#probably should have waited for new years

[transform4u]

Fangs and Football

In the heart of a Midwestern autumn, the woods near the small college campus were alive with color. Brilliant reds and oranges framed the path that led to a secluded spot, where the air was crisp, biting just enough to send shivers down your spine. The scent of fallen leaves mingled with the earthy undertones of damp soil, creating a comforting, yet eerie atmosphere.

Inside a parked car at the edge of the woods, Josh and Ashton were lost in each other. Josh, with his tousled scruffy hair and bright blue eyes, exuded a playful energy that contrasted beautifully with Ashton’s more grounded presence. Ashton, the slightly more muscular of the two, had raven-black hair that fell just above his deep brown eyes, which sparkled with a mix of intelligence and mischief. As Josh leaned in, his fingers trailed gently down Ashton’s neck, sending a shiver through him.

“Do you think we’ll ever make it to New York?” Josh whispered, his breath warm against Ashton’s skin.

“Of course,” Ashton replied, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “Once I’m a successful coder, I’ll have enough cash to take you anywhere. Just imagine it—us, living in the city, you doing your theater thing, and me... well, probably still coding in a coffee shop.”

Josh laughed softly, their foreheads touching. “As long as I’m with you, I don’t care where we are.”

Just then, a rustle echoed through the trees, cutting through their moment. The mist began to creep in, swirling around the car, casting an unsettling veil over the vibrant foliage. The radio, once playing Lady Gaga’s infectious pop beats, crackled with static before shifting to an urgent news bulletin.

“—this is a special report. Authorities are urging residents to remain vigilant as a convicted felon has escaped from Morningstar Prison. Last year, he was involved in the gruesome massacre of a local science team, and since then, he has been subjected to experimental treatments aimed at reducing his sentence. If you see anything suspicious—”

Josh’s smile faltered, his brow furrowing as he exchanged a worried glance with Ashton. “Did you hear that?” he whispered, pulling back slightly.

Ashton nodded, his expression turning serious. “Yeah… it sounded like they were talking about that massacre from last year.”

Just then, a rustling noise echoed from outside the car, followed by the snapping of a branch. The mist thickened, swirling around them like a living thing. Josh’s heart raced, the earlier warmth of their moment replaced by a creeping unease.

“Josh,” Ashton whispered, his voice barely audible over the static on the radio. “What if he’s out here? What if he—”

Suddenly, a heavy breathing filled the air, a deep, heaving sound that sent chills down their spines. It was close—too close.

“Did you hear that?” Josh gasped, gripping Ashton’s arm tightly.

“Yeah,” Ashton replied, eyes wide, scanning the foggy darkness outside. “It sounds like—”

Before he could finish, the sound of footsteps echoed, heavy and deliberate, as if someone—or something—was approaching. Josh pressed his back against the seat, fear gripping him, while Ashton’s jaw clenched, instinctively reaching for the door handle.

“Maybe we should just drive away,” Josh suggested, his voice trembling.

“Wait,” Ashton urged, holding him back. “What if it’s nothing? We can’t just panic.”

But as the breathing grew louder, the tension in the air thickened, and the shadows of the woods seemed to draw closer, both boys knew that whatever lay outside was anything but nothing.

As the mist thickened around the car, a monstrous figure emerged from the shadows. A jock, almost larger than life, loomed by the window. His broad shoulders strained against his shirt, and his beady eyes glinted with a wild hunger. Drool dripped from his lips, pooling on the ground as he leaned closer, confusion and intensity etched on his face.

With a terrifying ease, he yanked the car door open, metal groaning in protest as if the vehicle itself were trying to resist him. The door flew wide, clanging against the frame with a sickening thud, sending Josh and Ashton recoiling. “Get back!” Ashton shouted, instinctively shielding Josh. But the jock was relentless. He lunged forward, his hands like bear traps as he seized Josh’s wrist, dragging him toward the open door. The jock’s breath was hot and foul, a wave of rot hitting Josh like a physical blow. Saliva dripped onto Josh’s skin, burning like acid as it splattered across his arm. “Josh!” Ashton yelled, panic coursing through his voice, but the jock’s grip tightened, his fingers digging in deep. Josh felt a sharp, searing heat radiating from the drool that dripped onto him, spreading like wildfire across his skin, a tan forming in its wake as if it were more than just saliva—it was poison. Before he could process the pain, the jock leaned in closer, his mouth opening wide. In one swift motion, he bit down, teeth sinking into Josh’s arm, the pain sharp and overwhelmed him, pumping the young boy with energy and lust.

​​With each passing moment, he could feel his body changing. Muscles began to swell beneath his skin, transforming him. The sensation was surreal—his twink frame slowly adapting, filling out, becoming something more powerful.

His biceps pulsed, thickening like coiled steel cables, pressing against the fabric of his shirt as they grew. He could feel the fibers of his muscles tearing and rebuilding, each contraction sending waves of warmth through his arms. The veins on his forearms became more pronounced, tracing a path that hinted at the newfound strength surging beneath the surface.

As his shoulders broadened, he sensed a weight settling in, making him feel both grounded and liberated. The deltoids expanded, rounding out into smooth, powerful contours that complemented the tapering of his waist. It was as if his body was sculpting itself, each muscle group harmonizing into a new form that radiated confidence.

His chest swelled, pushing outward and upward, filling out the fabric tightly. The pectorals surged, a firm wall of muscle that gave him an exhilarating sense of solidity. He could feel the strength there, an undeniable power that made him want to test his limits.

As his abs began to form, he felt a delicious tightness pull across his midsection. The definition deepened, each muscle segment chiseled and sharp, creating a landscape of ridges that called out to be touched. It was an embodiment of strength, a core that spoke of endurance and tenacity.

As Josh slowly staggers up, his shredded shirt hangs off his muscular torso in tattered strips, exposing his glistening physique to the moonlight. His pecs are visibly bulging, each one larger than the last. The moonlight dances across his abs, highlighting the defined V-lines leading down to the waistband of his shorts. His broad shoulders taper to narrow hips, the muscles rippling with every labored step. A light sheen of sweat coats his skin, accentuating his toned physique. His arms hang heavily at his sides, the triceps flexing with minor movement.

Across from him, Ashton stares in awe at his boyfriend's transformation. His blue eyes roam hungrily over his body, taking in every dip and curve of his sculpted muscles. He licks his lips unconsciously as he imagines all the things he wants to do to him. But as Josh begins to shout, his voice growing louder and more manic with each passing second, Ashton's expression shifts. Josh's eyes glazed over with a desperate, animalistic hunger. "BABE.....BABBBBEEE....BABBBBBEEEESS....Must find BABES!" he bellows again, his voice cracking. "MUST FUCK HOT BABESSSSSS!" Ashton swallows hard, realizing just how far gone he's become. Ashton watches in stunned horror as Josh careens through the woods, his mind clearly fractured by a potent cocktail of adrenaline and lust. The primal need to rut consumes him entirely, pushing aside all coherent thought. "Gotta... gotta get 'em..." he grunts with each heavy step, grunting as he slams through the underbrush. His hands paw clumsily at his crotch, fumbling with his belt buckle in his desperation to free his straining erection. "Football... babes... working out..babbbess. beer...babes" he mutters deliriously, his words slipping together in a garbled mess. He can't stop thinking about pinning some nubile young thing against a locker room wall, ripping off her tiny shorts and pounding into her tight heat until she screams.

As Josh stumbles through the woods, he feels a deep, feral hunger stirring within his loins. The urge to rut, to breed, consumes his every waking thought. Memories of his strict Catholic upbringing flash through his mind - his father's shrill lectures on what it means to be a man, the shame of wearing a condom, the sin of premarital sex. But none of that matters anymore. All that exists is the primal need to dominate and conquer, to prove to the world that he's a real alpha male now. He snarls as a surge of testosterone floods his veins, his cock pulsing urgently in his gym shorts. "Fuck that pathetic loser I used to be," he growls under his breath. "Time to show everyone who I really am."

Approaching the edge of the forest, Josh spots movement in the distance - girls walking back from a nearby party. His nostrils flare as he catches the sweet scent of their arousal.

As Josh approaches the sorority house, the intoxicating scent of feminine arousal grows stronger, making his head spin with desire. He licks his lips hungrily, imagining all the tight little holes he's going to defile. "Gonna show these sluts what a real man looks like," he mutters under his breath. "Gonna fuck 'em all senseless and pump 'em full of my superior seed." The thought of knocking up some helpless co-ed fills him with primal glee. He stumbles up to the front door, nearly falling over in his haste to get inside. The house is dark and quiet, but he can hear the distant thump of music and laughter coming from upstairs. Perfect.

Without hesitation, Josh barges into the living room, his massive frame looming over the startled sorority girls lounging on the couch. "Where's your hottest bitch? Jo---Joo---Jace needs to fucccck" he bellows, his voice rough with lust.

[thevoidstaredback]

Hey! So, it's been a while, but I finally remembered to come back to this! But, it's not gonna go the way you'd think.

If Danny had it his way, he'd be at his Aunt Alicia's house for the summer instead of New Jersey. This place is gloomy, grimy, and soaked through with so much crime that it's a Problem(TM). Like, seriously? New Jersey hasn't allowed the death penalty since he was seven, but can't they make, like, one exception? Get rid of The Joker and half of Gotham's problems are solved.

Unfortunately, he's only here as a guest, so he can't really do anything. Which, for the record, is a shit rule. Call a goose and goose, and that's exactly what Gotham City, New Jersey is.

It isn't all that bad, he supposes. Sure, the pollution blocks out the entire sky at all times, the buildings that aren't condemned are only feeding the rich while stealing from the poor, an entire twenty-four block are has been given up on by mostly everyone, the local vigilantes won't kill the recurring problems like the cockroaches they are- There was a good point to all this.

Oh! He has family here. That's it. That's the only silver lining, and it's bronze.

But, hey, it can't be that bad. From what he understands, his half-brother and company don't actually live in Gotham. Bristol, according to Talia is technically outside of Gotham City Limits, but is still considered as part of the city. Makes sense, aside from the fact that there's no bridge between Bristol and Gotham. Weird design, but he's not rich so he's not really inclined to care or understand.

Half brother, right.

