Fellow She-Ra fans!! I have made a digital copy of my copy of She-Ra: Legend of the Fire Princess! It is all free to read on this Google drive, it is completed and has every page, and I hope you all enjoy it
Notes:
Please give it some time to load if it does not all show up immediately! It is 129 pages and may take a moment :))
I hope the lighting is alright for each page, and I made sure every page and panel was legible! I took the pics with my iPhone, I don’t have a scanner, so I tried the absolute best to get good lighting for each page, but it is not made as an e book— it is still readable, just please be aware of this!
Feel free to hit [email protected] to contact me, if you have any issues opening the file/link, and I would love to help you out as much as I can/send you the link directly!
All rights and recognition are to Gigi G.D, Paulina Ganucheau, and Nate Stevenson; I am merely saving and sharing my copy of this book online. I have witnessed a pattern of counterpart books to a tv show franchise, being discontinued once the show has been removed from Netflix. The biggest example I can think of is Ever After High, as The Diary of Raven Queen is not available anymore, is not being reprinted or in stores, as Ever After High has been removed from Netflix. So, I wanted to preserve this book for all fans to read! While I’m talking about preservation, you can watch all of She-Ra from the link in my pinned post, and the legend Nate Stevenson himself wants us to utilize preserving the show content even with pirating, which is iconic
Some (context free, so spoiler free!) snippets of my digital copy below! :))
Thank you @thornsamigurumi for checking out the link for me/checking it worked 👀 ! I appreciate it :) And may we all keep She-Ra-ing on!
Pro tip: if you eat a strange very bitter plant- or several- and your large muscle groups start acting up you probably should not eat it again. I however will be doing as I please, I have to be immune at somepoint.
Ryker’s grip on Dagur’s tunic tightened, pulling him closer before slamming him back against the rough stone wall. The impact sent a fresh wave of agony through Dagur’s shoulder, a sharp spike of pain that made his vision blur.
"Is this what being a Dragon Rider does to someone, Dagur?" Ryker sneered, his voice a low growl. "Turns mighty Berserkers into sniveling, weeping children?!"
He punctuated the last word with a brutal punch to Dagur’s gut. Air exploded from Dagur’s lungs, and he sagged in Ryker’s grasp, a strangled gasp escaping his lips. The hunters snickered, no longer bothering to hide their amusement. Ryker's smirk widened, pleased with the reaction.
"Still got that fire, Berserker?" Ryker delivered another blow, this time to Dagur’s jaw. Dagur’s head snapped to the side, his teeth clanking together painfully. He tasted blood – warm and metallic – on his tongue. He spat, a crimson droplet landing near Ryker’s boot.
"Looks like… you’re still… stinking up the place," Dagur wheezed, forcing the words out, a defiant glint in his bloodshot eyes. "Wouldn’t want to… ruin your… fragrant reputation."
Ryker’s face contorted in a mask of fury. He backhanded Dagur across the face, a cracking sound echoing in the small cell. Dagur’s head slammed against the stone again, and for a moment, stars swam before his eyes. The world tilted. Good. Maybe this is it. Maybe I can just… fade out.
"You think this is a game, Berserker?" Ryker snarled, grabbing a fistful of Dagur’s hair and yanking his head up. "You think your little friends are coming for you? They think you're dead! And even if they didn't, they abandoned you, just like you abandoned your father!"
The words, sharp and venomous, cut deeper than any punch. Dagur flinched, not from the pain, but from the raw wound Ryker had just exposed. His father. The guilt, simmering beneath the surface, erupted into a searing blaze. He deserved this. Every blow. Every taunt. He was a monster. He hadabandoned his father. He had tried to kill Hiccup. He had destroyed Berk.
Ryker, seeing the raw agony in Dagur’s eyes, pressed his advantage. "They're not coming, Dagur. Nobody cares about the 'Berserker Blunder'. You're nothing. You always have been." He threw Dagur back against the wall one last time, letting go of his tunic. Dagur slumped, wrists screaming as the chains took his full weight, his body throbbing with a dull ache that resonated with the ache in his heart.
"Enjoy your stay, Dagur," Ryker sneered, wiping his hands on his tunic as if cleansing himself of Dagur’s touch. "Viggo will be along shortly. And trust me, you'll wish I had killed you."
With a final, contemptuous glance, Ryker turned and exited the cell, the two hunters following quickly behind him. The heavy door clanged shut, plunging Dagur back into the dim, cold silence, broken only by his ragged breathing.
He hung there, suspended by the chains, his body screaming in protest. His jaw throbbed, his ribs ached, and his shoulder felt like it was on fire. But it was the other pain that truly consumed him. The words. Monster. Berserker Blunder. Nobody cares.
He truly was alone. And Shattermaster… If he was dead, it was Dagur’s fault. If he was alive and in Viggo’s hands… that was also Dagur’s fault. He had only ever brought destruction. He had tried to change, wanted to be good. But it was a lie, wasn't it? A pathetic, desperate lie. He was Dagur the Deranged. He was his father’s son, but without his father’s honour. He was barbaric, impulsive, destructive.
Tears, hot and unstoppable, streamed down his bruised face, mixing with the blood from his lip. He choked on a sob that was halfway between a laugh and a cry of despair. He had fallen so far, and there was no one to catch him. No one should catch him. He deserved this. He deserved all of it. He was a weapon, and he had turned that weapon on himself.
