#i debated whether to post this now or wait for next saturday but i don't want my only contribution on the 18th to be angsty

[liyazaki]

lessons in survival & innocence lost

I can turn it on be a good machine I can hold the weight of worlds if that's what you need I can do it- I'll get through it…

-human, christina perri

I knew GAP was smart. I knew the writers had an expert handle on the story they set out to tell, because they've been telling it exceptionally well.

I did not expect them to give us a scene that was almost brutal in how quietly and accurately it portrayed the lengths people will go to cope- to survive- living under abuse.

I wrote last week:

"when we first meet Sam, she just seems like a cold, aloof, ever-composed high achiever. the more we learn about her past, the clearer it becomes that this was by design, not by choice."

the writers had already given us enough to piece together why Sam is the way she is, but this scene really pulled back the curtain in heart-wrenching, crystal-clear fashion.

teenage Sam skips into the room, carefree & enjoying being with her sisters. she wistfully watches Nueng on the piano, playing with a borderline-terrifying smile on her face.

Nueng catches Sam smiling & asks:

Sam responds simply, innocently: because Nueng is, of course. if her sister is happy, so is she.

a quick note on Nueng's smile: Mind really going in with her facial expressions here felt so intentional. it's obvious to us that she's forcing it, but Sam in her youthful naivete has no idea. she still sees a smile for what it is, for what it should be: joyful, happy, and most importantly- honest.

it was such a smart move on the writer's part, adding to the weight of the moment that comes next.

Mind's expressions here are the definition of "a picture's worth a thousand words."

the smile fades away, replaced by a melancholy, world-weary expression. like she knows what she's about to do, and the effect that it'll have on Sam, but that it's for her own good.

right or wrong, cruel or kind- in her mind, it'll help Sam survive.

Song pipes in first, though: she knows why Nueng is smiling like that, and what it really means.

Nueng explains that it's a ruse: she's actually under a lot of stress, so she's tricking her own body by smiling.

Nueng’s explanation (understandably) isn't enough for Sam. she doesn't have any concept yet of faking emotions, let alone why anyone would do such a thing- so she questions Song about it, too.

Sam’s still processing Song’s response when Nueng walks up, placing a gentle hand on her head. the weariness is back as she tells Sam she can do this, too.

the look of wide-eyed, innocent worry on Sam’s face when she asks “how?” nearly broke my heart in two.

this is all new to Sam, but she trusts her sisters. this must be an important thing that she learn to do, right? and these behaviors have to be learned- either out of necessity or through loving, misguided instruction, like we're witnessing here.

it was like watching a slow-motion car crash: you know the impact is coming and it’s going to be awful, but you can’t look away.

I desperately wanted to shield Sam in this moment- to keep her from learning how to twist and contort herself into something she isn’t to survive the environment she was born into.

Sam parrots back Nueng’s advice at first before confusedly asking, “what if I’m happy? can I smile then?”

Nueng doesn’t hesitate: “if you smile, you lose.” and I’m on my knees, thoroughly gut-punched.

the final nail in the coffin: Nueng telling Sam that she wants her to do that.

Freen then gives us a masterclass in loss of innocence via expression alone. we can see Sam’s light diminishing right in front of our eyes, fading into the schooled, emotionally numb look we know so well for the first time.

it’s equal parts brilliant and unbearably awful.

I can fake a smile I can force a laugh I can dance and play the part if that's what you ask give you all I am…

this scene powerfully illustrated the pain desperate people will force themselves to endure in order to survive, while passing that brokenness down to the next generation. beyond the inexcusable abuse that prompted it, the real tragedy is that it’s being passed down out of love.

there was zero expository dialogue here. witnessing Sam being brought into the warped, broken fold 'for her own good' was plenty.

it was paradise lost; it was the twilight of innocence; it was the continuation of the cycle. and it made Sam’s openly-expressive, incandescently emotional vows in the wedding scene all the more meaningful.

love, in the end, finally broke the wheel.

side note- not to nitpick but I'm gonna: I really wish they went with the actress who played young Sam for this scene rather than Freen. Sam clearly knew how to force an expression much earlier, so having Freen play this scene felt like a continuity error, even though she knocked it out of the park.

exhibit a ⬇️

#gap the series #gap meta #gap ep12 #gap spoilers #freen sarocha #i debated whether to post this now or wait for next saturday but i don't want my only contribution on the 18th to be angsty #(i'll be traveling celebrating my birthday so- no gifs 😫) #mind sawaros #chompoo potida #gap yuri #wlw #gl drama

[yurhighnessmio]

✍You appear in an infinite white room with nothing but yourself and a piece of paper saying, "You have been banned from existence."

Short Story #5 - March 12, 2022; Saturday; 11:06pm

"You have been banned from existence"-says the only other thing banned from existence other than me...a sheet of paper.

"Okay? So now what, how do I exit?" He mumbled aloud before my body turns a full 360, only to be disappointed by nothing but white, "I don't. Great. Just, forget it."

A shoulder shrug lead to him standing in one leg as he glances around, not knowing what to hope for, or whether to get personally affected by the fact that a piece of paper has just told him that existence wasn't an option.

"This has got to be the most boring prank ever...Give this shit up already!" Now, at least, he's looking for a place to leave considering doing absolutely nothing for who knows how long in a place of total emptiness and isolation is basically a crime of boredome. He keeps looking around, still not seeing anything.

"Whatever, man." Another shrug and he's sitting down, not tired, just, waiting for something to happen. Although he doesn't know what that something may be. Possible a cry from someone yelling 'it's a prank' would not have been new. He's been pranked a whole too many times to be surprised at this point in his life. So he lookes at the paper that he still has gripped in his fingers. "Looks like it's just you and me now, Sheetie."

He nods and keeps nodding before this time, glaring around in anticipation for a surprise. This was going to be posted on youtube and he knew it, but he wasn't about to give this person the liberty of getting a reaction of an ignorant person. He wasn't about to be fooled.

So he whispered his evil plans to the paper, as quietly as he could, so no one else can hear, "I'm not gonna do anything. They're gonna get tired of this shit eventually just you wait and see..."

A smirk reveals itself on his face before his arms blew open, and his body laid on the ground, "Still though..." He thought with a sigh, "This is very convincing."

He leans up with his elbows and starts looking ariund again just to be sure. "How tf did they do this..." Then on again, shrugged his shoulders and plopped back down when the view he could get from all sides is nothing but an upcoming white space that seemed to have no end. "Let's just pass by time."

His eyes rear to the ceiling, which revealed, also, absolutely nothing, and sings a good song he remembered making up in his room out of boredome. It goes:

"Rain, rain, go away~ I just found out I am gay~ Though my family thinks no way~ They will surely pa-wait." He sat up quick, glares around, and screamed, "Jason!?" He got up in his shoes, "Jason, is this your doing? I told you many times bro: I'm sorry for fucking your dad on the Altar! It was my bad! I didn't know you guys were Christian, alright? I'm sorry!"

