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[neemanseating]

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[rashoumon-homo]

No Such Tastes In Men pt.4 (the last part)

Dazai x Male Reader, NSFW

-> Content Warnings: male!reader, anal sex (reader receiving), bottom!reader, dom/sub undertones, frottage, lethal amounts of fluff

-> 2.6k words

NSFW CONTENT AHEAD - READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

<- Previous Part

AUTHOR NOTE: There will be more Dazai x reader content for sure, but this is the last part of this particular story arc. I’m glad you’ve all enjoyed it so much! The reception is far more than I expected when I wrote the first part and I’m very grateful to all of you. <3

Initiating sex with Dazai has gotten steadily easier. Where before there’d be clunky verbal propositioning, you now wordlessly fall into each other’s arms at the end of each weekly meeting. 

He’s more liberal with kisses than you expected; it’s like the first one broke the dam and now he can’t get enough. When you’re alone, he’ll kiss you just because; cradling your jaw in his palm before gently pressing his lips to yours. Any lull in the conversation is quickly filled with the softness of his mouth on yours. 

It’s natural— unnaturally so. 

Dazai hasn’t asked to have penetrative sex with you again since the first time. You were quick to catch on that he was avoiding it, so you asked him about it, worried he hadn’t liked it. 

“No, no,” he’d said quickly. “It was… fuck, it was perfect.” He seemed a little breathless, a distant look in his eye. “I just need some time to process it.”

You didn’t push him. It’s understandable that he’d be overwhelmed, since it was his first time receiving and he’d thought he was straight up until then. He’d come to you when he was ready. 

Nearly two weeks after the night you’d fucked, he sent a text asking you to come over to his place after work. The implicit real invitation was clear as day. He’s ready again. 

You stand at Dazai’s front door, wrapping your coat tighter against yourself to block the chilly air. When he answers the door, he seems a bit more relaxed than last time. He invites you in and hangs up your coat for you. 

“So…” you prompt. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yeah,” he says, a little sheepishly. “I wanted to talk to you. I’ve had some time to think and I want to share what I’ve discovered about myself.”

“Oh!” you say, a little surprised. “I’d be happy to hear all about it!” 

Dazai gives you a relieved smile and urges you to sit on the couch. He’s bustling in the kitchen a moment later and calls out, “Just water, right?” 

“Yup!” you reply, your stomach doing a little flip. Remembering your drink preferences from last time is a small thing, you remind yourself. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything deeper. Although it is nice to know he cares. 

He returns with your drinks and sets his on the side table. He fidgets with his hands while you take a sip of water. 

You smile around the rim of your glass and peek over at him. He’s so cute like this, with all his carefully manufactured bravado stripped away. What’s left behind is a cautious, sweet man earnestly looking to learn more about himself and his desires. It’s been hard for you to avoid catching feelings, but you know that would be taking the arrangement too far, so you maintain a level of emotional distance when you can. 

“What?” you finally ask, nudging him with your elbow. 

“Can I kiss you one more time before I start talking?” he asks. “Just in case?”

The implication of “just in case” makes your blood run cold, but you give him a warm smile. “Always,” you murmur, tipping your head forward. 

His lips meet yours gently, his hand hovering near the back of your head before cautiously resting in your hair. He sucks lightly at your lower lip, teasing it between his teeth. Then he tilts his head further and parts his lips, urging you to do the same. As you lick into his mouth, his body seems to curl into you. It’s like he just wants to be held; to be as close to you as possible. You run your fingers through his hair, cradling his head in your hand, and he lets out the most melancholy little sigh you’ve ever heard. It’s like a flower wilting, like a stray kitten in the rain, and it breaks your heart. 

You slowly ease away, peppering his lips and the corner of his mouth with little kisses as you do. His eyes stay closed for a moment after you pull away, like he wants to pretend the moment isn’t ending. 

“Talk to me,” you say quietly. 

“I’m bi,” he says. He scans your eyes for any reaction, like there’s still some doubt in his mind that you of all people will reject him. 

You pull him into a tight hug. “I’m so happy for you,” you say, voice muffled into his shoulder. “Thank you for telling me.” You can feel his body relax, a little of the tension let out at your words. 

“You’ve helped me to realize,” he continues as you pull away, “That I like men sexually… and romantically.” Before you can even process it, a flood of words pours from his mouth. 

“I wasn’t totally sure at first because I like having sex with you but I didn’t want to label myself as bi yet because I’d never had romantic feelings towards a guy. But then I started to feel things towards you and I wanted to test it by having you fuck me and I really, really liked it. And not only that, I liked you.” 

He takes a breath and looks at you. “I like you. And it goes deeper than physical desire. And I know that wasn’t the deal, but I couldn’t help it. I don’t want to be stuck in a one-sided thing with you so if you don’t feel the same, I think we should stop hooking up. It’s not fair to either of us.” 

You blink at him. “But I do feel the same,” you say. “I’ve been trying to ignore those thoughts, but I like you too. I want to make out with you and fuck you and give you blow jobs in alleyways, but I also want to hold your hand and take you on cheesy dates to the bowling alley or whatever.”

Dazai giggles, but it’s a little sniffly. “The bowling alley?” he teases. 

You laugh and shove him playfully. “You’re laughing now, but you haven’t seen my mad bowling skills in action.” 

“Oh my god,” he laughs, shaking his head. When the laughter dies down, he asks, “So you really do feel the same?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you,” you say firmly. 

Like a nervous teen, he asks, “So we’re, like, boyfriends?” 

You hide a smile behind your hand. “I like the sound of that.” Then you pull him in by the collar of his shirt and kiss him. He melts into your arms, all the hesitancy from earlier having fully evaporated. You can feel him smiling into the kiss, something he’s never done before. It’s adorable. You find yourself smiling back, and then you’re both smiling too much to even kiss properly, so he nuzzles his face into your neck and lets you hold him. 

“There’s something we haven’t done yet that I’d like to try,” he mumbles. 

“Sounding?” you joke. Apparently the joking tone doesn’t read as well when he can’t see you, so he pulls back briefly, looking mildly horrified. “I’m just kidding,” you reassure him, chuckling and running your fingers through his hair. “Tell me your idea.”

“I’m not sure if this is something you’re into or not, so we don’t have to do it if you don’t want to,” he explains. “But you fucked me before and I was kind of wondering what it would be like to fuck you.” 

A shiver runs down your spine at the suggestion. You can’t deny you’ve thought about it before. Late at night, when you’re too horny to sleep, you’d finger yourself imagining it was him instead. You’d formed a habit of it, where it was second nature to cum with his name on your lips and fantasies of him stuffing you full. 

Interpreting your silence as hesitation, Dazai quickly backtracks. “But if you’re a top, I don’t mind bottoming for you again-”

You cut him off. “I’m a switch.” More quietly, you admit, “You have no idea how much I’ve craved that idea.” 

A playful smirk makes its way across his face. “Craved it, hmm?” He sits in your lap, slowly kissing up your neck. Your hands move to rest on his hips. 

“M-maybe,” you admit, mind already going fuzzy with arousal. He rolls his hips, pressing your erections together, and you can’t stifle the groan you let out. “Fuck…” you whisper. 

