#git stash

[vivektech]

Use Git if: ✅ You need speed and distributed development ✅ You want better branching and merging ✅ You work offline frequently

[the-enchanted-mistakes]

Well Misc if the world is coming to an end via squid, can you show off your enchanting/work station setup?

He didn't like to be held. :(

[codingchica]

Automate the Formatting! Spotless Maven Plugin

Even with the style checker, we can accidentally make pain for our team if we format more than we intend before a commit. Auto-formatting with the spotless-maven-plugin may help. #java #maven #style #step-by-step #git-stash #git

💚 TIP: References Quick List Maven pom.xml references: com.diffplug.spotless:spotless-maven-plugin:2.38.0 Documentation org.apache.maven.plugins:maven-checkstyle-plugin:3.3.0:checkstyle’s configLocation Working with Git Git: reset Git: stash IntelliJ: Move Work Aside with Stash Example Code Base changes Automated Formatting Table of Contents Table of ContentsIntroductionAdding the…

[maximumcatpress]

I work in technology, and one time I typoed the command "git stash pop." I still laugh about this. I'm laughing now, in fact.

yeah, i'm mature (i accidentally wrote the word "poop" instead of "pool" when i was writing and laughed out loud for a good minute)

[empress-simps]

Tulips & Moony

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Fem! Reader CW: Sirius and Remus' banter and language (around 700 words) Summary: Remus tries to crochet you a tulip. Note: Hi darlings! I hope you like this mini fic; I love to crochet so why not make a fic out of it, right? Also, my uni's third term is about to end so I'll have more time to finish my WIPs! Hope you enjoy!

Remus loves knitted things— he considers the “unfashionable” grandpa sweaters that Sirius always complains about to be his prized possessions, not forgetting to mention how he’s got every neutral and earthy tones of cardigans arranged neatly in his trunk.

Yes, Remus is an avid fan of those things, but he doesn't really express any interest in making them from scratch.

So, imagine Sirius' surprise walking in on Remus who’s red in the face as he fumbles with a ball of yarn.

“Now Moony, when did you suddenly become a grandma?” Sirius asked, raising an eyebrow at the poor bloke who’s struggling looping a yarn.

“Since he learned Y/n loves to crochet.” James quipped from his bed, eating a chocolate frog that he most likely stole from Remus’ stash who was too busy to notice.

“He’s been at it for a good hm… three hours or so?” Peter shrugs, working on his charms essay in the corner of the room and trying to block out the strings of curses Remus grumbles out every now and then.

“Can you all be quiet? I’m trying to concentrate, you sods.” The werewolf grumbled, furrowing his brows and sticking his tongue out the side of his mouth in concentration. The sight was quite amusing. James lets out a laugh, getting off his bed. “Alright then, I’m getting quite tired watching you fail miserably,” Remus grunted, “Yeah, go bother someone else.”

Sirius plopped next to Remus, looking closely at his creation. “That’s a nice square you got there, Moony.” He hummed, nodding in approval at the wonky shape.

“It’s a bloody circle, you git.”

Sirius didn’t even try to stifle his laugh, “What are you trying to make anyway?”

“A tulip.”

“Doesn’t look like one though.”

“Thanks Pads, really. You’re such a great friend.” Remus rolled his eyes, sarcasm dripping from his tone as he repeats a certain stitch a couple of times. “Geez Moony, that’s alright now.”

“No, it’s not, the stitch looks weird and much looser than the others,” Remus complained.

Sirius raised an eyebrow, “You call that a stitch? Doesn’t look like it.”

"Yeah, the next time you'll see Poppy is because of the stitches you're gonna get because of me-"

Safe to say they both were kicked out to the common room by a very annoyed Wormtail.

It took about a week full of wonky, weirdly shaped tulips, and sleepless nights for Remus to successfully make a single red tulip.

Remus gripped the wrapped tulip tightly, the familiar feeling of nervousness eating up his system seeing you with your friend hanging out in the corner of the common room. He was pulled out of his thoughts by James showing him lightly.

“Look, now’s your chance, Moony.”

Sure enough, your friend left you on one of the couches to go Godric knows where, Remus didn’t really care that much if he’s honest. He even silently thanked your friend as his feet lead him to where you’re sitting. “Oh, Remus!” You looked up to see his tall frame, standing quickly as you could and offering him a smile. “Hi.” He grinned nervously before stretching his arm out that’s holding the crocheted Tulip to you, albeit a bit awkwardly but you on the other hand, find it endearing. “Erm… Is it for me?” You asked, chuckling nervously. “Ah, yeah! I made it, I heard you like to crochet so…” He trails off, scratching the back of his neck as blush dusted his cheeks. He saw how your eyes lit up, and your smile widening as you gently took it from his hand. “Woah…” You let out a soft gasp, examining the flower carefully. “Since when did you learn how to crochet?” “Just last week,” “Just last week?! Remus, you are gifted. I couldn’t even make something remotely similar when I was a month in crocheting.” You told him, hugging it close to your cheeks. “Thank you, Remus.” You smiled shyly, going on your tippy toes to place a kiss on his cheek before waving shyly to him and heading off to girls’ dormitory, leaving Remus who was still trying to process what just happened.

“Another one? I’ve already told you leather is much better!” Sirius threw his hands up in the air, entering their room to see Remus smiling to himself as he wore the cardigan you crocheted for him. “I wouldn’t say that if I were you, Pads.” Peter looked up from his and James’ game of exploding snap. “Why? It’s not fashionable!” “It’s made by Y/N, you wanker. Now shut your mouth before I hex you out of this room.”

[ddejavvu]

can I request reader x James but they are meeting for the first time and reader is dating one of James’ asshole friends and James gets really jealous - I love your writing so much it’s genuinely always perfect

"'Drew? Can I have the marshmallows, please?" Your sweet voice rings out across the campfire, but apparently it doesn't induce the same butterflies in your boyfriend's stomach as it does in James's.

"Yeah. Don't eat 'em all." Andrew passes you the bag without even looking, tuning back into the conversation he'd been listening in on.

Your tongue pokes out of your mouth as James watches you skewer the marshmallow, sticking it into the fire and watching the flames slowly blacken the surface.

"You like it when it's burnt?" James asks, and you almost seem surprised that he's speaking to you. Most of his friends are engaged in other conversations, and it takes you a quick second to acclimate to being included in one of your own.

"Yeah, I do." You grin bashfully, "Andrew says it's gross, though. What about you?"

"I like them burnt," James agrees, even though it's a lie. He barely gets his marshmallow warm enough to melt it, but he's not about to oppose you.

"You want this one?" You offer, but he shakes his head with a kind smile.

"S'alright, love. You have it. You want the chocolate?"

"Yes, please." You nod, and James chucks a pebble at Andrew's shoulder across the fire.

"Mate, toss me the chocolate."

"Ow! You git," Andrew snickers, launching the chocolate over the flames and watching James catch it, "Nice save."

James hands two pieces over to you as you withdraw your charred marshmallow, helping you balance them atop the surface.

"Andrew? The graham crackers," You feel bad interrupting him yet again, especially when he lets out a sharp scoff.

"Alright! Jesus, how many fucking times are you gonna interrupt me?" He snaps, the cardboard of the graham cracker box warping as he holds it too tightly.

"As many times as it takes to build a s'more." James laughs incredulously, his brows furrowed. "S'not her fault you're hoarding the food over there. Don't be a dick, man."

"There." Andrew drawls, shoving the box in your direction, "That's it, right? You don't need anything else?"

"That's it." You grumble, "Thank you."

Andrew mumbles something under his breath as he turns away. It makes James's blood boil, and he's sure he'd be even more upset if he had heard whatever Andrew had said.

