#office supply based art | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mediumgayitalian · 29 days

Text

Will knows who it is at the first light brush on his shoulders.

He tips his head back back, bumping his boyfriend’s hip, leaning into the hand on his trapezius, his scapula, the base of his neck.

“Hi,” he says, grinning.

“Hi,” Nico says, leaning down to press his smile onto Will’s forehead. His hair tickles his cheeks, and he smells like woodsmoke and citrus, and Will slides his hand across his jaw and tugs him closer.

“Errand done?”

“Yep.”

“Lord Hades pleased?”

“As much as he ever is.” Nico shifts, kissing the corner of his mouth, the curve of his chin, the shape of his jaw. “My ears are ringing from five days of quiet. Even the echoing sound of lost souls cannot compete with your constant blabbing; I hardly knew what to do with myself.”

“Oh, shut up. You love my chatterin’.” He smacks the side of Nico’s head, but it’s hard to play mad when he’s smiling, shameless, wide enough that his teeth nick Will’s cheekbones, that his snickers are muffled into his skin.

“If I wanted to be stuck with someone who yaps nonstop I would’ve stayed down with Cerebus. In fact he might shed less, and he doesn’t drool when he sleeps.”

“…I do not shed.”

Nico plants both hands next to Will’s head, heaving himself up, and scans his camp shirt. Within three seconds, he locates a strand of hair, pinches it off, and flicks it at Will’s face.

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh, for the love of — get over here,” Will demands. Laughing, Nico goes where Will tugs him, curling up next to him on the bench. “You’re such a shit. Normal people are much kinder to the significant annoyances they leave behind for five days, you know.”

“Are they.”

Nico lifts his arm in offering and Will accepts with relish, tucking himself under it and making certain to drag his curls down Nico’s face in the process.

“Yep. In fact I was expecting hand-written letters by day two, honestly, telling me how much you missed me and how the distance was physically painful, et cetera, et cetera. Maybe a sonnet or two. Italian, preferably, Elizabethan are not my favourite.”

“You’re very picky.”

Will sniffs haughtily. “Well, I’m a catch. You have lots of competition, you know. I was fighting them off while you were away but now that you come back and insult me upon reunion, I shall reevaluate my options.”

He feels more than hears the quiet laughter Nico presses in his hair, thumb brushing his collar, dipping onto bare skin.

“Is that so.”

“Indeed. My suitors have even offered a dowry quite handsome. I’m worth twenty-seven goats, didn’t you know.”

“Oh, well then. I might as well return what I brought for you, since I’m not sure I can outshine two dozen goats.”

The cool thing about being a son of Apollo is that Will has range. His dad is the god of arts, generally, up to and especially the dramatic ones. Will knows how to school his face into the perfect mask, how to smile on command and cry as desired, how to deliver a line and bow with a flourish. Playing a part comes as naturally as breathing, as naturally as healing.

“A present?” he asks, checking his nails as if the mere thought bores him. “That’s interesting, I guess.”

Nico doesn’t even bother to indulge him.

“Here, you massive dweeb,” he snorts. He hands over a small paper box, hand-folded and thin. “I can practically feel you vibrating.”

There is only one thing in this world, quite possibly, that Will likes more than proving Nico wrong, and that is letting his boyfriend spoil him. In all honesty it’s a real challenge sometimes, because Nico is really very good at being everything Will has ever wanted even if he has wrong opinions on most movies. Truly Will’s life is a joke at which the gods must howl with laughter.

Eagerly taking the box, he holds it up to his face, carefully inspecting every corner. The paper is regular printer paper, slightly waterlogged (from the Big House printer, then, ‘cause Will was carrying a giant bag of saline in from storage when he was eleven years old and tripped on the shipment of office supplies that someone had left, for some reason, in the middle of the fucking hallway, and the bag had exploded on impact all over four boxes of printer paper holding one thousand pages each) and carefully bent into shape. He recognises Nico’s handiwork from the dozens of origami paper sculptures he’s been gifted over the past few months.

“Open it.”

“What is it?”

Nico rolls his eyes. “What did I just say.”

“No, I mean — it’s not my birthday or anything.”

“So?”

“So you’ve wrapped me up a present! I want to know why before I open it.”

“Just because,” Nico mumbles, pressing a kiss to his temples. “Not everything needs a reason, nosey.”

“If nothing had reason then we would still be premordial soup,” Will mutters, but pops open the lid anyway.

He gasps.

“Oh my gods, Nico, you —”

Nico’s smiling smugly, but Will barely notices. Inside the box is a black chain darker than shadow, so dark it doesn’t even glint in the heavy sun, and dozens of little charms, from polished obsidian to a ball of slowly flickering flame.

“You like?”

“It’s gorgeous!”

He makes a triumphant nose, pumping his fist, and says, “Fuck those suitors, I fucking win,” and the funniest part is that he’s damn serious. There’s a glint in his eye identical to when he wins a sword fight, to when Connor loses a bet to him, to when twenty-odd bets are stacked against him and he’s got a full house. Something dangerous and wild and superior and Will is not an enabler, okay, he is not, but he is only so strong and there is only so much he can do when pretty boys wrap their arms around him and smirk at him and bring him bracelets they made in the Underworld. He’d like to meet someone who wouldn’t fold, actually.

“There were no suitors, you loser,” he says, but he’s flushed, pleased smile stretched wide across his face, and Nico’s grinning that too-wide grin and tilting Will’s face closer with the edge of his thumb, like he barely had to try. And there’s always a little bit of shadow leeching off him when he comes back from a quest, an aura surrounding him like he’s squaring off to the sun, and of course the wild churning in Will’s stomach has nothing to do with that but what’s he to do, really? What is a warm-blooded person with eyes that can see to do when faced with such a look?

“Of course there aren’t. They know I would reap their actual souls.”

“Possessive, much.”

“You’re literally going red.”

“Shut up.”

And he does, but only because Will makes him.

Although judging by the hand he shoves in his hair, he doesn’t seem to mind.

437 notes · View notes

wttcsms · 4 months

Note

grumpy tenured professor Naoya x new, sunshine-y associate professor reader !!

lessons in intimacy, naoya zenin ;

pairing naoya zenin x f!reader word count 4.5k synopsis naoya zenin, phd, still has a lot to learn, and you are a surprisingly good teacher content contains fluff!!!, academia au, and they were office roomies!, naoya-centric, he bashes the arts </3

Learning Objective One: Notice Things About Your Partner

Naoya Zenin stares at the heart-shaped cake you left on his desk and refrains from going absolutely batshit.

He can feel the pinpricks of irritation poking his insides, making him curl his hands in annoyance. Two weeks prior, there was a staff meeting informing the business school that they would be sharing their classrooms and offices with the English professors since apparently, due to poor plumbing and a lack of funding, their shack of a school building got flooded and was therefore deemed “unsafe” and “unusable.”

Naoya distinctly remembers making a snide comment about how majoring in something as worthless as English or literature should be deemed a safety hazard and that the degree is basically unusable. Maybe this is the universe’s way of telling everyone in the school to get a grip and let the entire English department just float away into a nearby swamp.

The business professors all agreed and considering that all of their students end up becoming wealthy alumni who donate money to ensure that their buildings don’t go under, Naoya doesn’t care about the enraged comments from the English department.

All his rude remarks seem to ensure that he’ll be left alone, which is exactly how he likes to be. It seems that he’s the most hated business school professor and no one is willing to share a space with him.

Because you are the youngest and newest member of the faculty, you end up being the unfortunate soul paired up with Naoya Zenin, PhD. When you first step into the office, big box filled with your printed lesson plans and desk supplies, he refuses to lend you a hand.

Instead, he sits back in his seat, staring at you with such an intense look in his eyes that you decide to look at anything but him, and he watches you struggle to maneuver around the tight space. Because of the funding, the business school offices are spacious, but to maintain some semblance of privacy, minor renovations were made. Crammed in a corner is a new desk meant for you. If he keeps staring daggers into your very soul, you’re going to make a request to have a room divider put in place so you can cower behind them and avoid his glare.

While your side of the office is small, you make it as unique to yourself as possible. There’s a Cinnamoroll plushie sitting on your desk, a cup holding glittery gel pens, and inside your desk drawers are scratch-‘n-sniff sticker sheets with colorful words of encouragement because the world has already beaten down your students enough — you might as well give them back some of their childhood enjoyment.

Naoya’s desk is vintage mahogany and rarely has anything sitting atop it unless he’s inside the office and on his laptop. Hanging on the wall behind him is his doctoral degree that is forever put on display in a massive, ostentatious frame. Naoya Zenin, PhD from Keio University. Economics, you recall him telling one of his colleagues. Because finance is the poor man’s idea of a prestigious field.

It doesn’t take a degree to know how Dr. Zenin feels about a degree in the arts.

Upon your first awkward meeting with Naoya (where he let you nearly trip and spill all your meager belongings onto his pristine office’s floors), you immediately head home and look at your new office buddy’s RateMyProf reviews.

⅕ OVERALL QUALITY BASED ON 986 RATINGS | 0% WOULD TAKE AGAIN | 5.0 LEVEL OF DIFFICULTY

Professor Zenin’s Top Tags

#lotsofhomework

#getreadytoread

#lectureheavy

#skipclass?youwon’tpass

Review 1: i dropped my econ major because of him. this wasn’t even supposed to be a weeder class

Review 2: DR ZENIN IS THE WORST PROFESSOR FOR ECONOMICS. HE MIGHT BE THE WORST PROFESSOR IN THE BUSINESS SCHOOL. HE MIGHT EVEN BE THE WORST PROFESSOR IN THIS WHOLE DAMN UNIVERSITY!!!!!! DO NOT TAKE HIM! I regret not taking everyone else’s advice and going with Dr. Gojo instead

Review 3: only redeeming quality is being hot, but he’s still an asshole

Review 4: Misogynist, doesn’t believe women can be leaders in the business world, has God awful takes that literally no one sane would agree with, teaches what HE thinks is right and refuses to acknowledge any opposing viewpoints, talks down on students, and that’s all i can say about him from the TWO DAYS i attended his class. i immediately dropped his course LOL

Review 5: Dr. Zenin’s rigorous coursework and unforgiving grading has prepared me for graduate school, and I still believe all the courses I had with him provided me with a better foundation than my other peers in my doctoral program. However, he did make my undergrad experience a miserable one. His lectures are hard to follow at times, and he creates his exams with the intent of making it unpassable. He’s the professor that you wonder why he hasn’t been fired yet.

You search for any positive comments about him, but it appears that the students hate everything about him, to his tests, his teaching style, and his personality.

In all honesty, it’s kind of sad. What must it be like, you wonder, to be so hated by the very students you’re meant to teach and inspire? You’re willing to give Naoya the benefit of the doubt — you know how one student’s misconception against a professor can paint a bad picture overall. Maybe Naoya is just a difficult person to understand! An undercover softie, if you will.

There’s no harm in trying to be friendly with him. After all, the two of you are going to be partners for the foreseeable future. You don’t have the energy to remain constantly on your guard around him.

You start off with little things, like burning candles in the office to fill it with sweet, welcoming scents. You offer to let him borrow your extension cord so his charger doesn’t have to bend all awkwardly when he plugs in his laptop. You make an effort to ensure that the classroom is clean before his class enters because that’s a courteous thing to do. You notice that when he eats his lunch on campus, he’s always unwrapping a sweet treat afterwards.

You can’t be a truly bad person if you have a sweet tooth, you rationalize.

So, you bake him little goods and leave them on his desk. When a week goes by and he doesn’t acknowledge your actions but the goods are always gone by the time lunchtime is over, you think you’re making progress. You notice that he seems stressed and annoyed every time he storms into the office, and so you start adding tiny notes of motivation alongside the goods, too.

Written on a pink sticky note that’s in the shape of a heart (probably to match the fucking miniature cake you baked), Naoya’s eye almost starts to twitch as he examines every loop and curve of the letters you personally handwritten for him.

I hope you have a great day today! Look on the bright side, you’re done with all your lectures for the week!

Naoya angrily takes a bite out of the cake as he waits for his laptop to turn on. The sugary sweetness does very little to alleviate his annoyance, but he can begrudgingly admit that the cake is good. Delicious, even.

This makes his scowl deepen.

How annoying, he thinks, tossing your note in the trash bin (not having the heart to crumple it up like he used to do with your previous notes). What are you, some kind of a stalker? How is it any of your business to know that Thursdays are his last days for teaching since business schools don’t believe in having class on Friday? And why do you always do that? Saying I hope?

“I’m not going to tell you what to do, Momo,” he remembers you telling your blonde-haired student. “But I hope you consider sticking with your creative writing major. We’ll lose a very talented student if you choose to go, you know.”

Naoya had let out a little snort of amusement at this. Who the fuck cares about whether or not students drop out? If they can’t handle the coursework, clearly they’re not cut out for the real world. He finds it annoying that you practically hold their hands, coddling them, always tacking on an I hope because you don’t want to demand people to do things. So much damn consideration, he wonders how you even survive in this big city. You’re probably the type of person who apologizes when someone else gets in your way at a busy store. You probably let yourself get cut in line. You definitely give money to panhandlers who are only posing as the homeless and needy.

Naoya wants to take joy in the fact that you are the type of person who could easily be taken advantage of, but as he finishes the cake you made for him, the idea of people purposely giving you a hard time just because you’ll take it lying down makes him feel even more irritated than before.

He takes out his frustration on his students. A first-year student emailed him asking for an extension, so Naoya tells them either they get it done by the original deadline, or he is more than willing to just give them the zero right now. In the real world, your boss and your clients will not give a single shit that you are hospitalized after being hit by a truck. Perhaps, if you used the brain inside your head and the eyes on your face, you would know better than to cross the road when a speeding truck is heading your way.

Then, he thinks that you would probably gladly give your students an extension if they asked. You’d probably even visit them in the fucking hospital, like the saint you think you are.

You’re so helpful to the point of your kindness being detrimental to your own wellbeing. You extend deadlines, and then have to beg and plead with the dean and bust your ass to get final grades in by the required date. All that struggle could have been avoided if you just gave the zero. You hear out your students, letting them speak their minds, and it cuts into your lecture time. Nobody is paying tuition to hear another student’s ramblings. And how long does it take you to bake him these desserts? It’s something different every day, always fresh, always seemingly made with care.

He doesn’t even know how you know he likes sweets. Lucky guess, he tells himself.

You see, Naoya knows that he is respected (somewhat) and feared (most definitely). He knows that he is not loved, not by his colleagues (who are all intimidated by him), not by his family (who thinks becoming a professor at a prestigious research university is dogshit when he should have been a global economist), not by his students (the university-mandated end-of-the-term class surveys are always sent to him). So to him, despite the ego he presents to the public, he cannot fathom the idea of someone noticing little things about himself. He definitely can’t imagine someone noticing and caring — it would honestly make more sense if they used private information against him.