“I like you like this,” he teases, his breath ghosting over your ear. “So pliant and needy under my touch.” He rolls his hips again and bites down at the junction of your neck and shoulder. “I could get used to this,” he murmurs. 

“Dazai…” you groan. You’re melting under him, chasing his every touch, as your mind clouds over with arousal. You need him. You need more. 

“I know, baby,” he soothes. Then he gets off your lap and stands up and you positively whimper at the lack of contact. “Bedroom,” he orders. “I’m not fucking you on the couch– at least not tonight.”

You let him lead you to the bedroom and push you onto your back on the bed. He works quickly to pull your shirt off, and you’re reminded he’s wearing far too many clothes, so you do the same for him. After a few moments of frustrated fiddling with each other’s belts (both of you getting in each other’s way), you wordlessly agree to take off your own pants instead. 

And then you’re both just in your boxers and even the time it takes to remove those feels too long, so instead you grab him and pull him down on top of you. You roll around on the bed, frantically grinding against each other. Kisses turn into bites and somewhere in the back of your mind you’re scolding yourself for acting like a feral animal. But you can’t bring yourself to care, not when his throat feels so good between your teeth and the friction of his cock against yours with only two flimsy layers of fabric in between is driving you wild. 

Dazai manages to get his underwear down to his knees in the scuffle, then he slides his hands under your ass and hooks his thumbs in the waistband of your boxers to pull them down. “Hold on-” he groans, chuckling a little as you suck a hickey onto his pale skin. He rolls off of you and pulls his underwear the rest of the way off before you pounce on him again. He’s trying to wiggle your boxers the rest of the way down, but it’s hard with you latched onto him like that. 

“Be patient!” he laughs, shoving you off. He manages to finish undressing you, then straddles your hips. “Good,” he says, kissing you. “Good boy.”

When he leans away, his bare cock brushes against yours, making your hips jerk forward. You whine and grab his ass, roughly pulling him forward to chase the friction. He wraps his hand around both of you and strokes them together. You moan under his touch. It feels so good, like warm sparks running through your veins from your crotch outward. 

“Don’t cum yet, okay?” Dazai reminds you. “I still want to fuck you.”

“Get on with it,” you groan impatiently. You hand him the lube, having remembered from last time where it is. 

“So impatient,” he teases. “You really that desperate for me to fuck you?”

“You have no idea,” you whisper, then moan as he slips a long, slender finger inside of you. 

A look of surprise crosses his face. “Did you already prep yourself?” he asks. 

You nod. “I assumed from your text…”

He slips another finger inside, working you open with ease. “But how did you know I’d want to top this time?”

“I didn’t,” you explain. It’s getting really hard to concentrate on the conversation with Dazai’s fingers in your ass. “I came prepped last time too, just in case.”

Dazai stops suddenly, eyes wide. “You’re joking.” You wiggle your hips to urge him to keep going. “I can’t believe I missed out on the chance to fuck you.”

“You have the chance right now, so c’mon,” you say impatiently. “Fuck. Me.”

You’re momentarily disappointed when Dazai pulls his fingers out, but then he reaches for a condom and rolls it on. 

“How do you like it?” he asks. His cock rubs against your hole and it takes all your self-restraint not to push back against him and fuck yourself on it. “Fast, slow? Gentle, rough?”

“I like it in my ass,” you snarl. 

He unexpectedly grins. “Such a brat!” He sinks just the head inside, not even enough for you to really feel any relief. “You’re gonna be a good boy for me though, right?” 

Desperation and impatience starts to crack your resolve. You need him to fuck you or you’re gonna lose your mind. “Yeah,” you say reluctantly.

“Yeah, what?” 

You shoot Dazai a withering look, but his smug expression holds strong. “Yes, Dazai,” you correct yourself. 

“So good,” he murmurs, then sinks the rest of the way in. The way he stretches you out and fills you up is even better than you imagined. He fits you perfectly; hits every spot just right. But that’s nothing compared to the first thrust. When he pulls back and thrusts in, your whole spine arches and you moan loud enough for the sound to fill the room. 

“Fuck,” you rasp. 

“Yeah, you like that?” Dazai asks. He’s a little breathless himself. “You feel so good. So warm and tight around me.” He thrusts again, moaning through it. “Goddamn…” Gradually, he builds up a rhythm. He maneuvers your arms so they’re over your head, crossed at the wrists, then holds them tight in his grip. Holding you in place, he starts to fuck you more roughly.

The slick sound of the lube, along with the slap of his balls against your ass, fill the room. The sound is accompanied by both of your moans, grunts, and heavy breathing. 

“Dazai,” you warn. Your cock is throbbing, ready to go off at the slightest touch. “Gonna-”

He wraps his free hand around your cock and pumps once. Embarrassingly enough, that’s all it takes for you to finish. Your whole body tenses as you let out a short grunt through clenched teeth and spill out over his hand and your belly. 

“Shit-” Dazai grunts, then thrusts hard and lets out a low moan as he cums. 

A minute later, you’re both breathing hard, covered in a mixture of sweat, lube, and cum, but happier than you’ve ever been. Dazai pulls out and takes care of the condom, then flops on the bed beside you. 

“I definitely like topping,” he says finally. You can hear the grin in his voice, and you can’t help but smile too. 

“Don’t expect me to let you top every time,” you warn him. “My ass is gonna hurt so bad tomorrow…” 

“Hey, you asked for it!” Dazai rolls onto his side and flops an arm across your chest lazily. “When were you planning on telling me you’re a brat, by the way? You’re a lot of work, you know. It’s a good thing you’re cute like that.”

You stick out your tongue at him, and he darts in and licks it before you can pull it away. Laughing, you shove him, then roll on top of him and kiss him. “Boyfriend,” you murmur happily.

“That’s me,” he says, kissing you again. The cute moment lasts for only a minute or two longer, at which point Dazai whines, “You’re getting cum all over me!”

You roll your eyes and get up, pulling him up after you. “Fine, let’s shower. C’mon, babe.”

Dazai grins and follows you. “I like when you call me babe,” he says. After a moment, he adds, “I like you.”

“Ugh, you’re so adorable it’s actually gross,” you tease. You kiss him, then murmur, “I like you too.”

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Forget-Me-Not 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Loki

Summary: You return to your childhood home to put the past to rest.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You spend the night on the couch. You don't go further than the bathroom. You can't bring yourself to check her bedroom or the one you left behind.

You go out to get your bag and change in the yellow haze glowing behind the faded curtains. You check the time. Jan is expecting you in an hour.

You emerge into the dewy morning and tramp down to ground level. You get in the car, reversing out without looking back at the dingy house. The final farewell can't come soon enough for the slanted walls.

Jan is out in the yard, hammering a pineboard as you drive down his lot. His white hair curls with the sweat beading on his skin. He stills the hammer and wipes his forehead as you pull up. 

You get out as he greets you in the way all the villagers do. A manufactured friendliness that cannot erase their true judgement. They smile in face just as easily as the mutter your name under their breath. You mother harboured little good will in Hammer Ford and blood is sacred here.

“Sorry to hear,” he says.

“Matter of time,” you shrug dismissively.

“Isn't no way to come home,” he shakes his head and coughs into his fist, “walnut,” he points the hammer over his shoulder, “like ya said.”

