package and keeps walking.

Every once in a while he stops and picks up a new item that the group suggested. Most of them were sweets but every few minutes he’ll be asked to pick up something weird like mini pepperoni and nacho cheese sauce. Hunk wanted smores materials and Matt wanted almost every sour candy in there. He also picked up a couple things that Shiro and Mr. and Mrs. Holt wanted. After almost an hour of walking around the small convenience store, he walked up to the register. He was carrying two full shopping baskets full of junk food and he probably looked crazy. Keith ended up using all 50 bucks and even having to call Lance in to lend him another eight bucks. He then proceeded to awkwardly carry eight bags of junk food and liters of soda out the door.

By the time they got back, the group of adults had already chosen three movies to vote from. They ended up watching Star Wars, ironically. Since they hadn’t been on Earth for quite some time, they decided to watch The Force Awakens and The Last Jedi. Keith, Pidge, Lance, and Hunk sat smushed together on the couch. Throughout the first movie, Keith quietly whispered questions between Lance and Pidge, about the series and who all the characters were. They were patient until he asked what 'the force' is. Pidge jumped up and pointed an accusatory finger at him. Shiro paused the movie and turned around to see the scene unfold.

“I can’t believe it,” they held the back of their hand to their forehead, sighing dramatically, “Keith of all people, my fellow nerd, hasn’t seen a single Star Wars movie, plus he doesn’t even know what the force is!” “I guess as a kid I never had anyone to watch it with, so I never really got into it.” Keith defended. “Oh my gosh, my poor Keith!” Lance whispered, putting a hand on Keith’s shoulder. “We must teach you!”

For the next thirty minutes, Hunk, Lance, Matt, and Pidge took it upon themselves to teach their fellow paladin all about Star Wars, its ships, and its theories. By the end, they prided themselves on getting Keith hooked into the story and characters, and they even got Shiro interested in the very, very in-depth theories. They unpaused the movie and continued watching.

Halfway into The Last Jedi, Lance hopped up and ran to the kitchen. He came back hauling all the bags of food they had gotten, and proceeded to pass them out. He passed Shiro his candied pineapple and YooHoo and Matt his Pringles and huge jar of pickles. Then he passes the liters of soda and bags of pre-popped popcorn over to Colleen and Sam and then continued to pass out the rest to his friends sitting on the couch. He handed Keith a bottle of soy milk and a gigantic bag of hot fries, Hunk his Funyuns and dark chocolate, and Pidge their sour patch kids and peanut butter cookies. Then he plopped himself in between Keith and Hunk and pulled out his Bugles and packages of Oreos. The five had also picked up a couple basic things like gummy worms, Hershey’s chocolate, Doritos, etc so that the non-earthlings could try all of the “amazing cuisine” that they had here on Earth. They watched the movie and passed their snacks around so that the Alteans and Galran would get the full experience.

After the movie ended, Pidge jumped up and popped Mamma Mia into the DVD player. Mr. and Mrs. Holt had already retired to their room, and Allura, Romelle, Krolia, and Coran had gone to sleep in the guest room. Meanwhile, Matt had grabbed a couple of sleeping bags for them to sleep on. Most of them were either asleep or about to be, but when the yellow and blue paladins heard ‘I have a Dream’ playing, they jumped up and immediately started to sing along. Although the opening song only lasted about a minute, the three had sung and laughed enough to wake Keith and Matt. The two newly awake people, looked blearily around the room to see the group of teens dancing around the room.

“Uh, what’s going on?” Keith asked, still half asleep. “Um, We’re only watching one of the best movies ever made!” Lance answered, jumping on the couch next to where Keith was sitting. “K’mon Keith! Dance with us!”

Lance pulls Keith to his feet and drags him to the center of the living room where the other two were dancing. Instead of dancing like the rest of them, Keith awkwardly stands there until he decides he would rather go raid the kitchen for a late night snack.

“Keith! Grab me more pickles!” Matt shouts to the red paladin. “I’m not doing that! I still remember when we were younger and Adam, Shiro and I had to take you to the hospital for drinking too much pickle juice.” “What!?”Pidge gasps and pauses their jumping to turn around. “I never knew that! I mean, I knew Matt had a problem, but not that big of a problem!” “Yeah,” The suddenly hear Shiro say from his positing sleeping on the ground, “That was not a fun trip to the hospital. I was the one that had to explain to the nurse what was wrong with you.” “Haha, sorry Shiro!” Matt said before flopping back down onto his sleeping bag.

Keith came back with a glass of regular milk and some Oreos, and sat next to Matt, watching the three teens dance around. He dipped his Oreos in the milk, and when he ran out of cookies to eat, he chugged the glass.

“Keith, you’re gonna regret that” Shiro sang from his own sleeping bag. “Whatever, I’ll deal with the problem in the morning” “What’s the problem,” Lance wheezed, sitting next to Shiro. He had just finished belting out a song with Hunk and Pidge and overheard the conversation. “Keith, here,” Shiro motioned to the red paladin, “Is lactose intolerant, but refuses to admit it.” “Because I’m not!” Keith huffs. Sure, milk maybe made his stomach hurt, but that didn’t mean he was lactose intolerant. That would mean he had a weakness… And Keith did NOT have weaknesses. And ever since we found out he’s part Galran, I’ve been trying to convince him that’s the reason.” Shiro said. “Awwweee, Is Keith upset that he can’t have milk because he’s part space kitty!?” Lance said, ruffling Keith’s hair. “Am not!” Keith growled, swatting Lance’s hand away, “Now can we please stop talking about my disagreement with milk!” “Sure, sure,” Lance waved his hand, changing the subject. “So did y’all wanna see why I wanted the Bugles.” “Sure.” Everyone said in unison, Hunk being the only one who was actually excited.

Lance pulled out the bag of Bugles and grabbed a blanket that was draped across the back of the couch. He adorned the blanket over his head and arranged the Bugles over his fingertips. “It is I, Haggar, the space-witch! I took the beautiful man's arm and then made a clone of him! I've tortured 6 teens for years and given then all anxiety and PTSD. I also have an Amazing husband and son who have killed trillions of people! Now give me all the quintessence!” He said in his best imitation of Haggar. The others burst into laughter, as a proud Lance watched his friends. It had been so long since any of them had joked around about their situation, that by the time they were done laughing, all of their faces were beet red. “You’re right Lance,” Keith said slowly, trying to regulate his breathing, “the Bugles were essential.” Now it was Lance’s turn to become beet red. He laughed and said, “I told you, so!”

--- --- ---

One musical later, the group of friends gathered on Pidge’s living room floor. They laid on old sleeping bags, talking in the dark. Pidge brought out their old star projector, and they set it up so it was facing the ceiling. They talked about what they were excited about, and what they would do after the war was over. They didn’t want to get too deep, so they only talked about the places they would go or the people they would see.

“What if we get to meet like... Oprah and Ellen... or like The Obamas!” Pidge suddenly said, throwing their hands up into the air. “Oh, I guess I never thought about that,” Shiro said, in deep thought. “Yeah, we’re gonna be so famous!” Lance whispered. He didn’t know how he would feel about all of the attention, but maybe he could finally be able to buy his mother the nice beach house she always wanted, or buy his brothers and sisters new stuff so that they wouldn’t steal his. “Haha, but we still have to finish this war, so stay alive!” Matt joked, grimly. “Wow, way to kill the mood, Matt,” the green paladin said, as they aimlessly punched at their brother’s arm. “Ok, well now that I’m thinking about the possibility of death, I’m ecstatic, so I’m gonna go to sleep now so that I can start dreaming about it!” the red paladin said in a monotone voice, turning on his side. “Yeah, same.” Shiro laughed, pulling the covers over himself. “Yeah, I think Hunk’s been asleep for a few minutes so I will, too.” Lance followed. “Please don’t wake me until at least 10,” Pidge grumbled as they flopped onto their stomach.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

LIGHTHOUSE

CHAPTER 1

RAUL'S POV

I woke up in the morning, i groaned knowing that it was 5 am in the morning too early for me to wake up, but i have to work (fishing) or my family wouldn't have anything to eat, i stand up from small sized my bed, stretching out my limbs making a weird noise while doing that, after that i went to e morning routine, i gathered all of my personal belongings before i went outside.

I was finally outside the breeze of the wind made every single hair on my skin stand up, carried moisture of the sea which caresses my body. It seemed so quiet and tranquil I feel these waters are in deep sleep as my footprints were marked on the sand. Lazily behind the mountains, the sun is waking up looming like a bright red balloon is slowly rising, then the scenery momentarily becomes as vivid as its original life. Everything suddenly becomes so brilliant in different angles as sparkling diamonds. All created a feeling of cheery and pleasant.

Flocks of seagulls hovering in the clear welcome sky as if they were looking for something. On the shore, i saw an old couple "hand-in-hand" are talking to each other and enjoying the atmosphere in this peaceful place. The sounds of singing birds, undulating waves, people chatting all blend together to bring a new rhythm to life. The landscape is so mysterious, shimmering and magical. A surreal mix of fact and fantasy. The sunrise over the sea forever imprinted in my heart.

I took all of the things i need, the fishing rod and an extra in case, net, buckets, baits and more fishing tools, i putted all of my things inside my little wodden boat, i should start sailing now before the sun rises. The sea is a very dangerous place when riled by a storm, even a mild one, so i always made sure the day would be at least close to perfect before i ventured out into the blue darkness of the open sea.

I had seen the destruction careless boaters could get themselves into, and i did my best to avoid it. it's saturday though, looked as if it were a perfect offshore fishing day. All-in-all, the long awaited perfect fishing day had come, at least in my mind it had. In the meantime, i backed the boat into the salty murky water and I got the boat ready for my day long journey. I got my heart set on my favorite fishing spot which was about twenty-five miles.

I headed out on the gently, quiet, rolling my little cute boat. So im going to tell a little bit about my self, i'm from a fishing family i'm 16 years old, i have 1 brother that is 12 and 1 little sister is 6, we have my dad supporting us, selling every fish i get him in the market, my mom died after she giving birth on my little sister, i was in a bad place back then but lucky i have my dad to support us no matter what and then we move on we've been happy but i missed mom so much. We live in an small island called Denia we're not that rich but father always serve us delicious meals everyday. Finally, after an hour long haul, and fifteen fishing minutes later, i ran into my first sign of action.

"Fish on starboard!!" i screamed, so i wouldn't feel alone. I turn off the engine, then Instinctly, I had quickly grabbed the poles as the line screamed off and the tips bent almost to the water. Soon enough, i had fish on, very large fish from the feel.  About half an hour of sweat and a good workout, i finally got the fish to give up their fight for life. That was the first time o had ever encountered a double hook-up, which happens when two fish of a considerable size are hooked simultaneously, and it happened in less than fifteen minutes. I ended up fishing for about four more hours and landed an incredible number of large fish, good thing that it's cloudy today because im going to burn my skin if it's not. I filled 2 buckets already, i wanted more because more fish more money right?. I scanned the surface for more action, and found nothing of interest but what looked like a storm cloud moving towards my direction at an unknown velocity about fifteen miles north, so i decided to call it a day.

"stupid storm" I sighed in defeat and start heading towards shore.

As i sail back i stopped nearby to see my favorite view of all time, in a distance there was a gigantic old (but not too old) lighthouse it was there since i started sailing, It was a tall tower of white with a single black band near the top and narrow windows. It was built on a great rock made all the more coarse by the barnacles that clung to it's weathered surface. There was something in that place and i don't know why, but my heart always beat faster when i look at that old lighthouse.

One day i'm going to go to check it out.

CHRISTINE POV

I had always thought lighthouses should be red and white striped. Now of course she realized that she'd only ever seen them in children's books before. This one was black and white. It was built on a great rock making it a undestrcutable one, i'm kidding this light house is old. The smooth black cylinder that rose from the rock and sand was punctuated with small white framed windows on the path of what could only be an internal spiral staircase. At the top was a huge light encased in a white frame and around the edge was a white fenced external walkway. She passed through the double doors into the dim of the lighthouse and peered down.

