#Command prompt Windows version

[fitlifefuel]

How to Know Which Version of Windows You Have: A Complete Guide

Have you ever wondered which version of Windows your computer is running? Whether you're a tech newbie or a seasoned user, knowing your Windows version is crucial for compatibility with software, drivers, and updates. This guide will walk you through the simplest methods to find out your Windows version, along with some extra tips and tricks to enhance your knowledge. Let’s dive in!

Understanding the Importance of Knowing Your Windows Version

Knowing your Windows version is essential for several reasons:

Software Compatibility: Ensures that applications and programs run smoothly.

Security Updates: Keeps your system protected with the latest security patches.

Troubleshooting: Helps resolve system issues more efficiently.

Methods to Determine Your Windows Version

Here are some easy ways to check your Windows version:

Method 1: Using System Settings

Open Settings:

Press Windows + I to open the Settings menu.

Navigate to System:

Click on "System" and then "About".

Check Windows Specifications:

Here, you’ll find your Windows edition and version.

Method 2: Using the Run Dialog

Open the Run Dialog:

Press Windows + R.

Type winver:

In the Run box, type winver and press Enter.

View the Information:

A window will pop up displaying your Windows version and build number.

Method 3: Using Command Prompt

Open Command Prompt:

Press Windows + X and select "Command Prompt" or "Windows PowerShell".

Type the Command:

Enter systeminfo and press Enter.

Check Windows Version:

Scroll through the information to find the "OS Name" and "Version".

Additional Methods

Using Control Panel: Navigate to Control Panel > System and Security > System to view your Windows version.

Windows Logo: On older versions like Windows 7, the Start menu logo gives a clue about the version.

Understanding Windows Version Numbers and Build Numbers

Microsoft frequently updates Windows, releasing major versions and build numbers. Here’s a quick rundown:

Windows 10: Known for its frequent updates, e.g., Version 20H2, 21H1.

Windows 11: The latest version with an updated interface and new features.

Addressing Common Questions

Q: Can I upgrade my Windows version for free? A: Yes, Microsoft often offers free upgrades from older versions to the latest one, like from Windows 10 to Windows 11.

Q: How can I find out if my Windows version is genuine? A: Check your activation status by going to Settings > Update & Security > Activation.

Tips to Keep Your Windows System Up-to-Date

Enable Automatic Updates: Ensure your system receives the latest updates.

Regularly Check for Updates: Manually check for updates by going to Settings > Update & Security > Windows Update.

Use Trusted Sources: Download updates and software from official sources to avoid malware.

External Links to Authoritative Sources

Microsoft Support: Find your Windows version - Official guide from Microsoft.

How-To Geek: How to Determine Which Version of Windows You Are Running - A reliable tech site with additional tips.

PCWorld: How to Check Your Windows Version - Another trusted tech resource.

By following this comprehensive guide, you’ll be well-equipped to determine your Windows version and keep your system running smoothly. Stay informed, and enjoy a seamless computing experience!

[amplexadversary]

I kind of operate on a similar, but not completely overlapping view that, given different media have different strengths and weaknesses, selecting one with such that your project can take the fullest advantage of is a key component of being a skilled artist, when one has control over that kind of thing.

Which, taken to extremes, marks an artistic choice that takes advantage of a unique or mostly-unique feature of the work's medium as a highly desirable one, even if it makes the work hard to adapt, or forces an adaptation to drop the feature of the work that the medium enabled (though, to be honest, I think more of those themselves can be worked around than people tend to strictly assume.)

What's the fancy theory term for the belief that the virtue of a medium is in the things that distinguish it from other media, and the most successful pieces of art qua (film, novels, video games) are specifically those impossible to present in any other way?

Anyway I don't wholly endorse it, but on some instinctive level I do think art created by people who do is more, like, aesthetically virtuous than stuff you can adapt without destroying the whole point of it.

[leveragehunters]

CoPilot in MS Word

I opened Word yesterday to discover that it now contains CoPilot. It follows you as you type and if you have a personal Microsoft 365 account, you can't turn it off. You will be given 60 AI credits per month and you can't opt out of it.

The only way to banish it is to revert to an earlier version of Office. There is lot of conflicting information and overly complex guides out there, so I thought I'd share the simplest way I found.

How to revert back to an old version of Office that does not have CoPilot

This is fairly simple, thankfully, presuming everything is in the default locations. If not you'll need to adjust the below for where you have things saved.

Click the Windows Button and S to bring up the search box, then type cmd. It will bring up the command prompt as an option. Run it as an administrator.

Paste this into the box at the cursor: cd "\Program Files\Common Files\microsoft shared\ClickToRun"

Hit Enter

Then paste this into the box at the cursor: officec2rclient.exe /update user updatetoversion=16.0.17726.20160

Hit enter and wait while it downloads and installs.

VERY IMPORTANT. Once it's done, open Word, go to File, Account (bottom left), and you'll see a box on the right that says Microsoft 365 updates. Click the box and change the drop down to Disable Updates.

This will roll you back to build 17726.20160, from July 2024, which does not have CoPilot, and prevent it from being installed.

If you want a different build, you can see them all listed here. You will need to change the 17726.20160 at step 4 to whatever build number you want.

This is not a perfect fix, because while it removes CoPilot, it also stops you receiving security updates and bug fixes.

Switching from Office to LibreOffice

At this point, I'm giving up on Microsoft Office/Word. After trying a few different options, I've switched to LibreOffice.

You can download it here for free: https://www.libreoffice.org/

If you like the look of Word, these tutorials show you how to get that look:

www.howtogeek.com/788591/how-to-make-libreoffice-look-like-microsoft-office/

www.debugpoint.com/libreoffice-like-microsoft-office/

If you've been using Word for awhile, chances are you have a significant custom dictionary. You can add it to LibreOffice following these steps.

First, get your dictionary from Microsoft

Go to Manage your Microsoft 365 account: account.microsoft.com.

One you're logged in, scroll down to Privacy, click it and go to the Privacy dashboard.

Scroll down to Spelling and Text. Click into it and scroll past all the words to download your custom dictionary. It will save it as a CSV file.

Open the file you just downloaded and copy the words.

Open Notepad and paste in the words. Save it as a text file and give it a meaningful name (I went with FromWord).

Next, add it to LibreOffice

Open LibreOffice.

Go to Tools in the menu bar, then Options. It will open a new window.

Find Languages and Locales in the left menu, click it, then click on Writing aids.

You'll see User-defined dictionaries. Click New to the right of the box and give it a meaningful name (mine is FromWord).

Hit Apply, then Okay, then exit LibreOffice.

Open Windows Explorer and go to C:\Users\[YourUserName]\AppData\Roaming\LibreOffice\4\user\wordbook and you will see the new dictionary you created. (If you can't see the AppData folder, you will need to show hidden files by ticking the box in the View menu.)

Open it in Notepad by right clicking and choosing 'open with', then pick Notepad from the options.

Open the text file you created at step 5 in 'get your dictionary from Microsoft', copy the words and paste them into your new custom dictionary UNDER the dotted line.

Save and close.

Reopen LibreOffice. Go to Tools, Options, Languages and Locales, Writing aids and make sure the box next to the new dictionary is ticked.

If you use LIbreOffice on multiple machines, you'll need to do this for each machine.

Please note: this worked for me. If it doesn't work for you, check you've followed each step correctly, and try restarting your computer. If it still doesn't work, I can't provide tech support (sorry).

[hoe4hotchner]

Aaron Hotchner x non bau rich reader. Hotchner see's reader be all professional CEO and telling her that she looks hot when talking about work.

Girl Boss | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x rich fem!reader| WC: 0.6k | CW: girlbossing

The sharp click of your heels resonated within the room. Sunlight streamed through the towering glass windows behind you, casting your silhouette against the long table where half a dozen personnel sat, their pens poised and eyes alert.

"Let me be clear," you began, your voice cutting through the silence. "We are not pushing this launch back again." Your words were sharp enough to make even the most seasoned executive in the room sit a little straighter. You placed your hands on the table's edge, leaning forward slightly, the subtle move reinforcing your authority.  

"I expect finalized projections on my desk by tomorrow morning. No excuses. No oversights," you continued. "If there are any further delays, we’ll be having an entirely different kind of meeting. Understood?"

The collective murmurs of agreement followed swiftly, though not without a trace of hesitation. Your gaze swept the table, catching each person’s eye for a split second, long enough to cement your expectations but short enough to keep your employees at bay.  

"Good," you said, straightening up. Your expression softened by a degree — but only a degree. "Meeting adjourned."

Aaron had been leaning casually against the doorway to your office, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat as he observed the scene unfolding. His eyes tracked your every movement, and there you were — fierce and assertive — commanding the room in a way that made it impossible for anyone to look away. Including him.  

He didn’t interrupt, content to watch as you had delivered your final order, and dismissed the room. His gaze lingered, marveling at the way you held everyone’s attention.  

Finally, your eyes found him. You turned and strode out of the room, the rhythm of your heels once again filling the space.