Danny doesn't like Damian much, but that's because he's a clone...of Damian. Danny's a clone of Damian, not the other way around. Ra's makes that very clear

The only reason Talia wants him with Damian is because she's upset with Bruce Wayne. What is it with divorced parents and putting their kids on the middle of their fights? Or maybe that's just Talia?

Anyway.

Gotham, New Jersey is a dismal place. Danny's not germophobic by any means, he can't really afford to be, but even he's having a hard time being in the city.

It was so much easier hiding out with the Fentons.

Well, 'hiding' is a subjective term. Ra's and Talia knew where he was, so did Deathstroke, probably, but that was it.

Essentially, everyone he should be hiding from knows where he's been hiding, which means he's just been on some kind of twisted, extended vacation.

As far as Danny knew, Bruce Wayne had no idea he was coming. Damian knew because Talia had wanted him to pick Danny up from the airport. Weird because while Damian is technically older, Danny is still legally two years older.

Well, 'legally' is a stretch. He doesn't technically exist, outside of the LoA and Amity Park.

The point is that Damian is waiting for him at the end of the terminal, looking as much like an excited puppy as he can, with an older gentleman. Talia had given him nothing to work with, but Danny didn't really care who this guy was as long as he didn't try to make him do anything he didn't want to.

...living in the Midwest was doing wonders for his mental stability, but Ancients was it making him soft!

"'Danny', I presume?" the old man asked, his accent heavy.

Good, so Talia did give Damian his actual name. "Yep. You are?" He may not want to be here, but he still knows his manners. Even if he's only going to use the bare minimum of them. Malicious Compliance and all that.

"Alfred Pennyworth, the family butler." He didn't extend his hand to shake. Danny didn't mind. In fact, he actually preferred that.

Okay, so maybe he's a little bit haphephobic. Leave him alone!

"Danny," Damian greeted, a smile of excitement in his voice but not his face, "It's good to have you here. How did Mother convince you to come?"

"Bribery." Mostly.

Damian seemed to deflate a bit. "Father and the others don't know you're here."

"Do they even know about me at all?"

"No."

"Perfect! Then I can stay at a hotel-"

"For the entire summer?" Alfred raised his eyebrow, "I must insist that you stay at Wayne Manor while in Gotham. Master Bruce will most pleased to meet you."

"Why?" Danny scoffed, "I'm not his kid, nor do I want to be."

Damian slouched a little bit more. "Come, we must get back before the others send out a search party for us."

"Dramatic much?" Danny scoffed.

"Not at all," Alfred took both of Danny's bags before leading the way out to the car, "It' happened before in less time."

"I don't doubt it for a second. I'm calling Bruce a dramatic bitch."

Alfred smirked ever so slightly. "Quite right, Master Danny."

"Don't call me that."

"Alright then, what should I call you?"

"'Danny'. No honorifics, no add ons, no trying to fullname me, nothing else."

"And when you go out with the rest of the family?"

He scoffed again. "You really think they'd let me go out with them? I'm an assassin. In fact, the first thing I'll do the second I'm let out of the house is kill the clown bastard."

Damian rested his hand on Danny's arm. "They let me out with them and I tried to kill Drake. As long as you uphold a promise not to kill anyone, you'll be allowed to patrol with us."

They reached the car, Damian sat behind the driver while Danny sat behind the passenger. Alfred put the bags in the trunk. "So? What will you be called on patrol?"

Danny rolled his eyes, popping his headphones in and not looking away from the window. "Respawn."

Storyboard

[honeygrahambitch]

Summary: Will finds it difficult to put a label on what he and Hannibal have so he blames it on the amount of work at the FBI. Hannibal finds a questionable way to help him. A few lies might be involved.

Chapter 1

"You smell like cinnamon." Beverly commented as she brushed against Will in the lab.

"Hannibal has been baking a lot lately. Including this morning."

"And yet you didn't bring us anything. Rude." Brian commented.

"Hannibal suggested that I should. But I ate all the chai cookies by myself. And I have no regrets."

"Rude indeed." Jimmy repeated. "Anyway what even is the deal with you two?"

Beverly, Brian and Will all turned to Jimmy simultaneously. Will arched an eyebrow in response.

"I learnt a new word from my niece last weekend." Jimmy went on. "Are you in a situationship?"

"What even is that?" Will asked and frowned.

"Don't listen to him, Will." Beverly said and rolled her eyes. "He is baking for you. It's a relationship."

"I hope you are discussing the case." Jack said as he had just entered. He looked at their preoccupied faces and realized it was obviously something else. "What is it?"

"What is a situationship?" Will asked again.

Jack shook his head and sighed loudly. He would sit this one out.

"Like, when you can't call it a relationship."

"Just because I have never pronounced that word in the same room with Hannibal, it doesn't mean I don't consider our thing a relationship."

"You haven't what?" Beverly suddenly turned to him. "That man is cooking for you daily. He is getting you shirts that are more expensive than Jimmy's car. He is probably waiting for validation from your side. He would never push you."

"Ouch." Jimmy said regarding his poor car.

"I don't know about that." Will hummed.

"If I may intervene." Jack finally said something. "Beverly is right. That's what Hannibal is waiting for."

"Since when are you giving relationship advice?"

"Since I'm the only one in this room who has been married for 20 years."

"It's bit difficult to have a relationship when you expect me to be here 24/24."

Will knew that in fact, as much as he hated to admit that to himself, they were right. Hannibal was waiting for him to confirm it. And he was an asshole for always avoiding that certain talk. With the amount of bodies that have appeared lately, he could hardly find the time and space to think about it.

[resol-nare]

Yeah, having some of the background lines regarding the Warden or Hawke or whatever would be fun! But personally I'd rather they get brought up in a way that not only is validating but is also relevant to the story. Failing that, I actually would rather they focus on the few keep decisions they've selected because chances are that the acknowledgment of these decisions are going to be much higher quality than anything they could pull out of their asses regarding whether or not X did Y 20 years ago.

And with the game in northern Thedas, I think it makes a certain amount of sense that everything that happened in the south isn't constantly being brought up. Most people in the north probably don't even know who the fuck the Hero of Ferelden is.

Also, wait come back here. *grabs you by the front of your shirt* You DO understand that Bioware isn't making you do SHIT, right? You can change the Inquisitor. You can pick who they romanced. Yes, all of them. Gender and race specific, anyways. No one is shoving Solavellan down your throat ffs. You're a veteran player who wants your non-Solas romancing Inquisitor in the game? You can do that! You're a new player who'd rather the Inquisitor be a big ol' horned person or a short and stocky dwarf? Good news! You can do that, too!

Anyways.

The only choices I am genuinely confused that they aren't being included is the Well of Sorrows choice, and Kieran. I know Kieran's 18-20 years old by now, (if he even exists for you at all) so probably isn't following his mother around Thedas like a puppy anymore. It feels to me like it should still at least be partially relevant with Mythal still knocking around in Solas's head. Or Morrigan's. I'm not clear on that one.

The Well has got to be the worst one to not include, imo. Maybe Mythal isn't going to be relevant outside of Solas's memories or Morrigan's experiences, but I still feel like one of the Evanuris being able to control the Inquisitor or Morrigan (who can transform into a fucking dragon if she drinks from the well) would be a Concern.

If it were just the current confirmed Keep choices, and then Kieran's existence and the Well, I would be satisfied.

[wannabehockeygf]

State of Grace | Clayton Keller

"We are alone with our changing minds, We fall in love 'til it hurts or bleeds, or fades in time, And I never, Saw you coming And I'll never, Be the same."

*** request: "☁️ (fluff) w keller inspired by the song state of grace by taylor swift" summary: same people, seven years of distance... word count: 9.2k pairing: clayton keller x fem!reader warnings: public drinking/alcohol, pda (kissing, making out), very very slight sexual innuendo notes: - tbh this isn't my best work. but I worked hard on it and didn't want to scrap it so I hope you like it ! - this is def giving slightly cocky more confident flirty clayton... but i will probably make him a lot softer and sweeter in the future. just felt like doing him this way this time. - also, I have 2 more keller requests. so if u requested him and this wasn't ur request they are coming. - I have never been to salt lake city. apologies if I completely slandered it. - red is my fav ts album, just felt like I should mention. ***

You never thought you'd see Clayton Keller again.

He was supposed to be a chapter you’d closed long ago—one you’d shoved into the back of your mental bookshelf, never to be opened again. You had plans, big ones, bigger than the swoon of your teenage heart. You had meticulously plotted your path to Boston University, intent on becoming a sharp, hard-hitting journalist. You could see it now: your name, printed in bold letters, beneath a thought-provoking headline in The New York Times.

But then he came. His blue eyes locked with yours, his stupidly perfect hair falling just right, those dimples of his flashing at you like some cruel joke. You didn’t stand a chance. The kind of falling you did for him wasn’t cute or accidental—it was more like falling flat on your face in front of a crowd. Painful, embarrassing, and lingering.

He was your first everything. And you gave him everything—not a piece of you left unshared, unexposed. It felt romantic at the time, but looking back, it was more like you emptied your entire emotional bank account and let him walk off with the cash. Seven years ago, when he told you he was moving to Phoenix and that you two should “see other people,” you didn’t buy his polite words. What he meant was that he wanted to be young and free, without the burden of a long-distance girlfriend dragging behind him.

“Wait, wha–”

You never even finished your sentence. The door had slammed behind him before the rest of your thought caught up to your lips.

That was then. Seven long years had passed, and you were standing in a press area in Salt Lake City, feeling like all your well-laid plans had been thrown into a blender. You weren't in New York writing world-changing pieces for a big-name paper. You were pushing through a horde of sweaty, exhausted journalists, armed with a press badge that read "Utah Hockey Club"—a new team you hadn’t even thought much about until you got the assignment. You’d taken this job because, well, rent. Plus, there’s something humiliating yet poetic about going from wanting to change the world to covering idiotic brutes who give two-word answers between mouthfuls of Gatorade.

The Delta Center hummed with the energy of a big game, the walls vibrating with the echo of shoes shuffling, cameras clicking, and reporters murmuring amongst themselves. The fluorescent lighting overhead gave the place a washed-out look, amplifying the wrinkles in everyone’s faces. Hockey’s a fast-paced game, but the post-game press scrum felt like watching paint dry. You pushed forward, determined to at least pretend you were thriving in this moment.

