#Kernel 6

[laugh-with-tech]

Force Kernel Update on Ubuntu 22.04

Guys, I had a problem with the update of the Ubuntu kernel. I searched the Internet and saw an article posted on the Orcacore website. I worked with it and it was very charming and perfect. I really enjoyed myself. I decided to post this article here so you can find it helpful and use it. Of course, I will write the part I used in this article here and if you want, I will put the link to this article at the end so that you can visit it if you need more information.

First, you need to enter the below command to update the repository

sudo apt update && sudo apt upgrade

After that, you need to add a repository to your Ubuntu

sudo add-apt-repository ppa:tuxinvader/jammy-mainline -y

then, enter the below command and reboot your system

sudo apt-get install linux-generic-6.0

of course, with these commands you install kernel 6.0 on your Ubuntu, so if you need other versions to be installed on your Ubuntu, you need to add your desired repository.

upgrade Linux kernel ubuntu 22.04 to kernel version 6

[great-gronkamorka]

so uhhh when do we get cayde back guys. cause it’s been a while. where is cayde

[quietwingsinthesky]

the unfortunate thing is that in playing the evil connor & hank route i feel bad and i want to reset to make sure they’re friends again. that’s not how video games work and they aren’t real and my choices don’t actually have consequences. but fuck, man.

[xerxestexastoast]

kicking my computer in the SHINS. WHY DOES YOUR TRACKPAD NOT WORK IN LINUX

[unidentifiedfuckingthing]

ive been doing research but there is not really a lot of information that i can find about why endeavouros would be taking 29 seconds to boot both on the first install and after ive been using it when my mint that i didnt do anything special to took about 5 seconds for the ~2yrs ive been using it. all i can imagine is using a different bootloader but every search result for "grub systemd-boot speed" is "ehh idk i dont think it matters i think theyre basically the same" and "endeavouros slow boot" is "hmm idk 20 seconds in firmware and 20 seconds in userspace? looks normal to me, you might just have unrealistic expectations"

[kamil-a]

looking at anons from last night OKAYYYY i think everyone was talking abt a completely different thing than i was, which is fair bc i was a: half asleep b: not expressing myself super well and and c: using the world's most difficult keyboard to type on

[iobartach]

A Hero Gone Astray

universe: overwatch

verse name: laoch imithe dul ar strae

Description: Whilst the world at large faces the looming threat of another Omnic Crisis, Miguel O'Hara holds the key to humanity's trump card. Leading a program that aimed to surpass the work achieved by SEP, utilising his revolutionary genetic implanting technique, O'Hara had aimed to create the next generation of super soldier, possessing abilities unlike anything the world had seen so far. But with this success also came an unprecedented amount of attention too, including from terrorist organisations such as Talon. It has resulted in Miguel going to ground, taking his work with him, to avoid its misuse.

But, like every breakthrough in the modern age, there will eventually come a time where, left with no other choice, Miguel is forced to use his work on himself.

"A man is but the product of his thoughts; what he thinks, he becomes."

[kawaoneechan]

You can get a really tiny but technically functional Windows on a single 1.44 MB diskette. Functional enough to run Solitaire and Notepad, at least.

But did you know every MS-DOS 5/6 installation contains an even smaller Windows, that's less than 200 KB?

It's QBASIC. It runs on Character-Oriented Windows, which is for all intents and purposes a fully functional text-based Windows. It has a message loop to handle events, window handles, dialog box resources, the works. It even has Kernel and User parts (but no GDI).

[magic-shop-stories]

Hiii!!! Could I request Namjoon x f!reader boyfriend head-canons like how you did the Yoongi ones?? Also, preferably with a reader who’s American? But you can totally do whatever!!! Ty!!!

💌 Reply:

I really wanted to write this for all the members, so thank you for requesting it... I hope it's what you wanted, tho I struggled a lot this time, I didnt want it to be too much like Yoongis but I think they wouldn't be THAT different in some points so idk... hope you'll enjoy reading xo - c -

BOYFRIEND HEADCANONS

↳ NAMJOON (RM) × FEM!READER

~ CONTENT WARNING FOR SECOND PART OF THE POST ~ MATURE THEMES | (extra warning in the post)

Possessive behavior

Suggestive themes

Mild NSFW references (kissing, intimacy)

Jealousy Proceed mindfully!

DAILY RHYTHM

Mornings

Early Riser

Slow Starter

awake by 6:30 AM

not by choice

his brain won’t shut off

you find him sprawled on the couch

hair mussed

he's scribbling poetry in a moleskine

glasses slide down his nose

he mutters

“Do you think Thoreau would’ve liked Spotify playlists?”

Coffee Catastrophe

brews matcha lattes

spills half the whisked foam trying to carry it to you

“It’s… abstract art,” 

wiping green splatters off the counter

leaves a sticky note: 

“Compensation latte en route. Don’t judge me.”

Breakfast Buffet

creates a fusion spread:

avocado toast with gochujang drizzle strawberry Pop-Tarts, sliced persimmons

“It’s a metaphor,”  “Sweet, spicy, existential.”

Post-Wakeup Rituals

Study Sessions

his “studio” is a sunlit corner cluttered with art books, bonsai clippings, and a half-built LEGO Guggenheim

you perch on the arm of his chair

he pulls you into his lap without looking up from his sketchpad

“Your elbow’s on my Hegel annotations,”

grumbles, but lets you stay

Tug-of-War

if you try to leave, he hooks a finger in your belt loop

“Wait; listen to this haiku about cicadas.” 

recites it solemnly

“…It’s about us. Maybe.”

Clumsy Affection

reaches for a high-five

misses, and accidentally knocks over his succulent

“This is why we can’t have nice things,” 

you sigh

he repots it with dirt-smudged hands

“Imperfection is art. Like us.”

Midday Moments

Park Philosopher

drags you to Han River

rambling about “the duality of ducks” 

tossing breadcrumbs grain kernels

you nap under a tree

he sketches you with a pocket watercolor set

“You’re my Starry Night...” 

later showing you a blotchy but earnest portrait

Language Exchange

you teach him your slang

“Yeet is a verb, noun, and lifestyle”

he corrects your Korean tones

"Saranghae isn’t a whisper, it’s a promise...” 

voice low enough to make you drop your iced coffee

Nighttime Nuances

Pre-Bed Brain Dump

reads Walden aloud until 1 AM

pausing to rant about capitalism

“Thoreau was a hypocrite but right... wait, did you just snore?”

Sleeping Style

starfishes across 75% of the bed

one arm slung over your waist

“You’re my… multiverse…” 

snores lightly

you kick his shin = he rolls over

taking the sheets hostage

KEY DIALOGUE

when you nag him to hydrate:

“You’re worse than my ARMY Bomb manual.” 

sighs

handing you a reusable water bottle

catch him nodding off mid-lecture about climate change:

“I’m not… tired. I’m processing.”

mumbles, glasses askew

then faceplanting into his copy of Braiding Sweetgrass

his version of “I miss you”:

“Your absence disrupts my entropy.” 

translates to: “Come cuddle before I combust.”

COMMUNICATION

TEXTING STYLE

7 AM: screenshot of the sunrise

“Thoreau was right. Also, buy almond milk.”

3 PM: voice note of him beatboxing over a Langston Hughes poem

caption: “New mixtape: Existential Crisis & Chill.”

Midnight: 

“The moon’s waxing gibbous. Come stargaze. P.S. I made hot chocolate...”

Notes

scribbles Whitman quotes on museum tickets

leaves one in your coat: 

“We were together. I forget the rest... Or I won’t.”

finds your grocery list

adds “Admiration (1 lifetime supply)” at the bottom

PET NAMES

Public:

“Professor” 

when you out-debate him

“Okay, Professor, explain TikTok to me again.”

“Sunflower” at the farmer’s market

“Because you’re tall, bright, and… rooted.” 

blushes at his own metaphor

Private:

“내 작은 폭풍” (My little storm) 

when you’re angry

“Your rage is… awe-inspiring. Also, please stop throwing socks.” “Moonchild” 

whispered during late-night drives

“You glow even when the world’s dark.”