"Aaron," you said, your voice losing the edge it carried moments before as you walked toward him. Behind you, the meeting’s attendees began packing up. "You’re early."

"Traffic was light," he replied. He tilted his head slightly, his smirk deepening as he added, "Should I call you ma’am now, or will boss suffice?"

You rolled your eyes. Still, you couldn’t keep the small smile from tugging at your lips.  

"Come on," you said, closing the distance between you and reaching for his arm. Your fingers brushed against the sleeve of his coat. "We’re done here."

Aaron pushed off the doorframe and let you lead him, his smirk lingering as he fell into step beside you. Whatever commanding personality you projected in the boardroom, he knew the softer version of you just as well — and he loved both sides equally.  

The elevator was empty when the two of you stepped inside. His arm came around you without hesitation, his hand finding the small of your back. "Long day?"

"You have no idea," you admitted, closing your eyes as you allowed yourself to rest against him. "Sometimes I forget why I even started this."

Aaron chuckled softly, his breath warm against your temple as he leaned down slightly. "I think I just remembered," he said with a teasing tone as his lips brushed the shell of your ear.  

You opened your eyes, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, an eyebrow arching in curiosity. "Oh?" you prompted.  

"You," he replied without missing a beat. "You look unbelievably hot when you're bossing people around. I should make you talk about profit margins more often."

A surprised laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it, your hand instinctively swatting at his chest. "You’re ridiculous," you said, shaking your head, though the smile that stretched across your face betrayed your words.  

"Ridiculously in love," he countered smoothly, his hand at your back pulling you just a fraction closer, as though he couldn’t stand the thought of even an inch of space between you.  

The elevator glided to a stop, the faint ding marking your arrival at the parking level. Aaron glanced at the doors as they began to slide open, then back at you. "Come on, CEO," he said, "let me take you home."

[itsmerelliwellie]

What Causes The Brain To Short-Circuit | Y. Nagumo x Reader

---

For this pretty over here

---

15.) "I said don’t move!" "You’re the one straddling me.”

Prompts

---

Warning(s): Nothing much?

Important Warning: NOT REALLY... BETA READ

---

It starts with blood.

Nagumo never knocks. He’s the type to slip through a window or pop up in your living room with a lollipop in his mouth and a smirk you want to both punch and kiss. You’ve gotten used to it. Mostly.

But tonight? Tonight he’s different.

He doesn’t whistle. Doesn’t flirt. Doesn’t even smirk.

He stumbles through your door just past two in the morning, one arm wrapped around his ribs, blood soaking through the side of his shirt. His usual cocky air is still there—but thinner, a paper version of the Nagumo you know. When you rush to him, heart in your throat, he greets you with a crooked grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hey,” he says, voice hoarse. “Miss me?”

You almost punch him on instinct.

You don’t.

You grab him by the wrist and drag him to the couch.

You’re in his lap before you realize it. Legs bracketing his hips, one hand holding his face steady while the other works a cotton pad gently over the gash beneath his eye. It’s an accident. It was the best position to properly examine his face, it didn’t really feel weird to you.

Until he flinched. And you snapped.

“I said don’t move.”

The words come out sharper than you mean them to. Not loud, but firm. Unshakable. Like command is second nature to you. His entire body tenses under yours.

Then, barely above a whisper, he says:

“You’re the one straddling me.”

And his voice, usually dripping with innuendo, is wrecked.

It cracks at the end. Like he’s trying to play it cool and failing miserably. Like the situation is short-circuiting every cell in his very flustered, very secretly-in-love brain.

You blink down at him.

He is blushing. Yoichi Nagumo is blushing. You can barely process it. His ears are red. His neck is red. He looks like someone dropped him into a bowl of rose petals and embarrassment.

You stare. He stares.

And then, like an idiot, he blurts: “I-it’s fine, though! I mean—you look good! On me. Not—not like—God, I mean that in a normal way, not a weird way, unless you want it to be weird—”

“Yoichi.”

He freezes.

You spoke softly, but just as steady. You brush a thumb along his jawline, not even pretending it’s strictly first-aid anymore.

“You’re cute when you’re nervous.”

His breath stutters. His hands, which had been sitting uselessly at his sides, now grip your thighs like he needs something—anything—to ground him.

“I’m not nervous,” he lies, eyes wide. “I’m just. Processing. The fact that I might be dreaming. Because the person I’ve been in love with for the past two years is currently sitting in my lap and touching my face like it’s totally normal—”

You freeze.

What?

He blinks. Realizes what he just said. And then, in real time, malfunctions.

“THAT WAS A JOKE,” he blurts, too immediately. “HAHAHA! Ha. You know me! Always joking. Just hilarious old me. So funny. So not confessing my deep unresolved feelings like a dumbass—”

“Yoichi.”

“Y-yeah?”

You tilt his chin up. “Do you want to kiss me?”

He goes completely still.

“…Is that rhetorical or is this like, a choose-your-own-adventure kind of deal—”

You lean down.

He stops talking.

It started gently. Chaste. Your lips brushed his like a question. But the second he realizes this is real, that you want him, he melts. Moans softly against your mouth, his hands sliding up your sides, careful not to pull you too close because he still hurts, but damn if he doesn’t want you closer anyway.

The way he kisses you is all tension unraveling. It was slow, needy, reverent. Like he’s been dreaming about this moment for years and doesn’t know if he’ll get another. He’s afraid to take too much, but even more afraid to let go.

When you pull back, both flushed and breathless, you still rest your forehead on his.

“I’m not gonna let you disappear like that again,” you whisper. “You tell me when you leave. You tell me when you’re hurt.”

His eyes flicker, overwhelmed. “I was scared.”

“Of what?”

“That if I kept seeing you like this…” His hand cups your cheek, tender. “I wouldn’t be able to stop myself.”

You smile.

“It’s okay. I didn’t want you to stop.”

You clean the rest of his injuries in silence. He watched you with this dazed, soft expression like he still doesn’t fully believe you’re real. Every time your fingers brush his skin, he shivers. Every time your eyes meet, he looks like he wants to say something. He doesn’t know how to get it out.

When you’re finally done, you tug a blanket over his lap and ease off of him gently.

“You should sleep.”

“Here?” he asks, hopeful.

You nod. “Where else would you go?”

“…Your bed?”

You roll your eyes.

But when you lead him there, and he climbs in behind you, one arm wrapping loosely around your waist like he’s scared you’ll vanish, you don’t say anything.

You just hold his hand under the covers.

And he doesn’t let go.

---

A/N: Hihi

---

[heldhram]

How to run The Sims 3 with DXVK & Reshade (Direct3D 9.0c)

Today I am going to show you guys how to install Reshade and use Direct3D 9.0c (D3D9) instead of Vulkan as rendering API.

This tutorial is based on @nornities and @desiree-uk's awesome guide on "How to use DXVK with The Sims 3", with the goal of increasing compatibility between DXVK and Reshade. For users not interested in using Reshade, you may skip this tutorial.

If you followed nornities and desiree-uk's guide, it is strongly recommended that you start from scratch, meaning you should uninstall DXVK AND Reshade completely. Believe me when I say this: it will save you a lot of time, frustration, and make your life so much easier.

For the purpose of this tutorial, I am on patch 1.69.47 and running EA App on Windows 10, but it should work for version 1.67.2 on Steam and discs, too. This tutorial does not cover GShade.

Before we start

Backup your files, even the entire folder (Program Files\EA Games\The Sims 3\Game\Bin) if you want to be extra safe; you will thank yourself later. If you do not wish to backup the entire folder, at least backup the following:

reshade-presets

reshade-shaders

Reshade.ini

Options.ini (Documents\Electronic Arts\The Sims 3)

Keep them somewhere secure, for your peace of mind (and sanity).

Done? Great stuff, let us begin!

Step 1:

If you installed DXVK following nornite and desiree-uk's guide, go to the bin folder and delete the following files to fully uninstall DXVK, we are starting from scratch:

d3d9.dll

TS3.dxvk-cache

dxvk.conf

TS3_d3d9.log (or TS3W_d3d9.log)

Step 2:

If you already have Reshade on your PC, uninstall it using this: https://reshade.me/downloads/ReShade_Setup_X.X.X.exe (replace X.X.X with version number)

Step 3:

Perform a clean install of Reshade (I am using the latest version - 6.4.1 at the time of writing). Please note that you need a version no older than 4.5.0 or this method will not work. Choose DirectX9, click next.

Once the installation is complete, you should see a "d3d9.dll" file inside The Sims 3's bin folder (Program Files\EA Games\The Sims 3\Game\Bin):

It may all seem familiar thus far. Indeed, this is how we installed Reshade in the past before using DXVK, but here comes the tricky part:

Step 4:

Create a new folder outside of The Sims 3's game folder (I created it on my C drive), name it "dxvk" or whatever else you like. Remember where you saved this folder, we will return to it later.

Step 5:

Now we need Reshade to load the next dll in order to chain Reshade with DXVK. Click on the search bar, and type in "View advanced system settings".

Click on "Environment Variables..."

