#Git backup

[windmillcode]

LibTracker Updates 11/25/24: Simplify Dependency Management with this simple SBOM Tool

We are excited to announce the latest updates to *LibTracker*, our VSCode extension designed for professionals to simplify software bill of materials (SBOM) management. With LibTracker, you can effortlessly analyze and manage your apps, ensuring up-to-date versions, addressing security vulnerabilities, and resolving licensing issues—all at a glance.

Access it here: [LibTracker on VSCode Marketplace](https://marketplace.visualstudio.com/items?itemName=windmillcode-publisher-0.lib-tracker)

### New Features in the Latest Release:

- **Grouped Paths**: Added the ability to associate multiple apps with a root folder, easing project transfers between computers.

- **App Detail Page**:

  - **Subdependency Information**: View detailed info and license info for subdependencies.

  - Toggle between root and subdependency data to explore license and CVE details.

- **Bulk Group Path Update**:

  - Recursively searches for app basenames within directories. or the exact subPath. Can specify a recusion level

### Upcoming Features:

- **App Detail Page Enhancements**:

  - Integration of CVE details for all subdependencies.

  - Search functionality extended to include nested child rows.

  - Expand and collapse all subtables within rows for streamlined navigation.

  - Responsive design updates to allow a card-based layout for improved usability.

- **Toggle Select All Apps**: Introducing a select-all option on the project detail page.

- **Workspace Folder Management**: Development depends on VSCode API’s ability to support VSCode profiles.

- **SBOM Generation**: Investigating whether to retrieve license and CVE details for every version of each package used in the app.

### Future Milestones (Exploring Feasibility):

- **Git Backup Changes**: Enhancements to streamline version control and backup capabilities.

- **AI-Powered Summaries**: Considering automated generation of license and CVE category summaries.

- **Subdependency Navigation**: Exploring the possibility of linking subdependencies in the license pane to their locations in the dependency table

- **Advanced Table Features** - the current package does not support

  - child row search

  - expand and collapse all subtables in a given row

  - responsiveness (remove columns or using cards at a certain viewport)

[average-desk-lamp]

ma'am sorry. your robot girl backed up her memories, hit her head, forgot stuff, and immediately backed up their memories again. the surgeon is helping her git rebase but you should be prepared for the worst (sorting every file manually)

[ettadunham]

and fuck you too

[sableeira]

why can’t I be unconditionally happy for once in my goddamn life why do I always have to be cursed with hardware malfunction or data loss a week before any given deadline

[pineyw00dsshesquatch]

Me and my husband with our 90's Ford trucks. Also the Altima we just sold had a shifter issue we had screwdriver in the center console for.

NO PAYMENTS AND CHEAP INSURANCE THO

Back in yonder days when we lived in the burbs and both had to work and commute and "needed good cars" it felt like all our money was devoured by said payments and insurance.

This new setup is annoying, but at least we can reach the spark plugs and there's no giant fucking screens in the dashboards.

FUCK DASHBOARD SCREENS MY ND ASS CAN'T DO IT.

going to work 😌

[dexaroth]

I'm gonna be executed for the atrocities I've had to commit against my pc because I bought it pre-built and the fuckers took all the non-necesssary screws off of it so they have to lay there bareass naked as a beacon of shame

[spencersmopbucket]

Another Man's Treasure | Fred Weasley

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader Summary: You're Cormac McLaggen's girlfriend — but Cormac pays more attention to Quidditch than you. Shame, shame.. Fred just can't let you go to waste.

Warnings & Themes: fluff, NSFW (oral!fem receiving), cheating on partner

When you'd begun dating Cormac, it was different.

He was attentive, sweet, mindful. But now? The man was a complete git. Most days, you sat on the bleachers of the pitch, feeling absolutely bloody dejected and watching him fly around on a broom for hours practicing for a team he was only a reserve on.

It was pathetic, truly. You and him. You sat waiting for a guy who couldn't show less interest in you if he tried — and he absolutely sucked at Quidditch yet continued to ignore a gorgeous girl for it.

It didn’t help that Cormac never introduced you to anyone either. You weren’t “his girl” at Gryffindor parties — just some girl hanging around him until someone asked who you were. You weren’t on his arm, weren’t in his conversations, and apparently weren’t important enough to even walk with to Hogsmeade.

You were Cormac McLaggen’s girlfriend in the way someone might say they “have a cat” and never feed it.

So, yeah, sitting in the stands while he zoomed around like a headless Hippogriff? It was just your Tuesday.

Sighing, you opened a book, frowning at the pages in front of you. You might as well get comfortable. It would be a while.

Below you, Fred and George Weasley stood, getting gear on to begin practicing. It was a gorgeous day and some of the Quidditch players actually had a solid reason to get out and practice.

Because again, only some had a productive spot on the team.

You felt eyes on you. Glancing down, you saw Fred. You rolled your eyes as he waved at you, wiggling his fingers in a flirtatious fashion.

You knew Fred and George. Everyone did. Every girl especially — they were tall, muscular, Quidditch stars, and incredibly easy on the eyes. You felt a warmth spread across your cheeks at his wave, despite how much you tried to ignore it.

You also tried to ignore the girlish excitement you felt. You were spoken for after all. What would you look like entertaining another man? A right slag, that's what. Waving back nonchalantly, you turned back to your book.

Fred sighed, clipping his helmet onto his head.

“Shame,” he addressed George. "That is a right shame. A crime, really."

George cocked a ginger eyebrow as he adjusted his gloves. “What is?”

Fred nodded subtly toward the stands. “Her. All alone. Looking like that. For him.”

George followed his brother’s gaze, lips tugging into a smirk once he spotted you. “McLaggen’s girlfriend?”

Fred glanced back up at you. You were back absorbed into your book, e/c hair blowing in the soft wind. Every once in a while, you glanced gloomily at your boyfriend, who once again didn't spare you a single ounce of his attention.

"She's the fittest girl at Hogwarts. Easily. Why is she with McLaggen?"

George scoffed under his breath. “Because looks clearly aren’t everything. Or maybe she’s got a savior complex.”

Fred frowned.

"He's not even good at Quidditch! He's bloody awful. Look at him," He gestured to the pitch, where Cormac was wobbling about on his broom. "Doesn't even look like he's playing. Looks like he's doing an interpretive broom dance."

George burst out laughing, nearly dropping his bat. “Merlin’s beard, you're not wrong. That’s not flying — that’s flailing with purpose.”

Fred rolled his eyes. “And somehow that is the bloke she waits around for every damn day like he’s the bloody star player.”

George snorted. “You’ve been keeping tabs, then?”

Fred gave him a look. “You telling me you wouldn’t notice her? Sitting there every day, looking like a dream and getting treated like a backup broomstick?”

“She’s not our problem, mate.”

Fred didn’t answer right away. His jaw ticked slightly as he watched you glance up at Cormac again, a flicker of hope in your eyes — one that died almost immediately when he didn’t so much as wave.

“She could be someone’s world,” Fred said quietly. “Instead she’s waiting for scraps.”

George eyed his brother, something more serious settling between them. “You’ve got it bad.”

Fred didn’t deny it. Instead, he said, “I’m just saying… if it were me, she wouldn’t be sitting up there alone. She’d be on the broom with me. Or on my shoulders. Or—hell, anywhere but forgotten.”

George paused, then smirked again. “So what’s the plan, Casanova?”

Fred grinned, a familiar mischievous glint returning to his eyes. “Easy. Show her the difference between being looked at and being wanted.”

He kicked off the ground again, but this time with a different kind of determination.

He was set to embarrass the shit out of McLaggen. One, for being ungrateful. And two.. He was kind of hoping you'd get the ick.

George cackled as Fred shot into the air, weaving expertly through the sky while McLaggen hovered below like a confused Bludger.

“Oi, McLaggen!” Fred called loud enough for half the pitch to hear, voice full of feigned cheer. “You practicing for the ballet? Thought Quidditch involved a Snitch, not pirouettes.”

A few laughs echoed from the other players. Even George barked a laugh, tossing a Bludger up with a wicked grin.

Cormac scowled from midair, wobbling slightly as he turned toward Fred. “Bugger off, Weasley!”

Fred cupped a hand around his ear. “Sorry — couldn’t hear you over the sound of mediocrity!”

You peeked over the top of your book, startled by the sudden exchange. You tried to hide your amusement, but Fred caught the slight twitch of your lips. His chest swelled with triumph.

Phase One: Humiliate the knob. Phase Two: Make her smile. Phase Three: …Well, he hadn’t figured that bit out yet. But he would.

Fred flew another circle around Cormac, performing an exaggerated, showy dive that ended with a perfect landing — just below the bleachers where you sat.

He pulled off his helmet, glancing up at you with that telltale grin.

“Hope you’re taking notes,” he called, slightly breathless. “In case your boyfriend ever wants to learn how to actually fly.”

Your mouth parted slightly, a laugh escaping before you could catch it. “Are you always this cocky, or is today special?”

Fred’s eyes gleamed. “Only on Tuesdays. And when a pretty girl’s watching.”

He winked, then turned and jogged back onto the field — leaving you flustered, smiling despite yourself, and just a little less devoted to the prat in the air.

You didn’t know it yet, but Fred Weasley had just started rewriting your entire love story.

Of course, Cormac had opted to go over plays in the locker room after the incident at the pitch instead of walking back to the dorms with you. Typical.

