#perhaps a lizard. or a snake

[luna-the-cretar]

Hi. Still haven’t gone to bed yet. Brain required me to look up geckos before I can rest because I’ve been racking my brain, trying to figure out what kind of lizard Sarnax could be. Because I had it in my brain that he was probably some kind of gecko, just based on appearances, and well. I had to research geckos real quick. And it turns out there’s a lot, and I’ve come to the conclusion that Sarnax is probably one of the two in particular that caught my eye.

Appearance wise, he looks most like a Crested Gecko (again, from the few that caught my eye, tho there’s probably one he looks like more). From the ridges at the top of his head (albeit, not in the right spot), to the long smooth tail

HOWEVER, in my heart, I want him to be a Moorish Gecko (also known as a crocodile gecko)

THEY LOOK LIKE TINY CROCODILES. And given 2/3 loa lizardfolk, it’d give him SOME connection to Kremy and Briggsy. And also. They’re cute.

[bonk-baily]

[purpledragon18]

Having a cat in the house again would fix me, I think.

[novaursa]

A Flame All Her Own

- Summary: Caraxes always knows how to snatch all your attention for himself. Which leaves Daemon jealous of his own dragon. 

- Pairing: sister!reader/Daemon Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Next part: the bold and the beautiful

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The morning air is thick with the salt of the Narrow Sea as you stand by the cliff edge, Caraxes sprawled before you, his great, sinuous body stretched luxuriously along the rocks. His scales glisten, the deep crimson reflecting in the morning sun as his slitted eyes, always watchful, follow your every movement. The dragon’s head rests lazily beside you, large enough that one of his breaths could likely knock you off your feet, yet gentle as he huffs softly, nuzzling your hand as you scratch just beneath his horned jaw.

“You’re spoiling him,” comes Daemon’s voice from behind, laced with a tone that’s both disapproving and… sulking? You smirk without turning around, knowing full well what that look on his face must be: arms crossed, brow slightly furrowed, mouth drawn into that familiar pout that’s often mistaken for mere arrogance but, today, has a hint of jealousy.

“Am I?” you respond, your voice light with feigned innocence as you continue to scratch Caraxes. The dragon rumbles in pleasure, tilting his head like a hound angling for more affection. You can feel Daemon’s eyes drilling into your back, but you don’t let up, laughing softly as Caraxes leans closer, nearly knocking you sideways in his enthusiasm.

“Yes, you are,” Daemon steps closer, his dark cloak billowing slightly as he stands beside you, looking down at his dragon with mild disdain. “He’ll be insufferable now, demanding pets and scratches like some slobbering mutt.”

“Oh, you’re one to talk,” you tease, glancing at Daemon. “You’re as spoiled as Caraxes is.”

Daemon’s eyes narrow at the comparison, though a glimmer of amusement tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Spoiled, am I?”

Caraxes’s head shifts, his large, amber eyes drifting from you to his rider as if sensing Daemon’s displeasure. He rumbles again, a deep sound that vibrates the rock beneath your feet, and Daemon gives his dragon a flat look.

“Not you too, you great overgrown lizard,” Daemon mutters. “I am your rider, remember? Mine, not hers.”

Caraxes blinks slowly, looking almost unimpressed. You swear, for a brief moment, that the dragon’s gaze shifts back to you with what could only be called affection. It’s as if he’s saying, “Oh, but she’s my favorite.” You can’t help but laugh at Daemon’s expression.

“I think he’s simply decided that I give better scratches,” you say, grinning.

Daemon arches a brow, eyes glinting with a mixture of challenge and feigned affront. “Is that so?” He steps closer, nudging you out of the way so he can place a hand on Caraxes’s scales, patting his dragon’s neck with exaggerated enthusiasm. “You like me, don’t you, boy?” he asks, scratching roughly—too roughly, if Caraxes’s sudden flick of his tail and indignant huff are anything to go by.

“See?” you laugh, folding your arms as you watch with a smirk. “Gentleness, Daemon. Perhaps Caraxes prefers a softer touch.”

Daemon looks at you with a pointed glare. “Are you suggesting I’m not gentle?”

“Oh, Daemon, of course not,” you reply, lips twitching as you fight a smile. “You’re a Targaryen knight in shining armor.”

“Knight, indeed,” Daemon snorts, but there’s a glimmer of mirth in his eyes as he takes your bait. He shifts closer, one arm snaking around your waist, pulling you to him with a quick, possessive motion that sends a thrill down your spine. “Tell me, then. Should I be jealous of my own dragon? Or are you so starved for attention that you’ll take affection where you can get it?”

His words are laced with mock offense, but his hand holds you firmly, his thumb brushing against your waist in a way that belies his teasing tone.

“Jealous?” You raise a brow, feigning surprise. “Of Caraxes?”

He leans closer, voice dropping to a murmur. “Perhaps I ought to start breathing fire to gain your favor, then.”

You tilt your head, amused by the thought. “Imagine how well that would go at court,” you muse. “The Rogue Prince, reduced to petty flames for his sister’s affection.”

Daemon chuckles, the sound warm and rumbling, yet his hand on your waist tightens. “I’d reduce more than just my pride to flames if it meant keeping your attention on me.”

Caraxes huffs suddenly, a low rumble that sounds suspiciously like laughter, if a dragon could laugh. He lowers his head to nose at your shoulder, nudging Daemon’s hand away in the process as if to say, “She’s mine, actually.” You burst out laughing, leaning into Caraxes’s scaled cheek, feeling the warmth radiate from his skin.

“Seems like he’s made his choice,” you say with a sly smile, watching Daemon’s face flicker between exasperation and humor.

“Oh, has he?” Daemon drawls, arching a brow as he watches you and Caraxes, clearly unimpressed. “Well, perhaps I should be jealous, then. I might have to fight him for your favor.”

You laugh, raising a hand to smooth over Daemon’s arm. “Poor Daemon,” you tease, your tone laced with affection. “Unseated by your own dragon.”

He rolls his eyes, though the warmth in his gaze softens his expression. “If Caraxes intends to keep you for himself, he should remember who his true rider is.”

Caraxes turns his head slightly, eyeing Daemon with a look that, impossibly, feels smug. You laugh again, patting the dragon’s neck in reassurance. “Don’t worry, Caraxes. There’s room enough for both of you.”

Daemon grunts, slipping an arm around your shoulders, drawing you closer as he casts a sidelong glance at Caraxes. “You’re lucky I tolerate you, you red menace,” he mutters, though the fondness in his voice is unmistakable.

The dragon lets out a huff, almost as if he’s rolling his eyes, and settles his head back down, clearly satisfied with his small victory. And as you lean into Daemon’s side, his arm wrapped securely around you, you catch the slight smile on his lips. For all his talk, the Rogue Prince is more than happy to share your affections—even if it means indulging in a rivalry with his own dragon.

[g1rlken]

I'm so excited you're taking requests for Rupert Campbell-Black!!

Do you think you could maybe fo #15 from your prompt list about him showing up for the reader bc they don't have anyone else?

Idk if just love that trope and I think it works with him.

If you don't feel inspired by that one no worries!

Someone in the crowd

prompt15 Rupert Campbell Black x fem!reader

word count: 5.3k+

warnings: parental neglect, mild swearing, hurt comfort, FLUFF

AN: Ahhhhhhh ANON I love you this is my fav prompt I was initially planning on the same one anyways thanks for platform ing my Rupert obsession you’re the first one

The chronicles of the country side for a veterinary sciences PhD student included more than just animals, main reason she selected a university so far from the hustle and bustle of the city. Peculiar animals in their natural state, she came across more than just peculiar animals.

Trespassing loses its meaning for the engrossed researcher, she didn’t realise when she passed the forest to a private estate land whilst following the slow worm. The most advanced high end camera, that Rupert had only seen with those media folks and proper film production. However he assumed the girl in a camouflage jungle vest to be an intern in a tabloid firm, trying to prove herself to be ever so efficient to her superiors by sneaking in to his property for a few pictures. Too naive to realise he could sue her for all her fortune perhaps. Rather an amateur at her job perhaps, she was there to snap him yet her attention didn’t avert to him on his horse before he approached her himself, “Young lady” he cleared his throat sternly “You do realise you’re trespassing here?”

“Oh?” She looked out of her camera lens to the voice that called out her and in an instant she lost sight of the slow worm she was following. “Fuck!”

“And if you don’t delete the pictures and get off of this land right this second I will be suing you for all the jobs you don’t already have.” Rupert threatened, he truly misliked this breach of his privacy to no end. But because the girl seemed unskilled and gullible to her supposedly first job he felt he could let her get off easily.

“I’m not deleting any pictures I barely got two” she said with a heavy sigh, her eyes frantically searching for her subject within the grass again not too bothered by his threat. “And I don’t have any job as it is”

“Oh” he amused, getting off of the saddle of his horse to level with her, “are you one of those fans then? How many times do I have to tell you people-“

“What?” Her attention broke from her subjected reptile to the man this time, “a fan? I don’t even know you…”

“Oh right” he scoffed placing his hands by his hips, “surely you don’t.”

“I truly don’t. I was following my subject for today from the forest lands and I ended up here it was an honest mistake” she explained herself as she opened her camera to show him the pictures, they were all reptiles and not…him.

“You were following a snake?” He asked rather confused and somewhat intrigued as to what would bring her to this.

“It’s not a snake, it’s a is a legless lizard. Anguis Fragilis” she corrected the man, ever so casually as if it were the most common of knowledges to attain.

The man just burst into laughter letting go of the horse chain to contain it, his hand on his chest he could find the joke in the name and the scenario extremely comical. “You have got to be kidding me!”

Y/n felt a bit embarrassed as if she’d said the wrong name so she went through it in her head again and she wasn’t, wrong. It was perhaps like college again, info dumping on the wrong set of people who poke fun at peculiar passions. But the man seemed to be too old to be like those immature college kids who mock others so she was left rather confused “what is so funny?” She asked hesitantly, “it’s rather rare and native to this area we don’t come across them in the city…” she trailed off trying to fill in his boastful laughter with something to feel less uncomfortable.

“Oh is it now?” Rupert asked as his laughter subsided and he realised the girl was an enthusiast in a true fashion. He just found the name of the godforsaken reptile to have a double meaning to it, he thought she made it up but when she got awkward and explained further he realised she wasn’t joking. “My apologies, are you new here?”

“Yes Ive actually moved here for research, I’m studying veterinary sciences for PhD… ” she said still feeling a bit self conscious after he’d laughed like that.

“Anus Fragilis huh?” He repeated trying his best to suppress another set of laughter but he failed at it ever so evidently.

“Anguis…er-slow worm.” She cringed as she picked up on the joke that had him loosing his composure like that. Perhaps she judged him to act his age which he looked so fast. “It’s also called slow worm. I lost him regardless, so I’ll get going. Sorry to bother you.”

“No, no hang on a second darling” he said gripping her elbow as she attempted to leave but as she returned to face him again he left it just instantly. “Since you’re already here, allow me to indulge you in a coffee or so? It would be very disappointing if I don’t get to learn more about…” he wanted to say it, the joke. But the awkwardly offended look on her face of feeling small wasn’t worth it so he kept it to himself “slow worms and legless lizards”

“They’re the same.” She briefed him feeling his ignorance, the PhD aspirant did not seem to have time to entertain his indulgence. “Forgive me but I have to go, I’ve walked too far from my car.”

“Well then allow me to drop you?” Rupert offered with his usual charm which didn’t leave to phase a lot.

Not her perhaps, “It’s not that far” she said curtly. Packing her camera equipment in a hurry. “Thanks. And sorry for trespassing.”

Rupert watched as she hastily packed her lenses and the rolls. Just when he thought he could work on himself to not offend people on first impressions, he generally didn’t do so with ladies so perhaps this was a first. “I’m Rupert Campbell Black” He put his hand forward for a handshake, “Sports Minister.” He introduced himself.

She had both her hands full with her books and camera, which she could rearrange back in the bag to accept his handshake but she’d rather not so she just nodded shortly. “Yes, Mr. Rupert, so nice to meet you.” She said with half a smile, then paced away not even waiting for his reply.

“I suppose I’ll see you around?” He said with his usual grin but she was already pacing away back to the path she’d come from.

That is how the two first met. Not her most memorable nor pleasant interaction but surely intriguing for the minister. The next time he met her, late early evening at a cafe. It took a second to recognise her with her head down in a book but there was enough lighting cast on her against the window where she sat. “Slow worm!” He exclaimed as he approached her causing her to avert her attention from the book to him.

“You…” she trailed off however her tone didn’t match the same enthusiasm as his. “Hi.” She said as he gestured to the chair across her on her table, asking if someone was there but she shrugged and nodded “Please, go ahead” she said being polite, internally bracing herself for another awful interaction.

