#reception desk for sale

[frontdeskdallas]

These are some of the most crucial elements to consider while searching for a furniture company that meets your requirements. Several best furniture stores in Dallas are well-known for their excellent products at very reasonable prices. Consider the advantages and disadvantages of each shop before making a choice, keeping in mind that there are several alternatives.

[dollfairy]

It amazes me how clueless bank patrons are -- like no, you don't get to cut the line because you "just have a question" -- it's the same person answering the question as would be serving the next person in line, and you will inevitably have a transaction to do depending on the answer to your question, so get in the damn back of the line

[livingitupsalon]

Everything You Should Know When Buying A New Salon Reception Furniture Online

This article will discuss beauty salon reception furniture, the importance of buying the right furniture, and the benefits of buying online. We’ll also provide some tips on what to look for when shopping for salon reception furniture and share some of our top picks. Whether you’re starting a new salon or giving your existing reception area a facelift, this article is a must-read. So, let’s dive in and learn everything you need to know about buying salon reception furniture online.

Visit Here For More Information - Everything You Should Know When Buying A New Salon Reception Furniture Online

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Believe it or not, this is a farmhouse for sale in Ocala, FL.

The spacey 1981 "Live Oaks" farmhouse sits on 95.97 acres of land. It has 5bds, 8ba, and is priced below it's appraisal value at $8.5M.

I've never seen sculpted brick like this, before, have you? It looks like an angry horse and a screaming face. I guess it's an art piece, but why does it look so violent?

Inside, at first, it looks like a public building. There's a fireplace in the hall.

It's a very large, open space.

I'm very confused- that looks like a reception desk, with a large area in front of the fireplace. Then, this long table is next to the desk. Is it a boardroom? I don't think it's a dining room.

What the hell is it? There's another more direct entrance thru these glass doors.

Wait a minute, that's a bar! See the bottles peeking out on the bottom shelf? This is weird. So, that is like a dining room space.

I think I found the living room. It's carpeted with a fireplace in the corner.

Then in the round glass part of the house, there's a garden.

Plus, a large, half-circle-shaped pool.

Look at this- a full bar with a service window to the glass enclosure.

Another set of doors in the glass enclosure opens to the living area.

It's a big open family room/kitchen.

Beautiful huge cook's kitchen has a double stove, lots of nice quartz counter space and tons of cabinets.

Another set of doors open to a game room. So, the house surrounds the pool/garden area.

These people must love to drink, b/c there's a 3rd bar in here, a retro glass block one. Man, people could trip on that platform it's on.

They don't show any of the bedrooms, but here's one of the baths. Not that nice, but it's big and on an angle. It's hard enough to get into and there's a step.

Now, from the house, there's a path to the horse stables.

It's a very large facility.

Totally set up for horses.

Here's a covered outdoor horse space.

There's also a yard area with a fountain and tennis court.

Here's a nice little pond with a fountain.

Over 90 acres of beautiful land.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/3707-NW-110th-Ave-Ocala-FL-H34482/2116891938_zpid/

[thebeast-dennis-etcetera]

So Many Questions Part 1

Prompt: You’re pulled in for questioning by NCIS and are quickly surprised to see your ex-boyfriend as your interrogator.

Note: Characters are post season 11

Part 2 Part 3

————

As quick as your feet would let you without actually running, you made your way past the reception and into the elevators to your floor. Ignoring the hellos from your fellow coworkers, you went right up to your assistant and interrupted her phone call.

“If a man with a blue suit and atrocious beard comes in asking for me, tell him I’m busy in a meeting and can’t talk today.”

Before she could answer or ask any questions, you entered your office and shut the door quickly behind you, letting out a breath.

The man you were referring to was a very insistent investor that you had no interest in talking with especially after he tried to woo you with a giant fruit basket and money. You and your company were not for sale or in the business of taking bribes. Luckily, you saw him in the lobby and ran for safety before he could spot you.

You sat at your desk that was stacked with paperwork and dived head first into it, knowing the growing pile was only going to get bigger by procrastinating.

Not even 15 minutes into work, your door was knocked on. You swore if it was your assistant and that pesky investor, you were for sure firing her.

“Come in!” you called, hoping for the best.

A man and woman walked in, both immediately flashing badges before introducing themselves.

“Miss L/N. I’m Special Agent McGee and this is Special Agent Bishop, NCIS. We have some questions to ask you but need you to come in with us.”

NCIS. You thought you’d never hear those letters spoken together ever since you and a specific agent had broken up 5 years ago.

“Um, what is it regarding may I ask?”

“One of your employees, a Miss Darvel,” he answered, walking over and handing me a piece of paper. Skimming over it, you realized that it was a warrant to question you in relation to a murder.

“You don’t think I’m a suspect, do you?”

“No ma’am, but we do have to have to question you considering our findings.”

You shook your head in disbelief, partly at the fact that you’re about to be questioned by federal agents but more at the fact that of all government agencies questioning you, it had to be NCIS.

“Um, ok. Just let me grab my things I guess.”

————

Most of the car ride was silent, just a little small talk about your life but you conveniently left out the part where you knew Jet, not knowing if you would even run into him. Hopefully, you didn’t and were able to keep your mental wounds from opening.

You followed them into the elevator and through the orange walls to an interrogation room. They really weren’t kidding.

“Would you like some water?” the woman you remembered as Agent Bishop asked you.

“Sure, that would be nice. Thank you.”

She smiled and the both of them left to leave you alone in the ominous room with only your reflection staring back at you. Taking a seat in the cold metal chair, you fidgeted your hands and waited.

Not long went by before the door opened again and two men walked in, one in which you knew very well, and the other was unfamiliar with his dark skin and muscular build. Your chest tightened at the sight of Jethro sitting down in front of you, pushing a bottle of water towards you, no expression on his face.

“I wasn’t expecting to ever see you again Jet,” you stated, slight displeasure in your tone.

“Jet?” his partner asked him with a smile. Jethro shot him his classic stare, wiping the smile off his partners face and looked back at me.

“I’m here on business Y/N. We have some questions for you regarding one of your employees, Petty Officer Olivia Dravel.”

“Yes, I remember you being all about business. So much so that you forgot you had people to care about.”

He sighed in frustration and you smirked at how easy it was to push his buttons. His partner looked thoroughly entertained.

“Where’d you find this one Jet? College football practice?” you jested. The agent laughed to himself as you shot him a wink.

“Enough F/N.” He began placing down pictures of a very dead Olivia and you turned your head away. “What can you tell us about the email Petty Officer Dravel sent you last night telling you that she finally had enough information?”

“I don’t know. I barely talked with her, she only reached out to me to ask about one of my investors.”

“Ian Chandler?”

“Yeah, she thought he was involved in something shady like shell corporations but wouldn’t tell me anymore than that. I asked Ian about it but he told me she was just a disgruntled employee.”

“Did she ever mention how she was planning on confronting him or meeting up with him?”

“No. Like I said, she barely talked with me.”

“Well she seemed to put a lot of trust in someone she barely talked to Y/N! She sent you a total of 10 emails, all regarding her findings on Ian Chandler, what are you not telling me?”

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you Jethro! I didn’t see any emails from her, the only conversation I had with her was in person and I already told you what it was about! You know me. I wouldn’t withhold any information from something like this!”

He just sat there silently, brows slightly furrowed and arms crossed, studying me. Very rarely had I seen the upset side of Jethro, let alone angry side and it was definitely a culture shock.

“You’ve gotten cold, Jet,” you spoke quietly, not able to look him in the eyes. A minute went by in silence, just the feel of his stare on you.

“Who else has access to your emails?” His voice was softer now.

“Just me and my assistant, Cheryll.”

He wrote a few things down in a little notepad and stood up, nodding to his partner.

“Torres. Escort Miss L/N back to the lobby, she’s free to leave.”

And just like that, he was gone. Just like 5 years ago. You held back the tears threatening to fall, not sure they were from being interrogated or from him leaving so coldly. So much for keeping those wounds closed.

[lovebugism]

Congrats on 6k!! 🎉 You deserve it and plenty more! ❤️

This one is slightly different but mutual pining office romance with modern Steve? Some inspo like “I got a coffee and muffin for you because I noticed you haven’t left your desk all morning”, teasing jokes, tension in the elevator, the a/c in the office doesn’t work and it’s the middle of summer 👀

18+ (ish)

It was Casual Friday on a Tuesday.

The air conditioning went bust building-wide, and the stuffy businessmen on the fiftieth floor decided to be lenient about the dress code for the time being. Of course, that still meant everyone had to work in ninety-degree temperatures with little to no relief, but at least Steve could see you waltz around in a pretty little tank top and pencil skirt.

“I’m pretty sure there’s a policy against showing your shoulders, sweetheart,” Steve jokes to announce his arrival as he walks into your office.

Jolted from your stupor at the printer, your head whips over your shoulder. You find the boy in his usual white button-up, unclasped to reveal his ribbed undershirt with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Sweaty honey hair pushed back over his forehead, the underside of his glasses slightly fogged.

He sits a white paper bag and a cup of iced coffee on your desk.

You smile, warmed by his presence in a way that’s far more tolerable than the heat wave.

“I’m pretty sure that’s because Mr. Harrington knew his son wouldn’t be able to keep it in his pants otherwise,” you squint at him, still grinning. 

