#doing the exact same thing. but now there's a different Thought Process behind it. a calculated move.

[moe-broey]

As I've been writing down dialogue going through Book 1. I feel like. There's almost a reoccurring bit, when it comes to Moe.

I'm way too tired to elaborate too much or at all eloquently, but like. It goes like this. Moe's seething frustration at the Situation is just CONSTANTLY increasing. Boiling under the surface. But bc it's in a new location, new people, new social rule set, ect ect, it is ALSO figuring out Okay. What is my personality, here. What am I meant to do? And how do I ensure I don't get thrown out?

Book 1 Moe is just. Horrible combination of off its meds and fake ass bitch protection mode, with the temper and bluntness of an autistic guy who hasn't had to mask in years. It's mostly observing and trying its best to take in as much information as it can, but beyond that. The Seething Struggler (... polite style???)

But the BIT. That just Keeps Happening.

Moe's Anger is Increasing. It is about to go ALL IN to start biting anyone and everyone (it is ESPECIALLY mad about everyone's attitudes towards Veronica. It doesn't care that she's committing various atrocities she's 13 and I'm going to fucking kill you. No I won't tell you why. Actually I already told you why were you not listening?)

But then. Completely unintentionally. Just, extremely bad (good?) (good bad?) timing. Alfonse will say something like the "I suppose we don't know much about your world. And how rude of us not to ask until now! 😊" lines, with that surprisingly warm smile, that throws Moe off completely. Just. Entirely redirected. Moe was This Close to threatening to defect just to see what happens, unsure if it should be throwing rocks at Alfonse (literal prince) or Anna (the boss here, clearly) (... Sharena is curiously exempt from Moe's ire.) -- and then it gets hit with the Alfonse being so nicies super genuine style beam. And NEITHER of them have even an inkling of the big storm coming, when it comes to. Gestures broadly at everything to come.

[trippinsorrows]

give me a reason + three

authors note: still blown away by people's interest in this one. i included visuals in this chapter, so look out for links. tweets and messages are intended to be read from left to right.

as always, confusion is to be expected. :)

one + two

words: 8k

song inspo: just give me a reason by p!nk and nate ruess

warnings: language and fluff

To say this is the first time in his life that Joe has felt lonely would be a lie. He felt it a bit the first time he left home for school, but it was greatly eased by the fact that he had BJ, his best friend. They were both in the same boat, so it wasn’t as bad.

He felt it again on and off over the years as he fought to make an NFL career that was never going to work, well, work. And once that brutal realization finally hit, after taking way too much time feeling sorry for himself, he experienced t it again as he started the hustle and grind to make a wrestling career work instead. 

And he’s especially felt it over the past two years as his marriage with Ri has deteriorated to a level he thought unreachable. 

But this….this is different.

It’s different because he’s not going home to an empty house. He’s on the road, back to work, surrounded by his cousins, a fantastic team, and a plethora of fans. It’s truly the opposite of loneliness.

But that’s exactly what Joe feels.

Because he doesn’t have her. Doesn’t have Ri.

Even if he hasn’t had her for at least two years. Not really, anyway. Not in any meaningful way that actually matters to him. 

A knock on the door pulls him from his depressing inner dialogue. 

Sitting up, Joe calls out, “come in.” 

In walk Jon and Josh, and right away, Joe knows what’s up. He can tell by their facial expressions.

“I’m fine.” Maybe if he jumps ahead of whatever semi intervention they have planned, he can avoid a conversation he really doesn’t feel like having. Physically or mentally. 

“Bullshit,” Josh scoffs, closing the door behind them. The twins sit down on different seats opposite the sofa Joe’s big body is sprawled on. “You ain’t been fine for a minute, Uce.”

It’s not entirely wrong, but that doesn’t mean Joe has to necessarily agree. “A lot of shit has happened.”

“Yeah, and I’m not quite sure you fully allowing yourself to feel that shit.”

“Kind of hard not to.”

“You know what we mean, Joe.” Jon cuts in, asking over a sigh. “Why you here right now? You should be with Ella. Helping her heal and remember shit.”

Joe feels the exact same way, but that’s not what her family wanted. Not what she wanted to some extent, because Joe was present when her parents brought up the idea of her returning home to Florida with them. She didn’t seem opposed. Didn’t express any desire to instead stay and go back to her real home with him. 

Not that he can blame her. He’s a complete stranger to her. Granted, technically, so is her family. So that not being chosen thing has definitely left a sting. 

So, Joe settles on a simple answer, “it’s not what she wanted.”

Josh is quick with the rebuttal. “Man, she don’t even know who she is, let alone what she wants.” Again, not wrong. But also, again, no need to verbalize as such. “Look, Uce, I know….I know things been rocky with you and her the past couple years—”

“Don’t.” This time, Joe doesn’t hesitate to dead the conversation before it can truly transpire. “I’m not doing this shit right now.”

“That’s the problem though, Joe.” Jon jumps back in, pointing out, “I feel like you, and her too, been avoiding talking about whatever it is that happened. And that avoidance has damn near cost you your marriage.”

“I said I’m not doing this, Jon. Drop it.” Joe can think of a million other things that he’d prefer to talk about than that. All kinds of cruel, mideval types of torture would be preferred over venturing down that path. The only person he should be discussing that with is his wife. But, that’s hard to do when she doesn’t even remember it. 

Doesn’t remember the thing he’ll never truly be able to process. 

He doesn’t even know someone can process and make peace with that. 

The twins share a look. They must know they’re defeated. In this round, at least. Cause if it’s one thing he knows about the cousins he considers more as brothers, they can be resilient and tenacious. Especially when it comes to heavy shit like this.

“Alright, man.” Josh shakes his head and slaps his thighs. “We’ll leave you alone.” It’s appreciated and both unwanted. Joe doesn’t want to be alone, per se. But, he doesn’t want his cousins, either.

He wants his wife. 

And when they walk out, the door closing behind them figuratively and literally, Joe is back to ruminating thoughts about his wife.

His wife who he’s seen mostly online in the two weeks that have passed since she was discharged from the hospital and left to be with her family. 

Joe isn’t ashamed or embarrassed to admit he’s found himself looking at footage of her via her music videos, interviews, performances and home videos. He’s reviewed old news articles that came out about them back in the day, got a good chuckle at a situation a few years back where some irrelevant rapper called himself trying to start shit with Mari that Joe and BJ handled and deaded right away.

He laughed over old text exchanges with his wife who will always be the smartest yet dumbest person he’s ever met when it comes to common sense sometimes. 

But, he’s especially enjoyed the home videos. Joe had almost forgotten just how much footage he has of her. Personal videos taken when it was just the two of them. 

Some taken by her. Some taken by him.

Memories, they’d always call them.

And they still are. 

Just haunted ones. 

Joe grabs his phone and navigates to his videos folder. There’s hundreds of them, because every time he upgrades to a new phone, he always makes sure to back up and transfer his texts, photos, and videos. For no reason other than not wanting to lose anything. Not miss out on any of the many hilarious, heartwarming moments with Ri. 

Joe picks a random video, a smile easily falling on his face as he immediately remembers and recalls what this one is. 

She’s wearing one of his Bloodline shirts, a random ball cap and a pair of his sunglasses over her eyes. There’s also a spatula in her hand as she sits on the floor in their living room in front of their flat screen TV while one of his more popular promos with Brock Lesnar plays in the background.

“You must be confused, farm boy. That title? That’s my title, and you don’t even realize cause I’m gon smash you at WrestleMania. And it’s not even your fault, Brock. You ain’t got a chance.” She’s mouthing along perfectly, facial expressions and body language in almost perfect sync with her makeshift microphone. Joe can hear his laughter in the background as she stands up, getting more into character. “This is my show! This is my ring!” She gestures off to the side. “This cameraman right here? This is my cameraman!” She gestures around the room. “These people, these are all my people, because they acknowledge me!” She then points to him. “These two right here? They work for me! This commentary team is mine because they brag and talk about me the whole time.” She then lifts her arm, pointing to the ceiling. “That sign right there? Is mine! Because I am WrestleMania! I am this show, I run this show, and everybody works for me!” She smirks, head titled. “Including the security in the ring with me.” Joe’s laughter increases as she drops the spatula and throws the hat off along with the sunglasses, also falling out laughing with him. 

Ri walks over and climbs onto his lap, asking, “That was good, wasn’t it?” Joe doesn’t hear a response on his end, but he’s certain it was nonverbal acknowledgement. 

As the video ends, he finds himself back frowning again.

Close….

They were so close.

Joe switches to a different album, photos this time, his smile returning as he opens a photo she snapped of them laying in bed. He’s clearly asleep, his arm over her body as she smiles happily.

His finger traces over the outline of her smile, a memory popping into his head.

“It’s just so beautiful.”

Joe sighs. Loud. 

It’s not often he gets time off, so these next couple days are precious and cherished. And he’d love to kick it off the right way: by getting some much needed sleep.

If only his lovely wife understood this.

Because even though it’s almost 2am, she sits beside him in their bed, emotional for no damn reason at her chosen movie: The Brave Little Toaster.

He blows out a breath. “It’s literally about kitchen supplies.” Joe then asks, confused as hell. “Why the hell you watching this anyway?”

Her answer is rushed and nervous. “Because I watched that creepy ass movie earlier today, and now I need to ease my anxiety.” 

Joe closes his eyes, turning on his back, looking at her with all the judgment. “Didn't I tell you not to watch that shit? You know your ass is scary as hell.” As soon as she started giving him a description of the movie, a psychological thriller, he knew she needed to stay far away. Ri has a tendency to overthink films like that, somehow convincing herself that whatever happened in the movie could happen to her. 

And that’s exactly what’s happened. 

“Well, I didn’t listen to you, okay!” Joe rolls his eyes. Obviously. “So, now I need to watch this soft, cute movie about these brave little utensils.” She starts sniffling. “And it’s just so sad.”

“What they do? Rust?”

“Joe!” She slaps his arm, huffing, “oh my gosh, you have no creative bone in your body.”

“Not at no damn 2 o'clock in the morning, you’re right, I don’t.” He turns back on his side, bringing the blankets up to his neck, snatching back more of the covers from his hogging ass wife. “Now I’m going back to sleep. You enjoy your KitchenAid movie.”

But that’s damn near impossible when she starts crying again minutes later, somehow louder than before. 

“He’s just so brave.”

“Oh my god.” Joe closes his eyes, rolling once again onto his back. He pinches the bridge of his nose and reminds himself that this is his best friend and his wife. He can’t grenade this. Can’t and won’t hurt her feelings by telling her to shut the fuck up, even though that’s what he would say if it was literally anyone else. “Your period must be coming because you done gone through all six stages of grief watching this damn kids movie about a fucking toaster.”

Ri gasps beside him, and he can almost feel her dramatic ass, judgmental glare. “I resent you saying that! Just because I’m a woman with feelings does not mean—“ She pauses. “What day is it?”

And before he can answer, she’s kicking the blankets off, climbing over him, and scampering to the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

Joe is barely even able to turn back on his side when she calls out from the bathroom. “Goddamnit , you man, you! You spoke it over me!”

He sighs. It all makes sense now.

Ri is just an overall emotional, theatrical ass person, but it’s always exacerbated whenever she’s on her cycle. She becomes….difficult. 

Super sensitive. 

“Shit.”

He hears her curse from the bathroom, but it’s not as loud, not as dramatic. And that’s what catches his attention.

“What?” Nothing. Nothing but the sound of the drawers being opened and almost slammed shut, like she’s in a rush of some sort. Joe kicks the blankets off and walks over to the bathroom. He knocks once, asking, “can I come in?”

She answers by opening up the door only to turn back around, clearly looking for something. “What’s wrong?”

“Damnit!” She snaps, slamming the cabinet shut. “I’m out of tampons.” Ri walks over and gestures to the few she has on the counter. “These are all light.” 

Shit. 

Right away, he sees her dilemma. There’s no way she can use light tampons for the first night of her period. And the reason he knows this and isn’t weirded out like how some men would be is simple. He grew up the only boy among four sisters, the baby of them all. He’s heard and learned a lot over the years. Some, or maybe a lot of which, he could have gone the rest of his life without knowing. But, some information, like in cases like this, have proved to be a bit helpful. 

So, it’s only natural, he offers, “I’ll run to the drugstore right quick.”

Ri turns to him, instantly protesting, “no. It’s late, Joe.” She crosses her arms and shrugs. “I can just, like, stuff a bunch of toilet paper up my vagina for tonight and pray nothing gets stuck.”

He leans against the doorway, easily shooting that down. “Yeah, with your luck, that’s exactly what’ll happen too.” He loves his Ri more than what’s probably healthy, but the girl is accident prone and the queen of freak accidents. “I’d rather get you the damn tampons than spend all night in the ER with you.”

Her not disagreeing with his prediction is telling. She knows he’s right. “Let me at least go with you. I don’t want you out by yourself this late.”

Joe would also not like to be out on the road, hitting up Walgreens for a random ass tampon run, but this is also Ri. And there’s very little he wouldn’t do for her.

If anything. 

“I think I’ll be fine, Ri.” He chuckles, walking over to her. She pouts as he kisses her temple. “You’re the one who would get kidnapped or some shit.” He laughs at his comment, a reference to the movie she watched earlier that’s got her up so wide and awake. 

She gasps, mouth dropped as she looks up with wide eyes. “See! I told you it could happen!”

Joe walks into their bedroom and throws on some sweats, a hoodie, and slides on some sneakers. He grabs his wallet, keys, and phone as Ri walks out, shuffling over to him and moving up against his chest, hugging him. “You want the chocolate?” She nods. “Milky Ways?” 

Again, another nod as she looks up. “And the—”

“Hot fries and Arizona tea. The one mixed with lemonade. I know.” 

She pouts. “Thank you.”

He kisses her forehead, murmuring, “I’ll be back.”

He walks toward the door, as she calls out, “I love you.”

Joe chuckles. “I love you too, baby.” He’s halfway down the steps when she screams out from the bedroom. 

“Damnit! Now we can’t do the nasty!”

By the end of the memory, a time so much simpler and happier, Joe has his head back, eyes closed, emotions all over the fucking place. 

She was his best friend. The person he trusted the most. More than anyone. 

And all of a sudden, it was just….gone. 

His entire view of her….gone.

Or maybe not.

Because while this nightmare of an accident has taught and shown him a lot, one of the biggest things it’s made him realize is that while his hurt and confusion and betrayal may be strong, his love for her is stronger.

It always has been.

He was just blinded by all of those other miserable, heavy emotions and too stubborn to do anything about it.

And now he’s in this extremely uncomfortable, confusing as fuck dilemma where he has to find someway to manage and deal with these emotions when they should be managed and dealt with with her.

But how can someone forgive someone for something they don’t even remember doing?

———-

Sleeping in a bed that isn’t yours anymore but once was is….weird. 

Sleeping in a bed in a bedroom that was once yours is even weirder.

But, staying in a house full of people who feel like and are, for all intents and purposes, complete strangers is the weirdest of them all.

It’s borderline uncomfortable.

Mariella understands the intentions of her parents. Sees how they think and believe her sleeping in her old bedroom could potentially stir some memories. It makes sense. But, it doesn’t work that way.

At least, it’s not working that way for her. 

And to her credit, she tries. Tries to observe and almost study the damn near wall full of photos from her childhood, photos of her with people who are both family and friends. She’s not sure if this was just how she last decorated her old room, but something tells her it’s the result of her family's continued effort to jog her memory. It seems….excessive. But from what she’s gathered, that’s also a good word to describe her personality. Extra. Dramatic even. 

If only she could….connect with that somehow. 

Stepping out of the shower, she takes her time getting ready. Doesn’t rush to get downstairs where she knows she’ll be greeted with a row of smiling, unfamiliar faces. Mariella really does feel bad that she’s having such a difficult time understanding and connecting, because for all intents and purposes, her ‘family’ has been nothing but kind and supportive.

And she knows this has to be difficult for them, but….she can’t force it. 

Even if she wanted to.

Because she damn sure does.

It would all be so much easier that way. 

Sure enough, the smell of bacon sizzling on the fire and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee isn’t the only thing that’s waiting for her in the kitchen.

Her father is the first one to lay eyes on her, his smile small but oh so genuine. “Morning, Ella.”

Mariella does her best to return the smile. From what she’s seen and heard, she’s always been exceptionally close with her dad. With her whole family, really.

“Morning.” 

Her mom turns around at the sound of her voice and entrance, also smiling. It’s bigger and deeper than her dad’s. And she doesn't hesitate to turn the fire on low, clap her hands against her apron and walk over to pull Mariella into a hug.

It’s not missed upon either woman how Mariella initially tenses. And she feels bad for that too. This is her mother for crying out loud. 

April pulls back, the sadness and slight level of rejection evident in her pretty brown eyes that Mariella realizes she inherited from her mother. “I’m sorry, I—”

“No, it’s…it’s okay.” Mariella swallows, forcing an even bigger smile. “You are my mother, after all.”

April’s smile is tight, the coverup for a disappointment Mariella can’t truly understand. “How did you sleep?”

Not very good. “Fine.” She walks over to the machine, lifting the mug that she assumes belongs to her dad given the same word is written in big red letters on said mug. She reaches it to him. 

“Thank you.”

A small nod of acknowledgment as she grabs a new mug and starts to brew her coffee when April speaks from where she stands again by the fire. “I was thinking of going to the promenade today. Olivia is going too. Would you like to join us, Ella?”

Mariella doesn’t have to be looking at her mother to know that while it’s meant to be a question, it’s more of a statement. And while she isn’t opposed, much preferring to be out of the house vs in the house, home videos and photos stuffed down her throat, a true question would be nice vs being told.

“Sure,” she answers with a shrug, turning around and pulling out her phone, opening to the contact she’s found herself thinking about the past couple days. 

Joe.

Their last correspondence was almost a week ago. All limited to texts that seem rather on the dry end considering they’re supposed to be married. She doesn’t really fault him though. In his defense, he seems to be wanting to give her space vs coming on too strong.

Unlike her family.

She sighs loudly, fingers hovering over the keyboard as she debates editing, once again, the text she’s had drafted for a couple of days but hasn’t built the courage to send.

Mariella: Can we facetime or something?

It’s such a simple thing that she’s not sure why she’s overthinking. In the little interaction she had with him at the hospital, she could see that despite his size, he’s a man on the quiet side. That calmness was appreciated, and in the midst of being bombarded with information, she’s found herself missing that to some extent.

Missing….missing him to some extent.

Even if it makes no sense to her. 

“Morning, family.” Olivia’s voice rings into the air, pulling Mariella back into the present. She’s dressed to the nines, and from that alone, without even needing to be told, Mariella knows her sister is a successful woman. She just looks the part. Liv sets a smile that seems a bit off on her, red lipstick contrasting against her almost unnatural, straight, pearly whites. “Hey, sis. How you feeling?”

Such a big question that seems impossible to truthfully answer to the people who are only trying to help. “Good.” So, she lies. “I guess I’m going out with you all shopping today?”

Olivia rolls her eyes and adjusts the expensive looking designer bag on her shoulder. “Of course, you are. We’ve gotta get you back out there.”

“Olivia…” 

Olivia turns to their dad, asking, “what? She has to get back to her life eventually.”

“Leave her be, Liv.”

Olivia rolls her eyes, ignoring April and reiterates, “she needs more than just photos and videos, guys.”

Mariella doesn’t know what she specifically needs but being thrusted into social situations when she still hasn’t memorized her SSN seems to not be it either. 

But still, she remains quiet. 

“Ella.” Mariella turns to her dad, brows raised. “When’s the last time you spoke to Jo—”

“Oh, Ella, I forgot there was something I wanted to show you.” Olivia interrupts the question Mariella was already thinking about without her dad even needing to ask her.

The thing she’s still thinking about even as Olivia pulls out her phone, inundating some random ass photos from back when she was in high school.

The man she can’t seem to stop thinking about.

———-

As expected, shopping has ended up providing just another form of frustration and level of feeling of being overwhelmed.

It wouldn’t be as bad for Mariella if her mom and sister didn’t feel the need to stop and introduce her to almost everyone who’s familiar, to them, that they come across. She feels a bit like a politician, plastering on smiles that don’t meet her eyes and accepting hugs from strangers. Members from church. Old neighbors. Even an old elementary school teacher.

It’s just weird.

So much so that she eventually has to excuse herself, making up some excuse about a headache as she sits outside on a bench in front of the store where Olivia and April continue to shop.

Mariella is grateful for the solitude and uses that to once again play around with just texting her freaking husband of all people. 

She could use some of his quiet right now. 

“Mariella?”

One thing that’s improved is her ability to respond to her name, but it’s who says her name that has Mariella more stumped than anything. 

He’s standing above her, creating a massive shadow and distraction from her sending out the text she’s not exactly sure she wants to actually send. 

He’s wearing a smile that’s objectively friendly, but there’s something about it that feels….off. He’s also objectively attractive, pretty light eyes, tall, sinewy build. Facial features that seem more appropriate for a page out of Vogue vs being on this strip of stores.

“Wow. It really is you.” He scoffs and tucks his sunglasses near the collar of his shirt. “It’s been too long.”

Mariella may not know just who exactly she is, but she does know the difference between being friendly and rude. And she really doesn’t know a nicer way to say her first response other than what comes out. “I’m sorry, I don’t….do we know each other?”

The man frowns a bit. “That’s right. I forgot….” Something tells her he feels uncomfortable outright saying what’s otherwise obvious. Like the fact that she was in a severe accident that knocked the shit out of her. 

And her memories. 

“My name is Brendan. We….we dated back in college.” 

Oh.

Mariella still doesn’t know a lot about herself. Much of anything at all, really. But what she is seeing is that her taste in men is pretty damn good, because this Brendan person is far from ugly. Though it’s hard to not compare. Hard to not think about the contrast between him and Joe, her husband’s voice deep and baritone compared to Brendan’s soprano-like tone. Joe’s massive build to Brendan’s much slender one. Even the height difference. She recalls having to crane her head up to look at Joe. Brendan is a few inches taller than her but nothing significant. 

And those comparisons also have her reconsidering, yet again, keeping the text as it is right now, just drafted in her phone. Has her wondering what benefits could be gained from just sending it, seeing what he says.

“Oh.” The word escapes her head but nothing else comes out, Brendan clearing his throat.

“This may be poor wording, but you look absolutely amazing considering….well….”

“That I almost died?” He looks uncomfortable but also amused. “It’s…it’s okay. I guess it’s a compliment.”

“I didn’t realize you were in town.” He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jeans, asking. “How long are you here for?”

Hopefully not much longer.