You walked back alone, carrying your book and pulling your jacket tighter — the wind had started to get chilly as the day went on. You hummed to yourself as you got closer to the castle.

“Oi! Bookworm!”

You turned, startled, and there he was — Fred Weasley, jogging up beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world. His hair was windblown, his cheeks still pink from the chill, and his smile was… well, unfair, really.

“Didn’t think it was nice to let you walk alone,” he said, matching your pace. “Seems your rogue Bludger of a boyfriend forgot where the castle was.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were already smiling. “He’s not my Bludger. He’s just... my boyfriend.”

Fred made a face. “You say that like you’re trying to convince yourself.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, choosing not to respond right away. The path toward the castle was quiet, apart from your footsteps on the gravel and the low whistle of the wind. It felt weirdly intimate — the kind of silence that made you feel seen.

Fred didn’t push. Just walked with you, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

“You know,” he said after a moment, glancing sideways at you, “I wasn’t joking earlier.”

“About what?”

“About you being the prettiest girl at Hogwarts.”

Your heart skipped embarrassingly. “That so?”

“Swear on George’s life,” he said solemnly. “And I only say that when I really mean it. He’s very dear to me.”

You laughed again, surprised at how warm it made you feel — not just the compliment, but the effort. The way he noticed you, even in a moment as small as this.

“I’m not used to people saying things like that to me,” you admitted quietly.

Fred slowed his pace slightly, studying you. “Well, get used to it.”

You looked at him, brow raised. “Why?”

He smirked. “Because I’m not done saying them.”

And as the two of you crossed through the castle doors, brushing shoulders, warmth blooming where he accidentally touched your arm — you realized something:

You hadn’t thought of Cormac once since Fred showed up.

"I have a boyfriend, Weasley," you snorted. "I doubt he'd take kindly to you doing this."

Fred just grinned, undeterred. That infuriating, charming grin of his — the kind that made your stomach twist in a way Cormac's never had.

“Doing what?” he asked innocently, all wide eyes and mock-surprise. “Walking you back? Complimenting you? Being decent? Merlin forbid.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You know what I mean.”

Fred leaned in a little, voice lowering — not teasing now, but sincere, softer. “I know. And I know you’re with him. But that doesn’t mean I don’t see what he doesn’t.”

You blinked, startled by the seriousness that slipped into his tone.

“He takes you for granted,” Fred continued, holding your gaze. “Doesn’t mean I have to.”

The hallway was suddenly too quiet. Too warm. You opened your mouth, but you weren’t even sure what you were going to say — luckily, Fred filled the silence with a familiar crooked smile, stepping back and releasing the tension.

“But hey,” he added, casual again, “if he ever stops being the luckiest git alive... I hope I’m first in line.”

Then he winked — not flirty this time, not entirely — and turned toward the Gryffindor staircase like he hadn’t just lobbed a Confundus charm straight into your chest.

And Merlin help you...

You kind of wished he already was first in line.

—

The first Common Room party of the year always hit immediately after the first Gryffindor quidditch win.

Only 6th and 7th years were invited, of course — there was Firewhiskey and other alcholic beverages involved. If the younger students were invited, the festivities may get out to the professors. If that happened, everyone was being hexed by McGonagall and buried in a hole on the quidditch field.

You got ready with Hermione and Ginny Weasley (who you'd just met the same night). Hermione was your closest friend. After you'd confided in her about having a slight crush on Fred, she'd immediately introduced you to the ginger girl.

Hermione curled your hair gently as you giggled, listening to a story about Ron bubble from Ginny's lips.

“…and then Ron actually tried to hex Malfoy with a mouth full of treacle tart,” Ginny said, laughing as she swept some glitter onto her cheekbones. “Honestly, I’ve never seen treacle shoot that far.”

You snorted, barely managing to stay still as Hermione tugged the curling wand through another section of your hair. “Did it even work?”

“Of course not,” Hermione huffed from behind you. “He said ‘slug’ instead of ‘slugulus.’ All he managed to do was make a very sticky mess.”

You grinned into the mirror, cheeks already sore from smiling. There was a lightness in your chest tonight — the kind that hadn’t been there in weeks. You knew why.

Fred.

Even the name fluttered through your chest like a secret. It often switched between feelings of excitement and feelings of guilt.

You glanced down at your outfit — Hermione had loaned you one of her sleeker cardigans and Ginny insisted you wear her black mini skirt (“You’ve got legs, use them”), and your own boots tied it all together. You had to admit… you looked good.

No. You looked better than good. You looked like someone who was not dating Cormac McLaggen anymore — which wasn't true, but you looked it. You knew Cormac wouldn't approve of your outfit. You also knew he might not even pay enough attention to you to care.

Hermione raised a brow at you through the mirror. “You’re smiling.”

“I’m always smiling.”

“Not like that you’re not,” she smirked, handing you a tube of lip gloss. “You’ve got the look of a girl who’s about to fall.”

Ginny tilted her head. “For Fred?”

You rolled your eyes.

"Gals! I have a boyfriend."

Ginny raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, and he’s busy playing Quidditch, while Fred is right here, right in front of you, actually noticing you.”

Hermione shot her a look. “We’re not encouraging this, Ginny.”

You blinked, glancing at your reflection in the mirror again. The truth hit you like a ton of bricks: Fred had been noticing you for days. And you'd been noticing him right back. You'd even caught yourself imagining what it would be like to kiss him, to have someone actually see you instead of just waiting around for scraps.

Your fingers tightened around the lip gloss Hermione handed you, unsure of how to respond. The guilt felt like a heavy cloak you couldn’t quite shake off.

“I have a boyfriend,” you muttered, voice quieter this time. "But—"

“You're not blind," Ginny finished for you, that smirk still in place.

Hermione shot her friend a glance, looking more thoughtful than mischievous. “It’s just... if you’re not happy in a relationship, it’s okay to rethink things. Just don’t rush into anything.”

You met her eyes in the mirror, her voice striking a chord. You weren’t happy. You hadn’t been for a while.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” you said, the words feeling heavier than you intended. “But I also don't want to keep pretending everything’s fine.”

Ginny reached out, squeezing your shoulder lightly. “You don’t have to pretend. And besides, if Fred’s interested, you should at least see where it goes.” She raised her glass of pumpkin juice. “No harm in that, right?”

You forced a smile, feeling a weight lift from your chest. “Yeah, I guess. No harm.”

Hermione let out a sigh, but there was no disapproval in her tone. "Just don't make any decisions you aren't ready for. But do what makes you happy, alright?"

"Alright," you nodded, feeling strangely reassured.

As you stepped into the common room, you tried to shake off the heavy thoughts clouding your mind, but they followed you like shadows. Cormac hadn't even noticed you when you walked in, his focus entirely on the latest Quidditch match stats he was bantering about with Seamus. You approached him with your arms crossed, smiling kindly when he finally glanced down at you.

"Hi, love."

He smiled back briefly, leaning down to peck your cheek.

"Hello, darling."

The brief kiss on your cheek didn’t feel like it used to. It was routine now, nothing more than a formality. You swallowed the lump in your throat and forced a smile, trying to ignore the empty feeling settling in your chest.

“How was the match?” you asked, hoping for some kind of real connection.

Cormac shrugged, already turning his attention back to Seamus, clearly eager to get back to the conversation. “Ah, you know, same old, same old. Quidditch, mate. Nothing to worry about. I’m already focused on the next game.”

You wanted to be nasty. You wanted to be rude.

How would he even know how the match was? The git didn't even play in it. He sat on the bench.

You bit your lip to stop the words from spilling out, but they hovered at the tip of your tongue, demanding to be said. The frustration you’d been holding back for weeks was threatening to pour out like a flood. How could he be so blind? How could he be so wrapped up in his own world that he didn’t even notice how much you were trying?

Instead of lashing out, you forced a tight smile, biting down on your irritation.

“Right,” you said, your voice slightly sharper than you intended. “You’re focused on the next game. Of course.”

He didn’t catch the sarcasm, of course. He was too busy regaling Seamus with more stats, as if that was the most important thing in the world.

You stood there, arms crossed, and felt yourself growing smaller in his shadow. The longer you stayed in his orbit, the more you realized just how little you mattered to him anymore. It wasn’t even about Quidditch anymore — it was about how he couldn’t be bothered to even acknowledge you, let alone make any effort.

You shifted on your feet, suddenly feeling like you couldn’t stand there another second. You could practically hear Fred’s voice in your head — You deserve better than this — and for the first time, it actually felt true.

With a last glance at Cormac, who hadn’t even realized you were still standing there, you walked off, a burst of energy propelling you away from the dullness of him. You didn’t know where you were going, but anywhere felt better than standing there like an afterthought.

And then you spotted Fred.

Of course, he was watching. He always seemed to be watching.

His lips quirked up when he saw you, and the glint in his eyes was almost enough to make you forget how awful everything had just been. Almost.

“Looks like that went well,” Fred remarked, crossing his arms as you stopped in front of him, feeling the weight of everything on your shoulders.

You almost didn’t know how to respond, but somehow, Fred’s presence made it easier. “Well, he’s still talking about Quidditch,” you said, your tone almost too calm for how you were feeling inside.

Fred laughed, glancing over at your boyfriend.

"Quidditch, yeah? The same Quidditch game I played and won today?" He asked playfully. "That's funny. I don't remember seeing a Cormac McLaggen on the pitch."

