#not even new keeper the old man just ordered them to follow new command or else

[spitzobsessed]

pov: you're a sith lord early into the Great War months after the Treaty ended, and you have successfuly transferred a former Intelligence's Cipher into your service. But then you get to actually meet the "most lethal, obedient tool of the Empire" in person and realise that this man can kill you, your family and your closest allies, make it seem like suicide/tragic incident/enemy sabotage with no one noticing anything amiss, AND he only respects one person, and you just boasted about how the former Minister is all but dead.

[gavillain]

I was talking with @marciabrady the other night about ships and the aesthetics of our favorite couples, and it made me really want to do a break down of one of my obscure crossover OTPs:

Grimhilde/Cruella, a.k.a. EvilPuppies!

Because I feel like Grimhilde/Cruella, out of all my ships, looks the most like crack at first glance, but there is so much more to it than just sticking two random Disney Villains together.

So, first and foremost, I started shipping them because of Kingdom Keepers Book IV, Power Play:

Despite the fact that Frollo is on the cover of the book and was the heavily promoted new Overtaker before the release of the novel, the main villains of the novel are actually Grimhilde and Cruella. The premise is that after Maleficent and Chernabog were captured at the end of the previous book, the Disney Villains who are trying to take over the parks have had to take on new leadership to get Maleficent and Chernabog out of Imagineer-prison. Grimhilde is the next in the chain of command, so she's in charge and has Cruella De Vil as her companion who follows her everywhere. They are ALWAYS together in the book, and Cruella, naturally, has a very flirty and complimentary demeanor towards Grimhilde that the Queen naturally just adores. Their chemistry is great, and there is even one part where the main hero finds the two of them asleep together on an air mattress and a bundle of furs (it makes sense in context) and, well... yeah XD The novel really glued the two of them together in my head.

And that togetherness, as you can see above, blends over into the parks. Grimhilde and Cruella are the only two main Disney Villainesses who are out with some regularity as face characters in Disneyland. All of the villains in the Disney Parks have a familiarity with each other, and you can get similar gal pal dynamics with them and Maleficent (and Lady Tremaine) around Halloween time. However, because Grimhilde and Cruella are out together for so much of the year, they tend to carry the brunt of that sort of "evil besties" friendship, leading to cute photo op moments like this...

So Disney is already doing a lot of the leg work to make them come across as girlfriends and to give them chemistry and a ship dynamic. However, if that was all there was to it, I probably wouldn't love this ship as much as I do. I need that interesting and thought through layer of shipping, and thankfully, these two have it in spades.

So, despite being from different time periods and wildly different worlds, Grimhilde and Cruella are aristocrats through and through. Grimhilde is literally royalty, and Cruella an over-financed heiress to the remnants of England's aristocracy (and she's the head of a corporate fashion empire in the Glenn Close movies). The House of De Vil dates back to medieval times, and evidence of that extensive and wealthy history is littered all around Cruella's mansion.

Cruella is in essence, the remnants of an old world that no longer exists, one of royalty and station that Grimhilde herself was a part of, and though the times have changed, Cruella keeps that class and regality alive. In that way, I think it blends perfectly with her taking on a lover who is quite literally OF that time period, and it also helps tie Grimhilde in with the modern world, giving Grimhilde a sort of immortality and transcendence that I think she'd very much value with her desire to be eternally young and beautiful. And, along those same lines, they are both very strong examples of matriarchal authority and power with Cruella bemoaning the uselessness of men and the pitfalls of women losing themselves to marriage, whilst Grimhilde murdered her own husband in order to reign alone without a man over her. They fundamentally get the sort of twisted villainous feminism that they are peddling.

Next is the themes of beauty and glamor. These are two women who are fundamentally motivated by vanity - Cruella wants to design her original Dalmatian puppy coat and stun the art world with her ruthless originality whilst Grimhilde wants to kill her stepdaughter so that she can reign as the Fairest One of All. For them, beauty and aesthetics are absolute, and they share a willingness to buy their glamorous ambitions with the blood of the innocent. They would fundamentally GET each other in that regard. However, and this is important, they GET that same motivation for vanity, but they don't COMPETE with each other. Cruella is a pretty woman, but she's older and she's a chain smoker whose habits have caused her to become a bit emaciated. She's beautiful in her own way, but she's never going to rival Grimhilde as the Fairest One of All. Likewise, though Grimhilde has extravagant fashions and jewelry, she's not setting out to be at the forefront of clothing design and art. She would certainly WEAR outfits Cruella designed for her, but she wouldn't want to supplant Cruella either. They're going to make the world kneel before their beauty, but they're going to compliment each other rather than rival each other or have to set aside their vanities for each other.

Then one of the big important elements that makes this ship appeal to me so much is the motif of DUALITY. Cruella is noteworthy for her hair that is half-black and half-white. It's her signature style, she's well known for it, it ties in with the black and white dogs, and it ties in with how she has her likable and admirable public face but also her sinister and dark side that the rest of the world doesn't see. Grimhilde also has the duality motif. Hell, she has BLACK HAIR as the Queen and WHITE hair as the hag, and the whole black and white motif shows up in her potions ("Black of Night" and "To Whiten My Hair, a Scream of Fright"). Grimhilde literally has two faces and two forms. She is two villainesses in one, which is such a tasty match for the woman with infamously two-toned hair. And what I like about that too is that Cruella BLENDS with both the Queen and the Hag. With the queen, she has the aristocratic and blue blood regality and beauty that I mentioned before, but with the hag, she has the cackling maniacal bloodthirsty side that would have an absolute riot bringing death to innocents. It's so symbolic, and they're the only Disney villains who have that duality motif in that fashion.

And the fact that they have all of these interesting parallels and motifs while also being from two different worlds and two different time periods (medieval and modern) is a lot of fun purely from a crossover perspective but also as ANOTHER manifestation of their duality motif! And THAT is the type of tasty shipping fuel that I LIVE for!

So with Grimhilde and Cruella being of two different time periods, they also simultaneously coexist in one time period. Cruella in the original animated film may have been released in the 1960s, but her animator, Marc Davis, designed her to be a throwback to the old Hollywood glamor of the 1930s. Most specifically Tallulah Bankhead...

And Marlene Dietrich...

Cruella is pure Old Hollywood 1930s glamor trapped in a late 50s/early 60s modern domestic setting. And you know whose movie was made in the 1930s and has a very 1930s cultural aesthetic to it?

And Grimhilde herself is designed based on ANOTHER 1930s film villainess, She (Who Must Be Obeyed):

A movie that was famous for its Art Deco sets, and Art Deco is one of the main aesthetic motifs attributed to Cruella in the Glenn Close movies. So stylistically speaking, the two of them despite coming from different time periods and different worlds coexist in a way that is very old Hollywood. And with that combined link to the 30s, it helps the two of them to coexist peacefully and harmoniously in the same time period. They meet in this glamorous and mythologized liminal space. Heck, with Cruella's aesthetic links to the 1930s, I personally headcanon that she grew up absolutely obsessed with old Hollywood and making a concentrated effort to emulate that energy in her own style. Since Grimhilde is kind of an Old Hollywood character come to life, it's almost like Cruella can be a fangirl of something that she's admired for her whole life when she gets with Grimhilde, and you know Grimhilde is gonna LOVE that attention.

In addition, I personally like to be very cognizant about my ships with regards to what the individual character is going to look for in terms of a romantic partner and why the character that I've chosen for them suits that specific need. With Grimhilde, we know that she was married to Snow White's father and that she killed him, so we know that she didn't have any real love for that man, possibly any man. She rules over her kingdom alone and doesn't want anyone to rule beside her. In the Snow White comics and deleted scenes from the film, she showcases a sort of romantic rivalry for Prince Florian, but her affections for him are never about wanting an equal. She wants him because he is young and handsome and compliments her beauty and elevates her image in a way that helps give her more power through her beauty. So for Grimhilde, she needs a lover who can fill that niche - not someone to rival her or rule beside her, but someone who can be a perfect accessory to her beauty. Cruella being all about fashion and style is absolutely that person. She's very cognizant of appearances and what can accentuate or take away from beauty and aesthetics. That inherent utility to their relationship means that it would be something that Grimhilde would be open to indulging, and from there deeper feelings can develop under the right circumstances in a way that they wouldn't without having that utility first.

So that's Grimhilde's side of things. But what about Cruella? Well, we see Cruella's relation with love mostly revolving around this sort of one sided attraction that she has to Anita. And at first glance that seems contradictory to her getting with the queen, because Cruella is obviously going after a dainty and demure woman who she can kind of steamroll and collect as another fashion accessory. However, I think what makes this work so well is that it really showcases that Cruella has an attraction to traditional feminine beauty and women in general, and Grimhilde is of course is the fairest woman of all. The Glen Close movie adds an interesting dynamic to Cruella's attraction to Anita in that she enjoys the creative interaction that she has with Anita. Never really noticed Anita until the two of them started to collaborate creatively, and I feel like that's a big thing that Cruella needs and wants in a partner, someone who engages that creative side of her brain and understands her drive for aesthetics and beauty. And, as previously stated, who better to do that than the Queen of beauty herself? Grimhilde is a perfect model of unlimited dramatic creativity wrapped in a feminine and beautiful package that would set Cruella's heart ablaze.

Together the two of them fulfill that perfect niche for each other and foster a creative, beautiful, and bloodthirsty ruthless energy that would make them feel seen and supported. They effectively create their own little world of 1930s fantasy glamor when they come together, and that's just beautiful to me.

Those are the biggies, but some other really fun pieces of shipping fuel: *I love the aesthetic they have with them both being tall women with dramatic almost drag queen makeup and outfits that have tones of black, white, and red in their own signature styles. And Cruella has the flowing fur coat with the red liner and Grimhilde has the flowing cape with the red liner and so they can be very flouncy and twirly with their styles. *Grimhilde keeps a royal huntsman who can kill all of the animals for Cruella whenever she wants. *They both have similar structures to their stories - they start out on friendly or familial terms with the protagonists before they show their true colors, then they entrust men to kill the innocent creatures needed to enact their plan but those men fail them, forcing Grimhilde and Cruella to take matters into their own hands, and then the finales showcase them both transforming into frightening demented versions of themselves (old hag and crazy demon eyes Cruella during the car chase) madly pursuing their goals until they ultimate bring about their own defeats by the environment turning against them *Cruella has the green smoke of her cigarette which echoes the green and smoke of the Magic Mirror, and also Cruella's chain smoking being a sort of poison in and of itself links back nicely to Grimhilde's literal poisons. *OUAT gives Cruella magic powers and ties to the Author, and Grimhilde also has magic powers and is a literal storybook villain.

So, yes, at first glance, EvilPuppies may seem like just a crackship, but it's really not. There is SO much here in both their canon interactions and in their numerous parallels, and there are honestly probably even more that I'm forgetting. They are the crowning queens of femslash for me for good reason, and I adore them, darlings!

[hiswordsarekisses]

I used to be so confused by things that seemed to contradict each other in the Bible so I have always prayed for understanding on these things. One of those things was that “we are saved by faith and not by works” - yet Jesus says “if you love me, keep my commandments,” and “depart from me, I never knew you, you workers of lawlessness.” and “Do we then make void the law through faith? Certainly not! On the contrary, we establish the law.” (Romans‬ ‭3:31‬)

I am learning over and over again that when I love truth more than I just want confirmation that what I believe to be true - God pours out understanding in abundance.

According to 2 Thessalonians chapter 2 it’s clear that a “love of the truth” is strong enough to even save us from the end times lie that comes to deceive “if possible even the elect.” So this “love” of the truth is pretty important - so I always pray for it - and for a receiving heart to hear it. To “love” truth is to want it even though if it may not be what I want it to be - even if it’s something I was positive it was not.

I learned through study that there is no contradiction. Both are true....

Even when we were dead in our sins, and the worst we could ever possibly be, Jesus loved us and He died for us and He saved us. And then, because He first loved us in this profound way, we love Him as a result. When we really love Him it is a natural desire to want to know Him and follow all that the Bible encourages us to do in order to grow in that love - like abiding in His word and prayer. The more we grow, the more “righteousness” will become a fruit in our lives, as He transforms us by renewing our minds with His word.

I once had a person ask me if I’m a law-keeper and I told them that I don’t keep the law to be saved, but that I do try to keep it from a genuine desire in my heart, as a fruit. He then told me I was adding words to the Bible. Well even the Bible refers to righteousness as a fruit so he was actually taking away from the Bible. Hebrews 12:11, Philippians 1:11, Amos 6:12, Isaiah 45:8, and proverbs 12:12 are a just few that are very easily understood concerning the fruit of righteousness - so when I read that passage now where Jesus says “depart from me, I never knew you, you workers of lawlessness” - in the context of the whole chapter (Matthew 7) I see that Jesus also said “they will be known by their fruits.” Fruits is kar-pos’ (and can be deed, action, result, etc.) and is from the same word as fruits of righteousness in the above verses concerning the fruit of righteousness.

So it’s not contradictory at all. We are saved by faith and there is nothing we could ever do to be good enough to be saved - but the evidence of a transformed life is actual “transformation.” There will always be progress and a desire to change in someone who is walking with Jesus and abiding in His word. This will always brings about the fruit of righteousness - a natural overflow of following God’s word from our heart.

We cannot keep the law perfectly and that’s why Jesus died - but the bible says that through His death on the cross He has already given us all that we need for life and godliness. So we will be changing in His power and strength, and our old ways will be falling off as we put on the new man - being renewed in our minds through His word. (2 Peter 1:3, Ephesians 4:24, Colossians 3:10, Philippians 2:13)

So by the grace of God, yes, I hope I am never guilty of lawlessness.

[utterlyhopeful-fics]

Midnight Magic

A/N: Wrote a smutty part 2 to accompany you lovely folks! 🥰🥰

MASTERLIST

Henry Cavill x Reader

Also, if I keep tagging you and you’re not interested or want to be tagged; please let know!

Word Count: 1855k 

Warnings: MUCH PROMISED FLUFF, dirty talk, implied smut, foreplay, kissing, language, teasing

***********************************************

Y/N wasn’t someone to demand attention but tonight was a different story entirely. Whether it be the holiday magic in the air or the sheer happiness exuding from her beaming smile, they’d never know for sure.  She glazed into the fireplace awaiting the arrival of her midnight kiss to show up. The embers flickered uncontrollably creating a spellbinding illusion of comfort. The cerulean blue hue of her dress was majestically magnificent, custom designed to perfection leaving little to the imagination. Paired with a sexy high slit revealed the majority of her right leg; just enough access.

This New Year’s Eve Henry had the peculiar notion to get dressed up as if they were enjoying the evening out. Y/N almost died of happiness then and there seeing the childish reflection in her husband’s hypnotic orbs. 2020 was one helluva year and though it brought them closer than ever as a couple, Y/N wasn’t blind to the hardships occurring throughout the world.  

His loins stirred excitedly as lust glazed over his features growing semi-hard. The only barrier holding them from going at it like teenagers. He licked his lips in anticipation eager to have his wife all to himself. No lavish parties or parades of people to entertain this year, just the lot of them, alone and horny. He continued admiring her from afar pouring two flutes of champagne for the pair.

“You look positively scrumptious this evening, Mrs. Cavill.”

Henry silently crept from behind sneaking up unsuspectingly slow. Goosebumps riddled her gorgeous skin rippling in masses. His breath ticked the tiny, delicate hair adorning her neck shooting a pleasurable surge to her limbs. Both endlessly love drunk on one another. His sensational touch alone kicked every sense into overdrive, heightened every emotion he emitted. Y/N reached back entangling her fingers with his newly deemed ‘quarantine curls’ she’d loved to tug on. Small bites traced down her neck leaving small marks in his wake of destruction.

“May I add how delectable you are in a tuxedo, Hen? My god, my poor ovaries must be working overtime.”

A salacious smirk broke out on his lips eyeing her lustfully.

“You haven’t the finest clue what I want to do to you right now, my love.”

Her hips grinded back on their on accord knocking the air from his lungs. All his remaining blood rushed to the tip of his cock as his belly stirred in playful chaos. They swayed back and forth to the melody playing in the background both reflecting on their last year together.

Henry lined himself up with the shell of her ear wrapping his bulky arm firmly around her waist drawing her as close as possible.

“I’m truly astounded this is our 12th year celebrating as a couple.”

Y/N smiled thinking back when they first met. The year was 2008, Henry was a newly promoted regular to a Showtime series called The Tudors. Y/N was a brilliant writer, the brains behind the complex operation. Henry considered her the beauty and brains; Y/N hated when he talked down about himself saying she’d never once doubted the man who became a wonderful husband and even better daddy.

One unparticular day he’d spotted her struggling to balance a pretty hefty pile of scripts and tumbled right into him. Luckily, his super-size and strength kicked in just in time catching the eye of the attractive stranger. In that moment, Henry knew there was something about this woman he craved to figure out. He was just the lucky bastard on the reciprocating end.

“And thank god your parents volunteered to take the kiddos for the evening. Some private adult time is just what the doctor ordered. We owe them BIG time.”

Y/N winked leading him to decipher the meaning behind her blanket statements. She stepped from his grasp breaking his hold on her. He whined at the loss causing Y/N to eye him curiously.

Oh, you little tease.

Henry’s frisky nature broke through lighting the atmosphere around them. Due to the ongoing pandemic and what not, Henry and Y/N found themselves in wintry London at their main hub of a home. Henry’s roots were deep-rooted and his plea so passionate as she agreed to move across the world with him. Their lives halted for the better allowing the family to spend more time than usual as a unit. Though initially hectic and overwhelming, they were secretly thankful for these little moments with their four children. It was a time they so dearly valued at their imaginative ages.

“Oh, I bet my pops could sense the sexual tension oozing off you, darling. You smell mouthwatering.”

“Hush! Besides it is completely natural to pursue a sexual relationship with my husband outside of our children. Gotta keep you coming back for more…”

“Oh sweets, you have no earthly idea how bad I want to fuck you every day of my existence. You are absolutely divine and somehow all mine.”

“I can’t take all the credit. Nobody’s ever made me cum the way you managed to figure out. You play me like a damn instrument.”

“With pleasure.”

“Ugh, you’re insatiable.”

“Oh, come on. Your sex drive is just as insane as mine. Admit it!”

Y/N bit the inside of her lip collecting her thoughts. Henry pried and teased her ribs forcing her to his whims.

“Fine, fine, you win! I’m a ravenous feign when it comes to you. You’d think having kids would cool my jets but then I see these gorgeous faces I birthed and it’s like I reset. Poof, just like that.”

“Well you’re a phenomenal Mum and quite the MILF too.”

Henry inhaled her perfumed scent taking a long sip of bubbly; anything to keep him from combusting.

“Let’s toast, love. We must.”

“My my, how time flies when you’re having fun.”

Her manicured fingers reached for the chilled glass looking up at Henry and his three-month-old beard. She rose her glass slightly higher in preparation for his speech. Her eyes gleamed with pride as she admired her husband.

“Thank you for loving me, Henry. Seriously, you changed my life in so many profound ways.”

The sap in him was beginning to show as his eyes watered with unshed tears; “My love, it is I who should be thanking for you the unending shower of love and affection. You are the beautiful mother of our four wonderous kids who are the absolute lights of my life because of you. You’re a woman worthy of many praises than my silly ramblings. Cheers to you and for another adventure of a year!”

She swatted his chest immediately shutting him up; “Don’t say that! I am just as equally lucky to have found someone who gets me for …me. It’s a wonderful feeling to have you by my side even if I did have to kiss a few frogs.”

“No doubt I the best possible selection.”

Y/N played along jesting back; “I wouldn’t go that far, maybe the easiest?”

Gob smacked Henry’s wit was rapid fire; “If memory serves, you were there too. And just as ravenous.”

“I was about to get nailed by an insanely hot British man. Can you blame me?”

“One look from you and I was a bloody puddle. I had to recite rugby players to keep from losing my shit.”

No matter life’s challenges the past years of their lives, their resolution to stay equals and lovers was stronger than ever. A sinful glow overcame Y/N as she stared directly up at him; “Cheers to you fucking me stupid then?”

“As you wish.”

She refused to glance away maintaining his smoldering gaze; her Y/C eyes screamed sex. His pupils dilated just as his heart speed up voraciously. Both subconsciously tilted their heads oppositely neither daring to move first, unwilling to yield. Y/N challenged his masculinity testing him. Many words could be used to describe Y/N but priss wasn’t one of them.  

“Oi, you are a true keeper.”  

Y/N checked the matching wrist watch completing her outfit; “T-minus 15 seconds until 2021 is here.”

Still unbreaking of her gaze, Henry stayed silent taking in the beauty of his wife. He could stare at her for the rest of his god given days and die a spectacularly happy man.

10,9,8

“Oh Hen, another marvelous journey with you. Can’t wait to see what 2021 has in store for us.”

7,6

She stared down at his inviting pout unable to look away nor did she truly want to.

“Maybe thinking about another baby?”

Her eyes bulged from her skull as shock illuminated from her pores.

“You’re joshing me?”

His lack of response was more than confirmation enough.

5,4

“There’s something so ridiculously sexy about you being pregnant. I always knew I wanted kids but with you, oh with you I want to have as many as humanly possible. Our very own football team.”

Confusion stamped her features at his terminology. Sometimes Henry forgot they were from different countries.

“Football as in soccer. You know the game with the checkered ba—”

Y/N cut him off; “Jeez baby, save your mansplaining. I’ve been on this side of the pond long enough to understand your oh so clever references.”

3,2

The pros and cons bounced around in her head, doubt never far behind but the mischievous joy coming off him was tantalizing; “Let’s do it.”

2,1

Cheers rang ecstatically from the television as fireworks commanded their attention but they only had eyes for one another. Henry closed the gap kissing her feverishly. He was forever seared into her brain ruined for all other men. Lost in the moment, Y/N barely had time to set her glass down untrusting of her own balance anymore. Henry followed shortly behind. Now with her newfound freedom, Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck locking him in place. His questioning tone was almost cause for concern before his façade shattered.

“Really? I do so enjoy seeing you round with my babe. So, fucking irresistible.”

Henry’s jacket was long removed strewn over the couch. That left him standing only in his tight button up and trousers. Y/N merely leaned back his direction bringing his attention towards the zipper aligning her spine. Henry chuckled undoing her dress too easily watching the zipper flair apart. He couldn’t resist admiring the flex of her muscles and how striking she was. Tugging the material over the curvy hips, Y/N noticed Henry was far too overdressed.

“Take off your clothes, now.”

“You bossin me round, babe?”

His muscular tush ignited in minimal pain as her hand connected with his ass whipping rather harshly. A small red welt appeared instantly. Henry stood shocked as Y/N’s smug smile decorated her face.

“You really shouldn’t push me. I don’t like my authority questioned.”