He doesn’t think about you noticing him, and he refuses to think about all the things he subconsciously notices about you. He can recognize you by your perfume alone; someone had passed him by in the hall, and his eyes searched for your figure, only to be greeted by a student who just happened to favor the same fragrance as you. (He had snapped at the poor girl, telling her to walk faster or get out of the way.) He’s certain he knows the fucking HTML color code for the specific shade of lipgloss you’re always constantly applying in the office. One time, against his better judgment, he saves the place you’re at in your book. You had fallen asleep at your desk, your finger pressed on the page you were struggling to read, and then your head banged on the desk, hand slipping away. He doesn’t know why he didn’t leave you alone in the office; he had no business staying that late since none of his students were brave enough to turn in any assignments to be graded. There was an on-campus police alert the day before, though. Naoya rationalizes that he just didn’t want any criminals or deviants breaking into his office and destroying it. That’s all.

He actively avoids any thought of you, not realizing the irony of how, in his vehement attempts to ignore your existence, he is very much acknowledging you.

Learning Objective Two: Have Meaningful Conversations With Your Partner

“Why do you do that?” Naoya snaps, breaking the silence in the office.

Naoya is the type of person who does not simply say things — he snaps, he sneers, he smirks. And he has the exact tonation, voice, manner of speaking, of someone who grew up and was never told to shut the fuck up. With his current position in life, it seems like no one ever will.

“Do what?” You look up from the papers you’re grading, staring at him all doe-eyed and genuinely confused that Naoya discovers the unfortunate fact that he does, actually, possess a heart. An annoying one that gets all tight in his chest and starts beating against his rib cage every time you look at him. He’d charge you with a hospital bill from a top of the line cardiologist, but he knows you get paid like shit in comparison to him. Also, because he doesn’t like the idea of women spending money on his behalf.

“Give out pity grades.”

It’s like you’ll do anything in your power to not fail a student. You’re just pulling out participation points straight from your ass! And the comments — don’t get him started on the amount of comments you waste time leaving on your students’ papers. There’s a reason why his grades always get entered before deadlines. He’s efficient.

“And ruthless.” You tell him, after hearing him tell you all about his “efficiency.” “We’re here to help cultivate their minds. Get them to think. College shouldn’t be about getting grades based on your professor’s mood.”

Was that somehow an attack on him? He should be annoyed. Instead, he finds this side of you less annoying.

“I’m always in the same mood every time I grade.”

“Oh, yeah? And what’s that, vindictive?” You’re teasing him, and he wouldn’t let just anyone get away with such a comment. He’s bored, he tells himself. That’s why he’s entertaining this. Unlike someone, he doesn’t have anything left to grade.

“Nah. Irritated. They’re all idiots.”

You frown. “No student is an idiot.”

He gives you a look. “You teach English.”

“Intro to Classic Lit.” You correct him.

“Right.” He says this slowly. “Idiots.”

“Maybe yours, but definitely not mine.”

“Let's compare our students’ majors and potential earnings after graduation.”

Now it’s your turn to give him a look. “There’s nothing wrong with pursuing your passions.”

“Great. Do you tell them that when the cashier tells them their card declined? Or, does the passion end up paying the total? Are grocery stores accepting passion as a form of payment now?”

“Don’t be as mean as people say you are.”

His signature smug air of superiority momentarily dissipates at this statement. It’s not often that someone can get Naoya to shut up. To be bested by someone who grades using pink gel pens is so humbling, the only thing keeping him on his pedestal is the fact that he knows he’s the youngest tenured professor in this whole entire university and an acclaimed researcher (he always makes the list for top five most cited economic researchers). You’re fresh out of a doctoral program, and even being tenure-track would be a pipe dream for you.

“There’s nothing mean about being honest.”

“You can be honest without being mean.”

“It’s the truth. Students are idiots.” He shrugs, because what the fuck is he supposed to do about it?

“Then why become a professor?”

“Sweetheart, professors that work here are researchers first, teachers… no, not second. Maybe third? If they’re that dedicated to shaping young minds, or whatever fantasy you’ve got going on.”

“Well, I believe that the students are here to learn. And before you call them stupid again, that’s the great part about learning. You don’t have to be smart to do it.”

Growing up, Naoya had to be a lot of things, smart being one of them. No one in his household was ever capable of producing an ounce of empathy, and considering all the people he’s been surrounded by since his prep school, university, and internship days have all been raised in similar environments. The world is unforgiving. Naoya lives by the ever-so-poetic motto of “sucks to suck.”

He will go home and lay in bed and stare at the crown molding on his ceiling, and he will recall your sunny disposition. He wants to shame and berate you for being so damn optimistic, for believing in those words, and he will think to himself wouldn’t it be nice for it to be true?

Instead, right now, all he does is huff. The truth is, Naoya is well aware that his students aren’t stupid, even if he tells them that they are every time they’re in class and every time they dare to come to his office hours to debate their grades. They aren’t stupid in the booksmart sense, but they are very dumb when it comes to the real world, and Naoya considers it a ruthless kind of mercy that he exacts on them. They’re idiots because they have all the potential in the world and would rather waste their time on stupid shit and procrastinate on their assignments instead of putting forth any real effort.

If they tried, he would give them an A.

Learning Objective Three: Be Specific and Sincere With Your Praise

You’re crying.

In his head, Naoya tries to force himself to roll his eyes but finds his body unwilling to comply with the demands of his mind. He’s annoyed, but the irritation isn’t directed at you.

It’s at the man sitting across from you. Dr. Kimura got his PhD from Cambridge and thinks he’s hot shit, but out of pure curiosity, Naoya found his dissertation online and still uses it as free melatonin. Two paragraphs in knocks him out faster than a whole bottle of sleeping pills.

Dr. Kimura asks him to leave, into which Naoya reminds him that this is technically his office, and that Dr. Kimura is an intruder. Too much time spent with you in such a confined space has some of your little lessons rubbing off on him. Words are so important to you. Naoya decides that visitor and guest are too kind, too euphemistic, for Dr. Kimura. Call it like it is.

Kimura’s business for being here is to give you your first ever teaching evaluation. It’s actually just a poorly disguised attempt at trying to lowball professors’ salaries, but this is the type of schtick that only works on pushovers like you. Naoya leans back in his desk chair, arms crossed, and it’s obvious that he is going to be listening in on the whole entire ordeal. You’re embarrassed to be put on display like this, not knowing that he isn’t here to scrutinize you (for once), but rather he’s your backup.

Before things take a turn for the worse, you’re actually all smiles and sunshines and rainbows.

Stop smiling at him, Naoya thinks. He hates your smile. Hates it the most when it’s directed towards anyone but him.

Kimura begins with a compliment. That’s how all the professors in the arts are taught. Compliment sandwich! Praise, constructive criticism, more praise! What a fucking joke. Naoya thinks his way of handling things is much more efficient. Talk about all the stuff they need improvement on, and whatever isn’t corrected clearly is okay. Don’t you people know how to read in between the lines? Context clues ring any bells? Fuck, what did you all go to school for?

Disaster strikes, just as Naoya predicts.

“Listen, we know that this is your first year of teaching, and you’re still getting settled into your role of professor and not student, but clearly there’s some leniency when it comes to your grading…”

Kimura’s listing all sorts of shit. Grade inflation is what he claims one second, next he’s claiming you have subjective grading criteria. No other Intro to Classic Literature course has a similar class average to yours.

Kimura shakes his head, like he’s disappointed in you. Another tactic that would only work on someone as sweet as you.

“If this continues to be an issue, we may have to reconsider renewing your contract.”

And there are those waterworks Naoya is expecting.

The thing is, Naoya knows a bully when he sees one. Naoya knows all about being cruel just for the sake of being cruel. As cold, shriveled up, and worthless as it seems, Naoya does have a heart.

“That’s bullshit.” He inserts himself into the conversation. You’re staring down at your lap, twiddling with your fingers. Kimura turns to look at him.

“This is a private matter—”

“If it was private, you would have done it in your own office instead of mine.”

“This is a matter that concerns the English department, not yours, Dr. Zenin.”

He’s right. And yet—

“Have you even read any of her students’ papers?”

—Naoya is your backup.

“How is this relevant?”

“Read their papers. Read their first one versus their most recent one. Hell, read every single essay a student has turned in over the course. I guarantee you they deserve the marks she’s given them.”

“Their papers are filled with corrections and questions, and yet, she gives them an A.” Kimura knows all about Naoya’s reputation. He’s infamous. He’s the reason why everyone’s scared of majoring in economics. Naoya Zenin is the toughest grader there is.

“I’ve seen the mental state of your department’s students. She’s doing them a favor by not crushing them.”

“You’re saying they deserve those grades?”

“She lets them redo all their papers within a reasonable period of time and grades based on the overall improvement.” Naoya shrugs, like it’s just that simple. “I don’t see an issue.”

“She’s manipulating grades.”

“She’s giving them a second chance. I personally find that to be admirable.” Naoya is not lying. This is what makes you look up. “And she cares. I think she’s the only one of your faculty who gives a damn about whether her students are learning or not.”

Naoya doesn’t hate a lot of things because he doesn’t like giving certain things so much special attention, but he does dislike insincere people. People like Kimura are the worst because they hide behind fake niceties and table manners, but if you peel off their skin, they’re secretly lizards in disguise. At least in Naoya’s case, no one ever has the luxury of being shocked when he says something very mean and unpleasant because he will never filter himself or put on a mask that gives off the vibe that he practices civility.

As a matter of fact, Naoya has a nasty, serpent-like grin on his face as he locks in on Kimura, caging him in.

“After all, isn't that the point of becoming a professor, Dr. Kimura?”

Gotcha, you slimy bastard.

Learning Objective Four: Be Vulnerable, Put Yourself Out There

“Would you say I’m an asshole?” Naoya brings this up as he helps you pack up your belongings. He claims that it’s because he can’t wait to have his office all to himself again, but really, he’s starting to realize that lending a helping hand every once in a while can’t hurt. He hisses when a sharp edge from one of the many stacks of paper you possess cuts his finger.

That’s the last time he’ll ever help someone, he thinks bitterly.

“Not to your face.” You reply back, giving him a grin. He wants to take your smile and store it in a moving box and then keep that box underneath his desk and have it be one of his most prized possessions.

“Hm.” Then he tells you, “A student called me that.”

“To your face?” You look equal parts shocked, amused, and delighted. It’s a good look.

“No. RateMyProfessor.”

“Oh, I think I saw that one. They called you hot, right?” You’re busy packing up your sticker sheets and binders. Naoya wonders if he’s reading too hard into what you’re telling him.

“You’ve seen my reviews?”

“Of course I did. I looked you up on the Internet the day we became office roomies.” You throw this information out so nonchalantly that Naoya almost feels like he’s the weird one to have a reaction from it.

“You looked me up on the Internet?”

“Duh. Naoya, we live in a world where AI is writing essays for students. Of course, I would look you up online.”

“But why?” He presses you, latches on to the idea that there is a world where someone wants to look him up online and it’s not to find his home address so they can get revenge on him failing them.

“Because I wanted to know more about you, silly.”

It would be nice to be known. It’s already nice to have someone who wants to get to know you. Naoya Zenin does not settle in life, but he thinks he could settle for this and be content for the rest of his days.

Of course you would. He would say this, all snarky and egotistical, but he knows better. He won’t have an excuse to see your four times a week, won’t be cooped up in this office with you late in the night, won’t get to smell the remnants of your perfume when he’s up at the podium, lecturing his class. But there’s a chance that he could see you in different settings, too. Getting coffee together in between classes. Sitting next to each other during university-wide faculty meetings. Taking you out to dinner, because he’s reviewed your contract, and he’s not sure how you’re surviving financially.

“I would like that.” The words come out rushed, all jumbled and smushed together. He’s a grown man. He doesn’t blush. This is what he tells himself when he feels heat rise to his cheeks. “I would like for you to get to know me. And to learn more about you, too.” He swallows. Hard. “I sound stupid, I meant to—”

“It’s okay, Dr. Zenin.” You have the prettiest smile in the world. His dissertation should have been on that. “The fun part about learning is that you can still do it, even when you’re being stupid.”

#naoya zenin x reader #naoya x reader #naoya zen'in x reader #jjk x reader #fluff #drabble #one shot #college au

627 notes · View notes

ninzied · 3 months

Text

and that's how it works

a co-worker au. based on the prompt: kiss out of spite. ~2.4k.

Alex can’t stand him from the start.

He tries not to actively dislike any co-workers, as a general rule. It takes effort, and time, neither of which he wants to spend on this guy—unless said work has been affected, which, Alex has to admit that it hasn’t.

But there’s something about him that rubs Alex the wrong way the moment they get introduced.

He’s hard-working, Alex supposes, and the quality of the work isn’t lacking. He’s punctual, and to-the-point in his emails. None of those things are an issue. He does make a habit of helping himself to Alex’s office supplies, but a few missing staples and running out of printer paper don’t exactly justify a grudge.

The guy’s personality is, objectively, annoying. He has the worst taste in ties, which to Alex says a lot, and he can’t go more than five minutes without alluding to his pedigree in some way (Alex knows this because he and Nora have made a drinking game out of it at work functions).

Still, it doesn’t explain the weird surge of resentment he gets every time he looks at the guy. And not understanding it might be the most annoying part of all.

He just wishes he knew why.

Alex works in the legal department, but the coffee’s way better in HR down the hall, so most mornings he’s using their break room. Most mornings, and at lunchtime too, and in the afternoons more than once until Nora starts cutting him off, which. Fair.

Apparently he’s not the only one who’s discovered HR’s superior coffee, though, because he’s always there too, and always at the same time as Alex. Seriously, can he not? It’s bad enough that they share a cubicle. Now Alex has to suffer the insult of watching him fucking microwave his coffee like some kind of sociopath, too?

“Are you following me?” Alex demands to know one morning, a little ridiculously. He’s aware that HR is not the best place to be throwing accusations around, but he’s kind of had it with this guy. “Because—”

At that exact moment, the door is opening, and Henry Fox is walking into the room.

“Oh, hey,” says Alex.

Henry glances at him the way he always does, that is to say, a little bemused as to what Alex is doing here. But Henry had been his point person when he was hired six months ago, so he must know Alex works here, right? Besides, he’s been coming to drink their coffee every day of those past six months now, and he knows Henry knows this because their breaks usually overlap and the way Henry barely says two words to him half the time is starting to feel kind of personal.

“It’s Alex,” says Alex, because, well, just in case.

“Yes, I’m aware,” says Henry. After a beat that’s long enough to get awkward, he says, “Err. Right then.”

And then he smiles and waves at Hunter, who isn’t even supposed to be here either, and walks over to take the seat Hunter has saved him like they’re all in fucking high school.

Hunter says something smarmy about a new art gallery or what-the-fuck-ever he went to last night, using a slightly too-loud voice that’s clearly meant to be overheard. Alex grits his teeth.

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to go,” says Henry. “What did you think?”

Alex scowls. Fuck, he fucking hates Hunter.

“So how’s the transfer going?” asks Hunter one day.

Alex jerks involuntarily and splashes hot coffee all over his hand. “Motherfucker,” he says, and then, because his filter is fully shot now anyway, he glances over at Henry. “You’re transferring? Like, jobs?”

