#round leather footstool

[miarren-chill-klaine]

Living Room Minneapolis An illustration of a mid-sized transitional enclosed, formal living room with beige walls, no fireplace, and no television.

[thesandsofelsweyr]

Arkham Trash Party Idea #1:

Joker invites his fellow inmates down to "his office"—one of the abandoned offices in the basement of Arkham—to discuss his latest scheme to terrorize Gotham. The inmates find Joker reading The Gotham Gazette, with its front page story featuring a large photo of Batman and Robin (the "new & improved Robin"). The Clown's leaning back in a dusty old office chair, his legs stretched out in front of him, ankles crossed on the back of his pet. Jason, dressed in an orange Arkham jumpsuit, his red leather collar 'round his neck, on his hands and knees, his head tucked shamefully between his sagging shoulders as he's used as a footstool, Tom Wambsgans style 🤡

(Thanks again @bestangelofall for this fantastic playground)

[pop-goes-the-weasel]

(My first Yeehaewgust entry, 15 days late. Featuring a baby Quincey P. Morris, in Texas. Thanks to @goth-lit-aaron and @severedfeetpics for the help with the Spanish. Text below Ao3 Link)

Gather the Posse

‘’Robert!!!’’ little Quincey screamed, bounding, over footstools and armchairs, straight into the arms of his brother, freshly returned from Harvard.

‘’Quincito, how you’ve grown!’’ Robert swung his eight-year-old brother round, kicking aside hampers and carpet-bags to get a wider berth to do so.

‘’Robertito, it is time we stopped calling him Quincito; he has learned to ride.’’

‘’Already, Papa? So where have you been, Mr Quincey?’’

Quincey straightened, put his hands on his hips and said, ‘’I rode my Mariposa to the Black Gulch, all on my own.’’

‘’Oh Mr Quincey, you are so behind. I was seven-and-a-half when I made that trip.’’

‘’No, no, no, Robert, Papa said you were eleven!’’ Quincey fell upon Robert and punched him with his small fists. Robert made no attempt to stop him, and dropped upon a trunk, laughing.

Dinner was a magnificent affair. The Morrises always ate well, and a return of a child was an occasion to be marked. The Morris sisters, all nine of them, had gathered, some from finishing schools, some from husbands’ homes. Robert glowed, happy from all the love he received, happy to be home.

It was half-way through the meal when Mrs Morris announced that she had arranged dances, for Robert to choose a bride.

Robert laughed. ‘’Oh Mama, I so love to dance. But I never fall for the one I am dancing with.’’

At nigh, Quincey crept for Robert’s room. He had always wanted to read Robert’s volumes of Catullus, whose beautiful leather binding and rich gold lettering beckoned him endlessly. Robert always said he could not read those till he grew up. Now that Papa had said he was no longer a Quincito, he surely could read those beautiful volumes.

It is then he heard the voices.

‘’Papa, I hear there is a cattle-rustler in town.’’

‘’Yes Robert. There will be a posse for him tomorrow.’’

‘’God, I do wish they give him a fair trial.’’

‘’Robertito, they have their own ways in Massachusetts, we have our own ways in Texas.’’

‘’Still…’’

‘’Listen, you should go with them. The people here are boiling over, see that they do not do anything rash. This is your home and these people are your brethren’’

‘’Where will the posse gather?’’

‘’The Black Gulch.’’

Quincey rolled out of bed much earlier than usual. Then he rode on silently behind his brother, hoping that his tiny form will not be seen in the shadows of early dawn. He knew the way and he did not admit to himself the thump behind his ears.

By the time they reached, the posse had already gathered, the soft rays of the Sun bathing their faces in a soft, golden light. Quincey looked around. These were the men he loved, men with indomitable spirits and faces baked under a merciless Sun. Robert seemed ill at ease, angry at himself for being late. He positioned himself, somewhat unsuccessfully, at the head of the group.

Quincey almost stood up in his stirrups, leaning forward in excitement.

A voice broke the stillness. ‘’Master Quincey, you’re here!’’

Robert turned, ‘’Quincito, you are too little. Turn round.’’

‘’No.’’

‘’Very well. Miguel, take him back. And see that he does not run away before he reaches Papa.’’

Miguel was a fifteen-year-old farm-hand and Quincey’s best friend. It was he who had taught Quincey to put his feet in the stirrups while they hung over his head, it was with him that Quincey shared his bread, slathered with honey, it was with him that Quincey had learnt how to cook beans.

And now, Miguel felt his first posse ruined by this little, rich brat.

He led Mariposa back, his grip firm on his reins. Quincey could feel it all. The indignity of being considered immature. The rage of his best friend. He swallowed all, glared on straight ahead and set his jaw hard.

‘’Don’t be angry at me, Quincito.’’

‘’I am not your Quincito. You went and had all the fun, while Papa and Mama and Maria all sat me down and said what a foolish boy I am.’’

‘’Fun? No Quincito, it was not fun. I failed to bring him back for a trial. I did nothing, I just sat on a horse. A fine vaquero I made’’

‘’Robert, who was he?’’

‘’I do not know. I never did see his face.’’

Robert stooped, looking out of his window at the landscape bathed in pale, milky moonlight.

Es lo que es, he mused.

‘’Quincey, I think you are old enough to read this.’’

Quincey’s heart gave a leap of joy. ‘’Catallus?’’

‘’No, not yet. But bring that bundle from the top of my trunk. It is time someone taught you what the Greeks thought of War.

Es lo que es: It is what it is

[moroccantastics]

Add a touch of Moroccan craftsmanship to your space with our handmade round pouf. Elevate your decor with artisanal elegance. ✨🇲🇦

https://www.moroccantastics.com/collections/leather-work

#MoroccanCrafts #ArtisanalDecor #footstool #homedecor #footstools #pouf #poufottoman #pouffes #poufs #pouffe #homedesign #homedecoration #handmade #homeinterior

[bentleydesignsoutlet]

Modern High Gloss Living Room Uk- Sena Residence Furniture 158

For starters, mirrors make rooms feel larger, so that is the right theme for you if you’re slightly short on area. Promote a way of intimacy in an open-plan or huge room by arranging seating around living room furniture a espresso table with a rug beneath. Keep in thoughts that neutral base creates a stable basis that makes styling an interior virtually effortless.

That is why we have designed our assortment of living room furniture to offer totally different storage facilities. Tie your living house collectively perfectly with furniture units which are designed to offer a cohesive design and feel to your room. Explore traditional, rustic, modern, Scandinavian, and more lounge furniture uk kinds under. Our Living Room collections embody beautiful sofas, couch beds, armchairs, bookcases, sideboards, coffee tables and TV models. Whether you’re in search of TV items and stands, coffee tables, or chairs & footstools, we’ve obtained you covered at B&M.

Here at H&F we strongly consider that furniture ought to be of the best high quality to have a spot in your home. That's why all of our plank living room furniture has been made to exacting requirements by our grasp craftsmen, who make each single piece by hand. Our vintage sofas and chairs are good if you're looking for classic and comfy leather-based or cloth seating. Your living room should have a focus, whether or not that be the TV, the hearth or your plank espresso desk make your living room cosy and stress-free. Once you could have your large furniture in place you can then arrange your smaller delicate furnishings round them to make the lounge distinctive to your fashion. When you are adorning your living room, the best colors to go with your plank furniture are impartial tones.

In order to make the most out of your space ensure you've no much less than three working lights within the room. Light should be situated at totally different heights, be oblique and permit your eye to maneuver about the room. More light and more various gentle is at all times good for a compact room. If a easy wall jutting out doesn't separate the areas sufficient, look to glass doors, as a substitute. ‘Changing accessories in your living room can make a huge difference.

From glass espresso tables to marble consoles, we have everything you have to create the right place to take pleasure in your self with family and associates. Do you wish to refresh your living space, but do not have much money to spend? We’ve obtained choices to go properly with all tastes, and with fast supply, wonderful quality assurance, and exceptional lounge furniture customer support, Furniturebox is the proper choice for all your house furniture wants. Premium quality sideboards, cabinets, nook show models to add important space for storing along with espresso tables, TV units, nest of tables and lamp tables. Made from sustainable premium grade oak at smart all 12 months round low web prices.

‘By portray your ceilings in a light blue or gentle green, similar to Lick’s Green thirteen or Blue 02 the room will appear taller. Make positive you correctly fasten massive, tall or heavy furniture with the included wall-attachment devices. Find out more about attainable risk elements within the residence and how one can keep away from accidents.

The benefit is in its virtually limitless alternative of colours, allowing you free rein to express your self, whether or not your house is period or modern, nation or city. Playing with scale in inside design is a trick that the specialists use to create a high influence space. Upscaling may be carried out merely – with a piece modern living room furniture of furniture, a lamp or pendant gentle, a pattern on a cushion or an adjunct within a room. If you like the great thing about oak lounge furniture, you’ll want to invest in our light wood living room ranges. Ranges like these have a sure finish that lets their naturalness shine by way of, meaning the woodgrain is a function that takes centre stage.

The choice is available to add on when you checkout, via our website, or by way of our phone ordering system. Sign as a lot as our newsletter for all the most recent exclusive reductions, offers & occasions. When you join, we'll additionally enter you into our quarterly prize draw to win a brand new Apple iPad Pro.

Orange and yellow living room concepts add vibrancy, while dusky pinks will add subtle softness. It’s where you spend most of your waking hours in the house, so let’s get your living room trying like a real house. First and foremost, there are the sofas and chairs, with out which no living room is even started, not to mention full. You might spend dozens of hours per week snuggled up here, so we wish you to be as snug as attainable. But comfort is only a part of the equation – they want to look wonderful too, as they’re an integral a half of your living room decor. We’ve obtained a smashing assortment of TV stands that are so easy on the eye, you may need to remind your self to lookup at the TV every so often.

In a small lounge space, a tactile velvet couch in a golden shade and compact, rounded form provides impact. Combining these tactile textures provide luxurious depth, particularly useful for elevating small spaces. • If you need a statement espresso desk, head to Amara for some lust-worthy designs. Choose eyecatching furniture and equipment to create impression in an enormous, ethereal room with high ceilings – as seen on this Regency townhouse renovation that is an ideal mixture of old and new. A painterly floral wallpaper offers a fragile backdrop to a wonderful and rich deep-blue velvet sofa.

[cushandco]

Tips for Choosing Perfect Black Leather Ottoman

Is a black leather ottoman on your wish list for your living room? You can use them to put your feet up and rest after a long day, or simply to enhance the elegance of your space. They can be any color or pattern you like because leather goes with anything.

Put in one with built-in storage to get the most out of it. The area will appear better and be more functional if you have a place to put things like books, magazines, DVDs, and even toys for the kids. Black leather ottoman can be found in many different shapes, the most common of which are the square and rectangular varieties. Because of its unique shape and practicality as a coffee table, several shoppers prefer to invest in a black round Leather Pouf.

Wooden or metal legs are the most typical table base materials to choose from. Cleaning and maintaining them is a breeze. Molting is not a problem when you have pets, but you probably should not let your cat use this table to sharpen her claws. Most leather goods will come pretreated, but if they do not, you can protect them using a spray you buy at a store.

Consider a faux leather Pouf Ottoman as a more affordable option. You can discover ones that look and feel almost identical to leather at a far lower price if the right materials are used. Additionally, they are less complicated to maintain, requiring only the occasional washing in warm, soapy water. However, you must take precautions to prevent water from seeping in via the seams. The key is to swiftly wipe and dry the surface.

