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tadpolesonalgae · 2 months ago

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Blood-borne

Azriel x reader

synopsis: When reports of attacks from strange beasts increase up in the desolate Illyrian Steppes, both Azriel and Cassian are tasked with clearing out the malicious creatures. But when Azriel is bitten by one and sweats break out, the High Lord realises perhaps he should have put more time into investigating the ancient species. More specifically, why the attacks started after a millennia’s worth of peaceful cohabitation, and what the consequences will be of their venom once again mixing with Illyrian blood.

warnings: blood, illness, eventual vampire! Az, generic healing descriptions

a/n: so this started off with I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead, then switched to Lust For A Vampyr, and finally ended with Sour Switchblade. Who knows where the next one will start 😔

word count: 7,975

It’s the dead of night. Peaceful.

The moon is high in the sky—a gleaming, crooked, slash of a smile—and the city is dark, revelling in the beloved starlight far above, twinkling like millions of glazed, porcelain teeth, cast into a murky black sea and stitched into the heavens. Your windows are ajar, a cool night breeze circulating your chambers, keeping the air fresh and crisp even while you sleep.

Azriel and Cassian will return in the early morning, eager to be rid of Illyria as soon as possible. Between the two of them Azriel will likely be the one more insistent on a swift departure, though you can’t imagine him ever voicing his distain. Luckily Cassian will be there to pick up on his non-verbal signals.

You’ll have to check in with Feyre too, make sure she’s recovering well after her birth. Physically, the damage was extensive—if it wasn’t for the healing blood in her veins and Nesta’s intervention… Your fingers pinch the bridge of your nose, rubbing to soothe the growing headache before your arm slides across your face, elbow hanging crooked over your brow. She’s been on the mend but it’ll be a long while yet before she can even think about shifting again; longer yet before she can fly. As for her son…he’s healthy. Practically brimming with life. Everyone’s seen the twinkle in his round eyes. You’re certain he’ll grown into a menace soon enough.

As for Elain…

Guilt is a ball of iron in your chest. With everything that’s been happening as of late there’s been little time for either you or Madja to keep a proper eye on her. You just hope the two of you haven’t been too preoccupied with the more obvious matters to disregard the internal ones. It’s hard to gauge where she’s at, and you often have to rely on Nuala’s reports to hazard a guess at what might be going through the young female’s mind. Externally, she’s doing exceptionally well—keeping herself busy: baking, reading, walking, gardening, knitting, sewing, stitching, studying. She keeps herself fresh and put together, skin healthy and strong, hair lustrous and long, a vivid glow about her. No eye-bags nor sallow complexion, she communicates with the twins fine and only has rare days of reclusion where she retreats to her bedroom. By all means she’s doing well.

It’s worrying.

There’s so much to keep an eye on within this family, so many minor tensions to understand—more so than any other setting you’ve been placed in. Each day has its own set events to overcome, a new detail to examine, whether that’s a shift in expression as another family member enters the room or as blatant as the simmering hatred that so nastily permeates any room the High Lord and his eldest sister-in-law, Nesta, are placed in.

Inhaling a dragging breath, your focus slips to the raindrops glittering over the window pane, the piercing light of the moon shimmering like tiny stars, the inky darkness of the city itself reflected upward from below like tight, vicious pupils, hundreds of tiny eyes pressed up to the glass.

A thunderous crash comes from the floor below, the thump pulsing once through your chest, jerking you awake.

At once your feet find the cool wooden floorboards, a nightgown strung over bare shoulders, not a second of movement wasted before the glowing faelight is cupped in your palm and the cold iron of the door handle is twisted, opening up into the yawning darkness of the corridor. A gust of rain-soaked wind funnels down the hallway, whipping hair from your face and the faelight flickers, shuddering once before pushing back against the looming shadows crowding the space.

You hug your thin nightgown tighter, hurrying barefooted down the hall to the staircase, skin tightening to gooseflesh as a second gust of icy wind flushes through the house, howling from the front door that is cast wide. The rug is soaking beneath your feet as you press it closed, following the low light at the far end of the corridor to the kitchen, tiles colder than ice and soaked in puddles of water.

Blood roars through your ears, pausing only for a second of analysis as you take in the rain-soaked scene. Shards of ceramics scatter the floor, a body splayed across the dining room table, two figures stood either side. It’s all you have time for before rushing forward, only now catching the sickening tang of iron in the air, the wind having previously blown the scent away and you tap the fae light twice in your palm before releasing it high above the slumped figure on the table. It’ll have to do for now.

Sour, pale-yellow light fills the dining room and blood gurgles from Azriel’s mouth, wet gasps bubbling up from his chest. Rhysand is stood at one head of the table, hand clutched tight around Azriel’s, the High Lord’s towering figure curved crookedly over his brother’s, close enough their brows are touching and it’s clear enough Rhysand is doing what he can mentally, relieving pain, sorting through panic and adrenaline to find his shadowsinger some order to cling to.

“What happened?” You ask Cassian, darting forward to closer examine Azriel’s state. As far as you can see there are two main wounds, one on the thigh of his left leg and a second having broken into his ribcage on the opposite side. By now the blood flow has already begun to wane, a countdown to his life force bleeding dry. If the wound had been gushing you would have felt more reassured. There’s far too little blood coming from wounds as deep as his.

“There were more than we anticipated,” Cassian grits out. “Their nest was supposed to be on the far side of the mountain. Most of them got cleared out but two we’d already cut down must have been playing dead and bit on our retreat.”

“The chimeras?” You ask, noting the splay of teeth marks that are puncturing the right side of Azriel’s torso, the fleshy grey of broken bone visible through one of the upper gouges.

Cassian nods grimly and you seal your mouth shut to prevent from cursing. It’s bad luck to hear a healer curse—your job is to know what’s going on and get things better, not worse. Adrenalised panic only helps in temporarily keeping pain away. For now you have to do what you can, sealing the wounds, and hope that there’s no fractured enamel trapped inside.

“Has he begun healing yet?” You ask, pressing the second and third fingers on both your hands either side what you guess must be the puncture mark of the beasts’ canine, two significantly larger than the others.

“No. I think he’s lost too much blood to manage anything like that. He wouldn’t stop bleeding the entire flight down,” Cassian replied, voice raw. You wonder how long he was shouting to Azriel over the screaming storm outside in order to keep him conscious. Cassian’s dark eyes shift to his brother’s face, thick brows growing heavy as they stitch together, chest still heaving as adrenaline doubtlessly begins to seep away, leaving stagnant fear to lean on. “I thought he was going to die,” Cassian murmurs, so low you doubt either other male can hear.

“He’s not going to die,” you assure, pushing growth into the surrounding tissue, guiding his open flesh back together like shaping clay. “Hold the wound on his leg until I can let these ones breathe.”

A pulse of rejection seizes Azriel’s chest, blood flecking his sour-toned skin, Rhysand’s own knuckles turning bone white as he grips tighter to his brother. You’re lucky he’s here, or else things would be much worse. You don’t linger on the thought, your own breath beginning to labour as you move to the second puncture gouge in his chest, bone protruding from deeper in the flesh.

A twinge of fear pieces your mind.

Azriel groans on the table, wings deathly still where they’re splayed off the sides, the joints at their ends beginning to curl inward like a spider’s legs on the verge of death. Breath whistles in his lungs, blood no longer gurgling from his chest—barely moving at all.

“Rhys!” You shout, pulling him from that mental bridge he’d been tending Azriel upon, gripping his shoulder roughly. “Pull away! Pull away!”

The High Lord’s chest heaves as he forces himself back, releasing the soothing hold he’d had on Azriel’s mind, hands still clutched together.

The Shadowsinger jolts on the table, body writhing as fresh pain blazes through flesh, senses no longer muted. It’s probably going to be the last thing he can hold onto.

He’s fading.

You look at Cassian, bloody fingers still pressing down on the wound, the miniature, magical stitches sewing tissue back together slowly making their way back to the surface, flesh returning to its healed state. “Fetch Madja,” you instruct, “We’ll have a better chance with both of us. Quick. And Rhys, I want you to find-”

A gasp comes from the doorway and the High Lord’s expression drains. It’s far from ideal to have her within such a high stress environment but it’s really a last resort.

“Feyre, your blood,” you request urgently, feeling the weight as violet eyes cut into your side, but it’s necessary. It’s the boost that will save Azriel’s life, or at least sustain him until Madja arrives. “Only a small amount,” you say calmly, “he just needs enough to keep him alive until I have Madja to help.”

Feyre swallows only once before she’s hurrying forward, blue-grey eyes rushing over the male on the table, tension in her jaw. “How much?” She asks, taking the blade Cassian hands her before he heads out into the night. “A slice across your palm. If you feel faint stop immediately.”

She doesn’t hesitate, an excess of blood swelling in her hand before spilling into Azriel’s open mouth, pale lips soaked red. His throat works and you rush round to his other side, now pressing one palm to each gash.

There’s no time to pace yourself in this encounter.

It’s a one-time brawl, not a long-spanned battle.

————

Come morning your hands are aching, lungs tired and stretched, throat parched. You haven’t had such a long night since the end of the war.

At least now you have free access to water, which you’d taken full advantage of when returning to your room.

By the time Madja had arrived you’d had all the immediate injuries patched but there had still been little colour to Azriel’s complexion. Pallid save for the blood staining his open mouth. If Cassian hadn’t flown so swiftly; if Feyre hadn’t been there; if Azriel hadn’t the strength to hang on… It’s a small miracle he’s still alive and breathing.

As soon as the sun touches the horizon you get yourself up, preparing to take over Madja’s shift after she’d seen him through the night. There’s still a drained pit where your magic should be, the small amount of sleep you’d managed to grab doing little to aid its replenishment, but it should be enough for today.

It’s only upon seeing the bloodstained bandages wrapping Azriel’s body and leg that you realise all the rainwater from the night before must have been blood, soaking the rugs, the tiled floors, the bare skin of your feet. It’s a good thing those clothes had been stripped down and tossed into a pile before falling into sleep the night just past.

“How is he?” You ask, stepping into Azriel’s room. The thick curtains are drawn, but even so it’s too light.

“Asleep, for now,” Madja replies, raising from her chosen seat at the bedside. “Once I administered the pain reliever he settled down and hasn’t stirred since.” Worried eyes flicker over the male’s body, dark hands tucking her pencil away. You step forward, hand cupping her elbow carefully, “You deserve some rest, too.” Brown eyes don’t leave Azriel for a few moments, but eventually she nods, meeting your gaze, returning the touch on your arm. “You’re a competent healer, you know. You did well last night.” Madja smiles, nodding. “Good work.”