“Well, I must say, you are far sexier than balance sheets.”

You giggle like a schoolgirl when his broad arms wrap around you from behind. His lips sprinkle chaste kisses to the sticky skin of your bare shoulder. You can feel him smiling against you.

When you turn around to return the favor, you notice that the blinds of your office are still open — leaving the both of you on display to the entire rest of the floor you manage. They’re all too busy with their own work and too plagued by the heat to notice, but you pull away from Steve and his kisses anyway.

“You didn’t shut the blinds, you dork!” you scold, pushing your hand against his chest as you step back like he’s burned you.

Steve laughs. “C’mon. Nobody’s looking. I can kiss you.”

You’re not swayed by the wide palms he slides on your hips.

“Not until you shut the blinds and lock the door,” you scowl sternly, using your uncowed, badass businesswoman voice that always makes his knees buckle.

And even though he thinks twisting the slatted curtains closed is far more suspicious, he listens to you anyway. It’s the least he can do to make his girl feel comfortable — to make her less tense and more receptive to his touches.

Your concerns aren’t totally unfounded. You’ve told him a million times why you don’t want to make your relationship public. “I’d be dating my boss’s kid, Steven,” you’d gripe. “All my accomplishments stop meaning something after that.” 

You started out on the second floor in the mail room, spent a year slaving over the books in the dim eerie hall of the seventh, and then got promoted to floor twenty-five after a particularly lucrative sale. You worked your ass off and it left you much more concerned about your position in the firm than most people tend to be. 

You were halfway to the top. The very first woman to run this whole floor. 

And you loved Steve, just not enough to throw all that away.

“Happy now?” he singsongs as he locks the door with a low click.

With your bottom lip between your teeth, you nod. 

Now you can ogle him without fear of someone noticing, touch him all over without someone reporting it to H.R. 

He looks far too sexy than what should be allowed — in his loose slacks, glasses perched on the bridge of his strong nose, chest hair poking out from the collar of his tank top.

Screw the shoulders, Steve’s body should be a company-wide violation.

Propped up on your desk, the boy settles between your thighs — spreading them slightly with his hips and making your skirt ride up. His wide palms settle on the outsides of your bare knees. Your hands rise to cradle his scruffy jaw, pulling him down for a much needed kiss. 

His lips on yours are as all-consuming as the humidity surrounding you.

Your mouths click wetly when they part.

You smile at each other like two lovesick idiots.

“What’s in the bag?” you wonder, nodding your head to the paper sack beside you and the iced coffee already melting next to it.

“A blueberry muffin and one of those bagels you like,” Steve answers, big hands squeezing your thighs. “‘Cause I know you haven’t eaten all morning.”

“I’ve eaten!” you protest half-heartedly.

“Yeah?” he challenges. “What.”

“…An apple slice from the platter we had in the meeting room.”

A laugh rumbles in his chest. “That so does not count. You gotta eat better, babe. Alright? Especially in this heat. Can’t have you passing out at the copier or something.”

“Well, that’s why I have you, right?” you retort, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him closer. This heat wave’s no match for the fire that sparks between the two of you every time you touch. “So you can bring me breakfast and feed it to me when you know I’m too busy to eat.”

“Why would I feed it to you?” he chuckles in a scoff.

You shrug. “‘Cause you love me.”

“…Touché.”

“What about you, Stevie?” you lilt, almost teasingly. “Have you eaten today?”

“I bought me something when I stopped at the café for you, but… I could always go for another bite.”

You grin wide like a mischievous cat. It would be alarming how quickly the air between you can turn from innocent to sinful if you weren’t already so turned on. You’ll just blame it on the heat for now.

“I bet you worked up a real appetite in this heat, huh?” you ask him, feigning sympathy, as the tip of your nose brushes his own. His breath fans against your mouth. You can already taste the coffee on him. 

“Yeah,” he huffs lowly. “Definitely.”

“Maybe I should give you something else to eat…” 

Your eyes flutter shut when his hand trails between your thighs to cup your pussy over your cotton underwear. Your neck becomes free real estate for his mouth when your head tips back. His thumb rubs your clothed clit. He can feel a damp patch already starting to form.

“Let me clear off your desk, baby,” he slurs into your pulse, smearing his spit there. “Need you to ride my face…”

“Shit, Steve—”

A knock at the door pierces the silence made velvet by sweet nothings and heavy breaths. Both of you freeze in shock, still clutching onto each other, like if you stay still enough whoever’s behind the door will leave.

“Who is that?” Steve murmurs to you, his eyes trained on the shined shoes behind the sliver of space beneath the door.

“I don’t know…”

“Steve? Are you in there?” Mr. Harrington’s voice comes muffled as the door handle jiggles. “When I told you to be fast. I meant fast. I need you for another errand.”

“Oh, shit,” you swear, breath caught in your throat. “Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit—”

“It’s okay,” Steve whispers sharply back to you. He inches toward the locked door.“Just… Just be cool.”

“Steve Harrington—”

“It’s fine.”

“—Don’t you dare open that door.”

He swings it open anyway. His father stands before him, looking just like his son but a few decades older and not nearly as pretty. He scowls. “Care to tell me what the door was locked?” he deadpans.

You’re glad he’s not looking at you for an answer. You wouldn’t have been able to lie like Steve does. It comes rather effortlessly to him because he’s done it all his life.

“I was bringing her breakfast, remember? Like I told you. And then we just started talking, you know? I can be a real blabbermouth sometimes.”

“Don’t I know it,” Mr. Harrington monotones. By the time he pokes his head around the doorway to your desk, you’ve already rid yourself of any evidence that you might’ve been kissing his son. His stern expression never wavers. “Both of you. Come with me.”

You nod like you’re happy to do it, swallowing down the inkling that you’re about to get fired that rises like bile in the back of your throat.

Like cows to the slaughter, you and Steve trail behind his father as he leads you through the twenty-fifth floor and to the elevators. Steve tries to grab your hand in a feeble attempt to comfort you. You jerk away from him, not wanting to be caught being so unprofessional a second time.

The elevator is quiet and stiff with sweltering heat. Mr. Harrington presses the button for the fiftieth floor.

“Um… Can I ask where we’re going?” Steve answers when the doors shut.

“I’ve got a big client coming in and want you two to sit in on the meeting. I think it could be very beneficial for you both,” he answers, still monotone, but obviously not angry.

Your chest deflates with a sigh of relief.

The man’s hands are tucked neatly behind his back. His eyes stay locked on the digital inclining numbers below the ceiling — 28, 29, 30…

“I want you to clean up in the bathroom before you go in, too. You’ve both got lipstick smeared on your chin.”

Your heart sinks all over again.

Mr. Harrington turns to his son, still as stern as ever but with a foreign glint in his eye. It borders on playful. “And if you run off my best accountant, Steven, I’m booting you back down to the mail floor.”

[dansimsfantasy]

The sims 4.

It is a creation inspired by botany, also designed for plant sales, herbalists or nurseries. In this first part you will find 7 basic objects to equip a business, you will have 4 shelves, a reception counter with 2 floors that adapt linearly and contribute to a warmer, even modern appearance. The reception desk requires The Sims 4 expansion to function.

VIRIDI BOTANY_ OBJECTS FOR STORE 1

[octuscle]

A weird change has been going on with all the guys at my office. Many of them are now acting “southern” wearing cowboy boots and hats and belt buckles and even talking in southern accents despite almost none of them being from the south. They also started driving giant trucks and even some of my more liberal co workers are now talking about conservative politics.

Could the chronivac be behind these changes?

You have the feeling that the young employees were the first to be affected. When you went home a few days ago, you heard a "Goodbye, Mister! Havuh nice eevnun!!" from Frederick's desk. Frederick is an intern. A promising Harvard student from the best family in Providence. You're actually on a first-name basis in the office. But you don't actually wear a cowboy hat either…

The next person to be hit is Peter from the coffee shop downstairs in the office building. Peter is actually a talented barista and, like all people in the catering industry, is actually a disabled actor. You once saw him as Hamlet in an off-Broadway production. He wasn't any worse. "Hello Mr. Goldmann, sir! Uh hot blaak filter coffee as usual?" You look at him in amazement. "Peter? Is that you? I always have a cappuccino. Have you forgotten?" "Kaynt bay, mister! Way don't sayul thet kinduh stuff. An by thuh way, mah name iz Pete."

Fucking hell, Pete is really smoking hot. Okay, the conversation between you is getting more monosyllabic by the day. You'll get used to the black coffee. Not to his Trump praise.

Over the next few days, more and more of these cowboys and rednecks will come your way. There is talk in the news of a hacker attack on TikTok accounts and on Chronivac by the Russians. Allegedly, it is no longer the will of the voters but the voters themselves who are being manipulated. Thank God you don't use TikTok.

A few days later, things get more serious. You come out of the elevator, your eyes engrossed in the New York Times. What is that stench? Your eyes fall on Frank, the young man working at reception. A cloud of sweat and musk wafts around him. His left hand is under the table, moving rhythmically back and forth. "Good morning, Frank!" you say sternly. His hand is suddenly on the table and he clicks away the porn on the screen. "Excuse may, Mr. Goldmann, sir! Ah didn't say yawl coming." You say that your name is Sebastian and that he should get back to work. Apparently he misunderstood. As soon as you turn around, he jerks off again.

