#I bet a fiver that it turns out to not be that bad when it hits us (Dublin)

[bugwolfsstuff]

I might not be online tomorrow cause Ireland's been united but only in weather warnings so my power may go out

[dreamy625]

Overture and beginners - chapter 4

< Chapter 3

Words: 2852 (I still cannot write short chapters)

Content: Is it still called smut when it’s intrinsic to the plot? And if you’re incapable of writing sensuous prose and end up with something a little awkward? Anyway, there’s some of whatever it is

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“Wow, I don’t envy poor Rick having to carry his drums up and down these stairs.”

“Amps and speakers aren’t a whole bunch of fun either. We thought about trying to put in some kind of pulley system, but the risk of dropping something you’d spent months saving for was too scary.”

They got to the top of the second flight of steep, narrow steps and Steve put his key into the rusty lock and jiggled it until it turned and he could push open the door. It was almost as cold inside as outside and the first thing he did was switch on the two electric heaters. 

Katie looked around at the mishmash of old furniture, threadbare rugs, band posters, and a drum riser apparently built from packing crates nailed together. “Aw, you made yourselves a little clubhouse,” she teased.

“I’ll have you know we are serious musicians and this is a bona fide rehearsal studio,” he retorted with mock affront. 

“Of course, my sincere apologies. The next best thing to Abbey Road I’m sure. How much does it cost?”

“Fiver a week, so a pound each, which is not too bad. And that includes the electric. Wouldn’t want to run this lot,” he waved his arm at the assembled instruments and equipment, “off a meter.”

“Suppose not. Can I?” she asked, gesturing at Rick’s drums.

“Sure, there'll be some sticks on the floor somewhere I expect.”

Katie sat down on the stool and tapped out a few rhythms, pretending not to notice that Steve took this opportunity to hastily take down the topless glamour girl picture pinned to a cupboard door!

“Will you play something for me?”

“Noooo,” he demurred, “you don’t need to hear me make a noise.”

“I do, and it’s not a noise. I bet you’re good; you spend every hour you’re not at work here, so you must be by now!”

“I’m alright,” he mumbled. “Okay, fine, I’ll play.” He couldn’t continue to say no in the face of those big round imploring eyes. 

He clicked open the catches on one of the guitar cases and pulled out a honey-coloured guitar.

“Ooh, pretty.”

“It’s only a copy. But one day I’ll have a real one.” He slipped the strap over his head and bent to switch on his amp and plug in, then stood in front of the drum riser checking the tuning and running through some scales while staring thoughtfully at the wall. “What shall I play?”

“Anything you want. I’d like to hear one of your favourites.”

Steve started to play something, a slow, yearning ballad, that sounded vaguely familiar but she couldn’t place it. 

“That was lovely.”

Steve continued to move his fingers on the strings without strumming and didn’t look up, but she could see him smiling to himself. Then he straightened up, stepped his legs wide, and, with his eyes closed, belted out the opening riff to, easily recognisable even to Katie’s untrained ear, Immigrant Song by Led Zeppelin. 

When he finished and struck a pose, arm in the air, she clapped enthusiastically. “Wow. You are… amazing. No, seriously,” she reiterated as Steve shook his head vigorously, “really, really, REALLY good.”

“Oh stop it. And don’t look at me like that,” he begged, all the rock star bravado of a moment ago gone. 

“Like what?”

“Like I’m… Elvis or something.”

“You’d better get used to it, buster. Because thousands of people are going to look at you like that one day soon! That is… are the rest of your band as good as you?”

“I think… we’re all pretty good in our own ways. But together… yeah, I think we’ve really got something.”

“Well, sign me up as your first fan.” She jumped up from the sofa and gave him a sideways hug, avoiding the guitar.

“First groupie?” he asked with a cheeky grin.

“Play your cards right,” she replied, coiling her arms round his neck and pulling him down for a kiss.

Some minutes later, and sunk into the slightly musty cushions of the old sofa, they didn’t hear footsteps on the stairs or the door hinges creak, but they did hear Joe’s laugh, “Jesus, Sav, not again.” And as Steve’s head jerked around, “Ooh, not Sav! Well, well, this is a turn up for the books - Mr Clark getting his end away!”

“Sod off Joe, we weren’t… we were just kissing,” protested Steve, pulling his shirt down and running his hand through his dishevelled hair.

“Oh aye, and the rest! You know you’re supposed to hang your jacket on the door handle when you’re using the place for that kind of caper. What if innocent little Rick had walked in instead of me? He’d be traumatised!”

“Firstly, ‘innocent little Rick’ has had more girlfriends than both of us put together, and secondly, we WEREN’T doing that. Look, trousers on and everything!”

“Oh give over yer daft 'apeth, I’m only kidding. You gonna introduce me to your lady friend?”

Katie, who had stayed hidden behind Steve’s shoulder, peeked out and waved awkwardly.

“Joe, Katie; Katie, Joe. Our singer. And resident comedian.”

“Nice to meet you Katie, and sorry about interrupting your, err…”

“What are you even doing here - practice isn’t for hours?”

“Mum’s got friends round and the sitting room’s full of knitting and giggling. United are away, so I thought I’d come here, try and do a bit of writing, and then listen to the match on the radio.”

“So you’re here the rest of the day then?”

“Yeah, sorry mate, it’s pissing down and I’ve nowhere else to go. You’re welcome to stay, as long as you behave - I’m not watching you two slobber over each other all afternoon!”

Steve and Katie exchanged not particularly thrilled looks. “Weeell, my parents are supposed to be going out, I could phone the house and check if they’ve gone yet?” she suggested.

“There’s an idea.” He turned to Joe, “We’ll be off then, enjoy the… who are they playing?”

“Blackburn,” he answered gloomily.

“Oh dear, I won’t say enjoy the match then. See you later.”

With Katie pulling on her anorak and Steve just flicking up the collar of his denim jacket (he never seemed to have a proper coat), they left Joe regarding both an empty sheet of paper and his team’s prospects without enthusiasm.

-----------------------------

The smooching session that had started in the rehearsal room, continued on the bus back from town, and paused only long enough to make sure the rest of the Raffertys definitely were out, had reached fever-pitch with shirts removed, hands all over, and bodies entwined on the narrow single bed.

With a groan, Steve pulled away and rolled onto his back.

“What’s wrong? Did I do something…”

“Oh no, it was really nice. Just… it could get… err, messy if we go on much longer.” Embarrassed, he avoided her gaze, looking up at the ceiling and adjusting the waistband of his jeans to try and make everything less squashed.

“It would be less messy if you… took it out?” suggested Katie hesitantly.

“I… oh… really?”

She nodded, and so he unbuttoned, unzipped, and wriggled his jeans down. He was wearing blue boxers, that were displaying a distinctly tent-like shape! 

He looked back at her for reassurance. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

“Maybe!” she teased, then made her face serious. “No, I won’t laugh. Promise.”

He pulled the underpants down too, revealing, well, she had no real comparison to make, but from things she’d heard from girlfriends, it seemed quite impressive. 

“Can I touch?”

“If you want,” agreed Steve, feigning nonchalance.

Katie ran a finger gently down the length, and giggled when it twitched at her touch. 

“Like this?” she asked, wrapping her hand around the base, “And this?” as she slid her hand upwards.

Steve swallowed audibly, “Uh huh.”

When she hesitated, not wanting to do it wrong, he put his hand over hers and guided it up and down for a few strokes. She concentrated on keeping that rhythm going while studying, subtly so he wouldn’t get self-conscious, the piece of equipment in her hands. It was sort of fascinating - the only penis she’d really seen up ‘till now was in that mortifying sex education film at school, and she’d certainly never got up close and personal with one before. Steve held quite still, and when she looked up at his face, his eyes were closed and his lips slightly parted, letting out ragged breaths.

“Is that okay?”

“Perfect.” It came out raspy.

She leaned over and kissed him, and he kissed back, increasingly sloppy and uncoordinated, until she dragged her lips to the corner of his mouth, across his jaw, and down to his throat. She pressed them to his collarbone, his chest, anywhere she could reach, and felt his hips rocking beneath her hand. The only sounds he made were a muttered request for ‘faster’, and then almost-silent grunts on every stroke until, with a final sharp intake of breath, he shot warm white goo over her hand and his stomach.

Katie wasn’t quite sure what to do then. She reached over to the nightstand for tissues and wiped her hand. Steve had thrown his arm across his eyes and she prised it up.

“Are you hiding from me?”

“No! Yes.” Finally he met her eyes. “That was amazing. Thank you.” She handed him a wad of tissues and he mopped carefully at the mess, making sure not to get any on the sheets.

De-gunked, Steve held out his arms and Katie snuggled up to him, her head on his chest. He trailed his fingers up and down her back.

“I’d like to… I want to touch you too, if you’d like that? But I’m scared I’ll be crap at it.”

Katie hugged him tighter. “Aren’t guitarists supposed to be good with their hands?”

“Hehe, I suppose so. But I don’t know… girl bits sound… complicated.”

Picking up on the ‘sound’ part, Katie guessed, “Because you’ve never done it before?” She had an odd feeling asking that. Blokes were supposed to be experienced, weren’t they? But she found she felt suddenly proprietorial, jealous of any girl that had been there before.

“No,” admitted Steve, “but I’ve read three issues of Cosmopolitan if that helps!”

“It’s a good start,” she laughed, “and it’s not that complicated, I could show you. Oh,” she had a sudden thought, “we should wash our hands first, just in case there’s any of that… stuff hanging around.”

They padded across to the bathroom and washed; Steve kept his hands under the hot tap for an extra-long time so that they’d be warm. Back in the bedroom, Katie took her skirt off and they got under the covers. Steve ran his hand down her side to her thigh, getting acquainted with new places he hadn’t properly got to touch before, then back up to her stomach and over the lace of her bra.

“Can I take this off?”

She nodded and he reached behind and unsnapped it.

“See, nimble guitarist fingers!” she exclaimed.

“If you can play an E flat added ninth, bra clips are a piece of cake.”

He slid the strap over her shoulder, kissing the faint red mark it left behind. Katie pulled her other arm through and dropped the garment off the side of the bed.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, trailing his fingers gently round the curve of her breast. It tickled a little and Katie tried not to giggle.

He ducked his head and kissed first one nipple and then the other, followed by an experimental lick and then, very gently, sucking. A quick intake of breath from above made him pause, but fingers squeezing his shoulder encouraged him to continue. He swirled his tongue and was rewarded with a shuddering breathy ‘ohh’. He repeated the trick on the other side (wouldn't want it to feel left out) to more appreciative noises, and then lifted his head.

“You like that?”

She nodded, a little flushed. “How did you learn how to do that?”

Steve shrugged one shoulder, “That was me learning it.”

“Clever boy. Do it again?”

“Yes ma’am.”

With multi-tasking skills honed by many hours of lathe work, he also reached down and slipped his hand under the waistband of her knickers, stroking around her hipbone and across her lower belly. “Do we need these?” he asked teasingly.

“We do not,” she replied, and he tugged them down far enough that she could kick them off completely.

This was definitely new territory and he explored tentatively, sliding fingertips over the soft skin of her inner thighs and curving his hand over the mound in between. “Teach me what to do.”

Katie reached for his hand and guided his first two fingers. “So I guess the main, um, landmarks, are here,” she moved his fingers in a circle, “and here.” She took his hand down lower, to what felt to Steve like a confusing pattern of soft folds that he mentally tried to match with the diagram in the biology textbook and some magazines he kept hidden in a box of sheet music at the bottom of his wardrobe. “And it helps if you lick your fingers first,” she added.

Steve did so, noticing the exciting new smell on his skin just from those brief touches. 

“So like this? In circles?”

“Uh huh,” she muttered, slightly distracted as she got used to the weirdness of someone else touching her in that way, trying to remember the details of what she did when she was alone. “You can vary speed and pressure and… oh I don’t know - improvise!”

“Got it.”

He propped himself up on the other elbow and went to work, moving his hand in slow, deliberate circles.

Katie giggled as she looked at his face with its furrowed brow, “You look like you’re taking an exam!”

“Shush, you. I’m concentrating. Close your eyes.”

She did, and that was better, shyness dissipating and just the pleasurable feeling of Steve stroking her and his warm breath on her cheek. He leaned in and kissed her, and that was even better. She moaned into his mouth as he hit a particularly good rhythm, and felt his lips curve into a smile. When she pulled back to take a breath, he moved his head down to kiss her neck, licking and sucking gently down to her collarbone and back up. 

He sensed her body relaxing and she bent her knee to open her legs wider, which he took as an invitation to move his fingers lower. 

“Ooh slimy!” he observed without thinking about it.

“STEVE! Euw!”

“Sorrysorrysorry! But that’s what’s supposed to happen isn’t it?”

“Yes. Just don’t say it like that!”

“Sorry. Wet. Slippery. Silky.” He punctuated each word with an apologetic kiss. “That’s what I meant.”

“Better.” She smiled and settled back on the pillow, closing her eyes once more. 

Steve wiggled his finger around searching for the right spot and then, when he found it, eased his finger in, smooth and easy once he got the angle right. As he slid the finger in and out of the slick, welcoming warmth, he briefly got distracted, wondering how it would feel to put his… no, this was about Katie, not him, he had to focus. She seemed to be enjoying his ministrations, but how could he make it even better for her?

He broke off from kissing her neck to ask, “Two?”

“Mm-hmm,” she answered without opening her eyes.

His fingers were bigger than hers but the extra stretch wasn’t unpleasant, in fact, after a moment to get used to it, it felt good, great. She angled her hips to get more contact and he seemed to understand what she needed, adjusting his position so that she could press against the heel of his hand. Remembering a particularly informative magazine article, he twisted his wrist and found that, yes, he could reach her clit with his thumb at the same time, and she gasped and clenched around his fingers. It didn’t take long after that for her breathing to quicken and turn to panting, then her head arched back and she came with a long ‘ahh’ and he could feel her knees shaking as well as the spasming inside. It felt like such a privilege to watch that, to be the cause of that, a fantasy come true. He moved to cradle her head, brushing away a tendril of hair that had stuck to her forehead and pressing a kiss to the damp skin. He waited until her breathing slowed and the grip around his fingers loosened before carefully easing them out and resting his hand on her thigh, where he could still feel the occasional twitch of a muscle. 