There was no answer, nor echo of his voice. Now the silcence is irritating him to the point that his hands fisted to his sides. "I get you're pissed! But dude, this is so petty! And for the record, your dad fucked me-if hearing that makes you feel any better!"

Still, there wasn't an answer. He shook his head, telling to himself how riled up he quickly became and decided to calm down. He squats downs, his elbows leaning on his knees as his body crouched and eyes wondering to his shoelaces. "Jason, if this is you, I'm so fucking your Aunt next...Asshole."

With arms spread of disappointment, he sighs. The silence enveloping him grew greater. It wasn't pleasant not hearing anything but yourself.

His body shuffled to the left like a crouched child on his bed. Then he shuffled to the right.

Before a sudden realization befell on him, he sat up, "Wait what if this is legit? Hold on, hold on, hold on..." Frantically, he stood then rotated once, "Am I alive..." with a hand to his chest he checked heartbeat, "Physically... I think so. Mentally... Uh, hold on, debatable."

But he had gotten tired of swirling in circled and looking around only to see white. Physically, yes, he was alright, but he had also begun to be nervous. "Hello?!," His heart raced in panic, he screamed some more, "Bullshit, Kevin, is this you!? You've got some guts to do this to me. It must take a very special kind of idiot to pull off this type of shit!"

There was no answer. The silence only procing itself to be another element that could trigger his anger. But he doesn't stop running.

"KEVIN!" He exclaimed, the pace of his legs slowing over the many minutes he ran to one direction. The ever-ending view of white nothingness, has begun to prove how much running seemed to be a terrible idea.

"Look..." he panted, "I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry! But you...you fucking deserved being tied to a tree you know? I mean...duct taped. That's...that's my bad, okay, I know, you hate that. I get it. I wont mention it again...promise. Okay? Dude? Come on!"

He ran and ran until eventually, running transitioned into walking. Then walking to stopping and standing in place, doing nothjng but panting his breath away. He roaned a loud one, punched the air—his frustraion kicking in—and fell forward, "You touched my damn cookies again...I told you I'd end you, you prick! Fuck you, Kevin! I... Fuck. This place just doesn't end...Kevin!"

He twirls with his bum as he sits. Now he's all panicky and confused. His arms that leaned on the non-existent ground. "There's gotta be some Undo bullshit here somewhere if I'm banned...how do I get out?"

"Maybe if you did a little less talking and a little more looking, you'd find out."

"There's literally nothing here! My god, it's completely empty! Looking my ass..." he paused, "...Wait a minute."

He jumps on his feet in one hope and practically swirls around. To the left, to the right, up, down, he's looked everywhere. Nothing but white.

"Kevin?" He called out to his left. There was no answer.

He looked at another direction, "Jason?" Still no answer.

He raised his eyes high. "God? Is that you?" Still, there wasn't an answer.

"Hold on, I don't even know where I am. Maybe..." he paused once again. This time, not to think, but because another idea haf polled into his head. He looks down un thought, not even realizing his non-existenc shadow.

"Satanas la puta." He muttered in hatred, "This is all your fault, huh? It's your fault that I'm stuck here! It's you! You! It's all you-!"

He beggins to stomp—as if stepping on the ground a little harder than usual was going to make a difference to Satan. Then he stops, exhausted, and puts a hand on his waist. At a moment like this, clicking one's tongue was inevitable, but ineffective. He glared away, "I hope."

🌟

Questions?

Comments?

Advice?

No?

Have a great day.

#literature #writing #writing prompt #oneshot #short story

[mdrblogblog]

***POST RACE REPORT - CYPRESS RIVER***

Well ladies and gents, that's a wrap! We finished off our season in BEAUTIFUL Cypress River! Thank you so much to Dave Rand and Capitol Motosports for supporting the club as our Series Sponsor! It's be one heck of a year!

Watson's Roofing was our Race Weekend sponsor so a huge shoutout to them!

Thanks to Watson's Roofing as well for giving us the opportunity to have Chudds Powersports back out since they got rained out earlier this season. Mike Chudd and Jon Thompson, you gents had quite the display and I know a lot of people were very appreciative of the demo's! Thank you guys as well for the club support! We appreciate you all so very much!

Alright, down to the nitty gritty. The stuff everyone is waiting for! RESULTS! Well, first off let's celebrate that we had 182 riders on Saturday and 187 riders on Sunday! The fastest lap time goes to the 157 of Troy Horbaty Racing with fastest lap time of 23:03!! Congrats Troy!

Kudos and appreciation to our Medic Sponsor, Axalta! We did require our medics a little more than we would like to, however, all that were in need are on the mend and healing up. Some are taking a little longer than others, but they will be back on the bikes in no time...now if this snow would hold off because I am not ready to pack my bike away yet!

Congratulations to all the riders who rode hard and earned those trophies this weekend! It's incredible to see the young riders at the start of the season to now, everyone has improved and gained so much skill and speed throughout the season! We can't wait for next year!

Results...yes, you are waiting. All results will be posted up Friday, Oct 7! This will include championship points as well. ***If there are any debates for championship places, please contact Paul Swiscoski BEFORE Monday, Oct 10 at 7pm. Once this date passes, it will be assumed that everything reads correctly. The board has reviewed points as well to make sure all is well, so please address concerns, if any, asap, before the cutoff. Share with your friends and fellow riders so they also are aware.

If you need to pick up trophies at all that you weren't able to collect this season, Dave @ Capitol Motosports will have them at the shop. We will also bring to the AGM for any unclaimed trophies if getting to Capitol doesn't work.

AGM and banquet Information is coming in a separate post! Please keep your eyes and ears peeled!

Thank you everyone for such a great season! I know we had some minor and major hiccups along the way, but we appreciate everyone for showing up, having fun and racing hard! To everyone that has helped along the way whether work parties, moving trailers, volunteering at the race itself, we don't run without you, so thank you to each and every one of you that has taken time from your busy schedules to help the club out! Beyond appreciated!!!

That's it for this post, I will be back soon with AGM info!

Braaap

Lindsay

[bqstqnbruin]

2011

Ok so this was inspired by the new 5SOS song 2011 and naturally I had to be angsty and give you another mean ending because of who I am as a person and where I am in my love life so yeah

Shoutout to @broadstbroskis for encouraging me to post this, if there are any typos I'm not sorry I'm relying on spell check to count them.

Flashbacks are in italics

Word Count: 2604

Warnings: I don't think there are any besides sadness?

______________

“Can you believe we met 10 years ago today?”

“You remember that?”

“Are you kidding? Like it was yesterday.”

“Watch out!” you heard a voice calling from behind you, your inability to skate making it hard for you to turn around in time before you felt someone crashing into you, sending you right down to the cold ice where you already knew a bruise on your legs was going to form. You look over to the boy sitting next to you, probably around the same age as you were, trying to get up off the ice before he would peel you off and back onto your feet. “Sorry about that, I’m trying to break the new skates in.”

“Not going well?” you mumble, brushing the ice off the back of your pants, already hating that you were dragged to the local rink in town as it was, now having to deal with the injury from a random boy on top of it? Not how you wanted to spend your Saturday afternoon.

