#and also giving up on the Puzzle pattern halfway through

[hplonesomeart]

Puzzlevison screenshot redraw!! On paper!! With water color!! Wahoo!!

I don’t have much credible experience with coloring traditional art—usually just doodling or sketching in my spare time for fun. But I’ve wanted to try expanding the different mediums I use and letting myself learn from them. It’s a nice change of pace and allows me to take a step back from responsibilities. And I’ve needed an excuse to keep working in this sketchbook so here we are!! I think in the end of this I might’ve treated the watercolors too similar to acrylic paints lol. Ah oh well all part of the ✨learning experience ✨

Also here have some goofy work behind-the-scenes progress photos

[emeryleewho]

I've noticed that people take writing advice way too literally and then get really mad about it, so here's a quick guide of what the typical "bad' writing advice is actually trying to tell you.

[Note: you don't have to take literally any piece of advice. It's just there for your consideration. If you hate it, leave it and do things the way you want. But the reason all of this advice is regurgitated so often is because it has helped a lot of people, so it's okay if it's not for you, but it may still be life changing for someone else.]

Write Every Day

"Write every day" is NOT supposed to be a prescriptivist, unbreakable rule that dictates anyone who doesn't write literally every day isn't a real writer. It's supposed to be a shorthand way of saying "establish a writing routine. Get used to writing at certain times or in certain places or in certain patterns, both so that you can trick yourself into writing even when you don't feel like it by recreating certain conditions, but also because if you only write "when you're in the mood", you may never get around to finishing a project and you likely won't be able to meet publishing deadlines if you decide to pursue publication."

The point of this advice is basically just to get used to seeing writing as part of your daily routine, something that you do regularly. But if you decide you can't write on Tuesdays or weekdays or any day when you have certain other activities, that's literally fine. Just try to make it a habit if you can.

2. Show Don't Tell

"Show don't tell" DOES NOT AND HAS NEVER meant "never state anything plainly and explicitly in the text". Again, "show don't tell" is a shorthand, and its intended message is "things tend to feel a lot more satisfying when your reader is able to come to that conclusion on their own rather than having the information given to them and being told they just have to accept it." It's about giving your reader the pieces to put the puzzle of your book together on their own rather than handing them a finished puzzle and saying "there. take it."

So if you have a character who's very short-tempered, it's typically more satisfying that you "show" them losing their cool a few times so that the reader can draw the conclusion on their own that this character is short-tempered rather than just saying "He was short-tempered". Oftentimes, readers don't want to take what you tell them at face value, so if you just state these sorts of details, readers will push back against that information. People are significantly more likely to believe literally any information they are able to draw conclusions on without being told what to believe, so that's where this advice comes in.

3. In Medias Res

This one is so often misunderstood. "In medias res" or "start in the middle", DOES NOT MEAN to literally start halfway through your plot. It also DOES NOT MEAN that you should start in the middle of an action packed scene. It just means that when you start your story, it should feel like the world and the characters already existed before we started following them. It shouldn't feel like everything was on pause and the world and characters only started acting the moment the story begins.

This is why starting with a character waking up or something similar can feel jarring and slow. We want to feel instantly compelled by your character, and the most efficient way to do that is [typically] to have them already doing something, but that something can be anything from taking a shower to commuting to school to chopping off a dragon head. We just want to feel like the story is already moving by the time we enter.

4. Shitty First Drafts

The idea that you should let your first draft suck and not revise it as you go is a tip presented to combat the struggle a lot of people have with not being able to finish a draft. If you find you've been working on the same first draft for five years and barely gotten anywhere, you might want to try this advice. The point is to just focus on getting to the ending because finishing a draft can give you renewed energy to work on the book and also makes it easier to get feedback from readers and friends.

That said, if your story is flowing fine even as you go back and make edits, then don't worry about this. This is advice specifically designed to target a problem. Likewise, this doesn't mean that you can't clean up typoes when you see them or even make minor edits if you want to. It just means not to let yourself get completely bogged down by making changes that you never move forward.

A "shitty first draft" also doesn't mean that your story has to be completely illegible. It just means that you shouldn't let perfectionism stop you yet. I see a lot of people say "well, I can't keep going until this first part makes sense", and that's totally reasonable! Again, the point of this advice is just to get you out of that rut that keeps you from making progress, but if you spend a couple weeks editing and then move on or you find the book is still making forward strides while you edit, then you're fine. You don't need this.

5. Adverbs

The idea that you "shouldn't use adverbs" DOES NOT MEAN that any time you use an adverb, you're ruining your story. It just means that you shouldn't *rely* on adverbs to carry your story, namely in places where stronger verbs or nouns would do a lot more heavy lifting.

For instance, you can write "she spoke quietly", but generally speaking, that "quietly" there is a lot weaker than just subbing out this clause for "she whispered". You probably have the word "spoke" all over your draft, so subbing out one instance of it here for a stronger verb in place of the same verb + an adverb makes for stronger prose. This doesn't mean that you'll never want to use the phrase "spoke quietly" over the word "whispered". For instance, if I write, "When she finally spoke, she spoke quietly, like that was all the volume her weakened lungs could muster." In this case, I'm using "spoke quietly" specifically *because* it echoes the previous spoke earlier in the sentence, and it evokes a certain level of emotion to have that repetition there. I also used it because she's not actually "whispering", but trying to speak at full volume only to come off sounding quiet.

So when people tell you to cut adverbs, they're saying this because people often use adverbs as a crutch to avoid having to seek out stronger verbs. If you're using your adverbs intentionally, having considered stronger verbs but ultimately deciding that this adverb is what does the job properly, then there's nothing wrong with using them. This is just a trick to help you spot one common weakness in prose that a lot of authors don't even realize they have.

6. Write What You Know

This is potentially the single worst-underestood piece of writing advice. "Write what you know" DOES NOT MEAN to write only what you know or that you have to put all of your life's knowledge on the page. It just means that drawing from your own experiences and already there knowledge will help you craft a better story.

So, for instance, being an eye doctor doesn't mean you have to write a story about an eye doctor. It doesn't even mean you need to write a story that directly deals with any eye knowledge. It just means that there are likely things you've experience as an eye doctor that can help inspire or inform your story. Maybe you remember a patient who always wore the same yellow shoes, and so you include a character who does exactly that. Maybe you spent a lot of hours dealing with insurance so you decide to write about insurance agents. Maybe your practice was located next to a grocery store so you decide to write a zombie apocalypse story that takes place in a location inspired by that shopping center.

The point is that, as people, our lived experiences allow us to relate to other people and craft more believable worlds. So don't limit yourself to your lived or experience or feel obligated to only write the things you've done, but when you find yourself wondering what to write about next or how to give a character more depth or how to describe this random location, pull things from your life and let what you already know bring a certain level of unique you-ness to your writing.

And the MOST important advice I can give you is to stop looking at writing advice as some holy, unbreakable rules passed down by the gods that you cannot ever deviate from. And if a piece of advice sounds totally bonkers, do some research on it. There's a good chance that whoever's passing it to you has no idea what they're talking about. But even if every other writer swears by a certain piece of advice, you absolutely do not need to take it. Try it on if you want, and throw it away if you don't, but stop making yourselves miserable by letting random internet people dictate your life. Most people giving advice on the internet aren't where you want to be anyway, so don't expect them to be able to guide you somewhere they've never been.

Everything's made up, and nothing matters. Write what you want.

[puzzlewholesale]

How to Do a Jigsaw Puzzle Like an Expert – Fast Tips & Tricks for Puzzle Strategy

Introduction

Jigsaw puzzles are a great way to unwind after a long day and bond with your family. Taking the time to put a puzzle together is a relaxing exercise that works parts of the brain that are often left unchallenged throughout the work day. Puzzles come in many different shapes, sizes, and levels of difficulty, making them a perfect hobby for any age group.

Many prefer to start with smaller puzzles and work their way up to puzzles that feature 1,000 pieces or more. If you are thinking of taking on larger puzzles, consider looking into puzzle accessories and supplies to help you along the way. These mammoth-sized masterpieces are daunting to take on, no matter how skilled of a puzzler you are. Luckily, we have a few easy jigsaw puzzle tips to follow that will work on any type of puzzle, no matter how big or small it may be.

Where To Start With Your Puzzle

Your instinct might be to dig into a puzzle and problem-solve as you go along, but this might make things harder for yourself. If you are new to the hobby, the following guidelines provide a good starting point. Many puzzles feel overwhelming when you cut open the box and pour out all the pieces onto the table, but if you stick to these guidelines, you should be able to complete any puzzle in a timely and efficient manner.

Choose Your Puzzle

The first thing you should do is decide on a puzzle. With so many different puzzles available, it can be challenging to find one everyone can agree on if you’re working together in a group. If you are having trouble finding the right puzzle to solve, think of your favorite piece of artwork or something that makes you laugh; chances are, there is a puzzle available with precisely what you imagined. A few of the most common genres of puzzles are landscapes, paintings, and animals.

If you are looking for puzzles that are great for new puzzlers in training, try taking on 100 piece jigsaw puzzles first and then work your way up to something a little bigger, like 300 piece jigsaw puzzles. These puzzles should give you good practice before you take on something that has 1,000 pieces or more.

Choose Your Work Area

Once you have chosen your dream puzzle, the next step is finding the appropriate place to begin working on it. Finding the perfect location to work is crucial because the last thing anyone wants to do is get halfway through completing the puzzle and later realize they have to move it.

When choosing the perfect puzzle-assembly area, there are a few things to consider. First, you want to ensure that the surface you are working on is large enough to house the puzzle; while the pieces might fit on a smaller table in a pile, they might start to hang off as it comes together. Puzzle tables are great because they are tailor-made for puzzles and have borders that can keep pieces from falling off the table and getting lost.

Lighting is also important to consider when working on a puzzle well into the wee hours. Working on a puzzle with smaller pieces in a dim-lit space can make it harder to see the finer details in the picture and hurt your vision. If possible, pick a room with a lot of natural lighting during the day to be your designated puzzle domain.

Using a communal space like the kitchen table can be tempting, but pieces can go missing if someone else has to use the area to eat. Additionally, puzzle pieces could get messy and wet if they are around food. Not ideal for framing at all!

Complete The Setup

After picking out your puzzle and claiming a puzzle-building territory as your own, you’re ready to get started! It’s time to cut the box open and dump those pieces out onto your desired surface. Once all of the pieces are laid out, be sure to flip them over so the images are facing upwards.

Sort the pieces by color and pattern because these are the most easily-distinguishable characteristics and offer a way to break down the puzzle into a series of more manageable sub-tasks. Sorting is a helpful strategy for solving large puzzles with small pieces that do not have much of the image on them. Sorting them by color takes a lot of guesswork out of puzzling, as you will have all the similar colored pieces you need at your disposal.

Lastly, you should separate corner and edge pieces. Border pieces are the first pieces to be put together, so it’s important to set as many of them as possible to the side for this step.

How To Put Together A Jigsaw Puzzle

Now that all of the conditions are right, it’s time to talk about puzzle strategy. At this point, you should be in a well-lit area with plenty of space and have your pieces sorted into similar groups of color and pattern with bordering pieces in a separate pile. Finally, you can begin the process of putting it all together with these simple jigsaw puzzle tips:

Build The Border

The quickest way to finish a puzzle is to know how the border structures around the rest of the jigsaw. Begin puzzling here and then slowly work inward as you find and put together each corresponding border piece. Piecing the border together first allows you to better define your workspace and visualize the scale of each section.

Focus On Details

Next, work on the unique details of the image you are putting together inside the puzzle. High-contrast parts of the picture should be easier to piece together because of their striking features and attributes. Depending on the genre of puzzle you are solving, these pieces typically include faces, groups of people, windows, doors, chimneys, text, skylines, and outlines of buildings. If you cannot put these pieces together right away, leave them in an organized pile as you come across them and come to them later.

Work Inwards

Once you complete the border of the puzzle and begin working inward, you start to run out of clues to work with as you reach the halfway point. At this point, the puzzle becomes more challenging to finish as some features on the pieces become less distinguishable. Power through this hurdle and continue putting as many pieces together around the edges and into the image details.

Complete The Jigsaw Puzzle

As you near the end of your puzzle journey, there should only be a few more incomplete areas to flesh out. Only a handful of pieces remain, and you can clearly see the finish line while filling in the remaining gaps. You find the last puzzle piece, and voila! Just like that, you’ve completed your very first puzzle!

Congratulations on seeing this epic problem-solving journey to the end!

What’s Next?

Well done! We know that a lot of time, energy, and effort goes into solving a puzzle, but if you stick to these tried and tested puzzle strategies, you should be able to make relatively quick work out of any jigsaw you take on.

If you’re proud of the final product and want to preserve it for future puzzlers to see, you can use puzzle glue and frame the puzzle. If you want to compete for the best time of putting together a puzzle with someone, scramble the pieces and offer them a chance to put the puzzle together quicker! Puzzlers who want to keep testing their skills should try a challenging puzzle or even a shaped puzzle.

Remember, as with any hobby, practice makes perfect. These jigsaw puzzle tips and strategies will become second nature as you continue to challenge yourself with more puzzles. Feel free to save these steps for later and refresh your memory during your next puzzle adventure!

Are you on the quest for your next puzzling adventure? Shop for jigsaw puzzles at puzzle wholesale today, browsing by theme or the number of pieces to find exactly what you’re looking for. Thanks for reading!

[joytraveler]

41: Volcano!

There's a bit of deja vu at the very beginning: once again, the name on the title screen is different from the one on the menu. This game's 'real' title is apparently "Escape From Mount St. Kaboomius"!

It also appears to star the same character from Sewer Adventure / Water Way, the plumber with the Amish beard, but this time he's a miner.

"This is going to be a British animated TV special isn't it- Oh hey, it's Sewage Sam and he escaped the monster! Thanks to us, we pretty much saved the day back there."

Glockroach: Hey Bea if something jumps out at you this time watch with hte pottymouth, we've got sensitive ears here ButterflyDefect: Go fart your mother glock berd_snurglar: eat a.........dick sorry i tried

The controls are basically the same, very sharp and responsive just like Water Way, so this may indeed be the same character. Your equipment is different this time, though: now you can launch a small drill that burrows through rock in front of you, only stopping when it hits lava-- and there's a lot of lava. In fact, it's everywhere, and Sam(?) has to climb out of this room quick!

"You know what's a good incentive for anything? LAVA!" she has to bore out some footholds to keep climbing, but miss the shot and you could just release more lava! "Of course he'd already be dead normally but Sam hydrates real well, he knows his stuff.”

aroseahorseboy: I bet if you cut through those stackalacktotituses they'd make platforms in the lava damn, you beat me to it spent too long thinking of a funny way to spell stalactite

"No that was good seahawse, I'm going to start saying that now and pissing off a lot of cave fans"

SugaGlyda: and cavemen *cavepeople, rather DueyDecimal: Just use the correct word: speleothems!

The game progresses similarly to Sewer Adventure, but the rooms are much larger; less of a single screen puzzle game, more of a side scroller. Each room introduces new

toys to play with – icicles that freeze lava into rock when dropped, bombs left behind by miners that explode if touched by lava.

"Wait, can I.. Can.. Nope, nope. NOPE. Can't ride the drill after you shoot it, which, I understand but it still would have been cool"

ButterflyDefect: How the heck that even work? aroseahorseboy: maybe if you can pick up drill shoes that spin in the opposite direction... no, that's silly

"You just stand on the bit and run really really fast in the opposite direction. I don't know that drill surfing will ever be cool but at least we tried!" But she can surf on a loose hunk of rock she breaks free, riding it up to the next level!

HNV: Noice! Llord_Kuruku: Another puzzle platformer but this one goes up instead of down

"It's good to know that if I'm ever caught in a lava flow I can just do this!"

The next room up starts with a vertical tunnel that the lava fills almost immediately, allowing Sam to jump out the top onto a safe spot as it fills the room more slowly. There's a weird pattern in the big lava-filled tunnel he just escaped, though-- does it have eyes? Is it watching him as he hops around?

ButterflyDefect: IT HIM wait is it? the thing from the last one? Syrupentine: if he was lit on fire and became a horrible staring fire column...

"I don't know, let's stay far far FAR FAR away and not talk about it! Awww god that's horrifying"

Baconnaise: Give him a hug you monster, he needs it

This room doesn't give Bea much more trouble than the previous room, although there's a more complicated series of rock-floes to hop across and an icicle to drop to create more rock... but the higher the lava level rises, the sharper those eyes in the lava become. When the lava rises halfway, a mouth appears, grinning wickedly!

aroseahorseboy: WHY DOES THIS GAME INTIMIDATE ME

"Yyyyep this is fucking me right up. So I guess this is just Hell we're in then, great! About time."

ButterflyDefect: Bea can you like, hurry because I don't want to see what happens next Glockroach: Don't worry we'll fry to a crisp before heckface firefuck gets us

Three quarters of the way up, and now the face is laughing and sticking out its tongue(???) like a snake! But now Bea is free to escape to the next room up, and the lava face tenses up and gives an apoplectic SCREAM of rage-- or at least that's what the face is doing, the sound effect is not so scary.

HNV: ...was that a slowed-down dog barking? What was that?

"I don't know" Bea laughs nervously. "Just, make it go, it's ok now. You've done your job, we've got the idea." No doubt it awaits her on the next screen as well.

"I guess this must have been around Sam was like 'fuck this job, I'm moving to the sewer' "

"I mean, not moving to the sewer, getting a sewer job. Although maybe he likes to live close to work, who knows." aroseahorseboy: maybe he dug his way into this volcano at the bottom of the sewer? and he's making his way up to the top now??

Syrupentine: and he's going to end up in another wacky topsy turvy land where he has to dig back down to get home... poor Sam

"Well now I am hoping there's one more of these, I'd want to see where they'd go with it from here! I can imagine this in an arcade. When we had those, sigh.."

SugahGlyda: I've always been exceedingly bad at coin games :/ Glockroach: You're supposed to be. they eat your money they flash their pretty pictures and scream, COINSSSSS. like mario HNV: That's my favorite Mario catch phrase, when he just hisses "COINSSSSS" Klickitat_Street: I think someone was inspired by Spelunker to make both of these... specifically, inspired to make the opposite of a bad game like Spelunker

"I don't know that one. I've played Spelunky, that was good? I've plaaayed... there are no other games with "spelunk" in the name, huh"

aroseahorseboy: is that a verb or an onomatopoeia

"Spe-lunk...spe-lunk.. spelunk.. he's just saying that as he runs around, it's not even the real sound spelunking makes"

[carry-the-sky]

Hi could you do 14. touch on a bruise for brio please?

ahhh thanks for sending this one in!! have some post-s3 angst, hahaha. :)

(also on ao3)

.

The next time she sees him, he’s bleeding.

Okay, maybe not actively, but the jagged line of stitches etched above his ear looks like it’s seconds away from ripping open. Beth takes in the nasty bruise blooming along his jawline, the cut splitting his bottom lip.

“Um,” she says.

Rio smirks. “What’s up?”

“I—” she sputters, because he’s just standing there with that stupid, smug expression, like it’s the most normal thing in the world to drop by the showroom after hours looking like—that. “You—what happened?”

“Not your division, darlin’.”

He says it lightly enough, but Beth reads the undercurrent of warning in his voice like a neon sign. He wants her to drop it.

Well. She’s not feeling very incentivized to give him what he wants at the moment.

“It is when you bring that”—she pointedly eyes the stitches—“into my showroom. Those look awful, by the way. Did he do them?” She juts her chin toward Mick, who’s lurking in the doorway.

The two men share a look, and Mick folds his arms across his chest. “Maybe I did,” he grumbles. “YouTube’s got tutorials for everythin’.”

Beth glances between them both. She’s about to open her mouth—to say what, she has absolutely no idea—when Mick snorts, shaking his head at the same time that Rio’s mouth twists into a grin.

“Nah,” Rio says, still smiling as he casts a glance back at Mick. “Nah, he didn’t. Your concern’s duly noted, though.”

Mick makes another sound in his throat that he quickly covers by turning it into a cough. Beth’s face flames, but she draws herself up and meets Rio’s gaze head-on. Let him try to get a rise out of her—she knows better than to take that bait.

“Fine. What can I do for you, boss?” she says, spitting out that last word like it’s acid.

Rio’s eyes fall to the floor, but Beth can still see the ghost of a grin lingering at the corners of his mouth, like he knows he got under her skin. Like he’s won. For one furious second, she imagines how hard she’d have to hit him to split his lip, leave a bruise. She imagines hurting him and liking it.

But she doesn’t really have to, does she? Beth still remembers the weight of his gun in her hand, how the recoil from pumping the trigger once, twice, three times made her hand ache for days afterwards. She remembers him choking on his own blood, the sound of it filling up the loft—

No. No, she hadn’t liked any part of that. It’s a catch twenty-two; she hates him, she wants him dead, gone and out of her life, his name crossed out in permanent ink, but then—sometimes she doesn’t. It’s the not-knowing that keeps her circling the drain, pushing that damn boulder up the hill only to watch it come crashing down again and again.

She thinks she might hate that even more than she hates him.

Beth blinks, coming back to the office. Mick’s staring her down like a hawk, but Rio’s gaze is more appraising, head tilted to the side in a gesture that’s so familiar, so him, it makes her stomach flip.