I saw it again that little boat and a boy who was sailing three times every week, it's weird right? Like i'm a creepy stalker, but i can't stop, i come here everyday to see if that little boat is sailing but i notice he only sail at monday, thursday and saturday, i made a note to myself to wake up early when those days come up, i even brought a binoculars to myself so i could see him, but i can't his large brown hat was blocking his face won't let me see through, I sighed to myself and said

"One day"

To be continued....

we'll fashion ourselves a better fit

because i project harder than an imax, have some nurseydex relationship talks. big thanks to @vicioushyperbolizer​ for suggesting Shane Koyczan when i was searching for a poem to use in this. (also on ao3)

Dex has never really been one for talking about his emotions, certainly not as plainly and bluntly as he and Nursey have been over the last few months, but he can’t really argue with the fact that they haven’t had the big blowout fight that he’d been worried would come when they first started dating. Between the relationship talks and the therapist he started seeing after he had an embarrassingly public meltdown in front of the team, Dex is pretty sure he’s talked about his emotions more in the last five months than in his entire previous life. He can’t argue with the results, and it has gotten a bit easier with time, but— It’s still really fucking awkward. Which is why he’s been pacing his and Nursey’s room for the last twenty minutes, waiting for Nursey to get back from class. Because as his therapist has pointed out, he’s brought the subject up in every session for the last month and a half, and since Nursey’s the only one who can really settle the issue, at some point this conversation needs to actually happen.

Dex is dragged out of his worrying by what sounds like a buffalo charging up the staircase, and he can’t help but laugh a little. The Haus is old and creaky as hell, but he’s pretty sure that Nursey and Holster are the only ones who’ve ever made that much noise going up and down the stairs. Dex tries to smooth his hair down from where he’s been running his fingers through it (and pulling on it, which is a bad habit that he can’t seem to break). He’s still trying to get control of whatever expression his face is making when the door opens. Nursey drops his backpack next to the door and turns to grin at Dex, pulling him into a quick kiss and what would be a quick hug, except that Dex tightens his arms around him and buries his face against the side of Nursey’s neck. Nursey’s hugs feel so safe, and he always smells warm, and the scared animal part of Dex’s brain is screaming that he’s going to lose this. He allows himself to cling, just for a moment. “Hey, babe, everything alright?” One of Nursey’s hands comes up to cup the back of his neck, and Dex takes a deep breath before straightening up and meeting Nursey’s eyes. “I wanted to talk about something, if that’s okay.” It’s what they’ve settled on to start serious conversations, because it doesn’t help anything to try to discuss something important when one or both of them is exhausted or upset. Dex sometimes hates using scripts and key phrases like this, but it works, and he resents the process a lot less than he appreciates the results. “Yeah, of course,” Nursey says, and Dex has to look away. He goes to sit on the edge of the bottom bunk—technically Nursey’s, but they sleep crammed together in it more nights than not these days—as Nursey drags the desk chair over to face him. Words are always hard for Dex, especially when it’s something he’s feeling vulnerable about, but with Nursey looking at him, open and patient and slightly concerned, they feel almost impossible. “I— Y-you— We—” Dex growls in frustration, now is not the time for his stutter to make an appearance, but Nursey just leans over to grab the fidget cube off the edge of the desk and hands it to him. Dex isn’t sure who it originally belonged to, but it’s shared property now, and he always talks better if he has something else to focus on. He flips it around in his hands a couple of times before he settles on rapidly flicking the switch back and forth, waiting for his breathing to calm. “You knew I was ace before we started dating,” Dex says, trying to lateral his way to the point. “We talked about it. We talked about it a lot.” He glances up at Nursey, who nods encouragingly. “I know you’ve said you’re okay with us not having sex, and I know you’re not lying about it, but I keep being afraid that at some point you’re going to… I don’t know, get fed up and decide I’m not worth it.” Nursey makes a concerned sound and hooks a foot behind Dex’s ankle. “Have you talked to Dr. Ramos about it? I know you said you guys were working on intrusive thoughts.” “Yeah,” he glances up again and catches Nursey’s eyes for a moment before looking away, talking to the wastepaper basket next to the desk. “At like our last four sessions, but none of the counter thoughts I’ve come up with have really been working. We pretty much decided that the best plan was for me to talk to you about it directly, so…” Dex makes a vague, expansive gesture. Nursey takes Dex’s hand, the one that isn’t holding the cube, and squeezes it gently before letting go, shifting his weight in the chair, and saying, “Do you know why you’re worried about it? Is there anything I’ve been doing to set it off?” “I don’t know. I don’t think so?” Dex says, running his fingers through his hair, pulling at it a little, trying to focus. “It’s just, people talk about sex like it’s the most important fucking thing in the world, you know? And I should be able to just trust you when you say it’s not—I want to!—but I hear a girl in my stats class say she’s thinking about dumping her boyfriend because the sex is just that bad or I watch people at kegsters who spend the entire night looking for someone to hook up with and I just—” Dex runs a hand through his hair again, flipping the cube around and rapidly clicking one of the buttons, “I guess the problem is that the only context I have is what other people say, and I’ve got you saying you’re fine if we don’t ever have sex against literally every other time I’ve heard someone talk about it.” Nursey’s quiet for a moment, thinking, and Dex wishes he had something more destructive to do with his hands, like shredding a paper cup. “When I asked you out,” Nursey says, after a small eternity of seconds, “you told me that I needed to be absolutely sure, because you didn’t want to start something if a lack of sex was going to end it. "And I thought about it, Will. I thought about us a year from now, looking for jobs and trying to figure out where we’ll live, apartment hunting together. I thought about us five years from now, with jobs and a life and probably like twelve gigantic dogs because you’re some kind of monster,” Dex huffs, grinning. The dog debate is longstanding and constantly mutating into more and more ridiculous permutations of itself. “I thought about ten years from now and maybe adopting a couple of kids, being dads,” Nursey’s voice has gone soft, and he knocks his knee against Dex’s. “I thought about all of that future, and I want that, I want it with you. Part of being with you is not having sex, and I want that too.” “Derek,” Dex’s voice comes out as a croak, and he has to swallow hard, blinking against the tears he can feel gathering. Maybe three months is too short a time for the amount of love that’s rioting in his chest right now, but Nursey’s looking at him with soft eyes and a soft smile, and Dex can’t help but reach out and cup his cheek, gently pull him in for a kiss, press their foreheads together and try to breathe through the storm of emotions. “I want that. I want all of that so much,” he says hoarsely, pulling back slowly and trying to wipe his eyes surreptitiously. He hates how easily he cries, but Nursey’s never made fun of him for it, never even brought it up. “I just don’t know how to get my brain to stop telling me that it’s something I can’t have. I feel like… like you’re giving something up for me, but I haven’t given anything up for you. I feel selfish.” “Babe,” Nursey says, but Dex can’t drag is gaze up from where he’s staring at his own hands, “relationships aren’t built from a template that you add or subtract from. I never gave anything up to be with you. Us, what we have, we built that from scratch.” Dex keeps staring at his fingers like he hopes they’ll somehow provide the answer to why what Nursey’s saying isn’t helping. It feels like chasing a nasty sliver with a pair of tweezers, every time he thinks he’s got it, it slips out of his grasp and burrows deeper. “I know, I know that,” Dex says. “I’m not trying to be stubborn, but it still feels wrong. It feels like… I don’t know.” They sit in silence for a long time. It’s probably minutes, but it feels like years as Dex tries to let his mind calm, as if the right answer will settle out like sediment. “I think,” he says eventually, “it’s… people talk about sex like it’s food. All the words around it like ‘hunger’ and 'appetite’ and 'sated’. And all the metaphors around it too, the imagery and stuff.” Dex takes a deep breath as the words for the feeling that’s been itching under his skin for weeks finally, finally take shape. He looks up and meets Nursey’s eyes. “It makes me worry that I’m starving you.” Nursey looks startled for a moment, then frowns thoughtfully. “You’re not starving me,” he says, “and I’m not starving myself, either, so don’t start.” Dex hadn’t been planning to, but the thought had occurred. They sit in silence for another handful of heartbeats before Nursey speaks up again. “It’s like,” he says slowly, “if it were important to me, and I asked you to, would you stop eating pork?”

Dex feels all the air punch out of his lungs like he just got checked into the boards as that sliver of doubt is finally, finally pulled out from under his skin. “Yeah,” he says, breathless, “yeah, I would. I— Yeah.” Nursey’s grinning at him like the insufferable asshole he is, and Dex’s hands are shaking just a little with the force of his relief because he suddenly, finally feels like he understands, and abruptly Nursey is entirely too far away. Dex drops the cube as he reaches out and hauls Nursey onto the bed with him. It takes a little maneuvering, but soon enough they’re curled together, facing each other. Dex might be crying, just a little, but Nursey has one hand in his hair and the other around his waist and Dex is hugging him so close that there’s no space between them and it’s good. It’s so, so good. They end up making out on the bed for a while, until Dex’s emotional high settles a bit and they slowly transition to cuddling. Eventually, Nursey drags out his laptop and sets it on their laps. They’ve recently started watching Legend of Korra together, and Nursey’s just cued up the next episode when a thought occurs to Dex. “I think I want to do something like that for you, though,” he says, and Nursey shoots him a look that’s equal parts confusion and concern. “Not— Not as a trade or because I think I owe you or anything, I just think it would be helpful to have something really solid to use as a counter for intrusive thoughts.” “I can see that,” Nursey says, looking thoughtful. He closes the laptop and sets it aside, turning to face Dex more fully. “It’s not like I actually want you to change your diet or anything, though.” “No, I know,” Dex says, taking Nursey’s hand and lacing their fingers together, “and it doesn’t need to be particularly big. Just, you know, something I wouldn’t necessarily do for myself, but that I can do for you.” Nursey nods, and they sit quietly for a moment, this silence so much lighter than the ones previous. Slowly, a smile steals over Nursey’s face. It’s Dex’s favorite, quietly happy with nothing affected about it. He’s seen it a lot since they got together. “I think I have an idea,” Nursey says, standing and walking over to their bookshelf, overloaded and sagging because it’s definitely too small to hold everything that’s been crammed onto it. He pulls out a small book and returns to the bed, handing it to Dex. “Visiting Hours,” Dex reads aloud. The cover is a little worn, and as Dex flips through a few pages, he smiles at Nursey’s handwriting in the margins. “I’ve had it since I was in middle school,” Nursey says, “there’s some really good stuff in here.” “Poetry,” Dex says, letting it fall open to a random page and running his fingertips down a column of text, “I suppose I should’ve guessed.” Nursey flicks his ear, but he’s still smiling. “Maybe you could read one or two a week, give us something new to talk about.“ Dex closes the book again, weighing it between his hands. "I think this is perfect,” he says, then thrusts the book back at Nursey and adds, “read one to me.” “Dick,” Nursey snorts, grabbing Dex around the neck and hauling him in for a noogie. He’s grinning, though, and by the time Dex squirms free (with the help of an elbow digging into Nursey’s ribs) they’re both laughing. Nursey leans over and picks up the book from where it got knocked to the floor, and as they settle back in together, Nursey flips through the pages, seemingly searching for a particular poem. “Alright,” he says, wrapping an arm around Dex’s shoulders. Dex snuggles into his side and rests his head against Nursey’s chest. “I think you’ll like this one. ”During visiting hours I had to read to sick people the kind of people who had no one it was my punishment catholic school community service for farting on a nun’s muffin“ Dex laughs, and Nursey grins down at him before continuing to read. They’re good. They’re so, so good.

for the slow burn/fake date/enemies to lovers meme: merlin, agent tequila, lancelot (this was literally a case of "after merlin, name characters at random" for you, so hopefully these work!:) )

I legit just started cackling, I have to do this one now. (It also got away from me, a thousand pardons.)

Slow Burn, Fake Date, or Enemies to Lovers?

Slow Burn -- Merlin:

I say slow burn because it takes forever for him to warm up to you. Merlin keeps a lot of himself locked away, using his middle name (Hamish) because he doesn't want to let people in too far. He's so busy, all the time, it's hard to get him away from his work at the tailors, but when you do, he's quietly appreciative of the time off. He never stays the night. Brushes of your hand, a brief touch of his lips to your cheek once (and the contact is electric, you don't know how he can stand it), but he never stays, never goes beyond that.

Even if it's just drinks, you always seem to have a good time, but there's a hesitation there, almost like he wants to move a step further but something makes him hesitate.

(You think it's the tall, well-dressed man you see sometimes at the tailors. You can feel his eyes boring into you, but he's always carefully polite to you when you inquire as to whether Hamish is in or not.)

And then...for a long time, he disappears. You don't know if he's all right, or if it's something you did, or if he just...doesn't want to talk about it. So you put it out of your mind. You go on with your life. It's not like you were attached, right?

You try to tell yourself that, at least.

One rainy night, however, he shows up on your doorstep -- in a wheelchair. He explains he's had an accident. He's afraid you didn't want to see him, and so he's surprised when you just throw your arms around him and exclaim that he's all right. He genuinely thought that ghosting you would make you angry, and while you were, at the time, knowing he was hurt and that he was recovering means that the explanation was given. No more need for anger between you.

You go out for dinner that night, and this time, when you ask him to stay...he does.