Under "User variables", click "New..."

In the new pop-up window, find "Variable name:" and type in:

RESHADE_MODULE_PATH_OVERRIDE

for "Variable value:", paste in the directory that leads to the folder we created earlier. Once you are done, hit OK, and then hit OK again to save the changes made.

You can use Command Prompt to check if this new environment variable has been registered by entering:

echo %RESHADE_MODULE_PATH_OVERRIDE%

It should return you the folder's location. If not, make sure you have typed in the variable name correctly and confirm the folder's location.

Step 6:

Download DXVK (version 2.3.1) from here: https://github.com/doitsujin/DXVK/releases/tag/v2.3.1 and unzip "dxvk-2.3.1.tar.gz" (I use 7-Zip, but winRAR works, too). Remember to choose x32, and move only "d3d9.dll" to the folder we made earlier.

Now we have two "d3d9.dll" files, one from Reshade (lives in the bin folder), and the other from DXVK (in this new folder, outside of The Sims 3 game folder).

Step 7:

Download "dxvk.conf" here: https://github.com/doitsujin/dxvk/blob/master/dxvk.conf delete everything inside, and enter the following:

d3d9.textureMemory = 1 d3d9.presentInterval = 1 d3d9.maxFrameRate = 60 dxvk.hud = devinfo

Ctrl + S to save the document.

The first 3 lines are taken from @nornities and @desiree-uk's guide.

The last line is only for debugging purposes. Due to the inconvenient location occupied by the HUD (top left corner of your screen), it should be removed once the installation is successful.

Step 8:

Drag "dxvk.conf" into the bin folder, where Reshade's "d3d9.dll", "TS3.exe", and "TS3W.exe" all live.

Step 9:

Now fire up the game and check if both are showing up:

Lastly, check for “TS3.dxvk-cache” in the bin folder:

If it is there, congratulations! You have successfully installed DXVK and Reshade utilising D3D9 as API! You can now go to "dxvk.conf" and remove its last line "dxvk.hud = devinfo" and have fun! :)

Hope this tutorial isn't too confusing, the last thing I want is to over-complicate things. If you still need some help, comment down below or send me a DM/ask, I'll try and troubleshoot with you to the best of my ability.

Credits:

@nornities and @desiree-uk for their fantastic guide.

@criisolate for promulgating the usage of DXVK in TS3 community.

reddit user folieadeuxmeharder for helping me troubleshoot and informing me of this workaround.

doitsujin for creating DXVK.

crosire for creating Reshade.

[errorid-mt7lt7k7unfr9ttfua5]

me when companies try to force you to use their proprietary software

anyway

Layperson resources:

firefox is an open source browser by Mozilla that makes privacy and software independence much easier. it is very easy to transfer all your chrome data to Firefox

ublock origin is The highest quality adblock atm. it is a free browser extension, and though last i checked it is available on Chrome google is trying very hard to crack down on its use

Thunderbird mail is an open source email client also by mozilla and shares many of the same advantages as firefox (it has some other cool features as well)

libreOffice is an open source office suite similar to microsoft office or Google Suite, simple enough

Risky:

VPNs (virtual private networks) essentially do a number of things, but most commonly they are used to prevent people from tracking your IP address. i would suggest doing more research. i use proton vpn, as it has a decent free version, and the paid version is powerful

note: some applications, websites, and other entities do not tolerate the use of VPNs. you may not be able to access certain secure sites while using a VPN, and logging into your personal account with some services while using a vpn *may* get you PERMANENTLY BLACKLISTED from the service on that account, ymmv

IF YOU HAVE A DECENT VPN, ANTIVIRUS, AND ADBLOCK, you can start learning about piracy, though i will not be providing any resources, as Loose Lips Sink Ships. if you want to be very safe, start with streaming sites and never download any files, though you Can learn how to discern between safe, unsafe, and risky content.

note: DO NOT SHARE LINKS TO OR NAMES OF PIRACY SITES IN PUBLIC PLACES, ESPECIALLY SOCAL MEDIA

the only time you should share these things are either in person or in (preferably peer-to-peer encrypted) PRIVATE messages

when pirated media becomes well-known and circulated on the wider, public internet, it gets taken down, because it is illegal to distribute pirated media and software

if you need an antivirus i like bitdefender. it has a free version, and is very good, though if youre using windows, windows defender is also very good and it comes with the OS

Advanced:

linux is great if you REALLY know what you're doing. you have to know a decent amount of computer science and be comfortable using the Terminal/Command Prompt to get/use linux. "Linux" refers to a large array of related open source Operating Systems. do research and pick one that suits your needs. im still experimenting with various dispos, but im leaning towards either Ubuntu Cinnamon or Debian.

[shootingstarpilot]

1. for codys pov of the melidaan trio reunion? idk everytime i reread i get a kick out of imagining his version of that very sweet phone call with mel and then nield and cerasi fucking knocking obi wan over with that hug

Ask Game

Write a scene from [insert fic] in another character’s POV

okay I'm so irritated because I started writing this out and then the page refreshed and I lost a good half of the scene but you know what? we're going to try again!

(also cheers for the best prompt because i would've needed to write this eventually for llch so this was AWESOME, thanks so much for this-)

(also also i promise there will be a second half going up that is the actual hug, but you know me, what is a prompt if not an invitation to go hogwild, etc., and also i just really liked this ending line, okay?)

Cody worries.

To be fair, he’s good at that. He’s been worrying for most of his life, about brothers and battles and all the small intricacies that accompany being second-in-command of, functionally, most of the GAR. He forces it into planning and practice until it eases enough to let him grab a few hours of sleep, but it never really– leaves.

And now he’s got something else to worry about.

Oh, don’t get him wrong– he’s worried about Obi-Wan for a while now. But this–

This is new.

He doesn’t come down to the barracks on his own, despite Cody’s hopes after the first night. And they keep finding him in… odd places.

Watching the blurring stars on the observation deck, his comm unit methodically disassembled in front of him. In the rafters of the cargo bay, datapads stacked perilously next to him on a folded crane. In the laundry room, the sound of his pacing muffled under the thunk-thunk-thunk of the enormous machines.

He comes with them, when they ask. But the bags under his eyes grow darker, and his voice grows quieter, and Cody worries and worries and worries.

(There is not a lot of information about Melidaan in their briefing.)

He thinks:

They were his first command.

He thinks:

How long did they think he was dead?

He thinks: 

If it were me–

He thinks:

I’d have no room for rage.

He thinks:

If I thought he was dead–

He thinks:

To be proven wrong--

He thinks:

What wins out, the nat-born or the soldier?

He thinks, but he does not know, so he holds onto Obi-Wan as his breathing evens out and keeps his mouth shut.

A series of moments, in the last few hours:

Standing together on the bridge, shoulders brushing together.

The set of Obi-Wan’s jaw.

The sudden shock of Stats’ voice, announcing their approach.

Obi-Wan’s hand, pressed against the tempered glass.

The fog of his breath when he leans forward, watching.

The light–

Turning towards the window.

The light. 

Obi-Wan’s voice. Quiet, disbelieving.

Oh, he says. All the lights are on.

The stretch of them. The expanse.

(The blooming, awful hope.)

"Sir," Cody says quietly, unwilling to disturb the silent bridge. "We should-"

"Yes," Obi-Wan agrees. His hands vanish into the sleeves of his cloak, and Cody's own itch. "We should."

Cody opens the comm line when Obi-Wan doesn't move. Leans forward when Obi-Wan doesn't move. Declares himself when the line crackles, watches Obi-Wan twitch at the voice announcing Central Control, introduces himself, confirms their ship's ID, and then--

"Requesting identification of the highest-ranking officer on board."

It translates perfectly well.

Obi-Wan closes his eyes. Leans forward.

"Ben Kenobi," he says. He glances up, meets Cody's questioning gaze, quirks a smile- "Reporting for duty."

Her excitement peels away the years.

She sounds so-

Young.

Stats takes over briefly. Coordinates. The landing dock.

Cody tunes him out and watches Obi-Wan instead, feeling faintly ill.

"It's good to hear your voice, Mel," Obi- General Kenobi says at last. "I've- missed you. Very much."

"And yours, Ben," says Mel, and that's a new name too, one Cody doesn't recognize- "We missed you."

Ben.

"Sir," Cody says cautiously. The bridge is silent, all eyes on them, Waxer's wide-eyed expression mirroring his own nausea. "Were we-- your name--?"

Have they been naming him incorrectly? All this time, have they been doing him wrong? His file had said Obi-Wan, everyone had said Obi-Wan, but they of all people know files aren't the half of it-- had they asked? Actually asked his name? He'd said to call him Obi-Wan, but he's always prioritized them, their comfort, he might not have-

(Their names are all they have.)

"Oh," General Kenobi says. He laughs, a little half-hearted thing, and Cody's chest seizes. "Oh, no, I- Mel, she- she couldn't pronounce my name, when I arrived. It was either Ben or Bibi, and I just- kept it. Obi-Wan is more than fine. I haven't been Ben in a very long time. It's their name more than mine, really."