The first sensation was a cold, damp chill that seeped into his bones, a stark contrast to the searing fire he remembered. Then came the pain, a deep, throbbing ache in his left shoulder that pulsed in time with his own frantic heartbeat. Dagur’s eyes snapped open. Darkness swam before him, slowly resolving into the grim reality of a stone cell. Heavy iron manacles, cold and unforgiving, bit into his wrists, chaining him to the wall in a half-upright slump.
A crude bandage was wrapped tightly around his shoulder, stained with a dark, blossoming patch of red. The wound from the hunter’s arrow. He barely felt it. A far more pressing question burned through the fog in his mind, sharp and insistent.
Why was he alive?
He remembered the chaos, the roar of the collapsing sea stack, the desperate flight of the Dragon Riders. He remembered turning back, a wild grin on his face as he drew the hunters’ fire, giving Hiccup and Heather the precious seconds they needed. He remembered the satisfying thwump of the traps activating, the shouts of surprise from the hunters, and the sharp, piercing agony as the arrow found its mark. He had accepted his end then and there, a worthy sacrifice for his sister, and… and for Hiccup. A final, definitive act to prove he had changed.
Death was supposed to be the end of the story. This… this was an unwelcome epilogue.
Viggo Grimborn wasn’t sentimental. He didn’t spare enemies out of pity. So, why keep him? For information? Dagur almost laughed, a harsh, grating sound in the silence. Viggo wasn’t a fool. He knew Dagur had been on the periphery of the Riders’ circle, a recently reformed madman they barely trusted. He held no critical secrets, no knowledge of Berk’s defenses or the location of Dragon’s Edge that Viggo didn’t already possess or couldn’t deduce.
Leverage, then? The thought soured in his stomach. He was fairly certain Hiccup and the others had seen him go down amidst the fire and falling rock. They would have presumed him dead, mourned him as a hero, perhaps, and moved on. That was the smart play. And even if they suspected he was alive, would they truly risk everything for him? Heather might. But Hiccup… Hiccup would want to. That was the boy’s fatal flaw and greatest strength. He saw the good in everyone, even when it was buried under layers of derangement and bad decisions. But the others—Snotlout, Fishlegs, the twins—they wouldn’t sanction a rescue mission for their former tormentor. It was illogical. It was a trap.
His eyes scanned the bleak cell again, and a fresh wave of panic, cold and sharp, washed over him. Shattermaster.
If Dagur was alive, did that mean his Gronckle was too?
He strained against the chains, the metal scraping his raw wrists, his gaze darting into every shadowed corner. “Shattermaster?” he whispered, his voice a dry rasp. Nothing. No comforting rumble, no familiar snort.
The thought of his dragon in Viggo’s hands was a physical blow, worse than the arrow. Viggo wouldn’t just keep him in a cage. He’d study him, break him, turn him into a weapon to be used against other dragons, against the Riders. Or worse, he’d see the Gronckle not as a living creature, but as a prize, a rare commodity to be sold to the highest bidder in some wretched auction. A cold fury, potent and pure, surged through Dagur’s veins. He didn’t understand the depth of his connection to Shattermaster, a bond forged in a short, chaotic time, but it was as real and solid as the stone wall behind him.
Then a more terrible thought, a crushing weight that threatened to suffocate him, settled in his chest. What if Shattermaster was dead? He had been right there, by Dagur’s side, when the traps were sprung. The explosions, the rockfall… Dagur had been so focused on saving the Riders, he hadn’t thought about his own dragon. He might have sent him to his death. He might have sacrificed the one creature who had trusted him implicitly for people who had every reason not to. The guilt was a venom, seeping into the wound in his shoulder, making his entire body ache with a grief he hadn't known he was capable of feeling.
The heavy, groaning sound of a metal bolt being drawn echoed through the cell, jolting him from his despair. The thick wooden door swung inward with a mournful creak. Dagur tensed, expecting the cool, calculating gaze of Viggo Grimborn.
Instead, it was Ryker.
Viggo’s brutish older brother filled the doorway, a cruel smirk plastered on his coarse features. Two hulking hunters flanked him, their expressions impassive. Ryker’s presence was an insult. Viggo sent his dog, not bothering to come himself.
“Well, well,” Ryker began, his voice a low rumble that grated on Dagur’s nerves. He stepped into the cell, his shadow falling over the chained Viking. “How the mighty Dagur the Deranged has fallen. Chained up like a common beast. It’s a pathetic sight.”
A low growl vibrated in Dagur’s chest. His hands were bound, his body was weak, but his tongue was still his own. It was the only weapon he had left. He decided to wield it.
He let his head loll to the side, forcing a lazy, mocking smile onto his face. “Ryker,” he drawled, his voice dripping with condescension. “Did Viggo finally let you off your leash? I’m honored. Or is this your big boy job for the day? Checking on the prisoners before you get your biscuit and a pat on the head?”
Ryker’s smirk tightened. The hunters behind him shifted, one letting out a quiet snort of amusement.
“Oh, I’m terrified,” Dagur shot back, his eyes glinting with manic energy. “Truly. But I have to ask, does your brother even let you think for yourself? Or does he just wind you up in the morning and point you in the direction of something to smash? ‘Fetch, Ryker! Break this, Ryker! Try not to drool on the Maces and Talons board, Ryker!’ It must be exhausting being Viggo’s pet rock.”
The last insult hit its mark. Ryker’s face, already ruddy, flushed a deep, angry crimson. The hunters, who had been enjoying the show, snapped to attention, their fleeting amusement vanishing under the heat of their commander’s glare. The air in the cell grew thick with menace.