The words remain in your mind all morning while you’re overseeing Azriel, routinely checking his temperature, keeping an eye on his breathing patterns, and pulse, but it’s not until well past midday that he stirs.

You sit silently at his side. It’s his breathing that changes first, a deeper breath than the ones before bringing air deep into his lungs, lips peeling themselves apart. Then it’s a twitch in his brows, lifting once then furrowing over his eyes which screw themselves shut. A low groan rumbles in his throat and you allow yourself a subtle sigh of relief. His eyes are next, blinking open by less than a hair’s breadth, pupils gradually contracting to filter the light away until he can look around freely. It takes him longer than usual to get his bearings, but that’s to be expected.

You wait until he’s ready to speak.

“How bad is it?” Azriel rasps, his vocal cords chewed up. A smile curves your eyes, “You aren’t dead.” Air rattles in his lungs, a wheezing cough stuttering once from his chest and you offer the glass of water from his bedside. Azriel tilts his head to the side, and you retract the glass.

“I’m going to ask you a few questions,” you tell him, turning to the notebook Madja had left for you. “First of all, what’s your name?” Azriel is silent and you look over to him, concern welling in your chest, but instead his mouth is pursed, expression flat. You sigh, fondness pushing up into your voice, “Come on. It’s routine.”

“Azriel,” Azriel answers, giving you a deadpan look. You nod. “Do you remember where you were going yesterday?”

A pause, then, “Illyria. Cassian and I were returning.”

“Good, but you’re jumping ahead,” you warn, making hazel eyes brighten within the shadowy room. “Can you tell me the names of your two brothers?”

“Cassian and Rhysand.”

“Do you know where you are?”

This time Azriel pauses, eyes darting around the room, his brow furrowing. “The River House?”

You nod, “You’re in a guest bedroom since it was closer. I’m afraid it’ll probably be some time before we can move you to your own room.” But Azriel tips his head to the side again, “It’s fine.”

“Alright,” you reply quietly, keeping your smile to yourself. “Next question. Just a few more,” you add when Azriel exhales heavily. “Do you remember what happened to you?”

“Cassian and I were supposed to be investigating the recent attacks up in Illyria. There was supposed to be no contact.”

You nod, smile faded. “Do you remember how you got your injuries?”

“We thought we’d cleared out the ones that had found us, but we hit their nest by chance and there were too many. On the way out one that had been dead bit me.” You wait for him to continue but he stops, looking back to you.

“Is that all?”

Azriel nods.

You note down his story, along with the point his memory cuts out. “You don’t remember the second bite?” You inquire. Azriel tilts his head, no. “Do you remember getting here?” Azriel tilts his head again, no.

You nod, sitting straighter. Pushing a reassuring expression to your features. “Well, the good news is you aren’t dead, as you’re aware.” Azriel rolls his eyes, then hisses, groaning as something hurts. “Your wings are also unscathed, which I’m sure you’ll be pleased to hear.” The Shadowsinger grumbles something you don’t hear. Of course you’re glad he’s okay.

“Right,” you announce, pushing the glass of water to him again which he drinks from reluctantly, “Are you feeling right enough to answer a few more questions for me, or would you like to rest?”

“What time is it?” He asks.

You glance at the clock on the wall, “It’s coming up for four in the afternoon.”

“I can answer a few more questions,” he decides, allowing you to take the glass from his hand once he’s done.

“Firstly, how are you feeling? Any pain or numbness? Changes in temperature? Aches?” You prompt, pencil at the ready. “My head is pounding,” he answers, eyes remaining only half open though you doubt it’s entirely from fatigue. “My lower body is numb, but my left foot feels cold. A dead cold.” You nod, pencil scratching. “My throat is sore, but my eyes and teeth are the most piercing.”

Your brow furrows, “Eyes and teeth, huh… Are your eyes hurting as a part of your headache, or do you feel it’s different?”

“It’s like I haven’t slept in two weeks, and something’s trying to suck them from my skull,” Azriel rasps. Scritch scratch. “And…you mentioned your teeth are hurting… Toothache? I’ll ask Cassian whether your jaw might have had a collision.” You glance over to Azriel who’s still pale. But alive. “What does it feel like? Bruising? Broken?” You’d know if it was broken, though.

Azriel tilts his head. “More piercing. Here.” Azriel guides his tongue to his left canine. “And here.” He touches the right one. Your brows furrow then you remember to keep your face neutral. Azriel wheezes a sound that might have been a chuckle. “Anything else?” You ask, moving quickly past your error. Azriel tilts his head again, no.

“Alright then. It would be best for you to try and rest for a few more hours—think you can fall back asleep?” You ask, closing the leather-bound notebook and setting it upon the side table. The Spymaster sighs, tilting his head. You aren’t surprised. “You should try. Your body needs the rest.” You pause, considering. Then, “Do you feel well enough to try eating something? It would be good for you.”

Azriel’s eyes slide shut, lips curling miserably and you have to muffle your laugh. “I don’t want to be eating plain chicken for the next few days,” he mumbles.

“We need to be careful of your stomach, and your body needs nutrition. Protein.” You reason, “Be happy you aren’t having to drink your meals after mentioning that toothache.” Hazel eyes crack open just enough to send you a piercing glare, but it only results in an upward twitch of your lips. “Would you like me to fetch you anything in the mean time?” You add, knowing it’s not nice to be resting when there’s work that one could be doing.

“My notebook should be on my desk—can you bring me the stack of reports that will be in the uppermost drawer on the right hand side? There’ll be the first thing you see when you look inside.” You raise a brow, mouth pursing. “Already trying to get back to work?”

His lips twitch. “I have a lot of work to do.”

“Well it’s going to have to wait,” you sigh, standing from your chair. “I can fetch your notebook and a book of your choosing—so long as you promise it won’t be work related.”

“All my books are work related.”

Your eyes narrow on the bedridden male, waiting for his mask to slip but it remains firmly in place. “Seriously? Not one?”

Azriel shrugs. Or tries to. It’s more a light twitch of his wings.

You sigh, nodding to yourself. “Alright. I’ll find something.”

You turn to leave but a small shadow stirs in your periphery, dragging your attention back to him. Hazel eyes twinkle as the darkness lifts the silky dark hair from his brow, damp enough to appear like ink even in the shadowed room. You roll your eyes, pacing back over to his side, gently laying the back of your fingers across his brow. A beat passes, then Azriel’s eyes slide shut the rest of the way. Your touch lingers on his forehead, taking longer than necessary to gauge his temperature.

“Your fingers are cool,” Azriel murmurs. Eyes only opening once you pull away again, silky hair flopping back into place.

“You’re still a little feverish,” you tell him quietly, wary for his aching senses. “Hopefully it’ll pass swiftly enough, but if not your recovery will only take a few extra days.” A pause passes through the room, and you should really be writing that temperature down as your hourly mark.

As if on cue, a warmed plate appears on the bedside table, and a look of sorrow dims Azriel’s already dismal features when he spots the plain, boiled chicken.

You offer a pitying smile which earns you a grunt of displeasure before you’re turning for the door, pausing on the threshold. “I’ll make sure it’s a good book,” you offer.

Azriel’s expression turns dour, brow pinched, mouth thinning, and you can practically see his shadows beginning to brood.

‘It had better be,’ he mouths, voice too worn out to reach you across the room.

————

The next morning is the same routine, waking up as soon as the sun bleeds over the horizon, trickling pale gold into your bedroom on the first floor. It’s a swift execution of movements, washing, combing, and dressing before you’re out into the house and heading down the hall to Azriel’s temporary room.

The handle twists before you have a chance to lay your hand on it, Cassian stepping out from the interior. Hazel eyes shift to you, worn and fatigued—usually it’s Azriel who accessorises with the hints of mauve beneath his eyes. “Did you get to speak with him?” You ask, voice kept low in case Azriel’s resting inside. The General nods, leathers stretching as he pushes the dark hair back from his brow, not yet tied back for the day and curling around his shoulders. “Thank you for keeping him alive,” Cassian says, equally quiet.

“It’s my job,” you smile. “Besides, it wasn’t just me. If you three hadn’t been there it could just as easily have turned bad.” You nod to the door, the room where Azriel’s staying, “You helped more than you think, Cassian.”

Cassian offers a stiff nod, then he’s straightening, about to leave.

“I wanted to ask you something about that night,” you say, catching his attention. “Azriel mentioned his teeth hurting, specifically his canines—do you know if he might have collided with the floor after the first bite?”

“Not that I remember,” Cassian contemplates. “He stayed upright and ambulatory until we reached the tunnel exit.”

You nod, thinking. “Alright… Well, we’ll be keeping an eye on him anyway. Hopefully it’s just a side effect of sinus pressure or headaches.”

Cassian nods his head once, then you’re going your separate ways.

The curtains are still drawn, and Azriel still appears pale despite the shadows dimming colours. He’s asleep however, which is good, at least.

After a brief exchange with Madja over how the night went you’re all ready and seated at his side. The plate from yesterday had been removed but the book is still on the side table, no sign that he started it that you can see.

Like the previous day, Azriel doesn’t wake until long past midday, only rising to consciousness around sundown.

His eyes are thick and heavy as they blink open, a darkened tinge to the whites that you can’t quite make out the colour of in shadow. The skin of his lips is cracked, peeling at the bow of his mouth, pulling back from his teeth. Despite the long bouts of sleep the dark smudges beneath his eyes don’t seem to be going anywhere, only further deepening, contrasted against the waning colour of his skin—the once rich brown now turning grey and ashen. The fever will be surfacing, regardless of suppression and attempted appeasement.

His temperature had begun rising overnight, just tipping into the twenties as the moon slipped away. A sure sign the burning flesh is on its way.

Azriel’s chest lifts and lowers shallowly, breath rasping from desiccated lips. A sheen runs across his pale features, brows appearing closer to oil than ink. Heavy lids slide shut as you guide the slick hair over his forehead to the side, the backs of your fingers laying tenderly down—it’s nowhere yet even near the breaking point.

“Azriel?” You whisper, “Can you hear me?”

The restless flutter of his lashes alerts you to his awareness, eyes stirring beneath near translucent lids, mauve capillaries webbing through the thin flesh. He creeks himself apart—he’s gotten abruptly worse. Bloodshot hazel tries to shift about the room but he groans, eyes choosing to remain stagnant in his skull instead.

