#nowadays it’s a bit different but the mentality stuck lol

[beardedhandstoadshark]

Katfl commenthough, part 10 (? The search feature‘s infamously broken and part 9 is the last one I found)

Forgot if the music is always the same, but the music for the forth level is pretty cool

It’s gonna be an ability-focused level! Nice.

The green tint gives this snow area a spooky feel

There’s these ice blocks here you can either melt by copying that one fire enemy and then going back to grab the hammer again- or using a charged attack of the fully upgraded hammer. That’s such a neat detail and rewards players who didn’t just breeze though everything, which is pretty nifty

Usually parts of a level are always marked by a warp star. This one just panned put the camera instead. Granted, it was pretty obvious in hindsight, but still F, gotta backtrack for the souls later it seems

I just lost all HP cuz I kept falling a jump with cone-Kirby, oof XD

They made the star shards fly past the stage while you’re in a fight rush, that’s so smart but also so evil

Oooh jumping from one boat to another, that’s a new way of using them…aaaand I didn’t keep the ice ability, bet there’s smth hidden

Ring! Brb gonna check if there’s smth hidden at the very start - and it’s not? Huh- would’ve been a neat hiding place tho

Oh the building looks straight up ominous in green light

HE OURPLE

Boss music’s not his, ig it’s the usual boss music for this world? (Tbh I forgot)

He’s just standing there. Menacingly

(Died while trying to take a photo lmao. My guy’s really camera shy it seems)

Aksjdkskdf SIR THOSE THINGS HAVE SPIKES HOW ARE YOU HOLDING THEM-

First fire, now lighting that can freeze the ground- when did this penguin become the avatar

When you catch a golden fish with Elfilin they go "woaaaah :O” it’s so cute ;-;

[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?"

[thattimdrakeguy]

Weirdly enough Red Robin is the series I’d be most scared to review, because for obvious reasons I imagine more than any other character it’s the Tim fan base (I won’t say fandom, because I feel like that gives a different connotation nowadays. and it’s a bunch of chill, un-interactive but very passionate, chaps) that follow me.

And I’d just get sooo many people giving me nit-picks, and telling me stuff I already know.

Cause I can say anything against Teen Titans 2003, New 52, Rebirth, and Wonder Comics stuff cause that’s the generally agreed upon stuff that you can complain against for Tim. Cause like, to not play dumb to it, this whole Bat-Family fandom acts like there’s freaking laws to abide by if you don’t want a bunch of batty (not a pun, not even saying not a pun in sarcasm lol) fans and stans down your neck. Normally involving certain characterizations or comics that, honestly, aren’t even usually the more accurate ones, but the contradicting ones that don’t make a lick of sense, and that’s not even talking about the straight up fanon ones.

Not to say I wouldn’t get why it’s the Red Robin series that’d get people to give me crap out of all the Tim stuff, because I do. It’s a lot of peoples entry to Tim, and it’s pretty heavy implications of suicidal ideation, and more so obvious mental breakdown journey across continents means a lot to people. I can get why, and if it wasn’t those characters in it, I’d think it was great too.

Also I know for a fact people would act like I’m just bias for 90s Tim, and point out Timmy’s in a teddy bear hoodie in my header. Cause it’s the most weakest defense someone could possibly make cause they’re lacking an actual point. Like they know everything a fucking ‘bout me, when they don’t, I’m just allowed to think my own stuff, and I’m allowed my dang comfort art, so blah blah blah. I’ve proved myself enough. I don’t need some random dismissive guys random approval or not, but man can it be annoying when someone thinks they’re smart about it.

Like basically put, it would be very exhausting to go through the many different series and years of comic book content to explain why I think the way I do, when all the other person has to say is “I like this series a lot, and it means a lot to me, it’s story about depression, and plus it’s Tim being at the button of his sanity so-- And I think this person is stuck on 90s Tim” cause like I freaking get it, and acting like cause I prefer a different Tim comic means my opinion isn’t valid, is the most childish thing ya can really do. Like I love 90s Tim the most for a reason, and I started reading Tim as Red Robin first, ya ninny.

But to just be honest, it is an incredibly flawed series that has overall, in the long game, soiled the character of Tim Drake, and directly influenced the New 52 and beyond depiction of him. Not to give Lobdell an excuse, I just find it really odd that people getting praising it as the peak of Tim content when it’s even caused some really freaking toxic fandom beliefs.

When some of the most important scenes in the series are so botched that it has genuinely made people despise other characters when I don’t even think they were portrayed well for that to make sense. The messy inconsistent writing as it went between two different writers causing some absolutely terrible characterization for Tim that isn’t even always consistent within the series itself because FabNic is just awful, and how forgettable most stuff after the first story is.

That first story I can understand the love for it. But people treating the whole series as a whole like it’s a great journey of long-term story development just feels like a real bad describer for it. Because to me by the end of it’s run it caused Tim to be put in the terrible spot that he’s only now escaping from little under a decade later. As well as only really starting cause people in the company didn’t like Tim and the characters around them as much as you’d hope.

In total, I honestly feel like if it wasn’t released during a time were the common tastes were very edgy and emo-esque, as well as around the time the online fandom spaces were only really then being formed in a way that was practical for casual interaction and discussion, and being the only series titled “Red Robin” therefore people seem to think it’s Tim’s variation of “Nightwing”, when it’s honestly not, it wouldn’t be a series that highly regarded.

I’m not saying the whole thing is a pile of shit, cause it’s also frankly not. There’s some powerful stuff in there, and some moments that really do hit super hard in ways that don’t feel superficial. Cause another thing people don’t seem to understand that when I say his characterization isn’t good in it, does not equal me saying “He is not the same exact character he was 15 years before the series came out”, it legitimately just means I feel they took the character to places that felt more forced than genuine, or just had him stuff that goes against what he’d do for the sake of just being edgy as if it’s deep, even during his circumstances and it created people having a false understanding of who Tim is at his heart, that made it incredibly difficult for Tim to get a good story for basically a freaking decade.

It’s a series I want to review because I have genuine things to say about it, but when ever I do say anything about it I feel like I see several sub-posts that are almost undeniably about me (hasn’t happened for a while cause I don’t really bother talking about stuff I don’t like anymore, cause life's hard enough, and I’ve seen the worst end of a lot of people from it) trying to downplay me, because they got defensive about it, rather than actually trying to process what I meant by things instead of just assuming it cause it’s touchy for them.

