#don’t offer criticism’s unless requested

[wrtrgrl-spacewitch]

There’s also a huge difference between constructive criticism and “people having the right to tell you they don’t like something”.

Someone coming in to go “I don’t like this” as a comment doesn’t actually do anything. It’s not useful, it’s not informative. It’s completely, unhelpful subjective.

I don’t like this because of X is more helpful. For starters, it can help differentiate if the dislike purely a matter of individual taste (in which case, again, not helpful at all); or if it’s due to a structural/technical issue. Which could be helpful IF done constructively - and should only be offered if constructive criticism has been requested in the first place.

Hey, if you don’t have something nice to say about other people’s creations (gifsets, art, fic etc)

then

don’t say anything at all.

[sammyluvr]

makes you wonder — sam winchester

cw : gn!awkward!reader, fluff, uses y/n, some of the lore/history is totally made up, swearing, workplace bullying/verbal harassment (i’m so sorry if your name is mark, he’s the asshole character), likely contains a few mistakes, mentions of canon typical violence and monsters, 5.2K words. requested !

summary : you’re the local expert on ancient weaponry, and fake fbi agent sam needs your help finding a certain dagger for a case. pronunciation guide (using scottish gaelic) : each-uishge — yahk-oosh-ga (hk is pronounced in the back of the throat like loch). biodag — bidag (the g is almost a k sound) [ disclaimer, i found these pronunciations off of the internet! i’m not scottish nor do i speak scottish gaelic, so if anyone can correct anything i got wrong, i’d be super grateful for it! ]

certainly including the fact that it’s exactly what you want to be doing, working as a curator at your city’s history museum is near total perfection for you. not without much hard work and research, you were able to get a job that focuses on your specialty.��historic weaponry. plus, your extra knowledge and fascination with mythologies and folklore gave you the perfect edge (pun intended) during interviews.

as a plus, you’re also able to spend minimal time interacting with people, even less so with those who don’t share the common interest of at least museum curation. of course, even that can’t magic away your awkwardness, and you still dread team meetings, but none of your coworkers save the resident asshole care at all when you stumble over your words or speak in clunky sentences. you’re smart, kind, and good at your job, so everyone except mark lessinger is more than happy to have you around. mark, the aforementioned resident asshole, is only around still because he’s the single person for miles who cares about the bland history of the town that is “strongly encouraged” by the local government to be kept in the museum. you’re sure he doesn’t do anything other than watch tv shows at his desk, lounge in the museum café. and make snide comments about anybody he can, because that exhibit hasn’t been updated in years and likely never will be unless something spectacular happens.

when you hear the click of the office door opening, you glance up from the work on your desk on instinct. it’s no surprise to see the devil himself (a mean and entirely pathetic thirty-four year old white man) walk through the door. mark was probably off slacking in the café like he does whenever he can get away with it, which is often considering he has nothing helpful to offer anyway. 

it’s the man who follows him that snags at your gaze and keeps your eyes lingering on the doorway for a second longer than usual. in the split second that you take his appearance in, you’re surprised by how much you want to keep looking at him, rather than the diagram of a seventeenth century revolver you’re hoping to include in the exhibit you’re planning for next fall. the gun is fascinating to you, moreso than just about anyone who could walk in that door. but something about this man is beautiful, so much so that you don’t want to look away. then both mark’s and his eyes fall on you, and you snap your chin back down to refocus on your work. this, of course, doesn’t work, because you can still feel them looking at you.

“that’s them right there. you know, weapons are the only thing that they’re useful for,” mark begins to ramble, and now you know without a doubt that they’re headed towards you, “which, unfortunately, isn’t very helpful at all most of the time. but maybe they can do you some good, agent.”

that word is what catches your attention; you don’t even blink at the condescending tone to his voice or the fact that he doesn’t make any sort of attempt to hide his criticisms from you or this agent. you don’t even look up until the two men are right at your desk, so you miss the judgemental look that the stranger gives to mark’s unsavory comments about you. the idiot obviously misses the look too, because he’s smiling down at you all smug and patronizing when you give him your attention.

“this is agent giles from the fbi. the federal bureau of investigation,” he begins, cocking his head in a way that makes him look like he’s got a knot in his neck, rather than intelligent and important as you figure he intends. you just nod as the agent flashes his badge, resisting the urge to examine the tall man like one of your exhibit pieces. “well, he’s looking for a certain type of knife–” mark says slowly, like you don’t understand what he’s implying. you, on the other hand, couldn’t care less about him as you look the agent up and down, trying to look casual. you’re usually far more into ancient weaponry than men, but he is straight up gorgeous, you conclude. 

“–so, you should help him look for it. it’s very important, so don’t make us look like fools by saying something weird.” you grimace internally, but don’t show much of a reaction because all you can really think about is how much of an idiot he is. and how agent giles is too pretty to be an employee of the federal government. that part is far more important than mark’s rudeness, as you’re fully aware that he has nothing of value to offer, while you absolutely do.

“i’m sure y/n will be very helpful,” says agent giles firmly, and for a moment it surprises you that he knows your name before you realize mark must have given it earlier, “thanks for the sandwich recommendation mr.” he clears his throat because he’s clearly forgotten mark’s last name, “linser.” you stifle a laugh at both the insult of this agent remembering your name, but not mark’s, and the image of mark recommending an fbi agent his favorite sandwich from the museum café.

“lessinger,” he corrects with a stupid, haughty smile that suggests he has no idea that the agent thinks he’s a dumbass and couldn’t care less about him. he doesn’t even get the memo that he’s supposed to leave until agent giles clears his throat again and gives him a pointed look. “well, if y/n can’t get you what you need, i’m sure i can figure it out, so just let me know if you need anything else,” he lands a final insult before scurrying away to his own desk.

“it’s very bad,” you say with a matter of fact tone and shake of your head, once he’s finally out of ear shot. 

the agent raises his eyebrows in question, like he’s not one hundred percent sure what you’re referring to. “him?” he scoffs, “yeah, he’s a total asshole.” agent gile’s tone is much lighter and pleasant when he’s talking just to you, though he certainly means what he’s just said.

“oh, well, no. i mean, yes, he is a complete asshole, but i meant to say that– um, well, the sandwich. it’s very bad,” you repeat the sentiment in earnest after realizing you started speaking almost completely out of context. now you feel the need to explain, “he always gets the same sandwich, and it’s not a good one. if you’re hungry you should get the superfood salad. very healthy, and really good– or, i mean, if you wanted a sandwich, the blt is quite good, especially if you add avocado,” you trail off and realize you’re completely off topic, “but, uh– that’s not what you’re here for, obviously. i’m sorry, i don’t mean to waste your time, agent. uh, how can i help you?”

“no, no, that’s okay,” he says, his pretty hazel eyes full of sincerity, “i am in fact hungry, but i’d never take his recommendation, so i’m glad to have yours. i love salad,” he smiles.

“oh, thanks,” you relax, before wondering if that’s a normal response. but, instead of trying to correct yourself like you normally might, you stay silent to avoid going off topic again and preventing him from getting to the point.

“i’m looking for a certain type of dagger,” he begins, and you realize it’s taking quite a bit of effort to keep looking up at him from your seated position. he’s so tall. “i saw your museum has a weapons collection and was wondering–,” without thinking, you stand to alleviate the pressure on your neck. he pauses in his speech, but is quick to realize you’re simply just standing and that he’s free to keep talking, “–if you’d be able to help me find out if you have any. i hear you’re the weapons expert?”

“yep, that’s me!” you say, unable to completely tamp down your excitement about the topic. only then do you realize that your timing to stand up was slightly odd, but you forge on for the sake of daggers. your favorite subset of weapons. “um, what sort of dagger are you looking for?”

“a scottish dirk?” he answers like he’s asking a question, as if he’s not sure how odd it is to ask that. it is sort of odd, only because you can’t understand exactly what the fbi’s interest is in scottish daggers, but you couldn’t care less. 

your eyes light up and you grin, “we have plenty. actually, it’s quite a collection for a small museum like ours. uhh, let me show you! we have one on display, but personally, i think the ones in storage are the ones you’ll want to see,” you brush past him and head out into the hallway towards storage. 

he follows behind as you continue talking, “i mean, of course the one on display is incredible, it’s just that the best one doesn’t quite fit into the right time frame for this particular exhibit,” you explain, though you think a moment after that he surely couldn’t care less about those details. then, your curiosity gets the best of you, “so, am i allowed to ask why the fbi is looking for scottish dirks? i just didn’t think they’d be something the u.s. government would be concerned about for any reason. oh, well– not that it can’t be! you can certainly investigate anything you want, obviously,” you stop yourself there before you can say anything else borderline embarrassing.

“well, it may be connected to some odd deaths we’re investigating here. we’re just following every possibility.” his answer is completely cryptic and absolutely no help in calming your curiosities. you can’t think of any possible way that sixteenth century scottish daggers could be connected to unexplained deaths.

“you mean the… body in the lake?” you question aloud when the news article you read last week pops into your mind. the word “body” is used lightly; they only found the woman’s liver floating on the surface. you swipe your key card to open the door to storage and lead him inside, then you register that he said “deaths,” plural. “there was more than one?”

“yeah, over the course of the past … few years. the one from last week is just the most recent, second to the one we found this morning.” you’re not sure why he hesitates over the word “few,” but you figure he’s got all sorts of reasons to act secretive. 

“o-oh,” you stammer out, as everything suddenly turns so morbid, “i didn’t know that,” you reply as you stop without thinking at the right storage container. from the desk behind you, you grab a pair of gloves and ask him to put them on as well before you carefully extract the three long knives from their shelf. “so, what? you think someone’s using a scottish dirk to cut people up and throw their livers in the lake? odd considering the dirk is a thrusting blade. wouldn’t be very effective for such a task. well, uh, not that i’d really know. well, i do because i– but not like that! obviously, i’ve never used a scottish dirk to– nevermind.” you let out a little breath that’s half laugh half sigh and force yourself to focus on unwrapping the blades in front of you, each around at least a foot long.

you completely miss the endeared look that the agent gives you. sam only came in to see if the museum had the dagger and figure out how to steal it after hours to complete this case, but you’ve completely occupied his attention. he wants to hear you talk, loves the way you got excited when he asked about the dirk, thinks it’s sweet the way words tumble out of your mouth and your eyebrows change when you realize it was an awkward way to say things. and as a plus, your knowledge of the blade and its history could very likely be helpful.

“we’re not sure exactly how the dirk fits in, but that’s helpful to know,” he says kindly, peering down at the daggers. they’re beautiful and well-crafted, one with a particularly intricately carved handle. “that douche back there,” he begins, and you laugh a little at his unprofessional language, “he said you were interested in “fairy tales” related to weapons. i assume he meant folklore and mythologies? is there anything you can tell me about the folklore behind these?”

you almost cringe, thinking agent giles must find you silly until he proves just the opposite.

“yes, definitely! mark—the douchebag—loves to make fun of me for it, but it’s an important part of the job,” you explain, “it’s just, you might have to interrupt me, i get kind of excited about this kind of thing and, uh, i might start rambling,” you warn with a sheepish smile.

“any information helps,” he reassures. with that, you can’t help yourself, silently apologizing for the pure shitload of nerdy information he’s about to have dumped on him.

“well, if you insist. don’t say i didn’t warn you, but i’ll do my best to stick to the highlights,” you glance at him fleetingly and send him a smile you hope isn’t too awkward. you can’t help but notice he sends back a similar expression. so worried about your own behavior, you hadn’t realized that he’s also sort of awkward. it’s sweet and it makes you feel a bit more relaxed as you turn your attention back to the topic at hand. 

“the dirk, biodag in scottish gaelic, is a particularly important part of traditional scottish highlander culture. it was very common for warrior cultures to swear their most important oaths on their swords, but for the highlanders, it was done with their dirk. these oaths were binding with what was called the force of a gaes, which involved severe supernatural consequences were the oath to be broken. the iron of the dirk was considered to be holy, which stems from the folk superstitions that iron can protect against mythological creatures. these two,” you point to the simpler of the three knives, “are 17th century dirks, crafted with soligen steel, as there was a sort of magic ascribed to the forging of germanic steel that became popular in later centuries. 

“but, this one is a very early version of the dirk from the early 16th century, and made frompure iron,” you smile as you move on to talk about the third dirk, the one sam had noticed to be particularly ornate, “and therefore more aligned with traditional scottish folklore, as iron is considered to be stronger than any sort of alloy, like steel, against supernatural forces. this one’s definitely my favorite, just don’t tell the others,” you finish off with satisfaction, and even an affection that sam secretly finds adorable.

“it is a beautiful blade,” he agrees, in a way that makes you think he genuinely appreciates its value. “now, is there any sort of supernatural creature that the dirk specifically is used to kill?” sam knows the answer he’s looking for, but he’s always eager to confirm any sort of lore that he’s not intimately familiar with, so he asks despite the weirdness of it all.

this question is certainly very odd to you, and you can’t understand why he’d need to know, but you answer anyway. “well, it can depend on who you ask or what records you look at. in many cases, any old thing made of iron, or silver, depending, would do, especially because most folklore dates back to before the development of the highland dirk. but, there are definitely accounts of supernatural creatures being killed or warded off using a dirk, especially one used for a blood oath that was never broken. some believe the strength of an oath fulfilled made the weapon stronger and able to kill creatures otherwise thought unkillable.”

he takes in all of this information with such a serious and straight face that you really begin to question how this could all be about unsolved murders. he seems to think the folklore is going to help him solve real life mysteries, or maybe he’s just secretly interested in this sort of thing and using the opportunity to learn about it.