“Excuse me, sorry—coming through!” You elbowed your way to the front, probably earning a few disgruntled glares. But at least you’d get the scoop firsthand, even if it was on some sweaty player who would grunt a few words before retreating to the locker room.

The door on the far side swung open, and the team’s PR person stepped aside as the hero of the night walked out. You barely had time to register who it was before the sea of reporters parted slightly, and there, standing in front of you, was Clayton Keller.

No fucking way.

Of all the faces you expected to see tonight—sweaty athletes, fellow journalists, maybe a stray beer vendor—his was not one of them. And yet, there he was, stepping out like a ghost from your past. Clayton Keller, in the flesh. For a moment, the crowded press room shrunk, the shuffling reporters and camera flashes dimming into the background as your gaze locked with his. His eyes widened, a flicker of recognition crossing his face, but neither of you said a word. It was like being hit by a rogue puck, stunning you into stillness.

Clayton freakin' Keller? You blinked rapidly, trying to process the cosmic joke unfolding before you. How did you not know he was playing for this team? You’d been on autopilot since you accepted this job, barely caring who laced up their skates for Utah as long as you got a paycheck at the end of the week. And now, standing mere feet away from you, was the boy—no, the man—you’d once mapped out a future with in your mind. The same guy who had practically evaporated from your life with nothing more than a mumbled excuse and a slammed door.

Your thoughts were a jumbled mess, racing like they were being chased down the ice. Part of you wanted to turn around and melt into the crowd, become invisible like you had all those years ago. But the other part, the journalist, the professional, forced you to stay rooted in place. You had a job to do. You had moved on. You were fine.

Except you weren't.

The lights in the room seemed harsher now, bouncing off his ridiculous helmet hair—seriously, how did it still look that good after a game? He looked annoyingly fit in his compression shirt, like a real-life action figure, and it felt unfair. You, on the other hand, were wearing the same tired blazer from two seasons ago, still trying to convince yourself it was "timeless."

The pit in your stomach deepened as Clayton’s eyes bore into yours, his mouth tugging into a half-smile that sent a wave of heat rushing to your face. That stupid smile. You’d seen it a thousand times when you were together—playful, slightly cocky, but never without charm. You hated that your body still reacted to it like this, even after all these years.

Don’t smile back. For the love of God, don’t smile back.

Too late. Your lips betrayed you, quirking up before you could stop them.

Suddenly, the PR person began talking, but you didn’t catch a word. You were too busy trying to remember how to breathe. The room seemed to shift back into focus, the noise returning as questions were fired off at him—none of which you could hear through the roaring in your head. Your fingers clenched around your press badge as you watched Clayton respond to the reporters, his voice low and steady. You didn’t need to hear what he was saying. His presence alone was enough to throw you into a tailspin.

What does he think? Your mind raced with a hundred possibilities. Was he surprised? Regretful? Did he even remember how you left things? Of course, he does. You’ve never quite forgiven yourself for the way you let him walk out without a fight. And now, here he was, larger than life, as if fate had decided to throw you together just for kicks.

The press scrum started to disband, the tension loosening as the cameras lowered and the reporters shifted toward the exit. You should’ve done the same—should’ve grabbed your recorder and escaped with what little dignity you had left. But your feet refused to move. And then, suddenly, neither did his. Clayton looked right at you. The air around you crackled, thick with unspoken words, neither of you daring to break the silence.

Before you could decide whether to run or speak, he was walking toward you. Your breath hitched, every nerve in your body buzzing. The gap between you felt like miles and inches all at once. Each step he took seemed to echo in your chest, like the beat of a drum getting louder, faster.

He stopped just in front of you, close enough that you could smell the faint hint of sweat and Gatorade. The grin had faded from his face, replaced by something unreadable—soft, curious, maybe even a little sheepish.

“Hey,” he said, his voice quiet, like he wasn’t sure how to start.

Hey? That was it? After all these years, after everything, and all he had was a “hey”?

Your mind screamed a million things at once, none of them appropriate for public spaces. But what came out of your mouth was... “Hi.”

Nailed it.

The awkward silence stretched between you, both of you clearly unsure of how to navigate this weird, tension-filled reunion. It was like standing at the edge of a frozen lake, knowing one wrong move could send you crashing through the ice.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to focus. “So... you play for Utah now?” Wow, groundbreaking journalism. Really killing it.

“Yeah,” he said, a hint of a smile creeping back onto his face. “I do. Yotes are no more. Guess I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I could say the same.” Your voice wobbled, betraying the chaos in your chest. You weren’t sure if you were more mad at him or yourself. For not seeing this coming. For caring. For still feeling something after all these years.

His eyes softened, as if he could read your thoughts. “It’s been a while, huh?”

Seven years. Seven long, winding, confusing years, filled with everything you thought would erase him but never quite could.

“Yeah,” you whispered, swallowing down the lump in your throat. “It has.”

Another pause, thicker this time. You weren’t sure where to go from here. He didn’t either. But here you were, both stranded in this moment, waiting for something to break the ice—or for the floor to swallow you whole.

He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit you’d forgotten about but instantly recognized. “Maybe we could... catch up sometime? After all this?”

Your heart skipped. There it was—the opening, the question that could send you spiraling back into something you weren’t sure you could handle. You should say no. You should walk away, hold your head high, and leave him standing in the echo of his own question. But, of course, that’s not what happened.

“Yeah,” you found yourself saying. “I’d like that.”

What was wrong with you? This was the exact opposite of moving on. But standing there, with Clayton looking at you like no time had passed, like maybe you were both still the same people you’d been before everything fell apart... how could you resist?

*** It had been a few days since the interview, and you were still trying to wrap your head around the surreal fact that Clayton Keller, that Clayton Keller, was back in your life. You'd both exchanged numbers after that painfully awkward conversation, the kind where every word felt like walking on eggshells and every pause seemed to echo louder than it should. A part of you hoped he’d never use it—let the number sit in his phone, untouched, like some relic of a past better left buried. Another part of you, though… well, that part was curious.

So when your phone lit up late one night, your stomach did a little flip when you saw his name. FaceTime. Of course, it was FaceTime. He’d always preferred that over a regular call—something about needing to see your face when he talked, like the words didn’t count unless he could watch them land.

You hesitated for a split second, staring at the screen. What could he possibly want? At this hour? A thousand scenarios played out in your mind, but you knew you’d overthink yourself into oblivion if you didn’t answer. So, with a quick swipe of your thumb, you connected the call.

And there he was.

Clayton, shirtless, lying in what looked like a messy bed with white sheets, his hair damp and tousled, the way it always looked after a shower. His chest rose and fell slowly, like he’d just finished a long day of skating and was too tired to care that he looked half-dead. The dim glow of the bedside lamp cast soft shadows on his face, making his eyes look even bluer than you remembered. He looked exhausted, but somehow still infuriatingly good.

“Hey,” he breathed, his voice a little hoarse.

You blinked, trying to process the sight of him. "Hey," you managed to say back, though it came out softer than you intended, like your voice wasn’t quite ready to handle the weight of this unexpected late-night call.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. He just stared at the screen, blinking slowly, his lips quirking into a lazy smile like this was totally normal, like you weren’t both swimming in a sea of unresolved feelings and unspoken words. His half-smirk sent an unwelcome rush of heat to your face, and you cursed your body for still reacting to him like this.

“I, uh… didn’t wake you, did I?” Clayton asked, his tone casual, but there was something in his expression that felt… tentative. Like he wasn’t sure if he was crossing a line by calling, but had decided to do it anyway.

You shook your head, the corner of your mouth lifting in a small smile. “No, I was just… working on something.” Which was technically true, if by ‘working on something’ you meant binge-watching Netflix in your sweats and trying not to think about him.

“Good,” he said, sighing like he was relieved. He stretched his arm behind his head, his bicep flexing a little, and you tried—tried—not to stare. But come on, the guy was practically a walking thirst trap, even when he wasn’t trying. “I figured it was late, but…” His voice trailed off, and he rubbed the back of his neck, a familiar gesture that tugged at something deep inside you. “I don’t know, I wanted to talk to you.”

That admission hung in the air for a second, and you weren’t sure how to respond. He wanted to talk to you? After all these years? After everything? Part of you wanted to ask why. What did he think he’d get out of this conversation? Closure? Redemption? Or was he just bored in his bedroom, flicking through his contacts until he landed on a name that felt familiar?

Instead, you settled for a simple, “What’s up?” You hoped your voice sounded more casual than your heart felt, which was currently doing cartwheels in your chest.

Clayton shifted on the bed, the sheets rustling softly under him. “I’ve been thinking about… you know… us.” His eyes flickered away from the screen for a moment, like he wasn’t ready to face the weight of that statement. “I mean, it’s been a long time, right? Since we’ve, like, actually talked.”

You nodded, feeling a lump form in your throat. “Yeah, it has.” The understatement of the century. Seven years wasn’t just a long time—it was practically another lifetime. And yet, here you were, talking to him like no time had passed, like the years between you had folded in on themselves.

He let out a soft laugh, one that sounded more self-deprecating than amused. “So, uh… what have you been up to? I mean, other than, you know, writing and all that.”

You let out a short breath, trying to figure out how to distill the chaos of your life into something that didn’t sound pathetic. “Well, I’m not exactly where I thought I’d be,” you admitted, leaning back into your pillows. “Thought I’d be in New York by now, writing Pulitzer-worthy exposés. But, surprise—here I am, covering hockey in Salt Lake City.”

You watched as Clayton processed your words, his expression softening, a faint smile playing on his lips. His gaze never left yours, even through the screen, and for a moment, you felt that old, familiar connection stirring inside you, the one you thought you’d buried beneath years of moving on—or at least pretending to. He shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow, his movements slow and languid like he wasn’t in any rush to end this conversation.

“I noticed,” he mused, his voice low and scratchy, as if he hadn’t spoken in hours. “Never would’ve pegged you for a Utah girl.”

You tilted your head slightly, trying to ignore the way his gaze lingered on you through the screen. His words floated in the air like an awkward icebreaker at a high school reunion—too familiar, too uncomfortable, and yet, impossible to avoid. Covering hockey in Salt Lake City. How had that become your life?