And yet he'd chosen it, when they'd asked for ID.

Cody doesn't stare. Not noticeably, at least. He turns his gaze towards the glass, ducks his head towards Obi-Wan and mutters something along the lines of nice to know we have one friend down there, at least, something that gets another snort, and considers the weight of this newest discovery.

If anyone could shoulder two names like that, he supposes, it would be their general.

(Obi-Wan suits him better, anyways.)

The gunship is packed with most of Ghost's officer corps, all of them eager and wary in equal measure-- even the barest whisper of Separatist sentiment is enough to put them all on edge, because even a whisper making its way to someone in authority indicates a seething mass under their feet that had gone unheard, but it's not quite enough to quell the rustling excitement. Cody suspects Obi-Wan can tell, because his lips twitch upwards as soon as they step onboard, but he doesn't say a word.

Instead, he takes up his position by the portal and presses a hand to the glass.

The portal isn't very big.

Cody rests a hand on his shoulder, and watches him instead.

[defectivevillain]

old habits die bleeding

pairing: Michael Myers/Reader (can be platonic or romantic)

reader's race & gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors used.

summary: You’re kidnapped—and on the same night Michael Myers returns to terrorize Haddonfield. Just your luck, really.

word count: 2.7k | ao3 version

warnings: canon-typical violence, blood & injury; kidnapping, chloroform, smoking, burns, hospitals.

You’ve celebrated Halloween in Haddonfield for more than two decades. You’ve escaped Michael Myers a few times now. And you won’t let him drive you out of your home. This Halloween is no different, you tell yourself as you finish putting up the cheap decorations in your window. Trick-or-treating isn’t much of a thing in Haddonfield anymore, but occasionally a few brave (or just foolish) kids will stop by. Your heart always skips a beat whenever you look out your window, as you think back to that night years ago. 

It was your first Halloween in Haddonfield and, while you had been warned that the night often brought terror, you assumed it to be an exaggeration. You weren’t much of a party person (and you still aren’t), so you had settled in on your couch and spent the night watching television. 

At least, that was how things were supposed to go—until you felt a large hand close around your mouth and pull you up and over the couch. You fell to the floor, only to be pinned down with a knee to the chest and a hand on your throat. A man in a mask stood over you, taking the breath from your lungs. You tried to shove him off, but he was too strong. You kicked out and eventually managed to knee him in the gut, momentarily loosening his grip and providing you with an escape. From there, it was a series of increasingly close calls, until you finally managed to race out of your house, down the street, and out of sight. 

While that was your first encounter with Michael Myers, it wouldn’t be your last. The killer would come every year; and each time, your escape felt narrower and narrower… 

That brings you to tonight: Halloween. You’re still sitting on your couch, watching television as you normally would. This time, however, you’ve kept the lights on—and have monitored the shadows cast on the walls with vigilance. 

So, when a large hand covers your mouth, you’re ready to fight back. Except… it’s not just a hand. There’s a rag pressed into your face, forcing you to breathe in whatever drug is evidently laced through the fabric. You try to shove the person’s grip off, but your vision is spinning and your limbs don’t seem to be obeying your commands. You’re stumbling on the ground, desperately trying to keep your balance while you fight off your attacker. Their grip is persistent and you’re forced to take another deep breath, inhaling the mysterious substance once more. 

This doesn’t seem like something Michael Myers would do, is the last thought that runs through your mind before your vision quickly fades to black and you crumple to the ground.

You wake up to find yourself in a musty room with crumbling wallpaper. Your hands are tied behind your back and your legs are tied to the wooden chair you’re situated on. Your head is pounding and your ears are ringing as you try to get a better idea of your surroundings. Ultimately, there’s little else in the room save for you. You don’t see anything sharp that you could use to cut yourself free from the ropes binding you. 

You’re alone, by some miracle. Your head keeps dropping as you nod off, fighting off slumber. You can’t sleep here, no matter how much you may want to rest. You have to get out of here. You’re not sure what your kidnapper wants with you, and you don’t desire to find out. You grit your teeth and try to maneuver yourself so that you can reach the pocket of your pants. Smoking has been a bad habit of yours—one that you’ve been meaning to kick—but you’re extremely thankful you didn’t get around to it, since it prompted you to place a lighter in your back pocket. You manage to maneuver so that you’re holding the lighter in your bound hands. You flip it around with your pinky finger and manage to light it. 

Unfortunately, your escape method isn’t entirely painless—which you soon realize the hard way. You’re trying to burn the ropes, but you’re dealing some damage to the skin of your hands in the process. By the time you’ve successfully frayed the rope and pulled it off, your skin is rubbed raw and irritated from the lighter. 

Thankfully, now that your hands are free, you can simply untie the ropes around your ankles. Your hands are slightly shaking as you free your legs, but you still manage to set yourself free within a few moments. Immediately, you quietly step towards the doorway, pressing an ear up against the inside wall to listen for your captor. After several seconds pass in silence, you decide to risk it and step out of the room.

From there, you find yourself in a dark hallway—maybe a basement, of sorts? Your thoughts are confirmed when your eyes catch on a staircase in the corner. You slowly walk over towards the stairs, as quietly as you can muster. 

When you get to the top of the stairs, you’re foolishly deluded into thinking that you’ll get out of this unscathed. Then you take another step and a loud creak echoes throughout the space. Abandoning any hope for silence, you sprint towards the front door—surprised to find that you seem to be in a house of some sort. Your hands are fumbling for the first lock on the door—there are two—but just before you can slide it to the side, there’s a hand on your collar yanking you back into a hard chest. There’s a knife pressed to your throat and an unfamiliar voice in your ear. Instinctively, you pull at your captor’s arm in an attempt to create some distance between the knife and your throat. The knife is only pulled towards your throat tighter, until it’s drawing blood from your skin and a pained whimper from your lips. Just as the blade draws ever closer, you bring your knee up and slam your foot back into your captor—connecting with their ankle and successfully making them stumble long enough for you to twist out of their grip and run back towards the door. This time, you manage to slide the lock open, but there’s still the second lock lower on the door. You hear them get up and instinctively move to the right, just barely dodging their strike and sending them careening forward into the door. 

From there, you reach out and slam their head into the door again, before turning around and bolting towards the other side of the house—hoping there’s a door to the backyard. You hear the telltale shink of the knife getting pulled from the door and your heart drops to your stomach as you frantically look through an entirely unfamiliar house. You run through the kitchen, before doubling back to grab a sharp knife from the knife block. Your eyes then catch on a wooden door past the kitchen and you race over to it, flipping the lock and pushing it forward. But the door doesn’t open, no matter how hard you yank at it and beg for it to open. Suddenly you’re tugged back and slammed into the locked door. Your knife falls from your grasp. Blinking stars out of your eyes, you try to push your assailant away—but their grip is too strong and suddenly they’re jamming their knife into your abdomen before brutally ripping the weapon back out. You choke on a breath and slump forward, as blood drips down your chest and begins to splatter along the floor. You fall to your knees and slap a hand onto the wound, wheezing and fighting for breath. Your hands fall to the floor and your right hand falls right next to the knife you dropped. Through the blinding pain, you manage to subtly grab the knife and jam it into your captor’s crotch. They scream and you aim a bit higher, sinking it into their abdomen and shoving them away from you as they fall to the ground. You manage to push yourself into your feet and press a hand to the nearby wall to stabilize yourself as you look down at their body. They’re definitely unconscious, at the very least. That should give you enough time to make it outside and call for help. You stumble back through the house and towards the front door, unlocking the second lock and shoving it open. 

As you awkwardly shuffle across the front porch, you’re hit with a striking realization: you’re still on your street. In fact, you’re only a few houses down from your own house. The thought provokes a nearly infinite amount of dread within you, as you try to come to terms with the fact that there is yet another killer in Haddonfield. Eventually, you have to push the thought aside and focus on getting back home. You’re hobbling on uneven footing, your hand pressed against your side like a vice. Your breathing is ragged and loud in your ears; your entire chest is on fire. 

But the universe is smiling down on you—because you manage to make it back home. Your front door is unlocked and you’re quick to stumble inside, clumsily locking it behind you before moving towards your living room. Within a few steps, your knees crumple beneath you and you’re forced to crawl towards the sofa. What follows is an excruciating effort consisting of you pulling yourself up on the sofa and collapsing onto it with a pained hiss. Your vision hasn’t stopped spinning since you first entered your house. Worst of all, you can’t stop thinking about the possibility of the killer coming back for you—it’s very likely that you only incapacitated him. Despite your best efforts to remain awake and attempt to move, your vision is quickly giving way to an overwhelming, suffocating darkness.

You wake a few hours later to a knife pressed against your throat and a dark silhouette looming over you. You instinctively want to push yourself up to a sitting position, but the blade is pressed into your skin hard enough to draw blood and you’re forced to abandon the effort. It’s then that your vision clears to reveal just who is standing over you and, despite the sheer terror running through your veins, a laugh wrenches its way from your lips. 

