#op art decor | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

emilky-whim · 7 months

Text

Folklore Legacy Challenge

Hey Ya'll! I've been working on this one for a little while and I can't wait to share it with you! It's a 16 + 1 generation legacy challenge for the Sims 4 based off of Taylor Swifts album Folklore! There aren't many solid rules for this one, I mostly just want ya'll to have fun and play it in a way that makes sense to you. That being said: - Mods and cheats are ok to use (I even encourage it). - Each Gen must have at least one child to play as the next heir. - I have used lots of packs in making this, you will need: City Living, Cats and Dogs, High School Years, Get Together, Crystal Creations, For Rent, Outdoor Retreat, Island Living, Dream Home Decorator, Parenthood, Discover University, Dine Out, Stranger Ville, Get Famous, Spa Day, Growing Together + more that I've probably forgotten. - If you do not have the required packs, feel free to change what you need to as long as it is somewhat similar to the original.

Gen 1: The One

You’re a meticulous gardener with a penchant for perfection, fiercely loyal to your craft and to your loved ones. Despite your somewhat snobbish tendencies, you dedicate yourself to finding true love, and when that journey ends, you never REALLY get over it. Yet you continue to cherish your familial bliss and vibrant social life.

Career - Gardener (Either Branch)

Traits - Perfectionist, Loyal, Snob

Aspiration - Curator

Complete the soulmate aspiration with only one sim. Your sims permanently ‘separate’ once the aspiration is complete.

Always accept invites/calls from other sims.

Adopt at least one child.

‘’ = You may separate them as you choose.

Gen 2: Cardigan

You're a charismatic politician, oozing self-assurance and intellect, always in the know. As a Renaissance Sim, mastering myriad skills comes naturally to you. Amidst your political pursuits, you find time for youthful adventures, savouring bar dates, maybe one day you’ll finally settle down with a cherished companion.

Career - Politician (Charity Organiser)

Traits - Self-Assured, Genius, Insider

Aspiration - Renaissance Sim

Master all the skills needed for the politician career.

Go on at least 5 bar dates as a young adult.

Eventually marry a childhood friend.

Gen 3: The Last Great American Dynasty

You're a devoted stay-at-home parent, balancing material desires with a deep love for family and furry companions. Despite setbacks like a failed marriage and neighbourhood feuds, you find solace in nurturing your family and friends, building a home filled with love, even amidst domestic changes.

Career - Stay At Home Parent (You can work any career until you parent a child)

Traits - Materialistic, Dog-Lover, Family-Oriented

Aspiration - Mansion Baron

Have one failed marriage.

Become enemies with at least one neighbour.

Have your first child as a newly aged up young adult.

Move in with friends for at least one year.

Gen 4: Exile

In the world of espionage, you've always stood out. While others excel in covert ops, you thrive in building connections. Romantic at heart, yet socially awkward, you're drawn to leading, seeking solace in your club's camaraderie. After heartbreak, you relocate, shying from commitment but embracing your chosen family.

Career - Secret Agent (Diamond Agent)

Traits - Romantic, Socially Awkward, Gloomy

Aspiration - Leader Of The Pack

Create and lead your own club. Become friends with all the members.

After a major breakup, move to a different world.

Never get married or stay in a long-term relationship.

Gen 5: My Tears Ricochet

Amidst canvases and clay, you've always preferred solitude to the bustle of social affairs. As a critic, you explore the depths of creativity, while crafting jewellery and crystals on the side. Despite your artistic fervour, relationships falter, leaving you to nurture your creative progenies and seek solace in your craft.

Career - Critic (Arts Critic)

Traits - Loner, Creative, Art Lover

Aspiration - Crystal Crafter

Have a side business selling Jewelry and Crystals.

Get left OR leave someone at the altar.

Have at least 4 children.

Gen 6: Mirrorball

In the spotlight's embrace, you dazzle as an entertainer, with moves that mesmerise and demands that rival divas. Behind the glamour lies a heart yearning for connection, seeking solace in fleeting affairs. As you master the arts of song and stage, you flit from home to home, craving new experiences and relationships to fulfil your insatiable appetite for life.

Career - Entertainer (Musician)

Traits - Dance Machine, High Maintenance, Generous

Aspiration - Friend Of The World

Have a secret love affair, with whom you’ll eventually marry.