And it smells bad in the office. A lot of employees here seem to have an increasing problem with personal hygiene. And spend more time in the gym. And watching cowboy movies. Still mostly young colleagues. But also a few who are your age. It's frightening.

You're sitting at the financial statements. They have to be finished in the next few days. And apart from you, no one in accounting seems to have a clear head anymore. What you're given is full of errors. In terms of content, spelling, grammar… A catastrophe. You hear heavy footsteps behind you. "Goldmann, Smith, Wagner. Into thuh conference room. Now!" You turn around. The two giants look a bit like your CEO and CFO. But they smell like the locker room at a rodeo.

The two of them will forward you the links to a few TikTok videos. You should watch them! Don't have an account yet? Then bloody well get one. You'll get a lecture that our business model isn't patriotic enough. That you're doing too much business with the disgusting gooks and the cowardly French and Krauts. You're supposed to make America great again. America first!

Robert and Richard look at each other and at you, embarrassed. They don't really understand what they should do now. Admittedly, neither do you. You wonder whether the board has gone mad. Robert and Richard, who represent product development and sales, start to discuss whether it is even possible to restructure the supply chains and distribution channels in the short term.

You install TikTok and take a look at the videos sent by the CEO. They are basically advertising messages from the right wing of the Republican party. Repulsive stuff. And you have no idea what this has to do with your company's accounting and controlling.

After reflecting on the situation for a few minutes, you get up and think that you need a drink for the shock. You wonder if they could do with one too? Robert and Richard, who have also just installed TikTok and are watching the videos, look up briefly and shake their heads.

The cognac you received as a gift a few years ago is no longer in your office. You also can't remember whether you gave it to someone as a gift or took it to a company party. Surprisingly, you find beer in the fridge in the coffee kitchen, which is actually against company policy, but no schnapps or anything like that. You go to Frank and ask if you have any whiskey or something similar. Frank spits his chewing tobacco into the wastepaper basket and pulls a silver hip flask out of a drawer. "Home-brewed by mah dad, Mr. Goldmann, sir! Do yawl need uh glass?" You shake your head, take the flask and take a big swig.

Rick and Bob ask if you've brought booze and chewing tobacco. The two of them rant about the government, fantasize about how good everything will be once Trump is back in power and scratch their balls. They're both good guys. A bit hollow in the head. But they have their hearts in the right place, don't think twice and implement orders quickly and efficiently.

You really can't believe the gobbledygook they spout. You sit down, take a pinch of chewing tobacco and push the tin over to them. And after an impressive burp that smells wonderfully of the chili from today's lunch, you take a deep breath.

"Buddies, is way men or weaklings? Thuh bosses want ideas frum us, not whinin'. Wadja thank uh thuh fallerin' plan: naw more deliveries uh goods frum China frum next year an doubled prices fahwar sales tuh Europe!" Bob and Rick both snot their tobacco in the corner, shout "Yeehaw" and fart. Hehehe, they also had the chili. Shit, a good chili fart always makes you horny. You pull down the blinds in the meeting room. And Bob and Rick undo their belt buckles.

[ashprince-of-bel-air]

Edited to add: Just some formatting, I have been busy with assignments so rushed on the formatting and whatnot and haven't really been present 😬 I don't know why but I love the idea of Rolan being so enamoured but not understanding why nobody else feels the same way, as if it's a foreign concept to be so in love at first sight.

Candles were placed in every corner of his study, all flickering and illuminated, the opulent room, more than fit for the Master of the Tower, shadows of light danced along the edges of the books, tucked away in their cozy shelves, their only audience being their master. Rolan had set the room up just so, candles lit on every surface, the gossamer curtains shut and the distinct smell of beautiful peony flowers permeating the air. It was perfect, the linens on the bed spread where scented and the night air was clear enough to see the stars from the balcony, who wouldn’t be able to resist such a beautiful night.

Rolan had always thought back to the day she first started as an assistant in his shop, Sorcerers Sundries, it was hard not to notice her, it was as if she had an air of magnetism around her. It wasn’t only Rolan that had noticed it either, at first many of the shop workers had tried to woo her, flowers, wine, chocolates and even expensive jewellery. All of this she had declined with the grace and decorum that befitted a woman such as her. Though Rolan never meant to spy on her, he could not help but watch from high upon his balcony, smiling to himself at every rejection she gave, yet also hoping that he would never feel it’s sting if he were to ever be so bold as to approach her. Not that he had time for such trivial things of course, he was the master of the tower and as such had many responsibilities to attend to, though she was always there at the back of his mind, her form ever lingering, like a siren slowly drawing him in.

It wasn’t long until she had captivated more than her colleagues, the public seemed to be enamoured as well, sales had gone through the roof ever since she had started working the reception desk. There was no complaint about the sales of course but Rolan grew even more curious about this mysterious woman, wondering if it was a spell or some sort of glamour that had caused all these people, himself included to be so enraptured with her and hanging on ever word. Nights Rolan had paced his study wondering what spell could achieve such thing, digging through tomes and spell books, not getting a wink of sleep, he was almost consumed by the mere thought of this woman of whom he did not even know the name of.

The research bore nor fruitful endeavour for him, not one scroll showed any spell that would grant such an enchantment over so many people. Though Rolan gave up on his search he never gave up on watching her from afar, she was like a celestial being to him, graceful, glowing and could light up any room. Balling his fists against his side he stormed away from the balcony overlooking the shop floor, it infuriated him to have such little control over himself, he wanted to know who she was and what power she possessed.

The week transpired and Rolan had heard nothing of the man he paid to dig into her past and who she was, he was growing impatient. Cal and Lia had seen all this unfold from afar, too scared to intervene for Rolan’s own sake, he seemed a man possessed, they hoped that once he had closure he would be relieved of this madness over her, a woman that seemed all too ordinary to them, unable to understand why only he had become so fixated on her. Unable to comprehend what he meant when he said all the workers were also transfixed, she was just a normal woman attending her role, stepping up to other duties as the store got busier after the fall of the Netherbrain. The siblings began to feel concerned for Rolan’s mental state but chose not to pursue it further, he would heal in time.

Sitting in the chair in his study he awaited the report from his investigator, it had been a week which was long enough to find out something. The only information that his informer could give him was that she was born and raised in Baldur’s Gate, had an affinity for books and her name was Lyra. The name Lyra seemed to echo around the room in Rolan’s ears, if it wasn’t for that reaction he would have demanded his money back from such a poor investigation, yet he sat there with her name upon his tongue. Lyra.

Rolan’s daily watches continued, he could never pull himself away from watching Lyra.  Lyra. What a beautiful name, he told himself, it was like honey on his tongue, and he wished he could say it forever, to feel each syllable on his lips, to taste her name upon his tongue forever, he could only dream of even touching her when they had never spoken to one another, yet soon he would have his chance.

Each week the shop would shut, and the staff would have drinks in the open reception area, it often got messy but that’s why many chose to volunteer for weekend work, the extra pay was worth the cleaning of the wine bottles and sick before the Monday morning rush. These events had begun even before Lorroakan’s time, and Rolan would not dare destroy an old tradition for the workers, he had never previously attended, but this night he considered it.

The mirror before him made him look proud, regal and commanding, though that is not what he felt inside, inside were the insecurities that haunted him, how he couldn’t save his siblings in the shadow cursed lands and how he could never defend himself from Lorroakan’s wrath. Though he was powerful and more than deserving of the tower, all he saw before him was a small man, one that would amount to nothing, one that no woman would want. Deep deep breaths is what Rolan told himself, he was not what his inner demons said he was. He was the man who helped save Baldur’s Gate, the man who helped the Tiefling children survive the attack in the shadow cursed lands. Rolan could even hear Tav’s annoying voice in his head that he was powerful and could do this, a thought that made him laugh and role his eyes, assuaging his anxiety somewhat.

The congregation of staff was in full swing as Rolan made his way down the stairs, waving at his siblings awkwardly from afar as they had enmeshed themselves far more easily than he did. Rolan felt anxious and odd, trying to make small talk to those who worked for him, many were apprehensive to speak to him for fear of saying something bad. Rolan knew this was why he never attended such things, people felt awkward around him. A deep breath and a sad sigh left Rolan’s chest as he made his way back to his own room in the tower, as his foot landed on the first step he felt a hand upon his arm holding him back slightly. Looking back in surprise it was her, Lyra. She was holding his arm and keeping him at the party.

Rolan’s heart thudded in his chest, his eyes flitting between the hand on his arm and the hypnotic eyes looking up at him with such happiness in them, it made his heart melt to feel such a happy glow from someone. Rolan smiled back and gave a silent yet polite nod, encouraging her to say what she needed, not ever acknowledging that he himself was speechless.

“Thank you Master Rolan” the smile was genuine; he could see the tears in her eyes as she spoke. “If there is anything I can do to repay your kindness please let me know!”.

Lyra’s hand was still upon Rolan’s arm, her eyes full of tears and admiration for the ruler of the tower, a man she would do anything for, a thing Rolan hadn't picked up on her last comment. A sad look affected Rolan’s face as he stroked Lyra’s “Enjoy the night, you and your friends deserve it”. That was all Rolan spoke.