CURSING

Worried Curses

you come home late?

he’s pacing

wearing mismatched socks

“씨발… I Googled ‘American urban crime rates’ and now you’re here?!” 

crushes you in a hug

“Never do that again. Unless… it’s for tacos.”

sees you struggling with IKEA instructions

“젠장, capitalism wins again.” 

builds the shelf upside-down but insists it’s “postmodern.”

Flustered Curses

wear that dress

he knocks over his bonsai

“…God.” 

avoids eye contact

“It’s not fair. You’re a distraction.”

MUTTERINGS (UNFILTERED & UNBOTTLED)

Annoyed Affection

“Why are you so… effortlessly disruptive?” 

when you reorganize his bookshelves by color

“This is chaos. Beautiful chaos.”

steal his fries

he gasps

“This is why empires fall.” 

slides the plate closer to you

Sleep-Soft Confessions

half-asleep, nuzzling your neck

“Your thoughts taste like honey.” 

next morning: 

“Did I say that out loud? Pretend I didn’t.”

after nightmares: 

“Stay. Please. You’re my… sine qua non.”

doesn’t explain it

doesn’t need to

HIDDEN POETRY (FOR YOUR EARS ONLY)

Lyric Leaks

overhear him humming a melody while washing dishes

later, find a note: 

“Your voice in the morning... key of G, tempo adagio.”

Satoori Slips

stress unlocks rural roots

after a long day, he sighs:

“나 죽겠다… (I’m dying…) But your smile is CPR.”

Artistic Vulnerability

leaves a watercolor of your hands in his studio

caption: “These built my universe.”

ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER

Overprotective Tendencies

mention a creepy DM?

next day, he gifts you a leather-bound journal titled “Digital Detox: A Poet’s Guide to Privacy.” 

inside, he’s handwritten firewall tips in calligraphy

“Knowledge is armor. Also, I enabled two-factor authentication.”

Passive-Aggressive Love

complain about slow Wi-Fi?

builds a DIY bookshelf router

cites its design in a TED Talk

“It’s a metaphor… for connection.”

Services

you’re sick?

attempts chicken noodle soup but confuses cumin with cinnamon

“It’s… experimental fusion cuisine.” 

orders pho instead and blames the app

“The algorithm chose this. Don’t hate me.”

Jetlag Rescue

after your flight from the U.S., he stocks the fridge with Dr Pepper and kale smoothies

“Balanced electrolytes… or something.”

VULNERABLE MOMENTS (PHILOSOPHER’S EDITION)

When You’re Hurt

sees you crying over homesickness

recites Mary Oliver until you’re laughing through tears

“You don’t have to be good… but you do have to let me hug you.”

Post-Fight Peace Offering

leaves a dog-eared copy of “The Alchemist” on your pillow

highlighted line: 

“Wherever your heart is, that is where you’ll find your treasure.”  sticky note: “You’re my treasure. Even when you’re mad.”

Drunk Truths

tipsy on soju

traces the outline of your face

“Your smile… it’s like a haiku. Simple. Perfect. Destroys me.”

ask him to explain

"Just… let me live here.”

UNEXPECTED SOFTNESS

Period Protocol

tracks your cycle via moon phases

“Lunar energy affects us all.” 

leaves dark chocolate and a hot water bottle shaped like Totoro

“Science and Studio Ghibli. Optimal healing.”

Bad Day Rituals

finds you crying over burnt cookies

bakes a “deconstructed s’more” (graham crackers, Hershey’s, lighter)

“It’s abstract. Like Rothko.”

Cultural Comforts

wears your college hoodie for a week (way too small)

“It smells like you. And… ranch dressing?” 

secretly buys a duplicate to avoid giving it back

FIERCE LOVE

Defending Your Honor

Karen mocks your Korean accent?

steps in, voice calm but firm

“Language is a living art. Hers is a masterpiece.” 

later, he rage-paints a canvas

titled “Ignorance in Primary Colors.”

Sacrifices

attends a crowded frat party to meet your friends

smiles through “Beer Pong 101” 

quoting Thoreau: “Simplify, simplify… but this is hell.”

UNEXPECTED VULNERABILITY

Period Protocol

leaves a care package:

organic tea, a heated blanket, and a handwritten “Period Playlist” (featuring Mitski and BTS’s “Zero O’Clock”)

“Pain is temporary. My love? Thermodynamically infinite.”

Bad Day Rituals

finds you crying over a failed work project?

recites “Still I Rise” while kneading your shoulders

“You’re Maya Angelou in Prada. Now let’s rise… to order takeout.”

COLD FRONT

Silent Treatment

hurt?

he buries himself in Nietzsche

texts: “When you stare into the abyss… it’s just me waiting for you to apologize.”

Playful Insults Gone Wrong

jokes about his “dad sneakers.” 

buys neon Yeezys and wears them to a museum

“Aesthetic rebellion. Now suffer with me.”

NEGLECTED NIGHTS

Overwork Blinders

disappears for days writing his mixtape

returns with a bonsai tree 

“It’s a metaphor. Needs patience… like us.”

Breaking Point:

unplug his laptop mid-session

he fumes: “Art isn’t a hobby...it’s my lungs!” 

returns at dawn with a handwritten poem: 

“Apologies in iambic pentameter. Forgive me?”

GIFTS

Philosophical Pampering

gifts you a first-edition copy of "Leaves of Grass" with annotations in the margins

“Page 32; Whitman’s wrong. You’re the answer to the universe.”

Eco-Warrior Love

buys noise-canceling headphones made from recycled ocean plastic

“Now you can ignore the world and save it.”

PRETENDS TO HATE SHOPPING (BUT LOVES BOOKSTORES)

Reluctant Mule

drag him to a flea market

complains about “consumerist dystopias” 

but buys a vintage globe to “track our future travels”

carries your tote bag like a badge of honor

“This is not a metaphor. My arms hurt.”

Secret Splurges

catches you eyeing a $500 art print of Georgia O’Keeffe’s “Black Iris”

returns with a bootleg version he painted himself

“Mine’s better. It has… soul.”

Fashion Critic (Liar)

try on a prairie dress

“You look like a Laura Ingalls Wilder reboot.” 

later orders it

HATES WHEN YOU GET DRUNK

(BUT LOVES YOUR HONESTY)

Philosophical Guardian

finds you tipsy at a party

debating “the existential merit of TikTok” with Jungkook

sweeps you over his shoulder

quoting Thoreau: “Simplify, simplify… starting with your liquor intake.”

Morning-After Mercies

wakes you with avocado toast and a "matcha IV drip"

“Electrolytes and antioxidants. Also, I Googled hangover cures in MLA format.”

Secret Worry

texts your college bestie and Jungkook: 

“Keep her at 2 margaritas. Third one turns her into a teen.”

MARRIAGE (POETIC AMBUSH)

Fight

he skips a wedding expo

call him a “commitment-phobe”

snaps: “Marriage is a capitalist construct!” 

you retaliate: “Then why’d you bookmark eco-friendly ring blogs?!”

Ring

minimalist band

engraved with coordinates to the Han River bench where he first said “I love you”

hides it in his Walden copy

find it mid-rant about “transcendentalist proposals”

Proposal

after a fight about his workaholism

projects a poem onto your apartment wall: 

“Forever is a fractal. Let’s get lost in the pattern.” 

“Marry me. Or let’s debate it over kombucha.”

FATHERHOOD

(THE GREAT PHILOSOPHICAL CRISIS)

Panic

mention kids?

he freezes, spilling matcha on his “I Heart NY” shirt

“…We killed a cactus. A cactus.” 

buys a fern named “Baby Freud”

it thrives

he's trying extra hard (bc he secretly really really really wants to)

Test Run

volunteers at an orphanage to read “The Little Prince”

returns with a kid’s crayon drawing

titled “Namjoon Hyung is Weird”

frames it

“Art is truth.”