Katie blinked, coming back to Earth, and her face broke into a grin. “‘Scuse swearing but holy shit, Steve! How does a nice boy like you know how to do that?”

“Um, is it bad if I say from Playboy?”

She laughed, “I think I need to send a thank you letter to the editors!”

Chapter 5 >

[senorarelojes]

Fic: But Not Tonight (7/?)

Summary: Dave asks his best friend Alan to go to the prom with him. Pairing: Dave/Alan Notes: One of the silly little things I wrote for @pinksyndication @what-could-have-been @songsofgayanddevotion @rvphinas-blog!

Part 1: here. Part 2: here. Part 3: here. Part 4: here. Part 5: here. Part 6: here.

.

The hall is filled with almost the entire student population of Barstable; even most of the lower secondary students are attending as dates or friends. The music booming over the speakers is something bright and poppy from the current UK charts, and Dave laughs at the open disdain on Alan’s face. He can’t wait to surprise Alan later with his own secret song request, provided that Daryl doesn’t forget.

Fletch is already waving at people and greeting acquaintances whom Dave also vaguely recognises, while Martin’s wings attract several gasps of delight and wolf-whistles. Alan seems happy to blend into the background, shooting Dave an extremely amused look as a flock of girls run over to squeal over Martin’s outfit. Martin is laughing, face a little red with embarrassment and the alcohol they’d already consumed in the limo. Dave just shakes his head with a grin, hoping his friend truly does get crowned Prom King tonight.

“Let’s go say hi to Vince and Daryl,” Fletch suggests, pointing to one of the tables near the sound booth. After they manage to extract Martin from his fans, the four of them make their way across the dance floor, Dave nodding and smiling as various people clap him on the shoulder in greeting. Everyone else looks utterly glamorous, the girls dolled up for the night while the blokes are dressed sharply in long-sleeved shirts and pressed trousers, some of them wearing blazers like Dave and Alan.

Still, no one else in the entire place could even compare to the bloke beside him. Dave can’t quite take his eyes off Alan, who is his usual calm and cool self, observing everything around him and occasionally leaning back to share a remark with Dave. Dave just nods at whatever Alan is saying and smiles giddily at him, trying not to stare at his mouth. He still can’t believe Alan is here as his date.

“...you’re not listening to a word I’m saying, are you?” Alan’s words jolt Dave out of his haze. Alan’s expression is both amused and fondly exasperated.

“Sorry,” Dave says, not at all apologetic as he licks his own lips. “My mind was somewhere else.”

Now Alan’s gaze has dropped down to his mouth as well. “Be patient,” Alan says with a chuckle, squeezing Dave’s arm. “The night is still young.”

Daryl and Vince welcome them with cheers and several glasses of fancy punch, which is sadly non-alcoholic as the teachers are standing guard by the punch bowl. Vince is actually dressed in a proper pinstriped suit, while Daryl is wearing jeans and the school t-shirt, the uniform for the AV team tonight. “Are you two aware that you’re wearing matching blazers?” Daryl says, gesturing towards Dave and Alan with his cup. 

“Yeah, it was on purpose,” Alan says, much to Dave’s surprise. He flashes a sideways apologetic grin at Dave. “Sorry, Sue sent me a picture when you went shopping. I couldn’t resist.”

Dave is in awe of his devious sister and his equally devious-- friend? Boyfriend? He doesn’t know yet. “Bloody hell,” he says in an admiring tone. “Clever bastard.”

Vince’s eyes are roving over the both of them, taking in Alan’s corsage and Dave’s rose. “You’re here together,” he says, deadpan. “Like, together together.”

“Very much so,” Alan says without batting an eyelid, while Dave just reaches down and takes Alan’s hand in his.

“Huh.” Vince doesn’t look very surprised. Instead he holds out his hand to Fletch, who mutters something and fishes out his wallet, plonking a fiver on Vince’s palm as Martin and Daryl laugh very loudly at this exchange.

“You lot bet on us?” Dave is more amazed than upset, while Alan is just grinning at the whole thing. Dave’s wondering if he’s recently been more obvious than he let on.

“I thought Vince was off his head,” Fletch says with a sigh. “But I knew I lost when Mart figured out you two were going together.”

“I told you not to take that bet,” Martin chides him. “Why do you never listen to me?”

“Oh well.” Fletch shrugs it off. “So you lads want to dance?”

“Can’t,” Daryl groans, checking his watch. “I’ve got to head back for DJ-ing duties before some smartarse takes over and plays Nickelback for an hour.”

“I hardly think playing a Spotify playlist qualifies one as a DJ,” Alan says dryly, ducking when Daryl tosses a balled-up napkin at him in retaliation. Daryl drops a wink at Dave before he heads back to the sound booth, which assures a relieved Dave that he remembers his request for Alan.

They sit around Vince’s table and chat loudly over the music, groaning and booing Daryl every time he picks something by Ed Sheeran. “I’m going to go over and cheer up Flood,” Alan tells Dave at one point, gesturing towards the sound booth. “Poor sod picked the short straw and is on duty tonight as well.”

“Tell him I said hi.” Dave tries his best to look as unaffected as possible, the way Alan always does so effortlessly. But some of his jealousy must show on his face, because Alan is smiling before leaning in to brush his lips against Dave’s, lingering a little longer than he had for the previous kisses. 

“I’ll be back.” Just three simple words, but Alan’s voice is laced with promise so Dave’s smile is far more genuine this time. Dave watches him stride off to where the AV crew are. 

“Wow,” he hears Vince say. “If I’d known how bad it was, I would have wagered more money.”

“Me too,” Martin says with a laugh. “Could have afforded a halo to go with my wings.”

“Excuse me, are you pissheads discussing how you want to rob me blind?” Fletch says, pretending to be indignant.

Shaking his head, Dave leaves his friends to squabble it out while he goes to fetch more punch for himself and Alan. The dance floor is heaving with people, many couples provocatively entwined as they groove to the rhythm of the music. Dave is pleased to see that he and Alan aren’t the only same-sex couple in attendance. There’s a few girls dancing with each other, and even the blond captain of the visiting football team from Brum is here with his boyfriend, the equally tall, dark-haired bloke that all the girls in school keep sighing over. 

“Already shopping around?” Alan’s very amused voice huffs in his ear, a hand wrapping around his waist. “I’m very jealous.”

Dave relaxes and leans back in Alan’s hold, smiling like a lunatic. “You’re just in time, Al. I was about to run off with the mailman.”

Alan merely chuckles before pressing a kiss to Dave’s neck, which makes him shiver. The music has changed to something slow and dirty with Spanish lyrics; although Dave barely understands a word of it, he lets the melody wash over him as his hips sway from side to side.

“This song’s really good,” he hears Alan remark. “What’s it called?”

“No idea.” Dave jerks his head towards the crowd. “Want to dance?”

Alan is eyeing the masses thoughtfully. “I’m not really good at it.”

“It’s easy, c’mon.” Dave turns around in Alan’s arms, putting down their glasses of punch on a nearby table for safekeeping. Now they’re standing face to face, Alan’s eyes warm as they slide down Dave’s body. Dave clears his throat, reminding himself not to jump on Alan in front of almost the whole bloody school.

“Okay, so-- like this.” Dave puts his hands on Alan’s hips, his throat going dry at the feel of that firm muscle under his palms. “Just follow the beat of the snare, yeah? So, on every ‘two’, just move your hips to the right. On every four-- the left. Got it?”

Alan nods, an adorable look of concentration on his face as he tries to follow Dave’s directions. Dancing is something that comes so easily and naturally to Dave, so it’s hard to break it down into instructions for someone else. Then again, playing the piano is second nature for Alan, but Dave is completely crap at it despite Alan’s repeated attempts to teach him.

“Am I getting it?” Alan’s frowning a little, his hips rotating a little stiffly.

“You’re overthinking it, mate.” Dave tries to guide him with his hands, but Alan is still trying too hard to get it perfect. So he tries to think of the best way to distract Alan, to catch him off guard so that he’ll let his body take over instead of focusing too much on that brilliant mind of his.

Dave tips Alan’s chin up, grinning at him before he leans in and kisses him slowly, their lips brushing together, his tongue tracing the edge of Alan’s teeth. He feels it the exact moment Alan’s body loosens against his, his hips pliant under Dave’s grip now, both of them moving along to the sensuous rhythm like they’re part of it. When Dave breaks the kiss, he laughs at Alan’s stupefied expression. “Yeah Charlie, just like that.”

[mypassionfortrash]

Quarantine dream: day one.

It’s the Great Quarantine of 2020, and you and Roger find yourselves cooped up together. Will you get on each others’ nerves, or do you love each other enough to weather the storm? Warnings: Mentions of really weird sex stuff (as a joke), strictly 18+ Notes: New fic. It’s a bit on the nose, but if we don’t laugh, we’ll cry! I’m going to try and update this daily. Full disclaimer, it was written quickly and might be very disjointed.

Day one.

The missus is working from home now. We’re essentially going to be housebound for the foreseeable. She’s already forbidden me from revving the Porsche too loudly in the garage, coming into her ‘designated work space’ between the hours of nine and five, and trying to help her with the cooking and cleaning. Apparently I’m ‘getting in the way.’  I’ve been cast out to my ‘man cave’ during the daytime... and god help me if I leave to scavenge for snacks or even a cuppa!

Which one lives, which one dies, we’ll see! I have a feeling only one of us is getting out of here alive.

In other news, John sent me a video of him and Ronnie in Tesco. Trolley piled high with TP. Now I have the overwhelming urge to brave the dreaded Coronavirus and get the shopping in a couple of days early.

I’m clearly going to go mad, aren’t I?

One more hour of work. That’s what you told yourself as you settled back at your makeshift desk in the spare room. One more hour and then you could get the dinner on. 

Working from home was harder than you imagined. Not having the commute was lovely, but only having contact with Roger – as much as you loved him – was enough to drive anyone to the edge of sanity.

And it was only day one.

Hunching over your laptop, you scrolled through the emails that had piled up during your tea break, now wishing you could just have a meeting. Times had changed and you didn’t have time for 800 word emails about your company’s next rebrand.

Soon enough, something out in the garden caught your eye.

Roger emerged from the garage, his white t-shirt spattered in dirt and grime from a day of tinkering with his collection of four-wheeled loves. He moved swiftly, shaking his head as he looked down at his phone.

You heard the back door slam closed and his footsteps trudge upstairs. Silently praying he wasn’t coming to bother you, you counted his footsteps in your head, imagining every door that lined the hall.

“You’re never going to believe this, darling!” Roger called.

Your eyes burst open the second he entered the room.

Roger leaned over you and thrust his phone in your face, so close you could barely see what was on the screen. “Look at John!” He screeched. “Look at him!”

“What am I looking at?”

Roger’s voice kept going up an octave every sentence until it made you wince. “The bastard’s cleared out Tesco! Look at his bloody trolley!”

Huffing and rolling your eyes, you turned around, going nose to nose with him. “How many kids does he have?”

Roger quietened down. “I don’t know,” he shrugged, “a lot?”

“Well, I don’t thi–”

“You’re not telling me that’s their weekly shop though. They’re stockpiling toilet roll! It doesn’t make you shit yourself! I’ve got a good mind to go down to Tesco and–”

“And what?”

Roger’s attitude came in peaks and troughs but now he looked utterly sheepish, sinking on to the edge of the bed and batting his lashes. “Maybe do the shopping a couple of days earlier? If you want.”

You sighed and leaned your head on the back of your chair, allowing your eyes to wander towards his. You couldn’t say no to him – he made it impossible for you. “One more hour of work and I’ll come with you to supervise.”

Roger’s eyes narrowed as a broad smile lifted his features. “Good.”

As Roger rose to his feet, you reached out to grab the hem of his shirt, pulling him into you. Your lips met with an audible sigh and a fleeting kiss. “And for the love of god, jump in the shower and change your clothes.”

“Why?” Roger smirked. “We’re only going out during the apocalypse.”

An hour and a clean shirt later, you and Roger bundled into the Range Rover to embark on the five-minute drive to Tesco, completely unsure of what you’d find when you arrived.

The radio droned on in the background, covering the latest developments from the Prime Minister’s daily press conferences. Roger listened on with disdain as he drove – he never had much time for politics at the best of times – but he still listened intently. The situation was getting serious enough to worry him. 

Boris bumbled through the airwaves but his message was clear: stay home.

“It’s what we should be doing,” you sighed, leaning forward to reach into your handbag.

“What?”

You took out a box of latex gloves. You, being the sensible and prepared one, always made sure you had some in the house. Blowing into one and slipping it on your hand, you mumbled your response. “Staying home.”

“What are those for?” Roger asked, glancing over at you snapping on the other glove.

“We’re being careful. But you can’t guarantee everyone else is.”

Roger’s hand found your thigh and gave it a reassuring squeeze as the car spun around the corner into Tesco’s car park.

Neither of you were sure of what you were expecting. 

Chaos? Crowds? Cars everywhere? 

You and Roger sat in silence as the car thudded to a halt right at the front door. There wasn’t a soul in sight.

“This is creepy,” Roger stated. “Bet we’ll be going in to empty shelves.”

“It’s going to be ok,” you said, jumping out and heading towards the door. “Remember the shopping bags in the boot!”

You could hear Roger groan as he retraced his steps. “This is why I hate going shopping with you,” he grumbled, fumbling through the boot for the almighty Bag of Bags. “We’re rich enough,” he wittered, slamming the boot. “We can get plastic carriers.”

From the corner of your eye, you could see him stomping back to you as you grabbed a trolley. A small one, so Roger wouldn’t succumb to temptation.