“Just here for my cut,” he says, as nonchalant as if they’re discussing the weather. She hears the unspoken words as clearly as the night he said them—you, me, we. It’s just business.

Beth holds his gaze a second longer, then tugs a black duffel out from under her desk. She hands it off, dropping the straps like they burned her to avoid brushing her hand against his when he takes it from her. If he notices, he doesn’t show it.

“What, no mama bag this time?” he says, then presses his lips together like he’s trying not to grin.

Beth glares at Mick, who just shrugs. She snaps her eyes back to Rio, barely managing to unclench her teeth before asking, “Anything else?”

“Yeah, Mick’s gonna check the books.”

Of course he is. Beth isn’t exactly shocked, but it still feels like a slap on the wrist, another reminder that there’s a hierarchy and she’s the furthest thing from sitting on top. Even this, the operation she pieced together herself, the system she built on equal parts desperation and determination—even this isn’t hers.

You wanna be the king, you gotta kill the king.

Yeah, she tried that. Technically she’s still trying, but she shoves that thought down deep and ignores the twinge in her chest.

Rio’s already turning to go, slinging the duffel over his shoulder. “Next week, yeah?”

Maybe it’s the way he says it, like he’s glad he can pawn her off on someone else because he has better things to do with his time, or maybe the stress and exhaustion from these past few months are finally cracking her foundation—the reason doesn’t really matter. Beth can’t—won’t—let him have the last word.

“You should really get those stitches looked at,” she says.

He pauses, then looks back at her. In the low light, his eyes almost look black.

“I’ve had worse,” he says, and the words hang between them for a moment, heavy as a loaded gun.

Beth swallows. “Still. They could get infected.”

Something slides across Rio’s face, sharp and predatory. It’s the look he gets when he sees an opportunity, and Beth feels her stomach drop.

“Yeah?” he says, turning around so that he’s facing her again. He drops the duffel, and Beth can’t help flinching at the thud it makes when it hits the floor. “Sounds like you’re volunteerin’.”

“No, that’s not—”

But he’s moving, sliding into the chair on the opposite side of her desk. Beth’s eyes dart to Mick, but he just arches an eyebrow, not even bothering to look up from the list of sales projections he’s been checking.

Rio leans back in his seat. “A’ight, doc, fix me up.”

Beth stays where she is. The irritation that’s been bubbling just beneath the surface ever since he walked through the door is reaching its boiling point, but there’s something else humming under her skin, crackling like a live wire. He can leave whenever he wants—he was halfway out the door a second ago—but instead he chose to stay.

They’re circling the same drain, each of them waiting to see who will get sucked under first.

“I’ll—get the first aid kit,” Beth says, stepping around the desk only to be stopped in her tracks by Mick, who clears his throat audibly and pulls his jacket back to reveal the Glock tucked against his side.

Beth resists the urge to roll her eyes. “Really? You think I’m stupid enough to try something with both of you here?”

Rio doesn’t answer, just fixes her with an amused look.

“Fine,” Beth snaps, taking a step back. She nods at Mick, tips her head in the direction of the door. “It’s in the bathroom across the hall.”

Mick gives her a two-fingered salute and ducks out of the room, and then it’s just her and Rio.

He’s still—watching her. He looks relaxed enough, legs spread a bit and his hands clasped loosely in front of him, and if Beth didn’t know better, she’d say the expression on his face is almost neutral. But she does know better. His eyes are what give him away, flashing with the same electricity that’s thrumming behind her sternum. He’s waiting for her to make a move. She knows, because she’s doing the same thing.

God, she hates how much she likes this.

She barely registers Mick coming back—it’s only when he tosses the first aid kit onto the desk that she jumps, startled back to herself.

“Thanks,” she says, injecting as much sarcasm as she can into the word.

Mick’s mouth twitches, but he goes straight back to the books, sinking into a chair in the far corner of the office. Beth rolls her own chair around the side of the desk, lowers herself slowly into a seated position beside Rio. This close, she can see each individual color in the whorl-patterned bruise that stretches up toward the hollow of his cheek. She lets her eyes drag across it, then up his temple. The stitches look—well, not great. It’s clear they were done hastily, probably to prevent as much blood loss as possible, but the wound is seeping.

“Damn, that bad, huh?” Rio asks, reading it on her face.

Beth stares down at the kit in front of her. Her first aid knowledge extends about as far as patching up a skinned knees and Benadryl for minor allergic reactions—removing possibly-infected stitches from her crime boss’ head isn’t even in the same zip code.

“I don’t—I don’t know what you want me to do,” she says, abruptly exhausted.

Rio adopts an expression of mock concern that does nothing to ease Beth’s urge to slap him. “Oh, no?” he says. “What part’s trippin’ you up?”

Beth shuts her eyes for a second, briefly wonders why the hell she didn’t let him waltz out of here when she had the chance—except she knows why, and so does he, and when she looks again—

He’s practically beaming, that smug tilt at the corners of his mouth dialed up about a thousand percent, and it’s like a puzzle piece slotting into place. This is just another game—he’s messing with her, playing with his food before eating it.

The low buzz of electricity inside her ignites.

He’s not the only one who’s hungry.

“No, you’re right,” she says, popping open the first aid kit and digging around until she finds the antiseptic wipes. “I should at least clean those stitches up. Maybe even remove them, start fresh.”

She glances up, and that’s the only reason that she sees him falter, a blink-and-miss-it record-scratch behind his eyes before he recovers, slides the mask back on. Satisfaction floods through her. She can play his game.

“Whatever’s good, ma,” he says with a shrug. “You’re the boss, yeah?” He echoes her earlier emphasis on the word, grinning when he sees the barb land. “Shit, that’s my bad—poor choice o’ words.”

Beth rips open a wipe. “This might sting,” she says, pressing against his line of stitches, hard. She’s rewarded with him hissing a breath through his teeth, the hand at his knee balling into a fist.

“Easy, mama,” he grits out.

Beth flashes him her sweetest smile. “I’m sorry, is that too rough? I thought you liked that.”

Mick makes a noise like he’s choking, and Rio looks over, eyes bright with amusement. “Ay, cállate la boca.”

“Didn’t say nothin’,” Mick mumbles, still staring intently at the books.

Beth presses her tongue behind her teeth, swallowing a pinch of annoyance as she switches tactics. “Aren’t crime lords supposed to have, I don’t know, some sort of medical professional on retainer? For situations like this?”

“Nah,” Rio says with a shake of his head. “Why, you gunnin’ for a promotion? ‘Cause I gotta say, your bedside manner could use some work.”

And something inside her roars, because this is how she’s going to get him. She dabs gently at the wound beneath his stitches, swiping a thumb over the sutures. Rio winces, jerks back—

She sees it, the moment he drops the mask.

Beth leans forward. She brings the antiseptic up to his face again, stops just short of pressing it to his skin, as if to ask, okay?

She sees it, the moment he drops the mask.

Beth starts at his temple, softly scrubbing at the caked-on blood that’s streaked down from the cut above his ear. Her hand moves lower, fingers gliding over his cheekbones, and she’s not sure if she imagines his breath hitching when she reaches the bruise at his jaw. She drags her thumb across it, then back again. His skin is warm, under the pads of her fingers.

“How am I doing now?” she breathes, barely above a whisper, and she knows she doesn’t imagine him dipping a glance down to her mouth. Their faces are inches apart, close enough for her to count the shades of brown in his eyes. Her fingers trace lower, toward the curve of his lips—

His hand comes up to grasp her wrist, tug it away from his face. “Don’t,” he growls, low like thunder. A warning. “Don’t do that, Elizabeth.”

He’s looking at her again, but she almost doesn’t recognize the emotion swimming in his eyes. He’s—terrified. Of her. For a fleeting second she lets the thrill of it run through her, buoyant on the feeling of power, the feeling that she’s won—

(—she did it, she shot him, she’s free—)

The moment pops like a soap bubble, and she’s empty, hollow, everything good inside of her scooped away until this is what’s left. This is who she is. And maybe this game they’re playing was never meant to have a winner.

The realization leaves her numb.

She’s vaguely aware of Mick slipping the books back onto her desk, and when her eyes flick back up to Rio, his mask is firmly back in place. Steel, untouchable.

“I’m all better now, thanks,” he says, and then he’s pulling away, pushing up from the desk, slipping out the door. She watches his silhouette until it dissolves into shadow.

She’s alone.

[dented-nado]

Well since you specifically asked: Twiddler

“Yah I like Eddie but he’s straight // BAD LUCK, HUH?”

“No he’s not”

“NO IM NOT??”

Shenanigans

I’m dying right now, the ol’ Harv(ey) stubbornly thinks that Edward fucking Nygma is s  t r a  I g ht love it.  Still one of my fave convos we’ve ever had.

==================

Eddie’s POV

 =====================

It had been about a year since he had joined the sort of halfway home that Bruce Wayne had opened up for Ex-Rogues. However Eddie was somewhat convinced the billionaire he now realized had been Batman the whole time (pfft, he totally could have figured that out… he just… hadn’t…) rather liked having he, Harley, and Harv(ey) as a sort of odd band of roommates. And well… a literal mansion wasn’t a bad place to stay in by any stretch of the imagination.

He certainly had expected (and been quietly and not so quietly jealous) that because Harv(ey) and Bruce had apparently been close as far back as when they were children, Wayne would certainly be ecstatic to have Two-Face hanging around. He still was a little bit taken a back that well… anyone would want him around.

But he really was trying to reform. Maybe part of it was because the routine had gotten boring and he’d started finding more quiet and less destructive games and puzzles more entertaining these days. Besides, he realized he could have more fun with such things when he wasn’t being hauled back to Arkham because he’d taken things a little too far so often.

That being said, he had a new focus, a new goal.

And that was the previously mentioned Harv(ey) Dent. The giant, the absolute unit that towered over him.

Two souls for the price of one. Harvey was quietly intelligent (though sometimes a little bit delightfully oblivious), kind, and soft. Then Harv, he was bold, had a wonderfully fun fashion sense, and had a gravelly voice that admittedly caused Eddie’s mind to pull a blank at times.

They were a man that could have half their face burned to a crisp with acid and still be the only man that had been in Arkham (in Edward’s opinion) that could really get it.

He still remembered the first time “two-face” had been escorted into Arkham, the sight of them had knocked the wind right out of him, completely stopped his plotting for his next attempt to outsmart Batman.

Sure, perhaps he had heard and sort of seen images of Harvey Dent, the famous distract attorney that had been nicknamed Gotham’s “white knight” on the tiny, crappy TV they were occasionally allowed to watch when they were let out of their cells. But that never did him justice.

Seeing him here? Up close?

What a man. A handsome man, carved by angels and blessed by the devil

Now if only he could get Harv(ey) Dent to notice him.

Since that day he’d tried time and time again under the hope that maybe just maybe… this giant of a man would consider a relationship of sorts.

He tried to impress them with his vast intellect, sitting close to him and going off about any fact or subject he happened to know. He then tried to drill Harvey about his knowledge as a lawyer (which he thought also might just be interesting to know). They were certainly a good listener… and Harvey warmed up to talking about legal jargon and the pains of law school with Eddie eventually.

He was able to talk to Harv about their mutual love of fun patterns and bright colors and agreed that anyone who dissed it just didn’t understand fashion. He also realized soon that Harv loved to talk when he was acknowledged, and Eddie was more than happy to encourage him to and lightly swoon at that voice.

However, they were still only on a ‘good pals’ basis.

Which maybe Eddie could have accepted, except he caught Harvey staring at him at times, smiling slightly whenever Eddie would talk about what interested him. And Harv, he had gotten Harv to laugh a few times.

There was something there, he knew it, but for some reason he couldn’t puzzle out, Dent wasn’t acting on it.

It continued to this day. Harley had suggested to Edward he simply outright tell Harv(ey) Dent he was interested in them. But that wasn’t fun or interesting, and certainly not as romantic as Eddie would like.

So, after years of frustration now, he decided he’d go to the one person who had known Harv(ey) Dent their whole life for advice.

 ============

Bruce’s POV

============

“So, that’s my dilemma.”  Edward finished, pushing up his glasses in a very matter-of-fact way.

Bruce sighed. The only person who had ever rivaled his own stubbornness and… stupidity when it came to others having an romantic interest in them, was in fact Harv(ey) Dent. This would no doubt be difficult.

He wasn’t even sure how he managed to get into a relationship with Clark and Diana, so he wasn’t sure how much of a help he’d be trying to get Harv(ey) and Eddie to pair up.

“I’m decently sure he’s interested in you.” He replied.

“I’m quite sure too, however nothing I do seems to get them to do anything.” Eddie expressed, looking completely exasperated.

“hrrn....” Bruce grumbled thoughtfully. “What have you tried so far?”

“Well… I’ve given them gifts, flowers seemed like a sure-fire method- yet he seemed to somehow take them as a platonic gift.”

Bruce stared at Eddie for a long moment. “Who gives flowers platonically?”

Eddie shrugged.

Bruce sighed. “Dammit Harvey… Harv…” He mumbled under his breath. “I could try talking to them, get some better idea of what’s going on their head, could be Harvey and Harv keep arguing on how they want to respond.” He suggested.

Eddie nodded thoughtfully. “That may be the case, that is a possibility I had not considered… thank you for your assistance batma….. ah… Bruce…” He corrected with a slight grin.

Bruce half smiled back.

Batman was on the case.

====

“So… Harv…. Harvey…” Bruce began wandering over to where they were sitting.

They were seemingly switching between drinking a hot coffee and a Frappuccino.

Harvey had complained more than once that because of their disagreements Harv ended up making them consume way too much sugar. Too much caffeine in this case it seemed.

Their eyes flicked over to him.

“Hi Bruce.”

“What’s up Pretty Boy?”

Bruce sat down across from them. “Eddie seems to be interested in you.”

Never hurt to be blunt with a lawyer.

Harvey snorted. “That’d be nice… he is really cute but…”

“I’m sure Eddie is straight, just our luck, right?”

Bruce had never been so shocked in all his life.

Straight?

Eddie…

Straight?! E d  d I  e.

Str a I ght, Edward Nygma E Nygam s t ra ight

The two concepts being put together caused a complete error in Bruce’s mind that was slowly beginning to fry.

Who could possibly conclude that Edward was s t r aight?

The riddler…. The riddler who for a while greeted Batman like he was lowkey interested in a literal love-hate relationship

Edward

Str a I ght.

“Are you… fucking kidding me?” Bruce ended up stammering before he even realized it. “He’s not… at all!”

Harvey blinked at him a few times in surprise.

“What do you mean?”

Bruce gaped at them. They couldn’t be serious.

“Harvey… I… Harv… he… he’s not exactly subtle about it. In fact he’s very open, very much out and proud, flaming even. I’m sure he’d agree.”

Harvey looked at Bruce through squinted eyes. “Are you sure Bruce?”

“Sure, maybe he’s a bit more flashy than your average guy, but that doesn’t mean gay.” Harv added with a shrug.

“He calls you handsome at least 3 times a day.” Bruce said still staring at Harv(ey) like they were absolutely insane.

“Lots of people do.”

“Have you ever seen him even flirt with any women??” Bruce asked in disbelief.

“No but… well there’s always been more men in Arkham, and when do you even have time for that?”

Bruce was somewhere in-between wanting to laugh at them and slap them.

���He’s given you flowers.”

“Pretty sure he’s just being friendly.”

“Friendly…” Bruce wheezed.

This conversation was taking years off his life at this point. He shook his head and texted Edward.

“Get in here (the living room downstairs) It’s important”

Edward slid in and sat peppily down on the couch with Bruce within a few minutes, causing Harv(ey) to look between Eddie and Bruce in confusion.

“You rang Mr. Wayne~?” Eddie asked with a cheeky grin as he leaned his head against his hand.

“You know what these men just said to me?” Bruce began folding his hands together.

“Bruce nooo…” Harvey pleaded.

“No no, I think he should know.” Bruce insisted.

Eddie raised his eyebrows comically high. “Well don’t keep me waiting, what’s the tea?”

Bruce cleared his throat. “They said… they’re sure you’re straight.”

Eddie stared at Bruce for a minute, eyes widening.

“Me?” He asked completely baffled.

Bruce nodded.

Eddie threw back his head and laughed until his face turned red and he had trouble breathing.

Harv(ey) looked on stiffly, feeling as if they had made a mistake somewhere as the dawning realization slapped them in the face.

 ============

Harv(ey)’s POV

===================

It was bad enough they had put themselves in denial so far they had missed out starting something with the small bean-pole riddle-man much earlier…

But now because they had convinced themselves Eddie was straight and therefore could have no interest in them… Eddie and Bruce were refusing to let them live it down.

And Bruce seemed to have gotten literally everyone in on the joke. Anyone Bruce hadn’t told between his partners and his massive family, Eddie had told.

Harley had begun kissing Ivy in front of them while they both traded off saying “no homo tho” between kisses until Harv(ey) groaned and left the room in a huff, leaving them both laughing maniacally.

Eddie had begun dramatically entering a room with a flourish announcing “Ladies and Gentlemen, Guys, Gals, and Non-binary pals, the straightest man alive has arrived, you may all start the party.”

Even when they first slept together, Edward had started quietly laughing and mumbling about “how straight, and very much not gay at all this occurrence was.”

Bruce hadn’t been able to look at them in weeks without breaking out into a full on belly laugh at his expense, mumbling something along the lines of “The Riddler, st r a I ght, good lord...”

On one hand they were happy Bruce was laughing more but god dammit…

They felt a bit dumb about it to say the least.

“How did we ever think Eddie was straight?” Harvey thought to himself.

“I don’t fucking know. I really… really… don’t.”                                                                                          

Well… maybe giving everyone a little levity while still being able to date a cute red-head that seemed to know the strangest facts about almost everything that they could enjoy listening to him babble about for hours happily…. Was all worth it. Even if they were embarrassed by their comically stupid brand of denile.

[beauregardlionett]

morning begins with your lips

AO3 Link

The Mighty Nein was a group that one could describe as existing in a constant state of flux. Sometimes they appeared competent and sometimes...well. Precious little in their lives remained as a fixed constant, including themselves. They were always changing and shifting one way or another, and it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. It did, however, make it rather difficult for allies and enemies alike to keep up.

There was, however, one consistent constant - even if it was a minuscule detail. Beauregard Lionett always woke first in the morning.

Her training was a hard thing to shake, and life on the road did not lend to sleeping late most days. Beau also wasn’t in the market for changing her sleeping habits. So she woke moments before the dawn each morning and went through her usual workout.

That morning found them in a tavern, Caleb having used up too many spells the day before to cast their tower. It was a fairly nice tavern, so none of them minded. Beau sat herself at a circular table in the corner with coffee and some food (thankfully they had bacon here), and waited for everyone else to arrive.

The rest of the Nein arrived in a particular pattern - one Beau kept intricate familiarity with. About twenty minutes after she got back from her workouts, Caleb would show his face, slightly haggard, but awake. His inner alarm clock benefited him in waking up on time. Veth often followed close on his heels, especially since they frequently shared a room.

Fjord came next, no more than ten minutes after Veth. Beau suspected his life at the docks had ingrained the habit into him over the years of work. Jester and Caduceus were a toss up because sometimes Jester arrived first, others it was Caduceus, and sometimes both appeared at the same time. No matter what the order, the clerics always arrived to breakfast looking perky and put together.

Yasha always woke last, and Beau knew it was because the Aasimar always struggled to fall asleep at night. She slept late every morning, and usually just rolled out of bed, straightened out her clothing, and came down to breakfast.

A consistent morning routine that Beau knew by heart, a practice in a punctual routine that soothed like meditation. A promise kept the same way the sun rose every morning.

Sure enough, Beau sat in her seat, nursing her coffee and savoring her bacon as Caleb trudged down to the tavern. His tired blue eyes scanned for her, his feet carrying him her way once he located her. Beau watched as he gave the barmaid his quiet request for breakfast on his way over. The wizard dropped into his seat beside her and yawned a greeting.

Beau slid what remained of her coffee his way in silent commiseration. His fingertips were ink stained, which meant he probably had gotten little sleep, the fool.

Veth came bounding over minutes later, cheerful and sleep rumpled as she perched on Caleb’s other side. Stretching up on her tip-toes, the Halfling planted a sweet kiss to his cheek (a practice only done occasionally) before hollering an order to the barmaid that hollered back.

“Morning,” Beau said as she tugged a piece of bacon into two, trying to make it last longer.

“Morning,” Veth returned, fiddling with her crossbow already. Beau didn’t ask what she was attempting this time, just monitored the mechanism in case it misfired.

Their conversation didn’t extend much past that as Veth continued fiddling and Caleb tried to keep his eyes open. Beau was content with the familiarity.

They had barely finished exchanging pleasantries when Fjord arrived, yawning but alert. The half-Orc caught Beau’s eye with a nod before he wandered over to the bar. She watched him exchange pleasant conversation with the barkeep for a few minutes, probably gleaning some information about the town or surrounding area. He did this sometimes when they got to new towns none of them had heard of or been to before, and it almost always helped.

Beau tracked Fjord’s movements as he left the bar with a coffee, making his way to their table. The barmaid arrived with Caleb and Veth’s plates as Fjord sat down on Veth’s free side.

“Whatever you’ve got works for me,” Fjord said pleasantly, his effortless charm pulling a smile to the woman’s face. She bustled away, and Fjord suppressed another yawn as he turned to the table.

