this may be a controversial opinion but I would've preferred Greyback to have killed Remus then Dolohov

In This Heart of Mine (Crosshair x Fem Reader) Oneshot

Words: 2336 Warning: Grief - Implied Character Death A/N - Not proof read also her/she pronouns used Description: Crosshair remembers how he lost his Runi. 

If there was one thing Crosshair hated about the empire. It was how they look his love away. Despite it being months since the Republic and Jedi Order had fallen, it still hurt him to remember it, he still hadn't dealt with the grief, the brokenness he so often felt. Despite his best efforts to ignore it, it always caught up with him during the quiet moments. Even now he could swear he heard (Y/N)'s voice, so clear as if she was standing right beside him. Crosshair guessed in a way she was, she was still with him if not physically then in his heart, closer than ever. 

"Wish you were here (Y/N)" whispered Crosshair, his barracks empty, his brothers having left him behind days after he lost (Y/N). Days after his life had been ripped to shreds. They had yet to come back for him, despite the obvious he still hoped they would, he hoped they hadn't given up on him, not now when he still needed them so much. His new squad members weren't his favorite people, if he was honest he hated them, to him it felt like they were replacing his brothers, or at least the empire was. They took away his (Y/N), now they were trying to replace his brothers with natural born soldiers, people he hoped would just leave him be. 

Crosshair didn't know the name of his new squad members. He didn't bother trying to remember them, even more so when comments had been made about how miserable he was, how they could do a better job just because they were natural born and he was a clone. Every time they were sent on an assignment he found himself hoping they didn't come back, or if they did they wouldn't return to the barracks. He wanted his brothers, if he couldn't have that, then he'd rather be left alone to grieve and remember the better times of the past. Times that he wished he could go back to now. If only so he could tell (Y/N) he loved her one more time. Even now he could still remember how he had lost her. 

Flashback 

The snowy terrain of Kaller was a welcome sight compared to the normal battlefields. Although the thick black smoke bellowing towards the grey filled sky, was a good give away as to where the battlefield actually was. Tech had made a comment about needing to reach General Depa Billada and her Padawan Caleb Dume soon. Wrecker mentioning something about not being able to wait to get his hands on the droids and destroy something, it was clear the oldest of the special unit was getting impatient, perhaps more so than he was on the Marauder heading over to assist. Echo and Hunter continued on with their conversation, although both keeping an eye out for any battle droid that was roaming the area or stragglers from the battle to have already taken place in the area they walked quietly through. 

Crosshair on the other hand was towards the back of the small group, walking just behind (Y/N), his Jedi General and lover. His normal smirk placed upon his lips, although shielded from everyone else by his helmet. The sniper not being able to help but look over her, to admire her beauty, even when she was determined to help those she considered friends. Her lightsabers attached to her belt, ready for when she needed them, a sure thing considering they were once again heading into the battlefield. At their current position at the top of some snow covered hills, they were in the calm before the storm. 

Also on the large steep hill was Caleb Dume, he seemed hopeful yet confused to see them, as if he was expecting more. Although he seemed pleased even reassured to see one of those sent as reinforcements was (Y/N) (Y/L/N), one of the many Jedi Knights, although one whom was rather well known to the republic at this point. Her power alone made her famous. Although she had also become known for her skills in battle since the wars had began just over three years prior. 

What would have been an ordinary reinforcements mission had quickly gone sideways. Crosshair could remember (Y/N) leading Hunter, Echo, Tech and Wrecker into the fight against the battle droids, blue lightsaber at the read. The young Padawan having returned to his master to keep them updated on what was going on. He had watched as they took out the enemy forces, how Wrecker was having the time of his life, even how Tech made a comment or two as if greeting an old friend. Even how Echo effortless took out the battle droids around him. Hunter using his knife and blaster as he always did, where as (Y/N) had effortlessly deflected laser bolts and helped destroy the tanks and spider droids. Crosshair had done his normal task and covering for those in the thick of it from his lofty perch. Shooting any and all droids who got to close to those he cared for and loved. 

Yet it was after that when everything went wrong. (Y/N) had given them orders to take out what remained of the droids nearby, to help with the counter attack, agreeing to allow the Caleb to go with them. Only when they were a distance away did they all receive an order, especially from the Chancellor. Execute Order 66. Caleb sensing something turned back, seeing his master fighting against the clones surrounding her, already too many of them for her to handle alone, he was about to go back when he heard her yelling for him to run. Although he had been frozen to the spot. Only moving when (Y/N) grabbed hold of his arm and running, her other hand hold the side of her neck. 

Crosshair had wished he didn't have enhanced sight that day. What he saw still haunted him. (Y/N) had appeared in shock, her eyes wide, one of her lightsabers missing. Yet the hand holding the left side of her neck, slowly turn crimson, as a trail of blood was left in her wake. Almost instantly Crosshair had felt fear, hate even. Yet none the less listened to the orders given by Hunter. Wrecker was stall the regs if any came searching for (Y/N) and the Padawan, Echo and Tech were sent to find out what was going on and why the regs and turned so suddenly? Why they fired on their commanding Jedi? Where as Crosshair was set to go with Hunter to find both (Y/N) and Caleb. 

As order Crosshair veered off to follow the tail of crimson staining the snow. Finding himself getting more anxious as he continued to follow it, dreading what he would find at the end. His worst fears being met when he come to the end of the trail of blood. Finding (Y/N), lent against a tree, more pale than the snow she sat upon. Her hand still holding on to the wound to her neck, as if to stem the bleeding or hide it from others. Fear shone so brightly in her eyes, yet so did her sadness and pain. 

Without a second thought Crosshair ran to her side, taking off his helmet as he did so. Ignoring the voice in his head yelling the same four words over and over again. Instead focusing on his lover. The moment he reached her, he reached for her hand, taking hold of it in a gentle grip, feeling as she weakly squeezed his hand in return, as if to reassure him he was still alive, all be it just. She still had some strength left. Within seconds Crosshair had pulled her into his lap, fighting back his tears, even more so when gently moved her bloody hand from her neck, seeing just how back to wound was. Instantly he knew there was nothing he could do to help her. Only make her comfortable in her final moments. Yet still he hoped his words would encourage her to fight a little longer, until help arrived at least. 

"Don't you give up on me Mesh'la. Just hold on" quietly spoke Crosshair, his words seeming so loud in the quiet area. He soon placed his own hand over her neck wound, taking hold of her hands in the other. Only now when looking over her, did he see she had been hit more than just once. Another scorch mark on her lower leg, just beneath the knee and a third on her right shoulder. "Remember the plans we made for when the war was over. Finding a plot of land somewhere, somewhere quiet and off grid, somewhere away from all the chaos and hassle" started the silver haired sniper, recalling the many conversations he had with her about leaving everything behind when the war was finally over. Taking his brothers with them, only telling a few trusted ones where they were going. They had planned a life together. 

"I love you" whispered (Y/N) in response, lying against him. Her back against his chest, his long legs either side of her. Tears soon come to her eyes, as the inevitability hit her, she was going to die. Just like the other Jedi who had already fallen. Yet she had something they didn't, her sniper at her side and the knowledge of knowing none of her unit had betrayed her. "Promise me, you'll go on, you'll keep living" choked (Y/N), as she began to cough up her own blood, her end fast approach, even Crosshair knew it, he could feel her hands growing colder and heaver as her body went numb. 

"No" responded Crosshair, his voice as quiet as hers, as he fought the losing battle with his tears and heartbreak. "There's no living without you" added the sniper, showing how much he loved her, how much she meant to him. "I love you Cyar'ika, please just stay with me"  begged Crosshair. Tears breaking through his barrier as her hand fell from his, as she let out her final waspy breaths. All Crosshair could do was hold on to her tightly, hugging her, protecting her as he struggled to see anything past the blurriness of his tears. A strangled yell ripping from his throat moments later. "Come back (Y/N), Please come back. I love you, please" cried Crosshair, hugging her as tightly as he could, not wanting to let her go. Not wanting to do anything other than be there with her. 

Hunter had found him moment later, having heard his strangled yell. He lent down besides the pair, closing (Y/N)'s dull (E/C) eyes for the last time. Placing a hand on his brother's shoulder moments later, trying to be strong for his grieving young brother, knowing his heart had broken beyond repair. He couldn't bring himself to say anything to Crosshair, nor did he protest when Crosshair reached for her remaining lightsaber, tinted crimson with blood. 

End of Flashback 

Crosshair soon shifted, reaching for the box on the small shelf behind his pillow. With a heavy sigh he opened the box, (Y/N)'s lightsaber still inside. He'd made a point of preserving it, even more so when it was all he had left of her now. He cleaned it whenever he cleaned his rifle, it being part of his routine. If he was feeling down before a mission, he'd take the lightsaber with him, so how it always helped to make him feel a little better. Crosshair liked to believe (Y/N) was with him when he had the lightsaber. 

"I'll make the galaxy a better place (Y/N). I'll make sure they don't forget you" whispered Crosshair, knowing his choice to stay with the empire, wasn't one he made easily. It was difficult, yet his brothers had helped with his choice. They had saved him when Kamino was destroyed, yet the distrust had been obvious. "One day I'll avenge you my runi" promised Crosshair, recalling when he had retrieved the (Y/N)'s lightsaber from his old barracks in Tipoca city, his determination had kicked in to save it. Hunter had put it in his pack, returning it once they reached the landing pad. Yet the real and only reason Crosshair had remained with the empire was revenge, they took his runi away from him, took his home away, turned his brothers against him and tried to kill him. His only motivation was to ensure the empire would fall, even if doing so cost him his life. 

"We'll see each other again (Y/N). Reunited when its all over" whispered Crosshair, as he left his barracks on board the star destroyer he'd been assigned to. Determined to remind the oblivious imperials of what they had helped take away and destroy. Determined to do what he thought was right, in the name of his lost love. Determined to see through what he hoped would be his redemption, or at least that's what he believed he was doing by helping Rex located their brothers still within the empire, Wolffe, Cody, Howzer even Dogma, as well as passing on information regarding future plans for the remaining clones, besides being fazed out of service. 

"In this heart of mine. You'll live for a lifetime" uttered Crosshair, his attention being drawn to the photo he held on to now. One taken during the war, it was clear it was during one of the many assignments. (Y/N) held on to her blue lightsabers, he was just behind her, his rifle one her shoulder as he aimed at something in his sights. (Y/N) actually looked like she was covering him while he destroyed something in the far distance. With that Crosshair returning his focus to the self given mission of bringing the empire down, no matter the cost. 

Translation: Runi = Soul

12:45 AM | Sirius Black x Reader

Warnings: major character death, angst 

Time/Era: Marauders era, Age 20 (and a smidge of 18)

Word Count:  2.8k 

Summary: Sirius will never forget that one night when he looked at the clock and saw 12:45 am. 

Request: yo, can I request a story where Sirius is dating Lily’s sister (twin/younger) and he realizes he likes her and they start dating and eventually get married and they’re both in the order but she dies on a mission and at the funeral Lily tells Sirius that she was expecting? Wow I’m kinda evil.

A/N: Thank you for the request and patience! Enjoy!

masterlist | sirius black playlist | read on ao3

“Evans!” James yelled, running towards Y/N. Y/N sighed, holding her books tightly to her chest and turning around. His Gryffindor tie flew across his chest as he came to a sudden stop. 

“I’m not Lily, Potter. Honestly, if you’re going to date my twin you need to be able to tell us apart.” 

James throws his head back with a loud laugh before shaking his head. “No, no, I know you’re not Lily. I just needed to talk to you,” He leans his hands on his knees as he struggles to catch his breath. “It’s insulting you think I can’t tell you apart. No offense, Y/N, but you don’t have the same….oopla that Lily has.” 

“Oopla? What is oopla?” Y/N asks, amused. Even after seven years of being friends with James, she never quite got over some of his strange analogies. 

“Something Lily has, don’t you listen?” James straightens his back and twists, cracking his spine. “It’s not that you don’t have oopla, it’s just different oopla.” 

Y/N shakes her head. “You know what, I don’t even want to know. Why do you need to talk to me?” 

“Talk to you? Why do I need to-” A lightbulb goes off in James’ head. “Oh! I know why I need to talk to you! Sirius was looking for you. Something about after graduation plans or something. I’m not quite sure, I didn’t ask.” 

“Do you know where he is?” 

“That’s another thing I don’t know,” A goofy grin filled his features as he spoke. 

“You don’t make for a very good owl, Jamesy.”

“Good thing I’m not an owl then,” James said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Do you know where Lily is?” 

“No clue, you would know better than me seeing as you have a map and all,” Y/N’s grin matched James’ and she started to walk down the hall. 

“Don’t you have twin telepathy or something?! Just use that and tell me where she is!” 

“Bye, Potter!” Y/N called over her shoulder while walking towards McGonagall’s office. She remembered vaguely that Sirius had a career counseling session with her today, so she figured that the small chance of bumping into him there would be worth her while. 

Y/N pattered across the floor as quickly as possible without running. Thoughts swirled in her mind about what Sirius may need her for; they weren’t the closest of friends, nothing like him and the other marauders, but recently their relationship has grown rather flirty. Her stomach fumbled over itself as she thought of Sirius, but her feet only sped up towards the classroom. As Y/N rounded the corner, Sirius walked out of his meeting with his pearly white smile blinding all who could see it. 

“Oh, just the lady I’ve been looking for! Hello, darling,” Sirius said, walking down the hall with various papers clutched in his fingers. 

“Hello, Sirius. Career meeting?” Y/N asks with a subtle gesture to the papers. He waved the papers in the air with a dramatic flourish. Each paper held some grand title about being an Auror and going to the Auror Academy. 

“Good! Apparently Dumbledore put in a good word for me, so the Order is recruiting me!” Sirius seemed to bounce on his heels, the rubber souls of his shoes squeaking on the wooden floors. 

“I’m so happy for you! Oh my god! Congratulations!!!” 

The grin on his face grew exponentially, “You know what would make my day even better?” 

Y/N hummed. 

“If you snuck into Hogsmede for a drink with me,” Sirius leans in to whisper in her ear. “Unless you’re too scared, of course.” 

Y/N sucked in a harsh breath through her nose in an attempt not to focus on his hair tickling her cheek, or how his lips almost brushed her ear. She cleared her throat and nodded. 

“Not scared if you’re not, I suppose,” Y/N croaked. “I’ve done it, like, a million times.” 

Sirius pulled his head away, making Y/N yearn for the smell of his shampoo. “I can think of one time, and you were latched onto my wrist the entire time, rambling about how we could get expelled for skipping class.” 

A harsh red stained Y/N’s chest, cheeks, and ears, which only made Sirius’ smirk grow. 

“I was a different person then,” Y/N countered lamely. 

“Yeah? That was four months ago, love.” Sirius’ hands worked on his papers, folding them four times before shoving them into the pockets of his skinny jeans. Y/N’s eyes followed his teasing fingers, her gaze accidentally lingering on his pants. “Eyes up here, Y/N.” 

The boy made a small tsk noise, wrapped his arm around Y/N’s shoulders, and his hips swayed slightly as he started leading Y/N to the entrance to the Honeyduke’s cellar. His fingers found the bottom of her hair and started twirling it in and out of his middle and pointer fingers as if it were a cigarette. 

“I’m a different person than I was 4 months ago, aren’t you?” Y/N hesitantly snaked her arm under his leather jacket and wrapped around his waist. This was definitely further than they had ever gone in terms of flirting, and Y/N couldn’t wait for more. 

“Perfect four months ago, and perfect now.” Sirius laughed playfully placing a big kiss on Y/N’s temple. “I’m just taking the piss, love.” He turned to the statue blocking the tunnel and said the secret password. “Ladies first, darling.” 

Y/N hesitantly walked into the dark tunnel and cast a simple lumos charm; the damp pathway illuminated in front of the two teens before twisting into the darkness. Sirius returned to his spot next to Y/N and began to lead her down the path. 

“So, I was wondering,” Sirius began, kicking a rock into the wall. Y/N noticed this was a habit of his. “We’ve been friends for a long time,” 

Y/N snuggled into his side, the warm cotton of the inside of his leather jacket brushing her soft skin. 

“And we’re graduating soon…” Sirius let his voice trail before pulling lightly on Y/N’s hair so she would meet his gaze. “And I was wondering if you wanted to spend some special one on one time with me after we graduate?” 

“Special one on one time? Like,” Y/N took a deep breath and took a leap into the unknown. “Hooking up? Is that what you mean?” 

Sirius chuckled lightly, “Not exactly, but I guess that would be a part of it,” Sirius’s cheeky smile was illuminated by the light of Y/N’s wand. “I mean becoming official. I know there’s something between us, and I know you feel the same way, so it makes sense.”

“So, you’re asking me to be your girlfriend?” 

“Precisely. Will you be my girlfriend?” Sirius stopped walking and looked at the girl under his arm. She smiled happily and lightly punched his stomach. 

“I can’t believe you asked me out in the middle of a dark tunnel!” She laughed happily and brought her arms up to his neck to hug him. 

“Hey! I thought it was a good place! Is that a yes, babygirl?”  

“Yes, you idiot, I’ll go out with you!” 

~

Sirius and Y/N’s relationship blossomed quickly after the tunnel; after graduation, they moved into a small flat right in the middle of London’s hustle and bustle. Sirius loved to go out and explore every inch of the city with his girl, which usually resulted in a lot of adventures and long nights. During these times, the couple really took the time to grow their relationship and become closer as a pair. 

Sirius proposed to Y/N in the middle of an ice skating rink on December 13th, 1978. It was perfect; the snow was floating down, gracefully sticking to Sirius’ hair and eyelashes, soft Christmas music was playing in the background and the entire atmosphere of the event was magical. It was a rather simple proposal, but it was more than enough for Y/N. The couple then had a stunning double Summer wedding with the Potters. 

Sirius did amazing in the Order, which Y/N later found out all the marauders had joined. Y/N grew used to Sirius being gone during the nights and coming back injured; this was something she would never wish on her worst enemy. The anxiety-ridden nights and the unbearably silent flat took a toll on Y/N’s mental health. The only thing that got her through these was her twin sister, who was in the same situation. 

The two girls often spent these lonely nights together in attempts to share the burden. The two waited into the early morning nights for something, anything, to ease their tired minds and let them know their boys were safe. Usually, one would send a patronus message or Remus would reach out with cryptic plans and whereabouts. Still, this didn’t completely resolve the paranoia in their minds. 

Sirius and James noticed this early on in their new careers. Sirius suggested they invite the two to join the Order, as you didn’t need to be an Auror to join. But, James disagreed with this idea because Lily was his world and he didn’t want her to get hurt. Without Lily, there was no James and he couldn’t risk losing her. Sirius countered that he felt that way about Y/N too, but keeping the two women in the dark was just harming their relationships and causing a mental decline in all four. It took some convincing, but James finally agreed. Thus, Lily and Y/N joined the Order. 

The two were brilliant additions to the group; both were extremely talented witches and they were beyond smart. They quickly grew to be vital members and went on increasingly more dangerous missions as time went on. The two were an unstoppable pair, and their near-identical looks only proved to be an advantage. That was until Lily got hurt. 

Lily and Y/N were on a mission to stop a group of death eaters from invading a small muggle village just outside of Cardiff. Lily got caught between the crossfire of two wizards and had a huge chunk of flesh taken out of her leg. Y/N had to make an emergency backup call and the two were apperated back to headquarters. That’s when James and Lily decided as a couple that Lily was not going to go on any more missions. 

Y/N, however, only increased the amounts of missions she went on. Specifically, she was after one person in particular.

“I don’t care, Y/N, you can’t go,” Sirius pleaded angrily from the couch. “You can’t go on a mission every day of the week. Just one night, love. Stay with me for one night.” Sirius stood and walked to Y/N, wrapping his arms around her waist and placing a kiss on her forehead. 

“Babe, I am so close to capturing Bellatrix and putting her in Azkaban. Please, I have to go.” Against her better judgment, Y/N placed her head on his chest. She wanted nothing more than to curl up in her husband’s arms and let his soft voice lure her cramped body to sleep. Y/N noticed she seemed to be more fatigued lately, but she placed blame on her heavy work schedule.

 “I need you here, with me, baby. Between your schedule and mine, I barely see you. I miss you.” Sirius’ hands massaged her hips as they talked, all anger and annoyance disappearing from his voice. 

“How about this, we both take the next two or three days off and lounge around here together.” Y/N pulled away from Sirius’ warm, inviting body and began to gather her things. “Please try to get some sleep tonight, I’ll be home by dawn.” 

“I promise, my dear. I love you so much.” 

A ghost of a smile played on Y/N’s lips. “I love you more.” 

~

Sirius was awoken by James’ magnificent stag patronus entering the flat to find him. Rubbing his eyes and sitting up, unable to distinguish what words James’ voice was repeating. Sirius looked at the clock: 12:45 am.

“Can you repeat that?” Sirius’ voice was gruff with sleep.

“Pads, there’s been an accident. You need to get to headquarters immediately, it doesn’t look good. We need you to make some calls.” James’ voice was filled with more panic than Sirius had ever heard in his life, and there was the faint sound of a woman crying in the background. The patronus disappeared as Sirius jumped up and magically changed into some clothes. 

“Thank merlin you’re here,” James pulled Sirius’ arm into the next room once he appeared. He had blood splattered on his face. 

Upon entering the room, everything started to fade. Y/N was laid on the floor, a large gash in her shoulder and head, with healers all around her preforming different spells and CPR.  To her left sat Lily, her fingers coated in the red substance and gripping Y/N’s cold hand. She was crying, more like sobbing, while she watched the healers work on her sister. Sirius didn’t know whether he wanted to cry, puke or faint. All three, his body screamed.

