#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.

[hansensgirl]

summary. | Your professor knows just how to get his star student to eat out of his hand.

prompts. | Andy Barber + Professor + “You want something from me? You gotta ask nicely.” (credits to @celestianstars for inspiring this prompt) + Abuse of power, requested by Anonymous.

pairing. | dark!professor!Andy Barber x fem!reader.

warnings. | NON/DUBCON, abuse of power, power imbalance, professor/student relationship, male oral (mentioned/alluded to), overachiever reader, kind of mean!andy, lying, deceit, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI!

author’s note. | this is a part of my Dark Concepts (2023) request form. thank you for taking part in this event! please enjoy and don’t forget to reblog. MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY! taglist: @hansensfics

You stare down at the paper you spent many sleepless nights working on with tears in your eyes. The letters turn into grey blurs. 

You always knew Professor Barber was a hard-ass, but you never thought you’d bear the brunt of his harsh grading. You felt you were getting by well this semester, never bothering him with questions unless absolutely necessary. He hated his job—everyone knew that from his heavy sighs and grimaces. And now, you feel like he’s taking it out on you, even though you’re just a part of the sea of faces that’ll forget about him once exams are over.

You sit on the bench outside his office, early for your appointment with him. You scheduled it in a frenzy, and he replied just as quickly as when you hit ‘send.’ That didn’t puzzle you since you had woken up very early that morning, and you know that professors sleep odd hours.

He must be less than excited to meet with you. Every faculty member seems to be a burning thread, fraying at the ends.

The door opens, and Professor Barber clears his voice, snapping you out of your stupor. You look up at him with glassy eyes, and he nods his head, allowing you to enter his office.

You catch a whiff of his cologne as you walk past the older man. There’s even a hint of coffee, perhaps from a spill. 

“Good evening, Professor Barber,” you start, a thoroughly rehearsed speech on the tip of your tongue. You’re a perfectionist when it comes to your grades—the only thing that gives you purpose at this point. “Good evening…?” he returns, waiting for you to give him your name.

You do exactly that, and he repeats it. “Please, call me Andy,” he insists, so you do. 

“You wanted to talk about your paper?” he asks, shutting the door behind him. You swear you can hear the lock click, but you doubt Andy would do that. “Yes. I just… I worked so hard on it and thought I did good…” you trail off, unable to finish your sentence.

You can’t fail this class—you don’t need another flaw to worry about. You doubt you’d get a spot in next year, anyway. Not until the weak ones give up halfway through the semester.

“You want to know why I gave you that mark?” Andy asks, hands clasped with his elbows resting on the chair. You nod your head. “Well, it’s alright, really. Not what I was looking for at all. It’s weak in too many spots. I can see right through your points,” he explains as though it were obvious.

The criticism stings, but you take it. 

“C– Can I rewrite it? Please?” you plead, finally looking up at him. “Or I can do an extra?” you offer, but the click of his tongue makes you want to cry again.

“I don’t give out second chances. You know that, don’t you? You’re a smart girl,” Andy says before sighing. “I suppose I could let you try again, though. You’ll do better, right?” he asks, standing up again.

He seems restless—you are, too. Your leg bounces from nervousness. 

“Of course—thank you, Professor,” you smile, ready for his next instructions. You’ll take anything he gives you if that upsetting grade is forever erased. He smiles down at you, a sight you’ve never seen before. 

Suddenly, though, you hear the clinking of a belt. You snap your head to look at where the sound came from, greeted by his crotch right in your face. Andy stands to your right, and dread fills you. “You want me to fix your grade, yeah?” the professor asks, but you don’t answer. You’re too scared.

You can’t fight him, can’t escape. If you did, who would you tell? You have a higher chance of getting in trouble than him. 

Andy cups your cheek with his left hand as he pulls down his fly with the other, freeing his thick cock from the confines of his boxers. He’s so hard that he’s a flushed red colour, with veins and a leaky tip. 

“You want something from me? You gotta ask nicely,” he tells you, voice as rough as when he speaks to the delinquents of your class. You watch him with tears in your eyes and accede, mouth opening for your professor to use you.

“See? I always knew you were a smart girl. You just needed a little push.” 

[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.

[kookiewithluv]

kookiewithluv's Blog Rules

(aka: How Not to Get Blocked)

Welcome, darlings. Before you get too comfortable, let’s set a few ground rules, shall we? This isn’t the Wild West, and I don’t have time to babysit anyone. So, read this carefully. If you cross any lines, expect to get blocked, no warnings given.

