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[southeastmed-spa]

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[wannabehockeygf]

loml - clayton keller

“You lowdown boy,

You standup guy,

Holy Ghost, you told me I’m

The love of your life.”

summary: when clayton finds out he has to move to utah, something snaps.

word count: 2.9k

pairing: toxic ? ck9 x fem!reader

warnings: some slight manipulation, gaslighting

notes:

this may or not make you extremely upset!

in my massive crush on clayton keller era!

^ happy early birthday king

i’ve also been craving writing some angst and something extremely tragic

self insert because this is how i would react if i was forced to move to utah

^ no offense... it just seems like Alberta but worse.

this is also something i might write a sequel for, so lmk if you’d want that

or send me a request for a different trope with him while I’m still on this kick

I’d also like to dedicate this to the word “fuck” because I used it way too much.

gif creds - imgonnaeditstuff

his hair... hair of all time. absolutely beautiful kells pls never cut it. ***

“Fuck!”

“Oh no, oh fuck no no! Fucking hell no!” Your boyfriend exclaims from outside, causing you to drop the knife you were using to chop some garlic and run out to the pool area, where you knew he was.

His bare back faces you, muscles tensing as he faces out toward the fence, his feet dangling in the water. He holds his phone up to his ear, running a hand through his wet hair as you approach him, “Clay, are you okay? What happened?” You urge him, crouching down so he’s able to see you. 

Clayton’s expression is a scowl, furrowing his brows as he stares out into the distance in pure disbelief. His eyes don’t soften at all when he meets your gaze, instead waving you off, “Shhh, shut the fuck up for a second.” He hisses, his eyes zeroing back in on nothing in particular.

You’re in a state of disbelief because one, why is he talking to you like that? You haven’t done anything much to probe him, and two, what’s going on for him to be talking to you like that? 

You purse your lips, taking a deep breath as you listen to his demand and stand back up. “Yeah, okay. I’ll talk to you later.” Clayton murmurs, setting down his phone on the damp concrete beside him. He immediately facepalms, running his hands through his hair once again, followed by him balling his hand into a fist and hitting it against the ground on the other side of him. “Fuck!”

“You wanna tell me what’s going on now?” You say, crossing your arms. Clayton turns his head, and rolls his eyes at you, pondering his thoughts for a few moments before letting out an extended groan and turning his head back. “It’s fucking happening, babe, I’m moving to fuckin’ Utah.”

Oh. Oh. When he first heard of the possibility of the Coyotes being moved and told you, you both laughed. How could you not? It was such a ridiculous concept — moving from a great hockey market when they’d inevitably get a new arena soon, right? They wouldn’t be doomed to play at Arizona State forever.

Well, it turns out that the new arena management was thinking, was the Delta Center. In Salt Lake City. 

And that was reality right now.

You watch as Clayton’s chest heaves, his breaths shallow and rapid. The late afternoon sun casts long shadows over the pool area, its rays glinting off the surface of the water, creating a fragmented reflection of his tense form.

The tension in the air is palpable, almost suffocating. You can feel the rough concrete beneath your bare feet, tiny grains digging into your skin, grounding you in his moment of disbelief and anger. "Utah," you repeat, the word feeling foreign on your tongue. "You’re moving to Utah."

Clayton doesn't turn to face you. His gaze is fixed on some indeterminate point beyond the fence, as if staring hard enough might change the reality unfolding before him. His jaw is set, his muscles rippled under the strain of his frustration, body taut like a bowstring ready to snap. The deep tan of his skin is darker from the time he'd spent outdoors, contrasting sharply with the red flush of anger now rising up his neck. You watch as a bead of sweat traces a slow path down his temple, disappearing into the damp mess of his hair.

He finally turns to face you, and you saw the anger simmering in his eyes. “Me? I’m moving? You mean us?” He questions, his voice ever so shaky underneath the suppressed rage you’re sure he’s feeling.

The silence stretches between you, a taut line ready to snap. The gentle rustling of palm leaves, the distant hum of traffic, and the rhythmic lapping of water against the pool’s edge do little to soften the edges of your growing anxiety. The world around you remains indifferent, carrying on as if nothing has changed, while your reality shifts on its axis.

“Clayton,” you finally say, your voice barely more than a whisper, yet it feels like it shatters the stillness. “You know I can’t just go with you. We have to talk about this.”

Clayton's eyes narrow, his jaw tightening as your words sink in. The muscles in his neck flex, veins prominent against his sun-kissed skin. He stands abruptly, the force sending ripples through the pool, and begins to pace along the edge, his footsteps echoing the tension between you. The sharp scent of chlorine mingles with the earthy aroma of freshly cut grass, creating a heady, disorienting mix.

He paces back and forth, his breaths coming out in harsh bursts. Each step he takes feels like a statement, a physical manifestation of the turmoil inside him. You watch him, arms still crossed, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Clayton,” you begin, but he cuts you off with a harsh laugh, the sound devoid of humor. It’s a laugh that slices through the air, making your skin prickle.

“You know what?” he says, his voice low and shaky. “I should have seen this coming. Should’ve known you’d find a reason not to come with me.” His words are like daggers, each one striking a different nerve.

You inhale sharply, the scent of chlorine mingling in a way that turns your stomach. “That’s not fair, and you know it,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “We’ve built a life here, my job, our friends...”

“Our friends?” he interrupts, eyes flashing. “Or is it just your life you’re worried about? Your job, your comfort zone? What about me? This is my career, my dream. Don’t you understand that?”

You flinch as his words hit home, each one a reminder of the predicament. The sun dips lower, casting long shadows that stretch like fingers across the pool area, adding a surreal quality to the argument. You can feel the sweat on your back, sticking your shirt to your skin, the heat of the day not helping the heat of the moment. “I do understand, but this affects us both!” you counter, your voice rising with your frustration. “You’re asking me to uproot my entire life without even considering how I feel about it.”