Master the singing, piano and acting skills. Never master any other skills.

Live with at least 3 different sims over your lifetime.

Gen 7: Seven

Beneath the stars, you find your playground, a whimsical astronaut drawn to the great unknown. Childhood antics linger as you escape the mundane, running away with a friend to explore the world. Haunted houses hold no fear for you, just another adventure in your quest for outdoor thrills. With each holiday, you uncover new wonders, embracing the vastness of the universe.

Career - Astronaut (Space Ranger)

Traits - Childish, Loves Outdoors, Good

Aspiration - Outdoor Enthusiast

Run away from home as a teenager with a friend/s

Live in a haunted house.

Go on a holiday seven times over your lifetime.

Gen 8: August

In the vibrant world of social media, you craft narratives with precision, driven by ambition and a hint of envy for the spotlight. Amidst beachside dreams, you seek solace in Sulani's embrace, drawn to its sun-kissed shores. An affair with a married sim sparks passion, leading to a child and an obsession, anchoring you to the idyllic island life, forsaking love for the serenity of the sea.

Career - Social Media (Public Relations)

Traits - Jealous, Ambitious, Neat

Aspiration - Beach Life

Have an affair with a married sim you meet while on vacation.

Have at least one child with the married sim.

Live in Sulani for most, if not all, of your lifetime.

Never date again after your affair ends.

Gen 9: This Is Me Trying

Driven by a desire to transform spaces, you carve your niche in the world of interior design, fueled by ambition yet shadowed by melancholy. As a youth, you flee, severing ties to forge a path of your own. Love finds you in the arms of a cheerful soul, grounding you upon your return, where you rebuild bridges and strive to be the ultimate caregiver to your children, overcoming personal demons along the way.

Career - Interior Decorator

Traits - Ambitious, Overachiever, Gloomy

Aspiration - Super Parent

Move away as a teenager/young adult and lose most of your sims relationships.

Get married to a Cheerful sim.

Move back as a young adult/adult and re-make all the relationships you lost.

BONUS (Only if you have the Basemental Drugs MOD) Become addicted to at least one substance and successfully complete rehabilitation for it.

Gen 10: Illicit Affairs

In the courtroom's halls, you weave tales of justice as a private attorney. Driven by wanderlust and a fear of commitment, marriage comes swiftly, but it's the thrill of forbidden affairs that ignites your passion. Caught in multiple webs of deceit, divorce looms, leading you to Henford-on-Bagley, where you navigate the complexities of parenthood alone, seeking solace in the quiet countryside.

Career - Law (Private Attorney)

Traits - Non-Committal, Advenutrist, Clumsy

Aspiration - Serial Romantic

Get married young and have at least 4 affairs before getting caught.

Have at least one child through an affair.

Get divorced

Move to Henford-on-Bagley to raise all your children by yourself.

Gen 11: Invisible String

You always dreamed of sizzling pans and crafting culinary delights, a romantic at heart with a green thumb to match. Love's journey takes unexpected turns—a tumultuous romance with a mean spirit, a dance of uncertainty with a lifelong friend. As the years pass, you find your soulmate as an elder, nurturing both your restaurant empire, a family and a thriving garden.

Career - Own your own restaurant (or multiple restaurants)

Traits - Romantic, Good, Green Friend

Aspiration - Soulmate

Be in a long-term relationship with a mean sim and eventually break up.

Have a ‘will they, won’t they’ type of relationship with a life-long friend sim.

Get married as an Elder.

Have a well-maintained garden.

Have all restaurants at 5 stars.

Gen 11: Mad Woman

Betrayed in your youth by those you trusted the most, you harbour scars deep as loyalty binds you to your cause. You ascend the ranks of the criminal underworld, fueled by anger and an unyielding pursuit of justice and vengeance. Marriage offers solace, yet the thirst for retribution remains, driving you relentlessly until old age grants the serenity you seek.

Career - Criminal (Boss)

Traits - Hot-Headed, Perfectionist, Loyal

Aspiration - Seeker of Secrets

As a teenager, have an ex friend/friend group/lover ruin your reputation/life.

Spend the rest of your adult life trying to get revenge.

Marry a friend.

Only find peace/let go as an elder.

