one of my favorite parts of disco elysium is when the Skills talk over each other and question each other in yet another harry-crisis

Year in Review: Games pt 2

Back to Bildeo Bames! After finishing my big Kingdom Hearts binge, I told myself to cut back on gaming for a while until Tears of the Kingdom came out. That was a huge lie! I love deception and falsehoods :D

Psychonauts

The idea of going inside someone's head to discover an entire universe created from their thoughts and memories has always been a fascinating one for me. I spent a lot of time as a kid imagining what my own or my friends' brain-world would look like and how you might navigate it. So imagine my surprise when I found an entire 3D platformer based around that concept. And for $5 on sale, no less! This had been a cult classic for a long time, but the recent sequel I still need to play elevated it to a higher place in the social conscience.

You play as Raz, a young kid who crashed a training camp in order to become a Psychonaut, people who covertly enter other's minds to extract secrets for the government. At least that's the idea, Raz ends up using his training to help his mind-victims work through their insecurities and psychoses in order to improve their mental health, first focusing on people in his camp, and then on clients in the nearby insane asylum. This isn't just out of a heroic desire to help others, but the easiest way Raz has to save his new camp friends, whose brains have all been cartoonishly sucked out of their ears and placed into jars. This world is so goofy and fun and the premise allows for endless creativity with settings and like. You can write a whole essay on any one of these levels. Damn I need to play the sequel.

The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog

I like Sonic quite a bit. The characters are so expressive and fun and the world is similarly wacky and cool. The lore is an odd mix of typical video-game nonsense and genuinely fascinating tragic backstories. I loved the Sonic X show and Sonic Underground but like. The games... Okay the games are fun, but there's always one thing that ends up giving me a huge headache. Usually the Chaos emeralds. Eventually I'll go back and play through the Origin games and meet the games on their terms, but in the meantime this is the perfect Sonic game for me.

It's just a three hour visual novel written in the style of a murder mystery! It's so cute! Sonic is dead! You spend most of the game as Barry the Quokka, who's name is actually Kitch, a dorky dude in charge of catering on the murder mystery train, thrust suddenly into Amy Rose's birthday party on a quest to figure out the culprit who fake murdered our best blue boy. The game is full of so many adorable designs, fun characterization, and goofy plot tangents that its clear Sega just gave a group of Sonic fans free reign to go crazy over an official project. If you get bored of the visual novel part, its interspersed with random isometric Sonic levels you can plow through pretty quickly. I had a pretty good time with all of it.

Sonic Adventure: DX

In fact I had such a good time with The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog that I jumped immediately into an actual Sonic game. This was Sonic's first real jump into 3D, and I was always led to believe that jump missed the platform and tumbled into badly rendered, inanimate water. This isn't true! The voice acting is pretty bad at times and the animation gets wonky in places, but like. I am a Kingdom Hearts fan. These are not negatives. It also splits a singular story into multiple perspectives, so you discover more context for what's happening the more characters you play as. That doesn't mean the story is amazing or anything, but the effort is commendable and I love when stories do this.

Each character sits in a different genre of game as well. Sonic himself translates his 2D gameplay pretty well into a 3D setting, which is what most people reference when talking about this game. Tails is more of a direct racing game where you can basically skip most of any level due to the fact he can fly. Knuckles is a treasure hunting game focused on exploration. Amy is a survival horror game where you beat the shit out of robotic pyramid head at the end, and Big the Cat is a fishing game that's pretty fun after you tear all of your hair out. The last story, Gamma, is a rail shooter about one of Eggman's robots developing a conscience after learning it is being powered by a small tormented bird, before going on a rampage against its robotic brethren and self-destructing, freeing them all from Eggman's control. It's surprisingly... pointiate? powniant? *checks watch* poignant dammit. I have an English degree. Anyways robot stories like this always get to me for some reason.

Pokemon Infinite Fusion

There are a few communities where the amount of effort that can go into amateur fan content astounds me. The Pokemon fanbase is one of those communities. Romhacks have been popular in this community for a long time, many of them matching or exceeding some of the professionally made mainline titles, in my opinion, at least. Pokemon Infinite Fusion approaches that line with just the shear volume of fan content present in this game.

Any Pokemon of any stage can be "fused" with another to create a new design. Their typing and stats depend on a fairly simple algorithm, but the designs themselves are created by hundreds of incredibly talented independent artists you can find credited in the Pokedex. You can even import your own design if you wish! Obviously, with the amount of possible combinations, not all of them are artist-created, most procedurally generated, but there are just so many that it boggles my mind. Here are a few of my favorites

[Image I.D. Fusion of Mawile and Electavire created by Sadfrog, it has jumper cables in place of its giant mouths]

[Image I.D. fusion of Cofagrigus and Weavile that resembles Midna from the Zelda series created by King Peggy]

[Image I.D. fusion of Charizard and Aerodactyl created by artist Beespoon]

The game itself is a decent remake of Firered and Leafgreen with a significant post game. I have a couple issues, such as the credits being kind of vague and buried, and the gameplay being glitchy in certain areas, but this game is still being updated, so I'm excited to see what else it will offer in the future.

The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess

Ocarina of Time is the quintessential Zelda game, Breath of the Wild reinvented the franchise, but this is my first and favorite Zelda game. When I think of Zelda I think of this Hyrule's landscape, this Link's journey. I can talk at length about the perfect structure of this game, the dungeon layouts, the visuals' mix of quirky and grimdark, the fun boss designs, but I can't deny its all washed in nostalgia.

The story is about two people with the rest of their life apparent ahead of them, both cursed and disfigured beyond their imagination and forced into a role they could have never predicted. People say Midna is the greatest "helper" in the franchise, but really she's the hero right alongside our main boy. This isn't Link's story, its both of theirs. And at the end, neither of them can truly return to what they used to be; the curse is dispelled, but the change remains. For Midna this means sacrificing her closest relationship for the good of her kingdom, and for Link this means leaving the town he knew as home. Maybe he's looking for a way to find Midna, maybe he's off on a new, dangerous adventure, maybe he wants to do motion-controlled sharpshooting on Nintendo's cool new console. Regardless of his goal, his adventure changed him in a way that he can no longer live comfortably in the life he grew up in. So he leaves.

The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword HD

When this game came out, the biggest complaint about it were the broken motion-controls. Personally, they always worked fine for me, but I'm glad the switch remake added a new control scheme to make the experience more accessible. Now more people can complain about the actual game rather than the controls! Honestly never really understood why this game was so polarizing, the only big problem I had with the original was Fi's constant interruptions (which were toned down in this version), but Navi did that shit way more frequently and no one marked that as an abject flaw. It's a damn good 3D Zelda with excellent dungeons and a really compelling conflict.

This version of Link and Zelda are one of the only overtly romantic iterations of these characters. A classic childhood friends to lovers dynamic. Zelda is on her quest to restore the power of the goddess and Link is set on supporting her, no matter how painful it might be for him. A cool detail I love in this game is after Zelda seals herself up in the Orange Sap of Eternal Agony or whatever, the lines on Link's face notably lengthen and darken.

[Image I.D. Link at the beginning of Skyward Sword. The lines under his eyes are visible, but indistinct]

[Image I.D. Link towards the end of Skyward Sword, the lines under his eyes are deeper and more apparent.]

It's as if the trauma of his journey has physically aged him. Idk maybe its just a lighting thing I'm reading too far into. I'm glad this Link and Zelda get a happy ending. My only complaint nowadays is learning Nintendo almost made a "hero mode" style extra game where you play through Zelda's adventure! And they took it out! Cowards! You get glimpses of what it would be like in the end credits, like they're taunting you.

The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom

Breath of the Wild might be my favorite game to just exist in. Every inch of Hyrule is so thoroughly laid out; the environments are gorgeous, the movement is fun, there's always something in the distance worth checking out, and the towns are so heavily detailed. You can spend hours even after completing the game 100% just driving around the landscape or studying the textures and wall decor in Kakariko to find some hidden piece of storytelling. In that regard, excited to say the Tears of the Kingdom is the perfect sequel.

I was concerned when it was revealed we were exploring the same Hyrule's map, just a few years later, but they changed things up so thoroughly, exploring the same area doesn't feel like retreading old ground, but seeing how the area evolved. It's familiar, rather than identical. Not only that, but there are now two entirely new maps situated above and below the old one, each with a new, invigorating aesthetic that are so fun and exciting to travel through. Go to the Sky for some awesome Agoraphobia, or travel to the Depths for some cooky Claustrophobia. You will never know how badly I spelled claustrophobia at first.

The story is nowhere near as elegantly written as BotW, and that's fine, it's a sequel, it only needs to add on to the original, and it brought it me Tears (HAH) for entirely different reasons that BotW. The dragon's tears sidequest had genuinely shocked me with the order I collected them, and the endgame boss sequence was just so incredibly peak. On the lore side of things, and how it connects to the larger mythos, this game makes me want to strangle someone, but this is Zelda, I would not have it any other way. Mechanically, I'm never one to push a game to its absolute limit, but this game has so many tools intended for the player to do exactly that, and I'm excited to see what other people come up with.

Recently, as of writing this, the Youtuber Any Austin put out a video analyzing the woodworking of TotK and BotW, and it might sound goofy, but it got me pumped to return to it in the near future, to just exist in Hyrule for a while longer.

Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Red Rescue Team Pt 1

This is the first title I'm granting the "pt 1" moniker. Some games have a definitive ending, and then a post-game epilogue that is an entirely new story that I might finish next year. This is a childhood favorite of mine I'm revisiting. The mystery dungeon games have this insane hold over my psyche and always wrench an emotion out of me like no other Pokemon games can. While that didn't change time around, I realized I had a great deal of nostalgia blindness over its story. It's not bad at all, but it plays into a lot of generic adventure story tropes while I remembered it being more unique. In truth, this game was actually my introduction to a lot of those tropes and archetypes, and it pulls them off very well. It occasionally moves into some insane territory, like your cute Pokemon guys are hunted down by a lynch mob at one point.

This game also established a lot of Pokemon identities in my head, and are the reason Mons like Ninetales and Gardevoir are some of my favorites. Its such a comfortable game to go back to, but it will always be outshined by its successor, in my opinion.

Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Explorers of Skies Pt. 1

No, I didn't misspell that. This is a fanmade improvement hack that adds some quality of life adjustments, like shortcuts for all of your moves, and a bunch of new story sidequests. Most of the story elements are relegated to the post game, so my playthrough was more or less identical to the original. That being said, this is one of my favorite games of all time. The reason I remembered Red Rescue team as having a more in-depth story is because of this game. Upon my umpteenth playthrough of this I can confirm that it is not (just) nostalgia blindness, this is still one of the best video game stories I have ever experienced. You can withdraw all of the elements that make it a Pokemon game and you are still left with a really well written, emotionally driven science fiction story. Wigglytuff and Chatot aren't even Pokemon to me. They're just the chaotic gay couple from this game.

The gameplay is mostly unchanged from the first, with the addition of the lovable 4th generation freaks. The change of focus from rescuing Pokemon to exploring new areas and finding treasure always hooked me and spurred on my imagination as a kid, it captures the sense of wonder really well.

Link to hack: https://hacks.skytemple.org/h/skies

Pikmin

This is probably my most replayed game ever. It's a pretty short game, if you know what you're doing. There was a point where I had the map so consistently memorized I could do a playthrough in my head, lmao. Take that Miyamoto. I pirated your game through MY MIND. YOU WOULDN'T DOWNLOAD A MEMORY.

There's still something magical about the atmosphere in this game that I don't think any of the sequels quite matched. Something about music; the mystery; the sound design; the isolation. It's just one man forced to make friends with these adorable alien freaks to ensure both of their survival. Later entries would focus on the intrigue of exploring what seems to be the ruins of human society from an ants perspective, which has its own appeal, but this game feels most genuinely alien and hostile in the way nature can be, in a beautiful way. I also played this with gamecube controls for the first time in my life man fuck the gamecube controls.

Pikmin 2 pt 1

This game has come under fire in recent years, which I think is goofy as all hell. I heard people call it "the black sheep" of the Pikmin series back when there were only three sheep! And a pygmy goat on the 3DS, I guess. I understand a lot of the criticisms, but this was a dream come true when I first picked it up as a kid. Now you have an endless amount of time to explore the Pikmin Planet to your leisure! You have another dude (he sucks so much I love him)! More little freaks to follow you around! Even more big freaks who want to kill you! I love freaks. I don't know how much time I spent studying through the Piklopedia to understand the wider ecology of this viddy game. It solidified the character of Olimar in my head even moreso than the original.

People hate the caves, (or hated?) but I think that's just because it wasn't like Pikmin 1. There's something to be said about the generic aesthetics dulling down the personality of these dungeons, but it always felt like a suitable expansion of this world. They're bugs! Tons of bugs live underground! Of course that's where they're all hiding. Because of the endless time limit, they did ramp up the difficulty on some of these caves to the bullshit level, which made me want to move on once I paid off the debt. Sorry Louie! I know you like it down there anyways. With the other freaks.

Pikmin 3

I never owned a Wii U, so this game coming out at the peak of my Pikmin hyper fixation was agonizing. I staved off the insanity of not being able to play it by scrolling the fanwiki articles for every new creature it introduced and rewatching the trailer demo over and over again? Huh, I really did that. Finally being able to play it on the switch is fantastic, and I don't have to deal with that stupid gamepad. Sorry, really cool bulky controller with a tiny screen you can't see shit on.

This game is so beautiful. It almost retains the majesty of discovery that the original had. I understand why people often refer to it as the true sequel. It works to strike a balance between the tight survival gameplay of 1 and the explorative aspect of 2 by having your day count tied to the amount of resources you can gather within a day, which also allows the plot to manufacture genuine anxiety when a certain asshole steals all your shit. All that time you spent gathering a buffer against certain starvation for your dudes was worthless unless you can get it back. You can actually lose the game at this point if you aren't on top of things.

I like all the new dudes. They all fit within the pre-established universe very well and contrast nicely against the original trilogy of dudes by being nice and actually liking each other. You just feel bad that Olimar hasn't been living it up with these cool cats all this time, and is instead tormented by his asshole coworkers every waking moment of his life on PNF 404. All three of the coolcats also get original Piklopedia entries from different professional perspectives. All together we get an amateur biologist (Olimar), a cook (Louie), an engineer (Alph), a botanist (Brittany), and a tactician (Charlie). Most of Charlie's are just "can I take this bug in 1v1" and I love him for that.

Cutting this off here for now. Remember how I said I love deceptions? That also went for writing this in a timely fashion. Oh well, one person's Monday night is another's Friday morning. That's how timezones work, I think. Going back to movies next Monday. I don't watch a lot of movies overall, but I have a lot to go through.

Day 26: Accident

when harry woke up in a hospital bed for the millionth time, his first thought was hermione is going to kill me. and it was true because hermione had threatened to do exactly that if he landed himself in the hospital yet again. 

but when he finally opened his eyes, there’s no red or bushy brown hair in sight. just the pale blond one which belonged to the prat he hated the most. Draco Fucking Malfoy. and for some reason he looked relieved to see Harry. that couldn’t possibly be right. because draco hated harry with passion and he would have been happy if he died-

“Merlin, Harry, gave me a right scare. can’t you play one game without getting injured or is that too fucking much for you?” draco asked, and while the words and the tone of his voice were in perfect contradiction; one thing was clear. Malfoy was concerned about Harry. but that was something he would focus upon on some another moment when his mind wasn’t full of some half a billion questions. starting with what in merlin’s name was malfoy doing here?

“Malfoy, what the fuck are you doing here? he asked, annoyance clear in his voice. and because he couldn’t help himself he asked the other question which was burning a hole in his brain, “what game are you talking about?”

as far as harry was concerned, he had last played in hogwarts, although he did still participate in some of the impromptu Weasley weekly sunday matches but he doesn’t think Draco knew about that. harry’s words seemed to stop malfoy in his tracks. he frowned at harry, then he stared into his eyes for a long time before harry looked away. 

“uhm, okay. Ha-Potter, could you tell me what year this is?” malfoy asked, did he really think harry to be so dumbheaded that he would forget the year. 

“malfoy, do you really be asking me that? don’t you have better work to do? or did your small brain forget the date?” harry scoffed. malfoy was undetered, he asked harry the same question again, as if he hadn’t even heard harry’s words.

“ugh, you’re so annoying. its January 2001, unless i was unconsious for more than two weeks, then it would be february 2001.” harry replied, and the fuck was he alone? that too with malfoy to keep him company. he was about to ask just that when malfoy said-

“i’ll contact hermione and ron. just- sit here and try not to break anything or get out of bed.”

“and who would you be to comand me that?” harry challenged, like seriously what right did the poncy git have?

“as your appointed healer, if nothing else.” malfoy replied before leaving his private hospital room. 

.

"okay so it's 2011 and I have somehow forgotten ten years of my life. So what's up with me right now then? Senior Auror? Please don't tell me I went for Minister!" Harry tried to joke, it wouldn't do good to panic now afterall. "and however did I end up here? Malfoy mentioned something of a game?"

Ron and Hermione share a look. Harry always hated when they did that, especially after they got together.

"and why did you both allow Malfoy to be my healer? What were you both even thinking?" he added because he can't help but feel slightly betrayed by his friends. Malfoy entered at that exact moment, nosy git that he is, can't let people have some privacy.

"so does he know then? Doesn't look like it," Malfoy claimed, and Harry wanted to strangle him because he was aware that the he was him.

"harry was just asking about his job, and ... other prospects of life." Ron said, looking back and forth between Harry and Malfoy.

"well, I would be going really blunt now because reg would be wanting answers soon." Malfoy motioned his hands around as if whatever he said made sense and who was this reg person even?

even if Malfoy had appeared confident just a moment ago, he took a deep breath before he started, looking determinant, "you're a professional quidditch player. You resigned from the aurors about nine years ago and have been persued by various teams, and have changed teams twice. You now are the main seeker for Puddlemere United. You got hit pretty hard by a bulger before losing consciousness. And then here we are two days later. Does that answer your questions?" Malfoy asked calmy, it's a lot to take in. Well, Harry never fancied being a Auror all that much after defeating that noseless bastard so it's a good decision on his part. He wondered how he came to the decision.

But more importantly, he still had plenty questions let, "who are you? I know your name, malfoy. I am curious to your status in my life." Harry asked and by the look on Hermione and Ron's face and pain reflecting on Malfoy's, he wondered what was so wrong about it.

"Harry, I must have forgotten to tell you. I'm the Minister now. And Ron became head auror just six months back! don't you think that's incredible?" Hermione asked but Harry knew when a topic was being changed pretty well.

"it's no use stopping the inevitable, Mione. He would know eventually and I rather face it myself firsthand. Would be the best route for my heart, you know?" Malfoy said sadly. As if he had something to be sad about, Harry scoffed mentally at that. And what ths fuck? Mione? Not only was Malfoy on first name basis but he also called his best friend by their nicknames? What had the world turned to?

"We are married, Potter. And no, I haven't used any illegal or inauthentic means to achieve it. We have been together for the almost nine years now. And married for the past six." Malfoy said in one breath and what the actual motherfucking fuck?

"Yeah, right. So what's the real shit?" Harry snorted because malfoy might have a humor but this was so fucking far from the truth that it was downright ridiculous.

"Draco is telling the truth, Harry. You both are married." Ron said, and are these people alright? Harry was getting worried.

"what did he do to the two of you as well? What kind of potion did you use? Or is it a spell? Tell me, Malfoy. How have you been doing it for what did you say? Nine years, yeah?" Harry sneered. Malfoy's face shattered, as it should. He had been caught afterall.

"Draco..." Hermione started but Malfoy quickly put up his hand.

"I can't, not right now. It's fine, Mione. Don't worry about me." Malfoy said with a broken voice. Harry had never seen Malfoy showing this kind of emotion publicly before, but Harry didn't care.

"oh, and if we are actually married. I would like a divorce, immediately if possible. You can take whatever you want from my vaults if you want, if money is what you have been after. Reckon you wouldn't need much, what with your family fortune but I guess some people are never satisfied." Harry taunted because that's what he knew best, even if Malfoy looked like he was on the verge of crying.

"are you sure you want that? You won't regret it when you get your memories back?" Malfoy asked slowly.

"oh, absolutely. I think my actual self would be actually thankful. And please do this as soon as possible." Harry requested, although his tone showed anything but.

"very well, Potter. If that's what you wish for, then that's what you get. Don't say I didn't warn you," Malfoy said one last time. Harry just snorted at that.

Ron looked torn between shocked and upset and Hermione was actually crying. She started protesting but Draco just shook his head and smiled at her.

"I always knew this dream would break, mione. I'll be fine. I have reg." Draco sighed before he came to stnd directly infront of Harry.

"break the bonds then, the certificate would already be produced after we do that. I'll contact the advocate right after." Draco put forward his hand and Harry hesitated for a bit before putting their hands together. The touch was familiar, the skin soft and tender. Harry didn't even dwell on that for more than a second.

Malfoy spoke a foreign language, although Harry did catch a few Latin words in there as well. He didn't really care, but when Malfoy finally extracted his hand. Harry gasped loudly, his heart felt lighter and there was a whole comfortable weight on his shoulders that was gone. He didn't like that feeling even one bit.

Malfoy silently wiped the tears in his eyes, as if that was insignificant. He stared at Harry for a long time, to the point that Harry started feeling uncomfortable.

"well, goodbye Potter." Draco said atlast and Harry just lifted an eyebrow and sneered at him. He gave a sad smile to Harry's bestfriends as well. Then, malfoy actually hugged both of them, together.

When they pulled apart, he said, "don't worry, you both. He is not my Harry anyway. I'll be fine." Malfoy didn't look fine and even Harry could tell that.

"what about reg?" Hermione asked. Seriously, who was this reg?

"I'll be taking him with me. Or since ha-potter is the one who is leaving. Reg would be staying with me."

Draco then smiled, Harry didn't like that look one bit, he looked at Harry through his red eyes and said, "i must have forgotten to mention but I'll make sure Regulus stays with me. What with you being unable to even remember him. I'm sure I would have no problem at all. And don't even try otherwise. Consequences would be deadly." Harry shivered at the words but still, didn't understand who Regulus was. The only Regulus he knew was Sirius's brother and he was long dead.

"Potter, Regulus is, Regulus Malfoy-Potter is our son. Or I should say my son." malfoy closed his eyes and took a deep breath, "and don't even try contacting him by anymeans before- no even after you have gained your memory back. Because trust me it will, and it won't be pretty. I don't want my child to go through anything that would cause him trauma, and trust me when your own dad can't remember you, that's going to fuck up anyone's mind real bad, especially for a one and half year old." Malfoy spat out.

Harry could still hear some words ringing in his mind. Child? He had a child? He was a dad? He had to-

"Your rings, Potter." Malfoy out forward his hand, Harry frowned at it.

Malfoy finally gestured at his left hand and he say it, a solid but thin band of gold with small diamonds encrusted. It looked perfect. Just what Harry would have wanted for himself. Did he choose the ring himself then? Not detered, he slid the ring out of his finger. It was with some struggle but it came out atlast. But malfoy was still standing with his hand open.

"what now?" Harry asked, irritatedly.

"the family ring." Malfoy coldly stated. Oh, he then noticed the Malfoy family ring on his tiny finger of his right hand. He practically threw that into Malfoy's hands. Who wanted to be even near that thing?

Malfoy's hand pulled into a tight fist and Harry noticed that he still had a wedding band. So of course, Harry asked, "what about the ones you are wearing?"

"what about them?" Malfoy inquired and Hermione asked at the same time Hermione cried out, "harry, can you please not?"

Harry ignored her and lifted his eyebrows at malfoy again, "well if you take away the ones I had. It's only fair, I get those back."

Malfoy's eyes flashed angrily before the icy facade was back on, "i didn't want dissolve the marriage. I have no obligation to return the rings. And even if I did, I won't. My Harry gave them to me afterall." Malfoy said coldly, but his voice broke at the end.