 On the outside, no emotion covered Sirius’ face and he stood frozen near the door. He felt as if he was watching the situation happen from outside his body, almost like he was playing a video game or watching a movie. 

“She’s not going to make it!” One of the healers yelled, preforming compressions on her chest. The healer to his right, who was working on the head gash, cursed loudly and punched the floor. 

“She’s going to make it, god damn it! I’ll be damned if she doesn’t!” 

James nudged Sirius with his elbow, and his soul felt as though it returned to his body. Jumping to her side, he grabbed Y/N’s hand and squeezed. 

“Y/N, I love you so much,” Sirius said through his suffering. 

Her gorgeous green eyes that were focused on Lily rolled to see him and her lips mouthed, “I love you too, Sirius.” 

Sirius swore a smile ghosted her lips as her eyes closed and a final gasp exited her lips. 

~

Sirius stood in front Y/N’s grave in a slightly wrinkled black suit.

 The funeral service had been beautiful; all of Y/N’s friends, family, and casual acquaintances had been in attendance. Her close friends spoke of her adventures and funny stories, her family spoke of her character and strong will, and her professors spoke of her intelligence and quick wit. It didn’t click for Sirius that she was really gone until Minerva McGonagall had asked him how he was holding up, and if there was anything she could do to help. Sirius had responded that no, there was nothing she could do and that he was currently staying at the Potters’ for company. 

Sirius looked at the grave in front of him; it was littered with flowers, chocolate, and everything in between. He looked to his side and found Lily, staring down at Y/N next to him. Her eyes were red and bloodshot, and her nose was rubbed raw. 

“I could have saved her, you know. I was trying to talk her out of going. I should have tried harder.” Sirius mumbled, his voice cracking every other word. 

“This isn’t your fault, Sirius. You couldn’t have done anything,” Lily sniffled. She had no tears left, but if she did, she would be crying. 

Sirius takes in a big gulp of air and stares down at the grave in silence. 

“This might not be the right time,” Lily took a deep breath and looked at her friend. His eyes were dry and his nose wasn’t red, but Lily knew how hard he cries at night when he thought James and Lily were asleep. “But you need to know.” 

“Need to know what?” 

Lily paused for a moment before reaching in her bag and pulling something out. 

“When James went to your flat to grab your clothes, um, he found this in the bathroom.” 

Sirius reaches out his hand for Lily to hand him the mysterious object. 

It was a muggle pregnancy test. A positive muggle pregnancy test.  ~~~

General Taglist: @petalevans @modern-m-a-g-i-c​ Harry Potter x Reader Taglist: @strangerpilot011 join my taglist!

Sirius x Reader - More To You

sirius black x slytherin!reader?? where she prides being a slytherin but doesnt support voldemort. something where sirius mightve judged her way too early because shes wearing a green tie. enemies to lovers? 😳 bonus points if she hates her parents too.. thanks luv 💝

You were sick of those stupid Gryffindors and their stupid pranks. All weak you had been the victim of hexes, dungbombs, and even a shitty play during a quidditch game. That bastard, Potter, was a seeker! Why had he felt the need to ram into you, sending you spiraling towards the ground? And for what? Nothing! You had never interacted with the four mischievous boys yet they wanted to make your life a living hell. Miserable gits.

It was today that you hit your limit. You were tired and admittedly paranoid. You packed up your bag after some light reading during lunch and slid off of the bench, saying goodbye to your fellow Slytherins. You had nearly gotten past the doors of the Great Hall when you heard a voice you wished you didn’t recognize. You turned your head however, but found you deeply regretted it when a goblet of Pumpkin Juice was tossed into your face. You sputtered and shuttered as it dripped from your hair, staining your robes and leaving you feeling sticky. 

A chorus of laughter erupted from the students of all houses but the loudest was the laughter of the marauders. Why did they find such enjoyment in making your life miserable? You wanted to scream, ask them why, make them feel miserable. Instead, your bottom lip began to quiver and tears began to leak past your closed eyelids. You used the sleeve of your robes to wipe the pumpkin juice from your eyes but it seemed the tears were only getting started. 

You were too embarrassed to say anything. Instead you sent a glare to Sirius Black as he stood in you, empty goblet dripping as McGonagall rose from her seat, speeding down the isle to deal her punishment to the boys she sometimes wished weren’t in her house. Without a word you sped out of the Great Hall, still dripping pumpkin juice all the way to the dungeons where you shed yourself of your soiled robes and uniform, letting the steady stream of water from the shower mix with your tears. 

You were tired of those boys and you were tired of feeling miserable because you weren’t in their house. Sirius Black seemed to be the worst of them, He was always heading the group when it came to pranking you. Bullying was more accurate, though. You didn’t go to dinner that day, you didn’t even finish out your classes. You were too embarrassed. You stayed in your dorm, head buried underneath your sheets as you sniffled to yourself. You could take a joke but this had become far more than a joke and you weren’t invincible. 

Sirius figured you would have at least gone to potions. He sat fidgeting in his seat, completely ignoring Slughorn as he went on and on about Lily Evans and how she had made the potion perfeclty, as always. He laughed knowing Lily hated the attention. James ate it up though, his girlfriend was the smartest there was, well next to Sirius of course. He was a bit of  genius. He had the idea to toss pumpkin juice in your face. 

It had seemed worth it, even if he lost fiftty house points. Anything to make a Slytherin upset. They were miserable kids, the whole lot of them and he didn’t feel bad. At least, that’s what he told himself. It turned out he wasn’t feeling very proud of himself by the time dinner rolled around. You hadn’t gone to anymore of your classes it seemed and you weren’t seated next to your friends. You got to know someone’s schedule when you were busy trying to prank them. 

But McGonagall had pointed out something to him. What he had done was just plain mean. She had lectured him in her office, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. “You made the poor dear cry, what has she done to you? Correct me if I am wrong, but you two aren’t acquainted? I see no reason for your actions towards Y/L/N,” 

You were a slytherin. That was the reason. You were a stuck up pureblood who had everything handed to you on a silver spoon. You could do no wrong. Probably. He actually wasn’t sure. It was true that Sirius didn’t know you. He wasn’t proud of making you cry, however. He was expecting anger. 

A week passed by and he hadn’t seen you once. It was good, he told himself. He didn’t want to see your bratty face anyways. He was going to go spend time with the Potters during Christmas but he had a few late assignments he needed to catch up on before leaving school. James and Remus had promised to see him Christmas Eve. He was walking down the empty corridors and he caught a glimpse of you turning the corner. 

What were you doing here?

He followed, hot on your heels as you sped up after sneaking a glance behind you. “P-please leave me alone Black! I’m just trying to go to the library,” You pleaded as you kept up with your swift pace. 

“I’m not going to do anything, just cool it Y/L/N,” He said, his legs long enough to catch up to you even as you refused to slow down.

But he found himself three steps ahead of you when you paused abruptly. “Do you even know my name?” You seethed. 

“Uhhh,” 

“Of course not! You make my life hell, you embarrass me in front of everyone, you treat me like I am some monster and you don’t even know my name Sirius!” You finally snapped. “So please, for Merlin’s sake, leave me alone!” You pleaded as his jaw dropped. 

“Wait!” He hollered after you as you began walking again. His hand closed around your shoulder and you jumped at the contact, taking a long step back to put distance between yourselves. “Tell me your name then,” 

“What does it even matter?” 

“You’re right, I’ve made your life hell and I don’t even know you,” Sirius shrugged. “I didn’t mean to make you cry the other day, I’m sorry for that,” 

“No, you aren’t sorry, you are just upset you lost house points.” You scoffed, staring at the ground but not running away just yet. You were curious as to what he had to say even if your heart was pounding in alarm. You were positive you were about to be a part of another joke but there was no one around to witness it. Surely he wouldn’t be so cruel with no audience. 

“I did feel bad, not just because of the house points. Minnie really chewed me out for what I did to you,” 

“Minnie?” You asked in confusion.

“Um, McGonagall,” He chuckled with mild embarrassment. 

“Good...” You muttered, shuffling your feet. “Now if that’s all you wanted to say I am going to leave now. It’s great that you wanted to clear your conscience and all but I don’t really forgive you,” 

“One more thing,” He said, arm shooting out to grab your shoulder again but a glare from you had him dropping it quickly. “What are you doing here during christmas?” 

You let out a mirthless laugh. “Beats being home. Believe it or not, I’d rather you throw pumpkin juice in my face every day rather than go home to them,” 

Sirius could understand the feeling. He hadn’t stopped to consider that you would. “I see we both hate our parents,” 

You nodded, eyes finally meeting his. You had a sadness there that he found disturbed him more than anything. “You can only take so much of their shit before you stop wanting to come around. I may be a slytherin, Sirius, but I am a good person. I may be a Y/L/N, but I don’t agree with them and I never want to be a death eater. I may not be a gryffindor but that doesn’t mean I am worth less. You are a bully and I am tired of being judged and messed with,” You spoke honestly and Sirius felt sick to his stomach. “So please, just leave me alone,” 

It wasn’t often he felt guilt for what he did but right now he couldn’t have felt worse. He really didn’t know you. He hadn’t even tried. Because he was angry at his family and the world he had taken it out on you without a second thought. “I’m sorry,” He said lamely as you headed off to the library. He was positive you heard him but you just sighed and shook your head. He knew that wouldn’t be enough. 

Sirius realized he should stop burning bridges before he had the chance to cross them. There was much more to you than he realized and now he was sure you would never forgive him. 

Treat Your S(h)elf: The Silence of the Girls by Pat Barker

We’re going to survive - our songs, our stories. They’ll never be able to forget us. Decades after the last man who fought at Troy is dead, their sons will remember the songs their Trojan mothers sang to them. We’ll be in their dreams - and in their worst nightmares too.

- Pat Barker, The Silence of the Girls

“It’s always hard on women, when a city falls.” Briseis, former princess of the Trojan city of Lyrnessus, has been Achilles’s slave for several months when someone she knew in her old life says these words. From the ancient world to our modern world there is this ugly and unspoken line of rape as a weapon of war. History is replete with examples. In the 20th-century where Nazis raped Jewish women despite soldiers' concerns with "race defilement" and raped countless women in their path as they invaded the Soviet Union and then in Berlin 1945 Russians in turn went on a brutal raping spree to punish the Germans. In the bloody Balkan wars in the 1990s, Serbian forces tortured and summarily executed scores of Muslims and Croats. In the Iraq war and the many conflicts in Africa in the 21st Century, rape is systemically used to subdue a defeated enemy. History shows the ugly truth that women’s bodies have always been viewed as the spoils of conflicts waged primarily by men.

The issue of rape in war is something that has always sat uncomfortably with me ever since I did my stint as an army combat helicopter pilot in Afghanistan. From my high vantage point I felt a detachment from the electronic battlefield - for everything was viscerally seen from my helmeted eye patch visor lens and not the naked eye. I couldn’t look people in the eye as as soldier on for patrol would have. The fear and sweat is the same but the risk is different. Soldiers on patrol or on a mission risk the constant threat of ambush, sustained attack under mortar or fire fights as well as the ever present danger of being blown up by an IED by accident. Pilots risk being coming under attack too by being ambushed by RPG rocket fire or coming under fire from below. Worse, was to think if you got hit and you had to bail and you were all alone, survival and evasion from capture becomes fearfully paramount. Of course they train you for this until it hopefully becomes muscle memory in how to survive and take evasive action from being captured and resisting as long as you could under interrogation. But as a female pilot the unspoken fear that dare not speak its name was ever present: the fear of rape.

I’m not sure my brother officers - no matter how sincere and well intentioned they were because we were all fiercely protective of one another - really understood what the word ‘rape’ means for a woman. Indeed a male friend and ex-army colleague said to me in jest don’t ever kid a man about kicking him in the balls because it’s one thing every man can imagine feeling but would find it hard to explain the excruciating pain when a man does get his balls bashed in. I don’t think the two ‘experiences’ are the same obviously but I understand how hard it is to articulate what it might feel like. I never really allowed myself to be consumed by the fear of what might happen if I ever got shot down and was captured but instead I made sure to focus on my job. It never really became pressing issue for me throughout my time in on the battlefield. I was lucky I got out in one piece despite a few close scrapes along the way.

I did hear awful and terrible stories from my oldest brother who served in the Iraq War of the raping of Kurdish women by Iraqi forces. It sickened him and left him hollow the the things he witnessed first hand. Through the charitable work of ex-veterans I have come across refugee woman who shared their harrowing stories of how they were violently and systematically raped as war booty and as primal assertion of victor dominance and control.

I was thinking about all these things as I read Pat Barker’s novel about one of the most famous wars of all, telling the story of the siege of Troy from the point of view of the local Trojan women taken by the Greek forces. It’s The Iliad as seen through the eyes of 19-year-old Briseis, the Queen of Lyrnessus who’s taken as Achilles’s “bed-girl”, his “prize of honour” for mass slaughter.

Barker’s not the first to turn to the classics for inspiration. It’s popular practice these days. Kamila Shamsie’s Home Fire and Michael Hughes’ Country, for example, transpose classical stories onto contemporary settings.  The Silence of the Girls is yet another much welcomed book to offer a fresh perspective on Homeric women, following Madeleine Miller’s brilliant Circe. But while Miller’s reinvention of literature’s first witch brilliantly evoked a world of ancient magic in retelling The Odyssey from the witch’s point of view, not that of the warrior she waylays on his journey home, Barker’s story has its feet very firmly on the ground. Yes, the gods are still there – you can’t tell the story of the Trojan wars without them, after all. The gods remain mostly off stage but they are present in the background, magically restoring the mutilated dead body of Hector. The sea goddess Thetis, Achilles’ mother, is a briny, frightening presence, as are the dark shore and the waves by which the whole horrible story takes place. Apollo still sends a plague, Achilles is the son of a sea goddess who brings him divinely forged armour and Hector’s body is magically restored to freshness after being pulled behind Achilles’s chariot.

But what really stands out are not heavenly allusions but the dirt and filth and disease and sheer brutal physicality of the Greek army marauding everything that stands in their way to Troy - there’s no magic here to ease the pain and trauma of rape or murder or even to help exact revenge. And while Achilles’ divine mother makes an appearance, and Apollo is beckoned by Briseis to bring about a plague, the gods remain on the peripheries of this story. If Circe, which chronicles the life of its titular character, is very much about the gods and their egos, then The Silence of the Girls, however, is very much about humans, their egos and their wars - both personal and political.

In all this Barker gives female characters such as Circe and Briseis the voice they’ve traditionally been denied, readers glean a different version of events behind the Trojan War epic myth. “Great Achilles. Brilliant Achilles, shining Achilles, godlike Achilles…How the epithets pile up,” Briseis begins. “We never called him any of those things; we called him ‘the butcher’.”

In The Iliad, a poem about the terrible destruction caused by male aggression, the bodies and pretty faces of women are the objects through which men struggle with each other for status. The women are not entirely silent, and goddesses always have plenty to say, but mortal women speak primarily to lament. They grieve for their dead sons, dead fathers, dead husbands and dead protectors; for the city of Troy, soon to fall, and for their own freedom, taken by the victors of war. Andromache pleads with her Trojan husband Hector not to leave her and their infant son to go back to fight Achilles. She has already endured the sack of her home city by Achilles, and seen the slaughter of her father and seven brothers, and the enslavement of her mother. If Hector dies, their child will be hurled from the city walls, Troy will fall and Andromache will be made the concubine of the son of her husband’s killer. Hector knows this, but he insists that his own need to avoid social humiliation as a battle-shirker trumps it all: “I would be ashamed before the Trojan men and women,” he says. He hopes only to be dead before he has to hear her screams.

Barker’s absorbing prose puts the experience of women like Andromache at the heart of the story: the women who survive in slavery when men destroy their cities and kill their fathers, brothers and children. The central character is Briseis, the woman awarded to Achilles, the greatest Greek fighter, after his army sacks one of the towns neighbouring Troy. Agamemnon, the most powerful, although not the bravest, of the Greek warriors – a character whose downright nastiness comes across beautifully in Barker’s telling – has lost his own most recent female acquisition and seizes Briseis from Achilles. Achilles’ vengeful rage against Agamemnon and his own comrades, and the subsequent vast death toll of the Greeks and Trojans, is the central theme of The Iliad.

Homer’s poem ends by foreshadowing the fall of Troy in the death of its greatest fighter, Hector. Barker’s novel begins with the fall of another town: Lyrnessus, Briseis’ home, destroyed by Achilles and his men. We then see that the fall of a city is the end of a story only for the male warriors: some leave triumphant and others lie there dead. For the women, it is the start of new horrors.

Barker’s subject has long been gender relations during conflict, along with the machinations of trauma and memory, so she’s in her element here. Her blood-drenched battle scenes are up there with the best of them, and she shows a keen understanding of the “never-ending cycle of hatred and revenge” fuelling the violence. Her focus, however, is that which takes place off the battlefield, inflicted on the women in the “rape camps.”

Barker keeps the main bones of the Homeric poem in place, supplementing Homer at the end of the story with Euripides. His heartbreaking play The Trojan Women is, like Barker’s novel, a version of the story that shifts our attention from the angry, destructive, quick-footed, short-lived boys to the raped, enslaved, widowed women, who watch their city burn and, if they are lucky, get a moment to bury their slaughtered children and grandchildren before they are taken far away.

One of Barker’s most tear-jerking sequences is lifted straight from Euripides: the teenage daughter of Priam and Hecuba is gagged and killed as a “sacrifice” on the dead Achilles’ tomb, and then Hecuba is presented with the tiny corpse of her dead grandson, a toddler with his skull cracked open. The girl’s gagged mouth and the child’s gaping brains conjure a gruesome twinned image for the silenced voices that should tell of the horror and pity suffered by the victims of war.

For most of Barker’s novel, Briseis is the first-person narrator, but in the final part, the narrative is intercut with third-person chapters told from the point of view of Achilles. We never get as close to Achilles as we do to Briseis, but he is a compelling figure in his fascinating combination of brutality and civility. Like Siegfried Sassoon in Barker’s 1991 novel Regeneration, this Achilles has the soul of a poet as well as of a killer and hunter: he is a man whose physical courage and compulsion to fight sit uneasily with his clear, articulate awareness of the futility of war.

But Achilles, however fascinating he may be, is not then at the centre of this story. Still, the novel does provide a moving, thought-provoking version of what is perhaps the most famous moment of The Iliad: when the old king Priam makes his way, alone and unarmed, through the enemy camp, to plead with Achilles to give back the mutilated body of his son, Hector. Barker twice quotes Priam’s Homeric words to Achilles: “I do what no man before me has ever done, I kiss the hands of the man who killed my son.” Barker lets us feel the pathos and pity of this moment, as well as the pathos of all the many young men who die violent deaths far from home. We glimpse, too, Achilles’ alienation from his own “terrible, man-killing hands”, which have caused so many deaths.

Briseis has a powerful riposte to Priam’s words, weighing this unique encounter between men against the myriad unremembered horrors suffered by women in war. “I do what countless women before me have been forced to do. I spread my legs for the man who killed my husband and my brothers.”

Reduced to objects, they’re catalysts for conflict – Barker’s Helen inspires ribaldry not worship, “The eyes, the hair, the tits, the lips/ That launched a thousand battleships...” chant the soldiers – blamed for inciting hatred between men. Or they’re regarded as the victor’s spoils, claimed along with cattle and gold.

Briseis is both. Taken as a slave, Achilles and Agamemnon then feud over her: “It doesn’t belong to him; he hasn’t earnt it,” fumes the former. Men - Greek and Trojan alike – are afforded the privilege of vocalising their pain and loss, while women have to repress their suffering. “Silence becomes a woman,” they’re told, even when they’re free.

No longer an issue of decorum, now it’s about staying alive. “I do what no man before me has ever done, I kiss the hands of the man who killed my son,” declares Priam when he prostrates himself before Achilles begging for Hector’s body. “And I do what countless women before me have been forced to do, Briseis thinks bitterly, “I spread my legs for the man who killed my husband and my brothers.”

Barker has a very clear feminist message about the struggle for women to extricate themselves from male-dominated narratives. In the hands of a lesser writer, it could have felt preachy and woke but she masterfully avoids that. The attempt to provide Briseis with a happy ending is thin, and sometimes the female characters’ legitimate outrage seems a bit predictable, as when we hear Helen thinking: “I’m here. Me. A person, not just an object to be looked at and fought over.”

The novel has some annoying anachronisms, such as a “weekend market” (there were no weekends in antiquity), and a reference to “half a crown”, as if we were in the same period as Barker’s first world war novels. One wonders if any woman in archaic Greece, even a former queen, would have quite the self-assurance of Barker’s Briseis. But, of course, there is no way to be sure: no words from women in this period survive but Barker is surely right to paint them as thoughtful, diverse, rounded human beings, whose humanity hardly ever dawns on their captors, owners and husbands. This central historical insight feels entirely truthful.

Barker has a quasi-Homeric gift for similes: “that shining moment, when the din of battle fades and your body’s a rod connecting earth and sky”, or Achilles’ friend Patroclus dying, “thrashing like a fish in a pool that’s drying out”. There is a Homeric simplicity and drive in some of the sentences: “Blood, shit and brains – and there he is, the son of Peleus, half beast, half god, driving on to glory.” She is Homeric, too, in her attentiveness to what happens between people, and to the details of the physical world: the food, the wine, the clothes, the noise and the feel of skin, blood, bones, crackling wounds and screams. Barker, like Homer, understands grief and loss, and sees how alone people can be even when they are crying together. Loneliness in community is one of the major themes of this book, as it is of The Iliad.