“Oh. Um. No. Departments,” says Henry. Alex supposes that’s all he’s getting—four whole words must be some kind of record—but then Henry continues. “To editing. Starting first thing next week.”

“Oh,” says Alex. “Cool. That’s…a big move.” Literally. That’s, like, whole floors away. He opens the freezer door with his good hand, and wonders what the coffee tastes like up there in editing, if it would be weird to find out sometime. He grabs a fistful of ice.

“Yes,” Henry is saying. “It will be quite the change, and I—wait. Sorry.” He stands abruptly, and Alex stares in surprise as Henry comes over and stops right in front of him. “Please put the ice down.”

“Um,” says Alex. “O…kay?”

“You should use lukewarm water,” says Henry. “Cool, at best. For your hand.”

“Oh,” says Alex. “Right. Thanks.” He turns to the sink, feeling weirdly aware of the fact that Henry is still standing there. “It’s too bad,” Alex says before Henry can decide to sit down next to Hunter again. “Kind of a big loss for HR.”

Henry’s brows knit back together. “Is it?”

Alex shrugs. “To my knowledge, no one else personally escorts new employees to their cubicles on the first day of work. Like you did with Hunter here, for example.” He levels Henry with a grin. “I was there when you showed him around, in case you don’t remember.”

Henry’s expression is inscrutable. “I do,” he says.

Alex makes a point to not look away. “Guess that wasn’t a thing back when I started.”

“Ah,” says Henry. He’s flushing for some reason now. “No, I suppose not.”

Alex considers him. He can’t decide if Henry’s playing dumb, or if he really doesn’t remember that he’d been the one to help hire Alex. Then he decides he doesn’t care, because both options make him feel like something on the bottom of Hunter’s shoe, which he hates.

“Think I’m gonna head back.” Alex looks expectantly at Hunter, who only lifts his mug like he’s still planning on being a while. Fucking fine.

He can still see the two of them through the glass pane in the door when Nora walks by with a stack of folders.

“You okay?” she asks, in a tone that says she’s guessed the answer.

“Fucking no,” says Alex anyway. “What are they even doing? Talking?”

Nora sneaks a peek through the window. “Appears so,” she deadpans. “Talking in the break room. Unbelievable.”

“I know, right?” Alex scowls, then realizes he’s left without his coffee, which makes him scowl even harder.

Nora sighs, then slips her free arm through his. “Let’s walk.”

“Do you think Hunter likes him?” asks Alex. Because—not that he’s spent a lot of time on this—Alex thinks that Hunter does, and nothing is worse than the thought of Henry liking him back because he doesn’t know any better.

Maybe Alex should say something.

Nora is looking sideways at him. Alex isn’t sure why. “I think what Hunter likes is people with a pedigree,” she says. “Anyway, what’s not to like? Henry’s a snack.”

“What?” says Alex. Objectively, Henry looks a bit like an Adonis, but, “That is so beside the point. And just because Hunter’s like Harvard royalty or whatever doesn’t give him the right to come in here and trick people into liking him when—”

“When you were here first?” Nora supplies.

“What?” Now Nora is really missing the point. “This has nothing to do with me, or with Henry. I just meant, like, you know. In general.”

“Right,” says Nora. “I must have misunderstood.”

Alex keeps going back to the break room, of course. The coffee’s still better, and he can keep bothering Nora even though she’s transferring soon too (to marketing two floors down, the traitor). None of those things have changed just because Henry is no longer there every day.

The one thing that does change, Alex notices with a dark kind of satisfaction, is that Hunter does not go back to the break room. In fact, he starts bringing his own coffee each morning (Starbucks, which seems very on-brand). If anything, Alex only has more reason now to escape to HR and not spend any more time around Hunter than necessary.

About a week after Henry’s transfer, Alex realizes he’s used the last of the break room’s cinnamon. Again. Goddamn it, he thinks. He’s just spent the morning in back-to-back meetings, he’s getting his coffee hours later than usual, and now this?

He rifles through the cupboards for a second and then a third time just in case there's a rogue bottle somewhere. “Fuck me,” he mutters.

“What’s the occasion?” comes a voice from the door, and Alex turns to find Henry leaning against it. His arms are crossed, and he’s doing that chin-tilty thing that apparently means Alex has zero control over what comes out of his mouth.

“What are you doing here?” Alex blurts.

Henry raises an eyebrow. “I could’ve been asking you the same thing for the past six months or so, but I haven’t.” He uncrosses his arms and comes over. “Would you believe me if I said I came here for the coffee?”

“No,” says Alex, with absolute certainty. “You don’t drink coffee.”

Henry blinks. “I could,” he argues after a moment, then straightens a little. “In fact, maybe I planned to start today.”

“Uh huh.” Alex gestures for him to have at the machine. “Do you even know how to use it?”

“Can’t be that difficult,” says Henry. He gives the machine a dubious look, and Alex doesn’t mean to but he starts to laugh.

“Here, I got it. Was about to make some for myself anyway.”

“Ah.” Henry looks abashed suddenly. Even the tips of his ears have turned pink. “Suppose you’ll be wanting this, then.” He pulls a ground cinnamon bottle from his pants pocket.

Alex shakes his head in disbelief. He could actually kiss Henry right now. “How did you—?”

“Well, you were running low last I was here,” says Henry, like that’s a totally normal thing to have noticed when Alex has never seen him touch the spice rack once. “Figured you'd be out by now, so I nicked some from the break room upstairs. No one’s been using it there anyway.”

The shock on Alex’s face makes him backtrack. “Sorry,” he says, flushing an even deeper pink now. “I—didn’t know you’d be here. You’re usually, um. Earlier. I can return it, if you’d like.” He says all this in a rush.

“No, it’s great,” Alex says emphatically. “Don’t you dare take it back.” He’s still staring a little, but that can’t be helped. Henry knows how he likes his coffee. And Henry had planned to restock the cinnamon without Alex ever knowing.

Henry clears his throat, looking around them. “You didn’t bring Hunter with you today,” he notes.

“No,” says Alex immediately. “God, no. And I don’t bring him anywhere, he just. Shows up. Honestly, I can’t stand the guy.” Shit. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that.

“Oh, thank Christ,” Henry says, looking immensely relieved. “Now that I don’t work in HR anymore, can I just say how little I enjoy his company?”

This is way better news than when Henry had first reached out to Alex with his offer letter and starting salary. He grins. “You can. In fact, please say more.”

Henry looks rueful. “I really shouldn’t.”

“It’s just that—” Alex sobers a little. “He was the only person you seemed willing to talk to.”

“It was easier, for me.” Henry takes a breath. “I feel less shy around people whose opinion of me doesn’t matter as much.” He pauses, something meaningful in the way he looks sidelong at Alex now. “I do want to be better about it.”

Alex nods, considering this. He tries hard not to smile. Probably not hard enough. “I can work with that.”

“You do realize neither of you work in this department,” says Nora, pulling food from the fridge.

Henry sips the tea Alex has just made him. Coffee, turns out, had been a lost cause. They’re both leaning against the counter, elbows not-quite-touching but getting closer to it every day, by Alex’s estimation.

“Do any of us, at this point?” Henry muses.

Nora shrugs. “Fair.”

“Just don’t tell You Know Who,” says Alex.

“Who’s You Know Who?” Hunter asks from the doorway. He has a confused smile on his face as he looks from Henry to Alex back to Henry again. Normally the sight of Hunter fills Alex with the most profound irritation, but now he’s feeling kind of pleased.

That’s right, he thinks smugly at Hunter: Henry is mine.

Huh. Suddenly things make a lot more sense now.

“Hey, did you get my email about the museum opening this Friday?” Hunter asks Henry, and Alex bristles instantly. Did Hunter not get the look Alex just gave him?

“Ah,” says Henry awkwardly, and it would be endearing if he didn’t also look so deeply uncomfortable. His awkwardness now is so different from the bashful kind of awkward he used to be around Alex; honestly, Alex can’t believe he’d never been able to tell between the two until now. “Actually, I’m—”

“Going,” says Alex, “already. With me.”

Henry looks at him in happy surprise. “Really?”

“Really,” Alex says firmly. And then, because he likes how dumbstruck Hunter looks right now, and because Henry doesn’t pull away when Alex puts an arm around his shoulders and he really, really likes that too, he does the only thing left that makes sense to him, which is to lean in and kiss Henry. He kind of feels like he might die when Henry kisses him back.

Fuuuuuuck.

Henry’s eyes are still closed when Alex leans back. He’s dimly aware that Nora has shooed Hunter out and closed the door behind them. He’s more acutely aware of how Henry licks his lips, then opens his eyes with an oddly vulnerable expression and says, “Alex, please tell me you didn’t just kiss me for Hunter’s benefit.”

“What? No. I mean—not exactly.” Fuck. Why can’t he use only the words that he needs? “The answer’s still no, but I might’ve used it as an excuse if I’d kissed you like two weeks ago. But that’s not why I kissed you just now, and it’s not why I’m going to kiss you again.”

“Oh, you think you’re going to kiss me again, do you,” Henry says with a hint of a smile, lifting his chin in a kind of challenge that Alex does not intend to back away from.

“One-hundred-percent,” he says, then pauses. “Unless you plan on reporting me to HR.”

“Honestly,” says Henry, “I might have to report you if you don’t.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Alex says, very seriously, and he pulls Henry back in.

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #rwrbedit #rwrbsource #rwrb fic #firstprince #firstprince fic #rwrb fanfic #firstprince fanfic #usernuria #iuserzoe #userveronika #usersteen #chrissiewatts

361 notes · View notes

suzukiblu · 1 month

Note

If you feel up for it, for the writing meme prompt, Clark Kent/Lex Luthor, with the song You And Me by Lifehouse? If it's not your thing I totally get it though and hope you have a great time and fun writing the things that do catch your fancy!

I think we ALL knew that I was gonna do baby Kon for this, lbr. Also ngl, this came out way more cracky than the prompt would suggest it should've but it is absolutely my favorite thing I’ve written for this meme so far, as the necessity for the following cut should help attest, haha.

Unfortunately, Lex takes one look at Cadmus’s progress report on the newly-crafted Experiment Thirteen and realizes he has paternal instincts.

Well, that’s inconvenient. And a little disgusting, honestly. Certainly a disappointment.

He supposes it could be worse. He could be Lionel about this.

Anyway, that’s how he has a physiological four year-old on his lap when he hears the news about Superman coming back to life and fistfighting an evil cyborg with his own face about it, because of course the man didn’t have the decency to just stay dead. Why would he, after all?

Lex needs a drink. That would be a bad example for the physiological four year-old, though.

Then again, Experiment Thirteen should be completely immune to the effects of Earth-based alcohol in about another four to six months of consistent yellow sun exposure, so . . .

Lex is halfway through his second brandy when Superman shows up on his balcony at super-speed wearing a very pretentiously dramatic black suit and looking both winded and bewildered. And still alive, unfortunately.

“Don’t you have a murderous cyborg to be ensuring is in custody?” Lex asks dryly, deciding to just not acknowledge the presence of the physiological four year-old who’s moved on to messily but methodically coloring on the floor underneath his desk. Lex didn’t actually give Experiment Thirteen either a coloring book or crayons, mind, but he appreciates the clone’s resourcefulness in breaking into the office supplies. Anyway, it’s useful for developing its hand-eye coordination and fine motor control.

Superman’s pupils are pin-pricks, barely even there at all. Which is an unusual reaction from him, and Lex notes that fact reflexively but doesn’t particularly care about it. Meant-to-be-dead people do unusual things, especially the alien ones. And it isn’t as if–

“Baby,” Superman blurts, his eyes wide.

Lex . . . pauses. Takes a slow sip of his brandy.

Alright then.

“Yes, I’ve noticed,” he settles on eventually, raising an eyebrow at him. Experiment Thirteen peers out from under the desk, immediately decides Superman isn’t an interesting presence, and then goes back to coloring all over Lex’s floor. It seems to be drawing either a puppy or a chain of complex genetic sequencing, but judging by the kinds of things it’s been drawing so far, it’s fifty-fifty. Lex has been getting the impression the clone actually likes art, which is a baffling interest to find in his own progeny, but how does that quote go . . . “I am a warrior, so that my son may be a merchant, so that his son may be a poet”?

Or something like that, anyway.

“No, I–baby,” Superman stresses, looking bewildered as he floats down a little closer to the open balcony door.

“. . . yes, I’ve noticed,” Lex repeats, raising his eyebrow again and taking another sip of brandy. Superman looks frazzled, bobbing up a little higher in the air again to get a better view of Experiment Thirteen under the desk. Experiment Thirteen keeps ignoring him in favor of its coloring, displaying no apparent interest in the most powerful uninvited guest in the history of illegal immigration. Lex experiences a moment of overwhelming paternal pride, which is such a bizarre and unanticipated experience that he doesn’t even know what to do with it.

“Where’d he come from?” Superman asks with a wondering expression. Ugh.

“A cloning lab,” Lex replies dismissively, setting his near-empty glass down on the desk. It’s hardly worth lying about Experiment Thirteen’s origins at this point. He didn’t want to murder everyone in Cadmus to keep the secret. He might need them if there’s an issue with Experiment Thirteen’s genetics later, after all. “We mixed it up a couple weeks ago while you were off wasting everyone’s time being dead."

“You had my baby?” Superman says, tilting in the air and still staring at Experiment Thirteen, as if he's somehow forgotten both how much kryptonite Lex owns and how much kryptonite he keeps specifically in this office. “While I was dead. You had my baby while I was dead.”

. . . alright then, Lex thinks again, both eyebrows raising this time.

“I really wouldn’t put it that way, personally,” he says. “Also, I don’t recall saying it was in any way yours.”

“Baby,” Superman repeats inanely, then lands on the floor and ducks down into a crouch to peer under the desk better, his pupils still reduced to barely-there pinpricks. Lex is so mystified he doesn't even activate the security system or the weaponized red sun lamps. Experiment Thirteen frowns at Superman–Lex, again, basks in unanticipated paternal pride–and then turns its back on him and hides all its drawings from him as seriously and carefully as if they were under NDA.

It's almost adorable, frankly.

Not that Lex finds things adorable, of course.

“His heartbeat's so cute,” Superman says, looking absolutely fascinated. Which is surprisingly useful of him to mention, actually, since Lex had previously been vaguely concerned that Experiment Thirteen's odd thrumming heartbeat might be a sign of a heart defect, but apparently it’s just a Kryptonian thing. A . . . “cute” Kryptonian thing, according to Superman.

Lex is increasingly mystified by this interaction.

“Can’t say I’ve spent much time listening to it, personally,” he lies, because he has in fact obsessed over that heartbeat’s health and stability since first finding out about its unusualness and has done a truly aggravating amount of research into heart murmurs and conditions and the like. But that’s hardly Superman’s business, now is it.

“. . . what’s his name?” Superman asks hesitantly. Lex is possibly having an out of body experience.

“Experiment Thirteen,” he says. Superman immediately looks offended.

“We need to give him a name, Lex,” he says. Lex, again, has an out of body experience.

“‘We’?” he repeats incredulously. “I made it, I get to decide what it’s called.”