"and the child-"

"nothing of it. Regulus is my son and he'll be known as such from now on. I would like to see you try otherwise." Malfoy basically growled. Then he gave one mock salute to Harry and turned his back to them and strode out of the room.

The three of them sat in silence for thirty more seconds before Hermione got up, mumbled something about Draco and left the room hurriedly. Ron took off soon after.

He patted Harry on his shoulder and said, "mate that wasn't good. You're going to regret it." Ron had said it with such conviction that it had Harry frowning for several minutes.

In the empty hospital room, with no one but himself to provide company, he felt a strange sensation of dread creep up. He looked down on his ring finger and the slightly lighter skin tone seemed to taunt him.

Harry felt extremely lost, again.

Day 25: Battle || Day 27: Babysitting

Part 2

The Bride C11

The next few minutes are a blur of screaming and begging that comes to a head when Heisenberg tosses her to the ground next to me. He hisses something at her that makes her whimper, but he doesn't give her a chance to respond before he grabs her arm and slices a quick line right under her elbow. The smell of fresh blood assaults my senses and within seconds I’ve latched on to her, sinking my teeth into her soft skin. Whether by sheer force or the sharpness of my teeth I don’t know, but biting into her is as easy as biting into a sandwich, minor resistance, high reward. The responses are immediate-she yells and tries to pull away, the sound is stifled in seconds by Heisenberg grabbing her face and holding his hand over her mouth, his other arm grabbing around her middle and forcing her to keep still. The flow of blood is steady despite her struggles, strong swallows forcing it down into my gut, warmth spreading through me.

She tastes like cinnamon and citrus, tastes alive and so so good. Part of me knows I could stop now, that I don’t have to keep drinking. I can already feel myself recovering, feel the odd tugging as my body regenerates around the wound, the stinging as it drives out the poison that was killing me, the small popping as it comes out in the form of small crystal shards. However, fair is fair. She was going to kill me, damn near succeeded. The least I can do is return the favor, so I keep drinking, gulping down the thing that sustains us both.

Keep going even as her fighting gets weaker and her arm starts getting cold. Keep going until she stops resisting and even moments after that when her body falls fully limp and there’s nothing more than drops left in her veins. Only then do I let go, letting myself flop back to the ground, sated and full of energy, my wound closed.

“Do you need more?” Heisenberg asks, tossing her now empty body to the side without a second thought and hoisting me up so I’m sitting, but leaning against his chest to keep me stable. The concern in his voice is kind, a nice contrast from the rough sound of his voice. Through my gluttonous daze I smile at him, the voice in the back of my mind says to close my mouth, knowing my teeth are certainly stained red. Logically I know it’s likely also smeared around my lips, I was nowhere near neat eating this time. I was more concerned with consumption than I was with manners. It doesn’t seem to bother him though, which is nice, as his eyes never stray from my eyes.

“She tasted good,” I hum, closing my eyes in relief, “That’ll be enough. Thank you for helping...Karl…” My head dips down, resting slightly on his shoulder. “I’m sleepy.” He nods, shifting so one of his arms is under my back, looping his other under my legs, pulling me into his lap and then up as he shifts into a squat and swings up quickly to stand.

“Rest. I’ll have these brutes clean this up. I’ll bring you back to your mother.” He instructs. I want to tell him not to, that she’ll be mad, but my tongue is too heavy and I can’t get the words to come out. I hear him speak lowly to the Lycans before I can feel him start moving. His steps are slow, calculated as not to jostle me too much. The walk back feels long, whether that’s because he paces himself out so it is, or because I’m too out of itl, I don’t know, but it feels like hours before the gates come into view. They rattle for a split second before flying open with a clang. I want to tell him to be quiet, to put me down, that my mother can’t see him here, can’t see me in his arms.

His arms, which make me feel safer than I’ve felt in ages, warmer than all my blankets ever could. I hear my mother screech my name, making me flinch and blink my eyes open. He shushes me slightly when he feels me tense, before replying to her. “Alcina.” He greets her as he makes his way up the path towards the front door. We get to the bottom of the stairs before my eyes truly focus. She’s stepped out from the frame, not leaving the radius of the door, and boy oh boy does she look furious.

“Put my daughter down this instant, Heisenberg.” She snarls, voice colder than ice, cutting through my post-feed-healing ditz and spearing my brain with a spike of awareness. He opens his mouth to protest but she cuts him off before he can, stating her demand again much more firmly. He sighs, looking down at me briefly before bending slightly to set me on my feet. He keeps his hand on my waist for a moment as I sway unsteadily, but despite my vertigo I extract myself from his grasp. “Come inside now, Y/N.” I nod at her, whispering my thanks to him almost silently before stumbling my way up the steps past her looming form. I vaguely hear her hiss out a threat before she follows me inside, slamming the door and latching onto my bicep harshly, not letting up any pressure even as I cry out from the pain. She drags me downstairs towards the dungeon, past the smug faces of my sisters, before throwing me into one of the empty cells on the far side of the castle, far from the girls we bring down, from the blood we store. “You’re going to stay in here until you learn to keep away from that slime. I don’t care how long that takes.” I want to scream, protest that I didn’t seek him out, that it isn’t my fault, but I know it’s no good, she doesn't want to hear it. Doesn’t want to hear how I almost died, how he saved me and that’s the only reason I was near him in general.

She leaves me there as soon as she locks the gate. My brain starts turning back on after a few hours, my wound fully closed, the blood I consumed finally settling into my body, the buzz it gave me calming. Not long after that I hear faint laughing, that grows closer and closer until my sisters are standing in front of the bars, all looking like the cat who ate the canary. Daniela approaches first, looking me up and down before cocking her head to the side.

“Why am I not surprised to see you three here, gloating over my fall from grace.” I muse, skimming over their proud forms. “Let me guess. You let her escape. You gave her the knife. Is that why you’ve been scaring the help off?” Her lips curl up higher, clearly satisfied with her work. “You do realize I could just swarm out of here right? Right out through the bars.” Cassandra tsks, moving to join her sisters side, looking rather pleased with herself.

“You certainly could try, sister, but we had mother coat the bars in salt ages ago when some of our experiments started coming back.” My stomach dips slightly. Salt? Of course they had her do that. They’ve been planning this, clearly, because alongside silver, salt is one of the only other things that can a. hurt me, and b. keep me from passing through gaps in either form.

“Have fun down here. Who knows when mother will stop being upset with you. You really pulled that for us. Chasing after the girl, we could have stopped her before she got out of course. But god, coming back in his arms? We really should thank you.” Bela teases, stepping up out of the shadows and I can’t stop the disgusted scoff that comes out of my mouth. The three of them quirk their eyebrows, wordlessly asking what’s funny. I take a dragging step up, keeping a few inches from the bars, but as close as I can be to the three of them. Cassandra and Bela look towards Daniela, both looking as if they want to step away but following her lead. Funny, I would have thought Cassandra planned this.

“You girls are very cute, you know that? Thinking I wouldn’t know you planned this. Imagine how interested mother would be to find out the girl had one of her silver knives? You know, the ones she keeps locked away in her office that only we know about?” I reply calmly, keeping my eyes fixed firmly on theirs. Daniela opens her mouth to give some witty retort, I’m sure, but I cut her off before she can utter a syllable. “You girls need to be very careful with how you want to keep playing this game. The longer you’re on her good side, the easier it’ll be for me to topple you. I’ll let you have this one, but if you ever try anything again to make me fall out of my mothers favor you will regret it. Because even if mother doesn’t like me, Mother Miranda does, and I don’t think she’d be pleased to find out you three are trying to torment the person who’s been so beneficial to her research. Watch yourselves.”

They huff indignantly, and I know they won’t take my threat at its full merit, but that’s fine. More satisfying for me if I have to burn them. This time, however, they find their graces not to continue poking at me and walk off deeper into the dungeons, leaving me in the dark with nothing to entertain myself. I want to ask for a light, but I refuse to give them the satisfaction of it, so instead I clumsily make my way to the bed, sitting on it with minimal error and resign myself to leaning against the wall until mother decides she wants to let me out.

@foggyturtleknightangel @beingviolentlyhappy @inesalexandra1995 @loveboldlywingedangel130

I think I drank too much - with ma boi John Tracy, Eye in the Sky?

(I hope you wrestle uni into submssion)

A Bad First Impression

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Gen Genre: Family/Friendship Characters: Scott, John, Penelope

Brain is in default Scott mode (when is it not?), so more Scott than John, but it is John saying the line, so that counts, right?  Haven’t proof read this or anything, but alcohol+John gave me one idea straight away, so here we go!

4am so the other prompt currently sitting in my inbox will have to wait until post-sleep (and probably post-more uni work), but feel free to send more in!

(Uni is... not going down without a fight but I have got my lecturers on my side so it’s not quite as terrifying as it was the other day.  Still got a heck of a lot of work to do, but hopefully it’s survivable now.)

Lightheaded/Fainting Prompts (I know it says ‘starters’ but I figure as long as the line’s in there somewhere it counts).  Or honestly any other prompt games I’ve reblogged are fine, too, just make sure to tell me which one it’s from!)

Scott glowered down at his phone, where his message was stubbornly remaining as sent.  Ideally, he wanted a reply, but it had been five minutes and it still wasn’t even showing as read.

People were sending him disapproving looks, no doubt seeing a stranger with a backpack lurking outside a door and drawing their own conclusions the longer he remained slouched against the wall.  Apparently even in England, people didn’t take too kindly to loitering, and Scott would appreciate it if his brother would hurry up and let him in.

Maybe for some people, five minutes was too soon to be getting cranky, let alone worried, and any of his other brothers, in any other situation, Scott wouldn’t expect an instantaneous reply, but it was John, at midnight.  He should be wired into whatever technology he was playing and receiving messages instantly - especially as Scott should be expected.

The journey had been a long one, jet lag was hammering hard, and he just wanted to greet his brother, catch up for a bit, and then crash out on the couch.  It had been too long since he’d last seen him - why John had decided to go to college in England, Scott had no idea.

Seven minutes, and still no answer.  No little icon assuring him John had even seen it, even though John had known exactly what flight he was on and had been the one to tell Scott how long the taxi would take from the airport.  Scott had fully expected his younger brother to open the door just as the taxi pulled to a halt.

The fact that he was still standing outside, seven minutes later - and midnight in Oxford was not warm - had Scott one part annoyed to three parts worried.

The looks were getting dirtier.  He was surprised no-one had confronted him yet, and hoped that didn’t mean they’d decided against talking and skipped straight to calling the police.

“C’mon, John,” he muttered.  “What’s taking you so long?”

Looking up from his phone again - nine minutes - he caught sight of a pair staggering their way in his direction.  One was ginger, and he straightened, more than a little disbelieving when his younger brother staggered right past him without looking and pawed at the door ineffectually.

“Honestly, John,” the girl he was with - petite, blond, and in high heels that made Scott’s feet ache just to look at (his younger brothers didn’t know about his time in high heels and it was staying that way) - sighed, although the giggle that followed it ruined whatever gravitas she was trying to exude.

There were many things wrong with the sight, from John being not inside, to John looking like he’d been at a nightclub, to John apparently bringing a girl home, but the thoughts all temporarily abandoned his head as John swayed just a little bit more.

“I think I drank too much,” his brother commented, in that sort of detached fashion Scott recognised from his own nightclub experiences, and ignoring the girl, he lunged forward just in time to catch John as he crumpled.

This wasn’t the greeting he’d been expecting.

Nor was the stiletto kick to his chest, winding him and almost making him drop his brother.  It was fortunate his first instinct was always to hold on tighter, otherwise John would probably have just gained a concussion to go with the hell of a hangover he was going to be facing in a few hours.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the girl demanded, drawing herself up to her full height - and even in those dagger stilettos, still failing to reach Scott’s chin.  “Unhand him at once, or I’ll call the police.”

Scott was tired, grumpy, and had no patience for irritating girls trying to get in with his not interested younger brother.  He straightened, hefting John into his arms - he might be tall, but John had never been a challenge to lift on the rare occasion Scott had carried him - and made a show of looking down at the small female.

“And I suppose you were planning on carrying him inside?” he challenged, shifting John’s weight until he could slip two fingers into his pocket and extract his door key.

John always kept his key in the same pocket.  Scott was glad that hadn’t changed.

“And now you’re trespassing,” she huffed as he fumbled the door open.  “No-one invited you in.  Leave, before I call the police.”

“Actually, I was invited,” Scott snapped, stepping through the door.  “You, on the other hand, are not welcome.  Go home.”

He kicked the door shut with his heel, knowing Grandma - and probably John, in the morning - would be furious with him for leaving her outside by herself at midnight, but not finding it in himself to care right then.

The apartment wasn’t large, just a kitchen with a sofa and a door that Scott determined had to lead to the bedroom and en suite, which meant he heard the front door open again as he shouldered his way into the bedroom.

“Who are you?” the girl demanded.  Scott ignored her as he settled his brother on the bed - planets and stars embellishing the otherwise plain navy comforter.  “Look at me when I’m talking to you!”

Scott pulled his brother’s sneakers off and set them down on the floor, making a mental note to find where John kept his shoes and put them away properly before his occasionally-clumsy brother tripped over them later.

“Why are you in his apartment?” he asked, kicking off his own shoes and letting his backpack fall onto the floor before pulling himself up onto the bed.  John could sleep in his clothes just fine, but that coat and jumper had to come off before he overheated.

“Are you stripping him?” she shrieked.  “That’s it; I’m calling the police.”

...Okay, Scott could see why it might look bad if she didn’t know who he was.

“Look, miss,” he started.

“Your ladyship,” she interrupted.

“Uh, what?”

“It’s your ladyship,” she said.  “Not miss.  I am Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward, and I insist you tell me who you are and why you’re manhandling my friend.”

“John has friends?”  John did intellectual peers, but he’d never cared for friends, mostly because he found it tiring when people couldn’t keep up with him - or tried to force him into socialising, which Scott was starting to suspect this girl, Lady, whatever, had done tonight.  His friends were computers.

“Of course he does, you pervert,” she snapped back.  “Now answer my questions, and if I don’t like the answers, I’m calling the police.”

“Perv-”  Scott interrupted himself with a sigh.  “I take it John didn’t bother to tell you I was coming to visit for the week?”

“Your name,” she insisted, and he rolled his eyes.

“Scott Tracy.  I’m his brother, so if you could stop the ridiculous accusations that would be great, thank you very much.”

“You don’t look related.”

Oh, for-

“You should see the rest of them.”  John shifted against his chest in a quickly-aborted attempt to sit up.  Scott tightened his grip.  “Scott, Lady P.  You won’t get rid of her.  Trust me.  Lady P., my big brother, Scott.  You won’t get rid of him.  Trust me.”

“John-”

“So stop arguing and let me sleep.  My head kills.  Penny, why did you let me drink so much?”

“I was curious what you’d be like drunk,” she answered, completely unapologetic.  “You didn’t tell me your brother was coming.”  She paused.  “Why didn’t you tell me when I came to get you earlier?”

“You’d have accused me of lying to get out of going,” John muttered.  “Sorry, Scott.  Thought I’d be back before you turned up.  Wasn’t expecting to drink so much...”  He trailed off with a yawn, and Scott helped him lie back down.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said - not strictly true, but as far as reunions went it was already terrible.  He had no intentions of worsening it with an argument.  “Get some sleep.  I’ll find you something for the hangover in the morning.”

John was asleep again before he’d finished talking, and with a fond smile, Scott slipped off the bed and pulled the covers loosely over him.

Then, he eyed the blonde in front of him.  John didn’t like socialising, and yet she’d dragged him out regardless - and apparently never took no for an answer.

Scott did not like the implications of that.

“We need to talk,” he said, quietly enough not to wake John, but seriously nonetheless.  Blue eyes flicked from him to John and then back again.

“Yes,” she agreed.  “I suppose we do.”

I FINALLY uploaded again to my first Harringrove fic ever, so here’s an easy way to read ch. 1 since a lot of people here don’t know me from Dracula Has a Mullet haha

Read on ao3 here ~

💋 💋 💋 💋 💋 💋

The discovery that Billy Hargrove is a vampire came at a weird time in a weird way. It’s just not everyday that you walk in on someone fingering Alexandra O’Neil with their teeth—fangs—in her tit.

There were stranger things in Hawkins, unfortunately. Unfortunately? How fortunate is a vampire?

“For fuck’s sake. Really?”

Billy has the grace to extract his freaking teeth with a semblance of being surprised. “I didn’t know you had that kind of mouth, Harrington.”

Steve waves a scolding finger at him with all the gusto of a drunk, and he has the solo cup to justify it. “Put those away! She was homecoming queen last year. Jesus, have some class.”

“You serious?”

Steve downed the last of his beer and Jäger with a grimace, his voice going raspy. “Look, I’m not one to judge a lady’s standards, but really, Alex…Alex?”

The lady in question was so blissed out she looked like one of those unnaturally stupid women in every Dracula movie. Billy actually moved aside as Steve pulled her away from the wall—away from Billy—to try and talk to her. Righting her dress with quick yanks, he covered her gorgeous, if small, breasts and gave her a shake. “Alex! Hey!”

He could hear—could feel it, more like—Billy moving behind him in the dark room. Steve had come up here hoping to claim the guest room before someone used it to hookup from the party downstairs. It wouldn’t be the first time he woke up from a mid-party nap to someone being blown, but sometimes it’s the price one pays for free liquor and an ounce of decent sleep.

“What’s wrong with her standards? Huh, King Steve?”

The voice is right behind him, so close that the damn vampire has to rear backwards when Steve whirls around. “What kind of vamp name is Billy? Wait, that’s short for something—”

“If you call me by anything else, I’ll hang you from the ceiling by your teeth.”

“You’re not charming like vampires,” Steve practically complained. “Gotta work on that. Everyone gossips here. Folks will know you’re toothy like…” He fumbled a clumsy but sharp snap of his fingers.

Billy made a derisive sound before his voice crooned, “Seems like I’m flying just fine under the vampire radar, then.”

He was heaving Alex back up from where she had slumped against the dresser when Steve released her. Steve raked a hand through his hair, thinking. It was a slog through the alcohol, but he surmised that he could not take her away from this guy. Case being: Steve was far too drunk to logically drive, and to where? It was her house.

“You. You gotta go.”

Billy huffed one of his low, mirthless laughs. Instead of setting Alex nicely on the bed, he just kind of dumped her there. She let out a sort of dumb-giddy moan as she face planted a pillow and he faced Steve. “Excuse me?”

“You’re, like, biting people at a party!” Steve realized somewhere between his tone and his slight—or perhaps exaggerated, it was hard to tell at this point—sway, that Billy was far more sober than he felt.

Not the time to play hero but whatever.

Billy slowly stepped toward him. “There’s plenty worse at this shit house than me, Harrington. Worst weed I’ve ever had. And that shit whiskey’s been so watered down, it’s nothing but wheat water.”

“Hey!” Steve was poking two fingers at him before he meant to. “They just renovated the place and I got well paid for the tiling and paint!”

“So you’re the reason everyone’s been tripping over the same spot in the kitchen?” Billy huffed.

“And the whiskey’s not so bad if you chase it with grape juice. It’s like toast and jam water. Whatever, no one’s here for your holier-than-thou, California bullshit!”

Billy was caught by surprise that time. His whole expression lifted, brows and eyes widening as he repeated, “Holier. Than. Thou. That’s the kind of shit you pick up from books. I didn’t know the king could read.”

“Fuck off,” Steve grimaced, really just wanting to get Alex tucked into bed and maybe join her. “You’ve been riding me ever since you got here.��

“I definitely have not been doing that,” Billy retorted and then smiled. “What, you offering?”

“Was she?” Steve cornered, drawing himself up to his full height. Admittedly, not much taller than Billy, but small victories lead to great heights or something.

Billy wiped his mouth and Steve’s eyes plummeted to those lips. “Yeah, she was. She pulled me upstairs, or is that so hard to believe, blue balls?”

“It kind of is, yeah,” Steve said with his hands on his hips. “Alex has asthma. Like, inhaler tucked in her bra at prom in case the slow dance was too much. She’d never get with a chain smoker like you.”

“She would if her high school sweetheart cheated on her with the first college bitch he found.” One of Billy’s eyebrows perked up with his shrug. “I’m a favorite for ladies looking for a rebound.”

Steve grimaced. “Derek cheated? How do you know that?”

“That’s between her and me,” Billy said, stepping forward again. “But I hear you’ve been due for a rebound for a while, Harrington.”

He didn’t want to talk about Nancy. It wasn’t even Nancy, really, but he didn’t want to talk about anything regarding his sex life or lack thereof. Steve diverted, “I want you to leave. Go find someone else to—whatever the hell this is.”

“Well. You’re right here.”

“Not me, dumbass. I told you to leave the house.”

“That’s not gonna happen,” Billy smiled. “What? You’ll let me beat the shit out of you again? We had an audience last time too.”

“I wouldn’t be too cocky about last time,” Steve groaned, beginning to take a step back. “The way I hear it, Jonathan had to mop you off the floor after—”

Billy wasn’t listening. His eyes were on Steve’s neck and the only gut wrenching, instinctive thought Steve had was weapon. It came in the form of a glass lamp, which he wrenched out of the wall to break over Billy’s head.

The hard thud of thick glass hitting before the shatter and glass raining over the floor had Steve gaping at him. Billy stood very still. Way too still. Steve wondered if he had knocked him out, but his legs hadn’t unbuckled yet.

Then Billy lifted dark eyes beneath his mess of a fringe, pupils blown wide. Steve continued to stare at him with the mechanical parts of the lamp still in his hand. “Holy shit, you didn’t even flinch! You’re supposed to dodge when furniture’s coming at you—”

Billy gripped the wrist holding the parts and wrenched him so far that Steve couldn’t react to Billy’s other hand on his pants. Heaving him up by his belt, he slammed Steve onto the table from which the lamp had originated. Music thrummed around them, the very beams in the walls vibrating. Steve defied the laws of his denim pants by folding his leg against his side to kick Billy in the gut. Ragged sounds from both of them went unheard by the party below. Steve slid like a heavy tablecloth to the floor with Billy likewise winded and crouched in front of him.

“Why…” Steve tried, rubbing his chest and hoping his talking lasted long enough for him to decide whether running or trying to pin Billy down was the best decision. “…can’t you just…not do this? Whatever alpha bullshit game you think life is.”

“Some of us don’t want to go through life with your dashing prince crap,” Billy spat.

“You think I’m dashing? I couldn’t tell, I passed out the last time you punched me in the face.”

Billy laughed. “Yeah. You’re just as soft as I remember.”

He was moving again and Steve felt a wild, foolish—downright stupid—thrill to try something else. “You need to leave, man. Really. I know a party of blackout graduates might seem like easy pickings, but Hawkins is different.”

“You don’t know shit about different,” Billy growled. “You’ve never seen grass outside this bum fuck of a town.”

“I’ve been to Disney World. And New York City. There’s gotta be some hospital nurse you can swoon into letting you raid their blood bank?”

He couldn’t tell if Billy was getting angrier or not. The man was always angry, seemed like. “I’m not drinking from a freezer. Now shut the hell up. You’ll enjoy this like your homecoming queen.”

A last ditch effort, diving in the direction of the door, but it wasn’t the first time Billy had been on top of him with murder in his eyes. Steve’s hands fumbled at Billy’s face, but then his wrists were pinned above his head and a panicked whine escaped as Billy’s hot, humid breath found him.

Steve went slack. They always do. Billy had figured out that something in his teeth or saliva sedated those he bit, and more. A whole lot more. It made a good flirt into a hell of a time. Alexandra of the Hawkins Homecoming Court had already come on his finger when Steve, of all people, waltzed right in.

It made hunting annoying. It made hunting fun. He had to be picky; didn’t want anyone he couldn’t look at for longer than three minutes moaning all over him while he tried to feed. His looks did most of the work. The right dash of charm here, a nice compliment there, and then his fangs did the rest.

