#custom tech mugs

[mugdog1]

Looking for unique New Year gift ideas? Explore Mugdog's personalized tech mugs, blending functionality with style. A thoughtful gift for 2025 to surprise your loved ones!

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Christmas Special

Christmas festivities featuring your local kidnappers Yandere! Soldier and Yandere! Sugar Daddy.

Yandere! Soldier who spends all Christmas morning at mass. And when he comes home, snow thick on his uniform, he smells like incense.

"Come see. I've brought you something."

There's a bottle of strong vodka and a frosted fruitcake waiting for you on the counter. You watch him unwrap the cake, your mind wandering to your family, to Christmas mornings when you were still an angsty teen. Did they think you were dead by now? Were they still looking for you?

He cuts a thick slice and holds it to your lips. It's sweet and dense and leaves your mouth sticky.

Yandere! Soldier who tilts your chin towards him and casually runs his thumb across your bottom lip to catch any stray crumbs.

"Let's drink, yeah?"

The vodka is icy cold and bitter. But the taste makes you think of friends and university and late nights when you were too tipsy to stand but oh so warm inside. You throw back more shots than normal, trying to chase the memories.

It's only when he gently pulls the bottle away that you realise you're far past tipsy. You're straight hammered.

You stumble when you stand and he's quick to catch you, one strong arm around your waist.

"You've got no head for drink, моя любовь."

"What does that mean?"

"It means it's time for bed."

You swat at him, irritated. "No. The Russian you used. What does it mean?"

He gently steers you toward the bedroom. "It means my love."

You twist around to face him. "Do you really love me?"

He raises a brow. "Alcohol loosens your tongue, doesn't it?"

He's quiet for a moment, studying you. The flush of your cheeks, the curve of your neck... You're everything he's ever wanted.

"Yes. I really love you. Я клянусь, что да."

I swear I do.

You stand on your toes and kiss him. Cradle his face in your palms and feel the heat of him bleed into you. You're so awfully cold, so awfully lonely. You'll regret it in the morning, but for now you press into him and chase the taste of vodka on his lips.

He pulls away and presses sweet, ticklish kisses against your inner wrist. He can feel your pulse racing.

"я полагаю, это мой рождественский подарок."

I suppose this is my Christmas present.

He grabs your thighs and picks you up. You wrap your arms around his neck, terrified of falling. Your breath ghosts across his neck and your nails dig stinging crescents into his muscles.

He doesn't say it out loud, but it's the best gift he's ever gotten.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy has a tree stacked high with gifts. On Christmas morning, he wakes you up with a kiss and a mug of your favourite hot chocolate, complete with whipped cream and cinnamon sticks.

At first, you assume most of the boxes are just for decoration. There's over a dozen boxes waiting for you - they can't all be gifts, right?

But you should know him better by now. You unwrap present after present, gasping at each one.

A set of custom perfumes from a high fashion brand. Ten different pieces of Tiffany jewellery. A genuine fur coat. Your first pair of Louboutin heels.

Keys to a new car.

You sit in the middle of a treasure trove, struggling to wrap your head around it. He rests his chin on your shoulder and pushes his glasses up his nose.

"Do you like it?"

"Yes! Yes, it's incredible." You turn to face him. "But babe, this must have cost a fortune. I can't accept all of this."

He tilts his head. "Of course you can. I got it all for you."

You're about to argue when he cuts you off. "You said you got me something too?"

You nod and hand him two packages. Your dollar store wrapping paper is glaring cheap next to his.

He unwraps his gifts slowly. The first one is a journal you picked up in a thrift store, weeks before your argument left you trapped with him. Back when you still had your freedom.

You got your artist friend to emboss his name in gold leaf on the front cover. He flips it open to the first page.

To my tech genius boyfriend. This is what we normies call paper. You use it to record all the times your girlfriend is just absolutely incredible, got it? -y/n

He smirks and rubs the page between his fingers.

"I've only heard distant legends of this 'paper'... How fascinating."

You groan. "It seemed funny at the time okay?"

His next gift is a pottery vase, with elegant fluted handles. It's a deep cream with flecks of reddish iron bleeding through. He stares at it, his expression blank.

Your heart drops.

The truth is, you spent months looking for that specific vase. And when you finally found someone willing to sell, the price they named made your jaw drop. You haggled like hell for it. Practically begged the seller on your hands and knees to let you pay it off over a few months. Until this morning, it was a gift you were proud to give him.

But his gifts to you took all morning to unwrap, while all you can offer is a shitty notebook and some amateur pottery. You hate not being able to return his generosity in equal measure. You hate feeling like you're always giving him the short end of the stick. Even now, when you have every reason to hate him, it hurts that you can't spoil him like he does you.

He finally looks up at you, dazed. "This is an original Murazaki. How did you know I wanted one?"

"You mentioned it a few months ago. When we were having dinner together in my apartment."

He puts the vase down carefully.

"You remembered?"

It's your turn to be confused. "Of course? You were really upset about it. You said he was your favourite artist but that you could never find any of his stuff for sale."

He stares at you like he's trying to pick you apart. You look down, embarrassed.

"Look, I'm sorry I didn't get you more gifts. I feel like an ass. Like the world's worst girl-"

He grabs you before you can finish and pulls you flush against him. He buries his face in your hair. He takes a deep breath, like he needs to control himself.

"You remembered."

He kisses your temple and then presses his forehead against yours. His voice is low and loving and just a little shaky.

"Oh y/n, you're the best gift I could ask for."

Bonus: a yandere who only has one thing on his Christmas wishlist - you.

You wake up under his Christmas tree, cold and confused and still groggy from the sleeping pills he slipped you.

Your hands are tied behind your back and there's a cherry red gag in your mouth. You squirm, trying to pull your hands free. The floor is icy against your naked skin. Wait, naked?

You look down, horror clawing it's slow way up your throat. Most of your clothes are gone. And you're almost completely wrapped in ribbon.

Your thighs are held together with an excruciatingly tight bow. Two green rosettes are pinned to the lace of your bra. You can't see it, but there's a cute red bow stuck on your head too.

The door opens and you hear heavy footsteps on the basement stairs. You squirm, increasingly desperate to get loose.

"Wouldcha look at that? Santa brought me exactly what I asked for."

Your kidnapper squats down next to you, his eyes roaming your body. Taking in all the curves and dips. Mapping it out like it's his to explore. He reaches out and tugs at the ribbon tied around your throat.

"My girl all wrapped up under the Christmas tree."

He grabs your chin and tilts your face up towards his. His eyes are dark - the pupils blown out wide with lust, with hunger.

"Merry Christmas baby. I promise it'll be one you never forget.

[flwrkid14]

The Batfamily’s Christmas List Tradition (and how Tim gets lost in it)

The Batfamily has a long-standing Christmas tradition: the List. With so many members in the family, it’s a necessity. Everyone writes down what they want (within reason, of course), and the list serves as the ultimate gift guide. It’s efficient, especially for such a big family, and it ensures no one ends up with seven pairs of socks or the same gadget twice.

Tim takes the list seriously. It’s his chance to ask for the small, thoughtful things he wouldn’t usually splurge on for himself. Things like:

New makeup brushes. His old ones are worn out and falling apart, and it’s not until he’s on a mission that requires cross-dressing that he realizes just how bad they’ve gotten. Having a new, high-quality set would make everything feel a little smoother—and maybe even a little fun.

Cozy hoodies. Between Wayne Enterprises business casual and his Robin gear, Tim rarely gets the chance to wear something soft and comforting. His favorite hoodies are all fraying at the edges, with loose threads on the pockets and fabric that’s stretched too thin. A fresh one would feel like a luxury.

A new game console. Tim is rarely ever not working, but on those rare days off, he realizes he doesn't have much to entertain him that's not work related, that doesn't require him to leave his nest. Plus, it’s a great way to connect with his siblings during low-stakes, playful nights.

Nice coffee cups or tumblers. His caffeine habits are legendary, but the chipped and mismatched mugs he uses don’t exactly scream "Tim Drake." A sleek, stylish tumbler or a high-quality ceramic mug would elevate the most important part of his day.

Random indulgences. Books, stationery, weighted blankets, maybe a nice figuring from his favorite movie, a cool gadget he wouldn’t think to buy himself—little things that spark joy and make him feel cared for, anything he knows his own parents would have never bought for him to help heal his inner child. He's never had the luxury of writing such lists before becoming a Wayne.

Tim doesn’t just take the list seriously for himself; he makes sure to go the extra mile for his family, too. He’s always had a knack for gift-giving, and he loves curating the perfect presents for his siblings. For Dick, it might be a rare vinyl of his favorite band. For Jason, an antique first-edition book he’d mentioned once in passing. For Damian, something handmade and unique, like a custom leather-bound sketchbook or a rare art supply. Tim remembers the little things—the throwaway comments, the subtle preferences—and builds his gifts around them, ensuring every box under the tree feels deeply personal.

But Christmas rolls around… and none of the thought Tim puts into his gifts is reflected in what he receives.

Instead, he gets tech. More tech. External hard drives, cables, chargers—things he already has backups for because, well, he’s Tim. He doesn’t need more, and he didn’t ask for more.

And the worst part? It’s not that they’re bad gifts. It’s that the family assumes they know him so well that they don’t even look at his list.

“Tim’s the tech guy,” they think. “Of course he’d want more tech.”

But he doesn’t.

He’s grateful, of course—Tim is always grateful—but there’s a hollowness that creeps in every year when he unwraps another stack of USB drives and ethernet cables. It’s not about the gifts themselves. It’s about the realization that the people he loves, the people who should know him best, don’t see him the way he wants to be seen.

In a way, it feels painfully familiar. Janet had always made sure his presents as a child reflected her vision for him, not what he actually wanted. New tailored suits instead of the hoodies or tees he longed for. Sleek, professional office stationery to replace his Robin-themed pens and notebooks. Vintage collectibles meant to sit on a shelf, collecting dust, instead of toys he could actually play with. The gifts always came with a message: who he should be, not who he was. And now, even with the bats, the gifts still feel like expectations—like they see him as "the tech guy" rather than Tim, with all his quiet wants and overlooked needs.

So, Tim starts dreading Christmas. Not because he doesn’t love his family or the season, but because it reminds him of how little they seem to notice the little things about him.

And maybe one year, he stops adding personal things to the list altogether. Maybe he starts asking for tech, just to avoid the disappointment.

But deep down, he wishes someone—anyone—would surprise him with a new hoodie, a weighted blanket, or a set of makeup brushes. Something that says, “I see you, Tim. I really see you.”

[frownyalfred]

borderline

A mysterious force connects the Batfamily's minds together.

—

Bruce’s knees hit the ground before his coffee.

The mug shatters just after his mind does, fracturing into a hundred different pieces. Thoughts, emotions, memories -- they all blur, split into fragments he cannot hope to process. He needs to --

-- Dick is upstairs on the parlor settee, writhing in pain. He was thinking about Barbara. There's a half-eaten sandwich on the table, one he hadn’t planned on finishing. Tuna salad, something he’s always eaten to appease Alfred. Alfred still makes it, and Dick still eats it, because he has to. 

Please, he thinks, loud enough for it to rise above the storm surge in Bruce’s mind, Why is this --

-- Jason is in the garage, down on one knee like Bruce. He’s biting his lip to keep himself from crying out. It’s beginning to bleed, and the salty blood flooding his mouth reminds him of when the Pit water flooded into his lungs -- 

-- Cass was meditating. Now, she’s frozen with her legs folded under her, bile rising in her throat as she grips the edges of her yoga mat. Bruce feels her nausea it like it’s his own, feels the sickly panic in her stomach that sharpens with every second their minds keep -- 

Tim is bent over his laptop in the second floor den. His nose is gushing blood into the keyboard, destroying the custom key caps. His thoughts cling to Bruce like he's a life raft, begging him for some kind of answer. It's impossible, what's happening. It literally isn't possible, not unless they've been cursed or infected by alien tech. He doesn't think they picked anything new up today, and if Bruce doesn't know, then he -- 

-- Steph wasn’t awake, but she is now, fighting off a headache worse than any migraine she’s ever had. Her patrol shift is in forty minutes. She was nursing a slight cold in bed, praying it would resolve by patrol. If Bruce finds out she's sick, he'll-- 

-- Damian is shivering on the floor of his bathroom, arms wrapped around his legs. His fingers dig into the backs of his eyes, trying to press out the voices and thoughts. If he just concentrates, he can do it. He can. Father would -- 

ENOUGH.

