#desk booking software

[attendancetracking]

4 Benefits of Hot Desking

Whether you have a hybrid workforce or you're trying to create a more flexible in-office environment, hot desking is the way to go! Hot desking involves freeing employees from traditional static office setups, allowing them to work where and how they want. It's a staple of activity-based working and offers many unique benefits. Here are just a few.

Cost-Savings

Did you know that eliminating assigned desks can lower the cost of running an office by up to 30 percent? Giving everyone a separate space ultimately leads to waste. Not every employee will use their office or desk, and you may only have a fraction of your workforce in the office at any given time.

So why make room for everyone?

When you have flexible workspaces and desk booking software, you can cut back on operating costs. The organization can use fewer desks, enjoy a minimalist environment and reduce unnecessary spending.

Promoting Social Work Culture

The growing trend of social work environments is hard to achieve when people sit around the same individuals daily. Hot desking encourages your team to move around. They can meet new people and adjust their work environment per project.

Furthermore, hot desking eliminates traditional workplace hierarchy. As a result, your employees can network with people at all company levels.

Accommodating Hybrid Workers

Hybrid work styles are more popular than ever. Originally a necessity for the pandemic, many companies continue to benefit from this work style's improved productivity.

When you have a mix of remote and in-office employees, providing assigned workspaces doesn't make sense. Even if you still have full-time in-office employees, you can dedicate a space for hot desking. With desk booking software, your hybrid workers can request a work area or meeting room when needed.

Project-Based Flexibility

One of the biggest advantages of hot desking is the ability to change work environments with every project. Your employees may work with multi-department teams on specific assignments. Instead of keeping your teams separate, hot desking makes it easy to group up.

Employees can request workspaces close to the colleagues they'll need to interact with most for every project. It breeds collaboration, keeps the lines of communication open and fosters creative thinking.

Read a similar article about workplace management software for office managers here at this page.

[kaninchen-reblogs]

i should get back into practicing dj'ing honestly... the more i watch folks on twitch doin lil parties and just vibin while mixing, the more i really wanna do that

[hotelmanagementsoftware]

GraceSoft’s Hotel Management Software

[gallusrostromegalus]

So the tire-eating potholes in my neighborhood finally killed both my rear tires and I had to get that dealt with, but while they were getting replaced, I put the dogs in puppy daycare and upon picking them up early, the attendant literally sprinted to the front desk, grabbed me by the shoulders and breathlessly exclaimed "YOUNEEDTOCOMESEEWHATYOURDOGSAREDOING"

While she escorted me back to the play yards, she explained that every time they have more than three Corgi, they have to put all the Corgs in a separate play yard because they turn into a little gang and bully the Very Large dogs by playing Cow Herding Simulator 5000 with them, and especially if Herschel is there, because corgis are bossy-pants dogs, and Herschel has the bossiest pants of them all and acts as leader.

Despite being a little Don Corgleone to the short bitch mafia, Hershcel is also a Huge Baby and will apparently cry and cry and try to climb the fence and cry and eat people's shoelaces and cry if he is separated from Charlie during playtime, so this means any time that "Corgi Party" is happening, Charlie also has to go to Corgi party, despite being full-height, running cat software and a senior citizen. he copes with being Gulliver amongst the Liliputians by climbing onto the roof of the playskool castle they have for a climbing structure in the yard, kicking the ladder down behind him, and stretching out to nap in the sun while the corgi frolic and gambol around him.

Corgi are dogs that make up and play games with secret rules, like kindergartners. "Everyone bark in sync" is a popular game, as is "follow the leader" and it's companion game "March in a circle around a tall structure like ants caught in a death loop".

So what I was greeted with, when the attendant and I snuck out to the play yard, was the sight of Charlie, sound asleep and flat on his back with his paws crossed over his chest because sighthounds sleep in the stupidest fucking positions, on top of a faux-medieval castle with gargoyles on the corners, surrounded by approximately seven Corgi, all trotting in a circle around him, barking in sync.

"They look like they're preforming some kind of ritual!" giggled the attendant as attempted to get my phone to focus.

"Yeah, they're gonna summon Corgtulhu." I said.

Unfortunately, this made the attendant literally fall on her ass laughing, and distracted Herschel and his compatriots, so they didn't get to complete the summons, and I didn't get the pic.

The attendant kept laughing because apparently she's new to puns, and had mostly gotten it under control by the time we got everyone's leashes on and back out to the front.

The manager was watching the front desk, bemused. Did you get to see them doing the ritual?"

"YEAH!" shrieks the attendant, still excitable with merriment. "THEY'RE- THEY WERE-" The attendant ends up giggling on the floor.

"You okay there Katie?" asked the manager with minimal concern.

"We think they were trying to summon Corgthulhu." I eplain, and Katie screams from the floor. "Wasn't gonna work though, you need a virgin sacrifice and Charlie had an STD when we got him."

It was the manager's turn to shriek. and for Charlie and Herschel to start barking in solidarity.

"That's right Charlie! Your sluttiness saved the world!" I told him, as he jumped up and kicked me in the face.

Anyway, that's why Charlie's nickname at daycare is now "Superman(whore)"

---

If you found this story amusing, please consider donating to my Ko-fi or pre-ordering the Family Lore book on my Patreon so I can buy the good dogs more treats.

[cleo-fox]

Conquer

Part 1 of 5

Series Masterlist

Summary: The king intends to take a bride.

You just never thought it would be you.

(Soulmate AU where Loki won)

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Tag List: I don’t have a tag list for this fic, sorry! The best way to hear about updates is to follow me on Tumblr or subscribe to the fic on AO3.

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, enemies to lovers, dirty talk, praise kink, oral sex (fem receiving), teasing, p in v sex, vaginal fingering.

A/N: I’m kind of fascinated by the concept of a soulmate AU where Loki wins and this is just another take on that thought. If you've read my fic Surrender, this one is a different universe (an AU of an AU? Is that a thing?)

I am indebted to @infinitystoner, who was kind enough to talk me through some of my doubts about this fic. This one is for you, K. (Also, everyone should go read her work, it's fabulous).

The king intends to take a bride.

At first you think it’s just a stupid rumor, but with time, it becomes clear that it’s not merely a stupid rumor, but a true rumor about a stupid plan. He hasn’t found his soulmate; the speculation is that this is about producing an heir or something similar. Which is also stupid because he’s the one who took over your fucking planet. He can make new rules for succession if he wants to. He doesn’t have to make other people suffer.

You, like most people, still harbor a lot of anger and resentment toward Loki.

You don’t know who he’s going to rope into this plan, but you feel bad for her already. Imagine not only having to be married to that monster, but being in this weird second place to whoever is unfortunate enough to be his soulmate. Imagine having to fuck him, to try and have his kid, all the while knowing you’ll be discarded once he finds his soulmate. Imagine having to go along with all of this and never being able to say what you really think.

The only person you feel sorrier for is whoever turns out to be his soulmate.

Later, all of this will strike you as absurdly ironic.

But you don’t know any of that yet.

*

You took a job at the hotel because you needed a change of pace after Loki took over. It was just a front desk job—you checked people in and out, answered questions, and said “let me get my manager” whenever there was a serious problem with a guest. It wasn’t glamorous or fun, but it was straightforward and you never had to bring work home with you.

The one thing that you never really considered was whether you were inadvertently choosing a job that would bring you into closer proximity to the man you were trying so desperately hard to not think about at all.

You probably should have considered it—you knew when you took the job that he did a fair amount of travel. You never really understood why—he conquered the entire fucking planet, you think he’d be content to just chill in his palace or whatever. But no. He was constantly on the move, constantly showing up and demanding to be accommodated, and people put up with it because what else are they supposed to do? You can’t exactly persona non grata the guy that successfully took over your planet and made himself king. If that worked, he wouldn’t be here in the first place.

You kind of assumed that he wouldn’t show up to your hotel—it wasn’t conveniently located to anything useful and while it technically had a five star rating, you didn’t think it offered the same caliber of accommodations as the places he was known to stay.

As it turns out, you were wrong on all counts. Hilariously wrong. Because now his steward is here in your hotel lobby. Or his…emissary? You’re not sure what this guy’s official title is. You recognize him from the news—he can often be spotted in the entourage of guards and staff that accompany Loki everywhere, but you don’t know his name. He is rattling off a monologue of sorts—the king requires accommodations, only the finest rooms, and so on. You feel as though you are having an out of body experience as you click through the booking software and confirm that the penthouse is available. You breathe an inner sigh of relief—it would have been manageable to evict whichever rich person had booked it, but it would have fucked up the cleaning crew’s scheduling for at least the next week and you know that corporate is already up Marisol’s ass about your location’s overtime.

You don’t really expect him to show up during this transaction. If you had, you would have said “let me get my manager” and washed your hands of it—you don’t get paid nearly enough to deal with self-proclaimed kings. But as you are booking the room (who the fuck are you supposed to list as the guarantor on the invoice? This wasn’t covered in your training), Loki storms in, followed by a cadre of guards.

You’re not really prepared to see him in person—that’s partly why you freeze. He’s so tall and well…real. It sounds stupid, but it’s jarring seeing him in front of you instead of on a screen or in a picture. He’s not exactly more frightening, but looking at him makes your pulse quicken.

He’s scolding the steward (emissary?) about something—you’re so distracted that you miss exactly what it is that has him so annoyed.