"Salt Lake's... different, you know?" you finally added, giving a small shrug like it wasn't a big deal, even though you felt that weird tightness in your chest whenever you thought about how your career hadn't exactly gone according to plan. "I mean, I didn’t expect to be here either, but hey, life happens, right?”

Clayton’s blue eyes narrowed, his lips twitching in amusement, though there was something behind that look—something like understanding. He was watching you carefully, and it felt like he was seeing more than what you were saying, like he could tell just how much you'd needed that reminder to yourself, more than him. That quiet acknowledgment hung between you both, the years of growing up, of failed dreams, pushing at the edges of the conversation.

“You always made it look easy, though," he said suddenly, like he'd just remembered something. “Everything, I mean. You had this way of… handling stuff. I used to think it was kinda badass.”

Your eyebrows shot up, his words catching you off-guard. Badass? Was he serious? You could barely handle anything these days without second-guessing every decision. Yet here he was, casually throwing compliments like it was nothing.

“Yeah, well, I’m sure badass isn’t exactly what people are thinking when they see me asking sweaty hockey players questions about their game-winning strategy.” You tried to sound light, but there was a hint of something vulnerable under the joke.

Clayton let out a low chuckle, the sound sending an unexpected flutter through your stomach. “I don’t know. You’ve always been good at getting people to talk. Especially me.”

Your breath caught for a second. There it was—that little jab at the past, not sharp enough to hurt, but just enough to remind you of all the conversations that had gone unfinished between the two of you. His compliment, while soft, carried the weight of a thousand unspoken things.

You rolled your eyes a little, but there was a small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Don’t give me too much credit. I wasn’t exactly a therapist back then.”

His face softened, a different kind of look crossing his features now. “Nah, but you listened. You always did. Even when I was being an idiot.”

The admission hung in the air, and you couldn’t help but bite the inside of your cheek, trying not to let your emotions show on your face. What was he doing here? Dredging up memories that had long since been buried under years of moving on, of pretending you hadn’t spent too many nights wondering if he’d ever think about you again.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t always know what to say," you admitted, your voice a little quieter now. "But I tried."

There was a moment of silence, the kind that stretched out too long, where every second felt loaded with thoughts neither of you wanted to acknowledge. Clayton shifted on the bed again, running a hand through his damp hair, and you caught yourself staring at the flex of his arm before quickly looking away. Damn him for still looking this good. Even better, actually, because since the last time you saw him, he’d grown into his body and had gained the ability to grow a moustache.

“Look,” he began, his voice dropping a little, “I know I wasn’t… the best back then. To you, I mean.” His words came out slowly, like he was testing them, gauging your reaction. But instead of following through with what felt like the start of an apology, he hesitated, his gaze dropping to the screen.

You waited, expecting more, but it didn’t come. Instead, Clayton leaned back on his pillows, a faint smirk curling his lips. “But you still looked cute when you were pissed off at me. I always liked that.”

You blinked, the sudden shift from what might’ve been an emotional breakthrough to yet another casual compliment leaving you disoriented. “Are you… serious right now?” You couldn’t help the incredulous laugh that escaped you. Only Clayton would steer an almost-apology into flirting territory.

He shrugged, a lazy smile still playing on his lips. “Just saying. You had this look. Like, when you were mad, but you were trying not to be. Your nose would scrunch up a little, and your eyes—”

“Okay, stop,” you cut him off, raising a hand to your face to hide the fact that yes, you were blushing. Damn it. “You can’t just… I don’t know, throw that out there after all this time. You’re still deflecting.”

“Deflecting?” His eyebrows rose, a mock-innocent expression spreading across his face. “I’m just being honest.”

“Honest?” You scoffed, leaning back against your headboard. “What, by bringing up random stuff from eight years ago?”

Clayton’s smirk widened. “Seven. Not random. I remember a lot, actually.”

Of course he did. The way he said it, too—like he was deliberately nudging you, reminding you of all the things you hadn’t forgotten either. But you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

“Oh yeah? What else do you remember?” you asked, your tone playful but with an edge, daring him to see just how far he’d take this little game of his even though you felt like you were about to throw up.

His eyes sparkled, that familiar mischievous look you’d known so well flashing across his face. “Like the time you sent me that–”

Your stomach did a full somersault, heat flooding your face instantly. Oh no. He was not going there. “Nope. No, we are not talking about that,” you cut him off quickly, your voice coming out a little too high-pitched as you desperately tried to keep the conversation from veering into dangerous territory. “That was a one-time thing, and we agreed never to bring it up again.”

Clayton leaned back into his pillows, that damn smirk still glued to his face. “Okay, okay, I’ll drop it—for now,” he teased, his voice low and smooth, sending a ripple of something through your chest. You could almost feel his presence through the screen, that mix of nostalgia and charm making you momentarily forget all the reasons you’d been trying to stay away from this exact moment.

You let out a small breath of relief, glad to have dodged whatever embarrassing memory he’d been about to dredge up. But the silence that followed wasn’t exactly comfortable—it was thick with things left unsaid. You couldn’t tell if the tightness in your chest was from anticipation or dread. Maybe both.

“Anyway,” Clayton said, stretching his arms overhead in a lazy move that only drew more attention to his already distracting physique. His voice had that familiar playful tone, the one you used to hear all the time when he was up to something. “I was thinking… we should actually catch up. Properly.”

You raised an eyebrow, shifting in your seat. “Properly?” The word hung in the air, vague but full of possibility. “What exactly do you mean by ‘properly’?”

Clayton tilted his head to the side, his lips twitching with amusement like he was letting you in on some kind of secret. “Well, what are you doing tonight?”

You glanced at the clock on your phone screen. “Uh, it’s already like, midnight, Clay. What could I possibly be doing?”

His grin widened. “Exactly! You’ve got no plans. So let’s fix that.”

You blinked at him, unsure whether he was serious. “And how do you suggest we ‘fix that’ at midnight in Salt Lake City?” You emphasized the city name, because let’s be real—Salt Lake City wasn’t exactly known for its wild nightlife. You were pretty sure the most exciting thing happening outside right now was… nothing. “There’s not exactly a lot of options here. The city basically shuts down after dark.”

Clayton gave you a look that was equal parts amused and mischievous, like he knew something you didn’t. “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you haven’t discovered the real Salt Lake yet.”

You squinted at him through the screen. “The ‘real’ Salt Lake? What, you’re gonna tell me there’s some secret underground club scene I’ve missed out on all this time?”

He laughed softly, the sound warm and familiar, like it could melt away the awkwardness that had been sitting between you. “Maybe not exactly an underground club, but I could show you a thing or two. You free? I’ve got nothing going on tomorrow, so… why not?”

You stared at him, your brain struggling to catch up with what he was suggesting. Was he serious? A late-night tour of Salt Lake City with Clayton Keller? The guy who’d ghosted you years ago, now offering to play tour guide like it was no big deal?

“You want to go out,” you clarified slowly, feeling like you needed to repeat it just to make sure you weren’t hallucinating. “In Salt Lake City. At midnight.”

Clayton shrugged, completely unfazed. “Why not? If there’s one thing I’ve learned from all these away games, it’s that every city has something going on. Even the Mormon capital of America.”

You narrowed your eyes, still half-convinced he was joking. “Are you really trying to convince me there’s a hidden nightlife here?”

“I’m telling you, it’s not as boring as you think,” he said with a wink, clearly enjoying how skeptical you were. Then his voice dropped a little, a teasing lilt sneaking in as he added, “You still like your wine, right, sunshine?”

Your heart stopped.

Sunshine.

The old pet name hit you like a sucker punch to the gut, the way it slipped out so casually as if no time had passed at all. He hadn’t called you that in years, but hearing it again now sent a shiver down your spine. It brought back a flood of memories you thought you’d buried—a thousand late-night phone calls, stolen moments when you were younger, when he would look at you with that same mischievous grin and call you his Sunshine.

You blinked, forcing yourself back to the present. The screen in front of you, Clayton’s blue eyes twinkling with the kind of trouble he used to drag you into without a second thought. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “I… I haven’t heard that name in a while.”

His face softened for a moment, the playfulness easing into something more sincere. “Yeah, I know,” he said quietly, almost like he hadn’t meant to let it slip, but now that it was out there, he wasn’t going to backtrack. “But it still suits you. Always did.”

You felt your stomach do another flip, that knot of unresolved feelings tightening all over again. Damn it. How was he still doing this to you? You had no reason to trust this—no reason to believe this wasn’t just some spur-of-the-moment thing he’d forget about by morning. And yet, something in the way he was looking at you made it hard to resist. The old pull between you, still there, lingering just beneath the surface.

You let out a slow breath, leaning back into your pillows, your mind racing. Was this a terrible idea? Probably. Was it also incredibly tempting? Absolutely.

“So… where exactly are you planning on taking me at midnight, Keller?” you asked, adding a bit of edge to your tone, trying to regain some control over this conversation.

Clayton’s smile widened, his eyes gleaming like he’d just won something. “Guess you’ll have to come find out.” He paused, then added, “I’ll pick you up in fifteen?”

You stared at the screen, still trying to process the fact that this was actually happening. “Fifteen minutes?”

“Yep.” He was already sitting up, throwing his legs over the side of the bed, ready to go. “Better get moving, Sunshine.”

Before you could argue or talk yourself out of it, he flashed you that damn grin, and then the screen went dark. The call ended.

You sat there for a second, staring at your phone, a thousand thoughts swirling through your head. What were you doing? Going out with Clayton at midnight? Had you lost your mind?

But despite the logical part of your brain screaming at you to stay home, your body was already moving, throwing off the blankets and scrambling to find something halfway decent to wear. You might’ve been completely out of your depth here, but there was no way you were backing out now.

Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes to figure out why in the world you had just agreed to go on a midnight adventure with your ex-boyfriend. You were practically sprinting around your apartment, rifling through drawers and closets as if your life depended on finding the perfect outfit. The truth? You had no idea what "perfect" even meant in this situation. Was this a date? Was it just two old friends catching up? Was he seriously about to show you some secret Salt Lake City nightlife, or was he just messing with you like old times?

Your hands shook as you grabbed a pair of jeans and a cozy sweater. Casual, but not too casual. It was chilly outside, and something about layering up made you feel a little more in control, like the extra fabric might protect you from all the feelings currently fighting their way to the surface.

