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blackreaderfics · 1 year

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Hygge | Nanami Kento x Tiana

↳ Pairing : Nanami Kento x Tiana

↳ Rating : T

↳ Summary : Nanami breaks his well cultivated routine

↳ W.C : 4.4k

↳ A/N: the voices in my head got me y’all… this is a purely self indulgent fic featuring relatable king Nanami (I, too, do not dream of labor✊🏾) and black girlbossqueen Tiana

↳ Tags + Warnings: xenophobia from a side character, fluff, set in Tokyo, next door neighbors, cultural differences, salaryman x cafe owner, they can speak each other’s languages but not fluently

🎵 A Commuter’s Trip (The Commuter OST) by Roque Baños

🎵 Hello Stranger by KAI

Hygge (n.) | Danish

“the feeling of calm, comfort, and contentment evoked by life’s simple joys”

Nanami had a simple routine. Wake up at 6, shower, get dressed, eat breakfast by 7:45 and be out of the door—at the latest—a minute before 8. He had everything calculated to the T. If Nanami had been a minute too late—let’s say 8:01— he would miss the morning train and therefore be late for work, and he was never late. He had taken into account all contingencies i.e. a train delay, traffic, inclement weather, and made sure he was prepared for any and all possibilities.

That’s why, much to his chagrin, he was “Employee of the Month” every month since he had been promoted from associate to advisor. Most workers would’ve taken pride in that, felt their presence valued at their company. But Nanami didn’t care much for awards or titles, in fact, he just hated working period. He made sure to always clock out at 6 p.m. on the dot. One minute more would be overtime and he didn’t want to give his thankless job a second more of his labor.

When he left work, he always went straight home. When his head hit the pillow and he closed his eyes, thoughts about the next day would drift into his mind.

Did the market close up or down? What reports did he need to finish? There’s a client meeting coming up; the presentation deck needs to be prepared… Just two more days. Get through two more days and it’s the weekend.

And so on and so on. Wash rinse repeat.

He presumed this endless cycle of corporate monotony would continue until the day he turned 40, after which he could retire and live modestly in a country like Malaysia or the Philippines to catch up on all the reading he missed. Perhaps even find a nice woman and marry her while he was there.

The marriage part was new—an afterthought after years of daydreaming—and he didn’t really think much about the kind of woman he wanted to marry. What she looked like or what she did was more of an amorphous thought, a vague idea in his mind.

Until her.

He met her by accident. Nanami had been cooking, a hobby he only indulged in on the weekends, and he was just in the middle of making a rolled omelet when he heard a loud thump outside his door.

His apartment building was more of an office building which meant that his floor didn’t get much traffic. The people who rented rooms were not really tenants who lived there, but workers looking for an extra workspace. He had assumed the thump to be a delivery man outside his door so, naturally, he was surprised when it wasn’t the post, but a foreigner woman standing outside the room next door.

The woman had a heavy bag of groceries balanced in the crook of her arm and another by her feet that he presumed had been the source of the sound. When they made eye contact, he had been so startled that he quickly closed his door. The apartment next to his had been empty for months, but it looked like it had finally been rented out.

He thought nothing more of it until her very presence began to infiltrate his well-maintained routine. Every morning, if he was quiet enough, he could faintly hear her humming as he got dressed. Other times, he could hear upbeat jazzy music on the weekends if he opened his window.

Every night, he was surrounded by the fragrance of whatever she seemed to be cooking. Most of the time it was sweet, other times it was savory. It wasn’t an unpleasant aroma, just noticeable to the point where its absence would feel strange. There were days when they would leave for work at the same time, though oftentimes he would end up holding the elevator door open for her when she left her apartment a few minutes after he did.

In the brief moments they encountered, Nanami made small observations about her: She was an American. Beautiful. Unmarried—Americans wore rings on their ring finger to signify marital status, he’d noticed she didn’t.

He couldn’t infer her job or what exactly brought her to Tokyo in the first place from her appearance alone, however. He’d seen a fair amount of young foreign teachers in the city. He wondered if she was a teacher. She looked young enough. A missionary? She dressed modestly and wore sensible shoes. Her curly hair was often tied into a low bun. From the very slim list of what young American women did for work in Tokyo, he decided on teacher and his curiosity was sated.

One day he found out. After a long day of work, he walked his usual route from the train station back to his apartment building but was redirected due to construction at his usual subway exit. When he alighted from the escalator he was on a different street entirely. The extra few minutes from this detour would undoubtedly cut into the time he’d set aside to unwind, and subsequently, he’d have to make a few adjustments to still get a full 8 hours of sleep.

He loosened his tie and sighed inwardly as he walked on. Since he’d moved to this district last year he didn’t make much effort to visit any new places. For all he was concerned, he only really needed to know his route to work and the nearest Starbucks.

So when he passed by a small cafe called “Tiana’s Place”, it didn’t immediately click that the jazz he’d heard playing softly from her apartment was the same music that was playing now. It was familiar enough that it gave him pause. Where had he heard that song before? When he finally caught sight of her—his neighbor— through the glass window, it finally registered that she wasn’t a teacher or a missionary, but a cafe worker, and from the looks of it, she owned the place.

He watched her dimples deepen as she interacted with customers, giving each and every one of them a tireless smile. Before he knew it, Nanami found himself inside the cafe whisked into the after-work rush of impatient office workers. She was so busy already, the only indication of strain being a moment when she blew the hair out of her face before the next customer walked up to order. He planned to buy something small and leave; he wanted to give her time to catch her breath but inadvertently in his musings he was already holding up the line.

She was…right in front of him? And speaking to him now? It was the first time he’d heard her voice and he decided it suited her. She spoke in Japanese and, though accented, was clear and practiced enough in a way that impressed him.

“Are you still deciding, sir?” Impossibly large brown eyes waited in expectation for him to order.

He broke out of his reverie quickly enough to make it seem like his stalling was deliberate, his unmarred poker face further upholding the charade.

He scanned the prepackaged foods and retrieved the first thing that looked like bread. “Just this.”

“Good choice,” She looked positively elated as she scanned the barcode and activated the card machine. “Beignets are my specialty.” She was beaming at him. Not in a “thank you come again” customer way but like in a he’d just made her entire week way. She was so laughably easy to please that it discomfited him.

He muttered a “thank you”, taking the package and turning to leave quickly before he met her eyes again. The Fall of Icarus was a cautionary tale for a reason, he wouldn’t risk another trip into the sun.

Nanami’s routine had drastically altered over the next few weeks. Every morning he’d gotten used to riding down the elevator with her. They greeted each other regularly, albeit a bit awkwardly, in the shared space—A slight bow from him as he held the doors open, reciprocated by a grateful wave from her.

The last time they shared an elevator, however, they'd accidentally brushed hands while reaching for the ground floor button. For some reason, that unnerved Nanami. So now, most times, he avoided that, opting to wait and listen to the click of her door before he left the house. For good measure, he started taking the stairs. As a result, Nanami had added an extra 10 minutes to his morning commute.

The detour, having yet to be fixed, took him past the café every day. Though Nanami knew the process of waiting in line would add an extra 15 minutes to his after-work trek, he did so anyway, calculating that picking up a quick dinner bento would be a fair trade to taking the time to cook something for himself.

“What can I get for you today, sir?”

He knew her name now—Tiana, from the name tag she wore, and the sign on the storefront. He noticed from the way her eyes would widen as he approached, that she recognized him now too.

“Black tea. No sugar, please.” He placed his usual prepackaged meal and packet of beignets on the counter, taking out his wallet. Nanami didn’t always plan to add beignets to every order, but he found himself reaching for them every time, dreading her predictable delight when he did. Ordering tea was another stroke of impulse he didn’t account for, but it wasn’t so busy now, he could enjoy it before he went home.

He decided on a table by the window, savoring the warm liquid as the sun set to a melancholy soundtrack of brass and bass. It was like being transported to another time, outside of crowded subway cars and the hustle of his high-powered office.

Nanami closed his eyes and felt something akin to contentment. When he exhaled, the stiffness in his shoulders abated, and the strain behind his eyes subsided. Was this what it was like to finally relax?

He was about to take another sip of his drink when he heard a loud bang. The front door to the restaurant had flown open, a bulky man with greasy hair and a lecherous smile stalking in. Nanami’s eyes trailed after the man’s movements, the cup still raised to his lip.

“I’d like a dozen of those powdered donut things. Ya got any of those?” The man leered at the part-timer manning the counter. He sauntered back and forth at the register, eying the self-serve pastries in the display.

“Sure, would you like them fresh? There aren’t enough ready-made ones for a dozen, but if you’re willing to wait there’s a new batch being made—”

The man picked up a package of beignets that had been warming under a heated case and without warning, ripped open the package and took a bite.

“S-sir! You need to pay for that first!” The part-timer sputtered.

“Well, I’m waitin’ for that new batch. I wanna try before I buy.” The delinquent guffawed and attempted another gleeful bite only for the pastry to be smacked out of his hand and onto the floor.

He whirled around to face Tiana, bursting into laughter upon seeing her. “And who the fuck are you supposed to be?”

“Call the police,” Tiana stated calmly to her employee as she stared down the man. Her usual polite smile had been replaced with a stony-faced expression. “Sir, if you’re not going to buy anything then it’s best you leave.”