“Barkeep says the town’s been calm ever since the war was called to truce. Decreased presence of guard, not as many brawls in the streets and bars, and trade has been up. I don’t think there’s much going on here if we want to move on later. We might have some luck in the market for rations, but beyond that,” Fjord ended with a shrug.

Beau appreciated his forethought in matters like these, because she sometimes got caught up in the bigger picture. Her mind worked in ways better attuned to connecting threads and digging up nuanced details. Sometimes she could ground herself enough to get shit done in the present, but it was hardly ever regarding mundane day-to-day plans.

“So, shopping and hit the road?” Beau said, tearing her bacon into smaller pieces again.

“Sounds like a plan,” Fjord nodded, sipping at his coffee. The barmaid arrived then with the half-Orc’s food before she bustled off again.

Beau settled into her seat, one leg thrown over Caleb’s lap as he chipped away at his plate. Veth began needling at Fjord in teasing conversation, the half-Orc indulging her with fond exasperation. Beau watched on and chuckled now and then, thoroughly entertained.

Veth had just convinced Fjord to play a game of boulder parchment shears for his last piece of sausage when Caduceus and Jester arrived. The clerics were discussing the benefits of talking to the massive oak tree they saw on their way into town as they took their seats. Jester flounced into the seat beside Fjord, Caduceus sitting on her other side as they kept talking. The pair paused long enough to greet the table before getting back into it.

“I’m just saying - morning guys! - we should try it,” Jester said, eyes boring imploringly into Caduceus’. “Maybe the oak will be friendly!”

“Of course we can try,” Caduceus agreed, setting his staff to lean against the table. “But in my experience, oak trees are always rather stuck up.”

Beau decided not to question how many oak trees Caduceus spoke to in his free time. The barmaid swept up to their table again, distracting the clerics momentarily.

“I’ll have some potatoes and tea, please,” Caduceus drawled with a pleasant smile.

“Do you have any pastries?” Jester asked predictably, violet eyes wide as she twisted in her seat.

“We’ve got muffins?” The barmaid said, eyeing Jester’s bright, eager eyes warily.

“I’ll take three!” The Tiefling chirped. “And a glass of milk, please!”

“Sure,” the barmaid nodded before sweeping off.

Beau gnawed on her bacon as Jester and Caduceus resumed their conversation, Fjord dejectedly losing his sausage to Veth’s victorious crow. Caleb started tapping an absent rhythm against Beau’s knee, and she let him. All was as it should be thus far, Beau’s eyes wandering to the stair as she waited for the last piece of the puzzle to fall into place.

Yasha’s absence when she had been under Obann’s control was a jarring discontinuity to Beau’s routine. She had been off kilter for more than one reason the entire time Yasha had been away. Beau hated to remember those days. As much fun as they had on some of their adventures, there was always that missing piece, that quiet snark that never piped up in conversation. There was no one at her back in those fights, no familiar battle cry, no unyielding support that Beau could fall back on with absolute trust.

She knew Yasha was last to rise, but the passing minutes never failed to pulse in Beau’s veins with anxiety. An irrational yet rational fear that she would never show.

Beau counted the minutes, tuning out conversation, absently aware of Caleb’s pattern against her kneecap.

Yasha stumbled down the stairs, tugging her tunic into order as she made her way over to their table. A surprising amount of tension bled from Beau’s shoulders with every step closer Yasha took. Jester came up from devouring her muffins long enough to greet Yasha, crumbs falling out of her mouth as she did.

“Mornin’ Yafa!” Jester managed through her food. The Aasimar offered the Tiefling a sleepy smile as she headed for the only empty seat between Caduceus and Beau.

“Good morning,” Yasha murmured as she rounded the table. Her eyelids still drooped with exhaustion she had yet to shake off. But she smiled small and warm at them all, her eyes landing on Beau as she stepped up beside the monk. Fondness made Beau feel like her heart was melting in her chest as she grinned up at Yasha, tipping her head back to catch her eye.

Yasha bent down and planted a quick, sweet peck on Beau’s lips, the monk’s smile curling wider as Yasha pulled away with a murmured, “morning Beau.”

The Aasimar wandered off to the bar a moment later to get a drink, yawning as she did. Beau happily went back to her bacon, picking it into pieces and popping them in her mouth. It took her a few moments to realize that something had changed.

Looking up, Beau froze with bacon halfway to her mouth when she found everyone at the table staring at her in stunned silence. Caleb’s tapping against her knee had ceased, Veth’s mouth was hanging open with sausage half-chewed. Fjord and Caduceus were giving her matching stares that were somehow both knowing and awed. Jester looked as if she were two seconds away from combusting into glitter.

“What?” Beau asked, somewhat defensively.

“Beau!” Jester exploded, squealing loudly. “You didn’t tell me you and Yasha finally talked!”

Beau’s cheeks grew hot, and she put her bacon down slowly. “Talked about what?”

“You kissed Yasha like it was a normal, everyday thing!” Veth said, thankfully swallowing her mouthful of food beforehand. “When did that happen?”

Beau froze, eyes going wide.

Oh.

“Uh...just now.”

“What?” Fjord said, brows furrowing.

“It happened just now,” Beau said, quiet and struck.

“Oh my gosh,” Jester gushed, practically vibrating in her seat. “That was your first kiss with Yasha? And it was that easy? And we all got to see it? That’s so romantic, Beau!”

Beau’s eyes flit to where Yasha stood at the bar. The Aasimar had twisted around to look back at the table, eyes wide and mouth agape. Clearly, she had come to the same realization as Beau. That same fondness from before softened everything in Beau’s countenance near instantly, and she smiled across the tavern at Yasha. She watched the Aasimar blush as she grinned back, turning to the barkeep to order when they came up to Yasha.

“I guess it is pretty romantic,” Beau whispered.

Veth and Jester squealed with each other as Fjord and Caduceus went back to their breakfasts. Caleb gently pinched the inside of Beau’s knee where her leg was still across his lap. He smiled when she looked at him and squeezed her ankle.

Beau’s chest felt full to bursting when she realized that her happiness could spread so easily among this family she had cultivated. She settled into her seat as Yasha came back and held her hand under the table for the duration of their meal.

This was something new Beau wouldn’t mind adding to their routine.

[tartagilicious]

[CN] Lucien’s Birthday Event R&S

💌 see Lucien’s birthday date, which this rumour and secrets is connected to, here!

💌 also, a huge thanks to @elainabearie for providing me with screenshots of the event, because my gems really said no <3

[event story:] It’s a warm and sunny afternoon. I looked at the heavy package in my hands and carefully opened it. Inside the three-layer packaging, there is a book that looks as if it’s been in use for several years. 

MC: Great, it seems that there was nothing wrong with the transportation.

Xu Mo’s birthday is coming soon. I thought about it, and decided that I would give him a meaningful out-of-print book this year. After visiting the major bookstores in Loveland, it was quite easy for me to find even this out-of-print book. Unfortunately, however, due to the age, the condition and storage of the books was not very proper. When the book arrived in my hands, it was already a bit damaged.

So, in addition to the book itself, I also bought glue for repairing the pages of the book and thread for binding the cover. After patching it up, I plan to give it to Xu Mo. Because I worried I couldn’t patch up the book correctly, though, I also practiced on spare paper for a long time.

I breathed a sigh of relief. Today is the day of the real endeavour, but I just hope that my hands can keep up with my brain. I need to prepare the gift perfectly for him.

I slowly opened the spine of the book attentively. Just as I was about to begin cleaning up the pages, a loud beating sounded abruptly.

MC: Who would come at this time…

Hastily, I pack up the repair utensils on the table that I had just opened. A gentle and familiar voice then entered the room; the one that I was most familiar with.

Xu Mo: When you hadn’t opened the door for a while, I was worried that I’d knocked at a bad time.

Those deep black eyes looked at me with a smile. It’s softer than the setting sun in the late afternoon.

MC: It’s nothing, I’m here.

I spoke and turned my head halfway, ready to invite Xu Mo into the house. Halfway through the conversation, though, it suddenly occurred to me that the birthday surprise for him was still lying on the table.

MC: Well… you came to me so suddenly, is there something wrong?

I changed the subject, trying to block the doorway discreetly.

Xu Mo’s eyes turned a little playfully to my face and back to the living room. Obviously, it was the look of someone who knew I was hiding something, but he still followed me up with a reply.

Xu Mo: By chance, my company got two tickets for the exhibition. I thought it may help you accumulate program material, so I just wanted to invite this producer.

Xu Mo: But it seems you aren’t free today? The time of this exhibition is very long, but you can come to me whenever you’re free.

Not giving me time to answer, Xu Mo put one of the tickets in my hand. After I took it, he walked back towards his own home. Before entering, Xu Mo turned his head and looked at me again, smiled and added something.

Xu Mo: And also, although I don’t know what you’re doing, I wish you success.

Sitting back at the desk again, I looked at the book that needed to be repaired, and the sound of Xu Mo’s last words seemed to linger in my ears. If the book is fixed and given to him, he’ll still be happy with the result, right?

Bringing a gift of human affection will definitely reap a smile from his heart, right?

Thinking of ths, I continued the restoration work more carefully.

----

CHAPTER ONE:

“Hey, kid, tomorrow is a new day, let’s continue to compete!”

“I know, see you tomorrow brother Zihang.”

The boy waved his hand to the tall man politely, then turned around and sighed slightly. It’s not that he doesn’t want to compete with this foolish policeman who’s worried about chess, but this is after the 587th challenge statement he’s heard. Before he knew it, this time of waiting for his parents to return home after school gradually became his daily routine. Even if he had yet to find the vocabulary to define his mood, it makes school time unexpectedly brisk.

“Would you like to have potato roasted ribs tonight?”

“Sure.” The boy said as he put his changed shoes into the shoe cabinet properly. Carrying a small school bag, he turned around and walked towards the bookcase in the living room. Dad finally couldn’t help but stop him.

“Were you unhappy at school today?”

The boy turned around and shook his head suspiciously. He pursed his lips. For a while, he didn’t know why Dad wanted to do this, but soon, he found the answer. Maybe it was because he had heard the sigh just now.

“I’m happy. The teacher and classmates are very nice.” He paused. “Brother Zihang still can’t make any progress in chess. Obviously I’ve secretly given in.”

A warm touch covered the top of his head. Dad squatted down and gently rubbed the head of his little genius. The corners of his mouth had already lifted considerably, and he made no secret of it.

“Then it seems that you can only show him more openly next time!”

The boy blinked, and he couldn’t help but smile when he saw his father joking so seriously.

Half an hour later, a familiar concerto sounded from the kitchen.

“It seems a bit salty, can you try it?”

“It’s not salty, but it does need to be processed. You put it here, I’ll do it.”

“Obviously it’s salty… you lied to me. But, I really followed the steps written above. Could it be the quality unit of the excipients?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” The man’s tone seems undoubtedly like a rigorous experiment report can be produced in the next second to verify it.

“You go with your son.” He said, deliberately lowering his voice. “It’s rare that we are at home. Don’t crowd the kitchen.”

The boy who hid by the doorway with his ear keenly adjusted reacted immediately. He hastily slipped back to the seat beside the dining table before Mom came out, and rearranged to read his book seriously.

For the boy, ordinary daily life like this is extremely precious. So, at the happy dinner, he hesitated for a long while. He had a problem that had been bothering him lately.

“Dad, what is the law of conservation of energy?” He raised his head to look at his father and added crossly. “I have worked with a teacher, but she said this question will be answered when i grow up… I don’t quite understand. Is the answer related to my age?”

“The law of conservation of energy. The change in the total energy of a system can only be equal to the amount of energy transferred into our out of the system. Energy is rather a measure of the movement of matter.”

“This is one of the most basic rules of this world.”

Dad said this as he put a piece of ribs into the boy’s bowl. The tone naturally seemed to be answering an ordinary question, but the boy stared at the ribs, and his pretty little face twisted together unconsciously.

“I think the teacher said that because she hopes you can find the answer yourself when you grow up. But she may not know you well. My son might find the answer soon.”

“Really?”

“Of course. When has Dad ever fooled you? So, eat first.” Dad beckoned and scratched the boy’s nose. He then picked up another piece of meat and put it in his wife’s bowl and started eating.

CHAPTER TWO:

The boy is always curious about the puzzles of the world. For example, why is the sky blue? What are the floating clouds? Why are people on the ground and why are fish in the water? He is interested in answering too many questions. The fields involved are quite different but have subtle similarities. These “secret questions” seem to be hard to get answers for all at once.

But, the boy never had a boring process in finding answers. He likes the moment very much. For example, now-- In the study, the boy was sitting on a small ladder, looking through a thick professional book. He tried to find out more about these “rules of the world” his father had spoken of.

But this question really is too difficult.

Looking at the complicated patterns and uncommon characters that keep jumping in his eyes, the boy lowered his head, somewhat discouraged. The sound of the minute hand ticking can be heard in the silent room. Moonlight sheds down the skylight, stars of light and shadow gathered around the boy’s feet.

Still, he should try to look for it again. He pouted while thinking like this, and exhaled as if to cheer himself up. He jumped off the ladder and then raised his head to look up at the giant bookshelf in front of him again. Slightly squinted eyes quickly lit up, and he pushed the little ladder under the shelf next to him.

Securing it carefully, he shook it cautiously to determine its stability. Then, he nodded contentedly, leaning on both sides of it to climb up blatantly level by level.

The study had always been his favourite place at home. Whether it was sitting on the ground and looking up at the densely packed bookshelves that were too tall for him, or like it was now, standing high and looking over the same silent room.

Here is his secret place where no one will bother him, and his treasure-trove for finding answers. It’s like his channel for getting to know the world. There seems to be an infinite amount of knowledge waiting for him here; waiting for him to walk in; waiting for his recognition.

“Found it!”

With excitement, the boy drew out a book of some ancient purpose from the depth of the shelf. Gently brushing the dust from the cover, he then blew carefully. It wafted up into his nose and he coughed a few times before he raised his little hand up to wave the dust in front of him away.

He climbed down the ladder holding the “treasure” he had finally found. He placed it carefully on the ground and bought a thick English-English dictionary from where he was just sitting. The boy took a deep breath, and when he was about to begin the big job, there was a slight creaking noise coming from the door before a gentle knock.

“Mom, can I read a bit longer? I finally found this book.” The boy glanced at the clock on the wall and looked at his mother aggrievedly. “One more hour will be fine.”

Mom didn’t speak,and beckoned to turn on the light in the study. Then, she took a few steps closer and bent down to spread a blanket out in his arms. The familiar temperature gently wraps him, and mom smiles and curls her long finger to hook with the boy’s little one.

“That’s a deal.”

“Ok!”

CHAPTER THREE:

In the middle of the night, the boy stared at the faintly fluorescent “Milky Way” on his ceiling, and did not sleep. He felt that his brain was traveling to outer space. After tossing for a long time, he fetched the secretly hidden book from under the pillow, and took a small flashlight from the deeper part before settling back under the quilt.

The beam of light instantly lit up the small space in the dark, and circled a quiet little world that belonged to no one but the little boy.

“Can Mom come in?”

The question sounded as if spanning time and space.

The boy embarrassedly emerged from the quilt, and sullenly responded. He put the closed book and flashlight on the bedside table obediently.

Should he take the initiative and admit his mistakes? After all, his parents have never allowed him to bring books into the bedroom, let alone peek at them and get caught doing so.

“Mom, I…”

“If you can’t fall asleep, Mom will continue to tell you the bedtime story that I didn’t finish last time.”

The boy finally summoned the courage and pursed his lips. He raised his head to meet his mother’s eyes somewhat inconceivably, doubt flashing in his black eyes.

“I’m almost 6 years old.”

“Aren’t you not there yet? Listen and see, maybe the story of your mother can let your disobedient brain cells find their way home.” Mom said, knocking his little head mysteriously.

“Okay..”

Although psychologically repelling his parents to regard him himself as a child, he honestly approached his mother’s open arms. The faint woody scent wrapped him, and he took a heavy breath of his favourite smell.

“Then he said again: I thought I had a unique flower, but all I have is an ordinary flower. This flower, plus three volcanoes as high as my knees, and one of them has been extinguished forever. All of this won’t make me a great prince. So he laid in the grass and wept.” Mom’s voice lingered in his ears, sweet and soft, and seemed to be slightly different from her voice when she was preparing for a report, but still felt very good at any of those moments.

The boy did not speak, he was actually a little sleepy, and listening to the story, he had new questions that could not be answered. But he ended up not asking, because it seemed to have been a long time since he last heard his mother tell him a bedtime story like this.

He doesn’t care about the follow-up of the story, he just wants to make this moment last longer. Thinking about this, he moved closer into the embrace that held him.

Perhaps sensing the boy’s rare silence, his mother took the initiative to stop, smoothed the messy hair on top of his head, and suddenly asked, “Is there anything you want for your birthday the day after tomorrow?”

“Any gift is fine?” He blinked, looking at his mother expectantly as she nodded, and could barely wait to say, “Then I want an answer to the rules of this world.”

He regretted it as soon as he spoke. After all, he had promised his father only hours ago that he would find the answer to the question himself. So, he hurriedly changed the subject.

“Mom, in this story you’re telling me, will love help?”

“To be precise, love can be an answer.”

“Then ‘love’ will abide by the rules of this world?”

Mom smiled helplessly and stroked his head.

“You have to look for the answer to this problem yourself, okay? Your little head is being worked too hard, let it relax,” She paused, “Mom sometimes selfishly hopes that you can… be more naive.”

“It’s not like asking you to do age-appropriate things, I just hope that you don’t lock yourself up in a scientific manner and have the opportunity to see the world in different ways. You should know that the answers to many questions in this world are not through equations.”

As she raised her hand, she booped the boy’s mouth, nose, eyes, and ears, and then took his hand and put it over his left chest.

“Goodnight, my little prince.”

CHAPTER FOUR:

That night, the boy slept very deeply. The world in his dream was like a colourless planet, quietly waiting for him to fill it in. He walked in the endless universe until a dazzling spot of light appeared before his eyes.

The morning sunlight jumped over his eyelids, and the melodious trumpet slowly penetrated his ears. The boy rubbed his sleepy eyes and sat up in the bed. He remembered this melody, which seemed to be a fragment from the second movement of the Symphony from the New World.

He folded his quilt, opened the curtains, and opened a small slit in the window. There was already a noticeable coldness in the November air.

Through the balcony, flying gold osmanthus dotted the entire hillside. The autumn sun seems to have a special temperature and magic power, giving everything a warm golden edge.

Dad’s figure appeared on some distant mountain top observation deck, and the silver trumpet gleamed in the dawn. This is one of his many hobbies. Especially when something is worth celebrating, he will play a few songs. Even the flowers and plants in the flower beds that have just been watered will seem to be listening to this melody.

The boy’s mood couldn’t help but jump up.  After a brief wash, he ran straight to the top of the mountain. The approaching trumpet sound was like the background of his running, becoming a special mini recital in his head.

After the end of the song, the boy just arrived near the viewing platform, and his father turned around to bow.

“You got up so early. I guess yesterday’s question now has an answer?”

The boy shook his head honestly. Dad smiled and beckoned him over without any surprise, then put the trumpet into his hand and raised his chin. “Want to try?”

The city he overlooked seems to have just woken up, and the scent of fresh grass fills the air. The boy looked at the trumpet in his hand and tilted his head in thought. He recalled the appearance of his father playing the trumpet, trying to put the trumpet to his lips, and took a hard breath.

The surroundings were quiet as if nothing had happened. The boy looked at the trumpet in shock and tried it again, but it was still as silent as ever. Seeing his son’s red face, his father laughed.

“It seems even young geniuses have things they aren’t good at. Come, prove your learning ability!”

Dad patiently guided the boy, from how to blow into the trumpet to the frequencies of breathing. He didn’t deliberately avoid obscure  professional vocabulary, but when the noticed the boy had some doubts, he would explain two more sentences for that part.

Time seemed to slow down then, quietly hovering between father and son. Finally, the boy successfully sounded the trumpet. The sound was bright and crisp, as if it could directly penetrate the night before dawn.

“The trumpet is a musical instrument that can emit a loud sound or use the strength of the airflow to make a gentle sound.” Dad took the silver trumpet from the boy’s hand back. “Many people have some inherent ideas about things. People who don’t understand certain things will make one-sided judgements casually.”

“There are many casual people in the world. They think that the many rules are what people say, so they gradually become a part of the rules.

Dad put his mouth to the trumpet again. “They never know that even an ordinary trumpet can contain the secrets of the entire universe. Find the answer in your own way, even if you question it, it doesn’t matter.”

The high-pitched trumpet accompanied the distant sun slowly rising, illuminating the quiet land.

CHAPTER FIVE:

The sunrise on Friday seemed to arrive with blessings. After school, the boy sped up his normal pace going home, not looking forward to his birthday, but knowing that his parents rarely took time off to prepare dinner at home.

After the family of three happily feasted, Mom sang a birthday song and brought out a cake. He had never liked sweets, so according to the usual practice, only the step of making a wish was left. The boy sat upright, and when he was about to close his eyes, his father opened his mouth suddenly.

“How about dad teaches you a special way to make a wish this year?”

He looked up at his dad’s face softened by the candlelight, and nodded in cooperation. Maybe this is the habit of scientists, creating new ways to do things all the time. He thought so.