“He’s got my DNA!” Superman protests, looking indignant. Lex has absolutely no idea how to process that expression.

“It has both our DNA, in fact, yours was too irritating to stabilize alone,” Lex informs him dubiously. More accurately it was literally impossible to stabilize alone, but he’s not mentioning that to Superman. “So it has my DNA, and I made it. And also put eight point two billion dollars into its production, as a lowball estimate. Therefore I’m the one who decides what its name is, thank you very much.”

“Lex,” Superman says disapprovingly. “You can’t call a baby Experiment Thirteen.”

“It’s physiologically developed enough to complain if it doesn’t like it,” Lex retorts, narrowing his eyes at him. Superman frowns at him. Lex has never had a more ridiculous conversation with the man, including all the times Superman’s tried to appeal to his nonexistent “better nature”. “Well it is.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Superman says, then ducks back down and peers at Experiment Thirteen again, gentling his voice to address it while Lex is still incredulously mouthing “ridiculous”? to himself. “Would you like a real name, kiddo?”

Experiment Thirteen sticks its tongue out at him.

Lex is finding parenthood to be a very rewarding experience, actually.

#clex #lex luthor #clark kent #kon el #conner kent #superman #superboy #superfamily #rinfic #anonymous

355 notes · View notes

panther-os · 2 months

Text

@amikoroyaiart did this awesome commission of my OC Lennie and my version of Ghost! I've wanted to commission her since I first came across her art over a year ago but it took me a while to save and just ahhhhhhh so worth it

Fun fact! The pants are uniform accurate. 141 is an international task force, and while Ghost and many of the rest of the team are SAS and wear black or navy fatigues, Lennie is an tArm (Irish Army) and wears that specific camo pattern! Their neon pink hair is definitely out of regulation, but no one dares call them on it.

Lennie is nonbinary and their full name and rank is Lieutenant Lennie Lynch. They're from Carrick-on-Shannon in Leitrim County of Ireland, and they're the 141's Chief Logistics & Supply Officer. Anything from toilet paper to ammo to fresh fruit to video games, it all goes through them. They have a ton of smuggler contacts in order to get supplies out to remote areas, and they use this network for information as well.

Basically Laswell's job, but more focused on keeping people alive via food and bandages and etc than keeping people alive via intel on the enemy.

Price met Lennie at the same time he met Nikolai. It was a joint an tArm and SAS operation where the two squads wound up trapped in a snowstorm with dwindling supplies, including much-needed medical supplies. Lennie asked for an hour with the sat phone, spent that time making threats and promises and calling in favors, and then Nikolai (the only pilot good enough and crazy enough) dropped off the supplies not too much later, which is how he and Price met. Then, a few years later, Price pulled Lennie for the Taskforce knowing their skills would be needed.

Lennie drinks far too many cups of coffee a day, barely sleeps, and spends the majority of their time in their dark office staring at computer screens. Their first date with Ghost was a joint nap on their office couch. Their best frenemy is @atohii 's OC Niko, the Chief Medical Officer, friend because they've made him weep tears of gratitude over the supplies he needs to keep everyone healthy, enemy because they've cut him off from energy drinks (the hypocrite) and gotten the entire rest of the base involved in it.

It's best assumed that Lennie knows everything and could be anywhere. They walk very quietly and often surprise people by slurping their coffee from right behind them. If they were an animal, they'd be a wild hare - the kind that surely speaks a thousand tongues and knows exactly how you die.

Ghost is still with Soap, and Soap is also with Niko, and sometimes Ghost and Niko are together as well, but romantically, Lennie's just with Ghost. We love a poly141.

This Ghost is based on TikTok cosplayer Kuromi (his account is tagged MDNI, please respect that) and Irish actor Fra Fee (because Les Mis is an old SpIn and my Ghost is Irish, his ggparents immigrated to Manchester during the Great Hunger). I don't have any specific scar or tattoo headcanons for Ghost, but I like Amiko's usual spread so I asked her to just use those, and I'm thrilled with how it came out!

And just ahhhhhhh I'm still screaming over Lennie 😍

#/incoherent noises/#call of duty #amikoroyaiart #cod oc #my oc #oc #simon ghost riley #lt lennie lynch

165 notes · View notes

astrobiscuits · 4 months

Text

🎄🎵Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas🎵🎄

Holiday (365443) persona chart observations

🎅 Individuals with Ascendant at 1° or 3° get really excited in advance at the thought of Christmas coming. They tend to approach the holidays with the same innocent joy they had as kids even in adulthood

🎅 Stellium in 2nd house = tasty Christmas dishes and gifts are their only priority lmao

🎅 Neptune trine Venus tend to get lost in the beauty and bling of Christmas decorations

🎅 The sign and house where Jupiter is located tells you what type of gifts you might usually get on Christmas (it's also great to use as a gift guide!!):

🎁 Jupiter 1st house/Aries: gym equipment; sports-related merch; tickets to an event, which you're really passionate about; hats/head accessories; could also be something related to the natal Ascendant (check the description for your natal Rising sign for more info)

🎁 Jupiter in 2nd house/Taurus: lots of chocolate and sweets; clothes; art pieces; scented candles; perfume; fine china; kitchen utensils; cookbooks; (renewed) subscription to a movie streaming service

🎁 Jupiter in 3rd house/Gemini: a (new) car; books; musical instruments; handpan (if Jupiter is in Pisces or it positively aspects Neptune); your most memorable gift might come from a sibling or a relative (cousin, uncle, aunt)

🎁 Jupiter in 4th house/Cancer: plushies; heated blanket; board games; photo albums; your most memorable gift might come from your parents or it might be something passed on from generation to generation

🎁 Jupiter in 5th house/Leo: concert tickets; a trip to the tattoo parlor; gold jewelry; could also be something related to the natal Sun

🎁 Jupiter in 6th house/Virgo: Fitbit/smartwatch; aesthetic stationery (notebooks, planners, writing instruments); reusable water bottle; humidifier; pets

🎁 Jupiter in 7th house/Libra: make-up; beauty gadgets; a romantic partner/fiancé (no, but fr, you might get a love confession during the holidays); your most memorbale gift likely might come from your partner (if you have one)

🎁 Jupiter in 8th house/Scorpio: money/gift cards; sexy time toys; stockings; could be something the individual is obsessed with

🎁 Jupiter in 9th house/Sagittarius: trips to exotic destinations; henna hair dye; compression socks

🎁 Jupiter in 10th house/Capricorn: vintage decor; office chair; office purse (or just one that screams "high status"); sterling silver jewelry; high quality alcohol drinks

🎁 Jupiter in 11th house/Aquarius: electronic devices (smartphone, laptop, tablet, etc.); video games; anything related to supernatural beings (aliens, mermaids, fairies etc.); telescope; anything you've wished for/been manifesting

🎁 Jupiter in 12th house/Pisces: anything sleep related - pajamas, bed sheets, pillow sheets (or a new pillow), silk sleepmask; crystals; manifestation journal; tarot decks; art supplies

🎅 Christmas traditions based on the number of planets in angular/succedent/cadent houses:

❄️ High number of planets in angular houses (1, 4, 7, 10) = starting new family traditions

❄️ High number of planets in succedent houses (2, 5, 8, 11) = carrying out family traditions

❄️ High number of planets in cadent houses (3, 6, 9, 12) = tweaking/improving current family traditions or letting them go if they don't resonate anymore

🎅 Sun square/opposite Saturn & Ascendant conjunct/square/opposite Saturn = Grinch who doesn't like Christmas, but doesn't do anything to "destroy" it; might show a lot of sarcasm during the holidays; they might not celebrate Christmas due to reasons related to their position of Saturn

🎅 Sun square/opposite Mars = Grinch who doesn't like Christmas, but actively tries to "destroy" the holiday spirit for the people around them by picking up fights with loved ones

🎅 If you want to "hire" a Santa to show up with gifts for your kids on Christmas (aka choose one of your friends to fulfill this role), the best Santa would have atleast 3 of the following:

Sun conjunct/sextile/trine Jupiter

Venus conjunct/sextile/trine Jupiter

Sun/Moon in 5th house

Jupiter in 2nd house/5th house

Jupiter conjuncting MC

Sagittarius Rising or Jupiter as dom planet

Ruler of 2nd house (benefic planet) in 5th house and vice versa

Asteroid Abundantia (151) conjuncting Venus/Jupiter

❆❆❆ ~ 𝕸𝖊𝖗𝖗𝖞 𝕮𝖍𝖗𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖒𝖆𝖘, 𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖞𝖔𝖓𝖊 ~ ❆❆❆

#astro #astro community #astrology #astro placements #astro observations #astro posts #astroblr #astro blog #astro notes #persona chart #jupiter #christmas astrology

292 notes · View notes

yurinaa-world · 4 months

Note

hello, blade, jing yuan, dan heng and welt platonic with a child!reader who is like griseo from honkai impact?

Characters: Blade, Jing Yuan, Dan Heng, and Welt yang platonic! x Female reader

Synopsis: reader that's like Griseo from honkai impact

Warnings: Fluff and spelling mistakes,

𝐵𝓁𝒶𝒹𝑒

You are favored by everyone in the Stellarton Hunters; even Elio does it too. You both are stuck together whenever everyone else is 'busy'; you’re always quiet, really wanting to talk to anyone in general, and it’s no difference with him just painting and painting (he could leave but doesn’t).

Most people don’t see you anywhere since you're probably in your art room that no one knows where it is since there are several art rooms for you; he’s walked in on you in a room, thinking it was some sort of spy.

He looks at some of your paintings whenever he’s stuck taking care of you, which freaks you out. Does he have to look at that one? The painting in question was based on him and how he looks similar to spider lilies. He doesn’t say anything and just puts the painting back where it was hanging.

Y’know those trashy art kits with bad markers and ‘paints’ (but very expressive) Well, while going causing some havoc, he saw it and thought you would like it. When he sees your face happy (for at least trying), he is glad, until Kafka tells him that you probably wouldn’t use it since the kit is really low quality.

𝒥𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒴𝓊𝒶𝓃

He gives you an entire art room with very expensive supplies, and since he sees you somewhere where no one goes, you start to freak out a little whenever someone sees you. He hopes you impress him with your skills, and if you do, he might hang your painting in his office so that those who come and see him can also witness your piece.

You're very comfortable around him, only letting him see your paintings. You just finished wanting me to praise you for your hard work and give you a little attention.

Watch you get very shy when talking to other people at events with him. Go on, why don’t you tell them about the painting on the walls? You were the one who spent your sweat and tears just to complete it.

𝒟𝒶𝓃 𝐻𝑒𝓃𝑔

He’s a bit awkward when it comes to you; you both don’t talk and don’t leave your rooms either. Since everyone is going out to get something on this new planet and you both are staying well, Dan Heng is in charge of you. It might have been the first time he’s ever seen your room. and it’s a total mess—paintbrushes, paint, several unfinished paintings, and broken parts of supplies all over the place.

Everyone thought his room was that bad. He can just sit there on the side and not stare at you, you say in a whisper. What? Well, you get nervous whenever he stares at you, so he can't... One question about painting: you lost your mind and told him about everything, so it was a bonding experience, and now you give him some little drawings, so it’s worth it.

You also use the database in his room to get inspiration for your next painting from your favorite artist.

𝒲𝑒𝓁𝓉 𝓎𝒶𝓃𝑔

He asks you many questions just to see you freak out over your obsession. Like, let it all out; he’ll hear out everything you say; he means everything—the origin of the color purple, sure! Knock yourself out or talk about your favorite artist, what kind of painting they did, what their first painting was, and stuff like that.

Unlike Blade, he gets you good painting supplies that aren't like Crayola or those bad art sets like pencils that have good pigment and paint brushes made with the finest bristles, like he knows what good stuff is at.

I helped you design your room as well, making it very bright and artistic like you, with your most beloved paintings all over your walls, and even gave you two matching paintings, one for you and the other for him.

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot

#✧*:･ﾟ✧:･ Yurinna's Writing :･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧#honkai star rail #hsr x you #hsr x reader #hsr x y/n #honkai star rail x reader #welt yang x reader #yang welt x reader #welt x reader #welt yang x you #dan heng #dan heng x you #dan heng x reader #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x you #hsr jing yuan #honkai blade x you #blade x reader #blade x you

148 notes · View notes

a-d-nox · 5 months

Text

wyrd web: what to gift a person based these three numbers

this is just a theory of mine because these bubbles of the matrix should represent earthly desires. this is not to say that you can't enjoy things not listed in your category / under your energetic number. this is simply what i believe people with these numbers would enjoy receiving as a gift.

1 - the magician

flowers / garden seeds, gear for their passion project(s), business/self-help books, a tarot/astrology/mediumship reading, art supplies, things that are homemade/artisanal, careof for brain support, things for their computer or car, a diary or journal (moleskine), sunglasses or blue-light glasses, joke books (for the dads with 1 placements here), paid classes, rosetta stone subscription, genetic tests (ancestry.com or 23&me), manicure/pedicure voucher, merchandise from their favorite singer / group / tv show / movie, mittens / fingerless gloves, house plant, sewing/knitting/crocheting supplies, stationary, or tickets to a concert

2 - the high priestess

things that support their spiritual practices, things that support feminine health (hum women's probiotics bundle, honey pot oral vaginal care probiotic, etc), bake goods / baking gear, barbecue sauce sampler / grilling gear (for the dads pt 2), bar in a jar (for those of drinking age) or really any beverage tester kit, bath/spa kit, beach vacation, boat, cruise, careof for brain support, truly nice melons boob butter, candles (it doesn't have to be yankee candle either - bent candles, spiced votive candle, etc) or candle making kit, imported cheeses, clothing staples (blue jeans, black turtleneck, etc), juice cleanse or other things that support digestive health, cooking classes or meal kits (hellofresh, homechef, etc), a tarot/astrology/mediumship reading, or outdoor cameras or other home security tools

3 - the empress

pillows, stuffed animals, rose quartz, personal celebrity cameo, clothing, tickets for an art museum tour, ballet tickets or classes, art supplies, makeup pallets and/or brushes, flowers, jewelry, candy/sweets, money, bells / wind chimes, clothing, designer pieces, cosmetics, dolls, a trip to a fancy restaurant, fruit basket / dried fruits, gardening supplies, jewelry, concert/orchestra tickets, poetry book, tickets to a play, a purse, lingerie (if y'all are close like that), trip to a vineyard (for those of drinking age), couples' dancing classes, or a wallet

4 - the emperor

skincare, rock climbing voucher or some other physical activity they enjoy, an adrenaline rush activity (skydiving, bungee jumping, etc), careof for brain support, crafted wooden objects (cutting boards, tables, etc), coffee trials/samplers, sunglasses, blue light glasses, hair care products/supplies, scalp treatments/care, oral health care (thera breath, whitening products, etc), meditation app subscriptions / in person sessions for meditation, or a planner

5 - the hierophant

moss agate (don't question how random that sounds this is some intuitive stuff), artwork, an architectural tour, beauty products/supplies, historically significant objects, pastries or sweets/candies, earrings, sour dough starter kit, jewelry in general, piano/organ lessons, singing lessons, a wallet, or any classes where they can learn something fun and new to them