He shakes his head, snow from the rink somehow falling off him in the meantime. “Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’ at the end. “I should give these to my brother and see if he can use them.”

“Seems kind of mean,” you tell him, debating whether or not to just leave him standing there or to wait to see where the conversation was going.

He laughed, the red on his cheeks getting deeper. “It’s just sibling stuff, don’t you have any siblings?”

“An older brother.”

“And he doesn’t do anything that makes you just a little irritated?” he asks you, a mischievous grin on his face as he started to slowly skate around the rink, something about him and his charm begging you to follow him.

“Always.”

“Because it’s his job as the older brother,” he says. “I’m Cale, by the way,” he tells you as you continue to follow him around the ice.

“We really had no cares in the world about anything that day,” he said to you, reaching out across the table to take your hand in his, his thumb tracing a pattern on your skin. It all felt so different at that moment, and there was nothing you could do to figure out why.

“I wonder when that all changed?”

“What are we going to do when you go off and play hockey all over the world?” you asked Cale. The two of you were lying in your backyard, one of the last nights of summer before school started; the sun was setting, the air was getting cool, both of you wishing the days were longer and the summer wasn’t ending.

You heard Cale laugh, feeling his eyes on you. “It won’t be all over the world, just two countries on the continent.”

“Caler, I’m being serious,” you said, calling him your nickname for him.

“Nothing’ll change.”

“Everything will change.”

“You’re being paranoid. Do you really think that we wouldn’t be best friends if I go and play hockey somewhere other than here?”

“You think we’ll always be friends?” you ask him, sitting up and pulling your legs to your chest. You were terrified of him leaving. You were already the worst when it came to him leaving for a weekend tournament, the week-long ones left you a mess. You were fifteen years old and already freaking out about a boy who would spend every free moment by your side leaving you forever. Part of you thought that there was no reason to even think about him staying or hope for it for that matter. He was destined to play for the NHL, win a few cups in his lifetime, and retire a legend. There was no way he wouldn’t be great in what he loved. There was no way he wouldn’t leave you forever.

“No, I don’t,” he says, after what felt like a horribly long moment of silence.

“What?”

“Well, I take that back. We’ll always be friends, but we’ll get to a place where we’re also more at some point.”

“Caler,” you start, trying to figure out what he was saying.

Before you could ask, his mom called from inside your house, telling him it was time to go home. He got up, that stupid grin of his on his face as he winked at you, running off and leaving you alone.

“What even did change?” he asked, his voice small. All the years he knew you, he never thought he would be faced with the chance of losing you. He never thought there would be a time in his life since the two of you met where you wouldn’t be together, physically or in spirit. He didn’t think there would be a time one you were his, once he was yours, where the two of you didn’t exist together.

You look up at him, swallowing hard. “We did.”

“Cale, I can’t fly out to see you this weekend.”

“Why not?” he whines on the other end. “I have one last game to play and then I have finals, and then I’ll be home anyway. I don’t want to wait that long to see you. I haven’t seen my girlfriend in two months. I’m lonely. I’m forgetting what she looks like, what she sounds like.” You could hear the playful tone in his voice, the stupid pout you knew was covering his face.

“You’re on the phone with her right now, you dumbass. And because I have finals and papers to work on, too, Cale. I can’t just drop everything whenever you want me to come to see you,” you protest, despite wanting to see him. “You never come to see me.”

“Now, that’s not fair.”

“Well, you don’t. I know you have games and everything, but even before your season started, before you started practicing every day, you had plenty of weekends where you were able to see me and you didn’t. I can’t keep spending the money I don’t have.”

Cale hung up on you, the beep of the disconnect ringing in your ear. There was no way he could be mad at you for not having time to see him during finals.

You didn’t hear from him until the next day, the day he had originally asked you to fly out when you started making plans the year he committed to UMass. His contact picture of the two of you came up on your phone, a Facetime from Caler flashing across your screen.

“You didn’t have to hang up on me yesterday,” you say to him, not giving him any other greeting.

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be,” you tell him. “You know how hard it is for me to have you on the other side of the continent, let alone when I have to tell you I can’t come see you.”

“I just miss you. I miss seeing you. I miss the summer before I left when all we had to worry about was what time we were waking up and going to sleep.”

“I miss you, too, Cale.”

“I guess I’ll just see you when we’re both home for break?”

“Yeah,” you tell him, letting out a sigh. “I wish we could turn back time sometimes.”

“Yeah?” he asks, shifting so his face was resting on his hand, propping himself up on his elbow. “To when?”

You sat and thought for a moment. Anytime before that year would have been fine. You missed him like crazy and knew it was going to be hard being away from him, but nothing could have prepared you for this. Even when he was playing games near you, he was just far enough away that you still couldn’t see him. “What about the night of our first real date?”

Cale lets out a laugh, throwing his head back on his pillow. “You mean when I spilled my milkshake on you to end the night and then was too nervous to kiss you good night that I waited until you texted me that you were up the next morning to go over and do it then?”

You couldn’t help by laugh thinking about that night, that perfect night where you consider everything between you two to have officially begun, those few years ago when you were both 16 and the only thing in front of you was your teenage dreams of being together. “Yeah, exactly. That night was perfect. We haven’t had a night like that in a while.”

Cale smiles at you before looking down at his mattress, a sad expression covering his face, “Yeah, we’ve both been busy, haven’t we?”

The silence between you in the loud restaurant was almost too much to bear. You didn’t know what it was, being there right next to the man who was the love of your life, the one you had trusted with everything for the last ten years that you knew each other, the one who you thought would be there with you for the rest of your life, and feel so far away from him. You were sitting there touching him and it felt like he was just out of reach.

You hadn’t seen Cale in what felt like forever. In reality, it had only been a few weeks since the Avalanche had been in Calgary and Cale had all of twenty minutes to spend with you. You had your suitcase, your phone in hand, standing outside of his apartment building, shaking in nervousness like you never had before. You checked his location, seeing and confirming again that he was in his apartment.

You reach up, knock on his door, and try to be patient while you wait for him to answer. You hear him yell, “Door’s open!” from the other side, his invitation to you to let yourself in.

“You really shouldn’t just let anyone in,” you call, poking your head around the corner to his couch, to see him sitting there with another girl. She was pretty, looking too comfortable for your liking considering she looked like she was alone in your boyfriend's apartment with him, especially since Cale was looking panicked while she wasn’t. “Hi?”

“Oh my god!” Cale yells, jumping up from the couch while you stand there, trying to keep your face as expressionless as possible so he wouldn’t think you were thinking the worst, which you were. You trusted Cale, but something about seeing the two of them too comfortable on his couch together made you nervous. He wraps you in his arms, the smell of what you could only believe was her perfume filling your nose instead of his normal cologne. “God, I’ve missed you,” he mumbles, his face buried in your shoulder, his lips finding your neck and for a moment forgetting the other girl was there. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought I would come surprise you, but it looks like you already have company,” you tell him, trying to hide the hint of pain that you knew was coming through in your tone. “You sounded like you were expecting someone else when you answered?”