Like I’ve openly shit on Damian’s most popular series’, and accepted fandom malarkey, because I legitimately think they’re overhyped as could be, not that great, and only have the popularity they do through bandwagoning and going along with things. And I did that while knowing how defensive the Damian fandom is, and how quick they are to just leak out nasty assumptions or outright suicide bait you (yes I remember someone tried to defend me by suicide baiting someone else, but fuck them too, I never defended them or asked them to. idgaf which fandom does it. i’m clearly not on anyone's team. this isn’t a fucking sports game).

I’ve even straight up shit on pretty much every single Jason story except Under the Red Hood, while defending some Robin Jason stories, and I haven’t even got crap on me for that, which is honestly strange. Surprisingly just got told “Ya know what. Fair point. I can accept that. I don’t agree, but I can accept it.”. Which given what I have been shown of the Jason fandom I expected much worse, but they’ve honestly been really chill with me. Me and the Jason fandom has been actually some of the most pleasant interactions I’ve had outside my own bubble.

The majority of Steph’s existence as a character I’ve criticized and gotten crap on it, but honestly I found the response of countless anons going “YEAH MAN I AGREE WITH YOU” and going way harder on her than I ever did to be pretty dang annoying, and even more annoying cause people kept thinking I said stuff I freaking didn’t out of it. So every now and again people will just straight up lie about me to my face. Like you try to talk to someone that’s been preparing to talk to you by fighting an imaginary version of yourself. It’s pretty difficult if I had to be honest. Talking ‘bout bias’s like I didn’t write TimSteph fan fictions before I realized they weren’t that great and didn’t work, while realizing that I honestly didn’t think Tim was into girls in-general.

But, to get back on topic, with the Tim fandom it’s less like, open faced attempts to make you feel like a garbage human being, and more just straight up rudely dismissive as quite often the ones I’ve seen do it try to portray themselves as some calm knowledgeable unbias source of Tim knowledge.

And there’s a different sensation of annoyance at that.

Like what is the point of trying to pretend to be some source of knowledge and for a few comradery, while also being a dismissive person that first has to make others seem lesser.

And there’s some that I’ve seen do it that I don’t even think are dicks honestly, and have no problem with it, cause it’s just so innocently “I just really like the series and still think it’s good”. That I’d be confused why people would think I have a vendetta against everyone else. I’ve never been like, straight up offended more than once over the specific topic of Red Robin. But it is a thing that makes me like “I’ll get so many people giving me crap over having a different opinion for this won’t I”. And get some people trying to validate just being a bit of a fucker to me for no good reason.

So like, may or may not write a Red Robin review, but I might not cause despite quite a few people in the Tim fandom being quite chill about it, there’s quite a lot of people that are low-key toxic about it, and a lot of bad fandom things came out of it as well.

[jiwa-jeannine]

COVID-19: Managing mental health

Hi, everyone. I thought I could drop by and share a few thoughts that I have been keeping to myself for the longest time. I have to be honest, I somewhat have a talent for that - but we’ll get to that later.

We are now five months into the kind-of-staying-at-home policy which our government has so kindly reminded us (p.s.: I wrote “kind-of” because nowadays people are thinking that they are stronger and greater than this virus, and ignore all the safety guidelines implemented by the government. Not to mention our government’s policy is a bit.... questionable. Because what is it? Do you want us to stay at home or we can actually go out there? What is it?! But, that’s a whole different topic. Let’s move on). I can say for all of us that it has not been easy, at the slightest. I have experienced some of the hardest things in the past five months - death of a loved one, stress, countless fights and arguments with my surroundings, and many others.

To share some of my experience, at first, I was very ashamed of myself, because growing up I have always been told that feelings and negative thoughts do not matter - what’s important is that we work hard, show up and give our best. Perfection is something that my parents plant in our heads. So, I grew up thinking and believing that no matter what, whether how sick, twisted, ill you are, you have to give your best. Even though I did not always believe in that, it somehow got stuck with me, even until now.

Personally, I have not been able to grab a hold of myself during this pandemic. I am still trying to figure out how things work, and I believe some of us are still trying to figure things out too. This is new and this is strange. Through the years, I have been able to treat my depression and anxiety as guests. They can come in but they have to know that they cannot stay long. That’s how I see them now. I used to see them as a dark spot who lurks from a far and the stronger they are, the heavier I feel.

At first, like a school kid, I was fine and even excited to be able to stay at home. Working productively and moving meetings to concalls and video conferences were amusing to me - new things always intrigue me. But then, after a few weeks, I start to get anxious about everything, will we survive, am I going to die, what if my parent got it, I cannot live without my mom and dad, what if my siblings got it, what am I going to do without them, oh my God, I had problems with my lungs, will this virus kill me if I get it, what about this and that and a lot of other stuff. To add more salt to the wound, being stuck at home has not been that easy as well. Balancing work and personal life is hard - I cannot even imagine how working parents have to go through during these times. Hats off and much respect to them.

This is going to be triggering for some people, so, please take this as a disclaimer. The past months, I started to experience chest pains, migraines, headaches, which at first I thought was COVID-19 symptoms, but then I started to hear noises that triggers my anxiety: ringtones, whatsapp notifications, chat notifications and I keep thinking that my phone was vibrating but everytime I check it, nothing’s there. On top of that, there was tons of anxiety attacks, crying, shivering, and thoughts of helplessness and even, (apologies for this) passing away. Some mornings are so long that I do not have the strength to get out of bed and some nights are so long that I cannot put myself to sleep.

So, then I realized that I am still not stronger than these “guests” that keep popping up, so I decided to make change: I went for long walks (3-4 miles, everyday), put myself on a clean diet (this includes drinking 3-4 litres a day), bought clothes and shoes and play dress up at night, arranged and rearranged my clothes and books (excessively - I have done this 4 times now), learn to take things slower and lastly, to believe in the process of my medications, whether it be the pills, examens, medications self-help books and prayers.

This was hard for me to say but I have come to the realization that this is who I am - the strong, independent woman who is human - who feels fear, have tons of shortcomings and basically, not perfect.

