#Features of MS Excel

[meret118]

Microsoft Office, like many companies in recent months, has slyly turned on an “opt-out” feature that scrapes your Word and Excel documents to train its internal AI systems. This setting is turned on by default, and you have to manually uncheck a box in order to opt out.

If you are a writer who uses MS Word to write any proprietary content (blog posts, novels, or any work you intend to protect with copyright and/or sell), you’re going to want to turn this feature off immediately.How to Turn off Word’s AI Access To Your Content

I won’t beat around the bush. Microsoft Office doesn’t make it easy to opt out of this new AI privacy agreement, as the feature is hidden through a series of popup menus in your settings:On a Windows computer, follow these steps to turn off “Connected Experiences”:

File > Options > Trust Center > Trust Center Settings > Privacy Options > Privacy Settings > Optional Connected Experiences > Uncheck box: “Turn on optional connected experiences”

[beckwritesif]

The vast stretches of lone trees and wild grass of the rural countryside lures the ego overboard, pulling consciousness off course into addiction, delusion and seduction’s disintegrating madness. You barely pull yourself home from there every evening, the sun telling your time, the birds your weather forecast. One day you might not return home at all.

From the Mud is a Midwest gothic inspired horror set in a solitary countryside occupied only by two small towns and stretches of untamed nature. You play a troubled cowboy/girl/puncher who‘s ground deep into a maddening, repetitive routine that a string of deaths suddenly upends. The sheriff of the neighboring town along with a driven journalist and an old friend whose bridge you’ve long since burnt comes to town having heard the news. As you’re hunting for the culprit and running from yourself, your quiet life on the ranch is disturbed, forcing you to keep your cards close and choose your company carefully. But the most pressing matter proves to be whether you can trust your own mind.

From the Mud

☆ Interactive fictional psychological horror written in choice script

Features

Play as either a man, woman, or other

Choose your appearance from overall features to minor details

Experience nuanced romance as either straight, gay, or bi, or forgo romance altogether

Choose whether you’re religious or not in an overly christian rural town

Experience the world react differently towards you depending on who you identify as

Get wrapped up in the chaos to solve the mystery of several murders

Lose touch with reality and slowly question everything around you

Remember: you have to choose to get better

Reject the possibility of unnatural forces at play, or believe

Rot in a jail cell

Ride a horse!

Play a game mostly not driven by numbered stats but meaningful actions and a fuck ton of trackers

Demo! | pinterest | forum thread

Advisory for the story so far: death, gore, profanity, substances

Basics about some of the important RO characters and other below

The Sheriff ☆ Zachariah “Zach” Mallory ☆ a man in his mid thirties

Sheriff Mallory works from his office in Two Rocks, and though his occupation means working closely with other people and seeing to their needs, it would be indolent to describe him as being good with people. At all. Being abrasive and ill-natured, the man does, however, suit the role of authority well. When the angry crease on his forehead soften, you might find there is something else within his tired eyes.

The sheriff has dark brown, chin-length hair and a matching little effort short beard. His sand-colored skin is sun-kissed from being outside, the circles under his eyes almost a purple kind of shade. Under a heavy set of brows sits a pair of dark blue, almost stormy gray eyes. Standing at an imposing height, Mallory is nigh refused anything, and can’t be forced to wear the ugly uniform his rank requires. Instead, he sports a simple white fitted t-shirt and a pair of well-loved denim jeans.

The Journalist ☆ Candy Tillman ☆ a woman in her early thirties

Working for the local news station in Two Rocks, Ms. Tillman has through work experience and excellent mentoring from her predessessor become a hound chasing stories and truths. She is both idealistic and romanticizing (that which shouldn’t), and yet entirely unsusceptable to bullshit. When her facade falters who will accept her then?

The woman with the sweetest name has blonde hair that falls to the middle of her shoulder blades, which she loves to blowout. Her tan skin is contoured by a natural style of makeup, her small, light blue eyes painted. Candy is average height, reaching taller stature with her go-to minimalist pumps. The journalist prefers simple, feminine silhouttes of clothing, keeping up with the times.

The Best Friend ☆ Blythe Abel Goodwin ☆ a woman in her mid twenties

Blythe is your best friend who you grew up with in Ashley and who stuck around when everyone left, though you know she would’ve loved to leave just as much as you once did. In response to the death of her dreams and the narrow-minded opinions of the general inhabitation of the area, she has defiantly become a person of unique and unpredictable character. You’ve known each other through thick and thin, but is there a side to her yet to be discovered?

Your childhood friend is a contrast-filled woman just under average height. Long, black, cascading hair falls from her head down to her mid-back. Choppily home-cut bangs frame her small face. Her fair skin turns rosy in the cold. Blythe’s almond eyes that are sometimes obscured by a pair of reading glasses, are hazel. She wears whatever the fuck she wants.

The Colleague ☆ Ford Wiley Mallory ☆ a man in his early twenties

Ford Wiley is the younger half-brother of Sheriff Mallory and your colleague on the ranch. Working there only half-time, the younger Mallory is dedicated and driven only in the field of his passion; music. His band has only ever played at the local bar, though. Reserved and perhaps somewhat more thin-skinned than most living out on the countryside, Wiley makes do with refreshing optimism. Whether this optimism is genuine or fabricated is yet to be revealed.

Your part-time cowboy coworker has long, wavy brown hair that he sometimes makes an effort to style, and otherwise lets it live its own life. He and his half-brother have little in common, appearance included; Wiley has olive skin covered in freckles. His eyes are dark brown, and he is of average height. The musician’s clothes consist of unwanted (by himself) hand-me-downs from Zachariah and ill-gotten items.

The Old Friend ☆ Sawyer “Saw” Brennan ☆ a gender selectable person in their late twenties (m/f)

You grew up with Sawyer along with Blythe, and the three of you braved your childhood and youth in this godforsaken place for years. But they left when things got hardest, and you haven’t been able to get past it even after all these years. Over the years Sawyer has been away they’ve grown into a person you barely know anymore, and you struggle with their sudden return. Will you be able to understand and forgive them for leaving?

Sawyer has inky brown curly hair, worn long (f) or short (m) and loose, carefully taken care of and styled. They have warm brown skin and sharp eyes to match. Your old friend is tall, fitting their frame into oversized graphic t-shirts and either color matched sweats or baggy jeans.

My intentions with this game: It is not supposed to be a beautiful story, it is supposed to be ugly. Writing this game in the way I am is my taking a step away from perfection and seeing where my unpolished writing takes the story. I have been ruled by fear of inadequacy and a desire for ‘perfect timing’ long enough. If I continue to wait for the ‘right moment’ to create, I will end up not creating at all. My only desire now is to simply create, and continue doing so until I have something to show for it.

Story is written and coded by me

Credits to Cole Meanor for the beautiful photography done for the headers!

[mostlysignssomeportents]

An adversarial iMessage client for Android

Adversarial interoperability is one of the most reliable ways to protect tech users from predatory corporations: that's when a technologist reverse-engineers an existing product to reconfigure or mod it (interoperability) in ways its users like, but which its manufacturer objects to (adversarial):

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/10/adversarial-interoperability

"Adversarial interop" is a mouthful, so at EFF, we coined the term "competitive compatibility," or comcom, which is a lot easier to say and to spell.

Scratch any tech success and you'll find a comcom story. After all, when a company turns its screws on its users, it's good business to offer an aftermarket mod that loosens them again. HP's $10,000/gallon inkjet ink is like a bat-signal for third-party ink companies. When Mercedes announces that it's going to sell you access to your car's accelerator pedal as a subscription service, that's like an engraved invitation to clever independent mechanics who'll charge you a single fee to permanently unlock that "feature":

https://www.techdirt.com/2023/12/05/carmakers-push-forward-with-plans-to-make-basic-features-subscription-services-despite-widespread-backlash/

Comcom saved giant tech companies like Apple. Microsoft tried to kill the Mac by rolling out a truly cursèd version of MS Office for MacOS. Mac users (5% of the market) who tried to send Word, Excel or Powerpoint files to Windows users (95% of the market) were stymied: their files wouldn't open, or they'd go corrupt. Tech managers like me started throwing the graphic designer's Mac and replacing it with a Windows box with a big graphics card and Windows versions of Adobe's tools.

Comcom saved Apple's bacon. Apple reverse-engineered MS's flagship software suite and made a comcom version, iWork, whose Pages, Numbers and Keynote could flawlessly read and write MS's Word, Excel and Powerpoint files:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/06/adversarial-interoperability-reviving-elegant-weapon-more-civilized-age-slay

It's tempting to think of iWork as benefiting Apple users, and certainly the people who installed and used it benefited from it. But Windows users also benefited from iWork. The existence of iWork meant that Windows users could seamlessly collaborate on and share files with their Mac colleagues. IWork didn't just add a new feature to the Mac ("read and write files that originated with Windows users") – it also added a feature to Windows: "collaborate with Mac users."

Every pirate wants to be an admiral. Though comcom rescued Apple from a monopolist's sneaky attempt to drive it out of business, Apple – now a three trillion dollar company – has repeatedly attacked comcom when it was applied to Apple's products. When Apple did comcom, that was progress. When someone does comcom to Apple, that's piracy.

Apple has many tools at its disposal that Microsoft lacked in the early 2000s. Radical new interpretations of existing copyright, contract, patent and trademark law allows Apple – and other tech giants – to threaten rivals who engage in comcom with both criminal and civil penalties. That's right, you can go to prison for comcom these days. No wonder Jay Freeman calls this "felony contempt of business model":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/09/lead-me-not-into-temptation/#chamberlain

Take iMessage, Apple's end-to-end encrypted (E2EE) instant messaging tool. Apple customers can use iMessage to send each other private messages that can't be read or altered by third parties – not cops, not crooks, not even Apple. That's important, because when private messaging systems get hacked, bad things happen:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2014_celebrity_nude_photo_leak

But Apple has steadfastly refused to offer an iMessage app for non-Apple systems. If you're an Apple customer holding a sensitive discussion with an Android user, Apple refuses to offer you a tool to maintain your privacy. Those messages are sent "in the clear," over the 38-year-old SMS protocol, which is trivial to spy on and disrupt.

Apple sacrifices its users' security and integrity in the hopes that they will put pressure on their friends to move into Apple's walled garden. As CEO Tim Cook told a reporter: if you want to have secure communications with your mother, buy her an iPhone:

https://finance.yahoo.com/news/tim-cook-says-buy-mom-210347694.html

Last September, a 16-year old high school student calling himself JJTech published a technical teardown of iMessage, showing how any device could send and receive encrypted messages with iMessage users, even without an Apple ID:

https://jjtech.dev/reverse-engineering/imessage-explained/

JJTech even published code to do this, in an open source library called Pypush:

https://github.com/JJTech0130/pypush

In the weeks since, Beeper has been working to productize JJTech's code, and this week, they announced Beeper Mini, an Android-based iMessage client that is end-to-end encrypted:

https://beeper.notion.site/How-Beeper-Mini-Works-966cb11019f8444f90baa314d2f43a54

Beeper is known for a multiprotocol chat client built on Matrix, allowing you to manage several kinds of chat from a single app. These multiprotocol chats have been around forever. Indeed, iMessage started out as one – when it was called "iChat," it supported Google Talk and Jabber, another multiprotocol tool. Other tools like Pidgin have kept the flame alive for decades, and have millions of devoted users:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/07/tower-babel-how-public-interest-internet-trying-save-messaging-and-banish-big

But iMessage support has remained elusive. Last month, Nothing launched Sunchoice, a disastrous attempt to bring iMessage to Android, which used Macs in a data-center to intercept and forward messages to Android users, breaking E2EE and introducing massive surveillance risks:

https://www.theverge.com/2023/11/21/23970740/sunbird-imessage-app-shut-down-privacy-nothing-chats-phone-2

Beeper Mini does not have these defects. The system encrypts and decrypts messages on the Android device itself, and directly communicates with Apple's servers. It gathers some telemetry for debugging, and this can be turned off in preferences. It sends a single SMS to Apple's servers during setup, which changes your device's bubble from green to blue, so that Apple users now correctly see your device as a secure endpoint for iMessage communications.

Beeper Mini is now available in Google Play:

https://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=com.beeper.ima&hl=en_US

Now, this is a high-stakes business. Apple has a long history of threatening companies like Beeper over conduct like this. And Google has a long history deferring to those threats – as it did with OG App, a superior third-party Instagram app that it summarily yanked after Meta complained:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/05/battery-vampire/#drained

But while iMessage for Android is good for Android users, it's also very good for Apple customers, who can now get the privacy and security guarantees of iMessage for all their contacts, not just the ones who bought the same kind of phone as they did. The stakes for communications breaches have never been higher, and antitrust scrutiny on Big Tech companies has never been so intense.

Apple recently announced that it would add RCS support to iOS devices (RCS is a secure successor to SMS):

https://9to5mac.com/2023/11/16/apple-rcs-coming-to-iphone/

Early word from developers suggests that this support will have all kinds of boobytraps. That's par for the course with Apple, who love to announce splashy reversals of their worst policies – like their opposition to right to repair – while finding sneaky ways to go on abusing its customers:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/22/vin-locking/#thought-differently

The ball is in Apple's court, and, to a lesser extent, in Google's. As part of the mobile duopoly, Google has joined with Apple in facilitating the removal of comcom tools from its app store. But Google has also spent millions on an ad campaign shaming Apple for exposing its users to privacy risks when talking to Android users:

https://www.theverge.com/2023/9/21/23883609/google-rcs-message-apple-iphone-ipager-ad

While we all wait for the other shoe to drop, Android users can get set up on Beeper Mini, and technologists can kick the tires on its code libraries and privacy guarantees.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/07/blue-bubbles-for-all/#never-underestimate-the-determination-of-a-kid-who-is-time-rich-and-cash-poor

[minyoongisnewthing]

Han river lullaby chapter five | myg

Chapter one, Chapter two, chapter three, chapter four chapter six

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Genre: angst, fluff, exs to lovers, eventual smut, idol!au, co parents, second chance romance.