Of course, it is also impossible to argue that Leather Footstool do not look sophisticated in an office setting, especially a brown leather ottoman, which is a timeless neutral that goes with virtually anything. Even though there are synthetic alternatives to leather, nothing beats the look and feel of genuine leather for enduring elegance and class. Plus, it will hold up for a lot longer.

The ottoman or Blanket boxes is a timeless piece of furniture that has been used in countless households over the centuries. As a result, there is a huge selection of forms to choose from. You may decorate your living room with a variety of Ottoman Australia, such as a traditional ottoman that can be used as additional sitting, a cube ottoman that is perfect for saving space, a chest ottoman, or a leather ottoman with storage.

Still others are fashioned after conventional coffee tables, right down to the use of conventional materials like wood and glass tops. These may not be the first thing that comes to mind when you think of purchasing an ottoman with Moroccan rugs, but they are a stunning complement to any room.

A brown color leather ottoman is the ideal piece of furniture if you value aesthetics above all else. It has a wide variety of use, from serving as a footstool or a seat to housing one's wardrobe, playthings, and reading materials. 

[humongousbearbread]

15 People You Oughta Know In The Price Comparisons Of Galtech Umbrellas Industry

The Florida range is finished in an exceedingly luxury gray rattan weave, with flat and spherical rattan and durable grey fabric cushions. No matter the purpose, it's necessary to urge the detailed specifications thus that it solves the prime operate of the owner - be it medical or luxury. Or get cozy in handwoven rattan and bamboo seats over steel legs whereas enjoying a pot of tea within the afternoon. With a cushioned seat and arm rests your customers will be enjoying your institution for hours. The Captiva Arm chair is a snug chair for any client to enjoy. Arm Chairs-Excellent for both casual and formal occasions, arm chairs elevate the image of your modern dining table. Not solely will the right table last for years of serious use it typically is very reasonably priced. The use of plum coloured loveseats at each ends of the table could be a great idea.

Further tall dining sets have tables that are 43 inches or higher and with corresponding bar stools that have a minimum seating height of 32 inches. Bar height tables and barstools return with tables that are between forty to 42 inches high with corresponding bar stools that have 29 to thirty two-inch seating height. There are many online Pay Now Galtech Umbrellas retailers now who have an enormous choice of furniture. Browse our big range of dining chairs for each vogue and activity - from classic upholstered chairs to space-saving foldable chairs. Totally upholstered chairs head the table, and Chippendale-vogue aspect chairs give further seating. Imagine your living room with soft, snug sofas and chairs, footstools, aspect tables and lamps casting a heat glow over the room. An influence lift recliners chair will be used as a relaxation tool when placed in living area. A recliner lift chair offers a selection of positions that will facilitate a person get comfy and facilitate his mobility as per his individual wants. How you go regarding choosing what you would like in your dining area is entirely up to you, several of the choices you create though can be based on bound factors. Vogue filters build it easy to quickly view dining chairs in covetable styles like Mid-Century Modern or Art Deco.

Allocating space for wait stations will conjointly help along with your restaurant table arrangements. The aesthetic design and visual look of the table should gel with the general ambiance of your restaurant. Florida Seating is a retail company that provides a vary of economic furniture to the restaurant, hospitality, and design industries. They will additionally reveal information or provide recommendations on interviewing ability needs, and other factors that could facilitate when applying for an edge at that company. Other than the plain functionality, affordability, comfort, durability, etc., needs, there are design concerns furthermore. From upscale restaurants to family restaurants, cafes, bar clubs and hotels, we have a tendency to have the right table high vogue and design for your venue. Spherical Restaurant Tables: A spherical table can be the centerpiece style component of your restaurant. Jacksonville Furniture Mart options a nice selection of sofas, sectionals, recliners, chairs, leather furniture, custom upholstery, beds, mattresses, dressers, nightstands, dining sets, kitchen storage, office furniture, entertainment and will facilitate your along with your home design and decorating.

Price - Business grade tables aren’t as cheap as residential ones but that doesn’t mean you have to interrupt the bank to furnish your restaurant. Oval tables don’t have sharp edges like rectangular ones. Some round tables flip into oval tables when leaves are added, like our Amish Napoleon Table. Rectangular tables supply a Discover more here classic shape for dining space and kitchen, and that they’re quite versatile. A stunning standout from Florida Seating this white wash wicker chair may be a must have for any classic outdoor area. Ought to you cover the whole dining chair or simply the seat? Dining tables with extensions are a convenient approach to seat a lot of people on special occasions. Whereas some round tables expand to oval shapes when leaves are added, some oval tables are just built to be oval. The four most common shapes for dining tables are rectangular, sq., round and oval. Opt for from many sizes of square, rectangular, and spherical tabletops to create the perfect outside dining expertise. Rectangular tables are the foremost well-liked dining table form, and they are out there in a very wide range of sizes. Extension tables are often designed with self-storing leaves thus they are tucked away while still easily accessible when it's time to entertain.

Quality Commercial Hospitality Furniture, Commercial Restaurant Furniture, Industrial Healthcare Furniture, and style industries with the shortest doable le… Mega Seating and Design offers custom industrial furniture for businesses in Tampa and Orlando, Florida.

[kuajingplus]

Top 4 upholstery fabrics for an ottoman

Upholstery fabric plays a major role in defining the look, feel, and functionality of an ottoman. Besides focusing on the color and patterns of the fabric, it is equally important to consider its durability. This remains a crucial factor for an ottoman as it stands out as one of the most versatile pieces of furniture for any home.

From serving as a footstool to a handy seat or surface, an ottoman is easily prone to daily wear and tear. It is important to choose an upholstery fabric that can withstand its daily usage. We will be putting a glance at the look, comfort, and durability of some of the most popular upholstery fabrics.

We at Wuxi Housetex, manufacture ottomans in a wide range of materials to deliver the perfect option for each household. We craft with quality and comfort in mind to deliver the best premium quality ottomans. Following are the top four upholstery fabrics for an ottoman that can maintain the style and comfort of your home for years to come.

Velvet:

Velvet stands as one of the classic and popular upholstery fabrics due to its look and feel. The soft and sumptuous texture of velvet makes it a plush and inviting addition. Velvet ottomans can be the perfect way to lend a warm feel to a room. It always remains one of the most versatile materials. From traditional to modern and contemporary spaces, velvet upholstery can make a stunning statement in any setting.

The little disadvantage of velvet is that it will, in some circumstances, wear out quickly under heavy use. The material might not be suitable for a busy household, since it takes efforts to remove stains from velvet. The material might also accumulate dust, requiring careful attendance to maintain the soft texture and beautiful color of the upholstery. Velvet works best for bedroom and living spaces where there is less usage. The material is perfect for bringing an elegant and sophisticated appeal to a house.

Check out Housetex Unique Velvet Storage Ottoman Series. For this season, we present you a lovely Pinkish Heart Shaped Velvet Ottoman with Storage.

Linen:

Linen stands as one of the most durable and easy-to-care upholstery fabrics. Made from the fibers of flax plants, linen remains a breathable and airy fabric. It is both soft and smooth to touch to vouch for an elegant look, well-suited to both your formal or casual living spaces. While linen may be prone to stains, it can easily be washed or spot cleaned to become an easy-to-care upholstery fabric for an ottoman. Another major problem with linen remains that it can easily wrinkle. In this case, linen fibers are blended with natural or synthetic fibers to reduce its ability to shrink or absorb stains. If an ottoman has to undergo heavy usage, then a linen blend remains a more suitable option.

Stylish in a natural sense, Housetex Linen Ottoman Side Table will make you feel like in a Spring Bamboo Garden. Its upholstery is covered in clean-cut linen fabric and in perfect round shape. While four solid wooden feet complete the look, its round, light wooden top provides you both a smooth surface to hold your favorite coffee mugs and an easy access to the ample storage below, super convenient.

Leather and Faux Leather:

Leather and faux leather have proven to be one of the most durable and long-lasting upholstery fabrics. This type of material has a distinguished feel and look that attains a stylish and sophisticated appeal in any room. Leather and faux leather ottomans can be the perfect way to add a touch of luxury to a living space. The material also remains durable enough to withstand daily wear and tear.

The sturdy texture and water resistance of leather enable the material to deal with stains and spills. A damp cloth can be used to remove the stain or liquid to deliver easy care. A disadvantage of leather or faux leather remains that it may be prone to splits and cracks. It is a good idea to condition leather upholstered ottoman once or twice a year to bring back its former glory. When well-maintained, a leather or faux leather ottoman can bring style and serve you for years to come.

Come and check out this Housetex Square Leather Storage Ottoman Cube, it is surely a perfect addition to your living space.

Polyester:

Polyester is a synthetic fabric that distinguishes itself as a durable and affordable material. One of the prime benefits of polyester remains its high resistance to stains and scratches. Ottomans upholstered in polyester can easily withstand daily wear and tear. The upholstery fabric remains a great option for a household with kids and pets due to its easy maintenance and durability, for instance, Housetex Couch Style Pet Bed series remains one of our most popular series.

Modern-day polyester is also breathable to lend a more cool and comfortable feel. The material can be blended with various natural fibers to deliver a soft and comfortable feel. However, the disadvantage of polyester is the build-up of static charges that might affect a comfortable seating experience. The material also shows weak resistance against heat and oil. Overall, polyester remains an easy-to-care and durable upholstery fabric for any ottoman. It serves as a great option for a household with kids and pets.

Each upholstery fabric has its own pros and cons which may vary according to each household. Focus both on the desired look and comfort, and how to maintain it over the passage of time. The look, comfort, and durability, all remain essential for a high-quality ottoman. To attain a sophisticated and luxurious look, velvet and leather remain the best option. While velvet is more suited to formal spaces, leather presents a more durable option that can be used anywhere.

For a soft, breathable, and versatile fabric, linen remains a perfect choice. However, the material may not be the best option for households with heavy wear and tear. ��A great alternative could be polyester which is both durable and affordable. The upholstery fabric of an ottoman remains important for selecting a stylish, comfortable, and long-lasting ottoman.

Housetex is one of the leading suppliers of ottoman and upholstery furniture. We have in place an extensive catalogue of materials, colors, and designs to find the perfect match for household ottoman products and other lifestyle accessories. Housetex offers OEM/ODM services to our clients around the globe. We can do customization as per your specifications and requirements. Our annual manufacturing capacity exceeds 2000*40HQ. Check our various ottoman and upholstery furniture designs for favorable wholesale prices, please feel free to contact us at info@housetexchina.com.

[doongi-yoongi]

Finally I get to writing it. All the kinks I think would apply to royed and some i don't think would plus some thoughts and feeling about situation theses kinks would apply in.

Disclaimer not all kinks would be applied in every au. Like Ed and his puppy kink wouldn't apply if it was based in the cannon verse because of nina. This is just kinks I think would apply to them in there relationship if they were given the chance most of it would apply if they were in a modern setting. Also this is just me going through kinks and seeing which ones I think could apply and which ones I don't. This is also just from Roy being a top and Ed being a bottom point of view. I dont like it being the other way round sorry if that's what your looking for but that's not whats here.

 Kinks Roy and Ed have.

-Ed loves roys hands. In gloves or not, he loves them. The fingers would be a bit ruff, they would be a bit long but they would also be a bit chucky. 

-Roy loves eds hair especially when they go out and it's done up elaborately. He loves that only so he gets to show off to people around him and he then gets to take it down at the end of the night. 

-Ed loves spanking. 