There's a tense silence over you and James as you smash your chocolate-covered marshmallow between two graham crackers. Andrew's still paying rapt attention to the conversation beside him, but the words have long since stopped registering in either of your heads, and you're thinking about how awful your boyfriend is in unison.

James watches as you swallow, the action thick as marshmallow blends with chocolate down your throat. Andrew's sitting beside the stash of water bottles you'd brought, and he watches you eye them, though you don't dare ask for one.

"Here," James grabs his own, holding the half-empty bottle out towards you, "You can have the rest of it, m'not thirsty."

You meet his eye and James is pleased to see a miniscule smile curving your lips upwards, even if it is overshadowed by the dismal reason he'd offered.

"Thanks," You hum, and that saccharine tone is back in your voice where it belongs.

[xiabablog]

For Git, I don’t even use that commands that much. I let Visual Studio Code and/or GitHub Desktop to streamline everything. I’ve even forgotten some of the commands themselves now lol-

I love how git only has two functions, but people somehow manage to make this the most convoluted bullshit ever.

I am starting to remember why I hate webdev

[beefrobeefcal]

Thanks to @ace-turned-confused for the tag!

Good Wednesday to you fine folks! Today's snippet comes to you from my own private stash. This is a bit from my submission to my November Prompt Challenge: THE GLANDOLORIAN, titled Colosseum Capers.

I am not sorry nor am I ashamed at what i have done.

Yours in sin,

Beefro👌🥩💜

PS. YE BE BELOW THE AGE OF MAJORITY, SEE YER SELVES OUT ME BLOG. GO ON. GIT.

“You wanna taste her?” Dieter rasped, his mouth close enough to Din’s that he could smell your tangy musk on his breath. 

no pressure tag list except for @strang3lov3 full pressure no stop: @whocaresstillthelouvre @the-mandawhor1an @bitchesuntitled @noxturnalnymph

@morallyinept @schnarfer @secretelephanttattoo @jennaispunk @tinytinymenace

@maggiemayhemnj

[moonlight-rider25]

Don’t stop now

Jamie Fraser x reader

Warnings: 18+, mostly fluff with a bit of a angst, oral

Summary

You're a barmaid at a tavern where Jamie Fraser shows up to with his entourage. While this men drown their sorrows in the drink, Jamie prefers to drown his sorrows in other endeavors.

It's a rowdy night at the bar, you're no stranger to nights like this, in fact you look forward to the heavy handed tips the men throw your way. Men splash ale on one another, women giggle and dance with each other, or in the arms of drunken men hoping to see the underside of their skirts. A few brawls break out but are quickly broken up by the owner and his son, Charles. Two level headed business men who refuse to partake in the drink, after spending most of their life in a tavern surrounded by babbling idiots. Just a typical night, you wouldn't have it any other way.

The height of the night is upon you and a group of four men walk in, one is quite small, one quite large, one a bit older, and one a redhead. They're clearly from around here, as the older one motions to a group and the table dispurses in an instant. Though they don't seem familiar to yourself, they're obviously recognized by the townsfolk. The tall red headed man, peers over towards the bar and eyes you, he does a double take as you're pouring two cups of ale and smiles devilishly in your direction.

Your eyes dart back and forth from the cups to the curious man, as you hand the ale to the women before you, when you notice him heading your way. Wiping your hands on your dress you smile and nod to him.

“What can I git ya, Mr..”

“Fraser, James Fraser.”

He extends his hand out and you shake it with a smile.

“What can I git ya, Mr.Faser?” You ask again.

“If you'd be so kind, a pale of your finest brew, for my lads.” He asks smiling.

“Of course,” you nod politely. “Four glasses?” You ask.

“Ah, pretty and astute.” He says.

“Pardon?” You say with a grin.

You load up a tray with cups and a pale of ale before him.

“It warms me to know my lands are not completely barren of bonny lasses like yeslef.” He winks, leaning against the bar.

“My lord!” You clatter the cups upon the tray, attempting to bow before the lord from behind the bar.

“Ay, no need to stand on ceremony for me, I am but a simple man, honored to be in the company of a beautiful woman…. It should be me who is bowing.”

He steps back and takes a slight bow before you. You feel your cheeks redden as a giggle erupts from within you as you clasp your hand over your chest.

“You're too kind, my lord. Please, enjoy the night and the spirits, on the house.” You reply gleefully.

“I appreciate it lass, although it will only be my men enjoying the drink tonight.”

You shoot him a puzzled look.

“While I appreciate your generosity, it is only the purest Scottish whisky I partake in these days.”

He winks devilishly at you before taking the tray in his hand and heading back over to the table with his men.

You wrack your brain thinking of where Charles and his father kept the good liquor. Normally the townsfolk couldn't dream of being able to afford a cup of pure Scottish whisky, nevermind get drunk off it. Thus, the owners kept a small stash of it in the back for occasions just as these.

You rush to the back of the alehouse and scan the dusty shelves lined with barrels of drink, mostly quickly brewed ale, what most of the townsfolk can afford. Peering in the darkened room, you spy two small glass bottles on the highest shelf. Peering around the room you spy a crate and hold your skirts up as you reach for the bottles. The crate beneath your foot lets out a large crack and you gasp gripping the dingy shelf tighter. It holds strong, as you retrieve the bottle and nestle it into the folds of your skirts while walking back out to the bar.

The lights and sounds hit you as you step from the darkness; the lord's eyes catching you and you smile. Peering around the room, you attempt to make your way back to the bar. You grab a whisky glass, dust it off and dry it before uncorking the bottle of whisky, its aroma fills your nose with delightful notes of amber and woods. You fill a glass and quickly slip the bottle away under the bar away from the patrons view. Placing the glass upon a tray amongst some other cups of ale, you make your way over to Lord Frasers table.

His men are loud in conversation and do little to acknowledge your presence. Lord Fraser grins wildly at you, and you return the smile as you place the glass of whisky in front of him. He peers down at the glass, doing another double take as his thick head of red locks tousle. You quickly disappear into the crowd before saying a word.

Behind the bar, Charles bustles about tending to patrons.

“Where have you been!?” He demands.

“I'm sorry, Charles, Lord Fraser and his men are seated over there and I thought it well to deliver a gift to his table.”

Charles slams the empty ale cups on the bar and peers around the bar.

“Ay, Lord Fraser you say?” He asks.

“Yes, he…he's right over there.” You say pointing in his direction.

The red headed lord looks over his shoulder seeing you point towards him and gives a faint wave. You smile and settle back on your feet, Charles sneering at your interaction with the lord.

“Ay, must go pay my respects I suppose.”

Charles bounds from behind The bar and barges his way through the crowded tavern. You pour drinks for the men in front of you, their eyes barely open with intoxication.

Charles approaches the lord and slaps him firmly on the shoulder. Lord Fraser stands and shakes Charles’ hand. Their conversation is unheard, but the Lord points toward you and smiles. He shows his whisky glass to Charles and you drop your gaze as you pour more ale cups for the customers approaching the bar.

Moments later Charles reappears behind the bar.

“Offering whiskey to the Lord was a good move, …he says he'll recommend the tavern to all who ask!”

You smile coyly as you wipe the clean glass in your hand.

“Ay, hurry and put that bottle back before a drunk sees it, and a brawl breaks out over it though, eh?”

You nod and secretly snatch the bottle of whiskey from under the bar, hiding it again in the folds of your skirts and hurry back down the darkened hallway towards the back of the alehouse.