“…All because some little Swedish girl’s bloody whining about the planet getting warmer… not a bad thing if you ask me.”

“What are you droning on about?” you asked, grabbing the Bag of Bags from him. You hoped that putting them in the small trolley would lessen the amount of space available to him too.

“Greta’s probably having a fucking field day,” Roger mumbled. “Us using those bloody sacks for the shopping. No cars on the road.”

“It’s not a bad thing. We’ve been in London how many years? And when have we ever been able to get a proper breath until now? I quite like the lack of traffic.”

“Make the most of being able to breathe, darling. Corona’s a bitch, I’ve heard.” 

The sight of the baron wasteland in front of you stopped you in your tracks. No people, no food, just rows and rows of empty shelves. 

“I have a list,” you said meekly, taking a crumpled piece of paper out of your pocket.

Roger laughed. “Good luck with that.” He barged past you, peering over his shoulder. “I’ll take the cleaning stuff, fruit and veg, and toiletries. You check the rest.”

Empty supermarkets were strange places. Flickering lights and empty shelves, the only sound came from the creaking wheels of your trolley as you snaked the aisles for something – anything – from your shopping list. The only items  left were either expensive or things you’d never be able to cobble a meal out of. Bread and pasta were non-existent in this liminal space, as were eggs and flour, so you couldn’t even make those from scratch. All you managed to find were two sorry looking ready meals, a bottle of gin and a tin of chopped tomatoes – none of which were on your optimistic list.

Roger didn’t do much better, either. He seemed to spring out of nowhere with armfuls of Bayliss and Harding soap at a fiver a pop, a two-litre bottle of bleach and one measly aubergine.

“What are we going to do with that?” you asked.

“What, the aubergine?” he smirked, waggling his eyebrows.”That gin might loosen me up enough.”

“Oh, fuck off! When have we eaten aubergine, Roger!”

“Well,” Roger began, grabbing the trolley, “it’s like that nature man from the telly says. Adapt, overcome… and...”

You glared up at him, “and?”

“I don’t even remember.”

“This is dire.”

Having checked out your scant supermarket haul, you and Roger embarked on the drive home, trying to figure out what you could do with the food you had found.

“I’ve always wanted to shove an aubergine up my arse,” Roger huffed.

“Why’d you think I kept these gloves? I’ve seen the weird shit you’ve been watching,” You mused. “Oh! Moussaka! We still have mince!” you squeaked, bobbing up and down in your seat.

“Kill the mood, why don’t you,” Roger laughed. “But yeah, moussaka could work.”

“I think this apocalypse thing might just turn out ok after all.”

[getoutofthewater]

[Simarkus Fanfic] Blackbird Braille

Rating: T

Warnings: None

Chapters: 9/9 | Words: 33,982 [AO3]

Notes: Paranormal shenanigans, slight murder, vague 80's setting.

Summary: Highschool student Simon Palmer is trying his best to rebuild a normal life for himself with the help of his friends when a bizarre murder and strange phenomena strike their small Michigan town.

                                                     CHAPTER 1

It all started with Josh’s car accident the year they turned seventeen, or it may have started even before that, the summer they met when they were thirteen. Josh called it chance, Markus was inclined to elevate it to luck, Simon thought it was predestination, how else could four people so different end up being so close?. He had told as much to North once; she had scoffed and called it nonsense to his face, but now, as Josh picked her up from detention in his ridiculously ancient Volkswagen Beetle so she wouldn’t have to walk home in the snow, she thought maybe she would call it a timely fluke.

Josh and North met first. Fate must have worked overtime to keep them together until Simon, ever their peacemaker, could get to them. Back then, after many court cases and a lot of bad blood that would never go under any bridges, North had been legally adopted by her aunt, Dr. Lucy Kline. They had left everything behind, moved back to the small town Lucy had grown up in; she wanted to give North a fair chance, a complete fresh start. At thirteen not unlike at seventeen North’s anger was ever smoldering, but at thirteen unlike at seventeen she had thought rage was all she would ever feel.

She was too proud and too self sufficient to ever admit she really didn’t know how that rage would have molded her without the three stupid dorks she had collected.

“Someone owes me a fiver” Josh said with a smile as they drove away from the school

“Don’t feel so smug” she scoffed, dropping a five in the glove compartment regardless

“Should we up the bet? 10 next?”

“I’m not a child, you can’t coerce me into good behavior by taking my allowance away”

“Oh no, no, my bets are for self serving purposes only. Either, you don’t get yourself into detention so I don’t have to come back to school to pick you up, or I win easy cash, a win/win” he said with an annoying grin “What was it this time anyway?”

She shrugged reaching for Simon’s jacket in the back seat, searching the pockets until she found a cereal bar. After she had defended his honor couldn’t Simon at least have better snacks?

“They were talking shit so I gave them something else to talk about” She bit into the bar, scrunched her nose, cinnamon was her least favorite flavor but it was the one Markus liked best and there you were.

Josh left it at that, knowing from her tone and her actually eating a cinnamon bar that he wasn’t going to get anything else right now.

Even as a little kid Josh had been aware that being brilliant was not enough, he didn’t have Markus’ money or status, but he had just as many plans. He simply couldn’t afford getting tangled in North’s anger. He had known that since the day he had met her, when he had caught her trying to set a trashcan on fire, which she had achieved with tremendous success.

Josh hadn’t slept that night sure Gavin Reed was going to come for him. Other kids were afraid of monsters under their beds, Josh’s bogeyman was quite real and lived only a block away. He still remembered the dread he had felt when Sheriff Anderson had knocked at their door the next morning. North had told them- All the nightmares from the night before crashed on him, had she told them he had started the fire? Were they going to take him away?

North, caught in her little try at arson, had told them how Josh had managed to put the fire out all on his own.

“Good job, son” Hank Anderson had said with a gruff nod and a pat on his shoulder. “If you come across any more fires call an adult to help you out, understood?”

And now here he was, picking The Fire up from detention as he had done at least a hundred times before, with time he had learned how to weather it and he could stand very close to it and it wouldn’t burn him, not too often at least. He liked The Fire, life would be dull without it. He desperately hoped The Fire wouldn’t get herself in bigger trouble. He hoped she wouldn’t need him to bail her out in the very near future, at least not more than 3 times- 7 times tops. Anyway, Markus was a trust fund child so they could probably afford a few more.

“Drive safe, dork!” North said as she climbed out of the car, knocking softly on the hood of the beetle twice.

“See you tomorrow!” Josh said as he watched her go inside her house, in a tone that meant ‘try not to get in trouble in the next 12 hours’

On his way back home it started snowing again, he would appreciate it much more if it weren’t for the ice, but there was a very distinct feeling he got driving just as it was getting dark, the snow fluttering in front of his headlights while he was comfortable and warm inside his car. When he was a child he liked to imagine he could see all sorts of spooks in evenings like this, any moment now he’d see one on the side of the road, maybe a lady dressed all in white, or an animal that didn’t look quite right.

That was when he noticed the hitchhiker and his heart skipped a beat in apprehension and fear, like he had seen something unsettling he shouldn’t have, so much so he didn’t slow down. One second later he was laughing at himself, he was seventeen and he still managed to scare himself, he was glad North wasn’t there to see it or she wouldn’t ever let him live it down.

Josh was just considering going back to pick him up, it was getting darker and the snow was getting worse. He was calculating his U-turn, looking into his rear-view mirror when it, incomprehensibly, shattered. Mirror chips fell all over Simon’s jacket which North had left in the front seat. He looked back at the road, already somewhat shaken, when he noticed the familiar figure standing right in the middle of it, so close to him his brain couldn’t comprehend how he had missed it before.

He jammed his foot on the breaks, his car skidding on the treacherous black ice. As everything slowed down, the last thing he saw were the bits of mirror glinting as they mixed with Markus’ pastels and scattered all over the car. The last thing he remembered thinking was that it was funny how only the blue ones were worn down to snubs. Could you buy the colors separately or did you have to get a full set when one shade ran out?

Then he hit the tree.

[hotcocoandmarshmallows]

Racetrack's love affair

Ship: Sprace

Word count: 501

Warnings: Bad singing

Notes: I fell asleep mid way through writing this

______________

Racetrack Higgens. Jokester. Second in command, but never first. Always with a cigar hanging out of his mouth. Never the go-to.

But there were things no one knew about him. 

Race, for instance, had no care for politics. He flourished when he was given responsibilities. He did them with vigor and passion. But no one ever saw him as a leader.

He hated it.

Even when Jack left, Race wasn't in charge. Blink was. Blink was an alpha. Race was just a beta. And according to how he was made, a female one at that. 

But not Racetrack fucking Higgens. He was no girl, and he was leader material. He was ready and he was 100% prepared. He'd been preparing for his entire life.

He was hanging off the side of trolly as the sun came up. His golden curls fell into his face from under his hat. He needed a haircut, he noted to himself. 

The colors of the early morning were beautiful, but the same as every other day. Nothing would ever change. He was stuck in a repetitive loop.

He looked out at the shipyard. The masts of the wooden ships cut an outline against the rising sun. He was still bored and tired. He was always tired these days. He spent his nights with Spot these days, and he never got a good night's sleep. 

He jumped off by Sheepshead. He got to work for hours, waiting for the inevitable. 

It wasn't long until the distinct, sweet smell of Spot wafted over the stands. Race turned around, a small smile on his face. Spot was down the track a bit. He was watching him, dark hair and skin standing out, despite how short he was. 

Race sauntered up. "Hey handsome." He said with a smile. He ignored his aching feet, knowing Spot wouldn't make him keep standing. 

"Hey beautiful." Spot put his arm around his waist. A gentle tug told Race all he needed to know.

They ate their lunches together in the stands. Race kicked his feet up on the railing, looking out at the track below as the horses ran around the bend. He remembered a song, and because he had no impulse control he started singing. "The camptown ladies sing this song, do dah, do dah."

Spot, to his surprise, picked right up. "Camptown racetrack five miles long. I put a fiver on a bobtailed nag, somebody bet on the bay!"

Race giggled as Spot finished the song with a flourish. He had a big, goofy smile. A smile Race knew was just for him. He'd never even seen Spot smile when it wasn't with him.

After, Spot didn't stick around long. Race didn't blame him, most days they worked together the entire afternoon. But he said there was business to be attended to, so Race got back to work and placed a bet with himself.

He was walking home from that wonderful day when he ran into Hotshot, and life got more complicated. 

[sheepsandcattle]

Chapter 18

Sitting in a cab with Brandon, heading for his dad’s house from the bus station, was probably about the longest Curly’s held a piss in – to this day. Every bump in the road had him cringing and Brandon gagging. He supposes he’d rather be on the edge of pissing than on the edge of yoshing over the back of the driver’s seat.

“Curly,” Brandon had whispered, waiting for his mate to look his way before he’d said, “I’m gonna—“

“I know,” he cut him off, trying not to laugh (because he would literally have pissed himself) as he reached across the middle seat to pat his friend’s thigh. He raised his voice to ask, “mate, can we open a window?”

The driver said no but they did anyway, and spent the rest of the journey in silence until they reached his dad’s house and had to beg the driver to accept the only fiver to Curly’s name, despite it being half the amount the journey was meant to be.

He’d shushed Brandon as he chundered loudly into the bushes that lined the green on the street corner, as Curly himself pissed against a tree that still read ‘CURLY BRANDON WILL SUCK DICK FOR £££’ with his phone number hazardously scratched out beneath it.

“Fuck sake,” Brandon grumbled, and Curly turned just in time to witness him topple into the overgrowth.

“Dickhead,” he snorted, doing his fly as he passed his mate, who grumbled as he struggled out of the bush and caught up to him back on the pavement. “We’ve got t’be quiet,” Curls went back to whispering as they passed his dad’s neighbour’s front yard. “Gee’s sleeping. Jus’ don’t yosh in the upstairs bathroom.”

“I’ve just fell on my-“

“I know.”

“I’ve got sick all over—“

“Shh,” Curly swallowed a laugh; held his breath until the giggle evaporated somewhere in his belly. “I know, mate.”

Why did they decide to share that spliff whilst they waited for the cab? As if they weren’t shitfaced enough already.

His keys were still somewhere in Leeds, but he managed to pull the spare one from beneath the plant pot outside without it toppling and spilling all over the path. He unlocked the door and the two of them tiptoed inside in perfect silence, despite tripping over the rug in the hall. Even Mary didn’t bark, by some miracle - probably too old by then to be arse with his bollocks.

It wasn’t until he had his head over the sink, drinking from the tap when his sister peered into the kitchen. She wore pyjamas covered in a cartoon he’d never seen before and her hair was so mad that he choked on the water still in his mouth as he giggled.

“El?”

“Hiya, Gee.”

Brandon had cheered, “it’s Genie Clarke!”

“Shh! For fuck’s sake, Brandon.”

“Have you had some drinks?” Genie stepped away from the door and into the kitchen. “What’s that smell?”

Brandon and Curly’s replies mashed up into a mess of, “sick,” and, “wee,” and, “you can’t talk about weed to a kid,” and, “I said wee, bell-end,” and, “stop bloody swearing!”

“Dad!”

“No,” Curly hissed, arms waving frantically. “No, Gee. Go back to bed, yeah? We’re jus’ going to sleep.”

“Just getting a glass of water,” Brandon supplied and snatched a mug from the draining board and held it under the still-running water. “Mmm, yum. I’m parched. Are you parched, Curls? Spitting feathers, I am.”

“Mate, actually shut your mouth.” He reached over to smack the back of Brandon’s head.

“Shut your mouth!” Curls got a solid a shove back, sending him stumbling a bit before he pushed himself away from the kitchen counter, trying not to smile (because it was not fucking funny!) as he gives him another nudge.

“Shut—“

“Elliot, what the hell are you doing?” Their heads whipped back around to the door, where his dad stood in his boxers behind Genie, squinting as he placed a hand on the top of her head. “You’re meant to be in Leeds.”

“Yeah, it…”

“Cancelled,” Brandon chimed.

