#not about barb and not about hunting down and killing the source

[brionysea]

thinking about that spidermike au i read on here a while ago where he was partially responsible for barb's death because he couldn't save her and nancy had a vendetta against spiderman about it and she was trying to make him face justice and when she found out it was mike she couldn't give it up because she couldn't forgive him because she couldn't forgive herself. you nailed it, writer whose name i can't remember. you understood the assignment. that's literally, actually, their whole problem, in the actual show. that's what 4 seasons of mike and nancy not being allowed to breathe the same air lest nancy figure out what's going on with mike has been building up to. foreshadowing interpreted correctly

[adndmonsteraday]

Chwidencha, also known as spider leg horrors by surface dwellers, were horrific spider-like creatures created by Lolth from drow that failed her tests, or otherwise displeased the Spider Queen.

A chwidencha seemingly consisted of nothing but a writhing mass of long, hairy, flexible spider legs. Each leg ended in a barbed spike and had one side covered in thorn-like hairs that allowed the limb to easily tear through the flesh and bone of any unfortunate victim. The creature did have a central body hidden under the dozens of legs that radiated from it, but this was normally only seen after the chwidencha's demise.

A chwidencha was able to understand Undercommon, but did not speak it.

Chwidenchas were able to climb up walls as well as any spider, but were also proficient burrowers that were able to move as quickly under the ground as they could on its surface. A common tactic for chwidenchas was to hide beneath a layer of earth while using its tremorsense to notify it of any approaching prey. Upon detecting a suitable target, the chwidencha would burrow under or behind their prey, then suddenly emerge to strangle, constrict, or impale with its dozens of spiked legs. Chwidenchas were also known to simply charge at their prey in a flurry of legs and claws in an attempt to crush them with their many limbs. After killing its prey, the chwidencha would usually drag the body off to somewhere it could safely devour its victim, as it took it several hours to do so.

Encountering a chwidencha could be terrifying indeed owing to their fearful presence and their ability to regenerate lost legs within a day, which could be lopped off with no damage done to the beast itself. However, they were very sensitive to sound, which left them particularly vulnerable to sonic attacks; loud, high-pitched noises would cause a chwidencha to attempt to flee. They were also vulnerable to thunder damage.

After its transformation, the once-drow became a nearly mindless beast that moved about in a skittering undulation and existed only to hunt down any living creature that strayed into the dark caverns deep beneath the earth that chwidencha lurk within.

Much like driders, drow society cast out these creatures that had failed their goddess's tests, leading chwidencha to harbor a particular hatred for their former brethren. However, they were sometimes kept by drow, or other evil races, in deep, metal-lined pits, where they were used to dispose of waste, carcasses, prisoners, and criminals.

Source: https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Chwidencha

[melodiousmonsters]

I am mildly curious about what you have for barrb’s biology in your au 👁👁

(This is a long goddamn post I had a decent amount of this written already so there's a lot)

Well the first things that need to be mentioned is how plant monsters work. Like actual plants they are full of a very watery fluid called xylem (term taken directly from plant anatomy) that functions as blood in an open circulatory system. Their muscles also function solely because of the xylem because they are hydraulic like how those leaves that curl up when you touch them move, to extend a muscle it gets filled with xylem, and to contract it the xylem flows out of the muscle. So because of all that and photosynthesis plant monsters need about an 80% water content to function properly. Also monsters are considered adults at 30 because they live like, way longer than people (like 150 years or so on average) so they develop a bit slower.

There are also large critters that live in the monster world. Not like, titan big, but like, medium to large animal big. In the air lands, which is the most relevant to this, there's a fair few of these in the form of large ungulate herbivores. All of them have real world parallels that they quite closely resemble, maybe with a few spikes or eyes added, and overall critters look weirder than the animal they’re based off of.

Also the air lands kinda still exist in the modern day. Because of its high elevation a decent amount of the land didn’t sink all the way, there’s about 3 times the surface area of air island in normal, non-possessed by an ancient god air element land. Most of it is uninhabitable in comparison to air island due to the aggressive critters, frequent tornadoes and dust storms, the heat, etc.

Unlike most places where mainly non-plant monsters have lived for a long time, there’s no large carnivorous critters in the air lands. The reason for this (and the aforementioned aggressive wildlife) are barrbs. The soil in the air lands is high in nutrition, but it is too dry to support a large majority of plant life. And to  photosynthesize water needs to evaporate and be used, which is a dangerous thing to do as the risk of drying out too much is a very real thing. To deal with the poor soil and dryness barrbs have thick, waxy skin and decided to specialize in carnivorous diet.

The skin thing is boring so I’m going to elaborate on the carnivory. Barrbs prey on basically any critter that they can take down, which is every critter in the air lands other than gigacheeps (they and glubbers are sort of “critter titans” which are just titan sized critters that are about as intelligent as the average animal). Their teeth are designed to be able to grab onto critters larger than they are, making them one of the very few monsters who will eat anything that doesn’t fit in their mouths.

This behavior of fighting massive beasts that could very well seriously hurt or even kill them makes barrbs kinda intimidating to other monsters who find this reckless behavior well, reckless.

Where’d I get this idea from? I don’t know, barrbs just look like they would kill things with their bare hands, or teeth in this case. Like, come on, look at that face and tell me they wouldn’t rip open a cow or something on the regular

Because of their unique lifestyles, during the dawn of fire days patches (a patch is a group of barrbs,if we get a cannon one later I’ll just add it alongside patch) of barbs would live away from other monster settlements and would just do their own thing. Barrb patches wouldn’t be on bad or uneasy terms with other monster groups, in fact often they’d give them any extra food they’d hunted, especially during droughts where crops may not be as reliable as a food source.

Anyway away from the hunting thing time for some actual biology stuff.

The most noticeable and beloved (By both Barrbs and other Monsters) features of the Barrb is its hot pink frill of petals around its neck. While they are pretty and Barrbs take a lot of effort keeping up their appearance, the petals are for much more than just display.

Barrbs can shake causing their petals to move and hit against each other, producing blunt sounding percussive noises. Because of how unpredictable and unreliable the sound their petals make is, they aren’t used musically. Instead Barrbs use it for their own “language” that’s made up of specific patterns of shaking that represent simple phrases. Most of those phrases are used for things like coordinating a group of other Barrbs to do basic pack-animal things like navigating a precarious area or hunting a large dangerous Critter. Because of the specificity of the language it's used only in those sorts of situations, when just communicating normally they'll just use standard monstrous.

The pigment in the petals is solely used to show how old a Barrb is. Unlike most Monsters, Barrbs live quite dangerous lives that they can’t really avoid in any way, so it’s very important to be able to know how much life experience another Barrb has. A very sudden development of pore-like glands occurs in their petals once they turn 30 and get exposed to a dark enough environment. Those glands immediately start producing a large amount of the pigment, making the tips of the petals turn pink over the span of 9 hours. After that first night the production of the pigment slows to a near halt, with the glands only making an unnoticable amount every night. Really old Barrbs have fully pink petals, some even older Barrbs may even end up with some overdeveloped glands that make a cyan pigment instead.

When a Barrb happens to be overexposed to dark environments they may develop these pigment-producing glands way earlier in life across way more of their bodies. One that spends it’s entire childhood in the dark will have these glands all over their body and be pink all over. When a Barrb like that turns 30 the glands that would have developed in their petals at that time will already be there well beforehand, so instead they turn into the overdeveloped cyan pigment-producing ones and their petals turn cyan.

The petals are covered in little pores that do various things. They can precisely sense light levels, scents, humidity, vibrations, and temperature. Barrbs like to sleep half-buried in soil or mud face down with only some of their petals exposed and able to sense the world around them, so they have to be quite good at it. Generally all the senses are used for surveying the area around them, but scents are most relied on. Barrbs have one of the best senses of smell of any Monster and other than noises, they get the most enjoyment perceiving the world through smells. Barrbs mostly use their olfactory abilities to find water and food.

There’s more but this post is getting pretty long and I’m tired of it so yeah there’s some stuff on barrbs.

[justanotherfanaccount]

a continuation of this post

if my previous post is correct than it can also give an explanation of Will having powers

Will is also different from the other children just like Kali and El

He was either:

Born with powers

Acquired them during his time in the upside down

None of the other children were given their powers this way giving the duffers another reason to let Will have different powers than the rest of the children

Throughout the show signs point to Will having electricity powers

which you can find on many other posts in the "will byers has powers" tag

If he was born with these powers:

it would give an explanation to why Will SPECIFICALLY was targeted in episode 1

Vecna somehow knew about these powers and wanted to connect with Will not only for the chance to use him as an inside source but also for the chance of claiming his powers for himself like we see him try to do with El

Since Hopper and Joyce BARELY save Will in time at the end of season 1 we can assume that Vecna's original plan was not to use him as a spy but to kill him and secure his power

This is further enforced by Barb immediately getting killed by the demogorgan vs Will being tracked, hunted, and eventually secured safely by a vine that was connected to the hive mind

When this failed and Will was saved Vecna had gone far enough with his plan to be able to infiltrate Will's mind and use him as a spy instead

If he acquired these powers in the upside down:

If this is the case then Vecna might've targeted Will because of easy access

Will lived on the outside of town and his family was not well respected giving Vecna an easier target that the town wouldn't care about losing

Getting a spy could've been Vecna's entire plan and the reason why Will was not immediately killed

Will gaining powers could've been entirely accidental due to the length of time Will was able to evade Vecna by keeping himself grounded by his favorite song

We don't know what Will's entire experience was in the upside down but we know he ended up connected to the hive mind through the vine inside of him

eventually leading to having Vecna be able to use Will as his connection to Hawkins

[cinebration]

None Like You (Geralt x Reader) [Request]

hi! can you do a geralt one shot with fem reader where she's a princess and they start falling for each other? tysm! — Request by anon

Warnings: blood

Gif Source: frodo-sam

Your mother had raised you to believe you were someone of importance, but life on the farm had said otherwise. You toiled just like everyone else, bleeding and sweating. You were soiled, not spoiled. Yet your mother insisted you were a princess and told you outrageous bedtime stories to lull you to sleep in your youth.

You should have paid better attention.

When King Henselt’s only son died, leaving only a marriage and no heirs, you woke one morning to the pounding of a mailed fist on the door. Your mother answered and then hurried into your room, fluttering about like a mad woman.

“It’s time,” she cried, shoving you into your best dress and raking her fingers through your hair.

“For what?”

“To be someone.”

Then she bundled you out the door into the arms of a military escort carrying the Kaedwan sigil on their shields and tunics: a red-horned unicorn on a yellow field.

It took you the whole day to finally coax information out of your escort regarding the whole ordeal. When they told you what you were, you nearly fell out of your saddle in disbelief.

The king must be desperate, you thought as you tried to fall asleep beside the campfire.

Then the night turned bloody.

~~

Something crunched underfoot to your right. You huddled deeper in the hollowed tree, clutching the steel in your hands. The edges had sliced open your palms, but you didn’t care. It afforded you some protection, even if the creature had snapped the blade it came from like a twig.

Tensing, you waited for the sound to draw nearer, coiling to spring. It was just like killing chickens, you told yourself. One neat slice to the throat.

You leapt out of the hollow, slashing up and across.

The witcher caught your wrist easily, flinging the steel out of your hand. Stifling a cry, you cradled the injured hand to your chest, backed away from him. His eerie yellow eyes tracked you as you pressed yourself against the tree trunk, searching for an escape.

“What happened?” His voice rasped like feet dragged over gravel.

“Death,” you whispered, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the massacre. “Some…thing.”

“It’s dead now.”

You fixed him with a wary glance. “Truly?”

He grunted.

You nearly sank to your knees in relief. Pressing a hand to your mouth, you felt the cuts in your hand spasm. Fresh blood wept from the slashes, trickling down your arms. The witcher swept his gaze over you, eyeing the wounds. You fumbled with the hem of your dress, trying to rip the dirty fabric into strips.

“Did you fight it?” The surprise in the witcher’s voice drew your ear.

You wheezed. “I slashed it, yes, but fight? No.”

Rummaging around in the leaves on the forest floor, the witcher retrieved the broken steel, examined it. He swore.

Unease coiled within you. “What is it?”

“Come here.”

You hesitated. The witcher rolled his eyes and strode over to you, grabbing you by the wrist. His touch was firm but not tight, much to your surprise. You followed after him, feeling a little dizzy as he led you over to the road. A horse stood idly there, kind eyes inquisitive. It didn’t shy away as you drew near despite the smell of blood.

“Good horse,” you murmured, appraising it.

The witcher fumbled through a saddlebag, searching for something. At last he pulled out a vial and took your hands, tearing off the strips to get to your wounds. He poured the grey contents of the vial out before you could protest.

You nearly screamed, the pain in your hands was so excruciating. Lighting shot up your arms as the vial’s contents fizzed on your palms and in your wounds.

“To prevent the venom from killing you,” the witcher explained.

“If the pain doesn’t kill me first,” you hissed through gritted teeth.

A smirk tugged on the witcher’s lips, followed quickly by a frown. “What were you doing traveling with those soldiers?”

You hesitated again. What had you heard about witchers? That they fought for coin and hunted monsters. You had no coin, but neither did you know where you were or how to get home.

“King Henselt sent them,” you confided slowly. “They believe I am his bastard daughter.”

“A princess.”

You elected to ignore the mild groan in the man’s voice. “Can you take me home? The farm, not Aed Carraigh.”

His yellow eyes fixed on you again, white eyebrows beetling together. “You don’t want to go to the castle?”

“Is it safe? As safe as home?”

His lips pressed into a thin line.

“Then take me home,” you insisted. “I’m no princess.”

~~

The witcher smelled. You couldn’t ignore it, not with your face pressed into his back. He wasn’t made for traveling with someone sitting behind him. You could feel it in the tension of his shoulders and back, as though he couldn’t relax beneath the touch of your arms. You did your best to relax your own tense grasp.

You had run nigh over a mile before collapsing in the hollowed tree trunk. The horse covered the distance easily, passing by the smoldering, bloody encampment you had settled down in the night before. You watched it pass, glimpsing the heaps of bodies scattered about.

It took several hours to draw near home. Joy fluttered in your chest as you approached.

You crested the ridge overlooking home and went still, horror rolling through you. The farm house was ash and rubble, still smoking. The animals had been let from their pens, taken for livestock by whatever had rolled through the farm.

“Bandits,” the witcher noted.

Fighting nausea, you wandered down to the burnt house, searching in the ruins. The ash burned your hands and legs, but you sifted through it, yanking aside a crumbling beam.

Beneath lay your mother. What was left of her.

You retched off to the side, stumbling through the ash. You stood bent at the waist for an eternity before you felt the witcher watching you. Turning to face him, you wiped the sick from your chin. “I can’t stay here.”

He frowned.

Your mother had raised a practical woman, fantastic fantasies about your lineage aside. It was all you could think to do as you stood in the ashes of your dead life. One foot in front of the other.

“I have no money,” you confessed, “but if King Henselt sent for me, he can pay you to ensure my arrival.”

The witcher considered it. At last he growled and nodded.

~~

It would take four days to reach Aed Carraigh. The horse—named Roach, you learned—could only manage that distance in a shorter time if not burdened with two riders.

You sat close to the campfire, warming yourself in the flames, shaking not from cold but from fear as the night closed in around you. The night held terrors untold, but until the night before, you had never seen them in the flesh. Knowing they lingered out in the dark set your teeth on edge.

“I’m sorry to burden you,” you told the witcher, the silence too much to bear. You watched the horse warily for signs of attack, knowing the animal was likely to hear or sense it before you.

“Why don’t you want to be a princess?”

Taken aback by the unexpected question, you shrugged. “Why would I want to be one?”

“Riches. A comfortable life.”

“I had a comfortable life with riches untold. They just weren’t gold.”

“Gold is necessary.”

“Gold means nothing if your life is miserable.”

The words hung heavy in the air. The witcher averted his gaze, surprising you. Frowning, you rubbed at your arms, trying to make the hair on your arms stand down. His averted face gave you the opportunity to study his features. They were rough and worn, his brow creased from excessive glowering. He was all hard edges, a larger man than even the largest farmer you had seen. He appeared both comfortable and uncomfortable in his own skin, or perhaps your presence was upsetting him.

“Am I keeping you from work?”

“Are you always so concerned for witchers?”

You shook your head. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

“Yet there you sit.”

You bit your tongue, surprised by the sting of his barb. Something flickered across his stern features as you ducked your head. “Then tell me where to go and I will get there myself.”

“The road is dangerous.”

“Being a woman is dangerous.”

He almost smiled in surprise. You could see it dancing on his lips.

“So tell me where to go,” you insisted. “Then I can leave your remarkable hair.”

His eyebrows twitched. The silence stretched between you both for a minute, the fire crackling in the quiet. At last, he said, “I will take you.”

You almost gave away your relief with a sharp exhale.

~~

Though the witcher was a man of few words, you found you were able to read more from his face and the set of his shoulders than from anything he said. His silences were full of information, though you couldn’t be sure of what exactly. You merely knew that he radiated safety as much as he did danger.

“Do you know many princesses?” you asked him.

He grunted.

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“I know one or two,” he said. “But none like you.”

You frowned, glancing down at your soiled dress. “Yes, I suppose I’m nothing like one. The people will be overjoyed with a farmer’s daughter.” You snorted.

“I think they could use one.”

Frowning, you glanced up at him. He didn’t quite smile, but the glower on his face had shifted into something softer.

“Well, when I am princess,” you said, “I will remember at least one person believes me suited for the job. That’s all that matters.”