Henry’s mood shifted at her use of roleplay knowing he was in for a well and good night. Henry stripped removing his boxer briefs last. Y/N strutted towards her bedside dresser pulling out a pair of metal handcuffs. Dangling them in front of him, she grinned bashfully; “You’re going to sit your ass on that bed and I’m going to tie you up now. Got it?”

~~~~~~~~~

Tags:  @thedeadhearted @giveusbackourbucky @henry-cavill-obsessed  @onlyhenrys @omgkatinka @thereisa8ella @threeminutesoflife @homewreckingwreck @gemini0410 @maan14@bluegalaxyprime @sofiebstar @whyyykitkat @encounterthepast  @readermia @ly-canthropewrites @scorpionchild81 @henrythickcavill @snowbellexx @stephartrave @agniavateira  @cap-barnes​ @henryfanfics101  @mary-ann84 @westcoast-nightowl @poledancingdinos​  @justaboringadult @peakygroupie  @nalathefirefly​ @vikingsbifrost​ @bloodyinspiredfuck​ @moderapoppins​ @cooldiva1234​ @icedcoffeeismythang​ @titty-teetee​ @summersong69​ @kaatelyyynn​ @missursulacalmet​ @michelehansel​ @iloveyouyen​ @shyshu​ @star017​ @raynosaurus-rex @radkesgirl83​ @starrynite7114​  @wheretheriversrunintothesea​ @i-love-scott-mccall​  @darkbooksarwin​ @ellieseymour70​ @designerwriterchic​ @studywithrosie01​ @dangerouslovefanfic​ @lebguardians​ @crazybutconfidentaf​ @hen-cavill​  @cavill-sass​ @oh-for-fic-sake​ @icedbottles​ @buckysgoldenheart​ @brexrif​ @gryffindorwriter​ @laketaj24​ @foxyjwls007​ @lawsofthejungle​ @henrycavillfanpage​ @kaboogie21​ @fangirl199812​ @gothicninibalor​ @qualitynightkoala​ @strictlybuckybarnes​ @toomanyfandomsshreya​@hersilencescreams-blog​ @viking-raider​ @sesamepancakes​  @madbaddic7ed​ @fuckoffbard​ @funfickgirl22​ @inlovewithhisblueeyes​ @wolvesandhoundshowltogether​ @hoeforhenry​ @henrycavills-babe​ @abschaffer2​ @loving-this​ @one-of-those-fanfiction-blogs​ @lovelycavills​

[azems-familiar]

SWTOR characters masterlist (new and improved!)

so i know i already have one of these, but it wasn't exactly up to date with some changes i've made to characters, and i made it before starting my novelization, plus i have an entirely new canon with another person to talk about. so without further ado:

canon: start a war (with @ipreferfiction)

Lia Vhoss, Jedi Battlemaster + Commander of the Eternal Alliance

(more pictures to come as i get more)

Lia is my Jedi Knight and was Satele Shan's padawan from a young age. she's 21 at the start of the class story and along with her close friend and all-but-outright-stated queerplatonic partner J'lima (ipreferfiction's knight), she's thrust into the role of saving the galaxy time and time again. she begins a romantic relationship with Kira after Voss, takes Tau Idair as her padawan, and faces down Vitiate and Revan on Yavin and Ziost. she and J'lima are both captured by Arcann in the Eternal Empire's attack on the galaxy, but only Lia is possessed and locked in carbonite; when she's finally freed, she takes up the mantle of commander of the Alliance (and also starts a relationship with Lana, though there's a l o t of complications going on there). she's my beloved and probably could be considered, along with J'lima, to be the main character of start a war, although the rest of the cast is important as well.

Vreila Lanar, Jedi Master + Jedi High Councilor

Vreila is my Jedi Consular but is not the Barsen'thor in start a war the oldest of our combined pantheon, Vreila is the only one who outright remembers the Sacking of Coruscant: she was eleven years old and studying at the Coruscant Temple when the Sacking occurred and barely escaped with her life. Fifteen years later, she's a proud Jedi knight, formerly Syo Bakarn's padawan, and one of the most promising new diplomats in the Order. the resurgence of an ancient Sith plague nearly destroys her first assignment on Alderaan, but after she recovers, the Jedi Council places her with the Rift Alliance, first to keep the peace, then later to hunt down the Children of the Emperor. Vreila quietly marries Felix Iresso in a non-legally-binding ceremony shortly before the Eternal Empire attacks, and it isn't until after Felix is taken as a POW that she realizes she's pregnant. She and her by then four year old son end up on Odessen as a Republic emissary to the Alliance, in the hopes that the former Battlemaster now Commander will be willing to hunt down the Republic and Imperial POWs Zakuul still hasn't released custody of.

Kal'vaela Corrin, Commander of Blackout Squad

Kal is the youngest member of Havoc Squad. Ord Mantell is not her first deployment with them, but it is her last; she follows Tavus and her squadmates to the Empire without a second thought and joins in on the Imperial reorganization of Havoc Squad into Blackout Squad. when Tavus and Fuse begin to doubt their decision, Kal, not wanting the rest of her squad to get caught up in their disloyalty and seeing a chance to get a command of her own, comes up with a plan to frame them as conspiring with the Republic. after her plan succeeds and she's given command of Blackout, she turns her gaze towards destroying the Empire's enemies - and recruiting her ex-girlfriend and now commander of Havoc, Itharil Enaran, to the Empire where she belongs, as well as converting the undercover SIS agent Jonas Balker. when Itharil finally switches sides, she brings former Sergeant Jaxo and Aric Jorgan with her, and yes they end up in the most complicated horrible person polycule you have ever seen. we had to make a diagram for it

i'm not kidding. there's a diagram.

Vyl Kivan

Vyl my utter beloved. he's the youngest character in our combined canon, at seventeen when the class story starts - oh, and he's also trans. born into slavery on Ryloth then sold to a semi-powerful Sith family on Dromund Kaas, he's sixteen when his Force-sensitivity and powerful Force empathy are discovered, and after a year of training from his master, he's sent to Korriban in the place of her son, who is completely Force-blind. he's taken as an apprentice by Darth Baras for his impressive power and the ease by which he's manipulated, but treated as little more than a tool due to how he refuses to use the Dark Side of the Force no matter how he's pushed, and will only kill if it's a last resort. he learns to lie to Baras' face to protect himself as he frequently leaves targets alive, as he sends Nomen Karr back to the Jedi to heal and takes Jaesa as his apprentice, although really he's learning from her just as much as she is from him. he ends up being made the Wrath for similar reasons for why Baras took him in the first place. after some difficulty on Ilum and elsewhere in the galaxy, Vyl ends up defecting to the Republic and specifically the Jedi on Yavin after encouragement from Theron (his partner) and Master Orgus Din. he's one of the Alliance's founding members during the five-year gap and he and Theron end up bringing a very much alive Thexan Tirall into their relationship during the war with Zakuul.

Avaanla Ki, Darth Aedis + Sith Empress + Master of the Revanites

Avaanla was taken into slavery at a young age and ended up in a brothel for several years. raised and trained as a dancer, with a pleasure slave's brand on her wrist, her Force breakthrough occurs when she's fourteen years old, when she ends up killing a man for touching her. this becomes a not-uncommon occurrence over the next few years until she's finally purchased by a Sith who bargains training in exchange for work. at twenty, she's sent to Korriban, and she trains there for a while until stumbling upon a secret she wasn't supposed to find while exploring the tombs on a trial. she's saved by Darth Thanaton, who ends up taking her as an apprentice, and who enlists her in his desire to bring down Vitiate. after a mission on Dromund Kaas for another Sith, Avaanla finds herself hunting down the shadowy Revanite Master herself and taking the woman's place, and even breaks Revan free from Maelstrom Prison herself, in the goal of enlisting the powerful woman's help to take down the Emperor (and put herself in his place, of course - what's a Sith without ambition?). in pursuit of those goals, she ends up taking over the Sphere of Mysteries, gaining a seat on the Dark Council and an in to the Emperor's greatest secrets. after Thanaton's exile following his loss to Jana Vassi (newly crowned Darth Nox) in a Kaggath, Avaanla's plans are somewhat hampered, and after Darth Arkous goes rogue with a great deal of the Revanites she's forced into showing her hand early - but after it's all said and done, with Marr's disappearance, Avaanla finds herself taking the Sith throne after all, sharing it with Jana. she ends up in a polyamorous relationship with Jana and Andronikos, eventually.

Averr'iis'aloh, Cipher Eight + Legate + Keeper

Averr'iis'aloh, also known as Riisa, grew up on Csilla and joined the Csilla Secret Police at the age of fourteen. she was partnered with Tharel'elshe'reth (who later becomes Cipher Nine) and the two of them grew close (eventually starting a romantic relationship). when the two of them were in their early twenties, they stumbled upon an artifact on the Chiss world of Copero that the Empire didn't want being known - this was caused directly by Riisa's latent Force-sensitivity (just enough to get her into trouble). she and Elshe'reth were sent, reluctantly, to the Empire to join Imperial Intelligence, and the two of them worked as Ciphers to bring down Jadus and the Eagle's terror network. sent alone to infiltrate a particularly dangerous SIS spy ring, Riisa becomes drawn in to the way the Republic treats their agents, and takes the Legate role on in truth, partly driven by a complicated falling-out she has with Elshe'reth during this time. an ill-advised fling with Aristocra Saganu leaves her with a daughter (Miurani'var'ieth, Nivari) that she sends to be raised on Csilla, and Riisa ends up throwing herself fully into her role as a double agent for the Republic, getting named Keeper of Imperial Intelligence after she manages to bring down Dread Master Styrak. it isn't until sometime after the Eternal Alliance settles in as the major power in the galaxy that her deception is discovered and she's broken out of the Empire by Elshe'reth herself (now an agent for the Alliance). the two of them do, after much difficulty, end up back together and raising a family together.

[ampleappleamble]

—

It was a simple platitude, and one he'd heard quite often growing up: "Be ever honest, forthright, and true, and ne'er shall Woedica frown upon you." The rhyme was reductive and childish, but the sentiment was understandable enough– Honesty is a virtue, and one that should serve any good, upright citizen of Aedyr well.

Of course, Aloth knew better.

He'd known better since he was fifteen years old, clutching his face in his hands and choking on his own tears while his mother tried to soothe him, brushing back his smooth, black hair and holding him close, careful to avoid the bruises, all the while imploring him you must never tell a soul of this, Aloth, never, for even I could not help you then. He'd known better after running to the proctor about the incident with the spellwrights gilde and their damned machine, trying to bring it all to light, and instead of finding himself languishing in a dungeon for the atrocity he'd taken part in, he was instructed to continue to meet with them, to keep his mouth shut and his eyes and ears open. No matter the rewards honesty promised, the people in his life always seemed to reinforce the lesson that deception and secrecy were the true keys to success.

Until now. Until her.

Since their very first meeting outside the Black Hound Inn, as far as he could tell– and he considered himself a decent judge of character, most of the time– Axa had not uttered a single lie to anyone she'd spoken with, had not suppressed nor sugarcoated a single truth, no matter how painful. The closest she'd gotten to lying was her reluctance to discuss the chain of events that had lead her to relocate to the Dyrwood, and even that had come out eventually, and entirely of her own volition. In fact, she seemed to not only practice honesty in her words and her deeds, but to relentlessly pursue the truth, to champion it, to draw it out of others like venom from a wound and leave both parties happier for it. Hel, she'd even managed to get him to open up.

How did she make it look so easy?

Practice, I reck'n. Isnae easy fer ye, tellin' sooth, coz yer nae accustomed to it, are ye, lad? Iselmyr's unwanted commentary was almost constant, now, and Aloth could not tell whether it was due to his control over himself deteriorating further, or if she had simply been emboldened by their secret finally being out after all these years. Either way, it was wearing on his nerves, and he worried that it was starting to show. It certainly didn't help that the others were as curious about Iselmyr as he was eager to be rid of her, and only about half of them seemed to possess the decorum to recognize his discomfort and drop it. Even Axa had asked if it were possible for her to speak directly to the horrid little pest, although to her credit she'd only had to be told "no" once, unlike Edér and Kana who seemingly only deigned to speak with him in order to badger him about his "friend," trying to trade jokes with her or learn Hylspeak from her or– Berath take him– flirt with her.

"Jealous," she'd smirked, and Aloth had gone bright red when Edér had laughed in response, only then realizing that she'd made him say it out loud.

Am only out 'n' jawin' wie kith cozza yer wee burd, laddie. If ye've aught t' complain about, tell it t' her. As much as he hated to agree with Iselmyr, he had to admit that she had a point– if he'd been left to his own devices, he might never have told anyone about his Awakening and simply lived his whole life suffering in silence. But since he'd started following Axa, talking with her, fighting alongside her, earning her trust and starting to trust her in return, he'd found that opening up about himself– and Iselmyr– was far easier than he'd ever expected it would be. The clever little woman had had him halfway figured out by the time he finally told her anyway, which had certainly helped speed things along. She had even suggested a method by which he might finally learn more about his condition, although the thought of letting some jackleg animancer strap him to a table (don't think about the spellwrights the experiment don't think about Targun his eyes empty and lifeless and dull don't think about it don't) and peer into his soul made his skin crawl.

But it didn't seem quite so dismaying when he reminded himself that she'd be there with him.

The events of the day thus far had only served to reinforce this notion. She'd broached the topic over breakfast, suggesting that after they finish their business with the Knights, they make the sanitarium their very next stop of the day– "May as well get it over with, right?"– but he had deflected and redirected, stating that he'd hoped to read up on animancy a bit more before making the plunge– "After all, I've waited fifty years, I can wait a few more hours"– while reminding her that she had expressed a desire to parley with the Eyeless Face sometime soon. A little nudge in the right direction was all it had taken for Kana to commandeer the conversation, excitedly gushing about banned books and Waelite secrets, and Aloth had sighed with relief even as he'd winced at the knowing look Sagani had given him. But Axa had not seen fit to press the matter, and so they'd agreed on their plans and headed for Crucible Keep, turning over the research for their new Forge Knights without any issues.

And upon arriving at the Hall of Revealed Mysteries, the distractions had quickly accumulated, as they tended to do. The forgemaster at the Keep had done little to assuage his worries about animancy in general, and every book about animancy he'd half-heartedly attempted to peruse only ended up making him more anxious, so instead he'd spent most of his time leafing through old favorites, comforting himself with the certainties of the classics, repetitively tracing his slender fingers over ancient runes in arcane treatises he'd practically memorized years ago during his training. It was a surefire method of calming himself down, helping him to collect his thoughts– or it would have been if he hadn't been continually interrupted by Iselmyr's whining, Edér's yawning, Kana's incessant attempts to "help" him with his research.

Aloth had just suffered yet another of these intrusions (Kana had jokingly shoved a primer on orlan physiology and anatomy under his nose, opened to a page with some... detailed illustrations) when the messenger from the palace had arrived, summoning Axa to court. He'd have been pleased for such a convenient excuse to continue the deferral of their visit to the sanitarium, but the scene at the Hall of Records had been far from a pleasant one.

"This is she?" Arledr Gathbin had glared down at the little woman, naked contempt on his sneering face. "This little varlet, she's the one who murdered my kin and now clings like a leech to my ancestral land? I'd thought she was just some servant, a wench from the scullery."

"This wench," Axa had snapped back, "claimed that land– a keep abandoned by your noble line for well over a hundred years, I'll remind you– by strength of arms, and with the assistance of the few good men and women standing alongside me."  Sagani and Pallegina had blinked in surprise at her words, but raised no objection. "And in any case, I didn't see your name on the door."

Gathbin had reared back as though she'd spat at him. "Never speak to me so brazenly again, cur," he'd hissed, "or you won't have time enough left in your miserable life to regret it."

Chancellor Warrin had been quick to bring the meeting back to order, but the calm had not lasted long. Upon learning that Caed Nua would only be his upon the condition that he pay reparations to Axa for services rendered in recovering it, Gathbin had flown into an even greater rage, going so far as to raise his hand to the Chancellor. And although he had effectively just declared Axa homeless, she had still leapt between the two men to defend the Chancellor, her eyes blazing as she'd roared at Gathbin to stay his hand.

"You dare to issue orders to me, you hairy little wretch!?" He'd whirled on her, his face beet red, and the captain of his personal guard, a sharp-featured elf in gleaming black plate, had grinned eagerly as her hand flew to her pistol. Aloth had been surprised to suddenly feel the spine of his grimoire under his fingertips, his heart racing. And he hadn't been alone: all of Axa's allies had prepared to draw arms as well, Pallegina's blade already halfway out of its scabbard by the time Marshall Forwyn had stepped forward, hand on the hilt of his weapon, calmly but firmly suggesting that Gathbin contain himself.

After Gathbin had stormed off, after the dust had settled and Axa was officially declared thaynu and roadwarden of Caed Nua, she'd still had enough composure to ask the Chancellor to invite his lordship to settle their differences over dinner sometime– in her halls at Caed Nua, of course– before immediately turning to the record keeper who'd seen it all and asking him if she was now "established" enough to access the records from the Saint's War she'd inquired after previously. Edér's eyes had gone wide, his jaw rigid with apprehension as he'd accepted his prize at last, and as he'd flipped anxiously through the casualty listings, Aloth had mused on the little woman's fortitude, her quick wit, the loyalty she inspired in those who followed her.

And that loyalty was not misplaced. Even now as he struggled to gather the resolve to say what he needed to say, he couldn't stop thinking of the lost, haunted expression on Edér's face as he'd found his brother's name, looked up into Axa's eyes, asked her as though she'd known all along: "Why'd he fight for Readceras?" She hadn't hesitated for even a second when he'd beseeched her to go with him to the battlefield where Woden had died, laying her small, fuzzy hand on the blond man's shoulder and assuring him she'd do whatever it took to give him peace of mind.

Be ever forthright, honest, and true–

Maybe it was bearing witness to all that– her ironclad resolve in the face of a daunting foe, her powerful devotion to those who placed their trust in her– that made Aloth face Axa now, standing outside the Ducal Palace, and tell her he was ready to head for the sanitarium. "If you're still amenable, of course," he added quickly. If you'll help me stay strong enough to see it through, he thought.

If ye'll held me haund, kiss me wee arse–

She blinked in surprise, recovered, smiled warmly at him. "Of course," she replied. "We can go there now. As long as you're comfortable with the idea."

"Oh," he sighed, smiling pleasantly, "I'm not, no. But to be frank, I'll almost certainly never be more comfortable with the idea than I am right now, so honestly, it's now or never. I'm... simply choosing now."

"I can get behind that," she nodded, turning to the road before them. "Shall we, then?"

She lead, and he followed, desperately hoping he wasn't making a mistake.

—

[sparrowwritings]

Final Fantasy 14 Writing Challenge Day Ten: “The day I met you was the luckiest day of my life.”

Day Nine - Masterpost - Day Eleven

“I’m thinking you should have a rest.”

The Crystal Exarch blinked up from his work. His room, covered as it already was in books and papers, was in even more disarray then usual. This was due to him actively researching how to transport the Scions of the Seventh Dawn (and himself, if luck would have him) back into the Source. There was only so much time before their bodies would no longer be able to support the lack of aether that their souls would give them, so he absolutely needed to keep working.

That didn’t seem to be the opinion of Beq Lugg, the brilliant Nu Mou expert on souls. They prodded at the flesh of the Exarch’s non-crystalized arm until he flinched away from the desk he had been working on. “You have been staring at the same several pages for an age. You should rest if you’re stuck.” 

“Begging your pardon, Beq Lugg, but there’s much to do and no way of knowing exactly how much time we have to do it,” The Exarch protested. “My merging with the Crystal Tower has given me the boon of a body that has no need for rest. I can keep at the work.” He flinched again with a startled “Ow!” when the Nu Mou prodded even harder at his arm. 

“I didn’t mean a physical rest but a mental one you young fool.” They snorted. He was too astonished at being called “young” to interrupt. “You have poured blood, sweat and tears into saving the lives of your friends in the most literal of senses. Time is of the essence, but the only result of your inner workings slipping from their proper settings will be mistakes you can ill afford. Go and see to your Crystarium and allow your mind to work at the problem from a different angle.”

Having recovered, the Exarch implored, “But what about your end, Beq Lugg? You have been working for nearly as long with just as little rest!”

They snorted again, this time with something that sounded like amusement. “You need not worry about myself. I can handle the research and testing for the time it will take you to walk your city. Go.” 

“But--” Feeling more and more like a child, his plea fell on deliberately deaf ears.

“Keeper of this tower you may be, but I will not allow you to assist me further unless and until you have been away for at least a half hour.” Beq Lugg made a gesture and one of their familiars was summoned to the room. It hugged itself around the Exarch’s torso and bodily carried him to the main entrance to the tower where it let him go suddenly. 

He was already out the door and several steps down in his shock when he turned back. He wasn’t sure what exactly he was about to do, but the magic seal on the inner side of the door was proof enough that Beq Lugg was as good as their word. In the space of a thought, the Exarch could use the power at his command to break the seal and enter the tower regardless of the orders given to him.

Except, something stopped him. A nudge of a memory so old that it had almost completely faded from his mind. A sense of...familiarity about the situation came to him. Even though he had never once in the hundred years of being the tower’s master been locked out of it.

With a heavy sigh and a quick word to the Crystarium guard who saw to those who entered and left the tower, the Exarch stepped the rest of the way down the stairs. If he was being told to have a break, he might as well spend it seeing how the city fared. Much like he did in the hundred years past, he stood for a moment on the cobblestones and stared around at the courtyard. His ears twitched from their place on top of his head, following the sounds of his people as he tried to gauge the mood. 

Many were in small groups, scattered about and whispering of the visions recently forced upon them by Elidibus. The people affected wouldn’t describe the phenomenon with those words, seeing as they now were declaring themselves Warriors of Light and starting journeys similar to that of the heroes of old. The ones that sacrificed their very lives to prevent the Flood of Light from engulfing the entirety of the First. One of whom’s body was now possessed by Elidibus in some scheme that involved the creation of new heroes. 

The Exarch sighed inwardly. Half a wonder that Beq Lugg demanded he take a mental break. There was far too much for a single mind to worry itself with on top of the complex workings it would take to transport five souls (and his own) back to the Source unscathed. A walk was just what he needed. 

He decided to circle the city in a somewhat widdershins fashion. First he saw to the Spagyrics, listening to the concerns about supplies and wishing a full and quick recovery to those still being treated. Then he went past the Ballistics upstairs to the Amaro Launch to check in on incoming and outbound flights. As he journeyed through the city, passing through or by places such as the Crystalline Mean, the Cabinet of Curiosity and the Rookery, the Exarch allowed himself to spare a word or two to anyone that wished it of him. Raised as they were to trust in him and not question, none of the people had a word to say about his newly unhooded self nor of his race, known in this world as Mystel. All they cared about was his well being and, by extension, that of his friends.

“Seems they keep scattering off to find things these days!” Darlfort laughed. His tavern was one of the last stops on the Exarch’s patrol around the Crystarium. It was well past the half hour away from work that Beq Lugg had demanded of him, but he indulged in conversation in case there was to be any room for doubt in the Nu Mou’s mind. Not that he minded chatting with his people in the first place, of course. “Barely any time to come for a drink, much less a chat!”

The Exarch smiled, perfectly picturing the Scions in miniature while running willy nilly around the city. “Indeed. I feel I must apologize for your lack of patronage, as some of what they have been doing has been on my behalf.”

“Pah, well worth the lack of coin then.” Darlfort grinned as he cleaned a glass. “Although...come to think of it I saw the Warriors of Darkness heading towards the Pendants not so long before you came strolling up to my bar, Exarch.”

He thought back to what Lara and Roger were supposed to be doing in their quest to return the Scions back to the Source. He hadn’t heard that they had completed their mission yet. It was odd that the two of them had returned to the Crystarium so early and with nary a word. He felt his ears flatten a little with concern. “Strange. You’re the first to inform me of their arrival. I’ll have to visit them before I return to the tower.”

Darlfort raised a hand in farewell. “Be seeing you, then.” 

“And I, you.” The Exarch nodded before taking his leave. 

He’d been expecting to need to go to the apartment that the Warriors of Darkness shared. Instead, he discovered Roger laying on his back in one of the patches of grass just outside of the building. He was staring up at (or perhaps through) the glass ceiling that once helped shield the more residential part of the city from the harshness of the Light that pervaded the world until very recently. The weather had been kind, giving way for a clear blue sky with dottings of friendly white clouds. Through the tinted glass, one could even pick out shapes in those clouds. From the way he was lazily using an extended pointer finger to draw in the air, that appeared to be what Roger was doing.

“Well met, Roger!” The Exarch called out as he approached the young man. “How goes the sky watching?” 

Roger blinked several times before sitting up and looking in the Exarch’s direction. It took him a moment or two longer to process the question. “Oh! It’s fine. Sky looks...clear, here.” He scratched at the back of his head. “Just don’t ask me about other parts of Norvrandt. I dunno how the watchers manage to know…”

“‘Tis a trade secret I also have yet to glean.” The Exarch stopped walking when he came within comfortable hearing range, but did not make to stand or sit next to Roger. He refused to do so unless invited, particularly after...well, the reveal of his true identity.

“Oof, then I guess it’s gonna have to stay a mystery.” 

The two lapsed into silence. Despite being the one who was standing, the Exarch felt as if he were small under the scrutinizing gaze of one of the Warriors of Darkness. Or, well, Light as he once knew them. He briefly wondered if the two would adopt the new moniker on the Source when the thought was broken by a sigh from Roger. 

“You’re allowed to sit down next to me, G’raha. We’re still friends, you know.”

The Exarch’s ears perked up at the use of his true name. Even after having it known to the Scions, the use of it, particularly by either Lara or Roger had yet to fade in significance. That he was being reassured of friendship in the same statement also contributed to his upward mood shift. He took the invitation and sat himself down so that he was looking directly at Roger.

“I’m...glad to hear it. You have my thanks and yet another apology for my deception.” There would never be enough apologies for the well intentioned but failed plan of his to save his friends. Nor would there be enough apologies for the series of events that took place because of his actions. It was the best he could do while working on his actual apology gift of sending the Scions back to the Source. 

Roger rolled his eyes, which surprised the Exarch. “You really don’t need to keep apologizing. Sure I wish you would’ve told us who you were earlier, and it’s not like Lara and I were thrilled about finding that out on top of...everything else that was going on at the time…” He gained a faraway look as he trailed off.

Responding to his emotions far faster than his face ever did (one of the main reasons why the hood he wore over most of his face was necessary to his initial plan), the Exarch’s ears flattened against his head in shame. He also looked away from the younger man’s gaze.

Roger shook himself out of his state and continued, “Your plan was stupidly suicidal for how long you had to refine it, but you promised to do everything you can to live from now on and we both forgave you already.” He paused a moment before grinning awkwardly and scratching at the side of his face. “It’d be kinda stupid if we held a grudge about that anyway. Lara and I do a ton of stupidly suicidal things. Some of them we even plan out in advance.” He gave his final sentence a dramatic gravitas and the Exarch could feel himself smiling a half second after his ears had returned to their more neutral state.

“A cautionary tale against such plans indeed. I’ll endeavor to keep it to heart.” He looked around the lawn before settling his gaze back on Roger. “Speaking of your sister, where is she? I’d heard that you both had returned to the Crystarium but I only see you.”

The good cheer that Roger had been showing deflated at the question. “Lara’s...we did the mission and usually violence against things trying to kill us helps her feel better, but she’s still very upset about the Elidibus thing. She needed some time to herself, so I let her have the room for a bit.”

The Exarch nodded. “She and Ardbert were quite close, from what you’ve said. I can’t imagine what she must be going through right now.” 

Roger put a hand to his chest as he nodded in kind. “Close is a way of describing it, yeah. She really wants to tear Elidibus apart for just that. I’m...” He hesitated. 

“Conflicted?” The Exarch filled in.

“Yeah. I mean, I’m angry too. Just because I didn’t ever get to see or hear him doesn’t mean I didn’t get to know him so it hurt when we figured out it wasn’t really Ardbert. But. I’m also kind of...sad for Elidibus? Like, I feel like I might do something big and mean to the people that killed all of my friends, y’know?” 

The two were quiet for a moment.

“I think I do understand.” The Exarch said after a moment. “You’re trying to empathize with him.”

Roger shrugged and looked away. “I guess? It sounds stupid, though. We haven’t gotten anyone on the Ascians’ side to listen to us once.”

In the melancholy lull that was left by the Warrior of Darkness, the Exarch couldn’t help but chuff. “Another addition to your list of bad plans, I see.” 

The younger man blinked at him for a moment before snorting. “Yeah, it is!”

The two chuckled together until the laughter died down again. Instead of letting silence take over, the Exarch took initiative to say, “I actually had a couple of motives other than a need to apologise again.”

“Oh?”

“I wished to thank you and Lara for everything you’ve done.” The Exarch gave a gentle smile to Roger. “I’ve truly been blessed since the day I met you two.”

“What, even after everything??” Roger got to his knees in order to lean closer to the Exarch. “Doga and Unei, the long sleep, the time travel, the sin eaters, Emet-Selch...really?”

“Yes, really.” The Exarch put his living hand on Roger’s shoulder, as much reassurance for his friend as it was for himself. “While I have indeed made many mistakes in the process, I am still quite glad that I was able to save you and Lara both. I was able to discover my destiny, and in turn was able to save you. Whatever the future holds for any of us on the Source, I will be thrilled to join you two in what’s to come.”

Roger’s expression was far more serious than it normally was when he put his own hand on the Exarch’s shoulder. “You better make that a promise. You will live to see the Source again, G’raha Tia, and you will go on adventures with us.” 

Tears started to form in the corners of G’raha Tia’s eyes as he fiercely nodded. “This I swear by all that I am.”

“I’m gonna hold you to it.” Roger’s expression then softened a little. “What was the other motive for coming here?”

“Oh, er,” He sniffed and scrubbed at his eyes with the palm of his living hand. ��Beq Lugg insisted I leave the tower for a mental break, so I took a walk around the Crystarium.”

There was barely a second’s pause before Roger snorted into a laugh.

“I know, it’s ridiculous…” 

“Not just that!” The hand that had been on G’raha’s shoulder came to Roger’s mouth, as if to try to contain the mirth spilling out of it. “They made you take a break like Rammbroes did when you hit that wall in your research!”

The familiar feeling from earlier in the day came back in full force as the memory unfolded before him. He’d almost forgotten that moment in his first adventure with Lara and Roger. “And...Lara made candies for the camp, to keep up our spirits. Honey drops she called them, or something similar.”

“Yeah, that’s it! I should ask if she can make more sometime, or teach me how.”

With that memory also came a memory of what had happened when Roger had consumed too many of the candies. “You’d never sleep again if she taught you.”

“It would be worth it! Honey’s the best!” 

“While I don’t deny that, too many candies will…”

The two had chatted a little longer before G’raha finally made his way back towards the tower. He felt more invigorated than he had been in ages. It was a moment that he planned to cherish forever. A moment that would have been denied to him had he gone through with his initial plan. Bolstered by the idea of fostering more moments like the one he just experienced, he stepped into the Crystal Tower with his head held high.

An idea had finally started to take root in his mind. With any luck, it would be the key to everything.

[clydesgod]

Discovery

Feat. an unknown cast of people

(A very lorebased drabble based around a certain oc. Hope you like it. I sorta went off the trails lmaooooooo)

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Journal of Gervais Spear 11th of June, 1895 French Sudan

According to our records, there have been many sites like the exact one we have been excavating today all around the world. Some sites include Indochina, South America, the Pacific, and even some sites in Europe. It appears the British are also in touch with some of these sites, as well as the Spanish, Russians, and the Americans themselves.

However, this site feels VERY different to the ones logged before. This one is almost completely intact! Monsieur Leroy has been very adminant that this is the place that connects the other sides. If the translators are right, this entire temple could very well lead to some unknown treasure. Maybe something belonging to Mansa Musa? My brain is full of ideas, though the guide, Majid, tells me not to overthink it.

But I cannot help but think there is something strange about this temple. The stones that built this place couldn’t have come from Africa. That, and it seemed almost impossible for anyone to build such a place underground. It almost feels like this had to have been built by someone completely different from the ancestors of the locals here. Maybe an old empire we are yet to discover?

Maybe the heat is getting to my brain. Maybe I-

Gervais is pulled away from his journal, almost jumping out of his seat as a hand is placed upon his shoulder. He looked up, seeing the smiling face of Majid hovering above him.

“You look tired my friend,” He said, handing over a cup of what Gervais could assume was coffee. “Here, I know it’s early and the sun is not being too friendly to us. But you shouldn’t suffer alone.”

Gervais nodded, taking the metal cup and slowly taking a sip of it. It was a little stronger than what he was used to back in Metz. His face twisted a bit before swallowing, and taking in another sip. Majid simply chuckled to himself, and walked over towards another desk. 

“This place is old, but I hardly doubt the Carthaginians were the ones who built this. The columns here don’t look remotely Greek. Besides, there’s a lack of, er, how you say ‘charm’. Unlike most buildings I’ve seen.”

Gervais nodded, flipping a page as he quickly scribbled something in. He didn’t talk much during the boat ride, and the camel ride over. Majid often felt like the complete opposite to him.

“Monsieur, I hate to be rude but you cannot be trapped under all those ledgers and journals for this long. We’re on the brink of excavating a possible new civilization and all you’re doing is following what Mathéo orders you to do.”

“...we’re not supposed to call him by his first name,” Gervais replied, looking up as he placed a bookmark between two pages and then swiftly closed it. “Monsieur Leroy has put a lot of money towards the expedition. He’s been to many places already, made a name for himself. With this, we might all become shockingly wealthy.”

“Will the guides be as well?” Majid asked, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow.

“I-I’m sure they will. Monsieur Leroy is a very generous man. He isn’t one to shy away from getting aid from nearby villages and garrisons.” He took another sip of the coffee, getting used to the taste of it after a few sips. Impressive.

Majid sighed, looking over a map of the world, looking at all the crosses that dotted it. So many sights, so many similarities. Why was this place so different? Why were they all so far apart and so similar?

“How possible is it that, maybe, this was from a more ancient and advanced civilization?” Majid asked, still pondering ideas. “The statutes found already seem to indicate that something used to run through them, maybe some kind of fluid? Like oil?”

“I hardly doubt anyone back then was able to cultivate oil like we can now, let alone use it for whatever they need their statues to do.” Gervais placed the metal cup down, standing as he began to walk over towards a smaller desk full of ledgers and books. He opened one more up, looking over at the path they had taken. They were in the middle of a big dune, the nearest village being 4 kilometers away. They had a camp set up outside, with around 30 labourers who came from the village to aid with the mission. The 14 main members of the expedition were a mix of soldiers, archaeologists, rich men who paid for the trip, guides, and then himself, the keeper of the books of research and other important information.

He scoured around, inspecting where they came from and making sure the route would be okay for when they had to return back to the port.

“What god do you assume this is?” Majid asked, looking over at one of the statues recovered from outside. It was taken inside so it could’ve been dusted and it’s writing examined. None of the translators could even understand it. “It doesn’t look like it’s from any local faiths around this area. No one seems to recognise it.”

Gervais looked behind, sighing. That question perplexed him just as well.

It was a rather tall statue, standing at around 6 feet. It wore a strange robe that covered their entire body, hiding their feet. One arm was down by their side, as the other appeared to be outstretched but had been broken off halfway. The overall figure looked human in nature until you got to the head.

Instead of a head, it looked like someone had placed a squid upon the neck, as if it were a mask or some kind of hybrid. It’s brow (if you could even call it that) looked angry, almost commanding.

Gervais gulped, wondering what kind of creature this was. No kind of being appeared in any kind of historical text. Not Christian, not Judaism, not Hindu, not Islamic, and upon further research, not even a local faith in the region.

“We can only assume it’s a local faith that we haven’t ever heard about or one that’s dead. I cannot imagine who would want to worship one of...those things.” He noted, going back to his research as Majid got a closer look at the figure.

“We found more last night, they all look different in some way,” he added, trying to piece it all together. “Some were shorter, some were taller. Some had different expressions. Some appear to have bosums actually.”

“Did you really have to check all of the statues chests to realize that?” Gervais asked, raising an eyebrow and letting out a small smile.

“Ahh, so that’s what you look like when you smile.” Majid joked back, chuckling as he went back to his work. Gervais’ smile vanished swiftly, as he went back to his own work.