“Huh? What was that? I can barely understand you, foreign bit-AHh” A pressure on the man’s shoulder made him crumple in pain.

“Your ears must not be working. I can understand her perfectly well,” Nanami murmured, his vice-like grip squeezing at the juncture between the man’s neck and shoulder. While the delinquent whimpered pathetically at the deepening pressure, Nanami directed his attention to Tiana, motioning with a slight tilt of his head for her to step away. “It’s not worth your trouble, I’ll take care of it.”

She nodded reluctantly and joined her staff member who was now waiting with a phone at her ear behind the counter.

Nanami appeared to be saying something to the man now, but in a volume that Tiana couldn’t hear. His face was calm, betraying no emotion while the delinquent paled gradually in terror, trembling under his grip. The moment Nanami released him, the man scrambled out of his grasp and prostrated himself on all fours.

“I’M SORRY I’M SORRY I PROMISE I WON’T DO IT AGAIN PLEASE—” He shouted hysterically and proceeded to do a fervent bow of penitence.

Tiana looked at Nanami quizzically but was only met with a mild shrug.

“Alright alright,” she stepped around the counter to placate him. If he could just stop snotting up the floor she just mopped and get out of there, they could just forget this all happened.

The tinkling bell sound of the cafe door opening interrupted the scene; everyone’s attention shifted from the blubbering man on the floor to the police officer who had just stepped in.

Before anyone could speak, the man sprang up from the ground and ran toward the policeman. “OFFICER! IT'S ALL MY FAULT I ADMIT IT! ARREST ME, PLEASE! JUST GET ME OUT OF HERE!”

Within 10 minutes the offender was cuffed—willingly, to the cop’s surprise— and whisked noisily out of the cafe just as quickly as he’d burst in. Nanami, suddenly uninterested in the commotion, walked calmly back to his table and gathered his things.

Tiana made her way over to Nanami, eyeing the man through the window. He was currently being escorted to a police car on the curb. Still in hysterics, he’d practically thrown himself into the back of the car.

“Ok…what on earth did you say to that man?” She quirked an eyebrow at the blonde businessman.

That this cafe is his one and only oasis in the heaping pile of shit called life, and if even so much as one insignificant waste of air like him tries to ruin it he’ll have no choice but to chop his fingers off one by one and shove them down his throat so hard he’ll be shitting fingernails for weeks…among other things.

It would’ve been improper to divulge this to Tiana, of course.

“I asked him to apologize,” he said instead in simple English, a far cry from the eloquently horrific threats he’d made in his native language.

“Really?” She asked, accepting the sudden change of language in stride. Her arms were crossed, her hip jutted to the side, face incredulous. “Just like that?”

“I’m rather persuasive.”

After a beat she laughed.

Nanami didn’t consider himself a funny person. And frankly, he didn’t understand why she was laughing now but he welcomed it, if only to see that the earlier disturbance hadn’t caused her too much distress.

“Well, thank you kindly,” she drawled in between giggles, her southern accent now unmistakable when she switched to English. “Mister…”

“Kento.” He offered his first name, aware he was skipping over several customary stages of familiarity. In any other case, anyone less than an acquaintance addressing him by his first name would be extremely frowned upon. But it was common business practice to use given names when dealing with American clients; he thought it fitting to do the same with her.

He reached into his suit jacket, pulling out a silver business card holder, and passed over an impressive looking card:

Nanami Kento, Investment Advisor

“If there are any similar issues please don’t hesitate to contact me.” He repeated an English phrase that had come in handy from past business dealings.

“Mr. Kento,” she repeated to herself with finality studying the card. Tiana faintly wondered why a guy with a fancy title—and the most expensive suits she’d ever laid eyes on— lived in the modest one-room apartment right next to hers. She pocketed the card and patted around for her own business card.

“I would’ve given you my own card too. But if you ever need to contact me—”

“Boss!” Her part-timer called out, waving her over from where she stood next to a police officer holding a clipboard.

“I’d better go, you know where to find me.” She excused herself with an apologetic smile.

Unfortunately for Nanami, this little ordeal had cost him another hour of wasted time.

The next day Nanami waited for the familiar click of her door shutting before starting his commute. When he exited his apartment, he could still see the silhouette of her back walking towards the elevator bank.

She left without an umbrella, he noted to himself as he walked part of the way down the hallway. He imagined walking up to her and bringing it up casually as they waited for the elevator. But as soon as she’d turned his direction he changed course abruptly, legs moving on their own through the emergency exit and down the stairs.

Work went on as usual. He sat at his desk going over the pitch deck, but his eyes could not seem to follow the text. Instead, he found himself gazing out the window, watching the clouds slowly darken in the horizon.

“Fucking weather, right? News said it’s gonna rain like a bitch the next few days.”

His boss had walked up behind him, crouching at his eye level to see what Nanami was looking at.

“Hope you brought your galoshes, rookie, we’re going overtime today for that big client meeting. Dinner’s on me.” His boss clapped a hand on his shoulder and went off to bother a different team.

He tried to return his attention to his work, but he couldn’t. Instead, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes against the blue light of his computer screen. All he could think about was the rain.

Tiana had hoped that by the time she closed, the rain would’ve stopped. But she found herself outside the doors of the cafe, reluctant to leave. The rain hadn’t let up, and it didn’t look like it was stopping any time soon.

It was a day of disappointments. On top of forgetting her umbrella, Nanami hadn’t come into the shop that day. She’d gotten used to seeing him enter the store at the same time every day, and perhaps even looked forward to it.

She took one tentative step outside, shivering through the draft of wind. She didn’t live far, maybe it would be alright if she just ran home with a plastic bag over her head. Tiana locked the door behind her and raised the collar of her jacket, clasping it with her hand to protect her neck. On the count of three, she lifted the plastic takeout bag over her head and took the plunge.

After a few strides in the pelting rain, it suddenly stopped—She had run into something or someone. The rain made it difficult to see where she was going so she blindly sputtered a reflexive “I’m so sorry!” in English at whoever it was that she had run into.

When she wiped the rain out of her eyes she could see nothing but an impeccably tailored pinstripe suit in the dim of the streetlights. It was Nanami and he was holding an umbrella over her head. His collar was unbuttoned without a tie, and he looked utterly exhausted. The dark circles under his eyes were even more pronounced from where she stood underneath him.

“Mr. Kento? Are you alright? What are you—”

“I figured you could use an umbrella,” he said dryly and pretty pointedly at her makeshift plastic bag hat.

“Yea, I guess I could use one of those,” she laughed breathlessly and took the bag off her head, before giving him one of those heart-stopping smiles he loathed. “You saved my life.*”

The corner of his mouth quirked slightly, amused. Perhaps because her choice of words sounded highly literal, almost…cute?, in Japanese. He “saved her life” just by sharing his umbrella? Americans were known to have a penchant for the dramatic. But he didn’t bother to correct her, instead, he only hummed somewhat of an affirmative response.

They walked in a comfortable silence down a familiar tree-lined path leading to their apartment building. She noticed Nanami’s shoulder getting wet, and leaned closer to him.

Feeling the imperceptible shift, he gave the woman beside him a sidelong glance. His eyes settled on the loose wisp of hair he’d always seen her blowing out of her face.

It bothered him.

Maybe it was the fatigue-driven delirium, but he was struck with the inane compulsion to brush that lock out of her eyes. He couldn’t have been more grateful for the umbrella currently occupying his hand, otherwise, he would’ve indulged it.

Tiana reached over and gently adjusted the umbrella closer over his side. “Wouldn’t want to ruin that nice suit of yours,” she said softly.

“I hate this suit.” The curt statement came off a bit more brusque than he’d initially intended, though, it was true. He hated that suit and everything it represented.

She looked at him curiously, wondering if this was another aspect of his humor. But from what she could see on his countenance, he was entirely serious.

He glanced at her again, catching the confused look on her face. “I don’t mind if it gets wet,” he reiterated this time with the intended lack of severity, along with a kind of finality that implied an end to the discussion of his suit and his decision to prioritize her dryness. They continued the rest of the way, the umbrella above them biased towards her side.

When they got to the apartment he held the building door open, letting her walk through first.

“Thank you again for yesterday. That man, he was—” she paused to conjure the correct word.

“He was being a nuisance,” he completed, pushing the button for the elevator door. Naturally, he had chosen the same number for their floors, and when they arrived at their floor he waited for her to alight before walking after her.

When they finally reached their neighboring doors, he set his umbrella on the hallway floor for it to dry and began to punch in the code for his door.

“Mr. Kento, wait a moment.”

He stilled his movement and watched as she rummaged into her purse.

Tiana pulled out a paper box from her bag and presented it to him, “I was going to give these to you earlier if you came in. Glad they didn’t get wet.”

It was a small gesture. Even so, he was reluctant to take it.

“You… didn’t have to,” he frowned, eyeing the box.

“You didn’t have to walk me home, either,” she shrugged.

“We’re neighbors. We were going in the same direction,” he said plainly, though, he didn’t entirely believe the words as they left his mouth either. It was unlike him to go anywhere else except straight home after working overtime. He hadn’t run into her by some coincidence or divine guidance. He’d gone there on purpose, and he had a sinking feeling she figured that out already too.

