#My uncles job is paying for it an he’s has some tickets

[makkie-is-screaming]

I might get to go deep sea fishing next weekend :)

[hereforreadandwrite]

Chapter Six

Masterlist

As Grandma Georgina had said, things have started to look up for the Bucket family. The next day Charlie helped his parents fix the roof, Grandpa Joe had spent the day out of bed, not feeling the slightest fatigue. Your uncle had found a new job, he was fixing the machines that took his job. As for you, you had resumed the course of your miserable life, you had resumed your work at Bill's shop, with the old clothes of your grandmothers and your aunt. You didn't have the courage to put on the clothes Willy bought you. It was still too painful for you. How could you be heartbroken when nothing was happening between you two? On the one hand, you could understand the fact that a family is a burden. But you couldn't forgive him for upsetting Charlie. Your cousin had started working as a shoe shiner, around the corner. A sigh escaped your lips as you finished placing the Wonka bars on the rack. You didn't want to think about that damn chocolatier, but you couldn't.

"Fucking chocolate," you muttered as you went into the back room to throw the empty box away with the others.

Another day of work had just ended. You left the shop to go to Charlie's workstation. You smile as you see the boy packing his things. The two cousins returned home. The dinner was taken in a religious silence. Ever since you visited the chocolate factory, your family barely spoke to you, especially Grandpa Joe. He was mad at you for the story of the golden ticket and for not letting him visit the chocolate factory one last time. It was stupid. Completely stupid.

"It's great that luck is finally smiling on us," Charlie said as he poured a sugary drink into the new glasses his parents had bought.

"We just needed time to bounce back," Mr. Bucket replied with a huge grin.

Time for them to bounce back. What about you? They always took your entire salary, leaving you penniless. In this chance, you were unhappy. Everyone was happy except you. Why were you the only one who had to suffer? You snapped out of your thoughts when you heard them laugh. You felt like they were laughing at you.

"Since Uncle Bucket is finally bouncing back and making a better living, I can finally keep my salary," you say, glaring at your uncle and aunt sternly.

Your request threw a chill in the cabin. Your gaze rested on your uncle and your aunt who did not know what to answer. They were serious? You shrug, fingering your food with your fork.

"It's true, now that you have a stable salary uncle. I'm going to start saving," you say, stuffing a piece of chicken in your mouth. "

We…we still have some difficulty, honey," Mrs. Bucket said with a tight smile.

"Me too. Since all my salary has been going into your pocket for several years. Besides, have you thought about paying me back everything you've taken from me since I was… uh… thirteen. Thirteen years of salary. That's a lot, isn't it?" you commented, throwing your cutlery on your plate.

"Charlie, go to your room," Mr. Bucket said as he put down his cutlery.

"Why should he leave? You have nothing to hide from him, do you?" you asked, glaring at your uncle.

"Charlie go to your room!"

"Charlie stay here!"

Charlie was staring between you and his panicked father. He didn't like the turn of events. The atmosphere was palpable. You and your uncle looked each other in the eye. You refused to look away. You had the right to keep your money and be reimbursed.

"Why do you want Charlie out?" you asked, your voice dripping with hate.

"(Y/N)! You're getting unreasonable!" growled Mrs. Bucket.

"Unreasonable?" you asked looking at your aunt. "Is it unreasonable of me to want my hard-earned money back? Is it unreasonable of me to want to save up to buy things for myself? Kind of nice clothes? Sweets? Jewelry?"

"We already give you our clothes!"

"Old, seedy and ugly."

"We buy you sweets!"

"Lie."

"And what do you want to do with jewelry?! We're not going to pay you back a single penny! You know we're in need!"

"I too am in need. And your fault!" You had just said your sentence while shouting and slamming your hands on the table, startling everyone.

You looked at your uncle and your aunt with hatred. It was always the same thing, they wanted to make you feel guilty. But now you weren't going to let it go. You weren't going to let yourself go anymore.

"It's over! I won't give you a single penny anymore!" you say between your teeth. "I'm tired of having to pay to live under this roof!"

"Do you think we wanted you? We just felt sorry. We were hesitant to put you in an orphanage. We should have done that," Mr. Bucket said. "It would have saved us this whole situation. You are a parasite (Y/N). And you will always remain a parasite."

It was like a cold shower. You couldn't help but laugh nervously. You knew it. You headed for the coat rack, grabbed your jacket and left the Bucket family residence. Tears streamed down your cheeks. You knew this day was coming, but you never thought it would happen like this, in front of Charlie. You stopped in front of Bill's shop. You entered the store and were surprised to see a young man holding the cash register.

"Good evening miss," the young man greeted smiling at you. "How can I help you?"

"Do you...do you work here?" you asked under your breath.

"Yes. Bill hired me two days ago," he said, laughing a little. "I only work nights, but Bill is going to fire this girl. He says she was no longer suitable because of the image she sent back."

"What kind of image did she send back?"

"A poor, badly-dressed girl. Maybe I shouldn't say this, but he admitted to me that he hired her out of pity, because her family is poor. But with the publicity of her finding the golden ticket in his shop, he couldn't afford to keep her."

You felt something inside you snap. The only person you trusted had just betrayed you because of your financial situation. You thanked Bill's new employee before leaving the small shop to wander around town. Where could you go? Nobody needed you. Neither your family nor your boss. What could you do? You were taken out of your thoughts by noticing that you were in front of the chocolate factory. You had come without realizing it. Since the visit, you hadn't seen Willy. All you knew about him was that the sale of his sweets had fallen sharply. You put your hand on the back of your neck, hesitating to knock on his door.

"If you change your mind Barley sugar, my door is open."

You approached the door intended for the employees. You pressed the intercom button. You had to wait a few seconds before the high-pitched voice of an Oompa Loompa was heard. You instantly regret doing that. You sputtered an apology, saying it was a mistake. You started to walk away when you heard the intercom chime low and the gate unlock. You stopped, turning towards the gate. An out Oompa Loompa, approaching you.

"You should come inside, miss (Y/L/N). This way."

A defeated sigh escaped your lips. You follow the Oompa Loompa inside the chocolate factory. The little man leads you to the huge entrance hall. He asked you to wait there, the time he went to warn Willy of your arrival. You ran your hands over your scruffy coat, leaning your back against the wall. Why did you come here? Willy was probably going to spit in your face like your aunt and uncle. Like Bill. Yes, that was probably it. You were snapped out of your thoughts when you heard the "ding" of the elevator. You felt your heart beat faster when you saw Willy stepping out of the elevator.

"You came back," he said under his breath.

"I… I must be disturbing you," you said as you started to back away towards the door.

"No! No, you don't bother me!" he hastened to say, catching up with you. "Please don't go."

"No! It was a stupid idea. I… I shouldn't be here," you say, feeling a wave of angst wash over you.

Your heart was racing, your breathing became erratic, you were sweating profusely. You were having a panic attack. Tears were leaking from your eyes, rolling down your cheeks. Seeing you in this state, Willy put his hands on your shoulders, telling you to focus on his breathing. You watched Willy take a deep breath in through his nose and a long breath out through his mouth. You imitated him, concentrating on the chocolatier's breathing. Inhaling and exhaling like him until your panic attack subsides, leaving you drained of all energy. Willy put his arm around your shoulders, leading you to the glass elevator. The chocolatier pressed a button, activating the elevator which took you, both of you, to his apartment. His living space was spacious. Willy guided you to his huge leather sofa before going to the kitchen area. You took the opportunity to look around. Everything here screamed Willy Wonka. Everything was in shades of red and gold. There were numerous papers scattered on the coffee table as well as, what looked like, treats. Willy came back and sat next to you, handing you a steaming cup of cocoa.

"Here. This will warm you up."

You took the steaming cup in your hands. The heat warmed your frozen hands. You were watching the hot drink swirl around in the cup when you saw movement in your peripheral vision. You looked up, watching Willy gather up his papers and the sweets.

"Such a mess," he said, laughing nervously.

"You needn't be embarrassed. I'm the one unexpectedly showing up," you say bringing the cup to your lips, drinking the sugary drink.

The hot cocoa did you a world of good. You had long deprived yourself of the sweets of the great Willy Wonka. After the visit, you had stopped eating his treats. Although you couldn't afford it. You set the empty mug down on the table, nervously running your hands over your scruffy clothes. What were you supposed to say? Did you have to tell Willy you had nowhere to go? That you had lost your job because of your financial situation? You nervously rubbed your hands between them, feeling the tears start to roll down your cheeks again, your throat tightened, preventing you from speaking properly. Willy took your hand in his, squeezing it gently, telling you to take your time and breathe well. You took a deep breath, swallowing back your tears.

"I...I lost everything," you say with a tight throat.

"How so?" Willy asked

"My uncle and my aunt... we... we had a fight. I... I was tired of having to give them all my salary. My... my uncle got a new job and... I told them I didn't want to give them my salary anymore and... I left. I went to Bill's and... he replaced me with someone else."

"Why does your boss do such a thing?"

"Because I'm poor. I'm poor because of my uncle and my aunt. I have to wear old clothes and according to them I don't need new clothes or anything. I... I can't go home anymore."

Willy felt something snap inside him when he heard your words. You couldn't go home any more, just as he couldn't go back to his father after he ran away. The chocolatier put his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his embrace.

"I'm sorry, Barley sugar. No one should go through such an ordeal," he said, pressing his cheek to the top of your head as he hugged you before stepping back, cupping your face in his hands to wipe away your tears with his thumbs. "You know what we're going to do? I'm going to fix you a nice hot bath, you'll put on some fluffy pajamas and then you'll have a good night's sleep. We'll discuss all this tomorrow morning, okay?"

"You… are you okay with me staying here?" you asked surprised.

"Of course. What kind of person would I be if I left you out?" he said, taking your hand in his. "Come."

Willy led you to the bathroom. You sat on the edge of the tub, watching Willy run the hot water, putting products in the tub that seemed to cost a fortune. When your bath was ready, Willy went to his room before returning with clean clothes. He tells you to take your time before you leave the room, leaving you alone. The chocolatier closed the door behind him, allowing you to undress and step into the tub. The hot water bit into your icy skin. You were sinking into the water. The smell of the products smelled extremely good. How could things have gotten so bad? All for a damn golden ticket you refused to give to Grandpa Joe and Charlie. You shook your head, pushing his thoughts out of your mind. You didn't have to think about it anymore. You grabbed the soap, cleaning your body and your tangled hair. Once clean, you got out of the tub to dry off and put on the pajamas that Willy lent you. You buttoned up the shirt and put on the pants, which fell to the floor.

"Great," you muttered as you put the pants back on, which you had to hold on to before leaving the bathroom.

Willy turned to you, asking if everything was going well. Her voice stuck in her throat seeing you dressed in her pajamas that were too big for you. You had to roll up the sleeves and the edges of the pants so you wouldn't trip while walking as you approached him for help.

"The... the pants are too big," you say uncomfortably.

"Too big? Oh yes! Let me help you," he said, rolling up the edge to tighten the pants at the waist before stepping back. "Voilà!"

"Thank Willy."

"No problem. I… I'll show you where you're going to sleep." Willy motioned for you to follow him as he headed for his room.

The room was the size of the Bucket family home. There was a King-sinz bed in the middle of the room, solid wood furniture. Willy walked over to his chest of drawers to pull out a pillow and blanket.

"What are you doing?" you asked looking at Willy.

"I'm going to sleep on the couch."

"No, I'm going to sleep there, sleep in your bed. I don't want to feel like I'm chasing you."

"Oh! Don't worry, Barley sugar. I usually fall asleep on my desk and I still have a lot of work to do. I still have a few more hours. Sleep. We'll talk tomorrow morning."

"Alright good night."

"Good night." Willy left the room leaving you alone.

You turned off the light before slipping under the covers. The sheets were nothing like those of the Bucket family, the mattress was comfortable and it was the first time you slept alone. It was nice to have a bed for either. Without realizing it, you fell asleep, exhausted by this evening.

You were suddenly awakened from your sleep when you heard the door to the room open with force and slam against the wall. The light was on, dazzling you. You didn't have time to open your eyes when someone took the blanket off.

"Get up," Willy ordered, standing in front of the bed. "Hurry up."

"Willy? What's going on?" you asked perplexed.

"Get up, you're leaving."

"W-what?"

"Are you deaf? I told you to leave," he said grabbing your arm, forcing you out of bed. "Hurry up."

"But... you said your doors were always open to me," you say, your throat tight.

"You seriously think I'm going to harbor a poor girl in my chocolate factory," he says, dragging you to the door of his apartment.

You were trying to speak, but your voice was stuck in your throat. Willy opened the door, pushing you into a darkened room.

You looked around you lost before looking at Willy who slammed the door in your face. Your eyelids opened by themselves, your heart was beating at breakneck speed in your chest. You hurriedly turned on the bedside lamp, looking around frantically. You were still in Willy's room. He didn't kick you out. You hurriedly left the bed, as well as the room, to see the chocolatier sitting in his chair, busy reading, scribbling notes, crossing out and mumbling to himself. You moved closer to the sofa, catching Willy's attention.

"Already standing up?" he asked, pulling out a watch. "It's three o'clock in the morning."

"You… you want me to stay?" you asked lost.

"Sure. Are you okay? You're pale," he said, getting up from his couch to come closer to you. "You're shaking. What's going on?"

"You... you were kicking me out. You said you didn't want a poor girl in your chocolate shop."

"(Y/N). I'll never kick you out. I told you, didn't I? The doors of my chocolate factory will always be open to you," he said, hugging you. "You had a nightmare. Just a horrible nightmare. I'll never kick you out, I promise."

You clung to his shirt like your life depended on it. You couldn't stop your body from shaking from this nightmare. Willy put his hand on your cheek, making you raise your head. He was smiling tenderly at you as he leaned in towards you, pressing his lips to your forehead.

"You should go back to bed, Barley sugar," he said, running his hand over your cheek.

"Would you mind sleeping with me. I... I don't want to sleep alone."

You felt like a child asking her parents to join them in their bed. Except that there, you were no longer a child and you had just asked Willy Wonka if he could sleep with you. He didn't say anything, he just smiled when he placed another kiss on your forehead. He nodded, telling you he was going to change and you could go back to the bedroom until he came back. You went back to the chocolatier's room. Slipping under the sheets waiting for his return. You felt the claws of sleep trying to tear you away from reality. Your eyelids started to close on their own when you heard the door close. Your eyelids opened to see Willy dressed in his pajamas. It was quite comical to see. The chocolatier came and slipped under the sheets, turning off the light before lying down beside you.

"Sleep, (Y/N). Tomorrow will be another day."

You nodded slightly, falling asleep again. Willy sighed, adjusting the blanket around your shoulders before falling asleep too.

(o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o)

You awoke from your sleepless sleep feeling your cheek pressed against something firm and warm. When you opened your eyes, your gaze saw Willy's face. The chocolatier was asleep, his arm wrapped around your waist. In your sleep, you had moved closer to him and vice versa. You tried to gently pull your arm away from your waist to get off the bed, but Willy tightened his grip, pulling you closer to him as he nuzzled your hair.

"Mmh... too soon...," Willy muttered still sleepy. "Sleep..."

"B-but..."

You didn't have time to talk until the alarm clock started ringing. Willy sighed loudly. He had to let go of you to cut off this instrument of torture. You didn't have time to talk until the alarm clock started ringing. But you, you didn't know what you were going to be able to do to occupy yourself and forget what happened last night. Just thinking about it made you feel bad. What were you going to do? You had to hurry to find a new job and a new place to live. You left the room going to sit on the couch while Willy shuffled into the kitchen.

"What do you want to eat?" he asked, opening the door of his fridge.

"I…I don't know. I don't usually eat in the morning," you say, getting up from the sofa and moving closer to the counter.

"In that case, let me prepare something for you," he said, taking some ingredients.

You watched Willy begin to scramble eggs with sausage and toast. You were surprised to find that he knew how to do something other than sweets. Once breakfast was ready, he placed a well-stocked plate in front of you before taking his own plate to begin eating.

"That's really good," you say as you finish your plate. "It's quite surprising."

"Really? You thought I was a bad cook?" Willy chuckled.

"It's just that… since you're so obsessed with sweets, I couldn't see you eating anything other than chocolate."

"I can't… really contradict you," he said, pushing his empty plate aside. "Well. Now. We're going to have to discuss what's going to happen."

You wanted to disappear six feet underground. You didn't want to talk about the Bucket family and Bill. You pushed your plate away, running your hands over your face.

"You don't have to worry. I'll find a job soon..."

"(Y/N)."

"I won't be dragging your feet for very long."

"(Y/N). I don't want you to leave."

To say you were surprised was an understatement. You didn't expect him to say such a thing to you. If his goal was to leave you speechless, he had succeeded. You didn't know what to answer. You mumbled a few words before shutting up and massaging your temples.

"Wi-Willy... why do you want me to stay? I'm just a burden to people. Nobody needs a poor girl. I'm just going to drive down your chocolate stock. People aren't going to let this go!"

Willy nodded slightly when he heard your explanations. The chocolatier sighed, running his hand through his tangled hair.

"You're right. People wouldn't take kindly to me harboring a poor girl, like you say," he said with a sigh, shrugging his shoulders.

"You see."

"But I've never been like the others, Barley sugar. I would have thought you had understood that during the visit," he said, moving around the counter to come closer to you. "I'm not like other people. I don't care that you're a poor girl. It doesn't mean anything. It doesn't define who you are."

"Are you telling me you know me?"

"Partly. I know you hate your social status, but you're nice," he said, tucking a flyaway hair behind your ear. "You have your heart on your sleeve. Despite what happened with your uncle and aunt, you were helping them. I know that despite everything, you love Charlie with all your heart. You have a good person (Y/N). You inherit my happiness. Let me give you all this."