“and do you know anything in particular about a creature called the each-uisge?”

“each-uisge?” you repeat, unable to stop yourself from laughing a little in surprise. now you’re perfectly sure this federal government investigator is just a secret nerd with an interest in niche folklore. even his pronunciation is decent, though he neglected the back-of-the-throat sound of the “ch.” 

“well– i mean, yes, there are accounts of each-uisge being warded away by both silver bullets and an iron dirk,” you indulge, “i know less about the each-uisge themselves than dirks, but i’ve never read any account of one being killed. though, i do suppose an oath-strengthened dirk might be just the thing to do it.”

he nods intently. “listen, i’m sure this is a long shot,” agent giles begins, gesturing haphazardly with his gloved hands, and you wonder what sort of strange thing he could ask this time, “but is there a way of knowing if this one,” he points to the pure iron dirk, “might have been used to fullfill an oath?”

at that you can’t help but snort out a laugh. “what, are you trying to hunt down a each-uisge?” you tease. “you know that they’re only located in scotland, right? … i mean, if they were real, obviously.” by the end, your tone is no longer playful as your mind returns to the news of missing, presumed dead people, with nothing left but their livers found in the nearby lake. then you think about the history of the town, once heavy with scottish imigrants when it was founded in the early eighteenth century. and finally, all in just a second or two, you fully recall the story of the each-uisge, a vicious, shape-shifting horse that drowns its victims at the bottom of the nearest lake and eats their whole body except the liver, which floats to the surface. a chill runs up your spine before you tamp down the ridiculous suspicions that fill your mind.

“right, obviously,” agent giles laughs too, but it’s sort of stiff, like he wasn’t really joking when he asked. you’re certainly not laughing anymore. “as for the dirk?”

you raise your eyebrows, “hm?” is all you can manage as your mind goes sort of blank. there’s absolutely no way that what you’re thinking about could actually be true, so you brush it off and try to listen to the agent—if that’s really who he is.

“can you tell?” he asks again.

“uh– tell what? oh– oh! if it was used to swear an oath?” you prompt. he nods. “well, i mean, ha. not really, not for sure. we have tested, and there are traces of blood on the blade,” you gesture towards it vaguely, “but, um, that could be from anywhere, not just an oath, you know? lots of fighting…and stuff, uh, those days,” your voice trails off as you laugh and nod a little awkwardly, starting to feel more and more confused about this agent giles, no matter how pretty his soft-looking brown hair is. you tell yourself he’s just curious, but he just looks oh so serious, despite the fact that he’s trying to seem casual and normal about this unconventional conversation.

“hm,” is the only little sound he makes in response, like he’s almost disappointed and considering something weighty you don’t know about because of your unsure answer.

and because you hate to see that little frown on his face, you keep talking, “but, it’s more than likely that this blade was owned by a high ranking clansman, possibly even the chief, as indicated by the ornate nature of the handle and overall high quality. oaths were, in retrospect, decently common to make, even more so for high ranking clansmen.

“which means it is very likely that at least one, maybe many oaths have been sworn using this blade. of course, there’s no telling whether each oath was fulfilled, but considering the cultural importance of loyalty and honor and the roles of oaths in such, it wouldn’t be far fetched to consider this dirk as the kind strong enough to kill a each-uisge. if, you know, you wanted to know a random, cool, and totally niche fun fact about one of my favorite weapons in this museum’s storage room,” in the last sentence, you speak in a clunky, awkward sort of way as you run out of interesting tidbits to info-dump and your mind instead wanders back to the undeniably peculiar circumstances surrounding this conversation. the laugh you let out at the end is quiet, and far more nervous than humored.

the smile he gives you then is sympathetic, like he knows this is all weird and maybe a little alarming if you’re willing to question your non-belief in the supernatural. you’re no longer sure at all that he’s an fbi agent, but strangely enough, you don’t find yourself feeling distrustful of him. your gut tells you that he’s good, and you decide to trust it.

“all of this was a big help,” he says, the sincerity in his voice almost tangible, “thank you.” that makes you feel good, because it seems to you like he’s just trying to help people. with what, you’re not sure, and then you sort of wish that he’d made some sort of joke about how this last part of the conversation wasn’t actually helpful, just interesting. interesting and completely irrelevant to the livers on the lake. 

you swallow hard, “of course. glad i could be of help to you, agent.”

“sam,” he corrects. “just sam is alright.”

“oh. right. just sam,” you nod and wonder if the feeling in your chest could be your heart fluttering. your eyes flicker from his face to his broad shoulders, to his pretty, big hands and the way his right middle finger taps against the side of his thigh. then, worried you’re staring, your gaze flits down to your own hands, resting on the table, then to the daggers you know so well. yet, you look at them different this time. you’ve certainly wondered about the oaths that may have been sworn by their blades and their connections to traditional superstitions. but now you look at them and wonder if it’s real. if one of these blades had been used to ward off a real-life myth in the past, or been magically strengthened by blood and kept promises. sam—you think sam fits him so much better than agent giles—has shifted your perspective of the things you’ve been studying and learning about and loving for years and years of your life.

it’s true that you’ve always been one to daydream, to wonder; that’s where your fascination with folklore and fairy tales comes from. always, you’ve looked for rumored mythological weapons in the real world and marveled at the less historic possibilities of the things you study. and you think that if it were anyone else, or if he talked to or looked at you in a different way, you wouldn’t be questioning your reality like this, but you are. maybe you’re predisposed to believing, or just too curious for your own good, but you know at that moment that you won’t be able to let this go.

sam clears his throat to break the awkward silence, and he thinks he can see the gears in your head turning, the way they have been since he asked about the each-uisge. he hopes desperatly you won’t ask him if he thinks this is all real, all because he doesn’t think he could lie to you anymore. there’s something about your authenticity, your intelligence and innate curiosity, and the goodness that you so clearly carry with you that simultaneously makes him want to tell you everything and protect you from the truth. the latter option is always his go-to, rightfully so, but he can’t explain to himself the way that he purely just wants to share with you, bring you closer to him through a shared understanding of the world. sam thinks he must be crazy, because he just met you and thinks it would be entirely possible to fall right in love with you if he got the chance to get to know you.

then he realizes that he’s the one staring. “right, well… i should get going. you know. i’ve got another lead i need to follow up on,” he forces the words out like he doesn’t want to go, and it’s true. he doesn’t, but if he spends more time with you, he’ll have to keep lying, and he doesn’t want to do that. more importantly, he doesn’t want to expose you to anything more that could put you in danger.

“right. right, of course,” you nod, and you’re practically breaking his heart because you fail to hide the disappointment on your face for a split second. he hadn’t realized he was looking at you that carefully to catch the look, but he doesn’t regret it. he’s discovered that he likes looking at you enough to not care much about that sort of thing. “would you like me to show you out, or do you remember the way?”

“i’m alright,” sam answers on instinct before his heart breaks doubly because your eyes look sad again for a moment, “but let me walk you back to your office. or, no, let me buy you that superfood salad for taking up your time,” he amends quickly.

“i already ate lunch, but– shit,” you interrupt yourself, cursing when you realize he was flirting. then you get flustered, “no, i mean– uh, well– okay! er, no, that’s okay, i mean,” because there’s no taking back the fact that you already said you ate lunch already. you take a breath to steady yourself, “but you can definitely walk me back to my office, let me just put these away, it’ll be quick–,” your hands rush to wrap up the daggers before you remember their fragility, “oh– sorry! thank you for the offer, though! that would’ve been completely unnecessary, i’m just glad i could help. not that i wouldn’t– uh,” you gulp anxiously, “not that i wouldn’t eat lunch with you, of course– well, if that’s what you were implying which maybe it wasn’t, which, in that case–”

sam who cuts you off, “it’s alright,” he reassures before you can keep rambling, “that is what i’m implying, but…” he quiets for a split second, only because he’s a littly shy, “it’s okay. maybe, yknow, when the case is over, we can go for lunch, if that’s alright with you?”

you inhale sharply, nodding silently before remembering you should answer aloud too. when you do, your voice is a little breathless, “yeah, yeah, that sounds good.” then, you’re fighting back a grin.

“great,” he doesn’t hide his own smile as he dips his hand into a jacket pocket and hands you his card. “call me tomorrow, we can set up a time.” you accept the card with a shy smile, and one beat, two beats of silence pass before the both of you realize you’re staring at the other.

in sync, you snap out of it, gazes jerking elsewhere and hands flying anywhere to get busy. you turn to the blades on the table and he focuses on fixing up the black jacket of his suit. you try to ignore him as you put the artifacts away, expecting for him to have said goodbye and left by the time you turn back to him. when you look at him in confusion, the corner of his mouth quirks up when he realizes you’ve forgotten that you said he could walk you back to your office.

he vaguely motions towards the door, “shall we? i’ll walk you to your office, then i’m good to find my way out.”

“oh! right, of course!” you nod, “yeah.” with your lips pursed in an awkward smile, you turn to the door and walk towards the exit without looking to see if he follows. but you don’t have to, because a half-second later, he’s right by your side, which you can attribute his long strides to. you like the way he lingers close to you, closer than he did when you first walked in together, even if it makes you feel flustered so that your hands mess with the hem of your shirt.

you stop at the office door, turning to him and expecting your goodbye to happen surrounded by the empty, white walls of the hallway.

but, he points to the door with his chin. “i’ll walk you in,” he explains, “show that asshole, mark, that you’re friendly with an fbi agent.”

“oh,” you sigh out through a smile, “you don’t have to do that, yknow. i know he’s an idiot.”

he laughs at that. “yeah, he absolutely is,” he agrees readily, “but, i still wanna. i think of it as part of my job to scare off assholes.” especially from pretty people like you, he wants to say. he’s just too shy for that, thinks it would be too soon to say it.

“well then, be my guest,” you smile as you open the door and let him follow close behind you.

“thank you for all of your help,” sam says, repeating what he said before, louder than he has to so that mark, a few desks away from yours, can hear it all, “you really helped move our investigation along. i think we’ll be able to wrap it up soon, thanks to you.” you’re sure that he’s over-exaggerating, but you certainly aren’t going to stop him from proving a point to mark.

“it was the least i could do,” you play along, trying to hide your grin from your coworkers, because you can feel all their eyes on you. when you sit, sam looks down at you with nothing short of affection, just for a moment before your eyes settle back on his pretty face.

“have a nice rest of your day,” he smiles before turning away. then he reaches the door, not too far away, he turns back around and speaks for everyone to hear, “don’t forget to call me, yeah?” before disappearing and leaving you a flustered, grinning mess. you can’t help but steal a look at mark and feel satisfaction run through your veins at his utterly shocked expression. 

he looks to have gone through the five stages of grief in a matter of seconds, and it’s frankly hilarious. he can’t seem to possibly consider the fact that you absolutely just pulled a (not?) fbi agent, not to mention one who’s that tall and just plain attractive. you can’t wait to catch whatever comical expression he wears when he sees you greeted by sam in the museum foyer during your lunch break for a date (because surely he’ll be sitting in the café watching people walk in and out as he’s chewing on his nasty sandwich).

part two : now you know

[itsabouttimex2]

A lot of people go with the “you can’t hold fake characters to real people standards” with the SE Macaque discourse

thoughts?

“Real Life Standards”

I guess if these nebulous individuals are holding ALL characters/actions to that standard then yeah it’d be fair…

But they don’t, and they aren’t.

If it was a situation where someone said “MK is so brave for putting himself in danger to save the city!” and these people whipped around and said “Erm, he’s not a real person! Don’t hold him to real life standards! He’s not at risk of dying, so he’s not brave!” Then I’d understand their viewpoint of “not holding fake people to real standards and rules”…

But instead of any of that, this perspective is entirely one-note in defending Macaque’s less than stellar redemption arc, which just makes it… deflective of criticism at best.

If these people were also saying things like, I don’t know, “Stop saying Sun Wukong is bad at communicating! He’s fake! He can’t miscommunicate with people! He’s not real, no one is! They have no agency to be communicated with!”

Or maybe “Sandy is not pacifistic! He’s not a real person living in the real word, so we can’t judge him by our standards of non-harmfulness!”

Or something like “Tang is not a mooch! He’s not real, so there’s no point in attributed a real-life negative word to a character who doesn’t even need to eat on account of being a moving drawing!”

And maybe even “It’s not sad that MK wanted to sacrifice himself! He’s not a real person, and is only doing what the writers want him to! Stop applying real world logic and views to fiction!”

Then I’d at least respect their iron-grip on fiction≠reality, but instead it’s literally just a desperate attempt to defend some awkward writing.

It’s only ever in response to “Macaque was kind of an awful person, and everyone is just… okay with him? They should like… have thoughts and feelings on that. And they don’t, which worsens them and Macaque as characters.”

It’s never a situation where this is applied to any action or character except for Macaque and all the shit he pulled, you know?

​I just personally think that you can like a character with flawed writing while accepting those flaws, and also without… for arbitrarily deciding ‘actually THESE actions are worth disregarding when you take into account the character” and not applying it evenly?

(I criticize Macaque’s writing all the fucking time, and I still like him enough to write for him? That shouldn’t be like… a rare perspective. It’s healthy to criticize the things you like. Being able to pick out good from bad is a fundamental life skill in every area that you can theoretically apply it to.)

But the arbitrary nature of “no real-life standards” UNLESS it’s in a good/positive way… is silly and deflective.