Mr Clarke’s frown only deepened. “Leeds festival was cancelled.”

The two boys shared a look and Curly had scoffed when Brandon winked.

“Your eyes look sore,” Gee say.

“No, Gee—“ Curls did a slow blink, breathing deeply as he clung to what was left of his sobriety. “—they do not.”

“You’re off your face.”

“No dad, we are not.” He blinked again.

“I think you better go to bed, lads.”

***

Genie calls him about a week after Brandon leaves. It’s nice; they’re all in Cornwall and she’s buzzing about the new house they’re staying in because the old lady next door has a black and white dog that looks like one their dad used to have. He’d only done a line when they rang and he’s glad he’s only a bit high because he’d be kicking himself if he wasn’t present for a call with his sister.

He’s also glad that he discovered how effective it is to do coke in order to forget how much he wants to do heroin instead. All he really needs to worry about these days is if he wants a nice pick-me-up or an easy come-down.

“I’m surprised you can remember Mary before she went grey,” Curly smiles into the phone as his sister goes on.

“I can’t, but that’s what mum said. The view in my room is dead nice,” she digresses. “I’ve taken some photos so dad can send them to you.”

He can hear wind around Genie’s voice and she’s out of breath as she walks. He hears her mum in the background talking about what to eat for lunch, then hears his dad say, “don’t forget I want to talk to him.”

“Cheers Gee, that’d be nice,” he says just to humour her. He ignores his dad’s voice for now as he puts the phone on loudspeaker whilst he rolls a joint. “Are you on a walk?”

“Yeah, we’re just climbing this hill so we can see Land’s End,” she announces and then, in a whisper, “I don’t know what that means.”

“Probably the end of the land, love,” he laughs, sealing his spliff. Head’s still banging. “Take some pictures up there n’all, yeah?”

“I will but the memory card’s nearly full and we still need ‘go to—“ She lets out a miserable groan, then huffs. “El, dad wants ‘speak to you. I’ve got ‘go.”

Curls chuckles, says, “alright, Gee. Love you,” as he puts the phone on speaker while he lights up.

She repeats the words back to him and, after a little scuffling on her end, his dad takes over the phone. He hears him tell Jenny and Gee to walk ahead before he says, “alright, El?”

Fuck sake.

It’s worth noting that he’s been missing his dads calls for a good few weeks now - ever since he rowed with his mum. They still speak sometimes -his parent- exclusively about him because he’s not always the best at communicating and he supposes it can take a team effort to get through to him sometimes.

“Alright, dad,” he returns, already scuffing his feet guiltily.

“Your mum’s worried,” he says simply, wasting no time, but it’s not particularly stern. Curly already knows this - and his dad knows that he knows, n’all. “I’ve been trying to phone you. Reckon you might need someone to talk to.”

He takes a long drag, taking his time to hold the smoke before breathing into the phone just to make the time it takes for him to think up an answer feel just a bit shorter - for himself, at least. “I’m fine,” he says. “You know what she’s like.”

“She said you could barely speak.”

Curly snorts. “I don’t remember that,” he says, but then decides it’s a poor choice of words. “It wasn’t as bad as she was making out, I bet.”

In high school his mum would catch him stumbling home pissed- had done more times than he can count. She never did like him getting up to that stuff, but his dad was so easy-going, would always say, “I’d rather know where you are and what you’re doing than have you sneaking around behind my back.”

Curly never really kept things from his dad back then - even told him about the pills he and Brandon took in Leeds, which he wasn’t too chuffed about, but admitted he’d done a similar thing in his youth.

“What did she find in your bag?“

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, I told her that—“

“I don’t like the idea of that bloke digging about in your things—” his dad interrupts him, trying to stay on-side, it seems. “—but it was still there.”

“I said—“

“She doesn’t believe what you said,” he sighs. “I don’t either, El.”

He presses his forehead against the fridge door, feeling weird and jittery as he shakes his head against the cool plastic. “Please don’t—.” He cuts himself off because he doesn’t know how to finish.

“I saw Brandon the other day. Stubborn pain in the arse, isn’t he?” His dad forces a laugh, trying to sound neutral as he adds, “have you had a word with him about it?”

As if he’d tell Brandon. He loves the guy to pieces but he’s too bloody soft. He wouldn’t be able to wrap his head around it; if he didn’t underestimate how deep Curly was in this shit, he’d panic and… chain him to a tree until he was clean or some daft.

What did Brandon say?

“He doesn’t know,” he mumbles. That’s right: he doesn’t know. So he can’t have said anything.

“I think he does, El. If you won’t speak to me about it, talk to him. He clearly didn’t want to bloody tell me. I know it took you a bit to feel at home there, mate. If you’re still feeling isolated, or— or lonely—”

“I have to go.”

He hangs up before can dig himself any deeper.

Brandon doesn’t answer his calls. He’s not sure if he wants to have a go at him for saying whatever it is that he said to his dad, or if he wants to take his old man’s advice and just talk, but he doesn’t answer anyway.

Curly returns to his bedroom where he sorts blunts and baggies, ready for the weekend. Got nothing better to do. Parties never seem appealing anymore - not until he’s too fucked up to forget he doesn’t fancy being there. Might as well be prepared.

Am I lonely?

His shakes his head - which is still killing him, and his jitters are unreal, but he tests some of the new coke he’s been getting in, rubs it into his gums (just a few samples to be sure) and it turns out it’s just as good as the last batch – maybe better.

“Brandon,” he mumbles into the phone on his third attempted call, when he finally lets it go to voicemail. “… Fuck you. You don’t…” He rubs a shaky hand over his face. “What’ve you said? I— You aren’t fucking there for me when I need you, you’re just… You’ve made it all shit.” He’s sure he says more but he forgets half the shit that come out of his mouth by the time he’s hanging up and selecting ‘block number’ for shits and giggles.

Maybe he should call Jordan again too because, thanks to him, Curly’s gone from always up-to-something to having fuck-all to do - ever. Thanks to him, he can barely see Jeff and Dean because he’s sick off lying about what happened with Jordan and thanks to him, Curly can’t even remember how to have a good time on his own.

He forgets to call him.

By the time Jules gets home, he’s tried snorting a bit too, just to carry out a fair test and to get rid of this stupid fucking headache.

“Jules, love,” he calls as he wobbles out of his room at the first sound of the door. His roommate chucks his phone onto the couch before he flops down himself.

“Not now, Curly. I’m not in the mood for your—“

“I’ve got summet to tell you,” he announces as he points at the man. “It’s important.”

Jules groans, rolls his eyes. “What?”

“It’s about Jordan.”

Another groan, more obnoxious this time as Jules folds his arms over his chest. “I thought you stopped talking to him. The guy’s got issues.”

“I have. I did.”

“Okay, so?”

He tries to speak but his words catch in his throat as he falls onto the couch beside Jules as his lip begins to tremble. Suddenly he’s crying like a baby as he presses his face into his friend's shoulder. He sniffs as Jules sits rigidly under his weight.

“Curls, what the fuck?” He’s whispering like he doesn’t want them to get caught like this. Jules isn’t the type of mate whose shoulder you cry on, but Curly doesn’t have that type of mate around at the minute. “Why—“

“I’m so fucking lonely.”

[theywerero0mates]

An act of kindness

[twdeadfanfic]

Life at the end of the world Pt47

Summary: Your life as a zombie apocalypse survivor. It starts with the Reader settling into the camp at the quarry, before s1 and then follows the show events and storyline, more or less, but with the Reader in it.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Warnings: Slow burn, violence, language.

Author’s note:  English’s not my first language so maybe there’re some mistakes, I apologize in advance. For the same reason, I can’t write character’s accents and things like that. At any rate, I hope you enjoy it. Part 47 of 54

.Masterlist

------

There were trucks leaving the Kingdom, early enough in the morning so most of its residents would be still asleep. Daryl and you’d been awake, though, wanting to see what was going on and trying to stay out of view, and you had caught some of the guards getting part of the harvest into it.

“Wanna bet who’re they meeting up with?” Daryl muttered to you before the trucks drove away, the King himself in one of them and also Morgan.

They didn’t take long to come back and as soon as he was alone, Daryl went to face Morgan. You were considering following the King, try to talk to him, but you decided to stay with Daryl while he talked to Morgan, just in case...maybe the man would listen to him, or maybe they’d just start arguing.

“You went to see them, right?” Daryl accused the other man, who nodded. “Part of your deal? What the hell’s wrong with you? You’re bleeding, they did that to you, you know what they are.”

“I do.” Morgan kept just nodding and somehow it was frustrating for you.

“Daryl, he’s not going to help us.” There was no point in keep trying to talk with Morgan, he wasn’t going to change his mind now.

“You know, if Carol were here, she saw all that, if she knew about Abraham, and Glenn...she’d be leading us right to them, ready to kill them all.”

You flinched a bit at the mention of the woman who had been one of your best friends but who had left you, but Daryl was right. You couldn’t believe you were going to fight without Carol on your side. Would it be different if she knew? Would have she left anyway? Would have she come back?

“She would,” Morgan agreed. “And that’s why she left, man.”

Daryl scoffed at that and you placed a hand on his arm, walking him away and further into the Kingdom.

“What do you think he meant?” Daryl asked you, frowning as if in deep thought.

“I don’t know...” You shrugged helplessly. “But...after the Wolves attack, after all the people we had to kill, Carol was pretty shaken for a while...”

“So she left? Cos she killed people?” Daryl seemed confused but you were feeling the same and you hadn’t any words of comfort or a better explanation. “Like we were making her kill people?”

“I don’t think it’s like that...I don’t know...”

You two walked in silence, aimlessly through the Kingdom, until you spotted Richard practicing with a bow. The guard was serious and harsh, and you weren’t sure if you trusted him, but you liked that he wanted to fight the Saviours too. At any rate, you welcomed the distraction.

“Look,” You pulled at Daryl’s arm, pointing at Richard. “Let’s see how you can’t shoot a bow.”

Daryl scoffed but followed you.

“I’m practicing. Gonna have to start using these more.” Richard told you without stopping shooting arrows. “The Saviours are smart enough to know I shouldn’t have a gun around them.”

Shooting his last arrow, Richard turned to Daryl and took a crossbow from the table and passed it to Daryl. “Morgan said you’re a bowman.”

You gaped, looking from Richard to Daryl, who took the crossbow after a second of hesitance.

“Why?” Daryl asked, he obviously didn’t trust Richard’s intentions, guessing there must be something behind his actions.

“’cause we want the same things. I need your help.”

He wanted Daryl to go help him ambush some small groups of Saviours that crossed the roads close to the Kingdom from time to time and, unsurprisingly, Daryl agreed.

“Hey, wait,” You grabbed his hand before he could walk behind Richard. “Think it for a minute...we don’t know this man...”

“We know he also wants the Saviours dead,” Daryl said, looking impatient to leave.

“Okay, I buy it, say it’s not a trap...it could be dangerous anyway, you know the Saviours are dangerous.”

“Only in big groups, I already took one of their patrols.” Daryl took his hand out of your grip and you opened your mouth to speak but he stopped you. “Y/N, I’m doing this. It’s bad enough I’m here without helping Rick and the others fight, at least I’m going to do this.”

You let out a deflated sigh, knowing there was no point in trying to change his mind.

“Fine, let’s go.”

“I...I rather you stayed here...” Daryl was looking at you unsure, as if he knew you were going to argue, which you did.

“What?! No! Just no! There’s no way you’re leaving without me!” You stormed, you already were worried about the dangers of the idea, how could he think you weren’t going to go with him? “I’m not letting you go alone!”

“Not alone...with Richard...” Daryl said quietly.

“Yes, right, cos suddenly he’s our friend and we trust him just because he wants the same people than us dead.” You grumbled in frustration.

“It’s not that...”

“What then? I told you it was a dangerous idea and you said no, but you don’t want me going with you...so it’s dangerous or not?”

“Could be, I don’t know!” Daryl was sounding frustrated too. “But if it is, I don’t want you there...”

“If it is, I don’t want you there either.” You retorted. “If it is, I want to be there with you! I’m not letting them hurt you or take you away again, I’m not!” You tried not to cry but it was being hard. “You can’t stop me from going.”

“Y/N, please...” Daryl took a deep breath as if trying to calm down. “You don’t even have a weapon...”

The Saviours had taken your guns and you only had your knife with you, which you knew wouldn’t be that useful against the Saviours, but maybe you could sneak something from the Kingdom...

“Y/N, stay here...Rick wanted us to talk with Ezekiel to change his mind...that’s not...not really my thing...but maybe you could.”

“Yeah, sure,” you snorted. “If you want an excuse try a better one.”

“Just...stay.” Daryl still seemed frustrated but his eyes were begging you. “I promise I’m not going to do anything stupid, just want to see them, do whatever Richard has planned, but if it’s too dangerous I’ll come back, okay?”

“Sure.” You rolled your eyes. You wished you could believe his words, could believe he wouldn’t do anything reckless, but you couldn’t.

“Daryl, are you coming?” Richard called from ahead.

“Y/N...”

“Okay, you don’t want me with you I won’t go without you, I stay here and let the King tell me off again.”

“It ain’t that, you know it...”

Daryl reached out his hand but you didn’t take it, so he let out a sigh and turned, walking away with Richard. You rubbed your eyes furiously, not wanting to cry, and went to see if you could do anything useful.

It didn’t take you long to regret not having gone with him, to have let your frustration win, and you walked to the door, wondering if you’d be still on time to follow him, if they were close enough for you to find them...but you knew it was risky to go out there with only a knife and not knowing which way they had gone.

You regretted you argument with Daryl but not as much as you regretted having let him go to fight Saviours alone. What if they were too many? What if it was a trap? You should be with him. You were supposed to never get separated again...if something happened to him you would never forgive yourself...

You felt like you may just start crying and you kicked yourself, you couldn’t just mope around. Daryl had been right, the very least you could do was to talk to the King. With that in mind, you walked purposely to the throne room.

