#writing-hues

[melancholic-hues]

the hectic way of things (take a break)

posted on AO3

fandom - honkai: star rail

rating - general audiences

warning - no warnings apply

category - f/m

pairings - boothill/robin ; robin & sunday ; boothill & robin ; boothill & robin

tags - written before version 2.2 ; alternate universe

word count - 7848 words

chapters - 1/?

-

She is just about done with her makeup, about to move onto her wig, when she hears her balcony door lock get picked. Then comes the distinctive sound of the door sliding open, and the clacking of heels against tiled floors.

“Boothill!” Robin shoots up and runs over as the cyborg opens his arms wide. She crashes into him, her landing against his metal chest softened by the vest he’s wearing, and he twirls her around, his cold, metal hand in her own soft, warm ones. “You came!” she beams, expression genuine and sincere.

“Wouldn’t miss a second of you for the world, darlin’,” he drawls, accent all western and sweet, leaning down to kiss her. “‘sides, I did promise I would come, didn’t I?”

“You did,” she smiles, giving him another peck on the lips. “Through my balcony.”

“Aye, cut me some slack. I at least picked the lock. If it were one of my targets, I would’ve blown the darn thing to pieces,” Boothill grins, his smile sharp and charming and all the reasons why she fell for him in the first place.

“You could’ve come through the door, you know?” she says, grabbing a light trench coat and leading him over to her vanity, where a blonde wig sat atop a bust. They’re going to an amusement park just to have fun, so she has to wear a disguise. Thankfully, she’s done this before with ease — get a disguise, she means. She hasn’t been to an amusement park in a while.

Boothill trots over, footsteps soft, leaning on the wall, next to her vanity. He says, “didn’t want your freak of a brother to stare at me. Climbin’ through windows are more my style.”

“He’s the one driving us there, so you might as well have given him a proper hello,” Robin hums a light and happy tune, carefully tucking her blue hair under the wig cap. “Don’t stare at me like this, I’m practically bald right now.”

“And I’d still love you all the same,” Boothill reassures, “with hair or no hair.”

Even though it’s meant as a simple and silly sentence, Robin blushes. “Thank you,” she mutters, carefully putting the blonde wig on. She hates using wig glue, and, since this is only for a short while, clips will suffice. While she is snapping the clips together, she looks over at Boothill’s appearance.

It’s not often you get to see a cyborg, especially one who is a Galaxy Ranger and, well, pretty, like Boothill. He looks the same: a worn, black leather jacket and similar-looking pants; a belt full of ammo, his revolver, and a coil of lasso; and, of course, a wide-brimmed cowboy hat.

“Ay, quit staring,” Boothill teases, throwing her a wink.

Robin giggles. “Alright, alright. Aren’t you going to do anything about that belt? Pretty sure you can’t bring that to the amusement park. Which, might I remind you, is in the public. Also, you’re notoriously well-known around here.” 

“Can’t help it if the people recognize this absolute perfection of a face and this machine of a body,” Boothill sighs, popping his hip out, all cold, metal plates. She agrees; his face is absolute perfection, and she would be lying if she said she doesn’t often think about the machine of a body that he has. “I’ll just swallow my gun and bullets.”

“We can keep your stuff in Sunday’s car. Most likely, he’s just going to sit around and work.” Work, work, work. That’s all there is, these days.

There was a time, far before, when her brother wasn’t so caught up in work and professionalism. When he was actually, you know, her brother. When he was just Sunday, not the leader of the Oak Family. Not the head of Penacony. They used to escape their lives all the time when they were younger: she, standing on a box and singing; he, sitting on the ground and being her first and most loyal fan. 

Now, they barely get twenty minutes of face-to-face time with each other a day.

Hopefully, this day trip to the amusement park can change that. Even for a day. She’s willing to give up her entire singing career for a good, solid week with her brother.

“…you alright?” Boothill asks slowly, leaning down to check on her, hands stuffed casually in his pockets. “Robin?”

Robin nods, smoothing out the fabric of her knee-length dress and shrugging on the coat to hide her wings. “I was thinking. Sunday wasn’t always this obsessed with work.” After pausing for a second, she continues, “I’m worried about him, Boothill. What if he’s overworking himself? I feel like he’s a ticking time bomb, just about to blow.” She stares at her reflection in the vanity mirror. The crease in her brows shouldn’t be there. She has to be happy.

“Your brother, ah,” Boothill sucks in air through his sharp teeth, “as much as we don’t like each other, and don’t tell him I said this, but he can handle this. He’s a tough one. Takes more than that to crack him.”

“But everyone has a limit.” Robin takes a deep breath, the tears retreating. She puts on a smile. Her reflection does the same. It’s a practiced expression, one too often used. “What if we take him along? Invite him to go on some rides with us? He’s probably already donning a disguise. Might as well put it to good use instead of wasting it, sitting at a table and creepily watching me.”

Boothill stares at her, incredulous in his target-shaped eyes. “Your brother? In an amusement park, actually going on the rides with us? I’m sorry princess, but the chances of that happenin’ ain’t somethin’ I’d bet my best revolver on.”

She rakes a hand through the wig, smoothing out its strands. “Maybe. I don’t know. I want him to stop working for more than an hour straight in a time when he isn’t sleeping.”

“Well, you sure as hell can try. For goodness sake, you’re his sister. He’ll listen to you more than any of us,” Boothill shrugs, the sunlight from the balcony behind glinting off the metal pieces of his jacket.

Robin looks down at her vanity, various cosmetics spread across the surface, and wrings her hands together. She looks away from Boothill for a moment, her shoulders tensed in worry.

Boothill strides over, his metal hands on Robin’s soft shoulders. She looks at both their reflections in the mirror and thinks, kind of wryly amused, of how different yet how compatible they are. She has never known a day of hard, arduous labor underneath a scorching sun, chasing an elusive target; Boothill has never had anyone to fret, to worry over him, almost to the point of overprotectiveness.

“Hey, now,” Boothill softly coaxes, mechanical voice husky yet calming, “you’re the Robin. You’re magnificent, darlin’. Now, you don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise, ‘cause you ain’t nothing less than wonderful. If you really set your mind to it, I’m sure your brother will understand and do whatever you want. Hell, maybe he’ll even give the head position to someone else if you ask hard enough. Got it?”

Robin’s shoulders drop. They lock eyes in the mirror reflection, and she gives him a genuine smile, her hands holding onto Boothill’s and her wings softly fluttering. There’s something about his words that, even though she’s heard them hundreds of times before from other people, makes her actually believe him. “Got it.”

“Great, now get out there and wow us all, sweetie,” Boothill urges, jutting his chin toward the door. He extends a hand toward Robin.

In moments like these, she finds it all the more lucky that Boothill is here. Underneath that cold, beautiful exterior is a soft, gentle person looking for a purpose. She’s glad he gave her a chance.

Robin takes his hand, and he leads her up, pulling her close. Robin lets out a gasp of surprise, one hand braced on where his collarbone would be and mouth an “o” as he spins her to the door. They stop in front of it, and Boothill bends into a low bow.

“After you,” he says, hat hiding most of his face from view.

Robin opens her door and walks through, Boothill following. “I’m sorry for dumping all of that on you. This is supposed to be a happy day. You didn’t even ask for it,” Robin mumbles, walking down the long hallway, toward the stairways. The expensive statues and paintings that they walk past only further remind her of her duty to be perfect and focus on Penacony and work first and foremost. It fills her with a heavy sense of guilt.

“‘s fine,” Boothill simply says. “You oughta have someone to confide in. No good keepin’ this all for yourself, you know?”

Robin looks at their intertwined hands. She nods.

“Wow. Look at those pretentious brats.” Boothill snickers at the portrait of a former head of the Oak Family. Back straight, wings unfurled and radiating pure power, expression powerful yet patronizing.

Now that she thinks about it… “you’re right,” she agrees. The subject does look quite stuffy and stuck-up. Probably never had enough friends. She laughs. “I’ve never seen it that way before.”

“Now you do.” Robin notes how Boothill’s sharp smile disappears when he looks over the railing of the stairs.

She peeks over the railing to see what caused it, and someone is standing there. 

Sunday.

He has an unpleasant look on his face, one of disgust and disdain. It’s directed at Boothill, right next to Robin and holding her hand, but she can’t help but feel it’s all toward her.

“Good morning, Robin,” Sunday says, eyes pinned on Boothill as they make their way down the stairs. Boothill’s heels clack on the marble, the sound ringing loud and clear, with each step. Sunday’s voice is cold.

“Good morning, brother.” She tries her best to remain upfront and cheerful. Sunday has changed out of his professional clothes, settling into a light blue hoodie and jeans. They still must be designer clothes, because can you imagine Sunday wearing cheap street clothes? But they’re, well, actually casual. She was so sure Sunday had no idea what the term ‘casual’ meant since all she saw him wear were suits. But she’s been proven wrong.

