#Eastern Water Bat

[loveisinthebat]

Comrade Floof

#Eastern Water Bat #Bats of Russia #That's it just russia #Bat of the day #daily bat #bat #bats #batposting #cute bats #cute animals #Look at them #Comrade Batto

[onenicebugperday]

Hi!! I'm trying to get over my overwhelming fear of crane flies, is there any way you could supply some fun facts about them? Specifically pedicia albivitta but there's so many species and not a lot of information I can find about them

Well for starters all crane flies are entirely harmless. They don't have mouthparts capable of biting and can't sting or pinch or anything. If they fly at you it's because they don't see you or register you as something to avoid, not because they're attacking or have any reason to land on you.

Despite common belief and sometimes being referred to as mosquito hawks or skeeter eaters, they do not eat mosquitoes, and are in fact incapable of eating them because they don't have the right mouthparts.

Most adults don't eat at all, but if they do, they eat nectar, pollen, or sap, or just drink water. They really only live long enough as adults to breed (1-2 weeks), so there's not much need to feed.

Some aquatic crane fly larvae are thought to eat mosquito larvae, but I'm not sure I've ever seen a reliable source on that. Larvae can be either aquatic, semiaquatic, or terrestrial and what they eat depends on their environment, but mostly I've seen that they're detrivores, so they help with soil health like other decomposers. They're also a big source of food for other animals like predatory insects, spiders, frogs, fish, and birds. Probably bats, too, I imagine. So they do play an important role in ecosystems!

Also they can be really beautiful! Some of them even mimic wasps with pretty black and yellow stripes. I'll show you my fav species, though, the eastern phantom crane fly:

What a beauty! Look at those stripey socks. Adorable.

Also they sometimes hang from foliage in the cutest way:

Lol. Silly.

Photos by ianmanning and germain_savard

#insects #bugs #fly #diptera #crane fly #eastern phantom crane fly #apho-sappho #the more you know #bug fear

[uncharismatic-fauna]

Shine a Light on the Cave Salamander

The cave salamander, also known as the spotted salamander (Eurycea lucifuga) is a species of salamander found throughout the eastern United States, particularly in the Appalachian mountains. As the name implies, they are most common in caves with exposed limestone or other calcifying rocks. However, they may also occur under rocks or logs, or in streams in deciduous forests; anywhere that's dark and moist.

The spotted salamander spends almost its entire life in these 'twilight zones'. Mating is believed to occur in summer or early fall, when male salamanders begin to seek out females by tracking their pheromones. Once a male finds a potential mate, he nudges her and rubs his chin on her head until she indicates she's receptive. At that point she straddles his tail while the two walk in tandem. The male then drops a spermatophore-- a sack full of sperm-- on the ground, and the female picks it up with her cloaca. The female lays a clutch of 5 to 120 eggs, but not until several months after fertilization between September and February.

The eggs take about 20 days to hatch, and larvae entirely aquatic, complete with gills and webbed fingers. Individuals can take anywhere from 6 to 18 months to fully develop, at which point they leave the water and become fully nocturnal. However, most individuals don't stray far from their original spawning territory, and adults do not maintain or defend set territories.

Despite their reclusive lifestyle, cave salamanders are quite striking. Adults are bright orange or red with black spots, and can be anywhere from 10 to 20 cm (4 to 8 in) in length. Over half of that length is taken up by the tail, and males have a longer tail than females. As lungless salamanders, E. lucifuga breathes through its skin and the tissues around its mouth-- while useful for an aquatic animal, this type of respiration makes it essential that the cave salamander remains in a wet environment.

Both larvae and adults are insectivorous, consuming a number of invertebrates including spiders, snails, beetles, earthworms, and ticks. Potential predators of the spotted salamander include bats, shrews, racoons, and snakes, though few specifics are known about the species' ecology. To deter these predators, E. lucifuga adopts a defensive posture in which they coil their body and wave their tail over their head. In addition, they secrete a foul-tasting substance from their skin, and their bright coloration likely warns potential predators that they won't make a good meal.

Conservation status: The IUCN has classified the cave salamander as Least Concern, although they are listed as Endangered in several of the American states in which they occur. The greatest threat to the species is thought to be human disturbance or habitat degredation from pollution of the water systems which flow through the caves where E. lucifuga resides.

If you like what I do, consider leaving a tip or buying me a kofi!

Photos

Todd Pierson

Michael Graziano

#cave salamander #Urodela #Plethodontidae #brook salamanders #lungless salamanders #salamanders #amphibians #caves #cave amphibians #north america #eastern north america #biology #zoology #ecology #animal facts

[incorrectbatfam]

What last minute gas station gifts would the bats buy for someones birthday?

Dick: a snow globe but instead of snow it's glittery water because half of Louisiana sits below sea level

Jason: an overpriced wooden deer antler because Minnesota Nice is more like Minnesota Passive-Aggressive That Digs Into Your Conscience

Tim: a coupon book for the car wash even though they both know they're not going back to Idaho

Damian: a local author's book on gardening because he's not gonna find anything else in rural Manitoba

Duke: off-brand Gatorade near Area 51 with warnings for children and people who are pregnant

Cullen: a mixtape from a guy in the parking lot claiming to need the money to get to Nashville even though it's not that far and $8 is the exact same price as a pack of cigarettes

Stephanie: maple syrup in a pretty leaf-shaped bottle so no one pays attention to the fact that it was produced in Albuquerque and does not in fact contain any maple syrup

Cassandra: Gary Gator, a plushie dressed exactly how you'd expect for a Fort Lauderdale gas station mascot

Barbara: the exact same novelty license plate sold at every gift shop across Pennsylvania

Harper: a t-shirt for some place called Salty Moe's Burger Bucket off of I-94 just outside Eau Claire

Carrie: taffy from the fifth place claiming to be America's oldest candy shop even though Arizona was the 47th state to join the union

Kate: room temperature beer from a 100 square foot place claiming to be the best rest stop in Eastern Montana

Alfred: a gun 'cause it's Texas but also because he can appreciate a historically accurate replica

Selina: cash from the ATM after the asshole manager refused to do something as simple as giving her directions to Boston

Bruce: the gas station even though there's no point trying to drive in NYC

#dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #duke thomas #cullen row #stephanie brown #cassandra cain #harper row #carrie kelley #kate kane #alfred pennyworth #selina kyle #bruce wayne #batman #batfamily #batfam #batboys #batbros #batgirls #batkids #batsiblings #batman family #dc comics #headcanon #tw swearing #tw gun mention

[joshleyson]

THIS IS: SIARGAO ✨

December film dump 🎞️

Growing up in Mindanao for almost 2 decades and never actually being able to traverse the picturesque landscapes in the eastern part of the island is something that I know I have to break before the year ends. So I did.

I flew from Manila to Cebu so early in the morning to catch a connecting flight to Siargao by noon. Traveling to Siargao was a lot of firsts for me. Not having to go to every detail but when the plane was about to take off to Siargao, we were all offloaded due to the bad weather on the island. Fortunately, instead of having to fly back to Manila, the airline was kind enough to take me to a nearby hotel in Cebu, all expenses paid including food, transportation, and next-day ticket. It was an unexpected staycation which surprisingly I enjoyed.

Coming from a very tiring day at work and then going to the airport, I felt like I really needed this quiet time, and I was able to check in to this lavish hotel all by myself while waiting for my flight the next day. Also, I had a great night as well in Cebu catching up with one of my long-time friends and her beaux. I went back to my hotel around 3 in the morning because there’s just so many things to catch up and I really missed my homie so much. Keyword: low-maintenance friendships.

So the day finally came, and I was able to land safely on the island of Siargao. Right off the bat on my first night, I had a lovely dinner with my travel friends slash buddies at work and we went to a bar, and danced the night away which to me serves as a prelude to the great experience this vibrant community had in stored for me as a Mindanaoan that have never set foot beyond the confines of Zamboanga and western Mindanao.

We spent our days being on the road which to me was such a release. Being able to smell the fresh ocean breeze while blasting our favorite Y2K songs in the car and relying on Waze or Google Maps for our next destination, to me, makes the trip so much fun because of the spontaneity and unpredictability that it brings. We went island hopping, danced in the boat, swam on open waters, ate our hearts out, moved from one accommodation to another, and I tried surfing for the first time! I never thought I would enjoy the experience because it was raining lightly at that time and the waves were so big it could easily engulf me, but man, best day ever!!!! I fell on the surfing board and slammed my body on the rushing waves several times but being able to stand on the surfboard for the first time was such a liberating experience. A little bit of a stretch, but it was and I will try it again once I go back to Siargao.

☾

I flew back to Cebu and then to Manila to catch one of my friend’s wedding and luckily I made it with no delay. Looking at the pictures that I got to develop from a Fuji film camera that I brought with me on the island, I am reminded again of the incredible healing power of what it’s like to try new things, be with nature, and just breathe. Knowing that the year is about to end in a couple of weeks, I felt so blessed to have that opportunity to break the complicated rhythm of corporate life and to disconnect for a moment. 

After 3 weeks, I get to fly back to Boracay to celebrate New Year’s Eve. So many epic moments that I am also grateful for which I may save for the future but nevertheless, my last month of 2023 was such a banger and I hope it always feels that way.

By the way, I’m writing all these on my iPhone because I’m too tired to get up and open my MacBook, so I appreciate you for hanging with me this far. So that’s it for 2023!

Simply put, I just want to say Happy Holidays to you and your loved ones, and may 2024 be as effervescent as your hopes and dreams for the future.

J.

(December, 2023)

(Photos were shot using Fujifilm Simpleace 35 mm camera + iPhone 15 Pro Max)

FOLLOW ME: Instagram/TikTok/Twitter: joshleyson

(Music by Grammy nominee, Victoria Monét. All rights belong to her and her publishers. For personal and non-commercial use only. Stream her great catalogue on Spotify and Apple Music.)

#photography #travels #travel #philippines #wanderlust #film #analog #polaroid #music #summer #Siargao #Siargao Island #Reels #BiyahePH #tiktok #fyp #35 mm #taylor swift #victoria monet #beach #surfing

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Sticking Point 2

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, possible violence, illness, death, bullying, ableism, and other elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are sent in the place of your ailing sister to marry a stranger. (Regency AU)

Character: Loki

Note: Thanks you everyone who read the intro!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

The main hall is bright and spacious. As alluded to by its name, Jade Hall is adorned in varying shades and cuts of the stone. Gilt frames, golden trays on glass lamps, crystal sconces housing amber flame, veined marble, and polished stone. 

The large plinths at the base of the staircase seem unsuited to the statues atop them. Curling snakes of shining gold with great jade eyes and long curved fangs. A long rug of eastern patterns and tassled edges leads the path to the steps, arched and lined with curling banisters.

"Madam," the groom addresses your mother, "I will show you to your chambers."

"Thank you, sir," she accepts nobly as you give a dignified nod.

"You may refer to me as Parson, I am the master's personal groom. He has tasked me with your welcome."

"Oh how gracious," your mother remarks with a fawning grin, "he sounds like a true gentleman."

"He keeps an orderly house," the groom affirms.

"Immaculate," she looks around with her hand to her chest, "ugh, absolutely resplendent."

The groom bows his head and waves towards the stairs before proceeding. Your mother trails him and you follow after her. You glance around at the tall portraits, a woman with loose golden hair with a single haloed braid around her head. Another of a man with dark hair and thick beard, gleaming blue eyes, and an indomitable square jaw. His clothing belongs to a previous season.

You ascend and ease out a stunted breath, exhaling in short spurts as your heart races. You continue down a wide corridor, a standing jade vase beside a whitewashed table beneath a bowl of white lotuses floating in water. A peculiar decore but quaint.

A set of double doors is presented to your mother as the groom faces her with another respectable dip of his head, "Lady Thea, I will allow you to accommodate yourself. Then I shall show the younger to her own chambers. You will be summoned for lunch."

"Thank you, sir," your mother preens, "you must send my gratitude to your master. The duke is very generous."

"Yes, my lady, I will be certain to inform him," he avows, "lady," he looks at you, "you are not very far, just the very next."

He leads you onward as your mother enters her rooms with a dreamy sigh. Her mood has lightened since you left your father's estate. Perhaps being far away from home has cleared her mind of mourning.

You are stopped before a door carved with winding vines. The groom steps back to allow you to pass.

"My lady, if you require anything, there is a bell you may ring and I will be certain you are attended. I will have your maid join you shortly, and your luggage."

You look at his shoulder and attempt a smile, it might look more a grimace as your cheek strain. You swallow and muster some strength, "thank you, sir." Your last word floats at the end, not quiet a sharp R, more aw sound.

"Most honoured, my lady," he responds without pause, "and welcome home."

You bat your lashes and slowly turn to the door. You try to restrain your nerves as they swirl to a maelstrom. Home, is this truly it. Are you truly to be the Lady of Jade Park. Married to a man in place of your sister. An imposter.

You march through the door and the groom pulls the door shut in your stead. You bring your hands up, folding them over your chest. You have a blackness in your heart. You feel as if the world is empty. As if you're lost in it. As if you don't belong to the land of colour and light and life.

It is as much grief as it is dread. You miss your sister, you long for the past, and you fear the path ahead. The unknown is underlined with a certainty, deep inside, that you will as ever be less than you should.

🔹

There is a knock at the door. You break from your trance, reluctantly releasing the window sill and turning away from the sight of birds winging over the gardens. You sweep to the door and open it, facing the servant in their evergreen attire. A man with lines in his cheek and a dourness that darkens his sockets.

"My lady, lunch is served," he declares in a brittle timbre.

You nod and thank him, mouthing the word as your voice refuses to rise. You are taken down the corridor and the man fetches your mother from her chambers as well. She emerges with the aroma of roses. You suspect she was anxiously primping all the while.

You descend the stairs, the noise of the kitchen and shuffle of servants drawing you around to the sunroom near the rear of the house. A round table is set near the tall paned doors, open to let in the summer air. There are tiered trays of cut sandwiches, a tureen of creamy soup, a plate of colourful pastries and sugar cookies, along with a silver tea set and elaborately painted porcelain dishes.

You are shown to your seat and sit with some trepidation. It is only you and your mother amid the rush of servants. Where is the duke? Has he seen you and changed his mind? Is he not eager to meet you?

You keep your hands in your lap, squeezing a fold in your skirt as your mother admires the high ceilings and embroidered edges of the tablecloth. She comments on every detail; the thick brocade curtains drawn to the side, the settee with the knobby birch feet, the round-bellied fire stove set into an alcove; a mixture of eras mingled in a most natural allure.

"Parson," the deep voice chokes you and you shakily tilt your head, peeking form the corner of your eyes as you hear the approaching steps, "how can I be tardy when I am the host? Do not pester me."

You rise as your mother does for the entrance of the duke. For it must be him. He as good as announced it and his appearance all but confirms it. Tall, sleek, with a chin set high, and a nose just short of aquiline. He is handsome, pale, but sardonic. His green eyes remind you of the jade stones set into the serpentine statues near the stairs as he considers the table first then deigns to glance between you and your mother.

He approaches her and bows, his posture eased but refined.

"Lady Thea," he proclaims, "what great effort you did take to be here. No doubt a strenuous journey in this heat."

"Your grace, how generous of you to welcome us," your mother responds, "and I do apologise that our arrival was so delayed."

"Mmm," he shifts and lets his eyes wander to you, "and I regret the news of your firstborn."

"We hoped she would strengthen but... we also did not want to renounce our contract. My husband is a man of integrity."

"Surely, he is. I did think him much so when we met," he says as he strides towards you, fully turning in your direction. He offers a smaller bow, "you do look rather different than your sister."

You blanch. You don't know what to say. You thought he hadn't met Edith.