He stops pacing, his back to you, and for a moment, you think he might ignore you. But then he turns slowly, his eyes meeting yours. They're dark, intense, filled with a blend of anger and hurt that cuts through you like a knife. “I’m not asking, I’m telling you. I need you with me. Isn’t that what people who love each other do? They make sacrifices?”

The word “sacrifices” hangs heavily in the air, a bitter reminder of what’s at stake. Your throat tightens, and you struggle to find the words for a moment. The world around you feels distant, the neighborhood sounds muted as if submerged underwater.

“Sacrifices go both ways,” you finally manage to say, your voice breaking. “I’ve supported you through everything, but I have dreams too, Clay. And they fucking matter, even if they aren’t wrapped up in a hockey jersey.”

Clayton paces again, his movements jerky and erratic, like a caged animal searching for an escape. His breath comes in ragged bursts, each exhale a testament to the struggle raging within him. He stops suddenly, his eyes locking onto yours with a fierce intensity, the lines of his face etched deep with frustration and pain. “You’re making this about you,” he spits out, his voice low but charged with a raw, electric energy. “You’re being so fucking dramatic, self centred and so focused on your little world that you can’t see past it.”

The accusation hits you like a physical blow, the force of it driving the air from your lungs. The taste of salt lingers on your lips, a remnant of the tears you refuse to let fall. Your heart pounds a frantic rhythm, each beat a desperate plea for understanding, for reconciliation. The silence stretches taut between you, a fragile thread that could snap at any moment.

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to breathe. The world around you seems to blur, the colors of the sunset merging into a hazy smear. It’s as if you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, the ground crumbling beneath your feet, and you’re desperately trying to grasp onto something, anything, to stop the fall.

But the only thing falling is your tears.

As the tears spill over, Clayton’s expression shifts, a flicker of regret flashing across his features. He steps closer, reaching out as if to wipe them away, but then hesitates, his hand hovering in the space between you. The distance feels both vast and minuscule, a chasm created by his words, yet easily bridged by a single step.

“Baby, please don’t cry,” he finally mutters, his voice cracking as he takes the step, pulling you into his chest, “I didn’t mean that, I swear.”

You bury your face in his bare chest for a moment, feeling the dampness of his skin and the faint, comforting scent of his cologne. But just as quickly, you rip yourself away to meet his gaze, the tears flowing freely now, “No—fuck, you can’t do this.” You snap.

Clayton's eyes widen, caught off guard by the sudden force of your words. He takes a step back, his hands dropping to his sides, fingers twitching as if they want to reach out but don’t know how. The tension in his face eases slightly, replaced by a mix of confusion and frustration. He opens his mouth, struggling to find the right words, but you cut him off, your voice steady despite the tears.

"You can't just say things like that and then try to take them back," you continue, your voice growing stronger. "You can't just make me feel like I'm being selfish when all I've done is support you. 

“You know I didn’t mean it, babe,” he replies, his voice barely above a whisper, a heavy sense of desperation in it. His eyes search yours, trying to understand the depth of your pain. “I’m just trying to keep us together. Isn’t that what you want? You’re the love of my life. That’s what you want me to say, right? I’ll say it a million times over for you.”

Your voice, though shaky, carries a steely resolve as you look Clayton square in the eyes. "Clay, love isn't about... this. It's about finding a way to support each other, even when it's hard. This—" you gesture to the space between you, "—this isn't support. It's an ultimatum. I could be the love of your life, but you could be the loss of mine.”

Clayton's face contorts, multiple emotions running past him. He runs a hand through his hair again, a gesture that now seems more like an attempt to ground himself in the midst of this emotional whirlwind. "I'm not giving you an ultimatum," he protests, but the crack in his voice betrays the doubt seeping into his own words. "I'm just... fuck, I don’t want to lose you. I can't lose you."

You stand there, looking at him, heart breaking at the sight of his desperation. Despite the hurt, you can't ignore the sincerity in his eyes. But you also can't ignore the heavy weight of his words, the impossible choice he's forcing on you. Every fiber of your being wants to hold on, but you know deep down, that holding on might just tear you both apart.

Without a word, you turn and walk away, each step feeling heavier than the last. You can taste the salt of your tears as you make your way back into the house, his house, the backyard fading behind you. You can hear Clayton calling your name, but you don't stop. You can't. Not this time.

***

With nowhere else to go, you find yourself in Clayton’s bed that night without having finished cooking dinner or talking to him since he got the phone call. 

You couldn’t even imagine eating. Or looking at his face, nonetheless. When the door creaked open, you knew it was inevitable, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t try to ignore him.

Clayton enters the room, the dim light casting shadows on his tired face. He moves quietly, almost hesitantly, as if unsure of his place in the space he once considered safe. The bed creaks softly as he sits on the edge, and he reaches out, his hand trembling slightly, and gently touches your shoulder. The contact is soft, tentative, like he's afraid you'll pull away.

"Baby," he whispers, his voice raspy. "Please, can we talk?"

You don’t respond, your body curled up under the covers, facing away from him as you try to blink away tears that blur your vision. The silence stretches out, a noticeable barrier between you. Clayton shifts closer, lying down beside you, his warmth seeping through the sheets. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you gently into him. The familiarity of his touch is both comforting and painful, a reminder of what you stand to lose, which causes you to jerk away.

"Please, just let me hold you," he murmurs, his breath warm against your neck. "I want to be close to you, to know you’re still here with me."

Clayton’s always been a touchy guy, whether that be just wanting to cuddle or… other things, and today was no different. It was always the same thing, you’d argue, and he’d leave you alone for a few hours, only to come back and apologize, proclaim his love, and kiss it better.

Rinse, repeat.

You feel a lump forming in your throat, tears threatening to spill over once more. Part of you is intoxicated by the way he fits against you and wants to turn around, to bury your face in his chest, and let him hold you, to forget about the argument and the pain, if only for a little while. But another part of you, the part that still stings from his words, his actions, resists. It's a tug-of-war between your heart and your head, between the love you feel for him and the hurt he caused. The hurt he seems to keep causing.