“I trust you two aren’t just messing about down here aren’t you?” A sudden voice said, causing the two men to jump and turn to face their superior.

The man was wearing tan coloured shorts with a short sleeved shirt on, his socks almost reaching to his knees and his boots were coated in layers upon layers of mud, dirt, and sand. His moustache took the centre stage however, seeing it was the only piece of hair on his head he could actually take care of.

“A-ah! No monsieur! Me and Majid were just having a brief jest. We were discussing the nature of these statues-”

Mathéo lifted an eyebrow “You mean the Gens de calmar?”

Majid and Gervais did their best to hide their cringe at their superiors' new name for the artifacts.

“Y-yes monsieur,” Gervais continued. “We have done more research but nothing at all comes up. No religious documents reference this site whatsoever.”

“Ah-that is where you are wrong my apprentice!” The superior replied, looking as smug as ever as an assistant wandered over towards a desk, placing down what looked like an old tablet, like the rosetta stone. However, it lacked any known language writing, and appeared to be mostly made up of pictures.

The men gathered around it, Gervais trying his best not to grope it and explore all of it’s details. Majid placed a hand on his shoulder, knowing fully well he’d damage another artifact at this rate.

“What’s even going on in this picture? It’s such an old form of art.” Majid said, asking the questions Gervais wanted to ask. “It appears to be similar to some old cave art I’ve seen before in Algeria, but there are some things I cannot recognise.”

The tablet itself appeared to be depicting a scene, with a bunch of smaller figures bowing and offering objects towards much larger figures, with lines coming out of their faces. Maybe this was a simpler way of drawing the statues? Were they offering gifts or tributes?

“Labourers found this in an old, blocked off room. It was massive, bigger than any room we have encountered before in this place. It was placed on the floor as if it were discarded by the people who last used this temple.” Mathéo replied, twisting his moustache as he looked over the table at the tablet. “It appears to be written in different forms of text, though it appears impossible to fully translate it. None of the translators could even work out what it meant.”

“...however,”

“However what, monsieur?” Gervais asked, head popping up along with Majid’s.

“If you flip the tablet over, there appears to be one small block of text written in something recognisable.”

Majid and Gervais took hold of the tablet, being careful on flipping it around and placing it flat onto the table. There it was, a small block of text surrounded by multiple blocks of unrecognisable text . Gervais still didn’t understand, but Majid’s eyes widened.

“This is Old Arabic!” He exclaimed, pointing at it and trying to read it. “It’s...very old, I can’t understand fully but, it appears to be so!”

Mathéo looked rather smug, as if he was the one who had discovered this fact. He wandered around, placing a hand on Gervais’ and Majid’s shoulders.

“Gentlemen, I believe we may be coming close to understanding this mystery. If we understand what this means, then perhaps we can understand what the other boxes mean,” He patted both men on the back, turning around as he reached over and grabbed a wooden pipe with his initials on. “I hope you two get back to doing your research, I want at least some of that text understood by sundown. We might be able to understand much, much more about the main room, and unlock its secrets”

Majid turned back, seeing his superior leave in such a pretentious fashion. He couldn’t help but scowl a bit, right before diving back into reading the box.

Gervais turned back around as well, eyebrow cocking up as he saw Majid looking deeper into the text. 

“Can you read anything?” He asked, turning around and leaning on the table as he watched Majid research.

“I feel like I should be able to, it’s not hard to understand it’s just,” he paused, attempting to think of a way to explain his emotions. “It’s like if, you were to read something from, er, the old Franks. You’d be able to understand some words but the rest just appear...strange.”

Gervais nodded, going back to his desk and his journal. He’ll log this down as well, it made sense too.

“...Meshalt Segleell…”

“Hrm?” Gervais looked back at Majid, looking confused. “What did you say?”

“That’s something I can read but...I don't know if it’s a word or a name. It doesn’t sound native to the region at all!” He was perplexed, still looking at other lines on the text as Gervais turned to carry on his journal entry.

Maybe the heat is getting to my brain. Maybe I

Monsieur Leroy found something, just now. A black stone tablet of drawings from a bygone age. On the back of it? A multitude of unknown languages, with only one being legible. Monsieur Karim is studying it as I write this. He has deciphered something but it’s unsure if it’s a name, a place, a language or anything for that matter! We shall keep going until nightfall.

I can just sense treasure. I wonder how Maylis is doing.

…126 years later…

Adam was sitting at his desk, buried under books. It was a Saturday so no one was in for classes. He figured he’d use this time to understand what he was given. A laptop was open besides him as he read on and on through journal entries.

“Is this the last one?” He asked, reading the document over and over in order to try and find anything he had missed.

“YES.” The voice from the laptop said. “UNFORTUNIATLY I WAS UNABLE TO RECOVER ANY MORE. BUT I AM IN THE PROCESS OF FINDING MORE.”

He leaned back on his chair, placing the aged document down as he looked over at the photograph he was given as well. It was just as old as the document, featuring a picture of a black tablet with a drawing on one side and writing on the other. It wasn’t unusual people would ask for his services in translating old texts, but this one felt very different.

“How many people did you say survived that expedition?” Adam asked once again, getting out a magnifying glass as he looked over on the photo. An area of it was circled in a red marker. Inside the circle appeared to be a box of text that looked like Old Arabic. Why was this important?

“DOES IT MATTER?” The voice replied. A brief pause followed. “THE VILLAGERS WERE UNHARMED, BUT 10 MEMBERS OF THE EXPEDITION PERISHED AND THEIR BODIES WERE NEVER FOUND.”

“Did this Gervais fellow survive?” Adam asked.

“DO YOU ALWAYS ASK A LOT OF QUESTIONS TO YOUR CLIENTS?”

Adam held his mouth closed. He looked over the laptop. His camera was on but his client’s wasn’t. It was expected really, people did like to remain anonymous after all. But no one ever really used a voice scrambler.

“EVERYTHING HERE SHOULD BE OF SOME ASSISTANCE. THAT IS ALL YOU SHOULD KNOW.”

“...I understand. I just can’t fully wrap my head around why I need all of this just to find one person? Like, can’t I just-”

“THEIR BLOOD IS HARD TO GET. THE INFORMATION HERE SHOULD EXPLAIN THE BEST WAY TO EXTRACT IT. MY SUPERIOR SUGGESTED THAT YOU ARE THE BEST WAY TO GET WHAT WE DESIRE.”

“So, what, am I just supposed to read this and just find a way to use a syringe on them?? You’re not helping me out here.”

The voice on the laptop paused. It gave Adam enough time to look back at the photo, and then look over at the transcript of the box, which was besides the photo.

“IT’S MORE COMPLICATED. MY SUPERIOR SIMPLY WANTS TO KNOW HOW TO PROPERLY ‘DEAL’ WITH THE BLOOD. YOU PROVIDE ME THE INFORMATION AND THE BLOOD, AND YOU GET PAID.”

“What kind of being is this again? A demon? A super demon??? How am I supposed to do this without dying exactly?”

“THE BLOOD CAN RUN IN THE FAMILY. IT DOESN’T HAVE TO BE PURE. AS LONG AS IT’S CONNECTED WITH HER. SHE’S ONE OF THE ONLY ONES MY SUPERIOR HAS DETECTED ON EARTH.”

Adam sighed, knowing that whilst the job was going to be hard, at least the money would be worth it...right?

“I’ll see what I can do.” Checking the time, he realized he should probably end the call soon. He was feeling hungry, and would work better without this guy’s annoying voice app distracting him. However, he paused, seeing something on the pile of documents. He reached over and picked it up. It was a similar photo, but it was a better close up of the text itself. 2 words appeared underlined. He looked back at the transcript, his eyebrow rising up curiously.

“Say, one more question about this...job. Err, this thing you sent me. It appears there was a translation error of sorts. What does this mean exactly?” He held the picture up to the camera, awaiting a response. “Segleell appears to be right, it’s the other word I’m wondering about.”

Seconds passed.

“THERE WAS A MISTRANSLATION. SORRY ABOUT THAT. THE CORRECT TRANSLATION IS  KRISTA SEGLEELL.”

“THAT IS ALL.”

[liliesoftherain]

Ocean Eyes, or Something More?

A/N: Lowkey hate this, I rushed the ending and ijfbvfvbf, I wanna rewrite it! But I hope you enjoy this anyways. I’ll be posting more soon promise. 

However! Enjoy another beautiful server prompt for mha & readers discord server! I’ll be posting the masterlist later today, so keep a watch for that!! 

Pairing: Commodore!aka Officer!Bakugou Katsuki x Pirate!Fem!Reader

The spray of the sea landed upon your face; licking your lips at the assault, you were pleased to find the bitter sting of salt because of it. The smell of the water contradicted its taste, the sweet aroma of the waves still one of many that you haven’t gone nose blind to. The never ending blue surrounding you above and below was an almost blinding sight, yet there was never another sight you would rather gaze at. Never could another place hold itself so dearly in your heart such as this. This was your life; a life of freedom and honor, as much honor as a born and bred pirate could scrape together anyways.

The winds that blew against the durable sails urged your beauty of a ship forward, closer to the destination you were seeking. You kept your excitement at bay, knowing that this mission you’ve taken upon yourself was that  of great importance. 

“Cap’n, we be close to the shores of Sinehpor, the rest await yer orders.” Your right hand breaks your thoughts, and you glance over at him. 

Kirishima was a fine second mate, brave and upheld your honor more than anyone else ever had. A true man you trusted by your side, trusted with your life. You granted his presence with a nod, eyes going back to scan your crew.

“Thank ye, Kirishima. Have everyone prepare for shore, tis will be a night o’ drinkin’ for em all.”

“Aye, already done, Cap’n.” He grinned, motioning to the members preparing the sails and locking up some of the more precious items below deck. 

“Good,” you glance over the waters to spot the shoreline approaching the distance, “Ye already know why we be here, Kirishima.”

“Aye, the true reason. We be sure to get that map from the scoundrel. This be one of the biggest hauls yet, Cap’n.”

“So it shall,” you laugh heartily before raising your voice for everyone to hear, “Avast! All hands hoay me hearties, we be sailin’ into the docks of Sinehpor. Ye be knowin’ what that means!”

The cheers and happiness was contagious, goodwill spreading all along the ship. You nod at Kirishima as he went below to help the rest.

Tonight your men would be destroying their livers on the finest rum they could get a hold of, reaping the benefits of land after their time on the ship without rest. You had finished up a job, and were now without much purpose other than sailing. With your mates growing antsy for more work, and you itching for a new conquest, you figured it’d be beneficial to kill two birds with one stone.

Sinehpor was a well known trading dock that many came to for more than just their merchant carts; Sinehpor was also known to have some of the finest taverns and festivals, seen as more of a party district than one of trading. However, that title was swept under the rug, trading as a front to stay out of too much trouble from the royal navy and their annoying habits to shut down anything that was deemed fun. You've had your run in with the royal navy more than once, nothing more than a capture, since you always managed to escape before they could do anything more than that. 

You maneuvered your ship to a bare part of the port, docking your ship as you prepared to descend the ship. Making sure to give your crew a knowing look, silently commanding them to not seek out too much trouble, before letting them depart. You were the last to walk down the plank board, Kirishima waiting faithfully at the bottom for you. Your sea legs were noticeable as you walked towards the keeper, putting on an indifferent face as he gaped at your figure.

You understood, receiving this look on more than one account, while female pirates were rare they were still a thing; a female captain on the other hand was almost unthinkable to most. 

“It’s one shilling to dock, uh, ma’am.” 

You reach for your cloth bag while maintaining eye contact, pulling out more than what was asked for, throwing the shillings onto his record book.  You tip your head slowly, captain hat proudly atop your head as it followed your motions. You stroll away, smirk taking over as you hear him mumble a random name for the records. 

Your name wasn’t something you gave away so freely, not even your given name;

Diablo.

The legendary devil who roams the waters with ‘his’ crew born straight from hell. Well, that’s what they say anyways. There was not a man alive who hadn’t heard the tale of Diablo and ‘his’ deadly crew, who always got away with the fastest ship there was. Your ship, Hell Born Serpent, wasn’t given names on false pretenses. It was the fastest ship you have ever encountered, it’s shape helped its speed and agility in the water, ‘snaking’ through the water before disappearing from view. There was no one alive who wanted to go head to head with your crew, not a sane one anyways. You yourself had fought tooth and nail to gain your own title of legend, and you would continue fighting to your death.

Speaking of legends, you focused your mind on your purpose here. You had heard prior that an old acquaintance, of yours would still be here by this time. That he’d be taking residence for a short time before moving on again, sneaky old rouge. With these rumors around of his whereabouts, you were sure he could be gone any day, so you had to make sure you caught him before he did. He had what you wanted, what would give you work and make an even bigger name for you and your crew.

The map to Eazam Island itself, the one and only island of bone that was foretold to be full of riches beyond a man's wildest dreams. They say it’s just one of legend, a story for weary sailors, but what is another legend under your belt? If there was to be anyone to snatch the gold and live to boast of the easy capture, well that would only be your crew of course. 

You both reached a bar you knew well, hidden among other buildings but still one of quite busy, the dim lights and smells of food and drink bringing back memories of past adventures. 

A wild set of raven hair quickly catches your attention, and your smirk widens. You wave off Kirishima, allowing him to wander off to a table and relax with a pint; although you were sure he would do no such thing, opting to watch over the interaction in case of foul play. You dearly hope a barmaid will draw his attention away and let him have some fun, what good would it be to have come here if he didn’t.

Another catches your attention, making eye contact with one of your crew mates as he lifts a mug in salute to you, drowning it in one go. His eyes grow hazy and face flush before he barks out a laugh, pulling two barmaids closer to his side with a giggle in his voice, their faces heating up while they fall for his charms. That was your very own Denki of the Dames, a hit with the ladies sure, but as you take one final glance to see his slurred words and wobbly stature…

You knew he should have been called lightweight instead, he was always three sheets to the wind after two measly grogs. 

You see a few others sitting together, their names definitely matching: Abyss eyed Ashido, the bat of her eyes said to hypnotize anyone she wishes, and Quick Slip Sero, who you did trust wholeheartedly to get out of any sticky situation. You merely called them their names, not out of disrespect but for that of fondness. Each member was your family, and you made it known to them all.

You turn away from them, licking your lips in anticipation as you keep your sights locked onto your main target. You saunter towards your prey, taking the spot directly next to him at the bar. 

“I was wonderin’ when you’d show, doll. Your lackies aren’t the most subtle, ya know.”

“Sorry to keep ye waitin’, inferno.” You tap the bar for a drink, ignoring the way your company clicks his tongue at the name. You nod at the bartender, slugging back a few gulps before peering over the rim of the mug to see blue eyes piercing into your soul. Blue like your beloved waters, but these were nothing in comparison to the beauty you saw daily. 

“How many times will ya insist on calling me that wretched name, Diablo.”

“I think it suits ye pretty well, don’t ye think?”

“I never asked to be called-”

“Neither did I mine, yet here we be. Two ol salts drinkin’ in a measly pub together, wit names neither wan. So cut the hostility, Dabi, an jus drink yer rum before I do.”

He hummed, voice cutting deep and reminding you of forbidden nights shared together, before taking a drink of his own cup.

The noises of the rowdy bar infiltrated your ears, however silence between the two of you louder than that. You weren’t one to beat around the bush, so you broke the silence and went in for the kill.

“Now, why don’ ye be nice an’ help me get me hands on that map, ha?”

“What map is that, doll.”

“Map to Eazam, what else.”

“Hm, now, what kind of place would that be.”

You sent a glare through the corner of your eye, deadly (e/c) meeting haughty blue.

“Don’ be testing me now, Dabi. Best ye spill it before I grow angry.”

The tension was thick, neither stare wavering as you both tried to win a silent match. Stormy seas and cannon fire filled a single share look, till Dabi grunted and looked down into his drink. 

“Who even says I have it to give it to ya, Diablo.”

“Ye always have what i’m lookin’ for, Inferno.”

“Oh,” his smirk grew, tongue trailing between parted lips, “I do, ay? Maybe you can give me what I always be looking for, then.”

“We ended that a long time ago, don’ be startin’ things ye know is impossible.” You hiss, annoyed at his diversion.

“This could also be something considered impossible, ya know.” Dabi chuckled, finishing his drink before throwing enough for the tab.

“Ye know me crew and I are the impossible, Inferno. You’ll get yer cut for the map, of course. I’m not cruel.” You grin wickedly, spilling your own pockets for the rum as you drown the rest, slamming the cup atop the counter. 

His eyes rolled at yoru dramatics, glaring at the redhead across the bar.

“I see ol’ second rate still watches you like a lost seadog searching for land.”

You raise your chin, telling Kirishima to stay put as he glared at the man beside you. He nodded at your request, staying put as you both made your way to the back entrance of the pub.

“Watch the way ye be talkin’ about my right hand, Inferno.”

“Aye, of course Cap’n.” He mocks, the back door closing behind him as you both walk down the empty alley. 

Dabi takes you a few ways away, back towards the docks as he heads towards his own ship-nothing as extravagant as your own. As soon as you both are to board the ship, a whistle puts you both on guard. 

You glance behind you to see two naval sailors, both men watching the two of you.

“Pardon the intrusion, all docks are to be cleared until ship inspection is over.” The one with dark hair speaks up, a formal voice for a formal guard.

“Sirs, ship inspection? There is no such thing, if I may be so bold.” Dabi speaks out, voice taut as his hands itch to grab his pistol. 

You send him a sharp glare, knowing any wrong moves could blow this whole situation out of the waters. The men take in both of your attire, and you hold back a scoff at the judgment in their eyes. All naval personnel were the same, there was only one man who granted you a judgment free stare. You haven’t seen him in years, and you hoped you never would. He was the best commanding officer they had, if you were to be caught by him it was over. 

“We are inspecting to make sure all ships that are documented are present, and there are none without the proper paperwork. That is all.” The cool voice of the second sailor spoke out, his scar on his left eye giving hint that these men were no pushovers. 

“There will be no trouble, we were just leaving.” Your voice commanded, motioning Dabi to follow as you attempted to walk past the two men. 

They seemed to also want no trouble, letting you walk by until a booming voice halted all movement.

“Who are these people walking along the docks, can you two do your jobs properly?!” The snarling tone captivated you, yet you felt all of that leave as soon as a hand grabbed your upper arm. 

You were quickly spun, red hot gaze burning into your own. You couldn’t help your eye twitching in annoyance, and that only seemed to set him off. He looked you up and down, gaze still on you as he spoke out to the others.

“You were just about to let a couple of pirates walk off, you imbeciles.”

“Pirates? Ye must be mistaken,” you say coolly, trying to remove his hold on you, “We be here for the fine tradin’ posts, of course.”

Strong jaw clenches, and his warm hands grab at you harder till he forcefully moves your sleeve up. The two scars that circled your wrist and branded you as a pirate were now in plain view, your tattoo resting right above it. You sigh, annoyed more than anything with all of the manhandling. 

“Trading posts, of course.” His snide and mocking tone pissed you off more.

Guns were drawn, and you knew there was no way you could ever dodge those.

“Come now gentlemen, we don’t want any unnecessary blood spilling, do we?” A cool smirk came from your companion, and the man holding you quickly grabbed Dabi’s arm to check for his pirate mark as well. 

“Seems you’re not one of them. I suggest you leave before I charge you as an accomplice.” 

Dabi mock bowed before stepping away, hands up in false surrender as he did. 

You expected nothing more from the coward, the man may not be considered a pirate but he surely acts as one. 

However, he was more shady than he was worth.

“Ye rat bastard-”

“I would be quiet now, pirate. I hereby arrest you on accounts of treason against the crown.”

“If ye shall be adressin’ me, ye shall do it properly. It be Cap’n to the likes of ya.” You huff, glaring at the guns still pointed at your head.

You had no chance of taking 3 men on alone, especially now that Dabi had left. You’d just have to wait it out, see what these men were capable of and then escape accordingly. 

“Captain?” The sailor with glasses gaped, and you turn with a smug smile.

“Aye, ye have never seen a woman cap’n before, ha?”

“Woman or not, a pirate is a pirate. Captain…” The blonde holding onto you gazed at your tattoo, only to have his eyes widen. 

“What is it, Bakugou.” The one with the scar spoke out, causing this Bakugou to stare at you.

“You’re el Diablo.” 

It was a statement rather than a question, and you shrug indifferently before pulling your arm from his hold. Instantly feeling the breeze cooling the warm skin he once held. 

“Diablo? He’s said to be well, a man.” 

“Does she look like a man to you?” Bakugou snarled, annoyed as he tugged cuffs from his waist. 

“Oh,” your eyes scan the item, “Commodore, I don’ think this be the best time for ye to try anything like that out on me. Not until i get a couple o’ grogs in me system first.”

You speak suggestively, wincing as he clamps on the cuffs tight. The dug into your skin painfully, cold metal feeling like flames on your wrist. 

“Watch your tongue, Captain. I may just cut it off.”

You were then dragged by the man to the naval ship, a large one with the name ‘Queens Jewel’ painted along the side. Forced up on the deck, you felt the stares of different official sailors. You keep a smirk on your lips, not trying to give more than needed. 

A hand dug itself into your shoulder as you were forced below, a row of cell blocks coming into view. You glance for keys, or any sort of escape, but red meets your wandering (e/c).

“You wont find anything in here, my crew isn’t as stupid as you might believe.”

“On the contrary, I don’ believe yer crew is stupid. I believe that to be all ye, commodore.” 

He growled, grabbing you by the front of your coat as he raised you closer to his face. 

“I believe you have no room to talk here, pirate.”

This was the first time you had gotten a close look at the man, he was large and burly, truly someone worthy of his title. Light battle scars littered his face, very faint and from probably nothing more than just training. His blond hair was the opposite of what you assumed a proper commodore should have; instead of neat and kept, it was wild and untamed-as was the apparent temper he had. His eyes intrigued you the most, the opposite of your calming blue seas, this man's eyes were a storming red. There was a feel of harshness, yet justice. Anger, yet levelheadedness. His eyes were contradicting, the color of a sunset reflecting off the blue shores below.

What a sight indeed.

“Now now, best ye be not doin’ anything ye shall regret, ay.”

“I will regret nothing, it’s my personal joy to watch the scum of the seas get what they deserve.”

He tossed you harshly into the cell, locking it up before scrunching his nose at you. You return the sentiment, your playful facade dropped as a menacing scowl appears. 

“Scum of the seas? Ye be one to talk, all ye be is a pawn of the queen. We ‘scum’ have morals, ye do not.”

“Hah? Morals, in a pirate?” He scoffs.

“Aye, a pirate lives by the code of which their forefathers have written with their own blood and souls. Ye follow the deranged orders of a madwoman who cares nothing about the people below ‘er.” You scoot back, leaning your back against the wall of the cell. 

You fully expected the man, who was called Bakugou if you remembered correctly, to up and leave. To call you a dirty pirate before storming away from the cell. You felt the ship move beneath you as it began to sail off, so surely they needed him to call out commands to his crew of misfits. However, to your surprise he had sat on a crate by the bars, watching you intently. You meet his gaze, unafraid to look into his cool-hellfire eyes. 

“The queen is a woman who does what she can for the people. It’s you pirates who pillage and kill, not us. We follow orders because they keep commoners safe.”

“Who do ya think we be, monsters!? We may be lookin’ out for our own, but if ye give a snake a reason to strike, strike it shall. Ye leave it be, it shall grant ye the same respect of that which it be given. Pirates respect those who be deserving.”

“And we don’t.”

“No.”

The waves brushing along the sides of the ship and the creaking of the motions soothed your temper, you closed your eyes and let your head fall back against the wall. Hoping this conversation was over. There was no navy sailor who you have ever come across who was worthy of your respect, this man was not going to be one of them either it seemed. Although, the brash attitude from early looked to be faded, a blunt yet calm one in its place. Contradicting once again, just like his eyes.

Your own snapped opened as you heard him stand, watching as he narrowed his gaze in thought.

“Tch. For a pirate who makes claims they sail the open waters, you appear to be sheltered. Where has your false sense come from.”

“It not be false,” you whisper, eyes closing once more as memories surface, “it be real, whether ye believe me or not is none of my business. I don’ trust ye to keep your mouth shut anyways.”

“Fair enough, however it is a pirate you cannot trust. I will never forget my lessons. You have your own reasons, and I have mine. I know first hand of the damage you pirates can do, I won’t stand for it.” You heard him speak through clenched teeth. 

“Then sit, yer head be full of lies”

“It is you whose words are false and based on only personal gain.”

“A man of the queen may not keep their word, but a man of the sea shall, commodore.”

“Well, you can believe I shall keep my word on this: your end is soon, Captain Diablo. You have nowhere to run, and you shall be put to death for your crimes.”

His footsteps begin to fade, his voice echoing in your head as he leaves.

“Soon enough the one who be telling the truth will be laughin’. Dead men tell no tales, Commodore. Yet neither will a lost man, ya see.” You laugh to yourself, not hearing a reply as he leaves the room. 

A few hours go by and you are visited once more by the intriguing man, a tray of food in his hands. You make no move to go towards it as he slides it in, eyes still closed and body still in the same position as he left. 

He sighed in annoyance, and you could only help but smirk.

“What’s with the look, you halfwit.”

The seas rock with more force, the boat swaying more as if a storm was coming forth. Then it happened, the sounds of fighting happening above, causing Bakugou to curse out in question. 

“Ye see commodore,” Your eyes flutter open, grinning evilly as he stared back with anger and confusion, “tis as i said, a lost man will tell no tales. I am to be lost, ye have no hopes of finding me.”

Then the door leading to the cellar room burst open, and you promised yourself you would never forget that look of terror and hatred in those bright sea-ruby eyes. You have never cared for another color other than your seas, often trying to find replacements, with no luck. Yet, while they weren’t as pretty as your blue ocean below you, they were just good enough that you’ve found yourself hoping to see them again.

[dfvxdfgbxd]

though I had heard something about Smith, a story of some old man dying in a restaurant

“No, not exactly,” he answered, “though I had heard something about Smith, a story of some old man dying in a restaurant. But I really do know something about Mme. Bubnov. Only two months ago I got some money out of that lady. je prends mon bien ou lugosis carhartt je le trouve, and that’s the only respect in which I am like Moliere. Though I squeezed a hundred roubles out of her, I vowed at the time I’d wring another five hundred out of her before I’d done. She’s a nasty woman! She’s in an unmentionable line of business. That wouldn’t matter, but sometimes it goes too far. Don’t imagine I’m a Don Quixote, please. The point is that I may make a very novolux 60 ledgood thing of it, and when I met Sizobryuhov half an hour ago I was awfully pleased. Sizobryuhov was evidently brought here, and the fat man brought him, and as I know what the fat man’s special trade is, I conclude . . . oh, well, I’ll show him up! I’m very glad I heard from you about that girl;

ropa golf junior

it’s another clue for me. I undertake all sorts of private jobs, you know, and I know some queer people! I investigated a little affair for a prince not long ago, an affair, I tell you, one wouldn’t have expected from that prince. Or would you care to hear another story about a married woman? You come and see me, old man, and I shall have subjects ready for you that people will never believe in if you write about them . . . .” By the time the old knight returned to the queen’s rooms atop the pyramid, Prince Quentyn’s corpse had been removed. Six of the young cupbearers were playing some child’s game as he polo rafloreneentered, sitting in a circle on the floor as they took turns spinning a dagger. “Boiled eggs, fried bread, and beans. And a jug of wine. I must frankly admit, however, that, either owing to the derangement of my nerves, or my new impressions in my new lodgings, or my recent melancholy, I gradually began at dusk to sink into that condition which is so common with me now at night in my illness, and which I call mysterious horror. It is a most oppressive, agonizing state of terror of something which I don’t know how to define, and something passing all understanding and

donna di porto pim una storia riassunto

outside the natural order of things, which yet may take shape this very minute, as though in mockery of all the conclusions of reason, come to me and stand before me as an undeniable fact, hideous, horrible, and relentless. Garth spent his days honing her, the other keepers said. I will not plead for mercy, Davos resolved. A full moon floated above the mast. It is following me downriver, watching me like some great eye. Miller called to her husband, who was in the front porch, and he ran out and seized the man by the collar, and tried to stop him. The other, with an oath, then told him to take his hands off, and if he touched me he would kill him. Come sunset, as the sea turned black as ink and the swollen sun tinted the sky a deep and bloody red, Victarion came back on deck. He was naked from the waist up, his left arm blood to the elbow. “And one more request: I know, my dear, that it’s dull for you perhaps, but come and see us as often as ever you can. My poor Anna Andreyevna is so fond of you, and . My hands …” Tyrion turned them over, inspected them, coiled them into fists. “… my hands are crusted with old blood, aye. Men said he was just … and if his was a harsh, hard-handed sort of justice, well, life on the Iron Islands had accustomed Asha Greyjoy to that. All the same, she could not like this king. If any slave be mutilated, beaten, or ill treated, contrary to the true intent and meaning of this section, when no one shall be present, in such case the owner, or other person having the charge or management of said slave thus mutilated, shall be deemed responsible and guilty of the said offence, and shall be prosecuted without further evidence, unless the said owner, or other person so as aforesaid, can prove the contrary by means of good and sufficient evidence, or can clear himself by his own oath, which said oath every court under the cognizance of which such offence shall have been examined and tried is by this act authorized to administer.—Code Noir. Crimes and Offences, 56. “All kneel for His Magnificence Hizdahr zo Loraq, Fourteenth of That Ancient Name, King of Meereen, Scion of Ghis, Octarch of the Old Empire, Master of the Skahazadhan, Consort to Dragons and Blood of the Harpy,” the herald shouted. Brazen Beasts swung out amongst the pillars to form a line, then sac camelbak lobo began a slow advance in lockstep, nike ao0053 ushering the petitioners from the hall.. On the middle finger, the grey had crept up past the second knuckle. I should hack them off, he thought, but how would I explain two missing fingers? He dare not let the greyscale become known. Could I be going mad? They had called her father mad, deicmen gyerek csizma once. “I was praying,” she told the twin set cardigan outlet Naathi girl. And, in the first place, you are to be obedient and subject to your masters in all things.... And Christian ministers are commanded to “exhort servants to be obedient unto their own masters, and to please them well in all things, not answering them again, or gainsaying.” You see how strictly God requires this of you, deicmen gyerek csizma that whatever your masters and mistresses order you to do, you must set about it immediately, and faithfully perform it, without any disputing or grumbling, and take care to please them well in all things. The dog, after turning round two or three times in the same place, lay down sullenly at his feet with its nose between his boots, heaving deep sighs, and, stretched out full length on the floor, it too stayed without moving the whole evening as though it bad died for the time. One might imagine that these two creatures lay dead all day somewhere, and only at sunset came to life again, simply to visit Muller’s shop to perform some mysterious, secret duty.

[therucrap]

RPDR 13 Episode 1 RuCrap

Hello dear internet! I just started a new page for my first ever RPDR RuCrap so please share and follow and I’ll continue if they catch on! Hope you enjoy!

The lucky 13th season of RuPaul’s Trauma Spectacular launches with the promise of “all new surprises” and a brand new twist that will leave you wondering how you ever sat through a boring old premiere with a coherent intro, climax, and conclusion when you could be enduring a dizzying hour and a half of WOW presents Happy Death Day 3: Covid Edition!

We open up on the trusty trauma center - I mean Werk Room - and the first to enter is NYC’s “Dominican Doll” and human drag lingo See ‘N Say Kandy Muse in an elaborate bejeweled patchwork jean mini dress and MATCHING DENIM BOOMBOX and she immediately informs us that we may know her from the now former Haus of Aja which was recently deconstructed like the pair of Wranglers that Kandy is wearing as fingerless gloves. Kandy is no longer alone in VIP because the befeathered Joey Jay arrives and half-heartedly delivers her intro line. “Filler queen!” We discover that Kandy is likely going to provide our Greek chorus confessional this season and all in a soft smoky eye when she informs us uncultured swine that Joey is wearing the cheapest variety of feather - chicken. Kandy didn’t construct an entire outfit from the remnants section of a Joanne Fabrics and not learn a thing or two about quality, sweetie! Joey is determined to beat viewers to the punchline and immediately clucks around branding herself as “basic” and “filler.” Joey is from the city of Phoenix (and possibly the online University as well) but she’s here to rise like a chicken!

Thunder mysteriously rumbles as RuPaul appears on the digitally enhanced Werk room TV but what could this be?! For all you newbies this is one of the several instances in every season where Ru mixes things up and gives us what we really want: a twist that is equal parts confusing, fucks up the natural order of the competition, and is ultimately unfulfilling! Come on season 13, let’s put a bunch of queer people through even more turmoil in a pandemic! Ru has a surprise but they’ll have to head to the mainstage to get the full story that they’ll be recounting to a mental health professional later!

We’re merely four minutes in and here comes Ru down the runway dressed like a glitterdot jellyfish! Our tour guide on Trauma Island introduces us to the main panel of judges for the season - Disco Morticia Addams and the two human Trapper Keepers who are now separated by glass because for the first time in Drag Race herstory we’re in the middle of a international health crisis, mawma!

Now let’s get down to trauma! Ru explains that the queens will be pairing off to lipsync unexpectedly as they enter! What could possibly go wrong? Well if you’re hoping that someone comes in wearing blades on their feet well just stick around because I have quite the treat for you! Our Dungaree Diva and the Chicken Feather Filler hit the Mainstage looking as confused as Shangela researching CDC protocol on her way to Puerto Vallarta last week. The judges interview our test subjects and immediately bring up the Haus of Aja and Kandy clarifies that she’s now an esteemed member of The Doll Haus along with last season’s ever-gorgeous Dahlia Sinn. I personally prefer not to say that Dahlia was eliminated first but instead that she was season 12’s brocco-leading lady! (Writer’s note: if you’re thinking “there’s a drag show called The Doll Haus in my hometown... is it THAT Doll Haus?!” No, there’s a drag show called The Doll Haus in almost every city in America but now, like with the former Sharon Needles, Kim Chis, and Penny Trations of the world, this one’s been on TV and alas, the others must now rename themselves)! Joey also charms the judges with her plucky demeanor and it’s already time to lipsync feather they like it or not!

Gay anthem Call Me Maybe by Canadian legend Carley Rae Jepson begins and Kandy immediately pushes a fake button on her DENIM BOOMBOX to start the party. Honestly... crown her right there on the spot. We will ALWAYS give points for prop work and the Carrot Top of the Bronx does not disappoint. Both are energetic but it’s The Dutchess of Denim who wins by infusing humor and our feathered friend is given “the Porkchop” but before we can even wrap our head around what this means for the state of the competition we snap back to the Werk Room to meet our next unsuspecting victims!

Now dear reader, this is the part where I’m just going to cut the shit. The set-up they’re selling us is that the losers of these premiere lipsyncs will be eliminated from the show but they are obviously not about to Porkchop half of the cast on day one so just stick with me while we suspend disbelief and go on RuPaul’s Totally Twisted Trauma Adventure as she convinces 6 gay people who just spent upwards of $10,000 on clothing, jewelry, and hair and then meticulously packed it into regulation suitcases to travel here during a pandemic after probably not making any money for the last four months (this was filmed in July) that they are going home on day one! This herstory-making twist, like so many before it, exemplifies the show’s worst qualities: a lack of empathy for its contestants, an underestimation of viewer intelligence and ability to decode heavy-handed editing witchery, and its love for completely dismantling its own format every year for the sake of drama. Whatever keeps the Emmy’s coming, baby! When you’re on the other side of one of these twists you usually feel like you just finished your morning coffee only to find out that the barista gave you decaf. Your mind will be blown when it’s happening but the payoff is usually at the expense of the show’s own legitimacy. With that said... this is the punishment we come to gleefully endure every year and we’re not here to complain, we’re here to watch gay people break down, dammit!

It’s deja Ru all over again as we snap back to the Werk Room where Chicago’s Denali walks in on ice skates and immediately ruins any chance of a deposit return for the bumpy, rented roll-out vinyl floors and declares “Let me break the ice!” She’s wearing the expensive feathers that Joey Jay didn’t spring for. Denali might not be the first ice skater on Drag Race but she’s the one I didn’t watch shit on a dick on Twitter last week so let’s give credit where it’s due. Ugh I wish Trinity the Tuck could block THAT from my memory! Next up is Atlanta’s Lala Ri whose white blazer, body suit, and unteased hair is immediately called basic by an icy Denali in confessional. Denali is confident but we know something that she doesn’t and Lala is wearing a sensible dancing ankle boot not two blades on her feet so let’s see how this turns out!

The lipsync song is “When I Grow Up” by Nicole Scherzinger and her assistants who were accidentally given microphones a few times! Denali struggles to conceal her wayward nipples during some ambitious dance moves and all while in skates but Lala gives us a good old fashioned drag performance and a big finale split unbothered by an elaborate costume and ultimately ices Denali who signs off with “Feeling icy, feeling spicy!” Asking these queens to lipsync upon entering is one thing but asking them to improvise their exit lines 10 minutes in is just cruel!

