#how to build your custom solution

[kusheldigisolutons]

Expert BigCommerce Development For Scalable eCommerce Growth

Unlock the full potential of your online store with our expert BigCommerce development services. From custom design to seamless integrations, we create high-performing eCommerce solutions.

[relto]

fixed one problem. immediately ran into the next one...

[champstorymedia]

Digital Transformation: Leveraging Technology for Scalable Business Solutions

Digital transformation has emerged as a pivotal journey for businesses aiming to thrive in today’s hyper-digital landscape. This comprehensive shift involves harnessing modern technologies to radically enhance processes, create value, and improve customer experiences. As organizations navigate the complexities of digital transformation, they can leverage technology as a foundational pillar for…

[pukefactory]

•☽────✧˖°˖ BRIGHT LIVING ˖°˖✧────☾•

(COMMISSION)

★ Summary: A Compilation Of Headcanons Featuring Salesperson ENA Finding A Ditto

★ Commissioner: @namosaga

★ Character(s): Salesperson ENA (ENA: Dream BBQ), Ditto (Pokémon)

★ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

★ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

★ Image Credits: @ManlyBadassHero on YouTube & @JoelG

☆ It’s discovered in a crack in the structure of a building. ENA kneels beside it, claw slowly reaching for the gelatinous thing blinking up at her like a lost cough drop. “Product sample?” Salesperson ENA chirps, intrigued. “IT’S WET! WHY IS IT WET?!” Meanie side screams, recoiling. The Ditto wiggles. It becomes a triangle. Then a blob. Then ENA. Then two ENAs. The second ENA sticks out its tongue and deflates like a balloon. “I am NOT that squishy.” ENA lies.

☆ Ditto imprints on ENA like a duckling. It refuses to leave her side. No, literally. It turns into her shoe. Her hat. Her shadow. Her conscience. “Excuse me! That’s MINE! I EARNED THAT HAT IN A DEAL WITH A STATUE,” ENA wails. “Great. Now we’re being legally absorbed,” she grumbles, stomping into the desert while Ditto rides her shoulder like a smug, lilac parrot.

☆ They start a business together. “Shapeshifting services!” ENA declares, standing atop a crate. Ditto turns into a blender. A toaster. A suspiciously buff version of ENA holding a tax form. The customers are either terrified or enchanted. “This is a scalable model,” says Salesperson ENA, handing out cards that read “Squish-Based Solutions Inc.” “STOP TURNING INTO THE BOSS. YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE DOING!!” Meanie yells suddenly.

☆ Ditto accidentally morphs into Theodora. ENA panics. “NO! NO-NO-NO! THIS IS SACRED! YOU CAN’T TURN INTO THE GENIE!!” ENA shoves it into a shoebox and duct-tapes it shut. She opens it five minutes later out of guilt. They agree, diplomatically, that Ditto may only become obscure metaphors from now on. Ditto obliges. It becomes “loneliness.” It looks like a half-deflated party balloon with eyes. ENA applauds. “Perfect. Business-ready.”

☆ They bond over shared shapeshifting woes. “I too don’t know who I am half the time,” ENA confesses. Ditto morphs into a cracked mirror and offers itself up like a therapy couch. She lays across it dramatically, whispering about the fractured nature of selfhood and how her hat feels heavier during emotional weather. Ditto, taking this very seriously, becomes a small cloud and rains directly on her.

☆ Ditto mimics ENA’s “salesperson” side a little too well. It begins barking motivational phrases like “Let’s optimize your profit funnel!” and “BLESS YOU FOR YOUR BUSINESS.” The real ENA stares, red side twitching. “…Did it just close a deal?” Meanieis not amused. “YOU DON’T GET TO BE BOTH. PICK A MORAL ALIGNMENT, YOU GOO.”

☆ They play chess. Ditto turns into the chessboard. Then the pieces. Then ENA. Then ENA’s opponent. She loses 12 times in a row. “I HAVE NEVER LOST TO MYSELF!” she shrieks, flipping the board, only to realize she just sent herself flying across the room. Ditto lands in a soft heap, smug. ENA gets revenge by stuffing it in a novelty juice box and drinking loudly next to it. It turns into a lemon.

☆ Ditto tries to mimic ENA’s “green cracked” form once. It instantly regrets it. The fake blood leaks too fast. Its fake mouth won’t stop screaming in reverse. ENA tackles it to the ground and shoves a blanket over its head. “NO! YOU ARE TOO INNOCENT FOR THIS!” She rocks it back and forth, whispering, “This side isn’t for fun. This side is for when you forget how to breathe without apologizing.”

☆ They take a nap together. ENA curls up in the crook of a broken tree, muttering about deadlines and capitalism. Ditto shifts into a weighted blanket with her face on it. She wakes up screaming. “WHO THE HELL IS TOUCHING MY SOUL?!” Ditto blushes (somehow). ENA lets it stay. “…Fine. But don’t mimic my dreams. They’re union-locked.”

☆ When ENA inevitably ends up crying in a telephone booth because she forgot what she was supposed to do and the mannequins won’t stop humming, Ditto doesn’t shapeshift. It just sits beside her. A little pink blob with stubby arms and a smile that doesn’t judge. She looks at it with eyes full of static and says, “You…you remember me when I’m nothing, don’t you?” Ditto blinks. Morphs into a heart. It melts into her lap. She doesn’t push it away.

[femmefatalevibe]

Femme Fatale Guide: 15 Essential Business Skills Everyone Should Master

Articulate, confident communication

Crafting effective, compelling pitches

Operating and communicating through a solution-oriented framework

Research of all types (Google, market research, studies, polls, interpersonal conversations, etc.)

Learning how to streamline, edit, and organize information in a clear and logical way

Accumulating high-level working knowledge/proficiency in all tools and programs directly related to your type of work/industry

Budgeting and financial optimization (investment, tax benefits, etc.)

Reading and interpreting legal contracts/documents

Setting rates, boundaries, and learning when/how to delegate

Good posture, direct eye contact, and a firm handshake

Building streamlined systems for onboarding, different repeat project scopes/workflows, and KPI measuring

The art of following up, listening to (potential) clients' needs, asking thoughtful questions, and benefit-oriented salesmanship

Consistently reading, learning, and studying current events/cultural platforms/industry and field-related knowledge

How to spot customer/client/business partner red flags

Self-management, task/project prioritization, and optimization of your personal energy clock + levels

[greenplumbboblover]

[WIP]: Lyralei's Pose Player Addon Fixes!

All credit for the original Pose Player Addon goes to VirtualArtisan/Misukisu! This mod is simply an enhancement to their amazing work, building on the foundation they created.

Ages ago, @nocturnalazure sparked a discussion about Pose Player Addon. While the current changes may not fully align with her original ideas, I wanted to share what I’ve been working on so far! 😊

Side Note: Noctie,when I first wrote that, I didn’t actually have a Sim I wanted to pose like that yet, but lately I've been trying to and it's SO FRUSTRATING! Argh! :p . So rest assured, I’m definitely looking into adding this feature now!

Current Features

It will now remember what poses your sim has done this gameplay session! This way, you can re-pose them into a pose they did 5 poses before the current one.

Poses Are Now Automatically Sorted!

We all know how looooooong it can take when loading all the poses from pose list. So, what I've added, is the additional option to only show poses based off it's category!

🔧How it works under the hood:

If you’re familiar with XML, you’ll pick this up in no time!

Each category (let’s use Emotion as an example) is associated with specific keywords. For instance, the Emotion category might include subcategories like Happiness, Sadness, Anger, etc.

Here’s what the XML for Happiness looks like:

<keyword_emotion> <name_category>Happiness</name_category> <keywords>happy, happiness, smile, smiled, smiling, laugh, laughed, laughing, jump, jumped, jumping, cheer, cheered, cheering, clap, clapped, clapping</keywords> </keyword_emotion>

As shown in the (highlighted in blue) keywords line, I’ve added a list of terms. These keywords help determine whether a pose belongs to the Happiness category. The script scans all installed poses and checks if their name, description, or pose key matches any of these keywords.

Of course, I’m still fine-tuning this feature, as some keywords (like jump) can have different meanings depending on the context.

But without further ado, here it is in picture form!

Ignore the weapon poses, I still need to debug why that's being added, but overall, in this case, it's got "shyness" poses! :)

And the best part?

You can create your own custom categories, and the script will automatically detect them! 🎉

I’m currently working on some default categories for those who prefer a plug-and-play solution or don’t feel comfortable diving into the technical side of things. But if you enjoy customizing your workflow, the flexibility is all yours! 😊

What I'm adding before release:

Adding the option to seamlessly use both “look at” and “facial expression” together.

Adding the option to see the categorized lists, but for non-pose list poses.

Adding an in-game Category maker, so you don't have to edit the XML. It will mean you need to replace the XML file in S3PE yourself. But I can always make a quick How-To for guidance 😉

A better "look at" system. TS3 actually comes with a system where the sim can "look" at something by turning multiple sections of their bodies. Here's the full list:  Torso ,Head, Eye. Currently Pose addon only allows Eyes to look at things.

Merge two poses together. This way you can use one pose that's specifically made for facial expressions, while the rest is handled by, say, that sitting pose you want to use!

... And of course anything else that sounds like a good idea by other pose player users! 😉

[thesimsideofluca]

Sims 4 Apartment Lobby Override [BASEGAME]

Tired of the bold, bright colors and outdated carpets in your San Myshuno apartment lobbies? I’ve got the perfect solution for you!

I created six lobby overrides that transform the wallpaper and flooring in the following apartment buildings:

Alto Apartments

Landgraab Tower

Spiral Tower

Chic Street

Culpepper House

Jasmine Suites

You can download them on my Patreon: [download]

Completely free! However, you’ll need to be subscribed to access the file. If you’re not following me yet, it may appear blurred—just hit that follow button, and you’re good to go!

How It Works

This override replaces the default wallpaper and flooring in these lobbies, giving them a fresh, modern look. Keep in mind that once applied, you won’t be able to use the original wallpapers and flooring in the game anymore (not that you’d want to, let’s be honest 😂).

Important Note

The Jasmine Suites override affects the default concrete flooring, which is also used in many empty rooms throughout the game. If you’d prefer not to override that, I’ve made it a separate file:

📁 TSSL_Jasmine_Suites_Floor_BASEGAME.package

If you’re okay with the Jasmine Suites floor override, download both files and place them in your Mods folder.

If you’d rather keep the default concrete flooring, only download the main file (without Jasmine Suites floor) and place it in your Mods folder.

You can always test it out and remove the file if needed!

I wanted this first override to be accessible to as many Simmers as possible, so it works with just the base game! However, you will need City Living to access the apartments.