“I was hoping I’d run into you” he told her leaning forward on the table crossing his arms, “turns out, your little bugger is a frequent visitor of the stable sheds back at the estate.”

“That explains yeah” she nodded closing her book, the size of it gigantic and hardcover it made a small thud, “it eats slugs and snails, spiders too…”

“Wonderful aspect” Rupert complimented, under informed on the subject he didn’t know what to say. “Did you get proper observations for your research?”

“Superficially yes” she nodded, “I’ll run into more of those one of these days.”

“You can always just visit my place again…I would be honoured to help out a bright mind.” Rupert offered leaning back in the chair, unbuttoning his blazer.

“That is so kind of you, I’m very sorry for trespassing that day” she said it again, obviously not friendly enough with him to take him up on that offer.

“Well you could make up for it by telling me your name.” He shrugged as his lips formulated a smile.

“Y/n.” She told him. As the conversation progressed, learning more of him, telling him more about her research and the subjects she’d come across so far. For someone in a vastly different field he was such an attentive listener. She’d told him a lot, about the animals, her thesis, her lectures and sessions, being a TA, moving here.

“And what of your friends?” He asked her over his second cup of coffee in the same conversation because he wanted to keep it going.

“I don’t live on campus so I don’t have roommates to be friends with, then I’m a TA but everyone else is a bachelors and third year student. Had I done college here I’d have those friends…I do have friends from college back home but as of now it’s only my professors.” She informed him, very casual with it but as she formulated the picture in his head it seemed to be a rather isolating experience.

“And what do you do for fun around here?” He asked her to see if it was as isolating as he realised.

“Trespass estates.” She joked with a small giggle, but in truth she did absolutely nothing for fun because there wasn’t anything.

“Greatest hobby ever” he joked back. But as she didn’t follow up with another activity he realised that if he pried about it he’d just force her to admit she led a boring and somewhat lonely life. He wasn’t judging her, she was fresh out of college and had to move a whole place and seemed to have no friends here. Well except for him if she’ll have him. “Are you struggling?”

“Of course not. I love my work, I can easily afford rent too it’s not a problem.” She replied honestly, if only financial was all of her struggles.

“Don’t you think you’d save more if you lived on campus?” He questioned unsure of her choice to stay in a boutique flat in one of the most expensive neighbourhoods.

“My father wouldn’t allow it. He’s a bit of a tone deaf classist that way.” She admitted, rather casually.

“Allow?” He repeated, surprised. He didn’t know her precise age but by her educational status and the looks of it someone in their early twenties didn’t need their father’s permission on how to live.

“It’s just a bit complicated, he wants all of his children to take the right step that is work in our family business, his company. I tried, it’s soul draining and very unlike me” she sighed “So I just extended education.”

“To get far from him?” He perceived, perhaps not the way she saw it.

“—To explore my options. I don’t want to disappoint him when I can avoid it.”

“And is this the way to be?” He asked, his tone guarded and expression curious.

“Perhaps.” She replied, but on the inside she was so hyper aware that anywhere farther from the family business as all the way to be. She didn’t want to distanced from her father nor her family, she may not be the golden child but she wanted him to be ever so proud of her even though she didn’t walk on the road he chose for her.

“Your spirit likes the fight doesn’t it?” It was more of an observation than a question.

“I don’t indulge in self awareness that well” She replied with a bemused shrug and he just let out a low laugh that. And that was her first friendship in Rutshire. To Rupert’s likeness the cafe was another one of basil’s side quests but he visited there less frequently given the bar was his primary. Regardless, Rupert got him too. The prime customer and his newest friend, studied there most of the time because she lived close by and Rupert felt drawn to her company.

She had no other and he found her growing to be his favourite one. He fancied the conversations with her so much, in her absence basil teased him about it. This one afternoon, Rupert visited as his usual time, or perhaps y/n’s usual time which he picked up on but she wasn’t there. “The coffee can’t be that good.” Basil said with a small scoff, as he found Rupert with a disappointed expression in the girl’s absence.

“I’m just trying to reduce the alcohol intake” Rupert said nonchalantly, well aware he didn’t the caffeine he’d been consuming just for the conversations with her.

“I wasn’t talking about the coffee” Basil added with a devious grin hinting at the double meaning joke he was referring for.

“Piss off” Rupert rolled his eyes at the man with a heavy sigh of irritation sitting down at the table, rolling up his sleeves and facepalming. “This is her usual time to come and study here” he mentioned.

“Which you don’t let her do.” Basil said, the entire time indulging the poor girl in conversations and spontaneous outing plans. “She’d have to be extraordinarily brilliant to keep up with her courseworks with all the detours you put her up to.”

“She is extraordinarily brilliant.” Rupert briefed him.

“I suppose you’d know.” Basil shrugged leaning against the table where he was sat, “Does she have a boyfriend?”

Seemingly offended at the mere thought of that Rupert’s expression disgusted, “Of course not!”

“Of course not?” Basil repeated surprised with his affirm expression. “So you are sleeping with her.”

“I’m not sleeping with her.” Rupert emphasised on the word ‘not’ and it was probably the tenth time that Bas had asked him that this moment.

“Of course not” Basil humoured him mimicking his tone when he said that.

“I’m not, it isn’t like that with her.” Rupert tried to explain that to his friend who found that to be such a foreign concept. It was a very strangely unknown and unspecific feeling for Rupert himself too.

“You don’t want to sleep with her?” Bas questioned not believing nor understanding the prospect “she’s rather pretty.” besides he’d sleep with anything.

“She isn’t just pretty Bas, she’s beautiful, a bit too much even on the inside.” He paused “She is precious.” Rupert spoke with such genuine passion that basil had to lay off of the joke he was brewing.

“And what of you?” Basil asked, it was something Rupert hadn’t even questioned himself for well not yet anyways.

“What of me?” He answered the question with a question feigning innocence. Before basil could further explain himself, even though well aware that Rupert understood him. The bells of the door jingled announcing upcoming presence in the nearly empty cafe causing the men to turn at the voice.

“Hello-Hello, Gentlemen!” Y/n exclaimed in the most enthusiastic Sunday morning tone possible but it was a cloudy afternoon on a Tuesday. To Rupert she always sounded like a Sunday morning with her little giggles and all the mannerisms but today she seemed way more lifted with spirits.

“Want to bet a tenner she ran into a coyote.” Basil said as she made her way to their table sitting across Rupert whilst basil was still leaning against the table.

“I bet you a twenty its a pine marten.” Rupert said, he picked up on everything from their conversation. This week she was in search of that specific animal from her list or so, he kept track somewhat subconsciously.

“It’s neither” She said with a smile still plastered on her face as she sat her bag down to the side placing her hands on the table. “I’ve got great news, well not great but perhaps good, great to me.” She went in an adjective discourse and shook her head coming back on track “My professor submitted my thesis to this government honorary publications department and I’m getting an in-kind research grant!”

“The government is giving you money?!” Basil matched her enthusiastic tone leaning forward on the table.

“No, no it’s an in kind grant…as in-they present me with an award but the big thing is that I get policy access, lab space, government authorised datasets…” she explained further with her eyes so lit up Rupert wanted to bottle this warmth of emotions he felt in just seeing her happy like this and drink it like water.

“You are getting an award?!” Rupert said with loud earnest passion for her excelling. “Y/n! That is marvellous news!”

“You fucking genius!” Basil added further, giving her a side hug and kissing the top of her head, giving her hair a ruffle as he walked across the cafe, “this calls for a celebration!”

“Thank you” She replied with a toothy smile. Feeling very heart warmed. Then Rupert took both her hands in his, he looked just as lit up as if it was his award.

“My darling, you absolute mastermind. Your mind is a wonder, y/n I am so so proud of you!” He said, he didn’t have to reaffirm or reassure more so because out of everyone she’d come across, Rupert had been so supportive, a subject and felt so unfamiliar yet he’d reassured and let her know it so constantly that she’d always have him to be cheering so hard for her. “You deserved this!”

“Rupert, that is so kind! Thank you, seriously” she replied with a glint in her eyes he could feel coloured by. Just about on time, basil blasted the confetti cracker he happened to have lying around. He turned the open sign to closed at the door of the cafe and returned to the table, slowly she let her hands out of Rupert’s.

“Didn’t have champagne in the cafe but this should do” Basil said as he presented their table with a small cake.

“You didn’t have to close the place” y/n said with a small giggle as she saw the cake, a sign in red jam crossing out the name ‘Einstein’ and Y/n in its place. Classic Bas.

“Oh please love, I deserve this celebration.” Bas said with a dramatic roll of his eyes, any reason to not work was reason enough.

“Right of course since he worked so hard.” Rupert joked clearly forgetting he owed the man in staying the cafe for him to keep it open just in case y/n might come in. They kept congratulating her over and over again as the trio dug into the cake.

“So when exactly is the award function?” Rupert asked, it was going to be event of the week for him more than it was for y/n.

“It’s on this Friday, I get one visitor pass and my father is flying out to attend it!” She said, ebullient. It did irk him somewhat because he’d wanted to see her receive the award but he knew how much her father’s approval meant to her so he was happy in her happiness regardless.

“That is great news, what did he say?” Rupert asked keeping his disappointment for not being able to see her at bay.

“His assistant put me through in the very second call so he must really be impressed, he asked me about the function and he sounded very positive of it.” She told them about the seemingly brief phone call.

“You have to talk to an assistant to get to your fath-“ basil was quickly interjected with a small shove on the leg from Rupert to take a turn in that observation. Rupert didn’t want it to rain her parade, “It’s so nice he’s coming all this way.”

“He’d probably stay a day or two after that you should meet him!” She added, it seemed as if she was somewhat more joyous with the fact that her father was pleased than the actual award to her name. It was a grey line.

“I would be delighted to.” Rupert said, he would be. At least for her sake despite having his internal doubts towards the man.

-

The award function was an extremely formal event, you could barely tell apart the professors from the bureaucrats. Rupert could tell the difference easily though, he simply knew the later group, almost all of them. But he wasn’t there for any of those people. Taking his seat at the round table, next to the faces he knew very well but he was way too focused on the happenings of the stage to indulge in small talk. And then there it was.

The lady of the evening. At least for him, her research dissertation was called out and he recognised it was her turn before they presented her name as well. White shirt with several pins of animal welfare and her educational institution. Simplicity and grace, ever so precious. As she received the medal and the award plate Rupert clapped perhaps the loudest, standing up even. The stage wasn’t so far but she didn’t spot him because her eyes were searching another direction and the procession was short lived before she could avert her gaze.

Finally after all the names were done, she was free from the stage back to the softly mingling crowd. “There she is!” The enthusiastic exclamation caught her attention from her lost trance.

Adhering the man in suit with flowers in his hand, surprised and radiated expression, “Rupert?!” She was baffled and so relieved she didn’t understand the later feeling. She rushed to him, their distance getting closer as he opened his arms for her.

“Congratulations, darling” he said bringing her into a tight embrace both of them so joyous, hers was rather infectious. He easily lifted her from the ground out of glee, kissing the side of her face. “You were wonderful out there!”

“When did you get here?” She asked once he put him down and she pulled away yet kept her arms entangled with him. Enough to just see his face, “also how?”

“I’m an MP you thought I wouldn’t be able to get into a government function?” He amused, surprised she did not see it coming, perhaps she wasn’t expecting him but her reaction seemed as if she would rather prefer him. “I got here an hour before yours was announced.”

“I am so glad you made it!” She told him, the effort was so heartwarming to her. He’d came to an event which wasn’t initially his, making more arrangements to even get in for her. She didn’t want to voice it because he’d always reply with such a strange concern as if being loved more than to be sustained wasn’t optional, she wasn’t used to this concern nor sentimental support.

Rupert could tell her kind, wide eyes in a sort of turmoil of something she couldn’t figure out by even herself but he didn’t pry on it, “where is your father?” He asked looking around shortly.

“Oh he…he isn’t here. He could not make it.” She said with a small shrug, that is how casual his absence was to him.

“—How come?”

“Probably his flight, I forgot to notify him about our time zones or so. If he were skipping he would’ve called prior” there was a small hope tugging at her heartstrings trying to believe this wasn’t like the other times. “He would be here anyways, would just be missing the event.”

“I suppose” he replied curtly, being presented with two choices of either being truthful with her of her father’s harsh and uncaring constitution or hold the hope she held out for the man with her. None of the two seemed befitting to him. As the event progressed she introduced him to some of her professors and people that she worked with, he did the same with the other officials that he knew of. She grew tired of the socialising and asked him if they could leave the event, she wasn’t as tired as she was growing disappointed of a man who wasn’t even in the room.