-Ed is a big masochist. I think because pain and the adrenaline high he gets from that makes him feel alive. Definitely influenced by how much he fighting he did when he was younger and needs an outlet for that and he get it through BDSM. 

-Roy is a total rigger. He totally considers it an art form and takes pride in his skills of tying Ed up. There would also be some suspension as well. 

-Ed is totally into puppy play. Roy not so much but he will do it because Ed likes it. 

-Ed takes pole dancing classes and he puts on special shows for roy. Because of course their house will have a private gym with a pole in it.

-They both love marking any where they can but mainly underneath clothes

-Ed loves to bite and to leave deep bite marks in roys' flesh, deep enough to draw blood. Also scratch marks.

-Roy likes to manhandle Ed and leaves hand marks on him. If things get really ruff around his hips, his wrist and sometimes even his neck. I think Roy would mainly just bruise Ed and he would bite Ed when mainly around his thighs and ass. 

-Both of them are into Agalmatophilia. It's a very rare thing they do but when they have time Ed likes to get turned into a footstool and Roy just continues to do his daily thing and uses Ed when he's reading on the weekends. 

-Roy loves when Ed is in feminine clothing. Like underwear, dresses and high heels. Especially corsets

-I think Ed would be turned on by roys fire and he'd love it if Roy would use it on him during sexy time. But Roy has limits and that's one. I think roy would be okay with wearing his gloves during sex but never to use fire against ed. If he can do clap alchemy he would use that against ed tho. 

-Closest Roy would get to a flame in bed is wax play.

-They would love a fight before sex tho. They totally use it as four play.

-I think they both would like leather and latex. 

-They totally love role play. Ed especially loves Roy in his uniform and has Roy step on him with his work boots. Roy loves nurse Ed and all the things that encompass that role play. Mainly Ed riding him, which Roy loves. 

-I think roy like to get ed very messy during sex so he applies excess lube alot. But not to the extent that heavy WAM kinksters do. But tbh I do see Ed being a bit into it. But they don't really practice it much. 

-Roy has an obsession for worshipping Ed's body by touching everywhere, smelling armpits, licking toes and stuff. I think he gets loads of gratification from making Ed squirm. Totally ties into sensation play. 

-I think both of them would dabble in watersports. Like Roy peeing on Ed or where Roy doesn't let Ed go to the toilet and make Ed pee himself. Which I think would tie into roleplay and humiliation kinks they have. 

-Ed has a thing for waking roy up with blowjobs. 

-Both are into outdoor sex. I think also they be into someone seeing them/ watching them have sex. But not into threesome. I think they are definitely monogamous but they are bit into Exhibitionism.

-Both like sensation play. Roy likes being massaged, Ed likes it mainly when a couple of senses are taken away.

-I think they both would participate in chocking each other mainly during the sparing they do before sex. 

-They do use toys. Many small things like gags and small vibrates. They do have an extensive toy collection though. I imagine they would experiment loads. 

-I think Ed would be into big dildos and fisting. He'd totally have a thing for being full.

-Ed loves cock and ball torture. I think mainly hanging of weights and maybe a chastity cage. Humbler I can see getting used, a ball crusher. I think both of them but like stuff like this in a scene. I can see roy using a cock ring but not to the extent Ed would. 

-Both have a love for impact play with anything they can get their hands on. I think mainly spanking up paddle, flogger, riding crop would be their main go to for impact play. Think they would try whipping but not use it much. Roy would totally kick Ed in the balls. I don't think canning would be their thing.

-So this has nothing to do with Ed unless it's a fem version of him or trans but Roy totally loves eating pussy while the person is on their period or just coming off it. Like he loves how messy it is and the red and empowering it can be for both parties. Would also have penitration sex with them if they feel the need too. I also just think Roy has a big thing for ora but mainly eating people out. 

-Roy totally has a thing for dirty talk. He loves to talk about things he's going to do but gets really turned on if it's Ed that is the one doing the talking. 

-If Ed had a nipple piercing Roy totally would love it. He would worship those things more than if Ed didn't have them. I kinda also like to think it's more of a modern au when Roy was younger he got a dick piercing. I mean maybe roy could have nipple piercings too.

-Edging is totally a thing they both enjoy and when Ed is in a power bottom mood he will also take part in this kink. 

-Both would be turned on by odors but I think Ed would be into it more than Roy would.

-I totally think Ed would be into getting bread. Mainly by something like tentacles and have the special dildos that lay eggs in you. But tbh could totally play into full out pregnancy kink but it started off from tentacle porn. 

-I could see them doing something with scarification if the au Roy doesn't know what burnt flesh smells like.

-Both of course likes humiliation. Roy likes to dish it out and Ed mainly likes to be humiliated but on the rare occasion Ed humiliated Roy so he would get punished. He would do something sexy to Roy in public. Something like suck on his earlobe, say something dirty in his ear or smack roys ass. 

-Of course nipple torture is a thing they would take part in. 

Stuff I dont see them into

-Having multiple partners. 

-Knife play. I think they would have tried but I don't think roy would be into as much as ed would. I don't imagine its really roys thing. 

-Fire alchemy 

-Scat. I think the only thing in this category they would like is enema mainly for the humiliation factor. 

-Age play. 

-Think they'd be indifferent towards sex in water. They would do it if they were in the bath but not a thing they would seek out. 

-They would try sex with food but found they hate the clean up that's needed. Will still do it if they are in the kitchen.

-Of course no actual harm to any of them, nothing like cutting of limbs or anything with animals 

-I don't think they would do much with filming their activities together. I think they would take photos tho and have phone sex. 

-Totally think Ed is trying to get Roy to try out pony play but Roy's just not having it.  

-Don't think WAM is really Roy's thing except maybe oil on Ed's body but Ed would be more into getting wet and messy. Like Ed totally would be into whipped cream getting smothered all over his body and stuff but I don't think that's roys thing. 

-This might be an unpopular opinion but I don't think they would use kink to work through their truma. I think they would use it more as a way to escape reality and as stress relief. Like if it was in Brotherhood I don't see Roy using blind folds to work though his truma with being blind in an au that he gets his sight back or you know fire alchemy he would use it to see it can bring pleasure not just unconditional pain. I don't really see him using it in that way. I see it more with Ed tho but not as much. Like I wouldn't see Ed doing something like lying in a big transmutation circle and having sex in it. But maybe taking away senses would work through his guilt for Al and how Al never got to feel anything. Both of them would use it in a way to get a safe thrill. Like ed getting his adrenaline high and roy to express deep strong emotions in a healthy way. 

Me with the amount of information I've just spilled here. Hope you enjoyed and if you have any questions or thoughts please share them.

[suwya]

Till the Stars Had Run Away - Chapter 2

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Summary:  Killian Jones was a voyager. Actually, he was many things, or at least he had been - a lieutenant, a brother, a loving boyfriend - until everything had turned upside down and his life had hit an all time low. So, he gave up. Aboard his spaceship he abandoned Arcadia, his planet, navigating the stars and other solar systems in search of... well, he still didn't know what he was searching for, but his rule was "never remain in the same place longer than necessary."

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Rating: M

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Prologue; Chapter 1,

AO3

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A/N: Thank you @thisonesatellite​ for being the best beta I could ever ask for. And thank to all of you who are reading this.

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Chapter 2.

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There are no strangers here;

Only friends you haven’t yet met.

(W. B. Yeats)

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In the past three weeks, Killian had had no news of Henry or his mother. He knew he should concentrate on something else: whatever was happening in their lives was none of his business. But he hadn't been able to let go of the memory of their last encounter. What if the lad was right and Emma was in danger? She didn't look like the successful Princess of a remote planet anymore, and maybe her life wasn't any fairytale. But what could he do? And above all, was it really his problem?

Tonight was a fillglow night. Killian was waiting for Robin and Roland to join him and watch the match together on his big projecting screen. He and Robin had been long fans of this sport, and Roland took the same passion from them. 

Killian had already prepared some bowls of multicolored pop grains. The only kind of grains that could grow on this desert planet, and they didn’t need to be rehydrated to be eaten. Luckily Roland loved them, especially the cones and star-shaped ones. The boy and his father were supposed to bring the drinks, which consisted mainly of berry juices. It was the most similar to a family routine they had, every fortnight a match was broadcast and Killian enjoyed the time together with his buddies.

Fillglow was a very popular sport in many galaxies, there was even a Multiverse Championship. Roland would have given anything to get tickets for the FMC finale, he had never watched a match live, none of them had. Tonight’s match was a local one, not pivotal, but it didn't matter, it was a good excuse for Killian to spend some time with his adopted family. 

But the thoughts of the late events had distracted him, and he didn’t realize what time was. The projector was already on and the match was about to start. A knock on the door startled him. He hurried up to open with a big grin, “you're late, mates!” Two puzzled pairs of eyes were staring at him, but they weren't Roland’s nor Robin’s.

“This is a terrible idea.” Emma sighed while Henry enthusiastically exclaimed, “Killian, you're home, great!”

Killian was a bit taken aback by the unexpected visit and he didn't know how to react. Before he could say anything Emma went on, “I'm so sorry, we shouldn't have come.” 

She was already turning away when Killian stopped her with a gentle touch on her arm. “Well, now that you're here, why don't you come in?” 

Emma reluctantly entered the house followed by her delighted son, but when Killian was about to close the door, a shoe between it and the frame stopped him. “It’s bad form to close the door on someone’s face, mate!” Robin appeared in Killian’s sight, mocking his friend imitating his way of speech. “I didn't know you were having guests.” The surprise on Robin’s face was apparent as soon as he spied the other people inside Killian’s living room.

“Uh…” Killian was a bit lost for words and he lifted a hand to scratch a spot behind his right ear, a habit he had when feeling uncomfortable. “Robin, this is Emma Swan; Emma, meet my best friend Robin of Locksley.” 

Roland ran inside the house. “Hi!” he exclaimed with a big dimpled grin.

“...and this is Robin’s lad, Roland,” Killian added.

“Nice to meet you. I'm Henry, Killian’s son.” Henry extended a hand to shake with the other boy.

Killian sighed and shook slightly his head towards a baffled Robin, who was staring at him with wide-open eyes. He hoped that his friend wouldn’t ask. “Why don't we all get comfortable?” He suggested and then turned to his guests, “we were about to watch the fillglow match. We would be happy if you join us.”

Robin took a seat at one end of the couch, Killian was in the middle and Emma took the other end, leaving as much distance between them as possible. She was wearing a beige blouse with metallic colored sleeves, and a loose keen-short matching skirt, with long light brown leather boots. At first glance, it might seem like a casual choice of clothing, but the ensemble was in harmony. Killian would take a peek at her from time to time while she wasn't looking, and it struck him how beautiful she was.

Roland and Henry sat together on the double footstool in the middle of the room, with a big pop grains bowl in the middle. “What's your favorite fillglow team?” Roland asked.

“I'm not really into it,” was Henry’s answer.

Roland was surprised. “You do know the rules, don’t you?”

“I’ve never been a big fan of sports in general.”

Killian decided to help the boy and started explaining, “Well, it’s quite simple. Two teams, six players each. The goal is to score into the other team’s round target until it lights up.”

“What’s difficult is that they play in no gravitational environment. So they are a bit limited in their movements. Plus their suits are heavier than they seem.” Robin added.

“You have to block opponents using a laser stick, but you can’t hit the adversary wherever you like - you’re allowed to hit only certain spots of the other’s suit.” Killian went on, “when you touch someone with your stick on one of those spots, this person gets paralyzed for a few seconds. The more difficult the place you hit, the more time your opponent stays immobile. The belly usually gives you the most time stuck.”