Steve was hard under him. Billy felt the distinct push of his jeans against his own ass while he slid his fingers under Steve’s nape. Lifting his neck, he made sure the moron’s windpipe stayed open, as well as lifted his meal closer to his mouth—

A strange sound came from Steve. Billy’s eyes flicked to his face, but when that labored breathing sound happened again, he sat up and stared. Steve was crying.

This had never happened before. Those doe eyes that all the girls had ranted about when he first drove into Hawkins were red and squinted as moisture slid over his temples. Billy even checked to make sure he wasn’t sitting too heavily on his dick or something, but the gears of his brain slid into place.

Steve usually wore sunglasses at parties. Billy couldn’t help but huff a laugh. “Are you a drunk crier, Harrington? Hey, I’m talking to you.”

He gripped Steve’s jaw, but his whole head lolled, those eyes barely finding him through the daze. “I just wanna sleep,” he said quietly. Fresh tears raced into his hair as he passed out.

The Littlest Timelord: The New Doctor Chapter 11

TITLE: The Littlest Timelord: The New Doctor Chapter 11 PAIRING: No Pairing RATING: T CHAPTER: 11/? SUMMARY: With the Doctor newly regenerated, he and Elise must now navigate their new relationship. The Doctor is an old man and Elise is a headstrong young woman. She is no longer the scared little girl the Doctor saved all those years ago. Will Clara be able to keep them from killing each other?

[A/N - This one’s a bit longer, but there was no good ending point.]

Clara opened the door to her bedroom, only for it to collide with something.

“You just have to squeeze through,” the Doctor told her. He was sitting at her vanity.

“Doctor?”

“Why do you have three mirrors? Why don't you just turn your head?”

“What are you doing in here?”

“You said you had a date. I thought I'd better hide in the bedroom in case you brought him home.”

Clara looked at Elise who was lounging on her bed. “I tried telling him, but he didn’t listen,” the redhead told her.

“Bit early, aren't you? Did it all go wrong, or is this good by your standards?” the Doctor asked.

Clara collapsed on the bed next to Elise and put her head on the redhead’s stomach. Elise played with the ends of Clara’s ponytail.

“It was a disaster and I am extremely upset about it, since you didn't ask,” Clara told them.

“Fine. I need you, for a thing,” the Doctor said.

Clara sighed. “I can't.”

“Oh, of course you can. Come on, you're free. More than usually free, in fact.”

Clara pulled out her phone. “No, it's just possible that I might get a phone call.”

“From the date guy? It's too late. You've taken your make-up off.”

“No, I haven't. I'm still wearing my make-up.”

“Oh, right. Well, you probably just missed a bit. Come on, come on, come on, come on.”

Clara groaned and rolled off the bed, while Elise elegantly stood up. Clara walked into the TARDIS carrying her shoes. “I haven't actually said yes.”

“Yes, you know sometimes when you talk to yourself, what if you're not?”

“Not what?”

“What if it's not you you're talking to? Proposition. What if no one is ever really alone? What if every single living being has a companion, a silent passenger, a shadow? What if the prickle on the back of your neck, is the breath of something close behind you?”

Clara looked at Elise, who shrugged. The Doctor lead Clara up the stairs and showed her the blackboard with the word “Listen.”

“It looks like your handwriting,” Clara told him.

“Well, I couldn't have written it and forgotten, could I?”

“Have you met you?” Clara walked over to a table covered in books. “What's all this?”

“Dreams. Accounts of dreams, by different people, all through history. You see, I have a theory.”

“I'll bet you have. What theory?”

“I think everybody, at some point in their lives, has the exact same nightmare. You wake up, or you think you do, and there's someone in the dark, someone close, or you think there might be. So you sit up, and turn on the light. And the room looks different at night. It ticks and creaks and breathes. And you tell yourself there's nobody there, nobody watching, nobody listening, nobody there at all. And you very nearly believe it. You really, really try and then…” The Doctor reached out a hand and made a grabbing motion. “There are accounts of that dream throughout human history. Time and time again, the same dream.”

“It’s called Universal Consciousness,” Elise said.

“Don’t interrupt, Elise.” The Doctor turned back to Clara. “Now, there is a very obvious question I'm about to ask you. Do you know what it is?”

“Have you had that dream?”

“Exactly.”

“No, that was me asking you. Have you had that dream?”

“I asked first.”

“No, I did.”

“You really didn't.”

“Okay, yeah, probably. Yes. But everyone dreams about something under the bed.”

“Why?” The Doctor led her down to the console and placed Clara’s fingers into a squishy section. “Just hold on tight. If anything bites, let it.”

“What is it?”

“TARDIS telepathic interface. You are now in mental contact with the TARDIS, so don't think anything rude.”

“Why not?”

“It might end up on all of the screens. The TARDIS is extrapolating your entire timeline, from the moment of your birth, to the moment of your death.”

Clara leaned in towards the rotor and whispered, “Which I do not need a preview of.”

“I'm turning off the safeguards and navigation, slaving the TARDIS to you. Focus on the dream. Focus on the details. Picture them, feel them. The TARDIS will track on your subconscious and extract the relevant information. It should be able to home in on the moment in your timeline when you first had that dream. And then, we'll see.”

“What will we see?”

“What's under your bed.” He gave her a crazy grin and put the TARDIS in flight. “Okay, now don't get distracted. Remember, you are flying a time machine.”

Clara closed her eyes and tried to focus, but her phone starting ringing. Clara gasped and flinched, trying to refocus.

“No, no. Don't you dare. No, don't. Don't, don't. Just ignore it.” He grabbed her phone and tossed it behind him.

The TARDIS finally landed.

“Okay, that's good. That worked. We're here.”

“Sorry, I think I got distracted.”

“No, no, no, no, no. The date's fine. Come on.” The Doctor walked over to the doors.

“Come on where?”

“Your childhood.” The Doctor left the TARDIS.

Clara tried pulling her fingers out of the interface, but she was stuck.

Elise walked over and wrap a hand around her wrist. She gently pulled Clara’s fingers from the interface.

“Thanks,” Clara said.

Elise shrugged. “No problem.”

Clara was suddenly aware of how close Elise was to her. She looked into Elise’s green eyes, so much like her father’s previous regeneration. Clara blushed as she pulled away from Elise. “Come on. We should go before he gets himself into trouble.”

They left the TARDIS, but not before Elise looked back at the interface. She shook her head. No, she could try later. She didn’t want to leave Clara and her father on their own.

They found themselves standing outside a building at night.

“The West Country Children's Home. Gloucester. By the ozone level and the drains, mid-nineties. You must have been here when you had the dream,” the Doctor explained.

“Never been to Gloucester in my life, and I've never lived in a children's home.”

“You've probably just forgotten. Have you seen the size of human brains? They're hilarious. Little you must be in here somewhere, with your little brain.”

“Isn't it bad if I meet myself?”

“It is potentially catastrophic.”

Elise rolled her eyes. “The last time you met yourself, the universe ended.”

“Of course you’d bring that up now.”

“So why did you bring me out here?” Clara asked.

“I was still talking. I needed someone to nod. Probably best for you to wait in the TARDIS.”

“Doctor, I…”

“See you in a minute. TARDIS.” He pointed at the blue box.

“Doctor. If I had have been distracted, what would have happened?”

“We would probably have ended up in the wrong place. But don't think we have, because the time zone's right. I won't be long.”

The Doctor walked away.

Clara looked up and saw a little boy in a window.

He waved at Clara and Elise. He opened the window. “What are you doing down there?” he asked them.

“Nothing. Er, we’re just. What's your name?”

“Rupert.”

“Oh. Okay. Hello, Rupert.”

“Rupert Pink. It's a stupid name.”

“No, it isn't. I know somebody called Pink.”

“I meant Rupert. I'm going to change it.”

“Why are you awake? Are you scared?”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Clara and Elise quietly snuck past the office where the Doctor was talking to the caretaker.

They wandered upstairs and down a long corridor. They entered a room and saw Rupert sitting on the floor by the window.

“Hello,” Clara said.

“Hello,” Rupert echoed.

“Nice room.” Clara pulled up a chair and sat in it, while Elise stood next to her. “You know, you should have more than one chair. What do you do when people come round?”

“Sit on the bed.”

“Why aren't you sitting on it, then? Do you think that there's something underneath it?”

Rupert nodded.

“Hey, everyone thinks that, sometimes. That's just how people think at night.”

“Why?”

“Did you have a dream? A hand grabbing your foot? You have, haven't you? You've had that exact dream.”

“How did you know?”

“Do you know why dreams are called dreams?”

“Why?”

“Because they're not real. If they were, they wouldn't need a name.”

Clara got up and walked over to the bed.

“What are you doing?”

Clara looked underneath it. “Do you know what's under there?”

“What?”

“Me!”

Elise laughed.

Clara rolled under the bed and laid on her back. “Come on, it's perfectly safe.”

Rupert laid next to her.

Clara put her hand out and wiggled her fingers. “C’mon Ellie! You know you want to.”

Elise playfully rolled eyes, before crawling under the bed with them, lacing her fingers with Clara’s.

“See? Nobody here, except us,” Clara reassured Rupert.

“Sometimes I hear noises.”

“It's a house full of people. Of course you hear noises.”

“They're all asleep.”

“They're all dreaming.”

“Can you hear dreams?”

Clara nodded. “If you're clever enough. But they can't harm you. You know, sometimes we think there's something behind us. And the space under your bed is what's behind you at night. Simple as that. There's nothing to be afraid of.”

The bed creaked as if someone sat on it. It sagged under the weight until the mattress nearly touched Elise and Clara’s noses.

Rupert started panting softly and Elise squeezed Clara’s hand.

“Who else is in this room?” Clara asked, softly.

“Nobody,” Rupert answered, just as soft.

“Someone must have come in.”

“Nobody came in.”

Elise and Clara rolled out and stood up. Something was sitting on the bed, covered in a red crocheted blanket.

“Hello?” Clara asked. She helped Rupert stand up. “Who's this? This is a friend of yours playing a game.”

Rupert shook his head.

“Playing a trick, are you, hey? A little trick on Rupert here?”

The bed creaked as the figure sat up taller.

“Okay. It's not funny this, you know.”

A light switched on. They all turned to see the Doctor sitting the chair by the desk flipping through a book.

“Where is he?” the Doctor asked.

“Doctor?” Clara asked.

“I can't find him. Can you find him?”

“Find who?”

“Wally.”

“Wally?”

“He's nowhere in this book.”

“It's not a Where's Wally one.”

“Well, how would you know? Maybe you just haven't found him yet.”

“He's not in every book.”

“Really? Well, that's a few years of my life I'll be needing back.”

Normally Elise would have been happy that the Doctor was acting like his silly self again, but there were more pressing matters. Like what the hell was sitting on Rupert’s bed for instance.

“Are you scared? The thing on the bed, whatever it is, look at it. Does it scare you?” the Doctor asked.

“Yes,” Rupert answered.

“Well, that's good. Want to know why that's good?”

“Why?”

“Let me tell you about scared. Your heart is beating so hard, I can feel it through your hands. There's so much blood and oxygen pumping through your brain, it's like rocket fuel. Right now, you could run faster and you could fight harder, you could jump higher than ever in your life. And you are so alert, it's like you can slow down time. What's wrong with scared? Scared is a superpower. It's your superpower. There is danger in this room and guess what? It's you. Do you feel it? Do you think he feels it? Do you think he's scared? Nah. Loser. Turn your back on him.”

“What?”

“Yeah, turn your back on him. Come on. You too, Clara, Elise.”

Every instinct was telling Elise to keep her eye on the thing.

“Elise, your back, now.”

Clara grabbed Elise’s hand and gave it a comforting squeeze.

Elise finally turned around to look out the window.

“Do it. Just do it now. Turn your back. Do it now, turn your back. Lovely view out this window.”

Rupert came to stand between them. 

“Yeah. Come and see all the dark.”

“The deep and lovely dark. We'd never see the stars without it. Now, there are two possibilities. Possibility one, it's just one of your friends standing there, and he's playing a joke on you. Possibility two, it isn't.”

“So, plan? Plans are good,” Clara said.

“You on the bed, I'm talking to you now. Go in peace. We won't look. Just go. If all you want to do is stay hidden, it's okay. Just leave.”

The figure came closer to them.

“Is it gone?” Clara asked.

“Don't look round. Not yet,” the Doctor told them.

“I can't hear anything,” Rupert said.

“Don't look round.”

Rupert started to turn around.

“Look away! Look away now! Don't look at it! Don't look round. Don't look round. Don't look at the reflection.”

“What is it?” Rupert asked.

“Imagine a thing that must never be seen. What would it do if you saw it?”

“I don't know.”

“Neither do I. Close your eyes.”

“What?”

“Close your eyes. You too, Clara and Elise. Give it what it wants. Prove to it that you're not going to look at it. Make a promise. A promise you're never going to look at it.”

“I promise never to look.”

“The breath on the back of your neck, like your hair's standing on end. That means, don't look round.”

The door slammed shut, signaling the departure of the thing.

Clara and Rupert spun around, while Elise reached out and grabbed onto the window to keep from collapsing.

“Gone?” Clara asked.

“Gone,” the Doctor confirmed.

Rupert frowned. “He took my bedspread.”

“Oh, the human race. You're never happy, are you?”

Pearl Jam songs as the marauders' story

listen here

explanations under read more

Red Mosquito - Remus is bit by Greyback

two steps ahead of him, punctures in your neck…/ Hoverin' just above your bed... (2x)/ I was bitten...must have been the devil…/ He was just paying me…/ A little visit, reminding me of his presence…

Jeremy - most of the song, Sirius

Okay so we’re going to look at the verses not the refrain for this one bc (TW su*) this song is based on an actual boy who diy died in front of his class so like no we’re not relating to that part but the “Clearly I remember/ Pickin’ on the boy/ Seemed a harmless little fuck/ But we unleashed the lion….Daddy didn't give affection, no/And the boy was something that mommy wouldn't wear”

Daughter - Sirius at home

Trans sirius in an abusive household………. “Mother reads aloud, child tries to understand it/Tries to make her proud/ The shades go down, it's in her head/ Painted room, can't deny that something's wrong/ Don’t call me daughter, not fit to”

Leash - Sirius and Remus’ toxic codependent love and then yelling at the establishment/people who say they’re too young going too deep too hard too fast

“Troubled souls unite/ We got ourselves tonight, oh/ I am fuel you are friends we got the means to make amends/ I am lost I'm no guide but I'm by your side/ I am right by your side….We will find a way we will find our place/ Drop the leash drop the leash/Get outta' my fuckin' face”

Why Go? - Sirius becoming disenchanted w his family

Trans Sirius too of course. She seems to be stronger/ But what they want/ Her to be is weak/ She could play pretend/ She could join the game, boy/ She could be another clone….don’t come visit/mother/ why go home?

Blood - Sirius’ family trying to make him into something he’s not

Spin me round/ Roll me over/ Fucking circus/ Stab it down/ One way needle/ Pulled so slowly/ Drains and spills/ Soaks the pages/ Fills their sponges/ It’s my blood/ It’s my blood

WMA - basically about all the big pureblood families that can get away w anything

“He won the lottery when he was born/ Took his mothers white breast to his tongue/ Do no wrong so clean cut/ Dirty his hands, it comes right off” (tw for song: police, implied police violence)

Do the Evolution - Sirius ranting abt/mocking his family

Admire me, admire my home/ Admire my son, he's my clone…./ I'll do what I want but irresponsibly/ It’s evolution, baby/ I’m a thief, I'm a liar/ There’s my church, I sing in the choir:/ (Hallelujah, hallelujah)

Bushleaguer - abt the aristocracy etc

This song is literally about George bush lmao but I love it abt the upper class

“Born on third, thinks he got a triple…./The aristocrat choir sings, "what's the ruckus?”/ The haves have not a clue/ The immenseness of suffering”

Mind your manners - You guessed it - Sirius rejecting his family

I've got an unfortunate feelin’/ I've been beaten down/I feel I don't believe/ And now the truth is coming out/ What they've taken is more than a vow/ They’ve taken your innocence/ And then they throw them on a burning fire/ All along they're sayin’/ Mind your manners

My father’s son - SIRIUS

I am my father's son,/ Yeah, too bad he was a psychopath and now I'm the next in line, , dear mother, yes, surely she's a work of art,…/Can I get a reprieve?/ This gene pool dark and deep…./Now father you're dead and gone and I'm finally free to be me,/ Thanks for all your dark gifts for which I've got no sympathy,/ I’m living in a walled-up place in the bounds of 5th symphony

Yellow Ledbetter - Sirius

Okay so 97% of the the lyrics are indecipherable when Eddie sings them but you can hear I don’t wanna stay

Go - Regulus to Sirius as he’s trying to leave

(Abuse tw) So sorry about this one yall …… .but yes I think this is regulus finally realizing that he shouldn’t have let things get so bad at home (Sirius blames him for not stepping in even tho he’s a child there’s nuance here etc) and he’s begging Sirius not to leave him here “Oh please don't go out on me don't go out on me now/ Never acted up before don't go on me now/ I swear I never took it for granted just thought of it now/ Suppose I abused you just passing it on….I pulled the covers over him shoulda' pulled the alarm/ Turned to my nemesis…Please don't go on me/ Don’t go on me/ Don’t go on me/ Don’t go on me/ please”

Rearviewmirror - Sirius running away

(Tw abuse) Time to emancipate/ I guess it was the beatings made me wise….Forced to endure/ What I could not forgive/ I seem to look away/ Wounds in the mirror waved/ It wasn't my surface most defiled

Can’t Keep - Sirius running away from home

I want to shake/ I want to wind out/ I want to leave/ This mind and shout/ I’ve lived/ All this life/ Like an ocean/ In disguise/ I don't live for ever/ You can't keep/ Me here

Hail, Hail - Remus and Sirius’ codependent strong love

A how I love you till the day I die...ah and beyond…/ are we going to the same place? If so, can I come?/ It’s egg rollin' thick and heavy...all the past we carry…

Release - Remus thinking about his dad

Remus’ dad is so full of guilt for his hand in remus’ transformations that he extracted himself from remus’ life. Remus laments here, “Oh, dear dad/ Can you see me now?/ I am myself/ Like you somehow” “I'll hold the pain/Release me” he’d would rather have a dad, guilt and all, here, than the self appointed absence but since you left me with the absence and grief and loss of it, at least release me from it, loosen your grip so I can move on.

Present Tense - Sirius and Remus talking probably laying in the forbidden forest assuaging one another’s beliefs of the gnarled beasts they think they are

BUGS - prob remus when he turns before the boys know

Bugs on my ceiling/ Crowded the floor/ Standing sitting kneeling…/ A few block the door/ And now the question’s:/ Do I kill them?/ Become their friend?/ Do I eat them?/ Do I join them?/ I’ll just stop now/ I’ll become naked/ And with the...I'll become one

Who you are - probably James at remus when he thinks he’s a big monster

Who are we?/ Who we are./ What’s your part? Who you are / You are who you are.

Save you - GOD THIS SONGG okay this is probably James @ Sirius when home life is bad and also Sirius @ Remus and also Remus @ Sirius it’s all of them @ all of them

Gonna save you fucker, not gonna lose you/ Feeling cocky and strong, can't let you go,/ Too important to me/ Too important to us, we'd be lost without you/ Baby, let yourself fall, I'm right below you now/ And fuck me if I say something you don't want to hear/ And fuck if you only hear what you want to hear/ Fuck me if I care, but I'm not leaving here/ You helped me when I was down, I'll help when you're down/ Why are you hitting yourself, c'mon hit me instead

Life Wasted - Sirius @ Reg re: leaving

I escaped it, a life wasted./ I’m never going back again…./ You're always saying you're too weak to be Strong./ You’re harder on yourself than just about Anyone/ Why swim the channel just to get this far?/ Halfway there, why would you turn around?

Severed Hand - Reg joins the death eaters

Big man stands behind an open door/ Said, leave your lady on the cement floor./ Got some kicks, want to take a ride?/ I said, yeah!/ Oh please understand I just need, my friend,/ A way a way a way home

Brain of J. - Reg and Sirius arguing after he joins the death eaters

The whole world will be different soon/ The whole world will be relieving/ You, you've been taught/ We’d been the same, now they got you in line/ Stand behind the stripes/ There will be order, so give it a good mind…./And by name/ The name they gave me/ The name I'm letting go

Deep - Regulus knows he’s in too deep

This is Regulus knowing he’s in too deep, Voldemort and the death eaters are such bad fucking people and he’s in too deep now (massive tw for this song for drugs and se*ual violence)

“Ponders his Maker, ponders his will/ in too deep/ can’t touch the bottom”

Pilate - Remus abt Sirius ;0)

Like Pilate I have a dog/ (Obeys listens kisses loves)/ Walks me out of town/ Still one's a crowd/ Making angels in the dirt/ Looking up looking all around

You Are - in love 🥰

Love is a tower/ Of strength to me/ I am the shoreline/ But you're the sea

Red Bar - the war begins

War, I’m crazy/ War I’m crazy I’m war the song is also a lil goofy so it’s maybe just like going crazy being so in it that it’s funny now

Porch - WARTIME EVERYONE @ THEIR LOVERS

It’s the war and everyone knows today could be their last day and tensions are running high in relationships and they love each other so much and need each other but snap at one another nonetheless

What the fuck is this world running to?/ You didn't leave a message/ At least I could have learned your voice one last time/ Daily minefield, this could be my time by you/ Would you hit me? Would you hit me?/ Hear my name, take a good look/ This could be the day/ Hold my hand, walk beside me

Thin Air - babes in love

There's a light, when my baby's in my arms,/ There’s a light, when the window shades are drawn…/ And I know she's reached my heart, in thin air.

All or None - More war time songs soz

Here's the selfless confession/ Leading me back to war/ Can we help that our destinations/ Are the ones we've been before?/ I still try to run on/ But it's all or none

Parting Ways - Lily @ James during the war

She knows their future's burning/ But she can smile just the same, same/ And though her mood is fine today/ There’s a fear they'll soon be parting ways

Love Boat Caption - Sirius/Remus, Lily/James, etc etc. during the war

Love boat captain/ Take the reigns and steer us towards the clear, here/ It’s already been sung, but it can't be said enough/ All you need is loveIt's an art to live with pain/ Mix the light into grey/ Lost nine friends we'll never know/ Two years ago today/ And if our lives became too long/ Would it add to our regret?…./Hold me and make it the truthThat when all is lost, there will be you

Evacuation - going into hiding

Lukin- Lily and James have to go into hiding

(Tw st*lking mention in explanation, gun mention in song) The song was written by Eddie when he was being stalked and he had to bring himself and his wife to a friend’s house for safety.

In Hiding - Lily and James are in hiding and enter Peter

No way in or out/ I turned and walked the hallways/ And pulled the curtains down…./I swallow the truth to keep from lying/ i'm no longer overwhelmed and it seems so simple now/ Yeah, it's funny how things change so much/ It’s all state of mind

Once - Peter Pettigrew betraying the marauders

Literally about someone committing a mass murder. “Once upon a time I could control myself.” “Mimic whats insane.”

Around the Bend - I'm so sorry ummm but Lily to Harry on Halloween 💀

I am wishing you a well…./ I hold your head deep in my arms/ My fingertips, they close your eyes/ Off you dream, my little child/ There’s a sun around the bend/ Please forgive me, won't you, dear?/ Please forgive and let me share with you, around the bend/ You’re an angel when you sleep/ How I want your soul to keep, on and on around the bend

Garden - Sirius being taken to Azkaban

He’s just taking his fate as it comes to him.