I’m already planning future lobby overrides using other packs (and if cc creators agree also with their content) so stay tuned!

Want to take customization even further? I highly recommend using the T.O.O.L mod by @twistedmexi! It allows you to adjust lighting and add furniture pieces to truly make the space your own.

Terms & Conditions

Share freely, but please give credit.

Do not use my files to create your own reshades or overrides.

DOWNLOAD HERE: [download]

Completely free! However, you’ll need to be subscribed to access the file. If you’re not following me yet, it may appear blurred—just hit that follow button, and you’re good to go!

Happy Simming <3

The Sim Side of Luca

[fairytsuk1]

get on your knees | (s)

apart of maki's kinktober: the 2024 anthology

prompt: creampie, praise/degradation, secretary!au

pairing: shota aizawa x reader

words: 6.4k

warnings: unprofessionalism, boss/secretary relationship, dom/sub themes, impact play, degradation and praise, strangers to lovers, creampie, body worship

"Yep. Yep, thank you. Call us again if you need further help. Our way is the right way. Thank you. Goodbye."

How much longer could you keep this up? Between shrill old ladies desperate for solutions to their self-caused issues and the men who wanted to turn your customer service line into a phone sex hotline, you were running out of both patience and sympathy.

You knew it'd be dull work when you applied. It was in the name: customer service representative. You didn't mind. Dull work meant working as a stocker and meticulously organizing food products. It meant waking up early and chatting with the same group of people over the same brand of weak coffee every day. It could be meaningless; it could be meaningful.

Your temples are rubbed by your fingers, aching for relief, and you wonder if your company is any good with benefits after you've quit.

Real people were missed by you. No more old women and pervy men. You wanted something substantial. Something real, something alive. You decide you need to get outside, away from the phone. Your poised, fake voice was due for a break.

Your lunch is subbed for an afternoon walk. The same route you always take, the same things you pass by like always. It's all the same. Trees bend and sway under the will of the wind, and you find yourself looking down at the ground. Did you always do that?

The coffee shop is bustling, the bookstore is closed, and the park is full of screaming, laughter, and joy. The police station looks lifeless as always, but the local lawyer's office is… open, shining and bright, and strangely standing out. The actual building is cream and desert colors, yet its sign has bright bulbs exclaiming help wanted.

In tiny font under the main signage, you read "secretary."

It would be dull work. Lawyer jargon, a hot lawyer who you hear from around town is to die for. Like smooth chocolate. Your sneakers pad on the ground before you're even aware of it, carrying you past the threshold of oak doors into the domain of law.

Inside, it's dark and stormy. It is entirely opposite to the outside, making your head spin. It's quiet, and your footsteps echo as you traverse the halls looking for the lawyer. There's no one at the secretary's desk, and you can't help the daunting hand that runs over its ridges as you pass by.

Another oak door sits menacingly ajar. You press forward. Your heart stutters in your chest, butterflies hatching as you see him sitting cleanly, sexy and firm.

There he is. He's got inky black hair pulled neatly into a low bun; your breath catches in your throat when stormy dark eyes pull up from paperwork to you. You feel so exposed, so on display, as you fidget and murmur, "Hello."

He's quick to the chase, "Are you here for the secretary job?"

The lawyer's eyes scan yours, and you find yourself nodding; too afraid to speak further. His eyes then trail over your form, and you wonder if your work-from-home outfit was too casual. How would you have even known you'd have encountered this icy gentleman during your typical stroll?

Aizawa is grateful that the prettiest candidate will come in on his break. He could forgo lunch for you; he'd be fine having that sweet pussy for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

"Hm. Resume?"

Your empty hands are glaringly obvious. Your purse hangs heavy and resumeless on your shoulder.

"I, I don't have–I didn't bring one, I mean."

"Did you see the ad in the paper?"

"No. I was walking and saw the lit-up sign."

"... I see," he drawls, still eyeing you before motioning to the seat in front of him.

Sinking into the cushion, you try to look presentable as you cross your feet–the rip of your stocking just barely visible from where he sits at his woodsy desk. He stares at you before asking.

"What talents do you have?"

"I'm a very hard worker," you pitch softly. "I won several typing awards in school."

He says nothing to that; maybe you've said or done the wrong thing. His hand rubs at the stubble on his chin, and your throat dries up at the various rings decorating his long, pale fingers. You would give anything to feel that scruff between your thighs, nails leaving indents as he plants kiss after kiss up your leg.

"It's very, very dull work. Perhaps too dull for you."

It's an opening. A job you can practically taste on the tip of your tongue.

"I don't mind," you add. "I'll do anything."

The terse stare you both share leaves you sweating. What were the chances: no resume, lack of secretary experience, and you wore ripped stockings. He licks his lips, eyes flickering up and down before nodding to the side.

"Please make me a coffee. Not too much sugar."

You're up in a heartbeat as you grab his half-empty cup. Suddenly, it's obvious you don't know anything about the building you're in as you head to the first door: "It's not that one."

The second one is a bust, and the third opens you up to his quaint office kitchen. Coffee was easy! Sure, you spilled a few coffee grounds and milk. Maybe you struggled with the machine as it brewed its ground beans. In the end, the mug sits hot and ready on his desk. You're ready for him to say it's perfect. That he'll reward you with a black coffee-tinged kiss.

"Too much sugar," he grimaces a bit. "Be here tomorrow at eight a.m."

You were in the parking lot by seven.

He never reveals too much to you. You still don't know so many basic things, even though you know how he likes his coffee, and you've seen how he does push-ups in his office when he's stressed. You see everything and nothing. It's agonizing.

The work is dull. You like it. It's typing letters, queries, and correspondence; it's all stuff Aizawa could be doing but chooses you to do. It makes you feel special in a sick way. You're stumbling from a bump in the carpet as you set a stack of papers on his desk. There is one problem, though.

"I alphabetized all the clients, sir," you say firmly.

"Thank you," he always says your name in that smooth drawl that leaves you drooling.

You're waiting. Waiting for those two words or even a glance up at you. He only sips his steaming coffee and peruses through the paper like you're not even there.

"Is there something you need?"

There was just one problem.

"No, sir," you say. "Sorry."

He never praised you. Aizawa hums, and you're turning on your heel. That took forever to do, and all he could say was, "Thank you." Was it wrong to ask for praise from your boss? The deep boom of his voice shakes you from your thoughts as he calls out after you.

You return like a dog, face alight and waiting. A stir in his gut has Aizawa hot at the back of his neck.

"That outfit… it's sloppy. You represent me. Your hair has flyaways, you leave crumbs everywhere, and you're messy."

Your boss stands and takes measured steps toward you. You're shrinking like prey under his gaze as he jabs at your faults.

"You make typos. You spill coffee grounds when you make my coffee." he's in front of you now, looking down and so close you can feel his breath. "You wear ripped stockings."

"I-I—"

"Don't say anything. Just look, and listen to me."

He is oh so pleased when you nod obediently. What a good girl.

"You represent me. You are the first person clients see when they come seeking my legal counsel. You could put in a little more effort, right?"

You're unsure of an answer. Silence or confirmation? Your knees knock together, "yes, I could."

There's a beat of silence. It seems so loud in the room.

"Good."

You wanted to sink to your knees then and there with an open mouth. An open throat. Aizawa sighs, seemingly relieved, as two big hands clasp onto your shoulders.

"Go home. Take the long way. Look at the sky and the trees and the stray cats. Pet one," he murmurs, and his fingers flick your chin. "Go and enjoy."

Just like that, he's edging away from you like he'd never gotten so close in the first place. Your heart stirs confusedly in your chest, battered from the pointed insults but feeling like they've freed you from any preconceived notions you had regarding your boss and you.

He thought you were good.

It was as if you'd never taken a walk before. Things were bright and so fruitful that there was a natural skip in your step as you brought yourself past the trees, the fountain made of marble with an angel sitting pretty and the people out and about. That joy carried you all the way home. You couldn't get how he looked at you out of his head as you flung yourself upon the bed.

You try practicing how you'd thank him, but it all comes out stilted. Unsure. Who was Mr. Aizawa? Did he like being thanked? You knew what you liked. Your hand brushes against the edge of your underwear as you recall how he'd murmured, "Good."

It just feels right to rub your clit and imagine your boss doing it for you with his hands coated in silvery rings. It'd be a mix of hot and cold as he rubbed at your pussy, "My, you're so wet for me. You really are so naughty."

Your hand twisted tight circles as you ground against your palm, face hot and panting into the sheets as you mewled for Aizawa. The syllables were foreign on your tongue, but you find yourself cumming with a cry of Shota!

After that, it was impossible to stay professional for very long.

Since those harsh criticisms, you'd started putting your all into the little things. New stockings on sale that highlight the smooth expanse of your leg while tucked into dainty kitten heels. You wiped up your mouth and counters after lunch and coffee. You were representing him.

Aizawa had noticed your preening. It was eerily similar to his cats. You would linger in front of him, waiting for a treat. He sighs, sinking into his chair, lids burning with the idea of you on your knees or bent over in front of him. He has to be careful when that familiar twinge of arousal wakes up more than just his mind. His hand comes to palm over the half-chub, but then your voice is filtering in over the phone.

"Sir? Miss Midnight is here," you murmur, and he grips himself over his slacks with a soft groan.

"Tell her I'm not here."

"I think she knows you're here," you say, eyes flickering between the phone and the woman herself, who flips through a magazine.

"Do not let her come back here. It's an order."

There's a click, and you're gone. You always listen so obediently. It was his favorite thing. Midnight's voice rings out from behind the grand wooden doors, your voice mixing into a beautiful tone of harshness and softness. He can hear how your chair scratches against the floor as you stand, guarding his office protectively.

"I know he's in there!"

"He is not," and you're puffing your chest out with a confidence that you're unsure of its origin. "You must come back another time."

Aizawa pants into the open air at your sweet little voice, trying to be commanding. He has to grip his base so he doesn't spill his load all over his black slacks. It grows quiet, and he knows the knock of your hands from memory.

"Come in."

You're hesitant, hands coming in front of you to fidget before you're forcing your hands by your sides. The pressure of Aizawa's presence has a hold over you that you can't shake. "She left. She said she'd be back tomorrow."

Lecherous eyes take in the loosening of his tie and how he relaxes instantly at the relief. He looks warm, if a bit debauched.

"I see," and he's staring at the ceiling before lazily trailing his eyes back down to your body. "Come here."

Soft feet pad even closer. You're not sure if you're even breathing.

"Thank you for listening. You are good at what you do.

"Thank you, sir."

He lets the stillness linger in the air, watching how you step even closer. You wanted a treat.