Now, we don’t know how long this pandemic is going to go on. But one this is for sure: our mental health has to come first. Hopefully this will all be over soon soon and we get to hug again like we used to, but for now, I am taking things slowly: starting by admitting to my feelings and thoughts and always asking “Who said that?”, because seriously, who said that? This is a new trick that I do every time I have bad thoughts and feel anxious. In the end I always realize that no one is saying that, and that it’s just my mind playing tricks in my head. Another trick that I learnt from my psychiatrist is to “turn off your brain”, I do this whenever I am off work and want to enjoy my evening, by watching comedies and listening to relaxing jazz music (I literally look up the words “relaxing jazz music” on Spotify lol) and basically just things that make you laugh.

I wish happiness and peace for all of you, and please do not ever forget to take care of yourself. Because you’re important and I love you.

[elementric]

WAKE UP CALL

So I had a sit down with myself and was wondering and daydreaming as I always do.  Either I’m with my phone talking to my best friends, as I just have a few. I can literally count down all my friends on one hand, as I always think it is very unnecessary having lots of people or friends around. However, as I’m not right now on my phone, I most probably making or listening to music. My strange affection to music and the never-ending desire to listen to it - insanity.  Yes, I don’t watch movies nor I watch series if you ask yourself right now.  Neither, or less apart of proceeding with my normal daily routine due to the fucked up lockdown. I had an insight within me, I was wondering on this particular day;

Us as humans why are we constantly so sad and why don’t we refuse the sadness in order to be happy. As the clear opposite of sadness is happiness and so vice versa. 

So I dived deeper into the thought, I came to the conclusion that most of the time, it is a matter of being stuck in the past and considering that the future will be exactly the same without even realising the present. To be honest, in the time when I thought about it, I been again catching myself in the spam of going back into my depressive and suicidal behavior. Feeling worthless and ugly, feeling I would just deserve shit as I’m shit. 

So I lied down in bed, it felt as someone sat on my chest and someone else just squeezed my stomach, I was screaming internally at myself to shut up and moved around in bed. “Worthless, so worthless you are, never someone will love you, as you can’t even love yourself” my Ego shouted at me, as my ego is getting very satisfied when I’m down and depressed because then mostly I do very reckless things when this happens or better what my ego is used to be doing, for example begging for attention, begging for approval. I couldn’t feel anymore, numb everything around me was numb like me. I could just feel how everything turns darker around me in my head in my heart. Only my Soul, just my soul shacked me and tried to shut up my ego, like a mother protecting her child. 

Very important to understand, my soul is me, my soul is the being I am and I did so much hard work to clear Karma to clear old patterns and to clear pain within me and fall in love with the host my soul has decided for this lifetime. 

It sounds so strange when I say oh I’m not a body, I’m a soul. Which is totally a fact, how would you otherwise function, the body the material body has just what 02 chromosomes more as a potato so the physical body is nothing else as an upgraded potato if you ask me. So I would never want to consider me being some sort of a body, I consider me more as a soul which has a body.  

I’m a soul, hosted in a human body. 

Anyway, so what happened to me, of course, I was in pain with myself, suffering in my own safe place which is  my bed with all the demons around me laughing at me and my ego like the King of the world the king of my world laughing the hardest and loudest, of course.  I decided to stand up from bed it was 4 a.m in the morning and walked around in the apartment. I had to throw up as I felt so horrible, in one second I thought I die or something like that. I brushed my teeth and made myself a coffee.

 I sat down, took a deep breath and realized; 

All that I feel, all that is going on within me, is not me, it is not the present me. It is not the woman who fought herself to a self-confident, aware, beautiful creation of mother earth. I realised very quickly that what is bothering me is the past, the past is bothering me, understanding in this situation as well; I have met an incredible man, he is gold, gold is next to him worthless, that great he is. To add on back in 2017 - 2018 I was in an extremely abusive relationship where I got shattered in pieces, mid of 2018 I had the courage to leave this guy I left different as I entered. I was disturbed, scared and full of anxiety; Can someone just imagine how much strength it took to pull my shit together, while my parents separating, my sister in war with me and no real friends? But there I was again refusing to give up and fought myself and fixed myself to the point where I’m right now. Pretty obviously, I would never allow anything or anyone to break me down, because just I know what took to stand on both feet strong my ground. 

Ok, let me come to the point, I realised at this point while having my morning coffee that the past is what makes me feel like how I feel right now. Used to the idea that anyway - man ain't shit, man will hurt and all man are the same. But this time, I took myself together refusing my toxic experiences to take over me and stood up for myself and said;  Try me this time motherfucking Ego, try me this time motherfucking past. Don’t get me wrong, I’m extremely thankful for my past as the past made me be me and I would not change one single bit of it. So I left to my car and drove up to the mountains, I live in the land of the desert so it is piss hot! But I wanted to be around the mountains, I wanted nature because I know there I find my peace. So I reached the hidden place my best friend and I always go to, to chill and get drunk (FUCKING LOL). I walked up the about million stairs to reach the bridge which connects two mountains and to overlook this beautiful scenery of crystal blue water and sandy warm looking rocks. I set down and started to meditate, I knew I was not alone as the spirits which live there tried to connect to me, in some weird point, they wanted to calm me too, my soul was crying and begging me to pull myself together, so no wonder why those spirits tried to help.  After an hour of meditating, I left-back and then turned to see my best friend, because that mofucker is my best fucking friend he understands me. On the way to my best friend, I felt something tickeling my face and it was a spider. I freaked out for a second, but I realised this little thing is a sign from the universe, maybe from the mountain spirits? The spider is a sign to keep moving forward. Anyway, I reached my best friends place had a chittychat and left back home. 

What I want to say overall, it is ok to feel sad and it is totally ok to be a bit depressed and even more, it is ok to feel scared that might the entire world want to harm you. 

But you know what is not ok? Feeding your ego that this is the "only" truth,  numbing your soul that this is the only way. Depressions are hard to battle and just I know how long it took me to realise what is the best way out for me, first I always refused medications and I thank my Mom big time for it. So what helped me is to allow the feelings and just forcing myself to do tasks, getting a routine (It isn’t necessary working for everyone) 

Next thing panic attacks, good Lord somewhere above or beyond what all it took me to find the perfect way out of it. (Try to counting down all you are blessings or what you are thankful for even it is "I'm thankful for my shoe or sock", it helps, it helped me also the same method can be used for anxiety attacks). 