You rush as you hear the roar of men and know you should hurry to return to the bar. In the darkened room you reach up, stepping to reach the highest shelf, when your full weight settels on the crate, a loud creak sounds from under your foot. You freeze, instantly remembering the uncertainty of the crate from earlier. The bottle is almost on the shelf as you carefully reach just a bit higher.

‘CRAAACK’

But its too late and you feel the crate give way. You shield your face with your arms as you prepare for the hard ground below you. You hear the smash of the whisky bottle but feel the padded landing of nothing compared to a hard floor. It takes you only a moment to realize you haven't hit the ground at all, but have fallen into the arms of… you peer up spying his vibrant blue eyes and shaggy red hair. Even in the dark, his features are flawless.

“My lord!” You gasp.

He eases you down on the ground and you stand close to him between the narrow shelves.

“Ay, are you alright lass?” He asks in a low gruff tone with a smirk.

“...I…Yes, thank you.. my Lord..” you say breathless, taken aback.

His hand reaches up and brushes your stray hairs from your face, gently tucking them behind your ear. Your breath catches in your throat at his touch. He's standing so close to you, holding your face in his hands.

“...My Lord..” you manage to squeeze out of your tight chest.

He brushes a finger over your lips.

“Shhh… Jamie, please call me Jamie.” He says with a smile.

You exhale quickly, your pulse quickens and your mind races, trying to comprehend what is happening.

“Tell me lass, would you do me the honors of allowing me…to…I would very much like to..to kiss you?”

You swallow hard, your core burning hearing his words. Your breath quickens yet again as you gasp slightly.

He searches for an answer in your eyes, cradling your face in his hands, his face slowly turns to terror.

“I'm…I'm so sorry lass, this was…”

“Yes!” You force yourself to speak quickly.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him towards you. Slowly, he brushes his lips against yours. Gently caressing your jaw, he draws your face up towards his. Then harder he presses, his tongue gently grazing your mouth. He takes his time exploring your plump wet lips; softly grazing his teeth against them. Finally, he cocks his head, and his mouth devours yours. You moan into him, his hands gently gripping your neck lapping at your tongue.Your hands slide up under his coats and he quickly sheds them. His blunt finger tips trail down your neck, over your chest and pluck at the ties of your dress. He prys them from each intricate hole, as his mouth devours yours.

With the last lace your dress, your breast's spring free and he holds you firmly by the waist as he takes in full view of them before him. Your hips grind against his as you both stand gasping, wide eyed. His hand reaches to palm your breast, but pauses;

“…Would it be alright…; his hand shaking as he speaks. “..For me to touch you?..”

Your own hands creep along his large muscular torso, up to his collar where you carefully unbutton his shirt. Staring at his broad sculpted chest, you trail your fingers down his pecs, your fingers tracing the indents in his abs.

“…You may touch me…anywhere you please.” You reply shakily.

His rough hands squeeze your breasts, you take a sharp inhale. His fingers press into your soft sensitive skin, gently rubbing your nipples between his fingers as you moan.

His stomach covered with a thin layer of sweat as his chest huffs up and down, admiring you. You release him from your touch and reach behind your back to loosen the straps of your corset. It drops to the ground at your feet and the front of your blouse falls, exposing your skin to the cool damp air. His hands grip your hips, softly at first, then diggin his fingertips harder in your skin. He reaches down and lifts you by your ass up against the wall, pinning you as he buries his face within your breasts.

He kisses them softly, trailing his mouth down your stomach and back up, taking your nipples in his mouth and sucking eagerly at them. You gasp with pleasure, running your fingers through his thick head of hair. He grunts against your soft skin, his stubble rubbing you raw as he’s lapping, and sucking, and kissing the soft supple tits in his face.

You moan against him, panting breathlessly, before exploding with a sudden shout of pleasure. His teeth sink into the sensitive skin around your nipple, he pulls his head back taking it in his mouth again and sucks hard. It ignites a new sensation in your core, aching against him.

Suddenly, the door flings open, light rushing in shining perfectly upon the two of you, you gasp. Prying your faces from one another, he cranes his head and does his best to shelter you from the light peeking in.

“What in the bloody hell, is going on in here!?” Booms Charles voice.

Charles spies Jamie's piercing blue eyes staring back at him, seething with lust and anger..

“…My Lord, forgive me…” Charles stutters.

“Aye, close the door, this lass deserves proper privacy!” Jamie bellows back.

The door shuts abruptly and Jamie drops you to the ground gently.

“My..sincere apologies, lass..” he says breathlessly.

He kisses you hungrily again and you pull him against you, savoring his taste; the warmth of whisky, amber and wood, with the heat of lust and hunger. With his hands firmly on your waist, he prays himself from you and stares down longingly in your eyes.

“We…should probably get out of here..” he says in a huff.

“Jamie, no!” You plead, urgently. “You can’t, please!…don’t stop now!” You beg, pushing against him.

He grunts with your forcefulness, pinned between you and the wall, you stare up at him pleading with your eyes to him. He shoots you an apologetic look, eyeing the door.

“…Lass…” he says, stroking your hair softly.

You stand against one another still panting.

“Jamie!” You moan against his damp skin.

You pepper kisses across his chest, you are not about to let him leave, not now! Quickly, you decide to do something that would force him to stay. Something he couldn’t refuse to deny, nor could any man.

You peer down at his stomach, quivering a bit, eagerly undoing his belt and the front of his trousers. You pry them open, carefully grabbing his cock in your hand and pull it out from the layers of fabric. He groans at your touch, and you kneel down in front of him.

His cock; slowly growing stiffer and longer, in the grasp of your small warm hand. You feel the wetness slick and hot between your legs. Peering up with hunger in your eyes, you lick your lips and gently press his warm tip to your lips. You shoot your tongue out, wrapping his head in your warm mouth and peer back up at him.

“Shall we leave?…” You ask in a hushed voice.

“Christ lass, don’t stop now!” He cries, tilting his head back.

You wrap your wet lips around his pushing tip, swirling your tongue around him with a gentle tug. Your hand stroking him as you wetten his shaft with your mouth inch by inch. You have him right where you want him.

“…Don’t stop now!” He says again in a breathless moan. “ Christ, don’t ever stop!”

[irradiate-space]

On Buffers

You know the itch you get in your fingers when you've got something on your clipboard that you haven't pasted yet?

Right now I have:

a branch name copied to the main clipboard

a large diff stashed in git stash

a QR code scanned from my browser onto my phone, waiting something to happen

a URL copied into the main clipboard on the other computer

and a literal sticky note about to be pasted into my journal

[spreadyovrwings]

64 Oslo Square

"Companion' Middle English. From Old French ‘compaignon', literally 'one who breaks bread with another.

Strapped for cash, John gets a job at a bakery as their new delivery boy. Juggling school and Queen and work is exhausting, but it's more than worth it. It's worth it because of you.

Warnings for this chapter: self… induced… smut…. and some more flirting

//

Chapter Eight

John leaned his weary body up against the door to his room after it clicked shut behind him. His digs had never felt more empty, more dark or unwelcoming.

The last of the day’s light was still filtering in through his tiny, square window, alighting on the scratchy old carpet and highlighting a pile of textbooks he’d forgotten to put away the night before.

With a sigh, John flung his bags down on the floor, then carefully propped up his bass in the corner of the room. He let his fingertips drag along the spine of its leather case, a sort of thank you for helping him play so well tonight. It had become a ritual, though John would rather die than admit that, to himself or to anyone else.

His stomach growled, a dog pawing at the back door, waiting impatiently to be let in. John thought about making some dinner but it was late, he didn’t want to disturb the others as he crashed around in the kitchen. A cup of tea could have been a reasonable substitute, but the process (another usually calming, nostalgic ritual) seemed exhausting and tedious. He just wanted to sleep.