“Michael,” you say, greeting the killer who has made a habit of visiting you every Halloween. This year is no different, it seems. He presses the knife against your throat pointedly, as if waiting for you to push it away. You can barely manage a pathetic attempt at shoving the blade away and you eventually settle for staring at him. 

(Michael stares back at you. There’s blood splattered across your hand, he realizes, and the skin is raw from what he can only assume to be burns. Not to mention, there’s a seemingly unending crimson stain marring your shirt. Something unfamiliar churns in his stomach, combined with that ever familiar rage that boils his blood.) 

You watch as Michael tilts his head to the side, before removing the blade from your neck. You blink at him in disbelief, and stare as he lifts his hand to tap his wrist impatiently. You’re late, he motions. 

For a moment, all you can do is stare in confusion. Then you realize he must be referring to this unfortunate tradition between the two of you: the cat-and-mouse chase that ensues every Halloween night, without fail. “...I was kind of preoccupied,” you mutter, motioning down to the wound on your abdomen that hasn’t stopped burning and stinging since you woke. 

Michael follows your gesture and stares down at the wound for longer than you’re comfortable with. Before you can ask him what the hell he’s doing, Michael places a hand on your wound and pushes. You can’t stop the pained outburst that leaves your lips, especially when he twists his hand and digs his knuckles into the tissue. Your vision is swirling again and you desperately try to push him away, but he’s too strong. Just when you’re on the brink of passing out, Michael releases his grip and leans back. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, as your vision slowly recovers. The pain is even worse now. You’re shivering and shaking, your teeth chattering and sending reverberations through your ears and into your very skull. 

Perhaps worst of all, you think you might understand what Michael was trying to say just now. If you die, it will be by my hand—and no one else’s. He’s prideful in that regard. He doesn’t need to capitalize on someone else’s work, or take advantage of your already wounded state. A shiver rolls down your spine as you come to the conclusion that he enjoys the chase—enjoys the hunt. 

Michael is still staring down at you. You almost wish he wasn’t wearing his mask, so that you could read his expression. Still, there’s an aura of annoyance and irritation emanating from his form—and it’s only further exacerbated by the tight draw of his shoulders and the way he stares at you impatiently. 

“Ruined your night, huh?” you ask wearily. Honestly, you’re not sure where you’re getting this sudden surge of confidence—you think it must be the adrenaline. Surely, if you live to see tomorrow, you’ll wake up feeling immense regret. 

Michael is infuriatingly silent, as always. You didn’t expect him to respond, though. You’ve managed one-sided conversations with him before—even under much more desperate circumstances. This one is no different, save for the excruciating pain that binds you to your sofa and forces the most blunt and honest of words to leave your lips. 

“Same time next year?” you choke out sarcastically. You swear you see the mask contort, as if Michael’s brows are furrowing, but you dismiss it as a figment of your imagination. 

You’re not deluded enough to feel safe right now—with a killer towering over you—but exhaustion tugs at your core as your adrenaline quickly crashes. Your eyelids are stinging as you fight off sleep. Michael’s looming over you and you’re sure you’ve never been in a more unsafe situation—wounded and defenseless in front of him. But your fatigue doesn’t care, and your eyes are slipping shut within moments. 

For a while, there is nothing but darkness. Then, your eyelids twitch as a blade is traced along your cheekbone, dipping under your chin and nicking the skin underneath. You flinch and try to open your eyes, but your eyelids are sealed shut and you’re forced to remain entirely compliant and complacent. Your heart is thudding quietly in your chest. 

Thankfully, Michael must lose interest, because that’s the last sensation you register before falling into a deep and unburdened sleep. 

To your surprise, you don’t wake up in a giant pool of your own blood and a ruined sofa. Instead, you wake to bright fluorescent walls and unassuming white walls. Someone must’ve taken you to the hospital. Within a few minutes of your awakening, a nurse arrives and fills you in—apparently, one of your neighbors had called the police after seeing your front door ajar and finding you passed out on the couch with a bleeding wound. You take a deep breath and try to relax, but all you can think about is Michael. 

Why the hell didn’t he kill you? He had ample opportunity. Even if he is prideful, like you were first thinking, wouldn’t his bloodlust outweigh any egotism? You were entirely vulnerable in front of him—he could have flayed you alive and you wouldn’t have been able to resist or struggle. It would’ve been over in a split second. Michael could’ve been in and out of your home within a few minutes. 

You take a deep breath and try to clear your thoughts of the killer. The effort is, understandably, a lot more difficult than you think it will be—especially when you turn on the small television in your room to find a murder being broadcast on the news. The victim, you soon learn, was the same person who kidnapped you. You’re immediately torn between guilt, fear, and a shameful gratitude. They will never bother you again. 

As for Michael Myers, however… Let’s just say you’re already thinking about how to survive Halloween next year.

thanks for reading! <3

check out my other works, sorted by fandom.

general taglist: @its-ares @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @kingkoku @the-ultimate-librarian @gayaristocrat

friendly reminder that i don't give permission for my writing to be shared to other sites, stolen, copied, translated, or used in any way. thanks!

[riding-the-sunset-bird]

Our Life Modding Guide

For anyone wanting to know how to either look into the game files themselves or write in their own scenes, here it is!

(Real quick, here's a link to GB Patch's opinion on modding - which is that we're free to do so - just in case anyone may be concerned about that; here's another as well.)

Preparation

I'm going to say right up front that I have the itch.io Windows version of Our Life, so your methods may vary on anything else. The Steam version is the exact same to my knowledge, however, so this should work exactly the same for it (I've had people who use the Steam version test mine for me).

While this may go without saying, definitely back up your game before anything else, both as a precaution and also to keep the original around (whether for comparison's sake, you might want to still play the original, or in case something goes wrong and you need to reinsert any of the original files). I usually keep the modded version's folder somewhere away from the original, but that's just me. You can also just make sure to mark it.

Unpacking Our Life's Files

One peek into the "game" folder of Our Life will reveal... well, not much. Some icon files, a couple images, two folders for your save files and cache, and little else. This is because everything else is packed into the .rpa files and we need to open them up. Think of it like a safe that we need to unlock, or luggage that we need to unzip.

Depending on how many DLCs you have (the only one I don't have is Voiced Names, which would be dlc_voiced_names.rpa), the amount of .rpa files will be any/all of these:

There are a few different ways to unpack these and I'll be listing multiple on the off chance that the others don't work (ordered by ease of use/overall usefulness).

RPA Extract (by iwanplays)

This is the easiest method out of all and the first I recommend you try. You can find it here.

It's a single .exe file and all you have to do is drop it into the "game" folder of Our Life, select all of the .rpa files, and drag them onto the .exe.

This will open a Command Prompt that will extract all of the files for you, and you can delete the rpaExtract.exe after it's done. Simple as that.

RPA Explorer (by UniverseDevel)

This one is useful if you only want to look at the files and not extract/edit them, though it can do that too. You can find it here. The disadvantage from RPA Extract is that you'll have to extract the .rpa files one at a time instead of all at once.

After downloading, open the program and click on "Load File" in the upper-left.

Locate your .rpa files and open one. You'll see folders and files pop up, showing you all the files inside of the .rpa file you chose. You're free to look at any of them as you please, but if you want to extract them, check the box next to the "/" folder to select everything and then click "Export checked" in the upper-left.

Locate the "game" folder in the Our Life folder that you want to mod, click on it, then click "OK".

A progress bar will appear in the lower-right and the files will be extracted. Repeat this process for the remaining .rpa files.

rpaextract (by Kaskadee)

This method is a little more complicated and therefore requires some more steps. You can find it here (you can simply download the portable version).

Rather than in the case of RPA Extract, you'll want to take the .rpa files out of Our Life's game folder and put them in the folder of whichever you downloaded. This will just make it easier in the long run.

Once everything is moved, right-click on the address above for the folder, click "Edit Address," and type "cmd" at the beginning before tapping Enter.

A Command Prompt will open with the name of the folder. You'll have to extract your .rpa files one at a time here.

You'll then type out (without the brackets):

rpaextract -x -f [filename].rpa -o game

The .rpa files will be extracted (as shown above, it will give you a loading bar to show progress then pop up the address for you to type something out again when it's done) and appear in a folder titled "game." You can then copy that folder and paste it over Our Life's game folder, combining the contents of both together.

Testing

Now that you have your files extracted, you can delete the .rpa files that you had extracted from because we don't need them anymore. The "game" folder of Our Life should look something like this:

You should also still be able to open the .exe of Our Life and load to the main menu without experiencing any error messages. Tapping on "DLC Info" in the upper-left of the main menu should also still have all the DLCs you had listed as "Installed."

If all that checks out, you're good to continue!

Setting Up Your Text Editor

You'll need a text editor for this and, for size's sake, I'm going to recommend Notepad++, which you can find here. You can just download the portable version but it doesn't really matter.

Once it's been opened, we're going to do a few steps to make it recognize Our Life's script (.rpy) files (the ones you'll be tampering with if you want to add scenes/change dialog/etc.).