You felt like your heart was going to explode and you were sure that your cheeks were as red as the wrappers of his famous chocolate. You swallowed hard, unable to help but laugh nervously.

"I feel like I'm hearing a statement," you say, fiddling with your fingers nervously.

"What if there was one?"

Alright, there you were pretty sure your face had turned crimson. You mumbled incomprehensible words, trying to create some sort of sentence. Your confusion greatly amused the chocolatier. Willy ran his fingers over your cheek, pressing his lips to your forehead before stepping back to get ready. You let out your breath when you heard the bathroom door close. Did Willy really just tell you that he wanted you to stay with him because he wanted to make you happy? Was he telling the truth or was he making fun of you?

(o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o)

Two weeks passed.

Two weeks you lived in the chocolate factory and watched TV. Even though Willy had told you he wanted to make you happy, you were still so unhappy. Willy had tried to entertain you and occupy your mind as best he could. He had taken the time to show you around the rest of his chocolate factory, he had shown you how he made his famous chocolate bars, but you were still concerned about the Bucket family and what they had done to you.

Every night, you had nightmares of Willy throwing you out, you saw your uncle and your aunt throwing you out again, Bill who made fun of everything or Mrs Beauregarde insulting you by clinging to Willy. Tonight was no exception to this rule. You woke up with a start and terrified, forcing Willy to abandon his work to come and console you and reassure you. You couldn't help wondering how long he was going to put up with you. You prevented him from working and you knew that the purchase of his sweets fell even more. You were definitely going to ruin it.

"I can't stay here anymore," you say between sobs.

"Barley sugar, you just had a bad dream. I would never kick you out, you know that," he said, cupping your face in his hands.

"I'm not talking about that," you say stepping back. "It's my fault that your sweets have dropped even more! I'm just a dead weight preventing you from working properly! I...I don't..."

"(Y/N). (Y/N) look at me."

You shook your head, clutching the blanket in your hands. You had had enough of this whole situation. Of your discomfort. You felt like the last of the fools. You just wanted to be quiet and not feel like a burden on others anymore. Willy places his fingers under your chin, forcing you to raise your head and stare at him. The chocolatier pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"It's not your fault that my treats are selling less. I'm solely to blame for that," he said, sighing and stepping back. "I'm completely lost. I hesitate about everything, I don't know what taste to give them, I change my mind every two minutes. Since the visit, nothing works as I would like and as..."

Willy fell silent, you saw a spark run through his eyes. A huge smile appeared on his lips. The chocolatier had come to the conclusion that the candies looked like him and since he was bad, his candies were bad because of it. You wiped away your tears, looking puzzled at Willy as he smiled at you.

"We're going to have to go see Charlie."

What?

[hollyhomburg]

I don’t know what to do…I’m so petrified of everything that’s happening. So about a year ago my grandparents where kicked out of their home by my aunt and uncle who owned their house. My mom at the time- owed them a bit of money- so verbally they agreed “hey, why don’t you put that towards the house, and we’ll consider that debt to us paid, that way we can live with you when you get the house finished”

now 11 months later, their health has fallen enough where they need to be put into a nursing home, we are 90k in debt trying to fix the house up, and they’ve just asked for the money back to get a home aid and fuck- it is so unfair. They told us that we would never have to pay them back. It was all on a handshake so there’s nothing that we can really do even thought he verbal agreement happened infront of several witnesses. Like- we have to pay them back Or else their estate executer- one of my other uncles. Is going to come at us for the money.

And tell me why I just want to run away. I can’t go to Korea on fucking vacation when this is happening but- fuck. I should have just bought the ticket and taken the job there when I had the chance and that way there wouldn’t have been a way for me not to go. I don’t want the next 6 months to a year of my life to be just this bullshit but now I can’t abandon my mom to all of this, she’d be so alone and stressed and alone if I left and just- all of this is such bullshit. There’s no way I’m going to be able to afford any of it- not going to school not going there to travel- nothing.

I have to send my resendment letter at some point tonight because I haven’t officially backed out of it but I know my recruiter for my job in Korea is going to contact me probably around 8 tonight and it’s 7:51 . This is going to suck so fucking bad how did one day like- fucking ruin my life. This is making me just want to kms.

[goth-oatmilk-latte]

a compilation of how my family members are treated vs how im treated

stepbrother: allowed to have bipolar disorder. allowed to literally be a deadbeat dad, but my parents will do anything for his child, financial or otherwise. allowed to quit all career obligations and do nothing for months and ask my parents for money to fund his life because he "needed a break from everything." had his ENTIRE education funded by both his parents plus my mother. has actually been bailed out of near jail time for old, unpaid parking tickets. he is 4 years older than me.

my stepsister: encouraged to pursue her dream, which is being a SAHM working an actual pyramid scheme job. was also told it was okay if she dropped out of college to get married and have kids, was basically encouraged to do so bc she was marrying someone our family presumed will take care of her. gets treated like a princess, gets everything she wants more or less bc shes pretty and has a kid. shes 2 years older than me.

my cousin: has quit every career ever. is piss poor mother. has on multiple occasions left kids at her parents to go party. her parents (my aunt and uncle) felt bad for her bc working was "too hard" so they gave her their house and pay for everything she does. everything she does is some insane celebration. shes not depressed, she will literally tell you she's lazy, enjoys being lazy, and doesnt want to do much bc its more fun to sit around and have other ppl do things for her. entire family encourages and fawn over every stupid thing she does. had 2 kids while unemployed and unmarried, given evrry resource possible. even my stepdad makes sure she doesnt need anything. same age as my stepbrother.

me: has graduated from two degrees and received no recognition, in fact my mother acted like my graduation from mortuary school was somehow a burden on her. was told "figure it out" about college, and then bitched at for every decision i made relating to it. no recognition for accomplishments period. finally got help for severe untreated mental illness, constantly told i just want attention, my own mother told our family i made up having an ED doe attention, and my mother threw my meds away one year when i came home from college on break bc she thought it was hard drugs. not even allowed to be mentally ill, literally taunted for showing symptoms. was taunted and made fun of for being visably depressed when my dad died. always told to figure it out myself. was told if i ever had a kid not to expect any kind of help. never praised. never celebrated. constantly nitpicked about everything. family was so uninterested in me that half of them never even paid attention to me being engaged, and then was literally told "we wish it was [name redacted] instead, he was a nice boy" even though the person they're referring to raped me, and I told them that. could probably never do a damn thing right or get any type of praise even if i cured cancer, AIDS, and abolished world poverty.

just wondering where they get the idea that im the least favorite and also why i want nothing to do with anyone. "we love everyone equally" YEAH? ARE YOU SURE ABOUT THAT??

[allhailthegodofbugs]

Brimley Necrosafari to Close After 55 Years in Business Citing Budget, Safety Concerns

Brimley California – July 22, 2023.  The beloved and sometimes controversial Brimley Necrosafari is set to close this September due to difficulties maintaining the park and the creatures, according to long-time Necrodirector Peter Bhurghg. “We tried everything we could, but the pandemic regulations wiped us out. ‘Oh you’re spreading plague,’ they said. Ridiculous. Unless you’re talking about the Plague Draken, which does bring every disease.”

Although the Necrosafari is mainly held outdoors, patrons would sleep in enclosed luxury tents and spend evenings enjoying a formal dinner and sharing stories of the hunt over cigars and Tombwine. Some say Necrodirector Peter Bhurghg’s refusal to alter the model led to difficulties. “He’s an old school guy, in the sense that he has existed since the 1300s,” said one mysterious floating oracular head, who wished to remain anonymous. “We talked about maybe sharing stories through Zoom instead, or doing the formal dinners outdoors, but he just wasn’t having it.”

Amid repeated refusals to follow Covid 19 regulations, the Brimley Necrosafari found itself with legal bills piling up and fewer state and federal grants than normal. “They had money for ‘public health’ but they don’t have money for Luxury deathabomination trophy hunting? What is happening to America? What is happening to the American Nightmare?” Howled Bhurghg.

“Dream,” he added. “I meant American Dream.”

But budget considerations were only part of the puzzle, according to the Extremely Reasonably Concerned Parents Association. “We’ve had sixteen people die on the Necrosafari in the last month, three of them children,” said Ruth Baker, local parent. “Beheaded by the Scythe Thing, eaten by Skull Mantises, gored by the NECROBOAR. It’s absurdly dangerous. They don’t even have path markers, and you have to get your own silver, large-bore ammunition, which leaves people vulnerable to fakes.”

Indeed, infamous local entrepreneur Walborg Shrupe was forced to pay a fine of 15,000 dollars after a protracted and contentious trial last year after it was revealed his bullets were not pure silver, but merely brass with a silver-colored spray paint. “Caveat emptor,” he famously said, before paying his fine in pennies and disappearing to the Philippines in a solid gold helicopter.

“The whole community still bears scars from that trial,” said district attorney Kate Vance. “When will the Scar Curse end?”

“Yes, we’ve had a few deaths,” Peter Bhurghg admitted. “But they were all the results of patrons failing to follow sensible precautions.” He then tore his face-meat asunder, revealing his true undead form and shot scarlet lightning bolts from his fingertips.

“If you can’t hire a haruspex to tell your omens before the hunt – stay home!” He went on to say. “It’s simple!”

Some Brimley residents expressed regret over the decision. “I think it’s sad,” remarked mayor Janet Vimmmmm. “I used to go to the Necrosafari when I was a child. I bagged my first wraith when I was seven. Shame about Great-Uncle Walter though.”

Others have voiced displeasure that the already difficult local job market may soon be flooded with former park employees. “Can you imagine the Scythe Thing working as a cashier at Bath and Body Works?” said Lila Cohen, local ne’er do well. “I can. I have nightmares about it.”

In the meantime, the Black Cloth Society has announced a blood drive to save the park. “We will be collecting blood,” said Society President Balrock Rune. “Keep your doors unlocked.”

“It’s the end of an era,” said a relieved Ruth Baker. “A dark era, full of terrors.”

The Brimley Necrosafari will close on September 30, 2023. In the meantime, they have announced that spots are still available at a discount for their May Hunt. As ever, patrons are required to bring their own large caliber weapons, silver bullets, rune charms, and napalm-salt explosives. Tickets are “first come, first serve.” Discounts are available for children and seniors. For more information, call 1-800 DEAD ONES or follow the Brimley Necrosafari account on Twitter at RealActualNecrosafari@twitter.com.

[mearcatsreturns]

i am deeply regretting agreeing to take time off work to go to texas for my aunt’s and uncle’s 50th anniversary celebration/family reunion that i leave for in two days. 

my extended family on my paternal side is. how do i say this. not great. maybe i’m being unfair--it certainly isn’t all of them. maybe i’m autistic and don’t understand unspoken rules, but to me the last few days have been unhinged behavior?

i decided to try to go, because it’s been 3 years since i’ve seen most of them (ie the length of my grad program). for background, when i go, i typically stay at my aunt’s and uncle’s and sleep on a couch in the boathouse or in one of the bunks in the bunk room. i usually help do dishes and things like that since i don’t pay anything. i am not wealthy (especially a couple months out from finishing grad school...i work two part-time jobs and still scrounge), and about half of my family is. going to this was a stretch for me, but i thought it would be good. one of my cousins sent me a text when planning started for the celebration, which said: 

please note that nothing about that mentioned payment or fees, especially since she owns that house. none of our subsequent texts mentioned it. we’re family, i figured i would just help out around keeping things clean, and i bought two nice bottles of wine from my one job that i was going to give her as a guest gift. 

then yesterday, i got a text from one of my other aunts, K (not the one whose anniversary it is...my dad’s parents were catholic. it’s a big family), to me and a couple of other numbers i didn’t know. basically, a “hey, you don’t have anywhere to stay, i found this airbnb nearby. it will costs $2000 for 4 days, and split between 4, that’s $500 each!” i. uh. i was about to throw up. i texted my cousin and was like “just wanted to touch base, i’m staying at your place, right?” 

she replied and said “hey, sorry, we filled the place up! you can probably stay with K!” like??? i told her i’d heard from K, but i couldn’t afford the option she sent me (genuinely, I am taking off unpaid time from work to go here, after buying a plane ticket. I cannot do half my rent for 4 days in Texas in July. that is crazy.) at this point I panicked and called my dad, because truly, I was going to need to cancel if I had to pay something like that. i talked to my dad, and he basically said, “don’t worry about it, we’ll figure something out, but yeah, this is usually why we stay on host aunt and uncle’s trailer across the street...it’s free.” so I texted my aunt K, politely thanking her for finding that place but that I can’t afford it, but my dad was going to help me find somewhere, and said I was looking forward to seeing her (she is not the problem, this is none of her business, and she was doing her best). i was upset, but willing to be like “okay, right, i’m related to a bunch of rich people who want to charge family to stay with them over a holiday weekend,” so i was already less excited, but still ok. i played some video games about it, and i figured i’ll just accept that i’m going to be in some uncomfortable hole for the time i’m there. 

then this morning, I had another text from my cousin. 

I did the heart thing because I genuinely didn’t know how to respond, and I still don’t know where to start. (a) this is so unnecessary, since I’m not staying with her anymore. why did you feel like you had to send this? (b) uh. you should maybe consider mentioning expectations like that when you invite people to stay with you. I did, as I previously mentioned, get some nice wine (and I work at a wine room) as a gift--that, in my experience, has been a pretty decent host gift in the past. (c) putting a vacation on a credit card when you don’t have the money or a pay bump coming to know you’ll be able to pay it off? UNHINGED. poor financial advice, and i’m sure if I’d done that, I’d get “hmm, is that fiscally responsible :/” bullshit. It’s not. I refuse to buy things I can’t afford? like? she then tried to make it better being like “I also have weed :D” and ngl, my first instinctual response (that I kept inside) was “oh, how much were you going to charge me for that? is it by puff or mg?” 

anyway. I don’t know if it’s undiagnosed autism to expect things like financial expectations to be discussed and communicated, or if they’re just being some kind of White Person Way. this isn’t the first time money-related things have happened, but the last time was a decade ago and with an entirely different person (who I have since had a strained relationship with). I have genuinely lost so much desire to interact with most of my family? if this is familial love, I’ll pass and find my own family, thanks. I can’t imagine inviting someone, then charging them for a couch or bed? this is insane, right?

[study-coffee-chicago]

Just imagining halstead sister having a baby and jay and will spoiling them also fighting on who’s the better uncle and jay getting emotional when she names him and hailey the godparents

Not totally what you requested, but here's a little bit of Uncle Jay and Uncle Will for you!

“We see Uncle Jay and Uncle Will today, too?” your four-year-old daughter, Emmy, asked excitedly as you walked hand-in-hand into the fair. 

“Yup. They said they’d be by the–”

“Uncle Jay! Uncle Will!” she exclaimed as she saw them standing by the ticket booth and quickly let go of your hand to run to them. 

“Emmy! What did we talk about in the car? You have to stay with Mommy.”

At that moment, she crashed into Jay’s open arms and he picked her up and quickly put her on his shoulders.

“But it’s just Uncle Jay and Uncle Will!” she protested.

“Yeah, Y/N. It’s just Uncle Jay and Uncle Will,” Jay parroted. 

“Shut it,” you told him. 

“Now, now, Y/N. Be nice,” Will told you. 

“I would swear at you, but my daughter’s here, so I’ll refrain from that."

“Good choice,” Jay said and you just rolled your eyes at him. He turned his head up to look at Emmy who was still sitting atop his shoulders. “Where to first, Munchkin?”

“Rides! The spinny apple one!”

“Pukefest for Y/N it is,” Will chuckled. “How much do we have to pay you to get on one after last time?”

“Nothing because I won’t be going on it. And, my motion sickness has gotten much worse since I was a teenager, so Mommy will not be going on spinny rides today.”

“But why not, Mommy?” your daughter pouted. 

“Because, sometimes when things spin really fast, Mommy gets sick. Remember how you felt when you had to miss school one day?” She nodded. “That’s how Mommy feels when she has to go on spinny rides.”

“And that’s why Daddy always goes on them with me?”

Your husband—and Emmy’s dad—was a professional hockey player currently playing in the Stanley Cup Playoffs. Unfortunately for you and Emmy, this meant not seeing him a lot. Despite seeing him a lot during the regular season whenever he played home games in Chicago, you knew with travel and games every other day and how high the stakes were, that you wouldn’t see your husband in person until him and his team either were eliminated in one of the first three rounds, or the playoffs came to an end of the team made it to the finals in late June. 

“That’s exactly why. Good job!” you praised.

 “But can Uncle Will and Uncle Jay ride the rides with me?”

“Of course, we will!” Will told your little girl excitedly. “And we’ll go super duper fast!”

***

 “I think Miss Emmy here is having a bit of a sugar crash,” Will said as Emmy yawned once again and laid her head against his chest because he was currently carrying her on his hip. 

“Was it the cotton candy from you?” you asked and pointed to Jay. “Or was it the ice cream from you?” You turned and pointed to Will. 

“I plead the fifth,” Jay said quickly and put his hands up in surrender. 

“Me, too,” Will added quickly.

“Well then, we’ll be watching enough hockey and movies until she wakes up in the middle of the night, and then you two can deal with her. You know since it’s only 6:00 that she’s not going to sleep through the night if she falls asleep now, right?” 

They both groaned, but they agreed.

***

After you gave Emmy a much-needed bath and Will and Jay read her a bedtime story, you and your brothers were having some much-needed relaxing time—without your daughter interfering. You guys were currently watching hockey and had been for about two hours when you heard little footsteps and quiet sniffles.

You quickly shoved your hard seltzer into Jay’s hand and got up to go to your little girl. 

“Sweetie, what’s the matter?” you asked as you picked her up. She held tight to you with one arm and clutched her blanket in the other. 