***

It didn’t go well, not that you had expected any different. The King had listened to you politely, he was kind, understanding even, but he would not change his mind, and it was obvious he had gotten more and more tired and irritated of hearing you say the same again and again, and finally his guards had escorted you out.

You had even begged, right before leaving, breaking down about Glenn and Abraham, about everything the Saviours had done to your family. Now that you thought about it was quite humiliating. Ezekiel had seemed moved, though, with sweet but too elaborated and extravagant words that still amounted to a no. At the very least you had seen the tiger, who by the way, was called Shiva.

The sun went down and Daryl wasn’t back and you were dying of worry. Maybe you had been right, maybe it was a trap or the Saviours had been too many for Richard and him, maybe Daryl was captive again, or hurt, or worse...You felt it was hard to breathe and you let out a tearless sob, trying to calm down but unable to do so.

Jerry, one of Ezekiel closest guard, had seen you pacing along the walls in distress and had come to see what was wrong. You had told him that Daryl was outside, hiding the fact that he was with Richard trying to take down groups of Saviours, and Jerry had tried his best to comfort you and calm you down, assuring you Daryl would be back soon and that the outsides of the Kingdom weren’t that dangerous.

You liked Jerry, he was sweet and kind, it was clear every fiver of him was good, but at that moment he was unable to make you feel better, and finally, he gave up.

“Don’t worry that much...I’ve seen him all sullen mopping around, sure a day out walking did him good to clear his head and all that things, he’ll be back in a better mood.” He tried to offer you some comfort. “Why don’t you come for dinner?”

You just shook your head and Jerry handed you a piece of cobbler, as if he had guessed you wouldn’t want to leave your post.

“Thanks...” You were truly thankful for his kindness, both for the food and also for his attempts and calming you down, but you were so worried you couldn’t even give him a smile.

The guard patted your arm and left.

When finally, finally, the doors opened and Daryl walked through them, you ran to him, throwing your arms around his neck, holding tight to him. You had tried not to cry but couldn’t help it, you had been so scared and you were so relieved, you couldn’t help your tears.

“Where were you? I was so scared, you were so long out there...the sun went down and I was so worried...”

“I know, I’m sorry...” Daryl held you tight, kissing the top of your head before pulling away to wipe your tears, seeming regretful at having made you cry. “I just...it was unexpected, I...”

He was stumbling over words as if not sure of how to explain himself, which only worried you more.

“Something went wrong?”

“No, it ain’t that...not really...I...” He trailed off and you looked at him expectantly, still worried. “I found Carol.”

“What?”

You were taken aback. Morgan had told you Carol was somewhere near the Kingdom, but you weren’t expecting Daryl to bump into her in the forest...and why she hadn’t come with him? Maybe she really didn’t love any of you anymore, maybe she didn’t want to see you anymore? Daryl noticed your dumbfounded expression.

“I’ll tell you everything, just...not here...”

Daryl was looking around as if not wanting anyone to hear him and took your hand, beginning to walk toward one of the buildings.

“But where’s Carol?” You asked but let Daryl walk you to wherever he wanted, his destination seeming to be the main building. “Is she okay?”

“Yeah, kind of...” Daryl replied evasively, sneaking with you into a part of the building you’d never been in.

“What does that mean, does...she doesn’t want to see me?”

“Ain’t that...”

Daryl opened a door and you found yourself face to face with Shiva, who was in a cage. You had never been this close and for a moment you found yourself lost in her eyes as the tiger surveyed you...she didn’t seem to find you very interesting because she yawned and went to lie down on the ground again.

“What the hell?” You turned to Daryl, looking at him in confusion.

“I found Ezekiel keeps her here during the night.” He shrugged.

“Poor thing, I don’t like to see her caged...” You turned your attention back to the tiger, who was cocking her head at Daryl.

“Don’t think Ezekiel likes it either...but he can’t have her eating half the population.”

“She won’t eat them, she can behave...” You were sure, though you didn’t know Shiva...but she looked so calm with Ezekiel. “And she’s well fed...”

“Can’t be too careful...and she’d give heart attacks to people if she were wandering free.”

“Yeah well...” You turned your attention back to Daryl. “Daryl Dixon, are you trying to distract me with a tiger?”

“I know you like her...thought you’d like to see her closer...” Daryl shrugged, looking down.

“You’re so trying to distract me with a tiger.”

“Did it work?”

“I was scared, Daryl! I was so scared!” You swallowed hard, trying not to cry. “You scared me...I thought...I thought something had happened to you...”

“I’m sorry...” Daryl took your hands, lacing your fingers and lifting one to kiss your knuckles. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I know, just...so...Carol...” You were back at your initial question, trying to calm down. “Is she really okay? Why she didn’t come with you?”

“She’s...yeah, she’s alive and safe, has a house in the woods, not too far... wants to live there alone...” Daryl was explaining to you, though he was frowning like a thousand thoughts were racing through his mind. “She doesn’t know you’re here.”

“You didn’t tell her?”

“No, I...I lied to her...” Daryl seemed regretful and you arched your eyebrows at him, silently asking him to keep going. “About...I told her everyone was safe back home, that none had died...”

“Why you did that?” You didn’t understand. Carol needed to know, Glenn and Abraham were her family too, and as Daryl had said, if she knew, she would come back to help you fight the Saviours.

“She was so sad, Y/N, she seemed so broken...” Daryl’s eyes were so sad and regretful you couldn’t help but pull him closer to you. “Said she’d kill anyone who hurt us...but she seemed so broken about it, Morgan was right...I just...couldn’t tell her about Glenn or Abraham...it’d break her more...”

You couldn’t really understand it, couldn’t understand what Carol was thinking, what she was going through...you wished she’d have told you instead of just leaving, maybe you could have helped her, you would have tried...you were still hurt, you couldn’t deny it, but wanted to help her anyway, and you understood Daryl’s need to protect her from the horrible news too, to allow her to keep living the life she had now chosen.

“It’s okay...if she’s happy that way, if that’s what she wants...then it’s better for her not to know...” Even though it hurt you. “Just...I wish I had seen her too...” You whispered into Daryl’s ear before kissing his cheek and hold him tight. You were still upset, though, so when you felt he had calmed, you pulled away.

“So, you were hanging out with Carol and I was here worried out of my mind.”

“I’m sorry...”

“I know you’re, just...” You let out a sigh, trying to find the right words. “You can’t just go out there and want me to stay behind! It doesn’t work like that...” You still regretted not having gone with him today.

“Could have been dangerous...didn’t want you to take the risk...”

“I didn’t want you either! That’s the whole point!” You couldn’t help how frustrated you sounded. “But we’re going to do it anyway...we take risks, that’s what we do, it’s always been...We’re going to fight the Saviours, but we’re going to do it together, okay?”

Daryl didn’t say anything, just chewed on his lower lip, you knew he was nervous and frustrated too.

“We take care of each other, right?”

Daryl was still looking down but he nodded, finally lifting his gaze to you.

“I don’t want you getting hurt because of me...I don’t want anyone else dying because of me, I don’t want you dying because of me...”

“Daryl...” You were broken-hearted, almost taking all your anger and frustration away. “Nobody died because of you...”

You thought he’d fight you on that, as he always did, but he just shook his head weakly, looking down again and you cupped his face, guiding him closer until he buried his head on your chest and you wrapped your arms around him.

It killed you seeing him like that. If there were a way of making him stop hurting, of taking his pain, and guilt, and blame away...but you didn’t know how to do it.

“I can’t keep doing this...can’t keep getting separated from you,” You whispered, stroking his hair. “First when we lost the prison, then Terminus took you, then the Saviours, and all those times thinking I had lost you...I can’t take it anymore...”

“I’m sorry...” He murmured against your shirt and you kissed the top of his head.

“No, you don’t have to be sorry about that, just...don't try to make me stay behind cos I won’t, I want to go out there with you, I need to...I know you worry about me, and I’m thankful for it, but I worry about you just as much...and I want to kill the Saviours too, Daryl, they took people from me too...”

You already swore you were going to kill them, to kill Negan, for what he had done to Glenn and Abraham, and after what he did to Daryl too...none was going to make you stay away from the fight, not even Daryl, not even if you had to fight with him for that every day.

“I know...”

You didn’t want to keep talking about that, didn’t want to keep thinking about Negan, about the Saviours, and how they had torn up your lives, so you stayed silent and so did Daryl, still holding tight to you.

“I talked to the King.” You said eventually.

“I’m guessing how it went...” Daryl looked at you, his eyes were wet but he gave you a weak smile.

“Yeah...maybe you should actually try to stare him into submission as Rick said...doesn’t work on me but you do have quite a convincing glare.” You said, making Daryl roll his eyes.

“We should leave, we’re losing time here, we have to help the others get ready for the fight.”

“Daryl, the Saviours are looking for you...”

“So what, we stay here hidden forever?” Daryl shook his head in frustration. “I want to fight the Saviours, I have to, I’m not saying here doing nothing any longer.”

“Alright...”

You gave in, partly because he was right, party because you knew him enough to know there was no point trying to change his mind, and you didn’t want to argue more. And you hadn’t been lying when you said you wanted to kill the Saviours...you needed to help your family to fight them and you weren’t going to do it from the Kingdom.

Daryl gave you a half smile, seeming relieved you were agreeing.

“Not to Alexandria, though... first place they’d search looking for you.”

“Could go to the Hilltop...” Daryl suggested though he seemed a bit reluctant.

“Yeah, they were talking about getting ready to fight too...and my brother’s there.”

“Okay, to Hilltop then.”

Daryl tugged at your hand as if impatient to get going but you stopped him.

“There’s no way we’re walking to Hilltop in the middle of the night, Daryl.”

“Alright...” He didn’t let go of your hand, though. “By the way, Richard’s plan was bullshit.”

“I knew it.” You muttered. “What happened?”

“Apparently, the King cares for Carol or something...” Daryl sounded a bit confused and neither you knew what to think of that. “So Richard wanted to kill some Saviours, left a trail to Carol’s house so another group would kill her, hoping that’d make Ezekiel join the fight.”

“I ought to kick that bastard’s ass.” You hissed.

“Already did.”

“Good.”

Daryl snorted quietly and pulled you into his arms again.

“I’m sorry I didn’t take you to Carol...I’m sorry I went out without you...” He began whispering again but you stopped him.

“I don’t want to talk about all that anymore, please, just...let’s go to bed, we have to leave early tomorrow.”

“In a minute...”

Daryl walked closer to Shiva’s cage, pulling you down to the floor with him and wrapping his arm around your shoulder.

“Gotta say goodbye to the tiger...”

“But of course...” You chuckled softly. “Wish she’d be coming to fight with us, half the Saviours would run away.”

“Yeah...Carol said Ezekiel’s alright, talks good about him...”

“If only he joined us.”

Daryl just hummed and before you knew what he was doing, he had stuck his hand through the bars of the cage and was holding it in front of Shiva for her to sniff.

“What are you doing sticking your hand onto a tiger’s mouth.”

“I ain’t sticking it onto her mouth...” Daryl grumbled and you shook your head in disbelieve, chuckling softly when Shiva nuzzled her head against Daryl’s hand like a cat.

“I’m so jealous of you right now.”

“Come on, she won’t bite..you said she behaved, didn’t you?”

Daryl teased and you rolled your eyes but you were dying to touch the tiger and he knew. He took his hand away to take yours and slowly, he guided both your hands to Shiva’s head. The tiger sniffed your fingers and then nuzzled against your hands, even letting out a purr before you took your hands away, and your heart almost melted...unbelievable.

“Remember those kittens we found?”

“Yeah, yeah I do...” You grinned to Daryl...so many time had passed since then.

“Gotta be so big now...”

“I had such a crush on you already and that day I just fell more...” You said softly, enjoying how Daryl blushed at your words.

“Yeah?”

“Yes...tried hard to cut those feelings but they were stubborn and you saving kittens wasn’t helping...”

He chuckled softly and leaned to kiss your lips. You pulled away when you heard Shiva grunting and you opened your eyes to find her sticking his nose through the bars as if waiting to be petted again.

“Well, you’re good with her.” Morgan walked into the room, not seeming very surprised to find you there. Probably Daryl hadn’t been so discrete in his hustle to get you there as he thought he’d been. “Ezekiel’ll be impressed.”

Neither he seemed surprised Daryl had found Carol, just as you were unsurprised of him once again declining to ask Ezekiel to join the fight. Without much more to say to him, you say goodbye to Shiva and went to bed.

------

Thank you for reading and if you had a moment, leave me a comment so we can talk, tell me your thoughts! What do you think about Daryl and his feelings towards the war and the Saviours? I understand him, after what he went through, but I think in the show they took it  abit too far, sometimes he almost didn’t seem himself to me (like killing people who surendered) alas, he’s very traumatised, so I can’t really tell....I just want to hug him.

I never thought anyone’d like to be tag in any of my stories so thank you! It means the world!If you want to be tagged please let me know.

It seems some tags are still not working, then others start working but another stops, I don’t know what to do. If you manage to see this and notice that your tag isn’t working, please let me know.

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[looselucy]

- Catch Up -

It was grim Friday afternoon when I rushed into the restaurant where I used to work, shaking my umbrella dry by the front door and beaming up to Craig as soon as I saw him. “EY, IT’S BELLONA BROWN!” He cheered. “Long time no bloody see!” “It’s because you call me Bellona, so I avoid you.” I tittered, smiling wide as I moved towards him.