Go into the "Settings" tab at the top, then click "Style Configurator".

2. Scroll through the "Language" section until you find "Python". Click on that.

3. Under "User ext. :" at the bottom, type "rpy" without quotations.

4. Hit "Save & Close".

5. Go to "Settings" again, then click "Preferences".

6. Find "Language" on the left of the window that pops up and click on that.

7. Look for "Tab Settings" on the right. It should be set to "Default", the "Tab size" should be "4", and you should checkmark the "Replace by space" box. You can then hit "Close".

(an important part of the code is indenting and this just streamlines it so that when you push "Tab" it will insert four spaces instead)

8. Go back to the Our Life "game" folder, then find an .rpy file (any will do), right-click it, then hit "Open with…"

9. Check the "Always use this app to open .rpy files" box.

10. Click on "Notepad++". If it's not there right away, hit "More apps", and if it's still not there then scroll all the way down and hit "Look for another app on this PC" and find+confirm the Notepad++.exe.

Now Notepad++ will automatically open any .rpy file that you double-click on and will treat them appropriately.

And now you're ready to go! The .rpy files are actually Our Life's script files, which can be freely opened in Notepad++ (or another text editor) to edit the game's scenes or add your own.

Happy modding!

[ellebellewritesfic]

The Archer

For Day 2 of @empyreanevents Bodhi week: Prompt is Mirrors.

Thank you to my darling @theoppositequeens and Cassie for the beta 🥰

Read on AO3 here.

---

Then I hate my reflection, for years and years 

They always said he looked just like Xaden. It was never “oh, don’t they look alike” – no. It was always him that looked like Xaden. 

As if he was never his own person, just a poor reflection. 

As if being born with the same storm-dark eyes, the same angular jaw, the same too-serious eyebrows meant he was lucky. 

As if resembling Xaden Riorson was a gift and not a curse that trailed him through every room like a ghost he’d never invited.

It started when he was young – innocuous, almost flattering. Adults would pat his curls and tell him he’d grow into a spitting image of his cousin, as if that were a compliment he should be proud to wear. And at first, he was. Because who wouldn’t want to be like Xaden Riorson? Tall, smart, already brooding at twelve like he knew the world owed him grief. 

He’d been nine the first time someone called him “mini-Riorson.” He’d laughed then, awkward and proud all at once, because Xaden was older and cooler and terrifying in the way all the strongest people were. 

But as Bodhi grew older, and his own edges tried to form, he realised no one ever saw him. They only saw the shadow cast by someone else. “Budget Riorson,” someone snorted in the mess hall once, and even though they’d said it too quietly to be brave enough to repeat, Bodhi had heard it. Of course he had. He heard everything when it came to Xaden.

It was whispered in sparring courts, muttered in lecture halls. A punchline in low voices. He laughed along with them once, just once, but it rang bitter in his mouth like old blood. He was tired of being Xaden-lite, the watered-down version of something great, someone extraordinary. Because what was Bodhi, really, if not a reminder that he wasn’t that Riorson?

It wasn’t Xaden’s fault. Not really. He never invited the comparisons. But that didn’t stop them. Didn't stop the weight of being the lesser reflection in a world that only valued the original. 

In the mirrors scattered across Basgiath – polished steel in the washrooms, the reflective glass of the war college’s high windows – he’d catch a glimpse of himself and for a heartbeat, it would be Xaden’s profile he saw. That same dark hair, those brows, that tilt of the mouth when he was thinking too hard, the hint of a scar on his eyebrow. And for a heartbeat, Bodhi would stand a little taller. For a heartbeat, he could believe he might be more.

Then the mirror would shift, the light would change, and he’d see it wasn’t Xaden at all – it was him – just Bodhi – and somehow that was worse. Because there was always something not quite right about it.

Not quite tall enough.

Not quite commanding enough.

Not quite anything enough.

He wanted to be himself. He wanted to be seen. But instead, he felt like a bootleg copy – an echo, not a person. He didn’t have Xaden’s command of a room. Didn’t have the same searing charisma or calculated brilliance. Didn’t radiate leadership with a single glance. All Bodhi had was... what? A quick wit, a decent sword arm, a strange emptiness where desire was supposed to live.

So Bodhi would stare into the old, cracked mirror in his barracks dormitory, sometimes for minutes at a time wondering who it was staring back at him this time –  fingers brushing the line of his jaw as if willing it to shift. He’d tilt his head, squint, bite his lip, even pull faces – trying to see himself. But some days all he could ever see was Xaden. The sharper version. The better version.

And Gods, didn’t that just make something ugly twist in his gut.

It wasn’t only his appearance that betrayed him. The pressure to act like Xaden, to fight like him, to lead like him, clung to Bodhi like a second skin. He tried. Oh, gods, he tried.

He trained harder, spoke less, held his tongue in strategy meetings just enough to be seen as thoughtful instead of uncertain. But there was always the comparison. Always someone who’d raise an eyebrow when he did something slightly different and murmur, “Well, Xaden would’ve done it this way.”

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? He wasn’t Xaden. He didn’t want to be Xaden. But he didn’t know who else to be, because the moment he stepped even slightly outside the silhouette his cousin had left behind, people didn’t know what to do with him.

They called it confidence when Xaden was quiet. They called it confusion when Bodhi did the same.

And relationships? Relationships were just another mirror that showed him what he wasn’t.

He’d tried – really tried – when people flirted with him, when they asked if he wanted to meet up, grab drinks, see what happened. He’d gone along with it, assuming that maybe he just hadn’t found the right person, the right spark. But every time it felt wrong, awkward, off. Like playing a role in a play he hadn’t rehearsed for.

He told himself it was nerves. Told himself he was too focused on training, on the rebellion, on surviving. But the truth was harder. The truth was, he didn’t get it. The pull. The need. The way others looked at each other like they were planets and stars aligning. He’d look at someone and think, they’re nice, and I like their mind, and they’re kind to me, but never I want them.

No, Bodhi just didn’t understand relationships. Not the way everyone else seemed to. Not the way Garrick did, swaggering out of a different bed every week with a smirk and no consequences. Not the way Xaden did either, with his ironclad loyalty to Violet – a connection that burned like wildfire even when they didn’t speak. Bodhi didn’t get it. Romance didn’t make sense to him. The idea of sex felt like a puzzle missing all the corner pieces, something he was supposed to want but could never quite reach for without recoiling.

He’d tried, once. Kissed a girl at a celebration feast when he was fifteen, her laugh sweet and her mouth warmer than he’d expected. But he’d felt nothing. No spark. No rush. Just an odd sense of obligation and a creeping guilt that maybe there was something wrong with him.

Because Xaden, with all his brooding and storm-wrapped energy, still managed to connect with people. Somehow, everyone wanted Xaden. His anger made people lean in. Bodhi’s made them flinch.

It was like staring into a mirror and seeing your face twisted into someone else’s and knowing that no matter how hard you scrub, you’ll never wash them off.

He hated that.

He hated that his reflection felt like a stranger who wore his skin like a borrowed coat. Hated that when he looked in the mirror, he saw everything he wasn’t instead of everything he was.

And gods help him – he’d hated his reflection, for years and years.

He wanted to be seen. Not as Riorson-adjacent. Not as a spare part. Just… Bodhi. He wanted someone to say his name and mean him, not the shadow of his cousin, not the distorted echo.

He started avoiding mirrors after a while. They became reminders of everything he lacked. His reflection stared back at him with all the features of a Riorson and none of the substance. He'd walk past polished glass or the shimmer of a metal tray and catch the shape of his cheekbones, the slash of his brows, and feel his stomach drop. Because for one half-second, he thought it was Xaden. And then he’d remember it wasn’t. It was just him. Just Bodhi. The echo. The knock-off. The spare.

Who would stay for him?

Because no matter how much he trained, no matter how loyal he stayed, no matter how hard he tried to carve a space for himself in the long, jagged shadow of rebellion and war, he never felt real. Never felt like enough.

No matter how hard he tried, the mirrors always seemed to find him – in glasses, in knife blades, in the reflection of ice shards that Ridoc made, in the polished surface of Cuir’s scales. And they all seemed to ask the same question: If you’re not Xaden… then who are you?

And Bodhi never quite had the answer to that.

[ranidspace]

we're a year out from windows 10 being considered End Of Life, on October 14 2025. it will no longer recieve updates, including security updates.

Security updates are INSANELY important these days, it feels like some insane security flaw gets found out and promptly fixed every month these days. running an unpatched version of an operating system puts a target on you and puts your computer and your home network at risk. It is rare to be attacked in that way, yes, but don't take the risk. Your two options:

Windows 11

The issue with windows 11 is not that it's bad, it's just that it adds and changes a bunch of shit for no reason, and for that i recommend installing Winaero Tweaker. This is a program that changes registries and settings on your computer to disable all the telemetry, remove the dumbass microsoft copilot and cortana shit, bring back the old right click menu, the old taskbar, and a bunch more options. It's available for Windows 10 as well, if you're not on windows 11 yet, please check out this program anyway, there's plenty of things you may want to change. It is one of the first things i always install on a new windows computer.