“You- You watchin’ Daddy with-without me!” she cried and buried her face in your neck. 

“You were sleeping, sweetie. We didn’t want to wake you up.”

“But- But I wanna watch Daddy play!” she cried. 

“Let her stay, Y/N. She’ll conk out by the end of the period anyway,” Will suggested. 

“Will!” you hissed. 

“C’mon. You know she’ll be the good luck charm, too. And how can we the fun uncles if we don’t let her stay up late?” Jay asked. 

“Yeah, how can we be the funcles?” Will asked. 

“What’s a fuckle?” Emmy asked quickly. 

Jay choked on his drink and Will’s eyes widened, realizing what he had just done.

“Uncle Will was being silly and said the wrong word, baby,” you said quickly. “He meant to say fun uncle. He’s your uncle and you always have fun like watching movies and going to the fair with him.”

“Oh.”

“You can stay up and watch Daddy play,” you gave in. 

“Yay!” Emmy cheered. 

You quickly set her down between Jay and Will and took your hard seltzer back from Jay. Needless to say, when you went into the kitchen to grab Emmy a juice box, you chugged the rest of that sucker. 

You hoped she’d never say fuckle again.

But hey, she was half Halstead, so she probably would. And this was all thanks to her uncles. You knew they loved Emmy, but sometimes they needed to shut up. 

“Mommy! Goal! Mommy! They score!” Emmy yelled. 

And so, you quickly ran out of the kitchen to continue watching the game with Emmy and your brothers. 

And despite the fact that your brothers spoiled Emmy rotten, you knew she could have no better a combination of role models between her dad and her uncles.

[chattahoochiecoochie]

Listen y’all. I haven’t watched Volume 2 but I’ve seen bits here and there. It doesn’t end well, that much I know for sure. Soooo, this is how it should have fucking gone for them. No debates. 

- Prom came and went. They weren’t official then, and she went alone, but by graduation they had a label, and he swung her around his room to some stupid pop song she liked.

- School ended and he crossed the stage with a smile on his face, rewarded only by the sight of her cheering for him in the crowd.

- She took up her job as a lifeguard again to make money before college started, and he picked up a few hours at Thatcher tire–not because he wanted to work, but because spoiling Chrissy was running up a tab.

- They spent every night together, in his van, whispering in her bedroom, partying in his.

- June rolled by and July followed, before long, August was upon them, its hand outstretched to take her away.

- Eddie didn’t get a class ring, a diploma was more than enough. So instead, he drops her at the airport with a suitcase full of band tees, and his favorite ring on a chain.

- “You don’t have to wear it.” He says. “I’ll wear it every day.” She says back.

- He spends the next week on the phone with her, laying on the floor of his room in quiet misery.

- She’s excited, cheerful every time they talk, and it takes everything inside him to sound happy for her.

- Her classes start August 31st. September 1st, he takes a job at the plant with Uncle Wayne. Thatchers is fun, but it doesn’t pay like he needs it too.

- She’s gone now, making something of herself. He’s going to do the same. He’ll be ready when she comes back to him.

- Six months later, every penny saved, he buys a ring. When she comes for Christmas that year, he hides it in Wayne’s room. It’s been in his top drawer, but she’s planning to go through that for more of his tshirts.

- “Maybe I could send them back to you, when they stop smelling like you. And you can send me some more?”

- They spend the holiday apart. It will be the last time he lets that happen, he swears.

- When she comes for Spring Break, he introduces himself to her parents, and makes it over for Easter.

- His hair is too long, her dad says, he has no manners, her mom says.

- Sending her away the second summer is harder than the first. They have something now. He cries in his van outside the airport, and watches through red eyes as her plane takes off.

- It’s the spring of her junior year when he finally has the money to fly out.

- She shows him off like a trophy, parading him through the sorority house like a show pony. Everyone has heard of him.

- “This is my boyfriend, Eddie.” She blushes down to her toes every time she introduces him and it makes his heart ache. The ring is back in Hawkins, and with every word, it burns a deeper hole in his dresser.

- He flies out with her parents for graduation. They buy his ticket, a graduation gift to her. The three of them have conspired to surprise her, she thinks he can’t get the time off work, and bursts into tears at the sight of him at the airport.

- That June, summer of ‘91, he finally digs the ring out of his room, and on a late night walk to their old table in the forest, he pops the question.

- “Oh Eddie, of course.”

- They are married in July.

- It’s a quiet affair, close friends and family only. The kids, recently graduated themselves show up, teeth finally straight, nerves settled. A few old cheer friends come over for the reception, but a sorority sister fills in as maid of honor. Gareth, now used to this new version of Eddie, grins when asked to be best man.

- August, they take back the month, wrenching it free from the clock to make it their own.

- There’s an apartment in Chicago waiting for them. She’s got a graduate degree to get, and he’s transferred to a plant inside the city limits.

- “Nintety one baby. It’s our year. It’s our life.”

- He’s got a new car now, a Honda Accord that just barely fit the budget, and on the drive out of town, he lets her pick the radio station. They’ve hit the city range when a new band comes on. Nirvana. His world is rocked, and they stop at a record store just outside of town.

- The bleach album plays over their move, the soundtrack to the beginning of their new life.

- “I can get a job down the street, before school starts, at that bakery we saw? They had a sign in the window, for a counter girl!”

- “I’ve got a friend at a bar across town, said he’ll let me play a few nights as backup to start out.”

- The year is 1991, they are alive and married and fresh eyed. It will be their year. It will be their life.

I’ll be back to write this fic, in due time. It’s the story they fucking deserved. 

[jiminrings]

BALLOON ANIMAL ARTIST JK I JUST FEEL LIKE HE WOULD BE REALLY GOOD AT IT AND MAKE YOU A FLOWER THEN ASK YOU ON A DATE

baby i love u and your big sexy brain <3 welcome to waikiki meets hospital playlist dynamic ft. balloon artist!jk

“who’s a good baby? is it you? iS IT YOU????”

you’d be the first one to admit that you had an exhausting horrible night

being a nurse sUCKS the life out of you and as much as it’s fulfilling, you almost always feel the urge to admit yourself to the ER for being extremely fatigued

it’s all worth it!! it should be

after all, paying for a mansion in an exclusive village and sharing it with your friends doeS warrant some elbow grease

seokjin works in wall street and sometimes he comes home crying but it’s okay because you do have an expensive fridge that everyone worked overtime for <3

hoseok’s a veterinary assistant and is your trusty friend who always sends in pictures of the animals that come in to cheer you up while at work

namjoon’s a painter by passion and accountant by profession!! he does only come out with a few pieces at a time but mAN does it rake in the money

jimin’s a flight attendant and does everyone the pleasure of securing either free or discounted tickets, and bringing home unused airline towels to dry off the dishes!!

lastly, taehyung’s someone you can call a former trustfund baby or somewhat :O the last big chunk of money he spent from his fund was the downpayment and security deposit for this mansion!!!

it’s a long story and he’s currently all over the place but he’s finding regular jobs!! his latest gig was working at a high-end ice cream place but he immediately quit once he learned that he needed to put his back into it and not just scoop up ice cream like he did in his dreams :((

most importantly, taehyung has a baby :-)

he’s a dad!! a single one at that

it’s truly a LONG story but the bottomline is that he has nabi, his cutest little dumpling!! and he has all of you, his friends who didn’t hesitate to step up as nabi’s parents in a way too even if he didn’t ask any of you

you all love the chunky monkey so much that you’ve all taken the liberty to call him your baby at times and tae doesn’t even mind!! nabi’s so lucky (he hopes) to have him as a dad and his friends as his cool uncles and aunt

nevertheless, you indeed had a bad night working the night shift and came home to nabi’s birthday party just in time!! :D

he turned two years old at midnight and even if you weren’t physically present at the mansion like the guys were (they requested their leaves two months earlier) because of being understaffed, you were able to see him and tae blow out multiple cakes that each one bought him

seeing him giggle at your arms just by doing the bare minimum makes you full already <3

all your exhaustion is melted away because it’s your favorite toddler’s birthday party!! the party that you all insisted on shelling out for that made tae almost cry bc of how much you all love his son

“jimin i am not sewing your forehead up when you end up falling in the wrong angle,” you roll your eyes at him who’s currently doing backflips in the bouncy house that managed to fit in the mansion

“hoseok can!!” he yells back and backflips twice in a row, much to the actual children’s amusement and your worry

“i will NOT stitch you up! the thread i have is for the pregnant dogs only!!!”

everyone’s entertaining guests left and right, including taehyung who’s the dad of the little man of the hour :D

he keeps pointing at nabi who’s currently in your arms every ten seconds and it’s now your job to make him giggle every single time to wave at the people

“what do you want, monkey? do you want some ice cream? i won’t tell your dad,” you eagerly ask the wide-eyed baby in your arms, pointing at the ice cream cart that namjoon probably ordered

“no thank you!” nabi cutely aND politely declines, his head shaking no and his speech and pronunciation getting clearer day by day

most of the time though he says it like tHANK YEWWWW and you would immediately grin every time because it’s the cutest thing ever

“hmm, look at that!! face painting!! do you want some butterflies?”

you point at yet another station that you guess seokjin arranged, knowing that at some point into this party, he’d all drag you in here to get matching marks or something lol

nabi once again declines, his eyes searching around that makes you do the same on what you could do to entertain him

he has the same habit down like taehyung and loudly gASPS, pointing his finger and almost shrieking in excitement

“bawoo — balloon!!! balloon!!!”

:O

it is now your life purpose to walk as fast as you could to this balloon station with nabi bouncing up and down your arm in excitement

jungkook’s having the time of his life here :D

normally he’s mostly called in the holiday season and occasionally at big birthday parties (the one where like two sides of the family share every baby’s first birthday party lmao) throughout the year!!

but he’s never had a client who requested him for a singular birthday party!! let alone at a hOUSE

ok maybe that was an understatement

he means a mansion

if he’s being quite honest, the mr. park jimin he spoke to on the phone sounded too kind that he just mistakened him for a party planner or something

he immediately said yes because he had no on-site bookings for that day, or even the week perhaps, and expected to stroll into a carnival in the middle of an executive village

aha :D jungkook is wrong :D

jimin met him by the front door wherein a lot of people are already crossing paths such as catering and not to mention the bouncy house you cAN’T miss, and just briefly touched in on the situation

“oh no, i’m not the dad, man — but thanks!! i’m his uncle. nabi’s dad is my friend, taehyung. and me and my friends, including taehyung, all live here. we’re all like family, basically.”

jungkook saw the other stations invited and he expected that his would have less children y’know?? bouncy house, ice cream station, facepainting, hotdog cart aND magic show???? yeah <3

but god is he wrong

the children are in a single-file line for hIM and his balloon artistry!!! the requests range from pretzels to pirate hats to chandeliers with the bulbs as smiley faces!!!

he’s managed to do all of them so far and he’s now made a decent dent on the line of children waiting for him

jungkook is a happy and content balloon artist :D

“EXCUSE ME! BIRTHDAY BOY COMING THROUGH!!”

oh my god what was that

you’re walking at full-speed and holler out, making sure to emphasize birthday boy because nuh-uh you and nabi will nOT line up for his own party <3 thank you very much

the children coo and the older kids coax the other ones to make way for the both of you to the front of the line, immediately plopping to a mini chair in front of the guy

“hiiii!!”

nabi drawls politely and waves his hand, making you do the same

“what a cute little thing,” the guy in front of you coos and it’s his voice that perhaps makes you melt a little, just seeing the top of his hair for now because he’s crouching down to be eye-level with nabi, “what can i do for you, little buddy?”

he toothily grins and straightens his posture, raising his eyes to look at who’s holding nabi in place and-

???????????????????

jungkook literally stops breathing for a second

“h-hi!! what can i do for you today?” jungkook squeaks, his eyes even more wide and curious to look at the prettiest girl he’s ever seen in his life

you’re sure that you were gonna stammer once you open your mouth so you don’t at all, instead focusing on nabi who’s on your lap

“what do you want, monkey?”

“nabi please! i want nABI!!! nabi nabi nabiiiiiiiiii-“

“yes. he wants nabi, please.”

jungkook nods fervently, his hands about to pluck ballons from his kit before he realizes to ask

“does he want his face? or like, his name? what colors do you want, bud?”

he’s not the least bit bothered at the choices in his head because you’re widening your eyes on what could this guy dO with just balloons, knowing to yourself that even pumping one is difficult work already

“oh! he wants nabi,” you clarify and jungkook tilts his head, mouth slightly agape at to what you’re trying to get at, “butterfly, i mean. nabi knows that his name means butterfly and he likes them a lot! don’t you, monkey?”

nabi nods so hard that it almost gives him a headache and jungkook wants to facepalm himself to the grave

“r-right! why didn’t i think of that?? because nabi means.... nabi....... right!! sorry, oh my god. o-oh! i meant oh my gosh. i uhm-...”

he’s a mess and he knows it, letting his hands take over and grab the same theme colors of blue and lavender from his bag to start on his work

kook tries not to lift his head up ever so often because you’d find him out instantly that he’s looking at you

so what he does instead is peer and coo at nabi every few seconds and tHEN look up at you because you also giggle whenever he giggles

he’s probably feeling pressure with the way your eyes are set on him too and what he’s doing that he pOPS a balloon right with his hands

“sorry, sorry! did i spook you?”

jungkook’s worried because he heard a collective gasp from the kids around him but his main priority is the birthday boy AND you

nabi’s shoulders rose and that’s about it

he shakes his head to himself, looking at you who’s carrying a curious gaze on your face that looks amused

“sorry. i-it’s just you’re so pretty and-“

he’s embarrassed himself in front of a pretty girl and her son and-

wait a second

the color just dRAINS from his face and he’s about to quit at the second

“oh my god i am so sorry. y-you must be nabi’s mother. you’re mr. taehyung’s-“

“friend!! i’m y/n, i’m just taehyung’s friend,” you interject quickly because you cannot believe that pretty boy called you pretty, and at the next breath thought you were taehyung’s wife, “and nabi’s my nephew. we’re all just friends who live together!! i have no boyfriend, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

...

....

yeah maybe you embarrassed yourself this time

you may have said too much information to the balloon artist but jungkook’s just staring at you fondly

and nabi’s switching his gaze between the two of you and claps his hands to snap the two of you out of it lmao

kook chuckles to himself and he cannot stop smiling, even when he’s tying the last balloon to nabi’s butterfly

“there you go, cutie. happy birthday!!” he hands nabi the hUGE butterfly he just made but the sheer difference of how big it is makes the toddler even more happy, hugging it to his chest

jungkook watches you pepper kisses on nabi’s cheeks and that launches him into quickly pulling out balloons while your eyes are deviated from him, hands twisting and turning like his wHOLE LIFE depended on it

“my name’s jungkook, by the way,” he calls you when you’re just about to stand up, smiling giddily at you, “thought you should know.”

cute :-)

before you could thank him, he extends his arm and your mind recognizes the familiar shape which makes you smile instantly

jungkook made you a flower balloon <3

“i think i’ll remember you, jungkook.”

you laugh as the only thing you can smell from it is latex, the huge flower staring at you right in the face

jungkook sheepishly blushes, pursing his lips in happiness

“i’m free whenever you’re free — f-for a date, y’know? just so you could remember me more.”

.

.

.

bonus: dilf taehyung has his own drabble!!

bonus bonus: bestie anon brought my attention to these tiktoks below and gAWD i’m so happy <3

first, second

[faunusrights]

yeah, all i got is this belly button lint: a happy huntresses short fic

wrote this real quick because i love thinking about the random crap fiona has in her Inventory(tm). also i just like thinking about these clowns in general, so,

=

"Okay, so, what's actually in your Semblance right now?" Joanna asks one day in third year, when Fiona and May have sneaked away to Robyn's dorm to lose at cards and help edit her new batch of flyers promoting union creation in the workplace. Fiona had given a couple a look and accepted them as good enough, but May is weirdly exacting about her standards and is currently trying to convince Robyn to nudge the text headers over by ten pixels to the right. That's why, as she's sat on the floor and wrapped up in the drama of watching Robyn try and slowly fail to ignore May's insistent pleas for her to boot up her editor, Fiona's caught just a little bit off-guard by the question.

"My Semblance?" she asks, and Joanna nods all serious-like from her place on the bunk above Robyn. Joanna often looks very serious, because she suffers from what Robyn calls resting thoughtful bitch face, so sometimes it's hard to gauge how actually serious about something she really is. "I mean, it's probably a mess in there right now."

"I keep forgetting you actually use it like storage space," Robyn adds cheerfully, having now progressed onto shoving May away from her laptop computer every time she tries to creep closer. "Since most Semblances are, y'know, combat-only things or like... special occasions, I guess. And yet here you are, telling people you really don't need a bag for all your groceries!"

It is fun to flex on all the people struggling to carry like six bags to their car or their home, and Fiona preens. "Yeah, it's nice. I mostly keep things in it that I'd wanna have in an emergency, but it's been a while since I last sorted through it, so, who knows what garbage I've put in there."

"Tell me Robyn's braincell is in there too," May says imploringly, still trying to slide an arm around Robyn to get at the keyboard, but Fiona just shakes her head. She can't and won't be blamed for that particular disappearance any time soon. Instead, she rubs her hands together, scrunching up her face as she tests the edges of the Semblance. It's a funny thing, a Semblance like this--she never really has to think about it, but it's always just in reach, like this extra weight in her chest that she can totally forget about. It's strange to think about, so she often just doesn't.

"Okay," she starts, and she goes for the biggest item she can sense, which is an easy one to explain. In her hands materialises an acoustic guitar, worn and scuffed with age, and this attracts to attention of every girl in the room. "Well, this one's easy. This is my guitar, and honestly? If I ever leave it behind in the meatspace and don't pick it up on my way out the door, know that you've just seen my evil clone and you have to kill her."