A faint smile touched the witcher’s lips. You matched it with a slow smile of your own.

[ms-rampage]

Eden’s Gate: The Mother Chapter 6 - The Mother of Eden’s Gate

Warnings: light swearing

Word count: 1.6k

Where it all began. 

Summary: Mandy has claimed the role as The Mother of Eden’s Gate. Archangel Raphael forbids her from speaking about her position to the locals.

Guest OCs: Barbara Teller (FC: Katey Segal), Sheriff Hayward (FC: Ryan Hurst), 

Guest Characters: Archangel Raphael (Supernatural), God/Chuck [mentioned], Adelaide Drubman 

Note: This takes place in 2012. Also this chapter is gonna be a short one.

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

A few days after her atonement, and giving John the loving care that he clearly needed. 

Mandy is now the Mother of Eden’s Gate.

All she has to do now is claim the name in some ceremony at Joseph’s church in a few hours.

Sitting her truck outside of Eden’s Gate Outreach Center in the Henbane River, with her eyes closed.

The sound of wings fluttering next to her in the passenger seat makes her open her eyes, and sees Raphael, looking straight forward.

"You know what to do” he says, looking forward.

“Yep” she replies, closing her eyes again.

“When do you claim the name?” he asks, still not looking at her. 

“In a few hours” she answers, opening her eyes again.

He looks over at her, “Remember what I’ve been telling you. You can’t change anything that they do. Your purpose is to be a guide to them, and that’s it. Nothing more.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know the plan” she says, crossing her arms.

“Good. I will see you again once you’ve claimed the name” he tells her before disappearing. 

She sighs loudly, and starts up her truck. Driving down the fenced road to the church.

Once she gets onto the compound, many of Joseph’s followers are setting up some decorations at the church as well as the whole property. 

She goes inside her shared home with Joseph, and once again doesn’t see him inside. 

Walking into the bedroom, and sees another white dress on the bed, similar to the one she wore for her cleansing, along with a flower crown, and a bouquet of Bliss flowers. A letter from Joseph wrote to Mandy, she grabs it, unfolds it and reads it. 

“To my beloved Amanda.

Today on March 12, we will declare our love, our devotion to each other.

You will claim your role as The Mother, as my other half, as my wife.”

Mandy nearly chokes on her own breath reading that last part. She continues reading his letter to her. 

“We will walk to the gates of Eden together. We will grow old together, die together. Our families being together. We will be together until the end. This will be our marriage officiated by God, witnessed by our family, and our Children, our followers, our flock.

I will show my love for you. How important you are to me. How important you are to our Children”. 

Mandy folds the letter, placing it on the nightstand by the bed.

Feeling a mixture of emotions. Not sure if she’s feeling sick, or if she’s hungry.

What the fuck did Raphael get her into?!. What the fuck did Chuck get her into?!?. Why did she agree to do this shit?!?.

She could’ve been searching for that demon fucker that killed Joel. This life never makes any sense sometimes. 

We’re gonna hunt some demons. Okay awesome. We’re gonna go gank a nest of vampires. Awesome!. You have to give yourself up to a religious Cult leader, and be his wife because God wants you to do it for the sake of humanity, and everyone will think you’re crazy!!. What the actual fuck?!?.

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

A few hours have passed, and it's time for the ceremony.

Mandy slipped into her dress for the ceremony, putting the flower crown on her head.

Faith stopped by, and helped her get dressed. Fixing her hair, making her look beautiful for Joseph, and the part as The Mother. 

“You look so beautiful” Faith says, with a huge, sweet smile on her face.

“Thank you” Mandy replies, with a smile of her own. 

15 minutes later Mandy along with Faith and another female Cultist step out of the house, and walk towards the church. A bouquet of bliss flowers in hand. 

Decorations, flower petals, and candles leading a path to the white church doors.

The early evening sky, a reddish orange with purplish gray clouds.

Soft gospel music playing over some speakers. 

She walks the path with Faith on her right, and the female cultist on her left.

A couple of male peggies open the two white doors leading inside.

It’s dark inside, the only source of light being the candles that are lighting up the path.

Joseph standing center of the small stage. His hands crossed over one another as he watches Mandy walk down the aisle. 

Feeling like her stomach is getting tied into a knot. Her hands start to get clammy, and shaky. 

Taking a deep breath to calm herself down. 

“Who's officiating this?!?!” she asks herself in her head.

Joseph takes a step forward, and reaches out to grab her hand, she reaches out and he brings her closer to him.

Taking her hands in his. 

So this would be Mandy’s 2nd marriage?. If this counts as a wedding. 

He looks her in the eyes, even with the sunglasses it’s an intense stare, like he was looking into her soul. Into her mind, and listening to her thoughts. Every single word. 

Time feels like it has stopped, they both stare into each other's eyes.

John then speaks up, since he had Mandy reach atonement, and confess. Joseph chose his younger brother to officiate this “marriage”, and Joseph to give her The Mother name. 

“Today, we will witness the amalgamation of Amanda Campbell, and Joseph Seed. These two will be unification, and will lead us to the New World. They will stand together as husband and wife. The Father and The Mother. They will spend life together, die together or until death do they part”.

Joseph speaks his “vow” to Mandy, “Amanda my love, God told me about your forthcoming and he showed me your face. I knew we were meant to be together. He chose you to be my other half, to guide me, to guide our family to the New World. To be my wife, all I ever wanted was a family, and he brought you here. This is all I want between us, I want to show you how much I love you”.

He finishes his vow, and Mandy, who didn’t write, or even come up with one starts to think about all the shit she went through with Raphael, and all the stuff he told her to do. 

“Go along with it” she hears the Archangel’s voice tell her.

He appears behind Joseph, and no one else can see him, only her.

Stammering a bit, but she manages to make her words clear, and presentable.

“Joseph, a part of me told me to come here to Hope County. I didn’t know why. My gut told me that I had to come here. I’m glad that I did, I needed to know my purpose. I needed to find my reason, and then I met you. I knew when I first met you. You were, and still are my reason, my purpose to be here.”.

They finish their vows, and wrap up the whole “wedding” ceremony.

Joseph, and Mandy are now “married”. 

This was something she didn’t plan on.

Later that day, when Mandy was able to get some alone time away from her new family. 

“This is Barbara Teller leave a message and I’ll get back to you” -beep-

“Hey Barb it’s me Mandy. Call me back as soon as you can. It’s very important. Hope to hear from you. Bye”.

She hangs up her phone, standing by the water near the Drubman Marina. 

Waiting for Raphael to show himself to her, like he has done several million times in the past. 

Getting tired of waiting for the Archangel, she walks back to her truck, and runs into a new, friendly face. 

As she walks back to her truck, she sees a blonde woman, probably older than her cleaning a helicopter. 

“Nice chopper” she compliments the flying vehicle.

She turns around to look at her, “Thanks honey” she says with a Southern like accent. 

“This is my beautiful girl Tulip. My prized possession chopper”.

Mandy looks at the chopper, “She’s a very nice one”.

“Yep, she sure is” Addie says, she looks over at Mandy and says, “You’re the one that Joseph Seed married aren’t ya?”.

She awkwardly clears her throat, stammering a bit “Uhh yeah. Yeah, umm how- how do you know about that?”.

Addie chuckles, “Word gets around sweetheart. Peggies talking about it all the time. It's something they always think and talk about. The Mother this, The Mother that.” 

She lets out a soft sigh, and introduces herself.

“I’m Adelaide Drubman, by the way”.

“I’m Mandy short for Amanda. Campbell is the last name”.

They continue their small conversation when a Hope County jail truck pulls up the road near the Marina.

A youngish looking man in a Sheriff’s uniform steps out of the vehicle, and approaches the two women.

“Well, well, well. Hello Sheriff Hayward” Addie says in a seducing tone.

“Evening ladies” he greets them, he points to Mandy, “You must be Amanda Campbell”.

She nods her head, narrowing her eyes at him “Yeah that’s me”.

“You’re gonna have to come down to the jail with me” he tells her.

She looks over at Adelaide with slight confusion, then back to the Sheriff. 

“Umm why do you need me to go down to the station with you?!”.

He clears his throat, “We just need to ask you some questions”.

“Umm, okay. Yeah sure” she says, still confused.

He motions her towards the truck with his arm out. 

She walks towards it, and gets inside. Sitting in the front passenger seat.

“I’ll see ya around sweetheart” Addie calls out to Mandy, and they drive off to the jail.

[jeff-kamikow]

Florida’s Wild and Wonderful Marine Animals By Jeff Kamikow

When most people think of Florida, marine life may not be the first thing that comes to mind. For quite some time, the Sunshine State has been recognized as an ideal getaway location, with its beautiful white sandy beaches, luxurious resorts, and exhilarating nightlife. Every year, millions of tourists make their way here to escape the cold and harsh weather conditions and soak up the sun. Along with these vacationers, Florida is also the perfect destination for avid divers and marine life enthusiasts alike, due to its incredibly diverse underwater ecosystems, teeming with colourful and unique aquatic flora and fauna. Here are a few of the spectacular animals that call Florida’s warm ocean waters home!

Manatee

In the days of Columbus and the first European explorers to reach North America, tales of mermaids in the turquoise waters of the Carribean Sea were not uncommon. Today we can safely assume that these large gentle aquatic mammals described by explorers were none other than manatees, or sea cows. These kelpgrazing giants have long been shrouded in lore by locals who have been lucky enough to catch a glimpse of them while out on the waters.

The manatee is a protected animal in the state of Florida, facing many threats attributed to humans. Collision with water craft is one of the main causes of manatee deaths, along with habitat loss . A gentle giant, the manatee spends most of its time grazing and traveling, typically moving at speeds of only five miles per hour. They are mostly spotted during the winter months.

Barracuda

Among the fearsome predators that call Florida’s coastal waters home, the barracuda is illusive, fast, and a ruthless killer. There are many subspecies of barracudas recognized throughout the world. In Florida, the largest species of barracuda, the Great Barracuda, can exceed lengths of over nine feet and weigh a whopping one hundred pounds.

The barracuda targets an array of marine wildlife as a food source, including large mammals, like dolphins. While barracuda attacks are rare, these fearsome predators will target humans they mistake as prey and are attracted to shiny objects. While a barracuda attack is unlikely life threatening, their rows of razor sharp teeth can cause serious lacerations to human flesh and bites likely require medical attention immediately. The barracuda is also a popular target among sports fishermen. Other fisherman have occasionally, unexpectedly pulled in barracudas from the inter-coastal waters in south Florida.

Lion-fish

Also known as the zebrafish due to its striped black and white appearance, the lion-fish has made a name for itself as a destructive, dangerous, and invasive animal. Despite its small stature and non-menacing appearance, the lion-fish has become a worrying presence in many of the world’s oceans, including the Atlantic. These fish are apex predators that will eat just about anything that can fit in their mouths. Between 2004 and 2008, the lion-fish population was estimated to have grown by 700% in the Atlantic Ocean.

On top of being an apex predator and reproducing at an alarming rate, the lion-fish is also venomous, armed with incredibly potent barbs that pose a threat to divers and fishermen. While this venom is not considered lethal to a healthy adult, more vulnerable demographics are at risk of succumbing to it. Today, conservationists and marine biologists are doing their part to slow the lion-fish invasion, often killing or removing any lion-fish they encounter.

American Crocodile

The illusive cousin of the American alligator, the American crocodile has faced many conservation threats over the last few decades, including habitat destruction and interactions with invasive species. Unlike its freshwater dwelling cousin, the American crocodile prefers waters with higher salinity levels, including mangrove swamps and lagoons. It has special glands that allow it to thrive in saltwater.

Though easily mistaken for an American alligator, this animal is distinguishable by its narrower snout and lighter coloration. While the American alligator is abundant throughout the state of Florida, the American crocodile has a ‘vulnerable’ status, as listed by the IUCN. This is due mainly to habitat destruction. On top of this, invasive reptiles such as the Tegu, frequently target crocodile eggs as a sufficient food source. This has also played a role in this animal’s diminished population.

Sailfish

This large fish has earned the title of being the State Fish of Florida and is also the fastest form of marine life, traveling at times in bursts of up to eighty miles per hour. It gets its name due to the large sail-like fin running down its back, which retracts while the fish is swimming. Another distinguishable feature is its long spear-like nose, similar to its marlin and swordfish cousins.

The sailfish can grow to lengths of up to ten feet and weigh in at an astounding two hundred pounds. Their hunting strategy is unique - and also brutal - with the fish cornering their prey with their bills and repeatedly slashing or ‘tapping’ prey until they are heavily wounded and incapacitated. It is also reported that these fish can actually change their color in the blink of an eye, as a tactic to disorient their prey. The sailfish is also a popular target for sports fishermen, since it is such a large and desirable catch.

While there are many spots around the globe where avid divers can view colorful marine life, there are few places as biodiverse, as captivating, or as magical as the coastal waters of Florida. Once you’ve had an in depth look at the vibrant coral reefs and the wondrous fish and marine animals that inhabit them, you’ll be sure to leave with a new found appreciation and love for this place.

[back-and-totheleft]

‘There’s still a presence out there reminding people not to speak about JFK’s killing’

Oliver Stone is not a fan of “cancel culture”. “Of course I despise it,” the Oscar winning filmmaker says, as if utterly amazed that anyone needs to ask him such a dumb question. “I am sure I’ve been cancelled by some people for all the comments I’ve made…. it’s like a witch hunt. It’s terrible. American censorship in general, because it is a declining, defensive, empire, it (America) has become very sensitive to any criticism. What is going on in the world with YouTube and social media,” he rants. “Twitter is the worst. They’ve banned the ex-President of the United States. It’s shocking!” he says, referring to Donald Trump’s removal from the micro-blogging platform.

It’s a Saturday lunchtime in the restaurant of the Marriott Hotel on the Croisette in Cannes. The American director is in town for the festival premiere this week of his new feature documentary JFK Revisited: Through the Looking Glass, in which he yet again pores over President John F Kennedy’s assassination in November 1963.

“I am a pin cushion for American-Russian peace relations… I had four f***ing vaccines: two Sputniks and two Pfizers,” Stone gestures at his arm. The rival super-powers may remain deeply suspicious of one another, but Stone is loading himself up with potions from both sides of the old Iron Curtain.

He has recently been travelling in Russia (hence the Sputnik jabs) where he has been making a new documentary about how nuclear power can save humanity. He also recently completed a film about Kazakhstan’s former president Nursultan Nazarbayev which – like his interviews with Vladimir Putin – has been roundly ridiculed for its deferential, softly-softly approach toward a figure widely regarded as a ruthless despot.

Dressed in a blue polo shirt, riffing away about the English football team one moment and his favourite movies the next, laughing constantly, the 74-year-old Oscar-winning director of Platoon, Wall Street, Natural Born Killers et al is a far cheerier presence than his reputation as a purveyor of dark conspiracy thrillers might suggest. He is also very outspoken. For all his belligerence, though, Stone isn’t as thick-skinned as you might imagine. I wonder if he was hurt by the scorn that came his way when his feature film JFK was released in 1991.

“I was more of a younger man. It was painful to me,” the director sighs as he remembers being attacked by such admired figures as newscaster Walter Cronkite and Hollywood power broker Jack Valenti for listening to the “hallucinatory bleatings” of former New Orleans DA Jim Garrison when JFK came out. “It was quite shocking actually because I thought the murder was behind us. I did think there was a feeling that 30 years later, we can look at this thing again without getting excited. But I was way wrong.”

Garrison, of course, was the real-life figure portrayed by Kevin Costner in the film; he was the original proponent of the theory that the CIA were involved in the killing of the US president, after his 1966 investigation. Garrison wrote the book On the Trail of the Assassins, on which the movie was partly based.

Even the director’s fiercest detractors will find it hard to dismiss the evidence he has assembled about the JFK assassination in the new documentary. Once I’d seen it and heard him hold forth, I came away thinking that only flat-earthers can possibly still believe that Lee Harvey Oswald shot President Kennedy all on his own. It’s that convincing.

Stone blitzes you with facts and figures about the Kennedy killing and its aftermath. At times, he himself seems to be suffering from information overload. “I am sorry. There are so many people,” he apologises for not immediately remembering the name of Kennedy’s personal physician, George Burkley, who was present both at Parkland Hospital, where Kennedy was first taken, and then at Bethesda, where the autopsy took place. Burkley was strangely reticent when giving evidence to the Warren Commission.

“I think there’s still a presence out there which reminds people not to speak. I’ve heard that in, of all places, Russia,” Stone says. He was startled to discover that the Russians knew all about his new documentary long before it was discussed in the mainstream press. “They said, ‘We heard about it.�� I said, ‘How?’ They said, ‘We have our contacts in the American intelligence business. They are not very happy about it.’”

Stone believes that no US president since Kennedy died has been “able to go up against this militarised sector of our economy”. Even Trump “backed down at the last second” and declined to release all the relevant documents relating to the assassination. “He announced, ‘I’m going to free it up, blah blah blah, big talk, and then a few hours before, he caved to CIA National Security again.”

The veteran filmmaker expresses his frustrations at historians like Robert Caro, author of a huge (and hugely respected) multi-volume biography of President Lyndon Johnson, for ignoring the evidence that has been turned up about the assassination.

“I can’t say [LBJ] was involved in the assassination,” explains Stone, “but it certainly suited him that Kennedy was not there anymore and he covered up by appointing the Warren Commission and doing all the things he did.”

Stone tried to cast Marlon Brando in JFK in the role as the deep throat source Mr X, eventually played by Donald Sutherland.

“I realise now I am grateful that he turned it down because he knew better than I that he would make 20 minutes out of that 14-minute monologue and it wouldn’t have worked.”