“How are you feeling?” You murmur, fingers retracting, splaying the notebook across your lap, pencil in hand. “My head…” Azriel rasps, voice more ragged than when you last heard it, like something’s come along and ripped it to shreds, “…it’s splitting.” Your brow furrows—Cassian reported he hadn’t received a blow to the head. He seemed appropriately injured yesterday, but for some reason he’s so much worse. Could the meat have been off? Surely not.

“Madja told me she administered a balm to your skin before dawn, is the rest of your body aching?” You inquire, considering applying a fresh layer to ease the pain that’s begun to bubble back up.

“My stomach’s starving…” Beneath the cream cotton covers his arm passes over his abdomen, resting. “It’s like someone’s grinding me up between stones.”

“Okay hold still, the balm might feel cold but I’ll apply some more.” Already you’re pulling back his covers, preparing to begin warming the cream between your palms to encourage its goodness to act swiftly but something catches your attention. While there’s no need for bandages over his torso, his thigh has been wrapped and sanitised, now mottled with something dark and not-quite blood coloured. More concerning is the black tissue stitching together the sections where his stomach had been gauged open, thin threads of necrotic flesh lacing his surface.

Your jaw bites itself together, cold overtaking your spine. Whatever’s happening to him is different from general infection.

Lips part as a soft curse slips out—venom? Impossible. The beasts have never been reported to posses glands like that. But it’s the only explanation.

Considering explanations though…was the reason for their seemingly random switch in nature ever understood? Before now the chimeras never bothered the Illyrians, cohabiting up in the steppes peacefully, as far as you’re aware. What catalysed this sudden shift in nature?

Another noise of deep-rooted pain groans through his chest, oil-black brows condensing to a point in the middle of his forehead, skin shining with the movement as feverish sweat breaks across his features. Your own brows furrow, heart beating frenetically, “Azriel…?”

His teeth grit, jaw grinding as if in pain, and his breathing becomes ragged; irregular and torn at the seams. Again you lay your fingers across his brow, and he’s noticeably hotter than before, almost burning in comparison.

Water. He needs water.

“Azriel,” you try but his eyes are shut tight, the fabric of his sheets darkening in a close perimeter around his body, sweat staining the cloth. “Azriel I need you to drink some water,” you urge softly, taking the glass and sliding your palm beneath his head, inclining him from the pillow and bringing the chilled glass to parched lips. He drinks deeply, polishing off the water swiftly and you stand to go in search of a rag to lay across his brow. It brings only a temporary reprieve before he’s panting once again. Teeth worry your lower lip.

Whatever’s happening, it isn’t normal.

“Azriel, I’m going to speak with Rhysand briefly. I’ll be back in three minutes,” you tell him gently, pressing the glass back into his palm. “Drop this on the floor if you need me sooner; I’ll hear it.”

Then you’re off into the hallway. Either male will do, but something was wrong with those creatures, and your instincts are telling you it needs to be gotten to the bottom of, and swiftly.

A life might depend on it.

————

It must be the goodwill of the Mother than allows both Cassian and Rhysand to be at that moment in the latter’s office, heads turning when the door is thrown wide.

Apology passes briefly through your eyes but as soon as you step foot in the room it vanishes, door clicking shut as you hurry into the room. “Cassian, I need to you get me one of those chimeras. Dead or alive, but preferably dead. Something’s wrong with Azriel and I think it’s to do with the change in behaviour we’ve been seeing from those animals.”

Violet eyes flicker, “What’s wrong with Azriel?”

“I don’t know,” you inform, expression hard. “His flesh is turning necrotic in places around the wounds and his fever isn’t breaking. Madja reported his temperature increasing around two o’clock this morning and the way he is now makes it seem as if he’s on the third day and untreated.” You turn to Cassian. “I need one of those Chimeras to examine, as quick as possible. They aren’t supposed to carry venom but it seems a mutation is the only reasonable explanation, in which case we need to figure out what that means and fast, or else we won’t have enough time to figure out what that means for your brother and to cure it.”

The General glances once to the High Lord, sharing a nod before Cassian’s making a swift departure, urgency underlying his movements in a way you hope won’t get him wounded. It makes you call after him. “Whatever you do, don’t be reckless. If you get hurt up there or bitten then both of you will be at risk. This isn’t a time to be cutting corners.”

A muscle in his jaw feathers. “I know.”

Then he’s gone.

Sweat glides down your spine, if he’s as swift as he was the night they returned then the journey there and back should take under an hour. Add on the time to locate and kill a chimera…a few hours, tops. With the rate Azriel’s fever is developing, it’s all you can spare.

Violet eyes are strained when you next meet them, but you’ve little time for further apology as you ask, “How is Feyre doing?”

“Resting,” Rhysand replies, the stern grit of his voice telling you he already knows why you’re asking. Your jaw tightens, shoulders tensing at that tone, something inherent wanting to turn away from that fiercely protective look in his face, warning you not to suggest what you know you have to.

“If worst comes to worst,” you say, quietly.

Rhysand’s expression doesn’t give for a long while, and you fight to keep firm. Until tension flickers through his violet eyes. “It’s her choice,” he relents, tension taut, the whites of his knuckles disagreeing with his words. “But if she tries to give too much, if you don’t stop her then I will.”

You nod grimly, understanding the order well enough.

If Feyre tries to give Azriel more blood than she can afford, you’re to pull her back.

Even if it costs his brother’s life.

————

The sun is down, and Cassian still isn’t back.

The rain lashing at the windows and snarling round the house feels like an omen, shadows dancing like snakes across the floor every time a bolt of lightening fractures the sky. Deadened leaves whip through the howling winds, a deluge crashing down on Velaris.

On the bed, shivering and drenched, is Azriel, pallid skin glistening with a deathly pallor. His surrounding sheets have been doused in sweat, a sour, sick smell filling the room, the stagnant odour of the ill. The black threads of flesh have begun spreading further, thickening into sluggish stumps, streams of necrosis reaching across his stomach; snaring his far leg.

If Cassian isn’t back soon, you’re going to have to try and cut it out from the roots.

Madja lays her hand over the slope of your shoulder and you exchange glances; she’s come to the same conclusion you have, her normally warm features for once showing a grim set. You turn your body from Azriel, dipping your head so he won’t be able to hear, though you doubt he’s in any state to eavesdrop.

“How much longer?” You whisper lowly, eyes glued to the dark floorboards, unable to lift them any further. Madja glances once over her shoulder, a heavy silence filling the air. “Minutes,” she answers. “He has minutes to get back here.” You swallow—those are near impossible chances. The odds were steep enough without the crashing storm outside hindering visibility.

“You’ll take his stomach?” You whisper, pushing past the lump in your throat. Madja nods, “Fetch two bowls of water. I’m going to speak with Feyre; see how she’s holding up.” She’s probably quickly becoming the last gleam of hope to give Azriel a fighting chance of surviving until Cassian arrives.

Or until he bleeds out from the incisions you’ll be forced to make to cut away the rot.

Azriel stirs in the bed once you return from the washroom, setting the second bowl down and approaching his side. Once more, you lay the backs of your fingers across his dampened forehead, sticky sweat smearing your skin but it’s nothing compared to the fierce heat radiating from his skull. His temperature has been teetering into the forties for a while now.

Something like a groan strains through his chest, the tendons in his throat flexing as he swallows, and you lift his head from the pillow, bringing the chilled glass to his peeling lips. He’s too weak to push the drink away, hardly strong enough to swallow, and a cool trickle slips from the side of his mouth, streaming over his jaw and into the cushion. Azriel tilts his head when he’s done, and you pull away, setting the glass down upon the cramped side table.

Hazel eyes crack themselves open, except now they’re a mix of yellow and black—pupils blown so wide they’re practically swallowing his irises, the whites of his eyes souring to a sickening yellow, like the congealed scum of rotten milk, red rimmed and watery.

‘Hot,’ he mouthes. Barely. It’s the near silent touch of his tongue to the roof of his mouth that gives the word away.

You don’t know what to do anymore. There’s nothing else you can do, besides offering water.

“Azriel, can you hear me still?” You ask, crouching down to be by his side, mixing your hand with his. He groans, fingers weakly flexing around your own. It’s a small piece of hope, that he isn’t yet completely gone. You lean closer. “Just a little longer, Az,” you whisper, thumb swiping back and forth gently over his burning skin, “You need to keep going. You can’t leave them behind.”

His hand is silent in your own.

Where is Cassian?

A shadow careens past the window and a flashing red thud slams into the front garden, the doors being blown open a few moments later as fresh rain and howling wind whips inside, sparing not a second in removing mud-caked boots or blood-slicked leathers before he’s marching into the house. From the floor below you hear his name called out, but there’s no cause for relief.

Voices murmur and footsteps hurry, boots clumping about on the lower floors and you hurry to the bedroom door, looking just in time to see Rhysand near the top of the staircase. “Does he have it?” You call, the pound of your heart making your voice breathless. Rhys nods but his eyes are dark and unusually shadowed, “He has it.”

It’s only when he descends the case that you spot the thick book he had clutched beneath one arm on his far side, as if anxious to keep it as hidden as possible. You want to follow, to see the chimera for yourself, lend Madja a hand in trying to understand what’s mutated within the beast to cause such a drastic shift but that’s not your job at the moment. Your job is to look after Azriel. Even if all you can do is sit by his side and watch as he dies.

Tension stitches your jaws together, but you force yourself to turn away, shutting the door once more to return only for a scream to claw and rip from your throat.

Blunt teeth are digging into the flesh of his forearm, biting and gnawing as blood paints his lower jaw, spilling down onto his chest, trickling along his arm. You run forward, trembling fingers searching for that point that will spasm the muscle enough for his jaw to unlock.

“Azriel!” You scream, “Azriel stop! You need to stop it!”

Thick blood oils your fingers, his teeth releasing the bitten flesh only to clamp down a fraction of a second later, locking themselves in place as muscle flexes in his jaw, straining beneath the pressure he’s clamping down with. You fumble, hands shaking as he tries to rip himself apart. You search again, fingers digging into his jaw but he writhes on the bed, wings flaring wide enough to send everything on the side table smashing to the floor, throwing you to the ground in a mess of fractured glass and gushing, freshly bloodied water.