Sunday nods, acknowledging her greeting, but he hasn’t taken his eyes off Boothill, no, not even once. Boothill levels Sunday’s stare, his smile not at all friendly. Robin feels trapped between them, her gaze warrily going from Sunday to her partner. 

She watches Sunday take a deep breath, shoulders rising then falling, then his gaze softens as he finally looks at her. “Well, Robin, are you ready to go? I see you’ve got quite the disguise already.”

Robin is so, so glad for the change of tone. “Shouldn’t we be talking about you? You’re finally out of that suit, for once.” She tries not to let the wistfulness and sadness bleed into her voice. She wishes Sunday (her brother, maybe? Eventually, or is she holding onto an unlikely future?) could dress like this every day.

“Well, I’ll be going to the park with you, so it’s only fitting that I stay undercover. I have upset a lot of people to attend this with you,” Sunday says. “You look beautiful, as always.”

Robin holds onto Boothill’s hand tighter. He squeezes back. ‘Attend’ as in business matters. This is still Sunday, the head of the Oak Family, and not her brother. Never her brother, it seems. “Thank you,” she replies.

Sunday opens the door for her. He lets her walk through, and she pulls Boothill through before Sunday can intentionally close the door after him.

The air outside is warm. Perfect for a trip like this.

“Isn’t the weather wonderful today, Boothill?” Robin asks. She can feel Sunday’s glare on Boothill’s back. She can tell Boothill can feel it too. 

“Yeah, darlin’, it’s wonderful,” Boothill answers, voice and posture stiff. A fancy car — always extravagant, always over the top —is sitting in the driveway, and Sunday takes out a key from his pocket. Unlocks the car.

Boothill reaches forward and pulls open the passenger seat door, tipping his hat low and winking at her. “You first.” He guides her into the car’s back seat like a princess to a carriage, their hands never separating. Sunday must be having several strokes just watching them.

She so desperately wants him to accept her relationship with Boothill and actually see Boothill as a person (cyborg?), not just as barbaric, western scum that’s beneath him. She wants Sunday to listen to her just once, without having to assert his own decisions and feelings into it.

But today is not one to spend wishing for miracles. She’s going to an amusement park! The amusement park in Penacony! Where people go to have fun and relax and forget about their problems for a short while! Robin is desperate for even a minute away from her troubles.

“Everyone has their belongings, yes?” Sunday asks when he slams the driver door, inserting the key into the ignition. Boothill pulls the car door closed behind him, his cowboy hat taken off and leaning against his legs.

“Yes. Is it okay if, uh, Boothill leaves his belt in your car?” Robin asks when they’ve pulled out from the driveway. “We can’t bring it into the amusement park.”

Sunday glances at her. “Why didn’t he leave it home?”

“He’s right here, you can ask him,” Robin suggests. The reflection of Sunday in the rearview mirror’s eyes widens and Boothill stills, next to her. She sits there smiling innocently. These two are going to talk to each other, whether they like it or not. Well, this is the perfect opportunity. She’s trapped them. Either they talk, or they risk leaving Robin upset.

Sunday caves. “Well, erm, Boothill.”

Robin beams in encouragement.

“You can leave your… supplies, uh, in the car,” Sunday hastily finishes.

“Where are your manners, Boothill?” Robin chides softly.

“Thank you, Mister, uhm, Sunday,” Boothill thanks through clenched teeth.

“That wasn’t so difficult, now, was it?” Robin asks.

Sunday looks straight forward, and Boothill looks out the window. “No,” they both say at the same time. Sunday’s look is intense; Boothill looks pained. Robin hides her smile with her free hand — the other is still in Boothill’s grasp, and dear Xipe is he clutching it for dear life.

“There, there,” Robin soothes, tucking a strand of Boothill’s hair — a mix of snow white and charcoal gray — behind his ear, careful not to touch the ammo-shaped earring. She pats his cheek, one of the only remaining parts of his organic body and flesh. His stiff posture loosens by a bit.

“Robin, how are your concert performances?” Sunday interrupts.

“They’re going well! My newest album was well received by my fans and the critics. The next concert isn’t for another two system weeks,” Robin idly comments, yawning. She got up early out of pure excitement for the day, and she’s definitely regretting it.

“Tired?” Sunday glances at her through the rearview mirror.

“A bit,” Robin confirms. “Woke up too early.”

Sunday hums, “take more care of yourself.”

“Pot meets kettle, brother.” She totally doesn’t place a huge emphasis on the last word. “You got me there,” Sunday smiles.

Robin puts her and Boothill’s intertwined hands on his thigh, head leaning on his shoulder. Her eyes are drifting shut. “I can’t wait. How much longer until we get there?”

“Two and a half hours. Enough for you to get some sleep in.” Sunday’s voice is tender, reminding her of a kinder time.

“Okay.” She yawns. “Boothill?”

“Yes?” He moves to make her more comfortable on his metal body.

“Don’t start with Sunday while I’m sleeping, okay? You too, Sunday. Don’t argue with Boothill when I’m sleeping,” she murmurs.

Her eyes drift shut before they can respond.

—

Sunday watches Robin’s shoulders gradually rise and fall, her head on Boothill’s shoulders, through the rearview mirror. Boothill is looking down, quite fondly, at his sister and smiling. Their hands are intertwined, carefully placed on the cyborg’s machine thigh.

Boothill.

He has a million questions about Boothill and Robin. Where does he even start? Just how, oh how, did his sister, sweet and kind, pick up a man as bloodthirsty and crazed as Boothill? They are not compatible, no, not even in the slightest. Galaxy Rangers are dangerous, and Boothill has an enormous bounty on his head, placed by the IPC. Boothill will only ever hurt Robin.

Sunday presses his lips into a tight white line, fuming. Now that Robin’s asleep, the atmosphere changes without her bright, calming presence. He can tell Boothill doesn’t like him, but he’s Robin’s older brother, so that son of a Memory Zone Meme can take his opinion and shove it up his cogs. Aeons, he’d gladly fight Boothill if it isn’t for Robin.

No, no, that’s wrong. He can’t fight Boothill; no, that’d be stooping to his level, and Sunday is way more dignified than a ruthless, rowdy cowboy who makes a living killing others. Having a job that requires killing is never a good sign.

But Robin is an adult. She doesn’t need that much fawning over, right? That’s why Sunday doesn’t forbid her from seeing Boothill. Someone had to keep her company. Sunday can’t anymore.

His grip on the wheel tightens, skin around his knuckles turning white. Work, work, work. That’s all there is, these days. Things in Penacony have calmed, but the rebuilding effort takes so much thinking and the public needs so much reassuring and everyone is so Aeon-damned incompetent that he has to deal with everything himself.

He curses the entire Bloodhound Family, that bartender fraud, the gambler from the IPC, the arrogant doctor, Boothill.

He takes a deep breath. May Xipe and the Harmony help them all. Save him, please.

Boothill combs through Robin’s wig, stupidly smiling. Sunday is so distracted by the action that he realizes the car in front of them has slowed.

He slams the brakes, sending them all leaning forward.

Sunday’s back hits the car seat again, and his next inhales are audible. Boothill lets loose a string of swears. Sunday is saying them in his mind, two totally different things. He does not have anything in common with Boothill except for their care for Robin.

After Boothill has repositioned Robin, who slept through the whole ordeal, on his lap, Sunday snaps: “you kiss my sister with that mouth?” Thinking and actually saying these swears are two completely different things, remember? They have nothing in common!

Boothill’s expression hardens. He doesn’t back down.

“Yeah,” he bites out. “And she seems to like me perfectly fine that way.”

Sunday can’t argue with that. Robin seems content with Boothill, and he’s trying to not think about the last time she was at peace like this with him. It’s all the work piling up, he tells himself. It’s not him.

“You don’t have bad intentions with her?” Sunday asks.

Boothill considers him for a moment, wary in his piercing, target eyes, then looks back down at Robin. “No. Why would I?”

“You’re a Galaxy Ranger. You could easily use her celebrity status to your advantage. Galaxy Rangers are dangerous, you are aware of that, aren’t you?” Sunday states, savoring the moment Boothill’s cold expression wavers. Doubt. He doesn’t even need the Harmony’s powers to sense it.

“I am well aware of what I do,” Boothill responds. But his voice doesn’t have the same confidence and surety as before. Sunday subtly smirks. “And I be darned if I bring much trouble to Robin.”

“Hm? What if you do? How can I trust that you won’t go back on your promise?”

“I may not be as refined and elegant as you, Mister Sunday, but I sure as hell don’t go back on my word.” He’s being sincere. But sincerity alone isn’t enough. There needs to be more control. Sunday knows what it’s like.

“Swear it, then,” Sunday demands, voice calm but threatening. “Surely the best cyborg Galaxy Ranger out there, who hasn’t shot a single stray bullet in his career, doesn’t need to hesitate when doing so? Since you have so much pride in your occupation, surely this is but another trivial matter?” He expertly weaves the Harmony into his words, the gentle hum of its power buzzing in the back of his mind as he taps his gloved fingertips on the wheel.