“But if you touch someone where you’re not allowed to, you get stuck for six seconds,” Robin added. 

“If you get to touch the other team’s target with your stick, it will start glowing, but you are not allowed to score again before other players touch it,” said Killian. “You need 27 scores to make the target glow completely, or better said, to fillglow it. And that’s when the match ends.”  

“You may think it’s easy, but it’s not,” Roland said excitedly. “You know, I went to a fillglow stadium once with daddy and uncle Kil. I could enter the field, but with the heavy suit it took me almost 20 minutes to reach the other team’s target, and I was alone, with no opponents to block me. It’s strange because you’re floating in the air, so you can’t walk. It’s almost like swimming, but more difficult.”

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~·~·~·~

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After the fourteenth point of the opposite team, the commercials started and Killian took a handful of pop grains from the main bowl near the kids.

“Why are you always wearing a glove on your left hand?” Henry asked.

“Uncle Kil has got a bionic hand,” Roland explained.

“Can I see it?” Asked Henry with curiosity.

“Henry!” Emma scolded, but Killian dismissed it with a wave of his right hand. “It's alright,” he said and removed the glove to reveal a transparent synthetic hand full of cables inside.

“Cool!” Henry exclaimed. “Did you make it?”

“No, lad. I bought it.”

“But he changed it way better,” Roland added.

Killian chuckled, “I just improved it to achieve some more movement.”

  “Now it's almost the same as a real hand.” Roland was clearly proud of his uncle’s job with the prosthesis.

  Henry put his hand on it. “Do you feel it?”

“I'm sorry, I can't,” was Killian’s gentle answer, and when Henry retracted his hand a bit disappointed, he went on, “but I can do this.” He took a big star-shaped pop grain and showed it to Henry with his bionic hand, then he closed it into a fist and turned it upside down; when he opened it again the grain had disappeared. 

“Wow!” The kid was impressed. “Would you teach me to do it?”

Killian put the glove on the hand again. “Maybe, someday.”

When the boy asked, “why do you keep it covered?” his mother coughed to draw his attention and stared at him with a reproaching look. But Henry didn’t relent. “Mom, don't you think it's impressive?” He asked enthusiastically.

Killian smiled at Emma, trying to relieve her clear embarrassment. “Indeed it is, yes,” she sheepishly smiled back at him.

Henry asked, “How did you lose your hand?” Emma sighed but before she could scold her son again for making so many private questions, Killian said, "Well that, lad, is a story for another night." 

“Killian is right.” Robin stepped in. “It's time to go to bed, Roland.”

“Oh no!” The little kid complained. “The match is not over yet.”

“And you know perfectly well that it can go on for ages because it doesn’t have a time limit,” his father reasoned.

Roland looked up at him with big pleading eyes. “Can I at least show Henry my room before going to sleep?”

Robin sighed but gave in. “Ok. But don't be long.”

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~·~·~·~

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Emma looked concerned when the boys disappeared out the front door. “No need to worry,” Killian said. “Robin lives just next door.”

“How did you two come to know each other?” Robin asked while the three of them were moving to sit at the table, and Killian was handing them some cups filled with a liquid a bit stronger than berry juice.

“Uh… we met many years ago.” 

Killian exchanged a questioning glance with Emma. He didn’t know how much of their story she was willing to share. But apparently, the silent communication didn’t go unnoticed to Robin, who, clearly remembering where he had already heard her name, asked Killian, “Is she the Emma?” But then he immediately turned towards the woman, “I beg your pardon.” He said apologetically. “I’m not used to being in front of a Princess.”

“Please, don’t call me that, especially not in front of my son. He doesn’t know the whole story.”

Robin nodded. “I had that impression. And I’m confident he is not actually Killian’s son, right?”

Killian half-smiled at his friend in assent, then he turned to Emma, “Henry seems to be a clever lad. How long do you think you can hide his past?”

Emma sighed. “I hate keeping things from him, but it’s safer this way.”

“Is he right?” Killian insisted. “Is there truly someone that could represent a danger for both of you?”

She didn’t reply, she lowered her stare and fixed it into a specific spot on the table. “Not an immediate danger, no. But maybe in the future... yes. That man that Henry thinks I’m afraid of, he’s my contact; maybe not the sweetest person in the galaxy, but he’s reliable. He told me there will be raids soon in my neighborhood. That’s why we came here tonight. I hoped you could give us some advice. You’re a trader, aren't you? You should know a lot of people, maybe, influential people.”

“Does anybody know you are here?” Killian inquired.

“I didn’t choose my job by coincidence. If I'm good at finding hidden people, it means I know exactly what to do when I don’t want to be found.”

“Who’s after you?” Killian went straight to the point.

Emma seemed to ponder the question for a few seconds, then said, “not me, Henry.” After a small pause, she went on, “the King and Queen of New-Tolemac are still in need of an heir.” 

“Do you think your parents will harm the boy?” He asked inquisitively. 

“They are not my parents.” Killian and Robin shared a surprised look, but Emma kept her gaze fixed in her cup; she didn't seem inclined in giving more details, and Killian knew it was neither the time nor the place to pry. But then she added in a whisper “...I can’t lose Henry. He’s all I have.”

Killian studied the woman in front of him, there was no trace of the pompous arrogance he saw in her when they first met. She was now a mother, a tough one, fighting her demons for his son’s sake. 

“I have to go away for a few weeks, I have a commercial trade to make for a client. Why don’t you and your boy come with me? I’m not going very far, and maybe you can consider it as a holiday. What do you say?” He suggested. 

“Henry would love it, he’s never been on a spaceship.” She smiled to herself, her gaze lost in thought, then she lifted her eyes to find Killian’s “Thank you,” she said serious, “but I can't answer right now. I'll think about it.”

“Ok, guys, while I enjoy the company, I have to put Roland to sleep.” Robin stood up and took his cup to the little sink in the corner.

“Yeah, sure, I’ve already taken up so much of your time.” Emma stood up as well and started moving towards the door.

“Stay. Just for the night... or more.” Killian was stammering, but at Emma’s bewildered look, he scratched behind his ear for the second time that night, a bright red colored his cheeks “...I… I didn’t mean…” 

“What my friend is so awkwardly trying to say,” Robin explained, “is that it’s already late, and it could be dangerous for you and your son to go back to your place by yourselves, especially if those rumors of raids are true. If you want, Henry could sleep with Roland, you could stay in my room and I will crash on Killian’s couch. You won't hear any complaints from us.” 

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~·~·~·~

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The Jolly Roger wasn't the biggest spaceship in the multiverse, but it was big enough to host a small crew and a little cargo.

In the middle of the main entrance, there was a round table with four chairs, everything well secured to the floor. A lot of lockers filled up the walls and a counter opposite the gate served as a kitchen, with a microwave, a little fridge, and a sink.

A big electric sliding door on the right, usually open, led to the main cabin. A semi-oval room mainly occupied by the control dashboard full of buttons, LEDs, and levers, two comfortable leather armchairs in front of it, and walls as well rich of small lockers when not occupied by the big curved window.

On the other side of the entrance, opposite the control cabin, there were a couple of automatic doors. One of them led to the passengers’ cabins, each one with bunk beds, a small desk, and more lockers on the walls. The other door led to a hallway and a little but all equipped restroom. 

In the hallway, a metal spiral staircase led to the under part of the ship, which consisted mostly of the engine room and a storage room with its own gate used for loading the cargo.

Killian was sitting in front of the control dashboard, checking the air pressure inside the cabin, and verifying that all the levels were stable. 

The last four days had been different, with Emma and Henry at Robin’s house, the routine had been turned a bit upside down. They had decided that going back to their house wasn’t safe. Henry had been occupied with school and homework most of the time and he had spent the rest of it with Roland; the two of them had connected quite well, despite the age gap. 

Emma had been concentrated on her job, and although Killian would have liked to give her a hand whenever he could, she hadn’t even let him help her when she brought some of hers and Henry’s belongings from home to her new lodging. 

Dinners together had been sometimes awkward, and Killian had had the feeling that she was trying to avoid him. That’s why he had been surprised when she abruptly accepted to go with him on his next trip.

And now he was sitting in his spaceship cabin waiting for her and her son to come. Everything was ready for takeoff and the engine was already roaring. A red LED on the dashboard started to blink and a cold metallic voice was heard through the cabin. 

I detect intruders on this ship.

Killian smiled. “They are not intruders. They are guests, so be gentle.”

Emma entered the cabin carrying a small suitcase. “Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt.” She said looking around, but when she didn’t find what she was looking for, she added “Uh… I thought I heard voices. To whom were you talking?”

Killian stood up from his seat “Where are my manners? Emma Swan, let me introduce you to the Jolly Roger.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “The Jolly Roger. Seriously?”

“What can I say? I have a soft spot for pirates.” He smiled.

The metallic voice spoke: It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Swan. 

“Your ship speaks!” Emma was astonished.

“Indeed she does. She's a marvel.” He explained with a big grin.

A sound like a soft metallic cough could be heard, and Killian couldn't help giggling.

“Well... then, nice to meet you, too.” She said to the air, and then looking at Killian again: “Where can I put our bags?”

“Right. I'll show you your cabin and the rest of this place.” He said, and then with an overdramatic bow and a wink added: “Consider yourself at home.”

Emma rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile.

Another soft cough could be heard.

“Are you sure your ship is fine?” She asked, perplexed. “It sounds a bit congested.”

“Don't worry about her, she can be a bit of an arse with strangers. But give her some time and she will grow fond of you.” At those words, the red LED suddenly stopped blinking and went off. Killian shook his head and chuckled.

As soon as he was sure that Emma and Henry were well settled in their cabin, Killian came back to the controls and took off. When the ship was out of Althea-Seals’ atmosphere he sighed in relief because everything had gone as planned, but he knew that he couldn’t relax until he’d reached a certain distance.

The red LED started blinking again. Would you do me the favor and stop referring to me as a female?

“You're a spaceship,” Killian answered the voice.

Exactly my point. And you and I both know I'm not only that.

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[kelyon]

Golden Cuffs 41: The Gifts

Cover art by @paradigmparadoxical​

Rumbelle Dark Castle BDSM AU

Read on AO3

Jefferson and Leona head home

When Belle woke up she was sticky, and delightfully sore. The night before she had been used more thoroughly and by more people than she’d ever had in her life. Even as she emerged from sleep, part of her was still exhausted from everything the four of them had done together. Another part of her was awake and alert, excited for what more might come.  

She kept her eyes closed for a moment, savoring all the different sensations her sleepy mind could discern. The cushions and pillows beneath her were soft--downy feathers and silky fabric. She was warm underneath a heavy blanket, snug and cozy between Jefferson and Leona. All three of them were still naked. Belle could touch the other two with both hands, brush her fingers against the smooth, soft skin of their arms and legs. Jefferson was sprawled out on his back, snoring. Leona had rolled over to her side, her breathing deep and even. Belle was tempted to snuggle up against Leona’s round back, to fit around her like a spoon in a drawer. But then she became aware of a noise. 

It was a whirring. Steady, but some distance away. It was a familiar sound, but she couldn’t place it at first. She listened for a while, but it didn’t go away. Belle knew she wouldn’t be able to rest until she determined the source of the sound, so she opened her eyes and looked around. 