Bruce slams a wall down, hard enough that every person in the Manor winces. He is left with the near-silence of his own thoughts, and even though it is quiet, it is no longer soothing. The bond itches at the back of his mind, dragging his thoughts back to the bond like a sunflower following the sun. 

He can feel each of his children slowly putting down their own walls, dividing their thoughts like he had. It takes Tim less than three seconds to perfect Bruce’s method, and he shares the instructions with the others instantly. 

Dick retches into a trash can. Jason spits the blood in his mouth on the garage floor, scowling. Steph pulls herself out of bed, heading for Cass’ room next door. Damian’s hands slip from his face, and slowly -- slowly -- the thoughts begin to quiet. They are their own people again -- or as much as they can be. 

Bruce’s knees are soaked in coffee. He opens his eyes, wincing at the light from the Cave computer screens. How long was he…?

Seven minutes, Tim says, swiping a hand across his laptop screen and clearing his blood splatter away, Seven minutes and twenty eight seconds. 

Get out of my fucking head!

Bruce winces at Jason’s volume, pinching the bridge of his nose. Dick sends him a burst of sympathy, brushing up against the walls around his mind. 

Trying, Tim replies, TRYING, OKAY?

Shut UP! Steph thinks, her thoughts sharp as daggers, You’re making it worse!

Cass is crying, and Bruce can feel it. Steph’s hand is on her arm, trying to comfort her. It is odd to feel both the hand giving comfort, and the arm receiving it. Neither of them know what to make of the sensation. 

There is no comfort, he realizes. Not when they’re overlapping like this. Not when he know that Dick is about to tell him to -- 

Lighten up, he says, an aside to Bruce. Mostly. We can’t be doom and gloom about this. You’ll make it -- 

-- worse, Jason says, finishing his sentence, Lock it down, B. You’re making the birds nervous. 

Bruce inhales, centering himself. He visualizes the walls around his mind thickening, rough and unyielding. Thinks of Gotham alleys and the smell of rainwater collecting between bricks. 

Dick’s approval entwines with Jason’s reluctant awe. The latter emulates Bruce a moment later, chains and spikes spreading across his mental walls. 

Better, Dick thinks, testing them with a mental push, But I can still feel -- 

-- your thoughts, Bruce finishes, sensing Jason's irritation, Try again. 

This time, Jason succeeds in his attempt, his thoughts fading into an indistinct hum. Bruce tests the walls, feeling Tim and Steph do the same to him. A moment later, they brush against each other, recoiling in unison as they realize who the other is. 

Damian is still lying on the floor in his bathroom. He doesn’t separate his thoughts like the others. He avoids conscious thought as much as possible, but what does filter through is bitter with fear. 

Damian? Dick asks. At the same time, Steph rubs an arm up Cass’ side, trying so very, very hard not to freak out. 

One by one, they pick themselves up. Slightly calmer, with their thoughts pulled back in their respective corners, the bond is -- well, it's not painless, but it's better. Better than whatever the initial, panicked flurry of thoughts had been. 

Dick heads for Damian’s suite without a word, grim. Jason eyes the stairs down to the Cave. Tim is already typing on his laptop, growing irritated as the keys begin to lag from the water damage. Cass leans into Steph's shoulder, exhaling. 

Bruce pushes off the floor, ignoring the sodden knees of his pants. He directs his thoughts to the group at large, softening his walls enough for it to get through. 

Cave, he thinks as clearly as he can, Five minutes. We need to talk.

[danceswithsporks]

Awake- Part 1

Crosshair X Innkeeper!reader

** Not Canon to Season 3 **

Part 3 of the Complete Series

Story summary: Crosshair has seen both sides of the board when it comes to finding his place in a changing galaxy. Now that he knows the truth and is a free man, will he be able to adjust? Or will he need the guiding light of an innkeeper?

Authors notes: Well here we are! Part 3 of the Complete Series! Excited and nervous to get into Crosshairs story during all of this! So sorry for the long wait between Calm and Awake, but I truly hope this was worth the wait and you all enjoy the story!!

Awake, you loved being awake this early. The sun was just barely cresting above the horizon and coating the sea in a soft orange hue. The moon yos were still asleep as was the rest of the island. Your fingernails tapped against the ceramic of your mug filled with warm delicious caf as you watched fishermen leave their homes and make their way down the island to their boats. Your inn was currently empty, the Empire’s new rules and regulations making traveling more difficult for everyone. Once the sun came up you’d get a few islanders coming in for a meal but other than that it was just you in your big seven-room inn. 

One of those rooms was your private apartment, set up to have everything you’d need without having to go out into your inn. The other six rooms were basic and held the essentials. A bed, a desk and chair, a dresser and a lamp. You also had a dining room with four different tables, a common area that housed a warm fireplace, a kitchen in which you did all your group cooking, and the patio that you were currently standing on. Usually, you'd take your morning caf in your apartment but with no one around you’d decided to take the opportunity to just enjoy your inn to the fullest. 

You watched as one of the clones who’d taken up residence at the top of the island walked by you. Wrecker, that was his name. The fishermen loved having him around to help with the ships and the day's catch. Your friend, Stitches, simply loved him. Even if she wouldn’t admit it yet. Two others arrived with him, his brothers Tech and Hunter. Your other dear friend, Chai, had feelings for Tech. You envied both women, finally finding the ones that warmed their hearts. Tech had saved Chai’s life a few months prior when a tsunami had hit your island and in turn, a bond had been formed. From what she told you about the clone, he had some kind of feelings for her as well. Both of them couldn’t see it yet, but you could. As for Stitches and Wrecker, well some kind of interaction had happened between the two of them on the same night of the tsunami making the two of them develop feelings for one another. For both parties, it seemed things had only escalated since then. 

The leader of the group of clones, Hunter, nodded to you as he walked by your patio and down the path toward the docks. You didn’t know too much about him, only that he kept to himself for the most part. From what Stitches told you, he cared only for the safety of his brothers and their sister Omega.  Omega, an odd little girl with a heart of pure gold. She’d joined Stitches on one of her visits to your inn a few weeks ago. She’d been intensely interested in the ins and outs of an inn and how it all worked as well as the customers you’d had. Mainly if any bounty hunters had stayed with you. The truth was that you didn’t know if you’d had any bounty hunters as customers. You tended to avoid delving too deep into your customers' personal lives unless they became regular. Which was very far and few between. 

Stitches had mentioned to you that two other members of their group weren’t around, Crosshair and Echo. Both had left on their own and while Omega talked your ear off about Echo when she’d visited, she hadn’t mentioned Crosshair at all. You wondered what had happened there. The first foghorn of the morning rang out across the island as the first of the ships left the docks and the thoughts of the clone brothers and sister quickly left your mind. Soon your regulars from the island would be stopping in for breakfast, it was time to get to work. 

-*-

“CT- 9904 it is time to awaken.” Emerie stared into the cell of the clone who’d stunned her over a week ago. His mood had decreased exponentially after his escape attempt. No doubt a result of the neurotoxin Hemlock used. 

Crosshair reluctantly opened his eyes and stared at the bright light in his cell. “What now?”  He was tired of these constant tests. 

“Your message has been decoded. Doctor Hemlock has questions for you.” She tapped at her datapad a few times before nodding to the two guards with her. “Bring him to interrogation room eight.” 

A long sigh left Crosshair as he sat up and extended his wrists for the restraints that would be coming. “What, rooms one through seven are too busy?” 

Emerie ignored the snarky comment and turned to step out of the way of the guards. Crosshair reluctantly walked by her with his hands in front of him. The walk to the interrogation room was silent save for the sound of droids moving by them and the cries of the clones who’d lost their minds. Emerie found she held no sympathy for the clones in these cells. They were traitors to the Empire and thus would be treated as such.  If only they’d submit to the reprogramming that was offered to them, their lives would become so much easier. 

The door to the room opened with a hiss making the medical droid within turn towards them. It hovered with a tray of supplies momentarily before placing them down and moving to the side of the room. “On the table. Strap him down.” Her eyes never moved from her datapad as she spoke. 

“Do whatever you want. I have nothing to share with you.” He wouldn’t crack, he wouldn’t waiver. He’d tell them nothing even if it meant his death. Crosshair had made a lot of mistakes in the last year. Choosing not to completely rat his siblings out was not one of them. If the Empire knew even a fraction of what he knew when it came to clone force ninety-nine and how they worked then they’d have been found a lot sooner. But Crosshair was nothing if not loyal to his brothers at the end of the day. Sure. He’d hunted them down in the beginning to get the girl back but his eyes had been opened after Kamino. He only regretted that it took his mission with Mayday to fully see how worthless he was to the Empire. 

Mayday, the clone who didn’t deserve to die. Crosshair found himself thinking about him a lot these days. How he could have protected the man and saved him? How they could have survived that avalanche better and found help somewhere else. So many variables that he thought about constantly. The sound of the restraints on the table drew his attention as he was secured to the cold metal. Emerie moved next to him and stared for a moment. “What?” 

She didn’t care for this clone, he was a traitor, not her brother. A traitor. “Give us the information he requires and make this easier for yourself, CT-9904.” Make it easier on them both. “Where is the clone named Omega?” 

“I don’t know.” Hissed Crosshair while eyeing the large needle on the tray nearby. No doubt the same mixture from the last time he was here. Knowing Hemlock though, it was more potent. 

Glasses were adjusted as Emerie suppressed a sigh before continuing. “Ct-9904, you sent an encrypted message containing the phrase ‘Plan eighty-eight’. What does that mean?” 

Crosshair hissed as the needle punctured his neck and the solution was injected into him. The chemical burned in his veins. “You figure it out.” He wouldn’t give them up. No matter how much this hurts.

“How do you know how to contact them?” She tapped at her datapad and the restraints around his wrist began to hum as electricity prepared to course through them. “How do you contact the clone unit known as Clone Force ninety-nine?” 

The sting of the electricity around his wrists made Crosshair tense. He could survive this. This was nothing compared to the sting of betrayal if he gave up his brothers. “I. Don’t. Know.”  

This would be a long interrogation at this rate. Emerie sighed. “Think for yourself, CT-9904. You can stop all of this right now if you give me the information I want. To show she was serious, she reached to the table and held up a small vial. “I have the antidote to the neurotoxin racing through your veins.” She tapped her datapad and lowered the electricity power. “Take a moment to think, Crosshair.” 

His eyes shifted to stare at her as she used his name. It was the first time he’d heard it in months aside from hearing himself say it or in his dreams. It had to be a trick. What was her angle? She moved the vial of antidote side to side for him to see, the liquid within moving in unison and drawing him in. Relief was right there, all he had to do was answer a question.

-*-

“Crosshair, please.” Gentle hands cupped his face as pure eyes stared into his. “Open up to me? Let me know the real you.”

“You couldn’t begin to understand what I’ve been through.” Crosshair tried to pull away from the hands but found himself stopped.

“ Let me try, sniper. Let me be the one to listen to you and know you. Let me love you.” She cooed sweetly to him while stepping forward and pressing her body against his. “Let me be yours, Cross.”

“Cross. CROSSHAIR” 

Crosshair groggily opened his eyes and looked towards the sound of someone saying his name. His name? Looking at the door to his cell, he saw blonde locs and young brown eyes staring at him. No. Why was she here? “Kid?” He sat up quickly and moved to the door. 

“Crosshair. You’re ok!” She looked over her shoulder quickly before looking back to the clone. “I don’t have a lot of time. I’m just glad to see you’re ok.” 

“What are you doing here?” Were they here to rescue him? 

“Hemlock found us and threatened the others. I gave myself up to protect them.” She didn’t look at him as she spoke, instead opting to stare at her feet.

Now that she mentioned it, he could see the prisoner's uniform on her. “What!” He hissed loudly. Hemlock had found them? Had threatened Tech, Hunter, Wrecker, and Echo? A fury burned inside the sniper at her words. He’d strangle Hemlock the moment he could. But wait. “How are you here?” 

“Hemlock is letting Nala Se use me as an assistant like before.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a ration bar. Carefully she slid it through the slot designed for food on the door to the clone. “I heard they don’t feed you guys enough. Take mine.” She didn’t like the taste of rations anyway.