“Let’s make wishes with our eyes open in the future. Tell your wishes to your heart, but use your eyes to record everything that’s happening on this day. Because today is a particularly beautiful day, those who accompany you on this day are also beautiful.”

“Yes, now it’s me and your mother, but there will be others who love you in the future. You must keep that in mind.”

Dad fixed his glasses, his tone very serious. As if affected by such emotions, the boy also nodded vigorously. He looked at the candlelight swaying in front of him and silently drew a small wish from his heart.

I hope I can grow up soon, learn more knowledge, and become as knowledgeable as my parents. I hope that the research that mom and dad are doing goes well. It would be better if their work made them a little less busy. I hope that today next year, we can be together as a family.

The candlelight was against the boy’s shining eyes, and there was a sudden sticky touch to his cheeks. The moment the boy raised his head in astonishment, another source of light flashed, and his mother poked out her head from a camera triumphantly.

“A successful capture!”

His father beside him gave a thumbs-up of affirmation, the cream of the cake still on his fingertips.

“.....”

Occasionally when these similar situations happen, the boy will wonder about the authenticity of his parents’ occupations.

The moon quietly climbed up in the night sky, and the boy observed that his father would look out of the window from time to time after night fell. Finally, he walked towards him with a smile, and with a mysterious expression, he pulled him out into the yard.

The wind blew the small blue and white flags with the leaves, bringing out a hint of autumn. Dad took off his white coat and put it on the little boy casually. A large astronomical telescope was placed in a part of the yard, and the boy suddenly had a guess in his heart.

“Even if the birthday gift a kid wants isn’t ‘cute’ at all, a good dad still has to work hard to satisfy his wish. So -- this is the birthday gift that mom and I will give you. Happy Birthday!”

The boy turned his head to look at his mother who was leaning against the door. She shoved her shawl together and blinked at him. He couldn’t help but sigh again, but his heart was warm.

Dad adjusted the telescope to a suitable height, and even praised the boy for growing taller again. Through the binoculars, he clearly saw the universe.

“There are so many huge and unknown secrets in the universe we live in. Your mother and I are honoured to be the ones who explore and study it.”

“Then, can I be the same as you?”

“Of course. So, what dad is trying to tell you is that the world is big, but also very, very small. Don’t stop and stay where you are because of something unknown, and move forward with questions. Go, and one day, you will find the answer.”

The boy looked away from the telescope, looked at his parents who were always watching over him, and then looked up at the vast expanse of the night sky.

The galaxy just within reach has now become a distant point.

He was lost in thought. After a moment, he raised his head, and there seemed to be a flash of light in his eyes.

“I think I know, what is the answer to the rules of this world? Mom and dad, you can listen to me, right?”

CHAPTER SIX:

In the study, the fireplace flickered and made crackling noises.

In Einstein’s special theory of relativity, as a component of the four dimensional momentum, energy is conserved in any closed system, and when observed in any interior system, time changes. The length of the vector is the static mass of a single mass point, and will also be conserved.

The boy knelt on the ground holding a piece of chalk, surrounded by books, dictionaries, calculation papers and tools that he had been reading these days. His parents surrounded him, and by his side, they patiently watched the formula and reasonings he wrote down stroke by stroke.

“But the book says, for physical theories in flat space-time, since quantum mechanics allows for short-term non-conservation, energy conservation is not observed in quantum mechanics.” The boy frowned, but the chalk in his hand did not stop. It seemed that the entire universe was paved in front of him, and he tried his best to use those jerky and unfamiliar words to know and break down the door separating him from the answer he needed.

In fact, there are still many things he doesn’t understand. In such a short period of time, he really couldn’t cross those unknown letters and equations to get those answers. However, he did not intend to admit defeat. He has his own views on this world.

“To sum it up, the rule of the world is that it may only have a rule within a certain period of time, but it may appear as more cognition, and new rules will appear.

The rules of this world will always be broken.

After he finished speaking, he pushed the slightly large glasses up the bridge of his nose like his father. Dad frowned, thinking about the rationality of this reason. After a moment, he nodded thoughtfully:

“It’s a really interesting theory.”

The boy did not show a hint of a smile, and dad’s conversation turned.

“It’s just your idea, I'm afraid it’s challenging Einstein.”

The small head that was originally straight couldn’t help but deflate, like a ball that had leaked a bit of air.

“But then again…” The boy’s eyes lit up.

“It is worthy of recognition and encouragement. Keep going.” Dad patted him on the shoulder approvingly. “Unexpectedly, my son now has the potential to discover new things and world truths. It seems that becoming a great scientist is just around the corner! But for now, let’s be a happy birthday kid.” He said this and rubbed the top of the boy’s head vigorously.

“Six years old is no longer a child.” The boy whispered. “

“Then this big kid can’t tell his dad what the wish he made was?” “No, the birthday wish won’t come true.”

“Haha, you seem like quite an ordinary kid in this moment.”

“....”

“My wish is to know the same knowledge as my parents, so that I can learn about the world with you.”

The boy’s sudden opening stunned his parents for a moment.

Mom didn’t speak, but took the boy in her arms with satisfaction. Dad raised his chin pretending, looked at the boy carefully, and put on an expression saying ‘this is a bit difficult’.

“This wish is quite big. Hey, why did you say it? It’ll be even harder to realise now.”

It seems that he felt his wife’s speechless gaze, and the man finally took off his permorative mask and laughed.

“But I’m not wrong. It’s really not easy to realise that wish. Because I will move forward too. By this time next year, not only will you have grown one year, but I will have as well. I understand that you’ll have more knowledge than now, but your father is already a more educated old man.”

“But I can catch up faster than you can learn.”

“Then what we’re facing now is the dilemma of catching up.”

The mother who has not spoken picked up a scattered piece of chalk and wrote on the ground, saying, “Assuming that the amount of knowledge is composed of a fixed increase in the learning rate of the previous year, and an additional increase in the learning rate this year, dad’s knowledge amount is 290 times the amount of yours.”

"His learning rate also increases at a constant rate of 6 units per year. But dad will start declining in 10 years, and his learning speed will decrease by 2 units year to year on the basis of constant growth. Your initial learning speed is 1/30 of dad, but it will increase at a constant rate. So, there’s one question, how long do you need to catch up with dad in the future?”

The boy opened his mouth, but had no answer.

Dad looked at the formula on the ground and frowned slightly. After a brief silence, he seemed to have calculated the answer, and took a breath before rubbing his hands. “It turned out to be faster than I thought. It seems that I can’t be too slack! But before time can give an answer, let's make an appointment at this time of your birthday next year, and we’ll come back!”

[aggresivelyfriendly]

Hello loveys! Here is chapter four of

‘Tis the Damn Season

~Let It Snow~

Thanks to @dirtystyles for the beta and late night video mining thanks it Night Niki!

Enjoy! Reblogs are Love!!

"We have a problem," Harry states as he comes in the room. Emma's heart nearly stops and she feels exposed. Not just because she is naked, though she is literally bare, but because he's just been downstairs to talk to the landlady and Emma is terrified of what the hell the problem could be.

He was just downstairs, while she was luxuriating in the sheets scented like them. What could he have encountered there that would lead to this deadpan voice and monotone face?

Emma's mind is good at this, at possibilities, it's why she's good at her studies and internships, she can run through lots of scenarios in her head and then plug in logistics and costs and benefits. She doesn't even need a spreadsheet unless you get beyond a handful of variables.

Variable one - she's gonna think of them as variables because problems are more nerve wracking - there are fans outside. They've heard from someone, through a grapevine or hedgerow, that Harry stays here a couple days each Christmas.

Emma can see a way out of this, though it requires sending Harry to be the sacrificial lamb. He will have to go to the altar and sign things, which is better than being beheaded, and take pictures and give hugs and lead them away. Then Emma can linger, maybe eat lunch in the pub garden and leave when the coast is well and truly clear. It's not how she wants to spend their last day this break together, but it gets them both out of here unexposed, if not totally unscathed.

This is the best case scenario.

Variable two - while he was downstairs Gemma texted. She's cottoned on. Well, Emma is totally afraid and halfway sure her friend can sense that she's sleeping with her little brother every chance she gets and hasn't been honest about it. Emma knows Harry has not been forthright either. The puzzle pieces can't be hard to put together. They've gotten lazy. No, the word is addicted. The fact that they both always disappeared and went dark for the same number of days was more than noticeable the first time, it wasn't a pattern yet thought. An easy to recognize and predict four three year old pattern. Emma is good at those too, patterns. So is Gemma, all those themes, all those books.

They'd talked about it, she and Harry, that second year, their first meet up with intent. Agreed they would be limited, controlled, discreet. They would meet late, after pub crawls, and only get together after Gemma went back to London.

She's not sure who they were fooling.

Because then, instead, they just holed up, skipped social events, turned up moments apart from one another and left the same way. Basically they'd ignored every one of their rules, the ones they'd designed to keep their secret. They couldn't help themselves, nor stay away. She had to sit on her hands and never look at him to keep from touching or kissing in public. Harry didn't even bother.

Last year, Gemma had made a few comments, about them flirting, about Harry peacocking around Emma, about them leaving at the same time. About his hands on her.

Emma remembered when they'd pulled themselves out of each other's arms, him to go home, her to a meet up with Gem and some others. He was definitely less stealthy, not sleeping at home and all, but he insisted on holding her while he fell asleep and waking up to her kisses. What was she supposed to do but melt?

Emma had been late, because of course she was, she'd almost been out the door when he'd asked to be kissed goodbye. "I just put on lipstick." She'd shaken her head, and then his face had taken on that impish hue and he'd kissed her lipstick and clothes off. The waiting Uber had left without her and she lost her perfect 5 star rating.

She'd come in, flushed apologizing and lying about her mother needing her to go to the shops. Gemma had pushed her a drink and given her a look. Like she knew, why Emma was late and Harry was sneaking out to sleep in a shitty pub bed. Then later, she'd said, "Harry's up to something, someone, he's been staying out all night again. My mum isn't that bothered, but I just want to know who." The look she'd turned on Emma was nothing short of an invitation.

Emma could have confessed. But it felt like a final chapter, a bookend she wasn't ready for, so she'd shrugged and suggested maybe he had a girl in Manchester, or a boy. It had been a joke, but Gemma hadn't blinked, and Emma wasn't surprised either, so that seemed interesting. Luckily the conversation flowed beyond that when a new old friend arrived.

Gemma kept giving her looks though.

Emma did feel like she was wearing a scarlet H.

And she'd come to the party with it two days ago. The letter may not have been apparent on her sweater, the kinda ugly but also perfect Christmas sweater she'd found at the thrift store one day. It was red, the threads of it shot through with silver, like it was made of tinsel. And it was big, she was wearing it as a dress. The expediency of last year's dress fed her lunacy this year. They should definitely control themselves this time. Thank god the door had been locked.

The big H over the heart of her sweater cum dress was probably only visible to her.

And possibly to Harry, from the way he had zeroed in on her. He'd greeted her when she came in the kitchen door with a lingering kiss on her cheek. She was totally breathless just from seeing him. He had grown. He was a bit taller and seemed to have slimmed down. And his hair was brushing his shoulders in this way that could only be described as princley. She was waiting and hoping for true love's kiss.

That was probably why, when he looked around naughtily and scooted her over 5 steps to be under the mistletoe, she hadn't even been able to find an eye roll of protest. The kiss had tasted like home, because he was the best thing about Christmas and coming home to Holmes Chapel. He was what she longed for on days that literally didn't end in Iceland, cozy nights with him, under the blankets near a fire. It lingered, his lips on hers, the slick of his Christmas cookie scented tongue. He held her a moment later, the hug lasted too long as well.

"Oooh, Harry get off!" Gemma had harrumphed.

Emma had been sure her face was bright red, but Harry had just rolled with it, pointed to the mistletoe, and said, "Seemed more appropriate than a full make out!" He'd pulled back and tossed that comment over his shoulder but winked at her as his hands dropped. It had seemed to satisfy for that moment. That was before Emma had ignored rules and definitely fallen into her pattern. The Boar's Head on Boxing Day and maybe a few more. Hell, even the landlady recognized them and told them she'd saved their preferred room for them. Gemma was quick, sharp as a knife blade and could cut like one too, when hurt.

Maybe Gemma had gotten sick of the unexplained sober night disappearing acts and called him out.

Would they come clean? Did that mean this was over? Did that mean this was beginning?

Emma wasn't even sure what she wanted. This was the worst case scenario, that those they loved and were deceiving knew.

Or, maybe they knew for an even worse reason.

Variable three - it had gotten out to the press. Someone had snapped a photo of them kissing before the "we were just hugging" excuse. Or got them together here in a more salacious situation. Going to a room together - no - that can't be right. They meet here, behind closed doors, no one can get to them here, it's like their fortress. Nobody knows. Would the landlady sell them out?

Emma takes a deep breath, she's just given herself some very rapid fire and escalating worst case scenarios. She needs more data. "What's wrong?" Her voice is steady.

Maybe not steady enough, he looks up with his brow quirked and his mouth a bit drawn.

He reads her, she feels him open her up like the spine of a book. She hopes he doesn't ask. How long would it take to explain the crazy journey her mind just took? Instead he just tilts his head and gives her a naughty smile. "We're stuck!" His eyebrows raise like he's just told her he found a stash of herbs that act like viagra.

"Huh?" For as quick a thinker as she is, she feels really behind. May have been that smile's promise, or that his news is simple, innocuous, not full of consequences.

"Come look." His head motions to the window he is standing in front of. He puts her in front of him immediately and hooks his chin over her shoulder. "We're snowed in!" He's gleeful.

"You'll miss your flight." She sounds worried. This would stress her out.

"I will, but I won't miss out on you! And I can't get my ass chewed because this is an act of God!"

"An act of God to get you laid!" She laughs. She's joking.

He doesn't look amused. "I already got laid." He tries for a playful eye roll, it doesn't land, like when you jump off a swing and miss, tumble over, twist an ankle. "I'm excited, how cozy is this! We get to hang out for at least another day. We can order food in and stay in bed and watch movies! Everyone else will be snowbound too so we won't have to put on real clothes or anything at all and go to the pub or family dinner or anything. Just us two with no obligations!"

He looks gleeful to have extra time off. She shouldn't begrudge him, he works hard and so does she. "What movie do you want to watch?" He's already digging for his laptop and sweats, he's down to a tee, tossing her the one she slept in.

There's a part of Emma that thinks she should bring up all the winding trails her mind just ran, instead, she smiles and catches the love bug he's infected with. "You pick, baby." Baby, wow, she thought she only said that in her head, or when she's under him. She'd be happy if he doesn't notice. He does, and the way he looks over it makes her happier.

Hours later, after he calls down for shepherds pie and tea he says, "We should get pints'"

"I don't like beer."

"Then wine!"

"Ok, wine." They usually only had tipsy tumbles at the party. This was intentional; on her part at least, she liked to remember their limited time together so she could live off it all year. "I feel like I need to warn you, wine makes me feel sexy."

"Oh, oh no, what will I do?" He put his hand to his heart then to his head and reclined in an arch that belied his 'I don't dance' claims. Maybe not yet, but one day he'd be a dancer. "I know you will launch an assault on my virtue!" He stuck his tongue to the cover of his smirking mouth. She'd take that invitation.

"Yeah. I should make a start on that job now!" She advances on him with all the moves she put into being the best footballer in sixth form. Harry runs from her, but the room is small and cozy and cluttered, so he quickly tumbles over. He groans from the floor.

"Oh, are you hurt babe?" She's on her knees looking his perfect face over for forming bruises when he laughs and pulls her down on top of him.

"Nope, fine and dandy!"

"Dandy is right!" She secretly loved his evolving look. But had to take him down a few pegs regularly.

"Heeey! I had to call a foul, you are way faster than you look!"

"How does one look fast?" She's talking, he's kissing.

"When you look like you have moves," he moved his eyebrows in illustration, "and I'm like a newborn gazelle."

"Bullshit, I think you just get distracted."

He blinked and just stared for a moment. "Nobody's ever said that but my mum." Emma wasn't sure what that meant, but it meant something. The deep kiss and eye contact said so. As did his downshift.

They'd been on 4th gear headed to 5th when she'd started joking. Now he was back to third and decelerating.

"Cmon," he broke the kiss to say and came back like her lips were honey to his bee. It took him three lip locks to get to the next words. "Let's go get cozy and watch something."

She barely remembers the movie he put on. But she'll always remember him narrating it in her ear and his comment on the aesthetic.

"Do you like the costumes and set design or the actual plot?" She tilted her head back to ask and found her lips had the same magnets in them his had earlier. Must be contagious like his glee for snow days.

"Both, but I guess ideally they are equally great, but I'd say the latter in this case."

"You know, pop star, for a boy who left school early, you're awfully cerebral." She meant this as a compliment.

He blushed and gave her a shy smile. "Nah, I'm a lad."

There was something about the way he said it, like this was one of those beliefs everyone had about themselves that they didn't really share, but affected them.

Emma climbed up over him. "Hey, you're not allowed to put yourself down around me, ok?"

"Being a lad isn't necessarily a bad thing." That rang true, he believed that.

"Yeah, I agree with you. But you aren't just a lad Harry."

He looks askance for a second. "I mean, I'm not like, a genius or anything," he nudged her, "not like some people."

"I'm not a genius." He made a face. "I'm not. I'm smart, but more than that I'm dedicated, and you obviously are as well. You work really hard Harry, and you make people really happy. You make great music. You know that, right? That what you do has merit? That it matters?"

"I'm not saving the planet." He looked deeply at her.

"Neither am I." He scoffed. "No, really. I'm just trying to do what I can to make things a little better. And you are too."

"Yeah, but I want to do more, like more good."

"And you will, you do know you're like 21 right." Sometimes she needed this reminder too. He was even younger than her.

"Not quite."

"Stop reminding me I'm older than you." She ruffled his hair.

"Older and wiser."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Styles."

Harry reversed their positions, she was under him, looming blue and beautiful above her. "I dunno, I like my geography."

The kisses he was applying to her collarbone were pretty compelling.

"I guess I'd have to see a little more flattery," she sighed.

"I think you're the smartest girl I've ever met." That kiss was right below her ear.

She made an encouraging sound.

"I love the color of your eyes when there is soft light behind you." That kiss was to the same spot on the other side. It was also very specific.

"I miss you and the way you smell 11 months out of the year." That one was on the hollow at the base of her throat.

"If I could, I'd just follow you from Amsterdam to Iceland so that I got to wake up to you every morning." That one she felt required a follow up, but that kiss was on her mouth and escalated to all of the other positions his held.

It wasn't until the next morning, when they we're still snowbound, cozy, and together that she thought to say, "You know you could do anything you wanted, be anything you wanted. You're limitless, Harry."

She didn't tell him she'd also love if he chose to follow her between her school and her hoped for career. Just like she hoped he would never tell her he wanted her to follow him on tour. It was too limited.

She wished they were limitless together instead of on the divergent roads they'd chosen.

[p1nkwitch]

Oh I love all these prompts! Let me me unoriginal and request lonelyeyes for 63 please? 👁️

I hope you like it!!! i have decided to be soft today. They are both dumb and in love, but Elias is more of an idiot.

If you want more send them in!! I want to write something and i want ideas.

63- Routine Kisses Where The Other Person Presents Their Cheek/Forehead For The Hello/Goodbye Kiss Without Even Looking Up From What They’re Doing.

Elias would dare to say he loves his husband, there are moments like this one’s where he is very close to simply admit that he does. Its not even something that special, or big in the grand scheme of things, its merely… Peter being dumbly loyal like a well trained dog.

At first he thought it was some ploy, he will say that much. His sometimes husband is a very particular creature when it comes to his affections and defying his god. So to have him randomly kiss him? Without prompt?? It made him suspicious.

So he started to see if there was a pattern when it kept happening, nothing seemed to correlate these moods, the worst part was that they weren't even their usual kisses that he could say were a heat of the moment thing.

No, he was… giving him kisses out of nowhere in the forehead or cheek for god sake!!

Still, the other odd thing was his own reaction, it made him… feel rather good? It was odd, but ultimately innocuous. So he did not pay it any mind.

Until.

It was morning and Peter was in a hurry and was about to leave for a meeting with Nathaniel, which would leave him moping when he came back from the institute it always did. So he relished in the calm before that. However, before he could leave, Elias while watching him from the couch tilted his head to the side looking at him go-

When Peter immediately turned around, leaned down and kissed his cheek, it was… softer than usual, even in his hurry he made sure to be careful, after he also gave him a peck and left quickly through the door.

Both his cheek and lips tingle and he feels his heart go faster.

Oh. 

Oh Elias wanted more of that, of that softness and… care. He craved for it now, and Peter?

Peter gave him new and important insight that day. The moment Peter left, his mouth went into a huge grin. Oh he would enjoy this new power very much so.

So now he would do it every time before leaving and when he came home, and Peter no matter what he was doing would merely move and kiss his cheek or forehead softly making him feel giddy for the next few hours. He loved it. Loved the attention, loved that Peter would even for a second drop whatever is that he was doing just to give him that small kiss.

It was addicting.