Nevertheless, he filled the film with famous faces. He thought that having familiar actors would make it easier for audiences to engage with what was an immensely complicated story.

Getting Stone to stop talking about JFK is like trying to pull a bone from a mastiff’s jaws. To change the subject slightly, I ask if he is still in touch with WikiLeaks founder Julian Assange. He is and is utterly horrified at how Assange is being treated, especially given that Siggi the Hacker, a key witness in the extradition case against Assange, admitted recently that he lied. Stone praises Assange’s partner Stella Morris as “the best wife you could ever have. She really is smart, she’s a lawyer … he has two children. He can’t even touch them or see them. It’s barbaric. It indicates America is declining faster than we know. It is just cutting off dissent.”

The mood lightens when I invite Stone to discuss some of his favourite films. He recently tweeted a list of these, which included Darling starring Julie Christie, Joseph Losey’s Eva starring Stanley Baker and Jeanne Moreau, and Houseboat, a frothy comedy starring Cary Grant and Sophia Loren. “I love films, always have. People don’t know that side of me. I could go on forever.”

Between his darker and more contentious efforts, Stone has made a few genre films himself, for example the underrated thriller U-Turn starring Sean Penn and Jennifer Lopez. He notes, though, that even when he tried a sports movie, he ended up right back in the firing line. The NFL was furious about his 1999 American Football film, Any Given Sunday. “They (the NFL) are arrogant, very rich people who close down any dissent, so I had to change uniforms and names… but they got the point.”

Last year, Stone published the first volume of his autobiography, Chasing the Light, which took him from childhood up to his Oscar triumph with Platoon. It was well received but it didn’t make nearly a big enough splash for his liking. “There was a curtain of silence about that. Maybe it is Covid… it was not reviewed by many people,” he says. “I wish the timing had been better. The publisher was terrible. They didn’t really promote anything. So now I have to start over again if I am going to do a second book, which I would love to do. But I have to find the right publisher.”

The book contains a barbed account of Stone’s experiences as a young screenwriter working in London for British director Alan Parker and producer David Puttnam on Midnight Express. “I wrote about it in the book, so you got my point of view. They were not very friendly people. I gave my criticism of Parker that he had a chip on his shoulder. He was from a poor side of the English. There is this phenomenon you see in England of hating the upper classes until they approve of you.”

No, they didn’t stay in touch. “And Puttnam is a Lord, right? He reminds me of Tony Blair. He is such a weasel.” For once, Stone feels he has overstepped the mark. He doesn’t want to call Puttnam a weasel after all. “Put it this way, Tony Blair is a weasel. I wouldn’t trust Tony Blair. Puttnam is a supporter of Blair. Let’s leave it at that.”

On matters English, he isn’t that keen on soccer either. He watched the semi-final between England and Denmark but had no intention of tuning into the final.

“Soccer is a different kind of game. It’s a different aesthetic. It is constant movement. The United States game allows you to re-group after every play and go into a huddle and so it becomes about strategy. I still enjoy it although people think I am brutal.”

Ask him why he so relishes American Football and he replies that he “grew up with violence in America … we were banging – cowboys and Indians, a lot of killing and that stuff. How do you get away from that? We weren’t playing with dolls.”

Stone’s feelings about the US are deeply ambivalent. He is old enough to remember a time in the late 1940s and early 1950s when “everything in America was golden” and part of him still seems to love the country but his mother was French and he talks about the US as a nation now in near terminal decline.

Perhaps surprisingly, his real political hero isn’t JFK. It’s the former President of France, Charles de Gaulle. “He said no to NATO and he said no to America. He understood the dangers of being a satellite country to America. You have no power in Europe. Don’t kid yourself. The EU is just an artificial body that was amazingly stupid in cutting off Russia and cutting off China too now.”

He doesn’t much like Boris Johnson either. “Boris, listen. He’d simply throw you in jail in a second.” He rails against the English for holding Assange in Belmarsh prison.

When he is not on a crusade or unravelling a conspiracy, Stone relaxes through Buddhist meditation. “Moderation in all things,” the man who came up with the phrase “greed is right, greed works” says with no evident sense of irony. He enjoys hanging out with his friends. “I have a nice life. I’m lucky,” he says before quickly adding, “I wish I had been more honoured and respected in my lifetime, but it seems that I took a course that is in conflict with the American Empire.”

Stone’s films have had relatively few strong female characters. Ask if he welcomes the #MeToo movement and the challenging of old gender norms and he gives a typically contrary answer. “It cuts both ways, though. There are reasons for patriarchy through the centuries,” he says. “Tribes tend to have a strong leader. You need strong leaders, but I do see the feminine impulse as being important, especially when situations become too militant. The feminine impulse, I’m talking about the maternal impulse not the Hillary Clinton/Margaret Thatcher version of feminism. They’re men. They’re not women,” he says. “I don’t want women in politics who want to be men. If a woman is a woman, she should be a woman and bring her maternalism. It’s a leavening influence.”

The director deplores the rush to judge historical figures about past misdeeds from a contemporary point of view. “I am conservative in that way… don’t expect to rejudge the entire society based on your new values.”

He met with Harvey Weinstein in Cannes a few years ago to discuss a potential Guantanamo Bay TV series. “At that point, maybe he knew he was on the ropes; he was delightfully charming and humble.” The project was scuppered by the scandal that that engulfed the former Miramax boss, who is now behind bars as a convicted sex offender. Stone’s gripes with Weinstein are less to do with his sexual offences than with the way that he attacked films like Born on the Fourth of July and Saving Private Ryan to boost his own movies.

“The press loved him [Weinstein]. Don’t forget, they loved him in the 1990s,” he says, remembering the disingenuous way in which Weinstein portrayed himself as the underdog taking on the big, bad Hollywood system.

“I think he robbed Cruise of the Oscar, frankly,” Stone huffs at the intensive Weinstein lobbying which saw Daniel Day-Lewis win the Academy Award for Best for My Left Foot, denying Tom Cruise for Born on the Fourth of July in the process.

Stone acknowledges his status in Hollywood has diminished. “All that’s gone. The people have changed,” he says of the days when the studios doted on him and his films were regularly awards contenders. Now, he’ll often finance his work out of Europe. He is developing a new feature film (he won’t say what it is). “Never say die, never say it’s over,” he says of his career.

Stone is based in Los Angeles and also has “a place in New York”. During the pandemic, he still managed to travel to Russia to make his nuclear power/clean energy documentary. “I got my shots over there because the EU is so f***ing stupid,” he says of the of the Europeans’ refusal to recognise the Sputnik vaccine. “It’s ridiculous, part of the political madness of this time.”

Now, he is putting all his energy into his new documentary about nuclear power. He waves away the idea that the Chernobyl and Fukushima disasters show what can go wrong – they were accidents.

“Accidents you learn from. If there were not a few crashes, how would you fly?” he says. It’s a line that somehow seems to express his entire philosophy of life.

-Geoffrey Macnab interviews Oliver Stone, The Independent, Jul 15 2021 [x]

[thenexusofsouls]

Muse: “Priestess”/Esther Sun

[Bio and other information below the cut!]

Type of Character & Fandom/Source Material: Canon character from the movie Priest (2011)

FC: Maggie Q as “Priestess” in Priest

Race: Human (Priest genetic variant)

Age: 32

Sexual/Romantic Orientation: Heteroromantic/heterosexual, but is under a vow of celibacy

Family: Parents and a younger sister she hasn’t seen since she was eight years old

Occupation: A Priest, which is basically a religiously-oriented, specialized soldier with supernatural abilities trained to hunt and kill the creatures known as vampires

Potentially Triggering Material in Threads: Violence; blood; death; grief; forced service; PTSD; trauma-induced nightmares; war-related trauma 

Negative Personality Traits: She can be cold and stoic, and sometimes comes across as cruel, only because she’s very practical and doesn’t sugar coat things

Positive Personality Traits: She’s brave and selfless, and is more compassionate and empathetic than she lets on

Background, Unique to Esther: Esther was taken from her family by the Church at the age of eight and forced to train as a Priest. Basically, Priests/Priestesses make themselves apparent by their supernatural abilities, which can manifest either early or later in life. Usually the first signs that one has the potential to become a Priest is heightened senses/awareness, improved reflexes, sometimes faster healing, and heightened strength. Esther displayed these at a very young age and was taken as soon as the Church noticed. She was forced to forget her family and her identity, no longer being permitted to call herself by her name, but only by “Priestess.” The only one she has shared her real name with is Ivan, a fellow Priest in her same hunting party. Hunting parties were decided by the Church and usually were comprised of Priests of varying skills to make the party most effective. Esther’s skills are with the blade rope, a long, barbed, whip-like rose with a larger blade on the end of it that can be used like a whip, a tripwire, a bolo, or a sword, depending on how she wields it.

Background, Shared With Ivan: Priests were noticed by the Church and recruited to fight against the “vampires,” which, unlike traditional vampires who are “sparkly” or romanticized version of humans, were more feral, animal-like creatures with no eyes that hunt by smell and heat signatures. They’re not sexy emo men, they’re a different species entirely. They’re brutal, savage hunters with a queen overseeing them all. They kill and eat humans, but sometimes they make familiars (when a vampire makes you drink their blood instead of the other way around) that are tied to the vampires that made them. Unlike the vampires, who burn up in the sun, their familiars can be out in the daytime and thus can protect their master’s coffin or get valuable information for him/her on where food might be located at night.

There was at some point a great war between humans and vampires, and the humans won, only by virtue of the Priests, which are unbeknownst to most of them, genetic variants that are more highly evolved than humans. These natural variants that have occurred over time have better skills, faster healing, and supernatural abilities over and above regular humans. The Church  controls the Priests’ “Order” and issues them commands based on their agenda. Because the Priest genetic variation is hereditary, all Priests are forced to take a vow of celibacy upon induction into the Order. The Church tells them this is necessary for them to eliminate distractions and dedicate the whole of their lives to the service of the Church and the protection of mankind. In actuality, the Church does not want them breeding, growing in numbers, and perhaps rising to defy them, so they enforce the vow of celibacy to limit their reproductive capabilities. 

After the war ended, the remaining vampires were placed on reservations where they were restricted to a certain area. Humans lived in protected cities where the Church’s influence is strong, but some humans lived in towns far away from the cities to live by their own rules and not be under thee Church’s thumb. Some people even live out on the Fringes, the barren deserts with contaminated soil from radioactive weapons of old that span the landscape between the cities and towns. The Priests were disbanded and expected to integrate back into regular society. Because of the horrors of the war and the forced nature of their service, and because many Priests were taken as children, war was the only thing many of them knew. Being a soldier was the only skillset they had. To suddenly be expected to get mundane jobs in waste management or public service was an unrealistic expectation at best. Many of them fell into a deep depression while others became angry. Still others tried their best to integrate but were turned away by many employers because they had “no applicable skills.” It was as if society was just throwing them away, even though mankind had literally be saved by them. It was crushing and infuriating for both Ivan and Esther to navigate civilian life with little to no support. On top of that, Priests were seen as frightening figures in society. Most people shun them, mothers pull their children away from them, and in some ways, they’re seen as monsters just the same as the vampires are.

When Ivan went against the Church who wanted to keep the Priests out of commission and decided to go after his kidnapped daughter, Esther was reinstated by the Church along with a few other former Priests to hunt Ivan down. Instead of hunting him to capture or kill him, however, she warned him and then joined his cause. After Lucy was rescued, Jacob/Black Hat had gone missing, and the Church’s denial about the existence of free vampires attempting to invade the cities was exposed, Ivan and Esther went rogue permanently to try and figure out what the vampires’ plan was... and hopefully to bring other former Priests over to their cause.

Contemporary Verse: I could see the Priests being a division of the CIA, FBI, or in a Marvel Verse maybe S.H.I.E.L.D. or S.W.O.R.D., to fight vampires, creatures like them, or other supernatural or alien threats. They would be much like the Avengers, in that they would be specialized soldiers deployed to stop supernatural, high-tech, or not well understood threats to earth or mankind. I probably wouldn’t hold them to the vow of celibacy, but if possible I would want to keep them rather corruptly run, as it fits with how they’re deployed and managed.

Potential Starter Ideas:

In her canon world, Esther could rescue your muse from vampires, or you could team up with her to fight/track them. 

In a contemporary verse, she would be good as a hired or assigned supportive agent/hunter/etc. on missions of all sorts. Maybe even law enforcement or FBI-associated, something like that.

There are a lot of other slice of life things I’m sure we could figure out, depending on your muse.

Fun facts: 

Esther has been in love with Ivan for years, but believes he has never felt the same. She respects his adherence to their vows as Priests, even if they break her heart.

She had a friend and fellow Priest named Jacob who became the only human vampire in existence after drinking the queen’s blood.

She secretly believes there is a way to cure the familiar condition, but has never had enough time to properly research it.

[gffa]

Star Wars - Dooku: Jedi Lost by Cavan Scot There’s a fascinating thing going on with Dooku: Jedi Lost that’s not remarked on directly, but is surprisingly consistently shown--that half-trained Force users are legitimately dangerous to themselves and others more than we might think, that exposure to the dark side of the Force (whether from within themselves or from an external source) can be disastrous if they don’t have the experience to control themselves. --> It starts when Dooku feels a tug through the Force, to find his biological sister Jenza and they tour through the Serenno Assembly Hall together, when he’s drawn to one of the sculptures, the connection he makes with it tears through his mind, the Tirra’Taka growling and he can’t look away from it, doesn’t even seem to hear Jenza when she calls for him not to touch it. But he does and the entire Assembly Hall collapses on them, trapping them underneath the rubble.  Whatever was calling to him through the Force, he wasn’t trained enough yet to deal with it and he and Jenza are both badly hurt and need to be rescued.  It tore through his head and made him scream in pain, not from the collapsing hall, but having that thing in his mind. --> Later, Dooku and Sifo-Dyas sneak into the Bogan Collection in the Jedi Temple, because they’re curious (and Lene Kostana tempted them into it, by leaving a few pages of a Sith bestiary out for them) and Dooku is drawn to a particular object, he’s fascinated by it.  Another roar starts up in his head and he sees the Tirra’Taka again, this time not just in his head, but in front of him. In panic, he flings outward with the Force, shattering every cabinet in the room and knocking Sifo-Dyas into a wall of artifacts hard enough that his arm is broken. --> After that, Dooku is convinced that Lene Kostana is actually a Sith herself and goes to confront her.  She dances around the subject, throwing out deliberate mild barbs and he can feel the dark side roiling off her.  So he rushes at her, lightsaber drawn and she continues teasing him, testing him, taunting him a little. Then his attacks turns serious, he gets swept up in the furious rush of it, and she says, okay, that’s enough, let’s calm down.  But he can’t stop, not until Yoda’s forced to intervene, and when things calm down, Dooku realizes the darkness he felt wasn’t in her, it was in him.  He'd been so turned around by that anger and darkness, so frenzied by that darkness, that he couldn’t tell what was real in those moments. --> Awhile later, after Dooku attends his biological mother’s funeral on Serenno, it basically all goes pear-shaped and he’s deeply upset by it and Jenza’s rejection of him at the time.  Because of this instability, when he and Lene and Sifo-Dyas continue their mission, he kills an entire group of smugglers in a rage, so deeply affected by the dark side on the planet that even Lene worries that he’s going to turn his blade on her, too.  Dooku, relating this in the holo-entry says, "Perhaps I would have, blinded by emotions I could barely control, emotions she had stirred by bringing me to Asusto.” --> Then they’re then trapped in a special moss that that bombards them with mental images of war and fighting and the return of the Sith, all of this done so a weird cult can use them to generate visions of the future.  This torture caused Dooku to lash out with Force lightning to kill them, which further slid him down a dark path.  Because the Jedi Council would not approve of Lene exposing the Padawans to the dark side, she insists that they keep this all a secret and instead of dealing with it properly, she teaches them an ancient ritual that uses soaked bindings to help infuse them with the light side. --> Once Sifo-Dyas is Knighted, Lene continues to work with him because his visions are so severe that he still needs help, the burden of them so great that it’s caused him to develop a stutter.  Still, Lene keeps taking him out to help her look for Sith artifacts that are out there in the galaxy that she wants to hunt down, because she’s convinced the artifacts are the key to telling if the Sith have returned or not. Ultimately, the missions that Lene was taking him on, the visions that she was encouraging behind the backs of the Council (whom she hid them from) and the missions he was in the middle of cause him to have a vision so strong that he writhes on the ground and his sanity fractures, damaging him even further beyond repair, it seems. All of these together, in just the one book, paint an incredibly clear picture of how the dark side affects Force-sensitives, how it takes so much discipline, an entire lifetime of it, to be able to handle it.  That if users aren’t properly trained and take incredible care, they can end up hurting themselves and others, sometimes in ways that can’t be fixed. The Force is vast and mysterious and brilliant and wonderful and amazing and connection, but it’s also unfathomable and endless and dangerous if you push too far or get drawn into something you don’t have a lifetime of training to handle. This is why a Jedi needs the most serious of minds to commit to this--because the Force can and will wreck you if you’re not incredibly careful.  It thoroughly wrecks Sifo-Dyas in this book.  It sinks its claws into Dooku, who cannot move beyond it and we all know his fate. This is why the Jedi are so damned careful about the dark side--not that you can’t show darker emotions, because they did that all the time, but that you cannot just let them run wild in you--because we are given an entire series of events in this book that show us exactly how much damage the dark side can do and it’s really bad.  It doesn’t mean that every single one who uses the dark side, who acts out of anger, will automatically be driven down that path, the Jedi would never have kept Anakin Skywalker around if that that were the case, because he acted out of anger a lot.  And he was told to learn to control himself better, because it’s about disciplining yourself to turn away from the dark, as George Lucas says about how the Force works.  The Jedi know that it’s part of everyone (they teach it to their children in the creche, as Qui-Gon says).  The Jedi knew that of course it was possible to come back from the dark side, that’s why they help Quinlan and Prosset. But it does mean that the Jedi are absolutely right that the dark side is dangerous and, once it starts getting its hooks in you, it’s something you have to watch out for always.  That it’s a lifelong challenge not to go down that road, to discipline yourself away from it. Not just because that’s a good lesson for all of us, according to the narrative themes of Star Wars, but because Dooku: Jedi Lost shows us multiple instances of how the danger level of that lack of control SKYROCKETS in Force-users.  It causes visions to appear before them.  It makes them doubt their psychic senses.  They can’t tell if it’s the other person’s anger or their own.  Those feelings linger with them and swoop around their heads until they’re lashing out because of the psychic empathic overload, sometimes killing people in that rage that’s shrieking in their heads.  Dooku is frequently in screaming pain from the dark side invading him, because that’s what the dark side does. TL;DR:  THE DARK SIDE IS REALLY DANGEROUS AND WILL WRECK YOU IF YOU DON’T HAVE YOUR SHIT TOGETHER.  HALF-TRAINED FORCE USERS WHO DO NOT HAVE THE LEVEL OF MASTERY OVER THEMSELVES ARE SUPER SUSCEPTIBLE TO THIS AND CAN GET REALLY, REALLY HURT.  AND DO GET REALLY HURT. (Quotes from Dooku: Jedi Lost for context under the Keep Reading!)