The direction of the eye/ So misleading/ The defection of the soul/ Nauseously quick/I will walk, with my hands bound/ I will walk, with my face blood/ I will walk, with my shadow flag/ Into your garden/ Garden of stone

Even flow - IS SO VERY MUCH SIRIUS IN AZKABAN

sung from the pov of an incarcerated person waiting for life to begin again

BUGS - Sirius in Azkaban (yes I already said this abt remus but idc)

Bugs on my ceiling/ Crowded the floor/ Standing sitting kneeling…/ A few block the door/ And now the question’s:/ Do I kill them?/ Become their friend?/ Do I eat them?/ Do I join them?/ I’ll just stop now/ I’ll become naked/ And with the...I'll become one

Black - Remus lamenting about Sirius’ perceived deception

Remembering their love and how now so many of his memories are tainted (by) black and that all of this has changed him fundamentally (star imagery, “black”, “tattooed everything”)

Indifference - Sirius in grimmauld place, sirius in Azkaban

Sirius taking his home life in stride until he can leave, taking Azkaban in stride bc it doesn’t matter any way bc he believes he deserve it anyway

“Pretend I'm free to roam/ I will make my way/ Through one more day in hell/ How much difference does it make?/ How much difference does it make?/ I will hold the candle/ Till it burns up my arm/ Oh, I'll keep takin' punches/ Until their will grows tired/ Oh, I will stare the sun down/ Until my eyes go blind/ Hey, I won't change direction/ And I won't change my mind/ How much difference does it make?/ How much difference does it make?/ I’ll swallow poison, until I grow immune/ I will scream my lungs out till it fills this room”

Alive - Remus post ’81

Eddie originally wrote the song as a lament - why did I live when he didn’t? Why am I still alive?

“Is something wrong she said, of course there is, you’re still alive she said, but do I deserve to be?”

Animal - Remus after ’81 when he needs to transform alone

Feat. A throwback to being turned (so tw: abd*ction) “Torture from you to me, yeah/Abducted from the street/I'd rather be with an animal”

Nothingman - Sirius and Remus after ’81

Once divided nothing left to subtract/ Some words when spoken can't be taken back/ Walks on his own with thoughts he can't help thinking/ Future’s above but in the past he's slow and sinking…./ She once believed in every story he had to tell/ One day she stiffened took the other side/ Empty stares from each corner of a shared prison cell/ One just escapes one's left inside the well

Smile - Remus @ the marauders (except it’s after ’81 and he just thinks of them fondly)

Don't it make you smile?/ I miss you already/ I miss you always/ I miss you already/ I miss you all day/ This is how I feel/ Three crooked hearts swirls all around/ Don’t it make you smile?

In my tree - remus abt sirius after ’81

I remember him, yeah…/ I swore I knew everything, oh yeah…/ They say knowledge is a dream, yeah…/ He's growing up just like me, yeah…

Light Years - Remus abt Sirius

But now you're gone, I haven't figured out why/ I’ve come up with riddles and jokes about war/ I’ve figured out numbers and what they're for/ I’ve understood feelings and I've understood words/ But how could you be taken away?/ Back pages and days alone that could have been spent/ Together, but we were miles apart Every inch between us becomes light years now

I’m open - Remus!!!! Post ’81

After spending half his life searching he still felt as blank/ As the ceiling at which he stared/ He is alive but feels absolutely nothing/ So is he?/ When he was six he believed that the moon overhead followed him/…..So this is what it's like to be an adult/ If he only knew now what he knew then

Thumbing my Way - Remus post ’81 again blah blah ikik

I can't be free with what's locked inside of me/ If there was a key you took it in your hand/ There’s no wrong or right but I'm sure there's good and bad/ The questions linger overhead

Rats - we know how remus like to soliloquize …. This is him waxing poetic about how fucking horrible Peter is

The song itself is kind of listing the many ills of humankind saying how rats don’t compare to people bc they don’t do all this. But Peter isnt really a rat. He’s a man and oppresses like a man and betrays like a man and takes like a man.

“Drink the blood of their so-called best friend….They don't scurry when something bigger comes their way….Don't take what's not theirs“

Oceans - Sirius escaping Azkaban

Hold on to the thread/ The currents will shift, glide me towards/ You know something's left/ And we're all allowed to dream of the next…..The sea will rise/ Please stand by the shore/ I will be there once more

Elderly Woman Behind The Counter In A Small Town - Sirius after Azkaban

200004309248% sirius returning from 12 years isolated. He doesn’t really recognize most things. Remus wouldn’t recognize him. He’s different. Changed by being unchanged. He couldn’t grow and learn and morph and become. He stagnated yet decayed. But he’s back and he recognizes your skin and your breath. He’s back.

Off He Goes - Sirius is a Sagittarius in the first half, second half is post PoA

Know a man his face seemed pulled and tense/ Like he's riding on a motorbike in the strongest winds/ So I approach with tact/ Suggest that he should relax/ But he's always movin' much too fast/ Said he'll see me on the flip side/ On this trip he's taken for a ride…./ And now I rub my eyes for he has returned/ Seems my preconceptions are what should have been burned/ For he still smiles and he's still strong/ Nothing’s changed, but the surrounding bullshit, that has grown/ And now he's home, and we're laughing, like we always did/ My same old, same old friend/ Until a quarter-to-ten

All Those Yesterdays - and cue the bath scene, remus washes his lost love

Don't you think you oughta rest?/ Don’t you think you oughta lay you head down?/ You don't think there's time to stop/ There’s time enough for you to lay your head down tonight tonight/ Let it wash away/ All those yesterdays

Classroom Cleo de Nile & Ghoulia Yelps Mad Science Class Journal

Today was the dreaded “Choosing of Partners for Group Projects” although it could just be me that dreads it. I guess it is because there always seems to be a fight to see who gets to be my partner. I suppose that is an arrogant thing to write but it is true. In some ways it is flattering in other ways, not so much. Even Manny Taur goes out of his way to be nice to me. He is not exactly good at it, but he does try. Mr. Hackington decided this year to try and mitigate the chaos by putting all our names into a skull and drawing them out two at a time. There was some complaining about this new development until he finally said, “You get what you gets and you don’t pitch a fit!” My parents used to tell me that when I was a little ghoul, well probably not the way Mr. Hackington said it but he got his point across. Regardless, at least it keeps me from having to say “yes” to one classmate and “no” to the rest. 

Cleo complained the loudest about the new system until our names got pulled as partners... sigh... I love Cleo and she is my beast friend ever but I was really hoping for... well it does not matter. He got paired up with Frankie and I am sure they will do just fine. Normally having Cleo as a partner means... it means the extra credit work I usually do when I am working on a project by myself seems to be enough for both of us to an “A”. Cleo’s main functions include reminding me to do things I have already done and calling Deuce to bring us lunch or lattes. Not that I complain too much about that, and Deuce does have a way of keeping Cleo focused. She also insists on giving the final presentation, which usually goes well since she does command attention. This time though our assignment is to research the Science of Perfume, and then our final project will be to create our very own fragrance. I must say that I was completely surprised by Cleo’s enthusiasm for the project. I am not sure whether to be excited or frightened by this development. 

Finally a project worthy of my royal attention! I must say on past projects I have allowed Ghoulia to do the dragon’s share of the work but this is something I can really get my bandages wrapped around. When we still lived in Egypt, before “the difficulties”, one of my jobs was to oversee the royal perfumers. Nefera used to tell me that it was a job reserved for “a princess who would never become queen” but I didn’t care. While Nefera was in some dreadfully boring meeting about how much grain would be harvested for the year or where to build the next royal monument, I would go down and meet the trade caravans. They would be loaded with spices, oils and exotic flowers from the South and East, and the air was always filled with their fragrance. The royal perfumers and I would choose the best of everything to be had, then they would take the ingredients back to their perfumery and work their magic. I always wanted to join them as they cooked, ground and mixed the different ingredients to make perfume and scented oils, but this was looked upon as a task beneath a princess, so I could only watch. Now that I have a chance to get my hands dirty, so to speak, I can’t wait to get started. 

I have been pleasantly surprised by Cleo’s contributions to our project. She has really taken the dragon by the horns and unlike past projects together, I have had to “run” to keep up with her. Her enthusiasm and deadication to the project are quite refreshing and she has filled my in box with recipes and suggestions. So for the first time in, well, ever, I am feeling like the “weak link” in an academic setting. I find myself not entirely liking it, which makes me feel just a tiny bit selfish and unneeded. Yes, I know that this is completely illogical, but what if it becomes a habit? Will I lose my place in the group if my brainpower is no longer needed?... #DepressingThought

Ghoulia seems to be off her game lately. Usually she’s the zombie equivalent to a ball of energy when it comes to these projects, but lately she’s gone completely passive on me. It’s starting to scare me, and not in a good way. I admit to being more than a bit self-absorbed, but I can always tell when something is really wrong with one of my friends. I asked her what was wrong, and she said she was fine. I know better than to press her on it, or she’ll just retreat into her brain’s fortress of solitude and not come out for days. I suppose I’ll just wait until she’s ready to talk, but I really want her input. She’s my beast friend, and I want us to have fun together on this project. 

I told my mom I did not feel well today and stayed home from school. It was not a lie, but it was not because of a physical ailment, either. Cleo called me several times, but I chose not to answer my iCoffin. I mostly stayed in bed and then I thought maybe I really was getting sick since I did not feel like eating and could not generate enough excitement to read the newest issue of Dead Fast. Apparently my absence was noted, and the cavalry descended on my house after school. I heard the doorbell ring and then I heard the front door open. The voices of Cleo, Frankie, Lagoona, Draculaura and Clawdeen all called out to my mother, “We’re here!” I could smell the aroma of baking cookies drifting out of the kitchen - I thought she gave in to my request to stay home a little too easily. They all headed to the kitchen except for Cleo. I heard her heading down the hall toward my room - I knew it was Cleo because she has a very distinctive gait. She got to my door, knocked once and walked in. “All right, ghoul friend, what, in the name of Bast’s cats is going on with you?” I said nothing was wrong with me but Cleo was in one of her “royal moods”, and I could tell by the tone in her voice that she was going to pester me until I gave her an answer, so I did. I told her how I felt about my role on the project and how I was afraid that my intellectual abilities were the only reason that she and the rest of the ghouls wanted me around. Cleo just stood there staring at me with the strangest look in her eyes.

For a moment I could not decide if she was on the verge of being angry or sad. Then she simply spun on a heel, stepped to my door and yelled down the hall, “Ghoulia’s room - NOW!” The ghouls got to my room in a blink albeit with mouths full of freshly baked cookies. Cleo pointed at Frankie whose mouth seemed to be less full of cookie than the others, “Quickly, when you think of Ghoulia what’s the first thing that comes to mind?” Frankie sparked and said, “She’s kind and helpful!” Then Lagoona said I was “trustworthy and sincere”, Draculaura said I was “funny and sweet” and Clawdeen said I was “brave and determined.” Finally Cleo looked at me and said, “Notice anything in those descriptions that was missing?” I hung my head, a little embarrassed and a lot encouraged. “Now we are going back to the kitchen to eat more cookies, you could join us if you’re feeling up to it... oh and you better be in class tomorrow. We have a lot of work to do.” It turns out that my mother’s cookies are a miracle cure. Who knew? 

Now that Ghoulia is out of her funk, we’ve been able to make some progress. I found several trunks at home filled with jars of oils, extracts and spices. Nearly all of them are still labeled. Probably should be careful with the ones that are not... I seem to remember some were rather volatile when mixed with certain other ingredients. Unfortunately, I could not find any of my old recipes, so this will truly require real experimentation. 

Experiment Notes

Batch #1

Top notes of leather - old gym shoe leather - with a sweaty angst-like finish. It is a smell reminiscent of the odor that emanates from the boys’ locker room after summer football practices. FAIL

Batch #2

Complex floral notes of troll cabbage and broccoli with none too subtle undertones on burnt microwave popcorn. It was quite... breathtaking and also Mr. Hackington’s favorite. FAIL

Batch #3

It smelled like cheese at first then spoiled milk. Disgusting. FAIL

Batch #4 

A frightfully woodsy scent, mysterious yet approachable and our favorite by far. It also hardened in the beaker like cement. We may have discovered a way to create scented construction material but as a perfume - FAIL

Batch #5

Eau de Pit of Goblin Arm. FAIL

Batch #6

Two words - wet werewolf. FAIL

Batch #8

We used an unmarked bottle from Cleo’s collection. It was an odorless black elixir but when we mixed it with vanilla, juniper berry and patchouli oil it opened a portal to another dimension that sucked in half of our experiments before we could put a stopper in the beaker. Cleo blamed the patchouli. FAIL

BATCH #13

Lovely top, middle and base notes - check.

Accentuates rather than overopowers - check, check

Would we wear it ourselves? - check, check, check

Perfection!

Final Grade - A+

Best. Lab project. Ever.

The Cute One

Smosh : Fic

Damien x Reader

Word Count: 2496

Warnings: Lots of giggles... a try not to laugh challenge... and a possibly questionable white van joke?

A/N: Guest staring on Smosh Pit was every bit as fun as you hoped, maybe even a little romantic as a certain Damien Haas flirted during the entire game

“Guys, welcome back to the Try Not to Laugh Challenge,” Keith addressed the camera as the rest of the cast cheered. “You guys wanted it, so we’re doing it again.”

Shayne clapped his hands together, “We’re doing it again, it’s going to be crazier. You know why it’s gonna be crazier?”

“Why?” Olivia perked up.

 “Cause we’ve got a guest this time.”

 Everyone gave their own round of applause as they amped up the soon to be revealed contestant.

 “And we’re not just talking about Damien because he ends up being here way too often.” Damien waved at the camera and avoided a well aimed smack from Courtney.

 Shayne continued, “Introducing (Y/N) (Y/L/N)!”

 Out of the corner came (Y/N), waltzing on in a goofy dance, “Hey, friends!” She bounced to the chair Keith was gesturing to and found Noah already wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

 “We are hoping because you’re here this will go on trending,” Shayne confessed, throwing in a forced laugh afterwards. “For those of you who don’t know, (Y/N) has a YouTube channel and just so happens to not live in LA.”

 (Y/N) nodded and found herself slowly falling into a nervous tick, twisting around in her chair, “Yes, my online name is (Youtube Name). And it definitely took many hours to get here.”

 Noah grinned from beside her, “We are lucky enough to feature her on Smosh Pit while she stays in California for the week!”

 Everyone yells their approval and causes (Y/N) to blush ever so slightly. She wasn’t that popular of a YouTuber.

 After rules were explained, Olivia was left on the stool while the rest of the cast flew to behind the prop screen wall. Once there, (Y/N) found a hand on her shoulder.

 “Hi, I’m Damien.”

 Her throat immediately seized up, “Uh, h-hey! It’s really nice to meet you – all of you. Um… question: are you good at this game?” Her pent-up energy caused her weird quirks to shine through, talking with her hands and shuffling her feet.

Damien smiled wide, “How forward of you to assume I’m funny.”

That pulled a snicker from her, “Go easy on me, alright?” She smirked, adverting her eyes from his staring ones, “I’ve got to give my best show. My fans think I’m pretty funny.”

Damien continues to watch her movements, completely oblivious to the commotion behind him, “Oh, so now you’re saying that you think you’re funny? Such confidence for a first time Try to Not Laugher.”

She immediately blushed, slight panic in her limbs, “No, no, I’m saying my fans think I’m funny. I never said I thought I was.”

He snickered, admiring the wide look in her gaze, “You should. I’ve seen a few of your videos and I think you’re funny.”

“Woah, the great Damien Haas declaring me humorous to viewers,” she allowed a hint of a smile on her face, improv taking over her actions. “That’s got to mean something.”

It was Damien’s turn to get a bit embarrassed, turning his head away at the sudden realization that he’s been staring at her the entirety of their conversation. 

“Honestly, (Y/N), take it as a compliment. Your videos are pretty hilarious.”

She let her gaze rest on his subtle smile for a few extra moments before sighing, “Now I feel bad! I haven’t seen any Smosh videos and come to find out you already knew who I was and everything.”

“It’s not that big of a deal; you can watch them after today. Maybe I could show you some of…”

“Damien’s turn!” Courtney yelled, “If you don’t get out there in the next five seconds we’re gonna skip you.” She peered over at the corner Damien and (Y/N) were huddled in, talking - it took a swift pull on the arm from Shayne to get her to turn away.

“Hold that thought,” Damien smiled, holding up a finger.

And (Y/N) watched him practically fall on the stage in his attempt to make Olivia laugh. She realized that something was clicking in her brain, that maybe Damien was trying to be her friend.

She wandered as the rounds continued, one particularly good attempt she came up with for Noah went along the lines of:

“Hey, little boy,” she rounded the corner in a grungy button down and a steering wheel in her hand. “You wanna hear something good? I’ve got some free WiFi in the back of my van.”

Shayne started giggling as Noah pulled a grimace at the previous statement. (Y/N) exaggerated the creepy features on her face as she pursued him more.

“Come on, kid. I’ll show you all the stuff. I’ve got chargers galore in the back, free WiFi that’s actually good – not that crappy free McDonald’s WiFi that promises full access but disappoints you. This is the good stuff!” She took a shuttering breath, making intense eye contact with the freaked Noah, “Just get in the van… little boy.”

On the last syllable she flickered her tongue and Noah couldn’t take it anymore, spitting the water all over the place and sending everyone into a fit of laughter.

“Oh my God, please stop!” he cried, holding up a hand. “That was horrifying.”

Shayne couldn’t stop giggling, “Those white vans gotta offer what the kids want these days.”

“Candy just ain’t it anymore,” Damien added, poking his head out to watch (Y/N) come back with her props.

It wasn’t until Damien was sitting in the chair that (Y/N) felt the most invested. She found a different kind of determination to make him laugh compared to the others. And she was pretty sure she had the perfect strategy.

Trying to be as genuine as possible, (Y/N) skittishly walked out, playing with the end of her shirt and gazing towards the ground. When she did flicker her eyes to Damien, she saw his expectant expression and the subtle smile that was already creeping into view.

“Hi, I’m (Y/N),” she messed with her fingers, playing up a shy smile. Though she focused all her energy into being timid and cute, it wasn’t that hard to show – it was basically what she’d been feeling all day.

Damien waved towards her as she continued with a small voice, “I don’t usually do this. But – I just…” She scratched the back of her neck and gave a nervous laugh.

Courtney made funny noises from behind the prop screen, “This is adorable.”

“Come on, (Y/N),” Keith muttered, a hint of a giggle behind his words.

It was almost like Damien softened his reaction, like he was falling into a genuine feeling of worry for her.

“I just wanted to say…” (Y/N) let out an unexpected giggle, unable to contain a smile but still staring at the ground. “I think you’re really cute.” She finally looked at him and he seemed slightly surprised, bringing a hand over his chest as if asking if she was actually talking to him.

“Yes, you,” she laughed, fidgeting with her hands, “And I was hoping that maybe we could go out sometime. Like, maybe go to lunch, play some games, go see a movie. We – we could even just watch a movie at my place!” She became more animated as she held her monologue, her demeanor slowly developing from shy to persistent.

“We could make dinner! I have a very, very nice kitchen. I have a great array of… knives. Carving tools.” Her tone of voice became steady, almost menacing as her eyes remained pouring into his, unblinking, “And a very. Large. Freezer.”

Noah started laughing in a sense of horror, “Oh my God!”

“Have you ever had liver and onions? What about steak and kidney pie?” she was sizing him up now, looking him over with those same wide eyes. A finger was tapping her chin, “It’s absolutely delicious.”

Damien was increasingly shrinking in his seat, his before expression of flattery was replaced with a grimace. He was making muffled noises to her suggestions, shaking his head in confusion.

“I might bring a few friends along. I hope that’s okay. One of them works at Red Cross – we might as well donate blood while we’re at it.”

He couldn’t hold it in anymore and spluttered some water in surprise, “What the hell? What kind of Black Market ish was that?”

(Y/N) waved at the camera, marching off in a confident fashion, “Thank you, thank you!”

“(Y/N), you can actually be hella creepy,” Keith stated, straightening his sweatshirt, “I was not expecting that at all.”

Shayne laughed hard, “I guess we all know what (Y/N) does with her free time.”

Courtney joined in, giggling, “And I thought it was going to be some fluffy date proposal!”

And with an announcement from Shayne, it was (Y/N)’s turn to be on the stool. She quickly realized that Damien was going to approach her first.

“Great, instant revenge. I promise you’re still really cute, Damien, and not in just a ‘I-want-to-harvest-your-organs’ kind of way,” she stated away from him, sipping from her water bottle.

Little did she know that Shayne and Courtney were smacking Damien to make sure he noticed what was just said. After a little struggle, he was able to extract himself from his boisterous friends.

In complete silence he wandered around the stool and faced (Y/N) at an angle. She was almost afraid to keep eye contact with him, scared that a blush of some sort would course her cheeks.

Eventually Damien leaned over and kissed the top of her head, making (Y/N) scrunch her brows in confusion. Keith gave a classic muffled laugh as Courtney dramatically gasped.

Giving a short beat, Damien leaned over and kissed the top of her nose, making her flicker her eyes around asking silently where this was going. Shayne started his giggling again, peering over the screen.

Leaning over, Damien peered into (Y/N)’s eyes with raised eyebrows. And she could have sworn there were specks of pink flustering his cheeks. In an instant Damien wrapped his hands around (Y/N)’s face, placing his thumbs over her lips and kissing that exact spot.

Though he was essentially just kissing his own thumbs, (Y/N) made a muffled noise of surprise, practically gasping afterwards and leaning away on the stool. “I just swallowed my water!”

Everyone broke out in laughs as Damien clapped his hands in amusement at her reaction, “You should see your face.”

In complete shock, she grabbed her water bottle, secretly thankful that there were still five more people she needed to face before Damien again. But it didn’t take long for the game to be over, (Y/N) failing epically to not laugh every time. They filmed the outro and pumped the fans about following (Youtube Name) on social media, signing off with waving and cheers from the whole cast.

A few rounds of applause and hugs later, and (Y/N) found Shayne shoving his best friend over her way. How it didn’t dawn on them that they were in plain sight was beyond her, but Shayne gave a thumbs up towards Damien and motioned for him to keep walking over.

In response, Damien quietly shuffled towards (Y/N); she could almost see him trying to pull some confidence into his step, “Hey, (Y/N), you did really great out there.”

“So that means you still think I’m funny? I haven’t completely disappointed you?” she let her natural weird improv take over her speech – she knew if she tried to say something serious it would fall out jumbled and incoherent.

“Absolutely,” he practically muttered, playing with his hair immediately. “I had a lot of fun hanging with you today. Even if it was only for a couple hours at work.”

She shrugged her shoulders, “Make work fun and then it doesn’t really feel like work, right?”

“Yeah,” he agreed – his eyes crinkled when he giggled, she noticed. “Um… what – what are your plans for the rest of your time here?”

“Well,” she flickered her eyes around the hall, quickly noticing Shayne attempting to be casual in the doorway. “For today, I plan on going back to my hotel room and playing on my Playstation that I most definitely brought with me.” 

Damien snickered again, “I see nothing wrong with that. It’s perfectly normal to be attached to a gaming system.”

She laughed in response, “But I’ve got a few more collabs for the rest of my week here. Though during my free nights I was thinking of maybe exploring LA a little bit – see why people keep flocking over here… what all the hubba-ballue is about.”

“Well, maybe – just maybe,” he tried to add a bit of humor as always. “We can hang out sometime before you leave. I could show you the best parts of the city?”

“I suppose having an experienced LA person with me would help my quest of touring knowledge,” she averted her eyes for a few seconds, “Um… as long as you’re okay with spending at least one night playing Smash Bros. and Mario Party whilst snacking on sushi and Chinese food.”

That seemed to brighten his face to maximum proportions, “You know, I had a funny feeling we’d get along. Chinese food and games just so happens to be one of my favorite pastimes.”

She immediately pulled out her phone, “Then can I have your number? And you can text me when you’re free.”

He seemed practically overjoyed that she was the first to ask, “Of course, M’Lady.”

(Y/N) quietly snuck a glance back towards Shayne; he was leaning in close with a contorted brow. He was attempting to listen so intently to their conversation.

Giggling, she accepted her phone again, “Thank you. I’m really glad I’ve decided not to harvest your organs.”

He gave a breathy laugh, an immediate tickle in his throat, “Because I’m cute, right?”

“Do you need me to say it again?” She found herself hiding her fidgeting hands, a warm feeling spreading in her chest. “I’ll text you and you’ll have my number.” She was already typing on her screen.