Boothill’s eyes are full of fury when he declares, “I swear it. On my life.”

“Good. Because I’ll take you apart, piece by piece and cog by damn cog if I have to, if she gets hurt while in your care,” Sunday smiles and totally doesn’t think about all the ways he can take Boothill’s body apart — painfully, preferably. “The Harmony will remember this. Thank you for swearing it on your life.”

Boothill glares at him. He looks away and mutters. Something something Robin’s words.

‘Don’t start with Boothill.’ 

The car falls into silence, the effect of the Harmony wearing off.

A memory resurfaces.

***

They were finally alone one night, when the sun had long dipped below the horizon and the stars were brightly twinkling in the night sky. Both unable to sleep, Sunday finally decided to confront Robin about her relationship with Boothill. 

“I don’t get it. Him, of all people?” Sunday asked, brows creased in worry. “He isn’t threatening you to do anything for him, right?” Fear clawed at his heart at the possibility of his sweet, dear sister being forced into doing anything. No one should have control over her — not even Sunday. He was merely suggesting what she should do as her older brother, which wasn’t ‘control.’ 

Robin gave him a concerned look as if questioning his sanity because, well, who didn’t love a bloodthirsty lunatic–cyborg who travels the universe to chase other targets while simultaneously having a bounty on his head? That was sarcasm. “No, brother, I love him. Truly. It’s of my own accord.” 

“Are you sure? What do you even find in him?” Sunday reached for Robin’s hands. He took them in his own. “I don’t want you to get hurt, you know?” 

Robin squeezed their hands. “I won’t. I can handle myself, and Boothill can protect me if I can’t myself. As for what I find in him…” she blushes, pink coating her cheeks.  

Sunday waits for her response, head tilted, the wings by his head slowly flapping. 

“It’s like, uhm, whenever I see him,” Robin explained, the blush reddening, “I just feel like there are butterflies in my stomach, you know? When your bones melt and suddenly, all you want to do is stare at their face. Boothill has a very pretty face.” Sunday would not refute that. By all definitions, Boothill’s face was physically attractive — physically. It’s whether one was attracted to him that matters. He wanted Robin’s response regarding that. 

“I feel like he understands me,” she had finally said. “He just knows what I want. And he’s giving it to me.” 

Sunday’s eyes widened. “And, uh, what do you want?” Aeons. He might be sick. Was his sister — ?  

Robin seemed to realize what he was thinking too. She quickly shakes her head, and the blush spreads. “No!” she hastily corrected. “No! No. That’s, ugh, Sunday! Mind out of the gutter! No. I want someone who can look past the superstar status of me. I want a break, if you understand what it’s like to take a break.” 

“I take plenty of breaks,” Sunday defended. It was a lie. There was simply not enough time in his hectic schedule to afford the ever-elusive luxury of rest. 

Robin rolled her eyes. “Sure. Anyway, Boothill’s kind and honest. I’m in very good hands, brother. I promise you that.” 

“I just want you to be happy.” Sunday sighed. “I don’t like him.” 

“Well, I do.” Robin’s face was set and determined, an absolute, take-nothing-else gleam in her eye. Something about her willingness to compromise had changed. Sunday wondered when it had, and how he hadn’t noticed. “And I love him, Sunday. 

“Can you accept that?” 

***

Can he accept that, huh?

Sunday rests his cheek on his fist, elbow propped against the windowsill with one hand on the wheel. He glances out the window at Penacony’s bustling metropolis, with its towering skyscrapers, bustling streets, and diverse culture brought together from hundreds of different cultures around the universe. The more populated cities have been spared of damage, thank Xipe, so their primary rebuilding focuses are the agricultural and suburban areas affected.

Penacony has always been one of his greatest loves from the start. He will stop at nothing to make sure it is a planet whose name is passed around the universe like a legend, a paradise so far and so unreachable that you can only read of its honor in fairy tales and books.

He’ll just have to figure out a way to deal with Penacony’s ruined reputation among the public and interstellar organizations.

Only if he was better.

His gaze drifts over to Robin and Boothill again. Boothill must be keeping Robin company when Sunday couldn’t, and that was almost always. Well, that settles it. Robin loves Boothill dearly, and Boothill loves her right back, swearing it on his life to protect her. Fine. If that’s what it is, then he’ll have to accept that. However begrudgingly. For Robin’s sake.

Where is the damn SoulGlad when you need it?

—

Boothill drags a hand down his face, cursing this machine body and the eleven bullets he swallowed earlier.

He knows he loves Robin. He knows he’s willing to lay out his life for him. But there was something about swearing his life for her in this Aeonforsaken car and in front of her brother, no less, that he couldn’t help but feel suspicious about. Now, he ain’t the brightest gun in the rack. However, that doesn’t mean he’s gullible and easily manipulated.

Reignbow Arbiter’s piercing arrow shoot through him now. Boothill mouths a swear, upper teeth digging into his lower lip, and glares out the window. Robin is still sound asleep.

Sunday reaches over to turn on the radio, and an upbeat, funky tune fills the car. He turns the volume down, head bopping to the rhythm of the bass drums.

How the hell this man looks so calm after threatening Boothill with dismemberment, he has no damn clue.

Two hours pass, and Boothill is about to dismember himself out of boredom.

Finally, finally, the amusement park comes into view. He recognizes the color and shapes of some of the coaster tracks of the attractions Robin was showing him a few days prior. There’s a ride that shoots its riders up the nearly straight-up track then plummets them right down.

The parking lot is almost empty when they pull through. Robin insisted on getting there a bit before the park opened so they wouldn’t be stuck waiting in lines, but she already brought speed passes for everyone, so does it really matter when they get there since they could just skip the lines?

Boothill gives Robin a slight shake in the shoulder. “Darlin’,” he whispers, adamant not to look up because Sunday will be glaring at him.

Robin’s eyes flutter open.

Boothill smiles. “Mornin’.”

“Morning,” Robin says as he leans back so she can sit up. “Are we there?”

“Right at the gates,” he confirms.

Robin stretches, yawning. “Nice."

Sunday stops the car. “We’re here.”

Boothill opens the door and gets out. He offers a hand to Robin. She takes it and steps out of the car, all celebrity and princess-like.

He produces a bottle of sunscreen from his pocket and squeezes some onto his fingertips. “Look up ‘n close your eyes,” he instructs. Robin does, and he carefully applies the sunscreen over her face, neck, and shoulders. He gives the rest of the bottle to Robin for her to lather the rest on her arms and legs and wipes the rest of the sunscreen on his fingers onto his pants. 

After she’s done with that, he places his hat on her head. 

“To protect you from the sun,” he says when she lifts the brim to peer at him. Robin returns with a smile and they follow Sunday, who has his hood pulled up and a mask on and is probably sweating like crazy. “Oh, and this.” He snaps off his belt and leaves it in the car, but not before opening up a capsule on the right side of his waist and tucking his gun in. He stores some of the bullets in his arm and pops another four in his mouth, leaving one to chew on.

Robin watches him with fascination sparkling in her ocean eyes. Boothill smirks, the sole bullet remaining held between his teeth.

They get into the express lane (Boothill tries not to look too smug at the lines of people waiting in the slow lane or pay much mind to the way they’re gawking at all three of them — what can he say? They’re all gorgeous. Especially Robin and himself) as Sunday checks them in. The attendant, thankfully, does not look too closely at any of them and tells them to place any baggage on the bins to be inspected.

Boothill and Sunday have nothing on them except their phones. Robin drops her purse in the bin as it rolls toward the staff members. It goes through a scan in a large, black box before getting returned to Robin. She thanks the staff and wishes them a nice day, catching up to Boothill a few steps ahead.

They enter the amusement park, some of the rides already opening up and functioning. Robin grabs a map of the park from a nearby directory board and unfolds it. She stops, and Boothill leans over her, chin on her head, to look at the map with her. Sunday is looking at the digital map on the board.

“I want to hit up the mild rides first, then we can progress onto the thrill rides,” Robin informs them, one perfectly manicured nail tracing their would-be path through the park.

“Ain’t nothin’ that looks ‘mild’ about this place ‘sides the kids’ rides,” Boothill grumbles.

Robin laughs, tucking the paper map in her purse. “Are you scared, Boothill?”

“What? No way,” Boothill rolls his eyes. He has nothing to fear here. He swallows the chewed bullet. There’s no way he can use that one after all the bite marks on it.

“Let’s save the grandest ride for last,” Robin looks up and points to the ride that shoots straight up, “the King of the Jungle.”

He snorts. “Corny — freakin’ — name.” He frowns. Right. Someone (he’ll find the bastard and force them to change it back) tinkered with his Synesthesia Beacon, so he can’t say words aloud. ‘Freedom of speech’ his bullets.

Robin covers her mouth with her hand, failing at hiding her smile. “I forgot that your Synesthesia Beacon does that.”