Dooku and Jenza in the Serenno Assembly Hall:

     JENZA: (EMBARRASSED) We should probably get back. We’re not even supposed to be in here. (BEAT) Dooku?      DOOKU: (NARRATION) A carving had caught my attention—an immense beast, larger than any malosaur, crawling up toward the domed ceiling. The creature’s crested head was thrown back, jaw stretched wide, roaring at the stars that were painted across the apex. Spines ridged its powerful back, wings spread wide as if ready to take flight.      And then there were its eyes…eyes, though fashioned in stone, that burned with an intensity that was all too familiar…      DOOKU: What is that?      JENZA: The Tirra’Taka? Just another legend. “The dragon that holds the world together…”      DOOKU: It’s beautiful.      DOOKU: (NARRATION) I couldn’t look away, walking toward the sculpture as if in a trance. It looked so alive, so vibrant, as if any minute it could spring from the wall to crash through the columns that held the domed roof in place.      I could feel the creature’s heart beating in my own chest, its roar echoing at the back of my mind…      We also hear the roar of the Tirra’Taka. It’s distorted, low, rising in volume beneath the following exchange.      JENZA: Dooku, what are you doing? Don’t—don’t touch it, okay? It’s supposed to be bad luck.      DOOKU: So beautiful.     The ground shakes, dust falling from above.     DOOKU: (NARRATION) I barely even noticed the ground shifting beneath our feet, flakes of paint falling from the ceiling high above…     JENZA: What was that?     DOOKU: (WHISPER) Tirra’Taka…     JENZA: Dooku—don’t!     DOOKU: (NARRATION) My fingers brushed the stone…and the world was torn apart…     A groundquake hits, shaking the foundations of the assembly hall.     JENZA: What did you do?     DOOKU: (NARRATION) I snapped from my reverie, cracks snaking across the polished marble before us.     DOOKU: Me? Nothing? What’s happening?     Another rumble, stronger this time.     JENZA: It’s a groundquake.     DOOKU: (NARRATION) But it wasn’t the scrape of tectonic plates that caused me to clasp my head in pain, but an impossible bellow slicing through my mind as easily as plasma carves through flesh…     The beast roars in his head.     DOOKU: (SCREAMS IN PAIN)     JENZA: Dooku!     DOOKU: So loud.     Another roar. More rumbles.     DOOKU: I can’t—(SCREAM)     The full force of the groundquake hits, the walls cracking.     JENZA:We need to get outside!     Masonry tumbles from the domed ceiling, crashing to the ground nearby. All the time, the monster bellows in Dooku’s head.     DOOKU:(PAINED) Make it stop!     JENZA: Dooku! Please. We need to move before the roof comes down! Dooku!     The assembly hall collapses on them.

Dooku and Sifo-Dyas in the Bogan Collection:

    DOOKU: Hey. Look at this.     SIFO-DYAS: Seriously. That’s what you want to look at? There’s all these…scrolls and weapons and whatever that creepy mask thing is, and you want to look at a lump of old metal?     DOOKU: There’s something about it…something I’ve felt before.     SIFO-DYAS: Doo. Look at this. I think it’s a parang. We start to hear a noise inside Dooku’s mind, a growl like he heard in the assembly hall on Serenno. Low. Ominous.     DOOKU: (WINCES)     SIFO-DYAS: Dooku?     DOOKU: Can’t you hear it?     SIFO-DYAS: Hear what?     DOOKU: The beast below.     SIFO-DYAS: Okay. Very funny. Drop the act. This place is spooky enough as it is.     The growl intensifies.     DOOKU: It’s coming.     SIFO-DYAS: What?     DOOKU: Coming for us. Coming for me.     SIFO-DYAS: Okay, now you’re freaking me out. Let’s look at something else, shall we?     The growl becomes a roar.     YOUNG DOOKU: (HOLO-NARRATION) And then it was in front of me, Jenza, fangs bared, wings outstretched. The same creature you showed me in the Assembly Hall. The Tirra’Taka. I can’t explain how but I could see it, feel its breath against my skin, its spines bristling, ready to attack, ready to tear us apart.     DOOKU: (SCARED) No.     SIFO-DYAS: Doo, calm down.     DOOKU: Stay back!     SIFO-DYAS: Dooku, there’s nothing there.     DOOKU: Can’t you see it? Why can’t you see it?     Sifo-Dyas goes to grab Dooku, as—in the young Jedi’s head—the monster prepares to attack.     DOOKU: (CRIES OUT IN FEAR)     YOUNG DOOKU: (HOLO-NARRATION) I pushed out with the Force, every cabinet in the Archive shattering at once. Sifo-Dyas was thrown back, smashing into a wall as artifacts tumbled to the floor.     SIFO-DYAS: (GRUNTS)      Alarms blare.     SIFO-DYAS: (GROANS) Why did you do that?     DOOKU: It’s gone. The creature.     SIFO-DYAS: What creature?     DOOKU: You couldn’t see it?     SIFO-DYAS: I don’t know what you’re talking about. (WINCES)     Dooku scrambles up, running to his friend, glass crunching beneath his feet.     DOOKU: Are you all right?     SIFO-DYAS: (WHIMPERING) My arm. I can’t move it.     DOOKU: That doesn’t look good.

Dooku and Lene Kostana’s Confrontation:

    LENE: Why would I be testing you?     DOOKU: To see if we’re like you.     LENE: Like me? What about me?     DOOKU: I can…feel it inside you. Frustration. Anger.     LENE: Is that so?     We hear the roar of the Tirra’Taka in Dooku’s mind. Distant, but insistent all the same.     DOOKU: (WINCES)     LENE: Initiate?     DOOKU: I sense the dark side.     LENE: You do?     Another roar.     DOOKU: It must be stopped.     LENE: And you’re the one to do it?     DOOKU: Yes.     YOUNG DOOKU: (HOLO-NARRATION) I launched myself at Kostana, my lightsaber slashing through the air only to be blocked…     LENE: Not bad. Tera Sinube said you showed promise.     They duel more, lightsabers crackling.

[.....]     DOOKU: I knew it. [STRIKE] You are a Sith.     LENE: There haven’t been Sith [STRIKE] for a thousand years.     DOOKU: They haven’t been discovered, you mean? [STRIKE]     LENE: Ha. I like you, Dooku. A good fighter. [STRIKE] Brave. Willing to go toe-to-toe with a [STRIKE] Dark Lord. Or should that be Dark Lady? [STRIKE] I never know.     DOOKU: [STRIKE] I won’t let you win.LENE:And what exactly will you do? Summon the beast you heard in the collection? [STRIKE] The beast you hear now?     DOOKU:(SUDDENLY UNSURE) I…I didn’t hear anything.     LENE:Are you sure? [STRIKE] You’ve locked it away. [STRIKE] But it’s still in there. In your memory. I can feel it.     DOOKU:Stop it. [STRIKE] You’re evil. [STRIKE] And I will stop you.     The fight intensifies, Dooku forcing Lene back against the railing as he strikes again, and again, and again.     YOUNG DOOKU: (HOLO-NARRATION) I don’t know what came over me. I’d always been so careful to keep my emotions in check, just as I’d been taught, but…I couldn’t control myself. I hacked at her time and time again, forcing her back to the edge of the balcony. All I could feel was her anger. Her rage…at least, I thought it was her. I couldn’t think, I could only act…and all the time, her convor flapped around our heads. Cawing. Screeching. Ready to claw out my eyes, anything to protect its mistress…     LENE: (DROPPING THE ACT AS SHE REALIZES HE’S LOSING CONTROL) Okay. That’s enough, Dooku.     DOOKU:No, it isn’t.     He’s becoming frenzied.     LENE:Dooku. Stop. [STRIKE] Stop! [STRIKE]     YODA:(FIRM) Stop.     Yoda’s sudden appearance stops the fight dead. [.....]     DOOKU: She admitted it herself…She was talking…about Darth…Darth Sakia…     YODA: Sakia? There was no such Sith.     DOOKU: How do you know? We can’t have known them all.     YODA: But know Kostana we can. Reach out with your feelings.     DOOKU: I did.     YODA:  No. Reached inside you did.     DOOKU:  What?     Lene extinguishes her lightsaber.     LENE:  Go ahead. I won’t resist. Tell me…have I been touched by the dark side, Initiate?     We focus on Dooku’s still-ragged breath for a beat and then…     DOOKU: I feel…I feel nothing.     YODA: Dooku. Your lightsaber.     DOOKU: I’m sorry. I…     He extinguishes his own blade.     DOOKU: I was so sure.

Lene & Dooku on Asusto:

    DOOKU:  (UNSURE) Okay. Eyes closed, it is.     LENE:  Now reach out with your emotions. But this time, open your mind to everything, not just the light. Remember how you felt on Mantero.     DOOKU:  What?     LENE: The anger you felt. The betrayal. Remember how your sister looked at you. Remember her fear. [.....]     DOOKU: (NARRATION) I burst through the foliage, my lightsaber flashing. The Abyssin drew their pulse-blasters, but I was too fast for them, slicing through first barrels and then limbs. But then…I couldn’t stop. I don’t know what it was, my shame over what had happened on Mantero or the dark side amplifying my fury as kyber focuses plasma. By the time my companions reached the clearing, the Abyssin were dead. I’ve read that the lumbering aliens can regenerate limbs, but there was no coming back from these injuries.     Cautiously, Lene ignited her own lightsaber, as if wary of me…     LENE:  Dooku. It’s over. They’re done.     DOOKU:  No. Their evil remains.     DOOKU:  (NARRATION)I turned, slicing down the piled crates, cleaving the nerve disruptors in two.     We hear Dooku breathe hard for a few moments before extinguishing his lightsaber.     SIFO-DYAS: You feeling better now?     DOOKU: No. Not while scum like this still exists. This is what we should be doing, Sifo. Not meditating, safe within Temple walls. We should be out here, restoring balance by whatever means possible.     LENE: (WARNING) Dooku.     DOOKU: (NARRATION) It was as though she feared I would turn my ire upon her. Perhaps I would have, blinded by emotions I could barely control, emotions she had stirred by bringing me to Asusto. But I couldn’t have moved if I’d wanted to. None of us could. The moss Sifo-Dyas had first noticed had been slowly creeping into the glade, smothering the Abyssin’s corpses, rolling over our boots… [....]     DOOKU: (NARRATION)I could barely hear Lene screaming at me to stop, couldn’t even hear the squelch of the moss as it traveled up my legs and over my back, drawing me into a cocoon.My head was ablaze with voices, ghosts of the past and echoes of the future.     The ghostly voices assault him again, repeating, overlapping, becoming a cacophony.     GHOSTLY VOICE: (JENZA) Brother.     GHOSTLY VOICE: (YODA) Padawan.     GHOSTLY VOICE: (ARATH) Idiot.     GHOSTLY VOICE: (ANYA) Son.     GHOSTLY VOICE: (GORA) Freak.     GHOSTLY VOICE: (SAVAGE) Master.     DOOKU: (STRAINED) Stop them!     LENE: (PAINED) Padawans…this is an illusion…the dark side…     DOOKU: You can hear them, too?     SIFO-DYAS: The Force is with me. The Force is with me. (SIFO-DYAS REPEATS THIS OVER AND OVER AS A MANTRA, ADDING TO THE CACOPHONY.)     DOOKU: Lene. I can’t block them out. Help me.     OVERLAPPING GHOSTLY VOICE: (JENZA) Help him.     OVERLAPPING GHOSTLY VOICE: (YODA) Help him.     OVERLAPPING GHOSTLY VOICE: (ARATH) Help him.     OVERLAPPING GHOSTLY VOICE: (ANYA) Help him.     OVERLAPPING GHOSTLY VOICE: (GORA) Help him.     OVERLAPPING GHOSTLY VOICE: (SIDIOUS) Help yourself.     DOOKU: Lene! I can’t block them out.     DOOKU: (NARRATION) But Lene was gone, consumed by the moss. Sifo-Dyas, too, was swallowed up, the moss pouring into his eyes, into his mouth. My lightsaber was sucked from my hands, the lichen numbing my skin. I thrashed and twisted, trying to free myself, but there was no escape…     OVERLAPPING GHOSTLY VOICE: (JENZA) No escape.     OVERLAPPING GHOSTLY VOICE: (ARATH) No escape.     OVERLAPPING GHOSTLY VOICE: (YODA) Escape.     OVERLAPPING GHOSTLY VOICE: (GORA) No escape.     DOOKU: (CHOKING) Help me. Somebody, please. Help—(GAGS AS HE’S SMOTHERED)     The moss squelches.     DOOKU: (NARRATION) I couldn’t see. I couldn’t hear. I couldn’t even breathe. I was completely cocooned, consciousness slipping away… [....]     Dooku’s scream dies in his throat like a man waking from a nightmare. He breathes hard as he finds himself back in the cavern. All is quiet. The chanting has stopped. Only a few of the torches are still burning, the others having gone out.Force lightning crackles over the rocks.     LENE: (COMING AROUND) Dooku? How did we get down?     DOOKU: (SHAKEN) I don’t know.     She pushes herself up.     LENE: (DISGUSTED) What’s that smell?     DOOKU: (NOT SHOCKED) The Presagers.     LENE: They’re…They’ve been burned to a crisp. But how…?     Dooku turns.     DOOKU: (SCARED) Master…I…     LENE: Dooku. Your hands.     DOOKU: (NARRATION) I looked down at the indigo light crackling around my fingers… [....]     DOOKU: But…what are we going to tell Master Yoda?     LENE: Nothing.     DOOKU: But this isn’t like Mantero. The things we saw. (ASHAMED) The things we did.     LENE: Dooku, listen to me. Yoda already has doubts about my work. He tolerates what I do, but if he found out I exposed two Padawans to the dark side…     DOOKU: He’d shut you down.     LENE: In an instant. This has to be our secret. Do you understand?     DOOKU: It doesn’t feel right. He’s my Master.     LENE: And it pains me to ask you, Dooku. But the work is too important, to the Order, to the galaxy as a whole. You see that, don’t you? Especially now. You’ve seen the dark side. You know what it’s capable of.     DOOKU: What I’m capable of, you mean.     LENE: No. No, I don’t. The visions. (DROPS HER VOICE) The lightning. That wasn’t you. It was that place. But you’re stronger.     DOOKU:“The Force is strong.”     LENE:“The Force is strong.” Don’t worry. Please. The future you saw, whatever it was, won’t come to pass. I can guarantee it. You’re a good man, Dooku. A good man.

Sifo-Dyas’ exposure to all of this causes him terrible damage:

    BRAYLON: While I cannot get involved, I have a friend who doesn’t give a damn what the Council thinks of her.     Footsteps approach.      LENE: Hello, Dooku.     DOOKU: Lene. Sifo-Dyas.     When he speaks, we realize that Sifo-Dyas has developed a slight stutter.     SIFO-DYAS: Your shuttle awaits. [....]      RAMIL: Increase the voltage!     The shocks intensify, as does Dooku’s resolve.     DOOKU: I am Jedi! And I am not alone!     The action moves back down to the ground…     JENZA: (NARRATION) Below, on the ground, Dooku’s blade buzzed in my ear, while Sifo-Dyas writhed on the ground beside me, his mind aflame…     SIFO-DYAS: It is now. Coming into focus. The future.     And then, belowground, the Tirra’Taka howling.     JENZA: (NARRATION) And beneath our feet, Lene struggled to hold Dooku’s beast in place.     LENE:No. You must remain calm.     JENZA: (NARRATION) For that was exactly what it had become. One mind.     LENE:(HORRIFIED) No.     JENZA: (NARRATION)Two bodies.     LENE: Dooku! Don’t!     The Tirra’Taka roars, louder than ever. [....]     Deep below, the Tirra’Taka erupts into the air, bellowing.     JENZA: (NARRATION) The creature burst from the shattered ground, scaled wings blocking out the sun. Sifo-Dyas laughed as he saw it, his sanity fracturing forever, as the droids looked up in confusion. But I knew what it was, a legend made terrifying flesh. Our savior. I sprang up, barging into the droid that held Dooku’s lightsaber, knocking it back.     JENZA: (SHOUTING) Attack them! Now!     JENZA: (NARRATION) The refugees snatched up the weapons we had stolen from the fleeing Abyssin, blasting the droids before they could regroup.     We hear the sounds of battle, and the roar of the monster.     SECURITY DROID: Attack the creature! Attack the—     Force lightning swamps the droid before it can finish its sentence.     JENZA: Energy burst from the Tirra’Taka’s maw, washing over the security droids. The monster swept down, snatching the melting droids from the ground, crushing their bodies between its hooked talons like magella nuts.A figure clung to its serpentine tail, fingers curled around obsidian scales. She jumped when she saw Sifo-Dyas curled in a ball in the dirt.