"However, we cannot always trust a portrait's likeness," his eyes flit in a way that unsettles you, "and I do know how different siblings can be."

Your mother gives a small hum, a reminder and reproach at once. You fix your shoulders and do your best to meet the duke's demeanour. You bow.

"Yaw gwace," you raise your head slowly.

You see the subtle twiddle in his long fingers, the way he brings them to touch the trim of his jacket, the tick in his jaw. The long breath that says more than he ever could. He leans back on his heel.

"Honoured to welcome you both," his tone betrays his judgement. How could he not notice? How could he not hear it? You are defective, not only in appearance but all else.

"And we are so grateful to be here. That we can continue on in this union of our names," your mother sits as a servant holds the back of her chair. The duke lowers himself as you do the same, watching the table.

"Mmm, yes, I have yet to discuss the amendment with my father but I'm certain they care not for which daughter I wed."

His meaning is clear. You are not as stupid as many believe. His father will not care but he very much does. Your insides freeze, cold and stiff, and you feel as if you might shatter. It is as bad as you expect, yet expectation rarely meets reality. No, it is worse. To sit and stew in being unwanted.

🔹

You sit at the vanity, watching your lips move. Over and over in the silent repetition. Slowly, painfully working at curving them, shaping them just right. In your head, you imagine the words clearly. ‘Your grace’. 

You still and stare at your reflection. You summon your voice and pronounce the words aloud.

“Yow gwace,” you declare to yourself.

You try again. And again. Anon until your mouth aches from your endless attempts to get it right. The words are wrong. Two simple words and you can’t say them. Two syllables. You drop your head forward as you plant your elbows on the table and catch your forehead.

You see the duke’s disappointment. You feel it still. How could he not be utterly repulsed by you? He alluded to a portrait, no doubt he was sent an image of your sister, and how he would have been surprised to find her even more attractive than the artist’s rendering. But in you, he is entirely dissatisfied.

You blow out a long exhale and prop your chin up on the heels of your hand. You look at yourself through bleary eyes, tears wobbling just on the edge. You sit back and drop your hands, smoothing the front of your dress and over your skirts.

The embroidered brooch draws your gaze. The oval pendant your sister made you, a blue bird on its face. Your most treasured piece. She reminded you of it when you said your farewell and you assured her you could never forget it. She asked you to wear it at the wedding.

You cradle it in your hands and give a bittersweet smile. You think of those days you played in the pastures and hopped over the fence where the sheep chewed on grass. How she would fearlessly run between the thick-bodied beasts as you worried for being bit. She has always been the braver of you two.

You pin the brooch to your dress and admire it in your reflection. You push your shoulders back and force a smile. You look yourself in the face.

“Yow gwace, I am so honawed to be yow wife.”

Your words hang like a noose. You throw your hands up and grunt in frustration. Stupid! You sound insipid. No matter how you try, or how the words sound in your head, they just come out all muddled.

“Edith,” you whimper, “I cannot…”

You lean forward and hold your head once more. You sit, ears thrumming, temples pulsing, your whole being hot with despair. The futility floods you and makes it hard to breathe.

There’s a knock at the door. You push yourself up, dizzy as you teeter on your feet. You swallow and stand as straight as you can. You lift your chin.

“Come in,” you beckon firmly.

Doreen lets herself through and you can’t help the relief that flows through you. You could not face your mother or the duke or another stranger. You lower yourself back to the stool and rest an elbow on the table, sideways as the maid eases the door shut. She lingers there, her hand on the oblong handle, as if she thinks to pull it open and flee.

“Doween,” you murmur as concern winds its way up your spine and tingle in your nape.

“My lady,” she faces you and you hear a sudden shriek. Your mother.

Doreen lowers her lashes and puts her hand to her chest. A shroud falls over you, even as the sunshine casts a yellow glow through the room, even as birds titter without, and ornaments sparkle all around. Her tone says more than any words can. You slump and stare at the maid’s wool collar.

You feel along the front of your own dress and clasp your fingers around the brooch.

“Edith is dead,” you say before she can.

She sniffles and comes forward. You shy away, turning to the vanity as you unpin the pendant. You lay it down and stand. The maid halts, hovering as you walk to the window. The tweeting of the sparrow grows to cacophony then silence all at once. The sky fades and the greenery hazes to an ugly smear.

You told Edith you would be brave. So you must. You can never replace her truly, but you can keep your promise. For her.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #mcu #marvel #au #the sticking point #thor #avengers

[libraryofmoths]

Moth of the Week

Drinker

Euthrix potatoria

The drinker moth is of the family Lasiocampidae. It was described and named in 1758 by Carl Linneaus. Linneaus chose the species name potatoria as it means ‘drinker-like.’ Dutch entomologist Johannes Goedaert had previously called the moth dronckaerdt, meaning ‘drunkard,’ “because it is very much inclined to drinking” or because this moth repeatedly puts its head into water. The common name ‘drinker’ comes from the same reason.

Description This moth is distinguishable from other eggar moths by a diagonal line crossing the forewing and two white spots also on the forewing. Males are usually reddish or orangish-brown with yellow patches. Males in East Anglia are often yellowish. Females can be yellow, a pale buff, whitish, or a darker reddish-brown than the males. Male and females also differ in size and antennae shape: females are slight larger than males, and males have fluffier antennae.

Wingspan Range of Fully Grown Drinker: 45–65 mm (≈1.77 - 2.56 in)

Diet and Habitat The caterpillars of this species feed on grasses and reeds in genuses such as Alopecurus, Deschampsia, Dactylis, Elytrigia, Carex, Luzula, and other Gramineae. A few examples are Cat grass (Dactylis glomeratus), Common Reed (Phragmites australis), Reed Canary-grass (Phalaris arundinacea), and Wood Small-reed (Calamagrostis epigejos).

In the spring, they feed mainly at night and can be found resting on low vegetation during the day. The larva also supposedly drink morning dew because it had been observed to repeatedly put its head in water.

This moth can be found in Europe. It is common throughout England and Ireland but tends to favor western Scotland over eastern Scotland. It prefers habitats of marshy places such as fens, riversides, tall and damp grassland, marshes, damp open woodland, scrub, and ditches. However this species does sometimes live in drier habitats such as grassy terrain and urban gardens.

Mating Adults can been seen between July and August and presumably mate during this time. There is only one generation per year. Eggs are laid mainly on the stems of grasses or reeds in small clusters.

Predators Adult moths fly at night and are presumably preyed on by nocturnal predators such as bats.

Fun Fact Both sexes of the drinker moth are attracted to light, but males are especially susceptible.

(Source: Wikipedia, Butterfly Conservation)

#Euthrix potatoria #drinker #drinker moth #Lasiocampidae #libraryofmoths #facts #insects #mothoftheweek #animals #bugs #moth #lepidoptera #happy new years! #sorry for not posting

[theladyregret]

Drow Name Tables

Something I did as a special favor to @kimmurielsscryingmirror (@eldritchmist ) who showed interest. Because it’s...pretty big I decided to make it into it’s own post.

These are a few Drow naming tables that were originally found in an issue of Dragon Magazine. It’s two d100 tables of prefixes and suffixes commonly used in first names. The second couple of tables is a list of common house name prefixes and suffixes.

EDIT: Just a little something for those who care which I didn’t add before because it took me so long to finish the transcription I just wanted to post it lol. The gender difference is noted in the related Dragon Magazine article as being significant. Non Drow may not notice but a Drow will notice the difference. Female names sometimes borrow parts that are normally only considered male and this is considered fine...but a male with a name that borrows a typically only female part would be seen as extremely taboo.