“Then just think of it as a ‘thank you gift’,” she insisted, tugging gently at his wrist and nudging the box softly into his hands. “For being my favorite customer.”

He shifted uncomfortably to receive the box with both hands. It was an unfamiliar concept for him to be anyone’s favorite anything.

“Good night, Mr. Kento.” Tiana’s voice had an amused lilt to it. Nanami must’ve stood there frozen because she was already halfway through her door, a knowing smile on her lips.

He regained his composure and mumbled back a formal “Good night, Miss. Tiana,” —her name a bit alien on his tongue—before retreating back inside.

When the door shut behind him, he immediately shed his suit jacket. His body was much too warm despite one side being wet; his collar much too tight, despite his lack of tie.

Nanami stared at the assortment of pastries that Tiana had given to him. He couldn’t recall the last time he willingly ate dessert though he assumed if he had, it would’ve probably been with Gojo and his infantile palate.

Truthfully, Nanami didn’t really like sweets at all. The first time he bought those beignets, he’d just picked up the first thing in line that day and just…never stopped buying it. Over the past weeks, he’d amassed a bevy of unopened bags of the foreign confection and they were occupying the much-needed counter space of his kitchen.

It was rather ironic for an investment advisor to be so frivolous with his money. Spending on foods he didn’t even eat when was supposed to be saving it didn’t make any sort of financial sense. He had been planning to retire by 40, and now he’d have to add an extra 5 years to his projections over mere fried dough.

Nanami turned over the yellow business card for “Tiana’s Place” that he had found wedged in the box. A simple “Bon Appétit ;) -T.” was written on the back.

He picked up a beignet from the box and took a bite—It was made for him, after all. He chewed it slowly, the consistency not too far off from that of a baguette. It wasn’t too sweet, either. In fact, it was…delicious? Better than any dessert he’s had before. Maybe everything he’d tried before this was just a crude imitation, a poor excuse for the craft of baking.

Perhaps he did like sweets or even dessert right before bed. Maybe he didn’t even mind that he wouldn’t be getting his full 8 hours of sleep. If he concentrated hard enough, her faint humming as she got ready for bed filled the silence of his apartment. He could stay up even longer if at all possible.

When he finally closed his eyes, a rush of different kinds of thoughts flooded his mind.

Some were more mundane: Maybe I’ll have a beignet for breakfast or It’s probably going to rain tomorrow.

Some were imaginations: plump glossy lips curved in an oversweet smile meant solely for him. His fingers gently tucking that bothersome tendril of hair behind her ear.

He finally drifted to sleep with one last thought just as simple as the others, a tiny hope that she would forget her umbrella again.

*A/N: Tiana’s words sound like a literal translation/unnatural because she’s a non-native speaker ex. “you saved my life” vs a more natural/colloquial “you’re a lifesaver”

©️ blackreaderfics // credit to cafekitsune for the dividers

#brfwrites #tianami #nanami x tiana #jjk x disney #idk yall lmao #walk with me #I’m just glad it’s finally out of my head #x black reader #black reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fluff #nanami kento fluff #nanami kento fanfic #nanami fluff #nanami fanfic #jjk fluff

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ikkosu · 4 months

Text

ERWIN. FEM. READER

Erwin offers to take you the market. You don’t like him very much.

THE office was dimly lit. Interior largely of mahogany brown, the once glossy veneer now bores the stale dull of wood. Pitch black blotted the regions where the gentle glow of the lantern from your table wouldn't reach.

Everyone had clocked out for today. You offered to stay behind to clear out the register — sorting through the columns and columns of names with a hope that each and every one of the patients had been rightfully dosed of medication. While it helped to ease the workload for tomorrow, your determination had came at a price.

On your right, beyond the frost sheathed window was the swarth-en veil of the night. And, it was childish impulse that urged you halt scribbling on the paper, turn, blow, curl out a finger and drag careful lines about the cold glass. Eventually conjured was a simple smile that grinned back, expectant.

Uncertainty blossomed in your chest. But you figured a taut quirk of your lips would be enough — even if it was stiff and even if it was half hearted. After all, the night had fallen cold. Having just finish up the last few batches of report , you longed for the warm covers of your bed.

You pushed the chair back. Blew out the flickering lantern and slung the satchel over your shoulder, paving your way down the steps.The ingress, large wooden doors, was wide open and no more than a few steps later would you be free from this—

A call of your name halted your steps, coupled with succession of footsteps behind thatmade you freeze. You whirled around, greeted with a looming shadow that overhead blocks the flare of the chandelier above and three steps back is all it takes for you regard his face fully.

“Commander.” You greet. Not kindly.

The commander smiles. But it isn't just any smile. The look on his face is soft. Just as his eyes were. Crinkling blue in tandem of the curve over his whites. He is but gentle as he regards you, gentle like the smile you carved out with care on the window. A warm touch against the cold. And, yet...

Discreetly, you glance around. There is no one else in the room. He peered at the satchel you were clutching and points to it almost instinctively. "I see you are finished."

“That, I am. I cant help but ask. Is there something you need from me?”

If he had caught onto your sharp tone, he shows no visible reaction. Instead, he inclines his head, a hand dismissing the thought. "No, not of that sort. It's a lovely weather tonight and I was hoping I could accommodate you across the market. There's a festival not too far and I hear the town lights are beautiful at this time of the month."

You blinked, “How did you know I was going to the market?”

At this inquiry, Erwin turns away. " I was passing by when I overheard you chatting with the lance corporal. I deeply apologized if I made you feel—“

“It’s fine." You raise a hand. "I was only surprised you knew. Only to the market, right?"

He ponders for a moment. " We could stroll on for more?"

You nod. " Won't be too much of a harm, then. Let's go."

Despite conceding, you were hesitant. Conjuring a scandal by simply seen walking alongside the commander isn’t something you could bear. It happened several times. Many had thought you were his lover. Not that you didn't mind covering for his Commander's apparent non-existent love life there was also the fact that you wished to never associate with him at all outside work duties. But it isn't wise to turn him down as well. Not when your life depends on his hands. What keys he chose to glide it over. Strings to a puppet. Puppet bounded by string.

Speaking of puppet..

Erwin isn’t beside you. You halt and turn to find that he has his back to you, the tip of his ears red. He's hunched over as well — is he rubbing his face? Just what on earth is he doing? You narrow your eyes. “If you need to get something—“

Instantly, he turns back around, clearing his throat. His forehead is all but pinched red. “Lets not wait any longer." He says. " The night might turn colder."

"I...yes, that is..right." You nod slowly.

As he strides past you, gait stern and commanding of an officer as he, all you could think about was how strange he is. He’s a strange, strange man this commander.

—

YOU try not to scoot away when he gets close. You also try not to flinch when his hand grazes against yours. Though, you did give him a look when he's close to holding your waist. But to be fair it was also a miscalculation, on your part. Too fixated on a stall, you tripped over your footing and it was all due to Erwin clutching your waist that the granite hadn't kissed your face yet. But the sudden proximity made you lock his eyes. He simply flushed at your look and kept his hands behind his back ever since. As though he'd be maimed the moment he twitched.

Irritation blossomed in your chest like vines curling up a ladder. Why is he acting this way? Childish. Awestruck. Often in the office, the most common expression he’s rooked on is a firm look that could melt ice and freeze hell over. Now, under the warm bustling lanterns of the festival, the past rolling fleets of vibrant mingling colors — his face is soft. One side of his cheek, the sharp contours is sheathed with bright orange while, where the shadow falls melts with the crinkle of his eyes and a shroud of a smile.

The visage of the window comes back. You push the thought away.

“A boy,” You mutter. Too bright. Much too bright.

“Hm?”

“Nothing.”

Erwin takes a step aside, cautious. "Did you find anything that you like?"

After a quick stroll round the markets, you had gotten the groceries you need. Mostly eggs and lettuce and a few chops of chicken. Now, you humored his request for a walk through the festivities.After all, the path is closer to your house, anyway which is why you conceded.

"I haven't been to a festival often. It's...new to me, to be honest."

" I see. Then I'm assuming you haven't tried these games, as well?" He gestured to the stalls.

You look, scanning the many sage tents propped up with decoration and vibrant commodities.

“Would you like to try?”

“The rifle range? I don’t think I’m adequate.”

You grimaced at the sight. Children and old seniors alike, giggling and cooing everytime a patron had made a perfect shot in the target. You were sure to humiliate him if ever you're to hold a gun.

Erwin only chuckled "Nonsense." And you flinched when his hands curled round your wrists, tugging you along. " Everyone has their own shortcomings. Learning a rifle isn't too bothersome, believe me."

Without much thought he grabs your hands and you try your hardest not to pull it away.

—

THE man at the stall was not much taller than Erwin. He was quite built. Tanned, dark eyed and considerably not bad looking from behind his ivory draped table.

"How many rounds?" Was his polite inquiry, already propping up the station for play. Your companion pulled out a pouch— his wallet that he took out several sheets of money from.

"Just two."

You reached into your satchel, frantic. "Oh, no it's okay. I'll—"

"Two rounds." But the deal had already been docked. Money taken and stashed. You gave a betrayed look to the man who only laughed in reply.

"Have you played this before?" He loaded up the rifle with, what you're assuming, is false bullets. Plastic at most. Soft and easily reflective.

"She hasn't."