Revelation

catches you watching a video of him teaching ARMYs to recycle

a toddler comments: “He’s pretty… for a teacher.” 

he mutes it, cheeks pink

“…She’s not wrong.”

ARGUMENTS & FEARS

Fight

you suggest naming your son “Thoreau”

chokes on his kimchi

“We’re not naming a human after a guy who hated people!” 

compromises with “Jun”

“It means truth. And I picked it.”

Fear

finds him researching “How to Raise a Feminist Son” at 3 AM

slams the laptop

“…But what if I’m worse? What if I lecture him about Hegel?”

THE ARRIVAL

Pregnancy

reads “The Giving Tree” to your belly every night

records the kicks as a lo-fi beat titled “Kicks of Hope”.

Birth Day

holds your hand while reciting Rumi

passes out when the doctor says “push”

wakes up sobbing

“You’re my supernova.”

First Night Home

swaddles your daughter in a BTS-themed blanket

texts the group chat:

“She has her eyes. And my inability to shut up.” 

sends a voice memo of her coos over a Miles Davis sample

~ CONTENT WARNING ~

MINORS DNI | NSFW | SPICY INTIMACY/PHYSICALITY AHEAD

contains: possessive themes, sensual language, suggestive scenarios, jealousy, explicit intimacy/kissing,suggestive content, kink mentions (marking, power dynamics), body worship

PHYSICALITY & ARTISTIC AFFECTION

Protective Poise

Public Gestures

his hands are gentle but intentional

but they linger

thumb brushing the nape of your neck 

palm resting on the small of your back at gallery openings

fingers brushing yours as he passes you a book

palm sliding possessively down your spine

whisper: “That Picasso? Overrated. You’re the masterpiece.”

he’s less restrained at home

pulls you into impromptu slow dances in the kitchen

humming off-key to “Trivia: Love” while swaying

pins you against his bookshelf, philosophy tomes digging into your back

“Tell me I’m wrong."

lips grazing your earlobe: "Tell me Rothko’s red isn’t the same shade as your mouth.”

Clumsy Cuddles

tries to lift you for a spin

trips over the rug, and lands you both on the couch/bed

“Gravity’s a social construct anyway.” 

cheeks pink

instead of apologizing, he hovers above you

glasses askew

“Fate intervened. Now...”

Intellectual Rivalry (Jealousy, Joon-Style)

overhears a philosophy major flirting with you at a café

interrupts with a “casual” debate on Kant’s ethics

later, buys you first-edition Thoreau

“Just thought you’d appreciate… deeper conversations.”

Subtle Flex

shows up to your work event in a tailored suit

glasses perched low

“Oh, this old thing? Just felt like… elevating the dress code.”

CONTEMPLATIVE GAZES

Staring (But Make It Deep)

watches you sketch in the park

eyes tracking the way your brow furrows

“Your creativity… it’s like watching a storm form.”  “That’s your third metaphor today.”  he grins “I’m just getting started.”

Staring (But Make It Dangerous)

watches you slip into his oversized Harvard hoodie

eyes darkening as the fabric drapes off one shoulder

rasps: “You’re… violating the dress code.” then closes his laptop: “And I’m failing to care.”

Late-Night Honesty

post-museum date, he traces the curve of your collarbone with a pen cap 

“Your body’s a gallery. Every scar, every freckle... curated perfection.” 

kisses your shoulder

loosens his tie

voice a velvet rumble

“That dress should be illegal. You should be illegal.” traces the strap of your lingerie: "Sylvia Plath wrote about this, didn’t she? I am, I am, I am… yours.”

SECRETLY LOVES YOUR CONFIDENCE (BUT WILL WRITE A SONNET ABOUT IT)

Artful Admiration

Backhanded Praise

wear a bold, avant-garde outfit?

“You’re… a walking Dadaist exhibit.” 

later sketches you in charcoal

captioning it “Chaos Theory: Personified.”

wear a leather trench coat to his speech?

“You’re deconstructing the male gaze. Literally.”

sketches you, nude

Possessive Glances

spots a stranger eyeing you at a poetry slam

slides his arm around your waist

loudly debating “the hegemony of Western canon” until they flee

Possessive Academia

grad student flirts with you at a library?

he accidentally knocks over a stack of Derrida books

pulls you into a secluded aisle

“Let me… re-shelve your priorities.”

BEDROOM PHILOSOPHY

Foreplay (But Make It Existential)

reads Foucault aloud

voice dipping lower with every page

“Power is knowledge… and I know what you’re thinking.” 

slides his glasses off, eyes locked on yours

“Prove me wrong.”

prefers lights dim

Miles Davis on vinyl

whisper-reads Rilke as you straddle his lap

“Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.” 

hands grip your hips

“Still… focus, okay?”

Aftercare

braids your hair while dissecting the symbolism in “The Great Gatsby.” 

“Daisy’s voice is full of money… but yours? Full of… everything.”

TOUCH

Electric Prelude

hands speak in sonnets

calloused fingertips skimming your jawline

like a quill drafting verses

thumb brushing your bottom lip as if memorizing its shape for a poem

maps your skin like a cartographer charting undiscovered terrain

lingering at pulse points (wrist, throat, inner thigh) to sync his heartbeat with yours

“Your body’s a library,” “Let me… read you.”

Possessive Anchors

palm splayed against your lower back

pressing you closer until his chest meets yours

fingers tangled in your hair

tugging just enough to tilt your head for a kiss that starts as a whisper and ends as a manifesto

“You’re my magnum opus...”

breathes heavy, lips grazing your earlobe

“And I’m… revising.”

Aftercare Rituals

post-passion, he traces constellations on your hip with a philosopher’s precision

touch lingers on scars, birthmarks, the curve of your waist

pulls you into his chest

reciting Whitman into your hair

“We were together… I forget the rest.”

KISSES

Slow Ignition

starts with closed-mouth presses to your temple, knuckles, the corner of your lips

testing, teasing

when you gasp, he smirks

nipping your lower lip

“Impatient. Inelegant. Perfect.”

he's deep but controlled

Hidden Softness

after fights, his kisses are apologetic

chaste pecks to your eyelids, nose, scars on your knee/elbows

“Sorry… sorry…” - breathed like a prayer

leaves a haiku on your pillow: 

“Pride is a shadow / Your warmth is the sun / Forgive me.”

PACE

Deliberate Crescendo

prefers slow, maddening build-up

undresses you like unwrapping a first-edition novel

mouth exploring every chapter

= collarbones, ribs, the dip of your hips

taking forever before letting you fall apart

“You’ll take what I give you.” 

warns you at every whimper

eyes dark

“And I’ll give you… everything.”

Feral Surges

when jealousy strikes, he’s relentless

pins you against his studio wall

biting your shoulder as his hands roam

“Mine. Say it.” 

you whimper? he gentens

forehead pressed to yours

“Say it… please.”

POSITIONS

Scholar’s Missionary

your legs hooked over his shoulders

hands gripping the headboard for leverage

“Don’t hide,” he orders

he's watching your face unravel

“Let me… study you.”

Cowgirl Command (aka you're his "pro rider")

lets you take control

hands squeezing your hips

“Show me what you need.” 

the moment you falter, he flips you

"Thought so"

PREFERENCES

Lighting

pitch dark or very dim lights

pages of his journal scattered like rose petals

claims he “hates getting interrupted”

Soundtrack

your whimpers = his name gasped like a curse

demands “Louder,” 

then covers your mouth or lightly choked you

“Too loud. Save it for the encore.”

Kinks

Marking

leaves metaphorical bruises

"ink stains" on your inner thigh

“So you remember… I’m your muse.”

Power Play

lets you “bind” him with his own tie

then breaks free

"You really think you can handle me?"

ROUNDS

Quality > Quantity tho if you beg him for more he won't ever stop until you beg fot the opposite

Dawn Encores wakes you with his mouth between your thighs

voice sleep-rough

"You moan in your sleep baby..."