"Another thing. Where did you buy that skirt?"

"... At the department store."

His mouth flattens, and he hums, reaching into his wallet. " It's nice. Buy yourself something off the rack, not from the sale section."

Your face burns bright as he slides the cash over. This feels strangely good. You knew it was wrong, but you just couldn't help yourself. It was a substantial amount—too much for a boss to give to his secretary.

"Am I… allowed to take that?"

Aizawa smirks coolly, "I just gave you permission to."

The implication of his words leaves your legs crossing, much to your boss's amusement. He tells you to take the day off, and he's so soft this time. No harsh criticisms. All he wants to do is take care of you; the stack of money is comforting as a couple hundred sits heavy in your bag.

You buy a cute two-piece suit. It accentuates your curves nicely, and you can't help but wonder if Aizawa would feel the same. Adding a few accessories you don't think he'd mind, a gold choker glints at you, and you look around before shoving it to the bottom of your shopping bag.

He doesn't even comment on it. Of course, he doesn't. Your fingers click the keys with a bit more anger than normal. Who gives you money to buy an outfit and then doesn't even compliment you? Your boss, that's who. Fingers rip the written communication from the typewriter with a huff.

You're about to go to him, but he's coming to you first. Your breath stutters in your throat at how his eyes pierce you with every step. Aizawa stops and flicks the paper onto your desk with narrowed eyes, "can you tell me what this word says?"

"I-Indelible."

"And this one?"

He points to another word circled in red and your shy eyes are batting up at him, "rash…"

"So I didn't hire an illiterate typer, that's good. But then that means there must be a reasonable explanation for these glaring typos, hm?"

Aizawa's fist bangs on the table as you neglect to respond, "I–no, sir…"

He leans close till you can feel his breath on your lips. You're shaking and unsure if you want to burst into tears or kiss him on the mouth. And then he sees it, his eyes trailing down your body to see the familiar scratch of lines and ripped fabric on your calf. You'd hoped he hadn't noticed, but you can't help the twitch of your lips.

"Come to my office," Aizawa says shakily, voice intense and full of mirth.

You walk behind him to enter into his domain. Aizawa stares at you, breath labored as he swallows thickly. Neither of you are speaking, but it's clear how his presence dominates yours. It's effortless. It's easy for him.

"Put the paper on the table and your hands on either side."

Your hair sways as you put your hands on his grand office desk. The red marks stare back at you mockingly, your breath stuttering as you feel his presence behind you. He looms, and you can just barely feel how his hips align right behind yours. A deep, primal need wants to arch your back even more than it already is.

"Bend over more."

Was he serious? Your ass brushes against his crotch as you bend farther, with your pencil skirt rising higher. Your upper thigh is exposed to cool air, Aizawa's rough hands brushing against the soft skin. His thumb just barely brushes your panties, and you're biting back a whimper.

"Read it aloud."

Aizawa bites his lip as you do exactly what he says.

"Dear Mr. Toshinori," and you're cut off by a firm spank on your ass.

Your breath stops in your throat as you turn your head in disbelief. Aizawa says nothing, and does nothing, maintaining eye contact as he swats your plump butt again. It hurts and your eyes water. Something inside you tells you this is wrong, but it's overwhelmed by the wave of it feeling so right.

"Go on."

A sniffle escapes you, humiliation and pleasure mixing into a twisted thread of satisfaction, "the effort you've put into this case has been indelible–"

Another firm smack that leaves a gasping moan escaping you. You can hear his labored breaths mingle with your needy ones as he lays smack after smack against your aching bottom. Your whimpers come out more easily with each hit. Your eyes blur with tears that drip onto the crisp paper, blurring the letters you'd so carelessly put together. The red of Aizawa's pen seeps into the salty stain, and a cry escapes you.

"We don't want to be rash," another loud smack. "With all my love, Aizawa Shota…"

The two of you are panting, and Aizawa sighs as he presses the bulge in his slacks against the cleft of your sore bottom. He's so hard. You can't help how your hips grind against his, how the two of you play this forbidden song and dance of boundaries a second longer. He stills you with a fond voice.

"Very good," and you could cum with how he says your name. "I expect you to be better the next time around."

A strong hand smooths over the sore skin and fabric of your skirt. He takes care to readjust your clothes. His hands feel incredible with every soothing stroke. Your tears subside within no time, and you wish the moment would last forever.

He doesn't see how your eyes close in relief as a smile graces your lips, "I will, sir."

"Thank you."

You make no mistakes for the rest of the week. You might be the perfect secretary. Aizawa was beginning to reveal himself to you more and more; you were absolutely delighted. If he wanted to overwhelm you with himself, you weren't opposed to submitting to him entirely. You'd let him eat you if he wanted.

It's how your quaint, dull secretary job turns into a game of cat and mouse. Everything is predetermined by him. You crawl to his desk with the written communication tucked between your lips, sidling up next to him as he takes it with a "thank you."

Reveling in it is what keeps you going. It leaves you crawling, kneeling, and purring for "good girl," "thank you," "very nice," and "well done."

This time, you stand beside him like a shining knight while he reads over the newspaper. It's still early morning, only about an hour to your shift before he's straightening up and talking to you without looking at you.

"What do you eat for dinner, sweetheart?"

You can't help but smile every time you hear that tender nickname.

"U-Usually meat and potatoes and a vegetable."

"That's the daily menu?"

"Today I wanted to make mashed potatoes, peas, and meatloaf."

"Hmm," and then his steely eyes are turning and landing right on you.

It's as if a spotlight has shone down directly on you. You fidget on the spot immediately. Aizawa's lips quirked up as if he wanted to laugh, and you mirrored him back; you know he found your flightiness endearing. Cute, even. You'd heard him say so under his breath a few days back.

"I want you to have five peas. A scoop of mashed potatoes and no meatloaf."

You stay silent. He's not done. He smiles warmly, eyes scanning you appreciatively.

"And as much ice cream as you want."

"How did you know I like ice cream?"

He doesn't reply. He'd seen you out and about while he was waiting for his dry cleaning. You'd been happily chatting with friends, a giant cone of flavors on your right, while you gestured with the left. Aizawa hadn't wanted to interrupt you in your natural state. It was a shame, though, considering he couldn't shake your smile and your laugh from his head that entire day.

"I just know."

You make precisely five peas and a heaving bowl of mashed potatoes. The meal is done quickly, but you call him just before eating.

"A scoop of mash, five peas, and as much ice cream as I want."

Aizawa sits comfortably in his living room, wine glass in hand, "good girl."

It's a meal you savor. It's a wine he relishes. It's a simple delicacy, as if you share the meal together, knowing one is thinking about the other. Aizawa and you fall into this routine of codependency. You go where he goes. You eat from his hand and never bite. He offers you more and more. He lets you engorge yourself on him while he feasts himself upon you.

But, things grow different. He stops asking you to get on your knees, and you see him shutting the door behind you more and more. His face looked pained every time, as if he wasn't banishing you away to your secretarial desk. Why is he doing this? Why was he denying his sweetheart?

You listen to the audio of his lulling voice dictating you on what to type. You're not sure if you or the brat inside you insist on making typos, but you know it's the entirety of you that will be held responsible.

You smirked anyway as you delivered the paper to him with a flourish, "This one is finished."

He takes it silently and puts it in the envelope to be sent. You falter a bit and quizzically ask.

"Aren't you going to read it?"

"I'm really busy," he says your name so flatly you almost want to stomp your foot in protest.

Whatever. Quick feet turn, and you're heading off without a second thought. If he didn't want to read it, that was just fine! It wasn't as if you cared. You return to work, and your shift passes by slowly. Then, you hear the static and clearness of Aizawa's firm voice.

"Come to my office."

You're skipping with joy to the door, arms swinging at your sides before you compose yourself in front of the door. You open it, and he's immediately staring dead at you. His eyes are like a flame. Aizawa's voice shakes with restraint as he tells you to come close and bend over.

It's lewd how you drape yourself over his desk. Your hands are poised as you lay them flat against the desk, butt perked and wiggling ever so slightly. If you were a cat, your tail would swish, and maybe Aizawa would go easier on you.

But you're not a cat; Aizawa never goes easy on anyone. Not his clients, not the courtroom, and certainly not you. His rough nails scrape against the soft flesh of your bottom as he tugs your skirt up, and then your panties drop to the floor. You're bare and shaking in front of him, face dark and pressed into the wood you lay on. He gives no tells, your ears straining to hear something, anything.

Aizawa slowly unzips his slacks, and you're panting with neediness on your breath. You can feel how a strong hand easily shifts your hips to the side as if you weigh nothing; he's still silent as a hand grips the base of his cock, and he groans.

You wish so badly to turn and catch him in the act. He spits lewdly and tugs your skirt up higher till your ass is on full display. He grunts, and it's so slick listening to his palm hit his fat balls and work the tip over and over again. A whimper escapes you when he digs his palms into the fat of your ass and grips it for purchase. It feels so heady, and you're forced to listen as Aizawa fucks into his palm.

The wet noises echo, his hand speeding up as he groans your name. A confident thrum leaves you thrusting back, and the choked moan he lets out is downright delicious, "fuckk."

His breath becomes strangled as he works himself. Then, he's letting out a deep yelp, and you're coated in hot white strands of his cum. It soaks into your panties, and your hole clenches around nothing. He's still breathing shakily, his hand tracing the marks he left on you before pulling away entirely. You can smell his cologne when you turn knock-kneed before him.

"That'll be all," he mumbles with ragged pants.

You stare at yourself, awed, in the mirror. The streaks on your panties are visible as you slip a hand past your waistband and hold a hand to your mouth. You cum just like that, in Aizawa's company bathroom, with his cum on your ass.

He doesn't make an appearance for the rest of the shift. You want to knock and ask, "Are you okay?" But, you worry it'd just make things worse.

Meanwhile, Aizawa stares at his desk contemplatively. A letter sits mockingly as he stares at it. The white stain on his slacks mocks him. He keeps trying to rub it out, but it won't budge. This can't go on.

Dear Sweetheart,

This is disgusting. I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm like this.

He crumples it and tosses it off somewhere, sinking into his office chair with an arm draped over his eyes. This was pathetic. It was unseemly. He had to intervene before he got out of control. Aizawa tries to ignore the deep pain within his chest that winces at every thought of separating himself from you.

That was what he told you the next day, "we can't be doing this every day. It's… wrong."

"Why not?"

You're tearful and shaking. Aizawa's heart shatters so suddenly he has to look off to the side, eyes tracing the whistling trees outside the window.

"Why. Not?"

"Because we can't," he hisses in regret at even letting this conversation come to fruition regardless.