"Please," he repeats, his voice barely more than a whisper, "Don’t shut me out, I need you. I need to feel you against me, love."

You take a deep breath, the ache in your chest expanding with each inhalation. The tension in your body slowly starts to melt away as you allow yourself to lean back into his embrace. Clayton pulls you closer, his grip firm but gentle, his breath warm against the back of your neck. “That’s it, pretty baby,” he mumbles. 

Clayton tightens his grip, his arms wrapping around you protectively, as if trying to shield you both from the harsh realities outside this small cocoon. Like he always used to say, he’d be your protector.

As if he wasn’t the one who caused all the hurt in the first place. 

He shoves his face into your hair, inhaling deeply as if to anchor you, your scent to memory, and you feel the tremor in his breath. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice cracking. "I'm so fucking sorry for everything I said earlier. I know I've been a dick. I know I've hurt you, but I can't stand the thought of losing you. You're everything to me.”

His words are a balm to the raw wound in your heart, but they also bring a fresh wave of tears. You want to believe him, to listen to that other side of you, and let go of the pain and anger, but the memory of his past blatant gaslighting lingers, a constant dark shadow over the love you share. You close your eyes, trying to steady your breathing, but the tears slip out anyway, wetting the pillow beneath your cheek. You don't turn to face him, but your hand reaches up, finding his where it rests on your waist. Your fingers intertwine with his, a small but significant gesture that says more than words could.

Sensing your distress, Clayton tightens his hold on you, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder as he squeezes your hand. "I love you," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. "I love you so much. Please don’t cry, baby. I can't stand it when you cry."

"Clay," you begin, your voice choked from the tears. "This isn't fair."

Clayton exhales a shaky breath, and you feel the tension in his body ease just a little. He shifts closer, his front pressed firmly against your back, as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. His arm tightens his grip around your waist as if by sheer force he can keep the world from pulling you apart. "I know it’s not. I'm so fucking scared," he confesses, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Scared of leaving, scared of what this means for us. I don't want to go to Utah without you. I don't want to go anywhere without you. We can talk to my agent, figure out if there's any flexibility, anything. I just... I don't want to lose you, not like this.”

Clayton’s desperate confession hangs in the air, heavy with raw emotion. The words feel like a fragile lifeline, a tentative reach across the chasm that's opened between you. You squeeze your eyes shut once again, letting his warmth envelop you, and for a moment, it’s as if the world outside doesn't exist.

It’s just you and him, and you don't even know if you can call him the love of your life anymore. All you know is that you'll always mourn how your relationship used to be — and how no matter what, you'll always end up back in his bed, tangled up in his sheets with him, in a web of pain.

A fucked-up love affair.

[electronickingdomfox]

"The Starless World" review

Novel from 1978, by Gordon Eklund. It begins with Kirk reading "War and Peace" in bed, when he gets a call from Spock: they've found a lone shuttlecraft, with a man inside who claims to be Jesus Christ. Okay, you got me hooked! I found this novel quite enjoyable and it kept my interest at all times. It's also well-written, and offers a rare glimpse in the characters' private lives from time to time. My main complaint is that the ending was way too rushed, as if the author realized he had a limit of pages and had to solve everything quick, with a literal deus ex machina.

Some spoilers under the cut:

Well, it turns out the man inside the shuttlecraft is not Jesus Christ, but Thomas Clayton. A previous roommate of Kirk in the Academy, whom he had to report for cheating at exams. The man feels quite a lot of resentment for Kirk, but he has also turned completely mad since his disappearance many years ago. He claims to be actually dead, and be the envoy of a god, Ay-nab. He's put inside an isolation cell, but escapes after knocking McCoy out (this doesn't stop McCoy from doing what he does best, even with a bandaged head: mill around the bridge to annoy Spock).

The Enterprise is suddenly attracted by an inescapable force, and sucked into a Dyson sphere. This is a massive hollow sphere with a star at its center. Inside, it's like those snow globes, where there's a little world in the middle of the glass ball. Something like that but in giant scale. Upon beaming down with Sulu and Uhura, Kirk finds out the world, called Lyra, is a literal paradise. They also come into contact with the natives of the only village that seems to exist there. The natives insist that the star inside the sphere is their god, Ay-nab, something that Kirk can't believe at first.

It soon becomes apparent that something's rotten in Lyra, though. The natives talk about the Strangers, people that their god claims for himself, to feed on them. They're more active at night, like zombies. Also, the constant vigilance of the star, only interrupted by the brief eclipses caused by the inner world's moons, starts feeling truly as a "God is watching you" situation. A Klingon ship has been trapped inside Lyra too. And the Klingons seem all too friendly with Kirk, and too eager to escape that place. The reason: Lyra is travelling straight into a black hole.

That's as far as the plot goes, which I don't feel the need to spoil any further. It's not particularly original, but it's entertaining. Many things are similar to the TOS episode "For the World is Hollow and I Have Touched the Sky". I have to give props to the "lady of the day" in this novel, Ola. She's quite likable, brave and useful, and gets to save Kirk (and everyone else) in the end. Ever since Kirk rescued her from a beast, she insists that Kirk is her husband (though he says they're just good friends). She's described as pretty, and Kirk's rejection is probably due to the fact she's written more as a little girl than an adult. Ah! By the way, she's also literally a white-furred chimpanzee, like all the other natives of Lyra.