“Yeah, this is Emeline, one of Tyson’s girlfriend’s friends. Tyson and Anne were supposed to be coming over, I thought you were them.”

You let out a sigh of relief, thinking you were crazy for believing Cale would do anything like that to you, even for a second. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you,” you tell Emeline, waving at her as she gets up off the couch.

“It’s nice to meet you, too, but I think you two deserve some alone time. Cale’s told me how much he misses you. You should spend all the time you can get together,” she says, leaving as soon as she could.

“It’s so weird that you’re here,” he tells you, taking you over to the couch, the two of you sitting the same way you found him and Emeline minutes before.

“Yeah, but I had a break in work and I wanted to come surprise you,” you tell him, taking his hand in yours. “I’ve missed you.”

He lifts your hand to meet his lips, his eyes never leaving yours as he presses a sweet kiss to the back of your hand. “I’ve missed you, too.”

The two of you shift, your head now on his shoulder with his arm wrapped around you, your hands still intertwined. It felt like you had never left his side in all those years you spent apart, and yet, something felt different. You couldn’t figure out what it was, but something was.

“Hey, I’ve been thinking,” Cale says, breaking the silence between the two of you.

“About what?”

“What if you moved here?”

“With you?”

“Duh.”

You sat and thought about it for a minute. Living in the same city as Cale again was everything you had wished for during the years you spent apart. He was your guy, the one you loved the most, the one you saw so few times during the year that you weren’t even sure you could really consider you two a couple. You tried to think of the two of you living together, still spending so much time apart while Cale was traveling for games. You couldn’t picture it.

You pictured a perfect world where you and Cale were living together, somewhere, but not in Denver. You pictured a life where the two of you were together every night, where Cale wasn’t playing hockey every other night and traveling somewhere else on the continent at least once every other week or so. You pictured you and Cale, living this ideal life that you had always dreamed of, the life that you knew could never be a reality.

But it was living with Cale. It was knowing that you would see him in a few days if he was gone for a road trip. It was living with the man you had longed to see every day for almost ten years since you met. It was moving in with your boyfriend who you loved more than anything.

“Well?” he asks, a growing feeling of nervousness and impatience overtaking him.

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Yes, I’ll move in with you.”

You were sitting across from Cale at a restaurant you had both been dying to try. You were there with the man you loved, thinking of all the times that you knew you were in love with him, the days where it felt like only the two of you existed, the days when nothing was wrong and everything was right.

“I wonder how our lives would be different if we never met,” you ponder, knowing how so much of your life wouldn’t be the same.

“You probably wouldn’t be in Denver at all,” he says, something you already knew was true.

“And you wouldn’t be here right now, probably.”

“My life wouldn’t be as good as it had been these last few years.”

“My life would still be back at home.”

The two of you sit in silence again, silence so thick you could cut it with a knife, the agony of not even knowing what to say to him causing you more pain than any physical wound ever could.

Cale lets out a sigh, closing his eyes before he looks down at his plate in front of him. “I wish we could go back to any of those days when everything felt like it was perfect. When everything was perfect,” he says, the grip he had on your hand starting to recede.

“I wish we could go back to before things were over.”

#cale makar #cale makar imagines #colorado avalanche #colorado avalanche imagines #nhl #nhl imagines #avalanche #avalanche imagines #hockey #hockey imagines

[zaffrenotes]

[TRR] A Tot Debate

Pairing(s): Liam x Katrina, Drake x Alyssa Stiles Rating: G Author’s Note: Here’s my belated birthday fic for @cocomaxley based on a conversation we had with @ao719 and @the-soot-sprite with oddly impeccable timing 🙃 * Happy Birthday to my fellow stubborn ram baby, Gen! I am so happy to be friends with your sarcastic ass, lol and I hope we spend more years coming up with random inside jokes about rice and half a dozen other things 💙 Author’s Note 2: * All main characters belong to Pixelberry, I’m just borrowing them * Katrina Bailey is my MC, Alyssa Stiles is one of my OCs * Many, many, MANY moons ago I wrote a fic where Katrina is pregnant again, expecting twins after she and Liam already have four little princes * Creative liberties were used for canon character birthdates for the sake of this one shot * This is a bit of silliness and my submission for @wackydrabbles​​ Prompt 87: No offense, but I’m not interested. * Word Count: 1099

It was a rare Saturday afternoon in the Cordonian palace, where King Liam and Queen Katrina were gathered in a sitting room with their friends, free of appointments and scheduled appearances. Katrina’s feet were perched upon a plush footstool while she rubbed the small swell of her belly, and she grinned when she felt a flutter from one of the twins.

Liam and Maxwell were in the middle of a discussion over what to watch next, while Drake and Alyssa replenished their drinks and assembled a small plate of snacks. Katrina opened Pictagram on her phone and scrolled through the latest posts, tapping on images she liked, when she paused on a comic. “Huh,” she murmured, looking over the image.

“What’s that?” Drake asked, peering over her shoulder before returning to his seat.

“Comic strip about what kind of potato you are, based on your horoscope.” Katrina scoffed at the screen. “I am not a plate of curly fries!”

“What am I?” Maxwell craned his neck, curious to their conversation.

Katrina looked at the screen again. “Potato chips,” she giggled. “Lyssa's sweet potato fries, Liam’s sweet potato mash, and you,” she paused, pointing at Drake, “are a big bowl of mashed potatoes.” Katrina pulled up a web browser and typed away at her screen, quickly reading through the lines of text. “It’s okay, with the new star signs I’m now a Pisces, and I accept my new fate as a bowl of ube ice cream.” She grinned brightly at her friends.

Everyone’s brows furrowed at Katrina. “The what now?” Drake inquired.

“According to the new dates with the thirteenth astrological sign, I’m a Pisces,” she repeated. “You haven’t heard about it? It was a whole thing last year.”

“Wait. What? Why would they need to add a whole new sign to the zodiac?” Maxwell pulled his phone out of his pocket in search of answering his own question.

“It’s always been there,” Katrina replied. “NASA looked into it, and I guess the ancient astrologers omitted…” — she looked down at her phone screen — “off…offy…?”

Drake held his phone in his hands, having pulled up a similar article about the 13th sign, and glared at the name. “This is crap,” Drake added. “There’s no room for it because I can’t even spell it, let alone pronounce it.”

Liam leaned over to look at Maxwell’s screen, peering down at the name in Greek. “Ophiuchus,” he repeated, stressing the last syllable. “Or perhaps off-ee-yoo-kus?”

“That sounds like a weird cross between Ryu’s dragon punch and mucus,” Maxwell chuckled. “Why would they leave out an entire constellation?”

“It’s easier to split up three hundred and sixty degrees into twelve even pieces and match up with calendar months,” Alyssa answered.