“Awesome,” he pulled out his own phone and waited for the ding of a new message, “I see, ‘Hey there cutie.’ What a coincidence.”

“I think you need to talk to Shayne – he’s been worriedly watching our entire conversation.” She laughed at his scoff as he turned to glare at his best friend.

They muttered their goodbyes and shuffled away, (Y/N) almost immediately feeling her phone vibrate with a notification. It was a text message, and she quickly found out what Damien put himself as in her contacts:

||| AT&T LTE 2:15 PM 53%🔋

💬 Message from {The Cute One 💙}

“Going back to the whole Try Not to Laugh thing… just so you know, I also think you’re cute and not in a ‘I-only-want-to-kiss-you-with-my-thumbs-in-the-way’ kind of way.”

Before she was able to leave the office she turned to glance at the boys, seeing Shayne looking incredulously at Damien.

“YOU DIDN’T SAY IT TO HER IN PERSON? DAMIEN THAT WAS THE BEST LINE WE CAME UP WITH!”

~~~

Buy Me a Coffee?

Exploring copy personalization via VR

Introduction

Hello, my name is Jen. Many of the current world are starting to take notice to the idea of Mario 64's personalization AI. Neither of these topics need introduction, You know what Super Mario 64 is and you know why you're here. I've been taking a recent interest into the study of how the game adapts over time to suit the player, and exactly how personal that personalization gets. I'm very familiar with the game, I know most of it's ins and outs, I've completed it multiple times on the original console.

And I can tell you yes, it is a fact.

Super Mario 64 is a personalized game. But it's not personalized in the way people think.

In most cases, I've found the personalization factor of the game is incredibly small, and it's more subtle than meets the eye. And it can only be achieved on original hardware (IE, the Nintendo 64, or an environment that perfectly simulates the Nintendo 64, on a composite monitor or TV), and, for our purposes it would ideally be with the original Japanese release (or as I call it, the J variant) rather than International (or as I call it, the ! variant). It doesn't make too much of a difference, but in the original release it's effects are more obvious, at least for English-speaking players or players with English as their first language.

For instance, an English-speaking player will have slightly negative or empty feelings throughout the game while playing the J Variant on original hardware, similar to those felt in Wet-Dry World in the international release. Likewise, non-English speaking players will feel the same negative aura playing an international copy. I haven't yet studied the relationship between the International and European copies or Japanese and European copies though, which could definitely be something to look into, these same emotional auras could very well carry over.

The reason it can only be achieved on original hardware is because personalization was outright removed from other releases of SM64. Starting with the Shindou release, all subsequent versions of Mario 64, such as the iQue and Wii Virtual Console release, as well as the Japanese, North American and European versions commonly circulated through emulation and rom websites, and consequently what most, if not all of SM64 Hacks, mods and ports are built off of, have personalization outright removed, or altered in such a way to be unnoticeable. I'm not sure if this would extend to SM64DS or not, but the games seems similar enough that cognative proccesses line up in a similar fashion. Something I have noticed in my research is that skeptics of the Personalization AI often come off the heels of having played Modern versions of SM64 rather than the original versions. 

Although to what extent I can't be sure, it's entirely possible that playing these modified ports of SM64 could lead to differences in brain activity that affects the way personalization works, specifically to the extent that playing copies of SM64 without the original personalization factors intact leads to an 'immunity' of sorts to it. The learned responses from playing SM64 emulated rather than on it's original console are subtle, but they're enough to cause differences. Given the personalization AI in general stems from the subtle differences between players, it would only make sense these 'learned behaviors' would alter the game in such a way to give every player who plays on the original hardware after having played a modified port a shared experience, or at least with differences that are too subtle to be noticeable. This is what I'll call the "Surface SM64 Theory". So at least in my mind, copy personalization equates more to instilled emotions, feelings, and thought processes that are interpreted through subtle differences between inputs, than it does pure 'injection' (IE, new graphics, music, sound effects and textures being 'beta-ified'). Although injection is certainly a part of it, it's not grandiose, and the effects are rarely seen on video, if at all. Which brings me to why I'm here today.

I feel that, to experience copy personalization on a level that's intimate enough to not just be a ripple effect, and can be closely analyzed, the only solution is to give the personalization factor a more direct line into one's senses. And what's the best way to do that with tools that are already available to the common consumer? VR, along with some other tools.

By controlling the game as if I were Mario, rather than Mario being a proxy to player input, I can observe the game at a closer, more emotionally open level. With headphones I can experience the sounds at a closer level, and by being closer to the screen I can experience the game itself at a closer level. Makes sense, doesn't it?

Given the Surface SM64 Theory though, I should note that I have played other ports of SM64 though, and, like I said, know it's ins and outs quite well, I decided to break from the game for an extended period of time (about a month at the time of writing) before trying to conduct this experiment. Ideally we'd want someone who grew up with the original release and nothing else, or had never heard of the game at all, but, I'm not interested in using any human guinea pig except for myself. In this way I hope to approach the game with a fresh mindset, or at least a mindset fresh enough so that I could explore at least some of the personalization effects.

Before this break though, I got into contact with a few different mod authors (who, for the sake of privacy, won't disclose the names of, they didn't want much to do with this project to begin with. I think they thought I was crazy or something) who gave me the grace of helping me out. The VR setup in question uses a rom extracted straight from my copy Super Mario 64, which has been verified to be an original cart. This rom was extended, modified, then the new rom was flashed onto a player cart in a modified Nintendo 64, with the rom's mods adding support for a gyroscopic, first-person camera, environmentally accurate surround sound, and two VR controllers I can hold.

I hope that doing this hasn't tampered with too much of the personalization AI, I'm not sure what the authors did to the rom, and in retrospect I probably shouldn't have given them the benefit of the doubt just putting my safety into their hands when they obviously thought I was bananas and refused to let me share any information about them. But, I've gone about this the only way I knew how to, and I've poured too much time into this now to not do it. So, I guess this frontier will be one I explore blindly. So, over the course of however long it takes me to finish the game with 120 Stars and talk to Yoshi, I'll be logging my experiences.

The Experiment

8/7/2020 11:30AM - Stars Collected: 0

Getting used to the controls took quite a lot of time, although thankfully the gyroscopic camera seems to follow Mario as an object instead of his model's face, I can't imagine doing all those flips and turns with a gyroscopic camera.

Everything seems to be working ok so far though, nothing seems too out of the ordinary, of course I didn't really look outside very much before going in, but, we'll see where it goes from here.

8/7/2020 11:55AM - Stars Collected: 8 This may've been a bad idea. I feel fine. So far it's just been playing the game in close-up, with not a whole lot else going on. I'm still going to see it through to it's end, but I wouldn't be surprised if I don't report back on anything else for a while. It's just kind of going through the motions at this point. I have all of BoB's stars except for MwttS and the first secret slide star, I'm not going to even try to attempt the second one right now, I still need time to get used to this I think, and for some reason I've always struggled with that one in particular. I guess if there's one thing that feels off, it's that, ironically, everything ironically feels much more quiet, I don't know if it's me, but everything feels quieter. With quieter audio this game feels so much lonelier. Early 3D environments can seem so bland and barren without much context. I'm gonna go try to fight Bowser, hopefully this goes well.

8/7/2020 12:10 PM - Stars Collected: 8 I may have made a slight error in judgement. Bowser levels are not only harder than I though they'd be with the camera zoomed in so close, but fighting Bowser is nearly impossible. Even though the camera follows Mario as an object and not his model, that doesn't seem to translate to Bowser very well, because the camera spins. Oh boy, does it spin. It's making me motion sick trying to beat him. I usually don't even get motion sick, I've been playing video games all my life, and VR has never bothered me like this. Perhaps it's just the game though. In the meantime I think I won't bother with Bowser and I'll go do some other stars here in the Foyer, there's a lot to get done after all.

8/7/2020 12:46PM - Stars Collected: 15 I finally got the other slide star, after a bunch of tries. I've always struggled with that one in particular, but this time it was especially hard with the camera, you can't hardly see where you're going and making that blind jump is such a gamble. I was really happy to be done with it when I got there. And by really happy, I mean, seriously giddy. When I heard the twinkling and the star appeared I had this moment to myself where I just started giggling. It just felt so rewarding. Something about it just... got to me. I felt warm on the inside. I think I'm starting to like the game better this way, it's harder, but, it's rewarding. I almost wonder if doing it again would have the same effect. But, I don't have time for that, I have to go finish up WF and JRB

8/7/2020 1:12PM - Stars Collected: 17 Well, out of pure curiosity, I tried it. And it worked. Too well. I haven't been getting much done for the past 10 minutes. I've just been redoing the slide star. Why I'm stuck on it? I don't know. I have more progress to make, I know, but, something about it is just fun. But, really, that's what the game is about, isn't it? Having fun? Besides, I have all the time in the world to finish the game, surely a little indulgence can't hurt right? Maybe it just feels nice to have finally conquered that one star that frustrated me so much. Either way, I for sure am gonna go back and finish the foyer now. I'm wasting time.

8/7/2020 2:36PM - Stars Collected: 17 God damn it. Why am I so stuck on this one mission? It's a really unremarkable star in the long run of things, it's a footnote. It's just one star. It's just one star. Why is it so much fun? It's so stupid, I feel like an addict going back to it over and over again. But, there's such a rush that comes with it. It's like a rollercoaster, the thrill, the anticipation of it all. And it has such a nice payoff, collecting a star feels so nice in this game. Screw personalization, maybe I should just shoot for the record on this star, surely there's a glitchless record for it somewhere.

8/7/2020 3:01PM - Stars Collected: 17 Still no progress. Been having a good time though. I think I should take a break soon though, I caught myself drooling a little bit after getting the star again.

8/7/2020 3:25PM - Stars Collected: 17 Yeah I need to take a break soon. This is extremely captivating, but, I caught myself drooling on myself again, and, I think I'm freaking my housemates out by giggling so much. But, I can't help it! It's such a rush! This is the truest essence of a video game I've felt in so long, I'm starting to feel nostalgic. I've always liked the Slider music more than most, and there's so many questions clawing at my mind. Like, what are the pillars there for? Who put them there? Why are they tangible? I always did like them. I wonder if they were meant to be in other levels before getting removed.

8/7/2020 5:16PM - Stars Collected: 17 Ok, I guess the road ends here for now. Someone kicked me off. Probably better that way too. I was in the zone playing the star again but, apparently I must've gotten really into it, because, I didn't hear myself, but apparently I was laughing, a lot. Very loudly. Eventually I guess I pissed one of my roommates off, they came and took off the headset and told me to go take a shower and stop doing this. I don't really want to do that, I kinda just wanna keep researching, but... I'm not too upset about it though, I mean, after all I can always just come back to this later. I mean, if this one star has captivated me so much, what'll the rest of the game be like? I'll come back tomorrow.

8/8/2020 9:50AM - Stars Collected: 17 I had a dream last night. About the slide. I think I need another day to take a break from this, the more I think about it, the more it's starting to bother me. What was my deal there? Why did I start laughing. Why did I enjoy this so much? And why do I still have all these questions about it? It's just one star. I need to get to the rest of the game and stop thinking about this.

8/9/2020 5:30PM - Stars Collected: 17 I can't stop thinking about it. I need to do it again. Just one more time. Then I can do the rest of the game. But I need to put this to bed.

8/9/2020 5:45PM - Stars Collected: 17 It happened again. I did it once, and it turned into another time. And another, and another. I started laughing again. I can't help it. I don't even know it's happening. But it is. It is. And I love it. It makes me sad that it's annoying people, but I can't help it. It's just... so much fun. So much fun. So much. So much. So much.

8/9/2020 7:31PM I shouldn't even bother with the star count. I got down to 13 seconds and I lost it. I cant' believe it. It's amazing. I was so happy. 13 seconds oh my god, I don't even know what the record is but it's gotta be close!

8/9/2020 10:00PM It's too much fun. I stopped about 10 minutes ago but, I soiled myself playing the game. I was too into it, I must not have noticed. What's wrong with me? Why am i like this? i feel like i cant tell anyone about this, they wouldn't understand. they wouldn't get it. they would just tell me to stop. i cant stop. i can't its serious now. this is serious. i have to keep going i have to i have to. but i cant anymore i need to go to bed i need to stop i need to sotp i need

8/9/2020 10:20PM im starting to realize that... this is personalized. this must be what people mean as in, the game appeals to you itself. it's horrific, i hate it i hate thinking about it. i don't even know what the game's doing to make me think this. Why. how. why is it like this? And why do i keep coming back. I hate doing it. I can't stop doing it but I hate doing it. It's an addiction it's a virus it's eating away at me like a parasite. I need to go to bed.

8/10/2020 3:28AM i can't sleep

8/10/2020 4:00AM i couldn't help myself i had to go back to it. i had to play it. it's so fun. i know it's bad for me, but nobody gets it. not even you reading this gets it, you don't KNOW me. you dont' know how much this emans to me and what it's doing for me. It's my lfieblodd this is my purpsoe. thise is me.

8/11/2020 they took it from  e they took it from me

i tried t play it on an meulator just to get the ficx but it wasn't the same. it wasn[t the same. it wasn't the same. and I NEED it back. i need it back . it's been hours now withotu eme having it and it's hurting me. it's hruting me. i'm seeing it in my head, it's what i need to take hold of and use, but Ii cant have it they won[t let me they won't let me do it.

i think im starting to see things that arent there.

8/14/20 I want fun. someone, please, show me, somewhere. I need thid feeling to come back. i need fun.

i hope he’ll show me fun

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(The result of watching too much Letterkenny and Stranger Things back to back)

She shouldn’t have even been on this mission in the first place.  The Statesman sure as hell didn’t want her here and with this particular mix, the feeling was very mutual.  Champ had only requested a Roanoke assist because of *vague* info stating that there might be occult activity within the terrorist compound the agency was investigating.

Succubus wasn’t cut out for spy work.  She knew that, Ale knew that, Rye knew that, hell even Vermouth knew that and she was the nicest of the Shit Show Cocktail of a team that Champ dropped Succubus in.  Why did *she* have to be the one on call today?

“What the hell are you doin’?  On your left!  Jesus, didn’t Roanoke at least teach ya to be aware on the field.  Stay behind us if you’re too nervous to shoot, kitten.”  Rye scolded, adding insult to injury with the patronizing pet name.

But Succubus had kept her mouth shut and moved to the rear of the group making a mental note to put a hex on him once they were back.  By the end of the mission though a small hex would be the least of her worries.  

There was no occult activity.  Just some old, useless symbols that the idiotic white supremacist terror cell thought brought it power.  There were, however, a lot of guns suddenly aimed at them when they made it to the main bunker.  All Succubus could focus on was how heavy the gun felt in her hands and how they weren’t rounds meant for cursed or dead things but actual bullets.  Actual bullets that left a spray of matter against the acid stained concrete wall when she landed a head shot, her first head shot since she left her life in Cryptic Revolutionists behind her.  She forgot how hard it was to stomach.

By the end of it the air was filled with smoke and the smell of iron so heavy Succubus could taste it at the back of her throat.  The team breathed a sigh of relief- until Vermouth dropped.

One of the outside guards they missed had creeped in behind them and shot Vermouth in the back, the bullet leaving an exit wound the size of a golf ball in her sternum and tearing her twill embroidered shirt in the process.  Ale put a bullet in the shooters throat as Rye and Succubus kneeled trying desperately to help.  Blood was bubbling up and pouring out of her mouth as she tried to speak clawing at both of them in a panic before her limbs finally settled and the horrible gurgle of her labored breathing ceased almost as soon as it started.  There was a moment of silence from both the team and handlers on the other side of the glasses before Ale broke it.

“Fix it.”  He said to Succubus in a voice that quivered with rage and denial.

“...what?”

“Fix.  It. You’re the freak who can do that, right?  Bring her back now.”

Succubus scoffed, “I can’t do that here.  This area isn’t cleansed, I don’t have any of my supplies for a full resurrection-”

Ale’s glasses were suddenly off and silenced before he reached down and pulled her up by the shirt bringing their faces so close she could see the blood vessels threatening to pop in his eyes, feel the sweat drip off his forehead.  Her own glasses getting thrown off in the process and crushed beneath Rye’s boot.

“You were supposed to watch the fucking back.  This is your fault!  Fix it now and bring her back or it won’t just be Statesman that loses an agent on this assignment.  I’ll make sure of it.”

He pushed her back to the floor and Succubus didn’t know what to do.  She looked to Rye hoping that maybe the stoic agent would talk some sense into his partner only to find his arms crossed, glasses in hand- also disconnected from HQ.  They were in the dark and she remembered how much of a boy’s club Statesman still was.  If they killed her now no one would question their story.  It reminded her of another group of boys her freshmen year of college and the stench of kerosene soaking into her hair and clothes.  She began to shake.

“I can’t I don’t have what I need to do it, I’m sorry Ale-”

Without hesitating Ale bent down during her pleading and picked up Vermouth’s shooter’s handgun that skidded across the floor.  The still hot muzzle pressed into the soft spot just under her ear.

“Fix her.”  His voice was still angry but Succubus could see the tears welling up and sliding down his cheeks.

She had never brought back a fatal gunshot to the chest before, especially not without some sort of soil conduit to protect her from absorbing all the death.  The area wasn’t even cleansed, still crawling with the spirits of the terrorists they had killed.  No chalk, no circle, no dirt- how could she do this without dirt?

“Ale’s lookin’ a little trigger happy, best get to movin’.”

Her nerves subsided to anger and she bit back, “You think you’re the first assholes to put a gun to my head?  You better pray this turns out peachy because if anything happens to me there will be a shitstorm coming for both of you.”

Worst case scenario she would just be indisposed for a few days, well actually no that was best case scenario, worst case scenario she’d absorb the gunshot completely and die from phantom wounds.  Neither sounded great but with the burn of the muzzle still pressing into her skin she got to work scraping off as much mud from her boots as she could and packing it into the hole in Vermouth’s sternum.  It was enough to fill the exit wound while Succubus closed her eyes, placing one hand over the gunshot and the other on Vermouth’s stomach.  Poltergeist had only ever told her about vestigial resurrection like this- crude and raw using nothing but the necromancer’s own power and even then most stories or legends that depicted it often mentioned the act as a last resort.  A sacrifice in almost all accounts.  

It was like holding onto an electric fence even as your body screams at you to let go.  

Succubus could feel the body convulse under her hands, the dirt that had been stuffed into the wound slowly developing into flesh to fill the gap, and the essence of death being absorbed into her own body.  It was much faster than traditional necromancy rites and thank goodness for that because Succubus couldn’t hold on for much longer.  Vermouth’s soul hadn’t actually gone far so when her body did finish healing and her brain began firing off again her soul slammed back in so hard it knocked all three of them flat while Vermouth shot up with a hand to her chest.

“Goodness gracious!  Y’all would not believe the dream I had, did I get knocked out?  What happened?  Whew I feel great, come on what are y’all doin’ on your butts let’s go!”

Still crying like a baby, Ale managed to scramble up and hug Vermouth until she pushed him off.  By now the glasses were back on and HQ was going insane about the black out, that only increased when Vermouth came into view and her vitals reappeared.  

“You...you brought me back?  I don’t know what to say, I mean you Roanoke gals have always kind of scared me, but...that was amazing, I feel great.  Thank you.”  Vermouth gave her a genuine smile and offered her a hand up.

Succubus took her offering and was going to give a rather cocky remark about how easy it was until her body remembered what exactly it absorbed and began forcing it back out.  The death essence coming up as thick, black bile with so much force it sent her to her knees as she vomited.  It didn’t stop.  Even when the extraction and med team finally arrived all they could do was dab the sweat off her forehead and turn her on her side while she slipped in and out of consciousness.  Succubus almost preferred the vomiting over the chest pains that followed when they made it back to HQ and although Lilith appeared trying to tell her she would be fine there was an uncharacteristic twinge of concern in her voice.

“Clementine, dearie just stay with us Cherub is going to take care of you and you’ll be right as rain.  Drake’s already got in contact with Hart and he’s on his way, we wouldn’t want to make him worry would we?”

“Lilith, I didn’t-” Succubus tried to explain but the pain got to be too much and her words disappeared into gasps.

She highly doubted there would be any kind of official disciplinary action since it was their word against hers and keeping the peace between Statesman and Roanoke had always been a rather delicate game.  Lilith would know that Succubus hadn’t gone through with the rite willingly because despite how reckless she *could* be, self sacrifice was not something she was.  And word about something like that travelled fast in Roanoke.  By the time they made it to the Roanoke med bay her body was going into toxic shock and it was getting harder to stay awake despite best efforts.  The only thing keeping her from going into total failure was the spiteful rage still boiling in her stomach and she would be damned if she was going to die without making Ale and Rye’s lives absolute hell.  

Markless - Chapter 3

28th Oct: Soulmates AU // “I don’t need this now.”

Summary: A Mark showing up is like a rite of passage for young Vikings of the entire Archipelago. When Tuff gets his, he tells nobody - afraid it means what his Elders have always suspected about him. Likewise, Dagur’s own Mark remains secretive, due to his fear of making him seem weak.

Too bad the Gods never sent down instruction manuals, since they were so keen to pair humans up this way.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

—————-

Three blue lines.

That was the Mark on Hiccup; Dagur had seen it himself on their last encounter.

Granted, not in the nicest way possible - more like tackling him outright onto the forest floor on one of their many encounters. Dagur had paused to stare at Hiccup’s shoulder for far too long -  enough for Toothless to swat him off his rider and nearly bite his face off in the process.

There had been three blue lines, just like Dagur had tattooed across his eye and arm. Not exactly the same angle or shade of blue, but who cared - it was close enough that it couldn’t just be a coincidence; Hiccup was meant to be his.

The initial plan had been to find the Skrill, tame it, and then ride it in battle against Hiccup and his Night Fury.

He figured the Greek chorus that rode around with him would be distracted defending all of Berk from his Armada, while he flew in and collected his soulmate.

Hiccup would probably thank him later; he was too good, far too clever for living some sad banal existence on Berk. Even his rider friends couldn’t possibly appreciate him as much as he deserved; Dagur had often felt deep pangs of sadness and loneliness whenever he looked at the Mark on his wrist.

Even knowing that, nothing could have prepared him for whatever he'd felt Hiccup experience just three nights ago.

Dagur had woken in a cold aching sweat, heart hammering in fear. His back and hips had been in unbearable pain, for no reason that he or the hastily summoned physician could determine.  

It only confirmed the Berserker’s worst suspicions: his soulmate was being severely mistreated.

For that? Berk was going to pay dearly - just as soon as he captured and trained that Skrill.

Or so had been the plan. There was now just one teeny, tiny annoying little snag.

The Outcasts had found the Skrill first.

Despite the fact Dagur and his clan had ancestral claim to the dragon, Alvin was not interested in handing the Skrill over. The only thing keeping Dagur from annihilating the entire island with his Armada was Alvin’s threat of outright killing the dragon if he tried attacking them.