He sighs deeply. “Well, it ain’t fun either.”

“Alright,” she closes the map and tucks it in her purse. “What about Clockie’s Twisted Coaster? It’s right here.”

The coaster in question is, indeed, right in front of them. Penacony’s signature mascot, Clockie, is plastered all over the ride: its face is square and center on the ride’s tracks, the ride name in script next to it, the entire ride’s colors are all ones found on Clockie, and the stupid music blasting out of the speakers is Clockie’s theme song or whatever it’s called. 

The ride itself isn’t very long — the cart, with seats for four people, two on each side, hangs below the track and progresses up, swinging the cart, and drops down a series of curves, rotating the cart 360-degrees. The ride continues like this in an ‘s’ shape but with more exaggerated bends before coming to a stop.

Pretty mild, it seems.

“Let’s go,” Robin says. “Sunday?”

The man shakes his head. “I don’t do roller coasters. Here, let me take your purse.”

Robin is visibly disappointed, but she nods in understanding. She hands her purse over to Sunday, who tosses it over his hood carefully. “Your flash passes,” Sunday continues, taking out two cards from his pocket. He walks over, handing one to Robin. Boothill takes his when Sunday offers it to him, but the man’s gloved hand grips the card tight.

Boothill is so ready for a fight.

It doesn’t come.

Sunday lets go, looks him in the eye, and tells him, “make sure she has fun, okay?”

It takes him by surprise. He blinks, arm still extended and holding the card.

Sunday nods and turns back to Robin, who’s now practically glowing with happiness. “Go. Have fun.”

“I definitely will, brother,” Robin throws her arms around Sunday. “Thank you thank you thank you!” She backs away, takes Boothill’s hand, and tugs him to the flash pass entrance of the ride. Boothill lets himself be dragged along.

—

What? What!

Robin is so excited. Have you seen Sunday? Did you see him hand over the flash pass to Boothill? Do you know how long she’s been wanting Sunday to finally talk to Boothill without being openly hostile?

She’s practically buzzing with relief and joy, her previous disappointment from Sunday’s rejection to joining them on the ride temporarily forgotten, when she and Boothill show their flash passes to the staff and enter through the gates.

“He handed you the card, Boothill!” Robin says, just shy of jumping up and down like a child. “Wow. I can’t believe it.”

Boothill leans down to kiss her on her forehead. “Me neither. Your brother was lookin’ really unwilling. Thought he’d be out for me for at least a while. He probably still will.” He tucks the flash pass into the back pocket of his pants.

When she thinks of Sunday offering an olive branch to Boothill, or the other way around, she thought it’d be in more intimate, private settings. Like the living room in their giant mansion, way too big for just the two (occasionally three, but Boothill sleeps in her bed) of them, or in the kitchen after Robin left to use the bathroom or wherever. Not in public, not when they’re surrounded by innocent bystanders. She’s not complaining. The amusement park works too.

“This ride looks, ah, weird,” Boothill mumbles into her ear.

“Hmm? This one’s a classic,” Robin tells him. “We’re next!”

“I’m gonna regret swallowing those darn bullets,” he grimaces as the attendant opens their gate, directing them to the open cart. Boothill places his hat on the rack they have for loose items, and they get on, Robin on the inside and Boothill on the outside. They can’t hold hands through the safety seats. Well, they technically can, but Robin’s body is primarily flesh and bones so it’d be really uncomfortable for her.

“You got this!” Robin encourages, swinging her legs. The attendant starts the ride, and they move forward.

***

“Holy Aeons and all of Lan’s arrows,” Boothill says, one arm slung around her shoulder and mostly relying on Robin for support (don’t underestimate her strength and endurance — she’s a singer, remember?), “I’m gonna throw up all my bullets.”

“Hey, at least you didn’t scream,” Robin teases, giving Boothill the time to recover and stand on his own.

“Now, I was just sayin’ that ride was too loop-de-loop,” Boothill manages, wincing, “not that it was scary. I ain’t even feelin’ nauseous. It’s, ah, the rattle of these parts, per se. Aeons, what the heck. Everyday I discover somethin’ new ‘bout this helluva body.”

“Mhm,” Robin reassures, waving to Sunday.

“How was the first ride?” Sunday asks her, hands crossed behind his back and posture ever so regal for an amusement park. He must be smiling underneath that mask — his eyes crinkle. He doesn’t ask both of him; no, just Robin. That’s okay. Baby steps, baby steps.

“It was wonderful,” she declares, “Boothill wanted to throw up his bullets,” and doesn’t elaborate further. She loops her arm through Boothill’s. “Which rides next?” She tilts her head at Boothill, repeatedly poking at his cheek.

Boothill catches her finger between his teeth, bite gentle. Robin pulls her finger back. “Wherever you go, I’ll follow,” he tells her, eyes twinkling with mirth, tucking an exposed strand of her baby blue hair behind her ear, patting down her wig.

“Okay. Drop of doom next!”

Boothill’s expression drops, like the ride they’re gonna go on next.

***

Robin steps out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house. It was actually a roller coaster with a whole cinema and, of course, Clockie theme. She turns around, her wig blowing around her in a gentle breeze, and extends a hand toward Boothill, her smile wide on her face.

Boothill shakes his hair, the dual-color strands whipping around his face, and puts on his hat. He takes her hand. “Where do you wanna go next?” he asks, trailing behind her on the steps leading up to ground level. Sunday starts toward them the moment he sees Robin emerge from the exit.

“Can we stop for food?” she announces. All of the walking around and getting on the rides and general cheery atmosphere has her hungry.

“Sure,” Sunday agrees, looking at the map on his phone. “There’s a food court that’s not so far away from here. Follow me.” He starts toward a sunset retro-styled house in the distance, surrounded by palm trees and synth-pop blasting out of its speakers. It reminds her of the sunsets on Punklorde, a planet filled with cyberware and hackers. Isn’t there that one Stellaron Hunter girl from Punklorde?

“The style of that food court reminds me of you,” she comments, “don’t you think?”

“Ehh,” Boothill squints at the design, scrutinizing it, “not really. Run-down saloons and bars and the kind are more my type. But I can see myself hangin’ ‘round ‘ere, poppin’ down to the bar and orderin’ myself some booze. Bet they sell real darn booze too.”

Robin giggles at his accent. “You talk so funny.”

“Oh, really? And how do I talk, princess?” Boothill challenges, one hand on his hip.

“Like this,” Robin clears her throat, voice imitating a low, country drawl, “howdy. Name’s Boothill, darlin’s. I’m the best Ranger out there you can find. One shot from my gun, BAM BAM BAM — ” she mocks a gun with her left hand, shooting it — “and the enemy drops dead in less than a second, you hear me? There ain’t a single stray bullet in my entire career.”

Boothill rolls his eyes. “I do not talk like that.”

“Yes, you do!”

“No, I do not!”

“Yuh uh!”

“Nuh uh!”

“Pfft,” Robin exaggerates her exasperated sigh. “Fine. I suppose you don’t actually talk like that.”

“That’s right,” Boothill nods, a satisfied look on his face.

“What do you want to eat?” Sunday stops. Oh. They’ve already reached the place. She didn’t even notice.

“What’s on the menu?” Robin walks up to the menu boards above the counter, making sure to stay away from the ordering line. Her eyes scan the lines of options, mentally coming up with a list. It’s all junk food, as expected. She’s been craving some junk food anyway. Let’s hope Sunday actually lets her eat those ‘artificial foods injected with junk and bacteria.’

“I want three double cheeseburgers with two sides of fries and a SoulGlad,” Boothill announces.

Robin blinks up at him. “What?”

“Three deluxe double cheeseburgers, two servings of curly fries, and a SoulGlad,” he repeats.

“No, no, I, uh, heard you the first time. Are you sure you want that much?” It’s more than enough for one person; then again, Boothill’s a cyborg.

“I can eat a whole lot more,” Boothill shrugs. “Whadda ‘bout you?”

Robin hums. “I’ll take chicken tenders, a blueberry milkshake, and a pretzel. I hope the pretzels here have salt on them the size of dice.” She pats around for her purse, then remembers Sunday has it and he’s paying. “Sunday! We’re ready to order!”

Sunday gets up from the table he’s sitting at, meeting them at the end of the line“What would you like?”

“Three deluxe double cheeseburgers, chicken tenders, two servings of curly fries, one blueberry milkshake, one SoulGlad, and one pretzel,” Robin recites and looks at Boothill. “I didn’t forget anything, did I?”

Boothill shakes his head. “Naw.”

Sunday nods, the pleasant smile on his face he uses when he’s holding back a scathing remark. Ah, well. “I’ll go pay. You two can wait at the table.”

“Thanks!” Robin hurries over to the table before someone else can take it. It’s one of those metal wire mesh tables with benches attached and an umbrella over, taking on an obnoxious shade of orange the same color as the SoulGlad drinks. Boothill takes off his hat and tosses it on the table, letting out a sigh.