FAVORITE SPOTS

Neck-to-Shoulder Junction bites here to hear you yelp

soothes it with his lips and gentle kisses

“You taste like… victory.”

Behind Your Ear whispers filth in Korean

grinning when you shiver and even wider when you don't understand

Inner Wrists kisses your veins like they’re holy

“Every heartbeat’s… because of me.”

TRIGGERS

Begging

“Please, Joon...” 

he cuts you off with a snarl

“Not yet. Earn it.”

Competence

take charge!

ride him ruthlessly

he lets you

until he can't hold himelf back anymore

“Fuck… okay.” 

flips you mid-stride

then tales you from behind

Vulnerability

tears during aftercare?

crushes you to his chest

voice breaking

“I’ve got you. Always. I'm sorry - tell me what you need honey.”

[lovelymindescape]

Fuller , 1955 : Chapter 6: A Night Like This

Summary: At your house, away from judgmental eyes and schoolyard cruelty, a different kind of silence settles between you and Thomas—gentle, honest, and safe. What begins with lemonade and a sketchbook quietly transforms into something deeper. Beneath soft lamplight and shy glances, a fragile trust begins to bloom.

Setting: School / Readers House – Texas, Late Summer / Early Fall 1955

Characters: Thomas Hewitt (teen), fem!reader,

⚠️Content Warnings: emotional vulnerability, trauma references, quiet intimacy, longing,

E's Notes: English still not my first language, typos are my love language. Please be nice to him or I will cry.

Chapter 5 : Inside the Silence

The classroom buzzes with the usual low-grade chaos of a Friday morning. Chairs scrape across tile, lockers slam, someone in the hallway hollers a curse loud enough to make the teacher sigh before even taking attendance.

You sit in your usual spot by the window, chin resting on your hand. The sunlight creeps in through the dusty glass, casting blurry golden stripes across your desk. You haven’t opened your notebook yet. Because you’re thinking about him.

About the way he sat on your floor last night, fingers curled around a pencil, heart curled somewhere close to yours. About the sketch he left you. The word beneath it.

"Safe."

You touch your chest absently, right where the ache lives. It isn’t a bad ache. Just one that’s heavy with knowing something is shifting. The seat across from you stays empty. It always does—except on test days when someone needs a surface to cheat off of. But then, the door creaks open behind you.

Some heads turn.

Some eyes roll.

You know it’s him before you look. Thomas walks in like he’s made of stone and thorns, his shoulders hunched, the frayed strap of his backpack slipping off one. There’s a new stain on his shirt.

He doesn’t look up. Your heart stutters. He always looks like this at school—guarded and ghost-like. But this time, you know better. You know the warmth behind the silence. The careful way he holds a pencil. The way he squeezed your hand like a promise.The teacher barely glances up.

“Take your seat, Mr. Hewitt.”

Thomas nods once, stiffly, and moves to the back row. But for the briefest second, as he passes you, his arm brushes yours.It’s tiny. Accidental, maybe. But you feel it. And you don’t look back, because you don’t want to embarrass him.

But your whole body is tuned to his presence now.You glance down at your open textbook, pages swimming in equations you don’t understand. And still, you smile. Later, at lunch , you sit outside.

You’re not even sure why you came out here—habit, maybe. Or maybe it’s hope. You bite into an apple, eyes scanning the far corner of the yard where the smokers hang out. You’ve seen him there before, just standing in the shadows, never joining in.

Today, he’s not there. But when you turn, you spot him sitting behind the old gym, half-hidden by the curve of the building. He’s not drawing. Just… there. Knees up, arms folded across them, gaze on the cracks in the pavement.

You walk over slowly, making sure your footsteps are loud enough not to startle him. He looks up. You don’t speak. Just sit beside him, pulling your knees to your chest. A long pause.

This time you give him the note.

"Tommy—if you like, come by after school. I’ll have the movie ready. No rush, just some company.”"

The house smells faintly of fresh bread and wood polish, a comforting scent that wraps around you as you move through the rooms. It’s late afternoon, and the sun’s rays slip low through the kitchen window, painting golden stripes across the checked linoleum floor.

You stand by the stove, the worn enamel kettle whistling softly as the water reaches a boil. Carefully, you scoop popcorn kernels into the heavy-bottomed pot, lowering the lid and setting the heat just right.

Soon, the familiar pop, pop, pop begins, filling the room with a warm, buttery aroma that reminds you of simpler times — Saturday afternoons, family gatherings, and laughter.

Your hands move almost automatically, tidying the living room with gentle care. The lace curtains flutter slightly in the breeze from the open window, the soft clatter of dishes from the kitchen next door filtering through the thin walls.

You straighten the cushions on the couch, smoothing the knitted blanket with a careful hand. The lamp on the side table glows dimly under the shade, casting a soft pool of light over the room. On the shelf nearby, the small movie projector waits patiently.

You arrange the reels in order, their metal cases cool and heavy in your hands. You take a moment to dust the lens, blowing away specks of dust that might spoil the picture.

Finishing your preparations, you sit by the window, watching the street outside. The children’s laughter echoes faintly as they play hopscotch and marbles on the cracked pavement.

Soon, you think. Soon you’ll not be alone anymore.

You hadn’t let yourself hope much after that. It was easier that way. So when the knock comes just past sundown, soft and uneven against the screen door, your heart lifts in a way you weren’t ready for. You open it and there he is.

You didn’t expect him to show up again so soon.

The porch light throws a gold halo over his shoulders, and he looks unsure again—thumbs hooked in his overall straps, head ducked slightly like he’s waiting for you to change your mind.

But you don’t. “Hey,” you say, smiling. “You came.” He nods once. You step aside, and he moves into the house, quieter than the evening breeze. You gesture toward the living room.

“I got popcorn, and I picked something not scary. I figured you’ve had enough of that in real life.” He gives a silent breath of a laugh—shoulders twitching just enough to countand settles on the floor again, back against the couch. Same spot as the other day.

You curl up on the cushions behind him, legs tucked underneath. The movie starts. It’s old and sweet and a little bit boring, and you don’t really care. Because most of the time, you’re not watching the screen. You’re watching the soft way his shoulders rise and fall.

The way his eyes dart between the screen and the room, like he’s trying to memorize it all. The way he edges a little closer to the couch cushion every time the movie cuts to black. Eventually, your hand slips down beside him, fingers relaxed but open.

Not touching.

Just there.

You don’t look when he notices. But you feel the moment his hand shifts slightly—so slightly—and his pinky brushes yours. Neither of you moves away. The movie plays on. You think maybe he’s watching it now, but when you glance down, his head is tilted back slightly.

He’s looking up at you.

Not in a way that asks permission.

Just in a way that says he’s still trying to understand why this feels okay. You smile.

“I like having you here.” He blinks. Stares a little longer. Then—without reaching for his notepad, without hiding behind ink or excuses—he nods.

Just once.

And your chest aches in the best way.You both go quiet after that. Not awkward. Not tense. Just… quiet. You finish the movie in silence, pinkies still linked, the rest of your hands barely brushing. It’s the lightest kind of touch, but it feels like gravity.

By the time the credits roll, your eyes are heavy. You shift to lie against the arm of the couch, your head sinking into a throw pillow. Thomas doesn’t move much, just tilts to the side a little until his shoulder rests lightly against your knee.

Eventually, he slides down into a more curled position, back still to the couch, arms loosely folded. You let your hand drift off the edge of the cushion.

It finds his again.

You’re not sure who falls asleep first.

But when you wake sometime past midnight, the room hushed and glowing faintly from the TV’s still running, and Tommy's Head is laying against your leg with your fingers are still tangled in his.

And for once, it feels like the quiet is exactly where you’re supposed to be.