And then you realize that the mark on your left wrist is burning.

You swallow hard. No. Not him.

Loki looks up and his eyes lock with yours.

Fucking hell.

*

The wedding is a spectacle, to say the least.

Your dress is fucking ridiculous. Instead of the traditional white, you are draped in yards of green fabric covered in thousands of emeralds and diamonds and painstakingly embroidered with thread made of real gold and silver. It is very much a statement about who you are and who you belong to. You don’t care for it, but you don’t really have a choice—the details of the ceremony have been largely left to other people to decide. Part of you thinks they must have been planning for this for years, based on the number of things that are already prepared. Or maybe having access to magic negates the need for planning ahead.

You are much too angry to actually ask Loki about any of this. Not that you see much of him before the ceremony anyway.

You go through the motions of the ceremony, trying to keep your cool. It’s only been a week since he found you at the hotel, so the fact that you haven’t consummated your soulbond is more akin to an annoying itch than anything more disruptive, but when he kisses you at the conclusion of the ceremony, it's…intense, to say the least. The mild ache that settled itself between your thighs last week seems to swell, sending a fresh wave of arousal to your core. When he slides his tongue past your lips, all you want to do is release a wanton moan directly into his mouth and rub yourself shamelessly against him. The fact that you’re standing on a platform while the entire world looks on is really the only thing that stops you.

The fact that this is your immediate reaction scares you a bit. You know it’s biology—soulbonds are meant to be consummated isn’t just a saying—but there’s part of you that feels like you should have a stronger handle on that impulse. You are mad at him, you remind yourself. He took over your entire planet, installed himself as king, and then had the audacity to be your soulmate. Focus. Be angry.

You wonder if your family and friends are watching. Your phone ran out of battery the night after he found you and you haven’t had the heart to charge it. You’re barely managing your own emotional reaction—you’re not ready to invite anyone else into it just yet.

The rest of your wedding day is a blur. You meet a bunch of important people and retain exactly none of their names or roles. There is an elaborate multi-course feast and you manage to eat without spilling food on your dress, which feels like a small miracle. You meet more important people and somehow retain even less information. You dance—a few dances with important people whose names you’ve forgotten, but mostly with Loki. The sun sets. They bring out an elaborate dessert course. You dance again. Loki’s hand on your waist fans the flames of desire that you’re trying so hard to ignore.

Finally, you’re whisked away to prepare for bed. It took three people to get you into your dress, and it takes just as many to get you out. They help you into a nightgown that you also didn’t get to pick out—and in fact, it’s the first time you’re seeing it at all. It’s almost too pretty to sleep in, though you suppose that’s the point—you’re supposed to fall asleep naked and sated in the arms of your new husband (god, it’s so weird that you have a husband). You’re not so sure that this is the specific fate that’s in your cards, but you anticipate the nightgown will be coming off at some point this evening. In the interim, you look stereotypically virginal in white lace and chiffon, a glittering emerald pendant resting in your cleavage.

You’ve been staying in a guest suite since he found you, but tonight, they bring you to his rooms. Your rooms, you suppose. Somehow, you doubt he’s the sort who believes that husbands and wives should sleep separately.

The lights are on, but it’s quiet. You wonder if he’s even here.

You approach the couch that sits in front of the floor to ceiling windows that overlook the city. You can see fireworks and twinkling lights of different celebrations and your stomach clenches like a fist. It’s supposed to be in honor of you. Earth’s new queen. A title that shouldn’t even exist, let alone belong to you.

You turn away from the window and sit down on the couch. You stare at the wall, hands twisting the delicate fabric of your nightgown in your lap.

You hear a sound in the other room—his study, you think—and your heart leaps to your throat, practically buzzing with an emotion that feels like the strange cousin of anxiety and anticipation.

You keep your eyes locked on the wall as you listen to his footsteps draw closer.

“It’s customary to announce yourself when you enter someone’s quarters, you know.”

You pause for a moment before letting your gaze trail to him. It’s a conscious, obnoxious power play on your part—you are trying to show him that you still have agency, that he has not yet won your respect or admiration.

You’re not even sure that it registers, which only serves to irritate you further.

He is still wearing most of his wedding clothes, though he’s taken off the fine surcoat from the ceremony, exposing the soft tunic he was wearing underneath. He is smirking—that seems to be his expression of choice, you’ve noticed.

“Aren’t these my rooms too?” you ask. “Is it customary to announce myself in my own space?”

You are trying to be rude, but it doesn’t seem to matter: he simply laughs.

“You are spirited,” he says, looking you over appreciatively, stirring a wild and burning need in your hips, slickness collecting in the lacy white underwear that had been chosen for you.

“And you intend to break me, is that it?” you snap with more venom than is perhaps wise.

“Of course not.” His answer surprises you, though you are determined to not let that show in your face. “Your will is part of your appeal. I’d no sooner crush a rose beneath my boot.”

You are skeptical of this claim given the amount of damage he did to New York City, but your traitorous cunt throbs at his words nonetheless.

“I’m not happy about any of this, you know,” you say, hoping that your anger will act like roiling floodwaters on the firestorm of lust that’s continuing to build in your hips.

It doesn’t, of course. What’s worse: he laughs. Again.

“I’d gathered,” he says. “You are wonderfully unsubtle when you’re angry.”

“I mean, are you surprised?” you say irritably. “I didn’t even get to pick out my own wedding dress, for fuck’s sake.”

“This is the burden of the office, I’m afraid,” he says. “Your wants and desires are often secondary to the needs of the crown.”

You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from screaming at him. “I think you’re missing the point.”

“I think you’ll find I’m not.”

You let out one long breath. “Are you trying to irritate me?”

Another smirk. “I’m afraid I simply have a gift for it.”

You finally give in and scowl. “Great. This is going about as well as I had expected.”

His eyes drift down the column of your throat to the emerald pendant resting in your cleavage and then to the bodice of your nightgown. “Perhaps it’s time we concern ourselves with activities that require less talking.” He licks his lips and brings his gaze back up to yours.

“I’m not entirely convinced anything would stop you from talking,” you say.

“I suspect letting me bury my tongue in your cunt might do the trick.”

For the first time today, you are entirely speechless. The fire burning low in your hips roars into an inferno, like someone has poured accelerant along your nerves and Loki has struck a match. You take in one shaky breath, your heart thrumming in your throat.

“That’s what I thought,” he says with a dark sort of smugness. “To bed, wife.”

You steadfastly ignore the way your stomach jumps when he calls you ‘wife.’ Why is that hot? It shouldn’t be hot.

You’re tempted to argue with him some more—you don’t like giving him even the vaguest impression that you’re following his orders or anything like that—but one smoldering look from him has your heart pounding and another wave of fresh arousal flooding between your legs. You follow him to the bed, trying to keep your expression neutral and indifferent.

He pulls you firmly against him and you wonder if he can feel your heart pounding in your chest. There’s no space between you—you can feel his stomach muscles expand and contract with every slow intake of breath, the press of his slowly hardening cock against your stomach.

He tilts your face up to his and claims your mouth in a devouring kiss, and this time, the moan that you’d held back during the ceremony slips from your lips almost immediately. He makes a low growling noise in return, his hands sliding to the row of small pearl buttons that hold up the back of your nightgown.

You suspect that beyond aesthetic and functional value, the purpose of these buttons is to facilitate a slow, sexy reveal; Loki undoes exactly two and a half buttons before roughly pulling the edges of the fabric apart, the remaining buttons snapping from their threads and pinging against the floor.

You pull away from him, immediately annoyed. “Do you make a habit of ruining other people’s things? What if I wanted to wear that again?”

He laughs, tugging the fabric off your shoulders. “Perhaps you forget the extraordinary powers I have at my command,” he says, staring greedily at your breasts as he tugs the nightgown down your waist, pulling it off your hips so it falls to the floor. “I could tear this gown off you every night and remake it every morning with no more than a click of my fingers.”

Fucking magic powers undercutting your goddamn fucking point.

“Yeah, well, you’re still a jackass,” you say sourly, unwilling to concede the point any further.

His smile is sharp in a way that makes you shiver and he slips his hand into your underwear, his smile growing as he feels how slick you are. “It doesn’t seem to bother you all that much, does it?”

You try to keep your expression stern, but his fingers find your clit and you can’t help the moan that falls from your lips.

“Your sweet cunt is so ready to come.” He slides a finger into you and you whimper. “It’s obscene how wet you are for me.”

You bite back a plea and kiss him instead. His mouth is rough on yours, teeth nipping at your lower lip, tongue plundering your mouth. He slides a second finger into you and you keen.

“Yes,” he groans against your mouth. “Take it like a good girl.”

You clench around his fingers and your hands seek purchase in his hair. You tug on it lightly and he growls with pleasure before he pulls away, his hands moving to the waistband of your underwear and tugging it off your hips.

“Get on the bed.” His tone brooks no arguments. “Now.”

It’s tempting to talk back, tempting to resist. You are still angry about every aspect of this relationship and this stupid fucking wedding. But you know you need this—the dull ache in your hips is only growing more pronounced with every passing moment and the brief feeling of his fingers on your clit was nothing short of heaven. Soulbonds are meant to be consummated and your body seems to be doing everything it can to propel you toward that end.

You kick your underwear the rest of the way off before sitting down on the bed and lying back on the pillows.