Katrina looked down at the article. “With the new signs, Max would be a potato salad Capricorn, Lyssa’s an oven roasted potato Virgo, Drake gets to be twice baked potatoes as a Gemini, and Liam…” Katrina stopped reading and glanced up at her husband, smiling awkwardly as she bared her teeth. “You’re the new sign, and have no potato representation.”

“Pardon?”

Alyssa stifled a laugh as Katrina held out her phone to Liam so he could read the screen. “Looks like your birthday falls in between Scorpio and the new sign, so you could go with either.”

“But neither of those are the sign I’ve grown up as!”

“None of us fall under the signs we’ve grown up with,” Alyssa replied. “I am not a Virgo.”

“I don’t like this new zodiac. I refuse to acknowledge it,” Liam said, shaking his head.

“Li, it’s okay, you can be any kind of potato you want to be this way!” Katrina bit back her smile as she spoke.

“Don’t patronize me, Trina,” Liam quipped. He glanced back at Maxwell’s screen. “Why does Scorpio only get a week to make room for this…this…what is that symbol even supposed to be?”

Alyssa squinted at Katrina’s screen. “A man wrestling with a snake, apparently.”

“Cordonia won’t acknowledge this information, even if the rest of the world decides to. I won’t allow it.”

“Don’t you want to be a modern leader? Someone the people can look up to and admire for taking steps towards becoming an innovative country?” Katrina tucked her lips between her teeth, but the corners of her eyes crinkled as she restrained her amusement.

“No offense, but I’m not interested.” Liam rose from his seat and pulled his phone out from his pants pocket. “I need to speak with the head of our space agency as soon as possible…today, if need be,” he spoke into the phone. “It’s important.”

—

Half an hour later, Liam paced back an forth in front of one of the large palace windows, running a hand through his dark hair while the other pinned his phone to his ear as he engaged in a heated discussion with the head of the Cordonian space agency, with a look of utter disbelief across his face.

Drake and Maxwell had gone back to scrolling through movie options on the screen, having lost interest in the constellation conversation. They were more interested in debating over whether the group could handle the four hour Snyder version of Justice League.

Alyssa smirked when she turned her head to look at Katrina, who was holding a bowl of the purple tuber ice cream between her hands. “Y’know,” she began, leaning over to nudge her friend’s shoulder, “would’ve been easier to just ask for the ice cream if you had a craving. You didn’t have to make your poor husband’s brain implode.”

Katrina shrugged, pleasant smile on her lips as she withdrew the spoon from her mouth, savoring the cold, creamy dessert as it melted down her throat. She felt another flutter from one of the babies. “I take joy in knowing I've blown your minds about astrological signs solely because I don't wanna be a curly fry. Ooh!” She sat up a bit. “Fries would be great with ice cream!”

The ladies looked over at Liam, who continued to pace in front of the window and spoke rapidly in Cordonian. “Should you tell him now, or after his phone call, that NASA eventually debunked the whole thirteenth sign thing?” Alyssa cast a wary look to Katrina.

Katrina pushed herself up off the sofa. “You call down to the kitchen and ask for extra crispy fries and whatever snacks you and the guys want, I’ll make sure Liam doesn’t fire the poor guy on the other end of his phone call,” she giggled. “I’ll blame it on the babies.”

#Happy Birthday Gen! #birthday fanfic #the royal romance fanfic #trr fanfiction #choices fanfic #play choices fanfiction #liam x mc #king liam x mc #liam x trina #trr morsels au #trr morsels series #i love my fraaands #liam rys x trina bailey #zaffrenotes writes #wacky drabbles

[sleepysloth99]

Pt 1

Warning: This isn't as upbeat as most of my posts are. Drug use is mentioned, violence, (of course, it's a Walking Dead AU!) So yeah if that's upsetting please skip this :)

The Walking Dead x Pigpen Crossover (AU)

Written by sleepysloth99

Part 1, Boss?

Jinhyeok:

Jinhyeok was working the night shift at a pizza parlor the very first night the outbreak started. He figured he'd go to work for some money, that it wasn't that serious, that even if he did die it wouldn't necessarily matter since he didn't have anyone to miss him anyway. He was taking out the trash when he heard a subtle groan. He scanned the alleyway and saw a woman slumped, staring at a wall.

"Uh... ma'am? Place's closed. Please come back tomorrow. It's not safe to be out here so late anyway--"

He stared at her.

"Ma'am... you okay?"

She turned her head and only to his surprise she was paleish green. Eyes a milky white, flesh completely rotten. Jinhyeok froze in fear.

"Wha... what the hell?" He just barely got away when the adrenaline started pumping and he dashed his way back inside.

"Kim-- sir-- there..." he panted "there's a lady... she... she--"

His boss Kim spun in his chair groaning.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" Jinhyeok screamed. Kim was a big guy... 500 lbs to be exact. So to be stuck in a narrow pizza parlor with a chubby undead guy and no weapon was a death trap.

Jinhyeok knew he had to take action. He looked around for anything close by and found a pipe sticking out of the wall. He gave it a firm tug, hands slipping from sweat as Kim slowly stumbled to him. He just barely got chomped when it broke off and he hit him on the head.

Stunned but adrenaline still pumping, Jinhyeok gave Kim a few hits, when he struck him hard on the head. The impact breaking his head open. Jinhyeok falls back scared out of his mind. Kim's brains spilled all on the tiles.

Jinhyeok knew he had to run. He grabbed his backpack, packed a few things including the pipe, and sped off on the delivery bike.

Part 2: A Memorable Night

Romi:

Saturday night, 11:45 p.m. Romi was in the bathroom at her friend's house applying eyeliner.

"Yo! Romi! You almost done in there?" Shouted Ha-rin.

"Yeah! Hold on!" Said Romi, popping her lips to press the lip tint in. Tonight was going to be the best night ever. The night before she leaves back to college. Before she had to study again. It was going to be memorable.

And it was... just not that way she was expecting.

"Ooh you look nice!" Said Ha-rin, oogling Romi's outfit. From the black tank top to the contrasted pleated skirt with fishnets and heels, Ha-rin loved it.

"Aw thanks! You too!" Replied Romi, oogling Ha-rin's short pastel strawberry dress and dangly earrings.

They rushed into the car and drove for a good 30 minutes, taking a few sips of vodka along the way. When they arrived they pulled up to a massive abandoned church with a graveyard and everything. People were dancing, taking shots, getting high, etcetera. Much to Romi and Ha-rin's amusement, some folks were dressed as monsters in bikinis.

Once they settled with their drinks, Ha-rin pulled Romi aside.

"Hey... so... I heard Byung-ho was gonna be here tonight and uh..."

"You want me to give you guys some privacy... right?" Asked Romi with a smirk.

Ha-rin nodded.

"Sure thing." Said Romi, and off she went.

For the next four hours she went around the lot. Dancing, drinking, smoked a bit, and talked to random strangers. She went to the bathroom to touch up some of her foundation and checked her phone.

"Huh... it's been hours now and Ha-rin hasn't even texted me."

She stands there in front of the mirror. Internally debating if she should shoot her a text or not. She went to put her phone back in her purse when suddenly a hunch made her pause abruptly.