“Ain’t your brother dyin’ from the heat?” Boothill runs a hand through his hair. The weather is fair, not hot, but still warm enough to make you sweat after a few minutes basking under the sun.

Robin stares at Sunday, at the counter and talking to the cashier. “Maybe?”

“Are you sure you don’t want Sunday to go on an attraction with you?”

Robin’s smile wavers. “Well, I’m not going to force him onto anything he doesn’t want to.”

“You should. What’s a man doing, out here in a park, having no fun? Take him on a ride, darlin’. Gotta shake him up a lil’,” Boothill urges.

“After we eat,” Robin says. “I’ll ask again if we can go on Hanu’s Great Escape.”

“When I said to shake him up, I ain’t talking ‘bout takin’ him to one that, but whatever calms your horse.”

Robin beams at him. Hanu’s Great Escape is known for being exhilarating and scary. She wants to go on it with someone. The lines are typically very long, up to nearly an hour of waiting in line, but they have flash passes, and she is determined to bring Sunday on one of those rides at least once today.

“This is, ah, a lot,” Sunday says when he sets down a plastic tray with everything on the tabletop. He sits down opposite to Robin and Boothill, taking his share of the food — just a cup of soda and a sandwich — off the tray and leaving the rest to them. “I think it was somewhere around 200 credits?”

Boothill grabs Robin’s food for her, setting down the box of chicken tenders and fries while ripping open the packaging of a fancy plastic straw, sticking it in the milkshake. He takes his share of the food, unwrapping the aluminum foil of one of the cheeseburgers and flipping off the cap of the SoulGlad bottle.

“I can pay you back,” Robin opens up her phone to her money transferring app. 

Sunday brushes it off. “You don’t have to. We’re family, there’s no ‘owing’ here.”

Sometimes, Robin wants to excuse all of Sunday’s overprotectiveness and his strict rules because of how nice he is to her, the softness in his voice lulling her into a false sense of trust and security. But nice doesn’t mean kind, and Sunday isn’t exactly kind. Perhaps the only person Sunday is truly kind to is Robin, and even that has its occasional exceptions. Sunday is a control freak, more or less and however much she condemns it.

She bites into a chicken tender a bit too harshly, the meat soft and the food warm and her teeth clacking. It isn’t healthy to keep on bringing up sad topics. Today is a happy day, and she will make the most of it by shutting up and having fun. How many times has she said that now?

Boothill bites down on the burger, taking half of it as he chews and swallows. Watching him eat has always intrigued her. How does the food, organic and soft, dissolve in his mechanical insides? How does the food get processed without the chemicals and cells and nerves found in a typical human body?

“You’re starin’ again,” Boothill warmly points out, tapping her on the tip of her nose.

“How does the food work in your body?” Robin has asked this before, and not once has she gotten a coherent response.

“Do you think I’d be a ranger if I knew? ‘Cause boy, does this body need a lot of engineerin’,” Boothill groused, “this thing’s almost more trouble than what it is worth.” He takes a swig of the SoulGlad, orange dribbling out the corner of his mouth. Robin extracted a handkerchief from her purse, on top of Boothill’s hat, and dabbed at it.

“There.” She folded the handkerchief into a neat square, placing it on the table. 

“I’m waterproof, hon. For the most part,” Boothill deadpans.

“Isn’t it cute, though?” Robin counters playfully, leaning in to peck him on his nose.

Sunday, with his mask pulled down, very loudly sips his drink. Third wheeling must be sad.

“Sorry,” Robin apologizes, not really meaning it. She leans away, pressing close to Boothill, knocking their ankles together under the table. She grabs a curly fry from his box, munching on it. This place really loves their salt, huh? They’re in luck since she does too.

“No, that’s alright,” Sunday passive-aggressively says, finishing his sandwich. Boothill moves onto his third cheeseburger.

“Is that all you wanted?” Robin asks, pulling over her box of chicken tenders. Granted, there are only three left, but they can make it work. “We can share this.”

Sunday waves his hands, dismissing her offer. “It’s fine. Save some for yourself.”

“Oh, please, I have Boothill’s shares if I’m really that hungry,” Robin then makes a show out of it, grabbing a handful of Boothill’s curly fries. She likes the fries. Or anything with a copious amount of sodium in it, which, unfortunately, may be every junk food. Boothill shows no sign of objection, he’s almost done with his cheeseburger. It’s honestly kind of impressive.

“That’s fine, but I’m not hungry anymore. You know me. I never had that much of an appetite,” Sunday offhandedly mentions, casting a side-eye at Boothill. Boothill crumples up the aluminum foil of all three cheeseburgers into one giant ball.

“Okay.” Robin takes back the chicken tender, grabbing one and dropping it in Boothill’s box of fries. “For the curly fries,” she explains and moves back to eating her chicken tenders.

Boothill pecks her on the forehead. Robin giggles.

They gradually finish the rest of the food, and Sunday goes to return the tray and throw out their trash. Robin uses this opportunity to ask Boothill whether she should ask Sunday to go on Hanu’s Great Escape with her.

Boothill crunches down on a bullet. Where did he get that from? “Go for it,” he says simply.

“Really?” Robin asks.

Boothill pats her head. “Of course.”

“Okay.” Robin shuts up as Sunday returns to their table. Here goes nothing.

[melancholic-hues]

the king places down his cutlery, and the sound of metal firmly clicking against wood grabs the attention of everyone present. they’ve all been suspiciously avoiding his gaze since the announcement of the upcoming crowning ceremony of the new ruler of this kingdom that will be taking place a month later.

“my children,” the king says, taking the time to look each of his six children present in the eye. his wife sits on the opposite end of the table, her brows creased with worry.

“yes, father,” they chorus, though it is more of a mumble than a proper greeting.

“the crowning ceremony is in a month, as you all know,” he says. “our kingdom does not follow the traditional order of oldest-becomes-hier, so i will choose the best remaining fit out of the six of you.”

they all look back down at their plates, and the empty chair to the king’s right hand has never been more pronounced.

“jeremiah, my third eldest child.” jeremiah looks up, fear apparent in his blue-hazel eyes. “you are most prepared to reign after me.” jeremiah lacks the aggressiveness and stubbornness when it comes to negotiation talk, but that is not an important issue as of right now.

“i—i am sorry, father, but, ah, i am afraid i am too meek to rule as greatly as you,” jeremiah defends, eyes not quite meeting his.

“i will not force you to rule after me, then.” the king nods and looks around, his gaze settling on his second eldest, eliana. “eliana, you are charismatic, trustworthy, and kind.”

eliana visibly gulps from her spot next to jeremiah, who is in his left hand chair. “father… i would gladly take on the job of an ambassador, but i am not of true royal blood. i am honored you and mother took me in, but i do not think people would like an adoptive child to be the hier.” she runs her fingers through her ginger hair and gives him a strained smile.

so everyone is suddenly embracing their flaws now? is that how this’ll go?

ever since his eldest left, things have not been the same. all sorts of issues plague their kingdom: poverty, crime, famish, disease. their international power and status weakens with each passing day, a stark difference from the superpower their nation once was.

“kimberly?” the king looks at his sixth child, who has her legs propped up against the edge of the table with her dark hair all ruffled. she is a rogue, anti-establishment and all those phrases youngsters these days chant, but can be an excellent leader when she gets her act together, though he just hopes it won’t be during some petty or useless events.

“sorry, old man, but i killed a dude. don’t think the public is gonna be happy at that,” kimberly deadpans, tossing a tater tot — his daughter refuses to eat some of the highest quality food, and instead, opts for common unhealthy food like the tater tots — into her wide-open mouth. she is successful, he’ll give her that.

“that was eight years ago, you’re sixteen now,” his youngest and seventh child, henry, hisses. “just take it.”

“why don’t you take it, dear henry?” kimberly drawls, throwing another tater tot at her brother, who dodges and lets it land on the floor behind him.

“kimberly, what have we said about throwing food?” his wife says, meeting his eyes. the creases in his wife’s skin are from days spent smiling, not for worries like this.

“well, henry, what about you?” the king asks. henry immediately ducks his head. henry is reckless but fair; besides a few… peculiar decision-making weaknesses, he will be a king that can make their land a more equal country.

“you know me! i don’t think before i speak, and i will surely cause several wars that will ruin this kingdom more than it already has…” henry laughs nervously and chews on his steak.

“samantha? charlie?” his fourth and fifth children: twins who are known for being inseparable since birth.

charlie shakes his head, his thick brown curls bouncing.

samantha, on the other hand, picks at the loose seams of her dress. “dad, we all know sasha is best suited for the role of ruler,” she whispers, honest and blunt in the classic samantha way, but the fact echoes through the lavish dining room all the same.

sasha. his beloved, beautiful eldest child.

an uncomfortable silence settles over the room, and his wife takes out a handkerchief to dab the corners of her eyes with it.

kimberly sighs, her mischievous and rebellious nature quieting down for a more somber tone. “well, sasha’s gone now. maybe for good.”

he sees several people shift in their seats.