Chapter warnings: Sassy uncle Jin should carry his own warning honestly, other then that I don’t believe there are any. If I’m wrong please let me know and I will happily add them.

Word count: 4.8k approximately.

Authors notes: I hope everyone had a great Easter, and I am still so amazed and thankful for the love my story has gotten every comment, like and reblog has meant the world to me, but finally we are here, half way through this story already! I hope you all enjoy this chapter.

That Thursday you found yourself standing in Han's preschool hallway, surrounded by tiny art projects and bright construction paper decorations. Parent-Teacher interviews always made you nervous, but this time felt different—because this time, Yoongi was coming too.

You spotted him before he saw you, making his way down the colorful hallway. Even in casual clothes—a simple black sweater and jeans bucket hat pulled low—he looked slightly out of place among the finger paintings and alphabet charts. But the moment Han spotted him, none of that mattered.

"Appa!" Han broke free from your grip, racing toward him. "You came!"

Yoongi's whole face softened as he caught Han, lifting him easily. "Of course I did, I Wouldn't miss it."

Your heart squeezed at the sight—at how natural they looked together, at how Yoongi's eyes crinkled with genuine joy as Han babbled about his artwork on the walls.

"Mr. Min?" Han's teacher, Ms. Park, appeared in the doorway, her eyes widening slightly in recognition before she schooled her features into professional warmth. "And Ms. Y/L/N. Please, come in."

Inside the classroom, Han proudly showed Yoongi the cubby where he kept his school bag, his favorite reading corner, and the plant he was helping to grow. You watched as Yoongi absorbed every detail, asking questions and responding with appropriate enthusiasm to each new discovery.

"And this!" Han dragged Yoongi to the wall of family pictures Han and his pre-school class had drawn. It was an array of stick figures and bright crayon chaos. "This is my drawing of us!"

Your breath caught as you looked at the crayon masterpiece—three stick figures, one tall with black hair (clearly Yoongi), one medium with your hair color, and one small figure between them, holding both their hands, all with big smiles on their faces.

Yoongi went very still beside you, his eyes fixed on the drawing.

"That's beautiful, Han," Ms. Park said gently, sensing the weight of the moment. "Why don't you show your parents what you've been up too in the reading corner?"

As Han tugged you both toward his favorite books, you caught Yoongi discreetly wiping at his eyes

“damn, the little Picasso got me”  

“Softy” you teased nudging his shoulder playfully

The parent-teacher conference itself was surprisingly smooth. You and Yoongi sat side by side, your knees occasionally brushing as Ms. Park went through Han's progress.

"Han's doing wonderfully," she assured you both. "His social skills are excellent, he's very creative, he loves to draw as you saw, and his reading level is actually a tiny bit above average for his age." She smiled warmly. "Though he does have quite the stubborn streak when he sets his mind to something, and sometimes has trouble relaxing at nap time."

You and Yoongi exchanged knowing looks.

"Wonder where he gets that from," you muttered under your breath.

Yoongi scoffed quietly. "Oh, like you're not just as bad, the kid didn’t stand a chance."

The familiar banter felt... nice. Natural. Like maybe you could really do this, that the ease so far hadn’t been a fluke, you could be parents together, support each other, create something stable for Han.

After the conference, as Han showed Yoongi every single book he'd read in the past month, Ms. Park pulled you aside.

"I just wanted to say," she began carefully, "that Han seems... happier lately. More settled. Having both of you here, involved..." She smiled. "It makes a difference."

You swallowed past the sudden lump in your throat. "Thank you. We're... we're trying."

Looking back at Yoongi and Han, you found them deep in conversation now, about a particularly elaborate block tower Han had insisted on building. Yoongi was crouched at Han's level, listening intently as his son explained his architectural vision, complete with dramatic hand gestures.

"Eomma!" Han called out. "Come see what Appa and I built!"

As you joined them on the floor, watching Han direct Yoongi on proper block placement with all the authority of a tiny construction foreman, you couldn't help but smile.

This was what mattered. These moments, these small victories, this careful dance of building something new while honoring what was.

One block at a time

Later that afternoon, the school reported that Han had taken the best nap he’d had in weeks. And if you and Yoongi shared a smile when picking him up for a park playdate, well, that was just good parenting in your book.

Bright and early the following Saturday morning saw you bleary-eyed, barely caffeinated, and desperately second-guessing your life choices as you pulled into the parking lot of the children’s boutique Yoongi had told you about. According to him, Seokjin insisted it was the place for anyone serious about decking out a kid’s room just like his nephew deserved—and Seokjin had many opinions, especially when it came to his self proclaimed and honorary role as favourite Uncle.

The store was all soft lighting and whimsical displays—tiny clothes that cost more than your entire outfit and themed nursery setups that looked plucked from Pinterest fever dreams. You were still shaking off the fog of sleep when Han, warm little fingers gripping your hand tightly, suddenly lit up with recognition.

“Uncle Jin!!!” he squealed, his voice echoing across the store like a cannon blast. Before you could blink, he let go of your hand and bolted across the polished tile floor, launching himself straight into Seokjin’s waiting arms.

Yoongi’s steps faltered beside Jin. He watched the scene unfold with an expression that could only be described as mild betrayal. You had to bite back a laugh.

“Wow,” Yoongi muttered under his breath, a smile tugging at his lips despite himself. “The little traitor, et tu Han.”

A soft chuckle slipped from you. “Drama queen we just can’t compete with the magnetism of Worldwide Handsome up there, I’m afraid.”

Ahead of you, Jin lifted Han easily onto his hip like he did it every day, beaming with pride as the little boy chattered away animatedly. Jin caught your eye and gave you and Yoongi a wink over Han’s shoulder before disappearing further into the store with your son, already pointing at some space themed bedding display.

Yoongi sighed, falling back into step beside you as you wandered down the nearest aisle filled with cloud-shaped nightlights and hand-stitched throw pillows.

“I’ll remember this next time he begs for Dino nuggets, and insists I’m the only one that makes them right.” Yoongi said, mock bitterness in his tone.

You nudged him playfully. “You’ll still cave. You always do.”

He didn’t argue, just smiled in that soft, private way he sometimes did when he thought you weren’t looking.

A few aisles later, you and Yoongi found yourselves crouched in front of a display of bed linens, deep in a heated debate that had somehow become more intense than necessary. His sweater sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, a sure sign he was taking this decision far too seriously.

“I’m just saying,” you argued, picking up a plain navy-blue comforter set, “he’s three. He changes his mind more than he changes his socks. Plain is safer.”

Yoongi held up a comforter set covered in astronauts wearing different coloured space suits. “Okay, but this? This is epic. Look at this little guy! He’s riding a comet!”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re such a pushover for him.”

He grinned, unabashed. “Not denying it.”

You were just opening your mouth to tease him further when a sudden burst of animated voices reached your ears. One of them was unmistakably Han—high-pitched, passionate, and growing louder by the second. The other, deeper and equally dramatic, was Seokjin.

Yoongi stood up, peeking over the display. “What the—?”

You followed quickly, and the sight before you nearly had you doubling over with laughter.

In the middle of the store stood Han and Seokjin, fully locked in what could only be described as a theatrical, borderline operatic debate in the middle of the glow-in-the-dark sticker section. Hands were flying, eyebrows were raised, and both parties looked like they were seconds away from presenting PowerPoint slides to back their claims.

“I told you, Uncle Jin, the star ones are cooler!” Han insisted, clutching a packet of star and planet stickers to his chest like they were a rare treasure.

“But dinosaurs, Han, you like dinosaurs.” Seokjin countered, holding up his own pick with flourish. “They roar. These stickers will make your room prehistoric chic.”

Han crossed his arms, glaring up at him with the fiery resolve of a kid who’d watched too many courtroom dramas. “But uncle Jin, space is cooler. Dinosaurs are for babies!.”

Yoongi choked on a laugh beside you.

“Told you his mind changes more than his underwear, but should… should we break that up?” you asked, eyes wide as Han stomped his foot for emphasis.

“No, no,” Yoongi said, biting back a laugh as his eyes crinkled with delight. “I wanna see how this plays out.”

The argument escalated into a flurry of sass, dramatic sighs. Seokjin whipped his hair for emphasis. Han mimicked him with a flick of his whole head. You could’ve sworn you saw a store employee peeking around the corner to spectate.

It ended, of course, with Han triumphant, the galaxy and star stickers clutched in one victorious hand while Seokjin sulked dramatically beside him. But in true Jin fashion, he still tossed the dinosaur stickers into the basket on the way to the register.

All because he was apparently physically incapable of leaving a store without buying just one more thing, Han decided to push his luck by picking up a moon shaped night light, and with nerves of steel turned the biggest puppy dog eyes you’d seen him give up to seokjin, who ruffled his hair and called him a ‘little rascal’ while putting that night light in the cart too.

As you and Yoongi approached, Han was already bragging.

“I told you space was better, Uncle Jin’s just a sore loser isn’t he Appa.”

Seokjin gasped like he’d been mortally wounded. “You wound me, child!”

Yoongi snorted, scooping Han up as he beamed in victory.

“You absolute little hustler,” Yoongi muttered, shaking his head with a grin. “We’re all doomed.”

You couldn’t disagree

Back in Yoongi’s apartment, the three of you had barely stepped inside Han’s room before he clapped his hands in joy and launched into full explanation of his vision.

“Okay! Appa, you do the moon. Eomma, you do the stars. Uncle Jin, you can help me open the stickers,” Han said, already climbing onto his little stool to sit like he was presenting blueprints for a spaceship.

You couldn’t help but laugh, exchanging a glance with Yoongi as you started remaking Han’s bed. The new navy-blue comforter set contrasted perfectly with the pale walls, giving the room a cozy, dreamy vibe that made it feel more like home.

Once the bed was made, Han handed Yoongi a large, glow-in-the-dark moon sticker with a sense of ceremony.

“This one right above my pillow, please,” he said with the utmost seriousness, like its placement determined the success of the entire galaxy.

“Right here,” Yoongi murmured, already stepping up onto the bed to reach the spot Han pointed to.

You turned, just in time to catch Yoongi mid-stretch.

His black crew neck had ridden up slightly, exposing a sliver of toned skin and the subtle dip of his waist. His jeans—worn in and soft—fit him like they were tailored, perfectly hugging his frame like sin as he reached for the wall.

You froze, your mouth suddenly dry.

God. Really? Your brain chose now to betray you like this?

You tried to look away, tried to focus on something—anything—else, but your eyes wandered on instinct, tracing the lines of his back, the definition in his forearms, the way his shoulder blades moved beneath the fabric.

The way those damn jeans made it impossible to not look.

Your jaw clenched as you quickly shook your head, trying to banish the thoughts before they spiraled any further. Focus, focus. Stickers. Your child. Room decorating.

But when your gaze drifted sideways, you immediately regretted it.

Seokjin was already watching you, leaned casually against the doorway with his arms crossed and a slow, cat-like grin spreading across his face.

You’d been caught. And Seokjin, of all people, was the last person you wanted clocking you checking out Yoongi’s ass.

Your eyes narrowed, fixing him with what you hoped was your best Don’t you dare stare.

Seokjin raised one teasing eyebrow.

“Not. A. Word.” you mouthed, but it only made him smirk wider.

Thankfully, Han was far too busy trying to peel a sticker off its backing to notice the silent exchange happening above his head.

Yoongi stepped down from the bed with a satisfied hum, brushing his hands off. “Moon, secure and glowing.”

“Perfect!” Han beamed, giving a proud nod. “Now stars everywhere!”

“Everywhere?” Yoongi asked with mock dread.

Han nodded solemnly. “They go all over, Appa. Even the closet.”

Yoongi chuckled, already peeling another sticker. “Guess we’re building a universe huh.”

You smiled as you watched them, heart twisting in that painfully sweet way it always did when Yoongi and Han were like this—effortless. Familiar. Like no time had passed at all.

And then, from behind you, Seokjin muttered low enough for only you to hear, “Staring’s free, you know. But touching will cost extra.”

You elbowed him hard in the ribs.

He only laughed harder.

You stood back and took it all in — the glowing constellations scattered unevenly across the ceiling, the oversized moon sticker positioned perfectly above Han’s pillow, the navy comforter smoothed neatly over the bed now crowned with a dozen mismatched plush toys. It was chaos, yes, but it was Han’s chaos. Bright and expressive and entirely his.

Your chest swelled with quiet pride — not just for the room, but for you and Yoongi. Somehow, between awkward co-parenting schedules, you’d managed to give Han this little piece of magic. A space that felt like home in both places.

You started gathering your things, folding Han’s jacket over your arm as he lit up his new moon night light and busied himself assigning names to every single sticker on the wall. You were just reaching for your bag when Yoongi touched your elbow lightly, pulling you aside, his voice dropping low so Han wouldn’t overhear.

��Y/N,” he started, and already his tone was heavy with guilt, “I know I was meant to have him from Thursday through to Monday, but—” he paused, exhaling through his nose. “There’s an event in Japan. It’s important. I really tried to get out of it, but…”

He didn’t need to finish. You saw it in the way his eyes flickered with regret, the way his fingers tapped absently against the palm of his hand.