She wasn't sure why but she had a feeling that Ha-rin was in trouble...

By now she had left the bathroom and is pushing random people through the crowd.

"HA-RIN.... HA-RIN!!!" Romi shouted out, but was overpowered by the loud speakers. Everyone was crowding her, pushing and pulling when she looked to her left and saw a group of people running and screaming.

"RUN!" Yelled a man from the crowd.

Romi looked around when she saw a rotting old woman bite the neck of a young man.

Romi was too shocked and horrified to even scream. All she thought was... *"Oh no... Ha-rin... she--"*

Her phone buzzed.

Romi checked her phone... it was Ha-rin.

"Romi you gotta come here"

"NOW"

She frantically typed.

"Where are you? What's going on?"

The god forsaken ellipsis chat bubble popped up for what felt like hours.

"I'm in the cellar. Some guy crawled through the window and bit Byung-ho."

"Romi he's not moving. I'm scared!"

"Are you safe?" Romi typed.

"Yeah considering. I'm hiding in the little closet under the stairs."

Romi: "Okay stay where you are. I'm on the way."

Ha-rin: "And Romi--"

A guy bumped into her, dropping her phone. Instantly the screen shattered into a million pieces.

"Hey watch where you're--"

Romi choked on her words. The guy that bumped into her was... dead.

She stumbled and fell from her heels.

*"Ah... ah... shit. What do I do?! I don't have anything on me to fight! All I have are these heels and-- wait!"

The walker fell on top of her and was only a few inches away from her face. In the midst of her panic she kicked her heel off and upwards. In her reach she pushed the walker away and pierced the stiletto through its eye. She pushed the corpse away, making a group of people trip. She took off her other stiletto and made a run for it. The cellar was down the hall to the left. Where some of those things were pouring out of.

"Looks like my only way to her is to fight them." Romi said, gritting her teeth at all the sprinkles of glass penetrating her feet.

One by one each walker slowly stumbled up to her, and each time she took her heels and hit them in the brain. Only a few times did they get stuck in the heads of them. But Romi managed, she pulled through, she made it to the cellar.

"HA-RIN! HA-RIN! I'M HERE! HA....rin...."

Romi mumbled the last bit. She was too late. Her stomach tightened and dropped at the sight of her best friend's organs being torn and feasted on bit by bit.

Romi couldn't even gag. She was just out of it completely... only snapping back when Ha-rin reached her hand out.

"Rom..."

"HA-RIN!"

"Don't...don't... come closer..."

"NO I'M NOT LEAVING YOU BEHIND! HA-RIN! HA-RIN!"

"I... love you... Rom-com*..."

(Rom-com was Romi's nickname. The only person that got to call her that was Ha-rin.)

Much to Romi's dismay she fled. Fighting her way out and stealing a pair of sneakers on her way out. Heels still in each hand for defense.

She walked for a few hours through the woods. Avoiding the walkers and made it to the road. Empty but a clear view.

There she saw bright headlights... the sound of a motorcycle echoed through the trees.

"Hey... HEY WAIT WAIT STOP PLEASE!"

The driver made a sharp turn, almost hitting Romi.

The driver took off their helmet. There a man with black hair and tired eyes stood.

"What are you doing out here? You do realize what's going on... right?" He asked.

Romi fell her knees.

"YOUGOTTAHELPMEPLEASETHEREWASA--AND AND MY FRIEND-- HA-RIN SHE-SHE--"

The man raised his hand.

"Hey calm down... and lower your voice. Don't want those things hearing us. Now... what happened?"

Romi took sharp pants.

"My friend... Ha-rin she... she... IT'S ALLMYFAULTISHOULDVENEVERLEFTHERSI•HA•IDE!" She bawled. Covering her face in shame and defeat.

The Man frowned.

"It's okay... you don't have to tell me. Get on."

She got on the bike and they sped off.

The Man's eyes filled with fear. "Shit... you hear that? They know where we are. You got a gun or something?"

"All I have are these heels but believe me they work..." Romi commented with a menacing tone.

"Great. Take them out. I'll keep driving." Said The Man

Each side came one or two walkers. Romi stabbed as many as she could, aiming for the eyes and the head. It was all going well when her stiletto got caught on a walker's head, making her lose one of her only weapons.

"How are we doing back there?" The Man yelled.

"Lost one heel." She answered.

The Man sighed.

"Okay... do you know how to drive?" He asked.

"Yeah, why?" She answered.

"Alright... take the wheel while I handle them." The Man commanded.

Romi was going to ask if he was sure but all she needed was one look in his cold, threatening eyes to know he was sure.

She quickly switched places with him. Now she was driving the bike, turning every now and then to avoid the potholes and whatnot. The Man pulled out a pipe and whacked each walker. Each hit a loud "B O N G" rung out. A split road leading up to a bridge was spotted by the two.

"Okay... we should go up there. Get higher ground." The Man suggested. Romi nodded in agreement.

"Once we're above we should scout for something. Whether it's a payphone, gas station, something that can help us find someone or supplies at least." Romi suggested.

"Right... yeah good idea!" The Man exclaimed. He looked at her with a cocky smirk.

"You know... we make a pretty good team. I'm Romi. What's your name?" She asks, making a turn.

"Nice to meet you Romi, I'm Jinhyeok."

•To be continued•

°

°

°

How was that guys? I was talking with a friend on Discord and suddenly thought of this. If you guys want I can post some more parts featuring Minu, Yumi, mom, dad, and maybe Taehui. This was my first time writing an apocalyptic setting and since my head has been nothing but Walking Dead Game brainrot, figured I oughta put it to good use. :)

#manhwa #webtoon #pigpen+webtoon #pigpen #the walking dead game #the walking dead au #alternate universe #fanfic #zombie apocolypse au #carnby+kim #jinhyeok song #night 1 #outbreak #apocalypse #apocalypticfiction #zombie #walkers #muertos #sorry if this sucks

[viraljournalist]

Ten NBA things I like and don't like, including the Luka Doncic-Dwight Powell dance

New Post has been published on https://viraljournalist.com/ten-nba-things-i-like-and-dont-like-including-the-luka-doncic-dwight-powell-dance/

Ten NBA things I like and don't like, including the Luka Doncic-Dwight Powell dance

How about a fresh serving of 10 NBA things:

1. The tricks of Ja Morant

Morant’s athleticism and fearlessness strike you first. He is so fast. He wants to dunk on everyone — to humiliate victims, the bigger the better.

All that is cool. But what is most impressive about Morant — the runaway Rookie of the Year — is his veteran craft. He already knows how to start and stop with a live dribble, and keep defenses guessing until the best option reveals itself. He sees every pass. He imagines passes no one else sees, and conjures them with dribble moves designed to shift the defense in some specific way.

You just don’t see rookies doing stuff like this:

That fake spin — the Smitty — dusts damn near the entire LA Clippers team. The one-handed lefty gather into a reverse layup is borderline pornographic. That insta-gather is already a Morant trademark — useful in tight spaces.