He pauses for a moment to look you over, his gaze trailing lazily over your bare skin, his hand absently moving to palm his cock through his trousers. “Spread your legs,” he says. You do and you catch a breath of a groan from him as he stares at you. Your cunt throbs in response and you bite your lip to keep yourself from whimpering.

He allows himself one moment before he crawls on the bed to join you. He kneels between your legs, staring greedily at your exposed cunt, running a thumb along the edge of your folds. Your hips rock upward involuntarily, chasing his hand, seeking friction.

“Such a pretty cunt,” he murmurs. “So soaking wet, so desperately needy for my touch.” He pauses again, licking his lips. “I think I might need a taste.”

Your breath stutters in your chest and he kisses the inside of your thigh, slowly licking and sucking his way upward in a tantalizing preview of what’s to come. You’re already soaking and you can feel yourself growing wetter as his sinful mouth draws closer and closer to your aching need.

You’re not entirely sure whether it’s a moan or a whine that passes your lips when he finally licks that first long, lazy stripe from your entrance all the way up to your clit. He groans low and wanting against your cunt, his tongue rolling over your clit once more before he catches it between his lips and slowly begins to suck.

There is no getting around it: Loki is a pro at eating pussy.

It would be easier if he wasn’t, you find yourself thinking somewhere in the haze between orgasms. If he were mediocre, it would make it so much easier to be angry at him, to resent your current situation. This is not to say that you’ve abandoned your anger at all—you are still mad. But your anger feels so much less effective when he’s spent a solid ninety minutes with his head between your legs and you’ve lost track of the number of times he’s made you come.

He is—predictably—infuriatingly smug about all of this.

Your first orgasm arrives so quickly that it seems to take you both by surprise. And indeed, he lifts his head moments later, already smirking.

“That was awfully quick, wife,” he says. The glint in his eye tells you that he absolutely noticed how you reacted to that name earlier and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from scowling.

“Maybe you’re out of practice,” you say. Even as you say it, it doesn’t sound convincing (it doesn’t even make sense when you think about it later) and Loki laughs outright.

“I think not,” he says, carefully sliding one long index finger inside of you. “I think your poor cunt has been sorely neglected, either by you or some subpar lover you took to ease the ache of missing me.” He adds a second finger and you bite your lip to keep in a moan. “I think you’ll be begging for me before the night is out.” His fingertips press teasingly against that spot inside you and you take in a sharp breath.

He starts lazily moving his fingers in and out of you and while it feels good, you know it’s not going to be enough to get you there. You suspect, from the way that he’s smirking, that he knows this, too.

“Do you want my mouth again? I don’t think you’re done.”

“You’re trying to be a jerk and I don’t like it,” you say.

He laughs and draws his thumb briefly over your clit. “Darling, I only want you to tell me what you want.”

Your eyes narrow. “Why?”

“I think you can understand the appeal of hearing a beautiful woman beg for your touch.”

His compliment immediately clashes with the suggestion that you begging for him is a possibility.

He smiles, catlike, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

“You need my mouth again,” he says, fingers curling inside you. “You need more. I can feel how wet you are, sweet thing.” His thumb presses against your clit and retreats as soon as your breath hitches.

“I could keep you like this for hours. Days, even,” he says, lazily stroking his fingers inside you. “I could keep you right on the edge, begging for your release. But I don’t think you want that. Even I don’t want that. I think you want to come again right now and I think you want my mouth.”

“I’m not begging you for it,” you say.

“I’ve only asked you to tell me what you want,” he says. “I’ve merely expressed that I find the idea of you begging very appealing.”

You want to smack him. With your luck, though, that would turn out to be one of his kinks and then you’ll really be in for it. Your fingers flex against the sheets.

“Do you want to come, darling? Do you want my mouth again?” he asks with a feigned innocence that suggests it’s not a loaded question, even as the glint in his eyes tells you it is.

You’re silent for a beat and then his thumb returns to your clit, pressing and stroking as his fingers curl inside of you. Your hips rock with his hand and you have to bite your lip to keep yourself from moaning aloud when he stops a few seconds later, his eyebrows raised like he’s expecting your answer.

This exchange repeats four more times. On the fifth, you finally break.

“Please,” you whimper. You sound more desperate than you would prefer, but your overwhelming need to come has quickly superseded whatever shreds of decency you have left.

“Please what?” he asks, radiating smugness.

You’re not quite so far gone that you can’t manage a scowl, which he only laughs at.

“I’m waiting…” he says, his fingers curling in a teasing way.

You know there’s no getting around this. “I need to come.”

He looks at you with a raised eyebrow, like he’s expecting more.

You resist the urge to sigh. “I need your mouth. Please.”

He barely spares a second for a wicked grin and a growl of praise that only elevates your need before he’s lowering his mouth again to your clit.

Your second orgasm is somehow even quicker than the first, only this time, you’re already whimpering for the next one as soon as you catch your breath.

Mercifully, he doesn’t lift his mouth from your cunt this time, though he does give you a wicked look that more or less says the same thing.

His fingers are wonderful, but you know they’re no substitute for his cock. And while he has made you come so many times already, the need to have him inside of you continues to grow, settling into a dull ache in your hips.

“I need you to fuck me,” you finally breathe as the aftershocks of your latest orgasm fade back to that ache.

He lifts his head for a minute. “I intend to, but I don’t think you’re done yet.”

Your eyes widen as he seals his lips back around your clit.

“I mean, I’ve just—fuck—I’ve just had more…c-consecutive orgasms than I’ve ever had before in my life, you’re—oh my god, yes—you’re not exactly leaving me wanting—oh fuck.”

He stays silent, but it’s because his tongue is working over your clit. You, on the other hand, are in the process of undercutting your own point. A few more strokes of his tongue and you are coming again, your hips jerking hard against his mouth.

He doesn’t stop after that, either—he draws more orgasms from you, groaning into your cunt when you pull on his hair.

Your pleas for him to fuck you become increasingly desperate with every orgasm, until he finally lifts his head.

“What was it that you wanted?” he asks with a smirk that tells you he needs absolutely no clarification whatsoever.

“Fuck me, please. I need to be fucked, I need your cock,” you say. You feel restless and desperate, the ache inside you growing with every passing second.

“Oh, darling, all you needed to do was ask,” he says, his tone overly cloying.

You’re not quite so far gone that you can’t manage a scowl. “I have been asking. Repeatedly.”

He laughs and begins to undress. You suspect he’s doing this to torture you—you know he could remove his clothes in one go if he wanted to.

He peels his shirt off first and your lips part involuntarily as you take in the firm expanse of muscle of his chest and abdomen, your fingertips itching with the need to touch him. You grip the sheets instead in the vain hope that it might make a difference (it doesn’t).

But even the enticing expanse of his chest is no match for what’s to come.

He removes his trousers with achingly precise slowness. You expect him to be hard; what you’re not expecting is the primal response that it invokes in you. His cock is long, thick, and hard, the head already slick with pre-come. It’s not just for you—it’s because of you.

You swallow hard as he turns to face you fully. You’re so distracted by his cock that you almost miss the smug smirk, which he makes no attempt to hide. He knows he’s hot, he knows he has a beautiful cock, and he knows that you are absolutely aching for him. It is profoundly irritating.

He wraps his hand around his cock, wetting his lips as he casually strokes himself once. “Do you want me?” he asks with the sort of tone and expression that tells you he absolutely knows the answer.

You could yell at him. The prospect is certainly tempting. But you’re not sure that it’s worth it, not with the way your cunt is throbbing with the need to be filled with his beautiful, thick cock.

“Loki, please.” It comes out as more of a whine than you’d like, but you decide that you can live with it.

You are treated to a particularly wolfish grin before he starts stalking towards you.

There’s a large part of you that expects him to flip you over and take you from behind, rough and fast and impersonal. But instead, he climbs on top of you and draws you into a kiss. It’s deep and slow and heightened by the heavy weight of his bare cock pressing against your belly, drops of pre-come smearing against your skin.

Your back arches and your right leg snakes around his waist, trying to pull him closer, urging him to finally ease the ache inside of you. But he takes his time, kissing you slowly, running his hands over your breasts and hips, rocking his cock against you, but not inside of you.

You don’t like begging—it feels too much like offering up a vulnerability—but it becomes increasingly difficult not to give into the urge the longer he stays on top of you like this.

“Loki,” you finally say when he starts peppering sharp, sucking kisses against your throat.

“What is it, my love?” he asks with a faux confusion that you can see through right away.

“You know what I want,” you say as evenly as you can manage.

“Mmm, let me hear you say it just once more,” he says.

“Please fuck me.”

You’re expecting another negotiation, another battle of wits, but instead, he gives you a rather sharp grin and adjusts his hips so he can rub the tip of his cock up and down the length of your cunt. And then, to your surprise, he lines his cock up at your entrance and slowly begins to ease inside of you.

There’s a part of you—a large part of you—that’s surprised by how careful he is. He’s gentle, slowly pressing into you, giving you time to adjust, his movements careful. He does this all in such a way that you might not notice if you didn’t think to look—he wants you to think that he’s not doing any of what he’s doing. He wants you to think he’s not thinking of you when he is, that the care and precision of his movements are merely a pleasant coincidence. You’re not sure how you know this, but you feel certain.

He waits to kiss you until he’s pressed fully inside you, and you realize this is another illusion, another cover so you don’t realize that he’s giving you another moment to adjust to him.