The leather-bound notebook is soaked, ink bleeding across the pages but that’s not what you currently care about. Instead you grip the book from the floor, flying to your feet as you surge forward, nails screaming out in pain as you try to forcibly pry his teeth apart, pushing the spine of the book forward.

“Azriel…!” You hiss, straining against his sudden display of strength. “Bite! Bite down on this…!”

For a few dreadful seconds it looks like he’s going to bleed himself to death, but then his teeth release just long enough for you to shove the hard leather of the thick notebook into his mouth, vicious canines stabbing through the outer layer in one swift bite. Clamping down firmly.

There’s no time for relief, no time for fixing the jagged mess on the floor, nor for celebration, as you take in the fresh blood staining his lower face. Azriel’s wounded arm tries to lift from the bed but more blood gushes out and you have to pin it down until the message reaches his pain-twisted mind and he uses the other to change the positioning of the book in his mouth, angling and biting, slowly chewing the leather to pieces, digging his canines into the notebook repeatedly as if he’s teething.

Footsteps pound along the corridor just as you finish forcing Azriel’s flesh back together, door flying wide as Madja bustles through, a glass vial of pure black liquid grasped in her weathered hand, Rhysand just a step behind. Neither ask what’s happened, why there’s so much blood staining sheets and flooring and sallow skin.

Dark brown eyes flash once over the Shadowsinger before Madja’s figuring her order—one both you and Rhys know before it even leaves her mouth—“Hold him down.” Rhysand takes the side the Azriel’s leg wound is on while you stick where you’ve remained, but even with you leveraging all your weight over his bloody, shredded arm it’s near impossible to keep him down.

The book comes away in tatters when Madja manages to pry it from his mouth, jaws snapping, black ruby teeth glittering wildly as he searches for something to bite, all the while the storm roars on outside, thunder rumbling through miserable grey skies, so deep it’s in the floorboards.

“Rhys,” you hiss out, “can you do anything?” If he can slip inside and provide even a temporary moment so Madja can get the remedy down the Shadowsinger’s throat. The High Lord’s jaw tightens with the effort it’s taking to keep his brother down, teeth gritting as he shakes his head, “there’s nothing to go into. It’s just wind and shadow in his mind.”

“We have to do something,” you force out, looking between them. “He’s not going to drink it like this-”

“And we can’t waste this vial,” Madja finishes grimly.

Rhys’ head lowers, hair falling over his brow like dozens of spider legs, tension gripping his shoulders, then he’s bellowing Cassian’s name, the roar so loud you’re surprised the room doesn’t collapse in on itself, heart pounding in your chest like a war drum. A few moments later heavy boots are lopsidedly clumping up the stairs, the General swaying as he hauls himself through the door. “Take her place. Keep him down,” Rhysand orders through gritted teeth. It seems Cassian’s barely keeping himself conscious, but still he manages, no time to pause.

As soon as Cassian’s hands have taken over you retreat, darting around Azriel’s thrashing wing to be at Madja’s side. His blackened eyes are wild, back arching from the bed as pain lances through his body, teeth still flashing with furious hunger.

“Azriel,” you yell, crusted palms laying either side his mouth, cupping his jaw as you attempt to still the wild thrashing of his body without losing any fingers. “Azriel, look at me. Look at me.” Blown out pupils stare up at you, yellowed eyes sore and so, so wrong. “That’s it,” you manage, forcing your voice to calm, “You know us. You remember us.”

His upper lips curls in a snarl and blood seeps from the broken skin, so dried out and desiccated that it splits at the slightest stretch.

“You remember us,” you repeat, thumbs stroking back and forth, swiping the edges of his mouth tenderly, “Don’t you? Remember Cass and Rhys? They’re your brothers.” Oil-black brows narrow, but the two other males are having better luck holding him down than before, so you push forward.

Your hold tightens and you lean closer, almost sharing breath. “Do you remember your name?” You ask softly, soothingly stroking his cheeks, ignoring the blood soaking your hands. “It’s Azriel,” you whisper, “You’re Azriel.”

His eyes shutter, struggling again but you hold firm. “You just need to hold on a little longer, Azriel. We have a remedy, but you need to drink it first.” Sharp, black eyes scan your features, cutting back and forth across your expression, his face still twisted in partial fury, shadow and wind roaring outside but his struggling has lessened enough for the antidote to be administered.

Yet as soon as you pull away his wings flare outward, the bed creaking as the powerful limbs thrash, a vicious snarl ripping from his throat and both Cassian and Rhysand are nearly knocked back from the force of his retaliation.

“Azriel…” You plead, nails digging into his cheeks, dragging his attention back. “Azriel, please,” you beg, “hold still.” Icy breath repeatedly hits your chin, his panting becoming shallower and shallower by the second, yet he shows no signs of giving in. Pure panic drips down your spine, hands shaking as you hold onto him for dear life.

“We have to try,” Madja whispers, not directed at you. In your periphery, Rhysand nods in agreement, but it won’t work. He’ll send the vial flying, just like the glass and the bowl, shattering on the floor, destroying the precious cure with it.

A hot tear splashes down onto Azriel’s bloody cheek, a second droplet falling soon after, soundless compared to the raging storm outside. Thunder and lightening zeroing to silence as you look at him.

Thumbs swipe back and forth across his skin. He can’t die.

You swallow, sparing a moment to look at Madja. “Give it to me,” you whisper.

Madja hesitates.

“Let me give it to him,” you plead, able to feel Azriel’s sluggish pulse beneath your hands.

Silence hangs in the air, then Rhysand nods. “Try.”

Beneath all of you, Azriel begins to stir again, the soothed state you’d gotten him into already so quickly slipping away. Slipping through your fingers.

Madja offers you the vial, and in one movement you’ve poured the contents into your own mouth.

The liquid is thick and congealed across your tongue, vile and putrid but then you’re pressing your mouth to Azriel’s, his bloody lips freezing beneath your own, peeling and ripped in places but they part for you, your thumbs still stroking as you tilt yourself over him.

Your mouth opens for his, and the remedy flows into him, spilling down his throat.

This time both Illyrians are ready and braced as Azriel writhes and thrashes on the bed, lip curling in revulsion as the foul tasting liquid is swallowed down his throat, wings flaring and flapping, knocking back and forth so violently the bed groans like it might finally give way. Fury twists through Azriel’s features and you recoil as his fangs sting at your lips, hot, fresh blood bubbling into his mouth before you can even realise he’s bitten you.

You pull away, forcing your hands over his chest, Madja now beside Rhys as you all try to keep him down. Heaven knows what he’s mad enough to do with the pain carving his mind apart.

By the time he settles, you’re all breathless. But it’s done. He took the remedy.

Slowly, you stand, each of you bracing as if he might start back up at any second and you need to be ready to jump back into place. But he remains still. Dead still, but you can pick out the small pulse in his throat. You cling onto that pulse, desperately.

At last you all pull away, and Rhysand drags a hand down his face, you and Madja glancing to one another with a mix of emotion. To your left, Cassian sways, then his legs give out, body thudding as his knees his the floor, the rest of him giving out now the task is complete. You’ve each done everything you can; pushed to the limit, and possibly beyond.

“Mother’s grace,” Madja whispers in thanks, and you do the same, sending a prayer to the sky, hoping it will be enough. She nods to herself once, twice, three times. Easing in a few steadying breaths before straightening, swallowing. “Cassian,” she names, addressing the body on the floor and you don’t fault her for her breathlessness, “we need to find him a bed.”

You nod, panting. “Rhys and I can manage,” you breathe, exhausted. “Can you take cleanup in here?” You ask, moving with Rhysand to grip Cassian beneath his arms, only now spotting the blood on his leathers, though it’s too much of a mess in here to judge who it belongs to.

Madja nods solemnly, and between you and the High Lord, you manage to lift the fearsome General from the ground, hefting him out into the hallway, taking the room immediately next door and laying Cassian on the bed there.

You slump against the wall, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand when you realise the foul taste is still there, having been obscured by the metallic flavour of your own blood.

Rhysand remains stood over Cassian, looking down at his brother with an expression you can’t read. It’s none of your business, either way.

Your nose wrinkles, pulling your sleeve over your hand and spitting into the fabric, wanting to rid yourself of the vile taste. “Fuck. What was in that?” You gag, looking forward to a glass of water to clean your mouth out and a wash.

The hairs at the nape of your neck prickle, and you lift your head to find dark violet watching you from across the room. You’d apologise for cursing, but that doesn’t seem to be the reason for his look.

Tentatively, you straighten. ��Do you know?”

Silence hangs in the air. Then he relents.

“Blood.” Rhysand murmurs. “Chimera blood.”

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria @nighttimemoonlover @mrsjna @acoazlove

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @assassinsblade @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01 @throneofsmut @vickykazuya @starlitlakes @kksbookstuff @feerique @ratgirl2020 @just-m-2

#azriel x reader #blood-borne #vampire!azriel x reader #azriel x reader fic #multi part fic #blood borne

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ains-disco-spam · 1 year ago

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Thoughts on Lena

The first time I played through Disco Elysium, I talked to Lena right after Kim joined my party and immediately got the dialogue option where she says something racist.

Because of that, I was iffy on her from the beginning. But I’ve seen a lot of people say that they actually didn’t know about this dialogue or that they didn’t get it on their playthrough. Whenever I see this dialogue mentioned, there are always a lot of people saying how disappointed they are that she would say something like that because she seems like a nice old lady.

I think that this moment is actually one of the most important depictions of racism in the game. Besides this one instance, Lena is friendly toward you and Kim. If you call her out on the implication that Seolites are a different species than her and Harry, she basically says that being a different species isn't a bad thing because white people have earwax that smells and Seolites don't.

The whole interaction is such a small moment within the game, and a small part of her character. It’s so easy to miss. And that is exactly how racism works.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been talking to an older person who seems kind and then all of a sudden they say something extremely bigoted out of the blue. I actually got the idea to write this after the nice old lady who is a custodian at my job said something transphobic in front of me and it totally broke my heart.

It’s easy to condemn a cross-burning KKK member or a homophobic preacher who says that all LGBTQ+ people will burn in hell. It’s a lot harder for people to condemn bigotry when it comes from people that they otherwise see as kind.

But most bigots are not like Gary the Cryptofascist or Measurehead. Most of them are like Lena. They are the uncles who think that “if people just cooperated with the police then they wouldn’t be shot.” They are the classmates who make fun of the professor’s accent. They are docile old ladies who think that Seolites are not as human as white people are.