Walnut, like the dining table. Where she sat and drank herself into that box. You nod and follow him over to the casket. The hinges are brass and the finish is rough. What does it matter? It's just going into the dirt.

“Got cash,” you say. Jan doesn't deal with the bank, everyone knows that. Funny the little things that stick with you.

“Thanks,” he accepts the bills as you count them out. So much for a rainy day. The sun shine bright as if mocking the grin affair beneath its watch. “I'll have it taken down to Norn's.”

“Yep,” you agree, “she's there.”

You head out without further niceties. Neither of you uphold those. Better to say what you mean and nothing else.

You get to the property line and idle. You turn away from the woods. You're not ready to go back yet. 

You stop by the church first. Father Oswald sits with you to discuss the ceremony. You'll say a few words at the grave site. You don't think anyone would come to a wake. You don't want them to.

You set off again, still reluctant to retrace your steps. You drive to the spare core of the village and park outside the library. You cross the street and peer in through the window of the bakery. It wasn't there when you left.

You venture inside and peruse the sweets behind the glass. You order a black coffee and a cinnamon bun. You pay the woman behind the counter, vaguely familiar. You're certain she was a few years behind you at school.

You sit and pick at the glazed dough. You don't have much of an appetite. You don't feel much of anything. You're just wading through, try not to get lost in the tide.

You sip the coffee. Bold but rich. Not bad. Better than the instant powder gone stale in your mother's cupboard.

The door opens and shuts, several times over as you stare at the table. The city taught you apathy. You don't let the noise bother you.

The chair across from you slides out and a figure plants themselves on the seat. You raise your head, your vision narrowing to make sense of their features. You turn your head to gaze out the window as Loki blows over the top of a mug. 

You slide out your phone, a defence mechanism. Still no reception. You put it down and keep your attention diverted. He clears his throat and taps his toe next to yours.

“You know, I do have an important matter to discuss with you,” he says.

You don't react. You know that's what he wants. That's why he showed up the night before. He undoubtedly insisted on being his clan’s representative.

“You've sent your condolences.”

“Mm, yes, but that isn't what I mean,” he traces his finger up the handle of his mug. “The house.”

You lower your brows and keep your eyes beyond the window. The village moves slow as ever. Not like the endless flow of the city streets. There's no where to hide here.

“My father has an offer. The property has value.”

You check your cup, almost empty. You swig the last of it. You stand and gather the cup and unfinished dessert. You put the porcelain on the counter and toss the cinnamon bun on your way out.

The door doesn't close behind you. He's following you. Your heartbeat piques. In an instant, you're hurled into the past. You're running through broken twigs as he snickers behind you. You ball your hands as your breath hitches.

You cross the street without looking, only just dodging a bumper. You go to your car, fumbling with your keys. Before you can stick them in the slot, there's a snare around your arm.

You spin and shove Loki off of you, biting down on a shriek. You glare at him and point the key at his chin.

“Not interested.”

“My father will give you more than the bank,” he counters. 

“Don't care.”

He sniffs and quorks his head, “is this because I never called?”

You choke on a scoff. You turn and ram the keys in the slot and twist. You open the door as you step around it. The edge hits him as you swing into the driver’s seat.

“The house is worthless. The bank will give you pennies for the land.”

“Go tell your daddy you failed,” you sneer and yank the door shut, hitting the lock with your fist.

You start the engine without a glance in his direction. You pull put as he barely avoids getting his toes run over. Just as ever, this village belongs to the Odinsons. They won't have to pay the bank much to get what they want but you will never sign your name next to theirs.

[theredofoctober]

MANNA- CHAPTER FIVE: OATS

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, drugging, Daddy kink

This is chronologically the fifth chapter in the series

---

The day after the failed feast Dr Lecter enters your unhappy chamber to find you already awake, greasily feverish in the maelstrom of narcotic hangover. Moaning under the dripping cloth of your bedsheet, you wince from the light that punctures the room as Hannibal draws back the curtains with a determined flourish.

"This is what happens when you do not eat and drink enough, I'm afraid," he says, putting a lusciously cool hand to your brow. "The excitement around the table certainly didn't help matters. Had you been receptive, then you would have been hydrated, full-bellied, and ready for the day ahead. Alas, your mulish nature is the portcullis that refuses you entry into better health. I cannot raise it for you."

You haven't the life in you to retaliate to such sanctimonious jibes, and he well knows it.

Humming a strand of Vide Cor Meum, Hannibal glides about you, first plumping your pillow, then holding a glass of water to your lips until you must either drink, or drown. In fractured gulps you salve your chapped throat with it, then part your lips again for a spoon of porridge; to your surprise, the portion spilled from cutlery to tongue is slim, a suggestion of treaty, of a temporary kind.

"I will never make you eat more than is reasonable, little one," says Hannibal, meeting your narrowed stare so frankly that you are almost abashed by the look. "It would do you no good to upset your stomach any further. I will minimise your intake for a few days, at least."

The suggestion is so unbelievable that you search his plain expression for the merest taint of trickery.

"You're not... angry with me," you observe, at last.

Dr Lecter's head inclines.

"Any ill feelings between us were settled at dinner, were they not?"

He helps you to the bathroom, stepping politely outside the door as you list at a sloppy port-wise angle, gripping either side of the bowl with preventative force; you may fall should you let go, humiliate yourself in the necessity of further care.

That Hannibal reverts to a veneer of nurturing aid after an episode of violence with such undisturbed ease frightens you, as does your instinct to accept that profferred assistance. Too many years span from here to the last time you allowed yourself to do so, and though you know well Dr Lecter's malign in having manufactured such frailty, you may never regain the position to resist it without him.

As with Will, your way out of this house is to drive yourself further in.

"I'll return home early today," says Hannibal, as he eases you back into bed in stops and starts to accomodate each shimmer of nausea. "I can reschedule my afternoon appointments for another time."

"Don't bother," you mutter, against your pillow. "I want to be on my own."

"I'm aware of that. Nevertheless, I will be here to monitor you. If you're feeling better tonight, then I will conduct your next therapy session."

Fear flowers at your core, all thorn tipped leaves.

"I won't be better," you say, your lips still crushed to starched cotton. "That promise I made to you about trying— I can't stick to that. I can't be the person you need. And I can't eat. It's too hard for me."

Hannibal lays a hand on your back, soothing you as he might an infant with colic.

"I know," he says, simply. "Relapses are to be expected. Neither Will or I will admonish you for that. What I will not tolerate is rudeness. I have demonstrated what will occur if you do not keep your tongue in check."

At this your head snaps upright against the pull of sickness.

"Aren't you rude?" you ask, sharply. "And Will?"

Hannibal pats down your coverlet, quite unoffended.

"One might argue that is down to interpretation. I pride myself on cultivating elegance, which includes manners, as a matter of course. Will, however, is— unique. I overlook his cruder moments for the complexity layered beneath them. As for what we have done to you, it is unfortunate that you cannot observe the act through our eyes, and perceive its beauty, as well as your own."

To this, you have no answer. You can think only of snaring hands, of Will's stubble scarring your cheek, and the blood broken like bottled wine across your inner thighs, so much ugliness paraded as glory.

"Please drink the water I've left out for you," says Hannibal.