Even though Rupert and her came to the event from a different place and were going back in difference directions it was a given that they leave together. At least to him it was, she’d just informed him she felt like leaving and he stood up in an instant. He was dropping her back to her place because she didn’t driver herself to the function. The two were walking, to his car in the chilly night with his suit blazer draped over her shoulders, flowers and his hand in her hand, he carried her award with her bag for her and a light hearted conversation. Serenity which ran away once they came across a pay phone call booth. “Do you mind if I go make a call?” She asked him, he nodded but he was well aware who that call was intended for.

Rupert leant against the phone stand with the small door of it open, close to her as she pressed the numbers inserting coins. Anxiously awaiting the other line to answer she replied when a voice answered “Hello, this is me, y/n. Did dad leave yet?” She asked, he hated to see her in such distress and was afraid the conversation ought to make it worse. “What? What do you mean—the event, my award he was going to be here for…like he promised.” Rupert could only hear y/n’s side of the conversation but he could pan out the other side, which wasn’t even her father just some office assistant. “Just let me talk to him…please…two minutes perhaps?” It was difficult to watch, begging for the scraps of her father to an assistant. After a few moments the call ended and she couldn’t even stomach the courtesy of a goodbye.

As she walked out of the booth he searched for her to meet his eyes, narrate to him the happenings of the call. “His plans changed” she said but nothing further. He could tell she didn’t feel like talking so he stopped walking and also held her back from the track, pulled her into his arms. Resting his chin on top of her head as he held her, enlacing his arms around her tightly. He could definitely stay like this for rest of the night. Even life? A small voice suggested and he quickly dismissed it as he was pulled back to her, she didn’t feel relaxed in his arms even though she hugged him back and her face so steady, he felt his shirt getting sprinkled with dampness, as if in smallest portions.

“Y/n…” he trailed off pulling away to confirm if she was crying, “are you crying?” He asked as she lowered her face so he couldn’t see it but he leant in her direction to see. “Hey..hey, it’s alright” he pulled her back to him letting her weep onto his chest as he ran a hand through her hair.

“I don’t understand why I feel so bad” she said through her tears, holding onto him like she would fall apart even more if he let go. Perhaps she would.

“It is alright darling just let it out” Rupert said as he continued to sooth her in his arms, trying to provide a present, grounding support.

“He promised me…” she trailed off crying harder, all those events where her father should’ve been present but wasn’t came back to her. Fancy dress competitions at school where the chauffeur that dropped her off would have to attend the show out of pity for the child, birthdays where he would have to be bothered a multiple times to come attend cake-cutting, evidently sad over a test but he simply couldn’t be bothered to ask his daughter if she was alright. So much life spent in I-promise-you-I’ll-be-there. So much disappointment and you’d think one would learn. “I just feel stupid-I thought this time would be different.”

Rupert held her face in his hands “look at me” he said forcing her to meet his gaze. “You are not stupid for what you feel, you are not at fault for someone so detached and irresponsible towards their own child.” He spoke whilst wiping her tears, “he will forever be an incomplete, deficient man for the kind of father that he is. But you my love are beyond him and how he treats you, you’re brilliant and kind and funny and you have a heart big enough to hold a planet. You are going to go so far, your suffrage of his conditional love and inflicted anguish will heal for the better. I promise you that.”

This was a better hope than the one she was always latched onto, hoping that he would change, come around for once. But letting go and a promise for a softer tomorrow seemed so much more beautiful. “But I am so tired”

“You have been so gentle through so much…you must have been tired too. But persevering is constant and you, you always do. There is so much life within you, those around you are infected with it, I know I am.” He confessed, he hadn’t voiced it out especially not like this even to himself but she was more than a lively feeling, more than a chase or a rush for attraction. No. She was life.

Such admission made her heart flutter, she felt the drumming in her ears and it wasn’t the anxious kind. This felt like a sunrise after a good dream, but she had no words for it because her eyes spoke enough and so did his that wandered down to her lips and back to his. Reciprocating the course of gaze when he leant forward, face so close she didn’t move even by the slightest tired of awaiting him to inch to the closest extent she caught a soft grip of his shirt, lowering her gaze right when he crashed his lips onto hers. She kissed him back and it felt heavenly, as the kiss deepened he felt like he had reached there.

Smiles glued to their faces once they pulled away to catch a breath, tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear he said “you are not the only one who’s won something tonight.”

“That means I’ve won twice” she said with a small giggle adding to his exaggeration that kissing her felt like a win.

“That isn’t the same.” Rupert corrected her, going in to kiss her again with a slower passion, taking his time letting the sweetness of it linger “for me this is centuries worth of wins.”

—

IVE SO MUCH MORE OF HIS STUFF COMING SOMEBODY SEDATE ME…next his enemies to lovers let me know if you want to be tagged

PLEASE comments are my fuel I am HUNGRY for validation please if you like this please please let me know

[moss-wizard]

Maybe you should go bask in the sun for a few hours like a lizard or perhaps a snake and maybe you'll feel better.

[herpsandbirds]

Hello!

Do you perhaps have any really pretty snakes/birds/lizards with things like cool appearances or patterns? /nf

I just think reptiles are neat

Let me show you a few of lizards for whom I really like the color patterns...

Ornate Spiny Lizard (Sceloporus ornatus), male in breeding coloration, family Phrynosomatidae, Coahila, Mexico

photograph by mabat5

Moroccan Spiny-tailed Mastigure (Uromastyx nigriventris), male in full breeding color glory, family Agamidae, Assa, Morocco

Mastigures are also commonly referred to as Uromastyx, ala Moroccan Spiny-tailed Uromastyx.

photographs by Rodrigo Bustos

Mwanza Flat-headed Rock Agama (Agama mwanzae), male, family Agamidae, found in eastern Africa

photograph by Gaurav Pandit

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Reference: Names for the Devil

The word devil comes from the Greek diábolos, which literally means “slanderer.” The Spanish diablo and the adjectival diabolical also come from this word.

Satan

Perhaps the most well-known name for the Devil is Satan.

This name appears repeatedly in the Bible, such as in Luke 22:3 when the Devil is blamed for Judas Iscariot’s betrayal of Jesus Christ: Then entered Satan into Judas surnamed Iscariot, being of the number of the twelve.

The name Satan is recorded in English before the year 900.

The English word comes through the Greek Satán from the Hebrew word śātān meaning “adversary.”

Ash-Shaytān (Shaitan)

The Devil appears in Muslim scripture as well.

Comes from the Arabic al-Shaytān and is etymologically connected to the English Satan. The “ash” or “al” indicates that one is talking about the Devil (with a capital D) as opposed to a devil or demon.

The name Ash-Shaytān has several different variants in Arabic, including Shaytan, Shaitan, and Sheitan.

Iblis

Often used to tell the story of the origin of the Devil.

According to the Qur’an, God commanded all the spirits to bow before Adam, but a spirit named Iblis refused.

For this blasphemous act, Iblis was cast down from Heaven.

Iblis is actually a source of debate among Islamic scholars and thinkers. Some consider Iblis to be a fallen angel or archangel. Others count him as a jinn (a spirit that is lower in rank than an angel), usually the jinn that fathered all of the others.

The name Iblis comes through Arabic from the Greek diábolos, that same word that is also the origin of the word devil.

Lucifer

Often a source of debate among Biblical scholars.

In the Bible, the story of a fallen angel is mentioned in Ezekiel 28 and Isaiah 14.

According to the Bible, this angel became so vain and proud that he thought himself above God. As punishment for his wickedness, the angel was cast out of Heaven and into the dark pit of the Earth so that he would be even lower than humanity. In translations of the Bible, such as the King James Version, this angel’s name is said to be Lucifer.

The Bible does not say that this angel Lucifer is the same being as Satan. That connection was popularized by poet John Milton in his famous epic poem Paradise Lost (1667), which tells the story of the fallen angel Lucifer becoming Satan after a failed rebellion against God during a War in Heaven.

Paradise Lost is so popular that its depiction of Satan still heavily influences modern depictions of the Devil and the lore many people associate with him.

The name Lucifer comes from Latin and means “morning star” or can be literally translated as “light bringing.”

In classic mythology, Lucifer was the name of the planet Venus, which was personified as a man holding a torch.

Prince of Darkness

This name for the Devil appeared in Paradise Lost, as well as William Shakespeare’s King Lear (1606).

In the Bible, God is often associated with light, while the Devil, the opposing force, is often associated with darkness.

The Devil has turned away from God’s light and embraced the darkness of sin.

Prince of Darkness, then, accurately describes the Devil’s role as the ruler of the darkest darkness that is the pits of hell.

A few other names for the Devil, such as the Lord of Darkness or the Dark Lord, similarly give the Devil a diabolical-sounding title.

The Serpent

Largely based on Genesis 3, wherein Eve is tempted by a talking snake to eat the forbidden fruit. Although the Bible doesn’t explicitly say so, popular biblical interpretation is that this serpent was actually the Devil.

This belief that the lying snake was the Devil was the reason behind his many other duplicitous names, such as the Deceiver, the Tempter, or the Father of Lies.

The Devil seems to enjoy taking the form of nefarious lizards, as he is said to take the form of a gigantic dragon in the Book of Revelation. This explains another of his reptilian nicknames, the Dragon.

Old Nick

An informal nickname for the Devil that has been used since the 1600s.

Although there are many theories where this name came from, nobody can say for certain. This one is surprising given that Old Saint Nick (or Nicholas) is a commonly used nickname for Santa Claus, who is about as far away from the Devil as you can get.

Interestingly, though, there is a bit of a connection between these two in the form of Krampus, a terrifying goat-demon creature who, according to European legend, emerges during Christmastime to beat naughty children or bring them to hell.

The Devil’s age inspired a few other nicknames, such as Old Scratch and Old Harry, which also focus on his long lifespan.

Belial

In the Bible, the name Belial is used to directly refer to the Devil in 2 Corinthians when it is used to contrast the Devil as being the evil to Jesus’s good.

Used throughout the Old Testament to describe wicked or sinful people as being men, children, and sons/daughters of Belial, meaning that they have turned away from God and serve the Devil.

Comes from the Hebrew bəliyyaʿal and is equivalent to a combination of the words bəlī (without) and yaʿal (worth).

Used in the Bible to say that a person embodies wickedness and is therefore “worthless” in the sense that they only take from others by performing evil deeds.

Beelzebub

Used to refer to the Devil himself or another devil that serves under him.

Appears in the New Testament in the Gospels of Luke, Matthew, and Mark.

According to the Bible, some onlookers accused Jesus of having the power to exorcise demons because he serves Beelzebub, who is said to be “the chief of devils.” Jesus assures the people that his power comes from God and not Satan.

Comes from the Hebrew bá`al zebūb, which literally translates to “lord of flies.”

In popular culture, Beelzebub is often depicted as a horrifying fly demon when he is considered to be a separate being from the Devil.

Apollyon

Mentioned in Revelation 9:11 and is used to refer to a king of demons.

The Bible names Apollyon as “the angel of the bottomless pit” and states the name Apollyon is the Greek name for the being known in Hebrew as Abaddon.

Common interpretation of this passage says that Apollyon is Satan or a powerful demon that serves him.

As the Bible hints at, the name Apollyon comes from the Greek apollýōn, which is a participle of the verb apollýnai meaning “to destroy.”

The name Abaddon comes from the Hebrew ăbhaddōnōn, which means “destruction.”

Whoever Apollyon/Abaddon is, they are also often referred to as the Destroyer.

Mammon

Appears in the Gospels of Luke and Matthew when recounting one of Jesus’s sermons. Jesus uses this term to refer to the wicked greed and desire for wealth. He states that it is impossible to serve both God and mammon.

As time went on, writers would interpret this passage to mean that Jesus was talking about a demonic entity named Mammon that embodied wealth and obsessive greed.

Comes from the Aramaic māmōnā, which means “riches” or “wealth.”

Legion

The name of a demon or a group of demons that Jesus encounters in the Gospels of Luke and Mark. Jesus asks a demon who is possessing a man their name and receives the famous answer of “My name is Legion: for we are many.”

The name Legion comes from the Latin legiōn, which refers to a body of soldiers.

Ancient Rome was famous for its legions (of soldiers) that made it a dominant military power.

Azazel

Used in translations of the scapegoat ritual as mentioned in Leviticus 16.

According to the account of the ritual, a goat would be offered to God and a second goat bearing the sins of the people would be offered to Azazel.

This being known as Azazel is also referred to as “the scapegoat.”

Interpretations of this passage would suggest that Azazel was some kind of demonic entity, possibly even the Devil himself.

Mephistopheles

Comes from the German legends of Faust.

In the legends, Faust is bored with life and pleads to the Devil to give him knowledge and pleasure. Happy to oblige, a demon named Mephistopheles appears before Faust. Depending on the story, this Mephistopheles is either the Devil himself or a devil who works for him.