And it’s a thought that she instantly feels bad about. This is her family, and it’s not their fault she can’t remember. Because they’re trying their damn hardest to change that. But, that’s also a part of the problem. 

It’s…..it’s too much.

She feels almost suffocated at times. 

Like now with this Brendan person. 

“I don’t know.” An honest, truthful answer followed up with more honesty. “But, I’ll be going back to California eventually.” Back to be with her husband. One person vs several who seems really great at giving her information but not too much. Largely only when she asks vs being told in heaps of overwhelming data. “With my husband.”

She doesn’t know why she adds on that last part or why she fiddles with the beautiful diamond on her left hand. The ring that she placed on her finger without much thought when given her items upon being discharged. 

Brendan’s lip twitches, his eyes flashing with something that almost looks like irritation. “Of course.” There’s definitely no denying the irritation in his tone. “Listen, I’d love for us to catch up before you leave. A cup of coffee.” Her eyes widen a bit when he adds on, “maybe even dinner—”

“Hello.” 

Another voice. This one a bit more familiar. April stands in the doorway of the store with Olivia. They both wear polar opposite expressions. Olivia is smiling in Brendan’s direction while April’s mouth is in a straight line as she moves to stand beside Mariella.

“Mrs. Holmes. Long time, no see.” The irritation is washed away, swapped out with something amiable but also….inauthentic. Mariella doesn’t know if she’s exactly in a place to be judging people or calling them fake when she doesn’t even know who she is, but there’s something….off about this Brendan character.

She doesn’t know a shit ton about Joe either, other than the basics, but right off the bat, between the two of them, she chose the right one to walk down the aisle with.

Her mom’s smile remains tight. “Maybe not long enough.” This takes Mariella by surprise. She hasn’t seen this side of her mother before. Unfriendly, almost.

Olivia, however, rolls her eyes. “Mother, please. You know Brendan also works for the same firm I’m at.” Ahh. That would explain the smile. “Excuse my mom. It’s been….a lot for all of us.” 

Now, Mariella is the one fighting back confusion. She gets that this has to be difficult for her family. For her to not remember who they are, but it’s not just them she can’t remember. She can’t remember quite literally anything. She’s the one who’s been impacted the most out of this.

She just kinda wishes they would get that more. Would respect the level of intrapersonal difficulty on her end. 

“Of course.” Brendan frowns, but again, it feels inauthentic. “Well, I won’t keep you, ladies—”

“Good.” 

Mariella bites down on her lip, turning away to hide her smile as Olivia looks straight up annoyed at April’s coldness.

“I’ll see you at the office, Brendan.” Olivia says almost apologetically, dragging her eyes back to her mom who seems completely unapologetic for her tone.

Brendan nods, landing his gaze back on Mariella. “Remember my offer, Ella.”

She can’t even find it in her to nod or acknowledge his departing message because there’s not a single part of Mariella that wants to entertain his offer let alone take him up on it. Does he not know she’s married?

It’s once he’s gone that April turns toward Mariella, a genuine smile replacing the fake one. “Sweetie, can you go wait in the car? I need to speak to your sister.”

There’s a part of her that would like to overhear this probably interesting conversation, but the desire to just be away and by herself is more overpowering.

“Sure.” She accepts the key fob and shopping bag from her mom, not hesitating to turn on her heel and head back toward the parking lot. 

And as soon as she’s gone, Olivia is on April, voice harsh and sharp. “Mother, what the hell was that?”

“Watch your language with me, child.” April’s correction is swift as she crosses her arms. “When did you plan to mention Brendan now works with you?”

“Didn’t realize I had to keep you up to date on the latest hires at my job.” She rolls her eyes, also crossing her arms. “Plus, really, mama? How was that a priority with everything we’ve had happening?”

“Watch it, Olivia.” Aprils loves all her children equally, but Olivia has always been the one to push her close to her limits. “I don’t like that boy. He’s a snake.”

“Oh my gosh…” Olivia turns away for a second, coming back as she points out, “you don’t even know him.”

“I don’t have to know him. You know why? Cause I distinctly remember Joe nearly putting him in the hospital for whatever went down between him and your sister.”

Olivia is taken back for a second. Her mom’s memory is as sharp as the best of them. “You mean when he committed aggravated assault and ruined any chances Brendan had for a basketball career?” 

April, however, is not backing down, showing just where Olivia inherited her stubborn personality. “You ever wonder why Joe reacted the way he did? How bad it must have been for him to get that upset?”

“Oh, please. Mama, let’s not act like Joe hasn’t always been a hothead. He’s just better at masking it than BJ.” And before April can protest, Olivia provides facts. “How many times did you and daddy get a call or called down to the office cause BJ got into it with someone, huh? And more often than not, who’d he get in trouble with? Joe.” Olivia shakes her head. “The only reason they always got slaps on the wrist was because they were athletes. Joe has been problematic, and I’m tired of ya’ll not seeing it.” She blows out a big breath. “Brendan is not a bad guy—”

“You saw how he was looking at your sister.” April stresses, lowering her voice. “Don’t no man have no business looking at a married woman like that unless he’s got bad intentions.”

“Ella isn’t even with Joe right now, so what’s the big deal?”

April is quiet for a moment, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “What are you up to, Olivia?” 

Olivia easily slides into deflection. “Mama, you’re always so hyper-vigilant—”

April, however, is wise and knowing. She advises with all the seriousness, “don’t think that because your sister can’t remember nothing that you can just rewrite history.”

“Mama—”

“I’m speaking.” And Olivia quiets down because no matter how old she gets, her mother using that tone will never not be able to set her straight. “Hear me, and hear me good, lil’ girl. Ella is home with us now, yes, but she will be going back to California to be with Joe because he is her husband, and her place is with him.”

———-

Spring, 2023 

“You want to what?”

Iris was already having a not so great day. Some inept, thinks he's a hot shot lawyer actually thinking that he can lowball and bully her into convincing a client to accept a deal that’s absolute horse shit.

She had to, of course, show him just why she’s the most sought after manager in entertainment. Ruthlessly.

The thought of his bubble eyes nearly bulging out of his head at her cutthroat response is almost enough for her to actually smile. A rare anomaly that happens every couple of years but is especially not going to happen after what she just heard.

Mariella rolls her eyes, again repeating herself. “I said I’ll do the tour.”

Iris knew she heard her right. It’s just the shock of it all that made her need some level of clarification. “I’m sorry, you do remember that this is a world tour, Ella, right?” And in case she forgot, Iris reminds, “you’d be on tour for nine months.”

“And?” Ella shrugs, continuing to write in her notebook, lyrics of some sort. “It’ll be a great opportunity to connect with my fans.”

“Fuck your fans, Ella.” Iris is quick and borderline nasty with it. “Who gives a fuck about them?” She sits down on the opposite end of the sofa. “I’m thinking about you.”

Iris sees the way that Ella tenses at that last part. “I’m fine, Iris.”

“Bullshit.” She then asks, almost tentatively. “Ella….have you sp—”

“No.” It’s a firm, harsh, borderline cruel shut down. A complete sentence compacted into a single word.

Iris closes her eyes. “I just think—”

“Get me the contract to sign, Iris. That’s all I need you to do.” 

If only Iris was a ‘yes’ man. “You think this shit is healthy, Ella? You’re running away.”

“I don’t need your judgment.”

“I would never judge you.” And it’s the truth. Iris may judge quite literally everyone else who walks this earth. But not Ella nor Promise Rose, her best friends since she was a child. And especially….especially not Ella. Not after…..after what happened. “But, I just—you’re not happy, Ella.”

There’s a brief second of hesitation. “I wasn’t happy before it happened, Iris.”

Voice softening, Iris calmly contradicts her, “yes, you were.” Ella closes the notebook, pushing it to the side and pulling her legs up to her chest, looking away. Even without a clear look at her face, Iris knows the emotions are brewing. “I just—I think if you tell him—”

“No!” That’s what makes Ella snap her watery gaze back on her best friend turned manager. “I—I can’t. I won’t. He doesn’t deserve to know.”

Iris closes her eyes. “Ella—”

“Have you told anyone?”

Iris is almost offended that Ella could even fix her mouth to ask such a question. Ella knows how massive loyalty and trust are to her. “Of course, not. I would never. I just….I hate to see you like this.”

For as long as Iris has known Ella, she’s always been an annoying ass ray of sunshine. Always seeing the bright side of things. Glass always half full. But in recent months, especially after that….something in her has snapped, has gone away into deep hiding. And usually, this is when Iris would gladly push Ella in the arms of her husband. He’s always been Ella’s safe person. 

Now, Iris can’t even get the two in the same room without an argument breaking out. 

They’re both just so….angry with each other.

Or maybe it’s not anger.

Maybe it’s just hurt.

“That’s why I need to get away, Iris.” Ella all but whispers. “I need….I need a new environment. I feel like I’m surrounded by reminders.” She sniffles, quickly wiping at her eyes. “I just….it hurts too much to stick around and have to constantly relive it. I—” Her voice cracks. “Please….please just get me the contract.”

“I will.” Iris doesn’t agree with this, doesn’t like it at all, but she also knows her best friend can be determined as hell. If she doesn’t handle the tour negotiations, Mariella will do it on her own and sign just anything just to get away. To escape. “But, I still think you should talk to J—”

“I hate him!” 

No one says anything. 

Iris is truly stunned into silence. In the two decades that have transpired since the beginning of her friendship, She has never known Mariella to express such strong sentiments against another human being. It’s almost against her nature. 

But to say such a thing towards Joe? Her person?

Iris now realizes just how deeply this hurt and trauma lies.

That maybe….that maybe their relationship truly is irreparable at this point. That lies, deception, betrayal, and everything else under the sun has destroyed something she once thought indestructible. 

———-

Present 

The last name Joe expected to see pop up on his phone is the exact name that’s flashing along with his contact photo for her which happens to be them a couple years back when they finally went on a long awaited honeymoon to Bora Bora. She’s in front of him, his arms around her, her smile big and wide, eyes closed as he kisses her cheek.

It’s one of his favorite pictures of them, and even after all this time, after everything that’s happened….he hasn’t been able to bring himself to change it.

Even….even when for a brief while, he thought he hated her. 

There’s a second of delay as Joe hits the green button, officially accepting her FaceTime call. 

His connection is the strongest it’s been all day because she’s almost instantly filling his phone screen.

“Hey….”

She smiles, and Joe takes a minute to take her in. The cuts and bruises on her face have almost entirely healed. She doesn’t look as pale as she was laid up in the hospital bed. Her curly hair is pulled into two space buns. “Hi. Is—is this a bad time?” She’s outside, clearly. In her parents backyard on the swing that holds a million and one memories. 

Joe shakes his head. “No.” Even if it was, it wouldn’t make a difference. This is the first time she’s called him since being with her family. He’d make whatever work if need be. “How are you feeling?”

She chuckles, but it’s bitter. Almost resentful. “Overwhelmed.” 

Joe sits up more, naturally asking, “you wanna talk about it?”

“Thank you for actually asking.” Her voice is soft as she leans back into the swing, answering truthfully, “I know they mean well, and they’re just trying to help, but—”

He finds it almost too easy to finish her statement. Knowing her, her tics and whatnot has always been so easy. “It’s too much.”

“I just….” She blows out a breath. “You seem a lot more chill, and….and you ask me what questions I have instead of just telling me shit that I don’t remember and feel any sort of way about, even though I know I should.”

“It’s….it’s gonna take time.” And that’s truly a guesstimate on Joe’s end, because the official medical recommendation on her amnesia is that it’s unknown when or if she’ll ever fully restore her memories.

And he’s still so damn torn on just how he feels about that.

“I was wondering…” She looks down, pausing. This is such an unfamiliar thing for Joe. He’s not used to her being so quiet. His wife is many things, and quiet is none of them. “I know you’re on the road and stuff, but…is there anyway I can like….join you for a bit?” She quickly adds, “I don’t know if that’s even a thing—”

“It is,” he finds himself answering. Quickly. Probably too quickly. “I travel on a bus for the most part, stay in hotels for the rest, so if you wanted—”

“I do,” she also answers quickly. “I just…I think I need something different. This.” She motions between herself and the camera. “This is a lot easier than having over 30 years of history shoved down my throat.”

Joe feels for her, hates hearing the conflict in her voice, and he doesn’t blame or fault her family. They’re probably doing the best they can. It’s just….not what she needs right now.

“When…..when can I come?”

The almost desperation in her voice catches his attention, creating a sense of excitement in his stomach that’s quickly quenched by the wise reminder that she’s not coming for him. She’s coming to get away. Not that the specific reason makes much of a difference. He just wants to see her.

“When do you want to come?”

She chews down on her bottom lip. “Would tomorrow be too soon?”

His eyes widen a bit as he clarifies. “Tomorrow?”

She nods. “I’m—I’m sure I can get a flight out.”

She could, but he has a better option. “You should use the jet.”

Ri is understandably confused. “Jet?”

Joe has to remind himself yet again to approach this a bit from a tabula rasa standpoint. “You have a private jet. Through your record label.” He does too, but that’s not what’s important right now. He’s also partially confused why they didn’t take it when flying home to Florida, but it’s not a major thing. Nothing worth thinking too much about. 

She makes an ‘O’ with her mouth. “That’s right, we are, like, rich, aren’t we?”

He chuckles. “Now, yes.”

She gives a little smile, asking, “I guess there’s a story there?”

“There’s a lot of stories with us, Ri….” His voice is quiet as he clears his throat, not necessarily wanting to go down that road. “If you’re serious about coming—”

“I am.” She speaks up, shoulders dropping. “I just—I think it’d be nice to spend some time with you. Hear about that part of my life at my own pace.” He nods, understanding where she’s coming from, trying not to put too much into her comment about wanting to directly spend time with him. “Is it just you on the bus?”

“Basically. My cousins sometimes hang out, but they have their own bus, so I gladly kick them out when it starts getting late.”

She smiles, and Joe is close to screenshotting, wanting to add it to his collection when her smile dips into something else, eyes squinting. “J—Jon, right?” Joe sits up more. “And…..Jo—Josh?” He scoffs, in a partial state of disbelief and shock. “They’re….they’re twins, aren’t they?”

He nods, unable to speak. Did….did she really just remember something? On her own?

A frown falls on her face. “I don’t….can’t remember anything other than that and something….I don’t know, something about Uno?” 

Joe laughs. The best laugh he’s had in some time, since this whole nightmare began. “Before your schedule got super crazy, you’d come on the road with me, and you and my cousins always played Uno, and it always ended up being a thing because you all suck and can never agree on the rules.”

She giggles, eyes twinkling with mischief. “And what about you? Are you any good?”

He scoffs. “Better than ya’ll.” 

Her mouth drops open as she declares. “Okay, then we definitely need to play when I get there. Cause I feel like I might surprise ya’ll. Maybe I could beat you.”

Joe makes a sound. “You can try. You've never been able to beat me. None of ya’ll.”

She crosses her arms and exclaims with all the confidence. “Oh, I’ve gotta knock you down a peg. Are you always this arrogant?” She asks, head tilted. 

His correction is calm and assured. “Not arrogant, baby. Confident.” 

Her smile deepens, and Joe finds himself enjoying her company more than he has in some time. Even if it’s through a damn phone. “Yeah, well, you’ve got the looks to back it up. Let’s see if you have the talent.”

She has no idea. “Just remember you asked for this.”

“Whatever.” She rolls her eyes, and they exchange a prolonged locking of gazes. “I—-that’s the first thing I’ve remembered on my own, and you….you didn’t even have to try to force it.” 

She swallows, voice softening. “I’d really like to come see you.”

He wants her to come too. More than she could know. “Text your sister. Everly. Not Olivia. See if she’ll fly out with you. If not, I’ll come. You don’t need to be traveling by yourself.”

Ri frowns. “I don’t—I was medically cleared to travel.”

“Yes, and you did so without incident because your team hadn’t announced you’d been released yet, but now the public knows you’re out. They spot you, and the fucking paparazzi will be all over you. You don’t need that.” Mariella has never enjoyed the constant flashing of lights and cameras in her face anyway. 

He doesn’t want her dealing with that on her own. “Okay.” She then asks, “Why not ask Olivia?”

Joe debates how to approach this. “Your sister and I….we’ve never gotten along. If she knows you’re coming to see me, she’ll probably decline to travel with you. Everly is more or less a flower child. She’ll be fine with it.”

It’s the best answer he can come up with in the moment. He happens to think Olivia is a certified bitch who sticks her nose where it doesn’t belong, but he would never do anything to create a biased view of how she sees her sister.

Anyone in her family. 

Ri chuckles, and he half expects her to ask why her sister doesn’t like her husband, but she instead hits him with something unexpected. “Do you know who Brendan is?”

And just like that, any relaxed state he had is ripped away with a single name. “Brendan?” She nods. “Where did you see him? How?”

She seems taken back by his questions, and he hates bombarding her, but that fucker is one person that always will be able to get Joe to act out of character. 

She honestly offers more information than he was expecting. “I—today at the promenade out with my mom and sister. I get the sense my mom doesn’t like him, but Olivia seemed friendly. I guess they work together.”

Fucking Olivia….yeah, Joe’s definitely gonna have to bite the bullet and text her. Because in no way, shape, or form does he want that son of a bitch anywhere around his Ri. And the fact that he may even be a fucking attorney or lawyer blows Joe’s mind.

That creep should be the one in jail. 

“He’s not a good person, and he needs to stay the fuck away from you.” Before she can ask anything else, he tells her, “let me know what Everly says. If not, I’ll have a flight out tomorrow morning.” He’s definitely got to get her out of there now. He wants to put and keep as much distance between Mariella and Brendan as possible, and if she remembered just why they broke up, she’d want the same. 

Mariella nods. “I—I can call her now.”

“Do that.”

She swallows. “Okay.” Mariella opens her mouth and seems to hesitate for a minute. “Thank you, Joe.”

Her thanking him feels weird, because he’s never looked for that from her. Never really wanted it really. Just wanted her. Her love. Her trust.

Getting into that not so great place, he shakes his head, reminding, “just text me whenever you find out, I’ll keep my notifications on.

This seems to please her. “Okay.” She gives him another smile. Of a parting and appreciative nature. “Bye.”

“Bye.” She ends the call, and despite him deep down knowing he should wait until he’s calmed down a bit to message Olivia, Joe’s fingers seem to move faster than his brain. 

[secondbeatsongs]

Hello, you said in some tags in a poll that Speed Racer (2008) is your favorite film. If you’re okay with it, I’d really like to hear more about why you love it. I love the Wachowskis’ work (they’re among my favorite directors), but I kinda ended up bouncing off Speed Racer (2008). So, hearing that it had a real impact on someone makes me very curious why. I’m not interested in criticizing your opinion or arguing with you, I’d just really like to know why you love it in the hopes I might be able to enjoy that movie more in the future.

oh god this is from seven months ago, I'm so sorry - but I do love almost everything about Speed Racer (2008) and I still think about it nearly every day.

I love that it's so bright and colorful and absurd. I love that it's an anime in live action form. and I love that at its heart, it is a story about love.

it's about the mistakes people make out of love, and the consequences of that. it's about the way children grow to understand why the adults around them make the choices they do, and maybe choose to do the same things. it's about taking risks for the people you love, and the pain of failing to change the world, because everything is capitalism and everything hurts.

(and it's also about being transgender btw. like, that's one of the main things about it - it is very much a movie about being transgender)

what if your father's choices hurt your older brother, and your older brother's choices hurt you, and now it's you and your younger brother staring down a future where you're going to end up hurting him by making the same choice?

and then...what if you can escape that? what if the broken parts put themselves back together, and the hope doesn't run out, and you're not alone with the things that haunt you? what then?

and now you're at the end and mistakes were still made, people were still hurt, but everyone's grown and changed and they're different now. and they've figured out that maybe, just maybe, you can change the world by doing something you love, by creating art and beauty and making people feel things.

maybe you really can defeat capitalism by driving a car really fast. and even if everyone thinks you can't...don't you have to try anyway? shouldn't you fight with the skills you have, the only way you know how?

what if it works?

and I'm not even gonna get into most of the Racer X stuff (because I want people to go watch this movie, and most folks probably won't be spoiled for it), but his whole deal is just...everything. I love him.

(if there's a guy from Speed Racer that I want to put in a jar and shake every so often, or maybe wrap in a blanket so he can have a nice nap, it's Racer X. he's a great character. prime blorbo material)

anyway I've been rotating this movie in my head ever since I saw it for the first time, and I think I've seen it...seven? times now? and I still cry at the final race, and I still get blown away by the intro sequence.

(the beginning of the movie is genuinely one of the best things I've ever seen - it does an amazing job of introducing you to the world and the story of the characters, and gets you emotionally invested in it right from the start. it's fantastic filmmaking)

also like. story stuff aside, from a technical standpoint, the movie is a masterpiece. it's the type of thing that people hated when it first came out, but when you look at it now and see how it was made, how it intentionally looks bizarre and cartoonish, plastic and surreal, you can see the exact vision the Wachowskis were going for, and it's brilliant.

the way they did the visual effects, the way they made the outdoor scenes feel so detailed, the way the driving and the tracks work - they put so much thought into that, and the behind-the-scenes vids show how cool their process was.

also uhhh cars go vroom, crash into each other, flip upside down, explode, maybe have bees and hammers in them sometimes?

(the above is me complimenting the unhinged vibe of the races themselves, which I love very much)

anyway I could make other full posts about the script of the film and how much I love it, or the cool side characters, or the fanfic potential of the amazing world of the film, or how I can prove that it's set in 1991...but I guess if anyone wants those rants, they'll just have to watch the film and then come talk to me. :)

(please. please come talk to me about Speed Racer.)

so, yeah! I kinda lost my mind there and made this post way longer than I intended, but I do feel strongly affected by this movie, and I hope this has helped explain why.

[jo-speaks]

talk too much

in which…

Trevor realizes fem! reader is just like him.

Trevor and Quinn were in the living room of the infamous Michigan lake house. Quinn had unfortunately gotten there the same day Trevor did, and was now victim to one of Trevor’s rants.

“So when is Jack getting here with his girl?” Trevor asked, finally ending his hour-long rant about the flight to the lake house. 

Quinn rubbed his eyes, “They should be here any minute now. And also, she’s not his girlfriend.” Trevor gave Quinn a confused look, “Really?” “Trevor. We’ve all known her for ten years. If they were gonna date, they would’ve done so by now.” “I guess you’re right.” “Also, if she were to date any one of us, it would probably be you.” The boy raised his eyebrows, “Why do you say that?” “Because you both talk too damn much.” Quinn said, taking a sip of his water. 