I certainly didn’t miss the job, but I missed the people. Never before had I been surrounded by so many wonderful people on a daily basis. No matter how long or tedious a shift was, it was hard to leave that building without feeling like I’d enjoyed myself, despite dick-head customers and piss-poor management. I leant over the counter and planted a big smooch on Craig’s cheek, before he quickly went back to preparing behind the bar for what was bound to be a hectic Friday evening. “You come to bother Harry on his lunch?” He questioned, moving around and wiping down surfaces. “He asked me to!” I cried. “Miss you like mad round here. How long have you been gone now?” “Almost a year!” “Fuck off.” His eyes widened. “That’s gone so quick!” “Glad I’m still missed.” “All day every day.” It was early afternoon, so they were just preparing for the busy evening, setting tables and making sure everything looked acceptable for when the nine to five lot finished their days and headed over for some cheap but decent food, people celebrating the start of the weekend. “Right, I’ll go get Harry for ya.” “Cheers.” “Watch the bar for me.” He called over his shoulder, setting off to the kitchen. “There’s literally no one bloody here!” I laughed. He shrugged, pushing through the swinging door and going to find Harry for me. I eyed up the place, wondering how the year had gone so quickly but at the same time, it felt like a lifetime since I’d worked there with them all. Harry appeared a few moments later, clutching rather desperately at a single lettuce leaf, looking absolutely exhausted. I knew he’d been out the night before, and he always thought he could hack it, but Harry was absolutely useless on a hangover. “You look… bad.” I gawked. He shoved the pathetic excuse for food into his mouth before dragging his feet over to one of the semi-circle booths, and I followed, sitting myself down on the fake, red leather seat that curved around the table and smiling across to him as he dramatically threw himself down, clearly feeling very sorry for himself. “I usually love prep shifts.” He groaned, laying himself down, facing towards the ceiling. “Don’t have to deal with any bloody customers. Just get everything ready and go bloody home as soon as it starts getting busy.” “You need to learn that you’re bad on a hangover.” I instructed, aware he would never learn. “You can only go out the night before work when you’re at work in the evening.” “Mm.” He grumbled. “And also, you need to eat more than a single fucking lettuce leaf.” “Mm.” He didn’t sound too convinced. I was expecting him to be a tad more entertaining when I’d arranged to go around and share my lunch break with him, and I was definitely expecting some free grub at the very least. He could barely keep his bloody eyes open. I decided to grab his attention. “I reckon they’re gunna fire me.” That did the trick. He shot his eyes open, the lights that were embedded into the low roof above us clearing aching his irises, his brows lowering and squinting in the light. “What?” “Mm. They got rid of two people today, and said they won’t be the only ones. I don’t reckon the work I do is important enough for them to keep me when they’re literally… burning money at the minute. So… Yeah.” “Shit.” He sat upright, rubbing over his eyes a few times. “That’s fucked.” “Yeah.” “You been looking for something else?” “No, because I feel like that’s jinxing it.” I could see he was about to argue with me. “And I know that’s stupid, and I should be looking, otherwise I’ll be fucked if and when it does happen, but… I’m clutching at straws.” Harry liked to be safe within his life. It was one of the reasons he’d been working in the same place for so long. He knew his routine, he knew his outgoings and he liked the feeling of being secure and safe. I knew the very idea of me not applying for new jobs even though I could practically feel my current one slipping through my fingers would set his mind off into an absolute frenzy. “Right… well… you know they’d take you back here in a heartbeat, so at least you’ve got that.” He groaned. “I don’t wanna come back here.” I huffed. “Why?” “There’s a reason I left in the first place.” “Don’t be a dick.” He seemed disgruntled, almost rolling his eyes. “It’s a decent job.” “I know it’s a decent bloody job, Harry!” I wailed. “I’m not being one of those dickheads who… shuns customer service jobs! You know I’m not one of those people. I hate those people! I just mean… it’s not for me.” He nodded, untensing his shoulders. I’d been the one who turned Harry into this person who became very protective and defensive about his job in the first place. The number of idiots I’d stumbled across who felt like poorly paid jobs in that sort of area meant someone wasn’t smart or wasn’t hard working was extortionate, and I’d seen Harry sit idly by in conversations he was clearly hating. I’d told him he needed to stand up for himself a bit more, make a point and not take shit from people. “Thought you’d turned into a proper nine to fiver then.” He smirked, using the term we’d used a million times. “Not all nine to fivers are like that. This is something I’ve learnt… being one of them.” He smiled across to me, easing even more when I stuck my tongue out at him, then practically falling back against the chair, returning to his painfully hungover state. “Well, still… You’ll be welcome back here, if it comes to that. I hope it doesn’t, but still.” He shrugged. “Thanks.” He closed his eyes, and he honestly looked like he was going to fall asleep, which he probably needed. I kicked him under the table but earnt barely any reaction from him. I kicked harder. “You’re weak as fuck, Lona.” He smiled, eyes still shut. “Bet you’re shit at footy.” “You better make it tonight!” It was officially the evening of our double date, just under a week after I’d first met Lewis. According to Sara, Lewis had bounded over to her desk first thing on Monday morning and asked about me and where I’d disappeared to. She’d done her job wonderfully and suggested a double date to him without making it seem like I’d already planned it all out. She made it all seem like it was her idea, and I planned on giving her a very big, appreciative kiss on the cheek as soon as I saw her. I didn’t know what the hell to expect, but it had been a long time since I’d been on a date, and Lewis seemed nice. I was looking forward to it. But it definitely needed to be double date, so I needed Harry to stay awake. “Urgh. Do I have to?” He mewled. “Yes! You’re the one who made me… bloody dependant on the double date thing.” “I’m rough.” He drawled. “Harry, I need you.” I stuck my bottom lip out. “Pretty please?” He opened one eye at me, grinning like an idiot when he saw my pouty little face, shaking his head before cracking his neck. I kicked him again. “OI!” “The amount of times I’ve accompanied you on painful dates, Harry.” “I’ll be there! You know I’ll be there.” “Thank you!” I cooed. I kicked him one final time, much more affectionately that time around, and he seemed to appreciate it, sweetly returning the gesture.

“I’m going on a date with a nice Liverpudlian boy, and he sounds like Paul McCartney, and I’m very excited.” I beamed down the phone to my mother. “Do you know him at all? Or are you only excited because he sounds like Paul?” “Um… We spoke briefly.” I tried to button up my coat with one hand, fiddling with the buttons and trying to get them through their designated slots. “It is… largely based around his accent, thus far. But he seems nice!” I’d usually have a weekly catch up with my parents over the phone. I only really went back down south over Christmas, so this was the best we had. It was nice though. I liked the little routine we had, where I’d call them on a Friday night before my mum started watching her soaps and when my dad had come back from working away all week. “I don’t know how I feel about you going on dates with random men you don’t know based entirely on their accents.” “S’alright. Harry’s gunna be there, so I’m safe.” “Oh good. That’s good news. How is he?” My parents still hadn’t met Harry, despite the fact we’d been so close for four years. Harry would always go home to his mum at Christmas time, and I would go back to my parents. We’d made a few plans whilst drunk, that we’d go down to London to see them, but they’d never amounted to anything. It was easier with his mum, because she lived so close, but he had yet to be blessed with meeting Sharon and Richard Brown. “He’s good, yeah!” I answered. “As cheerful as ever. He’s good.” “Well send him our love!” “I shall do! I’m outside now, so wish me luck!” “Good luck! Don’t rush into anything!” “I never bloody do. Goodnight, mum. GOODNIGHT DAD!” I yelled, despite the fact there was no way he’d be able to hear me. “Rich, your daughter says goodnight!” I just about heard him yell his goodbyes in the background. “Have a lovely time.” “Thank you! Bye-bye!” “Bye!” I shoved my phone into my pocket and walked into the restaurant that Sara had booked us into, hoping they would all be there already because I was purposefully running late in the hope of avoiding being the first one there. I spotted Harry and Sara rather quickly, seeing her bright blonde hair and his short locks which were trying desperately to curl, their hands intertwined on top of the table and a huge smile on his face. It didn’t take me too long to realise they didn’t have company. Harry took his eyes to the door, spotting me and then waving me over, still smiling brightly, but I couldn’t return it. I’d been good at taming my nerves all day, and after so many experiences of dating alongside Harry Styles, I was used to the setup. It was almost mundane. But seeing that he wasn’t there, I felt otherwise. “Has he stood me up?” I blurted before I could even officially greet them, shuffling my coat off and hanging it on the back of the chair. “If he’s not coming, I’m giving up on men completely.” “He’s coming.” Sara chuckled. “Just text me saying he’s stuck in traffic.” “Bloody hell.” I exhaled, plonking myself down, flimsy as hell. “I thought I’d hit a new dating low, which would be a miracle, considering my track record.” I shot Harry a look, just to remind him that my poor track record was almost entirely his fault, and he just shrugged rather innocently. “Hopefully tonight will be better.” Sara encouraged. “Fingers crossed.” I took my eyes to Harry. “You’re looking better than you did this afternoon.” “You saw each other this afternoon?” “She came round to see me on her lunch,” Harry answered. “And I was not in a good way.” The two of them started discussing the night they’d both been on the night before, where Harry had finally introduced her to some of his uni lads, the ones that were still in Liverpool, and from what Harry had told me earlier, they’d all liked her, which I knew would mean a lot to him. I glanced back over my shoulder, watching the doorway, biting nervously at my lip. It felt like a damn lifetime before he turned up.

I was in extremely high spirits, which was basically foreign ground given the circumstances. I was used to everything going incredibly wrong rather quickly. This time around, it took some time for things to turn sour. We were looking at the dessert menu by the time Lewis ruined bloody everything. He ended up arriving not much later than I had, looking amazing and being charming and I finally felt like I was in for something good. Harry had been shooting me looks all evenings, kicking me under the table and raising his brows at me, and basically making the whole thing very obvious. He wasn’t too good at being inconspicuous. I was debating between the selection of sorbets and the chocolate cake when things changed. “Am I the only one getting dessert?” I sulked, seeing that everyone else had left their menus on the table. “I hate it when I’m the only one getting dessert. I mean like, it’s definitely not going to stop me, I just… don’t like it.” I looked around the table, my eyes finally landing on Harry who was sat directly across from me, batting my eyelashes at him. He merely picked up his menu, and started searching over his options. “So what’s with you two?” Lewis asked after silently watching the interaction. “Huh?” I bolted my head to him. “Your weird… little friendship.” He gestured between myself and Harry. “How did that come about?” “What’s weird about it?” Harry got defensive almost immediately. “I dunno. I guess I just don’t understand how you can be such good mates with a girl.” “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I scowled. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the first time myself and Harry had met an idiot who was completely baffled by the concept of a guy and a girl being friends and nothing more. I think it helped the two of us, working in that restaurant for so long and being in that environment. We were constantly meeting people our age, who were gorgeous both inside and out, and the initial instinct would always be to make friends. There were far too many men in the world who limited themselves to male friendships and only saw women as a walking vagina and not much else. I’d just been really hoping that Lewis wasn’t one of them. “Nothing.” Lewis backed down pretty quickly. “I can see I’ve hit a nerve, so I’ll shut up.” “You not got any female mates?” Harry asked that question with a completely dead tone. He had been compelling all evening, as he usually was, but that had changed. Sara picked up the menu, probably just as a way of avoiding the current conversation. “Well… y’know,” Lewis shrugged, taking a sip of his drink to clear his blatantly dry throat. “There are girls I work with and stuff. But… no, I guess I don’t have any girl mates I’m close with.” “That’s the only weird thing here, mate.” Harry grumbled, not dropping his eye contact for even a second, but I appreciated the fact that Lewis managed to hold it. Harry could be quite intimidating when he wanted to be, and he was definitely showing that then. “Y’know what, you’re probably right. It’s just… not something I’ve seen much of before. I didn’t mean anything bad by it.” I was rather quickly willing to forgive and forget the whole thing, to be honest. I could tell he hadn’t meant anything by it, and he definitely wasn’t ready to argue his point, so I was hoping he’d just made an off comment and I could just ignore it. But things were only going to get worse. “I’ve seen it happen to lads I know, especially at uni and stuff.” Harry elaborated. “You’ve gotta have girl mates that you’re close with, it changes shit. Changes how you view things. I know lads who just see girls as like… a sexual thing, and it’s fucked up.” “I’m not like that.” Lewis shook his head, but I could see Harry wasn’t convinced. “But… yeah, I know what you mean. I guess I’ve never really thought about it.” Harry’s mum had brought him up all her own, and clearly done a brilliant job. I guess he’d always had a positive relationship with the females in his life, and I think for Harry it was pretty much always on a friend’s basis before it was anything else. I felt like that might have been one of the reasons he was so terrible with girls romantically. I’d seen it shock Harry time and time again, the way some guys were with girls, and how they saw them. I’d also seen Harry change boys; sit them down and really talk with them about it, and helped those lads flourish, and I felt positive for a few brief moments that he was doing the same with Lewis. Usually it helped when the lads were drunk, but he seemed to be really accepting what Harry was saying, truly considering it all. “Maybe you’re reading into it a bit much.” Sara finally spoke up, directing her words to Harry. “I think… it's rarer than you think, the friendship you two have. It’s easy to… misconstrue things.” “He didn’t misconstrue it though.” Harry answered. “He’s seeing it exactly how it is, he’s just questioning it.” Even though he’d never told me directly, I knew that Sara had questioned our friendship when her and Harry first started talking. Ash had been the same with me. It was a topic that usually died pretty quickly, but over our four years of friendship, we’d had plenty of people question us. “I actually do volunteer work with a local party, and I get to meet new people all the time.” Lewis smiled. “So… I think it’s good I have the opportunity, y’know? The older you get, the less chances there are to form friendships and stuff, so… I know what you mean. Maybe it is weird, I dunno.” “You do work for a local party?” I questioned brightly, smiling alongside the query because at first I thought that was brilliant. “I do yeah! Just volunteer stuff, nothing too serious.” “Which party?” “Conservative.” I swear, I thought Harry was going to smack his head against the table on my behalf. That was all I needed to know. I wish I’d just got up and left rather than fallen into a political argument, but I couldn’t help myself. “Are you serious?” I cringed. “It’s a powerful party.” “Yeah, because they have the money to manipulate the media and they belittle working class people.” “That’s just not true. We-” “You’re burning the NHS to the ground and spending the taxpayer’s money on all the wrong things. Our emergency services are fucked because of you lot.” “You shouldn’t believe everything you read.” He huffed. “It isn’t stuff I’ve read, this is what people who work for the services that hold our country together are saying. This is what everyone with half a brain is aware of! You’re all… steal from the poor and give to the rich, and it’s just fucking wrong.” He started droning on and on about Tory policies and how they were the better party and how they got too much stick for no reason, and I found my eyes going to Harry, who was slyly trying to cut his hand across his throat, clearly agreeing with me that Lewis was a definite no-go, what with the inability to be friends with girls without being lectured about it, and on top of that being a fucking Tory. It meant, really, that I’d reached the end of yet another unsuccessful date, and this time I couldn’t even blame Harry for it. We let him go on and on about it, rolling our eyes and both knowing we were completely set in our ways, so his ramblings were falling on deaf ears, but we let him have his moment. He must have dragged on for a good five minutes of solid speaking, to which Harry just replied ‘okay’ and didn’t rise to him any further, which I think riled Lewis up even more. We all eventually decided against getting dessert.