Prefix (Female/Male) - Meaning

Akor/Alak                 beloved, best, first

Alaun/Alton             lightning, powerful

Aly/Kel                     legendary, singing, song

Ang/Adin                  beast, monstrous, savage

Ardul/Amal               blessed, divine, godly

Aun/Ant                   crypt, dead, deadly, death

Bae/Bar                      fate, fated, luck, lucky

Bal/Bel                       burned, burning, fire, flame

Belar/Bruh                 arrow, lance, piercing

Briz/Berg                    graceful, fluid, like water

Bur/Bhin                     craft, crafty, sly

Chal/Chasz                earth, stable

Char/Kron                  sick, venom, venomed

Chess/Cal                  noble, lady/lord

Dhaun                          infested, plague

Dil/Dur                         cold, ice, still

Dirz/Div                       dream, dreaming, fantasy

Dris/Riz                        ash, dawn, east, eastern

Eclav/Elk                      chaos, mad, madness

Elvan/Kalan                 elf, elven, far, lost

Elv/Elaug                     drow, mage, power

Erel/Rhyl                      eye, moon, spy

Ethe/Erth                    mithril, resolute

Faer/Selds                   oath, sworn, vow

Felyn/Fil                       pale, thin, weak, white

Filf/Phar                     dwarf, dwarven, treacherous

Gauss/Orgoll              dread, fear, feared, vile

G'eld                              friend, spider  

Ghuan                           accursed, curse, unlucky

Gin/Din                         berserk, berserker, orc, wild

Grey/Gul                       ghost, pale, unliving

Hael/Hatch                   marked, trail, way

Hal/Sol                           deft, nimble, spider-like  

Houn/Rik                       magic, ring, staff

Iiv/Dip                             liege, war, warrior

Iim                                   life, living, spirit, soul

Illiam/Im                         devoted, heart, love

In/Sorn                           enchanted, spell

Ilph                                  emerald, green, lush, tree

Irae/Ilzt                           arcane, mystic, wizard

Irr/Izz                               hidden, mask, masked

Iym/Ist                            endless, immortal  

Jan/Duag                       shield, warded

Jhael/Gel                       ambitious, clan, kin, family

Jhul/Jar                         charmed, rune, symbol

Jys/Driz                         hard, steel, unyielding

Lael/Llt                           iron, west, western

Lar/Les                          binding, bound, law, lawful

LiNeer/Mourn            legend, legendary, mythical  

Lird/Ryld                   brand, branded, owned, slave

Lua/Lyme                       bright, crystal, light

Mal/Malag                     mystery, secret

May/Mas                         beautiful, beauty, silver

Micar                                lost, poison, widow

Min/Ran                           lesser, minor, second

Mol/Go                            blue, storm, thunder, wind

Myr/Nym                       lost, skeleton, skull

Nath/Mer                        doom, doomed, fate

Ned/Nad               cunning, genius, mind, thought

Nhil/Nal                 fear, gorrible, horror, outraged

Neer                                  core, root, strong

Null/Nil                             sad, tear, weeping

Olor/Omar                       skin, tattoo, tattooed

Pellan/Relon                    north, platiunum, wind

Phaer/Vorn                      honor, honored

Phyr/Phyx                        bless, blessed, blessing

Qualn/Quil                        mighty, ocean, sea

Quar                                   aged, eternal, time

Quav/Quev                        charmed, docile, friend

Qil/Quil                               foe, goblin, slave

Rauv/Welv                         cave, rock, stone

Ril/Ryl                                 foretold, omen

Sbat/Szor                           amber, yellow

Sab/Tsab                            abyss, empty, void  

Shi'n/Kren                          fool, foolish, young

Shri/Ssz                             silk, silent  

Shur/Shar                          dagger, edge, stiletto

Shynt                                 invisible, skilled, unseen

Sin/Szin                              festival, joy, pleasure

Ssap/Tath                          blue, midnight, night

Susp/Spir                           learned, skilled, wise

Talab/Tluth                        burn, burning, fire

Tal/Tar                         love, pain, wound, wounded

Triel/Taz                           bat, winged

T'riss/Teb                           blade, sharp, sword  

Ulvir/Uhls                           gold, golden, treasure

Umrae/Hurz                       faith, faithful, true

Vas/Vesz                            blood, bloody, flesh

Vic                                       abyss, deep, profound

Vier/Val                               black, dark, darkness

Vlon/Wod                           bold, hero, heroic

Waer/Wehl             deep, hidden, south, southern  

Wuyon/Wruz                      humble, third, trivial

Xull/Url                                 blooded, crimson, ruby

Xun                                       demon, fiend, fiendish

Yas/Yaz                       riddle, spinning, thread, web

Zar/Zakn                             dusk, haunted, shadow

Zebey/Zek                        dragon, lithe, rage, wyrm

Zes/Zsz                              ancient, elder, respected

Zilv/Vuz                             forgotten, old, unknown

Suffixes (Female/Male) - Meaning

a/agh                  breaker, destruction, end, omega

ace/as                                savant, scholar, wizard

ae/aun                             dance, dancer, life, player

aer/d                                    blood, blood of, heir

afae/afein                         bane, executioner, slayer

afay/aufein                        eyes, eyes of, seer

ala/launim                          healer, cleric

anna/erin                            advisor, counselor to

arra/atar                             queen/prince

aste                                      bearer, keeper, slaver

avin/aonar                           guardian, guard, shield

ayne/al                       lunatic, maniac, manic, rage

baste/gloth                         path, walker

breena/antar                   matriach/patriarch, ruler

bryn/lyn                               agent, assassin, killer

cice/roos                             born of, child, young  

cyrl/axle                               ally, companion, friend

da/daer                                illusionist, trickster

dia/drin                                rogue, stealer

diira/diirn                             initiate, sister/brother

dra/zar                                  lover, match, mate  

driira/driirn                         mother/father, teacher  

dril/dorl                                 knight, sword, warrior

e                                           servant, slave, vessel

eari/erd                                 giver, god, patron

eyl                                       archer, arrow, flight, flyer

ffyn/fein                               minstrel, singer, song

fryn              champion, victor, weapon, weapon of

iara/ica                                 baron, duke, lady/lord  

ice/eth                                 obsession, taker, taken  

idil/imar           alpha, beginning, creator of, maker

iira/inid                                 harbinger, herald

inidia                                     secret, wall, warder

inil/in                                     lady/lord, rider, steed

intra                               envoy, messenger, prophet

isstra/atlab               acolyte, apprentice, student

ithra/irahc                         dragon, serpent, wyrm

jra/gos                                 beast, biter, stinger

jss                                          scout, stalker

kacha/kah                            beauty, hair, style

kiira/raen                              apostle, disciple

lay/dyn                               flight, flyer, wing, wings

lara/aghar                         cynic, death, end, victim

lin                                         arm, armor, commander

lochar                                   messenger, spider

mice/myr           bone, bones, necromancer, witch  

mur'ss                                   shadow, spy, witness

na/nar                                 adept, ghost, spirit

nilee/olil                             corpse, disease, ravager

niss/nozz                           chance, gambler, game

nitra/net                              kicker, returned, risen

nolu                                 art, artist, expert, treasure

olin                                   ascension, love, lover, lust

onia/onim                           rod, staff, token, wand

oyss/omph                       binder, judge, law, prison

qualyn                                 ally, caller, kin

quarra/net                           horde, host, legion

quiri/oj                                  aura, cloak, hide, skin

ra/or                                     fool, game, prey, quarry

rae/rar                                   secret, seeker, quest

raema/orvir                         crafter, fist, hand

raena/olvir                            center, haven, home

riia/rak                       enchanter, mage, spellcaster

ril                                 bandit, enemy, raider, outlaw

riina/ree                     enchanter, mage, spellcaster

ryna/oyn                         follower, hired, mercenary

ryne/ryn                      blooded, elder, experienced

shalee/ral                 abjurer, gaze, watch, watcher

ssysn/rysn          artifact, dweomer, sorcerer, spell

stin/trin         clan, house, merchant, of the house

stra/tran                             spider, spinner, weaver

tana/ton                           darkness, lurker, prowler

thara/tar                             glyph, marker, rune

thrae/olg                          charmer, leader, seducer

tree/tel                         exile, loner, outcast, pariah

tyrr                    dagger, poison, poisoner, scorpion

ual/dan                                speed, strider

ue/dor                                  arm, artisan, fingers

uit/dar                                  breath, voice, word

une/diin                         diviner, fate, future, oracle

uque                              cavern, digger, mole, tunnel  

urra/dax                       nomad, renegade, wanderer

va/ven                             comrade, honor, honored

vayas                         forge, forger, hammer, smith

vyll punishment, scourge, whip, zealot  

vyrae/vyr                     mistress/master, overseer

wae/hrae                           heir, inheritor, princess

wiira/hriir                           seneschal of, steward

wyss/hrys                          best, creator, starter

xae/zaer                             orb, rank, ruler, sceptor

xena/zen                         cutter, gem, jewel, jeweler

xyra/zyr                             sage, teller

yl                                          drow, woman/man

ylene/yln         handmaiden/squire, maiden/youth

ymma/inyon                      drider, feet, foot, runner

ynda/yrd        captain, custodian, marshal, ranger  

ynrae/yraen                       heretic, rebel, riot, void

vrae                                   architect, founder, mason  

yrr                                         protector, rival, wielder

zyne/zt                                finder, hunter

House Name Prefixes - Meaning

Alean                        the noble line of

Ale                             traders in

Arab                          daughters of

Arken                        mages of

Auvry                        blood of the  

Baen                          blessed by

Barri                           spawn of

Cladd                         warriors from

Desp                          victors of

De                               champions of

Do'                              walkers in

Eils                              lands of

Everh                         the caverns of

Fre                              friends of

Gode                          clan of  

Helvi                          those above

Hla                              seers of

Hun'                           the sisterhood of

Ken                            sworn to

Kil                               people of

Mae                           raiders from  

Mel                            mothers of

My                              honored of

Noqu                         sacred to

Orly                            guild of

Ouss                           heirs to

Rilyn                           house of  

Teken'                        delvers in  

Tor                               mistresses of

Zau                              children of

House Name Suffixes - Meaning

afin                              the web

ana                               the night

ani                                the widow

ar                                   poison

arn                                fire

ate                                the way

ath                                the dragons

duis                              the whip

ervs                              the depths

ep                                  the underdark

ett                                 magic

ghym                            the forgotten ways

iryn                               history

lyl                                  the blade

mtor                             the abyss

ndar                              black hearts

neld                              the arcane

rae                                 fell powers

rahel                             the gods

rret                                the void

sek                                 adamantite

th                                    challenges

tlar                                 mysteries

t'tar                                victory

tyl                                   the pits

und                                 the spider's kiss

urden                             the darkness

val                                   silken weaver

viir                                  dominance

zynge                             the ruins

#Dungeons and Dragons #Drow #The Legend of Drizzt #dnd #dark elves

[throwaway-yandere]

"If you truly loved me, you should be dead." (Yandere Hitman!Dainsleif/Reader)

a/n: shoutout to rin for giving me that wine prompt, general for making me simp more, and ana for indirectly giving me that final push to write abt dain again lol. Maybe I enjoyed this way too much. Sorry for the b&w manga panels lol.

unreliable summary: Dainsleif– a well-known ex-hitman– recently discovered that his deceased spouse might be alive. Whether or not that’s good news is entirely up to his mental state to decide.

Cw: yandere themes, mafia au, religious themes, major character death, violence, UNRELIABLE NARRATORS, mentions of cancer, and grief mixed with suicidal thoughts. Hurt/no comfort. Please PLEASE prioritize your mental health first before consuming dark content. you matter first and foremost.

“Dainsleif, Excommunicated. In effect, 6:00 p.m., Eastern Standard Time.”

—---

“Get in.”

“B-But what if!–”

“Just get in, Thoma.”

Dainsleif uncapped his hip flask as Thoma trembled at the foreboding skyscraper in front of their smaller and seemingly insignificant stature. He’s not bothered by Thoma’s reaction, besides–

What sane person wouldn’t be intimidated at the sight of a hotel run by criminals?

The Heavenly Principles is a chain of hotels established by the Abyss Order. It is also regarded as a haven for those with blood-stained nails– but never freshly coated hands. The Snezhnayan branch is the cruelest and most frigid one. They won’t bat an eye if you had arrived after a “job”, but it is most certainly a problem if you conducted “business” inside. It’s a neutral territory for the underworld with several ground rules. Rules that, once broken, would result in what is referred to as “ex-communication”… and no one wants the Adjudicator to hunt them down. 

As fate would have it, the infamously retired assassin turned "Bough Keeper" aided a corporate bodyguard inside. Thoma spoke about how the Adjudicator was looking for his Lady without ascertaining the reason why. To soothe the "pup"’s nerves, Lord Ayato kindly asked his old friend Dain if he could drag Thoma to Lord Arlecchino. If Dain knew how finicky the lapdog would be, he probably would've turned the favor down.

"Why are you so sure he's not after Ayaka?" Thoma boldly asked.

Dainsleif refrained from sighing.

The only reason Thoma wasn’t afraid of Dainsleif was that the retired hitman made an oath to his spouse that he would never kill again once they were married. Nowadays, Dain’s income relied on mundane “clean-ups” or sometimes disarming bombs. He dismantled himself from his old responsibilities and became the Abyss Order’s errand boy. Currently, his job is the lowest rank yet he remains respected. As the Bough Keeper, his job is to clean up and handle disputes as long as it doesn’t result in the death of any parties. 

A bit similar to Thoma’s line of work, but the bodyguard loathes that comparison. In his point of view, Dainsleif’s eyes are terrifyingly empty when compared to his. Thoma fears his eyes. It reminds him of the time he rowed a boat to Inazuma from Mondstadt. Being stuck in the middle of the sea is not what rattles him, it’s when Thoma gazed and saw the difference between the water and skies was heavily blurred, unable to pinpoint where the ocean ends.

That uncertainty makes anyone shake. They’d rather not make an enemy of a man who is one more step to having nothing to lose.

“If Adjudicator Cyno were out to get her, he would’ve surely ended her life by now,” Dainsleif answered, walking without as much letting the bodyguard catch up. “It’s far more likely that he has business with me and not your lady.”

The adjudicator would surely look for him in the next 3 hours.

“But My Lady has–”

“Not caused actions that'll make the Abyss Order turn against her whatsoever.” 

Dainsleif stopped by the tinted glass door and Thoma exhaled deeply. They had been walking for hours since the ex-hitman refused to take a taxi. He claimed that a walk would be safer for Thoma. Assassins don’t act kind towards bodyguards, so seeing Dainsleif march beside him (rather, in front of him) is more than enough to secure his safety. 

“Rest assured, once you talk to Arlecchino you’d realize that he’s not after the Himegimi.”

“A-And I’m supposed to be more relaxed by the possibility that he’s after her brother instead?”

“Yes,” he replied. “Because the Adjudicator wouldn't thoughtlessly kill the person who runs the Heavenly Principle's Inazuma branch. I'd appreciate it if you think critically.”

Katheryne, the receptionist, opened the hotel's door. She welcomed Dainsleif in, but if her hair was any longer she would’ve slapped her locks against Thoma’s face with how quick she was to turn and disregard his presence. 

“Good afternoon, Sir Dainslief, Thoma,” she said in a monotone voice. Her lack of honorifics when addressing the bodyguard was noticeably rude. “Please, do not wait around outside, come on in.”

The hotel looks even more spacious and positively regal inside.

Thoma had anticipated that a place where "lowlives" would find sanctuary would be horribly run-down and neglected, but he cynically understood that money talks—and crime speaks louder. His skin crawls at the idea that the blood money used to construct this infrastructure served as its fundamental foundation, but he lacks the courage to say it.

“So… Do you come here often?” Thoma whispered.

Dainsleif blinked– and Thoma can barely determine the subtle shock on his face.

“... Yes. Yes, I do.”

Dainsleif proceeded to advance toward Katheryne without explaining why he was taken aback by that question.

Thoma normally takes the front line during security disputes in the Kamisato Esate, but this hotel is a very different situation. If the act of clinging onto Dainsleif’s toned arm won’t disparage the Kamisato Clan’s reputation, Thoma would’ve done that in a heartbeat. A few oddballs gave him the side eye, and a ginger-haired man almost charged at Thoma with a makeshift lance before putting it away when he saw Dainsleif.

“Holy shit. It’s the dead Twilight walking!!!” The ginger greeted with empty eyes. “Where’ve you been, comrade?! And what’s with the news we just heard? You gave Skirk an aneurism.”

Dainsleif took a sip of his pocketed Death After Noon with a look in his eyes that screamed “Here we go again.”

“Your concern for me is flattering, Childe,” Dainsleif spoke, bored. “I’m only here for personal matters.”

“Is he a relative of yours?” This “child” squinted his eyes, piercing them against Thoma. “Must say, he looks like a total greenhorn.”

Thoma raised his hand, “I’m–”

“That’s not worthy of your concern, and don't bother him.”

Thoma was grateful for Dainsleif’s nonanswer. The way he phrased it had implications that he might be a VIP and therefore untouchable.

“Alright then, who am I to disrespect a legend’s wishes?” The “child" patted Dainsleif’s shoulder. 

“In any case, welcome home for the last time, comrade.”

Dainsleif diverted his gaze. 

“Home?”

This place is not his home, he refuses to let it be so. The scent of cocoa truffles, the messy watercolor-ed desk, the bulletin board littered with red threads, and scattered impulsive notes about a character’s dialogue– where is it? Is this stiff hotel Dainsleif’s home when there’s no sign of life– no sign of them? In here, there is no bed to fix, no brushes to dry, no markers to cap–

and no insomniac spouse to forcefully tuck into bed at 2 AM. 

A strained laugh exited Dainsleif’s throat, and a burning sensation in his eyes nearly reminded him that he does have emotions he cannot bottle underneath a cool facade. Yet, as that laugh reverberated in the otherwise silent lounging area, the ex-hitman steeled himself. That phantom coil in his chest dissipated and was replaced by something hollow. 

Midnight cuddles and drinks with his spouse, watching their eyes crinkle as they ramble about their last horror piece, pulling them closer just to see the stars in their eyes. That scenery? It was his home. It was what street musicians dub like Venti would as happiness. Not the silence after slaughter– not the quiet of the Principle's lounging area. 

The Bough Keeper closed his eyes and answered the two oblivious men with a flat voice. 

A “home” to get back to... 

“I… no longer have a home.”

He's already reached his journey's end. All his bones await now is death himself.

For only death can lead him back home into (Y/n)’s arms again.

Dainsleif sighed. 

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Childe. Do svidaniya. Extend my greetings to Skirk if you have the chance, and when you try your hand at hunting me down: do your best.”

—-------------

“Found you."

The woman of the hour smirked as she peered over her shoulder. Her luxurious locks of short dark-streaked albino elegantly hair swung as she faced both Dain and Thoma. 

“Oh? Well, it’s only because I wanted to be found.”

Dainsleif sat at one of the chairs unperturbed while Thoma tried not to squirm as the Heavenly Principle’s Snezhnayan branch proprietor– Lord Arlecchino– organized her documents. The enormity of Thoma's situation was lost on her. Arlecchino's face was barely wrinkled, a sign that she takes pleasure in her job. Despite carrying out a task that required undivided attention, her piercing stare dug holes in the wall clock. Her lack of focus relieved Thoma, but only for a fleeting moment.

3 hours more, huh?

Arlecchino fished out a paper from her desk pile.

Never been one to beat around the bush, she laid the facts drop-dead on the table with a loud thud.

“(Y/n) is alive, and Her Highness expects that both Dainsleif and Kamisato Ayaka know where they are.”

…

Dainsleif didn’t utter a word.

“E-Excuse me?!” Thoma gasped.

Dain’s spouse died years ago. Much like a cat leaving the house when it knows it will inevitably shake hands with death, (Y/n) vanished when they knew the next month would be their last. Their family on their mother’s side had always been riddled with cancer and similar illnesses. When they muttered sweet phrases about how they wanted his last memories of them to be of them smiling and cheering him on– Dainsleif didn’t question the validity of their death. 

So for Arlecchino to say such a thing is a bit…

“There’s no way! Sure, (Y/n) was close friends with the Kamisatos– but My Lady cried during (Y/n)’s funeral. Ayaka had always been honest to a fault– she wouldn’t have been able to lie, act, or keep a secret like this–”

At least, that’s what Thoma assumed. All he has is word-of-mouth from his master and the Darknight Hero’s associates. The Dawn Winery isn’t the most reliable source unless you’re trained at fact-checking rogues and fabulists’ crude testimonies. Thoma may be a streetwise man, but he always exuded naivete when surrounded by men like them.

Dainsleif cut him off immediately. 

“Your rambling is as banal as Katheryne asking for “Dinner Reservations” after business. Worse, yours suffer from how unwarranted they are.” 

Thoma went silent to both Arlechinno and Dain’s immediate relief. The two understood it as Thoma perceiving a threat, but in reality, the bodyguard just wasn't aware that “dinner reservations” meant cleaning up a crime scene.

“Where is (Y/n)?” The ex-hitman looked at Arlecchino nonchalantly. “If that intel was real, where are they now?”

“Y-You can’t be serious, Dain!” Thoma gawked. “Your spouse died long ago–”

“Where are they now?”

Silence filled the room as the assassin repeated his inquiry with accentuated obstinacy. Dainsleif knows his spouse better than them so Thoma cannot question the widower’s line of thought.

(Y/n) (L/n), may not have been an official criminal in the eyes of the underworld, but they were guilty of multiple accounts of rebellion, sedition, and illegal associations. They penned propaganda in literary mediums and had repeatedly given out tactics on how to dismantle the current system under a 4-lettered pen name, “████”. His spouse was devious by nature and a long-winded conversationalist– which emphasizes a noticeable stark contrast when seated beside their stoic husband. 

If they were alive, they must be watching this conversation while suppressing a smirk.

(Y/n) was the type who would laugh at their own funeral. An expiration date made more sense to them than a promise of forever. Fixity made them uneasy. Dainsleif cannot trust others to share a domestic life with them when he is wholly aware that they’ll die from their hereditary illness. (Y/n) sought thrills more than comfort, which is a reason why he can't cross out the possibility that they had grown bored of their marriage and used their health as an excuse to–

No. That’s an awful line of thinking.

(Y/n) loved him. 

… Surely, they did? 

"Don't lose your composure, Twilight. I'm not saying this so you could drown yourself in grief with fire-waters. I’ve heard word from Pantalone that they’re likely in Sumeru City during the Sabzeruz Festival, but as (Y/n) loved to say–”

“Information always travels faster than people,” Dainsleif closed his eyes, tasting the words as if it was his deceased lover that imparted them themselves. “That leaked intel is as reliable as wet tissue paper.”

(Y/n)’s insight in regards to trends had been prescient– which is a kinder and less pessimistic way to say they likely already knew the adjudicator had been trailing them for some time. Runaways follow oft‐trod paths to free-trade zones– his spouse would be no exception.

That is, of course, if (Y/n) is alive.

But they’re not.

Dainsleif refused to believe it.

If (Y/n) (L/n) truly loved him, they wouldn’t be alive right now. 

“Let us temporarily assume that your spouse is alive for the foreseeable future, Dain,” Arlecchino said, noticing Dain’s subtly pained expression. “For the sake of formalities– are you aware of the repercussions you will face if they were?”

“Repercussions…?” Thoma’s eyes widened.

Dainsleif shook his head.

“If it’s as I suspect, then this is a tragic state of affairs.”

“Indeed,” Arlecchino placed a hand on her hip, subtly pushing away her coat to signify her slotted holster. She tilted her chin up menacingly at Thoma. 

“Since you can’t catch up, Mister Kamisato Estate Representative, allow me to spell everything out for you– Dainsleif would be formally announced as a “sinner” in the next 3 hours.”