You do, for he will know, if you do not.

*

There was something in that glass, or the oats, you comprehend, for when you are next conscious you are propped upright in a leather chair, only part returned from witless repose.

A metronome clicks at your ear, back and forth.

Lights flash and cease, white and black their blinking through the timeless night in which Dr Lecter has you drown. You sit, or swim in it; you cannot tell. The fungal spell of Hannibal's cooking robs you of both voice and tether to the earth. You could be foam in a Homerean ocean, where men become pigs on its alien isles.

You too might be such a beast, or a child, or some sylph of amorphous matter trapped in such hampering skin.

The sound of your breath comes, shuttered and sharp.

A warm hand cups your chest, and your lungs seem to open to its gesture as though by unknown magic.

Then a voice murmurs from a face before you, its shape without edge, an orb.

"You are safe. You are cared for. You belong."

Like a switchblade across your eye the light comes again, and you are part of it, an impulse that is all life, all one.

Hannibal speaks your name, grounding you to him, as to a stack in some wild sea.

"I'm going to ask you some questions now," he tells you. "They may be difficult. Try to answer them honestly."

There is only a man here, there is only light; you cannot refuse them.

"Okay," you mumble.

Hannibal's pleasure in your answer is a current timed to the swishing metronome.

"How did your eating disorder begin?" he asks. "What did it look like, then?"

"Just a diet, at first," you say. "The meals got smaller and smaller. Then a lot of food scared me. I started counting calories. Throwing food out. Being around anyone eating was like I was being tortured. That's when I knew that something was really wrong with me."

You hear the scratch of a pen on an unseen pad.

"I see. And how did that realisation make you feel?"

"Nothing. I didn't care. Then I started to like it. Challenging myself. The compliments— feeling like I had something nobody else did, that I was so good at— It became everything I was. My identity, kind of."

How easy it is to speak, when you cannot see the expression of the listener before you.

"Trauma frequently shapes us in our formative years," Hannibal comments. "It is a natural response to build oneself in its image. So, let us retreat to older memories. Tell me of a time that you recall being afraid."

The flashing light numbs to an ebbing glow.

"There was this guy," you say. "A guy that my dad was friends with. Still is. His name is Leland Frost. He used to come over to our house all the time. He was always so friendly, but I knew that there was something wrong with him. There was something in his eyes, the way he laughed too much, or stood too close to me. Like he was putting on a rubber Hallowe'en mask of a regular guy, and everyone was just pretending it was fine, but they really weren't pretending."

"Elaborate."

You gnaw at your lower lip until you taste warm iron, and consider spitting out the calories.

"I tried to tell people about it," you say. "But Dad could never see it. He'd just say, 'oh, that's just Lee. Silly old Uncle Lee. That's just how he is.' But I knew. I saw him. I smelled the cheap rubber mask."

"Did this Uncle Lee ever hurt you?" asks Hannibal, softly. "Touch you in an inappropriate manner?"

This memory is dusky, a cobwebbed photograph.

"I don't know," you admit, at last. "I always thought he wanted to, though. I always thought the minute my parents left me alone with him something bad would happen. The waiting was always the worst part."

A pause, in which you sense rather than see Dr Lecter watching you through the dark-light-darkness.

"But maybe it wasn't Uncle Lee that I was waiting for," you say, at last. "Maybe it was you and Will."

The gloom becomes further marred by tears, and you feel a box of tissues being pressed into your loose hand.

"That's enough for today," says Hannibal, rising from his seat. "You've done well for me. This calls for a reward."

He crosses the room to pick up a telephone, glancing at you with an unintelligible heat in his eyes.

"Good evening," he says, into the receiver. "I hope this is a convenient time for you. Yes, that is correct; I'm calling about your daughter's progress. I am very satisfied with her cooperation today. We are approaching some early milestones."

Hearing the tinny, distant voices of your parents, you struggle towards a lucidity that feels so desperately out of touch.

Hannibal crosses the room towards you again and turns the phone away from his mouth to murmur, "I will allow you a few words to them, if you will be sensible."

By this he means: if you do not give the game away.

You nod your head jerkily and extend a fist as Dr Lecter introduces you into the conversation.

"She is here, now. Somewhat tired, but all is well."

You clenched the receiver to your ear, tears coming in such a quick patter that, at first, you can only sit in hyperventilating silence as your parents babble at you, their voices sharp with an underlying guilt.

"How are you, honey? It's so good to hear from you! We love you! Is everything okay?"

Each day you've been parted from them you've missed them as you would your most vital structures, with a sore and deathly strength, yet your love is not so stark as your disappointment in being so abandoned by them.

"No," you say, at last. "I'm not okay, Mom. Dad. How could you send me away and not even warn me?"

The babbling rises, panic in male and female iteration.

"We had no other choice. It was all we could think to do! We tried everything. But Dr Lecter's helping you, isn't he?"

Hannibal's stare is, itself, a warning.

Pressing your knuckles to your anguished mouth, you pass the telephone back to him, not trusting yourself not to scream for help and damn yourself to the harshest punishment that such an executioner of free will might hand to you.

"She is overwrought," says Dr Lecter, apologetically. "I'll call again next week."

He hangs up, and leans across to clean the tears from your face himself, ensuring the tissue is discarded in a wastpaper basket; even in this he must be perfect, organised and pristine. You hate him for it, this performance he makes of his life, preserving such details as no one would be likely to notice but him.

"I wish you hadn't let me talk to them," you whisper. "Now I feel even worse."

"Of course you do," says Hannibal. "Your family betrayed you. It would be much more unusual if you held no resentment towards them at all."

You squint up at him in accusation.

"You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

"Leaving a wound open may sometimes allow it to dry, and subsequently heal. You will not advance without acknowledging the harm your parents have done to you, whether through dispatching you to me without consent, or by ignoring your justifiable fear of Leland Frost. The map to your mental injury is unfurling before us: the continents take shape, as do the names that mark each turn in your unhappy life. In time, I will know them all."

Weeping, you slip down in your chair, not wanting to see the truth that thrusts itself up from the outcrop of evil.

"I will help you to your room," says Dr Lecter. "More sleep is in order, I think."

*

Will Graham enters the house some time in the night; you hear his low voice through the floorboards as you lie in swaying wakefulness, wondering what brings the professor here at so late an hour. He stays for so long that he accepts an invite into one of Hannibal's spare rooms, a fact that you discern from the voices passing your door in the hallway.

Again you sleep, though not pleasantly, your psyche disturbed by the third presence in the building, and by the lasting bruise of Dr Lecter's relentless torments.

In this sleep you dream of an antlered thing burying you in a terracotta wood, its face so darkly passive as soil smothers your airways that you might well be a bone, stored there to be gnawed at some late and starving hour.

When you emerge from this haunted slumber you still feel the threads of it still noosed around you; dream-sick, drug-thick, you stagger across your bedroom and, finding the door unlocked, tumble on into the hallway beyond.

By chance you find Will's room, letting yourself into quarters that smell of night-sweat, and pine, and male musk. You scarcely know what you do as you climb into bed with him against his salty heat, nor why it is he, of your abusers, that you seek.

Will starts awake, wild-haired and horrified as he senses your body beside him. Your name bolts from his lips, scarcely recognisable, the utterance of an animal groomed to speak a human tongue.