Fake Date -- Lancelot (James Spencer):

Your friend James is a fucking hoot, okay. He dresses so nicely but in these bizarre patterns -- that tweed, holy CHRIST, how does he manage to make that work with a bowtie...

ANYWAY. James is a treat to have around. He's literally sunshine personified. He's always got a joke, always has a fun story, and half of it is so wild. He likes good liquor and he likes good company, and he's never short of either, especially when he goes carousing with you and your friends. When there's shenanigans you can usually find James in the middle of it with that shit-eating grin that's so wide you can slap it off his face.

One day, he tells you that he needs a date for a thing, and it's nothing serious, but can you please come with him? He's making the puppy face at you, you can't say no to that shit. So you end up roped into a friend-excursion with James, and he's just tossed money at you to get something nice because apparently this is a formal gala. So you dress as nicely as you can, and when you step out so that James can usher you into the taxi, he just...grins. Not that shitty 'I did a dumb thing' grin, but a softer, more fond grin.

One that might make your stomach flip. Because James is a hoot, but he's also charming. More than you care to admit right at this second, on a date-that-is-definitely-not-a-date.

He's also wearing a fitted tux, and this is no longer a funny 'just friends thing' you think as sirens klaxon in your head.

He compliments you while you're riding in the taxi -- and is this his private driver? I mean, James spends lots of money, but it's never occurred to you that he might be loaded this way. He never makes a big deal out of it, and he's even paid a couple loans off for mutual friends like it's nothing. He's a good guy.

And somehow pulls the night off like a freaking Disney prince. Right there on your arm, fetching you both drinks, taking you around the dance floor, he's a social butterfly -- and you're the flower he's revolving around. It makes your heart thump painfully in your chest when you remember it's just a thing. Not real.

He disappears, briefly, and you're left fighting off a whole host of new feelings you did not want to catch but got dumped on you like a glass of cold water. So you head out onto the balcony of this place to clear your head.

It doesn't help, because he's come looking for you. And now you're out on the balcony, with James, by yourself.

As you open your mouth to tell him that maybe it's time you went home, he cocks his head, like a dog listening for something, and suddenly--

--he has you pressed against the railing, his mouth warm on yours as he kisses you like he's breathing air after drowning. He's got a hand on the small of your back and you're thankful for it because good god you think your knees might have wobbled.

His grin is infectious as he whispers that it might be time to get out of here, and you can only hang on to his arm for dear life as he guides you right back to his cab, not even bothered with anything but murmuring soft things against your temple.

You sleep through the first of the news, the announcement that a critical piece of evidence in the Prime Minister's corrupt cabinetry has been discovered is just white noise as you burrow closer into James's neck. It's too early for anything but the soft sound of his breathing against your ear, and you wouldn't connect the dots anyway.

Enemies to Lovers -- Tequila: 

Oh my god, Lee Stetson is infuriating. He's a party boy that regularly shows up to the club, who always has his pick of whoever he wants to dance with, and who always somehow starts a fight.

He also happens to be the best trick rider in the tri-county area -- next to you, that is. He's a one-note fluke, though, because he always seems to spend his practice time drinking and partying. He never shows up for practice, and only shows when he feels like it for competitions.

He's managed to beat you every time he's shown, though. And it's always with that same...smug-assed grin on his face. Doesn't help that he has that sweet sponsorship from Statesman, either. They fund everything he does, and don't seem to care that he's a wild child. No one's ever tried to rein him in.

So, you practice.

You train until it feels like you're sweating blood, your bones aching like lead when you finally finish your days, your horse just as tired as you are. But you're GOOD. You can feel the crowds already cheering as you lead the animal back into the stable for a well deserved rub-down and treats.

You're cleaning him up, getting rid of the sweat, dirt and grime, and you hear a whicker from the stall over. You know the horse, of course. Stetson's is big for a show horse, has to be to counteract the guy's heavy frame. He lips at your hair, and you stroke his neck, only to see him fidgeting.

It's like Stetson hasn't ridden him in weeks, and he's all cooped up. Luckily, the hands keep all rider gear here, so you do what's best for the animal -- you take him out and through his paces.

Working with animals has always been your passion, and you can feel how grateful the horse is to be out and stretching his legs. He's a beautiful animal, and you know Stetson's routine by heart (because reading up on the competition is just prudent). You're halfway through it, one foot hooked in the stirrup as you hang with your head dangerously close to hooves that are twice as big as your skull. The horse is moving with complete confidence, guided with a steady hand.

That is, until you hear a loud 'What the FUCK' from the bleachers.

Startled, you drop from the horse's back as he bucks, shying away from you as you roll to avoid being trampled. There's Stetson, stomping down into the packed dirt of the arena, looking like he's about to breathe fire.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demands, and you can smell the whiskey on his breath. Instead of caring for the animal, he's been out drinking. It makes your blood boil.

It's the last straw, and you snap. You haul off and punch him in his damn jaw.

Or, you try to, but it only hurts your hand. Dude's as solid as a rock because of course he is. You throw another punch, but he catches that one easily, herding you right against the wall of the arena. You realize then...just how big this dude is, and he's in your face, demanding to know what you're doing with his horse.

And you snap that the horse was fidgety, and you were giving him a chance to stretch.

"By doing my routine? You could have just run him on a lead."

"He's a show horse, you gigantic cornpone jackass, he's trained to want to do the routine, so making it a form of play helps enrich him."

"But why?"

"Because you fucking won't!" And somehow all the bile boils over, and you gesture angrily at the horse, who's placidly waiting now that his reins have dropped to the dirt. "He needs exercise, he's high energy. If you won't do it, at least let someone who gives a damn. I don't even give a fuck about the championship if you decide to ride, just take care of the animal!"

He stops, blinking dumbly at you, his eyes like warm honey and you tear your gaze away. Huddling in on yourself, you shake your head.

"Talented as you are, you'd think it would matter more to you," you mumble. "But all you seem to care about is your next party."

"Hey," he murmurs, putting a hand on your shoulder. You try to shrug him off but he's already turned you to face him. "It means that much to you, ride him. I just thought you were tryin--"

"I was," you say, carefully avoiding his gaze. "But with my own horse. I do it legal or I don't do it at all."

"Well, that's no fun," he says, and you can swear he's smirking now. The flush that runs up your neck must be hot and dark red, but he squeezes your shoulder. "I appreciate the favor."

"Well, I'd appreciate the Statesman sponsorship more," you say, but you've relaxed against his hand, as much as you hate to admit it. "You don't seem to care...about anything."

"I don't," he admits, dropping his hand and giving a shrug. "But you do, and I think that's kinda nice."

"You should practice more," you say, and reach over and pat his gut. "All that tequila's giving you a belly."

You've already danced out of reach by the time he realizes you've done it, and somehow, that's when the friendly part of rivalry kicks in.

The next day, at four am when you roll in, he's right there in the arena, practicing his routine. He's there the next day, and the next. He's become a fixture, and then...you have an actual rival. It feels good, like there's a spark back in competing again, and you have no problem critiquiing him loudly from the bleachers, because he heckles you all the same.

Until one day, you slip. Your stirrups are slick from the oil you use to keep the saddle pliant, and your foot misses the grab, and you tumble face-first into the dirt.

Stupid, you think, wincing as you cough dirt as best you can with the wind knocked out of you. What you don't expect is the pair of work-roughened hands picking you up and helping you sit.

He looks...worried. Like he was afraid you'd broken something, but you just shrug and dust off your front. Nothing hurt, just your pride, you assure him.

He nods. Good. That's good.

Your teeth clack together, hard, when he kisses you. That's...new. New and not really unwelcome, though clumsy. The next thing you know, you've got a hand wound in his sheepskin coat and his hat is in the dirt but you're clinging to each other like it's the first time you've ever been kissed.

He pulls back, grinning like a loon at you, and you dazedly wonder why you hated him in the first place. He worked hard to change his bad habits. He's out here now, working on his routine. He hasn't been seen on the party scene in weeks.

You still take first, but somehow, the guy on the pedestal, clutching the second place ribbon in one hand and your hand in the other, lifting it high above your heads, he's your biggest fan.

███▒░  ► "BOOGIE ON AND ON" BEENZINO

give it up for: park chanyeol ! location: yeouido flower festival date: april 09, 2017

the last day of the festival approaches, and it comes not a second too soon. he’s been anticipating this day since going on stage the first time, and for more reasons than just his own performance alone.

just as on the previous days he’s visited, the cherry blossoms are a vibrant pink and white contrast against the cool blues of the sky and it puts him in an indescribable mood that’s a strange mixture of relaxation, excitement, and refreshment. he can’t really explain it to anyone who would ask other than “it’s the feeling of spring!”

on the first day of the festival, he’d waited patiently on stage right with ian and minseok for their turn to go on stage, oddly quite for a trio of such rowdy and talkative men. but today is different in not only day, but occasion. because for the first time he’s able to watch his best friend get on stage and perform, and what kind of person would he be to miss the opportunity to potentially embarrass her by being loud and obnoxious? (jennie is never embarrassed of him, anyway. it’s one of the reasons he likes her so much.)

he takes his rightful place at front and center, a fan board that any fangirl would be jealous of, complete with black foam board and bright letters and led lights that are hard to see blinking in the daylight but are expertly placed anyway. the only thing louder than the board he’s waving around is his voice yelling in the same way male fans do when they do fan chants for girl groups. he’s embarrassing, he’s sure, but he doesn’t mean to be. he simply wants to support her as she takes to the stage for the first time. he wants her to know that no matter what, he’s got her back, and will be there to support her every move toward becoming the star he knows she’ll become.

also, he does kind of want to embarrass her.

there’s a little bit of regret when, at the end of their performance, his voice is hoarse, but it all fades away when he bum rushes her as she comes off stage, sweeping her up in a gigantic spinning hug before promptly placing her back down on the ground with a pat to the top of her head. “you did good,” he says with a wide, proud grin. he then pulls out a sticker pad and places several along the line of her shoulder, variations of said stickers including “well done!” and “excellent!”

“i’m proud of you, jen,” he says, goofy grin still on his face but sincerity in his voice as he cups her face in both hands, squishing her cheeks between his palms. “now it’s my turn!”

with another grin and pat to the top of her head, he rushes to the stage as his name is called, hauling his homemade prop along with him: a hollow, fake dj’s booth, covered in sparkling glitter.

once he’s taken his rightful spot at center stage, he drops his head, waiting for the music to start. once it does, he begins bobbing his head, makes motions as if he were actually controlling the music with his fake dj’s booth. 

난 괜찮아, 내일 아침에 소파 위에 시체가 되어 이름 모르는 너와 어색한 사이가 되어도. i don't care at all let's smoke, drink, boogie on and on boogie on and on (x8)

after the intro, he departs from his prop, leaving it behind in favor of gallivanting across the stage as the lyrics to the song leave his lips in a rhythic pattern that’s a melody all its own. the distinct, deep timbre of his voice is a perfect accent for the backing track. unlike most of the songs he’s seen performed at the festival, it has nothing to do with falling in love or flowers or anything of the like, but just letting go and having fun, a concept he feels fits perfectly with the weather and the season. as carefree as his surroundings make him, it seeps into his performance, body swaying to the music as he raps, making eye contact with anyone who gives him a glance.

오늘은 생각도, 긴 말도 필요하지 않아. 풀어, 긴장 좀 잃어가는 시간이 너무 아까워 꽉 매, 너의 신발끈 지각생, 엎드려 뻗쳐 너에게 줄 성적은 없어 여선생들은 열정이 넘치는 날 가르치느라 엎드려줬어 입김이 서린 잔을 건넨 뒤 괜히 물어봐, 지금이 몇 신지 그 다음엔 "why don't you and your friends get with me and my friends? 일행이 몇 명이니?" let's boogie on and on 내일 우리가 서로 기억 못해도 지금 이 무르익은 분위기는 멈추지 말고 가만히 내비둬, 고대로

난 괜찮아, 내일 아침에 소파 위에 시체가 되어 이름 모르는 너와 어색한 사이가 되어도. i don't care at all let's smoke, drink, boogie on and on boogie on and on (x8)

after the second hook, he goes out toward the end of the stage, interacting with anyone who’s close enough---passionately rapping the lyrics at a woman who seemed to be in her mid-thirties, making faces and hand motions with a young kid that reminded him of his brothers back home, slapping palms with anyone whose hands were stretched out enough for him to reach. sure, chanyeol isn’t a celebrity by any means, but it doesn’t stop him from pretending like he is, projecting his future ambitions in his performance. just as the song suggests, he’s just letting go and enjoying himself.