And that makes it harder for people to see the bigotry within themselves. People can easily tell themselves things like “I don’t want all trans people to die, so I’m not transphobic. I’m just worried for the children.” When the media only portrays bigotry in its most extreme forms, it is hard to see that being a little bit racist is still being racist.

And this is even more interesting because of her and Morrell’s friendship with Gary. He is a self-proclaimed fascist with an extensive collection of racist mugs, but Lena and Morrell still keep him around, presumably because they are willing to overlook his “differing political opinions” because they think that he is a good person in other ways. And because his fascist ideas do not affect people that look like them.

So yeah, I want to see more people talking about how fascinating Lena and Morrell are as depictions of racism in Disco Elysium.

#disco elysium #harry du bois #kim kitsuragi #lena #lena disco elysium

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fatehbaz · 11 months ago

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British ships carrying plants and seeds from around the world arrived in Botany Bay on January 20 1788. This story is overshadowed by convict ships and Royal Navy vessels, but the cargo on board also had a lasting impact. Colonists, convicts and Indigenous Australians were all affected [...]. Some of these plants [...] were food sources [...]. Others were attempts to expand the British Empire. Could the new territory be exploited as a tropical plantation? In the parliamentary debate over destinations for convict transportation [considering potential locations for sending prisoners], Sir Joseph Banks and James Matra, both members of James Cook’s 1770 expedition [to the South Pacific], spruiked the potential of the new colony as an extension of the empire. Matra claimed the colony was “fitted for production” of “sugar-cane, tea, coffee, silk, cotton, indigo and tobacco”. Banks claimed Botany Bay was an “advantageous” site, with fertile soil [...].

Two plants carried by the First Fleet stand out as examples of botanical imperialism: prickly pear cactus (Opuntia) and sugarcane.

Banks, as head of the Royal Society of London [and as a close adviser to King George, and also as a plant-collecting botanist who turned the Royal Botanic Gardens at Kew in London into the world's leading botanical garden], selected these species as experiments to compete with European trade rivals. His goal was to break a Spanish monopoly in producing fabric dye and to expand British cultivation of sugar outside the West Indies.

Prickly pear cactus was imported because it is the preferred food of the cochineal insect.

Dried cochineal were crushed to make a vibrant, colourfast scarlet dye for textiles. Discovered in the New World by Spanish colonists, cochineal replaced kermes, another insect that had provided red dye since antiquity. Cochineal dye was ten times stronger than kermes or vegetable dyes.

From cardinals’ capes to British officers’ red coats, cochineal was a product for elite consumers signifying power, wealth and prestige.

New Spain, based in Mexico, had a monopoly on cochineal. Banks wanted to break the stranglehold on the scarlet dye by establishing production in New South Wales.

Plants infested with the precious insects were imported from Brazil in 1788. The project soon failed when the cochineal died, but the cacti survived. Colonists used cacti as natural fences and drought-resistant animal fodder.

Without insects to feed on them the plants spread, uncontrolled, to cover more than 60 million acres of eastern Australia by the 1920s. Poison, crushing and fire failed to stop the cactus. [...] Opuntia cacti remain an environmental hazard. [...] The roots of these early imperial projects are deeply embedded in Australian culture and history, with an enduring legacy.

---

All text above by: Garritt C. Van Dyk. "The botanical imperialism of weeds and crops: how alien plant species on the First Fleet changed Australia". The Conversation. 25 January 2024. [Some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Italicized text within brackets added by me for clarity and context.

#multispecies #tidalectics #ecology #archipelagic thinking #prickly pear in australia

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cantheykillmacbeth · 29 days ago

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Bowser Jr

The most "canon" answer to who his second parent is is a joke by Shigeru Miyamoto where he claimed he himself was Junior's 'mother'. There's also a theory that koopas reproduce asexually. In either of those scenarios, Junior qualifies for the birth parent clause.

Additionally, it's suggested koopas hatch from eggs so that's unconventional birth clause, too.

Bowser Jr. is very difficult for us to quantify. He clearly doesn't apply for Gender Clause under our rules, but the other categories are hard to nail down.

For Birth Parent Clause, while either method you mentioned would work, neither is canon to the Mario Bros. series (Miyamoto's comment is a joke and asexual reproduction is a fan theory), so neither of them count for our analysis. In Super Mario Sunshine, Bowser Jr. goes through the game believing that Peach is his mother, though it's later revealed that this isn't the case and Bowser lied to him about this, so that doesn't really give us any info. Developers of the series have stated that "we don't know who the mother is," which could imply that there IS a mother that we just don't know about. Since this could go either way, we can't definitively answer BPC here, unfortunately.

As for Unconventional Birth Clause, I looked into what you said about Koopas hatching from eggs, and the research was... very confusing. The main problem here for us is what exactly we mean by "Koopa." According to the fanmade Mario Wiki, there are Koopas (Bowser, Bowser Jr., etc.), Koopas (a shorthand term for Koopa Troopas), and Koopas (an umbrella term encompassing both the previous groups and several others, with some more as potential but unproven relatives to the species).

While Koopas and Koopas are both notably reptilian in appearance, there doesn't seem to be much to go off of for either of them when it comes to how they reproduce. From what I've found, I don't think we've ever seen a Koopa or Koopa egg in any canonical material.

When it comes to Koopas, what does and does not count as a Koopa is at least somewhat established, but there are still a few outliers where it is unclear whether or not they count, most notably Yoshi. If there was definite proof that 1.) Koopas, including Koopas, are all members of the same species and reproduce in the same way, and 2.) Yoshi is a Koopa, then we could say for sure that Koopas, Koopas, Koopas, and by extension Bowser Jr. are born from eggs, just as Yoshi is. But neither of these points are provable.

There is, however, one enemy in the Mario franchise that seems to canonically be considered a Koopa, and that we have definitively seen are born from eggs: Spinies. The Lakitu enemy is known throughout the series to throw what have been referred to as "Spiny Eggs," which will become another enemy called a Spiny upon hitting the ground. So, at least one member of the Koopa family is born from eggs, so it's plausible that other members of the Koopa family, such as Koopas, would as well.

While it is still possible that not all members of the Koopa family reproduce via eggs in the same way as Spinies do, I'm more willing to count this than I am anything for BPC. So:

TL;DR:

Tentatively, yes, Bowser Jr. from the Super Mario series could kill Macbeth under the Unconventional Birth Clause.

Thank you for your submission! sorry this one got so off the rails.

-Mod Anthem

#asks #unconventional birth clause #debatable character #bowser jr #bowser junior #super mario bros #mario bros #nintendo #the koopa vs koopa vs koopa thing drove me inside #i hope i managed to explain this in a way that makes sense #i got halfway through the color-coding before realizing that i should put some sort of other indicator for colorblind people #im so sorry to those using a screen reader. i dont know how i would fix that in a way that would be coherent

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r0-boat · 9 months ago

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So..... About that Naga Baizhu? ¬v¬

Snake Man becomes a snake

read all about it!

Naga!Baizhu headcannons+Short drabble

Cw: kidnapping,

Sfw

Cut for length

It all started when a white snake You saw it cowering in fear as to heartless teenagers poked at it with sticks. Pulling at the poor thing's tail even as the creature tried to escape. They had it trapped, Tormenting the poor creature, not until you chase those nasty people away, picking up the white snake gently. The poor thing was hurt and scared You kept it with you until it was ready to be released. When you released the whitesnake it's lizard in the grass and before it disappeared into the bushes It stood up looking at you with its big Ruby eyes flicking its tongue at you You could almost swore it thanked you before rushing into the underbrush.

Your house was connected to a lot of foresty land in the backyard so you are used to seeing wildlife... But you are not expecting the visitor you'll have this morning.

You're not sure how he got into your house. Maybe you accidentally left your back door unlocked.

You heard voices as you were waking up.

"are you sure this is the one?"

"Yes, they saved me a week ago, they're perfect for you."

"All right I'll start burning the blend."

As the blend burned the scent of lavender sage and a mix of other herbs hit your nose. Calming you, as you just woke up you already felt like you were falling back asleep. Barely opening your eyes You could sort of make out the two.

You almost thought you were dreaming when you saw the white snake the same white snake and hearing that same voice from her once again. "They're waking up."

"Don't worry The blend should put them back to sleep."The man next to her said His eyes liquid gold pupils like a snake as he looks down at you His green hair matching with the green scales on his hands I see brushes your hair back caressing your cheek. "Go back to sleep my dear." His voice warm and smooth like honey.

___________

Baizhu had been looking for a mate for a while now, but since Fall Baizhu was too busy taking care of other wild hybrids to worry about finding a mate for spring. So Changsheng to get upon herself, She was careless wanting to see her friend happy She separated from Baizhu's side slithering out of his cave. She didn't mean to be gone for so long.

However, her search was highly fruitful. She found a nice human, a human that took care of her, patched her up, and saved her. The caring hands in sweet smile reminded her of Baizhu. After getting yelled at by an angry, worried, sick Baizhu, his anger softened when Changsheng spoke about what you had done to her. Changsheng is a somewhat prickly character, so listening to her talk so extensively about you made him interested to meet you.

Baizhu knew humans had different mating rituals and knew full well that humans are not a... Intense, as the dominating aggressive Nagas. As much as his species fantasizes about how weaker humans are to them and how they are the perfect mate because of it but very little have the temperament to deal with the relatively complex emotions that humans have.

Baizhu was different. He was not as aggressive or dominating as members of his species. But he was not certainly considered weak either.

The way he took you back to his cave was regrettably something he could have done better. But for some reason, you took it rather well. You are more interested in his snake companion and Baizhu's snake body (which he was happy to show you.) He thought you would fear him. He thought you would run from him. To his surprise, if you'd let you go, you would even visit on your own accord. And you did! You are a strange one. But he liked that about you. He thought he understood humans more than anyone

I references species a lot, but the truth is that Baizhu is the last of his kind. Even with his dear white snake friend being the last, Naga hybrid was a lonely title, so he was so desperate to have you.

Baizhu is obsessed with your human anatomy; He's never seen humans this close. He plays with your fingers, rambling on about how your body looks similar up until the waist—squeezing your legs, wiggling your toes, feeling your smooth, squishy scalist skin. He wants to see if your body will react just like any other female Naga. He wonders what your body would do if he kissed you hot and heavy.

He doesn't mind if you touch him too, He knows that you're curious about him just as much as he is about you. He warns you that his skin is rather sensitive and he does shudder with Even the lightest of your touches. Eucharest his cheek honey hold your hand while nuzzling into your palm his lips gently touch your hand his golden gaze piercing through you.