Luckily, John had a good amount of leftover food from the bakery stashed away. He grabbed a couple of the white boxes from his shelf and dragged open their satiny scarlet ribbons. You’d saved him again.

Chewing gratefully on a flaky croissant, John flopped down on his bed and closed his eyes. He was so tired, they stung at first and he had to blink a couple of times so push away the pain.

He polished off the croissant, flicking his fingers over the side of the bed to get rid of any remaining pastry crumbs. He already felt a little better.

John drew in a long breath then slowly released it again, until all the muscles in his body had finally unwound and he had sunk further into the mattress.

“You sure you won’t come in? The sofa’s got your name on it. Or, you know…”

John opened his eyes and stared blankly up at his low, beige ceiling.

How could he have been so stupid. You had stood on your doorstep, asking him, plain as day, if he wanted to stay the night, and just when it mattered most, he’d chickened out.

“You were such a good boy for me.”

John groaned. What a moron. He turned and pressed his face into the pillow. Maybe if he pushed hard enough, he’d get lucky and suffocate.

He could still feel your soft skin against his palm. John found himself curling his hand around the ghost of your cheek, his eyes closing as he pictured you gazing up at him, smiling, always smiling.

“They need you, New Boy.”

“Don’t you need me?”

“I want you, that’s different.”

You got all shy after you said that. John didn’t think he’d ever seen you look so bashful. You wanted him. He knew it. And, God, he wanted you too.

It was late. He had an exam in the morning. He was still hungry and dehydrated after the show. He’d said ‘no’ to you like an idiot. He really shouldn’t do anything but sleep.

John unbuckled his belt with one hand.

He closed his eyes and pictured you laying beside him, the what-would-have-been if he hadn’t been such a colossal git. With a soft, relieved groan, he forced his hand down the front of his trousers, just as the you he’d conjured in his head kissed him hard enough to bruise.

/

Not too far away, you were also staring at the ceiling. Try as you might, you couldn’t sleep. You’d eaten late, you’d stayed up too long, you had a million things to worry about - you’d almost managed to convince yourself these were the reasons you couldn’t drop off. Almost.

With a sigh, you turned over onto your side.

You could still feel John’s big hands in yours. You loved those hands. Skilled in electronics and an expert at the bass. He’d probably play with you just as well, if not better.

You sighed dolefully.

Maybe if you’d been more insistent, if you’d asked again and maybe been more obvious about what you wanted, John would’ve followed you home and you wouldn’t be lying here, alone, pressing your thighs together and trying to ignore the ache between them.

You stared at the wall. You stared and stared and stared, willing sleep to claim you. Behind your closed eyes, images of John on stage awaited you, daring you to do something about how delicious he looked that night.

“Oh, fuck it.”

You stuck two fingers in your mouth and swirled your tongue around them, the way you’d been picturing John doing ever since his trick with the ring. His lovely, funny mouth. You’d give anything to have it between your legs right now.

Whispering softly to yourself, you closed your eyes and imagined how it might’ve started, what you might’ve done if you’d been brave enough to entice him in properly, and all the while you gently coaxed at your swollen clit

You’d have to sit in his lap again. You’d simply die if you didn't get the chance to do that again soon. John had felt so small beneath you but so warm and sturdy too. You could wrap his hair around your fingers as you lazily kissed him, whispering sweetly against his lips as he gasped and rocked his hips against yours.

So close to each other, you seemed to be sharing one breath, you imagined yourself breaking away to mouth down his neck, sinking your teeth in here, sucking a dark mark there, until John was whining and struggling to sit still.

/

His face burning, John pictured you under him, your arms wrapped around his middle, your lovely hands pressing into his back and keeping him close as you moaned into his mouth. He wanted to make you feel so good, just wanted to make you see how much he cared about you with his lips, his hands, his teeth and his tongue.

But it didn’t seem right. His very limited experience (and magazines he would rather die than you ever find out he read) were a guide, but those girls weren’t you. For some reason, John knew this wasn’t how it would go and something in the back of his head was telling him to flip the situation.

You, with your champagne smile and daggerish words. You weren’t going to let anyone push you around, especially not him, especially not when it came to sex. You’d back him up against the wall and push your knee between his thighs, your hands on his hips, squeezing tight as you whispered awful, naughty things against his lips that made his knees buckle.

John wriggled out of his trousers and pants, so desperate he didn’t even bother pushing them both all the way down. He raised his hand to his face, dragged his tongue across his palm, and immediately wrapped his hand around his cock again, squeezing and tugging desperately as he imagined you pushing him flat on his back and smiling down at him.

He moved his free hand so that it rested up by his head, just where he knew you’d place it, and tried to imagine your fingers wrapped tight around his wrist, your nails just beginning to sink into his skin.

“Fuck…” John hissed between his teeth, his eyes squeezing shut.

/

“Fuck- John…”

Your face flushed. You hadn’t meant for his name to slip out. But God, it felt good. It felt right. It felt perfect.

You drew your knee up then let it flop to the side, giving you better access, and all the while you thought about John’s lovely hands pushing your thighs apart so that he could bury his face between them.

“God, you’re so good, you’re so good…” you muttered to yourself, finding your own praises and moans turned you on even more as you rubbed at your clit.

Pictures flooded through your head. You couldn't settle on just one for very long. John’s tongue pressing inside you, his pretty mouth falling open as you slipped your hand around his throat and squeezed gently, the look in those clever grey eyes as he rocked his hips into yours. It was all so much, too much, and even though you felt a flash of guilt for thinking about John like that, it was soon drowned out by the soft little moans and grunts you knew he’d make as you sank down onto him and rode him within an inch of his life.

/

Sweat beaded John’s forehead as he twisted his wrist in just the right way, thumbing at the slit of his cock just to tease himself. His bottom lip clamped between his teeth, he fucked his hand, his eyes squeezing shut as warmth began to pool in the pit of his stomach.

It had been so long since he’d been able to get himself off. The stress of uni, coming home exhausted after gigs, never having much time on his own, it meant it had been weeks since he’d been able to touch himself like this. And now he had a million ideas he’d never allowed himself to entertain before, ideas about you.

Your knees pressing into his sides as you straddled him, the way you’d moan softly as you looked down at him, approving, studying him like you did your recipes, your lovely eyes switching back and forth across his face, his chest, his stomach - now much softer than when he started - and down and down and down.

John groaned, letting his wrist go limp as his hand slipped up and down his cock. He kept trying not to let his hips leave the bed, but it was too much, soon his back was arching like the girls in his magazines.

“Come on, sweet boy…” Your voice, so real he could almost believe you were murmuring by his ear, was soft and sweet and oh so in control. “Are you gonna cum for me, honey? Gonna cum just from being inside me at last?”

John bit his lip harder, trying not to make a sound, but the growing pressure pooling below his navel made it almost impossible. The hand he’d laid by his head made its way into his tangled hair, still damp with sweat from the gig. John wrapped his curls around his fingers and tugged, hard, a move that made him let out an embarrassingly reedy groan.

“That’s it, good boy. Good boy… You look so perfect like this, Johnny. Could cum just from watching you touch yourself. Come on, pretty boy, let me hear you…”

/

You were so wet, you could hear your fingers as they worked. It made your cheeks prickle. You couldn’t remember the last time someone had made you feel like this, so desperate and single-minded.

All you could think about was John, how he’d look beneath you, how he’d whine and gasp as you rode him, his hands up above his head, his pretty chest rising and falling raggedly as he tried to catch his breath, his whole body covered in a sheen of sweat.