Denali heads backstage devastated where SURPRISE... Joey Jay is sitting alone in a sad room made of plywood walls featuring a bunch of pictures of first eliminated queens, an ominous “Porkchop Loading Dock” sign, and some cocktail tables with no cocktails (how dreadful).

Before we get the full picture and God for bid our bearings on Mr Charles’ Wild Ride let’s leave this plywood hellscape and jump back into the familiar comfort of the Werk Room’s pixelated neon pink faux brick walls where LA’s modelesque Symone stomps in wearing a dress made of tiny Polaroids of herself. She’s stylish, her energy is fresh, and she’s clearly one to watch. Then dear reader life as we know it changes. A breeze comes through the room and God herself blesses us when living legend and matriarch of the Iman dynasty Tamisha Iman from Atlanta arrives in a pointy-shouldered red power suit and proclaims to us simple townsfolk “Holler at me, I know you know me. Holler at me, I know you know me. Tamisha is here!” The sea parts, the crops are replenished, and all war stops on Earth. On stage Tamisha reveals that she’s been doing drag for 30 years (which seems like a long time to us mere mortals) and that she was originally cast last season but was diagnosed with colon cancer two days later and had to stay home for chemo. The lipsync gods wisely choose The Pleasure Principle by Janet Jackson and Tamisha gives us exact Janet arm choreo while Simone is sultry yet commanding as she shakes her Polaroids. The judges determine that Simone was picture perfect and American hero Tamisha Iman is sent to Porkchop’s Shipping Crate of Horrors to join the nest with the fancy feather option and the chicken feather option.

We begrudgingly crawl back onto RuPaul’s ever-circling carousel of doom and plop back into the workroom where accomplished LA celebrity makeup artist GottMik stomps in wearing a wacky toile dress and a full face of white makeup declaring that it’s “Time to crash the system!” GottMik is Drag Race’s first trans man contestant (and first knowingly cast trans contestant at all) for which we cheer excitedly and then immediately look at our watches because that took too long. Next up Minneapolis’s towering Utica wriggles in with a sneeze and declares “She’s sickening!” which is just the pandemic humor I came here for! Contaminate me, mom! This gay scarecrow is wearing a series of crazy patterns and a big strawberry on her head and the two of them appear to be from the same traveling circus. These two Big Comfy Couch characters slink over to the main stage where Utica explains that her cranial statement fruit symbolizes tackling obstacles because she used to be allergic to strawberries as a kid but she grew out of it. In RuPaul’s heavy universe of heart wrenching struggles that contain chronic illness and societal rejection, Utica’s animated world that suffers only of outgrown childhood strawberry problems is a welcome one. These two lanky rag dolls will be lipsyncing to Rumors by her majesty Lady Lohan of Mykonos and the vibe is instantly wacky. I wouldn’t say that either of them are the next Kennedy Davenport but they did complement each other well on the invisible obstacle course they were both miming through. Utica’s hair flops over her eye, there’s galloping and floor humping, GottMik does a split, there’s elbows and knees aplenty, and all that’s missing is dancing poodles. The judges are tickled by the kookiness of both of these human windsocks but Gotmikk snatches the win. Neither of these two are going to win So You Think You Can Dance but luckily this is RuPaul’s So You Think You Can Trauma so we’re in luck!

Our homosexual Groundhog Day continues back in the Werk Room where we meet NYC’s Rosé who gets the Brita treatment where she’s presented as a legendary New York queen and then the editors quickly get to work making her look delusional. She’s accomplished, confident, and Drag Race’s favorite personality type to dismantle and then trick into returning to All-Stars for a redemption only to dismantle again. Rosé’s fresh-faced foil Olivia Lux enters and lights up the place right away in a velvet pink and yellow gown. She’s a humble NYC newby who has competed in shows hosted by the established Rosé and we already know what’s about to happen here. The lipsync is Exes and Oh’s by Elle King which which was a choice. Olivia strips off her gown to reveal a bodysuit so she can really articulate and Rosé does the world’s least exciting split that looked like me trying unsuccessfully separate wooden chopsticks. Olivia triumphs and Rosé fizzles as she heads to the It Didn’t Werk Room aka Porkchop’s sparsely decorated storage closet to be with the other Have Nots.

We’re almost to the finish line and we limp, slightly disoriented, back to the Werk Room where we meet Tina Burner, another NYC theater kid with the confidence of a thousand Patti LuPones who is dressed like a Ronald McDonald firefighter. What she lacks in nuance she makes up for in nonstop fire puns. Next Chicago’s glamorous Kahmora Hall saunters in glowing and is clearly unimpressed with Tina’s constant Joan Rivers impression but maintains a full pageant smile. No choice but to stan. Our final queen is the refreshingly optimistic Elliott with 2 T’s who busts in wearing a bolero jacket, some red pants from the store, and a short pink wig that screams “Sorry I’m late! Here’s my flash drive! I can go on whenever!” Elliott dances in sing-talking her entrance line like the TGIFriday’s server she is: “I’m the queen you want to see. Elliot with two T’s. Okay! Uh uh uh uh uh uh uh uh! Okay!” Elliot is a dancer from Las Vegas and has the unhinged camp counselor energy of someone with snacks in her purse at all times.

On the Mainstage Tina cycles through the last of her introductory fire puns and tells the judges she was in a boy band which honestly tracks. Tina and Rosé share a similar NYC gotta-get-a-gimmick energy but for some reason production has decided to give Rosé the womp womp edit and Tina the superstar edit. The song is Lady Marmalade because we haven’t been though enough and Kahmora serves subdued sexy glamour, Elliott does the splits, and Tina bobs and weaves between the two with full play-to-the-back-row comedy queen energy. Tina extinguishes the dreams of the other two and RuPaul sends the final two losers to the chokey.

The worst is over (we think) and our frazzled cast of hopefuls finally gets to know eachother in their two very different groups. The winning queens in the Werk Room are celebrating and as blissfully unaware of the doom around them as Miss Vanjie and Silky Ganache at a Puerto Vallarta circuit party during a pandemic. Over in Porkchop’s Junk Drawer the camera looms unnecessarily close to the crestfallen losers’ now disheveled wigs and sweat drenched makeup. Ru’s voice bellows over the speaker to tell this motley crew to get out and then as the last bit of light leaves their weary eyes she checks back in to tell them that she wasn’t serious! Oh good! Finally a moment of mercy for these once hopeful queens on their first day of RuPaul’s Wipeout! She then reveals that the full twist is that she is only going to send one home but they have to vote amongst the group of losers to decide who it is! Yes, that’s correct! This group of broken queens who just met and mostly have never seen eachother perform will now be expected to turn on eachother and give up their last bit of dignity to either grovel or just straight up fight with eachother! This must be what the Donner Party’s last night looked like. The queens look around broken and wounded but still hungry, their eyes barely open, their lacefronts only partially attached to their heads, and start deciding which of their own is about to get consumed. Her highness Tamisha Iman reminds them "Well, I'm the only black girl so don't vote me off” and just like that we are TO BE CONTINUED!

Thus concludes our first headspinning episode that despite being reliably frustrating has once again sucked us in and against our better judgement entertained us to the fullest! As for our 13 queens- you can use code HERSTORY on Talkspace while relaying tonite’s events to a sickening liscensed therapist!

[corancoranthemagicalman]

IDK how prompts work......i pick number 12! With destiel? Or do you need more than that??

That’s perfectly great!! Since this prompt list is based on the song (associated with that number) on my playlist, that’s the “prompt” as it were. If that makes sense. LMAO.

So the number you picked is twelve and that’s Marbles by The Amazing Devil on my Spotify Wrapped!! So here’s some Destiel with a hint of Marbles. And I am literally already dying because the first line of Marbles is “I've held your hand since 1979.” Dean Winchester’s birthday? Jan. 24, 1979. So. Destiny and all of that. Other things of note: Cassiel - the angel Castiel is based on - is the angel of tears and solitude. That doesn’t matter here but it made me sad. Another thing is that since Aneal was thought to be Anna’s name but was later introduced in season 13 as a different character, I named her Ananiel who is considered to be a “watcher.” I thought that was fitting since Anna watched humanity and fell.

You can read it on AO3 if you’d prefer. This one got longer than I meant it to. :|

And you can prompt me here for some writing!! 700 followers and 100 songs!!

 **********

It was a cold night in January when it began. Castiel recalled the humans had recently marked the year 1979. The evening was an ordinary one save for the birth of one, small child. Crying, the babe called out for his mother. Like most humans, the babe hungered. Humans milled about before affixing the newborn into the arms of a tired but brightly smiling mother.

Castiel approached Ananiel as the Garrison Captain watched in silent awe. It was an emotion unfathomable to Castiel in regards to humans. Ananiel’s fascination with humanity was not something Castiel could grasp, but their order from God was clear. They were to be humanity’s keepers. In this regard, Ananiel’s ever-watchful eye over humanity was something that Castiel could understand.

Even this aside, the birth of the Righteous Man was a sight to behold and witness. Castiel was certain many an angel had paused in their duties to watch on as the Michael Sword drew in his first breath.

“They’re so unassuming, aren’t they?” Ananiel spoke. When Castiel did not respond, Ananiel continued. “He’s so small. Fragile.”

Castiel cast his gaze, watched on as the small babe’s cries silenced at the hushing of his mother. “It is… difficult … to understand that this one will one day become Michael’s sword against Lucifer.”

Ananiel looked displeased at Castiel’s response, turning to face the future Righteous Man. “No, it’s not just that, Castiel.” The Captain furled their body into something smaller, a reflection of the vessels they would have to wear as they walked the Earth. Wordlessly, Castiel followed suit and moved forward with her.

“All of them.” Ananiel’s words were but a whisper. “All of humanity. So small and frail.” The Captain turned their gaze away from Kansas, to Paris, to Istanbul, to Sweden, and to everywhere and nowhere all at once. “Look at them, Castiel. Look at all that they have done on their own.”

But Castiel did not see what Ananiel was gazing upon. Where his Captain saw monuments and civilization Castiel only saw desolation and despair. A people crying out and misguided as they turned away from God. Castiel told Ananiel this, spoke about the heinous atrocities of humanity that he saw reaped and sowed in equal measure. Again Ananiel was displeased.

“Castiel,” Ananiel spoke. “One day you will see.” Ananiel looked upon the Michael Sword once again.

“What will I see?” Castiel inquired as Ananiel knelt from their position over Michael’s True Vessel. They sat beside Ananiel, eyes becoming unsteady as they tried to observe the same things Ananiel did.

Ananiel offered a smile, eyes kept to the small hospital room. “They are God’s greatest Creation.”

Humming, Castiel was not sure that he could dispute that. Their father had ordered Humanity to be their priority. Lucifer had rebelled because Humanity had been loved more. Certainly, God had viewed Humanity as His greatest Creation. Why would Castiel assume differently?

Castiel kept their assumptions to themselves. They did not wish to lessen Ananiel’s view of them. Their Garrison Captain had humored them enough with their lack of understanding. They were still young. Perhaps with age, Castiel would know. For now, they would wait with the hope of understanding one day.

Then it continued in a motel. The year is 2018 and this is where the End begins. Castiel had not wanted to stay beside his brethren as they let Lucifer rise to destroy Humanity. They had been commanded to protect Humanity, God’s favorite Creation. He would continue to do so besides the Winchester brothers.

He wondered if he now understood what Ananiel had meant all those years ago. Watching the Righteous Man, shoulders heavy and eyes dim, Castiel was reminded of the crying child. Only this time, the child did not allow themselves to cry when they needed something. Instead, Dean Winchester held his tongue. He cleaned his gun as Sam Winchester lay sleeping in the opposite bed.

Dean Winchester was… peculiar . He was an enigma wrapped in mystery only to be thrown in the deepest, darkest depths so that his secrets might never see light. But Castiel had seen Dean’s secrets. He had held the man’s very soul in his hands, putting it together piece by piece. He was nothing that Castiel once thought the Michael Sword should have been.

But with that in mind, Dean was not the Michael Sword, was he? He was not the Righteous Man , but a good man . One who was willing to sacrifice everything for his brother and most everything for Humanity. He had fought harder and longer than some of the angels within Castiel’s own Garrison to protect Humanity as God commanded. In this way, perhaps Dean was a soldier of Heaven. A true warrior of God, fighting for His command.

“You should rest.” Castiel finally spoke, watching as Dean continued his meticulous work.

“You should too,” Dean responded as his gaze remained upon his work. His hands were rough, calloused, but handled his weapon with care. A silent duality to an ever curiously crafted man.

Castiel held his words for a moment, thoughts forming and imploding all at once until he could speak. “I do not require rest, Dean.” He spoke eventually, the human voice granted to him by James Novak restrained as he tried to let Sam sleep. Whispering, Dean had referred to it as once. To let humans sleep.

“Well,” Dean sighed, setting aside his tools before beginning to reassemble his weapon. “I guess that means we can just stay up late. Braid each other’s hair and talk about the new High School Musical coming out.”

Furrowing the brow of his human vessel in curiosity, Castiel leaned forward from where he sat at one of the chairs placed by the table. Dean removed his things from atop the bedsheets before meeting his gaze. “I do not think that is what you want, Dean.”

Dean rolled his eyes, standing and taking his things to be placed within his bag. “It’s a joke , Cas.” He huffed. “No one actually cares about Senior Year anyway.” There is a muttering of words that Castiel does not strain himself to understand but Dean turns to face him and continues. “Seriously, go on. You perch on some telephone wire while Sam and I get a few hours.”

Castiel felt annoyance trickle along his very being at the insinuation of birdlike habits. But this was how Dean Winchester communicated. In the same way he referred to Sam as a bitch , he meant brother . It was something Castiel was beginning to grow accustomed to.

Standing, Castiel nodded in understanding. Dean did not like to be watched over so closely while resting. Perhaps it was an instinct ingrained into him through his life as a Hunter. “Of course,” he whispered. “Sleep well, Dean.” With an unfurling of his wings that Dean could not see, Castiel cast himself outside of the motel room.

He stared for a moment at the old paint that marked the motel’s wall. He could almost hear Dean sigh, the Righteous Man allowing his shoulders to sag now that there was no appearance to keep up. Dean Winchester would staple a steel bar to his back if such a thing were possible and if it were viable for keeping his posture upright when facing anyone, kin or not.

It was… admirable , Castiel considered. That Dean Winchester would not allow himself to be viewed as vulnerable. He had been charged to watch over his brother much like Castiel had been charged with watching over Dean. It was… familiar , in an oddly disturbing way. That Castiel could see so much of himself within Dean. When first touching Dean’s soul, Castiel had assumed this was because Dean himself was like an angel. Now, though, Castiel could not help but wonder if it were because he was like a human .

He could remember Ananiel’s fall too freshly. Turning to face away from the motel, Castiel could do nothing but wait and hope that they could defeat Lucifer. That he would not stray as Ananiel did.

In Heaven, while the Earth has reached its year of 2020, so much has changed. An aching amount of years had passed with much too much love and pain chained along with those years. Castiel watched and waited, hope catching in his throat. Perhaps, now with Chuck finally defeated and Jack residing over Heaven as God, the Winchesters could rest. They could find peace.

Castiel rubbed at the place over his chest where his heart resided. His chest, he considered it, as it had been a long time since he considered his body a vessel . There was a beautiful sort of ache knowing that someone you loved would finally get to achieve their happiness. Perhaps this is what Anna had meant all those years ago. Perhaps she too had seen the man that Dean Winchester would become, or the hope of the man he could be. Or perhaps she had no idea whatsoever what it meant to fall in love with a human.

Jack turned from the board he had been staring at blankly. Castiel had no clue as to where the young God’s gaze had turned, but he welcomed him back with a warm smile. Jack, however, greeted his smile with something small and bittersweet.

Furrowing his brow, Castiel placed his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “What is it?” He asked softly. Had already there begun a war to fight? Was there no time for rest as Heaven had been recrafted and Humanity given their Free Will?

“It’s Dean,” Jack spoke gently. “He’s… here.” His words eventually drew out from him, reaching Castiel’s grace and morphing his hesitant spirit into one of sorrow. Already Dean Winchester was dead, resigned to Heaven when there was still a full life on Earth to have been had for him.

“Oh,” Castiel let out in a breath. He felt Heaven spin around him, vision swirling until he was forced to take a seat. Jack followed him, arms reaching out but withheld as not to touch Castiel. “Dean Winchester is…”

“Dead.” Jack nodded as that bittersweet smile remained. “Yes. He’s at the Roadhouse with Bobby Singer now.”

Castiel swallowed heavily. The thought that Dean was being greeted by a familiar and warm face was a soothing balm to the gaping wound left in his heart. “That’s good.” His throat felt constricted around his words. With these thoughts, he could understand the bittersweetness to Jack’s smile. Perhaps this was how Dean Winchester found his peace and true rest. It was unfair , certainly, that Dean should pass so young and not see his peace out on Earth. It was almost cruel when Dean wanted nothing more than a family . Then a home .

Jack smiled then, inhaling a deep breath and transforming his expression. “Time passes differently here, doesn’t it?” He contemplated after the long silence. “I mean, I see everything all at once and yet I experience things in both Heaven and Earth.”

“I… suppose.” Castiel bobbed his head for a moment, folding his hands to rest on his lap. “When I was in Heaven, before all of… everything … there were moments of time that would pass that to the Winchesters was months, or sometimes the reverse was true. And I would be fighting for months and have only been gone a few minutes.”

There was understanding, soft like a new dawn, across Jack’s face. “He’s here now too. Sam, I mean.”

Releasing the breath that he had not known he was holding, Castiel smiled. “Good.” He spoke genuinely with his throat less dry and his words less hollow. “Now he can have peace.”

Jack furrowed his brow, blinking in something akin to surprise at Castiel’s words. “No.” His words were firm but gentle, reminding Castiel of the displeasure Anna had displayed to him many lifetimes ago. “He doesn’t have everything to complete his Heaven yet.”

Castiel could remember watching Dean rake leaves. Waiting with a silent hope that somehow Dean would see him , despite hiding himself from Dean’s gaze. He could remember avoiding Dean’s presence in Purgatory with the blind hope that waiting his time would save Dean . He could remember Naomi and the tablets and countless other things that had left Castiel waiting and hoping .

He could wait and hope for this too. For Dean’s happiness. Perhaps in that short time before his arrival in Heaven - had it been short at all? - Dean had lived something of a life, had met someone. There was a hope that all Dean would have to do was wait and he could have his peace.

“He’s waiting.” Jack’s voice rang out, resonating within Castiel’s grace. Once a meager captain, once a seraph, now an archangel for Jack’s reign as God, Castiel could equate his grace to a soul . The very core of his being despite how much it had been rebuilt and replaced to keep him alive, to keep him powered.

“How much longer will he have to wait?” Castiel asked, fearful of the answer but desperate for it all the same.

Smiling, Jack took the seat across from Castiel and mirrored the templing of his hands. “Soon.” He answered instead. “Did you know that when you rebuilt Dean’s soul you stitched him together with your grace?”

Confused, Castiel slowly nodded. “Yes, but…” he cut his words short, furrowing his brow as he tried to puzzle Jack’s words. “But Dean’s soul and my grace are not what they once were.”

“No,” Jack agreed, tilting his head and gathering his thoughts in a single breath. “No, you aren’t the same. Except you are. You’ve… grown, I suppose. But at your hearts, you’re the same.”

Castiel could concur to that, thinking on how they had not changed. They had continued in their patterns until their deaths. The only thing that had differed in their twelve years of kinship was Castiel’s deathbed confession. He grimaced at the thought, thinking of the weight he must have placed upon Dean’s shoulders, knowing that his love for the man had been what sentenced Castiel to death. Yet Castiel could not regret any actions that might have spared Dean.

Suddenly, Castiel heard a faint voice. It was quieter than a songbird’s first tune but thrice as precious. Dean Winchester’s voice called out, a silent prayer, a calling of longing. Castiel’s eyes widened and yet Jack looked as if he had been expecting this.

“You didn’t forget where you placed your marbles, did you?” He teased, a smile bright stretching his face into something that felt close to Heaven in Castiel’s heart.

“No,” Castiel answered without hesitation. Dean’s longing called again, asking for Castiel. “But…”

Jack laughed, standing and placing his hands on Castiel’s shoulders. “Go find out where Dean Winchester placed his marbles.” He winked and released his grip on Castiel before turning back to the board they had been working over. “I’ll be here when you’re done.” Jack grinned. “Think of it like a 9 to 5 for God.”

Huffing a surprised laugh, Castiel stood. His hands shook and his knees felt weak. “I’ll… see you soon.” He promised, unfurling his wings and stretching his form before taking flight.

It continued like this. Castiel was in Heaven, staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The blue eyes contained within his body reminded him of the river not far from the cabin. The lines on his face reminded him of crow’s feet as he smiled. The hair atop his head was askew from a good night’s rest before, sleeping heavily with content in a large room on a large bed.

Arms, warm, wrapped around his waist. Dean’s chin rested atop his shoulder and a green gaze met his own in the reflection. “Mornin’, sunshine,” Dean mumbled, smiling sleepily to which Castiel could do not much more than return it.

“Good morning, Dean.” Castiel rumbled, felt his happiness roll out from him like thunder, before turning in Dean’s arms to run his fingers through golden hair. “What are we going to do today?”

Dean hummed, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against Castiel’s own. He peered one eye open carefully to catch Castiel’s before closing it again with a smile. “How about you and I go to the lake.” He offered a breathy chuckle. “Off by the pier. Just you and me.” A sharp nose ran gently across Castiel’s cheek, a kiss of skin as Dean tightened his arms around Castiel’s waist.

“That sounds wonderful,” Castiel murmured, closing his eyes and inhaling sharply this scent of familiarity in their shared bathroom.

“Good.” Dean drew back with a smile but not before placing a soft kiss to the corner of Castiel’s mouth. “I’ve got a good feeling about today.”

Offering a blinding smile, Castiel threaded his fingers through Dean’s hair. “Me too.”

[datarevived]

   -- Ⅴ : ᴀ ᴍᴀɴ ɴᴀᴍᴇᴅ ᴄᴀʏᴅᴇ

” – We do not ask that all Guardians fight. That is a choice for them to make their selves, and in doing so, your decision to make, as well. We cannot ask you to risk life after life, fighting for something you do not believe in. But if I might be able to give one simple request -- think it over, Guardian. 

There is none to stop you. Nor will we see you as any less.“

. . .

" I don't want to talk about it right now. "

Like a blanket did uneasiness wrap around her being, snug and tight as words played back in rhythm to her mind. A gnawing ache, something that didn't feel the same way they were spoken, that there was something between the lines she was missing and gods for it, she didn't have the patience nor energy to try. 

Part of her wanted to dismiss it all, that it was just revival jitters - revival jitters? is that what she's calling it? already poorly accepting the idea after several days that she had indeed died, and was brought back, all in the span of a blinking light that followed her every move. That no one in their right mind would be comfortable with something so jarring, that it was natural to be afraid and paranoid of what was to come. Not everyone would jump into a war so willingly, not unless they were truly involved or hampered. Right?

Or was this just her failure attempt to turn a blind eye, a deafen ear to the remains of what had been this planet. This species, he had called it. If so much was at the brink of destruction... why bother coating it in sugar-filled lies that it was an option, that it was a choice, that there fell no consequence to those who refused or did not understand enough to lay themselves proper to the cause? 

Nothing came without bargain. Nothing came without consequence. So why?

A memorizing mess of critical thinking and auto-pilot motive, not even conscious to where her feet had led her next after leaving the Commander out in his perch. No, she just wanted to go away - to breathe fresh air, one that wasn't taint by some means of authority that wanted to treat her idle. That perhaps, indefinitely, that coming to the City would be a mistake, and that she'd feel more comfortable being back in the hole she died in. 

Hah. 

To die and stay dead, that was what their species had meant to do, and yet some foreign object decides to tell them otherwise. An entity these people seemingly knew little about, and yet trusted it so much with everything in their being. It was an absolutely terrifying thought - to put everything into the unknown. Or was it that she was just so closed out in accepting something naturally common - that all of this, was how the world worked. That it was she, who wasn't making sense and making a mess of things. 

     Clarity, where are  you?

Disgruntled features lured to the sounds of panned metal and tools, it is a subconscious effort to silence her own mind. Through several stairwells and open guard rails to the sky, lights sparking upon ships and carriers that failed to detail in her peripheral. The Awoken had come across the Hanger -- a place still untraveled as feet carry her between poles and support, looking for any reason to procrastinate her mind. A blur of people, each without distinct features as she felt her head dizzy, just continue walking forward, you're bound to get somewhere. Anywhere far from the pull of the Light, unwillingly to accept that it walked each step with her, always there -- always fleeting.

" Hey -- Hey! You!     Aye, watch it, you're gonna -- ! "

It's a slice of air that grazes her face that brings her back to the present, doe-eyed features blinking betwixt mechanical pieces that flew inches from her face. Her breath, stalled beneath her throat as a step is taken back instinctively, putting space between she and the injured ship as tools rocked back and forth, pushing out dents and rubbing out scars of war. Had she taken a step too forward, it would have been off with her head -- another mess completely, to add to the list of damages and cosmetics to whomever was waiting their repairs.

Where... was she, again?

" Whoah we geez, louise! What are ya, deaf? You nearly got yourself ping-ponged across the room! "

That voice again - attention turned in favor to its' keeper, a cloaked Exo with narrowing blue optics and face plates to match. Yet compared to Bex and few others she had run into thus far, admittedly far detailed in its' face and expression, a light orange hue igniting in the back of its' throat as it panted in sprint towards her being. 

" I'm all for you guys playin' your games and dares, but, can ya keep it outta the work space? Please? Amanda's done bickered me to death about leaving tools and Hunters around, getting in the way and all -- speaking of which, you're missing your cloak, hurt my feelings a bit but I'll forgive you just this once -- " it blinks, male tone scraping each syllable as it examined Selene head to toe, " --You, are a Hunter, right? Or did Ikora send you? Did she send you? Man, she really doesn't believe in my work ethnic, does she? I told her, I'm stayin here for at least a day - theeen maybe a little road trip, nothin too detailed, but I mean if you want work done, gotta do it yourself, you know? "

" I..- ? "

It was a desperate attempt to keep up with the man at this point, nerves suddenly overtaking the body once more as she gripped tightly at the shirts' end of stomach, unable to keep her eyes still and her breathing paced. Who was this guy? And why did he talk so... much?

" I don't... I-Ikora didn't send me, I - "

" Oh? She didn't? Good, good... wait -- but you're Awoken. Did Mara send you? Is she back? Is she here, on Earth, right now? "

" I -- who?? "

A blink -- servo optics taking a moment before squinting back at her. The Exo raises a hand before speaking again, index finger pointed in her general direction as he began to play out the riddle he'd wrap himself about.

" You're... joking? Right? ... Not, joking? Not joking. That's -- unfortunate. "

" I don't... understand what you're talking about... "

" Then we're at least on the same page, " he gives a half single nod, voice having picked up some, as if impressed. " Okay, okay. You... Ikora didn't send you. Mara didn't send you. Look too... nah, Zavala woulda sent someone bigger. Meaner, too. So that would make you... new? " an uncertainty upon last word, he tilts his head in favor of hearing her out. Like a child, waiting for approval to something truly magnificent.

" I'm... I.. guess? " Selene speaks, brows furrowing up and down in perplexed confusion, shrugging shoulders as she did so but not a finger lifted from the fabric that kept her steady. " I just got to the Tower a few days ago, and I've... talked? to Ikora? and Zav..la? B-But I'm... I don't.. "

"  Wait, wait. Hold on, " the Exo interrupts, realigning his posture and waving his hands in front of himself. " You've already talked to Ikora AND Zavala? And you're new? And we're JUST now meeting? Am I getting this right? "

" Uh... "

" Which means, out of all the important people you've met so far - what about the bird lady? "

" Hawthorne? "

" Weapons? "

" Uh... Ban... Banshee? "

" Old man who never shuts up? "

" He.. he's near Banshee?? "

" Crucible!? "

" The ... man who... yells a lot...? "

" And we're JUST now getting to me? I'm last?! Oh, come on -- " the Exo spirals, flinging his arms in the air as if distressed. Never mind the hurt that sounded in his voice over the matter, as if things had been terribly out of order. " I'm the best one here! And they, none of them -- neither of them mentioned me? Cayde? The Hunter Vanguard? The Golden Gun? The big head honcho himself? "

" Isn't... I thought, Zavala was -- "

" Yeah, yeah, sure, " the Exo waves his hands again, quickly dismissing the clarification. " Big Blue, Command, whatever - but me? I'm the cool guy. I'm the one everyone wants to meet. I'm the voice of reason here! "

That was... saying a lot.

" Ikora mentioned there was three Vanguard... " Selene tries to speak again, this time, parting her sentences in case there was more to be said from the other. " You... You said your name is Cayde, right? So you're the third... the Hunter? "

" Awh, come on. When you say it like that, it's like I'm bottom barrel here. But yes, the names' Cayde, Cayde-6 if you wanna get technical, but not aimin any higher than that. Hunter Vanguard, at your service, " he gives a slight bow, rolling a wrist at his chest while other extends outward.  " And you would be? "

Another chilling clump of empty drops in her stomach at the question, causing only for her knuckles to white as she tugs gently at the ends of her shirt. What point to exchange names, if she was just going to turn into another blur of faces that would come one after the other...

" ...M' Selene. "

" Selene? That's a pretty name. Pretty name for a ... well, I'm sure you got a pretty face when its' not all pensive like that, " the Vanguard comments, tilting his head as he spoke. " How long you been here Selene? Gotta be a few days if Zavala's rubbin' off on ya already. He convince ya into runnin through as a Titan yet? 'Cuz I'm always open to new recruits. Trainings' easy, bounties are subpar, first capes' free and mighty delicate if I do say so myself. Not to mention, we Hunters are the better blend of talent and style when compared to the rest. -- Just, don't tell Ikora I said that. "

" I'm.. n-no. I haven't.. I don't actually.. " 

So much talking. It was impossible to catch every word, every question -- it was so loud. 

Brows pinching upon forehead at the thought, at this point her cheeks began to swell at how clamped her teeth were on the subject. Throat dry from lack of air and breath, her chest felt shallow and her stomach a black pit. Her legs felt heavier than stone, her feet glued to the ground and shoulders so far raised that she'd hardly notice the muscle ache in time.

" ...You ok, kid? "

Had she taken too long to answer?

" Hey. Let's uh... let's wait on all that. Sound good? Lets' get somewhere less crowded. "

Less crowded...? Yeah. That sounded good.

A shaken nod given in response, and she's following the Hunter elsewhere without any further exchange. Focusing on the back of his cloak as they moved, the single red streak upon a tattered brown is what allows her to collect her thoughts as they walked. Forging better words to use for when they were at given destination, that perhaps this time, she'd be able to speak proper and answer quickly instead of acting like some sort of ran over rodent. Little thought to the rips and tears of ones' attire... the fabric itself, speaking louder than any speech the other two Vanguard could have made to convince her the state of denial.

The man before her had fought. And it showed.

Several paces more before he's turning on a heel and causing her to stutter-step her brakes, the Exo looking between she and a door in the distance. As if hesitant on whether to turn back, or continue. Selene remains ever blank in her expression, unsure of how to necessarily respond upon action.

" Here, uhhh... stay right there for a minute, would ya? " Cayde motions, rounding his hands in two finger guns as he addresses his newly found company. " Gotta, lemme... I'll be right back. "

With a hop in his step, the Hunter approaches the door with a swing, the sound of shuffling belongings and metal scraping bleeding into the background of already working mechanics. There's noises that didn't seem too out the ordinary, and then there is the brief shatter of broken glass that comes from the room, followed by inaudible self-talking and sounds of what could only be described as a broom. Selene tilting her head briefly in curiosity -- whether she should check to see if the Vanguard was okay, or if he needed help... --

" Okay! "

Apparently not.

Sliding his hands together as if job well done, the Exo walks out of the room but remains close to its' door. A motion movement for the other to follow, and the Awoken is once more following without inquiring further. The room that had been disoriented, something make-shift of a small cubical office, almost, with several boxes stacked to the ceiling and a fallen over filing cabinet that seemed way out of date. Little shimmers of glass residual still on the floor, nothing that would hamper past her boots but all the same. A snug fit with the desk that had been shoved into place, but it seemed just a little bit quieter than the outside.

" Don't uh... Don't mind the mess. S'uh... storage. Not really much of an office guy. "

He speaks, but it doesn't register to her until after she's in the room and sitting upon the desk to relieve the weight of her legs. Her chest still ultimately heavy, she prioritizes the need to calm down before looking up and over at the other, still remaining against the open door way with arms crossed at his chest. His own attention darting between she and the commotion outside throughout the Hanger.

" ...Th-Thank you, by the way. "

Her voice provokes the attention of the Hunter for a moment, unresponsive aside from a gentle stare back through glowing vision that was shared among all Exo units. As if kept in thought, before giving a nod, turning his head back to the Hanger but his voice still reflecting back into the room.

" Don't worry 'bout it, " his voice carries an accent, but she can't tell in what narrative. Only that its' mildly comforting... as if talking to just another human being. No Light or titles, here. " It's a mess, but, can use this room whenever you need it. Stays unlocked, don't really use it for m'self... too many places to be to sit around. But uh... whenever you wanna talk, " he offers, again rolling one wrist out of the tuck of his chest as he motioned, " Jus' lemme know. When you're ready, that is. No rush -- can leave ya be, if it helps. "

" N-No... that's okay, " she quickly denies the idea of being alone, shaking her head at the thought. Chest ever lighter by the minute, the sounds of repairs dull out and for the first time since leaving the courtyard, she can hear herself speak. " I think I'm okay to talk now... to uh... answer questions again. "

" You sure? "

" Yeah... I'm sure. "

A temporary silence, followed by exhaled huff, Cayde pries himself off the frame of the door while unfolding arms to his sides. Walking over to where several boxes stacked, he pulls out a fold-able chair, a dented, rusted mess but still to do the job. With a heavy flick of the wrist, it folds out and stomps against the metal flooring, flakes of decay and time cracking upon the weight as he sat, legs cocked over as he sat stomach-side against the back of the chair, arms folded upon its' height. His rebellious nature already ringing like a golden light in a pit of dark, receiving a risen brow from the Awoken whom refused to discuss concern with words.

" Lets start over. Th' names Cayde. I'm the Hunter Vanguard here, not really by choice - but, y'know, previous Vanguard decided to croak and we had this dare, and, one thing led to another -- so I'm here now. Zavala's prized treasure, whether he wants to be the bigger man and admit it or not. "

The later comment resulting in a stiffed chuckle from Selene -- she processes his words easier now to detail. Mulling between the man known as Cayde and his relationship with the rest of the Vanguard, between his own words and that of context clues generated from the rest. She begins to see why Hawthorne had left his title... open.

" Selene... I uh... woke up in a sink hole... and was found by a group of others who brought me here. "

" A sink hole? Nice, nice. Well, at least the initial fall didn't bang ya up too bad. You're lookin' good! "

" Th-Thanks... I think...? " her head tilts, though lips curve upward into a half-smile, biting back another chuckle. " I don't... really know how all this works still. Aside from what a few others have told me... and what my Ghost has told me. "

" So you do have a Ghost! Where is the lil' guy? Girl? Some of them have a preference -- like mine has this preference that I stop doing certain things. That I will certainly not stop doing. "

" It's... uh... he? I don't... really know... " Selene attempts to comprehend, the habit of ones' company still something she wasn't entirely certain on whether it was consistently around or if it held other matters on its' own. " It just... shows up sometimes. "

" -- Really, all you need to do is ask, " comes the familiar tone, a flash of light illuminating the office as if on queue. The glimmering white of its' shell rattling as optic scans their surroundings. " Ah, you found someone else? "

" Aw, aren't you cute, " Cayde greets, " Got yourself a sassy one there. That'll make things fun. "

" I'm... what? " the Ghost tilted, the back of its' shell whirling in brief puzzlement.

" Nah, nothin. Don’t worry about it, " the Exo dismisses, flinging a hand. " I'm sure you guys'll get along great. Perfect match for one another. Just gotta work out the speed bumps. "

" You have one too, right? " Selene perks, attention held upon the Ghost as it hovered around her space. The question bringing to light a secondary Ghost in the room - this one carrying red and gold accents upon pallid shell. Gears rotating as it floated next to the sitting Vanguard, quietly.

" Sure do! Names' Sundance. She's a bit picky about who she talks around though. No hard feelins. "

As quickly as she had appeared, the Ghost then dismissing herself back into the pocket space. Selene's own ghost deciding to stick around for the time being, the Awokens' attention placed back upon the Hunter across from her. 