TBC: Chapter 7

Taglist: @dogrrrrr @thewolffairytaler @night-shadowblood-writes2 @iloved1lfs0 @richietoziers-world @reka13

[stellaspectral]

you like horror, you like 2003 mikey and he's a horror expert (according to season 6!) soo could you do 2003 mikey x reader where they're having a movie night (horror ofc) and reader gets scared so mikey comforts them? a lil'teasing is okay too. thanks if you do it! 🧡

A/N: Oh~ *rubs hands together* Something up my alley! I love horror, so I think Mikey and I would get along quite well here. But unfortunately for the reader, they’re a bit of a scaredy-cat. At least they have Mikey to comfort them during the scary parts? 😄

Enjoy! 💖

Creature Feature Comforts (fluff)

🧡 2003 Michelangelo/Gender Neutral Reader 🧡

CWs: Fluff, horror movie themes (specifically slashers), jump scares, descriptions of intense fear/panic, and some teasing. All characters are aged-up.

You regret everything the moment the creepy music starts.

The glow of the old CRT television paints the lair’s common room in flickering, eerie hues. You’re tucked into the corner of the worn-out sofa, a fuzzy blanket pulled up to your chin, a massive bowl of popcorn resting precariously between you and Mikey. He, of course, is sprawled out, completely unfazed.

It had seemed like such a fun idea at the time: movie night with your boyfriend. You don’t know exactly how you let him talk you into this, but he had made such a convincing argument. What would be so bad about snuggling on the couch, eating junk food, and watching some flicks?

Everything, apparently.

Now, here you are. The lights are off. The only glow comes from the TV and the flickering of candle-like lamps Mikey insisted on using for ambience. You’re wrapped in a blanket burrito, your eyes flitting nervously from the screen to the shadows dancing on the walls.

“Okay, okay, this is the part!” he whisper-shouts, jabbing a finger towards the screen where a lone figure is creeping down a hallway before stopping at a door. “The killer’s definitely in the closet. Classic setup. She’s gonna open it, and BAM!” He mimes a slashing motion with a grin.

You try for a nonchalant hum, but your fingers are gripping the edge of the blanket so tightly, your knuckles are white. The movie is some obscure horror flick from the 80s. “You’re such a know-it-all,” you mutter, snaking out a hand to grab some popcorn—more for something to do with your trembling hands rather than hunger.

“Hey, when you’ve seen as many slasher flicks as I have, you develop a sixth sense,” he says, puffing out his chest slightly.

On screen, the terrified protagonist reaches for the ajar closet door. The soundtrack has dwindled to a single, high-pitched violin note that scrapes at your nerves. You hold your breath, eyes wide, as she slowly—agonizingly slowly—pulls the door open. It creaks open to reveal … an empty storage closet. A couple of mops, some cleaning supplies. Nothing else. The protagonist lets out a shaky sigh of relief.

You exhale too. “You were wrong, Mr. Horror Expert.”

Just as you finish speaking, the protagonist turns away from the closet—and a grotesque masked figure lunges at her from behind, weapon raised high.

A shriek tears from your throat before you can stop it, and you instinctively fling yourself sideways, burying your face into the closest available thing. Which is Mikey’s shoulder. The blanket gets tangled around you both, and the popcorn bowl goes flying, scattering kernels across the floor.

Mikey yelps, more from your actions than the movie. His arms flail for a second before instinctively coming up to steady you. The remote clatters to the floor, and he fumbles, eventually hitting the pause button. “Whoa, whoa, hey.”

You’re still pressed against him, trembling slightly, the image of the killer burned into your retinas. Your hand presses against his plastron for comfort. “You … you said … the closet,” you gasp out, voice muffled and shaky.

A chuckle rumbles through his chest. “That was a superb fake-out, right?” His arms, which had come up in surprise, now settle around you, one hand rubbing your back in a soothing rhythm. “Sneaky!”

You’re still mostly burrowed into him, your face hot with a mixture of fear and embarrassment. “It’s not funny,” you mutter. He laughs again, and you lift your head, glaring at him. “Why are you laughing? That was terrifying!”

His usual goofy grin softens a little as he sees your genuinely rattled expression. “Hey, c’mon. It’s just special effects and a dude in a rubber mask.” He continues rubbing circles on your back. “You okay? You’re shaking like a leaf.”

“My heart’s trying to escape my chest,” you admit, letting out a long, shuddering breath and trying to regain some composure. “And I think I aged ten years in ten seconds.”

“Well, we can’t have that.” He shifts, nudging you so you’re leaning more comfortably against him. “Want me to turn it off? We can watch something else. I don’t mind.”

He says it so easily, and with that lopsided little smile that makes your stomach flutter even when your nerves are shot to pieces. His offer hangs in the air, a tempting escape route. You glance at the paused screen, the mask of the killer still imprinted into your vision even though it’s just a static image.

“I … I don’t know,” you say, your voice still a bit wobbly. Part of you—the part that loves a challenge and hates admitting defeat—wants to see it through. The other, much larger part wants to curl up and watch cartoons until sunrise. “I was trying to act all tough, you know? Thought I could handle it.”

He lets out a playful snort. “You did handle it—by launching yourself at me like a facehugger from Alien.” His eyes sparkle mischievously. “Ten outta ten form. Olympic-level dive. I’m flattered, really.”

You groan, burying your face in his shoulder again. “You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?”

“Ohhh, no way,” he says with mock solemnity, pulling the blanket tighter around you both. “This is going down in the Official Mikey Memory Vault, right between the time Donnie screamed during that ghost episode of Creep Files and when Raph cried at the end of that cheesy romance flick. Legendary stuff.”

You huff a laugh, but it’s weak, mostly an exhausted exhale. “You’re such a brat.” You give his arm a light, playful punch. “Leave your brothers out of this.”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “A charming brat.” Then his voice lowers a notch, warm and reassuring, as he puts his arm around your shoulder. “Hey. Seriously though. You’re good, yeah? Safe and sound in the lair. Nothing’s gonna get you here, promise. Not with me around.” He taps his chest twice like some kind of superhero tough guy. “I’m basically your personal mutant security blanket.”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t move away from him. If anything, you snuggle closer, hiding the way your hands are still shaking. “Some security blanket. You’re the one who picked this nightmare fuel.”

“Ahem, cult classic,” he corrects with faux indignation. “There’s a difference.” Then his tone shifts again, dropping into something softer. “But if it’s too much … really. We can ditch it. I won’t even tease you.”

You blink at him. “Really?”

A beat of silence passes.

“Well, okay, maybe just a little teasing. But like, affectionate teasing.”

You let out a laugh despite yourself. The comforting weight of him, the steady rise and fall of his breathing, and that constant, Mikey-brand warmth—it’s grounding in the best way. The killer on screen feels like a distant shadow in the presence of this absolute goofball, who somehow knows exactly when to joke and when to just be here.

“You’re kind of the worst,” you murmur, though the smile in your voice betrays you.

“And yet, you’re still wrapped around me like a scarf,” he replies, smug.

Rolling your eyes, you shift so you’re sitting more upright, though you don’t move away from him. “Maybe horror movie night wasn’t completely awful. I mean, bonus cuddles, so …”

Mikey beams. “Now you’re seeing the big picture!” He gives you a victorious grin, all teeth. “See, this is why I knew horror night was the right call. You get heart-pounding thrills, unforgettable jump scares, and,” he gestures grandly between the two of you, “premium snuggle content.”

You snort. “You planned this, didn’t you?”

His eyes widen in mock innocence. “Me? Manipulate a movie night just for cuddles?” He gasps. “How dare you.”

You give him a look, one eyebrow raised. “You literally just called yourself a ‘mutant security blanket.’”

“And a very soft one, thank you.” He puffs up a bit, giving a proud little bounce of his shoulders. “Comes with built-in snark, ninja reflexes, and an encyclopedic knowledge of horror movies. I’m basically the ultimate boyfriend bundle.”

You shake your head, but you can’t stop smiling. Your heart is finally settling. Still, you glance at the remote. “Okay, so let’s say—hypothetically—I’m brave enough to keep going. Hypothetically. Would you, uh …” You hesitate, suddenly sheepish. “Would you stay close?”