You couldn't help but laugh at the way Fred's tone had an edge of mockery, and the way he made Cormac sound so utterly irrelevant. You glanced at your boyfriend again, who was still in his own little world, bragging about his Quidditch expertise. It was honestly pathetic.

"Exactly," you replied, rolling your eyes. "I don't think Cormac would know how to hold a broomstick properly if it bit him."

Fred's grin widened, clearly pleased with your response. "Well, at least one of us appreciates Quidditch the way it was meant to be." He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice, "And just so you know, I don't mind playing for two."

You met his gaze, a teasing smile curling on your lips. "Two?"

"Yeah, for you." Fred said it with such casual confidence, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, but the way his eyes lingered on yours made your chest tighten in a good way.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, trying not to let your thoughts run away with you. Cormac was still your boyfriend — kind of. But standing there, in Fred's orbit, you couldn’t ignore the growing pull between you two, a magnetic force you hadn’t expected.

"I don't think Cormac would appreciate you sharing the spotlight," you teased, but even you could hear the lack of real conviction in your words.

Fred chuckled, his voice lowering in that way that made it feel like there was no one else around. "Who says I’m sharing? You’ve got a lot more going for you than just his attention."

For a moment, the space between you seemed to shrink, and everything else — Cormac, the party, the chatter — disappeared. It was just you and Fred, and the undeniable chemistry that had been building since the first time he’d shown up at the pitch.

“Maybe you’re right,” you said softly, unable to pull your eyes away from his.

The party went on. You didn't even waste your time glancing at Cormac anymore. Instead, you took shots with your friends and cast every spare glance at Fred.

As you got drunker, your feelings got stronger. They always did. You sat with Hermione and Ginny, singing a song loudly and giggling. Before you knew it, Fred was back again, smirking.

Fred leaned casually against the table, his smirk never faltering as he watched you and your friends. He crossed his arms, but his eyes were all on you, gleaming with mischief and something else — something that made your pulse race just a little faster.

"Still here?" you teased, a playful challenge in your voice as you looked up at him from where you sat.

"Wouldn’t miss it," he replied smoothly, his tone low, yet dripping with that signature charm. "Besides, I don’t think you’d want to be stuck with Cormac for much longer."

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips was undeniable. “I’m fine without him,” you said, feeling the heat of alcohol start to cloud your thoughts, but only in the best way possible. "And maybe I’ve got better company right here.”

Fred raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth curling into a half-smirk. "Better company, huh? What a coincidence. I was thinking the same thing."

The tension between you both was electric, palpable. It hung in the air, thick and unspoken, but you could feel it in the way Fred’s gaze never wavered from you.

Ginny, always the observant one, caught the subtle shift in the atmosphere and grinned. "Alright, you two," she said with a knowing look. "You both should just kiss already."

Your heart skipped, and for a split second, Fred’s eyes flickered to yours, his smirk turning into something more sincere, something almost... hungry.

You nearly choked on your drink, laughing in an attempt to mask the sudden heat on your face. "Ginny!" you protested, though it came out breathlessly. "You’re drunk."

Fred chuckled, his voice barely audible above the noise of the party. “I’ll take that as a compliment, then.”

The moment was interrupted. Cormac cleared his throat, a glare on his face. His friends stood behind him.

The air in the room instantly thickened, the playful energy dissipating as Cormac’s presence loomed over you like a storm cloud. He didn’t even glance at Fred; his eyes were fixed on you, his expression harsh, almost accusing.

“Everything alright here?” Cormac’s voice was low, the kind of tone that suggested he already knew the answer but wanted to make sure you felt the weight of his disapproval.

You shrugged.

"You seemed fine in your corner of the room."

Cormac’s jaw tightened at your response, and his friends shifted uncomfortably behind him, sensing the brewing tension. He wasn’t used to being spoken to like this, and you could feel the heat radiating off him.

“You’re drunk,” he muttered, his gaze flicking to the drink in your hand as though it was some kind of proof of your irresponsibility. “And you’re with him.” His eyes shot a pointed glare at Fred, who simply raised an eyebrow and leaned back casually.

“I’m allowed to talk to whoever I want,” you replied, keeping your tone steady, even though your heart was pounding. You could feel the eyes of the entire room on you, but this time, it didn’t bother you as much as it usually did. You were done hiding in Cormac’s shadow.

Fred smirked and took a step back, hands in his pockets as if to give you space, but still within reach should you need him. "Looks like someone needs to get a grip," he said lightly, his voice teasing, but there was an edge to it.

Cormac’s nostrils flared, and he took a step closer, his face reddening. "You think this is funny, Weasley?" His voice was low, threatening. "Stay out of this."

Fred’s grin never wavered. “I think it’s hilarious, actually. But hey, if you want to keep playing the jealous boyfriend role, go ahead.”

You could see Cormac’s hands twitch. He stepped forward. Fred raised an eyebrow, standing from his seat. He was easily a head taller than Cormac, maybe more.

"Stay away from my girlfriend, git. I hear all the whispers around this school. Fred Weasley flirting with my girlfriend. You're flirtin' with a right ass kicking next."

Fred’s eyes darkened slightly, but his smirk remained, though now it was colder, sharper. He stood tall, his posture effortlessly confident, an undeniable contrast to Cormac’s flustered and aggressive stance.

"An arse kicking?" Fred snorted, actually having the guff to laugh in Cormac's face. "Oi, Georgie! Did you hear that right? McLaggen wants to deliver me a 'right arse kicking'."

George, who had been leaning casually against the wall, looked up with a grin that matched Fred’s. He crossed his arms and took a step forward, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “An arse kicking, bloke?” he echoed, his tone full of sarcasm. “Oh, I do hope you’ve got more than just the threat of bad breath and an overinflated ego, McLaggen.”

The laughter between the twins only served to make Cormac’s face redden further, and you could almost feel the heat radiating off of him. It was clear that the situation was getting increasingly uncomfortable for him, and yet, Fred and George didn’t seem to care in the slightest.

“Yeah, mate,” Fred continued, his voice dripping with amusement. “Not sure you’ve got the goods for that kind of threat. How about you take that bad attitude and go sulk somewhere else before you really embarrass yourself?”

There was a palpable tension in the room as Fred’s eyes locked onto Cormac’s, but despite the threat of violence, Fred seemed completely unfazed. He just stood there, his smirk wide and his posture so relaxed it was as though he was daring Cormac to take the first swing.

Cormac got closer, him and Fred almost nose to nose.

"Stay. Away. From Y/N."

Fred’s smirk didn’t falter, though there was a noticeable shift in the air. His posture didn’t tense, but there was a quiet intensity in his eyes now. He leaned forward just slightly, closing the gap between him and Cormac with a confidence that almost made it seem like he had all the time in the world.

“Make me,” Fred said softly, his voice low and almost casual, like the entire confrontation was a minor inconvenience. The challenge in his tone was unmistakable, daring Cormac to try something — anything.

Cormac’s face was mere inches from Fred’s, his breath hot and heavy in the silence that had enveloped them. For a moment, it seemed like neither of them would budge, like the tension was going to snap in a violent clash. But then Cormac’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, frustration evident in the sharpness of his jaw. He was seething, but Fred wasn’t backing down, wasn’t giving him an inch.

Finally, the dam broke.

Cormac lunged at Fred, but his friends were too quick, grabbing ahold of him. Your eyes widened.

Fred burst into laughter, his eyebrows raised.

"Oh, my! The froggy did jump. Let him go, boys. Let's see what he can do, yeah?"

The tension in the room reached a fever pitch as Fred's challenge hung in the air. Cormac’s friends, clearly unsure, hesitated for a second before releasing him, but there was no mistaking the fury in his eyes. He was seething, ready to lash out, but Fred didn’t flinch.

Fred’s laughter rang out, loud and carefree, like he was genuinely enjoying this absurd situation. He stepped back a little, hands in the air as if to say, “Come on then.”

“Go on then, McLaggen,” Fred taunted, his tone light, as though he were merely encouraging a schoolyard squabble. “Show me what you’ve got. But don’t go crying to your mates when it doesn’t work out.”

You could feel the eyes of everyone around you, the whispers and the stares. Some of the students were backing away, not wanting to get caught in the middle of this. Fred’s confidence was unmatched, but you could also see the moment Cormac’s resolve started to crack.

Fred’s posture was still relaxed, his smirk in place, but there was something more now — the challenge had shifted. The onlookers were waiting to see if Cormac would actually follow through.

For a split second, Cormac looked like he was going to make a move. His hand twitched, as if contemplating it, but then he stopped. His chest heaved with anger, but his eyes were calculating now, as if trying to figure out if it was worth throwing the first punch.

Fred raised an eyebrow, mocking him. “What’s wrong, mate? Too scared to even throw a proper punch?”

Cormac’s face was a mask of fury, his pride clearly wounded. He looked like he was about to explode, but after a tense pause, he began to walk away.

"I want you back in the dorm by one, Y/N." He hissed. Then, he left.

The moment Cormac’s voice cut through the tension, it was like a cold splash of water. You were still frozen in place, your heart pounding in your chest. His words echoed in your mind — the command, the possessiveness. You felt your stomach twist, the anger bubbling up once more.

But Fred, as always, didn’t seem fazed. He leaned against the table casually, his arms crossed over his chest, looking after Cormac with a raised brow. “Is that right?” he muttered under his breath, an amused smirk tugging at his lips.

The air was thick with the aftermath, the party resuming its usual hum of conversation, but the dynamic had changed. Everyone could feel it.