You shook your head quickly, brushing off the concern before it could settle between you. “Yoon, it’s okay. I don’t want or expect you to halt your career, or any obligations you have.,” you said sincerely. “I’ll talk to the hospital about the crèche schedule or book a sitter during my shift. We’ll make it work — it’s fine, really.”

But Yoongi didn’t look reassured. He looked like a man caught between two worlds — one where his dreams lived under spotlights, and another where they giggled while naming glow-in-the-dark stars. His jaw tensed like he had more to say, like he wanted to argue or apologize more deeply, but all he managed was a quiet, “You sure?”

You nodded with a soft smile. “Positive. He’ll be okay, Yoongi. You’re doing fantastic, we're doing fantastic with him.”

That seemed to break something loose in him — the tension in his shoulders dropped slightly as he looked past you, watching Han hold court almost with his stickers, babbling animatedly about a galaxy he’d created on the wall to his toys.

“He really does love it here,” Yoongi said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You followed his gaze and smiled. “No Yoongi, he loves you. This place is just a bonus to him, a place he sees you.”

Yoongi glanced back at you, eyes softening with a gratitude he didn’t quite know how to voice. And you weren’t sure he needed to.

You’d both managed to placate Han about the change in plans, sweetening the disappointment with the promise that Appa would come to your house for dinner next weekend. It had thrilled him enough to bounce right past his sadness. And now, as you moved through your small apartment tidying the last few things and adjusting the lighting in the dining nook, you realized something: it felt right having Yoongi here again. Not just dropping Han off or picking him up at the door—but here. Inside your home. Moving through your shared space. Not as two exes cautiously orbiting around past wounds, but as parents who were trying.

It had been too long since he’d existed in this world of yours. The lived-in clutter of Han’s books and toys, the candle flickering softly near the TV, the music humming gently in the background. You wanted him to see it—how you and Han lived. To feel the warmth of this home you’d built. Not perfect, but full of love.

The banchan were already laid out: crisp kimchi that snapped lightly with each bite, seasoned bean sprouts glistening with sesame oil, and fluffy white rice steaming in its bowl. The rich, garlicky scent of marinated pork drifted from the oven, its sweet-salty glaze of soy sauce caramelizing to a glossy sheen. The entire apartment felt wrapped in comfort.

A sudden knock, sharp and eager, rattled the door. It was all the warning Han needed. He tore through the room, feet pattering wildly across the wood floors, his voice a shrill squeal of joy.

“APPA!” he shouted, practically vibrating as he skidded to a stop.

Your heart skipped—whether from Han’s excitement or your own nervous flutter, you couldn’t tell. Calm down, you told yourself, smoothing your hands down your sweater. This wasn’t a date. It was dinner.

Still, when you opened the door and saw him—really saw him—you felt like someone had knocked the wind out of your lungs.

Yoongi stood there dressed simply but devastatingly well: a crisp white button-down that skimmed the sharp lines of his shoulders, sleeves casually rolled to his forearms. Dark jeans hugged his legs just right, worn at the knees in a way that made him look effortlessly cool. His black hair was slightly styled, pushed back from his forehead, a few pieces falling rebelliously into his eyes. And those eyes—deep, dark, and warm—met yours with a quiet familiarity that pulled something taut inside you.

“Hey,” he said softly, voice like a slow glide of velvet.

You cleared your throat, trying to hide how your pulse leapt. “Hey. Come in.”

As he stepped past you, his cologne curled around your senses—clean, woodsy, and subtle. Something that smelled like skin warmed by sun and just a hint of spice. Your breath caught for half a second as the scent lingered between you.

Han grabbed Yoongi’s hand before the door had even closed.

“Appa, Appa! Come play in my room! I wanna show you my new cars, the green one zoomed so fast, you won’t believe it!”

Yoongi chuckled, a deep, warm sound from his chest. He ruffled Han’s hair with one hand, his other still clutching the boy’s fingers.

“Of course, buddy. But we’ve got to listen to Eomma—when she calls us for dinner, we come, okay?”

Han nodded with cartoonish enthusiasm. “Okay, let’s go!” And just like that, he tugged Yoongi down the hallway, already rambling about engines and race tracks.

You shook your head with a fond smile, watching them disappear. The soft sound of Yoongi’s low laughter trailed down the hall as you turned back to the table, laying out utensils with slightly trembling hands.

When you finally called them to the table, Han came barreling out, and Yoongi followed at a more leisurely pace, that same amused smile tugging at his lips. He moved with a kind of grounded calm—shoulders relaxed, movements fluid, always slightly slower than the world around him.

You gestured to the seat across from you, and he sat, carefully, like someone easing into unfamiliar territory. His long fingers rested loosely on the table’s edge, thumb brushing against the grain.

“I hope you still like dwaeji bulgogi,” you said, placing a generous helping of the glistening pork on his plate.

Yoongi’s lips twitched into a smile, eyes crinkling slightly. “You know I do.”

You offered a smile of your own, then handed him the rice bowl. “I figured I’d cook something you taught me how to make.”

That made him pause. His dark eyes flicked up, catching yours for a long second. Something unreadable—nostalgia, maybe, or something heavier—glinted there. But he didn’t speak it aloud. Instead, he reached for the bean sprouts, and his hand brushed yours. Just a graze. A whisper of skin. But it set your nerves buzzing like struck wires.

Your eyes met. And for the briefest second, the air between you tightened, a quiet electricity humming in the space that hadn’t existed here in years.

“Eomma makes the best food, right, Appa?” Han said suddenly, his cheeks puffed out with rice.

Yoongi broke the stare first, chuckling softly. “She really does.”

You swallowed, the air still thick around you.

Dinner went on like that. The food, the laughter, Han’s endless chatter. But beneath it all, those touches kept happening. Small. Fleeting. The brush of his fingers passing you the kimchi. The nudge of his knee under the table. The way he watched you when he thought you weren’t looking.

By the time dinner ended, you were flushed, your heart refusing to calm.

As you cleared the table, Yoongi leaned back in his chair, arms crossed loosely, watching you with that quiet attentiveness he always had. His voice, when he spoke, was warm, unassuming.

“Want me to help you clean up?”

You shook your head, waving him off. “No, you’re a guest. Don’t worry about it.”

He let out a dramatic yaa, rising to his feet, and made his way toward you, leaning against the counter like it was second nature.

“Ouch. A guest? Is that all I am?” He raised an eyebrow, his tone teasing, but the smile tugging at his lips was boyish, charming.

You paused, mortified, glancing at him with wide eyes. “You know that’s not what I meant, you jerk.”

His laugh was low, honeyed and rich, and without thinking, your hand dipped into the sink, scooping up a handful of soapy bubbles. In a flash, you flicked them at him, white foam landing squarely on his perfect white shirt.

Yoongi’s eyes widened. He stared down at the soap on his chest, then looked at you like you’d just declared war.

“Oh, you are so in for it,” he said, mock-serious, already dipping his fingers into the sink.

“Yoongi, don’t—!”

Too late. He flicked water in your direction, smirking as you tried to dodge. Bubbles flew, giggles spilled from both of you like you were kids again, caught in the sheer joy of play.

At some point, you lunged forward, towel in hand, intending to retaliate. But instead, you collided with him—your bodies pressing close. His hands landed at your waist to steady you, warm and strong through the fabric of your shirt. Your fingers curled instinctively around his wrist.

You froze. And so did he.

You were chest-to-chest, breaths mingling, hearts pounding. The warmth of his skin seeped through the layers between you, the scent of his cologne so close now it was dizzying. Yoongi’s eyes searched yours, the humor draining into something quieter, something heavier. His gaze dropped briefly to your lips, then returned to your eyes.

For a heartbeat, neither of you moved.

“Eomma! Appa! Are you okay?”

Han’s voice was a lightning bolt, jolting you both back to your senses.

You stepped back quickly, cheeks flushed, brushing stray bubbles from your arm. Yoongi’s hands slipped away, and he cleared his throat, trying to look unbothered, though that mischievous smile still tugged at his lips.

“Yeah, we’re okay Han,” he called out, loud enough for Han to hear, “Eomma just decided to splash me with dishwater for no reason at all!”

You scoffed, glaring at him. “No reason? You started it!”

“Slander,” he said, grinning.

Han appeared a moment later, clutching his stuffed bunny and looking very serious. “You have to say sorry, Eomma.”

You sighed. “Okay, okay. Sorry, Appa.”

“Can we have dessert now?” Han asked, voice hopeful.

Yoongi chuckled, ruffling his hair. “I think that’s fair.”

You turned back toward the kitchen, and as you reached for the dishes, Yoongi’s voice dropped low behind you.

“Nice apology… Eomma.”

You turned just enough to see that familiar spark in his eyes—and with no hesitation, flicked another bubble at him.

“Oops.”

Yoongi’s narrowed gaze told you this wasn’t over.

Dessert was simple but sweet—dairy-free ice cream with strawberries for Han, while you and Yoongi had regular ice cream topped with fresh fruit. Han happily dug into his bowl, swinging his legs under the table as he hummed in delight at the treat.

After cleaning up, the three of you settled into the living room, Han immediately climbing into Yoongi’s lap as you put on a Disney movie. The room was warm, filled with the soft glow of the TV and the rhythmic sound of Han’s little breaths as he started to relax against Yoongi.

Halfway through the movie, Han’s sleepy voice broke the comfortable silence.

“Appa, can you stay the night?”

Yoongi’s body stiffened just slightly. You felt it before you saw it—the way his fingers tensed against Han’s back, the way his jaw tightened just a fraction before he schooled his features into something softer.

He smoothed a hand over Han’s hair, choosing his words carefully. “Han, son… not this time, okay? Appa has an early morning tomorrow, a really big day.”

Han blinked up at him, sleepy but sharp, studying Yoongi’s face as if trying to decide whether or not to believe him. You held your breath, unsure how he’d react.

Finally, after a long pause, Han let out a tiny, resigned sigh and burrowed further into Yoongi’s chest. “Okay,” he mumbled, eyes already fluttering shut.

Yoongi let out a breath of relief, his hand still rubbing slow, soothing circles over Han’s back. He glanced at you briefly, something unreadable in his gaze.

You offered him a small smile, knowing this was something that would take time—Han’s little heart was so eager, so full of love, but this wasn’t a wound that could be healed overnight, but was healing slowly.

Han’s little snores filled the quiet space, soft and steady, a reminder of how completely at peace he was in his sleep. You watched his tiny chest rise and fall, his hand clutching his well-loved bunny, and you felt the familiar warmth of love and protectiveness bloom in your chest.

Gently, you reached out and tapped Yoongi’s shoulder to get his attention. He turned to you, and you nodded toward Han before gesturing for him to follow. Together, the two of you carefully maneuvered Han into his room, mindful not to wake him as you laid him down and tucked the blankets around him.

Standing in the doorway, both of you lingered, watching the way Han snuggled deeper into his blankets, his bunny still firmly held against his cheek. The sight made you smile, but there was also something bittersweet about it.

“I’m sorry about that, Yoon,” you murmured, breaking the silence.

Yoongi shook his head, his voice soft but certain. “It’s okay. I really do have an early day tomorrow. You know… he snores like you.”

Your lips quirked up at the corner, amused. “Yeah? About the only thing he got from me, though.”

Yoongi hummed, his gaze lingering on Han before flickering back to you. “I don’t know… he has your eye color.”

You turned to meet his gaze and found something in his expression that you couldn’t quite place—soft, searching, something close to nostalgia. It made your breath catch for just a moment.

Instead of answering, you simply smiled, letting the moment settle between you. Then, with quiet steps, you walked Yoongi to the door, the air between you charged but gentle.

“Good night, Yoon,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “Drive safe home”

Yoongi hesitated, his fingers brushing yours for just a fleeting second before he pulled away. “Good night, y/n”

taglist: @busanbby-jjk @jajabro @kam9404 @yoongiiuu93 @julseka07 @tea4sykes @marihoneywk @maryhopemei @sanarin @misschelliejeon @boraluv @wobblewobble822 @amarawayne @hyuninslutbbgirl @Granataepfelchen @mar-lo-pap @enfppuff @senaqsstuff @vainkiss @rinkud @lanyia

[wildestdreamsblog]

How he met you: Attorney Kim Namjoon and his little love

Pairing: Attorney Kim Namjoon x Secretary! Reader

Summary: How did you meet him?

A/N: Everybody say (belated) happy birthday to RM! He's the reason why I fell down the BTS rabbit hole tbh hehe. I remembered seeing reels of English interviews and he was answering and I was like hmmm. Who is this cutie patootie? And why is he sometimes giving me secondhand embarrassment and proceeded on asking myself why I found his answers endearing XD Years later, I'm still here ehehe 

Masterlist, Kofi full Preview:

“Do I know you, Ms…?” Namjoon finally asked, looking at you like you were a puzzle he needed to solve because that was who he was– someone who just needed to know everything.

It was the same trait that had earned him a spoon thrown at his head by Yoongi, his hyung, just last week. Namjoon had asked too many questions during lunch, dissecting some tiny detail that had driven Yoongi to the edge. “Some things don’t need to be analyzed, Joon,” Yoongi had muttered before chucking the spoon at him, more annoyed than angry.

“You probably don’t,” you answered casually as you pointed your chopstick at him. “But you most certainly should.”