He doesn’t even miss a beat. “Babe, I’m not moving from this spot unless Splinter himself drags me away. Even then, I might ninja-roll back.”

You giggle and lean back into him, letting your head rest against his shoulder. “Good. ‘Cause I might need your sixth sense if there’s another fake-out.”

“I told you, closet jump scares are the gateway drug,” he says solemnly. “Next, it’s mirrors. Then, showers. And before you know it, you’re never safe again.”

“That’s … not remotely reassuring.”

He grins down at you. “But you’ve got me. And I’ve seen this one, like, six times. I’ll warn you for real before the next big scare. Promise.”

You narrow your eyes. “You better not mess with me, Mikey.”

He raises a hand dramatically. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a scout.”

“Details.”

You sigh—because really, you know you’re probably going to scream again before the credits roll—but you still reach for the remote and press play. As the grainy picture flickers back to life, you burrow under the blanket again, Mikey’s arm still looped protectively around your shoulders. His thumb rubs absentmindedly along your arm.

“Okay, here comes the mirror fake-out … aaand—yup, there it is.”

You jump anyway.

But you don’t let go of him.

And when the next scream-worthy moment hits and you squeal again, he just laughs softly, tugging you closer like he knew it was coming—which, of course, he did.

Later, long after the credits roll and the killer is vanquished (for now), Mikey nudges you with a smug grin.

“Told you horror night would be unforgettable.”

You elbow him lightly. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

He gasps. “Are you saying you’d let me traumatize you with scary movies just because I’m adorable?”

You smirk. “Maybe.”

He wraps both arms around you then, pulling you into a big bear-turtle hug. “Best. Compliment. Ever.”

And despite the nightmares that are almost definitely waiting for you later, right now, in Mikey’s arms—

It doesn’t feel scary at all.

[scrapyardboyfriends]

"It brought everything back...about Robert...I can't go back there again"

"I couldn't trust myself"

I feel like I came out of this episode understanding this story from an Aaron perspective more than I ever have before. And like, it's not revelatory, people have been saying this the whole time, it's just that I never quite let myself believe it because I couldn't get my hopes up about Robert coming back. But now that Robert is part of this story and it seems clear that if not definitely part of it from the beginning, the hope or intention was still there, a lot of things do start to fall into place in a way that they didn't before, that made this story very frustrating to watch.

Aaron didn't really have a POV before. He went from that first line to just hooking up with John and they didn't really delve further into it and that was infuriating to me. And a lot of people joked or theorized that he was going after John because it was the closest he could get to Robert and I always kind of dismissed it because of the above but now it kind of rings true. Maybe not exactly that but I think there's kernels of truth there.

Aaron loves Robert more than anything but is also so scared to let himself feel that again, to let Robert in again, to even let the memory of Robert in again in that first quote that he'd rather just cut him out and repress those feelings so that he doesn't risk losing him again. It's technically what his whole return story was about even if they made that about Liv but it relates to this too. He close himself off, tried so hard not to care so that he wouldn't risk getting hurt again. Because losing Robert has the power to utterly destroy him. It broke him when Robert cut him off last time and he probably thinks it would kill him this time. And he's terrified of that.

So he can't go there with Robert, but then he's confronting a Sugden in a barn again and things happened and it wasn't quite like old times but it was something. And maybe he can have this reminder of Robert instead of actual Robert and maybe that's a risk that he can take. I was kind of likening Robert to heroin and John to methadone in my head. Haha. He's addicted to Robert and it's messy but the highs are so high it's worth it and getting cut off from that nearly killed him but here's methadone John, the safer, less addictive version that prevents the Robert withdrawal from being too devastating.

So he can try and love John, he can risk that because he will never love him the way that he loves Robert and if he loses John, it might suck a little but it won't be the life ruining blow that losing Robert was, that he's still messed up about.

From a realism perspective, the fact that Aaron called the police on Robert kind of sucks because Aaron knows what it's like in prison and he wouldn't want to put someone in that position. But from a purely soapy drama romantic perspective, the fact that he literally couldn't have Robert in his general vicinity because it was not if but when he would go after him again, he already did after all, THAT is the biggest admission of Aaron's feelings that we've gotten so far.

He LOVES Robert, so much. He's carried that photo of Robert around for 6 years (further proof that Marlon and Jessie's wedding was also their fourth wedding haha).

This is the first time in this story that I really feel like we're finally getting some of Aaron's POV on everything where he doesn't just feel like a pod person going through the motions for the sake of the Plot. And it's going to suck watching him push down his feelings and try to ignore Robert and not help him when he needs it. But it's because he's so terrified of losing him again. And that, while again, not at all revelatory, is enough for me for now.

I mean, he and Robert are going to have a LOT to work through after all of this stuff plays out but at least I feel like I not only know where Aaron stands, but I know where the show thinks Aaron stands and that's very welcome after the last 9 months or so.

So...welcome back Aaron Dingle...you've been missed.

Also his face while Robert was talking about wanting everything back with them was utterly heartbreaking. He wants it so badly too if only he'd let himself have it.

[burningcheese-merchant]

Psst, hear me out: The Beast being fucking yanderes with the ancients.

You Get It™️ I mean... Did you guys see episode 6? Burning Simp Cookie is already a yandere lol. He's been there and he refuses to leave. And Shadow Milk is honestly not that far behind, he feels some type of way towards Pure Vanilla and it would be cute if it wasn't so sad and creepy lol

Really though, I just love hero/villain ships in general (always have, since long before Cookie Run ever existed) and I get a kick out of villains acting stupid over crushes (read: obsessions), and acting stupid in general. There's just something about a villain being in love with the hero to a psychotic, comical degree, and the hero rebuffing them at every turn that's just really amusing to me lol. Like what Joker sort of has with Batman, you know?

Here are my Yandere Beasts in bare-bones terms:

Burning Spice: come on, if you've read my stuff, you know EXACTLY what Yandere Spice is like lol. If not, I'll refer you to this and this, as well as my fics on AO3. If those don't tell you what Yandere Spice is like then idk how else to help you lol

Shadow Milk: if the final boss of theater/drama kids had a crush but was also a malignant narcissist of some sort lol. Absolutely DESPERATE for Vanilla's attention at all times. If he's not actively trying to worm into Vanilla's brain and harass him in his thoughts and dreams, he's in the real world brainstorming better ways to do that lol. He does not grasp why the creepy puppet shows and gaslighting attempts aren't convincing Vanilla to fall in love with him. Will attack and torment and insult Vani in one breath and then praise and love and worship him in another, because he's a histrionic clown freak with whirlwind emotions. But above all else, he literally thinks he owns Vani and is meticulously plotting the horrible and hilarious demise of any and all he perceives as a threat to their union

Eternal Sugar: World's Laziest Stalker™️. Almost exclusively haunts Holly in her dreams (I have to assume that that's what her power will entail, as the Beast of Sloth); however, she's more "effective" in her wooing attempts due to her past experience as the Herald of Happiness. She actually goes out of her way to construct dreams and the like that have things in them that make Holly happy (or what she thinks makes Holly happy; she, as well as the others, has big tunnel vision and is very selfish and self-absorbed, and thus pays more lip service to her own wants than those of who she loves/obsesses over). Thankfully doesn't run into Holly in person often because that's work... but sometimes she DOES work up the nerve to go after her for real, and... well