Fred turned his gaze back to you, his eyes softening, though the sharpness of the encounter still lingered in the air. “You don’t have to listen to him, you know.”

His words hung there, simple but loaded. You knew it wasn’t just about Cormac anymore. It was about what you wanted, what you were going to do next.

You met Fred’s eyes, trying to steady your racing heart. “I know.”

But even as you said it, part of you felt a strange pull, a sense of responsibility to Cormac’s words. You could feel the control he tried to exert over you, like a tight grip on your very being. It wasn’t right, but the thought of confrontation still made your stomach churn.

Fred didn’t push. He didn’t need to. He stood there, waiting, giving you the space to process.

After a long pause, you finally spoke, your voice quieter now. “I don’t want to go back to the dorm tonight.” It came out almost like a confession, and you immediately regretted it. But Fred’s gaze softened in understanding.

“Then don’t,” he said simply, a warmth creeping into his tone. “You’re not his to command, Y/N.”

His words were a reminder — not just that you were free, but that you deserved more. You deserved to make your own choices, to not be controlled by anyone.

You couldn’t help but feel the weight of that. Fred’s presence had shifted from playful to something deeper, something more protective and genuine.

Without a word, he reached out, offering his hand to you. His gaze didn’t leave yours as he waited, his smirk gone, replaced with something that spoke volumes.

“You’ve got options. You can stay in my dorm, or we can go somewhere else. Your call.”

The offer was simple, yet it felt like the world was in your hands. Cormac’s control, his possessiveness — it felt a lot smaller in comparison to the choice Fred was giving you now.

Ultimately, you decided to go to Fred's upon the promise that he'd sleep on the floor and you could have the bed.

When it was time, you crept up the stairs sneakily, knowing you weren't supposed to be there. Before you'd left, Hermione and Ginny winked at you, mouthing 'use protection'. As usual, you'd used the lame quote you always did.

"I have a boyfriend!"

You stepped into Fred’s dorm with a mix of nerves and curiosity fluttering in your chest. The room had the unmistakable scent of boy — a mix of broom polish, something vaguely like cinnamon, and just a hint of mischief. Quidditch posters were slightly crooked on the walls, a pair of socks hung from the corner of his bedpost, and a few Zonko’s wrappers were scattered on the floor like confetti after a prank well done.

Fred closed the door behind you with a quiet click, then turned, watching your expression closely. “Alright, I know it’s not exactly five-star,” he said, scratching the back of his neck with a sheepish grin, “but I promise the bed’s clean-ish. And I’m told the floor builds character.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, but the corners of your lips twitched up. “You don’t have to sleep on the floor, you know.”

Fred raised a brow. “You’re not about to suggest we share, are you? Because that might make your boyfriend — sorry, our resident caveman — a bit twitchy.”

You laughed, the sound soft and surprising even to your own ears. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” Fred said, flopping down on the bed for the moment and tossing a pillow to the floor like it was a throne, “you’re here.”

You stood there for a second longer than necessary, watching him. For all the jokes and smirks, there was something undeniably warm about him — like you were safe in a place you hadn’t realized you’d been missing.

“I’m only here to avoid a fight,” you said, not really believing it yourself.

Fred looked at you, unbothered. “Then I hope it was worth sneaking past McGonagall and the protection squad.” He mimicked Ginny and Hermione’s voices with a dramatic flair: “‘Use protection!’ — honestly, I feel like they’re rooting for me.”

You groaned, pulling a pillow over your face. “I hate that I keep using that same excuse. I have a boyfriend… it sounds weaker every time I say it.”

Fred’s voice was quieter now. “Then stop saying it.”

The room fell into a soft silence.

You lifted the pillow just enough to peek at him. “That’s not fair.”

He met your gaze with something softer than a smirk. “Neither is the way he treats you.”

There was nothing flirty in his voice this time — no edge, no teasing. Just truth.

You could feel how close you were. His thighs were resting next to yours, only an inch from touching. You were sad you couldn't share the bed without it being wrong.

Fred must’ve felt it too — the closeness, the tension that wasn’t born from a fight or an argument, but from restraint. The unspoken something that had been hanging between you two for weeks now. Maybe months. Maybe longer.

You could feel the heat radiating from him, his presence like a magnetic pull, and it wasn’t fair. Not because of the situation, or the rumors, or even the rules — but because being near him made you feel calm. Real. Understood. Something you didn’t even realize you’d been starving for.

“I hate this,” you whispered, not even sure if you meant the situation, your relationship with Cormac, or the fact that you couldn’t just... let yourself fall into this moment.

Fred didn’t move, but his voice came low. “What part?”

You hesitated. “The part where I have to keep pretending I don’t want more than this.”

He looked at you then — really looked. All the mischief and bravado faded in a blink. There was something in his eyes that made your breath catch, something heavy with meaning, but gentle too.

“You don’t have to pretend with me. I won't squeal.”

Your eyes softened. You felt yourself almost melting.

Fred leaned forward, almost testing how far you'd let him go.

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t pull away.

His hand found the edge of the bed, steadying himself, his knuckles brushing lightly against your knee. It wasn’t bold or pushy — it was cautious, careful, like he was giving you every opportunity to stop him. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

His eyes never left yours, and in them, you didn’t see a boy looking for a joke or a cheap thrill. You saw someone who meant it. Someone who knew exactly what you were risking and was willing to meet you there anyway — with patience, with warmth, with that steady, maddening confidence he always wore so well.

“You sure?” he asked, voice a whisper now, nearly swallowed by the hush of the room. “Because once I know you want this too… I don’t think I can go back to pretending either.”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you reached out, fingers barely ghosting over his wrist — and that was all he needed.

Fred closed the space between you, slow and certain, his forehead gently resting against yours. No kiss. Not yet. Just that shared breath, that promise suspended in the air.

"I don't think I've ever felt this way in my life."

Fred let out the softest breath, like the weight of your words had struck something deep inside him — something real. His fingers brushed your knee again, this time more firmly, grounding himself as he searched your eyes.

“Me either,” he admitted, his voice barely audible, like speaking too loud might break the moment.

His thumb skimmed your wrist, tracing slow, reverent circles as he kept his forehead against yours. “It’s not just a crush. Not some passing thing. I feel it — here.” He moved your hand gently, placing it flat over his chest where his heart thudded steadily beneath your palm. “Every time I see you.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty — it was full. Full of every glance, every smirk, every quiet moment you’d shared that hadn’t made sense until now.

Fred leaned back just enough to look you in the eyes again, searching for the final piece of permission. His voice cracked just slightly when he whispered, “Can I kiss you?”

Fuck it.

"Please?" You asked, your voice a quiet whimper.

That was all it took.

Fred closed the distance without hesitation, one hand coming up to cradle your cheek with such care it made your heart ache. His lips met yours gently at first, like he was memorizing the shape of your mouth, the feeling of finally having you this close. It wasn’t rushed — it was reverent. A kiss years in the making, built from tension, longing, and all the moments you’d spent denying it.

But once it started, there was no going back.

The second kiss was deeper, slower but more desperate — his fingers slipping into your hair, your hands clinging to his shirt. It was like something had finally broken free between you, and now that it had, neither of you could stop. The need in the room shifted from hesitant to hungry in an instant.

Fred pulled back only slightly, his forehead pressed against yours again, lips brushing as he spoke. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that — instead I got to watch moments like this wasted on some talentless git."

He kissed you again before you could respond — soft, then firm, like he couldn’t get enough. His voice came in a breathless whisper against your lips: “Say the word and I’ll stop, yeah?”

You didn’t say a word.

Instead, you pulled him back in with a grip that left no room for doubt. Your fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck as you kissed him harder, need surging like a flood. Fred groaned softly into your mouth — a low, desperate sound that seemed to vibrate right through you — before his hands found your waist, tugging you into his lap like you belonged there.

You did.

The warmth of his body pressed against yours, his touch suddenly more urgent, more claiming. His mouth moved along your jaw, down to the edge of your throat, where he lingered with soft, open-mouthed kisses that made your breath hitch. “You have no idea,” he murmured against your skin, “how mad you make me, every time you call that idiot your boyfriend.”

His hands ran under the hem of your shirt now, slow and reverent even in the heat of it all, like he still couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch you this way.

Fred's hands paused just beneath the fabric, fingertips brushing your bare skin like he was memorizing the feel of you. His breath was hot against your neck, the restraint in his movements contrasting the intensity of the moment. He didn’t rush. He didn’t push.

“You shouldn’t have to settle for someone who only wants to own you,” he whispered, lips brushing your collarbone. “You deserve to be worshipped.”

Your heart pounded at his words — not because of the heat, but the sincerity behind them. Fred didn’t just want you. He saw you. All of you. Every piece you’d tucked away, every part Cormac had ignored or tried to control — Fred was holding you like none of that scared him.

He pulled back enough to meet your gaze again, thumbs still stroking lazy circles into your hips. “I meant what I said. You call the shots. We stop whenever you say.”

His voice was still low, husky with want — but his eyes held nothing but respect, waiting for your permission, like it was the only thing that mattered in the world.

You felt yourself squirm under his touch, the heat between your legs almost becoming uncomfortable. You weren’t even sure if you’d feel guilty for doing this anymore. Fred was the most exquisite thing you’d ever tasted, a forbidden fruit.