What am I doing? you thought, your heart racing faster than it had any right to at this hour. The rational part of your brain was screaming for you to stay home, to crawl back under the blankets and pretend this whole thing never happened. But your body—the traitorous thing—had other ideas. It moved on autopilot, pulling on sneakers, brushing your hair, applying just a hint of makeup, because apparently even at midnight you still cared what he thought.

You caught your reflection in the mirror and sighed. "You’re insane," you muttered to yourself, but the slight tug at the corner of your lips betrayed you. There was no denying it—you were excited. The nervous, butterflies-in-your-stomach kind of excited that you hadn’t felt in a long time. And for better or worse, Clayton Keller was at the center of it.

By the time you heard a knock at your door, your hands were still trembling, but you pushed aside the anxiety and opened it.

There he was.

Clayton leaned against the doorframe, his hands shoved in the pockets of a jacket that fit him way too well. His hair was tousled, like he hadn’t bothered with it before heading out, and his grin—God, that grin—was the same cocky, boyish one you remembered from years ago. Except now, it carried a weight that hadn’t been there before, like he knew exactly the effect he had on you and wasn’t about to let you forget it.

"Ready?" he asked, his eyes sweeping over you in a way that made your skin tingle.

You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to maintain some semblance of composure. "You really think there’s something to do here at this hour?"

He chuckled, that low, familiar sound. "Guess you’ll have to trust me."

Trust. That was a loaded word.

Still, you stepped out, closing the door behind you, and followed him to his car. The night air was crisp, biting at your skin just enough to remind you it was almost fall. Clayton opened the passenger door for you—something that shouldn’t have surprised you, but did—and you slid in, trying not to think too hard about how close he was when he leaned over to shut it behind you. The scent of his cologne lingered, a warm mix of something woodsy and clean, the same one from all those years ago, and it was enough to make your mind go blank for a second.

As he got in on the driver’s side, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at him. His jawline was sharper than you remembered, more defined, and he had this maturity that wasn’t there before–some stubble, barely-there fine lines. It was a face you knew well, but now it felt foreign, like you were seeing him in a new light.

"So," you said, trying to distract yourself from the knot forming in your chest, "What’s the plan? Are we sneaking into a speakeasy, or are you going to take me to one of those places with $12 coffee?"

Clayton laughed, and the sound was like a balm to your nerves. "Oh, come on. Give me a little credit. I’m not about to drag you out at midnight for overpriced coffee." He shifted the car into drive and shot you a sideways glance. "Unless that’s what you’re into now, Sunshine?"

There it was again. The nickname.

You rolled your eyes, trying to play it cool, but your heart did a little flip at the sound of it. "You really need to stop calling me that," you said, but your voice was softer than you intended.

He didn’t respond right away, and for a moment, the air in the car felt thick, like the space between you was shrinking by the second. He drove in silence, the streets quiet and still, as if the whole city had gone to sleep while the two of you were still wide awake, caught in some strange limbo between the past and whatever this was turning into.

"You gonna tell me where we’re going, or is this part of the whole ‘mysterious night tour’ you’re so committed to?" you asked, breaking the silence with a quirk of your eyebrow. Your voice was light, but the tension was still there, hanging between you both like a thread stretched too tight.

Clayton smirked, not taking his eyes off the road. "Be patient. You’ll see soon enough." His voice was teasing, but there was an undercurrent of something more, like he was just as aware of the weight between you as you were.

You cleared your throat, trying to regain some semblance of control. "You still haven’t outgrown that whole ‘man of mystery’ thing, have you?" you teased, your tone playful, though your heart was pounding a little harder than you wanted to admit.

"Wouldn’t be any fun if I did, would it?" he shot back with a grin, glancing at you briefly. And that’s when you noticed it—the way his eyes lingered just a second too long, as if he was memorizing the details of your face, taking in the little things you hadn’t even realized he’d noticed before.

You felt the energy between you shift again, and it was suddenly harder to breathe. There was a tension simmering beneath the surface, bubbling up in the things you both were dancing around, the memories neither of you had acknowledged yet. You glanced down at your hands, fidgeting with the hem of your sweater, the silence growing louder the longer you stayed in it.

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, you felt Clayton’s hand brush against yours, his fingers grazing your knuckles absentmindedly. It wasn’t intentional—at least, you didn’t think it was—but the warmth of his skin sent a ripple of awareness through your entire body.

You glanced up at him, startled, but he was still focused on the road, like he hadn’t even noticed the accidental touch. Except… you knew he had. The way his jaw tightened ever so slightly, the way his one-handed grip on the steering wheel shifted, knuckles going white for a second before he relaxed again—it was all there, in the small, nearly imperceptible gestures that spoke louder than words ever could.

Your heart thudded in your chest, a familiar ache starting to form. Damn him for being able to do this to you without even trying.

"So," you said, desperate to break the silence before you could lose yourself completely in the warmth of his touch. "You’ve been in town a lot recently, huh? Since the team got moved?" It was a lame attempt at conversation, but anything was better than the whirlwind of thoughts currently swirling in your head.

"Yeah," Clayton replied, his voice casual, but there was a slight tension behind it. "Trying to get used to it. A lot of home games lately. But I don’t mind it. It’s kind of nice getting to see places like this again."

You raised an eyebrow. "You mean you enjoy being stuck in this city at midnight?"

He chuckled, and the sound sent a warm shiver down your spine. "When you put it that way, it sounds awful. But, you know, every city’s got its charm. And besides"—his voice dropped lower, a little more serious—"it’s not the place that makes it worth it. It’s the company."

You froze for a second, the weight of his words settling in like a stone in your chest. The way he said it—so effortlessly, like it wasn’t loaded with a thousand layers of meaning—made your stomach flip. You didn’t know what to say to that, so you did what you always did when you were caught off guard.

You deflected.

"Is that your way of saying I’m good company?" you teased, trying to keep your voice light even though your pulse was racing.

Clayton shot you a sideways glance, that damn smirk returning to his face. "You always were," he said, and the sincerity in his voice knocked the wind out of you for a second.

You bit your lip, suddenly feeling like you were eighteen again, sitting next to him in the car, wondering if he was going to reach for your hand like he used to. And just like back then, the possibility hung in the air, heavy with unspoken tension.

You turned to look at him, studying the way the dim light caught on the sharp edges of his jawline, the way his lashes cast soft shadows on his cheekbones. His face had matured, sure, but the boyish charm was still there—the same Clayton you’d fallen for once upon a time.

"You really haven’t changed much," you found yourself saying before you could stop the words from slipping out. "I mean, you’re still… you."

He glanced over at you, his expression softening as he caught the hidden meaning in your words. "Neither have you, Sunshine," he murmured, his voice almost too quiet for the small space of the car. "You’re still… you."

The way he said it—like he hadn’t forgotten a single thing about you—made something inside you ache. You wanted to say something back, to tell him how much you’d missed him, how much you hated that he still had this power over you after all these years. But the words wouldn’t come. They stuck in your throat, tangled up with all the things you hadn’t been able to say back then, and now.

Instead, you reached for his hand—just a simple, fleeting touch, your fingers brushing his in a way that felt almost accidental. But it wasn’t. Not really.

His fingers curled around yours, just for a moment, just long enough for you to feel the warmth of his skin and the way it made your whole body hum with something familiar, something you hadn’t felt in far too long.

And then, just like that, he let go.

You blinked, pulling your hand back and staring out the window, the city lights reflecting off the glass in a blur of color and motion. Your chest felt tight, too many emotions crashing into you at once. But you couldn’t deny it—no matter how hard you tried to keep your walls up, they were crumbling. And Clayton? He was still the one person who could knock them down without even trying.

"So," you said, your voice a little breathless, "Are we almost there?"

Clayton glanced over at you, his expression unreadable for a moment before he smiled softly. "Yeah, we’re close."

The rest of the drive was silent, but it wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. It was the kind of silence that was full of possibility, of things left unsaid but not unwelcome. You didn’t know where this night was headed, but you knew one thing for sure—whatever happened, it wouldn’t be something you’d forget anytime soon.

***

The city streets blurred as the car slowed to a stop in some tucked-away corner you barely recognized. The soft glow of the streetlights overhead cast a warm hue on the pavement, but you barely noticed. Your mind was still spinning from the weight of Clayton’s words, from the way his hand had felt when it lingered on yours for just that fleeting second.

“We’re here,” he said, his voice low, almost hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure this was the right place, or the right time, or maybe the right anything.

But you didn’t care. The night felt charged, like the two of you were moving in slow motion while the rest of the world was speeding by. It didn’t matter where “here” was, not really.

You both stumbled out of the car, the cool night air rushing at you as you wrapped your sweater tighter around yourself. But it wasn’t enough—not with the way Clayton’s presence seemed to radiate heat just inches away. You were on edge, your senses heightened, and every part of you was hyper-aware of how close he was, of the way his breath lingered in the crisp air, of the way he watched you with a look that made your heart skip a beat.

“Come on,” he said, a grin tugging at his lips as he grabbed a bottle of something from the back seat. “We’re not done yet.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Is this still part of the mysterious tour?”

“Maybe,” he teased, already uncorking the bottle and handing it to you. His fingers brushed yours again, and it was ridiculous how that tiny touch sent another shiver down your spine.

You took a swig, the liquid burning as it slid down your throat, but you welcomed it—the warmth, the distraction from the pounding in your chest. Clayton took the bottle back, and soon you were both drinking far too much, far too fast, but neither of you seemed to care. You walked aimlessly, shoulders bumping, laughing at nothing and everything, the weight of the past slipping further away with each step.

It didn’t take long before you found yourselves outside some random corner store, the neon sign buzzing faintly in the distance. You leaned against the brick wall, head tipped back as you took another swig, giggling at something Clayton had just said—something about how ridiculous it was that he had to move here, that his dogs liked it better in Arizona.

But then, suddenly, it wasn’t funny anymore. Not when you felt his eyes on you, the intensity of his gaze burning into your skin. You turned to face him, your breath catching in your throat as the space between you disappeared in an instant.

He was close. So close.

Without thinking, you leaned in, your hand finding the front of his jacket, tugging him closer until there was no more room left between you. And then his lips were on yours, soft but insistent, as if he had been waiting for this moment just as long as you had.