One thing I liked in this book are those little scenes with the crew, where nothing relevant to the plot is happening, but that flesh them out as persons. Sulu teaches magic tricks with cards to Ola, yet another weird hobby he got into lately. Kirk, McCoy and Uhura are bored in the bridge and start an increasingly absurd debate about the meaning of the phrase "a needle in a haystack" (you know, that kind of conversations that pop out among coworkers when you're tired and bored and becoming a bit unhinged). McCoy tries to tell Spock a riddle, but Spock interrupts him all the time to point out all the inconsistencies in his tale. And it's so obvious he's actually messing with him. Actually, Spock is kind of funny in this book. He's in full logical mode, but with this underlying sarcasm that lets you know he's quite a bitch deep inside. There's also a surprising amount of backstory for Uhura. We learn a lot about her childhood in Senegal and her father (who she gets to meet! well, kind of...). I think that TOS writers in this era had a greater leeway to invent details for the characters, with less constraints from established canon. Unfortunately, the rushed ending doesn't explore the aftermath of Uhura's plot in the novel.

Spirk Meter: 2/10*. Very, very little. But there's one point where Kirk informs Spock that he's going to meet the Klingons alone, and Spock becomes suddenly quite emotional about the danger (as happened in "Devil in the Dark", when Kirk's alone with the horta). In fact, Kirk is disturbed by the emotional display, and says he didn't know about the depth of Spock's feelings on the issue.

Apart from this, Spock leans on McCoy to smell his breath and check if he's drunk. Which, for a Vulcan, suggests an awful lot of familiarity. They're a bit clingy with each other while on the planet, as well.

Also, there's a comedic bit, where Kirk wakes up in sickbay after going through hell, and finds Scotty's face, hovering over him, "the most gorgeous sight he had ever witnessed in his life".

*A 10 in this scale is the most obvious spirk moments in TOS. Think of the back massage, "You make me believe in miracles", or "Amok Time" for example.

[12-cluh]

YO WHAT'S POPPIN' GAMERS and I rewrote my entire Clayton Backstory lmao

I'm probably gonna change it again but I like it for what it is right now. @startheoverseer it's here whenever you're free!

Clayton Costas was born on August 12th, 1999 in a small town in Nebraska. He was the youngest of two siblings, having a brother older than him by around 5 years named James “Jamie” Costas. His parents, Martin and Diane Costas, tried their best to raise him the best they could, even with Martin’s severe mysophobia. Seeing his father obsessively clean every surface in his house eventually imbued Clayton with this same fear, and since his mother was rarely around due to her constant business trips, James had to do his best to assuage his worries, to little effect. Unfortunately, during Clayton's first year of high school, while James was away at college and Diane was on a business trip, he and his father's fear drew the hunger of a demon. Misomucus attacked their home, knocking Clayton unconscious with its spores, and when he awoke, his father was gone. Clayton doesn’t know for sure what happened to his father, but he strongly suspects it was another of Misomucus' victims. He didn’t bother trying to explain what he saw to the police or his family assuming none of them would believe him, and the attack was eventually marked as a home invasion gone wrong. As for his father’s body? Well, they just had no idea.

Over the next five years, Clayton did everything he could to overcome his fear. He read the information on the immune system, partook in mud runs, and began actively seeking out opportunities where he’d have no choice but to get filthy. Eventually, his obsessions shifted to demons and the occult, and he learned all he could to seek them out and hunt them down. However, on a seemingly random day, a man in a suit and tie showed up at his apartment. Apparently, it was time for the reading of Martin’s will. Clayton had no idea his dad even had a will, but what he was left was complete ownership of the Predator Coalition of Demon Hunters, making him their CEO. Clayton had no idea that his father was as into demonology as him; it’d never even crossed his mind. Eventually, he visited the coalition’s island base. The pre-existing members viewed him with one of three emotions: excitement, anticipation, and fear. You see, after the disappearance of his father, Clayton's attitude became much more angry. Many in the coalition feared his outbursts and many did not want to make an enemy of him, so they always defaulted to his opinion on all matters. During this time, he also purchased a small cabin on the island, away from the coalition’s headquarters, partly fulfilling a pipe dream he and his father once had.

One day, after a seemingly normal quest, Clayton spotted a comet in the night sky. Normally, he wouldn’t pay it any mind, but then he saw the comet quickly begin approaching the Earth. Quickly standing from his position on the porch, he set out for the crash site. When he got there, he saw a small crater, at the center of which was a shining white gem, brighter than anything he’d ever seen. As he neared it, Clayton could feel it practicably pulsing with a power he’d never felt before. As his fingers all but scraped the surface of the gem, he was enveloped in a blinding light. When he awoke, hoping that the past few years were only a dream, he felt a strange solid mass over his heart. He slowly moved his hand up only to feel the rigid white gem embedded in his shoulder. 

The next day, Clayton decided to consult the coalition's main source on demonic intelligence: Cosmara Noroi. She wasn’t as experienced as he was, only having joined the coalition about a year ago, but she was likely the smartest person in the entirety of the coalition. While he didn’t tell her directly, she eventually told him it was something called a gem of the angelic. Many things were not known about them, but what was known was they gave the user incredible power. Over the next few days, Cosmara, whom he’d grown to just call Mara, helped him learn about his abilities, despite him never telling her he had one. He learned his powers boiled down to energy projection. His understanding of his abilities was not the only thing that increased, however. Mara and Clayton grew increasingly close and would eventually become more than friends. Mara was able to see past his very harsh and spiky exterior.

That was… until the curse took over Mara.

When she told him, he was distraught. He’d have to lose another person he loved to demons. The distress, however, was quickly replaced with anger. His furious personality doubled, and he told Mara that if she ever killed another demon, becoming even more powerful, he’d kill her himself. It was harsh without a doubt as their world was not a stranger to heroic demons. But he still couldn’t take that chance. Since he was such a highly-ranking member of the coalition, no one stood up to his cruelty. He distanced himself from Mara, only ever letting her go on missions if he was also going on them so he could “keep her in check”. 

When she left with their insufferable ally from another dimension Benny Sharp, Clayton convinced himself that he didn’t care. But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, Mara’s absence took a toll on him, even though he’d never admit it. He tried to distract himself by sinking even deeper into demon hunting, but the loneliness still gnawed at him. Eventually, the news of Mara finishing her transformation into the nightmare hunter reached him and the coalition. To make it worse, he was wrong. She remained in complete control, with the only difference being that he wasn’t there to “control” her.