The timing of his words couldn’t have been more perfect. The boys heard footsteps and the familiar sound of your voice was getting closer and closer to the door. Quinn let out a sigh of relief, getting up to open the door for you and Jack. 

As soon as Jack stepped foot in the house, he dropped his bags and ran straight for the living room. He planted face down onto the couch and let out a long groan, causing Trevor to laugh. 

“What’s wrong with you?” He asked. 

Jack turned his head to look at Trevor, “She’s just like you, bro. I love her, but holy shit.”

The boys knew you loved to talk, it was one of the things they loved about you and what drew them to become friends with you all those years ago. But sometimes, you didn’t know when to stop. 

They were never really annoyed with it, always ready to listen to whatever was on your mind at that moment, but sometimes their brains needed a little rest before they were able to process anything you said. 

Trevor was the only one who hadn’t realized this about you, probably because he was the exact same way. He thought you talked just the right amount and was surprised when you were able to sit down through his long hour talks without complaining. 

Quinn had walked into the living room dragging Jack’s bags with him while you followed behind with yours. You had both decided that getting the bags in your rooms was a task you’d deal with later. So for now, you set your bags down and pulled Quinn into a hug. 

“Hey Trevor!” You greeted, pulling away from Quinn to hug the taller boy.

He gladly returned it, “Hi Y/N. Any clue why Jack’s pouting right now?” You laughed at his comment, “I was telling him about my flight. Craziest thing-”

Jack and Quinn both groaned for the same, yet different reasons. Jack had already heard this story, the four hour long drive from the airport giving you plenty of time to talk his ear off, and Quinn had just got done listening to Trevor talk about the exact same thing. 

“How about we go to the boat? Luke said it’s ready to go.” Jack stated, trying to avoid hearing about your flight again. 

A warm feeling rose to your face, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed. You smiled and nodded, following the boys out towards the boat. 

Trevor pulled you back gently, separating you from the other two. “I’d love to hear about your flight.” “Really?”

He nodded, “Yeah. As long as you let me talk about mine.”

~✩~

The four of you spent the rest of the day out on the boat, tired out from all the wakesurfing you did.

Deciding to call it a night, you all headed back inside the house. Since everyone was dry by this point, the boys laid down on the couch, while you headed upstairs to shower. 

Stepping into the bathroom, you already felt relaxed before even stepping under the water. You pulled your hair out of its up-do then pulled your shirt over your head. Not realizing you hadn’t locked the door, the sound of it opening made you jump. 

“Oh! I’m so…” Trevor began, losing his train of thought when he saw you in nothing but a bra. 

Neither one of you moved, too stunned with what was happening. After a few seconds, he blinked rapidly, before apologizing and backing out of the bathroom. 

“Wait!” You called out. 

Trevor stopped in his tracks, focusing his attention on you yet again.

“Thanks for listening to me today. I know I’m a bit… much sometimes.” He let out a soft laugh, “I don’t think you’re too much. I think you’re perfect.” He took a few steps closer to you, “In many ways.”

You cupped his face with your hand, rubbing your thumb gently against his cheek. His eyes fell to your lips, wanting nothing more than to kiss you at that moment. So he did. He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, which you instantly returned. 

It became heated quickly, his hands wandering the rest of your body. His hands found the back of your thighs, lifting you up onto the sink counter, finding a home between your legs as they wrapped around his waist. 

You pulled away breathlessly, “Join me?”

[ghost-proofbaby]

SO SCARLET (IT WAS MAROON)

CHAPTER SIX: IS IT OVER NOW?

LET'S FAST FORWARD TO THREE HUNDRED TAKEOUT COFFEES LATER, I SEE YOUR PROFILE AND YOUR SMILE ON UNSUSPECTING WAITERS.

☆ pairings: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

☆ warnings: no use of y/n, strong language, angst, minors dni

☆ WC: 5.8K+

☆ A/N: if i could put the entirety of the lyrics to this song on here, i would. it's! their! song! (side note: these idiots need to start making progress before i tear my hair out i mean it. they make me think about jumping off of very tall somethings)

thank you to my love @hellfire--cult for the divider!

masterlist

The coffeeshop that Eddie chooses isn’t one you’re familiar with. It’s smaller, more hidden, tucked away in an unsuspecting corner and disguised from prying eyes. 

It wouldn’t have been your first choice, but you’re sure his thought process on choosing public locations differs from yours now. One wrong move, and he’s sure to end up on the cover of another magazine. Actually, one wrong breath, and the public eye probably eats him alive. 

He’d sort of brought that upon himself, building up such a polarizing reputation all by his own hands. 

“Ever been before?” he asks as the two of you stand in line, the scent of espresso burning your nose and the hiss of steam wands cutting straight through the soft chatter of fellow patrons. 

You only shake your head. No words to ease his clear anxiety as you watch him shift his weight between his two feet and his hands dig deep into his pockets. 

“It’s pretty good,” he continues to ramble, looking up at the menu rather than you, “They’ve got decent hot coffee, and their lattes aren’t too bad. I like the vanilla one best, which is probably boring but-”

“Eddie,” you interrupt him sternly, “What happened to not talking?” 

He scoffs a little, finally turning to look at you. “We aren’t seated yet. Once we get a table, I swear, my lips are sealed.” 

You highly doubt that. 

It’s torture being this close to him for this long. The accidental bumps of his elbow against your shoulder that send you jumping from the contact. The way you nearly stepped on his foot when you’d shuffled out of the way for someone, and your apology got tangled on your tongue when he’d reached out to steady you. In small moments, when he’s too busy glancing nervously around the cafe, you spare him longer looks. Since he first came tumbling back into your life a mere week ago, you’d been staunch on your stance that he had changed beyond measure. But here, out at a coffee shop with just the two of you present along with all his nervousness, you can see glimpses of something familiar beneath the surface. The way he bites his lip, the way he fiddles with his rings, how he’s occasionally humming tunes beneath his breath as he avoids eye contact with you – you hate it. You hate every aspect of it, and all the painful nostalgia it stirs within you. 

It reminds you of your first date with him, back in Hawkins. All the confidence he’d exuded at that Halloween party you’d met him at had disappeared the moment he got you alone sober. As if he had felt the weight of what this would become from day one, as if he knew just how much of both your future’s rested in one stupid date. 

You almost get lost in the memories before it’s your turn to order at the counter. 

“Just a vanilla latte, please.” 

You can see his small smile out of the corner of your eye. A small trace of triumph is clear as day as you order the exact thing he just said was his favorite. It wasn’t intentional, but there’s no use trying to convince him of that. 

It’s just a coincidence, you try to convince yourself. It just sounded good after he brought it up. 

“I’ll have the same,” he tells the barista behind the counter, moving to pull out his wallet. 

On your first date with him, you had bickered endlessly about who would pay. And you nearly do it again – you nearly reach out a hand to stop him and insist you could pay for your own coffee on instinct. 

It would be so easy to let history repeat itself, to watch your greatest hits reinvent themselves at this moment. Maybe, this time around, the two of you can get it right. 

You don’t move a single muscle as he hands over his card. 

He murmurs out a soft thank you when it’s returned to him with a receipt, and you’re already turned to scout out a table to sit at. 

There’s plentiful booths, a few high-tops by the front windows. There’s even half booths lining one wall of the cafe. If you were out on your own, all of these choices would be perfect. You’d take a seat at any of the tables and be content, especially the high-tops that offered the perfect opportunity for people watching between work. 

You choose a table in one of the back corners. Somewhere darker, and far from everyone else in the building. Somewhere hidden. 

“Here?” he questions, hesitating behind you as you drop your bag down beside one of the chairs.

“Something wrong with this table?” you ask over your shoulder, hand gripping on the back of the chair as if it could ground you. 

“I mean… not really,” you turn and look at him over your shoulder, “It’s just kind of dark back here, and you used to like sitting by windows-”

Your throat tightens at it – the acknowledgement that he remembers. That he can recall anything from the past, of you, of your time spent together. Part of you had been convinced he’d taken a sledgehammer to the past, shattered it into something unrecognizable and abandoned it altogether. 

He hadn’t. It should have been obvious, but he hadn’t. 

“Maybe I’ve changed,” you cut in, gaze unwavering as you dare him to challenge you on the fact, “Besides, I don’t want to be distracted while I work.” 

You won’t lose this game; whatever he’s currently playing at, you can’t afford to lose. You are not the girl he remembers, and he is not the man you’ve mourned for two years. Both of you, it seems, need that reminder. 

He joins you at the shadowy table without another word. 

You take to setting up your laptop and notebook, powering up your devices as you flip back open to your pages of contacts and physical notes already taken. Your eyes refuse to find his the entire time as you log in, as you open up to that damn refusal from the latest venue, as you sigh harshly out your nose at that bitter reminder of failure. 

When they call your names for the lattes, he’s up and retrieving them without you even asking him to. 

In your short time alone at the table, you lean forward to rest your forehead on the palms of your hands. It’s exhausting – being around him, pretending like you wouldn’t have enjoyed the view out the window, facing the reality that his mess had once again become yours. Every inch of your skin prickles with the need to run. And yet you don’t. You could have told him no, easily turned down his offer for coffee. But you didn’t, so now, you’ll live with the consequences. 

“One vanilla latte,” Eddie appears, setting down that takeout cup of coffee down in front of you before he takes his seat, “I didn’t know if you’d want any extra sugars, but if you do, I can grab them-”

“Thanks,” you interrupt blandly, lifting your head from your hands as you watch him sit down his own coffee. You really, really didn’t want to hear him ramble anymore. 

Didn’t want to ponder how it’s almost as endearing as the first day you met him. Didn’t want to think about how each syllable that falls from his lips strikes something deep in you, something stained and something yearning for erasure of a past both of you can’t change now. Didn’t want to keep caving so damn easily. 

You are meant to be furious. You have every right to be; he left first, he stopped loving you first, he broke this first. You’ve had two years to gather up all your grief and all your anger, package it nicely with a bow on top, and that is what you should be handing over to him right now. Not forgiveness, not understanding. Certainly not endearment. 

Something in your chest still shudders at the sight of his wince when he tries to sip the hot latte too soon, effectively burning his lip and tongue. 

“So, you come here often?”

What the hell happened to not talking? 

It’s not him to blame – it’s you. The words tumble out embarrassingly quickly. You had a plan, why weren’t you following the plan? Get a free coffee, get a break from the office, maybe manage to have some sort of breakthrough while away from that stuffy building. You weren’t supposed to be talking to him.

And he knows it. Damn it, does he know it as his lips curl at their corners ever so slightly, “Yeah. It’s convenient, nice and close to the studio.”

Where the fuck had all his rambles disappeared to? What are you supposed to do with such a short, such a normal response? 

“Right,” you nod, acting as though the location of his studio would be common knowledge to you, “Right, no, of course. It’s good to have a convenient coffee place.” 

He leans back in his chair, nervousness misting away and some sort of confidence creeping in instead. Fuck him. 

“Do you have one around here?” 

He’s testing the waters, seeing just how much conversation you’ll allow. The threshold should be none. Zilch. A resounding absolutely not. 

“I usually stop by the Starbucks closest to my apartment.”

So much for that.

“Starbucks?” he crinkles his nose, and dear Lord, you need to look away. Save yourself the heartbreak, because those wrinkles are almost a replica map of the ones you remember back in Hawkins when he’d make faces at you across the Hideout when someone would approach him with boring conversation he wanted no part in. The same disgust, the same silent conversation between you transpiring, “I thought you were always a coffee snob. Hated that shit.” 

You had been. When he had known you, you had hated that subpar commercial coffee.

“Like I said,” you swallow hard, looking down to your keyboard, realizing the conversation needed to end, “People change.” 

Did you change, though? You still hated the taste of your morning coffee, cringed at either the burnt bitterness or overwhelming sweetness you could never find peaceful equilibrium between. A thousand different orders, a thousand different experiments, and you still had yet to find anything that satisfied your caffeine cravings. 

Kind of like how you window-shopped at the bars. How you’d look over various men that Romina pointed out, and only shake your head before picking out something wrong with them. Something that wasn’t to your usual taste, something that wasn’t him. 

You finally take a sip of your latte as Eddie nods, muttering a soft, “Guess so.”

It’s perfect. The latte isn’t too sweet, isn’t too bitter. It’s exactly what you’ve been searching for these last two years. 

“They have really good muffins,” Eddie continues on, mimicking you by taking another sip of his drink. This time, he doesn’t burn his mouth, “Cinnamon rolls, too.”

The small talk is nearly killing you. You should go silent on him, begin to work on figuring out the venue situation. But you watch the way he fiddles with the sleeves of his leather jacket and can’t help but remember the old one with safety pins holding together the sleeves. Finally, you cave outwardly. 

“What kind of venue do you want?” 

It’s not small talk, but it’s not personal talk. It’s just you swallowing your pride, and shocking yourself by reaching out for the help everyone has pestered you with offering the last week. 

“What?” Eddie’s eyes widen, no longer rubbing the fabric between his fingertips.

“The venue for the party,” you elaborate, “What are you looking for in it? Small? Big? Private? Rooftop? I’ve tried asking Matt, and he’s given me nothing to work off of.”

Eddie slowly lifts his hands to lay on the tabletop, watching you with such careful eyes that you can see all the lack of trust in them. “Does it… matter?” 

You scoff, and before your brain or heart can warn you against it, you’re scooting your chair around the table to be closer to Eddie. You pull your laptop along with you, shifting it so that both of you can see the screen as you bring up your list of options. A colorful spreadsheet: rejections highlighted in a muted red, the ones you haven’t heard back from highlighted in soft orange, the ones you’re unsure of and haven’t even sent out queries regarding highlighted in a nearly transparent yellow. 

Only one is highlighted in a pastel green. The one with a rooftop option, as well as several downstairs rooms. The one you thought seemed the most like Eddie.

“Yes, it matters a fuck ton,” you explain, pointing at a random line as his eyes dart about your impressive display, “The ones in red are ones that already rejected me, but most are larger venues you’ve played in the past. By the way, why have you destroyed so many green rooms?”

“I get bored,” he flatly replies, leaning in with squinted eyes, “What does that yellow mean?”

“Those are ones I’m unsure about. Either too big, too small, or too exclusive.”

“And orange?”

“I sent out an email, and haven’t heard back.”

“And…” he pauses as he reaches that venue, “And green? Why’s there only one green?” 

It occurs to you he’s the first person to not turn their nose up at your extensive organization. Everyone else had thought it was stupid, wasteful, to spend so much time on the spreadsheet. No one had asked you to explain the color system before, usually hardly glancing at the screen before brushing you off. 

No one had even questioned the green line yet. 

“Green is the one I think…” you trail off, unsure of why you’re so afraid to admit the meaning. You sort of feel foolish; that terrible imposter syndrome managing to creep up on you as you doubt your judgment, “It’s the one I think might be the best fit. It probably isn’t, I don’t know. Honestly, I can take it off the list-”

“Show me the venue.” 

“I really don’t-”

He interrupts you by saying your name sternly, looking away from the screen to glance at you with raised eyebrows, “Just show me. It can’t be any worse than…” he looks back over the list, letting out a snort, “Jesus, Webster Hall? Yeah, they’re not letting us come back any time soon.” 

“What did you do to them?” you ask, too curious for your own good. Most of the venues wouldn’t divulge the messy details, only staunchly say no and promise they had their reasons once you mentioned Corroded Coffin.

“I’ll tell you if you show me the green venue.”

He knows he’s won when you finally click onto the still open tabs. You’d opened the hyperlink for every single different room, ranging from the large main one to the petty small one on a rooftop. You start with the largest room, and Eddie eagerly drinks in the details on the page.

He whistles softly, only loud enough for you to hear, “Quite the venue.”

“This is just the first room.”

He looks at you, clearly shocked, subtly nodding for you to click through the rest of the tabs. His reaction is fairly consistent as you show each new room, new capacity, new option. You can see the way his face lights up – you had been right.

Your judgment was correct. You hadn’t been an idiot, shouldn’t have doubted yourself. It almost makes you feel as if there’s still a chance that you still know him. Somewhere deep down, beneath your layers of stained armor and his layers of reckless defenses, you still know him. 

“It’s… good,” he says softly after reading over that final tab you had opened, “Like, really good.”

You exhale in relief, “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he leans back in his chair, “I don’t think we’ve ever played that venue before, either, so… no wrecked green room to hold over my head.”

You should stay on track and focus; you are making progress. After a week of hopelessness, you were finally not feeling like an absolute failure. Better to keep the train moving forward than to halt right now. 

And yet, your mind picks up on that green room comment again, and you can’t help it – all your focus flies out the window. 

“Why do you fuck up all those green rooms? And don’t just say you were bored,” you ask, curling your hands around your still warm cup of coffee, “I mean, I get it – the rockstar image or whatever – but isn’t it… isn’t it more trouble than it’s worth when it comes to scheduling tours?” 

He shakes his head softly, curls tumbling over tense shoulders, “Definitely not for the rockstar image.” 

“Then why?” you turn your head, ignore the screen, focus on him. On his scruff and the bags under his eyes, on the cracks in his chapped lips. 

On that distinct look overtaking his face that says you overstepped.

“Forget it,” you weakly say, taking back your words to the best of your abilities without being able to pull them back onto your tongue, tuck them back into that box of anger and grief, and curiosity now, apparently. “I guess it doesn’t really matter. Either way, it’s good that these guys have nothing against you, right?” 

“They still might,” Eddie shrugs, sucking his bottom lip in between his teeth, “Word travels fast between venues.” 

He says it so sadly, it’s hard to think of a proper response. You know he brought it upon himself. There’s no room for sympathy at this table, in this cafe. 

But it still only adds to your motivation to do this job, and do it well. A parting gift to Eddie; a way to silently swallow the pride leftover from a messy breakup, and apologize for the way you’d left without a trace. Right then and right there, you decide that’s what this has to become. For your peace of mind, and possibly for his. 

“You want a rooftop,” you don’t phrase it as a question, but as a statement as you yank your laptop closer to you, fingers flying over the keyboard, “A rooftop with a nice view, that’s what your email said.”

“I mean, that’d be nice-”

“You all want an open bar,” you add, continuing to type loudly enough a few people glance back towards the dark corner. You pay them no mind, your determination taking over, “And it needs to be smaller than your normal shows according to Matt. That doesn’t mean we have to limit venues by capacity – we could just limit ticket sales.” 

Eddie’s mouth falls open ever so slightly, watching you in awe as you start a new document. Making a checklist of just what was possible. No more spreadsheets littered with reminders of rejections, of what you weren’t sure you could get for the band. It would be nice to have a list of the venues you couldn’t contact now, but there was no need to let their names glare at you every time you reviewed your plans. 

“We need a top three for venues. What are your top three?”

You finally pause your clacking to look at him. Still stunned, still under the spell of watching you come to life. 

It used to be this way back in Hawkins, too. Whenever you took over on a school project, or a new gig for Corroded Coffin. You could do this. You would do this.

“I don’t-” Eddie starts, before taking a deep breath, “The only venues I really know by name are the ones I can’t perform at. The ones that banned me.”

“Awesome,” he shrinks back a little at that, almost in disbelief, but it was awesome. Not that he’d gotten banned, but that you had somewhere to start, “Send me that list. Type it up on your phone right now, and send it.”

“To your email?” he questions, already doing as you’d commanded of him. 

You consider it. Your email was already overflowing with work related notions, and brimming with those goddamn rejections you had yet to delete and move past. 

Personal email was out of the question. You only checked it for coupons from your favorite online shops and notifications from your mother’s Facebook. 

You snatch his phone out of his palm, and don’t look up at him until you navigate to the contacts app, hit the small plus sign, type in the magic number that you don’t check to see if he actually deleted two years ago. You just assume he did.

Your number. 

“Text it to me,” you instruct him as you pass the phone back. His hand still hovers where it’d been when you’d taken the cell phone, as if he’s frozen. “Now, please.” 

You don’t care if it’s stupid to do, it’s necessary. He’ll probably just delete it once you finish this final favor, this final gift to him to send him off and out of your life for good. 

“O-Okay,” he stutters, and not even a minute later, your phone buzzes with a text. 

You flip it over, keep it angled so Eddie can’t see the screen. 

New text from ROCKSTAR ♡ !

He may have deleted your contact, but you’d never deleted his. 

You’d tried to, make no mistake. Spent plenty of late hours staring at that haunted number, even tried to backspace it away a few times. But every time your thumb would hover over the delete button, your hands would shake and knuckles would ache. Every time you’d manage to fully backspace the number away, it was no use; you still knew it by heart, still retyped it and saved it as if nothing had ever changed. There had been a short week of having his number blocked, but you’d given up, unblocked it then sometimes still sat and waited for another round of calls from him begging for a chance to just talk. 

You always seemed to have one foot in the door, one foot out with Eddie. Always stained, never cleaned of him. 

It didn’t matter. After these next three months, you’d delete it. You told yourself you would, for real this time. You’d erase him, properly let him go until you forgot the sound of his voice and couldn’t even recall the first three digits of his phone number. You would. You had to. 

You flip the phone back over and face it down on the table, looking up at him, forcing a polite smile. It kills you – it startles him. 

“Alright, Mr. Rescue Party. Shall we begin?”

—

You never return to the office. 

Hours later, when the sun was setting and the table was littered with empty coffee cups bought by Eddie to continue to fuel the two of you, you receive an email from Lydia. 

Leaving and locking up the office now. Hope the meeting with your client went well. See you tomorrow. 

You blink rapidly at the message, hardly being able to process the time. It was nearly seven. 

“Okay, so, that venue was a no-go,” Eddie says as he approaches the table again, finally stepping back inside from calling your green venue. The two of you had decided it was time to stop sending off emails that could be easily ignored – you were tracking down numbers and calling them directly, now. Forcing them to give an answer then and there rather than putting you off for weeks, “I was right about word traveling between those assholes- What’s wrong?” 

He stops just before he pulls out his chair, leaning down with his forearms pressed into the back of the seat when he notices your expression of shock. 

It had been easy, too easy, to waste away the hours with Eddie. And, sure, the main distraction had been planning and putting everything into action. Eddie had narrowed down his top three venues, you had found a few businesses that would service an open bar and had begun to gather quotes. But it hadn’t all been business. 

Small things had slipped in. A short conversation had been had about the best bars in town when you’d begun that side quest, Eddie admitting which bars in town let him frequent them while offering the most privacy (not many, unsurprisingly) and you’d listed a few of the clubs your coworkers liked to frequent. No overlap to be found. But then, there had been the joking after Eddie called one of his other top three venues and put them on speaker, allowing you to hear the way the owner chewed Eddie out for the time he’d caused chaos at a show that wasn’t even his own. The moment the owner hung up, Eddie had made a face, somewhere between embarrassment and irritation, until you’d finally spoken up and mocked one of the last things the owner had said before the dial tone.