Your hands smack against your thighs as you stand and come closer. You never used to go into his bubble, and now you had no problem merging the two of you together, "I love you."

It was the genuine, honest truth. You loved how he told you how many peas to eat when he'd stroke your hair when he first called you sweetheart. You were sure you had started loving him then, some time or another, between the blending of professional boundaries.

"Don't be immature–"

"I'm not leaving.

He gets close, eyes narrowed as you stay rooted on his Persian rug.

"You're fired."

"No, I'm not," your tears spill over your cheeks in fat rivulets. "Don't do this."

Aizawa scoffs, grabbing his coat and huffing, "I'm going for a walk. Don't be here when I get back."

You stay rooted. You don't move an inch, only wiping your face and continuing to stare out his office window. This was the most heartbreak you'd ever felt. Aizawa was the first real man you had met, and he was tearing himself away from you. This job had never been dull from the second you saw him.

He's been gone for so long. Your legs ache, and you wonder if he went home, if he decided to leave you there through the night on trembling feet and shaky breaths. No. He wasn't like that. You'd wait.

The walk did nothing to soothe him. All he could feel was a pull towards you, like an anchor desperate to return home. Each step was heavy, and he turned around halfway to practically run back to the office. Were you still there?

You're still standing with your arms at your sides. You're not crying anymore, your face hard and focused. You're pretty upon his Persian rug, and Aizawa feels downright giddy. The giddy feeling is overshadowed by the thrum of darkness at the reality of the situation. He felt awful, wanting, and overwhelmed with emotions. He had so many emotions he almost couldn't stand it. Almost.

Aizawa sits outside the office door, head in hand. A thread born from sickness and loneliness was watered and tended by you, and he was so afraid.

The two of you stay rooted.

Only when the sun shines before noon the next day does Aizawa open the door. You're turning your head instantly with watery eyes and a grumbling stomach. You knew it, he hadn't left. He'd have never left you alone at this rate. You were his, and he was yours.

His footsteps are heavy as he draws closer until he's right before you. You look at him so softly. Your eyes are like dams threatening to give away if he didn't accept this watering, this tending. You'd worked so hard.

You collapse into his arms the minute he holds you, and he goes down with you, both of you sinking onto the floor in a loving heap. He doesn't even let your head touch the ground, only looking at you with fondness.

Aizawa kisses you, and it's like a cool drink of water. You're satiated yet hungry for more. Hungry for him.

"I'm going to take you home," he whispers tenderly, accompanied by a hand smoothing down the side of your waist before hooking under your knees.

He bridal carries you past the threshold of his office and building and towards his car. It's an intimate carry; you hold onto him with a soft smile.

His steps are measured as he takes you up the stairs of his home. Your eyes greedily latch onto every detail you pass by: the pictures daintily hung on the wall, the way a cat peeks in from the kitchen, the way the whole home is ornate and decorated. It's lived in, and you bring yourself closer to burying into Aizawa's neck.

The minute your back hits the bed, you're engaged in a passionate lip-lock that won't quit. It's not the rough dominance of Aizawa trying to eat you whole. It was the experience of two lovers finally able to blend as one.

He's gentle as he lays you back against plush silken sheets, immediately crawling and molding his body to yours with a hefty groan. His body weight is addicting. Your thumbs press against the divots in his back to try and bring him impossibly closer.

"Been wanting to kiss you since I saw you, pretty girl."

"Me too," your tongue laves over his bottom lip. "I only wanted you."

"I know. I see you."

He breathes into your neck before diving in to lick and suck at the supple skin. You can't help the squirming and the hot whimpers that escape you, the rough patches on your neck growing more abundant with every kiss of his lips and bite of his teeth.

"I want you," you confide, hands loosening his hair from the tight bun into loose strands that surround you. "I need you, Aizawa."

"Call me Shota." a burning hand trails down your hip to between your legs.

You're already mewling, trying to shut your legs despite Shota insisting with a "be good" to keep them open. His hand catches your thigh, and you shrink at his look that pins you to the covers.

"Be still," he says, and a finger drags up your puffy lips over your underwear.

The fabric catches on your clit, and you gasp; your hips tilting back and forth for moremoremore–

Shota tugs your panties to the side and spreads you open, his eyes greedy as they rake over every inch of your dripping cunny. You know you're making a mess all over his hand as you writhe and leak.

"Shota, ohfuckk. Don't stare," you barely manage to get out when his rough thumb circles your needy clit.

"I'll stare as much as I feel like, sweetheart. You're dripping for me, soaking my hand. 'S so cute."

You can't even find it in yourself to plead for him to stop. He sinks two fingers in you like it's nothing, an amused chuckle reverberating through his chest at the sight, "You play with your pussy a lot? She swallowed my fingers up like it was nothing. Is it gonna be the same when I stuff you full?"

"I'll take it, I-I can take your cock."

"Good girl. Saying exactly what I want to hear," and he's kissing you.

His hand leaves you, much to your chagrin, and you're left spread open wide in front of him as he rapidly undresses. His bulge is big, and you're almost a bit intimidated when his boxers reveal the shape of his thick cock leaking pre-cum. You wet your lips, and your knees go to touch before he pulls them open wider and settles on his haunches.

"Getting shy now?"

"No…"

"Then open your legs."

It's not a question but a command. You do as he says.

His underwear is pushed down to free his dick, the thick length bobbing and brushing against his happy trail. It's so lewd, and he looks so manly. His muscles are rippling, and he's so hard between your legs. Your hole clenches around nothing, and Shota runs the angry red tip through your folds.

"Ah! Don't tease me," you murmur, feet flexing with need.

His fat tip just barely presses against your hole, just barely pushing past your clenching pussy with a lazy grin, "I won't. Just lay back, honey."

Shota's voice is syrupy and smooth. His hands push your thighs farther than you thought they'd go as he sinks inch by inch into you.

"Oh, oh, Shota–you're so big."

"Poor pussy's squeezing me so tight," he grunts lowly. "You feel so good, sweetheart."

He plants a soft kiss against your ankle before shifting and bullying three inches of himself inside you. You cry out, eyes rolling back as he shallowly thrusts and works you open, breath heavy on his lips as he fucks his cock into you.

Your pussy's so sloppy, leaking and creaming around him before he's even balls deep inside you. Shota mounts you, and you're scrunched under him with a whimpering wail, "There we go. Nice and full, huh?"

"Y-Yeah! Ohgod, I-I can't–"

"Oh, fuuuuck."

He moves slowly and thrusts so deep you feel him in your stomach. It's sinful, the way his hips start to rock into yours, tip rubbing against your womb as you moan and moan.

"God, 'm so deep inside you. Fucking claiming this pussy, right? Just giving my girl what she needs, a nice, good pounding."

Shota's balls smack against your ass as he speeds up, sticky clit mashing against the coarse hair at his base as he rams himself into you again and again. You feel delirious as you get fucked further into the mattress. The two of you are one, creaming around his base as your nails scratch lines across his back.

"Rub your clit, baby. Make yourself feel good."

“‘M gonna cum, Shotaaa!”

"Hold it," he hisses, hips still pistoning in and out of you as he thrusts particularly hard. "Want you to rub yourself, sweetheart. You can do that for me, yeah?"

You're near tears as your hand shakily flits over your sore pussy, howling from pleasure as you circle it once, twice–" I-I can't, please, lemme cum!"

"Hmm," and you can feel how he throbs inside you.

Your walls suck him in impossibly deeper, and you can see the sweat dripping down his forehead as he heaves a breath. You squeeze again, and he glares at you darkly, eyes narrowed and stormy as he settles his hips on top of yours, heavy balls churning with the need to cum.

"Go ahead, since you wanna cum so bad."

"Sh-Shota!"

You're fucking squirting. Your juices make more of a mess, and it does it for him as he slams into you for a few more thrusts before hunkering down and sliding right against your womb. A few tears escape you as rope after rope of cum fills you to the brim, your eyes rolling back as he milks himself inside your sweet cunt.

"God, fuck," he shudders, hips twitching as he finishes breeding you.

Shota's eyes are closed as he holds you both in that position. If you weren't on birth control, you'd be in trouble as globs of cum spill out when he adjusts his grip on you. He pulls out slowly, watching the white fill and drip down your ass lewdly. He looks magical the way he bites his lip and spreads your open, hole clenching and letting out more of his release.

"You're so pretty."

Both of you are spent and exhausted. You can't find it in yourself to reply. Aizawa's muscles bulge when he pulls you closer into his body, a shiver coursing through you at a lazy finger trailing over your spine. Both of you are quiet for a while, the intense passion taking a load on you both.

You nearly fall asleep while he strokes you.

"Where are you originally from?"

It makes you pause before you answer your hometown, eyes pulling up to meet his soft ones.

"... Where did you go to school?"

"UA High School. Then, I went overseas for my law degree."

"Oh. I always wondered where you went."

"I always wondered where you were from," he whispers, noses your face, and plants a sweet kiss on your lips.

The two of you swap stories and questions just like that for hours. It means everything to you, and Shota wishes you could've done this sooner. Wishes he could've known this woman before.

"Do I still get to keep my job?"

"Of course, sweetheart."

-

You walk, arms spread out wide and attached to the spreader bar. You adorn yourself with a clean white blouse and a navy blue skirt—prim and proper. It's easy now, as you squat to grab a paper with your left hand and turn to your right to staple it.

It's easy, grabbing things with your teeth as you prance around, spread open as if on a cross for him. Your boss wanted you that way; he wanted you to be spread open and bare for him, fresh enough to eat.

You carry the tray with coffee in your right hand and the stack of papers in your left hand. As you approach the ajar office door, you can hear his voice, "Come in, and get on your knees."

The oak office door is kicked closed behind you without another word.

[deception-united]

How do you create laws and rules for building fantasy worlds? I have a hard time defining these things, especially as a beginner. Do you have any ideas to help me?

Hi, thanks for asking and so sorry for the delayed response. The whole process of creating laws and conventions for your fantasy world can be difficult and altogether complex. Here are some tips.

Define the world's purpose. Think about what kind of stories you want to tell in this world—your themes, genres, tones. This general idea will help you determine what kind of rules and laws are needed.

Establish a foundation. Decide on the basic structure of your world. This can include geography, climate, cultures, and magical systems (if applicable).

Create a hierarchy of laws. This can include physical laws (gravity, physics, etc.), magical laws (how it works, limitations, consequences), social laws (cultural norms, taboos), and political laws (governance, laws of the land).

Consider the consequences. Think about how these laws and rules will impact your characters and the world.

Be consistent but flexible. Stick to your established laws and rules. Consistency is key to creating a believable world. But at the same time, don't be too rigid. Allow for exceptions, surprises, and evolutions that can bring unexpected plot twists or force your characters to think on the spot and come up with new solutions or plans of action.