Lewis and Sara both had work in the morning, so he’d offered her a lift back to her flat, and she’d taken it, leaving myself and Harry to walk home together. We were all very aware that nothing was going to come of the date. After the whole politics argument, barely any words had been shared between any of us. Someone with political opinions so far from my own was never going to work, and I imagined it was exactly the same for him, there was no point even pretending we were going to see each other again. Once we’d reached my building, I invited Harry up for a brew and a bitch. My place wasn’t much special. The building itself was an absolute eye sore; I’d once been letting myself into a building and heard a drunken bloke behind me question if it was brothel, so it definitely wasn’t easy on the eye, but that meant cheaper rent. However, my flat had everything I needed, really, three doors leading down a thin corridor on the right-hand side, the first being my tiny living room and kitchen that they’d just about squeezed in, my second a stick thin bathroom, and the third and final door leading to my bedroom. I’d done everything I could with it, making the place colourful and littered with posters and cushions and throws and basically an abundance of things that didn’t match in the slightest, but it made it feel homely. Harry immediately threw himself down onto the sofa as I went towards the kettle, checking it was sufficiently full before flicking it on. “Imagine being our age, in two-thousand and bloody eighteen, and being a Tory.” I huffed, still baffled by it. “It literally doesn’t make sense.” Harry groaned. “Also, what the fuck was that with him not having girl mates? Like… I think I got it more, when I was at uni, but a grown man not having any female friends is fucking weird.” “Agreed.” I prepared the brews for us as Harry got back to his feet momentarily to approach my LP system, flicking through my box of vinyl’s before settling on Dire Straits, and by the time he was sat back down, I was sitting myself next to him, passing over his tea. “Sara hates confrontation.” He huffed after thanking me for the drink. “I can tell she felt so awkward during that. I found it hard to… keep quiet though.” I lay my head back too, then turning it to the side and gazed at his profile, the way his eyes were closed, his jaw sharp, resting his mug on the arm of the chair and tapping his fingers against it to the beat of So Far Away. “Is Sara okay with how close we are?” “To be honest,” He swallowed. “I think… at first, she didn’t really get it, but I’ve spoke to her about it loads. And obviously, now she’s spent more time with you, and you two get on, so she’s chilled out about it. I don’t think she’d wanna spend time with you if she had a problem, and she’s always keen on seeing ya.” “That’s good.” I smiled. “Better than bloody Jess, eh?” “Shit. That was a nightmare.” He sniggered. A couple of years back, he’d met a girl who practically leapt on him. It was when he’d first cut his hair, and he’d been so worried about it and so uncomfortable with his new look, but then we went on a night out and he received as much, if not more, female attention than he’d ever had before. One of those girls was Jess, and she was so adamant on getting to know him and so infatuated him, even how awkward he was didn’t stop her from pinning him down. It only lasted around a month though, because she hated the two of us. She basically ended up giving him an ultimatum, me or her, and he’d thankfully chosen me. She just didn’t trust how much time we spent together. I could tell Sara wasn’t on that level, not even close, but I knew at the beginning of their relationship it would have been something she fretted over. Six months down the line, I was glad to hear those worries had passed. “I like it in a way, y’know?” He smiled, his eyes fluttering open. “That we have a friendship that… it’s so tight, that people don’t even… understand it. I’m not even sure it’s about gender, really. You’re my rock. Wouldn’t… trade what we have for anything. Sometimes… it makes sense to me that people don’t fully get it. I dunno if I know anyone else who has a friendship quite like ours.” “I guess not.” “We’re special, aren’t we, kid?” He turned to face me before saying that, the left-hand side of his lips lifting, winking sweetly. “If you say so.” I chuckled, rolling my eyes and turning away from him. We fell into a comfortable silence, and I could feel my eyes closing, genuinely exhausted by the evening. I didn’t want to let on how disappointed I was by the way the date had played out, but I knew that was useless, because Harry was bound to bring it up, and even if he didn’t, he could read me so well and look right through me. He knew it had bothered me. “Sorry tonight didn’t go well.” “Should be used to it by now,” I grumbled. “But it’s still shit.” “Mm.” “I just didn’t think it would be this fucking difficult. There’s fucking billions of people on this planet and I can’t find even one of them to love me.” I hadn’t ever been in love. I’d thought I loved Ash when we were together, but it was one of those relationships where I looked back on it and knew that wasn’t the case. Before that, I’d been in a two-year relationship that spanned from college and into my university days, but even that didn’t feel like real love in hindsight, and I’m sure he felt the same way. On top of that, I knew for a damn fact that Ash had never loved me. He’d never even managed to fake it to save my feelings. “Oi!” Harry scowled. “I bloody love you!” “You know what I mean.” “You have a lot of people who love you!” He argued. “You’re surrounded by people who think… you’re the best thing in the world. People feel lucky to have you around, and that’s fucking important. You might not have found… that kind of love, but you’ve got plenty of people who love you.” “Stop trying to think of things sensibly and just let me complain!” I tittered, lolling my head back and groaning. “You know I love a good whine, Harry.” He took a sip of his drink before placing his mug down on the floor, twisting his body so he could look directly at me, leaning my way. “M'being serious, Lona. I think you’re the fucking best, because you are the fucking best. When you meet the right person, you’ll know it. And I can tell you now, the right person for you is not a fucking Tory!” He gawped, and I giggled. “You cannot twist this into being disappointment. You don’t wanna get on with a lad like him anyway. Fuck it!” “That’s true.” “You should feel glad things didn’t go well. Better that, than be someone who… doesn’t know what they want, or settles for some dickhead. Be picky as fuck, it’s the best way!” I reached out and pinched his cheek, shooting him a sweet smile in an attempt to portray how grateful I was that he’d managed to change how I was feeling about the evening. “You always know the right thing to say, don’t you?” I muttered. “I’m very smooth.” He lifted his brows. “No you’re fucking not.” I chortled. He stuck his tongue out at me and then reached back from his tea before resting once again, and there was just something about him being there; almost as though he was in his own home. It didn’t feel like he had to leave. There wasn’t a single inch of his exterior or that suggested he was a guest. “How’re things with Sara?” I asked after a short while of no words being shared between us. “You were feeling pretty… weird, last week.” He finished his tea, cracking his neck before her answered me. “M'feeling alright, y’know.” He explained. “I know I’m just being stupid. I think I just… need to get over my own insecurities.” “I hope she smothers you with compliments.” “She does.” He smiled, wide and real and perfectly endearing. “It’s just me, and I know it is, and that’s what I find frustrating.” I’d spoken with Harry about it all before, and he’d explained why he felt he was the way he was. His father had left before he was even born, and he’d had to experience a few men falling in and out of his and his mother’s life since he was small. He’d seen his mother be heartbroken too many times. He placed women on a pedestal and had so many examples of how not to treat women, he cowered from them in the hope of not completely fucking up, in the hope of not being one of those men he’d seen too many of. Harry was intelligent enough to be aware that no matter how hard he tried, he would be a negative part of some people’s lives. Relationships fall apart, and things often get messy, and Harry was conscious of the fact that he would become a bitter or infuriating or painful memory for some people, and he hated that. He never wanted to hurt anyone, so he backed away from situations where he felt he had the power to do so. He'd barely ever given himself the chance to gain confidence in romantic situations, because it was always something he took steps back from. It was only around a year earlier when Harry declared this to me, drunk and vulnerable and sat with his back against the statue of The Beatles at the Pier Head, his spine resting against John Lennon’s legs, his head balanced against the bronze jacket slung over John’s arm. He’d had his eyes closed for most of the conversation, hiccupping sporadically, but he knew exactly what he was saying, making it clear that he had thought about this aspect of himself often, but maybe never voiced it. He'd gotten much better than he had been when he was younger, and I believed a lot of that was down to the dating, and simply allowing himself to open up to the idea of being with someone. Even so, there were still some things he was getting used to and wrapping his head around. “M'proud of you, y’know?” I smiled. “I know it’s still a bit weird for you, but you’re so much better with this stuff than you were when we first met.” “I’m just a growing boy.” He fluttered his lashes, his dimples digging into his cheeks, his attempts at innocence false but endearing. “Growing into a… wanker.” He merely scowled and shook his head as I placed my empty mug down on the floor and lay myself down across my miniature sofa, resting my feet upon his lap. I closed my eyes, trying my best not to drop off, but with Dire Straits still playing in the background and Harry gently smoothing his hand up and down my shin, it wasn’t an easy task. My eyes opened for a split second, seeing his slouched posture, his head back and his eyes closed. “I should probably go home.” He just about said. He never made it. The two of us fell asleep in that position, and even when I stirred in the middle of the night, Harry gently snoring with his hand still resting on my leg, I didn’t move, I just fell back to sleep, a minor smile sitting upon my lips.

[junker-town]

14 things to know about the NBA’s return

Photo by Alex Menendez/Getty Images

Our team communities put together lists of critical things for fans to know as we approach the restarting of the NBA. Here’s a list from those lists.

As the NBA prepares to un-press the pause button on the season we asked some of our team site communities to list a few important things for fans to know. Here’s just a smattering of juicy tidbits to help us all reengage with the league and prepare for Bubble Ball.

1. Toronto finally gets to defend their title (via Raptors HQ)

You’d be forgiven if you forgot the Toronto Raptors are the defending NBA champs. It’s been over a year now since The North brought home the Larry O’Brien and once Kawhi went west so did all the media attention. But the Raptors are healthy, have a great coach, have the second-best NBA defense and Marc Gasol is still ticking. Don’t sleep on Toronto.

We can admit here, between friends, that the Raptors are not considered the favourites to win the 2020 NBA title. The smarter money is betting on LeBron James and the Lakers, Kawhi Leonard and the Clippers, and Giannis Antetokounmpo and the Bucks. This is a fair stance to take; those are three really good teams.

But, it bears mentioning: the Raptors were the fourth team in that little mix and spent most of the season playing a man, or two, or three (or four?) down.

2. Luka Doncic is coming (via Mavs Moneyball)

The most exciting young player in the league has returned and we get to see him turning defenses into confused piles of shivering goo. Like this:

via GIPHY

3. Magic were on a run (via Orlando Pinstriped Post)

Orlando sits comfortably in the eighth spot in the East where they have the goal of holding off the Wizards for the right to “play” in the first round against a Milwaukee (probably) juggernaut. Fun. But it’s not all bad for the “home” team:

Make no mistake about it, the Magic put together a thoroughly scorching 12-game burst before the hiatus hit, seemingly flipping the switch in the time found between heartbeats. Orlando emerged as the league’s most dangerous scoring outfit, morphing their moribund pre-February 10 offensive rating of 105.5 (26th) into a gold standard of 118.2 (1st).

4. The Kings have a shot at the playoffs!?! (via Sactown Royalty)

The Sacramento Kings enjoy the support of one of the most loyal fan bases in the NBA who absolutely deserve a shot at the postseason for the first time since 2006. They’ll need to reverse their trend of slow starts including a 2-6 record over the first eight games of part one of the this season. Good luck with that.

5. Aaron Baynes is the center of the Suns (via BrightSide of the Sun)

The Phoenix Suns will say all the right things about fighting for that eighth spot but without Kelly Oubre (knee) their already dim chances are...dimmer. Of course, fans will be watching to see if Devin Booker and Deandre Ayton do that Phoenix thing and “show promise” but more eyes will be on free agent Aaron Baynes.

Basically the entire Suns’ frontcourt is able to hit the open market this offseason, with Baynes chief among them. His impact on this group is unmistakable, and he fits their offensive system well. One could even imagine that his comfort might allow the Suns to nab him for a price tag beneath his $10 million cap hold. What happens over the course of the eight games in Orlando could be the deciding factor for Baynes’ future in the Valley.

6. Some Wizards will be in attendance (via Bullets Forever)

No John Wall still. Bradley Beal is undecided. David Bertans is out. But hey, at least Washington Wizards are bad at defense.

They’ve allowed 115.8 points per 100 possessions — second worst mark in NBA history — and that’s an improvement over where they were earlier in the season.

7. The Rockets got even smaller (via The Dream Shake)

Houston traded away their starting bigs and I guess will use 6’5” P.J. Tucker and the aging Tyson Chandler against the likes of Rudy Gobert, Nikola Jokic, and Anthony Davis. Huh. Ok. At least James Harden has bought into the “Pocket Rockets” by seemingly dropping his own extra baggage.

James Harden is skinny now. And you wasted your quarantine with Netflix. Pathetic. pic.twitter.com/QSQBwF0c6K

— Willy B (@baldwinning580) May 23, 2020

8. Grizzlies are pumped (via Grizzly Bear Blues)

The Memphis Grizzlies are currently a playoff team and their young studs want to keep it that way by fighting off a bevy of competitors. Meanwhile, likely Rookie of the Year Ja Morant will be looking to prove he’s deserving of the title despite Zion Williamson’s injury shortened season. And sophomore Jaren Jackson Jr. has to be excited about the chance to play meaningful games. We’re excited for him too.