내일 걱정은 뒤에 해 일단 이 느낌을 이해해 언제 또 올지 모르는 놀 기회에 초집중을 해. Girl, swing that ass 몇 번의 아이 컨택트 I saw you, you saw me. 그럼 내가 먼저 말 걸게 난 너를 알고 싶어 지금 우리 둘 주위를 둘러봐 왕따들은 바쁘게 눈이 굴러가 걔네들은 죽어도 우리 둘을 못 봐 지금이야 지금 내 목에 팔을 둘러봐 너만 괜찮다면 너의 허리에 내 손을 올릴게. 넌 어때?

난 괜찮아, 내일 아침에 소파 위에 시체가 되어 이름 모르는 너와 어색한 사이가 되어도. i don't care at all let's smoke, drink, boogie on and on boogie on and on (x8)

soon enough, the song reaches its final moments, the outro identical to the intro, a full circle. if he wasn’t used to cardio and exercise, he’d be exhausted from all the running around and jumping he did during his performance, but even as an athlete, his breathing has become labored, a fact he hides well in the flow of his rap. his movements do not slow down, however, as he continues to hype the crowd, legs pumping as he jumps up and down, one hand gripping the mic and the other waving in the air down to the very last second of the song.

너도 내일 아침에 날 기억 못해도 돼 물이든 술이든 you can sip and smoke it away i don't give a f about tomorrow, cause it's sunday bring up all your cool kids and just hop on to this music

for the last two bars, he makes the trek back to his prop and, as the final beat plays, he drops his head once more, just as he had at the start, the only motions left in him the steady rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathes. after a few silent moments, he lifts his gaze once more and takes it all in, the stage, the crowd, the scenery. a stage like this won’t come again for another year.

“thank you!” he yells into his mic, raising his arm one last time before dragging himself and his prop off of the stage.

this isn’t the last any of these people will ever hear of park chanyeol.

Chapter 1

It all began one day when, after lunch, I went to my room to play with my toys.

That’s what I was doing when I heard the sound from above.

Whiiiirrrr...

I had never heard anything like that before.

Whiiiiirrrr...!

Is that getting louder? I remember thinking, before...

CRASH!

Right at that moment, a strange, big metal thing on a chain fell through my ceiling. It looked like the letter ‘T’ with hooks at the bottom.

It was followed by a boy jumping down through the hole it’d left, a cord attached to him. I’d never seen him before. I’d never seen the color he was wearing before, either. I thought that Red and Pink were the only two colors there was. This new color looked... well, cold. At least, it reminded me of coldness.

Aside from the cold color, his clothes were also odd. He wore a vest with a hood and short pants, and he had no shoes on, only wrappings. (Then again, I wasn’t wearing any shoes either.) Was this boy what Momma would call a ‘peasant’?

He looked me over and said “Are you Garnet?”

I was tempted to ask How did you know my name?, but I was so surprised at what just happened, and what was happening now, that I just replied, “Y-Yeah.”

“Okay then, come along with us,” he said, putting an arm around my waist. “We’re running away together”

I could hear Momma and her guards coming. They must have heard the noise from my room. “But what about-”

Before I could finish, he tugged at the cord. It jerked him upwards, taking me along with him.

I looked down just in time to see Momma through the hole the boy’s metal thing had made. She didn’t look scared or worried for me. She actually looked really mad.

Outside, it was warm. The sky was the same color as the boy’s clothing, with fluffy, floating things without any color, and a big ball of light that hurt to look directly at. The cord pulling us up came from a flying thing, which was like my toy boat but gigantic, attached to an even bigger balloon, hovering above the palace.

We were hauled aboard the boat by what I later learned was called a ‘winch’. Two others were there, another boy and a girl, each dressed in another unfamiliar color. The other boy wore a color that reminded me of the big light-ball in the sky, while the girl wore a darker color that was kinda similar, but not quite. She was dark-skinned, and she wore a vest and had no pants or skirt, just two strips of cloth that hung down in the front and back of her bare legs. He had on puffy, short sleeves and pants with toeless leggings, and wore a strange hat.

They helped the two of us aboard, then shut the door behind us. “Cast off!” the boy in the funny hat exclaimed.

I was a little scared, but also curious. While they pulled up the ‘anchor’ (Because that’s what they called the metal thing.), I took a look around.

The boat had a small house in the back, and near that was a large, round thing. The boy in the funny hat came over and spun it. “Let’s go!”

The boat turned in the direction the round thing was spun, and it flew away from the palace. 

When we were a good ways away, I asked “So, where are we going?”

“Anywhere that’s safe from people like that tyrant.” the boy who brought me aboard the boat replied.

“Tyrant?!” I was shocked at what he said. “How could you say that about my Momma?”

What the boy in the funny hat said next startled me even more. “Princess... the Red Queen isn’t your mother.”

“What?” I couldn’t believe what I just heard.

“She’s your master,” he said. “At least, she was, but hey, you’re free now! We’re all free, here.”

“What are you talking about?”

They then told me everything, about the world, about themselves, about the flying boat that they called the Luminus, and how they found each other and me.

First, the realm of Arc was divided into four: the Red Lands (where I lived before they came to get me), the Blue City (where the hooded boy was from), the Green Country (where the girl was from) and the Yellow Kingdom (where the boy in the funny hat was from). Humans (that’s what they called people like us) were like any other animal here, except that rich folk (like my ‘Momma’) were allowed to keep them as pets.

The boy in the funny hat was called Blane. By mistake, he had learned the truth about a man he had called his ‘father’, the Yellow Count, who also owned a tool called a compass. From what I was told, compasses normally point in only one direction so that you know where you are. But this one was special; It could point in the direction of wherever you wanted or needed to go. When Blane escaped, he stole the compass, which led him to the other two.

Hinto was the hooded boy’s name. He was trapped in some place called a ‘zoo’, after being captured by the Blue Baron. Blane met him there, and rescued him.

The girl, Orrin, was also in a zoo, which was owned by the Green Duchess. The Duchess also owned the Luminus, which they stole after freeing Orrin, and before the Compass led them to me. They only learned my name when they overheard the palace guards talking about me and the Red Queen, how I’d been ‘adopted’ after my real Momma died.

Now here we were, the four of us on what was called an ‘airship’, and they were asking me to join them in looking for somewhere, anywhere that they could be free.

“So, what do you think?” Blane said to me. “You up for adventure?”

When you’ve spent your entire life in one place, following a routine, only for you to suddenly leave that place, with that routine broken, the change actually feels nice. Was this what being free really felt like? Nobody telling you what to do, how to act? I had heard of freedom from the Red Queen’s subjects, but to actually feel it sent a chill up my spine, yet at the same time it felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. 

“Okay,” I nodded. “I’m in.” The other three smiled. I smiled too.

And that was how, for the first time in my life, I found new friends.

Chapter 10

She dreamed that the sun was coming up in the middle of the night, rising from the horizon and consuming the stars with its light, smothering them one by one. Its rays fell across her and she could feel its glow burning her from the inside. Hot. It was too hot. She thrashed slightly, trying to kick away the top of her sleeping bag, pushing at the heavy fabric, but found that she was quite unable to move. She felt pinned, like a vice had been fastened around her middle, and the more she moved the tighter it became. Snapping from her slumber with a little squeak of alarm, she blinked rapidly and tried to focus…finding both the source of the uncomfortable pressure and the heat that plagued her.

Junkrat was nestled against her side, curled almost in a fetal position with one arm locked around her sleeping bag and his head bowed, breath a muffled high-pitched little wheeze of a snore as he snuggled deeper into the fabric. She groaned, finally managing to slither one arm out of his grip, finding her glasses and shoving them on. Irritation turned to concern when she saw that he had apparently abandoned his bedroll completely and was sleeping on bare, cold sand. He was shivering, and without his maniac grin and twisted expressions…he looked almost pitiable, just a dirty and malnourished young man seeking any source of warmth and comfort he could find, even while dreaming.

He probably would have taken offense to her pity if he’d been awake, she knew. The junkers were not the type who liked to show weakness.

But he wasn’t awake.

She tried not to disturb him, and shifted slightly under his arm, still pinned in the wad of fabric as she spotted movement out of the corner of her eye. Roadhog was apparently up and about already, and Mei cleared her throat a little, lifting her voice to a loud whisper. “Roadhog! Mr. Hog! Uh…help?”

There was a rumbling breath, something she could have sworn was an exasperated sigh as the giant man trundled over. He was a bit more brusque about the matter than she, one gloved hand gripping his smaller partner’s arm, the other closing around Mei’s shoulder before he simply pulled the two apart. Junkrat’s arm was shoved downward and Mei was pulled up out of her sleeping bag like a spring daisy, popping free as he hauled her upright and set her down lightly. Jamison’s expression tightened and he made a strange little noise she couldn’t quite put her finger on, an almost angry whimper, before Roadhog simply wedged one foot under his middle and unceremoniously rolled him off the sand and on top of Mei’s bag. She watched this happen with wide eyes, completely expecting him to wake up and start swinging or swearing at them both, but he remained soundly asleep, curling back up with his face tucked into his arms. She took her coat and tried to drape it over his bare chest, but could only watch as his seeking fingers curled into the fabric and promptly pulled it right back off him, hugging the bundled fabric like a stuffed bear and burying his face into it once more.

She gave Roadhog a helpless look and gestured to the still-sleeping Junkrat with a baffled air, but the larger man simply shrugged his broad shoulders and turned away. She abandoned her coat in Junkrat’s death grip, moving over to his original bedroll and pulling off his patched and ragged blanket, wrinkling her nose at its state before turning and covering his skinny form. He muttered something obscene under his breath before stilling once more, and Mei left him to meander after his bodyguard.

She fell into step beside the much larger man. “Is that normal?”

“He does that.”

“To you too? Does he try to…what is the word…cuddle, you?”

“Mm. Nearly put his lights out the first time he did it. You get used to it. Not his fault how he is.” He leaned down to pick up the massive metal hook by his bike, attaching it to the length of chain and testing its heft before turning and abruptly starting to wander away from their campsite.

Mei glanced back at Jamison. “Where are you going? Shouldn’t we stay and watch him?”

“Breakfast. Proper breakfast. He’ll be fine. Come on.”

That gave her pause. Roadhog was inviting her somewhere? He had paid her little attention so far and she had not pressed the matter. But the elder junker was already turning the bend into the next gulch, and she finished pulling her boots on before hurrying after him. “Oh! Okay, wait for me!”

He still wasn’t the chatty type, and the two walked along in relative silence save for his labored breathing. There wasn’t much to see in the canyons, little but rocky red walls towering on both sides of them against the yellow-pink of the morning sky, the occasional trash or graffiti from campers before them, and the little scrubby shrubs growing in the relative comfort of the canyon’s provided shade. She kept hoping he might strike up some sort of conversation, but after nearly a half-hour of silence, she decided it was time she took the initiative.

“What did you mean earlier?”

“Hm?”

“You said it wasn’t his fault how he is. Was he not always like…how he is?”

Hog shrugged a massive shoulder. “I’ve only known him a few years, when he approached with his ‘business deal’. Outback had taken a toll on him by then. He might have been different before. It’s not his fault.” He leaned down, throwing down one knee as his dirty fingertips inspected the ground, snorting before changing direction and heading further into a nearby gully.

She dutifully followed after him, arms folded behind her as she trailed him. “The radiation?”

“The omnium blew when he was just a child. It got into his head when he was still young. Still not sure how he survived, his stories always change. I don’t think he remembers.”

“I remember seeing the news about it when I was younger. They said terrorists had blown the reactor core. It was so terrible, I still remember feeling so helpless when they were showing all those awful pictures. Wo de tian na, all those poor people…”

Roadhog was quiet for a very long time, still trudging steadily ahead before answering, “Yeah…”

He turned and approached a divot in the sandy gulch bottom, gesturing her forward as he knelt down. Mei watched as he examined the greenish-yellow shrub before lifting its branches up to reveal the small magenta berries beneath. “Ruby saltbush… looks ripe enough. Take these.”

“Oh…We’re foraging! That’s what we’re doing!” Mei snapped her fingers before kneeling down next to him, starting to pluck the berries from their stems.

“What did you think we were doing?”

“I thought…I don’t know, maybe you wanted to talk to me?” She trailed off lamely, pretending to be suddenly very interested in the saltbush. “But, that’s okay. It might not be weather-related, but it’s interesting to see how people survive in the outback.”

“Your MREs taste like shit. And I’ve eaten a lot of bad things in my time.”

“Well..I.. I didn’t choose them! Jamison and I even asked for the better quality stuff, but this was considered a non-essential mission so they gave us the cheap ones. But I ordered extra just in case so we wouldn’t go hungry, plus we don’t- Where are you going now?”