Keep track of your world-building. Write down your laws, rules, and lore to keep everything organised and consistent.

Here are a few questions and guidelines to consider when defining the laws and conventions of your fantasy world:

Physical Laws:

What is the nature of time and space?

How do the laws of physics differ from our own world (e.g., gravity, motion, energy)?

Are there unique natural phenomena (e.g., magical energies, elemental forces)?

Magical Laws:

What is the source of magic in your world (e.g., innate, divine, arcane)?

How is magic accessed and controlled (e.g., spells, incantations, rituals)?

What are the limitations and costs of using magic (e.g., exhaustion, corruption, moral consequences)?

Social Laws:

What are the cultural norms and values of different societies in your world?

How do social hierarchies and power structures function (e.g., monarchies, democracies, tribes)?

What are the customs and taboos surrounding magic, technology, or any other sensitive topics?

Political Laws:

What forms of governance exist in your world (e.g., kingdoms, empires, city-states)?

How are laws created, enforced, and punished (e.g., trials, punishments, rehabilitation)?

What are the relationships between different political entities (e.g., alliances, rivalries, vassalage)?

Remember, world-building is an iterative process. Don't be afraid to make changes and adjustments as your world evolves, and feel free to add to or modify the questions and guidelines to suit your story and your world. For a more extensive list of questions and guidelines, check out my previous post. Hope this was helpful! Happy writing ❤

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[gudfornuthin]

The Baker and the Ballerina

Chapter six

Pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader (au)

Summary: Frank confronts the workers. Y/N confronts Frank. The pair come up with the best possible solution to their problems.

Word count: 2k

Series warnings: slow burn, cliché tropes, mentions of PTSD, mentions of abusive relationships, (eventual) smut, violence

A/N: I wrote this ahead of time as I’m on holiday. Hope you all enjoy, and feedback is always appreciated :)

Frank has been stood in the same place behind the bakery counter for at least half an hour. Unmoving, glaring through the window and towards the building across the street. To be more specific, his focus is on the workers lounging around outside of said building, chatting to each other and doing a whole lot of nothing. Of course, Frank knows they deserve their time off, but this wasn't just a quick break. This was them taking the piss. And it was starting to annoy him.

David moves around him, packing up orders and serving customers. He's aware of his friend's cold stare piercing the men on the other side of the road, trying to focus his attention elsewhere.

"Frank, buddy, this isn't any of your business," David says, passing a bag to an old lady over the counter. "You're always telling me to focus on work, so how's what you're doing any different?"

"It's completely different," Frank mumbles back, still not taking his eyes off the workers. "They're taking advantage of her."

David nods in agreement. "Yeah, and that's awful. But Y/N told you herself, she doesn't wanna cause problems and this isn't any of your business."

Frank crosses his arms, knowing his friend is right yet still feeling like he needs to do something. Just as thoughts of the young woman cross his mind, he sees Y/N leave the building and walk past the workers. Her heads down and the grip on her bag is tight. She's more than uncomfortable and Frank knows that.

As she brushes past the workers, they begin to ogle her, scanning up and down like she's a piece of meat. They start whispering amongst themselves and laughing. Frank doesn't need to hear what they're saying to know he doesn't like it. He knows the disgusting things those kinds of men say to each other when in close proximity to a beautiful woman. He grunts under his breath and moves around the counter, heading for the front door.

"Frank, hey where're you-" David doesn't finish his sentence as Frank leaves the bakery and crosses the road. He shakes his head and continues working, muttering under his breath. "Pain in my ass, Castle."

Frank checks to make sure Y/N is definitely gone, not wanting her to see what he's about to do. Just a quick word to set them straight. That's all.

One of the workers spots him making his way over to them, noticing the obvious frown on his face. "Can we help you, bud?"

"Yeah, just wanted to ask you fellas a question?" his gruff voice sets the tone for where this conversation is going. "You think it's tough and manly to objectify women?"

The worker huffs out a laugh. "Beg your pardon?"

"You heard me asshole," Frank continues. "You get paid to sit on your asses all day and make her feel uncomfortable?"

They start to catch on that the person in question he's talking about is the woman who hired them to do work on the studio. They all look between each other, unsure who's going to stand up to the less than happy muscle man.

The original worker who spoke first risks it, feeling overly confident. "Listen pal, we're just taking a break, and I don't think any of this concerns you. I mean, what? You her boyfriend or somethin'?"

Frank almost says yes, wondering if it would change their attitude, but decides not to. no point making things more complicated.

"No, but that doesn't matter," Frank says. "She's nice. Been way nicer than what you guys deserve. So I'd suggest you stop acting like a bunch of jackoffs and do the job she's hired you to do."

All of the men are stood up now, burning holes into Frank's head.

The main worker steps closer to him. "We'll get the job done, and we'll drain her of all the cash she's got if we want to. So why don't you mind your damn business and go back to making your little puff pastries."

Frank is prepared to retaliate, but her voice plays in the back of his head. Don't want to cause any problems. He knows she's right, and they're not worth it. He'll never be able to get through to them. So just leave it be.

Frank doesn't say anything else as he turns to walk away from the heated confrontation. Take the high road. Unfortunately, the worker isn't thinking the same thing.

He hears the man snort under his breath. "No boyfriend means she's free game."

Frank sighs, looking down and placing his hands on his hips. High road be damned. He doesn't give the worker much time to react before he's turned back around and punched him square in the jaw. The man yelps, stumbling back and onto the floor. The others jump up and stalk towards Frank but hesitate slightly.

"Go ahead," Frank snaps at them, his arms out wide. "Try something." They all remain still, none of them willing to test his already thin patience. He moves away from the shocked group, heading back towards the bakery. He already knows his actions will come back and bite him in the ass. He also knows it was worth it.

David watches on, rubbing his eyes in desperation. "Just great, Frank, you dumb idiot."

- - -

It's early morning the following day, and Frank is walking to Bakehouse 31. Surprise, surprise, the workers had called the cops and reported the incident from the day before. Although he explained to them that it was provoked assault, they still put it on his report and set bail for him to be released from jail. Frank owes David big for paying that out.

As he gets closer to the bakery, he hears quick footsteps following behind him as well as his name being called. He knows it's Y/N and turns around, happy to see her. That is until he notices the angry expression on her face.

"You have some nerve, you know that?" Y/N says, arriving in front of him and standing almost toe to toe.

"What're you talking about?" Frank feigns innocence, already knowing exactly what she's referring to.

"You seriously think you can go around punching people in the face?"

"I can when the people are saying awful shit about you."

Frank tries to go into a deeper explanation, but she stops him, rubbing her forehead in distress. "Well, thanks to you, they've quit on me and left an unfinished job at the studio."

Frank knows it's wrong, but the news fills him with relief. The idea of those men being over there and gawking at Y/N, objectifying her whenever they wanted to made him feel sick. He hates to have complicated things for her, but if he could go back in time and change what he did? He wouldn't.

Frank sighs. "Look, I'm sorry-"

Y/N shakes her head. "I get you were upset with what they were saying. I was too. But now because of this, the studio has no chance of opening even close to on time and I'll need to hire new workers for even more money!"

She can't help but yell out the last part, startling Frank and a few people passing by the pair. Tears start to form in her eyes as she looks down at the ground. Now is not the time to cry in front of the good-looking baker. Frank sees, and puts both hands on her shoulders, rubbing slightly, trying to provide any kind of comfort.

"God, what am I gonna do?" she whispers through her hands covering her face.

"I'll do it," Frank says the words without much thought.

Y/N looks up at him in confusion. "You'll do what?"

"I'll finish the work on your studio," he shrugs, as if what he's just proposed isn't a big deal.

Y/N continues staring at him, unsure of how to respond. Despite her current anger aimed towards the man in front of her, the offer is incredibly sweet and deep down she knows she'd accept in a heartbeat. That is, of course, if Frank did this kind of work for a living.

"Uh, I dunno-"

"Hey, I did all the work on Bakehouse 31 by myself," Frank says. "I can make the place look professional. And I've been told I'm really good with my hands."

The last sentence makes Y/N feel flushed, smiling as her mood lightens. She contemplates for a moment, trying to weigh any pros and cons that may present themselves to her. Pro, she gets her dream studio and spends more time with the handsome baker. Con, she spends more time with the handsome baker and her feelings for him start to move into dangerous territory.

One other thing plays on her mind that she knows has to be brought up. "It's not like you have free time, you're busy with the bakery."

Frank waves her off. "S'fine, I can work on it in the evenings. I'd be willing to work through the night for you." Her face is really hot now. "Frank-"

He interrupts. "I have trouble sleeping most nights, might be nice to have something to do while I'm up."

Y/N pauses briefly, thinking it all through. If he's offering, how can she possibly say no?

She laughs slightly, shocked at how fast the plans crashed around her just to be built back up again. "Okay! I guess we're doing this." Frank smiles, holding out a hand for her to shake in mock agreement.

She does so, smiling back.

"So how much d'you want to do it?" Y/N asks, knowing the money side of things can't be put off.

"Nope," Frank replies. "I don't need you to pay me."

She looks at him with wide eyes, scoffing. "I'm not gonna let you do overtime work for free."

Frank scratches the back of his neck, appearing nervous and shuffling his feet. "How bout in exchange for working on the studio, you go on a date with me?"

Y/N feels like she could explode. Her first thought is to immediately say yes because obviously. When a guy as attractive as Frank asks you out, it's a sin not to agree to it. But flashes of her ex-boyfriend pass through her brain, as nerves begin to take over. What if it's the same thing all over again? Could she take that risk?

Frank seems to notice her hesitation, mistaking it for rejection. "Sorry, maybe I read this wrong I just thought-"

"No, no!" Y/N is quick to shut down his worry. "It's not that." She stops for a moment, accepting that now would be the best time to mention Jonah to Frank. If she wants this to go anywhere with him at least.

"I was in this relationship with a guy not too long ago," she rolls her eyes just thinking about it. "It ended….. messy to say the least. And I'm terrified of rushing into a new one and not being ready for it. Then what if it ruins the friendship we've built and with you also wanting to do work on the studio I-"

She's beginning to run out of breath as she tries explaining her reasons to the man in front of her. she's unaware of how close he's standing until he's resting his hands on either side of her face and looking deeply into her eyes. She stops talking, entranced by his soft stare.

"Hey, it's alright," he says. "We don't have to call it a date. It's just two friends working on the studio together, hanging out, and maybe eating some Chinese food."

Y/N nods, her head still cupped gently in Frank's strong hands. "I like Chinese food."