So I don’t really care for that perspective at all, I guess, especially since I’ve gone on at length about all the things I don’t like about his arc?

And how I wish he was able to face like… actual narrative consequences for his actions? And not in way where it’s like… The Gang Tries to Arrest Mac but instead a way where it’s like…

Mei is violently angry at him for hurting her friends and family. She doesn’t want to work with him. MK has to talk her into it. She can’t say no to him. Not over so kind a request as “Give him a second chance, Mei”. So she does, after some grumbling. She pretends to be okay with it. But she’s scared, deep down. Hurt. Secretly, she covers up her old bruises before going to have dinner with her parents.

Secretly, she’s scared of being hurt again.

Sandy is grateful to him and supportive of this newfound morality. Offers up tea and clean clothes. Lends an ear to complaints and frustrations. Lends a bed, if maybe he doesn’t have one. Keeps the monkey fed. Tries to lend self-help books. “You helped me. Maybe there’s something I can do to help you,” he says.

Maybe Macaque actually takes one, eventually.

Tang is scared, doesn’t want to be around him. He’s read the book. He remembers every word. He’s seen Mei and MK and Pigsy suffer at Macaque’s hands. He doesn’t want it to happen again. But he trusts MK, and wants the kid to be happy. So he bites back any fearful words and instead just… frets. Quietly. And far away, thinking: Sanzang insisted on mercy for a demons before. Tang got to see firsthand how that turned out. He had to help put her down.

What if it happens again?

Pigsy is tired. His friends, his kids, always, always in danger, always battered and beaten and hurt. Broken, sometimes. Tears and blood and bruises. He’s not sure how much longer his heart can take the stress. He wants to be angry, but can’t. Between Tang and the store and MK, Pigsy has too much on his metaphorical and literal plate to be angry. So Macaque gets a bowl of noodles. Because by now, Pigsy has learned that he can’t say no to the kindness that MK throws around, scatters like candy thrown from a festival float.

So much heart in his son, and he knows that it’ll end up broken at the end of the road.

Or smth I guess

He deserved better is what I’m saying

[eloquent-edits]

Hello!!!!

I'm writing a rivals to lovers office AU and am in need of some inspiration. Can you please do a list of office AU prompts? I don't mind if they get suggestive.

Absolutely! (Also thank you for being the first person to request prompts :3)

Character A and character B have issues with their work computers at the same time, and the poor IT guy has to deal with their bickering while fixing the computers

The printer is constantly breaking and A can’t help but snidely remark on B’s struggle every time it happens

B critiques A’s work whenever they get the chance, claiming A needs to do better if they want to get up to B’s level (the criticism is actually kind of helpful, just poorly worded)

B’s desk is across from A’s, leading to stare-downs when the other seems to be slacking on work and eyebrow raises when personal calls are taken

A leaves anonymous sticky notes on B’s desk about office drama, rumors, and random news stories to see what sort of conversations B likes (B usually looks at these with confusion, throwing them away buT THEY KEEP SHOWING UP WHY)

In the company project group chat, A and B don’t acknowledge each other outside of emoji reactions unless it is necessary

They are forced to work together on a major project with much longer hours than they expected, leading to sleep deprived A actually being nice to B in the mornings (they share a quiet moment at the coffee machine)

B’s ex comes into the office as another company’s assistant, and A can’t help but be concerned at the grimace and pain in B’s eyes

A starts using the printer incidents to ask about B’s history and get to know them better

A celebration at work includes a happy hour, so B dresses up just a little more than usual and A cannot stop staring

B notices A is lingering around their desk more and teases them about wanting to take their spot (A definitely wants to take them in a fight right?)

A’s car won’t start in the parking lot, so B offers to jump it… it’s the first time seeing B less professional (let’s get those sleeves rolled up and a couple buttons loosened from the button-down)

The AC breaks while only a couple people are in office, meaning it’s up to A and B to try and fix it while waiting on maintenance, leading to B on a ladder and A most definitely trying to not stare at their butt

C, an older friend at the office, retires and throws a massive party where A and B get a little too drunk, and B accidentally compliments A instead of criticizing them (A doesn’t know how to process it and B refuses to acknowledge this ever happened)

After A openly disagrees with one of B’s ideas, B confronts them privately, getting a little too close as A is stubborn and standing firm (give me that tension you can cut with a knife, give me that turn away because otherwise one of them will do something they regret)

B finds A asleep at their desk one morning and can’t decide whether to wake them up for the meeting or to let them sleep longer because this is definitely not normal for A

Turns out A worked their ass off to get a major promotion, one that B was eyeing for a while, which makes B jealous and get a little snappy

A is shifted to another area of the office and an annoying coworker, C, takes over the old spot. B finds the change welcoming and unsettling (“They’re not here to bother me anymore…” “That’s a good thing!” “… Yes. I suppose you’re right.”)

B is called into A’s office to discuss another coworkers’ weird behavior, which gives A the opportunity to call B out on their behavior around A

“It’s like on day one of me working here, you put a note in your calendar that said to torment me whenever you could.”

“You’ve gone from criticizing everything I do to actually being somewhat nice and helpful and then right back to being an absolute prick! I don’t understand it at all. What changed? You still seem to hate me, so why be so kind? Why?”

B doesn’t respond with words, just by slowly reaching out to touch A’s hand and swiftly pulling them into a kiss (ideally B would explain more later but that’s up to you hehe)

[cameronspecial]

Assisting In Deception (Part 2)

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of Sex and Assassinations.

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 2.8K 

Summary: Rafe makes an unusual offer that Y/N takes just to prove a point to her cousin.

Masterlist

Y/N enters Rafe’s office to see him scrolling on his phone at his desk. His coffee is left cold in its mug while his focus is on his phone. He looks in her direction at the sudden feeling of another presence in the room. She walks over to the chair in front of his desk and waits for him to put down his phone. “Yes, Ms. Y/L/N. What do you need?” he offers, giving her his full attention. She readjusts her posture with the sudden new gaze on her, “I know it’s a little early, but I was wondering if I could have March 18th off.” His eyebrows knit together in confusion. She isn’t one to request time off unless she is sick and he highly doubts she can predict being sick six months in advance. He knows she is a planner, but no one could schedule a sickness.

“Okay, may I ask why you need the day off?” 

“For my cousin’s wedding. I mean it would be great if I could have the whole six months just to look for a date, but I could do with just the day.”

“You need a date for the wedding?” 

“It’s not necessarily a need. It just would make my life a little easier to go to the wedding without being questioned by my relatives about why my romantic life is non-existent. It also doesn’t help that there are like a million parties before the actual wedding that I will be going to solo.” 

Rafe shifts his body weight forward, placing his elbow on his desk and his chin on his hand to show his interest. He feels as though fate plopped this opportunity in front of him. What are the chances that Y/N needs a boyfriend at the same time that he needs a girlfriend? “I have a proposition for you,” he states, calmy like what he is about to say is an everyday offer. Y/N’s head tilts, “What would that be?” He looks into her eyes and it feels as though he is about to reveal a deep dark secret. “I want you to be my girlfriend.” She sits there in shock for a solid minute; her mouth hangs open, saying nothing. Rafe worries, waving his hand in front of her face, “Ms. Y/L/N?” “I’m not sure what to say about that,” she admits with bewilderment all over her face. Rafe nods, “I should clarify. I would like for you to be my fake girlfriend. I would go to all of your family events and in exchange, you would let me use you to show the media that I’m not everything they say I am.”

“I see. So you want to use me.”

“Well, yes. But I shouldn’t have used that word. We would just make media appearances together and that’s it.”

“Theoretically, if I were to say yes, I need more details on what you would require me to do.” 

“Exactly what I said. You could flaunt me in front of your family. I’d go to the engagement party, bridal party, the wedding and any other thing related to the wedding. For me, you would just need to make one or two event appearances, be seen with me in public a few times and maybe one interview. That’s it. If you agree, we could write this all down in a contract.”

“What about the fact that you are my boss? Don’t you think people will say things about that?” 

“They probably will, but everyone will have criticism of who I say I’m dating anyway. I have full confidence that you can charm the public.” 

Y/N takes a second to ponder what he is saying. She weighs the pros and cons of his statement and in her mind, the cons come out on top. “I’m sorry, Mr. Cameron. But I don’t think I’m comfortable with the idea of being in the spotlight. Thank you for offering though.” She gets up from the chair and makes her way back outside.

——

It’s been a few hours since Y/N has been in his office and she can’t stop thinking about what he said. She turned down the offer because she wasn’t sure it was a smart idea with her crush on him. The relationship would be fake, but the possibility of her catching true feelings for him could be a risk. It would be too painful if that happened and then they had to stop dating. She would rather take the annoyance of being single than the pain of heartbreak. She still can’t believe how calm and collected he was throughout the whole conversation. He acted like he was asking her what she wanted for dinner, not like he was asking her to lie to the world about their relationship. The ringing of her phone snaps her out of her thoughts. 

She takes it out of her pocket to answer it. “Hey Y/N, how are you? Did you get Francine’s wedding invite?” Natalie asks through the phone. Y/N shakes her head at her cousin’s inability to hide what she really wants to know. Natalie has only ever had one interest in life and that is one-upping her cousin. “I did, Nat. Are you going?” she plays into her cousin’s game. 

“Of course, I’m going. I love Francine, so I would totally want to go to her wedding. Plus, Richard can take the day off. I’m thinking of getting us matching hats for the wedding. Well, a fascinator for me and a top hat for him.” 

“That sounds like a great idea. I’m glad that you are happy with Richard.”

“So… Are you going to be going to the wedding solo again?”

The hint of pity and patronizing in her tone irritates Y/N to no end. Y/N responds without another thought, “Actually, I do have a date. Not that it is your business really. Anyway, I have to go. My boss is calling me.” She hangs up the phone and sighs at what she has to do. She gets up from her desk, knocking on Rafe’s door. She enters at his approval and sits herself in the same chair again. “I accept,” she informs. “But I want a say as to what goes into the contract.” 

“I can work with that.” 

Rafe holds his hand out for her to shake. As she shakes it, worry floods through her. She realizes that this isn’t just going to be something her family is going to see, but the whole world is going to know about their relationship. What will they say when they learn she isn’t the heiress of some big company? What will they think if they learn she is his assistant? She buries her stress deep inside and promises to not let it out until this whole thing is over. 

——

The staff lounge is empty except for Topper sipping his tea whilst on his phone. He may be the head of legal at Cameron Development, but he always makes sure to get to know everyone in the company, no matter the rank of their job title. “Ahh, well if it isn’t the new Mrs. Cameron,” he jokes when he notices her at the door. She smiles at him and walks to the Nespresso machine, “That is not a new nickname that you are calling me. So I see you got the contract.” Topper laughs at the seriousness of her voice at what he called her. “That I did. I have to say I was not expecting to see a contract about your relationship with Rafe when I woke up this morning.”

“Me either. All I wanted was someone to go to my cousin’s wedding with me. And now, I am going to be paraded around his world.”

“Well, you could’ve just asked me. I’m always available to take you out.”

“Thanks but the only taking out I’m considering right now is the one where you would need a gun. All jokes aside, I think it’s going to be fine. Rafe is a good boss.”

“He is and if he ever gets on your nerves too much, you can always come to me.” 

“I’ll definitely keep that in mind.” 

——

Rafe looks around the subway station horrified about the state of the place. His expensive dark blue polo shirt and tan dress pants are a stark contrast to the hot and rat-infested platform. Y/N giggles at the look on his face, “It’s like you’ve never been on  the subway before.” “I haven’t,” he admits, looking at her with raised eyebrows. Her head moves from side to side and she hesitantly takes his hand to guide him onto the arriving subway.

One of the stipulations of the contract is that Y/N gets to take them on their first “outing” as a couple. She wanted to go out with him outside of work to get to know him more than the very little he’s allowed anyone he works with to get to know him; the exception being Topper and Kelce, who grew up with him and were given jobs when he took over the company. The other rule she stipulated is that she wants a soft launch of the relationship until it is necessary for her to be revealed as the mystery girl. At least, this way she can keep her privacy as long as she can. She had told Rafe to dress casually, but she really shouldn’t have been surprised that he still arrived looking like a million dollars. 

He keeps his sunglasses on as he pauses to sit down beside her on the subway seat. He takes a chance to glance at the costumed cookie monster and looks back at her. “Do you have to keep your sunglasses on? We are on the subway,” she questions, leaning in to talk to him. His eyes dart to the muppet beside him, “Yes, because me wearing sunglasses indoors is the strangest thing here. Why couldn’t we have taken my car?” She shoots him a playful glare. “Your fancy dancy car would bring too much attention to us and that is the last thing I want right now,” she explains, checking the subway screen to see how many stops until they get off. “Where are we going anyways?” he inquires, following her gaze. 

“It’s a surprise.” 

——

The pair exit the station and the sight before him is one he is familiar with. He isn’t sure what “regular” people restaurant is around Central Park, but he lets her steer them in the right direction. He looks down at their joint hand and he can’t help but notice how they interlace together perfectly. He shakes himself out of his observation and looks up to see the reason why she stopped. In front of him is a street cart that appears to be selling hot dogs. He looks over at her with a questioning look, “You want me to eat food that has come from a cart?” 

“Oh, come on. It’s not that bad. And this place has a permit. It’s fine.”

“You can eat that stuff, but I’m not risking it.”

“Stop being so snooty. Eating is part of a date. So you are going to go sit on that bench and eat whatever I get you. If you are a good boy, then maybe I’ll get you a Spider-Man or Spongebob ice cream. Dealers choice.” 