While Zion was elite in 19 games played prior to the suspension of the season, Ja’s 59 game sample size is extremely impressive in and of itself. He is a human highlight reel with a remarkable ability to take games over in the fourth quarter and a willingness to get his teammates involved early and often to get their confidence up. He’s cocky and brash in the very best way, willing to take on all comers and embrace the underdog mentality that both he and Memphis have had for the longest time.

9. Bucks are best (via Brew Hoop)

The best team in the NBA by both record and stats hope their momentum from the season will translate to the Bubble. Reigning MVP Giannis Antetokounmpo has already proven his chops as a great player and now has the chance to jump to the next level and join the conversation as one of the greatest players ever. That kind of thing happens in the postseason. The X factor for this team is the Lopez twins home court advantage of playing at a Disney facility. This might just give the Bucks an unfair edge.

But why have one giant center when you can have two, and when they happen to have overlapping skill sets, physical profiles, and genetic backgrounds? Twin brother Robin was an offseason acquisition that guaranteed the Bucks would have 48 minutes of Lopez to throw at any other big man they might come across, and Robin shoots threes now too!

10. It’s Dame Time for Portland (via Blazers Edge)

When Damian Lillard gets rolling there’s nothing that can stop him. He’ll need to bring all of those powers to the effort if the Blazers are going to both catch the Grizzlies and hold off four other teams for the final spot. But if anyone can do it...

During the 2019-20 campaign the star point guard is averaging career highs in points (28.9) and assists (7.8) per game. He’s also posting his best field goal percentage (45.7) and tied for his best 3-point shooting season (39.4%). This is all while being the league leader in minutes per game (36.9).

11. Lakers are thirsty (via Silver Screen and Roll)

Lakers Exceptionalism is alive and well in Los Angeles and pretty much everywhere else basketball and shoes and culture exists. It’s been a tragic year for the team and that was before, ya know, everything. But The King seems focused on using his incredible platform for incredible things and the longer he’s playing and getting attention the more good he can do. LeBron will be heading into the Bubble postseason fully rested and highly motivated so even me, a lifelong Lakers Hater, wouldn’t bet against another Laker ring.

Avery Bradley was originally on the roster, but won’t travel with the Lakers to Orlando for personal reasons. The Lakers have replaced him with J.R Smith, a move they just made official on Wednesday. We will update this section when and if they add anyone else. For example, general manager Rob Pelinka says they still are not certain if Howard is going or not.

12. Surprising Thunder fight for third (via Welcome to Loud City)

When Russell Westbrook left for the Rockets we all thought the Thunder run was done. But Chris Paul is having an exceptional season and as a high-mileage vet should benefit from the long layoff.

It has been brilliant to watch Chris Paul take on a leadership role with the Thunder. When the trade was made, there was a feeling that Paul did not want to be in Oklahoma. Paul is at the stage of his career where he wants to be contending titles. Oklahoma City are not a team challenging for the Larry O’Brien trophy at the moment.

OKC is only 1.5 games behind Denver for the third spot in the West and while home court advantage isn’t a thing this year the seeding advantage is still important to the team’s chances of pushing the LA teams in the playoffs.

13. It’s Clipper time (via Clips Nation)

Paul George is healthy. The Clips added some needed depth with Marcus Morris, Reggie Jackson and whatever Joakim Noah has left in his energy tanks. But mostly, if we’ve learned anything about the NBA over the last fiver years or so it’s to never discount Kawhi Leonard in the postseason. This all brings us to the possibility (probability really) of an epic crosstown series played on the other side of the country without the benefit of celebrity fans sitting court side. Less circus, more basketball - sounds great to me!

The Clippers have the best lineup (that has played at least 50 minutes together) in the NBA since the All-Star break. The Clippers’ bench extends beyond just Williams and Harrell. The best five-man unit in the league (+35.7 net rating over 60 minutes) since the All-Star break belongs to the Clippers reserves: Jackson, Williams, Landry Shamet, JaMychal Green, and Harrell. The Clippers starters come in seventh at +19.4.

14. Pelicans are inevitible (via The Bird Writes)

The New Orleans Pelicans head to Orlando in 10th place but are considered by many to be favorites to overtake the Grizzlies and steal the final playoff spot. Why? Maybe it’s the development of Lonzo Ball and Brandon Ingram combined with Mr. Inevitable Zion Williamson. But mostly you can credit the combined play of their entire starting five who put up a league-best (from Jan 22 on) +26.3 net rating. That’s nuts.

Zanos did return to wreak havoc upon the mere mortals of the NBA...

[...]His efficiency as a scorer has been off the charts, even as he adjusts to the size and speed of the NBA game. Williamson converted almost 59 percent of his field goal attempts, while averaging 23.6 points, 6.8 rebounds, and 2.2 assists.

Reports are that Zion is in phenomenal shape heading into the restart. If he could perform like that while working himself into basketball condition, just imagine what a healthy Williamson will do to opponents that are now realizing that they must adjust to him.

[gyrlversion]

JAN MOIR: Surely not another coffee shop clogging up the high street

Someone please make it stop. It was revealed this week that four new coffee shops open in Britain every day, with another 6,500 scheduled to open by 2023.

This effectively means that in four years’ time there will be more than 32,000 coffee shops clogging up UK streets, most of them faceless outposts of the international chains. And you won’t get a halfway decent cup of coffee in most of them.

What seems to be the problem, ma’am? Only that despite their ubiquity, the offerings from the majority of coffee chains veer from the bland and forgettable to the downright bad or unpleasant.

It was revealed this week that four new coffee shops open in Britain every day, with another 6,500 scheduled to open by 2023 – most of which are big chains like Cafe Nero

And please, barista, make sure the water is scalding hot so that it peels the skin off my hand when spilled, thank you kindly. Any chance of a stale blueberry muffin, an inferior sandwich assembled at some far distant central facility, or a factory-made, microwaved croissant that tastes like a buttery floor cloth? Well, don’t mind if I don’t.

I used to buy a coffee on my way to work most mornings, sometimes from a chain, occasionally from a fancy but glum independent which sells cinnamon buns for a fiver and a tiny latte for £3.

‘With not very good latte art,’ someone moaned on a review website recently. As if that were the deal breaker, instead of the adventurous pricing, the double depresso service and the grim coffees that make the whole process such a cheerless, expensive waste of time.

Now I have fresh coffee at home, instant at work and have cut the chains out of my life. Cry freedom from the tyranny of the frappuccino fiends! I might buy myself a small Cessna jet with the money saved.

Yet despite the lack of quality on offer, coffee shops are now everywhere. And, sadly, their unstoppable proliferation — along with vaping shops, tattoo parlours, charity shops and shops that sell covers for your mobile phone — is turning British High Streets into windblown tundras, bereft of the tiniest waft of culture or beauty.

The Starbucks Venti is just a pint of coffee in a charmless mug or a cardboard coffin, Moir writes

And there is still little end in sight to the expansion of chains such as Caffe Nero, Costa, Greggs, Pret A Manger (actually, I love Pret) and Starbucks, to name a few. Obviously, selling 11 grams of coffee and a shot of hot milk for £2 plus is a lucrative business for all involved.

Today, coffee chains are like burger chains, complete with lots of advertising campaigns, central sites and huge rents to pay. In prime positions in every High Street, they are the most visible representation of our changing culture and they continue to boom as pubs go bust. Why? Younger people are drinking less, while Britain’s mix of ethnicities and religions has also had an effect — especially when one considers 56 per cent of non-whites declare themselves teetotal, compared to only 16 per cent of whites.

Beer duty and business rates have also taken their toll on pubs, where demanding customers now want craft beers, silly gins, food and their ghastly children to be admitted.

So coffee has surged into this vacuum, and who could blame it?

I pass eight coffee outlets on my walk to work, including Danish chain Joe & The Juice. What the heck is that all about? Joe seems to be full of silent young people tapping away on phones and laptops.

Bonhomie and conversational skills have been washed away by technology, amid the atmosphere of a trendy morgue.

Their advertising campaign suggests the ideal Joe customer is an attractive Nordic skateboarder with a lizard tattoo. All the better to raise your glass of Sex Me Up juice (please, no) along with your avo wrap and turmeric shots.

Perhaps it’s not them, it’s me? Yet there is still a place in my heart for the good, independent coffee shop. When I first moved to London, how I loved those Italian coffee places with their hissing machines and great walls of sandwiches in glass cabinets, generously stuffed with about three inches of egg mayonnaise or crammed with ham.

In prime positions in every High Street, the chains are expanding exponentially and replacing pubs because younger people are drinking less

In Cornwall, imaginative independents thrive, such as the Honey Pot in Penzance and the Cook Book Cafe in St Just, where the owner makes heavenly sandwiches with bacon from her own pigs.

To walk into any of the Bettys Tea Rooms in Yorkshire is to be assailed with the aromas from another age: fresh baking, savoury toast, roasted coffee beans. And, oh, the civility could make you weep. Tablecloths, milk jugs, sugar tongs, a smile.

There is no comparison between a lovely coffee served in a perfect china cup and saucer at Brasserie Zedel in Central London and a monstrosity such as the Starbucks Venti — over a pint of coffee in a charmless mug or a cardboard coffin.

So, hello darkness my old friend. I’ve come to drink you up again. Although not in a chain, never in a chain, even as they become increasingly hard to avoid.

Don’t shed a tear for evergreen Eva

Eva Green revealed she feels insecure about reaching her 40s next year because acting ‘depends on the desire’ of others

Eva Green is an exquisite beauty. However, at the age of 38, the actress (pictured) is worried about the ageing process.

Eva, a word. Only when one gets older — much, much older — will you truly understand what a perfect age 38 is and how lucky you are to be perched there, on the cliff face of life. Most of the early angst is over, but you are still pre-40 watershed. Make the most of it!

Yet Eva feels insecure about reaching her 40s next year because acting ‘depends on the desire’ of others. ‘Will people still like me?’ she frets.

Possibly not, if you carry on like this, darling.

But let us not mock Eva, for I honestly believe the ageing process is so much harder on the beautiful and the damned.

If you have been used to the warm and appreciative male gaze all your life, it must feel very chilly when it begins to fade.

The gain of feeling no pain

You might not believe this, but there is a woman in Scotland who feels no pain and never complains. No, it’s not me.

Her chemical imbalance means that she is also always in a good mood, which means she is definitely not me and neither is she Lorraine Kelly, who admitted last week in a tax hearing that her super-cheery on-screen persona was fake. (Can I just pause here to mention that Lorraine has also just revealed that she never takes off her bra, not even when she goes to bed, which is even more shocking.)

Jo Cameron is the remarkable woman whose unusual gene mutations stop pain signals reaching her brain. For 71-year-old Jo, childbirth was a breeze; she only needed aspirin for a painful operation; she walked away from a serious car accident, and she munches on scotch bonnet peppers as if they were plums. When she was a little girl, she didn’t even notice she had broken her arm roller-skating.

Jo Cameron (left) has led a virtually pain-free life due to a rare genetic mutation that affects just one in several million

It makes you strong, but it also makes you weak. She had no indication that her hip was crumbling, or that osteoarthritis had pushed a thumb bone into her palm.

Experts believe her condition is only found once in every several million people and she is now helping medical experts explore the parameters of pain management, especially for those who suffer chronic pain after surgery. In a way, I’m glad that she discovered this at a late age — one can only imagine what medical science might have wanted her to do earlier.

What a remarkable story. She has never felt pain in her life, but I bet she still runs screaming from the room when someone mentions Brexit. Or Lorraine’s bra.

 Havana truly bizarre time

Has there ever been a more hilarious royal tour than the Duke and Duchess of Cornwall’s recent 12-day jaunt to the Caribbean? Every second was a joy, for us — not them.

The sprightly septuagenarians crammed more than 70 engagements into a schedule that seemed to leave rigid royal protocol behind and had the pair of them shambling around the islands like a couple of crumpled pensioners on a Saga cruise.

Highlights included Charles striding along the sand in his beach brogues, Camilla looking like a discarded sweetie wrapper at his side and about a thousand cheesy photo ops, including one in Cuba where they actually did eat actual cheese.

Prince Charles and Camilla make a mojito on their trip to Havana, Cuba, this week

There were moments when it was more like an episode of Flog It! than a royal visit. The couple tootled around in a classic car, then sat next to a statue of John Lennon, Camilla visibly wilting gently under a parasol. They learned how to make a mojito cocktail (above) and sampled their work. ‘That hit the spot,’ said Camilla, after a long gulp. Charles used a sugar cane treadle, posed with a parrot, got into a boxing ring and looked like he was having the time of his life, even if he was not.

Looking thrilled at municipal events is his superpower. He even met Lionel Richie at the Coral Reef Club Hotel in Barbados and greeted him with a line from one of his hits.

‘Hello,’ said the Prince. ‘It must have been you I was looking for.’

Close, but no Cuban cigar, you dear old thing.

At Reading University, food scientist Dr Stuart Farrimond claims to have discovered the recipe for the perfect toasted cheese sandwich. In his formula, two medium slices of white bread are toasted on both sides, then buttered right to the edges. 

Then he adds 50g (1.8oz) of grated medium cheese, a splash of Worcestershire sauce, and places them exactly 18cm (7in) under the grill.

Is he COMPLETELY MAD? Everyone knows that you don’t use butter when making cheese on toast, and that you toast the bread on one side only, then add the cheese. 

What kind of savagery is the prof encouraging? Honestly. You simply cannot trust half-boiled eggheads to do anything properly.

Fury from the Madden crowd

Richard Madden fans are troubled. They feel that the actor has been snubbed because he didn’t receive a Bafta nomination for his performance in BBC drama Bodyguard.

Unluckily for Richard Madden, the Bafta nods this year include two of the best male turns in television drama for years, meaning he’ll miss out

His portrayal of protection officer David Budd (pictured) was compelling and one for which he has already won a Golden Globe. But, unluckily for him the Bafta nods this year include two of the best male turns in television drama for years — Hugh Grant as Jeremy Thorpe in A Very British Scandal and Benedict Cumberbatch as Patrick Melrose.

A different class, wouldn’t you say, Sergeant Budd?

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