Overall the hardest of all ego demons are the suicide thoughts, the one which makes you think if I’m dead everything would be just better, but I kinda have really bad news overall your 02 more chromosome potato body dies but your soul is immortal and bad karma will be transferred into the next life, even if you don’t believe so but apparently that's a side fact. So basically to understand the soul is who you are, brain - ego - I am  - is not who you are. (Let this sink in and take your time for it)

We all got hurt so badly, we all experienced losses some of us might get bullied in school at work and some of us might live with different forms of harassment, assault, or even abusive. 

If you are in school and you know that those stupid fucks could not accept you because the way you are, trust me YOU ARE SPECIAL THOSE FUCKERS ARE JUST a copy past of the society expected from them. But once you are home dress up like you want, makeup yourself how you want don’t hesitate. I created a Tumblr block to live my true self and I prove you that not even one single follower knows me personally. I took the decision because, sister/brother same, I feel like you, not understood by the world who is close to me.

When you are in a work environment who is toxic then think of looking for a new job, no regrets, trust in the process - STRAIGHT TALK - If you want to find a new job you will find one. When you are suffering a toxic relationship and you can’t leave then breathe deep in and allow yourself to gather all the strength it needs to leave, I know how it feels and trust me your friends and/or family is there no matter what.  When you are sick then remember that you will be healthy again, when you are suffering a mental disorder understand that it is your ego ruling you and it is ok. I guess the worst thing nowadays what is happening in our society is that there is no more acknowledgement and just comperazim without realising the beauty within us. No one tells anybody anymore - WELL DONE -  I'M PROUD OF YOU - even if just a small baby steps forward. And trust me it makes me sick! Because I just can't understand what is so hard in order to acknowledge the great process, basically every step forward is a step in the right direction. So if no one acknowledge you, start acknowledge yourself. FUCK WHAT PEOPLE SAY. 

I just want to say that the way you are made is the way you supposed to be and there is no harm in embracing it. Just keep in front of you always; even if this seems the end but it isn't, trust the process and trust the inner voice inside you. Keep in your mind - this too shall pass.

I kinda just sank into my words and hope that some of you will be really inspired by it and seek out for help, not from me but maybe from friends and family. I just want every single person to understand that there is nothing wrong with you, you are unique the way you are. Numb yourself of the ego, numb yourself away from bad people and open your ears to the kind words of your soul. 

I hope that one day the light will shine through your eyes so bright that all that sickos out there will be blinded. 

If no one said that today, if I might don’t know you, the only answer in this life is Love. Not love from humans to human it is Love for everything. Being in Love with the world with the life and with your soul and 02 more chromosome potato body. 

Elementric - Mind 

[another-runaway]

Curiosity

I really wish I had more curiosity towards the person I am. It’s not like I’m so emotionally repressed that I don’t know myself at all and this is the 1st astounding moment of my life when I finally start to open to myself. I know myself quite well. I’ve been on this whole self-development/healing/whatever-you-want-to-call-it thing for quite some time. At least since I was 17, and I’m 22. Huh! 5 years isn’t that long, now that I write it down. But I’ve been thinking about the person I want to be and worked to get in that direction for so long, it really is second nature. It’s my main mental focus, wherever my thoughts gather anytime I get a break. Or think about anything, really. I relate it immediately towards the person I am and where my life is going. And I really have changed. I was 16 and scared and completely emotionally and sexually repressed, extremely socially anxious, and so, so, so fucking lonely, and unstable, and life just felt like a constant attack that I couldn’t handle, and the only way to handle it was to hide all the time. Now I’m 22, and a lesbian, and butch, and masculine, and I live with my girlfriend, and I’m getting into carpentry, and I’m learning to be in my body, and my life feels much calmer, and happier. It’s nice. And I’ve got a lot to be proud of, because I know a lot of it happened because I decided, at some point, that I was suffering to much and that I had to take it into my own hands, and “become better”.

But that’s the thing. My whole focus, this whole time, was to “get better”. Better than the person I am right now. I couldn’t have gone that far without loving myself more along the way, and there were a lot of moments where I was very kind to myself, or realized that I needed to be kinder to myself, and those were the best moments, honestly. But I’m still kind of stuck in there. In the end, I don’t know myself that well. It’s okay! None of it is my fault. I spent most of my childhood and teenage years completely disconnected from my body and my desires and how masculine I wanted to be, to self preserve, because I knew it wasn’t safe, and I’d use different lonely very mundane ways to escape from reality. I’d compensate that complete disconnect from myself by being really good at school, which was the only thing I needed to do to get the validation any kid needs from the adults in my life. It was okay, I didn’t need to work that hard to be the first in class. I was smart enough that I was also genuinely interested in what was going on in school, and even have a bit of independent critical thinking going in there. So it was fine. It was desperately, desperately lonely, but it was fine.

The thing is, I’m still stuck there. I’m happy, I have a beautiful girlfriend that I love more than anything in the world, I have financial safety, I know who I am, I’m getting into a field that I never thought I’d get into (exciting!)... but my focus isn’t on being happy. It isn’t on doing the things in my life that bring me joy. It’s still on getting better!!! It’s endless!!!! Because if you’re always focusing on what needs to get better in your life, on how better you need to be, when does the time come in to be happy?? To experience joy?? I pretty much never prompt it! I’m always mentally focusing on not being shitty at carpentry (I just started, and capitalist men’s criteria probably isn’t the one I want to focus on to judge my worth), on not being such a shitty girlfriend (I’m really not that shitty lmao). I don’t listen to music, I don’t socialize, I don’t think. I barely leave myself any mental space. I’m pretty much always in a state of unconsciously asking for approval, and when I’m alone, welllll I scroll social media. I’m always busy, and yeah, a lot of it is the 40h work week’s fault (well, not during quarantine). I do pay attention to myself, but by leaps and bounds. I don’t have the curiosity to explore myself, the person I am right fucking now, the person who went through all of this, the young brave person who has so much to live for. That’s too bad. She’s fun, and very kind and sincere and brave, and well intentioned. AND she has good taste. I should spend more time with her, lol.