He stares at her in surprise that she talked to him in such an ordering manner. She always speaks her mind, but she normally does it in a less commanding way. He listens to what she says and goes to sit on a bench looking over the lake. After a few minutes, she comes back with two hot dogs and water bottles. She hands him one of each, “I have ketchup and mustard packets if you want. I didn’t get you a New York hot dog because I thought I would ease you into street food culture.” He takes the packets with thanks and adds the condiments to his meal. They eat in silence until she breaks the silence. “So you grew up in the Outer Banks. What’s that like?” He looks over at her, finishing chewing before answering, “Yeah. It was quiet.” 

“Wow, this has been a great conversation. Thank you for participating in it!”

“I don’t know what you expect, Ms. Y/L/N. I’ve never been much of a talker.” 

“First, when we are outside of the office, you can call me Y/N. Second, what I expect from you is to stop being Mr. Cameron, my boss, and to be Rafe, my boyfriend. If people are going to actually believe we are dating, then you have to separate those two.” 

“Okay, fine. I see your point. Ask me another question.” 

She grins at his offer and takes a second to think about it, “You are never playful or smile, so why do you tease me sometimes? It’s the least serious I’ve ever seen you.” 

“You’re the only one who isn’t afraid of me. Plus, it amuses me how flustered you get.”

Y/N is rendered speechless and she uses one hand to put her hair that is framing her face on both sides of her face behind her ear. The conversation flows in small talk while they finish their hot dogs. She takes their garbage and stands up, “You’ve been good. I guess I can get you an ice cream. Do you want Spider-Man or Spongebob?”

“Are those the only two options? What about the other flavours?” 

“Yes. Now, choose.” 

“Spongebob.”

She nods and heads back over to the stand. He watches as she pays for the sweet treats and returns to him. Rafe didn’t want her to pay for everything on the date, but she had put it as a requirement in the contract. He takes the package from her, opening it as soon as it makes contact with his hand. The disappointment on his face is evident on his face and she laughs. “This does not look like the picture,” his lips turn in a microscopic pout. Her head moves from side to side, “Things rarely do, Boss.” 

——

Y/N returns home from the date a little after five to find Juni sitting on the couch, watching TV.  “Where have you been? You didn’t tell me you were going out, Sweetie,” Juni interrogates, getting up from the couch to be closer to Y/N. She chuckles at her best friend worrying like her mother. She gives her a hug, “Did you forget that I told you about my fake date with Rafe today?” “Oh, yeah. I did. Sorry, I’ve been so busy with work that I forgot. How was your date with the Big C?”  she apologizes, sitting herself down at the kitchen island. 

“One. That cannot be your new nickname for him. Two. It was good. He opened up to me a little bit, so we are making progress. It was adorable, he was so disgruntled that the Spongebob ice cream wasn’t like the picture. Also, apparently, he teases me because he likes to see me flustered.” 

The loving look in Y/N’s eyes causes Juni to frown, “Just be careful with him. I don’t want you getting hurt in this whole fake dating thing, Sweetie. I’ve never seen these things end well.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t fall for him. He’s my boss and nothing more.” 

Alexander enters the apartment with no knock and an annoyed look on his face. “Why must people be so crude? Why does no one want a serious relationship anymore?” he complains, settling himself on the couch. The girls turn with concerned looks on their faces. “Another bad date?” Y/N poses, getting up from her stool to sit beside him. “Yes, this guy literally told me all he wants is a fuck buddy. And when I asked him why he still tried to match with me even though my profile said I wanted a relationship, he said that he just thought I was lying and would agree to just fucking when I saw his face,” he answers and lets himself be embraced by Y/N. Juni gets up to rub his back in reassurance, “Ugh, I hate men that are so cocky like that. I’m sorry the date went bad. He doesn’t realize what a great guy he is missing out on.” 

Heat rushes to his cheeks and he scratches the back of his neck. They look into each other's eyes. Anyone but them can see the obvious attraction between the two. Y/N looks between the pair with a slight bit of jealousy. She wishes that she could have chemistry like that with someone, but that would require believing in love first.

Taglist: @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @aprilrudgate @loving-and-dreaming @thepatriarchykeychain @maybankslover @abbybarnesstuff @wh0reforbucknasty @spencereidbasis

[yourreliablenarrator]

“Displeasure”

⇢ Leon Scott Kennedy x Fem reader

[Contains: Profanity, some suggestiveness, drinking (mostly wine and whiskey), this is Leon from RE4R (after the mission with Ashley).]

Trope: Enemies to lovers(?).

Word Count: Idk (I’M SORRY Y’ALL 💀)

Note: This is my ever first attempt to make a small, little one-shot. Of course, there are going to be some errors and mistakes in my work, and it’s been a while since I last wrote something. This also my first time writing and posting it public, so I am both nervous and excited all at the same time! <3

P.S.: Also, if you have any criticism or concerns about what I write or how I wrote in this oneshot, please don’t hesitate! I really don’t mind any criticism since that will help me to write better and more efficient! Thank you so much!

(Edit (7/22/24): Forgot to mention that I did rush this and I do promise not to do this mistake again since I want for people, like you, to enjoy content like this. 💛)

He couldn't figure out why he agreed to attend this party organized by his colleagues. He wasn't really into parties, unless they offered drinks to help him forget about his own emotions and problems.

The music pumps through his ears as he navigates the crowd. Every sense was bombarded by various stimuli, especially from the partygoers. Nevertheless, he persists in pushing through the throng of people.

All he was going to do was have a few drinks and then leave without uttering a word. Or, well, that's what he planned in his mind, and he hoped not to have any interruptions from any of his coworkers.

As he walked up to the bar, muttering a request to the bartender to give him two shots of whiskey. The man behind the counter only gave Leon a nod in response and walks away to fix him up some glasses.

While he was waiting, more like spacing out, he notices that someone sits next to him. Yet, he decided to pay no attention to them as he keeps his gaze trained to the wood counter.

However, the person’s voice next to him catches his attention.

“Fancy seeing you here, Leon.”

Quickly, he turns to look at the person next to him, only to realize that it was you. Of course it had to be you out of anyone in this building.

You and Leon didn’t have the best relationship with one another. You both bicker and make snarky comments to each other. Every time you teamed up in a mission, you and him always left with the most annoyed look on your faces. No one knows what happens during those missions, but at least you both get the job done.

You were wearing a red, skimpy dress—something to catch his eye and makes his face redden. He almost wanted to look up and down your body and make a flirtatious comment, but he hated you—right?

He lets out a tired scoff, turning away from you the moment he realized that his small cups were already in front of him. He grasps one of the shot-glasses with narrowed eyes, his teeth gritted together.

“What do you want?” He grumbles in a low, displeased tone, taking a quick sip of his whiskey.

“Why do you always think I want something from you?” You responded with another question, he could feel your eyes trailing up and down his body, almost making him want to shiver.

“Because whenever you’re around me with that cocky, little grin, you either want to annoy the hell out of me or you’re that drunk and you want to make out with me.” He explains, which only made you feel more amused.

“Touché,” you mutter with a bigger smile, trying to keep yourself from laughing.

Leon only rolls his eyes in response, taking the last sip from his second shot of whiskey. When he places it down on the counter, his eyes were now on your face, which had a big smile.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to strangle you or kiss you senseless.

“Can you leave me alone?” He asked, adverting his gaze from you once more and looks back at the bartender who gave him a third glass.

“Well, can we talk?” You ask him with a raised brow, leaning your chest against the counter to try and catch his gaze, but it was a futile effort.

”’Bout what?” He asked, looking down at his small cup.

“About us.”

Confused, Leon’s face immediately turned towards yours once more, realizing that you weren’t joking about this. It was slightly surprising since, well, you weren’t exactly a girl that would take anything seriously as much as he does.

“…Like what?” He added, shifting his body so he didn’t have to keep his heard turned while his body was towards the counter.

“Well,” you began, shifting closer to him on your seat, “we’ve accidentally been at each other’s throats ever since we first met. I don’t think that we should… well, y’know, be enemies, I guess?”

“You guess?”

You only shrugged your shoulders in response.

Hesitant, Leon ponders at the prospect at being friends—or at least allies—anytime you both went on missions. It did seem tempting, but he was clearly reluctant since this was so sudden.

“Look,” he began with a sigh, shaking his head. “If it’s just because you want to sleep with me, then I don’t really care about being on good terms with you.”

“Nah,” you answered.

He exhales sharply, gripping at his small shot of whiskey in his grasp.

“Alright,” he answered, turning his gaze back onto the counter in front of him. “Only on one condition: you stop giving me those weird looks like you are right now.”

He doesn’t want to admit, but those “weird looks” were making his heart flutter and his pale cheeks more flushed with color.

“Deal.” You responded before raising your cup up with a smile. “Cheers to a new friendship.”

He scoffs at first, but finally raises his glass before he quickly chugs it like he hasn’t drank anything for a week.

“Damn,” you chuckled, cocking your head to the side. “Calm down, Leon. Does that whiskey even touch your tongue?”

“Yeah, but I don’t give a shit.”

…

Hours passed, most of the people who were here for a good time were starting to leave. Yet, you both were still there on the same seats you were on for the last few hours.

You both were pretty drunk, and Leon usually had a high tolerance to alcohol and could hold in his liquor, but he was probably on his fifth drink of the night besides the first few whiskeys he had at the start of the night.

He was starting to loosen up to you.

Well, he already was, but maybe a bit too comfortable around you.

He was rather a bit touchy when he was drunk, and you didn’t really expect that from him. In all seriousness, most people would assume that he was a sleepy drunk or maybe even an idiot when he was drunk, but not this flirtatious.

Yet, you didn’t really mind this.

It was finally time when you both decided to part ways for the night; or that’s what you planned to.

Just as about you were head to the door, something came over Leon that almost made him want to shout stop and ask you not to leave. Instead of doing that, his subconscious thought immediately went to grasp your wrist. It was firm, but gentle.

When you turned to him, his face was flushed, but you weren’t sure if it was because how much he drank… or if this was something else?

“Hey,” he began in a low, gentle manner.

“Yeah?” You asked with a small grin, trying not to snort at how his words were slurred together.

“Do…” his voice trails off, as if he was afraid of being rejected by you. “Do you wanna come over to my house tonight?”

He was caught off guard by what he just had asked. Yet, he still did it anyways, and now he was holding his breath and waits for your response.

Then, you finally gave him a sweet, sultry smile in the process. You took a small step towards him before pushing your lips against his, pulling him into a passionate, warm kiss.

When you both pulled away, you look at him with a chuckle.

“Sure,” you replied. “Hope you don’t mind staying up late.”

He laughs in response. “Don’t mind.”

He pulls away from you before he takes your hand into his, intertwining your fingers with his. Finally, you both start to leave the party with big, excited grins on your faces.

It seems like neither of you were going to get any sleep tonight.

[buglass]

BLOODSONG

Summary: 28 year-old journalist Lorraine Morrison works for the Las Vegas Tribune where her writing is growing stale. In an attempt to switch up what she writes for her readers, she tries becoming a last-minute Vegas show critic and attends a late-night show of the one and only Elvis Presley. He catches wind of the review and he’s not exactly ecstatic about it. When he invites Lorraine to interview him, little does she know he’s just a tired, bloodthirsty vampire wanting her approval.

Content Warning: Mature (M 18+), MDNI

Pairing: Vampire!Elvis Presley x Black!OFC or Vampire!Austin!Elvis x Black!OFC

Words: 6.2K

Chapters: 1/1

Tags: Horror themes; vampirism obviously, blood, penetrative sex, oral sex, biting, 1970s

A/N: Made this chapter 1 of 1 since it can be more of a one-shot unless anyone is interested in more but otherwise I’ll leave this as a standalone. Let me know what you think and enjoy, fellow vampire-lovers. There was no beta, so sorry for mistakes.

1973

“What a crock load of shit this is,” Elvis tossed down the newspaper. “Who does this girl think she is? A few bad shows, then she writes that I’m out of practice, repetitive, and unfocused. Goddamnit,” he grumbled, puffing on his cigar. It was far more for show and taste than actual enjoyment. Elvis had come to like how it made his lungs feel as if he needed to breathe and get the smoke out.

“You were bloodletting after all after feeding on that poor girl,” Larry added.

“I knew she tasted weird for a reason. Anyhow, Larry, I need to find this girl. Get her to see that I’m puttin’ my heart and soul into this damn coliseum.” He threw up his hand.

Elvis propped his boot-covered feet up onto the couch, plucking his sunglasses from his face. Larry watched him from where he stood by the couch, calm as he had since become used to Elvis’ temper tantrums as his familiar.

“Well, the Vegas shows have been a little…repetitive, E. I don’t see why you bend to the Colonel’s will.” Larry said sheepishly.

“My word is my bond. I agreed to do these shows and so I’m doing them. The bastard can’t live that much longer to rule my life. I’m bored, Larry. I-I need to know what my purpose is. I can’t live the rest of eternity wondering if this is all for nothing.” Elvis grumbled, looking to the strewn newspaper pages. Having forgotten the woman’s name, he picked it up again to scan the page just beneath where the headline was and read, By Lorraine Morrison.

“You have to find fulfillment outside of fame. You’ve taken quite the risk by being in the spotlight with your…longevity.” Larry said.

“Maybe Lorraine can teach me how to appeal to humans again. If what she says is true. That my ‘pandering’ is the main drive outside of my gyratin’. The hell does she know? Find her. Offer an interview with her.” Elvis said, honing in bright eyes on Larry.