Namjoon blinked, taken aback by your bluntness. His curiosity, already piqued, deepened. “Because?” he asked, his tone cautious but intrigued.

“Honey, you’re not going to survive this law firm without me. You need me. I mean. Look at you,” you leaned in, your eyes roaming over his features. “Those glasses are so out of fashion. We are in the 21st century. Contact lenses are now a thing.”

Namjoon’s hand instinctively went to his glasses, pushing them up his nose, a faint flush creeping up his neck. He opened his mouth to protest, but you didn’t give him the chance.

“And look at your tie. You are wearing a blue suit and your tie is green. Green.”

You took a deep breath as though pointing at his fashion choices were enough to stress you out.

“I think I am competent enough to survive without you, Ms.-" Namjoon began, trying to regain some composure, his voice firm but polite.

“Ms. Y/N,” you supplied, your lips twisted into an amused smile.

“-Ms. Y/N, I don’t need fashion advice or… whatever this is. I am more than capable of surviving and excelling in this firm. You may not know me, but I graduated at the top of my class.”

“I know,” you said, leaning back with a look of satisfaction. “Kim Namjoon. Age 28. Height is 181 centimeters. You graduated from Seoul National University early due to your stellar grades. You’re a nationally recognized youth with tons of awards. Top 1 in the bar exam. Not only are you smart, but you are also apparently rich, as claimed by the 2019 issue of Seoul Bachelor’s magazine. Did I miss anything?”

[nicnak20]

The patient; Charlie Mayhew:

*Dr. Mayhew doesn't expect to meet a beauty when he does his usual rounds.*

Dr. Charlie Mayhew was a beacon of warmth in the sterile, often cold, environment of City General Hospital. His dark brown hair was always neatly slicked back, framing a face that was kind and intelligent. Brown eyes, the color of rich, dark chocolate, held a gentle compassion that radiated towards everyone he encountered.

He was known throughout the hospital for his blend of unwavering professionalism and genuine care, a rare and cherished combination. Nurses whispered about his charm, patients lauded his patience, and even the most hardened surgeons respected his sharp mind. Dr. Mayhew was, in every sense, a good man and an excellent physician, completely devoted to his calling.

One Tuesday morning, as he conducted his routine rounds, chart in hand, a new name caught his attention: ‘Yn’. The patient was in room 312, admitted overnight with injuries from a domestic accident. His heart sank slightly at the term ‘domestic accident’; he’d seen too much pain and heartbreak associated with those words. He prepared himself for the usual grim reality, a practiced mask of professional empathy settling onto his features.

He knocked softly on the door of room 312 and entered, his usual cheerful greeting on his lips. But the words caught in his throat. Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air and bathing the room in a soft, golden glow. And there, in the centre of it all, was Yn.

Even amidst the bandages that wrapped her left arm and the delicate cuts visible on her cheek and forehead, her beauty was undeniable. Her eyes, wide and luminous, were the first thing he noticed. They were a vibrant, captivating shade of hazel, flecked with gold, and they held a surprising warmth despite the circumstances. Her lips, though slightly swollen, curved into a soft, hesitant smile as she met his gaze. He felt an almost physical jolt, an unexpected, unfamiliar sensation that sent a ripple of warmth through him.

“Good morning, Ms. Yn,” he managed, his voice betraying a slight huskiness that he quickly tried to smooth out. “I’m Dr. Mayhew. I’m here to check on you.”

“Good morning, Doctor,” she replied, her voice soft and melodious, like the chime of distant bells. “Please, call me Yn.”

He approached her bedside, his professional demeanour reasserting itself, yet the initial impact of her presence lingered. He gently reviewed her chart, noting the details: glass bottle explosion during a kitchen mishap, lacerations, thankfully no deep tissue damage.

“I understand you had a bit of an accident in the kitchen,” he said, his tone laced with concern. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“A bit sore,” she admitted, her smile faltering slightly. “But I’m alright. Thank you for asking.” Her gaze was direct, open, and it held a genuine appreciation for his concern that warmed him from the inside out.

As he examined her injuries, his touch was inherently gentle, his questions careful and considerate. He explained the treatment plan, the need for regular dressing changes, and the importance of keeping the wounds clean. Yn listened attentively, her intelligent eyes absorbing every word. She asked thoughtful questions, not with anxiety, but with a desire to understand and cooperate with her recovery.

He found himself lingering longer than necessary, drawn to her quiet strength and the gentle way she carried herself despite her pain. She exuded a warmth that filled the room, a serene calmness that was incredibly appealing. He learned she was a baker, her hands, now bandaged, usually kneading dough and crafting delicate pastries. They talked about her love for baking, her dreams of opening her own little café, her passion for creating things that brought joy to others.

With each passing day, Charlie found himself inexplicably drawn to Yn’s room during his rounds. Officially, he needed to monitor her healing progress, but truthfully, he craved the quiet moments he shared with her.

He’d find excuses to stay a few minutes longer, asking about her day, her dreams, anything to keep the conversation flowing. He told her about his day too, about the complexities of hospital life, the small victories and the inevitable losses. He found himself confiding in her in a way he hadn’t with anyone else in a long time.

Yn, for her part, looked forward to his visits. His presence was like a ray of sunshine in her otherwise monotonous days confined to the hospital room. She admired his unwavering kindness, his genuine concern, and the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. She noticed the small details: the way he always made sure she was comfortable before starting his examination, the reassuring tone of his voice, the way he listened intently when she spoke, as if her words truly mattered to him.

She saw beyond the doctor’s coat, glimpsing the man beneath: kind, sweet, gentle, and genuinely caring. She found herself anticipating his arrival, her heart quickening a little whenever she heard his soft knock on the door. His visits became the highlight of her day, a gentle balm to her physical and emotional wounds.

Their conversations deepened, moving beyond superficial pleasantries to shared hopes and dreams. They discovered a mutual love for old movies, a similar taste in music, and a shared appreciation for quiet evenings with a good book. Charlie found himself laughing more easily, feeling lighter and more alive in Yn’s presence. He realised, with a startling clarity, that he was falling in love. He, Dr. Charlie Mayhew, the embodiment of professional detachment, was completely captivated by his patient, Yn.

The realization was both exhilarating and terrifying. She was his patient. Boundaries existed for a reason, lines that shouldn't be crossed. Yet, the pull he felt towards her was undeniable, a force as powerful as a tidal wave. He wrestled with his conscience, the professional ethics ingrained in him battling with the burgeoning feelings in his heart.

From Yn’s perspective, the feelings were mutual, albeit unspoken. She recognized the unspoken language in his eyes, the way his hand lingered a moment longer when he checked her pulse, the warmth in his smile that seemed reserved just for her. She felt a deep connection with him, a sense of understanding and comfort she hadn’t experienced before. She knew he was a doctor, she understood the professional distance, but her heart couldn’t help but respond to his kindness and the obvious care he showed her.

As Yn’s wounds healed, the inevitable day of her discharge approached. A bittersweet feeling settled over them both. For Charlie, the thought of Yn leaving the hospital, out of his daily orbit, was like a looming shadow. He knew he couldn't let her go without knowing if there was a chance for something more, something beyond the patient-doctor relationship.

On her last day, as he completed her final check-up, the atmosphere in the room was thick with unspoken words. Yn was dressed in her own clothes, looking radiant, the bandages gone, revealing the delicate healing of her injuries. She looked at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and something he dared to hope was longing.

“Thank you, Dr. Mayhew,” she said softly, her voice slightly trembling. “For everything. You’ve been… incredibly kind.”

He met her gaze, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew he had to say something, to break the professional barrier, even if it risked everything.

“Yn,” he began, his voice low and sincere. “Please, call me Charlie. And… and thank you, for being you. For being so… bright, even in here.” He gestured vaguely around the room. “You’ve made my rounds… significantly more enjoyable.” He managed a nervous chuckle.

She smiled, a genuine, radiant smile that lit up her entire face. “You’ve made my stay here… bearable, Charlie. More than bearable, actually.”

A silence fell between them, charged with unspoken emotion. He took a deep breath, gathering his courage.

“Yn,” he said again, his voice firmer this time. “I know… this is probably inappropriate, and I’m your doctor, and there are protocols, and… and everything. But… I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you. And I… I would really like to get to know you better. Outside of… all of this.” He gestured to the hospital room.

Her eyes widened slightly, then softened with understanding. A blush crept up her cheeks, adding to her radiant glow. “I… I would like that very much, Charlie.”

Relief washed over him, so profound it made him dizzy. He hadn’t realized how much he had been holding his breath. He stepped closer, his hand reaching out instinctively, stopping just short of touching hers.

“How about,” he suggested, his voice laced with hope, “after you’re settled back home, and everything… perhaps we could… have coffee? Or dinner? Whenever you’re feeling up to it.”

“I would love that,” she said, her voice barely a whisper, but filled with warmth and sincerity. “Really, I would.”

He smiled, a genuine, heart-felt smile that reached his eyes and crinkled the corners. “Then, maybe… if it’s okay… can I have your number? So we can… arrange it?”

She readily gave him her number, her fingers brushing his as they exchanged phones, a fleeting touch that sent a jolt of electricity through him.

As Yn left the hospital that day, she carried more than just discharge instructions. She carried the promise of a new beginning, the thrill of a budding romance, and the warmth of a connection that had blossomed in the most unexpected of places.

Charlie watched her go, a hopeful smile playing on his lips. He knew the path ahead wouldn't be without its challenges. They would have to navigate the transition from doctor-patient to something more, and there would be questions and perhaps raised eyebrows from colleagues. But looking at her receding figure, her graceful walk filled with newfound freedom, he knew, with a certainty that settled deep in his soul, that it would all be worth it.

He had found her, in the sterile halls of the hospital, a beacon of light and warmth. And he was determined to hold onto that light, to nurture it, to let their connection blossom into something beautiful and enduring. For in Yn, he had found not just a patient, but a love that had unexpectedly captured him, a love that felt true and destined, a love that promised to illuminate his life in ways he never thought possible.

[arinzeture]

While Zora Neale Hurston was born on this day in 1891, the pioneering author, anthropologist, and folklorist often claimed 1901 to be her birth year due to the gift of books she received at the age of ten that she said opened her mind to literature and represented her literary “birth.” Hurston grew up in Eatonville, Florida, an all-African American town formed following the U.S. Civil War. This gave her a unique viewpoint on the African American experience that clearly comes through in her writing. Hurston was a flamboyant figure in the Harlem Renaissance in the late 1920s. Later, she used her training in anthropology to collect and retell traditional folk stories from the many regions and countries, including the American South, Honduras, Jamaica, and Haiti.

Although she wrote published more than fifty short stories, plays, and essays as well as four novels, including her best-known novel, "Their Eyes Were Watching God," Hurston’s dialectical style fell out of favor with the literary world. Hurston might have fallen into complete obscurity following her death in 1960 were it not for the work of another African American writer, Alice Walker, whose 1975 Ms. Magazine article "In Search of Zora Neale Hurston," revived interest in Hurston’s incredible body of writing. The reemergence of Hurston's work coincided with the emergence of other female authors such as Maya Angelou, Toni Morrison, and Walker herself, whose writing focused on the African American experience.

Fortunately, Hurston's true genius is now well-recognized and "Their Eyes Were Watching God" is considered an American literary classic. Through her life and legacy, she demonstrated the truth of her famous assertion: "A thing is mighty big when time and distance cannot shrink it."

For the first box set featuring ten of her classic works, we recommend the "Zora Neale Hurston Boxed Set" at https://amzn.to/34h59Pi -- or you can find all of her finest work in one volume at https://amzn.to/2LTjfsv

There is also a recent collection of Hurston's essays spanning 35 years: "You Don’t Know Us Negroes and Other Essays," at https://amzn.to/3Vd3Zeo

To learn more about Zora Neale Hurston's famous novel, "Their Eyes Were Watching God," visit http://amzn.to/1DiY76H

For a beautiful picture book biography of Hurston, we highly recommend "Jump at the Sun: The True Life Tale of Unstoppable Storycatcher Zora Neale Hurston" for ages 5 to 9 at https://www.amightygirl.com/jump-at-the-sun

For an excellent biography on Hurston for young readers, we recommend "Zora!: The Life of Zora Neale Hurston" for ages 9 to 14 at https://www.amightygirl.com/zora

For adult readers, we also recommend Hurston's fascinating autobiography, "Dust Tracks on a Road: An Autobiography," at http://amzn.to/1OdkFat -- and the memoir "Wrapped in Rainbows" at http://amzn.to/2CztVr4

[shiftingelf]

ive seen people post their own shifting stories and it reminded me that i barely told tumblr a thing about the times ive shifted, so i think i will do a story time. :]

this is a story from a year or so ago—when i was still in 10th grade. back then, i had a teacher in had a daughter in 9th grade in the same exact school that she was teaching in. they looked alike, they shared features, and ive come across them during after-school hours for whenever i stayed overtime for my extracurriculars or when im about to head home. i frequently heard the student call that person as her mom, and i remember how they shared a surname.

well, they are mother and daughter... duh, but the shifting part will come in a bit. one time, when we were attending an awarding ceremony for students in 8th grade and 10th grade who excelled, my mom told me; "you should support your old teacher's daughter, she's in 8th grade" and i told her "no? she's in 9th" with the thought of that same girl i was referring to earlier.

i described the student and my mom disagreed, telling me that it wasnt the child she was talking about so i got confused. i remained clueless for a few weeks before i ended up in a club meeting with the teacher's daughter, so i walked up to her and remembered what happened during the awarding ceremony, and politely asked if i could take a look at her ID.

i got so... confused, when i saw that her surname was all of a sudden very different from what i was used to seeing, hearing, and remembering. i asked her "huh, you're not ms. [teacher's surname]'s daughter?" and she answered no. it made me rethink my own memories because that shouldve been impossible at first glance, i wouldnt have been able to misremember when ive seen them plenty of times back then.

the gist is that i think i shifted to a different reality where a previous mother-and-daughter became mother-and-stranger and that got me contemplating so hard. because there's a world where my parents in this reality arent the same one as here, but i didnt realize how surprising it would be at first for me to see that happen with someone else.

her surname changed and the way she treated the teacher became different, when i was accustomed to hearing her call the teacher as her mom outside of school settings and them being together. i barely see them with each other ever since. i later found out that the student in 8th grade that my mom was talking to was a different child from the other child, it's like i went to a reality where roles were swapped i guess. got me tweaking.

thats it, thats the story time. thats all.