Pale, gray light filled the room, coming down from the glass dome in the ceiling. They were in a tower, Belle remembered. Everything Rumple really cared about he seemed to do in towers. Belle rubbed her eyes. Was the weak light because it was so early, or were the clouds heavy with rain? Or was it still too early in the year for rain?  Would it snow? This winter had felt endless, surely it would be springtime soon.

Careful not to disturb her bedmates, Belle sat up and looked around. Immediately, she found the source of the whirring noise: Rumpelstiltskin sat on the padded bench that bordered the pleasure-nest. He was fully dressed, with straw in his hands, and a spindle wound with gold at his side.

Belle rested her arms on her knees and watched him. He always looked so intent when he spun, so serious. She knew he used the time to think. What was he thinking now? Was he reliving the night of pleasures he had orchestrated? Was he planning some other new adventure for them? He might not have been thinking of her all. He could be thinking about his magic, or his lost son, or the curse he had created to find the boy again.

She sighed and he must have heard her because he looked up from the spindle. His face was serious for a moment, but then he gave her a silent smile.

Belle reached her arms out to him and waved her hands, beckoning him to join them in their warmth and rest.

He shook his head with a rueful smile, as if to say, I would if I could, but I cannot.  

Well, why not? Belle flopped her arms down in exasperation. If he wasn’t going to come to her, she would have to go to him.

She looked down at the couple sleeping on either side of her and calculated how to extricate herself. Setting her hands firmly on the ground behind her, Belle crawled backwards up from the blankets, over the pillows, and out from in between Jefferson and Leona. 

Even in sleep, they reached out for each other. Once Belle was gone, both of them individually moved to close the gap made by her absence. Leona rolled over and wedged her head under Jefferson’s chin. One of Jefferson’s long arms rested in the ample curve of Leona’s waist. They sighed together, their breathing deep and even.

For once, the sight of those two loving each other didn’t hurt Belle. Looking at them still filled her heart--they were still so beautiful and their love seemed so precious and rare--but this time she felt no twinge of sorrow for herself. In that moment, she could admire them without envy. She could be happy for them, without feeling sad for herself. Perhaps it was because they had so freely shared their love with her. Or perhaps it was because she was finally able to go directly from their love to the man she loved.

Rumple was still spinning, though his eyes stayed steady on her. His hands moved of their own accord, his fingers mindlessly twisting the straw. He was wearing lighter colors today, what Belle thought of as his “at home clothes.” His waistcoat was cloth instead of leather, red brocade over a cream-colored shirt. His trousers and boots were both brown leather, worn into supple softness. He looked comfortable, at ease with himself and his own body.

Belle sat down at his feet and wrapped her arm around his leg. The whir of the spindle faltered for just a moment. 

“You didn’t need to do that,” he murmured, looking at his straw. “I’m sure you need your sleep.”     

“I was awake anyway,” she answered. She rested her head on his knee and let her fingers trace the outline of his calf.  “It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to sit with you like this.”

It used to be that she only ever saw him from on her knees. When they first started, he liked nothing more than for her to kiss his boots. She would sit at his feet and grovel before him, thank him for his minor mercies, show him her fealty. He used to use her back as a footstool while he read by the fire. He used to watch her eat her meals off the floor, and she would make a show for him. She would try to please him by degrading herself. It had been no small surprise to find that she had enjoyed those games as much as he had. 

Now that felt so long ago. He hadn’t allowed her to kiss his boots since the night of the party. The action was supposed to be their signal, the sign that Belle wanted everything to stop. But when Regina and Maleficent had said they would take her away, when she had begged him not to let them, when she had tried to kiss his boots to make herself his again, to feel safe again--he had ignored her pleas. He had neglected their agreement. When it had really mattered, all her trust in him had come to nothing.

Belle closed her eyes against the memory. As terrible as her time with Regina and Maleficent had been, the fact that he had allowed it was worse. And since she had come back, the distance between herself and Rumple had only grown. They couldn’t be together the way they once were--and that was the cruelest heartbreak of all. Belle had never realized how much she needed closeness and understanding. She thrived on the intimacy Rumple was hesitant to offer even under the best of circumstances.

 Before they had become close--before Belle had started acting with love even when she couldn’t name it--the games of pain and degradation were the most intense connection they’d had. She understood why he didn’t want to play with such things anymore, but he wasn’t being loving either. If she couldn’t have his love, Belle was willing to accept his mastery. But he wasn’t offering her anything.

And he wouldn’t even let her tell him how much that hurt her. Again and again he had cut off conversations, walked away from her when she needed him most. Belle could believe that Rumple thought this was a way to protect her. He thought that he could only hurt her by his actions. Either he didn’t realize or didn’t care that he was hurting her just as much through his inactions. Doing nothing when she needed help was every bit as damaging as deliberately hurting her.

But no more, Belle resolved. Last night had given her a chance to reaffirm what she was worth. She deserved lovers who were attentive to her emotional needs as much as to her physical ones. Leona knew when to be gentle and when to push her, and when to listen for the things Belle couldn’t put into words. Jefferson introduced her to the concept of limits. Though Belle was willing to put her body through any trial, she now knew that she needed to be cared for afterward. Closeness and comfort were not mere desserts she could go without--they were essential needs. She wouldn’t let Rumple get away with not giving her the things that really mattered. Not anymore. 

“Rumple?” She set her hand on his thigh to get his attention. “How much longer will Jefferson and Leona stay with us?”

The spindle stilled as he looked at her. “Why do you ask?”

“I want to talk with you,” she answered. “But it should wait until it’s just us again.”

His hand reached down to pet her hair. “As you wish,” he murmured. “I don’t imagine they’ll tarry here for much longer. They’ll want to collect their daughter and go home.”

Home. It was lovely to think of Jefferson and Leona going home, of them having a household and a domestic life with their child. It appealed to Belle, the thought that people could live adventurously--do the sorts of things that they had done--and then go home and look to all the world like an ordinary couple. Perhaps that was why Jefferson and Leona wore their collars all the time, to show the world that they weren’t ordinary. Even when they weren’t acting on their desires, they always burned for each other. They always belonged to each other.

The spindle slowly filled up with gold. When there was no more room for thread, Rumpelstiltskin set the spindle aside and stood up. He offered his hand to Belle. 

“I think it’s time for breakfast, don’t you?”  

She took his hand and he helped her up. “I am a little hungry.”

He grinned. “Last night you worked up quite an appetite!” With a wave of his hand, he produced three bundles of neatly folded linen. One was dark red, the second was yellow, and the third was bleached white. “Make sure everyone is dressed and then I’ll feed you all.” 

Belle took the bundles and the cuffs pulled her over to Jefferson and Leona. She crouched on the blanket over them and shifted the clothes into the crook of her elbow. She used her other hand to shake them gently. 

“Wake up,” Belle whispered. “It’s morning.”

Leona opened her eyes first. As she saw Belle, a slow, sleepy smile broke like a sunrise over her face. “Hello, luv,” she yawned. “I almost thought I dreamed you.”

Belle shook her head. “Last night was a dream, but I’m pretty sure we’re all real.” She offered Leona the white bundle. “Rumple wants you to wear this.”

But when Leona unfolded the cloth, she discovered a shift that was clearly much too small. Frowning, she looked over to Rumpelstiltskin. He was standing outside the pit, by the little table with three chairs.

“If you want me to wear this, there’s going to be a fair bit of magic involved.”

Rumple turned away from the food he was creating. “That one is for Belle,” he said. “But the yellow should fit you comfortably.”

“Why didn’t he just say so?” Leona muttered as she and Belle traded bundles.

Belle clutched the white fabric to her bosom, but didn’t put it on yet. This was for her? Rumple wanted her to wear real clothes? Why? She shook her head, refusing to ponder the questions. It was too much for right now. She bent down and shook Jefferson again. 

He groaned and rubbed his eyes. “Why is it morning already?”

“Because the boss man says so.” Leona popped her head out from the yellow shift and pulled it down over her naked body. It fit her perfectly, with long sleeves and a hem that stopped just short of her feet. The cheery butter yellow was a perfect match for her hair. Leona took the red bundle from Belle and tossed it down to Jefferson. “Now get dressed.”

Still groggy, Jefferson unfolded the linen. Instead of a shift, he was given a long-sleeved shirt. Though the garment was long enough to cover his manhood, his legs were still bare as he finally stood up. 

“I smell breakfast!” he declared. 

From near the table, Rumpelstiltskin gave a showy bow. “Everything is in readiness, as soon as all of you are properly dressed.” He looked at Belle as he said that.

Belle still held the cloth over her breasts, a covering that was not nearly as effective as just wearing the shift. It was strange to think that Rumple wanted her in clothes. Not her robe, not a costume, but real clothes. Exactly the same as what he gave to Jefferson and Leona. 

It troubled her in a way she couldn’t quite name. As awkward as it might have been to be naked while the other two were dressed, it was a game she could have played, if Rumple had asked her to. When they were alone, he had often acted like she was less than a person, that was a typical game. She was his whore, his pet, his thing. But now he was asking her to be the same as regular people, people who didn’t belong to him.

But--Belle reminded herself--he wanted her to wear the shift. He wanted her to be the same as Jefferson and Leona. And she still wanted to give him what he wanted. So this was fine. They would talk about it later, once the others had gone. For now, Belle obeyed his unspoken order and pulled the white linen over her head. 

Her shift was shorter than Leona’s, ending in the middle of her calves. The sleeves were short as well, little caps that puffed out over her shoulders. The neckline was low, and the fabric was so white it made Belle’s pale skin look as rosy as Leona. She looked pretty. It was fine.

Trying not to let her troubled thoughts show, Belle walked up the steps out of the pleasure-nest and joined the others at the table. There were three places set, and Leona and Jefferson had already claimed their chairs. Rumple stood off to the side and gestured for her to take a seat.  

“Eat up, my dear.”

She looked at him. He wanted her to eat with them? To sit down with his guests and act like she was their equal? Only the evening before, he had taken the place as the third of the table, while she had served. What was happening now? What had changed so much in Rumpelstiltskin’s intentions for her?

Jefferson called over to her, his words muffled by the food in his mouth. “Come on! You gotta try this etouffee!”

Belle looked at Leona. “What did he say?”

“I have no idea,” she admitted. “But this stuff with the shrimp and rice is delicious, and there’s more beignets. Come join us!”

Why did it feel wrong to be normal? Why did sitting in a chair and eating with a fork in the company of friends now feel taboo? Did Belle honestly not want this? Did she think she didn’t deserve it? Would she feel differently if Rumple was sitting with them?

Her stomach grumbled as much with hunger as with worry. She needed to eat, and this was what Rumple wanted. With a last look at him, Belle pulled out the third chair and sat down for breakfast. 

The three of them ate their fill while Rumple stayed apart. He kept by them, answered their questions, accepted their compliments, but he never joined them. At no point was he ever a part of their company. He stood by like some kind of butler, as though he were the servant instead of Belle. The reversal unnerved her, but Belle didn’t want to mention it in front of their guests. So she bit her lip and said nothing.

After three helpings, Jefferson finally pushed his plate away and slapped his stomach in satisfaction. “That was an amazing meal,” he said to Rumple. “It’s hard to believe, but I think the food here is actually better than the sex.”

“Oh, bite your tongue!” Leona teased him. “The food is good, but the sex was much better.” She winked at Belle. “At least it was for me. Maybe you weren’t trying hard enough, boy-o.”