Crosshair carefully took the ration stick and placed it on the floor next to him. “You can’t come back here Omega. Ya need to think about yourself.” If they found her here talking to him. 

“Omega.” A familiar voice cut through the space. “You should not be down here.” 

Crosshair glared at Emerie as she walked down the hall to them both. “Leave her alone. She was just leaving.” 

“It is not wise for you to be down here. We must go before you are discovered.” Emerie placed her hand on the shoulder of Omega. She ignored Crosshair. 

“Wait. I need to tell him something.” Omega felt herself turned away from Crosshair and prepared to walk. She needed him to hear this from her and not someone else. 

Emerie looked down the hall for any sign of guards or Hemlock. “I will relay the message to you later. We must go.” 

“Go, Kid.” Why was Emerie being so protective over her? He thought back to the interrogation room two weeks prior. She was kind to him then as well. What was going on? 

Omega looked over her shoulder towards Crosshair and nodded. She trusted Emerie to tell Crosshair about Tech. Maybe she’d get lucky and run into him in the clinic and she could tell him then. It just needed to be her. She wiggled out of Emerie’s touch and ran to the cell door, her fingers gripping the metal. “I’ll be back.” 

Crosshair shook his head while Emerie watched them. He didn’t trust her. “Don’t come back.” He didn’t intend for the words to be so harsh but she needed to not come back here. She needed to focus on herself. Pulling his hands away from the door, he stood and walked to the bed. 

“Come, Omega. We must be going.” Emerie gestured for Omega to start walking and the girl finally obliged. She wondered what was so important for the child to tell CT-9904. Whatever it was she’d pass the information along. If only to help the girl trust her more. Out of all the people who deserved to be here, the child was not one of them. 

Nodding solemnly, Omega pulled away from the door and walked away from Crosshair. She wouldn’t listen to him, she’d come back and see him as often as she could. 

-*-

It would be nearly two weeks before Crosshair saw Omega again. Two long weeks of uncertainty and upset. It hadn’t been Emerie who’d told him about Tech. He hadn’t seen the woman in days. No, it had been Hemlock. The asshole had told him while getting ready to torture him again.

“I’ve heard your sister has been to see you. A good reunion?” Hemlock stepped around the table that Crosshair was strapped to. The doctor had taken a liking to testing his latest creations on the clone in hopes of breaking him finally.

Crosshair twitched on the table but continued his refusal to answer. “Where. Is. Omega?” He hadn’t seen her in four days since she’d first come to see him. In all honesty, he’d expected she wouldn’t have given up so easily when it came to seeing him. The fact it had been so long had surprised him.

”Omega is on restricted privileges right now. Far too many attempts to visit you and other clones.” Sighing, he walked around the table while tapping his fingers on the metal. “Nonetheless, she will acclimate to our ways here and be given back her privileges in time. That the ways of the Empire are here to help you. Not restrict you.” He stopped next to Crosshair's head and leaned down. “While there’s still hope for CT-9901 and CT-9903 to understand this I’m afraid CT-9902 will not be able to.” Crosshair's eyes shifted to him, catching the man’s attention. “Ah, you didn’t know? Omega failed to tell you?” Hemlock pulled away from Crosshair while clicking his tongue against his teeth a few times. “Tsk tsk tsk. She should have told her brother that his twin was dead.”

No. Tech couldn’t be dead. The batch was indestructible. They’d survived Kamino being destroyed with them inside of it. Surely Tech could have survived whatever Hemlock had done. His eyes stared daggers into Hemlock's skin. He didn’t believe him.

Hemlock chuckled deeply as he stepped over to the syringe waiting on the medical tray. “You don’t believe me? A shame. I have no reason to lie to you.” Holding the needle up, he tapped it a few times to remove the air bubbles before returning to Crosshair. “Help me find clone force ninety-nine and I’ll allow you to see Omega.”  He watched as Crosshair turned his head away from him and stared at the ceiling. “All I am trying to do is show them the benefits of working for the Empire rather than against it. With your help, you, your brothers, and your sister could earn the life you want. Instead of them being on the run.” The syringe was held up for the restricted clone to see. “So I’ll ask again, CT-9904. Where is Clone Force ninety-nine currently hiding?”

Letting them go so easily after taking Omega had been a mistake. He needed them and their desirable mutations when it came to his dark trooper program. But he was desperate for the young clone to be returned to get Nala Se to work. The Kaminoan had refused to do any work until the girl had been retrieved thus putting them behind schedule to an almost concerning point. It wasn’t until he returned and looked at the latest numbers in the program did he realize the abilities of Clone Force Ninety-Nine would be useful to him. He had CT-9904 and though he hadn’t turned yet, he would at some point. They all cracked eventually. When he did then Hemlock would be able to use his superior sniper skills to train his dark troopers. “Help me to help you.”

Crosshair could still remember the pain from that night. Hemlock's concoctions were becoming more potent. He shifted in his bed while wincing at the pain in his arm. The day prior another clone had tried to free the others and pull off a prison break. Crosshair had been foolish enough to try and join in an attempt to find Omega. The clone who’d led the prison break had been killed on sight and the rest of them punished. His punishment? His dominant arm was broken. 

The guard who’d broken his arm had spoken to him briefly while returning him to his cell. “Even if you did escape you’d be useless as a sniper now. Is there a reason for you to escape?” Those words had cut deep for the sniper.

His arm had been placed in a sling to slowly heal as opposed to him being placed in a bacta chamber. A feeling that Crosshair found painfully uncomfortable, a constant reminder of what happened when you tried to flee the mountain. No one left Tantis. Not alive at least. 

“Crosshair!”

Omega’s voice surprised Crosshair and he visibly jumped. “Omega. What are you doing here?”  How did she get out of her cell?

“Nala Se let me out. Something is about to happen, I don’t have much time but be prepared.” Omega looked over her shoulder before looking back to Crosshair. Her eyes caught sight of the sling and she frowned. So he had been punished during the last prison break as well. 

“What are you talking about? No one would be foolish enough to try and break out after the last attempt.” It had just happened, no one would be dumb enough to try again. He didn’t bother moving from the bed this time, instead opting to lie down and simply listen to the girl. 

“Nala Se got a message out. Plan thirty-seven.” A noise behind her drew her attention for a moment. It wouldn’t be Emerie this time. Not after the clone had raised concerns about the amount of testing going on with Omega. Nor after Emerie tried to help Omega escape a week ago. Omega hadn’t seen Emerie since then and Hemlock told her she wouldn’t. Hemlock had Emerie disposed of after it was clear the woman was no longer under his control. It seemed he wouldn’t keep anything from the girl. “I can’t stay long.”

Plan thirty-seven. Coordinated attacks from both inside and outside with trust in the information. The only problem was that they didn’t know when it would happen. “This place is nearly impenetrable. Don’t be a fool and believe they’re coming, Omega.” 

She looked back at the defeated clone and shook her head quickly. “They’re coming. We just need to be ready.” The noise echoed through the halls once more and she moved away from the door. “I need to go. Be. Ready.” 

Before Crosshair could say anything back, she was gone. Crosshair let out a long sigh as he closed his eyes. The poor girl was about to have her heart broken. There was no way that the batch would be able to survive an assault on Tantis.

 It would be foolish to dream as such. 

Taglist:

@rndmpeep @sarahskywalker-amadala @queenariesofnarnia @idoubleswearimawriter @bambambunny @ravenclawbitch426 @jupitersaturnapollo @mzjakao @heylosers06 @dangraccoon @impala1967666 @andrakass2 @ducks118 @motte-the-goblin @rintheemolion @merkitty49 @jediknightjana @onyxtides @moon-wrecked @mssbridgerton @griffedeloup

[starqueensthings]

Dork Love: Part One (of probably three because I can’t be tamed)

AO3 | Next Chapter

Summary: A scowling stranger brings a damaged riflescope into your store for repair and, always willing to defer responsibility for the sake of charity, you take on the challenge. When you return it to him, he brings along another… obstacle. An adorably goggled, bad-postured obstacle who seems as infatuated with your intelligence, as you are with his twinkly (magnified) eyes.

Pairing: GN!Reader x Tech (can also be read as ND!GN!Reader x ND!Tech if you squint)

POV/Rating/WC: 2nd, all readers welcome, 6355 Words.

A/N: This masquerades as a Crosshair fic at first, but I was insistent on writing something other than Medic!Reader for this one, and Tech is not the kind of man that develops intimacy quickly so it’s structured as a slow burn with a little more backstory. Extra thanks to @staycalmandhugaclone for beta reading this one… twice. She catches all my made up words (slajacked? embarriered? LOL) and makes my disjointed writing readable. LYSM ❤️

A heavy sigh, laden with guilt and culpability, left your lips at the sight of the impending workload behind your cash register. The teetering stack of acrylic trays, each holding the paid invoice of an order in need of processing, sat benignly on the counter, awaiting the moment that you would finally succumb to the gnaw of responsibility and turn your wandering attention to them. The smattering of plastic containers that you’d locked the door on without even a breath of anxiety, your overstimulated mind full of assurances that you’d gift them your undivided attention the following morning, had somehow mutated into a looming tower of things to do and the desperate desire to defer them again now consumed you.

The impeccant ring of the bell that hung above the door had thankfully silenced, and the void of its tinkling alarm saw a peaceful moment of respite and a fresh mug of caf wreathed by hands covered in dried lens polish and seemingly permanently stained with the ink of your trusty red lens pen.

In spite of the lingering exhaustion and the continuous ache in your feet, every complaint that threatened to spill from your tongue was swallowed and substituted with a quiet murmur of appreciation. Since you’d purchased the optical store from your uncle, you’d been blessed with an expanding clientele and an increasing revenue, though despite the economic growth, the inception of your ownership had been fraught with challenges. Your uncle was, and always had been, a kooky and eccentric old chap, and one that had stubbornly deferred his retirement from the industry for decades too long. His later, wizened years had seen him develop a peculiar and surreptitious habit of concealing his deteriorating mind with impugnable, makeshift repairs on his already ancient optical equipment. More troublesome than his DIY endeavours, however, was the recurrent burying of evidence, ensuring that his mounting financial hardship was conveniently camouflaged and ‘misplaced’ with the several hundred overdue invoices. Three consecutive years later, and thousands of credits funnelled regrettably yet optimistically into the pocket of an accountant, the metaphorical dumpster-fire that you purchased from your father’s zany older brother had finally turned profitable.

The storefront was auspiciously located on the uppermost level of Coruscant’s nefarious ‘Underworld’, meaning the demographics of your clientele was as diverse as the galaxy was. Politicians, concealing their bulging wallets beneath expertly-sewn and ornate robes, were some of your favourite customers to interact with, as years of experience in medical sales had seen you master the tactful art of disengaging lowball negotiations. Paradoxically, it was the impoverished customers making their way up from the callous clutches of the lower levels that posed your biggest challenge; their often heartbreaking stories of systemic neglect fueled the philanthropic flame that flickered deep in your gut. The inception of the war had enchained many in the shackles of financial hardship and desperation, and while pleading ignorance and naivety was the route that many Coruscanti citizens opted to take, the desire to temporarily close your shop and traverse the galaxy doing missionary work was becoming difficult to stifle.

Yet you were as logical as you were benevolent, and despite the constant pull towards a life of nomadic altruism, the fact remained that you had invested too many days and even more credits resurrecting this business to simply abandon it in its infancy.

The squeak of the rolling desk chair echoed around the quiescent room as you sat yourself down behind the computer, determined to use the hot caf in your hands as a catalyst to ignite the engines of motivation into life. The chrono on the wall ticked on, unaffected by the looming task list that you continued to abscond from; moments stretched to minutes, your hands poised and motionless over the keyboard, and the resolve to work kept simply evaporating, wafting into the air and vanishing faster than the steam from your mug.

‘Damnit, I forgot to water my plants this morning…’ Your eyes were affixed on a the pair of prescription swimming goggles nestled in the tray that you’d perched in front of you nearly twenty minutes ago, yet the mental image of your limp fig tree, neglected the decency of water for the second straight week, was all your unfocussed eyes could see. ‘But I should probably prune it before I water it… and if I’m going through the hassle of pruning it, I should probably repot it fi—’

The sudden jangling of the bell broke you from your listless stupor, sending a startled jerk through your shoulders and pulling your gaze upward to the figure stepping into your space. The detail of his appearance remained momentarily obscured, shrouded in the shadows cast by the bright sunlight pouring in the door behind him, though it was immediately apparent by the rigid armour that enveloped his tall frame that he was a soldier or mercenary of sorts.