So yeah, there it is. I talk a lot about social media, but in the end, I’m extremely lucky for Tumblr. I’ve been here for a few years, and through the years I’ve been in and out, but nowadays there are only a few blogs that I follow on here, of really, really, unique and beautiful people. Mostly, almost exclusively, butches and femmes, because that’s the kind of people I need in my life. These women, are all just a little older than me, and they inspire me a lot. I’ve always been so interested on what makes people special, even amongst people where I’d blend in the background (which I’ve done for most of life, because again, self preservation), but I’ve always been really good at remembering who was who, remembering little details. Because I like people a lot, to be fair! I’m interested in them. And yeah, the women I follow here, I follow them because they share their lives on their blogs. Not saying that all people who don’t constantly post their thoughts on the Internet aren’t curious about themselves, but that’s what comes through these blogs. They are interested enough in themselves, and their journeys, and their thoughts, to post and share publically a little of it everyday. And their blogs really reflect the people they are. (Well, yeah, sure, public construction of self image on social media and all of that, but that’s how it feels anyways.) And people like me get to read it ! I don’t do that. I’m not that interested in my thoughts, apparently. (Again, not saying that anybody who doesn’t do that is like that, but that’s how it feels for me) Not on a daily basis. I don’t think about the person I am right now, which is a way of not caring about her. I’m always only thinking about how I could be better. That’s probably why I’m so interested in the blog of interesting people ; I want to get some of that kind self-interest in my life that I’m not yet too good at having for myself, at least a little, at least through the eyes of other people.

So that’s what I’m gonna try and do. Turn this blog into some actual kind of blog! Honestly, I’ll see how it goes, this isn’t some kind of New Year’s resolution. I start little projects like that all the time, some of them work and some don’t (again, the impulse to always make myself better). But I, as a person, am interesting right now, and I wanna record that somewhere. I love her very much! I wanna get to know her! In a way. So I’m gonna try and write some thoughts down here, every now and then. Obviously not so intimate that I can’t put it on the Internet, but some thoughts that are part of my journey in life. Honest thoughts, like thoughts I’d share with a close friend. I have a diary in which I write every now and then, but it’s very raw. It takes practice, to express exactly what you’re feeling with honesty.

So yeah! If you’re a person who has read the entirety of this whole thing, thank you very much. Just the fact that someone would be curious makes me happy. I am very excited about life, and living it, and I want to record what I’m feeling for at least a little while. I want to get to know myself.

[yesthatdana]

About meeee

Tagged by @razzybean ! ; v; thank!!

Rules: answer 20 questions and tag 20 people you want to know better.

1. Nickname: As a kid my friends called me Dani (Day-nee) sometimes. My name is so short I never really had nicknames but nowadays I go by either Dana, Ru, or Dani (Danny) lol. My online handle was often Cheyanne in games so I got called 'Chey' a lot.

2. Zodiac Sign: I am a Pisces and a Horse! I just realized that makes me a Kelpie. WELP..,,

3. Hogwarts House: I think the app put me in Hufflepuff? Which is fair. I always wanted to be in Ravenclaw tho.

4. Height: 5'3"! I have always wished I was shorter tho

5. Last thing I googled: Mushroom floor stardew valley. I've been playing it recently

6. Favorite Musicians: Idk names of singers or bands. I don't tend to have favorites either. I guess one off the top of my head that I've never disliked the music of is Shoji Meguro

7. Song stuck in my head: Our different paths, a Mo Dao Zu Shi song

8. Followers: 257ish (I block all the bots I see but I might've missed some)

9. Following: 555 8)) I did not realize I followed so many people

10. Do you get asks: Nah. It is once in like 100 blue moons if I do.

11. Amount of Sleep: Ahahahahahahahahahahahahhahahafhfhls okay so I usually get between 5 and 7, but I would ideally like maybe closer to 9? I am tired regardless but I am REALLY not a morning person.

12. Lucky Number: I actually have a few! 1, 2, 3, and 10. I prefer evens to odds but my bday is 3/10 so.

13. What are you wearing: Whoops I'm in my relax at home clothes, so a really huge mountain dew t-shirt and black leggings w socks ofc (I'm cold rn man)

14. Dream Job: Being paid to improve my mental health? :( Tbh I don't have a dream job... Anything that doesn't involve talking to lots of people, including by email or phone, and pays enough for me to enjoy life would be nice.

15. Instruments: I learned to play the flute and piano as a kid but haven't played since. I suck at reading sheet music orz

16. Languages: Really only English in any way that matters. I can understand a ridiculous amount of Japanese by ear from all the subbed anime I have watched, I took a quarter of Spanish in high school, and I am learning a bit of French rn.

17. Favorite song: Can't say I have one. I hyper focus on songs kind of one at a time, then they go into the pile of "songs I like" for shuffle listening later.

18. Random Fact: I can ride a unicycle, which I learned to rise before a bike. My elementary gym teacher brought in his own unicycles for kids to use during recess and classes, I was on the school's unicycle team 😎

19. Aesthetic: Oh boy. I am all over the place. I personally like being really bright and cute and layers, but I also love punk and chains and stuff. Neon is awesome with black, and I love really light and flowy. Haha. I can't afford to nor have the energy to dress all these ways but I would like to.

20. Dream Trip: Well I wish I could stay at my family's childhood summer vacation house on a cliffside of an island... But they sold the house so it really is only a dream. Tbh I don't really like to travel so it's staycations or to a bunch of theme parks. I love roller coasters~

[jeanjauthor]

Resting Writer’s Face

Just shared a post where black men have days & places where Resting Bitch Face is a thing...and it made me think of the fact that Resting Writer’s Face is also a thing, but I did not want to hijack that thread, because it is too important in tone and content, and this is like, veering away and doing a 270 loop to go off in a different direction.

With that said...

Resting Writer’s Face isn’t quite like Resting Bitch Face.

First off, what is Resting Bitch Face?  Urban Dictionary and Wikipedia both list it as essentially the expression on a face (usually a female’s) that appears to a particular viewer to be mean, contemptuous, annoyed, irritated, cold-spirited, etc...when in actuality the person (again, the vast majority being female) is actually not feeling any of those emotions, or any other emotion, really.

It’s most commonly seen in females, because of Culturally Widespread Male Expectations™ that women are supposed to smile whenever a man is near, because females are supposed to be (pressured by culture & society) constantly pleasant and be upbeat and deferential and adoring and *gagging noises*...you get the point. 