Joanna blinks, and Robyn seems caught between asking about the guitar, the evil clone, and also the fact that Fiona insists on referring to the physical world as the meatspace. So, she does as Robyn does best, and settles on an expletive. "Shit! You play?"

"Been playing since I was... like seven? Something like that." Fiona shrugs, because she really can't be sure; her first vague memory of even seeing this guitar was a long time ago, her uncle telling her it used to belong to her grandmother who'd never managed to learn a damn thing on it. So, Fiona had taken up practice, if only because it was something for a little lowlands Mantellian Faunus to do during the long, cold polar nights and the endless sunshine of the midnight sun. "But, yeah, this is always on me in some form or another."

"You should've played it whilst we were on watch our last mission," May says, with a certain scowl that Fiona knows is 100% directed at their team leader, who is currently off doing... some sort of bullshit with their partner, no doubt. Gods, this team is a nightmare. "All those hours trying to stay awake so we could stare into nothing..."

"Sorry," Fiona says, and she means it. She'd intended to, but, well, she'd sort of chickened out. The echo in the mountains is kind of insane. "Next time?"

May nods, but Joanna cuts off whatever she's about to say next by waving her hands through the air like she can physically dissipate the conversation. "Okay, okay, cool, but now I gotta else you got hiding in there."

Re-compressing her guitar--and oh, is Fiona thankful that dematerialising and rematerialising it doesn't leave it out of tune--Fiona has a mental root around. "Uh, okay, so, we've got--"

In no particular order, she starts pulling things out: a pair of thick gloves for the brutal Solitas chill, an extra pair of socks (hugely understated by most, but never by Fiona), a ushanka that Robyn instantly cheers for, and a couple of jackets ranging from light windbreakers to thick furred jackets that feel like she's wearing a mattress around her ribs. Her Scroll and wallet are in there too, naturally, as are her keys and some extra ammunition, and she pulls out a load of old train tickets with a grimace. "Hm. I was meant to throw these away years ago."

"You're basically carrying around a wardrobe in there, then?" May asks in a way that'd maybe be a little teasing if she didn't look about as jealous as she sounds, but it becomes a thoughtful expression when Fiona shakes her head again.

"Bold of you to think I haven't got a whole pantry in here too," she says, and now Joanna looks very interested. "Check this out."

The first thing she pulls out is a gallon jug of clean water--endlessly fucking useful, she's found, especially when you're in some situation where you can't sit on your ass for an hour waiting for the water purification tablets to do their job--before pulling out a whole host of Atlesian MREs that she keeps around just in case shit really does hit the fan. Atlas rations are... not good, in a phrase, but she's owed them her life more than once, so, whatever.

"What dates are on those?" May quickly interrupts with a critical eye, trying to make out the printed numbers on the snow-patterned packets, and Fiona tosses her one if only to distract May's hands from trying to puzzle out Robyn's password when Robyn isn't directly paying attention.

"Things don't really degrade in my Semblance," Fiona admits. "I've tested it before on stuff with a short shelf-life, like cheese and milk, and honestly I can leave it in there for months and have it come out just as fresh as when it went in. Something to do with a sort of... internal stasis, I guess." Then, she adds, "One thing in my Semblance is a goldfish in a bowl, but he's part of a practical theory I'm running, so I can't materialise him for another fifteen years or so."

"That sounds very normal," Joanna says, and Fiona is glad she agrees as she barrels right over the inherent sarcasm.

As May agonises over finding the date, though, Fiona continues to unveil her pantry--there's plenty of snacks, like dried fruit and nuts and energy bars and chocolate, and when she reveals she carries extra for every member of her team and then some (then some in this instance being Robyn and Joanna, not that she'll admit it), Robyn looks delighted. "That's so sweet! Look at you, making sure nobody goes hungry. You're one in a million."

That's cute and very gay, but Fiona has a lot of stuff to be working through and so she keeps on going--there's a flask of coffee that, thanks to the maybe-stasis, is eternally hot, a bottle of dark Mantellian ale she keeps as, uh, moral support, and she blushes when she pulls out half an uneaten tuna sandwich. "I wondered where that went. Whoops."

May looks up from the MRE for a second, and then does a double-take as she takes in the sight of the very limp and sad-looking sandwich, made courtesy of the Atlas Academy cafeteria. "Wait! Isn't that the sandwich you accused me of stealing last month?!"

"Anyway!" Fiona says with a forced grin, quickly making it disappear back into the void where it can safely continue not existing. "I think the final thing in here is... wait."

She blinks, and suddenly in her hands are at least a hundred little booklets entitled The Pocket Guide to Communist Outreach, scattering right over the floor. Robyn yelps, and then reaches down the side of her bunk to pick them up. "Oh shit! I forgot I asked you to hold onto these! I thought we ran out, nice."

Joanna's face is in her hands, and May sighs long and hard before tossing the MRE back to Fiona with a distinctly pained expression.

"It goes out of date in a month," she notes with distaste, and Fiona just sucks it up without a word. She'll be thankful for it when they end up down a dark cave with no backup, but Fiona figures she'll sit on that one for a bit before being able to make the greatest told you so call in history. She can wait.

"So," she says, watching as May takes advantage of Robyn's momentary distraction to try and access her computer again. "I guess... do you wanna hear me play a song?"

Joanna watches as her partner leans too far over the side of the bunk, yelping as she nearly slams her head directly into the hard vinyl of the floor, and she grimaces. "Please do."

Grinning, Fiona finds her guitar again--somewhere buried, she mentally notes, beside the gallon of water but under the coats--and she slings the broad strap about her shoulders before settling it on her lap, crossing her legs tightly beneath herself before finding her place on the fretboard. After having not played since being back home, it relaxes her more than she'd ever realised it did. It helps to be surrounded by friends, though. Helps to be with family.

"I don't take requests," she adds, flatly, and Robyn laughs from her place on the floor before music fills the dorm, soft and deep and achingly familiar of a place far, far below.

But she's okay with calling this place home, too.

[sylvie-writes]

❅ Christmas Gala ❅

❅ pairing: ransom drysdale x reader 

❅ prompt: “Out of all the seats, and you willingly choose the one beside me? Should I be concerned?” @/coffin-prompts

❅ summary: ransom has a plus one to take to the gala, so he decides to extend the invitation to his assistant. it’s nothing more than business, right?

❅ warnings: slight age-gap, a few curse words and that’s about it.

❅ word count: 2,424

❅ author’s note: i know i have a lot of requests to write, but i needed to get the gears turning if that makes any sense. i’m trying to test the waters here. once again, i’m not going to be cranking out fics every week, but here’s me shooting my shot. the story may seem slow in the beginning, but it will pick up, i promise!

(gif below is not mine, nor do i take credit for it) 

***please excuse any mistakes***

December 24th, the night of the annual Christmas Eve Gala. Every year, prestigious and wealthy families were invited to the charity event held at the Center for the Arts in Boston. Among those who were invited, were the Thrombeys and Drysdales. Your boss, Ransom, also happened to be invited to the event and for some unusual reason, he decided to extend the invitation to you as the invite included a plus one. 

A knock on the door of your apartment distracted your thoughts from your focused typing. Standing from your seat at the table, you curiously made your way to the front. You hadn’t invited anyone over and rarely did you receive solicitors. 

Taking no time, you opened the door to be greeted by an older man, holding a gorgeous red midi dress hanging inside of a plastic dry clean bag. With furrowed brows, you quickly shot your eyes to the tag on the man’s uniform. The name of the local dry cleaner embroidered onto the pocket. 

“Delivery for (y/n)?”

Nodding uneasily you reached forward and took the dress from the smiling man who left as soon as the dress was in your hold. You held the hanger with one hand and with the other dug to see the ticket along with the Michael Kors tag. 

You only knew one person who would do such a thing, and reading the name on the receipt confirmed your suspicions.

Ransom.

There was an hour and a half till Ransom would be here to pick you up. Honestly, before you were surprised with the dress, you were contemplating not going altogether. Diligently, you finished up Ransom’s schedule for the week and shut off your laptop, running to go and get ready. 

The person staring back at you in the mirror made even you swoon. Ransom had surprised you once again by having selected the correct size for you. A flattering sweetheart neckline fell comfortably on your chest as the off the shoulder sleeves hugged you just enough to where they didn’t slide. You ran your hands over the sides of your body, smoothing the dress out. Bringing your gaze down to your feet, you stepped forward to sleep your feet into the heels in front of you. Taking one last check in the mirror, you were satisfied with the look and decided to once more head to the front door. 

Searching through the small coat closet, you rummaged through the many jackets, eventually finding your most prized possession. Practically brand new, you slipped on the tan trench coat that you had bought with your first real paycheck a few years back. Right out of college, you hopped onto this job and for the past five years, you’ve worked for Ransom. The pay was good and you couldn’t complain. 

To some, this trench coat wouldn’t be anything, but to you, it was the most expensive thing you owned as it was also the first designer piece of clothing you had ever owned and purchased. Once the jacket covered your shoulders, a knock sounded on the door. With Ransom’s usual impeccable timing, you correctly assumed it was him as it was exactly 8 o’clock on the dot. 

You opened the door to see the man out of his usual sweater and slacks, but instead wearing a suit and tie, making your mouth water. Apparently he felt the same way as Ransom’s jaw slightly hinged opened and you giggled. Taking two fingers and gently pushing it back up.

“You’re staring, boss.”

Ransom shook his head and muttered out a quick “right.”

He held out an arm for you and you latched on, the two of you heading for his car. 

Arriving, you were met with Joni’s “friendly” shriek of your name. Linda paid no mind to your entrance and her scowl made you cower into Ransom’s hold. He reassuringly squeezed your arm and walked even closer to the family. In his usual cold manner, Ransom greeted his mother and then turned his attention to his father who was currently arguing with Walt. How all of them managed to piggyback onto the perks of having the Thrombey name, you’ll never know. 

As Ransom fueled his father and uncle’s argument, you wandered off to Meg who gave you a small smile. Currently, she was trying to get Jacob to talk, but he was too invested into whatever was playing on his phone. 

With a defeated sigh you went back to Ransom, running to him like a little mindless sheep. As much as you hated it, leeching onto Ransom around was the only thing to do since you felt so out of place at this event.

For what felt like a good hour, you were on your feet and unknowingly becoming Ransom’s arm candy. You both had made your way from the family and to the crowd. Filled with unease, you downed more flutes of champagne than you could count. All you knew is that jaws were moving and yet you didn’t hear or care to listen to a single word. 

At some point even Ransom had somehow managed to ditch you and with no one else to run to, you eventually found your way into the theater. The usher politely showed you around to a seat even though they were not assigned. You plopped down into the seat, taking off those awful heels seeing as no one else was in the theater. 

You sat in the empty space for what must have been a good half hour. Save for your phone, you were extremely bored and most of all tired, already fighting your eyelids that were heavily falling. At some point, chatter fell upon your ears and you quickly blinked the sleep out of your eyes. 

A few rows over, you could spot Linda and Richard, and then as you turned your head the other way, the rest of the clan was in sight. They all came from different directions, but ultimately ended up sitting behind you. Your eyes sifted through the crowd, although there was no sign of Ransom.

You had expected he’d be off with someone by now, but for some reason a small part of you had been expecting him to stay with you. A sad sigh left your lips and you then delicately crossed your legs over each other, leaning back in the chair. If Ransom was going to leave you all alone, you might as well enjoy the free show and hell, enjoy yourself. After all, it was once in a blue moon that you got all dolled up like this and truly had a good time. 

As much as Ransom acted like he didn’t care about you, you both knew that was the complete opposite. The little things he did allowed you to see that. Sometimes he would order you your favorite meal, or make you a cup of coffee for when you arrived at his house. As for tonight, Ransom knew how much you enjoyed plays and dances, hence why he invited you. In Ransom’s own way, that’s how he showed his love, through money and such. The man was raised that way which gave him the idea that this was the only way to love. Your heart ached for him as he didn’t know that there was more to love than money. Honestly, sometimes you did try to show him that, with sweet hugs and such. Like a grumpy old man, he’d grumble and try to push you off of him, but he really didn’t try hard enough. Just like a few hours ago, when he had let you hang off of his arm, which was a sign that Ransom was slowly easing into the whole idea.

The doors to the theater were harshly shut and the sound bounced off the walls, grabbing your attention. You lifted your head to scan around the room for Ransom’s face one last time when a hand grasped onto your shoulder.

“Looking for me, sweetheart?”

A cheeky grin was on the man’s luscious lips and it took everything in you to not lean forward and kiss away said grin. Instead, you just crossed your arms over your chest and scoffed with faux annoyance. Ransom threw his arm around your shoulders and brought his fingers up to the side of your face. With gentle strokes using the very tips of his soft fingers, Ransom brushed some hair behind your ear. Trying not to be bothered by his actions, you decided to speak up. 

“Out of all the seats, and you willingly choose the one beside me? Should I be concerned?”

As the lights go down and the show begins, you see Ransom shake his head with a slight smirk. As he does so, he lowers his hand from your hair and starts lightly tracing shapes on your bare shoulder. 

“I’m offended you’d think such a thing, (y/n). Can I not just sit with my lovely assistant who I love so much?”

Ransom was whispering in your ear at this point, but you could still hear the playfulness in his voice. A quiet laugh fell from your lips and you just shook your head disapprovingly.

“No, not after you ditched her in the lobby.”

Before Ransom can apologize, the show begins and your attention is now drawn towards the beautiful opening number. 

The show goes on, and you grow sleepy. It’s not that you weren’t enjoying the performances, no they were captivating, but you were just exhausted and definitely not one wired for these high strung events. You were tired from just merely pretending to be friendly and kind around these people. They had barely turned an eye to you since your last name wasn’t from an affluent family and you surely didn’t have a silver spoon resting on your lips. Especially with the title of “Ransom’s assistant” virtually floating over your head, the people you had met could have cared less if you were instead a dog on a leash. 

Ransom still had his arm wrapped around your shoulder and his dancing fingers were lulling you to sleep. With a soft yawn, you riskily laid your head on Ransom’s own inviting shoulder. He smiled sweetly at your trust and turned his head to place a delicate kiss on the crown of your head. Although the other Thrombeys surrounded you both, Ransom didn’t care. As far as he was concerned, their heads were too far up their asses for them to even notice your interaction with the man.

You hummed in content and snuggled a bit into his side. 

Once the show ended, Ransom gently shook you awake before anyone could see you had fallen asleep. He rose from his seat first and held out his hands for you. Sleepily, you placed them in his as the man helped you from your own seat. Unfortunately, the row of seats you were sitting in was long and you had sat smack dab in the middle, meaning you’d be standing a long while. At the moment, your back was turned towards Ransom. His radiating warmth made you more susceptible to the cold air of the room as it hit your once warm skin. Ransom noticed your chilly shaking as you ran your hands over your arms in a desperate attempt to warm yourself. Wasting no time, the man hurriedly shed off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders since your back was facing him. He placed his hands on your now-covered shoulders and leaned down to quickly kiss the base of your neck. Just as you were about to turn and face him, the line before you started to move, leaving you no time to do so.

Eventually you made it back into the lobby, where neither you or Ransom decided to speak up about the events that had just occurred. He hastily grabbed your hand and led you to the family where you had assumed you’d be socializing once more. With your free hand, you rubbed the sleep from your eyes, accidentally smearing your makeup and internally groaning as you did so. You were about to let Ransom know you were heading off to fix your makeup when instead you heard the man bidding goodbye to the family. 

“Ransom, where are we going?”

The man walked with determination and pulled you along with him, the two of you showing up at the coat check. The attendant reached over the counter as Ransom took the two jackets from the young man. He turned towards you and simply responded, “We are going home.”

You cocked your head to the side, confused as you thought he’d still want to socialize a bit. The night was still young as Joni liked to say and she said way more than you liked, too.

“I thought you’d want to hang out a bit more, Ransom?”

He continued walking out the door, but still held up his end of the conversation.

“I saw how tired you were and figured we should head out before it got any later.”

Stopping dead in your tracks and right outside of the building, you turned to the man with an unreadable expression. The freezing night wind hit your face like needles, yet you still stood in your place.

“Seriously? If that’s the case I could have just taken an Uber, you know. I’m not here to be a pain in your ass.”

Ransom shook his head and you looked up at him with squinted and suspicious eyes.

“You could never be a pain in my ass. Especially with all of the things you do for me.” The man looked down on you now. His eyes meeting your own. 

“First off, I would not have you ride in an Uber this late,” bringing his hand to your chin, he continued, “and second, this is what you do when you love someone… right?”

He looked almost sheepish now and you had to refrain from making some cutesy expression at his adorable face. Proud of his realization, you excitedly nodded and with great confidence, pressed your lips to his. 

Ransom brought his hands to your waist and pulled you even closer as if he could lose you by not doing so. The two of you then leaned away after some time, small and sweet smiles on both of your faces. Ransom held his hand out for you, leading you to the car and eventually to his house, where you’d spend your first night together enjoying precious time spent in each other’s company. 

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If I have messed up or you want to be removed, please do not hesitate to ask. Same goes for joining! 

[bechloeislegit]

My Spy - Chapter 2

A/N: I had a couple of things I wanted to mention but forgot to put on the first chapter: First, I've taken some liberties and had Beca and the freshman Bellas living in the Bellas House since they were officially Bellas. Second, I have loosely followed the timelines set out in each of the PP movies, with some literary license on some of the events. Third, I will be using flashbacks to tell some of Beca and Chloe's history from when they were together and from their individual lives; flashbacks will be in Italics.

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

The Bellas walked out of the diner to see Beca sitting on a bench, with her head down. Stacie and Aubrey broke away from the group and went over to her. The other girls stayed back to give them some space.