You fight the burn from your face. "I must admit remorsely...i'm not very well aquainted with...these festivities."

"Ah, you'll get to be. Don't worry. Just a few games and—" He snapped his fingers in good humor. " You'll be rooked in like a drug."

" I hope not. I wouldn't want to go through the laboring process of rehabilitation." You said dryly.

" Easier said than done, lady." Was his playful retort.

Erwin extends the rifle to you, "Ready?"

You take it reluctantly. "Quite."

After a few rounds it was increasingly clear you're not as intelligent as you would seem to be. Each play proved further that your inadequate stance, aim, position is, at most, profoundly low levelled — even, the wind at some point isn't in your favor.

Observing the target, the concentric circle consisted of three layers. You drilled all but the middle. And all but the target, even. Some bullets pelted the sage tent behind.

Erwin pats your shoulder. "No point giving up now when you have so much to lose, yes? Stay put. I will get us drinks.”

And with that he left, disappearing amidst the flock of crowd. Now, you're here with the man who leant against the counter, regarding you with warm eyes.

"Help?"

"I'll humiliate you further if you don't." You said with a groan, lowering the muzzle. " I just can't hold it right."

He rounded the table and came behind.

" That's because you're too stiff, my lady. You should stand perpendicular to the target with your feet roughly shoulder width apart. May I?" You allowed him to cage you in. " Here, just keep your hold on it tight. ”

“Like this?” You curl your finger around the trigger. His curls over yours as well.

"Yes, like that." He echoed, "Now, aim."

You raise the muzzle in line with the target. Stance, aim, position and breathing in mind you pulled the trigger. And—

Your cheeks lift up in its own accord, carving out a bright smile from your lips. "The middle!"

"If you are then you might as well be the gods."

"Yes, the middle." He grinned as well, pointing at the chafe of a bullet in the circle. "I'm such a good savior aren't?"

His laugh rumbled through your body as he shifted behind you. "See? All it takes is—"

“Excuse me.”

The man stiffened and you both simultaneously turn to find Erwin standing at the parting of the tent with drinks and food on his arms.

The natural crinkle of his eyes and smile is now rigid under the lantern. Soft contours now donning a sharp shadow. The plastic cup in his hold is unnaturally taut, gripped firm. A kind of silence fell. You're not so sure what to say at this sudden change in disposition, but you kept quiet.

The smiley face on the window vaporized.

Erwin walks towards you. The man is already at arms length, three steps away and silent as Erwin grabs the rifle and drills in at least a perfect shot on each and every one on the target spanning across the ground.

"The prizes please.” He says politely, setting the rifle down.

The man bowed simply and left without a word.

Something simmered in your chest watching him waddled away— but it wasn’t annoyance. Something like guilt festers deep inside. But you’re not sure why you’re guilty at all when you haven’t done anything wrong yet.

When he’s done gathering the prizes, on top of all the food and drinks — seriously, how does he do that? He turns urns to you, "Shall we?”

You gathered the several box of prizes from him to ease the weight. “You can play more if you want,”

“But would it be alright if we went to a different stall?”

“I…” He wants to change stalls now? That’s….you thought he was having fun here. “Anything. It's alright, you can do whatever you want to do,”

He momentarily glances to the man. “Good.”

Good? Your confusion reeks further when his palm is on your back steering you away from the tent. Erwin twists his body, peering over your shoulder. To probably look at the target, no doubt. What could possibly fuel his sudden annoyance for the man?

That question is short-lived as the sight of food quells the confusion away.

—

WHEN Erwin bid you farewell that night he returned to his quarters immediately. It was almost a daze-like trance as he sauntered through his nightly routine. Changing into comfortable clothes, arms half-way plunging through a sleeve, his mind is consumed with the earlier escapade this evening, some lighting up a bright expression and some that drew a visible frown.

Either ways, he shook off the irritation and slumped on the bed, relished the warm cushions on his bed and wished, for a moment, that your face nuzzled the pillow beside him.

It was a memory engrained into his mind. Your face was warm under the vibrant lanterns. Almost soft, and pleasant like a summer's morning.

His face grew warm. Tip of the ears tinged pink. Erwin grabbed the pillow and plunged his face into it.

#hi i wrote this at 1 am so forgive the chonky bits #erwin smith #erwin #aot #attack on titan #erwin x reader #erwin smith x reader #aot erwin #aot erwin smith x reader #attack on titan x reader

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autolesionistra · 10 months

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Varie ed eventuali

Alla fresca età di [colpo di tosse] anni ho comprato il mio primo paio di anfibi. Neanche dieci giorni dopo mi son messo ad ascoltare i Rancid. La riflessologia plantare punk è una branca che andrebbe approfondita.

In questo periodo storico se il tuo peso forma coincide con le ultime due cifre del tuo anno di nascita o sei di mezza età o vai alle elementari

Ho una pila di libri arretrati che non sfiora il soffitto solo perché metà sono in formato digitale, e ho stimato che circa ogni quindici pagine lette mi viene in mente un altro libro che vorrei leggere. Ormai ho accettato serenamente di vivere annegato nei backlog, che siano di lettura, di lavatrici, di lavoro d'ufficio o di bestemmie arretrate

Arrivo dopo la puzza ma questo sbarbo oltre ad essere particolarmente talentuoso ha dato una rappresentazione di un certo tipo di disagio mentale incredibile: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s_nc1IVoMxc

Io e l'attualità non ci parliamo più da un pochino. Nell'ultimo tentativo di accensione di un tg a cinni presenti il piccolo ha visto un paio di palazzi ucraini distrutti e ha avuto paranoie belliche serali per una quindicina di giorni. L'altro giorno ho fatto un tentativo sintonizzandomi alle setteetrenta sul gr di popolare network trasmesso da radio città fujiko. Appena ha iniziato a sfumare Black Market dei Weather Report mi hanno iniziato a parlare in contemporanea in tre. Ho spento.

Negli ultimi due mesi il quantitativo di genitori di amici malati o deceduti è fuori scala, ma pure quello di amici che hanno scoperto sfighe di salute di vario tipo. Non sono pronto a tutto questo.

In una sfilza di attacchi di mal di testa che mi ha fatto inimicare a suon di porconi tutte le Principali Religioni Monoteistiche™, guardando il file dove da un paio d'anni ho iniziato ad appuntarmi questi eventi (i mal di testa, non le bestemmie) ho realizzato che novembre è sempre stato particolarmente infame come mese. Come se non avessi già abbastanza motivi per aborrire i mesi freddi.

Mi sono incammellato a guardare un quantitativo imbarazzante di versioni di White Rabbit. Amanda Palmer ne ha fatta una abbastanza strepitosa ma forse vincono questi tizi (non sai di avere bisogno di bluegrass lisergico finché non ti ci imbatti): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LeHlvXvG6vA (sul finale lo stregatto decolla)

Sono da sempre stato abbastanza utopista/idealista anche contro ogni evidenza (che credo sia una sorta di prerequisito per essere di sinistra) ma devo dire che il sol dell'avvenire non lo vedo più, manco come ombra diafana dietro al nebbione. Poi qualcuno dirà frasi ad effetto tipo la notte è sempre più buia prima dell'alba ma quelle son cose tipo pestare una cacca porta fortuna, l'ha inventata uno che ne aveva appena pestata una per non menare qualcuno. Se la situazione è una merda non è che puoi dirle che è bruttina, poi si fa delle illusioni (semi-cit).

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doubledyke · 28 days

Note

Do you have any songs you like to imagine EEnE shenanigans to? Mine are What Happened by Sublime, Black Market by Weather Report (that's a classic EddEddy one for me), and now I'm listening to Birdland (Weather Report) thinking "yeah I could see some cul-de-sac destruction happening to this"

duuuuuude sublime is definitely eene music. most ska will work lol. what happened in particular though is very eene vibe, i agree. i also like pawn shop cuz i dunno pawn shops are very eddy to me.

weather report goes hard as fuck, i can't believe i hadn't heard them sooner. thanks for the rec!! instrumental jazz is perfect for ed shenanigans of course.

my eene music is all over the place and mostly consists of music i think eddy would like. but the best song i can think of is start the commotion by the wiseguys. i absolutely think of suburban destruction when i hear it. very high energy, very rambunctious.

in the same vein, just about anything by fatboy slim is also quintessential eene music for me, especially the album you've come a long way baby. the instrumentals and scratching are SO GOOD. and eddy would totally wear that "i'm #1 so why try harder" shirt like that guy on the album cover.

thanks for asking!! i always love talking about music 😁

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mariacallous · 7 months

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Jalon Hall thought she was being scammed when a recruiter reached out on LinkedIn about a job moderating YouTube videos in 2020. Months after earning a master’s degree in criminal justice, her only job had been at a law firm investigating discrimination cases. But the offer was real, and Hall, who is Black and Deaf, sailed through the interviews.

She would be part of a new in-house moderation team of about 100 people called Wolverine, trudging daily through freezing weather to offices in suburban Detroit during the early pandemic. When she accepted the job, the recruiter said via email that a sign language interpreter would be provided “and can be fully accommodated :)” That assurance unraveled within days of joining Google—and her experience at the company has proven difficult in the years since.