It’s oddly considerate—irritatingly so. The coals of your anger still burn bright in your heart, but they flicker for just a moment.

But then he begins to move and coherent thoughts flee your mind entirely.

He feels so good. You’re not sure if it’s the soulbond itself, the dopamine and serotonin, or if he just knows the perfect way to move, but the first thrust has your toes curling and that warm heat stirring in your belly. You’ve already come so many times tonight that it feels impossible that your body should be capable of more, but you know immediately that he’s going to bring you right back over the edge if he keeps moving the way he is.

And he’s showing no signs of stopping, either.

“Norns,” he breathes, pressing a kiss against your neck, “you feel perfect. So warm and tight.”

You shiver, your cunt clenching reflexively around his slowly stroking cock. He grins and presses his lips up against your ear.

“Do you like hearing how your snug little cunt fits me like a glove?”

You would prefer to be able to lie in this particular moment—instead, your body immediately betrays you and your legs tighten around his waist as your cunt shudders around him.

You can practically feel his sharp, hungry smile as he nips at your earlobe. “I can feel how much you do,” he murmurs. A devastating swivel of his hips has you uttering a gasping whine that you are not at all proud of.

“That’s it.” He’s swiveling his hips on every other thrust now and you know the moment he switches to that exclusively, it’s all over. “You’re so close,” he purrs with confidence that annoys you just a little, even in your pre-orgasmic stupor.

But then he swivels his hips again and you shudder before you can hide it and he notices…and does it again.

And again.

Fuck.

Your orgasm starts barreling toward you at an impossibly fast pace and his eyes glitter because he knows.

“You’re going to come for me.” It’s not even a command—it’s just a statement as he rolls his hips in those devastating thrusts.

You whimper, your back arching.

“Give into it. Let me feel you.”

One more push of his cock against that sweet spot inside you and you can’t fight it any more. Your muscles tense one last time and you cry out as you come hard on his cock.

“Oh, beautiful,” he groans, his eyes closing as he fucks you through it.

It seems to last a long time, drawn out every time the head of his cock drags against that sensitive spot that sent you over the edge in the first place. He pauses briefly to bring your legs up over his shoulders, which makes his cock hit a spot even deeper inside you that feels so good it pulls a strangled sob from your throat.

Loki groans, his pace increasing, one hand falling between your legs to rub at your clit. It’s so much, but it feels better than anything. You feel another orgasm rising in your hips and you whimper.

“Good girl, fucking take it,” he slurs. You can tell that he’s getting close from the way his thrusting is becoming more frantic, how he tips his head back and grips your hips even harder.

“Come for me,” he growls. “I’m going to fill your lovely cunt with my seed. Come for me.”

Your vision whites out and your back arches as you come. If you were capable of rational thought, you would be angry that your body simply obeyed this simple directive; as it is, it’s hard for you to process anything other than how good he feels inside of you.

You can tell he’s approaching his end and he’s utterly captivating to watch. His eyes are screwed shut, brow furrowed and lips parted as he lets out a low groan that makes your toes curl.

His eyes open in the final throes and he surges forward to kiss you. He moans softly into your mouth as he comes, his whole body shuddering.

You feel dreamy and sated as he slows to a halt, lowering his head to the crook of your neck. The restless ache inside you is finally quiet—at least for now.

You expect him to roll off you and fall asleep—the portrait of a cliche. Instead, he stays with you, the warm heat of his breath ghosting over your shoulder. You can feel his cock still throbbing inside of you.

You should push him away, reclaim the distance between you. You’re angry at him, after all.

But also…it feels nice.

It’s just the endorphins, you tell yourself. It’s hormones. It doesn’t mean anything.

You can feel the lie prickling at the edges of the thought, sharp and needling, like ground glass pressing against bare skin. It means a lot of things; you just wish it didn’t.

Be angry.

His lips brush against your shoulder. More of your muscles relax. It’s nice.

Be angry.

You’re tired though. It’s been a really long day and the bed is soft and the weight of Loki on top of you is oddly reassuring.

Maybe just for tonight. Maybe just this once you’ll allow yourself to fall asleep in his bed.

“I’m still mad at you,” you say. It feels too sharp, too strident. The lady doth protest too much, methinks. He doesn’t know you, though, not really, and so you can only hope that he misses the subtle catch in your voice, that little note of uncertainty.

“I’d expect nothing less.” His voice is slightly muffled against your shoulder.

Goddammit, why does this have to be so comfortable?

He shifts slightly, easing out of you. You feel the resulting mess vanish before it even hits your thigh. At least he’s considerate.

You scowl at the thought.

“Sleep,” he says after a moment. “You’ll need your strength to rage at me in the morning.”

“I can rage at you in my sleep,” you say as your eyes slide shut.

“I’m sure you can,” he says. “Sleep.”

And despite all your complicated feelings—your anger, the inherent feeling of ease you get from his embrace, your unease with your new title, your homesickness—you find that the pull of sleep is too tempting to resist and the world slowly fades away.

Next chapter

[femmefatalevibe]

Femme Fatale Guide: Products & Services Worth The Splurge

Fashion:

A great couple of bras in black/nude (your best skin-toned shade)

Comfortable, breathable, and seamless underwear

Outerwear (Coats, jackets, blazers)

The perfect pair of jeans

An LBD that works from day to night

Comfortable, sturdy, sleek, and timeless footwear (a versatile black boot, a black heel, white sneaker, and a black flat/loafer/sandal)

A timeless and versatile crossbody or shoulder bag (a larger one for the daytime/work or school and a smaller one for nighttime/events)

One or two well-made classic jewelry item(s)

A conversation-starting item or accessory

Beauty:

Sunscreen

Any skincare/skin cosmetic products that are game-changers for you

A quality hair brush, comb, and hair towel

Your signature scent

A quality razor/hair removal product

Vitamin C/Retinol serums

Reliable hair tools and sturdy nail tools

A quality hair heat protectant/scalp cleansing or conditioning spray

Makeup brushes and beauty tool cleaners

Home:

Lamps/lighting

Couch/desk chair

Everything for your bed: Bed frame, mattress/sheets/pillows, etc.

Knives

Dishwasher-safe and microwave-safe dishes & cups you love

A full-length mirror

Vacuum

Storage solutions/cedar blocks or moth balls

Quality holders for everything: Paper towels, shower storage, hooks, mailbox/key bowls

Name brand paper products/household cleaners

Electric toothbrush & Waterpik

Sound-proof headphones/Airpods

MacBook Air

Health & Wellness:

High-quality lettuce and/or sprouts

Organic frozen fruits and vegetables (if fresh is too pricey)

BPA-free canned goods

Potassium bromate & glyphosate-free grain products

Snacks free of artificial colors

Quality coffee

An at-home massage tool/heating pad

Fur products for skin/hair removal

Vitamin C/Retinol serums

Quality running shoes

Anything that goes near your vulva or into the vagina: Sex toys, lube, condoms, toy cleaners, pads/tampons/menstrual cups, cleansing wipes, etc.

A yoga mat, resistance band, and a pair of small ankle weights

Spotify subscription

Books and audiobooks

Services:

Therapy

A top-tier haircut

House cleaning (even if it's only once every couple of months)

Top-tier hair removal/brow maintenance services of your choice

Best doctors, dentists, OB/GYN, and dermatologists you can get

At least one personal training/styling session in your life

Professional/Social:

Ownership of the domain for your full legal/professional name and/or business name

A CPA/bookkeeper/fiduciary financial advisor

Automation workflow/content management system software

A lawyer for contract review/LLC services

Personalized stationery/"Thank You" cards

Memorable client gifting for the holidays/milestone successes

Niche skill-based certifications (Google, AWS, Hubspot, etc.) or courses made by trusted professionals in your field

Subscriptions in world-leading and industry-authority digital publications

[justalost4girl]

ONE

This fanfic is part of my Taylor Swift coded fanfics. word count: 3186

A girl walks onto the stage with a guitar in hand and a smile on her face.

She greets the band, and they greet her back. The shy girl thanks everyone for coming tonight.

Natasha Romanoff grips her glass tighter and orders another shot of whiskey without looking at the bartender, as she can't take her eyes off of you.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

One year earlier…

She finds you at the café. Natasha hates cafés, but she knows your company's head of security comes at the end of every period to get coffee with you; it's been like this for two weeks.

But today, you're alone at a table, and Natasha needs to adjust the plan. She goes to the counter and orders a cappuccino—the same as yours—and looks for a place to sit.

Your eyes meet hers, and for a moment, the redhead ignores the hot cup she's carrying.

You're beautiful

And shy.

Natasha recalls your file and smiles. You were exactly as Skye had described. She sees a chance to approach in the crowded room and clears her throat; she's done this before but feels the need to focus.

"Can I sit with you?" A soft voice pulls you out of the stupor you entered when you looked into those deep green eyes. Eyes that could inspire symphonies, and you believe she's the most beautiful woman you've ever seen, and your brain can't do more than nod, afraid of saying the wrong thing.

She sits beside you, not in front of you, waiting to analyze your computer. The file didn't mention the software you use, so it's up to her to find out before your friend arrives. She positions her coffee well so her field of vision can see anything that appears on the screen.

"I'm pretty sure I've seen you around here; do you live nearby?" She asks, trying to break the ice as usual, but deep down, she feels strange under your contemplative gaze.