Either way, Faust makes a deal with the Devil and gets the sinful pleasure he wants in exchange for his soul and an eternity in hell.

The Antichrist

Only briefly mentioned in the Bible in First and Second Epistles of John as some kind of being that is acting in opposition to Jesus.

However, the role of the Antichrist would be expanded on in other Biblical texts and by many Christian writers.

In most versions, the Antichrist is imagined as an unholy opposite to Jesus Christ; the Antichrist is a being that will bring sin and damnation to mankind.

It is said that the arrival of the Antichrist will signal the end of the world.

In modern depictions, the Antichrist is frequently imagined as the son of Satan, mirroring how Jesus is the son of God.

More Devils and Demons

While Satan is the Devil, he doesn’t rule alone in his fiery pit of hell.

He has many devils that work under him, gleefully spreading evil and corrupting humanity. More words used to describe these infernal denizens of hell:

devil

demon

fiend

imp

succubus

incubus

jinn

The Devil is often said to have many lesser demons that help him rule over hell. The names of these were catalogued in the Dictionnaire Infernal (1818).

Some interesting names include Belphegor, Lamia, Astaroth, and Garuda.

Source ⚜ More: Notes ⚜ References for Poets ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[spinfins]

What if Viago gives Manfred a snake for his lil family? And then the snake has babies 😁

“…well i’m pleased to see the progress that’s been made here.” Emmrich said, walking through Treviso with the Fifth Talon. It was good to see the city recovering from its devastating occupation. The streets were busier and cleaner, the people better fed and more at ease.

It was peaceful enough that he had accepted the Crow’s invitation to cafe Petra. They had spent an enjoyable hour or two discussing art collecting, and trading amusing anecdotes about their time training the younger members of their professions.

Viago made a satisfied noise as he surveyed the city. He glanced thoughtfully at Manfred, who had been on his best behavior at the cafe, and occupied himself by watching steam rising from the various pots and kettles.

“Perhaps your fledgling would enjoy looking at my reptiles while you speak with Rook and Teia? i understand he has begun a collection of his own?”

Emmrich sighed in a very practiced way. ‘Collection’ was not the word he would use for the amalgamation of fauna that Manfred had acquired…so far.

He was immensely proud of Manfred’s curiosity and devotion to his menagerie. The creatures received care beyond any reproach.

He was less pleased by the fact that an entire room in the Lighthouse had been created to house the sheer number and scope of them.

“Yes,” he said as Manfred clapped his hands and bounced in glee. “I think he would like that very much.”

Later, as they were preparing to leave, Rook turned to Emmrich.

“Manfred’s hissing more than usual. Can you hear it?”

Now that they mentioned it. He could. Manfred’s excited noises proceeded him. Emmrich could hear them long before his ward appeared around the corner.

Dread pooled in Emmrich’s stomach to mix with the resignation there, resulting in a nauseating churn.

Manfred was holding a box, and taking great care to hold it steady as he took measured steps.

Oh no. He cleared his throat. “Manfred, my dear, what is that you have?”

The green gems rotated at alarming speed.

Manfred hissed louder and offered the box up for Emmrich’s inspection.

The box hissed back.

With great reluctance, the necromancer reached out and lifted the lid. From within the dark depths of the box something spat at him, something that moved very fast and was very brightly colored.

He snapped the lid closed.

Manfred hissed again, not only in excitement, but in imitation.

“A little gift!” Viago said, materializing behind him and clapping him on the shoulder. “It is not often I part willingly with one of my snakes, but your Manfred showed such an affinity I could not say no. Consider it a mark of goodwill from the Crows.”

A personal gift that would be beyond rude to refuse. A mark of goodwill from the most notorious league of assassins in all of Thedas.

“How wonderful,” Emmrich managed. “Did you say thank you, Manfred?”

The wisp used his very best enunciation. “Thank you!”

Viago smiled, “you are very welcome, niño”

As Manfred hugged the box to his chest, Emmrich leaned close to Viago, “is it poisonous?”

Viago’s smile widened, “not for skeletons.”

———

One snake would have been enough. That would have been fine. Manfred proved to be very adept at handling the little creature, and often went about with her poisonously bright coils wrapped in and out of his ribs.

Fred, Harding, Vorgoth and all the other frogs/toads were uninterested in her, and endured her introduction stoically.

Assan behaved himself very well, and eyed her with caution.

Baby tried to eat her, and so endured a very stern lecture from Manfred. There was some speculation as to whether her poison would even effect the enormous lizard.

“What are you going to call her?” Lucanis asked from a very respectful distance as Manfred maneuvered her into her new terrarium.

“Spit!” Manfred declared as Bellara passed by a little too close, and the snake bared a set of dripping fangs at her.

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Rook said as everyone nodded.

Yes. One snake would have been enough.

But then Emmrich shot awake in the dark hours of the night to Manfred anxious hissing and shaking.

“What is it?” He tried to ask as the wisp dragged him from the cozy bed—where Rook remained undisturbed—into the menagerie room.

Manfred did not form any coherent words, or let up hissing until he had towed Emmrich all the way to the front of Spit’s enclosure.

He rubbed his eyes once, and then rubbed them again with a groan.

Spit was curled contentedly around no less than a dozen, shining white eggs.

Fred croaked mockingly from behind them.

[zeyris-daydreams]

Jade Dragon’s Iron-Clad Camellias [2]

Dan Feng x Reader 

[ao3] or #df-camellia on my profile! [work masterlist]

Gaining recognition wasn’t something which needed any planning. And although you were great at setting reasonable goals, it seemed as though winds blew in your favour without your push.

The Cloud Splendor Forge was a name made by whim with lack of any forethought, yet the immortals still sang its praises, emphasising the dutifulness behind each weapon—and the mastery behind the meanings.

But there was no meaning, same as there was no need for it to have one. Vidyadhara and alike—Foxians and the Homo Celestinae all spun tales of their own.

It was too easy in fact.

The weapons were distributed quickly, grabbed and sought after as bread when the sun rose, the heat and smell of metal akin to the fragrance of meal for an empty stomach. The forger and the baker both shared a stove, but for vastly different reasons. The baker wanted to feed—you wished to make something bleed.

Due to culture born from war and hope, it wasn’t uncommon for people to appreciate weapons. They paid much attention to not only usability, but the detail as well.

Not all attention to detail was good—you’ve long realised, soon after someone began to nitpick them. And this wasn’t the first time.

Stood behind the counter of the inside of your forge, you moved a damp rag over it, pretending to try and clean away the black smears and the tar. It was a humble place, minimal amount of equipment and decor, spare for a flower which wilted from the heat radiating.

Further down was a stove and the tools, chisels and hammers, and the cold anvil which was unused yet.

It was so early after all.

He stood right near the entrance, glancing around, and you wished to pretend he wasn’t there. As long as you were ignorant, you could make him go away—sometimes wishes do come true.

The Vidyadhara cleared his throat expectantly.

But wishes take a while to work, and you finally lifted your face, shoving all the irritation down to the bottom of your stomach, lest there shows a vulnerability he’d be able to exploit like the snake that he was.

Annoyance ignited itself in your cortex already, perhaps at the idea that this preened lizard expected to be addressed. But you pretended everyday, and you could pretend for a while more. ”What may I help you with?”

Dan Feng’s piercing eyes seemed to glow by default in such a dark setting, and he finally stepped closer to the counter. “One assumes you know why one has come?”

This has happened before, three times precisely, where the pampered reptile would show up in all his might, and demand to meet the smith. It was engraved in your memory from the headache it caused each time, having to listen to his prolonged speeches about grandiose of his ideas; how just giving Yingxing the request through you would never be able to encompass his vision. A mortal can’t comprehend his ideas and expectations after all, you merely were an assistant. Dan Feng insisted-no, demanded to meet the craftsman.

”I have an idea why, but I fear the master remains in what he has said before.” you started, straightening to at least appear as though you paid him mind. To you, there was nothing grande before you, and you did not give a damn about his hereditary honorifics.

Glory is what you make—with both your hands.

Dan Feng sighed, pinching the ridge of his nose. He did not belong here, in his pristine and straightened clothes, and his untied hair. He was not ready nor made for work, and the contrast of his person to the comfort of your forge was sickening.

“Which would be?”

”Master Yingxing, as I’ve said, needs solitude to grow grand ideas. His words, not mine,” you began, keeping the tone as light as you could; grasping at the straws of your patience. “For that reason he only is present to deliver or make his craft. I only converse with him through written messages.”

You hoped that by emphasising the unapproachability of Yingxing, people would stop trying to meet him. Because frankly, you did not wish for people to know about your true identity, and you had all the reasons not to.

Only a madman would feel fine with that, if they were in your predicament at least.

Most immortals accepted your firm no. There was a sense of mystery and fantasy surrounding Yingxing, and the people of Xianzhou favoured romanticism over a popped bubble of delusion. And so, to maintain their image of the forger as someone cryptic, their efforts usually relented.

Most never means all however, and there would always be a prick who needed the validation of obtaining the unmovable.

”One sees no reason for such evasion,” He waved his hand, dismissing all your reasoning just as he did previously. It seemed the irritation finally got the best of him, as he dropped honorifics, and stopped attempting to pretend that you were on his level.

Dan Feng regarded you for a moment, and then the forge. Everything was ready to create, but there was no artist to do it. “Does he come today, then?”

”I wasn’t informed of that, where does the assumption come from?”

”Well,” The Vidyadhara gestured towards the other end of the forge leisurely and meticulously, as though he planned to point it out. “Do smiths not work when their tolls are ready?”

It was a miscalculation on your part. You really had to make sure to lock the forge next time, not that it mattered. Immortals usually sent their servants to order and retrieve weapons, and so it didn’t make a difference, as the pets of the Xianzhou folk never paid much mind. Such little humans usually soaked in their master's praises, never learning or knowing enough to find your business suspicious. Maybe it was blissful ignorance.

Dan Feng was truly the only one who insisted on proximity.

”What you see is correct, but that is the procedure. If the master comes, the forge must be ready, and given his solitude, I don’t know when to expect his grace.” You mustered, with as much courage as you could—despite coming up with this excuse on the spot. “I am sorry for the inconvenience, but his mind remains unchanged.”

”Fine, then. Have you told him that the one who seeks an audience with him is me?” The man began once more, his voice gaining an air of demand to it. He kept his hands to himself, not even willing to lay one on the deeply scarred wooden counter yet. “I am a High Elder, does your master not feel shame?”

It was hard to keep a cool shell when inside fires raged, and the facade slipped, for only a short moment. But it was unchangeable. “Have you considered that the master does not care?”

Dan Feng’s piercing and sharp eyes narrowed, and he finally leaned forward. “Excuse me?”

”Per your request I’ve left master the note about your wishes. Both to create the weapon and demand for the audience, but also of your status. That was the single demand that the master has not addressed with me.”

The irritation on his face was subtle, but the satisfaction of it was short lived. You forced your facial muscles into a state of tranquility, and the early bird gets prey. You had to act as though you had his best interest in mind.

“I insist, so that you don’t waste your time, to discuss the demands for the weapon with me.” You suggested once more, leaving it open for him to decide. “I convey it well enough, proven by the popularity that the master has gathered. If there are discrepancies, I’ll be held responsible,” you took a second to come up with the word that would please him the most. “For not being able to convey your vision well enough.”

You wanted your words to buy some of the graces you didn’t actually want—them being a currency to get him off your tail; or heel—that would be more accurate. Despite his visible need for protest and his clenched jaw, he relented. “Fine then, assistant.” The title rolled off his tongue like beads falling off a necklace, with an air of arrogance that seemed to constantly settle around him.

A sense of satisfaction poured into you still, despite the huge amount of effort it took to achieve this outcome.

It came to a halt as he leaned his hand on the counter at once, the other hand propped on his hip as he leaned to your stature, imposing your presence, breaking the usual distance needed for conversation in hopes of getting something out of you. “We will do how you want. Then again, commission is still pretty expensive. For that purpose I demand the weapon to be tailored specifically for me“

You swallowed. “They are always shaped for each clien-”

”No, I don’t look to have it only made per my word.” Dan Feng interrupted, his voice cutting through yours like a spear thrown through condensation of fog, causing you to halt. “Does your master need to see my former weapon for reference? The way in which I fight?”

Clients always trusted Yingxing, and a verbal assault of this caliber was far beyond your pay grade. With a sigh, one that you forced to be a calm one, your shoulders slumped. You wanted nothing more than to make the Vidyadhara bleed, but you stopped your sharp tongue.