Hall now works on responsible use of AI at Google and by all available accounts is the company’s first and only Black, Deaf employee. The company has feted her at events and online as representative of a workplace welcoming to all. Google’s LinkedIn account praised her last year for “helping expand opportunities for Black Deaf professionals!” while on Instagram the company thanked her “for making #LifeAtGoogle more inclusive!” Yet behind the rosy marketing, Hall accuses Google of subjecting her to both racism and audism, prejudice against the deaf or hard of hearing. She says the company denied her access to a sign language interpreter and slow-walked upgrades to essential tools.

After filing three HR complaints that she says yielded little change, Hall sued Google in December, alleging discrimination based on her race and disability. The company responded this week, arguing that the case should be thrown out on procedural grounds, including bringing the claims too late, but didn’t deny Hall’s accusations. “Google is using me to make them look inclusive for the Deaf community and the overall Disability community,” she says. “In reality, they need to do better.”

Hall, who is in her thirties, has stayed at Google in hopes of spurring improvements for others. She chose to talk with WIRED despite fearing for her safety and job prospects because she feels the company has ignored her. “I was born to push through hard times,” she says. “It would be selfish to quit Google. I’m standing in the gap for those often pushed aside.” Hall’s experiences, which have not been previously reported, are corroborated by over two dozen internal documents seen by WIRED as well as interviews with four colleagues she confided in and worked alongside.

Employees who are Black or disabled are in tiny minorities at Google, a company of nearly 183,000 people that has long been criticized for an internal culture that heavily favors people who fit tech industry norms. Google’s Deaf and hard-of-hearing employee group has 40 members. And Black women, who make up only about 2.4 percent of Google’s US workforce, leave the company at a disproportionately higher rate than women of other races, company data showed last year.

Several former Black women employees, including AI researcher Timnit Gebru and recruiter April Christina Curley, have publicly alleged they were sidelined by an internal culture that disrespected them. Curley is leading a proposed class action lawsuit accusing Google of systemic bias but has lost initial court battles.

Google spokesperson Emily Hawkins didn’t directly address Hall’s allegations when asked about them by WIRED. “We are committed to building an inclusive workplace and offer a range of accommodations to support the success of our employees, including sign language interpreters and captioning,” Hawkins says.

Figuring out how to accommodate people like Hall could be good business for Google. One in every 10 people by 2050 will have disabling hearing loss, according to the World Health Organization.

Mark Takano, who represents a slice of Southern California in the US House and cochairs the Congressional Deaf Caucus, says that Google has an obligation to lead the way in demonstrating that its technology and employment practices are accommodating. “When Deaf and hard-of-hearing employees are excluded because of the inability to provide an accessible workplace, there is a great pool of talent that is left untapped—and we all lose out,” he says.

Unaccommodated

Hall was born with profound bilateral sensorineural hearing loss, meaning that even with hearing aids her brain cannot process sounds well. Two separate audiologists in memos to Google said Hall needs an American Sign Language interpreter full-time. She also signs pre- and post-segregation Black ASL, which uses more two-handed signs and incorporates some African American vernacular.

During her childhood in Louisiana, Hall's parents pushed her into speech therapy and conventional schools, where she found that some people doubted she was Deaf because she can speak. She later attended a high school for Deaf students where she became homecoming and prom queen, and realized how much more she could achieve when provided appropriate support.

Hall expected to find a similar environment at Google when she moved to Farmington Hills, Michigan, to become a content moderator. The company contracts ASL interpreters from a vendor called Deaf Services of Palo Alto, or DSPA. But though Hall had been assigned to enforce YouTube’s child safety rules, managers wouldn’t let her interpreters help her review that content. Google worried about exposing contractors to graphic imagery and cited confidentiality concerns, despite the fact interpreters in the US follow a code of conduct that includes confidentiality standards.

Managers transferred Hall into training to screen for videos spreading misinformation about Covid and elections. She developed a workflow that saw her default to using lipreading and automated transcriptions to review videos and turn to her interpreter if she needed further help. The transcriptions on videos used in training were high quality, so she had little trouble.

Her system fell apart late in January 2021, about 20 minutes into one of her first days screening new content. The latest video in her queue was difficult to make sense of using lipreading, and the AI transcriptions in the software YouTube built for moderators were poor quality or even absent for recently uploaded content. She turned to her interpreter’s desk a few feet away—but to her surprise it was empty. “I was going to say, ‘Do you mind coming listening to this?’” she recalls.

Hall rose to ask a manager about the interpreter’s whereabouts. He told her that he and fellow managers had decided that she could no longer have an interpreter in the room because it threatened the confidentiality of the team’s work. She could now talk with her interpreter only during breaks or briefly bring them in to clarify policies with managers. She was told to skip any videos she couldn’t judge through sight alone.

Feeling wronged and confused by the new restrictions, Hall slumped back into her chair. US law requires companies to provide reasonable accommodations to a disabled worker unless it would cause the employer significant difficulty or expense. “This was not a reasonable accommodation,” she says. “I was thinking, What did I get myself into? Do they not believe I’m Deaf? I need my interpreter all day. Why are you robbing me of the chance of doing my job?”

‘Pushed Aside’

Without her interpreter, Hall struggled. She rarely met the quota of 75 videos each moderator was expected to review over an eight-hour day. She often had to watch through a video in its entirety, sometimes more than an hour, before concluding she could not assess it. “I felt humiliated, realizing that I would not grow in my career,” she says.

Throughout that February, Hall spoke to managers across YouTube about the need for better transcriptions in the moderation software. They told her it would take weeks or more to improve them, possibly even years. She asked for a transfer to child safety, since she had heard from a colleague that visuals alone could be used to decide many of those videos. An HR complaint filed that spring led nowhere.

Black and disabled colleagues eventually helped secure Hall a transfer into Google’s Responsible AI and Human-Centered Technology division in July 2021. It is run by vice president Marian Croak, Google’s most distinguished Black female technical leader. Hall says Croak supported her and described what she’d been through as unacceptable. But even in the new role, Hall’s interpreter was restricted to non-confidential conversations.

Hall says the discrimination against her has continued under her new manager, who is also Black, leading to her exclusion from projects and meetings. Even when she’s present some coworkers don’t make much effort to include her. “My point of view is often not heard,” Hall says. In 2021, she joined two gatherings of Google’s Equitable AI Research Roundtable, an advisory body, but then wasn’t invited again. “I feel hidden and pushed aside,” she says.

Hall filed an internal complaint against her manager in March 2022, and an HR staffer has joined their one-on-one meetings since October of that year. One of the interpreters who has assisted Hall says the friction Deaf workers encounter is sadly unsurprising. “People truly don’t take the time to learn about their peers,” the interpreter says.

The allegations are notable in part because a civil rights audit Google commissioned found last March that it needs to do more to train managers. “One of the largest areas of opportunity is improving managers’ ability to lead a diverse workforce,” attorneys for WilmerHale wrote. Hawkins, the Google spokesperson, says all employees have access to inclusion training.

Hall says when she has access to an interpreter, they are rotated throughout the week, forcing her to repeatedly explain some technical concepts. “Google is going the cheap route,” Hall claims, saying her interpreters in university were more literate in tech jargon.

Kathy Kaufman, director of coordinating services at DSPA, says it pays above market rates, dedicates a small pool to each company so the vocabulary becomes familiar, hires tech specialists, and trains those who are not. Kaufman also declined to confirm that Google is a client or comment on its policies.

Google’s Hawkins says that the company is trying to make improvements. Google’s accommodations team is currently seeking employees to join a new working group to smooth over policies and procedures related to disabilities.

Beside Hall’s concerns, Deaf workers over the past two years have complained about Google’s plans—shelved, for now—to switch away from DSPA without providing assurances that a new interpreter provider would be better, according to a former Google employee, speaking on the condition of anonymity to protect their job prospects. Blind employees have had the human guides they rely on excluded from internal systems due to confidentiality concerns in recent years, and they have long complained that key internal tools, like a widely used assignment tracker, are incompatible with screen readers, according to a second former employee.

Advocates for disabled workers try to hold out hope but are discouraged. “The premise that everyone deserves a shot at every role rests on the company doing whatever it takes to provide accommodations,” says Stephanie Parker, a former senior strategist at YouTube who helped Hall navigate the Google bureaucracy. “From my experience with Google, there is a pretty glaring lack of commitment to accessibility.”

Not Recorded

Hall has been left to watch as colleagues hired alongside her as content moderators got promoted. More than three years after joining Google, she remains a level 2 employee on its internal ranking, defined as someone who receives significant oversight from a manager, making her ineligible for Google peer support and retention programs. Internal data shows that most L2 employees reach L3 within three years.

Last August, Hall started her own community, the Black Googler Network Deaf Alliance, teaching its members sign language and sharing videos and articles about the Black Deaf community. “This is still a hearing world, and the Deaf and hearing have to come together,” she says.

On the responsible AI team, Hall has been compiling research that would help people at Google working on AI services such as virtual assistants understand how to make them accessible to the Black Deaf community. She personally recruited 20 Black Deaf users to discuss their views on the future of technology for about 90 minutes in exchange for up to $100 each; Google, which reported nearly $74 billion in profit last year, would only pay for 13. The project was further derailed by an unexpected flaw in Google Meet, the company’s video chat service.