"What are you doing here? You should be in your own room."

Keeping your back to him, you drowsily reply.

"Had a bad dream."

Will breathes an ironic laugh.

"And you think you'll sleep any better in my bed? I destroyed you, remember?"

Self-blame, self-loathing, all jagged and tail-swallowing teeth.

"No," you mumble. "He did. Not you, Daddy."

You feel Will sit up behind you, scratching a hand through his unruly curls.

"You're not in your right mind," he announces, gruffly. "I'd better tell Dr Lecter to stop giving you whatever medication you're on. It's not good for you. No wonder you're having nightmares."

Still, he doesn't attempt to turn you out of bed, or to call Hannibal to eject you on his behalf. He only slouches, gazing at you, until you turn on your side to look back at his pretty, troubled face in its nest of brindled shadow.

Will's shoulders still droop in a mode of shame, yet the black of the room deepens the blue of his eyes into a yearning colour through which many a woman would gladly fall. He wants you here, you realise, perhaps likes the power he holds in having you soft and needful beside him, in his lair, after all he's done.

You should detest him for feeling it, and you do.

But recognising that craving within him reawakens the understanding of that power you may yet hold over him, in return, the mistress of a cur that bites all but those that direct the leash.

It is a long way off, this control, but the taste of it will do, for now.

"Let me stay," you implore, fluttering sodden eyelashes in a coquettish attempt to convince him. "Please? Just for tonight? I don't want that dream to come back."

You'll loathe yourself for this, in the morning, but now all you care for is the night. Will seems to be having the same thought, for he lies back down on the mattress again, taking care to leave ample space between you.

How does he compartmentalise his violence—his taste for it—from his revulsion towards you, and further still from the empathy that stirs in him like a stamped out fire?

"Just one night," says Will, sternly. "I don't know what Hannibal is going to say about this."

You pull the quilt up under your chin, almost giddy with your achievement, and with it the comfort that pours over you like a September afternoon. This strange happiness you will remember, and wonder at, when all you should have known were the tatters of despair.

"Dr Lecter left my door unlocked," you say, as Will moves in restless, settling motions at your back, still refusing to make contact with your skin. "So it's really his fault I'm here, you know."

At this Will half-rises again, but whatever question or comment he murmurs is lost to your abrupt slumber.

By morning he is gone, and you are alone again, only the scent of the monster remaining about you to mark out your miserable self-treachery.

He is not there to see you thrust the sheets against your face and inhale their bitter stink, if only to claw back the triumph of having made vulnerable a man so very closed to contact of the most human kind.

He is not there, and he is everywhere.

Will is as part of this house as Dr Lecter, now.

[defectedrockstar]

A Hell of a Rockstar

This was gonna be it, this was how we gonna become a rockstar. Signing up with Vandelay's Armstrong Project was his ticket to fixing his right arm. From reception to the campus' courtyard, Chai had a pep in his step, no longer will he be dealing with his disability and he can finally live his dream. All he had to do was sleep through his surgery. He disrobed and got into a medical gown, placed all of his belongings like his MP3 player and made his way down the line. He couldn't help but look in awe at the manufacturing of the establishment, all huge and self sufficient. He was so distracted he didn't notice himself getting shoved onto a large table and got strapped in.

Up above several platforms from Chai, the president, Kale Vandelay, was discussing how the people they recruited.

"You promised me the best of the best, Mimosa!" Kale exclaimed to a woman with blonde hair in a excessively stylish blue and purple business outfit with yellow highlights.

"Production asked for test subjects, Kale. Marketing delivered," Mimosa said, motioning a side glance and a wave to a hulking lady with tanned skin, black and red hair that matched the makeup she wore.

"Don't pin it on Rekka!" the hulking lady growled with a thumb to herself with fists clenched. "Tell that grandstander Zanzo in R&D to-"

"We need people with influence, and you're giving me..." Kale cut in before picking up a MP3 player from the personal belongings from their test subjects. "LOSERS!"

"It will work," Mimosa reassured.

"It better. No screw ups! And no, DEFECTS," Kale firmly stated with eyes narrowed. He turned and examined the old MP3 player he had. "What a piece of junk," he scoffed before tossing it over the catwalk.

The MP3 would bounce off from pipe, railings and lights before falling further down to the surgery below.

Chai looked on as a large pressure plate with sensors and circuits scanned him. He waited as the operation was about to begin, only to feel a thud on his chest. He looked down to see an MP3 had landed on him.

"Uuuuuhhh..." Was all he could muster nervously before being slammed down by the machine.

Blinking into reality, Chai yawned as he woke up before sitting up. Though, he did not expect to be slap down in the middle of the streets with red buildings, skies, EVERYTHING was red.

"Am I dreaming?" Chai questioned before pinching his left arm. "Ow! Okay, not a-" He paused as he just realized he moved his right arm. When looking over, his whole right arm was replaced and he was rocking some new clothes. A black jacket, red shirt with a crushed star, jeans, sneakers and a yellow scarf with red flaming tips. "Oh, sweet! Guess some event must be happening in the campus," Chai convinced himself as he began to walk around, seeing all sorts of freaks from imps, ghouls, etc.

"Is it Halloween or something?"

[dubaiofficefurniture-blog]

Leading Office Furniture Manufacturer in Dubai

Highmoon Office Furniture stands as the premier office furniture manufacturer in Dubai, setting the standard for quality, style, and functionality. Explore our diverse range of meticulously crafted office furniture solutions designed to meet the unique needs of modern workplaces:

Ergonomic Chairs: Experience comfort and support with our ergonomic chair designs, promoting productivity and well-being.

Modern Desks: Enhance your workspace aesthetics with our sleek and contemporary desk options, tailored to your preferences.

Storage Solutions: Keep your office organized with our range of storage cabinets, filing systems, and shelving units, maximizing efficiency.

Conference Furniture: Create professional meeting spaces with our conference tables and seating arrangements, fostering collaboration.

Reception Area Furniture: Impress clients and visitors with our stylish reception desks and seating options, making a lasting impression.

Choose Highmoon Office Furniture for unparalleled craftsmanship and design excellence, elevating your office environment to new heights of success.

[woodbine-in]

WOODBINE: Crafting Reception Tables that Make a Lasting Impression in Delhi, Gurugram, and Beyond

Gurgaon, Haryana, India – 17.01.2024 – WOODBINE, a leading manufacturer of premium reception tables in Delhi, Gurugram, and nearby regions, is redefining the art of first impressions. We create stunning, functional tables that not only enhance your office space but also leave a lasting impact on your clients and visitors.

Unparalleled Design and Quality at WOODBINE

At WOODBINE, we believe that your reception table is more than just furniture; it's a silent ambassador of your brand. That's why we use only the finest materials and expert craftsmanship to create tables that are as elegant as they are durable.

Our signature features include:

Pre-laminated particle board construction: Ensures long-lasting sturdiness and a smooth, polished finish.

Smoke glass front facia: Adds a touch of modern sophistication and creates an air of openness.

Wide range of shades: Choose from a variety of colors to perfectly match your office décor.

Two-tone customization: Elevate your space with a unique and personalized look.