Angry, thoughtful, sad, deeply humane and compulsively readable, The Silence of the Girls shows that Barker is a writer at the peak of her literary powers. You sense her only priority is to enlarge the story that we all know and she adds to it magnificently.

I have always enjoyed reading Pat Barker especially her enviable experience of writing about military life in her earlier novels and here in this book it shines through in the depiction of the Greek forces. The men are dehumanised by the wars they have created. This is primarily a book about what war does to women, but Barker examines what it does to men too. I was disturbed by the magnificently poignant final section which can’t help but make you reflect on the cultural underpinnings of male aggression, the women throughout history who have been told, by men, to forget their trauma. When Briseis is told to forget her past life, she immediately knows it is exactly what she must not, can not do: “So there was my duty laid out in front of me, as simple and clear as bowl of water: Remember.”

Briseis knows no one will want to record the reality of what went on during the war: “they won’t want the brutal reality of conquest and slavery. They won’t want to be told about the massacres of men and boys, the enslavement of women and girls. They won’t want to know we were living in a rape camp. No, they’ll go for something altogether softer. A love story, perhaps?” But even so, Briseis, for all that she must bear, understands eventually that the women will leave behind a legacy, though not in the same vocal, violent way the men will.

“We’re going to survive,” she says, “our songs, our stories. They’ll never be able to forget us. Decades after the last man who fought at Troy is dead, their sons will remember the songs their Trojan mothers sang to them. We’ll be in their dreams - and in their worst nightmares too.”

I felt disconcerted reading this and also very moved. As much as I love the Classics and firmly believe in it providing the foundational building blocks of our Western civilisation I also have to pause and remind myself that heroic behaviour, something the greatest of the Greeks are known for, isn’t anything admirable when viewed from the lens of the women they abuse. Heroism can be tainted by the dark side of one’s nature. However pure one soldier’s sacrifice for another can be, so there is the bestial side of us where the chains of civilised moral behaviour are unshackled and left to satiate our primal instinct for cruelty, conflict, and domination. Indeed what Barker does is be a much needed corrective because just as you think her perspective of the Greek heroes may be softening, she pulls back to remind you of Odysseus tossing Hector’s baby from the battlements, or Achilles’s casual butchery. “It’s the girls I remember most,” Briseis says. This then is a story about the very real cost of wars waged by men: “the brutal reality of conquest and slavery”.

In seeing a legend differently, Barker makes us rethink who gets to write history but also to remind us of our tainted human condition. There is no god in the machine to sort out most violent conflicts and situations with a thunderbolt here. There are only mortals, with all their flaws and ferocity and foolishness. And we all have to live with that but not I hope in silence.

Tagged by @captain-teddy-reese

50 Questions: OC Interview

1. What’s your name?

“Howdy. I’m Patricia Marlow.”

2. Give us your full name

“...Ah fine! My middle name’s Winifred... Patricia...Winifred...Marlow.

3. Do you have a nickname? If yes, what is it and how did you come to have it?

“I’ve been called shorter of my names: Pat, Patsy, Patty Cake (don’t bother askin’ why.) But folks way out south west know me as “Peckin’ Pat Marlow. I shot my town’s sheriff the day after...his obstruction of justice. Gave him that kiss he wanted afterwards. And it became a habit with anyone I killed as leader of the Marlow Marauders.”

4. What species are you? (Human, werewolf, etc? Or are you an alien?)

“Last I checked...I’m still human.”

5. Where were you born?

“I was born in a town the south west of texas. It was famous for its large lake and gold mine a few miles out. Just make sure you have ginseng and special vegetation for the snakes and lizards...I wouldn’t head there if I were you. Hasn’t rained for 13 years.”

6. I see. And that would make your age...?

“That would make me...36 years old.”

7. Okay, now...are you a good guy, or a bad guy?

“What I’ve done doesn’t make me a saint, but it don’t mean I have bad morals.”

Part II: Tell Us More About Yourself...

8. How would you describe your personality?

“Back before I was soft, sweet and kind..had to be for the kids, but I still held myself firm for the adults as well. When the town reared it’s ugly head...I became a different person; ruthless, vengeful, hard hearted, didn’t take shit from no person when it came to me and my gang. It take no responsibility for indirect harm because they didn’t handle circumstances better! I was willing to do whatever it takes to get vengeance not with death, but with nothin’ for ‘em left! But I couldn’t my gang be taken with me in my final moments.

But after that last score, when I suddenly found myself alive and rescued. I began to mellow out...I still had my temper and was satisfied with what I’ve accomplished, but I became more aware of how the world was changing. So I just wander the lands to keep an eye on this changing world and hope it’s for the better.”

9. Would you say you're someone who can handle pressure?

“I’ve had moments where I was frustrated...but I’ve managed to maintain my composure around misbehaving kids and disrespectful adults.”

10. Do you like to read?

“Well, yeah. What kind of teacher doesn’t like to read?”

11. Favourite Colour

“I’ve grown fond of the colour black.”

12. Do you get along with others?

“Just because I get along with people doesn’t mean I like them. I do so to get the job done, and if they don’t cross me I choose them to stick close and see how things turn out.”

13. Do you have any enemies?

“Many could call me their enemy, but the one I call my nemesis won’t bother me anymore...”

14. How about friends?

“I became friends with my gang through the trust and teamwork we had for over 13 years. I’m sure they’re all fine and free. I have met other folks but I can’t call them friends just yet.”

15. Are you patient?

“I can be...When your a teacher you have to be patient to know more about situations.”

Part lll: Hypothetically...

16. Suppose that you could become any creature you know of. What would you pick, and why?

“I’ll say a cougar. They’re just as vicious, independent, dexterous, with some self indulgence. They can still purr, y’know?”

17. One of your enemies in question 13 just complimented you. Response?

“Which one? If it’s Gill then he’s complimenting me with sarcasm and rage since he’s still not found the loot. His generation’s gonna be diggin’ for years and won’t be the ones to find it.”

18. One of your friends in Question 14 just insulted you. Response?

“I prefer their insults as criticism. But at least their words won’t mean they betray me straight away.”

19. If you could change anything about yourself...

“I can’t see me changin’ anytime soon...but I guess I gotta find somethin’ else to do without second guessin’.”

20. About your home...

“It ain’t like a manor, but It had enough space for my parents and my things...But it was so damn expensive thanks to Gill’s daddy...it got burnt down by an angry mob, along with my school, Miles’s stand and his donkey, Sally-Ann...

Part IV: Now We Get Personal

21. What're your parents like?

“They were geniuses compared to the other folk in town. Both of em met in the city where they got their degree. I don’t think their families approved though, as I haven’t heard a thing about my grandparents. But they were good people using their money to buy two properties, for my home and school.

But I can’t give em that. Their last wish was to make sure I improved the head on my soldiers before they slowly died together from Diphtheria...I didn’t know they passed until Miles came to check on me.”

22. Do you have any siblings?

“None. I was an only child, thank goodness. If I had a younger baby sister, Gill would target her more than me...”

23. What's your occupation?

“I used to be a teacher in my hometown. Since I was the only women with the knowledge thanks to my parents education, I took up the role. Taught both kids and adults to read and write.”

24. I see, that's a good job to have. Do you like it?

“I enjoyed my job when it came to the kids. Nothin made me feel better than givin’ them somewhere to be while adults did their own thing, though I wished I could have give them more subjects, but reading and writing was more tolerable to teach than the other things that adults couldn’t make sense of. As for the adults...I won’t lie there are some worse than the children. Way worse.”

25. Are you seeing/dating anyone?

“No...”

26. Married/Engaged/Other?

“I wished for that with someone once.”

27. If yes, how did you meet?

“...I met Miles Wiley when I first came to town after my parents moved. He was a vegetable farmer with a donkey he claimed was over a century old from the vegetables he ate. Many folks who can’t afford the doctor’s fee often came to him for tonics, ointments, all sorts of ailments that were reliable, especially for the gold miners who came for the juice as repellent for the lizards. Before me he was the only stranger in that town...He made me welcome even after I took over the town’s teacher and helped repair my school, only askin’ for the spiced apricots I made.

But the town found out how close we really was from our first...and last kiss. He only wanted to fix me after being broken down for so long...We tried to escape by boat, but of course Gill had his ferry and me and Miles weren’t much of a shot...He wasn’t even armed but he shot him...he shot him even as I held him.

28. Tell us your biggest secret.

“Aside from people thinkin’ I’m dead? Everyone knew about me and Miles so I got no big secret to hide.”

29. Your worst fear? You don't have to answer this one if you don't want to.

“After what the Sheriff did, I fear being put into that situation again where I was taken advantage of right under others noses...Then there’s being in the middle of a ring of fire.”

30. Favorite food?

“I may had made spiced apricots once upon a time but it ain’t my favourite food. I don’t have it as much as I like to...but I do miss that Pecan pie.”

30. Favorite drink?

“Spiced Island Moonshine. I just discovered this recipe and it tastes like the goods of home and warm escape. I could kiss Marcel for makin’ this but... then I’d have have to kill him.”

31. Tell us one thing you're the most proud of.

“I would have said getting revenge on Gill for killing Miles was the best thing that happened...But I never imagined letting the group go free after our last score would take that. Some graduation, huh?”

32. Something embarrassing? You don't have to answer this one, either.

“Whatever is embarrassing is what happens when I’m drunk...”

33. If you didn't answer Questions 29 and/or 33, tell me why.

“I may have mellowed out from my recovery, but I have my damn pride still.”

34. Is that a good reason?

“Just take it as you will...”

Part V: Closing

35. Are you satisfied with your life?

“I felt like my life was nearly wasted than satisfied. I loved Miles but I wasted my life in that town. I remembered my gang more fondly than the town. But I’m still young to do somethin’.”

36. Anything you feel like you have to do? It can be something long-term, like a bucket list, or something you need to do right now.

“Well my vengeance has been achieved and leading a gang is something to tick off. I’m gonna start looking for things as Patricia Marlow and not Peckin’ Pat.”

37. Any hobbies?

“I have developed a thing for watching shows in the theatre, and I used to play the banjo to sing songs with kids. I’m sure I haven’t gone too rusty.”

38. Quick, you get one wish! What did you just wish for? It's alright, you can tell me...

“I wish Miles was alive....That’s the one thing I can’t have back.”

39. How would you describe that wish? Good? Bad? Selfish? Selfless? Other?

“I don’t give a damn what anyone thinks of us...Folk wouldn’t have approved of us, but...we’d be more free if we got out together.”

40. Have you been honest with these questions?

“That I have...Now that you know me it’s all about what u gonna do?”

41. Your personal quote?

“The snake which cannot cast its skin has to die. As well the minds which are prevented from changing their opinions; they cease to be mind.” - Friedrich Nietzsche

42. Do you like change?

“It’s what I fought for when things didn’t change enough...”

43. What's your most valued possession?

“Since they burned Miles’s body, I wasn’t left with much to remember him. It was a good thing I found his hat after I left town, but I haven’t taken it out of my satchel since.”

44. Anything else you feel like sharing?

“Not right now, I ain’t.”

50. Last question!...yup, that's it! How do you feel?

“Like a few pounds has been lifted off my shoulders. Or it might just be one of my firearms...Haha! Don’t worry, I just gotta reload.”

@thecorteztwins Based on our conversation about Fabian actually helping, then demanding credit.  Taking place in your alt-Marauders.  Feel free to ignore this completely if it contradicts something you were planning to write.

“I’m saying, it’s an outrage!” Fabian Cortez paced back and forth along the beach, hands waving in air dramatically.  Both the track dug deep into the sand, and the expressions on the faces of his unlucky audience indicated he’d been ranting in this fashion for some time.

“Yes, yes, you’ve been very clear about that,” said Sebastian Shaw dryly.  “Why don’t you go make yourself a fancy medal if it’s so important to you?  Or buy one in some curio shop?”  The slowly-healing burns on the Black King’s face and bandages around his chest and shoulder indicated that his weariness was not entirely caused by Fabian’s performance – but Fabian was contributing quite a bit.

“It’s not about me!” Fabian exclaimed, in what was quite possibly the most blatant and obvious lie in all of recorded history.  “It’s about respect!  I – mean, we taxed our powers to the limits, pushing ourselves to the very brink of death!  It’s a miracle that we all survived – and the Council cannot even afford me – I mean, us the slightest hint of recognition for our service?”

“I got recognition!” Shinobi beamed. “Jumbo Carnation designed this just for me.”  He twirled around, showing off the black fabric.  It could, with some imagination, be called a suit, in the same way that artfully arranged dental floss might possibly be called a string bikini.  The huge gaps in what was basically loosely connected strips of cloth showed off a whole landscape of skin.  Shinobi may as well have been wearing a net.

“I didn’t realize Jumbo Carnation held such hostility towards you, son.  I expect your revenge will be, if not subtle, at least swift and cruel.” Sebastian was praying that certain strips would not shift too far to the right or left.  

“Maddie thinks I look amazing,” Shinobi folded his arms in a ridiculously attractive pout.

“Yes, he does,” Maddie chimed in, staring Sebastian down, hands on her hips.  “I think he should wear it all the time.”

“Do you really want to do this, Madelyne?”

“You’re all missing the point!” Fabian broke in.  The group’s attention had wavered from him for almost a minute, and that was unacceptable.  “I’m not talking about gifts and praise from our fellow mutants, which we of course deserve. I’m talking about official recognition from the Council that supposedly runs this island! Some acknowledgement of our incredible courage and accomplishment!  A medal is the very least they could do!”

“Crikey, will someone please shut him up?  That voice is like hammers on my skull,” Pyro groaned, propped up on a beach chair with one hand holding a wet cloth over his eyes.  Between focusing his flame into a blue-white stream to melt through the creature’s outer carapace, and then extinguishing the massive fires raging across Krakoa in the battles wake, he was nursing an intense migraine.  

“Perhaps you should go lay down in a dark room if you feel so poorly, Mr. Allerdyce,” said Sebastian, with absolutely no compassion or concern.

“Fuck off, Shaw.  I ain’t missin’ the celebration for anything.  Mind yer business.”  Fumbling blind, Pyro picked up the beer nestled in the sand next to him, and took a long pull.  

“You really should rest, though,” Haven put in, her tone the exact opposite of Sebastian’s.  “You did amazing things today.  I know it took a lot out of you.”

“Awww, thanks luv.  Couldna done it without your help.”  Her gentle hands on his shoulders, her cool voice in his ear – it had created a pocket of calm in his chest that spread out to shrink the wildfires down to nothing.

“No, I didn’t really do anything at all,” Haven demurred.

“Yes, exactly!” Fabian chimed in. “She didn’t do anything!  None of them did.  That’s what I’ve been saying!  I’m the one who charged all of your powers beyond your natural limits!”

“Thank you, Fabian,” said Haven, and only an experienced ear would hear the exasperation hiding under her usual gentleness.  “You were extremely…” she paused for a moment, then decided the next word would not technically be a lie.  “…brave. I know you were instrumental in our victory.”  Cortez had, after all, dashed into the fray to charge up the mutants in direct conflict with the creature.  And then just as quickly dashed back out again.

“Yeah, he did a great job not fighting at all,” Pyro grumbled.  Haven laid a hand on his arm.  There was no implied order or chastisement, but Pyro sighed deeply all the same.  

“Thank you for your help, Fabian,” he forced out through gritted teeth.  

“Thank you, my dear lady,” Fabian beamed, completely ignoring Pyro.  He took and kissed Haven’s hand, suddenly a model of charm and chivalry.  “Risking my life, fighting to my last breath, it’s all worth it for the appreciation of someone as beautiful and wise as yourself. If only you were not, sadly, a human, you would be an ideal candidate for the harem that the Council will no doubt assign me to further the mutant race.  Once they come to their senses and realize the true significance of my accomplishments today.”

“Our accomplishments,” Madelyne corrected, rubbing her temples.  After protecting the entire island from the telepathic backlash of the creature’s death throes (which would have killed most people in range and left the survivors irreparably insane), she was dealing with quite the headache herself.  She remembered how Haven had held her hand in the moment, providing an anchor against the tidal wave of psychic energy that had threatened to sweep Madelyne away.

“And enough of this nonsense about a harem,” Sebastian scoffed.  “The Council has not resorted to assigning partners and forced unions.  And even if they did, you would be the last one chosen to pass on your genes.  Some of us have real power.  Some of us have already proven our ability to create powerful offspring, even if their character leaves much to be desired.”

“So you acknowledge that I’m powerful, Father?”  Shinobi asked, more sharp than hopeful.  “I did strike the killing blow.  I believe you were unconscious at the beach at that time.”

“I acknowledge your basic competence,” Sebastian conceded reluctantly.  “You did what the situation required.”  

“By which you mean phasing an entire ocean liner through the monster’s body,” Shinobi pressed.  “I doubt Pryde could have pulled that off.”  Kitty Pryde had, of course, once phased a massive bullet through the entire Earth, but Shinobi considered that irrelevant to the conversation at hand.

“It was very impressive!”  Haven assured him.  “I only wish we could have communicated with the creature and found a peaceful resolution….but you did what needed to be done.”  It had taken the combined efforts of Storm, Iceman, Meggan and every other mutant with weather or water-control abilities, plus telekinetics putting up a force shield to keep the island from being swamped by tsunami as the creature thrashed and died.  Even Aqueduct, a human visiting his former team-mate Sunstreak on Krakoa, had stepped up to help, despite his past as a terrorist and criminal.  The one silver lining of the day’s horrors had been how so many people had come together, selflessly working to protect the island. Even Fabian Cortez.

“And of course, that impressive feat would have been impossible without me, charging you up, pouring my own life energy into you.  I could have died.”

“If only,” Maddie muttered.

“I believe I’ve already thanked you for your contribution,” Shinobi drawled.  (He had not).  “But I’ll send you a card if it’s so important.”

“I think that would be the very least you could,” Fabian sniffed.  “Although I’d expect better from someone with such wealth and connections.”  

“You know, I think Cortez has a point,” Pyro began.  “There is someone that we need to thank for helping us today.  Someone who’s been overlooked – “

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying,” Fabian interrupted, nodding sagely.  

“Not you, ya plonk.  Haven.”  Pyro pointed in completely the wrong direction.

“I’m over here, St. John,” said Haven softly.  “And there’s no need for-“  Whatever she said next was drowned out by Fabian’s strangled cry of outrage.

“I couldn’t have put out those fires without your support.  I wasn’t in the right frame of mind, but you helped me get there,” Pyro said.

“And you kept me grounded while I was dealing with the psychic wave.  Thank you for that,” Madelyne added.

“You’re the one who organized the evacuation of that ocean liner,” Shinobi offered.  “I mean, I would have still used it, but it might have broken that pesky little ‘kill no man,’ law.  Thanks for the support, Haven.”  He raised his glass in her direction.

“Normally, I would not indulge in this kind of sentimental nonsense,” Sebastian said.  “But you did pull me and Miss Renko from the water after the creature knocked us out.  Drowning would have been rather inconvenient.  I’m a man who acknowledges my debts, and I thank you.”  Claudine had gotten the worst of it, and was still unconscious in the infirmary, but Elixir assured them that she would make a full recovery.

“My goodness.  You’re all so kind, there’s really no need for this,” Haven exclaimed, her hands on her cheeks as a dark blush spread over them.

“Yes, there is.  You spent the entire battle in the line of fire, helping wherever you could.  Even with no powers, you were there by our sides.  That deserves acknowledgement,” Madelyne insisted.  She could understand the feeling.  Standing powerless beside comrades (and against enemies) that could knock down buildings, feeling like a useless fool, but charging in all the same. Doing whatever you could, because that was everyone’s duty, wasn’t it?  To do what you can.  She’d been so innocent back then, and the memory tugged at her with a sweet sadness.

“Thank you,” Haven whispered, as the group all raised glasses (or bottles) to toast her.  “You’re the ones who saved the day, I just….helped where I could.  I was proud to support you, and I’m sure Mr. Cortez feels the same way…”  She stretched out her hand, ready to share the moment with him.

But Fabian had already stalked off angrily down the beach.      

Notes: Sorry for leaving Claudine out, I’m unsure of how to write her and couldn’t fit her into the scene.  I don’t know if Sunstreak is actually a mutant, but I wanted an excuse for an Aqueduct cameo.  I have no idea what they were fighting – some kind of Lovecraftian cosmic horror, minus the racism.  Maybe it was just a giant fire-breathing crab.  

I didn’t get to answer all of the Tallia and Theron questions I wanted to so I’m gonna cheat and just answer them here BECAUSE I WANT TO. I never talk about them but they’re cute and I love the disaster bi masquerading as functional dating the functional ace desperately trying to keep up a distinguished facade.

1. Who is the most affectionate?

I think they each are, in their own way? I mean, like.... everything I’ve described before this and after is them being affectionate in their own way? I don’t really know what else to say about it unprompted. I guess if you’re talking classical physical PDA, maybe Tallia? If your’e talking taking care of the other one and looking after them and cheering them up and trying to make them feel good or better, then... both of them?

3. Most common argument?

The endless argument on how many pets are considered to be too many and whether or not they should just retire and open a zoo

Arguing which animals could stay with them and which had to go to the zoo they opened and how big does an animal have to be before we legally have to stop calling it a pet

“A KELL DRAGON IS NOT A PET.”

“YES SHE IS BECAUSE I LOVE HER.”

The struggle of earning rights for Warbles, mainly the right for him and his swarm of babies to sleep on the bed

The inevitable and spirited debate of how MANY lizards could sleep on the bed with them at any given point

“SEVEN LIZARDS IS TOO MANY LIZARDS TO LET SLEEP ON THE BED AT ONCE.”