Gen 12: Epiphany

Straight out of high school to the covert operations of the military, you excel, driven by duty and a longing to provide for your family. Medals adorn your chest, earned through dedication and sacrifice. Love finds you in the arms of a medical professional, but shadows linger, as memories of battle haunt your days, a silent reminder of the price of service.

Career - Military (Covert Operator)

Traits - Overachiever, Family-Oriented, Good

Aspiration - Big Happy Family

Join the military immediately after finishing highschool.

Retire/quit your job as soon as you earn all available medals.

Date and marry sim with the medical career.

Live with PTSD (you can use a mod for this)

Gen 14: Betty

Your high school romance blossoms into marriage, yet jealousy festers, leading to a massive indiscretion that fractures the trust you’ve built. Amidst the wreckage, you strive to mend what's broken, seeking solace in weekly garden dates as you navigate the rocky terrain of love. In the digital realm, you thrive as a freelancer, coding with confidence and a hint of cringe-worthy humour.

Career - Freelancer (Programmer)

Traits - Cringe, Jealous, Self-Assured

Aspiration - Joke Star

Marry your high school sweetheart.

Have weekly dates in your back garden.

Have an affair for an extended period of time before being caught.

Spend the rest of your life trying to heal the connection between you and your spouse.

Gen 15: Peace

Unable to make friends, you shed the burden of high school to focus on working toward your dream job and pursue the limelight. Amidst the glittering lights of fame, you still struggle to find your place and people in the world. Eventually, love finds you in the presence of an outgoing spirit, but as stardom ascends, so does the weight of its demands, testing your quest for inner peace amidst the chaos of stardom.

Career - Actor

Traits - Socially Awkward, Creative, Squeamish

Aspiration - Inner Peace

Dropout of high school and work a part time job to earn money.

Master the acting career.

Master the acting and wellness skills.

Marry an outgoing, good sim.

Become a Global Superstar and struggle with the price of fame.

Gen 16: Hoax

Born amidst the urban hustle of San Myshuno, your artistic soul yearns for expression amidst the city's chaos. Love's path proves rocky, a journey of unfulfilled connections and shattered dreams. Seeking solace in a fresh start, you depart the city's embrace, yet the ghost of past loves haunts your brushstrokes, forever captured in the vivid hues of your yearning canvases.

Career - Painter (Master Of The Real)

Traits - Gloomy, Vegetarian, Generous

Aspiration - Painter Extraordinaire

Grow up in San Myshuno.

Be in a long-term, unfilling relationship with sim you have bad compatibility with. Eventually break up.

Have a failed relationship with a family friend.

Move out of San Myshuno to get a fresh start.

Never get over one of your previous relationships and spend the rest of your life yearning to have it back.

(Bonus) Gen 17: The Lakes

Amidst the rustle of leaves and the whisper of pages, you find your muse as a writer, enchanted by the dance of words and the embrace of nature. Poetry flows from you, a testament to your romantic soul. Holidays are cherished escapes, moments of tranquillity by the water's edge, fueling your creative spirit. Yet, it's in solitude that your greatest works are born, a testament to your dedication to the craft.

Career - Writer (Author)

Traits - Romantic, Bookworm, Loves Outdoors

Aspiration - Bestselling Author

Only write poetry (unless specified for the aspiration)

Go on Holiday with your spouse and family often, staying as close to a body of water as you can get.

Complete the gemstone collection.

Leave the world behind for a period of time to focus on writing (completely alone)

#ts4 #the sims 4 #the sims #ts4 legacy #ts4 challenge #sims 4 legacy #sims 4 legacy challenge #ts4 legacy challenge #the sims legacy challenge #taylor swift #ts4 taylor swift #the sims 4 taylor swift #folklore #taylor swift folklore #folklore legacy challenge #ts4 folklore legacy challenge

285 notes · View notes

syoddeye · 9 months

Text

the christmas party

ceo!price x reader / smut free / ~2.8k words

A very belated Christmas drabble thing. Definitely not inspired by real life events. 👀 Featuring a fem!Reader x Price, background Ghost x Soap, and Gaz, the incredi-boss. Might fuck around make this a series, we'll see! Maybe I'll clean it up and throw it on AO3, too.