"Good," Frank replies. "So we'll just take it easy. One small step at a time."

She nods once more. "I'd like that."

- - -

Taglist: @nialhero-blog @luvrgirlsworld @britt217 @solstararis @legit9thlunaticwarrior

[labs]

Hello again, Labs here with a recap of our test of Collections! We introduced this prototype back in September and then handed the feature to a handful of volunteers sourced from the notes on that post. Thank you again to all volunteers! 

We got so much useful feedback, and wanted to share some of that here, and reveal some next steps we’re taking. There are a couple of big projects cooking in Labs, and Collections has taken a backseat lately, but it is important to us to not leave y’all hanging. We very much want to build things with you here.

Our goal with the volunteer-based super-early phase of Collections was to see if those volunteers actually use the feature, watch what they come up with, and check whether anybody they invite to Tumblr signs up and becomes a regular user of the site. Turns out, nobody did sign up — it’s not as useful of an onboarding strategy as we thought it could be.

However, one piece of feedback we got is that Collections make great custom feeds, which people on Tumblr have been asking for a lot over the years. We hear you loud and clear: you want to supplement the standard Following / For You experience with more intentional control over feed content. That’s really important to us.

With that in mind, for those in the prototype, we’ve moved the Collections list to the left sidebar / mobile navigation as an expandable area like Account, for quick access. We like this better than putting them in the dashboard tab bar, but it’s still something we’re mulling over:

We also heard the need for more filtering options beyond just blogs and tags. What about only including a blog’s posts that use a certain tag, or excluding posts using a certain tag? Or list tags with a boolean AND operator (“posts tagged [tag] and [other tag]”), not just the OR operator we’re using now for sourcing tagged posts. Lots of ideas on how to further customize what shows up in the feed, and better define what the feed is “for”.

There were other fun, tangential bits of feedback, too, like the desire to make these Collections a collaborative feature, so that more than one person can help build a Collection. There were also several usability issues that came to the forefront, which we’ve addressed. And there were some well-articulated thoughts and questions about etiquette, such as how to seek a blog’s “permission” to be included in a Collection – that’s something we care a lot about, to help prevent this kind of feature from being a source of abuse.

Another piece of feedback we heard repeatedly is the desire for Collections of posts. This is not really what we intended with what we built, but it’s not too far afield either. We totally agree that having better, easier ways of collecting and curating individual posts would be useful, so we’re going to investigate that as a separate project.

With all of this in mind, we’ve split the work on Collections into two separate tracks:

Shaping this feature as a “customizable feeds” solution, away from an “invite others” tool.

Building a new thing for saving and curating static posts.

Stay tuned here on the Labs blog for updates on when/if we’ll be moving these Collections tracks of work to more people on Tumblr. (If you are one of the volunteers who helped us with Collections, you’ll still have access to it for the time being!)

Thanks for reading! And please reach out to us via Support, the replies here, or your reblogs, if you have any more feedback, as always.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Partners in Crime 1

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

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

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, Lee Bodecker

Summary: you're left reeling after your divorce but the chaos has only begun. (short!reader)

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

You hate the mall. Too bright. Too loud. Too fast. 

That day isn’t so bad. Tuesday, mid-morning. Most people are at work. Not you. Your part-time gig barely pays the bills, let alone keeps you busy. With that in mind, you shouldn’t be there to spend what little you have.  

It’s for a good cause. It’s your grandmother’s birthday next week and you owe her. After all she’s done, you owe much more than just a measly mall-bough gift but it’s all you can manage right now. One day it will be better. One day you will be able to pay her back. At least you keep telling yourself that. 

She paid for it all. Your way out, your lawyer, your apartment even. You can’t live in the senior’s community with her, that’s against the rules, but she parsed out some of her nest egg for the flat in the old brick building. For you. She’s the only one who ever did so much for you but what did you ever do for her? 

It’s not for lack of trying, only your own poor decisions. 

You enter the sparkling Swarovski store and keep your arms tight to your body, paranoid of breaking any of the numerous crystal pieces. You don’t know what she would like. It isn’t because you don’t know her well, you just don’t think she has much use for any of it. She’s always been painfully practical. That’s why you never wanted to ask her for help. 

An associate startles you as she appears beside you in her sleek black pantsuit. She offers help but you get the sense she’s checking in, making sure your hands aren’t sneaking into your pockets. You make sure to keep them visible and move your satchel across your back. You tell her you’re just looking and blow out between your dry lips. Maybe a hoodie wasn’t the best choice. 

It was meant to be a solution. You wanted to get out of your grandmother’s hair. How long had you been living with her? He was the answer to that. You thought so. You wanted to believe it. For ten years, you tried. He always spoiled it. 

Then she had to bail you out anyway. 

As you come to the sharp corner of a shelf, you’re startled by another customer. You hadn’t seen them when you came in or heard them. You glance at them fleetingly and turn your attention to the shelf of Mickey Mouse decorations. Definitely not those. 

“Excuse me, sweetheart,” the man frightens you again as he nears and presses his hand to your back. He sidles by, and you dodge away from him, coming dangerously close to colliding with the display of birthstone necklaces. 

You shake off the close brush and blink at the glass. You peek over at the man as he seems overly interested in a paper weight shaped like a dove. His mustache and sleek haircut make him look like he’s been plucked out of some gangster period piece.  

The associate shifts from one side of the counter to the other. She’s watching you. You sigh. She still thinks you’re a thief. You shake your head and leave. 

It’s not worth the trouble or the money. You can find something better. You know you could get your grandma a box of chocolates and a card and she’d say she’s happy. You don’t want to get her what works; you want to do something for someone. Something more than just be there. 

You go down to Hallmark. It’s a similar atmosphere with a hint of warmness and more range in price. Still too much Disney and not enough variety. Your grandmother doesn’t need a rustic crate or a door sign with some snarky saying about wine. 

You stop to look at cards. You can at least grab one of those. As you reach for one along the top row, another hand swipes it from your grasp. You back up and look at the culprit. It’s the same man as the Swarovski shop. Strange. 

You recoil and scurry down the aisle towards the door. Is he following you? It could be a coincidence. Two stores. If he’s looking for a gift too, it makes sense. 

You cross your arms and march quickly through the bright mall, the skylight glaring down at you. You walk in and out of a clothes shop. You don’t know where you’re going now. You’re frazzled. 

You find your way to the As Seen on TV shop and meander around without intent. You’re at a loss. You’ll just end up at the bookstore like always. Another book for her birthday. Wowee. 

She might like the salt rock light. You don’t know. Ugh. 

It isn’t the gift. It isn’t her. It’s you. You’re indecisive. You're lost. Even if it was misery, you miss having someone to tell you what to do. Now you have to think and you do too much of that. 

“Those are pretty cool,” a voice slices through your self-pity. 

It’s the same man. Your eyes meet as you look up to see him. You blanch and open and close your mouth. The shop is so small, how hadn’t you heard him? 

You retreat without a word. He must be following you. There’s no other explanation. What do you do? You can’t just lead him out of the mall, back to your building, but how can you divert him? 

You find a bench down the next aisle of the mall, somewhere the associates in the vitamin store can see you. You’re safe there with people around. You look up and down, searching for the man and his mustache. Just a mother with her stroller. 

You’re paranoid. Stupid, just like he said. It’s all in your head. You’re just fucked up. You don’t know how to live in this world. Not alone. 

“Excuse me, ma’am,” the timbre tickles up the back of your spine and you twist to see the figure behind you. It’s an officer in uniform. “Mind if I ask ya something?” 

You nod and blink. You don’t like the cops. You haven’t spoken to them since the night it all came crashing down. The flashing lights, the sirens, the questions. It’s all a haze yet it’s stamped into your psyche. 

“Yes, sir,” you stand. 

He’s got dark brown hair and bright blue eyes. His shoulders bear a slant of authority as he has his hands on his hips. He’s taller than you, but so is everyone. You look across the bench at him as his white shirt pokes out from under his leather jacket, his belly straining the fabric. 

“You don’t gotta trouble yerself,” he shows his palm and reaches with his other hand to his belt, “I’m lookin’ for someone and was wonderin’ if maybe ya saw him.” 

“Oh?” You crinkle your forehead. 

“Got a pic somewhere,” he frees his phone from the clip on his belt and flicks his thumb over the screen, “here we are.” 

He turns the cell toward you and you can’t help but make a face. The image is blurry but it’s definitely that same man. You look back the way you came and gulp. 

“Reckon by that, you’ve seen him,” the officer says. “Sheriff Bodecker,” he introduces as he retracts his hand, “I’m doing an investigation. Mind if I ask some more questions?" 

“Well, I... didn’t talk to him.” 

“That’s fine,” he peers down in the same direction you did. The infant in its stroller begins to yawl and his cheek ticks, “how about you come out to my cruiser and we’ll do it there? Less ruckus?” 

You purse your lips. You can’t really say no, he might think you know that guy, whoever he is, whatever he’s done. You shrug. You don’t have much to say. You’re sure it won’t be much of an interview. 

“Okay,” you agree.” 

[nikipuff]

Bloodlust (Chapter 3)

Warnings: Cursing

masterlist

If you would like to be added to the tag list, please comment!

“We’re not- I didn’t-” Yuta struggled to come up with an explanation for why you were clinging onto his back, refusing to get off. The others were looking at him, waiting for him to respond. Your arms remained fastened around his neck, a pout present as you glared at Gojo.

“But he’s adorable-” You protested, removing one of your arms from Yuta’s neck and patting his head. He stiffened, his mind short circuiting as he tried to decipher your words. Clinging like an oversized koala, you were only making the situation worse. 

Gojo chuckled. “Really, now?” He stole a glance at the others, seeing Maki’s still angry expression. “You might want to get off of him, |y.n|.”

You huffed, but listened to Gojo as you hopped off of Yuta’s back. Your arms were removed from his neck, the lack of weight making Yuta let out a sigh of relief. His eyes flew to you, questioning why you had gone from being calm and collected to acting your age. Much to his dismay, you ignored him, flashing a smile before turning back to Gojo.

Since when was your expression that bright? Typically, you just had a small, gentle smile that radiated “Good girl” behavior, so what was this newfound mischief? Yuta searched his brain, trying to find an answer to his question. One solution popped into his mind, but he still wasn’t sure about it. Was it you getting used to him?

“So, am I able to join them?” You asked, tilting your head to the side. Gojo hummed in response, before answering.

“Nope!”

. . . 

“How is this fair . . . “ You groaned from Gojo’s back, fists raised as you tried to hit his head. The old albino had insisted on you joining him for a daddy-daughter date instead of going with the others for the mission. Now, you and him were currently walking around the city of Shibuya, with Gojo saying that he was bringing you somewhere for a surprise.