”I understand the importance of making the weapon worth it, but my master is extraordinary” The self praise felt alien on your tongue, alien like Xianzhou’s cuisine and strange like a rock from beyond. You wished to spit it out with more pride, but it poured out more like water. “He will be able to provide you with a tailored option only after seeing the former weapon and understanding your expectations. That’s how my master keeps clients, I do not know the mysteries beyond that.”

Your defence was firm and sharp, he had to give you that. Dan Feng finally relented, straightening to fold his arm behind his back. His eyes lazily scanned the forge, not a single soul here spare for you and him.

”I am a High Elder, and I don’t wish to waste my time. I’ll send a servant here to deliver my former weapon, and as for its type..”

The Vidyadhara was suddenly filled with thought, slow and steady as his gaze was cast down. You weren’t yet sure how to feel, the gears in his mind turning deliberately, to a degree in which you could hear them click, click, click.

click.

”It is a weapon of long yet true reach, melee. It does not need excessive metal, and it is piercing, Stands tall, yet falls just as easily” High Elder mused cryptically, and his turquoise eyes drifted to yours soon after.

You stood there awkwardly with hands behind your back, pushing yourself up to the tips of your toes, before back to their heels. “Well, from my understanding that seems to be a spear. Do Vidyadhara name them differently?”

For a brief moment his brow rose, but he just shook his head, as if dismissing the thought that appeared. “A spear, then.”

So he was testing you. You couldn’t yet know the result of this trial.

The conversation concluded, and you were finally free to breathe when Dan Feng left. Having to upkeep the front of a dutiful clueless assistant took its toll once more, and you were left having to pick up pieces of your dignity.

Mortals didn’t have it easy on Xianzhou Loufu, despite it being more accommodating for them than the other two ships—and while you didn’t find it most fair, it was all you could get your hands on. You have long learned the importance of finding opportunities, doing what you had access to. You weren’t going to let self-victimisation ruin the odds.

The next day, as promised, the former weapon was delivered.

Dan Feng had a habit of not knocking, and he didn’t knock now either, entering the forge like his own damned domain—the spear in his grasp. Behind the safety of your counter your eyes widened, and you cleared your throat. A moment of silence passed.

“Forgive me asking, Higher Elder, but wasn’t a servant meant to do this duty?

He halted, eyes narrowing slightly at your words, though you had no idea what you might’ve said wrong. Yet it seemed as though the Vidyadhara was just as surprised to see you here. “Assistant.”

Your fingers curled into fists, and you forced a pleasant gaze upon your face. “I’m sorry, have I failed to mention that the master does not meet clients personally? If not, I would like to add that it prevents unnecessary bias.”

To hell with bias. Why was he here, again?

”The former, yes. Latter, hardly” His face turned to yours, gaze softening. “Though One could still hope to be on time.” A smile crept up onto his face, but you knew better than to take it as kindness; pity was more likely. Dan Feng’s interest in Yingxing was proving to be dangerous. Maybe you’d have to forge elsewhere, and take clients here. A faraway dream you could not afford; closer to that was perhaps changing the schedule altogether.

“No matter the technicalities. The weapon is here. Though this sky splitter did look better in its full glory” The doors closed behind him silently, despite the usual occurrence of them creaking with each move. Dan Feng was as robed as ever, preened and pristine and perfumed and he didn’t belong here at all.

The spear was laid on the table, and you looked down on habit, analysing its structure and shape. The front of it was clearly cracked, the fault permeating further down the spear. It was clinging to its frail shape, as a worm after being crushed.

His eyes were on the weapon, before they were on you, and you placed your hand onto the long body of the spear. Perfectly in the spot where its weight centre should be, given the heavier tip of the spear; and yet it still tilted. You frowned.

The spear was laughably off balance, and when you’ve realised how bold you’ve become, you set it down. When you opened your mouth to speak, you were almost afraid you’d ask which idiot forged this.

“I see. It appears broken. What sorts of improvements do you expect of the spear you’ve commissioned?”

You could already imagine analysing the spear later. The sharpness and its weight distribution, the evenness of its body and the smoothness that it should provide. You could smell the moment you’d forge it anew, and taste the ingredients of it with your fingertips.

You found the more you made weapons, the harder it was to stop.

Dan Feng raised his brow, head tilting at an angle as he went through his mind to remember his expectations—he did consider a new spear for some time now, especially after his friends helped him defeat the recent abominations of the abundance—his spear bore most of the damage.

This thought circled in his mind back and forth, what precisely did he want? Nothing but the best. Perfection. Dan Feng was not a master at making weapons, he could only wield them.

”Give it to your master,” the Vidyadhara expressed “ and tell him to improve on everything which is noticeably faulty within this one.”

[mattslolita]

-'🍷⁠*⁠.⁠✧-'🍷⁠*⁠.⁠✧-'🍷⁠*⁠.⁠✧-'🍷⁠*⁠.⁠✧-'🍷⁠*⁠.⁠✧-'🍷⁠*⁠.⁠✧-'🍷⁠*⁠.⁠✧-'🍷⁠*⁠.⁠✧-'🍷⁠*⁠.⁠✧-'🍷⁠*⁠.⁠✧-'🍷⁠*

an almost eerie glow followed your shadow as you walked along the sidewalk, the dim and low yellow light from the street your guide. your headphones remained glued to your ears, a soft hum leaving past your lips once in a while as you soaked up the current song playing in your ears, rhiannon by fleetwood mac. daisies and clovers littered the sidewalk every so often, the concrete slabs causing a small thud with each step you took. it was admittedly dangerous walking this late at night alone, since the streets had quieted and there was nothing but silence; yet, this was the most peaceful you’d been all day. besides, where you lived, nothing bad ever happened in your town; even the dark, looming trees that spilled into the woods had done no harm to the people of your town. 

it was your destination, actually— the last streetlight stood at the edge by its lonesome, watching as you disappeared into the thickness of the trees. up ahead of you, moonlight cascaded down, creating your now only source of light. it was full and beautiful, peering down at you with watchful eyes, leering at you as if to tell you a secret— a secret of the woods, one you had yet to see coming. the thick crunch of leaves were left under your vans, a stark reminder that you’d have a bit of trouble walking through it as you continued your nightly trek. a hum from your headphones followed by a ‘battery low’ caused you to curse under your breath as you took them off your head. you placed them around your neck, stopping momentarily to turn bluetooth off of your phone so that no more battery would be drained.

and then like a thief in the night, a shadow whizzed right by you— and you wouldn’t have noticed it if you had blinked.

your heart rate suddenly picked up, heightening your senses as you had become acutely aware that there was something out there lingering, watching. you glanced around either side of you, placing a hand on your heart. it was strangely warm tonight, yet it did nothing to stop your legs from shivering slightly. you wanted to call out, to ask what was there; but c’mon— you watched enough slashers to know that you never say hello. so after one more glance around, you took a deep breath and carefully continued the walk. though this path was the closest way to home, you started to regret it— but perhaps you were just being paranoid. it was probably an animal, a nocturnal one at that. you’d seen owls and deer all the time, careful not to alarm them.

except, there wasn’t the usual hooting you were so used to. the woods were unsettlingly quiet, and that was a thing you weren’t quite used to— in fact come to think of it, there was not the slither of lizards or a garden snake, nor was there the quiet chirp from the robins that nested nearby. you shudder uncomfortably, wanting nothing more than to leave now. it continued on quiet, and your eyes darted around every which way. the trees stood tall over you and began to feel as though you were suffocating, like the trees were closing you in. the bark twisted and curled, almost resembling that of a sneer as they watched you walk. a whimper threatens to escape your lips, and that’s when you hear the snap of a twig in the distance— finally, some fauna nearby!

you let out a much needed breath, giving you the strength to speed up as you look straight ahead. the clearing to the other side is just beyond your reach, looking so promising as you near it. you rolled your eyes for letting yourself get so spooked by what was probably a bat flying past you, having known that they do it all the time. but just as the clearing comes into view, something to your left catches your eye— a movement, and it's fast. a figure is present, and it appears to be hovering over something. you narrowed your eyes, and you could make out a person. panic surges forward when you hear a gurgling noise as whatever’s laying on the floor under the figure twitches for several moments, then it goes limp.

you swallowed uncomfortably, deciding to take a step towards whoever it was— perhaps they’d found a dead animal and were trying to revive it. whatever the case was, you would’ve felt bad if you’d just left them there. so you hurry towards them, an unsettling pit forming and setting itself in your stomach. as you neared them, a sharp gasp came from the figure and blood cascaded down the lifeless animal’s body; it pooled around them, causing your eyes to widen in alarm.

“oh gosh— excuse me, are you—”

before you could fully form a proper sentence, your blood went cold and body went rigid as the sight before you— the figure turned around, baring fangs as blood trickled from them, beginning to cake up around the edges of his mouth. his eyes were dark, soulless as he stared down at you; veins crinkled beneath his eyes, his face unnervingly pale against his sharp features. you stumbled over your feet, your face permanently transfixed in horror as you couldn’t look away from him. he tilted his head at you slightly, watching your every move. your heart’s beating wildly against your ribcage, and you think— no you’re certain— he can hear it, too.

a scream threatens to tear from deep within your belly but before the inkling of a sound could rise up, he’s on you in an instant; his tall frame looms behind you, his strong, pale arms locking you in place— one of his hands cover your mouth, causing you to breathe in through your nose as you find yourself struggling to fight out of his grip. you quickly realize that your body’s pressed firmly against his— you listen for the sound of his heartbeat—

he doesn’t have one.

a low whimper leaves your lips, causing him to tsk at you mockingly. “now sweetheart, can’t let ya go if you’re gonna keep makin’ a fuss. quiet down for me, yeah?”

his voice is deep and stern, oddly attractive— it makes your eyebrows furrow in uncertainty as you breathe out through your nose. “if i let ya go, y’gotta stay right where you are. don’t run, ‘kay? cause if you run, s’not gonna be pretty.”

you nod your head, his voice etched in your brain as you replay it over and over again. he loosens his grip around you, his hand coming off of your mouth. you stay rooted in your spot like he asked— you spun around, finding him wiping the corner of his mouth from the deer blood that stained crimson on his sickeningly pale face. your eyes widened as you examined his features; he was alarmingly handsome, and he looked to be a little older than you were. though with his kind, you could never be too sure of their actual age.

he smirks down at you, causing your insides to churn; heat blossoms to your cheeks as you realized you’d been checking him out.

“alright. i’m not running away; i believe i deserve a fucking explanation for what i just witnessed,” you demanded. even trying to make your voice stern, it wasn’t nearly as startling as his.

he rolls his eyes at this, sucking his teeth as he begins to walk circles around you. “s’exactly what you think it is.”

“i want to hear you say it.”

he stops walking in front of you, eyebrows raised comically as he sneers at you. “is that your best attempt at bein’ scary, sweetheart?”

“fine, don’t say shit then,” you say, raising your hands up with a shrug, “i’m just—”

mid-sentence, you conclude it would be the best time to break out into a run towards the clearing, the suburbs just within your reach. but of course he anticipated your next move, as it wasn’t as calculated as you thought it’d be— in a split second, he had you pinned against one of the thick trees, the oak branches almost piercing into your back at an uncomfortable angle. you struggled against his grip, one of your arms pinned above your with one of his knees lodged into the small gap that separated both of your legs.

“so you run, after i tell ya not to,” he chuckles under his breath, shaking his head in mock disappointment, “is followin’ instruction just so hard for you to do?”

“get off me,” you grit, eyes narrowed to slits as you stare him down. gosh, you just wanted to wipe that smug smirk off his face.

“here’s what’s gonna happen,” his stern voice whispers in your ear, causing your whole body to rush with heat, “m’gonna walk ya home. make sure you get there safely. and you’re not gonna tell anybody. got it?”

-'🍷⁠*⁠.⁠✧-'🍷⁠*⁠.⁠✧-'🍷⁠*⁠.⁠✧-'🍷⁠*⁠.⁠✧-'🍷⁠*⁠.⁠✧-'🍷⁠*⁠.⁠✧-'🍷⁠*⁠.⁠✧-'🍷⁠*⁠.⁠✧-'🍷⁠*⁠.⁠✧-'🍷⁠*⁠.⁠✧-'🍷⁠*

a/n: heh i been watching tvdu again. . .

[lothcat-lothcat-lothwolf-run]

something about Kallus (born on Coruscant, currently living in a glorified hallway) seeing lothal for the first time. there’s grass! And mountains! And a lot of big empty space! The sky is so big! How? Is this possible??

but he’s not allowed to go near it. The local wildlife (there’s wildlife!! And it’s cute!!) are considered too much of a hassle. He doesn’t even get to feel the landscape rush by him when he’s in a speeder. No, he’s always inside, a sort of cage of his own making.

when he’s on the ice moon, it’s one of the first times he really feels the pull, the call that nature holds out to him. It’s cold and freezing and miserable, but it’s still something real. And zeb almost seems to embody it, a wild that cannot, will not be contained. He wants to push it away almost as much as he wants to embrace it. Embrace him.

when he gets back, the artificial lights hurt more than before. The walls seem to echo every footstep with a metallic clang. Every moment someone makes feels robotic, even the air feels stiff and rigid. He lays the meteorite down on the plasteel shelf, and the contrast between the two feels as loud as war. It somehow reminds him of himself.