"Yes, I live in the building across from Luthor Corp and work there." Your voice shows pride, and your eyes sparkle, Natasha notices. She wonders if you know what your colleague has been developing and the true nature of your boss.

"And you? I don't think I've seen you around here before," you seem genuinely interested. Natasha likes that. Targets are easy, but you are very easy; with just a few words, she already knows where you live and work. For a security analyst, you are far too naive.

And she puts the plan into practice.

"I just moved to the end of the block. There are so many boxes… I needed the coffee to give me energy." She says with an extremely calculated tone. You smile and notice that she has a beautiful corner smile and really seems tired, so you offer to help.

You always offer to help strangers.

And Natasha celebrates the success of the plan while taking a sip of coffee and leaning toward you, complimenting your screensaver. While you give her an excited explanation, she takes the opportunity to see the type of software used and memorizes the access password when you unlock the computer to show how the galaxy theme expands on your computer.

You exchange names.

She's Natalie. Nickname? Nat. The redhead shares similar tastes to yours, and something tells you that coming here alone was the best choice. After all, Nat would never look at you if Luke were around.

You also have a name, but everyone calls you Newton. In honor of your favorite physicist. A development assistant in the security sector with a desk always organizedly messy, in your words. Your boss, Luke, didn't come today because he had an emergency meeting and gave you the afternoon off. Natasha makes a mental note to understand this.

He didn't have any meetings scheduled.

As the coffee finishes, Nat guides you to her house. You stretch your back and even tie your hair up to help with the boxes. Then, you feel a bit disappointed to find there are only two, but you don't complain.

You never complain.

Natasha watches you help organize the books in the living room, chattering away about how you've read most of them and your opinions. You don't notice, however, that they show no signs of use, and amidst some jokes, for a minute Natasha forgets about the mission. Being with you is comfy.

"Wanna order pizza? I know a good place." You ask, sitting on her floor. Your jacket, backpack, and shoes are at the door. She liked how you took off your shoes to enter her house. It's a sign of respect, you say. The file points out the numerous k-dramas evaluated in your account, but she doesn't comment and even finds it adorable. She finds you adorable. Period.

"Sure, but only if you agree to watch something before we go and let me pay for the snack. You were my hero today." Nat smiles, and all that crosses your mind is how random your luck is. Here, sitting on this floor with the most beautiful woman you've ever met in front of you, the word destiny has a new meaning.

She gives you yoga pants and an oversized Star Wars shirt, your favorite saga, to make yourself comfortable. The pizza arrives while you're changing, and she can't use your laptop, but that loses its importance when your heart warms seeing you wear clothes she bought just for you. You feel like you're in heaven for finding someone as big a Star Wars fan as you, because that shirt was only available by order. Everything seems too perfect, you think, but the thought flies when you find out the theory of olives applies to both of you.

Natasha puts on your favorite movie from the franchise, and what was supposed to be just one movie becomes a marathon. She knows all the lines and jokes from each movie, knows curiosities and book details, and that makes you ignore your phone all night.

That night, you fall asleep on the couch.

The sun hits the window, and the redhead opens her eyes and sees you. Your arms are by your side, but Natasha is practically in your lap. Even in a deep sleep, you respect her too much to touch her.

Natasha is distracted for a moment and wonders how much of a spy she was last night. Here and now, looking at your lips in a half smile and your messy hair. Natasha almost feels bad for getting into this mission.

Almost.

She shakes her head and carefully gets off the couch and goes to your backpack, finding a black-covered book and the laptop. The goal? Install a spy program on the laptop. The problem? Natasha's curiosity gets the best of her, and she opens the book.

Your song lyrics, drawing attempts, and poems are a world for her to explore, and only after ten minutes, Natasha remembers the mission. She plugs in a device, pockets it, and waits for the installation, but when the progress bar is only halfway, your alarm goes off, and Natasha has to improvise.

Two minutes until the program is complete.

"Hello there," she says, smiling softly, throwing herself on top of you.

"Ah, now you're Obi-Wan? I thought you were Jar Jar Binks," you say, rubbing your eye and laughing at her offended expression.

Natasha rolls her eyes and starts a tickle war. You squirm, and she lets herself spin on the couch, ending up underneath you.

"Okay, okay, truce. You're not Jar Jar. You're the face anyone would turn to the dark side for," you say, feeling an unexpected courage.

"Does that go for you, Newton?" Natasha says softly, her eyes fixed on yours, her gaze alternating between your lips and your eyes in an almost hypnotizing manner.

"That goes for me, Nat," you whisper, looking at her lips.

You're not sure who initiated the kiss first, but you like to think it was both. The world seems to stop as your lips meet, each touch filled with emotions and suppressed desires. For you, it's a moment of pure magic and connection, an unexpected paradise. For Natasha, it's a reminder of what she could lose, a conflict between duty and desire.

The day passes slowly. She drags you from the couch to the kitchen for coffee and then back to the couch for a make-out session. Natasha has a dominant and bossy streak, and you feel comfortable and safe beside her, as her hands don’t cross any boundaries and remain on your waist. You try a new recipe, talk about the weather, exchange compliments and kisses. The afternoon arrives, and Luke calls you to the office.

You decide to stop by home first but manage to take one of Natasha's limited edition sweatshirts as a promise to meet again soon.

Natasha leaves you at the door smiling like she hasn't in a long time. All for the mission, of course. At least that's what she wants to believe.

She doesn't realize she forgot to send the report to Fury.

You don't realize your laptop is on in the backpack.

Nat is different from any woman you've ever met.

Not that you've met many.

No, but Nat is different. She's kind. She's everything you could ask for in a person. Nat is too good to be true.

"Newton is smiling today?" Luke says, approaching your desk.

"I found my soulmate at the café yesterday," you say, eyes sparkling.

"Really? What's she like?" he asks, placing some files on your desk.

You describe everything, from her appearance to shared tastes, and he smiles like he does with clients.

"Send me the code by 5 p.m., then you can go see your future wife," he says, typing something on his phone and leaving.

You smile and grab your laptop. It's almost dead and turned on. You find it strange but don't question it; after all, the computer is still locked. The memory of Nat's eyes brings you more inspiration, and you jot down about the new shade of green where you found peace.

The afternoon passes in a blur, the leaves fall, and you finally finish the code. Luke is nowhere to be found, something about an urgent meeting, and you decide to send the code by email.

Natasha is at home, with full access to your computer, celebrating the success of the plan. The virus will accompany the file. Luke will open it on the corporate computer, and she can finish the mission. She watches you through the camera, and Natasha misses you for a moment. You are a beautiful collateral damage. Too kind. Too captivating.

She knows it's wrong, but she lets the idea linger in her mind for more than a minute.

Natasha sighed as she shut down the laptop, feeling the weight of the decision she had made. She glanced at the phone screen, hesitant for a moment before typing a quick message to Newton.

"Miss you, come over?" she typed, her fingers hesitating over the keys. It was the first time in a long time that she allowed herself to be true.

"On my way, General Romanoff," you reply, making your usual path with a smile on your face.

☆。*。☆。 Eight months earlier…

One night, as the soft moonlight filtered through the curtains, you were sitting on the couch beside Natasha. She was flipping through your lyric notebook, and after much persuasion, she managed to convince you to sing one of your songs. With a shy smile, your voice filled the room, bringing life to the carefully crafted words.

Natasha watched you with admiration, her eyes sparkling with each note. When you finished, she applauded enthusiastically.

"You have an incredible voice, you know? You should leave this field and sing in a bar. Become famous and rich," Natasha suggested, excitement gleaming in her eyes.

You laughed, shaking your head. "Maybe someday. But if I do, will you promise to be there?"

Natasha took your hand and looked directly into your eyes. "I wouldn't miss any of your shows for anything in this world," she said sincerely.

Later that night, after waking from a nightmare and seeing Natasha, who was now lying on her side, her hair spread across the pillow, you took a deep breath.

Focusing on the woman beside you, you felt a mix of tenderness and curiosity as you admired the peace on her face. Her gentle features seemed even kinder in the quiet of the moment.

Natasha breathed calmly in peaceful sleep, immersed in a world of tranquility that contrasted with the turmoil of your own thoughts.

For a moment, you wondered about the thoughts Natasha kept, about what she dreamed and what made her smile in the silence of that rest. There was something intriguing about the way she moved in the world, near you, an aura of mystery and serenity that deeply attracted you.

You were in love; you felt it intensely and quickly. And for the first time in your life, you felt that this love was mutual. You lay down beside her, lightly touching Natasha's lips with a kiss. She slowly opened her eyes, meeting yours with a gentle shine of surprise and care.

"Nat," you started, feeling your heart racing with emotion overflowing in your words. "Will you be my girlfriend?"

A radiant smile formed on her lips, her eyes reflecting tenderness and joy. She nodded slightly, without saying a word, but making it clear that her answer was yes.

☆。*。☆。 Six months earlier…

You walked out of the office with firm steps, Luke by your side. For the first time in months, he mentioned it was for security measures, and you didn't mind, too excited to introduce your oldest friend to your girlfriend. The usual café was just a few meters away, and Natasha, watching from afar, noticed the smile on Newton's face as she entered the establishment.

"Hello there!" You exclaimed eagerly upon seeing Natasha, who smiled back warmly as she greeted you. "You're here! I missed you," Natasha said, warmly embracing you. She caught the familiar scent of Newton and momentarily lost herself in the comforting sensation.