The first kiss was electric. You could taste the alcohol on his lips, sweet and sharp, but that wasn’t what had your heart racing. It was the way he kissed you—hungry, like he was trying to make up for all the time you’d lost, all the time you hadn’t spent together. His hands were on your waist, pulling you closer, and suddenly, the entire world faded away, leaving only the two of you under the dim streetlights.

You didn’t care that you were making out in public, that anyone could see. In that moment, nothing else mattered. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him even closer as you kissed him harder, more desperately, as if you were afraid this would all disappear if you stopped for even a second.

You broke apart, gasping for air, but Clayton didn’t let go. His forehead rested against yours, his breath hot against your lips as you both stood there, hearts pounding, the night spinning around you. “God, Sunshine,” he muttered, his voice hoarse, “What are you doing to me?”

You couldn’t find the words to respond, so you kissed him again. This time, it was slower, deeper, and the warmth of it seeped into your bones. His hands roamed your back, pulling you against him in a way that felt reckless, like neither of you cared about anything except the feel of each other.

Somehow, in your drunken haze, you ended up wandering through the streets, arms wrapped around each other, stumbling over your own feet as you laughed and kissed and touched like you were teenagers again. His hands were everywhere—on your waist, your hips, sliding up the back of your neck to tangle in your hair—and you couldn’t get enough of him.

At one point, you found yourselves pressed up against the side of a building, your back hitting the cold brick as Clayton’s body pressed against yours, his mouth hot against your neck. You were both breathless, both lost in the moment, and you couldn’t stop the small moan that escaped your lips as his teeth grazed your skin.

“God, Clayton,” you gasped as he kissed a trail down your jawline, his stubble scratching deliciously against your skin. “We’re in the middle of the street.”

He grinned against your neck, his breath hot against your skin. “So? It’s not like anyone’s around to stop us.”

You laughed, a giddy, breathless sound, and shoved him playfully, though your hands were still clutching the front of his shirt. “You’re such an idiot.”

“And yet,” he murmured, pulling you back in for another kiss, his hands sliding to rest on your hips, “you’re still here.”

You couldn’t argue with that. Your body pressed against his again, and suddenly all your protests faded away as he kissed you like he had something to prove. You could feel the way his fingers dug into your hips, pulling you impossibly closer, and your whole body felt like it was buzzing with energy. It was overwhelming, intoxicating, the way he touched you, kissed you, like he was trying to make up for all the lost time in one night.

The two of you were a tangle of limbs and breathless kisses, stumbling down the sidewalk toward what you assumed was his apartment. Neither of you seemed to know—or care—where you were headed, as long as you were together. The past, the complications, the years of distance—they all melted away, lost in the heat of the moment.

And you? You were drowning in it. Drowning in him. And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t want to come up for air.

*** You woke up to the sound of an obnoxious alarm blaring from somewhere across the room, the kind that felt like it was drilling straight into your skull. Your eyes fluttered open, your brain struggling to catch up with the sudden onslaught of noise, and you groaned, pulling the covers over your head in a desperate attempt to block it out.

That’s when it hit you.

This wasn’t your bed.

The sheets were soft, unfamiliar against your skin, and the room smelled like him—clean, woodsy, with that faint hint of his cologne that you’d been way too aware of last night. Last night. Oh, God.

You froze, every muscle in your body tensing as the events of the previous evening slammed back into you with all the subtlety of a freight train. Clayton. The kiss. The way he touched you like you were the only thing in the world he wanted. The way you hadn’t stopped him, hadn’t even wanted to stop him. And now, here you were, tangled in his sheets, his bare chest pressed up against your back, his arm slung lazily over your waist like it had always belonged there.

You squeezed your eyes shut again, praying this was some whiskey-induced fever dream and that in a few minutes, you’d wake up in your own bed, alone, and none of this would have actually happened. But no amount of willpower could change the fact that you were very much awake, very much in his bed, and very much aware of the fact that you’d slept with Clayton.

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath, your heart pounding in your chest like it was trying to break free.

Beside you, Clayton stirred, groaning as he stretched lazily, his fingers brushing against your bare skin as he shifted. “Mornin’,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep, and you could hear the smile in his tone even though you couldn’t see his face.

Oh, he sounded way too casual for someone who had just turned your entire world upside down.

“Morning?” you squeaked, your voice coming out far higher than you’d intended. You shifted out from under his arm and sat up, clutching the blanket to your chest like a lifeline. “Clayton, what the hell—?”

His eyes cracked open, blinking at you with that groggy, lopsided grin that would have been charming if you weren’t currently having an internal meltdown. He looked… annoyingly good. The kind of good that made you want to punch him and kiss him at the same time, and the conflict was making your brain short-circuit.

“What?” he asked, his grin widening as he stretched again, the muscles in his arms flexing. “You’re freakin’ out. I can tell. Relax, Sunshine.”

“Relax?” Your voice pitched higher. “You told me you didn’t have anything going on today!”

Clayton blinked, then frowned slightly as if he was trying to recall. And then, like a lightbulb flicking on, you saw the realization dawn on his face. “Oh. Yeah… about that.”

Your heart sank. “Clayton.”

“Okay, look, technically I don’t have anything going on until later…” he started, but you shot him a glare that could’ve melted steel.

“Then what is that?” you asked, pointing accusingly toward his still-blaring phone, the sound making your skin crawl. Clayton sighed, pushing the covers off and swinging his legs out of bed. He crossed the room in nothing but a pair of his boxers—of course he looked ridiculously good in them—and smacked the alarm off with a casualness that made you want to scream.

“I might’ve… uh, forgotten to mention that I have practice this morning,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s just a quick thing. Early session. In like… 20 minutes.”

You stared at him, incredulous. “You lied to me?”

“I didn’t lie!” he protested, his hands up in mock defense. “I just… omitted some details. For the sake of the night. I didn’t want to kill the vibe.” He had the audacity to smirk at you, that same cocky, infuriatingly charming smirk that used to make your stomach flip when you were younger—and still did, apparently, despite everything. “I figured I’d have enough time to grab a shower, kiss you goodbye, and get outta here. No big deal.”

No big deal? You gawked at him, your mouth opening and closing like a fish, trying to find some coherent response to that. Was he serious? After everything that happened last night, he thought you could just… what? Kiss him goodbye and pretend like nothing had changed?

“Clay,” you said slowly, “We slept together.”

He shrugged, that damn smirk never leaving his face. “Yeah. I remember. Pretty sure you were there for that.”

Your face flushed hot, embarrassment and frustration bubbling up inside you. “How can you be so—so chill about this? I’m freaking out! We haven’t seen each other in years, and then you just show up and… and this happens?” You gestured wildly, like the whole situation was somehow his fault, which, okay, maybe it wasn’t entirely fair, but still.

Clayton’s smirk softened into something gentler, his eyes searching your face as he stepped closer to the bed. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice low, calming, as if he could sense that you were on the verge of spiraling. “I’m not freakin’ out because… because I wanted this to happen. And not just last night.” He reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine. "I know it’s complicated," he said, his voice steady. "But I also know that I don’t want you to leave."

Your heart skipped a beat, and you finally turned to face him, your eyes searching his for any sign of hesitation. But there wasn’t any. He was looking at you like he meant every word.

"What are you saying?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair, clearly trying to find the right words. "I’m saying… I don’t know what last night means either. But I do know that I don’t want it to be a one-time thing. I don’t want to wake up and find you gone. I don’t want to go to practice and come back to an empty apartment. I want you to be here when I get back."

You stared at him, stunned into silence.

"I didn’t realize it until last night, but I’m not… I’m not the same without you, Sunshine," he continued, his voice soft but sure. "And I don’t think I want to be."

Your heart felt like it had taken off at a sprint, and suddenly, all the panic, all the confusion that had been swirling in your head since the alarm went off, started to melt away.

You didn’t know how to respond—hell, you didn’t even know if you had the right words to respond to something like that. But as you looked at him, sitting there with that vulnerable look in his eyes, you felt something inside you shift, something that told you that maybe—just maybe—this was worth the risk.

You still loved him. Him, and those blue eyes that practically glew, all of his awkward, uncoordinated limbs paired with the way he never failed to make you laugh.

How could you not?

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I’ll be here."

Clayton let out a breath he’d clearly been holding, his shoulders relaxing as a relieved grin spread across his face. "Good," he said, his voice lighter now, teasing. "Because I was really hoping to have breakfast with you after I kick ass at practice."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the smile that broke through. "Oh, you were, huh?"

“Yup,” he said, popping the ‘p’ as he leaned in, his voice dropping lower. “And if you’re really nice, maybe I’ll even make you coffee.”

You laughed, shaking your head as the tension between you both dissolved into something warmer, something familiar. "Wow, lucky me," you teased back, tilting your head up to peck him on the lips. Your heart felt lighter now, like maybe—just maybe—this was the start of something neither of you had expected but were both willing to explore.

A love that’s worth the fight, even if it hurts, if it faded in time a long time ago, because it just feels so right. 

He’s it for you, and even though he was always notoriously bad with his words, the way he’s looking at you speaks all of them for him.

[prinzrupprecht]

To Live or Die

Chapter 5 - the truth and acceptance

I’m back to my next level of Okita stage coping since the leaks. If you’re new here, read the previous parts!

Synopsis Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

TW: hurt/comfort

WC: 965

Kondo-san and your uncle were in another room talking. You assumed they were practically catching up over the years. Souji was quiet like you were. Were you both waiting for the other to break the silence? You sighed while deciding that Souji won this game with the awkward tension. “It’s been a while…” you mumbled while keeping your head down.

You couldn’t even make eye contact with him. He was just as shy and nervous as you were. “How have you been?” he asked. It was better to change the subject for the better. His question made you think after the war you didn’t honestly expect to see him again. His words struck you before how he wanted to help his friends in battle fighting for their lives and beliefs. Souji said if he were to die then it would be in a spectacular battle. What changed?

“I’m… doing okay. What about you?” You had no idea whether you were telling the truth. Were you okay? Probably not. Your heart started fluttering again. You casually brought one of your fingers up to your cheekbone while awkwardly smiling. You tilted your head a bit to get a good look at him.

“I told you already with the letter I sent.” He muttered as if he was more disappointed with your response. You looked down and thought for a moment what he said. Was he hinting how he missed you?