“You’ve got a mouth on you, Berserker,” Ryker snarled, his voice dropping to a dangerous hiss. He was now close enough that Dagur could smell the stale meat on his breath. “We’ll see how clever you are after a few days without food. Or water.”
“Is that the best you’ve got?” Dagur laughed, a wild, unhinged sound that echoed off the stone walls. He was playing with a dragon, and he knew it, but it was the only control he had. “Threatening me with starvation? How terribly unoriginal. I expected more from Viggo’s… chief instrument of blunt force. Did he write that line down for you, or did you come up with it all by your lonesome? You must be so proud.”
Ryker’s hand shot out, not to strike, but to grab the front of Dagur’s tunic, yanking him forward until the chains bit deep into his flesh. Ryker’s face was inches from his, his eyes burning with fury.
“You want to know why you’re alive?” Ryker spat. “My brother has plans for you. And for your pet rock of a dragon.”
Dagur’s blood ran cold, but he didn’t let it show. He just smiled, a chilling, triumphant grin. “So he is alive,” he whispered, the words a prayer and a curse all at once. For the first time since waking, he felt a flicker of hope. And that made him infinitely more dangerous.
Hello! I was wondering and hoping if you could make a part two of Game of hearts. Please and thank you...! 😁😊
oh wow I really wasn't expecting a request and sorry for the late response but yeah sure! I can do that. If you also want to read something now though I know my friend @the-gateway-to-madness has expanded on this fic some already.
I would fall in love with you thinking you were an angel, but upon finding out you were the devil, I would follow you into hell. Certainly my love will kill me, for what is love without suffering?
I don't care if it would hurt to die. I only wish that it would only hurt me.
Time for yet another installment of my Krexie Fairytales. And happy (almost) two-year anniversary of this series.
Anastasia but make it Krexie.
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Inspired by the 1997 animated movie Anastasia, with elements incorporated from the Broadway musical Anastasia, featuring Krel as Anastasia, and Douxie as Dmitri.
Next shall either be Beauty and the Beast or Princess Bride.
Excerpt:
“And a song someone sings…once upon a December…”
He tries to grasp at them, to hold on tighter, but it’s no use; they slip through his fingers as ephemeral as mist, leaving him just as lost as he’s always been.
“Hey!”
K whips around at the shout to find a pair of men standing on the balcony that’s at the far end, directly across from the grand staircase.
Kleb.
“What are you doing in here!?”
Not knowing if they’re maybe guards or some kind of authority, K takes off toward the opposite end, the way he came. He can’t find Douxie if he gets arrested.
“Hey!” Douxie shouts again, zipping down the stairs from the far balcony to take off after the boy, Jim not far behind. “Stop!”
Luug barks as the three sprint across the enormous room, though whether from excitement or in some attempt to intimidate the other two, K isn’t sure. He scrambles up the stairs, not even caring to grab his stuff—it’s not like it’s worth anything.
“Hold on a minute!” one of the young men shouts, the same one who’s been shouting.
But K can’t keep this pace up. After walking for two days through the snow, his legs just can’t keep going like this. He comes to a stumbling stop on the landing, panting hard, halting just before an enormous painting he hadn’t noticed earlier—a painting of a family, a mom and dad, four daughters, and a son.
“How did you get in he—” Douxie starts to demand, skidding to his own stop at the base of the stairs, but his words get stuck in his throat as he takes in the scene before him. The boy now looks at him, standing beside the painted visage of Tsarevitch Krel, and the resemblance is uncanny. The hair, the eyes, the face, it’s all perfect, like that image came to life and stepped right out of the painting, just aged about a decade or more—the very picture of what might’ve been, if only…
Just as Jim catches up, Douxie grabs him by the lapel of his coat, pulling him in close. “Jim, do you see what I see?”
“Huh?” Jim looks at Douxie, confused. But Douxie doesn’t look back at him, not for a moment. So, he turns his attention in the same direction as Douxie, and he lets out a gasp at the sight before him. “By Deya…”
K looks between the men who are now both gawking at him. Both have dark hair and wear blue, though the slightly shorter one with the stubble has warmer-toned hair and a long, lighter blue jacket, while the taller one with longer, cooler-toned hair has an unbuttoned dark blue vest over a white shirt. But what really strikes him are the eyes. The bearded one has blue eyes, not terribly uncommon around here, but the taller one has gold. K doesn’t think he’s ever seen a color like it.
After another moment, though, he sighs and crosses his arms. He doesn’t have the patience for whatever this is. “Look, is one of you Douxie?”
“Oh, er, that depends on who’s looking for him,” Douxie says, snapping out of it. He needs to play this perfectly. He cannot afford to mess anything up whatsoever, not when the perfect stand-in for Tsarevitch Krel has presented himself practically on a silver platter!
A snuffling and a nudge at his ankle grabs his attention, and he looks down to find what he thinks is a corgi staring up at him. “Uh, hello there, little guy.”
The corgi seems satisfied by his acknowledgement, giving a yap before going over to Jim to sniff at his pant legs.
“Well, I’m K,” the boy says, “and I’m looking for travel papers. I heard Douxie was the guy to go to for stuff like that.”
“K?” Douxie asks, now moving around the boy, getting a better look. “Like the letter?”
“Yep,” K says.
“Just ‘K’?” Douxie asks.