Mystic Flour: Denial, denial, denial. Not just a river in Egypt the Golden Cheese Kingdom, but she'll say and act like otherwise. No, she does not like Dark Cacao. He robbed her of her volition and the chance to enact her will. He prevented her from freeing the world from pain and suffering. He is a stubborn fool who refuses to understand the truth. He... is very handsome. She does not like how handsome he is. It is distracting. She doesn't like dwelling on her memories of him and their encounters. She doesn't like how she came to harbor a single kernel of respect in her heart after he stood his ground against her; a kernel that she inadvertently nurtured and cultivated slowly but surely, until... no. No, she doesn't like Dark Cacao. She doesn't think about him all day. She doesn't want to try to lure him back to her land so she can trap him in the flour fog with her again. She doesn't miss feeling his dark eyes on her. She doesn't deeply resent his attachment to his people, and seek to transfer that attachment to her instead. No, she... damn it, he's ruined her. He's made her feel things again. He's made her succumb to selfishness and greed, to earthly desire and attachment - desire for HIM, attachment to HIM. All of her hard work and enlightenment gone to waste... She doesn't want to like Dark Cacao, she recognizes the folly in such a thing, but she's stuck - and so stuck is she that not only does she not really see a way out, she doesn't WANT one. She's become too content with her attachment to him too quickly. Now she has to agonize over her own foolishness, and try to keep denying that she doesn't care while also longing for his attention and wanting to do away with all that steals his attention away from her

Silent Salt: probably the least awful of the five, but he's still creepy and that's not a high bar to clear anyway lol. Has a better grasp on "normal" behavior than the others (like... he pays attention to what White Lily likes/wants and tries to adjust accordingly), but he's following her around everywhere and acting extremely violent and territorial over her towards anyone who he catches approaching her. He's legitimately, surprisingly sweet and gentle towards her; he brings her flowers, he listens to her when she asks/tells him something, he's more or less respectful of her personal space (he will try to be as physically close to her as possible, but actually backs off a little if she asks him to, only to try again, and so on and so forth)... but he's still a villain, he's still violent and creepy, he still gets angry when she pays attention to other people for too long and he has brought actual harm to others out of jealousy. He's the best of the worst but that really doesn't mean much of anything, he's still a psycho creep like the others

In short, they form a tight-knit coalition of absolutely fucking deranged freakazoids and they should all probably die :)

[trashogram]

He Chose You (Pt. 3)

Lucifer/Reader - Lucifer decides that you are the perfect person to be his baby mama.

Rated E, but the smut has been delayed due to personal matters. I apologize! Still not for kiddos though.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 13.5 | Part 14 | End

“Hello there!”

Teeth. 

This man in your apartment — 

‘He was a duck. A fucking duck and now he’s a man. Oh my fucking god what the fucking fuck.’ 

                                                 — had shark teeth. 

If you’d had better control of your faculties — if you were capable of doing anything more than staring airily with mouth agape — you would’ve screamed bloody murder.

Instead, you sat there, unable to move and quickly succumbing to a sensation you could only described as detachment. 

His pointy smile gleamed despite the darkness. His whole person appeared to glow, in fact, giving you a clear view of his demonic approximation of a man in what could only be described as circus attire. 

You stared.

There was silence. The expression on his face fell slowly, showman’s smile melting until it barely lingered on his pallid face.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to get loud, heh.” The man-creature adopted an inside voice. “Hello.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you. I mean we’ve met before, obviously, but it’s nice to be able to meet you as me a-and you as you!”

The blond cleared his throat. Enthusiasm in full force as he pulled a cane out of behind his back and spread his arms out wide. 

“Allow me to introduce myself! I am Lucifer Morningstar! King of Hell… and I am at your service, my lady.”

Lucifer bowed until his strangely nose-less face just about touched the floor. 

“… King of Hell…?” Your voice came out steadier than you thought it would. “You’re… Satan?”

“Ah-ha, ha, that’s a common misconception. Satan is actually a friend of mine!” Lucifer sprung up, pleased as punch to hear you finally speak. “People have called me a ton of different names; that’s what happens when you’ve been around for like, ever. It all gets jumbled and lost in translation. Like that game! Telephone!”

“Wait, no.” He snapped his fingers together a few times. “Is that…? No that’s not it. It’s, it’s, ah shit.”

“No, you’re right.” You replied mildly. ”It’s Telephone.”

Lucifer’s eyes lit up like firecrackers. He moved closer to you, step by step, while excitement squared his shoulders. 

“So, are you taking me to hell now?” Your flippant question stopped him dead. 

“Wait, what?” His shock snapped into nervous laughter. 

Your eyes rolled up to the ceiling contemplatively. “I didn’t think I was special enough to be brought down by the Devil himself.” 

“No! No, no, no, no, no!” Lucifer waved his arms frantically. “I’m not! You’re not! I would never!”

“I’m flattered. You didn’t have to come all this way, you know.”

“Hell is for sinners not — not for you!” The very real panic on his face was amusing to some part of your hindbrain as you stared back at him airily. “You’re - you don’t deserve to go to Hell. Ever!”

“… Why?”

Lucifer’s shoulders shook, eyes still bugging out of his skull before he took a deep breath and exhaled shakily. If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear he was on the verge of a panic attack. 

“Well, because! Because you-uuu are a good person. Good people go to…” He inhaled deeply and exhaled shakily. “H-heaven.” 

You humored him with a smile, a kernel of pity lodged in your heart. It made sense that the Devil would hesitate before even naming Heaven. 

“No,” You course-corrected gently. “Why are you here?”

“Oh! Okay, yeah that. Great question! Thank you for asking!” The man-thing cartoonishly wiped at his brow, a silent ‘phew’ following. “I just wanted to, um…” 

Black gloves gesture wildly like Lucifer was fishing for words out of the air. 

“Ahh, I guess? The short answer is that I just wanted to meet you.” He smiled sheepishly. 

Your face felt numb, but you imagined that he could make out the want to raise your eyebrow questioningly from the blazé energy you were exuding. 

“See, actually, I’ve been meaning to introduce myself for days. You were moving in and I saw you and I wanted to say hello because you looked… ”

Fang-like teeth bit into his lower lip as Lucifer eyes darted to your form. That sheepish look had morphed into a mortified one when he could no longer make eye contact with you. 

“You looked like a ve-ery nice, helpful person and I thought to myself ‘gee, I don’t get to talk to a lot of nice, helpful people often — being as I am the ruler of Hell, and that’s not the nicest place around, right? Hah — so why not stop by and see if this person would be willing to talk to me?’” 

The cane in his gloved hands tapped against one palm impatiently, a shiny red apple glinting at the top. 

“Well, I, I mean that’s what I wanted to do when you first got here…” He trailed off with uncertainty. 

“But I just… I just kept fucking it up!” Lucifer knocked a fist against his face as if to say ‘stupid! stupid!’. “Every time I come up to knock on your door, I start thinking about all the ways it could go wrong and then I’d start getting antsy and I didn’t wanna freak you out!”

The Devil raked a hand through his platinum-blond hair. 

“I was just so afraid you’d run away screaming.” He sighed. “Which, while I thought that would be the worst case scenario, made a little more sense than right now with you taking this whole thing exceptionally well.” 

“Hmm,” You hummed, turning his words over in your mind. “Well I can’t run away, but I’m definitely screaming internally, if that’s helpful?”

Lucifer had the nerve to pout at your deadpan statement. 

“Maybe whatever you gave me at dinner caused a bad reaction?” You suggested. 

“Oh no. Well, maybe. I mean — I didn’t give that stuff to you. This was their idea.”

A bit of feeling was returning to your nose, and you could feel it scrunch up in confusion. “Your friends wanted to drug me?”

“My frie — Hah! Oh no, sweetie those aren’t my friends! Well, I mean they’ve let me crash at their place when I’m up topside, but that’s all part of our little agreement.” 

“Your agreement to-oo provide them with joy and laughter in their golden years as a pet duck?”

Lucifer guffawed loudly. “Oho! You are — that was funny! Hah, funny, kind, pretty, you’re the whole shebang aren’t ya?! — I knew picking you was the right move!”

‘Picking me?’ That got you to tilt your head with some effort, mouth opening to ask just that.

“Aha no, actually.” Lucifer cut you off. “That’s the other thing I was going to mention. I wasn’t gonna bring it up until a little while later, after we got to know each other.” 