When he turns off the lights, he could almost imagine the grass under him, the midnight breeze and the smell of flowers. As if that rock of unknown properties is a star, as seen from on a planet, not a ship. The mountains in his mind hold him close, and he whispers a name for the lone star. “Garazeb”

Kallus often wonders what atollon is like. Seeing it, being there would be selfish of him. How could he continue to serve from afar if he is close by? When he does get glimpses, it makes him long for the things he never knew. When the wind blows into you, does the sand travel with it and scrape your skin? What does the ground feel like when the sun warms it? The animals there, do they cry out when they fall asleep as he so often does? It’s perhaps one of the cruelest tortures that Thrawn inflicts on him. How he wants to be down there, alongside everyone and everything he’s never gotten the chance to hold.

The first thing he noticed about Yavin 4 was how the vines seem to snake up the side of whatever desolate structure the rebels are using as a base. They infiltrate the lines between the stone tiles that make up much of the landing zone. He asks zeb if he could touch one, just for a moment and is surprised when the lasat laughs. The plants feel warm to the touch, as if they were secretly a type of lizard who basks in the sun. There’s a corse grain underneath it all, a pattern and a rhythm, different than the strictness of the Empire. It flows, similar to a wave. It extends and encompasses the base, but still pulls back to shore. It reflects them all.

on lothal, he once again sees the grass ripple in the wind as the ship he spent years chasing returned home. he steps out of the ghost and into the infinite field, transported back to the moment he saw this place for the first time. And he loves it no less.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Jake Kim x Reader: Cinema

G/N. Soft and fluffy feat Big Deal a lil.

 "You on a date, boss?"

Jake says yes without missing a beat, flashing you a grin and snaking his arm around your waist.

He sees the smirk on Jason's face, the light nudge Lineman gives Brad, and the pride and approval on Jerry's face.

The grin soon melts away though, when Brad follows up with "You going to see Rocky XX too?" and Jake only just manages to hide his grimace.

The answer to that is also yes. But he would prefer to not have a date crashed by the rest of the crew.

Heavens above, you're patient enough with Big Deal and so sweet to everyone. Gotten to know the street and the occupants like the back of your hand, spending more evenings and weekends there than not. 

However. Even with how much Jake lives and breathes Big Deal, he misses some one on one time with you.

Away from everyone, he thinks as he takes in the sight of his boys in front of him. He can't exactly tell them to go away though, can he? A rare weekend off work where they get to just be.

He succumbs to his fate. 

Imagines everyone huddled on the one row together. Seated next to each other. Cosy. A family affair instead of a romantic date. Probably won't be able to sneak you some kisses here and there-

"We're not seeing Rocky!" comes the unmistakable sound of Lua's voice. "We're going to watch The Boy and The Pigeon! Enjoy your film!"

She disappears as quickly as she arrives. A whirlwind of hair and a force of nature. Giving you both a small wave, mind laser focused on reading the goddamn room and shoving the boys towards a different screen.

"B-but we already got the tickets!"

"I wanted to see Rocky XX!"

"Why does Jake think seeing Rocky is romantic anyway?!"

Why?

To be honest, the Rocky franchise died off somewhere along V. Who knows how the hell these films are still being greenlit. Nevertheless, the newest one is a low stakes film where Jake doesn't care what happens apart from you cuddling up to him and some kisses if he's lucky.

It's calculated and planned and Jake mentally pats himself on the back for how things have turned out.

Except-

What he didn't expect was the score to be good, the script to be great, the choreography to be amazing, and the acting to be even better. Neither of you could take your eyes off the screen. You laughed and cried and gasped together. 

Thoughts of cuddling and kissing and even making out completely out the window as you're both on the edge of your seat for the entire two hours.

It was fantastic. Perhaps the best movie he has ever seen (and he could practice some of those moves too).

You're both still talking about it as he walks you home-

"When he came back as a zombie to fight that vampire?"

"And the lizard joins the fight to win the title?" Jake chuckles, at your enthusiasm more than anything else, "Yeah. I liked that."

But as your apartment appears on the horizon, he can't help but think that maybe this was a bit of a waste. That the day is over and as good as the film was, maybe he should have arranged something else, after all it’s been a while since both your schedules have aligned.  A date where you can actually talk and be in each other's company. Instead of being captivated by the screen, your attention could have been held by him.

Jake tries to shake off the doubts and recapture the lighter mood from seconds ago.

He's not entirely successful.

You realise something is amiss.

You peer over at your boyfriend. His sudden subduedness. The small line forming between his eyebrows that you hate so much, because it means he's unhappy about something. You pause mid step and he stops alongside you.

"Don’t overthink it. I had fun," you tell him. You always have fun with him. "Thank you."

Jake's smile returns when he sees the expectant look in your eyes. The way you stretch up towards him. press yourself into his space, and he leans down; meeting you halfway.

Your lips lightly press to his, eyes closing, eyelashes fluttering on his cheeks and his own falling shut. Strong arms encircle you, pulling you ever closer, deepening the contact.

There'll be a next time, your kiss reassures him.

You tastes like popcorn. Sugar and butter and salt. Sweet and savoury and perfect.

[senka-mesecine]

What would happen if reader tried escape from hills!Barnes and she thought she had made it out, unknowing that Barnes had been following her the entire time?

That Dog Don't Hunt.

Robert Barnes x Reader.

----

wonderful gif by @woman-with-no-name

----

Meaning; Hound not taking part in a hunt. Apparently originating from the southern United States, the phrase may refer to a hunting dog that refuses to do its job. Something won't fulfil its intended purpose, or a plan or scheme will fail. 

⚫

You take one final look at the mountainous forest perimeters left behind you and you think to yourself 'Thank god. Never again.'

With every step taken closer to civilization, at least faint, ramshackle signs of it in the form of an occasional roadside diner, an old, semi-defunct gas station, a semi-abandoned lonely trailer park or a neglected settlement partially swallowed up by nature you felt one step away further from Barnes, at least in a subjective sense, some lizard part of your brain convinced against all logic, that by the time you'll make it to the nearest city, perhaps Knoxville, Gatlinburg or even going as far as Nashville, the embrace of all those buildings, the bustle of people, the cars, the shops, the traffic, you would've been safe from him, like someone having gone to a place he couldn't follow, repelled and left outside not unlike a vampire that needed an invitation to come inside from the cold and the wilderness; an invitation you wouldn't extend. According to an old Summer proverb, a dog understood 'Take it', but it didn't understand 'Put it down.' Barnes was much like that in a sense; he refused to comprehend letting anyone or anything go, the concept of break ups practically nonexistent in his vocabulary. A man could be only a couple of things in that regard in his opinion that consisted only of polar extremes; widowed, legally hitched or both dead and neither you or him were any of those three respectively.

That's why you needed to run.

Go as far as your legs would take you.

For the time being, that began and ended with hitchhiking.

But, so long as you were on the move, you had some vestige of consolation.

That so long as you moved, you'd be fine.

It would be fine because it beat him or you being buried rather than parted.

The highway snakes through the Appalachians like a circuit and the man who picked you up from putting up your thumb on the side of the road was a mercifully elderly one; a typical senior, fishing rods, buckets and nets in the back of his truck --- someone back from a pensioner's fishing trip judging by a quick deduction --- living with Robert made you careful by proxy --- all of his vigilance, long silences, instincts for danger and scrutinizing stares rubbing off on you like a second nature. Made you hellbent on details. You came to profile people and sizing them up without even intending to, neatly classifying them inside of your head into distinct categories. Safe and not safe. Friend or foe. Enemy or ally. You'd chuckle bitterly if you could, seated beside the greying man with a cap on his head combined with faded jeans overalls that seemed like they were exposed to too many days in the sun and rubber boots that were very well loved by the looks of them. Nobody was as unsafe as Barnes, so the point was moot in trying to analyze this situation to the extent you were unwittingly doing so. -"Fancy findin' anyone out here all on their lonesome. I thought you was a ghost when I first saw'ya by the interstate."- The grandpa remarks with some humor, not unkindly, curious eyes travelling between you on the passenger seat and the road, his coincidental usage of the word 'lonesome' immediately causing a shiver to run down your spine. -"You out here all by yourself?"- He asks, voice peppered with worry in the most paternal sense possible; sure, you realized you must've seemed demented walking beside the edges of the forest, stopping vehicles whose drivers could just as easily rape you and dump you in the nearest ditch instead of giving you a ride anywhere, but you supposed desperation caused people to do crazy things; you were like a wild animal in that sense. Felt like it too. Caught in a trap and willing to gnaw your foot off to limp free and bleed out somewhere where you could be left alone so long as it meant you'd have a moment of liberty. You give the old man a tentative look. You don't know why you decide against coming up with a creative lie, but the truth slithers forth before you can stop it.

-"I've left my husband. Ran away."-

You admit.

You find the old man's wrinkle framed eyes immediately widening.

Mouth agape.

What were you gonna say where untruths were concerned anyway?

That you were a lost hiker mysteriously separated of all their equipment and their group against all odds and now taking a ride in the opposite direction for no discernable reason? That you've been abducted by aliens and dropped off in the middle of the mountains? That you had a curious case of total amnesia? Honesty. Honesty was the best policy in the long run. People could feel honesty. They could sympathize with it on a primal level the way they never could with blatant, made up bullshit. You focus on the rearview mirror in front of you and the pine air freshener along with a picture of a woman in a plastic pouch hanging off a colored string, dangling as the old Ford moved --- old timer was a family man. Maybe a widower killing time by fishing. You weren't going faster than seventy miles an hour but that was good enough.

-"I haven't got a cent on me and I need to get as least as far as Gatlinburg. Please."-

You explain, not too proud to plead a little, semi expecting the obvious.

That he tell you to alert the police.

If the police headed back up those hills, thing is, they wouldn't be coming back.

-"He a bad man?"-

You're asked, with some semblance of familial worry on the driver's part, wrinkled, pale fingers having a vice grip on the steering wheel. Yeah, Barnes was a bad man. You felt you didn't even need to answer that one; the fisherman could just about read the truth off your heavy silence, no doubt. There were some good people in this world. Good people who'd understand even without you saying a single thing. -"Been puttin' hands on'ya?"- He eggs on and no, no, you mutely shake your head at that one, staring at your own lap. Problem was, Barnes was always ready to put this hands on everyone else. One time at a nearby bar at the foot of the mountain that also doubled as a hunter's lodge on occasion he held a knife to a man's neck just because he decided to vaguely chat you up and then look at you for longer than Bob liked; in the aftermath, the whole place was trashed and Barnes had the poor sob by the collar of the shirt, sobbing on the floor, pissing leaking through his trousers and you never stopped feeling guilty since, the whole situation leaving you with the ingrained fear that one of these days someone would get killed over a mere nicety of yours and that you'd have to live with that notion for the rest of your days. You weren't one of those girls. Who felt thrilled and titillated by the prospect of their man hurting others for them. If anything, once the knot that's been settled in your stomach for months after the incident started unwinding, you unwinded right along with it and hit the road, believing that with you gone, perhaps Barnes's incentive to bring harm would internalize itself too, his jealousy ceasing to have a reason to exist. -"No. It's more complicated than that."- You manage sincerely, trying for vagueness, feeling your own voice weak and faint, watching the road ahead disappear into dusk of the Great Smokies, the forest behind you seeming dark and distant, like a dream you couldn't place, relief washing over you slowly, like a caressing wave, the tension in your shoulders dissolving, so much so you hardly minded your lack of luggage or things, save for the ID and some small cash you could get your hands on tucked into your bra. You hoped Robert would've found the meal you left in the kitchen for him by now as a last farewell.

This was for his own good too, even if he didn't know it yet.

---

You had a total of twelve dollars to your name.

Now twenty, with the addition of what you were given.

The last money an old man's kindness could give you before he drove away.