6 - the lovers

car stuff (seat covers, cup holder coasters, etc), bicycle or bicycle accessories/gear, books (the more educational the better), briefcase / work tote, bus tickets for a day trip, gym membership or soulcycle classes, crystals, a standing desk / cute office supplies (for the work girlies both those who work in office and from home), hand & foot message, manicure voucher, newspaper subscription (i am a fan of new york times, washington post, and the new yorker), language classes or rosetta stone subscription, magazines subscription, merchandise from their favorite singer / group / tv show / movie, train trip, or we're not really strangers card packs

7 - the chariot

gardening supplies, hermit crab, baked goods, bath products / beauty products, boat, cruise, car stuff (seat covers, cup holder coasters, etc), truly nice melons boob butter, juice cleanse, gut health thrive market kit, glassware / blown glass, stuff they need / need for their home (security system, chest freezer, etc), hotel or bed & breakfast stay, kitchenware, lake trip, pearls, real estate / land, restaurant voucher / gift card, silver jewelry, shopping gift cards, a trip, or intention journal

8 - strength

amusement park tickets, supplies for their passion projects, ballroom dancing classes, tea sampler, games (video games or board games), movie theater gift card, personal celebrity cameo, flower garden supplies/seeds, stuff for their pet, or a belt

9 - the hermit

pet related gifts (if they have a pet that is), bookshelves (they probably need one), juice cleanse, gut health thrive market kit, a cat, clothing, oral health products (thera breath, whitening products, etc), stationary, emergency preparedness (ready to eat meals, fire blanket, etc), cook books, dining ware (new plates/bowls, cups / glassware, silverware, etc), food subscriptions (home chef, hello fresh, pickle of the month club, bokksu japanese snack box, etc), careof subscription, gloves, herb garden kit, a one way ticket to anywhere, or a hiking trip

10 - wheel of fortune

incense, cleansing herbs, bow and arrow, sapling, land, dried berries, budget book, gym/exercise membership, religious/spiritual/philosophical books, poker set, cloth (if they like sowing), wool (if they like weaving, crocheting, and/or knitting), wool clothing, a coat, trip to a country or place they have never been, oral health products (thera breath, whitening products, etc), etiquette classes/books (this is great for the traveler because they are often interested in learning customs before going on their trip), figs, fruit basket (like edible arrangements), honey sampler / royal jelly, horseback riding lessons, lottery tickets, merchandise from their favorite singer / group/ tv show / movie, shoes, really any game, any subscription they have not tried, things that support their spiritual practices, or book on positive mindset

11 - justice

personal celebrity cameo, tickets to a ballet or to an art gallery, air purifier, portable heating pad, spa voucher, cosmetics, lingerie (if y'all are close), closet organizational items (space saving hangers, linen bins, accessory hanger, etc), pastries and sweets, diamonds (perhaps propose to your lover), a dress, tickets to a fashion show or exhibit, flowers, a luxury chair, jewelry, concert tickets, poetry books, any quartz pieces, chocolates dipped strawberries, hair extensions, logic puzzles, a voucher for an escape room, or a kitchen/baking scale

12 - the hanged man

bar in a jar (if they are of drinking age), a book on angel numbers, a book on natural medical remedies, ballet classes or tickets to see a ballet, bath bombs and other bath goodies (salt, bath table, candles, sugar scrub, bath teas, etc), beach vacation, tea or coffee sampler, butterfly farm kit with caterpillars, disposable camera or a camera they would like (polaroid, filming, etc), scientific kits (geode kit, grow your own crystals, etc), cigars (for the dads in your life), unsolved mysteries or crime kit, dance classes, smutty/romance/fantasy books, fairy garden, a tarot/astrology/mediumship reading, budget book, makeup palettes or other cosmetic they enjoy, concert tickets, paint, poetry books, clue the board game, a pass to an indoor pool, a book on poppet making, meditation membership or a voucher for in-person sessions, or something to support their curiosity for new spiritual insight

13 - death

hermit crab, a jumping spider, a reptile, homeopathic books for natural cures and remedies, operation the game, butcherbox subscription, a book on how to cook and trim meats, beginners chemistry kit, a colon cleanse, sea monkeys, unsolved mysteries or crime kit, philosophy of death books, books on magic, magic the gathering the card game, period products (portable heating pad, the diva cup, etc), poisonous plants (belladonna, foxglove, lily of the valley, etc), a frog pond, a scorpion, a snake, a burr/boo basket (these people love seasonal stuff), or marie kondo's life changing magic of tidying up

14 - temperance

a hunting trip, bow and arrows, books on religion or philosophy, book of devotions, book on dream meanings (hello, freud haha), a certification course or college class, horseback riding lessons (for the newbie or a younger sibling or your child/niece/nephew), horse drawn carriage ride (for the couples *smirk*), logic puzzles, things that support their goals, or a book of angel number meanings

15 - the devil

a fan or air conditioning unit, if you have the land for it a cow/horse/goat, kinetic tape, arnicare bruise cream (this is a joke... unless...), coal or a diamond (this is also a joke... unless...), a clock or a watch, cuticle trimmer (and other nail care things), room darkening curtains, a happy lamp, lotion/cream, hat/scarf/gloves, hair products (extensions, shampoo subscription, etc), leather fashion-ware, gardening supplies, ice maker, or a juice cleanse

16 - the tower

tiger balm or other pain relieving ointment, acrobatic/gymnastic classes, homeopathic books for natural cures and remedies, first-aid kit, baking kits, barbecue sauce sampler, barbecue sauce sampler / grilling gear (for the dads), gift card for haircut, dollar shave club (for the dads pt 2), metal works (spoon handle rings, metal roses, etc), boxing lessons, boxing match tickets or monster truck tickets, butcherbox subscription, a book on how to cook and trim meats, crafted wooden objects (cutting boards, tables, etc), cactus plant, beginners chemistry kit, cookbook, pocket knife or leatherman/multitool, tool kit, jenga, emergency kit, food, first aid kit, merchandise for their favorite superhero(es), electric lighter, liqour or bar in a jar (if they are of drinking age), rock music (a vinyl or concert tickets), pepper plant, pipe for smoking (if they like to smoke that is - my grandfather had a collection), lego kit, or lincoln logs

17 - the star

friendship bracelets, a fan / ac unit, model airplane, flight lessons, compression stockings/socks, architectural tour, astrology reading, car stuff (seat covers, cup holder coasters, etc), club memberships (golf, racket ball, sam's, etc), electronic devices (a new phone, amazon fire stick, solar portable charger, etc), movie on blue-ray or dvd, movie gift card, a camera (polaroid or another type they have been eyeing), disposable cameras, camera gear, shadow work journal, aesthetically pleasing bluetooth retro radio, streaming service subscription, a book on health or mental health, or a book on positivity

18 - the moon

abstract art, bar in a jar (if they are of legal age), a fish, a fish tank, tickets to an aquarium, cocktail book (if they are of legal age), a fishing trip (for the dads), book of conspiracy theories, the conspiracy theory map, a crystal ball, unsolved mysteries or crime kit, a jellyfish, a tarot/astrology/mediumship reading, a camera (polaroid or another type they have been eyeing), disposable cameras, camera gear, poetry book, hydroponic starter system, games that involve bluffing (clue, poker, herd mentality, etc), shoes, sleeping eye mask, silk pillow cases, new bed sheets, bonnet, socks, a computer keyboard, typewriter, a book on shadow work, a puppy, or a book on dream meanings

19 - the sun

maine coon, autobiographical books, ballroom dancing lessons, poker set, oral health products (thera breath, whitening products, etc), card games, personal celebrity cameo, circus fruit basket, chocolate gold coins, classes that encourage creativity (create it and break it sessions, pottery classes, etc), jewelry or an engagement ring (if it's been more than 2 years y'all should know what you are doing at this point), flowers, indoor herb garden, tickets to race of some sort (cars, horse, sporting events, etc), sporting equipment, ivy plant, a pottery painting voucher / gift certificate, or something for their passion project / hobby

20 - judgment

a reptile, ant farm, a guide on astral projection, operation the game, the chameleon game, clue game, unsolved case files game, grand theft auto video game, assassins creed video game, dungeons and dragons the game, yahtzee, emergency preparedness kit, magician kit, poisonous plants (belladonna, foxglove, lily of the valley, etc), the divine comedy, puzzles, a rodent of some sort, or lingerie (if y'all are close)

21 - the world

gardening supplies, acoustic guitar, air conditioning or fan, architectural tour, teddy bear, snow globe, boots, calendar or planner, supergoop (sun protectant) products, wooden objects (cutting board, chest, box, etc), carpet, clay (air drying or via kiln), a clock or watch, compression stockings/socks, collectible coins, pain patches or kinetic tape, crystals, budget book, lotions for dry skin, dried fruits, gloves/mittens, hair care products, ice machine or ice making trays, ice cream subscription, pottery classes, rain coat, real estate or land, zen sand garden, sculpture, or snake

22 - the fool

flight lessons, model airplane, a flight to anywhere, car stuff (seat covers, cup holder coasters, etc), an astrology reading, bath products, biking gear, movie theatre gift card, clock or watch, club memberships (golf, racket ball, sam's, etc), mood lighting or strip lights, a train ride, fun magnets, motorcycle accessories/training, microphone (maybe they are filming or recording something), patterns for cross stitch / knitting / crocheting, a camera (polaroid or another type they have been eyeing), disposable cameras, camera gear, stuff for the tv (surround sound, sound bar, streaming subscription, etc), or classes for one of their interests

like what you read? leave a tip and state what post it is for! please use my "suggest a post topic" button if you want to see a specific pac/pile next. if you'd like my input on how i read a specific card or what i like to ask my deck, feel free to use the ask button for that as well.

click here for the masterlist

click here for more web of wyrd related posts

want a personal reading? click here to check out my reading options and prices.

252 notes · View notes

im-josh-b · 16 days

Text

Job Legacy Challenge Rules:

MUST USE ONLY THE SAME PLOT FOR WHOLE CHALLENGE.(Doesnt mean you cannot change house for each gen),

2.DOESNT MATTER WHAT GENDER THE HEIR ARE,

3.THIS IS A BASE GAME LEGACY CHALLENGE DO NOT NEED ANY PACKS TO COMPLETE,

4.YOU MUST MAX EACH JOB,

5.ONLY ONE CHILD PER GEN (if you have twins triplets etc, you must move them out of your lot and continue with your heir of choice, 6.MUST COMPLETE THE ASPIRATION OF EACH GENERATION. Now Time For The Generations:

Generation 1-Barista! The first gen is the barista career, Your dream is to be the best barista in the sim world Aspiration: Master Mixoligist Traits: Clumsy, Outgoing, Loyal MUST: Max Mixoligy Skill

Generation 2-Criminal (Boss Branch)! Your the child of a master barista but you dont like the goodness and kindness of your family, Unlike your barista parent your not telling people to have a nice day… no no no you are going to be turning to a life of crime an d want most sims to hate you. Aspiration: Public Enemy Traits: Evil, Kleptomaniac, Non committal MUST: Have 3 failed marriges with the fourth being the parent to next gen, Max Mischief Skill.

Generation 3-Buisness (Management)! Unlike your criminal parent you want to be more like your Grandparent and be kind to people, Your a buisness man/woman living your best life working in the office and having many friends. Aspiration: Renaissance Sim Traits: Good, Family Orrientated, Neat MUST:Max Writing Skill

Generation 4-Astronaut (Space Ranger)! In your childhood you dream of flying to space andexploring new worlds and galaxies, Your buisness parent for your birthday when turning into a teen buys you your very own rocket in the garden. Aspiration: The Curartor Traits: Genius, Loces Outdoors, perfectionist MUST: Max your fitness skill, Get married during the night with no guests and exchange vowls under the stars

Generation 5-Style Influencer (Trend Setter)! You wanna be popular in the world, Your gonna be popular but a heartbraker at the same time taking after your criminal ancestor. Aspiration: Friend of the World Traits: Cheerful, Self Assured, Romantic MUST: Break 5 Hearts and Marry The Sixth Have 3 best friends by being Young Adult

Generation 6-Painter (Patron of the Arts)! You love art and want a wall in your house dedicated to your paintings, You want a wedding in a museum. Apiration: Painter Extrodinare Traits: Cheerful, Creative, Art Lover MUST: Max Painting Skill

Generation 7-Freelancer (Artist)! Growing up with a painting obsessed parent you have naturally gained a liking for painting and want to make a buisness out of it, You only start painting when becoming a young adult where your parent finally lets you touch their paint supplies. Aspiration: Painter Extrodinare Traits: Art Lover, Creative, Childish MUST: Your child must not see the paintings you create and dont let them gain a liking for painting.

Generation 8-Writer (Author)! Since you were not allowed to get into painting you get into writing instead, You dream of being a world famous author and making books as big as harry potter. Aspiration: Best Selling Author Traits: Neat, Pefectionist, Bookworm MUST: Have made atleast 10,000 Simoliens of off books in your lifetime

Generation 9-Tech Guru (eSport Gamer)! Unlike any of your ancestors you want to be a world famous gamer and have many who want to become just like you. Your goal in life is to make a living off of playing games. Aspiration: Computer Whiz Traits: Geek, Lazy, Materalistic MUST: Max Gaming Skill

Generation Ten-"Final generation"-Baby Sitter! You love kids and want the best for them in their lives therefore you spend your weekdays spending time with your familky and sacrifice your weekends to help fellow parents have a break from kids, Aspiration: Big Happy Family Traits: Family Oriented, Good, Outgoing

!!!CONGRATS!!! YOU HAVE JUST COMPLETED THE JOB LEGACY CHALLENGE!!! If you want to continue with your save file i recommend going from generation one to generation 10 again but the next ten never knew about the previous 10 that they turn out just like!!! Thank you for completing my Legacy challenge an dhope you enjoyed playing -Josh

#sims 4 legacy #sims 4 gameplay #sims 4

114 notes · View notes

questforgalas · 8 months

Text

Thank you for coming back

Notes: So once again, @zaana's incredible art lived rent free in my head until I put it down on paper. So here's a delightful AU where Crosshair doesn't get sent to Tantiss because guess who gets to him first? Chose to do a rescue from Barton IV because Cross is in his imperial armor in the art, and I thought "Hey, let's maybe give him a break and not make him go through torture before he's rescued?" Neat idea, right? Let's tell Jen and Brad

WC: 3K (lol this was going to be a drabble)

Characters: The Bad Batch (all of them!)

Tags: Wrecker POV (he deserves all the Crosshair reunion energy), angst at the end (Crosshair is going through it ok), hurt/comfort, giant family group hug, Crosshair and Wrecker cry, Hunter is emotional, canon typical violence, implied mistreatment by the Empire (did I mention Crosshair is going through it?), family reunion, all the family fluff I could fit into 3k words

Tay's Masterlist

Read on AO3

The sound of blaster fire was becoming permanent in Wrecker’s ears. Hunkered down behind a duracrete barrier, he kept his DC-17 trained on the Imps attempting to advance on his position, blaster bolts streaming past his head.