"What happened, Beca?" Stacie asked as she sat on the bench next to Beca.

"What did Chloe say?" Aubrey asked as she, too, took a seat on the bench.

"I didn't talk to her," Beca mumbled.

"What do you mean you didn't talk to her?" Aubrey asked.

"I called and got one of those messages stating the number was no longer in service," Beca said, wiping her eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Beca," Stacie said, pulling Beca into a hug.

CR started walking over to the bench; the rest of the Bellas followed.

"Beca, can we do anything?" CR asked.

Beca just shook her head.

"I guess we'll just have to wait to see if Chloe reaches out to you," Aubrey said.

"I don't know if I even want to talk to her anymore," Beca blurted out.

"Don't you want some answers?" Jessica asked. "Answers that only Chloe can provide?"

~~ My Spy ~~

Later that night, instead of being on her way home to Portland as she had planned, Chloe was on a plane with other agents bound for Washington, DC. Her bosses decided that all the undercover agents involved in the drug bust needed to fly to Headquarters for a debriefing.

Chloe stared out the plane's window, wondering what Beca was doing now.

"She probably hates me," Chloe thought as an unwanted tear rolled down her cheek.

Chloe discreetly wiped the tear while glancing at her partner and seatmate to make sure he hadn't noticed. She was lucky; he was talking to another agent across the aisle from them.

Chloe looked up when one of the agents in the seat in front of her got on his knees and leaned his arms on the back of his seat. He looked at Chloe and smiled.

"Nice tackle on that guy, Beale," he said.

"Um, thanks, Davidson," Chloe responded.

"So, uh, some of us are planning to get a drink once we get situated at the hotel," Davidson said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was wondering if you would like to join us?"

"No, thanks," Chloe said. "I'm kind of tired. I think I'll just spend some quiet time in my room once we get there. Thanks for the invite, though."

"Sure, no problem," Davidson said before turning and sitting back down in his seat.

Chloe went back to staring out the window at the night sky. She was overthinking everything.

"I should call Beca and see if she's ready to talk to me. God, I hope she still wants to talk to me."

For the second time in ten minutes, Chloe tried to discreetly wipe a tear away, surprised to find both cheeks wet as more tears streamed down her face.

Chloe's partner, Jason, saw this and was momentarily shocked. The ever-stoic Agent Beale does not show her true emotions to anyone. Ever. He always admired that about her because it's a large part of what makes her a good agent.

Jason knew Chloe would be teased and bothered by the other agents. So he did what any good partner would do. He put his arm around her and sat sideways while wrapping his other arm around Chloe's shoulder and putting her face into his chest, essentially hiding Chloe's face from everyone's view.

"You look tired, Beale," Jason said loud enough for others to hear. "Feel free to lean on me and get some sleep."

Chloe nodded into Jason's chest and whispered a teary thank you.

~~ My Spy ~~

It had been four days since Beca last saw or spoke to Chloe. It had also been four days since her dad and the others had been arrested. Her father being arrested is still something she was having trouble wrapping her head around.

Beca's mother sent her money so she could replace her broken phone, with the promise that Beca would get a new number so Chloe couldn't contact her. Beca couldn't keep that promise, so she sat with her brand new phone with the same old number, staring at texts she and Chloe had shared over the past year.

Beca had gone back and forth about whether she wanted to call Chloe and would then remember that the number she had for Chloe had already been canceled. She was pacing around her room when her phone rang.

"Hello," Beca said, answering the call without looking at the caller ID.

"I was wondering why you hadn't called to give me your new number," Beca's mother, Sarah, said.

Beca swallowed. "I'm sorry. I'm still hoping that Chloe will call so that she can explain everything."

"Hmm," Sarah said. "I don't know if I would believe anything she had to say."

"I still need an explanation of some kind," Beca said as tears stung her eyes. "I love her, mom."

"How can you still say that?" Sarah asked. "She obviously was using you to get to your father."

"Is that what you think?" Beca scoffed. "Well, you're wrong. And stop blaming Chloe or anyone else, and put the blame where it belongs. Dad wouldn't have been arrested if he hadn't been involved in a drug ring in the first place."

Sarah sighed into the phone. "I didn't call to fight with you."

"Then why did you call?"

"I called because you've only got a couple of weeks until Spring Break, and I want you to come home. You don't have to worry about the cost, I'll pay for your ticket."

"Oh," Beca said. "I was, uh, kind of planning on coming home and bringing Chloe to meet you. I guess I can still come, but it will just be me."

It hurt Sarah's heart to hear Beca sounding so emotional and defeated.

"Baby, I know you're hurting," Sarah said. "Come home and you can forget about Chloe, your father, and everything else. At least for a little while."

Beca sniffled. "I already said I'd come."

"Good," Sarah said. "I'll buy your ticket and send the confirmation to your email. Keep an eye out for it; I know how you are about reading your emails."

"Text me when you send it," Beca said. "That way I can't miss it."

"I can do that," Sarah said. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Beca said. "Talk to you later. And, mom?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

~~ My Spy ~~

After four days, the debriefings were done and everyone was told they could go home.

"I'm beat," Chloe thought as she entered her hotel room. "It's been four extremely long and tiring days. The debriefings we had to suffer through for four days, could have been accomplished in a few hours."

Chloe threw her laptop on the bed and sat down. Her thoughts took over again.

"It's also been four days of no responses to texts I sent to Beca with my new number. Four days of phone calls going unanswered. Four days of missing Beca more than I've ever missed anyone in my life, even my parents. Four days of suffering the uncertainty about where my relationship with Beca stands."

"Who am I kidding?" Chloe mumbled as she fell back onto the bed. "I'm sure there's no chance of there even being a relationship anymore."

"Go home," the Director had told them before dismissing them for the day.

"Home?" Chloe questioned as she laid there wondering where "home" even was. Barden had been her home for almost four years. She was still enrolled as a student, and she only had a couple of months before she graduated. It was probably for the best if she went back and finished out the year. And if she happened to get to see and speak to Beca, even better.

Chloe's thoughts moved on to her Aunt Peggy and Uncle Matt. Her uncle is the one who got her involved in the agency to begin with, and she definitely didn't want to go to Portland and hear how she screwed up by falling in love while on the job.

Even as she thought this, she knew that no matter what anyone told her, she would never regret falling in love with Beca. She had tried not to let it happen; God knows she had tried. But, she finally accepted that it was meant to be and let it happen. And it was amazing.

Chloe quietly laid there with a plethora of thoughts running through her head. Her last thought fell back to her Uncle Matt, the man she held responsible for everything, good and bad, that had happened since he recruited her. It wasn't long before Chloe had fallen asleep and her thoughts invaded her dreams.

Chloe was a month into her Junior Year at Barden when she was surprised to see her Uncle Matt's name on her caller ID; he rarely called. He usually communicated with her via text.

"Hello, Uncle Matt," Chloe said, answering the call. "Why are you calling?"

"Chloe," Matt said. "I have an opportunity that I think you'd be wonderful for."

"What kind of opportunity?"

"I want you to help us with a case I'm working on," Matt said. "It has to do with Barden University and since you're already a student, you're the perfect person to help.

"What's the case?"

"We've been investigating a drug ring that's operating out of Mexico," Matt said. "They are moving the drugs up the East Coast and we have evidence that Barden is a major hub. We believe there are professors and students involved in the buying and selling of those drugs. We need an agent on the inside to help us gather more evidence about the drug ring and how it operates."

"But, I'm not an agent," Chloe said.

"You will be," Matt said. "We'll train you during your Winter Break. Six weeks is plenty of time to get the minimum training needed to do this. And then, if needed, we can give you more extensive training during the Summer Break."

"Can I think about it?" Chloe asked.

"Sure," Matt said, smiling. "Just don't wait too long. In the meantime, keep your eyes open around campus. If you see anything suspicious, call me."

"I will, Uncle Matt," Chloe said. "I have to go. I have a class."

A week later Chloe had seen a drug deal going down so she called her Uncle Matt to tell him about it. Agents arrived within minutes and she watched as the guys were arrested. She got such a rush from it that she immediately called her uncle and agreed to work for him on the case from that moment on.

Chloe woke up with a start when someone knocked on her hotel room door. She sat up and looked around.

"Chloe? It's Uncle Matt," Matt's voice called out from the hallway.

Her Uncle Matt coming to see her was not a surprise considering he was kind of her boss and it was his case. Chloe jumped up and ran to the door, opening it.

"Come in, Uncle Matt," Chloe said to the man.

Matt entered the room and turned to Chloe.

"Have a seat," Chloe said, motioning to the chairs around a small table.

Chloe walked over and sat down, expecting her uncle to do the same. Instead, Matt remained standing and was pacing back and forth. After a few minutes of him not speaking, Chloe became fidgety.

"So, what's up?" Chloe finally asked.

"I've been hearing some rumors that there is something going on between you and Beca Mitchell."

"Was," Chloe said.

Matt stopped pacing and looked at Chloe.

"I'm sorry, what?" Matt said

"There was something going on between me and Beca Mitchell," Chloe said. "But, thanks to you having everyone arrested on campus instead of waiting to catch them receiving the drug shipment, it's no longer an issue. My cover was blown and now she hates me."

Matt ran a hand through his hair. "We had to do it, Chloe. We got word that the Mexicans knew about our planned raid and had the shipment delivered early. We weren't prepared for that, so arresting the sellers was the only way we could keep most of the drugs off the streets. You should be proud; the agency considers this a success."

"Good for you," Chloe said, standing and facing Matt. "Is that it?"

Matt sighed and said, "Your Aunt Peggy wants to know if you're coming home."

"Home?" Chloe snorted. "I don't even know where home is anymore. My plan is to go back to Barden to finish the year so I can graduate."

"You do know you will always have a home with us, right?" Matt said. "You're like our own daughter."

"Would you have recruited your own daughter to be an agent?"

Matt swallowed and looked down. "Probably not."

"That's what I thought," Chloe said, walking over to the door and pulling it open. "I think you should go now."

Matt looked at Chloe and walked to the door.

"Please think about seeing your Aunt Peggy at some point," Matt said. "She misses you."

Chloe looked down at the floor, not saying anything. Matt kissed the top of Chloe's head before stepping through the doorway and walking away.

Chloe let the door close and went over to her suitcase. She started throwing her clothes into it.

Once everything was packed, Chloe got on her computer to book a flight to Atlanta. After confirming a flight for the next day, she bought a used car through an online car dealership near campus. She also put a down payment on a furnished apartment, sight unseen, just off Barden's campus.

~~ My Spy ~~

The next day, Chloe flew to Atlanta. She took an Uber to the used car lot and drove her 'new' car to her apartment.

Once she had the apartment keys in hand, she checked out the apartment and unpacked her clothes. Looking around she decided to drive to a nearby store to purchase a few groceries.

After a light dinner, Chloe pulled out her laptop and opened the email she had sent to herself with the phone numbers of all the Bellas. She picked up her phone preparing to send a text.

Chloe chewed on her lip, trying to decide which of the Bellas would be the most receptive to her. She smiled as she looked through the list and made her decision. She put in the number and started typing, hitting send when she was satisfied with what she had written.

UnknownNumber: Lily, this is Chloe Beale. I know you and the Bellas are angry with me, but please hear me out. I've tried calling and texting Beca but haven't received a response. I know she's angry and hurt but would you give her my new number and ask her to call me? I really need to speak to her. My number is (555) 809-1985. I'm really sorry about everything. I hope one day you can all forgive me.

Lily was shocked when she saw the text from Chloe. She was torn as to what to do. She didn't tell anyone about the text, but she did respond.

Lily: Beca busted her phone the night of the arrests. I will give her your number, but I can't promise she'll use it. And, for what it's worth, I understand you were doing your job so I forgive you. Good luck to you.

Chloe was surprised to receive a response so quickly. She knew that Lily was different and the rest of the Bellas wouldn't be so quick to forgive her. She had to admit, it felt good to have at least one of them forgive her. It also made her hopeful for the first time since she and Beca last saw each other.

UnknownNumber: Thank you so much. I really appreciate it.

After sending the final text, Chloe put all the Bellas' numbers back in her phone, hoping she' be using them one day soon.

~~ My Spy ~~

Chloe knew that if she was going to resume attending classes she would need her textbooks. All of which were still in the room she had shared with Beca in the Bellas House. She thought about asking Lily to get them and bring them to her. She quickly dismissed that idea because it would mean telling Lily she was in Barden, and she wasn't ready to do that just yet.

An hour later, Chloe was dressed all in black, sitting in her car parked down the street from the Bellas House. She knew the Bellas had a rehearsal and would be leaving soon.

Chloe felt bad because the Bellas would have to change the choreography to accommodate her absence. Aubrey would also have to give her solo to someone else. Chloe had loved singing with the Bellas and especially with Beca.

Chloe checked the time and sat up in her seat to watch the front door of the Bellas House. It was less than a minute later the door opened and the girls were coming out. Chloe watched and started counting so she would know when they had all vacated the House.

Chloe's breath hitched when saw Beca walking out after Stacie. It took everything she had not to jump out of the car and run to Beca and pull her into a hug.

As soon as the group rounded the corner at the opposite end of the street, Chloe got out of her car. She looked around and all was quiet.

Chloe stuck her hands in the pockets of her hoodie and kept her head down as she made her way to the house. She was able to enter with no trouble.

Once inside, Chloe stood and listened to ensure the place was empty. When she was sure, she made her way to Beca's room, stopping outside the door for a moment as memories of the intimate moments she shared with Beca in the room, rushed into her head.

Chloe took in a deep breath and opened the door, scanning the room before quickly gathering her books and stuffing them into the backpack she was carrying. She saw Beca's favorite hoodie lying on the bed and picked it up. She put it to her nose and inhaled deeply; it smelled of Beca. She shoved the hoodie into the backpack and took it with her, quickly making her way out of Beca's room and the Bellas House.

Chloe didn't breathe again until she was safely back in her apartment.

[clanoffetts]

someday. | paz vizsla x fem!reader

chapter I

masterlist

synopsis: Paz Vizsla finds himself stuck on Dantooine with a broken ship and no credits. Luckily, he finds you, a mechanic that will fix his ship for passage to Hosnian Prime. Over the course of your time together, a courtship blooms.

warnings/things to note: star wars swear words; reader has hints of PTSD that will be expanded on in further chapters (and those will be tagged with stronger warnings); blatant lack of knowledge of ship mechanics; only one use of ‘Y/N’

word count: 5.1k

Dirt kicked up behind heavy boots. Hands stopped their work so heads could turn. It wasn’t often a Mandalorian showed up. Actually, one had never showed up. And this one was huge. A buff man, covered in heavy armor that had been painted blue. Even his helmet evoked fear. The townspeople were watching myth become reality. 

The large man walked into Aliria’s Shop. The shop had a name once, when Aliria’s parents had opened it, but that was some 80 years ago now. The shop had survived the Clone Wars and the Empire, not to mention the constant flow of smugglers and thieves customary to the Outer Rim. Aliria’s Shop wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon. 

It was a fairly small shop, especially considering all the things packed into it. Aliria carried food, clothes, a small array of weaponry, and medical supplies. There wasn’t much in the little town, a droid mechanic, a ship mechanic, a small infirmary, and a bar. Aliria’s Shop was the hub, she had the essentials. 

The Mandalorian was like a bull in a china shop inside the store. Aliria had crammed crates, tables, and shelves into every crevice of the store. Not to mention the various pieces of merchandise hanging from the ceiling. 

“Watch it, Mandalorian!” Aliria yelled at the man as he almost hit the shelf of fruits with the huge gun on his back. She may look like a frail older woman at the age of 75, but her voice didn’t show it. Aliria’s tan skin was weathered and her body was tired, but her voice held life. She was the backbone of the community. 

The armored man let out a gruff sorry before moving on. He was looking down at his gauntlet, reading some kind of list. “Kriffing hell, how do I find anything in here?” 

“We don’t get many outsiders, Mandalorian,” she said. “But my sales associate can help you. She was an outsider once, too.”

The pitch black of his visor shifted to you. Your hair was a bit messy, as you’d just helped your co-worker unload a speeder of goods. But you smiled at him. A change of pace is always nice. You walked from behind the counter to be in front of the Mandalorian and you asked, “What are you looking for, sir?” Your customer service voice was rough, you never needed to use it with most of the customers. They knew you personally, everyone knew everyone here. 

“You got ration bars?” His voice was gruff and deep, but you couldn’t tell if that was just because of the helmet. 

“Not many,” you told him. “Maybe ten? Aliria has such good prices, no one ever needs to buy a ration bar in place of real food.” It was a sales pitch you’d been taught when training here, but it was the truth. Why pay a credit for a ration bar when you can pay a credit for instant noodles? 

He huffed a little. “I’ll take all ten.” This man was weird, you decided. “Non-perishables? Do you have any?”

“We’ve got some beans, some vegetables that won’t go bad for at least a few years, rice, and a few other things. They’re all kind of scattered around.”

“Of course they are,” he was annoyed. “Where’s the vegetables?”

You pointed through a door at the back of the shop. “Greenhouse out back. Tell me what you need, I’ll go grab it.” Reluctantly, he showed you his gauntlet. It was a grocery list. You locked the information into your mind, grabbed a basket and headed to the greenhouse. 

When you got back, he was in the same place. He must’ve seen your confusion because he said, “I’d rather not waste time looking for things myself. I figure you’d be better at it.” And you were. You helped him get everything he needed, but the list just got weirder. Baby formula, toddler sized coveralls, ammunition, a journal, and more miscellaneous items that made no sense to you. You didn’t believe a Mandalorian was going to hand write something and in a journal, no less.