" How long have you two... been, y'know... "

The question rests upon her tongue, but is quickly deciphered by the Exo as his head tilts side to side at the thought. Searching for the proper way to say a long time, without it being vague enough... being apart of first generation Risen was... man, when was his birthday again?

" Sundance and I? We go way back. Before everything uh... well. I guess it'd be during, given that I did make it out alive... ugh. Such miserable place. But uh -- yeah! We go waaay back. Long time to tell. Ran outta birthdays once you go pass a hundred. "

" You're over a hundred years old? " Selene squints, almost as if not believing him at first.

" You think I'm old? Hah! Man... You should meet some of Saladin's friends. They're ancient. Dinosaurs, really. "

" I... I mean... I'd ask how, but... "

" Right? Amazing what kinda life goals you can finish when you don't have deadline anymore. Only con' about it is ya gotta make new goals. Me? Gave up already. Just take one day at a time. " 

" That's... crazy, " she shakes her head, processing but not open to the idea at first. A falsehood of immortality, resting upon her fingertips at the generosity of the machine that sat next to her. Foreboding, really.

" It's not all that bad. Just takes some time getting use to! Trust me, still throws me in a loop some days. Dependin' how hard I hit my head, ya know? "

" Makes sense, I guess. "

" Most of the time, " Cayde corrects, " Sometimes it makes no sense at all, and that's where I leave it to Ashir Mir. Complete nutcase, don't recommend getting caught up in his little Vex-obsession. You'll never hear the end of it. "

" I'll keep that in mind, " Selene chuckles, nodding. Though she's unfamiliar with the name just yet -- it seems there's a handful of people to better keep an eye on. " The uhm... Vanguard. How does it.. work? "

" Eh? "

" You asked me if I spoke with Zavala about being a Titan... and, Hawthorne's mentioned Warlocks, and Hunters... and how to harness Light into power, and it's just one big... mess of information to me. I don't think I understand how it works, " she admits.

" Oooh. That stuff. It's like uh... like ones' true calling. Titan's calling is... beating things up in a vicious matter, " he clamps a fist against open hand, emphasizing their might, " Warlocks are mooore... concerned? Careful people -- too careful, just, never get anything done, " another roll of wrist to continue moving in the conversation -- " But Hunters? We get things done and look good doing it. And if I know a Hunter when I see one -- you? " he then points, leaning forward against the back of the chair with a childish glint in the optics, " Ten outta ten, you'd wear a cape like a champ. "

" Is this another one of those recruitment ads? " the Ghost chimes in.

" Recruitment? What, like this is some sorta army or somethin'? " Cayde replies back, tone lingering on the offensive. " I know a Hunter when I see one. And your pick of the litter? She'd do great. Maybe even best me one day! Then she'd be the Vanguard and I get my adventures back without Zavala breathing down my back! "

" I don't... I think we're getting too far ahead -- " Selene tries to intercept, a notation of moving back a smudge against the desk as head bobs side to side as if looking for an exit strategy. The mere act provoking a chuckle out of the Exo as he waved a hand in dismiss.

" I'm joking, joking! But man -- you find anyone who wants this job, you let me know. "

" Is being part of the Vanguard really that much? " the Ghost continues, amplifying the curiosity in the room. The Exo once more mulling words over in his skull, taking the energy to keep things simple and civil.

" Nah. Great job, great people - would be even greater if I had my Light back. But I miss being out on the field - going on my own. Finding new places to hide caches... writing love letters to the next big bad who wants to try and chase this sweet piece of metal down, knowing full well it'll be a bullet between the eyes if they even got remotely close. Man -- it's like missing your teenage years all over again. "

" Ikora mentioned a lot of .. Guardians, they don't have their Light right now, ever since the war against the... what were they called... "

" Ghaul, " Cayde fills in immediately, tone suddenly shifting in a more serious note. " He and his Cabal army wrecked the place. And with it, our connection to the Traveler. He's not only taken our Light, but he's taken too many of our men. Our women. Kids. We've lost too much to that ugly rhino in the sky and I'll be damned we lose anymore before I get my hands on him. One death I wouldn't mind being my last. "

" Last? " 

" Ikora didn't fill you end on that bit? Without our Light, those little guys are just Christmas decorations, " he then points over towards the Ghost, giving a minor shrug. " Plus, those who got caught out, the Cabal made sure of getting rid of the collateral.. "

" They killed their Ghost, too, " the Ghost speaks, shook. Selene having turned her head to and fro between it and Cayde, the grimace upon Exo features sharing enough that it was the correct lead way to ones' ' collateral control '. A shiver running down her spine, throat swallowing a lump of air that wished to stay around longer than it was welcomed. 

" If you guys don't have that... your Light, it puts both of you at risk, right? So whose fighting out there right now? "

" What we got left, " Cayde answers bluntly, tone more somber than the previous. " Guardians, Humans -- if we  don't fight, no one else surely will. All we got are enemies, and with or without our Light? We ain't gonna let them take what's ours. Not if we still have a chance. "

" So even without it... " Selene speaks quietly, attention dropping temporarily.

" We are more than just our Light. Regardless of what anyone else thinks, " the Hunter states, standing up from his chair and putting it aside. " Some people might not think so... but it doesn't matter what they think. It's what we know. What I know. "

Within a moment, Selene feels herself sink again -- unable to tell whether or not this was about to turn into another reason for her to decide something impossible. That this Hunter would turn just as the other two had, telling her to consider the choice. As if options were on the table with see-through glass that shone the inevitable. A brace for further turmoil... crossed arms make for her wrist as nails dig at her skin.

" For instance, " Cayde continues, pointing a daunting finger in her direction, " I know that you'll do great, Selene. And I mean that. I'm not typically a partner type of guy... but we need all the help we can get. And you? I wouldn't mind having another Hunter at my side I can trust. 

I'm not looking to replace the men I've lost. And I've lost a lot of great Guardians. Ones I can tell you story after story after story. But I'm looking for the next future of Guardians that'll keep those stories alive. Those who can help me keep their memory alive. You get me? "

It strikes differently, an unexpected wave of relation bubbling in her stomach like an erupting volcano. Her chest, unlike the cold that caressed her body in doubt, now in a warmth of understanding -- of clarification of what has to be done. He makes it sound less of a soldier to the field, and more of a obligated duty to those who had fallen. And while it doesn't make the idea of war more welcoming, it helps her understand that the Light in her chest is something... more, than just burden. It's responsibility, whether she wanted it or not. And that there were people out there like him -- those who genuinely wanted to use it for good, and not just for the front line. To tell stories -- to survive. To build.

It's not something she immediately cooperates with, but she can't help but feel... persuaded.

" You really think I can help make a difference...? "

" I know you'll make a difference. Maybe not to me, or the Vanguard. But you'll make a difference where it's needed. Feel it in m' gut, " he taps, the sound of steel exterior thudding beneath leather armor. " So how 'bout it? Am I getting you a short cut cape or long one, what'll it be? "

Was it required, the cape?

A brief glance towards his own, she takes a moment to picture both the physique and weight of one on her shoulders. The tension easing the moment she realizes just how pensive she's been this whole time -- shoulders only now drifting downward in relax moment. Did the size matter? Color? Emblem? What was it to a Hunter, their cape...?

" I guess... surprise me? " 

Indecisive demeanor, the Exo does a single clap and following finger-gun pointed motion before walking over to one of the cardboard boxes -- digging through the contents before throwing a randomized ball of fabric her way. Having caught the Awoken off guard as she emits a surprised squeak -- clasping the ball in her hands while trying not to fall backwards against the desk. It doesn't click as to what's between her hands until after the Exo speaks again, startled daze still tracking between gift and delivery.

" Surprise! There, outta the way -- now, next step, somethin to protect yourself. I got uhh, spare knifes, a few cannons... Amanda should have that rifle I gave her, gotta go ask about that one -- Do me a favor wouldja? Check that box behind you, should have some used belts with holsters. Grab a few. "

" I -- what? -- okay? " it's not enough to ask questions back, placing the balled-up cape next to her before turning around and sliding over to said box. It seemed it was not to be taken lightly when he had mentioned this was now a storage room -- dusted gear stacked upon stacked as she tugged one belt to acquire two more. How... many belts did she need again?

" You got a preference in firepower, Selene? " he throws the question over as he walks over toward the knocked over cabinet, attempting to pry its' contents with a few tugs before brute forcing the top drawer open. A few hand cannons slipping out, one seemingly still loaded as the impact flicks the trigger, firing off a single bullet across the ground -- its sound startling both the Awoken upon table and Exo on floor, whom instinctively jumped in place to avoid any unnecessary damages to his kicks. " -- Ah, musta took the safety off that one, yikes. "

" I uh... never... shot a gun, " her voices still shaking with the panicked hic from fired bullet, the next sound to make her jump is the Exo aggressively placing down one of the retrieved weapons from drawer against the top of the desk.

" Got it! Hand cannon for beginners then we'll work ya up to whatever feels natural! -- Now, if that's all good to go - Ghost! You revive her yet since the sink hole? “

" No? " the shell tilts.

" Good! Look at you two, already doing great, " Cayde exclaimed, walking over toward the door with fingers locked together -- a motion of cracking ones knuckles, if he had them, pushing the force out from his chest then dropping his arms back to his sides, quickly to be reformed with one hand on the hip and another reaching for his own hand cannon, giving it a twirl from the holster before loading a bullet. " Best way to learn is to do, am I right? Come on, kiddo -- we're going shooting practice. "

" R-Right now??? " 

" What, you wanna think on it and turn back into a bubblin' mess? Trust me. The faster you act the less you think and the less freaked out you are. We can have another heart to heart later if you really want to but while the fires' hot lets goooooo. "

It was... chaotic, to say the least. How quickly the demeanor had changed from crisis to, well, this. But in every right mind of the statement... she couldn't help but admit he was right. If she was going to go for this, there was no need to slow down if it was going to give her reason to lock down again. And who knew with how busy a schedule the Vanguard had... did they have schedules? Cayde seemed to have a schedule. That, when would be the most opportune time to learn both the groups of survival and that of a Guardian in whole. 

He made it sound as if he was rarely ever at the Tower without reason.

Might as well take advantage where it was given... right?

" I'm.. -- okay -- I'm coming, " she stammers, fumbling over the now crowded desk with a handful of belts, cloak and gun -- the last being remotely hesitant before locking her hands around its' grip safely and following the Vanguard out. 

With as much confidence that steered from the Hunter Vanguard as he walked, few words exchanged with several others as they made their way out of the Hanger, Selene couldn't help but feel... recognized. Something that lacked upon the meeting of other two Vanguard, that maybe he was right in where this is where she belonged. Regardless of what the others thought, subtle cues of recommending she stay away from the Hunter and that he was eccentric. It might've been the best example she needed if she wanted to get through this -- taming her Light and her purpose.

Today, she was making a decision.

Today -- she would become a Hunter.

[adversitybloomed-a]

🌸┊ FRIENDLY REMINDER: this is a headcanon for my muse only. please do not take claim to it as your own. any graphics set on here, are edited by me.  the only exceptions for those who can use this as references to my muse are my RP partners. i just ask that you credit this post ┊ 🌸

I will be placing this post under read more, because it is EXTREMELY LONG, due to the fact that it covers ALL verses.

HEADCANON:  PHOENIX ( fenghuang ) Part 2. 

                                        original posting, here. 

to begin with, this post can go along with almost ALL of my verses if you would like. for the most part, this will be canon for her, unless the other mun asks for just a human Mulan. 

              TO BEGIN:

Main Verses: Mulan was born human, who had the phoenix sealed away inside of her. Unknowing to her powers that lay dormate within, she grew up thinking that she was different, and enjoyed learning many things that were considered only for “BOYS” at the time period. 

when she turned sixteen, her family announced that it was time for her to meet with a matchmaker to determine a match for marriage. though her heart did not wish to go through with this, she knew she had to bring HONOR to her family and agreed. a match was found, however, soon came the news that her father was called back to war, but this time, NOT AS A GENERAL -- - but a solider instead. 

knowing that he would not be able to survive, should he leave. She went to her ancestral shrine and prayed for guidance in her decision she was about to make. it was there & there where she met @hiighwarlock​​ ( Magnus Bane, aka Cat Deity, Li Shou, for more info, see their post here ).  hearing her prayer, he turned to his human form, SHOCKING the young girl as he agreed to help her with her plans. 

what neither of them knew though, was this was the starting trigger that began to awaken the phoenix within. helping her disguise herself, he turned into a dragon, hidden within her clothing as she stole her fathers armor, sword and bow & took her families war horse khan & rode off into battle. 

when she arrived at camp, he guided her with her made up name  Hua Jun. during her training, he began to notice signs of her not being QUITE human, for one thing, her strength & speed. another, when it came to going to battle & surrounded by enemies, a FAINT GLOW only noticed by other creatures of magic can sense ( or those who are highly trained ), seemed to flow around her. 

Little did she know, EACH TIME SHE DREW UPON HER POWER -- - especially fighting with someone who was stronger then her OR if surrounded by a large series of enemies, she lost some of her humanity and began to awaken her immortally. 

after the war, Mulan continued her friendship with  Li Shou ( Magnus ), and in turn, began to think of him as the brother she never had. She started calling him Mimi ( Chinese word for cat ) & he in turn, began to call her mèi ( which means little sister in Chinese ). 

TRAVELING ( Red Strings Verse ): three years after the war, Mulan has received orders to accompany diplomats overseas and to Japan & be stationed there as a general within the Emperors command. choosing to accept this mission, she leaves at once, but not before exchanging a magical paper, so she can communicate with her chosen brother,  Li Shou ( Magnus ). 

Upon her arrival, she grew tired of the company of whom she protected & decided to go for a stroll, eager to see the city around her, considering she came from the country side. It was then, by chance, she met @koeii​​ ( Hanzo Shimada ) and formed what she thought would be a simple friendship. 

As time went on though, her feelings for him grew, and a relationship began. Over time, she met with @omniphrenia​​ ( Genji Shimada - this is still depending because we need to interact to see where their relationship goes. ) & ended up developing a bond with the two brothers. Considering that they were part of the  Syndicate crimina, & women generally had little to do with it, she did her best to stay out of that life. Only sometimes coming onto their families grounds if invited by the brothers; sneaks in to visit Hanzo within the night, because she cannot sleep OR if she sneaks in dressed as a man, to see them. 

During the time there, unless the brothers happen to see her within a battle, her powers were drew upon very little & instead she only used her raw strength and prowls. However, once incident changed changed that ( post here ). Coming back from a mission, by chance, Hanzo had taken a blade for her --- - taking his life. Unknown to her, the phoenix within her fully awoke and restored his life force to him, the power draining her completely and rendering her unconscious. during this time, only little humanity remained within her, the phoenix almost fully awakening & the powers starting to come loose from within. 

Years later, when Hanzo believes he kills Genji ( unknown to either of them that he’s still alive ), her powers once more started to show. At first, she went after Hanzo, him going missing & worry causing her to panic. but after two months of searching, she found out she was with child -- - a child who would later inherent the dragon from the Shimada’s. because of this, as the child grew within her, it began to draw upon her spirit within, causing what remained of her power to fully awaken, though she remained unaware until she began to outlive almost all of her family and friends ( still in the works ). 

PLEASE NOTE: when it come to any characters mentioned that is not Mulan. it completely is up to the mun how they wish to proceed & if they choose to make themselves immortals/gods/dragons. whatever it is they want. it is COMPLETELY up to them. this information is just for MY MULAN in general. 

             OTHER VERSES: some to note.

INUYASHA: similar to how the main started, she began as a human but soon unlocked her abilities. The Phoenix in this is considered a demon.  TMI: This verse has two parts. the one where she is a shadowhunter, she will not be a phoenix & this must be asked upon through request. THE MAIN VERSE IN THIS: 

having been born with the powers of phoenix & many years since the beginning of the main verse, Mulan has lived countless lives -- - each of them, Magnus Bane, has been apart of as he considers himself her time keeper. Because of her abilities, should she lose her life, she will sometimes forget her past and turn to him for guidance. He in turn takes care of her, as his little sister, often time the two living together or having separate homes but often visit one another. 

Mulan in this verse, if she is the phoenix, can be refereed to as a WAR GODDESS -- - due to her prowls in battle & each life, she often finds herself going into a war, even if it has nothing to do with her. 

            POWERS:

The phoenix is a balance between life and death. due to this she will have the following types of powers. 

REBIRTH: If Mulan dies, there are two prices she has to pay when coming back from the dead; 

one being that she has to lose certain memories if she comes back quickly enough. These memories can come back, but usually in a dream like state.  the rebirth process can take years to happen, where she remains in a sleep like state, covered with fire energy.  Another part of her power of rebirth: if death comes to someone else. she can bring them back from the dead, given the right time frame. if this does happen, it will leave her completely exhausted & often times she will pass out. 

FIRE: Mulan can control fire, but only later on when she is able to train & accepts her power. The fire can purify, due to the phoenix & with it, can often cure poisons. 

this power will only happen in certain verses, and if both muns agree to it.

DEATH’S DANCE:  a ability to use in battle. the warriors of the dead, come to guide her blade, letting her feel out moves so that she could come out the victor.  IMMORTALITY:  it goes without saying, that as a phoenix she is an immortal being, who can actually be killed, but not for long. this power does not come into affect until she either she burns through her humanity ( main verse ) OR when she reaches a certain age, ( im thinking around 22 ), she stops growing old and looks young forever. 

 in this state, she does not feel pain, but only a lust for blood. which tends to scare her. but she knows she needs to use it to win in big battles or against an enemy stronger then her.

SIDE NOTE: More powers might come later. 

[chrysalispen]

xxii. men who know their secret safe

She was awakened from a deep and dreamless sleep precisely an hour before sunrise, as light shimmered sullen and gray on the very edge of the timberline. The small partition that passed for her sleeping quarters were unlit, and she blinked owlishly into the near-total blackness, trying to get her bearings while fumbling with the laces of her kurta. 

"Look alive, novice." This growled from what she could glimpse of the stooped figure, standing by the small window on the other side of the partition. "Henceforth your day starts as early as does mine. Up with you. Trevautioux's already gone out for the day's hunting."

Ewain was as good as his word, it seemed.

Suppressing a yawn, Aurelia drew herself to dirty stocking feet upon stiff and sleep-wobbling legs. Her back ached from the narrow hardness of the wooden cot and the cabin was cold and damp - to say naught of her hair, which likely resembled a destroyed bird's nest from all her tossing and turning. She combed at it with clumsy fingers.

Her erstwhile teacher watched her preparations with ill-concealed impatience. 

"By the Matron," he groused, "you're slower than a three-legged eft."

"Surely you were not planning to walk 'round and make your introductions of your new whipping girl to the townsfolk at half five in the morning," came her retort, made quite surly for her lack of proper sleep. She rolled the scratchy, worn fabric up to her elbows. "The good townsfolk whom, I daresay, would be remarkably unappreciative of any accidental revelations about an imperial prisoner in their midst."

Rather than the scowl she'd half-expected the Hearer laughed, a chesty guffaw that ended in a wet cough into the elbow sleeve of his stained and rumpled hempen robe. 

"I believe I'm starting to see why E-Sumi-Yan insisted on ridding himself of you, girl," he said. "You'll want to work on that bedside manner of yours if you hope to become a successful healer worth the name."

"It would appear the Guildmaster did not inform you that my lack of experience lies wholly within the context of conjury." With an attempt at neither softness nor grace she plucked the lantern from his fingers to hang upon the hook that dangled from the nearby rafter. "I was a chirurgeon when I served in the army."

"Aye, well, mayhap 'twould serve you best to keep your prior experience to yourself - or lack thereof." 

"I beg your pardon," the Garlean snapped, now quite offended.

"You heard me. You're to smile and nod when we make our rounds later today. These folk can be prickly - and to my way of thinking, 'tis best that a lass with a sweet face and a shrew's tongue be seen and not heard in any case."

The stare Aurelia gave him was hard enough to strike sparks upon flint. He ignored it.

“I’ve already roused your Keeper friend,” he said. “I assume you want to wash before you eat. You’ll need to draw and boil your own water for that. You can make use of the buckets by the door; there’s a stream that runs behind the house. Make sure you boil the water before you use-”

“I’m aware,” she said shortly, already turning her back and making her way for the door. 

One glance at the sky as she stepped outside revealed a sliver of pink dipping its toes into that sea of dull grey. The sun would be rising soon. 

Aubin sat a few fulms away on the far edge of the porch; his ears swiveled forward at the sound of footsteps, but other than a soft whine the old wolf made no move to aggress her. He watched her movements with a sort of guarded curiosity as she reached for the wooden bucket on its peg by the door and wrapped her cloak about her shoulders. 

The wolf seemed to lose interest once it was apparent that no food would be forthcoming; he yawned in a display of yellowed teeth, then dropped his greying muzzle back to his paws.

She made her way down the steps. It was a cold morning and twice-frozen snowmelt made the trek to the river muddy and fraught with slipping hazards. She moved with care, hopping from outcropping to outcropping like a mountain goat, making her steady way down the incline towards the creek as Ewain had bid.

The currents in the center of the creekbed still flowed unimpeded, but the slower-moving waters along the bank were trapped beneath a layer of dirty ice. With barely a pause the Garlean lifted one foot to stamp on its surface; it was obvious at a glance that the ice was far too brittle and thin to hold any substantial weight, much less withstand a blow.

A bright and shallow crack snapped through the morning silence as she stooped to fill both buckets with cold water before lugging them back up the steep hillock from the bank to the porch. 

She had to set the bucket down to remove her shoes and hang her cloak on the peg over the others, then awkwardly kick the door open. The Hearer didn’t react to the sound of her entrance. All of his concentration was bent upon the heavy pot over the fireplace. Even Keveh’to’s glance in her direction was brief (if somewhat apologetic) before returning his attention to the wood he was feeding into the hearth. 

So she continued past the men with buckets in hand to the partition with the tub. Aurelia had learned from her sojourn in Gridania how to use the crystal-powered camp stoves that the Eorzean Grand Companies used in their pavilions: shards of fire crystal were set into the space between the pilot switch and the range top to send aether into the coiled heating element.

She had not, however, seen one of these stoves employed to heat a bathtub before, and was a bit surprised to see that the Hearer had such a luxury in his house-- if anything, she had thought she would be expected to spot-wash herself with thawed icemelt. It was a relief to know that would not be the case. The water warmed in short order, and as she settled in with the soap bar to wet her hair she listened to the muffled bits of conversation on the other side of the partition. 

“Might as well go ask the garrison if they’ve aught to be done about town,” Ewain was saying gruffly. There was the hollow rattling sound of a trencher smacking against a ladle. “Eat up.”

“I’ll be coming with you.”

“No, you won’t.”

“The hells I won’t. She’s my job.”

“She’s my job too. And she’ll not be able to accomplish what needs must with you dogging her every step. You’ll only be in the way.”

“If you mislike my presence so much,” Keveh’to said stiffly, “then make your complaints to the Grand Company. Or Brother E-Sumi-Yan.”

“I’m not saying you can’t do your job. I’m saying it’ll be easier for you to do your job if you help out with the watch. There’s all of three full-time Wailers here and I’m sure they’d appreciate another pair of hands, especially if the help was volunteered.”

“The villagers we saw yesterday didn’t look very appreciative.”

“Do your bit and they’ll warm up over time.” She heard the Miqo’te’s sulking sigh, followed by silence and pouring liquid. “Here. I think it oversteeped a touch, but it should still be drinkable.”

“Mm.”

“Anyroad, if you get bored walking about the village alone, there’s a rest stop about a half-bell out.”

“The Druthers, aye. We passed it on our way.”

“Aye, that’s the one; a decent watering hole from what I hear tell.” Another clink of the ladle against the pot, and Hearer Ewain grunted. “Wouldn’t kill you to try and make nice with the owner, too, while you’re here.”

“I’ll give it some thought.”

“Well, think harder, lad, because I’m not asking you to stay out of our way. I’m telling you.”

“Commander Heuloix-”

“I don’t give a shite for some stuffed shirt behind a desk in the city. I’ll not be having a bleeding soldier along on my rounds.” Aurelia heard the clatter of a walking stick, and through the edge of the partition she watched the old man hoist himself to his feet. “The villagers will start asking questions and before you know it you and your friend will be the talk of the village. Won’t be long before rumors start if they haven’t already-- and I’m willing to bet your secrets don’t guard themselves half as well as they should. Nor hers.”

“Come now,” Keveh’to scoffed, “Aurelia’s not stupid.”

“She’s not,” agreed Ewain, and the subject of their conversation nearly dropped her washcloth in surprise. “Unaccustomed to Eorzean ways, to be certain. But the last thing any of us needs is for wild rumors about the new conjurer in the village to be running rampant. If she’s being trailed by an armed escort every second of the day, it’ll only prompt awkward questions-”

“Awkward, my arse. Just say what you mean, oldtimer. Inconvenient, more like.”

“-and offering your sword arm - or bow arm, if you like - to the watch takes that pressure off the both of you,” Ewain finished as though he’d never been interrupted. “Novice! You can stop eavesdropping now. Get dressed and get out here so you can break your fast. We’ve places to be this morning.”

Aurelia said nothing but let herself fix the blank face of the hempen curtain with the most ferocious scowl she could muster. Seven hells, this was like being ten summers old all over again, if not worse. Even L’haiya hadn’t been this much of an autocrat; surely he didn't plan upon haranguing her for the most trivial of infractions every single day... 

Well, sitting about sulking in cold bathwater and turning into a prune surely won’t impress him nor anyone else. Get moving.

The cabin was cold and it took her a few tries to work her fresh set of smalls on for the shivering, but once she had warm socks and breeches on it was more easily managed. After pulling the simple robe over her head she pulled the curtain aside.

“Leave the water. We’re running behind as it is,” was the gruff response. “If you-”

“I’ll see to the tub,” Keveh’to interrupted. It prompted a startled glare from the old man, who’d clearly intended to lecture. “Come get your food.”

Breakfast turned out to be more frumenty (and Aurelia was certainly becoming tired of porridge with cinnamon by now, but there was little to be done about it); she all but shoveled the trencher’s contents into her mouth between sips of the mint tea from her tin cup, then hurried into the back of the room to grab one of her bags.

Her hand lingered over the carbonweave strapping of the field kit before some unknown instinct caused her to shove it back in the cabinet, and she grabbed the leather herb satchel with her logs and inkpots instead.

“Don’t get too fancy with that,” Ewain said when she came out, fumbling with the square of hemp in her hand. “As long as they can’t see it without attacking you you’ll be fine. Just a light covering under your hood will serve. Put your boots on so we can go--and… you there, lad.”

“The name is Keveh’to, Hearer,” the Miqo’te said, no small note of irritation in his voice. 

"Thought it were Sergeant Epocan." The wrinkles around Ewain’s eyes deepened into canyons as he squinted and pointed one gnarled finger in the younger man’s direction. “Well. Keveh'to, then. You mind what I said. No following along behind, you hear?”

“I heard you the first three times you told me,” was the grumbled response, one that went largely unnoticed as the two conjurers made their exit.

The old Hearer wasted no time in herding her down the small stone path and through the gate. She rearranged the covering on her head just in time to flip the hood up as a pretty Midlander woman of middling age came strolling towards them with a basket of dried grass listing upon one hip. 

“Good morning, Hearer Ewain,” she said with a friendly smile, one that became guarded and painfully polite when turned upon Aurelia herself--only a glance, but a glance was enough. “Going into town, are we?”

“Morning, Mistress Frieda. Aye, I’ve a new fledgling under my wing and I thought ‘twould serve her well to know where you lot live, in case it’s needful. I won’t be able much longer to come running to your doorstep every time one of those boys of yours takes a fall from a tree.”

To Aurelia’s surprise, the woman - Frieda - offered a bright laugh, shifting the basket in her hands. 

“Oh, come now, I’ve not had to call you nor Conjurer Trevautioux since last spring.”

“Aye, I'd be that surprised if you had, lass, seeing as there are no trees to climb inside a cabin.” His free hand clamped down on Aurelia’s shoulder and she had to steel herself not to jump. “...This young lady here is Aurelia, my newest pupil. She’s been sent to us fresh from the Conjurers’ Guild in Gridania to learn how the job’s properly done, and I thought I’d take her about the village. You’ll be seeing much more of her in the future.”

Feeling unaccountably awkward, Aurelia offered a quiet “good morning,” unsure what else might be expected of her. In the end she settled for a middle ground and inclined her chin towards the woman in what she hoped would appear as a grave but amiable greeting.

“Good morning to you, Conjurer,” Frieda’s smile was still rather polite, though Aurelia thought it had thawed perhaps a degree or two for Ewain’s introduction, “and welcome to Willowsbend. You’ll find this part of the Shroud a good sight different from the big town, I'm sure- but I’d never want to live anywhere else. The forest and the elementals provide all that we need.”

“Indeed.”

“Really, you’ll find no lack of things to do about the village. Why, just the other day, I-- Blessed Nophica,” she gasped, eyes wide, “my distaff! I’ve got to be along, a pleasure meeting you both, good day!”

Aurelia blinked as the woman, suddenly flustered, dropped a quick curtsy before dashing back the way she came.

At her side, Ewain cackled. “And that forgetful lass will be Frieda Miller,” he said. “I cut the cord myself on her nameday and was there for all four of her sons to boot---though that goes for most of the village these days, I wager. She’s right though, you’ll find no lack of things to do here.”

“Shall I be allowed?” Aurelia asked. “I assumed I’d be kept busy with other duties. About the cabin and such.”

“Only during certain times of the year, and now that we’ve four pairs of hands about the place I’m not opposed to you using a bit of free time to get your feet wet and learn about your new home. The village was hit hard by a recent illness-- one that came from soiled waters. We aren’t sure how much of it lingers still; that’s why I told you to wash up -- and they could use the help.”

She nodded, silently wondering if the damage she’d seen to their walls came from the falling moon or something else. It didn’t seem extensive enough to have been caused by shrapnel. 

“Besides,” Ewain said, apparently taking her lack of response for agreement, “I wager they’ll take a bit more quickly to a lass who shows she’s willing to get her hands dirty. Now, come this way. We’re stopping by the Starke place first.”

She shifted the bag on her shoulder, bowed her head, and measured her pace so as not to stray too far ahead. 

The morning wore on.

 ~*~

 Keveh’to stepped onto the porch, tail lashing hard enough in his agitation to thump against the door he’d closed at his back. The pathway leading into the village square was, other than a few souls and the odd pig wandering through the muddy road, empty. Cold wind bit at his cheeks. Winter still had a grasp, if a slowly weakening one, on the Shroud. 

The Keeper sighed, his ears flattened against his head. Wisps of his own hair tickled them uncomfortably but he barely marked it for his worry.

“I mislike the feel of this place,” he muttered aloud. 

Were this Gridania, Aurelia would be here, and she would chuckle at his remark and make some wry-tongued jest about it. That thought made the invisible and oppressive heaviness on his shoulders seem to weigh him down further. He hadn’t realized how accustomed he’d become to having her there until she suddenly wasn’t, and the maddening thing was that he knew she hadn’t actually gone anywhere.

She’d become a friend, a good friend, and that surprised him more than anything. 

Keveh’to Epocan was entirely unaccustomed to the notion of having friends. He had acquaintances aplenty to be certain, but ‘friend’ was a category of acquaintance rather more intimate than a professional relationship allowed, and he was rarely willing to be so trusting with others. He’d drifted about the fringes of Shroud society most of his life, as all too many Keepers did. Becoming an adventurer had brought him neither coin nor glory nor camaraderie.

Even the formal affiliation with a Grand Company brought with it only the structured drudgery of rank-and-file military existence. When the newly instated Commander Heuloix had called upon him to mind one of the VIIth Legion soldiers taken prisoner by the Alliance in the wake of the disaster, Keveh’to had been none too thrilled. In truth, he had seen it as a punishment detail. Keepers and Duskwights in the Twin Adder (whether any of the Grand Company's officers wished to admit it or not) so often drew the short straw where such matters were concerned.

He was painfully aware that he’d been saddled with this “privilege,” simply because no one else was willing to damn themselves by association in volunteering for the duty. But he’d taken the job, of course. What else did they think he was going to do? It wasn’t as if Keveh'to could be more of an outcast than he already was. A tolerable local nuisance, one of three boys born to a mother who’d left them with relatives before she had disappeared into the depths of the wood, and that when he was barely three summers old. 

And really, no one else was going to look after the safety of a godsdamned Garlean, not of their own free will. Not even a Garlean that the Seedseer had seen fit to spare for reasons unknown.

Might as well be him.

Thus, with no small amount of underlying rancor Keveh’to had watched his charge struggle to find her feet in a place full of people who hated her kind and would have liked naught better than to see her fail. Watched as she endured the same sort of hostility he had- that many outsiders had- from the townspeople. It had been almost every day on her way to the Fane, in those first weeks. The Stillglade Fane, where it had been the prisoner’s lot to deal with more hostility in the form of conjurers and chirurgeons who - at best - refused to trust her with aught save the most menial of tasks. 

It reminded him, with a sort of bitter irony, of his own treatment growing up.

At first he had found himself with little reason to care beyond following the letter of his duties. Oh, there was little love lost between himself and Gridania’s townspeople, of course; he was precisely as fond of them as they were of him. But the fall of Dalamud was a different matter altogether and a pretty face and a lady’s fine manners didn’t change the facts. She had been a cog in the machinery of an invasion force, one which had quite nearly broken the land itself. 

His charge was a living, breathing symbol of imperial oppression. Small wonder few had pity to spare.

Still, he had marveled in silence at the breadth of her patience, for Keveh’to knew he would not have been able to exercise the same level of discretion and self-control were their positions reversed. The snail’s pace with which the Gridanians were willing to give her or the other prisoners any chances at all often frustrated Aurelia, and she was of a certainty no saint; she had let her temper get the better of her tongue a time or two in more private settings.

But she had never once given into the urge to become truly embittered by her treatment. If anything, she seemed so sorry for her own part in it that she seemed to have quietly accepted their harsh treatment as the punishment she was due. 

Before he realized it, his own attitude towards her had started to thaw little by little until he found himself looking forward to their trips into the forest. He’d found her wanting in the beginning, and now he found himself wanting for the company of one of the few friends he’d ever had. It wasn’t the old man’s ire that gave him pause now, it was the possibility of her disappointment in him. 

As galling as the old bugger’s grouchy lecture had been, he had to admit (however grudgingly) that the man’s assessment was a valid one. If Keveh’to wanted Aurelia to be successful during her time here, he needed to call as little attention to her as possible, and if that involved giving a bit of slack to her leash then he would have to do just that.

But something about the woods here did make him feel uneasy. Keveh'to didn't like feeling watched.

Yet that was what he’d sensed not a quarter-malm past what folk called the Druthers, little more than a rest stop composed of two thatch houses and a tavern. Eyes that had lingered until they came within sight of the perimeter of the village, and by the fidgeting he’d felt at his back he suspected Aurelia might have sensed it too. 

With all of that in mind, Keveh’to amended, perhaps Hearer Ewain’s suggestion to befriend the villagers hadn’t been as daft as he’d initially thought.

He shifted his shoulders beneath the weight of his worn gambeson, paused, and decided to leave his yellow Twin Adders overcoat hanging on its peg. This was just a visit, he told himself, a means to feel out the mood of the local garrison-- or what passed for one-- and offer his assistance should they deem it needful.

The reaction of the villagers he passed was, he thought grimly, no less hostile than he’d expected. The suspicious glares, mothers dragging their children out of his reach, fading smiles, eyes hastily avoiding his: every bit of it the reception a Keeper could expect in most small villages in the Shroud. Just as he'd told Brother E-Sumi-Yan, this one appeared to be no exception to the rule. 