[wilhelmjfink]

Daryl Dixon Drabble #5 Pt 1

Buckle up, fuckers. You can thank @crossbowking for this one.

ETA: this has become a 2 parter b/c my app didn’t save the rest of it :,)))) igkms

—

Thank God Daryl taught you how to track. Thank fucking God. Because you never would have thought about paying any attention to the fucking direction the grass had been trampled on towards, or the fact that some trash cans had been knocked over very recently — the only tell being the way they lacked the layer of dust everything else around them held. It was the small things, the attention to detail; and you were in such a spiraling panic, you were honestly surprised you remembered anything he’d ever taught you at all.

Your boots splashed in a fresh puddle and instantly your eyes shot downward — another hidden clue you never would have considered before you met him, all those lifetimes ago. Just barely visible was a separate footprint from yours, two, actually, that painted the otherwise dry asphalt beneath you, fresh enough that your heart sped up at the discovery. They both led the same direction, the same time, the same sense of urgency and haste behind them it seemed, as they continued forward in an obvious stumbling-sprint until they faded away outside of an old derelict gas station. You spun on your heels and headed straight for the garage.

The first thing you noticed was that the heavy metal door was ajar, just over a foot off of the ground, fresh blood smeared across the concrete beneath the opening. Somebody or something was inside, but the barefooted, rotten and decaying bottom-half of a corpse that protruded from the opposite side had you halting in your tracks: was that the source of the blood? No — the body was obviously that of a walker, the pant legs tattered and torn and stained with blacks and browns and greens, the exposed skin of its feet a grotesque shade of grey, maggots and worms slithering around the heel, and you swallowed the bile that rose up in your throat. No way their blood was that fresh.

So you rounded the corner and peered quietly through the sagging chain link fence, barbed wire snagging the flyaway hairs not contained in your messy ponytail, and your heart dropped at the sight that greeted you.

Walkers, some alive, some dead, no less than a dozen of them. Some wandered in aimless circles around the old scrap yard, but most of them were pressed unceremoniously against the boarded up window, jaws snapping hungrily, impatiently, in such a way that proved your suspicions that somebody was definitely inside of that gas station.

And if Daryl’s lessons had done you any good at all, you were positive it was him that had led you there.

You didn’t think you’d stopped shaking since you left Hilltop hours ago. In fact, you knew for a fact that you hadn’t been coherent or in any state of mind when you ran through the gates, furious and terrified and nauseas along another whirlwind of emotions that you couldn’t pinpoint after being told that Daryl left by himself to track down Alpha and try to right all the latest wrongs that psychopath had rained down upon your friends and family. Someone had been yelling at you to stop, the same way you surely would’ve been yelling at Daryl had he not snuck out one night right underneath your fucking nose. Nobody followed you out, though. And you didn’t particularly care.

Sure, you were just as worried about Connie and Magna as everyone else. But you knew Daryl better than them — better than anybody did. And you knew the way his brain worked, how it always carried the weight of his loved ones problems, how he accepted the blame even when it had nothing to do with anything he did or could have done. He was so self-destructive, thought himself so unworthy if he couldn’t keep you or your family safe. He would, quite literally, go to the ends of the earth for those he cared about... whether or not it killed him. And if your crippling apprehension told you anything, it was that this particular instance would be no different, and considering the scene you’d just been walked into...

Clammy, trembling hands latched onto the rusty handle of the garage door before you thought better of trying to haul it open and instead laid down flat to army crawl beneath the gap, trying your best to ignore the pool of blood at your right and the corpse at your left. Everything seemed so loud, so hard to ignore, and you were so hyper aware of any and every detail that led you to believe that the worst-case-scenario was indeed the one you were about to be faced with.

It was dark inside the garage, the only light source being rays of dull, dreary outside-world that broke through the rotted wooden boards that would’ve sealed the place up tight four or five years ago. A blanket of dust should’ve covered the steel barstool that was toppled over in front of the man door, but it was much cleaner than anything else surrounding it, and droplets of blood painted a trail over top of it and into the store, beckoning for you to follow them.

You swallowed hard. We’re you even prepared to see what sights may present themselves on the other side of the gas station? The thought had you hesitating, had your breath hitching in your throat and your heart ceasing to beat entirely. But the fear that was threatening to suffocate you was the same impetus that had you raising your combat rifle to your shoulder, poised and ready to fire, as you crept slowly across the threshold with anxiety so deep and heavy in your bones that you weren’t positive you wouldn’t pass out before you found what you were looking for... whatever that was.

The store was a mess, clearly a recent endeavor, with expired foods and liquids covering the floor amongst shattered glass and splinters of wood and blood. So much fucking blood. Footprints that had stormed through it, handprints that slid down the wall, splattering the grimy lockers and old magazine clippings like some sort of abstract art exhibit compiled of your deepest fears. You were almost too scared to explore further — but the smallest sliver of hope that you’d learned to believe in had you pressing forward, Daryl’s reassuring voice in your ears among the obnoxious ringing that told you that, oh yeah, you might actually fucking pass out.

Thank fucking God Daryl had taught you how to track.

If you’d maybe stumbled upon a deer you’d been following, laying motionless against the display counter with a hunting knife lodged into the meat of its thigh, you might have been proud of yourself. You might have even turned to Daryl and smiled in spite of yourself, sticking your tongue out. ‘I told you I could do it,’ you’d tell him happily as you knelt down and began to skin and prepare it to come back home with you, and he would fight a proud smile of his own, rolling his eyes, ‘Yea, only ‘cause I taught ya how to.’

But any obscure, minuscule thought of potential pride and success was shattered and gone in milliseconds. Hell, it was hardly even a fleeting thought, and you actually found yourself momentarily disappointed in your actions as you let your rifle carelessly slip from your fingers and clash against the ground loudly. Instantly forgotten. In fact, the tip of your boot even kicked it aside for emphasis of your stupidity as you strode forward to the crumpled being laying still and silent against the disheveled wooden counter, head lulled to the side, bloody knife handle protruding from his leg.

His name stuck in your throat painfully as you collapsed to the ground by his side, hands hovering uselessly overtop of him with the desire to try and help but lacking any knowledge on how to do so. He was bloody, beaten, pale — so fucking pale, so still and please God please please please he was cold. Cold, but the shallow rise and fall of his chest seemed to breathe more life into you than it was him, literally and figuratively.

The tears that sprung to your eyes actually hurt, blurring your vision, which seemed to be the only working sense you had as everything else seemed to freeze inside you and around you, leaving you absolutely fucking useless.

You shook your head. “Daryl,” you gasped, the breath it took to say his name unintentionally allowing a sob to escape simultaneously. “Daryl?”

He didn’t stir. We’re you not loud enough? “Daryl!” Maybe he just couldn’t hear you. You reached out and gripped his shoulders, fingers intertwining into the fabric of his canvas vest, clutching like a lifeline that would cement your debilitating fears if you let go and let him fall away from you. “Daryl! Fuck — wake up!”

If you’d ever been a religious person, that moment would’ve been the exact time you dedicated your life and afterlife to whatever higher being you believed in when, holy shit, he let out a pathetic whimper that both broke your heart in two and kicked your adrenaline into overdrive but also allowed it all escape you in the form of your own racking sob.

“Oh, my God — fuck, fuck, fuck, Daryl, please — wh — what did you do?” You fought the urge to grip the handle of the knife that was stuck into his thigh and yank it out furiously. “What the fuck did you do?”

You at least had the sense to untie the bandana from around your neck, clumsily and hastily, and secure it tightly around his thigh above the wound, praying to anything that would listen that maybe it would help.

His head lulled softly toward you with another soft whine and fell limply, and you threw your hands to your own face and frantically brushed your hair from your face and wiped your eyes and scratched at your scalp, pulling your hair, and you were panicking, absolutely reeling, if Daryl was here he’d be lecturing you so bad, but he’s not here because he’s laying in front of you almost fucking dead, no he’s not dead, he’s breathing, barely, how do I fix him? How do I help? Do I take the knife out? No, no you can’t fucking do that, you dumbass, what if it hit an artery? He’ll bleed out before you can even... oh, God, his head’s bleeding, gotta stop the bleeding, gotta stop the bleeding...

What the fuck were you supposed to do? You had some bandages in your bag, some sutures and needles, some alcohol... you tore blindly through it, retrieving the liquid and wraps and dropping them stupidly on your lap like you’ve never had to clean and dress a wound before in your entire life.

Once again you had to furiously wipe the tears from your eyes as they skewed your vision, smearing fresh blood his fucking blood, it’s everywhere, please please please no no no across your cheeks and it burnt your skin, taunting you, ticking loudly like an alarm clock that was about to run out right before your eyes.

He’s gonna die. He’s gonna fucking die and you were too late.

—

Also hey this is loosely based off of last nights episode that I didn’t want bc I can’t emotionally handle watching Daryl get hurt bc I’m a mess so sorry if it made no sense or was wrong!! Xoxoxo

Stay tuned for part 2 that I have to rewrite...........

[always5hineee]

The Final Bell- Chapter 7: A Single Slip

Chapter warnings: Mild language and violence

Word Count: 2137

Story is also available under Taffysamg on Quotev and Wattpad.

To see the full chapter list, go to the “Final Bell” Tab on my page.

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       "Y/N's first raid!" Haechan cheered as they pulled up to a run-down town. She wasn't nearly as excited as the boy, however. In fact, her stomach was turning at the thought of having to face any zombies again. Their sources were pretty good, and suggested that there was a strong chance that they would run into at least a few. There were always stragglers that hung behind in their old homes, and some formed stationary hordes. While this would help in their moments of running away, it would be rather difficult to raid houses as such.

       "Who's going in, and who's staying in the car?" Taeyong asked, surveying the van.

       "I'm driving." Taeil called out. It seemed like he didn't fight very often.

       "And Jungwoo is running the other car." Taeyong added on.

       "I went last time." Jaehyun grumbled. "By myself."

       "You wanted to go by yourself." Mark corrected him.

       "If Haechan is so excited about it, send him." Jaehyun countered.

       "That could work. How about Haechan and Yuta go with her?" Taeyong suggested.

       "Three people seems excessive..." Yuta said softly, but Taeyong had already made up his mind.

       "Haechan and Yuta, we're bout ten minutes out! Dig in the back for your weapons." The boys nodded, (Yuta a bit reluctantly). This was quite interesting for Y/N. She hadn't seen either of these men fight before. Yuta seemed too innocent and passive, but she had no reason to doubt Taeyong's judgement... It would be strange to watch, but interesting.

       "Grab a rifle." Jaehyun muttered in her ear, causing her to jump.

       "W-what?"

       "Calm down. All I'm saying is you should grab a bigger gun. I won't be there to save your ass this time." He explained with a glare.

       "Wouldn't it be better for you if my ass went un-saved?" She offered.

       "Oo, and what will Jaehyun come back with?" Haechan commented, already back in his original place.

       "Shut up, idiot."

       "Almost there." Taeyong cut off their fight, trying to get them all to settle down. Sure enough, she could just barely make out a few buildings through the dusty atmosphere. "Remember, in particular Jungwoo has given you a list of materials he's looking for. Many of them can be found in convenience stores or family medicine cabinets. Unless you're planning to eat it tonight, don't pick up anything perishable."

       "I am sooo gonna get something good." Haechan said, acting like a little kid.

       "The more flour you pick up, the more we can bake." Taeil put the thought in his mind.

       "Ohh, good plan." Haechan laughed. "Anyway, let's roll!" As the car was still slowing down, he opened the door, launching himself out and rolling onto the ground, lugging something close behind.

       "What the hell is wrong with you?" Yuta asked, but laughing and following suit."

       "Wait, what?"

       "Your turn. It's easier if you tuck."

       "Wait, what?" Jaehyun kicked her lightly in the back, sending her careening out of the car. The breath was knocked out of her lungs as she hit the ground, rolling a few feet before finally slowing to a stop.

       "Woah... are you okay?" Yuta asked, trotting over and helping her to her feet. She rubbed the back of her legs, grumbling.

       "Yeah, I'm fine."

       "Well, in that case, let's go!" Haechan said excitedly, practically skipping towards the town.

       "He seems excited..." She mumbled.

       "Yeah, he doesn't get to go on missions much anymore. He get's a little... hyper."

       "Hyper?"

       "...You'll see."

       The closer they got, the more jittery Haechan seemed. It was as they walked that Y/N got a good look at what weapon he was sporting. As far as she could tell, he had no gun or knife- or if he did, they were well concealed. The only tool he carried in his hands was a slim, colorful baseball bat covered in barbed wire. It had clearly been painted, but it was splintering in places, as if it was often used for blunt hits.

       "Do you... actually use that?" She asked incredulously.

       "Hmm? Oh, the bat!" Haechan laughed, swinging it proudly. "Yeah, beautiful, isn't it? Taeyong even painted it for me. It gives him something to do, too. I uh... tend to break them pretty often."

       "That's nice of him." She said absentmindedly, still eyeing the blunt object.

       "Yeah- don't get to use it much anymore, so this'll be fun. I hope there are at least a few stragglers, you know?" He laughed again. "Speaking of which, who wants what? I want to pick up some more art stuff for Ty, so I can take the stores if you want. Do you guys want to check out houses or what?" She didn't realize Haechan was such a confident leader. Judging based on Yuta's attitude earlier, she thought it would be best if they sticked together- for both of them.

       "That's fine." She agreed.

       "Well, in that case, let's start center, work our way out?" He offered. "Maybe draw out some fun while we're at it." Okay... that wasn't creepy. Still, Yuta and she followed him to the center of town. With every breath of wind and creaking door, she turned, afraid of what might lurk behind. It wasn't until they were almost to the main building when they were attacked.

       A zombie ran out of a nearby backyard, smashing through a rotting fence to get a taste of human flesh.

       "Look out!" She yelled.

       "Mine!" Haechan countered, jumping forward. He swung the bat with immeasurable force, smashing the creature's head clear into a pulp. It splattered everywhere, leaving her shocked. He had taken it out with one swing, and now, he... he was laughing? But not just regular laughing... truly entertained laughing.

       "We should get going," Yuta said softly, "Leave him to that." Nodding shakily, she followed Yuta's lead into the surrounding houses. She made extra sure to grab everything Jungwoo needed. After that, she began focusing more on fridges and closets. The power had been out for ages, but some chests had good enough insulation to preserve food. All the meat they came across was rotting, but some frozen vegetables and such were salvageable. It was sort of like a scavenger hunt, and it was good to get out, so she didn't mind.

       On about their seventh house, she took the upstairs while Yuta shuffled through the kitchen drawers. One room that caught her attention was behind the last door on the upper floor. Upon revealing it, she saw a white bedframe draped in a pink lace. There were stuffed animals and dolls littered across the floor, as well as atop the white play desk with gold accents. The whole scene was sickeningly untouched- if she hadn't known better, she would have thought everything was back to normal.

       She forced herself to root through the stuff, looking for anything valuable. Obviously, there was nothing too notable. She did pick up a pack of stickers that, for some strange reason of intuition, she thought Haechan would like. As she tried to shut the door, though, something got in the way. Looking down, she saw a small white stuffed mouse blocking the door. She picked it up and pocketed it, just as Yuta screamed from downstairs.

       "Uhh, Y/N! I could use some help!" She shot down the stairs, running to where the man was facing three zombies. Scrambling to pull out her rifle, she shakily loaded it. "Now!" He yelled, staving them off with a knife. His free hand couldn't reach a more effective weapon. Finally getting it to fire, he jumped out of the way, bullet narrowly missing his arm. She evidently needed to learn better aim, but he didn't say anything. Opening created, he pulled out what looked like a sword, slicing the other two's heads off cleanly.

       "We should go meet up with Haechan." He said, breathing heavily. She nodded in agreement, walking with him out of the house.

       "Did you get anything cool?" He asked, trying to change the subject.

       "Uh, I mean... food?" She offered blandly. He laughed, although his fatigue was sticking out.

       "I'd hope so."

       "Oh, and this," she said, pulling out the mouse. She felt stupid immediately after, but it was better than walking in silence.

       "That's cute," he smiled softly. "You know, I used to- Oh my God!" He shouted, running forward. She looked over, trying to see what he was scared of. Catching a glimpse, she realized that it wasn't something he was running from, but rather towards. There was a pile of carcasses, each with a mutilated head. In the middle of it all, Haechan sat cross legged, head in his hands. Was he... crying?

       "Hae, what's wrong?" Yuta asked, gently shaking his shoulder. The boy was alternating between laughing and sobbing.

       "I'm really sorry Yuta, I am!"

       "Sorry for what, Haechan, what happened?"

       "I kept counting! One, two, three, I got to at least eleven!" He smiled, looking up sadly. "I got so many, Yuta!"