“BUT THEY’LL GET COLD AND LONELY IF WE LEAVE SOME OF THEM OFF :((( “

T H E     H A I R C U T

4. Favorite non-sexual activity?

They really don’t share any hobbies but MAN do they just.... shoot the shit a lot. Tallia will be dropping stitches in her latest attempt to learn space knitting, Theron will be scamming people in online pazaak out of boredom and they’ll both be talking to each other about  “When and why do you think it became evolutionary advantageous for monkey lizards to laugh like that and is it immoral to Just Kill Them All??”

5. Who is most likely to carry the other?

Tallia’s not very big but she can literally toss him around with her mind and also has a lot of core/back/thigh strength so she can and probably does carry him just for funzees. Theron can carry her, probably, he just tends not to because I don’t think Tallia would appreciate being manhandled. Unless of course Tallia got herself stabbed again (she gets stabbed a lot.... marauder problems, I guess) which is more just her leaning her weight on him than actually carrying. He probably wouldn’t have to carry her unless she was knocked the fuck out... which does tend to happen. And Tallia would of course carry him if he got injured.... shit which also happens a lot. God, this is why dps shouldn’t marry other dps. This is basically them:

7. What’s the first thing that changes when they realize they have feelings for the other?

Other than getting bummed the fuck out (Tallia) and probably having a mild panic attack (Theron) they definitely get a lot less guarded with one another. They’ve both got kind of a lot of layers to them so it wasn’t like, complete vulnerability right off the bat but Tallia let Theron start seeing the more compassionate side of her, Theron let Tallia see some of the more uncertain side of him.

8. Nicknames? & if so, how did they originate?

They’re not big on nicknames, and since Tallia is a nickname for Eschatallia, technically, that’s all they really have. Theron tried to call her “Esch” exactly one time just to see if it could be their thing but the horrified look she gave him while just slowly shaking her head ‘No,’ was all he needed to know that it was A Bad One. Tallia found out about “Technoplague” after Theron hears she also had a run-in with the Shroud and uses it when she wants to win an argument, aka, this is how we wound up with seven lizards asleep on the bed with them.

10. Who remembers what the other one always orders at a restaurant?

They don’t get to go out that often but if it’s just something from the cantina, Tallia remembers what Theron orders because he’s a bit more a creature of habit and has kind of bland taste buds (modest Jedi upbringing, remember?) but Tallia usually tries to order something different every time unless there’s something she’s just absolutely craving (Vette opened her eyes to MANY new cultures of food from her transient years). So Theron can thankfully usually just point at something he’s pretty sure Tallia’s never had or whatever special they have that week from a new shipment and she’ll be happy with it, he knows she likes savory stuff with lots of spices. 

11. Who tops?

Honestly I think they’re both switches? Tallia’s more dom/top leaning and Theron more sub/bottom but it’s not strict, it’s more circumstantial/depending on who’s feeling what that day.

12. Who initiates kisses?

Depends, tbh? It’s probably 50/50? 

13. Who reaches for the other’s hand first?

Theron. Tallia’s more a “cuddler” in the sense that cats understand the term with like, “I’m just gonna lean my entire body weight on you for a while, if you wanna wrap an arm around me that’s cool but mostly I just wanna be a pancake and you can be the grill.” Theron’s definitely a “hold hands under the table” kind of PDA fan though.

14. Who kisses the hardest?

Tallia, definitely. Sith. Passion. It’s a thing.

19. Who tells their family/friends about their relationship first?

Friends goes to Tallia, Vette immediately knew because she Knows Tallia and can read her like a book and oh man of course Tallia had a crush on the ENEMY SPY, she’s combined her worst habits, terrible taste in dates and a death wish! Then Jaesa found out approximately 5 minutes later when Vette went running to her to tell her about it.

Family unfortunately went to Theron who eventually had to tell Jace about Tallia (like.... 4 years after the fact, but he told him all the same) when he went to go help start up the Alliance. It... did not go over well. I don’t think Satele ever heard from Theron herself that he and Tallia were a thing but probably figured it out because force sensitive, same as Echidna whom Tallia also never told. 

Man, these guys are bad at actually telling their family/friends anything... they probably haven’t even announced their engagement? Does anyone actually know for sure that Theron is Rowan’s father or do they just think the Commander must really trust him to let him walk around with her child in a papoose like that all day? 

God when they do get married they’re gonna invite like maybe 3 people, hand out earplugs, and exchange their vows by handing them over on paper for the other to read and then instructing them to eat the paper once it’s been read so no one will ever know except them.

21. Who is more likely to start dancing with the other?

Oh, Tallia, for sure. For Theron to dance of his own volition, he needs to already be too drunk to dance and it usually ends poorly. They don’t really dance that often because Tallia doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable but she can goad him into it sometimes.

22. Who cooks more/who is better at cooking?

Uhhh, the droid.

...

I’m not kidding.

Theron “Caf is a meal” Shan and Eschatallia “Just Put The Heat On Maximum So It Cooks Faster” Soranus are terrible cooks and should not be allowed to OWN a kitchen, much less set foot in one.

24. Who whispers inappropriate things in the other’s ear during inappropriate times?

Mostly Tallia probably? They’re not TERRIBLE about this because they are fairly private people and both take their jobs pretty seriously but I can see either of them watching and waiting until no one’s paying attention to lean over to the other one to whisper sexy nothings. If they’re just out at some function neither of them wants to be at, tho, you can guarantee this happens. You know the party crashing chapter on Zakuul? Yeah, Tallia kept forgetting that Lana was patched into their comms. She paid for a vacation for Lana after that mission.

25. Who needs more assurance?

Both of them, god. Look at their fucked up families and all the emotional neglect and outright abuse inflicted on them as wee lil nubbins that permanently scarred their psyches. 

Tallia’s got a multi-layered personality, the outermost layer being the “I Am Your Nightmare, Grr” facade, the layer under that being “Oh no, I’m soft, please be nice to me,” and the layer under THAT which is “I’m feral and scared and full of hate.” So she’s worried that Theron fell for Personality Layer number 2 and will one day realize how pervasive and overbearing the deep layer 3 personality is and will be disgusted after realizing she’s a living horror of the dark side and he can’t love that because how could he? No one could.

Theron, however, is an amalgamation of abandonment issues wearing the skin of a man and is worried that something will go wrong, someday Tallia’s gonna realize he’s not that interesting, or funny, or kind, or something, anything. She’ll find him lacking, he won’t be enough somewhere in someway that she’ll realize she doesn’t need him at all and will cast him aside because everyone else has, why not her?

28. What do they do when they’re away from each other?

Well both of them have a criminal twi’lek bff so they can hang out with them and get into trouble, Theron’s always got a huge backlog of work he should be doing, Aerasuni likes to visit them both and hang out (she spars with Tallia and has tea and pleasant conversation LIKE A NORMAL PERSON with Theron), Jaesa’s back now and she’s trying to help Tallia figure out why she’s so bad at knitting, Koth is deeply worried about both of their eating habbits and keeps dragging one of them off to lunch without warning, Warbles always needs to go on walkies, Pargal drops by and likes to hand Theron his ass on a dejarik board, and now there’s like, A BABY who needs to be taken care of and nurtured so they’re not lacking for things to do out of necessity or for fun when the other’s busy. They’ve got surprisingly healthy social lives. 

29. one headcanon about this OTP that breaks your heart

Cross-faction ANGST and their deepest insecurities making it take so fucking long for them to just be honest and open with each other despite their emotional investment in one another being obvious. 

30. one headcanon about this OTP that mends it

They’re both desperately lonely people who come from deeply fucked up families/upbringings and have been forsaken by the people who were supposed to look out for them but they found each other and made their own dumb little family with all of their friends and now their surprisingly well adjusted child and it was hard but their earned their happy ending goddamit. 

Admin Dum - Marauders character sheet.

Character Sheet

Face Claim:

 Basic

Name: Olivia Blythe

Pronunciation: Oh-Live-E-Ah Blie-th

Meaning: Carefree Peace

Nicknames: Liv, Darling, Fangs.

Name Origins:

Liv is what my sister has always called me - it’s short for Olivia.

Darling is what my Sirius has always called me - not very creative but it means a lot to me nonetheless.

Fangs - The Marauders call me this because of my animagus form which happens to be a cat, James thinks its especially funny because not only am I not vicious, but I’m a slytherin so it works in every sense of the word.

Aliases: N/A

Alias Origin: N/A

Titles: N/A

Nationality: Irish and english

Orientation: Heterosexual

Gender: Female

Age: 15

Date of Birth: July 4th, 1960

Star Sign: Cancer

Birth Flower: Water Lily

Meaning: Joyful Sweet

Birthstone: Ruby

Meaning: Health, Wisdom

Species: Witch

Affiliation: Marauders, Hogwarts

Blood Status: Muggle Born

Dead?: Someday

How?: The Battle of Hogwarts

Death Date: May 2nd, 1998

Last Words: “I CAN’T”

 Appearance

How Old They Appear: 15

Eye Color: Blue

Glasses/Contacts: Glasses

Skin Tone: Fair

Hair Color: dyed black

Hair Length: Short Pixie Cut

Hair Type: Curls because of length

Hairstyle: Pixie cut no real style unless you count the green ribbon that gets tied into my hair

Height: 5’1

Piercings: N/A

Tattoos: N/A

Scars: N/A

Birthmarks: Back of Right hip

Other: N/A

 Alternate Appearance

Species: Cat

General Size: Normal

Eye Color: Blue

Fur/Feather/Scale/Skin Color: White

Fur Length: Normal

Fur Texture: Silky

Tail: Normal

Ears: Normal

Notable Features: Normal

 Wardrobe

Style: Simple, Dark Clothing

Uniform:

Sleepwear:

Winter Outfit: Same as regular uniform I just put on my cloak!

Formal Outfit:

Accessories: See pictures!

Scent: Mainly I smell like plant food because I tend to spill it on myself a lot.

 Relationships

Mother/Mother Figure: Jessabelle Blythe

Relationships: Our mother was very sweet, she died when Carmen and I were young and things kind of changed after that. I changed. I was really close to our mother because I’ve always been a bit more dependant and our mother spoiled me a bit while she was still alive. My sister Carmen looks just like mom, she always has, she doesn’t believe me though and I don’t think she ever will. Mom was beautiful in every way and so is my sister, I really wish she could remember more about her. But like I said we were both really young, and I kind of clung to her hip alot which is why I remember a bit more.

Father/Father Figure: Adam Blythe

Relationships: Dad changed the most after mom’s passing, he worked so much that he didn’t have any time for me or my sister really. I shut down and started acting younger to get his attention...I throw temper tantrums when he spends to much time away from us so he has to stay home and help. My sister hates it, but I can’t exactly change the way I was back then. We’ve both sort of gone back to normal and now we have a normal relationship with our dad. We see him on holidays.

Brothers/Brother Figures: James Potter, Remus Lupin. Peter Pettigrew.

James Potter: I was completely convinced that James hated me simply for the house I was sorted into. He made many jokes at my expense, taunted me for the longest time. And just about thought I was the most evil person in the world until he got to know me. He realized I’m different than the others in my house, this doesn’t mean that he trusts me. But I think he’s warming up to me. He defends me from those that would harm me. One day - someone took their joking a bit far and hurt me...they were calling me a mudblood and throwing so many words that we couldn’t tell who threw the first hex. But the minute he saw I was hurt later that day, I heard him mumbling and the next day the group that was bullying me looked rather roughed up. A few of them had some pretty nasty bruises. Turns out they had an accident on the moving stairs. At least thats what James told me when I asked.

Remus Lupin: Remus like the rest of the group had a hard time accepting me at first. But as he fell for my sister and started hanging around her he in turn started seeing me around more often. I remember the first time he laughed at something I said and it wasn’t because he thought it was stupid but because he thought it was funny. He later like the others realized that I wasn’t as terrible as every other member of my house. When I got kicked out of my houses living quarters in third year, for the 4th time (It happened a lot), he helped me find the room of requirement so I could stay there instead. I originally just slept in the hall, but he didn’t think it was safe and told me to go there instead. The first truly kind thing he ever said to me was “I’m starting to realize that the Slytherins might hate you as much as we do, It’s kind of pathetic and I really don’t want to have anything in common with them, so I’m going to be your friend.”

Peter Pettigrew: Peter scares me, he’s very small and ridden with anxiety. He never looks me in the eye even when the others started warming up to me. I don’t have much of a relationship with him at all.

Sisters/Sister Figures: Carmen Blythe

Relationships: My beloved sister! My only friend in the hellhole that is Hogwarts, she’s always there for me and defends me whenever anyone picks on me. She’s my best friend and I will always be there for her no matter what. Later on when she becomes a professor (She doesn’t think this is what she wants, but It will happen she’s too smart not to) I told her I will visit every day. Even if I hate the place, it’s less horrid with my wonderful sister in it. She’s always been so much more mature than me, We try not to bring up the way I acted as a child, but it still bothers me that I put her through that. But she’s never held it over my head. I’m very lucky to have such an amazing sister.

Current Guardian: Adam Blythe

Relationship: See above!

Current Significant Other: Sirius Black

Relationship: At first, Sirius hated me just as much as James did. But as he got to know me, he started getting closer to me. And then once he grew to like me his affection hit me like the hogwarts express and I found myself being infatuated with him. He was taken aback at first and didn’t know how to feel about me and was actually uncomfortable with how often I tried to talk to him. He eventually got used to me and started having more and more conversations with me. During our third year is when we really became friends, he comforted me one day when he found me in the room of requirement crying because I didn’t ever feel like I belonged at hogwarts, He assured me that I was not as strange as I thought and that my being strange was a good thing because it set me apart from the rest of my house. During our fourth year, at the yule ball, I was the only member of my house attending alone. Nobody trusted me, nobody really liked me, I had begun to accept this thanks to talks I had with my friends and my sister. Sirius began to look at me differently that night, he told me I looked beautiful and sat with me. We talked the whole night, and I suddenly realized that his date had left him for the evening. I asked if he wanted to get out, and step outside, he said yes and we stepped outside to the grounds. I began to shiver because there was a bit of snow falling from the sky, Sirius took his jacket off and put it over my shoulders. Me and him got extremely close after this night, because we had the opportunity to actually talk and get to know one another rather than the random conversations we were used to having. Later on that year, he said “Say, Fangs, how would you like to be the luckiest girl in all of Hogwarts?” and thats how he asked me to be his girlfriend.

 People

Mentors: Hogwarts Professors

Advisor: Carmen Blythe

Confidant: Carmen Blythe

Teammates: Marauders

Friends: Marauders, Carmen, Lilly Evans.

Best Friend: Carmen Blythe

Love Interest: Sirius Black

Rivals: Lilly Evans

Enemies: Everyone but my friends.

Person Hated Most: Lucius Malfoy

Most Important Person: Carmen or Sirius

Awkward Around: Peter Pettigrew

Admires: Carmen

 Past

Hometown: Kinsale, Ireland.

Childhood: I didn’t ever really grow up, It’s a bit of an issue.

Childhood Hero: None

Most Important Memory: When I made my first real friend at Hogwarts.

Worst Memory: When I first got sorted into slytherin.

 Present

Current Location: Kinsale, Ireland

Living With: Adam and Carmen Blythe

Occupation: Student at hogwarts.

Pets: Black cat named Salem

 Health

General Health: I don’t usually get sick

Reason: Genetics

Mental Health: Not very good but improving

Reason: I have a lot of self esteem issues that I haven’t quite overcome yet.

Sleep Habits: Very rarely sleeps.

Diet: Vegetarian

Exercise: Not alot

Allergies: None

Injuries: None

Disorders: Depression, Anxiety

Deformity: None

Disabilities: None

Mutations: None

Handicaps: None

Medication: None

 Education

School: Hogwarts

House: Slytherin

Wand: Silver Lime wood with a Dragon heartstring core 9 ½" and Slightly Yielding flexibility

Best Class: Herbology

Worst Class: Charms

Average Grade: A (Acceptable)

Quidditch Position: None I’m not really a fan I only watch for Sirius.

Electives:  Care of magical Creatures, Divination

Languages: English and A bit of Gaelic

Memory: So - So

 Abilities

Animagus: White Cat

Patronus: Dun Stallion

Strengths: Herbology, Potions, Care of magical creatures

Weaknesses: Transfiguration, Charms, Dark arts.

 Personality

Good Traits: Honest, Kind, Open minded, Loving

Bad Traits: Gullible, Stubborn, Weak

Likes: Animals/creatures, reading, cooking.

Dislikes: Rude people, Racist, School.

Turn Ons: Rough play, Teasing, Public displays of affection, voice kink.

Turn Offs: Mean Spirited People.

Pet Peeves: Not being given a chance when I know i’m not like everyone in my house.

Superstitions: N/A

Ambitions: N/A

Talents: Not alot, but I’m really good with potions and Magical Herbs.

Sense of Humor: Very good.

Darkest Secret: I tried to drop out of hogwarts

Does Anyone Know? Who?: Carmen, Sirius.

Greatest Fear: Being alone again.

Why?: I spent the first few years at hogwarts having no friends and I really don’t want to go back to that.

Other Fears: N/A

Why?: N/A

Boggart: Carmen, telling me she gives up on me and that she doesn’t want to talk to me anymore because I’m dragging her down.

Amortentia: Books, Grass/Plant/Magical herb scent, Vanilla.

Most at Ease When: My sister and I are safe at home.

Most Uncomfortable When: None of my friends are with me.

Enraged When?: People make fun of my sister for being related to me.

Depressed When?: Same as enraged when.

Frightened When?: None of my friends were with me

If Granted One Wish What Would It Be?: That racism didn’t exist.

 Habits

Bad Habits: Self doubt, smoking in the muggle world when home, self degration.

Good Habits: Kind to everyone no matter what, Reading, Gardening.

Hobbies: Gardening (Magical and non-magical), Reading

Instrument?: N/A

Sport?: N/A

Spending Habits: Not very much

Drinks?: Sirius snuck me some once and I tried it. It was fun.

Smokes?: Only when in the muggle world.

Drugs?: N/A

Nervous Tics: Biting lip, causes it to bleed sometimes.

 Favorites

Prized Possession: The Necklace Sirius gave me as a birthday present the year we started dating.

Color: Black

Quote: “We are all a little weird and life's a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love.”

Movie: Alice in wonderland

Book: Can’t pick just one

Genre: Fantasy

Season: Spring

Flower: Rose

Flavor: Earl Grey

Food: Scones

Dessert: Blueberry pie

 Soundtrack

Theme: Welcome to my life simple plan

Reason: I have a lot of insecurities and see myself as a failure. Nobody really accepts me except for the marauders and they don’t ever completely trust me because I’m a slytherin - I don’t really talk about it all that much but it really bothers me that everyone judges me.

Past Theme: To my parents Anna Clendening

Reason: I felt like I let everyone down especially my parents - I feel extremely guilty about it.

Fighting/Battle Theme: Titanium Sia

Reason: I feel as though I’m very weak, it’s extremely hard for me to be brave and this song kind of symbolizes how I feel while I fight.

Couple Theme: I see the light Tangled

Reason: Sirius finally gave me a reason to look forward to hogwarts, I have him waiting there for me. I couldn’t be happier being there with him and my sister now that it doesn't feel as lonely.