You wanted to know more, but you had a feeling he wouldn’t be keen on questions. Before you’d come to Dantooine, you’d been all over the galaxy and heard stories of Mandalorians and their secrecy. 

“What brings you to Dantooine, Mando?” You ask as you ring up the last of his items, putting them in the up-cycled grain bag grocery bags. You were tired of the tense silence, Aliria had gone into the back to do Maker knows what, and the Mandalorian’s stare was unnerving. 

“Work,” he said. His visor remained unmoving, his eyes were on you. You had a feeling that ‘work’ was something either illegal or close to it. “You?”

You were surprised. And, again, he must’ve noticed. “The old lady said you are an outsider, too.”

“Was an outsider, Mando,” you correct, bringing up his total. “I came here for work, too.” He could tell you were lying, or at least not sharing the whole truth. “It’s two-hundred credits, Mando.”

He reached into a pouch on his belt, and pulled out all the credits. “That should be two-hundred.” It was. Exact change and everything. Once you’d counted the money and placed it in the register, he grabbed all his bags with ease and turned to walk out. 

“Have a nice day!” you tell him, remembering your lines Aliria insisted on. He said nothing in return.

-  

Paz Vizsla arrived back at his ship far out from the town. He put the bags of supplies for the covert in the cargo hold and cleared the message from Armorer that detailed what they needed. After the covert had to relocate, they were in desperate need of supplies. Especially for all the children who lost a buir or, Maker forbid, both buire. The children who had basically become foundlings. Paz’s heart broke for them, he tried to be the best ba’vodu, but there some things that even stories from Uncle Paz couldn’t fix. 

He’d spent the little bit of left over change from the bounty on something for each kid, even Bezza, who was old enough to be treated as an adult at seventeen. She’d lost her buire, and the least Paz could do was get her a nice, leather-bound journal that she’d been pining for. Something hard to come by in a galaxy that had moved on from physical writing. 

Paz closed the cargo hold and began moving himself towards the cockpit. He was tired, and though no one else agreed, he was getting old. Nearing 44, he was ready to just be Mr. Vizsla the teacher, Uncle Paz, and hopefully buir someday. But he was one of the Tribe’s best fighters. They needed him to keep hunting, so he did. This is the Way. 

He moved to start up the ship. It gave a groan, but lit up all the same. Paz began his takeoff procedures, but the ship wouldn’t budge. Kriff, he thought. This can’t happen. Paz Vizsla was a capable fighter, fluent in Mando’a, and a brilliant teacher, but he was no mechanic. That had always been his biggest shortcoming. I have no credits, he realized. Stuck on Dantooine with no credits. 

Dirt kicked up behind heavy boots. Hands stopped their work so heads could turn. It wasn’t often a Mandalorian showed up. But this one had now shown up twice. The awe of the townsfolk was still the same. He trudged back into Aliria’s Shop. This old woman would know someone willing to fix a ship for some food, he thought. She seems to know everything.

Except, when he walked in he was greeted by a new face. Not the saleswoman who’d helped him a few hours ago, nor was it the old woman. “How can I help you?” The boy asked. He couldn’t be more than sixteen. 

“You know anyone who’d be willing to fix a ship for a meal? Or maybe a small blaster?”

The kid shook his head. “No one around here is that desperate. I’ll go get Aliria, though. She might know someone I don’t.” The kid retreated into the back room without fully taking his eyes off Paz. 

When he returned, he had Aliria hobbling along next to him, bony hands around his arm. “Zenith says you need a mechanic? There’s a shop down the road but what he charges won’t be worth what you get,” the woman says. 

“I need someone who will work for something other than credits,” he says. “I don’t have any.”

You looked up from the datapad in the backroom. You had experience as a mechanic, you were rusty after all these years, but better than the other option, who probably learned by seeing a few pictures on the holonet. Maybe this was your ticket back out of the Outer Rim. You’d amassed enough credits to at least get an apartment for a bit until you can get work. Core Worlds always had open jobs, and you have connections. You hated to leave the little town, but it had always been the goal. You just thought it’d be many more years. 

You stepped out of the back room. “I’ll do it, Mando. I’ve got experience, I can probably fix it.” Zenith seemed surprised, but Aliria just smiled.

“I can’t pay,” he reiterated. 

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, you’ve said. We’ll negotiate the price on the way to your ship. You got tools?” He nodded. “I’ll be back tonight, Aliria. I’ll finish up inventory then.” The old woman told you not to worry about it and shooed both of you off, ready to get back to whatever she was up to in the storage room. 

As soon as the door shut behind you, you said, “Passage to Hosnian Prime. That’s all I’m asking.”

“Hosnian Prime? Do you know how long it’s going to take me to get from Dantooine to Hosnian Prime?” He was annoyed. The ship must be having a minor issue, but you were wanting a major payment. “And so far out of my way, my home is in the Outer Rim. And I’ll have no credits to refuel.”

Now you were the annoyed one. “I’m fixing your ship, Mando. You said anything but credits. My offer is passage to Hosnian Prime for the fixing of your ship.”

“How do I know you can even fix my ship? Why aren’t you the town mechanic?”

This wasn’t something you wanted to get into. You hadn’t talked about it in so long. Not since you got to Dantooine and Aliria took you in, vowing to help you back to wherever you wanted to be. “I was done being a mechanic, Mando, that’s why.”

“So you decided to work in a dingy little shop? With the galaxy’s oldest woman?”

You felt anger grow stem from the seed of annoyance. Aliria was like your grandmother. Like the whole town’s grandmother. And here comes an outsider, insulting Aliria’s shop. Aliria’s family built that town from the ground up. And this outsider insults her. “Do not speak of Aliria or her shop like that again, Mando. Or I won’t fix your ship and you’ll be stuck on Dantooine forever.”

Paz felt bad. He’d cut too deep, he’d only meant it to be a friendly dig about your job, a job most people weren’t ever satisfied with. He’d thought you’d laugh. He’d thought wrong. You walked in silence the rest of the way. 

“This is your ship?” you asked. No wonder it wouldn’t get off the ground. “Maker, Mando, what have you put this thing through?” It was dented, covered in carbon scoring, and there were chunks of it missing. You could only guess how bad the inner workings were. 

“A few altercations,” he replied. You couldn’t see his face, but you knew he was looking at this sorry excuse for a Mandalorian’s ship with love and pride. 

You laughed a little and shook your head. “I haven’t even looked at the wiring, but I think taking me to Hosnian Prime is the absolute least you could do for the work I’m going to have to do on this thing.”

“I just need it to fly,” he told you. “Nothing fancy.”

“Mando, this thing is going to pull itself apart when you try to leave the atmosphere. I’m surprised it even made it through,” you told him. 

The ship always groaned a little when Paz asked it to do things, but it always had obeyed. Without fail. Until now, of course. “It did sound a bit...pained when I arrived.” He left out the whole being fired at by ex-Imps and the harsh landing he’d made that’d landed him here. 

“Alright, I’ll go take a look, if that’s ok? And I’ll try to tell you when I think I’ll have it done.” He nodded, and pushed a button on his gauntlet, giving you access to the ship. 

-

“Bad news and good news,” you told him as you reemerged from the ship. “Bad news is this is a piece of junk and you should replace it. Good news is I can fix it and it’ll only take a few days.”

A few days. He needed to get these things back to the covert, they needed them. “Ok,” he said. “But before I take you to Hosnian Prime, we’ll need to make a pit stop on Yavin IV. I gotta get these supplies back.” You nodded, just as long as you’d be getting to Hosnian Prime at some point. 

“I’ll get started, if that’s ok?” He nodded and you retreated back inside. The external damage wasn’t as crucial as the internal, your job was going to be rough.

It was a long, hard rest of your day. The blasted ship held the humidity of the planet tightly and your coveralls were thick. You’d brought down the top half to tie around your waist, leaving you in your tank top and bra. You caught glimpses of the Mandalorian as you moved past the port holes, and he just sat there on a rock, not moving. All day. You couldn’t imagine the heat under that armor. 

When you came out of the ship again, it was night. “I’ve made good progress. It won’t be done tomorrow, but maybe the day after. If I’m lucky, of course.” And worked almost non-stop, you silently added.

“Good,” he says. “Go home and rest, dal’ika.”

You furrowed your brow. “My name isn’t dal’ika.” 

“I know,” he said, and then he moved past you onto his ship. 

“Good night to you, too!” You called. 

- 

You walked to Aliria’s small home once you got back into town. She deserved to know your plans, you thought. She’d probably even help. 

“Ah! Dear! You’re back!” she said. “I was worried the Mandalorian would take you, but then I figured you’d comm if he’d try anything.”

You smiled. “He didn’t do much of anything. Just sat there.”

“What did you tell him your price is, dear?” 

You took a deep breath and sat on the sofa next to her. “Passage to Hosnian Prime.”

“You’re leaving?”

You nodded. “It’s time,” you said. “I have enough credits, especially since I won’t have to pay for transportation.”

“What will you do there, dear?” Aliria was worried. You were a grown woman, yes, but she felt protective. 

“Find General Organa,” you said. “See if she keeps promises.” You knew she would. She always had.

Aliria gave a bittersweet smile. “I knew you’d leave someday, but I never thought of how it would feel.” Her heart was breaking, and so was yours. This woman took you in when you showed up a mess on Dantooine, she held you during nightmares, and she helped you buy the little hut you now call your own. She gave you a job and a place in the community. “You’ll do much good on Hosnian Prime, dear. I know you will.”

You didn’t know what she meant, but somehow you believed her. “Thank you, Aliria. Thank you.” You couldn’t seem to say anything else, but it wasn’t adequate to what you were feeling. You needed a stronger phrase, but you didn’t know one.

“Take care of that Mandalorian, now,” she said, trying to be a bit more lighthearted. “I’ve always thought you’d like a warrior husband.”

You rolled your eyes. All the old women in town were like this. “He barely even talks to me and calls me dal’ika instead of my name, which he hasn’t asked for, by the way.”

“He’ll warm up to you, I’m sure. Especially if he’s got to take you from here to Hosnian Prime,” Aliria said. “You didn’t talk much when you arrived, either, remember?”

Aliria always had a way of finding the good in people, even if it was hardly there. That was rare, especially this far out in the galaxy, and you cherished it. You’d learned early on not to do that, but Aliria helped you open up more. Maybe she was right, this journey would result in a new friend.

“Ok, Ali, I will take care of the Mando,” you said. “Now I think I’m going to go home. Want to be up early tomorrow to fix his ship.”

She nodded and patted your knee. “Take the speeder bike tomorrow, it seems like a long walk.” You nodded, and placed your hand over hers for a moment. “Good night, dear. Sleep well,” she said and then she shooed you out in the way only an old lady could.

-

The next morning it was cooler outside. The trees swayed gently in the soft wind, and you became grateful for the coveralls as you picked up speed on the bike. You looked the same as you did the day before, just a little less rested. There was a little sunlight, but not much, and there were still a few nocturnal animals on the path. 

Arriving at the ship, everything was still closed up, and the big Mando nowhere in sight. You contemplated banging on the door, but before you made a decision the door lowered into a ramp and he walked out. “You’re very early, dal’ika.” 

“Told you I would be. Need all the daylight I can get.”

“Indeed.”

His gaze bore down on you again. You really took in how large he was. He had to be over six feet tall and maybe even closer to seven in the armor. A few people in town speculated that he wasn’t actually as buff as he seemed and that it was just the armor, but you doubted that. 

“I’ll go ahead and get started, if that’s ok?” 

He nodded. “You don’t have to keep asking, dal’ika.”

“That’s still not my name,” you said in a singsong voice over your shoulder as you walked up the ramp. He walked over towards some of the denser areas of trees.

You tried to watch him as discreetly as possible through one of the port holes, but you had a suspicion that, somehow, he could tell you were watching. He walked over some of the logs of fallen trees that had piled up towards the edge of the clearing. He picked two large ones, one in each arm, and set them upright. Then, he placed the large stones on the top of and behind them to keep them standing. 

He retreated a few yards, and his hands slid down to his thighs. He brought two blasters back up. Ah, you thought. Target practice. 

As much as you knew you needed to begin your day’s work, you stood at the port hole and watched him fire blast after blast, and you knew he hit each spot he intended to. He moved back farther, fired some more, and then moved off at angles. You never thought you’d be attracted to a man whose face you’d never seen and name you didn’t know, but here you are. 

Finally, you tore your gaze from the beskar-covered man and began your work, getting the tool box from where you’d left it yesterday. 

-

It was noon when you walked down the ramp again. The Mandalorian had finished his shooting hours ago, and had now shed his shin and thigh armor, along with the heavy cannon he carried on his back. He was already looking at you when you stepped into the doorway. 

“Need something, dal’ika?” 

You shook your head. “Lunch time, Mando.” You pulled some kind of bar out of your pocket. “It’s got meiloorun filling,” you brag. 

“Sounds good,” he said, a little amused at what you considered something to brag about. 

You sat down on the rock opposite him. “You want one? I’ve got an extra.”

“No, thank you, dal’ika,” he replied. 

You sunk your teeth into the grain and meiloorun bar, chewed, and swallowed. “What language even is that?”

“Mando’a,” he said. “The language of my people.”

“The Mandalorians?” You ask dumbly.

He let out a chuckle, it was small, but the vocoder processed it. “Yes, dal’ika, but I thought that was obvious.”

“What’s that mean? That word you’re calling me?”

He contemplated for a moment, but finally told you. “Dal’ika means woman in Mando’a. Well, dala means woman. The ‘ika bit just means it's a nickname. It implies that you’re, well, small. It’s used for kids a lot but also for friends.” He regretted saying that, in case you found it insulting or weird. He quickly moved on. “And I definitely consider you more than an acquaintance, especially since we’ll be spending some time together.”

You looked at him. You’d never thought of yourself as small. “Well, that’s good to hear. And I think everyone is small next to you, Mando.”

He laughed again, and you took another bite. “I suppose so. What is your actual name?” You tell him, and he nods. “I can call you that, if you’d like?”

“Dal’ika is fine,” you say. You’d never really had a nickname before. “But you can call me my name, too, if you want.”

“Ok, dal’ika,” he said. “Where are you from?”

You looked at him. Why all the questions? You briefly thought of home, but closed your eyes. “Rather not say.”

He nodded, understanding. “I’m sorry that I keep saying the wrong things. I really should know better, considering I don’t like too many questions, either.”

“It’s ok, it’s not like you know what will strike a cord,” you tell him. You hurriedly finished your lunch, eager to get back on the ship in case memories of home flooded back into your mind and tears flooded your eyes. “Well, I’m off,” you say, standing awkwardly and walking back to the ship, leaving the Mando by himself again. 

You sat on the floor of the ship, one of the flooring panels removed, working on some wiring. In the back of your mind you saw your childhood home, the mountain peaks you could see from the backyard, and the neighbor kids that you’d played with every day after school. You remembered leaving. You remembered never being able to go back. 

Your hands are still in the wire compartment in the floor. You took a deep breath, closed your eyes, and smiled to yourself. Aliria always said smiling makes you feel better. It worked, and your hands began moving again, replacing and connecting wires.

-

Again, it was nightfall when you came out of the ship. The Mandalorian had all his armor on again, and he stood as you emerged. “I should’ve walked you home last night, dal’ika. It was dark when you left, I’m sorry for not offering.”

You felt your heart swell a little. He was a gentle giant, you decided. “Thank you, Mando, but I can take care of myself. Besides, it’s not like there’s dangerous people here.”

“Still,” he insisted. “I should have.”

You gave up and replied, “That would’ve been a kind gesture. I would take you up on the offer tonight, but Aliria lent me her speeder, so I don’t need an escort today.”

“As you wish,” he replied. “Just be careful, dal’ika. Hosnian Prime awaits.” He walked past you and onto the ship, just like he had the night before. 

-

The next day was almost the same, except you had to walk. Aliria needed the speeder for Zenith and supplies he was picking up from a nearby farm, but apart from that, everything was the same. You made small talk with the Mandalorian over your lunch (a star fruit bar today), and  watched him shoot his blasters from afar. You got a lot of work done today, most of the hard stuff was finished and now just needed some tweaking. You moved on to the exterior of the ship a few hours before nightfall. 

“Dal’ika,” he said as you started working on the exterior. “Only do what you absolutely need to on the outside. I’d hate to see your hard work go to waste when I get into another altercation.” 

You nodded, but replied, “I hope you don’t plan on getting into one of your altercations while I’m aboard.”

“Well, I never really plan on them, but I’ll be extra careful if it makes you feel better,” he told you. 

You smiled. “It does.”

“It’s going to get dark soon,” he said.

You nodded, opening one of the exterior panels and examining it. “I know. I just have a few more things,” you assured him. “And then I’ll take you up on your offer to walk me home.” You turned your head towards him and smiled, but what you didn’t know was that your smile brought the slightest blush to his cheeks. 

Paz sat back down on his rock while you worked on the exterior. He thought about the smile you’d given him, how you weren’t afraid of him. There’s something more to this one, he thought. Something’s made her tough, and it wasn’t this village.

Finally, you finished. “Alright,” you told the Mando as you exited the ship after putting the tools up. “It should fly, but we can test that tomorrow. For now, I need to go home.”

He nodded and stood from the rock. “Lead the way, mechanic,” he said. 

You walked a pace or two in front of him, even though he didn’t really need to be led to the town. It wasn’t like there were many of those around here, but he let you, and you rambled about the place with pride. About Aliria with pride. 

After a few beats of silence, he spoke up. “May I ask what’s on Hosnian Prime? If you don’t want to answer, just tell me.”

“An old friend,” you said and looked back at him again. This smile was different, he noticed, but he wasn’t sure how. “I haven’t seen her in a long time, but I know she still cares.” You were telling him the truth, so why did you feel like you were lying? He didn’t need to know that General Organa was the friend or why you knew her. But you almost wanted him to know. Still, you held back. 