Jefferson just laughed. “I tried plenty hard! And I had a great time with the sex, don’t get me wrong. But this food, Leo! You can’t get this food outside of Maldonia, and Maldonia is not a hospitable place for people without magic.”

“Alright,” Leona shook her head, her eyes shining with laughter. “You say the food is better, I say the sex is. Belle, will you break the tie for us? What did you like better?”

“The sex,” Belle blurted without thinking. As soon as the words were past her lips, she covered her mouth with her hand and burst into giggles.

Leona sniggered and Jefferson burst into laughter. “I love a woman who knows her mind!”

“And that’s why you’re stuck with me forever!” Leona leaned out of her chair and grabbed her husband by the collar. She pulled him in for a long and thorough kiss.

Belle sobered, as she watched them kiss. The three of them were having a good time, but they would be leaving soon. Jefferson and Leona would go off together, back home. They would leave Belle alone with her questions and her worries. They would leave her with Rumple and all his mysteries and contradictions.

Looking around, Belle saw that Rumple had stepped away from the table area. He had gone back into the pleasure-pit, gathering up the belongings that had been scattered around the night before. After neatly folding Jefferson and Leona’s clothes, he packed them into Leona’s leather bag. Then, he conjured three more bundles of cloth--one black, one pink, and one blue. 

“What are you doing?” Belle asked. She stood up, and the motion was enough to pull Jefferson and Leona’s attentions away from each other. 

Rumple looked up at them, his smile polite, distant. “It would be rude to allow our guests to walk away empty-handed.”

Jefferson grimaced and climbed down into the nest to talk to Rumple. He put his hand on his shoulder, trying to face him man-to-man, while Rumple looked at him with amusement. 

“We talked about this when we first arrived: you don’t have to pay me and Leo for this sort of thing. I have a legitimate business now, and it’s going well. I don’t need a benefactor anymore.”

Rumple patted Jefferson on the back. “If you’re so successful, then your time is valuable. You shouldn’t undercharge for your services.” He gave Jefferson the black bundle, all but forcing it into his hands. “Take it, my boy. Times may not always be as good as they are now.”

Leona stood over the edge of the pit. “What is it?”

With a resigned sigh, Jefferson shook out the black fabric. “It’s a coat,” he called over to his wife. But the more he examined the garment, the more impressed he appeared. 

Belle watched Jefferson’s face as he touched the fabric. He examined the seams, the cut, the embellishments sewn into the sleeves and around the shoulders. When he put the coat on, he all but gasped at the fit. He looked at Rumple. “This is the finest piece of tailoring I’ve ever seen.”

Rumpelstiltskin gave a bow. “I’m glad you like it.” His eyes trailed over Jefferson’s still-bare legs. Was he admiring Jefferson’s body or his own handiwork? “There is more, if you’ll have it.”

Rolling his eyes, Jefferson held out his empty hand. With a wave, Rumple gave him the rest of the suit: A dark leather waistcoat and breeches, and a silk cravat the same dark red as his shirt.

“You know I want to hate this,” Jefferson said to Rumple once he was dressed. “But damn, you make me look good! And this is good for my work, too. Important people will be more likely to talk to me if I’m dressed to the nines.”

“See?” Rumple said. “I’m merely investing in your future.”

Slyly, Leona climbed down and joined the men. “I notice that there’s more than just my husband’s clothes there.”

“Right you are, Mrs. Ogg!” Rumple said brightly. He offered her the pink bundle.

Leona took the package as though it had always been hers and Rumple was merely carrying it for her. The fabric she shook out was a gown. Yards of shining satin, so light it seemed to float in the air, flowed down from her hands.

Her mouth fell open. “Oh,” she said simply.

“Leona Ogg at a loss for words,” Jefferson shook his head. “The Dark One really can do anything.” 

Leona waved him off, refusing to be distracted from the gown. “This is beautiful,” she whispered. She looked up from the dress to Rumple. “Thank you.”

Another bow, this one perhaps a bit more genuine in its humility. “Never let it be said that I take people’s talents for granted. And there is more to that as well.” He produced a corset, and stockings and petticoats--everything needed to complete the ensemble. 

With a wide grin, Leona waved Belle over to her. “Will you help me?”

Nodding, Belle descended to join the others. She laced Leona’s corset over the yellow shift, arranged the petticoats over her hips, and fastened the ties at the back of the gown. The bodice was decorated with white and pink pearls. Edges of the yellow linen peeked out through the satin, making the pink look even softer and warmer.

The dress fit Leona perfectly, enhancing her curves and smoothing them out at the same time. She stood up straight, her blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders. Leona always had a look of power about her, but in this dress she was something between stately and ethereal. The dress was still soft and feminine, but it also displayed strength, the leather and iron that were as much a part of Leona as the linen and satin.

“Oh Leo,” Belle whispered when it was all put together. “How lovely you are!”

Leona blushed as pink as her gown. Now she looked shy and girlish and beautiful. When she turned around and Jefferson saw her, he let out a whoop of delight.

“Hot damn!” he said. “I’m married to the goddess of spring!”

Leona snorted and blushed again. “I’m more like the goddess of things that get stuck in drawers.”

He wrapped his arm around her waist, dipping her down for a kiss. “You can get things stuck in my drawers any time.”

They kissed for some time. Belle watched the couple come together, break apart giggling, and then start kissing again. She stayed where she was on the sidelines, holding her arms over her chest.

They were such a handsome couple, especially when dressed in such finery. Belle could imagine them travelling different worlds together, dazzling everyone they met. They would make friends and make love and make memories, but always come back to each other. Belle’s heart beat with a dull pain. Once again, it hurt her to see her friends so happy, so in love.

Quietly, Rumple came up beside her. He handed her the blue bundle. “This is for you. I imagine it will be some time before we’ll have their attention again.”

Belle made herself smile at his quip and unfolded her bundle. It was a dress, as blue as the sky on a sunny day. Simpler than Leona’s, the dress didn’t require a corset. Brown laces hung from eyelets in the bodice, so Belle was able to fasten herself in without assistance. It fit over her white shift, the hem of the dress ending just below her undergarments. 

Once she had the dress on, she twirled the skirts, marvelling at the strange familiarity of doing something perfectly normal. She looked at Rumple, who was looking at her, expressionless.

“Why are you giving me clothes, Rumple? Is it just because of them?”

He looked away before he answered. “You’ve been in need of a proper wardrobe for some time. This was just an… opportune time to give it to you.”

“But why?” she repeated. “What changed? Did you just get tired of my robe?”

“We’ll talk later,” he said softly. “I think they’ve finally remembered we’re still in the room.”

Oh yes, they would talk later, Belle thought with a clenched jaw. Once the others were gone, she and Rumple would talk about everything that had been going on lately. 

“I have something for your daughter as well,” Rumple said loudly, just in case Jefferson and Leona started kissing again. “To repay her for this time separated from her parents.”

Leona scoffed. “She’s not missing us. There’s no place in any world she’d rather be than at her gran’s.”

“Then perhaps this is for you then.” Rumple conjured up a brass spyglass and held it out to the couple. 

Jefferson picked it up and extended it, but didn’t put it to his eye. He looked at Rumple. “I’d bet my house that this doesn’t just make things far away seem close.”

Rumple grinned. “When one of you looks through the lens, you will be able to see your daughter, wherever she is, on any world with magic. And if your girl uses it, she’ll be able to see you, no matter how far apart you are.”

Jefferson’s mouth opened. He looked down at the object in his hands. “Thank you,” he said quietly. He looked up and put on a smile. “This is quite a gift to give a little girl you’ve never met!”

Leona took the spyglass from Jefferson. “Let’s see if it works.” She looked through the glass and her face fell. “Oh gods, she’s chasing my mother’s cat.”

“The cat that fights bears?” Jefferson took the spyglass from his wife and looked for himself. His face matched Leona’s in dismay. “We should go.”

“She’ll be alright,” Leona assured the room in general. “Greebo knows better than to set his claws on one of the kiddies. But if she tries to cuddle him when he’s not in the mood for it, there will be tears.” She picked up her bag, checking the contents. “Where are our shoes?” 

“Over there,” Rumple pointed to the floor outside the nest. He watched calmly as they got ready to go. “If you’re going back to the Disk World, I have an errand for you to run.” He picked up the spindle he had been working on earlier and handed it to Jefferson. “See what happens to this, in that other world. Report back to me about it. You can keep it when you’re done.”

Jefferson sighed, and pulled up his boots before taking the spindle. He looked down at it, and then at Rumple. “You know this is more gold than the King of Lancre has in his entire treasury, don’t you?” 

Leona examined the spindle. “That’s more gold than they’ve got in the Royal Bank of Ankh-Morpork!”

“Unless it turns into straw,” Rumple said with his hands raised. “Or dust, or a pigeon. Magic doesn’t have the same rules in every world. That’s why I want to know what happens.”

Jefferson put the spindle in his pocket. His hands lingered on the fabric of his new coat. “Do you know what will happen to these clothes?” he asked. “There isn’t much that will shock my mother-in-law, but it might be rude to show up at her house naked--at least this early in the morning.”

Rumple shook his head. “Your gifts are not magical,” he answered. “Real cloth, real leather, real work and craftsmanship. I did it the hard way for you, my boy.”

Jefferson grinned. “You know that’s the way I like it.”

Without a word, Rumple reached up to pull Jefferson down to him. Jefferson bent easily, and the two men kissed. It was a simple kiss, soft and tender. Belle had never seen Rumple so gentle with someone besides her.

His eyes opened slowly. He stroked Jefferson’s cheek.  “It’s always so good to see you,” he murmured. 

Jefferson mirrored the action, so the two men held each other. “You don’t need to be such a stranger.”

“Especially if you’re always so generous.” Leona hoisted her bag over her shoulder. It was considerably heavier than it had been when they had arrived. 

Breaking his contact with Jefferson, Rumple stepped away from the couple. “Naturally!” he said brightly. “I can hardly expect anyone to tolerate my company without compensation.”

Jefferson opened his mouth to speak, but then seemed to think better of it. He just shook his head and went over to Belle. He opened his arms and she gladly stepped in for a hug.

“Take care of yourself,” he said into her hair. “Don’t let him be too much of a pain in the ass.”

She squeezed her arms around his neck. “I had a wonderful time with you, with both of you.”

“Oh let me in!” Leona reached her arms around both of them. She kissed Belle warmly on the cheek. “Mind how you go, luv. And know that we’re around if you ever need anything.” Her dark eyes poured into Belle, emphasizing how much she meant those words. 

Belle nodded. “Thank you, really. But I’ll be fine.” She lowered her voice. “I’m going to try to make some changes around here.”

“Get him to throw more parties,” Jefferson winked as he broke the huddle. “I would be happy to introduce you to a whole new set of friends.” 

Leona’s face lit up. “Oh! Like that potions bloke at the school!” She turned to Belle. “He’s very grumpy, but whip-smart, if you know what I mean. I’m sure you’d both like him, if you’re ever interested in sharing again.”

“Thank you,” Rumple said with a tone that signalled the end of the discussion. “I will keep such matters under advisement.”

With a wry grin, Leona looked Rumple up and down. “And maybe the next time we meet, you and I will become more intimately acquainted.” 

His look was placid, amused. “Anything is possible, Mrs. Ogg.”

Jefferson looked around. “Where’s my hat? I swear, I need to get a case for that thing.”

“I have it here, my boy.” With a quirk of his finger, Rumple called the hat from where it had been joyfully flung the night before. He held it in both hands and offered it to Jefferson.