Well. A dead Skrill was zero use to him.

Put out and without any alternative choice, Dagur grudgingly agreed to work with Alvin - putting his Armada on the table in the quest to attack Berk.

At least they had a common goal, but Dagur was still going to watch for any opportunity to change things around in his favor.

Currently, all Dagur's ships were docked at Outcast Island - which gave the local wild dragons pause in attacking the village. Alvin had moved his people to subterranean caves, which accounted for the pallor and obesity of most of his men; starved for sunlight and vegetables.

They were eating wild dragon meat, cave mushrooms, and the occasional potato - which was why Dagur agreed to Vorg’s suggestion to slaughter a few boar and sheep and share out better provisions. Better food definitely made these talks go smoother, and had raised the morale of the Outcasts greatly.

Huh. By comparison, they didn’t seem too happy with Alvin. That could prove useful later . . .

He nodded to Captain Vorg, who extracted himself from the group of mingling Berserkers and Outcasts, who were playing a game of dice and cups. The man joined him in stride, as together they walked toward the arena where the Skrill was kept.

Alvin didn’t care if he went near the cage, so long as it was under guard. Dagur wanted to take a good look at the Skrill to make sure the Chief hadn’t injured her, or caused her to be unable to fly, though he’d been warned not to get too close. The dragon was angry, and had already electrocuted the wits out of some old man who had made that error.

“Sir,” Vorg inquired, jarring Dagur out of his thoughts.

“What is it?” Dagur snapped, not looking at him.

“When we gain ownership of the Skrill from Alvin, how do you plan to keep it from flying away? Have you figured out yet how Hiccup subjugated his Night Fury?”

Dagur scowled. He hadn’t figured that part out, but how hard could it be? Dragons liked to fly, didn’t they? If the Skrill wanted to fly again, then she’d just have to realize he was the boss and therefore she would fly wherever he wanted her to. Otherwise? She would just have to sit in her cage and think about it.

“If the dragon won’t obey me, there’s always chains to keep her grounded. I have no idea how scrawny little Hiccup managed to chain down his Night Fury - probably had his little friends all helping him,” Dagur snorted.

He wouldn’t need anyone helping him, though. All that dragon hunting, sparring and training had paid off; Dagur was now much stronger and faster than he’d ever been.

It was too bad Oswald had abandoned him - the weak fool might have had a son to feel proud of, had he stuck around.

Oh well, all the more reason to let people believe he’d ended his father’s life. It was rather amusing, really - and it garnered him both respect and fear.

Vorg was talking now, going on pointlessly about some kind of repair work on one of the ships, and Dagur tuned him out, approaching the Outcast who was on guard duty.

Instead of the usual slouching idiot, this one was already standing to full attention and straightened further upon Dagur’s approach.

“Sir! Your man has already begun his preliminary inspection of the Skrill cage ahead of you. I hope you find his results satisfactory.”  

“My what has done what now?” Dagur asked after a confused pause. He didn’t bother to wait for an answer, stepping past the guard and storming into the arena.

There was a thin blond boy sitting on the ground before the Skrill cage.

He was cooing at the dragon within, who looked decidedly less grumpy. She trilled back at him, blinking her eyes like an overgrown house cat.

Dagur scowled and stomped towards them both, dead set on hauling this intruder out of here and tossing him into the nearest Whispering Death hole. The Skrill hissed at him, retreating further into her cage, but the boy jumped to his feet and grinned at Dagur, running to meet him.

“Chief Dagur!” the blond shouted joyfully, and then hugged him - of all things.

As the young man’s arms encircled him, Dagur made as if to grab his elbows and shove him away. Upon skin contact, he froze - a plethora of emotions nearly crumpling him.

Relief, joy, anxiety - all crashed against his brain, leaving his thoughts a confused and tangled mess. Dagur stood still and stared at the intruder mutely, unable to help but listen to his strange babbling.

“The Skrill is doing just fine - she’s a bit under the weather, but if you feed her roasted hagfish with some onions and garlic, it’ll probably do wonders for her. Also, there’s a few patches of broken scales that need attention - I have some salve that should help.  It’s got comfrey in it, which Mom says is great for healing wounds and skin irritations. It will help you bond with her if you put it on her yourself.”

Dagur shook his head, trying to clear it. “Who are you?” he demanded, trying to sound both scornful and imposing. It was not very effective, given that the boy was still holding onto him, and Dagur had yet to enforce some distance between them.

Captain Vorg stepped in, yanking the boy away and shoving him a couple of feet back. “Answer him! What is your name and why are you here?”

“Tuffnut,” the young man answered, not appearing bothered in the least. “I’m here to help Dagur train his dragon.”

“. . . Who sent you?”

“Uh, myself? Duh. I sent me.” Tuffnut shook his head, as though Vorg had asked a stupid question. To be fair, Vorg did that sometimes. “Chief Dagur, when’s the last time she got fed or pet?”

“Pet? He’s mad! She’ll have your arm off as a chew toy if you try to pet her!” Vorg scoffed to Dagur, shaking his head. He reached for his sword to chase Tuff off, but Dagur stopped him with a gesture.

“If you want to help me train my dragon, prove to me that you can.”

“Okay,” Tuff agreed, grinning. He walked over to the bars, and the Skrill perked up, sniffing at him as he put his hand in.

She licked her nose and stood up, stretching as best as she was able. It was a tiny cell, not nearly big enough for her to unfurl her wings.

“Aw, poor baby girl,” Tuffnut murmured soothingly as she got her head under his touch, moving around so his scratching fingers got all the best spots. “We’ll get you feeling better soon and out of this tiny little kennel, I promise.”

She purred loudly under his ministrations and eventually flopped onto her side so Tuff could get under her chin.

Dagur tilted his head, more than impressed. “Okay. So she won’t attack you - that’s a good start. How long until you can get her to let me ride her?”

“That depends on you,” Tuff grinned. “You have to bond with her even better than I do. Come here, give me your hand.” He reached out to Dagur, unflinchingly.

Dagur was unaccustomed to be reached out for; by now even his most trusted men had learned to keep a careful and respectful distance. Even Captain Vorg was wincing in anticipation that the boy was going to lose his hand after all - which honestly rankled Dagur. 

Vorg didn’t know him.

Drawing himself up, Dagur put his slightly larger hand in Tuffnut’s and allowed the scrawny Viking to direct it - palm outward - to the Skrill. The dragon regarded him with an odd purring growl, but she didn’t snap at him.

Tuff sweet talked her into drawing nearer to the bars, where she sniffed suspiciously at Dagur’s fingers. Eventually, she nuzzled the Berserker’s palm and Vorg let out a breathy exhale of relief. Dagur glared at him.

“What? Didn’t think I could do it?” he snapped, tone dangerous.

“No, of course not, Chief! It’s just, you know, dragons are dangerous and unpredictable -“ the man stammered.

“Eh. They can be, it’s true,” Tuff put in amiably. “Just like people.  That’s what makes them so awesome, though. Dragons aren’t meant to be broken in - you have to earn their loyalty and trust.”

Dagur made a noncommittal noise, watching the Skrill with open admiration. “So . . . how do I do that exactly?”

“Well, you could start by trying to see things from her point of view. Some big smelly men caught her in a gross fishing net and tossed her into this awful cell - with no food or water or enough room to lie down properly. I mean, what would you do?”

“Well . . .” The Berserker Chief paused, thinking about it. “I’d start zapping people too, honestly. Huh. Good point, uh . . . What was your name again? Buffnut?”

“Tuffnut. You can call me Tuff.”

Normally Dagur would snap that he could call Tuff whatever he felt like, but he didn't quite feel like himself.

“Nice. Tuff. I’ll remember that. What do I feed her?”

The boy smiled at him rewardingly, making something in Dagur’s chest feel warm and cozy. “How about it girl? Do you want fish? Mutton? Boar meat?” The Skrill perked up at the last food mention, charring and licking her chops. “Boar meat it is then.”

Dagur grinned, surprised the Skrill was so intelligent. He liked her, and he liked this weird boy too - even if he had come out of nowhere to help him. Maybe this would be easier than he thought. “There’s a banquet this way, and I know for a fact there’s some boar roast, because it came from my ship.”

He slung an arm across Tuff’s shoulders to lead him there, not noticing when the boy hitched in pain. 

Tuff kept pace with him nonetheless, offering a shaky grin. “A banquet? What’s the occasion?”

“Oh we’re just celebrating a new alliance. Us Berserkers and the Outcasts against that sorry pile of volcanic puke that calls itself Berk.”

The boy let out a scornful laugh. “Yeah, Berk. I’ve heard of Berk. West til you smell it, North til you step in it, am I right?”

Dagur laughed, surprised, and tightened the hold on Tuff’s shoulders. His pained whimper was too faint to be noticed.

“You should eat something too. You’re way too skinny and scrawny for someone who trains dragons. Try some mutton and barley cakes. They’re my Mom’s recipe.”

“. . . Okay,” the boy said eagerly, and if Dagur thought he looked hungry now, it proved to be an understatement once they reached the banquet itself.

Tuff tore into his plate of food like a starved pup, eating like it would be wrested away from him at any moment. Dagur watched him carefully as he ate his own meal, more than once having to admonish Tuff to slow down. If the men looked at him oddly for the unusual care he was showing a complete stranger, Dagur didn’t notice - mostly because none of them dared to question him out loud.

After his second full plate, Tuff finally slowed down, looking beyond exhausted. Some of the Outcasts had unfortunately decided to sing as entertainment, despite the fact they could neither carry a tune nor remember how the song went.

Dagur left Tuff’s side briefly to load a platter with chunks of boar roast and bone for the Skrill, preferring the relative quiet of the arena to this cacophony. When he turned around, it was to a raucous cheer, mad gibberish, and the sound of blows falling.

Fantastic. Some idiots had started a brawl.

He wouldn’t have cared if not for the long blond hair of his companion visible on the floor. Dagur gaped in shock for only a second, then roared and charged forward, shoving Outcasts twice his girth out of the way.

The scrawny old man that the Skrill had electrocuted was straddling Tuff, trying to choke him. Furious beyond measure, Dagur grabbed Mildew’s arms and bodily lifted him off Tuffnut, throwing his attacker at the table with enough force to send dishes and mugs flying in all directions. His sword’s edge pressed across Mildew’s throat, irises shrunk to pinpricks of rage.

“How DARE you lay so much as a finger on MY companion?! Give me one good reason I shouldn’t RIP YOUR LEGS OFF and throw them down a Whispering Death hole!” Dagur roared.

Mildew only whimpered and babbled nonsense, pointing to Tuff, who was groaning on the floor. The attack had caught the boy by surprise it seemed, and now Dagur noticed vivid bruises on his arms as he shakily tried to lift himself up. He gestured to Vorg, who stepped in to help Tuff right himself.

Alvin wasn’t present and it must have been the leader of the Outcasts that Mildew’s frantically rolling eyes were searching for, because when they came back to rest on Dagur’s infuriated face, the old man whimpered and fainted dead away.

Dagur snorted in disdain and let him fall limply across the table. “When your village idiot here wakes up, tell him how lucky he is to still have his legs,” he snapped at the gathered men. They laughed and cheered in amusement; clearly there wasn’t too much concern held for the old goat.

He stormed over to the table and picked up the boar meat, gesturing for Vorg and Tuffnut to walk back to the Skrill’s cage with him.

Tuff, he noticed, was shaking.

“Are you alright?” he asked immediately, not liking the way his own voice trembled or the confused look Vorg was giving him.

“I’m fine,” Tuff promised, giving Dagur a strained grin. They walked toward the arena in silence, Dagur’s brain sorting through possible reasons why anyone would have attacked the boy. He had gotten the message through that it wasn’t to happen again - but he still wanted to know why.

It wasn’t until after the Skrill greeted them with chirps and excited wriggles and tucked into her platter of boar meat that Dagur asked about the incident.

“What was that back there? Does the village idiot know you?”

“. . . Mildew? Yeah, we know each other. He, uh, really doesn’t like dragons,” Tuff supplied nervously.

“Oh.” Well, that explained it. “You like them, though. So I guess he just doesn’t like you.”

When Tuff nodded hesitantly, Dagur relaxed. “Well, he won’t bother you again. You’re with me now, and he knows that. In fact, nobody will ever hurt you again.”

Tuffnut looked at him with a sharp inhale and Dagur felt his face grow warm, not sure why he’d said that. Vorg wasn’t in earshot - talking to the Outcast guards that Tuff had past earlier.

“. . . you guys are planning to attack Berk, right?” Tuff asked, and Dagur was surprised to see his face was also a bit red. “Can I ask what you’re after? I mean, I’ve been there before, and I’m good at stealing - if there’s something you’re after, maybe I can help?”

The Berserker snorted dismissively. “I know Alvin wants vengeance. Some long ago exile or something, it doesn’t interest me really. What I want is . . .”

Dagur trailed off, confused. It had been so clear in his mind what he’d wanted - less than an hour ago.

Hiccup. He’d wanted to kill that Night Fury and whoever was hurting Hiccup, and take him to where he’d be safe. But now it didn’t seem as urgent as before. “You’ve been to Berk before, you say? Do you know anyone there?”

“Yeah, I know some people,” Tuff answered guardedly.

“There’s a boy. Reddish brown hair, pretty green eyes. Missing a leg. He’s the Chief’s son. He knows how to tame dragons too.”

“I can do it better. I promise, I really can,” Tuff interjected immediately.

Dagur looked at Tuff and saw hurt written all over his face. Oh no. He was messing everything up, wasn’t he?

“Oh - don’t worry. I know you can, and I want you to. Hiccup would never help me train a Skrill, or any dragon. He hates me too much.”

Tuffnut seemed to relax almost instantly. Dagur glanced at Vorg, who was watching the guards instead of them. He leaned closer to Tuff to whisper in his ear. “Does he . . . do you know if . . . if Hiccup’s been injured recently?”

Tuff’s expression changed from heart sickness to confusion. “If he’s been injured . . .?”

“Has anyone been hurting him? That you know about? His father?”

The boy looked bewildered for a moment but swiftly shook his head. “No, his father is kind. To him at least. The Chief would die to keep Hiccup from harm.”

That brought some peace to Dagur’s mind and he sighed in relief, turning back to watch the Skrill lick the now empty platter. She picked up a nearby rib bone and sat down to gnaw on it happily.

“You care about people a lot more than you let on, don’t you?”

The question caught him off guard, as did Tuff’s sudden adoring look.

Dagur huffed and shrugged, feeling his face heat up. “No. I mean, I guess. Nobody’s son deserves to be mistreated, is all. Because ... more fathers should care about their kids. There’s no point in having a son and just knocking them around all the time. Or abandoning them when things get hard,” he sneered, crossing his arms. “Would have been better to just not have had a kid if they didn’t even want one.”

Tuff stood a little nearer to him. “Yeah. That’s true. They didn’t want to treat us better, so they got exactly what they had coming to them,” he said quietly. The boy’s words were odd, but Dagur didn’t put any thought into why.

“Right.” It was a comfort that Tuff seemed to know what he was talking about. Anyone else would have probably given him some Odin-loving drivel about how one should always be a dutiful son.

Dagur offered him a grin and decided to change the subject. “Well, Tuff - the Skrill is fed and she looks happy. What do I do now?”

“She needs salve on her wounds. Here.” Tuff walked over to a bundle of cloth that turned out to conceal a bag made of burlap. He rummaged through it to produce a tin of greenish-looking slime. “I’m gonna have you do it. But first, let’s tell her what we’re doing.”

Dagur blinked and turned back to the dragon. “Uh. Hey. So we have this stuff - smells like medicine. Does it sting?” he asked Tuffnut. The other boy shook his head. “Okay, it doesn’t sting, and it’ll heal you, so just . . . “

He didn’t need to explain any further; the Skrill purred and got to her feet, turning in the small cell and lifting a wing until her flank was pressed against the bars. Dagur beckoned for Tuff to bring one of the torches closer so he could see better, internally marveling at how smart this dragon was.

She had framed the wounded area of her scales between the bars, allowing him easy access to spread the salve over the reddened sore areas. She even raised her scale plates a bit so he could coat in between them.

“Pretty girl, clever girl,” Dagur crooned, without really thinking about it. He didn’t care how silly he sounded; in the moment, nothing seemed to matter but tending to the comfort of this dragon.

The Skrill turned and circled until he got all her trouble spots, then tried to make herself comfortable with what room she had. Dagur pulled out the platter but left the bones to give her something to play with.

“We’ll be back in the morning with something tasty, I promise. You sleep well, okay?”

A purring trill was his answer and the Skrill licked his hand before curling up, tucking her nose into the curve of her tail.

It was ridiculously adorable and Dagur found himself unable to look away until Vorg coughed. He glanced over his shoulder to see the man tilt his head meaningfully to the Outcast guards, who were watching them closely.

Tuff touched his arm, bringing Dagur out of whatever spell the Skrill had him under. “It’s okay, we’ll come back to her in the morning, like you said. I can distract the guards again.”

Dagur regarded him for a long moment. “You know, wherever you’re from - I’m really glad you’ve showed up. I don’t know why. Usually I don’t care much for strangers. Do you have a place to sleep tonight?”

Vorg gave him a look, but Dagur glowered at him until the man sighed and let it go.

“N-No. I was hoping to find someplace to lie low until morning.”

“Well that sounds dangerous, considering you were already attacked once today. You can bunk with me.”  Putting an arm around Tuff’s shoulders pointedly, he started steering them toward the docks where the Armada was waiting. Tuffnut winced as though his touch hurt, but gave him another bright smile.

“Okay. You want me to take the floor?”

“The floor? Are you being bashful?” Dagur teased. He gave Tuff a friendly side-hug, leaving his heavy arm across his companion’s shoulders. Tuffnut swallowed, looking pained again, but he didn’t duck out from beneath Dagur’s arm. His paleness sent a spark of concern through Dagur.

“Did you eat enough? I can have more food sent to the cabin. You never got to  try the mutton stew or any of the bacon-fried bread - it’ll put some weight back on your bones. You still look way too skinny.”

Tuff glowed at the attention, pressing against him. It made Dagur’s heart flutter almost annoyingly. “I’m okay. Though I wouldn’t say no to mutton stew and bread - that sounds amazing.”

Why was this guy growing on him so fast? Dagur didn’t even consider himself a friendly person, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that Tuffnut was somehow meant to be here - now, and with him. And not just because he was useful and smart and interesting . . . there was just something special about him.

Despite the stress of having to work with Alvin, Dagur had to admit - he’d never felt so calm in his life. The moment Tuff had embraced him, everything had changed. It wasn’t as though the feelings of painful anger and despair were gone; no, they were still there, but there was a difference to them. They felt bearable now.

On top of it all, a Skrill liked him - a dragon actually liked him. He wondered if Hiccup might be proud of him for that, if maybe even Oswald would.

Tuff was going to have to show him all kinds of things - like how to fly on her at breakneck speeds and train her to do barrel rolls. Eventually he’d have to get himself a dragon too - probably a Nadder or maybe a Razorwhip. Or maybe he had one already.

“Do you have a dragon?” Dagur asked once they got to the door of his ship’s cabin. Tuff had gone a bit glassy eyed, but he looked up sharply at the question, like a deer caught in the hunting lanterns.

“Uh. What?”

“You know, a dragon. Surely someone who knows how to train a Skrill has his own dragon. I understand - it probably would have caused some alarm if you just flew in here on one, so you must have told the dragon to hide in a cave somewhere. Right?”

Tuff blinked and then shook his head.  “No, I rode a Gronckle here, but I told him he could take off. I figured I’d just meet another wild dragon and coax them to take me somewhere else - you know, if you’d told me to get lost.”

Dagur stared. “Well, I’m glad I didn’t tell you to get lost. But seriously - you can just go up to wild dragons and ask them for rides and they don’t bite your head off?” He looked Tuff over critically. “Are you a sorcerer?”

The boy snorted with laughter, apparently finding that hilarious.

“Okay, not a sorcerer, that’s fine. Still pretty cool. In you go. ” He opened the door to his cabin and put a hand on the middle of Tuff’s back, gently pushing the boy in ahead of him.

That wrung a sudden yelp out of Tuff and he jerked away. Dagur felt a surge of panicked loss, automatically reaching out to grab the other boy’s arms so he couldn’t retreat any further. “Sorry! Are you okay?”

Tuff blinked but instead of pulling away, he drew closer to him.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he grinned, apologetically. “Old wounds acting up. You know, Viking wounds - it’s an occupational hazard, right?”

Wounds? Frowning, Dagur lit a lantern and pulled Tuff further into the light, looking him over carefully. If that Mildew jerk had injured Tuffnut after all, he swore he was going to use the old fool’s severed head as a tether ball.  

The dragon-rider swallowed nervously, but said nothing until Dagur touched his shoulders, tugging at the material of his tunic. “I can’t have you wounded and going untreated for it. Let me see?”

Tuff looked anxious for far too long a moment - making Dagur’s chest ache.

“It’s okay. You can say no. Nobody will hurt you, remember? That includes me. But if you’re hurt, I’d like to help.”

Gray eyes widened, then filled with tears. Dagur stared but didn’t mention them, even when they spilled over to fall freely down Tuffnut’s face, leaving him shivering and leaning in close.

Where had Tuff come from? Had his family abandoned him too? Dagur made his best attempt at soothing noises and tugged again at his tunic, until Tuff nodded reluctantly and assisted in removing it.

Dagur drew in a sharp hiss of air at the marks on his body; dark purple lines of bruised flesh and inflamed blood-crusted weals. He recognized infection when he saw it.

Tuff’s wounds had been washed and treated a few times, but clearly by himself more often than with any help. As a result, he’d missed several areas and now Dagur knew why he’d been carrying that tin of salve in the first place.

Where was the salve now? He had to help Tuff treat these first -  then he could maim whoever was responsible. He’d chop their hands off, he decided. So they could never hold a whip or anything like it again. Yeah, that was what he would do - but later.

“Sit on the bed,” he muttered and Tuff nodded, obeying him.

Dagur opened the cabin door, bellowing for Vorg. His captain showed up within moments, with his ever-present scowl. He opened his mouth to give an order and then shut it when he saw that Vorg was not alone.

The captain had in one hand, Tuff’s satchel. In the other hand was the scruff of the scraggly old man who had earlier attacked his companion. The old man was stubbornly clinging to something leathery.

“Thought your guest might want his things,” Vorg explained. “So I went back for them and found this guy going through his pack like a filthy Bog Burglar. He’s apparently found something he wants you to see.”

Mildew’s beady eyes were full of terror and malice as he thrust the object out in front of him as though it could ward Dagur off. The Berserker sneered at the man but glanced at the object.

“Okay. A saddle. Was it a worthy find, you goat? Now not only have you attacked my dragon trainer, you’ve gone through his personal belongings. If he’s not offended by that, I am.” Dagur made as if to draw his sword, but Vorg stopped him.

“Sir, you should know something first. Mildew here is from Berk. He’s a traitor who has told Alvin many secrets - from Hiccup’s dragon-taming techniques to details of Berk’s new defenses and where their guards will be during an attack. It’s likely he knows your companion better than you might.”

Dagur scowled. “Wherever my companion is from, I think it’s safe to say he doesn’t miss home all that much. I need that salve.”

Vorg handed the bag over, still frowning. “Whether or not you trust him, sir, if Alvin finds out Tuffnut is from Berk, he may demand you hand him over.”

“Too bad for him because I won’t. Alvin can huff and puff all he wants. Technically, I caught Tuff, so that makes him my prisoner,” Dagur said distractedly, feeling through the bag for the salve. He found the tin and set the bag down on the floor of the cabin. Then he yanked the saddle away from Mildew and whacked the old man over the head with it.

“Listen up, old coot! I'm going to give you some free advice. Right now, my companion is injured - injuries that you no doubt aggravated with your pointlessly stupid attack. When I find out the person responsible for him needing this in the first place -“ Dagur waved the tin under Mildew’s quivering nostrils - “I’m going to hunt them down and make them wish they had never been born.”

He gave Mildew one of his sharpest most devilish smiles. “So I advise you to think about that, before you say or do anything that might cause my friend further discomfort or pain. Think about the lengths that Dagur the Deranged might go, to protect what’s his. Nod if you understood all that, and I’ll permit you to leave my sight with every limb still attached.”

Mildew, eyes wide as saucers, nodded frantically. Vorg let him go and he scrabbled frantically off the ship and down to the docks, clearly terrified Dagur would change his mind.

Dagur took a breath, pulling himself together. He noticed Vorg staring at him oddly.

“What?!”

“Sorry sir, it’s just . . . Are you certain you don't have a Mark?”

Dagur blinked, too taken aback to fume. He had assumed everyone figured it was Hiccup, that Hiccup was who the Gods had given him.

But then - why would they? Dagur had never given anyone an explanation as to why he wanted to hunt Hiccup down. For all they knew it was a vendetta thing. The son of Chief Stoick had humiliated the entire clan by his treatment of Dagur, after all.

And yet here they were - all still following him.