“Just ‘K’,” K says. “Why are you circling me? What are you, some kind of vulture?”
“No, it’s just…it’s just that you look an awful lot like—” He cuts himself off. He needs to sus ‘K’ out a little more before he can really go all in on the plan. “Well, nevermind that. You said travel papers?”
“Yes,” K says. “I’d like to go to Paris.”
“You’d like to go to Paris?” Douxie cannot believe his ears. There is no way he’s just hit a jackpot this big; there’s gotta be some kind of catch. He looks back at Jim to see if he’s hearing what Douxie’s hearing, but his friend is thoroughly enraptured by the puppy, scratching him behind the ears, doing that baby talk people sometimes do with dogs.
Well, Douxie can’t exactly blame him—the dog is pretty cute.
“Let me ask you something, K,” Douxie says. “Travel papers require a bit more information than just an initial. ‘K’ has gotta stand for something, yeah? And what about a last name?”
“Ugh. ‘K’ stands for Kristoff,” K says, annoyed. “But do not call me that.”
“Any particular reason?” Douxie asks.
“It’s just…never felt right,” K says. Then he wrings his hands, his demeanor shifting. “As for my last name…well, this is gonna sound crazy, but I don't know my last name. I was found as a kid, when I was something like eight or nine years old. I don’t know exactly what age.”
He doesn’t like thinking about that time—though his memories are fuzzy around the event itself, he does remember the confusion and terror he felt waking up alone in a strange place, no idea of where he was, or how he got there, or even who he was.
“And before that?” Douxie asks.
“I don’t know,” K says. “I have no memories from before then. I don’t remember my birth name aside from the fact that it started with a ‘K’—” that’s how he got ‘Kristoff’, against his wishes “—or anything about my family or past…”
What little he remembers of then flashes through his head, an old ache igniting behind his sternum.
“They said I was found at the old train station,” K says. “No tracks in the snow, new precipitation…in the darkness and cold with the wind in the trees, a boy with no name, and no memories but these.”
The images are blurry, that old hospital…
“Rain against a window, sheets upon a bed. Terrifying nurses whispering overhead, “Call the child Kristoff, give the child a hat.” I don’t know a thing before that.”
And after that wasn’t much better. So little space, so little money, his stay was much shorter than it probably should’ve been. He’d ended up with nothing and no one and nowhere to go. He did eventually find himself at the orphanage, but before that, well…the time between the hospital and the orphanage was much too long for a child to have to endure. But endure he did.
“Traveling the back roads, sleeping in the woods. Taking what I needed, working when I could. Keeping up my courage, foolish as it seems. At night, all alone in my dreams.”
Huddled in the darkness, alone as much in his dreams as in the waking world.
Almost.
“In my dreams shadows call.”
Distorted voices from people beyond his field of vision, mixed-up syllables and words that he could make sense of if only he could get closer.
“There’s a light at the end of a hall.”
A grand hall, big and vaulted, the floor a rich carpet, the walls decorated in blurry swirls of gold. There’s someone waiting at the end for him. Is it the one talking?
“Then my dreams fade away…”
But he always walks forever, that hall getting longer and longer, and always wakes up before he can see who it is, before he can make sense of the words.
Somehow, he just knows that if he could reach the end, if he could finally see who stands there, who’s waiting for him, he’d have his answers. He can just feel it.
And because of that, he’s refused to give up.
“But I know it all will come back one day.
“I dream of a city beyond all compare. A faraway place, Paris…”
Comrade Bagdwella always said it was just because of his necklace, just because of how much research he’s done on the city over the years, trying to feel a connection, trying to figure out what his necklace could mean. But he’s certain that’s not it. At least, not all of it.
“A beautiful river, a bridge by a square, and I hear a voice whisper, “We’ll be together there, in Paris,” Paris…”
The only words he’s ever been able to decipher in these dreams, though he couldn’t tell you anything about the voice to save his life. In all his attempts to listen and remember, he can never quite grasp even an inkling of who might be saying it.
The sound of a light cough brings K back to reality, and his eyes zip to Douxie and Jim, who are standing there, watching him. He can’t decipher their expressions.
“You don't know what it’s like, not to know who you are, to have lived in the shadows and travelled this far,” K says. “I’ve seen flashes of fire, heard the echo of screams—”
These are what haunt his nightmares, the flipside to that hallway. These, and confusion and pain and this strange red light.
“—But I still have this faith in the truth of my dreams.”
He has to. Without that…without that, he’d truly be utterly lost and alone in this world. He’d have less than nothing. He’d be nothing.
“In my dreams, it’s all real, and my heart has so much to reveal. And my dreams seem to say, “Don't be afraid to go on, don’t give up hope, come what may,”…
“I know it all will come back one day.”
And perhaps the key to that is in Paris.
“So, can you help me or not?” he asks Douxie.
“Jim, the tickets,” Douxie hisses. Jim gives the dog one last pat before standing and pulling them from the depths of his coat to hand them over.
“What’s the plan here?” Jim asks, keeping his volume low.
“Just follow my lead,” Douxie says.
He takes the tickets and turns back to K. “You know, we sure would like to help you. In fact, funnily enough, we’re looking to head to Paris ourselves. And I’ve got three tickets—”
“Really?” K says, hopeful.
“Yes, but,” Douxie says, “the third is for him—” he motions toward the painting, toward the small boy sitting down in front next to his twin sister “—Tsarevitch Krel.”
K looks back at the painting, eyes catching on the boy in front. Tsarevitch Krel, huh?