Jefferson’s face looked strangely sad as he took in the sight. He put his hands on the brim to take it, and for a moment they lingered there. Fingers brushed against each other in a moment of heavy silence. 

“It’s been a long time,” Jefferson said, “since you first gave me this hat.”

“You’ve used it well,” Rumple answered. “I knew I could trust you with its powers. Now, safe travels to you both.”

With a tight nod, Jefferson straightened up and took the hat. He put it on his head just long enough to take Leona by the arm. The couple stood side-by-side in their new clothes. Then, Jefferson removed his hat and twirled it to the ground. Spinning magic erupted from the hat, creating a portal big enough for them to step into. With cheerful waves, they walked together into the magic and disappeared. 

For a moment, after they left, Belle and Rumple were silent. Both of them stood on opposite sides of the space where the portal had been. 

Then, Belle took a deep breath and gathered up all her resolve. She looked Rumpelstiltskin in the eye, and her voice did not quaver as she said, “We need to talk.”

It took another moment before Rumple looked up from where he had been staring at the ground. When he did look at her, his eyes were dull, but his face was determined. “Yes, I suppose we do. But not here.” He crossed the distance between them, offered her his arm. “Shall we converse in the dining room?”

Belle took his arm, so they were linked together. “Yes, I think that would be lovely.”  

[bubmyg]

i’ll be home - myg

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: lawyer!yoongi, fluff

word count: 1,851

summary: he was supposed to work late for your first christmas together, married, so he asks that you go to your parents because it’d make him feel better that you weren’t home alone or where you come home to find out that yoongi hasn’t forgot about the cat sweater you bought him or the artificial tree in the attic

a/n: the final part of aicaib!!! thank u for sticking w me through this series (this is the first time i’ve written a one shot for every member woah) as always, if u need the series masterlist, ask me. this is also part of my lawyer!yoongi series, so if you’d like that masterlist, also let me know :’-)

“Please go to your parents’ tonight,” Yoongi squeezed your hands, pleading, “I’m not asking you to spend the night there. Just go. Eat dinner with them. I don’t like the thought of you being alone.”

“I’m not alone,” You argued, chin dropping to your chest to eye the wiry haired poodle lapping at your ankles, “I have Holly.”

He sighed, dropping your hands to curl long fingers around your cheeks, pressing his lips just above the corner of your mouth. “Angel.” Dark eyes flicked down to you, pursed lips hovering a feathery space away from your skin. “Go,” He chided, “and take Holly. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

You grumbled as Yoongi’s lips trailed down to your jaw.

“Is that a threat?”

Yoongi shrugged off his blocky dress shoes after the third time he’d tripped on the lip of wood from the garage to the foyer, balancing long cardboard boxes and grey tinted plastic bins on his shoulders to pile on the rug in the living room. His shoulders sagged when he peeled the slick black off his heels, puffing out a breath as he stared at the spot where the tree would go.

It was sad really, cleared of the lamp and the corner table and the tiny porcelain pig that normally took purchase there. It’d been cleaned like that for weeks, all intents and purposes to put the tree up for three consecutive weekends and never quite getting there due to scheduling conflict. Now, it was Christmas Eve and all your presents sat underneath what you’d deemed the makeshift tree, or rather, the lavish dining table that a family of two and a dog had no use for.

You’d placed a metal star standee in the center of a knit tablecloth to the oak top of the table, just for good measure.

He forgot the tree broke into three separate pieces, sending the top tumbling into the coffee table and jostling a holder of stone coasters. Pine needles coated the length of his wool sweater by the time he managed to wiggle the tree’s center into the tripod stand, leaving an entirely inconspicuous trail from the damaged cardboard box in the corner of the room to the place where two-thirds of the tree now resided.

The plastic green covered the grinning grey cat plastered to the front of Yoongi’s sweater, outlining the Santa hat perched on top of the character’s head and masking the string of multicolored lights that collage the surface of the top. It was a gift from you, one he’d promised to wear and had artfully avoided until he found yours that matched, tag still on, buried in a ridiculous crevice of your closet. Maybe it was the guilt of taking a case this close to Christmas and continually delaying the construction of the tree to where he had to send you to your parents under the pretense that he wouldn’t be home until late on Christmas Eve, of all things, just so he could sneak in and do it all himself.

But now he couldn’t stop seeing the amused light in your eyes when he’d opened the sweater, your elbow nudging his stomach and cheering, “I have one too! We can match, if you want…”

Yoongi did want to. Now and always. Last names, glittering metal bands, cat sweaters, and all.

He replaced the star on the dining table with your folded sweater, a bit crumpled from being smashed behind a box of his boots, but the grey kitten smiled nonetheless as he plopped a shiny red bow on the corner of the fabric.

The shards of the artificial tree once snagged on Yoongi’s sweater pooled around his socks when he stretched to place the top third of the tree in place. His torso scratched against the limbs, rolled as far as the arches in his feet would allow. With a grunt and a semi dangerous totter of the entire structure, the top was on the tree while a fine layer of sweat beaded across his brow.

“Lights,” He muttered to himself, swiping at his forehead with the cuff of his sweater. “I need lights—” Yoongi paused, index finger lifted, as if pondering the weather or at the very least speaking to someone, “—or music. I need music first.”

He managed to connect the wireless speakers stationed between the rungs of the balcony upstairs, cascading a playlist he found titled Holiday Tunes down into the glowing warmth of the living room. Yoongi clapped, triumphant.

“Okay. Now lights.”

He found them buried underneath a quilted stocking, an unopened package of shatterproof ornaments, and three different stems of mistletoe. He considered the short stalks of green clutched in his palm, the red bow hand tied at the end with ends tickling at the underside of his wrist.

“Couldn’t hurt…” Yoongi squinted, the towering doorway in the threshold from the garage to the hallway arched and daunting for someone who could barely reach his favorite coffee cup in the kitchen cabinet. “Right? Right.”

For once, he wished he were tripping over Holly so that his nonsensical ramblings could at least be heard by someone.

He managed to tape the mistletoe with a half tacky piece he found pasted on top of the (empty) dispenser you kept in a drawer filled with grill lighters and a half opened box of plastic spoons and the spare key to the car you traded in two months ago. Only the bottom link of his spine seemed to be pulled from how high he’d had to stretch after dragging over the leather upholstered footstool and balanced socked feet in the center.

Yoongi found himself tangled in three strands of lights, all connected, two that were half on, tiny twinkling lights burning hot through his black slacks as he pulled out kinks in the braided wire, leaving them in an equally messy pile on the floor. One strand, the one that worked completely, barely covered the circumference of the hulking bottom of the tree and he was halfway through dragging a new strand out from the blue tinted tub (one he thought was red rather than “bright white” but he was willing to take the gamble) when he swore the garage door was opening.

Holly found him first, toenails clacking down the length of the hall and skidding sideways into the door frame before letting out a delighted yip! and stumbling straight into his shins. The wire of the lights was still secured in Yoongi’s front teeth as he crouched, roughing gentle palms across the puppy’s muzzle until you rounded the corner, propping your shoulder against the door frame.

He met your accusing gaze with wide eyes and rounded lips, the perfect circle of his mouth causing the lights to tumble out and drape across Holly’s neck. “Hi!” He chirped, brushing the lights of his wriggling puppy with a nervous smile, “How was dinner—”

“We drove by your office,” You pushed yourself up, taking a scuffing step closer, “and you weren’t there.”

Yoongi worried the inside of his cheek into his molars, “I was. I came home early.”

You hummed, “I can see that—”

You were cut off by the brunt of his torso smacking into you, arm circumventing your waist, hand clutching yours as he swayed you in a dramatic circle. Something festive but softer floated down from the speakers but his guiding footsteps barely followed the beat anyway, socked feet nudging at your slightly chilled ones.

“You really thought I’d leave you home alone on Christmas?” Yoongi’s gums blinded your heart a bit, arm squeezing you tighter against him as he corrected, “Our first Christmas together, might I add.”

“This isn’t our first—”

His thumb and index finger twisting at the band on your second finger from the left had your heart stuttering into the base of your throat. “This ring was a little different last Christmas,” He mused, centering the diamond to lace your fingers again.

“You spent too much…”

“I’ll buy you three more,” Yoongi squeezed your palm, “We can renew our vows twice a year, if you want.”

“I don’t,” You grinned when he feigned offense, pressing your face against his chest, “Can’t top the best day of my life.”

His chest rumbled with a scratchy laugh, chin on top of your head as he directed your blind figure out of the living room to the tune of some song featuring the tinkle of bells and Holly’s high stepping claws against the hardwood. “I got you an early present,” He mused, dropping your hand to reach for your half wrinkled sweater on the dining table.

Your eyebrows furled for barely a second, fond annoyance meeting the roll of your eyes as you opened and let the hem of the sweater fall. “I bought this,” You jabbed an index finger into his stomach, “and this one.”

“Just put it on.”

“I didn’t go to my parents, by the way,” You cocked an eyebrow at him after shoving your head through the slightly too small hole, threads snapping in the process. You centered the sleeves of your sweater over your watch and bracelets while picking your hair out of places it shouldn’t be, watching him with a tiny, knowing smile.

“Why?”

You hummed, plucking absently at some leftover pine needles still taking residency on his chest, “Didn’t want to hear my mom tell me how you’re too busy for me.”

Yoongi curled his index finger underneath your chin, pressing his lips gently to yours. “Hmm, I am,” He rolled his eyes in time with you, pecking down your chin to the pulse point on your neck, “I have a tree to decorate.”

You snorted, letting him pull you in messy, looping circles back into the living room. “Do you?”

“I’ve been busy, miss,” The tree appeared to weep when his wincing gaze sliced over to it, taking in the lopsided top that he hadn’t quite secured and the singular strand of lights that was buried much too far into the artificial limbs, plug in to add the next strand nowhere to be seen and the lights he’d half untangled still red. Not white. “I mean, I didn’t think you’d come home just yet so I—”

You placed a gentle palm on Yoongi’s cheek, leaving a tender kiss to him lips.

“It’s perfect.”

His nose wrinkled, chin cocking just enough to brush the tip against yours, “Is it?”

“No,” You pecked his mouth again, “but we can fix it.”

“I got it inside, at least?” Yoongi’s eyes twinkled a bit as he cheered, “and I put up mistletoe!”

You followed the path of his pointing finger, only to find the spot he was referring to void of any green foliage. Instead, that piece laid in a sad lump on the floor, Holly’s nose buried against the stem as he danced on top of the leaves at his newest discovery.

“We can fix that, too but…” You shrugged, “You better kiss me, reverse the bad luck of letting it touch the floor.”

“Oh, is that the rule?”

“You’re the lawyer, Yoon.”

[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…

[bentleydesignsoutlet]

Living Room Furniture Modern Living Room Furniture

In deep wooden with a rich tone and marble, these kinds are perfect for the gentleman's club-style living area. If you've house to layer more tables and like a easy fashion, the Wave Coffee Table trio by Silvano Luxury is right. With a marble table top, this grey console table offers a contemporary design. Making it perfect for any house living room furniture or house, the modern aesthetic of the desk lends itself to any house or décor. For instance, our Sigma Blue range combines the natural allure of wooden with the modernity of paint. Or if you’re looking for one thing extra conventional, living room furniture from the Borg choice could be extra appropriate.

As extra of us work and play at home, the lounge now has to cater to varied roles. It’s necessary to really take into consideration how you spend your time in the area, as this will largely decide your layout. Take a look at our Home Accessories collection, including New Season Arrivals. Full-on voluptuous or gently rounded, cylindrical furniture will carry the structure and soften the overall look of your room, adding a delicate contact of shaping to your living room décor.