Pushed it into the palm of your hand before you could protest, not that you could find it in you to, alone at night in Gatlinburg with just enough for one night at a room on a basic motel. You didn't get far, but it was still far enough. Better than nothing; the comfort almost instant --- the twinkling lights, the pedestrians and the honking of the moving vehicles like a bubble of humanity far away from the fray -"A room for one, please?"- You manage, out of breath at the counter of the first motel you spotted straight off the parking lot; whichever seemed on the cheaper side, aptly called The Roadside. Truth of the matter was, you were no soldier and you were no Barnes. You tended to get tired. Tended to need your rest like any person. You slide the money across the counter with all the hope in the world. The woman with the sharply penciled on eyebrows and the beehive eyes you speculatively. -"We've only doubles."- She retorts, seemingly bored, like she's spent the better part of her shift explaining this very same bit of information to dozens of people before you. Funny how that worked; if Barnes was here with you now, you'd get a room booked. Fact that he wasn't only complicated everything. The minute you detached yourself from him it's like the whole world conspired to keep you at bay and make things difficult for you. -"Can you please find something? Please? I really need this."- You halfway whimper, met with nothing but the cold scrutiny of the counter attendant; a radio playing behind her on a shelf. Sonny and Cher's I Got You, Babe. How ironic considering she didn't in fact, have you. Or your back. Then again, she was only doing her job. -"No singles."- She insists. Man, you really needed to get off the streets and under a roof somewhere. You still weren't out of danger. There wasn't a single information's board displayed anywhere detailing the prices and by the general look of the woman's disposition, you concluded she didn't want to book you on the basis she must've concluded you were a vagrant. You were, in a sense. -"What if I came back later? Would there be free spaces then, do you think?"- You try for pleasantries and she shrugs her shoulders as you grabbed your money from the counter. The nametag pinned to her dress revealing the name to be Debra. Jesus, Debra, help a person out. -"Yeah, maybe in an hour or two or ---"- She cordially blows you off and your legs are on the move. Yeah, you couldn't afford to waste time in a place called The Roadside; if anything, Barnes would look some place just like this first. In any case, you tried. Nobody could say you didn't try. -"Okay, thanks! Thanks a lot!"-

You respond, breathless, rushing out the door before Debra could even retort.

Not swift enough to where you could be suspicious.

But, still fast enough as not to waste time and lollygag, as Barnes would put it.

C'mon, now, Gatlinburg had to have someone to bunk for the night.

Somewhere beneath the bracket of twenty bucks.

Leaving you just enough change to eat literally anything.

Catch a bus or a train afterwards; in any direction but back from whence you came.

The crowded streets are dark, splattered with the light of the orange electrical poles melting into the moist pavement and the footsteps of people huddled around corner stores, the odd bar, drugstore, motor lodge, family diner packed with patrons --- you welcomed the crowd, feeling you could get lost in it. Out in nature there was only ever you and Barnes. Hiding being an impossible task. Always in his crosshairs. Like the prey of a hunter who knew his trade all too well. Even now, you could feel his phantom gaze on you, occasionally throwing careful glances behind you as you walked, checking if he was behind you, undoubtedly seeming unhinged or slightly unstable to whatever outside might've been looking in. A crazy woman rushing down the street, eyes darting around, looking for any place that had a plaque that said rooms on display, bypassing a motel decked out in Confederate memorabilia called The Rebel Corner. Nope. No way in hell. You couldn't do that one. It felt too prophetic; you could almost imagine him finding you there of all places and being so infinitely smug about it you would never live it down, hating yourself for being a choosy beggar like this as you sped up your pace, hope being alive and well once you stumble upon a small establishment, tucked in between two unassuming buildings, a blinking neon sign displaying the Dogwood Motel; working hours from 0-24h. Fair enough. Seemed both seedy enough and yet open and touristy enough to prevent it from being unsafe --- the garish yellow gingham wallpaper of the lobby hitting you like a sobering slap across the face. Yeah. You could stay here. Something about it seemed aggressively cheerful and friendly, right alongside the man attending the counter in a matching yellow wool turtleneck, a well manicured mustache and bushy sideburns. His trousers and the belt buckle it was fastened with tall on his waistline, shirt tucked in around it. You either spent too long in the woods or the world has gone more strangely surreal when you weren't looking. -"Good evening. Are there any vacancies?"- Feeling like an overly eager puppy, you practically prop yourself up your toes asking the question. -"Sure. There's an empty one on the third floor. Let me write'ya up."- He drawls, all fidgety and fingers, looking through his books, something regretful about his gaunt expression; he looked like an infinitely skinnier version of Burt Reynolds from Smokey and the Bandit, minus the hat, of course. -"Problem, though. The particular room has no windows, bit of an architectural fluke, so ---"- He starts and you instantly perk up, like a meerkat.

No windows!?

No place someone could crawl in? Break in!? Ambush you? Watch you!?

-"I'll take it!"-

You interject before the poor man could even finish your sentence.

Heart thumping fast in your chest.

He gives you an almost pitiable, concerned look, like he couldn't believe he actually successfully booked that one to someone.

You, for one, couldn't be happier. Oh, god bless the Dogwood Motel.

You borderline started fantasizing about something straight out of a movie scene; you mysteriously sliding the man a controversially large sum of money to hide the fact anyone by the surname of Barnes was staying here in the off chance anyone inquired, the fantasy remaining nothing but a fantasy. You barely had for food. You were nonetheless momentarily overtaken by the drug called hope, filling you with newfound euphoria.

-"That comes with a discount then. Five bucks a night. ID, please?"-

He explains, vehemently scratching the side of his face.

You slide him the plastic bit of identification of along with the cash for the evening.

Nearly bouncing up and down on your heel anticipating the key he gives you.

It's neon yellow, matching the rest of the interior decoration.

-"Alright, Mrs. Barnes. Room 307. Enjoy your stay."-

All pleasantries aside once he took one look at your ID, and the fact that being called Mrs. Barnes had the hairs standing up on the back of your neck, you don't remember when was the last time you grabbed something so fast in your life, squeezing the key and it's chain in the palm of your hand like someone would steal it from you, practically making a b-line for the nearby staircase, sauntering in wide steps up the third floor until you could practically feel your chest could explode with the pressure, sweat pooling your forehead; when you reach the room intended to be yours, pushing the key into it's allotted keyhole, you're entirely out of breath, huddling into the entirely womb-like, dark room with fingers searching hastily for the light switch and flicking it on to produce a dim, orange light stemming from the overhead chandelier, revealing a bed covered with rust colored Ogee patterned bedsheets and very loud, basketweave brown wallpapers lining the walls, enough to induce some measure of claustrophobia in just about anyone, semi expecting this to be an ambush for Bob to be waiting for you in some corner, deciding to jump out of the bathroom while your back is turned. The air is somewhat stale; the inability to air out and ventilate properly clearly taking its toll overtime. No matter. You wouldn't stay here forever. This was good. This was only temporary and meant to be a cheap shelter to help you recover from the ordeal it took you to get here in the first place. Next stop would be Knoxville via Pigeon Forge and Sevierville and from there, hopefully Nashville and the first plane out of the country, although how you'd get the money for the ticket eluded you. You'd think about that, you figured, when the time comes, in stride, deciding to focus more on moving than the future details. You turn the second interior room lock of your front door and you collapse on the squeaky, colorful bed that smelled like lavender detergent and accumulated dust, partially fearing that the moment you close your eyes, he'll be there, collecting you in his arms like a vice grip, meaty, thick, calloused fingers coiling around your neck.

You dreamlessly sleep without even removing your clothes like a train's just hit you.

'Works on paper', you remember him musing before you heavy eyelids flutter shut.

'You runnin' away. But that dog don't hunt.'

He'd gloat, warning.

Promising.

---

He was a man of immense self control.

So, when he decided to hurt someone, it was never an accident or a mere slip up.

It was a cold, deliberate, well-measured choice.

That's why you couldn't justify him. Robert E. Lee Barnes always knew precisely what he was doing; never his temperament winning out of him or something clouding his judgement, making him behave irrationally. His cruelty was finely oiled and tuned, almost like clockwork, with the punctuality of a Swiss watch; he's been threading the certain route of killing for you and because of you before and you knew it was for you and because of you in equal measure because he told you so. Quietly lorded it over you like a trophy. Held your chin over it, both literally and figuratively, making you witness it. Was only a matter of time, you knew, before he does it again and you'd wake up to something harrowing, like someone's skull on the mantlepiece serving as a reminder and a decoration, him leaning his whole arm over it while he smugly smoked after lunch with his legs up on a stool. You couldn't live like that. That was madness. Worse yet, it was purposefully evil. You loved him and you were assured he loved you too, in some sick, obsessive, dark, rotten, Barnes-ian way of his, but in equal measure getting away from him was the only sane choice that existed on God's green Earth, every other leading further back off the precipice of calculated, machine-like insanity that would sooner eat you alive than let you off the hook.

You ponder the whole idea out on a supply run, crack of dawn.

While the city still more or less slept.

First in line at the grocery counter, first to get out, first to be off the street, needing to start vacating the rented one-night room and return your key by nine in the morning, buying a reusable cheap rucksack, pastries in brown paper bags, some bottled water, more so for the bottle you can fill later rather than the actual fluid inside; another lesson you learned from Robert directly --- sometimes the canteen itself was more valuable than what was inside, because a canteen was always valuable all on its own --- figured there was something bittersweet there. Using the skills he pass on to you to escape him. Bypassing a Smoky Sky Lift billboard, you think about the prospect of catching a train out of here, hopefully the first one, refusing to stall or procrastinate; maybe hit the next town over. Get a job. Any job so long as it was honest and legal. Lay low for a while. Accumulate more money. Move on. Keep moving. Always moving. Disappear in some town, some city, maybe even some other State somewhere. Divorce wasn't what you were after. Just separation. Bringing Barnes to a divorce court feeling inherently absurdist. You could vividly imagine him being served the papers by whatever poor, long suffering postman would be forced to climb up the hill where your and his house stood and Barnes silently showing up to the court date with a sowed off shotgun.

You shiver at the thought.

What if he just got bored, you think in stride, looking both ways crossing the street?

What if his pride got so irrevocably injured by this, he wouldn't follow?

Was that possible?

Would he be capable accepting loss? Losing?

Would he retaliate for retaliation's sake? Would you ever be able to rest easy?

Set down your head on some pillow, god knows how far from here, and be assured that he wouldn't be looming at your front door one night? Would he ever throw in the towel and say, shit, I give up?

No.

Not Robert.

You knew him.

He'd follow you to the ends of the earth.

He never gives up, even at the cost of his own life, it simply wasn't in his nature, you solemnly conclude, settling back into the hallowed safety of your windowless room, plastic grocery bags in tow, re-packed into your backpack in the off chance you needed to get a move on quickly with no time to waste, taking a moment to look at a photo of him you brought with you as a keepsake; a rare sentimentality for sentimentality's sake, a reminder to yourself you could still care for someone, carry them with you and want to get away, locking the door behind you, using the leftover hour or two you had left in here to take a warm shower and wash the stink and sweat off of you.

God only knew when would be the next time you'd have the opportunity.

---

You board the ten thirty train northwest, heading towards Nashville.

With a transfer and a quick stop in Knoxville.

Funny. Part of you expected him to have caught you by now. Expect him to catch you day one, while you were still hitchhiking along the ADHS. The fact you were still out here and free to move about as you pleased, well, filled you with some semblance of unspoken terror and unease, like a calm before the storm or the deep breath taken before a dive. Where was he? Was it oxymoronic to ask that of yourself? This wasn't like him. Wasn't like Barnes to be seen when he hunts either, your subconsciousness tells you. The point you couldn't observe him tracking you was the whole point. A trick, to think you've gotten away. Outsmarted him. Ensure you let you guard down and then when you felt most assured in your safety he ---

The train tracks disappear beneath the rushing train in a blur.

You spent the last of your money on a one-way ticket, with literally fifty cents leftover, sharing a coupe with a mother, her newborn and two men; who they were to each other hard to asses but you welcomed the crowd. You were safer in a crowd. You might just slip away if you continuously surrounded yourself with people even if your situation started resembling a comedy sketch; you were travelling with a group off to protest the unveiling of a Civil War canon or other up in Nashville and judging by their colorful attire, lack of discernable luggage and the long hair, you could only assume they were drop-outs, beatniks and possibly homeless, like yourself. Degenerate scum, as Barnes would call them. You sigh sadly at the moniker. One irony compounds another. He would blow a fuse if he knew who you were bunking with. That or you were focusing way too much on the thoughts and the possible margins of approval to disapproval of a man you were hellbent leaving behind.

He was still your husband, not just some random man, you remind yourself.

He was a killer, another voice reminds icily.

But then again, you always knew that. He never hid it from you.

You knew that about him before you even married.