Thoma’s eyes widened, unlike the man who was affected by the news.

“HAAAH?!?”

Dainsleif sipped his flask again, unbothered.

“Sinner” describes individuals who have been banned from all services, resources, and relationships with other members of the criminal underworld. Sinners become a target for any individuals who wish to kill them with a large bounty placed on their heads. And an ex-communication ordained by the Heavenly Principles is a guaranteed high payroll. When it’s the Abyss Order that hands the cash, you’d get more than enough to secure more than a handful of assets. The moment that occurs– Dainsleif would have to run and find connections that would help him plead his case.

They would surely goad everyone with tenfold the normal amount given the Twilight Sword’s intimidating repertoire. 

Dain found that amusing.

The nickname “Twilight Sword” he carries is not reserved for anyone else, but mortal arrogation would surely take a jab and see if they can steal the only life he can’t take away.

He’d laugh now if he weren't depressed.

Killing the Twilight Sword, huh? Even he fails to accomplish that.

"That's unreasonable! The sins of a spouse can't be shared–"

"Why don't you keep your mouth shut, blonde?"

Arlecchino snarled.

"Read the room. No one is giving you a turn to speak."

…

Dainsleif cleared his throat, “Back to the matter at hand; Her Highness is under the assumption that my spouse was– or is– conspiring against the Abyss Order. Which, I reassure you, is unlikely given how their last book is an anti-fascist novel with The Crane being alluded to as the protagonist.”

It didn't make sense for (Y/n) to betray the mafia when they were part of the cog that overthrew Osial, Ei, and the rest. 

“... The Crane?” Thoma muttered to himself.

Arlecchino sighed gutturally, irritated.

“You might know her as Shenhe. She’s the assassin that overthrew the ex-Capo, Osial,” Arlecchino answered Thoma. “Strange that you don’t know her. I’m certain she had helped with renovating the Kamisato Estate before.”

Thoma answered with a small voice, “I do know Shenhe as my Lady’s friend, but I don’t recall having her help us with our last renovation…”

“But you should’ve remembered that. After all, cranes are the best kind of bird to help you lift planks.”

…

…

…

“... None of you got the joke too? Don’t even think about disparaging me. The joke is not mine, it’s the Adjudicator's.”

Thoma frowned, “I’m sorry, I think it’s too advanced–”

“Stop.” Dainsleif whispered urgently, “Don’t let her explain it. We’re wasting time.”

—-------------

“Dainsleif, Excommunicated. In effect: 2 hours and 30 minutes.”

—-------------

“There’s a fourteen million bounty on your head now, Dain,” Arlecchino said. “If I were more heartless, I would’ve easily planned something. Fourteen million is an impressive starting price.”

“Thank you.”

“P-Please don't thank her. She admitted that she wants to kill you," Thoma begged in a hushed whisper.

As if he doesn't want that to happen.

“Although you have been a loyal customer, I can’t provide any services once the timer runs out,” Arlecchino deadpanned. “You’re a brave one. Sauntering into my hotel when assassins are waiting to strike. It’s as if you have a death wish like my former colleagues.”

“I’ll take my leave then.”

Dainsleif stood up and prematurely exited the conversation, leaving two acquaintances behind.

Arlecchino chuckled. Always up on his feet, that one. She looked at the person who left. It’s clear to her that Thoma does not know what he intended to do next. Thoma fiddled with his fingers, staring blankly. 

"It's rude to stare. If you have something to say, spit it out."

Thoma cleared his throat.

"Lord Arlecchino, I was hoping to find out more about My Lady's safety…"

Arlecchino rolled her eyes.

“I’d rather you figure out the truth for yourself. (Y/n) taught us that indoctrination is not education before they ‘passed’, but since I happen to be in a friendly rivalry with Lord Kamisato, I’ll give you your damn reassurance and advice."

Arlecchino grabbed Thoma’s shoulder tightly. Thoma stiffened at her harsh touch, but his determined eyes impressed Arlecchino.

"Ayaka is fine, and Ayaka will be fine."

Arlecchino slid an envelope against his chest. He winced awkwardly at her cold touch and fumbled to receive it. 

…

…

After reading the letter, Thoma sighed in relief.

"Feeling better?"

"Yes. Yes, Lord Arlecchino."

"Good."

No one outside the room knew at that time what the letter contained except for Lord Kamisato. But in 2 hours, the world would know soon enough.

"And lastly, I know you're tempted, but stay away from Dain. He's a dead man and most of all–" Arlecchino breathed between her teeth. 

“He's unreliable. His view on his relationship with (Y/n) is tinted with a rosy hue. His memory has all but faded completely regarding what transpired. And sometimes, liars get fooled by their own lies. See for yourself.”

Thoma’s eyebrows knitted in an instant. Arlecchino didn’t give him a turn to speak and opened the door on his way out.

“Focus on your issues, Kamisato Dog. Ad astra abyssosque.”

—------------------------------------

“Dainsleif, Excommunicated. In effect in 4… 3… 2…”

“1…”

“Dainsleif: 14 million. Open contract is now in effect. All services have been suspended.”

—------------------------------------

“Halfdan.”

“Dain.”

“Please let me do this.”

Dainsleif hummed non-committedly.

His new enemy is none other than Halfdan: an old friend back when he served in the military and also the same brother-in-arms he dragged along to become freelance hitmen. Thanks to the fall of multiple governments, Khaenria’hns had to vicariously live through dirty work to survive. To cope, Dainsleif mercifully persuaded Halfdan down this route with a gifted gun for him to take.

And it’s the very same revolver now aimed at Dainsleif’s forehead.

“Capo Pantalone denounced two possibilities from this scenario: one being your spouse had turned traitor and the other would be that they were a double agent this whole time,” Halfdan quietly mused. “And if that were the case, they fear what that makes you." 

“And that’s why you’re here?” Dainsleif spoke between labored exhales, clearly worn out from the numerous assassination attempts against his life moments prior.

The world they walk on is liquefied and weightless, never a flat one. Most are content to kill, but not to live– never to dream. Here in the underground, capitalism plays in a greater uneven field. Assassins, elites, common folk– such titles make no difference. Whatever bounty pays moderately might shoot higher the next hour while others might drop lower than the corpse themselves. 

Which led Halfdan to make the worst decision of his life.

An ex-hitman who refuses to kill does sound like an easy target on paper.

Dainsleif gritted his teeth. 

If Halfdan knew Dain's barrel was empty, he would be dead right now.

Still, not everyone would be bold to make an enemy out of the Bough Keeper.

Especially not when he memorized every hitman’s fighting style, moves, and preferred weapons.

"Evidence suggests that you’re an accomplice. Did you help them?"

“I did not help them– because (Y/n) was not a traitor.”

“Then who else could’ve ratted out all the Abyss' trade routes?” Halfdan said robotically. “It’s a win-win situation for (Y/n) if this whole mess is true. They’d get recognition for their work and potentially have you dead after your ex-communication.”

"Do you know where they are? Where (Y/n) is?"

"You're at the end of my revolver and that's what you're asking?"

"Is that so surprising?"

"Not at all," Halfdan closed his eyes. "Not at all."

"I take it you don't have a clue."

"I know that (Y/n) has been the brains of Archon Kusanali's return to office– possibly her second sage. Whatever that is."

That can’t be right. His spouse hated superordinate roles.

"For someone who was told their dead spouse might be alive, you're surprisingly calm, Dainsleif."

"Forgive me, I try my best to remain composed twenty-four-seven," Dainsleif sardonically replied. "It was a requirement of my previous profession."

“Right… Being a hitman must’ve been tough. Can’t imagine what it’s like,” he chuckled.

Halfdan fired first.

Dainsleif sprinted, hiding behind the alleyway's bricked stores. With his finger hovering above the trigger, he had momentarily forgotten who was after him. As Halfdan carefully scanned the area, Dain tied his blonde hair up loosely, courtesy to how his late spouse nagged him about how it helps keep loose strands out of his eyes during "business hours". 

Three warning shots followed. 

"Senior, can't you go easy on me? Just this once?" Halfdan mumbled.

Now that the gun was pointed at him, it came to both their minds that they don’t know one another as deeply as they thought. Not in the traditional sense of knowing their names and faces, of course. It dawned that neither talked about themselves as soon as they became hitmen. The Heavenly Principles– whether it’s the Snezhnayan branch or the one Lord Ayato’s running– was like their version of two lost samurais’ dilapidated shelter. They’d talk and bond while it rains– but they’ll never converse outside that haven.

Dain pursed his lips, glaring at the corner of his eyes... 

It’d be too easy to kill him.

There’s a crack in the wall that can easily target Halfdan’s temple. Should he pull the trigger, he would be dead without another word. His blood and brain matter would paint the alley’s wall like vague graffiti and there’d be one less person off his case. 

But Dainsleif didn’t fire his gun.

“Senior”? Don’t make him laugh.

"I'm not your senior anymore, Halfdan."

Dainsleif jumped out of his spot–

And took his shot too, without any intent to kill.

“NGAH–!”

Halfdan gasped sharply, biting his bottom lip as blood gushed from his left arm. He slid back behind the post immediately, afraid to get close to Dain. Besides, anyone can see a rifle's imprint on Halfdan's cheek. 

He's a sniper. Close combat is not his forte.

Unfortunately, Dainsleif used to be a spotter.

“Shit, Dain! What the hell?!” Halfdan tearfully begged. “W-Why are you fighting back? Aren’t you tired of this world?! Aren’t you just waiting to die?!”

Dainsleif’s eyelids lowered.

He doesn’t know the clear answer to that himself.

Until a thought occurred to him.

“I.. Want to carry their memories.”

“... W-What?”

“I wanted to carry on living, for them,” Dainsleif said. “For (Y/n).”

He realized that as long as he was alive, he could keep (Y/n)’s memory alive. He can continue to tell stories about them– to cherish the memories they shared and to honor their legacy. With a newfound sense of purpose, Dainsleif made a silent promise to himself and his deceased spouse. 

Hence, Dain would continue to live, not just for himself, but for them. He would carry their memory with him wherever he travels and he refuses to forget their warmth. With that, he gripped his gun, feeling resolute. It’s a long road ahead, but he can carry on, for (Y/n) and for himself. As it turns out, he still had a purpose and a reason to keep going.

His memories of (Y/n) are enough for him to stay alive.

Dainsleif glanced at the crack in the wall.

He reasons that he will be fine if Halfdan dies. Dain had killed many of his former allies before he was wed. Many did oppose his marriage with (Y/n)– worse, many thought they could kill his beloved for it to occur. Killing an old friend tonight wouldn’t be his first.

Dainsleif sighed. He could use his dagger, but he wanted Halfdan's death to be quick.

‘I’m sorry, Halfdan.’

But he did not feel sorry.

Dainsleif loaded his gun.

2 bullets.

That should be more than enough.

‘You’re going to have to be my first kill after 7 years.’

—------------------

As Dainsleif fended off greed-blinded men, Thoma found himself in another nerve-wracking dilemma. He stood inside one of the private rooms in the Heavenly Principles, unflinching. The sharp yet muted shrill of a spoon grated Thoma’s ears, but he remained standing, vigilant yet afraid. 

Hard to speak when it was the adjudicator himself that stirred the cup.

The adjudicator, Cyno, is a dreadful shadow to have. Unlike the Bough Keeper, he had deep-set eyes that looked to be calculated at all times. Thoma was most terrified by the adjudicator's reputation for having unwavering determination. His job is to be both feared and respected in equal measure. If Cyno wills it, Thoma and Ayaka would be nothing more than mere bodies between him and his goals. 

If it’s true that (Y/n) managed to escape Cyno more than a few times, then he ought to get some tips on how they do it. Cyno cornered Thoma so effortlessly before he could leave earlier.

"Coffee?" Cyno offered. "Don't worry, this isn't the same drink Dain prepared for (Y/n) every morning."

Thoma raised an eyebrow.

What does that mean?

“No thank you sir, but I appreciate the gesture.”

Cyno nodded.

“Let me be clear: I am here to adjudge your master, not you. So if my subordinates found evidence against her, I shall be the one that weighs those scales.”

Thoma already knew that and that threat was never going to provoke him.

If Thoma tells him what the letter contained now, it'll only make the Kamisatos more suspicious.

“I understand, sir. Would that be all?”

“Course not,” Cyno said. “Thoma, I’ve got a question to ask.”

“Go on, sir.”

“Did you ask Dainsleif for help earlier?”

“... Yes, sir.”

“Good,” the Adjudicator nodded. “I value your honesty– and are you sure you don’t want coffee?”

“Yes sir– and I’m sorry for asking for his assistance, I didn’t–”

“Know he was going to get excommunicated, I’m aware,” he muttered. “But that’s an old excuse.”

Cyno sipped his cup, his eyes locked on Thoma's. Thoma tried his best to avoid his gaze but found it impossible. The Adjudicator had a way of making people feel small with just a single look.

"You're brave," he said. "But bravery can’t save the Himegimi. Only the truth can. So where is he?" 

Thoma's heart raced as he tried to come up with a response. He knew he had to be careful with his words, or he might end up endangering not just himself, but Dainsleif as well. 

"I don't know where he is," Thoma said, his voice barely above a whisper. 

"Don't lie to me," Cyno's expression darkened, slamming his cup against the table. It shattered, making Thoma finally flinch at the sound of its impact. 

"We know you've been communicating with him. You're part of his and his spouse’s rebellion against the Abyss Order."

“I genuinely don’t know where he is and I'm not part of any rebellion,” Thoma’s voice cracked. “Lord Ayato just ordered me to communicate with Lord Arlecchino and had Mister Dainsleif tag along, please believe me.”

The Adjudicator went silent.

He scoffed.

“Damnit.”

Cyno understood through experience that Thoma wasn’t lying. He ran his fingers through his stressed-white hair, eyes closed. 

He unlocked the door.

“Fine, you’re free to leave.”

Thoma blinked, hesitating to do what was commanded.

It’s as easy as that…? 

He’s not going to interrogate him further? Wasn’t he supposed to probe into what he knows about Dainsleif or why Lord Ayato sent him to Snezhnaya in the first place? Won’t Cyno give Thoma the chance to tell him that he went all the way here because he feared what he plans to do to Ayaka?

It can't be over just like that.

Wasn't he after Ayaka?

What's going on?

Why did he give up that fast?

All the effort he went through… Just for that?

That’s all the big scary Adjudicator has to say?

Thoma combed his hair up.

Was Lord Ayato right? Was he really just paranoid?

Whatever was on Thoma’s mind– he spoke none of it. He discarded every doubt. Above all else, he was glad that everything seemed to be over.

As Thoma turned to close the door behind him, he heard Cyno mutter something barely a whisper.

“If I am to weigh the souls of others in this world as an Adjudicator, then I must also place my own soul on the scales to be judged in the same manner, but…”

Thoma closed the door before he heard him finish the rest.

“(L/n), despite being a wrongdoer, I wonder if you had a point…” Cyno said.

“... Maybe it’s time we dismantle the current system and rely on the government– Kusanali– once more.”

Cyno didn't drink the coffee he prepared for Thoma. Instead, the adjudicator grabbed his case and left the dubious drink be.

—--------

Thoma thought that was the end of it, but fate had other plans.

He was on his way back when he stumbled upon Dainsleif, soaked in blood. It was a complete coincidence that Thoma had taken this particular route, and he can’t tell whether that was a blessing or a curse. Knowing that Dainsleif possesses incomparable mental fortitude to carry on fighting despite his weakened state, he approached him warily. Thoma was warned already by Arlecchino not to get involved, yet he can’t just leave without a proper thank you. As he got closer, Thoma saw that the man was mumbling incoherently.

"Eli…” 

Thoma blinked. Is he calling for Ellin, the rookie hitman?