“This sounds like an ego thing once again,” Larry raised his alarm. “You can’t bring harm to someone in the media. They always tell someone when they’re involving themselves with someone famous.”

“Tell her to be discreet. That it’s of the utmost importance for…security. I don’t know, man, make up some shit. She works at the Las Vegas Tribune so make it happen.” Elvis shooed at his familiar.

“Of course, Elvis,” Larry said, his mouth shutting at the request.

Lorraine Morrison was a smart, quick-witted, and keen woman. She always dreamed of being in a big city writing for larger papers in New York or Washington D.C. but learned to settle for the big leagues of Las Vegas, Nevada. That was her sarcasm speaking more than anything. Vegas was a debaucherous, crowded and mafia-ran waste of space. The only benefit to being in Vegas was very much so like New York City, the city never slept. That was if someone liked to gamble or see half-naked women. Lorraine could think of better things to do with her time. 

Her column was growing stale and the one thing she had never done before was see any of the shows with hit talent performing around the city. The only person she could fathom sitting through was one Elvis Presley. He remained a mystery to her because being that she was only twenty-eight years old, she had no real recollection of him bursting onto the scene and changing music history. By the time she could remember seeing anything about him, he was already in movies.

Clearly, she wasn’t big on television growing up.

So when the time came to select what show time she wanted at the Hilton for the Las Vegas Summer Festival, she went at midnight where a journalist would go unsuspected and Elvis might not be at his best. Lorraine dressed nicely as she would have for any evening outing, her hair picked out and a dress to show her slim, tall figure. She wasn’t praying for his downfall or for him to be out of sorts, but she wanted to see how much of his all was at play without Las Vegas Tribune printed on her forehead. 

Lorraine sat stage right for prime viewing. The room’s lights had dimmed and started the show off dark, quite the dramatic entrance and music playing up Elvis’ arrival to the stage. She dug out her notepad from her purse from where it was tucked away only soon to be given pause. Elvis walked up and down across the stage, leaving Lorraine a little starstruck. He wasn’t the same dopey man she saw in movie posters or the man she thought she remembered ever seeing on television. 

His aura drew her in before he even officially started singing. The suit was a bit much for her taste but only Elvis could pull off something as extravagant and close to Evel Knievel. Throughout the show, Lorraine scribbled a few notes here and there, especially in appreciation for the band and the backup singers’ ability to keep up with last-minute changes that Elvis made during the show. She left that night concluding Elvis had a sort of inflated ego while at the same time realizing it wasn’t his fault. His one-hundred-piece band and stagehands reflected just how much people adored him.

It didn’t help that he was quite the giver too.

Elvis gave away scarf after scarf on stage along with some of his jewelry like it was nothing. Lorraine could give him that much. If a fan was lucky enough to visit Vegas and then spend the money on a hotel and a show, they could easily get a return on investment. That’s part of what she wrote in her column and led her to get in touch with one of the Memphis Mafia members. She was requested by name at the front desk of the Tribune and in turn called at her desk from what she was doing by having to go see what was needed.

“Are you Lorraine Morrison?” The suited, long-haired man asked.

“Depends on who’s askin’. Why?” Lorraine asked, tilting her head skeptically.

“Well, ma’am, I’m Sonny West. You recently saw a show you wrote about in your newspaper and Elvis would like to extend a more in-depth interview opportunity.” Sonny said, clasping his hands in front of himself. He was undoubtedly proud to name-drop his boss.

“Elvis Presley,” she asked in disbelief, chuckling. “I’m no Rolling Stone. Why would he want me to interview him?”

“He doesn’t like disappointing his audience. So,” he reached inside his blazer to an inside pocket and withdrew a card. “Here is my number to come collect you, if necessary. He insists on providing you a ride to the International if you so choose. Otherwise, please be available in two days. The interview will have to be around one AM.” 

“Right… Okay.” She shook her head in mild shock, taking the card from Sonny. 

It was all so odd and fantastical that she couldn’t shake it from her mind even when she returned to her desk and when she got home that night. The complete unknown that was Elvis Presley struck her. Had he hated her review of the show? Two days was two too many in her eyes.

“He’ll be right with you, take a seat. He’s getting cleaned up from the show.” Larry said after some introductions and being escorted to Elvis’ top-floor suite. 

Lorraine smiled politely, holding onto the strap of her bag, and was struck by the quietness of the room. There was no big gathering outside of a few members who she assumed played roles of security and Larry. Lorraine walked deeper into the room, going to the couch to sit down and thumbing at the strap. The late hour wore on her though she tried to sleep before then. That much was impossible with how wired she was thinking about meeting Elvis. So little had been conveyed to her about what to expect that she was riddled with anxiety about the whole thing. 

The door to the suite opened after a while, a few men walking in first then Elvis trailing in behind them. He plucked his purple-tinted sunglasses from his eyes as he stepped in. He was dressed in dark, layered garb that Lorraine found impossible to imagine wearing in the heat of Nevada. What Lorraine missed was how he sniffed the air before his eyes landed on her. He looked pleased and broke his attention away from his guest to look at the men surrounding him. Elvis didn’t want to intimidate her by leaving her to be the only woman in the room.

“Ms. Morrison,” Elvis said, walking over to her. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“You, too, Mr. Presley. But please, call me Lorraine.” She asked, moving to stand up and taking Elvis’ proffered hand to shake. Lorraine felt struck by the contact and while her expression remained placid, internally she was stirred by the eye contact he held with her.

“And you can call me Elvis. Are you hungry, thirsty? I’ll have the boys go grab you a bite to eat, if you’d like, sweetheart.” Elvis said, dropping his hand.

“No, no. I’m alright. I’m a little too tired to fathom the idea of eating at this hour,” she waved off the idea. “I’d really like to get started, if that’s alright? You’ve made me curious the last few days.” 

“I guess I could say the feelin’ is very mutual. I actually think I recognize you,” he said slowly, moving to lower into a nearby armchair to sit across from the sofa. “I was tryin’ to draw you up to the stage and you just wouldn’t budge. Isn’t that right?” He gave her a half smile.

Lorraine lowered back onto the couch cushion, giving Elvis a knowing and suspicious look that he would be able to recall her from so many nights ago after the amount of shows he put on everyday and night.

“Possibly,” she said, removing her bag from her shoulder to rest on the couch. “I believed there were plenty of suitable candidates coming up to you that weren’t me.”

“Oh, honey, but they didn’t look like you,” Elvis added suggestively.

Lorraine looked down and away, digging into her bag for her journal and pen. The tape recorder came out next, placed onto the table between them that had yet to be turned on and started. She wanted to be less swayed by his flirtatiousness. He was a man who too often got exactly who and what he wanted. Lorraine didn’t plan to add to his tally.

“I’m sure they often do not, Elvis,” she pressed her tongue into her cheek. “So, why have you requested me here? What do you hope to get out of this interview?”

“I-I feel out of touch. What you wrote, your hit piece, it stuck with me. I know how to rouse an audience but you… Your criticism reminded me of the movie days. Not quite to the same level, no, but I want your opinion on where I’ve gone wrong. I’ve been around for quite some time, you see.” Elvis said, hanging his arms off the sides of the chair. One hand pinched the arm of his sunglasses, swinging them back and forth as he spoke.

“I am sorry if you took my column to heart, Elvis. It was nothing personal. Actually, I didn’t grow up as a fan. More like a…passive bystander as you grew to stardom.” Lorraine cocked her head to the side thoughtfully, tapping her pen against her notebook.

“Hmm,” Elvis hummed. “I think I can change your mind. A hard feat to come by. You’ll be just about the only one to know or realize what I’m willing to share with you tonight. Can y’all go do something else?” Elvis’ attention snapped to the hovering men. He waved a hand at them as they looked expectantly to Elvis before shuffling out of the room. Larry lingered nearby before Elvis said, “Shoo, man, go. Come back in about an hour.”

“Yes, Elvis.��� Larry said, the door shutting behind him. 

Lorraine thought it was strange even for a celebrity to have a group of men react in such a way. Elvis stood up again and wandered to his nightstand, dropping off his glasses. He walked around, drawing Lorraine’s attention to him, and picked up a cigar box from the dresser. Elvis sighed and walked over to the glass windows overlooking the city and fiddled with his lighter to singe the end of the cigar.

“As time goes on, I see how much the world is changin’, you know?” Elvis said. “What’s acceptable, what’s not acceptable. I’m going to tell you a few things first before you make your mind up about me or press record on your machine there.”

“Wouldn’t that defeat the purpose of my being here?” Lorraine asked, her confusion growing by his mysteriousness.

“Honey, you won’t believe me when I tell you.” Elvis glanced over his shoulder. 

“Try me. I don’t think much of anything can really throw me off. Not living here.” Lorraine shrugged, pen at the ready.

Elvis was swift, standing in front of her before she could react and swallow her words. Was she having a heart attack? She was frozen as he stood before her, inspecting her face to gauge what her reaction might be. Elvis sat down at her side and she could only move her eyes to follow him.

“Vampirism is too unrealistic, honey. The rest of the world wouldn’t believe you if you tried. Showin’ you is easier.” He answered calmly, raising his cigar up to his mouth for a puff.

“I… Uh. Um,” Lorraine stammered. “Holy shit.” She whispered.

“I won’t hurt you. I only find interest in ladies who find interest in me and I am extremely intrigued by you. More than I planned to be.” Elvis said, his eyes drifting down her body then back up.

“I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to say right now. You just… You just crossed the room. In a blur.” Lorraine's voice pitched as her panic rose.

“I did,” Elvis agreed.

“So y-you drink blood and…” Lorraine asked, turning her head to look at Elvis.

“Sometimes. Not as much as I should some days and others I prefer the girls that are hopped up on pills. You can smell it on them. It’s like when you’re drinking and become drunk,” Elvis said, reaching down to pick up Lorraine’s fallen pen she didn’t seem to notice she dropped. “And the whole burnin’ up in the daytime thing is untrue.”

“Clearly,” Lorraine squeaked, taking the pen back. “Elvis, I can’t use this. Even if I tried to then my career would be relegated to that of shitty tabloid headlines and articles. That-That was a fluke. I must’ve blinked and you’re angry with me for what I wrote or this is a very untimely moment to lose my mind.” Lorraine chuckled in disbelief, beginning to stow her things back into her shoulder bag.

“Lorraine,” Elvis warned. “I’m no liar.”

“Then, prove it. Prove that you’re a vampire.” Lorraine stilled what she was doing.

“And how would you like for me to prove it to ya?” Elvis raised a brow.

“Can you fly? Turn into a bat, or something. Let me see your teeth,” she demanded.

“You watch too many movies, man, no I can’t turn into a bat or fly,” Elvis shifted and opened his mouth. “See?”

Lorraine turned her head away instinctively and slowly leaned in to inspect Elvis’ teeth. They were sharp right at the canines but some people just had sharp teeth, she thought. Lorraine didn't know why she was still sitting there while Elvis chose to waste her time and make fun of her in the process.

I’m not making fun, a voice said in her head.

Elvis’ eyes dropped to her face again and he shut his mouth. She moved to stand, opening and closing her hands into fists. Lorraine was sure now she was losing it and the devilishly handsome man was somehow playing an elaborate trick on her.

“Okay…” She breathed. “Why would you tell me all of this? Does the rest of your entourage know? Is the Memphis Mafia aware? Oh, my God, are they also vampires?” 

“No, Lorraine. Honey, I know it’s a lot. I get tired of hidin’ sometimes and there’s somethin’ about how you go almost unaffected by me. Normally people fawn when they’re near me, but you snap outta it. I find that appealin’. Before with the article, I thought goddamn it and wondered what you could know about putting on a show every night for an audience. I wanted to sink my teeth into and make you feel what others have felt in my presence.” Elvis admitted.

Lorraine felt a laugh rising up from her throat as she turned to face him. He had no idea exactly who she was by looks but he had come to think deeply on two versions of her that went untouched by his persuasion. To her, it was amusing to see that ego didn’t die with the undead. She placed a hand to her chest as she walked toward the windows and tried to hide what arousal she felt. His confession stirred something in her that she wanted to shove down and bury.

Can you hear my thoughts?, she realized from before.

Sometimes. If I focus, Elvis supplied.

Shit, she thought.

Lorraine looked over her shoulder again and Elvis was moving to stand. He walked because he could, she now knew, and stood behind her. He looked to her thoughtfully, dragging a ring covered hand down the back of her arm. Lorraine shivered, reminded of a gazelle that was being hunted by a lion. That’s what Elvis was to her.

“Aren’t you curious? How could I make you feel?” Elvis rumbled, dropping his lips to her ear to speak closer. His charm was dialed up and she didn’t know just how capable he was of using persuasion to sway anyone into doing as he liked. Elvis tried to refrain but to him humans were easy to get to comply because some part of them wanted to.

“I… I suppose.” Lorraine said dreamily, seeing part of their reflection in the window.

“Let me take away your worry, darlin’,” he whispered, dropping his head lower to drag his lips across the side of her throat. 

Lorraine swallowed and flinched, pulling away from Elvis and brought her hands up. She stepped around him and returned to packing up her things. 

“This is too much. I-I can’t, alright? I’m grateful for the opportunity but I can’t just let you fuck and suck me because you want to. I have morals, Mr. Presley, and those morals say I don’t want to be used.” Lorraine grimaced, tucking her recorder into her bag at last.