The news struck Clayton harder than his father’s death. He had ruined the best relationship in his life over something he didn’t even know would actually happen. Clayton sunk down a depressive and guilt-ridden spiral of hate and anger. It got so bad that he even started to exhibit symptoms of mysophobia again like staring at certain surfaces during important meetings like he could see every germ squirming around. Clayton's days became a monotonous routine of hunting demons and drowning himself in guilt and oftentimes alcohol. He barely ate, he never slept, he ignored everything else in his life but his work for the coalition. His once well-kept cabin fell into a state of disrepair, save for the first photo he and Mara ever took together, a constant reminder of what he had destroyed. And every time Clayton glanced at it, a pang of regret and sadness would wash over him. The fire within him had all but gone out.

His colleagues in the Predator Coalition noticed the change in Clayton, becoming a shadow of his former self. Concerned, some brave members approached him, trying to offer support, but Clayton brushed them off with a harsh word or a dismissive gesture. Eventually, he realized something had to change and, over the next few months, Clayton tried his best to at least sort of mend his reputation. He tried being kinder, helping out with things that didn’t involve demon hunting, and attempting to reconnect with the people he had pushed away. It was a slow and challenging process, but gradually, people started to forgive him. But all he cared about was finding one person: Mara. He needed to make sure she knew how sorry he truly was. If he ever did find her, he’d likely understand her wanting to crush him into a paste, telling him never to contact her again, or anything similar. But… he still had to try.

[burningtacozombie]

random thoughts, episode 5x04 edition:

- Miguel reminding Soledad that her men fucked up by not informing her sooner, first I thought that hit was retaliation for Miguel taking out Alejandro in the bathroom but the little boy reminded me it was the cook house the club raided previously and the person he saw was Angel. had Miguel looked at me like that and given me candy, I would've spilled my guts to him too. wouldn't even have mattered if he lied about being with the police or not.

- Emily playing nice at home for a minute and not even Miguel bought it, lol. and the mother of that city hall clerk calling her out in the middle of the store was so unexpected that it made me laugh, she was so close to the door already. oh, did Sarah really say fuck that american accent? she sounded differently.

- Adelita did to that little girl what the cartel did to her as a child, killing the father right in front of her. also, she told angel about the day at the beach with her dad and now my speculation makes so much more sense that Clayton and Mav presumably filmed one of their last days on the show at a beach before they wrapped up. no idea if Carla was there too but Adelita's story made that puzzle piece fit in quite nicely.

- did Gilly seriously adopt a whole ass family and is playing house with them now? are he and whatshername an item now?

- I felt bad for Sofia when she tried to save Lobo and the club was just standing there, doing nothing. history repeats itself for her, first she couldn't save her kid and now they let that dude die. obviously they couldn't just call an ambulance and explain what happened but that doesn't make it easier for her. and then her dead child's father shows up on top of it...

- Lobo was a fucking idiot for entering garage in the first place. the sign saying "if you enter, you die" was not just for decoration, what did he think was gonna happen? but hey, no one liked him anyway, lol. yeah sure, he hated having a prospect tell him what to do but man, did that bite him in the ass. 

- Guero should've been visible more, he needs an episode centered around him, idgaf what anyone says. Bottles has been front and center for two episodes, give him the same treatment. there's unfinished business with Diaz and I want him to finish it. well fuck, I fell for this guy so fast it's actually a little embarrassing, lmao.

- the Broken Saints, I like them. Johnny Panic putting EZ in his place with "my attention isn't free" and putting him to work, good for her. but who is really calling the shots in their club, who is "mother"? 

- I can't wait for KJ's ghost to come back and haunt EZ and I hope he's not gonna get out of that one. Angel looked at him so fucking loud when Hank said there's a rat. also, wasn't EZ supposed to have a photographic memory or some shit, why does no one seem to remember that, not even the writers...

- Bottles is actually so sweet, he and Elio are amigos now. he reminds me a little of Steve though and hopefully he won't end up the same way... 

- Nails is back and she's doing well. I wouldn't have needed to see her again but I'm glad she's doing well. are she and Hank getting together after all?

- they, the cast, talk about coming full circle so often that I'm beginning to think when, not if, EZ dies, Angel will leave the club (family beach scene) and Bishop will be sitting in the president chair as if the "Reyes era" never existed and shall never be spoken about ever again.

[ambeauty]

13 books to get to know me better

Tagged by my sister @jonskory

1. To All The Boys I Loved Before (Series) by Jenny Han- I read after I watched the first movie and completely fell in love. It made my heart flutter in the best way. The books are of course so much better!

2. Legendborn by Tracy Deonn - the first time I ever felt completely represented in a fantasy series. I was blown away with how Tracy tied in Black American culture/history/folklore into an Arthurian tale. Pretty masterful

3. New Camelot Series by Sierra Simone - I love poly ships and these 3 were so magnetic and passionate! Hated the age gap but it made up for it in plot. The twist you never see coming 😭

4. Queen Move by Kennedy Ryan - a beautiful story with childhood friends to lovers with actual adult characters with real life traumas and history that was relatable and sexy!

5. Sinner by Sierra Simone - Shocking but in the best way! Idk what else to say. Read it and prepare to have your jaw dropped.

6. Wolf by Wolf by Ryan Gaudin - Never did I ever think a historical fiction would have me in a grip like this! This story is so good! The sci-fi, the enemies to lovers, the action! It’s all there 😮‍💨

7. Tiny Pretty Things by Dhonielle Clayton - I loved the tension and the stakes of this one! Netflix show butchered tf out of this book it was soo good.

8. An American Marriage by Tayari Jones - This book was intense! But the drama had me by the neck! So many different emotions while reading this. Mildly traumatic but for the most part just beautiful story telling.