Hall’s first interview was with someone who is Deaf and Blind. The 90-minute call, which included two interpreters to help her and the subject converse, went well. But when Hall pulled up the recording to begin putting together her report, it was almost entirely blank. Only when Hall’s interpreter spoke did the video include any visuals. The signing between everyone on the call was missing, preventing her from fully transcribing the interview. It turned out that Google Meet doesn’t record video of people who aren’t vocalizing, even when their microphones are unmuted.

“My heart dropped,” Hall told WIRED using the video chat app Sivo, which allows all participants to see each other while a hearing person and sign language interpreter speak by phone. Hall spent the evening trying to soothe her devastation, meditating, praying, and playing with her dog, which she has trained in ASL commands.

Hall filed a support ticket and spoke to a top engineer for Google Meet who said fixing the issue wasn’t a priority. WIRED later found evidence that users had publicly reported similar issues for years. Microsoft Teams generally will record signing, but Hall wasn’t permitted to use it. She ended up hacking together a workflow for documenting her interviews by laboriously editing together Meet recordings and screen-captured video using tools that she paid $46 a month for out of her own pocket.

Company spokesperson Hawkins did not dispute Meet’s limitations but claims support for the Deaf community is a priority at Google, where work underway includes developing computer vision software to translate sign language.

Google leaders have often paid lip service to the importance of including people with diverse experiences in research and development, but Hall has found the reality lacking. Despite her understanding of the Black Deaf community and research into its needs, she says she is yet to be invited to support the sign translation work. In her experience, Google’s conception of diversity can be narrow. “In the AI department, a lot of conversations are around race and gender,” Hall says. “No one emphasizes disability.”

Her research showed Black, Deaf users are concerned about the potential for AI systems to misinterpret signs, generate poor captions, take jobs from interpreters, and disadvantage individuals who opt for manual interpretation. It underscored that companies need to consider whether new tools would make someone who is unable to hear feel closer or further from the people with whom they are communicating.

Hall presented her findings internally last December over a Google Meet call. Twenty-four colleagues joined, including a research director. Hall had been encouraged, including by Croak, to invite a much larger audience from across the company but ultimately stuck with the short list insisted upon by her manager. She didn’t even bother trying to record it.

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santi-u · 1 month

Text

[ bie thassapak hsu, demi-man, he/they ] Look who just landed! SANTI AMARIN-ZHAO, I sure hope you packed all you need. Perhaps you’re not worried as the CEO of X ACADEMY. The city has plenty of spots for a 29 year old SIGHIR like you. You’ll be known in the city soon enough as THE PEACEMAKER, being CHARISMATIC and INSTIGNANT.

❯ tags — interview — bio — headcanons — wanted connections & plots

OOC Information

Fayn / PST (Vancouver, Seattle, Los Angeles) / They/Them

Muse: Santi Amarin-Zhao

Tagging System: here

Interview: here

Muse’s Statistics

Full Name: Santi Amarin-Zhao | สันติ อมรินทร์ | 兆三緹

Nickname: Silk / Xiao Ti (小緹) / Titty (lmao)

Date of Birth: 28 May 2376

Gender: Demi-Man

Pronouns: He/They

Sexual Orientation: Queer

Romantic Orientation: …Ask him when he’s drunk. (Queer)

Current Age: 29

Modification: Sighir (Classified) Human :)

Affiliation: X Academy

Birthplace: New Jakarta

Current Neighbourhood: Sora

Occupation: CEO of X Academy, Philanthropist, Insider Threat, Dog Papa :)

Known Languages: English, Thai, Mandarin Chinese, Japanese, Bahasa

Appearance

Faceclaim: Bie Thassapak Hsu

Height: 6'0"

Eye Colour: Dark brown, almost black

Hair Colour: Naturally black, tends to dye it dark, reddish brown

Clothing Style: Has an extensive suit collection, surprisingly only a fraction of which are custom tailored. Wears more eccentric and femme-leaning blazer choices when feeling up to it. Tends to wear layers and long sleeves even during warm weather. Wears a hat to disguise himself in the Slums. Occasionally wears glasses.

Jewelry: Watch he inherited from a mentor. Occasionally wears a bracelet and necklace with no real sentimental meaning, just only for the vibe.

Tattoos: N/A

Marks/Scars: An innumerable amount of scars all over his body, even his face, as a result of testing done on him. They’ve all healed nearly perfectly thanks to his Sighir powers, and as a result, they’re nearly imperceptible / basically invisible unless you know what you’re looking for and are literally up in his business. He doesn't usually let anyone get that close, physically or emotionally.

Modifications: N/A

Scent/Fragrance: Tom Ford Ébène Fumé — overall woody and smoky; has notes of incense, palo santo, black pepper, violet leaf, leather, and labdanum

Personality

Positive Traits: Charismatic, compassionate, loyal

Neutral Traits: Guarded, resourceful, analytical

Negative Traits: Hyperindependent, manipulative, self-destructive

Peeves: His lunch getting double booked, expense reports, interviews, people who pet Khoi without asking Khoi if he’d like to be pet, people who don’t respect nature

Fears: A particular part of the city he now avoids going to at all costs; locked, windowless rooms; his parents; vulnerability

Skills: Partnership management, B2B commerce, research design, organizational management, public speaking, tying the perfect tie in one shot, being able to tell what kind of spices were used in a dish, inhuman-like terrifyingly high pain tolerance

Goals: Autonomy and control over his own fate

Favourites

Likes: His black golden retriever (Khoi), a tasteful accent pocket square, street food, boba, bugs (butterflies in particular), a certain Overseer :)

Dislikes: The smell of antiseptic, stainless steel furniture and decor, loss of control

Hobbies: Cooking, going out to Bartori or the Marwar Market in disguise to eat street food

Habits: Sleep talking, overworking, checking the app on his phone to make sure Khoi is okay at home

One Cherished Item: The chrysalis of a butterfly he helped raise in secret from a caterpillar when he was a child

Biography

UNN's Class of 2405: 30 Under 30 Interview with Santi Amarin-Zhao, CEO of X Academy

Date: September 12, 2404 Time: 13:57 PM NJT Location: X HQ, Santi’s Office

The interview takes place in the sleek, ultra-modern headquarters of X Academy, a towering structure that dominates the skyline of New Jakarta. The office is a blend of glass and metal, with a panoramic view of the sprawling city below. Santi sits behind a minimalist desk, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp, betraying the meticulous mind behind the polished exterior. The interviewer, an experienced journalist from the United News Network, is acutely aware that this is more than just a profile piece—it’s an opportunity to peel back the layers of one of Mars' most enigmatic young leaders.

Interviewer: "Santi Amarin-Zhao, thank you for joining us today. It's not every day that we get to sit down with one of the youngest CEOs in New Jakarta's history. Let's start from the beginning—being born and raised on Mars is still not an everyday occurrence, and especially not nearly three decades ago. How has your upbringing shaped the leader you are today?"

Santi offers a warm smile, the kind that has won him the admiration from many of the million citizens of New Jakarta, but behind that smile is a carefully crafted persona. He knows exactly how to play this role, the heir to a legacy of power and innovation.

Santi: "Thank you for having me. My upbringing was nothing short of a privilege, and I recognize that every day. My mother's side was instrumental in the initial colonization efforts, and my father's side were some of the original Braax mine owners. Their combined legacy is something I take very seriously. Growing up, I was always taught that with great power comes great responsibility—not just to my family, but to the people of New Jakarta."

As he speaks, Santi’s thoughts drift momentarily to his childhood, where lessons were taught not in classrooms, but in boardrooms. His mother, a brilliant scientist, would often take him to meetings where breakthroughs in Martian terraforming and mineral research were discussed, while his father, a shrewd businessman, exposed him to the intricacies of corporate strategy. From a young age, Santi learned that every action, every word, was a move in a larger game—a game he was expected to win.

Interviewer: "That's a powerful ethos to live by. Many would say that you were born into success, but you've clearly worked hard to maintain and build upon that legacy. What drives you to keep pushing forward, especially in such a high-stakes environment?"

As the interviewer asks this, Santi leans back slightly, as if contemplating the question. The truth is, the drive to push forward comes not from ambition alone, but from a deeper, almost primal need to assert control over a life that has always been orchestrated by others. But that’s not something he can admit out loud.

Santi: "You know, it's easy for people to assume that everything was handed to me on a silver platter, but the reality is far more complex. Yes, I had opportunities that others might not, but I was also held to incredibly high standards. From a young age, I was taught the importance of hard work, and that success is not just about what you achieve, but how you achieve it. I’ve always believed in leading by example, which is why I make it a point to be in the trenches with my team, whether it's working late nights on a project or navigating the complexities of our latest research initiatives."

He recalls the countless nights spent in the labs of X Academy, not because he needed to be there, but because he wanted to understand every aspect of the institution he would one day lead. He wasn’t just a figurehead—he was determined to know the ins and outs of every department, every project. The long hours weren’t just about work; they were about proving, perhaps to himself more than anyone else, that he was worthy of the legacy he was born into.

Interviewer: "It's clear that your work ethic is something you take pride in. Let's talk about X Academy. Under your leadership, it's become a beacon of hope for many in New Jakarta, especially with the rising tensions in the city. How do you balance the pressures of being a public figure with the responsibilities of running such a pivotal institution?"