“Don’t you ever call here again,” you’d jokingly mimicked in a deep and comical voice, wagging a finger in Eddie’s direction in fake scolding. 

It hadn’t even been that funny. But the two of you had still descended into giggles like two children, until tears pricked the corners of your eyes and your stomach ached just a little bit. 

Small moments. Small exchanges. Things that were personal, things you wouldn’t have done with a normal client. Things that had a full day slipping away from you quietly in the darkest corner of a coffee shop you never even knew existed mere blocks from your work. 

“It’s seven, Eddie,” you tell him as if he should be just as taken back. He hardly blinks an eye, “We’ve been here seven hours.”

“And?” the creases between his brows finally smooth, standing back up straight, “We’ve been getting shit done, and we’ve been paying customers the entire time. I don’t see the issue.” 

The issue is the way you made work not feel like work. 

The issue was the cycle you had been fearing, avoiding, and falling victim to ever since he’d been waiting for you in that conference room that very first day. Every time Eddie would inch back into your vision, whether right before you as he was now or in the form of emails you’d find yourself reading over before bed, you were forgetting the anger. It kept feeling like a time machine, sending you right back to that very first night. Before the fame, before the hurt.

You have no idea how you’ll manage to keep this to just a parting gift. 

“I just…” your words fall short, because he’s technically right, “I didn’t realize we’d been here that long.” 

Eddie takes his seat with a nonchalant shrug, “Easy to lose track of time when you’re actually getting shit done,” he stops, blanches at his words as he stares at you as if he thinks he’s just insulted you, “Wait, I- No, I just mean- I don’t mean you weren’t getting things done before. I swear.”

You’re not offended in the slightest, “I know. But to be fair, I really wasn’t. I’m sorry for doubting how helpful you’d be when you showed up earlier today.” 

“Don’t do that.”

“What? Apologize?”

“No, discredit yourself,” he stresses. And you hadn’t noticed it, but your two chairs had seemingly grown closer over the hours as his knee bumps your thigh, “You… I’m not an easy client. You were handed a shit deal, plus Matt really wasn’t giving you anything to work with. I wasn’t giving you anything to work with.” 

“I’m working for the entire band,” you remind him, remind yourself. 

All it does is remind you of even more people you miss. Gareth, who was the little brother you never had back in Hawkins. Jeff, who had been one of your closest confidants. Craig, who would’ve answered your phone calls even in the dead of night. All friends you gave up when you walked out on Eddie. You always forget that – you didn’t just leave behind one person, you left behind an entire life.

Eddie’s phone buzzes, and he makes no move to grab it, “Have they been helpful?”

You stare at the phone, waiting for him to reach out. He doesn’t.

“Sort of.”

Another buzz. Another unanswered message Eddie clearly has no interest in responding to. 

“Sort of? What did they ask for in their lists?”

Another buzz. Finally, you break free of whatever conversation Eddie’s trying to have, and lean forward to grab his phone and pass it to him, “You need to check that. What if it’s Matt?”

Eddie doesn’t glance at the phone, only crosses his arms, effectively tucking the phone out of your sight as well, “He can wait. What did the other guys ask for?”

You can hear the next buzz, more muffled against his t-shirt and beneath his jacket.

“Eddie.”

“Sugar.”

He knows the nickname is a weapon against you. He uses it more deliberately this time, not letting it just slip out as it had at the office. 

“Open bar, fuzzy robes, normal things,” you finally spit out, trying to not let the echo of him calling you that name to worm into your brain and begin to rot you away, “Now, check your phone. Please.” 

This time, when the phone buzzes, Eddie removes it from being trapped beneath his armpit and actually looks at the screen. You know immediately you were right; his face falls as he reads over the missed messages, all his teasing fading and that air of light-hearted arrogance being sucked out of the space between you two. 

You don’t need to ask, but you do anyways, “Rockstar duty calls?”

He looks up rapidly, mouth already forming the word no, but you shake your head to stop his lie. 

It’s fine. It’s entirely acceptable that other people need his attention, that he has other affairs to tend to. You had gotten used to it when the two of you were dating and he first made his big break, you shouldn’t expect a change now when you were nothing more than a stranger working for him. It shouldn’t sting, and you shouldn’t feel a small fraction of you hopeful that he’ll be defiant and insist on ignoring those duties.

Today was only ever meant to be one cup of coffee. The fact that you two had lost track, fumbled and turned one cup into four, was only a blip. 

“I get it,” you say, sinking back into your chair. And you did, you really did. It was easier now to understand than it was back then, back when this very type of situation started the domino effect that was the beginning of the end, “You should go if they need you. You are a rockstar, after all.” 

It’s a hard sentiment to say without a trace of bitterness, but you manage. He’s a rockstar. All his hopes, all his dreams, have finally come true. He gets to breathe, he gets to be rowdy, he gets to hear crowds scream back all those lyrics you’d watched him write in his bedroom back in Hawkins. He got everything he wished for. 

You should be happy for him. If this arrangement is going to work, you have to be happy for him. 

“What are you doing tomorrow?” he asks you as he shoves his phone into the pocket of his jeans, standing and beginning to gather empty coffee cups.

“Work,” you shrug, crossing your arms as you glare at the laptop, already feeling preemptive frustration at the thought of picking up where you’ve left off today, alone. 

It’s not just because you want Eddie to join you on the project. It’s not Eddie’s help that you specifically want. It’s just nice to have someone to help shoulder the load with you, right? 

“At the office?”

“That’s where I usually work, yes.”

“Come to my place instead.”

Time almost freezes. He’s standing there, nearly all of the empty latte cups balanced in his arms, and looking at you as if he hadn’t just asked the most insane possible thing of you. 

“Eddie,” you speak softly, carefully, as your arms drop from your chest, “I don’t think that Lydia would be okay with that-”

“I’m a client,” he points out, “Besides, you’ve been stressed about this project, and I like to think I helped with that today.”

He did. God, he did.

“Just think about it,” he’s nearly begging. Beneath the lowlights of this cafe, features dancing with the reflection of some Christmas lights pinned up to line the top of the wall as they cast an aesthetic glow of gold over the surroundings, Eddie Munson is begging for your time, “You have my number. Think it over tonight, and just text me if you decide you want to. I can send over my address.” 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Probably not,” at least he’s being honest. But quickly, it becomes apparent he’s misinterpreted you as he continues on, “You’re probably going to get photographed by paparazzi when you show up if you’re not careful, and if they figure out you’re there to see me, you’ll probably end up on the cover of some lowlife magazine-”

“That’s not the part I’m concerned with,” you lament, finally choosing to stand now. The last thing on your mind is publicity, or cameras, or magazines, “I mean, I don’t think it’s a good idea to make this,” you motion your arms between the two of you, “A habit.”

His face falls ever so slightly. A soft drop of his eyebrows, a gentle pinch of his lips. You swear, you watch him nearly drop one of the coffee cups before he regains composure, “It won’t be. It’s… It’s just work, yeah?” 

Just work. Just a project. Just one final parting gift. This is nothing more than a source of closure for the two of you, a slamming of the door on that chapter of your life where the boy standing before you was your end-all, be-all. He’s right – it’s just work. 

Your voice hardly comes out a whisper, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll think about it,” it takes everything in you to level your words, to keep them from shaking, “I’ll ask Lydia, and I’ll let you know.” 

A slow smile spreads across his face, and you can’t ignore the way it puts the glimmering lights on the ceiling to shame. No shade of gold, no twinkling reflection on the windows overlooking the busy street, can compare to the knife his hopeful smile strikes in you. It’s the type of smile that aches, that resonates, that haunts.

It’s the kind of smile that tells you you’re going to bleed for this, no matter how much you resist. 

“Cool,” he nods, finally taking a few steps back, “I’ll see you tomorrow then, maybe?”

The kind of smile that tells you the bloodstain is never going to wash out, whether this is all just for work or not.

“See you tomorrow, Eddie.” 

The idea of closure is about as tangible as smoke and mirrors as he leaves you alone in the dark corner of the coffee shop. It almost hurts as much as it did the first time he walked out to be a rockstar.

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[arcane-vagabond]

Don't Hang'em Til Noon: Chapter Three

Don't Hang'em Til Noon: Chapter Three

Pairing: Jake "Hangman Seresin x Reader

Summary: Jake "Hangman" Seresin is a notorious leader within the Dagger Gang of the old western territories of the United States. You, a recently orphaned socialite from the eastern seaboard, find yourself swept off to live with your older brother who has set down roots in said western territory. Determined to to make the best of your situation, what will you do when said outlaw sets his sights on you?

Warnings: Jake flirting, suggestive language, talk of theft, talk of hangings. I think that's it.

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: I know y'all have been begging for it, so here you go! Just a reminder to everyone that my 100 follower celebration is going on through the rest of the weekend, which means my ask box is open for requests of drabbles or just to talk about those fine af Top Gun men! As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are greatly appreciated! 18+ ONLY!! Find me on AO3 under arcane_vagabond!

Series Masterlist || DGU Masterlist

If there was one thing you absolutely hated, it was the heat. You hated how it made you sweat. You hated how it made everything stick to you. Most of all, you hated how you could never seem to find any relief. You mulled over all of this as you stabbed into the dirt beneath your fingers, making a hole just big enough to plant your newly acquired seeds. Hondo had been excited to show you the new variety he had gotten in the previous morning, and you had eagerly purchased multiple packs.

Now, you were covered in dirt, sweat dripping down your brow. You leaned back, tilting your head towards the sky as you wiped your arm across your forehead. Your temples pounded from the exertion, and you were sure most of your hair had come out of the bun you had secured it in that morning.

Your mother had loved gardening, and she would always drag you outside to the small patch of land your father had set aside to do so. She taught you the different names of the flowers she kept and how to tend to the different vegetables.

“They’re just like people, Scout,” she had said with a smile, plucking a ripened tomato from the vine in front of her. She had handed it to you to put in the basket, and you had done so obediently. “Every single plant has different needs, and if those needs aren’t met, the plant can’t flourish.”

You hadn’t understood what she had meant by that, and you still weren’t sure you did as you knelt on the ground. Sure, different species of plants needed different amounts of things like water or sunlight, but two tomato plants should be treated the exact same way in order to grow. You weren’t much of a gardener, however, but you had taken it upon yourself to continue to do it after she had passed. The thought of nothing growing when your mother had always worked so hard to make sure life was ever plentiful caused a pain in your chest and tears to prickle behind your eyes.

A low whistle caught you off guard, and you jumped. Snapping your head to the far side of the fence that surrounded your tiny garden, was none other than Jake Seresin.

“Well, aren’t you a vision?” He drawled, looking you up and down. You felt a different kind of heat rise on your cheeks as you fixed him with a scowl.

“What do you want, Jake?”

He pushed off from the side of the fence and casually strolled to where you had left the gate propped open. You moved to stand, attempting to brush the dirt off of your skirt in the process.

“Just thought I’d come and see how my best girl was doin’ today,” he said, shooting you a wink. Your lips pursed as you took him in.

“I’m not your girl,” you said finally, taking in the stubble that was starting to grow on his chin. “You need to shave.”

Jake hummed as you pushed past him and towards the barn. “You don’t like it? Martha told me last night while we were down at the saloon that she thought I should grow it out. Said it would make me look rugged.”

“Then grow it out,” you grumbled. “I really don’t care either way.”

Jake came up to your side and fixed you with a mirthful stare. “You don’t have an opinion at all on it?”

“None whatsoever.”

“That’s strange,” he chuckled. “Most girls have an opinion one way or the other. The ones who like their men clean shaven like it ‘cause it gives their men a nice, boy next door kind of charm that’s hard to resist. The ones who like a little growth, though…”

You opened the door to the barn, but Jake stepped in front of you, halting your movement. A sly grin had broken out on his face, and he leaned down to whisper in your ear. He was so close, you could smell the mix of smoke and and fresh linen on his clothes. It was an oddly comforting smell. His lips brushed against your ear and you felt a shudder run up your spine as he said, “they like how it feels against their skin when we’re alone.”

A beat of silence passed between you two before Jake pulled away from you slowly, looking at you with an amused smirk. You scowled up at him before pushing past him and into the barn.

“You’re insufferable,” you hissed, moving towards the ladder to the second floor where you kept the hay.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it, darlin’,” he laughed as you began to climb the ladder. You looked over at him with a sour look, and he huffed another laugh. “I was talkin’ about whether or not you like your men clean shaven, sweetheart.”

“I really haven’t, Mr. Seresin,” you said as you hoisted yourself up onto the ground of the second floor. Jake followed you up the ladder and stopped when he saw you attempting to pick up a rather large bale of hay. He rushed to your side, snatching it from your hands and walking over to the edge of the floor.

“I don’t need your help,” you protested. Jake threw the hay down onto the first floor with a loud thump and turned back to look at you with a scowl of his own.

“Yeah, well,” he started, already moving to grab another bale, “you’re getting it.”

You huffed but allowed him to throw down the second bale. He turned to you as if to ask if he needed to get another one, and you shook your head. He allowed you to move down the ladder first before following suit, and once you two were on the ground floor, you moved to start dispersing the hay amongst the stables for the horses. You heard Jake scoff behind you, and before you could even touch the hay, you felt a pair of hands land on your waist.

“Jake!” You screeched as he picked you up. Turning with you in his arms, he sat you down on the workbench that had been shoved against one of empty stable doors. You moved to stand back up, but Jake shoved you down gently by your shoulders.

“Stay,” he commanded, giving you a look that left no room for argument. You huffed, but complied, watching him as he began to work.

“Does your brother know you’re doing all of this?” He grumbled.

You rolled your eyes. “Of course he does.”

“He hasn’t thought to hire any ranch hands?”

“He’s working on that part,” you mumbled. “Besides, it’s not like there’s much to do around here yet, and I am more than capable of doing it all for the time being.”

“Right,” Jake responded sardonically. “And when you keel over from exhaustion, then what?”

“That won’t happen.”

“Sure it won’t,” he said, throwing the last bit of hay into the final stall. He dusted his hands off and walked over to stand back in front of you. Placing his hands on either side of you, he leaned in so that his warm breath ghosted over your face. A smirk tugged on his lips. “So, do I get some kind of reward for helping you out today?”

“What is it you want?” You asked suspiciously, eyes flickering down to his lips momentarily.

“Let’s see,” he hummed, thumb stroking over the back of your hand where it rested on the table. He leaned in even closer. “I can think of a few things.”

“Don’t,” you said, putting a hand on his chest and pushing him back. Jake moved away only slightly. “I don’t want people to get the wrong idea.”

“And what kind of idea would that be, pretty girl?” He smirked.

“The kind that can ruin my reputation.”

Jake scoffed out a laugh, and you frowned. “I’m serious, Jake. A woman’s reputation is all she has in this world.”

Jake studied you for a second. “I think you have more to offer this world than just your reputation, sweet girl.”

“Yes, well,” you stumbled, feeling your cheeks warm yet again from the intensity of his gaze. “You would be one of the few people to think so.”

“That’s a cryin’ shame,” he murmured, reaching up to push a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His hand lingered, almost cupping your cheek as he stared at you. He really was so unfairly handsome.

“You should go,” you whispered, eyes darting between his own.

Jake stroked your cheek slowly. “Yeah? You sure you don’t want me to stay.”

“Yeah,” you said quietly, almost breathlessly. Clearing your throat and shaking your head in an attempt to clear it, you said more firmly, “I mean, yes. I need to get ready for dinner at Maverick’s tonight.”

Jake gave one last stroke of his thumb to your cheek before pulling away completely. He fixed you with a mischievous grin. “Need any help getting ready?”

“Jake.”

“I’m only teasin’, pretty girl,” he laughed, already moving to leave the barn. Looking over his shoulder and back at you, he gave you one last wink. “Don’t be a stranger, Scout.”

Maverick and Penny’s home was humble, but no less spacious than your own. Maverick was a kind man with an air of assuredness about him that put any of your worries about your brother’s ranch at ease.

“I’ll help him every step of the way, y/n,” he said with a smile.

“Please, Maverick,” you had smiled back, “call me Scout.”

Two other men had joined your group for dinner that night - Sheriff Tom “Iceman” Kazansky and U.S. Marshal Beau “Cyclone” Simpson. Sheriff Kazansky was a quiet man, and you learned that he and Maverick had a friendship that spanned back decades.

“I wasn’t going to let this scoundrel found a town without someone there to make sure it didn’t all go to hell,” the sheriff had laughed. Maverick had rolled his eyes, but smiled fondly at his old friend.

“I was a bit of a wild card back in those days,” he admitted.

“‘A bit’ is the understatement of the century,” laughed Kazansky before launching into a story about the time Maverick had taken it upon himself to go bull riding.

“So,” Penny had started once the laughter had died down. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your company tonight, Mr. Simpson?”

The marshal finished chewing his food before answering. “Well, ma’am. I’ve been tasked with rounding up a group of wanted outlaws that have started making a name for themselves out here in the western territories.”

“Oh?” Maverick questioned, eyebrows shooting up on his forehead.

“Yes,” Simpson continued. “A group calling themselves “the Daggers,” in fact.”

You felt your blood run cold, and you shook your head at the odd sensation. Taking a steadying breath, you spoke up. “The Daggers, marshal?”

“Yes, miss. They’ve stirred up quite the ruckus over the past couple of years. They robbed a bank about a hundred miles north of here just a few months ago.”

“Really?” You breathed, setting your fork down. Simpson offered you a reassuring smile.

“I’m sure you have nothing to worry about, miss,” he said. “We’ll have in custody in no time.”

“So, what brings you here to our small town?” prodded Kazansky, leaning back in his chair.

“Well, the word is that this town is where they like to come and set up shop. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“If I did,” the sheriff smirked, “you’d be the first to know.”

“What do you plan on doing when you catch them?” You asked.

“We’re going to hang’em,” Simpson answered plainly. Your heart stopped, and you felt your eyes grow wide before you could stop them. You heard Penny’s breath catch and Maverick became eerily still as you all stared at the marshal.

Mr. Simpson, to his credit, seemed to grow uncomfortable at the sudden change in atmosphere. With a clear of his throat, the marshal stood and offered Penny a smile. “This was a mighty fine meal, ma’am, but I’m afraid I’ve got some work I need to be getting back to.”

“Of course,” Penny smiled. With a nod to the table, Beau Simpson turned and walked out of the house.

Maverick groaned, resting his face in his hands. “I’m going to kill those kids.”

“Pete,” Penny started, but he shook his head.

“I can’t keep bailing them out, Penny. I don’t know how many more favors I can call in.”

“I might have a few,” grumbled Kazansky. “But nothin’ I can guarantee.”

You gulped. “How many times have you had to rescue them?”

Maverick bit out a humorless laugh as Kazansky grimaced next to him.

“Enough times to where that’s how Jake earned the nickname ‘Hangman,’” Maverick stated, casting you a solemn look. You felt the color drain from your face. You weren’t sure why this whole situation made you feel sick. Perhaps it was due to the mentions of the gallows. You had seen hangings before, and you never understood the amusement people got from going to watch them. You found them horrible, feeling nauseous at the memories of the bodies as they writhed in the air.

“Are you alright, Scout?” Penny asked quietly, noticing the change in your demeanor. You took a deep breath and offered her a small smile.

“Yes, I’m fine,” you replied, turning to look back at Maverick who continued talking.

“That boy has been on the business end of a rope more times than I can count. I keep tellin’ him to keep his nose out of where it doesn’t belong, but does he listen to me?” he asked with a shake of his head.

“Maybe he just needs something to help keep him grounded and out of trouble,” Benjamin offered.

“Something,” Penny hummed, casting you a knowing glance, “or someone?”

Sheriff Kazansky let out a booming laugh as Maverick chuckled at his wife’s suggestion. “The day Jake Seresin hangs up his womanizing ways is the day I eat my hat,” he said, tone filled with mirth. Penny smiled knowingly.

“Would you like it stewed or fried, honey?”

“I’ll let the chef decide,” Maverick had scoffed. Penny looked like she was going to say something else, but you cut her off.

“Maverick, I wanted to talk to you about the children in this town.”

“What about’em?” He smiled.

“Well,” you started, “I noticed that they seem to be running around town all hours of the day. Shouldn’t they be in school?”

Maverick grimaced. “Yes, they should, but unfortunately we don’t have a schoolhouse, and we don’t have anyone who knows the first thing about teaching.”

“I see,” you murmured. Maverick offered you another smile.

“I promise, we’re working on it. Have you thought about teaching?”

“Goodness, no,” you laughed with a shake of your head. “I don’t think I’d have the patience for it.”

“That’s a shame,” he replied. “Well, I’ll guess we’ll keep lookin’ then.”

The rest of dinner passed by quickly, and before you knew it, both you and Benjamin were bidding farewell to the older couple.

“Come by anytime, you hear?” Penny called after you as you made your way home. Benjamin wished you a good night before retiring to his room, and for the first time that evening, you were left alone with your thoughts. You washed your face in the basin you kept in your room before quickly changing into your night dress. You cracked the window open in hopes that the cool, night breeze would offer your heated skin some relief. You snuffed out your candle and moved to lay in bed. Staring up at your ceiling, you couldn’t help but to think back to the conversation with Marshal Simpson. You thought about the things he said Jake and his friends had done.

“That man,” you growled to yourself. “That stupid, stupid man.”

You thought of how infuriating said man could be with his attempts at flirting, his snarky comments, his broad chest, his surprisingly soft fingers that held your cheek oh so gently…

You felt a burst of warmth pool in your stomach as you thought about how soft his lips had been on the shell of your ear, and how rough his stubble would feel pressed against your-

“Stop it,” you hissed at yourself, placing your pillow over your face and yelling into it. You laid there for a second, willing your thoughts to stop focusing on the man you were sure you hated more than anything. He was a scoundrel, after all. You placed your pillow back in its original position, closing your eyes with a deep breath. Sleep soon found you, dreams filled with green eyes and quiet sighs of your name falling from his lips.