He’s heard the rumors of the tsarevitch’s potential survival—who in Russia hasn’t?—but he’d never given the royal family or the prince much thought. Well, much thought beyond the fact that he quite likes the name, far more than ‘Kristoff’. He couldn’t exactly go around calling himself the same name as the lost heir to the throne, though.
“See, Jim and I have a plan to reunite Tsarevitch Krel with his twin sister and grandmother once we find him,” Douxie says. He slings an arm around K’s shoulders to start guiding him up the stairs. “And you, K, you resemble him quite a bit.”
“The dark eyes,” Jim says.
“The face shape,” Douxie says.
“The tsar’s smile,” Jim says.
“The tsarina’s complexion,” Douxie says.
“Even the dowager empress’s hands,” Jim says.
“And you’re the same age and the same physical type,” Douxie says.
“Are you saying that you think I am the lost tsarevitch?” K scoffs.
“All I’m saying,” Douxie says as they come to a stop before another painting, this one of only the twins, “is that I have seen thousands of men all over the country and not one of them has looked as much like the tsarevitch as you. Just look at the portrait!”
K scoffs again, shaking his head. “And here I thought I was crazy, but you’ve definitely got me beat.”
He turns to walk away, but Douxie circles around, blocking his path back down the stairs. “Come on, you don’t remember what happened to you.”
“And no one knows what happened to him,” Jim says.
“You’re looking for family in Paris,” Douxie says.
“And his only family is in Paris,” Jim says.
“And you did say that you know your birth name started with a ‘K’,” Douxie says, turning K back around, making sure he really looks at the portrait this time. “Have you ever thought about the possibility?”
“That I could be royalty?” Krel says. “I mean, it’s kind of hard to imagine yourself as the tsarevitch when you’re sleeping blanket-less and hungry on a damp floor…though, I suppose every lonely kid has wished at least once that they were someone so special…”
Douxie makes a show of checking his watch and then says, “Well, really wish we could help, but the third ticket is for Tsarevitch Krel, and we’ve gotta get going. Good luck.”
He then grabs Jim, and they start off back down the stairs, leaving K alone under the painting.
“Ok, what are you up to?” Jim asks as they descend.
“All he wants to do is go to Paris,” Douxie says. “Why give away a third of the reward money?”
“Douxie,” Jim says, his tone disapproving.
“I know it’s a little underhanded, but it’s far from the worst thing we’ve done,” Douxie says. “And it’s not any worse than lying to the empress.”
Jim’s not much a fan of that either. But he made a promise a long time ago to a lost little boy to look out for him no matter what, and he refuses to break it, even for a hairbrained scheme he finds deeply questionable at best.
“Please, Jim. You’ve played along this far, yeah? Just trust me,” Douxie says.
“I don’t like this,” Jim says. “But…I’ll trust you.”
“Thank you,” Douxie says.
“So, why are we walking away so soon then?” Jim asks.
“Patience,” Douxie says. “And walk a little slower.”
Still by the painting, now with Luug in his arms, K can’t help but look a little closer at the boy on the right, Tsarevitch Krel. He must admit, Douxie and Jim do have a point about the similarities.
But it’s the girl on the left that really gets him. She wears a dress to match the suit the boy wears, and though her physical features couldn’t be more different from the boy’s, he can see something there. They’re siblings, he’s sure of it. This has to be the sister, the tsarevitch’s twin.
Potentially, maybe…his twin…
His fingers go to his necklace, lightly running over the words and detailing, over where it’s supposed to attach to—
Its missing half.
Its missing half in Paris.
At the bottom of the stairs, before Jim can ask another question, Douxie holds up three fingers. “Three, two, one…”
“Douxie!”
Douxie shoots Jim a grin.
“Douxie, wait up!”
He turns to see K rushing down the steps.
“You need something?” Douxie asks.
“If I don’t remember who I am, then who’s to say I’m not the tsarevitch or whatever, right?” K says.
“Go on,” Douxie says, nodding along.
“And if I’m not Krel, then no doubt the sister and the empress will be able to tell right away, and it’s all just an honest mistake,” K says.
“Sounds plausible to me,” Douxie says.
“And,” Jim tacks on, “if you really are the tsarevitch, then you’ll finally know who you are and have your family back.”
“He’s right,” Douxie says. “Either way, it gets you to Paris.”
“Right,” K says. He sticks out a hand, which Douxie takes, and gives a far firmer shake than Douxie had expected. It actually kind of hurts. But that doesn’t matter! Because they’ve found their tsarevitch!
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announces to the empty room with a smile as K puts his coat on and grabs his bag, “may I present his royal highness, Tsarevitch Krel!”
All these big companies changing their logos a dozen of times for something that looks worse every time, while the real all-time GOAT found the winning formula on the first try and then even did a victory lap with it:
Nothing! Traffic cones have nothing to do with media players. However they do have to do with the students that original made VLC. The original students used to steal traffic cones when they got drunk together and had amassed a collection of them. So the traffic cone was basically their mascot
AND FOR FUCK’S SAKE, IT’S NOT “SIKE”; IT’S “PSYCH”. AS IN “I PSYCHED YOU OUT”; BECAUSE YOU MOMENTARILY MADE SOMEONE BELIEVE SOMETHING THAT WASN’T TRUE.
The affect vs effect thing is very useful! Until you learn that you can effect (to cause to occur; bring about; accomplish) an affect (feeling or emotion, OR outward expression of same; yes, this is two nouns!) because English is a garbage fire.