       "Good, Haechan. Get up, let's go to the van, we can-"

       "Yuta..." Y/N interrupted in a whisper. "Look at his arm." The boy paused, and then turned to look. Sure enough, Haechan's pale skin was stained in an all-too-noticeable pattern. He had been bitten.

       "Oh, Haechan..." He muttered, kneeling down next to him.

       "You have to cut it off, Yuta." He laughed. "Take my arm off!"

       "Maybe it hasn't spread, we can still get the infected blood out."

       "You know we can't! Do it!" He laughed. "It's fine, it's fine... Y/N can do it for me. Y/N! Get over here!" She froze, eyes wide.

       "I-"

       "Now!" Reluctantly, she walked over, moreso to make sure Yuta was alright. "Get out that shiny machete, hun! The longer you wait, the more you'll have to chop!"

       "I... I can't do that, Haechan, I..."

       "Consider this," he posed, talking incredibly calmly. "You let me be, fine. You didn't hurt me, but. I turn, I eat you first- obviously because you look so delicious," he winked. "Then I eat Yuta. And now you've killed him! Do you want him to die? Or me, for that matter?"

       "No, I-"

       "Then do it. Look, I'll help. Take out your thingy-" He directed. She glanced at Yuta, who wasn't saying anything. Well, it looked like she didn't have much of a choice. She pulled it out, holding it in front of her like a bomb. He held out his arm, pointing things out with his left hand.

       "This is the bite," he directed. "And you can see some of the infection up to here," he moved his fingertips up. Now, the infection usually spreads past where it's visible, by at least two inches. At least, that's what Jungwoo says. I think you should be safe-" he made a chopping motion with his hand, "And cut at the elbow." The idea was making her sick.

       "You're going to have to put some real weight behind it," he warned her, "If we had an axe, that would be ideal, but... I trust your strength."

       "How can you be so calm about-"

       "WHAT CHOICE DO I HAVE?" He screeched. After the following silence, he shook his head, laughing again. "Sorry, sorry... that was uncalled for. Just, please do it. Quickly." He held out his arm, looking away. She wanted to close her eyes, but she was too afraid to miss.

       The first swing only cut about halfway through his arm, getting lodged in what she could only assume was the bone.  The blood spurt into her face and over her clothes. Surprisingly, Haechan was gritting his teeth- the cry that rang out when she did such was thrown from Yuta's mouth. Panicking, she firmly planted a boot on his upper arm, yanking the blade out and throwing it down again. In total, it took four strikes- her first one, two to completely splinter the bone, and a final one to finish it off.

       Yuta had tears streaming down his face, now with his head in his palms.

       "Hey," Haechan said weakly. "I know it's super emotional for you or whatever, but I'm gonna need your help." Yuta breathed in deeply, trying to pull himself together. Nodding, he began to wrap Haechan's arm, trying not to look. They all agreed not to look back to the... reminder of it as they stumbled towards the van.

       Yuta carried most of the bags as Y/N wrapped her arm around Haechan's waist, and his around her shoulder. It was an effective means of supporting him without putting stress on his open wound. Yuta also continued trying to call the guys. By the time he finally got a hold on them, the van was in sight.

       "Come on, Haechan..." She muttered into his ear. "We're almost there."

Go to Chapter 8

[ask-jaghatai-khan]

“I’m bored!” Gurz bemoaned through his helmet’s face-guard, as he pried up his red-hot choppa from the smoldering corpse of a mutilated human, “Nuffin’ but deze lil scrawny ones! It’s like da humies don’ even respect us! Gork, da red ones don’t even ‘ave dat much blood in ‘em! Where’s da fun of it all?”

“Dey’z either runnin’ outta good fightas or dey’z tryin’ ta make us bored! Now dat’s some cruel kunnin’!” Darg agreed, the hulking Nob setting his armored behind down on the wreck of Chimera transport.

All about the retinue of black-armored orkz there was nothing but the devastation of a resolved battle. The mainline of the human defence force had been smashed by the greenskin assault some hours ago, and most of the WAAAGH! had since gone back to camp to prepare for the next big push. Big Nob Skargrut’s gang - of which Gurz and Darg were members - hadn’t been content to wrap up so soon. As grizzled mega-warriors of the Goff clan, their bloodlust was never quite sated. They’d taken to the killing fields to try and hunt down survivors, but now that most dreaded of orkish foes was rearing its disgusting head - boredom.

“Normally I’d krump ya fer moanin’ like a coupla grots-” Skargrut rubbed at his half-metallic chin, the power-armored bulk of that senior ork officer dwarfing the already substantial forms of his comrades, “But I gotta say yer right. I’z gonna ‘ave words wit’ da boss when we get back ta camp. Maybe he finks dis is alright, but if I’d signed up for Big Ghazz’s WAAAGH! an’ dis is da kinda fightin’ I was left with, I’d be right fumin’!” He brought down his power-claw on the mangled corpse of a Skitarii Vanguard, the crunch of metal offering little satisfaction to the incensed alien.

Warriors under Boss Urgron, Skargrut’s boyz were but a handful of the legions upon legions of greenskins who now counted themselves under the banner of Ghazghkull Mag Uruk Thraka’s galaxy-spanning horde. They’d landed on this world - some humie dump by the name of “Benny-dikshun” - to conquer its forges for the Big Boss’ war effort. Yet all in all the fighting had been a massive letdown. To start it had been fun, of course. The initial clashes had seen the skies turned to fire with dogfights thicker than a cloud of squig-flies, and the ground had been a mash of Goff vehicles and sturdy warriors contending with the mechanized human defenders. Yet despite their technological help, the humans could do little to hold off the sheer unkillable brutality of the seasoned Goff horde. The pitiful pink-skins and their red-cloaked allies had retreated to the major hives or even into orbit, leaving the droves of ork infantry with little to do.

“Back in my day ya didn’t ‘ave ta be a flyboy to get all the fun! A proppa ork don’ need anyfing but his choppa an’ a good boss to lead ‘em to a scrap!” Skargrut did some more whining of his own, his colossal size and bellowing tone at odds with his petulant, childlike attitude.

“Urgron listens ta us!” piped in Furgga, their mob’s lead heavy-weapons specialist, launching off a plume of flame from his combo flamer-grinda, “I say we tell ‘im da mob oughta push on. We need ta get to da siege! An’ if he won’t go an’ just wants ta sit on his bitz pile - well, we’ll ‘ave yer back Skargrut!”

A round of grunting agreements and a few cheers went up. Skargrut commanded a sizeable mob of ‘ardboyz who might have been considered for Ghazz’s own retinue had they not been stuck in Urgron’s WAAAGH! The Nob wasn’t one for insubordination in the middle of a campaign, but he had his standards. When he’d heard rumors that they’d be fighting the red-cloaks on this planet, he’d expected big humie stompas and kustom tanks, not just droves of pitiful cyborg dregs. He figured they were hiding the good stuff somewhere, but he and his boyz would never enjoy that kind of scrap if they were stuck pulling up the rear of the main assault.

“Datz it, den!” Skargrut announced, “Stretch dem legs, boyz! We’z headin’ back ta camp, an den da camp is comin’ wif us!”

The clamor of some thirty power-armored orks thundering across the killing-fields together was enough to send snotlings scurrying a mile off.

—

“Almost dere ladz!” Boss Skargrut hollered, at least to those warriors close enough to hear him. The warboss took a moment to admire his new power-klaw, eager to give it a proper testing in the battle ahead. There were even still bits of red and green gore mashed into some of the joints - Skargrut hoped Urgron’s “lukky klaw” would bring him more luck than its prior owner.

On the horizon, the red glow of war could be seen.

The humie factory-hive was besieged from all angles, the full might of the greenskin horde turned against their stronghold, Skargrut had been sure to let every Nob know over the shouta-channels that he was in charge now, and that anything short of a full-out assault on every last humie bastion was unacceptable. They’d done a good job, the humies, for being a bunch of weaklings. Numerous concentric tiers of fortifications, from barbed trenches to full-on citadel walls had been prepared for the xenos attack, but still the orks pushed in yard by yard. Nothing could stand in the way of a Goff mob on the warpath. Maybe the humies had better shootas here and there, or more flash vehicles, but at the end of the day you couldn’t put a Goff Nob down with anything less than a grenade to the mouth.

As Boss Skargrut gave his orders, sending out bikers and stormboyz on the flanks to take out entrenched guns, he and his melee horde pushed up the middle. Even before the human defensive turrets had been crippled, but a paltry few of Skargrut’s mega-boyz had fallen to the sustained fire.

Yet just as the sheer bloodlust was building in the Warboss’ chest, his beady red eyes set on those outer fortifications where he knew some proper foes to sink his klaw into were huddled, there came a blaring noise that almost managed to deafen the iron eardrums of a greenskin.

Following that klaxon call, there was a thunderclap and a blinding light, and when Skargrut shook the stars from his vision, he noticed a good forth of his vanguard horde was no more. Instead, there was but a heap of bubbling slag.

The Warboss’ gaze shot to the source. A great figure had appeared from behind the ruins of a half-fallen outer bunker - a giant which made even Killa-Kans and Deff-Dreads look like fledgling boyz in comparison.

Its red and white armor gleamed despite the smog of battle, and its skull-face carried cold rage. From some unseen horn within its mechanized guts, another sound pierced through the din of war. To the orks, it was little more than unappealing noise, but all those servants of the Imperium in the vicinity recognized the Hymn of Donna Valkiriya, from the liturgies of the Martian Obikhod. That war-song of the red planet announced the arrival of the first cavalry.

Baron Korsakov of House Taranis lead his knight lance from out of the exurb ruins about the hive, charging forward to meet the orkish assault. Behind his Cerastus Knight-Atrapos came a company of similar machines, tall and swift and outfitted with a mix of enormous lances and devastating heavy weaponry. As if they intended to meet the orks in a straight assault like their primitive namesakes of old, the mighty colossi loped towards Skargrut’s lines as the greenskins reeled and braced in equal measure, unsure of what to make of this new enemy.

Though he’d just watched a great many of his warriors vaporized by just one of these machines in an instant, Skargrut’s brute face split into an eager grin. Now this - this was what he’d been waiting for.

[evolutionsvoid]

A powerful carnivore that stalks rocky landscapes and arid environments, the Clubtail is another deadly member of the Manticore family. This beast stakes its territory in drier and rockier habitats, often found in canyons, on mountains or patrolling the fringes of deserts. Their exposed hide is tougher and not as slick as the skin of their brethren. This is to help lock in moisture and lessen the toll taken by the dry air and hot sun. With this, they can travel during the day without fearing dehydration, though they do take shelter during the hottest parts. While they do still enjoy a refreshing dip in pools or other water bodies, they know that these sources are few and far between. When water is found, they are quick to drink their fill and get what relief they can. Once that is done, they will seek out a nice hidden spot to lie, hopefully one with plenty of shade. While this serves as a nice moment of rest, it isn't about relaxation. Hanging around this water source means that it has a quick access to moisture and one of the best baits around. The Clubtail isn't the only creature that is looking for a drink, and that is what this beast is counting on. Like the rest of its family, the Clubtail is a voracious predator and a skilled killer. While it possesses spines and hardy scales like the rest, it has changed its technique to better suit its environment. One of the most notable things about the Clubtail is that it is incapable of launching its spikes, meaning it cannot perform the famous ranged attacks its family is known for. Closer inspection of their tail (on a restrained or preserved specimen, I hope!) will show you that these spikes are stubbier and are firmly anchored to their flesh. Even if they could detach, they would be poor projectiles. Now some may wonder why this ability was lost. Why would this species abandon such a powerful and deadly weapon? Well, study and observation has shown that this tool may not be so useful in the environments that Clubtails call home. As I talked about before, the Clubtail's hide is tougher, thicker and all around stronger to help protect it from the harsh conditions it lives in. This is not an adaptation that is unique to this beast, as every creature that dwells in these habitats have turned to hardening their bodies. Scales, plates, shells and leathery hides are very common in these parts, and each one of these serves as decent armor. The rain of spines that are unleashed from a manticore's tail would have a hard time piercing these things, and thus would not be able to deliver their venomous payload. It is believed that the Clubtail lost their ranged prowess because it cannot take down prey in an efficient and reliable manner. Even then, they have not lost a bit of their deadliness. While we say that they "lost" this ability, it is more that they traded it in for something more useful. Though they are no good at long range, they are absolute monsters when it comes to close quarter combat. Clubtail Manticores are beasts of brute strength and unrelenting savagery. Their bodies and limbs are packed with muscles, every inch of them radiating raw power. The perfect symbol of this adaptation is their tail. What was once a slender, whipping appendage is now bulbous and dense. The majority of it is covered in short spines, ending in an armored stinger that would make a scorpion envious. A bit of flexibility and mobility is lost in this change, but such finesse is unnecessary for a barbaric weapon like this. This new tool is where the Clubtail got its name, as it now wields a bludgeon that can crack stone and shatter armor. No exoskeleton or shell will protect you when this thing makes impact! When this manticore hunts, it does so with brutal force. They shall either stalk or ambush their prey, often using watering holes as a lure. They will sneak up as close as they can, but they will not give up if they are spotted. Clubtails will charge prey that has spotted them, as they cannot afford to let a meal escape. Once in range, they will swing their tails about and beat their victims to a pulp. The short spines still secrete venom, but it is much weaker. The real nasty stuff is located in their club-like stinger, and the manticore aims to impale prey with it. No armor will stop this weapon, as it strikes with the force of a war pick. Once the cruel barb punches through the victim, it will pump in the paralytic venom. Even if the creature is able to escape or ward of the Clubtail, the poison shall freeze their muscles and shutdown their body. After that, the manticore can swallow the poor soul at its leisure, slinking back to the shade for a nice nap. While their bludgeoning tail is by far the most noteworthy weapon, it is not the only tool in their arsenal. The forelimbs of a Clubtail are much stronger and more developed than that of other Manticores. In a brawl, these can actually serve as punching arms, and you don't want to get a haymaker from one of these! Their feet end in lobed suction cups, which can fold together to form a fist-like structure. This is then partially retracted into their forelimb shells, turning this appendage into a nasty gauntlet. By rearing up on their hind legs, they can deliver stunning blows and devastating punches to those who oppose them. These are mainly used when the Clubtail is stuck in tight quarters, where its tail cannot swing freely. Those who think they have bested a Clubtail by severing their stinger are in for a surprise and a rather brutal beat down. With all this combined, the Clubtail is a brawler who will not give up or accept failure. Even the feistiest prey will be hard pressed to scare them off, as they will continue their assault ruthlessly. Hiding behind armor is also no escape, as their weapons can puncture pretty much anything, and anything they can't pierce will be seen as a challenge. One researcher tried to test the determination of a Clubtail by sealing meat in a chest of iron and lead. The aromatic bait succeeded in attracting one of these beasts, and the impenetrable trunk succeeded in withstanding every blow and punch. In the end, the Clubtail did indeed give up, but not before chucking the whole thing off a nearby cliff. So in the end, you may be able to wear out its patience, but you probably won't be around to gloat about it. 

With their brutal weapons and savage nature, Clubtails are widely feared in the regions they inhabit. Since prey can be rare in their habitat, they will target any food source they come across and pursue it with unstoppable determination. The nightmare of every local farmer is a Clubtail discovering their herd, as they will be a constant terror until the beast is slain or the entire farm is devoured. Deterrents and barriers may stall them or keep them out for a bit, but once they know food is there, they will keep coming back for it. Only through death or severe injury will the Clubtail cease its attempts, and doing this is no easy feat. They are heavily armored and have very few weak points. They can also heal from practically any non-lethal injury, even regrowing chunks of lost flesh. So when a bounty is put out for a troublesome Clubtail, very few will go for it. Only the greatest or dumbest of warriors will attempt a fight with one of these beasts, and it can quickly go bad if you make the slightest error. Any attempt to slay one of these creatures should be done at long range, as you cannot, and I mean cannot, withstand a close range fight with them. Unless you have poisoned or weakened it, or you are capable of killing it in a few strikes, the Clubtail will overpower you and beat you to a pulp. This nature has given it quite a bit of infamy. Clubtails are preferred symbols for those who enjoy a more barbaric way of fighting, and quite a few warriors have bore its likeness. There is a style of pugilism that captures the Clubtail's brutality, though quite a few rings have banned such techniques. Other arenas, however, welcome the Clubtail with open arms. Since it lacks the flying shards of its brethren, they can be placed in coliseums and arenas without fear of collateral damage. Bloodthirsty patrons go wild whenever once of these beasts make an appearance, as it guarantees a brutal and bloody show. In some cases, the owners will sever the tail and oral stingers, forcing the creature to fight with its fists. This is done so that opponents last a bit longer and so the crowd can watch the slow and painful beat down. I think this is absolutely horrible! Not only do you make these poor creatures fight to the death, but now you mangle them for your own amusement! How sickening! I cannot stand such a cruel and barbaric sport! I would like to chuck some of those fiends into the arena and see how they like it! Well, I say that, but I kinda already did that once. In my defense it was kind of on accident, as it wasn't my intention for him to go over the railing. He was getting all shouty and stabby over the whole "revolution" thing (which isn't my fault you guys are jerks and the people don't like you), and so I tried to ward him off. A good sock to the jaw later, and he goes head over heels into the pit below. I didn't see what happened to him (what with the whole revolution thing going on around me) but his screaming filled in the blanks. I am pretty sure he turned out to be the first of many meals for The Pit King that day. Man, politics are rough, that is why I stick to science...       Chlora Myron Dryad Natural Historian ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Another Manticore, but now in orange creamsicle flavor! Mmmmmm!