Naga's are always considered more aggressive monsters, possessive of their mates, and highly protective. Baizhu is on the calmer side, more docile; however, during spring, when his more... Animalistic urges come to the surface, He gets more demanding of your attention—practically hanging off you, desperate to mark you with his scent. Baizhu tries to hold back a lot of his urges, not wanting to hurt you or scare you. Even if you accept his advances, he is still hesitant and tries to be as gentle as he can before fully succumbing to lust. When the cloud over his mind finally lifts seeing your bruised and bitten body, he takes care of you like any good mate and doctor would.

You were surprised how quickly you became Baizhu and Changsheng's heat pack. Baizhu would try to wrap his coils around you in any way when he's doing anything, especially when it's chilly. He'll literally cling on to you have as much of his skin touching yours as he can. This is not inherently sexual to him. He just likes the feeling of your warm body directly touching him. He tries not to admit it, but he gets pouty when Changsheng is being warmed by you but not him.

#genshin impact #naga baizhu #baizhu x reader #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin impact baizhu #baizhu #x reader #reader insert #genshin writing #naga boyfriend #genshin #genshin baizhu #genshin impact x reader

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justcallmecj · 7 months ago

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Seeing Your Dragon Form: Staff

There's nothing romantic about these interactions. I left the ones with the boys kinda either romantic or platonic, but for the staff, it's strictly parent/child dynamics. Here, you are just close with these staff members for whatever reasons (they know other students are scared of you because of what you are is how I'm gonna write it for my own sake) Anyway, they all have parent/child dynamic with you. Also, these may suck because I don't have a very good grasp on the staff's personalities.

Headmaster Crowley

Honestly, Crowley still doesn't know how you and him have gotten so close. And, neither do you really.

But, he's not complaining. He actually sees you as nice company compared to the interesting students of Night Raven Collage and his fellow staff members.

Now, Crowley is (probably) an old soul and has seen his fair share of things from all over Twisted Wonderland. But, much to his own shame but also not his fault, he hasn't seen a draconic fae be a dragon. Fae keep to themselves and draconic ones are few and far between.

Because of this, while he will never admit, he was thoroughly frozen (pun unintended) in shock and amazement when he just so happened to across you mid transformation when he was taking a midday stroll in the woods.

He understands that you are a taller student and he understands that a part of that is because of your dragon lineage, but the thought that that might translate into the size of your dragon form didn't cross his mind.

He also didn't know what to do. This whole thing was a chance meeting and as far as he knows, you're unaware of his presence. Should he step into your line of sight and attempt to speak with you? Or should he continue to stay behind this tree and either leave or watch from a distance.

He opted to stay and watch, not knowing how you'd take to this ordeal and his own curiosity getting the best of him.

To bad for him, both your dragon and fae senses picked up on his presence even before transformation, you simply didn't care.

You turned around, icy wings spread out onto the forest floor, and faced him, making direct eye contact.

The Headmaster yelped in surprise, but not fear. Deciding there was no reason to stay hidden now that he knew you were aware of him, he stepped out and came forward.

Crowley was loud while he held a one-sided conversation, which was expected, but he was also calm and slow, which was surprising. Because of his prideful attitude and overall personality, it's sometimes easy to forget that this man is still an educator and a man who has kept this school running for who knows how long.

Looking back on it, long after he went back to work and you took a nap in the forest, he seemed to know exactly what he was doing in his own actions. Maybe it's the constant handling of rowdy beastmen or his extensive knowledge of Twisted Wonderland's people and abundant species, but he was quick to adjust to the situation while giving on air of someone not even trying.

"Now, aren't I oh so gracious? Taking time out of my busy day to see you and even learn some new things?" You knew he was lying, that he had been out here on a pleasure walk. But, the way his smile under the crow mask curled up in genuine happiness, you could let it pass.

Crewel

Crewel is really fond of you.

This started when he managed to get you to agree to modal and help design clothing for people that have animalistic features. He'd been struggling to design clothes that worked with people that have wings or large tails and you were happy to help.

Because of this bond, he became a type of protector when he realized your fellow classmates were either messing with you or scared of you due to being a draconic fae. He'd scare off any students who tried to mess with you and let you stay in his classroom after class or after school if you needed a break.

Crewel voiced his curiosity of your dragon form one day when you and him were in his room discussing some mechanics to help wings fit through clothing without it tearing. And, since you had come to trust this man and he treats you like a father, you decided to indulge him.

He had to use his coat to cover his face when the cold mist swept over him.

The first thing that caught his attention was your wings, the very things he had been studying earlier today. They were much larger than when in human form and even had sharp, icy spikes on the tips that were only slightly visible in human form.

Would he have to take into account any transformations when making his new clothing line or does magic protect all clothing when it happens? Oh well, that's something he'll have to find out later.

He truly couldn't understand how other students could be scared of you. You were very beautiful in human form, your features not being the only thing that convinced him to ask for your help. But, even in dragon form, that beauty remained, albeit in a very different light.

The smoothness and pale color of your scales, the glistening ends of your horns, the spikes running down your back and even the glint in your e/c eyes. It was a type of beauty he was unused to, animal in nature but also strikingly human.

Really, how could someone ever be scared of you or ridicule you? Maybe you could be dangerous, if prompted or your life was in danger, but he knew you were a gentle soul.

After transforming back into human form, he carefully studied your clothes (some he had designed with your helpful insight) and beamed with pride when he found no tears or stretches. "Well, I must say, I think we did our job wonderfully, Little Pup."

Trein

Trein only got to know you the way he has because you started talking to Lucius(if you remember one of my earlier chapters, I had Y/N take Animal Linguistics) and the cat familiar seemed to take a liking to you.

I vaguely remembers Professor Oski mentioning you one day in the teacher's lounge, something about teaching you his snow cloud spell.

You two got to talking after that, usually with Lucius starting the conversation and it evolving from there, until you and him eventually started conversations on your own.

Sometimes, you remind him of one of his daughters. Lucius was the one who told him your relationship with other students and he couldn't help but think of when one of his daughter was in a similar situation.

When Lucius told him that he wanted to go see you in dragon form, because you had told him that's what you were doing after school, Trein really couldn't say no to the fond look in his familiar's eyes.

Trein has seen many animals and creatures, from house hold pets to magical familiars, but a full grown dragon is not one of those creatures. However, when someone else may be panicking at seeing a creature the size of you, Lucius was not fazed in the slightest, and, him being Trein's familiar and the two having a spiritual bond, it calmed Trein's own human instincts of fight or flight.

Plus, he could still see, in those large, sharp eyes, the young fae he has been teaching all your long. The child who never hesitated to talk to Lucius despite how other students see it as weird that the cat seems to mimic it's master's words during lessons. The child who spoke cheerily of the friend's they've made. The child who reminded him so much of his own daughters.

"See what I was talking about, Trein?" Lucius meowed. Trein truly did see why his familiar was so fond of this child. Staring up at the long snout pointed at him, he saw no difference between this dragon and the child he's taught in his classroom. "Right as always, Lucius."

Vargas

Vargas took an interest in you on the first day of school.

He immediately understood you were a fae, and he knows that fae are known for their incredible strength even when they look unassuming. Take Lilia Vanrouge for example.

He had high hopes for you in this class, and he was right to do so. He encouraged all his students to never hold back in their talents, so it came as no surprise to him when you quickly outran most of your classmates and were capable of lifting more than them for longer periods of time.

One class, he even pulled you aside and requested that you start training more with your wings during class so he can make sure you are truly making full use of all your strengths and capabilities.

At first, you didn't think he'd be able to properly train you due to him being human but he quickly proved you wrong. Apparently he hasn't been teaching at NRC and not picked up a thing or two from the non-human students.

He even, actually quite happily, agreed to your request to stay after school some days to further your own training. It was on of these days that you, while deciding to mess with your coach for pushing you just a little too far recently, suddenly changed forms mid-flight.

You actually knocked him onto his butt when your giant form hit the ground and he was still stuck in shock at the transformation.

But, even that didn't faze him for long. He quickly jumped to his feet, dashed over and began inspecting the new form, trying to pick out just how strong you'd be in this form compared to before. (Quite a bit stronger if you're wondering.)

This new revelation, which you thought may spook him enough to go a little easier on you, did quite the opposite. Instead, he encouraged you to take the form more often during your after-school training sessions. To practice flight and see if spellcasting was manageable. Heck, he even set up some different training supplies for you to practice your ice breath and powerful tail on.

Unbeknownst to you, he wasn't only doing this just so your could get stronger. Trust him, he's heard the whispers of your fellow classmates whenever you showed them up in class and got praise for it. The harsh words so carelessly thrown at you.

And he knows that, if he can hear them, he has no doubt you can too.

So, he does this so you become more comfortable with yourself. Improvement starts with your own image of yourself! And, when all is said and done, when he's pushed you to a limit or you've beat a new goal, he gives you a hardy pat on the back while handing you a water bottle, praising you for your improvements.

Sam

Sam met you when you first came to his shop sometime during the first week of school.

Him, being the only shop owner on campus and having a reputation for having anything and everything, means he meets everyone eventually, and that's a lot of different people.

Usually, he relies on his Friends On The Other Side to quickly figure out what a student needs so he's not overworking his own mind trying to remember things. But, when he met you, he (and his friends) just knew you were going to be an interesting visitor.

And he was right. You come to Mr. S's Mystery Shop for an array of items, from normal groceries to scale care items.

It was during these frequent visits that the two of you began talking more, even to the point where he'd ask about whatever drama was flowing between the students and you happily spending however long it needed to explain it to him.

His Friends On The Other Side also became quickly fond of you, especially after finding out your senses could faintly pick up on them, capable of telling where in the shop they were hiding in. Sam himself took quite an interest in this.

It didn't take long before you became his "Favorite Imp", the one who provided him knowledge of what goes on inside the schools halls and classrooms. Sorta like gossip buddies at this point.

One day, after you'd fallen asleep in the woods one night in dragon form (your dormleader was not pleased), you had to make a stop at Sam's shop because the morning dew, while not bothering you due to being an ice dragon, had made the ground muddy where you were sleeping and now you needed to clean your scales. Again. Man, sometimes being a dragon is hard.

It was this day that Sam's friends, who you had learned to listen carefully enough to hear their words, tried to drag you out the back door so they could see what a dragon looked like.