"Yes, and accompanied this time. Nat, this is Luke. Luke, this is Natalie," you introduced them, your eyes shining with affection for Nat, your girlfriend.

"Natalie! You're as beautiful as she said," Luke complimented Natasha with a gallant air, earning a playful eye-roll from Newton. Natasha noted the dynamic between the two, the way Luke enjoyed subtly teasing her.

"Maybe Newton is onto something after all," Natasha replied, laughing softly as she observed Newton and Luke interact.

Luke was at ease, responding to Natasha's light questions with calculated calm. He didn't reveal much personal information, maintaining a professional and careful demeanor in his responses. Natasha tried to probe him about his work and interests, but Luke skillfully deflected, keeping the conversation on superficial topics.

During a momentary pause, Luke received a call on his cell phone. He discreetly stepped away to answer it, while you and Nat continued chatting. A few minutes later, Luke returned with a serious expression.

"Newton," Luke began, catching both your attention. "I just received an important call. We need to prepare for a trip to Seattle in a week. We have a client that requires our personal attention. We'll be there for a month."

You nodded, feeling the weight of responsibility on your shoulders. Natasha couldn't contain her excitement upon hearing about the trip. It was the perfect opportunity to gather evidence against Luke's criminal activities. She spoke with anticipation in her eyes. "That's great! I'd love to come along, if possible."

Luke seemed surprised by Natasha's suggestion, his gaze becoming more cautious. "Natalie, I'm not sure if…"

"I have family there, I don't need to know many details, I just didn't want to be away from Newton," Natasha said persuasively, while Luke looked at her with a wary gaze.

You smiled at Nat and kissed her gently. "Of course, you can come, right Luke?"

Luke nodded resignedly but with a faint smile. "Alright, then get ready for the trip."

While observing the tension in his voice, you recalled how meticulous he had been with security recently. First, insisting on buying a new computer for you, claiming it was safer and more efficient. Then, personally supervising the building's security system update. At the time, you thought it was just part of his protective nature as head of security. Now, however, looking at him, there was something in his behavior that made you wonder if he was hiding something.

The idea of betraying you was unbearable. If only she could find something to justify her mission, she could decide what to do next. She could stop everything, tell you the truth, and run away to Greece, or anywhere far from here.

On the flight, Natasha kept herself discreet, but every glance exchanged between you two left her more conflicted. You were excited about the trip, unaware of the internal turmoil Natasha was facing. She wanted to protect you, but how could she do that when she herself was the threat?

Upon arriving at the destination, Natasha checked into the same hotel as you, but Luke made sure she had no access to the meetings. He was vigilant, observing every interaction between you. You, on the other hand, seemed happy with the opportunity to explore the city alongside Natasha, oblivious to her true intentions.

Every night, as you fell asleep, Natasha stayed awake, lost in thought. She looked at you, feeling a mixture of tenderness and guilt. She knew she needed to act, to find something that would change everything. But until that happened, she stayed by your side, cherishing the time she still had.

Natasha Romanoff had no idea she wasn't the only one playing this game.

-------

Two - July 9, 2024

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Comments are appreciated :)

[lyssasdrafts]

★ 𓈒 ݁ STAR—CROSSED (rhysand x reader) ⊹

chapter six: (written) ✧

𓈒 ݁ ✫ masterlist previous next

“guess who!”

morrigan’s voice wakes you, causing you to jolt up from your table at the library. you had come here in the afternoon and it was already evening, meaning the sunlight from the library’s large windows had faded and it was starting to become dimly lit. the bright light from your laptop screen only further causes your eyes to strain.

“what are you doing here?” you say after letting out a yawn and stretching out your arms. you move slightly, patting down a seat for mor.

“just wanted to check up on you,” she shrugs. her attention shifts to the papers scattered around the desk, confirming that you had been reviewing your notes all afternoon. mor frowns when she notices the dark circles under your eyes and quietly fixes your hair while you talk about what you were studying for.

your laptop, however, was for a different task. you had been touching up some of the photos you took at rhysand’s photoshoot on your editing software, meaning his face was plastered across your screen. you cringe at the image and at the sight of the man who caused you so much irritation, no matter how good the photoshoot had turned out.

“are you making a fan edit of me now?” rhysand peers over your shoulder.

once again, you’re taken by suprise, almost jumping out of your seat when he appears next to you. perhaps it runs in their family.

“where did you come from?” morrigan almost yells at him. rhysand had been standing behind the both of you, hands in his pockets as he leans over to look at your screen.

“don’t get the wrong idea,” you retort. “i’m editing your photos from our photoshoot.” rhysand gives you a satisfied smile. perhaps it was even genuine.

“i came here to study,” he says, pulling up a chair and moving to sit across from you. “mind if i sit here?”

“actually, yes,” mor says irreverently. her cousin gives her an annoyed look and she crosses her arms. “no wonder my roommate can’t stand you.”

“i can definitely confirm he’s difficult to work with,” you give her a smirk while the both of you hold in your laugh at rhysand’s dismay.

“i will admit, the photoshoot did look good though,” you say hesitantly. “and thank you for crediting me,” you add, “it really helped me as a photographer.”

rhysand feigns shock, “is y/n being genuine for once?”

you immediately take back your words, “i liked you better when you were picking an argument with me.” you could recall the moments since that photoshoot where rhysand had acted normal in class despite knowing about your passion: when you got your exams back, or last week when you scored one point higher than him, or today in class when you started a debate about the formation of the universe. the entire class had witnessed your argument and you could’ve sworn your teacher sighed that you two were bickering again.

“you know that i was right today,” rhysand says, “as i typically am.”

you try not to roll your eyes at him, instead sorting through your notebooks and papers to find the reading you did earlier. “i know i’m right because i actually study the material. it says here that—”

morrigan had already mentally tuned out of your conversation with rhysand, rolling her eyes when you start shoving notes into her cousin’s face. “can the two of you please argue another time?” she almost yawns.

in the corner of your eye, you can see that familiar golden-brown hair peeking out from behind a bookshelf. you want to roll your eyes as you realize she’s watching how rhysand acts with you. nesta would definitely be teasing you about this later. you notice a second person’s hand covering her face as she giggles, spotting her brighter hair between the gaps in the books, and realize elain was spying on you too.

maybe going to the library was a bad idea today.

rhysand, the oblivious fool that he was, did not see the sisters behind him watching you. you wondered if he was even aware people did this to him, considering how your friends were definitely not the only people on campus to be interested in him like this. you nearly cringed as he continued rambling about how his argument was right, never dropping that satisfied look on his face. he hadn’t realized that you weren’t focused on the conversation anymore.

“do you always have to challenge me, rhysand?” you finally ask.

“do you always have to be right, y/n?” he quickly counters, further proving your point.

“well maybe, it’s because—”

you’re interrupted by the sound of loud footsteps and two large figures walking up to you, causing a few heads to turn in the library, including nesta and elain. you don’t recognize cassian and azriel, who you only knew as rhysand’s friends, until they come up behind rhysand and cassian starts to talk.

azriel pulls up a chair to sit with the both of you while cassian stands behind rhysand, hugging his friend from the back. rhysand seems amused, exchanging greetings with his friends before they finally noticed your presence.

“sorry, y/n, i hope you don’t mind us stealing away your boyfriend for a minute,” cassian gives you a smug look. “we just need rhys for a moment.”

you stare blankly at cassian, blinking. is that what they’ve been thinking? maybe rhysand had become more tolerable to you, but you still had every right to be annoyed with his friends. cassian looked like he was about to start laughing at rhysand before you look him straight in the eyes.

you lean back into your chair, crossing your arms and glaring at cassian, “he’s not my boyfriend.”

“he talks about you all the time,” azriel chimes in. this was perhaps your first time hearing his voice properly. in the few classes you had with him, azriel rarely spoke and brushed off anyone who tried to start a conversation with him. even a few more heads turned towards him when he spoke in front of you.

a look of panic flashed in rhysand’s eyes and he gave azriel a nudge with his arm, causing the dark haired boy to chuckle. morrigan makes a disgusted face, giving cassian and azriel a look that would’ve made you shut up instantly. but instead, they both continued.

“well then, i can’t really blame you for not wanting to date rhysand,” cassian is now standing over your table, placing his hands in his pockets as he leans down towards you. “he’s insufferable.”

“he is,” the cold tone remains in your voice, though an amused smile begins to tug on your lips.

“don’t say that, y/n. he’ll be so heartbroken later,” azriel speaks, a similar reluctant smirk appearing on his face too.

“that’s enough!” rhysand snaps, “stop embarassing me.”

you’re about to burst out laughing with cassian when rhysand suddenly slams his hands on the table, insisting that his friends leave with him. you don’t object to rhysand cutting his visit to the library short, watching how mor chuckles as rhysand drags azriel away and bids cassian to follow behind them. it’s like the four of them have a secret that you’re not in on. cassian gives you a playful wave goodbye that you hesitantly return before the three of them quickly disappear from your peripheral vision.