“Whoa, honey, I like and respect women. I do, but over time things become repetitive. Not everyone wants anything serious with me and I don’t think that makes you less than for givin’ it to me. I don’t have to sleep with you to make you feel good.” Elvis explained, trailing after Lorraine.

“Then find someone else for the evening. I just… I need to go home. To think about it.” Lorraine said. She turned to look at Elvis, quietly pleading with him and she didn’t know if she would ever be face-to-face with the star again. He could heed her words and decide she wasn’t worth the trouble.

“Think on it. Here,” he said and went to the desk to grab a piece of stationary to write on. “Take the phone number to the room. This will have you contact me directly. If you change your mind, someone will come pick ya up.” He tore the page from the notebook, approaching Lorraine mindfully to offer her the paper. She took it with a shaky hand and Elvis was afraid he might have traumatized the poor girl. 

“Good night, Elvis,” she said, taking the paper from his hand on her way out.

“I think you laid it on too thick,” Larry said, combing through Elvis’ hair to style it for an evening show he planned to attend.

“She’s not like these other women and little girls, man. She doesn’t even react under my persuasion--hell, not for long anyhow. What the hell am I supposed to do if she runs around tellin’ people what happened?” Elvis grumbled, picking at the fabric of the chair he was sat in.

“I doubt she will tell anyone. People are believing less and less in God, so why would they believe you are a vampire?” Larry chastised. “Two extraordinary things but with or without proof, sometimes both are too outlandish to believe in. Give her time.” 

“It’s already been a week, Larry. She would have called by now.” Elvis frowned.

Lorraine didn’t call for another two weeks before her curiosity ate away at her so much she couldn’t take it anymore. The way Elvis kissed her neck and stood close to her stuck with her like the ghost of him was breathing down her neck. He had been so unsure about her thoughts about him while still being able to hear exactly what she thought. The King of Rock and Roll was thrown off by her. So, she kept the whole ordeal to herself because she stood on the fact that no one would believe her if she explained why she ran out on Elvis Presley.

The car came around twelve-thirty and she was at the International by twelve forty-five. She donned a sleek black dress and heels that shimmered in the light; leaving her back, throat, and arms bare. Tonight, she was making it clear that his story would have to be told another time. She still had to figure out his intentions in regard to there being an interview at all. Would there be an exchange of give and take?

She excused herself from her Memphis Mafia escort, explaining that she wanted to grab a drink from the bar. Knowing she had to wait while Elvis finished up his performance and would likely shower before seeing her gave her more time to do as she pleased. He didn’t look too sure about diverting from the course but Lorraine promised she would be at the bar waiting. He caved and she started to open up her black clutch to withdraw some cash. Lorraine downed two drinks by the time she was asked for and they made their way to the elevator.

Her nerves settled into something calmer and slightly more confident as every floor was passed and they rose higher and higher. Lorraine fidgeted with her clutch, digging her thumb into the bulb where it clasped. She was walking forward but she felt like she was floating, not in total control of where she was being taken. A door was opened for her to step inside by herself, the crony staying behind and shutting the door after her. She assumed Elvis told them no one was coming in or out while she was there which gave her some relief. 

Elvis was dressed down from the last time she saw him in a pajama set covering him from top to bottom though the button-up shirt was left open. Hair covered his chest and partially down between toned abs and just below his navel. Lorraine’s lips parted in realization as she hovered in the foyer of the room that she wasn’t giving him credit where credit was due. Elvis stood there observing her, admiring her hair that grew to the sun and the well-fitted dress down to her bare, glistening legs that were defined by the heels she wore. He was struck by how much he was the one who was victim to her. Elvis raised his eyes to her face again and her high cheekbones until their eyes met.

“Come,” he demanded, holding his hand out to her. 

Lorraine knew so few words needed to be said and she didn’t know that she had the right ones to say. She placed her purse onto a nearby table as she made her way over to take Elvis’ hand. 

“Take off your heels.” He said, his voice thick with want and watching her every move.

There was something arousing to him in how he knew she didn’t have to listen to him but chose to. Three weeks had passed and left too much to his imagination. Lorraine obliged, reaching down to hook a finger into one heel and the next. She sunk down half a foot and his lips twitched into a slight smile. He was already towering over her though she was above average height, but now he felt he had the advantage entirely. 

“Have you been drinkin’?” Elvis asked. He led her over to the bed where the covers were already drawn down. Guiding her to the side of the bed to sit, she nodded as he stood above her. 

“Only a little. I’m just so nervous… I forgot that you could smell it that much.” Lorraine said, her face becoming hot though the blush wasn’t completely noticeable on her dark skin.

Elvis slowly started to kneel down and brought his hands to her thighs, letting them slide down to her calves. He hummed and leaned in to press a kiss to the right knee and then the left. Lorraine gulped, watching with parted lips as Elvis moved confidently.

“It’s no bother, honey. Why don’t you lie back for me? I told you I would make you feel good and I keep my promises,” he said.

Lorraine felt some sort of realization and the image of Elvis with his face buried between her legs sat at the front of her mind. She took in a shaky deep breath as she laid back and Elvis sort of followed. His hands slid up along the side of her thighs, hooking into her panties to draw them down away from where he could smell her arousal. He groaned knowing she was turned on the second she walked into the suite. Elvis tossed the underwear aside, hiking her dress up further. He dragged her with ease to the end of the bed so that her heat was right in his face.

“Are you sure you want to…?” Lorraine whispered, giving him an out.

“You have no idea how hard this makes me, baby. You had me wait almost a month to taste you,” he said, moaning as he pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh. “I want to taste and know every part of you before we get to me.” He hummed. 

Lorraine twitched just from the softness of his lips where she might have assumed or expected roughness. She tried to wrap her head around Elvis being a vampire, and in some ways she could. The way he drew people in and they bent to his every whim told her that he was being truthful. On the other hand, she knew that meant immortality was more in reach than anyone ever knew or that humans were being fed on like any other animal she could find in a grocery store. 

Elvis dropped his head to where he was beckoned, latching his mouth onto her awaiting clit. 

“Baby, you taste so good…” he groaned in between swipes of his tongue. “I wish you could see how wet you are for me, little girl.”

She moaned out and the simplicity of having Elvis’ mouth on her was enough to turn her on. A man that was considered a superstar wanted to lick and fill her up until she was cumming against his face. He made the most obscene noises as he gripped a hold of her thighs, pinning her sex to his mouth as he suckled and lapped at her relentlessly. Lorraine panted, driving her head back into the bed and hooked her legs over his shoulders.

Elvis enjoyed seeing her come undone because for all of her composure, he didn’t think he could get her to break. As unethical as the entire thing was to come on to a journalist, he never strayed from his desire if it crossed his mind and their profession happened to detail things about him in a certain light. People would say or think what they wanted. That was one thing about humans that never changed. He cocked his head back into Lorraine’s hand she dropped in his hair, urging him forward as his tongue swiped viciously. Her breath faltered and stuttered the closer she got. Elvis played with her sensitive entrance with a manicured fingertip until it was just wet enough, pushing it past twitching and pulsating muscles. He curled the digit up into her, his eyes raising again to watch as she began shaking and losing her breath.

Lorraine dug her feet into his back, whimpering as her climax rocked her entire being and she strained against Elvis. One hand tamped down on her thigh as she tried to escape her pleasure and he hummed his approval, then finally withdrew his soaking index finger. 

“Mm,” he groaned, licking at her cunt one last time before moving to stand up. “Would you like to have sex, honey?” He asked, wiping the back of his mouth with his clean hand. 

Lorraine was busy trying to catch her breath and come down from the high of having a man know what he’s doing between her legs. She could have said he was crazy for asking but he was right to do so in a position such as his. She wanted to give him whatever he wanted if it was always like that. Lorraine watched a crooked smile cross Elvis’ face and she mumbled a curse because she knew he was listening to her thoughts. 

“Tell me yourself,” Elvis said.

“I want you.” Lorraine answered.

She was slow to sit up, her feet touching the floor for balance as she grabbed the hem of her dress to pull it up over her head. Lorraine tossed it to the same spot Elvis left her underwear and peered up at him. He was beautiful in black. His tailored pajamas made his eyes pop like everything else he wore. Lorraine breathed out easily once she brought her heart rate back down and dropped her eyes to the waiting bulge almost eye level with her. Elvis started to shrug off his pajama top to let it fall to the floor as Lorraine dipped her fingers past the band of his pajama pants. His cock sprung up and free as his pants pooled around his ankles. 

“You don’t have to,” he assured her, bringing a hand to the side of her neck. 

“I want to. For a little while,” Lorraine said.

She was quick to silence the idea and opened her mouth for him. Elvis sucked in a breath as she worked the head past her lips and held his gaze doing so. Her cheeks hollowed as she bounced up and down around him.

“Goddamn, baby…” He moaned out, his head falling back. 

Lorraine couldn’t take all of him, at least not all at once. She had to be careful fitting him down into her throat and avoiding teeth by slowing down. She only sped up when it was about half of him in her mouth. Lorraine moaned in return, looking at the curve of his jaw as he drew his head back then brought it back down with closed eyes. He opened them again to look at her and huffed.

“You’re gonna make me cum, baby, if you keep it up. Go ‘head and sit up for me.” Elvis breathed, pulling his hips back from her mouth. Lorraine licked her lips as she followed his instructions.

“Where do you want me?” She asked, clearing the hoarseness from her throat.

“Lie on your side with your back to me in the center of the bed,” Elvis said. Lorraine moved again and laid there knowing he would fill the space behind her. His cock poked at her here and there as he adjusted, briefly grabbing at her ass before sliding his hand down to lift up her thigh. “Gimme a kiss, darlin’.” He whispered.

Lorraine lifted her head and flattened her fro, pressing back into Elvis as he cocked his head up then down for their lips to meet. He pressed forward, his wanton lust permeating as they kissed and it deepened. Their tongues curled together and only then did Elvis brush the tip of his length against her sex again. Lorraine reached down between her legs to guide him in and hiccupped as purchase was made. He filled her to the absolute brim, moaning against her lips as he buried the head into her G-spot. Elvis broke the kiss, letting his nose nuzzle the side of her throat and she had almost forgotten until then that he wasn’t just a man.

His hips were slow, unrushed as the late hour of the evening left time to do whatever anyone wanted when everyone was typically asleep. 

“You’ll let me taste you again, won’t you, baby? It won’t hurt for long. I promise.” Elvis whispered, kissing at the side of her neck. 

Lorraine should have been more afraid but somehow she trusted him to not want to hurt her or make her feel bad. She held her leg up and wrenched her hips back as he shifted, reaching a hand around to work at her clit again. She clenched down around him as a moan worked past her lips and he sped up. 

“Okay…” Lorraine agreed, because again he could have anything he wanted as another orgasm bubbled up to the surface.

She was trembling as his hand rubbed a little firmer at her and he rolled them over so she was on more on her stomach than her side. Elvis’ breath was more noticeable then and when her orgasm hit, his teeth were sinking into her. She yelped from a combination of the slight pain that quickly subsided as Elvis’ hips snapped unforgivingly into her. Slapping skin filled the room and her mind was overtaken by complete euphoria that was unlike any drug or climax she ever had before.

Lorraine whimpered helplessly as she heard Elvis moan in between gulps. He slid down close with his weight against her back, snaking an arm around her torso to hold her close. One of his hands was pinned to her hip again, holding her in place as her orgasm settled only to recur. She didn’t know how long that went on, the up and down of cumming until she was too spent to possibly handle it any longer. She panted, trembling as Elvis finally drew his mouth away with his promise in mind to not hurt her. He worried he might make her too lightheaded for her first time and usually first-timers begged for him to continue. Too many years of experience told him that was a bad idea. 

Elvis pulled out, sitting back on his knees and grabbing a cheek to spread her apart to see her abused hole. She turned her head a little more so she could watch him after pushing back her hair unabashedly, his mouth bloodied and his pupils blown. Elvis jerked and pumped his hand around his cock. His heavy-lidded eyes were focused, his mouth hung open as he got closer and closer. Elvis’ face contorted as he came, spurts landing onto Lorraine’s ass and in between to dribble along where she was already dripping from. His hand released her, panting as he caught him on the bed and hunched over Lorraine.

“Fuck, baby,” he said at last.

Elvis looked down at the mess he made and forced himself to straighten up. He moved from where he hovered above Lorraine to lie next to her and blew out a breath. She was still in too much of a daze and he had to reel in his bloodlust while he could.

“I think I’m ready for that interview now…” Lorraine joked, stretching out her legs.

“Tomorrow.” He agreed, leaning over to press a blood-stained kiss to her forehead.

[parkitrighthere]

Parkitrighthere's Blog Rules

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2. Respect Boundaries

I’m a person, not a content machine. You want to be rude? You’ll find yourself talking to a void. Respect my space and my time. If I don’t answer your ask right away, sit tight. I’ll get to it when I feel like it, and no, pestering me won’t make me move faster. Actually, it’ll have the opposite effect.

3. Requests Are a Privilege

Yes, requests are open for now. But let me make this clear: they’re a privilege, not a right. If you send me disrespectful or demanding requests or things I’ve clearly stated I don’t write (see the what I don’t write section below), they’re going straight to the trash. Be nice, or don’t bother asking at all.

4. What I Don’t Write

Don’t waste your time sending me requests for the following because you will not get a response:

Intense/illegal or disgusting content (BDSM, paedophilia, incest, etc. — seriously, are you okay?)