[onequeerhuman]

Ah, the opportunities (and the tension) Pt.1

larissa weems x oc!reader, fluff with tension

light descriptions of body

no major warnings

1.7k words

"Ah, Professor," she says softly, beckoning you to come closer, gesturing to one of the chairs. "What can I do for you today?"

« Good afternoon, Principal weems…. i was hoping we could have that meeting you booked for tomorrow today/right now, if possible? » you say, standing near the door to her office.

She glances down at her calendar, raising a brow as a small smile stretches across her face, nodding in response as she sets down the pen in her hand. “Ah, of course, Professor. Please, have a seat, we can start the meeting right away."

She gestures to one of the chairs on the other side of her desk, her eyes watching you as she waits for you to take a seat, crossing her arms.

« wonderful, thank you. » you smile lightly at her, sitting down carefully and smoothing out your skirt.

She gives you a small nod as she leans back in her chair, her piercing eyes watching you intently as you sit down, studying you for a moment before her red lips curve into a smile once more.

"I trust you've been settling in nicely at Nevermore, Professor? If I may ask, how have your classes been going so far?"

« quite well, i think. the students have been quite engaged so far— and no offence to whoever was maintaining the greenhouse prior to mg arrival, but i’ve managed to revive all of the plants and have properly organized them by species, variant, requirements and aesthetics» You tell her, playing with one of my many necklaces.

A small chuckle leaves her lips as she leans forewords in her seat, resting her chin on her folded hands as she listens intently with genuine interest. She nods in agreement, tapping her long nails against the table.

"Ah, excellent. The greenhouse has sorely needed a good overhaul - I'm glad to hear you're taking care of it. Your talents in botany are highly valued here at Nevermore."

You smile warmly at her praise “why thank you, Ms. weems”

She smiles back at you, her eyes slightly flickering away from you for a moment as she reaches out and grabs a file out of a drawer, sliding it across the table towards you.

"You're welcome, Professor. As for the purpose of this meeting," she takes a deep breath, folding her hands in front of her. "I was hoping we could go over a few things; how you're adjusting to life here, any issues or concerns you may have, and discussing the upcoming Rave'N event."

“of course, yes” you pick up the file, a flicker of a frown passing over your face for a split second though not going unnoticed by the principal before you begin reading the file, which seems to mostly contain information on curriculum, past experience with the botany professors, a few progress report questions, as well as a bit of information on the raven.

She watches you intently as you scan through the information in your file, taking a moment to take note of the flicker of disdain that crossed your features. Yet, she continues on with a small nod as she waits for you to finish reading.

"Of course. As a new faculty member, there are certain expectations and responsibilities that come with the territory." Her voice is smooth and calm, yet laced with discipline. "I would like to hear your thoughts on the curriculum, and if there are any improvements you would like to make to better suit our students' needs."

« mmn, well, as i can see here, most if the past professors has a less.. hands-on approach than i would usually enact in a class setting, especially with the students attending this school…. »

She nods in understanding, her eyes flickering across the page once more.

"Ah, I see. Yes, the previous professors had a more traditional approach to teaching, but I believe a more hands-on approach might be more appealing to our students."

She looks up at you, tilting her head slightly. "What kind of approach would you envision for the coming semester, Professor?"

a light sigh escapes your lips as you think, biting your lip as you look up to the roof for a moment, « well, » you say, « i’d probably adjust the curriculum so in the warmer months i could take the students to participate in a much more involved way, with the colder months being dedicated to the more clinical and dangerous aspect of the work… and although the education on these dangerous plants are quite important, i feel there needs to be an equal amount of focus on the positive, helpful plants for different species and just in general »

The principal's demeanor shifts ever so slightly as your eyes flick to the ceiling, watching as you bite your lip. As you continue to speak, she nods in agreement with your assessment, her eyes watching you intently.

"I see," she says, her voice filled with a faint sense of warmth. “That is an excellent approach, Professor. It's important to give attention to both sides of the spectrum - not just the dangerous plants, but the helpful ones as well. And being able to get out in the warmer months will certainly enrich the students' learning experience."

You nod « yes, i hope so » You respond, adjusting your position on the seat, secretly sitting with crossed legs underneath the large skirt you’re sporting.

Her eyes flicker down for a brief moment, before returning back up to your face. She gives you a small nod of approval, leaning back in her chair once more.

"Excellent. We will definitely take your suggestions into consideration for the upcoming semester." She pauses for a moment, letting out a small chuckle. “I must say, Professor, I'm quite impressed with your dedication to your craft. It's refreshing to see someone so passionate about their work."

« why thank you, ma’am. it’s quite a huge part of my life even outside of teaching, so i feel it’s important to encorperate my joy and wisdom on the subject into every aspect of my work »

She smiles earnestly, nodding in agreement once more. “Of course, Professor. It's always wonderful to see someone so dedicated to their passion. I think our students will appreciate your enthusiasm and expertise."

As she speaks, her eyes flicker over you once more, her slender fingers tapping the table. “You certainly have a lot to offer Nevermore with your botanical knowledge."

smiling back at her, you throw a part of your

hair over your shoulder, « thank you, i certainly hope so»

The principal's eyes widen slightly as she sees your blouse, her eyes trailing over the revealing cut of the top as she lets out a small chuckle. She takes a deep breath, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips.

"And it seems you have impeccable fashion sense as well," she retorts with a smirk, tilting her head to the side as her eyes rake over the top once more.

« hmmn? oh, why thank you ..i quite enjoy the style of the 70s/90s, this happens to be one of my favourite casual tops » you tell her, shrugging.

*The principal's eyes don't leave your body as you speak, her gaze fixated on your chest as her breath hitches for a moment. She clears her throat, sitting up in her chair and crossing one leg over another.*

"I must say, you wear it so well, Professor, especially in comparison to your usual clothing choices."

snorting lightly, your lips curving up in a half smile « thank you, principal, I do love my fashion, but i prefer to remain modest while teaching.. »

The principal nods in agreement,

"Modesty is a virtue, Professor," she remarks, her eyes twinkling with a subtle playfulness. “But I must admit, it's quite lovely to see this side of you - more casual ..and revealing."

smirking at that you chuckle, saying « oh, if you’re thinking *this* is casual, you should see me outside of school sometime, you’d be surprised at my state.. » as you run your tongue over your lips/teeth.

“Oh, is that so, Professor? I must admit, I'm quite intrigued," she purrs, her voice lowered to a seductive whisper. "Perhaps you could give me a private demonstration of this 'state' of yours."

A nearly unnoticeable flush is added to your cheeks at that, but you continue on.. “hmmmn, i certainly wouldn’t be opposed to that.. maybe you’d like to join me tomorrow- i’d had plans to go out into the forest for lunch anyways, and i certainly wouldn’t mind your company” you utter with a light smile, eyes a bit darker than before.

A mischievous smile spreads across the principal's lips, her eyes sparking excitedly at your offer. She leans back in her chair, tapping her fingers against the table once more as she nods eagerly.

"Why, I'd be honored, Professor. A picnic in the forest sounds like a delightful idea. And the chance to experience you outside of work is certainly an intriguing prospect," she says with a chuckle. "Tomorrow it is, then. I look forward to our little adventure."

“Wonderful, Principal weems, I will see you tomorrow near the edge of the woods at noon then… until then” You smile, voice more gravelly as you stand up and sway your hips a bit for emphasis whilst leaving her office, a smile playing on your lips.

As you leave the office, Principal Weems watches you, her eyes trailing slowly over your body. The principal's heart quickens at the sight of your swaying hips, a faint pink blush spreading across her cheeks as she imagines the picnic tomorrow.

“Until tomorrow, Professor," she whispers softly as you exit the room, her mind already filled with delightful thoughts of your upcoming rendezvous in the forest…

want more? lmk :) -bug

[omamorens]

a while back you said something akin to “inkblade college au.. (head full of thoughts)” !! would you be so kind as to open your head and share them? i am begging you on my knees…. spare inkbkade college au.. pls…

dear anon you dont have any idea of the floodgates im about to open but!!! im imagining two main routes for this college au. bear with me with this long answer!!

the ‘met-again at college’ au:

In this version of the events, the Rat Grinders probably broke off to do their own individual thing after finishing junior year and their redemption quests.

Oisin would probably distance himself away from Elmville but still pursue wizarding school elsewhere. Probably at the Bastion City University.

This time, he does it correctly with no cheating.

Though if he was being honestly, still having access to the full benefits from the school of conjuration was probably an unfair advantage.

So he always pushed himself to do harder, to excel beyond expectations. He’s a chronic over-worker and just wants to do things right for once.

Oisin never gets into another adventuring party again and instead studies to be some type of wizard scientist, developing new spells and technology probably.

Adaine, by this time, is already a world-renowned adventurer and top divination wizard of their age, in her own right.

She’s already established somewhat of a mark to history at the young age of 24? 25? probably younger, honestly.

Oisin hears about her from time to time— they do occupy the same wizarding circles and its kind of hard to avoid mention of the Elven Oracle.

But she was a famous figure now, literally beyond reach from a lowly college student like himself.

Imagine his surprise when he sees her walk into his class one day, but not as a student, no.

Adaine was a guest speaker and was about to discuss to them the very interesting topic of the Cosmology of Extraplanar Realms and Studies of Divinities

Oisin blanked out most of it.

Too starstruck from seeing Adaine again and oh… his chest was hurting again, phantom-pains from the shatterstar that never really left his mind.

Or is it?

Before he knew it, the session has ended. He thinks it ended too soon but the topic was actually discussed for two hours.

But his professor has an announcement to make? He stayed back to hear it out.

“Miss Abernant will be conducting research in the university for some time, and she has graciously granted the Wizard Department the opportunity for a student to take up an internship role for the duration of her team’s stay. Interested students may submit a form to me and the decision will be passed to Miss Abernant’s team after careful deliberation. That is all, thank you.”

Oisin has spaced out again, reeling from the thought that their paths would probably cross even more now that she’ll be at BCU indefinitely.

“Mr. Hakinvar? Oisin Hakinvar?” his professor called for him, and he addresses her, snapping out of his thoughts.

“Ms. Abernant, this is the top student of the Wizarding course, Oisin Hakinvar. I would speak highly into considering him for the role…”

Oisin has drowned out the noise again, because Adaine was staring at him, a twinge of familiarity setting in on her features. And of annoyance.

“Oh, I know of him.” she says tersely, “Top student, you say? No unfair advantages to speak of?”

Oisin’s brow twitched at that, answering the question himself, “None at all. I’ll make sure to send in my form for the internship role.”

Because he was prideful more than anything, and the subtle mocking comment made at him was baseless.

Adaine doesn’t know him, not the way that he is right now. Not after he’s pushed himself over and over to prove that he is worthy to be here.

“Very well! I’m sure Miss Abernant will be pleased to review your form.”

“Trust me, I am very good on both paper and practical application.”

Adaine shouldn’t even care for him at all, but she was curious. After Oisin and his adventuring party disappeared off Elmville, she always wondered what they were up to. Maybe more evil plots? Maybe they died somewhere off Spyre? Who knows.

Now she does, and the kindling of curiosity was highly-flammable, the worst of all motivators she could have.

And yet.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” she says to him, like a challenge. Oisin was set on meeting her to it.

This AU is definitely tagged as “Enemies-to-Lovers”, constant bickering and challenging looks, academic rivalry too because thats always nice. Maybe a bit of mystery because I do love the allure of putting them in a dark academia setting.

the ‘they got close during senior year and went to college together’ au:

This one is definitely sweeter and idyllic.

If you’ve ever heard of Sabrina Carpenter’s new song “Please, please, please” this is the general theme; its what Adaine would feel like.

Because in this AU, Adaine finally gives Oisin the chance to date her during college.

They’re always together anyway; with both being wizards pursuing academe, their schools of study interact in much more ways than anticipated.

Lots of cute dates in between classes too!!

Going to the newest cafe to try out their menu.

Amusement park dates!! Museum dates!!!

Bastion City is filled with things to do.

And even when they don’t, just studying together was already a date.

Oisin would always have some part of his body in contact with her.

Maybe his tail wrapped around her calf under the table, his free hand on her knee when they read together side by side, or just letting her lean on to him if she gets too tired to sit upright.

Adaine, on the other hand, was a little more paranoid of their relationship.

Was she just lying in wait for Oisin to fuck up? Hopefully not, but the chances are never zero. And she hates thinking of that, because at some level, she does trust and love Oisin, wholeheartedly.

But the past has always been haunting her in some way or another.

And it’s hard to relax when danger has been everything you knew your whole life.