Fred noticed the way you moved against him, the quiet, involuntary squirm, and his hands tightened slightly at your hips — not to restrain, but to ground. His lips parted like he was about to say something, but he didn’t. Instead, he just looked at you, his gaze dark and reverent, as if he could already feel the shift in you, the slow unraveling of hesitation.

“I want to take care of you. Will you let me, love?” He asked, his brown eyes darker than ever.

Your breath caught at the tenderness in his voice — the contrast between his raw need and the reverence in his words made your heart ache. There was no arrogance in the way Fred looked at you now, no teasing or bravado. Just a quiet, aching sincerity. Like this had never been about just desire — it had always been about you.

You nodded, barely able to speak. “Yes,” you whispered, voice trembling. “Please.”

Fred smirked, the hands on your hips lifting only to slide under the waistband of your skirt. “That’s my girl.”

You shuddered as his rough, Quidditch conditioned hands met the skin below your belly button, your e/c eyes glued onto him. The brisk air flooded your hips, thighs, and legs as he pulled the skirt off.

He tossed it to the floor quickly, his eyes raking over your body in awe.

“You’re gorgeous. Absolutely bloody perfect.”

His thick fingers trailed along the waistband of your underwear, toying with the thin fabric. He eyed the wet patch on the front, an amused smile on his lips.

“Betcha Cormac McLaggen never caused this mess, hm?”

You rolled your eyes, attempting to close your legs. He pushed them back open, chuckling.

Quickly, he tugged your panties down your legs too, his eyes darkening even further at the sight of you. Your pussy was perfect, glistening in the dim light of the moon. He ran a finger down the length of it, watching your essence collect onto it.

You exhaled, the cold breath hitting Fred.

“Pretty. So, so pretty.”

Before you knew it, Fred was repositioning himself, his body sliding down the rest of the bed. He positions himself between your thighs, pushing them further apart. His eyes look eagerly up at you, a smirk on his lips.

“Gonna take care of you, yeah? Show you an unselfish bloke, since you’ve never seen one.”

You could’ve cried.

With a firm squeeze on your thigh, he dives in.

He licks a thick stripe up the middle of your heat, eliciting a moan from your lips immediately. You could’ve sworn you heard him chuckle against you — you definitely felt the vibration of it.

He laps at you eagerly, like a dog that just found water in the desert. Your clit gets most of the attention, but he occasionally goes where your essence has collected most, cleaning you up as he works.

“Oh my Merlin—” you gasp, a quiet whimper leaving your lips as your hand trails down to him, threading through his hair without even thinking.

This only pushes him further. He focuses on the most sensitive part of you, the cute little bundle of nerves, until you feel like you could pass out.

All it takes it one more push. He sucks at you, a loud sluuuurp, just enough pressure.

You come undone immediately, a lewd moan leaving your lips. You’d almost be embarrassed at how quick it was if you could even think.

“Fred!”

He doesn’t stop, leading you through your release. Your hips buck as you attempt to push him off, but his broad hand forces your hips down.

All that’s left now is to clean you up. He can’t let you go to waste.

Licking up every drop of cum you’d let slip, he came up off from you. The lower part of his face glistens sinfully.

Your jaw is still wide open in both bliss and disbelief as you look at him, a loud exhale exiting your mouth.

Quickly, as if it was perfectly normal, a typical part of his evening, he wiped your release from his face and sucked it from his fingers, humming gratefully.

He looked down at you with a lazy, satisfied grin, eyes soft but gleaming with something deeper. “See?” he murmured, brushing your hair from your face with the gentlest touch. “That’s what you deserve, love. Not the bloody Quidditch mascot.”

You laughed, breathless and flushed, your brain fuzzy.

“I have a boyfriend.”

Fred let out a dramatic groan and threw his head back against the pillow. “Merlin’s bloody beard, not again.”

You giggled, half buried in his chest, still breathless and dazed. “It’s a reflex at this point.”

He turned his head to look at you, one brow raised and a teasing smirk forming on his lips. “Yeah? Well, reflex or not, love, you really need to update your status. Because your boyfriend didn’t make you sound like that.” His fingers traced lazy circles over your spine. “I did.”

You roll your eyes, pushing yourself closer to him. He wraps his arms around you tightly, curling you into his chest.

“Goodnight, Weasley. You’ve turned me into a sinner.”

Fred chuckled, the sound low and warm against your ear as he buried his face in your hair. “Then I’ll happily be the reason you fall from grace,” he murmured, voice laced with something both teasing and devastatingly sincere.

His arms tightened around you as he pressed a soft kiss to your temple. “Sleep. I’ve got you.”

The warmth of his embrace, the steady beat of his heart, and the fading ache of the night’s confessions lulled you into a peace you hadn’t felt in ages. And for once, you didn’t care about tomorrow — not about guilt, not about consequences.

The next morning, you still felt the same. No guilt. No shame. That’s how you knew for sure that your relationship with Cormac had run its course and that you needed to end it — ASAP.

And after his brutish behavior the other night, what better way was there to break it to him but through the very Weasley that had shown you the greener grass on the other side?

You entered the Great Hall, Fred’s arm thrown around your shoulder.

You didn’t even try to hide the smug satisfaction bubbling beneath your skin.

Fred was relaxed, smirking like he knew exactly the kind of storm you were about to unleash. His arm hung heavy around your shoulders, protective and possessive in a way that was unmistakably deliberate. You leaned into it — not for the drama, but because it felt good. Right.

The hum of morning chatter in the Great Hall dulled the second you walked in. Heads turned. Students smiled, cheered even. And at the Gryffindor table, Cormac McLaggen froze mid-bite, eyes narrowing as they locked onto the two of you.

You gave him a look that was cool, almost bored. “McLaggen,” you said lightly, as though you were passing a stranger on the street.

Fred didn’t stop walking, guiding you toward your usual spot like nothing was amiss. But as you slid onto the bench beside him, his arm stayed firmly in place, and his hand brushed your shoulder with just enough intimacy to make the message clear.

Cormac was already on his feet. “What the hell is this?”

Fred looked up at him with a smile that was too calm to be kind. “This?” He gestured lazily between you. “This is her making a better choice.”

Cormac’s jaw clenched. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not,” you cut in, voice steady, unfazed. “We’re over, Cormac. As of last night, officially. Your behavior lately? That was the last straw.”

He looked between you and Fred, fuming. “So you’re just gonna — what? Run off with him?”

You didn’t blink. “No, I walked away from you. And he was already standing there.”

Fred leaned back, hands behind his head now, relaxed as ever. “She simply decided she preferred gingers. And blokes that don’t pretend to be good at Quidditch. And blokes that brush their teeth.”

The Gryffindor table burst into scattered laughter, a few muffled snorts and gasps echoing down the line. Even George, two seats away, choked on his pumpkin juice, coughing into his sleeve with a wide-eyed, delighted grin.

Cormac’s face flushed a deep, angry red, his fists clenched at his sides. “You think this is funny?” he snapped, eyes locked on Fred. “You think you can just take her from me and humiliate me in front of everyone?”

Fred didn’t move, his tone still maddeningly casual. “Mate, I didn’t take anything. You lost her all on your own. I just happened to be the better option when the dust settled.”

You saw it — the twitch in Cormac’s jaw, the way his shoulders squared as if ready to swing. But this time, Fred’s eyes sharpened, just a little.

“Don’t,” he warned, his smile fading just enough to let the tension creep in again. “I’d hate to embarrass you twice in one week.”

Cormac turned, glaring.

“Whatever. I deserve better than some stupid slag, anyway.”

Fred was on his feet before anyone else could react.

There was no teasing in his expression now — no witty retorts, no lopsided smirk. Just pure, cold fury. The kind that silenced the whole hall in an instant.

“What are you—”

Fred’s fist connected with Cormac’s jaw before the insult could fully leave his mouth.

The sound was sickening — a sharp crack that echoed through the Great Hall like a thunderclap. Heads turned. Conversations halted mid-sentence. Even the enchanted ceiling seemed to flicker for a moment, as if the castle itself recoiled from the blow.

Cormac stumbled back, dazed, clutching his face with wide eyes and bleeding pride. He didn’t fall — not quite — but the damage was clear: his lip was split, and his ego shattered.

Fred didn’t follow it up. He stood over Cormac, shoulders heaving, eyes burning. “Long overdue, you absolute waste of space prat,” he growled. “Try that shit again and see what you get next, mate.”

McGonagall’s voice suddenly rang through the hall like a whip. “Mr. Weasley!”

Fred didn’t flinch. He only turned slightly, shielding you behind him again with a hand at your hip. “Sorry, Professor,” he said, still glaring at Cormac. “Slipped.”

—

The tension from the Great Hall carried all the way into detention, where Fred now sat slumped at a desk in an empty classroom, idly tossing a quill from one hand to the other. He looked more annoyed than remorseful — not at the punishment, but at the hour wasted inside instead of with you.

The door creaked open.

He glanced up — and there you were.

McGonagall had given you permission. She was an advocator for women, and you’d explained the entire situation to her. She was slightly reluctant, but ended up letting you enter with a ‘just this once’ slipping from her lips.

“You’re not in trouble,” he said, brow lifting in amused confusion as you shut the door behind you.

“No,” you teased, strolling toward him. “Figured if you’re gonna sit here sulking, I might as well brighten the place up a bit.”

Fred grinned, eyes following your every step as you hopped up to sit on the desk in front of him, legs swinging playfully. He reached towards your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“I can’t believe I can call you my girlfriend now. Never thought I’d see the day you gave up on the bench warmer.”