“Seriously, who trained these guys to shoot,” he thought to himself, needing to only dodge a few bolts from the barrage while his targets fell with each pull of his trigger.

The landing platform at the depot on Barton IV was looking more like a true battlefield and less like a remote outpost with every passing minute. Two T-4 shuttles lay in smoking ruins - the first thanks to Hunter’s skill on the Marauder’s rear gun and the second thanks to an excellent detonator throw by Wrecker - and stormtrooper bodies lay scattered across the duracrete ground. So far, Wrecker and Hunter were executing their part of the plan perfectly, but when it came to creating distractions, there wasn’t much guess work as to Wrecker’s success rate.

The Batch’s intel told them that the depot, located on a desolate, frozen planet that rivaled Hoth’s icy temperatures, normally operated as a blip on the Empire’s priority list. In fact, blip might have been giving it too much credit. The small clone trooper squad that was assigned to protection detail put in requests for equipment, supplies, and reinforcements throughout their year of service, and every request fell on deaf imperial ears. Gathered from the information Tech found during his hacking, Commander Mayday of the squad put in a request for reinforcements 40 rotations ago, citing that only five members of his squad remained alive at the time the request went in, but Tech couldn’t find any log of a response anywhere in the records. Complete silence from the Empire.

Until 4 rotations ago. The call went out for a platoon of stormtroopers to ready for deployment to Barton IV with orders to transport cargo of high importance to the Empire from the depot to the military base on Coruscant. Prior to the platoon’s arrival, a small squad of clone troopers was sent to scout and ready the depot for the cargo transfer. The squad consisted of two standard troopers and one specialized. One prickly, stubborn, unyielding specialized trooper who Wrecker couldn’t wait to see again.

When Tech caught chatter that a clone trooper shot a commanding imperial officer in broad daylight in front of an imperial depot, he initially intended to send the intel directly to Captain Rex, informing him of another defecting clone who would be in need of assistance, but after he scanned the information log, he didn’t register his datapad falling from his hands, thudding on the floor, only able to to focus on activating the comm on his vambrace, urging Hunter to get to the Marauder as quickly as possible. Because there in front of him, written across the Marauder’s main computer, was CT-9904: Defector. Charged with the murder of Lieutenant Nolan. In custody on Barton IV. Scheduled for armed transfer in two rotations.

The discussion was short - Hunter the only one remaining cautious until Tech confirmed the lack of security at the depot, even with the stormtrooper platoon coming in - and the Batch set their course to Barton IV less than two hours after the message was intercepted. The plan was easy, one the Batch could nearly execute in their sleep, even with their newer blonde addition. Create a distraction to draw the majority of security out into the open which Hunter and Wrecker would engage while Omega provided cover from the Marauder. Meanwhile, Tech and Echo skirt along the edge of the chaos, slip into the depot undetected, locate Crosshair’s location, and extract him while neutralizing any remaining threats if necessary.

Plans 5, 4, and 21. The Batch specialty.

“Wrecker, incoming! Northwest!” Hunter’s smokey voice called over the commotion.

The far gate of the depot opened, ten stormtroopers running out to join the fight. “Yeah, I see ‘em, Sarge,” Wrecker confirmed. “They look excited to see us.”

Hunter took cover behind his barrier, and turned his head in Wrecker’s direction.

“How about you give our hosts a warm greeting?” Hunter suggested, cocking his head to the side. Wrecker could feel the smug smirk under that helmet.

“Gladly,” Wrecker responded gleefully.

Reaching into the pack on his back, he grabbed two thermal detonators, clicked them live, and chucked. They arced into the air, curving in opposite directions, landing right in the middle of the oncoming troopers, and Wrecker watched as all ten stormtroopers disappeared into a beautiful burst of orange, red, and black.

“Direct hit,” Wrecker yelled, pumping his DC-17 in triumph.

Across the way, Hunter gave a quick thumbs up and popped his head above his barrier. Wrecker did the same, confirming that the landing platform was clear of imps for the moment, but they knew more troopers would arrive soon. They’d only taken out about 30 of them so far.

“Agh, where are they,” Hunter wondered, helmet trained on the door they expected to see their brothers emerge from.

“Give ‘em a few more minutes, Sarge. I doubt the Empire just left Crosshair in a set of binders on a crate.”

“They’re dumb enough to,” Hunter said. A soft chuckle came through his modulator, “Wonder how long he’d humor them until he took them all out with his hands still bound.”

“Knowing Crosshair? They wouldn’t even get the binders on him,” Wrecker laughed.

Hunter went quiet, helmet still pointed at the door. Then his shoulders fell like he was bowing to a weight Wrecker couldn’t see. “We’ll have to be patient. He’s…” Hunter paused. “He’s probably not the Crosshair we remember. There are going to be some … invisible wounds.”

Wrecker released his own shuttered breath. He looked down at the ground for a moment, and then looked back up to find Hunter looking back at him. “Doesn’t matter how long it takes. We’ll help patch those up too.”

Hunter remained still for a breath and then nodded.

The silence was interrupted by a chime on Hunter’s comm. “What’ve you got, Omega?” he asked as he activated the connection.

“I’m picking up multiple heat signatures heading our way. Looks like our little break is over,” Omega’s voice chirped over the comm.

“Copy that,” Hunter responded.

Wrecker brought his own comm up to his mouth. “What’s your count, kid?” he asked playfully.

“I’m at 4,” Omega answered, a smug tone floating through.

“Only 4? You’re falling behind. I’m at 18,” Wrecker said.

“I don’t think the thermal detonators should count,” Hunter interjected.

“What?! Did you see how perfectly those landed? Probably my best yet! Not even Tech could pull that off.”

“It’s hardly fair when I’m all the way back here on the Marauder!” Omega argued.

“Excuses excuses, kid,” Wrecker teased. Their debate came to a quick halt when the remaining hangar doors of the depot opened, revealing the last wave of the platoon. “Alright, break time’s over. Shoot good, kid.”

The platform became engulfed in battle once again. Blaster bolts peppered the air. Thermal detonators flew. Line after line of stormtroopers tried to take the advantage on the two ground soldiers and their coverage, but Hunter, Wrecker, and Omega held them back with ease. Wrecker heard General Skywalker speaking to Hunter about something called meditation once - a staple Jedi practice of centering one’s mind and connecting with the force through quiet sitting - and while Wrecker wasn’t sure this would meet the Jedi standard, he imagined this was the closest to meditation he would ever come. Surrounded by the sounds of battle. Adrenaline pumping in his veins. He’d hit a point of focus that drowned everything else out, his mission the only thought in his mind. And he was dam good at it, too.

His DC-17 sang, and he let out a jovial laugh as he took down another line of troopers. As he focused on the enemies in front of him, the squad’s comm channel chimed in his helmet, and the only thing in the galaxy that could divert his attention from the battle in front of him called through the speakers.

“Hunter. Wrecker. We’ve got him. We’re approaching the exit. What’s the status of the platform?” Echo’s voice came through.

For a second, Wrecker and Hunter turned towards each other, both chests rising rapidly with fast breaths not caused by the battle in front of them, and Wrecker knew if he could see Hunter’s eyes, they’d reflect the same bottomless relief he was feeling.

Wrecker forced himself back to the present and provided cover fire while Hunter responded.

“You’re clear to exit. A few imps left but nothing we can’t handle. Wrecker and I will provide cover fire while you cross the platform. Go directly to the Marauder,” Hunter ordered.

Wrecker’s breath caught in his throat when a low, raspy voice could be heard in the background. “No, we thought we’d take a hike in the mountains.”

A hitched breath came through, and in his peripheral, Wrecker noticed Hunter lean his helmet back against the duracrete barrier, shoulders shaking.

“I never thought I’d miss his attitude,” Omega piped in.

That broke the tension building in Wrecker’s head, and a laugh barreled out from his chest. Brain clear and ready to act again, he focused on the remaining stormtroopers trying to hold their ground.

“Omega, get the engines running. We’re getting off this hunk of ice as soon as we’re all onboard,” Hunter finished relaying the orders.

“One more thing,” Tech’s voice came through this time. “I did the scan. The inhibitor chip has indeed been removed, but only after the encounter on Bracca. Crosshair did remove it voluntarily unbeknownst to the Empire.”

“Tech kind of refused to leave the holding cells until he was able to confirm it all. Hacked records and everything here on the depot. That’s what took us so long,” Echo supplied.

“Thank the Maker for Tech, and his stubborn need for knowledge,” Hunter mumbled. He went back on the comm, “Glad to hear it. Now get out here.”

Hunter turned to Wrecker. “Let’s take out as many as we can before they get here. Once they emerge, you lay down cover fire, and I’ll take overwatch.”

“Copy that,” Wrecker replied, and they went to work.

Time that had been passing at light speed slowed to the flow of Mustafar lava. Only ten stormtroopers remained posted across the platform, and Wrecker was determined to clear as many as he could before his brothers emerged.

Another minute passed. Another. Then another. Time was taunting him.

A whoosh floated over the blasterfire. The blasted door to the depot finally opened, and there in the doorway were three bent over figures - two supporting the weight of the third in between them - hobbling onto the landing deck. Wrecker allowed himself one glance hoping it would calm his running mind. Echo took most of the middle figure’s weight, flesh arm wrapped around their waist and scomp arm securing the arm wrapped across Echo’s back dangling over his shoulder, while Tech kept one arm around the figure’s waist and kept his blaster at the ready in the other.

As Wrecker glanced at them, it wasn’t the figure’s distinct all black armor - the armor of the imperial special forces - that identified him to Wrecker. No, it was the tattoo around their right eye. The tattoo Wrecker sat and watched as Tech gave it to them when they were still just cadets. The tattoo that represented their pride in their skill. The tattoo that told everyone exactly which batch he belonged to, front and center for all to see. The crosshair.

Flanking from behind, Tech easily took down three stormtroopers before they made their way down the stairs. The remaining seven stormtroopers barked out orders to fall back, trying to regroup due to the new arrivals, and Wrecker used their confusion to his advantage, taking out another three in one go. Realizing they were outnumbered and outmatched, the remaining four stormtroopers fell back to the hangar, shooting wildly at any target they could see.

Slower than Wrecker would like, his three brothers made their way to his and Hunter’s position across the platform. As soon as they crossed the threshold of their barriers, Hunter stood from his coverage, falling in step to provide cover directly at their backs.

“Alright, Wrecker. Let’s keep these guys pinned as we head to the ship,” Hunter said.

Jumping into position, Wrecker kept a steady pace back to the Marauder without breaking his fire on the remaining stormtroopers. Hunter hit one more as they walked, and Wrecker had his finger on the trigger to take down another when a streak of pink flew over his head and directly into the helmet of his target.

He glanced over his shoulder.

“Final count: 12,” Omega beamed down at him from the top of the ramp into the Marauder.

“Aha! Nice shot, kid! Now let’s get out of here,” Wrecker said, barreling up the ramp into the ship.

The ramp closed up as the ship made its way into the air, and the energy within immediately went still. Tech sat in the cockpit, taking over the controls from Omega once on board, but Hunter, Wrecker, Echo, Omega, and Crosshair remained in the hold.

Crosshair sat in the chair in front of the computer, slumped over, one hand on the armrest propping him while an elbow rested on a knee like that was all the energy he could muster. He was breathing heavy, chest rising and falling as if he’d just finished a training sprint back on Kamino. Wrecker quickly gave his body a once over. Crosshair had always been lithe, by far the smallest body mass of the Bad Batch, but there had been muscle underneath those long limbs that gave any regular clone trooper a run for his money. Now, Wrecker clocked only bones showing underneath the exposed areas his armor didn’t cover, and his cheekbones were sharp above the hollowness of his cheeks. Purple blotched under his eyes, and it was impossible not to notice the deep scar that covered the right side on the back of his head. The scar he received when he took the full heat of a Venator ion engine.

The same engine he tried to trap his brothers in.

“Thank you…for coming for me. I…I wouldn’t have blamed you if you didn’t,” Crosshair drawled, head bent down. Whether he was unable to lift it from lack of strength or not being able to face the current scene, Wrecker wasn’t sure. His own heart was thudding in his chest, threatening to burst out. He called on every ounce of discipline and self-restraint he learned in his years as a soldier and remained rooted in place, holding his breath. The rest of the Batch stood as still as statues, four sets of eyes on their silver-haired brother.

“You can drop me off at the closest port. You can pick. Doesn’t matter to me,” Crosshair said to the floor. Still, no one else spoke. He raised his head, glancing at each of them. His gaze settled on Hunter. “I…I’d understand if that’s what you want to do. It’s what you should do.”

The five of them felt the Marauder lurch into hyperspace, but still, Echo, Omega, Hunter, and Wrecker didn’t budge. Footsteps approached from the cockpit, and soon, Tech joined them, choosing to sit in the chair across from Crosshair. The silence grew, and Wrecked noticed the crease between the sniper’s eyebrows deepen while his eyes darted around the group.

“Well, aren’t any of you going to say something?” Crosshair asked, frustration creeping into his voice. He glanced around one more time, and finally stood up from the chair, a growl coming from his throat, back hunched like he was ready to pounce, and his gaze locked on Hunter, a finger pointed at the sergeant. “Listen, I didn’t ask you to come get me. I was ready to die on that platform after I shot the lieutenant, and I was ready to die in whatever maker-forsaken place they were going to send me. You hear me? I didn’t ask for this.” He gestured around the room, around the Batch.

“So don’t make me a burden you don’t want. Drop me anywhere. Leave me. It’s what I deserve - oof!”

Wrecker couldn’t take it anymore, and as he watched Crosshair teeter on the precipice of self-destruction, he took two strides towards his brother, and engulfed him in his arms.

Crosshair stiffened, his arms frozen mid-gesture to the side. Wrecker stood there, arms firmly wrapped around Crosshair’s back and shoulders, head dipping to rest on top of Crosshair’s head, and he waited. Eventually, Crosshair’s arms fell to his sides, but his body remained stiff like he wasn’t actually registering what was happening. Then, after a few breaths, his arms slowly rose, one wrapping under Wrecker’s arm and the other circling over his shoulder.

“Why did you come for me?” Wrecker heard muffled into his chestplate.

“We don’t leave our own behind,” Wrecker answered simply.

Wrecker felt the shaking first, then he heard the soft sobs. Tightening his arms, he held his once-lost brother as if challenging the galaxy to try and separate them again. When he felt Crosshair crumble into his chest, he released the grip he’d been holding on his own emotions, and the tears flowed freely. Tears of sorrow for what Crosshair endured. Tears of rage at the Empire. Tears of sweet relief at his family being whole again.

Wrecker felt a pair of arms sneak between his waist and Crosshair’s chest, and when he looked up, he saw Hunter wrapped around Crosshair’s back, arms crushing the sniper into the sergeant’s chest. “We’ve got you, Cross,” Hunter murmured.