CW: alcohol, substance abuse (mentioned) inappropriate comments from coworkers

You came to expect drama at the company Christmas party. It was as traditional as the optional White Elephant gift exchange, the hired group of carolers, and the ugly sweater competition.

Last year, a 'mystery' baggie of powder and a credit card belonging to the former Head of Sales was found in a bathroom stall. Two years ago, it was the unexpectedly raunchy dancing between an engineer and a project manager you swore hated each other. Three years ago, a division head went home with someone who was definitely not her spouse.

You'd seen a lot in your tenure. The good, the bad, the ugly, the hilariously mortifying.

Coming up on your fifth year with The 141 Group, you were a rarity. Most folks job-hopped. More power to them, no shame in gaining good experience after a year or two to leave for greener pastures. The fact you stuck around labeled you a 'veteran', a cheeky if not sensational label, though there were times you certainly felt like you'd seen war. Acquisitions. Rebrands. Reorgs. Yeesh.

But life at 141 suits you. You are an executive assistant, a good one. It helps that your direct supervisor and the VP of Finance, Kyle Garrick, a fellow 'vet', was an incredible boss. He lets you work from when you need to, doesn't micromanage, and treats you like a person, unlike other execs. He had faith in your ability to manage his calendar, prep materials, book travel - in short, you organized his work life. In return, whenever some new hire got too fresh with you, all it took was one teensy mention in a morning meeting, and by lunch, the offending party had only apologies for you. Most importantly, though, the job nets enough money to make rent and let you pursue your hobbies.

With years of Christmas parties under your belt, you were looking forward to tonight's low-grade yet cataclysmic event. Pre-gaming and primping at a fellow assistant's house, Jordan, you clasp the silver holly leaf pendant around your neck where it lies just above your modest cleavage. The dress code was simply 'Christmas Color', another tradition. Formal attire was expected, if not an unsaid requirement, which meant slipping into a gorgeous dark green dress you spied weeks ago in a boutique window. You thank yourself for earning that last pay bump to afford it because you look fantastic, in your humble opinion.

Lacing her leather Oxfords, Jordan gives a low whistle when you turn away from the mirror. "Like a big, sexy pine tree."

You smirk. "Thanks. Remind me why we both couldn't wear red tonight?"

"Because of the two of us, red is my color. Do I not look like some kind of holiday vampire?" She asks, standing with a sweeping gesture down at her deep, red velvet suit.

"More bellboy, but-"

"Rude!"

The two of you lovingly bicker all the way out to the awaiting car. The 141 Group, ever mindful of its image, always reimbursed rideshares for its company parties. Given the amount of liquor that flowed at these events, it wasn't only generous but smart. Like the higher-ups needed a scandal. The car ferries you across town to the ritzy event space at a local art museum. Leaving your coats at the complimentary bag check, you enter the well-underway party.

The events team needs a raise, like yesterday. The sprawling space was completely done up. Several open bars, a champagne wall, a photo op with a to-scale Santa's Sleigh, and dining tables with place settings that probably rival a monarch. Silvery white birch trees enveloped in lights line the walls, with clusters of small fir trees fully decorated dotting the space. The dancefloor was already busy with a DJ fully dressed as Santa.

Four going on five years, and it was still quite the sight.

You gently elbow Jordan. "So. Cheesy themed cocktails first or canapes?"

"Obviously drinks. I just saw one with an ornament in it!"

Three hours in, it was a dead heat for Most Dramatic Event. Two separate calamities slowly built throughout the night.

At the nexus of the first, Chad from marketing was almost blacked out. After winning the ugly sweater with a true abomination of a sweater (working lights, a mini speaker, and an ungodly amount of sequins), he celebrated. A little hard. He bopped from open bar to open bar as the bartenders cut him off one by one. He was trying to convince a coworker to grab him another Mistletoe Martini, and it was progressively getting louder.

The second was from the rumor mill more than anything. Apparently, a developer named Scott brought the wrong gift for the exchange. As the story went, his wife used the same paper for an identically sized gift, one of a titillating nature, and now he was visibly paranoid that he nabbed the wrong one on the way out the door. The man stalked the pile of gifts as folks drew numbers.

Jordan bet on the first, and you bet on the second. From the corner, you watch, giggling behind a cup of Prancer's Punch.