[frownyalfred]

i LOVED the new eye in the sky chap! of course, you have the soul-crushing rage-inducing angst pile on bruce's end, but i also really appreciated the duke-hal moment; he's so level-headed about the situation that you don't really build up too much stress over him, but then you brought in a different kind of heartbreak with the realization that he's been in this position enough times to know that the least provoking thing he can do is to do nothing at all.

and the FUTURESPEAKING jesus CHRIST — it’s a different type, but your time manipulation fuckery is almost equally as hard to wrap your head around as the stuff in tenet (the nolan movie), it's genuinely so impressive. (sorry, i'm just gonna run my mouth here for a minute, but the idea really caught me and now i Have to share all my thoughts just to get them out of my brain, though i hope that you'll be generous enough to weigh in as well😅) i'd imagine that there's actually relatively very few people, in-universe, who can do this so that duke hears it correctly, because you have to be able to focus your mind and put enough intent into the idea that you're about to say something that it "registers" as the imminent future—which means that you have to, at the same time, be completely repressing your knowledge that you're NOT going to actually vocalize whatever it is, because that intention would obviously counteract the first. and THEN, to make what's already quite a tough mental exercise even more impressive, bruce is: thinking of a futurespeak-response, putting enough focus/intent behind it for that future to crystallize (and again, it's a double-headed task, because of the repression required as well), and then cutting that off in order to think of and say something completely different, *all in about just the same amount of time a normal person would take to respond naturally in a conversation.* (also, slightly less mind-boggling but still quite impressive to me and i want to give him his props: duke, in that last bit at the end at least, is maintaining both his awareness in the present and the mental effort of using his powers to see the future, in order to hear the exact same voice say two different things at the same time, and is able to not only maintain the background effort needed to hear both things, but is taking in enough detail to see/hear/notice "both" bruces' tone and body language. ...i mean, maybe that's not so impressive to people without auditory processing issues lmao, but as someone who's constantly asking people to repeat themselves, or really having to focus on the sounds when somebody's speaking to me, even in one-on-one conversations, it certainly impressed me!)

anyways, yeah, this just inspired a lot of interesting trains of thought for me and i wanted to share lol. your fics are always such great reads, can't wait for your next update! Hope you're well💜

Thank you so much!!!! You absolutely nailed what I was trying to get at with Duke’s powers. I really didn’t want over explain it and have people roll their eyes, but I also didn’t want to leave readers mystified as to what he was doing.

Duke and Bruce are supremely well matched in this fic for that reason among many others — Bruce has a freaky brain and understands time/intention well enough to be able to think, speak, and re-speak that quickly.

He can compartmentalize like no one else. I am not obviously that smart, but the way I thought about it was playing competing melodies on the piano with two different hands - once you find the rhythm, the way they work off each other, you can maintain both easily. Where they gap, where they overlap, where they compete for your attention.

Duke is good at glimpsing a few seconds forward/back but definitely not for long periods. Like Bruce said, he’s going to need help to train that and avoid burning himself out! Luckily he’s just listening and not double speaking like Bruce is.

Someone on ao3 left me this in the comment section and they’re so right lol:

I feel bad for Hal, just a little, just like Duke does. He was tortured by Kal essentially, and where he does want to hurt Bruce (a lot) there are still some lines he won’t cross. I don’t know if that makes him redeemable or just not entirely beyond redemption. I think Bruce seems to know this too — teasing him with that moral code he used to hold so tightly to.

It was definitely a fun space to play around in! Writing this fic is difficult for me (agh worldbuilding) but whenever I try I’m pleasantly surprised by how much fun I have. Thank you so much for reading!!

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

Do You Want Me, Cyar'ika [happy]

Dark!Din Djarin x Jedi!Female Reader

Warnings: HEY THIS IS DARK WATCH OUT, stalking, manhandling, slight choking if you kind of squint, dubcon (reader is willing, but is def under the influence of the darksaber), smut, hand job, mentions of blood and injury, mentions of permanent scarring of the reader

Word Count: 6,717

Summary: Din Djarin is a man who lost everything. His home, his son, his Creed. But at the end of the day, he still had you. He still had you, and he was determined to keep you. Part One: Ni Ceta, Cyar'ika Part Two: I Love You, Cyar'ika

[a/n: THIS IS THE HAPPY ENDING TO THIS TRILOGY. My suggestion is to read the version you really want first b/c the beginning half is the exact same. It's only the end that differs.]

.

"sometimes, you just need a fresh start. a new beginning. a clean slate. just get rid of everything going wrong and make it go right." -the importance of starting over

.

The echoing of your footsteps bounced off the walls and the quick pace seemed to match the racing of your heart. No looking back. You needed to get to the tarmac. Din was supposed to be in the war room with Bo Katan and the others in his council discussing something or another. This morning he had told you that he wouldn’t be able to meet you for lunch until a bit later in the afternoon. Half an hour after he had told you this, you grabbed your stuff and started running. 

You had the right idea months ago when you first tried to leave. This was going to be your last chance. If he caught you this time you don’t know that you’d ever get the chance to run away again. Memories of that beskar chain and anklet hung heavy in your mind as you picked up your pace. A terrifying thought occurred to you. Would he stop there? How far would Din go to keep you by his side? You truly believed, deep down, that Din wouldn’t hurt you, but… were you just being delusional? At some point, he’d consider the line to be crossed.

The tarmac was mostly empty. The few Mandalorians that were in the area gave you curious looks, but nobody dared stop you. That was a side effect of being ‘owned’ by the Mand’alor and though you found it disturbing previously it was truly working in your favor now. Everybody on this rock, save for a few people like Bo Katan, were too terrified of Din to even look in your direction for longer than a few seconds. As you sprinted to the closest ship you knew how to pilot, the Mandalorians began to disperse. You had a suffocating suspicion that they were in the process of calling Din.

You made it further than you had last time. You were on the ship, ramp closing behind you, and you clambered into the cockpit and got things running. As the ship slowly began to rise, you saw him. Din stood at the edge of the tarmac with his hands on his hips. The wind tunneling through the ship’s exhaust and down onto the ground below caused Din’s thick cape and hair to whip around. Even from this distance, you could feel Din’s gaze burning straight through you. The look on his face was haunting⏤ a mix of devastation and unbridled rage. You couldn’t bring yourself to look away. Even after the ship was in the atmosphere and Din was far out of view, you stared down at Mandalore in pain. Your chest ached as your heart already begun to miss the man you were running from.

Before allowing yourself to wallow, you input the coordinates to Tatooine and let the ship slip into hyperdrive. The second those all too familiar lines of blurred space cast a blue glow in the cockpit, you pulled your knees up into your chest to bury your face there. If somebody were to ask you the exact reason why tears streamed down your face you would not be able to give them an answer.

You just knew, everything was wrong.

You agonized over who to send a message to. As you drew ever near to Tatooine, doubts began to plague your mind. Should you reach out to Boba and Fennec? They were obvious choices because they cared about Din and they knew how to hold their own in a fight. However, you had a nagging fear at the back of your mind that would not silence. It blared like a ghostly siren. Din was not himself right now, and though you knew without a doubt that he would not hurt you, could the same be said for Boba and Fennec? Especially if they stood in the way of Din getting to you?

You hated that you were unsure of that.

You hated that a part of you honestly thought Din might hurt his friends or worse.

There was no changing course though. The best solution you had was to get in touch with Luke Skywalker. He might have answers about this. Even if he didn’t, having him and Ahsoka by your side would help. Three Jedi surely could get that cursed saber away from Din. Granted, there was no assurance that separating the saber from the love of your life would actually work, but it was all you had. It was the last bit of hope you could cling to. 

Upon your arrival to Tatooine, you immediately slunk away to a crowded cantina. You were not a fool. You knew Din was not just going to let you wander away and you knew he was one of the deadliest bounty hunters in the galaxy. He was very good at what he did⏤ especially when passionate about the mission. That didn’t leave you very much time to get the information you needed. 

You sent out a decoded distress message to the number Skywalker had left you when he took Grogu. He left it strictly for emergencies and this obviously classified as one. After it was out in the universe, all you could do was wait. So you saddled up to the bar, sat on a stool, and ordered a drink. It was all you could think to do. This was the first time in ages that you were in a space not clouded by Din’s presence. You hadn’t realized until now how suffocating it had been.

Being with Din, watching his slow descent, you had gotten accustomed to that cloud of darkness that hung over his head. To the point where you didn’t notice it worsening and worsening. It felt as if your body had acclimated to living under the ocean. Your body grew used to the crushing depths. Your lungs shriveled from the lack of oxygen. Your eyes grew blind from the absence of light. Now? Sitting at this dingy, dirty bar, it was as if someone had forced you up from the ocean floor and dragged you quickly up to the surface. It was jarring. The fresh air was painful as it filled your lungs, your eyes burned from the disappearance of darkness, and suddenly it was freedom that felt wrong. 

A sudden beeping made you glance down at the communicator. Eyes wide, you answered it, “Hello? Luke Skywalker?” Your name was spoken over the line in concern. “Thank the Maker. I⏤ Din and I are in trouble.”

“What has happened?”

“It’s…” You took in a slow breath and began to walk him through what was going on. You started with the moment he took Grogu and described every single downward step the two of you had taken with the saber in his possession. When you finished, your throat felt thick with emotion. “I got away, but he’ll be after me soon. I know it. Luke, I… I don’t know what to do. I just know I need help, and I’m too afraid to go to anybody other than you.”

“You were right to reach out to me.” Luke sighed. “This needs to be handled by us. No need to risk anyone else.”

The thought flickered through your head without warning. You were okay with putting Luke Skywalker and Ahsoka in danger. It came quickly and you swatted it away just as fast, but it felt like poison. Obviously, Boba and Fennec meant more to you than Luke and Ahsoka. You were closer to the first two. However, it still didn’t make risking the lives of the latter two okay. The fact that the belief attempted to nestle in your head reminded you of the dark saber. Your hand wrapped around your own lightsaber⏤ seeking comfort in the energy it radiated.

“You believe he’ll follow you, correct?” Luke questioned.

“Absolutely.” You answered without an ounce of hesitation.

Luke hummed on the other end of the line in thought. “I will send you coordinates. Come to us. The Mandalorian will follow and we will handle this from there. You just need to get here. Can you do that?”

“Yeah.” You nodded your head, trying to convince yourself. “I can. I’ll leave as soon as you send me those coordinates.”

“Of course. Call us again if you have trouble.”

“Thank you.”

The call ended and you threw back the remainder of the drink before rushing for the door. It would take fifteen minutes to get to the tarmac and you assumed you’d get the coordinates by then to use. The crowded Tatooine streets made you anxious. Shoulders clipped into yours as people rushed past you in the opposite direction. It felt like there were eyes burning into your skin, but every scan of the crowd told you it had to just be your paranoia. 

Your communicator beeped again and a quick glance down revealed the coordinates you’d be heading to. Good. You quickened your pace to turn a corner to the last leg of the path that would take you to the public tarmac when you spotted him. A flash of glinting silver under the hot Tatooine suns. Your feet came to a screeching halt, and for a moment the two of you stood stock still. Din was down the road. Closer to the tarmac’s entrance than to you. His hands rested on his hips, and he was helmetless. Even from this distance the darkness swimming in his brown eyes sent a chill down your spine. He had been a sight to behold in his full armor, a faceless figure of intimidation. However, you knew now that it was worse without the helmet. Actually seeing those burning eyes, rather than just feel them, made your stomach flip.

The crowd ebbed and flowed, a small group passing between the two of you, and when they passed fully Din was gone. You couldn’t see him. Without a second more of hesitation, you spun on your heel and sprinted in the opposite direction of where he had been standing. The public tarmac was a bust. You’d never be able to successfully route yourself back around, but you still needed a ship.

Peli’s shop. As soon as it came to mind, you altered course to head in that direction. You prayed that Peli wasn’t home. Hopefully she’d be out losing credits to a group of jawas in sabbac or conning some poor sap at the market. Your chest burned in the effort it took to keep your quick pace, your heart pounded painfully, and you could still feel Din’s eyes on you. Every time you glanced over your shoulder or down alleys there was no sign of silver, but you knew⏤ you just knew⏤ that he was hot on your heels somehow. 

You finally reached Peli’s shop and the garage was closed which meant she was not home, but you remembered the way in through the back. Peli had shown it to you and Din ages ago. Even if she didn’t have a client’s ship sitting in the bay, you could steal her land speeder and come up with a different plan from there. Once in, your eyes landed on a small ship parked in the main bay and your lips curled up into a relieved smile. Find the FOB, get the ship open and started. You rushed to Peli’s office and cursed the wrecked state it was in. Her baseline was chaotic and it showed in her organization choices. You dug through the mess until you found a FOB that seemed to match the ship waiting for you.

Victorious, you sprinted out of the office back down to the bay, but the second your feet stepped into the open area something hard slammed into you. The air was knocked from your lungs as you landed on the ground. Din’s features stared down at you as his body straddled yours. One of his gloved hands pinned down your dominant hand while the other clamped down on your throat⏤ not enough to restrict air, but just enough to convey his warning. You could see your fearful eyes reflected in the beskar covering him as he towered over you. Din’s face didn’t look angry or worried. He didn’t look scared or confused. Din looked cold. Emotionless. Somehow that was worse.

“Din⏤”

“Don’t.” Din said sharply. The fingers on your neck flexed once. “Don’t speak, cyar’ika.”

More suffocating than his demeanor and broad figure was the poisonous energy seeping out of the saber hung on his belt. You were drowning in it, struggling to keep your head above it’s dark waters, and Din was pushing you beneath the waves. He held you under. Din was a man drowning and in your attempt to rescue him he was dragging you to the depths as well. 

“How could you do this to me?” Din asked. His voice cracked⏤ the only sign of his pain. “Cyar’ika, you…” Din swallowed. A flash of heartbreak filled his expressive brown eyes and the degree of his hurt briefly made you feel guilty. Like you had been the one to betray him. “I love you. You are my everything. I would burn the world for you. How could⏤ How could you leave?”

“I never asked for you to burn the world for me, Din.” You whispered. “That’s not what I want.”

Din shifted and leaned down so he could rest his forehead against yours. His hand hung loosely around your throat, forearm pressed against your chest, and it was a position your body was familiar with. If you closed your eyes and gave into the darkness trying to claw its way down your throat and into your lungs, then you’d simply feel like you were sharing a private moment of intimacy with your love. Din’s lips suddenly ghosted against yours and you felt your body tremble.

“What is it you want?” Din begged. “I will give you anything. I just want you safe by my side.”

“I told you what I want, Din…”

Din sighed, his hot breath fanning across your lower face, “I can’t do that.” His voice was strained as if her were in agony. “The saber is how I protect you, cyar’ika.”

“You’re losing me because of that saber, baby.”

For the longest moment, Din remained silent. His eyes were closed and you could see him ruminating over something. After a second, he opened his eyes and Din’s eyebrows furrowed in defeat. A flicker of hope burned in your chest until he opened his mouth and spoke. 

“Things were okay. We just need to start from scratch again. I know you hated that chain, cyar’ika, but it’s for the best.” Din said softly and your eyes widened at how serious his words were. How much he believed that to truly be the best path. “It won’t be forever, I swear it. Just until I trust you again.”

“Din⏤”

“No.” Din snapped. His soft despair turning to a firm demand. “There will be no argument. I’m taking you home.” You opened your mouth once more, but Din’s fingers began to tighten around your throat marginally. “You’re already in trouble, cyar’ika. Don’t make it worse.”

Panic began to make your heart race. You were sinking fast and the light was beginning to disappear from your sight⏤ your freedom with it. In a poor attempt at a final chance of survival, you spoke up despite his order to stay silent. “I just wanted to say sorry.”

Din scoffed. “You understand why I find it hard to believe you.”

“I know.” You nodded. “Please, baby. I’m sorry. Please believe me. You know I love you.”

You could feel Din’s thumb around your neck tracing the skin under it as he stared down at you. He took in a deep breath and leaned in to press his forehead against yours once more. Din brushed his lips lightly against yours. “You’re always so pretty when you beg, cyar’ika.” That was the one thing you had working in your favor. Din always had a hard time telling you ‘no’ when your bodies were folded together like this. “I’ll hear you out, but let’s get to our ship first.”

“Why not now? Let me tell you how sorry I am, Din.” You begged and he let out a soft sigh as his eyes closed. Your eyes darted to the saber on his belt. If you ended up back on Mandalore it would be over. There would be no second chance. Determined, you rolled your hips up and just as you suspected you were met with the firmness of his half hard cock. Din groaned. “Let me show you how sorry I am.” Your non-dominant hand had been clutching at the hand he had at your throat, but you very slowly let it travel up his arm to bury in his soft hair. “Please, baby.”

You tilted your head up as much as you could with Din’s hand clamped around your neck. Carefully, in fear that too quick or sudden a movement would break the spell, you began to pull Din down closer. Din hesitated against the slight force of your hand only for a second before he slotted his lips against yours. As always, Din’s touch set you aflame. He released the wrist he had pinned and hooked that hand under your thigh to spread your legs so he could settle between them rather than straddle you. You should be focused on escape alone, but the taste of him made you hungry for more. You weren’t sure how much was your love for Din and how much was the saber twisting it into something recognizable. 

Din’s teeth caught your lower lip, and he pulled back a breath, “You’re supposed to be showing me how sorry you are, cyar’ika.” He leaned back down to lick into your mouth, his kiss crushing and near painful as Din’s hips pressed firmly against yours. He left his lips close enough that you felt every word he spoke. “Yet here I am…” Din gave a sharp thrust and even with layers of clothes between the two of you he was able to snap the bulge of his erection right where your clit was hidden. You gasped at the pleasure that rocketed up your spine as hot pangs arousal pooled in your lower belly. “...doing all the damn work.”

At his words, you closed the space to press your lips against his again, deepening the kiss, as your hands traveled to his belt. You undid his belt with practiced ease, and while one hand slipped under the waistband of his flight suit to find the base of his cock the other went to grasp the saber.

Your fingers brushed against the thrumming metal of the saber for only a second before Din’s hand slapped on top of yours pinning it to the saber. Everything froze. Din and you were both panting, breathless from your kiss. You had one hand stuffed into his pants with your hand pressed against his skin on the space above the base of his cock and the other on the saber. Din had one hand tightening around your neck while his other crushed your fingers against the darksaber. He chuckled and the sound sent chills throughout your body.

“Let go, Cyar’ika.” Din’s voice was gruff and seemed to rumble out from his chest. You began to try and pull both hands back, but Din grunted. “Not both. Just the saber.” You sucked in a sharp breath and remained frozen. “What? You don’t want to finish what you started?” He shoved one hand down his pants to roughly grab yours and force your hand to wrap around the entirety of his throbbing cock. It was like this tense moment was spurning him onwards⏤ filling him with a thrill you had never seen before. “I thought you were sorry.”

You hated how his words made your own core ache with want. 

Din snapped the saber off his belt tossed it off to the side. Too far for you too reach, but close enough that its influence weighed heavy on you still. He did the same to your own weapon which was hooked in its usual place on your belt. Din threw that one further, more carelessly, before lowering his face back down toward yours. His hand was still wrapped around yours, and Din thrusted into your dry grip. It couldn't be comfortable you thought, but Din moaned in your ear as if it were already drunk in pleasure.

“Din…” You murmured.

His hot mouth enveloped yours, tongue licking into you, as he thrusted twice more. Din’s teeth caught your lower lip again, but this time he bit down hard enough that the taste of metallic blood flashed across your taste buds. You yelped, he thrusted into your grip, and then Din pulled back just enough that you could see his lips painted with the red of your own blood.

“Are you going to make me take you?” He asked in a harsh whisper. “Or will you come willingly?” Din pressed his bloodstained lips against the side of your face, dragging, and you shuddered as a cold, but tempting, chill filled your body. “I’ll spend eternity chasing you, cyar’ika, but it will be more enjoyable if you just agree to be mine again.”

His lips found yours once more, and for one second you weren’t in your body. Your mind clouded with a sort of vision. You saw Din sitting on Mandalore’s throne splattered with blood he had drawn from others and his features masked in a cold indifference. The saber was not on his belt, but any confusion you had on it’s location faded as a different version of you came into view. She wore an elegant and revealing gown that was as dark as a starless night, and the inactive saber was held tight in her grip as blood covered her hands and left a trail of red petals as she passed. While Din’s face held a cold indifference this version of you looked feral with enjoyment. 

She settled herself on Din’s lap and the mask he wore cracked to reveal adoration as he stared up at this other you in awe. Without wasting a beat, this unrecognizable version of yourself pulled Din into a firm kiss. The blood on the hands that resembled yours smeared against his stainless beskar, and the blood on his face left smears along features you spent your entire life staring at in a mirror. Suddenly, the other you broke away to turn and it seemed she was glaring directly at you.

The saber in her hand activated and burned with a soul sucking energy that seemed to draw you in.

“Be mine.” Din’s voice snapped you back into the moment. “Be my queen, cyar’ika. I want no else.” He pressed his lips to yours again but in a way that was too soft to match the rest of this situation. The tip of his tongue dragged through the torn tissue of your lower lip and you shivered. “Let me protect you as you rule by my side.”

And you wanted it. It was like your body had finally reached the lowest depths and your lungs were filling with the dark water you were drowning in. It was almost peaceful allowing yourself to settle into the cold⏤ allowing it to swallow you whole. Distantly, you could feel the crystal in your lightsaber desperately calling out to you, but you were certain no light could reach you where you were. Cold turned to pleasure as Din’s hands began to map the familiar planes of your body. 

“I’ve always been yours.” You whispered. Din molded his lips to yours and he pulled your hand out from where it was hidden under his waistband so he could have to room and access to begin frantically undoing your own belt. You lifted your hips so he could tug your pants down past your ass and off entirely. He didn’t bother with his own pants, deciding to just tug them down enough to be useful, and  Din settled between your legs. As he worked himself out of his pants he planted his lips against the hollow of your neck.

You tilted your chin up, panting, as you gave him more room to work his tongue against the skin there. Every atom of your being was throbbing and aching for the man on top of you, but briefly a glimmer of pain lanced through your heart. A reminder. You thought you were too deep in for the light to reach you, but your lightsaber’s call managed one faint echo. A weak lifeline back to the surface. Without thinking, your hand reached reached out to where the sabers were cast aside and for the first time in your life you felt the Force do more than just read an energy. It enveloped the space around you and seconds later something firm was in the palm of your hand.

You cried out, managing to roll Din and yourself over so you now straddled him. The saber activated in your hand and rather than the warm familiar glow you wanted, you were greeted by the soul sucking, burning energy of the darksaber lighting up in your hands. Your eyes widened in alarm. The power that washed over you was overwhelming. It rocketed up your arm and pierced your very soul. Din laid on the ground under you as you stared at the cold glow of the saber burning in your hands, and you heard him begin to laugh in amusement. 