Once you have customized it a bit, there really isnt much of a difference between windows 10 and 11. they just added more bullshit, which you can mostly disable.

Linux

i would deal with fucked up drivers and lightly buggy programs if i never had to deal with windows again.

If you just use your computer to browse the web and manage files, talk to people on discord and shit, linux works perfectly. You will never have to look into a command prompt if you don't want to.

If you do work on it, you may miss some programs, but basically just microsoft office and adobe suite. Office is basically covered by LibreOffice (and works on windows too if you wanna try it out), but it's a bit harder with adobe suite programs. You wanna look at individual programs which you use to see what works for you.

If you play games, it depends. With the success of the steam deck, more and more games are working towards compatibility on linux. Even then, out of the top 1000 games on steam, 85% are compatible with linux, with only 4% straight up refusing. Minecraft works good with prism launcher (again, use this even if you're on windows) roblox works with sober(idk what other non-steam games there are), emulation works amazingly, theres nvidia drivers for it, it's good.

Like theres a bit more setup and some more troubleshooting needed when something goes wrong, but it is so fucking nice to just not have to deal with Windows Bullshit.

I recommend Kubuntu, though i've heard a lot of support for Linux Mint. I'd be happy to answer any other linux questions lol

[blackstargazer]

Prompt: Orchids | @moonkillermicrofic | WC: 1022

First Post | Previous | Next

The waitress arrived with Barty’s meal and Sirius observed with skeptical eyes as the man smoothly and shamelessly flirted with the young woman.

Sirius hadn’t wanted to leave the station, but he had orders to keep Barty in his sights and while he couldn’t do much—wasn’t allowed to do much— to save his brother, this was a task he was determined not to fuck up.

Barty had stolen the keys to his bike and threatened to take her for a spin, essentially forcing Sirius to chauffeur the killer to his next target—the lamb pasanda dressed up and covered in thick cream.

For the past hour, Barty had carried on like it was just another Saturday evening—strolling past the flower shop on Brunswick, stopping to smell the hints of vanilla from an orchid’s center, breaking it off from the stem and casually walking on when the shopkeep had turned his back.

Time seemed to drag for Sirius, even now as Barty slowly cut into the tender meat with all the precision of a surgeon. Glancing down at his phone, Sirius frowned at the absence of notifications and groaned in frustration.

A sudden worrisome thought burrowed in his brain. What if it was a trap? What if the killer was waiting at Remus’��hoping to snatch them?

“You gonna tell me what rabbit is running through your mind or are you going to calm down and let me eat in peace?” Barty asked, scoring the lamb.

“How can you sit there and ‘eat in peace’ when your alleged friend is possibly dead and your boyfriend could be walking into a trap?” Sirius snapped.

Calmly—so fucking calmly—Barty lifted the napkin to his lips, before cutting his eyes to Sirius.

“This part of town has a lot of history.”

“This whole town has history, you apathetic little shit.” Sirius hissed.

“Right over there,” Barty said pointing out the window toward the skyscraper in the distance, “used to The Rum Runner. In the 70s it was owned by the Bertie brothers and remodeled into a club that was very popular in the 80s. A whole lot of bands used to play there, but one sticks out in particular. The members of this band were not only offered a place to practice but actually worked at the club doing odd jobs until they eventually became the house band. The brothers loved their sound so much they changed careers, creating a label just for them and managing the band right above the club.”

“I don’t need a history lesson on some demolished club.” Sirius sneered.

“Oh, but I think you do,” Barty smirked, “See, the name of the band was Duran Duran who had a number one chart topper on their album Seven and the Ragged Tiger.”

Barty loved his games, and clearly this was one of them. Reluctant but eager to get to the point, Sirius drawled, “Tell me, Barty, what was the song?”

“The Reflex,” Barty grinned, “Which also happens to be the name of the bar across the street from where the Rum Runner once stood before they tore it down to make way for The Hyatt.”

“Fascinating.” Sirius deadpanned, “What has this got to do with anything?”

“Everything.” Barty grinned, pulling out Remus phone and placing it on the table, replaying Regulus’ message.

Sirius frowned trying to cipher the code, and when he came up empty, Barty swiped up—revealing the song waiting to be played.

Synthetic beats and stuttering vocals rang out from the device and Sirius gritted his teeth as he listened to the classic he had heard nearly a dozen times—never paying any mind to the words.

The reflex is a lonely child, he’s waiting in the park.

The reflex is in charge of finding treasure in the dark.

And watching over a lucky clover, isn’t that bizarre?

Regulus’ slurred version echoed in his mind and his furrowed brow shot up, silver eyes snapping to mirthful greens.

“They’re here?” Sirius begged.

“They’re here.” Barty confirmed, flashing his teeth with a wide nearly feral smile.

“Well what are we waiting for?” Sirius shot up, “Let’s go get them.”

“Sit back down, Black.” Barty commanded, “We know they’re in the vicinity, but we don’t know the precise location.”

“So we kick down doors until we find them.”

Barty shook his head, “That’s a horrible idea, going in guns blazing like some Cowboy.”

“Well what do you suggest?” Sirius snapped, his patience with the man waning.

“Finishing the meal for starters.” Barty said and just as Sirius was about to leave, the fiend reminded, “You did promise your lover you would keep an eye on me.”

With a sharp huff, Sirius flopped back onto the seat, stealing a fork and bit of lamb, certain the faster the plate was empty the quicker they could leave.

“He likes you, you know?” Sirius whispered.

“Regulus?” Barty asked, shocked at the misinformation and Sirius barked with laughter.

“No. Remus,” Sirius clarified, “He likes you. Not—The Butcher you, but the reporter you. Though, it’s hard to tell which of you is the real you.”

“They’re both the real me. I’ve only ever been sincere with Remus.” Barty admitted.

“You lied to him.” Sirius frowned.

“I omitted details.”

“Pretty big fucking detail,” Sirius scoffed, “And a lie by omission is still a lie.”

“Tell me, Black,” Barty purred, “Do you tell James everything you’ve ever done, everything you’ve ever thought about doing?”

“Yes,” Sirius said.

“Really?” Barty smirked, “So he knows all about that little box you keep in your left pocket.”

Sirius patted his pocket reflexively, finding it flat and empty and in the corner of his eye he caught the killer snapping the box open.

“It’s quite a big secret to keep.” Barty admonished, “the promise of a lifetime.”

“That’s not the same thing.” Sirius growled, “It’s a surprise.”

“An omission by another name,” Barty said, raising a brow, “Tell me, Black—when we find this kidnapper, how far would you be willing to go to save Regulus? Would you kill for your brother? And if you did, would you tell James immediately or would you let it be a surprise?”

[elenath9]

Surprise story for Day 29 of the writing challenge: An undelivered message

I intended to skip these prompts, but I saw this one and got an idea. Actually, even though it’s now too late to post them, I’ve had another look at the prompts, and I have ideas for a few more of them. 😑

Fandom: Star Trek Voyager

Words: 482

Takes place during the alternate future in the episode Timeless just before embarking on the mission to change the timeline and rescue Voyager.

Vanished Words

“Are you ready?”

Chakotay’s lover Tessa stood leaning casually against the entryway of their bedroom.  Seated at his desk with his laptop, Chakotay twisted around to face her.  “Give me a moment,” he requested.

Tessa craned her head toward the computer.  The screen was dark; Chakotay hadn’t turned it on yet, so there was no way for her to know what he was up to.  “Don’t take too long.  We’ve got a short window of time to act if we’re going to make this work.”

“I know.”

Tessa lingered for a moment, then rolled one shoulder in a shrug and walked away, leaving him alone.  Chakotay let out a heavy breath.  Fifteen years.  Fifteen years he’d been without her.  In all that time, he’d never stopped thinking about her, remembering the late nights over coffee in the mess hall, the dinners in her quarters, the sailing and climbing and drinking champagne in the holodeck, and the shared danger of fighting against hostile species. The thing he had with Tessa… that was merely a distraction.  He didn’t truly love her.  On some level, he figured she knew that.

Chakotay tapped the button to activate the computer.  He keyed in the proper commands for what he wanted to do, even though he knew this was foolish, that if his mission succeeded, then none of this would happen.  Yet he felt compelled to do it.  For a moment his finger hovered over the controls as if frozen.  His heart hammered  in his chest.  Chakotay took a deep breath and started the recording.

“My dearest Kathryn.”  His composure almost slipped at the mention of her name.  “Today’s the day we change history, the day we bring Voyager back.  To think that none of the past fifteen years will have occurred if we’re successful…”  Chakotay’s head dipped momentarily toward his clasped hands, overcome with emotion.

“I know that this version of me will never see you alive again, even if everything goes according to plan, but… wherever you are… whenever you are, I want you to know that I belong there with you.  I’d like to think that in some other timeline, or some other universe, we might be able to let one other know how we feel.  Life’s too short and too precious not to live it to its fullest.”