You smirked, gently nudging Fred with your knee as he leaned forward, resting his chin on your thigh like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Gave up on him the moment I realized I was already in love with the guy who actually showed up for me,” you said, fingers sliding through his hair.

Fred beamed, practically glowing. “So you’re saying I’m your hero? Finally getting the credit I deserve?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the fond smile tugging at your lips. “More like my very chaotic, very ginger hero who got detention for punching my ex.”

Fred looked far too pleased with that title.

“Don’t forget, love. I also devoured his girlfriend in my bed two doors down from him.”

You raised your eyebrows, laughing as you lightly smacked his shoulder. “Fred!”

He grinned shamelessly, that familiar mischievous glint lighting up his eyes. “What? Just making sure history remembers me properly.”

You shook your head, but the smile on your face wouldn’t budge. “You’re unbelievable.”

Fred leaned in, brushing his nose against yours, voice dipping to something softer. “And yet… you still chose me.”

You exhaled, heart full. “Yeah. I did.”

And as he kissed you — slow, certain, and impossibly warm — you realized that, for the first time in a long time, you didn’t regret a single thing.

[artsy-hobbitses]

When your boyfriend is a smarmy git who got banged up on the battlefield because he decided not to wait for backup you EXPLICITLY TOLD HIM TO WAIT FOR but also you’re so happy he’s okay DAMNIT TAIL

Ratchet deduces a 50/50 chance of fighting or fornicating in the next five minutes (or both) and he wants them OUT while he fetches his third coffee of the day.

[timkontheunsure]

Complementary Vs Contrasting talents

(ok I was reading this awesome post by awkwardandeccentric. Go read it.

And it sent me down a rabbit hole, that didn't completely fit a reblog lol. So now there's this thing).

Contrasting Stolitz

Ok, I just really like how both of Stolitz have very different natural performance talents.

They look likes they'll end up being eachother captive devoted audience.

Because Stolitz unlike with Fizz and Blitz, don't have skills that conflict.

Where as growing up Fizz and Blitz would be often pitted against eachother, for the same spot light.

Blitz's sence of humour is something they had in common from day one. It's always made Stolas happy.

And it's one of the few things that Fizz and Blitz have always differed on.

Just like with what games to play together, with Stolas happier to let Blitz take the lead in things. And loved playing pirates.

But ok Blitz being Stolas' audience..

The first compliment we see Blitz give Stolas is specifically on his performing abilities. His singing.

Something thing Stolas normal only gets criticism for.

Just like Blitz and his off the wall sence of humour.

And Stolas was able to sing well enough to bullshit a room full of the most powerful people in hell. That's pretty impressive.

Specifically using it to make Blitz's dream come true, of becoming the most famous imp ever, and to keep him safe.

Blitz is the first hellborn ever to survive being sentenced to death by one of the Sins.

All this was meant as a parting gift to the man he loves, via song.

(Similar to how Stolas gave his love of music to his daughter as a present, to help her understand the world) .

No way Blitz isn't going to ecstatic when he's bird's healed enough to sing again.

Even if neither of them want now to be performers as a job, Stolas needs music as part of his life to be fully him. Just like Blitz needs comedy.

It looks like they're being set up to be able to build off with the things they share, and where they differ.

Be able to cheer the other on with their own individual spotlights.

Complementary Fizzmodeous

Fizz and Ozzie talents are much more closely aligned.

With both of them being active performers, in the same field. Who trade off who gets to shine as the headliner and who's back up, in the same spot light.

Instead of feeling they have to compete against eachother to be noticed. Like Blitz and Fizz would have to do in the circus.

House of Asmodeus it's Ozzie taking the lead, with Fizz playing backup.

And in 2 minutes notice it's Fizz's number, that Ozzie is making safer by swapping the fire. And stepping up as real backup when Mam's a git.

The excellent bit is neither couple is competing with eachother really.

Fizz and Ozzie trade who gets to be the big deal, depending on who's jig it is.

Where as Stolas and Blitz are just each others biggest fans.

(they simp hard).

Honestly I just think Blitz and Stolas work better, to be able to fully support eachother fully. Then Blitz and Fizz could have done in the long run.

Because Fizz is a little bit right, there was some resentment over Fizz being rewarded more at the circus. (All the daddy issues).

They were set up to complete since they were tots, and the difference they were already showing work much better with their adult partners.

Instead of Blitz needing to real in his jokes. (Seriously Stolitz share one braincell some times lol).

Or Fizz feeling he had to put up more of level of gorn and danger than he's comfy with.

Not to mention there missing some kink overlaps lol.

And we all know Stolas' paperwork skills will be a massive asset to IMP, when he's back on his meds.

But yer these two just work, and I love them together.

And look forward to Blitz cheering on Stolas' songs. And the rest of IMP cringing as Blitz managers to make Stolas laugh his feathered arse off.

[sim0nril3y]

First Date

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader Scenario: It's no denying that their first date is a little rocky to begin with, but as things settle Simon wondered if he is in too deep. Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), mentions of alcohol, suggestive conversation, slight mention of smut, canon-typical swearing (I mean, it's Ghost for fuck sake!).

Bloody fucking hell. It was still beyond him why Simon had actually agreed to this mess. Why had he done this to himself? Maybe he’d had too much to drink. Maybe a pretty face made him completely lose his mind… or whatever was left of it. Whatever the reason was he was here now. Waiting in an Italian restaurant with a cold lager half-finished beside him and the chair opposite him empty. Maybe you’d thought better of it. Maybe that was for the best. Fuck, it still fucking hurt though…

A sudden flutter of commotion came from behind him. Looking over his shoulder to watching as you rushed across the room, removing your coat to reveal a beautiful silky dress that contoured to your frame seamlessly, his eyes had lingered on your body for so long he almost missed the guilty smile you shared with him. “Bloody taxi driver got the wrong restaurant.” You announced before allowing your tense shoulders to fall. “I’m not typically this flustered – I promise.”

“I believe you.” Simon then rose and stepped around the table, taking your chair in hand and pulling it out for you to sit in before tucking it in. There was a lot you could say about Simon Riley, but he was a gentleman to the people that deserved it the most. After giving you a few moments to settle Simon finally asked. “You want a drink?” Taking a swig of his own beer and quirking his brow at you. “God, yes. I’d literally murder for a white wine.” Your dramatics made him laugh, like genuinely, he wasn’t really sure the last time someone had made him do that… Pushing those thoughts to the back of his mine Simon flagged down the waiter and ordering you one.

“What s’it you do for work?” Simon asked then, forgetting for a moment that it might be very possible for you not to be established into the working world yet, especially with how long young people seemed to stay at university now. “I’m a barmaid down at the Golden Lion.” Oh, he knew that place. It wasn’t so fancy up-and-coming gastropub. No, it was a rundown old pub owned by a miserable git. He knew the type of tossers that went in there too. “It’s not what I want to do forever, but it works right now.” There was an easy shrug to your shoulders before you admitted. “I’m an artist.” The words had drifted from your mouth with such ease. An artist. That wasn’t a real job, Simon thought. “You got any backup plans, kid?”

You blinked at him blankly before a grin spread across your features. “You sound like my parents.” Brushing away the question with another carefree shrug. That second Simon hated your optimism. It was that same optimism all kids your age had. That same sense that the world owed them their dreams. There was this malicious part of Simon that wanted to burst your bubble, deflate your self-entitled ego and remind you that the real world didn’t care about your dreams or your wants. Your voice cut through the silence again. “Who knows, it probably won’t work out, but I want to try just for a few more years.”

“Yeah…” Jesus, he felt like such a prick. He had just assumed that you was just some dumb kid that felt like the world owed them something, but… but you were just a hopeful girl that was chasing a very tricky and far away dream. Who was he to judge? You’d found a way to sustain yourself whilst also trying to navigate into a very select profession. “You any good?” His cheeks suddenly set aflame at how the question sounded on his tongue. “Your art, I mean. Is it good?”

A delicate giggle bubbled in your throat as you finished your wine with a quick swig. “I like to think I’m pretty good…” Lifting your sultry and inviting gaze to find his own. “Maybe I could show you sometime…” Simon couldn’t believe it when he felt his heart fucking stutter in his chest. Fucking hell. It was that moment that he realised was in deep here. Clearing his throat Simon adjusted himself discreetly in his seat. It was going to be a hard end to this dinner – no pun intended.

Leading her across the carpark Simon stood beside the waiting cab, hand on the open door as you spoke softly to the driver through the window. A moment later you gazed up into his eyes and offered quietly. “I had a really nice time tonight…” The sweetness of your tone was enough to warm him even in this bitter night air. “Yeah…” He grunted out. “Me too…” Adding swiftly a moment later causing you to breathe out a subtle sigh of relief. “Are you gonna put me out of my misery and take me out again, or gonna make me beg for it?” Jesus, the idea of you begging was something that made his heart race. Knelt. Eyes pleading. Every inch of you- Stop. He can’t do that right now.

Placing a firm finger under your chin Simon jutted her head back forcing you to meet his intense gaze. “Get the feeling you don’t beg all that often, kid.” That same little smirk found your lips, watching as your eyes darkened at his comment. “M’sure it’s a sweet fuckin’ sound…” He was fighting internally with himself. Part of him screamed to just give you exactly what you wanted. Bend your tight body over that bonnet and fuck you stupid. Another part of him told himself to allow himself some form of happiness, take you out again and see what might happen. The final part scoffed and scowled at that optimism. It warned him that being with him was practically a death sentence. No, he needed to let you go, let you move on and find a boring man to turn into a husband and pop out a couple ankle-biters with.  “Are you free next week?” Your question came interrupting his cruel inner monologue. No. Say no. End this. “Yes.” A wild grin tore across your features, you had certainly won this round.