The sound of your name drew your attention. Kyle, in a charcoal gray suit with a sleek snowflake tie bar and green tie, approaches with a Tiny Tim Collins in hand. Though you waved hello earlier in the night, he spent most of the evening in the company of who you deemed his 'buddies' - Johnny MacTavish, VP of Technology and Jordan's boss, and Simon Riley, the Chief Security Officer. You learned in your first month to leave the trio to it.

"Having fun, are we?" Kyle grins and turns to observe the twin events.

"I love this party. Every year, delivers just like Santa," Jordan gleefully said.

"Someone should stop them," You add, knowing nobody would. At least not Kyle.

And as if on cue, the man chuckles. "Not my circus, not my clowns."

The three of you chat, swapping bits of office gossip collected through the night. Not the most appropriate, but not the worst social crime, surely. You're the right amount of tipsy: warm and relaxed but solid.

The wager came up naturally.

"What do you want if you win, my pine tree?"

"Hmm. It's gotta be something outrageous but not a fireable offense. Hmm. Maybe I'll have you sing on a video call, pretend you thought you were on mute or something."

"...That's boring."

"Do I want to know?" Kyle asks, sipping his drink.

"We have a bet on who's gonna be this year's drama - Chad or Scott." You explain.

"Maybe I ought to get back…" Your boss said with a laugh. "Better not witness to whatever you two plan."

"Might be for the best. Night, Kyle," You accept the brief hug from the man, then poke a finger against his chest. "Listen, if I get one DM about work during the holiday, I'm switching your coffee to decaf."

Kyle claps a hand over his heart as if he's been shot. "Monstrous. Fine, have it your way, no work during Christmas…Now, behave yourself, both of you."

Watching him retreat back to MacTavish and Riley (who look quite cozy - perhaps another piece of gossip?), Jordan nudges you. "If I was into guys, that's who I'd be into."

"You and like fifty other people here," As Kyle's assistant, you're more than his Girl Friday; you're also a professional gatekeeper. You could wallpaper your apartment with the amount of cringy notes you've stopped from reaching his desk.

"Not your type, then?"

You whip your head back to Jordan, utterly horrified. "No way. Not that Kyle isn't an absolute dreamboat; he's just not my dreamboat. Plus, at this point, it would be so, so weird."

Jordan laughs. "Y'know, even though we've been work besties for a year, I don't think we've ever discussed this. What is your type? As dudes are not my specialty, I have no clue."

Your type, huh? As if you don't know. Your type's been the same for as long as you can remember. Big and brawny, the kind of guy who could haul you around. Dark hair. Well-groomed, well-dressed, well-endow–You could still make it onto the naughty list.

Using better and cleaner terms, you relay this information to Jordan.

"Huh. A man's man. Whodathunk–oh! Oh shit, look who it is!" The other woman pats your arm and gestures with a nod.

Joining Kyle and his buddies, is none other than John Price - CEO of The 141 Group. Fashionably late (very fashionably late), yet another tradition. Adorned in a Santa red suit jacket and a matching red tie, he somehow makes the boring dress code dashing. Flanking him is a pair of bodyguards. He's just in time for the wager to come to a head.

God, he looks good.

As Kyle's assistant, you see John fairly regularly. Not that he sees you. No one above a certain pay grade sees assistants. You kind of just blend right on in. Not even Mr. Riley, whom you've been introduced to a dozen times by Kyle himself, recalls your name. When you tag along to meetings to take notes for the boss man, you assume you're on the same level as a lamp or plant. That doesn't mean you haven't ogled John Price before. Kind of hard to not to, what with his commanding presence. You're kind of ogling him right now.

"Wow, you really do have a type," Jordan hums with a shit-eating grin.

"Shut up," You hiss into your drink and look away, just in time to see Chad from marketing lift a gift box-shaped ice sculpture and smash it onto the ground next to one of the open bars with a frustrated yell. The poor bartender and caterers jump back, and the music scratches to a halt. A thick silence fell over the party, impressive for a crowd of over a hundred, and your eyes flick to Mr. Price.

He glares daggers in Chad's direction, then nods at the taller of his bodyguards. Without hesitation, the man crosses the event space toward a petrified, drunk-crying Chad. As the guard hauls him away, your coworker, or former coworker, you assume, bursts into ugly tears and then disappears from sight. But your eyes are still on John, whose gaze turns to the DJ. The music starts again, as does the chatter.