The walk up to Rolan’s quarters was not far, yet every step felt arduous, hearing Lyras words in every step. Rolan wanted Lyra, he craved her, but the way she offered herself did not seem right. He wanted her but not because she felt she owed him anything, he wanted her to want him as any woman would want a man, through lust and emotion. The walk to his room was easy, the entrance to it was not, candles illuminated the room, in anticipation of someone to join him. Rolan kept the candles and the incense burning, though he did not have a partner he could still enjoy himself.

Rolan threw his head back as he stroked his length at the though of Lyra, she should have been here, she should have been on top of his cock in the candlelight, it was the thought of Lyra that drove Rolan wild, he wanted her,  yet he wanted Lyra to want him as well, to have her on her own terms, until then he would always be craving her. Tonight he would make do with her visage, his own mind conjuring a perfect form of her before him to enjoy until he could muster up his courage to court the real thing, something he told himself that he would do in time.

The soft bed he had prepared was bliss as Rolan laid back upon it, the candlelight providing the perfect dim mood for him. Rolan laid upon the bed, comfy on the feather sheets, slowly sinking into the bed as his hands roamed south, pushing under his soft linen trousers, finding his erect length there.

[achillmango]

Cookies and Kisses

A small present for a the immensely talented @geothewriter . Happy birthday, friend!!

____________________________

“Aang!” Azula called as she opened the front door of Gyato's Animal Rescue. 

Aang looked up as the bell on the door gave shrill chime. "Hey!" He smiled and checked the wall clock. "You're really early for your volunteer time. Or did you come just to hang out with me?” A goofy grin spread across his face as he walked toward her.

"Neither.” His sagging shoulders didn’t escape her notice. “I have a shift at the gym, but I wanted to drop by and let you taste these." She handed him the foil covered tray she was holding. 

"Ooh what are they?" Aang wondered as he lifted the foil to take a peak. "Cookies!" He beamed.

"I wanted to try something new for the shelter bake sale next week. Cinnamon and mint." Azula smiled. 

Aang's smile fell slightly. "That ah, sounds great."

"Try one." She urged him.

"Alright, here I go." He gingerly took a cookie from the tray, as if it would attack him if he weren’t careful. Azula didn't miss his pause as he held it in front of his mouth before taking a bite.

"Mmm, honey it's delici-" He covered his mouth and coughed. "I'm sorry, I can't do it." He set the tray on the reception desk before plucking a tissue from the dispenser and spitting out the offending baked good. He gave her a sheepish grin. "Both the cinnamon and mint are so strong, it's very-”

"Aang, I just watched you spit it out.” She deadpanned. “Don't sugarcoat it, you know I hate that.” 

"That was like biting into two tubes of toothpaste at the same time. With sugar on top." 

Azula groaned and threw her head back. "I really thought I had something with this one."

Appa sniffed at a piece of cookie that fell on the floor. He eagerly gobbled it up, froze, and promptly let it fall out of his mouth. 

"Et tu, Appa?" She frowned at the Bearded Collie. He winced and her shoulders fell. Appa wasn't a hard palette to please, so this was an exceptional failure of an experiment. 

"You’ve been working really hard trying to develop something new, you know you don’t have to do all that." Aang gave her hand a light squeeze.

"I know." She rested the crown of her head on Aang's chest. "I just want these to be perfect. That's the fifth idea I've tried." 

"And they will be." He ran a soothing hand over her hair. "You're so creative and resourceful, you'll think of something."

"You're sugar coating again." She mumbled into his chest.

"I'm not." He laughed and tilted her chin up. "It's the truth and you know it."

"I do." She smiled.

"That's my girl." He kissed her forehead. "And if all else fails, you could always go back to your tried and true honey lemon glazed butter cookies."

"You're just saying that because you want to eat them." She pulled back and looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

 Aang put his hands up in surrender. "Guilty as charged." He looked at her with feigned innocence. "Can you blame me for trying?" 

"I suppose not. But only because you're so cute." She pinched his cheek. 

"My specialty." He grinned. 

"Alright, I've gotta go or I'll be late." She turned to walk to the door and felt Aang’s arms wrap around her torso. 

"You're leaving already?" He pouted. 

"Aang, let go!” Azula chided, worry apparent in her voice. “I don't need Zuko scolding me for another tardy."

"I'm sure he'd understand this." Aang spun her around to face him again and captured her lips in a languid kiss that made her forget the rest of the world.

Azula wrapped her arms around the back of his neck and brought him closer. She could feel him smile against her lips. He pulled away. Oh no, he wasn’t getting away that easy. She put her hands on either side of his face and pulled him back with force for a short, but fervent kiss. She saw his hands flail momentarily then felt them on her hips as he steadied himself.  

Satisfied, Azula pulled away and rested her forehead against his. Aang struggled to catch his breath and despite herself, a smile formed on her lips. He was adorable.

"Orange cardamom." Aang breathed with his eyes still closed.

"What?" She furrowed her brow and pulled away as the magic spell of his charm was broken as easily as it was cast.

"The next flavor to try." He looked at her with bright eyes.

"That just might work." She squished his face with one hand.  "Sometimes you have great ideas."

"Thank you." He said through squished cheeks.

She pecked his pucker lips and picked up the tray. "Now I've really got to go. I'll take these with me. Maybe I’ll leave them out on a table somewhere so some gym rat can eat toothpaste."

"Alright." Aang chuckled and held the door open for her. She was almost down the street when "Azula!" He shouted.

"What, Aang?" She turned with a start and looked at him with slight annoyance. 

"I love you!" He made a heart with arms raised high above his head and wore a grin that stretched ear to ear, which prompted an eye roll from her. She secretly loved it, but he didn't need to know that. Yet.

"I love you too!" She blew him a kiss and turned the corner. Azula didn't have to look back to know Aang still had that dopey smile on his face. 

[strawborzoi]

Better late than never!

General ramblings under break

Man, what a year, I feel like I really peaked at the start of the year with some of my best works. But man I was hit with major burn out so so bad that I'm still recovering from. Adopting a puppy at the end of May was the hardest thing I've ever done, even with taking a month of leave it felt I had zero time for myself and I became so so depressed and almost regretted the decision. I couldn't even draw without her needing constant supervision and crying at being in my office. Good news is she's 10 months old now and (almost) a perfect dog. She's happily sleeping on her bed beside me, with the cat sleeping on my desk <3

Been doing a lot more conventions which has been super fun! But man it has its highs and lows and the lows sure are lows. Had an absolutely terrible convention where I (and countless others) barely broke even. Spending hours making stock only for it to not sell. Etsy nuking my online store and absolutely tanking my online sales. Got rejected for 3 cons in a row so yknow, that feeds in to the burnout :')

Generally just burned out with the furry community in general (mainly locally). I'm so so exhausted from the sexism/misogyny. As much as I love making characters for others and helping them bring their characters for life, I'm kinda tired of being commissioned to draw the same stuff. On top of that some difficult clients over the years have just really worn me down :')

Social media is a hellhole. Gotta feed the algorithm, gotta post so that you get noticed and maybe get a new client to have just that bit extra to put towards rent. Stopped using twitter so there goes my biggest following. Art isn't my full time job and I try to not let it get to me but man lemme tell you it does feel whack to work hard on something and it barely get any attention, while terrible pony art from over ten years ago when I was a teen was the most reception I ever got

Irl work has taken a massive toll on me, just the general capitalistic hellscape and terrible management practices (nearly broke down in tears because I had to work overtime past midnight on NYE lmaoo).

It's been an exhausting year, but I'm hopeful for the year ahead. I'm planning to limit and be more picky with what commissions I take; prioritizing personal art, YCHs/adopts, and ideas I really wanna do. I wanna work on my PMD fic(s) more since those characters are so so dear to me. I want to dedicate myself more to playing and getting better at pokemon VGC. I want to support my wife with her transition. I want to work on our retro game setup. We're ready to buy a house next year. We're planning a japan trip that may actually happen this time.

It's been a rough year, but I'm hopeful for the one ahead :) If you read all this, idk thank you, it means a lot :)

[valentoru]

|| Limitless ||

[CHAPTER 6]

SYNOPSIS: Gojo Satoru, a big time artist, who’s known for leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake wherever he goes. And you, the lead guitarist of an upcoming band, who’s absolutely certain that no one will ever love you. Through an accident in which you happened to kiss Gojo in a frantic state, you both decide, via convenience alone—and zero regard for both of your managers—to pull a fake dating stunt what could go wrong? Any press is good press…right?

PREVIOUS : MASTERLIST : NEXT

You had never been to Gojos’s “department” before, but you knew exactly where to find it. It was the biggest sales point for the whole company, therefore they took pride in it. Even going to such lengths as to making Gojo his own office and personal booth for filming his music. But as valued as it was, it was coveted by the unanimous and never-ending source of resentment towards Gojo. You had to swipe your badge twice to get into the department (you rolled your eyes both times). The second door took you directly to the main office area. He had a big team. Maybe it was because he was tall or maybe it was because he was the only person on their feet, but Gojo was the very first person you noticed. Hell, he was the very first thing your noticed. He was talking to one of his managers, looking rather stern. Scary. But, despite how focused he was, he turned his head towards the entrance the moment you came in.

You smiled weakly at him—mainly out of relief at having found him.