Masterlist | Ask | 30-08-2023

[nixcraft]

Imagine being this stupid to drink Kool-Aid and giving a remote LLM tool full access to your codebase, and, in many cases, not maintaining backups or using proper Git with permissions. How these guys are getting hired to write code is beyond me.

[minimalsizeconspiracy]

No-Google (fan)fic writing, Part 1: LibreOffice Writer

Storytime

The first documents and fanfictions I wrote on a computer were .doc documents written with Microsoft Word 98. At least those I remember.

From there, I sort of naturally graduated to following versions of Microsoft Word, the last one I’ve actively used to write texts of any considerable length (more than half a page) being Word 2007 (but only under duress from my employer).

That was partly due to the fact that the Microsoft Office suite has always been expensive and there were times I simply didn’t want to spend the money on it. So I started using OpenOffice Writer fairly early on, “graduating” to LibreOffice Writer once that was available.

Word versus Writer

What are the differences between Word (Microsoft) and Writer (LibreOffice)?

Cost

Firstly, Writer is free. It comes as part of the LibreOffice Suite, which has a replacement for almost every application Office has. The ones it hasn’t, you won’t need for writing fanfic, trust me.

So, +1 for being freely available.

Interface

Interface-wise – well, it might look a little old-fashioned to those used to Google docs and Word. Back in the day, it was mostly that the buttons looked differently. However, Writer did not adopt the “ribbon” Word has shipped and continues to have customisable bars. For me, that’s a huge +1 argument for using Writer over Word or Google docs, because I can edit these bars and only keep the buttons I actually need – unlike the Word ribbons, which drove me to despair and ultimately away from Word after 2007 appeared.

Features

Other than that, it really isn’t all that different from Word. You can use document structures like headings, subheadings, track changes, compare documents, footnotes, endnotes, everything else Word can do. It really is a proper, great replacement for Word – it even is mostly compatible with Word in that .doc and .docx documents can be opened with Writer, even if the layout may look a bit off.

So +1 – your old files are compatible with it.

File formats

Files written with Writer are stored as .odt (Open Document Text), but there are options for export into other formats, such as PDF, EPUB or XHTML. Exporting to AO3 is simple – copy the text you want, set the AO3 text editor to Rich Text and paste.

Easy +1.

Syncing

LibreOffice does not offer cloud-storage. So if you want your files available on several devices, you need a different solution. As I write more for this series, I’ll describe the different options in more detail, but Dropbox, GIT or, depending on which provider you’re using, your email providers cloud storage are options. OneDrive, if you mind Microsoft less than Google.

Or an old-fashioned USB in combination with an automatic backup application.*

Ease of use for Word/Google doc-users

As someone who came straight from Word (although a very old version) to Writer, I’ve always found it very easy to use. What I particularly like is that the interface is much less cluttered than the Word ribbons and I can customise the bars. In all honesty, if it weren’t for that cosmetic difference, I think many users wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between Writer and Word.

So if you’re just looking for something to replace Word or Google docs, Writer is definitely a good option.

*I’m not recommending USBs because I’m of the opinion that it’s a convenient solution. I’m doing it because I’m a cynic. Every time a company tells me I can have something for free, my first question will be “what will I be paying with instead?”

Because if I don’t pay money, I’ll pay with my data. That’s one of the main reasons I never started using Google. It’s just too good to be true, all those services for free.

So, you know, if you’re good with data being collected on you or you can’t afford to pay for a syncing service, by all means, use unpaid services. Just be aware of what comes with it. You will pay, one way or the other, with money or your data. Nothing in the world is for free, especially not those apps companies are trying to get you to use. Read No-Google (fan)fic writing, Part 2: Zettelkasten

Read No-Google (fan)fic writing, Part 3: LaTeχ

Read No-Google (fan)fic writing, Part 4: Markdown

Read No-Google (fan)fic writing, Part 5: Obsidian

[andmaybegayer]

I know I just reblogged the beastly reminder to backup your files like two days ago but once again: I am presently digging into my backups to recover a build config file that was .gitignored in a project and so hadn't saved the changes I made to it to my git repo, and I have access to that because I backed up my files.

[elliebyrrdwrites]

Dramione Drabble 6.

the drabbles just keep coming.

While Granger didn’t understand what had happened in that meeting this morning, Draco did.

He felt her slip into his subconscious. Felt her mind inside of his, watching one of the hundreds of fantasies Draco had about harming Weasley.

It was a daily occurrence, for him, really. It wasn’t always so frequent, but ever since the day she died, Draco imagined it often enough to have categories. When he was really irritated, he’d imagine the red headed git dying by Draco’s own bare hands. On more manageable days, the fantasizes were more tame.

Like the one Granger had unwittingly slid into. She believed it to be one of her own, most likely brought on by the realization that what Draco had pointed out about the idiot was accurate.

Ronald Weasley was not happy that Hermione Granger had survived and that bothered her. It even bothered Draco but it wasn’t surprising. Aside from his obvious idiocy the bloke exuded, there seemed to be some kind of sixth sense. As if the hatred the red-head had garnered and curated had given himself the ability to sense Draco’s presence.

Even if it was just a sliver of Draco's soul nestled inside of his fiancé and longtime friend.

This observation had initially unnerved Draco. Because if Ron was brave enough to voice his concerns, then the idea would be planted into not only Hermione’s mind, but Harry Potters.

And Merlin knew how that would go.

But now, it was entertaining to him. Because now, he got to sit back and watch as Ron Weasley single handedly destroyed his relationship with the Golden Girl herself.

The Golden Girl with eyes of silver. Silver and gold. Draco and Hermione.

Draco grinned to himself as he stalked through the halls of the DLME. It was lunch time and Draco was in the mood for something in particular. He had a craving for warm skin and plump lips. He had a hunger for wild, untamed curls and the scent of coconut and mango.

“Malfoy,” Potters neutral tone called from behind.

Draco turned to see the Chosen One jogging toward him. “Potter,” Draco lifted his chin in greeting, repressing his impatience.

“Do you have a minute?” Potter glanced around and leaned in closer. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes deep into the back of his head. He couldn’t answer another bloody question about the attacker or that damn wand.

The assailants wand was an issue because Potter wanted to perform a Prior Incantato on it. But Draco had ensured that it had been destroyed. Before calling the department for backup, Draco had snapped the wand in half, ensuring that the unicorn hair inside was severed completely.

Potter wouldn’t drop it. He seemed to think that Granger was still in danger if they didn’t figure out what kind of mysterious curse she had been hit with.

“What’s up, Potter?” Draco asked, fighting a sigh.

“Well, I’ve been thinking about that mysterious curse...”

Here we go.

“And?”

Potter leaned in and spoke low. “Well, I was thinking...do you know anyone who might specialize in obscure curses?”

“...” Draco lifted his chin and managed to look down his nose at Potter, despite the fact that he didn’t actually hate Potter. “Maybe. Why?”

“Well, I know Hermione refuses to let me fuss over her but,” He shrugged. “I’m concerned about any long-term effects the curse might have on her.”

“Of course.” Draco forced a tone of understanding.

“Well, do you think we could, maybe, call in a favor? I know you have a lot of connections and figured you might know someone who could help us. I was also thinking that maybe we could run diagnostics on her, every once in a while.” He cleared his throat and leaned back. “You know, just in case.”

For fucks sake. This man really did care about Granger as much as Draco did.

“Yes...” Draco lifted a hand to his chin and nodded, slowly. “I think I might know someone.”

There were only two people Draco trusted to keep his secret safe with him and play along with Potter’s idea of monitoring Granger, checking her for obscure curses and their lasting effects. And one of them was currently on a girl’s trip she took yearly with the Greengrasses.

“Theo,” Draco said.

Potter frowned. “Nott?”

“Yes. He’s incredibly gifted and has extensive knowledge with obscure curses. His dad was quite of an enthusiast. Theo was going to apply to work for the Department of Mysteries, but decided against it in the end.”

“Ah. Right, well...do you think you could set something up?”

Draco glanced over at Granger’s office. He could feel her in there, that little flare of light in the back of his mind. The bit of good that was still inside of him, wiggling behind the door.

“Have you talked to Granger about this?”

“No.” Potter’s lips pressed into a straight line. “I was kind of hoping you’d talk to her. You seem to have a way with her.”

Because she’s mine.

“Sure, I’ll bring it up. But first,” Draco grinned. “I have to ensure I pin her down for lunch.” The vision of her splayed out for him, pinned beneath his mouth flashed in his mind. “You know how she can be.”

Potter nodded, emphatically. “Right, better make sure she’s well fed before you bring that up.”

“Oh, I will.” And with that, Draco winked and moved to her door.

He raised his fist but was unable to knock. The door swung open and he was suddenly being hauled into her office by the font of his shirt. He stumbled in as Granger whirled him around and into the room. She pressed her back to the door and murmured a quick muffilato.

“Hello,” Draco sang but when he turned to face her, he found her glaring at him. She was livid.

“What was that?”

She’s figured it out. She realized what he had done. She knows that it was his fantasy, not hers.