“Oh,” he said. “Sounds nice. I’ve heard good things about Hosnian Prime.” Truthfully, he hadn’t heard anything about Hosnian Prime except that it was the new capital of the New Republic. 

“I have, too,” you agreed. “What about you? What’s on Yavin IV?”

“Family,” he said. He was telling the truth, so why did he feel like he was lying? And why was he trusting you with the planet of the covert? 

You nodded. “I figured, with all the baby stuff you bought. Is your wife a Mandalorian, too? I heard Mandos can only marry Mandos.”

He was shocked a little, forgetting that you didn’t know much about his culture. “No, I don’t have a wife. Or kids of my own. My Tribe is my family, and there are kids in the Tribe. They’re just not mine.”

“Oh, interesting,” you said, kicking a rock in front of you. You were surprised to find yourself relieved that he did not have a wife. “So, like, can you only marry inside your tribe?”

“No, dal’ika,” he laughed. “We’d end up with some interesting children if we kept it in the tribe. Some people marry within the tribe, some never marry, and others marry outsiders.” He didn’t really know how accurate his answer was. Maybe, in big tribes, people did just marry in the tribe. But the covert he belonged to was too small for that. 

You kicked the rock again as you arrived at the place it had landed. “Huh,” you said. “Guess I never thought about that.” 

“We prefer people not think about us at all,” he replied. His tone was solemn when he said this, and you instinctively placed a hand on his armored arm to comfort him. The Mandalorian was brought to a blush under his helmet again. Maker, he thought. How’s she doing this to me?

You walked into the town in comfortable silence, your arm now wrapped around his, fingers lightly rubbing the armor. It was meant as a soothing technique, but you doubt he could feel it under the layers of metal and cloth. Eventually, you neared your home. “That one’s mine,” you pointed. The house’s door was painted blue, and your flowerbed was filled with blue flowers. 

“Your house matches my armor, kebiin’ika,” he said.

A new nickname. “What’s that mean?”

“Kebiin is blue. And, you know, ‘ika is ‘small’ and an endearment.” 

“Little blue?” You ask.

He nodded. “Ding, ding, ding,” he said. “You’d pick up Mando’a quickly, I think.” You smiled at him, you spoke Basic and Huttese already, why not learn a third? He smiled back, though all you could see was metal and visor. “Are we leaving tomorrow?” 

“Yes, I think that’d be good. Tomorrow after lunch, maybe? I’ve got to pack up my stuff and say good-bye to everyone.” He nodded. He’d forgotten that you’re leaving your life behind. “I don’t have much stuff, by the way, so don’t worry about that.”

He chuckled again. “Even if you did, I wouldn’t worry. We’d find the space.” There was a warmth in his voice that made your whole body warm. You could tell he cared about the people close to him deeply if he cared about a stranger like this.

You unlocked your door and stepped inside. You weren’t expecting a good night, as you had no reason to, but you did stop yourself from closing the door all the way.

You looked up at him through the half-open blue door. “Thank you,” you said quietly. “For walking me home. It’s very kind.”

“You deserve kindness, Y/N,” he replies, as if it was painfully obvious. Then, you realized he said your name. Your real name, not some Mandalorian nickname. 

You smiled again, your lips were beginning to hurt but your face wouldn’t let you stop. “Will I ever get to know your name, Mando?”

“Someday.”

[flannel-cladpika]

Avengers x Teen reader

The reader is a brilliant engineer, that makes (grade A+) battle armor & weapons. The Vulture and the reader works together by selling these illegal armor & weapons. (The Vulture even gives the reader profit because the reader lives alone) The reader learns at school (The R is the quiet/loner kid) about Vulture getting arrested and they soon decide to leave New York and disappear. They grab all their money and leave to Tennessee to start a new life. The ending could be the reader starting a new life

Sorry for the delay! Here it is!

Avengers x GN! Teen Reader

You weren’t always like this. 

You had a family once. Loving parents, 2 siblings that were annoying but still kind and sweet. A nice house on the outskirts of New York City. You had the perfect life.

Until the world started ending due to an psychotic AI wanting control of the world.

You’d been out getting groceries while your parents were taking your siblings into the city to pick up some take out for dinner and maybe get something from the Cheesecake Factory.

You’d gotten home earlier than them, which was to be expected.

That’s when you saw the news.

There was an invasion of robots descending on the city. You heard screams in the background of the newscaster. You hurriedly picked up your phone and called your parents. It took three rings until one of them finally answered.

“(Y/n)! Are you alright?” you heard from the other line.

“Yeah, I’m fine, but where are you guys?! Tell me you’re headed home, ple-”

“Sweetie, I’m sorry...I love you...We all love you...No, no, no! God, no! PLEASE!! N-” and with that, the line went dead.

Later, when bodies were being identified, you found out that your family wasn’t among the survivors. That was the day you lost everything.

Timeskip~ 2 years later

You’d thrown yourself into your passion of engineering and tinkering, and worked like your life depended on it. You’d managed to make a name for yourself on the dark web and black market for being a fantastic engineer of unusual illegal weapons, like gloves that could shoot focused high-intensity soundwaves, causing an opponent’s ears to be in extreme pain and bleed, even causing horrible hearing loss.

You’d managed to make enough money from work to put yourself through school and even get yourself an apartment, though it wasn’t exactly the nicest place. But hey, you just needed a place to crash, keep all your equipment, and hide your money. A shady, rundown place was perfect. 

Through your work, you’d met some people. One of those being Adrian Toomes, aka, “The Vulture”. The guy had found out about you through a client of yours, and had apparently liked your products. He’d called you up on one of your  phones (you had several cells, to as to not be tracked), and asked for your help on a project of his. You’d heard of him, and knew he was a reliable guy in the underworld, so you agreed to meet him and see what you could do. Afterall, this guy had connections, which were invaluable in this business.

Turned out, the two of you worked really well together. He didn’t look down on you because of your age or treat you like a little kid. At the same time, he gave you space to work and listened to you. After a few more collaborations, you asked to move your tools into his warehouse, as your apartment wasn’t such a good workspace. He smiled and agreed. 

Adrian, or as you liked to call him “Vultch” was good to you. He would happen to bring extra food in his meals and offer you some. He’d even gotten you a new power drill for Christmas. He knew you were an orphan, and knew you lived on your own, but never pushed for details, which you were grateful for. He was like a father-figure, or at least a caring uncle.

When you met his daughter at school, you actually didn’t know who she was at first. Their last name was the same, but you figured that was probably just a coincidence. As a quiet kid who liked books and formulas more than most people, you didn’t really pay the popular pretty girl much mind.

That was, until you both were grouped together for a partner project. She offered to drive you over to her house after school, which you quietly agreed to.

You two started talking on the way there, and you realized that Liz was actually incredibly intelligent and not at all like the stereotypical popular kid. By the time you reached the Toomes residence, you guys were making horrible math puns.

“Well, we’re here! My mom and dad should be home, but don’t let them scare you. They’re overly affectionate and embarrassing, like every other parent. Come on!”

Liz opened the front door, her mother coming down the stairs with laundry immediately greeting you both. 

“Lizzie! You’re home! And who is this sweetie?” The woman asked her daughter.

“Mom! This is (Y/n). They’re my partner for a class project.”

You slowly raised your hand for a shake. “Hello, Mrs. Toomes. It’s nice to meet you.”

She smiled and shook your hand. “Nice to meet you too, sweetie.”

Suddenly, a voice came from the kitchen. A very familiar voice...

“Honey? Is that Lizzie?” 

Your eyes widened when you saw Liz’s dad come out from the kitchen, bowl of chips in hand.

When the Vulture’s eyes landed on you, he looked like a deer in the headlights for a moment, before shaking it off.

You knew better than to say anything about what you did for a living, and knew that other people in the business had lives outside of arms deals and engineering illegal weapons. You just never thought that Adrian would be Liz’s dad.

You shook your head lightly and stuck out your hand. “Hello Mr. Toomes. I’m (Y/n). Liz and I were partnered for a school project, so I hope you don’t mind my staying here to work on it.”

Adrian lightly smiled and shook your hand firmly. “Good to meet you (Y/n). As long as you two don’t cause any explosions or fires, your welcome to come on in.”

That was the start of an odd but fun relationship with the Toomes family.

Timeskip~

God, you hated superheroes. One minute, you were working with Vultch’s team on a new upgrade to the suit, and the next, you’re hearing of his arrest and trial. You went to the trial to say goodbye to him, holding back the tears. He gave you a warning to run. You promised you would soon.

At school, you hugged Liz goodbye, heartbroken, as she was like a sister to you.

You saw your friend Peter talking to her as she left. You wondered what he said to make her look even sadder.

You packed up what few belongings you had. Adrian had asked you to blow up the warehouse, so that your fingerprints wouldn’t be found. You did as asked via remote from 1/2 mile away.

You took out all the money that you kept underneath a loose floorboard and stuffed it in a backpack, covering the cash with your clothes and personal items.

You bought a ticket for a train heading out of the city, and from there, a bus that was headed towards Florida. You planned to get off in Tennessee so that no one who follow you.

That night, as you waited for the train to come, you heard your name being called. You looked around, the station nearly devoid of other people except one guy with air-pods in and a lady on a phone call

“(Y/n)! (Y/N)! WAIT!” 

You then turned around, seeing Peter running towards you. What the Hell was he doing here?

“Peter, what ar-”

“I know.”

You froze. What?

“What do you mean? What are you talking about Pete?”

“I know you worked with Toomes on creating illegal weapons. I know that you knew who he was.”

You tried acting dumb. “What? Peter, you know me. I w-”

He stared at you with a serious expression that you’d never seen on him.

“You’re right. I do know you. I know you’re a genius with mechanical and electrical engineering. I know you live alone in an apartment that you pay for, which no highschooler could make enough to do, especially if they went to our school, which has a high tuition. You’ve also never talked about your job. I’m not an idiot (Y/n). You have 2 choices, either turn yourself in, or come with me and we can see about putting your skills towards helping others.”

You sighed as you walked towards your friend. “That’s the thing about you Peter. You’ve never been an idiot. I liked that about you. If only you had been just a little less observant.” You said as you heard the train coming

You hugged Peter, making sure you were out of sight from any cameras. He was about to return the gesture, when you stuck a needle into his arm. 

“Wai-”

You whispered, “I’m truly sorry Petey, but I don’t think either of those options is for me. This stuff will wear off in about an hour. I’ll call Ned to come pick you up. I really am sorry, Peter. Goodbye. Maybe someday, we’ll see each other again.”

With that, you slung Peter’s arm over your shoulder, making it look like you were helping a drunk friend. You placed him on a bench before calling Ned, saying Peter passed out from a fight and was at the train station.

You boarded the train with your backpack and sighed as the train slowly started  moving. You looked behind you at Peter’s slumping body on the bench and at the New York City skyline. 

Man were you going to miss this place.

Maybe one day, when it was safe again, you’d be able to come back...

THE END

A/N: Hey! If you made it this far, THANK YOU for reading! 

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Death | Peter Parker

So I wasn't expecting to post this today (or anything today). I wasn't expecting to have to work through my feelings with death today— to have to try to understand why people die and why they die young— but life hits you when you don't expect it, you know? You don't expect the people you know— especially when they're your age— to die. I don't, at least. And I wasn't sure where to turn to— or even how to say how I was feeling— so I chose Peter— because I'm sure if someone gets it, it would be him. I don't know if this piece will make any sense— but I guess that's fitting because neither did the death. A., you can rest now.

Synopsis: Peter doesn't understand why Death seems to follow him around.

Characters: Peter Parker, May Parker, Ben Parker, Stephen Strange, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts

Warnings: Angst, Heavy mention of death (literally the title), mentions of plane crashes, mentions of animal death (his dog dies), mention of funerals, Endgame references, sadness

Word count: 1.5k

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

Sometimes Peter Parker feels like Death follows him around.

It starts when he’s six years old. It starts peacefully. Maybe Death is trying to give a child a break— maybe Death knows it shouldn’t have to happen (both his parents dying on that plane, that is). That’s what he likes to believe anyway— how else does a six year old cope with death?

He doesn’t remember much beyond the long service (which now that he thinks about it was probably only forty-five minutes and change) and the starchy, itchy suit that May stuffs him into between his questions about death and cake. Yeah, he’s focused on the cake— how else does a six year old cope with funerals?

It isn’t much harder when his dog, Stomper, dies a few years later. He cries more— at least he remembers crying more— but then again he’s now ten and he understands more about Death. He understands its meaning— and the way it makes him feel— but not it’s permanence. Maybe that’s just Death yet again looking out for the likes of a child, though.

At ten years old he still allows himself to believe Death is nothing but an entity working a job— that Death doesn’t want Peter’s family to leave him just as much as Peter doesn’t. He tells himself that the proof of this (of Death’s humanity, if ten year olds even understand the concept of humanity) is that Stomper died of old age. His proof is that it was his time and that Death gives people— and dogs— as long as possible.

If that isn’t proof enough, then maybe there’s some more proof in the fact that May still doesn’t answer all of his questions— like why he isn’t allowed to see Stomper one more time. How else does a twenty-nine year old woman explain the intricacies of cars and dogs to a ten year old?

It isn’t until Peter is thirteen that he begins to wonder if Death is as kind as he’s been telling himself. It hits him as he places a rose on top of a shiny metal casket that maybe Death is a little cruel too. It hits him when he sees the initials B.P. carved into said shiny metal casket. His uncle Ben’s shiny metal casket. They had tickets to see the Dodgers next weekend— surely Death would have known that. He’s sure baseball is still revered in the afterlife, so what’s the deal?

He reiterates to May that exact question. This time when he asks her about death, she answers a little more truthfully.

“Why did he die? “

“He got shot— it was an accident.”

“How do you know it was an accident?”

“All death is an accident, Pete.”

“So Death made a mistake?”

“Yeah maybe. Maybe Death made a mistake.”

“How could Death make a mistake?”

She drops the mug in her hand when he asks that one (a mistake too he supposes) and the sound of the porcelain breaking as it hits the tiles around her feet sounds a lot like the home run alarm.

“I don’t know— I don’t know how. We all make mistakes.”

It’s at this point that he realizes that maybe May knows just as much about Death as he does. He would have preferred it didn't happen then— It’s a pretty big revelation for a thirteen year old who’s just had his second dad ripped away from him— but by now he’s starting to realize that, like Death, Life doesn’t work on his schedule either.

Still, at thirteen he has some hope left. Enough to try again, at least.

“Why did he die?”

“He got shot. I told you it was an accident Pete.”

May is bent over picking up the pieces of the broken mug (he’s too smart to think about the metaphor in that).

“Why did he die?”

“It was an accident.”

May tries again, still not looking at him— her hands are shaking now.

“Why did he die?”

She drops the pieces— she’s given up.

“He was shot.”

This time it isn’t an accident (maybe Death doesn’t make mistakes).

However maybe it is (maybe Death does) because at sixteen something happens that makes him revert back to how he was at ten. He starts thinking that maybe Death is on his side after all— that maybe mistakes happen but that it’s okay because they’re made with good intentions. After all, how else does a sixteen year old cope with his own death if he doesn’t believe that Death is kind?

Death must be kind because how else would be here, alive, if it wasn’t?

“Did I die?”

He asks— this time May isn’t here.

“I don’t know, kid.”

May may as well be here by the way Stephen answers.

“Did I die?”

He doesn’t know if he’s asking Stephen again or if he just can’t keep the question from leaving his lips but Stephen answers anyway.

“I think so.”

That’s not the answer May would give— it must be the wrong answer.

“Did I die?”

“Yeah kid— you died. We both did. But we’re back now so you’ve got to stay alive.”

Stephen doesn’t say it but Peter hears it— the relief. They’re alive— they shouldn’t be alive but they are. So yeah, maybe Death is kind after all. Maybe Death makes mistakes. Maybe Death corrects it’s mistakes.

Maybe that’s just the hope, though, because at sixteen (Peter doesn’t want to think about how he should be twenty-one and not sixteen) he stops wondering about those questions. Not because he isn’t curious about the answers anymore— he was just asking Stephen less than half an hour ago if he had died— but because they’re all, in fact, answered.

Peter doesn’t so much see Tony snap his fingers as he does hear it. In fact, he doesn’t know it’s Tony who’s snapping his fingers until the alien with his grimey hand around Peter’s throat dissolves. Kind of like how Peter had. Like the mug— he doesn’t think too hard about that (how else does a sixteen year old cope with an existential crisis?).

When Peter makes it back to Tony at sixteen with his hair matted to his forehead and his face covered in ash, his questions are answered.

“Mr. Stark we won, did you see—”

Peter stops, his eyes drifting to the blood at the corner of Tony’s mouth (he knows by now that his questions are answered but he doesn’t listen— he doesn’t know why). He watches as his lips curl up one last time (he tells himself that it’s not the last time— he doesn’t know why). He tries again (he has hope— he knows why).

He has to have hope (how else does a sixteen year old cope with watching someone they love die?)

“Tony we won— we won.”

He doesn’t get a response, only a hand on the shoulder as Pepper coaxes him to the side. Peter can’t hear what she says to Tony, his ears are ringing too loud. Eventually the light on Tony’s chest goes out— eventually Pepper’s lips stop moving (he doesn’t know why). They won but it doesn’t feel like they won (of course he knows why). Yeah, at sixteen all his questions are answered, even if he doesn’t think about them until he’s back in the starchy, itchy suit.

May’s hand feels like lead on his shoulder but he doesn’t have enough energy to tell her to move it as he watches Pepper lower the arc reactor into the pond. He’s trying to pay attention— trying not to cry— but his thoughts keep drifting (does he know why?). This time he’s not thinking about cake.