“Hello,” you called to him, alerting him of your presence behind the counter, but his response to the greeting and the small smile you’d hitched onto your face, was nothing more than a nod of acknowledgement, his eyes narrowing slightly as they darted around the walls of your shop.

Curiosity tipped your head to one side, and you watched him with reserved intrigue as he neared the counter, his big, metallic boots thunking heavily on the wood floors with every step. The armament that adorned his figure was dark, and unlike anything you’d seen before. The clone troopers on Coruscant typically wore protective suits of white plastoid, and were conversationally quite warm and friendly, but this man’s presence, complete with a frown and a crosshair tattoo, issued none of those vibes.

“What can I do for you?” you probed, ignoring the protest of your aching feet as you stood and met him across the counter. He hastened to fold his arms over his chest, throwing into sharp relief the sniper pole extending proudly from his left shoulder bell.

“What do you know about scopes?” he asked you, the smoke that bathed his words raising the small hairs on the back of your neck.

“What kind of scopes?” you quizzed back to him, wrenching your eyes from the intimidating tool on his shoulder. “Oculars? Speculars?”

“Rifle.” In stark contrast to the way he carried himself— slithering and softly, as if he funneled every effort into not preventing his movements from making a sound, his reply was direct, curt, and impatient, and despite your best efforts to repress it, the contradiction pulled a small smirk onto your face.

“I should have known,” you answered apologetically, gesturing with a flick of your eyes towards the pole on his pauldron, and for the second time in as many minutes, he forewent a spoken response, instead flicking his eyebrows and letting the ghost of a laugh huff from his nose.

“I studied a decent amount,” you continued, bewilderment budding inside of you as the peculiar stranger reached around to a pouch on his belt and retracted a toothpick. “But we don’t sell them. We’re mainly a spectacle sho—”

“I’m not buying,” he interrupted with another impatient little shake of his head. “There’s something… off… with mine.”

The intentionally vague nature of his complaint prompted the arch of your left eyebrow to raise, and it was with genuine perplexity that you replied. “Off? In what way?”

The rhythmic dance of toothpick across scowling lips filled the silent space of his hesitation, and the shadow of scepticism flitted behind his eyes as he peered down his nose at you.

“It sounds idiotic,” he muttered through teeth clenched around his wooden pacifier, “But the visuals are being distorted… and it seems to be at random.”

Your brows furrowed against the continued ambiguity of his complaints, and though you would never voice it aloud, his grievance did sound somewhat idiotic and nonsensical. Intermittent distortion through a set of lenses was not a concept you had ever come across, as typically someone’s vision was either clear, or it wasn’t. His hesitation to provide the description now seemed warranted, and it was your turn to entertain a scowled moment of hesitancy as you fought to digest his undetailed explanation.

“I’m not following you,” you sighed, both coming up short on an explanation and growing increasingly wary of his man-of-few-words attitude. “Do you have it with you?”

He unfolded his arms from their knot across his chest, exposing a thin, black plastoid case previously invisible by the tight ensconce of his gloved hand. The rigid container looked vaguely familiar to you, though your mind barely had a moment to dawdle in potential recognition before he was deftly unlatching the closure on the lid and pulling the scope from its velvet bedding.

Eyes widening with wonder, you collected the tool from him, your outstretched hand instantly sagging under the unexpected weight of the equipment. Your exposure to military grade weapon accessories, and knowledge of the various optical tools available for combat was limited, but one did not have to be an expert in the field to know this was a highly sophisticated, and highly coveted tool.

“Sometimes I’ll line up a shot with no issue,” he divulged, his sharp eyes dissecting your movements as you rotated the scope delicately in your fingers. “Other times, the image of the target seems warped. But I haven’t been able to establish a pattern, and none of my brothers see anything wrong.”

“Hmm,” you acknowledged, concentration pulling your lips tightly to one side. “That’s definitely… odd… and it seems random? Intermittent?”

He offered nothing but a small grunt of confirmation, supervising your twiddling of the tool with unwarranted intensity as if poised to pounce should you dare to mishandle his prized possession, but curiosity had entirely banished your unease of his demeanour, and it was eagerly that you returned the ocular to your eye.

The Snellen chart, hung at eye level across the room and inscribed letters of varying sizes, became the recipient of your attention; while designed to measure how effectively one could see at a specific distance without their glasses on, it acted appropriately well as a makeshift visual barometer for your diagnostics. Though despite alternating eyes, rotating the scope both clockwise and counterclockwise, and shifting your position behind the counter to create a variance in lighting, you failed to see anything that was overtly distorted or warped. The notion that you may not be able to solve the stranger’s problem simply because you couldn’t see it to diagnose it, pulled a disappointed frown onto your lips, usurping the confident determination you’d felt only minutes previously.

Still, he watched you mercilessly, impatience and expectation etched into the every superficial crease on his forehead. It was only as you moved to the lower the scope, prepared to sadly explain that he’d have to try elsewhere, did your departing gaze finally catch a micro glimpse of the issue. The distortion was there… but barely, and his brothers’ failure to corroborate the issue became instantly validated.

“Interesting,” you mused under your breath, locking your gaze on the minutely warped quadrant of the chart and turning the scope slowly in your fingers. “I think I see what you’re talking about,” you continued quietly, your refusal to lose sight of the issue subconsciously keeping the tone of your voice hushed. “It… it doesn’t seem like an issue of direct clarity, so the integrity of the lens coating must be intact… and the reticle itself is orientated at the correct rotation, so that rules out the first focal plane…”

Your hushed diagnostic rambling trailed away to silence as a theory emerged to the forefront of your mind. Before his frowning lips could wrap themselves around a sardonic response, you lowered the equipment from your eye, gripped it tightly in your hand, and flung your arm aggressively downwards, a motion reminiscent of trying to force a small amount of ketchup through the opening of a large bottle. His posture straightened hastily, and his horrified expression on his lithe face combined with the sharp gasp that slapped his throat, had you momentarily fearful he might pluck the toothpick from its clamp between his teeth and toss it at you like a javelin.

“Kriff, be careful.” It was not a request but a demand, leaving his lips in a hiss that suited his demeanor much more than that curt impatience he’d emanated earlier. “That’s my favourite scope.”

His warning went ignored, a prideful self-satisfaction smothering the duress of his mistrust as you peered through the scope again and found the resolution you had expected. “Ha,” you cheered in a whisper, orienting yourself towards him again. “Look now. Tell me if it’s any different.” You held the weighty scope out to him and gestured to the chart across the room. Still tinged with the horror brought on by your seemingly impulsive disregard for his property, his scowl intensified, exacerbated by a budding sense of scrutiny, but despite his dubious disbelief, he took the tool from your extended palm and brought it to his tattooed eye.

The speed in which he ran the scope through his own set of visual diagnostics was nothing short of remarkable, and it was this behavior, not the hissed warnings of care that reinforced his attachment to the tool. “Hmm,” he eventually grunted, his expression now impassive. “Seems normal actually.”

Eager to share your theory, you shifted your weight to your elbows. “I’m thinking the second focal plane might have dislodged in the chamber somehow,” you advised him. “Is there quite a bit of recoil from your rifle?”

A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, almost entirely banishing the tension in his brow and softening his expression to a nearly unidentifiable degree, and it was only barely that you contained the smile threatening to engulf your own features. “She’s got a bit of a kick,” he admitted slyly, flicking the toothpick noisily with the tip of his tongue. “But that’s not going to change. So what now?”

You sighed through your nose, gaze affixed on the piece of equipment clutched in his long fingers as a merciless tug-of-war erupted in your mind. It had been years since the opportunity to tinker with something as niche and unique as a long-range rifle scope had fallen into your hands, but the mountain of work already awaiting your attention was formidable, and could not be ethically delayed any longer.

“I’ll see what I can do,” you offered, sheer curiosity sending a right hook in the direction of your better judgement. “But I won’t be able to identify the root of the problem, or the solution, until I take it apart and run diagnostics on the individual pieces.”

His softened expression receded entirely, the soggy strip of wood in his teeth continuing to dance across now scowling lips as he cocked a dark eyebrow and glowered at you, but you matched the reemergence of mistrust with a neutral stare, drumming your nails lightly on the desk between you and watching the cogs of indecision turn behind his eyes. His top lip flattened slightly, tense with threats and warnings of caution that he longed to voice aloud, but he was as aware as he was cranky; his desperation for a solution seemingly outweighing his skepticism, and he restrained every admonishment lingering on his tongue.

“Like I said,” he snarled, refusing to soften the glare he was sending your way. “It’s my favourite scope.”

You swallowed against a mixture of disappointment and offense, embittered that this unnecessarily stern man had actively sought your help with his problem, but was too suspicious and wary to grant you the permission to fix it, despite having seemingly identified the root of the issue before his eyes. You hitched an ingenuine smile to your face and shrugged, perching yourself back on the seat of your squeaky desk chair and pulling the swimming goggles towards you. “It’s your choice,” you reminded him, rousing your slumbering monitor to life with the prod of your finger. “You can leave it and be no worse off… or I can take it apart and have a go at fixing it.”

Silence ensued in the following moment, a quiet broken only by the occasional click of wood against molar and the rhythmic tapping of your fingers on the keyboard, but despite his seemingly steadfast refusal to accept your offer, he didn’t move from his perch against the counter.

“Fine,” he grumbled, taking you by surprise and immediately stealing your attention back. “But I fly out at sunset, so I’ll need it back before then.”

“I can do that.” Thrilled by the valid excuse to delay ordering it (and its neglected comrades) for another few hours, you happily pushed the acrylic tray housing the goggles away from you and stood from your chair. “I close up shop before then anyways. Actually, there’s a shooting range about a block west of here. I can meet you there in a couple hours, and you can fire off a couple shots to see if my handiwork holds up.”

“Deal.” He stood up straight and plucked the strip of wood from his lips, flicking it to the floor at his feet without a second thought. “Name’s Crosshair.”

“Crosshair,” you repeated after offering your name in return, and with a gesture towards the tattoo around his eye you said: “Should have known.”

***

The sun that had so refreshingly bathed the planet that afternoon was readying itself for another night of slumber, sinking ever lower toward the horizon with each passing minute, and its void in the musty industrial building sent a shiver down your back.

A small alcove set into the wall, adorned with a smattering safety notices, acted as a landing zone for those entering and exiting the active firing lanes. An obnoxiously heavy, rolling durasteel door separated the two areas, and it was with an almost comical level of exertion that you managed to roll the door ajar just wide enough to squeeze through the gap. The audible rumble of the long-ago seized wheels was lost amongst the echoing din that bathed your ears in the room beyond; each of the two dozen lanes occupied by a duo of armed beings, jeering at each other over missed shots and poor grips.

If the sniper pole protruding menacingly from his shoulder wasn’t enough to make him easily distinguishable in the shadows opposite, then the stunning contrast of his silver hair and his dark armour certainly was, and it was with haste that you crossed the room toward his pacing position. The separation from his prized possession seemed to have rendered him, shockingly, more impatient than hours previously, the soggy toothpick between his frowning lips dancing ceaselessly while the thumb on each of his hands aggressively cracked the knuckles of its neighbouring fingers. But while his appearance and obvious restlessness had initially captured your attention, it did not hold it. Something else caught your eye… someone else.

A second man stood in close proximity to the sniper, almost identical in height though the stoop in his posture, brought on by the intent downwards gaze toward the device clutched in his hands, ensured a less imposing presence than his broad shouldered, glaring neighbour. He seemed at first glance, to be an extraordinary dichotomy to his companion, the perfect ying to Crosshair’s yang; where one’s hair shone brightly in the light of the buzzing fluorescent bulbs overhead, the other’s reflected the dark of shadowed corners, where one’s cuirass was deliberately painted dark, the other’s remained white, adorned with colour only minimally, and where Crosshair’s impatience was evident, with his sharp eyes darting mercilessly around the room, his companion seemed content to remain still, gaze affixed to the screen only inches from his nose.

‘Must be one of his brothers,’ you concluded as you approached the loitering duo.