Years ago around 2019 to early 2020, I came up with this AU idea of Tronos having a kid that he had to raise while being a bounty hunter. I mainly created it cause I wasn't the biggest fan of how the series handled Tronos, specifically the wasted potential he had. During 2021 I even wrote a short story back when I used Amino. I've always wanted to rewrite it and see what others would think about the idea. So that's what I did and it came out longer than I expected
I wanna give a massive shout out to @acamaryseinteery for helping me with this story and just really being supportive on this au idea. She's actually writing her own fanfiction about HTTYD (specifically Eret) so make sure you give her work a read and show your support
Another day of bounty hunting, another's blood stained his claws and armor. Tronos stumbled his way towards his ship as he held his side, hissing in pain occasionally as he tried to keep pressure on his wound. He had gotten used to how violent the job could get, but he still didn't expect his target to have a hidden knife on him. Pulling it out and striking him in the side before he could finish him off and collecting his bounty
He finally made it to his ship, pressing a button to slowly open the cargo ramp. He made it a few steps before he fell to his knees as another sharp pain surged through his side. 'Dammit' He thought, trying to grip onto the wall to help hoist himself up. 'That bastard knew where to strike'. Slowly, he made his way through the metal corridor of the ship and towards his room, only stopping when he made it to where he kept his medkit. As he removed his hand from his wound and reached for it, he could see just how much blood there was. His blood
Finally, he made it to his room, almost stumbling over his bed. His room wasn't anything fancy, just a simple bed, desk, spot to keep his armor safe when it wasn't being used, and extra storage. Carefully he sat on the edge of his bed, trying to steady his breathing and force himself to stay awake as he opened the medkit and looked for anything that could help with the wound
After what felt like forever he finally found what he needed. Antiseptic, a cloth, bandages, a needle and thread. Carefully he started to take off his armor, first the helmet, then his chest plate. With that gone he could see just how nasty the wound is. It was deep but thankfully it looked like it stopped bleeding at the moment. Now for the worst part. He took the antiseptic, opened the bottle with his teeth, and carefully poured some of it onto the cloth. Once it was damp he held it over the wound, trying to build up the courage. Even after all these years, he was still a wuss when it came to this. He could almost hear Kaia still teasing him whenever she had to help him with his injuries...
Taking a deep breath, he counted down. 'One....two....three!" On three he pressed the cloth against his wound, and almost instantly he felt the stinging of the antiseptic. Almost like someone pushing a piece of hot iron against his wound. A scream of pain left his mouth, but he quickly put his hand over it to muffle the sound. Shit, was he too loud? What if she heard it? He didn't want her to see him like this. He tried to breathe through the pain as the stinging eventually stopped. After a few minutes, he carefully pulled the cloth away. Seeing some excess blood on it, though the wound thankfully looked clean
Now that the worst part was over, he tried to thread the needle for the stitches, though he was struggling to get the thread through the eye of it. How did Kaia make it look so easy? Finally, when he was able to do so. He began stitching his wound, trying to silence his grunts
By the third stitch, he heard something outside the door. The sound of lightning crackling and something scratching the floor made him sit up alert. His chest glowed as lightning sparked in his mouth, he swore if some bastard had managed to break into his ship he would fry them to a-
"Papa?" Spoke suddenly a small curious voice coming from behind the other room. As soon as Tronos heard the voice he immediately stopped his lightning. He carefully stood up, holding his side as he walked to the door and slowly opened it
Behind the door was looking up at him a pair of curious yellow reptile eyes on a small and adorable olive Voltarian whelp.
His daughter Nixa tilted her head curious "Papa, are you okay?"
Seeing her he tried to hide the pain on his face, doing his best to smile as he knelt to her level. "There's my little sparkling, did I wake you up?" She nodded and then reached out to him with a grabby motion, wanting him to lift her so she could hug him. Still keeping a hand over his wound, he used his other arm to pull her into a loving and gentle hug. "Sorry sweetheart, I didn't mean to wake you up" He whispered softly
She nuzzled him and looked at him "Papa, I'm hungry...." As soon as he heard that he could feel his heart ache. "Alright, I just need to change Nixa. But as soon as I'm done we'll get something to eat. Okay?" "Okay...." He could hear her tummy growl hungrily, making her whine. They didn't have a lot of food these days. Watching Nixa run off, he sighed as he went back to stitching up his wound
Yes, Tronos Madu had a child, and she was his sun, moon, and stars. To his kind becoming a bounty hunter was not the most desirable job, some even considered it dishonorable, but it was the only job he could get that paid well for them both and by this point, he didn't care what others thought. Every dime he made was put towards giving his daughter the best life he could give her, and on the days he couldn't afford food he would spend hours hunting her the best meat he could find, sometimes he would go days without eating if it meant Nixa could get a good meal. He never really was close to his family, he hasn't contacted them since Voltar fell and he knew his father would give him hell if he found out his firstborn was using the Madu name as a bounty hunter, so he was on his own