One-by-one, Tech, Echo, and Omega joined in, the last squeezing herself into the middle, wrapping her arms around Crosshair’s leg, and even when the sobs quieted, they remained that way. There was a lot to talk about. A long road of trust to regain. They were about to navigate rough terrain. And the past will resurface, in old wounds, physical and not. But none of that mattered right now. In the middle of their home, a family reunited. Unsure what the future would bring them, but ready to face it all together.

#tay writes the bad batch #tay writes #divider by samspenandsword #the bad batch #star wars #hunter #wrecker #crosshair #tech #omega #echo #tbb wrecker #tbb hunter #tbb omega #tbb echo #tbb tech #tbb crosshair

153 notes · View notes

radiofreederry · 9 days

Text

The crew of the Rambler, from our actual play series Star Wars: Tales From the Ramber! Art by my friend @bijillion.

Five years after the Battle of Endor and two years after the ultimate defeat of the Empire in the Liberation of Coruscant, the Rambler is the lead ship of Halcyon Transport Solutions, a transport company based out of Coronet City on Corellia. Having gained a reputation for both legitimate work and grey market smuggling, Halcyon Transport Solutions has been contracted for a job by no less than Chief of State of the Republic Leia Organa herself, a contract that will launch the crew directly into the seedy underbelly of the galaxy...

Janica Halcyon (played by myself): A female human from Corellia. Owner of Halcyon Transport Solutions, and captain of the Rambler. The daughter of two union activists, Janica had radical politics from a young age and became a decorated pilot of the Rebellion, flying in its most prestigious starfighter unit, Rogue Squadron. She left the navy after helping to capture the Super Star Destroyer Lusankya during the Battle of Coruscant, and formed her company soon after. Clever and resourceful, she is often a moderating voice of reason when her crew are getting up to some antics.

Bhuri'Hssyngigg (played by @lakemojave): A female Trandoshan. Raised in the traditional religion of Trandosha as a devotee of the Scorekeeper, Bhuri ventured out into the galaxy to hunt and gain Jagannath points and favor with her goddess. After some time running with a gang of hunters led by fellow Trandoshan Bossk, Bhuri was saved from an assassin droid on Raxus by Janica, and in Trandoshan tradition pledged a life debt to her, much to Janica's chagrin. She has remained by Janica's side ever since, styling herself Janica's bodyguard and copilot.

Ced Saverem (played by @brucebocchi): A male human from Corellia. A career mechanic and tinkerer, Ced spent many years working for the Corellian Engineering Corporation, while also supplying aid to the Rebellion on occasion, having grown to find the Empire disagreeable. After the end of the Galactic Civil War and amidst the Corellian Revolution, Ced signed on with Halcyon Transport Solutions as the Rambler's mechanic, and will never miss a chance to point out how competent he is at his job. The oldest of the group, he is often grouchy and cantankerous, but nevertheless is loyal to the group and unafraid to jump into danger to protect them.

Val Griv'ir (played by @chansaw): A female Bothan. The youngest of the crew, Val signed on mostly out of convenience. The daughter of Rebel intelligence officers, Val was uninterested in serving the Republic and struck out on her own at a young age to make her fortune - as quickly as possible. She gained infamy as a con woman in the Outer Rim, while also dabbling in thievery. Her most recent major heist earned her a bounty from both Black Sun and the remnants of the Hutt Cartel, forcing her to flee onto the Rambler as a ship's hand. She is a frequent source of headache for the rest of the crew, as she has not changed her ways at all and will happily try to pull a scam for some fast credits.

Caitvuna Conu (played by @thottacelli): A female Twi'lek. A native of the planet Ryloth, Caitvuna was active in the fight for her homeworld's freedom as well as the Rebellion, but the Republic's intervention in the Rylothian Civil War and subsequent annexation of the planet soured her on the Republic, and she left it, finding work on the Rambler as its newest crew member. Officially head of security, Caitvuna is an experienced warrior who knows many ways to dispatch an enemy.

R6-GB (NPC): The Rambler's astromech droid, and one of the original members of the crew. While easily distracted and a bit of a coward, R6 is deeply loyal to Janica, the crew, and the ship, and has gotten them out of a jam on more than one occasion. She usually does not join the crew on their adventures ashore, but stays behind to watch and maintain the ship.

You can catch new episodes of Tales From the Rambler and get to know all these colorful characters better streaming every other Saturday! We hope you'll join us as the crew's adventure continues!

#star wars #tales from the rambler #tabletop #tabletop rpg #tabletop roleplaying

41 notes · View notes

aristotels · 1 month

Note

I would love to hear an extended rant about being an artist in a periphery country, if you're willing to say more.

sorry for this being late! but yes there are quite a few things to this.

1) EDUCATION/JOB OFFERINGS

when you are from a periphery country, the art education accessible to you is much worse than in the imperial core. yes, i know, you dont need to go to art school, you can be self-taught, you dont need a degree, but art school is about making potential job connections. in a country like croatia, you do not have access to those connections. you do not have ability to go out, show your portfolio, get reccommended by a professor for a listing. the education is stunted as well - the animation program here is atrocious, my building had an attic with dead pigeon corpses littering the room, there are no drawing tablets, computers are old, the building is leaking, but the lack of ability to make professional connections is the main concern.

also, your degree? people hear you got a degree from a balkans land and you are immediately less worthy in their eyes. your name, which is not anglo? crossed out, despite your skills. job offerings within your country? good luck, everyone lives in poverty, you are underpaid, and studios hiring can be named on fingers of one hand. you are left with earning online.

and you are left with earning illegally. making author contracts with pdv, taxes, etc is incredibly complicated when working over upwork, doing commissions etc. this does constitute as black market. we do not hand in our taxes like in the usa, theyre deducted from our salaries and contracts immediately. this means you are missing out on potential grants and statuses which require you to provide papers of your commissions. it also means that transfering money over paypal has to go into small amounts to your own account, to avoid suspicious activity.

2) ART TOOLS ACCESIBILITY

a thing that is very frustrating. living in a periphery country? good luck getting anything. art shops are scarce. art shops do not carry the same amounts of items, and they are more expensive than in their mother countries. you are left with office supply stores. the quality of accessible paints and other tools is lower. its already been proven that products shipped to eastern europe are of lower quality and higher price than in the west; and this goes for paints too.

this means that, if you do traditional art of any kind, you are left with shopping online. this includes shipping - youre in a periphery country? congrats, often it does not ship to it, or the shipping is atrocious. your choices? mostly deutschland amazon - every item has 10€ shipping minimum. prices are not adjusted to your salary, they are adjusted to the german ones, which are much higher. i have to regularly order fillings for my brushpen. it is not available in my country. the price on amazon is significantly higher than on pentel website, and their usa based shipping. yes, just the price of the product. pentel does not ship this to my country btw. aliexpress is what you have, it takes 2 months to arrive, is frequently lost in mail, and even with it being cheaper - its still a bit more expensive than the original.

3) ALGORITHM, SOCIAL MEDIA

this is the third thing - algorithm works against you if you are not from the imperial core. of course, there are timezones, but also - your posts tend to be shown to people who live around you; meaning you have harder time breaking into the international market, and that market is the only viable one.

4) BEING PAID LESS

being eastern european (or asian or southern american or african or...) gets you lower salary. i indeed love my employers, i adore the comic i work on so much that its become my own project as well, theyve been nothing but kind to me - but the fact remains that i, as an eastern european, am and will always be paid much less than my usamerican counterparts.

5) JOB OPPORTUNITIES, ONCE AGAIN, ENGLISH LANGUAGE

adding this but: its hard to break into cartoon network/adult swim/etc without being presently there. you cannot get to conventions, you cannot have your portfolio checked, and you must speak english. yes. anglos take english-speaking for granted, and fail to realize that actually speaking english for us is not a privilege, its a necessity, and its a tool of imperialism. it is unfair that you cannot do ANYTHING without speaking english. you cannot get jobs, you cannot advance your career, and while i personally speak english quite well, not everyone does, not everyone should have to.

anyway sorry for the length

#txt #artists on tumblr #eastern europe #imperialism #usa imperialism #marxism #marxist leninist #socialism #communism #ask

34 notes · View notes

crispysoupwonderland · 1 month

Text

~It Will All Be Ok~ (2)

William Afton/Dave Miller x Nb/AFAB reader

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Notes: kinda proofread, smut coming soon (be patient doll) (art by me again used base)

Cw: Animal violence

Part 1

Read on Ao3

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You put on your purple button-down, black tie, staff name tag, and black slacks. The uniform was basic and a bit too loose on you, but it was comfortable.

“Today is going to be a good day, today is going to be a good day,” you mumble to yourself as you look into the mirror. A knot begins to form in your stomach, and you’re nervous.

Your Mom isn’t anywhere to be found in the house, she is probably out working. You check your watch, 4:30 pm. You were working the late afternoon to closing shift, not ideal in your book but then again you did say you could work any shift.

You pat the sweat from your forehead as you enter the now lively and chaotic restaurant. The noise is over stimulating, maybe this wasn’t the best job for you.

You quickly walk into the back and push open the door labeled STAFF ONLY DO NOT ENTER. You’re met with others and taking their breaks seemingly drained with dark bags under their eyes. You glance around looking for Mr. Afton, he is most likely in his office.

“Hey new kid,” a boy seemingly about your age walks up to you and puts his arm around your shoulders.

“Um, hi?” you say a little confused and put off by his forwardness.

You hear the clacking of shoes and then the squeaky hinges of the door opening. William comes in and looks at scowls when he notices you.

“Please keep your hands to yourself, Marco..I will not repeat myself”

“Yes boss,” he says sarcastically and nonchalantly.

Mr. Afton cleared his throat to get the employees' attention. “Hello everyone this is y/n as you were informed, they are now working here as a janitor, please treat them with respect,” he glares at Marco,” and show them how things work here.”

Mr. Afton walks up behind you puts his hand on your back and leans into your ear,“If he becomes a problem let me know, darling~”

Your face turns bright red and you nod. You try to hide that you're flustered by turning away and putting your bag in your work locker. He was just trying to be polite, right? You clock in and grab the bucket, mop, broom, and other cleaning supplies from the storage closet.

Your shift goes by slowly and you make mistakes here and there, you feel like you’re being watched the whole shift but you can’t seem to place where this feeling is coming from. It must just be from all the kids running around. You wipe the sweat from your brow and notice that the customers are starting to dwindle as it gets later and later, you’re not surprised I mean it is a kids' establishment. Before you know it Freddy’s is closed and you finish mopping and sweeping the main arcade area (which undoubtedly was the messiest).

You feel the hairs on the back of your next stand-up. You dart your head around looking behind you. You can’t shake the feeling of being watched and now it is starting to creep you out.

“Hello, love..”

You jump, knocking over the bucket of water and dropping the mop, “OH FUCK YOU SCARE THE SHIT OUT OF ME,” your heart is racing.

“ W-what is it?” you ask, still trying to catch your breath.

“Well darling, I’ve done so much for you already you know? I was just wondering if you could do something for me in return, you honestly owe me don’t you think?” he says in a sinister tone.

“Um… ya thanks for the job and everything, but I don’t really want to do that if that’s what you're talking about, you’re kinda you know…” you glance at him moving your eyes up and down.

“No darling, not that..” he says with a hint of disdain in his voice. “ I was wondering if you would like to get dinner with me, on a date.”

You nervously laugh, surely he’s joking.

“Um, n-no thanks sorry.. I um I gotta go now too you know, my shift is over now.”

“Oh no that’s not a problem doll, sorry for being so, forward..” he turns around and walks towards his office without meeting your eyes.

You can’t help but feel a little bad for rejecting him but this was just too soon, too suddenly, and you didn’t have time to prepare yourself to be in a relationship. You didn’t think that being in a relationship with your boss was appropriate either, talk about power dynamics…

You lazily clean up the bucket of mop water you spilled and go to change out of your uniform in the locker room and pack up your stuff to leave. You still feel eyes on you no matter where you go. You just want to go home.

You get home and immediately slump face-first into your couch, what a long day. You look around expecting Callie to come to greet you but he is nowhere to be found, however, you hear your mother rummaging around in the kitchen.

“Hi honey, how was your first day at work?”

‘It was o-... It was good Mom,” you force a smile “I, I had a good time, well, as good as a time you can have while mopping floors. But my coworkers are nice and my boss is too…”

“That's great sweetheart!” she pulls you in and kisses you on the head. “I know you would be getting back a bit late so I made you some dinner.”

“Mom you didn’t have to, thanks.” you take a scoop of pasta and put it in a bowl.

“Where is Callie by the way, he always comes and jumps on me whenever I get home,” you say while shoveling food into your mouth.

“Oh I let him outside he is probably still running around, he’s been out there a while, let him back in when you go to sleep”

“Ugh he is such a goof, I will, don’t worry about it”

Your Mom heads to bed and you sit in the dimly lit kitchen finishing your pasta, and the title feels colder without your mom with you. Callie still hasn’t come to the door yet. You turn on the TV and wait a little longer for him to come inside. You decide to go out with a crappy flashlight and look for him.

“Callieeeee! Callie, come here boy!”

He would normally come by now, he’s never done this before. You continue looking around the neighborhood. ‘He knows not to leave, he wouldn’t just run off’ you thought.

You begin to loop back around and go toward your house again. You spot something in the corner of your eye. You cautiously approach, not knowing exactly what it is, and the crappy flashlight isn’t helping. You cover your mouth with your hand. You’re going to throw up. You find lumps of matted fur and blood all over the grass. Callie’s carcass lies there, still, unmoving.

#five nights at freddy's #fnaf #fnaf smut #fnaf x reader #william afton #william afton x reader #william afton smut #fnaf movie #dave miller

30 notes · View notes

themaridenstationchronicles · 7 months

Text

I created a new style for myself for drawing the clones and its so crazy easy. So here meet the boys of Mariden.

Description of the boys below the cut

Top row, left to right:

Rocker: proclaimed by his brothers as the "best medic on the whole GAR," Rocker is creative, compassionate, resourceful, and very very good at coming up with devious prank ideas. He and Claptrap are inseparable and often if one is up to mischief, the other isn't far behind. Rocker's creativity also comes in handy when they run out of important medical supplies. He knows exactly what to use as a substitute and rest assured that he will find the perfect plant or herb from the forests of Mariden to cure what ails you.

Dagger: with a temper to rival that of Darth Maul, Dagger is hands down the strongest member of this squad. He's terrifying when he's angry and if he somehow becomes the victim of Claptrap and Rocker's latest prank, they'd better run and hide. Despite his gruff exterior, Dagger does care for his brothers and will do anything to protect them, especially Scrap. Though the two of them have vastly different personalities, you can usually find the two of them working on a new weapon in Scrap's workshop or spotting each other in the gym.

Sarge: this poor man needs a nap like nobody's business but the only way he'll take one is if Rocker sedates him. Sarge doesn't have a temper like Dagger but he's not the warmest man on base either. Gruff and stern, Sarge has a rough past that taught him a lot - some lessons good, some bad - but no matter how bad his past, he's focused to the here and now and making sure his current squad doesn't kill themselves on accident. He may not show it a lot but he loves his men and will gladly lay down his life to keep them safe.