You knew he’d let you do anything you wanted. You knew he’d beg you to touch him, to look at him, to take him to places he didn’t think were possible, and wouldn’t stop until you were finished with him. Such a smart, enthusiastic boy.

You could picture him sitting up against the headboard, his face pressed between your breasts as you rocked your hips, his hands gripping your hips, your arse, as he mouthed at your flushed skin, leaving trails of kisses and bites and saliva in his wake.

/

He’d turn up at rehearsals the next day, covered from head to toe in love bites and bite marks, a map of your lips, and he’d wear them all with pride.

John huffed sharply through his nose, his eyes rolling back as he fucked his hand.

Come on, come on, come on, so close, so close, so close…

He pulled at his hair again, just as something began to tighten in his lower belly, and John’s back arched off the bed again, his eyes rolling shut as he whispered to himself.

“Please, please, please… Fuck- Ah!”

He came moaning your name, his mouth hanging open as pleasure rolled through his body. He bent double, folded like a deckchair, the hardest he’d ever cum in his life. John’s hips jerked out of rhythm but he didn’t stop moving his hand, because he knew you wouldn’t. He didn’t stop until it started to ache.

John let his body flop back onto the bed, completely spent. He’d never made that much noise before. He just prayed his neighbours hadn’t heard him.

/

Across the city, your fingers were starting to cramp but, determined, you kept your pace.

Always so obedient. Always so eager to do well. And not for just anyone, for you. Oh, you’d seen the way John preened every time you paid him the littlest compliment, how he beamed with pride whenever you were sweet to him and how eager he seemed to reassure you that you could do anything you wanted to him.

“You’re in charge, Captain.”

Maybe you could learn to like the nickname.

And maybe it wouldn’t take much convincing to get John to let you have him, his lovely hair strewn across the pillow, his back back arching off the bed as you slipped inside him. God, how he’d bounce and roll his hips, his moans rising higher and higher as he begged you to fuck him harder.

“Fu- Johnnn…”

The band across your belly snapped, and you came moaning the delivery boy’s name.

Exhausted, you let your body sink into the bed. Already, you could feel sleep beginning to overwhelm you. You just about had the wherewithal to pull your hand from the front of your pants before you turned over and fell right asleep, your body still pulsing and your mind still buzzing with the thought of John’s whines of pleasure, and the way his hands had felt in yours as he walked you home.

/

The next morning, you danced around the bakery’s shop floor, wiggling your hips and kicking up your heels as you tugged tables and their accompanying chairs into place. It did occur to you why you might’ve been in such a good mood but you chose to ignore that.

Cold, morning sunshine flooded in as you placed some of the goods you’d baked that morning in the window, then the rest behind the display counter. All the while, you sang along with the radio, waggling your head to T-Rex and smiling to yourself.

The world seemed at ease, just for a moment.

“Well, she ain't no witch and I love the way she twitch, uh-huh. I'm her two-penny prince and I give her hot love, uh-huh…”

A sharp knock at the door made you look up. It was about quarter past five, the bakery wouldn’t be open for more than an hour, so you immediately went into defensive mode. Thankfully, you recognised the face pressed up against the glass.

“Roger?”

You opened the door.

John’s drummer almost fell into the shop but he caught himself well.

“Alright, Bakery Girl?”

Roger grinned, wide and youthful, and clearly unaffected by the early hour. He was bundled up in a warm jacket, his shoulders drawn right up to his ears as he glanced over your shoulder into the dark, empty bakery.

You had to smile. This boy was even easier to read than John.

“I’m good, I’m good, yeah. It’s a nice mornin’, innit?” You nodded over your shoulder. “D’you wanna cuppa to take to work with you?”

Roger accepted your offer so eagerly, he almost tripped over his own feet getting through the door.

“You’re in a good mood,” he said, perching on one of the tables you’d set out.

You realised you were still humming to yourself. Try as you might, you couldn’t force down your smile.

“Just- You know.” You shrugged, trying not to look too sheepish. “How’s the market?”

“It’s fun! Hard but… We’re surviving. Barely make enough money to eat but it’s a good laugh.”

He spoke with such brevity, the soft corners of his pretty mouth tugged back into a toothy smile. Still, his words struck you. Roger and Freddie seemed so happy, so at ease in themselves, that you’d hardly believe they were struggling. You made a conscious decision to add them to your list of scrawny, ridiculous boys who needed looking after.

“Well, that’s all that matters, I s’pose,” you said, forcing a smile.

If Roger noticed your worry, he didn’t show it. He was too busy eyeing up the cakes and pastries behind the glass display case.

“Fred’s got this mate in Chiswick says he’s got a ton of swimwear and things for us. It’ll be summer soon, people’ll want stuff like that. Then maybe we can rent a bigger patch in the market. Maybe start selling LPs as well.”

“That’s the dream then, eh?”

“Oh, no,” Roger raised his head, his pretty eyes wide and soft in the low light. “No, the dream is… Walking out of EMI with a contract and my best mates… The whole world and our whole lives out in front of us. That’s the dream. Me and my mates, working together and seeing the world. I want to make things, you know? Be useful. Help people. Help someone.”

He couldn’t know it, but Roger had single-handedly unwound all your worries about your future with John. The way he spoke about it, it seemed so easy, like he was talking about any other job, and the warmth in his voice… Roger really believed it would happen for them. They were going to make it. Maybe you didn’t have to focus your energy on a plan you’d devised years ago. Maybe you could afford to have the same faith Roger did.

“Well,” you said, smiling too now. “When you put it like that.”

Roger sighed with an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders.

“It’s just a dream, Bakery Girl. But that’s all I’ve got.”

“What about John? What’s his dream?”

“Something a lot more pedestrian, I think.” Roger raised his eyebrows. “You probably factor in somewhere.”

Face burning, you turned away to make his tea.

“Shu’ up.”

“Ahh, you know I’m right. I reckon he still thinks he’s gonna end up working in some lab or drawing up blueprints, or somethin’. We’re working on an album, you know. But I think he still thinks it’s just a laugh.”

“But it’s not?”

Roger smiled but his bright eyes, blue as the sea he grew up by, were serious and certain.

“No.”

You twisted your mouth.

“Rockstar or genius scientist.”

“I know. Leave some for the rest of us.”

You both took a moment to marvel at John’s seemingly unlimited potential. Then Roger smiled.

“Has he asked you out yet? I’ve been coaching him. Trying to make him act for once in his bloody life. Grab the bull by the horns.” He waved a hand. “So to speak.”

It proved too difficult to hide your smile, so you gave up trying. Instead, you passed him two steaming paper cups and warned him that they were still too hot to drink from just yet.

While the tea steeped, you set about putting together his breakfast.

“I dunno,” you shrugged. “I could ask him out.”

“Oh, I’d love to watch that.” Roger laughed and shook his head. “He’s great, isn’t he. I really like him. Most people just…”

He made an ineffectual sound and waved his hand again. It seemed Roger too had had his fair share of people letting him down, sadly just by being fundamentally people.

You followed his hand as it came to rest by his thigh again. His fingertips were bandaged. John’s fingers had felt a little coarse the few rare, wonderful times he’d brushed them against your skin. These boys wounded themselves, altered themselves for what they loved. You thought of your own scarred, roughened hands. There was a kinship there you never could have imagined.

“But John’s great. Always there when you need him. Brian bores me half to death most of the time but John’s clever in a nice way. You don’t feel like you’re being quizzed ‘n’ tested when you’re with him. You’re just… With him.”

Roger had the faraway look of someone realising just how lucky he was. You knew he wasn’t just talking up his friend, he really believed every word. You’d never seen someone so proud or so fond of his friends.

“Anyway, he’s a pain in my arse too, don’t get me wrong. But he’s great.”