But Oisin was soft with her, caring and understanding, frankly a little possessive and obsessive, but it was just the healthy amount that makes her want to drag him to bed every night and assure him that she is all his.

And Oisin proves to her that he is all hers.

Just imagine. Domestic Inkblade. never thought i would live to see the day that both words are in the same sentence.

Lots of late night cuddles, of assurances, of future plans togethers.

Unending conversations of “i love you” said in the most unconventional ways.

AND OF COURSE this is college. you cant expect me to think of college au without having Adaine live up to her “Party Wizard” title!!!

Adaine definitely lets loose at parties. She has her friends with her, a loving boyfriend, and her life has never been better.

But god she has the worst alcohol tolerance known to mankind.

Oisin is definitely watching over her, excusing himself from drinking too much just incase Adaine goes wild again.

And oh she does.

Thank god Oisin is there to [i will not elaborate what happens here, but god is it in my head; just guess].

And then she wakes up with a raging headache and Oisin is more than happy to care for her (making her hangover food, massaging her sore spots).

Like I said, domestic. Fluff and comfort and so much healing. LIKE SOOO MUCH. this is the answer to the “we could’ve had it all” tag because in this AU, they have it all.

Good for them… good for them!!

Will I write this? Not anytime soon but God would I kill to read it. Someone… anyone… save me inkblade college au save me…

[novankenn]

Infatuated by a Golden Sun

(From Assassin to Sales Clerk AU)

Blake leaned against the counter. A dopey smile on her face as Yang, a young women who was once the focus of a contract regaled her with... something. She was sure there was a reason or moral to whatever Yang was telling her. Maybe important information?

But Blake couldn't focus. She was lost in Yang's iridescent violet eyes. So enraptured with just looking at Yang she didn't even notice Deery entering the Pumpkin Pete's Novelty Store for her shift. Under normal circumstances Blake would be trying to figure out HOW Deery was always able to get in and out of the store without even the greeting chime going off.

"P-Money is like total kick ass!" Yang gushed. "I mean she took an arrow... a FREAKING arrow to the shoulder and didn't scream or cry. Like she is mega-tough!"

"Yep." Blake commented, having only heard Yang's nickname for Pyrrha. The rest just flew over her head.

"Oh you should see this video Jaune sent me!" Yang merrily continued to prattle on as she dug in her pocket for her scroll. "It's like totally cute!"

"Okay." Blake responded, all the while images of them walking through the park and sharing a kiss near that historical water fountain played in her mind.

"Just a sec... here it is! See?" Yang turned her scroll about after spending a few moments to locate this special video. "What do you make of that? She's too adorable!"

"That's a SECONDHAND KISS!" Blake shouted her amber eyes wide in surprise.

"I know, right." Yang agreed. "But P-Money is so denying it. Jaune is too, but you know how oblivious Jaune is. Am I right?"

Blake grew instantly alert as Yang's entire body suddenly became ridged and tense. It was at that second she felt... her prescience. Blake flinched and involuntarily stood up straight.

"If you have time to chat with your girlfriend... you have time to do inventory." Deery's soft voice floated to Blake's ears from behind. "Maybe Ms Xiao Long would like to assist?"

"Um... I'm sorry..."

"That's a pity." Deery responded as she took a place next to Blake at the counter. "The sooner inventory gets done, the sooner Blake can leave for the day."

"Really?" Blake asked. Excitement filling her voice as images of that walk in the park reappeared.

"I would, Kitty-Kat but I promised Jaune to drop by and go over some homework for Professor Goodwitch's Pre-Calculus course." Yang apologized, a sad smile crossing her features. "She's a slave driver, but Jaune and I both need the course to graduate and have a chance at Attending Beacon University."

"Wait, I thought you were already at Beacon?" Blake asked.

"The Academy. It's a prep school for the university."

"I knew that." Deery quipped shooting Blake a wiry smile. Blake wasn't surprised that Deery did know that. The things Deery knew and Blake didn't could fill a library.

"I can help tomorrow, if you want?" Yang offered.

"I can't ask you..."

"You're hired." Deery cut Blake off. "Be here at 10 am. Understood?"

"Yes, mam." Yang replied.

"That will give Blake time to prep the Inventory Scanners."

"IS it, alright for you to just hire people like that?" Blake asked a little stunned. "I thought Bob was in charge of..."

"I have the right to hire casual labor for things like Inventory... BUT if Yang would like to work WITH you... she'll have to talk to Bob."

"You mean that's possible?" Blake asked suddenly very interested in the chance to have more time with Yang.

"As much fun as that sounds. I have a shift at my Dad's Dojo later tonight." Yang smiled sheepishly. "The front desk doesn't take care of itself... and Ruby needs time for some school club or something."

"Damn it." Blake and Deery both cursed in unison.

Yang waved and Blake waved in return, a content sigh escaping her lips.

(A/N - HUGE THANKS to @pilot-boi for another excellent and beautiful art piece for this crazy AU that she inspired!)

[littlest-w01f]

Crushing

For @acotargiftexchange

This is my gift for my lovely recipient @cinmawrites

ACOTARGIFTEXCHANGE MASTERLIST

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five - part six - part seven

A desk job was not something Feyre Archeron had imagined for her future, but with her business major, that was what she saw in her future. After graduating, she'd be working full time at the Starfall Publishing House, for now she only interned during her last year of studies.

She wore a crisp white blouse and fitted black skirt, paired with a coat to help with the chill of early December, feeling somewhat out of place among the sea of creative types in the bustling office. The hum of keyboards and animated chatter filled the air as colleagues collaborated on manuscripts, brainstorming sessions, and marketing strategies.

As Feyre knocked on and stepped into Rhysand's lavish office, with a coffee on a tray, her boss himself looked up from behind his sleek desk, his piercing blue gaze meeting hers, his eyes were so deep they appeared violet. His raven hair was perfectly tousled, framing his angular face and chiselled features. He wore a tailored black suit that accentuated his lean physique, exuding an aura of power and sophistication.

The office space was a testament to Rhysand's refined taste. Plush crimson carpets softened the sound of footsteps, while the walls were adorned with stunning pieces of art depicting breathtaking landscapes. Towering windows framed a breathtaking view of the city below, the twinkling lights as stars, planets and other celestial bodies painted a mesmerizing mural on the roof.

Feyre loved looking at the roof of Rhysand's office, admiring the strokes that it took to create the masterpiece, she'd painted a sky like that on her dresses when she was young, the memory still strong, the only good one she had of her childhood. Once upon a time, she might've furthered her passion for art, but she needed money more than she loved art, to not end up on the streets. It was one of the reasons she wanted the internship that was offered because of the pay.

In the centre of the room, a magnificent crystal chandelier cast a rainbow of colours across the polished furniture, adding to the ambience. A floor-to-ceiling bookshelf lined one wall, filled with books bound in leather, their gilded lettering glinting in the soft light.

As Feyre turned back to face Rhysand, she felt a flutter in her chest, her cheeks warming slightly under his intense scrutiny. She cleared her throat and set the coffee down on the edge of his desk before pulling out files and a pen from her bag.

"I brought your morning briefing, sir," She said, flipping open the files to reveal neatly written notes on current projects, deadlines, and meetings scheduled for the day. "Everything seems to be on track."

Rhysand leaned back in his chair, hand wrapping around his cup of coffee, as he regarded her while looking over the file. "Excellent work, Ms Archeron. Your attention to detail is impressive." His voice was low and smooth, like velvet. "I trust you're finding the internship... Enlightening?"

The compliment formed a pleasant smile on her face, but she couldn't shake off the lingering unease that always seemed to accompany their interactions. There was something about him - the way he looked at her, the tone of his voice, the very air he commanded - that made one feel both drawn to and intimidated by him. She'd heard plenty of people say he simply had that effect on them.

"I've been doing well, thank you," She replied, trying to keep her voice steady. "It's been a great learning experience so far." She hesitated, then added, "Although Amren is still a little cold."

"Yes, well, my secretary does have a reputation for being... Formidable," Rhysand chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "But don't let her prickly exterior fool you. Beneath all those sharp edges lies a brilliant mind and a fierce loyalty."

Feyre nodded, trying to picture the enigmatic Amren beneath her icy demeanour. "Then I look forward to getting to know her better." She paused, considering how much to share. "Speaking of which, I wanted to ask about my role within the company. With my background in business, I hope there would be more opportunities for growth..."

Rhysand leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk, his piercing gaze holding hers captive. "Ah, yes. Well, we do value a good business acumen here at Starfall. In fact, I've been considering promoting you to a junior management position once you complete your internship and final year." His lips curved into a small, enigmatic smile. "Of course, such a role comes with certain... Responsibilities and expectations. Nothing you can't handle, if you impress me further we'll see what's next for you."

Feyre nodded eagerly, her heart pounding at the prospect of advancement in her career. "That sounds wonderful, sir. I won't disappoint." She met his gaze, trying to convey her determination and gratitude.

Rhysand inclined his head, a hint of approval in his expression. "I believe in potential, Ms. Archeron. Potential that I intend to nurture and develop within these walls. I expect great things from you." He stood up, moving around the desk to stand closer to her, his presence commanding despite his measured steps.

Feyre felt herself straightened up slightly as Rhysand approached, her breath catching in her throat. His proximity was overwhelming, the scent of his cologne mingling with the rich aroma of leather-bound books and polished wood. She could see the individual flecks of dark blue in his irises, like scattered stars against an endless night sky.

Feyre swallowed hard, her pulse quickening as she found herself inches away from his imposing form. She could smell the faint scent of his cologne, musky and alluring. Her mind raced, unsure how to respond to this sudden shift in their interaction.

Before Feyre could formulate a response, Rhysand abruptly stepped back, reclaiming some distance between them. "Well, I suppose that's enough small talk for now," he said, his tone abrupt yet controlled. "You should get back to your work. I'm sure Amren has already begun scrutinizing your every move."

Feyre blinked, feeling a rush of relief mixed with disappointment at the sudden change in atmosphere. She quickly gathered her things, nodding briskly. "Yes, of course. Thank you again for your time, Mr. Darling."

Rhysand's eyes lingered on Feyre's form as she walked out of his office, drinking in the delicate curves of her features, the flush of colour on her neck that was visible through the strands of her hair, the sparkle of intelligence that lay in her deep blueish-grey eyes. He could sense the subtle shift in her posture, the way her breath quickened ever so slightly in his presence. Yes, there was most definitely an undeniable attraction between them, simmering just beneath the surface.

His thoughts drifted to the countless nights spent alone in his home, the emptiness echoing through the halls. But with Feyre in the room, even now, he found himself intrigued, captivated.

Rhysand's mind wandered, imagining the possibilities of having Feyre closer, seeing her every day, hearing her laughter ring out in the halls of his grand estate. He pictured her sitting across from him at dinner, her eyes sparkling with curiosity as they simply talked. He envisioned her curled up beside him on the couch, lost in a book, as he stroked her hair, whispering words of encouragement.

The fantasy was intoxicating, almost too tempting to resist. Yet, Rhysand knew he must remain cautious. Feyre was an intern, after all, and he held a position of power over her, a whole lot more than she knew. Crossing lines could lead to complications best avoided. Still, he couldn't deny the allure of her presence, the of the fantasy that that begun to plague his mind at the mere sight of her.

Like a moth drawn to a flame, Feyre found herself inexplicably drawn to Rhysand's charismatic presence. Every time their paths crossed, her heart skipped a beat, her pulse racing with a mix of excitement and trepidation. She couldn't quite put her finger on why, but there was something undeniably magnetic about him - the way his eyes seemed to see right through her, the depth of his voice, the confident air he carried like second nature.

Feyre often caught herself stealing glances at him during meetings, marvelling at the way his lips curved into a knowing smirk or the way his raven hair fell across his forehead when he leaned back to discuss a project. He was so casual yet so professional, a part of her didn't understand where they stood. If he was like that with everyone or just her. She found herself working extra hard to earn a compliment from him, putting in a lot of effort on her work and on herself.

While she was walking back to her college dorms her phone buzzed with an incoming text message. Heart fluttering, Feyre pulled out her device, hoping against hope it might be Rhysand reaching out. But instead of his name flashing across the screen, she saw the familiar name of her best friend.

MORRI💃: Hey girl! I miss you<3. How's life in the corporate world treating ya? How long till you'll be back?

Feyre let out a sighed laugh, her disappointment momentarily replaced by amusement. She had been so preoccupied with Rhysand that she hadn't reached out to Mor the entire day, but now, they had the rest of the time together. Morrigan was a fashion marketing major, and they shared a dorm, forming a fast friendship almost three years ago when they started university.

With only a moment of thought Feyre typed out a quick reply, her fingers flying across the keyboard.

FEYFEY🎨: Hey Mors! Missed you too. Work life's crazy busy, but in a good way. Was just done with my internship then I'm free to indulge in Netflix binges and take naps whenever we want 😴.

As soon as she hit send, Feyre felt a pang of longing. She missed Mor's bubbly energy and their late-night chats about everything under the sun. University had been challenging, but sharing a room with her best friend made it bearable. Now that midterms were over they finally had time for some peace and partying.

Ten minutes later, Feyre swung open the door to her dormitories. She turned to see Mor bouncing up, her vibrant hair rolled up in messy heatless curler, a wide grin plastered across her face. she wrapped Feyre in a tight hug, nearly knocking the wind out of her. "Welcome back!!"

"Oof, hey yourself!" Feyre laughed, returning the embrace. As they separated, Mor took Feyre's hand, leading her inside their cosy shared space. The room was cluttered with fashion magazines and piles of textbooks. A string of fairy lights twinkled above their desks, casting a warm glow over the space.