He has a mean pass fake:

He busts it out on the perimeter to freeze help defenders:

A lot of ball handlers turn statuesque when someone else takes the controls. Not Morant. He weaponizes his speed as an off-ball cutter.

Morant isn’t the only reason the Memphis Grizzlies — 13-6 since early December — have improbably surged into the Western Conference’s No. 8 spot. Their three core big men — Jonas Valanciunas, Jaren Jackson Jr. and Brandon Clarke — are balling, and their bizarro bench is obliterating opponents.

But Morant is driving it. He is real. He is a superstar in the making playing winning basketball. He belongs at the edges of the All-Star conversation right now.

2. Drivin’ De’Aaron Fox

After two months of injuries and uneven play, Fox is back on his ascent toward becoming the Sacramento Kings’ franchise point guard. In seven January games, Fox is averaging 24 points and 8.5 assists on 50% shooting. He is driving more often, with more guile and ferocity.

Fox is earning seven free throws per 36 minutes — easily a career high. He is piling up almost 29 drives per 100 possessions, second among rotation players — and up from 15 and 18 in his prior two seasons, per Second Spectrum data. He has drawn fouls on 13% of those drives, 16th highest among 173 guys who have recorded at least 100 drives.

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Fox is still searching for the right pass-or-score balance, and the Kings under Luke Walton haven’t landed on a coherent identity. (Injuries to Fox and Marvin Bagley III have stalled progress there.) They are playing at one of the league’s slowest paces, though they amp it up some with Fox on the floor.

The next step for Fox is dialing in on defense, where he has disappointed this season. The Kings won’t go anywhere too serious until the Fox/Buddy Hield backcourt proves it can survive on that end.

3. Forfeiting mismatches

A pet peeve:

This isn’t about the Orlando Magic. Every team does this now and then: Spot a juicy mismatch, and default into a pick-and-roll that allows the defense to switch that mismatch away.

The Utah Jazz are stuck with Emmanuel Mudiay on Aaron Gordon. If you want to post Gordon up, do it when he can mash a smaller dude. Instead, D.J. Augustin and Gordon gift the Jazz a switch.

Come on. Disengage autopilot and read the game. The right kind of post-up can still be an effective scoring option. They also are fun to watch. The league needs stylistic diversity.

You know who rarely bungles this? The Indiana Pacers with Domantas Sabonis. Their old-school mentality serves them well when they earn a switch, or when the opposing power forward is stuck defending Sabonis. The Pacers in those scenarios are ruthless. They are surgical. They abort whatever plan they had and hunt that mismatch.

4. Shai Gilgeous-Alexander, off the glass

The notorious S.G.A. is already one of the league’s shiftiest ball handlers — a long-limbed, change-of-pace phantom who seems to move at two or three different speeds at once. Guarding him is like trying to catch a fish with your bare hands.

He also is a premier bank shot artist, smooching from unconventional angles:

That is a little close to the baseline for most players to go glass. Gilgeous-Alexander has the touch to pull it off. That one hits pretty low on the backboard, but Gilgeous-Alexander will kiss the ball off the tippy-top if need be.

The straight-on banker is underused — a tricky work of depth perception that can increase your margin for error on harried floaters. Gilgeous-Alexander has it in his bag:

Only 10 players have attempted more glassers than Gilgeous-Alexander, per Second Spectrum. (Russell Westbrook has tried by far the most — almost double the No. 2 guy.) Coming off a ridiculous 20-20-10 game, Gilgeous-Alexander has a fringe All-Star case: 20 points, six rebounds and three assists per game, decent shooting, solid defense.

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It is a hard case to parse. Each member of Oklahoma City’s three-headed point guard monster has sacrificed something. Gilgeous-Alexander has stepped back into a secondary ballhandling role behind Chris Paul (probably a better All-Star candidate) and Dennis Schroder (in the running for Sixth Man of the Year). Gilgeous-Alexander has logged only 40 minutes as solo floor general — without either Schroder or Paul.

I recently debated with a few non-Thunder executives whether Gilgeous-Alexander would grow into an All-NBA player. That they framed the question in those terms — and not around whether Gilgeous-Alexander will make All-Star teams — is indicative of how good he has been.

5. Still waiting on Aaron Gordon

Boy, did Gordon need this recent mini-hot streak: 60 points on 23-of-39 shooting over Orlando’s last three outings, and a last-second game-winner Monday in Sacramento. It has otherwise been a stilted, disappointing season for Gordon.

I thought this was the year it might finally happen for him. I predicted Gordon would make the All-Star Game.

Instead, Gordon’s production on offense has dipped across the board, though he remains engaged on the other end. There are three theoretical Gordons: the player Gordon wants to be; the player Orlando wants him to be; and the player Orlando needs him to be because of their roster construction. The actual Gordon is paralyzed in some sort of existential tension between all three.

The first player — Gordon’s dream for himself — is a ball-dominant scorer. Orlando indulges that Gordon by calling occasional post-ups for him and giving him some freedom to go rogue. Gordon can make hay against smaller players. He has done well on scripted duck-ins. But too many of his forays into would-be stardom end with bricked fadeaways:

A player this powerful should not spend so much time spinning away from the hoop. He rarely draws fouls. The Magic have scored 0.826 points per possession anytime Gordon shoots out of a post-up or passes to a teammate who fires right away — 74th among 96 players who have recorded at least 25 post-ups, per Second Spectrum data. He is not much of an inside-out playmaker. A full 77% of those post-ups have ended with Gordon shooting — the second highest such rate in that sample.

The best version of Gordon on a good team is something like his take on Draymond Green: screening and rolling as a power forward, spraying passes (Gordon is an underrated playmaker), defending like all hell across every position. The Magic have never put Gordon in optimal position to find that role. They shoehorned him onto the wing next to Serge Ibaka and now Jonathan Isaac.

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That is not on its face unworkable. Some of those ultra-big Magic lineups have performed well — including last season. Talented frontcourt partners render positional designations irrelevant. What position would Gordon play next to, say, Kevin Durant and a traditional center in Brooklyn? Isaac has some blossoming all-around skill on offense.

But Isaac also is very young. Before Isaac’s injury, it felt — from the outside — Orlando was reaching the point at which it would have to make a final call on Gordon. There are teams who would give a lot for Gordon. Isaac’s knee injury may have put off those decisions. The Magic don’t have to rush. Gordon is still just 24.

But stasis often becomes untenable.

6. The Bucks, going under

Almost every team scurries under picks against bad shooters, but Milwaukee does it more dramatically and against many more players. The Bucks treat every so-so shooter like Ben Simmons. Present Milwaukee with Kris Dunn or RJ Barrett (two recent examples) and its on-ball defenders hang almost in the paint — a step or two further back than most teams prefer. They form a shell that is really hard to puncture.

They don’t deviate if some Dunn type hits a couple of long 2s. The Bucks understand math. They know their scheme plays mind games with opposing shooters — even non-terrible ones. They’re going so far under. This is embarrassing. Am I really supposed to keep shooting? Boom — the shot clock is down to 8, and you’ve accomplished nothing.