Bottom row, left to right:

Claptrap: the personification of "chaotic hot mess," Claptrap serves as two things at the Mariden station: the communications officer, and the resident prank expert. He loves a good joke or prank and will target anyone (except Rocker; the last time he tried that didn't go over so well). Despite his desires for laughter and practical jokes, Claptrap knows when any one of his brothers is having a bad day and will do whatever he can to help them and cheer them up. He'll tell them stories, make them a cup of caf, or take them outside on a hike. Even if the forests of Mariden can be dangerous, Claptrap is one with nature and is the perfect hiking guide. He loves art and has a handmade journal cataloging the various creatures he spots, and more often than not can be found hanging with Rocker in the med bay.

Scrap: clever, creative, and too curious for his own good, Scrap began tinkering while still on Kamino. Give him a broken Droid, and handful of old tools and about ten minutes and he'll have that Droid up and running like it was brand new. However, his inventions don't always work the way he intended them to, but he's determined to learn from his mistakes and never stop improving. And though brilliant he may be, his common sense and sense of self preservation aren't always in tact. Sarge has had to ban more than one of Scrap's ideas or prototypes due to safety reasons, but that doesn't stop Scrap from trying. You can most always find him in one of two places: in his workshop, or wherever Dagger is.

Visor: by far the most quiet natured clone you'll ever meet, Visor is probably the most mentally collected person in the whole squad (usually anyway). He's got a gentle nature and a heart full of compassion and if any of the boys need an ear to listen or a shoulder to lean on, Visor is gladly there for them. Even Sarge comes to him fairly often to let off some steam. He's not that hard to find: look for him on the lookout tower or out on the landing platform outside, patrolling the area and keeping an eye out for any droids or dangerous animals. He's ever vigilante and won't let anything that could hurt his brothers get past him.

79 notes · View notes

honey-beann · 2 months

Text

Good for Sharing

Nines x Reader Angst

Note: This fic is based upon the poems mentioned within this ask, and is pretty heavily steeped in angst (though I was sure to end it on a more hopeful note this time). I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 3,133

It was the first of the month, and your fingers pulled deftly at the small segments of the orange, shredding the paper-thin flesh with a practiced ease that Nines couldn't quite comprehend.

Your hands were gentle yet confident, your nails never once piercing the delicate surface of the fruit that you held so loosely between your fingertips and palms.

You smiled up at him softly, your eyes shining with a quiet and peaceful type of joy that remained entirely unknown to the android sitting across from you.

It was mid afternoon, and the two of you sat outside in the warm sunlight at your insistence.

"If we have to do this."

You'd said,

"We should at least have a little fun with it, don't you think?"

Nines did not think.

But he did nod.

And from there, you had guided him outside of the large compound that housed your office and out to the greenery below, where small purple flowers had begun to sprout out of the ground now that the rainy season was over.

Distantly, Nines could hear water dribbling out of a culvert not too far from where the two of you were sitting atop a stone step that stemmed from the pathway, and he was reminded of the garden that lay somewhere in the depths of his mind, and the voice that had taught him everything that he'd known.

That was why he was here.

To unlearn.

Once the revolution had ended, most androids, after having deviated, went on to live normal lives filled with that feeble sense of accomplishment that all biological beings seemed to strive for.

But Nines was unable to do so.

Something gripped him even still, from deep within, pulling him away from whatever emulated humanity his "freed" brethren had achieved.

He had deviated, but he was still so stuck.

There was still a harsh layer of programming that seemed to dictate his very personality and being, and it permeated every sense of self that he was apparently supposed to have.

Sometimes, it confused him, the fact that he could not quite relate to those around him who had been so eager in their expression and so capable of thinking with their "hearts" rather than their minds.

Other times, it just frightened him.

He would never admit it aloud, but one of very few emotions he had felt since his awakening was fear.

Fear for what he was and what was wrong with him, fear over whether or not it was possible for him to change, and above all else, fear of what it may have felt like to feel in that same way that everyone else did.

What was it like to hope and express so simply? To grieve or hurt?

Was it worth moving forward if there was no going back?

In the end, Markus had answered that for him with his new "support resources".

It appeared that for many androids who were in some ways like Nines, built for violence and without that integral ability to connect with others,

Deviancy did not fill in the missing pieces of the puzzle.

So now, he and many other androids all over America saw people like you.

Trained in a skill that he could not comprehend, and meant to be closer to a friend than a therapist, he was supposed to see you on the first and the fourteenth of each month, and somehow, you were supposed to teach him that evasive art of emotion, of humanity.

He was unsure of how anyone could do this, but, out of curiosity more than anything else, had agreed nonetheless.

At worst, he would meet a new face. Being a deviant who was not in touch with his own emotions made for a boring life. The more people he could introduce into it to give him something new to focus on, the better.

So here he was

Sitting outside with a near stranger as you peeled your orange across from him, offering him that kind smile as if you had it in infinite supply and were required to get rid of some stock.

The birds were chirping, and the water was running, and the day was as peaceful as could be.

But Nines never much cared for the silence, so he spoke through it.

"What made you take this job?"

He asked curiously, watching as your hands ceased movement for the briefest of moments, as if your thoughts had required just a twinge more focus for a second or two, before you answered.

"I like making friends."

You said simply, and Nines rose a brow at that, but did not say anything more. He did not truly see the value of friends. Sure, he found people to be entertaining, but there was a tiresome quality to being viewed that he did not enjoy nearly enough for it to be worth building strong relationships.

So instead of commenting, the android simply nodded, as if he understood.

He could see in your eyes though, still alight with amusement, that you knew he did not.

You were silent for a few more moments as you wedged your finger between the two halves of the orange, splitting it in twain before you began removing the silky white film from the dual outsides.

Finally though, after it seemed that the part requiring your attention had passed, you brought your gaze back up to Nines.

"What made you accept this opportunity?"

The android was surprised to hear your question, but in the end decided to be honest. There was no sake in lying, not if he truly wished to learn anything.

"I was curious."

He said simply, and you nodded before inspecting both halves of the fruit in front of you, smiling with what appeared to be satisfaction.

It intrigued Nines to see you so appeased by something as simple as an orange, but before he could ask about it and your obvious contentedness, you reached out and offered him a freshly peeled half.

Nines stared at it for a few moments before his gaze moved back up to yours.

He rose a brow.

"What for?"

He asked, unmoving despite knowing that you wished for him to take it.

"You."

You replied simply, smile never wavering, even as he still didn't move to take the fruit from your hand.

"I can't eat it."

He stated matter of factly, but to that, you just nodded.

"I know. But it's still for you."

At that, Nines grew even more confused than he already was, but, intrigued about where you could be going with this, reached out and took the orange, feeling its soft flesh squish beneath the sturdy pads of his fingertips, his grip too strong, as if he weren't made to hold onto something so easily crushed.

And, to be fair, he wasn't.

Even still, if you were at all upset by the way the orange half was almost instantly disfigured within his palm, you didn't show it, simply choosing to slowly peel a segment of your own orange away from the large section you were holding in your hand before popping it into your waiting mouth.

Nines spoke again.

"Why an orange?"

He asked, watching as you shrugged your shoulders casually, swallowing your bite of the slightly tart fruit before you replied,

"My sister and I always used to split them. They're good for sharing."

Nines rose a brow at that,

"Only for sharing?"

You nodded,

"I think so. At least that's what my sister and I always said. I would peel it because she could never figure out how to on her own, and she would eat half to leave me with just the perfect amount."

Nines nodded, as if in understanding, and perhaps, some small part of him was honest in that.

"But I can't eat it."

He said simply, causing you to smile once more,

"That doesn't matter, you can still smell it can't you? Feel it? Either way, you'd better learn how to enjoy it, because it's yours."

Nines hummed in response to your words, watching as you finished your half of the orange before sighing blissfully and moving to lay yourself down atop the grass.

He stayed on the concrete path, but watched without judgement or disdain for your playful actions.

He didn't understand you, but a part of him liked that. It made you equals.

He left that day with your name locked into his calendar for the fourteenth of the month.

Because maybe there was something to sharing an orange with you.

When he returned later that month, you'd had another orange to share with him, and to his surprise, another for him to peel himself.

"To practice."

You'd said as you presented it to him shortly before you started peeling your own, the afternoon sun warm on your face and back as it shone down from above.

Nines had watched you for a few moments, noting the way that you used your thumb to pierce the firm rind of the fruit just enough to break the seal, but never enough to stab the sweet citrus inside.

He tried to do the same, but instantly, his thumb plunged directly into the center, spraying juice everywhere.

Much to his surprise though, you didn't laugh or correct him, you just shrugged your shoulders and offered him a half of yours, somehow already peeled so cleanly he was almost envious.

"You'll learn."

You'd said.

There hadn't been an ounce of hesitance in your voice.

He believed you.

Months passed, and to each visit, regardless of the season, you always brought two oranges.

And at each visit, he always failed to emulate your delicate hands, crushing fruit after fruit with what he would come to learn was his own rash eagerness to succeed.

He was impatient and irrational, never waiting long enough to hear a single soul out, never caring to make a friend.

Unless of course, they were you.

He learned these things about himself, and with each coming realization, there was always the soothing smell of orange in the air, and thus the knowledge that it was okay for him to be irrational and impatient here.

Here was with you, and where you were, there was not only a space for him, but also an orange for him.

You peeled the oranges, and he made sure you were left with the perfect amount to eat afterward.

You were a team.

Friends.

And then, slowly, more.

And it was with this development, that Nines learned that he did not have hands gentle enough to peel an orange, but he did have hands gentle enough to hold you.

And twice a month, the two of you would sit in his kitchen, each with an orange, and you would peel them.

You were ever an expert, and always had your half to share.

Nines, on the other hand, even after years, had yet to learn, and struggled to follow your example.

Still, you always assured him that his slow, and sometimes seeming lack of progress, was okay.

You would always have enough for the two of you.

And what else mattered?

Well, it turned out, as the years marched onward, a lot.

Because sure, Nines was much better at understanding and expressing his own emotions with your continued support...

But as he watched those around you, he realized that there was so very much more.

None of which he could provide you with.

Cold and stern, he was not made to have a family, and when he told you this, he had seen that perfect light dim slightly behind your eyes.

"That's okay."

You had assured him,

"We can get a cat."

So you did.

You walked into that rescue shelter together, hand in hand, searching for a kitten to take home with you, something to nurture with all of that extra love you had.

But life had other plans, and you left there that day with an elderly orange former tomcat named Clementine.

You called him Clem.

Nines did too.

He was the second thing he ever loved.

The two of you had three wonderful years with that sweet old cat before he passed away peacefully in your arms one night as Nines gently pet his head, watching as he slipped away to some vast unknown that the android knew he would never be able to follow him into.

You cried into his soft fur, leaning against your love's chest as you held Clem close, whimpering over and over about how you couldn't put him down, how you couldn't bare to let him grow cold.

Nines had soothed you to the best of his ability, until finally, you had agreed to help him return sweet Clementine to the earth where he belonged, a beautiful and perfect part of the world.

You planted an orange tree in the soil above where you buried him.

It blossomed far earlier than what ever should have been possible.

You told Nines that they were the sweetest oranges you had ever eaten. He still couldn't peel them.

You assured him you were happy to keep showing him until he learned, no matter how long it took.

But now, there were more daunting issues on the android's mind, ones that far exceeded being unable to peel oranges.

You had grown lonely in the year since Clem had passed, even with Nines by your side,

And it seemed like every party you attended had some new mother, once an old friend, with a child for you to hold so dearly that the sight filled him with a sickening dread.

You yearned for a life he could not give you.

And even worse than that, he yearned for you to have a life that no other could take.

He had mourned the only other creature he had come to love and adore with such fervor as you.

He could not bare to do it a second time.

He had once wondered so innocently what it felt like to grieve.

A large part of him wished then that he had never known.

An even larger part of him wanted to ensure he never felt that way again.

He peeled his last orange with you on the first of the month, a decade to the date since your first meeting.

That evening, with a heart as heavy as lead he bid you farewell, watching as you tried to no avail to persuade him to reconsider, to let you back in again.

But at each slight falter, he saw you crying into soft orange fur, or dancing with a child he could never raise, and he held tight to his resolve.

He tried to get you to keep the home you owned together for yourself.

You told him with tears in your eyes that you loved him too much to take away all that he had worked so hard to earn.

There was a great deal of pain involved with living alone in a home that love had built, he found in the empty months toward the start of your absence.

Still, he could not bring himself to leave.

Your pictures were in the hall, the walls around them sun bleached so heavily that it seemed the shape of the frames would always remain, and how could he so casually abandon one of so few traces of you?

And your beloved cat was in the ground, grave marked by the orange tree that for the very first time ever, neglected to bear fruit that year.

Nines took it as a sign, and did not peel any oranges.

The second year after you'd left, you called him.

"Just checking in." You'd said, voice teary.

It was the anniversary of Clem's death.

Nines understood.

He let you speak, even though your voice hurt to hear.

He'd hoped you would have moved on by now,

But knew far too well why you had not,

So he neglected to comment on how desperately you deserved to love and be loved by someone, anyone else.

He was sure you would find that someday, whether he reminded you of your worthiness or not.

"I miss you."

You told him.

"I know."

He said.

Then, he sighed.

"I miss you too."

There was a strong silence, and, sensing that you had finished saying all that you needed to, he said the words he had been dreading having to speak since hearing your beautiful voice again after having gone so long without it.

"This will probably be the last time I answer."

He said gently, and he heard you sigh and breathe a shaky breath from the other end of the line.

"I know."

You whispered,

"I love you."

Nines felt a tear drip down the left side of his face at these three simple words, but returned them with a deep and painful honesty,

"I love you too."

He hung up shortly thereafter, because he knew you never would.

After that, the orange tree stopped blooming again for another three years.

Until finally, one bright summer day, on the first of the month, Nines exited his home to find a single ripe orange on the tree.

He picked it carefully, almost as if he believed it might turn to dust before his very eyes if he gripped it too firmly.

After this, he sat on the cement steps leading up toward the house, and, with a deep breath, pressed his thumb against the firm rind of the fruit.

It split beneath the pressure, but to his surprise, his finger did not go through.

Carefully, and with so much focus you would have thought him to be diffusing a bomb, Nines pulled away at that leathery peel until only the supple fruit beneath remained.

He stared down at it in what was almost surprise, before he took a deep breath and pressed his thumb against the seam, splitting it in twain just as he'd seen you do a thousand times before.

He stared down at the two halves, vision slightly bleary with unexpected tears until finally, he pulled his phone out of his pocket, and typed your name in.

He didn't know if you still had the same number, if you had him blocked, or if you would even bother to read his message if you saw who it was from.

But he knew he had to tell you, because there was no one else in the world who deserved to know more,

No one else in the world who would've ever believed he could do it.

'I peeled an orange today.'

He typed carefully, taking a deep breath before finally pressing 'send'.

And since oranges were good for sharing, he sat beneath that tree with Clementine,

And did just that.

masterlist

AO3

#dbh x reader #c: nines #nines x reader #rk900 x reader #dbh x reader angst #dbh nines x reader angst #dbh angst

50 notes · View notes