And the feeling was always the same as the first time, warmth and something fluttering in his gut, making him grin like a fool once he is not visible. Its not something he is used to, to feel that… good. But most of their kisses are far more heated, not used to something so… innocuous or innocent. It's like when he was young and had his first crush as Jonah, the other boy who kissed his cheek did not mean it as anything but friendly, but to him it was everything.

This was the same.

Peter was after all as dependable as always and he loved him for it, and perhaps he thought it was a manipulation at first but its more like he just… likes the feeling of it, no strings attached, he is not even doing it consciously, its just out of complete reflex and because he loves him. Oh he knows that Peter Lukas would never do this with anyone else.

It was making him high on power, he wanted him to keep doing it and in fact-

He started to see if he could get him in other ways, so now in the morning before leaving for work he would pat his chest once and tilt his head, Peter would lean down and kiss his brow, before going back to make his ship in a bottle or eat his breakfast.

Soon he could do it without the tilt and only the pat. So if they were going out for dinner his husband would inevitably react and kiss him in public, which he never did before, too shy and shameful of being perceived as loving. The first time he seemed to freeze, but when he looked down at him flushed and with his mouth slightly open, his husband merely turned around to look elsewhere but did not disappear on thin air like he expected.

The next few times he did not hesitate and merely did it, Elias felt his heartbeat go faster and his smile be a little more genuine at the small acts of love. Because that's what it was and they both knew it at this point.

It creeped on him, that's why maybe it became his hubris.

Elias wakes up one morning alone in bed as per usual, he showers, changes and goes to the kitchen where breakfast is already served. They dont speak much, he is still sort of waking up and Peter is enthralled by his crossword puzzle. He bought him actual muffins from the bakery down the street, the little bastard. His smile tugs up.

Once he finishes he sees him struggle with a word and feeling generous instead of plucking it out of his mind, he gets up and stands behind him.

“What are you doing-?”

“Shush, I'm helping” He reads and after thinking it he says the answer making his husband look up at him and tilt his head slightly in wonder. Elias doesnt think about it and leans down since the man was actually sitting down, and kisses his forehead lightly before getting up to pick up his stuff for the day. It's halfway through that he realizes what he has done that he feels his face burn, the mirror confirms that his cheeks were flushed. 

Oh god.

When he comes back the kitchen and livingroom are empty and there is some fog on the floor.

“...Sap”

It… doesn't stop really, the next time he does it, Peter stiffens but doesn't disappear, when he reciprocates Elias sighs and doesn't comment.

Eventually neither of them really pay it any mind anymore. It becomes completely natural to expect a kiss if they move in a certain way no matter the situation. 

He oversleeps and has to leap out of bed yelling at Peter for not waking him up, he claims he tried but that he cursed him out, rolled around and kept sleeping.

“Useless!!” With everything in place he was about to leave when he heard him from the kitchen.

“Aren't you forgetting something?” Mumbling under his breath he goes towards him lifts his chin with his hand and kisses the side of his mouth softly, before whispering.

“Happy now?” Peter’s eyes looked like plates and he swallowed before laughing nervously at him. His voice went higher.

“I meant breakfast, I bought you muffins ….” He practically squeaks the last part when Elias kisses the tip of his nose and his cheeks repeatedly.

“Thank you dear-” Peter was a mess, his face was absolutely red and Elias was not faring any better, but he picks up the little muffing in its bag and goes.

Oh he will definitely cherish the image of today. Even if it came at his expenses.

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: T (No TW this chapter, but keep in mind the grander story involves major character injury)

Words: 6.7K~

Summary: The first (and with any luck, only) time it happens, he’s almost 16.

Chapter Summary: Aftermath.

This is officially the longest complete SU fic I’ve finished. I’m so proud ;w;

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3 as well. Thank you! <3

_____

Chapter 4: The Remembrance

His mind is shrouded by darkness for long enough that in the split instant the curtains finally part, for just a momentary shard of infinity, the mere idea of any world beyond the pitch-black he’s become so accustomed to seems like a farce.

Resultantly, his journey to consciousness is about as labored and exhausting as a backpacking trip across the Great North in the dead of winter.

He’s greeted by flashes of white, first— intermittent, dim. They splash across his inky sky in unreliable patterns, little bursts of static gearing up to pull him out of this all-consuming nothingness and back to reality. Next, a heartbeat. Steady and sure, such a relief to experience that his throat can’t help but constrict in a wave of all-encompassing emotion. (Why is he so relieved to feel something this normal?) Lying somewhere intangibly beyond his awareness, he can hear... water? Waves, he immediately corrects himself. The aching familiarity of waves crashing upon the shore, a sound he’s shared his front yard with for almost his whole life. Elsewhere, the faint scent of herbs and simmering broth delicately pulls on his consciousness, burning through tangled threads of disorientation and confusion and beckoning him awake.

Steven’s eyelids flutter open, thin lines of light streaming through the gaps between his eyelashes.

The moment he does however, the stark actuality of his situation slams into him with a vengeance. His head throbs as memories begin to re-establish themselves like individual puzzle pieces locking into place.

 I was— Dad, and Amethyst... the fountain... empty, and then Pearl had to....

His heart’s pace snaps into overdrive in seconds. Thrashing under his blankets, he manages to kick his arms and torso free so he can rush to sit up. Dizziness assails him as he yanks up the bottom of his pajamas and splays his hand across the smooth, warm surface of that diamond at his core, feeling for cracks, for chips, for—

 Huh. Imagine that.

Steven inhales deep as he attempts to balance out the pace of his breath, blood still pounding in his ears as he delicately traces a shaking index finger around the edge of the central pentagonal facet of his gem, entirely unblemished and whole. There’s no sign of damage, no thin stress fractures left behind. No evidence that it was ever cracked at all, really. For an excruciatingly lengthy moment his brow creases inwards in confusion as he wonders if all this agony was nothing but a stress-induced nightmare. But then again...

He groans, pressing his fingers to one of his throbbing temples as the ambient pain hits him.

Oh stars, everything aches. His head, his limbs, his spine, every square inch of his body feels like he’s been pressed through a meat grinder and ruthlessly spat out on the other side. If that’s not proof that what happened on his mission with Amethyst was real, then he doesn’t know what is. Drowsily, he flops back against his pillow and squeezes his eyelids shut, stubbornly yearning for the comfort and familiarity of sleep-induced unconsciousness. Maybe, just maybe... he can sleep these aches away.

Time passes far too unreliably as he’s laying motionless there, struggling against a hyperactive flood of thoughts to return to his earlier state of rest. Has he been awake for a minute? Half an hour? He has no idea. The only concrete thing he can glean is that he definitely has a headache right now. Maybe even a migraine. He’s still not sure what the difference between those is supposed to be. Is it a ‘squares are rectangles, but rectangles aren’t squares’ sort of scenario? Or are they synonyms? Hmm. Maybe he should ask Dad, he’d probably know. In fact, where is Dad? And how’d he end up in bed in his pajamas, anyways?

He’s honestly relieved when he hears the unmistakable sound of Pearl’s light, precise footsteps climbing the stairs to his room, if only that it gives him a solid excuse to face reality and stop deluding himself with the tragic, unobtainable lie that is peaceful slumber. He lets his eyes flutter open again.

“Hi, Pearl,” he mumbles when she reaches the top step.

She’s carrying a small dinner tray with a steaming bowl of something delicious smelling (the broth he recognized earlier?) and a glass of water perched atop. Meeting his half-alert gaze, her expression lights up with a glow of pleasant surprise.

“Oh, good, you’re up!” she says, a great deal of the stress locked in her shoulders melting away as she crosses the room towards his bedside. “I was just about to wake you myself, if you weren’t already.”

Rubbing away the exhaustion crusted at the corners of his eyes with the joint at the base of his thumb, he watches as Pearl carefully places the tray on the nightstand at his right. With a groan, he bows upwards under his covers, the vertebrae in his back popping and sighing all the while as he stretches. Goodness, he’s not sure his spine has ever felt so stiff and tight. Remind him to never accidentally get hurled against a tree in combat again.

“How... how long was I out?��� he asks then, the workaholic part of him already fearing her answer.

Pearl glances towards the ceiling, her brow creasing as she makes the calculation in her head.

“Hmm, I think... around seven hours?“

“What??” he cries, shooting upright in bed with the speed of a spring trap. “Seven hours?! That’s like, the whole day! I had plans!”

She frowns pensively, gesturing widely with her hands as she replies. “Steven, you were cracked and needed time to recover. A hit like that is bound to take a serious toll on any body, hard-light or not.”

His features morphing into a scowl, he slouches back against the wall. That’s a fair point, how disruptive cracks can be for full-Gems as well. It’s not just a matter of Pearl babying him. Even though they healed Amethyst’s fracture fairly quickly, years back, it still took her a few days of rest before she rose to the top of her game again. And as much as he’d love to deny it, right now his whole body honestly feels like it’s been hit head on by a truck at sixty miles per hour. It’s a dull but constant brand of pain he can’t claim he’s ever dealt with before all this mess. That month he shot up almost a foot in height back when he was 14 came close, but even that period of ache was more subtle than this.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he says with a heavy sigh, threading his fingers together in his lap.

“Anyways,” she says gently, the reminder of her presence cutting through some of the layers of his pain-induced melancholy, “it’s 5:38 now, just in time for dinner! And I took the liberty of cooking a batch of your favorite soup.”

Unable to help himself, his inner child gasps in sheer joy. He sits up again, slamming his palms to his cheeks as he gushes with excitement. “Chicken and vegetable soup with the tiny star noodles??”

Any lingering crankiness about the percentage of the day wasted dissipates into a fine mist as Pearl picks the tray off the nightstand and passes it into his lap, confirming the identity of his homemade dinner. As he begins to eat— carefully, taking small spoonfuls at first to ensure that his stomach can handle it— his guardian sits at the edge of his bed and provides him updates on the rest of the family’s whereabouts. Apparently Garnet’s still halfway across the galaxy, but should be returning home tomorrow the moment she’s through with her mission. She sends her love, Pearl says. She also texted Connie to let her know what happened, and his friend plans to come over as soon as she can in the morning to spend time with him as he recovers. Meanwhile, Greg left a few minutes before he woke up to hit the store. He’s picking up some new food for the both of them, and intends to sleep downstairs on the couch the next few nights to keep tabs on him.

“He’s been really worried about you,” she admits, reaching out for his hand as if she too frets he might suddenly fade into the ether if she takes her eyes off him for one moment. “Before I told him to step out of the house for some mental rejuvenation, he never left your side.”

Steven responds to her tactile affection with a soft squeeze for her benefit, but quickly lets go to continue eating his soup.

“Well,” he says through a fresh spoonful of food, “‘m fine now, so...” Pause to swallow, the bump of his larynx bobbing in his throat. “So there’s no need to worry anymore.”

“Oh, if only it were that easy,” she comments, a melancholy smile framing her face.

With a sigh, she stands to her feet, smoothing out the edge of the covers where she once sat. Watching this small act, he suddenly wonders if her vast history with deeply troubling experiences like what she had to witness this morning are why she’s so emotionally drawn to tasks such as tidying and repairing; after all, these do allow her space to exert a small degree of control over areas of her life she might otherwise harbor concern or anxiety towards. Huh. He presses his lips into a tight line as he willfully contemplates this concept. Considering his earlier disappointment about how much daylight he’s wasted, (so many business and socialization meetings he’s missing in town today!), perhaps he inherited a portion of his own workaholic tendencies from emulating her throughout his childhood. He dares not follow this rabbit any further, however... dares not ask what he’s distracting himself from.

 Another time, Universe.

Brimming with a renewed sense of purpose, Pearl crosses towards the narrow patio outside the open slider door, her features returning to their neutral, observant state.

“In any case,” she continues as she rests her palm flat against the glass, “please do enjoy the rest of your meal! I’m going to fetch Amethyst from the observatory. She’s been, um... how to say... on Diamond pacifying duty these past few hours, and I’m sure she‘s desperate for a break.”

He offers a sharp grimace in response to this sentiment, knowing from almost two years of firsthand experience that patiently keeping watch over those Gem monarchs is no easy task. “Youch, my condolences. Feel free to send her in, I’d love to see her.”

Pearl nods in confirmation, and then slips out the doorway towards the observatory’s ramp.

He enjoys what little is left of his soup as he waits. Thankfully, his system shows no signs of unrest, which allows him to finish the whole bowl. Good thing, too. He unfortunately recalls losing his breakfast earlier this morning amidst the blunt force of that spiked tail to his stomach, which means he’s had little to no food in him all day. Now, he’s no medical expert, (Connie would likely know the answer thanks to her mom, though), but surely that can’t be good for recovery.

Amidst his better wishes, his thoughts turn to all the social meetings and appointments he’d planned for today. He can’t imagine Pearl knew his itinerary well enough to contact each and every person he’d unintentionally blown off, so that means from all of their perspectives they waited and waited and he simply... never showed up. Like Mayor Nanefua. He was supposed to discuss logistics about Little Homeschool’s eventual opening with her at town hall immediately after the corrupted Gem mission. Peridot. He agreed to meet with her at one of the ancient drop ship sites to assist in de-arming it for safety purposes. Lars. Before all this happened, he was genuinely looking forward to hanging out with Lars and the rest of his Gem gang this afternoon. And because he was reckless and got himself cracked on what should’ve been the most straightforward mission of all time, he let them all down. He groans, slumping backwards until his head clunks against the wall. Ughhh. Stupid, stupid Steven. Now, where on earth’s his phone? He should probably start to clear up this mess.

Steven places his empty bowl on the tray on his nightstand, and begins dutifully searching the tabletop. Before his search can bear any fruit, however, Amethyst bursts into the room, toting one of the handheld diamond communication lines they store in the observatory. (Blessedly, this one comes without self-destruct functionality. Times have sure changed since the daring days when Peridot emphatically called Yellow Diamond a clod.)

“Hey, little man!” she chimes when they meet each other’s glance, her relieved smile admittedly rather infectious. “It’s great to see ya’ up and at ‘em again.”

He offers a bashful laugh, twirling his finger around a short curl at the nape of his neck. “Y-yeah, I’m—“

“Yo, what’s this here, though?” she interjects, bee-lining to his nightstand to stick her nose in his dinner tray. Her face falls the moment she sees inside the bowl, which he’s dutifully scraped empty. “Dude, come on, you didn’t leave any for me?”

“What? Nooo,” he says in mock protest, his voice wavering in laughter. “I already ate it.”

Amethysts reaches forward and gives him a solid noogie, ruffling his hair until its ends are all mussed. Even though his head still hurts he can’t help but giggle, playfully batting her arms away. Hah, typical quartz sibling affection. Gotta love it.

“Nah, I’m just goofin’!” she grins. “You’ve lost enough food today on the forest floor, so I wouldn’t be stealin’ any even if I could.”

“Thank you for that reminder,” he comments with an eye roll, lips pursed as he tries not to muse too hard about the uncomfortable burning sensation associated with that abhorrent experience, least he vomit all over again.

Meanwhile, Amethyst’s high spirits finally hit their crest and begin to break like the distant din of white water waves offshore as she nervously tussles with the crystal octahedron clasped in her palm.

“But, ah... ignoring all that, Blue D said she wanted to talk to you?”

She presses the diamond line into his possession with fettered urgency, the posture of her hands vocalizing an unspoken, underlying message of “oh stars, I’m going insane babysitting these ancient Gem monarchs, please take this from me NOW.” Or at least, that’s what he gleans from it. To be fair, his months of near-constant interaction with them may make him a little biased on the subject.

“Probably best not to keep her waiting. We can catch up later,” she says, giving his fingers a quick squeeze before pulling away.

And with that she hurtles down the stairs into the main living area, ditching him within this empty room with the equivalent of an intergalactic phone that dials direct to who he can only describe as his honorary Gem grandparents. Sure, so maybe most Gems don’t have “children” in the same manner humans do, and maybe the Diamonds themselves have no clear understanding of the classification of human familial relationships, (despite their somewhat touching attempts at learning a few details about Earth culture for his sake), but the quasi-parental role they played in his mother’s life is undeniable from his perspective. So is their “out-of-touch” nature, a common stereotype he sees played up for drama with fictional grandparents on TV shows all the time. He’s not sure how he feels yet that this stereotype rings so true with his own.

Regardless, if Blue wants to talk, then there’s no time like the present. As much as he dreads it, this conversation is bound to happen eventually, of course— and after all their concern, the diamonds more than deserve an update on his well-being. Steven swallows hard, rhythmically tapping his fingers against the crystal as he summons the courage to dial, desperately attempting to not let the sour notes of their last interaction tint the underlying sentiment of this one before it can even begin.

Eventually, he sucks in a deep breath and activates the communicator. The octahedron glows a soft blue, and after a few seconds’ time during which the signal is crossing to the far edge of the galaxy, projects a view screen above its upper point.

The image is fuzzy at first, but sharpens fast once Blue connects from her end. She immediately smiles as she looks upon him, elated emotion running so deep within her that for once, it even manages to reach her eyes.

“Steven! I’m so glad to see that you’re okay,” she begins in full earnesty, clasping her hands together in front of her gem.

He doesn’t respond at first, finding himself too distracted by the scenery, and by the radical juxtaposition of Blue’s current demeanor to her behavior last night. Given the glimpse of White’s empty throne behind her shoulder, he’s pretty sure she’s sitting alone in the ballroom, the sight of which can’t help but stir up unwanted memories of the brief argument they had right before he rushed off to visit home, b-because... oh stars, he was right there, standing right in her presence when she reflexively forced her tears on him.

She wanted to throw him a massive planet-wide ball honoring his sixteenth birthday, wanted to organize a whole coalition of Gems to set up the venues, the entertainment, the food, everything— and when he finally managed to squeeze a word in edgewise between all her unfettered excitement to inform her that he wished to spend his birthday celebrating with his family on Earth instead, she was inconsolable. Crying. Raising her voice. Blaming him of running away from her just like Pink did all those years ago. In the heat of the moment he believed he was simply standing up for himself and his preferences, but fast forward to the present and he can’t help but question the etiquette of his own response more and more as the cruel minutes tick onward. Did he do the right thing, or did he only cause her undue emotional harm? Will Blue Diamond accept his stance moving forward, or will she press the topic again? (After all, he knows her desire to tether him to Homeworld for his birthday is merely a symptom of her greater longing for him to live in the palace with them permanently.) And if she does, is he even allowed to express his opinions when he’s outright walking a tightrope every day he’s in the public eye, single-handedly balancing Gemkind’s delicate political situation in both hands as he slowly but surely advances towards the light on the other side? He must be careful. One wrong move, and everything he’s been working towards for the past year could topple, could cause a disastrous vacuum.

No matter the personal cost, isn’t it his duty as savior of the galaxy to ensure that doesn’t happen?

Gems are depending on him.

And as much as he wants to be selfish and dig his heels into the ground to ensure his own comfort for once in his life, he’s not sure that’s even an option anymore.

Steven grips onto the edge of his bedspread with his free hand, clamping his fingers in tight, reveling in the sensation of skin shifting against downy fabric. It’s just enough to tether him back to the present. To ensure he doesn’t lose himself in the riptides of bitter memory. But by the time his scattered awareness clues in on the fact that he’s probably remained silent for an overly awkward period of time, it’s much too late, and in due consequence, he mentally returns to the scene to find that Blue has kept on talking with or without his conscious attention.

Hah. Serves him right, honestly.

“—was just explaining the details of the disastrous mission you embarked on today,” she says, making small gestures in embellishment of her soft-spoken words, “when your Pearl entered to announce you were awake. I’ll let the others know as soon as I can.”

He swallows, his throat hopelessly dry, as dry as the fine granules of sand scattered across the upper shore on an intensely hot summer’s day.

“I, um—“ he manages, voice wavering. (And quite honestly, feeling stupid for it, in her presence. How many months has he spent perfecting his technique for confidently speaking with the diamonds, again?) He adjusts his hold on the octahedral crystal as he vies to regain some sense of inner balance for the rest of this conversation. “So Yellow and White know too, then?”

Blue leans upon one of the armrests of her throne, releasing a weary sigh. It’s only then that he begins to take note of the residual anxiety blanketed across her form— the almost bruise-like shadows under her eyes appearing deeper than usual, her normally flawless hair now frizzy and unkempt— and if he’s honest, he struggles to understand how he truly feels, knowing that the news of his injury could affect her in such a soul-striking manner. (He often wonders if it’s fair of him, interacting with them in such a detached business-like fashion when, despite their intermittent shortcomings and confusions, they’ve offered him nothing but love and adoration in return since the beginning of era 3.)

“Oh, they were the first to know. Yellow answered the initial call, and White, she was hosting a court session with some of the fusion Gems just next door. I—“ She presses the pad of her thumb to the center facet of her gemstone, pausing in her words a moment to take a sharp inhale. “I only learnt about what nearly happened to you a fragment of a rotation ago, upon my return to the palace.”  

His brows furrow, suddenly realizing the fact that, beyond Blue, the throne room she sits in sounds desolate. Void of all Gems. “Where is everyone, anyways?”

“Distracting themselves, mostly. Last I heard, they’re busy trying to locate any of Pink’s essences that might still remain within our stores, just in case something like this should happen again. Of course I dread the very thought, but...”

Her voice wavers with just the hint of a sob, as she momentarily breaks from her explanation to regain her composure.

(Steven is ashamed to admit that he fails to mask the instinctual tightening of his shoulders as he sees fresh tears brim upon the digitized representation of her visage, even though logically he knows there’s no chance her influence could cross all these light years to weigh down on him here. Not on Earth. Not this far away.)