Keveh’to bore it with the stoic mask he had so carefully built over longer years, making his way down the muddy main thoroughfare as if he had noticed nothing and would not care a whit even if he did.

Security in a village this size would have been an afterthought at best to the Twin Adder. The Grand Company’s purpose was specifically to fight Garlemald; defending the Shroud itself came a distant second, and only where they were needed to bolster ranks. The Wood Wailers existed for the latter purpose, though even at a glance he had seen yesterday that their presence in this place was equally minimal.

Out of the dozen faces he’d seen along the wall to accost them, only three had worn the monoa masks typical of the forest guardians. But he still didn't rate his chances against three Wailers if they decided to deem him hostile.

Best tread carefully, he thought.

He took care to approach the wall from as open an angle as he could manage, bow and quiver on his back, hands exposed and posture relaxed. The Wailers at the gate watched him approach with visible tension. Although their faces were hidden from his sight, he could see how tautly the strings of their bows were drawn, the nocked arrows, the adjustment of the grasp upon a lance, the slightest crouch into a battle stance.

They wanted a fight and he wasn't here to give them one, as much as he would have liked it.

Mildly he said, “A good morning to you.”

One of the Wailers chose to simply ignore him; the point of the arrow did not waver.

The other relaxed his stance, though he was in no wise unprepared to fight. His tall and lanky frame marked him as an Elezen even were it not for the sight of his ears, pointed and prominent as they were behind carved ash.

“You came in with that conjurer yesterday,” he said. The flat, unimpressed undercurrent was no less obvious for being muffled behind the mask. “What do you want with us?”

Keveh’to supposed the truth would serve as well as aught else he could say. “Under advisement from Hearer Ewain, I’ve come to offer my services to the watch.”

The pair exchanged long and meaningful stares before those unsettling and near-featureless masks turned back on him.

“Why?”

Taken aback by the question, he countered, “Why not?”

“Why would an outsider care about a place like this?”

“Friend,” Keveh’to said with a patience he didn’t feel, “hard times have fallen upon us all, and unless I miss my guess, there are all of three Wood Wailers to protect this settlement. I can’t imagine that three of you against a full war band of Ixal is anything like a fair fight, to say nothing of any other dangers that might prowl the woods.” 

“You won’t-”

“I am an adept hunter,” he said. “I know the forests very well- and as you can see, I’m a deft hand with a bow if I do say so myself.”

The man's posture, notably, had by now relaxed further to something almost approaching casual. By all appearances, Keveh'to thought, he was no longer considered a threat.

"....you said you belong to the Grand Company?"

"That's right. Sergeant Keveh'to Epocan."

An impatient sigh issued from behind the blank surface of the mask.

“Very well,” the man answered. “Since you insist upon making yourself available, Sergeant, then I wager we might as well make you useful. You are hardly Wailer material but the wall can always use more eyes, I suppose. Follow me.”

And that was how, within the first twenty-four bells of their arrival in Willowsbend, Keveh’to Epocan of the Twin Adder found himself deputized as the village watch’s first and only Miqo’te volunteer. It was, he thought, almost as hilarious as the realization that they harbored the Gridanian Conjurers’ Guild’s first and only Garlean novitiate. 

With any luck, he thought wryly, no one would ever be the wiser.

[spongeguyandlelouchvibridankia]

The Wrecker: An Amphibia Prequel Fanfic: Chapter 1: The Crossroads

…

 Darkness.

 Crickets chirped…

 Birds tweeted…

 Leaves crunched under his feet.

(First 59 seconds of “Hey Mando!” – Ludwig Goransson)

 The daylight sun was barely up as the hooded soldier trudged through the forest floor, his footsteps quiet enough not to alert more beasts, but loud enough to make an impact. The muddy path was imprinted by his black laced leather boots, and the leaves of trees were cut down instantly by his sharp sword of steel, which glimmered and shined in the approaching dawn, near blinding in its light.

 He covered his eyes, for a moment, the scars surrounding his face now illuminated. Red, sharp lines that stretched all around his eyes and chin, telling of stories he’d rather not share. His hands were a different story: They were covered in blood.

 And not just blood from the Herons he had had to tackle before, an unfortunate part of his morning routine.

 If he resided at Toad Tower, he’d have a warm bed and a hot meal, and the herons and tomato plants and Nightmare Trees would leave him be.

 But his nights… Would still be restless.

 Closing his eyes for a moment, leaning on a tree he didn’t have to kill, he could still hear the screams of that last heron he had to strike down.

 They were just like the screams from yesterday.

 He sighed, a pain in his chest. 60 years old and still running… Somehow.

 How that business in Swamp Port hadn’t killed him he still couldn’t tell you.

 But the screams… They didn’t leave. They hurt way more than all the wounds he had ever been dealt, and he been dealt a lot over his 30 years of service.

 He was used to tangling with criminals, with ruffians, with mercenaries…

 Freedom fighters though… Were an unwelcome new development.

 Ever since Toad Tower had doubled down on its control of Amphibia, the plebs had been responding badly. Especially those from Marsh Pond, the main supplier of silk to the Toads. Once the relationship had been purely diplomatic and peaceful, but something in their nature had caused a need to fight back.

 As the keepers of the peace, they were sent to stop an impending war.

 He could still feel it.

 They normally took prisoners. Even with the recent more “aggressive” tactics deployed by the soldiers, they normally left enemies of the state to rot in prisons.

 But he had, for the first time, panicked.

 He had for the first time chosen the path oft followed, and he had killed a fellow frog.

 But…

 Was that the first time he had chosen that?

 The blood still didn’t wipe as his leaf crunching began to sound more familiar, and the trees took the shape of a sunny, seemingly serene path. The sounds of orders being given, of soldiers marching and of swords striking echoed down to where he stood, large and imposing, broad shoulders drooping and round, orange face filled with thought.

 Thought of the terrible things he had done.

 Thought of all the things he had killed.

 Thought of what once was…

 He turned around, for a moment, looking back.

 Home was back there. Home, in the farm, where his family once proudly stood. Home, with the lush green ivy and the sunny days and the smell of fly pancakes sizzling on the griddle, and the cool of the lake and the satisfaction of a hard day’s work.

 Home…

 But he didn’t belong there.

 He had rightfully been removed from there…

 To where he truly belonged.

 On the one hand, he wished he could take it back. He wished he could bring back the poor frog he had killed.

 But he knew it was too late. For him… There was no other way.

 No one else wanted him…

 And this was the only thing he was good at.

 Taking a small breath, his eyes still getting used to the bright rays of the sun, he failed once more to wipe the blood off…

 He turned around, black cape swirling, a dark shadow falling over him.

 And with that, he walked towards Toad Tower on the road he could not stray from, knowing he could only get worse… So at least he’d just get it over and done with.

 Who knew?

 Maybe today would be the one where Frog would take mercy on his soul and have the enemy strike him down once and for all.

 Maybe today…

 He would rest.

        “Atten….Hut!”, a commanding and direct, yet not rough voice rose through the air.

 (“National Anthem of Roman Empire” – National Anthems of The World)

 Dozens of swords rose up in salute as a large green toad, with shining golden armor and an honorable velvet cape marched down the pristine halls of Toad Tower.

 Said halls were quite a spectacle to behold: Full of bountiful treasures, like the Dread Pirate Mog’s Chest of the Deep, and the mythical water producing sands of The Red Spotted Desert, full of glorious works of art, lavish portraits and marble statues of captains of the past, full of amethysts and emeralds and sapphires that sparkled even at darkest night.

 Cashmere carpets and curtains of gold filled the floors and walls, and a beautiful ceramic mosaic of the entire Captain blood line enriched the ceiling with a feeling of purpose: This was a legacy to be observed with great care.

 But the soldiers of Toad Tower, all different shapes and sizes of the same kind of crony, were too busy fixing their eyes on the most important man in any room he’s in, but one, now standing on a small humble wooden footstool in the middle of the great hall: The illustrious, the bold, the magnificent, the all powerful and all caring father to his men:

 “Lieutenant Grime, SIR!”, the men called out in salute.

 A sense of pride burning in his chest, and a warm smile spreading across his face, Lieutenant Grime motioned with his palm for the men to relax.

 “Thank you, company. But I am here not to order, but to confirm your well being.”

 Stepping down from the stool, Grime observed the men with the eyes of a concerned leader.

 “Yesterday’s battle was a hard one, indeed. We nearly lost some brave toads, and we even found ourselves going farther than we are used to.”, Grime reminded solemnly.

 A rather courageous, yet prone to violent outbursts soldier answered proudly.

 “We all reported to the medical chambers, Sir! We are in prim and proper condition!”, the soldier, Bog by name, said.

 Grime smiled and shook his head, humorously, illiciting a few hearty chuckles from his men. “Fit as a fiddle, perhaps, but the mind is a slightly more complicated instrument, my dear Bog.”

 Bog piped down, feeling a little sheepish. He did not like being shown for a fool in front of the others. He was a warrior first and foremost, and he liked the aura of power it gave him.

 Grime walked among his men, looking them in the eye to see if he could detect anything.

 “Our mental health is crucial for our survival: A man whose battle is not with his enemy, but with himself, is a man who cannot move forwards. You cannot march on to victory if your feet are chained with doubt and guilt.”, Grime informed, softly and surely.

 The men tried to heed his wise words, and they continued to listen carefully as Grime continued his monologue.

 “I know that some of you think that what we did yesterday was a step too far: A step backwards into the dark times of my grandfather, Captain Mire.”

 Grime took a moment to pause, a fraction of conflict showing upon his normally cheery eyes: The mark of his grandfather’s crimes against frog and toad kind was a weight he still carried.

 But he was not to despair. His men would follow in his lead.

 He turned back, and observed the soldiers with determined inspiration.

 “My men… There are times where we face a crossroads, and times where our actions lose their black and white coating. This war is a complicated one, one where our enemies are our friends.”, Grime said.

 He looked up to the sky, up with hope, as his eyes gleamed with belief. “But we must persevere! We must do what is right, even when skies are grey… And misty…”

 He smiled, as he repeated an oft repeated line, the motto of his species: “We are…”

 “The line…”, a deeper, much more commanding voice sounded down the halls, and everyone, even Lieutenant Grime, kneeled in respect, as the one they all followed and served walked in.

 He was taller than even Grime, his armor was somehow more golden, and his scar ridden face was complimented with a steely look, one that could shake the skies and part the oceans; His hands had turned the tides of war many times, and his eyes told a story of power…

 And of prophecy.

 “Captain Muck, SIR!”, the soldiers saluted, Grime included.

 All the toads continued to kneel, as Captain Muck, leader of the Toad Army, and by that, leader of all of Amphiba, marched down towards Lieutenant Grime and offered his hand.

 Grime humbly took it, standing up, but not too much as to not appear in charge.

 “A most eloquent speech as usual, son.”, Muck complimented, an ancient smile on his face.

 Grime proudly accepted it, nodding. “The honor is all mine, father.”

 He added, in a slightly longing tone, “It has been many moons since we last saw you here at Toad Tower.”

 Muck patted his son’s shoulder blade, agreeing with his progeny. “Yes, son, it has been too long.”

 He then greeted the still kneeling army with the voice of a jubilant general, raising their spirits in an instant. “It has been TOO long since I last had the honor of seeing my loyal subjects, whose successes greet children at night and fill the mugs of lonely toads at the inns!”

 The toads cheered, standing up and applauding their great and powerful leader.

 His golden cape swirling, Muck turned to Grime and inquired of recent events.

 “Tell me, how did yesterday’s skirmish befall? Have the terrorists been disposed of?”

 Grime shook his head, albeit not for the reasons Muck expected. “Not quite, father. And I must add, that I wouldn’t go so far as to label them terrorists, more misguided allies.”

 “Now, I wouldn’t go so far myself, son! Allies or not, the once faithful citizens of Marsh Pond have turned on their protectors.”, Muck replied, taking on an amused tone

 “Turned, true, but not for empty reasons: They seem to think that our efforts to protect them are from a dictatorial standpoint.”, Grime retorted, thoughtfully.

 Muck scratched his chin, seemingly puzzled. “How on Amphibia can one interpret our generosity as malice amazes me to no end. It is as if a son would turn on his father, after years of diligent care.”

 Grime had to agree. “You always know just what to say, father.”

 Muck winked, and continued his assessment. “Now, misguided or not, did they lose?”

 Grime nodded curtly. “I would say. They even…”

 Grime struggled with this. Not one frog had died in almost 3 generations of Toad rule. He knew it was a mistake, and he knew it was a consequence of his good intentions, but it was a shadow on his, no… On their legacy.

 He stammered, a rarity, before delivering the truth. “They had lost one of their own. By accident, mind you. But frog blood spilled on Amphiba yesterday, and we are to blame.”

 “To blame? Son, you have an odd perception of justice.”

 Grime was, for the first time, truly surprised, and he showed it with his widening eyes. “Justice? A frog died!”

 “A terrorist frog, son. And one who would have been a repeat offender. Whisperings of this event have stretched across Amphiba, even to my very doorstep.”, Muck informed.

 “So that was why he had come”, Grime thought, feeling a pang of sadness, but it soon passed.

 Muck reached out his arms in welcome. “Times are changing: Our codes must adapt to such things. If criminals must die to set an example, then we will teach the next generation, as we have done before.”, he said.

 He looked back at Grime, making a point. “As you yourself said, regardless of the grey and misty skies, we MUST do the right thing.”

 Muck then extended his sword and sent the tip to the floor, causing an echoing sound. “We ARE the line!”

 “WE ARE THE LINE!”, the soldiers, even Grime, chanted.

 “Well then…”, Muck began, turning once more to his son. “Who is the hero we must laud? Who is the brave soul who has given Amphibia a chance to sleep at night? Who is my champion?”

 Muck pointed at Grime, causing Grime to feel uneasy. “Was it you, my son?”

 Grime hated it, but he had to disappoint his father, though secretly he was glad he didn’t have to carry the burden of murder. “No, father… But I do know who it was. I led the operation, after all.”

 “Well then? Who was it?”, Muck asked.

 The doors suddenly opened, causing a deafening sound, one which made Muck and Grime stare at the arrival of their most trusted soldier.

 “Look…”, one toad soldier whispered. “It’s The Wrecker…”

 (“The Mandalorian Main Theme” – Ludwig Goransson)

 This sent a hush across the crowd, and as The Wrecker, soul still heavy, but mind made up of his fate, his fate to be nothing but the villain of his own story, walked towards Muck to salute him, stunned whisperings and awed gasps rained down the halls as the soldiers made way for him.

 “The Wrecker…”

 “The greatest Toad soldier not of the bloodline…”

 “I heard he once took on 30 mercenaries with one hand!”

 “I heard he’s never lost the beetle race at the Bizarre Bazaar!”

 “I heard that he eats herons for light snacks!”

 The Wrecker tried to ignore his “accomplishments”, his heart getting harder by the minute.

 He was as much of a monster as the herons outside…

 He wished he could learn to live with it.

 “Ah! The Wrecker!”, Muck greeted with loud approval, walking down towards his trusted muscle.

 His armor jingled as he put a proud hand on The Wrecker’s shoulder, and he inadvertently sent a shiver down the warrior’s spine.

 “Fashionably late as ever, but after 30 years of immense service, can I really ask for more?”, Muck complimented, grinning.

 The Wrecker said nothing, as this was customary of him. He rarely addressed anyone, mostly because the sound of his own voice reminded him of a different time.

 No matter how hard he tried to change it, that small sound of home stayed.

 He couldn’t kill his past.

 Muck didn’t notice any of that, choosing to continue to lavish praise. “I see that you have done what no frog or toad has done in years: You have killed an enemy of your country. I am insurmountably proud!”

 He then motioned towards Grime, who quickly joined. “I feel as if now is finally the time you accept your long overdue reward of becoming a co-Lieutenant!”

 Grime proudly beamed. “I would be MORE than happy to share the post with you, my friend!”

 And it was true: Grime was not only happy, he was his friend. Perhaps his only one.

 But The Wrecker said nothing.

 And Muck understood.

 “Well, I think you’ve earned the right to refuse that. You are a good soldier, with or without medals. But a banquet tonight at toad hall, at the very least?”, Muck offered, a voice full of hopeful anticipation.

 The Wrecker aquiesced. There was no reason to create a fuss. They could celebrate; He would just try to forget he wasn’t lying cold on the wet grass of an abandoned battlefield.

 Muck laughed heartily as he announced the upcoming banquet, which sent the whole hall cheering, and as they finished, Muck announced another important thing.

 “Well, the time for frivolaties is over! We must take action once more!”

 He lifted his sword in command, and everyone followed. “Marsh Pond must be taught its lesson before its disease of the mind spreads! The line must be restored to proper balance! Go out today and teach them this lesson! And if you must, kill the ones endangering our safety!”

 Looking at The Wrecker, Muck smiled, almost evilly now. “What say you, Wrecker?”

 The Wrecker sighed. He would only be going deeper…

 But he had no home to go back to.

 All he had…

 Was the end of the road.

 If he really was to be a villain…

 If there really was no honor for him…

 Then he would finish his job.

 Straightening up and clenching his fists, The Wrecker said:

 “…When do we start?”

 THE WRECKER

 CHAPTER 1: THE CROSSROADS

            (“Isolation” by Brian Taylor – Iron Man 3 plays)

 The carriage shuddered and rattled as it made its way down the long, crooked and winding road towards Marsh Pond. The pebbles on the path kept interfering with the wheels, causing much bumping on the ride.

 While outside the sun shone brightly, and the crickets and butterflies played with the dandelions, inside the carriage was a very different atmosphere.

 These were fighters, warriors, and soldiers, on a mission to defend their homeland. There was no more serious mission.

 In fact, this was the first tax day check the toads had had to make in a long time, and tensions were high after yesterday’s battle.

 The soldiers tried to distract themselves from the past and future events, however, by keeping themselves busy; Idle minds were often potent for traumatic memories.

 So inside their dreary and dark camouflage green and oak tree brown carriage, they wasted time to forget that their time was short lived, and that their days were numbered.

 Some were participating in a spirited spitting contest using Private Berry’s helmet (his mum had given it to him, apparently, which only reinforced their decision to use it). The riccothests echoed across the carriage, disturbing the few who chose to sleep.

 “Quiet down there, ya fuckin’ morons!”, one shouted out, throwing his spear at a fellow toad who just managed to duck, causing the others to laugh jovially.

 Such moments of levity were few and far between, so when they presented themselves the men would jump to the occasion.

 Besides spitting and sleeping, writing letters home was another popular activity.

 One Pugs by name was doing just that, writing home to her parents back in Toad country.

 Her quill was fast and efficient, since any toad soldier worth their weight knew that an outside attack could happen at any minute.

 If you wanted to settle affairs, you had to make it snappy.

 “We’re off now to Marsh Pond. I believe you once mentioned it in one of your bedtime stories, papa. Is it…”

 She stopped, choking for a moment.

 She then resumed, but the parchment was a tad damper than she had intended. “…Is it as wonderful as you said it was? If so… I’m sorry. We may have to burn that place down. I hope I haven’t disappointed you or mama.”

 While this letter was being written, the last activity remaining was being practiced by Lieutenant Grime and The Wrecker in their lonely corner of the carriage, barely illuminated, shadows casting over their armor and faces.

 Grime seemed in a melancholic mood, contributed to by his Father’s seeming ignorance of him (a selfish motivation that illicited shame in Grime) and a general guilt over the death of the so called “Terrorist”.

 Sharpening his dagger with another, Grime seemed fully focused on the task, as if perhaps it could distract his troubled soul.

 And The Wrecker did the same with his sword, albeit less distracted.

 Such was the soul of this warrior, he just…

 He just couldn’t ignore.

 He had killed a frog…

 And he couldn’t even truly state self defense.

 He had panicked, and he had failed. Again.

 Failure.

 If The Wrecker had a single consistent motif in the symphony of his life, it would be titled “Failure”.

 He was nothing but that.

 He had failed his family…

 His town…

 His father…

 His people…

 And even himself.

 He had tried his luck at farming, the arts, merchant work, and even begging, and it got him nowhere.

 Every time he tried something, he fell flat on his face, reminded once more of his uselessness.

 At everything…

 Everything but fighting.

 For some odd reason, he was adept at surviving, at persevering in a fight.

 It was some sort of innate instinct of his.

 The will to survive, despite the fact that he was clearly unwanted, even by himself.

 This will, however, was slowly being eroded away by the waves of guilt that washed over him.

 “I’m no good at anything but destruction. I am nothing more than a blunt tool.”, he lamented as he sharpened his sword.

 He sharpened harder, causing sizzles to fly.

 “Might as well put my back into it. If I’m going to die, I’m going to die at least getting one thing right.”

 Meanwhile, Pugs continued to write her letter, and The Wrecker overheard her pleas of forgiveness to her parents.

 Coupled with the rattle and shake of the carriage and the sharply contrasting blue sky he could see from the lone window, The Wrecker found himself thinking back to a different time…

 When he was a different person…

 “Dear Mum and Dad…”, a 20 year old Wrecker dictated, sticking the quill in his mouth and recoiling from the taste.

 “Yech! Anyhow, I’m on the carriage to college, and I have never been more excited!”

 He wasn’t exaggerating; he had spent the entire trip looking out the window in excitement, gawking at the sights and sounds, amazed at the different kinds of snails and frogs he was seeing, alongside the marvelous skies out there.

 “I’ve only seen such blue skies in my dreams…”, he muttered to himself, tapping his chin in thought on what to write.

 He soon came up with another idea, and wrote it down quickly. “How are things at the farm? I hope the corn is growing better than last time I handled it!”, he added, smiling, but the smile was oddly unnatural on his youthful face.

 He soon found himself staring at the piece of paper, knowing he had to say something deeply hidden inside.

 Looking from side to side, he added with shaking, guilty fingers “I’m so sorry that I brought shame on our name. I…”

 A tear fell on the bench next to him. He wiped it quickly, not wanting anyone else to be affected by it.

 “I… I’m sorry. But I promise: This is the last time I’ve failed! I will bring honor to our family and town, and I will prove that… That keeping this pollywog was the best decision you made!”

 Feeling a sense of pride burst in his chest, he finished with a determined grin. “Looking forward to making you proud! Sincerely…”

 He stuttered, wishing he could justify the title. “…Your son.”

 Sitting back, he took the parchment and stuck it in his ready made envelope, scribbling the address carefully.

 “Seriously? A letter to your parents? What are you, 5?”, the taller turqouize frog next to him, who was busy whistling a merry tune, suddenly interjected.

 Wrecker turned to him in objection, annoyed by the incessant whistling. “Gosh, Mellow, why you gotta be such a wet towel?”

 Mellow responded with a flick to the ear. “Why you gotta be such a baby? Blue skies and weepy family letters? Grasshopper pie much?”

 He sneered and removed a lettuce leaf from his teeth with his fingers, causing Wrecker to cringe. “It’s like, dude! You and I both know what happened back there.”

 Mellow suddenly took on a sadder tone, and he eyed his carriage mate with a sympathetic look. “…Why are you lying to yourself? No one has ever given you a chance. I wonder if even you do.”

 Wrecker took a deep breath and looked out of the carriage, still seeing blue skies. “Well… My first chapter was not bright… But that’s what re-writes are for! This is a new page for me! I… I just know it!”

 “…And I ended up flunking out. I couldn’t even succeed in the one elective I got right.”

 Wrecker sighed, a cold shiver down his spine.

 When was he finally going to accept that there was no other way?

 This was the only thing he was good at…

 Whatever he once was… Whatever he could have been…

 It was gone, lost forever in the winds of the past.

 He wasn’t who he once was.

 He was The Wrecker.

 And that would never change.

 His last sharpening of his sword was particularly loud though, and it caused Grime to observe his comrade with slight concern.

 The two never really talked (well, Wrecker never really talked that is), but Grime had learned over the years they had spent as fellow soldiers when he was in a stormy mood.

 He may have only been 20, but he was wise beyond his years. He could tell when guilt was steering a man’s ship.

 “…I’m worried about today too.”

 Wrecker said nothing. He just tried to focus on his sword.

 “…Father seems… Very pre-occupied of late.”

 Again, Wrecker said nothing, though he was used to Grime expressing his insecurities about his father. Grime had no one else to tell, which made Wrecker even guiltier: What could he do to help him when he was himself?

 “…Sorry, I’m venting again. I just… I hope I’ll make him proud today.”

 Wrecker nodded and silence reigned again.

 But Grime had another thing to address.

 “…I know yesterday was difficult, but you did a good thing in the end. Father wouldn’t have said so if it wasn’t.”

 Wrecker now REALLY wanted to ignore, and his sharpening got louder and harder, sparks literally flying.

 “I mean it. You… You saved us from those Terr… From those frogs! They wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you! I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you! You… You are a hero to us all, Wrecker!”

 Gritting his teeth, Wrecker stood up and looked at Grime with a mixture of guilt, pain, hatred and resignation. “You’re wrong.”, he stated, with finality, and he began to step away as the carriage dragged to a halt.

 Grime was surprised by this, and feeling that he had to make Wrecker understand that he was one of the best… No, the BEST of them all!

 Standing up, he grabbed Wrecker by the shoulder pad, turning him to him, startling him for a moment.

 “Wrecker… You made sure no one died!”

 Wrecker pulled himself away, fury and anguish in his dark eyes.

 “…He did.”

 The doors slammed wide open, and shoving all the others aside, The Wrecker stepped out onto the outskirts of Marsh Pond, the all too familiar scent of corn, sunflowers and hay hitting him in the face and sending him back.

 In response, he shoved his sword violently into a dog sized maggot and wiping the blood on his cloak, giving himself an extra imposing look, The Wrecker forebodingly walked towards the peaceful for now farmlands, eyes narrowed, heart clenched.

 The rest of the men followed, tense and prepared for anything. Death was in the air…

 War was coming to Marsh Pond.

         (“The Scavenger” by John Williams – Star Wars: The Force Awakens)

 “Ok, Xena! I’m ready!”

 Standing in a wide field of about 20 rows of green silk plants, ready to be harvested once more thanks to the winterless skies of Amphibia, the ultramarine/perriwinkle webbed feet of 20 year old Annie Lilypad curled up in anticipation, her massive hitting branch at the ready, her eyes showcasing excited confidence.

 Annie was standing on the southernmost side of the field, mere meters away from the farm she had spent all her life in wishing she was anywhere but there.

 Not that her childhood had been some sort of nightmare, mind you, but Annie was the sort of frog with her head in the clouds. For Annie, life was most fun when she got to truly express the mess of interests in her mind out in the open!

 And today was a good day to be herself!

 “Serving up!”, called out Xena, a buff and athletic artichoke green frog, whose short stature didn’t affect her strength one fold. Using her well toned arm, Xena hurled a massive dead fly towards Annie, a fly so big it would have freaked out any ordinary frog.

 But Annie Lilypad was NO ordinary frog.

 Narrowing her eyes and smirking confidently, Annie took a few steps forwards, readied her branch, and with a mighty guttural roar of power, unleashed her whack.

 “BACKHAND!”, She screamed, and the fly was sent hurtling back in tremendous speed, Xena barely ducking as it hit the granite wall with a humongous splat, coating the wall (and XENA) with fly guts and ick.

 Blood was also coating the stone barrier, but it was nothing compared to the other splats of fly body parts spread around the wall. And with the work done, one could see that the seemingly benign and needlessly violent endeavor had a purpose: A crude spelling out of ANNIE WUZ HERE was now being appreciated by Annie, Xena, and the now arriving Shirley, a tall and lanky magenta frog who whistled in approval.

 “Realizing your identity through the mediums of art and murder by stamping yourself onto the shackles that hold us down! Deep, man…”, Shirley nodded, feeling the art by closing her eyes and breathing it in.

 “I see you used carcasses. Tres chic! Gives a very REAL and RAW feeling to the work!”, she complimented, patting Annie’s back, who closed her eyes in pride.

 “Well, what can I say? Some girls paint, some girls fight, I just ROCK!”, Annie boasted, and she flexed her arms as Shirley and Xena applauded.

 “Too bad this is the closest we’ll ever get to self realization.”, Xena commented, shoulders drooping, and the other girls nodded sadly, well aware of their predicament.

 Marsh Pond was Amphibia’s number one silk farm (using both silk worms and artificial manufactured silk to meet the suffocating demand), and its center of the arts and sports. It was a cultural mecca to frogs and toads of all ages, artists to athletes to merchants, and since tourism and trade were the majority of economic influx to the village, ESPECIALLY thanks to the crippling Toad Tower taxation, Marsh Pond was on a constant schedule of 24/7/365 work.

 This meant a few things: It meant that farmers, artists, sportsmen and tour guides had to work their asses off. It meant that a silk harvest that died out or was stolen would potentially send a family into the streets, if not into the grave.

 And it meant that no one could ever leave Marsh Pond.

 Which was great, if you wanted to be a silk farmer, or an artist, or a road travelling merchant, or a beloved boxing champion.

 But it meant the end of the road before it had even begun for some frogs.

 Like Xena, who had always wanted to set her own wrestling show and travel from town to town, entertaining the masses.

 Or Shirley, who wanted to paint more than fields of silk and dusty old farmers, who wanted to paint the setting of the sun on Mount Rebirth and the starry skies that hovered over the near impossible to find salamander cities that touched the clouds.

 Or Annie… Who wanted nothing more than to see it all.

 But alas, these three frog lasses had nothing more to look forward to, other than decades of farming the same land over and over until they became part of it, nothing else but moving fertilizer, destined to be snail grazing.

 Annie sighed as she sat on the porch of her farm house, her friends standing idly by, knowing there was no hope.

 “If only…”

 It echoed and echoed in their minds, the enveloping emptiness of the concept wringing out any happiness they had left. There was nothing to do, nothing that could be done. And so, they just stood there, feeling empty and lost in a sea of dead possibilities.

 Well, Annie sat, but you get the picture.

 Sighing, Xena and Shirley excused themselves, since the job of a farmhand/daughter was never done, and their breaks were surely over. Annie was still waving goodbye to their already departed shadows when her father opened the door and took a deep breath.

 “Another day, another harvest. Come on, Annie! We have to hurry before the Tax Toads arrive!”, Leap Lilypad ordered, and Annie stood up, but her will was clearly not there to be found. Walking inside, Annie began to slap on her overalls and sunhat while Leap looked out into the distance, clearly anticipating something.

 In fact, the liberty tinted frog seemed almost tense, as if he knew of a great and horrible truth connected to the things out there in the outskirts. Looking back, he saw that Annie was still getting ready inside the Spanish Blue farmhouse with a red tiled roof and brown porch. She was wrestling with her overalls in the entrance room/living room, the wooden brown walls failing to elude a feeling of warmth.

 Leap smiled softly, before frowning at the distance again. Stepping carefully, Leap, hands in his pockets and heart in his chest, walked right into the middle of the silk field. The smell of corn, sunflowers and hay hit him in the face and he closed his eyes, enjoying it.

 This could very well be the last time he could ever stand in his garden and just smell the roses. This could very well be his final day.

 Leap felt the ground with his feet, he felt the wind in his hair, and he heard the longing call of the giant silk worms in the distance. The sun shone brightly in the sky, giving a golden aura to the clouds, as if they were reaching out to him. As if Eliza was still reaching out for him.

 Silently, he removed his hat and placed it near his chest, a single tear shedding. He took another deep breath as he looked at the clouds forming a shape that looked like her webbed hand, reaching out for him. Always reaching out. It took all his strength not to reach back, and give it all up.

 “Don’t be a fool…”, he told himself, and he took on an unsure smile. “You’ll… You might be seeing her again. If this works… You’ll be seeing her all right.”

 But Leap did not want to die. He did not want to perish and leave it all, leave his bountiful crops, his fields of peace, his warm fireplace, his…

 “Dad? Are we getting to work or not?”

 Leap startled himself awake, forgetting his daughter entirely. Turning around, he saw her dressed in the most unnatural way: Dressed like him. Her sunhat was tilted, of course, and her overalls were loose and nearly torn, as was to be expected. Her face was glazed, but determined to please, and her hands were holding a sheer with which they would get the crops.

 Leap knew that the Toads would be here soon, and that harvest would not happen. And he also knew that this wasn’t his daughter. And he also knew that Eliza wouldn’t have approved.

 Leap smiled as he gazed upon her, though. Over the decades Leap had grown many wonderful crops of silk, corn, pumpkins and wheat. He had the prizes, scars and tired bones to prove it.

 But of all his creations, none were as beautiful nor magnificent as his daughter who was not one bit like him. And he wouldn’t have changed her for a minute.

 Soon, he would have nothing. Soon, she wouldn’t have to farm for him or anyone. Soon…

 Soon he would meet Eliza again.

 Leap closed his eyes and took one last deep breath, knowing that what he was about to do would not only help others, but would help his daughter escape. And that was worth the most painful death there was. He had signed up for a reason… And he would make sure it was not in vain.

 Placing a hand on her shoulder, Leap struggled not to weep as he said “You know… I need to deal with the tax visitors first. Why don’t you…”, he began, and he took her hat off and unbuttoned her overalls.

 There were a million things he wanted to do, but he opted for only a kiss on her forehead. “Why don’t you go out to city square? Have the day off?”

 Annie was flabbergasted, and she showed it by jumping up and down excitedly. “What what what what?!?!?! You never let me have days off! Won’t we all, like, die out or something?”

 The wind tickled his ears and Leap chuckled and shook his head. “I am a grown man, dear. I can handle this by myself.”

 Annie wanted to leave more than anything. She HATED working in the fields, she LOATHED farming and she DESPISED the decades she was going to waste doing all that over and over and over again. But Annie was kind hearted despite it all, and more than all the previous things, she HATED leaving her father alone to do all the work.

 “Are… Are you sure?”, she asked, rubbing the back of her neck. “Even if it’s just the taxes, I could help with that! Surely you didn’t burn a whole weekend of my life for nothing!”, she joked, but she really did feel uncomfortable, and her sad eyes showed that.

 Leap, however, insisted, and he held her hand in his. “I promise you: Nothing bad will happen.” He narrowed his eyes, as if he had to make sure she believed it no matter what. “NOTHING.”

 Annie, slowly accepting the idea, nodded her head and kissed him on the forehead. “Ok! But I’ll work extra hard tomorrow! I promise!”

 In all the excitement, she hadn’t noticed her father’s frown at the fictional concept of “Tomorrow”.

 Dropping her things, Annie raced out of the gate filled with fly parts and cheered, hoping to get the latest batch of Beetle Jerky while it was still hot. Her cheers could still be heard by Leap as he walked towards his barn, the old frog staring back to where she had left and sighing.

 Holding his hat to his heart, he closed his eyes in a sort of prayer and stated as if it was fact “Nothing bad WILL happen, Annie. I swear. You’re not going to see your mother yet. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

 Wiping a hanging tear, Leap remained rooted to his spot for 5 minutes, before finally rousing the courage to begin the final chapter of his life, turning around and opening the barn door with a resounding and determined thud. The sound echoed across, startling the silk worms, who woke up and mooed almost like cows. Even the oldest and largest one, Kya, roared with surprise when the sound occurred.

 Rushing to her aid immediately, Leap shushed the large worm with soft pats to the head and affectionate whisperings of love. The worm slowly calmed down and nuzzled its head on his, the mucus not bothering Leap for a moment.

 All the other worms soon quieted down, and for a beautiful instant, all was silent in the barn. Leap tried to enjoy it while he could, knowing that the storm was inevitable.

 “Is she gone?”, a voice called out from the darkness, near the edge of the barn, disrupting the peace and causing some of the worms to call out again.

 Leap sighed, knowing his time was up. “She’s safe. And that’s all that matters.”

 Leap walked towards the noise source, still shrouded in darkness, the odd hum of a strange object reaching his ears and sending his heart racing.

 “What’s the matter, Leap? Have you lost faith in our mission?”, the voice asked, concerned this time. It was genuine; this voice and the voices that hadn’t spoken yet besides him were salt of the earth types, believers in their cause and fighters for freedom. And Leap had been one of the biggest voices for independence for years! If he had lost faith…

 “Have no such fear, brothers. I am just…”, Leap began, before clenching his fist and making his mind up. “I’m just thinking of how happy Eliza will be to see me.”

 Leap stepped in and the light revealed 9 other freedom fighters among the bale and hay, stretching their feet and ready for what could be the final day of their lives, though some of them were a tad more confident in their security.

 Tattered rags, rakes, pitchforks and torches waiting to be lit sat patiently among the group, weapons of the oppressed that hardly stood a chance against the Toad’s superior armory and fighting technique. Outdated books on Toad Strategy wasted everyone’s time on a measly wooden desk that was yellowing with age as much as the papers inside said books, a lonely candle wasting wax as well. Sunken and lost faces of rebels stood transfixed in time, awaiting the next move in the chess game of their lives.

 Leap went up to the head of the rebellion, Mog Gravel, and nodded his head slightly.

 “Have you no such fear, Leap.”, Mog encouraged, and he presented their last hope. “We are outnumbered, outmatched and out of time… But we are not out of hope.”

 He smiled, hoping to incite light in the darkness. “No one ever is.”

 Leap wasn’t so sure, but he knew the weapon had potential. He bit his lip and pointed at it, fear in his eyes. “So… Have you found out what it does?”

 Mog shook his head, but his spirit didn’t waver. “No… But we do know one thing: What we have… Could spell the END of Toad Tower…”