Crosshair detected your arrival almost immediately; the intensity of his unrelenting gaze as you crossed the room to his position rendered your friendly “hello,” completely redundant. A double-take interrupted the greeting poised on your tongue for his companion, the unexpected allure of his features, thrown into relief by close proximity and the fleeting shift of his attention from the device in his hands to you, rendered you briefly inarticulate.

He continued to look remarkably different from his brother at second glance, with a squarer jaw, fuller lips, a more substantial frame (disguised by poor posture, a slight bow in his legs, and significantly less armour), and a set of dark goggles framing a pair of stunningly warm, brown eyes.

“Any luck?” Crosshair probed impatiently, opting to forgo niceties for the second time that day.

“Yeah, some,” you assuaged with a nod, tearing your gaze away from his brother. “My first assumptions were largely correct. The second focal plane must have dislodged in the scope’s housing at some point. Unless you knocked it pretty forcefully against something, a theory I can rule-out based on the otherwise pristine condition of the equipment, it was likely the extended period of repeated recoil that caused the dislocation.”

The large, goggled eyes had directed themselves to you again, this time almost urgently and paired with an abrupt jerk of his head in your direction. The jarring motion stole your attention mid-sentence, the recited explanation rolling off your tongue turning laggy and discombobulated under the intensity of his wide-eyed, astonished stare. Your eyebrows lifted slightly as you turned to face the slack jawed stranger, but no sooner did your gaze fall onto his blushing face, did he avert his focus from you again.

“Okay, and?” Crosshair asked, his probe prompting you to frantically try and find the lost train of thought from the previous second.

“Honestly,” you continued, redirecting your attention to the sniper, “With how minutely displaced the lens was, I’m impressed you even noticed.”

“Impressed?” Crosshair repeated, cocking an eyebrow in apparent disbelief. “Why?”

“Well… mathematically, any change in the relative vertex distance between focal planes will cause a deviation in the refracted ray, thus distorting the perceived real image…” The goggled man’s head snapped violently upwards again, his eyes widening to the size of dinner plates as his attention darted back and forth between you and his silver haired brother. “...but the second focal plane was only dislodged by about a millimetre. You must have pretty fantastic eyesight to pick up on such a small visual misalignment.” A fleeting glance to your right confirmed that the goggled man’s twinkly brown eyes were affixed on you, and it was with a foreign sense of budding shyness, that you extended the plastoid box out to Crosshair.

“Did you fix it?” he queried, collecting the offering and promptly unlatching the lid.

“Only temporarily, unfortunately.” A disappointed grimace weighed down your response. “It likely happened during the initial dislodging, but the bevel that holds the lens in place is significantly chipped. I’ve re-embedded it into its grooved housing, but I wouldn’t rely on it being a permanent solution.”

The disappointment that saturated your explanation did not seem to be mutual as the sniper wasted no time dropping to a knee beside you and pulling the pack from his shoulders. He retrieved the scope from its enclosement first, abandoning its container to the stone floor at your feet, before collecting and clicking together the deconstructed rifle parts that he wore on his back. Eager to avoid being accidentally knocked by the intimidatingly long rifle barrel being mounted into place, you turned and took a small step sideways.

The toe of your boot, however, didn’t descend as gracefully as you’d intended, instead snagging itself upon something domed and rigid, simultaneously sending your right ankle tipping sideways, and your arms outwards in a frantic motion to stabilize yourself. It wasn’t until you’d steadied the breath in your lungs that your eyes located the tripping hazard, ready to kick it away lest you step on it again. Embarrassment flooded your veins. It was a boot…

“Oh kriff, I’m sorry!” you cried, immediately relieving your fingers of their iron grip around the goggled man’s forearm. “I should have looked before I moved. Did I hurt you?”

Fuelled by the pounding of your heart in your chest, a heat rose quickly and earnestly to your cheeks as dazzling brown eyes widened behind those goggles again. An awkward silence expanded in the air between you as he failed to answer, and you hastily shifted your attention to Crosshair’s retreating figure, reconstructed rifle pointed upwards to the ceiling as he headed towards the nearby shooting lane.

“You did not. Our footwear is impregnated with a multilayered durasteel core that is able to withstand over 150kg of pressure, and you do not appear to have a mass equivalent to or exceeding that. However, the unanticipated need to anchor yourself with my arm nearly caused me to drop my datapad.”

It may have been the curt, matter-of-fact tone in which he spoke, another complete inverse to the slithery smoke of his brothers voice; it may have been the awkward and inelegant cadence of his reply; it may have been the adorable shift of his goggles on the bridge of his nose as he averted his gaze from you again that triggered a flutter in your gut, but for the second time, you found yourself momentarily tongue-tied.

“That would have been bad,” you somehow managed to force out under the duress of the giddy smile fighting to adorn your lips.

“Indeed,” he breathed.

His attention returned bashfully to the illuminated screen in his hands, the tops of his ears reddening slightly against the brush of his dark hairline, and you took the deviation of his gaze as an opportunity to survey his goggles. It was not the untraditional choice of eyewear that warranted your curiousity, as a strapped goggle was an entirely appropriate choice for a soldier who was likely constantly active, nor was it the recording device, mounted expertly along his right temple and aglow in the dim lighting of the corner either. It was his lenses: tragically thick, horribly smudged, and inducing a degree of magnification that you saw only rarely in the industry.

‘Poor hyperopes,’ you thought to yourself, the inherent squint of his eyes as they fought to focus through a series of ungodly fingerprints pulling an adoring smile onto your lips.

“Sorry if this is a little strange but… can I clean your lenses?” You spoke deliberately lightly and aloofly, intent on ensuring that he took no offense to your offer, and it was with a subdued tentativeness that you watched the adam’s apple bob in his throat.

“Clean my lenses?” he repeated, returning his gaze to you with dark brows knitted slightly in befuddlement.

“Yes,” you confirmed, blindly reaching into your bag for your trusted, green microfiber cloth. “They are filthy, and I don’t know how you can see anything.”

An unexplained affection welled inside of you as his thin fingers nimbly shifted his goggles again, exposing the repeated gesture as a soothing motion; the smallest of irrelevant movements acting as a pacifier against situations where discomfort threatened to provoke him.

“I did not realize the poor nature of their condition,” he admitted, indefinitely suspending the back and forth of his attention by stowing his datapad away into one of many pouches around his waist.

“You wouldn’t,” you answered with a small shrug and a smile, watching his features tense momentarily under the duress of pulling his goggles off. “Hyperopic, or ‘far-sighted’ people, by nature, struggle to see anything in the immediate vicinity of their gaze. That’s why they can never tell if their glasses are dirty or their lenses are scratched. So… you can’t help it.”

“You… are correct.” He answered slowly, his tone still dripping in what sounded like pleasant astonishment as he extended his goggles out to you. “A mutation in my genetic structure caused an innocent yet bothersome bilateral malformation of my corneas, resulting in a significant degree of hyperopia.”

“That’s probably putting it lightly.” A small chuckle left your mouth as you swaddled the left lens with your cloth and began to deftly wipe away the sea of fingerprints. Much like Crosshair had while his precious scope was being tended to in the foreign clutches of a stranger, this man watched your practiced hands intently and possessively as you worked to polish away any signs of a smudge.

The fluorescent bulbs suspended two-dozen feet above you were nowhere near as effective as the optical-grade backlit yellow panel that sat in the corner of your workshop, but were just luminescent enough to affirm you’d removed the last of the oily smears before you pocketed your cloth. A knowing smirk peeled its way across your lips as you shifted the lenses to-and-fro in front of your mildly squinted eyes, observing how the biconcavity on the front surface bent the reflection of the overhead light. “What’s the nature of your prescription?” you questioned as your left eye closed and your fingers rotated his goggles. “I’m assuming just based on the Against-Motion principle, that you’re probably around a +8.00? Maybe a +9.00?”

He blinked rapidly and repeatedly, seemingly trying to rid his vision of the anatomical blur that would forever plague him in the void of his goggles before answering.“I… am not certain of the exact dioptric correction,” he divulged, now grinding his knuckles into his eyes. “But I believe your estimation to be accurate. I am impressed that you could make such a determination based loosely on the principles of magnification alone.”

“It’s my job.” While you were able to modestly shrug away the giddiness of his inferred praise, your composure was no match for the accentuation of his sharp jawline, thrown into relief as the first hint of a smile tugged his cheek toward his ear. “I handle dozens of lenses every day,” you continued, averting your eyes to the goggles you held out to him. “I’m well practiced.”

“That is obvious.”

The affable response waiting just behind your smirking lips was halted in place by the return of the sniper as he reappeared at his brother’s side, his lithe face impassive and his rifle already snuggled into its cradle in his pack.

“Big improvement,” he uttered, the nod of appreciation that followed his words filling you with a mixture of relief and pride. “What do I owe you?”

“Not a thing,” you answered with a dismissing wave of the hand. The sight of notoriously scowling lips now taut behind a satisfied smile was enough to support that delaying your nefarious to-do list, while undeniably irresponsible, was the right decision. “It was actually nice to have a bit of a challenge for once. Like I said, it’ll hold for a while but it’s not a forever fix.”

“Disappointing.” Faster than it had come, the sly smile on his face disappeared, replaced in a breath by a glum grimace as he plucked the toothpick from the tight clamp of his teeth and flicked it to the floor at his feet. “Pretty sure that model is out of production now.”

“Sure is,” you confirmed, sympathetically matching his grimace with one of your own. “I did some research today—” (goggles snapped his head in your direction again) “—from the limited information that I could find, your model was the last that incorporated a biconcave first focal plane. But… I actually found an alternative tucked away in my workshop.” You reached a hand blindly into your bag, the keys to your speeder jingling as you roughly pushed them aside in search of the stiff plastoid box you’d shoved into the depths before leaving work. “The internal components are the same, but the barrel attachment clip differs from yours.”

Crosshair spared the offering only a microglance before the crease between his dark brows deepened, his top lip flattening at the thick layer of dust that blanketed the white plastoid case. You grinned apologetically at the sight of his disgusted expression, and an understanding began to click together like puzzle pieces in your mind. Crosshair’s man-of-few-words ethos was not one of implied supremacy as you had initially presumed, he simply communicated more effectively with his expressions and mannerisms than he did with words.

“The box looks like it hasn’t been touched in centuries,” you admitted, pushing the case into his chest, “but the scope itself is pristine. You’re welcome to keep it if you think it’s suitable.”

His gaze danced across your features skeptically as if dissecting it for any sign of an ulterior motive that hadn’t managed to previously identify, but the reassurance you offered by means of a small smile must have silenced his concerns, as he moved to unlatch the container and flip it open.

It was barely an hour after Crosshair had departed your establishment that you realized why the plastoid case that housed his scope had seemed vaguely familiar to you, and it was with a sense of excited urgency that you’d jogged to the back corner of your workshop and snatched the step stool from beside the broom. Tucked away on the top shelf of a precariously hung cupboard above the lens polisher and caked several decades worth of dust, the white box sat seemingly waiting for you. Countless times in the past had it been regarded as nothing but left over detritus from your uncle, unceremoniously pushed aside and ignored as you fervently looked for something else among the clutter, but today, as recognition had flared inside of you, it’s time in the spotlight had finally come.

The sniper’s abnormally long digits pulled the foreign scope from its foam mattress, hovering it in front of his tattooed eye while turning to orient himself toward the target sheets on the opposite wall.

“Hm… not bad actually,” he relented a moment later, turning back around and holding the scope out to his brother. “Tech, do you think you could modify the barrel attachment?”

So his name is Tech. The wordless introduction ensured another flush of your cheeks, and eager to repress the giddy smile that threatened to expose you, you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth and ignored the brown–eyed man still passively gaping in your direction.

Crosshair shook the scope impatiently in the space between them, seemingly hoping the motion would shatter the muted reverie in which his brother was currently enthralled. “Tech? …Tech.”

“Um… yes,” Tech confirmed to your surprise, having collected the tool from his brother and agreeing to the task without even sparing it a glance. “Yes… I am able to… attach… myself.”

The chuckle that threatened to spill from your lips forced your gaze to the floor. The weathered and worn painted concrete beneath your boots was nothing but the epitome of lusterless and drossy, but in this moment of featherbrained awkwardness, you’d never seen a more interesting floor.

“Maker, since when can you not talk?” Crosshair hissed through clenched teeth.