“then… who will take the throne?” the king asks, a foreign tone of uncertainty and unconfident waver in his voice.

a faint shout is audible from outside the doors, and everyone’s attention is drawn to it. who is causing such ruckus? within this close proximity to the king too?

the sound rises in volume until it’s just outside the doors.

“madame, regardless of your past status, you can’t go in there — !” is the last thing they all hear before the doors are thrown open, and a woman stomps in, bringing a flurry of guards flailing after her, all of them at a loss for words of what to say.

she tosses her long, dark hair behind her and crosses her arms, the light from the chandelier overhead glinting off the shiny black leather of her jacket.

a gasp rises amongst the people gathered around the dining table as the king rises, disbelief clear in his eyes. his hands, calloused and rough with time, shake, and his face seems to age within that very second.

with dark chocolate eyes that can appear comforting and warm in the light now glower at him, all sorts of tools and mechanical bits hanging off various clips on her brown suspenders and the belt around her waist, her arms crossed and fingers tapping on the sleeve of her jacket, her style hasn’t changed over the past decade at all.

always has to cause a scene, this one.

“sasha,” the king says, and his daughter’s eyes soften with the familiarity he’s used to.

“hey, dad.”

All the heirs are doing their best to avoid inheriting the utter mess that is the kingdom.

[anonbinaryweirdo]

While it may seem a bit of an uncomfortable scent to have to constantly breathe in, the smell of the sweat that was faded into his clothes; and the smudges of dirt scattered about in his hair, matching how dirty his outfit already was; it wasn't exactly what one would describe as a pleasant scent . But it was fine. His gloves may be a little—just barely—damped in both water and blood; almost completely filthy and battered, but you wouldn't want anything more than the feel of it. To feel the quarter of that palm, of that very same glove against your skin, in your hair, squeezing you tightly.

"shhhh.." he pressed his chapped lips to the root of your nose, his heart only further breaking at the sound of your quiet, hardly concealed sob. Childe gently cupped your face in his hands, bringing your eyes to meet his own blue ones. His eyes, they never did carry a certain spark like any other, not since he saw the light of the outside world again after three months of blood and darkness.

But, you were always an exception. Just seeing you would bring an invisible shine to his eyes—one that no one could bring about.

His eyes were almost like an ocean; still, but only on the outside. Gaze into it, and you'd see the same thing as everyone else. They grew fierce during a fit of rage, like the waves of water flowing aggressively in a storm. You never knew what you were in for, just by staring into the surface. You never knew what was beneath it all.

But if you got the special chance of diving deeper into the hues of thick blue, if you get the chance of exploring the one place everyone else wouldn't dare tread into, you would see that it was full of life. It would consist of some dangers, of course, yes, but there was a sparkle that was shamelessly present, compared to what was shown outside.

and Childe believes, with a full heart, that he wouldn't even have one if not for you.

"I'm here now." he reminds you, trying to calm you with his voice and full promises. "and i'm not going anywhere. I promise."

You sniffle, looking up at your lover with wet, red eyes. you want to trust his words — and you do — it's just...

you needed to be sure.

You bring up a weak arm, battered in blood seeping through the ripped cloth, and hold out your pinkie. Your hand shakes. He knows what you're searching for and smiles.

He locks his pinkie with yours, and takes a deep breath.

“You make a pinky promise, you keep it all your life.

If I break this pinkie promise, you throw me on the ice.

The cold will kill the pinkie that once betrayed your friend,

The frost will freeze my tongue off so I never lie again.”

He doesn't let go of your pinkie, even after the chant is over. Instead, he brings your locked fingers to his lips, and presses a tender kiss to your curled one. "Is that better? Do you believe me now?"

you nod.

You've always believed him. He's never failed to be there for you, to protect you when you needed protection. and he's proved that, time and time again. He's proved that today. When your life was flashing before your eyes, when all the fight had left your body and you were helpless and surrounded by foes—all you needed was to blink and suddenly the grass was red.

You don't know how he did it. How he knew you needed him.

But you were glad he knew. You don't know what you would've done without him there.

And he wouldn't know what to do if you weren't here.

[huellitaa]

₊˚⊹♡ education is hot!

education is literally the most valuable thing in life. please please PLEASE take advantage of that. self concept is important, good looks are important, happiness is important, health is important, but without education we wouldn't even know what any of that even means. ♡

having knowledge makes you magnetic. when you're smart, people will look up to you. and if people look up to you, it means they think about you, they admire you, and you have an influence on them.

life is knowledge. the more you learn, the more you are. knowledge is the fundamental basics to life. nothing is the root of everything but we wouldn't even know what nothing is without education. we wouldn't have language, we wouldn't have concepts, we wouldn't have technology, we wouldn't have the screen you're reading this on. we wouldn't have tumblr 😨

──★ ˙ ̟🎀 1. noting down ur findings

the smartest people ALWAYS note down what they learn, whether it be big or small. if you have lots of knowledge and / or the memory capacity of a goldfish then naturally you may not always remember what you learn. keeping it noted down in any preferably easily accessible format of your choice is so helpful and a very smart choice if you want to be an Intellectual™. notebook, sketchbook, binder, google docs, notion pages, tumblr posts, notes app, anything you like !!!!! just keep it noted down !!!! ♡

──★ ˙ ̟🎀2. utilising ur resources!!!!

so many people i know and millions of people throughout the world suffer with a crippling addiction to their phones, but what are you actually doing on said phone? you spend ages on your phone, your tablet, your laptop, reading, writing, playing video games, and so on, but even then, are you genuinely learning? are you taking the time to absorb the knowledge placed before you or are you skimming through it all in a mindless cycle of media consumption?

think about how you can utilise the things around you to learn. for example, make all that time spent on your devices useful. research, study, learn in your free time. knowledge is abundance. you can use your local library, your local bookshops, ur school or ur college or ur workplace just to find out more about your surroundings and about the world. it is so much more valuable thank you'd think.

──★ ˙ ̟🎀 3. wisdom

wisdom is the highest form of knowledge. to learn is to live so living is the only way you're going to truly learn, if that makes sense. therefore, by using this direct method, you gain the highest manner of knowledge; wisdom. wisdom is not being book smart or knowing how to solve equations or write essays but wisdom is genuine, pure, raw, life experience and life lessons, which, surprise surprise, can only be gained through experience and living your life. go out, try things, get out of your comfort zone, get comfy being uncomfy. you got this. ♡

──★ ˙ ̟🎀 4. social interaction

"nerds dont know how to socialise!!!" okay so maybe i adhere to this stereotype sometimes but social interaction is, however unfortunate it may be, a key part of being intellectual and having genuine knowledge. going back to wisdom and learning through experience, speaking with and networking with and sparking connections with others is a vital way to be educated and informed and cultured along with enhancing your social skills, because we need to know how to interact with others, too. if we can't spread said knowledge through connections and socialising so it can be passed down for hundreds of thousands for years to come then there is no point in learning at all because it'll have no use in the long run.

──★ ˙ ̟🎀 5. media consumption

feed ur brain. i cannot stress this enough. read books, fiction or non fiction. i know you've heard this a million times but it's true. read just a random article of interest every day to get your brain working. learn a new word every day, read news reports, letters, interesting blogs, articles, websites, do puzzles, crosswords, wordsearches, memory games, listen to podcasts, audiobooks, watch documentaries, youtube videos, interviews, ted talks, video essays, EXERCISE UR BRAIN

──★ ˙ ̟🎀 6. insights, emotional intelligence and empathy

as i've said before, and i'll reiterate again, knowledge extends beyond simply having book smarts and knowing how to work with letters and numbers. the most powerful method of communication amongst humans is emotion, and being well versed in how to read, understand and communicate said language is only learnt through real life experience and observation of real life experiences where the use of emotional intelligence and empathy come into play. analyse these experiences and note down everything

──★ ˙ ̟🎀 7. question ur sources and BE BOLD

one thing i was taught ever since i was little is that when ur online you need to be veeeery careful with all the information you get fed because there are lots of people out there, esp on the internet, with lots of different intentions and lots of different facts, even if they have good intentions and don't mean to mislead you. always double check whatever ur told with someone you know or on another website or two or a physical yet reliable source if you have one to hand, and cite your own opinions too. you get to choose what does and doesn't get to enter your mind. your mind and your knowledge is yours entirely and only yours to be tampered with and adjusted in any way you'd like.