Beaming, you passed Roger a bag filled with pastries, and a carrier for his and Freddie’s morning cuppas.

“I think so too.”

/

“New Boy!”

The shout was so sudden, John almost fell off his bike. He gripped the handles tight, wobbling dangerously as he stuck out his heels and dragged himself to a slow and graceless stop.

It was late in the afternoon. John had just finished his last round of deliveries and was looking forward to spending the rest of his day with you, helping out in the kitchen, and trying not to think about kissing you - the usual day to day.

You were standing in the bakery’s doorway, smiling so broadly, orbiting astronauts could probably see it. You were keeping the door propped open with one hand, the other was outstretched towards him.

“Mickey’s ‘ere! And he brought the baby!”

Before he knew it, John had been ushered inside. Your lovely hands switched dizzyingly between his hips and the small of his back as you guided him to the kitchen, where Mickey was waiting with a tiny bundle of pink cloth gathered up in his enormous arms.

“Oh, Mick…” John couldn’t help beaming as he leaned in to take a closer look. “She’s lovely.”

There had been photos posted up by the phone for weeks now, of little Dot just a few hours old, waving one tiny hand at the camera. You’d put up a few more recent pictures of Mickey and his family just the other day, all of the Caines squashed together to fit in frame. Nothing compared to seeing something so small and beautiful in person for the first time.

“She’s a righ’ terror,” Mickey beamed down at his little girl. “Drives her mother insane. An’ her old dad. Reckon she’s gonna be singer with the way she goes on. Maybe she could front your band one day, Johnny Boy.”

“She’d give Freddie a run for his money, I bet.”

John held out one finger and brushed it delicately across the back of one of Dot’s tiny fists.

“So, who does she look like more, d’you reckon? You or Rita?” he asked.

You snorted.

“You’re ‘avin a laugh. She’s perfect. She’s all Rita.”

“Ahhh, she’s got my charm. And my devilish good looks.”

Mickey finally tore his gaze away from his little girl to smile at John.

“Do you wanna hold her?”

“Me? Are you sure? I’ve never really…”

“Don’t be daft. C’mon, you’re part of the family now.”

With careful instructions on how to position his arms, Mickey gently passed Dot over, settling her against John’s chest.

The baby made a soft sound of disapproval, she never liked being far from her father’s warm, broad chest, but she soon settled. Her eyes closed, Dot sighed softly and went right back to sleep.

“There. You see?” Mickey patted John’s shoulder with a hand the size of a bear’s paw. “You’re a natural, mate. Won’t be long till you’ve got a few of your own.”

It took all John’s strength not to glance at you.

“She’s amazing, Mickey.”

John smiled as he ever so gently began to sway from side to side, trying to remember how his parents had soothed his little sister when she was just a baby.

He only looked up when he felt your hand on his arm. You were looking down at Dot, smiling gently, but your warm touch, the way your fingers pressed into him, that was a secret, just for the two of you.

“She’s so perfect. Shame you didn’t name her after me but…” You grinned. “Hang on, I have to take a photo. Stay right there, don’t move.”

John watched you go. He didn’t tear his gaze away until the door up to your flat had clicked shut behind you.

It was strange, but he already missed you. Just being near you set his whole body at ease. He could think clearer, his heart kept a regular pace, at least, until you smiled at him, or touched him, or looked in his general direction. When you were gone, it all came rushing back, like the pressure in the room had changed. He’d never needed to be near someone before.

John caught Mickey smiling at him and turned his attention back to the baby in his arms, hoping he didn’t look as he felt, like a love struck idiot who couldn’t concentrate whenever you weren’t around, let alone when you were.

“So,” Mickey was grinning now, much to John’s chagrin. “How’s things with you and the Captain?”

“They’re good.” John kept his eyes down, hoping in vain that it would obscure how red his face was getting. “We’ve been seeing quite a lot of each other but… No official date yet.”

“So you’re not goin’ together?”

John grimaced.

“I haven’t really asked her properly. It’s my fault,” he said sheepishly.

Dot began to fuss in John’s arms. She raised one of her little fists in the air, as if she too disapproved of his cowardliness.

Mickey reached over. John thought he might want to take his little girl back but he just brushed one finger across her clenched fist and whispered to her sweetly. Dot settled again, a look of contentment on her angelic face.

“She’s like her dad. Never ‘appy unless she’s complainin’.” Mickey smiled fondly. “So what’s keeping you? Last time I saw you, seemed like things were movin’ along a bit.”

“They were. They have.”

John thought about the night before, how soft and open your eyes had been as you gazed up at him. He had held your face, your hands, practically admitted everything he felt for you, and you’d smiled and said you wanted him too. God, why hadn’t he kissed you?

Because, John thought, because he was afraid. Even after everything you’d said, everything you’d done together, he was terrified that you didn’t actually care about him, and this was all a roll of the dice that would end with him losing the first place he’d felt safe in years, and a second family he didn’t want to ever say goodbye to. And he could lose you too. The thought made him sick to his stomach.

“What if she doesn’t like me?” John said quietly. “Not like that?”

Mickey shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“She does.”

John huffed.

“She thinks I’m useless.”

“No, she doesn’t.”

“She thinks I’m quiet and funny-looking-”

“She thinks the world of you, you muppet-”

“And too skinny.”

“She loves you!”

The words hung in the air, like dust after a building collapses, crawling and curling their way through the kitchen, until they had filled John’s eyes, his lungs, his mind.

He blinked, heart sore, begging Mickey not to make fun of him with just a look. But Mickey nodded earnestly as he tucked Dot’s blanket under her back, as if promising her, or perhaps on her, that he would never joke about something so serious.

“She adores you, mate,” he said, just before the door opened again and you came bounding through, camera in hand.

“Okay, hold still. Say cheese!”

John tried his best to lower his head so that he and Dot would be in frame together without disturbing her. He felt Mickey wrap an arm around his shoulders and realised he was smiling without having to be told.

The camera clicked, flashed, then whirred as it spat out the polaroid.

“That’s one for the album,” you said as you stared at the photo, waiting for it to develop. “Shame Glad isn’t here. Where is she?”

Mickey scoffed.

“She ‘avin’ lunch with his nibs.”

“Well then,” You placed your free hand on your hip. “I’d say that’s lunch then, boys.”

You didn’t flip back the sign on the door. John tried not to look too surprised, but he didn’t think he’d ever seen you pass off an opportunity to keep the bakery open. Money was tight, this place was your whole world, you had a lot invested in 64 Oslo Square.

Perhaps you’d simply grown tired of working yourself to exhaustion when Gladys couldn’t even be bothered to show up. Perhaps it didn’t feel right to work when there was such an important visitor. John didn’t care what had driven this decision. He was just pleased to see you take some time for yourself. You’d more than earned an afternoon in the sun with your family.

/

You took John’s hand and led him across the road to the chippy, where you handed over loaves of bread, sweet pastries, and cups of tea in return for three bags of chips, cod for Mickey and a battered sausage for you and John. Michael’s Fish Bar had been kicking about for almost as long as the bakery; this bartering system had existed for far longer than you’d worked at 64 Oslo Square.

After dishing everything out, you pressed a plate into John’s hands and led him out through the kitchen doorway to the alley. You sat down together, side by side on the top step, your knees touching, and happily tucked into salty, hot chips that burnt the tongue and soothed the soul.

“So what’re you reading at the moment?” John asked, after a few minutes of comfortable silence had passed.

Beside you, Dot gurgled in her pram. You hadn’t had much experience around children, especially babies as tiny as her, but you knew enough to gingerly push the buggy’s back wheel with the toe of your shoe, gently rocking her back into her dreams.