It was going to be fine. You were going to explain to him what Megumi had told you, and without a doubt find it categorically unacceptable and fix it for the both of them, because you could not spend your next few years surrounded by people who thought that you were dating Satoru fucking Gojo.

The problem was, Gojo wasn’t the only person who noticed you, there were more desk then you could count, all of them occupied. Most of them—all of them—were staring at you. Probably because most of them—all of them—had heard that you were dating their boss.

Fuck your life.

“Can I talk to you for a minute—” you coughed awkwardly, you had to do it. “—Satoru?” Rationally, you knew that the room wasn’t furnished in a way that made echoing possible. Still, you felt as though your words bounced off the walls and repeated about five times.

He nodded, nonplussed, and handed some files to the man he was talking to before heading in your direction. He appeared either unaware or uncaring that approximately two-thirds of his staff were gaping at him. The remaining ones seemed on the verge of a hemorrhagic stroke.

He led you to a meeting room just outside the main office space, you followed him silently, trying not to dwell on the fact that a department full of people thought that you were dating Gojo and they had just seen you both enter a private room. Alone.

This was the worst. The absolute worst.

“Everyone knows,” you blurted out as soon as the door closed behind you.

He studies you for a moment, looking puzzled. “Are you okay?”

“Everyone knows. About us.”

He cocked his head, folding his arms over his chest. It had been barley a day since you’d last talked, but apparently long enough for you to have forgotten his…his presence. Or what ever it was that made you feel like your were tiny, insignificant when you were around him. “Us?”

“Us.”

He seemed confused, so you elaborated.

“Us, dating. Not that we’re dating, but clearly Maki thought so and she told…” you realised that the words were tumbling out so you forced yourself to slow down. “Yuta. And he told everyone and now everyone knows. Or they think they know even though there’s absolutely nothing to know. As you and I know.”

He took it in for a moment then nodded slowly. “And when you say everyone...?”

“I mean everyone.” You pointed in the direction of his office. “Those people? They know. Other people in this building? They know. “Panda” on reception? He absolutely knows. Gossip in this industry is the worst. They all think I am dating hot shot Satoru Gojo.”

“I see.” He said, seeming strangely unbothered by this clusterfuck. It should have calmed you down but it only had the effect of driving your panic up a notch.

“I am sorry this happened. So sorry. This is all my fault.” You dragged a hand down your face. “But I didn’t think that…I understand why Maki would tell Yuta—I mean, getting those two together was the whole point of this stupid charade—but…why would Yuta tell anyone?”

He shrugged. “Why wouldn’t he?”

You looked up. “What do you mean?”

“Excuse my rudeness but, an upcoming band member dating an already established and—well—famous artist seems like an interesting piece of information to share.”

You shook your head. “It’s not that interesting. Why would people be interested?”

He lifted one eyebrow. “Someone told me that ‘Gossip in this industry is the wor—’”

“Okay, okay. Point taken.” You took a deep breath and started pacing. Trying to ignore the way he was studying you, how relaxed he looked. Arms folded in his chest while leaning against the conference table. He was not supposed to be calm. He was supposed to be incensed. He was a known dick with a reputation for arrogance—the idea of people thinking he was dating a nobody should be mortifying to him. The burden of freaking out should not be falling on you alone.

“This is—we need to do something, of course. We need to tell people that it’s not true. That we made it all up. Except they’ll think that I’m crazy. And maybe that you are too, so we have to come up with some other story. Yes, okay, we need to tell people we’re not together anymore—”

“And what will Maki and what’s-his-face do?”

You stopped pacing. “Huh?”

“Wont your friends feel bad about dating if they think we’re not together? Or that you lied to them?”

You hadn’t thought of that. “I—Maybe. Maybe but—“

It was true that Maki had seemed happy. Maybe she had already invited Yuta to accompany her to that movie festival—possibly right after telling him about you and Gojo, damn her. But this is exactly what you had wanted.

“Are you going to tell the truth?”

You let out a panicked sound. “I can’t. Not now.” God why did you even agree to date Yuta? You weren’t even that into him. Yeah, he was cute but not worth any of this. “Maybe we tell people that I broke up with you?”

“That’s very flattering,” He deadpanned. You couldn’t quite figure out if he was joking.

“Fine. We can say that you broke up with me.”

“Because that sounds credible,” he said dryly. Almost below his breath. You weren’t sure you’d heard him correctly and hand no idea what he might mean, but you were starting to feel very upset. Fine, you had been the one to kiss him first—God, you’d kissed Satoru Gojo; this was your life; there’s were your choices—but his actions in the kitchen the day before surely hadn’t helped matters. He could at least display some concern. There was no way he was okay with everyone believing he was dating some random girl who’s hardly even a significant or well known member of the band that she’s in because she’s just a guitarist.

“What if we tell people it was a mutual breakup?”

He nodded. “Sounds good.”

You perked up. “Really? Great, then! We’ll—”

“We could ask Panda to add it to the company’s newsletter.”

“What?”

“Or do you think a public announcement before Monday briefings would be better?”

“No. No, it’s—”

“Maybe we should ask IT to put it on the front page of the website. That way people would know—”

“Okay, okay, fine! I get it.”

He looked at you evenly for a moment, and when he spoke, his tone was reasonable in a way you would have never expected of Satoru “ass” Gojo. “If what bothers you is that people are talking about you dating me, the damage is done, I’m afraid. Telling everyone that we broke up will not undo that fact they think we dated.”

Your shoulders slumped. You hated that he was right. “Okay, then. If you have any ideas on how to fix this mess, by all means, I’m open to—”

“You could let them go on thinking it.”

For a moment you thought you hadn’t heard him correctly. “What?!”

“You can let people go on thinking that we’re dating. It solves your problem with your friend and what’s-his-name, and you don’t have much to lose since it’s sounds like from a…reputation standpoint” —he said the word reputation rolling his eyes a little, as if the concept of caring about what others think was the dumbest thing ever—“things cannot get much worse for you.”

This was…out of everything…in your life, you had never, never…

“What?” You asked again, feebly.

He shrugged. “Seems like a win-win to me.”

It so did not. To you? It seemed like a lose-lose, and then lose again, and then lose some more type of situation. It seemed insane.

“You mean…forever?” You thought your voice came out whiny, but it was possible that was an effect of the blood pointing in your head.

“That sounds excessive. Maybe until your friends are not dating anymore? Or until they are more settled? I don’t know. Whatever works, I guess.” He was serious about this. He was not joking.

“Are you not…” you had no idea how to ask it. “Married or something?” You were sure you’d seen something in the news about him dating. He had a fantastic job; tall with brilliantly white hair, clearly smart, even attractive looking. He was built. Yeah he was a moody dick but some women wouldn’t mind it. Some women might even like it.

He shrugged. “My wife and the twins won’t mind it.”

Oh shit.

You felt heat was over you. Heat rose to your cheeks and then you almost died of shame, because—God, you had forced a married man, a father, to kiss you. His wife was probably crying into her pillow. His kids would probably grow up with horrible daddy issues and become serial killers.

“I…Oh my God. I didn’t—I am so sorry”

“Just kidding.”

“I really had no idea that you—”

“Y/N. I was joking. I’m not married. No kids.”

A waved of relief crashed into you. Followed by just as much anger. “Gojo, this is not something to joke—“

“You really need to start calling me Satoru. Since we’ve been reportedly dating for a while.”

You exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Why would you even—what would you get out of this?”

“Out of what?”

“Pretending to date me. Why do you care? What’s in it for you” Gojo—Satoru—opened his mouth, and for a moment you had the impression that he was going to say something important. But then he averted his gaze. All that came out was “it would help you out.” He hesitated for a moment. “And I have my own reasons.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What reasons?”

“Reasons.”

“If it’s criminal, I’d rather not be involved.”

He smiled a bit. “It’s not.”

“If you don’t roll me, I’ll have no choice but to assume it’s kidnapping. Or arson. Or embezzlement.”

He seemed preoccupied for a moment, fingertips drumming against his biceps. It considerably strained his shirt. “If I tell you, it cannot leave this room.”

“I think we can both agree that nothing that has happened in this room should ever leave.”

“Good point.” He conceded. He paused. Sighed. Chewed on the inside of his cheek for a second. Sighed again. “Okay.” He finally said, sounding like a man who knew that he was going to regret speaking the second he opened his mouth. “I’m considered a flight risk.”

“Flight risk?” God, he was a felon on parole. A jury of his peers had convicted him for crime. He’d probably thrown a PC at someone for messing up a brand offer. “So it is something criminal.”

“What? No. The company suspects I’m making plans to move to our competitors since they’re going much much better than we are with new recruits and popularity. Normally it wouldn’t bother me, but they’ve started talking about dropping me before I drop them.”

“Oh.” Not what you’d thought. Not at all. “Can they?”

“Yes. Well, as “valuable” of a client I am to them, when this contract ends they can terminate me and not offer me a new one. But I don’t plan on moving as I’d do just as well without a record company helping me. They’re just a convenience.”

“But if it’s just a convenience—”

“I never said it was a bad one.” He said levelly. “I have deadlines to meet that are beyond my contract. Additionally, I’ve invested more than a little bit of money in this company.”

“Oh.” Come to think of it, you had been hearing scuttlebutt about Gojo being recruited with the company’s competitors since you first made a record deal here. You’d even heard he’s be quitting all together occasionally. “Why do they think that? And why now?”