“Maker, you’ve never looked prettier, cyar’ika.” Din grinned⏤ the look in his dark eyes was wild with desire. “How does it feel?”

Your skin was crawling as if someone was holding a live wire to it. A tremor shook your body and it took you a moment to detangle your mind away from the raw pleasure that screamed out to you. The darksaber was sinking it’s cold claws into every aspect of who you were and you could feel your reality slipping away from you. You tightened your hand around the hilt and began to squeeze. It was hard to focus the Force to bend to your will with the darksaber’s influence pressing down on you, but you clenched your teeth and squeezed harder. The crack of bending metal filled the air.

“No.” Din growled and his hands roughly pawed at you, to try and take the saber from your grip, but you raised your hands up above your head and continued to squeeze until you felt actual pain began to seep into your body. “Stop! Don’t!” 

The metal cracked further, heat began to lick out of the hilt as the saber’s burning energy flickered and grew wild. It was burning your hands, leaving the flesh it touched raw. Din screamed out at you to stop again, but you couldn’t hear him over the high pitched ringing the darksaber’s kyber crystal seemed to emit. The saber was angry⏤ the saber was scared. You focused every bit of your body’s energy to channel the Force. You screamed in agony as the saber was crushed under your grip. The crystal cracked and the energy stored in it grew volatile and unstable. With one final push of power, the crystal shattered into pieces within the crushed hilt of the saber and the release of energy blew you backwards into the dirt. 

Your ears from ringing from the blast. Your head ached painfully, you could feel blood matted in your hair from where the back of your head had slammed into the ground, but it was hard to focus on anything other than the miserable and excruciating pain that was radiating up your arms. Shakily, you lifted your hands up to try and examine them. Even though your sight was growing blurry, you could still make out the state of your hands. Scorched flesh, raw and torn, greeted you and warm blood was dripping from the spots where jagged bits of kyber crystal embedded in your skin. It rained down on you.

“No, no, no, no.”

Din was suddenly in your line of vision as he cupped the side of your face in fear and disbelief. Your hands, heavy with exhaustion, fell limp and they didn’t even hurt much anymore. You were having trouble feeling anything actually. “Please, Maker, no.” Din gasped. His voice was ragged and hoarse. Tears were swimming in his eyes and for the first time in ages, you recognized the clarity. “Cyar’ika, no, please…”

Your lips twitched up in a smile as you gazed up at him. You sighed in relief, “It’s you.” Din’s face crumpled as the tears streaked down his cheeks as he tried to pull you closer. “You’re back, baby.”

His voice seemed far away. As your eyelids grew heavy, you still felt content. If these were to be your last moments you were more than happy to share them with Din Djarin. Your Din Djarin. Pure and kind hearted. Loving and soft. Darkness seemed to envelope you, but it was not the cold darkness the saber used to force you into. This was warm and tender. You felt enveloped in love and your own kyber crystal, loyal and strong, whispered a lullaby as you relaxed into sleep.

.

[three months later]

.

It took you ages to find Din. After waking up in Boba’s palace, post bacta tank infusion, you realized he had slipped away without a word. Boba and Fennec had comforted you, but the only message Din left you was a soft apology passed down along friends. The fact that he hid from you was proof enough that the darksaber’s influence was gone from him. You felt it no longer either. Occasionally, you’d wake from a nightmare and a lingering darkness would cloud your thoughts, but it always dissipated with the morning light. 

You walked slowly toward the bench where he sat armorless. Din wasn’t wearing a shred of beskar, had not a single weapon on him, as he rested his elbows on his knees and stared into the distance where rolling hills and mountains sat. What made him hard to track was he stayed constantly on the move, but you were surprised that this was where he allowed you to catch up with him. You stopped by his side, Din didn’t turn to look at you, and you followed his gaze to see Grogu far in the distance sitting with Luke Skywalker on the crest of a small mountain.

“I don’t know why I came here.” Din mumbled quietly. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“Din⏤”

“I don’t deserve to be here.” He added. Din hung his head down and lifted his hands to rub at his face in exhaustion. He shook his head once. “I was supposed to leave before your ship ever entered the atmosphere, but I… I got stuck.”

That made more sense. In a moment of weakness, he stopped to see his son and he hadn’t been able to tear himself away to flee you like he usually did. You reached out to touch his shoulder, but your fingers only managed to graze his shirt before he pushed to stand began to stalk away.

“Din!” You cried out and followed his brisk pace. He walked back to where his small ship at waiting. “Din, please, wait.”

“Leave, cyar’ika.” Din replied firmly.

“No.” You snapped and raced up the ramp into his ship’s tiny cargo hold to slide into his path to stop him. You expected to see anger in his eyes from your disruption, but the only emotion his large brown eyes conveyed was pain and desperation. You felt your heart ache at the way he stared down at you in misery. You shook your head. “Din, will you please talk to me?”

Din swallowed, his voice was hoarse, “There is nothing to talk about.” 

You reached out to rest your hands on his chest, and he glanced down to stare at them. The bacta tank had saved your hands and left you with full use of them, but the scarring remained. The skin was discolored with burn scars and jagged lines where kyber crystals had pierced your skin and left their mark. 

“This wasn’t your fault, baby.” You whispered as you noticed how intently he was staring at your hands. Din shook his head and tried to pull away from your touch but you tightened your hands into fists⏤ clutching his shirt like a lifeline. “Din, I don’t blame you.”

“You should!” Din suddenly yelled and your eyes widened. His hands wrapped around your wrists as he held your gaze. His voice shook. “You should blame me.” Din took in a sharp gasp. “This was all my fault. I was weak.”

“Din.”

“I remember it all.” Din closed his eyes in agony. “Maker, I⏤ I was manhandled you. I chained you to the fucking wall. Held you hostage.”

“Din⏤”

“Hunted you down like a bounty. Forced you into the position where you had to use your body just to distract me so you⏤ I⏤ Maker. Even if you don’t blame me, cyar’ika, I do. I don’t deserve access to my weapons. I don’t deserve the armor of a Mandalorian. I don’t deserve you.”

You held onto him tighter as he tried to pull your hands away from him. “I love you, Din.” He scoffed. “I do. I love you. The darksaber was to blame for all of that and I stayed by your side because I knew that and I refused to lose you to it. I stayed knowing the risk.” Din’s eyes were still shut tightly, but you could see tears collect in his eyelashes. “And I can’t lose you now.”

“Cyar’ika…” He mumbled.

“Open your eyes.” You demanded. You released his shirt but only so you could cup his face with your hands. Din’s entire body trembled under your touch and his hands squeezed your wrists. “Baby, open your eyes and look at me.” Finally, after an agonizing moment, Din opened his eyes and you offered him a small smile. “I love you.” He let out a shaky gasp. “And I can’t sit idly by while you punish yourself for sins that you shouldn’t have to bear. Please don’t run from me. Please let me stay. I’ll keep following you all over the galaxy if I have to or⏤ or if you don’t want me then I’ll… I’ll stop. If that’s what you really want, then I won’t follow.” Din leaned into your touch. “I’m not trying to control or torture you with my presence, I just… I miss you, baby.”

Din closed his eyes again and loosened his grip on your wrists so he could trace them up and lay them over your smaller hands resting on his jaw. He sighed. “I hurt you.” His thumbs traced the scarred skin on the back of your hands. “I did this to you.”

“No, you didn’t. The darksaber did, and I chose to fight that damned thing.”

“If I had been stronger against it then you never would’ve had to.”

“You had no way of knowing, Din.” You shook your head. “It even took me a while to realize how dangerous that saber was and I’m Force sensitive. Nobody in the galaxy would have been able to resist the influence of that kyber crystal even if they knew what it could do. You were blindsided by it.”

Din opened his eyes. “You resisted against it.”

You pressed your lips together then pulled his face toward yours so his forehead was resting against yours. “I knew what it was doing, and it was still the hardest thing I have ever done.” You admitted. “Even now I still feel that darkness crawling across my skin in the dead of the night. Like a ghost haunting me.” You tightened your grip on his jaw. “But you know how I did it?” Din didn’t respond, but you pressed onward. “I did it because I wasn’t going to let anything take you from me. I was not going to let it keep your soul⏤ I was not going to lose you.” Quickly, you pushed forward a pressed a chaste lip to his lips. “Not then. Not now. I will always fight for you. Even if it’s your own guilt I have to fight.”

“Do you want me, cyar’ika?” Din whispered⏤ his voice so soft and faint you almost thought you imagined it. 

You caressed your thumbs against his cheekbones. “I will always want you, baby. Always.”

To prove your point, you tenderly slotted your lips against his. You stayed motionless, just holding him to you, and you could feel a tear trace the outline of your thumb before reaching his lips. It was as if the taste of his salty tear awakened something in him. Din’s mouth began to move against yours desperately. You shifted your hands down and around his neck to cling to him. Din’s own arms wrapped tightly around your torso so he could pull you flush against his body. 

His lips suddenly left your lips to press sloppy, desperate kisses against your jawline then down your neck. Between every touch of his lips against your skin he whispered an apology or an exclamation of love. You tried to drag his lips back up to yours, but he surprised you by falling to his knees. You gasped and stared down at him. Din rested on his heels as his hands hugged the back of your thighs. He stared up at you in adoration, but you could still see agony there as well.

“I am so sorry.” He pleaded like a man begging in prayer at an altar. “I love you, and I am so sorry. I could spend an eternity reminding you of that and it still would not be enough to express how I feel.” Din leaned forward and rest his forehead against your hip. “Ni cuy’ nass ures gar. Ni cuy’ osi’yaim. Ni cuy’ hut’uun.”

You slowly peeled his forehead away from your hip and his hands off your thighs so you could kneel in front of him as well. You held his face once more and wiped away the lingering tears that stained his cheeks. “Cin vhetin.” Din’s eyes widened at the words. A phrase you had Boba teach you. “That’s what I want.”

“Cyar’ika…”

“I hate seeing you speak so poorly of yourself.” Your bottom lip quivered and your throat felt thick. “It pains me to watch you hate yourself⏤ when I love you so much.” Din sucked in a sharp breath. “So, if you love me still, Din, that’s what you’ll give me. Cin vhetin.”

Din paused before he gave you a curt nod. You pulled him into a tight hug, arms clinging to his shoulders, and you were relieved to feel Din hold you just as securely. As if you were both terrified to feel the other slip away again.

.

[three months later]

.

You woke with a start, eyes snapping open in the dark of your bedroom, and the cold, cruel ghost of the darksaber gripped your spine. It crawled up slowly as you tried to push away the lingering nightmare and piece together your reality. The bed under you shifted as someone climbed in beside you. A heavy hand slipped over your abdomen as Din shifted his closer. His bare chest pressed tightly against your back as he held you close.

“I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” Din whispered in your ear, voice heavy with sleep. “Grogu woke up wanting a glass of water.” That was your reality. You had the love of your life back, and the green boy you and Din both adopted as your own was back in your lives. You, and the ones you loved, were nestled in your cozy home on Nevarro. Din’s lips pressed against your neck. “Riduur?” The new nickname a reminder of the peace that came with your reality. “Are you alright?”

The warmth of his skin against yours cast away the chill the memory of the darksaber brought. One of his bare, thick thighs slid between your legs until every part of you was tangled with every part of him. You let out a soft sigh of content and nodded. “I’ve never been better, baby.”

Din peppered soft kisses against your shoulders and you fell asleep safe in his arms.

.

mando'a translations:

Ni cuy’ nass ures gar: I am nothing without you. Ni cuy’ osi’yaim: I am a despicable person. Ni cuy’ hut’uun: I am a coward. Cin Vhetin: fresh start, clean slate (term indicating the erasing of a person's past when they become Mandalorian, and that they will only be judged by what they do from that point onwards)

.

[here is the dark ending]

[ouiouimochi]

Part 3 of the abyss x reader I wrote

sorry for the hiatus, was caught up in personal and academic things. I'm here now >:))

Part 1 - Part 2

warning : mentions of injuries and wounds, cell war slander, use of honorifics for better expressions of relationships between charas

the fight scene might get too long, more abyss x reader moment at the end

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synopsis: abyss (and the others) gets saved (?) and a reunion matching the eccentricity of the first meeting

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who would've known first year students would be capable of handling members of magia lupus just like that?

abyss, having chosen to fight mash instead of the other juniors, was surprised that he got defeated by a lack-magic but he wasn't much affected by that defeat as much as he thought he would

even abel was defeated by the same lack-magic

what took all of them off guard was the unexpected appearance of one of innocent zero’s minions

Another barrage of attacks made from carbon rained upon the beat up group of students, Mash being able to defend but getting wounded in the process. Everyone knew they couldn't just keep on defending with Abyss sustaining a serious injury and Abel preoccupied with tasks on protecting Abyss and helping mash defend.

Things were looking a bit grim. It didn't help that a suspicious portal suddenly opened up on the ceiling as a figure fell through.

It was a pretty long drop from the ceiling to the floor. Everyone was surprised at the appearance of a new person— the group of students, Cell War, and even the person themselves it seems.

With a short yelp, the figure fell and ungraciously landed on the cobblestone floor. A groan of pain was heard as everyone only watched the figure — a female— cradle the spot she fell on.

Noticing that there were eyes watching you, you immediately stood up and dusted yourself off, coughing into your hand in the process.

“I'm not interrupting anything, am I?” You cheekily asked while scratching your cheek with a finger.

Everyone deadpans but Abyss is struck with awe. Memories of meeting the eccentric lady rushed into his mind and his ears start ringing as all else became faint sounds.

Mash answers you with familiarity, “(y/n)-senpai, what are you doing here?”

You shrug, taking on a thinking pose, then facing the group.

“I got curious since I felt a huge surge of magic here. Didn't expect an edgelord to be here.”

Cell war snapped out of the stunned state at that, immediately sending an attack towards your turned back. A portal appears, the continuous attack being endlessly taken in.

As the carbo attack ended, the portal disappeared as well. You put a hand on your hip, twirling around, then tutting at the edgy looking man(?).

“Well, aren't you just rude?” You sighed.

The other students were only wordlessly watching as Cell sent another attack towards you. You did the same counterattack.

“Hey, is this the only attack you have? I don't think I wanna keep on doing the exact same thing repeatedly.” Your tone dripped with boredom.

Cell sent a different spell, this time an intimidatingly large piece manifested before being launched in your direction— only to be still eaten up by another one of your portals.

“That’s your third strike, now it's my turn” You said while brandishing your wand in preparation to go on the offensive.

Multiple portals opened up at once behind you, the spells Cell sent earlier being launched back at him all at once. But before it can directly land on him, the whole attack bounced back towards you.

You got caught a bit off guard but thankfully pulled up a big portal in time to eat up the reflected attack.

It was basically like playing uno with the back and forth reverse cards being placed.

As the portal disappeared, you immediately called the enemy out.

“Hey, isn't that unfair?!”

Everyone else thought how incredulous the statement was especially when you were the first one to send the blonde’s spells back at him.

The man only laughed, carrying a mirror around the size of his torso. He then went on a monologue of how it was a mirror that can deflect any magic hurled at it.

“It's futile to keep on struggling like useless ants!”

You stare up at the man blankly before fully turning around and walking to where the group of wounded students were.

“Hey kid,” You call out to Mash.

“You’re only two years older.”

“Nevermind that, are you going to help me or what?”

Cell sends another flurry of carbo rain at them, your portals consuming them again.

“I didn't want to steal your spotlight.” The ravennete responded back

“I think that's enough screen time for me, though?”

“Alright.”

Mash punches through the enemy’s following attack.

Endless spells were thrown at them, each being devoured by your portals. You also continuously open portals to hurl attacks back at them— and so attacks are being hurled back and forth at high speeds while Mash tries to get close to Cell. The black haired boy is having a bit of difficulty doing so because of the dense amount of spells getting in his way in an attempt to block him off.

The blonde sneers at you all.

“You think an additional hand would make a difference? So long as I have this mirror, your attacks will never hit me— I'd last longer than your magic reserves”

In less than a blink of an eye, Mash was in front of the edgy man, appearing out of a portal.

“Hah! You think that'll do anyth—” The adult got interrupted as Mash casually punches him through an already broken mirror.

Cell gets thrown back against the wall.

“You talk too much.”

Everyone else but you and Mash were too stunned to speak as the boy nonchalantly destroyed a precious magical artifact that reflects magic. And that's when it clicked to them that Mash had no magic all this time— they were all in disbelief.

Cell then decided to retreat, acting like he had found and done his objective.

Well, chaos ensues as a student that formerly became a puppet gained consciousness and caught wind of mash being magicless. You immediately knock him out, not that it made much of a difference later though.

Nothing could be done as word quickly spread that Mash had no magic, subjecting him to harsh comments and criticisms. On the bright side, you weren't the hot topic anymore at least.

Mash and his friends were organizing a party of sorts, you joining them in preparing. You see, you already knew the mushroom head from a few years ago when you decided to run from your attendant again. You then wanted to give yourself a tour of the academy campus recently, and that's when you met Mash again who was with his friends at that time. That's when they gave you a tour and became your friends too.

Now back to the present. Mash's group of friends and the fangs of Magia Lupus(the mushroom head inviting them) were seated on a rectangular table as if they never had beef with each other. The boy basically conquered them with the power of friendship.

Lemon went to serve tea for everyone and Abyss started becoming a bumbling mess. Abel explained that the guy never had a normal interaction with a girl, so he calls them females instead of girls.

Then here comes you and mash carrying plates of food before settling them down on the table. Abyss just stares at you.

You notice and smile at him, “Long time no see, pretty boy~!”

Everyone looks at Abyss basically exploding in red— completely shutting down in the moment.

He already cannot interact with females, now what if a pretty one complimented him like that? He shuts down— absolutely gone from this world.

Abel found himself confused at the long haired male’s reaction, ‘long time no see’?

‘They know each other?!?!’ Everyone else thought.

So Abel turned to you to raise everyone's question.

“Well, kind of? I do owe him though.” You answer.

At that, no one questioned it further despite some still being curious about the relationship between you two.

The party was going well somewhat, Abel brought out a deck of cards and invited everyone else to play (card game name I forgot I'm sorry). Dot went up to the challenge immediately, Mash wanting to learn about how to play, and the other people present either accepted or declined.

You decided to join them after observing how to play the game. You find it funny that Dot would've managed to win a few times if it weren't for Abyss basically threatening him to lose on purpose so that Abel can win. You can barely notice how Abel’s expression twitched in slight ire at being easily handed wins .

You step in, finally getting the gist on how to play. “I'll play a few rounds, maybe I'll be able to really know how to play it then”

The circle made some space for you to sit down, coincidentally you got seated directly in front of Abyss. He avoids eye contact with you at all times.

The first round starts, you having a bad set of cards right off the bat— causing you to lose quickly. You got fired up, wanting to win even though you might get threatened with a sword to your neck.

The next round starts and you get dealt with a better hand this time, having a really great fighting chance. A few turns later, you were close to winning as only you, Abyss, and Abel were left. The light blue haired male was still avoiding your eyes but he desperately wanted to serve Abel the win.

He debated pulling out the tactics he used on Dot, but couldn't bring himself to do so. Before everyone knew it, the monopoly on the crown for winning ended as a winner that wasn't Abel reigned over the game.

You cheered.

Lemon cheered.

Mash cheered.

Dot screamed.

The three of you then decided to do a celebratory dance. “Yay~! Yay~! Yay~!”

Dot then somehow was able to rip a part of his bandages open around his mouth and protested saying how unfair it was. The redhead pointed out Abyss’ obvious bias when he did nothing to hinder your win against his dear Abel.

Then as if in a eureka moment, blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“You're such a goddamn simp!”

Abyss stammers “H-how absurd to say that! I'm not a simp-”

“Yes you are-” Dot shuts himself up as the long haired male pulls out his sword to threaten him again.

All the while, Abel gathers the cards and starts shuffling the deck for the next round. He seemed happy despite losing.

The day passed on with everyone joining in on the different card games Abel introduced. It was an entertaining sight to see Abyss unable to do anything against you as you take the nth win. Overall, a very fun experience— one that made everything feel so normal and the long haired male can't help but to admit it was nice.

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long author's note:

I first have to thank those who took time to read and tolerate my writing I honestly think I'm dogwater at it lmao

parts after this can be considered as stand-alones since this short series can be the prequel to how abyss develops his relationship with you, so feel free to request scenarios you may want to read— although I'll basically be using this series as a backbone to these requests

lastly I apologize for the people who like cell war— bro did not deserve to be called an edgelord and all the such(perhaps). also I used japanese honorifics since I find it a bit difficult to translate how people refer to each other into just words— like how finn refers to rayne as “onii-sama” as an indication of their relationship and finn looking up to rayne in respect.

[loopdile]

loopdile so real. i have a Vision of both siffrin and loop being Deeply Deeply Closeted Repressed Transfem and having gender envy over odile and i feel like that'd do Something to the Dynamic. Something......... Something........................... well i'm not successfully envisioning it but maybe YOU are?

i am positively plagued by loopdile gender visions!!! maybe not the exact same as you're thinking but i think you will enjoy them. walk with me, anon, through the garden of my loop gender headcanons. it's kind of a big garden but we'll get to the odile part eventually i promise.

Before they were Siffrin, Siffrin had their gender on lock: something transfem, but also tied to unique cultural elements in some way, either the specific identity or the way of thinking about it or just the particular set of presentation options. Perhaps they even started fantasy HRT! But then they forget everything, obviously, including their identity and transition plans. They decide pretty quickly that they're not a man, but none of the alternatives feel exactly correct either; if their previous identity was presented as an option, maybe it would click and they'd settle into it pretty fast, but unfortunately that is literally impossible.

So, no clear goals in mind. And because of his forgotten past, continued memory problems, and constant traveling, Siffrin starts to really value the few things he can count on to stay consistent. He'd rather wear his comfortable hat and cloak than leave them behind in favor of anything more gendered. He'd rather stick with his familiar body than risk changing it. Still, maybe there are some changes he'd be happier in the long run to have made... but the process would be stressful, and he's got enough stressful things to worry about already!

But then we get to Loop. Who has already been changed, suddenly and irrevocably and so very, very accidentally. They are not Siffrin anymore, they do not have the hat and cloak, they aren't even human. They don't even really remember who they were pre-loops. There is no familiarity for them to cling to; instead, they're desperate to find things they can control, things they can change, proof that the world moves forward and they're in charge of their place in it. The motivation that Siffrin lacked, Loop now has in spades!

However, their negative feelings are more intense as well. They struggle to face real stakes, to put effort into anything too complicated, to try anything that might disappoint them. They take risks, yes, but not about things they care about; they take risks because they don't care. And they have a lot of other things going on, too, both practically and psychologically, so gender isn't their immediate priority. "Who and what am I?" is a very difficult question for them right now on multiple levels, a difficult question with only difficult answers.