“Rock fig, pick that one next.” He grunted in reply, pointing to another nearby plant as he strode forward once more. “And I did want to talk to you.”

“Oh?” She paused to examine the plant, what he had called a rock fig, a hardy-looking scrub growing straight out of the rockface, dotted with tiny orange and brown fruits. Waiting for his reply, she got to picking, tucking them into the makeshift basket in the fabric of her shirt.

“Are you flirting with Fawkes just so he’ll help with your mission. Or just because he's around.”

Mei froze, one hand halfway out to pick another berry. A very pregnant silence hung in the air before finally her head swiveled to look his way. Her jaw tightened, lips moving as she tried to find words, her voice finally cracking through with uncharacteristic hostility. “H-how! How could you say that!”

Roadhog seemed unphased as ever, the white lenses of his mask unflinching. “Doing my job.”

She sputtered with righteous indignation, counting to ten before she even attempted an answer. “I’m t-trying to understand your…concern. B-but I would never do something like that and I don’t appreciate the insinuation. This operation is important to me, but I would never do that to any of my teammates. Especially him!” She was on the verge of tears despite doing her best to be calm. Confrontation was not one of her strong suits, especially when she couldn’t ice-block her way out of it. “I know he’s not…He’s not like most people. But he’s himself, and he can be really nice, and he’s smart! And also strangely more sensitive than I had thought! And I would never, ever-”

He held up one gigantic hand. “Just checking.”

She gestured a palm to him in disbelief. “Just checking? I do not appreciate being accused of something like that.”

“Don’t want to deal with the fallout once we go back to base if you start pretending not to know him again. I think we’ve both been exposed to enough fallout. And I don’t like complications.”

She started to answer when he paused and grasped his hook, stomping one huge metal-spiked boot into the ground and he grunted and heaved, the heavy metal weapon spinning through the air. There was a screeching noise from further up the rocky valley, which turned into a wet gurgle. A moment later he began pulling on the chain, winding it back as he reeled in a large black and gray lizard, smearing blood on the sand where the hook had pierced its sternum.

She stared at the still-twitching body, argument caught in her throat before she swallowed it down and whispered, “W-was that just a threat?”

He looked down at her, calmly going to pry the carcass off his hook before wiping it on the ground. “No. This is a meal. It has nothing to do with my question. I don’t bother with threats.”

She tried to calm herself, placing a hand to her chest. She had to give him that one. The old junker was normally the silent type, and while Junkrat was the sort to spit extremely creative threats and descriptions of bodily harm at his foes, she’d never heard the bodyguard do the same. True, he would bellow and laugh after a particularly gruesome kill, but he was always very…straight-forward, as far as his rampages went.

“Well I…I also wouldn’t do something like that either. That would just be cruel. But we’re not…you know, I mean, we haven’t…Er…” She stared down blankly at the assortment of berries in her shirt. “I don’t know what it is. But I’m not some…liáng xīn bèi gŏu chī le. I am not going to hurt him. And I hope he won’t do the same.”

“All right.”

“…All right? That’s it?”

“Mm.” He finished tying the dead goanna to the side of his belt before trundling off again. “Just wanted an answer. Come up here, there’s another saltbush. I’ll show you how to prepare them so you won’t get the runs.”

She gave him a look that was half reproach and half confusion. “Er…okay. Thanks? And I hope we’re both on the same page now? Everything is good, right?”

“Mm. For now.”

They returned to their campsite later on in the morning, after the sky had long since turned from the yellow of morning to the brilliant blue of day. Junkrat had already awakened and was sitting on his blanket tinkering with his grenade launcher, Mei’s coat tied loosely around his shoulders. He had just finished applying a new coat of yellow paint and several new smiley-faces to the gun when he spotted his teammates arriving. “Oi! Where’d you two get off to!”

She held up one of the berries from her collection. “We decided to let you sleep in. Mr. Roadhog was teaching me about outback foraging. There should still be time for a late breakfast if you’re interested…”

“Foraging? Didja get anything good? Heh, that Roadie can be a fuckin’ chatterbox if you let ‘im, eh? What’d you talk about, Roadie?”

Roadhog grunted.

Jamison swung upright, loping over in his uneven gait to greet Mei instead, slithering behind her and wrapping his lanky arms around her neck as he inspected the mess of fruits in her shirt. “Bush tucker berries? Lemme tell ya, those things make for some shitty smoothies. I’ve tried. Er…Also, think I might’ve stolen your bag at some point, woke up in there. And then I think I stole your coat. I mighta stolen some other things too, I forget.”

“Oh. It’s fine. I was a little cold this morning is all, so I asked if you’d move nearby. You were so sleepy you probably don’t remember.” She offered him a half-smile, hoping her little white lie would spare an awkward conversation about his sleep-cuddling. They could deal with that later. “How are you feeling?”

“Better after a good night’s rest! And would feel real good if, ya know, maybe a lil’…” He pursed his lips and made a few exaggerated kissing sounds as he started to lean down towards her face.

“Nice try,” she smirked, reaching up with her free hand to take his chin and guide his lips to land on her cheek instead.

“Aw, Mei! Shoot a bloke right through the heart, why don’t ya.”

“I have a feeling you’ll live. Besides, Mr. Roadhog has something for you to do.”

Roadhog rumbled from behind them. “Cook this.”

“Huh?” He barely had time to turn about before the dead goanna was hurtling through the air, smacking him in the face as he fell backwards. “AUGH!”

He landed in a tangle of gangly limbs, peeling the lizard off him as his usual grin spread across his face. Holding it up by the tail, he dangled it in front of Mei. “See! Roadie’s got the idea of it! This here’s a proper breakfast! You sure you don’t want? I’ll save you the best paaaarts.” He jiggled the dead animal back and forth temptingly.

She gave him an unimpressed look. “Vegetarian. Wǒ bu chī ròu. No thank you.”

He had already found a knife and before she could even protest, he proceeded to lean down and slit the slain goanna straight up the middle, digging a hand inside the red wet pulp inside and holding up a palm full of small white eggs in his stained palm, thrusting them under her nose. “You sure? Look, it was a lady sort, comes with some prime outback caviar!”

Mei turned a shade greener than usual, shaking her head quickly and clapping a hand over her mouth. “Would you mind doing that behind the van?”

He looked at her blankly for a moment before her reaction seemed to hit home, nodding furiously. “Oh! Oh, roight, the veggie thing! Suppose I shouldn’t be smearing this dead animal all upside your face and whatnot!”

“Thank you.”

Junkrat was practically doing a jig as he went to finish his butchery. She sat down with Roadhog instead, who had approached her with a bowl of water. He lowered his immense weight to thud down next to her, and helped her along as they sorted the assortments of berries. He spoke little, occasionally muttering a correction or a new instruction as he showed her how to tell the ripe apart from the unripe, throw away the ones with the black spots, and how to carefully peel the bitter outer layers from the tiny desert fig berries. It was almost a pleasant task, mindlessly peeling and washing the stacks of forage fruit.

She couldn’t help but fret slightly, remembering his words from earlier. They still burned. She hadn’t really thought ahead to any repurcussions from her and Jamison’s little kisses. Had Roadhog genuinely been concerned that she would ‘dump him’ as soon as the operation was over? Could you even dump someone if you weren’t together? Were they together? She couldn’t at all be sure that she and Jamison were working on the same terms of what kisses could mean or what a relationship was. Did she intend to continue things after they had returned to Gibraltar? She would have to explain to everyone what she was doing with a known agent of destruction and chaos. She’d have to deal with his strange mannerisms out in the real world. She’d have to be involved…Oh no, had Roadhog’s concerns been completely warranted?

The giant junker took notice as she stopped peeling. He tilted his masked head down at her slightly, noticing her stricken expression before simply grunting and lifting himself off the ground with some trouble. “Finish these. I’ll get the rest started.”

He took the camp stove with him, leaving Mei there on the blanket with nothing but the bowl, the berries, and her thoughts.

It had been a spur of the moment thing. They had been getting along better than usual, had become closer through strife and then physically closer when they had kissed. And she had been sincere when she spoke of his better qualities. He could be kind, he could be generous, and he was exceedingly smart. Smarter than she had first suspected when meeting him. But for all their little tête–à–tête around the campfire, things would change once they left Australia…once they returned to the real world and real society and real people. For all his good traits, he had more than his share of bad ones. He had a temper that could change on a dime, a forgetfulness that bordered on amnesia at times, an undeniable love of pyrotechnics and destruction, and a disregard for human life that she simply could not share. She would have to be involved every time he got himself into trouble, and she had neither the physical prowess nor the silent patience of Roadhog.

She shook her head slightly, trying to clear it as she blankly resumed peeling and washing their morning’s forage.

She knew the way he looked at her, but what if that was merely infatuation? Another one of his phases? For all she knew, he had fixated on and treated numerous other crushes the same way. Maybe he bothered them the way he bothered her. Like that time he had been worried about her and took half a kitchen’s worth of food with him to make sure she was eating all right? All those goofy little jokes he always threw at her in an attempt to get her to smile for him? Or making her her favorite flavor teas on the offchance she’d want to drink with him, or comforting her after her mistakes with the dog back in the valley breeze, or his promises that no matter what happened or what troubles they would face, he would be there with her no matter what?…

She glanced up as she heard his high-pitched giggles from behind the van, followed by Roadhog’s booming chuckle. They sounded happy.

She had told Roadhog that she was not a cruel person and had become more than a little indignant at the very thought of it, but he had been completely right to worry. She shouldn’t make promises she wasn’t sure she could keep. It was easy to forget that they were on official business for Overwatch, that once they left this sun-blasted desert, they would have to return to reality. Reality was where Junkrat performed poorly. Doubt was a reasonable thing to have. She was talking about a man whose idea of a good time was replacing Lucio’s birthday candles with little sticks of dynamite. Which had, in all honesty, been very amusing up until she had had to help clean it all up.

She would have to sit down with Jamison and talk to him. Really, really talk to him, about what had happened. Maybe about what shouldn’t have happened at all…

“Oi, Mei! You got any of that sanitizey stuff? That goanna was a real sticky one!” He rounded the corner, holding up his bloody hands, but paused when he saw the distressed posture and expression of the woman sitting with the berry bowl. “Mei…Hey, you okay? You’re looking right stonkered.”

She turned to him with her brows furrowed. “Jamison…I think we might need to talk.”

Literally anybody else would have had the social accumen to realize the heavy weight those words always carried. Junkrat was not anybody else. He blinked owlishly at her, then his grin returned as he turned and started wiping his red-soaked hands off on a nearby rag. “Oh, sure! Ya wanna talk, we can do it after brekkie.”

“Jamie…”

“Come on come on, Roadie’s waitin’ on ya. Best get on it and eat because trust me, he will go ahead and eat it without ya and you’ll have to eat them diarrhea-bag meals all by your lonesome.” He jabbed a stained thumb back behind him.

At a loss, Mei picked up her bowl full of figs and berries and followed him to their makeshift cooking area. She knew by now that the more observant Roadhog had probably guessed at her agitation, but he said nothing as he took the bowl from her, scattering the figs into a dented porridge pot he had set up over the little stove and nearly emptying an entire honeybear into it after.

Junkrat snorted. “Yeah, that’s nice and all, but you will also notice that I split that goanna from skull to clacker and we are finally having a proper barbecue!” He gestured grandly to the campfire, where the butchered lizard was roasting on a makeshift metal spit. “Now that’s brekkie! You two can have your figgy sludge.”

“I caught it, I get half the lizard too,” Roadhog answered flatly. “That’s brekkie.”

“Oi, rack off!”

Mei smiled despite herself as she watched the pair dissolve into another argument, calmly ladling the porridge meal into her bowl and taking a bite. The fresh figs were slightly gritty in texture, but their natural sweetness was a godsend after the cloying preservative tastes of their other options. She went back for seconds, and even a portion of thirds, whilst listening to the two junkers fight over the lizard. Roadhog eventually settled for the rest of the fig oatmeal and a smaller chunk of the lizard meat. Mei noticed that this time he didn’t turn away from them as he ate, simply lifting up his pig mask to reveal a wide rounded chin, peppered with white-gray beard hairs and severely burnt on one side, his chapped and scarred lips blindly reaching out for the spoonfuls of food he couldn’t really see. It was a little strange to see even that sliver of his real face, surprisingly so, as she had become so used to the expressionless pig mask that she sometimes forgot he was a real person underneath it.