“Dain…?”

He’s lost in his thoughts. 

Dainsleif was morbidly aware that feelings of grief should've surfaced, that he should be mourning the loss of an old friend. Once again, he tried to summon some kind of emotion, any reaction to his Halfdan's corpse. But he felt nothing. No sadness, no anger, no regret. What he felt was frustration only after his failed attempts. Dainsleif was unable to shake off the sense of detachment that had taken hold of him.

Halfdan was just another person who failed to kill the “Twilight Sword”.

“Eli, lama sabachthani…?" Dainsleif muttered.

"Huh?"

Eli, Eli, Lama Sabachthani: those were the words his spouse said when they were incredibly ill. 

It meant "My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me?"

As he gazed at the scene of Halfdan's death, Dainsleif heaved a heavy sigh. He was aware that he had to face the facts of his predicament, but he wasn't sure how he should press on. The deafening silence prevailed. Now that he had to deal with isolation and social rejection, his longing for (Y/n) rekindled sevenfold. He knows that it's near impossible to continue living without his spouse.

But finding them?

That should be easier.

"Y-You should take a rest, Dain," Thoma frowned. "I know you haven't killed anyone since today, so maybe you should seek shelter and steel yourself for now."

“I can't, and there is no need for that. No other Black Serpent assassin danced with grief more than I.”

Dainsleif swiftly picked up the knife from the ground, masterfully twirling it until the blood was wiped clean.

“But when I got back to work– I suddenly felt a small amount of relief from this suffering.”

He stabbed the knife back into the corpse’s chest like a toothpick. The blonde carved the knife down the ribs with sheer brute strength. Blood coated his fingers and as he curled it deeper inside Halfdan’s chest, the blade disappeared.

Dainsleif laughed. 

The manic blonde’s crooked grin widened.

Thoma didn’t gag at the sight of Halfdan’s corpse– he was used to the sight– but he gulped as he saw Dain’s expression.

His "terrifyingly empty" eyes suddenly had something murky fill the void. 

Dainsleif lost it.

“That high didn’t last. Even now, I can feel anguish permeating my entire being. There is no “undoing” their death, such a line of thought inflicts only agony. (Y/n) had become an integral part of me– slowly but surely replacing my sins with a tenderness one cannot attain in the underworld. They did say that grief comes in waves, but how long will I have to stand ashore until a crash large enough would drown me to sea?”

Thoma drowned out his musings. They were bound not to make sense in the first place.

He's not mentally stable, and he doesn't expect him to be. Dain just found out his dead spouse might be alive and killed a friend in under an hour. Thoma would be insensitive if he forced him to compose himself.

Dainsleif let the handle go.

“Can’t you understand why I’m so desperate to find even a sliver of my beloved?” He laughed. “Why I never took assassination requests from the Abyss Order after their death? Why I’m more than willing to kill again? The answer is simple–”

Suddenly, it’s harder to breathe.

The ex-hitman stopped.

His smile weakened as he spoke, “Thoma… (Y-(Y/n)... I want (Y/n) to take me back in their arms as a corpse.” 

Dainsleif breathed in shakily, his tears obstructing his speech. He clenched his fists above the table, arching his back as he avoided the bodyguard’s concerned gaze. Thoma could practically see his sobs as Dain’s entire body trembled from a depleting mix of ineffable exhaustion, sadness, and longing. He had bottled these emotions for long enough. 

He always had nowhere else to go– no one else to turn to. But nowadays, it felt different. All because he foolishly trusted that maybe this time someone would be able to kill him…

Maybe this time…

The bodyguard rubbed his back, which only served to make the lonesome man conceal his weeping. There's nothing Thoma can do other than provide useless ministrations. To save the last of the ex-hitman's dwindling pride—if he really cared for such—he can only frown and look away.

Dainsleif trembled.

He doesn't know how to cry.

So he cried clumsily.

“I-I’m tired… of taking my own life.” 

—----------------

“Dainsleif, open contract. Increase: 20 million.”

—----------------

[Eight Years Ago]

“So, Dain,” they awkwardly voiced with a warm smile. “Do you come here often?”

Does he come here often? Of course, he does. He “worked” here– but no ordinary citizen should know what business goes down in Wanmin restaurant. 

And he knew (Y/n) frequented this restaurant too.

Dainsleif laughed.

It’s true, Dainsleif stalks them. 

He initially believed they were just an extroverted student who had nothing better to do than to talk to the stranger they kept sitting next to on the bus. He was so exhausted from "work" that his initial impression was of (Y/n) was a loud and brazen scholar. Since the bus they boarded frequently had a TV, they were always open to talk with him about delicate subjects like the daily news about the syndicates without displaying any expressions of disgust. Although they didn't agree with everything he stated, they showed maturity by holding their ground. They praised him for his noteworthy thoughts while criticizing him for his blatantly generic statements. Dainsleif was almost sure they were part of the "industry" he works on–

Until he saw the collage of their friends and professors as their lock screen. Dainsleif realized two things at that time.

1) They like to write.

2) Their favorite mentor was Professor Aether. The “Traveler” who would inherit the Abyss Order if the Abyss Princess dies.

So it’s no wonder they knew a lot about human trafficking. 

Something about their easygoing attitude and quick wit struck a chord with him. He found himself laughing along with them, feeling a sense of rare ease and comfort. And whenever they said their goodbyes when boarding off the bus, Dainsleif felt a sense of anticipation, a feeling that this was something special. 

And now he "knows all that he needs to know" about (Y/n) (L/n).

Upon realizing that he was staring (they were waving a hand near their face), Dainsleif cleared his throat.

“I enjoy the wine here.”

“Thought the light was about to take you to the other side,” (Y/n) teased. “Anyways, yeah, you know my friends Stella, Jude, and Shiro? They like it too. Can’t catch me drinking though– I just order the sardines pasta here while they get red-faced drunk.”

He sneakily glanced at the menu and silently noted how that order appears to be the cheapest meal. If Dain pitied his date, he made no mention of it. Uyuu restaurant is for the rich and the shady and based on their humble hand-me-down shoes, both descriptions eluded them. 

“Well-off friends?”

Dainsleif already knows the answer. 

"Eh. We all know both rich and getting-by folks, don't we? As long as we can pay our bills, it doesn't matter," they shrugged. “Still… I’m REALLY sorry that you dressed up for me, Dain.” 

They pinched their forehead.

“Look– I don’t know what on earth Rin told you, but I’m not worth this effort. You look incredibly dashing in that suit and tie by the way– but your date is wearing their sister’s Converse right now. If you want me to leave and enjoy your meal alone, just say so– you can even tell everyone that I’m just some charity case college student you fed or something. Fine by me, no problem.”

Dainsleif snorted slightly. While there’s no doubt in his mind that his salary can afford someone’s student loans, the last thing hitmen would do with their monthly pay is invest in multiple scholars.

“Would you feel better if I said I just arrived from work and had no time to change so I 'didn’t' put in any effort…?”

“Kinda,” they croaked pathetically and bowed their head. “But now that you phrased it like that, I can't tell if you're lying for the sake of my feelings, huhu...”

But that uncontrollable sunny smile on their face doesn't show any hint of genuine remorse. Dainsleif reciprocated their smile. (Y/n) is getting more comfortable being in Dainsleif’s presence than before, and Dainsleif seems more open to sharing things about himself– albeit not enough to spill about his true occupation.

His occupation…

Dain tried not to think about it whenever they're on a date, but he can't help it sometimes.

When, he wonders. 

When will he find someone that is close enough to actually kill him?

This job was starting to get stale…

If it weren't for (Y/n), he sees no reason to even get out of bed anymore.

(Y/n)... Right, (Y/n). Of course.

Dainsleif stopped himself from grinning widely.

He's on a date– he should be more attentive.

Dain looked at them again, finding himself naturally concentrated on their mannerisms.

“... Why are your hands in your pockets?”

“Oh– I learned from one of my professors that people look more confident when they have their hands in their pockets, if and only if they have a thumb out, apparently.”

“And this prolonged eye contact we’re having?”

“My poor attempt at applying what I’ve learned, yes.”

Dainsleif laughed.

“You’re very easy to listen to.”

They frowned. 

“Sorry… I tend to overshare sometimes.”

“Why are you apologizing? I appreciate that you’re being yourself,” Dainsleif said. “Better than honeypotting someone in a relationship.”

“You’re right, sor– I mean, yeah, you’re right.”

A waiter passed by.

“One– Two Death After Noon please, boss,” Dainsleif said. 

(Y/n) chuckled humorously, "I suppose I'd also drink a lot if I ended up going on a date with someone like me."

"Glad to hear it. Let's have a drink together."

"Aight– wait, what?"

Dainsleif attempted to pass the glass to (Y/n), but the moment their hand reached the stem–

Splash.

"Oh sh–! I'm so sorry!!!"

Dainsleif blinked.

"Oh my Goodn– I'm so sorry, my bad. I'm–"

"It's alright. Hand me some tissues."

"Sorry…" they cringed. "I'm– I'm a little out of it, lately. I didn't mean to spill that all over– ugh. I'm such a disaster today, what the heck?"

Dainsleif chuckled, almost inaudibly. He didn't move from his position, letting the wine soak his jeans. 

"You don't need to worry, I'm used to this."

They tried not to visibly react to that statement. 

Use to what, exactly? Having drinks spilled on him? 

What kind of life is Dainsleif living for that to happen often enough times for him to get "used to this"? Are people constantly spilling things on him? 

"...Workplace harassment?" (Y/n) muttered, not realizing Dainsleif heard it.

His heart leaped as he quickly glanced at himself to check for visible wounds or scars, but snapped out of it when he felt something light against his clothes. No matter how wrong it could appear in public, it seems that (Y/n) awkwardly grabbed the closest tissue box to dab it out (and this action was motivated by how dry cleaning was expensive that year).

"(Y/n)–" he cringed as they continued.

"Please wait."

"You should be more focused on yourself," Dainsleif cleared his throat, with his ears and cheeks slightly red. "Y-You're wearing white."

"Oh…"

They pulled the hem of their clothing. The wine soaked them as well but they were too engrossed to notice it. (Y/n) scowled.

"I'm– yikes, I'm irredeemable at this point. Whoops," they laughed somewhat nervously. “You’ve done it, Mx. (L/n). This is our last date, I guess.”

Dainsleif didn't say a word.

He just stared, looking directly at their splattered clothes. Unlike (Y/n), he didn't jump to helping his date clean up. Dainsleif covered his mouth and breathed in shakily. It was strange. Instead of feeling annoyed or frustrated, he found himself staring fondly at (Y/n) and their almost equally stained clothes.

This stain… It looked like…

They expect him to laugh at their clumsiness or berate them at worst, but when they gazed up, those slapdash daydreams evaporated. Dainsleif looked dazed. 

… Blood.

“Dain?”

They looked up at him, doe-eyed and confused. Without hesitation, they cupped his cheek, checking his features.

“Dain? Are you feeling alright? You’re spacing out a lot today.”

Dainsleif couldn’t stop staring.

This scenery was almost perfect. Almost. It just needed one small tweak:

It shouldn't have been wine. (Y/n) would look breathtaking if they were covered in the blood of the men he killed to get a chance to date them.

He looked at his stained clothes and smiled.

Maybe, just maybe,

(Y/n) (L/n) will be the one who can kill him.

—-----------------------------

[PRESENT]

Dain stumbled towards a house with a small inteyvat garden, his body aching and his clothes still stained with blood. He lifted a weak hand and knocked on the door, leaning heavily against the doorframe for support. He shook his hip flask, disappointed that the alcohol was already empty. Not that he needed it to ease his wounds. Thoma already helped Dainsleif patch up a bit, but left in a hurry knowing that the Adjudicator might see his act of “treason.” 

After a few moments, the door creaked open and a blonde man peered out. 

It was Professor Aether, a kind yet unassuming man who taught at multiple universities– including (Y/n)’s. Despite being the Abyss Princess's kin, he lived a relatively lowkey life in the suburbs after he stopped traveling. Aether looked Dainsleif up and down, his expression unreadable. 

"You look injured," he said flatly, without a hint of concern in his voice. 

Dain struggled to keep himself standing. 

"I am," he said. "Traveler, I’ve been wrongfully excommunicated and I need your help."

Aether nodded as if he had expected that news. Still, he refused Dain entry to his house. “You didn’t honestly think I’d help you without a second thought, right?”

Dainsleif took a deep breath, “I have served and will be of service.”

The sinner then pulled out an object from his pocket and shoved it down Aether’s palm.

Aether raised an eyebrow, concerned.

Visions is a round metallic insignia formally recognized by the Abyss Order that signifies a blood oath. The debtor has their bloodied fingerprint pressed inside the shell. This vision had Aether's fingerprint, and he owes Dainsleif.

“A vision? Do you believe a blood debt will make me help you?” Unlike before, his voice was warm but distant.

“I helped you find your sister– you can help me find my spouse in return,” Dain glared. ��Sinner or not, you owe me. I’m certain (Y/n) is alive– and I’m sure you know where they are. You shaped them into the tactician they are now. If there’s anyone who can figure out where they are, it’s you. So take me there.” 

Aether closed his eyes.

There's no way he can reason with him.

This is no longer Dainsleif he's talking to– but a husk of a man.

“Fine.”

The professor also pulled something out of his pocket. A blue syringe, none other than one of Dottore’s concoctions, Dain believes. He did not question why he had that in his possession. Foolishly, he did not question if it was an anesthetic or a lethal injection either. What mattered more was (Y/n)’s location. Nothing else.

“But you’ll have to be asleep for it to happen,” the professor commanded exasperatedly. “Do you understand?”

“Why?”

“Because they wouldn’t believe I didn’t help you out otherwise,” Aether scoffed. “So just knock yourself so I can tie you up.”

Dainsleif rolled up his sleeve.

“Do what needs to be done.”

Aether administered the drug.

—-----------

Dainsleif slowly opened his eyes, his head throbbing just as Aether warned him. The room spun slightly as his eyes adjusted to his surroundings. His vision was blurry, but he could make out the distinct Inazuman patterns that covered the walls. The intricate designs were a mix of cloud shapes and leaf motifs, all in shades of blue and white.

This must be the basement of Uyuu restaurant. Dain didn’t expect he’ll be able to (Y/n) here– and if this was one of their base locations, that must mean Ayato is on their side. That’s another surprise he didn’t see coming. These all must’ve been Archon Kusanali’s idea– or maybe it was that government official, Al Haitham?

Whatever, it didn't matter. At least Dain was expecting to be tied down and he was right, he reminded himself. Dainsleif took a deep breath and calmed himself. The ropes dug painfully into his wrists as he struggled against them, squirming to find weak knots that bound him to the chair. No luck. 

“Evening, Twilight Sword… Do you come here often?”

Dainsleif stopped struggling.

He looked up, dazed.

Perhaps “enchanted” might be the right term.

Although Dainsleif could barely discern their face from this lighting, he can just about make it out from the shape of their silhouette. 

“To this day, you’ve faithfully done your duty as a loving husband– how can a person ever find a man better than you?” The shadow smiled cheaply. "Is that what you wanted me to say?"

The shadow tilted their head up, and a red glint refracted from a familiar pair of tinted glasses. They pulled out a chair and sat in front of him, chuckling angrily as they did so.

“I’d rather not. I’d rather ask how much can I pay you to die.”

Dainsleif coughed.

“... (Y/n)? My beloved, is that you?”

The abyss smiled back.

“I importune you to perish, and you call me 'beloved'?” They laughed sardonically. “Isn’t taking bounties your entire shtick? Why ignore me? Don’t tell me you had a sudden aversion for death.”

They rolled their eyes.