When a male does not receive this “beautification” of his world, he feels robbed of what he views as the “right way” that a woman should behave in his presence, or “the way that things are supposed to be.”  And when he sees a culturally beautiful woman NOT smiling, he doubles-down on how “wrong” this feels...because doesn’t everything we consume in entertainment, media, culture, society, fantasy, etc, etc, all demand that Women Exist To Make The World More Beautiful For All (even the vast majority, and thust very mediocre, of) Men? *more gagging noises*

Resting Writer Face is...a little different.

It’s not really resting, for a start.

It can actually get pretty lively, even.

The “resting” part is still valid in the sense of unconsciously doing what it is doing.  Because trust me, we writers aren’t always consciously thinking of what our faces are doing when we are, well, thinking.

Specifically, thinking about plots, characters, action sequences, dialogue, and the all important How Would The Character We’re Thinking About React In Such-&-Such Circumstances.

This. Happens. All. The. Time.

It happens at home oodles and lots (I’ll get to that in a moment), but mostly Resting Writer Face is a thing when it’s done in public.  Because it happens when we’re out in public, walking around between one errand and the next, between car and work, work and lunch restaurant, work and car, car and dry cleaners, pet food store, whatever, wherever.  And it happens simply because we’re thinking about, as I said, plotlines, character actions & reactions, dialogue, etc.

Talking to yourself in public used to be a shameful thing.  Nowadays...not so much.  So many people are conducting conversations on bluetooth headsets, into their phone at frikkin way too loud volumes that they’d never use to the person standing three feet away, but they use to the person on the other end of the phone three inches from their mouth, blah blah blah...but talking to yourself isn’t automagically a sign of mental health issues.

Besides, we’re usually talking to our characters, reciting bits of dialogue to test how it sounds out loud before committing it to a story, or we’re talking out our plotlines, or we’re poking at said plotlines or a particular scene to see where the holes are and whether or not we can patch them, or finding that perfect bit of clever dialogue that will goad one of the protagonists into slapping the speaker in outrage...

(My absolute favorite of that particular last one was from an old fanfic of mine, wherein one character goaded the other into slapping him by deliberately making their relationship derogatory by calling it nothing more than “a slap and tickle”...and ohhh boy, did she slap him!  He honestly did not want to be horrid to her, but needed to get her to avoid him for a while out of pure plot reasons, so it worked very well.  But I digress.)

However, even though it’s no longer publicly shamed, talking in public is still somewhat discouraged.  So, a lot of us writers will go about our business thinking through the possible thoughts and dialogues and perfect one-liner quips for that dramatic moment in the story arc.  We don’t say anything aloud, but we think it.

And that’s when Resting Writer Face comes into play.  Because if we’re really invested in trying to find the perfect response, the perfect, “If ___ happens, then I (my character) would react  in ___ way.”

And a lot of the time...our faces show those emotions, the grunts and grimaces, the scowls and grins, all in a mental rehearsal of our characters’ physical and emotional actions, reactions, and efforts...showing up unconsciously or subconsciously, or barely consciously, barely cognizantly, on our faces.

When we’re typing in front of a computer screen and another member of the household drops in on us and sees the Sometimes Very Scary Expressions our faces contort into during the mental gymnastics of feeling and thus recording the emotions we’re writing onto the .doc page (non-writers have no idea just how exhausting writing can be, for all it’s often “purely mental” in effort)...well, the first few times can actually be rather alarming for that other person.

I’ve had housemates and family members and friends all ask me if everything was okay, if I was mad at them, or upset at something they had done, and I”ve had to quickly break off what I was writing, give them a quick polite lighthearted expression, and reassure them, “No no, I’m (everything’s) fine!  I’m just writing a really intense bit in my story!  (No, really!)”

The first few times this has happened, I apparently looked pretty darn scary, and had to reassure them a few times that my Resting Bitch Face scowl or glare or whatever was actually Resting Writer Face, which is an actively emoting thing.  That the emotions on my face weren’t my emotions. 

By the fifth or sixth time I was getting interrupted...the other person usually just blinked, thought a moment, and asked  “Writing hard?” and that was that, because yes, I was...and I’d usually stop and chat, or say, “Gimme a few moments” as I tried to get the thoughts in my head onto the page...which could sometimes stretch on to several minutes and I’d have to type some keywords to help me remember, or they’d say they’d come back later, and once I got it all out of me, I’d have to go look for them to find out what they wanted.

But that’s at home at the computer...so it’s obvious that I was writing. (clicketyclacking of the keyboard keys, etc, etc...)

When writers are out in public and our minds are busy with Writing Thoughts...we get Resting Writer Face.  And by that, I mean Resting in the sense of relaxing our usual vigilance about Conforming To Cultural/Societal Expectations For Facial Expression Matching Publicly Acceptable Moods.

I’ve scared people by having Resting Writer’s Face about some fight scene, verbal or physical, while walking past those poor folks in public.  Most of the times when I notice I’m scaring folks, I just quickly assume a more pleasant expression, or even say something along the lines of,  “I’m not actually angry; I’m just thinking about something in a story I’m writing.”  Which either gets me a “Ohhh, cool!” expression of relief or the Dubious Side-Eye of “Oookaaay, Weirdo” as they move quickly on their way.

...On the bright side, when I’m in dubious surroundings (catcalling males, or dimly lit sidewalks in less than safe areas, mostly), I will adopt a cross between Resting Bitch Face and Resting Writer Face.  I will deliberately think about my protagonists being tough and badass and competently dangerous...and let those emotions and facial expressions take over.  Not just my face, but the way I walk, the way I stand, the way I carry and present myself in a particular space.  (I’ve actually even managed to get men to move out of my path by Doing This One Weird Trick.™ (lol))

I’ve also caught myself doing this to quell anxiety about things, like “What if a car crashes in front of me? How would I react to that?” or “what if someone tries to rob the bank while I’m in it?”  or “What if someone at a nearby table in this restaurant starts choking? What is the Heimlich Maneuver again?”  so on and so forth.  These things are the stuff that isn’t even going to go into a book, but we’re still thinking it through.

Actually, a lot of people do this last one, not just writers...but I’ve found it’s most prevalent as part of what it’s like being a writer.  And I’d definitely say the one group of people who are guaranteed todo it far more often than even writers do are actors.  Because that’s their job, as actors.