Agilenano - News: Why the 'Doom Eternal’ Marauder Sucks So Bad

When Doom 2016 released, it was with a fire and energy unlike anything we’d ever seen before. Oh, sure, games have been violent, and that’s nothing new, but Doom 2016 brought personality to the fray. While the characters droned on about lore nobody cared about, Doomguy understood what we were here to do: rip and tear. Together, we did just that. With the release of Doom Eternal, things have changed, and not necessarily for the better, and nowhere is this illustrated better than with an enemy known as the Marauder. Doom Eternal is a departure from Doom 2016; if you go into it expecting a sequel to the game you’ve waited four years for, you’ll be disappointed, because while it is a sequel narratively, it makes so many changes from its predecessor that it ends up becoming an entirely different kind of game. Where Doom 2016 let you embody Doomguy, Eternal has you putting on a Doomguy costume and exploring a Doomguy theme park. Here’s a fleshy level! Here’s a weird alien level! Why are there rotating flaming chains here? Uh… because Eternal owes more to Super Mario Bros 3. than Doom 2016. It’s weird, sure, but it’s still fun, just in a very different way. Once you get past the extremely high expectations set by 2016, you’ll find a delightfully potent mix of mechanics, movement abilities, weapons, and enemies that creates one of shooting’s best sandboxes. There’s nothing quite as thrilling as dashing past a Tyrant’s fire, leaping into the air in slow-mo, firing a grenade at an arachnotron’s turret to force him into close range combat, then landing on top of an unfortunate imp and chainsawing him in half for more ammo. It’s great! It really is… until the Marauder shows up. In theory, the Marauder is supposed to be the Anti-Doomguy; fighting him should feel like a duel. He has a shield you can’t break, summons adds constantly to fight you, reacts incredibly fast to your actions, and has a hitscan weapon with a minimal tell. He isn’t hard to beat—I’ve killed him in a matter of seconds—but he breaks every single one of Eternal’s rules. He sucks all the fun out of the room. He goes against the flow of Doom’s combat, and he’s the reason I have zero interest in playing more Doom Eternal. Let’s take a step back and talk about what makes Doom, as a series, so interesting. In the Beginning.. In 1993, id released Doom, and a whole lot of game developers started making first person shooters so similar that people took to calling the genre “ Doom clones.” But, as with anything that’s remotely successful, most of the clones didn’t quite nail what made the original as good as it was, either due to a lack of understanding or for a desire to experiment with something new. Doom was a game all about movement, first and foremost. If an imp throws a fireball at you, you step to the side to avoid damage; because the imp’s fireball has a visible travel time, it’s easy to understand and try to avoid. The rocket launcher’s splash damage does self-damage, so it’s important to keep as much distance between you and your enemies as possible when using it. On the surface, this sounds pretty simple; we’ve taken a lot of these elements for granted, and in some cases, they’ve changed over the years, sometimes for the worst. Take shotguns; in Doom, spread determined power, so distance directly correlated with damage. In more recent shooters, some designers use tools like damage falloff, meaning that even if every one of your pellets hit, your shotgun might as well be shooting confetti outside of its effective range. Doom’s elegance is the way that each component of its design, in terms of both weapon utility and enemy ability has a distinct, understandable purpose, and all of those components work together in a way that encourages players to move, but it wasn’t just the monsters or the weapons, it was the level design as well. 'Doom' screenshot courtesy of id In a level like E1M3, as you progress, one pickup causes all the lights to go off and imps burst out of a previously secret door behind you! It’s a great practical joke of the level design, and super memorable, not because it’s a surprise, but because it exists in direct contrast to the rest of the game’s encounters without breaking the level design. You see, there are two kinds of first person shooters, proactive and reactive. A proactive shooter is one where you can see the enemy, often before an encounter begins, and you start to plan how to deal with them. It often involves scouting out the level space, considering routes and cover, which enemies to use which weapons against, and so on. Halo 3’s a great example of a proactive shooter; you’ll often find yourself wading into fights from the high ground, like rescuing Johnson from imprisonment in the level Sierra 117. In shorter term play, planning is about area control; moment to moment, you’re thinking about the space you’re in and how your movement and shooting lets you control that space. Planning is a huge part of what makes a game engaging; if you can get players thinking about what to do next, you can keep them excited. Thomas Grip, best known for his work on games like Amnesia and Soma, has written about it at length here. 'Gears of War' screenshot courtesy of Microsoft Reactive shooters are very different, games that often turn into literal shooting galleries, where you stand still and shoot targets. Games like Gears of War and Call of Duty 4 are proactive shooters, but many of their imitators looked at mechanics like regenerating health systems and cover and decided to make games about staying in cover and moving as little as possible. Gears especially used cover as a way of encouraging a different kind of movement and planning, something its imitators rarely understood. Doom was a proactive shooter; so many of its encounters were about showing you what you were going to encounter, entering the fray, and managing enemies by controlling the space until you’ve completed the encounter. Reactivity isn’t bad; character action games like Devil May Cry 3 or Ninja Gaiden Black are all about reactive play and would be very different as proactive games. These games spawn waves of enemies, and you dodge, counter, and parry your way through combat. You’re making decisions, sure, but you’re reacting to the enemies the game throws at you. It’s not so much about area control as it is about managing the enemies you receive in the order they’re given to you. Reactive play is great for melee-driven action games, but shooters are best for proactive play because ranged combat puts the focus on area control. Over the years, as shooters became more cinematic games moved away from the pure game design abstractions of Doom and Doom 2 and closer to things that felt real. From 2006 or so until 2014, shooters became overly-restrictive, ‘cinematic’ affairs, more interested in showing impressive, expensive sequences that had more panache than dynamism. Good shooter gameplay seemed to matter a whole lot less than overly-restrictive set pieces. Gameplay took a backseat until a new wave of shooters like Titanfall and Destiny showed up to remind us what we were missing. Then along came Doom 2016. Rip And Tear Doom 2016 felt so vibrant because it wasted no time trying to be a movie. As a shooter, it knew you wanted to shoot, and it was only too happy to oblige. While the levels felt like real, believable spaces—Foundry is exactly what a Doom level should be in 3D and Argent Energy Tower beautifully channels Half-Life’s puzzle-like verticality—the game understood that you are Doomguy, and your goal is to show up and kill as many demons as humanly possible. 'Doom 2016' screenshot courtesy of Bethesda But… there was one problem. Most of Doom’s levels center around gore nests, big gobs of flesh that require you to interact with to start the encounter. Go into a room, the doors lock, and you fight everyone in the room until they’re dead. Even levels without gore nests have the same flow. Rather than encouraging proactive play, these levels were better at just encouraging you to run around, reacting to enemies as they spawned, triggering glory kills to get back health and armor, and shooting enemies until they were dead. While the game was absolutely excellent, and a masterpiece of level design and exploration, fights could get repetitive, which is why the back half of the game can feel so tiring compared to the first. At some point, Doom 2016 just stops adding new surprises and only seems to change the set dressing. It’s one of my favorite games, but I’d be happy to acknowledge that there was room for improvement. Instead, we got Doom Eternal. 'Doom 2016' screenshot courtesy of Bethesda Back in 2014 or so, I started working with some friends on a prototype shooter. That shooter featured double jumping, mantling, wall climbing, ice grenades, damaging enemy weak points to change their attack patterns, and a lot of other things featured in Doom Eternal. We were even working on a shotgun with a grappling hook, enemies who needed to be damaged to drop armor, and an ice grenade that could freeze enemies. We had to stop because we couldn’t afford to make it, but it was, in so many ways, my dream shooter, and it was absolutely thrilling to see one of my favorite game developers channeling so much of the same energy I’d had in Doom Eternal. For the first several hours, I found myself enthralled. I wasn’t sure how to feel about the Mario-influenced obstacles or the ultra-linear “encounter, hallway, encounter” level design; Eternal relies heavily on arcadey influences that seem at odds with its predecessor. I definitely wasn’t thrilled by the game’s insistence on story and fanservice, where Doom 2016 felt so much more focused and razor sharp. Still, the combat and arenas were intense and fast paced, though they leaned more towards the reactive side, with enemies constantly warping into battle until I’d killed them all. There are some rough spots—Eternal wants you to use all of its mechanics in every encounter, but sometimes doesn’t provide enough ammo to complete the encounters (you’re supposed to chainsaw fodder enemies to get more ammo, but that falls apart when the game refuses to produce any). 'Doom Eternal' screenshot courtesy of Bethesda Eternal wants to keep you on your toes with a great mix of enemies who push you through agility, area denial, or just plain aggression, like my favorite enemy in the series, the Hell Knight. While the game keeps you on your toes, and the way it handles enemy spawns pushes it closer to reactive play, Eternal tries to balance this with a system of counters. Cacodemons are weak to the Ballista, while the plasma rifle makes short work of the game’s shields. Even though Eternal pushes you to stay on your toes and forces you to fight reactively, there are still ways to make plans, juggling weapons and managing enemies for some semblance of area control. Everything in the game has a counter that works against it. In its most aggressive moments, like the spectacular Slayer Gate encounters, Eternal hits a state of zen few reactive shooters can match, because you’re making plans, but it’s more like “oh no! That’s a Tyrant! Where did he come from? Okay, I’ll use my crucible on him right after I use this ice grenade to get rid of that Whiplash.” Even though you’re reacting, you’re still making decisions. When the Marauder shows up, decisions go out the window. Early on, Doom Eternal establishes rules like “energy shields can be overcharged with plasma fire, causing them to explode, doing damage to nearby enemies.” The Marauder is the only enemy with a shield that takes no damage. Where every other enemy features projectiles and lengthy tells to allow you to dash out of their range, the Marauder’s weapon appears to be a hitscan weapon, meaning it has instant travel time and can only be dodged. He punishes you for getting too close or too far. He can teleport at random. Every rule Eternal sets up, the Marauder breaks… and it kills the flow completely. He isn’t hard to kill, once you get the hang of him, but he sucks because he doesn’t fit. Eternal is a very game designer game, like someone sat down with a bunch of spreadsheets and cross-referenced all the guns to make sure every enemy and action has some sort of clear counter and flow. While the combat encounters themselves are beautifully frenetic, they also have a tendency to get monotonous; great shooters allow for creative play, which is why proactive shooters have an edge over reactive ones. Games that look beautiful on spreadsheets, where every component has a distinct place, minimize that creativity even further, because they prescribe the ways you must play in order to succeed. The Marauder doesn’t even allow that. To beat him, you have to wait until he opens his shield, then stun him, or fire a bunch of explosives behind him to whittle his health down. Neither is really all that fun. There’s no way to bait him into rushing you by, say, blowing up his shield, or taking area control away from me by using weapons to push him into a position you’d find advantageous. He’s immune to the super weapons like the BFG, Crucible, and Unmakyr, for no apparent reason. Eternal is at its best when you’re playing actively and making plans, which are facilitated by its counter system, and while that restricts creative play, it’s still a valid way to get players in the zone. The Marauder has hard counters for everything you can do. He’s not hard, but he’s annoying. He doesn’t fit. He’s like an underwater level or one of those really fast flying enemies that are irritating to hit. He doesn’t pose a challenge, he just sucks all the fun out of the room because he requires you to play passively. The Marauder feels like an indulgence that doesn’t really fit, but that’s true of Doom Eternal as a whole. No one loved Doom 2016 because of the story or the boss fights or the memes that didn’t exist yet, they loved it because Doomguy conveyed so much with so little. Doom Eternal isn’t content to do a lot with a little; it wants to indulge in everything. It adds so much without ever really knowing why. What does purple goop add? What do the weird Mario platformers or 1ups bring to the situation? What purpose does the Marauder serve? Doom 2016 was a vibrant reinvention for the series that was fast enough to maintain the spirit of the game while still allowing for creative and interesting play. Doom Eternal wants to be something different, and that’s okay, because its emphasis on counters can still lead to fun play. But the Marauder just doesn’t fit; he’s antithetical to everything that makes Eternal worth playing. When a game indulges in its least-compelling moments, it loses the things that make it great. The Marauder is Doom Eternal’s biggest indulgence and its greatest failing. #DoomMarauder #Bethesda #FirstPersonShooters #GamesOpinion #IdSoftware

Agilenano - News from Agilenano from shopsnetwork (4 sites) https://agilenano.com/blogs/news/why-the-doom-eternal-marauder-sucks-so-bad

Of Monsters and Marauders

PART 3/4

Read the Full Story on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11590044/chapters/26048535

After spending the remainder of the evening and early hours of the morning charging through the forbidden forest in dog form, Sirius had found his way back to the common room. He elected to eschew all of his classes for the day. Instead, he stayed in bed with his record player blasting while he drank whatever ale he had hidden away. His thoughts never left his fight with James. He fed the anger.

Remus, meanwhile, forewent his class as well, though that was typical following the full moon. He always spent the following day in the hospital wing, raising suspicion, no doubt, from his classmates, though most seemed content with the vague answer that he had some sort of chronic illness--which ultimately was true enough. Today, though, Remus had passed the morning in Headmaster Dumbledore’s office, pouring his guts to him. He expected Dumbledore to expel him--in more paranoid moments, he even anticipated that he might inform the Ministry of what had happened--but Dumbledore had done neither of those things. As Remus had left the office, he wasn’t sure which outcome he’d really been hoping for.

After Madame Pomfrey diligently examined him and virtually force fed him a sleeping potion to rest for a few hours, Remus was released from the hospital wing. For a moment, he did feel somewhat rested--dreamless sleep will do that to even the most guilty consciences--but the restfulness drained from him as soon as reality came crashing back in. He managed to hold it together as he passed through the corridors from the hospital wing to his dormitory, but in the bathroom, crash it did.

Examining himself in the mirror momentarily, Remus let himself come to pieces with a wrenching sob, fighting the urge to be sick. He gripped the edges of the sink, shoulders slumped, head bent over. He’d nearly murdered two people last night--Severus and James. James. One of his best friends. Remus gasped for air at the thought; though he’d lived with this since he was five, and, in fact, could scarcely remember a time when he wasn’t a werewolf, this was the first time in his life that he’d almost hurt someone, almost killed someone. Thanks to the tireless diligence of his parents and teachers and friends, Remus had never posed a threat to anyone but himself. Granted, he still saw his disease as something shameful, something disgusting, but the memory of Severus and James’ expressions was the first time he fully understood what he was capable of--that he truly was a monster.

Remus stumbled backwards, away from the sink, away from his reflection, and slammed into the wall, letting himself slump down it. Remus hugged his knees to his chest, shaking. He could have been expelled--after everything that his parents and Dumbledore had done for him, after all the risks they’d taken on his behalf, he’d nearly gotten himself expelled. Remus was disgusted at himself, at how selfish he could be. James said that Sirius had led Snape to him, but who had led Sirius, James, and Peter there? Who agreed to let them follow him, let them stay with him? He had. If it wasn’t for that decision, Sirius wouldn’t have known where to lead Severus. Remus ran his fingers through his hair, all the way to the back of his neck, digging his fingers into his skin. Part of him wished he’d been expelled, because he deserved it. He deserved it for his carelessness, for the threat he posed to his classmates, to his friends. Remus shifted his hands to cover his mouth, his nose, to stifle another rising sob.

Sirius eventually left his brooding to find his way dazedly into the bathroom to finally clean the dirt and muck caked all over his skin, hair and clothes. He stopped dead in his tracks when he found Remus in a heap on the floor, visibly upset. Moodiness fell away instantly. “What’s happened?” he asked, unable to suppress the alarm in his voice. “Remus…are you hurt?!”

Remus started at Sirius’ voice--he hadn’t noticed him when he walked into the dormitory, hadn’t noticed much of anything, really. Remus stared at him blankly for a moment, his eyes bloodshot. Sirius remembered just as well as he did what he’d done and what more he could have done, what more he wanted to do.

“I nearly killed two people last night,” he said, his voice low, haunted. “I almost killed James, Sirius, I--” he said, then choked again, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. Still covering his face, Remus shook his head. “But how am I? Me, I’m fine,” he answered, letting his arms fall at his hides. “I’m a monster, Sirius,” Remus said hollowly, giving voice to all the thoughts and realizations that had been tormenting him since this morning. “And I’ve been--I’ve been fooling myself and everyone else to believe otherwise, all these years. I’m not the one who gets hurt--I’m the one who does the hurting,” he said, because the worst of it was, it wasn’t just that Remus nearly killed Severus and James--he could also remember wanting to, he remembered wanting to maul them, to devour them, like all werewolves wanted to do, and it churned his stomach. Remus folded his arms into the space between his stomach and his knees.

The color drained from Sirius’ face as he listened to Remus, looking down at someone who had always been nothing but a true friend to him--to everyone. He was now forced to really see the consequences of his actions. “Remus...” he began breathlessly, his chest rising and falling heavily. “You’re not the monster… You weren’t yourself.. You didn’t have a choice, but I did.” Sirius began to back away towards the sink, becoming too overwhelmed. “I am the monster.”

Remus shook his head. "It doesn't matter that you told Severus," he said, then met Sirius with a wry expression. "Because who told you about the shack?" he asked. "I should never have told any of you where I go, but I did, because I was lonely and selfish and this is what comes of it," Remus said, wiping his eyes again. "God, I shouldn't even be around people at all," he said. "I used to not be allowed to play with other kids, did you know that?" Remus asked. "And what's really changed so that I should be allowed to now? Because I'm old enough to know better to keep my mouth shut?" Remus questioned. "Because if it's a question of the danger I pose to others, well, I'm more dangerous now than I was when I was younger, when I was small."

Sirius had been perfectly content with his friends being cross with him--his recent behaviours even suggested an intent to push those close to him away, but he could not tolerate Remus’ self-loathing and guilt. He ran his hands through his hair and gripped it.

“Remus...I don’t want you to do this to yourself…No one got hurt. You deserve to be here. You deserve it more than I do. Dumbledore’s always wanted you here. You told us about the shack because you trusted us, trusted me.” Sirius looked at Remus now with a deep sadness, one that he had been masking with anger all this time. “I will take the fall for this, not you.”

Remus shook his head, "I already came clean to Dumbledore. I didn't tell him about the rest of you," he explained. "Dumbledore’s not going to expel me, so it doesn't matter," Remus told Sirius, but there was no joy in his words. "He said that he was ultimately responsible for any security flaws in his plan," Remus scoffed. Everyone seemed to want to take blame for this, even the Headmaster. "But if Snape tells someone, and they tell their parents..." Remus shrugged, his expression empty. "They're not going to care about whatever role you played. You're not the werewolf."

Sirius’ eyes welled up with tears, understanding now that he left the fate of one of his best friends’ in the hands of their enemy. The next time they faced off, or the time after that or any other time within the next two years, would Snape truly be so keen on keeping Remus’ secret? And Remus was right--even though Sirius had been the one to cause this, no parent would care about the troubled kid with mummy and daddy issues; not when there was a werewolf. He couldn’t fix this.

What had he done?

“FUCKING DAMNIT--FUCK” he exploded suddenly, punching his reflection in the mirror violently with his fist until the glass shattered all over him. He then ripped the frame with impressive force from the wall and smashed it against the floor--kicking through it and screaming all the while. With tears burning down his face, Sirius--now covered in blood again--slid down against the wall and buried his head in his hands as he sobbed.

“Remus...You didn’t deserve this--You are ten times the person I will ever be.” he choked, too guilty now to even look at his friend. “I...don’t know what’s wrong with me...I never wanted any of this...I...”

Remus jumped, his body tensing at Sirius’ sudden outbreak. He watched him in a horrified sort of amazement as he ripped the mirror’s frame off the wall. It was enough to distract Remus momentarily from his more immediate problems. He knew Sirius had been going through a lot with his parents, but somehow this physical manifestation of it all still managed to shock him.

Was this why he told Snape? Out of a need to destroy things? The question, though, was who was Sirius trying to destroy. Snape, Remus--or himself? Biting his lip, Remus shook his head. “I don’t know,” Remus admitted, since it seemed fruitless with all the broken glass and blood and what had passed last night to deny that something was wrong. “Is it...what went on at home?” he asked hesitantly.

Surrounded by his own destruction, Sirius looked up slowly at Remus through his tears with his instinctive defenses creeping in. Despite his natural tendency to shut down, Sirius knew Remus deserved his honesty. He shifted uncomfortably and looked down at his bloodied hands. “Home? HA.” he said with a hollow barking laugh. But then he continued, “...I know things have been different since I left. I haven’t been myself. I think I convinced myself a long time ago that I didn’t care about them, that I didn’t care what they thought of me. But then my mum...” He trailed off, shaking his head. “All she cares about is her mad pureblood dogma. And how well I represent her. She never cared for me. And she never will. Facing that...it hurt.” He explained slowly. “But there’s no excuse for what I’ve done to you, to us.” he said, looking at Remus with defeat.

Remus didn’t disagree--there were ways to handle these kinds of crises, and this wasn’t it. Still, it was hard to imagine how Sirius wouldn’t inevitably lash out in that situation--how anyone wouldn’t lash out. Remus wished that he hadn’t gotten pulled into it, though, but with or without Sirius’ intervention, there was the undeniable reality that he posed a constant threat to his classmates, and his presence was a threat that was no one’s fault but his own. Rubbing his eyes, Remus sighed, “You fucked up, but there were always so many different ways this whole situation could have taken a bad turn.”

“...I’m sorry, Remus,” Sirius offered weakly. He was an absolute mess--covered in blood, glass, muck and tears. “I know I can’t change what I did, but I’m going to tell Dumbledore that I was the one who told Snape. I betrayed you, put all of us at risk, and nearly got someone killed. I deserve to be expelled.”

At that moment, Peter burst into the bathroom completely covered in dirt, sticks, and several variations of herbs, shrubs and weeds--he basically had become a human shrubbery. Additionally, his shirt was so soaked in mud that it was barely a shirt anymore and his loosened tie was questionably singed.

Peter’s eyes were wide open and vacant with daze.

“...I got lost,” he murmured distantly to no one in particular.

Remus and Sirius exchanged confused glances.

“Hang on--Did you just get back from last night?” Sirius asked incredulously.

“...Yes.”

Sirius immediately erupted into roaring laughter and rested his forehead on his knees. Remus fought with everything he had to maintain his demeanor but with the combination of Peter’s pitiful appearance and Sirius’ infectious laughter, it was impossible. The corners of his mouth began to twitch, and then, he, too, burst into laughter.