“Oh, nothing at the moment. Been too busy,” you said through a mouthful of chips. “You got any recommendations?”

“Uni is so intense right now, all my suggestions would be written by Seymour Hammond.”

“Right,” you said, bewildered. “No, yeah. He’s fab.”

John picked up another chip and stared at it. He was chewing on his bottom lip, tugging the skin between his incisors as he thought.

You watched, mesmerised.

“You know, when I first moved here, I hated London. The smell, the crowds…”

“The price of fish and chips.”

That made John smile. He stopped worrying his lip and finally popped the chip into his mouth.

“But when I’m here, I see it.”

“See what?”

“Home, I suppose. This place feels like home. Or it’s starting to, at least. Does that make sense?”

In the ocean of your heart, something was stirring. Towering waves of fondness, warmth, and something you were beginning to seriously suspect might be love, rose up, crested, then broke, washing over your heart again and again, gently but firmly, undeniably.

“I think you’re a bit mental but… Yeah, it makes sense.”

You glanced over your shoulder. Mickey was on the phone to his wife, letting her know he’d be home soon and asking if she needed him to pick up anything on his way. You and John were alone.

You shrugged.

“Maybe it’s Gladys’ tea.”

John snorted.

“Or the free food.”

“Or the good company.”

“You do tend to make things a bit brighter, I’ve found.”

John looked at you, really looked at you. Gone were the days when he could hardly hold your gaze. Long gone. He had the most beautiful eyes you’d ever seen.

“I don’t fancy your drummer,” you said, cheeks beginning to burn at how abrupt you’d sounded.

John’s eyebrows pulled together, his nose wrinkling.

“I didn’t-”

“I know you think I do. He’s nice but he’s not my type.”

John didn’t look convinced but he was still smiling.

“I thought you liked pretty boys.”

“I do.” Heart pounding, you turned your body towards his. “Pretty boys with pretty hair and lovely eyes, cute noses and a funny mouth.”

“My mouth isn’t funny.”

“Then why are you smiling?” You grinned. “Very presumptuous of you, by the way, John.”

Pink dusted his cheeks. It was such a lovely sight, you could barely resist brushing your fingertips along the path laid out for you, across his cheek, down his neck, to his chest and beyond.

Then he moved, turning his body in towards yours, so now your knees were pressed against his upper leg. John was so tense, you could practically feel the muscles in his thigh jump at your touch.

He lowered his head, as if to whisper in your ear, but his eyes never left yours.

“Call it a theory,” John said. “One I’ve been mulling over for a while.”

You watched, hardly daring to breathe, as he leaned in closer. Your fingers itched to wrap around the collar of his shirt and pull him in, but the thought of moving right now seemed impossible.

“And have you managed to mull up a hypothesis?”

“Oh, definitely,” John’s eyes dropped to your mouth. “Trust me, I’ve had lots of thoughts about you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I’m having one right now, actually.”

You wanted to respond with something clever. You wanted to take the next step in this dance you’d fallen into. You wanted to see if you could make John’s ears go as red as his cheeks. But you couldn’t think of anything to say. You couldn’t think at all.

You felt your hand move without your say so. It slipped over his knee and found a home on John’s thigh, keeping him close, keeping yourself grounded.

He was looking at you so intently, you could hardly breathe. Sunbeams filtered into the alley, light particles that had travelled hundreds of thousands of miles, just to get tangled in John’s lovely hair. The shadow cast by his aquiline nose, the tiny smile at the corner of his brilliant mouth, the softness of his gaze. How could you resist?

“John…”

Your heart was aching in your chest, pressing against your ribs, pushing you forward towards him. You had to draw in a breath to try and ease the pressure in your chest, but it shuddered through, and there was no way John couldn’t have noticed.

He smiled, sweet and reassuring, as he bent his head, murmuring your name under his breath.

Footsteps behind you made you straighten up. You hadn’t even noticed that you’d closed your eyes.

“‘Scuse me, lovebirds,” Mickey barged between you carrying two enormous black rubbish bags. “Bin man comes at seven.”

You weren’t violent by nature, but suddenly the idea of knocking Mickey’s lights out and shoving him into a dustbin seemed like a perfectly reasonable idea.

John looked about as mortified as you felt. But he was still enticingly close. He hadn't moved away.

You were still squeezing his thigh. Part of your brain screamed at you to take your hand back, to apologise and pretend like it had never happened. But there was another voice, braver, softer, that told you it was alright, to just trust yourself, to trust John, and to never, ever let him go.

“John, I-”

The bakery door opened. You turned your head in the direction of the sound, frowning quizzically. That was odd, you thought, you’d definitely locked it.

Then you heard Gladys’ voice. She was calling out for you. Something twisted in your chest, though you couldn’t be sure why.

Squeezing John’s thigh reassuringly, you gave him a quick smile.

“Don’t move,” you said firmly, then scrambled to your feet before he could say any more.

You didn’t look back as you hurried through the kitchen. If you did, you feared you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from grabbing his face and having another go at kissing him senseless.

Heart still hammering, you made your way into the bakery where Gladys was standing in the centre of the shop floor. She looked pale, her usually lively eyes dull and almost unseeing.

For a moment, you worried that she was angry with you for shutting the shop. You tried to summon a smile, your hands automatically reaching out to make her a cup of tea.

“Gladys! I thought you were-” You cleared your throat, your mind still spinning from the dark, soft look in John’s eyes as he leaned in to kiss you. “Doesn’t matter. Mick’s here and he brought the little’un!”

“Where is everyone?”

Gladys’ voice was hollow. She was gripping a slip of paper in her hands so tightly, you could see it was beginning to tear.

“They’re outside having a fag. Well, Mickey’s having a fag and John’s got chips. We just stopped for a late lunch.”

When she didn’t say anything, you frowned.

“Are you alright? What’s wrong?”

“He’s taken it.”

“Taken..?” You shook your head, trying to ignore the sickening, churning dread in the pit of your belly. “Who, Glad? What’s going on?”

“Alastair,” she whispered the name like it was bad luck. And perhaps it was. “He’s taken the bakery.”

Time slowed, choked, before finally falling to its knees. An age passed. Civilisations came and went. Stars burned and died. And all you could do was stare. The bakery had never been so silent.

“What are you talking about?” you asked once you’d found your voice again, hoarse and reedy as it was.

Gladys’ face crumpled like the paper in her hands.

“I shouldn't have. I know I shouldn't have but he- The way he explained things, it… He had me change the names on the deeds. It felt like a good idea at the- It’s his. It’s all his.”

Tears filled Gladys’ eyes.

“It’s gone, love. It's gone. Alastair owns the bakery.

//

Master List

[danwithouttheplan]

using your linux "kernel" to do a git stash "pop"? buddy, it sounds like you might be craving a buttery snack

[yasirinsights]

GitHub and Git Commands: From Beginner to Advanced Level

Git and GitHub are essential tools for every developer, whether you're just starting or deep into professional software development. In this blog, we'll break down what Git and GitHub are, why they matter, and walk you through the most essential commands, from beginner to advanced. This guide is tailored for learners who want to master version control and collaborate more effectively on projects.

GitHub and Git Commands

What Is Git?

Git is a distributed version control system created by Linus Torvalds. It allows you to track changes in your code, collaborate with others, and manage your project history.

What Is GitHub?

GitHub is a cloud-based platform built on Git. It allows developers to host repositories online, share code, contribute to open-source projects, and manage collaboration through pull requests, issues, and branches

Why Learn Git and GitHub?

Manage and track code changes efficiently

Collaborate with teams

Roll back to the previous versions of the code

Host and contribute to open-source projects

Improve workflow through automation and branching

Git Installation (Quick Start)

Before using Git commands, install Git from git-scm.com.