“A number of reasons. The most relevant is that a few months ago they sent me an offer—a very very large offer—but they have been trying to recruit me for months and I’m planning to do a brand that they’re working close in partnership with. Our company sees this as a threat that I’m going to transfer.” He hesitated before continuing. “More generally, I have been made aware that the…optics are that I have not made any large commitments and could up and leave to go anywhere in the world at any moment.”

“Large commitments?”

“My contract finishes this year, I have no extended family in the area. No wife. No kids. I’m currently renting—I’d have to buy a house just to convince them I don’t plan on leaving.” He was clearly irritated. “If I was in a relationship that would really help.”

Okay. That made sense. But. “Have you considered getting a real girlfriend?”

His eyebrows lifted. “Have you considered getting a real date?”

“Touché”

You fell silent and studied him for a few moments, letting him study you in return. Funny how you used to be scared of him. Now he was the only person in the world who knew about your worst fuckup ever, it was hard to feel intimidated—even harder, after discovering that he was the type of person who’d be desperate enough to date someone to prove to the company he wasn’t leaving. You were sure that you would do the exact same to finally achieve your dream, which made Satoru feel oddly…relatable. And if he was relatable you could go ahead and fake-date him, right?

No. Yes. No. What? You were crazy for even considering this. You had to be certifiably mental. And here you found yourself saying “it would be complicated.”

“What would be?”

“To pretend that we’re dating.”

“Really? It would be complicated to make people think we’re dating?”

Oh, he was impossible. “Okay, I see your point. But it would be hard to do so convincingly for a prolonged period.”

He shrugged. “We’ll be fine, as long as we say hi to each other in passing and you don’t call me Gojo.”

“I don’t think people who are dating just…say hi to each other.”

“What do people who are dating do?”

If

It beat you. You had gone on maybe seven total dates in your whole life, including the ones with Yuta, and they had ranged from moderately boring to anxiety inducing and horrifying (mostly when a guy had monologued about his grandmothers hip replacement in horrifying detail). You would have loved someone in your life, but you doubted it was in store for you. Maybe you were unloveable. Maybe spending so many years alone had warped you in some fundamental way and that was why you seemed to be unable to develop a true romantic connection, or even the type of attraction you often hear others talk about. In the end it really didn’t matter. Being in the public eye and dating went poorly together, which was probably why Satoru Gojo, hot shot singer who had women swooning over him, was standing here at his big adult age asking you what people do on dates.

Band freaks, ladies and gentlemen.

“Um…things. Stuff.” You racked your brain. “People go out and do activities together. Like apple picking or those Paint and Sip things.” Which are idiotic, you thought.

“Which are idiotic.” Clyde said, gesturing dismissively with his hand. “You could just go to Maki and tell her we went out and painted a Monet. Sounds like she’d take care of letting everyone else know.”

“Okay first of all, it was Yuta, let’s agree to blame Yuta. And it’s more than that.” You insisted. “People who date, they—they talk. A lot. More than just greeting in the hallway. They know each others favourite colours and where they were born and they…hold hands. They kiss.”

Gojo pursed his lips together as if to suppress a smile. “We could never do that.”

A fresh wave of mortification crashed into you. “I am sorry about the kiss. Really, I didn’t think, and—”

He shook his head. “It’s fine.”

He did seem uncharacteristically indifferent to the situation, especially for a guy who freaks out when someone gets something minor wrong. No, he wasn’t indifferent. He was amused.

You cocked your head. “Are you enjoying this?”

“‘Enjoying’ is probably not the right word but you have to admit this is quite entertaining.”

You had no idea what he was talking about. There was nothing entertaining about the fact that you had randomly kissed him because he was the only person around at that time, as a consequence of that tremendously idiotic action, everyone thought that you were dating a guy you’d met exactly twice before today—

You burst intro laughter and folded into yourself before your train of thought was even over, overwhelmed by the sheer improbability of the situation. This was your life. These were the results of your actions. When you could finally breath again, your stomach hurt and you had to wipe your eyes. “This is the worst”

He was smiling, staring at you with a strange light in his eyes. And would you look at that, Satoru Gojo had dimples. Cute ones. “Yep.”

“And it’s all my fault.”

“Pretty much. I kind of yanked Maki’s chain yesterday, but, yeah. I’d say that it’s mostly your fault.”

Fake dating. You and Satoru Gojo would have to be lunatic. “Wouldn’t it be a problem publicity wise if we aren’t seen together?”

He tilted his head, going serious. “No. As long as no one who knows tells anyone and we don’t do public outings where press could see us and leak it I see no issue. I can also ask around with the publicity manager.”

It was an epically bad idea. The worst idea ever entertained in the epically bad history of bad ideas. Except that it would solve this current problem of yours, as well as some of Satorus, in exchange for saying hi to him once a week and making an effort not to call him Gojo. It seemed like a pretty good deal.

“Can I think about it?”

“Of course.” He said calmly. Reassuringly.

You hadn’t thought he’d be like this. After hearing all the horror stories. Seeing him walking around with that perpetual frown of his. You really hadn’t thought that he’d be like this. Even though you didn’t quite know what this even meant.

“And than you I guess for offering. Satoru.” You added the last word like an afterthought. Trying it out on your lips. It felt weird but right.

After a long pause, he nodded. “No problem. Y/N.”

TAGLIST(26/50): @bbmsxlene @lunavelha @satoryaa @tranzumaki @k-kkiana @luvkvni @lysaray @kalulakunundrum @arysbruv @r4veeen @stillnotherapy @catobsessedlady @colortheoryrocks @minzxec @dazqa @packsvlog @luvvmae @simplysm1le @mintfyi @fushism @angstmuncher @fackeraccount @astro-stars @lavender-hvze @miizuzu @rayrayline @kanaojacksonofc

AN

This hoe is long

IM STILL ON HOLIDAY but im uploading this to appease yall bc i feel bad 🔥🔥😕

© valentoru all rights reserved- do not publish my work on other platforms, plagiarise or translate.

[dailyniallnews]

Interview with Niall Horan, ex frontman of One Direction

If the global success with One Direction is now far behind, the fortune that Niall Horan is enjoying as a solo artists is very current. His third album was just released. Emblematic title: The Show, and the show could not get better than this. Article by Leonardo Clausi

Precisely because this is the new age of anxiety (from the title of the poem by W. H. Auden The Age of Anxiety, 1947, and from Symphony n. 2 by Leonard Bernstein inspired by it, 1949), Public Health around the world should prescribe listening to Niall Horan. As anti-anxiety medicine, tonic for the psyche, emotionally restorative medicine. Really, who else in the modern soft rock world is as capable of tuning in for ten tracks on an equally balmy wavelength, without ever straying into drama or comedy, as Horan does on The Show, third album since he went solo after the dissolution of One Direction, the (boy)band who competed with the Beatles in music sales? Not even the much more wanted colleague Harry Styles, with his unapologetic Bowie-ism that annoyed Tony Visconti so much.

30-year-old Horan doesn't have the same ambitions. We could easily ask him to go and pick out our daughter from school because he is so.. fragrant? Since 2016 - without stopping except from when forced by the pandemic - he's been writing music and bringing it on tour. A constant motion of three albums, the feverish craftsmanship of a diligent entertainer devoted to the career that he was raised in thanks to the shortcut, sometimes a brutal one, with which talent shows have short-circuited the discography and industry of A&R (Artists and Repertoire). We intercept him as he drives, always busy as a bee. "I just came back from America yesterday. Today I am in Liverpool. It's constant travelling, I spend most of my time jetlagged". He is understandably satisfied with his latest discographic effort, which will become the center of the homonymous The Show Live on Tour, with the Italian stop on 21st March 2024 at the Mediolanum Forum in Milan: "I spent a lot of time writing and producing it during the pandemic and the year after. I’m happy, the response has been very, very interesting around the world". Not surprising, considering the melodic quality of the tracks, touched by the Californian light of the Laurel Canyon, with vocal harmonies reminiscent of the Beach Boys, and references to the Eagles and Fleetwood Mac. "I trusted that I could write a song. I knew I had the ability to do it. I just needed to trust that I could get a guitar, or sit at a piano, and something good would come out of it. It's out, but you never know. I need to keep my head down, work hard and see".

The 70s were his first introduction to music through records (or vinyls, as hipsters say), which were floating around the house; the real love however started "when I realised how lucky I was to have grown up with music that stayed with me to this day. My parents had a large album collection. I still listen to a lot of them now. When I’m in the studio I often use analogue mixing desks, it’s an important part of the sound I’m looking for". Speaking of the search for the 'organic' sound that digital audio is not able to embody all the way, what does he think of artificial intelligence, now that creators in the entertainment industry are taking the streets as well to protest against forcibly becoming obsolete? "Artificial intelligence can really do a lot, but it can’t give you that feeling that I call the human touch. It couldn’t write 'Hey Jude' or any other masterpiece. Humans will always have the upper hand".