[vaguely-concerned]

the mandalorian episode 7 reactions

spoilers under the cut!

- during my rewatches I have been thinking ‘damn baby yoda has witnessed A Lot of murders/seen his dad get hurt even more’ and found it strange it hasn’t affected him more and little did I know they were saving it all to fucking stab me in the heart with one barbed wire-wrapped zweihander. the scared way he shakes his little green head while mando tries to reassure him fjskdfhaksd T___________T 

cara tho of all people. okay this is kind of a crazy idea but bear with me: what if baby yoda picks up a lot on mando’s feelings (in a wordless baby-with-a-Force-connection sort of way -- almost a metaphoric heightening of how babies actually attune to their caretakers in real life), and normally mando is a bit detached/dissociated around others but he’s starting to warm up to and trust cara and it’s bringing him a bit more online and the baby reads that engagement/excitement as danger because that’s the only thing he has to compare it to? like they’re clearly actually having fun but the baby wouldn’t know that because uh mando has never just had fun around him before and to the baby adrenaline seems like adrenaline no matter the source. that might be completely off base but it was what dropped into my brain right away so *shrug*

I’m so grateful mando doesn’t get mad at bb even when he gets scared like that though. it’s good for my soul. 

- cara and mando being bros is Life, is Love 

- but most of all CARA!!! I love her!!! and the effortless way mando put down his trump card.... “sorry got stuff to do people to beat up no can do my helmeted friend” “’kay. by the way we’re going Imp hunting” “:D:D:D when do we leave”

- KUIIL Y_____________Y actually I refuse (REFUSE) to accept it until someone finds his body and confirms he’s actually dead, I believe denial is my prerogative it’s almost christmas for goodness’ sake  

- when cara, greef karga and mando are about to leave for the town I actually SCREAMED at the screen “MANDO REASSURE YOUR CHILD AND TELL HIM EVERYTHING’S GOING TO BE OKAY BEFORE YOU LEAVE HE NEEDS SOME SAFETY” and then he didn’t and then I cried 

- pedro pascal did some Things with his voice in this one and it was mean and unfair and uncalled for and awful. the honest hurt and fear in his voice when he says “It tried to kill him”? END ME

- mando straight up doesn’t seem to know anything about the Force at all, or at least not in a way that lets him connect it to the baby. maybe he vaguely knows jedi were a thing but not quite what they actually were. I like that, an interesting showcase of the different perspectives through the galaxy. (maybe finding someone to help out with this is going to be the story arc for next season?

- I actually think this is the first episode where they’ve tried to cover too much in too little time and had to drop the emotional consistency as a consequence. it’s understandable since they need to get all the pieces set up right for the finale, but it didn’t quite work for me (by which I mean for the love of god I needed just one scene, however short, of mando and baby yoda connecting properly with nothing else going on to help me through the stress/reaffirm the bond so it’s unbearably fresh in your mind what this is all for. yes that’s right I wanted them to hurt me more that’s how I roll)

the stuff Kuiil was doing there with his droid story also felt slightly disjointed? out of tune with the rest of the episode? I like him very much and I think I see what they were going for but it felt a little off? mando gently being faced with the fact that droids are naturally neutral and that it’s people who decide what to make them/teach them (yessss go off kuiil!) deserves more space to breathe, this is definitely my least favourite episode so far  

- lol @ the empire dude. ‘yeah okay but apart from all the genocide what did we even do to anyone tho???’ in the end he seemed to earnestly admire mandalorian culture in an almost fanboyish way, which doesn’t really surprise me; there must be some decent overlap between people who believed in the empire and people who think the mandalorian tendency towards militarism and (periodic) expansionism is Cool. (which is why I traditionally haven’t cared much for them, incidentally, they’ve always sort of bored me as a warrior culture before this series added some mystical/more overtly religious overtones to the whole thing)

also loved how mando gave him  n o t h i n g  at all to work with and cara’s ‘who the hell is this guy??’ to the new bad guy lol

- mando averting the fight between kuiil and cara just by being soft and asking for help/reminding them of the kid ;___; I love him he knows how to deescalate a situation when he wants to 

also the parallell between baby yoda protecting mando and the droid hovering ready to protect kuiil... right in the feels man. also kuiils air of dignity and experience is so effective. pls be my gruff no-nonsense grandpa who helps me with my computer kuiil

if kuiil is actually dead (which I continue to REFUSE but if) I get the feeling that mando is going to have to Reevaluate some things basically out of respect to his memory, since the way he describes putting this droid back together is framed so heavily as parenthood and surely there must be some empathy for that at least behind that beskar chest plate at this point

I have been thinking that adding a droid to mando’s little uh ‘crew’ would be thematically appropriate so maybe that’s what going on? kuiil said he could reprogram it for childcare, perhaps we’ve found the babysitter we’ve been begging for

- the one-sided vendetta between mando and the very soft spoken, very conscientious, very polite droid is hilarious. mostly because it thus far has manifested mainly in mando presumably glaring behind the helmet and being slightly snippy in saying he won’t come down for dinner like a fucking teenage boy in a sulk fjskdafhsd (I am slightly forgiving of him because droids pointing guns at the kid must be trigger central for him and I can sympathize, it’d take some time to change)

- some other high points of hilarity: three blurrgs and four people in mando’s tiny rustbucket of a ship. “It’s trying to eat me!”. the fact that greef karga was ABSOLUTELY planning to double cross them from the beginning and admitting it openly, he ain’t ashamed (the ‘mando get better friends’ campaign continues). mando describing the spectacular firefight at the end of ep 3 as ‘a bit of a run-in’. baby cackling as he finally gets a turn behind the steering stick of the razor crest. the mysterious multiplying four storm troopers (‘you said four fucking storm troopers karga!!!!’) phenomena. “well there are more. what can I tell you”. mando, with perfect disdain: “on your wall”. the panicked force choke was upsetting but the fact that ‘we do not strangle our friends’ was the Mando Parenting Lesson of the day is undeniably kind of funny.  

- anyway I am here and ready to pass out from stress waiting for mando to lose his entire shit and go on a roaring rampage of rescue to save his kid in the next episode (I swear to GOD disney there better not be any between-season cliffhangers about this or I will fucking riot/possibly just die)

ETA: I FORGOT TO MENTION: credit where it’s due the flamethrower did pull it’s weight in this one, I still think he should invest in something more reliable but it did the trick this time and fair is fair

[pandemonshq]

Welcome, Nicky, please grab your stake on your way to your tumblr to play Draco Malfoy here at Pandemons. I think it’s no surprise to you that we adore your Draco: the marriage of convenience that still highlights the importance of family that every “good” Malfoy has, the Vampire Hunting, the fact that he’s still himself after all these years. ..

And, of course, your request for Alexander Skarsgård --present Fc and Austin Butler--past FC have been accepted.

Nicky’s application is being posted early due to her work on the game to get it up and running, and the relevance of Draco to the larger game plot. While Nicky is not a mod, her assistance made this game possible.

Out of Character Information

Name: Nicky Preferred Pronouns: she/her Age: over thirty O_o Timezone: EST Activity Level: Medium. I co-admin and participate in another roleplay, so depending on what is going on there in conjunction with the regular inconveniences of real life I may not have time to post responses every day, but I have absolutely no concerns that I will struggle to meet and indeed should regularly exceed the minimum requirement. I usually find Draco quite easy to write!

In Character Information

Character's Name: Draco Lucius Malfoy Bloodstatus: pure-blood Birthday: June 5, 1980

Gender and Sexuality: Transgender male, panromantic sex-positive asexual

Gender: 

Draco was six when he informed his parents that he was going to grow-up to be a wizard like daddy, not a witch like mummy. It took them a little time to be certain that their child really understood and meant what he was saying, but once they were convinced, his parents sprang into action to support their son: Lucius didn’t just contact the Daily Prophet to have an adjustment to Draco’s birth announcement printed, he took out a full-page ad. Narcissa sat her little boy down and poured-over lists of constellations with him to find what his new name would be (not that it took Draco long to select his -- “I can be a dragon? I want that one!”). They threw-away and purchased an entire new wardrobe for him (although it had never been the ribbons to which Draco had objected) and anyone who wasn’t quick enough to adjust to Draco’s new name got a painful hex for their lethargy (including Abraxas, once). It wasn’t so much acceptance that Draco got from his parents as adoration -- in all aspects. He was perfect; he could do no wrong. 

It wasn’t until he arrived at Hogwarts that Draco discovered that not everyone saw him through such idealized spectacles -- nor thought gender was as simple and straightforward a thing as the contents of a cauldron. For Draco, gender might as well have been synonymous with genitals, and swallowing a weekly dose of potion was all it took for him to go from girl to boy. The matter was closed...only it wasn’t. There were some people who thought the subject had far more nuance than that (one of the few subject on which he didn’t need losing a war to improve, at least) and then there were those who thought it had far less; who thought that there was no such thing as change. For the most part, they seemed to have come by those ideas from Muggle sources, which made both them and their words easy to dismiss -- mostly. Even a boy with as much blistering self-confidence (arrogance) as Draco is apt to find adolescence an uncertain, confusing time, and he was no exception; some barbs hurt even when you’re certain you don’t care. Having his dueling prowess questioned, his fashion-choices derided, his Quidditch skills discounted…all the things that, to Draco, meant masculinity. Not that witches couldn’t be great duelists or Quidditch players or fashion-plates, too; but Draco’s ideas of how to be a man were all modeled on his father. So to excel at “being a wizard” meant, for him, excelling at all the things at which Lucius excelled. (He was also always rather touchy about his name. He’d picked it himself, after all. It was the best name. His mother had said so!)

These days, Draco is far too used to simply being taken for a wizard to fret; it’s not as though he regularly goes around socializing with backwards-Muggle-thinkers, is it? (Not that all Mudb--Muggle-borns are backwards-thinkers! Some of them have done quite well at getting over their upbringing, and are quite indistinguishable from other wix now! He’s not bigoted anymore, you know!) He no longer focuses on mimicking his father in order to be a “proper” wizard -- in part because he’s grown more comfortable with himself as he grew-up, in part because exposure to the world beyond the immediate circle of his parents taught him that there’s more than one way to be a wizard, in part because an ex-Death Eater has more difficult things with which to grapple...and in part because the pedestal on which Lucius once stood in his son’s eyes has sagged a bit. Now instead of trying to trace anyone else’s footsteps, Draco is simply himself -- and learning to live with that was hard because of his choices and his mistakes, not his gender. Having anyone question his masculinity now on the basis that he takes a periodic dose of the Attisgalli Corrective Draught to maintain a physical form that suits his inner self would be less outrageous than baffling.

*NOTE: Draco is likely to express things about gender in outdated terminology because of his unfamiliarity with the Muggle world. However if this would make anyone uncomfortable please let me know (on-anon is fine!) because I will happily compromise a fiddly little bit of world building for the sake of my fellow players’ comfort!

Sexuality: 

Perhaps the one area in which Draco actually disappointed his father: he’s just not interested in sex. He doesn’t have anything against it; it’s just not something that motivates him, not something he thinks about unless someone else brings it up first. (Sort of like beets. He has no objection to eating them, and sometimes they can be genuinely delicious, but he’s never gone out of his way for a serving of beets.) That disinterest is what killed his relationship with Pansy (well, that and the fact that Draco had no idea they were dating in Pansy’s mind!) because all her offers and innuendos passed right over his head; he tends to take physical affection on face value and flirtation registers to him as simple banter. Lucius “blames” himself, lamenting that it was his distraction and absence at a crucial stage of his son’s development that left Draco’s “interests stunted.” Draco doesn’t understand the fuss; he’s perfectly happy the way he is and, frankly, given the vast drop in social popularity that the Malfoys faced after the war, it’s probably just as well that his interests are “stunted” because his prospects certainly were.

Former Hogwarts House: Slytherin -- sorted nearly the second the hat touched his head because of course he was, he was Draco Lucius Malfoy, last heir to both the Malfoy and Black families, and the scion of two of the purest lines in all of magical Britain and absolutely guaranteed to do great things!

Infection:

( No. Although I think it would be a fun potential plot to have him be infected either temporarily or permanently later! Actually I feel like “temporary infections” should be a regular effect of his vampire slaying efforts, since he’s likely to be exposed through that! )

Faceclaim: Alexander Skarsgård--present. Austin Butler--past.

Short HeadCanon Topics (please provide at least one paragraph per topic)

Occupation (title and one paragraph explanation): 

None...technically. Malfoys don’t need jobs, after all, so it should surprise no one that Draco hasn’t got one -- and it’s not as though he’s in a position where he can dabble in politics the way his father (and his father, and his father) did, is he? No, Draco has no job, only hobbies...

Or some might say, obsessions. One, actually: vampires. Draco Malfoy is a vampire hunter, possibly the first proper vampire hunter in over a hundred years. There hadn’t been a need for any in ages; vampires and wix had learned to co-exist long ago. Vampires had never really been accepted as ordinary people -- but they’d been fashionably exotic creatures, not scorned like half-giants or distrusted like goblins. The Malfoys in particular had been happy to socialize with (and take the money of) vampires, particularly back in the day; after Voldemort’s firstrise it became less acceptable for pure-blood wix to associate with any groups of non-wix unless they were serving the Dark Lord as well -- and vampires never did. Even as werewolves let themselves be courted and giants agreed to be bought, vampires kept their distance. So the Malfoys drifted away from them...

Until now. Until Astoria’s infection.

At first, Draco’s sole focus was in curing her -- and he hasn’t abandoned that hope. But as time passed and all his best efforts came to naught, those hopes have dwindled to a sort of cold, shriveled desperation. He still brews-up the occasional draught; still pieces-together scraps of old spells in hopes that something, some day, will save her...but that’s not his sole focus any longer. For a long time after the war, none of the Malfoys looked beyond the gates of the manor to the world outside -- but Scorpius is out there, now. He’s attending Hogwarts, moving through the world. Someday he’s going to grow-up and want to find a place for himself beyond the manor’s walls -- and like Lucius before him, Draco is determined to make that world as safe as possible for his child. Unlike Lucius, it’s not the tenuous (and perhaps somewhat exaggerated) threat of Muggles that Draco hopes to stem: it’s vampires, and the ever-increasing rate of infection among the magical world.

For a long time, he’s been fighting this quiet war alone in the dark. Who was he going to turn to for help, after all? Certainly not the Ministry of Magic! If Draco Malfoy walked in their doors talking about the dangers of a group of non-wix, he’d be lucky to just be ushered-away with a lecture on prejudice! No, he’s had to do this by himself -- but maybe not for much longer? Maybe things have finally gotten bad enough for someone else to notice...but will they want Draco’s help, expert though he has become on the subject? Maybe it’s still better for him to go this alone.

Marital Status/Ships: 

(tl;dr - Draco loves Astoria but they aren’t together like that and fidelity isn’t a requirement of their marriage anyway; someone else would have to make the first several dozen moves before he would notice being flirted at, though! READ MORE)

Married to Astoria Greengrass. One might think it would be difficult for a lesbian witch to be married to a panro-ace wizard, but their marriage was never about romance. Yes, Draco very much considers Astoria someone he loves -- but what kind of love? Even he wouldn’t be able to answer that question, especially not these days. Astoria’s current state of vampiric infection makes her...strange. The guilt of not being able to cure her eats away at him too, and affects his every interaction with her. He’s an expert potioneer; why can’t he fix this? She’s his wife, why can’t he save her? His parents managed to keep each other (more or less) safe throughout two wars and a volatile Dark Lord; how could he be so inferior as to be unable to save his spouse from some stupid infection? An infection over which his mother initially wanted Astoria banished from the home, incidentally -- marking one of the few times when Draco has actually vehemently disagreed with Narcissa Malfoy. (One of the others was when he took the Dark Mark; he hopes that this doesn’t turn out like that but sometimes on the worst days, he wonders if his mother was right and keeping Astoria at home is dangerous -- possibly for their son!?) But infected or not, unclean or not, Draco knows he will always love Astoria.

That doesn’t mean he’s sleeping with her, though -- or that he wouldn’t sleep with someone else. Fidelity was never considered an integral part of a successful marriage in his social circles; indeed, a couple that spends so much time in one another’s beds as his parents do is the oddity rather than the norm. (Not that the two of them, especially Lucius, haven’t visited a number of other beds in their time, sometimes apart and sometimes together -- but Draco never found it nearly as entertaining as some of his friends back at Hogwarts did to talk about that.) A dalliance or even a love affair -- or a dozen -- on either his part or Astoria’s wouldn’t impact how Draco thinks about his wife or their marriage at all. Why would it? If he wasn’t something of a social pariah, he probably would have had a dozen little affairs by now -- but it’s not like he cares enough to miss the lack either (only even thinks about it when his father starts lamenting Draco’s lack of interesting experiences). It’s just the sort of thing one expects, that’s all. Of course, these days Draco’s a bit preoccupied, and hunting down vampires doesn’t leave a lot of time for dalliances...but if that leaves his bed a bit cold, it’s not something he’s ever noticed. 

MultiParagraph or Multi Point Topics

Family: 

Nothing matters more to Draco. Growing up, he idolized his parents and thought them perfect; his father was Draco’s model for idealized wizarding masculinity and Draco was determined to follow in his footsteps in every way. Even now, having been brought (quite painfully) face-to-face with their flaws and failings, he still adores and admires them. Not only did they always dote on him (maybe more than they should have) but during the war they proved over and over that they were each of them willing to die for his sake without hesitation -- something that was more than enough to erase any potential resentment he might have felt at having been forced into such misery by their choices. Yes, these days he knows that there are things they were wrong about -- but he still trusts their judgement in most areas, still values their opinion. Still loves them. They made it through a war together on the strength of that love; in these dark days, he still draws comfort from it.