“Sorry, I’m not great with words.” You muttered and it was silent for a good minute between you two. You didn’t really give him much about your new life in your letter. You wanted to ask him things as he did but neither of you knew how to talk to one another properly like before. Were things completely ruined between you two?

“Are you still mad at me?” he gripped the top of his knees unsure if what he did would ever be forgivable to you.

“To you? No. I am with myself. You shouldn’t apologize when I can’t even properly give you one.” Your words affected him when he knew you all too well. You still somewhat resented him for leaving and choosing to fight in a war that wasn’t winnable. What did you mean by that? He has already long forgiven the things you said.

You were closing yourself off from people getting close to you again. “No. I can’t ever make up for the past. I don’t regret choosing my beliefs and keeping my promises to the others, and Kondo-san. I still always cared about you, it was just the wrong place at the wrong time for both of us.” Okita realized what he was saying would hurt you, but he couldn’t lie either.

You kept silent and pursued your lips from getting emotional. “But— but we’re here now right?” Okita saw how saddened you were. You tried to crack a smile at his enthusiasm.

“Ya… I suppose,” you quietly said. Kondo-san and your uncle returned laughing with one another. You and Souji looked at them wondering what they talked about.

“What is going on?” you had asked and your uncle looked at Kondo.

“I think you should go back with them,” your uncle broke the tension in the room. You stared at him with confusion.

“Huh?” You were wondering why. You looked at Okita who didn’t make eye contact with you.

“I don’t… understand?” This was difficult for Arashi to explain to you how the area is consumed with illegal gangs and former members of Tosa have migrated down to Yokohama to operate their crimes in the dark.

“You’re just not safe here, if you can at least give them a chance… you’ll find that closure but it won’t be here. I know things have been hard for you.” He stopped and saw you looking down at your hands. Kondo stood back in silence while he was relatively glad you weren’t resisting the temptation to stay in Yokohama.

“What about you?” you asked. Your uncle sucked in a breath before looking at Kondo.

“After you got attacked earlier, that man knows your face and the gang he associates with… it’s too dangerous for you to stay here.” He avoided your question and it was difficult for you to decide.

You wanted some time to decide whether you would risk your life staying in Yokohama or go back with Kondo and Souji. “You didn’t answer my question.” You chewed the inside of your cheek.

“I’ll— I’ll be fine, I promise. Your life is more in jeopardy than mine. I run the docks down here, they won’t come for me.” Arashi ruffled your hair a bit making you pout. You had no idea if he was telling you the truth or just making the situation sound less bad than what it already was.

“If anything we’ll come back if Arashi-san is in trouble, right Kondo-san?” Souji spoke up. You crossed your arms but thought of it as him trying to get you to leave but maybe he was right and that your life is in danger now. Who would be better to keep you safe? The obvious answer would be Kondo and Souji.

“Fine, when do we leave?” You looked at Kondo and back to Souji.

“Soon, I have to get back to the department in a day or so since I’m here without proper clearance.” You briefly looked at your uncle and excused yourself to grab a few of your things.

How did things have to turn out this way? Now you’re returning to live with them again like old times? It feels incredibly odd and not real. The war took that from you, right? You were hurt still but maybe over time you’ll heal again and move on. Only time can do that.

[laurentidal]

Confundus

Ginny sat alone in the stacks trying so hard to remember the spells she'd need to pass her exams. She knew that she'd learned everything. But ever since that spell backfired, her brain had been a little… scattered.

That awful Malfoy had been causing a scene again and she so wanted to shut him up. But something happened when she'd cast her spell. The wanted to Confund him. Make him think he was a chicken or something. But he must have been ready, and she ended up hitting herself instead. She shook it off, but in retrospect she probably should have gone to see Madame Pomfrey. Every now and then she would have strange thoughts. Like she was someone else. Her brain must have gotten more rattled that it seemed at first.

Tori - no. Ginny. Ginny got to her feet and sighed. She'd never pass at this rate. None of the spells she tried to cast were working. Not even that basic ones. It's like all her magic had disappeared. But that was impossible. It had to just be in her mind. Maybe once she went home and got some sleep.

Wait, home? She wouldn't be going home until school was done for the year. Why did she think she was going home tonight? What she needed was to find her friends. They always had a way of getting out of trouble. Maybe they could help. But where would they be?

Just then, Harry rounded the corner. Perfect.

"Ginny," he said with a wicked grin. "I've been looking for you."

"Oh yeah?" she asked. They hadn't been together long, but all that time pent up and waiting for it, Tori hadn't waited long to fuck him. Ginny. Ginny hadn't waited long. "And why were you looking for me?"

He reached out and ran his hands along her side, brushing her breast. "No real reason."

Her nipples stiffened at his touch. What had she wanted to talk to him about? It mustn't have been very important. That was another thing. Thoughts were sliding out of her mind with some regularity. She was in danger of becoming the new Neville. And it seemed to happen more around Harry. It must have just been her horniness taking over her brain.

"You want to go back to the dorms?" she asked running a finger slowly along the bulge she saw in his pants.

"Why wait?" he said. "I do have the invisibility cloak. We could do it right here."

He pulled up a large sheet that looked a little different from the cloak she'd seen him use before. But she must have just been wrong. She was so silly. It was his cloak after all. He'd know what it was. She giggled softly.

"People will hear."

"I'll just hex you mute."

That was a good point. She was soooo happy he was so smart. Especially since she couldn't do any magic at all right now. He walked over and hung the blanket across the door to their little room.

"There. Now no one can see us in here."

That wasn't how it worked! Tori had read enough to know that. You had to put it over yourself. Right now it was just a curtain in the door. But. But. Ginny wasn't Tori! She wasn't! And Ginny trusted Harry. Harry knew how his own invisibility cloak worked. He was the smart one. She was just the silly girl with no magic or brain.

"So," he said expectantly. "Strip."

Ginny smiled happily. He was always so direct. So commanding. Ever since they'd met yesterd… Ever since they'd started dating. He told her what to do and she did it. She was a good girlfriend. He pointed his wand at her.

"Muffliato."

She knew that one. It made her quiet. Harry often liked to cast that on her when she was annoying him. It made her so wet that he had so much power over her. She couldn't even defend herself without magic. So hot. She stood there, voiceless and naked as Harry looked at her.

"l can't believe this really worked," he said happily. 'You really think you're her, don't you? And you think this is Hogwarts. And I'm him. This whole fantasy I built for you… Amazing."

Ginny looked at him questioningly but content. She didn't know what he was saying but he was sooooo much smarter than she was. It would have been so silly to ask him anything. She wouldn't have understood it anyway.

"Alright 'Ginny,"' Harry said, pants falling to the floor. "We're going to fuck now. It's going to be ~~magical~~. And maybe when we're done I'll let you come back to reality. Tori's friends will be missing her eventually."

Ginny nodded eagerly at the word fuck and didn't really listen to anything else. If she could speak, she'd have squealed with excitement. Ginny loved to fuck. And after all, they were invisible. She'd been so worried earlier. Why? As long as she had a dick inside her, there was nothing else to worry about. She let her wand fall to the ground as she took a new length of wood and what little was left of her dumb little brain burst completely.

Thanks for reading! If you are a fan of my work, consider buying me a coffee. Any contribution is insanely appreciated. 💖

[jamroses]

Maybe in another life

Word count: 1.3k Warnings: None ? Summary: Todd meets Neils sister Diane, and convinces the other Poets to have one last meeting so he can introduce her to them. Tags:Dead Poets Society, Neil Perry, Todd Anderson, Charlie Dalton, Knox Overstreet, Gerard Pitts, Steven Meeks, Richard Cameron, AnderPerry Note: THIS IS MY FIRST TIME WRITING AND PUBLISHING A FANFICTION??? HELP ME?? SORRY IF ITS HORRIBLE ?? CONSTRUCTIVE(!) CRITISM IS ALWAYS WELCOME <3

The days following Neil's death were silent, no one knew what to say. Barely a word was spoken between the boys, they had gotten some time off to deal with the news, and prepare for the funeral. 

Todd was lying on the now empty right side bed, Neil’s mother had come in the day before to clear out all his stuff and had even told him he could keep something of Neil’s to ‘remember him by’. 

Todd had chosen the script of ‘A midsummer night's dream’ and a sweater. A knock sounded on the other side of the door and Todd rose from the bed, 

“Come in.” Meeks walked in, 

‘‘It’s almost starting, are you ready to go?’’ Todd nodded and followed Meeks out the door and through the corridor. They walked silently, side by side through the halls toward the church next to the school where the service would be held. 

They slid into the bench next to Charlie, Knox & Pitts who were already seated, Todd looked around and saw Neil’s parents sitting on the front row, right beside Nolan. The headmaster rose from his seat and stood up on the podium. 

“The death of Neil Perry was a tragic accident.” Nolan began, 

“Liar.” Todd muttered under his breath. 

“He was a fine student, one of Welton’s best, and he will be missed.” Nolan continued, “We have contacted each of your parents to explain the situation. Naturally, all are quite concerned. At the request of Neil’s family, I intend to conduct a thorough inquiry into this matter. Your complete cooperation is expected.” 

-

After the service, everyone slowly made their way out to the courtyard. Todd walked behind his friends, 

“You guys go ahead, there’s something I need to check on.” 

He started towards the cemetery where they had just buried Neil. When he got there he saw there was already another person there, a girl, she couldn’t have been any older than he was. 

Todd slowly approached her, and stood a few feet apart from her, looking at Neil’s grave. The girl didn’t seem to notice him at first, as she continued to rearrange the white roses that were placed around Neil’s grave. Todd thought he had seen her before, but he just couldn’t figure out why she looked so familiar. 

After she had finished what she was doing, the girl turned her head to look at Todd.

She noticed how heartbroken he looked, how pale his skin was, how red his eyes were from crying. 

“Did you know him well?” She asked him, Todd looked up, “Neil, did you know him well?” 

“Oh yeah, we were roommates, you?” Todd looked at her, who was it that she reminded him of? 

“Yeah, he was my brother.” Todd looked her in the eyes for the first time since they met, 

“What?” 

He took in her features and realized she looked just like him, hell she could even be him. 

“Yeah he is, was, a year and a half older than me.” Todd was staring at her as if she were a ghost. 

“You look just like him.”  

“Yeah I get that a lot.” She smiled sadly. 