Santi’s expression shifts subtly—a flicker of something deeper, darker. He knows that the public sees him as a beacon of hope, a leader who can unite the fractured city. But the truth is, the very tensions they hope he will resolve are often of his own making. He is both the architect of chaos and the one who brings order, a duality that he keeps hidden beneath layers of charm and calculated sincerity.

Santi: "Balancing those pressures is definitely a challenge, but it's one I embrace. X Academy was founded with the goal of advancing scientific research for the betterment of all Martian citizens, and that mission is something I take to heart. At the same time, I understand the power of public perception. People are looking for someone to believe in, especially now, and I’m grateful that they see me as that figure. However, it’s not just about what I can do as a leader, but what we can achieve together as a community. Creating opportunities for all, committing to public good—these are not just slogans, but guiding principles in everything I do."

He remembers the latest crisis he orchestrated in the Akumu Slums—a small piece of information, leaked at just the right time, setting off a chain of events that sent shockwaves through the city. It was a dangerous game, one that could easily spiral out of control, but Santi thrives on the thrill of it. The chaos serves a purpose; it keeps people looking to him for solutions, reinforcing his role as the indispensable leader.

Interviewer: "You've been dubbed 'The Peacemaker' by some, yet New Jakarta is far from peaceful, if we must be honest. How do you reconcile this title with the realities of the city?"

Santi knows this question is coming, and he’s prepared. The irony of the title isn’t lost on him—it’s part of the persona he’s carefully cultivated. He is the Peacemaker, but peace, as he defines it, is a tool, a means to an end. True peace would leave him with nothing to control, nothing to fix, and that’s a reality he’s not ready to face.

Santi: "The title 'Peacemaker' is both a compliment and a burden. Peace is not just the absence of conflict but the presence of justice and opportunity. It’s no secret that New Jakarta faces many challenges, from economic disparities to social unrest. But these challenges also present opportunities for growth and innovation. My job is to navigate these complexities and find solutions that benefit the city as a whole. Sometimes, that means making difficult decisions that aren't immediately popular, but I always have the long-term prosperity of New Jakarta in mind."

As he speaks, his mind wanders to the many nights he spent alone in his office, staring out over the city. From this vantage point, he could see everything—the glittering towers of the elite, the sprawling slums below. It was all part of a grand design, one he was orchestrating from behind the scenes. Every conflict, every resolution, was a step towards a future only he could envision.

Interviewer: "There's a lot of talk about the criminal underworld in New Jakarta, particularly in the Akumu Slums. How does X Academy fit into this picture, and what steps are you taking to ensure that your initiatives aren't just a band-aid on a larger issue?"

Santi’s smile doesn’t falter, but inside, he feels a spark of satisfaction. The criminal underworld is a complex web, one that he’s intimately familiar with. He’s not just aware of it—he’s a part of it, a shadowy figure pulling strings from the comfort of his high-rise office. But that’s a truth he’ll take to his grave.

Santi: "The situation in the Akumu Slums is one of the most pressing issues we face, and it’s something I’m deeply concerned about. X Academy's role is to provide education and resources that empower people to create better lives for themselves, but we can’t do it alone. That’s why I’ve been working closely with the Overseers and other city leaders to address the root causes of these problems. It’s not just about education; it’s about creating a sustainable ecosystem where everyone has the opportunity to thrive. As for the criminal circuit—let's just say, we're keeping a close eye on things and doing everything we can to ensure that X Academy’s work is part of the solution, not part of the problem."

He remembers the recent heist at one of X Academy’s facilities, a heist that the public believed was a tragedy. What they didn’t know was that Santi had orchestrated the entire event, leaking the location of the facility to a rival faction in the slums. It was all part of a larger plan, one that would ultimately strengthen his grip on the city. The stolen research was never meant to be used—it was a decoy, a test of loyalty and competence for those who would carry out his orders.

Interviewer: "Lastly, with everything you've accomplished so far, what does the future hold for you and X Academy? How do you plan to continue your family's legacy while also making your own mark?"

Santi pauses, considering his response carefully. The future is something he thinks about often, but not in the way most people do. For him, the future is a canvas, one that he can shape and mold to his liking. His family’s legacy is the foundation, but the empire he’s building will be his own.

Santi: "The future is bright, but it’s also uncertain—and that’s what makes it exciting. My family’s legacy is something I’m incredibly proud of, but I’m also focused on carving out my own path. For X Academy, that means continuing to push the boundaries of scientific research and making sure that our work has a real, tangible impact on the lives of the people of New Jakarta. Personally, I’m committed to staying grounded, to listening to the needs of the community, and to never losing sight of the values that brought me here. My goal is to make sure that when people think of X Academy, they don’t just think of a name—they think of a force for good that is changing the world for the better."

As he finishes, Santi glances out the window, his mind already racing with the next steps in his plan. The interviewer thanks him for his time, and Santi responds graciously, but his thoughts are elsewhere. The interview is just another move in the game, another step in a carefully plotted journey that only he knows the destination of.

Interviewer: "Thank you, Santi. It’s been a pleasure speaking with you, and we’re all looking forward to seeing what you accomplish next."

Santi: "The pleasure’s all mine. Thank you for the opportunity to share my story."

As the interviewer leaves, Santi sits back in his chair, allowing himself a rare moment of introspection. He’s come so far, but there’s still so much to do. The city of New Jakarta is a complex machine, and he’s the one turning the gears. The future he envisions is one of power, control, and legacy—his legacy, not just his family’s. And he won’t stop until every piece of the puzzle falls into place.

End of interview.

#❯ about — santi #ignitedintro #ignitedtask01

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jt1674 · 7 months

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#weather report #cannon ball #black market #joe zawinul #wayne shorter #narada michael walden #jaco pastorius #alex acuna

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iluffyouxo · 2 years

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hꪮᥒꫀᥡ ᥣꫀꪑꪮᥒ ᖯᥣᥲᥴk tꫀᥲ || jꫀꪮᥒ jᥙᥒgkꪮꪮk

방탄소년단 — jeon jungkook x black, female oc

It was a bright morning, almost nippy when the wind blew at a certain pace. The pavement glistened like a carpet of crushed diamonds in the early morning sunshine. Though, the few grey clouds that dotted the sky made a promise of rain later on in the day—and, if the weather report is reliable enough to go off of, that later would be sooner than noon.

However, despite those warnings, I decided to go on my Saturday morning walk to gain inspiration for my artwork.

I had been in a slump for months now and, if I’m being honest with myself, it’s mostly due to my poor life balance between school, work and my own sanity. So, maybe a long walk through campus will do me some good…hopefully.

“Kyoko? What’re you doing out here so early?”

A familiar voice and a pair of steps sounded from behind me. “Zenni and Chae Yeong? Hey!” I smiled as my two closest friends walked up to me in cropped hoodies and sweats. “I’m going on a walk, and you?” Zenni smiles back at me, “Same here.”

“It’s too pretty of a morning not to,” Chae Yeong finished, “How about we walk together?” I nod, “Yeah, that sounds fun.”

•

“So, have you seen him…?” Chae Yeong mumbles to us as if she’s telling the world’s darkest secret. I raise an eyebrow at her. “Seen who?” Zenni voices my thoughts.

“The new student? Jeon Jungkook?”

My eyes grow wide and I gasp, “No way. The Jeon Jungkook…? Nope…never heard of him.” I chuckle as Chae Yeong huffs and slaps my arm. “I’m being serious Kyoko!”

“Okay, so who’s this ‘Jeon Jungkook’ you speak of?” Zenni asks between amused snickers. Chae Yeong’s eyes sparkle as she begins to explain.

“I first met him in Professor Mae’s class. She was in the middle of explaining our social marketing project when he ran in panting and apologizing. And he sat down next to Bin Mi-Gyeong, lucky bitch. He has dark hair, a tattoo sleeve and wears all black. From what I gathered he’s a gamer on YouTube from Busan with over twelve million subscribers and eight million followers on Instagram. He curates at least one point two million likes between both platforms almost every day—Instagram, of course, gaining the most the fastest.”

Chae Yeong pulls out her phone and shoves it into our faces, my eyes forced to see a rather aesthetically pleasing Instagram page of an almost bunny looking, doe eyed boy.

“And he’s talented at everything he does. Just name it! Dance, singing, drawing, photography, boxing! He’s good at it all!”

I cross my arms. “And you just found out all of this…today?” The brunette only nods as she begins scrolling through the guy’s pictures—of which I’m sure she’s done a million times in the past hour.

“Come to think of it, I have heard of him,” Zenni starts, “Frankie Lennox was gossiping about him to her group of friends in class yesterday.”

“He just got here and he’s already making a fuss? I dunno if I’mma like this Jungkook guy,” I grumble. Chae Yeong just waves me off. “Oh, please, you say that now. But, wait until you see him. He missed most of his classes yesterday, but you share all of his morning courses.” Zenni laughs, “Be sure to say hi to him for me.” I roll my eyes, “Whatever.”

•

“Bak Yong, is that him? The one everyone’s been gawking over?” She sends me a dirty look but nods before returning back to her schoolwork.

Truthfully, I couldn’t help but to feel a bit curious. The boy had been the talk of the town lately. He and his friend, Bak Jimin, were rising in fame at the school rapidly. It was almost scary how far looks alone could get you. That’s definitely something I could never relate to. I sigh. “Someone like him would totally end up with someone like Zenni or Chae Yeong…maybe even Yoko.”