“...I couldn’t bear to lose another,” she manages, and— after dabbing those teardrops away with her curled fingers— glances back up to meet his gaze with those boundless, melancholy eyes. “You understand, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” he says softly, chest growing tighter at the untimely reminder of his mom’s passing, an inseparable facet of his life history he still hasn’t managed to process yet. Perhaps subconscious in nature, his free hand creeps its way under his shirt to rest protectively over his gem. “No one deserves to go through that pain again.”

“Y’know, that’s why I really do wish you’d consider our offer to permanently live with us on Homeworld, in the safety of the palace,” she mentions then, clasping her hands together as if this were a dawning, glorious new idea Steven’s never heard before. “After all, I’m sure none of this would’ve happened under the protection of the guard.”

“Uh, I don’t thi—“

“Can you imagine it, all four diamonds finally reunited under the same stars?” Blue continues, a wide smile passing gracefully across her lips as she waxes on about this indulgent dream of hers. “We could grow you an orchard, so you have as much food as you need, and your pebbles could make you whatever clothes or luxuries you desire. And of course, there’s still the matter of your annual birth celebration to attend to...”

Steven can’t help it. He can’t manage to stop himself, no matter how pathetic he knows his reaction is.

In the light of this topic’s re-emergence, he zones out again. He slips directly into the welcoming embrace of inattention and subconscious thought. His head’s pounding, the pulsing discomfort birthing a brand new species of ache right behind his eyes. It’s miserable, but no more miserable than the idea of the future Blue Diamond has been continuously pushing for the last few months. No more miserable than the idea of being trapped on a planet with individuals who — no matter how hard they try and change their habits for his sake in the present— have all deeply hurt him at various stages of his life. And sure, he knows this is a twisted, selfish sentiment for him to harbor, because of how Pink abandoned them in the past, because of how all three of them have worked so tirelessly these past months to reorganize their entire way of life: to actually see him as his own person instead of a shadow of his mom, to healthily process their own emotions instead of tearing others down, to openly invite fusions and off-colors into the light of society. They’ve genuinely changed for the better. He should be overjoyed about that, shouldn’t he? He should be happy for them.

And yet joy is the last thing he feels when faced with the genuine possibility that he might not be strong enough in his own convictions to stand up to Blue’s desires, that he might one day find himself trapped long-term on a planet that— albeit picturesque in its own unique way— he doesn’t call home, his feet rooted to the dead soil by thorny vines born of his own timidness.

Somehow, in the face of all his fears, he swears he’s transforming into a coward.

He didn’t used to be. The Steven Universe of Era 2 wouldn’t dare stand down from making his opinions heard, would fight for what he believes in until star-shine glistens overhead and all denizens of the galaxy could experience true freedom.

So what the hell is his hang up now? He knows exactly how he wants to respond, so why can’t he simply summon the courage to do it? Why can’t this be as intuitive as summoning his shield, or a bubble?

Why does he have to feel so... so twisted up inside about this?

Steven clenches his teeth then, a sudden spike of residual pain arcing up his spine. Yikes, okay. That doesn’t feel great. Maybe he’s been sitting up for too long, and needs to lay down and rest again.

Or else, maybe after he’s finally done discussing matters with Blue he could...

Wait a minute.

The fingers of his free hand begin to knead the blanket in his lap with a new wave of gusto as he comes to an abrupt revelation about his present condition that could change literally everything.

Stars, that’s perfect. That’s not even a lie! Why on Earth didn’t he think of this before?

He was severely injured this morning. The gemstone at his core outright could’ve shattered, without treatment. Surely any fellow Gem would understand if he says he needs some extra time to fully recover? Perhaps even... the rest of the week? Including his birthday? And on top of that, this extra time would allow him all the privacy he needs to figure out how to confidently and politely decline Blue’s recurring request to live on Homeworld. He’d literally be hitting two targets with one shield!

He nibbles at the inside of his bottom lip as he considers how best to phrase this.

“Hey, Blue?” he calls, immediately garnering her full gaze. “Um—“

Although briefly squirming like an insecure child under those intense azure irises, he stamps down that devilishly tempting urge to go silent and recede into the shadows of this conversation again, wholly compliant to whatever she says. No, he has to speak his mind. No positive change in this relationship will ever occur unless he resolves to stand up for himself, no matter how many reminders it takes. His muscles grow tense as his mouth bobs open once again.

“About the whole birthday celebration thing, I, uh...”

His tongue grows excruciatingly dry in his anxiety, and he’s suddenly struck with the reminder that he never drank the water Pearl left on his dinner tray. Pity, that. He swallows, throat tight and scratchy, and continues.

“I think it’s very kind of you to offer hosting a ball for me on Homeworld, but as of right now, I... I’m very, very sore, and need to stay at my home for a few days to recover from my injury, okay? I promise I’ll visit in person as soon as I’m physically able to,” he rapidly blurts, recognizing a glint of hurt coat Blue’s otherwise attentive expression, “just... after my birthday.”

The diamond lets her weary eyes flutter shut as she takes a moment to soak in everything he just said. Honestly, he can’t think to guess what’s running through her mind right now, and he’s not sure he wants to. Eventually however, she offers an extended sigh, its watercolor edges brushed with an air of melancholy.

“I suppose you’re right,” she replies, offering him a watery smile. “We wouldn’t want to upset your fragile organic system so soon after such an ordeal, now would we? Very well, then. I’ll leave you to rest.”

“Thank you,” he says, his shoulders finally loosening up from their overwrought state.

“We can do something to celebrate when you’re back on Homeworld, just the four of us. In fact, I’ve been talking with White, and we have the perfect idea for a gift!”

Steven gives a small nervous laugh, fiddling with the back of his shirt collar. “Hahah, yeah? Well, I guess I’ll look forward to it. Anyways, uh... thanks for checking in. Bye.”

His heart still pounding despite the overwhelming sense of resolution, his thumb presses the bottom point of the octahedron inwards, ending the call. He gently sets aside the communicator on his nightstand, next to his empty soup bowl. Exhausted, both mentally and physically, he flops backwards on his bed with his arms stretched wide and gives a sharp, celebratory cackle of relief. He... he finally did it! He spoke his mind. He stood up to Blue’s headstrong desires, successfully reasserted his intentions. Set clear boundaries, just like Amethyst said he should. And as his reward, maybe now he can celebrate his birthday at home without guilt hanging like a weighty anvil over his head. Just maybe. He smiles, allowing his sore body to sink right into the plush cocoon of his mattress.

For the first time today, things are finally on the up-and-up.

And so that pattern continues through the rest of the evening. It’s not long after his call with Blue that his dad returns from the store, not even bothering to put the frozen and refrigerated foods in their proper temperature controlled places before bounding upstairs to check on him upon the call of his name. No amount of detailed description could ever hope to intimately capture the full spectrum of sheer elation and love Dad unloads on him in the precious minutes that follow, but by the end of it his father’s sobbing in his arms, exhausted tears staining the collar of his pajama shirt as they clutch to each other with iron clad grips. At this point, the only way Steven can hope to respond is to act as nothing more but a solid rock, if only to reassure him that he’s alive, he’s well, he’s here.

The two of them spend a good chunk of the remaining evening together, watching reruns of Under the Knife at the foot of his bed while nibbling on some cheddar popcorn. It’s rejuvenating, honestly. Stars, is it rejuvenating. Somehow it seems like an eternity since they’ve been able to just... live life together, even in the simplest of ways. They’ll share a dinner here and there when he visits home, sure— a video call from another planet every week or so, yes— but there’s something so fundamentally irreplaceable about physically leaning against your loved ones and spending a tangible amount of time with them that he’s sorely missed over his busy months as Era 3’s ambassador. It’s special. Something to cherish. And something he dearly hopes to engage in with his family and friends a lot more as his immediate duties with the Diamonds wind to a close.

At some point in the middle of their fourth episode, Steven finally finds his phone. It was in his jacket pocket, of course— the new pink wool one he left slung over his desk chair before leaving on the corrupted Gem recovery mission this morning. With that retrieved, he makes sure to text a quick update to all the friends he missed seeing today. Even though logic tells him getting cracked wasn’t entirely his fault, it’s hard to dodge the temptation of guilt. Thankfully though, with the rest of the week now scrubbed entirely free of Homeworld stuff, perhaps he can reschedule a few of these gatherings.  

The rest of his night is uneventful.

The Gems pop in and out to check on him, otherwise attending to their own obligations. Over the comforting backdrop of the television, Dad gushes about the concert he’s organized in town next week for Sadie Killer and the Suspects. Says he’s hopeful it’ll be a sellout. In return, he provides lush descriptions of some of the distant former colonies (now free planets) he’s gotten to visit as part of his political service. There’s some pretty stunning ones, he has to admit. The sightseeing he gets to engage in is a small but shining perk of his current responsibilities.

At ten, the TV is turned off. They hug and part ways, his dad quietly shuffling to the bathroom downstairs to brush his teeth and throw on a sleep shirt.

His headache is almost gone by now, having reduced to nothing more but a faint aura.

He’s standing outside on the porch enjoying some fresh, salty air before bed when Amethyst quietly slides into place alongside him, seeking his affection. She wraps her arms tight around his torso, burying her face against his shoulder. He reciprocates in kind. She doesn’t cry like Dad did, however. She doesn’t even speak. Rather, her purposeful silence ripples through his soul more than any concrete word or phrase ever could. Innately, he knows what she’s asking.

“I’m okay now,” he murmurs softly, blinking away his own budding tears while his expression is still hidden from her. “You healed me, I’m okay.”

“You’re a big liar, y’know that?” she says, voice muffled.

He rolls his eyes, pulling away from her embrace. “Fine, fine. I’m still a little sore. ‘Ya happy?”

Amethyst frowns, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger as she shifts her stance to lounge against the railing. “I’d be happier if none of that ever happened in the first place.”

Her frank statement hangs amidst the wind like a tattered flag upon an abandoned battlefield. Steven swallows, the resulting lump settling uneven in his throat.

(For a second he almost feels sick again, a surge of lingering discomfort churning at his core.)

“Yeah...” he sighs, staring off into the dim ocean horizon and forcing himself to acknowledge her unfortunate experience with this type of injury. “Yeah. I’m sorry if that brought back any bad memories for you.”

She scoffs. “Ch’yeah, so... I’m not gonna say it didn’t suck, but. It’s over now, y’know? I’ll deal. You don’t have to apologize for it, or anything.”

Long pause. His quartz sibling threads her fingers together as she leans against the chipping wood, silently tussling with herself under the ebbing solidarity of the ocean tides. A significant stretch of time passes between them before she finally takes it upon herself to speak again.

“‘S’not like it was your fault, anyways.”

His chest tightens upon recognition of that familiar self-blame inherent in her tone. If he were a stronger, better person, he might take it upon himself to chip away at the walls of that insecurity with love and reassurance, to be the kind, encouraging Steven he used to be. But he’s tired, and he’s lived long enough to acknowledge by now that perfectly formed words can’t fix everything. Not immediately, at least. People are complicated. He’s complicated. And sometimes the best one can manage is to simply act as a supportive companion to another.

Starlight glittering overhead, and the cool coastal breeze tussling at their hair, he joins Amethyst at the balcony and rests his cheek on her shoulder just like he used to do when he was little. Together, enveloped in a tension-filled silence, they watch the waves together. Watch the gulls pick at old food scraps further up shore, closer to the edge of the cliffs.

“Hey, what kind of gem was it, by the way?” he asks eventually. “You never said.”

“Ughhh,” she groans, dropping her head against the wood with a soft clunk. “A dang sapphire. Literally no wonder why she was so slippery!”

Steven can’t help the bubble of oddly placed glee that rises within him upon her answer. He cracks a dopey grin, shaking his head at himself. A snicker passes his lips.

A sapphire. Of course it was a sapphire. Gosh, isn’t that sweet, sweet vindication.

Her brow creases in confusion. “What?”

Perhaps finally cracking under months of accumulated stress, he breaks into peels of low laughter.

“What is it? Dude, ya’ gotta tell meeee!” she cries, playfully rustling at his arm as he doubles over against the railing, clutching his sides as he wrests to catch his breath and respond.

“No, it’s- it’s not even funny,” he says, pushing past the final surge and gaining some sense of composure again. “I just... my guess was spot-on. I’ve never seen a corrupted sapphire, before that.” His demeanor falls sober in a snap, wholly humbled by the abrupt reminder of the vital task waiting in his future, a task that— alongside the Diamonds’ bottled essences— only he can hope to see through. “I hope she’ll be okay, once she’s healed. I’m not even gonna mention what happened, honestly.”

Amethyst visibly pales at his allusion to the incident this morning. To ‘what happened.’ Hah. As if cushioning the truth in vague, non-specific language could at all erase the stark reality of what he went through. Sometimes he really is daft.

“Steven, I—“ she swallows hard, nibbling at her knuckles for a moment as she contemplates the greater details of whatever seems to be assailing her mind. “You don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to, okay? But... I have to at least ask. Do you, like... remember anything?”

He frowns, avoiding her direct gaze as he moves to lean against the balcony, overlooking the blustery shoreline.

“What, you mean about... everything after the fight? And at the, ah... at the fountain, yeah?”

Amethyst offers a hesitant nod, her eyes glossed with marked worry. Peering at the pinprick constellations above as he reflects on this question, Steven experimentally nudges scattered fragments of memory closer together, the seconds and minutes of that experience progressively locking into place until—

The world bends and splinters within his sight, his dad and Amethyst’s tear-stricken faces phasing into each other as they sink ever further into the thickets of their fearful despair. He’s prone in their hold, hard light pulsing rampant through his veins, unregulated, unrestrained, stretching out from his broken gemstone like clawing, yearning fingers... his muscles taut at one moment and pliable at the next, wholly unable to exert control over his body as his every limb jitters and jerks, unable to staunch his hoarse sobs as he soaks in the cold, terrifying static of it all, and now his words are jumbled and backwards, and deep within he knows this with an intense clarity but he can’t help it, he can’t fix it, he can barely even think, he ca—

Steven inhales evenly, purposefully not allowing his expression to flash even a minuscule micro-expression of residual fear. After all, it’s Era 3. Everyone’s supposed to find happiness and fulfillment now, which can’t happen when people are stuck dwelling on their shadowed past. Thus, Amethyst doesn’t need to be burdened with the knowledge of what he does or doesn’t know. That’s his problem to shoulder, his boulder to carry.

And he refuses to force anyone else to carry the weight of his past for him. He refuses to become like Blue, still stuck in a tempestuous pattern of pushing her emotions on everyone around her and making them feel like crap.

Perhaps it’s foolish, but he sorely wants to believe he’s better than her.

“Nope,” he says, feigning an unparalleled air of confidence as he shakes his head to confirm the negative. “Can’t remember a thing.”

[ink-on-parxhment]

throw a dart at the map (i’ll follow where you go)

Summary: Hitoshi comes home from his own patrol just as dawn breaks. In the warm, lazy light of morning they talk about just how much they deserve a break.

You can also find it at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30027042

Sunlight is barely peeking in through the windows when the door opens and light, shuffling footsteps make their way to the bed. There’s a rustle along the bedside table before the blankets shift and a warm, heavy weight settles itself against his front. Still-damp hair sticks up to tickle his nose as long, lean legs bump against where his are curled. An arm slings around his waist, and he feels a measured breath ghost over the skin of his throat as all the tension in Hitoshi’s body slumps into the mattress.

“Good morning,” he says, voice low with sleep.

“Good night,” Hitoshi snarks, like he does every time he crawls into bed at the crack of dawn.

Their work schedules are polar opposites of each other, and have been since graduation. Pro-Hero Deku was a well-known spot-light hero even before he graduated, and after their class graduated he only rose in the rankings. Hitoshi switched into the heroics class without a single bit of fanfare, kept his head down even during the chaos they all got into, and slunk into the shadows of the underground immediately upon gaining his license. Their time together was limited to the mornings and evenings between patrol shifts, and their coordinated days off.

It was hard, but it was worth it.

He bites his lip, thinks about voicing the thought he’s been rolling around his brain for the past few days. He lets one of his hands trail down Hitoshi’s back, tracing nonsense patterns as he goes.

“What are you thinking so hard about?” Hitoshi asks, and the question comes out half asleep, lulled that way by warmth and soothing hands.

He tugs the blanket back up over them, and then goes back to tracing patterns along his back.

"We should take a vacation."

"Mmm." Hitoshi twists a little in his arms, wakes up from where he had fallen mostly asleep. "Wait, really? Are you serious?"

The surprise in his voice is warranted. Everyone in their class has thrown themselves headfirst into herowork and never looked back, none moreso than Izuku himself. It’s been three years since then though, three years of putting himself in the spotlight and giving himself to the public and doing his damnedest to keep the press from digging too deeply into their personal lives. He wants to be able to keep some things to just them, and privacy is Hitoshi’s first line of defense.

He wants to go somewhere, go out and relax, be a random stranger and with his boyfriend instead of number 4 Pro-Hero Deku dodging questions about his roommate.

"Yeah. I am. I think it would be good for us."

Hitoshi’s eyes are as intense as they always are when he actually turns his attention onto something. Getting Izuku to relax is a topic Izuku knows without doubt he feels strongly about. They’ve had this talk before, in fits and starts. "I mean. I agree with you. You haven't taken a vacation day since we graduated."

He fights the urge to turn his head into the pillows. He doesn’t call in unless they bench him, and he hasn’t taken more than the required days off since he signed on. It’s not a healthy lifestyle, and he knows it.  There’s a voice in his ear that’s constantly pushing him to gogogogo and it wasn’t until recently he could get it to quiet down.

"Like you have?" He shoots back, motormouth on autopilot now that the conversation has really started.

"You know I do. You know how I feel about this."

And he does. They’ve had this conversation as well, or at least parts of it. Hitoshi takes his vacation days and calls in sick when he needs to. He goes and sees his adopted family on his days off, sits in the warmth of their home and lets the comfort ease away the shadows that start to linger in his gaze after too long in the dark. Izuku fights more heavy hitters, sees more property damage and big-name villains and screen time, but Hitoshi lurks in the parts of their city that doesn’t see a huge hero presence, and sees the kind of crime that keeps him up at night.

Hitoshi runs himself just as ragged, but he takes his days off. Izuku thinks he’d go crazy if he didn’t.

Maybe he’s heading in the same direction.

"Yeah. I do. And. We should go on a vacation. Just us, just a couple days." He sighs, tugs his boyfriend closer under the covers. Hitoshi comes willingly, slotting them together like warm, comfortable puzzle pieces. "We deserve it."

"We do. But only if you're sure."

And that’s another conversation they have had in piecemeal. Ever since they got together, ever since the beginning, Izuku has been beyond terrified of endangering Hitoshi with his spotlight identity. Hitoshi agreed at the time, and still did for the most part. His career and safety required him to have the element of surprise, for his enemies to not know his weaknesses, and that would be much harder if his personal life was broadcast to every news station in the country.

But really, they would be in no more danger than they were already, with Izuku constantly in front of a camera and Hitoshi crawling into their apartment as the first rays of dawn hit. They go on dates in hats and slouchy sweaters, and when they go shopping together Hitoshi smiles indulgently and offers to take pictures of fans when Izuku gets recognized, easily dodging recognition himself. None of that would change if they got away for the weekend.

None of that will change no matter how long they’re together, Izuku thinks. It’s as much a comforting thought as it is frustrating.  

“I am sure. If you’re comfortable being more open, then I am too. You know I don’t want to endanger you, but we’re no more at risk as a couple on vacation than we are just going to the store. And anyway. We deserve a weekend away.”

“Hey.” Hitoshi says, burying his face in the soft skin of Izuku’s neck. “You don’t have to convince me. And I appreciate what you’re willing to do to keep my identity a secret, I really do, but you’re right. We should take a break. You’re getting less sleep than me.”

He wants to say something, anything about how he would do much more to keep Hitoshi safe, but that’s a discussion that could quickly lead to an argument if they aren’t careful about their wording. So, he just nods against the top of his boyfriend’s fluffy hair and basks for a moment.

“Lies and slander.” He says directly into purple hair. “Go to sleep, babe. We’ll start looking at locations and hotels and stuff later, okay?

“Mmmm.” Hitoshi is already halfway to sleep, one strong arm curled loosely around his waist. He’s a warm, comforting weight against Izuku’s chest, and while they haven’t discussed a location or even what they want to do for their weekend away, he knows he wants it to feel just like this.

[dokoni-mo]

Patches || Boba Fett x Reader

(A/N: hi yes I made this because I want boba to step on me. That is all.)