About nearly an hour later Nixa watched her father look through the pantry, willing to eat anything at this point. Tronos was trying to find anything he could use to make something to eat for them both, but all he could find was some lightning potatoes, clatter jaw meat, and other vegetables. "Well, good thing I got paid today, we'll have to go shopping tomorrow" Tronos muttered as he checked if the meat was still fresh
"Papa? Can we go eat outside? We didn't go out together in ever...." Nixa's voice piped up, she had managed to sneak up and climb up his back, letting her rest on his shoulders as she watched. Tronos couldn't help but smile when she did. "Of course, sorry we haven't been able to do it for a while. It's just I've been busy with my work, but I promise that we can go outside and watch the stars after dinner. Does that sound good?" Tronos offered as he got ready to chop the vegetables
"Okay, papa." She looked at the veggies and tilted her head "What are you making?" She asked curious, resting her head on top of his head. "It's something my mother used to make for me and my brothers when we didn't have much. She would cook the meat in this special sauce with the vegetables, boil and mash the potatoes. Then she would put it all in a pot with the meat on the bottom and the potatoes on top before she cooked it till it was crispy on top" He explained as he chopped the potatoes first
"Sounds like a long process....." She grumbled as she hugged her growling belly. "Trust me, when I was your age the wait was excruciating, but I promise that it will be worth it." He tried to reassure her as he briefly nuzzled her cheek. "Okay….." She then climbed down his back and hugged her plushie toys that she had left on the floor. Her mom made her for her but she never had a chance to meet her. But at least she had her dad
He felt his heart ache as he let out a sighed sigh. Seeing her hug the plushie toys he tried to distract himself with cooking, but his mind couldn't help but remind him what happened
5 years ago when Nixa was just an egg Tronos lost his mate and the spark of his core Kaia. That day it was just meant to be a simple scouting mission, but their home and village were ambushed by rogue Voltarians from the western tribe. As they tried to defend their home and put out the fires caused by their lightning, Kaia had raced home to protect their egg when she noticed her and Tronos's home was one of the many burning huts. Just as she had reached the egg she had been attacked by one of the rogue Voltarians, and in the scuffle managed to stab her in her core. Tronos soon caught up and seeing his mate on the floor, sent him into a fit of rage, and ended up killing the rogue with his bare hands. But it was too late, Kaia had soon died in his arms, leaving him to raise their child alone. He shouldn't have let her go alone. He should've followed her and maybe she would still be here. If he had been fast enough-
"........-Papa!" His daughter's voice finally got through him to be heard. Tronos finally got out of his train of thought as he shook his head and looked at Nixa. "Huh? S-Sorry sweetheart, I just got distracted." He tried to reassure her
"Can I help you? I am bored..." Nixa asked as she looked up at him. "Well, you wanna help cut the other vegetables? I can teach you the way my mother taught me." Tronos offered. She nodded eagerly and leaped over, landing on the kitchen counter
Chuckling, Tronos begun to show her how to chop the vegetables while he made sure she didn't accidentally hurt herself. "So, what did my little sparkling get up to while I was gone?"
"I was reading the planet logs on your data pad and I made your guns scary" Nixa explained as she tried to copy her dad. "Scary? Guns?" It took him a moment to realise what she ment, but when he did she gave her a stern expression. "Nixa. You know you shouldn't be playing with my weapons"
"I wasn't! I just drew on them" Nixa replied, not fully realizing what was wrong with trying to make her fathers wepons pretty. "That's still playing with them, you could've hurt yourself. They're not toys." He tried to explain to her. "Where did you put them?" Nixa grumbled and looked down before she replied. "In your bed."
He nodded before putting the knife down. "I'll be right back. Don't touch anything while I'm gone" He told her sternly before we walked to his room. She huffed and waited
When he made it to his room he saw his guns on the ground, and yep they didn't look scary anymore with the bright paint and stickers. Guess he didn't notice when he was trying not to bleed out. As he picked them up he stared at them for a good minute, this was one of the last weapons Kaia had made before...that's when he noticed on one of the guns he could see a drawing of him and Nixa in a heart, holding hands and smiling
Seeing that Tronos knew he didn't have the heart to clean them. Knowing his wife, she would've been laughing at the idea of their daughter trying to make the guns less scary, she properly would've encouraged Nixa for ideas on how to make the weapons she used to make look more appealing. In Kaia's mind, as long as the weapon or armor worked, she didn't care how it looked. He carefully put the guns back on the holders before walking back to the kitchen
After he came back he could see his daughter trying to stack the chopped veggies on top of each other like with blocks. "Nixa what in the name of Voltar are you doing?" Tronos asked as he was crossing his arms, though his amusement was clear on his face
"Potato tower" she responded innocently as she added another potato to her growing tower. He couldn't help but chuckle at her response before grabbing a pot from the pantry and filling it with water. "Well, you mind knocking that potato tower into the pot for me?"