9. The Coldest Winter Ever by Sista Soujah - should’ve never been reading this smut at the age I read but it was a wild story with even wilder scenes. The sequel that came out decades later pissed me off because the plot of this was actually good.

10. One of us is Lying by Karen McManus- Good mystery and great ships! Loved the twists and turns and the slow burn ship at the center. Book 2 is not as good.

11. Carry On by Rainbow Rowell - Love everything about this HP inspired wizard romance! Books 1&2 are it… idk what happened with 3!

12. Burn for Burn by Jenny Han - This series was not what I was expecting but it was so interesting and well told with the usual JH sensibilities

13. Permanent Record by Mary Choi - Hardly ever have a plot where the fmc is the star! This was so fun and poetic.

Tagging whoever wants to partake 🥰

[avatarskywalker78]

OC New Year's Challenge 2023 Day Five: Don't You Forget About Me

Though the plan was to write more for Steph Taylor and the rest of Team Shieldmaiden last year, it didn't work out that way, even though I was hoping to get a lot more of Part 2 written and maybe even some of Part 3. So I decided to make a moodboard for love, you're not alone (cause i'm gonna stand by you), featuring Steph (center) and the other main characters of the story - Alyssa Clayton (top left), Ralph Dibny (top right), Hartley Rathaway (bottom left) and Eddie Thawne (bottom right). Though Ralph isn't officially part of Team Shieldmaiden, Steph does end up telling him about her powers and there is a surprising discovery in store for the PI.

It also features what will be the main focuses of the fic, particularly STAR Labs (as the group work to take down Wells) and Athena Labs (as the Metahuman Outreach Project starts to grow in size.) With revelations left, right, and centre, and more metahumans popping out of the woodwork, the five of them will certainly have their work cut out for them over the coming months.

Tagging (let me know if you want to be added or removed): @shrinkthisviolet

[observeowl]

Her Assistant | Chapter 21 - Midnight Tea Party

Summary: After losing her family, Natasha Romanoff builds her company from the ground up. During the rise of her company, she decided she needed an assistant, one that works in her office and her house. That's when she saw your resume. After working five years for her, how was it like working for her? Or more importantly, how things progress?

Series Masterlist

Natasha's POV The main event after winning is the dorm's boat parade.

"So these are the clothes that have been worn by the Blue House for generations..." Y/N said as she stared at me. "This is even more embarrassing than I imagined it would be." The previous generation's team must be all boys and taller than me. The sleeves were not fitting. No matter how much I I tried pulling it up, it looked way too baggy for me. They are all threadbare even though they haven't been worn more than once.

"Y/N... can't you just take these in a little?" It was very hard to walk without stepping on the pants.

"That won't do."

"Huh?"

"You said you would win, didn't you? As your assistant, I naturally came prepared." She presented me with the uniform I was supposed to wear with the other players.

"Thank you, really. At least I know I always have you supporting me."

"I told you, I'll always stay by your side and never lie to you."

After taking pictures, Bluer was going through what's going to happen for the boat parade. " We'll get on the boat and go along the river. Once we approached the center. We'll take off our hats and salute the president. Then we'll throw the flowers from our hats into the river and return."

Theoretically, everything should go well. Natasha sat at the head of the boat since everyone agreed that she deserved that spot. It was also great since she doesn't have to row the boat. Lanterns were lighted when the sun set and flames of St George were lighted once again. Some lanterns drifted into the sky while some floated above the water.

"I'm getting nervous."// "Fools! Don't lose pace!!"

Fury was there at the ceremony as well, sitting next to the governor. I know I'm almost at the truth, I just need some more time before I uncover everything.

"Rushman, We've managed to win this tournament due to minute calculations. However, there was one fatal miss. We never thought we'd actually win, so we didn't practice for the parade even once." Bluer said as he stood up. The boat started wobbling as the players were unstable on their feet and it was only inevitable that they ended up falling into the river.

People started laughing but it wasn't that sort of a bad laugh. Everyone was having fun, it was kinda on brand for Blue House to do something like this. A boom was heard and fireworks were going off, lighting up the sky even more.

"Natasha!! That was so amazing, the way you defeated Green House with all the tricks. No wonder you were able to bring the truth out." Pietro excitedly said. He was jumping up and down on his sister's shoulder after I dried myself off.

Food was distributed to everyone and it was a party with a huge success. Everyone had a smile on their face. Purple House provided the music and Red House accompanied the guests for some dance.

---

"Ahhh... that was fun." My dorm mate said when we entered our room. " I ate too much!" // 'I'm so tired..."

I noticed something on my bed as I got closer.

"That's amazing!" Jones jumped on me when she realised what it was. "You've been invited to the midnight tea party!" I did it, I finally acquired the right to see the Principal. "They say that when a beautiful flower blooms under the moon at midnight, they'll come for you. So if you put that on your chest, you'll be able to attend." I'll make sure to ask Jones the next time I don't know anything. Everything happening in the school, she seems to know.

Midnight came quickly as the students were sleeping except for me. A knock on the door showed Clayton coming to show me to the gathering area before heading in.

"Welcome, Rushman. To the elegant, traditional, high class, bizarre Midnight Tea Party." Bluer said as I entered the room. Once the clock struck midnight, the organ sounded like someone was playing with it. The music was not pleasant at all.

After walking through a series of doors, I was finally led to a garden where the Principal was seated and the Vice-Principal standing behind him. "Thank you everyone for coming, please sit down." Mr Agares said.

"Everyone, the tea is done."

"It's a bit irksome, but I guess we should toast with tea." Redmond said.

"Well then." Bluer took on the task. "To having successfully protected tradition and finish June 4th for another year. To Weston, a toa-"

"Wait!" I stopped the toast. "I can't toast from the bottom of my heart like this."

"What's wrong?"

"That's something bothering me. It's about Derk Arden and his friends. I can't toast until I've met them." I placed the cup back down. "Mr Principal, will you hear my story?"

"Rushman, that's rude."