WARNINGS: cursing, mentions of injury, some angst, otherwise none

Key: (F/N) = first name

Word Count: ~2200

~~~

Today was the third time that week that he came back to the Slave I beaten and bruised. 

When you had initially accepted this agreement, this wasn’t exactly what you had envisioned. Yes, while you were a certified nurse, and agreed to be as such for him, you weren’t ready for any of this. 

You weren’t ready at all for the sheer amount of times that you would have to patch him up after he had completed his work each week. It started off mundane and normal, with him coming to you to fix him up just about once every week or so. However, over time, you could tell that he was getting more and more cocky by the day and with each of his successful bounties. He had started to accept more and more dangerous jobs, as evidenced by his injuries and the longer and longer stretches of time he would be gone. He would never tell you about them (except for the odd detail you had to know to make the plan go through smoothly), but you could tell that he was pushing his limits. Although he never said any of this explicably out loud to you, the blemishes on his skin told you all you needed to know. The amount of the marks had subtly increased over time, but you were trained enough to notice the small increments of increase. 

Nothing could slip past you, you felt like. 

You also weren’t ready for the headache that was your relationship with him. 

Quickly, you realized that Boba wasn’t the type to start up conversation, or just about anything for that matter, if it wasn’t necessary. You also realized that Boba wasn’t the type to express himself all that much. Yes, it was noticeable in his speech patterns and demeanor… 

But it was even more noticeable in that you simply couldn’t read his expressions. 

Boba never took his helmet off around you. 

At first, this had puzzled you greatly. You had tried to ask him about it after about two weeks of knowing him, but this was only met by one of his seemingly trademark none of your business-es. 

You swore, if he had some sort of cheesy bounty-hunter catchphrase, it would be that. 

After getting absolutely nowhere with asking him (not much of a shocker, granted), you decided to do some digging on your own. You had eventually found out that he was Mandalorian. 

You hadn’t heard that name since the republic was still around. 

Those were the days… 

You never pressed the subject after that. You knew what happened to the Mandalorians.

You were sure that it was a touchy subject, and it wasn’t like Boba enjoyed talking to you in the first place.

He never really said much to you, and you figured it was because he either didn’t like you, and/or just tolerated your existence. He did this because you were useful to him. Who else would patch him up after a fight? 

No one. 

So he had better at least tolerate you being on his ship. 

Often, you wondered if there were others before you. You wondered if he had made other nurses or doctors tag along with him on his escapades. If he had, they were long since gone. 

You didn’t blame them, however. You figured that it must have been frustrating for them too, having to deal with the type of person Boba was. 

But, that was another thing you weren’t ready for. Tolerating and accepting notorious bounty hunter Boba Fett. 

Yes, he was cold to you. Yes, he was a bit cocky as of late. Yes, it frustrated you to no end that he would barely tell you anything about his jobs, not to even mention about himself. But, deep down inside of you, in a place you weren’t quite sure even existed…

You tolerated it. 

You enjoyed it even. 

Before Boba had picked you up off of your nowhere home planet, life was very dim and dull. That’s the majority of the reason why you wanted to be a nurse in the first place. You would hear stories of nurses and doctors having to scatter themselves across time and space to save a patient’s life that had unannouncedly plopped itself upon their laps, and you were intrigued. You saw that life as a way to get some entertainment out of life, and a way to get some good karma so that hopefully your maker would have some mercy upon you once you died. But, even that life eventually grew old for you. You became numb to it even.

So, when you met a certain green bucket-head at a cantina you frequented at the end of your shifts and he offered you a job, you simply couldn’t refuse.

You would never admit it, but you were thankful for Boba. Even if he made you want to rip all your hair out and light it on fire. 

But, you would often forget about your thanks when you were frustrated. 

Like now. 

“Tell me if it hurts.” you told him as you wrapped a bandage around his bloodied forearm, holding the muscular limb in your soft grasp. 

Of course, he said nothing in response. Didn’t find it necessary, you figured. 

Currently, you were knelt next to a half-naked Boba Fett with an array of various medical supplies scattered about the floor around you, your hair pushed back to keep out of your sight. Boba was sitting upon a crate with his toned back against the wall of the Slave I, making him elevated above you. You had helped him remove the upper portions of his armor upon his stumbling into your room, and they were now rested upon the trunk next to the bounty hunter. Of course, he hadn’t removed his helmet upon his entrance, making him look now rather silly in just his helmet, boots, pants, belt, and leg armor. Tending to your girlish fantasies, you would have admired Boba’s muscular, firm chest for a moment, if he weren’t so scratched up, bloodied, and scarred. 

Maker, he was an idiot. 

You weren’t quite sure of where his gaze was as the T of his helmet looked down at you. Normally, this wouldn’t have pestered you in the slightest. However, today was… off. You felt off. Was it the stale air? Was it what you ate? You didn’t know. 

All you knew is that you noticed this feeling as soon as you saw just how beat up Boba was. It made your chest ache and your stomach churn. But wny? 

Whatever the reason was, it was making you more on-edge and short-fused than usual. 

Once you had gotten the bandage about halfway on him, Boba jerked his arm towards him, ripping it out of your gentle grasp with a hiss. Your brow furrowed slightly and your lips pursed. 

How dare he. 

You were just trying to help. Why did he always have to be so rude? 

“It hurts.” he said to you, his accented voice distorted by his helmet. 

Sighing, you pulled his arm back to you, resuming your actions as you responded. 

“I see that.” you said flatly, a tone lacing your voice. You had no idea what was coming over you, but unconsciously decided to remove your filter. 

Let it come, you thought, see if I care. 

“Clearly you don’t.” he said, giving you attitude right back. Maker, why was he so difficult? 

“Well, how can I? You never tell me things until the last minute.” you huffed out, taping the bandage down with some medical tape, “If you even decide to tell me anything.” 

“I tell you what you need to know.” 

You let out a quick, sarcastic laugh at this, refusing to look up at him as you readied a swab with alcohol to clean up his cuts. Every semblance of your filter was now gone. 

“Sure you do, Boba. You tell me everything I need to know. My apologies.” 

“Name one time I left you in the dark, (F/N).” he responded to you, his voice becoming quicker and more accented as his frustration grew. 

This only fueled your own. 

“One time?!” you snapped, shooting your gaze up to the T of his helmet, “How about every time?! You never tell me where you’re going next, you never tell me who you’re working for, and you never tell me just how dangerous these jobs are! Boba, I know you’re getting in over your head. You-” 

“I’m not-”

“DON’T cut me off.”’ you spat back, “Boba, I know you’ve been going beyond your limits. I can tell in your injuries. I can tell in your mood. Yes, you’re moody all the time, but it’s only getting worse. I didn’t sign up for this, Boba, I didn’t…” 

You were cut off by a lump in your throat starting to form, tears welling themselves up in your eyes. You didn’t want to cry in front of him, so you bit your lip and took a deep breath in through your nose before you continued, your voice shaky and strained. 

“I-I didn’t sign up… To watch you die.” 

A silence hung in the air as you sniffled. Wiping your eyes, you hung your head, refusing to keep your gaze on the bounty hunter any longer. You waited a moment for him to respond, but got nothing. Figured, anyway.

He probably didn’t care. 

He probably didn’t give one single shit about what you were saying. 

...

So be it. 

At least you got it off your chest. 

Sighing and reaching to your medical equipment, your rustled through the items as you spoke again. 

“Whatever. It’s not important anymore. Forget I said anything…” 

As you continued to rustle through your equipment to find an excuse not to look at the bounty hunter, your ears had perked up. Feeling a shift from him, you soon heard the familiar sound of metal hitting the surface of a trunk. Your eyes following the sound, you initially thought you were dreaming. 

Upon the trunk next to the crate Boba was seated upon, an addition had been made to his pile of discarded armor. 

There, amongst all the rest of the protective metal, sat his helmet. 

Your lips parted slightly, you shifted your gaze up to Boba. 

Your eyes had not deceived you. 

There, looking down at you, was Boba Fett, whose face was now in clear view to you. He had a few small scars upon his tanned face, but none took away from his good looks. His hair was short, but brilliantly dark, and matched his complexion phenomenally. His eyes were dark and hardened from years of killing, and his lips looked soft, a stark contrast from the firmness of his jaw and cheekbones. A blush rising to your cheeks, a realization hit you. 

Boba was a clone. 

You didn’t expect that at all. 

But yet… 

He was one of the most handsome men, let alone clones, you had ever laid eyes upon. 

After a long moment of you staring up at him, he finally spoke, his voice somewhat foreign to you without the distortion from his helmet. 

“You’re staring.” 

Your eyes widening a bit as a jolt of nerves ran through you, you shot your gaze back down to the equipment, the butterflies in your stomach making a hurricane inside of you. 

“I-I was just surprised.” you said in response. 

Another long pause from him. You could feel his eyes on you. 

After a moment, you felt a pointer finger and thumb upon your chin, pulling your gaze up to the bounty hunter sitting in front of you. Your blush darkening, you gazed upon his freshly bare face as he studied your features, almost as if he were committing it to memory. A moment of this later, before you could even process what was happening, Boba Fett leaned down closer to you, catching your parted lips in a kiss. 

His lips were just as surprisingly soft as they looked, and tasted vaguely of smoke, but not unpleasantly so. Your breath being taken away, you fluttered your eyes closed as you reciprocated, your soft lips melding oh so perfectly with his. 

He was too damn good. 

You wanted-

Before you could finish your thoughts, Boba pulled away from you. The absence of his warmth made your eyes flutter open, and you were greeted with the sight of his eyes boring into your own, as if he were looking into your very soul. 

Maker above have mercy. He was wayyy to damn good at this. 

His face lingering next to yours a moment longer, he decided that enough was enough and leaned back, the muscles in his chest and abdomen rippling as his back made contact with the walls of the Slave I again. 

While you were staring up at him absolutely dumbfounded, he spoke. 

“No more overly dangerous jobs. I promise.” 

Swallowing, all you could do was nod in response. 

You could still feel the phantoms of his lips upon your own as you continued to fix him up. Hell, you could feel his eyes on you the whole time. 

You would never admit it, but you fucking loved it. 

You hoped that Boba would be like this from now on. 

Little did you know, however, he planned to be. 

Even more so than you could ever imagine. 

~~~ 

TAGS: @captainrexstan , @spaghetti-666​ , @breakfastpizzagalaxy 

[rainofaugustsith]

Rain Plays SWTOR: Macrobinoculars Solo (most of it) - Imperial Pt. 1

Buoyed by Viri's success soloing the Seeker Droid questline, I decided to tackle the Macrobinoculars.  Please note: THE END OF THIS MISSION IS STILL NOT SOLOABLE. There is apparently one sequence in the final H4 where you need several people to click all the panels. However, the rest is soloable. If you want some challenging gameplay or something new to do in the game, there's still a lot to do here without tackling the final H4.  Also note that even if you do not finish the final H4, as long as you do NOT abandon the quest, you can keep using your macrobinoculars. In fact, you can do that as soon as you pick them up in the beginning of the quest line. There are other quests and achievements you can do with the macrobinoculars, such as scanning all the MCR-99 droids on each planet, scanning the temples you can see from the Yavin 4 stronghold and doing GSI dailies on several worlds. 

If you enjoy puzzles, you will love this questline. If not, there are thankfully several guides that can walk you through each puzzle. If you remember one thing, it's that everything can be a trap, you need to check the walls, ceilings and anything around for clues/clickables to proceed, and the solution that appears straightforward probably is not.  Once again, I defer to Dulfy for walkthroughs and videos on how to beat the puzzles, and give you additional suggestions.  This is Part I of the guide, and it is specific for Imperial-side players.  Your first task with the macrobinoculars is to scan the Shroud's monitoring devices around the galaxy. It's far easier than the Dread Seeds search. If you've played the Ziost daily area, the Ossus daily area or some of the Onderon quests, you've already used macrobinoculars.  If this is your first time with the macrobinoculars- right click to activate the binoculars (they are in your mission items tab. You can also drag them to a quickbar, which is a good idea to get to them quickly). Once you activate the binoculars, you can scroll around to survey the area. Targets that are scannable will light up yellow. Left click to zoom in and scan. Click again to zoom out. ESC to put away your binoculars. 

You’ll start by being asked to scan several locations marked on your map. Move your camera around until you see a yellow blinking item (it may or may not look like the example) and then zoom in to scan.  Dromund Kaas - scanning - QT to Tempest. One objective is down at the Unfinished Colossus and the other is on one of the nearby lightning spires. - QT to the Spaceport.  - QT to the Nexus Room cantina, and then walk over to the launchpad for the nearby taxi. You'll get a good view from there.  Shroud of Ruin temple How to get there: Pick up the Shadow Spawn heroic and use the provided shuttle/QT. The temple you need is all the way in the back of that heroic area. There are a few jumps to get to the right level of the temple but they aren't too bad overall. There's no threat of death or even damage if you fall and have to try again. 

There are only two obstacles in this temple but the first can be frustrating. After you click a rock on the ceiling (mouse around to find it), some of the grids will periodically blink off and on (this is very slow- they don’t blink rapidly, if that is a concern. They go off, stay off for a few beats and then go back on). Make your way through the grid to get to the other side without touching the lasers. Touching the lasers is insta-death. Fortunately the respawn point/ medical droid is just upstairs from the grid so you don't have far to go if you get zapped. Tips: 1. Send your companion away. Put them on a crafting mission for ten minutes or so. They will not be able to follow you through the grid at your pace, so they'll just hit one of the lasers and die.  2. No fancy jumps, no rocket boost, no flair. Do NOT get too close to the lasers, and watch where you are running and jumping. 3. In some places, only one or two lines of the grid will flicker off. Be really careful walking through.  4. Once you finish the maze, you can turn it off completely by smashing the console you will see, but it’s really not necessary because you are almost done. It’s still cathartic to smash it.  

The droid you have to face at the end of the hallway should be a snap. It's a garden variety NPC that doesn't seem much more complicated than the average silver, and he's on his own.  You will then be sent off to scan targets on two more planets.  Ambush Warning:  After scanning targets on any of the planets from this point onward, you may be ambushed. It could be a droid and an enemy NPC that is found on that planet (rakghouls on Taris; a Wampa on Hoth). It could also be a gold-level droid, IR-77. I don't think it's a jump scare, but it's very sudden, so I'll mention it here. 

Taris scanning: 

- QT to 75th Legion Forward Camp. - QT to Crater Command Base. You can get to both of the targets in Olaris from here.  - QT to Toxic Lake Garrison. This is the base you start at when you land on Taris so you shouldn't need to QT there, but it has a quick travel point in case you've done the others first.  Tatooine scanning:  A few of the target points are challenging to get to for Imperial players.  - Mos Ila, relatively close to the taxi. There's a QT point there if you need it.  - QT to Outpost Varath or Outpost Rennar, it's about halfway between the two, near the area with the Tusken Raiders and Mandalorian corpses.  - QT to Mos Anek. Very close to the Lady of Pain area from the Bounty Hunter's class story.  - QT to Outpost Zaroche. Unfortunately, the next target is in the Outlaw's Den. There's no way to see it from outside this area. I've read more than once that if you are on the PvE server, nobody can hurt you in the Outlaw's Den. Your companion will go away, but there's apparently no PvP. Still, I have had no way to confirm this firsthand, so I'd get in and out.  - From there, continue through the Outlaw's Den to the north side and follow the road (filled with hostile NPCs unfortunately) to the mining company for the northernmost target.  - QT to Ridgeside Sentry Post. You have a ways to go from here, but it's the closest Imperial travel point. Take the righthand road north at the fork. The lefthand side is more straightforward but goes through an area with a lot of Twin Suns enemy NPCs. The target is under the rock bridge near the Twin Suns.  Quesh scanning: Quesh is small enough that you don't have to travel long to get just about anywhere, but here are the QT points in case you need them.  - QT to Imperial Garrison OR Imperial Outpost. The target is about halfway between them in an area where a lot of the Imperial Quesh quests happen.  - QT to Imperial Outpost.  - From the second target, you will see a very small dotted line path that goes through a power plant. The first section has Republic hostile NPCs but the second section is friendly. This will take you to the other side of the map to get the third target.

Scratch the Surface - Quesh How to get there: As Dulfy notes, the map may be bugged. This is the map I got. As you see, the entrance is indicated all the way over on the far right. It's not there. QT back to the Imperial Garrison. The map should change. You need to climb the hill just outside the Garrison and follow the narrow, maze-like path through the stone walls to reach the instanced area. 

Wrong map: 

Here is the CORRECT map. 

Once inside, remember everything is a trap and the solution usually is not straight combat or avoidance. There's always something clickable around that will help you get past each obstacle. 

To throw the fruit at the Lurker, click on the gate panel.  The key to getting past this electrified floor is to hit the panels on the ceiling that light up as clickables. After that, the floor will still electrify, but in a very predictable order. 

This is the only panel on the first section of grid that will not be electrified. It's easy to spot because of the debris on it. Follow the electricity's pattern so you know when it's clear to run. Once you're there, mouse around the ceiling again for the second clickable panel.

This is the panel on the second section of the grid that is not electrified. Again, it's easy to spot because there's stuff on it. After this, you will need to follow the pattern of the electricity and make a break for the hallway. 

You need to shut down the grid to proceed. However, if you step on the platform, you'll get shocked. Walk around the room to the back, where you will see a way to get under the panel. DO NOT WALK ON IT YET. Mouse around and you will find there's a panel that is clickable. Clicking on it will cut the electricity on the floor, allow you to walk in and shut down the second panel. Now you can go on the platform and shut down the grid.  Pictured is STEP THREE. Do not go on this platform until you cut the power from underneath!

Then, it’s off for more scanning.  Corellia - The first two are close to the spaceport and Incorporation Islands QT point.  - QT to Axial Park South.  - QT to Imperial Central Command (two are here) Hoth  - Very close to Dorn Outpost, where you start out on Hoth. - QT to Thesh Outpost.  - QT to Imperial Garrison.  - QT to Jagged Hills Imperial Garrison, which is the northernmost Imperial travel point. From there, go left until you get to the Drift Hills Republic base and then north along the path. It's close to Republic Aurek Base.  - From the point above, go to the right on the marked path. You want to be heading toward Outpost Cresh. When the road has a fork on the righthand side, take that, going south. The point you're looking for is under one of the bridges. 

- QT to Frostwake Outpost and then go to the Starship Graveyard.  - QT to Leth Outpost. It's very close to the base.  Belsavis - QT to Imperial Frontline Camp.  - QT to one of the outposts close to the Rakatan Transport network (Frontline Camp and Imperial Deep Launchpoint both work). Take the Rakatan Transport to the Imperial Power Center Transport.  - From the point above, after you scan, go right back to the Rakatan Transporter. Take it to the Lower Prison Magma Transport stop. Follow the circular path to the Tomb and then find your path to the target from there. You want to do the Lower Prison Magma Transport target scan last because it will place you in just the right area for the next part of the questline. 

[creek-cryptid-deluxe]

I spend a concerning amount of time on Reddit. This is just a fact, although I will say I spend less time there than many of its users.

I was in a thread that posed the question, "What movie always makes you laugh no matter how many times you watch it?" There were loads of fantastic answers that were nearly always followed up with quotes or people's favorite scenes. As always happens, several Monty Python movies were mentioned & subsequently quoted excessively.

I've seen this pattern loads and loads of times, just as I've seen the movies loads and loads of times. However, this time when someone quoted the spiel from the bridge keeper, it jarred something loose in the recesses of my memory. A rare good childhood memory.

Let me tell you a tale.

Now my father is a massive Python fan. I'm sure you all saw my post from when he opened his gift, the beautiful manuscript of the entire Holy Hand Grenade speil, & the look of insane joy on his face. So I grew up having these movies (along with Star Trek movies/episodes) quoted at me before I even knew what they were.

What I remembered was a game. When my brother & I were very young, based on where we were & the lack of half brothers but also the lack of bio-mom I'd guess that I was 4 or 5, my father would often take us to the park to burn off energy, as one does with small children.

Now my father, in my adult years, has made no secret of the fact that his entire reason for having children was to play. Not a great reason or enough of one, if I'm being honest, but it is what it is.

We often played a game we called "Bridge Keeper" in which my father would sit at the entrance to the top of a slide, we would approach, & he would say, "To pass this bridge behind me, you must first answer my questions three! What is your name?" We'd give our name if it was our turn. "What is your quest?" The answer always started as 'to go down the slide' but quickly became increasingly silly quests. Then he would as a random question. Sometimes it was as easy as 'What is your favorite color' other times it was something insane that a small child couldn't possibly know. If the answer was correct, he moved aside saying "CORRECT! You may pass." If it was wrong (we frequently answered wrong on purpose), he made a bunch of thunder noises & yelled "INCORRECT!" before chucking us down the slide, causing us to go down at speeds we couldn't achieve on our own.

In the car yesterday night, on the way to walk the dogs at the park, i asked him about it.

"Hey dad, do you remember playing 'Bridge Keeper' with me & [brother] when we were little?"

He looked puzzled but deep in thought, so I described what I was talking about, even remembering which park it was. His eyes lit up about halfway through.

"Omg yeah! I completely forgot about that! What even brought that up? You were so young at the time!"

So I explained how it came up & he laughed & told me he was glad I had that shaken loose because being reminded of it really brightened his day.

If there is anything to be taken from this story it's that [#1] never underestimate small gestures, even with young kids, because you never know what they will remember and [#2] my father has always been a colossal fucking nerd.

[belladxne]

i will see you where the shadow ends | chapter 1

[see notes for ao3 and ff links]

part of the put your faith in the light that you cannot see series AU: Breath of the Wild pairing: KiriBaku word count: 4,568 Description:

(cross the badlands to rise again, i will see you where the shadow ends)

Eijiro wakes with nothing. No supplies, no memory, no idea of what the strange, ancient chamber he awakens in is. All he has to guide him are a mysterious ancient piece of technology called a Sheikah Slate, a kind old woman who lives near to where he awakes, and above all—the voice, gruff and reassuring, that calls out to him from somewhere far off and bathes him in golden light.