Dagur swallowed a sudden lump in his throat, temporarily unable to meet Vorg’s gaze.

Maybe his people were hoping his Mark would come soon to calm him, like his mother had calmed his raging father? Oswald had been a madman in his day; Dagur had grown up knowing all the legends, but he’d never actually seen his father rage.

As annoying as it had seemed to have such a kind and understanding father . . . he sort of missed it. He even missed the stupid smacking noises when Oswald chewed.

Dagur frowned, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. “I . . . will go check,” he muttered distractedly. He went back into the cabin and shut the door behind him, leaving behind his very perplexed and concerned captain.

—

Tuff was on the far edge of the bed, his tunic wadded up in his hands and currently hiding his face. His body was curled over and trembling, and Dagur approached slowly, so as not to alarm him.

He wondered how much of all that Tuff had heard.

“Hey there,” he muttered awkwardly, sitting next to him. “Um. You alright?”

After a long moment, Tuff lowered the tunic to peer at him, looking only slightly calmer.

Dagur didn’t know what to say, but he knew he could at least do something. He opened the tin and coated his fingers in salve. “We found your medicine. Lay down so I can treat you. However comfortable you can make yourself.”

He tried to keep his tone calm, like his mother’s had always been. Tuff responded to his efforts like a kitten to cream. He crawled toward him immediately, draping himself across Dagur’s lap and burying his face in his arms. Oh … okay ….

Dagur felt his pulse kick up at the eagerness Tuff showed to be so close and vulnerable to him but kept his movements slow and purposeful, gently moving Tuff’s long hair so it hung away from his back. As gently as he could manage, he started to coat the welts curling over the tops of those thin shoulders. “Who did this to you?” he asked after a while. “And … when?”

“My Elders,” came the mumbled answer after a long silence. “About three days ago.”

A formal beating. And … three days ago? Dagur's heart did a funny skip in his chest and he paused, processing that for a moment. Shaking his head, he moved on to the next cruel laceration on Tuff’s back.

“Why did your Elders have you whipped?”

Under Dagur’s fingers, Tuff started trembling again.

“Oh. You don’t have to be ashamed,” Dagur assured him. “It’s me, the ‘evil’, deranged Berserker Prince, remember? Go on, try to impress me.”

Tuff either hiccoughed or snickered, Dagur couldn’t tell. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and looked up over his shoulder. “I - I released a dragon. I wasn’t supposed to. The Skrill.”

Dagur stared at him. He’d expected something like a carelessly broken wagon or shattered prized dishes, or maybe even a theft of sheep. But releasing a dragon . . .?

“Are you Berkian? Did Hiccup catch the Skrill first? Was he trying to train her himself?” Dagur blurted. Tuff made a thin noise of distress, starting to look panicked.

“Of course you’re from Berk. It explains how you know so much about dragons and why Mildew attacked you and also why I’ve never met you until now. Look, it’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you for not telling me. Because of you, I have my Skrill, so why would I want to?” Dagur reassured him, beginning to treat the lash marks further down his back. “Looks to me like you’ve been punished enough.”

Tuffnut swallowed and looked up plaintively, trying to gather his nerve.

“It’s more than that, actually. I . . . I was a dragon-rider - one of Hiccup’s.”

Dagur stared at him, trying to jog his memory. He'd never really looked close enough at Hiccup’s Greek chorus but he’d figured there were about four others. “I don’t remember you fighting me.”

“I … generally I was just air support,” Tuff said, flushing. “We never … we never fought up close. My sister and I rode the Zippleback.”

“Oh yeah, the green one. So what made you not want to be a dragon rider anymore? Leaving Berk I understand, but … your sister? Your dragon?”

Tuff looked sad, but nodded. “My sister will take care of Belch. I couldn’t stay on Berk anymore. Some people in my family … didn’t think I’d been punished enough.”

“What?” Dagur asked, fury swelling inside of him. “What does that mean?!”

“I’m okay,” Tuff said quickly, sounding scared. Dagur took a breath and tried to calm down.

“Sorry. You’re just … I think you were overly punished for letting some dragon out of a cage.”

“She wasn’t in a cage. ” He hesitated, but went on. “She was completely frozen in a block of ice. Hiccup knew Berserkers revered the Skrill and he was scared of you getting a hold of her. But I couldn’t leave her like that. I decided I wanted her to be free to find her own way, even if she was dangerous and even if it did mean you’d find her. Hiccup went off to talk to his father and I was left with my sister and Snotlout to guard her frozen body.”

“So you just - what? Chipped her out? Melted her out?” Dagur asked, entranced.

“Blasted her out,” Tuff admitted sheepishly. Dagur gave a delighted cackle. “And within minutes, she thawed out and was able to fly away, no problem.”

“Bet old Stoick and Hiccup had piglets! Oh boy, if I could have seen the looks on their faces! I bet they didn’t like that one bit!” Dagur laughed. Tuff shifted with a pained expression on his lap and that smacked the jubilance right out of him. “Oh, sorry. Right. Yeah, that probably wouldn’t have been so great for you.”

“It’s fine. It was worth it. Hiccup wasn’t going to train or even revive her, he was just going to keep her in the same big chunk of iceberg we found her in. He cared more about you never getting to fly than what became of her. Dragons aren’t problems to solve - they’re living, breathing, harboring era of destruction and chaos! Hiccup needs to realize and respect that! I thought … I really thought we were the good guys, but I guess I was wrong.”

Dagur blinked, made solemn by Tuff’s sorrow.

“Well, it sounds like you had a good reason to free her and then leave. Now you’re here and you get to help me. I can help you find a new dragon. Probably not another Zippleback though. Oh, ooh, awkward memory - that wouldn’t have been your dragon I almost killed for dragon blood ink, was it?”

Tuff regarded him with surprise and nodded, in a way that made Dagur flush self-consciously. Of course -  it had to have been his dragon that Dagur had nearly beheaded, all for the sake of exposing a theory that Berk was secretly raising a dragon army.

Well, he’d been right about that part, sort of.

“Really sorry about that. Wish I’d had a better introduction to the fact you Berkians all loved your dragons. I mean, the Skrill is just - she’s amazing. If I’d just known what they could be like  - I mean, I don’t think I ever would have lifted a finger to -“

He was cut off by arms wrapping around his waist in a tight hug. Dagur nearly dropped the salve. He stared down at Tuff, who had curled closer to bury his face in Dagur’s chest.

“I knew you wouldn’t,” Tuff hitched after a long moment, pulling back so he could talk. “I knew that and I tried to tell them that everything was because we lied to you. We made you think dragons were still the enemy because Hiccup wanted to protect them - he wants to keep it all a big secret! I told them that if they just had explained, and given you a chance, maybe you wouldn’t have been our enemy. Everyone told me that was treasonous to say - even the Chief -“

He was getting wound up again. Dagur hushed him and coaxed Tuff to lay back down across his knees. “It’s okay, you don’t have to explain. I get it. I’ve always been the troublesome kid, so it makes sense that nobody would trust me. I’m not mad at you about it though, so just try to relax, okay?” Looking shocked, the other boy obeyed, again resting his head on Dagur’s thigh.

Dagur’s mind was a maelstrom as he worked, reanalyzing the Mark on his wrist, and how it applied to Hiccup. How and why would the Gods give him someone who didn’t trust or even like him, when this boy - this complete stranger - saw enough worth in him to help him train a Skrill? Trusted him enough to let him clean and treat his wounds?

He couldn’t help but notice each time Tuff’s breath caught painfully whenever he touched a point that two lashes had intersected. He was so thin - almost as scrawny as Hiccup - how had this not killed him? Dagur ran a careful hand across Tuff’s sides, not liking how each rib felt defined through the skin. The way Tuffnut had bolted his food earlier made too much sense for his comfort.

Normally, Dagur loathed traitors, but there was no way on Midgard that Tuff had done any of this through malice. Rather, he had spoken up against injustice and had been punished like a criminal. Dagur couldn’t honestly claim he wouldn’t have switched sides had his own family treated him like this.

If anything … if anything, Berk had betrayed Tuff.

When all Tuff’s welts and lacerations had been cleaned and coated, Dagur’s fingers smoothed down across his ribs once more, then hesitated at the boy’s waist.

“Is there any more?” he asked awkwardly. He could see the beginnings of a red welt curving down across a hip to disappear beneath Tuff’s belt. “I mean, this is the only beating you got for all this, right?”

Nobody could have punished him more, surely. Nobody could be that cruel.

Wishful thinking … hadn’t Tuff said some of his family members didn’t think he’d been punished enough?

Tuff closed his eyes, hesitant to answer. “There’s . . . a little more. It’s okay, I’ve been treating it. I can get it myself.”

“It’s not okay,” Dagur snapped and cursed himself inwardly when Tuff flinched. “Sorry. I’m not mad at you,” he reminded, voice gentle this time. “All I want is to just take care of you. My mom was a healer - she taught me a lot. This salve has comfrey in it, which is a good move. Did you make it yourself?”

“Mom made it and sent it with Ruff. My sister. She helped me get off Berk the night it all happened, and treated my wounds.”

So his sister and mom were the good guys here - that was useful to know. “What about your dad? Did he help get you free?”

Tuff swallowed and went silent, not answering. He’d started shaking at the mention of his father though, which spoke volumes.

Gut dropping, Dagur carefully started to undo the boy’s belt, sliding it off him. When Tuffnut didn’t stop him, he eased down the waistband of his leggings to be greeted with yet more welts and bruises - and something far worse.

There was a horrible burn on his hip, and worst of all, it looked intentional, as though made with a branding iron.

Dagur’s blood ran cold. “Is . . . that a . . .?”

“I'm sorry.” Tuff muttered, hiding his face behind his hands, “I’m sorry, he thought it was a tattoo - and I couldn’t get away - I couldn’t stop him -“

What? Dagur looked closer and saw a shape beneath the branded circle. He realized instantly the horror of what had been done.

“Who did this - who dared brand your Mark? Was it your father? Did he leave all these welts too?” Dagur demanded, fury thick in his voice. He was going to kill the man slowly and enjoy it. There was no excuse whatsoever for anyone to treat their own son like this.

Tuff had started shaking hard, starting to cry. Dagur cursed again as he realized his anger was probably affecting Tuffnut.

“Hey, Hey, I’m sorry - “ The Berserker murmured, leaning over Tuff. He pressed a palm to Tuff’s cheek, stroking away the tears. “I’m mad at him and your Elders, not you, though me yelling about it is probably the last thing you need to deal with right now.”

Sobbing, Tuff nuzzled Dagur’s palm, clutching his wrist tightly. “It’s fine, it’s okay,” he managed. “H-He didn’t know it w-was a Mark and then he - I had to -“

“Shh, you’re safe now, just let me see.” He stroked Tuff’s hair trying to calm him, and looked again at the Mark, making himself focus on the shape of it rather than the scarred flesh beneath it.

A Skrill. Not just a Skrill, but fashioned after his own tribe’s symbol. His heart started to pound. There were a million questions he wanted to ask Tuff, but now wasn’t the time, not with Tuff’s current state.

Dagur banished all thoughts of vengeance from his mind and leaned down to kiss Tuff’s temple gently, stroking his hair again - the only area that didn’t look too painful to touch. Tuffnut hitched and started crying harder, but he sat up on his uninjured hip and wrapped his arms around Dagur’s neck, holding on to him tightly.

For the first time in a while, Dagur felt tears on his own face. He cupped the back of Tuff’s head and held him close until the storm passed. Eventually the rider relaxed in his arms, breathing steadily and only sniffling.

Gently, Dagur coaxed him out of the rest of his clothing, then got him to lay on his stomach. Tuff nestled across his lap again, hiding his face in the crook of Dagur’s arm, leaving the other free to tend to the rest of his injuries. Tuff’s arms moved to  Dagur’s waist, clinging to him as though he was a lifeline.

He trusted him, utterly, and maybe it was the Mark, and maybe Tuff was just a brave soul - brave and courageous in ways Dagur couldn’t understand.

It boggled his mind, honestly, why the Gods thought he, Dagur the Deranged, was worthy of this boy. He wasn’t even worthy enough for Hiccup.

And a chicken? Really? The idea Tuff could appear as a mere chicken on anybody was laughable. Well, one thing was certain, he should probably end his long-fought crusade against all poultry kind and leave the poor birds alone.

He put the thoughts away for now, closing the tin and putting it aside. He drew one of the fur blankets up over Tuff’s body to give him cover and laid his back against the wall, blowing out the lantern so Tuff could sleep.

In the dark, Tuff hitched his name, sounding terrified, uncertain.

“It’s going to be okay, Tuff,” Dagur murmured. “You’re safe now, with me. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you like this again.”

Tuff gave a few shuddering breaths, saying his name again. He shifted until he could rest his head on Dagur’s shoulder, nuzzling under his chin. “N-No-ones going to hurt you either. Not Hiccup, not Stoick - nobody.”

His bold promise was utterly charming, not that Dagur didn’t believe him. It was just … nobody had ever vowed to defend him.

Come to think of it, nobody had ever wanted to cuddle with him before either.

Dagur felt a surge of protectiveness and carded his fingers through Tuff’s hair, stroking his cheek with his thumb. He was not at all prepared for Tuff’s hand caressing his face, or pressing soft lips against his. The Berserker’s heart fluttered and started to pound.

“Are you mine?” he murmured in a daze, as soon as the spine-tingling kiss was broken.

Dagur could make out standing tears in the silvery gray eyes before him, and thought to himself ‘how pretty’ before Tuff’s mouth hungrily met his again in answer.

****

Tbc 

Ain’t No Mountain High Enough || Sheith Serial Part One | Part Two

Liz got me going and now I can’t stop... The AU no one asked for but me.

The pounding in Shiro’s head began in earnest before he even opened his eyes, immediately followed by a warm rush of whatever drugs they had him on to numb the pain. Daring to crack his eyes against the bright white of the hospital room, his vision swam, making him feel like floating.

It was an odd, but not unwelcome sensation, given that the alternative was probably intense, burning pain in his muscles and head from his fall. The buzz of the medication gave Shiro a sense of contentment, and he found himself surveying his room with a smirk, trying to at least contain the ridiculous laughter he felt bubbling up inside him.

The TV hanging off the wall in the corner played a local news station on mute. Next to him stood his stand of various IV bags and a heart monitor, beeping steadily. The room was otherwise empty. Shiro had no way of telling how long he’d been out - or even where his rescuers had taken him once he’d been found.

Before his panic could dampen the mood his medication induced, the door to his room opened, and a familiar face stepped in.

“Keith!” Shiro blurted out the name before the still logical (and very exhausted) side of his brain could stop him. He scooted upright in the hospital bed with a dopey grin plastered across his face.

“Uh, hi,” Keith approached the bed with an amused twist to his lips. “Glad to see you awake.”

In the sanitary, fluorescent light of the hospital, to Shiro, Keith was stunning. The navy blue of his paramedic uniform contrasted perfectly with his jet black hair, and the ceiling light made it shimmer with the tilt of his head. No longer shrouded beneath his headlamp, Keith’s eyes were wide and deep - Shiro could stare into them all day.

Of course you could, the logical part of Shiro chided, you’re high out of your mind.

Trying to recover from that horrific first impression - or was it the second? - Shiro thought of something smart to say: “I fell off a cliff.”

Nice.

Keith laughed at that, but obviously restrained himself from commenting further. He shuffled his feet in a way that would make Shiro think he was almost embarrassed - at Shiro or himself, it wasn’t clear. “When we admitted you, we realized you’re not from here, so we figured you’d want some company when you came to.”

Keith grabbed Shiro’s chart off the wall next to his bed and gave it an appraising look. “How are you feeling?”

Shiro mulled that question over for about two seconds, and answered sincerely. “Fantastic.”

Keith fought back another laugh and rolled down a dial attached to one of the IVs, labelled MORPHINE. “So I see. Glad you remember me - you took a pretty nasty blow to the head out there.”

Re-remembering that he was, indeed, in the hospital for rolling down a mountain, Shiro reached up to feel the thick wrap of bandages around his head. “Ouch.”

Keith hummed in agreement. “You also had a bad case of hypothermia. No raincoat?” The judgemental quirk to Keith’s eyebrow just worked to make Shiro’s heart stutter.

“I’m… usually a faster hiker.” Shiro had meant that to be a boast, but for some reason it didn’t sound nearly as flattering when he was sitting banged-up in a hospital room high on morphine.

“Well, next time may I suggest a raincoat and some crampons?” Keith gave Shiro another pointed look before digging through the backpack slung over one shoulder. After a muttered curse and several papers shuffling out of the bag and onto the floor, Keith rose with one particular piece of paper in his hand and passed it to Shiro.

Too caught up in the honor of Keith handing him something to bother with reading what it was, Shiro gazed at him with reverence until Keith cleared his throat. Shiro shifted his doe-eyed glance to the paper instead.

He felt his euphoria drain away as his brain registered what the paper was. The stabbing pain in his head returned.

“This is…?”

“Your bill.” Keith leaned over to point to the total, so helpfully highlighted in yellow at the bottom of the page. “You picked one hell of a place to fall. Between the extraction, the on-site first aid, the helicopter - it wasn’t a cheap hike for you.” Keith ticked the breakdown of the cost out on his fingers matter of factly.

Shiro’s mouth felt dry. “I- I don’t-”

Before Shiro could string together a sentence, Keith interjected, “Don’t panic. We have ways to manage the cost. I know this isn’t what you want to hear right after you wake up, but...” He shrugged, “Just doing my job.”

While Keith rattled off the various payment plans and discussed working with Shiro’s insurance, Shiro’s mind blanked. It was so much money. He hadn’t paid for something this expensive since his last semester in college - and even that was with the generous help of his parents. Keith’s coy, friendly, little visit was just a sly cover for breaking the news, Shiro though ruefully. Though, the morphine-high part of him still grudgingly had to admit that staring at Keith for a bit longer was a nice consolation.

Keith finished speaking, and Shiro realized he was supposed to respond. When he didn’t answer, Keith supplied, “I know it’s a lot to take in. I’ll just leave you with some info pamphlets and let you think it over. You can email this address or call when you make a decision.”

Setting the bunch of papers gingerly on Shiro’s legs, Keith moved to leave the room. “Really, I am glad you’re okay. Wish we had met under better circumstances, Takashi.”

Shiro flopped back onto his bed, drained. The morphine wasn’t much help for financial woes, unfortunately. Taking a few deep breaths, he centered himself. It would be okay. He was alive, right? That’s what mattered here. Money was just something he needed to fly back home, to buy groceries, to feed his cat, to pay off his student loans… Pay off medical debt...

Shit.

He picked up one of the brochures, staring at the bright green cover with “Managing Your Medical Debt” embossed too cheerily across the top. Shiro couldn’t bring himself to open it. Instead, he picked up the other four pamphlets and sorted through them dejectedly. The last one - titled ominously - DEBT, seemed to capture his mood well enough, so he skimmed the first page.

A subheading gave him pause. Debt Freelancing? Shiro read through the paragraph, detailing how organizations sometimes offered debt forgiveness in exchange for volunteer work. He rolled the thought around in his head. He didn’t have to go home - Shiro was lucky enough to work as a digital copywriter at an advertising firm, able to work as long as he had his computer. He looked down at his one IV-riddled arm and his other prosthetic. He wasn’t exactly in the best shape for search and rescue work but…

Shiro shook himself out of the thought. No way. Who was even to say that Keith's company would accept something like that. Not to mention the training they’d have to put him through before he could work. It didn’t make sense.

Attempting to cast the thought out of his mind, he sulked, staring at his equally silent TV, now switched to a local baseball game. But the idea, once formed, had taken root.

What if they did let him volunteer? He had to at least ask. He grabbed the piece of paper with the email and phone number, noting the address of their headquarters listed below the contact information.

His mother’s voice chided in the back of his mind, Always better to apply for a job in person, Takashi!

He groaned inwardly. Okay, this was happening. As soon as they discharged him, he had a plan. Shiro hit his nurse’s call button and unmuted the TV.

My Living Nightmare Caused by Liver Disease

My nightmare started overnight, sometime in the spring of 2013. After 4 straight days of binge drinking, I woke up and immediately noticed my stomach was swollen as an 8-month pregnant woman. I lifted my bed sheets and saw a mixture of blood and pus running down my thighs.

I immediately rushed to the restroom to clean up the mess. Then, I urinated. The color was rusty looking- a mixture of orange and dark brown. I looked in the mirror and noticed that the whites of my eyes and the color of my skin was yellow.

I panicked. I knew I had a major medical problem.

I immediately rushed to the ER. The nurse drew blood, then the technicians performed an MRI and an ultrasound. About an hour later, the doctor sat beside me and regretfully informed me that I had liver cirrhosis. I quickly said, “please doctor, tell me that I can still drink?” He replied “yes, but you won’t live longer than three months” I went into shock. I couldn’t imagine my life without alcohol. Next, he inserted a thin plastic tube into my abdomen and drained about 9 liters of fluid.

Liver cirrhosis is a relentless, nasty, barbaric painful disease with no mercy whatsoever! Compared to others with this disease, my case was more severe. When I arrived home from the ER, I had a massive sharp pain running down my lower back and upper thigh, similar to a sciatic nerve, except the pain was much more intense.

The decades of alcohol and drug abuse suddenly caught up with me.

The doctor that diagnosed me with liver cirrhosis told me that he strongly recommended that I take the next flight back to the US. He informed me that the Philippines is a developing country and doesn’t have medical technology as advanced as the US. He said if I stayed there, I’ll probably die.

So, I bought a ticket for the next flight to the US, then walked to the nearest bar. It was July 18th, 2013, my birthday. It would be the last time I ever drank. I sat alone. I needed to mourn. I was devoid of any emotion. I remember gazing at the people in the bar. Most of them were smiling and laughing. However, for some strange reason, I couldn’t hear them-they were on mute.

I knew this was going to be my last drink ever. I suddenly felt like I lost my closest loved one. I relived the first time I took a sip of beer, at the tender age of five-Budweiser in a can. I remembered all the times I got arrested as a teen (13 times), for alcohol related offenses. I  reminisced getting hooked on heavy drugs because of alcohol. I recalled my head getting bashed in the middle of the street by five Blood gang members from South-Central L.A. because of alcohol. I remember attempting suicide because of alcohol. I recalled the countless problems associated with alcohol. And now I am dying because of alcohol. It was at this moment, that I realized I hit rock bottom. The game was over.

So, I stared at the empty beer bottle. I had to say good-bye to something that I desperately clung onto for the past 35 years. I love the taste of alcohol. Until this day, I crave alcohol. I would much rather lock myself in my room and drink a 12 pack then go on a world cruise. You see, alcohol was my best friend, a substitute for a girlfriend, a father whom I’ve always wanted and most important, an escape from reality.

I am 53 years old, single and no kids.  

I knew once I stopped drinking, I would feel like I was on national television, naked for the world to see. I would be exposed. There would be nowhere to hide. Nowhere to run. How would I adjust to living sober? What would I do every day?  

When I returned to the US, my condition worsened. For the next three years, I suffered the following:  nausea, vomiting, flu-like symptoms, anemia, insomnia, swollen feet, ankles and calves, Hepatitis C, type 2 diabetes, kidney failure, several infections, two hernias, gallstones, whole body itching, permanent loss of body hair, except scalp and facial hair, a constant metallic taste in my mouth, jaundice, sluggishness, bruises on my arms and legs, craters in my cheek bones and neck, nerve pain in my feet, excruciating abdominal pain, severe weight loss (went from 210 lbs. to 136 lbs.), swollen belly, diarrhea, anxiety, paranoia, massive hallucinations so intense that I fell into three comas, partial brain damage, muscle atrophy, severe leg cramps, extreme fatigue, shortness of breath, and sharp “stabbing-like” pains all over my body. I never imagined a dreadful disease with so many symptoms and so much pain!

Imagine having all of these symptoms for three years straight. Imagine having only one of these symptoms, such as the flu for 3 years straight. After a few months, I could no longer stand the pain. I wanted out. While in the hospital, three times I asked the doctors to put me under, permanently. They stared at me for a few seconds, turned around and walked away. There was nothing the doctors nor anyone else could do. If a liver is more than 75% damaged, it’s irreversible and irreparable. A liver transplant was my only option.

I recall never feeling warm. I was anemic. Even in the summer, I would wear a tee shirt, a long-sleeved shirt, 2 sweaters, and a jacket. No matter how many clothes I wore, I would still feel like my bones were in the freezer. The chill was relentless and wouldn’t go away.

There were many instances when I didn’t know my name, who I was, where I was, or what year it was. Every time I blacked out, the EMT always asked me what year it was and who is the current president of the US. I usually replied something like “1948. Bill Clinton.”