“that was… interesting,” you say to morrigan, only moments before nesta and elain confront you. you were still trying to process the fact that cassian and azriel had even looked in your direction, let alone without any disgust. some of the rudest people you knew on campus had just started a conversation with you, all because you happened to know rhysand.

nesta pretends to dust off the books on the shelves as she walks towards you, tracing the patterns on your wooden desk once she reaches you, her eyes almost bulging when she glances at all your papers. “y/n,” she says in a sing-song voice, it’s the first time you’ve ever seen her smile like that, “what was that about?”

elain doesn’t even bother to be discrete, simply trailing behind nesta and appearing behind her. although she obviously isn’t as curious, her eyes are also widened like she has questions about that interaction too.

morrigan nearly scoffs, “you mean rhysand?”

“i already know about him,” nesta’s smile almost drops completly as her face twists, “who was that big, strong friend he brought?”

“you mean cassian?” you say, mor nearly starts laughing again.

“he seems cute,” nesta shrugs, then continues teasing you. “does our y/n now have men fawning over you?” she gives you a look with a smirk.

“absolutely not.”

elain suddenly joins, her voice remains quiet and hesitant when she asks, “what about the taller one?”

she receives a look from both you and nesta, and you’re suddenly reminded of just how coldly azriel treats people. perhaps nesta would get along with him, but your other friends would definitely dislike him if they saw him in class the way you did.

“he seems kind,” elain softly says.

“something tells me you’ll be seeing a lot more from the three of them,” morrigan playfully hits your arm, your three friends officially ganging up on you to your dismay.

— NOTES

cassian and azriel teasing rhysand 🤭

almost got the whole gang in one place 🫶 cassian and azriel finally make their first appearance

nesta noticing cassian 👀 my nessian self just had to add it

— TAGLIST

@thelov3lybookworm @starsand @lilah-asteria @therealmoonstone @just-a-social-casualty-1 @ashjade19 @girlontheblock @cherry-cin @daughterofthemoons-stuff @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @sweet-chai-amore @kierramofficial @noelli-smv @c-dizzle99 @littlestw01f @marina468 @dragneel-brothers

[myrendezvous-software]

Workplace Management Software | Office Space System - MyRendezvous

MyRendezvous Workplace Management Software is a cutting-edge solution for optimizing office space management. Designed to streamline workplace operations, it offers a comprehensive suite of tools to enhance productivity and efficiency. With MyRendezvous, you can effortlessly manage desk reservations, meeting room bookings, and resource allocation, ensuring that every square foot of your office space is utilized effectively. The user-friendly interface simplifies scheduling, allowing employees to book workspaces and meetings with ease. Real-time analytics and reporting provide valuable insights for data-driven decision-making, enabling you to make the most of your office resources. Take control of your workplace with MyRendezvous and create a more dynamic, organized, and productive office environment.

[fiddles-ifs]

[ID: a banner-style image with smudged, grungy text. The banner says "blog update" in bold, capital letters. The background is textured green and white with a film border around it. The upper left corner says "official photograph not to be released for publication." /end ID]

Happy update day!

Greenwarden, Eryinys, and TKP's chapter 1 updates are all coming along very smoothly. (Except for Greenwarden. Firstborn problem indeed. I ended up losing a ton of work -- including the whole library update -- and I got so mad I started working on a whole other route. Coming back to the library route soon, though. I have enough salvageable material, I just need to be Not Mad about it.) Here's some snippets!

CONTENT WARNING: Gore

GREENWARDEN

Adrenaline is a hell of a drug. Sprinting down the street doesn't even hurt, even if you do leave a long blood trail behind you. Your one hope is that the coyote is too preoccupied tearing chunks out of Eddie to pay attention to you. Hope is dangerous -- makes you cocky. Makes you make mistakes. You keep running toward what you think is safety, and you end up right at the edge of Warden Forest. Definitely not safety. You stop just before the mouth of the woods, breathing so hard you gag, your stomach half-open like a yawning mouth. Deep breaths hurt too much -- you can't bring yourself back to baseline. You risk losing your adrenaline rush if you do that anyway. Looking around looks the same. Woods and parking lot, woods and parking lot. There's a trail right ahead of you, tempting you inside. The click of nails against asphalt makes you whirl around. The damn coyote is right behind you, still licking gristle from its teeth.

ERINYS

Marik leads you to a corner covered in paper thin monitors. Cords feed into the biggest computer you may have ever seen, protected from the water and soap by thick rubber casing and a raised platform surrounded by guardrails painted yellow and black. The ramp vibrates under heel. You realize, with a start, that the computer and monitors are much lower to the floor than you'd expect, just as the engineer wheels around to face you both. "Sorenson," Marik says. The engineer grins with a mouthful of pearly white teeth and leans back in his chair, arms folded over his stomach. He's all hard planes. Built with lean muscle, broad-shouldered like DANIEL is, but with a shock of curly red hair and a mess of dark freckles. He has a dimple on his nose. "Marik," Sorenson says, wheeling his chair back to make room for you both. "All systems good. I'm running tune-up software now, just to make sure. Everything is brand new, but still. Can't be too careful." He glances at you. Nothing escapes Marik's notice, even bent across the desk to glare into screens running codes and diagnostics and other things that make you dizzy. Absently, he introduces you to each other. The engineer's name is Doctor Matthew Sorenson. He looks awfully young to be a doctor. "Fury, huh?" Dr. Sorenson raises his eyebrows. You flex your hands. "Whatever keeps you alive, I guess."

THE KING'S PHYSICIAN

The Maw is a jagged white chalkscape. You have to march in single file, careful to avoid the razor sharp juts of rock. The horses are nervous -- the wolf packs and cave lions living in the Teeth have perfected the art of the ambush. Not just that -- the endless bone white expanse can cause the distracted to become easily lost. You keep close count of everyone -- you, Sibir, and Leniza -- their aunt. She gives the whole company water blessings on the way in. Salt water from the Archipelago, to fine their ways home. -> Not that you believe in blessings. You are a person of science. -> You give your own blessings when you can. You can never have too many gods at your disposal. -> You don't have an opinion on religion -- it's something that exists. Annoyingly prevalent, but what can you do?

I'm hoping at least one of these guys will be ready to publish by next month -- but I'm also writing another book! Because I'm crazy. So we'll see!

[nanowrimo]

4 Ways To Cure Writer’s Block

Every year, we’re lucky to have great sponsors for our nonprofit events. NovelPad, a 2023 NaNoWriMo sponsor, is a novel drafting software designed to make it easy for writers to write. Today, they're sharing a few tips to help you beat writer's block:

NovelPad loves NaNoWriMo because we have the same goal: Helping authors get the thing done!

Starting a book is usually fun and easy—your fingers dance across the keyboard as you explore an exciting world, meet your characters, and stir up intrigue for the coming plot. But once you get into the weeds of how that all works, and how you and your characters get from Point A to Point B, you might find yourself losing momentum. You might find yourself so encumbered with obstacles that you might get a case of the dreaded writer’s block.

The very good news is that writer’s block isn’t terminal, and I certainly don’t think writer’s block is as enigmatic as some people seem to think. I believe it’s actually quite a simple problem, and usually due to one of a few common factors. Let’s look at four ways you can push yourself through your case of ye olde block.

1. Check in with yourself.

Step one is always to check in with yourself. 

Start by reviewing your basic self-care needs:

Are you staying hydrated?

Do you feel hungry?

Would a shower or a nap be beneficial?

Is it time for a walk or some stretching exercises?

Consider your environment as well. Maybe you need:

Noise-canceling headphones

A change of scenery

A babysitter or someone to help around the house

To open or close some windows

Next, evaluate your level of focus. Is your mind wandering elsewhere? It can be useful to create a "dump list" to jot down anything that's causing you stress, such as work-related issues, pending tasks, or upcoming events. Setting that list aside can give you the tangible feeling of pushing those things off your desk to worry about later.

Once your body, mind, and environment are sorted out, you'll likely discover that writing becomes a bit easier!

2. Look back at where you’ve been.

Even if the first tip did or did not do the trick, let’s take a look at the project itself.

Sometimes writer’s block is a blessing in disguise! Your creative gut might be telling you that something went awry. Try reading your project back and pinpointing where it became difficult to keep going. Consider alternate plots or paths to get your writing flowing again.

If you're managing multiple plots and subplots, identifying the moment you deviated from the main path can be quite challenging. To pinpoint which plot line is causing issues, you can take advantage of NovelPad's handy feature: Plot tracking.

On the Plot Board, you can review every scene of a particular plot in order, making spotting those errors in your plotlines much easier.

3. Rewrite a problem scene.

Once you've identified the scene causing issues, it's time to make improvements! This can be challenging because there are countless ways to approach a scene.

However, don't hesitate to embrace revisions. Often, a scene benefits from a thorough rewrite. With NovelPad Revisions, you can save limitless scene revisions, compare them side by side, and effortlessly switch to the one they want in the live manuscript. This keeps your different versions safe, well-organized, and readily accessible.

4. Freewrite to free yourself.

Freewriting is a great way to get your creativity flowing again. Write some poetry, compose a letter to a friend, or simply let your thoughts flow without judgment. Freewriting without judgment can help turn on your writer mode and even help you solve some problems! It's especially beneficial when you're stuck on something specific, because we often find brilliant solutions when we stop being so critical of our ideas.

Kick writer’s block off your desk with NovelPad! It's free to use throughout NaNoWriMo, and we offer discounts to participants and winners afterward. If you find that NovelPad isn't your cup of tea by the end of November, don't worry—you can still access and download your project at any time. Just write!