She nods and began to disassemble the towerd, putting the chopped potatoes into the water. While the potatoes were boiling Tronos got to work on the meat, letting Nixa help season it, and add the other vegetablesand sauce. When the meat was fully cooked and the potatoes were mashed, he put it all in one pot and soon enough it was done
Nixa was pacing around her dad excited, eager to finally eat the deliciously smelling food. Her pellet were hyped because she has been secretly tasting the meat as an appetizers. "Easy there sparkling, it's gonna be hot, and you don't want me to drop it." He laughed as he begun plating the food, giving her the first dibs. "There, dinner is served"
"Finally!" She sat down excited and began to blow on the food so she can eat. "Remember, eat it slowly, you don't wanna end up sick like last time" Tronos plated his food and sat down beside her, watching to see her reaction. "But you got sick too from that food. That condiment was spoiled"
"Don't remind me, I couldn't even look at food without throwing up for days" He joked. She giggled at this and began to eat, making a pleased sound. "You like it? Was it worth the wait?" He smiled at her reaction "Yep!" She smiled as she happily went back to eating. "Well that's all that matters." With that he finally begun to eat with her, not realizing just how hungry he truely was
After dinner Tronos was just finishing up washing the plates, letting Nixa climb up his back. "Can I have cookies?" She asked innocently as she finally made it to his head. "Cookies? Nixa don't you think it's a little late to be having them?" He muttered as he put the plates down to dry. "Please please pleaseee!" She begged as she hugged his face. He tried to stay firm but as soon as he saw the puppy dog eyes he couldn't help but crack, he let out a heavy sigh. "Alright, but just one"
"Yaay!" With that Nixa quickly took one of the cookies they had from the pantry as Tronos watched with a smile. "You still wanna go outside and watch the stars? You can eat your cookie while we do" He asked amused. She nodded softly as she munched on the cookie. He kneeled down and took her into his arms, wincing as little as even with the stitches he was still sore, before heading outside. "It looks like it's gonna be a clear night, so we should see plenty of stars."
Once they found a good spot they sat down and stargazed. Nixa listened to her father telling her about different planets, stars, and where he's been. "-and that red spot right there." He said as he pointed to one of the stars. "That's where Voltar is." Nixa looked at the start for a moment before she asked. "Will I get to see Voltar someday?" Tronos paused when he heard that, trying to figure out what to reply with. "I....It's still not safe at the moment, but once it is, I promise that we'll be able to see Voltar again"
"Oh, ok Papa." Nixa muttered, she always wanted to see Voltar with her dad, but he would always tell her that it wasn't the right time. She saw her dad smile when he saw a shooting star. "You see that Nixa?" He said as he pointed to it. "Back home, it's said that when Voltarians pass on, they become a shooting star. And when you see one, it's a loved one saying hello"
"Oh, do you think that it was mommy?" Nixa asked innocently. His smile dropped a little when she said that, looking up at the stars again. "....yeah....I think it was...." at that moment he couldn't but help let the memories come back
Five years ago not too long after Kaia and Tronos got married, Kaia laid an egg into their nest with Tronos's support, and now she was trying to get some well earned rest. Tronos was at the moment watching the egg intently, like at any moment the egg would suddenly break if he looked away for even a moment
Kaia woke up from a nap and looked at her husband, smiling amused "Are you going to stare at the egg until it hatches? "He looked up at her, the first time he looked away from the egg since it was laid. "Huh? Oh uh just making sure the egg was alright" He admitted, a little embarrassed. "You should be resting anyway"
"I'm fine, you should stop staring at it. Else you will freak the baby out when it hatches." "I know, it's just....I've never thought I would actually be a father...." He admitted, gently reaching out to touch the egg. He could already feel the electricity flowing though it. Kaia smiled as she put her hand over his. "I never thought it too."
"It's just....what if I'm not a good father...." He muttered, "Then I guess I'll have to find someone that's just as handsome as you, but that might be impossible." Kaia joked. "Ouch, right though the core" He joked back, causing her to chuckle and layed back down. "Care to join me?"
Tronos smiled as he got into the nest and layed down beside Kaia, pulling her and the egg close to give them both a loving nuzzle. "So....have you thought of names yet?" He asked mid nuzzle. "I have an idea for one, what about you sparky?"
"Aside from Tronos Jr, I'm open to suggestions." He joked again, causing Kaia to roll her eyes. "Very orignal. If we're really desperate we might use it." She playfully booped his snout while sticking out her tongue playfully. "But I was thinking if it's a girl...we should name her Nixa..."
"Nixa?" Tronos tilts his head to the side curious. Kaia nodded softly but didn't say anything. He smiled as he pulled her closer to him, letting their sparks touch. Her core zapped with his, sending through them a warm love feeling. "I think it's a perfect name, and I know that there gonna be the luckiest Voltarian in all of Voltar to have a mother like you"
"And a father, like you." She pecked him a kiss on the lips, he couldn't help but purr softly went he did, keeping her close to him. He felt more at ease knowing that he'll always have Kaia...
Tronos didn't notice Nixa shaking him gently, trying to fight back the tears that were appearing in the corners of his eyes. It wasn't until he heard her voice when he finally did
"Papa? Why are you sad, papa?" She asked softly, her little green face twisting into sad worry. He shook his head to snap out of his thoughts as he looked at her, wiping the tears away before he held her close. "Sorry sparking, I guess I just still miss your mother..."
"Oh...." Nixa looked down but tried to smile for him. "I miss her too... Maybe we can miss her together? That way neither of us is alone." She proposed, looking up at him, stretching her arms out to give him a hug
He felt himself start to tear up again but managed to hold himself together for her, pulling her close into a tight but loving hug. "Yeah....we can remember her together."
rewatched the entirety of tales of arcadia, 3 series and .... the movie..
and and i came across and idea somewhere i forgot where, of combining the httyd + Tao universes!
to be clear, i don't mean in a crossover where to franchises meet but the lore being combined into one universe ahah, so events in httyd still happened then idk years and years later toothless the king of dragons is still alive but ancient and has met the champion of arcadia, the trollhunter Jim!
It's been well, so long since his dragons have interacted with humans, so it was quite surprising to see one enter his secret home,
don't have much story or lore in it yet, it is just a fun thought for now, having toothless meet new ppl that remind him of his old friends
sometimes they resemble them a lil too much..
did i mention he talks here now? I dubious choice but idk, i think it would be fun
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