Hot in the face and growing increasingly embarrassed by both the awkwardness of the conversation and the rapid emergence of this schoolgirl crush, you turned your attention back to your bag, thrusting your hand into its depths once again and pretending to dig around for something. Your peripheral vision saw Tech shift his goggles on his nose again, and immediately retract the datapad from his waist pouch.

You cleared your throat quietly before adjusting your bag on your shoulder and swinging your keyring noisily around your finger. Tech was blushing furiously and had turned his gaze to the screen of his small device, fingers dancing across the multicoloured buttons as if he’d injected rocket fuel directly into his knuckles. Crosshair, on the tail end of an elaborate eye roll, shook his head impatiently and huffed.

“You sure about this?” he asked you, tapping the lid of the plastoid box in his hands.

“Absolutely,” you answered without even the thought of hesitation. “It was just taking up very limited cupboard space so, if you want it, it’s yours.”

He nodded once, surveying your expression fleetingly once more before tucking the parcel under his arm. “Thanks again,” he mumbled, tossing you a casual three-fingered salute of acknowledgement before turning on his heel and heading the opposite way to the heavy, sliding door.

The sudden abandonment at the hands of his brother seemed to have roused Tech from his vigorous tango of typing, and his magnified eyes flickered to yours only briefly before darting towards the door. Mild amusement pulled another smile to your lips as discomfort erupted across his features; his jaw tensed, his posture straightened, and despite having spent the previous dozen minutes intermittently gawking at you, he now avoided your gaze.

“You better go,” you smirked, gesturing towards the disappearing head of silver hair. “It was nice to meet you. Good luck going… wherever it is that you’re going.”

“The ideology of ‘luck’ is illogical,” he intoned, raising a know-it-all finger into the air, the gesture somehow only intensifying your affection for him though he continued to evade eye contact, “but the sentiments are appreciated. And it was a pleasure gaining your acquaintance as well.”

His stooped frame made it barely three long paces before an urgent idea erupted in your mind. “Tech, wait!”

He turned his slumped shoulders back around to face you, mild curiosity etched into the small furrow in his brow as he lowered his datapad and held it limply at his side. “Keep this,” you offered, extending out the green microfiber cloth to him. “You need it more than I do.”

He stared, adorably flummoxed, at the fabric in your hand. “Keep it in one of your six hundred pockets,” you added with a goofy smirk and small gesture down to the series of cargo belts that seemingly adorned every inch of his tall frame. A mildly affronted expression ghosted across his face, but it was succeeded almost instantly by the same small smile that had sent your heart aflutter earlier. He took the cloth from you with a small nod, tucking it into the pouch perched just above a dangling spanner wrench on his hip, before muttering a quiet “goodbye” and continuing toward the door.

[eccentric-nucleus]

actually if i'm gonna make a games rec post.

here are some games i have enjoyed recent-ish.

kenshi. an open-world squad-based rpg with base-building elements. get stronger by getting beaten up. lose a fight and get knocked out, have your weapons and food taken by the bandits that mugged you and left you bleeding to death. get rescued by some slavers that capture you and sell you into slavery. free yourself from slavery and limp away until you roll in hours later with a whole squad of overpowered fighters. then head a little bit too far south and get murdered by skin bandits. they take your skin. this is a completely self-directed game; there's no "main plot", although arguably "figure out the history of the world" is kind of the main 'story' mystery. there's also a bunch of unique recruitable characters with custom-written interactions. i usually recruit exclusively from freeing slaves but you can do w/e.

wildmender. a survival gardening game. this one came out recently and the devs are still releasing bugfixes; it's unclear if they'll make large content patches in the future. apparently multiplayer can still be pretty glitchy, and there's a water flow bug that i've been finding very frustrating. the way biomes work is kind of unsatisfying. kind of slim content-wise, but still, i really enjoyed what's there. out of all of the climate change terraforming anxiety games i've seen, this has been the one i've most enjoyed.

hellpoint. a scifi soulslike made by a team of like 12 people. previously i had thought things like "it would be neat if dark souls was less linear". hellpoint is a great example of why that might be a nightmare. the areas are connected in such a complex way, with one-way routes and branching unlock keys and secret paths and hidden doors behind hidden doors that it gets profoundly disorienting. a hint: almost every single hidden door in the game (there are a lot) is the middle panel of the same exact three-paneled-wall geometry. once you notice what it is you will see it everywhere. also, the enemy designs are hot.

crystal project. remember playing fan translations of final fantasy v? remember wandering around in old mmos? crystal project is kind of a... turn-based rpg mmo-influenced platformer. with a job system. you can sequence break the game from the tutorial level and also at basically every other point in the game too, although until you know what to look for it might seem like there's a linear critical path. but there's a lot out there. hint: play on easy mode. the combat gets tough later on and the game absolutely expects you to be finding and exploiting some class combinations.

astlibra: revision. a sidescrolling rpg. it must have been released episodically originally or some of the chapter pacing makes no sense. also it was originally released with a mess of art sourced from all sorts of places; 'revision' is a re-release with a more unified art style. it gets extremely anime all the time. there's a whole obligatory section where you have to ask all the women in a town about what kind of panties they're wearing. it's rough. i enjoyed how chaotic the systems are and how much Stuff there is to pick up and upgrade and unlock. the plot goes some unexpected places though it doesn't quite stick the landing, i still enjoyed what it did. also karon should be the love interest instead.

silicon zeroes. a cpu-building puzzle game. this straddles the line between the tech/code games that are literally just "learn a new language and code in it" and ones that are more structure-themed like, idk, spacechem. connect modules to assemble solutions to problems. it takes too long to get to chapter 3, which is where they start asking you to make entire cpus.

ashen. another souls-like. i just really like the environments in this one. the initial area looks gorgeous and the way it changes through the game is really neat to see happen. the seat of the matriarch is wonderfully awful to traverse and i wish there had been two or three more dungeons like it in the game. you can't level up; you gain stats mostly by progressing sidequests and the name quest. i eventually ran out of things to spend money on AND inventory space to store items. the late-game tuning is a little rough but until then it's great. a hint: there are three weapon types and within that type nearly all the weapons are identical. you get thrown so many weapons that don't matter; don't worry about collecting all of them. see above re: running out of space and things to use money for.

i guess it would be cheating to recommend minecraft regrowth or morrowind but i have also been playing those.

[printingservicesaustralia]

From Digital to Offset: Understanding Various Types of Printing Techniques

1. Digital Printing: Faster, more efficient and more convenient

Digital printing is one of the most popular and viable printing options available today. This involves transferring images directly to paper or other media using PDFs and other digital files. This approach has gained traction due to speed and low setup costs, making it ideal for short runs or scheduled projects.

Applications: Digital printing is widely used to print marketing materials such as brochures, flyers, business cards and banners. It is also commonly used in printing custom products such as photo books, invitations and garments.

Advantages:

· Speed: Digital printing is faster than printing methods, making it suitable for fast turnaround jobs.

· Cost-effective in smaller quantities: There are no setup fees, making it more affordable for smaller publishing businesses.

· Customization: Digital printing allows for easy personalization, perfect for targeted marketing.

However, digital printing doesn’t always produce the same depth of color or texture as other methods, especially on larger pieces.

2. Offset printing: Better quality, greater volume production

Offset printing or offset lithography is one of the most common and reliable methods of printing large volumes. This process involves transferring an image from a metal plate to a rubber cushion, then pressing the image onto paper. It is known for its image quality and is particularly suitable for more demanding stability applications.

Applications: Offset printing is ideal for many productions, such as magazines, magazines, catalogs, and larger merchandise.

Advantages:

· Higher Image: Offset printing produces sharper, cleaner images with more accurate colors, making it ideal for jobs that require higher quality print work.

· Cost effective for large volumes: Although the initial process is more expensive than digital printing, offset is more expensive when printing in large quantities.

· Consistency: Offset printing provides consistent results throughout printing, ensuring that each print is perfect.

3. Screen Printing: Robust and versatile

Screen printing, also known as silk screening, uses grid stencils to ink various surfaces. The process is particularly popular for printing products such as t-shirts, mugs and promotional materials, as it produces vibrant and long-lasting colors.

Application: This process is widely used for creating custom clothes, clothing, signs and even posters.

Advantages:

· Durability: Screen printing is extremely durable, making it ideal for products that require durability.

· Versatility: Works with a variety of materials including fabrics, plastics and metals.

· Bold colors: Screen printing is known for producing vivid and opaque colors, making it popular for more visual images.

However, like offset printing, screen printing can be cost-effective in small volumes due to its setup costs.

4. Flexographic printing: Perfect for packaging

Flexographic printing, commonly referred to as flexo, uses flexible rubber or photopolymer plates to transfer images onto a variety of materials such as plastic, foil, paper, etc. It is most often used in packaging, labels and packaging.

Application: Flexo printing is commonly used to print labels, flexible packaging, boxes, and other packaging.

Advantages:

· Faster and more efficient: Flexographic printing offers faster production speeds, making it ideal for larger orders.

· Extensive alignment: This technique can print on virtually any substrate, including porous materials such as plastic and metal objects.

· Production efficiency: Flexographic printing can produce high-quality, consistent results, especially with larger print sizes.

5. Gravure Printing: High-volume gravure printing

In gravure printing, or rotogravure, the image is engraved onto a cylinder, which is then applied to the print. High-resolution images and continuous tone images are often printed with this technique.

Application: Gravure printing is widely used for printing packaging, magazines, catalogs and wallpaper.

Advantages:

· High Quality: Graver produces beautiful images with beautiful details and rich colors.

· Ideal for long-term printing: Although setup costs are high, gravure is cost-effective for very large runs, making it perfect for mass-market printing.

Conclusion: Choosing the Right Printing Method

The type of printing method you choose depends largely on the needs of your project, including volume, budget, and desired output. If you’re looking for quick, smooth printing with a fast turnaround time, digital printing could be the right fit. Offset printing or gravure printing can provide consistent results for high quality, intense production. For special applications such as custom garments or packaging, screen printing and flexographic printing stand out as excellent options.

If you want to get high-quality printing services, it is important to choose someone who is skilled in the specific technique that best suits your project. Whether you print a few brochures or thousands of labels, the right printing techniques ensure that your content looks professional and effectively communicates your message.

[onlinerakhiandgiftsstore]

The holiday season is the perfect time to show your love and appreciation for the special person in your life. If your boyfriend is someone who makes you smile every day, then Christmas is the perfect occasion to give him a gift that expresses how much he means to you. Choosing a meaningful present for him can be a challenge, especially if you want it to be something unique, thoughtful, and personal.

If you're looking for some Christmas gift inspiration for your boyfriend, you've come to the right place! Below, we’ve curated a list of exciting and creative gift ideas that are sure to make his Christmas merry and bright.

1. Personalized Gifts: Make It Truly Yours

Personalized gifts are always a great way to show your boyfriend how much you care. Whether it's a custom-engraved bracelet, a personalized photo frame with your favorite picture together, or a custom-printed hoodie with a message only the two of you will understand—these gifts add a personal touch that will make him feel extra special.

Ideas:

Custom Leather Wallet: A sleek wallet with his initials or a meaningful message can be both practical and sentimental.

Personalized Watch: A stylish watch engraved with his name or a special date (like your anniversary) is both functional and thoughtful.

Customized Mug: A funny or heartfelt message on a mug is a cute way to brighten his morning coffee routine.

2. Tech Gadgets: For the Gadget-Loving Boyfriend

If your boyfriend is a tech enthusiast, then the holidays are the perfect time to treat him to the latest gadgets and accessories. From headphones to smart home devices, there’s no shortage of amazing tech gifts that will make his Christmas a little brighter.

Ideas:

Wireless Earbuds: A high-quality pair of wireless earbuds can enhance his music experience, whether he's working out, traveling, or just relaxing.

Smart Speaker: Help him upgrade his home with a smart speaker like the Amazon Echo or Google Nest to control music, smart lights, and more.

Fitness Tracker: If he’s into fitness, a stylish smartwatch or fitness tracker can help him stay on top of his health and goals.

3. Experience Gifts: Memories that Last

Sometimes the best gifts aren’t things—they’re experiences. If your boyfriend loves adventure or trying new things, an experience gift could be just what he needs. Whether it’s a weekend getaway, tickets to a concert, or a cooking class you can take together, experience gifts allow you to create memories that will last far beyond the holiday season.