Find the Perfect Table for Your Needs

Whether you have a grand corporate office or a cozy startup space, WOODBINE has the perfect reception table for you. We offer a diverse selection of styles and sizes to suit your specific needs and preferences. Explore our collection, including:

Executive tables: Exude power and professionalism with a sleek, minimalist design.

Modern tables: Make a statement with clean lines and geometric shapes. Classic tables: Create a timeless and sophisticated atmosphere. Customizable options: Design your dream table with our expert guidance.

More Than Just Tables, We Create Experiences

At WOODBINE, we understand that your reception area is the first impression your clients receive. That's why we go beyond simply providing furniture. We help you create an experience that reflects your brand values and leaves a lasting positive impression.

Our team of experienced designers and craftsmen is passionate about helping you achieve your vision. We work closely with you to understand your needs and preferences, and then create a table that is not only functional but also speaks volumes about your brand.

Elevate Your Office with WOODBINE

Contact us for a free consultation and let us help you create a reception area that makes a lasting impression.

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[officemaster-ae]

Simple Office Furniture Tricks for Finding the Deals

There are many different ways that you can decorate your office. You can pick a particular type of furniture and choose your furnishings based on that, or you can have furniture that is a mix of styles, shapes, and color schemes. Some styles of furniture are more expensive than others, and it might be cheaper for you to pick a style that is less expensive.

A common type of office furniture seen in many offices consists of dark heavy wood. This type of furniture usually features heavy L-shaped desks with hutches, matching bookcases, long reception desks, and bulky workstations. The look is very elegant and expensive. However, if you would like to purchase office furniture that is not going to make you broke, you might consider a more modern design.

Modern designs include a plain and simple approach. This is where a desk is just a desk and a chair is just a chair, there are no fancy bells and whistles. The beauty of having simple designs is that you can save money on buying the products. Because the parts are usually less and the material less expensive, it is often a more economical way to buy furniture.

If you're looking to buy cheap office furniture you can always check out used office furniture stores. And when you're looking in the used stores, take note of the modern and simple designs because chances are they will be even less expensive than the huge wooden desks. Keeping your office furniture simple is a neat way to save money on decorating your office space.

The internet is a great tool for finding bargains. You can search out some nifty online stores that also feature pictures of their products. You can find sources that make material that is cheaper than other materials and in turn, cost less to sell.

Buying right from the furniture manufacture is another excellent way to buy inexpensive furniture. Especially if you buy in bulk quantities, you will be sure to save money. When you purchase office furniture from a store you are also paying the store their share of the profit.

You can also search out for office spaces that are closing, going bankrupt or simply moving, and look for great rates on buying their used furniture. If it is a private sale, you might have a better chance of talking down the price or offering a small lump sum for an entire load of office furniture.

Adding new office furniture to your office space can be a fun and rewarding experience. You will ultimately pick the style, color, and design of the furniture you are buying. And if you shop well and end up with some trendy cheap pieces then you will be more than happy. All it takes is some nifty shopping tricks and lots of patience as you shop around for the best deals and products for you. Remember that timing is everything, so you might have to keep checking the internet for deals or keep looking in the paper for used office furniture sales. It may take some time, but in the end, will be worth the wait.

Get the latest updates on modern office furniture, Meeting Tables, office chairs, office desks, Office Workstations, Office Sofas, Filling Cabinets, and Reception Desks in Dubai, for detailed office furniture, please visit our website officemaster.ae

Office Furniture Abu Dhabi, Office Furniture Sharjah, Office Furniture Doha – Qatar, Office Furniture Kuwait, Office Furniture Riyadh, Office Furniture Oman

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[whiskerinthestars]

Chapter 8: Mana and Metal

Urban Ascent

My eyes suddenly snap open, and before I know it, I’m already sitting upright in bed. I glance over at the clock—5:00 AM. Hmm? That’s weird. It’s an hour before my alarm usually goes off, but I feel wide awake. My thoughts drift back to yesterday’s meditation, when I was clearing away some of those blockages. Did I finally get a good night’s sleep? I can’t remember the last time I woke up this easily—and without an alarm.

Maybe it’s just the excitement. After all, I’m about to send in my totally-not-made-up excuse to my manager and take the rest of the week off. Too lazy to call the answering service like I’ve been told to do countless times, I just shoot an email directly to the inbox that receives the messages from them, skipping the middleman. Whatever—they’re already going to be annoyed that I’m taking time off. So what if they’re a little extra upset that I’m not following protocol? Phone calls are so archaic—who even calls anyone at this point?

Stretching dramatically as I get out of bed, I let out a yawn and make a beeline for the kitchen. It’s still warm this morning, so I opt for iced coffee. And by that, I mean a premade carton of the stuff I keep in the fridge. As I shake the container and pour the gurgling contents into a glass over a few miserly cubes of ice, I see the telltale signs of an empty carton as the last remnants of froth come up to top off my glass.

Tossing the now-empty carton into the trash, I grab a straw from the cabinet on my way over to the couch. I pick up the bag of jewelry off my desk as I plop down, setting it on the coffee table in front of me. Lazily sipping my iced coffee, I start brainstorming how I’m going to go about enchanting this jewelry. I furrow my brow slightly as I remember, belatedly, that I forgot to add a splash of sweetened creamer. Ready to drink, my ass—this isn’t nearly sweet enough.

Too lazy to get back up and walk the five feet to my fridge, I suffer in silence as my thoughts drift back to my idea from last night. With no better ideas coming to mind, I figure “refining” the jewelry as if I were cultivating it is as good a place as any to start. Hopefully, some sort of noticeable change will occur, and if I’m lucky, it’ll create a kind of “core” of its own to hold a little mana. That’s the first step. Then I’ll figure out how to add instructions to the mana or whatever. In the back of my head, I’m thinking it’ll be something like programming, but there’s no point worrying about that now when there’s nothing in the ring to power it, right?

After all, the whole point of this is for the ring to exude a natural charm on its own—enough to make a passerby willing to fork over a ludicrous 3x markup for this cheap silver trash. I take another regretful sip of bitter coffee before finally setting the glass down and rummaging through the bag of baubles. A simple silver band with a silver rose charm set on it catches my eye. For some reason, I keep thinking back to all the novels where they talk about inscribing jade. I wonder if it has something to do with the properties of certain minerals.

Somehow, I doubt these cheap, manufactured glass crystals will be as receptive. It’s the silver itself that will have to act as the housing for my magic. So what better to start with than the ring made entirely of silver—well, sterling silver, to be precise—but that’s beside the point.

Trying my best to push away all the distracting internal monologue I’m prone to, I empty my mind and focus solely on the ring and my connection to it. I gently hold the ring between both hands, almost as if I’m using the silver as a contact to complete the circuit my arms are making.

As my core begins pumping mana into my left arm, I force it to flow through the silver ring with the intent to “refine it,” carving out an energy center within the ring. Meanwhile, I do my best to sense the energy on the other side, pulling it back through with my right hand. My intent is to only pull back clean energy, imagining the mana being strained and purified before it’s allowed back into my body.

After all, I don’t need any more impurities or blockages—I have plenty of those already. So I go slowly, taking care to avoid causing any unforeseen accidents. It might be more prudent to just let the energy go to waste, but with how precious little I have, and the time I’ve spent refining it, I want to recapture as much as I can.