“You’ve encased me in your penthouse, locked me up, stolen my brushes and pens away– and lied to the rest of the world that I had cancer like my relatives when I didn’t and still don’t. So don’t call me beloved. You don’t have the right.”

Their voice was buttery smooth as if seducing him– yet it would be foolish of him not to notice the sharpness of their words– the bitterness it latched onto. It sounded like the truth, but Dainsleif believes they were nothing but lies. 

Dainsleif cringed. 

“But you do have canc–”

“Fucking bullshit!” The person slammed the table, but years of experience didn’t make the retired hitman flinch. “I was NEVER sick!!! You desperately wanted me to be– because– because YOU didn’t want ME to LEAVE!”

“You always talk about how I’m fucking corrupted– how I can’t be cured– how I’m terminally ill when you’re the one slipping poison in my coffee every fucking day!” They ranted. “You didn’t want me to live, Dainsleif. You wanted me to be sad and– and miserable like you are."

He heard nothing. 

That’s not true. None of their words add up.

They loved him– (Y/n) loved him.

Didn’t they?

… Then again, didn't Dainsleif have awful memory?

“Every night, I prayed you’d be dead,” the shadow said, calmly. “And every morning I woke up, I was disappointed. It doesn’t help how your expressionless face is always the first to greet me.”

Dainsleif knew (Y/n) liked challenges– there's no way they want him dead. That's what the promise was for, right? The reason why they made him swear to never kill again once they're married was to make life a bit more exciting. That's what it was, right? 

They're not trying to get rid of him from the very beginning, right…?

They clapped.

Dainsleif instinctively closed his eyes as the rest of the lights fiercely illuminated the entire room. Slowly, his burned eyes fluttered open, and his heart beat again after seeing the shadow’s face. 

It was (Y/n)'s.

It was his beloved’s.

The same face who wrote the letter Thoma read earlier– the same bastard who schemed to prove the Kamisatos are "not involved" with the anti-mafia stunts they've pulled but not their supposed “spouse”.

"I know what you're thinking, and I know I can't kill you," they scoffed. "So I had to resort to some underhanded tactics. Getting you excommunicated was the best one. If I can't do the job, I'll give others a damn good reason to do it for me instead."

Dainsleif chuckled softly.

Adorable. What a kind gesture.

"You underestimate yourself. You can kill me if you just try."

They snorted.

"Best joke I've ever heard from you, Dain. Dry humor suits you."

"I wasn't joking."

"I know you weren’t," (Y/n) clicked their tongue. “I know one of the reasons you kidnapped me was to make me competent enough to maybe kill you someday. Hah. At least I can say that I tried.”

They scowled. Patronizingly, they tore their gaze away from him and instead looked at what was inside the room. Dainsleif was not the same. He couldn’t tear his gaze away to notice how he was trapped inside the Uyuu restaurant’s weapon room.

For the first time in years, Dainsleif smiled like a child.

Dogs like Thoma would never be able to understand what it’s like to have such a strong connection with someone that isn’t your master.

He could no longer care if they (Y/n) was the one that shoots him right there.

In fact, he wouldn't mind if (Y/n) died too.

Haha… Hahahaha….

They had always been dead to him for years now.

Dainsleif finally remembers everything clearly.

(Y/n) had never been "dead", he was just angry that they escaped successfully.

Angry to the point they were actually dead in his eyes.

“I don’t know why the Professor brought you here all tied up– but I’m growing impatient at just the sight of you.”

So is he.

Dainsleif chuckled. One other thing he expected was that Aether will send him here with the intent of killing him. Shame, however, that Dainsleif saw that coming from miles away.

(Y/n) stepped closer and Dainsleif frantically pulled at the ropes, feeling them loosen. Dain had to keep going. He needed to break free. 

“Farewell.”

As (Y/n) reached out to grab their gun off the table, Dainsleif surged forward, throwing his weight against the ropes and snapping them. He stumbled to his feet, the chair clattering to the ground as he grabbed at the gun faster than they could. The patrons of Uyuu restaurant are completely unaware of the drama that had taken place below their feet, chatting and dining as usual.

“Tch!”

With years of experience behind his back, Dainsleif knocked the gun out of (Y/n)’s hand, sending it skittering across the floor. (Y/n) lunged for it, but he tackled them, driving them both to the ground. 

(Y/n)’s eye twitched and they can tell Dainsleif was equally pissed. But even when he had them pinned on the floor, Dainsleif remained careful on how he should hold them down. That unspoken act of “love” makes them want to vomit, but there was no time for that.

Even so, something about his stare seemed off.

It's as if he wanted to drag them down.

It's as if he wants them to be as dead as him.

(Y/n) jolted upon seeing his eyes.

In an unexpected string of luck, (Y/n) kicked him off and wrenched the gun away from Dainsleif.

They pointed it at him.

Dainsleif did not take a step back or forward.

As (Y/n) preps the gun, like souls intertwined by fate and time, they both had one thought in mind:

“If you truly loved me, you should be dead.”

(Y/n) fired.

BANG!!!

…

…

…

They shot him.

They shot Dainsleif. 

And they know they shot him because they felt his blood pressed against their body.

But they blinked.

Lord– all (Y/n) did was blink.

"Y-You finally know how to fire a gun."

Dainsleif has nothing to be proud of in his own life, but he can still be proud of them. 

There's no way for (Y/n) to miss the wetness of his gunshot wound. Not when he's holding them into a tight hug. Despite bleeding out, his firm hand cradled the nape of their neck, humming contently. Dainsleif thought to himself that a shot from (Y/n) did not feel painful in the slightest. It almost seemed like an injection. 

No… Something isn't right, why is he so close…?

Their stomach burned.

And they can almost hear his smile. 

"Thank you, my beloved. I was tired of taking my own life…"

If he can't have them alive, well…

Dainsleif pulled out the dagger behind their back.

No one should be able to have (Y/n)'s corpse too.

Dain kissed them.

He traced his wet thumb against their cheek, painting their face red with his fingerprints.

Dainsleif grinned.

"I love you."

They choked out blood out of pure disgust. Their strength was ebbing away.

Haha… It’s almost like… They actually have stomach cancer…

Their vision began to swim and they felt their consciousness slipping. (Y/n) saw blood seeping through their clothes, staining them dark red. Tears streamed down their face as they realized what had happened. Dainsleif stabbed them. They tried to cry out loud, but their voice was weak and hoarse.

The blood on their clothes… It almost reminded them of their seventh date. The wine, his dazed look…

(Y/n) would laugh humorlessly if they could.

In their last moments, (Y/n) learned that it took strength to cry… to scream out the pain buried within their stomach. But they had no strength left and they dropped their gun. 

Their only option was to wither away.

Dainsleif kissed their neck sloppily– (Y/n) couldn't tell if it was saliva or blood. The taste and scent of blood filled his senses. Surely from both of them. Maybe this is what Dainsleif meant when he spread rumors about his spouse constantly going through hemoptysis. Bleeding from the mouth does count as a sign of a terminal illness, doesn't it?

His thoughts are curt. His breathing is short. Yet, his unhinged eyes were near immortal.

Dainsleif no longer cared about his own life– not when the person he lives for wanted him dead.

The weight of their "atonement" falls on (Y/n)'s shoulders as Dainsleif weakly knelt along with them. As their vision dies out, he tightens his hug, hungrily leaning into their dwindling body heat.

Dainsleif was right.

They do look beautiful soaked in the blood of their enemy.

"I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you."

Even in death, he will not leave them be. 

They sobbed.

No…

But they were so close…

In their final moments, (Y/n) could only look up at the ceiling and cry.

They clutched their feeble freedom and life, staring into the abyss as though it can provide them solace to answer the question:

"E-Eli… eli, lama sabachthani?"

#ansy-writes #yandere dainsleif #yandere dainsleif x reader #yandere #male yandere #yandere x reader #yandere genshin x you #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin #yandere genshin x reader #dainsleif #dainsleif x reader #x reader #tw: yandere #tw: suicidal thoughts #yandere male #tag: hitman dain

[90frogsinatrenchcoat]

you know what I'm tired of?? People from OUTSIDE America, telling American's they're stupid.

Not all of us are.

I'm also pretty damn tired of people from OUTSIDE of lower Appalachia, telling us we're stupid.

We fucking know. We know all to well. And no matter how hard we try to fix it, we are met with constant resistance from the government on every single damn level. My high school put all of it's funding into it's MALE sports programs. Womens sports didn't have shit. Our women's softball team didn't even have a damn field. While our Men's baseball team had fully climate controlled, video-capable, shower holding field houses and batting cages. The color guard has one small closet for all of their stuff + their teaching materials. The football team has the largest stadium in a 3 county radius. And it's a damn good stadium too. The performing arts? No funding. Academics? No funding. STEM and Women in STEM? Less than no funding, we lost resources yearly. We are stupid because we literally have no other choice. Many of us are cut off from the outside world, because we can't afford or literally can't cut through the terrain well enough to build power lines and internet routes. I know people who grew up without running water and electricity. I know people who were only able to go to school because their family illegally grew weed and sold it because it's the only way some people could afford to make a living, because there aren't any jobs. Because the government doesn't care. They forget we're here. They forget about Eastern Kentucky and Tennessee, they forget about West Virginia, they forget we're here. And when we ask for help, when we beg for them to shut down the paper mill that has been poisoning our crops and water for over 60 years? They only listen when it benefits them, not us. And when we work to find new jobs? We are punished, and our rightly needed government aid is taken the second we breach the poverty barrier. All but 1 of my childhood friends were so far below the poverty line that they couldn't buy clothes and had to get them from the school. If you really want to help these places, then go see what they're like. Go to Newport, or Cocke County, or any of the small run down towns in this region of the US. We need the help, we need the aid, we need our public libraries, we need our schools, we need help. And most of us are too stupid to know it.

[oh-yeah-i-exist]

In the Company of Dragons | Daemon Targaryen x OC | Chapter 1

Synopsis: Daemon Targaryen, Corlys Velaryon, and their army receive help from a foreign princess amid their final bid for the rule of the Stepstones. Three years' worth of tension has led to a victory and unexpected confessions.

Chapters: [1], [2], [3], [4]

Warning(s): SMUT (my first ever oh wow look at me), minors DNI (18+ only), slight angst

Author's note: I was never a huge GoT fan until I witnessed the glory that was Matt Smith as Daemon Targaryen on screen. Now I have to get all the thirst out of my head before I can resume normal life.

Meilin is an OC (some of her background would be explained in this piece, but imagine her as you will).

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was not her first time hitching a ride on the back of a dragon. Laenor Velaryon, bolstered by the thrill of battle, commanded Seasmoke to dive lower. “Dracarys!” Exclaimed the lordling.

She said nothing, fingers clasped tightly onto the back of the young Velaryon’s armor. The heat and smoke from Seasmoke’s fiery breath had barely cleared when she slid from its back in one fluid motion and landed amid a half dozen dazed Triarchy archers. Before any of them could react, she unsheathed her steel blade, making a long slash across one man’s torso. The sight of a foreign woman on the battlefield perhaps stunned the men more so than the dragons whose flames had been raining down on them for the last 3 years. As she proceeded to make quick work of a couple more within their shattered ranks, the rest stumbled backwards, trying to gain enough distance to shoot. But she was young and lithe, dodging each arrow with elegant sidesteps.

Once the last man had been silenced, the small woman — her skin, though smeared with soot and blood, was smooth and her hair silken, giving one the impression of maidenhood — armed her own bow and let fly a decisive arrow, which hit its target a few hundred yards away and saved Daemon Targaryen, who himself had already been struck three times by enemy fire and struggling to fight off a small pack of assailants. The Rogue Prince, despite the craze of battle, was lucid enough to look up and recognize the characteristic crimson of her robes. She could not be sure, but she thought he’d given her a nod of gratitude — nay, the man was far too proud for that, but perhaps he was capable of acknowledgement — before he turned on his heels and strode after Craghas Drahar, the Crabfeeder. She watched the outline of his broad, leather-clad shoulders disappear into the darkness of the cave, a palpable sense of worry rising in her throat.

Every combatant on the field seemed to have also noticed. Weapons all but went slack in the hands of the Stepstones’ defenders as they sensed their imminent defeat, allowing the Prince’s army to maul them down with frightening candor.

Then, as quietly as he had entered the cave in pursuit of his prey, Daemon reemerged, dragging a mangled half of the Crabfeeder. Bloodied, covered in mud and soot, the Prince took assured — some would say, arrogant — steps towards his men. Without batting an eye, he dropped the mutilated corpse unceremoniously into a shallow pond of murk.

The day was won.

———————

Her blade, the Seven Stars, was forged by two of the most esteemed sword maters in her King Father’s empire. In order to make it, they had brought stream water from the sacred Cishan Mountain to the seven ponds around the sword-making fireplace. The hilt was crafted from a solid block of pure, pale green jade, which only shone brighter each time the blade tasted blood. An ethereal and formidable weapon, perfect for an ethereal and formidable princess of the Divine Eastern Realm, Shenzhou.

Indeed, the blade had accompanied her since she had been grown enough to spar with her brother, the Crown Prince, and she kept tender care of it after each battle. While the victorious army around her made clamorous merry, she sat by the warm fire in front of her tent, polishing the Seven Stars with a wet kerchief. Once she was satisfied with the blade’s shine, she placed it back in its sheath, wrapped it up in a square of gold-embroidered silk, and stored it away in a long, intricately carved box of red ironwood.

“My Lady,” a soldier approached her, bowing his head. She looked up at him, and he was mesmerized by her amber, nearly golden eyes.

“Yes?”

“Lord Daemon requests your presence, ma’am,” the soldier informed her. His cheeks turned rosy with sudden timidity. The men all felt a measure of affection towards her, charmed by what they perceived to be a delicate, exotic beauty, but were yet wise enough not to reach above their station. The best a soldier like this young man could do was linger a little bit longer near her as she stood up and made her way to the Prince’s tent.

Reaching out to lift the tent’s entrance flap, she felt a pang of embarrassment about the sordid state of her clothes and appearance. She had lived with the army for as long as they had been here in the Steptones, fought alongside them through hellfire and indescribable filth, but her highborn upbringing prevented her from neglecting her personal hygiene. She was, after all, her Father’s representative in the Seven Kingdoms. If only she’d had the time between the army’s return and now…

“Meilin? Are you coming in or are you just going to stand in the way?” A familiar voice drew her attention.

“Why don’t you go ahead, Lord Laenor?” She felt the pressure in the pit of her stomach uncoiling as the youngest Velaryon man took his place next to her outside the tent.

“As you wish.”

The other members of Daemon’s war council were already posted inside. A barber had been sent to shear off the Prince’s blood-caked locks, and he was nearly finished with the task when Laenor and Meilin made their entrance.

“The Crimson Lady!” Ser Velaryon, Lord Corlys’s younger brother, greeted her with her moniker. “You fought well today! The men sing your praises!”

Meilin gave a small smile, while Jaenor beamed. Something akin to friendship had developed between them during the long campaign. The lady was, to the lordling, like a sister.

“Indeed, princess,” Lord Corlys concurred, placing a firm hand on her shoulder.

“You’re all too kind. You have fought valiantly yourselves,” she was polite enough to accept the compliments but not vain enough to keep the attention on herself. Her golden eyes wandered towards the man at the center of the room.

“Perhaps you shall bestow the same sentiments on the one who ended this war?” Daemon mused, leaning back in his seat. The barber had noiselessly excused himself from the room. The Prince’s hair now reached only to the nape of his neck, with a few loose strands falling over his pale forehead. His left arm, which had been pierced by an arrow, was secured in a sling.

“When my son proposed the idea to me, I must admit I was convinced only a madman would have agreed to it,” Lord Corlys intoned. “My opinion still stands.”