Ideas:

Weekend Trip: Plan a romantic weekend getaway to a nearby city or a cozy cabin in the mountains.

Concert or Sports Tickets: Get tickets to his favorite band's concert, a live event, or a sports game.

Adventure Experience: If he's an adrenaline junkie, book an experience like skydiving, bungee jumping, or a helicopter ride.

4. Fashion and Accessories: Style Meets Thoughtfulness

If your boyfriend loves to look stylish, why not surprise him with a chic gift that enhances his wardrobe? From a sleek new jacket to a stylish scarf or a high-quality pair of boots, fashion gifts can be both practical and fashionable. Opt for something that reflects his personal style, and you’ll score big points.

Ideas:

Stylish Leather Jacket: A timeless gift that will never go out of style, perfect for winter weather.

Premium Sunglasses: Help him look cool while protecting his eyes with a pair of stylish sunglasses.

Cashmere Sweater: A soft, cozy cashmere sweater will keep him warm and fashionable all season long.

5. DIY Gifts: Heartfelt and Personal

If you’re looking for a more creative and personal touch, a DIY gift can be a perfect option. Whether it’s a hand-made scrapbook of your memories together or a homemade candle that he can enjoy, these gifts show effort and thoughtfulness that are sure to touch his heart.

Ideas:

Scrapbook: Create a scrapbook of your favorite moments, photos, and adventures. It’s a wonderful way to relive memories and remind him of your shared experiences.

Love Letter: A heartfelt letter expressing your love, gratitude, and admiration is always a meaningful gift.

DIY Coupon Book: Create a book of “coupons” for fun activities, such as a movie night, a home-cooked meal, or a relaxing massage.

6. Grooming Kits: For the Man Who Loves Self-Care

If your boyfriend is into grooming and taking care of himself, a grooming kit can be an excellent Christmas gift idea. You can find high-quality sets that include everything from shaving essentials to skincare products—perfect for his daily routine.

Ideas:

Beard Care Kit: If he has a beard, a beard grooming kit with oils, balms, and brushes will keep him looking sharp.

Skincare Set: Help him maintain healthy skin with a skincare set that includes moisturizers, cleansers, and face masks.

Shaving Kit: A luxurious razor, shaving cream, and aftershave kit will elevate his grooming experience.

7. Sentimental Keepsakes: Remind Him How Much He Means to You

If you want to go all out on a sentimental gift, consider giving your boyfriend something that will remind him of your love for years to come. These keepsakes are designed to stand the test of time, just like your relationship.

Ideas:

Engraved Necklace: A meaningful necklace with an engraving, such as coordinates of where you first met or a message that’s personal to both of you.

Photo Album: A collection of your favorite photos together, arranged in a beautifully designed photo album.

Love Letter in a Box: Write a heartfelt letter and place it in a box filled with mementos that represent your relationship—ticket stubs, photos, and more.

Conclusion: Make His Christmas Unforgettable

No matter which gift you choose, remember that the most important part is the thought behind it. A Christmas gift for your boyfriend should reflect his personality and your relationship, showing him how much he means to you. Whether it’s a personalized item, a tech gadget, or a DIY project, the love you put into choosing the perfect gift will make his holiday unforgettable.

Need help finding the perfect gift for your boyfriend? Visit Rakhi.com for a wide range of Christmas gift options that will put a smile on his face this festive season!

[mugdog1]

New Arrivals at Mugdog: Custom Mugs for Every Mood and Moment!

If you’re looking for a mug that perfectly matches your personality or interests, Mugdog’s latest collection has you covered! From fandom-inspired designs to sleek custom beer mugs, our new arrivals offer something for everyone. Whether you’re a tech enthusiast, a Marvel superfan, or someone who enjoys quirky designs, you’ll find the perfect companion for your coffee, tea, or even beer moments. Let’s explore what’s new at Mugdog this season.

Tech Mug: For the Innovators and Dreamers

Calling all tech lovers! The custom Tech mugs are the perfect addition to your workspace. Featuring sleek designs inspired by coding, gadgets, and futuristic themes, these mugs are great for fueling those late-night brainstorming sessions. Sip your coffee while you debug or design—and let the mug speak to your inner geek.

Marvel Coffee Mugs: Unleash Your Inner Hero

Marvel fans, assemble! Our Marvel Coffee Mugs pay tribute to your favorite superheroes. Whether you’re team Iron Man, Captain America, or Thor, we’ve got a design for you. Each mug captures iconic moments and symbols from the Marvel universe, making every sip an adventure. And for Gotham’s defenders, don’t miss our exclusive Batman Coffee Mug to channel your inner Dark Knight.

Custom Glass Beer Mugs: Cheers to Personalized Style

Looking for something stylish for your next beer night? Our Custom Glass Beer Mugs elevate your drinking experience. From engraved names to unique graphics, you can design these mugs to suit any occasion. Perfect for gifting or adding a touch of class to your home bar, these mugs redefine cool.

Anime Mugs: Bring Your Favorite Characters to Life

Anime lovers rejoice! Our Anime Mugs feature vibrant designs inspired by popular series. Whether you’re into action-packed shonen or heartwarming slice-of-life stories, these mugs let you celebrate your favorite characters and moments. Start your mornings with a dash of anime magic in every sip.

Pookie Cup: Quirky and Cute

Meet the Pookie cups—a quirky addition to our collection perfect for those who love unique and playful designs. With adorable illustrations and a whimsical vibe, the Pookie Cup adds fun to your daily routine. It’s not just a mug; it’s a mood booster.

Weed Coffee Mug: Chill Vibes Only

Relax and unwind with our Weed coffee mugs collection. Featuring creative designs that embrace chill vibes and relaxation, these mugs are perfect for those slow mornings or mellow evenings. They’re stylish, fun, and sure to be a conversation starter.

Why Choose Mugdog?

At Mugdog, every sip should be unique. That’s why we offer high-quality mugs designed with creativity and care. Whether you’re looking for a thoughtful gift or a personal treat, our collection has something for everyone. Plus, our customization options make creating a mug that’s genuinely yours easy.

Shop the New Collection Today!

Don’t wait—explore our new arrivals and find your perfect match. From tech-inspired designs to fandom favorites like Marvel and anime, Mugdog’s collection is bursting with possibilities. Check out our website now and make every sip an experience to remember.

[pechayfiles]

On a hiatus for now.

Hello guys I'm sorry if I'm currently unable to post updates.

Right now I'm busy with work.

I'm also trying to set up my own company/consulting firm. It's a digital marketing firm and we will offer social media services, email and calendar management, project management, etc... Setting it up is a slow process because I also have to work full-time as I do it. I already have a team and some of the basics. I just need a few more things and I'll be set up. Currently, one of the difficulties I'm facing is funding.

My aim is to establish my own consulting firm so I can have more free time to do what I want while still having a decent amount of income. Since I'm also currently a single mom, the fact that I'm always too busy with work constantly weighs down on me. I hope to spend more time with my son. And this is why I have to succeed with the firm no matter what.

That being said, I would like to ask for the support of my Sims 4 community. I hope to raise money to fund my firm.

Of course, I don't want to ask for free money. Instead, I'm hoping you can buy from our Etsy store instead.

For now, I'm offering a T-shirt and a canvas tote bag. I honestly have no idea what to sell for now. Let me know what I can offer so I can set it up.

Here is the link to the store:

ETSY STORE Again, I don't want free money. Please just buy from our shop instead so you can get something in return at least. If you want a custom t-shirt design, please contact me - I will make it for you. I can offer mugs or mousepads or desk pads if you guys want. For full transparency, I need to raise about $5000 to successfully set up my company (employee salary, tech (CRM, hosting, hiring people to set up these things), and tools that I need to cater to clients, for ads and subscriptions - the rest will be cushion until we're able to land a decent number of clients to the point where the firm can run itself. ) Thank you so much Sim fam. I know I can count on you.

FOR THE RECORD: I'm new to the Etsy thing so if there's something wrong with your purchase, let me know and I will refund you. I'm not looking to take advantage of people. I just want to raise funds in an honest way.

Again, thank you for any type of support you can offer. I will appreciate it whether it's purchasing from my store or reblogging my post or telling other people about it or liking it. Any form of support warms my heart. Thank you so much! I appreciate all of you supportive people.

[opposite-of-icarus]

https://www.zazzle.com/store/opposite_of_icarus

🌟 Introducing My New Art Store 🌟

Hey y'all! 🎨✨

I'm super excited to announce the launch of my brand new art store on Zazzle! If you've been following me for long, you know how passionate I am about creating unique and vibrant pieces. Now, you can bring a piece of my creativity into your home with a variety of products featuring my original artwork!

What You Can Find in My Store:

🖼️ Art Prints & Posters - Perfect for adding a splash of color to any room.

👕 Custom Apparel - Stylish t-shirts and hoodies to showcase your love for art.

📱 Phone Cases & Accessories - Make your tech stand out with unique designs.

☕ Home Decor & More - Mugs, pillows, and other items to brighten your space.

Whether you're looking for a gift for a friend or a treat for yourself, there's something for everyone. Plus, by purchasing from my store, you're directly supporting an independent artist, which means the world to me! 🌍❤️

[vector-art-bundles]

Exploring the Symbolism of the Anonymous Face: The New "Anonymous Face CyberProcessor" Vector Design

The face of Anonymous, with its iconic Guy Fawkes mask, has become a global symbol of resistance and anonymity. Originating from the film V for Vendetta and later adopted by the hacktivist collective Anonymous, this symbol represents a challenge to authority and a demand for transparency. As a powerful emblem of rebellion, it continues to inspire and provoke. In this article, we’ll delve into the symbolism behind the Anonymous face and introduce the "Anonymous Face CyberProcessor" Vector Design, a modern take on this iconic image.

Understanding the Anonymous Face Symbolism

The Guy Fawkes mask, originally worn by the English revolutionary Guy Fawkes, has transcended its historical context to become a symbol of defiance and anonymity. The mask’s white face, with its stylized mustache and enigmatic smile, represents a resistance to oppressive systems and a desire for personal freedom. Adopted by the hacktivist group Anonymous, the mask has come to signify a collective fight against censorship and control, embodying the spirit of online activism and civil liberties.

Introducing the "Anonymous Face CyberProcessor" Vector Design

Our "Anonymous Face CyberProcessor" Vector Design offers a contemporary reinterpretation of this iconic symbol. Combining the familiar elements of the Guy Fawkes mask with a sleek, cyber-inspired aesthetic, this design breathes new life into the classic image. Here’s why this vector pack is an essential addition to your creative toolkit:

Features of the Design:

Contemporary Cyber Twist: The design modernizes the traditional Anonymous face by integrating futuristic and cyber elements. This fresh approach adds a dynamic, high-tech flair to the well-known symbol.

High-Quality File Formats: The vector pack includes SVG, AI, EPS, PNG, JPEG, and PDF files, all optimized for various design applications. This ensures you can seamlessly incorporate the design into any project, from digital graphics to physical merchandise.

Versatile Uses: Ideal for a broad range of applications, including t-shirts, wall art, mugs, stickers, and banners. The design’s adaptability makes it suitable for personal projects, commercial products, and promotional materials.

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[deans-baby-momma]

Law & Love Chapter 7

THEN

"Believe me, I would love nothing better than to make love to you and claim you but……just not tonight, okay?"

The sincerity and honesty is not only his words but his eyes and that fills me with warmth and desire. 

NOW

To say the next morning is irrefutably awkward is the understatement of the century! Not only had I had an erotic dream that caused me to moan in my sleep; but I woke up the star of said dream beside me in bed; rubbing one out. 

I am humiliated. Even after we caught one another in the throes of orgasm, Beau had turned down my seduction- actually flat out refused it.

Words are not spoken as we wake next to one another. Beau silently climbs out of bed and I watch him disappear into the bathroom. 

Am I just so hideous, the need to get away so strong that he rushed to lock himself away? Is he embarrassed that I caught him jerking off? 

Ok, on second thought, he did say he was interested but that now wasn't a good time to get physical so he is attracted to me, I'm not appalling. So was he mortified that I'd caught him pleasuring himself?

I don't have an answer for that and to be honest,  I have no idea how to even ask that so I decide to drop it. Whatever is bothering the Sheriff this morning was his to deal with.

I get out of bed and walk out of the bedroom into the kitchen/dinette/living quarters of  the camper and smile when I spot the full coffee pot on the counter. It must have been programmed to brew automatically.  Thank you God!