To Be Continued

Limsa Lominsa was a busy town, even as the sun faded into the horizon and the darkness was kept at bay through innumerable torches. Even in the dead of night, there were still deals to be made, goods to haul both into and out of ships, and more than a glasses of ale were being passed around. All in all, there was little to distinguish the night from any other in the naval city, save for a robed figure that trod upon the creaking planks so close to the sea. A heavy linen robe obscured all save for the person’s height, as they walked up to a rather bored looking bouncer. The Roegadyn had been peering out at the sea with a rather thoughtless expression on his face until the figure approached, but the only real change was to be a slight shake of his head towards the door. “Oh, it’s you. Head on inside, the others have been expectin’ ya.” The figure seemed to hesitate at this? Expecting them? That hadn’t been part of the plan. Not that there had been much of a plan, really, but this was a development they hadn’t been counting on. Still, they were here, and it wasn’t like they could back out now. Pushing the doors open, the robed figure would head inside, a dim pathway opening up to an equally underlit bar. Only it wasn’t a bar, exactly; There were people, and a bar, and liquids in bottle behind the counter that were ostensibly alcohol, of course, but the purpose of the patrons and the reason for their gathering in such an out of the way location usually availed themselves of anything but getting recklessly drunk. Shadowy figures stood at the edges of the room, their activities hidden in the rather poor lighting of the place, while a trio sat at a table in the middle, smiles atop their faces. It wouldn’t be until the figure’s gaze fell upon the hyur that left his feet lazing on top of the circular table that they would hear anyone speak. “Aye, it’s you innit, Miss Warrior of Light?” The figure took a step back at this, only to seemingly shrug, and pull down their hood. Indeed, there was Rania, warrior of light, savior of the realm, slayer of primals and imperials alike, etc etc. The dark-skinned mi’qote discarded the robe on a nearby coat rack to reveal her typical enchanted attire; a rather tight-fitting, if elegant robe that spread from her neck down to near her legs. The sheer amount of magick woven into the garb’s fabric meant that even the most magickally-disinclined could sense it, and while it might’ve been a breathtaking piece elsewhere, the seedy, dark atmosphere of the bar meant that it was more awkward than anything else. “Very well, you’ve discovered my identity. If you knew who I was, however, why would you permit me entrance to your hideout? I could be coming as an advance guard for the Yellowjackets, after all.” There was laughter at that, and not just from the hyur. Another miqo’te and a lalafell sat at the table in the middle of the room, and all three of them seemed rather amused by the scenario laid out by the summoner. “You’ve got a right sense of humor, y’know. Do you really think we’d have let you get this far if that’d been your aim? Give us some credit; We had you pegged the second you came down to the lower levels, and you ain’t down here for no one but y’self, aren’t ya?” It was the other mi’qote who had spoken this time, her expression nestled somewhere between amusement and derision upon seeing the fabled warrior. Her attire seemed to be a patchwork mixture of belts, buckles, various little pouches, and the sort of leather leggings and chestpiece one would expect from a person in her profession. Indeed, as Rania’s eyes began to grow accustomed to the seedy lighting, it became apparent that all of the bar’s clientele were garbed in such a fashion, though the particulars varied from person to person. “Ain’t many we let through the doors, y’know.” She continued,”clients, recruits, and bollocks-for-brains mark what marches himself right in here for an easy job. You don’t seem like you’re here for a job, and yer definitely not dumb enough to come in here and try to strut like yer owner of the place, which means yer here to learn from us, ain’t ya?” It was an accusation that silenced the room. Rania was an esteemed summoner that had bested some of the toughest enemies the imperials and tribes could throw at her. Why would such a figure be here, amongst the doom, gloom, and generally unsavory participants that made up the room’s inhabitants? At the same time, there wasn’t much else she could be there for, right? Her hesitance only seemed to confirm the answer, though rather the the laughter she’d anticipated, confusion instead spread across the hyur’s face. “Y’could have the pick of the Admiral’s best to train you in any fashion y’like, right? So why are you here ‘round us ruffians instead? We’re not the folk you’d like to be seen consorting with-’specially not someone as prestigious as yourself, Miss Kilthon.” His tone was equal parts biting truth and mocking skepticism, something that the young mi’qote had been anticipating. “Your...guild, is it not? Your compatriots and yourself are somehow one of the best and worst kept secrets in Limsa Lominsa. Ask any half-addled fisherman straight off his latest trip and he’ll be able to tell you about ‘The Dutiful Sisters of Edelweiss,’ but ask about their location and suddenly he’s just remembered he needs to go walk his mammet. It’s the same elsewhere, too; Sailors, merchants, even clerks for the Admiral’s office rebuffed my advances. It wasn’t until I finally found a loose-lipped Yellowjacket at the Wench and got him drunk -and I mean really drunk- that he finally let slip of this location, and that was all I got out of him before he slipped into unconsciousness. But..” She paused at that, her gaze locking onto the hyur after having avoided him for most of her diatribe. “Limsa Lominsa was the first place I arrived at in Eorzea, and I took, perhaps, three steps off the boat before hearing about the code.” The room seemed to grow noticeably more tense. The code was unspoken, but the ultimate guidelines for how the guild operated. Everyone in the harbor town knew of it, but few would openly remark upon just who kept it in place. “Everyone I’ve met here, from Master Baderon, to Mistress Thubyrgeim, to the Admiral herself has welcomed me to Limsa Lominsa like I was born just around the corner. Everything I’ve done so far, I’ve done either to further my studies or for the protection of Eorzea. But Ultima is dead and now that I have some free time on my hands, I’d like to protect the city that helped me get started, and you folks are the ones who can help me do that.” There was a pause. The cause sounded noble, befitting someone like the esteemed Summoner, but… “That wasn’t what he meant, luv.” The lalafell had spoken up this time, peeking out from under a bandana placed upon his head to stare straight at her. “Wantin’ to serve and protect is all good and lovely, but we got the Yellowjackets for problems in the city and the Maelstrom for problems out’a it. So why are you here? With us. You can serve the code without having to skulk alleyways and the like.” The ebony-skinned cat glanced away again. “...My travels have taught me two things. The first was that you can’t always go through the proper channels to get things done, and the second was that being good with spells doesn’t always mean you’re good in a fight.” A thin arm stretched out from the summoner, bending upward to better show her example. “I’m not exactly marauder material, and I doubt I ever will be. But I’m not completely weak! It just needs to go towards more...dexterous pursuits.” There was another pause as the room digested this latest explanation. No one knew better than the rogues that going through the proper steps to stop a problem didn’t always work, but as far as skills to be taken to the battlefield? “Y’know we’re not warriors, right? A handful of rocks and a stabber to the back will take care of some shite-gobbling mark with no problem, but it ain’t the style for fightin’ a demigod or whatever you’ll be havin’ at next.” For the first time since she’d entered the dingy establishment, Rania smiled. “That is where you’re mistaken, Miss-” “V’kebbe is the name, and ain’t no ‘Miss’ appended to it, ‘less you’re trying to take my order.” The crimson-haired woman appeared mildly offended at the rather proper manners Rania had attempted to employ. “...Right. V’kebbe. I’ve been on more battlefields than I care to name, and there’s a place for everyone. Dragoons, archers, marauders-Hell, I wield a bloody book! You can’t tell me there’s no place for stabbin’ things when I’m out there with a tome, throwin’ spells at people like they’re stinkbombs!” The warrior put a hand to her face, face mildly red. Normally the warrior of light had done her best to stay as eloquent as she could, but her time spent in Limsa Lominsa had rubbed off on her somewhat. The rogues appeared to be amused by this, again. “...What I was trying to say, is that even someone with skills meant more towards skulking about in the dark can still be applied in an even fight. Mostly to make it uneven,” she finished, a rather crafty gleam in the young cat’s eyes. Murmuring passed through the room as the rogues considered this. It wasn’t that they were a cowardly lot-quite the opposite, actually: You didn’t go toe to toe with pirates willing to step out of line when faced with the admiral and not carry around some rather impressive stones. It was just that fighting wasn’t their aim, most times. Punishment was the name of their game, and this didn’t seem to quite mesh with what Rania wanted. Regardless, however, it was down to the guild leader, who appeared to be awash in thought. Minutes would pass as he stared at a wall, enough time elapsing that even the hyur’s two compatriots began to grow concerned. It would shock the room (as well as Rania) when he finally swiveled around, a rather cocky grin on his face. “Gotta hand it to you, lass. Not many prim and proper-like warriors and noble figures like y’self would try and find us, and even fewer would be willin’ to put the work in to try and learn how to uphold the code. You’re an odd one, no mistake. Lucky for you, we’re a place full of odd ones. But I’ll ask one last time, just t’be sure you’re willin’ to commit. Are you sure you wanna join up with the Rogue’s Guild?” The warrior paused for a moment, before suddenly spitting into her hand and offering it to the rogue leader. There was a moment before the room erupted into laughter, the loudest laugh of all was the leader, of course, who suddenly unsheathed a small blade from his belt. A brief moment of panic would flare within the mi’qote’s eyes, until she realized he had placed the dagger in her outstretched hand, shortly before grabbing her other one to do the same. “No need for superstitious shite like that here. We’re the ghouls in the dark that the sailors use that shite for to ward us off-not the other way around.” A broad smile came to the hyur’s face as he pat Rania on the back. “Now, you’re gonna be too. Welcome to the rogue’s guild, lass: The name’s Jacke-and you’re what properly inducted into the guild now. Jacke tilted his head at the brown-skinned lalafell, his expression growing more protective. “Yer gonna go with Underfoot there. He’s gonna teach you some basic moves with your stabbers-that’s your knives there,” he pointed at the rather dull blades still clasped in her hands,”And he’ll show you ‘round to find some proper wear. No doubt them fancy robes are great for casting spells, but you’re gonna need somethin’ a bit less suspicious if you’re knifin’ gobshites at the crack of dawn.” He turned to the diminutive Lalafell, his expression shifting more towards a commanding one. “Get her clothed right and teach her which end is the stabby bit ‘fore the sun comes up. If we’re lucky, we’ll have some easy job she can do when you get back. Don’t go screwin’ around, Underfoot.” As if on cue, “Underfoot,” seemed to grow offended. “Like I’m gonna drag her around for food at half ‘past the moon like V’kebbe did with the last newbie! C’mon, Rania. We’re gonna teach you how to uphold the code.” With a gait that suggested as much determination as it did spite, the Lalafell led Rania out into the cold Lominsan night, setting the warrior of light up to take her first step towards a darker side of the city.

Another day, another Subconscious preview, and I am blazing through this book! Like, I thought I was going to have to fight through tremendous writer’s block due to switching gears into new characters, but nope! Looks like all those years of preparation are paying off!

It was somewhat interesting, as Sir Mane reflected as he settled into luxurious chair in his private box at the Ava Adore Theater, how wars are named.

Certainly there seemed to be little rhyme or reason. Some, especially single battles, took their name from the place whose soil soaked up the blood. Others from the date in which they happened. Still others got their titles from what was accomplished, such as the Tyrannical War or the War of Jewels. Whatever the case, there just seemed to be little consistency between them.

Take the two most significant wars in Nightmare history. The Nightmare War, in which Thelonious the Silent decided that he was no longer content with ruling over a full fourth of Nod and tried to take the whole pie, was named, of course, after the people who started it, who fired the first shot, who were the most central players in the whole dismal, bloody affair. And ultimately, they were the ones who lost, losing their Progenitor in the process with no heir to take up the mantle of Monarch. The interesting thing to note was that at the time, it wasn't known as the Nightmare War. After all, the Nightmares weren't even called the Nightmares back then, as the one who would provide the name hadn't even been born yet. From all accounts, it was known as the Screaming War while it was still in progress, with the rename occurring much later, starting off as a nickname that eventually took hold and became official in the history books.

On the other hand, despite its similarities, the Marauder War took a different road. Like its elder brother, the Marauder War had been started by the Nightmares. They had been the aggressors, the instigators, the ones who bore the responsibility. As was the case with the Nightmare War, they had done so out of greed, seeking to steal something that they had no right to. In both cases, they had been wholly unprepared for their enemies' response, leaving them a broken and bewildered people, with less standing than they had begun with. And finally, though the Nightmares had taken the brunt of the damage, the end results had still sent shockwaves throughout Nod, forever changing its destiny.

The difference was that the Nightmare War had been named after the losers, as an eternal reminder of their greed and stupidity. On the other hand, the Marauder War was named after the victors. Before they had brought the Nightmares to heel and forced their surrender, the Marauders had been seen as little more than pests, nuisances that bore watching but had little to do with Nod's affairs. So long as they remained in their world, they weren't worth the effort to bother with. Funny how things changed.

Another difference was how much time had elapsed. The Marauder War had only taken place a scarce seventy-four years ago, and many still lived that remembered it. It was recent enough to pervade public consciousness, and was a sore enough subject in many circles that joking about it was considered poor taste.

Naturally, the only thing to do then was to produce a rock opera about it.

The Table and the Tunnel was certainly a controversial production. It retold the events that had led up to the Marauder War and the circumstances of its ending in broad strokes. The personalities of its players were exaggerated, their motivations twisted and several key moments ignored while others warped. To this the producers were unapologetic, citing artistic license. "An entertaining production is more important than historical accuracy!" claimed its writer. To this, critics had been unimpressed, as it was exceedingly clear that the goal of the play was to rewrite history, demonizing one side while propping up the other as misunderstood heroes. The agenda was as clear as day, and the producers' stalwart refusal to admit as such had earned them some very vocal opponents. Protestors were common sights at performances.

Of course, all of this combined with the attractiveness and charisma of its leads and an undeniably catchy soundtrack meant that it was a smash hit. The price of a ticket was obscene and often sold out well in advance. And as one of its principal bankrollers, Sir Mane had profited greatly from its success.

However, money was not the reason he had personally invested in its production. He had more than enough already. No, his reasons were much more personal, and the play's success was satisfying to him on a deeply intimate level. He would have ensured its production even if not a single ticket were ever sold. And he had already seen it three times.

The lights dimmed, and the babble of voices in the audience below, the overwhelming majority of them Nightmares, died down to be replaced with loud cheers and whistles. Smirking, Sir Mane settled down to enjoy the show.

But as the opening chords of the rock ballad The World Beneath began, he became aware that the door to his private box was opening behind him. Frowning, he turned in his seat, wondering who could be so bold to interrupt him and why the guards he had stationed outside had let them through. It had better be good, or they had better be dead.

A plain-faced young man, barely out of childhood and dressed in an ill-fitting tux, walked in. Sir Mane's icy blue eyes were already cold and malicious, something that newspaper caricatures took delight in emphasizing. But now they were downright frigid. If there was one thing he hated more than being interrupted it was children. Already he was mentally figuring out how to dispose of the body.

His hands stuck into his pockets, the young man smirked at him. Then without so much as a greeting or an apology he walked over to slip into the empty seat next to Sir Mane.

And with that, the boy's death warrant was signed.

But before Sir Mane could translate murderous intent into action, the boy's features dissolved like the picture in an old-fashioned, poorly-tuned television. When they came back into focus, Sir Mane found himself sitting next to someone else entirely.

The man looked to be in his late thirties or early forties, with northern European features, a strong, clean-shaven jaw, neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper hair, and storm cloud eyes as cold as Sir Mane's. Though old age was still far away, his face was lined with the wrinkles of a much older man, denoting a man accustomed to submerging himself in weighty affairs. His charcoal black suit now fit him exquisitely. There was a gold ring set with a ruby on his left hand, and a large golden watch on his right wrist. The side of his lip curled up in a manner that might be a smile and might not be. Either way, it did not reach his eyes.

Slowly exhaling, Sire Mane settled back into his chair. "Your Highness," he said, his tone conveying nothing but respect. "This is an…unexpected pleasure."

Prince Claudio Borgia nodded cordially. The eldest son of King Savio Borgia, Claudio was the crown prince of Kanon, a title that might be meaningless in light of his father's immortality, but given that both the original Antoine Borgia, Progenitor to the Kanon, and his son and heir had met with untimely ends three hundred years apart, Claudio's chances of one day taking the throne were higher than one might expect.

Whether or not that should happen depended on who you talked to. Certainly, there was no denying that Claudio was far more intelligent than his passionate, impulsive father, and would make a far more competent Monarch. However, he was also considerably more ruthless, considerably more dangerous, and considerably more feared. It was whispered that Savio had fathered him upon a Nightmare woman. Those that believed so were fools. One didn't need to be a Nightmare in order to be dangerous.

"Clearly," Claudio murmured in his soft, deadly voice, one that was often described as being like a velvet sheathe covering a killing blade. "Apologies for disturbing you, Sir Mane. But if word got out that we were speaking, then uncomfortable questions might arise."

Sir Mane frowned. "Then…forgive me, but wouldn't surprising me at a public venue still cause whispers to spread?"

Claudio's not-a-smile grew ever so slightly. "It is of no consequence. No one save for you recognizes me for who I am. In fact, no one save for you can even see me right now."

Sir Mane slowly breathed out. He was not a man without power. In fact, were the whole of Nod placed onto a list, he would rank in the upper echelon. But the power wielded by the Monarchs and their families was nothing short of terrifying.

Down below, on the stage, the actors playing the parts of Lord Eric of Thorns and the nefarious Dr. Croencore were singing a comedic duet listing all of the Marauders' worst traits, of which they had several. Lord Eric was already a handsome man and the actor selected to portray him had been cast accordingly. However, by all accounts. Dr. Croencore had not been easy on the eyes, and the things he had done had made him an unpopular figure in history. As such, Sir Mane had made sure that the person selected to play him was darkly handsome, with a commanding stage presence, formidable acting ability, and a deep, bass voice with no fewer than three musical numbers. Even the play's harshest critics admitted that he stole the show.

Even Prince Claudio seemed impressed. "You know, my little sister has the soundtrack to this play. This piece is a favorite of hers."

"Really," Sir Mane said. "I'm surprised that your father would allow this."

"Oh, he doesn't," Claudio said amiably. "He doesn't even know. The old man hates this play. In fact, he tried to have it banned from ever being performed anywhere in Kanon

"I remember," Sir Mane said. He didn't ask what the prince was even doing there. When Claudio wanted to tell him, he would. "He doesn't object that strongly to how we portrayed the Marauders, does he?

Claudio chuckled. "Well, he does appreciate how the Marauders knocked the Nightmares down a peg or two dozen. That in itself has caused him to look upon them favorably. But no, it's less of that and more of how well you made the Nightmares look."

"Ah."

Claudio shrugged. "The Nightmares killed our Progenitor and his successor, my father's grandfather and father. He is one to hold a grudge. Understandable, but wearying in the long run."

"And you?"

Another shrug. "I never knew my great-grandfather. I respect him, of course. But I never knew him. And I barely remember my grandfather. The Nightmares deserved their humiliation, yes, but that was a long time ago. If the current regime wishes to make amends, I say it's best to let them. Besides, we cannot allow ourselves to remain blind to the threat the Marauders pose."

The edge of Sir Mane's mouth twitched just a centimeter. It lasted less than a second, but Prince Claudio caught it.

"See?" he said, his smile finally becoming something real. "You agree." He looked back down to the performance, where the primary antagonist was taking the stage for his introductory number. As was customary, the audience booed him with enthusiasm. "The Marauders have not been shy about using their stranglehold on the Nightmares to push their influence out into our world. You know this. Jacob Draco especially grows bolder every year."

"Does he," Sir Mane growled.

On the stage, the character of Jacob Draco, Super Clanmaster of the Marauders, began singing his appropriately bombastic trash-metal signature song, bragging about his schemes and designs on taking all of the world of Nod for his own. The actor was a particular point of pride for Sir Mane, as he nailed the slimy, conniving, duplicitous character with perfection, with grating, nasal singing voice to boot. The fact that he hadn't even hit puberty yet had garnered him much acclaim, and the rest of the cast were quick to let people know that the actual boy was the sweetest thing ever and nothing like the vile person he played.

"Sir Mane, please don't plead ignorance," Claudio said as they watched the fictional depiction of the actual person they were discussing. "You know full well that he's already purchased a number of industrial properties, many of which you yourself had your eye on. And we have reason to suspect that he's been making a push into the entertainment industry as well. We know you've already been undercut several times and had assets you already owned bought out from beneath you. He is aggressively pushing into your territory. And we both know how protective you are of what's rightfully yours."

Sir Mane felt his jaw tighten. He didn't really have the best poker face, true, and Prince Claudio's words were scoring several hits. "What do you want from me?" he said, his voice hoarse.

"Your assistance." Prince Claudio steepled his fingers in front of his face as he continued to watch the performance. "We are in the process of putting together, shall we say, an organization, one that will be tasked with stopping the Marauders in their tracks and force them back into their tunnels."

Sir Mane had to snicker at that. "Good look with that. You know how the Marauders are about their rules. Hurt one, and you bring the whole swarm down on your heads."

"True," Claudio admitted. "But there is something of a loophole, a place where, according to their own rules, anything goes."

That made Sir Mane blink with surprise. No, he couldn't be suggesting what it sounded like he was suggesting. "The Unconscious?" he said, perhaps a bit more loudly than he should have. "You're taking the fight to the Marauders in the Unconscious?"

Unperturbed, Claudio merely said, "There are many who feel that they've been given free rein to plunder dreams long enough. There is more than sufficient reason to suspect that their thieving has had a negative effect on the dreamkind that spawn from dreams that they've stolen from." He quirked an eyebrow, his stormy grey eyes glancing meaningfully at the man sitting next to him. "Besides, if the rumors that they've begun kidnapping fetal dreamkind before the dream has even ended are true, then that in itself is more than enough reason to put a stop to things."

Sir Mane was shocked. Part of the reason why nobody had bothered to do anything about the Marauders until the Nightmares' misguided attempt to steal their power was that, for the most part, the Marauders kept their activities restricted to the Unconscious, sneaking into dreams and taking whatever odd baubles caught their eye. Conducting raids upon those who lived in Nod was heavily frowned upon, which was something of a relief, as killing, harming, or holding a Marauder against their will in Nod was tantamount to an act of war, as the Nightmares had been surprised to find out. Besides, with the Warrens that they called home being inaccessible to anyone but themselves, stamping out their nests was all but impossible, whereas they could strike anytime, anywhere should they be provoked. As such, so long as the little rats kept their plundering restricted to dreams, then the rest of the world had to content itself with pretending that they didn't exist.

The war had changed that. The Nightmares had broken those rules, and had paid the price for their foolishness. And ever since then the Marauders had been growing more and more bold. There were rumors of raids taking place on the smaller settlements, farmsteads, and unclaimed territories. People claimed to have seen Marauders walking the streets, plain as day. One particularly disturbing incident had occurred only a few weeks ago, in which a group of drunk young men had attacked what they swore was a Marauder raiding party but had turned out to be group of schoolchildren walking home from the theater. Luckily there hadn't been any serious injuries, but it did speak to the growing fear that came from the Marauder clans breaking their traditional borders and everyone being unable to do anything about it.

However, like Prince Claudio, there was a loophole, a way to strike back without violating the Marauders' strict code. The Unconscious itself, where the dreams of humanity created the denizens of Nod, a virtual no-man's-land as far as the Marauders were concerned. According to their rules, those who entered a dreamer's dream did so at their own peril. And while no Marauder would dare take advantage of that loophole to murder another while in a dream, there was, as Claudio had just pointed out, nothing preventing someone else from doing the same.