Members x member pairings

Male x male for male readers

This blog is a space for certain types of fiction. If you want something else, go find it somewhere else. Don’t push my boundaries.

5. Patience is Key

I’m a 20-year-old student trying to balance my studies, photography, writing, sketching, and, y’know, life. If you can’t handle waiting for updates or responses, this isn’t the blog for you. I post when I feel like it, not on a schedule. No one’s forcing you to stick around, so save your passive-aggressive messages for someone else.

6. Don’t Steal My Work

Let’s be crystal clear on this: everything I write belongs to me, kookiewithluv, and no one else. Don’t even think about copying, reposting, translating, or stealing my work. That means you can’t post it anywhere — not on your blog, not on Wattpad, not on YouTube. Nada. If you do, prepare to face the consequences. I see you, and I won’t tolerate thieves.

7. No Stealing My Ideas, Either

Getting inspired by something? Cool, go ahead. But don’t steal my ideas. I don’t want to see you sneaking into my WIP posts, tweaking my ideas a little, and slapping them up on your own blog. That’s not inspiration — it’s just lazy, and honestly, disrespectful. Come up with your own stuff.

8. No Self-Promotion

This is my space, not yours. I didn’t ask you to come in here and promote yourself, your blog, your writing, or anything else. Don’t drop links to your page, don’t plug your fics, don’t drop your socials in the comments. It’s rude, and I don’t want it. You want to promote yourself? Do it on your own blog.

9. Trigger Warnings: You’ve Been Warned

As I’ve already stated, my writing includes NSFW content, and I’m very clear with trigger warnings on every post. If you still choose to read it and get upset, that’s on you, not me. I’m not going to change the way I write or censor myself because you didn’t take the time to read the warnings.

10. English Is Not My Native Language

Yep, English is not my first language, so if you come at me about grammar or small errors, I don’t want to hear it. Everyone makes mistakes, and guess what? So do you. Unless you want to offer constructive criticism kindly, keep your corrections to yourself.

11. Basic Decency

No hate, no drama, no bigotry. This isn’t up for debate. Racism, homophobia, sexism, body-shaming, or any other form of nastiness won’t be tolerated. I’m not here to educate you, either. You’re a grown person (hopefully), so act like it. One nasty comment, and you’re gone.

12. No Entitlement Zone

If you think you're entitled to anything here, let me burst your bubble: you're not. You’re not entitled to constant updates, immediate responses, or personalized content unless I feel like it. So please, don’t show up here thinking you're running the show. Spoiler alert: you're not.

13. Ask Box Etiquette

Ask boxes are for asking, not demanding. Feel free to ask me questions, send me prompts, or just chat. But if you’re coming in hot with entitlement or attitude, don't be surprised if your message gets ignored. Be respectful, and we’ll get along just fine.

14. If You Don’t Like It, Leave

My blog, my rules. If you don’t like something I’ve written or the content I post, no one’s forcing you to stay. There’s a handy little “unfollow” button you can use. Complaining or whining about the themes I explore won’t change a thing, but it will earn you a swift exit from this space.

TL;DR: Don’t be a brat, respect the content and the creator, and remember that this is a privilege, not a right. If any of this rubs you the wrong way, there’s the door.

Still with me? Great. Welcome aboard! Otherwise, well... you know where to go.

[zombified-queer]

For those prompts may I request: "What's your problem with me?" with the Manager and Madam Hotel?

BUT OF COURSE YOU CAN!!! This one's brought to you by the Patreon Bonus Episode spoilers that have been living in my brain rent-free for like a billion years.

“What’s you problem with me?” Madam tries to put force into her words but with a needle through her tongue, it comes out slurred and edgeless.

“Stop,” the Manager warns, ready with the jewelry. “Don’t talk unless you want a second hole.”

Madam rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. But she keeps her tongue out and still for the Manager to finish her work on.

It’s a pretty piece of jewelry. Polished to look like a pearl. And the steel glints in the light. The Manager follows the piercing she’s made. Neat, tidy. No mess or fuss.

The Manager works clean.

She offers Madam a hand mirror, letting her have her little vanity.

“It’s perfect!” There’s still a slur in Madam’s voice. Normal for everyone who gets new jewelry in their mouth. “And so cute.”

“Pleased you like it, Madam.”

“You didn’t answer me, though.” Madam lowers the mirror and locks eyes with the Manager. “What’s the deal?”

“I hate you.”

“Try again, sweetface.”

“I love you.”

“Mm, not quite true either.” Madam leans forward, grinning. “You can speak your mind, missy. It’s just us here.”

The Manager stiffens. She listens. For the ringing of the phone at the parlor’s desk. For the constant buzzing of the tattoo guns. For the giggling of some teenager who wandered in or the hiss of a client getting their work done.

“You’re scared.” Madam goes back to the mirror, looking at herself critically. “That’s fine.”

“It’s both,” the Manager confesses.

“Go on.” Madam glances at her. “I love hearing about myself. A little audit of my own, you know?”

“I hate you because you have a grip on me. Like you’re going to strangle me.” The Manager can’t stop the words pouring out of her mouth so she begins to clean up her workspace. “And I love you because…”

“Because?”

“Because we’re the same. And I’ve never known anything but this.”

“Attagirl! See? It wasn’t so hard, right?” Madam sets the mirror down, grinning. “How’s it feel to get that off your chest?”

Her mouth is her own and the Manager feels an ache inside of it. She looks up, away from her tools, and finds she’s alone in the piercing studio. But when she grabs the mirror to put away, there’s a sting through her tongue.

Glancing in the mirror, the Manager finds a single tongue piercing. Polished like a pearl. And she tastes steel in her mouth.

[cr-summer-wildflowers]

So this is your first exchange

We get a lot of questions about terminology around here, so I’ll try and hammer some of that out. These are in roughly chronological order.

Nomination: This is step 1 of an exchange, where you enter the ships, characters, or fandoms that you would be interested in writing/drawing or receiving fic/art for. These nominations go into the tag set (see below). A nomination is not a sign-up, meaning you don’t have to make any nominations to participate, and you technically don’t have to participate if you nominate, although it’s considered rude to nominate if you don’t plan to take part.

For our purposes, nominations are only ships

You haven’t signed up or made requests yet

Tag set: all the nominations people put in make up the set of tags that people who sign up can pull from to make their requests. You can only request things in the tag set. So if you really want to be able to create for (offer) or receive a certain ship, you’d better nominate them. Exchange mods can weed out tags that don’t suit the exchange. IE: if someone nominated shadowgast, we’d remove it, since we’re a rarepair exchange.

Sign-up: This is you committing to being in the exchange. This is also where you make your requests for what you want to receive and offers for what you want to create.

Request: These are how you get fic or art. The more different requests you make, the easier it is to match you to someone. For this exchange, you get to make up to 10 requests, and you must make at least 4 DIFFERENT ones. Requests must each include 1 fandom, whether you want fiction or art (in the additional tags), 1-15 relationships, and the ratings (G-E) you are comfortable receiving. You set these fields for all requests. More details like prompts, likes, and do not wants are optional but highly recommended. See DNWs for more information.

Offer: This says what you are willing to or want to make. You make 4-10 of these. They must include 1 fandom, 1-15 relationships OR “Any”, whether you are creating fic or art, and the ratings you will write OR “Any.” Note that you SHOULD NOT pick ANY unless you REALLY MEAN IT. Offers do not contain prompts or DNWs

Do Not Want (DNW): Your DNWs are things your gifter must avoid to create something you will enjoy. DNWs are expected to be used for things such as triggers, squicks, NoTPs, or things that would otherwise spoil your gift and are not to be used to "box" a creator into creating a one specific gift. Be specific in your DNWs. (See the exchange rules on ao3 for more information).

Dear Critter Letter: This is the Critical Role specific term for a Dear Creator Letter. Basically, it’s more details about your likes, dislikes, wants, DNWs, quirks, and the prompts. Read this for more information. These are OPTIONAL.

Assignment: You will get matched with someone! Yippee!! DO NOT TELL THEM WHO YOU ARE. Look at their requests, read their Dear Critter Letter, and then pick one (1) of their prompts to fill. You are expected to write 1 fic. You expect to receive 1 fic. Anything else is a treat.

Default: This is the POLITE way to exit an exchange. If you exit before the no penalty deadline, we bid you farewell and you can try again next year. If you exit after, you will not be allowed to participate in future exchanges. Default also applies if you do not complete your gift or post only placeholder fic/art by the due date or ignore DNWs.

Pinch-hit: This is when you swoop in to save an assignment after someone else defaults. Know that if you do this, the mods love you very much. Pinch-hits follow usual assignment rules.

Treat: These are bonus fics. You don’t have to be signed up to write them, and they can be for anyone. They can be shorter than your gift, but they must still adhere to requests and DNWs. Know that if you do these, the authors love you!

[elevatorladylady]

Critical Reread - ACOFAS Chapter 4

Join me for a critical reread of A Court of Frost and Starlight

Chapter 4 - F/eyre

“a faerie with skin like glittering onyx and eyes like swirling clusters of stars”

More “lesser” fae please. The high fae seem like supermodel humans with pointy ears.

“Inside the gallery, no fewer than five people were doing their best not to gawk at me”

“I offered a tight smile before continuing on.”

“No matter that I wanted to go in.”

F/eyre makes a big deal in ACOMAF about how no one seems to care when R/hysand walks around Velaris. Wonder why it’s different for her.

“though I truly loved to fly, the thought of exposing sensitive wings to the cold made me shiver.”

It’s not just that F/eyre has the luxury of flying with Illyrian wings when many woman don’t, but that she has the added privilege of deciding whether or not to have her wings at all, much less exposed to the cold.

“Few people recognized me while I strode by”

“A small mercy, though I certainly didn’t mind being approached.”

I’m confused now on how people actually respond to her in public, and how she feels about it.

“As High Lady, I hosted weekly open audiences with R/hys at the House of Wind. The requests ranged from the small—a faelight lamppost was broken”

Again we have some humble leader kind of stuff, but really not a great use of resources for the high lord and lady to be dealing with a broken lamppost.

“It had taken me a few sessions to get the hang of it—the questions he used, the way he listened. He hadn’t pushed me to step in unless necessary, had granted me the space to figure out the rhythm and style of these audiences and begin asking questions of my own.”

It’s so sad that nearly everything F/eyre knows how to do in the faerie realm is something R/hysand has shown her how to do. Has she shown him how to do anything?

“How he’d lasted so long without a team of secretaries assisting him, I had no idea.”

I have no idea either. Seems like a bad set up.

“When I’d asked R/hys about them, about why they had not been improved, he merely said that he had tried. But displacing people while their homes were torn down and rebuilt … Tricky.”

Pretty silly explanation as if places can’t be painted and repaired while people live in them, but we need Nesta to live in a trash pile in Velaris somehow.

“I’d begun donating a portion of my monthly salary—the idea of receiving such a thing was still utterly ludicrous—to rebuilding the Rainbow”

Again, this is something their deep coffers should be able to take care of.

“They’re living at a relative’s farm in the lowlands now.” She waved a hand toward the distant sea, to the flat expanse of land between Velaris and the shore.”

I have more questions about Velaris and the rest of the Night Court. They must know it exists and what of the lands bordering Velaris? Do they get similar protections or left to fend for themselves? A hidden city is quite a thing to write around.

“Oh—oh, I wasn’t asking after it for that reason.” It hadn’t even entered my mind. “Why not?”

Of course this random person would be thinking about F/eyre’s personal interests rather than thinking about her role as a leader of the city.

“I knew. I’d seen the lists of assets. I still couldn’t wrap my mind around the enormity of R/hys’s wealth. My wealth. It didn’t feel real, those numbers and figures. Like it was children’s play money. I only bought what I needed.”

Redistribute! The! Wealth! 

“Tradition. Around Solstice, we make a little visit to the Court of Nightmares to wish them well.” “Really?”

Seems normal to visit different parts of your territory during its biggest holiday, unless I guess you hate most of your territory.

/// are used to observe anti- etiquette. If you’re wondering why I’m reading something I’m critical of, it’s because I like being critical. Plus a ACOSF rewrite.

[taxi-bambino]

Safe and Convenient Family Rides: Taxis with Car Seats in Toronto

Traveling with young children can be a challenge, especially in a bustling city like Toronto. Ensuring your little ones’ safety is paramount, and finding transportation equipped with car seats is a critical part of that. Fortunately, Toronto offers various options for families looking for taxis with car seats. Whether you're visiting the city for the first time or you’re a local in need of child-friendly transport, here’s everything you need to know about booking a taxi with a car seat in Toronto.

Why Choose a Taxi with Car Seat in Toronto?

When traveling with infants, toddlers, or young children, safety is non-negotiable. Using a car seat in a vehicle can significantly reduce the risk of injury during travel. In Toronto, taxis are not legally required to provide car seats unless requested by the passenger, so it’s essential to plan ahead. Booking a taxi equipped with a car seat ensures compliance with safety standards and offers peace of mind for parents.

A taxi with a car seat is especially useful for:

Airport Transfers: Managing luggage and children at the same time can be hectic. A taxi with a car seat ensures that your child’s safety is prioritized during airport commutes.

City Tours: If you’re exploring Toronto’s attractions, a taxi with a car seat allows you to travel conveniently from one destination to another.

Daily Errands: For parents who don’t own a car or prefer not to drive, these taxis offer a safe solution for transporting children to daycare, school, or appointments.