"Fuck yes," Jordan giddily whispers.

"Well, shit."

"You know what this means, don't you?"

"...Unfortunately, yes. Yes, I do," You sigh and down the rest of your drink. "Before you swing the axe, let me grab another punch."

"Hurry back, I've got my thinking cap on," Jordan impishly smirks.

With a groan, you make your way to the nearest open bar. One far from Chad's little tantrum. Most folks are on the dance floor at this hour, leaving this particular bar quiet. Waiting in line behind other tipsy coworkers, a clearing throat behind you grabs your attention.

"D'you have a recommendation?" A low, gravelly voice from all your best dreams asks.

You turn, and the sweet Hallmark-worthy image that blossomed in your mind in the last two seconds promptly morphs into a nightmare. Not a running-for-your-life nightmare, but a you're-the-only-naked-person-in-class nightmare. Laughable, considering the topic of conversation not three minutes ago.

John Price stands tall behind you, arms crossed, testing the fabric of his red suit jacket. He smells like tobacco and something spicy, and his eyes are a shade of blue you hadn't noticed before. You never got this close. They narrow slightly, and you realize you haven't answered him.

"Prancer's Punch." The name sounds cornier aloud.

"Hmm. Brandy or rum?" He sounds unimpressed. Was he unimpressed?

You're quicker to answer this time. Except, you babble. "It's, uh, made with dark rum. It's delicious. I've had a few. The cranberry juice isn't too tart, compliments the sparkling wine and–It's good."

Santa, run me over with your reindeer.

Kyle would be humiliated to have heard all of that. You are humiliated for having said all of that.

To your surprise though, the corner of John's mouth hooks in a smirk, then he chuckles. "How many qualifies as 'a few'?"

You, apparently committed to acting moronically, answer honestly. "Five."

It gets you an actual laugh this time. His hand raises up to scritch at his cheek, flashing the band of a watch you're certain is worth more than your life, then juts his chin forward slightly. "You're up, miss."

"Oh, no, Mr. Price, I insist, please-" You start to sidestep to let him up in line, but his hand lowers immediately and stretches out to stop you. He doesn't touch you, but the hair of your arm stands up at the proximity.

John smiles again, and his head tips toward you. "I insist. Join me, Miss…?"

"Mr. Price?" A voice suddenly interrupts. The taller bodyguard that removed Chad steps up and steals away Mr. Price's attention. "The problem's been dealt with. Regarding…"

You don't hear the rest of the conversation because you hurriedly ask for a punch and bolt back to Jordan.

And Jordan saw everything. Your heart is racing, and you miss half of her teasing.

"You made him laugh. Twice. I don't think I've ever seen him smile, let alone laugh."

"Because I basically admitted to being drunk!"

"Calm down, you're not, you're solid," She reassures. "Besides. You saw that death glare at Chad. If he was upset, I reckon you'd be on the receiving end of one of those."

You groan and take a swig of punch. You hope you've had enough of the good stuff to burn away the memory of your embarrassing rambling. You look back to Jordan to say something and find your friend once again grinning devilishly at you.

"I just thought of what I want for my victory."

Any time, Santa. Put me out of my misery.

"What?"

"So…You know #AskPrice?"

You know where this is going, and your eyeballs nearly bulge out of their sockets. "Jordan. Please. No. Do not make me post something stupid there."

#AskPrice was the name of the open channel at work. Anyone across the company could post questions for Mr. Price to answer. More often than not, it was a venue for bootlickers and kiss-asses to rain praises and share bad proposals. Rarely was there a legitimate question or a good idea.

"Darling, of course not. I have something far funnier in mind," She started, and you swore you saw the flames of hell itself in her eyes. "You're going to direct message Mr. Price and ask what he wants for Christmas."

Jaw, meet floor. "Absolutely not!"

Jordan laughs and hooks an arm around your neck, pulling you in. "Come on. It's harmless. Believe me, I considered making you send a selfie or asking if you're on the naughty or nice list."

"He could fire me!"

"For what? It's just a question! He always says we're welcome to DM him."

To be fair, Mr. Price did say that at the end of every company-wide call or in email announcements. He always harps on 'transparency' and 'open channels of communication', hence #AskPrice. To your knowledge, however, no one ever takes him up on that, at least at your level.