“Are you trying to ruin my relationship with Ron?” She shoved him in the chest, which was something she had been doing more and more. Draco couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy it.

“Well,” Draco winced.

“Malfoy!” Her little foot stomped but that only thrilled him more. So, when the grin began to reform onto his face, Hermione closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “You can’t do that. You can’t just puff up your chest and push your weight around in front of him.” She scowled. “In front of everyone!”

Draco pouted and took a step towards her. “That’s not any fun.” He lifted a hand and pinched one of her curls in between two of his fingers. Granger swallowed nervously but kept that chastising look in her eyes.

Draco sigh.

“You know I don’t play fair.” He took another step forward, their bodies practically flush. “And you know I’m not going to stop until you’re mine.”

“But I’m not yours.” She said, quite unconvincingly. Her words were breathy, her eyes heady. “I’m Ron’s.”

Draco’s eyes hardened. “Please,” His fingers let go of her hair and moved to her neck, where they splayed against her skin. “Never say that to me, again.”

Her eyes were wide, drinking him in. She still couldn’t look at him with any real disdain. Because she liked this. She enjoyed his kind of attention, his brand of love and adoration.

His fingers were gentle as they moved up her throat, the tip of his middle and index finger on her jaw. “It’s lunch time, love.” His eyes dropped to her mouth.

She licked at her lips, as if anticipating just how thirsty he was.

“I’m not hungry.”

She was lying. But Draco didn’t mind. He loved when she was stubborn. It made everything so much more fun.

“But, I am.” He murmured. He leaned forward, inching his mouth closer to hers. But he didn’t kiss her. Not yet.

“Draco,” She gasped, her eyes were so wide, he could see his reflection.

“I’m starving, Granger.” He said, his breath coasting her lips. “Will you let me indulge, love? Will you let a hungry man starve?”

“I wouldn’t.” She said but he knew that she knew he wasn’t actually talking about food.

His other hand was at her hips, playing with the band of her pants. They were black and snug against her body, exposing every curve and crevice that belonged to him her.

“I want a taste. Will you let me?”

She was trembling, the adrenaline pumping through her, causing her to stammer out the next word as she closed her eyes. Relenting. “Yes.”

Draco growled before he fell to his knees, his hands ripping her pants and knickers down her hips in one fluid motion.

Granger squeaked as he pulled one leg free of her pants, her little black ballet flat falling to the floor.

And then he was hoisting that leg over his shoulder and she was grabbing onto his shoulder and the door knob in an attempt to stabilize herself.

“Draco,” She gasped but his mouth was already on her. He lowered his lips onto her cunt with an open mouthed kiss. Her hips jerked against him at the first jolt of pleasure that shot through her. His lips and his tongue kissed and sucked at her clit until she whimpered and gasped.

He pulled back enough to nuzzle his nose into her and inhaled. “You smell better than I imagined.” He whispered before he ran his tongue through her folds.

The fingers in his hair tightened as he slid two fingers into her, feeling the warm, soft spongey walls of her cunt. She felt like silk and clouds and he could only imagine what it was going to be like to bury his cock inside there.

When his fingers began to move as rhythmically as his tongue, she began to tremble again. The walls of her cunt began to flutter and he knew she was close. She was so close, so fast. She was turned on more than she would ever want to admit.

And he knew it was because it was him doing this to her.

Because, deep down, she wanted him too. Secretly, she loved him.

The trick was going to get her to admit it. To leave that red-headed git and let herself fall into Draco, completely.

She came with a battered cry that seemed to be wrenched from somewhere deep inside of her chest.

She tasted like heaven. She tasted like everything he could ever want.

The waves of pleasure rolled through her, almost endlessly, as her body fell limp against the door, held up only his hand on her hip, and his shoulder, under her leg.

She watched through heavy lids as he pulled her knickers and pants up and stood to press her shoulders into the door. Licking his lips, he grinned down at her. She looked relaxed, dazed. She looked like she was about to be angry with him again.

Good.

“Thank you, that was delightful. Compliments to the chef.”

“Malfoy.” She huffed.

“Now, there is something I do want to discuss with you.”

Her eyelids lifted, a look of confusion crossing across her now pale eyes. “What?” She looked at his crotch and then back up at his face, as if misunderstanding the situation.

“Oh, not that.” Draco held up a hand and shook his head with a chuckle. “Not now. There isn’t time. Potter needs me to convince you to let Theo check you out.” He adjusted his belt, loosening it against the tightness of his now rock hard cock.

“I...what? Theo?” She swallowed, still actively collecting herself after cumming all over his fingers and his tongue. “Why?”

“He needs to figure out what the curse might have done to you.”

“I thought it killed me.” Ah, right.

“Well, you might want to remember that they don’t know that you were Avada’d in that kitchen. They still think it’s mysterious curse that hit you.”

“Why don’t we just tell them the truth?”

“Because,” He frowned at her. “I don’t want to explain how I brought you back to life.”

She frowned back. “How did you bring me back to life?”

They stared at each other. He could feel her the wheels in her mind turning, could feel the way her eyes were searching his face for any tell-tale signs of deceit.

“It must have been when I kissed you. I have a magic kiss and just like the sleeping princess, it woke you up.”

She rolled her eyes. “Gods, you’re impossible.”

“But I eat cunt like a dream, don’t I?”

Her cheeks flamed bright red and it filled Draco with the overwhelming urge to crash her lips into his.

And so he slid a hand to her face and did.

Her sound of surprise was muffled by his mouth as it closed over hers. And when he nudged her lips apart, she gasped before allowing entry. Their tongues brushed gingerly, though hungrily.

When he pulled away, she was panting. Her lips were swollen and wet and red.

He grinned. “So, it’s agreed?”

“Huh?” She lifted a hand to her mouth and felt the aftermath of his kiss.

“Great, because Potter’s waiting out in the hall.”

Her eyes widened, nearly falling out of her head. “What!” She hissed and pushed away from the door, mortified, tripping over the shoe he had knocked off of her foot.

“Don’t worry, love. I told him we had to take care of lunch, first.” He shot her a grin as he pulled his wand from the inside of his jacket. He aimed his wand at the door. Hermione barely had a chance to fall into the chair behind her desk when the door opened. Draco picked up her shoe and tossed it over to her just before Potter walked in.

“So, I take it Malfoy was able to convince you?”

Granger closed her eyes but Draco cleared his throat as he nodded and gestured to a chair in the room.

“I think I managed to bring her around.”

[thesunhatesme]

🪥🦷Ghouls at the dentist - HC🦷🪥

It’s time for the ghouls yearly dental appointments

Aether

He helped drag some ghouls out of the car and in to the building. He went in first because he could behave and then Copia could stay in the waiting room and make sure no one escaped. He, of course, behaved wonderfully. He did need to go in with Dew because he was not planning on behaving and would probably have to be held down. And he stood in the room when it was time for Swiss because sometimes he randomly decided he had had enough

Mountain

Also dragged ghouls out of the car. He went in after Aether and also behaved amazingly. The plan was to take the brave and calm ones first so that Phantom and Aurora wouldn’t get frightened since it was their first time at the dentist. He had to go in with Dew because last time Aether was alone with him and it didn’t go exactly as planned.

Cumulus

Behaved like an angel, of course. She was assigned to the waiting room duty, handle all the nervous energy and will to burn/flood the place down. Of course she handled it very well because the building was not in flames when they left and no one managed to escape

Cirrus

She didn’t want to go, but one look at Cumulus told her it was not up for debate, so she went in, reluctantly, but behaved civilly. When she was done, she was also assigned to waiting room duty and then loopey ghoul duty in the car

Aurora

Then it was Auroras turn, she went in alone but the nurse asked for help because she started biting for funnsies. Copia went in and threatened to take away her phone and to keep her reward lollipop. She stopped biting

Swiss

Then it was supposed to be phantoms turn, but he was too nervous, so Swiss went instead. Aether came with him but ended up calling for backup, Copia. He got drugged so they would be able to give him his dental examination. He got put in the car with Cirrus to wait out the drugs.

Rain

Phantom was still too nervous so he had to go in. Aether and Copia went in the room with him, since he too, had to be drugged. He had to me held and strapped down for his shot because he refused to breath in the gas mask. He then got carried to the car with Cirrus

Dew

Phantom had locked himself in the bathroom so Dew had to be next. He had to be dragged in hissing and biting by Aether and Copia with Cumulus walking behind, in case he freed himself. He had to be held down and heavily drugged

Phantom

He was very nervous and didn’t want to go. He started crying when his turn was coming up and sat in Mountains lap to calm down. Then he ran away and locked himself in a toilet stall. Mountain managed to get him out and held his hand all the way to the dentist office. He was very nervous but he took it like a champ. He felt a bit better when he saw how loopy Swiss, Rain and Dew were.

Copia

He stocked up on lollipops and made sure there was whiskey in his office for when he came home. Then he gave himself a pep talk and loaded up his ghouls in the car, most of them git in the car without any problem, some had to be dragged in, but everyone arrived at the dentist in the same car and that’s all that matters. Then he tried to keep everyone in line. When every ones appointments were over he drove home and put three loopy ghouls in front of the TV and handed out lollipops to every single one of his brave ghouls, even though some probably didn’t know why they got it or what it was

[s-lycopersicum]

"Okay, so I need this program to manage a bunch of files, keep track of any changes, perform backups and consistency checks, and maybe even some type of versioning on some file types"

"..."

"I'm teaching this program how to use git"