Horan's Irishness is a prominent element of his personality, that proud affability that made his country a cultural superpower despite its size. And that was worth the warm reception of none other than the POTUS, who is also a descendent of the Celtic diaspora. "For how small the nation is, the relevance we have worldwide is amazing. Only five million inhabitants, and yet our culture of drinking, night life, musical or literary traditions are known everywhere. It's something I always keep in mind and want to show off as much as possible. And yes, I was invited at Washington to meet Joe Biden". Understandably, the fact excites him: "It was crazy that someone from a small town like mine (Mullingar, northwest of Ireland, ed.) ended up playing for the President of the United States at the White House. I still can't believe it". Not to mention the fact that, from a particularly bigot and conservative society that it once was, Ireland is now one of the most advanced and liberal ones of the West. "I'm not sure how it happened, but I am very proud of it. It was great to see it become one of the first countries to have gay marriage, for example. And I’m proud that it’s acting as a catalyst for change in other countries".

And does he know U2, this compatriot up and coming group? Would he collaborate with them? "Some of my all time favourite songs are by U2, their shows are some of the best I’ve ever been to. It would be great to do something with them if they ever ask". Coming from one of the best selling bands meant that there was a challenging precedent to compete with. But Niall Horan is doing great. It's impossible to refrain from asking about a 1D reunion. "It’s a busy time for everyone, so no, not that I know of. We keep in touch but everyone’s doing their own thing. Louis is touring in America, Liam is working on his music, Harry’s busy on the biggest world tour... In fact, if you hear about a reunion, please let me know".

[magicthatmustbelove]

The First Moment Of Forever

A pre "Encino" short in which Michael and Althea first meet.

Note: It's been a while since I wrote a little blurb. I'm hoping this was successful in getting my creative juices flowing for a future "Encino" update. Also, we can't forget to wish our one and only King a happy heavenly birthday! 🎂

Link to original story: https://www.wattpad.com/story/291710565-encino-m-j

Althea's jaw could have dropped to the ground when the bus jerked to a stop. A halo of light caressed the tall, majestic building, causing the silver bricks to glitter like diamonds in the California sunlight. 

She'd only ever seen pictures of the Jacksounds Records building in magazines. Never once had Althea dreamed she'd one day be standing in front of it, the idea she'd soon be setting foot in it was even wilder. 

Her stomach churned with anxiety as she shuffled the bus, fellow passengers pushing past her as she stopped on the sidewalk to take in a deep breath. 

Althea finally knew how Dorothy felt when she arrived in Emerald City to see the Wizard. 

The Jacksounds internship was the most highly competitive and coveted internship Loyola Marymount had to offer its music students and Althea was over the moon when she discovered she'd been chosen as one of the five applicants to get the best musical education anyone could ask for.

Jacksounds had integrated black soul music into the mainstream in the ‘60s and '70s and crafted some of the greatest hits and biggest stars the country had seen. Joseph Jackson was the ebony Burt Bacharach, King Midas of R&B and Soul. Every melody he put his pen to turned to gold. He'd built his Empire with his bare hands and was now one of the first black millionaire CEOs. 

Anyone would be stupid not to jump at the opportunity.

Things had been tough on Althea when she returned to classes after taking a leave of absence to care for her grandmother who'd sadly succumbed to her diabetic coma but for the first time in a while, she felt on top of things.

Things were finally looking up and she was bursting with optimism that even Mary Tyler Moore and her tam-o'-shanter hat couldn’t compete with. 

The sales tag of the teal and maroon floral printed wrap dress she’d brought from the boutique she worked at scratched her back as she pushed through the building’s revolving glass doors. Althea knew she’d need to look as professional as possible for the internship but didn’t have the budget to keep any new clothes. 

She’d stood the entire bus ride, hoping not to have spills throughout the day. The twenty-dollar dress would have to be returned as if she’d never worn it. 

The lobby looked luxurious with marble floors, gold paneling, and cream furniture. Her eyes landed on the marquee boasting  Jacksounds suite and suddenly the imposter syndrome hit Althea. She was very much in the building that birthed the hits she’d danced in her living room to as a kid and a nagging voice in her head told her she didn’t belong. 

Althea closed her eyes, taking another deep breath as she pressed the elevator button. 

“Time to me make Granny proud,” she whispered to herself.

She resisted the urge to pick apart her appearance in the mirrored walls of the lift and instead, focused on tapping her foot to the jazzy rendition of “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” playing over the intercom. When the doors finally opened, Althea was nearly blinded by a gold record of a Miracles hit hanging proudly on the walls, a dozen more trailing behind, each from an iconic black artist. 

The carpet was as red as the one at the Oscars, and she was almost afraid to imprint it with her pumps. A large, shiny mahogany desk was not far away, a hive of identical ones stretched the length of reception, each with a busy secretary perched behind it. 

“Excuse me,” she spoke timidly as she approached the desk. 

The gray wisp escaping the secretary’s bun and the antique pen necklace draped around her neck made Althea conclude she’d been working for Jacksounds for a long time. The chunky chocolate brown phone stayed glued to her ear with the support of her shoulder blade while her hands were occupied with a sharp nail file. 

She hadn’t even bothered to acknowledge Althea’s presence. 

“Excuse me,” She repeated, gently pressing her hands on the desk. “I’m an intern candidate. Could you show me where I’m supposed to report?”

The secretary stretched her hand out in front of her, inspecting the new oval shape of her nails as if  Althea had not uttered a word. 

“I tried to tell her,” The woman spoke loudly into the receiver. “If he lied about his height, he’ll lie about anything else,”

The young woman sighed, trying not to grow frustrated. She nervously glanced around the room, hoping that anyone would recognize her distress but she only seemed invisible. 

“Sure, the idea sounds a little far fetched but I know I can convince them to take us on,” 

Michael rolled his eyes before fixing his gaze out the conference room window as his older brother Jermaine arrogantly droned on about the company’s latest potential business deal. He often found these weekly business meetings with their father pointless and insufferable. Jermaine always monopolized the conversation, and any input Michael had to offer was ignored or stolen by the older brother. 

Joseph looked up from the document in front of him, his gaze falling to his distracted youngest son. Because he wanted his sons to stay abreast of the happenings in the family business, the CEO made an effort to include Michael.   

The youngest Jackson was far more creative than he was business-minded and Joseph admittedly preferred Jermaine’s gift of strategic business modeling than Michael’s talent and ear for music production. He'd trained the older son well and Joseph knew when his time on earth was up, the Jacksounds legacy would live on with Jermaine in charge.  

“Michael, do you have anything to add?”  He asked. 

The aforementioned son tore his gaze away from the view of the busy Encino street, his shapely brows furrowing in confusion. 

“Since when do we care what I think?” Michael questions sardonically while folding his arms. “Erms never lets anybody get in a word edgewise. Besides, that was my idea all along and he takes it and runs with it,” 

The elder Jackson brother leaned back in the plush leather chair with a facetious grin

“You pitched it but I perfected it,” Jermaine bragged. 

Michael rolled his eyes. 

“Shut up, Erms. You're not so original,” He scoffed and turned to Joseph. “Do I have to be here, anymore? This is a waste of my time,” 

Jermaine chuckled.

“It's not like you've got much to do,”  

The younger brother pushed himself from the glossy mahogany table, jaw clenched in anger.

“You're about to give me somethin’ to do alright,” Michael warned.

Joseph sighed heavily, too tired to endure his sons’ constant rivalry. 

“That’s enough. Let's adjourn. Jermaine, give me an update on this by Wednesday,” 

The older brother clicked his gold embossed pen close. 

“Sure thing, Joseph,” 

Deeply agitated, Michael stormed out of the conference room. Sometimes, he didn’t even know why he even bothered showing up at Jacksounds every day. He could easily live off his trust fund and spend his days trotting around the globe with a beautiful woman on each arm but Michael wanted something more fulfilling. 

Since a young child, he'd had a deep passion for music. While he'd never fully mastered an instrument, Michael was a savant at weaving sounds together. When he wasn’t perched behind the soundboard, he'd been sitting in on Joseph's meeting since he was fifteen and had trained himself to identify the qualities that created a bonafide star. 

Michael was just as capable and charismatic as Jermaine but Joseph had already decided which son would someday reign as CEO. 

“Hey, little brother,” Jermaine spoke, rushing to his brother's side to gloat. “Don't be so sore,” 

Michael rolled his eyes and stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets. 

“Stay away from me, Jermaine,” He warned.

Jermaine chuckled. 

“Don't be silly, Mike. That kind of stuff is for executives. I mean, you have no idea how much pressure I'm under. Joseph's gettin up there in age and I've been taking the load off his back carrying this company by myself,”

The younger Jackson rolled his eyes as they entered the lobby. Michael stopped at the water cooler chuckling to himself. Sometimes, he couldn’t believe just how inflated Jermaine’s ego was. 

“You really believe your own shit, don't cha?” 

He snatched up a paper cup, his eyes wandering briefly around the office. They stopped briefly at his secretary’s desk before Michael’s gaze caught sight of something far more interesting. 

There at the front desk stood the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. 

Her skin was the color of silky, sweet caramel, her frame small but shapely, boasting delicate, deep curves, and a tiny waist held up by spectacular legs. The young woman's face held an agitated pout but was exquisitely sculpted with gorgeous cheekbones and darling brown eyes. Her hair had been piled into big soft curls, the fluorescent lights seemed to cast an angelic glow over her head. 

A rush of awe and allure quickened Michael’s pulse like a zap of lightning.  He'd seen plenty of beautiful women in Encino but no woman had ever stunned him the way this one had. 