Tasked with recovering his memories and left with the entire future of Hyrule—a kingdom which fell a century before—in his hands, Eijiro has a monumental responsibility laid before him. It will be worth it, he thinks, to finally see the voice that's been calling to him from Hyrule Castle, and to finally know once more who the voice belongs to.

There’s a light behind his eyelids; a vivid, warm yellow that he can’t ignore. It’s an explosion of color—small at first, but then all-encompassing and undeniable. For the moment, he knows only these two things: that there’s a brilliant blast of golden light even with his eyes closed, and that waking up is hard.

His mind comes around slowly, in sluggish fits and starts. His thoughts are quiet in a way that almost feels peaceful and he feels sort of exhausted, like if he really tried he could drift off and sleep a while longer, and it’s tempting. Waking up is hard, yeah, but he thinks it’d be harder if not for the stony, uncomfortable surface he’s laid on and the cold, thick feeling of some sort of liquid lapping at his sides ruining what could otherwise have been a great nap.

That, and the rough voice that almost seems to grate at the edges of his mind, more than his ears. He associates it with the gold, somehow.

Oi. Come on, up. Get up already.

The voice—it tugs at something, he thinks, in the back of his mind. That near-peaceful feeling is gone, but the exhaustion isn’t, and he fights through the lethargy blanketing his thoughts to try and do what the voice asks, but it’s—it’s not easy. Not even when the explosion of light flares so bright it hurts.

Fuck. Fuck, can’t you just open your eyes? This time, when the voice presses on, it sounds… it’s hard to describe. Maybe sad, maybe lonely—but both words seem too small and simple to encompass all of the weight behind the words. Gods, you’re a lazy bastard. Haven’t you slept long enough?

And finally, he manages it; a fluttering of his eyelids, a furrowing of his brow, and then—his eyes open for real.

He’s rewarded with an immediate, There you are, so quick and colored with relief that it almost seems like the words had come unbidden, before their source had even realized they were escaping. He manages to lift his head, craning his neck to find some sign of who’s been watching him—but he’s alone. That golden glow is gone.

And now that the hard part of battling his way to consciousness is over, he’s surprised with how quickly and easily his body responds when he props himself up on his elbows, searching the dim space more fully and squinting against what few lights there are. But there really is no one else here. How?

He clambers out of the strange stone basin he’s been laid in as the last of some strange, vividly glowing blue substance drains out of it, and as he pulls himself to his full height, he’s—he’s at a loss.

This room, it’s so oppressively silent but for the sound of droplets falling from his shorts and hair to hit the floor at his feet, and some strange constant humming sound, and it’s so oppressively dim but for the blue glow of the basin behind him and the orange, constellation-like markings lit up on the walls. He has no idea what in the hell is going on.

He feels… alert, on edge as he tries to puzzle out any sort of detail that would make his surroundings make sense, but curious, too. There’s something across the way that… might be an entrance? But it’s sealed over with what seem to be several thick stone pillars or panels, pressed so tightly that not even light can seep through the cracks. Is he trapped?

He starts towards the door, not sure what he’ll do if he is sealed in, but he knows he’s not about to just sit here and rot in this chamber. There has to be a way out, and he’s not going to give up before trying to find it.

There’s a pedestal a few steps from the entryway, but he doesn’t pay it any mind. He’s a little more concerned with the obvious point of exit than with staying in this odd, dust-filled space to poke at random details. He’d have walked right past the weird plinth entirely, without another thought, if an odd chime and flash of light off of the strange glowing patterns on its face didn’t startle him as soon as he got close.

With a click and a whirr, part of the pedestal starts moving—lifting and rotating, before levering some sort of small, detailed slab out of its face and presenting it upright. Is… he supposed to take that?

He only takes half a step closer, examining the glowing markings and detailed carving of the Sheikah symbol on this strange tablet that—that he suddenly knows, with all his heart, is familiar to him somehow. It’s a relief, and a comfort, when nothing else has been remotely recognizable so far. He jumps when his moment of recognition is suddenly interrupted.

We don’t have all day, Shitty Hair. That’s my Sheikah Slate. You’re gonna need it to get around.

A pout comes unbidden to his lips, brow furrowing as his hand moves to his hair self-consciously. “It’s shitty?” he mumbles, honestly more to himself than anything, his voice hoarse from disuse.

There’s a pause in which he’s left to ponder it, before the voice is back, giving off almost embarrassed tones. Fuck. Sorry. Just—just hurry up and grab the damn thing, Eijiro.

It doesn’t even come to mind to question the demand; there’s just something about the voice that he trusts, and wants to listen to without hesitation. His hand is already halfway to the slate when he pauses, a small pang of alarm and confusion registering when he fully processes.

Eijiro. The voice had called him that, right? So, was it his name? Why did he not know his own name?

Shaken, he—Eijiro?—grabs the Sheikah Slate, weighing it in his hands and looking it over distractedly. He’s too preoccupied with not knowing—well, anything, the more he thinks about it. But the device does feel right, even more familiar now that he’s seeing it up close, and that’s some small comfort as he looks up, eyes searching even though he knows he’ll find no trace of the voice.

“Hey… what’s going on? Who—...” He trails off before he can even form a sentence, because—because there’s too many questions to ask. Who am I? Who are you? Who put me here? Where is this place? What is this place? Why am I here? What the hell is going on?

Eijiro doesn’t get any time to pull his thoughts together enough to ask any of those questions, because almost immediately there’s a subdued, mechanical grinding noise. Head snapping up, he registers with relief that the patterned stone panels that blocked the entryway start to slide upwards, not making half so much noise as he’d expect as they grate past each other.

He can’t help but be a little relieved—he’s not trapped, after all.

There’s no more input from the voice, though. Eijiro feels… antsy about it. In part because it hasn’t answered what little he has managed to ask, but also largely just because… he wants to hear more of it. He doesn’t really understand why; there’s no quality to the voice that’s especially appealing or comforting, if anything it’s coming off kind of gruff and rude, but there’s something about hearing it that settles his nerves. That makes him feel like things are okay, maybe.

Not about to waste time—Eijiro has no idea if the entrance opening is a temporary thing, or not, and he’s not looking forward to finding out until he’s on the other side of that door—he hurries out, eyes scanning the next chamber.

He’s… disappointed, he thinks, to find it empty. Nearly as barren as the room before, with just as little light, and no inhabitants. No one to explain things to him. And no sign of the voice here, either. He didn’t even realize he was specifically looking for the voice before the pang of disappointment, honestly. And it persists when there’s no further commentary from him, either.

Still, this room’s only nearly as empty as the previous room—there are, at least, a few things lying around that are much more familiar than the alien architecture of this place. Two chests haphazardly placed in front of the door, and several old-looking crates and barrels—the latter of which all seem to be splintered and rotted.

So Eijiro does what any self-respecting person trapped with no belongings, supplies, or apparent clothing would do when confronted with these seemingly long-abandoned surroundings.

He starts looting like crazy.

The chests, to his relief, hold pants, socks, boots, a belt, and a shirt. He wonders if the items were placed there for him, specifically? But it’s hard to remain enthusiastic about them as he tugs them all on, discovering the socks and pants are threadbare and spotted with holes—and the pants don’t even come close to reaching his ankles. The boots and belt both seem fine, if a little dubious; he kind of feels like the leather might just disintegrate out of the blue, but they’re workable. The shirt’s so itchy and moth-bitten and ill-fitted that he tugs it off immediately, making a face as he decides, really, he may as well go without.

The barrels and crates are, honestly, much less helpful. The barrels have already caved in on themselves and smell very faintly of rot, like whatever was in them had decayed away so long ago that even the smell had had time to fade; and he’s disappointed to discover after tearing the crates apart with single minded zeal that… just about anything of use in them has long-decayed, as well. He scores an empty satchel, quiver, and sheath—all of their previous contents unusably decrepit—and a few more belts to secure them all. And an absurd amount of empty bottles, all dusty but usable. There’s also some strange hooked clip for his belt that he realizes pretty quickly is made for him to link the Sheikah Slate’s handle into.

Surveying the wreckage of the crates and barrels he’d just torn through, he finds himself pouting again. All that property damage, and for nothing that useful.

Looking around again, he takes note, down a ramp from where he’d emerged, of the only other doorway out of this room—this one much larger and more intricate, though it also seems to be made of interlocking pillars. The Sheikah symbol sits at the center of this grand door as well. And just like the last room, there’s a pedestal to the side of this door—though it doesn’t have an indentation for the Sheikah Slate to fit into, like the last one did.

He jogs down the ramp, stopping in front of the pedestal to examine it curiously. In the last room, taking the slate from the similar plinth had been what caused the door to open—he thinks, at least? Probably? It’s the thing that makes the most sense, anyway. So is there something he can do with this one, to open the way? He hardly gets any time to wonder, before the voice is back and he feels a line of tension he hadn’t even realized was there bleed out of his shoulders.

This isn’t complicated, Sh—Eijiro. Just hold the Sheikah Slate to the pedestal.

He knows he’s not in the position right now—he has no idea what he’s doing and this voice, coarse at it is, is helping him—but Eijiro can’t help but roll his eyes as he reaches for the slate. He wonders if the voice would hear him if he teased, Bossy, much?, or commented on his haughty, judgmental tone.

Unhooking the slate from its new carrier on his belt, Eijiro only wavers for a moment as he wonders which side he’s meant to hold to the pedestal—it’d be pretty embarrassing to roll his eyes at this voice for giving him shit, only to fuck it up immediately. But he settles quickly on pressing the smooth side, with the flat panel that lights up, to the face of the pedestal.

Something about that looks right, even if he’s pretty sure he’s never done it before. And he's rewarded for his guess with a flash of light and an almost musical chime as the glowing orange curved lines atop the plinth turn blue.

Well, hey, the voice was right. This wasn't complicated at all. He doesn’t really get time to bask in his success before he's jumping as a bizarre, inhuman-sounding feminine voice sounds from the pedestal.

"Authenticating…"

The pedestal and the slate both seem to be making some repetitive, again near-musical beeping sound in sync with each other, before the unsettling new voice says, "Sheikah Slate confirmed."

The symbol in the center of the huge, sealed doorway lights up blue with a hum, and then with a loud rumble parts of the door that Eijiro didn't even realize previously were there begin to rotate and unlatch and slide away, before the panels of this gate lift away to let him out as well.

This time, the difference is starkly and immediately noticeable—bright, unmistakable daylight and a rush of clean, fresh air begin pouring in when the door has only barely begun to open. The sight is so reassuring, so sorely missed even if he hadn't realized it before, that he honestly almost throws himself to the ground to try to cram his way out into the freedom of the outdoors that much faster.

He doesn’t, of course, because he's not an animal (the thorough wreckage of the crates and barrels behind him aside), but he moves to stand directly in front of the door with eager, curious eyes.

Where is he, exactly? Will he know, once he can see?

It's when the door is only around halfway lifted away that the consequences of his earlier surroundings catch up with a vengeance—the sunlight so obligingly radiant that he’s forced to lift a hand to shield himself from the light, one eye squinted against the painful relief. Goddess, but he’s so glad to feel the sunlight on his skin again.

He finds himself unnerved to realize he can’t remember the last time he’d been out in the daylight. Not in the sense that it’s been a long time—though for all he knows, it has been—but in the sense that he genuinely doesn’t know.

He keeps realizing it, over and over again—when the name he assumes is his own was so unfamiliar to him, when he didn’t remember how he’d come to be in this place in the first place, when he’d had so many questions he couldn’t even figure out where to start—but as the failure to remember persists through everything, no matter how inane and everyday the memory might be, he finds himself growing increasingly alarmed. Why can’t he remember? Why can’t he remember anything?

Before panic can fully get its claws into him, the voice is back. And in spite of its rough tone, he somehow knows this voice well enough to know there’s more to it. Below the brusque surface it’s earnest, beseeching… and above all, encouraging.

Eijiro... Hyrule needs someone unbreakable, someone who’s not gonna waver. Hyrule needs you. I—

The voice cuts out, and by some means he can’t describe, he can sense something frustrated in the silence that follows for the next beat or two.

I’m fucking waiting. So get off your ass and help me fix this mess, already.

Somehow, he doesn’t think that’s what the voice was going to say, originally.

Either his eyes finally adjust to the light, or it somehow lessens—he wonders, suddenly, if that first blast of light hadn’t been the sun’s rays at all, but more of that explosive golden glow that had pierced his slumber?—because he can see, now, and his eyes no longer ache for trying. In front of him is a passageway, short enough to easily see up the stairs in front of him, to the opening that leads to the sky.

Gods, he can’t wait to see the sky again.

He can’t help it—he runs. He’s up the first set of dust-covered stairs in a flash, and doesn’t waver for more than a split-second when he’s confronted with a wide puddle that reaches halfway up his calves, or the uneven, eroded face of rock where there had clearly once been another set of stairs. As if he’s going to let something like that slow him down.

With a wild and eager whoop, he launches himself up out of the water he’d just soaked his pants splashing through, fingers easily finding grip on the rugged surface. It’s not so easy to tug himself up as he’d expected, even accounting for how slippery his old boots are from the water—but he’s still up the surface in a matter of seconds. He levers himself up over the ledge to sprawl at the foot of another set of stairs with only a little wheezing. Which is more than he expected, honestly? It was such a short climb.

He doesn’t give himself time to dwell on it, though, as he clambers to his feet to jog once more up the final stretch of the passageway, and out into the fresh air.

It’s… well, it’s breathtaking, out there. Even just from the mouth of the carefully-constructed cave—the overgrown grass at the foot of the entrance even looks vivid in the daylight, the sky a clear and welcome view, the foliage hanging over the entrance and the pines that dot the ground in a few places just outside all so full of life and color. There’s a volcano directly ahead in the distance—Death Mountain, his mind chimes helpfully, and he’s relieved to know something. The more of the world he sees opening around the entrance to the cave, the more beautiful it is.

Eijiro lets his feet carry him forward unthinkingly, moving slowly at first and then with more purpose, until he’s all-out running. Past grass and bushes and rocks that jut from the ground, until he’s standing at the edge of a cliff face out in front of the cavern he’d emerged from, and the sensation is all at once overwhelming, as he looks out over forests and plains and mountains and most of Hyrule in the distance.

Eyes wide in wonder, he feels like he has the entire world at his feet. It takes a bit for Eijiro to adjust to how good this all feels.

The colors are so bright, the wind and sunlight on his skin feel downright heavenly, and even just the smell of the fresh air around him is overwhelmingly exhilarating after the stifling chambers he’d just left. He looks around, again searching—if not for some sign of the voice that’s been guiding and beckoning him, then at least for something else to prompt him to speak to Eijiro. He’s the only thing Eijiro really, really knows right now—he feels a little adrift without the voice, wants to hear more.

When he turns his head, though, the wind blows his hair into his face, and he’s—startled, honestly, by how red it is. He doesn’t know why he wasn’t expecting that—doesn’t know if he should have been expecting it? Was it always red? No… he’s fairly certain it used to be black, at some point.

Little victories—he’s increasingly relieved to at least know some things. Aside from that, though, the red doesn’t bother him. He kind of likes it. A lot, actually. He wonders how long it’s been red.

His moment of distraction over, Eijiro finally catches sight of something of note—a figure off to the right, farther down the incline of the cliff he stands on. It’s a woman, he thinks? But it’s hard to tell between the distance and the hooded cloak she wears. She’s hunched over a campfire under a stone overhang some eighty feet away, maybe, tending to the flames by prodding with a stick. She looks up at him, then, and he thinks he makes out her head tilting inquisitively.

Finally—finally! Another person! Maybe she knows him, or can at least give him some context for where he is and what’s going on.

He barely takes half a step in her direction before realizing, flustered, that he should probably put on the shirt he’d discarded in the shrine. Gods, he doesn’t want to be rude. He drops to a crouch and pulls the old satchel off his shoulder, opening it and digging through the few supplies he’d managed to accumulate to try and gingerly extricate the ratty old shirt from the mess without tearing or damaging it further on anything else he’s stuffed in there.

He tugs the shirt on quickly, sighing in resignation as the scratchy, too-small shirt slides over his skin. This sucks. Is it so much to ask that he have some clothes that fit? Or that are, you know, comfortable, maybe?

But he pulls the satchel back over his shoulder anyways, hoping it won't be long before he can find something that suits him better. Standing once more, he starts down the gentle slope that the top of the cliff follows, towards the woman and her cozy fire. It's not far—he keeps up a quick pace and closes the distance quickly, only slowing when he gets nearer so as not to alarm her.

He can make out, now, more details as soon as she lifts her head—like the grey hair that spills from her deep navy hood, and the laughter lines that crinkle at the corner of her eyes when she smiles warmly at him. He’s not sure how old he’d guess she is—very, maybe?—but he can see some strands of dark green hair mixed in with the grey that hint at what her hair used to look like, and everything about her posture and expression screams welcoming.

“Well, hello!” she calls as he approaches, and her eyes sparkle kindly. There’s something about the color—a bright, lively green—that feels… important, somehow? He doesn’t think she’s familiar to him, but he’s not sure if how comforted he is by her demeanor is just how she is, or because he does know her. “What a pleasant surprise; it’s not often that I see travelers hereabouts.”

Eijiro hesitates. She doesn’t seem to recognize him, or, at least, hasn’t addressed him as someone she knows. Is she a traveler? If she’s not, then she has to live around here—so—so she should know something about how he got here, right? Maybe she’d seen something? She’s the only person he’s seen in a position to answer any questions, and it all depends on how long she’s been here.

His mouth, unfortunately, moves far faster than he can think of what to say, so abruptly he blurts, “Who’re you?”

He flushes immediately at how rude of a response that is, but before he has a chance to start stammering out apologies at having completely brushed off her greeting, she cuts him off with a forgiving laugh. She seems surprised by his blunder, but not upset—if anything, she looks downright delighted at his lack of manners.

“Straight to business, I see. Sorry to say it, but I’m not really anyone of note.” She pauses, and though her approachable demeanor doesn’t shift at all, Eijiro swears that for just a moment, there’s something sharper to her expression, like she’s gauging something about him—and then, almost as quick as it came, it’s gone, and she’s smiling a little wider. “But my name is Inko, if that’s what you mean. What brings a bright-eyed young man like you to such an odd place?”

See, he’d answer that, if he knew. Blinking, he looks around as he asks, “Uh, where are we?”

“Question for a question, hm?” She sits back a little, still with that warm and comforting expression, and gestures to the fire. “Why don’t you at least sit down, sweetie? Then I’ll gladly answer any questions you have.”

He hesitates. Everything out here is so—so open and bright and tangible, it almost makes the waking up seem fake. Like that bizarre underground structure he’d come from, the odd way it functioned, the air of disuse, and the voice, most of all the strange and inexplicable voice—like all of it was some weird fantasy, because it doesn’t make any sense. Out here, he’s still confused, but it all feels so much less surreal. If it weren’t for the slate still hooked to his belt, and how very real the feeling the voice evoked in him was, he might have dismissed it all. But he can’t.

And if it was all real—the last thing the voice had said to him. That Hyrule needs him, and the voice is waiting. And that Eijiro has to fix... something. Does he really have time for this?

Meeting her eyes, hopeful and kindhearted and—and there’s still something about that green that seems significant to him, though he can’t say what or why—he realizes he doesn’t have the heart to say no. She’s just a sweet little old lady! He can’t tell her he doesn’t want to sit and talk, especially when she’d seemed so happy for company she’d implied was so rare, surely the voice wouldn’t expect that of him. It might as well start asking him to kick puppies at that rate.

“Um, sure.” He figures—as long as the voice doesn’t emerge from its silence to start yelling at him, this can’t be that much of a delay. And if he does start yelling at him, Eijiro can always tell him to chill out. Eijiro takes the final few steps forwards, and starts to crouch by the fire when the wind shifts and he catches a scent so mouth-watering he thinks he’s going to die. His eyes zero in for the first time on its source—a small basket Inko has next to the fire, full of baked apples—and, by the Goddesses, he suddenly realizes he’s more starving than he’s ever been in his life.

His stomach rumbles absurdly loud and he’s grabbed one of the apples faster than he can so much as think—it’s already halfway to his mouth by the time he remembers himself, eyes flicking to Inko sheepishly.

Her only reaction is to throw her head back and laugh, and the sound’s too comforting and motherly for him to get embarrassed. “By all means, help yourself.”

“No, I—that was really rude, sorry, you can—” He starts to offer it back to her but she leans towards him and reaches forward to secure her hands around his, keeping his fingers curled around the still-toasty apple. She gives a firm shake of her head, the kind he doesn’t think it's even possible to argue against.

“I’m just one old woman, sweetie; I can’t eat all of these by myself. Have one. You sound awfully hungry.” Oh, no, she’s got a Mom Tone, too; she really can’t be argued with. As soon as she seems satisfied that he’s going to take the apple—which he does, and immediately takes a huge bite—she sits back once more. “Now, then. What’s your name, dear?”

Oh. Uh... “...Eijiro?” He really, really tries not to make it sound like a question, but he doesn’t think he succeeded. She doesn’t seem to find it amiss, however, smiling brighter and giving a nod.

“Eijiro. Let’s get started on those questions of yours, hm? Now, you asked where we are...”