So.  Resting Writer Face.  What it is, why it happens, how it differs from Resting Bitch Face, etc, etc.

Just remember that most of the time, we writers aren’t even aware that we’re doing it.  We’re too caught up in the stories in our heads, both in trying to make them, and in testing how they play out, to see if any changes need to be made.  And that’s not a bad thing!

I mean, if we’re working out a troublesome plot point (”How does my male protagonist get the female to ignore him for a month, so that the bad guys don’t try to kill her because of her interest in me?  ...ooh, how about he makes her slap him, very publicly??”(or for whatever reason)), then it means we’re trying to make the story better.

And that’s a great thing for our readers...even if we make people a little wary of us at times during the story creation stages.  At least, until they get used to the Writer Things™ we do.

...Also, this is why writing isn’t just what we do when we’re physically writing out the story.  A lot of writing takes place in our heads before the words ever hit the page. 

And because nobody pays us what everyone assumes writers get paid (not even 10% of what people assume, tbh), we usually are stuck doing all this hard mental word whenever we have a moment to spare...which includes when we’re out and about in public, doing our day job, running errands, buying groceries, you name it.

[clove-teasdale]

just like old times

*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧

A/N: challenge #2! THERE ARE LIKE TWO FIC RPS THAT TAKE PLACE BEFORE THIS AND I HAVEN’T BEEN ABLE TO WRITE RIP--but hey, you can enjoy my vagueness in this fic for now. Will do my best to post the max rp and the brooks rp (that is gonna take away vagueness) as soon as i can. this is first date with @nathaniel-schreave thanks as always claire~ i finished this like in the past couple hours lol so sorry if there is any mistakes or weird stuff. over 2k.

*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧

I clicked relentlessly on my pen as my eyes read over the journal Brooks had given me two days ago. 

The general text explained the Selection process in more detail than what I’d ever spared my time to know, going over the history of the idea--the how it’d come to be and why it was good--according to the official records. The text was littered with scribbles Brooks had no way of reading, however, and after our...paths crossed on the third floor, we reached an agreement on what to do with it.

35 girls. The competition of a lifetime. 

“LOGS.” 

A shout alongside knocking. It was so abrupt I accidentally dropped the journal and my pen clattered on the desk as it slipped right after. I looked at the door as the knocking stopped and scattered to pick up the journal, hiding it under my bedsheets and rushing to the door.

My hand went over my hair to fix it quickly as I opened and found Nate in front of me. I spared my room a glance to look at the time on the clock and noticed it was already time for our date. As soon as I’d been ready for it earlier my sight had been stuck to that journal. “Huh, that hour went by fast..” I looked back at him with a curtsy, gesturing for him to come in and dramatically adding, “Your Highness, a pleasure to see you again.” “And you too, what were you doing?” He asked, walking in and assessing the room. There wasn’t much to look at. I hadn’t added much. The only difference I’d made in the room was adding a box full of books and notes in my closet.

“I was reading. You made me drop my book with that yelling of yours.” I shook my head to feign disappointment. “So improper really.” “I didn’t yell.” “I heard you over my earphones.” He rolled his eyes. “Are you ready for your date?” I fixed my skirt before nodding back at him. “What's the plan?” “Just something you should be used to doing,” he smirked, making me narrow my eyes, but smirk back nonetheless. “Hmm, really? Is it something you’re used to doing or only me?” Nate wobbled his head, debating the answer. “Mostly you, but me if I felt like it.” “And do you feel like it?”

“I meant more for when I was 10.” Wait... I blinked, hesitantly mumbling, “uh... playing with Logs?” He only grinned. I rolled my eyes before nudging him with my elbow and half glaring. “Nate, just tell me already!” “Just come on.” He held his arm out.

I stared at it for a moment then hooked my arm to his. “Why are you always so mysterious now?”

He smiled. “Because I can.”

“Here you go,” he said, opening a door to what I recognized as our old playroom. It just seemed like a sitting area now, but there were a few random toys in the middle of the room.

I raised an eyebrow at the toy cars and wooden houses as we went in. “What are we doing here?” “We're going to play with logs and hot wheels,” he smirked as I laughed. “Oh, is that so?” “Just like old times.”

I settled down on the carpet, covering my legs with the peach colored chiffon of my dress, a hand reaching for a log to examine. “How was I ever entertained by this?”

He sat down too and shrugged. “I don’t know. I always preferred cars.” At that I chuckled, reaching for a car instead and pushing it so it could roll on the floor. “Still. We spent too much time with pieces of plastic.”

“Are you disappointed in this?”

I looked at him slightly surprised by the concerned tone there seemed to be behind the question. Was I being rude? “What? No, of course not… I-... I didn't mean to make it sound like that.” I glanced at the car again. “I just meant it seems weird to think such simple things were a sea of possibilities once upon a time.” “Children have the best imagination.”

I smiled proudly. “Well, I like to think I’ve kept my amazing imagination.” “Did you?” His eyebrows rose as I picked up a car. I squinted at it in silence for a while, trying to come up with something, knowing the date would be no fun otherwise. I probably wouldn’t be able to sit around playing with a plastic box for more than two minutes even if it had wheels attached to it. There needed to be something else... A grin spread across my face as an idea formed. “How many of these do you think we can take to the roof?” Nate appeared puzzled by such a suggestion and asked why the roof. I simply pointed out he asked for me to be creative. He didn’t seem too hopeful. “You aren’t being creative you are just going to a new location, but if you want to we can.” I scoffed. “Such little faith? I haven’t explained why the roof.”

I stood near the edge of the roof, my eyes focused on the horizon where the gardens ended and a city began. The bag with a few logs on toy cars dangled over my shoulder as I took in a breath of fresh air. I’d learned to appreciate roofs in middle school, wanting to leave the house after curfew but being unable to. I realized how quiet and peaceful they could be that night and, eventually, curfew didn’t stop me from venturing to different areas of the city filled with higher abandoned buildings.

The sky always spread over a roof for eyes to admire endlessly. It was a sight photography and art could only wish to capture. Almost never to be the same. “Looks nice, right?” It was a mumble, but I half registered Nate replying some sort of agreement back before I snapped out of my thoughts. “Well then, let’s begin.”