1. Age Restrictions

This blog contains NSFW, so if you're under 18, kindly hit that back button. I’m not here to deal with minors tiptoeing around adult content. Don’t lie about your age, and don't try to sneak in. If I find out you're underage, you’ll be out faster than you can blink. Stay in your lane.

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.

[otaku6337]

It’s just as free to click out of a fic as it is to click in to one.

If you don’t pay to read a fic (and you don’t, lol, unless you want to be complicit in some legal/copyright issues) then you don’t get to air your criticisms of it.

It wasn’t written for you, by you. If it was a request made by you, then arguably it was written for you but if it wasn’t written by you then it still isn’t your place to pull it apart.

Someone took time out of their lives to write that fic. They didn’t force you to read it.

It costs you nothing to click out. Don’t waste your time and the author’s own by given unasked-for criticism. It doesn’t benefit anybody. Trust me, we don’t want other people’s shoddy opinions, not when we haven’t asked for them, and even if concrit has been asked for then it’s no reason to be rude about it.

I’m fed up of seeing myself and my friends and complete strangers get lumped with dealing with ugly comments when there’s literally no need for them. Take what you’re offered, or walk away from it. We don’t want or need your announcement of it.

Not your fic? Not your damn problem, let alone your business.

[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.

[person-injury-law-news]

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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.

[mommalosthermind]

The sheer entitlement in that screenshot. Wow.

Bare bones basics: you cannot give useful feedback in any way. Constructive criticism is only possible in specific situations with specific people who know what they are doing, and know your goals.

You are a random person on the internet. You do not know my goals, how I have gotten where I am, where I would like to improve— if I want to at all! A hobby is meant to be fun! Not! Work!—all you have are opinions on how I could have written my story in a way tailored specifically to you. Which is not what I am doing when I write. I’m tailoring to me.

Think of A03 as the neighborhood potluck. This is the fic I brought. You don’t need to partake, but you don’t get to stand up on the table and shout about how you wanted something else from me when there are countless other offerings, also given freely, or the option to make your own thing specific to your tastes. You don’t know why I made it the way I did—allergies, family tricks, special requests, something new—you just know you don’t like it. That’s not only useless information for me, but straight up mean in general.

There’s no ‘help’ happening. There’s your bizarrely inflated ego telling you that I should be thanking you for shitting on something I made because you think you’re better at it. …that’s bully behavior, my ducks.

If that’s too difficult, then let’s talk kitchen curtains. I have wierd curtains in my purple kitchen. None of them match. They’re all big double panels that form a picture: one window is a blue fairy, one is a big ass green tree, the other one has fairy houses made out of trees. Sounds more cohesive than it looks. But it’s my kitchen. And I like them. When I close them at night, I smile every time because they’re full of nature and whimsy and make me feel a little more witchy. I bought them and hung them up despite knowing the average home owner has boring curtains made out of white lace or apples or fucking coffee beans or something. *I* like them. You know it’s rude to come into my kitchen and tell me how to decorate in a manner *you* prefer.

You don’t get to come into my hobbies and tell me how to do it the way you want either.

You are not an editor. You are not getting paid to help me figure out the story, or catch typos. You’re complaining about something I put time and effort into for the fun of it, and you’re throwing a fit because you don’t like it.

Unless someone specifically requests some kind of Crit, or you have a very good relationship with the author, stop using someone else’s hobby as a means to make yourself feel superior and let them enjoy what they’re doing.

I write for fun, I write for me. I share for my community.

If you don’t like the thing I made, don’t read it.

Saw this comment on a booktok and I'm wondering what y'all think. I take issue with the idea that if you do want criticism on your writing then you shouldn't post it online. Not everyone writes, especially fanfic, to improve. "Most of these fic authors want to be published authors" no I don't think they do actually, writing fanfic can be about improving your skills to become a professional author; but it can also be about engaging in community or IDK putting your fav characters into situations???

I personally don't leave criticism on ao3, I wouldn't mind it on my work if it was said politely.

"I get these fic writers are writing for free" yes, so you're not entitled to anything from them... if you can't read fanfic without wanting to give criticism then you either aren't reading fics that are right for you or you shouldn't be reading at all.

[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.

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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