"Jordan…Mercy. Please."

"My sweet pine tree, you lost fair and square," She releases you and pats your shoulder. "If it makes you feel better, I bet he gets a thousand messages a day. The notification will get lost in the noise."

It doesn't take much more prodding and encouragement from Jordan. Your phone ends up in your hand, and you tap into the chat app. Your hand shakes a little when you pull up John's username and open the message dialogue.

johnprice - invisible Hi, Mr. Price. I was wondering what you want for Christmas?

Short and to the point. Jordan calls it 'boring', but you're already putting your neck on the line for a stupid wager. You're not risking anymore by dressing it up. Bet fulfilled, you press send, quickly turn notifications off, and shove your phone back into your little purse. Jordan rewards you with a squeeze to the shoulder.

"That was terrifying." You whine.

"That was a rush. Come on. Let's dance."

The next morning, when you're all but molded to your couch and housing takeaway, there's a little ping from your phone. It's the chime of the chat app.

"Kyle, for the love of everything, it's Sunday–"

You nearly drop your phone.

johnprice - invisible Hi, Mr. Price. I was wondering what you want for Christmas? > World peace. > I'd settle for a drink, though.

#call of duty #john price #captain john price #captain price #price x you #price x reader #john price x you #john price x reader #john price x female reader #price x female reader #cod fanfic #cod fic #ceo!john price

244 notes · View notes

mawlaeina · 3 months

Text

BIRTHDAYS | SAGAU Childe

🍊 content: SAGAU! Childe & Reader

✦ content w: none! it’s fluff sorta

July 20.

It was the day that you looked forward the most every year.

Back then, July 20 was just the same as any other day for you—maybe another boring day of school, another day of work, or maybe even a local holiday. Whatever it was, it bored you (—unless it’s also your birthdate, I’m sorry).

That was the case until he came out.

He piqued your interest, even his story quest made you invested in him—more than you expected. You wished on his banner, joking about how you’ll get him first pull.

Your jaw drops—you got him at first pull.

You stared at the screen in disbelief—eyes glued, and jaw parted in awe as Childe came home in all his ginger glory. Eventually, you farmed enough resources so that you could main him through and through.

Moving forward to the present, you see a few tiktoks showing that other users had little to no crit rate for their damage showcases. However, that wasn’t the case for you.

Childe would always crit when you used him, especially when you played co-op with friends. Oh, how you loved it. In a way, it made you feel a bit special—though you later thought that you were just being delusional.

Then the clock struck 12am, a quick notification coming from your calendar saying that it was now July 20. You got out of bed, excitedly making your way to the kitchen with a smile as you hold a few sheets of paper and a pen in hand.

You take out a small cake from the fridge—decorated with orange frosting and a blue narwhal shaped decoration sitting at the top.

Some oranges from the nearby fruit bowl for good luck and prosperity.

A bottle of vodka and a shotglass—because you think Childe likes alcohol like a typical russian.

The mini speaker from one of the shelves so that you could play ed sheeran songs.

And lastly, his newly posted birthday art that you printed in high resolution just a few moments ago after it was posted on Genshin’s socials.

Now everything was complete. You place everything into position, lights dimmed as you used candles—the scented ones that smelled like the ocean.

It was your 4th time celebrating his birthday now, and you did this little celebration annually since his release, as if it were some kind of ritual.

Sure, it wasn’t anything too fancy, like the ones you see on social media where they fill the table to the brim for Childe’s birthday. But you were doing this out of pure love for Childe.

You set the pen and papers aside as you began to sing him a happy birthday song. You laugh awkwardly since you celebrated alone, and it wasn’t even your birthday. This was why your friends called you delusional, but you didn’t mind it—not when it made you happy, and how it was a way you could express the love you have to offer for Childe.

Now midnight had long passed, and ed sheeran was playing over the speaker. The cake had been eaten in half, an orange 3/4th finished, and the vodka nearly half. You cursed yourself for continuing to take shots earlier despite having such low alcohol tolerance.

Yet that didn’t stop you from finishing the last act of celebrating Childe’s birthday—his birthday letter.