"I know it is. But the school 15th school rule states the following, at all times you should share your heart with your friends, and help them out with love, that's what it says." Hearing that, Bluer kept his mouth shut.

"Derrick Arden, Richard Greenson, Hans Hardy, Robert Isaac, Ewan Thewlis. I have heard that since about a year ago, none of them have returned home even once and have been cooped up in their dormitories during that time. Actually, when I entered the school, I was asked by their parents to persuade them to come home just once. But when I tried to meet up with them, I was met with the most bizarre circumstances. I couldn't even lay eyes on them."

"In any case, it's the truth that they weren't at purple house. 5 people have disappeared from a strictly supervised school. This is obviously quite strange!" I slammed on the table and stood up. Supposing from my investigation up till now... Derrick and the rest probably aren't at this school anymore. In the best case, they've escaped. In the worst, they're dead. It's obvious these people are hiding something. Before, they got away with 'the Principal decided on it', but with everyone gathered here, they can't use that anymore.

"So, Mr Principal, I'd like you to call the police."

"That would not be necessary." Mr Agares said. "That's because, look, they're right there." He pointed at the door we came through. The door handle creaked open. Everyone had the face of horror when they saw his face, Derrick Arden, wearing his pristine uniform and flower.

Derrick Arden? He's fine? Why did he disappear until now, then?

"What the hell, he's right there." Chesslock said, not sure why I was making such a fuss about it.

"Arden? Are you really..." Greenhill looked ghastly as he looked at him.

"Hey, the tea smells good." Arden's voice was like a scratchy microphone.

"Ar- Arde-" Without saying anything, he leaned forward and sunk his teeth into Greenhill's arm.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?" Midford shouted as he jumped over the table and kicked Arden to save his prefect. Arden stumbled away and showcased his bloody mouth from the biting but people were more focused on the Frankenstein scar that ran across his forehead.

Recognising that I need more help, I ordered Y/N to come and capture Arden before worse things can happen. I didn't know where she was hiding but she was no longer wearing her disguise when she came out. Like a magician, she pulled out the table cloth without disturbing the dishes and used it to tie Arden up.

Greenhill was whimpering from the loss of his flesh and Midford was rightfully worried for him. Both their faces were pale. Y/N the first aid the best she could but he definitely needed more medical attention.

"The reason I entered this school was to find Derrick and the rest. However, I couldn't get hold of his whereabouts. Because Derrick was already dead." I explained.

"Dead? What do you mean? He was just moving." Harcourt said.

"He..y Th..e tea smellzz goood..." Derrick's head turned in a way it was not supposed to be.

"Hee!" Harcout jumped in fright and moved further away from him.

"Well." I pulled out my gun and pointed it at the Principal. "Let's have you explain what is going on here. Spit it out! What did you do to Derrick?"

Instead of the Principal answering, Greenhill spoke up. "We just wanted to protect..." It took quite a bit of effort for him to speak. "The saint that symbolises our school... Saint George... The legend goes that he defeated a dragon to protect the country."

"In other words, if you don't cut it off from the source, you won't be able to run from the disaster." Bluer continued. "We obeyed those teachings."

"That's why we... set out to... kill Derrick." Redmond finished it.

They began explaining how they made a mistake but they weren't going to let Greenhill take the blame all by himself. Due to the connection that Redmond has, he had found a way that would cover everything up. "And so, we set up a contract with him."

"I see.. Now everything falls into place. Derrick Arden, the student who disappeared, body and soul. The Principal, the one who was able to escape from my pursuit. The Kraken society, the association researching human regeneration. But the one who wrapped all of this in such a difficult mystery... to figure this out would have been a trivial task." I smiled, the truth was right in front of me all along. "It was you wasn't it?" I pointed at the Principal.

"The Principal has nothing to do with it! Us prefects did it all by ourselves and-" Redmond rushed to protect the sacred person he looked up to.

"No one said it was the Principal. Hey, why don't we both drop the teacher act here?" Y/N said.

"Ah man... I really liked this job too. It was truly pleasant to watch your struggle from the grant tier. You've offered me your best of laughs..." She said as her long hair flowed down from her tall hat she was wearing.

"Eleanor Crowder. We meet again." I said, tightening my grip on the gun. "I was wondering why you've gotten so silent after our last meeting."

"Aww, nice to know you miss me."

I ignored what she said and focused on the others. "You four assassinated Derrick Arden and then requested his resuscitation from the Kraken Society. What was so important to protect that you would resort to such means?"

"Derrick... he was not supposed to be at this school." Bluer said.

"What do you mean by that?'

Flashback

Third POV They succeeded in becoming the prefects for Weston College after four years, finally gaining the right to step on the lawn.

They did their job to try to make the school a better place. They started out with the right heart and intention but it just didn't last to the end.

"Bullying?" Greenhill asked

"Yes. It was put into the complaint box. They want us to have eyes in every nook and cranny." Redmond said, after picking out what he thought deserved the most attention.

"School rule no 15, every student has to be equal under the principal."

"We can't allow that! Let me stand watch." Derrick, Redmond's fag, stepped up to do something about it.

"How admirable of you Derrick. We'll leave it to you."

In everyone's eyes, he was reliable. The captain of the local cricket team, embroiders like a true craftsman, gets high marks for his reports and his poetry is genius as well.

He was a governor's bloodline, a cheerful personality, overflowing with talent. Derrick Arden was dazzling. But because of that, they didn't notice... the deep dark shadow that light had casted...

---

"Unpermitted leave is against the school rules!" Redmond caught two students in his dorm leaving the school grounds. "And on top of that, you have alcohol?"

"You should think of the disorder you've caused while dragging the name of your school and family through the mud!!" Derrick said while shaking his head.

After Redmond gave the punishment to them, he asked Derrick about any updates about the bullying case. He gave a negative response claiming that the complaint box received lots of fake in the first place.

---

"Today, we had two entries in the complaint box. Please increase the different types of food served in school and... what's this? A poem dedicated to the prefects?" Derrick said as he passed the note to Redmond.