Junkrat hunched over his own meal like a covetous vulture, tearing off steaming bits of flesh with his hands and shoving them into his jaws. It was all a bit primal for Mei’s liking, but at least he had stopped offering the slaughtered animal to her. She was more content with her fig and honey meal, followed by the salty-sweet ruby berries they had gathered earlier. She would have to write about their foraging adventure later, and take notes about this Australian method of survival.

In fact, she had almost forgotten about her notes altogether.

She set her bowl aside, moving to the back of the van and digging around. “Have either of you seen my phone?”

Junkrat looked up, his mouth full of lizard. “Hh?”

“My phone, where is it?”

“Oh, yeah! I forgot to tell ya! Your little robot thing and your phone started beepin’ a lot, and it got real annoying and I yelled at it to shut up, but it wouldn’t, but I knew you’d be pissed if I shut it up all the way, so I just threw them in that box there and put stuff on top so they’d be quiet!”

Mei paused, then resumed her search in earnest, literally throwing things out of the back of the van. “What!? When!”

“Oh, I dunno. Hours back. Woke me up, so I just put ‘em-”

“Oh no. Oh no no no no…” She could hear the beeping now, pulling off mounds of blankets, tarps, and other supplies from one of the larger boxes as the sound got louder and louder. A moment later as she tossed another blanket aside, Snowball immediately hovered out and circled around her, still shrilling an alert call. She grabbed onto it with one arm, as if trying to comfort the little bot as she flicked on her phone. The screen was flashing red and still beeping with the mandarin signals for WARNING scrolling past. She immediately opened it up and began reading through the backlogged messages. “Jamie! You should have told me earlier!”

“What, that your robot was being an annoying cunt and wakin’ people up?”

“Snowball was trying to warn us! Look, it’s more than just my assistant drone, Snowball has short range weather-reading capabilities too…it’s picked something up.” She adjusted her glasses, still scrolling through the messages.

Junkrat rocked back and forth uneasily as he watched Mei’s expression turn more and more alarmed. “Uh…I didn’t…I didn’t know.”

She threw her phone aside and hurried back towards the camp, waving her arms. “Roadhog! Get up, get up, get up, pack everything you can! We have to go NOW.”

collection

He collects snails. 

It's is the twentieth time this week Anzu has seen Sylvee pluck a snail from the soil and plop it directly into the depths of his pocket. At first, Anzu found it rather…Cruel? The snails should be allowed to live, their gooey translucent paths were brought to a halt the moment Sylvee interfered and it all rang rather unfair in Anzu’s ears. From his hidden spot on the staircase, Anzu chewed the end of a gummy worm and lazily observed as Sylvee skipped through the school's courtyard, blue ponytail bouncing in the air with his every step. Anzu can't be bothered to follow after him. Once Sylvee is out of view Anzu forgets all about spacious, dark pockets and terrified snails. Out of sight, out of mind. 

On a Friday morning, Anzu sat with his back pressed against the bricked wall, basswood guitar nestled in his arms. Lightly, his fingers danced over the chords. The hum of a known song vibrates down his hand, loud enough to be felt on his palm, soft enough to be mistaken with a gust of summer air. Anzu's eyes are closed, the lull of sleep heavy against his lids.  

"Do you want to know what I did with the snails?" Sylvee's sweet voice is drawn into a whisper.

Anzu's eyes snapped open, slightly startled by Sylvee's sudden appearance. The boy stood on the heels of his bleached splattered shoes, hands intertwined behind his back as he swayed forward. On the rim of his red glasses sat a snail, it moved forward with the pace of a…Snail. It's awfully slow. Did Sylvee place it there? Most likely. 

"Well…Do you?" Sylvee asked again, this time, slightly louder than before. 

Anzu placed his guitar to the side, "You eat them." 

A twinkling snort bubbled from Sylvee's throat. 'A twinkling snort' is the best way Anzu could describe the cute-ish sound Sylvee made. It's nothing like the type of gruesome (and slightly disturbing) sound a pig or a hog would spit out.

Everything about Sylvee is cute; to his round green eyes, tiny nose and mouth, to the oversized yellow sweater where the gigantic sleeves hid his (probably) tiny hands. Almost alien, Sylvee's innocent looks clashed against the dingy lighting of the hidden staircase. 

"I don't eat them." Sylvee said, pressing the sleeve of his yellow sweater to the end of his chin, "I move them to Micah's garden. You know about it too, right?"

Anzu was surprised by Sylvee's knowledge. Not many were aware of Micah's secretive gardening hobbies…However, it's Sylvee. Of course he would know.

"Aren't snails bad for gardens?" Anzu replied, sharp eyebrow raised in question.

"Some of them are." Sylvee admitted with a nod, "My snails are good." 

"That's not how it works kid."

Sylvee tipped his head back and hummed, "It's how it works around me." 

If an orbiting spaceship with dazzling phantasmagorical lights were to appear above Sylvee's head to engulf him in a blinding beam and promptly proceed to carry him back home to an unknown sphere, Anzu would find the obscure phenomenon bizarre but fitting. Home: a baby-blue planet where pretty boys with big, doe eyes and pink cheeks fill their pockets with snails. 

This kid is weird. An endearing sort of weird. Anzu is tempted to ask Sylvee if he smokes, and if not, would he like to start? To witness Sylvee's already large eyes turn to the size of the moon, and the shade of a spacey, star-struck green, would be absolutely remarkable. 

Sylvee sunk to his knees and removed his backpack. Anzu hadn't noticed the bag before, it had been hidden by Sylvee's sweater. Poking through his belongings, Sylvee let out a victorious "Ah-Ha!" when his sleeves closed around a neatly wrapped box. The checkered cloth which hugged the rectangular object is then placed on Anzu's lap.

"I made too much." 

Anzu doesn't need to open it to know there's food inside. He can smell the thinly veiled scent of something savory hidden within the lunchbox. A knot choked his throat. Earlier today, Anzu had  admitted defeat. When it came to bills, he didn't have enough money to cover most of them, which meant, he didn’t have money to spend on groceries. Last minute shifts could only help so much…Oh, he was tired. If he sold his guitar he could make sure his brother didn't go to bed with an empty stomach. 

Sylvee's enormous alien eyes glittered, "My hand slipped, I made enough to last you a few days!" He tipped his head to the side, pale blue locks slid down his round cheeks, "I'll make more tomorrow. I'll get the measurements right, probably!" 

Anzu can see right through Sylvee's act only because Sylvee isn't trying to hide it from him. Sylvee will never get the measurements right, he’ll always make too much. With a solemn nod, Anzu accepts Sylvee's dashing act of kindness. 

-

He collects phone numbers. 

The scraps of paper are stained in droplets of bitter liquor. Carelessly, Sylvee pushed another messily scribbled number into the depths of his pocket. From his seat in the bar, Anzu swirled his glass and cautiously observed Sylvee as he pressed a bare knee between a random guy's thighs. In the seat besides his, Wamu cleared his throat and shouted over the blaring techno music, "He's going to leave with him."

"I know." Anzu tipped back his glass and swallowed the remains of his drink.

Sensing Anzu's discomfort, Wamu jumped into what he did best: He talked. He talked about the club's atmosphere, how it paled in comparison to Poppy's bar. He talked about their latest performance, how he thought it was better than the previous night. He talked about the crappy talk-show he watched two days ago, he talked about his twitter follower count, he talked and talked and talked. Anzu listened, he fed Wamu a gummy worm and listened. Occasionally, he'd side-eye Sylvee (as would Wamu) but more importantly, he listened. 

It wasn't until Neirin hurriedly tugged Wamu away from the bar and led him somewhere Anzu didn't care to question that Anzu fully focused on Sylvee…Or what was left behind by him. His shoes sit side by side at the top of an empty booth. Inside the left shoe, Sylvee's phone screen momentarily flashed on. With a weary sigh, Anzu pushed himself away from the bar and made his way towards the booth. 

Thirty minutes ago, Sylvee had pushed his random hookup into one of the club's bathrooms which meant he was drunk enough to have sex in a public area but not drunk enough to fall to his knees where everyone could see. Sliding Sylvee's phone into his palm, Anzu briefly examined the stacked text messages on his home screen. Not interested in invading Sylvee's privacy, Anzu slid the phone into his back pocket and hooked his fingers through the laces of Sylvee's shoes.

Ready to down another shot of tequila Anzu eyed the bar. Before he could leave the booth, the bathroom door shot open and out stumbled Sylvee's hook up. Disheveled and intoxicated, the guy shakily buttoned his pants, shoving the ends of his blood stained shirt into the hem of his jeans. 

Anzu had half the mind to kick the man in the dick but he can't…If he were to indulge his rage and fists, he'd be thrown out, leaving Sylvee defenseless in a rotten bathroom stall. Teeth clenched, Anzu roughly pushed the crowd to the side and threw the door separating him from Sylvee open. 

The dimly lit bathroom is packed. The scent of vomit, piss and something awfully sugary is thick in the air. Anzu wrinkled his nose. Once inside, the clubs' music is reduced to a dull drum. At the entrance a group of men struggle to pick their friend off the floor. Towards the back there's a circle of guys participating in something Anzu is much too familiar with. Plastic baggies are exchanged and blue pills are crushed under thumbs. In the middle, stalls swung open and close as a stream of drunk men stumbled in and out of them. The last stall remained slightly ajar. Anzu moved closer and spotted droplets of blood next to bare feet. Pushing through with his elbow, Anzu's heart hammered violently in his throat.

Sylvee's head is held up by the toilet's seat, his cheeks are stained red and with specks of vomit. His crop top is splattered in white, a type of crusty white Anzu doesn't need to analyze. The fishnet stockings on Sylvee's thin legs are ripped open and his shorts are undone. The clothes stick to his frame, too tight, too close, too revealing. His collarbones are exposed, his shorts hide nothing. His thighs are bloody, covered in deep bite marks, the red droplets plip-plop onto the yellowish tiles. 

Dazed, a dull green stare is lazily brought onto Anzu's stoic face. Sylvee's bloody mouth twitched upwards into a smile, "I had too much." He said. 

The small boy is weightless. Without any effort, Anzu tucked Sylvee's head under his chin and cradled his tiny body against his chest.  

He's done this before. He's lost count of how many times he's pulled Sylvee away from puddles of blood and vomit, hauled him into his arms, out of the club and into his car. Sylvee pressed the pads of his fingers against the car's window, eyes widening in size when he couldn't pinch the flickering streetlights as Anzu zoomed in and out of traffic. 

His round green eyes hop from the window to the bloody mess between his legs.

He happily giggled. 

"Does it hurt?" Anzu asked.

Sylvee hummed, stare vacant as if he's seeing something Anzu isn't allowed to see. 

"It hurts." 

Anzu tapped his index finger on the steering wheel, "Okay. I'll fix it."

And he fixed it. 

With Sylvee resting in a tub full of water, Anzu carefully scrubbed his body. Anzu ran soapy suds through Sylvee's hair and lowered his hands towards his shoulders…And came to a sudden halt above his waist. Sylvee purred. 

"You're not shy." Sylvee stated. 

"But I am respectful." Anzu answered. 

Sylvee snorted and this time, he sounds like a pig. Innocence was lost.

He's still Alien. To Anzu, Sylvee will always be Alien. With his big, round eyes and his tiny nose and mouth, there's a baby-blue planet where pretty boys with bloody thighs and vomit stained cheeks grin from ear to ear as they drop to their knees. 

Sylvee wrapped a damp hand around Anzu's shirt, dragged him closer. Unphased, Anzu lightly pushed his drunken friend away. Sylvee clicked his tongue in frustration as he suddenly shot forward knocking Anzu off balance. Not wasting anytime, Sylvee crawled out of the bath and pinned Anzu below his wet body. Water droplets slid down Sylvee's naked torso, collected in puddles beneath his bare legs. Blue strands of hair clung to his cheeks and neck, plastered against his slick skin like a tangled arc of a bristle brush.  

Speechless and wide eyed Anzu stared up into Sylvee's moon sized eyes. The light above Sylvee's head glowed like a halo, a halo of burning yellow. Face darkened by shadows, Sylvee lips brushed against Anzu's nose…Anzu thickly swallowed. 

A tiny mewl fell from between Sylvee's lips the moment he pushed his crotch against Anzu's hip bone, too small to make proper contact with what he wanted between his legs but not at all ungrateful for the much needed friction. At Sylvee's sounds of pleasure, Anzu caved…He's burning, has been burning from the moment he met Sylvee. This isn't right, he tells himself, this isn't right…The way Sylvee grinds against him, the way his fingernails sink into his chest, the way his eyes flutter close…It feels right. 