“But it worked, did it not?” Daemon sat up straighter, a hint of annoyance in his violet eyes. “Or would you have rather we idled along, watching our fleets reduced to sunken wrecks, waiting on my brother’s pathetic attempt at aid?”

“I said no such thing, my Prince,” the Sea Snake replied in an even tone. He was accustomed to the Targaryen’s temper. “Tomorrow, you would be crowned King of the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea. We can then march back to King’s Landing as victors. King Vicerys would be hard-pressed to not give weight to our propositions now.”

The implicit concession in Corlys’s words seemed to please Daemon. “Don’t be so sure as to my brother’s soundness of mind, with Hightower still whispering in his ears,” the Prince smirked. Remembering the half-full goblet of wine on his oaken table, he took a sip. The blood-red liquid left a sweet bitterness at the back of his throat. “But it is time we turned our sails home.”

“I shall prepare the ships.”

“Crack open the wine still in our possession,” Daemon added. “Tell the men to take what they have rightfully won.”

“Of course.”

As the generals took their leave, Meilin moved to follow suit, assuming the Prince had no further need for her. But to her surprise, he stopped her in her tracks with a quiet command. “I have not given you leave, m’lady.”

She waited for the men to walk out of view before turning around to face the silver-haired man. “Yes, your highness?”

“Such formality,” Daemon scolded her teasingly, rising from his seat to close the distance between them. “I had hoped all this time spent together and the arrow you sent in my direction today meant more than that.”

“Why would you hope for such a thing?” She kept her head high, refusing to let his height and proximity intimidate her.

“And you would not?”

He was genuinely looking for an answer. He, as well as she, had not failed to cast longing glances in the rare moments of rest between strafing the caves with dragon-fire and rancorous strategizing. She had seldom defied his judgments, showing him more patience and kindness than the whole of the Seven Kingdoms and the courts put together. Yet she had given him no indication that he was free to take her as a woman, despite letting him visit her in her private space during the nights when the toll of the war had crept up on him.

“I would have, had I not known you have a lady-wife, or how much you enjoy a nightly outing in the Street of Silk,” whispered Meilin, meeting his eyes. The fierceness of a warrior and the pride of a princess slipped away, and she found herself gingerly pressing her hands against the soft fabric of his shirt. “Or the simple fact that you are a Targaryen… I cannot hope.”

Daemon’s expression softened with a trace of remorse. He captured both of her hands in one of his and brought them to his lips, laying a gentle kiss on her knuckles. “Is that fear I see in you, my Crimson Lady?”

She had not the heart to pull away. Yes, for all the statecraft lessons and bone-breaking sword fights she’d soldiered through as her Father’s firstborn, it was her heart that she could not shield from the notorious Rogue Prince. Not breaking her gaze, she gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.

Against every burning desire in his body, Daemon brought his hand to gently caress her cheek. She leaned into his touch, and his thumb grazed ever so slightly across her chin, before he bent down to kiss her. He took it slow — agonizingly slow — trying to assuage her anxiety with each movement of his lips against hers. Eventually, her hands reached over his shoulders and became entangled in his newly cut hair. Their bodies pressed ever tighter against each other until she could feel his hardness against her.

“I want you,” he murmured into one of their kisses, which were growing more fervent. She did not respond, simply letting him guide her to his bed. Unable to wait any longer, he picked her up with one arm and laid her down on her back.

He was fumbling with the knot tying her robes closed over her bosom when she gave him a tentative sign of resistance. They broke apart, if only by a hair’s width, with their noses still touching. She could see the hunger in his eyes, and he could see the fear in hers — though they were both fully clothed, all pretensions had fallen away, and they were naked to each other in this moment.

Neither were foolish enough to believe in love. Daemon had witnessed his brother’s disastrous fall into that trap, seen how easy it was to wield such misguided feelings as a weapon; she had been taught from the moment she was born that a woman could not and should not dream of such a luxury, and she highly doubted that a man of his reputation even had it in him to love. But this event had been so sufficiently delayed that it gave both of them reason to wonder.

“I care for you,” was all he could give her. And despite himself, he meant what he said.

“And I for you,” she uttered, willing herself to not cry.

He began again, as slowly as before, leaving a trail of kisses from her lips down to her collarbones. She untied her robes and shrugged them off, trying to suppress a moan as Daemon nibbled on the milky skin of her right shoulder. Emboldened by her obvious pleasure, the prince moved on to her supple breasts. He caught one of her pink nipples between his teeth, flicking his tongue over it and sending shivers down her spine.

She arched up against him, wordlessly urging him to give her more. The sight of her losing control beneath him brought a mischievous smirk to Daemon’s face. “Not yet, darling,” he placed a kiss just above her navel.

She threw her head back against the tent’s thick canvas wall, her hands unconsciously coming down to protect her maidenhood, but to no avail. The prince proved every bit the experienced player he was known to be, breaking through her feeble defenses to slide two slender fingers into her wetness. His thumb drew little circles atop her clit, coaxing moans to escape her throat, as he fingered her to a climax. She said his name like a plea just before he pushed her over the edge and into a bliss entirely unknown to her heretofore.

“Beautiful,” said Daemon, pushing himself up to fully take in the vision before his eyes. The wait had only made it feel all the more better when he was finally inside her. Then it was her turn to help him to come undone; digging her nails into the muscle of his back, she rocked her hips against his, as he thrust into her again and again, his movements becoming sloppier.

“Fuck!” He grunted, burying his face between her neck and her shoulder. She wrapped her arms around him, their chests heaving in the intense heat of the moment. He had not pulled out in time, but Meilin had not walked willingly into a den of wolves without first learning from her mother which herb to take should the need arise. But she told herself she could worry about that later.

“Was I all that you’d hoped for, my Prince?” She asked once he’d settled into bed next to her, his head on her chest and his good arm wrapped around her stomach.

“That and more, princess,” he told her with a contented smile on his face. “And was I what you’d feared?”

“That remains to be seen,” she chuckled, stroking his hair languidly. 

“Well, then…” He hummed, half-asleep. He looked harmless and boyish in the dwindling candle light. Outside the tent, the army, down to the last man, was deep in drunken slumber, leaving the whole camp in serene silence.

"Rest now," Meilin pressed a kiss to his forehead. "You will need your strength come dawn."

————

Chapter 2 is posted here!

#daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x oc #house of the dragon #hotd #daemon smut #smut #game of thrones #matt smith #hotd ep3 spoilers

[i-write-hurt-not-comfort]

@yuukanaazu hi there! thank u for your question, i would LOVE to talk about this. i've thought about this so much and i love the who Mukami backstory. i would like to disclaim i'm not a history expert but i've researched this a fuck ton. whilst a lot of the Mukami routes have bits of the Romanian history lore scattered around, the most lore comes from Ruki's MB but especially his LE, so i'm going to be using that as my main source.

putting this under a cut here because it's very long. TW for discussions of the Romanian orphan crisis.

so right off the bat in MB, we see Ruki clearly has this trauma surrounding something which happened in an eastern european nation, as seen in this manga panel when he's sitting in class and the teacher is talking about an outbreak of orphans.

although they don't SAY Romania, it's pretty heavily implied that it's Romania as this was where the infamous orphan crisis occurred and we know the Mukami's met in an orphanage. the REAL confirmation of what actually happened in Romania comes from Ruki's LE.

credit where credit is due, rejet did alright with the Romania lore. in the 1960s, Romania was under a dictatorship by Ceaușescu. Ceaușescu's socialist policies had Romania and its capital Bucharest in declining conditions. wild-spread poverty caused children to run away from home so there were already some children on the streets. Decree 770 was enacted in 1966 which banned abortion and contraception with the hope of population growth directly leading to economic growth.

Ruki's father was supposedly a politician during the time of Decree 770 being enacted. it is implied Karlheinz convinced Ceaușescu to impose Decree 770 to cause wide-spread casualties particularly in children and use these for ghoul experiments. Karlheinz also convinced Ceaușescu to impose higher taxes and embezzle public funds.

it's unclear exactly when Ruki's father was dismissed from his political position, but we see it happen in LE and he becomes an alcoholic. over the next few years, birth rates would increase substantially, especially over 1967, 1968 and 1969 when the policy was still knew. parents who were unable to take care of their children gave them up to orphanages. by 1977, parents were taxed for being childless. potentially this is when Ruki's father dies and they all enter the orphanage.

children ran away from home due to parents being overloaded with children and poverty stricken. by the 1980s, conditions in the orphanages had significantly declined. Ceaușescu was killed in December 1989. supposedly, Kalrheinz was assassinated at the end of the revolution too, and was hung in public, but his corpse disappeared.

conditions in the orphanages were as follows:

Children did not have access to food, water, medicine or basic needs

Many were not educated and were illiterate 

Hygiene was below standard and sexual assault common 

HIV/AIDS spread throughout orphanages particularly in the 1980s 

Military run orphanages often saw violent child abuse 

Children self-harmed and abused aurolac, a type of paint inhaled as a solvent (commonly distributed around Bucharest during this period right through to common times) 

Gangs were formed inside and outside the orphanages which led to further violence

There weren't enough beds 

Some children were sold off as slaves for money or to be abused (Kou is an example of this) 

Disabled children were sent to special places and were treated the worst

the Mukami's lore is mostly implied from theories, and the bullet points i'm about to drop are only my perspective. though it is based off canon events.

here, we are going to assume the timeline matchup or make some kind of sense…

it DOES kind of make sense if you imagine the Mukami's to be born in 1966/67 due to the abortion ban

thus they would be around age 10-11 in 1977 when they all entered the orphanages

obviously the orphanages were overcrowded by this point in time, hence the conditions were so bad 

Azusa was at the orphanage first and when Ruki arrived, he followed him around

Ruki was creeped out at first but eventually came to see Azusa as a younger brother

then Ruki meets Kou when he's in the middle of trying to kill himself and calls him a loser 

Yuma joined the orphanage last, and became friends with everyone after meeting Kou in the punishment cell 

so the order is Azusa, then Ruki, then Kou, and then Yuma 

Ruki

Ruki's father was a politician… until he wasn't

when Decree 770 was enacted, he turned into an alcoholic and began abusing Ruki's mother

it's explained in Ruki's LE Maniac Epilogue and it's a bit vague but I do think the implication is that Ceaușescu imposing higher taxes (potentially the childless tax in 1977) is what caused Ruki's father's dismissal 

this means Ruki was a baby when Decree 770 was first enacted but he was pampered so he didn't know that was going on in the real world 

1977, Ruki's father was fired then committed suicide, his mother had an affair and ran off, and Ruki entered the orphanage

he was beaten up a lot for being an ex-aristocrat 

Kou

Kou was born to an aristocratic family but they were exiled when he was still young 

(i headcanon his parents being from another country, possibly Italy considering his name was Emilio) 

he was off-handed to a nanny but she abandoned him when he was young

she potentially abandoned him due to having to care for too many orphans (early 1970s)

kou spent most his childhood on the streets, at which point he was shown to beg for food and money

he exchanged this (IN CANON!!) for aurolac (which i write about here) 

eventually he was taken into the orphanage, right when some army officers shot some people in front of him 

there he was sold off to aristocrats, aka slavery, and gouged out his eye

continued using aurolac in the orphanage

Yuma

i will assume he ended up in Bucharest around mid-1970s

his farming family in the village which burnt down was poor due to socialist policies and higher taxes 

he was in a gang as the name Bear and was one day thrown into the orphanage when everyone else was shot 

his leader Lucks had been shown to be prostituting himself to get money for the gang

Yuma steals food from the orphanage and got into a lot of fights due to people insulting his gang

Azusa

Azusa was raised by Romani people

it isn't clear whether he was born into a Romani family or whether he was born accidentally and abandoned and then taken in by the Romani people 

i personally headcanons the former 

he was weak compared to everyone and Justin, Melissa and Christina beat him up a lot

one day they were killed for burglary and Azusa cried

then he passed out in front of a shop and was sent to the orphanage 

he enjoys getting beaten up at the orphanage and that's when he meets Ruki 

i am sorry that this is SO LONG. if you made it to the end, thank u and congratulations. i love this lore. if you want it saved somewhere, i have it all here (+ more information).

#ask #or well a reply #diabolik lovers

[spacefinch]

Magic School Bus/Wild Kratts crossover masterpost

Basically, @daiohficblog and I have been coming up with lots of headcanons that cross over the shows.

WARNING: This post is by no means organized.

How does everyone know each other?

First of all, Ms. Frizzle knows everyone. So of course she would know the Kratt brothers and the rest of the WK team (Aviva, Koki, and Jimmy).

The MSB kids are introduced to the Wild Kratts team during a whale-watching trip off the New England coast.

Phoebe's uncle, Dr. Cecil Byrd, is a traveling ornithologist from Australia and often bumps into the WK team.

Creature powers:

The kids all have their own creature power suits (which Aviva made them for Christmas one year).

Color schemes:

Phoebe: Red

D.A.: Violet (different from purple!!!)

Carlos: Dark blue

Tim: Cerulean

Ralphie: Green

Arnold: Yellow

Wanda: Pink

Keesha: Fuchsia/Magenta

Other hc's

Carlos and Mikey's sibling dynamic parallels Martin and Chris's dynamic. You have the older sibling who likes to goof off and the younger bro with slightly more brain cells.

First creature power the kids used:

Carlos and DA: Peregrine falcon

Ralphie, Arnold, and Phoebe: Red fox

Tim: Pine marten

Keesha: Rattlesnake

Wanda: Bullfrog

Family/pets/whatnot.

Phoebe and Ralphie are step-siblings in this universe. They also have the most pets:

Brandy (a grumpy old tortoiseshell cat). Dr. Tennelli (Ralphie's mom) adopted her before Ralphie was born. Former stray.

Joxter, a black-and-white tomcat. Brandy's son. Adventurous, but also lazy (rather like his namesake from the Moomin books). Good swimmer.

Renee and Megan: Two red foxes, rescued from a fur farm. Renee has the "normal" reddish-orange coat, and Megan is leucistic.

Jeanette: An old border collie (female). Another rescue.

Loretta: A black-and-white Newfoundland dog. 6 years old.

Charlie: a piebald ball python. (Not sure whether Charlie should be a boy or a girl.)

Fang: a male red-kneed tarantula belonging to Ralphie.

HC's continued (not in any particular order)

Carlos is very arachnophobic-- so he tries to avoid spiders at all costs. However, most other "scary" animals (sharks, crocodilians, snakes, bats, etc...) don't frighten him.

Martin and Chris have become somewhat of "elder sibling figures" for the kids.

Wanda is the water-lover of the MSB gang. She brings her snorkeling/scuba gear WHEREVER she goes.

Phoebe and Ralphie (AKA the Terese-Tennelli siblings) like to visit Ralphie's uncle Brian at the lake to go fishing. It's the same lake where the "Bass Class" fishing contest took place.

Uncle Brian (Dr. Tennelli's younger brother) is an expert fisherman.

In the fishing contest before the events of "Bass Class," Brian won first place in the local fishing contest, and Gavin came in third. Fortunately, Brian is a lot nicer about winning and losing than a certain cheater named Zach.

The WK kids of Frogwater Pond (Gavin, Ronan, Jenny, Katie, Aidan, and Nolan) are in this AU, and they know the MSB kids. (Since they know Phoebe and Ralphie, who come to their forest every summer).

Carlos has two younger siblings: Mikey (one year younger) and Maria (three years younger).

Mikey is a computer/tech prodigy, and as such, often helps Aviva with her inventions. He also makes his own inventions (for which Carlos is usually the test subject). He uses a wheelchair to get around.

Maria is the math expert of her siblings. She is also deaf and uses American Sign Language (ASL) to communicate.

Mikey might not be able to walk, but he's good at a lot of things: fishing, kayaking/canoeing, playing the piano, and more.