How to Book a Taxi with Car Seat in Toronto

Booking a taxi with a car seat in Toronto requires some advance planning. Here are the key steps:

Pre-Book Your Ride: While some taxi services may offer car seats on demand, it’s advisable to pre-book your ride to guarantee availability. Specify the type of car seat you need (e.g., infant, toddler, or booster).

Choose a Reliable Service: Look for transportation providers that specialize in family-friendly rides. Some services allow you to select car seat options directly through their booking platform.

Confirm the Details: When booking, confirm that the car seat meets safety regulations and is suitable for your child’s age, height, and weight. Double-check the pickup time and location to avoid delays.

Prepare for the Trip: Bring any additional accessories your child may need, such as blankets or toys, to make the journey more comfortable.

Benefits of Booking a Taxi with Car Seat

Enhanced Safety: Car seats are designed to protect children in the event of sudden stops or collisions, reducing the risk of injury.

Convenience: No need to carry your own car seat around the city; these taxis provide the necessary equipment.

Peace of Mind: Knowing your child is secure allows you to focus on enjoying your journey.

Time-Saving: Avoid the hassle of installing and uninstalling your own car seat.

FAQs

1. How much does it cost to book a taxi with a car seat in Toronto? The cost varies depending on the provider, distance, and type of car seat required. Some services charge a small additional fee for the car seat, while others include it in the standard fare.

2. Can I request a specific type of car seat? Yes, most services allow you to specify the type of car seat you need, such as infant seats, convertible seats, or boosters. Ensure you communicate your requirements when booking.

3. Are car seats mandatory in taxis in Toronto? While car seats are not legally required in taxis under provincial law, they are strongly recommended for safety. Parents can request a taxi with a car seat to ensure their child’s protection.

Conclusion

Choosing a taxi with a car seat in Toronto is an excellent way to ensure safe and stress-free travel for your family. With various providers offering this service, you can easily find an option that suits your needs. Pre-booking, confirming details, and communicating your requirements will help ensure a seamless experience. Prioritize your child’s safety and enjoy peace of mind while navigating the vibrant city of Toronto.

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[mindcelebrations2021]

Build a Psychologically Safe Workplace

Psychological safety is a phenomenon that allows and sparks interpersonal risk-taking within teams. It encourages group members to offer opinions, suggest ideas, ask questions, raise concerns, speak up, and admit mistakes without fearing negative consequences. By definition, psychological safety makes employees feel safe speaking up, taking risks, and making mistakes at work—all of which can increase their satisfaction, innovation, and performance. Psychological safety’s importance extends further. In Dynamic Teaming, Edmondson explains that it’s critical to managing dynamic teams - psychological safety at workplace.

Dynamic teams have fluid membership and may gather in the moment across industries, functions, time zones, and languages without proper preparation to navigate ever-shifting circumstances and tasks. A critical part of fostering psychological safety is requesting employee input. Until it becomes an ingrained part of your team’s culture, they may hesitate to provide feedback unless explicitly asked - psychological safety at work.

When soliciting their opinions, explain why doing so matters. Make it clear that a team in which they share their thoughts on everything from strategic decisions to brainstorming new ideas—provides a diversity of perspectives, opportunities for discussion, and chances to innovate and break from the status quo. Once your team provides thoughts, respond productively. Even if you don’t agree or like someone’s idea, ensure they know you appreciate that they shared it. Refrain from shutting down ideas right away; instead, use them as starting points for group discussion and new ideas.

If you use the psychological safety scale, revisit it periodically to track whether your efforts are yielding the culture you want. You can also regularly solicit feedback from employees in a one-on-one setting about how they feel about the team culture and adjust accordingly. If you’re courageous enough, you can unleash your team’s full potential by cultivating a culture that values open communication, sharing ideas, supportive discussions, and growing from mistakes. For more information, please visit our site https://mindcelebrations.com/

[person-injury-law-news]

Motorcycle accidents can be devastating, often resulting in severe or fatal injuries due to the limited protection riders have compared to car occupants. The Shapiro Law Team in Albuquerque, New Mexico, is here to provide experienced legal representation to motorcycle accident victims, working tirelessly to secure justice and fair compensation. They offer a contingency fee arrangement, so clients don’t pay unless the case is won. With over 500 cases won and millions recovered, they are prepared to go to trial if needed.

The firm handles a variety of accident types, including right-of-way collisions, lane-change accidents, rear-end incidents, and more. They’re also equipped to address bias often faced by motorcyclists, building strong cases to protect clients’ rights. Potential compensation covers expenses such as medical bills, lost wages, pain and suffering, and motorcycle repairs, depending on injury severity and impact on life quality. With a two-year deadline to file a claim in New Mexico, contacting Shapiro Law Team promptly ensures victims meet critical deadlines to pursue their case.

[yoursaptarshi]

How to Factory Reset Windows 11 Without the Admin Password

A factory reset can help you fix critical problems and improve your system performance. You can factory reset your PC using the Recovery option in the Settings app. However, to do this, you need to log in with an administrator account. But what if you have forgotten your administrator password or can't boot into your PC? For situations like this, Windows 11 offers a few alternative ways to factory reset your computer. You can factory reset Windows 11 without the admin password from the lock screen or by using a bootable Windows installation media. Let's explore the two ways you can bypass a Windows admin password and reset your PC.

1. How to Factory Reset Windows 11 Without a Password From the Login Screen

If your computer can boot normally but can't log in, you can reset your Windows 11 computer from the login screen. To do this, you'll need to boot into the Windows Recovery Environment (WinRE) to access Windows Advanced Startup Options. It consists of many troubleshooting tools, including the Reset this PC option that allows you to perform a reset without logging into your computer. Also, useful if you need to reinstall Windows 11 without deleting your personal files. This process will, however, remove your apps and settings. It is important to understand that you can reset the forgotten Windows administrator password using a nifty Linux hack and other workarounds. Only proceed with the steps below if your end goal is to factory reset your computer and not reset the forgotten admin password. To factory reset Windows 11 without an admin password using the Windows Recovery Environment: - Turn on your PC and wait for the login screen to appear.In the bottom right corner, click on the Power options. It will show the Restart and Shutdown options. Don't click either just yet.

- Press and hold the Shift key on your keyboard and click the Restart button. If required, click on Restart Anyway to force restart your PC. Release the Shift key when you see the "please wait" screen. - Your PC will now restart and enter the Windows Recovery Environment. - In the Choose an option screen, click on the Troubleshoot option. - In the Troubleshoot screen, click on Reset this PC.

- In the Reset this PC screen, you will be presented with two options. The Keep my files option will remove all the third-party apps and settings from your PC, but keep your personal files such as documents, media, etc. If you want to remove everything, then select Remove everything. - Next, you will be presented with two options again to reinstall Windows. If you select Cloud Download, Windows will first download the required operating system files and then perform a reinstall. In comparison, Local Reinstall will use the existing system files from the device to reinstall Windows.

- To speed up the process, select Local reinstall. If that does not work, you can use the Cloud download option.

- In the Are you ready to reset this device screen, click on the Reset button to confirm the action and start the reset process. During the process, Windows will first reset your device to remove all the data, unless you have selected the Keep my files option, and then reinstall the operating system. It may take a while to complete the process, so leave your device idle and connected to the power outlet. If the reset process fails and requests additional system files, use the Cloud download option to perform a reset and try again. This often happens if your existing Windows installation is missing critical system files or corrupted.

Using the Reset This PC option should help you bypass the Windows login password and reset the PC. However, if that does not work, you can clean install the Windows OS using a bootable USB drive. This is useful if you can't boot into Windows or the system image is damaged beyond repair. The Windows clean install process will wipe the hard drive erasing all the data. Make sure you have a backup of any important data before proceeding with the steps below. To clean install Windows 11, you'll need an installation media. So, create a Windows 11 bootable USB drive. Once you have the bootable drive ready, proceed with the below steps. - Connect your Windows 11 installation media to the PC. - Restart your PC and start pressing the F8, F9 or Esc key to open the Boot menu. In the Boot menu, select your USB flash drive as the boot drive and press Enter. If your computer does not support Boot Menu, you’ll have to change the boot order by accessing the BIOS or UEFI menu. - Next, in the Window setup screen, select your language, time, currency format, and your preferred keyboard layout. - Click Next to continue. - Next, click the Install Now button.

- On the Activate Windows page, click the I don’t have a product key link. - Next, select the Windows 11 edition you want to install. If not, select the default option and click Next.

- Accept the terms and click Next.

- The setup wizard will detect your existing Windows installation and offer you to Upgrade. However, the upgrade option will keep your apps, settings, and admin password. So, select Custom: Install Windows only (advanced). - Select your installation drive and click Next. Follow on-screen instructions to complete the installation. Windows will wipe your installation drive and install a fresh copy of the Windows OS. After the restart, Microsoft will prompt you to log in with your Microsoft account to complete the setup. If you have a Microsoft account, log in using the credentials and complete the setup. If you prefer to create and use a local user account instead, read our guide on how to install and set up Windows 11 without an internet connection and create one that way.

Factory Reset a Windows Computer Without an Admin Password

Although you can factory reset the PC to bypass the admin password, setting up your system from scratch is cumbersome. To avoid this hassle, consider using a password manager. It not only stores difficult and long passwords and syncs them across devices but also protect them from hacker and other prying eyes with encryption. source Read the full article

[creditchix]

Credit Counselling Services in Florida: The Best Ways to Improve Your Credit

These days, having good credit is critical to many aspects of your life, from getting approved for a car loan to qualifying for affordable apartment rentals. That’s why if you’re in Florida and want to start boosting your credit score, it’s important to understand credit counselling services inFlorida. In this guide, we cover everything from how to dispute inaccurate information on your credit report to how to obtain a copy of your report and what the three main credit reporting agencies are all about.

Understand credit bureaus

It may seem like credit bureaus are out of your control, but they’re not. The three major bureaus—Experian, Equifax, and TransUnion—are just data companies. They collect and then resell your personal information as part of their business model. To ensure you can get a loan, you must understand how these companies operate, as well as what might be hurting your score. Fortunately for consumers, there are free online tools that help illustrate potential issues. If there are credit counselling services in Florida you should take advantage of them before getting a loan.

Understand credit scoring models

While it might seem counterintuitive, staying on top of your credit score is one of the best ways to improve it. This process involves three key things:Make sure you are using your credit cards appropriately.

Don’t close any accounts, even those with high-interest rates.

Pay off your balances every month and avoid closing old accounts, which will lower your total available credit—even if that means transferring balances from a card with a higher interest rate to one with a lower rate so you can pay them off more quickly.

Make certain you are on track with your spending

It can be easy to get off track with spending. Before applying for a loan, you must have a good sense of your credit score. This can be achieved by paying close attention to monthly credit card statements and making adjustments accordingly. By working closely with a credit counselling service, individuals are on their way toward improving an existing score—which will make them more eligible for loans and other types of financing they might need. If you live in Florida, there are many credits counselling services available to help you through these processes.

Start applying for loans

If you’ve been looking for loans but haven’t received any offers, there are steps you can take to increase your credit score and get approved for a loan. One such way is through credit counselling services. A credit counsellor can help you consolidate bills, set up a payment plan, or even apply for a loan on your behalf. Regardless of what type of support they provide, they all work with an individual’s unique financial situation and help them find an alternative that works best. Credit counsellors also offer special repayment plans that may lower monthly payments and give consumers more time to pay off debt. If your plan doesn’t work out as expected, simply follow up with your lender and be sure to contact your credit-counselling service immediately if payments become delinquent.

Do not be afraid to visit retail shops and ask them if they report information to credit agencies

Credit counsellors agree that it’s critical for consumers to first know what their credit scores are, before attempting to improve them. One of many ways you can find out your credit score is by requesting a copy from one of three major credit bureaus: Experian, Equifax, and TransUnion. You can get all three reports for free. Many people also forget that most retail stores will report your payment history monthly. If a bill is not paid by its due date, then information about it will be sent out via credit agencies which could negatively affect your scores.

Don’t close accounts unless necessary

It can be tempting to close credit card accounts you don’t use often but resist that urge. Keeping your oldest accounts open and active is one of the easiest ways to improve your credit score quickly. It increases your length of credit history and lowers your average age of accounts. So, even if you don’t have any plans for those cards, don’t cancel them right away. If a card isn’t going to work for you anymore (e.g., because its rewards aren’t as valuable as its annual fee), do make sure it gets deactivated rather than cancelled—and then keep it that way for at least a year before finally closing it out completely.

Stop using cash wherever possible

The more you use credit cards, and not cash, for your purchases, the more positive points are added to your credit score. It might be best to start by switching all of your monthly bills (such as cable, internet, and insurance) over to auto-pay so that you don’t even have access to a bank card anymore. Once those are done it’s time for some damage control with your credit card usage habits. First things first: cut up all but one of your cards and shred them so that you can’t use them again until it is really necessary.

Correct any blunders as soon as you can

When your credit score is less than stellar, it can be tempting to spend months trying (and failing) to improve it. Resist that urges! Credit counselling services in Florida have discovered that fixing errors and delinquent accounts as soon as you’re made aware of them dramatically increases a person’s chances of a successful credit-score improvement. If your score is already on its way up, there’s no need for panic: Even small improvements can add up to a big difference over time. Follow these tips, and you’ll know exactly what works for you.

Contact Us : 

Address - 66 W. Flagler Street, Ste. 900, Miami, FL 33130

Phone - (888) 383-8503

Email - buildyourcredit@creditchix.com

Website - Credit Chix

Blog - Credit Counselling Services in Florida: The Best Ways to Improve Your Credit