And as Anzu is about to wrap his hands around Sylvee's waist and roll him onto the floor…Sylvee comes to a sudden stop. His lower lip wobbled and his eyes glistened. One by one, his tears flowed down his cheeks and hanged from his chin. One by one, his tears fell from his face and met with Anzu's cheekbones.

"You look…" Sylvee chocked on a sob, "You look like your brother."

Anzu exhaled.

"I know."

Taking Sylvee into his arms, Anzu held him close. Sylvee's body shook and Anzu soothed him with a hushed whisper.

The blood leaves behind a ring of red on the marble.

Episode 2: The Court of the Crimson King

Day turned into night, as per usual, and the desert wind became cold and biting. Ruin had a tattered jacket, several decades beyond its original coloring, but too thin to make much difference. His jeans were torn and worn through at the knees and the ass, so pretty much only around for modesty at this point, not utility. They’d been sewn up and patched too many times to count, only to fall apart again. Kind of like my life, he thought. Work hard to get somewhere just to fall back down, fight your way back up just to have the fucking world end on you. That was surprising enough he forgot about the cold for a minute. It’d been a long, long time since he’d felt bitter about the life he’d had before whatever it was had fucked things up so spectacularly and irrevocably. Maybe, he thought, I’m actually worried I’m going to lose what life I have left. No, not lose - have it taken from me. Uncle Ruin leaned his head back against the rear wall of the cab and listened to the tread of the wheels on the broken macadam, seeing the past in the blackness between the stars.

Ruin’s melancholic reveries were interrupted some time later by a deep bass reverberation drifting over his head from somewhere in front of and above the rig’s cab.

“Hey, Pissant,” Ruin directed at the boy. “What’s that racket signify?”

Nitros, who had been standing up on a spare tire, with his torso leaning over the rig’s roof, turned to look down. “That’s the war horns. They sound to tell the whole Sanctuary a war party’s come back.”

“Not coming back from much of a fight, though, are you? You’re just making up a parade for a tired old man.” Ruin chuckled bitterly and shook his head. “You see it time and again with weak rulers, that creating victories where there ain’t any.” At this, the Pissant stared thoughtfully for a moment before turning his attention back to their destination.

The sound of the trundling vehicles distorted and echoed as they rushed into an opening, but an opening into what couldn’t be said. Ruin couldn’t see, but could could feel, walls going by. The rushing wind made his ears pop, but suddenly they were in the open again and Ruin could see they had passed through a tunnel in a mighty curtain wall, a vast shadow outlined by star light. The rig slowed as it passed by decrepit lean-tos and their emaciated residents, dead eyes gazing at the ongoing queue of rusty, armored vehicles.

The mighty wheels ground to a halt. Berzerk McFierce swung out of the warrig, then hopped up on the flatbed to see to Ruin.

“Alright, old timer. Let’s get you to the Duke.”

“Lead on, chauffeur from hell. Don’t be expecting a tip.”

Ruin was untied, stood up, and shoved off the side. He hit the ground, fell to his knees, and rolled to absorb the impact. Another layer of dust was added to the innumerable patina of grime preceding this. When he rose up again, he saw the war party had brought him to a castle of red stone. It stretched monstrously and impossibly high, smattered with windows of stained glass and spiked crenellations bristling sniper’s rifle barrels. Battlements and barbicans, arrow slits and murder holes. Across the central and broadest wall, lit up by gigantic spotlights, hung an enormous maroon banner. Blazened on it was a stylized rendering of the Duke himself. Dark eyes, hooked nose, mustachio. Above the Duke’s face, in bright yellow, read: OBEY. Below, the same flaxen script proclaimed: YOUR SAVIOR.

“Subtle,” sneered Uncle Ruin.

“Just get moving,” Berzerk grunted before shoving him towards the mighty oak doors of the gatehouse.

The yetts creaked inward. Ruin and a handful of the war party entered the shadowy hall, while the remainder began preparing the vehicles - and presumably his rocket, only brought along to taunt him - for storage and maintenance. As Uncle Ruin and his escort traversed the vast length of the entrance hallway, he heard strange noises. Muffled moans and grunts of violent pleasure. Eerie music drifting through the aether, propelled by a frenetic beat, echoing off the stone but absorbed by the rich tapestries. The light was dim, and red. A peculiar musk hung in the air, vaguely ammonia-like. The carpet was deep and clung briefly to his boots as he lifted his feet. Finally these same sticky feet brought him to a large oaken door. It swung inward on massive iron hinges.

“The Great Hall,” whispered Berzerk.

Uncle Ruin said nothing, but the hall was not misnamed. Evenly spaced in a grid formation across the plane of the ground were filigreed stone pillars, stretching up to a ceiling that could not quite be discerned by the naked eye, similar to the left and right walls. In front, and still some exorbitant and unnecessary distance away, light filtered down through an ornate stained-glass window onto a dark blur that, as Ruin was prodded closer, resolved itself into a gilded throne on which sat a gigantic asshole.

“Uncle Ruin, welcome!” called the Duke of Diesel cheerily. “How’re the sand wastes treating you? Looks like you’ve kept up the diet; wish I could say the same, ho ho ho!”

“Not a lot of fat on those mutant creatures still don’t know to avoid my territory. Great for the physique.”

“Of course, of course. Wouldn’t know, myself. Plenty of decadent delights to dine on around here, I’m afraid, much to my tailor’s chagrin.”

Uncle Ruin regarded the Duke’s bulging maroon trousers and smoking jacket. They were well constructed, anyway for this grisly hellhole of a world. Ruin was surprised to see the Duke wearing an ascot (thought it was a bit obscured by fleshy jowls) - he hadn’t expected anyone to remember them. The Duke’s white beard was full and fluffy - clearly they had found a way to make shampoo. Ash of rice husks and merang?

“What’d you drag me here for, Duke?” Ruin asked flatly.

“You didn’t want to come? I thought you’d relish the chance to get away from your hovel, have a change of scenery, broaden your horizons. No? And do I detect you are not honored to be called before your exalted regent and worldly master?” The Duke’s baritone grew louder. “Is this disrespect I detect? After all I’ve done for you? Kneel, foul cur!” Spittle flew from his lips.

Berzerk McFierce, from behind, brought his hands to Ruin’s shoulders and shoved downward. Ruin’s knees hit the stone with a crack and a sickening pain.

“I’d have thought so long in the sun, reflecting on your sins, would have taught you your place. It seems I was mistaken.”

“I know who I am, Duke, and I am no subject of yours.” Ruin rasped out.

“Fool! The whole known world is my kingdom, and all living souls are mine to command! But,” and here he regained his composure a bit, sat back in his throne, “this brings us to why you’re here. The whole known world is my kingdom, it’s true, but there is more out there for the taking, beyond the great wastes that no one can cross - none that is, except for you. When my border patrols found you all those years ago, trundling in out of the great unknown desert - out of fuel, half dead, and dragging that ridiculous rocket behind you - I thought it was some kind of miracle! Not only was this proof there was a world beyond the sand wastes, with people living there, but evidence it could be reached! Why didn’t you just tell me then how you made it?”

“Because I knew from the start you were a deranged tyrant whose evil must be contained.”

The Duke chuckled at this. “Evil? Such an outdated concept. I’m not evil, I’m merely the one best taking advantage of the state of the world.”

“So be it,” Ruin replied, “but if you’ve brought me here for this, I tell you again: You’ll get no answers from me.”

“Not at all, not at all!” laughed the Duke of Diesel. “I brought you here because I wanted you to know: I don’t need you anymore. You’re no longer the only person to cross the great desert! But where you came through with a rig, and hauling your ridiculous rocket he came through on foot.”

How much money is too much to pay an NFL quarterback?

Quarterback contracts aren’t the burden they once were. Just pay up.

Kirk Cousins is going to be expensive for Washington to keep longer than the 2017 season. After giving him the franchise tag for a second consecutive offseason, Cousins is set to make $23.94 million and become a free agent next spring.

Washington failed to negotiate a long-term deal with the quarterback before Monday at 4 p.m. ET. Now, Cousins will be locked into a one-year deal and unable to negotiate a new contract until the 2018 offseason.

Keeping Cousins beyond 2017 is a long shot for Washington. Franchise tagging him for the third time is unrealistic with the number jumping to more than $34 million, and a bidding war in free agency will likely be too hard for the quarterback to pass up.

So what’s it going to take for Washington to keep him? A whole lot of money. A record-breaking amount.

A month ago, the Oakland Raiders made Derek Carr the highest-paid player in football history with a five-year, $125 million contract that comes with $70 million guaranteed. In August, the Lions and Matthew Stafford agreed to a $127 million deal with $92 million guaranteed.

It will require more to keep Cousins, but how much is too much?

What should a franchise quarterback get paid?

The value of a franchise quarterback is mostly determined by whoever got paid last. Because Stafford got $27 million per year, the next gigantic deal for a quarterback will have to be a little more. And then it’ll be topped by the next contract after that.

Franchise quarterbacks never hit free agency, so there’s really no way for the market to get set any other way.

But if there was no baseline to build around and contract terms were built from scratch, what would a quarterback worth committing to for the long haul actually be worth?

Likely much more than what they’re getting paid now.

The difference between having a Tom Brady at quarterback vs. a Blake Bortles can be the difference between a team that wins a Super Bowl and one that can’t win more than a third of its games.

There’s no easy answer when trying to quantify how much of an offense’s production can be credited to the quarterback position. Maybe the best way to see the value of an elite passer is when a team loses one and has to rely on a backup to fill in.

A statistical study by the University of Missouri found that losing a quarterback for four games due to injury or suspension would drop a team’s win total by an average of 1.3 games. No other position affected a win total by even half that margin.

Not having a great player under center or losing one can crush a team’s chances at the playoffs. The Raiders dealt with 13 straight seasons outside the postseason — cycling through players like JaMarcus Russell, Kerry Collins, and Andrew Walter — before finally finding Carr.

With so much value at quarterback, what percentage of a team’s spending should go toward that position?

Fifteen percent? Twenty?

Few teams even go over 12 percent.

The salary cap is rising faster than contracts

For four consecutive seasons, the NFL’s salary cap has jumped by at least $10 million. It reached a new high again this March when it was set at $167 million.

But teams aren’t spending it as quickly. According to The Ringer, 13 teams had $5 million in cap space during the 2014 season while the other 19 were close to the spending limit. In 2016, 23 teams had at least $5 million in room.

Carr’s $25 million per year is a significant amount but represents less than 15 percent of the $167 million salary cap. It will also only count $15.6 million against the Oakland Raiders’ cap in 2017.

Four years ago, Eli Manning’s $20.85 million cap hit was close to 17 percent of the New York Giants’ $123 million salary cap.

The fear in giving a player like Cousins a blockbuster deal is that committing so much money to one player would inhibit Washington’s ability to build an adequate roster elsewhere. But the fast rise of the salary cap has made burdensome contracts a problem of the past.

Even if the team was on the hook for $26 million per year, that would be 15.6 percent of the salary cap in 2017 and would dip once the cap inevitably rises higher next year.

Just pay the man

Cousins is likely to play out the remainder of his contract, and that probably means he’ll become a free agent in 2018.

Giving him the record-breaking contract almost definitely required to keep him in Washington would be a risk. Letting him walk is also a risk.

There’s plenty of reason not to make Cousins the highest-paid player in the NFL. Yes, he made a Pro Bowl in 2016 with another extremely efficient season and some of the league’s best passing statistics. But he was atrocious in the red zone and completed fewer than a third of his passes inside the 10-yard line.

With all his passing production, Washington finished No. 3 in total offense but couldn’t crack the top 10 in scoring.

But the question shouldn’t be whether Washington wants to pay him like a top-five quarterback. The question is whether he’s worth 12-15 percent of the team’s salary cap — and the answer to that looks like a resounding yes.

Without him, Washington’s next best option looks like 2016 sixth-round pick Nate Sudfeld. If that doesn’t work out, the team has Colt McCoy or it can start digging for another player to be under center. That’s a position no franchise wants to be in.

Pay your quarterbacks, everybody. It’s worth it.