 And as the frogs all stared with a mix of fear and hope, the tension thick in the air, the Calamity box did nothing more but hum, it’s gems lighting up the dark barn with not hope, or fear…

 But destiny…

                 “CORN! FRESH, DELICIOUS CORN! CORN THAT’S HOT, HOTTER THAN YOU, I BET!”, a farmer shouted out, rolling his wheelbarrow full of cobs of corn next to his wooden stand that smelled of quality produce and parsley.

 “20 gold coins for THAT measly carrot? Just the one carrot?!”, a frog housewife with brown bangs and a purple purse complained loudly near a different produce stand with older, decidedly less fresh produce, that smelled of rotting potatoes.

 “Ma’am, ‘ave you SEEN the new taxes? I’ve got a family to feed!”, the stand manager said, a bearded fellow whose stomach informed that he had seen better days.

 “And I can’t feed mine if you charge such prices!”, the housewife retorted, and she slammed the stand with her purse, fire in her eyes.

 “Darius is going to win! His odds are high, and he’s got a mean right hook!”, a large, bald frog with squinting eyes debated with his friend at the kiosk, the steam of his black coffee making his eyes squint even more.

 “Eh, you’re full of shit! Alexander may be smaller, but he comes at you from everywhere at once!”, his thinner, nearly spikey haired friend countered, smoke spewing out of his hookah, the kiosk manager handing him a plate with his pretzel.

 “Swamp City ports close tonight at 6 PM. You want to be out of there as soon as possible, otherwise you’ll be stuck there for the weekend, and that’s when The Hive wakes up.”, an elderly merchant informed his first time delivering son.

 “Got it, dad.”, the son said shakily, wary of what could befall him, but desperate to please.

 Life in Marsh Pond was always hustling and bustling, never a moment to rest, and once, that had been it’s reason for success: The draw of the potential riches to be gained, the art to be adored, and the excitement to be had had caused an influx in population.

 But The Toads had changed that, and there was only so much increased demand that one city could contain. Coupled with the disillusionment the new generation had gained the last few years, and the city found itself on a threshold. The farming industry was slowly depending more and more on artificial crops, which were damaging the soil, the athletes association was struggling due to its one city event limit, and less and less frogs picked up a brush, for there were only so many times you could paint the same background.

 There was no other way around it: Marsh Pond was dying.

 And today it would draw its last breath.

 “Oh, no, my ball!”, a young frog girl named Daphne, who was bubble gum pink, exclaimed and she chased it onto the stone paved road, narrowly dodging the merchant’s son.

 “Daphne, come back here! You can’t run into the road!”, Daphne’s mother shouted out in fright and ran after her.

 Daphne bounced off the angry housewife’s head, knocked over by accident the corn wheelbarrow (“Sorry!”) and leapt from the gamblers table at the kiosk to reach it just in time.

 “Yes! I got it!”, she squealed happily, but when she looked up, she saw…

 CLANG!

 The sound of a sword hitting down on the ground was supplied by the Toad soldier now staring right at her with a nasty growl, and she hushed up immediately, whimpering from the look on his face.

 (“Firelord Ozai Theme” – Jeremy Zuckerman and The Track Team)

 Silence immediately took over the other frogs, who stopped all what they were doing to stare at the incoming chaos. The housewife shivered, the merchant’s son gulped quietly, the men at the kiosk sighed wearily, and Daphne’s mom glared with resigned desperation at the toad soldiers in front of her.

 Only the wind howled, causing the armor and terrifying war helmets to clank, their faces never moving.

 The towered over the frogs, their black as night cloaks blowing in the wind, like the wings of flesh eating vultures ready to prey on them all. The bells in the woodshop stand rang ominously, the tension in the air too thick to be cut.

 No one even dared move, as The Toad soldiers let their dominance be known by freezing an entire town with the act of simply appearing.

 Some of them, like Pugs, were already ashamed of their arrival, but the majority were like Bog, nearly grinning from the opportunity presented before them to burn this place to the ground. Their way of life was under siege, and Marsh Pond would know pain if it meant protecting the state.

 Only Grime seemed not to read the situation, too fixated he was on keeping the peace and being The Line. He knew his father had all but approved the use of brute force, especially in finding the “terrorists” who had stabbed Amphibia in the heart, but Grime just couldn’t bring himself to do it, which depressed him completely. How could he ever live up to his father, to his bloodline, if he couldn’t follow his orders? Of course, it was only a suggested course of action, which Grime was more than ready to stake his honor on if it meant that no more bloodshed would be undertaken. Grime knew he was doing something wrong, but he just couldn’t execute more frogs. There HAD to be another way.

 So he would take it. And so he tried to, as he walked up to the front of his men and cleared his throat, ready to address the citizens as to the manner of their arrival. Perhaps he could ease the storm, and steer the ship in the right direction.

 Perhaps he could still be a good leader.

 “Citizens of Marsh Pond!”, Grime’s voice boomed across the market space, all powerful and all reaching, arguably even stronger than Captain Mire. Everyone who was already looking at him focused even more now, and anyone who hadn’t been now had their eyes trained on him and him alone.

 Two other soldiers quickly positioned themselves in guarding positions, their spears pointed right at Daphne and her Mom, who still couldn’t budge, so scared they were that they were rooted to the spot.

 They quivered and whimpered, tears streaking down Daphne’s cheek, but somehow Grime didn’t notice.

 No one did, it seemed, too focused they were.

 No one did…

 But The Wrecker, who took one look at the child and saw someone he hadn’t seen in years…

 Himself.

 Meanwhile, Grime continued his speech, barging on with his well meaning but ineffectual declaration. “We are NOT here as your enemies. We are here as family, a family that is concerned.”

 Wrecker wanted to find a way to help Daphne and her mom move away, but one of the guards freaked out and threatened them with her spear, making the two frogs run off, scrambling away, bruising their knees on the rocky road.

 Wrecker just stood there silently, feeling his heart hurt just a little bit more as Grime continued, his soul beginning to intensely remind him of the past, of who he was, and of who he has become.

 “You mustn’t be afraid…”, Grime soothed, and suddenly Wrecker was 20 years old, and his father was holding his hand as Captain Mire stared into his eyes with a devilish grin, one which sent a shiver down his spine even now. He was crying then, and having his face touched by the toad leader was only making things worse.

 “We aren’t here to hurt you…”, Grime promised, but Wrecker could see Bog already sheathing his sword, and he could also see Mire “caressing” his face and sticking a knife to his face, nearly drawing blood.

 “We’ll make a fine slave of you yet…”, he whispered in his ear, and Wrecker could still hear his own screams echo into the night.

 “We aren’t here to scare your misguided warriors into submission…”, Grime phrased carefully, and Wrecker could see his neighbors being slaughtered as he narrowly ducked a sword that lashed at his head, his heart pounding, his mucus glands working overtime.

 “And we aren’t here to punish you…”, Grime neared finishing, while Wrecker could almost feel the flickering embers of the fire as his village went up in smoke.

 He could still hear the screams.

 They never left.

 Suddenly, as if past and present had collided, Wrecker felt as if he could actually see his younger self turn around and look at him.

 He blinked, confused, puzzled, startled, and every other synonym you could think of. How was this happening? It wasn’t possible!

 But there he was, looking at who he was, and who he could never be was staring right back.

 But it was not an empty stare; far from it. It was full of anger. Of rage. Of…

 Disappointment.

 “You were supposed to be better. Now, you’re going to burn another village. Only this time it WILL be your fault. And you will create more wreckers.”

 The younger version then shook his head, and sadly asked an armor piercing question: “Did you really hate yourself so much… That you chose to be what you hate most of all?”

 And Wrecker could only stare as Grime concluded his speech, the winds only getting stronger, disrupting a previously sunny day as grey clouds filled the air.

 “We are only here to collect your generous donations to the state. Not your state, not my state, but OUR state. For we are ALL Amphibians!”, Grime stated as fact, but the sight of the tremulous frogs, the image of defenseless children and frail old Frogs quivering at the sight of the heavily armed and massive Toads told a very different story. One Grime was all too happy to ignore in his all encompassing desire to be just.

 Finally ready to continue on their mission, Grime stated one last “Thank you for your co-operation” and promptly turned to Bog and Wrecker, the former bursting for the chance to punish those who sought to hurt his comrades, the latter still seeing his younger self look at him with disappointment.

 The other men all began to flank to two sides, used to this arrangement. Some pointed east, spears and swords once more pointed at the terrified townsfolk, and some pointed west, their backs turned to Grime, Bog, and Wrecker, but their nearly robotic flanking most definitely visible.

 The three most senior soldiers in the ranks glanced at each other, an aura of silence for a moment: Grime, the respectable and honorable leader; Bog, the vengeful and enraged master fighter; and Wrecker, the best fighter and the most reluctant, though his resigned nature could still make him useful. The tax day collections were to happen as normal (collect from those who pay, punish those who don’t), with the added instruction to snuff out some intel about the freedom fighters. All 3 men knew very well that a battle, an ambush, an attack, SOMETHING will happen.

 One rathered nothing would, one rathered something would, and one rathered an end to his torment.

 “Well, It’s time to divide forces. Wrecker, are you going on your own or with one of us?”, Grime asked, cordially. He knew that Wrecker was a lone wolf by nature, and he always tried to accommodate for his friend. Besides, he was good enough on his own. He was more than a match for whole squadrons of freedom fighters.

 Wrecker stared silently at the two of them, not sure what to choose for once, but Bog quickly settled it, an arm around his fellow warrior’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Lieutenant! I’ll keep an eye on Amphibia’s best frog killer!”. Wrecker looked down in shame as Bog just grinned.

 Grime narrowed his eyes. He had just about enough of all this acceptance of a crime. He didn’t find Wrecker in contempt for a moment, but he did NOT want another catastrophe here, and even Grime could feel the tensions rising. He HAD to put a stop to this before it was too late, his father’s respect be damned!

 Stepping towards Bog, trying to break it nicely, he suggested “I would hope that kill was a one time thing. Even IF the warriors show up, we are more than capable of bringing them to justice ALIVE.”

 Now, normally Bog would have complied with orders (even if he disagreed with them). At most, he would have grumbled a bit. After all, he was an underling, and he knew that.

 But earlier that day, Bog had FINALLY heard a Toad leader say what he had ALWAYS wanted to hear: That he could protect his brothers and sisters properly! That he could defend his homeland from ANY threat!

 Bog could finally be a proper toad, like in the stories his grandfather used to tell of Captain Mire, and his glorious conquests down south! Bog could finally make HIS family name mean something!

 Bog could finally mean something.

 And not even the son of Captain Muck, with all his pathetic and nausea inducing speeches of peace could take that chance away from him!

 “I’m sorry, Lieutenant, perhaps you didn’t hear: But your father specifically approved of this so called “crime”. Maybe you need to get with the times and man up!”, Bog countered, loudly, almost aggressively, and he puffed up his chest, as if he was calling Grime to fight him.

 Grime was shocked, as was Wrecker, who had never seen such defiance, least of all in a loyal soldier like Bog. It was so surprising Grime actually began to feel a weird fire burn in his head, a rage he didn’t know he had.

 What was this toad doing? Defying HIS commands? Questioning HIS authority, the authority given to him by generations of Toad rule, his frog given birthright to lead HIS people to greatness?

 “What would father think?”, Grime thought, seeing the look of disappointment in the old man’s face. He was no Toad! Why, he was barely a maggot!

 And that made Grime even angrier, his teeth gritting and his face getting redder by the second.

 Grime puffed his chest too and stared Bog right in the eye. “Now, listen here, soldier! I am in command here! We are THE LINE. And we are here to keep the peace, not end it!”

 “We are in mortal danger, and you want us to just sit down and play nice with the enemy?”, Bog retorted, anger rising in his throat too.

 Wrecker didn’t even know what to think anymore, so he stayed silent.

 “The same blood flows in their veins as ours. We will not spill it!”, Grime growled, truly feeling enraged. His aforementioned veins throbbed and his fists clenched painfully, the palm getting nearly cut by the impact.

 “And what are you going to do if I protect us? Kill me?”, Bog checkmated, and Grime realized that for the first time, he was truly at a loss for words. Bog had him trapped: If he threatened to kill him (which felt terrifyingly enticing), he would be a hypocrite. And Bog was beloved among the men; they might just mutiny if he killed such a loyal soldier, and…

 Grime took a deep breath, feeling his horrible red hot anger and recoiling. He…

 He wasn’t like that. He…

 He didn’t kill.

 Grime took another breath and decided that he would have to let this be (for now) and allow Bog to do his thing until he could stop him. He’d need a chance to prove he is right in front of everyone…

 The cogs turned in his head as he deduced that no matter what there would be a skirmish, and if he could lead them when that happens, if he could control the battlefield and show that they wouldn’t have to kill them… Then he would be proven right! And Bog’s insubordience would be easier to deal with!

 Yes… He would do it like that.

 Happy with his plan, Grime backed off and said “Well… Let’s see what happens. Perhaps you will find that not all roads of success are paved with blood.”

 “…Keep telling yourself that.”, Bog sneered, and he walked off, Wrecker joining him in silent anguish.

 As they walked off down the busy streets, the people still practically frozen in place, Annie Lilypad had finally arrived at her destination, but before she could buy a single Beetle Jerky, she was greeted all too sadly by her least favorite sight in the world: Toad soldiers.

 “Not them!”, she thought angrily, and she glared with hate at the two who passed her, Bog and Wrecker.

 “Those guys always take everything from us! And they bully everyone in town any chance they get!”, she thought madly as one soldier pushed an old man hard into a nearby wall.

 Annie wished with all her might that she could do something, as more and more people got shoved and pushed and growled at, but she knew that if she did, she could be thrown into prison at best! After yesterday…

 Who knew how many hours she had left.

 But instead of feeling grateful to be alive, Annie just felt guilty. She stood by the side, thinking what she felt but not acting upon it. What was her value if she let injustice slide?

 “Great, Annie. You really are nothing.”, she mumbled darkly as she walked in the inn, her appetite nearly gone now.

 How could she ever be true to herself if she always stood down when the chance to leap arrived?

           It had been about three whole hours since they had started the visitations, and every house in Marsh Pond was left in near ruins, stripped and bared of its possessions, its residents scarred by the ruthlessness of the Toad Army. Bog and the soldiers, alongside a regretful Wrecker, had managed to ransack and desecrate home after home with zero challenge, the defenseless frogs receiving the justice they deserve for betraying their comrades.

 It was a monotonous cycle; The soldiers would walk in and make sure that none of the frogs would commit a heinous and cowardly attack on them, Bog and Wrecker would crowd control with Wrecker restraining the heads of the treacherous families and Bog rightfully punishing the tax evaders for failing to pay the reasonably high fees by removing any and all precious items from their houses as compensation.

 “We tried to pay… We really did! I sold all my silk worms, my wife works morning, noon, and night shifts at the hospital, and my children are starving! You must consider our situation, we wanted to, we really did…”, one maroon frog said, but it was a poor excuse in the eyes of Bog, who tightened his choke on the criminal’s throat, the wall getting more and more cracked by the effort.

 “Not good enough. I wanted to stay at home and not have to teach you to work harder, but I guess we don’t always get what we want…”, Bog replied, grinning wildly as he began pounding the frog in the stomach hard, the hurt man’s children and wife gasping as he choked for air, his insides shivering as Bog stared down at him and spat.

 “Wrecker, give him a good kick. Like you gave that outlaw in Swamp City that one time…”, Bog ordered, and Wrecker sadly stepped up to do so, causing the frog to heave heavily and cough violently.

 The same thing happened to the baker in town square when he was on the other side. When he was someone else.

 The frog gave all he had, but he didn’t give any intel on the “terrorists”, a worrying trend that continued in every other house they visited.

 They saw broken jaws, they saw shattered teeth, they saw black eyes and twisted elbows and bleeding chests, but they didn’t see a sliver of information on the whereabouts of these so called “honorable warriors” that stood up for Marsh Pond and its now crippled folk.

 “So you don’t just refuse to support your protectors, you actively band against them?!”, Bog screamed as he and a few other men lifted a barely composed woman, who was close to a concussion by now, so bruised and beaten she was.

 “I… I swear I know nothing… I swear on Frog’s name…”, she pleaded, but her prayers fell on deaf ears as she fell right through her own table, Wrecker watching from the sidelines, his sword stopping the woman’s wife from rushing to her aide.

 “Swear to Toad Tower!”, Bog declared with rage, and he shook off the impure blood from his fingers as the woman lost sight in one eye for the rest of her meaningless life.

 “All the houses look like they did back… Back in my village.”, Wrecker noted, as the wife screamed for him to let her tend to her love.

 Wrecker laid his eyes on the sobbing mess before him, tears dripping on his sword as he sadly realized that all the people looked the same too.

 In fact, this woman looked a lot like a woman he once knew…

 A woman he once…

 Wrecker barely swallowed the weight in his throat as he robotically followed the order given and threw the woman at her wife to “lie together in the filth”.

 As the righting of wrongs continued, as more and more souls were pierced by his actions, Wrecker tried to somehow reason it all, as Bog broke the nose of yet another thief of the state.

 Sure, every one of these sights disgusted him, but it was nothing new! He had been in countless battles, in countless prisoner orientations, in countless Tax Day checks. He had fought in skirmishes big and small, he had broken arms and legs and shoulders and ribcages, he had protected his homeland!

 But…

 But had he really?

 Were these his people? Were these his opinions? Was this his true self?

 Wrecker had never wanted to go down this road, this path. He had wanted to be anything else, but so lost he was on his journey, he found himself too late on the wrong trail. But was it too late?

 Wrecker thought so. He thought so greatly.

 He tried to avert his eyes as the frog retched out blood, but he couldn’t. This might as well be him making that poor man lie in a pool of his own blood, for crimes he couldn’t help but commit. It was him who was taking these people’s belongings, him who was starving these dying kids, him who was looking for war criminals who didn’t commit a single wrong.

 He was in the wrong. He was the sin, the sinner, and somehow the executioner.

 He could still hear the screams of the frog he killed.

 He could still hear his own screams.

 And now he could hear a third scream, the scream of an orange tinted frog boy, around the same age as he was that night, shaking his father awake and bursting into ugly tears.

 “You… He didn’t do anything! My uncle (ah, so not his father) is innocent, you… You monster!”, the young man called out, suddenly leaping at Bog and punching him in the face, causing all the soldiers and even Wrecker to gasp in shock.

 Bog recovered enough from his surprise to growl at the boy, his imposing figure causing the young man to cry and shake, a mess on the floor.

 And as all this happened, Wrecker looked at the boy and saw someone he hadn’t seen in years: He saw himself.

 He too had leapt for his father’s (well, the boy leapt for his uncle but still) defense that night. And he had nearly died. He too had challenged the beasts who feasted on his village… And for that he was nearly enslaved.

 He was…

 “Wrecker, teach this demon child what you get when you mess with the Toads!”, Bog ordered furiously, dragging Wrecker in front of the child.

 Wrecker’s lip nearly trembled as he unsheathed his sword, the boy hiccupping from fright, like he did. Clinging to his body for safety, like he did.

 He was…

 “Come on, Wrecker… Add to your list of accomplishments! Imagine the tales they’ll tell of the one who killed those who wish to silence us! Those who wish to destroy us! You will be the greatest legend in Toad history!”, Bog encouraged, goating him on.

 Wrecker breathed heavily, remembering his disapproving past self, remembering the horrors of that night, remembering how he screamed for a second chance…

 They had nearly killed him. They had nearly stopped his misery. He was cornered, he was down, and he could feel his heart slow down, and for a moment he thought that he had finally gotten what he deserved…

 But then she had come.

 Leaping into the scene, dressed like the night, she had cut them down. She had bundled him up (despite his size) and she had run to the hills, barely making it as they bit at her heels.

 It had taken the fastest knife slash he had ever seen to ensure he would survive.

 That night, she had told him to run. To find a new life. To live.

 To be the best version of himself. Not a slave, not a mistake, not an embarrassment…

 He would be a good frog. He would be a good frog.

 And she had ensured he would live so he could find himself here, about to create another Wrecker.

 If he killed the boy, he would have become the monster he always feared… And if he spared him, he would create a tortured soul, another Wrecker. And knowing himself, Wrecker could only wish he wouldn’t live to see someone like him.

 “Well… What are you waiting for?”, Bog asked, puzzled, patience wearing a little thin.

 Wrecker saw it. He saw the threshold. The place of no return.

 Both choices would condemn him to be what he always thought he was. Would he truly go that far? Would he truly kill a child?

 Was he really a monster?

 For so long, Wrecker would have told you that he was.

 For so long, Wrecker would have taken the step so the torture could end, so that he could finally recognize that it was too late for him, and that the final rest could finally descend on him.

 He had longed to be good all his life, and then he longed to finalize his metamorphosis.

 But as he gripped the sword, as he towered over the boy, he saw that his soul still flickered ever so slightly…

 Perhaps he couldn’t save himself.

 But he could save the boy. He could at least do that.

 He could at least do ONE. GOOD. THING.

 CLANG!

 Bog’s eyes returned from the sword to see an even more unbelievable sight: “That’s too far.”

 “…Is it?”

 Bog snarled as he stepped up to Wrecker, somehow towering over him.

 “Is it? I assume you didn’t notice all the other “horrible” things we did. I assume you have forgotten your brothers and sisters back home who could all die thanks to these brutes!”, Bog shouted, pointing at the crying messes on the floor, the children, the old lady, the man who was still shivering in his blood.

 Wrecker was beginning to get afraid. Bog was capable of doing anything. And worst of all… He was beginning to make sense.

 Not in that way, of course. But what had made the other things they had done less bad? He had stood by and participated and allowed all this to happen for 30 years now. What made this different?

 But the little voice still pleaded, his soul still fought.

 He stared right back. “We are protectors. Not killers. I… I won’t let you kill an innocent child. Or an innocent man. That is not the way.”

 Wrecker had expected a growl, a punch, a stab, anything. But Bog surprised him once more by laughing uproariously.

 Finishing, he wiped the spittle off of his mouth and whispered a heart shattering statement: “So… You want to play hero, eh? Go ahead… Prove to me you’re not a monster. Go ahead… Prove you still deserve to live.”

 And it was that that made Wrecker freeze.

 Why was he doing this? To… To save himself? Was he only doing this to ease his conscious?

 Wrecker looked at his hands, and saw nothing but blood. He had the audacity to dare to think that he could ever be more than the monster he was from the moment he was born. He had the gall to claim he was doing this for anyone but himself.

 He was saved by selflessness, and he was as ever repaying it with selfishness.

 It was HIS fault he drafted, it was HIS fault he had failed at all other vocations, and the crimes and atrocities committed were on his hands, not anyone else’s!

 Bog was right… He was the monster.

 He had crossed the threshold years ago. There was no way back.

 Wrecker looked down, and with a resigned huff, with a last breath of spirit, walked away, the road long gone, his chance dead once and for all.

 He was no frog…

 He was The Wrecker.

 And that was all he would ever be.

 “Good riddance! Come back when you’re ready to do the right thing!”, Bog shouted out, and returned his gaze to the broken frog before him, the uncle of the boy slowly standing up.

 “Anything to say… Traitor?”, Bog inquired with hate lacing his words.

 The frog hesitated… He would send his people, his friends to sure death. He would kill his comrades and doom the effort. He would be the frog who let Toad rule stay forever.

 But… But he made a vow. He had to keep that at least.

 “…I’ll tell you where they are. Just… Just don’t kill the boy. His… His father died yesterday. He’s suffered enough.”

 Bog took a deep breath and nodded.

 “…Leap Lillypad’s farm. It’s the last house down east. There’s 10 of them. And they’re waiting.”

 He then shook his head, guilt already making it spinning. “That’s it. That’s all I know. I promise.”

 “I believe you.”, Bog replied genuinely, and began to leave, his steps sending tremors through the room.

 As he continued walking, he smirked and said “The boy will live. But you… You won’t.”

 The frog stared wide eyes, barely holding himself up on the wall as the rest of the family gasped in shock. “What? Why?”

 “No honor among thieves… You’re a traitor in two ways. Scum like you don’t deserve to live. You’re nothing but a murderous rat. And there’s nothing I hate more… Than a selfish beast.”, Bog declared, and turning around he shoved his sword right through the frog’s guts, blood covering his face, his teeth yellow and red…

 And he laughed.

 “Leap Lillypad…”, he announced as he walked outside.

 “Today… Frog resistance dies.”

                (“Isolation” – Bryan Taylor, Iron Man 3)

 Tick.

 Tock.

 Tick.

 Tock.

 The Wrecker sat at Pickle’s Inn, the destruction around him surrounding him with more evidence of his failure. A glass of swamp slush mixed with Spyritus, which of course was the finest in Amphibia thanks to the finest grain Marsh Pond had to offer.

 A fly floated in his drink, and Wrecker gazed melancholicly at it, tiny ripples extending forever across time inside.

 Another ripple. Another ripple. Another ripple.

 Another life he has ruined.

 He failed the boy. He killed his father. He failed the boy’s uncle. And that was just today.

 He had 60 years of that to look back on and regret.

 “It’s amazing…”, he thought, looking at the drink and sighing. “Every single decision I’ve ever made has led me here. And every single one has been wrong.”

 He was here to drown his sorrows, perhaps forget that he had ever done any of this. Perhaps he could forget his regrets, and just continue serving, unaware of how wrong it all was. How amazing would that be! To live a life, ignorant of the pain he caused!

 But he couldn’t do that. Clearly, he was bad at being bad too.

 His heart beat rapidly as his hand extended to his belt buckle. His eyes tried to not avert from the dagger. The one he had used to indict himself of his sins for so long.

 “Perhaps the old girl can serve justice just once…”, he thought, sure that… Maybe… Just maybe… This was his chance. He couldn’t help it: Hope didn’t die. He couldn’t be bad, he couldn’t be good…

 Perhaps the best he could do was finally get out of the way, like he had always been told.

 “Guess I never did listen… Did I?”, he thought sadly, and he felt the dagger around, turning it with his palms. It was a bit blunt, worn from years of fighting. A broken tool… Like him.

 “How fitting.”

 If he could just rouse the courage… Just do the act…

 It would be a coward’s death, sure. But at least he wouldn’t be causing more pain.

 And at least he would rest. Finally… Sweet, glorious rest. A rest he had only ever dreamed of… One where maybe… It would all seem funny.

 The dagger began pointing in the right direction…

But the journey to its end point was still on hold. He gulped, as he instinctually recoiled at the prospect of shoving it in.

 “No!”, he shouted at himself, in his head. “I must be brave! This is the only thing I can do that would mean something! This is my last option!”

 He grunted. He shook. Sweat rolled down his forehead as he willed the knife to finally end it. End his pain. At least that.

 “At least give me that!”, he cried, begging for release.

 But…

 The dagger wouldn’t budge.

 The Wrecker, despite his loathing, couldn’t bring himself to die.

 Leaning back, just so very tired, he wondered “Now what?”

 He leaned on the desk, head buried in his hands. “I can’t be good, I can’t be bad, I can’t even be dead. What use am I? What’s left to do?”

 A single tear… Rolled down his cheek. “Where to go? What road to take? Who am I?”

 He whispered. “Why am I?”

 But there was no answer. Still no answer after all those years.

 Shivering, Wrecker truly wondered what was his next choice. What could he possibly do?

 Left with no choice, Wrecker looked up, as if he could see the sky through the roof, and begging, prayed to something, anything.

 “Please… I know I don’t deserve it… But… Please give me a sign…”

 He let out a pained sob, chugging down his entire drink, feeling his chest set on fire inside. It hurt like hell.

 “But not enough.”, he thought, setting the glass down, the clink echoing down the bar table and awakening Annie Lilypad, who was not used to having free time, as you can see.

 “Blaadgdsgsgsg I’m awake! Mwa wake! Nwot nappsing!”, She gibberished, shaking herself awake and looking around with blinking eyes to find...

 “(GASP!), she gasped, noticing the toad soldier from before, when she was walking towards the inn. His armor was dark, foreboding, his cloak bloody and tattered. His face was scar ridden, bulbous and ugly, and his entire aura was imposing and terrifying. Annie could hardly believe her eyes: How could ANYONE look so scary? Even for a toad, he seemed monstrous.

 At first, Annie wanted to hide, or even run as fast as she can, before she found herself 6 feet under. Rooming with her mom on a cloud was NOT something she looked forward to (at least, not yet). Her eyes darted around like mad, praying for some sort of escape. She could dash outside, but there were soldiers everywhere, and he would surely catch up. She could leap to the ceiling, but she wasn’t that sticky, and he could probably throw his dagger from down there. She could cower under the chair… But that would be pathetic and she would die of embarrassment alongside actual death. Also, he’d catch her.

 So all Annie had was to shake in fright as Wrecker looked down at her, a small size difference, but a difference nonetheless. And Annie was tall for a frog!

  “Maybe I could whistle innocently! That never works in the plays I see, and everyone knows fiction isn’t reality!”, she proposed to herself, and she began to do just that, her eyes lazily glancing at the ceiling, her whistling off-key.

 Wrecker observed this for a good 10 seconds before saying “…If you’re trying to get me not to notice you, you’re doing a pretty lousy job.”

 “DRAT! PLAYS! YOU LIED TO ME ABOUT LYING TO ME!”, She cursed, her fist shaking at the ceiling, which made Wrecker look towards it curiously before resuming his thousand yard stare at the wall.

 Annie suddenly realized 2 monumental things: The Toad had noticed her…

 And more importantly, he wasn’t trying to gut her, or shake her down for taxes.

 “Weird!”, she commented to herself, but she was relieved, and she showed it. At least she wasn’t dead or poor! That was something!

 Annie sighed, relaxed, and noticing that she still had some beetle jerky left, began to chew on it noisily, eyes closed in satisfaction. “Nothing like the satisfying crunch of beetle jerky!”, Annie said a loud without realizing so, before shutting her mouth in fear.

 She looked at Wrecker, who looked back at her, seemingly remembering something as he stared at the jerky.

 A million thoughts raced in Annie’s head: “Ohnohe’sgonnakillmehe’sgonnasmushupmybonesandtearmyarmsrightoffandsqueezemyeyesandspreadthejellyontoastwhichI’msurewouldtastegreatbutstillnonoIdon’twanttodiethere’ssomuchIstillwanttodosparemylifeifanyoneisupthereHELP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

 She saw a million different outcomes to her predicament, all of which involved her dying a million different ways.

 None of them actually predicted what would happen:

 “Beetle Jerky… I remember that.”, Wrecker stated, taking a slice and admiring it, the grease and crispness warming his palm in a nice, soothing way, like a warm cup of tea on a rainy November night. His eyes actually seemed to light up, and they made the dark and dreary inn just a little less gloomy.

 And, for just a moment, he actually smiled, a real, genuine smile. “They sold this when I lived in my village. I always liked it.”

 Annie had to blink rapidly to even begin to comprehend: What the hell was happening?

 Wrecker, meanwhile, continued to smile as he described the snack. “The savory, salty taste. The just slightly too hot ends that char your tongue, but in a pleasant way…”

 Annie actually began to smile too. How did he nail the exact feelings she had for Beetle Jerky?

 “Yeah, I know!”, she said with a grin, grabbing a slice too. “But you know what’s the best part?”

 “You bet! Nothing better than…”, he started, and they both exclaimed at the same time after taking a bite…

 “The crunchy sound.”

 Annie looked at him, still chewing, and smiled with her mouth full.

 And Wrecker, for the first time in almost 40 years…

 Smiled back.

 And for a moment, all was peaceful at the inn with two lost souls, mourning their nothingness.

 Alas, though, peace was rarely idle. Annie soon held her head up with her arms and, a little hesitatingly, offered an unsure question, a slight quiver in her words. “I… I didn’t know toads liked Beetle Jerky.”

 Surprised by the racist statement, Wrecker answered the quarry of sorts with an educating statement. “Well, I’m not a toad. But Toad aren’t the problem.”

 He narrowed his eyes, guilt racing though his bones, like the blood in his veins. “It’s Toad Tower that’s the culprit.”

 Annie, meanwhile, was still trying to make sure she heard the FIRST statement, and she rubbed her eyes in disbelief. “I’m sorry, what? You’re not a Toad?”

 A short pause, and then Wrecker nodded.

 “…Are you sure?”

 Wrecker once more took a moment to answer before saying “…I’m something much worse.”

 Annie mumbled “Yeah, I can tell. You came here and ruined everything. But if that’s the case, why are you criticizing your leaders?”

 Sighing, Wrecker began standing up, only to find Annie standing in front of him, curiosity, righteous anger, confusion, and sadness all storming inside her as she held her ground, demanding an explanation. “Wait, no, that’s not good enough! If you’re not a Toad, that means you’re a Frog. And if you’re aware enough to say you’re way worse than the Toads, and that Toad Tower is the problem, then how come you came here to destroy our home? Your home?!”

 Wrecker grunted and pushed past Annie, like she was thin air. His expression sold on his frustration, but also on his self resentment. “No offense, kid, but I’m not going to sit here and give you my life story. I came here to forget, not to be pitied.”

 Annie was shocked. What was UP with this guy? First he looks all scary, then he’s all friendly and chummy, THEN he’s all self hating, and how he’s mean? What the hell is he on?

 Collecting herself, the young frog woman realized that if he was going, that meant he was going to continue hurting (or enabling) her friends, her neighbors…

 Her family.

 Enraged, Annie clenched her fists. She was sick and tired of the Toads and their oppression of poor innocent people. She had seen what they were capable of. How could this guy, who seemed to get that, just walk back in and allow them to continue? He HAD to understand that was insane!

 Still furious, Annie suddenly realized that THIS was her chance, and her eyes widened as the eureka moment made her glow: OF COURSE! The universe was presenting her with a chance! A chance to spare at least ONE frog of more suffering! Of more pain!

 If she could stop this guy before he did any more harm, then Annie would have finally done something worthy in her life! She would have finally done SOMETHING!

 Still, stopping a toad soldier… This guy looked tough. He could probably bite her head off or something! What good would she be if her head was off and everything? She needed it for head-related things!

 Annie considered doing nothing, retreating. She was strong for her age, but she would be nothing against a trained beast like him. There was no use. Better to go back and let him do his work.

 …

 But that was not who she was. Not one bit.

 Like a bolt of lightning, Annie ran out the inn and turned around just in time to meet Wrecker again face to face. The warrior was startled for a moment, but not for long, and he frowned down at her. “Listen, little girl, I am not some sob story! So back off!”

 Annie stared him down, fully determined and not afraid for a moment. “I’m 20 years old.”

 “Whatever. I don’t care, which is what you should do with me. Now, let me go!”, Wrecker ordered, and he began to walk down to her, but she stood her ground and stood on her tippy toes to be even taller than him, eyes blazing.

 “No! Toad or not, you’re a jerk like the others! Maybe even worse! How can you do something you know is bad? How can you let them do something you know is wrong? What kind of person are you?”, Annie shouted, not an ounce of fear or reservation in her tone. She felt brave, for the very first time. She felt…

 Meaningful.

 But Wrecker was not impressed. In fact, he seemed very pained: His eyes were so narrowed you could barely see them, his nails were digging into his palms, and his body was shaking, but whether it was with rage or with desolation, one couldn’t tell.

 Barely able to form words, Wrecker tried his best to get the girl out of his way and out of his head: “Move. Away. Now.”

 “Make me!”, she challenged defiantly.

 “No!”, Wrecker shouted, perhaps too loudly.

 “Why? I thought you Toad Tower guys were ok with killing, considering yesterday!”

 “That’s not who I am! You don’t know the whole story!”

 “Then what is it, then? Why are you letting this happen?”

 “It’s not like that!”, Wrecker tried to finish, but he was really beginning to lose it. He was going to crack any minute now.

 “Really? Because I’m starting to think you’re just a no good, cowardly, vulgar, evil murderor!”, Annie flung the insult, and that was it.

 He snapped.

“YOU THINK I DON’T KNOW THAT?!”, Wrecker screamed at her before falling to his knees, sending a thud that nearly made Annie fall down to the ground.

 Still regaining her balance, Annie stared at Wrecker with shocked eyes, as Wrecker began to actually shed a tear in front of another person.

 He didn’t wipe it.

 “You think that I don’t know what a monster I am? You think I don’t hear that poor frog’s screams? I’ve spent 30 years living a lie because I was the worst at everything but surviving!”, he shouted, his voice getting weak, his true self showing itself to the world, fragile and hurt, an injured soul crying for help.

 “I tried to ignore it… I tried to be better… I tried to be good, I tried to be bad, I tried to be dead! I tried to follow their orders, I tried to stop them from hurting this village, I tried everything!”, he exclaimed, shivering now, his carefully constructed tower of continuity finally crashing down to the ground. All walls and barriers were down as Wrecker finally admitted he was lost to the world.

 Annie, meanwhile, was still shaken, and she could only listen as Wrecker tried somehow to get across how lost he was.

 “I KNOW I’ve done horrible things… I can’t take them back. I can’t take anything back. And I don’t want to be forgiven, ‘cause I don’t deserve it.” Wrecker choked out, wishing his dagger had been braver.

 Burrying his face in his hands, Wrecker finally admitted to a single, horrible truth. “I am sorry. I truly am sorry. But it’s too late for me. It’s been too late for me since the moment I was born. I’m not good, I’m not bad, I’m not anything.”