──★ ˙ ̟🎀 things 2 study and be generally educated on:

social etiquette and politeness

countries and their respective laws, cultures, landmarks etc.

history of your own family and ancestry

languages you're interested in and basic phrases in several languages

information about your dream and / or current career

finances and how to manage your money

business, networking and persuasion

pet psychology and how to take care of them

capital cities and basics about places around the world, esp if you plan on going travelling

something beautiful about knowledge is that you'll never run out of it and it can never be taken away from you. people can take anything from you, but never your intelligence. ♡

all my love! 💖✨💘💗🎀💓

[wasyago]

i imagine it's quite chilly in the black sea (for the lack of sun and color), so they're wearing slightly warmer clothes now uwu

+ thoughts

[melancholic-hues]

i spit out the piece of pastry onto the napkin and gladly accept the handkerchief from the prince, a mix of sympathy and wry amusement in his eyes when i take it.

i tuck the handkerchief into my chest pocket after wiping the corners of my mouth. “it’s another love potion.” it’s the third one today. the eleventh one of the week, and we’re not even through with tuesday yet.

the prince’s smile is both teasing and scathing when he passes me a glass of wine to wash down the bittersweet taste of the potion. “it seems that many want my hand in marriage. i can’t blame them.” he throws a wink my way, an action that shouldn’t have made me choke on my wine as it does.

“you’re delusional,” i respond, expression back to neutral.

“and you always hurt my feelings so much,” he sighs. “thank you,” he says to the servant who came to take the dish away. the servant brightly smiles at him.

everyone at the palace loves him. it’s not bribery or forced, but honest, genuine loyalty toward their stand-in monarch. our kingdom’s actual king is out of commission for illness, and so many people are seeking to take advantage of the prince.

that was why the prince had personally scouted me — a child of the wandering plains, immune to all forms of magic, so everything he eats goes through me first — as his personal food-tester. well, right now, i’m more of a personal guard to him, by his side throughout most the day. there would, rarely, be a professional guard by his side, but the prince had said, words from the man himself, “they were too stuffy and way too used to the military life” and reassigned them to the nobles, equally stuffy.

the scouting was nearly seven months ago. the king has still not recovered, and my place by his side seems more and more like a permanent position.

“i hate it when they think i’m someone to be easily taken advantage of. it’s like i didn’t even take diplomatic and politics classes since i started to walk,” the prince mumbles, swirling the dark wine in his glass.

“who do you think is sending all of these poisoned foods?” i ask. it’s something we’re all curious of, yet came out empty-handed with.

“someone in the nobility. ordinary civilians. the culprit could be one person, it could be several,” he drawls, voice dipping from the cheerful the kingdom is used to, to the cold tone he only uses when truly upset.

it’s scary, watching our normally uplifting prince so dark, but my seven-and-counting-months with him has shown more sides to the prince than i’d originally guessed. hey, i just thought every monarch was a stuck-up brat, okay? i didn’t realize the prince was so much better than all the rest.

“hm,” my gaze sweeps across the table set with minimal plates of food. it’s just enough to feed two people, none of the wasteful grandeur shown in story books.

“most likely, this is a well-orchestrated effort. multiple people, with outside support,” the prince muses. “at this rate, i’ll have to forbid gifts from the civilians. what a shame.”

“why aren’t you already? you’re putting your life on the line for their gifts,” i say, grip on my wine glass tightening. the prince is one of those royals that shouldn’t die. i don’t even understand why he’s constantly receiving poisoned gifts.

“i don’t want anyone to worry. aren’t you tired of standing, my guard? sit,” he gently commands. i do so at the chair to his right.

“you’re the prince. the stand-in king, practically. what’s the use of that title when you can’t use it once in awhile? it’s for your safety. i’m sure the people will understand,” i argue.

the prince finishes his steak. “nevermind. drop this conversation.”

i open my mouth to retort, but close it when the prince gives me the most tired, frustrated, and sad look i’ve seen on his face.

Text: I try all the Prince’s food first. So many seek to influence his choices through magic, not a week goes by without bread that tastes like bloodlust, or a sip of wine that tastes like forgetting.

[alwerakoo]

Idk if this is a universal experience for rise fanfic writers but I'm STRUGGLING out here

(also yes this is the actual reason why she hasn't appeared in my seperated au yet)

[hueslostinblues]

i will always be the older sister, i always been. As far as memory sustains, since the begining of my consciousness. I cannot think of a moment when i am not a sister, a parent or a friend. Its my identity, maybe the first one. I am first a sister and then everything else.

i apologise to everyone who comes in my life for my inability to be there partner first, there lover first. I apologise to my parents for my lack of ability to be their child first. As i am all but just a sister. I learned to sacrifice before i learned how to count.

I have rebelled against every concept and idea of society, of what a women should be, of what women can be. But cannot imagine a day when i am not a sister, i am glad i am the elder one.

I am a mother of children i have not given birth to, but have raised them.

[anistarrae]

not a request buuuut how do you color your drawings like. the way you do it. how do you decide colors? how do you do tones and stuff and. it’s hard to explain sorry 😞 i just really like the coloring

i didnt know how to explain it so i opened iMovie

[melancholic-hues]

the hectic way of things (take a break)

posted on AO3

fandom - honkai: star rail

rating - general audiences

warning - no warnings apply

category - f/m

pairings - boothill/robin ; robin & sunday ; boothill & robin ; boothill & robin

tags - written before version 2.2 ; alternate universe ; second chapter is written after 2.2

word count - 2208/10056 words

chapters - 2/2

-

Sunday tosses the trash out and places the tray on the existing stack of them, brushes his gloves off any stray crumbs, and walks back to their table. Robin and Boothill, strangely, aren’t talking.

He sits down, brows creased and suspicious in his eyes. “Is there something wrong?”

Robin looks uncharacteristically nervous. “Nothing of the sort. Uhm.” Her hands are clasped together. “Brother. Can we go on Hanu’s Great Escape together?”

His first instinct is to turn it down.

He should’ve.

He doesn’t go on roller coasters, they’re too childish for him, as someone who’s supposed to be running this place.

But the day has worn down his stubbornness and disdain for such immature attractions, and Robin looks too hopeful — she’s obviously been pondering over this for a long time, judging from her expression — for him to turn down the offer.

“Please?” Robin tries.

Sunday sighs, shoulders dropping. “I suppose just this once is fine.”

His sister’s reaction is worth going on every ride here for. Xipe’s puzzle pieces, has he not been indulging her all her wants for this long? Wait, nevermind. He hasn’t. Right. Work has caught up to him, buried him completely and ate up every bit of his free time. He’d always assumed she had other people, notably Boothill (Sunday still dislikes him), but neglected to actually spend time with his sister.

Time has strained their relationship far too thin. He’ll do this for her, to make up for yet another one of his many…

Robin gets up, pulling Boothill along. “Really?”

Sunday smiles. “Of course. I haven’t spent much leisure time with you for far too long.”

If that makes Robin upset, she shows no indication of it. “Great! The attraction is on the other side of the park, if that’s okay?” Nevertheless, Boothill grabs her purse and his hat, and they start walking.

Sunday stands, hands behind his back, and follows along.

***

“That is the ride…?” he asks after what must have been at least twenty minutes of walking. Everything in Penacony is luxury and grandeur (just look at their portion sizes and highways), and he doesn’t expect to get through this entire park in under ten minutes at all. It’s the best of the best in the entire universe.

“Yup!” Robin confirms, standing at its gates. There is a giant arch overhead that reads, ‘Hanu’s Great Escape,’ in muted bubble letters. Finding the entrance to this ride is notoriously difficult. After a few minutes of failure, they finally found it. Robin had looked very embarrassed when they finally arrived at the entrance.

The ride is one of the most famous coasters in Penacony alone, and the so-called ‘second best’ in this theme park. The first is obviously the Watchmaker (he can’t decide whether the names are corny or genius), the one that shoots straight up and back down again. Other rides aside, ‘Hanu’s Great Escape’ is one of the longest thrill rides at the park, standing at two minutes and five seconds. It’s a wooden coaster, for a change, but built with state-of-the-art technology. Wooden coasters aren’t something you see in every amusement park here in Penacony anymore.

“Ah.” Sunday swallows, nodding along and a pleasant expression on his face. Doesn’t Robin think this is too… thriller of a ride to go on immediately after having lunch? Well, he certainly does. He understands taking Boothill on, since the Ranger has mechanical insides and all, but them? Two Halovians with actual nervous systems and a brain that processes nausea and such feelings? He hasn’t been to an amusement park in ages. He’s inexperienced with going on rides.

Robin gives him a suspicious look. “My dear brother… you’re not… scared, are you?”

Boothill snorts from behind them. All the Aeons above, Sunday is still going to strangle him.

Just to spite (and preserve his status as the leader of Penacony), Sunday clears his throat, his posture uptight and regal. “That’s a silly question. I’ve seen, and been through, way worse than simple roller coasters like this.”

“Well, what are you hesitating for?” Robin sweetly asks. “Boothill?”

The cyborg shakes his head. “Naw. You two can go.”

Robin nods and gives her purse to Boothill, who hoops it over his shoulder. The sparkly baby-blue-and-pink purse is quite the sight on the cyborg’s more red-and-black colors. His sister heads inside the flash pass gate. Sunday follows after her, weaving through the maze of metal railings and turns. The normal line is… extremely long. People buzz with chatter, patiently waiting in these lines. Some of them shoot him and Robin looks upon seeing them skip the wait.