She was a literal knockout in looks but there was also something so magnetic about her presence in the room. Suddenly, Michael wanted to know any and everything about her. 

In a bit of a daze, he shoved the paper cup in Jermaine's hand before slowly making his way across the room. 

Althea anxiously tapped her foot, an impatient sigh escaping her. From the corner of her eye, she could see a figure approaching.  She first noticed the dazzling white smile when she turned her attention. Althea had to take in a breath, suddenly feeling overwhelmed at the sight of the handsome young man coming toward her. 

His walk was smooth as butter, natural and relaxed yet oozing masculine energy. His spanku eyes were large and enchanting- the kind you can hardly look away from- and Althea truly couldn’t decide whether she adored his eyes or his smile more. The beauty of his face could only be described as being caringly whittled by the gods. 

Althea never believed in love at first sight but the chorus of bells and banjos was deafening.

The ball of anxiety sitting on her chest had been relieved thanks to the smile. That smile made her feel safe like nothing could ever go wrong. 

“You look a little lost. Can I help you find your way?” 

Althea turned her eyes away from the lean muscles peeking beneath his collared Lacoste shirt and chuckled nervously. 

“I'm an intern,” She grinned, batting her eyelashes. “I don't know where I'm supposed to report and she's a little tied up at the moment,” 

She jerked her head in the direction of the distracted receptionist. Michael shook his head in disappointment. 

“She's deaf in one ear and she's always got the good one glued to the phone,” He tutted. 

His slender frame leaned over the desk, his perfectly coiffed jheri curl glistening under the office lights. Michael’s slender finger firmly tapped the rude woman, cutting her gregarious laughter short. She set down the phone with a small huff. 

“Gladys,” He smiled passive-aggressively. “Could you help this young lady by telling her where to report?” 

“Name, honey?” 

Althea flashed the young man a gracious smile. 

“Thomas. Althea Thomas,” 

Gladys swiveled her chair in the direction of a stack of manilla folders and quickly thumbed through them before she found the matching name. 

 “Production conference room in the West hall,” the secretary answered dryly, extending the folder to the young woman. 

Michael straightened himself from his leaning position against the desk. 

“Thank you, Gladys,” he turned to Althea. “C'mon, I'll take you there,” 

She let out a heavy sigh of relief. It felt so nice to be acknowledged. 

“Thank you so much,” she giggled. “I feel much better now. I didn't catch your name,” 

“Michael,” he flashed that breathtaking smile again. “Michael Jackson,” 

He extended his large, svelte hand and Althea felt her heart race when they touched. It was a warm, zippy feeling- like static shock without the pain. 

“You wouldn't happen to be related to Joseph Jackson, would you?” She questioned while following his lead. 

“Sometimes I wish I wasn't but there are perks to bein’ his kid,”  Michael shrugged. 

Althea felt a sense of disappointment. Sure, Michael was gorgeous and nice but she couldn't risk getting involved with the CEO's son. She didn’t need a silly crush getting in the way of her education and surely there was some rule against it. It was better to keep her head down and forget the idea altogether. 

“Piano,” He grinned over his shoulder. 

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“Piano. That's what you play right?” 

Althea giggled bashfully as she extended her fingers to inspect her cherry red nail polish. 

“How'd you know?” 

“It's your hands,” Michael grinned, proud of himself.  “Piano players always have the prettiest hands,” 

She hugged the folder to her chest, a blush creeping across her cheeks. 

“I'm classically trained but I don’t think I'll have much of a career as a concert pianist. Besides, I like funk music too much,”  

Althea giggled and he couldn’t help but instantly love the sound of her laugh. Michael quirked a brow. 

“Who’s your favorite?” 

Her doll eyes lit up, a bashful grin stretching across her lips. 

“I’m just crazy about Rick James,” 

He chuckled. 

They’d only met a few minutes ago but Michael was willing to buy her every Rick James album ever printed if he knew it would make her happy. They’d stopped in front of the production room and he felt disappointed knowing their conversation had to end. 

“Well, here it is,” Michael announced. 

Althea smiled adoringly at the handsome young man who’d come to her rescue. 

“Thank you, Michael,” 

He folded his arms behind his back and grinned, bowing slightly. 

“It was my pleasure, Althea. If you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask me,” 

“I won’t,” 

They’d both wanted the moment to last forever but both Michael and Althea knew this wasn’t the last they’d see of each other. 

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Anyone interested in a cheap old brothel in Fallon, NV? The living quarters is a manufactured building w/3bds, 3ba, (the whole building is 4,400 sq ft), reduced $34k to $275k. Man, is it yucky inside- bring your UV light to detect all the body fluids and several cases of bleach.

It's the old Pink Cadillac brothel and all of the furnishings are also for sale. It looks so unappealing. Why isn't it painted pink and black?

This must be the common area where the girls hung out.

Open mezzanine above with a nice gold railing. Is that a bar or a reception desk?

What in the world is this setup? Is this a drive-in movie simulation? It's upstairs, and it's a 1955 T-Bird that will convey, but it's just a shell.

Grungy old hot tub room.

Oh, lockers. Maybe for the girls' or clients' belongings?

Depressing looking powder room. Why would they install that style sink w/those old exposed pipes?

I don't know if all these things are included or not. Look at the big cage. I wonder if that was for go-go dancing. There's a stripper pole in the opposite corner.

Ugly kitchen with the flooring taped down.

Small, dingey lounge off the kitchen.

Old washer and dryer right off one of the rooms.

This is depressing.

1/2 bath ensuite. So dreary.

Just burn the mattresses and bedding.

This room has a full ensuite. It will take more than that spray cleaner to sanitize this.

5 acres of desolate dessert.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/2700-King-Dr-Fallon-NV-89406/71185528_zpid/?

[bellysoupset]

and another question because when I hear someone is anxious and needs distraction I go into “fixer” mode. What is the worst job each of your OCs has ever had?

hope you’re feeling better - as someone who regularly wakes up at 4:30 am in a full-on panic attack, I get it.

Hi Lis! Honestly, I don't know what our brains want us to be "accomplishing" at 4:00 AM, its terrible.

So this is the ask where I reveal my characters are quite spoiled? You be the judge.

--

Leo: worst job was a candy factory he worked at that had him on his feet the entire day, doing extremely mechanic and repetitive tasks, wearing full body suit in Oklahoma's summer weather. He'd bike there after school and then do his homework on his 30 mins break and then back to the production line. Obviously they couldn't eat any of the products, so this is probably why nowadays he's got a huge sweet tooth. He also has a bit of tendinitis to this day thanks to this job, even though it was only 1 year he stayed there (his senior year). Even though he has worked retail and food serving before, he still ranks this one as the worst.

Bella: Bell has done everything under the sun. She's worked every retail you can think of, which was uh... Horrible, but mostly for her clients? This is a woman who has no chill and no patience, she'll not tolerate some Karen yelling at her. Period. Hence why she worked so many jobs, because she kept getting fired/quitting lol. Because of her "take no shit" attitude, a lot of her horrible jobs were actually not as bad in her opinion, simply because they didn't affect her. Her worst one was when she was 14 and her mom decided instead of Bella working for someone else she should come do nails in the hair salon she worked at. Since it was her mom's workplace Bell had to be nice, because it was one thing to be fired/quit, an entirely different thing to have her mom be fired as well. It fucking sucked, but this job had slightly less shitty hours than others, so it was when she started coding and that's how she ended up getting her scholarship. So yay?

Vince: Vin has been a frontliner of his mom's homemade food business from the get go. He came to the US at 10 and by age of 12 he was already doing sales to his classmates. He has worked the shop and done deliveries since always and he's genuinely really good at it, because he's very likable. When he was 15 he decided to get a job in a mechanic, around the time he started to get interested in motorcycles, and they put him to do front desk stuff, but he could venture to the back to learn some. In both jobs he actually thrived. He had bad clients, so he's got some horror stories, but no actual "horror jobs".

Wendy: Wen has never had a bad job?? She's done all sorts of stuff, because she's the type of hyper person who's got 200 hobbies. She's done her own little clothing line, she's been a receptionist to her parent's friends' business. By far the one she liked the least was doing reception work at her mother's clinic, mostly because her mother micromanaged her to hell and back and the other girls hated her guts. But even then, I think she'd have liked the job if it wasn't for the company.

I need to preface that both Jon and Luke never had real jobs until the ones they're in currently. They just didn't need them.

Jonah: He acted as an assistant to his father in the clinic procedures, which was a lot of washing equipment's and following around the real trained technician, and getting to watch his dad do minor surgeries. He's got covered in blood a couple of times and snapped at, but as for as Work goes this was his only real experience until he started interning via the university and then stuck around. He despised the part of college where they put him to intern with the G.I people, just gross.

Luke: he's my little baby pillow millionaire, this man has never worked a real job. He's done a LOT of volunteer work and we all know volunteering IS real work, however what I mean is Luke has never EVER depended on the money he's making for anything. He's always been the guy who could just walk out. He's lucky he's so competitive, otherwise he'd be a serial quitter tbh. He's got his stories with volunteering (worked at an elder's home once and boyyy, worst experience of his life), but I think the closest I can say was doing some menial desk job for his mom and his ADHD kicking his ass. He cannot sit still, period and Veronica never really realized that and got pissed when he'd wander off and just zone her out entirely.