Taking out logs from the bag, I placed them on the railing that rose to our waists. I kept it going as the edge reached a corner and marked the start of a different wall, not stopping until I’d reached past another corner, ending on the wall across from the one I’d started in.

Nate mostly entertained himself with rolling a car back and forth on the railing as he waited. “What are you trying to do?”

I placed the last log and pointed at it. “These will be our stop posts.” After taking a car for myself out of the bag I stated, “We’re having extreme racing obviously.” “Oh, obviously.” “If your car falls you have to start over from the last log you passed. First one to get to the last log wins.” He let his sight wander over the edge, a playful look in his eyes. “Let's hope it doesn’t hit a guard.”

“I think they’ll be safe.” I gestured for him to take a spot on the makeshift road. “Royals first.” He didn’t even wait for a signal to start and zoomed his car down the track, making fake car sounds. Okay, fine. That’s a bit adorable. I watched him for a second before laughing, then grabbed my car and rushed over to him, trying to push his car off the ledge as soon as I caught up. Nate screamed in protest at my attempts. “No, no, no!”

I chuckled again, going after him as he picked up his pace. “I won’t let you win!” “Oh?” He spared me a glance over his shoulder, eyes defying me as he started running, making more sounds.

Reaching him again, I picked up my pace to stay on his heels, waiting for the right moment. On my first opening, I let go of the car to go quickly under his arm, snatching my car right back a second later and outrunning him. He muttered, “Uh no,” and sped up. But instead of doing an elaborate stunt like mine, he picked up his car and ran around me, placing the car ahead of mine. 

“Hey, that’s not fair! We don’t have flying cars!” He yelled back, “Use your freaking imagination.” I narrowed my eyes at his back but took his advice, running off to the other side of the roof where the finishing log was, making my car move as if it were a plane. I probably looked ridiculous, but none of what we were doing was sane-teenager behavior.

“And the prize goes to me with my turbo space car!” I announced, smirking in his direction. “How about that?”

He stopped, placing a hand on his hip, annoyed. “Okay, that’s just cheating. You are no fun.” “You said imagination. You can’t break the rules if you don’t expect them to be completely shoved aside.” “That made no sense.” “You make no sense.” “You full on just cheated. I can’t go under your arm. I’m too big. You full-on ran to the other side of the roof - cheater…” I scoffed to hold back a laugh. This argument was pointless. “Now that’s just rude. You think that was an easy move? You broke the rules first.” “I did not. You did.”

What a mature comeback, Nate. “No, you were the one who brought in imagination. I told you I still got a lot of it.” “That’s not imagination though, that’s cheating. You are a cheater.” I fake pouted, strolling the car on the edge. “Well, that wasn’t the intention.” When he leaned against a wall without a word I stopped my car. “What?” He gave no reply for a moment, standing in silence and looking away. I was starting to find it weird when he smirked back at me. “How’s Brooks?” I squinted at him with a huff. “What kind of question is that?” “You know exactly what I’m asking.” Everyone assumes I’m a mind reader nowadays. I’m not that good. I raised an eyebrow, leaning on the railing. “He’s your brother, not mine. I don’t see how I should know how he’s doing.” I watched him warily, still not getting what he meant. “He’s still annoying if that’s your question.” “You see him more than me.” That got me laughing, but I paused when he didn’t join me. “Wait, you’re serious?” He nodded.

I ran a mental count of encounters with both. I’d had the interview with Nate, then the hallway meetup and lastly the date. As for Brooks, I’d stumbled upon him on my second day--in the library--then on the third floor earlier in the week, and the morning after, when he decided to act like he was a child… that same night I’d also given him some notes I’d gathered from the journal when he went to my room as we agreed. Nothing too eventful.

“I’ve bumped into him a few times…” I shrugged. “You’re more of a busy guy yourself.” I paused, realizing I still had no idea why he was making the question. Grinning, I teased, “Does it bother you?” “Not really, I get that I’m busy all the time. I wish I could see more of the girls.” “How's that going for you?” “I think good,” his curiosity crawled up, “do they talk about me?” I laughed a bit and focused on the gardens. “I guess so…” I wasn’t really sure and that was partially my fault. I bit my lip. “I haven't really talked to that many girls...you've been brought up casually though. And they probably talk in the women's room too I'm just usually wearing headphones.” “You don’t talk to them?”

I hadn’t thought it was that weird, but he clearly did. I made my elbow rest on the railway then, fidgeting with the car in my hand. “Not exactly... I just haven't talked to many of them. I'm probably not as easy going as I once was.” “That’s okay, have you become friends with any of them?” “‘Friend’ seems like a heavy word after such little time…” I’d seen friendships that had lasted years crumble easily. I’d only been with the other girls a couple of weeks at most. “But I think we’re getting there. I’ve mostly talked with Eloise since we’re across from each other at breakfast and in the same hall and it’s been…pretty good so far.”

“That’s good that you are talking to others.” “Some say it’s good to have friends in this kind of thing so...yeah. And I mean, I can talk to others—and if they approached me I’d be polite, I just-... don’t always approach people first now.” We talked a little about how his other dates had gone. Apparently, some had been more awkward than others. A couple a lot better than others. But all around, pretty decent. I dared to ask how he thought ours was going and he took a second to consider it.

“I’m thinking okay. What do you think?” One of his eyebrows rose with intrigue.

“Old habits die hard,” I chuckled slightly, raising my car in the air as if it were a good cup of wine. I considered my answer as well as I watched the wheels on the car spin and replied, “It’s been pretty good in my opinion.” He agreed with a smile until I asked, “Even if you think I’m a cheater?” At that, he rolled his eyes.

“You still are.” “Next time pick your words more wisely,” I snickered. “This is a competitive game.” “Whatever.” “Want a rematch then?”

He pointed at me in warning. “No cheating.” “You're a sore loser.” I rushed over to the starting point and bent my knees slightly, placing the car in our makeshift track and focusing on it. In a teasing voice, I added, “The prince can't take the heat anymore.” He placed his car down too and ran off.

“Hey!” I yelled. “Who’s the cheater now?” “You were ready.” I clicked my tongue. “In a race, you’re supposed to start at the same time.” He walked back like a resigned child and placed the car back in place, sparing me a glance. Just like old times. I bent my knees, getting ready.

Eagerness flashed in his eyes. “Go!”