“I’m Todd Anderson by the way.” He held out his hand for her to shake, “So you’re that Todd!” She shook his hand, 

“I’m Diane Perry.’’ 

The bell in the tower struck, indicating that dinner was about to be served at Welton. ‘‘I uh 

have to go, dinners about to be served.’’ 

“Todd said.” Diane looked up, “Yeah I should probably make my way back as well. It was nice meeting you.” 

Diane started making her way back down the small path that led to the village, 

“Wait!” Todd called after her, she turned around, “Do you want to meet the other boys?” 

She smiled, “I’d love to.” 

“Okay, uh, awesome, meet me back here around 8:30.” 

“See you then Todd.” Todd waved and as he made his way back to Welton, he felt that everything might be okay.

Dinner was silent, no one looked at each other. “Guys, meet me at the cave tonight at half past 8?” 

Todd suddenly spoke, everyone looked surprised. 

“What, are you crazy? Why would we go back there?” Knox spoke, 

“Please guys, I have a surprise.” 

“I am never going back to that place.” Charlie said. 

“Yeah, I’ve got homework to do anyway.” Meeks agreed. 

“Come on guys, please. Just one last time.” Todd pleaded, he really needed this to work. “No, and now I don’t want to talk about it anymore!” Knox raised his voice, clearly sounding upset. Todd was starting to lose hope, “For Neil, please.”

Charlie sighed, “What’s this surprise you have for us anyway?” 

“Come to the cave tonight and you’ll see.” 

“Well it better be good.” Pitts said, getting up from the table and getting his stuff together. 

“This is the Last time I will be going back there. Understood?” Knox also got up, 

“Great, awesome, don’t forget, half past 8.” The remaining boys all got up and made their way back to their rooms. 

-

“What’s taking him so long?” Knox was getting impatient, “It’s 8:45 already!” “Dude relax,” Charlie tried to calm him down, “He’ll be here soon.”

“If he’s not here in 5 minutes I’m leaving.” Pitts decided, Meeks nodding in agreement.

Just then, Todd walked into the cave, “Sorry I’m late guys, had to pick up the surprise.”

“It better be good,” Knox grumbled, still upset. “So where is this surprise anyway?” Charlie asked, just as Diane stepped into the cave.

“She’s right here.”

The boys’ jaws collectively dropped as they looked at the girl before them, the girl who had the Same brown eyes, the Same brown hair, the Same nose, even the same smile as him. No one dared to speak a word. Scared that if they did, she might disappear.

Todd broke the silence by introducing her; “Guys this is Diane, she’s Neils sister.” Diane nodded and Todd continued, “Diane this is Knox, Charlie, Meeks and Pitts. A.K.A the Dead Poets Society.”

“I heard you guys have meetings? Where you read poetry?” Diane looked to Meeks, who seemed quite smart to her, and would probably explain it best.

“Yeah, we take turns reading poetry, some from the greats, some original pieces.” Diane nodded, “I actually have a poem I prepared to read tonight.” Diane cleared her throat, ready to start when Charlie interrupted,

“We’ve got to open the meeting first.”

Pitts agreed, “You can’t just start reading poetry.”

“Well then would someone open the meeting please?” Diane looked around and realized that as soon as she asked the question the cave fell silent.

Pitts had taken a sudden interest to his shoes, Charlie acted as though he had never seen a cave wall before in his life, Meeks felt the need to clean is already clean glasses thoroughly and Todd just stared off into the distance, as if he wasn’t even here.

“He always opened the meetings.” Knox spoke.

“Excuse me?”

“Neil, he always opened our meetings.” Knox got up, “Listen Todd, I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish by bringing her here. But we’ve all gotta move on.”

“What are you talking about?” Todd got up as well, “I understand you’re just trying to help.” Knox continued; “But you gotta face the reality, Neils dead, we might all be facing expulsion, and Keating is being investigated. I’m sorry, but I’m leaving, I can’t take this anymore.” Knox made his was out the cave,

“Knox! Wait! Come back!” Todd tried to chase after him.

“It’s no use,” Meeks spoke, “he’s gone.”

“He was right though,” Pitts also got up, “We shouldn’t be doing this.” He started making his way out the cave too.

Todd felt all hope he had that afternoon disappear, everything was falling apart.

“I’m sorry Todd.” Charlie looked Todd in the eyes, “Maybe one day we’ll return.” Charlie put on his coat and followed Pitts outside.

“Meeks, please, you can’t leave.” Todd pleaded, feeling his eyes fill up with tears. But Meeks had already gotten up, and was halfway out the cave,

“Goodnight Todd.” RAAAAAAHHHH DO U GUYS LIKE THIS??? DO U WANT A PART TWO????

[awellboiledicicle]

I am progressing the main story in Palia and mmm my called shot of it being an ARK/Fallout/Horizon Zero Dawn kinda thing is NOT being disproved.

Also the majiri refer to their planet as earth as well. But there are two moons. So either an orbital capture happened and probably fucked with things, or it's a "humans rolled up while majiri were still working out the basics of being people and by the time of plot they're mythologized bc the contemporary majiri had no fucking context".

Which given Hekla exists, and theres a line about them existing to teach humans things... feels like Palias planet is an Earth 2 situation where we just kinda colonized the place and let the majiri live. Uncharacteristically kind of humanity, but appearantly other shit was happening.

It really is giving ARK tho, like.. being printed out of nowhere with enough instinct and information to not only survive but communicate with the new environment. Like original strain humans are just gone, kaput, done. Now it's literally all clones of clones of impressions uploaded to an AI with instructions to hit print when it's safe.

Which leads me to another theory: The Dragon the majiri worship can be one of three things. One, it's an honest to goodness god that decided to fuck off a few years before humans came back as a whim. Or it's very purposeful about that. Two, it's an Ai that was set up to guide the Maji to keep them from pulling the same shit that torpedoed humans. It going offline or losing signal triggered the long spin up for the ol person printer. Three: there is a fish and its red. None of it means anything to the human storyline and we're supposed to purposely not know what's bullshit and what is real.

I deeply wanna know what Chayne is seeing on the moons. I need to make his telescope. Because there could be a moonbase where humans have just been vibing. Or their tech has been.

But the thing that gets me is theres no bones in the ruins. In theory there should be SOMETHING. True it's been a couple thousand years but like. What happened.

I cant wait to see how the story progresses.

[duckmessiah]

I just wanted to let you know your latest dirkjake post… oogh im the one who aked and. I set it to my phone wallpaper and showed it to all my friends and jm going. To get a poster of it. Because its just that cool.

^how you look saying that but seriously i'm very glad to hear this. i enjoyed making that one so i'm happy with how it turned out and yeah go ahead get a poster. maybe print it on a bed sheet and wrap yourself with it. hell print it out on a curtain put it on your window so that everyone can see from the street too. get it printed on a cake and eat it. do whatever you want my dude

[raifuujin]

It's been more than 20 years and for some reason I feel that Gosho hasn't given Kaiao any development, how can more than 20 years pass and Aoko dynamics, relationship and feelings remain the same? At this point I feel like Gosho is just going to make them date because "they already liked each other" they remain in the same status quo

Hey, if we go by DC romance progress, they've been going too fast. We've already had suspicion of identity chapters, and that didn't happen until more than 400 chapters in DC. /j

Since heists have taken over any character development recently, I don't even know if Kaito and Aoko will even get any romantic progress. Maybe the actual identity confrontation will happen down the line, since that's thief drama, but atm, it really wouldn't surprise me if they only ask each other on a real date at the very end of the manga.

Like. I'm sure Gosho would love to make MK a love drama as well, but he writes MK so rarely, and usually as hype for something Kid related in other media. So the MK stories tend to be heavy on drama that can only take place at Kid heists. (To the point that the new chapters just. Use Kid as the plot device to show off a new character. Even Hakuba's never gotten so much 'look at this character being a detective' treatment in MK.)

-sighs- I just feel bad for MK as a series at this point. I like the characters, I like the general story idea, but. It's been going down a very steep hill with Gosho wanting things exciting, but not wanting any real progress in. Anything. But unlike old MK, the new stories aren't even nice standalone setpieces of story, they're... mundane. They could be high stakes, if you purely look at the scenarios on paper, but. We all know nothing's gonna happen to Kid. Nothing even happens to him when the actual bad guys show up, much less one-time antagonists.

We need actual character focus and development, not heist drama. Badly. Not even romance, though that'd be a nice change. Just any character expansion of our limited cast of characters. Gosho wants big, all the time, meaningless big stuff, when small would be so nice.

[faaun]

pls i need to provide updates

[tardis--dreams]

I can't decide what's more frustrating. Job applications and communication with people there or trying to contact the doctor's office.

[crappyyuki]

You know the drill.

Zenonia!

I have a problem.

Aha. Ha. Yeah. Another Regret and Chael drawing. I love em. Sue me, I guess.

I love dad Regret with all my heart and I just love their dynamic, okay? Literally most of the flashbacks were about Chael asking for his advice. And aside from them having the best father-son relationship ever, the protag actually has a dad, a good dad. An adoptive dad but a dad nonetheless. How could I not love that? Best dad in RPG'S since 2011.

They are literally the main reason why I'm still in the Zenonia fandom and why I'm still waiting for the global release of Chronobreak even with it just being a standard MMORPG than Zenonia. I. Just. Want. Them. To. Be. Happy.

It has its flaws, sure, and plenty of plot holes like in Zenonia 1 why is Sun still alive in the Evil Route when its impossible for her to survive that attack or why the fuck did Dupre not tell Sun about Regret and vice versa or in Zenonia 3 did Regret know about Frey being Celine or did he just forget that Chael was an angel and just told him he was human but dammit the only flaw that matters is that they can't be happy together :(

And if Gamevil won't give it to me then I'll make it myself.

I want more Zenonia content :(

Oh. And don't let the cute sleeping baby face fool you. He cries all the damn time. Hence Regret's eyebags.

Regret loves him regardless :)

Here's the other versions!

I was trying to make a manga aesthetic. I hope I did it right.

[theskeletoninthegarden]

I'm taking a few days off for my birthday, I have some appointments, but otherwise I wasn't sure what I was going to do, until today when I decided to strip my laptops for fun parts

[sudokuplayer]

i'm so angry and heartbroken and i think this is all i will ever be