Before you knew it, Lucifer had scuttled to your side and was sitting on the edge of the couch beside you, propping up the side of his head on one arm against the back. 

“Now’s as good a time as any.” You replied serenely. If you could shrug, you would’ve. 

Lucifer frowned while patterns into the couch cushion. “I wish I knew why you’re so darn agreeable. I mean, I love it! Makes this so much easier. But it’s also a little… weird.” 

You shifted to better face the Prince of Darkness, feeling a tingling sensation along one side. “I find it’s best to go with the flow during dreams. When I question things, they’re more likely to change into nightmares.” 

“Wh… what?” Your companion flinched back like you’d smacked him in the face. “You think this is a dream?”

“What else could it be?” Came your nonchalant response. “It’s either that or a hallucination from the drugs. I wouldn’t know, I don’t usually partake. But I’m pretty sure I fell asleep after my neighbors brought me back to my room, so I’m leaning toward that.”

The devil remained silent, that earlier expression of mortification making a comeback, as well as a slow-growing horror that made the unusually red spots on his cheeks drain down to pink. 

“No, no I’m not… I’m not a dream! This is real! I’m real!” Lucifer lurched forward suddenly, hands hovering centimeters from your lifeless arm. 

He swallowed thickly, making a decision in real time to peel off his glove and reach out to you with alabaster fingers. 

“See?” He asked softly, brushed against your shoulder down to your forearm with cautious claws. 

The nerve endings in your body had been waking up throughout your conversation with Not-Satan, but felt unusually sharp as his nails grazed your flesh. Lucifer’s hand was smoother than smooth, and cold like a glass window in winter. It was as if he were made of porcelain, solid yet fragile. 

And yet you felt a burgeoning warmth when he took hold of your hand. There was a faint heat coming from beneath his skin; a candle still burning somewhere beneath layers and layers of ice. 

You shivered violently, body and mind syncing as you both rejected and sought that impossible sensation. 

Lucifer, meanwhile, was staring at your hand in his, fingers entwined. He marveled at the image, hope blossoming from within, after an eternity of being grounded. 

Just to touch you, to be near you and bask in your body heat and the presence of your soul did wonders. 

“This is no dream. This is really happening.” He repeated softly. 

———————— Tag List:

@crescent-z, @for-hearthand-home, @undertale-is-sansational, @loslox, @navierkalani, @yaimlight, @ivoryviness, @crystalplays28, @flowerempress, @wally-darling-hyperfixation, @altruisticradiodemon, @moonlight-readings, @halparkebitch

[debian-official]

Linux ask game

1 - what was your first distro? 2 - what was your biggest linux fuckup? 3 - have you ever run rm / on real hardware? 4 - do you dual boot or have a secondary machine with windows? 5 - did you change your default shell? 6 - are you afraid of git? 7 - what was the first machine you installed linux on? 8 - do you know your way around vim keybinds? 9 - what is your favourite non-os software? 10- biggest linux pet peeve? 11- biggest annoyance with the community? 12- do you like your current distro? 13- Xenia or Tux? 14- what software are you never using again? 15- stock distro or hours of yak shaving? 16- have you compiled the kernel?

[bethanythebogwitch]

Wet Beast Wednesday: common carp

Welcome to the first WBW of fresh-uary. All my Wet Beast Wednesday posts this month will be about freshwater species. And where better to start than one of the most prolific and invasive freshwater fish, the common carp. Introduced worldwide as a food species, the common carp population has exploded due to them being masters of survival. Lets see how they have become so prevalent.

(Image: a common carp seen from the front and side. It is a large fish with a pointed head ending in a downward-pointing mouth with short barbels at the sides. The scales are large and orangeish. End ID)

The common carp, Cyprinus carpio, also known as the European carp or Eurasian carp is a large bony fish with a robust body and large, yellow-brown scales. Common carp have a downturned mouth with two pairs of short barbels, one emerging from the sides of the mouth and one from the lower lip. There are distinct wild and domesticated forms, with the wild ones being longer and slimmer. Most wild type common carp reach an average of 40-80 cm (16-31 in) long and 2-14 kg (4.5-31 lbs), but under the right conditions, they can get much larger. The largest common carp on record weighed 45.59 kg (100.5 lbs). Domesticated common carp can get much larger than wild ones and grow at almost twice the rate. Common carp have also been selectively bred into additional morphs, the most common of which is the mirror carp, so named for its much larger scales. Carp that are missing some or all of their scales are called leather carp and they often lose their scales as the result of a mutation. Mirror carp are especially prone to losing scales. The Amur carp, Cyprinus rubrofuscus, was previously considered to be a subspecies of the common carp before being reclassified as a closely related species. The two species are capable of hybridizing. They can also hybridize with goldfish.

(Image: a common carp seen from the side. From this angle, it is easier to see a small hump behind the head where the back begins. End ID)

Common carp are native to southern Europe and west Asia, particularly in the Danube river basin. Their preferred habitat is warm, still or slow water, but they are notorious for their ability to survive fairly extreme conditions. Carp can live in a wide range of temperatures, in highly polluted water, in more salty water than most freshwater fish, and in low-oxygen water (by gulping air at the surface). They also tolerate very shallow water for their size. I've personally pulled 2-foot long carp out of ankle-deep water. Carp are bottom-feeding omnivores that feed by rooting around in soft sediment. Food includes aquatic plants, algae, fish eggs, worms, small invertebrates like crayfish, and small fish. Carp feeding kicks a lot of sediment into the water, which can reduce water quality and encourage eutrophication. They will pick up sediment in their mouths and pass it back and fourth, using their gill rakers to filter out edible material. They have a set of pharyngeal teeth used to grind up food. Carp can be found solitary, but prefer to swim in small schools.

(Image: a common carp feeding. It has its head to the bottom sucking in corn kernels that the photographer has scattered around to attract them. This one has large, irregular scales, indicating it may be a mirror carp)

Carp reproduce in spring, often triggered by seasonal flooding. They will spawn multiple times during a season, with an average female able to produce over a million eggs per year. Females lay their eggs in shallow water, where they stick to vegetation. Carp in non-vegetated areas will make seasonal migrations to more suitable habitat for spawning. Juvenile carp are vulnerable to predators and rely on vegetation to hide. They feed on plankton until they grow large enough to root around in the sediment. Males reach sexual maturity between ages 3 and 5 and females between ages 4 and 6, with those living in warmer water maturing faster. Carp can live for decades, with the oldest one on record being 64 at the time of death.

(Image: a group of 10 common carp swimming at the surface of the water. Some of them have their mouths sticking out. End ID)

Carp have been raised for food for millennia, with the oldest record of them being farmed being Roman times. This is likely also when the domesticated variety diverged from the wild type. Carp is a major food source throughout Europe and Asia, but is unpopular as food in North America because of how bony they are. The wide use of carp in food has contributed to them being spread across the world. Common carp can now be found on every continent except Antarctica and in every region except for polar ones that are too cold for them. Common carp are one of the most invasive of all fish species and tend to be highly destructive to habitats they are introduced to. Their feeding tends to uproot and destroy aquatic vegetation and native fish eggs while outcompeting native species with similar niches. Carp feeding kicks up lots of sediment in the water and can radically change the conditions of waters they are introduced into. Various carp control methods have been introduced to try to keep their numbers down. These include barricades to prevent them from reaching spawning grounds, capture and kill programs, and the use of poison. In many places carp have been introduced to, fishing for food and sport helps control their numbers. One of the problems with carp in North America is that there isn't a food market for them and many anglers don't target them. Environmentalists have been working on encouraging carp fishing and telling anglers to kill carp they catch to help control their numbers. Carp aquaculture has become a major industry. China produces more carp by weight yearly than all other fish from aquaculture worldwide. Ironically, despite their invasive nature and survivability, wild common carp in their native range are considered threatened due to habitat loss.

(Image: three excited-looking people holding up a giant common carp. The fish is so big that even with all three people standing shoulder to shoulder, the fish extends across all of them. End ID)