Gojo grinned, dodging your clenched fist. “Cmon, it’ll be fun!! Just trust me.”

“When has trusting you done me any good?”

“Wha-?! Trusting me saved you from being murdered!” Gojo exclaimed, frowning at your remark. You groaned, going back to looking around the city.

The streets of Shibuya were crowded with both its inhabitants and tourists, with people bumping into each other as they rushed to their own destinations. Tall buildings were lit up with neon lights even in the daytime, outdoor vendors rushing to prepare their customer’s orders before they started to scream at them. Sounds exploded from all around you, leaving you scrambling to process all of it.

Seeing your expression, Gojo frowned. He moved towards a more secluded area, keeping a firm grip on you as he walked. Grateful for the silence, you burrowed your face into his neck, letting out a sigh of content as you let yourself relax in his hold. Your eyes closed, you couldn’t see where he was taking you.

Before you could ask about it, you felt it. Something that was moving to cover your body with a slight glow, the warmth from it filling you with a sense of familiarity and comfort. Lines of Cursed Energy ran through the barrier covering you, causing you to shudder in both nervousness and excitement. 

Was this Gojo’s Infinity?

He looked at peace, his eyes closed and features relaxed in a way you had never seen before as he sat down, moving you to his lap and messing with your hair. His fingers worked through the locks, braiding and unbraiding over and over again as he hummed to himself. You melted in his hold, cuddling up to him in his moment of vulnerability.

Gojo had spread his Infinity towards you, allowing you to touch the real  him, not a shield he put up.

White lashes fluttering against his cheeks, a soft smile on his face as his fingers stopped weaving your hair. You looked up at him from his lap, a frown coming onto your face as you pouted. “Fine, fine.” He sighed, but you could see that his smile only grew. While the other first years were possibly dying, you were leaning against Gojo, ignoring the rest of the world.

He was your beginning, and he would be your end.

. . . 

“Hey, Gojo?”

“Mhm?” He hummed absentmindedly, his fingers having stopped their styling long ago. Now they rested behind his head as he laid on the ground, with you laying on his chest and pulling at his blindfold. He chuckled as you managed to remove it, his eyes now fully visible.

The sight made you pause for a moment, your eyes flying open in wonder as you leaned forward, trying to take it all in. Putting your hands on his chest, you pushed yourself up so you could see the entirety of his face.The color was what you expected, a glistening mix of different shades of blue, each mixing and swirling together. Flecks of white appeared as the sunlight hit him, the beams casting a shadow of the two of you on the ground.

“Done looking?” He asked, yet his expression was somewhat pained. You recoiled backwards, quickly moving the blindfold to cover his eyes once more. Amazed by his glimmering eyes, you had forgotten about the effects. A flow of information, consistent and painful for him to always take in. That’s why he wore the blindfold- to relieve some of the stress and pain. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’s alright,” Gojo reassured, adjusting the blindfold slightly. “Now, what was it that you wanted to tell me earlier?”

“Oh, right. I’m starving.”

. . . 

Gojo stared up at the menu, mumbling to himself as he tried to choose one of the options. Beside him, you glanced up and down as you saw the sweets, your fangs visible as you grinned up at the worker serving the two of you. Looking nervously at you, she turned to Gojo instead for his order.

He sighed, pointing a finger at the menu. “Just get us one of everything, mkay?”

The worker looked down at him, jaw dropping as she took in his order. “E . . . everything? Sir, you are aware that it would cost-” Gojo raised a hand, stopping her with a smile and soft eyes. Knowing what he was doing, you sported a grin of your own. Blushing furiously from his smirk, the worker walked away from the table, scrambling to right down his order immediately. 

You pouted, jutting your lower lip out as you leaned back in the chair. “This place is awful. She didn’t even take my order!”

“MoonMoney is NOT terrible!” Gojo gasped as if you insulted his entire bloodline, which actually seemed like something he would love to hear. “It’s one of the best places around!!”

Ignoring him, you took the chance to glance around the cafe. Gojo and you were sitting in the corner, thanks to both of you agreeing not to annoy the other customers for once. Soft music echoed through the building, the lyrics being too quiet for you to hear. Others sat around the two of you, a young couple there, friends laughing loudly on the other side of the room, and a man that was looking straight at you.

A man looking straight at you.

“Wait, what-”

You acted as if you didn’t see him, sneaking silent stares every so often. His raven-black hair was half up, a carefully done bun with a few strands loose. Amethyst colored eyes darted around the space, his shoulders tense as he glared at any workers approaching him. He wore a black sweatshirt paired with matching sweatpants, but looked uncomfortable in the clothes, as if he wasn’t used to such a regular outfit. 

His eyes flew between you and Gojo, staring at you both with a strange expression. When he was looking at Gojo, his face was one of longing and slight remorse. Eyes darkening, he had to force himself to look away and direct his attention to you. You seemed to be around 14 or 15, with (h/c) hair tied into two messy buns on the side of your head. Humming to himself, he stood at last, exiting the cafe.

Before you could comment on it, the waitress came back with a cart carrying the entire menu on tiny platters. The cooks glanced from the kitchen, tired from the relentless cooking, yet still wanting to see what manic had ordered everything that was offered. All they found was a man-child sitting with a teenager, devouring food one by one.

Grabbing one of the sweets, you shoved it in your mouth, savoring the taste. Somehow, Gojo had already burned through half, dirty plates stacked off to the side of the small table. You rolled your eyes, continuing to eat as you grabbed some mochi from the dish closest to you.

The meal continued on for a while, with both you and Gojo working to finish off the food brought to you. It ended with you both sitting on a park bench in a grassy area that was a walk away from the cafe, your head in Gojo’s lap as you slept. Gojo played with your hair, thinking about earlier.

He had sensed it too.

The Cursed Energy that lingered behind him didn’t go unnoticed, yet didn’t seem like a threat. All the owner of the Cursed Energy was doing was taking a look around, no ill intentions present. Gojo wished that he took off his blindfold, then he could’ve gotten more information. Yet, as the stranger got up and left, Gojo could see a bit of his face from the window at the cafe.

Suguru Geto. 

His fists clenched tight, gritting his teeth as he thought about it. Geto- his best friend, his one and only, the only person that Gojo ever thought would understand him. And now he had the audacity to appear one day and watch him?

No, Geto wasn’t just watching him. He had his eyes set on you as well.

. . .

“Rise and shine~!”

Groaning, you opened your eyes slightly to see Gojo leaning over you, grinning. Movements sluggish, you backed away from him, considering how mad he would be if you slapped him for waking you. You were still on the bench, but Gojo was now holding a bag in his hand, the label saying “MoonMoney”. More of that knock-off sounding store.

The two of you traveled through the city, with Gojo occasionally commenting on things that he saw. Some sweets there, the occasional outfit in the window, anything and everything that he could say to distract you from the person that was following you both. Seeing the store up ahead, Gojo rushed to toss you over his shoulders, ignoring your protests as he teleported there.

“What was that for?!” You huffed, crossing your arms as Gojo put you down. The both of you were in the store, but your hair was now tangled and messy from the unexpected throw and teleport that Gojo pulled on you. Sighing, he walked into the store in response, flashing you a cheeky grin before disappearing amidst the rows and rows of sparkly make-up.

Rolling your eyes, you went the opposite direction, eyeing some of the accessories laid out. Since Safari-A was more make-up focused, there wasn’t much to look at in that area. You ran your fingers over some keychains, your eyes lighting up as you continued to explore. Further down, you stopped to see what was in front of you.

A tan-pink duffle coat alongside a matching pink scarf, the two items fitting together perfectly as they hung on a clothing rack. You found yourself taking the two pieces of clothing down, checking the price and smiling to yourself. Winter was approaching after all, it would be nice to have some warm clothes on campus. Heading back towards the front of the store, you went up to the cashier.

“Could you make an announcement please? I lost my father figure.”

. . .

“Could Satoru Gojo, overgrown man-child, paintbrush haired albino- Kid, I can’t say that-”

“Keep going!”

“Please report to the front, Mr. Gojo, your child is going to be the death of me.”

Gasping, you turned on the overworked employee, pouting as they ignored you. “I’m not a child!! I’m fourteen, actually!”

They scoffed, putting down their phone and glancing at you. “Sure don't look like it, shortie.” A lazy grin spread across their features as they continued their work, clicking away at their computer. You huffed, sitting down beside the worker’s area to wait for Gojo. Clutched in your hand was the coat you had seen earlier, with the scarf already wrapped snug around your neck.

You played with it for a few minutes, bored out of your mind as you waited for your father figure to come back. Eventually, you started to mess with the employee’s stuff, grabbing a bit of the cash from the register and watching them snatch it back with a pissed expression. 

Your little game continued until Gojo retrieved you from the front, his arms filled with tiny pink bags, each holding whatever make-up had caught his eye. He looked down at you before motioning for you to follow him, a wide grin spreading across his face when he saw the outfit you were holding. 

He gestured to it. “You want that?” 

You nodded eagerly, practically throwing the clothes at him so he could purchase them. Catching them, Gojo turned to the cashier, lazily handing over his card. Their jaw dropped as they took it, fumbling to enter it and put the clothes into a plastic bag, treating it as if it were glass as they lowered it into a bag. You took it from shaky hands, their eyes darting to look everywhere except at you.

Giggling, you waved your thanks before moving back to Gojo’s side, finding comfort there as he took your hand and started to walk out of the store. 

And there he was.

That strange man again, looking at you both with a blank expression on his face. Except this time, he was beckoning you to come closer. 

You froze, eyes going wide as you held onto Gojo’s hand tighter, who mistook it for playfulness and gave a squeeze back. As much as you wanted to tell him about the stranger, you decided against it, not wanting to cause Gojo more stress. 

Quickly turning away from the stranger, you and him continued walking. Gojo still didn’t seem to see the man, and you refused to inform him. While walking around, a sweet shop caught Gojo’s eye. He didn’t hesitate to let go of your hand.

“I’ll be back soon, okay?” Gojo grinned, walking inside of the store as he waved goodbye. “Don’t wander too far!”

Despite you wanting to go with him, curiosity filled you, leaving you interested in the strange man. You turned around, and you noticed that he moved closer. The action should’ve made you terrified, but it only made you desire to know more about him. 

“What do you want, mister?” Placing your hands on your hips, you tried to scare him off, but only ended up making him chuckle.

“Just your name, sweetie.” He moved closer, crouching down in front of you and resting a hand on your head. You tensed at his touch.

Hesitantly, you answered. “|Y.n| Toga.”

“Not Gojo?” The man tilted his head to the side, removing his hand from your hair. 