Phoebe and Carlos (the most avid birdwatchers of the MSB gang) have developed a "secret language" composed entirely of birdcalls. One key part of this language is that anyone using it has a birdcall that stands in for their name.

For instance, Phoebe's bird name is the eastern phoebe's song, while Carlos uses the northern cardinal's song for his name.

They also teach the birdcall language to Martin and Chris, who use the calls of the purple martin and pileated woodpecker, respectively. It does not go well.

Phoebe might seem harmless, but she isn't. She's been taking karate classes since she was little, and if you hurt any animals around her, RUN. In fact, she's rather like her avian namesake: small and unassuming, but a fighter through and through.

Wanda is even more of a fighter-- leading to the bird nerds in both crews comparing her to a kingbird.

The Ice Cream Run is a time-honored tradition of both the MSB gang and the Wild Kratts team. Some details:

The best Ice Cream Runs are at night. Everyone get in the car/bus/Tortuga and head for the ice cream store.

You do not want to interrupt the Ice Cream Run. Under ANY circumstances. (The WK villains learned this the hard way.)

Phoebe and Martin bond over the fact that they share their names with birds. (The eastern phoebe and purple martin, respectively.

Any time either of them sees one of those birds, they'll send each other a picture of said bird with the caption "this you?"

Wanda can pilot the Cheetah Racer and the Amphisub and the Buzz Bikes. She is not allowed in the Tortuga's cockpit.

Carlos can pilot most of the underwater vehicles (the Amphisub and the Manta sleds), but he always crashes the hoverbikes.

Mikey usually helps Koki with system maintenance of the Tortuga. (At least in the early days, when he's still learning how to make computer programs without any bugs.)

How each of the kids handles being captured by any of the WK villains:

Arnold: Carlos shows up and frees him. (The two of them are rock bros, and rock bros always have each others' backs.)

Carlos: Annoying them with horrible puns and messing with their tech.

DA: Smacks the villains with her books.

Keesha: Also resorts to punching.

Phoebe: Fury of the bird she's named after.

Ralphie: Smacks the villains with his baseball bat.

Tim: Escape artist.

Wanda: Crowbar to the face. (Nobody knows where she got the crowbar.)

Wanda has only been captured once. After that time, none of the villains dare to capture her again.

Pretty much all the MSB kids (Arnold included) will resort to violence or trickery if they're captured.

Carlos might be the goofball of the MSB gang, but he can switch into serious mode very quickly-- especially when one of his younger siblings or friends is in danger.

MSB kids from oldest to youngest: Carlos, D.A., Wanda, Tim, Keesha, Arnold, Ralphie, and Phoebe.

There is a 6-month age gap between Carlos (born in October) and Phoebe (born in April).

By contrast, the shortest age gap is between D.A. and Wanda, who were born one week apart in November.

Carlos's favorite creature power to use is peregrine falcon power-- to the point where he always keeps a falcon feather with him.

Tim is the climbing expert of the MSB gang. Wanda is the swimming expert.

Tim is also the only person in the "I Injured Myself Falling Out of a Tree" club (which comprises himself, Phoebe, Wanda, Carlos, and Chris) who has never broken a bone.

Every now and then, Carlos (dinosaur nerd) will contact the Tortuga to tell them he's seen a dinosaur. They know full well that he means birds.

Wanda rescues her pet bullfrog Bella from a shady pet store while Bella is still a tadpole.

As in the "Hopes Home" MSB episode, Bella escapes and goes off to live in the wild. However, Wanda can't help but worry about her.

HC that Bella escaped to Frogwater Pond, and the kids there keep an eye on her.

The "Gets Swamped" episode of MSB is also canon to this AU. After the events of that episode, the swamp Carlos helped save is made a nature preserve in his honor.

Carlos and Wanda are practically adopted twins, and they share a brain cell.

Wanda technically has two brothers, but she doesn't get along with them very well. She argues a lot with her older brother Henry (they both get on each others' nerves), and there isn't a lot she can do with her younger brother William.

Martin and Chris have substitute-taught Ms. Frizzle's class a few times. It ends up being just as chaotic (if not more so) than the days when the Friz is there.

This is all I have. Will post more headcanons if I think of more.

#magic school bus #wild kratts #headcanons #crossover #need a tag for this crossover #anyone have any ideas?

[holeinthehedgerow]

The Bats of Senegal

Every morning, I wake up and sweep the bat shit- or guano to be more technical- out of my hut. This process has become something of an art form for me, an art form that I have perfected. I know where the bats like to hang out (I mean hang out in a very literal bat like sense), such as off the nail I hang my hat, or along the string I hang my dirty laundry on, or at the base of a world map I have strung up against a wall. I visit these bat rest stops daily, and I sweep the little piles of shit that have accumulated overnight into the center of my hut. At times, when I’ve been away for a few days, I arrive home to find the little piles as little mountains, which will then require a deeper more thorough sweeping.

            The wind here, in this corner of the world, flows assiduously from east to west. I’ve never seen it flow any other way. The wind blows across the Sahara Desert, across the Sahel, out into the ocean, sometimes it carries massive walls of sand and dust with it, and I’ve been told the dust particles will ultimately pick up water droplets out on the ocean and dump them in the form of a hurricane season along the eastern coast of my home, North America. This makes me homesick each morning as I sweep, from my hut’s eastern door to the one on the west wall, following the channel of the ever-present breeze that keeps me cool at night. I use the air flow like a wizard to help drift the dust and bat shit out of my little hut. I like to think this dust I sweep along the mud floor and out my west door gets picked up by the wind and finds its way to my home thousands of miles away in the form of a cold autumn rain.

            In Jaxanke, the language I speak in this village, the word for west is Tiloolaata, “where the sun sleeps”.

            I have a peaceful relationship with the bats in my hut. Even just one bat sighted in the home of a typical American would likely leave them terrorized until it is found and exterminated. But for me here, where I am constantly surrounded by the ethereal little demons, I’ve grown used to their presence. Despite their constant proximity, I don’t think I’ve ever actually touched one. However, I often feel their presence, in the form of a slight breeze from their tiny wings brushing the hairs on my skin as they fly around my body. The bats are like water, or maybe more like air, wrapping themselves around things with such unimaginable flawless dexterity, they never seem to touch anything. They move like shadows. I’ve been told they can catch and eat a thousand mosquitoes an hour. I like to imagine what the sound of the buzzing mosquitos’ wings, that sound which irritates me every night, must sound like to the delicate ears of a bat, how it must guide the little demons right to them. The fact that the irritating ringing buzz in my ears may well be the mosquitoes undoing brings me solace. Each morning, I sweep up thousands of mosquitoes in the form of guano and ship it off with the western wind, where it follows the sun back home.

            I’ve learned to never go to the bathroom during dawn or dusk. This is when the bats commute in and out of my toilet hole in which they live.

            At night I bathe myself, with water from a bucket I carried earlier that day atop my head a hundred feet from a well, an uncapped well that I drew the water out of with a rusted squealing pulley. As I bathe myself with the water left out to be warmed by the Sahelian sun all day, dumping it over my head, the bats swirl and dance around me, plucking mosquitoes out of the air, guarding me from their bloodthirst, and fanning me dry with tiny wings.

            The northern wall of my hut is painted black, and there is a grid drawn in with chalk, rows and columns and squares with big Xs crossing them out, counting down days until future days. I have lived here for seven-hundred and thirty days, twenty-four months, two years. I avoid counting the days. I have a fear that the days I will miss the most are the ones I disrespected with a big chalk X. The days I waited to have ended. I try to stay present while I am in my village, but thoughts of the future ambush me constantly. Thoughts of cheese, hot showers, clean bed sheets, and sitting on cushions. Thoughts of protein, hygiene, good sleep, and comfort.

            I know I will miss village life. I will miss living in a place without time. Where the only time is the position of the sun. It awakens in the morning in the east and goes to sleep in the evenings in the west. The only calendar here is the faces of the moon. In Jaxanke, the word for month is Carro, which literally means “moon”.

            I fear that this chapter of my life, my Peace Corps experience, when all of it is said and done and I return home, that the things I miss the most won’t be the extravagant grand moments of my time here, but rather the simple and mundane. Such as the cracking of peanut shells with my host sisters in the shade of the peanut shelling machine, a machine we simply never use because then we’d have nothing to do. What I’m going to miss are the moments which so easily pass by me unnoticed unless I am actively there. I fear the days I miss the most will be the days on the calendar I count off until the next time I get to eat a cheeseburger. What I will miss are the moments that fleetingly get passed by time; unnoticed and at times not even remembered, but simply seen as features of a chapter in my life. Features like being fanned dry by bat wings, carrying water atop my head, or watching the sun go to sleep on the horizon.

#creative writing #writing #art #writers on tumblr #spilled ink #spilled thoughts #writers and poets #writeblr #my writing #writerscommunity #writer #writer community #writblr #short story #story #narrative #stories #reading #amwriting #travel #adventure

[vikasgarden]

𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒: 𝔥𝔬𝔯𝔯𝔬𝔯 𝔢𝔡𝔦𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫

𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐂 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑. black and white. powder puffs. red lipstick. winged eyeliner. white kitten heels. black lace lingerie. icy blue eyes. rain. abandoned cars. skeletons. acid. poison. voyeurism. switchblades. strangling. overcoats. looking over your shoulder. trans-atlantic accents. private detectives. dinner parties. haunted mansions. alcohol in glass decanters. cobwebs. perfect blonde curls. kitchen knives. shock. cellars. dust. dark alleys. empty streets. driving at night . horn-rimmed glasses. radiation. zombies. serial murder. paranoia. the city. witches. the devil. cannibalism. conspiracies. amulets. abject terror. the american south. the american northeast. england. analog cameras.

𝐆𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐂 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑. gaslights. corsets. ballrooms. candlelight. mist. starless nights. full moons. cobbled streets. horse-drawn carriages. mysterious strangers. bogs. moors. forests. mountains. castles. velvet. silver. brass. gold. jewels. domino masks. the opera. dangerous romances. tragic romances. violins. roses. lilies. empty graves. crosses. cemeteries. snow. ice. the gallows. crows. ambiguous illness. fangs. pointed nails. something howling in the night. capes. gloves. top hats. straight razors. lightning. pipe organs. underground caverns. bats. mice. rats. ravens. cats. pearls. attics. talismans. axes. wood. isolation in a room full of people. vampires. werewolves. ghosts. coffins. western europe. eastern europe. bones. churches. catacombs. mausoleums. spiders. books.

𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒. bloodbaths. massacres. wanton nudity. newspapers. leather jackets. letterman jackets. converse sneakers. obscured faces. social unrest. bonfires. lakes. babysitters. suburbia. high school. lockers. dead leaves in the fall. jack-o’-lanterns. outdated television sets. nightmares psychiatrists. hospitals. unstoppable forces. gunfire. police. landline telephones. household objects turned into improvised weapons. halloween. secrets. revelations. character masks scrunchies. queerness. wild curls. jeering children. parties. fire. swearing. revulsion. california. the american midwest. ambulances.

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐋 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑. malevolent spirits. seances. spells. missing bodies. hidden graves. white noise. static. flickering lights. rings of salt. demons. poltergeists. dark histories. old buildings. cold air. mausoleums. wells. urban exploration. a dog barking at something you can’t see. black ooze. old photographs. faces you can swear you’ve seen before but can’t for the life of you figure out where. dark bodies of water. crucifixes. priests. possession. exorcisms. dolls.

𝐂𝐑𝐘𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐃 & 𝐔𝐑𝐁𝐀𝐍 𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑. aliens. blinding light. dark woods. driving at night. claw-marks. bite-marks. men in black. memory loss. dismembered bodies. sewers. flashlights. cell phones. video cameras. cars with tinted windows. abandoned houses. unlabeled cassette tapes. bugs. big cities. urban crimes. clowns. something rustling outside your window. glowing light. unsolved mysteries. suburbia. mirrors. the american pacific northwest. the american midwest. hiking / backpacking.

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐒. daylight. fluorescent lighting. morgues. asylums. unwavering eye contact. tension. lit rooms with no one inside them. a dog digging in the newly-planted flower bed. steely gazes. paperwork. anagrams. codes. convicted killers. missing persons. law enforcement. federal agents. small towns. suspicion. paranoia. subdued terror. dimly-lit parking lots.

tagged by: @acedecoeur tagging: @vasted , @verflcht , @fireburial , @bvtchcr

#⸻ ✶ always trust computer games. ˟ muse game

[vampire-meta-knight]

tell me about the bats

please?

Sure thing! I’ll tell you about some of the bats I caught with my biology professor (they weren’t harmed or killed, don’t worry).

(Side note, you need a permit to catch bats, so don’t try this at home, kids!)

First up, let’s talk mist nets! The nets my professor uses are actually meant for birds and are nearly invisible (especially at night) since the strands are so fine. However, bats can still actually see them with their echolocation! How do we counteract this? We put the nets over a stream or in a clearing that bats fly through so regularly that they don’t constantly echolocate because they’ve memorized their path, or they’re getting a drink of water and can’t echolocate with their mouth full. Then you carefully untangle them while wearing leather gloves (I used a crochet hook to help untangle them). You obviously must be gentle with them, especially their wings. The bats I was able to touch without gloves were as soft as a rabbit. Bats are typically very clean and groom each other as a way of bonding (though can still have mites, as many of the big browns did).

The most common one we caught, as well as the largest, was the big brown bat (Eptesicus fuscus), which has the nickname Eptesicus fuss-n-cuss because of how loudly they yell at you when you catch them. These bats only weigh about as much as a car key, and the females are larger than the males. They have big teeth for crunching beetles. These ones also find their way into buildings frequently and are around humans more than some of the other species I caught. Big Brown pictured below (not my pic)

Eastern red bats (Lasiurus borealis) are such pretty bats; they look like Halloween with their orange fur and black wings. Their fur is designed for cooler weather, even having fur on their wings. They’re related to the hoary bat and look similar, though much smaller and redder. We didn’t catch any hoary bats since they fly higher than the nets go, but a cool fact about them is that their echolocation actually can be heard by some humans. It’s just on the threshold of frequencies we can pick up, so some people still can’t hear it.

Eastern Red on left, Hoary on right (not my pics)

Evening bats (Nycticeius humeralis) look like smaller big brown bats, but you can easily tell them apart by smell. They have a distinct “burnt oranges” smell.

Evening bat (not my pic)

Little brown bats (Myotis lucifugus) have long hairs on their toes, so my professor likes to compare them to hobbits. They, like others in the genus Myotis, have a distress call that draws in other Myotis species (such as Indiana bats and Northern long-eared bats), so if you catch even one Myotis, you’re bound to get several more all in the same area of the net.

Little brown (not my pic)

Other fun facts: The shape and size of a bat’s wings determine its speed. Some bats are very fast, and others (such as those that eat spiders or caterpillars) can slowly hover.

When releasing a bat, you can’t put it on the ground, as they have a hard time getting off the ground. Instead, you toss them in the air so they can fly away. Alternatively, you can place them on a tree trunk, and they’ll sit there or climb a little higher before letting go to fly. This is also why they hang upside down, so they can just drop and go. Not many bats can jump—I know vampire bats can, but still not very high. However, don’t pick up a bat you’ve just found on the ground. Although I not nearly as many bats carry rabies as people often think, rabid bats will often wind up on the ground, so it’s best to leave them be.

To tell if a bat is an adult or juvenile, we hold their wings up to the light and check a joint in the arm part of their wing. If it’s clear, that means it still has cartilage, so it’s a juvenile. Adults will have solid bone, so it won’t be transparent.

Thanks for asking about bats!

#bat facts #bat biology #bats #inbox asks #mine #biology major talks about bats she studied because she’s a HUGE NERD :P