But, starting with the practical: wearing clothes is an easy way to look and feel a little bit more normal, right? So they experiment, and they decide that dresses are just similar enough to the cloak to be comfortable, but distinct enough to not be as emotionally fraught. And they like them in a frivolous way that Siffrin was never willing to lean all the way into. Siffrin didn't put much thought or energy into his appearance, but Loop's inhuman form is a constant issue, so they might as well dress it in a way they like! Something good to balance out the bad, since they can't be neutral any longer.

And of course they think about body craft, though in a different context from most people. Even the nearly-human parts of their body are lacking detail, without all the right functions behind the form, and then other parts aren't human at all. Their body feels wrong, distracting, constricting. They don't understand how it works, and it draws attention they don't want, and it's not them. And yet, isn't it? Even if they'd been put back into a Siffrin body again, they aren't Siffrin anymore, either. Loop is what the loops made them. They want to change their body, to make it something they can be comfortable in, but they can't. Because body craft is a method of changing flesh and blood and bone, and Loop is not made of such human stuff anymore.

So we've got Loop. Trying to find themself, and maybe succeeding in some ways, but stymied or uncertain in others. Desperate to change, but scared to hope. To make a long story short, they join back up with the party, which brings its own set of problems, and yet... it's also a step towards fixing some of their problems, too. Most relevant to our post, here: Odile is a craft expert with a unique set of experiences. She's got a wide foundation of knowledge, since she's familiar with all three main craft types. She used to be part of Ka Bue's underground body-crafting scene, where she not only crafted her own body but also helped and taught other people; and unlike in Vaugarde, where Houses provide resources and education, Odile and her peers had to do their own research and experiments, develop their own techniques. She even has some knowledge of wish craft from Siffrin, and the way she stopped Siffrin from looping proves that she's unusually good at analyzing and adapting to new forms of craft.

So once Loop's dissatisfaction with and ignorance regarding their own physical form comes to Odile's attention, of course she offers to help. To see if she can figure out what their body is made of, and how it works, and hopefully, in what ways it can be changed.

And this dynamic with her... it's totally different from her relationship with Siffrin, both pre-loops and post. And Loop has always admired her, and here she is, talking about the confidence and determination with which she changed her own body, not without fear or frustration but not letting herself be slowed down by them, either. Taking her fate into her own hands and refusing to be anyone other than herself. And Loop used to feel that Odile understood them best, and losing that connection felt like the end of the world, but here she is, still! Observant and caring as ever. Dedicated to figuring them out again. Unflinching as she sees them for the strange thing they currently are, but equally unshakable in her insistence that they do not have to stay exactly as they are.

So Odile helps them figure out their body. Helps them with the craft itself, too, but even more than that — through both encouragement and example, she helps them be brave enough to genuinely try. To ask themself what they really want. To strike a balance between Siffrin's complacent hesitation and Loop's miserable desperation. To experiment, and face both the chance of failure and the chance of success with head held high. To hope.

Odile is not one for platitudes and empty positivity, after all. If she says something's possible, then it is, or she will make it so, one way or another, despite any setback. Isn't she proof? She remade herself, and she can remake Loop, too. Changing them, slowly and carefully and so very, very deliberately. Loop will never be human again, but they can decide who they are and become themself.

[authorsharonforester]

Organization of Multiple Story Projects Helps You Finish Your Writing 

There are countless times where the brain cannot handle juggling multiple writing/editing projects at the same time, but there are also days where switching between projects does the trick to keep you disciplined and not burn out with a single project that you end up rejecting for weeks to months at a time. At the end of the day, you have to do what works for you on most days so that you can keep the creative flow of your writing going. 

I have reached a point in my hobby where I needed to stop the messy editing routine I’ve been engaging in and organize all the stories I decided to prioritize for the editing process. This is what I did to make me feel good about the progress in my writing goal: I grabbed a blue binder and several sheet protectors, printed out all the projects I wanted to edit off my computer, then stuffed them inside the sheet protectors, and placed them into the binder. As I did this, I didn’t limit the number of writing projects I was going to edit. Instead, I pushed my brain aside and let my heart decide, and rolled with that. I have a list of unpublished stories, but nothing too crazy.

I have written a novella that has undergone two rounds of edits and is currently pending a third one. I have a copy of chapters 21, 22 and 23 for the novel I am writing based on my cartoon characters. The book has undergone two edits and is now pending a third one. I have a deleted chapter from this story that I need to add to the deleted scenes computer file. (I am setting these scenes aside so that I could one day publish this after people have read my book and I can show off my writing process with the world. This will be the most fun thing I do for myself and for others who feel they are alone or falling behind.) Lastly, I have written two separate episodes for the aforementioned cartoon characters that have already undergone one round of edits and are pending a second one. (I am planning to publish a show with them). On the first page of the binger (as you can see in the picture), I have a list of pending writing projects. That little list is there to keep me on track with the chosen writing material I need to finish before publication.

This blue binder isn’t the only thing I have. I also have other binders that hold other printed stories awaiting my attention, like the very first book I have written when I was ready to start 7th grade. I have journals that hold handwritten stories I produced when I was a little girl and a teenager. They are pending computer typing meanwhile I edit the rest of these stories.

This is a random strategy I am engaging in so that I can observe my thought process and determine which of my stories my emotions are taking me to. I think the reason I do this is because my brain gets bored and needs to zhuzh up my writing and editing routine before it can allow me to keep moving forward. This might sound like extra steps to some people, but others understand why I need to work with myself this way. I am sure there are others out there doing this exact thing.

It is a fact that we have different obstacles that stump us according to how our brains function individually as people. We see a lot of resources online that claim they have the ultimate method that works to get your writing done and published faster than expected. However, if I were to write a famous article, I’d tell you that there is no singular method that will work well for everyone to finish a project quickly. What works for you personally that you consider to be normal might be considered unorthodox to society.

Part of keeping yourselves grounded is knowing who you guys are as writers. I keep myself grounded on my writing and editing routines by making these blog posts. They make me happy. They allow me to connect with you guys out there in the world. They remind me that I am not alone as a struggler. I make the habit of occasionally reading about other people’s writing, editing and publishing struggles. Mentally, blogging helps me process my thoughts and feelings and helps figure out why I am or am not doing what I do or don’t do while I take the journey to make this writing dream come true. 

[infi8ity]

∞

HE WAS AN INEBRIATED HOPELESS MESS.

you could tell as much from the phone call. barely could you make out a sentence through his slurred words and the loud music, but you had picked up on several, i miss you’s and you were my everything’s. 

a small part of you wanted to hang up on him and go back to sleep-- if one could call being wide awake, tossing and turning-- but you were still friends. good friends. it had been a few months but a three year relationship ended through mutual decision didn’t erase a decade’s long friendship. 

and even if the breakup had been messy, you knew that he’d come to you in a heartbeat. 

you found him perched against the wall of the bar, lost in a drunken thought when you drove up. perhaps the thought somewhere along the lines of, why the fuck did i ask my ex to come pick my drunk ass up at 3 in the morning?, was running through his head. because the exact opposite thought was sure running through yours. 

you park the car across the street and can’t help the loud sigh that escapes you. a million different scenarios of how the rest of your night could go, plays through your head and each of them ends with even more heartache on your behalf.

you rest your head against the steering wheel, and mutter to yourself, “grow a pair y/n.” 

exiting the car, you shiver and pull your coat tighter around you, the chilling night’s wind a harsh reminder that he was standing outside shaking like a leaf from his lack of a jacket. it was the middle of winter. how messed up did he get?

you coolly make your way towards him. in utter awe at the sight of you, he leans his head against the brick wall, grinning lazily. that goddamn smile. the lamppost behind you illuminates his features. allowing you to give in to the temptations and admire him once more. his cheeks are dusted pink and his lips are slightly chapped from the cold. his eyes are glossed over and his pupils dilated. 

“hi beautiful,” he says. his voice raspy and hoarse. 

you could say the same to him. but you only narrow your eyes. a silent warning. you knew his tricks and games. “don’t hi beautiful me. It's three in the morning. i have to get up for work in a few hours. you know this.”

he sighs regretfully and slides against the wall to the snow littered concrete. “i do, i know. i’m sorry y/n.” he replies, his head in his hands. 

“and it’s freezing out. where’s your jacket?” 

no response. you lightly toe his shoe with your boot. 

“hey. where’s your jacket? and where are your keys?” 

he looks up at you beneath his lashes and huffs a laugh, void of any humor. “i’ve got no fucking clue y/n. not the slightest. i don’t even know what i’m doing here. i don’t even know why i wasted your time calling you here.” 

“are you okay?” you inquire, voice laced with concern. 

“are you? we haven’t spoken in a while. and i miss you.”

“so you’ve said.” he quirks an eyebrow. “over the phone. among other things.”

“oh,” he groans melodramatically. “how bad?”

“terrible. pretty sure you said something about me having a killer body-,”

“jackass.” 

you shrug and lean against the wall next to him. “hey, you know you can talk to me if something’s going on.”

he nods, acknowledging you. “i know. i know.” he stands, albeit disjointedly and stepping on your toe in the process. “i’m sorry for waking you. i’ll just walk home.” he says to no one in particular, making his way across the street. 

you smack your teeth and reach out for his arm. stubbornly, he pulls against you and you latch on to his fingers, holding tightly. “jesus you’re freezing,” you whisper, your breath forming in the air. “and you’re going the wrong way genius. you live the other way. you’re so fucked up right now you can’t even tell. i don’t want to argue with you. just get in the car.”

he doesn’t bother to reply, he simply opts to stare into your eyes. searching. hoping. and for a second you forget its cold as hell. for a second, you forget that he’s no longer yours. you feel his thumb brush against the back of your hand and you flinch. there it is. that trap. 

you snatch your hand back. nope.

“y/n...” he groans strangely.

“don’t say another word. just get in the-,”

and the motherfucker retches into the snow and on to your boots. 

∞

the car ride to your apartment was silent. thank god. mostly because he’d fallen asleep sometime during the fifteen minute drive. but still, thank everything holy. the silence gave you time to think about whatever the fuck that was and confront the horrifying fact that he still had a choke hold on you. 

you shudder at the thought, all the way from the car to your front door. the shudder stays even as you slip out of your boots marked with bodily fluid and into your house slippers. you toss his dead weight to the sofa collapsing to the floor, breathless, you nearly fall with him. 

you fix a glass of iced water and grab two pain killers and a stomach soothing pill from the kitchen. when you make your way back to the living room, he’s moved from the sofa to the rug. you kick at his unconscious form, startling him

“sorry. take this. wash it down and drink all of it.” you hand him the pills and water, standing directly over him to watch him carefully as he follows your directions. “i’m going to run the shower for you. okay?”

he mutters something incoherent, pulling a pillow from the sofa and flopping on his side comfortably. 

“and take your goddamn shoes off in my house,” you call over your shoulder. “caveman.”

he grunts a caveman-like response.

you snort and shuffle to your bedroom to rummage through the drawers for some of his clothes that you never thought to return. strangely enough most of his shirts and joggers sat in your laundry basket... as if ... a certain someone had been wearing them to bed or late night trips to the store...

the steam from the hot shower engulfs the room whilst you lay out clothing, body wash, an unopened toothbrush, mouthwash, and-- towels. shoot. you open the closet and fish for towels when he stumbles in. 

“oh hey, i was just about to come get you and ohmygodwhatareyoudoing?”

you lift the towels to your eyes to obstruct the view of him pulling his pants down to take a piss. he’s so fucking out of it. you’re sure he hasn’t even noticed your presence. 

“jesus!”

you hurriedly rush out of the bathroom, throwing the towels behind you and running to your room which happened to be void of half naked exes. it was going to be a long night. 

an hour later, you’d nearly drifted back off into sleep when there’s a knock at your door. 

“come in.” you croak, switching on your bedside lamp.

he opens the door, peaking in, fully dressed, hair damp. “you don’t happen to have a blanket or something do you? i was half tempted to use your rug for warmth.” 

you press your palm to your head and curse. “no, i’m sorry, a friend stole my only one because she liked the designs.”

“oh,”

“yeah.”

“that’s fine. goodnight y/n. thank you anyways.” he starts to close the door.

“wait,” you’re going to regret this so much. “honestly you’re plenty familiar with this bed.” he clears his throat at the sudden rush of memories. “just sleep in here. i can make a pillow wall or something.”

the room stands so still and silent it almost makes you want to scream. was that weird to offer? did you overstep? 

“are you sure?” he asks, slowly making his way in. 

no! “yeah, pfft i don’t care.”

“cause i was fine with using your dish towel. really.” you giggle at the smart remark.

a familiar sensation one could only describe as nostalgia fills you when you feel the bed dip in as he crawls in beside you. you’d lived through this night routine countless times. some part of you half hoped that he’d lean over to give you a goodnight’s kiss and tell you he loved you. like he used to. like he did hundreds of times before.

but he doesn’t. 

he simply places a pillow in between you two and you turn out the light. you both had more to say to each other. but in your hearts they were best left as words unspoken.

“goodnight y/n.” i still love you.

“goodnight.” i still love you too.

∞

© infi8ity. do not repost, translate, or modify my work.

[gemsofgreece]

Hello! How do we use πάω vs φεύγω vs βγαίνω? In English, I can say "I didn't go out" or "I didn't leave the house," and they are sort of the same thing. Similarly, I can say "I'm going now!" and "I'm leaving now!" and they are sort of the same too. But then, for "I am going to the store," it sounds a little strange to say "I leave to the store" or "I go out to the store." How does it work in Greek?

Hi! I will give you all the uses of each verb (or at least all I can think of) to help you get the hang of them.

Φεύγω (~ leave, depart)

Please notice how I wrote the English words are similar meanings, but not identical. In fact, φεύγω is closer to “depart” than it is to “leave”. Leave sort of means “let / let go of” which is why you can just say “I leave home” without a preposition. Φεύγω does not have a “let go of” meaning, it has a depart meaning except it focuses on the movement of abandoning one place. (There is another verb with the exact meaning of “depart”.) But in any case it would be easier for you if you thought of φεύγω as a more regular, everyday version of “depart” with an extra focus on the movement of departing.

This is why it is important to use φεύγω with prepositions:

από / from: φεύγω από το σπίτι (I depart from home)

για / for : φεύγω για την δουλειά ( I am leaving / departing for work), you use this one to indicate the direction indirectly through your intention

BONUS: You cannot say “I am leaving to the store”. Φεύγω just means depart, so you can only describe the place you are leaving behind or your intention for leaving it, but not where you are heading. So, you won’t say “I am leaving to the store” but as explained, you will say “I am leaving for the store” or something like “I am leaving for shopping” (φεύγω για ψώνια). In short, you can not use φεύγω with the preposition σε (in, to, at), unless of course you use it for time and not for place (φεύγω σε μια ώρα = I am off in an hour).

HOWEVER, you can use φεύγω with the preposition προς (towards). In this case, the meaning of the verb shifts towards “set off”. For example, φεύγω προς την άλλη κατεύθυνση = I am setting off towards the other direction (which implies you were already in one direction and you are now abandoning it for a different one). This however is a more niche use, like you are monitoring your route. For a less specific analysis of your movement, stick to the intention of για.

When it comes to travelling, it’s one of the rare cases prepositions are overlooked. For example, φεύγω (για) διακοπές = I am off to vacation. The για (which, again, shows intention, can be skipped in this case). But don’t skip the prepositions in other situations.

Βγαίνω (= get out, go out, exit, come out of - to, turn out, get released etc)

Βγαίνω describes the process of getting out of something. Consequently, it can be used in endless situations. Βγαίνω can be used with various prepositions and it can have both literal and figurative meanings.

Get out - exit meanings:

από / of, from: βγαίνω από το μαγαζί = I am exiting / getting out of the store

σε / to, into : βγαίνω στο μπαλκόνι = I am getting out to the balcony. Just like the English version, it implies you got out of the interior of the house to get to the balcony.

Note: βγαίνω από εκεί (= I am getting out of there) BUT βγαίνω εκεί (I am getting out there). In this sense, it is similar to how English works.

Also note: βγαίνω από την πόρτα (I am getting out through the door) BUT βγαίνω στην πόρτα (I am showing up to the door, implied that you did the process of getting out of the house through the door but now you are staying there so this was your destination).

Go out meanings:

It can be used on its own to denote you are going out, because it implies you get out of your house. (Θα βγω απόψε = I am going out tonight).

Βγαίνω έξω (obviously this works because Greek has no phrasal verbs, it’s not “I am going out out”, it’s “I am going outside”.

σε / to, at : Βγαίνω στην πόλη / στα μαγαζιά / στο κέντρο (I am going out to the city, the shops, downtown) etc

Βγαίνω (σε) ραντεβού (I am going out to a date, σε is correct but it is often skipped.

για / for : this preposition can be always used safely for intention i.e Βγαίνω για ψώνια (I am going out shopping, literally "for purchases") or Βγαίνω για φαγητό (I am going out dining, literally "for food")

Come out of - to meanings:

-Βγαίνω από την κρυψώνα = come out of the hideout -Βγαίνω στην διασταύρωση = come out to the crossroad (implied that you came out of the one direction road) -Βγαίνω στο ξέφωτο = come out to the forest clearing

These are just some examples. Anything that has a meaning of such a nature can be used here.

Turn out meanings:

- Βγαίνω σωστός / αληθινός = turn out to be correct about something, true in my assessment etc

Can be used similarly in many cases and for several adjectives.

Get released and similar meanings:

- Βγαίνει το αποτέλεσμα, η απόφαση, η εφημερίδα, η ταινία = respectively: the results come out (of a medical, educational or other examination), the decision (for example in a court), the newspaper when the new issue is released, the movie out to the cinemas and countless other uses.

Of course, there are plenty of verbs that are often way more specific to all these situations described but βγαίνω is a very common verb of broad usage that is also particularly helpful when your vocabulary is still limited.

Πηγαίνω / πάω (= go, head to, move, transfer sth somewhere, doing)

Πηγαίνω and its shorter form πάω can also be used in numerous situations. Obviously, it can totally be used with σε and προς (to, in, at, into, towards). It can be used with για / for to show intention once more, in the way it has already been analysed above for the other verbs. It is rarely used with από / from (ie πάω από την άλλη πλευρά = I am going from the other side) because it generally only shows where you are going to, but you can make a full sentence that describes your route like «πηγαίνω από το σπίτι στην δουλειά» (= I am going from home to work).

It can be used with με (with, by) to denote the mode of transportation (πηγαίνω με τα πόδια = I go on foot, πηγαίνω με το αυτοκίνητο = I am going with the car, driving there). Actually this also applies for the verb φεύγω. Με can also be used with anything else that can be added with the preposition "with": company, luggage, some other quality, some other description.

It can be used for travelling again without necessary prepositions ie πηγαίνω ταξίδι / διακοπές / εκδρομή = I go on vacation / on a trip / on an excursion.

Πηγαίνω is such a regular, common word to use that this is the reason sometimes the prepositions are skipped in its case, when speaking in a hurry or when you are too bored to say much, however this doesn’t mean it’s grammatically correct.

Πηγαίνω μπρος, πίσω, δεξιά, αριστερά = go, move ahead, back, right, left. It can be used even for small movements but even for huge ones, πηγαίνω σε άλλη χώρα (= I am moving to another country).

Πηγαίνω / πάω can also have the meaning of transferring something. But only transferring, not sending, you have to be included in the transfer, you have to be the one delivering. For example, πηγαίνω τα φάρμακα στην γιαγιά (I am getting the medicine to the grandma).

Πηγαίνω is used metaphorically in Greek in the way do is used in English. For example, τα πήγα καλά στο διαγώνισμα = I did well in the school test or πάμε από το κακό στο χειρότερο = we’re doing worse and worse (often used in our country, don’t ask why). Also, θα πας ψηλά = you will go high, meaning “you will become great”.

Wow that turned into a full blown lesson. So, to come back now to your exact questions:

In English, I can say "I didn't go out" or "I didn't leave the house," and they are sort of the same thing.

Same with Greek. You can say both «Δεν βγήκα» and «Δεν έφυγα από το σπίτι». But they are sort of the same thing like you said, not the exact same thing, just like in English.

Similarly, I can say "I'm going now!" and "I'm leaving now!" and they are sort of the same too.

You can say «Πάω τώρα!», «Φεύγω τώρα!» and «Βγαίνω τώρα!» in Greek to your housemate as you are ready to go too.

But then, for "I am going to the store," it sounds a little strange to say "I leave to the store" or "I go out to the store."

This depends on whether you mean reaching physically a particular store or going shopping generally. If you mean a particular store, you can say these:

- Πηγαίνω στο μαγαζί. (I am going to the store) - Φεύγω για το μαγαζί. (I am departing / setting off for the store) - You will indeed not use βγαίνω (go out) in this particular scenario.

If it’s generally going shopping, you can say many things:

- Πηγαίνω στα μαγαζιά / στα καταστήματα / στην αγορά. (I am going to the shops / marketplace etc) - Πηγαίνω για ψώνια / αγορές. (I am going -for- shopping) - Φεύγω για τα μαγαζιά / καταστήματα / την αγορά. (I am setting off / departing for the shops) - Φεύγω για ψώνια / αγορές. (I am setting off / departing for - going - shopping) - Βγαίνω στα μαγαζιά / στα καταστήματα / στην αγορά. (I am going out to the shops.) - Βγαίνω για ψώνια / αγορές. (I am going out for shopping)

In conclusion, I think there are various ways to go about the same thing, the tricky part is not so much the verb itself, I think, but the preposition you have to use for it to make sense. But once you get the hang of each preposition’s meaning, then most are easy to use because their usage is only based on their meaning, there are no irregularities:

Από = from, out of

Σε = to, into, in, at

Προς = towards

Με = with, by

Words like μέσα , έξω, πίσω, μπροστά etc (inside, outside, back, forward etc) are adverbs that do not always need a preposition. But just so you know, you will find them both with and without extra prepositions (i.e πηγαίνω πίσω AND πηγαίνω προς τα πίσω). I won’t expand more, I already wrote too much (!) because I feel like I am niche-ing this answer too much and I do not know your level in Greek. I hope you found the answer you were looking for in regards to your level in my response!

[physalian]

The 150 Widget Maker (Fuck Corporate America)

I need to vent for a second, m’kay?

Let’s say my job is that I have 8 hours, no lunch, to make 150 widgets. And I’m really, really good at making widgets. I have the system down pat and I’ve personalized my method to make it as efficient as possible for me to make 150 as quickly and accurately as possible.