This is such low-hanging fruit. Every team should imitate Mike Budenholzer’s exaggerated “go under” ethos.

Of course, later playoff rounds offer very few awful shooters — and almost none beyond Simmons who handle the ball. It would be interesting to see Milwaukee’s approach in a series against the Miami Heat and Jimmy Butler — shooting just 27% from deep this season and 36% for his career on long 2s.

7. When young guys forget who is guarding them, Part I

Oh, Jordan Poole.

That’s Kawhi Leonard. At his apex, the mere act of possessing the ball within a 15-foot radius of Leonard was dangerous for anyone outside the league’s most deft point guards. Forget dribbling. Poor saps held the ball close to their chest — terror sweat pouring from their brow, eyes darting in search of some passing target — until Leonard would simply reach out and take it. It was cruel. It was bullying.

Leonard isn’t the same impenetrable wall today, and he saves his best stuff for high-leverage playoff moments. But you can’t be Jordan freaking Poole and dangle the ball in front of him. This is like living next door to Thomas Crown, buying a masterwork, and leaving your front door wide open all night. What do you think is going to happen?

There has been much fretting of late about the Clippers’ underwhelming performances against the dregs of the league. Meh. One of Leonard and Paul George has missed most of those games. Wake me up when the real Clippers struggle.

The Clippers also seem like a mortal lock to make a win-now trade. They have use-it-or-kinda-lose-it assets ticking toward evaporation. They can trade their 2020 first-round pick, but that is the last one they can move (as things stand now) before their 2028 selection. They have Maurice Harkless’ $11 million expiring contract, and a few semi-expendable midsized salaries.

The Clippers would rather add talent (via in-season free agency) without trading anything. Harkless is solid — a starter most of the season. That 2020 pick represents one of LA’s only means of acquiring a young player who might help Leonard and George as they age.

But the Clippers are all-in. George and Leonard can hit free agency in 18 months. They should prioritize this year over everything.

Part II of young guys failing to respect their elders is coming next week.

8. Respect the Mavs’ other big men

I never got the mostly quashed rumblings Dallas might be interested in Andre Drummond. Kristaps Porzingis should eventually play more as the Mavs’ lone big man, and in the meantime, Maxi Kleber and Dwight Powell are doing just fine alongside him.

Skeptics in the preseason perceived the Mavs roster as top heavy: two stars and a motley crew of bench guys. It’s true (it’s damn true!) Dallas does not have anyone like a third member of past championship Big 3s. But they do have (by my count) seven guys you might describe as quality fifth starters — seven fifth-best players, all but one (Tim Hardaway Jr.) on value contracts. There is power in giving zero minutes to below-average players.

Powell has always been a dangerous rim-runner, but he has exploded as Luka Doncic’s go-to pick-and-roll dance partner. Only three player pairs have teamed up on that play more often. (For trivia purposes, the top three in volume: Spencer Dinwiddie/Jarrett Allen, Damian Lillard/Hassan Whiteside, and the Lou Williams/Montrezl Harrell symphony.)

The Mavs average a ginormous 1.18 points per possession anytime Doncic or Powell shoots out of the pick-and-roll, or passes to a teammate who launches — ninth-best among 226 duos who have run at least 100 such plays, per Second Spectrum.

Powell has improved as a passer on the move — crucial when teams trap Doncic:

Kleber does a little of everything. He’s a serviceable screen-and-dive guy. He is hitting 41% from deep on a career-high attempt rate, and he makes canny plays off the bounce when defenses rush at him:

Kleber is a sturdy, smart defender across multiple positions. Rick Carlisle has trusted him to guard extra-large ball-handlers, including LeBron, Giannis Antetokounmpo, and Simmons. He’s a solid rim protector with some hops.

Dallas is starting Kleber and Powell in the absence of Porzingis, and the Mavs have outscored opponents by 13 points per 100 possessions with both on the floor.

Kleber and Powell earn $18 million combined this season — $9 million less than Drummond. Drummond holds a much-discussed player option for 2020-21. Kleber and Powell are under contract through 2023. Leaving aside money and whatever assets Detroit might demand, it’s unclear whether giving Kleber/Powell minutes to Drummond would even make Dallas any better.

9. Miami is one player away, but who?

This is a minor quibble considering the Heat are 28-12 and a robust 10-6 against teams at .500 or better. Maybe the “one player” is Justise Winslow, who is still out with a back injury after returning for a single game last week.

Winslow is (in theory) the well-rounded small-ball power forward to unlock lineups featuring Bam Adebayo at center. Meyers Leonard is shooting 45% from deep as Miami’s nominal starting center, but there are lots of games in which he never sees the floor after his first stint in each half. Kelly Olynyk is barely playing.

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Right now, Derrick Jones Jr. and James Johnson are holding down that Winslow slot. Johnson looks feisty after a long stint in Heat purgatory. He’s 10-of-20 on 3s. But his jumper is unreliable, and he is regaining the team’s trust.

Jones has taken the lion’s share of these minutes over the last month. His arms are everywhere. He is the keystone of Miami’s zone defense. Lineups with Jones and Adebayo at power forward and center have done well.

But are you trusting Jones to close playoff games? He’s shooting 23% from deep. Defenses ignore him on the perimeter to muck up Miami’s spacing.

Miami has tried to solve the equation at times by going super-small, with Jimmy Butler at power forward. That is a little too small. Adebayo is so strong and athletic, you forget he’s only 6-9. Miami has been a middle-of-the-pack defensive team after a stingy start. They have to be careful.

They are one player away from being really dangerous. They know. They are looking, sources say. A lot of speculation about the Heat — and other teams — has centered around Jrue Holiday. He’s good. The Pelicans may opt to keep him and push for the No. 8 seed. (This is what suitors expect as of now — which could of course change.)

But I wonder if Miami has a more pressing need for a stretch power forward with some defensive chops to fill that Winslow/Jones/Johnson slot. (Winslow returning to form could render this moot.) Danilo Gallinari would be a worthy rental, but the Thunder might be too good to trade him. It’s also unclear whether Miami has any appetite for surrendering any players who are or could be (i.e., Winslow) key parts of their current rotation.

Regardless, keep an eye on Miami.

10. Marcus Smart is coming at you

What in the hell is this?

I’ve seen defenders close out low to distract shooters, but they usually resemble football tacklers. They aim for the stomach. I’m not sure I’ve seen anyone crouch toward the shooter’s foot. Smart looks like he’s trying to pick something up off the floor.

I honestly don’t know how anyone shoots 3s against Boston without worrying what kind of goofy closeout awaits. Jaylen Brown jumps straight up and down with all his might, and reaches both arms as high as he can — a technique Al Horford mastered, and something the Celtics teach. Brace for that, and Smart comes nipping at your ankles.

What’s next? Jayson Tatum running at shooters, screaming gibberish and waving his arms? Kemba Walker experimenting with some kind of drop-and-roll technique?

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