You shook your head. “No.”

“No sir,” He corrected.

“No sir,” you replied, tone laced with sarcasm as you glared at him. The stranger didn’t respond to your dirty look, instead introducing himself.

“I’m Suguru Geto, it’s a . . . pleasure to meet you.”

Suguru Geto , . . The name sounded familiar. . .

“Wish I could say the same.”

“Aren’t you a sassy one. . .” Geto stood up to his full height, leaving you having to look up in order to meet his gaze. “I can see where you got it from. Satoru was always the more sarcastic one, after all.”

The mention of Gojo caused you to stare at the man with both suspicion and intrigue. Had he known Satoru? Judging by the way he talked about him, you guessed that the answer was yes. 

He had said that his name was Suguru Geto

That Suguru Geto?

The one that Gojo had only discussed once because of an old photo you found, and even then, he didn’t give you much to work with. Only an old and worn photograph of him as a teenager with what seemed to be the younger version of the man in front of you.

Gojo had an arm draped over Geto’s shoulder, his usual cocky smirk present as his finger dug into Geto’s check. Despite feigning annoyance, you could see the underlying amusement.

The two of them had been close.

So what happened?

Geto stopped talking as he noticed your expression, his smiling becoming slightly strained. “Maybe don’t look too deep into it, hmm?”

His voice snapped you out of your thoughts, leaving you to stare up at him. “What do you actually want?” Your tone was filled with feigned annoyance, pretending as if he was bothering you. 

Geto sighed, leaning against the building’s wall. “Just wondering about Satoru. It’s . . . strange to see him like this.”

“What do you mean?”

“Satoru’s happy. He used to act so distant, but then the day I found out you had been taken under his wing, he improved greatly. As if your existence alone helped to fix him after I-”

“Well, I’m not like other girls, so I can do that shit.”

If anyone can guess what the two places are based off of, I’ll answer a question you have abt the story! Private-message me your answers, and you cannot share what I tell you :D

[heartfullofleeches]

Going to do a small ramble since janitors been getting some misgendering.

Imagine if for a second, janitor just corrected people on their pronouns. Like, sure their in a chaotic fast food place but the least a customer can do is accept the pronouns the fucking cleaner of the establishment uses. Maybe after a long hard day of work, FF! Reader just gives sulli a hug. They deserve it even in this murder happy and very questionably run fast food joint. Maybe they even just chill after hours in the building to just hang out. Idk personally think there's not enough fluff for them. (Side thing : what if janitor just had a they/them pin? I've seen more recently at least in my area service workers have rainbow or fandom pins and I think it'd fit them.) -🍭anon (sorry I haven't spoken in awhile, been very busy with life)

[I'll do you one better- FF Reader being the one to correct the customer. TW: Mention of misgendering]

"Um, excuse me, Sir? There's still no paper towels in the bathroom."

Why do they even bother? They've expressed their grievances to this customer multiple times - both in fact of them being busy with other work, and that the customer had mistaken them for something they weren't. They've tried to let it slide. They've tried to gently inform the customer of their preferred pronouns. No dice. Their head was pounding from the fumes of the chemical they worked with, and this was doing nothing to help it. Why did they come into work today.

"Listen, I'll get to it once I'm done mopping. How many times do I have to tell you I'm not a-"

Soft squeaks resonate from the freshly cleaning floor as heavy steps race across it. A hand nabs the bottle of cleanser out of the janitor's hands - aiming the nozzle directly in line with the customer's eyes as its finger clamps down on the trigger.

The customer screeches - throwing their hands over their face to shield themselves as their eyes sting and vision blurs.

"Begone." Steadying your aim, you blast the customer with another face full of the unholy solution filing the bottle in your hands. Had to be some powerful stuff to get out the stains you see on the daily. Despite their arms blocking majority of their face, you manage to get a spray of the mixture in their mouth. They retch - tears and saliva dripping down their face as they spit.

"Agh! What the hell is wrong with you!"

"The fuck's wrong with you? I've been watching you all morning. There's a line between a mistake and being an ignorant asshole, and you've crossed it buddy. Go on, get - shoo, get the fuck outta here."

"I hope you know you've just lost a paying customer!"

"You say that like it's a bad thing. Go ruin someone's else's day."

The Janitor watches as you chase the customer out of the establishment, hurling obscenities and hitting them with another jet of cleanser whenever they turn to look back. You toss the now empty bottle at the hood of their car as they crawl in and speed away. Their heart pumps so loudly they can barely hear your steps as you return to their side.

"Sorry about using all your cleanser. Wanna go pretend to look for more in storage room and sneak out the back?"

The Janitor deadpans. "I used to think I was in love you.... It's gone far beyond just a thought now."

"I know." You throw your arm around their shoulder - allowing them to dump their weight on you as they go weak in the knees from the contact. You half carry them out the back door, sneaking off to where their van was parked outside. You hold your hand out for their keys which they readily give you. You help them into the passenger seat before walking around to the driver's side and hopping in. The Janitor's hand reaches over the divider, stopping just short of your arm.

"You good?"

Their head falls to your shoulder - voice strained as they rub at where their eyes would be. "Yea....Yea, I'm good. Thanks by the way."

You place your hand over theirs, squeezing it gently. "Eh, you and I are the one's keeping the hellhole in shape.. You deserve more respect than you get sometimes... Ready to ditch this place for the night?"

"....Please?..."

[artdotpage]

Problems facing modern artists & creators

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This is perhaps the single best marketing tool available to any business, and is sorely overlooked by artists and creators.

It's cost effective and because you own your mailing list it doesn't matter what's happening on social sites, you can always keep in touch with them.

The tricky part is converting people into mailing list subscribers. However I've seen plenty of creators successfully build one by offering incentives including free digital downloads, early access to content, discounts on your store etc.

Those who sign up to your mailing list would be considered high quality followers, someone who is much more likely to convert to a paid client and buy from you again in the future compared to the average follower on social media.

Tools

https://art.page/

https://substack.com/

https://convertkit.com/

Losing clients to undercutting competitors on the same platform/marketplace

If you run your business on a marketplace or platform, your clients are one click away from finding plenty of other choices who are willing to undercut everyone else to land a sale.

These sites have no incentive to make sure that traffic you drive to your profile actually purchase from you. Whether a sale is made through your listing or another seller, they collect their fee either way.

They also use uniform designs which reduce you to a generic product listing. Whilst this can simplify the customer experience, it means you have no control over the sales funnel and ability to differentiate yourself, making it harder to convert potential clients into paying customers.

Solution: Direct clients to your own site

Use your own personal website to make sales from, there are plenty of options with no monthly charge and lower fees than marketplaces. This lets you make dedicated marketing pages showcasing your best work to make a client excited about doing business with you, instead of just being a generic product listing.

Take advantage of marketplaces purely for their customer base. Don't rely on them as your sole business platform. This way, any fees you pay are worthwhile to generate sales you wouldn't have had otherwise. 

Tools

https://art.page/

https://www.bigcartel.com/

https://squareup.com/

Interested in more?

There's plenty more I have to share on this topic, including:

How to properly use Print on Demand without getting ripped off

Streamline managing your business so you spend more time creating and growing your business.

How to better utilize your brand to connect with clients and increase sales

So let me know if you’re interested and I’ll get writing!

Transparency

I'm building https://art.page to solve these exact issues, with the goal to create the best all in one site builder for artists and creators that makes running your business easy.

[jackied0minguez]

Remote Work Redefined: TopDevz CEO Ashkan Rajaee on the Future of Flexible Business

In a world where remote work has rapidly shifted from a temporary solution to a long-term strategy, TopDevz CEO Ashkan Rajaee is leading by example. Speaking ahead of the Ft. Lauderdale International Boat Show, Rajaee shared insights on how his company has seamlessly integrated remote operations into its DNA—and why he believes this model isn’t just a passing trend.

A New Kind of Software Solutions

TopDevz isn’t your typical tech firm. Comprising an elite team of software developers, designers, project managers, and quality assurance specialists based in the United States and Canada, the company tackles the unique challenges that conventional off-the-shelf software can’t resolve. Rajaee explains that while standard solutions can cover 80–90% of business needs, the remaining nuances often cause significant inefficiencies. TopDevz fills this gap by offering custom solutions designed to address those critical details, ensuring that their clients achieve peak operational efficiency. With an impressive 96% workforce retention rate and 63% of their business coming through referrals, the company’s model speaks volumes about its effectiveness and employee satisfaction.

Mastering Remote Operations

Long before the global pivot to remote work, TopDevz was already thriving in a fully virtual environment. Rajaee emphasizes that the success of remote operations lies in having the right infrastructure and clear communication channels. “Working remotely isn’t as simple as logging in from home,” he notes. “It demands disciplined processes and a commitment to best practices—elements we’ve honed over the years.” His team’s seamless transition during the pandemic only reinforced the idea that a well-organized remote workforce can outperform traditional office setups.

The Indefinite Future of Remote Work

For TopDevz, remote work isn’t a temporary workaround—it’s the future. Rajaee envisions a business landscape where companies can lower overhead costs while empowering employees to work from anywhere. This flexible model not only drives client satisfaction by reducing expenses but also enriches employees’ lives by allowing them to choose environments that inspire creativity and well-being.

Rajaee even shares a personal touch: his passion for working from a yacht. Equipped with reliable Wi-Fi and satellite services, his unconventional workspace symbolizes the freedom that remote work offers. “If your current job doesn’t support the lifestyle you aspire to, it’s time to consider other opportunities,” he advises. His own journey from renting a yacht to eventually making it part of his regular work life underscores the importance of aligning one’s career with personal values and ambitions.

Empowering the Next Generation of Remote Entrepreneurs

Beyond leading TopDevz, Rajaee is passionate about sharing his remote work philosophy. Through his “RemotePreneur” initiative, he provides aspiring entrepreneurs and professionals with a playbook for building successful remote companies. This resource addresses the nuanced challenges of remote business management—from overcoming financial stagnation in traditional roles to confronting the inevitable criticisms that come with venturing off the beaten path. Rajaee’s message is clear: true freedom in work comes from rethinking established norms and embracing the possibilities that remote operations can offer.

Embracing a New Era

As businesses around the globe continue to navigate the evolving work landscape, Ashkan Rajaee’s vision serves as a powerful reminder that remote work, when executed with precision and passion, can unlock unprecedented opportunities. His leadership at TopDevz demonstrates that with the right approach, remote operations can not only sustain but also drive innovation, employee satisfaction, and overall business growth.

In a time when flexibility and adaptability are more important than ever, Rajaee’s insights offer a compelling roadmap for companies eager to thrive in a remote-first world.