My job is not “make as many widgets as possible in 8 hours”. It is “you have 8 hours every day to make at least 150 widgets”.

I do not get extra pay for going above 150. My “merit increase” is already lagging severely behind inflation to the point where it’s almost insulting when I get told I get an extra $0.40 like they’re doing me a big favor.

Now, at one point, I did once make over 150 widgets a day, and do OT to make even more widgets.

Then I suffered some burnout and had to reassess my work-life balance. So I cut back, slowly, gradually, to doing the 150, even though the minimum used to be 130, the minimum has increased while the pay has stayed the same.

Thing is.

We all have 8 hours to make 150 widgets. I however, have been caught frontloading my work and having the extra time to myself. Meanwhile my teammates who purposefully build their widgets slowly with weaponized incompetence, spread out their time. If I work, say, straight through super speedy, and make my 150 in 6 hours, that’s a whole 2 hour chunk of me time. My teammates have the exact same aggregate 2 hours, theirs is just spread out in between each widget. Difference is, I physically cannot force myself to be that lazy.

Now, obviously I’m not sitting at the assembly line under the gaze of my supervisor with a book and a coffee for those two hours. I got caught because there’s an invisible little robot in the conveyer belt counting how many times I touch the belt, while the human supervisors are far away in another warehouse.

I thought the robot only had a camera, so to speak, so let’s say I set up a me-shaped cardboard cutout weighted to keep my conveyer belt moving. I thought that was enough. No, I need to make sure the cardboard cutout is slapping the conveyer belt every few seconds and sliding widget pieces around. The existence of the robot does not encourage me to work harder at my job, it encourages me to work harder figuring out how to evade my job.

Could I make more widgets? Well yes. But I’ve learned the hard way that efficient work only gets you more work. Why should it matter how I spend those 2 hours? I know why, but just humor me. If we’re all getting paid for 2 hours of not working, then me lumping it all in at the end should be treated absolutely no differently than the people sabotaging their own output to look incompetent.

Either offer me an incentive, like a living wage, to make more widgets, or punish all of us equally for that downtime and reassess what about the process can be fixed so we maximize our efforts and want to work harder. Which starts with some fucking respect, and not micromanaging us with invisible robots like babies in a crib.

I can either be overworked or underpaid. I cannot tolerate being both.

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk. Fuck Corporate America.

[cherry-pyon]

The four seasons of

Mankai Company

Synopsis: Things escalated quicker than you can process but luckily it ended well, for now. The four of you are on a mission to find new members, form the first troupe, and bring it to Furuichi until sunset or else the demolition of your father's agency will continue! Although you and your big sister are sure to find one, or two if you're lucky enough, is it just easier said than done? Or you'll be able to hold the title of 'The Saviour of Mankai Company'?

⚠️Reminders⚠️:

May contain incorrect grammars (English is not my first language)

Will follow the manga, but there will be a lot of changes

Different flow of story due to two protagonists (you and Izumi)

Reader is 16 while Izumi is 24 (not canon but is considered)

Fem!reader

Long ass series so I won't blame you if you get bored the first time you look at it

P.s: A3! Characters are legally and respectfully owned by Liber Entertainment Inc. and I do not claim them. I only own the changes in the plot of the story.

|☆Chapter 1| |☆Chapter 2|

Chapter 111:

Spring is...back?

You're trying to catch your breath. Both of your hands are now gripping tightly in your sling bag as you stand still beside a lamp post where your big sister holds onto for dear life. Your chest huffs and puffs and continues to seek for air to fill your deprived lungs

"Nee-san, are you sure we can find new members here?" It's the first thing you said before she looked up to you. You can see her drained face like the life inside of her has been sucked out, her grip is still on the lamp post as she motioned her other hand to wait for her answer. "I told you to slow down! I almost tripped on my feet earlier, you know!" you scolded your big sister, to which she just laughed off as her way of apologizing between her nonstop pants. The two males had just finished catching their breaths and are now looking concerned at the two of you

"Is she-"

"She's okay, Matsukawa-san, sorry for making the two of you worry" You swiftly turned your whole body to them with a reassuring smile whilst your hands are kept behind your back and bowed respectfully for causing such a ruckus, right now you're trying to distract them from your sister—who's now at the verge of dying but she can't just die yet, you still have a mission to accomplish!

A few minutes had passed, you decide to look behind your shoulder when your big sister finally replies to you, "Trust your big sister on this, (Y/n). I promise you I'll do the best that I can!" She proudly said with her hand pressing on her chest

"Ahhhh, this will save our agency!" Matsukawa cried out of happiness, the other boy couldn't hide his smile while he looked at the two of you

Now that you remember it, haven't the two of you met before arriving at the theater? You were confused as to why he acts as if you weren't there, you felt a pain in your chest as you dramatically closed your eyes while your lips formed a pout, you were lost in your own thoughts until you heard a familiar voice near you

"Hey! I'm sorry I couldn't find the perfect timing to talk to you earlier, but I'm so glad that we met again!!" You heard his cheery voice, the one that held so much passion earlier on stage, you opened your eyes and turned your head to your side, your eyes met his that matched the color of his beautiful dark-pink hair, together with his lovely smile that illuminated an exact replica of how each and every flowers bloom every time spring season arrives. He held so much joy that you can feel yourself hallucinate cherry blossoms blooming around his face, just like the first time you met

"I also couldn't find the perfect timing to talk to you, but I'm also glad to meet you again. I was also surprised to find out that we're actually going to the same location" you curved your lips into a small smile; a gentle one, he chuckled to your reply, "I was really surprised I saw you from the audience! How's my performance?" He was quick to switch the topic as he cannot wait any longer for your comment. "It was good! The talking parrot surprised me for a bit but you're good at acting, I think you just need some more experience and also members" his cheeks slightly turned pink and thanked you upon hearing your personal remark, he didn't know but just hearing it from you makes him feel like he doesn't need anyone's comments anymore; yours is the only acceptable one, but he brushed it off as he thought that's a bit too selfish to think about for someone he just met

Izumi clapped her hands to gain the other three's attention, to which she successfully did. "Come on now, everyone. There's no time for us to feel safe" she starts to walk away and motions her hands to follow her steps, "We have to find new members, we can't let him know we're just lying!"

And with that, you heard the manager scream as if his life was going to end now, actually, you knew this was coming so you covered your ears, you can't help but to look around after that, seeing lots of eyes looking at him weirdly for causing such a scene

"W-WHAT?! L-LIE? IT WAS ALL A LIE?!"

"It was more like a street act than a lie" your big sister pouts her lips in pure disappointment as he corrected him, I mean it shattered her heart knowing that thing wasn't considered a top-tier acting even though the first time she acted was in elementary

You averted your eyes from the two males, you know very well you're your big sister's accomplice because this feels more like a crime than a lie

"S-so our agency will actually be demolished?" You turned your head to the dark-pink haired boy-that-you-still-don't- know-the-name-until-now-because-it-kept- slipping-out-of-your-mind as his voice cracked, 'He's about to cry, nee-san! It's all your faulttt' you can see how his eyes attempted to tear up. The manager crouched down as he kept crying, not giving care about the people who came across him in this state

"We have to find new members to cancel it" Your big sister begins to look around for someone who looks interested in acting, "I don't think you can find someone who wants to act just by looking at their clothes and their aura alone, nee-san, that's called being judgemental" your sister tried to ignore your words as she kept her eyes on the lookout and her lips whistling as if to block your voice. "Nee-san!" You shouted as she began to sneak away from you and you caught her in action, "Don't act like you didn't hear me!" She tried to laugh it off but you gave her an unimpressed look

"I don't know what I can do, but please let me help too!" The boy politely interrupted as he openly rests his hand to his chest, 'Well atleast we have another help' you sighed in relief. Your sister, on the other hand, cooed at the boy's offer as she dramatically wiped a non-existent tear from her eyes, her hands clasped together and she approached the said boy

"What a sweet boy!" She unexpectedly ruffled the boys' hair, to which surprised the latter. Then she was quick to switch to pinching both of his cheeks which earned an uncomfortable groan from him, you tried to hide your laugh as the poor boy from your sister's grasp was trying his best to seek help. She stopped as she apologized to the boy who had his cheeks puffed up red and swollen

"Ah! By the way, I'm Tachibana Izumi and this is my little sister Tachibana (Y/n), what's your name?" She asked, atleast it didn't slip through your sister's mind, she saved you from it, you scooted closer to your sister as you mumbled a small, "It's nice to meet you"

"My name is Sakuya Sakuma. "Saku" as in "Bloom" Nice to meet you!" He happily bowed just like you did

Now that everything is settled, in the meantime, and now that you finally know his name, all you can worry about is how you and your big sister will find new members and bring it to Furuichi by sunset. You think that the three of you are depending on your big sister, but you don't want her to take all the responsibility, you're also here for a purpose, and you don't want your sister to take all of the problems and burdens and keep it to herself, you want to prove that she can also depend on you when it comes to situations like this. And with that, you decided that it's time for you to speak up and let them hear your own suggestion

"I think that if we need new members, we need to promote the agency. We need to start by showing them what we can provide and what makes the Mankai Company better than the others!"

"That's a great idea! What can the Mankai Company provide?" Your little sister happily agreed with your idea and turned his attention to Matsukawa, this of course boosts your pride as you can't help but smile so idiotically, you just wished someone won't catch you in the act for this kind of concerning behaviour

"The Mankai Company provides a personal dorm for members, and they get to eat my cooking, two times, day and night!!" Matsukawa proudly replied, atleast now he can show off how good of a cook he is

"Well that doesn't seem too bad now, is it? Let's proceed with that!" Izumi hummed in agreement, feeling really motivated, "Lil sis, you'll be the interviewer and we'll be managers in charge of the auditions, okay?" She added, which horrified you. "What?! Why me?!" You whined as you tried to protest, but to no avail, your big sister doesn't let this one slip out and ignores your childish cavil. You simply just moved on about it as you had no other choice but to do it, it's for the sake of your father's agency, although you're a bit too hesitant to go all the way just for it to be saved, you know your sister's true to her words when she told Furuichi just how persistent she is at cancelling the demolition, and you don't want to crush all of her hardworks. It won't be for too long, so trust your big sister on this

"The recruitment for Mankai Company starts now! And the audition for new members will start" You purposely made your voice a little bit louder than normal so you would successfully gain the attention of random passersby. Although, given this to be your first ever street act, you can't avoid the shakiness and cracks of your voice, making you more embarrassed than you were before, it cringed you honestly, but you're ready to take risks, just for the agency to be in peace

"First! My name is Sakuya Sakuma, 17 years old!" His voice came out shaky too, it seems like no matter how hard he tries to act very confidently, his actions do the opposite effect and he hates it, he wants to show everyone how exciting and how fun performing can be but he guessed maybe now's not the right time, not when he still lacks experience

The street act went smoothly, in your perspective, you know very well the passersby are in complete contrast with your view, about your own story, and even though you get strange looks from random people, you've begun to grow tired of others misjudging you at first glance

"What's that?"

"Oh my, that looks awful"

"Is that supposed to be a street act?"

"Is it a part of a punishment game?"

You can see how your sister's face gloomed, which worsened the supposedly lively and cheerful mood you all had, "Oh...no one even gathered around us" It was like you both could read each other's minds and decided to drop the act right after she saw how ashamed you must have felt while looking around, seeing no one took any interest in your performance (except for one). You risked your dignity and sanity for this and yet no one was there to even watch it longer? Not fair, not fair at all

The streets were back to normal, almost as if nothing had happened. You silently walked out from the rest, looking around to examine the structures of different shops, you noticed a sidewalk, a bit higher than the street you were into so it's clearly above. It was right in front of you in a small alleyway, just between two tall shops. There, you noticed a single person leaning their arms on the sidewalk's pavement fence, is he looking at you? Maybe? But if he's focused on you then, maybe he's interested, it feels like he's been there for a while, but oh well! It won't hurt to try and ask so you let your feet lead your way to the strange guy

'Let's just hope he likes acting'

"Excuse me, are you perhaps interested in acting?" You went in the alleyway on the other side of the road as you raised your head to look up to him, he was startled for a bit when you started talking to him—his cheeks slowly burning and a dust of pink can be seen if you pay close attention

"E-ehh? Uhmmm.." his lips moved a little but his voice can't be heard, it seems like he was mumbling something to himself but you can't really hear it because of the distance between you and him

"Maybe you saw our performance, or maybe not, but right now we're in desperate need of new members-"

"(Y/n)! What are you doing over there?" You were quick to turn your head when you heard your sister call you out, they crossed the road to get to you and were curious to know who you were talking to just now, you are about to explain when Sakuya spoke

"Eh? Masumi-kun? Aren't you Usui Masumi-kun?" He was the first to initiate a conversation with the mysterious guy

"Do you guys know each other?" It was your big sister's turn to ask, and Sakuya was quick to nod in response, also humming with it

"We never talked to each other before, but he is my underclassmen" Sakuya gave out a cheerful smile, while the guy who's named Masumi was much more doing the opposite: he was frowning as he holds the headphones dangling from his neck, attempting to put it back on as he observed us from above

"Who?"

"Masumiiii!" He fake cried, expecting to get Masumi to feel guilty but he felt no remorse at all

"Uhmm..Masumi-kun, if you're interested, why don't you try to join?" Izumi offered, clasping both her hands on the side of her face as she tilted her head to the side, willingly waiting for either his refusal or approval. It went silent for like five seconds before he could muster up the energy for an answer, or rather another question

But before that, he held onto the fence really tight and hopped over it and did a stunt you all didn't expect, you had a mini heart attack from what he did because it was kinda high and it's scary but you're left amazed and impressed at the same time

"Is she also a member?" He was surprisingly calm right after he did that scary stunt. He averted his gaze from everyone else but he kept stealing glances at you every second. Surely, he doesn't want you to feel uncomfortable by his eyes slowly burning a hole through you from all of that gazing and glancing. You don't know but your sister can smell something fishy going around, and she's certain that she can't just let it slide

"Eh?? Oh kids these days..." She sighed at herself while clicking her tongue in disapproval, but the only thing that didn't match her overall behaviour was her smile creeping up, you weren't too happy about it, I mean your big sister is back to being that typical aunt that likes to ship you with almost every boy he met, not to mention her being too similar to that one aunt you both have in your hometown

"Nee-san, you're acting way too similar to auntie Rina" you joked, while giving her the 'I'm tired of this stuff, Nee-san' look, she only replied to you with a knowing smile, thinking that you're just acting too shy about it

"I don't know about that Mas-"

"What are you talking about?! She's one of our boss! Both of them are our directors!" Matsukawa interrupted, which was unexpected and it surprised the two of you because he had been real quiet after that horrible street act

'I haven't even agreed to join yet' Izumi thought but she realized it was too late to back out now, she hopes this won't be too hard of a job

"I will join if she's there" He finalized his words with a quick glance at you, which you didn't quite catch but your big sister was quick enough to nudge your shoulder and tease you

"Really? You'll join?!" Sakuya was too happy to care about how harsh Masumi is to him, he was quick on his feet to run towards him

"I don't care about you"

"That's true, but I'm happy!" He tried to hug him but he was quick to dodge and grabbed Sakuya's hair, pushing him down as Sakuya tried to fight back by grasping his arms

"You hear that (Y/n)? He's so sweet, that boy is sweet"

"Nee-san, pleaseee" you whined, not really in the mood for things such as this

Izumi was having fun teasing you about it, Masumi can't stop looking at you, Sakuya and Matsukawa are way too busy celebrating and here you are, trying your best to stay calm and composed

'What should we do? I didn't even decide to join yet' You bit your lip as you felt your anxiety rising up, can you really handle such a big responsibility?

'But he's our newest member, it feels bad deceiving him, but I guess I should keep it in me for now'

"Entry no.2: Masumi Usui, sixteen years old, my hobby is listening to music, and my reason to join Mankai Company is to support the director"

And right after that, girls swooned around him, completely blocking him from the others, you can see how he's trying his best to break free, which he successfully did, but the girls were still busy sticking to him like some leech, squealing and screaming then and there

"Masumi-kun is so cool!!" Sakuya exclaimed in awe, too stunned with how much effect Masumi has on the girls

"He's well composed, and he's incredibly good" you mumbled as Matsukawa hummed in agreement

It was obvious how irritated he is, with the way his eyebrows furrowed as he looked behind him where the girls were, and it was obvious how his mood quickly changed from irritated to head-over-heels. I swear you're starting to think if this was some sort of prank or act

"Really?"

"EEKKK!" You swear you felt your life was sucked out of you when he suddenly popped out in front, he mumbled out a worried "Sorry" before patiently waiting for your reply

"How's my performance?"

"It was good!"

"Did I do well just now?" You can hear how desperate he is for your answer just by his tone

"Your performance was outstanding-" Matsukawa decided to join in, but was quickly cut off by Masumi himself

"I'm not talking to you" He shot a glare to Matsukawa before taking all of his attention back to you

"Yes! Yes! Just continue doing that!" You replied back, feeling too bad about the manager's cries of sorrows. But honestly, you don't know anymore, you exhaled right after he blushed at your comments and left the scene. Right now you're trying to regain who you are the seconds before the incident. Izumi tried to cover her mouth and keep herself from laughing way too loud, you glared at her as you tried to cover your blush from the close proximity with him minutes ago. You're having a hard time differentiating what's true and what's not

"That was a good performance, Masumi-kun" Your big sister clapped her hands to gain the attention of the two boys across the street, Masumi politely thanked your sister, completely ignoring Sakuya who kept complimenting his performance

You were too relaxed knowing that you found another member that the deadline had slipped out of your mind, you reminded everyone as they came to realization except for Masumi who was a bit confused, but you'll explain the rest later and right now, all of you should run right now because time's running as well. You can see the station where you and your sister came from (Ch.1) and you caught a glimpse of a familiar person who just turned

"Nee-san! I know just the right person to find" you ran off, completely ignoring their calls because you might be too late to stop him

"Hey, (Y/n)!" Izumi groaned when you were nowhere to be seen, she began to panic about the thought of you getting lost because both of you are unfamiliar with this place

"Don't worry, I'll follow her" Masumi dashed away which left Izumi fumbling to find the right words to stop him

"Masumi-kun!" Sakuya was next to run. Izumi and Matsukawa— who were both being tagged into this mess had no other choice but to follow and run too

"PLEASE WAIT!" You don't care anymore, you don't care about attracting the attention of everyone who was there, he's the only last hope you have

"E-eh? Oh! It's you!" You were relieved he already recognized you, as you held onto your legs and pant uncontrollably, earning a worried look from the said male. It took you minutes for your breathing to be back to normal, maybe it'd be best if you never ran from the start

"You said you were looking for a dorm, right?!" He was confused at first but nods to your question

As you were about to introduce your agency, you were left astounded when you heard a familiar voice shouting not too far in front of the station

"PLEASE JOIN MANKAI COMPANY!!! WE PROVIDE DORM AND MEALS TWICE A DAY!!"

"Meals twice a day?!" It was more than enough for him to turn his head to find the source of this generous offer

'It seems like everyone managed to catch up' you sighed in relief as the blue-ish sky had started to slowly turn orange

[mydearestbeloved]

so i was watching some let's play on youtube and i was wondering if you took inspired from max caulfied from life is strange when you created trial player!reader. i can't help but make a connection considered that max and reader have time-related power and butterfly motif with butterfly effect. sorry everywhere i go i see my fae queen

?System¿:

[Ask submitted.

Thank you for sending your ask, Reader!

System will now connect you to 《Author》]

.

.

.

Thank you for sharing your thoughts! It genuinely made me happy that others are taking interest in this story of mine. 💞

Now onto your ask, I'm afraid to say that this is just pure coincidence. I didn't even know Max Caufield and Life is Strange until you sent me this ask. So, let me explain a bit more on my inspirations for Trial Player!Reader's powers as of (19/11/24):

Butterflies 🦋

Let's see, Trial Player!Reader's butterflies have roughly three main powers: <Devour>, <Illusory>, and <Conversion>.

My inspirations for them could be divided into two: from other fictional works and from real life.

I already explained the real life inspirations here, including some of the logic behind Reader's and her butterflies' current powers, and why I added <Conversion> in her arsenal.

As for inspirations from others fictional works, I was mainly inspired by Roxana from The Way to Protect the Female Lead's Older Brother.

For recap: so far, Roxana's familiars, the Poisonous Butterflies have two types that are shown. Carnivorous, in which they can devour flesh almost immediately, and Hallucinogenic, in which they can cast illusions on people. It is also shown that the poisonous butterflies can share somewhat of a telepathic link to its owner, hence why Roxana can use them to gain information as spies or trackers.

How I write Trial Player!Reader is similar.

<Devour> is when her children feast. The difference with Roxana's is that Reader's butterflies mainly feed on and use the enemies' direct energy (lifeforce), with or without eating flesh and or blood.

<Illusory> and Reader's telepathic connection to her butterflies work more or less the same as Roxana's, though I'm still trying to bring more logic into them to make this story a bit more unique in its own right.

Time-related Power ⏳️

I don't remember any particularly significant fictional works that inspired me for this one. I just love the Healer role in fantasy the most, followed closely by support and mainly-magic-related roles. For Healers, I was frustated that many of those fictional works often didn't expand on the their concept more.

Since I love mixing logic with magic, I often thought: How did Healers actually heal wounds? I want something a bit different than just "Magic makes everthing possible!"

It just came to me one day that time-related magic just fit very well with Healers. How do Healers heal wounds? By speeding up the natural healing process. I found that this concept fit more to my style as well.

If we took the route: Healers create a new patch of the damaged body part and just reattach it; what of the body's natural defense mechanism then? Our body will reject any foreign matter to protect us.

Even if Healers managed to make the exact same replica of our damaged body parts, layer by layer, how can they actually do that when, even now, we still didn't fully know all the wonders of the body? Only the one who creates us knows, so it just didn't make any sense for us, the creations, to create ourselves without any sort of intervention from above.

Plus, in that kind of route, we might as well call it creation magic instead of healing magic, which beats the point of the one doing it be a so called "Healer".

I'm not saying that my take on this is more correct or better than others, or that mine didn't have any flaws. This is just my personal opinion. And I actually would love to see other different takes on this. 🤩

Extra

I want to add one more thing: Time-related power is not the full extend of Trial Player!Reader's powers. It is just the main thing I highlighted for now because Reader is currently stuck in 'stasis'. All will be revealed in the future. 😉

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Once again, I thank you for your interest and support in this story of mine. 💞