-"It's a history of oppression, of bloodshed, of violence, and they unveilin' that shit for the whole world to see!"- One of your fellow coupe passengers rants to the other while you gave yourself the brief leeway of closing your eyes, hugging your rucksack around your body, leaning the side of your head against the vibrating glass of the train window, the thinning forest bypassing the cornered edges of your eyesight in a blur. In everything went well, you'd be in Nashville in some three hours give or take. You internally curse yourself for not having a wristwatch on you --- then again, how could you, when he kept everything under lock and key? When he was always watching, like a hawk? You flutter your eyes open briefly, catching sight of the man's faded, ripped jeans vest riddled with badges and pins, turning your head away once you spot one saying Ban the Bomb and another that said Give Piece a Chance. Why did you feel haunted? By everything? -"Now, tell me how we can move on as a society with crap like that goin' on in our own backyard, man!"- The other one, with a long ponytail retorts, impassioned and you feel the sweat pool along the surface of your scalp, anxiety bubbling up in your gut once the baby in the woman's arms seated next to the pair hiccups itself awake, no doubt alerted by all the noise, whimpering in its swaddling cloth; its mother immediately grabbing the hem of her long, flowing blouse embroidered with the odd floral pattern peppered with tassels and frills, giving the child the nipple to suckle on. -"You'll wake the baby, asshole."- She whispers, slapping one of the men across the shoulder in a manner that could be considered playful, softly but with enough force to be considered a reprimand, cooing her crying kid. Her head leaning down in consolation, smooth, long hair falling around her face like a curtain; it must've been below her back, spilling all around her train seat like a veil. -"Shh, shh, Robbie, it's alright."- She mutters and it's like every instinct in your body fires and flares up, on alert. Robbie? As in Robert? Her baby was named Robert? Why wouldn't he be? It was a common name. You don't even remember when you excuse yourself, hastily exiting the coupe to get as much fresh air in the hallway, leaning against the nearest cabin wall to calm yourself down, feeling your own chest heave with tension. Would life always be like this, you wonder, hyperventilating, using your backpack as a comfort, embracing it like a shield around your body, protecting what exceedingly few belongings in the world you had left --- you running away and Robert always chasing you and catching up with you, in some shape, way or form, even if through reminders if nothing else?

The train screeches and you conclude you had to have been paranoid.

These were growing pains, nothing else; you anticipated this when you ran.

There was nothing more natural than being afraid when you were out surviving.

The whole hallway trashes and you feel every movement in your bones.

Causing you to hug your bag even tighter, like a life raft.

The baby's crying intensifies.

A pair of people smoking in the corridor stumble, one nearly falling over.

What the ---

A moment of silence later, the train sluggishly jumps, only to slow down.

Coming a complete halt.

You stop breathing, tears goddamn nearly welling in your eyes once the uniformed, heavy set, red faced Conductor slams the corridor door open, sauntering inside, pushing past the bewildered smoking couple sporting a matching pair of tan sunglasses. -"Get out of the hallway! Out of the hallway! Evacuate the train!"- He orders, pointing outside and you mutely shake your head once he spots you standing alone, grazing you with his finger from afar to signify that included you too, the threesome and their newborn peeking their heads out of the coupe through the sliding door, alerted by the commotion, looking at each other in confusion and then at you; the collective so distraught you figured nobody even noticed your cheeks were wet by now. The wispy, long-haired mousey woman with the baby looks at you square on, appearing like the spitting image of Olivia Hussey under this light; just as wide eyed, fae-like and lost. -"What's goin' on?"- She asks you and then repeats the same question to nobody in particular, staring down her two companions who seemed equally perplexed. -"What's happenin'?"- One of them echoes the inquiry and you stopped. Everything stop. You weren't moving anymore and that was the worst thing that could happen right about now. You needed to keep going. If you started running into obstacles now, all of this would've turned out to be in vein. You're practically soundlessly crying by the time the Conductor arrives to wrangle the four of you forward. You feel yourself grabbed by the elbow and pushed to move; unwillingly, you do. Like someone sleepwalking and having no control over it. No, no, no. This was a temporary setback, is all. Temporary setback. Temporary setback. -"The tracks have been de-railed. We can't get a move on 'till it's fixed."- You hear the Conductor shout and if there was a way for fear to feel painful inside of a human body, it does with you there and then; you sense the dread shooting through you like an electrical current. The forests around the train thick and deep; like someone who moved in a circle you were right where you started. And he could be out there. Waiting. -"Hey, what about a refund for our tickets, man! Shit! We paid our way fair'n'square! Ain' right, man!"- You hear the beatnik argue his case and whatever the surly Conductor responds back fades into background noise, some deeper instinct inside of you rendering you blind and deaf as you walked with the certain knowledge that he did this.

He singlehandedly sabotaged the fucking train.

-"No, we can't go outside."-

You whimper, aggrieved once you feel the Conductor's heavy hand on your back.

Ushering you down the steps in your unwillingness to get out, holding up the line behind you, like an animal led to the slaughter. You weren't being deliberately difficult; you were just...so scared. So scared.

-"Ma'am."-

Are the last words you're cordially give once you're practically shoved down the metal train steps, landing on the grass on your own two feet, right beside the train tracks that stood askew, the footboard, wheel and breaks stuck between what seemed like several planks dislodged from their place on first amateur glance; was honestly a shock the impact of the crash wasn't more severe. That it didn't send you and everyone thumbling headfirst down the floor. You look around, finding the scattered passengers confused, your companions from the coupe already walking down the train tracks on foot, the two men in cowboy boots and flaring bell bottoms still arguing among themselves, no doubt on the subject of the injustices of the railway system this time around, the woman and the baby between them, her long skirt fluttering after her in the breeze. Was nice, some yearning voice inside of you whispers, reproaching. To have a family. You had one too. Until you left it. No. That was just your intrusive irrationality throwing a wedge into your plans --- you could still make it, even though you cursed the fact that the nearest highway had the closest shortcut led through the surrounding woods, but then again, for all of Robert's faults, he was only human too and this fear; it was only skin deep. You'd make it to the road and simply hitchhike, the way you did before. If you could do it once, you could do it twice. This was only over if you believed it to be. Now wasn't the time for despair. Now was the time for action. You turn on your heel, seeing the Interstate from here, through the tree line of pines, making a dash for it, leaving the collective of befuddled, aggrieved passengers behind, practically running, the trees rushing past you in a haze leading you down a steep slope, accelerating your movements, nearly causing you to stumble forward, branches getting caught into your clothes, your hair, scratching against the skin, leaving you under the impression the painful, sudden impact drew blood and you were certain by the time you sprinted out of here you'd look like someone who's just taken a beating. Nobody was chasing you, you think feverishly, gripping your backpacking, you were just spazzing out all on your own. How ridiculous you must've looked. The pines close in around you and you falter, catching your balance of your footing at the last moment, the blur of adrenaline taking over and you barely spotting the untouched campsite in the forest clearing in front of you.

An extended hand holding a match to a piled on stack of woods.

Holding the flame there until the planks lit up under a pillar of thin smoke.

You...no.

It was him.

Crouching on the ground, lighting disemboweled bits of the train tracks on fire.

A metal crowbar, a hammer and a shovel leaned on a nearby tree.

You recognize him by the bush of curly hair.

Robert lifts his head up slowly, blue eyes calm, meeting yours.

Something about his voice infinitely pleased, humming in contentment.

You stand paralyzed, feeling the blood rush into your brain.

-"Mhmm-hmm! You ever get to Nashville?"-

Laced with soft spoken sarcasm, he tilts his head to the side, taking the half smoked cigarette out of his mouth, balancing it between his index finger and thumb, right before chucking it into the newly formed, fledgling campfire, letting it crackle; you take a step back instinctively once he slowly stands up, dusting his knees off with all the casualness in the world while you were here, with your eyesight dotted back in distress, causing you to feel faint and lightheaded. Shortness of breath overtaking all survival instinct as the distant sounds of slamming, shouting and clanking echoed from further back up the hill; repairs on the train no doubt already commencing. You weren't ambushed. You practically ran into a trap. -"Bob, I ---"- You try, desperately glancing between the point of where you came and where you winded up, wondering if you should try your luck and run back or not, finding your own words cracking midway through your pathetic attempt at a sentence. The train tracks were burning and he stood in front of you, rifle slung over one shoulder, fingers gripping the leather belt strap. His words come into mind; That dog don't hunt. And it was just as he said; it didn't. If this ever winded up in the newspapers, which you knew it never would, it would be one of those things where truth was stranger than fiction --- you could already see the article title; Vietnam Veteran involved in brigandry, deliberately causing an accident and highway sabotage to circumvent his wife from dumping him. More on page six! In a second of inappropriate self-indulgence you envision the hippies headed for Nashville getting their hands on a periodical and recognizing you on the front page. The gulp in your throat is heavy, glutaral. You were so embarrassed you could die. You open your mouth to say something to him, perhaps something meaningful, groundbreaking, witty, something of a verbal checkmate, but before you can, you feel yourself grow limp, nostrils filled with the pungent stench of vapor and smoke, all endurance fading once he's entirely too close for comfort, causing you to go collapsing into the familiar prison of his arms where you've been countless times before, the forest closing in around you, like the jaw of a flesh eating plant around an insect.

The campfire crackles on, swallowing the wood, leaving no traces behind.

The whole world goes thumbling on its head and everything goes black.

[isatling-husbandry-guide]

Yes finally!! I love when fandoms make husbandry aus it's so fun

Hmmm questions questions

What's the normal life cycle of a Siffrin?

Great question!

Siffrins have a fairly simple life cycle. Unlike most other isatling species, Siffrins are closer to the life cycle of a snake- a comparison coined mostly by avid Siffrin enthusiasts due to Siffrins’ shedding cycle (and, perhaps also, their love for sunbathing being so similar to that of a lizard in the sun).

Since Siffrins do not often go through the Change process- a process incredibly similar to metamorphosis- their life cycle is fairly simplistic. It consists of 3 main stages:

Egg Stage

Siffrins, like most species, hatch from an egg. Hatching is the most difficult part of the life cycle, as the shell is thick and has a jagged spiky shape. Should a Siffrin not have a proper dagger within the egg to break the shell with, it may become stuck.

Child Stage

This stage is characterized by a Siffrin’s shedding habits. A Siffrin in this stage will have hatched with a hat and cloak: its two primary defense mechanisms. It is vital to never remove the cloak unless absolutely urgent or life threatening, as doing so can cause major growth complications. The cloak is intended to grow alongside a Siffrin, and is its primary form of protection and warmth.

The snake references often refer here, as the outer layers of a Siffrin’s cloak will flake or peel off to replenish & repair itself. This process maintains the health and cleanliness of the cloak, and also serves as an indicator of health. Siffrins in the early parts of this stage shed two to three times per month, then drop down over time to an average of 6 times a year.

When a Siffrin is preparing to shed, it will grow tired and begin to eat less. The cloak itself will appear a shade darker before it begins to peel away, revealing a pristine darkless cloak underneath.

pictured: a child siffrin, mid-shed

The process of shedding is relatively quick for early-stage Siffrins, taking around 3 days on average. The shed will peel from the collar first, then down to the end of the cloak. In the later childhood stage, shedding can take around a week.

Adulthood

The final stage! Siffrins reaching adulthood will have stopped physically growing by this point, reaching their max height. Shedding is uncommon in this stage, occurring at most twice a year. Siffrins in this stage will often lose their right eye. Adulthood is also the longest stage: Siffrins have a lotta life left in them from here!

[iamthekaijuking]

Ok, so back in UHC's Legiana video, he posited that the various predatory flying wyverns have now filled the roles of various birds of prey in our own world. Bazel is a vulture, raths are eagles, Steve is an owl, etc.

However, he couldn't quite fit astalos into the equation. But, after a decent bit of research, I believe I have definitively figured out the group of birds astalos best represents!

It's Kites! Specifically those like the Swallow tailed and White tailed kite.

Similarly to Astalos, these birds' preferred environments are wetlands and open tropical forests. Also, like Astalos, a large portion of their diet is made up of insects surprisingly enough, which they snatch from the air or skim from foliage as they fly low. Swallow tailed kites have even been documented flying away with big chunks of wasp nests in their talons, which they eat the larvae from. In MH, we don’t really have any proper dedicated predators of vespoids. Perhaps that's what Astalos could be, in a similar way to birds like the Swallow Tailed and honey buzzards? Either way, it's cool to think about. Outside of insects, these kites are generally hunters of small prey like lizards, snakes, and frogs that they can either swallow whole or easily tear apart.

In short, very Astalos-like with its hunting of the small runner wyverns, although the pincer tail replaces the talons in this context.

Astalos isn't exactly the nightjar analog I previously thought it was, but overall, I'm satisfied with the conclusion it ultimately led me to, and even better, now I know more about these birds and real world Ecology!

Oh crap that’s actually a really good comparison.

I’m gonna run this by UHC and see what he thinks.

EDIT:

He said he’s more familiar with old world melvini kites, which are ecologically more like vultures, but that this is a very interesting thing to consider.

I let him know this came from you.