Make the most of the area that you've and introduce a stylish storage unit this year. While on-trend and highly sought after, the chaise couch is definitely an incredibly versatile piece of furniture. Understanding that every interior has its own distinctive character, our assortment of luxury living room furniture is available in a range of shapes, sizes and kinds to match your area. Whether you are internet hosting a special lounge furniture uk day or just stress-free, your living room is the perfect place to showcase your impeccable sense of fashion. Our high-quality furniture and wide selection of accessories will assist you to create an area that is uniquely yours. With the living room typically being the heart of the house, our range will add components that bring warmth and assist create a space that may inform its own tale.

Your listing of what you should retailer may even allow you to think about what you need on show, and what definitely shouldn’t be seen. This will influence the balance between freestanding items like open shelving, closed cupboards, furniture with doors lounge furniture and drawers, and all-in-one designs that combine cupboards, cabinets and perhaps drawers. Don’t overlook the storage alternatives supplied by occasional tables, footstools, benches, cubes and extra, too, though, as these can add to the combo with each open and hidden storage.

The Arturo is a up to date dining assortment with billowed stainless steel legs and marble top. For if you need everything inside simple reach, and for these areas that merely need somewhat ‘something’. Browse our full assortment of residence furniture online, and store in shops.

Receive regular information, inspiration, and unique Dormy offers direct to your inbox. When you sit again into a snug armchair, your body releases a silent sigh of relief – find your perfect throne within our elegant assortment. They will produce a 3D personalised visualisation, so you'll have the ability to envision exactly what your designer has created with you. Get a free no-obligation quote at present and talk about your cost options. The installer Neil Simpson turned up on time, he worked a 9 hour shift, non cease to ge...

If your seating is otherwise muted and neutral, attempt the Margi Armchair from the Urban Collection by Naustro Italia. In a wealthy moss green velvet, this accent chair will add an instant luxe feel modern living room furniture and a pop of color. Tan leather-based is another fantastic option and will add a tactile feel to your room.

A matching set of living room furniture is an easy approach to give the room a classy look. Discover our fashionable sideboards and bookcases which not solely present loads of storage however may also look great alongside any modern décor. And when you have piles of books mendacity round, you’re going to wish someplace to retailer all of them.

[tabletoptrinketsbyjj]

Trinkets, Worthless, 8: These trinket are garbage plain and simple. They would be termed vendor trash or junk loot in video games. They aren’t touched by stray magic or mystery as with regular trinkets, aren’t made from valuable materials and aren’t particularly useful even if they aren’t damaged.

A box of odd beads that bear no resemblance to eyes, yet always seem to watch the nearest creature.

A wanted poster that bears the face of a terrified elf. The reward is not listed.

A bright orange, ceramic throwing star that will always miss its target.

A small pair of scissors that only cut eyebrow hair.

A glass bottle filled with multiple layers of differently-colored sand.

A dried leaf that is entirely unaffected by any sort of natural wind or breeze.

A shirt button that changes shape every day.

A map with vague directions to an abandoned gnome's house.

A small wooden box that contains a single, worn thimble.

A 1’ x 2’ sheet of white canvas upon which the words “SUFFERING IS NOT ART!” are written and underlined in blood.

—Keep reading for 90 more trinkets.

—Note: The previous 10 items are repeated for easier rolling on a d100.

A box of odd beads that bear no resemblance to eyes, yet always seem to watch the nearest creature.

A wanted poster that bears the face of a terrified elf. The reward is not listed.

A bright orange, ceramic throwing star that will always miss its target.

A small pair of scissors that only cut eyebrow hair.

A glass bottle filled with multiple layers of differently-colored sand.

A dried leaf that is entirely unaffected by any sort of natural wind or breeze.

A shirt button that changes shape every day.

A map with vague directions to an abandoned gnome's house.

A small wooden box that contains a single, worn thimble.

A 1’ x 2’ sheet of white canvas upon which the words “SUFFERING IS NOT ART!” are written and underlined in blood.

A mouthpiece for an unknown musical instrument.

A single newt's eye in a glass jar.

A small jar of nails that can only be driven by a glass hammerhead.

A small jar of glass nails that can only be driven by a cold iron hammerhead.

A sword scabbard that's filled to the brim with tiny wooden swords.

A fine, leather pouch that contains exactly 248 smooth stone pebbles.

A thin sheet of cooking paper that's been folded into a swan.

A decaying wooden knife inscribed by a child that reads "The Ultimate Blade of Destruction".

An old doll wooden doll in rotting knit clothing. The doll's eyes seem to follow the creature closest to it and people who sleep near it regularly suffer from nightmares

A sickly green humanoid bone.

An odd metal cog that spins on its own every so often.

A small wooden carving that depicts a naked goblin scratching his hindquarters.

A small dull dagger that refuses to sharpen.

A rusted coin that slowly absorbs oil it comes into contact with.

A long letter of complaint addressed to a school teacher criticizing his methods and general personality.

A glass jar containing a dozen folded paper frogs.

A small jar of hard candies that taste of sour apples and never seems to go bad.

A small doll with a cloak and toy dagger attached. On the back of the doll, the letters "TDG" are written.

A drinking horn with an odd rune carved on it.

A tiny pink bottle that smells of roses when it is empty.

A wooden carving of an orc doing a handstand.

A small twig that doubles as the perfect toothpick, no matter who uses it.

A gnome's hair brush.

A small painting of a horse's rear end.

A cork for an old wine bottle that won't fit in any other bottle.

A small pot of horse glue that says “NOT FOOD, SERIOUSLY” on the side.

A bamboo scroll tube containing a legal and notarized deed for a house whose address doesn't exist.

A dagger made of folded parchment, that could at best give someone a paper cut.

A wooden box containing twelve matching pieces of broccoli that have somehow remained fresh.

A bar of soap that smells like rotten meat.

A key that breaks the first time it’s used in a lock. To add insult to injury, it doesn't open the lock.

A tin of makeup that's just the most absurd shade of orange.

A magically preserved apple that tastes like an orange.

A letter from an unknown sender that simply reads, “I told you so!”. The return address is plainly labeled “Feywild”.

An undersized wooden backscratcher, for use by gnomes.

A tattered blacksmith cap full of red dwarf hair.

A small roll of leather that's been cured with giant urine.

The hollowed-out shell of a large hermit crab.

A crudely made treasure map that leads to a beggar's dandelion garden.

A small blue stone that feels like silk to the touch.

A pocket multitool with only one tool remaining in it. The remaining tool is a magnifying glass that has the words "Find the rest of me." inscribed on it.

A wooden scroll case filled with fine ash. The top of the lid sports a tiny iron spike that may have triggered some sort of combustable trap.

A fist sized bar of harsh lye soap

A homemade pan flute consisting of a dozen reeds of gradually increasing length held together by vines and dried grasses. Despite its crude origins it plays quite nicely

A dog muzzle made out of leather and steel with adjustable straps that allow it to fit most medium and large canines.

A brown leather hawk's hood that's used to keep the birds docile during periods when they are not hunting or resting.

A ceremonial headdress of similar make to one of the local barbarian tribes, with the exception that it is made entirely out of steel wiring and tin spoons. You’re not sure if this is some sort of artistic interpretation, strange inside joke or weird form of insult.

A preserved, hollowed out corpse of a Flumphling stuffed with sage.

A metal flask containing a thick concoction that smells dark and musty, like a forest after heavy rains.

An unremarkable spoon fashioned from horn.

A thick, heavily padded leather and burlap sleeve made to fit over the bearer's arm and serves as a target for animals being trained to attack.

A sealed one gallon cask of Bufo, a favorite drink of goblins, boggards, and other primitive humanoids. It is made by soaking a poisonous toad or frog (Or its eggs) in weak beer or by “milking” these animals for their poison and mixing it with the beer (Allows the animal to be used repeatedly). Some tribes use wide-mouthed jugs and leave the dead animal inside as a crunchy treat for eating once the drink is gone.

A sealed one gallon cask of luglurch ale. This pale frothy beer is found by most races to be too salty to swallow, with the exception of halfings who find it an acquired taste

A clockwork blue bird that emits a horrendous screeching sound when it is wound up.

A musty smelling, threadbare, grey towel that never completely dries. If someone attempts to dry themselves with it, they will develop a mildewy smell exactly like the towel until the creature takes bathes and dries off with a proper towel. 

A purple ring box that croaks like a frog when opened. It is lined with lime green satin on the inside and smells of a swamp.

An old black cord with three matching light blue buttons, strung on it, all about the size of a gold piece.

A large piece of parchment with a tea stain in the shape of a kitten.

A rolled up parchment with a sketching of the ugliest Dwarven baby the bearer has ever laid eyes on. 

A beat up, wooden compass that always points towards the bearer, never north.

A plain, wooden footstool about six inches high, with a round top about 18 inches across.

A crude, 500 piece puzzle that appears to be a treasure map, but 100 of pieces in the middle that show the specific coordinates and details of the treasure are missing

A thick braided cord made of dark leather, hanging from which is a giant's toenail reeking of cheese.

A voodoo doll of a young man that's missing it's head.

A small jar of chocolate cookies that cannot be opened or broken.

A set of crooked and yellowed dentures with teeth missing.

A dictionary with over half of the words spelled wrong and out of alphabetical order.

A brass chamber pot that was not thoroughly cleaned since its last use.

A wooden scroll tube containing the blueprints of a church that has long since collapsed.

A faux-distressed piece of parchment that is a crude map of the local area, with red circles and arcane gibberish scrawled on it. Intentionally made to look old and worn, it’s actually a simple piece of parchment that’s been singed, crumpled, and rolled in the dirt. It's obviously meant as bait to lure creatures into an ambush it appears that whatever dimwitted humanoid authored this had a very poor knowledge of spelling and grammar. Any literate creature who so much as glances at it can identify the map as a fake.

A plain thimble, with absolutely nothing particularly interesting about it.

A crude earring made from a tiny tooth, wrapped in thin twine.

A formal letter that is badly seared and charred. It’s impossible to decipher because of the damage.

A small blue candle that smells of fruit. It’s fragrance is weak and barely noticeable.

An assortment of pieces from cracked eggshells. Most are a pale creamy color, like the egg of a chicken. Some larger pieces are a deep purple.

A porcelain doll about the length of a human’s index finger. The face is chipped away.

A black flask with a gaping hole in its side. It’s covered in punctures that look like bite marks.

A silky cloth fraying quite badly around its edges. It’s almost reflective in its lustrous sheen.

A smooth, round stone about the size of a human fist. It feels oddly heavy.

A set of three clay dice, painted with black pips.

A chunk of rusted metal covered in dents.

A somewhat oval-shaped… thing. You think it might be really, really, really stale bread.

A pair of glasses whose frames look as good as new, but the lenses are stained, cloudy, and cracked.

A trio of matching bracelets, made from knotted thread. You’re almost certain there’s supposed to be four of them.

A hollow reed that creates a low, soft whistle when blown.

A hand sized figurine of a cat, perpetually coated in a layer of dust.

A waterskin filled with a slick, greasy oil. Patterns of snakes cover its sides.

A single tile that appears like it was from some type of mosaic mural. It’s a dull green in color.

A pouch of bitter tea leaves. Their aftertaste is unsatisfying and almost sour.

A jagged arrowhead, cracked into a shape reminiscent of a fox’s head.