Check if Git is installed:

bash

git --version

Beginner-Level Git Commands

These commands are essential for every new user of Git:

1. git init

Initialises a new Git repository.

bash

git init

2. git clone

Clones an existing repository from GitHub.

bash

git clone https://github.com/user/repo.git

3. git status

Checks the current status of files (modified, staged, untracked).

bash

git status

4. git add

Stage changes for commit.

bash

git add filename # stage a specific file git add . # stage all changes

5. git commit

Records changes to the repository.

bash

git commit -m "Your commit message"

6. git push

Pushes changes to the remote repository.

bash

git push origin main # pushes to the main branch

7. git pull

Fetches and merges changes from the remote repository.

bash

git pull origin main

Intermediate Git Commands

Once you’re comfortable with the basics, start using these:

1. git branch

Lists, creates, or deletes branches.

bash

git branch # list branches git branch new-branch # create a new branch

2. git checkout

Switches branches or restores files.

bash

git checkout new-branch

3. git merge

Merges a branch into the current one.

bash

git merge feature-branch

4. git log

Shows the commit history.

bash

git log

5. .gitignore

Used to ignore specific files or folders in your project.

Example .gitignore file:

bash

node_modules/ .env *.log

Advanced Git Commands

Level up your Git skills with these powerful commands:

1. git stash

Temporarily shelves changes not ready for commit.

bash

git stash git stash apply

2. git rebase

Reapplies commits on top of another base tip.

bash

git checkout feature-branch git rebase main

3. git cherry-pick

Apply the changes introduced by an existing commit.

bash

git cherry-pick <commit-hash>

4. git revert

Reverts a commit by creating a new one.

bash

git revert <commit-hash>

5. git reset

Unstages or removes commits.

bash

git reset --soft HEAD~1 # keep changes git reset --hard HEAD~1 # remove changes

GitHub Tips for Projects

Use Readme.md to document your project

Leverage issues and pull requests for collaboration

Add contributors for team-based work

Use GitHub Actions to automate workflows

Final Thoughts

Mastering Git and GitHub is an investment in your future as a developer. Whether you're working on solo projects or collaborating in a team, these tools will save you time and help you maintain cleaner, safer code. Practice regularly and try contributing to open-source projects to strengthen your skills.

Read MORE: https://yasirinsights.com/github-and-git-commands/

[soughtserenity]

she's been real secretive and shifty, all damn day. valentine's. still not letting up as she leads abigail to the back of their property, their home, hands covering her eyes.

❛ just a little longer... all right. wait right here, honey. won't be a minute. keep them eyes closed now, you hear? no peekin'. ❜

stowing a stashed bouquet of fresh, pink roses behind her back, before leading a pony, its mane and tail plaited with red rose petals throughout, to nuzzle at abigail's hand. a morgan- the heart horse, of course! palomino and pretty as a peach. her very own.

❛ all right. you can open 'em now. abigail, meet yer boy. boy, meet your new owner! i thought about callin' him cupid or maybe valentine... but, i'm leavin' it up to you, ma sweet. he's all yours. and your boy's tryin' t' take a bite outta ma damn roses. git! here. 'fore he eats the whole damn lot! for you, ma darlin' valentine. ❜ / AGJHGHGHH

" Yer being real sneaky ma'am and I'm not sure I should trust you! But I'm gonna because I love you. " and because she's excited to see what Sadie's got up her sleeve with all the sneaking around she's been doing lately.

she keeps her eyes shut grinning the whole time and gasps softly when she feels a wet nose touch her hand that makes her giggle like a crazy person. " What on earth?! Whos snoot is that? "

Another gasp happens when she opens her eyes to the adorable pony and all that soft sweet color and lord the bouquet in Sadie's hand. " oh my! Well would you look at that. All this for little ole me darlin'? How ever will I repay such admiration? " She coos, hugging the bouquet to her body nudging the poney's snout back.

" You keep them teeth to yourself these are mine! I think I will call you cupid though. That's a great Idea Sadie. " She coos petting the ponys face and then gesturing her wife closer. " c'mere so I can give you some sugar valentineeeee. "

[keeksybee]

Lister gets Transfixed when Rimmer sings:

It’s an established fact in Red Dwarf that Rimmer can sing and sing well. It’s mentioned as an off handed joke as Lister teases Rimmer but it’s also a legitimate compliment that Lister wouldn’t mock unless it were true, so this is my take on that.

Just imagine that Rimmer just has just gotten his hard-light body, for the first time in six years he can touch things again and it’s no secret Lister is a bit of a slob and most likely left their sleeping quarters in an “interesting” (read: almost hazmat suit worthy) state. Now, he’s not required to clean it himself, Kryten would do it, but 1) he’s a little type A and has his own system for how the cleaning routine should be accomplished and 2) he can touch again, he can feel again, and even something as non remarkable as wiping the viewport window is the first physical sensation he’s had in eons and he doesn’t want Kryten to take the opportunity from him, so when he’s sure Lister is off doing something else and he won’t be disturbed he digs out the ear phones and futuristic IPod he stashed under his bunk all those years ago, plugs them in (I like to think he has a weakness for music from our era) and starts to deep clean the room top to bottom, methodically scrubbing and washing and wiping every stain and dirty mark.

Soon, he relaxes and under his breath at first starts to sing his playlist until eventually he’s belting it out, character impressions and dance moves included, he’s so wrapped up in it he doesn’t realise Lister is watching from the doorway, wide eyed, smile fond, as he sees Rimmer, RIMMER of all people, laugh, and dance, and play pretend, almost like a normal person, nothing like the neurotic git who once got so drunk the night before his astronavigation exam he stood up and preformed a surprisingly good rendition of “Ain’t your Mama” by Jenifer Lopez at the Copacabana lounge to a crowd of jeering astros, he’s completely sober this time and he can sing, he can really sing and it’s soft, and warm, and genuinely happy. He stands there for an indeterminate amount of time just…listening and if his cheeks went a little pink and his heart jumped a few notches at Rimmer contented expression and fluttering lashes over closed eyes he’d never admit to it.

He got the feeling that he probably shouldn’t be there, that this was a deeply personal thing to Rimmer and he was intruding on it, but he just looked so… peaceful, and he couldn’t tear himself away, that was until he leaned in and missed the wall sending him crashing to their bunk room floor and the singing came to an embarrassed screeching halt, he got up playing that he’d had a few more cans of lager than usual that day and he was piss drunk, out the corner of his eye he saw Rimmer sigh, assuring himself his secret was safe, as he climbed into bed and mimed passing out he caught a never before seen affectionate expression and a quiet “Oh Lister” as Rimmer tucked him into his bunk like a toddler, his heart suddenly sank as he realised that this was the person Rimmer was too terrified to reveal for fear Lister would call him weak, it was tragic but he didn’t know how to address it without Rimmer becoming defensive and shutting down.

So he slept. He slept and dreamed of Rimmer singing with that lovely look of contentment he’d never see.

PS: I just think he’d sing this

[clintbennet]

What is the most annoying trait each person close to you has? ( a mundane trait rather than a full blown one )

"Starting with the most annoying... Ike not keeping Solamander the Salamander a secret like he was SUPPOSED TO. Bea being weird around compliments she deserves. Renee not gettin' down in the creek with us, git yer feet wet, girl! Ermano not smilin'... Or showin much of any emotion. He's hard t'read, fer a context reliant person like me, that's frustratin'. I'm pretty sure David has a stash of hair gel he's not sharin t'keep that little front flip goin'. The entirety of Zack, just everythin', it's all shit."