In Latitude 47 degrees 24' and Longitude 17 degrees 28'

IN THE AFTERMATH of this storm, we were thrown back to the east. Away went any hope of escaping to the landing places of New York or the St. Lawrence. In despair, poor Ned went into seclusion like Captain Nemo. Conseil and I no longer left each other. As I said, the Nautilus veered to the east. To be more accurate, I should have said to the northeast. Sometimes on the surface of the waves, sometimes beneath them, the ship wandered for days amid these mists so feared by navigators. These are caused chiefly by melting ice, which keeps the air extremely damp. How many ships have perished in these waterways as they tried to get directions from the hazy lights on the coast! How many casualties have been caused by these opaque mists! How many collisions have occurred with these reefs, where the breaking surf is covered by the noise of the wind! How many vessels have rammed each other, despite their running lights, despite the warnings given by their bosun's pipes and alarm bells! So the floor of this sea had the appearance of a battlefield where every ship defeated by the ocean still lay, some already old and encrusted, others newer and reflecting our beacon light on their ironwork and copper undersides. Among these vessels, how many went down with all hands, with their crews and hosts of immigrants, at these trouble spots so prominent in the statistics: Cape Race, St. Paul Island, the Strait of Belle Isle, the St. Lawrence estuary! And in only a few years, how many victims have been furnished to the obituary notices by the Royal Mail, Inman, and Montreal lines; by vessels named the Solway, the Isis, the Paramatta, the Hungarian, the Canadian, the Anglo-Saxon, the Humboldt, and the United States, all run aground; by the Arctic and the Lyonnais, sunk in collisions; by the President, the Pacific, and the City of Glasgow, lost for reasons unknown; in the midst of their gloomy rubble, the Nautilus navigated as if passing the dead in review! By May 15 we were off the southern tip of the Grand Banks of Newfoundland. These banks are the result of marine sedimentation, an extensive accumulation of organic waste brought either from the equator by the Gulf Stream's current, or from the North Pole by the countercurrent of cold water that skirts the American coast. Here, too, erratically drifting chunks collect from the ice breakup. Here a huge boneyard forms from fish, mollusks, and zoophytes dying over it by the billions. The sea is of no great depth at the Grand Banks. A few hundred fathoms at best. But to the south there is a deep, suddenly occurring depression, a 3,000-meter pit. Here the Gulf Stream widens. Its waters come to full bloom. It loses its speed and temperature, but it turns into a sea. Among the fish that the Nautilus startled on its way, I'll mention a one-meter lumpfish, blackish on top with orange on the belly and rare among its brethren in that it practices monogamy, a good-sized eelpout, a type of emerald moray whose flavor is excellent, wolffish with big eyes in a head somewhat resembling a canine's, viviparous blennies whose eggs hatch inside their bodies like those of snakes, bloated gobio (or black gudgeon) measuring two decimeters, grenadiers with long tails and gleaming with a silvery glow, speedy fish venturing far from their High Arctic seas. Our nets also hauled in a bold, daring, vigorous, and muscular fish armed with prickles on its head and stings on its fins, a real scorpion measuring two to three meters, the ruthless enemy of cod, blennies, and salmon; it was the bullhead of the northerly seas, a fish with red fins and a brown body covered with nodules. The Nautilus's fishermen had some trouble getting a grip on this animal, which, thanks to the formation of its gill covers, can protect its respiratory organs from any parching contact with the air and can live out of water for a good while. And I'll mention - for the record - some little banded blennies that follow ships into the northernmost seas, sharp-snouted carp exclusive to the north Atlantic, scorpionfish, and lastly the gadoid family, chiefly the cod species, which I detected in their waters of choice over these inexhaustible Grand Banks. Because Newfoundland is simply an underwater peak, you could call these cod mountain fish. While the Nautilus was clearing a path through their tight ranks, Conseil couldn't refrain from making this comment: "Mercy, look at these cod!" he said. "Why, I thought cod were flat, like dab or sole!" "Innocent boy!" I exclaimed. "Cod are flat only at the grocery store, where they're cut open and spread out on display. But in the water they're like mullet, spindle-shaped and perfectly built for speed." "I can easily believe master," Conseil replied. "But what crowds of them! What swarms!" "Bah! My friend, there'd be many more without their enemies, scorpionfish and human beings! Do you know how many eggs have been counted in a single female?" "I'll go all out," Conseil replied. "500,000." "11,000,000, my friend." "11,000,000! I refuse to accept that until I count them myself." "So count them, Conseil. But it would be less work to believe me. Besides, Frenchmen, Englishmen, Americans, Danes, and Norwegians catch these cod by the thousands. They're eaten in prodigious quantities, and without the astonishing fertility of these fish, the seas would soon be depopulated of them. Accordingly, in England and America alone, 5,000 ships manned by 75,000 seamen go after cod. Each ship brings back an average catch of 4,400 fish, making 22,000,000. Off the coast of Norway, the total is the same." "Fine," Conseil replied, "I'll take master's word for it. I won't count them." "Count what?" "Those 11,000,000 eggs. But I'll make one comment." "What's that?" "If all their eggs hatched, just four codfish could feed England, America, and Norway." As we skimmed the depths of the Grand Banks, I could see perfectly those long fishing lines, each armed with 200 hooks, that every boat dangled by the dozens. The lower end of each line dragged the bottom by means of a small grappling iron, and at the surface it was secured to the buoy-rope of a cork float. The Nautilus had to maneuver shrewdly in the midst of this underwater spiderweb. But the ship didn't stay long in these heavily traveled waterways. It went up to about latitude 42 degrees. This brought it abreast of St. John's in Newfoundland and Heart's Content, where the Atlantic Cable reaches its end point. Instead of continuing north, the Nautilus took an easterly heading, as if to go along this plateau on which the telegraph cable rests, where multiple soundings have given the contours of the terrain with the utmost accuracy. It was on May 17, about 500 miles from Heart's Content and 2,800 meters down, that I spotted this cable lying on the seafloor. Conseil, whom I hadn't alerted, mistook it at first for a gigantic sea snake and was gearing up to classify it in his best manner. But I enlightened the fine lad and let him down gently by giving him various details on the laying of this cable. The first cable was put down during the years 1857-1858; but after transmitting about 400 telegrams, it went dead. In 1863 engineers built a new cable that measured 3,400 kilometers, weighed 4,500 metric tons, and was shipped aboard the Great Eastern. This attempt also failed. Now then, on May 25 while submerged to a depth of 3,836 meters, the Nautilus lay in precisely the locality where this second cable suffered the rupture that ruined the undertaking. It happened 638 miles from the coast of Ireland. At around two o'clock in the afternoon, all contact with Europe broke off. The electricians on board decided to cut the cable before fishing it up, and by eleven o'clock that evening they had retrieved the damaged part. They repaired the joint and its splice; then the cable was resubmerged. But a few days later it snapped again and couldn't be recovered from the ocean depths. These Americans refused to give up. The daring Cyrus Field, who had risked his whole fortune to promote this undertaking, called for a new bond issue. It sold out immediately. Another cable was put down under better conditions. Its sheaves of conducting wire were insulated within a gutta-percha covering, which was protected by a padding of textile material enclosed in a metal sheath. The Great Eastern put back to sea on July 13, 1866. The operation proceeded apace. Yet there was one hitch. As they gradually unrolled this third cable, the electricians observed on several occasions that someone had recently driven nails into it, trying to damage its core. Captain Anderson, his officers, and the engineers put their heads together, then posted a warning that if the culprit were detected, he would be thrown overboard without a trial. After that, these villainous attempts were not repeated. By July 23 the Great Eastern was lying no farther than 800 kilometers from Newfoundland when it received telegraphed news from Ireland of an armistice signed between Prussia and Austria after the Battle of Sadova. Through the mists on the 27th, it sighted the port of Heart's Content. The undertaking had ended happily, and in its first dispatch, young America addressed old Europe with these wise words so rarely understood: "Glory to God in the highest, and peace on earth to men of good will." I didn't expect to find this electric cable in mint condition, as it looked on leaving its place of manufacture. The long snake was covered with seashell rubble and bristling with foraminifera; a crust of caked gravel protected it from any mollusks that might bore into it. It rested serenely, sheltered from the sea's motions, under a pressure favorable to the transmission of that electric spark that goes from America to Europe in 32/100 of a second. This cable will no doubt last indefinitely because, as observers note, its gutta-percha casing is improved by a stay in salt water. Besides, on this well-chosen plateau, the cable never lies at depths that could cause a break. The Nautilus followed it to its lowest reaches, located 4,431 meters down, and even there it rested without any stress or strain. Then we returned to the locality where the 1863 accident had taken place. There the ocean floor formed a valley 120 kilometers wide, into which you could fit Mt. Blanc without its summit poking above the surface of the waves. This valley is closed off to the east by a sheer wall 2,000 meters high. We arrived there on May 28, and the Nautilus lay no farther than 150 kilometers from Ireland. Would Captain Nemo head up north and beach us on the British Isles? No. Much to my surprise, he went back down south and returned to European seas. As we swung around the Emerald Isle, I spotted Cape Clear for an instant, plus the lighthouse on Fastnet Rock that guides all those thousands of ships setting out from Glasgow or Liverpool. An important question then popped into my head. Would the Nautilus dare to tackle the English Channel? Ned Land (who promptly reappeared after we hugged shore) never stopped questioning me. What could I answer him? Captain Nemo remained invisible. After giving the Canadian a glimpse of American shores, was he about to show me the coast of France? But the Nautilus kept gravitating southward. On May 30, in sight of Land's End, it passed between the lowermost tip of England and the Scilly Islands, which it left behind to starboard. If it was going to enter the English Channel, it clearly needed to head east. It did not. All day long on May 31, the Nautilus swept around the sea in a series of circles that had me deeply puzzled. It seemed to be searching for a locality that it had some trouble finding. At noon Captain Nemo himself came to take our bearings. He didn't address a word to me. He looked gloomier than ever. What was filling him with such sadness? Was it our proximity to these European shores? Was he reliving his memories of that country he had left behind? If so, what did he feel? Remorse or regret? For a good while these thoughts occupied my mind, and I had a hunch that fate would soon give away the captain's secrets. The next day, June 1, the Nautilus kept to the same tack. It was obviously trying to locate some precise spot in the ocean. Just as on the day before, Captain Nemo came to take the altitude of the sun. The sea was smooth, the skies clear. Eight miles to the east, a big steamship was visible on the horizon line. No flag was flapping from the gaff of its fore-and-aft sail, and I couldn't tell its nationality. A few minutes before the sun passed its zenith, Captain Nemo raised his sextant and took his sights with the utmost precision. The absolute calm of the waves facilitated this operation. The Nautilus lay motionless, neither rolling nor pitching. I was on the platform just then. After determining our position, the captain pronounced only these words: "It's right here!" He went down the hatch. Had he seen that vessel change course and seemingly head toward us? I'm unable to say. I returned to the lounge. The hatch closed, and I heard water hissing in the ballast tanks. The Nautilus began to sink on a vertical line, because its propeller was in check and no longer furnished any forward motion. Some minutes later it stopped at a depth of 833 meters and came to rest on the seafloor. The ceiling lights in the lounge then went out, the panels opened, and through the windows I saw, for a half-mile radius, the sea brightly lit by the beacon's rays. I looked to port and saw nothing but the immenseness of these tranquil waters. To starboard, a prominent bulge on the sea bottom caught my attention. You would have thought it was some ruin enshrouded in a crust of whitened seashells, as if under a mantle of snow. Carefully examining this mass, I could identify the swollen outlines of a ship shorn of its masts, which must have sunk bow first. This casualty certainly dated from some far-off time. To be so caked with the limestone of these waters, this wreckage must have spent many a year on the ocean floor. What ship was this? Why had the Nautilus come to visit its grave? Was it something other than a maritime accident that had dragged this craft under the waters? I wasn't sure what to think, but next to me I heard Captain Nemo's voice slowly say: "Originally this ship was christened the Marseillais. It carried seventy-four cannons and was launched in 1762. On August 13, 1778, commanded by La Poype-Vertrieux, it fought valiantly against the Preston. On July 4, 1779, as a member of the squadron under Admiral d'Estaing, it assisted in the capture of the island of Grenada. On September 5, 1781, under the Count de Grasse, it took part in the Battle of Chesapeake Bay. In 1794 the new Republic of France changed the name of this ship. On April 16 of that same year, it joined the squadron at Brest under Rear Admiral Villaret de Joyeuse, who was entrusted with escorting a convoy of wheat coming from America under the command of Admiral Van Stabel. In this second year of the French Revolutionary Calendar, on the 11th and 12th days in the Month of Pasture, this squadron fought an encounter with English vessels. Sir, today is June 1, 1868, or the 13th day in the Month of Pasture. Seventy-four years ago to the day, at this very spot in latitude 47 degrees 24' and longitude 17 degrees 28', this ship sank after a heroic battle; its three masts gone, water in its hold, a third of its crew out of action, it preferred to go to the bottom with its 356 seamen rather than surrender; and with its flag nailed up on the afterdeck, it disappeared beneath the waves to shouts of 'Long live the Republic!'" "This is the Avenger!" I exclaimed. "Yes, sir! The Avenger! A splendid name!" Captain Nemo murmured, crossing his arms.