Especially given what that old man said about me leaking mana like a sieve—more than just the residual mana passing through the ring but not being used up in the process. There’s plenty of mana that doesn’t even enter the ring at all. I can feel it—it’s the same as when I output mana normally, just hovering in the air. If left alone, all that energy would simply dissipate back into the atmosphere.

Between what’s actually being used to refine the ring and what’s being lost to the air, it seems like I’m only capturing less than half of what I send out. But still, getting back even half is a hell of a lot better than getting none of it back. Thinking about it this way, I’m essentially able to take 100 points of mana and circulate it through the ring in an attempt to refine it.

Fifty points get taken back in through my right hand, only to be sent through again in another cycle. I’m careful to keep reusing the same energy rather than pouring more mana into the ring from my core. I continue this recycling current: 50 becomes 25, becomes 12.5, 6.25, 3.12, 1.56, and when it reaches less than a single point, I can’t even tell if I’m feeling it anymore.

Let’s say only half of the energy that makes it to the ring actually refines it. By the time I lose track of the energy, I’ve sent that same 100 points of mana through it seven times, so roughly 49.21 points should have gone into refining the ring. I can’t say I’m thrilled about wasting over half the energy I put into it—but I quickly put my disappointment aside as I check to see if this was all worth it.

Again, I focus on sending mana through my left hand and into the ring, but this time, much slower. With the tiniest trickle I can manage, I gently push a little mana into the ring—this time with the intention of filling a small reservoir.

I’m practically holding my breath at this point, pushing my focus to its limits, trying my best to feel the flow of mana into the ring and to sense any leaks. And from what I can tell, none at first. Then finally, a small "leak" appears. After checking it a few times, I note that it’s almost identical to the amount of mana I’m sending into the ring. When I stop the flow, the leak stops with it.

I keep watching the ring closely, but no matter how long I wait, the energy doesn’t seem to go anywhere.

“Yes!” I can’t help but shout, even though I’m completely alone at the crack of dawn. Slightly embarrassed by my outburst, I hope I didn’t wake any of my neighbors. But I couldn’t help it—it actually worked! This ring is holding mana all by itself, and none of it’s leaking out. That must mean I was successful in storing the energy—but wait, how much energy?

I focus again on the ring, slowly drawing the energy back from it to estimate how much I initially put in. Being careful not to let any energy slip away, I absorb it all back. I’m a little disappointed—even though it was my first attempt—because I only absorbed about 25 points of mana back from the ring. Earlier, I clearly spent nearly 50 points charging it!

I don’t think any was lost when I charged or absorbed it back, so where did it go? Does the mana that I store in the ring get converted into something else? Like how you have to convert AC to DC power to charge a battery, and then back to AC to use it again? Maybe it’s just losses in conversion—that seems like the best explanation.

So for every 2 points of mana I put into the ring, I can only expect to get 1 point back. Not to mention the 100 points of mana I spent just creating the core in the ring in the first place. This is turning out to be a lot more trouble than I expected. One hundred fifty points of mana, just for 25 points of usable energy. That’s a 1:6 payout ratio—but I guess I should be happier that I succeeded at all, right? This is still better than it all blowing up in my face.

I need to stop being so negative and just take it all in stride. I’m still new at this. It’s only going to get better from here. I’ve got to stay positive and keep working toward my goal. What’s my goal, you ask? Never having to go back to work again!

[cfrsecondhand]

Used Office Desks: An Investment in Efficiency and Cost-Effective Workspace Solutions

When it comes to outfitting your office with functional and durable furniture, used office desks offer an ideal solution. Whether you're a startup looking to save on costs or a growing business expanding your operations, purchasing pre-owned office desks allows you to create a professional environment without breaking the bank. In this article, we will explore the many benefits, considerations, and options available when buying used office desks, helping you make the best decision for your business needs.

Why Choose Used Office Desks?

Investing in used office desks offers numerous advantages, especially for businesses looking to maximize their budget. Here are some key reasons why you should consider opting for pre-owned office furniture:

1. Cost Savings

One of the most significant reasons businesses choose used office desks is the cost savings. New office furniture can be quite expensive, particularly if you’re outfitting a large office with high-quality desks, chairs, and storage solutions. By purchasing used desks, you can enjoy the same functionality and aesthetic appeal at a fraction of the cost. This is especially beneficial for startups or businesses operating on a tight budget.

2. Environmentally Friendly Choice

Buying used office furniture is an excellent way to reduce waste and contribute to environmental sustainability. Rather than purchasing new furniture that requires additional resources and energy to manufacture, opting for pre-owned office desks helps to extend the life of quality furniture. This small change can make a big impact on your company’s overall eco-friendly practices.

3. High-Quality Desks at a Fraction of the Price

Many used office desks are often in excellent condition, especially when sourced from reliable suppliers. These desks may have been used for a short period or were kept in premium office spaces, ensuring that they are made from high-quality materials and designed to last. When you buy from trusted sources, you can access desks that are just as good as new but at a significantly lower price.

Types of Used Office Desks

There are several types of used office desks to choose from, depending on your office layout, the style you prefer, and your functionality needs. Here are the most common options:

1. Executive Desks

Executive desks are ideal for senior management or professionals who need a large, functional workspace. These desks are designed for comfort, style, and efficiency. Buying a used executive desk allows you to afford high-end designs, often featuring wood finishes and built-in storage for organizing office supplies, documents, and electronics.

2. Computer Desks

If your office primarily requires desk spaces for computer work, used computer desks are a great option. These desks typically feature smaller dimensions, but they are built to support computers, monitors, and keyboards, ensuring your employees have ergonomic workstations. With used computer desks, you can find functional desks that fit your needs without compromising on quality.

3. Reception Desks

The reception area is often the first impression clients and visitors have of your business, making it important to create a professional and welcoming environment. Purchasing a used reception desk can help you furnish this space affordably while maintaining a polished and attractive appearance. These desks typically come in a variety of sizes and designs, from sleek modern styles to classic wooden finishes.

4. Conference Tables

Conference rooms require large, durable desks that can accommodate group discussions and meetings. Buying used conference tables gives you the flexibility to choose from a variety of sizes and materials at a significantly lower price point. Many high-quality conference tables are available, even those with modern features like built-in electrical outlets for presentations and digital meetings.

Where to Buy Used Office Desks

When it comes to buying used office desks, selecting the right source is essential. Here are the most common places to find high-quality pre-owned office furniture:

1. Online Furniture Retailers

There are many online marketplaces and retailers that specialize in used office furniture. Websites like Commercial Furniture Rentals, offer a wide selection of desks and other office furniture. These platforms often provide detailed descriptions and images of the products, allowing you to get a clear idea of the condition and features of each item. Online retailers also provide shipping and delivery services, making the process of purchasing used office desks convenient and hassle-free.

2. Local Office Furniture Dealers

Local furniture dealers who specialize in pre-owned office furniture are another great option. They typically have showrooms where you can see the desks in person, ensuring you’re getting a high-quality product. Additionally, these dealers may offer delivery and installation services, helping you get your used office desks up and running in your workspace without the stress of handling logistics on your own.