I savor the dark roast as I scan the interior of the home Beau has made for himself. The utilities are scarce; the stove is just a range top settled on the counter, the refrigerator is a miniature version,  and the sink has only one bowl. At least there was a drying rack to the side. 

I spot a myriad of photos pinned to the wall and step closer to examine them. Most of the pictures were of a little girl throughout different stages of life;sleeping in a crib with a cute little pink bow on her dark hair, sitting in a high chair with a birthday cake on the tray, dressed up as Dorothy from Wizard of Oz, crying on Santa's lap. 

My gaze  goes back to the Halloween picture and my eyes widen. Standing beside her is the Tinman and Scarecrow but what caught my attention was Beau in the silver can costume. Is this his daughter, Emily?

Once I decide that that could be the only answer, I take notice of the scarecrow. Of course I can't make out much of her features due to the makeup on her face, but her eyes seem friendly and the smile on her face is contagious.

"That was Em's 4th Halloween," Beau says as he steps up beside me. "She was obsessed with Wizard of Oz and nothing'd do for her but to be Dorothy for Halloween. 

"She cried because we didn't have a Toto for her but Carla, her mother, soothed her and explained we couldn't just get a dog for one day."

I look up at him as he stares at the photograph in reverence. I can see in his face that he loves his daughter immensely. But what about her mother? What happened there?

I look back at the picture and study it; they seemed happy. They look like they were a loving family. So what happened?

"Where are they now?" I cautiously ask, afraid he's going to tell me a heart-wrenching story of their demise.

“Just south of here actually,” Beau says as he turns to pour his own coffee into a mug. “My ex married some rich tech-savvy guy, Avery, who owns a ranch just outside of town and moved my daughter up here so I followed-” he takes a sip of the hot brew. “-she’s my baby. I love her and couldn’t stand the thought of being miles away from her.”

The way he spoke I wasn’t sure if he was speaking of his daughter or his ex. 

“I don’t like it,” Beau repeats as we pull up outside of the diner. “Your stalker could very well be one of the regular customers, Y/N. I can’t sit in there and watch all day. Why don’t you just let me take you back to my place and hide out there?”

I can feel the anger bubbling inside, ready to explode. “Oh so now I’m supposed to run away and hide like a weak ass bitch?”

Beau sighs, exasperated. “I didn’t mean it like that Y/N. I just….I don’t like knowing that there is someone in my town that is capable of doing this right under my nose. Hell, he broke into your car in broad daylight and left those messages for you at your home. Evidently, he has a vendetta against you and you’re just going to go on into work like it’s a normal day?”

“Beau, I refuse to be a baby. I put up with Anthony for longer than I should have. I can handle myself. I promise.”

I can see the conflict on his face as the Sheriff stares out the windshield. I know this is dangerous territory; I’ve never had a stalker before and if he can break into my car and paint messages on my door with no fear of repercussions, what else is he willing to do to get my attention? I can understand Beau’s reluctance, but I also don’t want to put my life on hold. 

“What if-” I suggest timidly but assuredly, “-I call you if anything out of the ordinary happens? If anyone is giving me a weird or strange vibe, you will be the first one I call.”

After a few minutes, Beau agrees. “Okay, but I’m walking you in. Hopefully, if he’s in there already and sees you on the arm of the Sheriff, it will deter whatever plans he might have.”

“How chivalrous.” I mock exclaim. “My knight in shining…..um well, denim.”

Beau and I both laugh as we step out of the truck and he meets me at the hood. 

“Mi’lady,” he dramatizes as he offers his arm; I take it and smile.

“Thank you, kind sir.”

All eyes are on us when we walk in; thankfully the breakfast crowd hasn’t filled up the restaurant yet.  Deb’s eyes widen but she quickly catches herself and smiles. 

“Hello Sheriff. Y/N. I didn’t know you two knew each other,” she says and I give her a look telling her I knew she was full of shit. She knew he left that note for me the other day. She also knew I thought he was the one sending me all the gifts. 

Beau leans down to whisper in my ear. “Wonder what she'd think if we told her we shared a bed last night?” I could hear the laughter in his voice but I just shook my head, a smile -and possibly a small blush- on my face. 

Now, I’m going to be thinking about what he was doing in that shared bed last night. Well, there went the prospect of me having an easy shift. Not with that memory refreshed! 

“Deb,” I say instead. “The Sheriff and I are dating; it’s a long story,  I’ll tell you during the lull between rushes. But for now, Beau must go spend a day solving crimes and I must serve food.”

I turn and kiss Beau on the mouth and join Deb behind the counter. We both watch as his bow legs take him back to his truck and out of the parking lot. 

“Girl, don’t leave a single detail out,” Deb says and I laugh as I grab the order Pops, the cook put out. 

@lostinaseaoffictionalbliss @spnbaby-67 @tftumblin @sea040561 @delightfullykrispypeach @larajadeschmidt13 @atc74 @vicariouslythruspn @squirrelnotsam  @sandlee44 @blacktithe7 @hoboal87 @mogaruke @deanwanddamons @supraveng @deandreamernp @akshi8278 @lyarr24 @kazsrm67 @chriszgirl92 @deanwithscissors @raisinggray @fanfic-n-tabulous @deans-spinster-witchs-favorites @yvonneeeeeeee

[noisycowboyglitter]

Deck the Halls with Real Nice Clark T-Shirts

"Real Nice Clark" is a popular phrase from the beloved Christmas comedy film "National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation." This iconic line is delivered sarcastically by Cousin Eddie, played by Randy Quaid, in response to Clark Griswold's overly enthusiastic Christmas plans.

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The phrase has become a humorous catchphrase, often used to comment on someone's excessive or misguided efforts, particularly during the holiday season. It encapsulates the film's comedic portrayal of the stress and chaos that can accompany trying to create the perfect family Christmas.

In the context of the movie, Clark Griswold, played by Chevy Chase, is determined to have the best family Christmas ever, often going to ridiculous lengths to achieve his goal. Cousin Eddie's deadpan delivery of "Real nice, Clark" serves as a comedic counterpoint to Clark's earnest but often misguided enthusiasm.

The phrase has transcended the film and entered popular culture, appearing on t-shirts, mugs, and various holiday merchandise. It's often used playfully among friends and family when someone goes overboard with their Christmas decorations or plans.

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"Real Nice Clark" embodies the film's humorous take on holiday stress and family dynamics, reminding us to find humor in the imperfections of our holiday celebrations. It's a gentle mockery of the perfectionism that can sometimes overshadow the true spirit of the season.

A Funny Christmas Party Movie typically combines holiday cheer with comedic mishaps and relatable characters. These films often feature chaotic family gatherings, office parties gone wrong, or friends attempting to throw the perfect festive bash. Common themes include awkward gift exchanges, cooking disasters, and clashing personalities amplified by holiday stress.

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Popular examples might involve characters navigating difficult in-laws, competing for the best decorations, or trying to maintain traditions while everything goes hilariously awry. The humor often stems from exaggerated holiday stereotypes and the pressure to create picture-perfect celebrations.

These movies usually balance laugh-out-loud moments with heartwarming scenes, reminding viewers of the true meaning of the season. They provide a comedic escape from real-life holiday stress while often concluding with messages about the importance of family, friendship, and embracing imperfection during the festivities.

Christmas Ideas for Guys offers a range of thoughtful gifts tailored to men's interests and needs. For tech enthusiasts, consider smartwatches, noise-canceling headphones, or the latest gaming consoles. Outdoor adventurers might appreciate high-quality camping gear, a new fishing rod, or a rugged smartwatch. For the style-conscious, leather accessories, premium grooming kits, or a

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classic watch make great choices. Sports fans would love team merchandise or tickets to a game. Practical gifts like multi-tools, high-end coffee makers, or wireless chargers are often appreciated. For hobbyists, consider items related to their interests, such as craft beer brewing kits, photography accessories, or cooking gadgets. Personalized items like monogrammed wallets or custom photo gifts add a special touch.

[onceuponmmy]

Mother Day Ideas

Whether your mother is someone who likes the outdoors, or someone that enjoys doing things inside. You can't go wrong with anything bought or homemade...

Bookish

(reader/writer/linguist)

<Homemade>

Write her a Story

Homemade Bookmarks

Homemade Puzzles/Crosswords

Write a Poem/Haiku/Family Quote

<Bought>

Her Fave Books (Date with a Book) with Bookmarks

Personalised or Cute Stationery (Pens)

A new Journal/Scrapbook (With Stickers)

Book of Puzzles/Crosswords/Pattern Colouring

Foodie

(cook/baker/foodie)

<Homemade>

Make her Breakfast in Bed

Bake her something

Cook her something

Make or Personalise Apron or Utensils

<Bought>

Cooking Utensils/Equipment or Apron

Get her Fave Treats/Snacks

A selection of her Beverages (Hot or Cold)

Make up a Foodie Kit (Ice Cream Kit, Movie Munchies Kit, etc)

Outdoors

(gardener/active/animals)

<Homemade>

Plan a Day Out (Park, Beach, Gardens, Museum/Gallery, etc)

Grow A Plant/Tree

Make something from wood/glass (Jewellery/Trinket box, etc)

Take care of the Animals for the Day.

<Bought>

Choose a Cap/Hat/Sweatbands/an article of Active Wear

New or Personalised Water bottle/Exercise Equipment

Plant/Flowers/Gardening Tools

Handy Tools (Hammer, tool bag, etc)

Pet Accessories or Mementos (Mugs/Shirts/etc)

Creative

(artist/crafter/memento)

<Homemade>

Photography Projects (Digital Slideshow) Scrapbook

Make Cards/Paintings

Make Candles/Soaps/Bath Salts/Sugar Scrubs

Sewing/Knitting/Crochet (Scarf, Beanie, Slippers, Blanket)

<Bought>

Art Mediums (Paints & Brushes, Pencils, Clay, etc...)

Print Photography Portraits

Scrap-booking Supplies and Book

Sewing/Knitting/Crochet Equipment

Glamour

(fashionista/beauty/shopping)

<Homemade>

Give her a Home Spa Day (Massage, Facial, Pedi-Mani)

Homemade Jewellery (Necklaces, Bracelets, Earrings)

Paint her nail, Create Hairstyles

Have a Fashion Show Runway

Design a Fashion Line with things at Home

<Bought>

Self-Care/Skin Care Kits

Gift Cards/Vouchers

Fashion Accessories (Wallets, Purses, keychains, etc)

Shopping Trip; Choose a new Outfit

Beauty Supplies (Lip balm, Perfume, Make Up, etc)

Entertainment

(singer/dancer/play)

<Homemade>

Compose a Song

Perform a Play

Create Dance Routine

Make a Playlist/Mixed Tape or CD

Homemade Music Memorabilia Crafts

<Bought>

Music Memorabilia

Go to a Show/Orchestra/Play

Attend a Concert of Music Festival

Find Personalised Packaging

Technology

(gamer/computers/devices)

<Homemade>

Play a Game with Her

Design a Game Together

Create something from old Tech Equipment

Laptop Decals/Stickers to Decorate

Sewn Laptop Case

<Bought>

Choose Accessories (Earphones, Speakers, Charger, Bags, Chargers, etc)

Personalised items (Mouse pads, Pictures, etc)

Desk Decorations (LED Lights, etc)

Portable Chargers & Desk Lamps

Smart Devices (Watches, Lights, Alexa)

Chill

(cozy/relaxed/homely)

<Homemade>

Do her Jobs for the Day

Give her a shoulder robe

Movie/TV Series Day in

Junk Food Day

<Bought>

Slippers/Ugh-boots

Fluffy or Soft Blanket/Robe

Sleeping Mask

Massage Tools

Any Mother

(What to get if you're unsure) :

PLAN FOR THE DAY (Doesn't have to be everything, choose what you feel she would love to do)

BOUGHT (Can never go wrong with a custom gift basket)

Build a Gift Basket -

Basket/Gift Box

Treat/Snack/Drink

Self Care/Relaxation

Scented Goodie

"Mom" Goodie (Jewellery, Mug, Cozy things, Bookish...)

Fresh Flowers (Preferably Her Favourite)

Card/Poem/Haiku/Quote

MOTHERS DAY COUPONS (Just some options, or you can make them yourself in to a small booklet)