There was a third, now empty bed, their ex-roommate had moved out, Ianthe, the name still filled Feyre and Mor with rage. They both shuddered at the thought of Ianthe, memories of her manipulative behaviour and cruel pranks flooding back. It had taken months for the roommates to recover from her toxic influence, but eventually, they had managed to heal and rebuild their friendship stronger than ever.

Mor plopped down on their plush beanbag chair, beckoning Feyre to join her. "So, tell me more about this internship. What's it like working with Rhys?"

Feyre hesitated, forgetting how casually Mor talked of him, he was her cousin after all, and she had, in her own words, bitten his ear off to get Feyre the internship she had, she never asked for anything in return but Feyre took Mor out on her first paycheque. But Mor's genuine interest and concern for her well-being made her open up. "It's... Intense."

Feyre fiddled with the hem of her blouse, unbuttoning her top to change into something more casual. "He's demanding, always pushing me to do better," Feyre explained, a hint of a smile playing on her lips as she remembered Rhysand's intense stare and commanding presence. "And the work itself is also nice... I'm getting used to it."

Mor nodded attentively, her brown eyes sparkling with understanding. "I can imagine. Rhys has always been driven, even when we were younger. But if he's motivating you, that's great!"

She paused, studying Feyre's expression closely. "But there's something else, isn't there? Something you're not telling me…" Mor's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, eyes locked on Feyre's soft crimson cheeks. "Come on, spill. What's really going on? Does Feyre have her first big girl crush?"

In all the years that they had known each other, while Mor had many women in her life, Feyre rarely showed interest in anyone, and the blush on her face told her everything she needed to know.

Feyre's cheeks flushed a deep crimson at the attention, and she quickly looked away, avoiding eye contact. "Oh, shut up!" she muttered, trying to play it cool despite the fluttering sensation in her chest. "No... I don't."

Truthfully, she hadn't allowed herself to acknowledge these new feelings, not even to herself in the weeks she'd had them. It was too strange, too sudden, too overwhelming. But Mor's teasing remark had struck a nerve, making Feyre realize just how much her thoughts had strayed to Rhysand lately.

"I mean, he's... Handsome, I guess," Feyre said, still struggling to find the right words. "And smart, and funny in his own way. But that doesn't mean—"

"You're crushing hard, Feyre!" Mor cut in, her voice dripping with amusement. "Don't try to deny it." Mor stood up and sauntered over to Feyre, gently grasping her shoulders and turning her to face the mirror that hung above their dresser. "Look at yourself, Feys. Your blush says it all."

Feyre's reflection showed her with rosy cheeks, a shy smile playing on her lips, and an unmistakable sparkle in her eyes. She did look different right now, more vibrant and alive than usual. Perhaps she could admit it to herself.

"You've got that dreamy, lovesick look going on," Mor teased, poking Feyre's nose affectionately. "It's adorable, really. And I think you should explore these feelings, see where they lead. Maybe it leads to you become my sister for real."

At that, Feyre burst out laughing, unable to maintain her composure any longer. "You're ridiculous, Mor!" She giggled, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. "I barely know the man. It's far too soon to think about... You know... I doubt he even thinks about me. He's probably too busy being rich and managing companies."

Mor grinned, pleased to have gotten such a strong reaction out of her friend. "Far too soon, huh?" She hummed, "Well, maybe you should spend some quality time with him then, get to know him better. Who knows, maybe you'll discover he's your soulmate or something equally dramatic. And then you'll make me an auntie."

She winked playfully, then turned serious for a moment. "But honestly, Feyre, I'm happy for you either way. You deserve someone who makes you happy, and if you feel like Rhys is that person, then that's wonderful." Mor gave Feyre a gentle squeeze before releasing her. "Now, enough about your love life. I'm going to order us pizzas, you put on the movie."

With a nod, Fyere bounced onto her twin bed, reaching for her laptop and charger, scrolling through searching for their guilty pleasure, Christmas movie, something they watched almost every year.

Mor grabbed her phone and began typing away, pausing to glance back at Feyre. "Hey, don't forget to relax tonight, okay? No stressing about work or anything else. Just enjoy the pizza, the movie, and each other's company. We haven't had a proper girls' night in ages. We'll do facemasks and nails, just a pampering sesh."

She blew a kiss and slipped into their shared bathroom, leaving Feyre alone with her thoughts. As the door closed behind Mor, Feyre couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions swirling within her - excitement, nervousness, anticipation. She knew she needed to process these new feelings, but for now, she decided to push them aside and focus on the simple pleasure of spending time with her best friend.

[thegreatirene]

Snake in The Garden (Theseus Scamander x metamorphmagus!reader)

Part2 Part3

You’ve met a lot of people in your line of work. But none of them come close to the man that stands before you. He’s quite charming and very persuasive. You can see why many people can fall for his words. How he was able to get past the person who was supposed to “stand guard” of your dressing room is a thought for later. Right now you had to put your best face on and act, because your life depended on it.

“And with your presence Ms. Livingstone you could help my cause. Our cause” the older man set his hands on your hand that was set on the vanity. You glanced at it for a moment and fluttered your lashes as you looked up at him.

“We show them why we are the superior ones. We shouldn’t be in the dark anymore. You shouldn’t be hidden away.”

“I understand Mr. Grindelwald” you started to brush your hair. “The wars and the decay that they can cause is horrid” your brush snagged in a knot in your hair and you pulled it hard out of frustration. “They ruin the world and the poor creatures that inhabit” Grindelwald placed his hand over your hand stopping you from pulling your hair out.

He took hold of the brush and started to brush the knot out and smooth’s it down. He then petted the spot that you were yanking at and placed the brush down.

“I want to help you” you looked at him with determination in your eyes. He smiled at you but it fluttered as your eye color flashed from blue to y/e/c. You felt it and looked down as you blinked trying to stay calm.

“Thank you Ms. Livingstone with your help our words can reach even more ears” he said as he spoke to you through the mirror. You smiled up at him as you had tears in your eyes to show how upset you were. Wiping them away you nodded your head and patted his hand that laid on your shoulder.

He handed you a card with the address to a location to meet him and his associates. With a final kiss to your hand and a bow he apparitioned out of your dressing. You placed your hand on your lap as you looked at the empty space. A million thoughts raced in your mind as you thought about your next move. The door to your room opened and a quick flash you stupefy the guard. Sending him flying to the other wall as you barged out of the room.

“I knew I shouldn’t have taken this role ” you angrily said to yourself as you left the theater. You apparitioned from there and to a corner building a few blocks from it. Breathing slowly you centered yourself. He could have eyes on you right now. There was a dark alleyway that you slowly walked over to.

With a slow steady breath you started to change your features back to your own. From your hair to your eyes they went back to your own. You casted a small spell that changed your clothes and you walked out once you were done. You made your way back to the ministry now with new intel.

—

Ministry of Magic

“Excuse me, Ms. L/n, Mr. Scamander is-.” Your assistant spoke up as she caught you entering the room to your office.

“Not now Amy, I need to make a call” you told her as you opened your office door. You put your things away and sat down at your desk ready to call Theseus when you looked up.

“Theseus, how many times have I told you not to enter my office when I’m not here”

He was sat on your couch with a book on his lap. He had a big grin on his face as he flipped through the book. Titling his head back, he gave you a toothy smile, “you say that every time I’m in here.”

“And I mean it every time too. Anyways I was just about to call you,” you set the card that Grindelwald gave you earlier.

Theseus got up and grabbed the card from the desk and his eyebrows lifted in surprise.

“When?”

“A few moments ago, Grindelwald himself came to the dressing room of ‘Ms. Livingstone’ and persuaded her to join the cause,” you sat back in your cushy seat with a smug smile.

“It’s a good thing we got to Ms. Livingstone before he did.” Theseus said as he looked at you.

“It’s a good thing I’m an excellent Metamorphmagi.”

“Have I ever told you, you are THE best metamorphmagi I know?”

“I’m the only one you know Theseus” you rolled your eyes but still felt heat touch your cheeks at his compliment. You got up as you stood next to him, “shall we go and tell the team?”

“We will but at the moment I have prior engagements that I need to focus on.”

“Which is?”

“My little brother, he’s here to see if he can continue to travel for his research”

“Oh, well, good luck with that. Sounds boring” you went to open the door but he stopped you.

“Are you ok?” He had a hold on your hand as he looked into your eyes. You looked down at your connected hands and rubbed your thumb over his.

“I’m fine, I was a little shaken up but I’m a big girl” you smiled at him as you let go of his hand.

“I’ll brief everyone what happened and what the next plan is. In the meantime you focus on your brother and we’ll meet up again”

“Be careful L/n” you winked at him as you walked out the door.

—

“Professor Dumbledore, it’s so good to see you” you were all smiles as you walked towards him. He had a bright smile as he brought you into for a hug and pulled back to see your face.

“Lovely seeing you again” he showed you over to the table he reserved for the two of you.

“Thank you for meeting me y/n”

“My pleasure sir” you smiled as you looked over the menu. Dumbledore glanced at it and then looked around as he began to speak.

“How is your family?”

“Oh you know, dead” you looked up at him with a smile and then back at the menu.

“Ah”

“Yes well, what are you going to do, right?” The waiter came and took your orders. Just a simple two cups of tea and biscuits. He jolted down and went to prepare and left the two of you to speak.

“I have found what you were looking for sir” you opened your handbag and pulled out folded up papers. Within them a gray and white photograph lay in between.

“Friends have told me that his last location was with a circus in France” you watched as he read over the documents.

“Thank you y/n” Dumbledore put the documents in his breast pocket as the waiter came by and dropped off your orders.

“It’s no problem sir but may I ask who is this man?”

“I will explain later. I have someone I want you to meet and help with locating this boy” he said.

“Of course sir” you took a bite from your biscuit as the both of you reminisced on the past.

Dumbledore had asked you to meet him and the mystery person in a couple hours. He instructed you to be careful and pack lightly. When the time came you were stood in front of Newt Scamander.

Even though you went to Hogwarts with his older brother, you never met Newt. Of course you and Theseus weren’t close friends since the both of you were in different houses. But you were friendly enough with Theseus. From what he had told you about his brother. He was an active advocate for the magical creatures. He traveled and helped people understand them but was awkward when it came to people. You can see what Theseus meant.

“Newt this is y/n l/n. She was a classmate of your brother and works with him now at the ministry. She is the one that was able to find Credence” Newt flinched at the mention of the ministry but Dumbledore assured him that you were no enemy to him.

“It’s nice to meet you Newt” you held out your hand to him. He looked at it for a moment and shook it.

“Nice to meet you as well” he retracted his hand and placed them back in his pockets. “My brother has spoken about you a couple of times in the past” he said.

“Oh” you raised your brows and then gave him a sly smile. “Did he confess his love for me?” You giggled as you watched Newt become uncomfortable at your eye contact.

“More complaining about you”

“Oh? Like what?” Now you were interested.

“He didn’t like how you always beat him when it came to answering questions and then rubbing it in his face how he’ll always be second best because of the house he was in” you stood there awkwardly as he told you this.

“Ah, yes, well..” you looked at Dumbledore for help but he looked elsewhere.

“Your brother made it hard sometimes. He was such a know it all and everyone loved him” you rolled your eyes as you remembered the days. “I’m sure he laughs now knowing I’m in second seeing as he’s head auror” you pouted as you crossed your arms.

“Now that we’re all acquainted,” Dumbledore clapped the both of you on the shoulder, “Newt, y/n will help you locate Credence. She has as much ears on the ground as I do and I trust her 100% percent.”

“Sir-“

“Newt you need allies and having y/n on your side is for the best” Newt nodded as he accepted the help.

Dumbledore went over with you what he’s told Newt. He asked for you to go with Newt to Paris and find Credence. You agreed and said your goodbyes to Dumbledore as Newt invited you to his place.

“And how are we to travel to Paris if you can’t leave?”

“There’s a portkey we can take” he said as he walked up the steps but stops.

“Newt?” You looked at him but he was watching the window. The lights flickered on and off and he waved you behind him. He pulled his wand out prepared for a fight and you did the same. Once he opened the door he saw it nothing dangerous and leaned against the door with a sigh and ushered you inside.

“Oh, how sweet” you gushed as you watched the little creature watch the two of you as it stuffed the gold chain in his little pouch. It then scurried away as Newt went closer to it. You watched him and saw another one on a scale trying to lift some gold weights.

“There’s another” you spoke to yourself as you went to the other. It looked up at you as it tried to get up but couldn’t. An apple fell on the scale and the little guy went flying up in the air and right into Newt’s pocket.

“Can I hold one?”

“I don’t think” he stopped talking as he moved you to the side and a cork flew by and through the open door as another creature was flying on it and down the stairs.

“Bunty!” He shouted as he stormed down the stairs and you right behind him.

“Newt please let me hold one!”

“Bunty the baby nifflers are loose again” he stopped on the stairs as he shouted down at a woman who was a rather large deer like creature. With him distracted you went down the stairs and stood in front of the baby niffler.

“Oh how darling are you” you cooed at the baby as it looked at you and then jumped for the shinny buttons on your coat. Scooping it up in one hand you held it close to you as it ripped the button and stuff it in its pouch.

“So cute” you rubbed at its belly as it flipped back and kicked its hind leg in pleasure.

“Ma’am if you don’t mind” came the woman that Newt was calling to.

“Oh please let me hold it” you pouted and she looked up at Newt for help.