Yoko was my younger sister of two years. But, even so, I seemed like the youngest. She was more beautiful and more talented than I ever was. And it had always been that way. Though, I had never been jealous of her…I could only ever be proud of her accomplishments. Proud of the fact that she had never ended up like me.

In a weird way, I guess that makes me kind of pathetic.

•

Another day had passed and I found myself in my pajamas eating ramen with Zenni and Chae Yeong. “You saw him today, right?”

“For damn near five hours.”

“What was your reaction?” I sigh, “I only thought of how he would be a perfect match for Yoko.”

There was a long pause after that (the only sound cutting the silence was the slurping of my noodles).

“Yoko? Why do you think so highly of her?” Zenni questions, and I could hear the faint trace of frustration in her voice. I shrug. “I’m just proud of who she’s become. I am her older sister after all.” Chae Yeong growls, “You know she doesn’t think the same of you.” I only shrug again. “What does that matter? She’s better than me in every way…and that’s okay.”

“And do you really think that?” Zenni raises an eyebrow at me. I nod. “Of course, why wouldn’t it be?” I smile at her before looking down at the empty broth of my cup noodles.

It is okay, right?

•

“Now that I’ve explained your semi-finals project, I’ll be calling out the groups I chose. Since the class is uneven, there will be one team of three. Sītú Chan-juan and Kim Nabi, Ahn Min Jeong and Cha Ga Eul, Jeon Jungkook and Kangjeon Kyoko, Seok Nari and Asaki Luan—“

The world sat still for a moment. Everything went mute. And I could only focus on the fact that Professor Nam had just announced that Jeon Jungkook was my art project partner.

I could practically feel the hundreds of jealous eyes burning holes into every side of my head. I gulp.

I am so dead.

“Bak Yong, Bak Jimin and Seonghun Min. Please, go sit next to your partners. These will be your new assigned seats for the remainder of the year since you will have the same partners for the finals. Get started when you’re ready and remember to have fun, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

The months of effort I put in to ignore him just so I could avoid a situation such as this one went down the drain as soon as Jungkook sat down in what was once Bak Yong’s seat. I groan, “What a disaster.”

“What’s a disaster?” He blinked at me with innocent eyes and a cheerful grin. “Hi, I’m Jungkook, nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” I mumble. “Kyoko.”

“So, you’re Yoko’s older sister, huh?”

At the mention of Yoko’s name I sit up straight in my seat and turn all the way to face him. “You know Yoko?” He nods. “Yeah, we’re close friends. She told me that you think the world of her so, mentioning her would get me on your good side. You’re really scary and cold, did you know that?”

I glare at him. “How do you know Yoko?”

“She’s a really popular singer on YouTube these days. We met playing Among Us during a livestream with some mutual friends.” I purse my lips, “Well, if you’re good enough to be Yoko’s friend then, I guess you’re okay.”

“She said you’d say that, too…but, she doesn’t speak very highly of you.” I shrug. “So? Anyways, let’s get working on the project.”

•

A week. An entire week has past since I became Jungkook’s desk mate and project partner.

An entire week of threats and bullying. An entire week of bloody fights and teacher conferences.

An entire week of no motherfucking peace.

And yet Jungkook sat in front of me with the most carefree smile and, truly, wholeheartedly, I wanted to deck him in his pretty face so damn bad. But, instead, I grind my teeth together and continue searching for a reference for the portrait we decided to work on.

“Kyoko…?” His voice is soft as he murmurs my name. I glance up at him. “Yeah?”

“Can I…use you as reference for the portrait?” He’s shy as he asks. It really made me want to punch him even more.

“Why? Just use Yoko,” I reply dismissively.

“But, I—“

I glare at him.

“I wanna draw you.”

I sigh and sip my coffee. What the hell for? Though, as I continue to stare at him, I couldn’t bring myself to voice my thoughts. “Alright, fine, but don’t be upset with me when the painting gets ruined.”

And in turn his infamous bunny smile is directed at me as a faint blush dusts his cheeks. “Thanks.”

•

At some point honey lemon black tea—that and iced coffee—became my favorite drink to sip on while perfecting my art skills. And I had shared my newly found obsession with Chae Yeong, Zenni, Yoko and Jungkook.

It wasn’t long before him and I began sharing one cup with two straws of the sourly sweet flavored tea as he sketched me in his notebook more times than I cared to remember and as I sketched out different backgrounds for the easel.

“Y’know…you’re really pretty, Kyoko.”

“Stop mumbling nonsense.”

Jungkook had also become a lot more bolder and a lot more frequent when it came to voicing his nonsensical thoughts. Which, more or less, were compliments directed at me.

“But, it’s not nonsense. I really think so,” he continued confidently.

I put down my pencil with a sigh. “You don’t have to lie to me to get on my good side, Jungkook, I already like you.”

The ravenette blinks harshly at me before his nose scrunches up disapprovingly, “You can’t even tell a compliment from an insult. Does everyone really think that lowly of you?” I only shrug. “When you have the most perfect and beautiful younger sister, you’re kinda always compared. And…I’m okay with that.”

It’s silent for a moment too long, and I think the conversation is over, when he lets out a frustrated groan.

“I know we’ve known each other for barely a month now but, I’ve known your sister for two years and I think that—“ He cuts himself off, his face flushing a potent bright red. I raise an eyebrow at him, a gesture that he continue his sentence.

“…I think you’re more worth it than she is.”

“Worth what?” I breathed.

“Everything that she has and more.”

I glance up at him for a while. Trying to grasp onto every word he’s stated. I’m worth that much to him? That thought alone caused me to smile at him. “Whatever,” I chuckle, “Just get back to work.”

I pick up my pencil again, ready to begin drawing, when his next words caused me to drop it on the floor and abruptly stand up from my chair, “I like you, Kyoko.”

My fists begin to quiver as I glare down at him. “Alright, dude, you can stop now. Do you really think I’m that gullible? I can’t believe you.”

I hastily grab my things and rush out of the main campus library. “What an idiot,” I huff.

•

I didn’t see him for the next few days after that. We occasionally sent pictures of our progress to the project and some times, every now and then, he’d send a voice memo of him singing American slow jams.

Other than that…the weekend was quite boring.

“It hasn’t even been a month since we started talking to each other, do you think he actually likes me?” I voice my thoughts to Zenni as she smacked on some cereal she had ordered from abroad. Chae Yeong was in her room cussing out some poor fella on her team in Apex.

“Kyoko…he’s liked you far longer than that,” Zenni speaks as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “What the hell makes you say that?”

“He came up to us not too long before your project began, asking us if you hated him and if there was a way to make sure you two became partners. He said that Yoko gave him a misinterpreted version of yourself and that you’re the exact opposite of who she said you were.”

“It sounds as if Yoko is jealous of you,” Chae Yeong interjects. “She wanted to make sure Jungkook never liked you. Guess that backfired.”

Chae Yeong turns around from where she had been rummaging through the fridge. “So, are you gonna call him?” She takes a sip of her beer before heading back inside her room.

•

The phone rang once…twice…, “Hello? Kyoko?”

My breath hitches at the sound of his voice. This is the first time we’ve spoken on the phone. I clear my throat. “D’you wanna go to the gaming basement with me?”

I hear him take in a quick breath before humming. “Uh…yeah, sure. That sounds fun.”

“Yeah? Okay. Does around twelve sound good?”

He hums again. “Yeah, that’s fine. C’ya then.”

•

Somehow, in the middle of playing COD, his lips met mine after a well-deserved victory. “You didn’t push me away,” he breaths. I chuckle, “Don’t worry, I thought about.” I sit back in my seat and hum. “But, you’re a damn good kisser, Mr. Jeon.”

He blinks, shocked by my bluntly honest answer, “Really? Well—uh—thanks.”

I lean in close with a small grin, poking his nose, “Lemme kiss you again, okay?” Jungkook begins coughing with wide eyes and leans away. “Eh!? You can’t just say stuff like that Kyoko!” I laugh, “Why not? I liked it so, naturally, I’d wanna do it again.” I lay my head on the table and grab his hand.

“I kinda like you…I wanna kiss you more than once.” Being so honest was foreign to me, however, I didn’t mind it all that much.

After getting over his initial shock Jungkook laid his head down next to mine. “Then, do me a favor—“ he pecks my lips, “—become my girlfriend.” I hum. “Sure, why not? I’d be doing you a favor.” He chuckles and grips my hand back, “Yeah, you would be.”

•

“WHAT? He’s your boyfriend now!?” Chae Yeong yells in my face. She squeezes my shoulders. “The progress happened so quickly!”

“Yeah, it did,” I smile to myself.

It was a cloudy morning as Chae Yeong and I walked around campus. We were meeting up with Zenni and Jimin (who had began dating not too long ago) at our local coffee shop Honey Lemon. Kind of an ironic name. “Kyoko!”

I perk up at the voice that beckoned me. “Kookie.”

Chae Yeong waves happily at him as his steps sync with ours. “Heading to the cafe?” He grabs my hand and intertwines our fingers. I nod. “Yeah.”

“Then, let’s go together.”

I grin, “Mmmm. Yeah, let’s go.”

“You guys are such love birds,” Chae Yeong cackles, “But, I totally called it.”

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