You ended up indulging the friends, Sam having to come along to keep an eye on the rascals. He was a bit shocked, but with all the weird things he sells and even the ones he keeps put of stock for safety purposes, it wasn't the strangest nor the most astonishing thing he's seen. But it was new.

He's never been a big dragon fanatic, but he has sold some dragon related items, even to Professor Crewel who needs things for potionology, so it was actually really cool to see a dragon in the flesh.

But he also couldn't help to be a little sad. His Friends On The Other Side, and even himself, have hear the rumors about you on campus. About how there's a terrifying dragon student walking the halls, who glares at everyone in sight and refuses to be near other people.

He also knows that that's not you. You're his gossip buddy. And sure, he probably shouldn't be gossiping with a student, seeing as he's an adult, but he's still a young man at heart who years to have fun, which is why he took up a job at NRC.

So, just why would someone take a look at you, the student who keeps their wings and tail tucked in tight and politely apologizes when they knock something over, who plays games with his mysterious friends and looks freaking awesome as a dragon, and still think you're scary and mean?

"Now now my friends, let's not keep my Favorite Imp waiting." His friends, heading his call, quickly rush back inside and settle into their own shadows. When you walk past him, preparing to leave, he whispers to you. "Thanks for putting up with them, Little Imp. They appreciate it!"

Idk why Vargas doesn't have a speech after his section, but there wasn't one on Quotev and I don't feel like making one for him now. I did write in a note originally that I didn't proofread this bc is was so late at night, so that's probs why. Oof.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #ice dragon!reader #justcallmecj fics #justcallmecj headcanons

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magebird · 11 months ago

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What if a His Dark Materials AU? Details of my thoughts under the cut.

So Roberto and Meryl have a badger and a lemur and Meryl is so excited to be in the black-and-white fur club with her senpai. Something something metaphors about learning to see shades of grey lol if we want to be heavy-handed with it. Definite primate vibes from Meryl— outgoing, loud when angered, high level of connection to her social group. Very intelligent and not so good completely solo.

Roberto meanwhile is a nocturnal animal, but still a social one. Badgers have been known to share their burrows even with other species, but can be really ferocious when under pressure. Also a very vocal species— they talk a lot.

I like the idea that for WW and Livio, the EoM tries really hard to force their members to settle according to their wishes, just as an extension of that manipulation. Mostly aiming for dogs probably or other animals that they feel can be forced to obey. For WW, a wolf was as close to a dog as they could get, and I like the idea that Livio(/Razlo)’s dæmon seems to flick back and forth between just a big dog and a true wolf depending on which personality is dominating. I imagine you’d also see some of the EoM lackeys being severed, as well, since that would make them biddable even if the rest of the brainwashing didn’t.

Vash’s mourning dove dæmon is also a prosthetic lol. I imagine Brad knew he’d need one to pass among humans and the form is a version of Rem’s white dove.

I also considered a St Bernard or some sort of hunting hound for Roberto, but I ultimately decided that something outside the domestic dog category would fit better. WW I think would also fit with a lot of different wild dog options, maybe something like a melanistic coyote, jackal, or painted dog that has that hunting instinct.

Legato was maybe severed as part of the abuse he had growing up, or forced to settle as something they could easily control like a butterfly or something else very vulnerable to harm, so he’s extremely protective and hides his dæmon.

Zazie is one of the first kids who ever settled as a worm on the new planet and then became part of the worm consciousness.

As a Plant, Nai doesn’t have a dæmon either in this setup, but I thought also about him and Vash sharing a dæmon or a chimera/two-headed dæmon. Ultimately I like the idea of them just not having an external dæmon and it being just another Othering thing. Perhaps Nai’s blades often end up shaping into a dragon or something.

I’m imagining part of the Plant-reveal on the sandsteamer would be Vash’s fake dæmon getting fried or destroyed which causes them to realize it’s not real.

#trigun #trigun stampede #my art #mage art #Roberto De Niro #roberto deniro #Meryl stryfe #Livio the double fang #Livio #nicholas d wolfwood #Vash the stampede #his dark materials #image desc in alt #hdm AU

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monarch-afterdark · 3 months ago

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Titan History: Mothra

Welcome once again to Monarch: After Dark, the digital gateway between you and the organisation dedicated to understanding and navigating this troubled new world we live in.

While most of you reading may be unaware, statistics on this social platform tell us on the After Dark team that this will be our 100th total post made, between informational entries, special reports, and answering everyone's questions! What an achievement! To mark the milestone, let us return to talking all things Titans with the mysterious and beautiful Queen of the Monsters, Mothra!

(Pictured above: Mothra's larval form, enraged by Emma Russell's misuse of the ORCA device, circa. 2019)

Monarch Database File: Mothra

Monarch Designation: Titanus Mosura

Height: 50 feet (larva), 52 feet (imago)

Wingspan: 803 feet

Nature: Unknown

Behavioural Classification: Protector

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A Titan with an extensive lineage closely intwined with the history of humanity, Mothra is often heralded as the guardian queen of the natural world, a beautiful and ethereal creature that clears out the darkness with her light and provides crucial aid to the planet's other guardians. A close ally of Godzilla, their relationship shows through eye-like patterns on Mothra's wings, and the devastating gift she is able to bestow upon him should she perish in battle.

Technically an immortal organism, Mothra is able to continually live on through different bodies, memories passing on genetically to her offspring through the eggs she lays, effectively granting Mothra the ability to reincarnate over and over. Mothra was first discovered by Monarch in 2009, though a connection between her and Monarch's Chen family spans generations of the family within the organisation.

Perhaps one of the most extreme instances of a bioluminescent Titan, Mothra uses the light generated by her body to produce powerful "god rays" that can clear cloudy skies, and be used as an energy pulse attack against other Titans. Mothra's sharpened limbs and concealed stinger also serve as formidable weapons up-close. Despite being one of the more benevolent Titans, Mothra is not to be underestimated.

There is some speculation within Monarch as to whether or not the Mothra sighted in 2027 aiding Godzilla and Kong is the true successor to the one that died in 2019. Evidence from some accounts suggests that the Mothra that resides in Malenka is instead a "mother Mothra" that has remained in the city for millenia, laying eggs on the surface so other Mothras could guard humanity, and that the 2019 individual was one of her successors. Evidence for this comes from Malenka itself, where a prophecy refers to Mothra using the same terminology as it uses for the ancient Titan Shimo, pointing to the city's guardian as the "first Mothra". While Monarch remains unsure if this is the case, this entry will refer to both Mothras collectively as one for clarity.

(Pictured above: Mothra appearing before Monarch and using her "god rays" to show a path to Godzilla's temple, circa. 2019)

Mothra's history dates back several millenia, where her allyship to Godzilla and other members of his species led to her taking their side in an ancient Hollow Earth conflict with the Great Apes. Her involvement with this battle was documented through cave paintings. At least one incarnation of Mothra was worshipped by the Iwi tribe of Malenka in the Hollow Earth, while another was seen as a diety by a primitive tribe on the surface.

Mothra would face death and rebirth multiple times over the centuries, one egg laying unhatched for centuries as her surface worshippers slowly died out, leaving behind only a temple to protect her.

In 1961, members of the Chen family who were 'second-generation' Monarch staff would learn about Mothra on Infant Island, where she was referred to as 'Mosura', or 'giver of life'. At some unknown point in their history, the Chen family developed a unique bond with Mothra that would be passed along to each generation born.

In 2009, Monarch finally found Mothra's egg, hidden away within the Temple of the Moth, in the Yunnan Rainforest. Outpost 61 was established within the temple itself to study Mothra and the remnants of her worshippers.

(Pictured above: A pacified larval Mothra regards Emma and Madison Russell, circa. 2019)

In 2019, Mothra was awakened from her slumber after Alan Jonah's organisation began their sabotage of Outpost 61. Peaceful for but a few moments, Mothra quickly became agitated and lashed out at Monarch guards surrounding her. Emma Russell attempted to use her ORCA sonar device to calm Mothra, initially only succeeding in further angering her, before finally managing to halt Mothra's rage. Mothra allowed Emma's daughter Madison to briefly touch her face before Jonah and his men stormed the outpost.

Escaping the temple, Mothra would make her way to a nearby waterfall and cocooned herself, preparing her metamorphosis into her imago form. After Monster Zero assumed command over the other Titans, Mothra emerged and made her way to Monarch's Castle Bravo base, using her bioluminescent "god rays" to show them a path toward Godzilla's temple, enabling them to revitalise Godzilla with a nuclear warhead.

Mothra would briefly travel back to China and lay a new egg, ensuring she would be able to reincarnate should she die, before flying to Boston to assist Godzilla in his battle with Monster Zero. She immobilized the three-headed dragon long enough for Godzilla to ram him through a building, before the fiery Rodan appeared and tackled Mothra to keep her occupied. Their battle left Mothra's wings burned, though she managed to take Rodan out of the fight by impaling him through the shoulder with her stinger.

(Pictured above: An injured Mothra crawling on top of a heavily wounded Godzilla, circa. 2019)

After Monster Zero carried Godzilla almost up to space and dropped him, Mothra crawled on top of Godzilla's body in an attempt to protect him. Using the last of her strength, Mothra charged toward Monster Zero, who shot at and ultimately killed Mothra with a powerful blast from his gravity beams. Mothra's ashes rained down onto Godzilla's body, infusing him with energy.

Her posthumous gift to Godzilla enabled him to enter a temporary superpowered state, where he burned everything around him and expelled nuclear energy through a series of pulses that completely disintegrated Monster Zero's body, and levelled Boston in a thermonuclear explosion.

Following her death and Godzilla's claim as king of the monsters, Monarch would discover Mothra's egg in China and relocate it to Tokyo, where it would be overseen by the current Chen sisters working under Monarch.

(Pictured above: Mothra, alongside Godzilla and Kong, circa. 2027)

In 2027, the Mothra guarding the Hollow Earth city of Malenka was awakened by Skull Island survivor Jia as part of an ancient Iwi prophecy. Mothra raced to the surface and used her god rays to quickly end a battle between Godzilla and Kong before the former could kill the latter. Her presence almost immediately pacified Godzilla, and the three Titans came to an unspoken agreement to work together.

Down in the Hollow Earth, Mothra provided assistance during the first part of Godzilla and Kong's battle with the Skar King and Shimo, using her webbing to hold back some of the Skar King's ape army. She would use her god rays again to give Shimo pause from firing her frost breath, allowing Godzilla to thaw himself out and continue his attack. Mothra did not join Godzilla and Kong on the surface for the final phase of their battle.