“Y/n please” you sighed sadly and handed over the baby niffler to Bunty. Newt gave her the other two as he went down the stairs with Bunty right behind him.

You looked around as the other two spoke about whatever. It was amazing the amount of magical creatures there were and the habitat they lived in. You went to see the baby nifflers and couldn’t but coo at them. Just precious little babies they are.

“Newt,” you turned to look at him.

“Yes”

“This place is amazing! Look at all these creatures! I don’t even know most of them” you went over where he was putting medicine in a mooncalf’s eye.

“Do be careful y/n some of the creatures can hurt you or you to them” you nodded as you walked around more.

“Who is she?” Bunty whispered to Newt but you heard her.

“I’m y/n l/n I work for the ministry as an auror” you looked over at her and she to Newt.

“Don’t worry I’m helping Newt with something” you smiled at her. She looked at Newt and confirmed it. They continued to take care of more creatures, one being a kelpie that you stood far from.

A glass shattered from upstairs and made all three of you turn to look. You were the first one up the stairs with your wand out. Newt followed after telling Bunty to go home. You were further a head and spotted the two intruders.

“Don’t move” you told the pair as they froze and looked at you.

“Who are you?” Said the male as he was holding the shattered piece of whatever he had knocked over. You frowned as you looked him over.

“I should be asking you that. What’s an American doing here?” Newt came behind you and saw the intruders and lowered your wand.

“It’s ok they are my friends from New York” newt said as he stepped away from you and over to them. The pair were happy to see Newt as the man hugged him.

“Y/n, this is Jacob Kowalski and Queenie Goldstein” he introduced his friends to you. You walked over and shook their hands, “y/n l/n I work for his brother. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise Ms. L/n” Jacob shook your hand a little bit more with feeling as he looked at queenie. She shook your hand as she gave you a big smile.

“Thank you, you’re beautiful as well” she said.

“Pardon?”

“You said I was beautiful”

“Oh, did I? I thought I said it-“

“How about I cook us some dinner” queenie said as she brought Jacob over to the dining table and tucked him in. You looked over at Newt and he had a concerning look to his face as he watched Jacob.

“Are they always like this?” You whispered over to Newt.

“He’s fine honey” Queenie said to you as she served Jacob. She put some of the delicious smelling food on your plate and then Newt. You began to eat as Newt and Queenie began to talk. From Newt finding out that Tina, her sister she told you, was seeing someone to Newt apparently marrying Leta.

“No it’s Theseus that’s marrying Leta not me” you scrapped the fork on the plate at Newt’s correction.

Queenie looked over to you and then back to Newt.

“Oh..oh dear, well when teenie read about she started dating someone else. He’s an auror. His name is Achilles Tolliver” Jacob started to laugh as he repeated the last name. Queenie joined in as well. You looked over at Newt who looked a little taken back.

Queenie announced that her and Jacob were getting married. Jacob excited at the news announced he’s marrying Jacob and splashed himself with the champagne. Queenie released confetti from her wand as it rained down on them.

Newt looked perplexed as he looked at Queenie.

“What? No I haven’t” she nervously laughed as she wiped Jacob. You frowned as you looked at her and then to Newt. Motioning your fork at Queenie for her words.

“Could you stop reading my thoughts” Newt said as he rubbed his hands on his pants.

“You’re a Legilimens?” You asked as you looked at Queenie with surprise.

She smiled at you with a nervous look as she looked back at Newt.

“Oh that is an outrageous accusation. Look at him. He’s just so happy. He’s so happy” Queenie and Jacob smiled at each other with love in their eyes as she dapped at his face.

“Then you won’t mind if I..” he pulled his wand out and Queenie stood up fast.

“Please don’t.” She pleaded. You looked back and forth as Newt told her she had nothing to worry about if Jacob wants to marry her. You now connected the dots that queenie enchanted Jacob.

Queenie went behind Jacob as Newt pointed his wand at Jacob. He laughed as he asked what he had in his hands as he Newt spoke, “surgito.”

Jacob shook violently as the love spell evaporated out of his pores. Once the spell was vanished Jacob looked around the room sweaty and tired.

“Congratulations on your engagement, Jacob” newt said as he pocketed his wand.

“Wait, what?” Newt looked over queenie with an excited look but it slowly disappeared as Jacob’s mind started to clear up.

“Oh, no. You didn’t.”

Queenie upset pack the suitcase she had and grabbed her coat as she stormed out of the home. Jacob fumbled out of his chair as he ran after Queenie. He turned back to look at Newt, “it’s very nice to see you.” He then noticed you, “I’m sorry I don’t think we met?”

“Y/n l/n”

“Y/n nice meeting you sorry about all this,” he turned to Newt “where the hell am I right now?”

“London” both you and Newt said at the same time.

“Oh! I always wanted to go here!” He slapped his leg as he headed out of the door and after Queenie.

“You’re friends are quite dramatic Newt”

[ms-dos5]

what esoteric, useful features do you find in older versions of MS office products that didn't make it into modern versions?

was there anything they did that should have continued on with newer versions but did not?

They should have continued "buy once own forever" instead of this subscription bullshit. That, and they shouldn't require an Internet connection for things like activation to getting help.

It's not so much of a case of "old versions have better features", it's "new versions change stuff for no reason". I don't like the dialog boxes appearing as sidebars in newer versions, if I right click an object to format it I expect the dialog box to pop up near me, not all the way to the side. Also I never quite got a hang of the ribbon in Publisher, and menus spell functions out better anyway (it took me FOREVER to find out where the format paragraph dialog box was, for example). Also trying to "suggest" what you want to do in ways that seem more invasive than Clippy (who was easily disabled)... no thanks.

Mostly I miss Excel shortcuts when using Excel 5.0 or similar vintage. Office 97 though... yeah I can deal with that a lot easier, especially for word processing. It has everything I need and no uncessary bullshit.

[lets-talk-gundam]

The MSM-09 Zogojuaju

While planning the invasion of Earth, strategists in the Principality of Zeon knew that gaining control of the planet's vast oceans would be key to a successful occupation. To this end, Zimmad, Zeonic, and MIP were tasked with with the development of mobile suits for use in aquatic environments.

While Zimmad and MIP are generally credited with the most successful designs, Zeonic also played a part in the development of such machines.

With all three companies contributing to the design, and with Hoshioka serving as its manufacturing center, the result would come to be a symbol of unity and collaboration for Zeon's people, as well as the ultimate aquatic machine.

Taking cues from Zeonic's Zaku Marine, MIP's Z'Gok, and Zimmad's Gogg, the MSM-09 Zogojuaju is remarkable machine, capable of unparalleled maneuverability thanks to its sleek aquadynamic design, the machine was favored by pilots whose styles incorporated speed and unpredictability.

The machine was armed with seven torpedo tubes, hidden by a stylized "mouth", as well as four additional tubes in each leg. For close range fighting, the machine featured six extendable "heat tentacles" each equipped with a deployable beam spraygun.

The machine was brutally effective during Zeon's campaigns in the Atlantic ocean and Gulf of Mexico, with Zeon ace Mauve Palomo making excellent use of the machine before his defeat at the hands of the Federation's Carrier Group 7. It's widely speculated that his defeat resulted solely from his decision to sortie in the inferior MSM-010 Zock.

The machine developed such a reputation that even the legendary Char Aznable elected to sortie in one over a fully-customized cutting-edge MS-14 Gelgoog.

Despite the machine's runaway success and reputation, it was unable to save Hoshioka from filing for Chapter 11 Bankruptcy in February of 0080, where it was eventually acquired by Anaheim Electronics, where the machine would be fully discontinued by March. Despite their discontinuation, so tenacious was this machine that surviving units could be spotted in use during various conflicts following the end of the One Year War, including by;

Zeon remnants in The Delaz conflict, the First, Second, and Third Neo-Zeon wars from UC 0083-0096

The Anti-Earth Federation Organization Mafty circa. UC 105

Several factions during the Jupiter War from UC 133-136

The League Militaire during the Zanscare Invasion in UC 153

Metatron during its revolutionary movement against the Earth Federation in UC 203.

Various Settlement Nations in their campaign against the Illuminati in UC 223.

The Outer Space Alliance during their war with Earth in UC 1160.

The Zogojuaju was originally designed by Hideki Owada for the 2005 gag manga Mobile Suit Gundam-san. Have a wonderful April Fools`! And thanks for the suggestion. You know who you are.

[ador3rin]

₊˚ෆ you've got a new follower! | return to main | go to next

there’s a gentle breeze wafting in through the open window, carrying the flowery scent of spring along with it as you stare absentmindedly out at the court yard. the earlier conversation you’d had with your homeroom teacher was replaying in your mind on a loop.

“yn-chan! what’s got you so quiet?” your brunette friend paused mid sentence, catching on to your lack of responses. the two of you were currently hanging out in a classroom, opting to spend lunch inside for the day. 

hina had been rambling on about some ridiculous argument she’d witnessed earlier between two girls in the hallway, all the while scarfing down a handful of sweets she’d pulled out of her bag. you made a mental note to swipe a few later when she wasn’t looking. 

“sorry hina,” shuffling around in your seat, you sit upright and readjust to properly face the girl sitting across from you. “i’m just thinking about what ms maeko said to me earlier.” you explain with a sigh, hands coming up to rub at your temples.

“huh? the college thing?” her head cocks to the side, confusion evident in her features.

“you’ve got good grades anyway, so what’s got you in such a mood?” you wish you weren’t just as clueless as she was. honestly, you weren't expecting the conversation to head in that direction yourself either. 

earlier that day just before lunch had began, you had approached your home room teacher in hopes of seeking out college advice, since the pros and cons list you’d been writing up wasn’t proving to be of much help at all. however, much to your surprise she had a piece of advice of her own. she’d told you to go and join a club.

it would look good on your transcript, she reasoned. you got decent grades so there wasn’t really much else you could do in that department except maintaining them. but according to her, colleges were no longer purely looking for academic excellency. 

you frustratingly relayed the conversation to your best friend and mentioned how you had been mentally browsing through the list of potential clubs ever since then. your options seemed slim.

“that’s it? just join the volleyball club.” unimpressed with your woes, she stares at you with a brow raised, answering with a simple shrug of her shoulders. “i mean, i’ve told you how i’ve been kinda swamped lately with manager duties and school work. plus, it’d be really fun if we were both managers together!”.

and that was how you managed to find yourself standing outside the volleyball gym less than a week later. unfortunately, no one seemed to be there just yet so you were stuck loitering around, eyes nervously searching for any sight of hina. 

“are ya looking for something?” an unfamiliar male speaks up, and you turn to face the disembodied voice behind you. it was one of the miya twins, standing a few feet away with his head cocked to the side. 

honestly, you didn’t really know either of their names despite having seen them around before. you’d only ever registered their existence whenever hina was dropping off something to the gym, or the few times you’d wait for her to finish after school.

 just as you’re about to open your mouth to respond, another male voice pipes up.

“would ya quit bothering the lady ‘tsumu, i’m sure she’s not interested.” the silver haired twin appears, casually smacking his sibling in the back of the head. your eyes widened at the scene, unsure of what to say or how to react. was this normal? you really didn’t want to break up a fight on your first day. 

the two are almost immediately bickering as if you aren’t awkwardly standing in front of them, and you can feel regret slowly creep through your veins. they both were sporting their club jackets, with similar duffel bags slung around their respective shoulders.

“sorry i took awhile!” your attention shifts to hina’s voice, letting out a sigh of relief at the sight of her approaching. “can you two stop fighting? you’re going to scare yn off.” she sternly scolds the males and effortlessly breaks up their squabble. her authority is rather impressive, as this is a side of her you rarely see.

turning her eyes on to you, the brunette beams with excitement as she links your arms, dragging you along with her. “c’mon! the others will be here soon, i’ll show you around inside!”. the gym was surprisingly larger than it appeared from the outside, bright lights lit up the shiny wooden court, and everywhere you looked seemed to be picture perfect. 

you were only somewhat aware of the prestige that your school’s volleyball team held, as you’d never really cared for sports before. the guys were currently nearing the ending of their training, and it had taken you a little while to grow accustomed to the slamming balls and squeaky shoes. 

hina held a brief introduction before training had commenced, but you honestly couldn't keep up with all the names even if you tried. instead, you’d opted to pick one defining feature of each member and memorised it to their jersey numbers. for example, number ten had very distinct, almost fox-like eyes. number seven was.. a character, yet when he's in the zone he's a completely different person.

it was unexpectedly intimidating to see all the players up close, especially when they’d crowded together in front of you for introductions earlier. you had seen a few of them around school before sure, but being face to face made them seem all the more larger than life. 

boasting both height and a sturdy athletic build, it would be a lie to deny that they weren’t all fairly attractive in their own rights. but mostly when they weren’t speaking though.  suddenly the existence of the volleyball club fangirls wasn’t as ludicrous to you anymore. 

after bidding your farewells and ‘nice to meet you’s’ once the training was over, you now found yourself perched on your window side bed nook, lying on your stomach with both feet dangling in the air. the light from your laptop screen illuminating your features, you eagerly scroll through your timeline, grateful for the peaceful downtime.

just when you’ve decided you’ve had your fill of social media, a notification pops up, grabbing your attention. now fuelled with newfound curiosity, you hastily click on the notification and look over the culprit's profile.

@samusamu started following you!  

# mew's notes :

IM SO EXCITED TO BE DOING AN SMAU AGAIN YAY!!!

light mode is yn's pov, and dark mode is suna's

akemi is currently travelling abroad with her family