Sir Mane slowly breathed out. This was…this was going to change everything. "It's still dangerous," he said. "Dreams don't last long enough to set any proper traps. And where are you planning on taking any Marauders you capture?"

"I never said anything about capturing them," Prince Claudio murmured.

Silence.

Back on the stage, the current song came to an end, as Sir Eric of Thorns lamented the circumstances that had driven him to such extremes. The applause eventually died down, and as the room darkened to signal a scene change, Sir Mane said, "What you're proposing is extremely dangerous. Sure, it's a loophole, but you can't expect the Marauders to do nothing. They'll declare war regardless."

"Some will want to, yes," Claudio responded. "Others won't be so eager."

Sir Mane frowned. "Meaning?"

"We have reason to believe that tensions have started to rise between the clans. They were always a disorganized bunch, squabbling and competing amongst themselves. They united during the war, certainly, but that was a long time ago. As we understand it, the fact that Jacob Draco kept the power he accumulated during the war has rankled some nerves, and whatever goodwill he gained for winning is now all but spent."

Now this was interesting. Sir Mane's own sources had also said as such, but nothing had been confirmed. His brow furrowed, Sir Mane leaned in closer and listened.

"If you'll recall, it took some time for the Marauders to fully commit to the war, and that was after the Nightmares had blatantly violated their rules," Claudio continued. "It wasn't until the purpose of Dr. Croencore's experiments came to light that they panicked. It is our hope that striking at them while respecting the letter of the law of their rules will further inflame those tensions, driving a wedge between those who wish to strike back and those reluctant to enter into another conflict."

"Maybe, but that'll just make them more reckless," Mane countered. "Even if there isn't another war, the pressure will just motivate Jacob to accelerate whatever he's doing."

"Indeed," Claudio said with a soft smile. "We're counting on it, actually."

And then Mane got it. "This is what you need me for, isn't it?"

Claudio nodded. "No one knows the extent of Jacob Draco's push into our world like you do. No one's resisted him as long as you have. As his principal…business rival, you're in a unique position to upset whatever it is he has planned. Only now you'll be doing it with our backing."

"Really. And are you sure they'll be so anxious to have me? After all, I am not a popular figure in many circles."

"Oh, your necromantic hobbies don't bother us much. We're not looking for public support. We're looking for results." Then Claudio make a cursory scan of the audience below them. "By the by, are those two infamous monsters of yours about?"

"They're where I need them," Mane answered, his voice betraying nothing. "Back to the point, what if war does result?"

"Oh, I feel that's inevitable at this point," Claudio said, his tone disturbingly casual for such a weighty pronouncement. "But this way, we'll be in a far better position to fight back and eventually crush them when it does. Furthermore, you'll have our full support and protection should they turn their destructive attention toward you and your properties."

"Ah. And if I may, who exactly does we include?"

"Why, all of us," Prince Claudio said. "The Kanon, the Desios, and the Sahks. The Nightmares are, of course, excluded, but we have every reason that should open hostilities erupt, they'll be more than happy to throw off the Marauders' yoke and throw in as well."

Mane's head jerked back. "What? Are you serious?"

"I am." Then Claudio grimaced. "Well, for the most part. We're still ironing out the details. The Four Thrones have never been known for being agreeable with one another, but we're making headway. It helps that it was King Azul the Golden's idea."

Now Mane was outright stunned. "Azul is part of this?"

"He's spearheading it, actually." Claudio shrugged and chuckled. "Of course, Father is being contrary, but I'm sure he'll come around. The Sahks are…more or less on board, but with them, who can tell really?"

Mane leaned back into his seat, thinking. This…this changed everything. If what Prince Claudio was saying turned out to be true, then the social and political ramifications were going to be huge. Three of the four dreamkind kingdoms cooperating to exterminate the Marauders once and for all? The Nightmares themselves finally free to seek bloody vengeance? Jacob Draco, cornered like rat, his machinations laid bare while his support base crumbled? The Marauders themselves falling into dissolution and infighting? This was going to shape history for centuries to come!

Of course, dissention or no, the Marauders were going to resist. Even with all four kingdoms united against them, they were sure to put up a hell of a fight. No one really knew the full extent of the resources they had at their disposal, and even if they went down, it was fair to say that they were going to take a number of their enemies down with them. And just by being involved, Mane was going to become a prime target. They were going to try to ruin him, destroy everything he had worked to build, maybe even kill him.

But then, they were going to do that regardless, and with this level of support there was nothing he could lose that he would be unable to rebuild tenfold. And he relished the chance to take the fight back to that conniving snake. Besides, he was very, very hard to kill.

But still…

"There's still problems though," Mane said. "What about the Warrens? We still have no way of accessing them. Dr. Croencore's research was never completed, and he's been missing for years. What if they see this coming and start leveraging the Nightmares against us? What about-"

"The problems and risks are numerous, yes," Claudio said smoothly. Mane bristled at the interruption, but he didn't dare make an issue of it. "And we will be more than happy to discuss them with you at length. But for now, we don't need a sounding board. We need an answer. Are you in or out?"

Mane frowned. "Hypothetically speaking…if I say no, what follows?"

"Then I thank you for your time and leave you to enjoy the rest of the play," Claudio said. "You sacrifice only the opportunities that are to come."

"And you'll trust me not to blab?"

"I don't see how you'll be able to, seeing how I'll be taking all memory of this meeting with me when I leave."

Sir Mane wasn't surprised. Though he was far more resistant to mental manipulation than most people, even his mind would be a cakewalk to alter for a member of one of the royal families. "Fair enough," he said. "I'll have to think about it first."

Claudio nodded in agreement. "Quite reasonable. Take all the time you need. However, before you begin, there is something else I feel I should point out."

Mane was instantly on his guard. This was it: Claudio's trump card. "What is it?" he said guardedly.

Leaning over to whisper into Mane's ear, Claudio said, "He's here."

"What?"

"Jacob Draco. He's here. In this theater."

Mane inhaled sharply through his teeth. "What?"

Moving away, Claudio gestured with one hand out toward the audience. Specifically, to the box across from Mane's. In it sat an unremarkable young man and woman, both of them seeming to be in their late teens or early twenties (though when it came to age, appearance accounted for little) and were dressed wealthily enough to not seem out of place, with the boy wearing an olive-green suit and golden spectacles with thick green lenses while the girl had on a low-cut, frilly red dress and a large red flower stuck into her dark hair. Standing behind them were four men in dark tuxedos, obviously bodyguards.

Mane did not recognize them, and that in itself set off alarm bells. They had bought a ticket for one of the private boxes in his theater, watching his show! He ought to not only know their names, relations, and accomplishments, but also have their parents on speed-dial!

"That's him?" he said, his voice lowering to a snarl. "Are you sure?"

"Quite," Prince Claudio murmured. If he was at all offended at having his word questioned, it didn't show. He made a vague motion with the fingers of his right hand.

Before Mane's eyes, the occupants from the other box changed. Though their outfits remained the same, the boy and girl both shrank in their seats, becoming children nearly a decade younger than they had been. The boy's face darkened, his slicked-back hair thickening into black curls, changing from a bland Caucasian to adopting more Mediterranean features while the girl's complexion paled, her hair darkening and her face changing from English to Korean. As for the large men behind them, they also shrank, turning from burly men to burly teenagers. Though his eyes were shielded by his glasses, the boy was clearly disgusted, his nose wrinkling as he watched the stage. There, Dr. Croencore had little Ellen Richardson strapped to the titular table and was exasperatedly trying to convey his intention to her while the girl cluelessly misinterpreted everything he said, turning the scene into an Abbott and Costello routine.

Mane inhaled deeply through his nostrils and hissed it out through his teeth. That was him. Jacob Draco, in the flesh, accompanied by more of his Marauder filth.

"If you doubt what you're seeing, I remind you that I don't need to cast an illusion in order to manipulate you. I could simply dominate your mind and be done with it," Claudio said mildly. "The only illusion I've created is the one that that admitted me to your box and continues to make it seem that you are sitting alone, enraptured with the play. All I've done here is let your eyes pierce through their own glamour." He waved his hand again, and everyone in the far box regained their false faces.

"I'm not doubting you, your Highness," Mane growled. "What I am, however, is wondering what he's even doing here."

"Oh, that's easy enough. If my rival produced a smash hit musical about what a wicked fellow I was, I would want a closer look as well, if for no other reason to ensure that my songs had the potential to become breakaway pop hits."

Then, as if acting on some sort of cue, the disguised Jacob Draco shook his head and got up to head for the door at the back of the box. Two of the guards immediately followed suit, with the girl and the other two remaining.

"And there he goes," Claudio observed. "Perhaps he knows something's up, or simply had all the stage slander he could stomach. Odd he would leave his date though. Maybe he's just going to the restroom."

Mane took a deep breath. "Right then."

And then he stood up and made for the door.

Before he went too far, Prince Claudio reached up with one hand to grab him by the sleeve. He waited until he had Mane's full attention before saying, "Careful. You do anything to harm or detain him and the war is started prematurely. If you kill him, he'll just become a martyr, and someone else will take his place. We want him destroyed, not dead."

Mane gritted his teeth, but he managed a short nod. "I won't hurt him," he said hoarsely. "I'm just going to show him the door."

Claudio said nothing. The way his eyes bore into Mane's was warning enough. He released Mane's sleeve, and the Death Knight straightened out his coat and continued on his way, out the door, his gloved hands clenching into tight fists.

…

As Sir Mane stormed through the richly decorated halls of the Ava Adore Theater, he pulled his cellphone out of the pocket of his great coat. A few flicks, and he had brought up the theater's camera system, which told him immediately where Jacob Draco was and where he was heading.

Curiously, the Marauder Clanmaster was not making for the stairs, as the first thing a Marauder would do upon sensing danger would be to rush for the ground floor. Instead, he and his muscular entourage were instead moving around the top floor, making their way towards…

Despite his anger, Mane still smirked with amusement. So, it turned out that Jacob really did just need to use the restroom. Well, that was convenient.

Pocketing the phone, Mane continued his relentless march toward his nemesis. As he did, two other figures emerged from separate hallways to fall into step just behind him without losing stride, their long coats swishing as they walked. One was an exceptionally tall Pacific Islander with a neatly trimmed black beard; a large, black leather coat over his tailored black suit; and a wide-brimmed black hat. The other was a white man of average height, with a brown leather trench coat, spiky brown hair, and far too many tacky golden chains around his neck. The tall dark man scowled, the smaller white man smirked, and they matched each other's gait stride for stride.

As Mane turned the corner, he saw a few men gathered around the restroom in question, looking rather annoyed. Stationed in front of the door were the two guards, both of them standing with their arms folded and their expressions blank, staring silently at one especially peeved looking old man in a grey tuxedo who was loudly demanding if they knew who he was and what their names were.

As Mane and his escorts approached, the old man turned his furious attention to him. "Ah, there you are!" he said as he stormed over. "Mr. Mane, I'll have you know that I have been a loyal patron of this theater for years, and never once have I heard of anyone being permitted to clear the restrooms for their private use! This is an absolute-"

"Sir Mane," Mane corrected automatically, his eyes looking past the old man to focus on the guards, who were uncrossing their arms and now looking rather nervous. "And you're right, Mr. Pendanski. We don't permit that."

One of the guards raised a hand to his earpiece while the other reached inside his jacket. Wrong move.

Moving so quickly that those gathered around gasped, Mane suddenly had his hands around the necks of both guards and had them lifted up against the wall. He tossed them to either side, where his associates were waiting.

"Don't move, junior," said the white man in the brown coat in his thick Australian accent. He yanked out one of the sprawling guard's earpiece and crushed it in his hand and leered down at the dumbstruck Marauder. "Or this night's gonna get real interesting."

The tall dark man didn't even bother with threats. He merely disarmed the other guard and stood with his boot planted against the struggling boy's chest.

Without bothering to watch the proceedings, Mane shoved the restroom door aside and went in.

Like one might expect, the Ava Adore Theaters restrooms were as pricey as the rest of it, with each toilet having its own room set in the wall that including a small, private sink, mirror, a television screen keeping its occupants up-to-date with the performance, and cosmetics tray and refreshment table; potted plants; a central fountain; black marble floors; white marble sinks with golden faucets; and chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. One of the doors was shut.

And from inside, Mane heard a toilet flush, followed by a rushing faucet.

The stall door opened, and Jacob Draco emerged wiping his hands, still wearing the false face of the bland young man that had granted him access. He apparently had not heard Mane come in, as he didn't seem at all hurried. In fact, he was idly whistling his stage character's signature song.

Then he caught sight of Sir Mane standing there, staring at him, and he froze.

Mane smirked. "Enjoying the play?" he said.

Before Jacob had time to react, Mane was on him, clearing the distance between them in less time than it takes to blink. Seizing the boy by the lapels, he lifted him up and shoved him against the wall.

"Wha, whoa, wait!" Jacob shrieked out, his hands clawing at Mane's arms. "What are you-"

"Shut up," Mane growled. He would have shut him up himself by squeezing his throat, but he was dancing along the line as it was. "Drop the act, Jacob. I know it's you."

Jacob stared down at him, his thick, green glasses giving the gaze an insectoid look. Then he sighed, his body relaxing.

Unlike when Prince Claudio had dropped his own glamour, Jacob literally seemed to shed his, the false face and added height flaking away from him like ash that fell around Mane's hands to disappear before touching the floor. It was like watching a snake shed its skin. In fact, it was exactly that.

"Well," Jacob said, dropping the high, Western American accent he had been using in favor of his natural voice. "I believe the term is 'busted.'"

Mane was not amused. "You have some nerve coming here. What are you doing here, Jacob? This is my theater."

"I wanted to see the rock opera," Jacob responded with a wry smile, his lips opening enough to display two rows of large, sharp, predatory teeth, like those of a wolf, though given his mascot, a dragon would be more accurate. If he was at all concerned with being hoisted into the air by the notorious Death Knight he didn't show it. "And I have to say: the songs are catchy, but surely you could have given me a better voice than that."

Even with rage reddening his vision, Mane was aware that this was the first meeting between himself and the infamous victor of the Marauder War, who held the entire Nightmare government by a tight leash. That might have meant more had Mane not been the boy's elder by several centuries and still remembered when the Marauders were nothing more than a few back-alley gangs of runaway children, stealing food and picking pockets to survive, with the Warrens nothing more than a distant fantasy. Plus, the way Jacob was confidently smirking despite his peril was all kinds of infuriating.

It also occurred to Mane that he had it within his power to make this meeting between them the last, to tear those disrespectful lips right off his face and smash those pointed teeth. The Nightmares would probably thank him.

But even as his body tensed with the thought, he suddenly found himself locked in place, his limbs frozen. Grunting, he tried to move, but it was like an invisible block of ice had set in place around him. He could move his eyes, twitch his nostrils, and tighten his muscles, but any movement beyond that was denied him.

No, Prince Claudio's silky voice spoke into his mind. Do not.

Mane gritted his teeth, but he acquiesced, his body relaxing. And suddenly, whatever it was that had held him in place was gone.

"Cat got your tongue?" Jacob said wryly.

Mane's eyes were already dark, but that comment lost them some color still. He slowly lowered Jacob to the floor and set him down. The threat was not gone though. He still towered over the boy, boxing him in between himself and the wall. For his part, Jacob stared back from behind his thick, green coke-bottle glasses.

"You are not welcome here, Marauder," Mane growled. "Leave."

Jacob quirked an eyebrow. Then he reached up and removed his glasses from his face.

His eyes were two orbs of pure silver, glinting in the light from the lamps.

"I bought a ticket," he said as he pulled out a silk handkerchief and used it to wipe down his glasses. "I broke no rule. I see no reason why I should not-"

In answer, Mane pulled his wallet from his pocket and extracted several bills. "Here," he said, flicking them at the boy. "Your refund. Now get out."

Sighing, Jacob placed his glasses back on. "Sir Mane, why the hostility? You are no Nightmare; you're not even a dream. As far as I know there is no reason for quarrel between us."

Mane wanted to take the smirking snake by the throat and crush it. He imagined how it would feel, the flesh crumpling between his fingers, listening to that insipid voice gasps and pleadings harshen into a croaking death rattle. "Jacob, don't take me for a fool. I know it was you that stole NamTech from me. I know it was you that bought out those Sierra farms out from under me. I know it was you that blocked me from those contracts in Mascaline."

Jacob tilted his head. "All's fair in love and capitalism, is it not? Business is business, and-"

"You are a Marauder," Mane snapped. "Your kind scurries in holes and tunnels and steals from dreams. You have no place in Nod. You have no right."

"Do I not? That's an interesting thing to hear from your lips. After all, you are no dream yourself. You may not be human, exactly, but you are still a dreamer, or you were. You're even more a stranger a stranger to Nod than I."

Mane bared his teeth in a gorilla grin. "Yes, you are correct. I am not a dream. I came here when the ways were still open. And in the hundreds of years since, I have integrated myself nicely with dreamkind. You? You rejected your claim, you and the rest of those dark children, sniveling about in your tunnels. I have earned my place, you forfeited yours. Now, will you leave, or will I have to test your people's loyalty? Because I hear there are many in the Warrens who would be relieved to see you gone."

Jacob's face hardened then. The boy's poker face was better than Mane's, yes, but Mane's comment had struck a nerve. So, it seemed that the reports of dissention between the Marauder clans had some merit.

"Very well," Jacob said shortly. He straightened out his jacket and moved around Sir Mane, not bothering to pick up the money on the ground. As he walked, his glamour rebuilt himself, giving him half a foot in height and a different face. Mane stood in place, watching him like a hawk.

Before Jacob reached the door, he paused. "By the by," he said, his hand on the metal push bar. "I have a complaint."

"I don't care," Mane said.

Jacob ignored him. "Demonize me if you wish. Drag my name through the mud if it makes you feel good about yourself. But your portrayal of Ellen Richardson was unwarranted. She is a victim, and what Dr. Croencore did to her was beyond the pale. Tell me: does it give you pleasure to portray her as a joke?"

Mane thought for a moment. Then he said, "Why, yes. Yes it does."

"Hmmm." Releasing the door, Jacob turned fully to face him. "Someone sent her a Table and the Tunnel DVD, you know. She cried when she saw how you made light of what happened to her."

"Good to hear," Mane said. "Now get out."

Jacob said nothing more. He merely turned and marched from the restroom. As the door swung open, Mane saw that Jacob's date and the other two guards had apparently joined their companions, with all five of them being lined up against the wall while Mane's two monsters casually stood guard.

Jacob paused upon seeing them, clearly recognizing who, and what, they were. In turn, they smiled twin predatory smiles at him, with the tall, dark one tipping his hat while the other bowed mockingly at the waist. Moving in synchronization, they motioned toward Jacob Draco's companions in an "after you" gesture.

Jacob grimaced. Then he walked over to the terrified girl and gently took her by the arm and hastily led her away from the gaggle, his four guards quick to fall in step behind them. The restroom door swung shut.

It was only then that Mane allowed himself to exhale. Though he had broken no rule, he knew that that altercation was going to have consequence. Despite his youthful appearance, Jacob Draco was not one to suffer such an insult. Perhaps his interference into Mane's business had been nothing more than simple conflict of interest. But from here on out, it was going to be personal.

Good.

Mane picked up a moist hand towel from a silver serving tray and used it to wipe his face. Discarding it, he left the restroom.

Some of the men had dispersed at the first sign of violence to find some less jealously guarded restroom while the braver and more curious remained, along with a few new faces attracted by the action. One of them was the elderly Carl Pendanski, who seemed shaken that his wishes had been carried in such a violent fashion. "Good God, man!" he sputtered. "Was that all really necessary? It was just-"

"The situation has been dealt with," Sir Mane announced to the stunned onlookers. "The restroom is once again open to the public, and those who thought to claim otherwise have been…banned." He smiled grimly. "My sincerest apologies for the disturbance."

With that he turned and stormed back the way he came. Behind him, his two monsters silently sauntered off to wait until they were needed again.

…

"That was a bit close to the skin," Prince Claudio remarked as Sir Mane returned to his box. "I do recall instructing you not to harm them."

Exhaling, Mane slumped back into his seat. Below, the play had entered the end of the first act to enthusiastic applause. "I'm in," he said.

Claudio smiled grimly. "I thought you would be. You more than committed yourself just now."

Mane's hands were trembling where they gripped his seats' armrests. He quickly clasped them tightly over his chest. "He's going to respond. Try to destroy me out of spite."

"I am confident in your abilities to resist. You have, after all, survived considerably worse."

"That I have," Mane said hoarsely.

Nodding, Prince Claudio stood to his feet. "Well, I must be off. Unfortunate. I was enjoying the show. If you could send my sister Valerie a signed cast photo, I would take it as a kindness." He patted Sir Mane on the shoulder. "I'll put you in touch with our Lord General once he's ready."

"Lord General?" Sir Mane frowned. "This organization is to be military?"

"Some aspects, yes. I personally see them more as a special police."

"Ah. And who is this Lord General of yours? Anyone I know?"

"No, I'm afraid. He's new to the game, but I promise you'll be impressed." Then, like the Cheshire Cat from storybooks, Prince Claudio started to fade from view, his body becoming more and more transparent. However, before he vanished completely, he left Sir Mane with one last thought. "In fact, you might say he was made for this job."

Four intense ways insects sacrifice themselves for the good of the colony

New Post has been published on https://nexcraft.co/four-intense-ways-insects-sacrifice-themselves-for-the-good-of-the-colony/

Four intense ways insects sacrifice themselves for the good of the colony

In the rainforests of Borneo, there lives a reddish brown ant by the name of Colobopsis explodens that really knows how to go out with a bang. When locked in battle with ants from another colony, C. explodens workers bring the fight to a swift end by ripping themselves open and spewing noxious fluid on the enemy. The workers die while pulling off this power move, but their sacrifice protects the rest of the colony from marauding predators like the weaver ant.