He’s thinking about Death (is that how sixteen year olds cope?).

It’s how he copes (finally putting answers to questions).

Death doesn’t make mistakes— how could it when Tony knew what the stones would do to him?

Pepper is crying now— he thinks maybe he is too. He can’t feel anything anymore though, not even May’s hand. All he can do is think.

Death isn’t kind— if it was then it wouldn’t have taken his third dad.

Peter is starting to hate thinking.

He wishes he had never acknowledged Death at six years old. Now he knows that it will never stop following him. He wishes he didn’t have so many questions still. He knows that May won’t answer them— she won’t know the answers. He knows Stephen won’t answer them— even if he knows the answers he won’t be around to tell Peter them.

He blinks, watching as the people around him begin to move. A couple of them stop when they pass, squeezing his arm or patting his shoulder, but he doesn’t move. He can’t.

No, Death isn’t kind, but it sure is persistent.

He doesn’t know why (maybe that’s the last kindness Death does him— giving him a new question to ask).

[soukokuwu]

"requests are closed??" that cannot stop me because i cant read!! ** URGENT ** power couple comfort needed asap chuuya is the diplomat for the inheritor of a newly departed yokohama media moguls empire who agrees to fold the power of the company to moricorp so long as chuuya agrees to a date yah i need this like stat plz

THE OTHER HALF.

✢ genre. fluff ✢ pairing. chuuya x reader ✢ synopsis. you’re going to inherit your father’s media empire, and mori wants in. his ticket? chuuya. ✢ author notes. an urgent request? you got it! in 2 days ehehe i just hope you like this <3

He stares at the pristine white on the walls of the lavishly decorated office corridors. It suits their reputation. Nothing fits the reigning media mogul of Yokohama like grandeur. He would normally express some sort of distaste for how much of these… beautifications are unnecessary, but Mori had already warned him: it is imperative to get on their good side. Political reasons, he added. As if the mafia doesn’t have enough political influence already.

Although why, of all people, he chose to send NAKAHARA CHUUYA as Port Mafia’s representative to head the meeting, Chuuya himself doesn’t know. A cold-blooded, hot-headed vessel of destruction.

Yes, very plausible, very sensible, he thinks.

Sarcasm. That was sarcasm.

Mori always had his reasons for every decision he made. Some are possibly very fucked up, but even Chuuya admits his manipulation tactics and puzzle-piecing skills rival that of Dazai’s. So he never questions his boss’s decisions. At least, not to his face. He just wonders what is hiding behind this certain choice (of making Chuuya go to the meeting, alone) and how twisted it could be.

Cruising through the halls makes him realise just how much he’d hate it if he was a normal human with a normal, boring desk job. The rooms he passes by, with their glass windows and deceiving transparency, are all full of people either typing away on their keyboards or speaking into phones with some sort of urgency. Yikes. No thanks, he would much rather work with violence and be on the frontlines than man a desk at a mediocre job with less-than-satisfactory pay.

The redhead guesses that they’re going to take him to the boardroom (which incidentally, he thinks, is quite an appropriate name for a meeting room — rigid, stiff, flat — full of smiles that are painted on and the chatter of mindless opinions crafted only to cater to the ones who matter. If that’s an indication of anything to come, Chuuya is already dreading it.) After all, they had scheduled a meeting for discussions with the director on future possibilities of working with the mafia.

Chuuya does admit though, it would be very useful to have the media on their side. Not only digital, but print as well. The possibility to spread propaganda and cover up crimes. This company has it, and Mori is hungry, eager to take over. (Or at least, to establish dominance over them.) Maybe that’s why he chose the gravity manipulator. To make them comply with the threat of crushing them with his brute force should they refuse. It’s harsh. Not that he would mind if it comes to that. There’s a certain satisfaction, a certain kick, he gets out of seeing everyone before him cower in fear.

Because it means he’s in control.

And Chuuya loves being in control. After all, he controls the very things that holds everyone in its grip — gravity.

Ironically, though. What he doesn’t have control over is his own feelings. Mostly unpleasant. A temper so fiery and an impulse so unexpected. Today, though, there is a turn of events. Because as he turns the corner to enter the boardroom, he spots a pair of eyes on him, observing him shrewdly.

No, it isn’t yours. But your father’s.

Wrinkled face wrinkles up even more as they eye him from head to toe, expressing obvious displeasure in the form of tuts and a deepening frown. Chuuya can just tell from how the man wears an expensive tailored suit — probably from a high end luxury brand that Chuuya can’t even pronounce properly — and how his tie is tightened so firmly against his neck that he probably always has a stick up his ass.

But a whiff of something… refreshing skips pass his nostrils and all the hostility from seeing the director disintegrates into — what is this? Chuuya can’t even tell, another irritating reminder he doesn’t understand his own emotions all that well.

And that, that is when he first lays eyes on you.

If you’re wondering, no, it’s not that cinematic moment where you walk in and he’s immediately blinded by the light you bring with you thanks to that invisible halo you carry on your head. Chuuya sees the world through anything but rose-tinted glasses. He is captivated by you though, somehow. Maybe it’s the way you stride in so confidently, with your blazer fitted against your body tightly — not too tight — you don’t want to give off ‘sexy’ vibes, do you? Not in the office. No, you just radiate some show of ‘proper’ and ‘togetherness’ that other ladies must be envious of. Or so it seems to him, at least. Then he wonders again, maybe it’s the way you so nonchalantly brush past him, your shoulder nudging against his, not a care in the world for who he is.

He thinks he’s got his reasoning, a feasible enough reason of why he’s intrigued — you’re young, you’re sexily sophisticated (he just knows you are), and to be a part of this meeting, you must have a sort of… power, so to say.

And then you just have to, don’t you? You just have to take a seat on that chair (in an angle that seems to cater perfectly to Chuuya), cross your legs just enough so your skirt rides up your thigh high enough to leave him wanting to see more, but not enough to be considered as a bold move of seduction. The kicker? That smirk you wear when you realise that he’s staring. He always hated that expression; the one that other people wear out of the satisfaction of their triumph. Especially when it’s against him. But then why does he think he can look at yours forever?

Not even five minutes into the ‘discussion’ and Chuuya already finds out you’re the director’s daughter, the one who would inherit the company very soon. (He fails to properly listen to the reason why because his focus starts to fixate on you, the surrounding all melding into one — the sights, the sounds.) To which you respond with batting your eyelashes at the redhead and wearing an innocent smile yet at the same time being shrouded in an air of… mystery.

The debate on just how much of the empire that Port Mafia would control in the future is not quite a negotiation. If they want to, then they can just force the director’s hand, maybe kidnap his daughter — Chuuya glances briefly toward you before focusing back on your father and the tablet (apparently the company made a sort of presentation that Chuuya can say he frankly doesn’t give a shit about) — but no. Even now, he thinks, he doesn’t want anyone to lay a hand on you. Besides, if your current behaviour is any indication, even if the mafia does come after you, you won’t be scared. You look just like the kind of person who always has something up her sleeve. You must take after your father.

“On that note, I will be leaving the final decision up to my wonderful young lady here.”

That manages to bring Chuuya back to his senses.

What? The old man is leaving such an important decision in his daughter’s hands?

Chuuya breathes in deeply. Stay level-headed. He’s got this, he tries to convince himself. Notwithstanding that he has made it this far only because of the training Kouyou’s given him on the art of appeasing old uncles and kissing their ass so that they give him what he wants.

Guess Mori isn’t as thorough as Chuuya thinks he is.

“Now, you can focus on me.”

Right on cue. As soon as the director leaves.

Look at that, he was right. You are confident. You are smug. You are observant. And annoyingly enough, you are in control. Because to do his job properly, he has to act like he’s wrapped around your finger. (He fails to realise he already is.)

Chuuya clenches his jaw, his brain failing to function in this pivotal moment, failing to filter any kind of acceptable responses. So he stays silent, mind going a thousand miles an hour just trying to form words, sentences, yet drawing a blank. And any normal person in your position would have spoken up by now, but you? You’re reeling in his inexplicability, silently. Observing him as though he’s an animal trapped in a glass cage for all to admire.

You lean back against your chair, the padded back bending backwards to support your weight. Your arms are crossed over your chest and the smirk has not left your face. If anything, it gets wider. Neither of you give in. You both keep your gaze locked on each other, and the silence grows on him. The comfort sneaks up on him. It’s weird. Is he dreaming it? Is he being delusional? Why is that he feels that with you, more is said through your silence than words? If so, being under your carefully appraising eye would be an honour.

Chuuya thinks, no no, he knows, he hears you muttering under your breath. He wants to retort, but words don’t find him. Only silence and stillness.

But it doesn’t last any second longer because you scoff in amusement and grab the paperwork regarding the partnership off the spot your father has left behind. Your eyes don’t leave his cerulean ones though. It’s almost as though you’re hyper-focused on him. Or is it the other way around? Maybe it’s mutual?

You do eventually break the stare though, to turn your back and walk out the door, but not before you stop at the edge, bidding goodbye with a lopsided smile and a “Park Hotel, 8pm, seventieth floor.”

Four hours seemed like a lot of time to prepare.

Seemed.

It isn’t.

Because now, at 7.56pm, Chuuya is still staring nervously at himself in the mirror of the hotel bathroom. A flurry of thoughts occupy his state of mind.

Is my tie okay? It’s not lopsided, is it? He thinks about your lopsided smile as he adjusts the black tie set against his red dress shirt. His black coat is replaced by a black fitted blazer. Then he wonders if you’re still in your work outfit.

Damn it, why can’t he get you out of his mind?

You’re a necessary ally, he thinks. That’s why, he convinces himself. Although, not really. If you are just another job, another person the Port Mafia needs to brainwash, then why is he so nervous about this date? His hands freeze in their motions as he questions himself.

Is this what it is? A date?

By 7.59pm he’s up on the seventieth floor, and the moment he steps out of the elevator, an usher tells him to follow. Wow. Having an already established media empire the moment you were born must have been a big bonus for you, hasn’t it? Chuuya imagines you’re spoiled; you’ve lived your whole life with the lavish luxury you currently stand to inherit now. But he gives you due credit. For your father to entrust the dealings of the Port Mafia to you, you must be very capable. Not that he has ever thought otherwise.

In the short hour that he had interacted with you earlier, he knows you’re anything but a bimbo. But you must have thought he was similar to one, huh? What with him being speechless over nothing.

Once he reaches the private room, he’s greeted by you already seated, right leg crossed over your left, fingers flipping through the menu, unfazed by his arrival. The door shuts behind him, and it’s back to this air of oppressed silence. Chuuya slowly glides over to his seat across from you, eating you up from your head down to your little tippy toes. You are less covered up now, your office suit giving way to a remarkably eye-catching black maxi, although he does admit, what catches his eye is that slit that runs up your thigh.

Now, now, you look sexy.

When he settles down, he notices the agreement from this afternoon sitting by the edge of the glass table, all complete save for his and your signatures. The numbers 70 and 30 briefly register in his head. The former, of course, rightfully belonging under you. He furrows his brows. That’s twenty percent lower than what Mori is expecting. How can he negotiate with you, then? What more can he bargain with?

But as he looks up from the document to you, you’re already observing him, wearing a flirty (with a side of smug, as he expects) smile on those lips of yours.

“There’s always a price to pay, Mr. Nakahara.”

Chuuya is slightly baffled. The other workers in your office are boring and own a one-track mind. But evidently you don’t belong in the same group as them.

Is this a game to you?

“Name it.” He does want to know what you’re seeking from him, and he knows he’s not nearly as witty enough to figure it out on his own.

You never give anything away easily though. Chuuya learned that much. Instead of giving answers you lean back on your seat, just as you did earlier, and revert your attention back to the menu.

“So, you are capable of speaking to women after all, huh?”

The rest of the dinner is filled with conversations that don’t pertain to what it should. Instead of discussing the deal, he gets sidetracked, oddly intrigued by what you personally find fascinating. Chuuya remembers that first wave of pleasant surprise wash across your face when he asks about what you like, what you do outside of work. You know, the common exchange. But it must slip his mind that you aren’t used to ‘clients’ taking an interest in you, as a person.

Neither of you realise the abrupt change in the tone of the evening. You both kind of just ease into it.

Chuuya memorises what you tell him; how you actually like what little time you have outside of work; how you talk about books as your escape, the way your favourite author’s name rolls off your tongue so easily even though it’s a foreign name. He notes how your eyes sparkle when he pays you a compliment about how your brain works instead of the usual comments you receive on your appearance. He also loves how you talk just that little bit faster when you’re excited about a topic.

But he also learns how your smile is forced when you talk about your family, or anything remotely related to your work. He notices how you bite your lip when you talk about barely having time to enjoy anything outside of work. And how until now you’ve been a slave to the company, having to learn and grind on knowledge about anything and everything that you need to know to run it. A shut-in with a twist, if he might label it.

Chuuya was wrong then, he realises. Your life has not been one of free rides; easy passes. It didn’t get easier because of who you are. It was the reverse. It got harder because more was expected out of you. Your life at home wasn’t any easier. Turns out your father was, and is still, a tyrant. You’ve never known to enjoy yourself.

“Until tonight.”

Only now does it dawn on Chuuya why you set this whole thing up in the first place. This way you get to have some time to enjoy yourself at a ‘date’ disguised as a business meeting, because then dear daddy won’t get mad at you now, will he? You’ve probably never experienced romance, have you? Given your tight schedules and overbearing parents. Chuuya must be your first.

He gets just slightly giddy thinking of that possibility.

And by the time your plates are cleared and the bill is paid (by your father, apparently, because you grinned and charged it to his credit card; Chuuya thinks it’s acceptable because from what he hears, the director doesn’t seem to be a very good man at all, why not charge it to the man?), he makes his mind up to really help you make full use of your night.

That’s how he finds himself ten minutes later with you standing on the edge of the neighbouring skyscraper, your fingers intertwined tightly with his. Your first exposure to his ability. ‘Holy shit’ were your exact words. Despite how you carry yourself in the office, it’s almost unbelievable how childlike you look now, admiring the sight before you. Losing all your childhood because of who you’re expected to be… Chuuya knows all too well what that feels like. Minus the bond that is family, of course. Although now, he guesses he can call the Port Mafia such.

“Forty.”

Chuuya arches a brow. “Forty?”

You press your lips together to suppress a grin, nodding at him. “Highest I can go for you, Mr. Nakahara.”

“My boss wants a half, though,” Chuuya grimaces in faux sheepishness. Of course Mori would be fine with a forty, but it’s fun having a back-and-forth with you. Or maybe this is his way of convincing himself this is nothing more than continuing a pleasant conversation.

There’s something in your reaction that gets him so curious. It’s how you grin yourself silly and can’t even manage to look him in the eye. Or the way you try to untangle your fingers, only to find Chuuya has gripped them even tighter. He doesn’t even have to ask for you to know what he’s thinking of.

“Fifty is for family only, sorry.”

He waltzes through the narrow corridors and carpeted floors like it’s home. It might as well be, he’s been here about as many times as he’s been to the Port Mafia headquarters in the same duration. It doesn’t look as tacky as it used to. Or is it just because he’s used to it? Or maybe the gradual changes all seem like nothing to him because he visits this place every single day.

Chuuya sighs. No matter, he’s got other things to worry about.

“No, forget about making your own notes. Negotiate. I want exclusivity on this.”

There it is. Your bossy, domineering voice.

He leans by the doorframe. Your subordinates all dub you the ‘boss from hell’. Personally he can’t see why. But then again, you’re an absolute angel to him. (He never gets tired of seeing the shock register on everyone’s faces when they see you be all lovey-dovey with him.)

Feels good. Being the exception.

When the conversation ends, you hang up the phone and turn over, finally noticing your boyfriend by the door. It’s like a switch turns in you; your hostility melts away and those deep downturned lines rotate into a smile. Even now, five years later, you still have a childlike innocence to you; he sees this right now by how you skip towards him like an elated dog seeing its owner is home.

Did he just compare you to a dog…? Out of all the things he likes, why did he — he mentally facepalms himself but shrugs it off. Like he’s said before, he has more pressing matters to think about.

It’s amazing to think how far you both have gotten. From being strictly business to unspoken feelings in a matter of hours, to where you guys are now. Frankly, he didn’t think it was possible for someone like him. He gravitates away and thinks back to the first time he stepped foot in here.

Huh, maybe Mori did know what he was doing after all. That man ended up being your matchmaker. Chuuya inwardly grimaces and shudders and the thought.

But you pull him back to earth.

Your arms snake around his neck and you hook your legs around his waist. Lucky you’re wearing a pantsuit today, because the last time you did that, i.e. yesterday, you were wearing a skirt and it rode up your thigh a little too high. Yeah, Chuuya wasn’t too happy when some of your male coworkers got to see a glimpse of your ass. But he can’t blame you, you were just that excited to see him. Something he finds remarkable given you’ve been together for four years.

“Didn’t think you’d come here this early,” you comment as you get down, your hands still round his neck. “What brings you by, Chuu? Or should I say, future boss of the Port Mafia?”

He gives you a peck on the lips. His nickname falling from your lips just sound so right. You’re right, he usually comes by after you both are done with work. That usually means 8pm onwards. (You both are pretty invested in your companies. Especially now so for Chuuya that he’s been announced a few days ago as the one to take over the mafia in the future.)

“Today I’m here for professional reasons, princess, to offer you a proposal,” Chuuya coos, a gloved thumb grazing over your cheek.

“Hmm?” You look up at him quizzically. “Okay, shoot.”

Chuuya grins at you, his eyes closing and forming into crescents. He opens them slowly as he presses his forehead against yours.

“I think it’s time for that fifty-fifty.”

✢ tags. @yokelish @gogolparadise @fyowyn-writes