You sat at the counter, head rested on one of your hands as your elbow sat shakily on the counter. Your other hand was busy scribbling lazily on the paper—handwriting coming off as an imitation of cursive, but it was readable still.

There were about two or more letters that you had already finished, and now you were writing another one as Photograph began to play on the speaker.

You wrote, and wrote, and wrote.

Expressing your heart out in sweetness, bitterness, and affection, all directed towards Childe alone. You wrote about your days and experiences after the last celebration of his birthday—you were writing to him as if he were real.

You finished the last letter, ending it with your signature. You sighed before chuckling sadly, knowing that the letters won’t reach him—and if they do, you knew he might not acknowledge them.

You were lovesick for someone who wasn’t real, someone who doesn’t share the same skies as you do.

On the other hand, inside one of the homes of Snezhnaya. Childe is woken up on his birthday by Teucer, who shakes him in excitement, reminding him that it was his birthday today. Childe smiled at his younger brother, ruffling his hair as he says that he’ll come down in five minutes to celebrate his birthday with his family—he needed some sleep, he had just returned home after a fatui mission after all.

Teucer agrees and exits Childe’s room, and finally the ginger makes a move. He sits up and stretches lightly, ruffling his hair a bit as he lightly pinches the bridge of his nose. He makes it a mental note to keep the promise he made with Teucer to go ice fishing the other day.

He sighs before he glances at his pillow. He wonders if there would be letters today as well since it was his birthday.

Ever since he started to receive letters under his pillow from his 21st birthday (2021) from an unknown person, he began to receive them annually. The number of letters always gradually increasingly, and always coming from the same person.

He remembered that he tried to track the sender of the letter down, only to come to a dead end every time. Eventually, he just found himself looking forward to receiving them, ocassionally reading them from time to time during his breaks.

Maybe it came from you? The one from across the screen?

He sees you, yet he can’t seem to communicate with you. He hears you as well, and he can’t help but recall the sounds you make when you have your little victories with him after boss fights.

He initially gave it some thought, and later came to a conclusion that maybe it did come from you—since you rarely ever come online when it’s his birthday, but when you do it’s usually at the last remaining hours of the day.

He slides a hand under the pillow, almost immediately feeling what seemed to be like three or five sets of letters. He chuckled quietly to himself as he took them out, revealing an actual number of 6 letters.

He reads them one by one, laughing a bit every now and then from the jokes you made, confused at some of the ‘references’ that you made—who was ed sheeran?

Then, there’s the part where you wrote down about how you felt towards him. His smiles fade into a poker face as he reads them with an unreadable expression—he’s unsure of what he’s supposed to feel.

He doesn’t think that he shares the same feelings that you had for him, at least, that’s what he believes. All that he knows is that you’re worlds different from him—existentially speaking. So, he’s never thought about it in the first place.

He’s thought of you as a comrade more than anything else.

Yet the letters he receives from you never fails to include such feelings—the same love and affection directed towards him, all written differently over the years.

“Ajax!” He heard his mother call him from downstairs, it seemed like they were growing a bit impatient. He looked at the clock on the wall, finally realizing it had been more than 5 minutes as he’d been busy reading your letters.

“Coming!” He responds plainly before he lets out a small yawn.

He stands up from the bed and leaves it in its messy glory as he approached a wooden box that sat idly on the nearby shelf.

He opens the box, revealing all the other letters that he received from you since his 21st birthday. He stores the newly received letters on top of the others, stacking them neatly so that it doesn’t look as messy as his bed.

There were now 15 letters in the box, and in his mind he was still counting.

He closes the lid as he took out a shirt from the closet, putting it on before he exits his room.

He somehow feels guilty, or rather he feels weirdly uneasy that he can’t return the favor nor your feelings. He silently hopes that you’d grow out of it, that it’ll pass in the end.

Yet a part of him also doesn’t want that to happen. He’s somehow conflicted.

He temporarily pauses in front of the window across his bedroom door. He looks up at the sky, fully knowing that celestia isn’t quite real—that it only existed in this confined world that he was living in.

He wished maybe the skies that you had in yours were brighter, fresher (and doesn’t lag).

Childe proceeded to walk away from the window and towards the stairs. A little smile plastered on his face as he comes down to greet his large family. He opens his arms as they swarm him with a loving hug.

He began to think.

Maybe it would be nice if you were here too.