This is not typical animal behavior. Most creatures behave in ways that give themselves the best shot of surviving and passing their genes on to their own offspring. The workers of C. explodens achieve neither of these things by self-destructing—yet they aren’t the only insect to do it. They belong to a group called exploding ants that are found across Southeast Asia. And self-sacrifice shows up among a number of insects that live together in colonies including other ants, termites, bees, and certain aphids.

“One small worker does probably not cost very much to lose, but at the same time the benefits of deterring an intruder such as a big vertebrate predator that might potentially destroy the whole colony, or even other insects that might engage in a raid of the colony, are potentially huge,” says Olav Rueppell, a biologist at University of North Carolina at Greensboro.

Self-sacrifice can get pretty elaborate, and in some cases happens even when there isn’t a battle raging. Here are some of the most extreme moves that insects pull to defend their nestmates, from eviscerating themselves to leaving the safety of the nest to die alone.

Disembowelment

You might have been on the receiving end of insect self-annihilation if you’ve ever been stung by a honeybee, which tears apart its own body to leave a stinger embedded in your flesh. But often, insects that disembowel themselves are aiming at other bugs.

Such is the case for C. explodens, which also goes by the nickname “yellow goo” in reference to the color of its signature chemical weapon. It’s thought that these ants “explode” by contracting their muscles until their abdomen and internal glands rupture and ooze sticky fluid, says Alice Laciny, an entomologist at the Natural History Museum Vienna.

For the predatory ants they face off against, getting slimed is downright deadly. If an enemy bites into the poisonous goo, it loses control of its limbs and dies in seconds. Otherwise, the goo will gum up its joints and immobilize the hapless insect. And even after it dies, C. explodens’s mandibles do not release their grip on the enemy’s body. “Then it’s sticky and it has a dead ant hanging from its antenna or leg,” Laciny says. “It probably won’t survive very long in that state.”

Self-destruction doesn’t really give the colony a numerical advantage during a skirmish. “It’s not so much about one-on-one confrontation, so an eye for an eye,” Laciny says. She suspects that behavior has more to do with keeping contaminants at bay. Exploding ants seem to be particularly dependent on the bacteria and fungi in their rainforest habitat and die if they are taken away from this microbiome. Any insect that threatens to get into their nests or too close to their foraging territory will carry foreign spores and bacteria.

The bright yellow gunk, which can sometimes be seen shimmering between the plates of the ants’ exoskeletons, could serve as a warning signal to enemies. “It seems to be well-known among other insects in the rainforest that they should just stay away,” Laciny says. Few insects are willing to venture onto trees where C. explodens colonies reside during the day, when the volatile ants are awake.

Although researchers have been spotting the ants and their yellow goo for decades, it was only recently that Laciny and her colleagues examined the species closely enough to give it a scientific name, which they reported in the journal ZooKeys on April 19. In fact, C. explodens is the first new exploding ant described since 1935.

That’s partly because different species of exploding ants can be nearly impossible to tell apart, while members of the same colony can look completely different, Laciny says. The tiny exploding members of C. explodens colonies were long thought to be a separate species from the other, larger workers. This ability to create different castes is one reason that self-sacrifice works so well for insects that live together in colonies. “Insects are quite plastic in their body plans,” Rueppell says. That means a colony can invest in a few members that self-destruct in very specialized ways.

And it’s not just ants that do this. Workers belonging to a termite species called Neocapritermes taracua found in French Guiana grow “explosive backpacks” as they age and become less valuable members of their society. When these termites rupture their bodies, blue crystals from the pouch on their back come into contact with secretions from the salivary glands. By mixing two chemicals to create an especially toxic brew, the termites’ final act is really “a step up in terms of sophistication,” Rueppell says.

Refusing help

Scientists recently discovered an entirely different kind of battlefield altruism in the matabele ant of sub-Saharan Africa. These ants are known for hunting termites, which put up a fierce fight. It’s not uncommon for workers to lose limbs during a raid. These injuries are not always fatal, though, says Erik Frank, an evolutionary biologist at the University of Lausanne in Switzerland. Wounded ants are carried home by their nestmates and have their injuries licked clean so they can heal. Before long, they can run as fast as a healthy ant and go raiding again, even short a few legs.

However, Frank realized there was more to the story one day after he accidentally drove over a column of raiding ants in Côte d’Ivoire’s Comoé National Park. When he stopped the car and got out to see how the ants were doing, Frank noticed something odd. “On ‘ground zero’ the nestmates were investigating all the injured ants but only helping the ones that still had a chance to survive,” Frank said in an email. He later presented ants with five legs amputated to their nestmates, and saw that these severely injured workers were rarely picked up.

But it wasn’t not for lack of trying. The healthy ants attempted to help, but their fallen comrades refused to cooperate. Instead of tucking their legs in and lying motionless when touched, the injured ants flailed around violently until their rescuers gave up. In other words, these ants perform a kind of self-triage that allows helpers to focus on other ants with less debilitating injuries.

It’s pretty unlikely that the ants are actually trying to sacrifice themselves, though. “This is not a conscious decision by the ants,” says Frank, who reported the behavior in February in the journal Proceedings of the Royal Society B. Normally when an ant gets hurt, it will stand up again, then call for help by releasing pheromones and allow its nestmates to scoop it up. When a seriously injured ant flails around, it is probably trying to stand up and failing, over and over again. “If you are able to stand up you are likely not too heavily injured so that you are still useful for the colony,” Frank says.

Preemptive action

Sometimes, an insect will give up its own life to help its fellows even when there is no imminent danger. This happens every night in colonies of the Brazilian ant Forelius pusillus. When sunset falls, the ants seal up the entrance to their nest, leaving one to eight workers outside to finish the job.

“The ants trapped outside were not accidental victims, but rather were part of a deliberate strategy of entrance closing,” scientists wrote in The American Naturalist after watching the doomed ants covering the nest with sand until it was completely concealed. As the night wore on, the ants were blown away by gusts of wind, attacked by other kinds of ants, or simply wandered away. When morning arrived, none of these ants were ever found near the entrance of the nest.

Self-sacrifice might have become a routine part of life in F. pusillus colonies because these ants are particularly vulnerable to attack, Rueppell says. F. pusillus makes its nest on bare soil with little plant cover. What’s more, it lives in tropical areas, which tend to be crawling with all kinds of ants. An ant’s worst enemy is usually other ants, which means F. pusillus might have to take extreme steps to keep the colony hidden.

This isn’t the only time insects have been spied sacrificing themselves to ward off future threats. Scientists in Japan have found that an aphid by the name of Nipponaphis monzeni springs into action when its home is threatened. The bugs live together in swellings found on the outside of trees called galls; when the researchers drilled holes in these galls, the aphids within immediately began secreting bodily fluids to repair the damage. The aphids that were in charge of plastering over the hole shriveled up and in at least some cases died.

This might actually be a good thing for the remaining aphids in the gall. “Several nymphs were buried in the plaster, like ‘aphid sacrifices,’” the scientists reported in Proceedings of the Royal Society B. The entombed carcasses likely made the repair job sturdier, Rueppell says.

Most aphids—including the kind feasted upon by ladybugs—wouldn’t be able to use this trick. They are solitary insects that do not share a home base, Rueppell says. Self-sacrifice works best for insects that live together in nests or galls walled off from the outside world. In less isolated societies, it would be all too easy for freeloaders unrelated to the martyred insect to move in and reap the benefit of their sacrifice. “Any altruistic system is prone to exploitation,” Rueppell says.

Exile

Parasites and diseases can have a field day with big, enclosed nests of insects. But scientists suspect that ants and bees may have a way of halting germs from spreading too far. When these insects become sick, they leave the colony and go into exile to await their deaths.

In one experiment, Rueppell and his colleagues dosed honeybees with carbon dioxide and hydroxyurea, a drug used to treat sickle cell anemia and some cancers. “We wanted to really make them feel very sick,” he says. The bees that survived this treatment abandoned the hive, even though their fellows did not try to kick them out. Other scientists have seen rock ants stop socializing with their nestmates and head into seclusion when sickened with carbon dioxide, infected with fungal spores, or sickened by unknown ailments.

Scientists don’t really know what prompts these insects to start behaving in ways that will inevitably cause their own demise. Whether and how the brain might be overriding an insect’s self-preservation instincts when it goes into quarantine or rips itself to pieces is a mystery. “Is there something special about this, or is it just a continuation of normal defensive behaviors?” Rueppell wonders.

Still, it’s probably a safe bet that self-sacrificing insects are not consciously laying down their lives for the greater good. “I don’t think we can call an ant that sacrifices itself a ‘good’ ant,” Rueppell says.

In some ways, insect colonies resemble a single living organism instead of thousands of separate individuals. “Immune cells in our body are to some degree self-sacrificial as well,” Rueppell says. If we lose a few cells, the rest of the body doesn’t care. The workers that die to ensure the colony’s survival are also easily replaced—but their sacrifice isn’t entirely selfless.

The members of an insect colony are very closely related, and workers often don’t reproduce. If an insect can keep the queen and the rest of the colony from being wiped out by enemies or illness by laying down its own life, there’s a better chance that some of its genes will be passed on by relatives.

“It’s not the individual that counts—otherwise we wouldn’t see these self-sacrificial behaviors,” Rueppell says.

Written By Kate Baggaley

Agilenano - News: Why the 'Doom Eternal’ Marauder Sucks So Bad

When Doom 2016 released, it was with a fire and energy unlike anything we’d ever seen before. Oh, sure, games have been violent, and that’s nothing new, but Doom 2016 brought personality to the fray. While the characters droned on about lore nobody cared about, Doomguy understood what we were here to do: rip and tear. Together, we did just that. With the release of Doom Eternal, things have changed, and not necessarily for the better, and nowhere is this illustrated better than with an enemy known as the Marauder. Doom Eternal is a departure from Doom 2016; if you go into it expecting a sequel to the game you’ve waited four years for, you’ll be disappointed, because while it is a sequel narratively, it makes so many changes from its predecessor that it ends up becoming an entirely different kind of game. Where Doom 2016 let you embody Doomguy, Eternal has you putting on a Doomguy costume and exploring a Doomguy theme park. Here’s a fleshy level! Here’s a weird alien level! Why are there rotating flaming chains here? Uh… because Eternal owes more to Super Mario Bros 3. than Doom 2016. It’s weird, sure, but it’s still fun, just in a very different way. Once you get past the extremely high expectations set by 2016, you’ll find a delightfully potent mix of mechanics, movement abilities, weapons, and enemies that creates one of shooting’s best sandboxes. There’s nothing quite as thrilling as dashing past a Tyrant’s fire, leaping into the air in slow-mo, firing a grenade at an arachnotron’s turret to force him into close range combat, then landing on top of an unfortunate imp and chainsawing him in half for more ammo. It’s great! It really is… until the Marauder shows up. In theory, the Marauder is supposed to be the Anti-Doomguy; fighting him should feel like a duel. He has a shield you can’t break, summons adds constantly to fight you, reacts incredibly fast to your actions, and has a hitscan weapon with a minimal tell. He isn’t hard to beat—I’ve killed him in a matter of seconds—but he breaks every single one of Eternal’s rules. He sucks all the fun out of the room. He goes against the flow of Doom’s combat, and he’s the reason I have zero interest in playing more Doom Eternal. Let’s take a step back and talk about what makes Doom, as a series, so interesting. In the Beginning.. In 1993, id released Doom, and a whole lot of game developers started making first person shooters so similar that people took to calling the genre “ Doom clones.” But, as with anything that’s remotely successful, most of the clones didn’t quite nail what made the original as good as it was, either due to a lack of understanding or for a desire to experiment with something new. Doom was a game all about movement, first and foremost. If an imp throws a fireball at you, you step to the side to avoid damage; because the imp’s fireball has a visible travel time, it’s easy to understand and try to avoid. The rocket launcher’s splash damage does self-damage, so it’s important to keep as much distance between you and your enemies as possible when using it. On the surface, this sounds pretty simple; we’ve taken a lot of these elements for granted, and in some cases, they’ve changed over the years, sometimes for the worst. Take shotguns; in Doom, spread determined power, so distance directly correlated with damage. In more recent shooters, some designers use tools like damage falloff, meaning that even if every one of your pellets hit, your shotgun might as well be shooting confetti outside of its effective range. Doom’s elegance is the way that each component of its design, in terms of both weapon utility and enemy ability has a distinct, understandable purpose, and all of those components work together in a way that encourages players to move, but it wasn’t just the monsters or the weapons, it was the level design as well. 'Doom' screenshot courtesy of id In a level like E1M3, as you progress, one pickup causes all the lights to go off and imps burst out of a previously secret door behind you! It’s a great practical joke of the level design, and super memorable, not because it’s a surprise, but because it exists in direct contrast to the rest of the game’s encounters without breaking the level design. You see, there are two kinds of first person shooters, proactive and reactive. A proactive shooter is one where you can see the enemy, often before an encounter begins, and you start to plan how to deal with them. It often involves scouting out the level space, considering routes and cover, which enemies to use which weapons against, and so on. Halo 3’s a great example of a proactive shooter; you’ll often find yourself wading into fights from the high ground, like rescuing Johnson from imprisonment in the level Sierra 117. In shorter term play, planning is about area control; moment to moment, you’re thinking about the space you’re in and how your movement and shooting lets you control that space. Planning is a huge part of what makes a game engaging; if you can get players thinking about what to do next, you can keep them excited. Thomas Grip, best known for his work on games like Amnesia and Soma, has written about it at length here. 'Gears of War' screenshot courtesy of Microsoft Reactive shooters are very different, games that often turn into literal shooting galleries, where you stand still and shoot targets. Games like Gears of War and Call of Duty 4 are proactive shooters, but many of their imitators looked at mechanics like regenerating health systems and cover and decided to make games about staying in cover and moving as little as possible. Gears especially used cover as a way of encouraging a different kind of movement and planning, something its imitators rarely understood. Doom was a proactive shooter; so many of its encounters were about showing you what you were going to encounter, entering the fray, and managing enemies by controlling the space until you’ve completed the encounter. Reactivity isn’t bad; character action games like Devil May Cry 3 or Ninja Gaiden Black are all about reactive play and would be very different as proactive games. These games spawn waves of enemies, and you dodge, counter, and parry your way through combat. You’re making decisions, sure, but you’re reacting to the enemies the game throws at you. It’s not so much about area control as it is about managing the enemies you receive in the order they’re given to you. Reactive play is great for melee-driven action games, but shooters are best for proactive play because ranged combat puts the focus on area control. Over the years, as shooters became more cinematic games moved away from the pure game design abstractions of Doom and Doom 2 and closer to things that felt real. From 2006 or so until 2014, shooters became overly-restrictive, ‘cinematic’ affairs, more interested in showing impressive, expensive sequences that had more panache than dynamism. Good shooter gameplay seemed to matter a whole lot less than overly-restrictive set pieces. Gameplay took a backseat until a new wave of shooters like Titanfall and Destiny showed up to remind us what we were missing. Then along came Doom 2016. Rip And Tear Doom 2016 felt so vibrant because it wasted no time trying to be a movie. As a shooter, it knew you wanted to shoot, and it was only too happy to oblige. While the levels felt like real, believable spaces—Foundry is exactly what a Doom level should be in 3D and Argent Energy Tower beautifully channels Half-Life’s puzzle-like verticality—the game understood that you are Doomguy, and your goal is to show up and kill as many demons as humanly possible. 'Doom 2016' screenshot courtesy of Bethesda But… there was one problem. Most of Doom’s levels center around gore nests, big gobs of flesh that require you to interact with to start the encounter. Go into a room, the doors lock, and you fight everyone in the room until they’re dead. Even levels without gore nests have the same flow. Rather than encouraging proactive play, these levels were better at just encouraging you to run around, reacting to enemies as they spawned, triggering glory kills to get back health and armor, and shooting enemies until they were dead. While the game was absolutely excellent, and a masterpiece of level design and exploration, fights could get repetitive, which is why the back half of the game can feel so tiring compared to the first. At some point, Doom 2016 just stops adding new surprises and only seems to change the set dressing. It’s one of my favorite games, but I’d be happy to acknowledge that there was room for improvement. Instead, we got Doom Eternal. 'Doom 2016' screenshot courtesy of Bethesda Back in 2014 or so, I started working with some friends on a prototype shooter. That shooter featured double jumping, mantling, wall climbing, ice grenades, damaging enemy weak points to change their attack patterns, and a lot of other things featured in Doom Eternal. We were even working on a shotgun with a grappling hook, enemies who needed to be damaged to drop armor, and an ice grenade that could freeze enemies. We had to stop because we couldn’t afford to make it, but it was, in so many ways, my dream shooter, and it was absolutely thrilling to see one of my favorite game developers channeling so much of the same energy I’d had in Doom Eternal. For the first several hours, I found myself enthralled. I wasn’t sure how to feel about the Mario-influenced obstacles or the ultra-linear “encounter, hallway, encounter” level design; Eternal relies heavily on arcadey influences that seem at odds with its predecessor. I definitely wasn’t thrilled by the game’s insistence on story and fanservice, where Doom 2016 felt so much more focused and razor sharp. Still, the combat and arenas were intense and fast paced, though they leaned more towards the reactive side, with enemies constantly warping into battle until I’d killed them all. There are some rough spots—Eternal wants you to use all of its mechanics in every encounter, but sometimes doesn’t provide enough ammo to complete the encounters (you’re supposed to chainsaw fodder enemies to get more ammo, but that falls apart when the game refuses to produce any). 'Doom Eternal' screenshot courtesy of Bethesda Eternal wants to keep you on your toes with a great mix of enemies who push you through agility, area denial, or just plain aggression, like my favorite enemy in the series, the Hell Knight. While the game keeps you on your toes, and the way it handles enemy spawns pushes it closer to reactive play, Eternal tries to balance this with a system of counters. Cacodemons are weak to the Ballista, while the plasma rifle makes short work of the game’s shields. Even though Eternal pushes you to stay on your toes and forces you to fight reactively, there are still ways to make plans, juggling weapons and managing enemies for some semblance of area control. Everything in the game has a counter that works against it. In its most aggressive moments, like the spectacular Slayer Gate encounters, Eternal hits a state of zen few reactive shooters can match, because you’re making plans, but it’s more like “oh no! That’s a Tyrant! Where did he come from? Okay, I’ll use my crucible on him right after I use this ice grenade to get rid of that Whiplash.” Even though you’re reacting, you’re still making decisions. When the Marauder shows up, decisions go out the window. Early on, Doom Eternal establishes rules like “energy shields can be overcharged with plasma fire, causing them to explode, doing damage to nearby enemies.” The Marauder is the only enemy with a shield that takes no damage. Where every other enemy features projectiles and lengthy tells to allow you to dash out of their range, the Marauder’s weapon appears to be a hitscan weapon, meaning it has instant travel time and can only be dodged. He punishes you for getting too close or too far. He can teleport at random. Every rule Eternal sets up, the Marauder breaks… and it kills the flow completely. He isn’t hard to kill, once you get the hang of him, but he sucks because he doesn’t fit. Eternal is a very game designer game, like someone sat down with a bunch of spreadsheets and cross-referenced all the guns to make sure every enemy and action has some sort of clear counter and flow. While the combat encounters themselves are beautifully frenetic, they also have a tendency to get monotonous; great shooters allow for creative play, which is why proactive shooters have an edge over reactive ones. Games that look beautiful on spreadsheets, where every component has a distinct place, minimize that creativity even further, because they prescribe the ways you must play in order to succeed. The Marauder doesn’t even allow that. To beat him, you have to wait until he opens his shield, then stun him, or fire a bunch of explosives behind him to whittle his health down. Neither is really all that fun. There’s no way to bait him into rushing you by, say, blowing up his shield, or taking area control away from me by using weapons to push him into a position you’d find advantageous. He’s immune to the super weapons like the BFG, Crucible, and Unmakyr, for no apparent reason. Eternal is at its best when you’re playing actively and making plans, which are facilitated by its counter system, and while that restricts creative play, it’s still a valid way to get players in the zone. The Marauder has hard counters for everything you can do. He’s not hard, but he’s annoying. He doesn’t fit. He’s like an underwater level or one of those really fast flying enemies that are irritating to hit. He doesn’t pose a challenge, he just sucks all the fun out of the room because he requires you to play passively. The Marauder feels like an indulgence that doesn’t really fit, but that’s true of Doom Eternal as a whole. No one loved Doom 2016 because of the story or the boss fights or the memes that didn’t exist yet, they loved it because Doomguy conveyed so much with so little. Doom Eternal isn’t content to do a lot with a little; it wants to indulge in everything. It adds so much without ever really knowing why. What does purple goop add? What do the weird Mario platformers or 1ups bring to the situation? What purpose does the Marauder serve? Doom 2016 was a vibrant reinvention for the series that was fast enough to maintain the spirit of the game while still allowing for creative and interesting play. Doom Eternal wants to be something different, and that’s okay, because its emphasis on counters can still lead to fun play. But the Marauder just doesn’t fit; he’s antithetical to everything that makes Eternal worth playing. When a game indulges in its least-compelling moments, it loses the things that make it great. The Marauder is Doom Eternal’s biggest indulgence and its greatest failing. #DoomMarauder #Bethesda #FirstPersonShooters #GamesOpinion #IdSoftware

Agilenano - News from Agilenano from shopsnetwork (4 sites) http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/Agilenano-News/~3/ZpQq4UFNyf0/why-the-doom-eternal-marauder-sucks-so-bad