Sunday shakes off the stares as easy as cake. They finally step up the platform of the ride, handing their flash passes over to the gatekeeper to scan. The gatekeeper lets them in.

“Okay, we have two choices.” Robin holds up her left hand in a peace sign. With her other index finger, she taps her left index finger. “One: the first row and experience the visual intensity. Or — ” she taps her middle finger — “we go in the back to feel the physical intensity. This is scientifically proven, by the way. There is no middle choice.”

“You can choose,” he offers.

Robin levels him with a stare. “Back or front?”

He looks at the coaster, full of its twists and turns and loops and drops, and manages, “the back.” He is not going to look near-death in the eye. The intensity differences can’t be that drastic; he won’t even know the difference. Confirmation bias and other psychological effects aside.

“Okay!” They head toward the end lane with the least amount of people. They just have to wait around three more turns. It’s not that long, but not exactly speedy either. He wonders how long some of these non-flash pass holders have been standing in line for. Thirty minutes? Perhaps even longer? Most likely.

“You were very happy today, sister,” he notes when Robin bounces on her heels.

“I am!” Robin grins. “It’s been so long since you stepped out of the mansion, and it’s been so long since I’ve been able to have fun like this. I would love to do this more often, but I love my fans too much to entirely give up on them,” Robin smiles. She’s right; it has been some time since they’ve both stepped away from the public’s eye.

Does he yearn for when they were younger, when he and Robin could sneak away to play together? Sunday would not like his childhood body back, but he certainly does miss those carefree days. Now, that kind of wish is just silly and impossible to return to for the Dreammaster’s children like him. Robin has leniency since she is an interstellar superstar. He does not. He is running this place.

“I agree. You should take care of yourself more,” Sunday softly chides. “I don’t want you overworking yourself.” Robin comes first, before all his other priorities. The Family and the Dreammaster still haven’t forgiven him for placing his own sister first over Penacony’s Charmony Festival.

“You too. Out of the two of us, I think you should rest more. Staying up all night will take a toll on you, no matter how tough you project yourself to be. You’re not just a leader, brother.” His sister turns away from him and shifts a few steps forward in the line as the next cart comes. “You’re a person too.”

Sunday is silent, then. Robin rarely openly discusses that. What prompted her to do so this time? Perhaps it’s the atmosphere of this place.

“Perhaps,” Sunday simply responds with. It is the best he can do.

He is not just ‘a person.’ Both of them are, in theory, people. But they carry responsibilities and wield abilities that do not conform to average standards. Today is as average as people like them can get. Sunday tries not to dwell on his sister’s words.

The cart comes and goes, and before you know it, it’s their turn. Robin steps into the platform and sits down, pulling the harness over her and locking it in place with ease. Sunday does the same. The remaining two seats adjacent to theirs are empty; the next group contains three people, so they’re waiting for the next coaster.

“Is this safe?” he whispers to Robin.

“We’re gonna be fine,” she reassures. “This was tested a hundred times over. We are not the exception to the scientifically-proven facts.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Sunday, one more word about this ride and I think you might be scared of this,” Robin teases.

He shuts up.

The ride starts, and the cart moves. He closes his eyes, presses the back of his head firmly to the headrest of the seat, and prays to Xipe for the best.

The cart goes uphill, onto an incline, and his body tilts back with it. “Sister, is everything fine with you over there?”

“Yes, brother, yes yes yes,” she deadpans. “Here, hold my hand.” Robin reaches out and pries his right hand off the handlebars on the harness, taking his gloved hands in hers. “There. You’re safe.” Her voice is soothing and calm, washing over him and calming his nerves — the effects of Harmony.

Sunday can’t help but think how it used to be him who would do that.

The cart reaches the top of the hill, clawing its way forward agonizingly slow.

He squeezes her hand, his hold dead tight.

“You’re definitely scared,” Robin laughs.

“Am I hurting you?” Sunday asks, moving to pull his hand away.

“No, you’re not.” Robin squeezes back.

The cart stops, inching over the drop. There are a few laughs, screams.

Sunday recites a few prayers in his head, and the cart drops.

Everything starts all at once, from the screams to the cart clanging against the rails to the ringing in his ears. He is pretty sure he is screaming. Robin is laughing, holding their intertwined hands up in the air. His left hand is clutched on the metal handlebar. You can’t even pry it off if you want to. His heart is beating in double time, blood rushing in his ears.

The wind slaps his face, ruffling his hood and blowing through his hair, as they twist and turn in the tracks. His body shoots dangerously close to the ground, then he is propelled upwards again.

Then – Robin’s laughing rings above all the screaming. It’s clear and defiant, pulling his attention away from his less-than-favorable (PLEASE GET HIM OUT) predicament right now. Through the wind, Sunday turns to look at his sister, her smile wide and carefree like a songbird soaring in the sky, elusive to anyone who tried to capture her.

He is so startled at this, seeing Robin rid of the chains of the Dreammaster’s children and the stage, and mesmerized at the same time. He shuts his eyes, the wind crashing into him over and over again.

The ride slows, and Robin’s laughter gradually fades away. She wipes away the tears that gathered at her eyes from the wind and brushes through her wig.

He turns back front and lets out a breath, shoulders dropping and eyes wide. He thinks that if he lifts his hand, it will shake uncontrollably. The cart lets out a huff, for lack of a better word, and the harnesses lift. Robin drops his hand as she gets up.

The two minutes had passed by like nothing.

He gets up, hands clenched in fists, and follows Robin and the crowd out the exit gates. The exit is on the other side of the attraction, and Boothill is nowhere to be seen.

“How was it?” Robin reaches up and fixes his hood for him.

Sunday blinks.

He can’t help it.

He laughs, a hand slightly covering his mouth. “That was amazing,” he smiles, something pure and genuine and he hasn’t done that in a long time, his eyes crinkling.

Robin is in awe. At something.

“Hm?” Sunday’s stupid smile isn’t going away. It feels like the coaster has blown off some of the weight on his shoulders. What is this feeling?

His sister shakes herself out of her trance. “Nothing. You look happy.”

“As do you.”

“Princess!” Boothill lifts a hand, and Robin grins, jogging toward him. Sunday doesn’t let the cyborg’s presence wipe the silly look off his face, closely trailing behind Robin. When Boothill sees Sunday, his eyes narrow and whispers something to Robin. In front of Sunday’s face. Oh well.

“I’ll tell you about the coaster later. Can we go on the Watchmaker now? Please?” Robin looks at Boothill, eyes shining with glee.

“One coaster was enough for me,” Sunday admits. “Hanu’s Great Escape was fun, but I’d rather not go on that as my second time riding a coaster. You can go with Boothill.”

“I understand!” Robin’s face, this time, does not show any disappointment. The adrenaline from the coaster has died down in him, but it is still up and kicking in Robin, it seems. “Boothill.”

“Fine by me,” the cowboy shrugs. “You comin’, darlin’?”

Robin slips her hand in Boothill’s. “Let’s go.”

Sunday tucks his hands in his pockets, drops the tension from his shoulders, and goes along.

[lenacethemenace]

Update 3! How are things going?

WELL GUYS! I'm absolutely tripping rn, I currently have like 37 more ideas at the ready and I've only written three of them. I might post a little itty bitty taste of the fanfic on here, but I'm currently at 24.5 thousand words written (working on it right now, so this number keeps steadily increasing) I really like where things are going right now, but descriptions are a bitch. I don't want to over-explain something but also "She was happy." Just doesn't cut it. Trying to keep things simple in my draft, since I'll be going back in for a second round of editing after I've finished writing.

Currently working on art, it's mostly Amy, yes I'm TOTALLY biased. Buuutttttttt it's definitely getting better. Cream, Cheese, and Vanilla made their appearances and it's going really well so far.

Mini update, of course, but I'm working hard while hardly working lol.

[250kmaway-typeofgay]

If she is the dusk, I am the dawn

Where she shines in pinks and oranges

I splay out purples and blues

The beginning and the end

The chaos and the calm

Endlessly inevitable

If she is the sunset, I am the sunrise

[ghenwasblog]

"I knew nothing about him. Everything that intrigued me was conjured up by the assumptions I made in my head. I was always a clever girl, a creative one too. Maybe that was my flaw. Maybe I fell in love with the potential of people, not who they really were"

A Hue of Blue, Marie- France Leger

[clareguintu]

this unending desire

to dance with you

underneath the starlit sky

twinkling as we glide

i look up and see

the moon so clearly

in your gentle eyes

— clare guintu, from stain of hues

[shatter-song]

They talk and communicate after so long of not doing so. And yet... Lanolin has the be one to make the hard choice as per usual. At least, it's the choice she wants to go through with.

merry Christmas

[hueslostinblues]

i bear the face of a poet and heart of the poems. its a true suffering to find beauty in everything, and feel the lack of it within. as this eyes again is of a poet who cannot see the beauty underneath.