Our team at NovelPad believes in making it easy for writers to complete their books. That’s why we built an uncomplicated, intuitive system that stays out of the way until you need it! We want writers like you to #JustWrite without burdening you with excessive features. Speaking of features, software updates at NovelPad are based entirely on user feedback from authors to keep our features sharp, relevant, and minimalist.

All NaNoWriMo participants have access to a 15% discount on NovelPad with code WRIMO2023 — use the code during checkout to redeem your discount. Offer expires April 1, 2024.

Top photo by Richard Dykes on Unsplash.

[phiralovesloki]

It is not ableist or classist to say that it's antithetical to the NaNoWriMo challenge to use generative AI to "write" your story for you.

Socioeconomic class can impede your ability to write. It can mean that you don't have the money for a decent computer to write on, or you don't have consistent internet to use to do research. It can mean that you literally don't have time to write because you're working long hours to make ends meet and when you get home, you can barely feed yourself before you go to sleep.

Disability can impede your ability to write. It can that your hands can't write or type easily, due to pain or muscular atrophy or tremor or missing digits or limbs. It can mean difficulty or inability to position yourself comfortably enough to put words on the page. It can mean exhaustion or pain or brain fog that leaves you struggling to write. It can mean that you struggle with spelling, or with reading your sources.

Disability can also impact your socioeconomic class, and vice versa. Maybe you struggle to concentrate on writing because you can't afford your ADHD meds. Maybe you can't afford to replace your computer because your SSI payments are pitiful. Maybe you live in pain or suffer from debilitating depression, all because of a job that you can't lose because it would mean no food, no shelter.

Not a single one of these situations is resolved or improved with generative AI. Many, if not all of these situations could be resolved with money, whether the money means not needing to work yourself to the bone to make ends meet, or being able to purchase adaptive or assistive tech to help you write, like voice-to-text software or a more comfortable writing desk or your prescribed medication.

"Phira, but what if I use generative AI to write a best-selling book, and it results in me making lots of money, and then I use that money to solve all my problems so I can actually write?"

I mean, you might as well be asking, "Phira, but what if I steal someone else's hard work and take credit for it, and use that to make a lot of money ..."

Because that's what generative AI does. It's a language learning model that barfs out what it approximates to be what you asked for, using all of the real work produced by real people as its basis. It's not writing. It's not yours. You didn't make what it spits out.

People have already made wonderfully incisive points about how no one is entitled to be GOOD at something. I'm hoping that we can also see that it's not "leveling the playing field" for disabled people or poor people. Giving people money and healthcare does that, but generative AI does not.

[shesthespinstersimmer]

Graduates (5)🎓

Abeba Girma

Valedictorian / President, Young Lawyers Association / Broussard Justice Recipient

Abeba has done it again - highest GPA, on the fast track to make Junior partner before she even moved into her desk at the law firm. Her parents, Ephrem and Mazaa are over the moon. 

She will be taking a position in international law to help refugees and people who cannot afford to pay with immigration issues. She also secured a grant so that she can offer her services pro bono. Now to find a home for her and her Fiancée Baldwin.

Baldwin Levesque

Computer Science Major / Young Innovators in Tech Award Recipient 🥇/ Valadictorian

Baldwin has hit the ground running - he’s already begun working for Meditech ™️ and is on the fast track to running his own team. He’ll be creating medical software that will play a role in medical surgery. Needless to say, his mother Xio is beyond pleased. His father Manu and his sister Zora are proud, but expected nothing less.

He and his fiancé Abeba just have one task aside from wedding plans – finding a home.

Micah Broussard

Journalism Major / Writer, Foxbury Insider

He made it, y’all. His parents, Bruce & Esther had their fingers crossed most of the time, but we’re here.

Although he originally wanted to be a sports journalist (if you’ve been following along, you know why… but let’s not bring her up right now), but thanks to his professor, he decided to go down the novelist path, while working for a digital paper in the meantime.

Now that he’s about to be a father, this suits him just fine. It will give him time to bring in a steady paycheck while working on his first book. Lucky for him, there are plenty of writers in the family to help guide him through the process. And Bubbe Ida and his sisters Shalom & Noa pie, of course.

Next up? Finish moving, baby shower, wedding. Possibly in that order. 

Alma Ramos

Journalism Major / Editor-In-Chief, Foxybury Insider / Latina Writer’s Guild / Foxbury

Granted, this is not how Alma saw her Uni experience ending. However, as all writers know, some of the best experiences are the plot twists. And maybe this is just a detour; plenty of young mothers manage to raise their children and have careers. She has a loving, committed partner in Micah, so anything is possible. Not to mention a strong family in her Abuelo Luis, her Tia Benni and her prima Yadira and Ya’s fiancée Ciara.

Previous / Next / Beginning

[foone]

Digging through the history of Pipeworks Software/Studios, and I'm just LOVING the 90s-raytraced-CG look of these Xbox demos pictures they made.

This is apparently realtime, though I can't see the video, sadly.

Also, check out that logo on the screen! That's a very old Xbox prototype, from the original Xbox announcement. This one:

And on the wall, there's that Microsoft "Family Portrait", showing the first 11 employees:

And the book on the table is Mastering Windows NT Server 4, but I'm not sure which edition it is. Probably just something Pipeworks had on their desk, so it was easy to scan and use as a texture.

[rierice8]

hiii! kaito fluff plsplsplslpslsplspspslsplslsps <3

My first request yay! And it's for kaito, perfecttt!he's my favourite vocaloid! I made it a college au because well- he's a piece of software. Imagine simping for software, couldn’t be meeee- I hope this is what you were looking for!!

KAITO x gn reader fluff

College AU

Summary: You and Kaito are stressed due to the rapidly approaching exam season, and have been spending less and less time together, though tonight you finally caught him at a time when you were both free.

Word count: 833 words

Its been awhile…

Another day, another lecture, another tedious assignment, and worst of all, another day closer to final exams. At this rate you were convinced you’d get grey hairs from all the stress you were under. And it was no different for your favourite blue haired man.

Kaito had been under a lot of pressure too, he’d been studying day and night without break.

At this rate, even though you lived in the same apartment, neither of you saw each other. You were always in the university library, looking for books to study and reviewing your papers. Kaito was either sitting with his headphones in at the desk in your shared bedroom, unmoving for hours, or in a cafe somewhere down town, doing the exact same thing. He said the bustling atmosphere around him and the blasting music in his ears helped him focus, something you couldn’t relate to.

Your relationship grew further and further apart the closer exams got. As of late, you didn’t even wake up next to each other. Kaito fell asleep on the desk, face buried in his notes, and you were too exhausted to even bother haul him back into bed. Though you’d always make sure to throw a blanket on your boyfriend before you slept. Weeks go past and you only ever speak in the mornings, a rushed, meaningless kiss to the cheek before he leaves for his first class and you quickly leave too.

Tonight, though, to your surprise, you came home to find Kaito sitting on the couch in the living room. An unusual sight indeed. He was fast asleep, his head resting against the back of the couch as the tv blared whatever show he’d been watching before he passed out. You thought maybe you should use this opportunity. You hadn’t really spent quality time in months, even laying together on the couch would be something.

You dropped your bag onto the floor by the door and walked over to Kaito.

His blue hair looked tangled, clearly he hadn’t been caring for it as much as he usually did, his eyes were gently shut and his lips were parted. Even in his dishevelled sleeping state, he was beautiful. Due to how hard he’d been studying, he had to cancel all his singing gigs. You knew he loved it a lot, and at home, you’d even sing together. So you could understand why that may have added to his distress.

You sat down next to him and moved his head onto your chest.

As you did that, it must have woken him up because he pushed you over until you were lying on the couch and he was lying on top of you. You moved his blue hair out of his forehead before giving it a kiss.

“I miss you so much, Kaito,” you whispered into his ear. You heard him humm in agreement. His voice wasn’t too deep but it was rich and velvety.

“I missed you more, darling,” he said groggily. His tone was sweet and honey-like. His voice always gave you goosebumps.

He moved his face closer to yours and leant down to give you a kiss. It wasn’t lustfull, it wasn’t rushed nor slobby. It wasn’t meaningless either, like the ones in the morning. It was full of pure romance. Unadulterated love and passion. It was intoxicating and his lips tasted like vanilla ice cream.

You disconnected the kiss with a sigh.

“Kaito, I know you’re stressed and busy, I am too, but we have to start trying to make more time for each other,” You said, staring straight into his deep blue eyes. He moved his hand and caressed your cheek.

“I agree, I've missed you. It’s been unbearable. The moment these exams are over, I’ll spend every minute of my day lying in your arms,” He said while averting his eyes from your gaze.

A light blush dusting his face as a meek smile rests on his lips.

“I can't wait,” you smiled before leaning up to capture his lips in another kiss. This time it was shorter than the last one, but just as full of love. Though as you let go of his lips he just kissed back again and again. He smiled into the kiss and laughed lightly.

He went straight into peppering your face with lots of kisses. He giggled like a child as he kissed your cheeks and then your forehead, the side of your mouth and eyes. He raked his hands through your hair and gave your head a kiss too.

You laughed and pushed him off you. Kaito sat up and you followed. He presses your foreheads together and looks you straight into the eyes while holding your face. His hands were cold, as usual, but they felt good on your burning cheeks.

“I love you so much, I missed this. I really did,” Kaito breathed out. You felt his hot breath against your face and smiled.

“I love you too, Kaito. So much.”