3. Auctions and Liquidation Sales

Businesses that are closing or downsizing often hold auctions or liquidation sales to sell their office furniture. These events can be a great opportunity to purchase used office desks at incredibly low prices. However, it’s important to thoroughly inspect the furniture and ensure that it meets your requirements. Auctions and liquidation sales may also be more time-consuming and unpredictable compared to other purchasing methods.

4. Refurbished Office Furniture Suppliers

Some companies specialize in refurbishing used office furniture, including desks. These suppliers clean, repair, and restore the furniture to like-new condition. Buying from a refurbished furniture supplier gives you peace of mind that your used office desks have been inspected, cleaned, and restored to a high standard of quality.

Factors to Consider When Purchasing Used Office Desks

While purchasing used office desks offers many benefits, it’s essential to consider several factors before making a decision:

1. Condition of the Desk

Inspect the desk thoroughly to ensure that it is in good condition. Look for any signs of damage, wear, or scratches. Depending on the desk’s material, you may be able to repair minor imperfections. However, if the desk shows significant signs of damage, it may not be worth purchasing.

2. Size and Layout

Ensure that the used office desk fits within your office layout and provides the necessary workspace for your needs. Take accurate measurements of the space where the desk will go and compare them with the dimensions of the desk you’re considering. This will help you avoid purchasing a desk that is too large or too small for the intended space.

3. Ergonomics and Functionality

Comfort is essential for any desk, especially for employees who will spend long hours working at it. Look for desks that offer ergonomic features like adjustable heights, sufficient legroom, and cable management options. Functionality should also be considered – does the desk offer adequate storage or organizational features?

4. Delivery and Setup

When purchasing used office desks, make sure to inquire about delivery and setup services. Some suppliers offer delivery and installation, while others may require you to handle this process independently. Ensure that you have a clear understanding of any additional fees or responsibilities associated with delivery and setup.

Conclusion

Purchasing used office desks is a smart and cost-effective way to furnish your workspace. Not only can you save money, but you can also help the environment by opting for pre-owned office furniture. With numerous styles, sizes, and options available, finding the perfect desk for your office has never been easier. Whether you're seeking executive desks, computer desks, or conference tables, you can find quality pieces that meet your needs and budget.

By selecting the right used office desks and carefully considering factors like condition, size, and ergonomics, you can create a productive and comfortable workspace for your team. Start exploring the wide range of used office desks today and transform your office into a professional, efficient, and stylish environment.

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The Role of Sanitizers in the B2B Industry: Meeting Hygiene Needs Across Sectors

In today’s business landscape, maintaining high hygiene standards is essential for safeguarding employee health, ensuring customer satisfaction, and adhering to industry regulations. Hand sanitizers and surface sanitizers have become indispensable in various sectors, playing a crucial role in keeping workplaces clean and minimizing the spread of germs. Across industries, B2B platforms are helping businesses of all sizes access vital hygiene products to meet these demands.

This article explores where hygiene products, particularly sanitizers, are supplied within the B2B sector and highlights the industries that rely on them.

The Essential Role of Sanitizers in Business Operations

Sanitizers are now a core part of workplace hygiene practices. Whether it’s to prevent the spread of illnesses, comply with safety standards, or create a clean working environment, businesses must integrate the regular use of hand sanitizers and surface sanitizers into their daily routines. From employee workspaces to customer-facing areas, sanitizers offer a quick and effective solution to maintaining cleanliness.

In industries where hygiene is critical, such as healthcare, education, and hospitality, sanitizers have become a cornerstone of operations. However, their use extends far beyond these fields, touching sectors like manufacturing, logistics, and retail as well.

Key Industries That Rely on Sanitizers

1. Healthcare Sector

In healthcare settings such as hospitals, clinics, and laboratories, the importance of hygiene cannot be overstated. Hand sanitizers are used by healthcare professionals before and after treating patients to prevent cross-contamination. Additionally, surface sanitizers are vital for disinfecting medical equipment, furniture, and high-touch surfaces to limit the spread of germs. Ensuring that these products are readily available is not just a requirement but a necessity for maintaining a safe environment for both staff and patients.

2. Educational Institutions

Schools, colleges, and universities are high-traffic environments where germs can spread rapidly. From classrooms to cafeterias, ensuring that students, staff, and visitors have access to hand sanitizers is key to preventing the spread of illness. Surfaces in shared spaces such as desks, door handles, and equipment must also be regularly cleaned with surface sanitizers to maintain a safe learning environment.

3. Hospitality and Food Service

In restaurants, hotels, and cafes, hygiene is paramount. The handling of food and interaction with customers requires strict hygiene measures. Employees in food service must frequently sanitize their hands to avoid contamination, while surface sanitizers are used to clean kitchen countertops, tables, and equipment. Ensuring that sanitation products are consistently available helps businesses maintain customer trust and comply with health standards.

4. Manufacturing and Warehousing

Manufacturing plants and warehouses, although not traditionally associated with hygiene concerns, are increasingly using sanitizers to maintain clean workspaces. Employees handling machinery or products often come into contact with shared surfaces, making the regular use of hand sanitizers and surface sanitizers critical for minimizing health risks. Sanitizing stations in strategic locations throughout these facilities help promote cleanliness among workers.

5. Offices and Corporate Workplaces

In corporate settings, ensuring a clean and sanitized environment is important for employee well-being. Hand sanitizers placed in common areas such as reception desks, conference rooms, and breakrooms encourage regular use, helping reduce the spread of germs in high-touch areas. Regular cleaning with surface sanitizers also ensures that workstations, meeting rooms, and shared equipment remain disinfected.

6. Retail Stores and Shopping Centers

Retail environments where there is continuous foot traffic also require a strong focus on hygiene. From cash registers to dressing rooms, frequent sanitizing of surfaces with surface sanitizers ensures that germs don’t linger on high-contact areas. Providing hand sanitizers at store entrances and checkout counters gives customers peace of mind, demonstrating the business's commitment to cleanliness.

Why Businesses Need a Reliable Source of Sanitizers

In all the industries mentioned, having a dependable supply of hygiene products is critical. A reliable B2B platform can offer businesses access to a broad range of sanitizers, ensuring they can maintain their hygiene protocols without disruption. Whether it’s bulk orders of hand sanitizers for high-traffic areas or specialized surface sanitizers for critical cleaning tasks, businesses must have a steady supply to meet their operational needs.

Ensuring Compliance and Safety

Beyond just maintaining cleanliness, sanitizers play a key role in helping businesses comply with industry health and safety regulations. Many sectors have stringent hygiene requirements, especially those dealing with food, healthcare, and public services. Adhering to these standards is not just about reputation—it's about legal compliance. Hand sanitizers and surface sanitizers are a simple yet effective way for businesses to meet these guidelines while protecting their workforce and customers.

Conclusion

In the B2B sector, sanitizers have become indispensable tools across industries, from healthcare and education to manufacturing and retail. Businesses need these products to maintain cleanliness, ensure safety, and comply with regulatory standards. Having access to a reliable source of hand sanitizers and surface sanitizers allows businesses to operate smoothly while safeguarding the well-being of their employees and customers.

As industries continue to prioritize hygiene in the workplace, sanitizers will remain a critical element in any business’s health and safety strategy, ensuring a clean and safe environment for all.