The most important person in Draco’s life today isn’t his parents, though, or even his wife; it’s Scorpius, his precious son and only child. Growing-up in a house with four doting adults and little in the way of child companions meant that Scorpius’s childhood was never lonely but also did little to prepare him for peer socialization. He was always precociously clever; these days he qualifies as an unabashed swot and a distinct introvert. While he has the customary Malfoy sharp silver tongue, he substitutes defensive insecurity for swagger and brittle pride for arrogance. His recent appointment to Chaser on his house team has helped him build a few tentative bridges to his housemates, but his closest friends remain fellow Slytherin Albus Potter and Albus’s cousin, Rose Granger-Weasley. They aren’t the friends that Draco would have chosen for his son, but he has come to appreciate them deeply for the support and affection they offer Scorpius. (Even if Draco still tries to have as little to do with their families as possible.) 

Draco’s affection for his son was always torn in two directions: wanting to give him anything and everything that would make him happy, and wanting to raise Scorpius to be a better person than he ever was himself. The latter did result in more than a few lectures (much more than a few) but that didn’t mean Draco wasn’t still an indulgent parent and Scorpius did indeed receive just about anything he ever asked for, materially. Draco would give his son everything he wanted, if he could -- but even his best efforts can’t cure Scorpius’s mother.

Scorpius was only four when Astoria was infected; when Astoria changed. Sometimes she still seems like herself (less and less each year, though -- or is that just in Draco’s head?) and they can all pretend that everything is fine; others...well. Draco has explained to Scorpius many times that the things his mother thinks she sees aren’t real. (Probably.) That he shouldn’t listen to them, worry about them. And Scorpius says he understands...but Scorpius was four and she’s his mum. While he doesn’t tell his father, he secretly believes every word that comes from his mother’s mouth. He thinks of her less as a Seer and more of a prophet, different from everyone else’s mother yes -- but special-different, not worse. He doesn’t talk about those thoughts to anyone, even Albus and Rose (maybe it would be better if he did; maybe someone could explain things to him better now that he’s older) but instead he nods seriously at all his father’s admonishments and his grandparents’ words of caution...and then goes and listens to his mother anyway.

It probably won’t lead to disaster. His mother would never hurt him, after all -- never tell him anything she’s seen that might lead him to do something dangerous. Not on purpose, anyway.

Childhood/Hogwarts: 

(I’m going to go short on this part because A: I’ve rambled far more than I should have elsewhere and B: we know a lot of this from the books already, so if there’s any part of this I can get away with truncating to compensate for the rest, it’s this!)

Draco was a bully and a bigot and a brat; there’s no denying this. He was spoiled absolutely rotten, and it showed. He also genuinely loved his parents, and they loved him back, although perhaps not always in the most healthy of ways (see: aforementioned spoiling). He had a very good childhood, although school wasn’t as great as he’d expected -- for one thing, stupid Harry Potter didn’t want to be his friend even though he was clearly the coolest person in the whole castle, and for another this horrible Mudblood kept outscoring him in everything. (Potter even managed to out-cheat him at Quidditch every time!) But otherwise, everything was more or less okay -- until the Dark Lord came back, and it all fell apart. Draco went from being a pampered little prince to sobbing in the loo with only a dead girl for company; his two best friends stopped believing in him; Harry Potter nearly killed him; he nearly killed a lot of other people; and then when his favorite teacher finally got appointed headmaster it still didn’t make things better. In the end, despite all of Draco’s efforts he really accomplished nothing. He didn’t decide the outcome of the war; all he did was lose a friend and somehow make it out alive with his parents by the skin of their collective teeth, forgotten and ignored by everyone around them. In the end, he came to nothing and had to count himself lucky for it.

Post Hogwarts: (TW: brief mention of self harm, addiction! Also mentions of other characters that may-or-may-not be considered “game canon” based on discussion with whomever eventually comes to play said characters!) 

Draco knows he’s luckier than he deserves, him and his parents. By rights, all three of them should probably be in Azkaban...but they aren’t. The trials they faced at the end of the war were long, grueling, and humiliating (crying in front of the entire Wizengamot is not an experience that Draco recommends to anyone) and the worst part was that Draco spent the entire process certain that he was going to Azkaban; he only made the effort of testifying with as much honesty and detail as he did because he hoped that his mother, the only one of them not to take the Dark Mark, might be spared incarceration if both he and his father told all they knew. His parents were doing the same thing, largely in hopes of sparing their son from Azkaban -- but fortunately for the Malfoys, what they knew far outweighed what they’d actually done...mostly because they hadn’t actually accomplished much. (If Lucius’s crimes from the first war had been included, things might have gone differently…) Draco failed at just about everything he tried, Lucius had spent most of the war either locked-away or wandless at the Dark Lord’s side, and Narcissa had been “protected” from having to take much action by the combination of her husband’s shame and her sister’s enthusiasm. And then, of course, there was Harry Potter -- surprising witness for the defense. There was no love lost between Draco and his very first enemy, but Harry nonetheless spoke-up for the Malfoys: Narcissa had lied to the Dark Lord, Draco had kept quiet when he recognized them, and Harry had seen through Voldemort’s own eyes that they had not been willing servants -- not by the end, anyway. Somehow, all of that had been enough to spare them…

At least from prison. Public opinion was another matter, so the Malfoys murmured their gratitude, paid their fines, and slunk away behind the walls of their mournful manor, all three of them -- and the house -- much reduced in pride and splendor. Draco spent the next few years wallowing in guilt and nightmares, repeatedly failing to carve the Dark Mark out of his arm, and worrying his parents. Highlights include: a short but bitter confrontation with Gregory Goyle at Vincent Crabbe’s tombstone (not that there was a body to bury, but tradition had to be maintained), a bewildering letter from Pansy regretfully breaking-up with him for the sake of her own future chances (had they been dating?), and a lengthy addiction to Dreamless Sleep Potion (he hadn’t even known you could get addicted to Dreamless Sleep, let alone that repeated doses made it toxic! At least he learned something interesting about potions in the process…). The last thing anyone expected was a wedding to brighten things up, but then again people -- Draco included --  had always underestimated Astoria Greengrass.

Draco, in fact, barely knew who she was -- just the little sister of one of Pansy’s friends whom he knew dimly from school. She certainly made an impression, though, going from introduction to proposal in less than five minutes. It wasn’t romance she was pitching, of course, but a more traditional sort of marriage -- an arrangement of convenience. Draco needed an heir to the family line, she wanted the comforts of wealth and the resources to pursue her interests somewhere no one would bother her (and with access to the right kind of supplies and resources, so she could avoid repeating her Aunt Pandora’s unfortunate fate). The Malfoys needed a dose of respectability, and the Greengrasses were solid middle class pure-bloods who had never been accused of more than peripheral brushes with the Dark Arts. They both stood to gain -- and outliers like Draco’s parents notwithstanding, wasn’t that what all successful marriages were really based on? Certainly in the world in which Draco had been socialized, they were; his parents had always been viewed with bemused confusion for how deeply besotted they were with one another. Marrying Astoria wasn’t an act of passion or romance -- but it made sense. What didn’t make sense to Draco was how easy it was to fall into friendship with the stubborn witch -- but he wasn’t going to complain.

He was happy, which wasn’t something he’d ever expected to feel again after the age of sixteen. And they had a son. Scorpius was the best thing that ever happened to Draco, far better than he deserved -- but he wasn’t going to complain about that, either. One of the many painful lessons he’d learned over the course of his lifetime of mistakes was how to be happy with what he had, and he couldn’t imagine anything better than Scorpius anyway. It wasn’t the sort of “perfect life” he’d anticipated when he was young and foolish -- but it was good.

Until it wasn’t. When Astoria’s magical tinkering left her infected with vampirism ten years ago, the happy illusion of a happily-ever-after fell apart. Draco dove into research, trying to brew a cure -- but nothing worked. He dug deeper, delving into all the family’s information on their pre-Voldemort vampiric connections and then branching-out, calling in the few family favors people were still willing to (or too scared not to) repay and exploring every shabby shop that dealt with the Dark Arts that he could find. He didn’t discover a cure; he did discover that Astoria wasn’t the only recent case of vampiric infection.

Current: 

Draco Malfoy never set out to save anyone but his own family. Unfortunately for Draco’s selfish nature, one of the things he’s learned over the last ten years is that the only way to save Astoria may involve sticking his neck out for other people, too. (Or maybe that’s just the excuse he gives himself. Maybe his pursuit of the vampires who are infecting his world, his home, is more about vengeance than salvation at this point.) That dosen’t mean it’s something that comes naturally to him, or something he likes.

Case in point: he hasn’t bothered to try and convince the wider Wizarding World that they ought to be worried, proactive -- because frankly if he did, who would listen? No, better to keep it to himself because that way at least no one is trying to stop him. Not that such a quest can be a solitary pursuit: one needs resources, information, occasionally even “allies” of a sort (mostly the sort that can be bought with money and favors, not loyalty). Fortunately Draco still has money and the one thing the Malfoy name can still buy aside from gold is favors and connections with those who walk the edges of the Dark Arts (and lower). Not that most of those favors or connections are as open-armed as they once were (turning your back on a Dark Lord and helping to testify against all your old friends so they go to prison while you go free doesn’t do much to endear oneself to anyone) but Draco doesn’t really care if people are grudging or reluctant or downright insulting so long as they do or give him what he needs. This mission isn’t about saving his reputation or restoring the family name; those wistful daydreams evaporated ten years ago. Now he doesn’t even waste time on the hope that Scorpius may be able to redeem their name enough to make a future for himself that isn’t overshadowed by the family’s past; these days, just keeping things from falling apart further is all he can ask.

Of course, he’s doing more than just sitting at home trying to hold his family together. Yes, he spends as much as he can with them -- his son, especially, although that happens less these days now that Scorpius is off at school for months at a time -- but he’s got his mission, too, which can keep him out of the house for days at a time (especially now that Scorpius is at Hogwarts, although with his parents living in the other wing of the manor even when Scorpius was young and Astoria was having a particularly bad day he didn’t have to worry about leaving them alone). There’s nowhere Draco won’t go in his pursuit both of the horrible creatures that are spreading this infection and the knowledge he seeks to cure it -- although it’s certainly easier to get around Knockturn Alley than the halls of the Ministry of Magic, for a Malfoy! He hesitates to involve his son, but on rare occasion he may even ask Scorpius to check something for him in the Hogwarts library, but doing so leaves him sickened at the thought that someone might see and wonder why so he ignores that resource perhaps more often than he should. There’s nothing else he won’t do in his quest, however...even knowing that he ought to be more prudent. It would be awful if the Department of Magical Law Enforcement were to turn suspicious eyes on him, after all -- but he can’t just do nothing, can he?

And maybe, deep down, there’s part of him who still thinks he can get away with it. After all, no matter how repentant he is -- how much he’s changed, how much the way the world views him has changed -- he is still, at heart, Draco Malfoy.

Plots:

#1. The Potters and the Weasleys -- and everyone else whom Draco called “enemy” (or “blood-traitor” or “filthy mudblood” etc) for his entire childhood. Where do they stand now? What happens when they have to work together? When they have to take his word for the things he knows, the expertise he’s accumulated? When he’s the one who knows how to save somebody, not them? When he’s the one fighting the “forces of darkness” while they sat back in ignorant safety as the world quietly shattered around them? Will they be practical about it, will they trust him? Will they be gracious or stubborn, convinced that there are some Marks that can’t be washed away? Will he be an ass? (Almost definitely -- but to what level?)  There’s likely been very little interaction between Draco and most of these people over the last twenty years -- but does that mean the mental scars have softened? How much infected blood does it take to clear away all the blood under the bridge that’s flowed between all of them? I’m looking forward to Draco having to face all the people he’s been avoiding -- and for them to have to (or refuse to) face the fact that this time, he might be on the right side...or is he? In a world where vampirism is becoming more and more common, at what point does a vampire hunter stop being a protector and start becoming the monster? Is Draco once again going to find himself -- this time with the best of intentions -- labeled the bad guy?

#2. Luna Lovegood. She’s more than just “another member of the D.A.” to Draco; she’s the girl who was locked-up in the cellar of his home for months, the girl he was forced more than once to torture. He never thought much about Loony Lovegood before then (she was easy to make fun of, sure, and he’d do so if the opportunity walked in front of him, but she wasn’t someone he was interested enough in to go out of his way to bully her -- he had better targets for that!) but she’s featured regularly in his guilty nightmares ever since. The fact that he later married her cousin just made things more convoluted -- although thankfully the Greengrasses and the Lovegoods had never really had anything to do with one another… Basically: I would love to explore some kind of dynamic with Draco and Luna! Has he been successfully avoiding her since 1998? Did Astoria invite her estranged family to the wedding? Do they run into each other in the shops sometimes -- Draco trying to turn invisible, Luna waving politely? Maybe he tried to apologize once and Luna made him squirm by shrugging it off -- oh well it’s not like you wanted to do it, is it? I could tell that quite well, you’re not a very good liar are you? Anyway, why would I blame you for what Voldemort made you do to me? That doesn’t seem sensible at all...why are you making that face? Have you swallowed a wrackspurt? -- and now every time he sees her, he tries to run the other way out of fears that she’ll be nice. Or maybe she’s not nice. Luna doesn’t seem the grudge-holding sort...but if anything were going to teach her how, surely the Cruciatus Curse would do it! Maybe she doesn’t wave; maybe she scowls until he slithers away, cringing in impotent repentance. Maybe he even tried investing in The Quibbler -- paying to restore the damage the Death Eaters and Hermione had done to the printing press and her father’s home -- as recompense, and Luna threw the money back in his face...or maybe he now, quite unintentionally, owns a “share” of The Quibbler. Something that Pansy and Blaise would probably never stop laughing about if they knew… I don’t know, there are so many options for what direction to take things with the two of them! I’d love to explore ANY.

#3: Infection. This one’s more just for “me” but I love the idea of still-rather-bigoted Draco Malfoy having to cope not just with the fact that his wife has been infected with vampirism (something he mostly did with a lot of denial and cognitive dissonance tbh) but himself, too. In his “career” as a vampire hunter, he must have encountered a few instances of contamination -- nothing permanent, nothing where the blood went both ways -- but temporary infections? Oh, certainly! I expect the first time absolutely tore him to shreds, emotionally. He’s Draco Malfoy. He’s the purest of the pure. How could he be infected? Inconceivable, insupportable! He’d never recover, never be the same -- only he did recover. And then what choice did he have but to keep going? Each time, I think he’s more sickened by the facts than he is by the symptoms themselves; by the fact that he’s been tainted by something impure. And each time he picks himself back up after and keeps going -- but eventually the toll is going to tell. (Either that, or he’ll have to come to terms with the fact that all blood-purity is nonsense, not just the idea that Muggle-borns have “lesser” magic.) Whether this breaks him down or builds him up better, I’m interested to explore this painful process of involuntary self-discovery!

Other:

Attisgalli Corrective Draught -- a gender reassignment potion designed for use by the entire Potterverse fandom. Offered here both as extra detail on what potion Draco takes, and for anyone else who might want to make use of it either as-is or as inspiration for their own creations!

+Fashion Headcanon: The featureless black school robes and ubiquitous pointed hats were a blessing to Draco, although he didn’t realize it at first; he’d grown-up used to his father’s flamboyant style of dress, and the dullness of the Hogwarts student body was wearying...until he started to realize that there were some wix who didn’t think it suitable for a wizard to dress like that. His father didn’t, wouldn’t have, cared; Draco found it a more troubling perspective. (Of course broad-shouldered, boisterous, assigned-male-at-birth Lucius’s masculinity had never been doubted by anyone; even those who despised him or dismissed him as a vain and foppish fool never thought he wasn’t a wizard.) The plain black robes were easier...safer. They didn’t require any thought; didn’t have room for any self-expression that might make a statement. On the one hand, Draco wanted to swagger into a room like his father would have, peacock feathers trailing from his shoulders and glittering gemstones in his hair, grinning in arrogant superiority...but on the other, he didn’t want to be teased for being too girly. (Not after discovering that that was a thing some people said about things.) His fourth year at school was the hardest: starting your very first day of classes by being turned into a ferret and humiliated in front of half the student body would have shaken anyone’s confidence. The fact that things were unsettled at home didn’t help; his father was more distracted than Draco had ever seen him before, and mother was little better, both of them fretting over the impending return of the Dark Lord and trying (and succeeding, then) to keep their son from thinking that would be anything but a good thing. Maybe if Draco had been more open with his parents about his emotional struggles...but he was at a stage of trying to seem grown-up. To prove they didn’t need to baby him anymore. (To prove that he was ready to help the Dark Lord, too.) So he kept quiet...and had them send him a different, plainer set of dress robes for the Yule Ball instead of the flamboyant, Lucius-approved concoction of dripping blue silk and pearl beading that he’d meant to wear initially. Draco felt safer in the plain (but impeccable!) black -- a feeling that never went away. Even today he prefers understated elegance, dark colors that don’t draw the eye; prefers clothing that is protective in its coverage -- high collars and tall boots (the sole concession he makes to modern fashions is to allow the skirts of his robes to sometimes lift enough to show calves and even knees, albeit always suitably clad in hose or tights or trousers; he’s not a barbarian) and of course: long sleeves. No one outside the family has seen past Draco’s wrists in over twenty years and, if Draco has his way, no one ever will.