In late 2013, I had the scare of my life. My muscles were so weak, I couldn’t get out of bed for four days. I had no water during that time. I screamed for help, but to no avail. At the time, I was living alone in the Philippines. My parents hadn’t heard from me. They were worried and called the local Red Cross chapter in Long Beach, CA. A gentleman named Mike contacted the Manila, Philippine branch for assistance.

Suddenly, I heard my front door open. A doctor, nurse, a Red Cross volunteer and my landlord appeared at my bedside. I was briefly examined, then rushed to the ER. The doctor informed me that a human can go without water for about 6 days max. If it wasn’t for the Red Cross’s quick response in coordinating my rescue, I may not be alive today!

 During my two-year waiting period for a new liver, the doctors refused to give me morphine. They gave me two reasons why: one, my liver was so scarred, they were afraid I may die since opiates damage the liver. Two, I was an addict. No need for further explanation. I was prescribed only small doses of Tylenol, which did nothing to alleviate my pain.

In December 2013, my kidneys started to fail. I was on dialysis to clean my blood 3x a week for about 18 months. I couldn’t urinate for about 15 months straight. My kidneys failed to extract urine from my body. All the fluids I drank remained in my abdomen. This condition is known as ascites.

Every 5–6 days my stomach would start to balloon. As a result, my abdominal organs would suffocate from the weight of the fluid. I suffered a constant shortness of breath. I would keep my mouth wide open, gasping for air until my jaws ached. I felt like a fish out of water. Worse, I would experience massive abdominal pain. It felt like an elephant stepped on my stomach and wouldn’t get off.

My most painful experience was after my liver and kidney transplant. My surgery took about 17 hours. I ended up with massive amounts of blood clots settling at the tip of my penis. The nurses had to remove them. Every 2 hours around the clock, for the next 14 days they used a motorized pump with a plastic tube the diameter of a drinking straw, shoved it inside my penis and sucked out the blood clots. The pain was excruciating and barbaric.

You have no idea how sensitive the inside of a penis is. Extracting the blood clots felt like ripping off a finger nail and repeatedly stabbing the top of the skin with a sharp knife!

When I was in the hospital, prior to my transplant, my step- father collapsed right in front of the nursing station from a heart attack. I think it was from all the stress. What better place to have a heart attack?

I felt so helpless. My mother is old and there are just the three of us. Shortly after I was diagnosed with cirrhosis, my step-father quit his job and didn’t work for four years, so he could help my mother take care of me. I was a handful. It took around the clock supervision to take care of me. I would constantly scream in the middle of the night from either scorching pain or hallucinations. Since my mother is old, my father didn’t want her to be my sole caregiver.

The scariest events were the hallucinations. These were worse than nightmares. Unlike a nightmare, you’re awake during a hallucination. In your mind, it is real- it doesn’t just feel real.

I suffered what is known as hepatic encephalopathy. This condition occurs when the liver loses its capacity to eliminate toxins from the bloodstream. As a result, massive amounts of toxins flowed through my brain. This causes mass confusion and ultimately hallucinations. At higher toxicity levels, coma and even death may occur.

The feeling is very similar to a bad PCP trip. Every time my toxin level would skyrocket, I had a horrendously bad trip. One older ER doctor told my mother he never seen a patient with such high levels of ammonia. He said that normal ammonia levels are 15–45. My level was 503!

Once when I was at the hospital, I thought the walls were infested with snakes. I could hear the constant hissing sound. I knew I had to get rid of them. I didn’t want them to swarm me. So, I grabbed my walker and strolled down to the cafeteria. Next, I went to the kitchen, grabbed a butcher knife and began cutting out the hospital walls! Pieces of drywall were everywhere. People were staring at me as though I had lost my mind! Security rushed me, tackled me and I ended up in restraints- one of 17 times during a three-year period.

Another time, I believed my sitting nurse was an alien trying to kidnap me and take me to another planet. This guy was intimidating. He was about 6′3′’, 270 lbs. I saw a syringe filled with what I believed to be poison in his left hand. I could hear the drops of liquid splattering on the tile floor as he glared at me.

My “captive” had an identical twin brother standing about 5 feet to his left. His twin was also holding a poison-filled syringe. They somehow managed to communicate to each other not through words, but via thoughts! I was horrified. They both had a stern look on their face. They constantly glanced at each other, then glared back at me. I sensed they were discussing which one was going to put me under. It was so bizarre.

I screamed and kicked so violently, security and staff had to restrain me. Without fail, the next day I awoke, strapped down with a rubber ball in my mouth, not knowing what the hell happened.

There was, however, one comedic event while hallucinating. At home, I was in the restroom for a very long time. When I came out, my mother asked me who the heck I was talking to. I paused, then replied “Calvin.” She said “Calvin who?” I replied “Calvin Klein.”

When I was on the toilet, I was staring at my underwear, which were down to my ankles. The name Calvin Klein was embroidered at the top. Apparently, I thought my underwear was the famous designer in the flesh! So, I’m sitting there, having a one-way conversation with my underwear! Don’t ask me what “we” discussed. I have no idea.

Another time, I believed several of my male nurses were posing as DEA agents. They were trying to arrest me. The DEA suspected me of assisting the Columbians with developing strategic drug smuggling routes to the US. The nurses wouldn’t stop staring at me. So, I waited until one of them wasn’t looking, and snuck up behind him. I stripped off my hospital gown, wrapped it around his neck and proceeded to choke him. Someone called security. When they arrived, I threatened them that I would choke the “agent” to death if they approached me.

I felt like an absolute madman. I recall that my eyes widened, and my facial expression looked like Charles Manson when he was pissed off. I remember possessing this enormous amount of strength. I had no idea where it came from. I threw the nurse to the floor like a ragdoll. For some odd reason I remember being extremely angry and paranoid. My toxin levels were through the roof.

Security kept their distance. I recall the presence of doctors, nurses and hospital staff in the background. The doctors were calm, but a couple of the nurses were hysterical. Security was ranting on their walkie talkies. About 5–6 minutes later, a handful of cops stormed through the hospital doors and surrounded me with their weapons pointed at me.

I kept hearing a doctor telling the police not to shoot-that I was hallucinating. A few minutes later, a nurse that took care of me and whom I was closest to started talking to me in a very calm manner. She kept telling me to relax, that everything was going to be ok. She kept telling me that I was under an enormous amount of stress and that I’m just having a bad day.

She kept asking me to slowly loosen my grip and relax. She then told me that my doctors will take care of me-that everything will be ok. At first, I thought she was part of the conspiracy. I was suspicious. However, I kept recalling how she always cared for me. I recalled the numerous times when she went beyond her duties as a nurse and was always there for me in my time of duress. She felt like a second mother.

About 20 minutes later my hallucination started to wear off. Since I trusted my nurse, I loosened my grip on the nurse that I had a stranglehold on. Next, the cops told the nurse to slowly stand and walk away. After that, the police started barking instructions at me. They told me to drop to my knees with my back facing them. Next, they told me to keep my arms raised high in the air. I complied. After that, they slowly approached me and told me to put my hands behind my back. Then, they proceeded to handcuff me.

A nurse arrived with a gurney. A couple of nurses lifted me on the gurney. The police immediately handcuffed both my wrists to the side bars. They wheeled me to the ER. A moment later a nurse injected me with a sedative. I immediately felt very relaxed and drowsy. Once again, I woke up the next day strapped to my bed wondering what the hell happened.

My ammonia levels were so high that I fell into a coma three times. The longest period was 23 days. About the 20th day, my doctors advised my parents to “get things in order.” They didn’t think I would make it. They feared my toxin levels were so high that if I awoke from the coma, I would be a vegetable. So, the hospital called hospice and they spoke with my parents about my living arrangements for my final days.

My mother fumed and told both hospice and my doctors that no matter what, she was not giving up. A while back, I told my mother if I was ever in a situation where I couldn’t make a life or death decision on my own, I didn’t want the doctors to pull the plug-no matter how much pain I was in.

When I awoke from my 23-day coma, I had no idea where I was. I felt as though I was a million miles from earth. Everything was extremely peaceful. I asked my sitting nurse where I was. He informed me I was in the hospital. I had no idea what a hospital was.

After I awoke, I was immediately bumped up the transplant list from #247 to #2. My failed kidneys were a blessing in disguise. My doctor told me that since both organs were failing, I had a much higher chance of dying. As a result, I was moved up the list very fast.

A couple weeks later, I was elevated to #1 on the transplant list. My nurse informed me that any day I should be expecting new organs. Cool. I asked her “how are the organs  delivered?” She told me via helicopter. She said there’s a landing pad on the top of the hospital. I recall I would get excited every time I heard a loud noise outside.

Approximately 10 days later, my nurse rushed in my room and cheerfully informed me that the organs are on their way. She told me the doctor will call me soon to discuss the details. I found it odd that a physician would call me on the phone.

About 20 minutes later, the doctor called. He told me that he was at blah blah prison. He said a 41-year-old male just committed suicide by hanging himself in his cell. He informed me the prisoner was an organ donor. The doctor told me that the prison officials gave he and a couple of other physicians with him only 15 minutes to visually inspect the organs. The doctor told me the organs appeared to be fine. He asked me if I wanted them. Since I was very confused at the time, I replied “what would you do if you were in my shoes?” He paused and said, “I would take them.” So, I did.

Later, the doctors told me they had a difficult time deciding whom shall receive the organs. It was between me and the patient next door. They informed me they select the beneficiary that has the greatest probability of surviving the operation. I was told I had about a 50% chance of surviving the surgery. That was higher than the other patient. My doctor said the other patient was weaker than me, hence the reason they chose me.

Prior to my transplant, the strangest thing happened. Thoughts continuously flooded my mind, at least 500 times during a two-year period. They kept telling me to share my story at AA, NA and high schools. Never in my life had I experienced recurring thoughts with no apparent ending. What am I supposed to make of this?

I spent hundreds of hours thinking about this and the only conclusion I could make is that God put these thoughts in my head. What other logical reason could it be? So, I made a covenant with God. I begged Him if He let me live, I would spend the rest of my life helping other addicts get clean.

On August 5, 2015, at 11:00 am, I had a liver and kidney transplant. I must admit, aside from the hallucinations, it was the scariest event I’ve ever endured. I never felt so alone in my life. I never forgot what I was up against: heads I survive, tails I die. My destiny was completely out of my hands. At this point, there was nothing my family, the priest or the doctors could say or do to guarantee me that I would survive.

Well, the surgery was a success. It took 17 hours. I had no complications, except massive chronic back pain that shoots through my body whenever I move.

After the transplant, I often wondered how I lived. Why did I get so lucky? Was God looking over me all this time? Was it His plan? What did I ever do for Him to deserve this? For some strange reason, I feel that I am destined to live. Maybe He’s telling me that it’s just not my time to go. I don’t know. Even three years later, tears stream down my face for no apparent reason. Like now. I’m not quite sure if they are tears of happiness, sadness or the trauma I suffered. Perhaps, it’s a mixture of all three.

On July 18, 2018, I accomplished something I never ever imagined- I celebrated five years of sobriety from alcohol. It’s been an incredibly difficult journey. The old Joe always succumbed to temptation. But I’m not the same person anymore. I’ll be damned if I’ll go through another living nightmare again.

I’ve been in bed for the past eight years. It’s so frustrating because there is nothing I could do about it. My inactivity has caused my muscle atrophy to return. My legs are like jelly again. Also, my lower back scorches with pain whenever I move. As a result, I have to sleep sitting up. The pain is so severe, I’m in bed an average of  23 and a half hours a day. The only time I get out of bed is to visit the doctor. I tried walking a few times, but my knees buckled, and I fell each time.

I’ve seen three doctors so far. They did x-rays, MRI’s, and CAT scans but can’t find the source of my back pain. My insurance company won’t allow me to see a back-pain specialist or get physical therapy because I already seen three physicians. With your  help, I plan to see a specialist and get physical therapy soon. Also, not only will I be able to walk again, but you’ll indirectly save other drug addicts’ lives. I know by sharing my story with addicts and high school kids, some of them will be able to realize the extreme psychological and physical trauma that alcohol and drug can cause and turn their lives around.

I always wondered what’s the purpose of life. I spent many years trying to figure it out. I can’t speak for anyone else, but I know what mine is.

My Living Nightmare with Liver Disease. Liver cirrhosis is a relentless, barbaric, non-stop, excruciating painful disease with no mercy whatsoever! Witness the real horror as it unfolds prior to my liver and kidney transplant. Please help me walk again by donating now-even if it’s only $5, it would help me tremendously! www.gofundme.com/dreaming-to-walk-again  

Please share my story with friends and family so that I may walk again. Thank you so much!

Call Sign (1 of 2, apparently)

Over a year ago I did a prompt run for titles. Now, it’s been over a year, and I’ve amassed over 30 titles. Obviously I’m never gonna fill them, eh? y’all thought. 

Actually, about a third of them have ideas attached, and a few more have ideas that I’m lukewarm about, so they’re still marinating. You should know, there are... 7 aus between them, and 2 short stories (that I’m relatively set on going with). 

Call Sign alone, however, happened to be a particularly active title, and spawned 3 stories. One buggered off and found another name to live under (and, incidentally, another au). One is a Rogue One au. 

That is not this one. 

“Captain,” Governor Arkin grated irritably, “you were tasked with subduing and eradicating the rebels, and yet the terrorist attacks on the Empire's citizens continue!”

Ty drew himself up taller, forcing down a misplaced pang of wounded pride and smoothing his face to a neutral mask for the Governor’s lecture. It wasn’t his first time. It wouldn’t be the last, either. He’d be thoroughly reamed, sent out to do the job “properly this time,” yet again without assistance, and criticised again for failure. Better him in the line of fire than his men.

They were doing their jobs! They were, truly, doing their best. Problem was, Onderon’s military hadn’t been much to boast of since the Clone Wars, when their most respected generals had abandoned their posts in the midst of the Separatist occupation and joined forces with the deposed King Dendup. For a time, they’d even won back their standing, all of them—until the arrival of the Empire’s forces. Now, their king was dead, former rebels declared outlaws once more, and the people of Onderon again utterly demoralised. This was nothing like the fire Ty remembered, when the Gerrera siblings began to show the first signs of a true, organised resistance force.

Despite his fairly young age, Ty had earned his rank as Captain of the Guard fair and square—he’d been the best in his class. But he harboured no illusions about how he might compare to his predecessors. His uncle General Tandin might well have been a walking legend in comparison.

Ty was just… doing his best. Besides, how could he ask his men, his brothers-in-arms, to fight their own family? Uncle Ari might still be out there, despite reports of his suspected death. Ty certainly wasn’t going to be the one to turn reports into reality.

So he fell back on the usual script; not enough people to comb the mountains, not enough equipment or weaponry to flush the caves. He wasn’t going to sell out his men either, after all. Ty had the feeling the Empire knew all about their familial connections among rebels, and also caught the feeling that they didn’t care enough, but that could change at any moment.

But, for once, things did not go according to plan. Apparently, Governor Arkin did have a limit to his patience.

“Backup, he says. You want backup?” Arkin snarled. “Fine. I’ll put in a request for an orbital strike.”

Ty barely held back a horrified noise. “Governor, sir, we’ve requested one before, the Empire—”

“The Empire will provide resources at my request,” Arkin replied scathingly, “as your people proved unequal to the task. You call this a military, boy? I ought to send you to the Imperial Academy, but I don’t expect to see you after that strike anyway. Dismissed, Captain,” Arkin added with an ugly sneer, and Ty, shell shocked, fell back on trained habits. He saluted—making it just barely passable, he was trying so hard to keep his hands from shaking—and turned on his heel, all but fleeing the Governor's office.

Office. He’d defiled the bloody throne room, but that was neither here nor there.

Fuck, Ty thought, fucking fuck fuck shit fuck arse. He needed a drink. And a Mandalorian. A drink to appease an annoyed Mandalorian, and a Mandalorian to help him find the right fucking swear words, and tell him what the fuck to do, because Ty honestly didn’t fucking know anymore.

Fortunately, he knew where to find both.

Imps could say what they liked about the Clone Wars vets still in their command structure, but Ty preferred working with Commander Naasade, and drinking with him. For one thing, Naasade was efficient, and could drink anyone under the table. For another, the vet could always make sense of things, like command decisions.

Particularly this latest slap in the face.

“They’re sending a squadron of troopers to wipe out the resistance fighters in the mountains,” Ty mumbled into his fourth drink, about two hours later. His head was floating and his ears were ringing, but Naasade looked completely unaffected. Luckily Ty wasn’t stupid enough to try a drinking game with him.

“They’ve been saying that since we got here.” Naasade shrugged. “They say it about every planet with a resistance cell, anyway.”

“Yeah?” There was just a hint of bleak sarcasm that Ty couldn’t keep out of his voice. “What happened to Lothal?”

Naasade pinned him with a too-sober look. “Onderon isn’t Lothal. You’re Inner Rim, kid. That’d be like the Emperor ordering a strike on Alderaan.”

That sounded fair enough, Ty supposed, staring into his glass again. Things made a lot more sense when alcohol was involved, but that wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

He was sad. Why was he sad?

“I don’t wanna, kill ‘em all,” he slurred, then frowned with effort. The Empire wanted the rebels crushed, gone, forgotten, but… “S’not… right. They’re people.”

Naasade sighed. “Better be careful who you say that around, kiddo. You’re never the one who picks the booth with the jammer in it, what’re you gonna do when I’m not around to watch your sodden arse?”

Ty smiled. That sounded like a fond sort of grumble.

One thing the occupation kept reminding him of, was that there were stupid damn idealistic idiots everywhere, green and naive and itching for a way to get themselves killed. Drinks with Ty always left him in a foul mood and a sour taste in his mouth.

Naasade sighed irritably into his drink, then thought better of it and pushed the glass away. He had an appointment to keep as it was—and it just got much less pleasant. A night patrol, an out-of-the-way meeting. Now a warning to pass along.

People like that, naive and idealistic and stupid-young, they made his job easier, sometimes. Sometimes all he had to do was sit someone down for long enough that they’d lay out the plan for the next month in perfect order for him. Sometimes he got the chance to stretch out, talk rings around an officer until he could play them like a bes’bev, make them a Rebel sympathiser for a day to get the newest codes for transmission frequency encryption.

Ty was loyal, and devoted completely, to Onderon—not to the Empire. That was a crucial distinction; Naasade had no problem manipulating Imps to do whatever he needed them to. Disillusioned Imps were, in fact, the easiest to compromise. But Ty was less a target for recruitment than a source, and every time the kid walked away Naasade thought the Empire would swallow him whole, leave the body in a sewer somewhere.

Didn’t want to kill Rebels… Yeah, that kid wouldn’t last long.

Naasade was here shadowing an injured Fulcrum. He didn’t even know which one of them it was: some clever fucker in Command had once suggested tagging multiple people with that call sign, to have the Imps chasing their own tails for a bit. Based on the fact that Command had assigned him to babysit, and seemed to be keeping a very close eye on the situation, Naasade was almost convinced this was the real, original Fulcrum.

He was perversely grateful, still, that they hadn’t specified. For one thing, it gave him plausible deniability. For another, if the rumours from the early days were at all true, Fulcrum was likely to be a Jedi.

He wasn’t ready for that yet. The thought had him reaching for his glass again in a hurry, washing down a wave of bitterness before it could overtake him. Then, of course, Naasade grimaced at the empty tumbler, put it down, pushed himself up out of the seat and made his legs take him out of the bar. He certainly didn’t need that habit coming back.

He’d probably earned himself a headache for tomorrow morning anyway. Annoyingly, it tended to center on the faint scar on the right side of his head—evidence of careful brain surgery, an extraction he didn’t even want to think about. It seemed both appropriate and ironic, that he be reminded of the exact thing that drove him to drink in the first place every time he forgot himself and went a little bit too far again.

It was almost time to start his patrol, anyway, which meant that he had to be outside the city in five.

He made it in two, pulling out of the main gate like a man let loose. This was his favourite patrol route. The grey, weighted feeling of the city melted away from him and into the brisk air as he cut through the fields.

Somewhere in the middle of his patrol route, Naasade slowed down to a casual, coasting halt. It was a habit he’d established well enough during his posting that no one would think it strange. Some of his patrolling reports mentioned meeting the locals. Naasade reported meeting farmers, peaceful people, and either passing along the boundary of their land or having well-intentioned quiet arguments on where the boundary lay.

Naasade made sure to never capture a recording of one. He always left his swoop idling; his helmet, with its shitty voice pickup, never got anything over the rumble of the engine it was sitting right on top of; and in the dark, with companion in shadow or behind a large boulder, the video feed also caught nothing.

Their meetings also fell in seemingly random intervals. Actually it had more to do with which of Onderon’s moons had completed its cycle, but most Imps never bothered to learn the traditions of the planets they’d invaded. A great deal of local mythology was built on the phases of Onderon’s satellites.

Naasade just considered himself lucky that tonight was one of those predetermined meetings, and that he wouldn’t need to run the risk of requesting emergency contact.

He parked his swoop near a generously-sized boulder and got up to stretch, and stare at the stars. He was making good time, anyway—as always.

Radha was already waiting for him, but that wasn’t unusual either.

“Late, Commander,” a low voice said from behind the stone.

“Just fine,” he murmured. “How’s the patient?”

“Pain in everybody’s arse,” Radha shot back without a second’s hesitation. “Could be worse, though. Should’ve moved out a month ago, said they wanted to stay—to help out around the house.”

Naasade raised an eyebrow at the night sky. “And you don’t need the help,” he said flatly.

“Naw, we do,” Radha’s grin was audible, “but we’re not the only ones. There’s others they could assist. Not complaining, anyway. Not really.”

He knew the frustration in that voice—was intimately familiar with it. Definitely a Jedi, then, Naasade thought. ‘Helping about the house’ could mean anything, too, from training the troops to literally helping them explore the cave passageways. He suppressed a heavy sigh. “You’re gonna need all the help you can get, soon.”

“Shit.” He caught sight of the dull glow of a discarded tabac stick before it was viciously ground out. “Storm?”

Naasade nodded, mentally reviewing the last known fleet positions. “Big one.”

The Governor could be a right bastard, but Moff Sesirri Tanai had control over this sector at the moment. She was cold, calculating, and absolutely ruthless. At least she wasn’t also Tarkin-levels of destructive.

Sesirri was pragmatic, though, even in her overkill.

Radha swore fervently. “When?”

“Soon. Eight days,” at a minimum. Naasade thought about it a moment, wondering what to expect from Moff Tanai. “Expect nightcrawlers,” he added.

Death Commandos. From behind the stone, Naasade thought he heard a strangled curse as the realisation hit. They hadn’t exactly needed to use that particular shorthand phrase before. “Can your friend get out on their own?”

“I don’t know,” Radha said. “If I tell them, they won’t leave. They’ll want to help.”

Naasade snorted quietly. “Figures. Can you relocate?”

Radha was silent for a moment. “Do they know where our house is?”

An excellent question. Ty never said, but there had to be a record of sightings, suspected resistance outposts. “I’ll ask around.” He’d picked up a trick or two from slicers over the years, and with the right set of commands, computers didn’t mind questions nearly as much as people might. “When can you take delivery?”

“Fourth moon.”

Naasade grimaced. “City beat.”

“Then I’ll find you. At market?”

“Generator side. Prearranged drop-off site.”

“Done,” Radha agreed. “Now go home, Imp.”

Naasade smiled faintly. “You too, Rebel scum.