 He sighed morosely, accepting his fate. “I’m trapped in a cage of my own making. I can’t fix what I did. So just forget about me. Go ahead and be someone. Take the right road, and stay there. Because if you close your eyes… If you give in to yourself… You’ll turn into me.”

 Silence reigned, and with Wrecker still on the ground, Annie did not know what to say. She was saddened by his tale, for sure. She could tell it was real: No one would just act something like that out. Whoever this person was, maybe they weren’t so bad. After all, what kind of villain advices a kid to do better, what kind of villain apologizes for his failures?

 Maybe there was more to him than meets the eye.

 Besides, she knew how he felt. Perhaps… Perhaps she could cheer him up… Just for a moment.

 Slowly walking up to him, Annie sat down silently and looked down at him tenderly. Wrecker, noticing her, looked up, his tear still running down, his face representing the mess inside.

 Smiling softly, Annie sighed and said “…I’m nothing too.”

 Wrecker blinked for a moment…

 And not being able to help himself…

 Smiled.

 “I appreciate that. But as I said: It’s too late for me. I’ve been wrong about every single thing in my life.”, he replied, still broken.

 “If that’s the case…”, Annie said, still encouraging. “Maybe you’re wrong about this as well.”

 Wrecker sat up and observed the woman with an odd look, not knowing what to make of her. Did she actually think?...

 Hesitatingly, she held his hand, and he recoiled at her touch, having not felt the tenderness of another person for about 40 years. She too found the moment a little scary, his bruised and rough hand feeling like nothing she’d ever touched, like the thorns on a rose. But, well, the thing with roses is that there’s more to them than meets the eye, now isn’t there? “I don’t think a nobody would be so nice to someone he’s never met. I don’t think a nobody would try to stop his fellow men from hurting my friends. And I don’t think a nobody would do try and help little old me in anything.”

 Wrecker shook his head, failing to believe any of this.

 She was just being nice for the sake of being nice, and that was all.

 …Or was she?

 After all, as she said, perhaps he was ALSO wrong about this, which would simultaneously be surprising and not surprising!

 Perhaps…

 Wrecker looked at Annie with a rising feeling of renewed hope, or perhaps purpose.

 Something about this young frog with messy hair and a winning, toothy smile, with eyes that seemed to cheer him on, despite only having met him a few minutes ago, made Wrecker feel as if maybe there WAS hope.

 After all, if someone this innocent, this surprisingly kind, and this hurt by the Toads could look at him and say that he could be better, then…

 Maybe he wasn’t so bad.

 But before Wrecker could even begin to think about how amazing that would be…

 BOOM!

 A flare shot up to sky, illuminating the clouds and clearing with a fiery red that changed the mood on the ground completely, Wrecker narrowing his eyes in recognition, Annie’s eyes widening in concern, not knowing for a moment what that was.

 “What does that flare mean?”, she asked hesitatingly, fearing the worst.

 Wrecker, sadly, had to confirm those fears. “That’s the reinforcement flare. They’re fighting the freedom fighters for sure.”

 Annie nodded to all this before realizing where the flare was coming from. And as soon as she did, her eyes filled with tears and she scrambled up from the ground, frantically, face screaming with panic.

 “OH NO! DAD! THEY’RE IN MY DAD’S FARM! THEY’RE GOING TO KILL HIM!”, She screamed, barely believing the words. Heck, she was barely controlling her body: It was like it was on auto-pilot, and she was just along for the ride as she dashed like a madwoman down the gravelly road, scratched feet be damned!

 Wrecker, who had no time to react as the brave girl ran into certain death in lightspeed, soon realized she did exactly that. There was no way she would survive: With Bog leading that battalion, and when they’re fighting those revolutionaries… Why, she’d be dead in seconds, if not sooner!

 …She’d be dead in seconds.

 This poor, innocent, kind soul who did nothing wrong, and who was only being attacked because she was a frog, would DIE because he had failed to stop Bog.

 Wrecker breathed heavily, overwhelmed and guilt ridden, before something woke up in him and he realized: This was the poor boy he had failed today all over again.

 Once more, Wrecker had let a child be in danger because he had wandered off his path.

 Yet, here was the crossroads yet again, clear for all to see.

 One path led to his safety, to a lifetime of dutiful service and easy living, and a chance to go down as one of the greatest warriors the Toads had ever known: A path of eternal honor and pride.

 The other would lead to his certain death, be that in the battlefield, in prison, or even by execution: He would be shamed and humiliated, and his name would go down as a synonym for treachery, and for cowardice. A path of eternal failure and damnation.

 He would never get a chance to fix all his sins. Never get a chance to prove his worth.

 And for a moment, Wrecker hesitated, Wrecker wondered if maybe he was making the wrong choice.

 Maybe it would be easier to just stay on the path he was on, and give in. After all, he WAS a failure.

 …

 But the girl would live.

 Standing up immediately, needing no more convincing, Wrecker clenched his fist, unsheathed his sword, and with a determined deep breath, knowing his minutes were numbered, said…

 “Here goes nothing.”

         (“Fire Nation Theme” and “War” by Jeremy Zuckerman, The Track Team and Lucas King)

“We know you’re in there!”, Bog shouted, pounding the barn door that held the freedom fighters away from his wrath and rage. No one of course answered the door, the fighters preparing for their final stand together, praying it would not be the final stand of frogkind.

 Bog’s battalion stirred nervously as he kept battering away at the door, splinters of wood flying off from the impact of his fist. Armors clinked and clanked in the wind, and weapons shook at the ready, the soldiers well aware that inside were ruthless and vicious enemies, ready to grind up their bones, massacre their families and burn their homeland to the ground.

 Wiping the blood off of his dagger, a piece of ribcage attached to it, that turned into dust as it clattered on the ground, Bog pointed back at the inferno behind him with mock and challenge in his tone. “If it’s your farm you wanted to keep, it’s too late, Lilypad! Your livelihood is like your time: Burning away rapidly!”

 He was almost laughing, a terrifying mixture of rage and utter glee on his face, Pugs noted, still carrying the guilt of her involvement in this sordid affair.

 “Well? What are you afraid of? That we prove you are the vermin you’ve always been? You frogs have done nothing but live off our generosity, and if you think you can destroy the masterace, you have another thing coming!”, Bog called out, most of the soldiers verbally agreeing, shocked that such malevolent actions were planned to be taken against their families and friends.

 “So go ahead… I’d like to see you try!”, He roared, and the field, for a moment, grew silent.

 The sun was almost down, but the battlefield that was once the place where a farmer cared for his daughter more than for himself was illuminated by the bright flicker and crackle of the fire behind the soldiers, which only increased their sweating. The ground which had once been the source of Annie’s first steps as she decided to help her father with the farmwork was now being walked on by toads determined to bring forth his final steps. And the barn where he found the very item that would change Amphibia forever was now being torn apart by the power hungry and blindly self righteous men who had driven his father to hide it here in the first place.

 It was all so poetic, but Leap had not time for poetry. He only had time for the here and the now, and that meant ensuring his daughter lived and his species survived.

 Taking one last lingering look at the place where it began and ended with the smallest hint of a tear in his eye, Leap picked up a carved axe with a watermelon red head, and with fast and efficient work thanks to years of dutiful farm work, chopped a doorway open.

 “MOO!”, the silk worms bellowed, their eyes wide with panic as they stormed out of the barn and raced to the hills, leaving a mucus trail behind them that smelt of home to Leap.

 Turning to his brothers, the front door nearly burst open, a hand beginning to make its way through, Leap nodded and motioned for them to charge as he ran out the back, eyes aflame with courage.

 His legs were barely out of the barn as, armed with rakes, sticks, lit torches and pitchforks, the other freedom fighters stormed right out into the battlefield, their collective effort knocking Bog and his soldiers back onto the ground with a collective thud.

 “For Freedom! For Equality! For Marsh Pond!”, the fighters called out, in utter defiance, hearts in their chest, as Bog slowly rose up and laughed quietly, a chill running down his soldier’s spines.

 “What a pity, then, that you die for nothing…”

 Raising his sword, Bog lumbered up and in one clean motion sliced the head off of the frog in the middle, before fighting off two rakes at the same time, easily holding his own and grinning with anticipation.

 “CHARGE!”, He ordered uproariously and his battalion began to enter battle formations and flank themselves for an offensive onslaught, swords and daggers aimed at the enemy with assurance and poise. Meanwhile, the archers ran back and positioned themselves for long range attacks, though the flaming crops made it hard to see or hear.

 “CHARGE!”, Mog Gravel, who was taking on Bog with a torch now that his rake was lying broken on the ground, ordered, and the fighters left standing ran to confront their oppressors with fires in their bellies and determination in their eyes.

 The sounds of sword swipes and pitchfork clanging echoed across the field as the Toads more than held their own, but found themselves struggling with the utter passion the freedom fighters were exhibiting. Each sword and dagger strike were blocked with a pitchfork and stick parry and vice versa.

 Torches fell on the ground and set one fighter’s rags on fire, and seizing her chance, she grabbed a soldier by the throat to set him on fire too, the two burning to a crisp before the eyes of the horrified warriors.

 Sticks poked out a toad’s eyeball, who quickly retorted with an eyeball removal of his own, blood gushing out of the wounds and painting the path red.

 Arrows sailed down and struck through the heart of one freedom fighter, but due to the intense fire that blocked their sights, the archers also ended up piercing their fellow toads through the heart or head. Some struck fighters would end up taking their arrows out and, with moments left to stay alive, pierce an opposing warrior with same deadly arrow.

 Pugs, meanwhile, was seeing all this and panicking as she sustained the siege with the others in the barrier, soon to be next to lay their life down the line. But Pugs couldn’t stand another second of it: She was not only seeing her fellow comrades die, but also innocent frogs who merely wanted to live as fellow equals die. She was destroying the place her father had described to her so many times before, and she couldn’t live with her betrayal.

 She could only help one faction. And so, she did just that.

 Racing off to the beginning of the burning crop field, she took out her signal pistol and aimed it towards the smogy sky that was not so blue anymore.

 Bog, still barely fighting off two other fighters, while three others somehow managed to subdue his entire battalion, which only furthered to piss him off, turned to her while still fighting and bellowed “Don’t you DARE call for backup! Lieutenant Grime will impede out victory!”

 For 13 years, Pugs had lived and served under a regime that had trained her to fight all those who sought to destroy the common good.

 So she didn’t see it as a betrayal as she looked Bog straight in the eye…

 And shot the flare gun anyway.

 Bog wrestled the frogs off of him and growled at the defiant teen, his sword ready to kill a fellow toad already. “You’ve taken your final breath for your people, traitor.”, he uttered, almost silently, rage consuming him.

 “…Yes. I have.”, she replied bravely, and with one swoop…

 SHNIKK!

 She collapsed onto the ground, her own sword protruding out of her chest.

 Bog stared at the body with zero emotion and merely turned around to confront the men who tried in vain to take him from behind, continuing to overpower them.

 But, unfortunately for him, the other toads were horrified at the death of their friend, who was younger than some of them. They gasped and stared at her now limp body, and this allowed the three frogs armed with pitchforks to slice through their ranks, slowly turning the tide of the battle.

 “YOU IDIOTS! KILL THEM! THEY’RE OUTNUMBERED!”, Bog screamed, and his suffering continued as the sound of hurried marching approached his ears.

 Managing to avoid the archers, Grime and his battalion (who were more or less in agreement with him on not killing the freedom fighters) arrived at the field, shocked and stupefied by the events that played out before them: 5 frog warriors were managing to push back an entire battalion of toads. Add the flaming crops, the limp bodies scattered all over the ground and mutilated by the ignoring feet of the soldiers and the rain of arrows that they barely avoided, and it was a tragedy playing in near slow motion.

 “P… PUT YOUR WEAPONS DOWN! WE… WE WILL TAKE THEM DOWN PEACEFULLY!”, Grime ordered with a mighty shout, but his words meant nothing in the chaotic battlefield. He could barely choke out the words, so taken aback he was by it all. He had sworn he would fix this before it happened, but now it was more than too late! His brothers and sisters, and his fellow frogs were mowed down like flies by the very thing he promised he’d prevent!

 If he wasn’t trained to suppress such pathetic showings of weakness, he would have gone down to his knees and wept for the lives lost.

 But he had to make his father, and his mother… Proud...

 He had to.

 Marching over to Bog and deflecting the pitchfork strike of the frog before him, Grime hollered at his turncoat toad. “I TOLD YOU TO DO WHAT IS BEST FOR AMPHIBIA!”

 Bog, growling, sliced the head of the same frog clean off and stared Grime straight in the eye. “I AM! ARE YOU?!”

 As the two toads clashed with words, Wrecker and Annie finally arrived, narrowly avoiding the arrows.

 Annie’s eyes were hungry with worry: She had clearly cried all she could along the way. Her feet were sore, her knees screamed to buckle and her chest was burning almost as much as the fields she had once worked in, which set off the water works again. She frantically called out for her father, but heard nothing. “DAD! DAD! DAD, PLEASE ANSWER ME!”

 While Annie’s heart tore itself apart, Wrecker found himself narrowly deflecting arrows and looking around for something else: Any threat to the girl’s life. He couldn’t care less about himself, which was why when the flames licked his coat and just failed to set him on fire or when an arrow grazed his cheek or when a sword nearly cut his arm off, he didn’t care.

 All that mattered was that this girl he didn’t even know, would live. All that mattered was that one person would benefit from knowing him.

 He didn’t matter: His path was gone. But she still had a long way to go.

 “Kid…”, he started, as he grasped her by the side and carried her, almost like a briefcase, or a kitty.

 He looked at her, and his eyes flashed with concern, as he realized this all felt sort of familiar. “…You have to survive. Your heart has years left ahead of it.”

 Annie tried to wrestle out of his grasp as he narrowly dodged slash after slash. He slid under a torch, dust kicking up and blinding some of the men.

 “NO! I HAVE TO FIND MY DAD!”, She screamed, her voice nearly lost, tears dampening his arm. She kicked and flailed around, sobs strangling her throat.

 Wrecker looked at her, not knowing what to do. He had to save her… But how was he going to save her AND find her father?

 But the look of utter fear on her face reminded Wrecker that he was once in that exact same place.

 With one key difference: This father could be saved.

 Rousing courage, Wrecker looked around and suddenly spotted a hint of blue skin and a sunhat peeking out of a grassy spot outside of the barn.

 Looking down at Annie, Wrecker decided to play hero, and for once, play it right. “Kid, I just might have good news for you.”

 The smile on Annie’s face made Wrecker wish he could live long enough to see it again.

 If only he had noticed that a pair of eyes were trained on him…

 A pair of eyes, with a mouth that snarled…

 Racing towards the grass, Wrecker could feel his heart leaping from his chest, nearly making him suffocate, as he dodged arrow after arrow, covering Annie from any harm. His body was suffering too, though, the wounds from before beginning to slow him down, and the heat of the fire making his vision blurry.

 His whole body seemed to be seething with pain, as a particularly sharp arrow lodged itself into his back, making him grunt with pain. Blood was surely spewing out of it, but he didn’t have time to care about that.

 This girl NEEDED to see her dad. This girl NEEDED to live.

 “Come on, old man…”, he whispered harshly at himself, turning around and staring straight at the halestorm of arrows that descended upon him, each one looking like it could be the one that finally put him to sleep.

 “Use those survival skills for someone worthwhile!”

 His sword flashed through the air, nearly blinding him and Annie as he took down arrow after arrow, with shocking speed and precision. Each sharp messenger of death was cut down like it was nothing, arrowheads falling aimlessly onto the ground before him, as he backed along, Annie still being held tight.

 Annie had never been that close to death in her entire life, and she was still internalizing seeing her own neighbors fighting for their lives against those monsters. But she had also never seen such bravery as Wreckers in that moment, as he stared death in the eye and never relented.

 Suddenly, he looked at her, mucus dripping down his face from his pores, a gash on his left cheek. It was horrifying at first, when, suddenly, in the most tender voice, he asked “Are you hurt?”

 In that moment, Annie realized that Wrecker was more than he thought he was. In that moment, Wrecker was finally seen as more than a monster.

 “…No.”, she answered, and Wrecker suddenly turned around.

 “Come on! There’s someone who looked an awful lot like you over near that patch of grass! Blue, sunhat, ring a bell?”, he asked, quickly, taking the chance to run as the archers finally stopped firing at him from before.

 “THAT’S HIM!”, Annie shouted with glee, and in no time, Wrecker leaped in the air to land right where…

 “Where is he?!”, Wrecker shouted, in disbelief, and Annie too was shocked, seeing nothing but grass.

 “I… I don’t get it…”, Annie stuttered, tears in her eyes again.

 Wrecker looked at her sadly, bewildered. “He… I saw someone, right…”

 “STOP THE FIGHTING!”

 The swords stopped slashing, the daggers lay dormant in the bloodied and bruised hands of the soldiers, and not a single arrow flew as all eyes laid upon the speaker who stood in the middle of the field, not a single word uttered.

 Because Leap Lilypad held aloft a box, one none of them have ever seen before.

 While one would surely wonder why they’d stop for a thing they did not know, the answer was quite simple: The frogs next to him immediately dropped their weapons and stood behind him, faces suddenly losing their determination and adopting an all too terrifying feature: Surrender.

 A clank was the first sound to echo as Grime let go of his weapon and brandished his words, with utmost care and precision. “…Now… Whatever that is… I’m sure we can talk it out…”

 Silent steps progressed towards Leap, who showed no fear, no hesitation, no worry.

 Just resolve.

 Annie saw him, saw her father step closer to the jaws of death, and a scream nearly went out of her mouth, if it wasn’t for the other figure that suddenly appeared before them, a sword now aiming at her throat, dangerously close.

 “Wrecker… What are you doing with this monster… This FROG?”, Bog spat in derision, silent madness present in his eyes as the wind stopped and time stood still.

 Grime, meanwhile, dropped his dagger and steadily raised his hands in peace, showing he had no intent to kill or hurt the farmer before him, who held aloft his ace in the hole with steady hands.

 “Listen to me… We are NOT your enemies.”, Grime reassured, voice as soft as a mother’s caress. “What my commander did, what my men did… It is my fault. Not yours. Not anyone else’s.”

 Leap stared at him oddly, recognizing in him something very familiar.

 Annie wanted to see her father, wanted to save him, wanted to leap out and dash into the field and protect him from harm, but one inch and her head would be rolling near the grass.

 Wrecker, meanwhile, moved the sword away and fixed eyes with the brute before him, unwavering for once in his life.

 His voice, however, was jumpy, aware of what could befall the poor girl he HAD to save, if he, as usual, failed.

 “Bog… Listen to me… Leave the girl out of this. She’s not your enemy.”, Wrecker explained, trying his best to calm the toad down.

 But Bog was too far gone, and too afraid to do such a thing, and he grunted, the ground shaking from his rage.

 “Have you gone mad?! She’s the enemy! They’re all the enemy! They want to kill our brothers, our sisters, our families! We are THE LINE, Wrecker! And she… She’s going to burn it all to the ground. She’s the monster, not me!”, Bog screamed, years of programming, of brainwashing, packed into one shove, but Wrecker stood his ground, and didn’t fall.

 “I thought that break would clear your mind…. But you’re not thinking clearly!”, Bog stated, teeth gritting in fury.

 Wrecker took a deep breath, looking for a moment at the tearful Annie.

 Realizing she was all there was.

 One life.

 It mattered.

 She mattered.

 And maybe, for just a moment…

 He would matter.

 “Please…”, Grime asked, offering his hand, doing his best to ignore his father’s voice screaming at him for taking this route. He took one knee, to show solidarity of sorts. He had to do ONE GOOD THING. “…Please… It doesn’t have to be like this.”

 Leap sighed, his mind made up long ago. Nothing could shake him… Not even a genuinely good toad soldier. “I’m sorry… But it does.”

 Leap closed his eyes, feeling Eliza’s touch once more. He could still feel Annie, when he had first held her… And made a vow.

 “No, Bog…”, Wrecker said, stepping up, sword now up in the air and glinting. (“The Mandalorian Theme” by Ludwiig Goransson plays). A deep breath, a choice made.

 The warrior was at peace with his decision.

 “For the first time in my life… I am thinking clearly.”

 He raised a protective hand to cover the sobbing Annie, who covered her face and prayed it would all just end.

 “I participated in your war… And turned into a monster. I killed an innocent man and I hurt those in need. Because I thought I had no other choice.”

 Wrecker sighed, before staring right into Bog’s eyes, the beast barely listening.

 “But… I’m TIRED… Of being the monster.”

 Wrecker restlessly grunted as he tried to do something right once more.

 “I have to do ONE. GOOD. THING.”, Wrecker stated, prepared to die on this ground for Annie. “This girl MUST live. So… Strike me down 100,000 times.”

 Wrecker closed his eyes…

 For once…

 At peace.

 “I’ve felt worse pain…”

 A moment passed…

 And Bog pushed him aside, roaring with rage.

 “I have to do ONE GOOD THING. One day… There WILL be peace.”, Leap said.

 “There is no war.”, Grim countered, trying to somehow save it all. “We are one.”

 Leap chuckled warmly and shook his head. “No… No we are not. Not yet.”

 And with that, Leap reached for the box opening, as a wave of arrows, swords and daggers flew at him, and as Grime, terrified of what could happen, leapt in front of one of his men to defend him from what would befall.

 “Fine, Wrecker! I’ll do that once I’m done with her!”, Bog screamed, and he raised his sword, Annie screaming with fright and closing her eyes, hugging herself as death knocked on her door.

 Wrecker, on the floor, stared at this and suddenly…

 “No…”

 Suddenly…

 “No…”

 Suddenly…

 “NO!!!”

 Leapt in front of Annie, deflecting Bog’s sword with his own.

 Finally…

 He did ONE GOOD THING.

 Leap then opened the Calamity Box…

 And as a blinding light spread across the area, as bright as the sun’s rays, Leap shed a million tears and smiled at the sun.

 “Farewell, Annie… See you in a moment… Eliza…”, he whispered, and from then on, was silent.

 BOOM!

 A massive, ear piercing land destroying horror inducing scream of an explosion erupted and sent a shockwave that made the earth itself quake, as bodies flew in all directions, houses got ripped out of their roots and hills got turned into massive sinkholes.

 The streets of Marsh Pond disintegrated instantly, carts and arenas and merchant guilds practically melting, people turning into dust, fires spreading across the crops and destroying them instantly.

 The sky itself seemed to crack almost, a tear nearly caused in the time space contimuum.

 The box had only been opened a crack.

 (“Anakin’s Suffering – Imperial March” – Sad Ochestration)

 Once the explosion began to settle, a dust storm rose, one which woke up a somehow still alive Grime, who could barely believe it himself.

 Choking, he coughed out the dust and rubbed his eyes, only to find that beneath him…

 Was nothing.

 Heart skipping a beat, Grime stood up, and saw that in front of him…

 Was nothing.

 And there was nothing in all the other directions.

 Grime’s stomach tossed and turned, and his heart pounded and his brain pulsed as he turned around and around, but still saw nothing.

 No bodies… No buildings… No crops… No barn, no house, no nothing.

 There…

 They were all gone.

 “How had I even survived?”, Grime thought, staring at his hand as if it wasn’t there.

 Then, it hit him: All his men were dead.

 Grime felt dizzy, his head spinning as he tried to somehow compose himself.

 He stumbled along the grass, trying to breath and not collapse, when he saw Bog’s body.

 At first, Grime assumed the worst, but no… His heart was beating.

 “Unfortunate.”, a voice rang in his ear, and Grime felt a sudden jolt in his heart, as if he only now realized what those words entailed.

“I don’t want that!”, He shouted, but it was no use, the voice continued.

 “You failed me, boy! You let those men die because you weren’t brave enough! How will you ever earn your title, your bloodline, your family, your life! If you do nothing but sob for those who live to serve you! Serve us! You are failing me, boy!”, the voice shouted, and Grime felt like collapsing to his knees, but it would be weak…

 Like Bog…

 And those men…

 Those men HE failed…

 “You should have saved them…”, a different voice called. It was softer, feminine, more caring…

 But somehow, Grime still felt shame.

 “I was weak… I was a failure, like always…”, he sobbed, getting to his knees, realizing he was the only real survivor.

 Grime thought back: to how his methods failed to stop the explosion, to how his foolishness allowed him to leave Bog unsupervised. He was in charge, he was responsible…

 He had killed all those men.

 Blood had been spilled that day…

 And it was all over his hands.

 Weeping, Grime pounded the floor with rage, as if in prayer it would set the clock back, but he was trapped in a horror of his own making.

 “I failed…”, he sobbed. “I failed… I was supposed to be good enough.”

 Grime shivered as his heart cried out for his brothers and sisters he had murdered in cold blood.

 He looked up to the sky, with tears in his eyes.

 “I just wanted to do… ONE. GOOD. THING…”

        (“Corynorhirnus” – Hans Zimmer and James Newton Howard)

 Meanwhile, north of the now totally decimated and demolished Marsh Pond…

 “…Wrecker…”, a voice called in his head.

 Wrecker’s eyes were closed, but somehow, the warrior knew he was floating.

“…Did I do it? Did I… Did I actually do ONE… GOOD… THING?”

 Silence.

 “…Yes.”, the voice answered simply.

 Tears flew freely for once. He sighed in relief. “I… I never thought this day would come.”

 His voice was almost like a child’s as he asked “…Are you sure this is not a dream?”

 “No. You really did come through.”

 “She’s safe?”

 “Yes.”

 Wrecker’s small moment of dread escaped as soon as it came, and he grinned, actually grinned, as he realized…

 “So… I WAS worth it… I… I’m not just a waste of space…”

 His tears cascaded to the ground and Wrecker’s heart slowed down.

 “…Can I rest? Please?”, Wrecker begged, his tone that of a boy who just wanted to be loved once.

 “…You are not The Wrecker… There’s still value in you… You just have to find it…”

 The voice seemed to smile.

 “Wrecker… You are capable of so much more… Than just One. Good. Thing…”

 Suddenly, Wrecker jolted awake, seeing nothing but forest plain…

 And a box that looked all too familiar in his palms.

 At first, he gasped: He saw what that thing was capable of.

 He couldn’t take it!

 Yet…

 Could he leave it?

 “In the wrong hands…”, Wrecker thought, a sense of responsibility that was always there now finally free.

 He didn’t have to finish.

 Pocketing it in a flash, Wrecker turned around, wondering if perhaps the voice was wrong, perhaps he could rest…

 But then he saw her.

 (“Wild Woods” – Forest Music and Relaxing Magical Music – Elven Woods)

 Sitting on the forest floor, the wind blowing her hair, Annie Lilypad bowed her head in mourning to a pile of leaves and sticks she had assembled to form a grave.

 She wished she had the body…

 But it was the least she could do.

 “Thank you… Thank you for loving me, despite me.”, she prayed, her words rising to the skies…

 A cloud seemed to smile at her.

 But she couldn’t tell if it was her imagination.

 Annie had cried so much, she wasn’t sure she could cry more. She was just so tired…

 So she just hugged her knees to her stomach and shook.

 What was left for her to do?

 Who was left for her?

 …What path should she take?

 And in that moment, Wrecker understood his rest would have to wait.

 But he nodded his head, not with pain…

 But with purpose.

 “…Job’s not over yet, old man.”, he told himself, and he limped towards Annie, the explosion having done a number on his right leg.

 Annie was still cold as ice when a hand was placed on her.

 “Come on. Let’s get moving.”

 Annie suddenly looked up, surprised, as the warrior who nearly died for her of all people walked past her and stopped, looking back.

 He motioned with his head, and she slowly stood up, confused, bewildered.

 Why her?

 “…I don’t understand.”, she said, shaking.

 Wrecker took a deep breath. He wasn’t sure how to say it.

 Suddenly, he looked down…

 And saw a path.

 A light turned on in his head…

 And he looked at her.

 “It’s too dangerous out here. Until I can find a place for you to stay… Someone has to keep you on the right path.”

 Annie listened carefully…

 And despite her father’s death…

 She smiled through the tears.

 This…

 This hero had given her so much.

 She had a chance to make up to her father, and be someone.

 And maybe even help this strangely kind stranger.

 Running up to him, she grasped his scarred hand, which had an oddly healing effect on him.

 “Strange… I just got hired for the same job.”

 Wrecker didn’t know what to say…

 But for the third time in a day…

 He smiled, genuinely.

 Perhaps he had finally caught up with the winds of change.

 (“The Mandalorian Theme” – Ludwig Goransson)

 As the duo began to walk down the path, Annie just had one question: “You know… I never introduced myself. My name is Annie. Annie Lilypad.”

 She stared up at him, sending him the love he hadn’t had in 40 years. It was magical.

 “What’s yours?”

 Wrecker looked towards the sun…

 And took a deep breath.

 Who was he?

 He squeezed her hand protectively.

 “…I’m the Wrecker.”

  END OF CHAPTER 1.

       1.  From the very first few lines, this story is about a frog who goes by the name “The Wrecker” and works for the Toads. The intent of this story is to tell a tale of a man who has hit rock bottom, only to discover there is still a capacity for good in him, leading him to slowly but surely climb out. It is one of my favorite types of story, so it was bound to happen!

2.  The soundtrack choices were not easy, but I went for what sounded best in my head. I recommend listening to the songs, but you don’t have to! I would love to know if you guys also have any musical suggestions for the series, since I only know so much!

3.  Fitting that the main inspiration for this fic (The Mandalorian) is the theme that’s used the most, and the one that starts us off. A tale of a complicated and better than he thinks soul.

4.  I usually don’t have a ton of description on my stories, since I’ve always been more of a dialogue and feelings person, but I was happy to incorporate it here! I feel like you can feel many of the scenes, give or take a few mistakes (I am new at this!

5.  All questions about Wrecker (including who he is) will be answered in the future episodes!

6.  I write Toad Tower like a combo of The Empire, Rome, Nazi Germany and The Fire Nation. I try to write from their perspective while offering a glimpse of who they really are from those who are not blinded. The self importance seeps through, sometimes I forget they’re the bad guys! Of course, not all toads are bad (see Pogs, Grime).

7.  Creating cities like Marsh Pond and Swamp City was oodles of fun! I’ve never had to put so much thought into locations before, but I felt like those places feel real!

8.  I never show a flashback of Wrecker killing the freedom fighter because really, it’s unnecessary. He killed someone in what was basically self defense, and situation where he could have died. But this “evil” warrior guilts over it. Seems like perhaps he’s not so bad…

9.  The Path or Road theme is a fave of mine: Wrecker truly thinks he can never leave this road, and when the chance comes he fails again. But that’s the thing about chances: You get more than you think.

10.                   Wrecker is very much an extention of my guilt, depression and complexes.

11.                   Stuff like Dread Pirate Mog’s Chest of the Deep (Dread Pirate being a Princess Bride reference, Mog a generated frog name) and the water producing sands of the Red Spotted desert (Red spotted frogs exist, thought it would be a cool visual) are inspired by the Star Wars method of easter eggs: Don’t give too much, just enough to inspire the imagination. How DID they get those things? What is the history? Who was Mog? A red spotted desert? I would be honored if someone ever wrote stories about those!

12.                   Amethysts, emeralds, sapphires… A la the Calamity box gems (but not the real ones)

13.                   Rome is of course the inspiration for Toad Tower! Lavish, beautiful, it’s hard not to like it! It feels glorious, but it hides a dark truth!

14.                   I especially enjoyed writing the contrasts: See, this Toad Tower looks better, and this Grime feels better, and looks better (no scars, no scary eyes, soft voice, golden armor) but as you will soon see, the Toad Tower we see in Amphibia might not be so bad in comparison. It’s all golden before it darkens into bronze.

15.                   Grime is… Complicated. Anakin Skywalker and Zuko are major inspirations. Grime’s tale is one of tragedy, of a fall from grace. His origin will likely induce tears, and he’s become arguably the most complicated character. All your understandable questions on how THIS nice guy is Grime will be answered soon.

16.                   Not Captain Grime, since this is 10 years earlier and he is 20 (we’ll get to why soon)

17.                   Bog only got worse every time I wrote him. He was only ever meant for a cameo or two, but his violent nature and effective use as a magnifying glass into the evil of the Toad Army and what could Grime become helped a lot!

18.                   Grime is eloquent, so that was fun to write! Getting in his head inspired a few nice sentences!

19.                   Mire’s crimes will be revealed soon enough; just know it’s a Sozin sort of situation, a la Avatar.

20.                   Crossroads are another theme: Big decisions happen every day, and we must make them. We can step closer to the light, or to the shadows. It’s our choice.

21.                   “We Are The Line” is my version of “This Is The Way” from “The Mandalorian”. It is the Toads motto, and their attempt to convince themselves that they are in the moral right for their totalitarian control of Amphibia.

22.                   Captain Muck (for Muck and Grime are synonyms of sorts) is the main villain of this story, and he is more important than he seems. He is the Ozai, the Palpatine of the story, and he is the abusive father that sets Grime on a dark path. Keep an eye out for him, his influence is massive on Grime. I hate him.

23.                   Note how even Grime kneels like a common solider. Muck is THE DICTATOR of Amphibia in every way, his iron grip stronger than anyone else’s.

24.                   A favorite note of mine is how the freedom fighters are addressed: By Grime, it is always in a positive or neutral light, since he believes in the possibility of peace and co-existence. By Muck and many other toads, it is as terrorists, monsters, those who wish to kill their families, their brothers and sisters. Enemies of the state. And Wrecker too sees them as freedom fighters, but that’s later.

25.                   For those curious: No frog had died since a massive massacre that nearly destroyed an entire town, which was Mire’s doing. Since then, Muck had tried to create an illusion of peace as he searched for the one thing that could give him control of Amphibia. Hence, the reason why this violent and disgusting toad had never killed a man… Yet.

26.                   Grime’s relationship with his father is complex: Differing philiosophies do not induce hate. In fact, Grime wants his father to be proud of him, perhaps his biggest motivation, alongside redeeming himself (that’s later) and creating peace between frogs and toads.

27.                   Grime sees Wrecker as a friend (more on THAT later), but Wrecker sees him only as a fellow person to disappoint, so he stays away.

28.                   “When do we start?” may seem an odd line for a guilty man, but the idea here is that Wrecker is so desperate for rest, he’d rather die bad now then fail once more. He truly believes there is no hope, that he has hit rock bottom. But hope can cut through, even in the darkest of times. He still has a chance.

29.                   Crossroads in plural… Because there is more than one chance for redemption.

30.                   Not all toads are bad; in fact, many of them are downright just brainwashed. Pugs is an example of how the lines of black and white are blurred. She really is a good toad.

31.                   Grime, like Wrecker, is constantly criticisizing himself. Grime has an ingrained shame and guilt complex, as well as a fear of failure and a need to be good. Both men share these traits. It’s how they deal with it that’s important. If you read the chapters, you’ll see how they mirror each other all the time.

32.                   Many clues hide in this and the other chapters as to the identity of The Wrecker. I wonder if anyone will know.

33.                   Like many of my protagonists, Wrecker struggles with the concept of his own existence. It is a pain I share: The need to prove there is a reason why you were born. Justifiyng your own life… Is a very lonely business.

34.                   Mellow is definitely my LEAST subtle name yet.

35.                   Re-write your own life. Your story may have had a bad beginning… But it does not mean it’s who you are. It’s who you choose to be that makes you who you are.

36.                   Wrecker is a good man, and not just because of the guilt he feels. But it does play a big part in his story: If he’s such an unfeeling monster, he wouldn’t regret his actions. Regret is the first step towards accepting you need to change.

37.                   Annie is based on my sister. So I love her very much. She is also inspired by Anne Boonchuy, hence the name.

38.                   Annie has many skills Anne has: She has the athleticism, the tennis skills, the energy, the optimism.

39.                   Annie’s big problem: She feels like she has to do something GREAT. She doesn’t realize she IS something great. She too, wants to justify her existence.

40.                   Leap was never intended to play such a big part. In fact, he too was going to be a bad father. But instead, he ended up playing a pillar to aspire to be for Wrecker and Annie, and despite his sacrifice, I feel that he didn’t know that it would kill the entire town. I feel a lot for him.

41.                   Liberty blue, for he strives for liberty.

42.                   Leap enjoys the smell of the farm, Wrecker doesn’t.

43.                   I love how Wrecker and Grime had parents who could not understand them, yet Annie did, which helps he be the moral compass of sorts. She knows what it’s like to be loved, so she loves in return.

44.                   Annie and Anne learned how to pay taxes.

45.                   Annie and Anne also love beetle jerky.

46.                   Nature Vs Technology: The Frogs have old weapons, old tactics, and they have nothing truly advanced. The toads have state of the art weapons. Armor vs rags

47.                   The Calamity Box. Yes. Yes indeed.

48.                   I loved writing all the little details and citizens of Marsh Pond! It was teeming with life!

49.                   Darius and Alexander are references to Alexander the Great and King Darius’ battle? You know, the whole ancient world theme.

50.   ��               Marsh Pond is part Arab village, part native American village, part medieval town, part renaissance Italy, part American farmland.

51.                   The Toads are sure that the Frogs want to destroy them, not noticing the irony that they guard their captain from little children and mothers.

52.                   Spyritys is literally the most dangerous of alcohols. Wrecker is trying to poison himself.

53.                   Shrek references in dialogue that is stuck together that Annie says is tight!

54.                   Wrecker, as I said, represents my guilt. My shame. My regrets. I haven’t killed anyone, but I am very self resentful and I search for redemption. I can only hope that… That this can help others to see that they too deserve to live. I still fight for that right. But… Maybe I’m not so bad too. Maybe…