After the battle, Mothra used her webbing to repair the organic wall isolating Malenka from the rest of Hollow Earth, before flying away to resume her protection of Hollow Earth and the city.

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And that's all she wrote for Mothra! In the chaos and danger of the Titans and other superspecies, it brings some comfort to Monarch and the world that there are Titans like Mothra who seek actively to protect humanity. As we continue to uncover Mothra's secrets, let us all wish her well in her duties down in Hollow Earth.

Until next time,

Monarch: After Dark

#monarch #monarch after dark #monsterverse #monsterverse au #titans #mothra #mosura #titanus mosura #godzilla kotm #godzilla king of the monsters #godzilla x kong #godzilla x kong the new empire #hollow earth #infant island #godzilla

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zombiecicada · 4 months ago

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So I have been reading Valfrey’s honour tier list over and thinking for a while about it. I considered doing it with Wolfbell since it is in fact supposed to be for the tourney contestants, but poor kid is both just a kid and also not finished her entire story. I feel as to judge her now when she has not yet come full circle and overcome her challenges would be unfair to her.

So we’re going to submit the bastard that is Flare Okarda. Who’s my current running oc to become the tourney participant in next year’s tournament (if there is one) and he has made it his personal goal to anger Valfrey as much as possible.

Valfrey of course belongs to @gethoce

For a quick summary of Flare’s character:

He is an original species called a pjofur, who through technological means have achieved ‘reincarnation’. A term used to describe a process in which the memories and personality of an individual are computerized and placed into an organic vessel in order to ‘bring someone back to life’, a process of which has long since robbed the species of their souls.

Flare is a rogue member of the pjofur society, formally known as Jokull, on his third reincarnation something happened and he developed a fatal logic error in his programming that caused him to descend into severe aggression and insanity.

Jokull eventually attacked his assigned romantic partner when she tried to check in on him, almost killing her. He stole a copy of the reincarnation equipment blueprint, deleted his all his backups, and fled the planet and became a fugitive, further descending into madness until he became someone else who couldn’t recognize himself as Jokull anymore, and this person named himself Flare after the intense feeling of being mentally burned alive he felt when he first lost control.

One must live their life for a purpose such as serving a shogun or protecting one's people.

Ah, purpose and servitude. Gross. Disgusting. Boo, even. Flare has a very rocky relationship with purpose and an even rockier time with the concept of serving someone or said purpose, stemming from his time as Jokull before being plagued by the fatal logic error.

Flare would admit his concept of both purpose and serving said purpose to be limited to one very far end of the spectrum, an extremism which has permanently spoiled his outlook on the overall concept making him unwilling to even try to accept there is other, kinder purposes and things to serve. All he can think about was that Jokull was always just intended to be an extension of Jakob. A trophy son and ticket to bragging rights. A cog in the machine only the machine sits in a glass box all shiny and squeak less and flawless.

That was what he had been brought into the world to do, and Jokull stripped himself of any and all individuality for it and denied himself anything that wasn’t serving the society. That was his purpose. His only purpose, for both of his reincarnations. Flare often says that Jokull played their game twice without a single selfish thought or complaint. And what good did it ever do him in the end? When the fatal logic error happened, all his fancy, glorious high end contributions to society did not buy him a single ticket of mercy and he was thrown into the fire.

Flare doesn’t want to be like him. He doesn’t want to ever be more fancy person calculator instead of a being. He’s not Jokull. He’s not the cog in the machine and wants no part of it. The society can rot for all he cares. He is going to live completely selfishly, he’s not going to bend to any one purpose, he’s going to have fun, and everyone else can kick rocks with their teeth.

If left without a purpose one must make it their mission to find one.

Flare’s commitment to having a purpose is equivalent to that to-do list you said you were going to make, and maybe you did but now it’s sitting somewhere in your workspace collecting dust.

He claims his purpose is to fuck around and find out, like how his prime goal with this is simply be the biggest disgrace to Valfrey’s honour code possible. To be free to do what he wants when he wants, ignoring he’s often at the mercy (of which there is none) of the fatal logic error that forces him to do things regardless if he actually wants to do them or not.

He is a force of destruction and chaos with no linear path or progression. His goals ever changing. For all his insistence that he does in fact have a purpose, he is stuck in place, making no true progress, hardly ever finishing the projects he starts before he loses track and jumps to something else, all while continuing his steady descent into further mental instability.

Be the master of one's emotions, yet do not rob yourself of your whimsy for it’d poison your mind.

Control is the last thing he has over his emotions. It’s like trying to control a tornado, or more accurately an intense electrical storm. He has severe emotional dysfunction, his thoughts and feelings and unyielding and uncontrollable torrent of lights and pulsing sounds that has no off switch.

He often describes his feelings as ‘you’re in a room and the lights are strobing and the speaker is on full volume and you have your hand in a bath of electrically charged water also the tag on the back of your shirt is itching you’.

Despite this, he often claims to be horribly bored and under stimulated. This leads him to being uncontrollably aggressive, and he will impulsively pursue experiences, no matter how unpleasant or risky they might be. Often this throws him into the path of combat, the aforementioned aggression Flare exhibits often unrivalled. These can manifest into unhinged outbursts known as flares.

Flare’s lack of control over how he feels stems back to the fatal logic error, which continuously misinforms the brain inside the vessel on how to manage chemicals and hormones, leading to disastrous outcomes and highly immoral decisions.

Always be honest unless doing so risks the safety of those you swore to protect.

Flare will lie without second thought if it will benefit him, Flare is rarely honest unless it’s to give his ‘honest opinion’ on you, and by that he means he’s going to insult the hell out of you. His one and only circumstance to always telling the truth is if you can get him to agree to a set of ‘game rules’ and make him join some game.

He’s not particularly sure why (he blames Jokull, as usual) but if he plays a game while he may not completely obey the rules, he will be completely and openly honest that he did in fact break the rules and a truthful explanation as to why he felt it was necessary to do so.

Do not steal unless it is to protect.

Flare steals about as easily as he tells lies and makes insults. You can bolt something down and that’s only a temporary solution especially if he decides he really wants that thing.

From stealing the copy of the reincarnation technology, to the player’s handbook he possesses (though he claims that he didn’t steal such he found it and while that’s technically true it wasn’t his to take) to arguably Jokull’s entire life and person, to the lives of several people, Flare has taken a lot. And he has really no intentions of stopping any time soon.

He’ll debate with you if stealing to protect himself from boredom or the brain itch of realllllllllly wanting that item is a valid loophole though!

Do not sneak attack when a fair battle is possible.

Flare isn’t necessarily one for sneak attacks, even if he has no issue employing them regardless of the ‘fairness’ of the battle. He often marches right up to his enemies, who, confused by his boldness that often falls into the range of being straight up suicidal, are rarely ready for him to launch into the levels of extreme aggression he is capable of, especially when he outwardly exhibits no means of causing notable levels of damage.

It truly depends on what the person has done to trigger his ire, but usually when such is triggered he will simply go straight into mauling whatever angered him, no warning and no declaration of battle. It is less a battle and more a vicious one sided attack resulting in murder.

There is no honour in being outnumbered, use usually unfair tactics to even the playing field when the odds are stacked against you.

The one and only rule of Valfrey’s that he can get behind. Flare often picks fights in which he’s at the disadvantage, causing him to employ surprisingly creative and effective tactics to gain an upper hand in a fight.

Flare’s primary tactic is to make combative use of his mind reading ability. By using such, he can see where his opponent will try to dodge to, allowing him to immediately turn his attack to that position, or get some kind of warning as to what his opponent(s) might have planned and counterattack. While he is unhinged and spontaneous, operating off the concept of ‘if I don’t know what I’m doing you sure as hell don’t’, he will briefly and with a surprising rate of success preform tactical actions based on what he gathers from his mind reading.

He is not afraid to fight dirty.

Respect yourself, keep yourself healthy and well groomed.

Respect is a concept Flare has very, very little of, much less respect for himself. Often at the whim of a self directed sadism, he will often cause himself harm or even cause his own death just for kicks and mental stimulation. Sometimes, death comes because he couldn’t be bothered to care for himself, he could tell you in graphic detail what the process of starving to death actually feels like.

He often looks like he has stuck his hand in a toaster, bags under his eyes are common, all too often some bone is fractured or broken and not being tended to, or some stab wound has been patched up in a messy hurry.

He insists there’s little reason to dedicate a lot of time and care to his vessel. It is replaceable and temporary. If he dies, or gets lethally hurt, he can simply make a new one. His attachment to himself, his vessel, even his identity, is held together by a few highly strained threads that might just snap at any second.

Stay true to your principles.

Hypocrisy is his middle name. Probably. Does his kind have middle names? He hates hypocrites. Maybe that’s one of the reasons he hates himself so much.

Do not slaughter your own kin (members of your clan or similar concepts) unless they strike first.

Oh look at that, one whole brownie point for him. He almost killed one of his kind, Jokull’s assigned partner, but he didn’t. And he’s not come in direct contact with any other members of his kind since.

But there’s not much stopping him from killing another member of his kind should they meet. They’ll probably just reincarnate anyways.

Take vengeance on those who have wronged you or your kin.

Oh he will. And he is. Not his kin, he doesn’t have any. But for himself absolutely. Kind of… Not really- he never has ever taken any kind of revenge on Jakob, or whoever it was who gave him the fatal logic error.

Be polite and respectful to those who deserve it.

For as smart as Flare is you could probably win a bet with him by telling him you’ll give him something if he can define two words of your choice, and if he needs to give you something.

And he’ll agree because he thinks you’re gonna pull out a word like pseudonym or tacenda, only you tell him to define politeness and respect and he just gives you a death glare instead.

If one serves something like a clan or leader that disrespects them or otherwise goes against their principles the clan does no longer deserve to be named kin.

….well, the queen can’t go against her principles of treating the society like a hive when she’s the one who set it up like that. And then Nightmare had no principles to begin with so can you REALLY break rules if they don’t even exist? But Flare would argue they’re both bitches so, maybe, that counts.

Do not disrespect Valfrey.

Uhhh- Flare I don’t think that’s a good idea-

#kirby #hoshi no kirby #kirby right back at ya #kirby oc #art #kirby art #kirby au #kirby of the stars #digital artist #kirby wolfbell au #valfrey #flare okarda #others ocs #he’s about to get his ass beat

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