Chakotay paused, knowing if he took much longer Tessa was going to come back and interrupt this private moment.  That, and it was time to go, or risk ruining their carefully-laid plans.  “I have to go now.  Take care, Kathryn.  I’ll see you on the other side.”

He closed and turned off the computer, grabbed the remainder of his bags, and with one last look around the room, departed.  His message sat in the computer’s memory core, undelivered and unseen by anyone, until at last it was erased, along with the events that had inspired it.

[deathbypixelz]

Alright. I'm making this post because I was unpleasantly surprised to find Microsoft had forcibly downloaded an """"ai assistant"""" onto my computer (called Copilot), and because finding a site that actually told me how to kill it for good -- in clear, truly step-by-step terms -- was way harder than it needed to be.

Preface: this is only relevant if you're running Windows 11.

Here is your target:

If you see this logo on your taskbar -- or... have Edge installed on Windows 11 -- you've got Copilot. You can't delete it on its own, Microsoft has integrated it into the OS as best they can. The most you can do is disable it (instructions for which are at the very end of this post).

So... to REALLY get rid of it you need to uninstall Microsoft Edge, because it's a part of/reliant on Edge. A lot of bells and whistles of Windows are also reliant on Edge, like widgets, but I never use those. I use my PC almost exclusively for gaming, and I don't want this slimy "ai" shit on my computer. I use Firefox anyway. Edge can go die as far as I'm concerned.

Here's the actual steps, copy-pasted from a website that took me way too long to find. It also really makes my browser chug for some reason, which is why I'm copy-pasting the whole thing. If you still want to look at the site itself, put it in reader view as fast as you can (link to site).

1.) Open Microsoft Edge, type "edge://settings/help" in the address bar, and then press Enter.

2.) Click "About Microsoft Edge" at the bottom of the left-hand pane. Copy the version number at the top of the screen, under Microsoft Edge.

3.) Press Windows Key + S to open Windows Search.

4.) Type "Command Prompt", right-click the result, and then select "Run as Administrator".

5.) The User Account Control (UAC) prompt will appear. Click "Yes".

6.) Navigate to Edge’s “Installer” directory by using the cd command. Depending on which directory your Command Prompt opens in by default, you may need to use the "cd .." command to go back a level or two.

Once ready, run this command:

cd “Program Files (x86)\Microsoft\Edge\Application\Version Number\Installer”

Replace "Version Number" with your actual version number copied earlier.

7.) Next, run this command to uninstall Microsoft Edge:

setup –uninstall –force-uninstall –system-level

((It will look like nothing happened! Don't worry!))

8.) Restart your PC for the changes to take place.

((HOWEVER, Windows will try to reinstall it the next time your PC updates (or whenever it feels like it lol) so there's a second half to this))

1.) Press Windows Key + R to open Run.

2.) Type "regedit" in the text box and click OK to open the Registry Editor.

3.) The User Account Control (UAC) prompt will appear. Click "Yes".

4.) In the Registry Editor, navigate to HKEY_LOCAL_MACHINES\SOFTWARE\Microsoft.

5.) Right-click the "Microsoft" folder, hover your cursor over "New", and then select "Key".

6.) Rename the new Key to "EdgeUpdate".

7.) Right-click EdgeUpdate, hover your cursor over "New", and then select "DWORD (32-bit) Value".

8.) Right-click the new value, which is currently named "New Value #1".

9.) Select "Rename" from the context menu.

10.) Rename the value to "DoNotUpdateToEdgeWithChromium".

11.) Right-click the newly-named DoNotUpdateToEdgeWithChromium value and select "Modify" from the context menu.

12.) The Edit DWORD (32-bit) Value window will appear. Change the Value data to "1" and then click OK.

((You are now free. If you ever run into a really serious, unavoidable issue with your OS that's clearly a result of Edge being gone, you can redownload it like a regular app. But you should be fine.))

((And, if for some reason you want still want Edge around but just want the copilot thing gone, here's what you do:

The command, for ease of copy-pasting: reg add HKCU\Software\Policies\Microsoft\Windows\WindowsCopilot /v TurnOffWindowsCopilot /t REG_DWORD /d 1 /f

You can't actually truly delete Copilot (without deleting Edge), only disable it. And as the reply says, you do have to do this every time you turn the computer on. I haven't tested that myself, but I believe it. I assume/hope that excludes just waking the computer up after it goes to sleep, but I don't know for sure.))

[purple-ant]

snippet for the mines monday prompt "next"

you can also read it on ao3

The datapads go on the shelf and Jocasta checks the list one more time.

“History of the Mid Rim: The Dark Ages, abridged version,” she says, and after rummaging around in the cart a little, Sifo-Dyas hands her the one she needs. Picked up by the Force, it is sent to one of the higher shelves. “That's the last of the history section. Now it's only the law shelves.”

At this hour, there's almost no one in the Archives, just a couple of Jedi, too busy with their research to pay attention when Jocasta jumps onto the cart and Sifo-Dyas pushes her along the blue-lit shelves. The day is already over for most of the Temple residents, and this time it is Jocasta's turn to return the datapads to their places. Sifo-Dyas asked to be her assistant.

By all accounts, few people would want to spend several hours wandering from one end of the Archives to the other, and Jocasta's Master expressed fair doubts about the sincerity of Sifo-Dyas, who was still not forgiven for the incident with the Bogan Collection. But the Padawan was glad for the help and company of her friend, which softened the heart of the old Archivist.

Jocasta herself suspected that Sifo-Dyas's desire to spend half the night in monotonous, sequential work with datapads was related to his latest mission. He seemed fine on the outside, but every time Jocasta asked him, he answered evasively or changed the subject. She didn't push; it wouldn't have worked with him anyway.

“To the right,” she commands quietly, crossing her legs as they pass another rack.

“As you wish, my lady!” Sifo-Dyas replies in a whisper, turning sharply and she grabs the edge. He accelerates, flying through one rack after another, their light stretching, reminiscent of hyperspace. Jocasta snorts at this childishness, more out of growing duty as a future Archivist than out of any real displeasure. She can't hold back her own smile. Sifo-Dyas brakes gently, making sure she doesn’t fall.

“Last one and then we’re free,” Jocasta says, jumping to the floor and opening the list.

“Hurray,” Sifo-Dyas hums, pulling out the remaining datapads.

***

They leave the Archives, followed by the envious gaze of a senior Padawan, still hunched over their project. The corridors are empty at this time, the glow of city lights penetrates the high windows, tearing out pieces of mosaics from the semi-darkness. The two Padawans' footsteps are lost in the sleepy silence of their home.

“What are your plans for tomorrow?” Sifo-Dyas asks, yawning. Jocasta can't help but yawn too.

They finished a little earlier than Jocasta usually manages alone, but she feels more than ever that she will fall asleep as soon as her head touches the pillow. Perhaps because of the satisfied amusement curled up in her chest.

“In the morning, with my Master, I will classify everything that you and Master Kostana brought from the last mission,” she answers, looking closely at her friend’s reaction. “This is something from the Sith Wars, right?”

“Yes, it’s a Jedi weapon, so it’s relatively safe. Lightsaber rifle. It seems to be of an old model, which is why it was not destroyed with the others,” he shrugs, looking blankly out of the windows. Jocasta is worried. Sifo-Dyas purses his lips. “Can’t your Master do it alone?”

Jocasta stops in the middle of another spot of light. Sifo-Dyas doesn't notice this right away and walks a few more steps before turning around, half hidden in the darkness of the corridor. He finally really looks at her.

“Why?” she asks. “You said it was safe.”

“It’s not...” he swallows. “A lightsaber rifle, like any weapon, carries some danger. But, of course, you already know this…”

“Then why are you so uneasy?” Jocasta asks directly. “You don’t have to answer, but I’m worried about you.”

Sifo-Dyas is silent. His eyes appear completely black in the shadows.

“I had a vision when we found it,” he answers after a small eternity. “The Archives are going out, extinguished by a loving hand. You are among the empty shelves with this damned rifle in your hands. Alone.”

His voice breaks on the last word. Jocasta freezes, paralyzed by the very possibility of this. Deleted Archives, thousands of years of knowledge and history, lost in an instant. It seems impossible, Coruscant will bloom sooner! The Archives are as much an inseparable part of the Temple as the Creches. Knowledge, learning, is the blood of the Order, rushing through the veins of the connections between teachers and students, what makes the heart of their family beat...

“I’m sorry,” Sifo-Dyas whispers, and Jocasta finds her thoughts spinning. “I shouldn't have told you that.”

She pulls her mind out of the loop of fear for the future, grabs his clasped hands, and drags him out of the shadows and into her arms.

“Everything is fine now,” Jocasta says, leaning into his shoulder. Why do they all have to be so tall? Sifo-Dyas clings to her, bending over.

“You were all alone,” he whispers, hugging her even tighter to him. “None of us were around. No one.”

“You are with me now,” she replies. “And in the morning, it will be my Master, and then someone else... the whole Order, if necessary.”

Sifo-Dyas nods at the top of her head, but doesn’t let go.

“Can I be that someone at lunch?”

“Of course.”