"A poem dedicated to the prefects huh... I guess they must look up to us." Derrick said as he passed the note to Redmond. He looked at it with a serious face while reading it through again.

After lights out, Redmond gathered the other prefects. "What is it? Calling us out so suddenly." Violet asked, he much rather be in his room sleeping.

"The poem had the date and time weaved into it quite skillfully, and it was directed at us. Thursday is a word derived from... the God of Thunder, Thor. A harp of bent pearl refers to baroque music, which must mean the music room. I think the torch went out, referring to after lights out." Redmond said, after deconstructing the poem.

"So they wanted us to come to the music room on Thursday night?" Bluer confirmed.

"But... it's still amazing that you managed to pick up on that." Greenhill said as the rest of them looked at the note.

"Only the word with a special meaning were written differently. With some education of poetry, you would pick up on a message like that. But I don't really get the last, deprived of light bit." Redmond admitted as they continued making their way to the music room.

Before they even reached the music room, they could hear sounds and light coming from the room.

"Hey! What are you doing over there?" He rushed in to see what's happening. He would have never thought to see five students bullying three others. And of the culprit being his fag. The tree of them were stripped of their clothes and you could clearly see the bruises on their body. One of them was holding a cricket bat like they were practicing and using the student as the wicket.

"Derr...ick?"

Deprived of light meant the following. Derrick Arden's dazzling results were all fake. The cricket, the embroidery, the reports, the poems, everything. He took other's talents through despicable means, and used them to make himself shine.

Bluer picked up victim's clothes and gently guided them out and told them to return to their rooms while Redmond tried to come to a conclusion about his fag.

"I should have known when you couldn't decipher that poem..."

"Sheesh..." He looked unapologetic about his action, not even trying to cover up or give excuses about his actions. "I only needed one more year. My family have been prefects here for generations and all. I'm so over that. I didn't even want to go, but they just threw me into this place." He complained. "So, can't you just overlook it when I want to let off some steam? In return, I'll supply you with a much bigger donation than everyone else, from my dad."

"STOP FOOLING AROUNd!!" Greenhill shouted. "The Principal will hear about this from the Vice-Principal. Be prepared for a fitting punishment!!" He gripped his cricket bat tighter in his hands from anger.

"Did you hear that?" He talked to someone behind him. Someone stepped out from the shadow and it was the Vice-Principal.

"What is the meaning of this? Why are you..." Redmond couldn't understand why the Vice-Principal was there.

"I've understood the situation. Derrick Arden and four others. You will receive two Y for being out at night."

"I'm soooo sorry." He said it without energy and even a three year old could give out a better apology than that.

"Being out at night?! That's not right!" The prefects were stunned at the reasoning and punishment that the Vice-Principal gave. "They were bullying! We have to report this to the Principal and-"

"This year's prefects are quite rude. Voicing your opinion against the Vice-Principal?"

"N-no, we didn't mean to..." Greenhill replied.

"Then there is no problem. You can all return to your rooms."

The prefects couldn't believe what they were seeing. The Vice-Principal was acting so kindly to him like he was his friend. That was until he saw what he was holding in the Vice-Principal hands. A bottle of alcohol. The Vice-Principal was in cahoot with Derrick all along.

They couldn't let this happen, they couldn't let this go without doing anything. They are not going to let Derrick be the prefect next year. As long as they are there, the school's tradition will crumble.

Without thinking, Greenhill picked up his bat and striked it on Derrick's head forcefully. Seeing their friend commit an act of such crime, they race to close the door and prevent anyone from leaving, there can be no witness left behind.

"He's not... breathing." Violet said after everything they've done.

"This is all my fault... What did I do?"

"Calm down Greenhill. We had no other choice."

"Yes.. but what now? As it is, Greenhill will get the blame."

"I have an idea."

Flashback end

Your POVEveryone stared at the prefects with horror.

"Our actions are inexcusable to our relatives. But there was nothing else we could do to protect our traditional order. We didn't want to stir things up and damage the school's good name." Bluer said.

"I see." Natasha has the business smile on her face. "I was asked to investigate this incident by a certain high ranking individual. They won't sit by and do nothing after hearing the truth about this matter. However, I'll ask them to consider the circumstances"

"Well then, that just leaves you. What do you think we should do, Natasha?"

"Since I received a copious amount of payments just now, I'll tell you for old time sake." (She was talking about the laughing)

"Derrick was certainly conscious, if only for a moment. Even the dead can evolve. As long as there are episodes." She explained her grand scheme.

"Episodes? Do you mean those fake memories you made?" I asked.

"Close, but not quite." She did a cross with her arms in front of her body. "What's driving them now is... their yearning for a future. In their dying moments, humans review their past life. At the same time, they crave the future they were supposed to have. They are fragmentary of course, but those fragments are the episodes. Like a predictive map of the future. My self-created memories are nothing compared to these, future memories. So, if we stuck these to the record... wouldn't it become complete?" She talked about her vision, it did nothing but scares us into what she could possibly do if she achieved it. No dead will stay dead.

"Well, the succession rate is still pretty low." She shrugged her shoulders. "It's dependent on the quality and quantity of the episodes."

"I don't understand." Natasha shook her head. "Why would you do that? What purpose does bringing back the dead serve?" She asked angrily.

"I want to see what comes after the pre-determined end. You never thought about it? There might be an interesting development lurking behind the ending credits... I've told you all I can for the current price. I should get going. It's be a hassle if I got found out by a certain annoying individual."

"No, you don't get to leave so easily." Natasha fired a shot and I knew it was my time to step up.

Mr Agares came to stop me and I saw the same Frankenstein scar on his forehead. "I knew it, you're dead as well."

"He was full of episodes. He's my masterpiece. For now, at least." Crowder said as she jumped to leave. Snapping her fingers twice, corpses which were Derrick's friends rose from the ground and this instantly turned into a set for a zombie movie.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Run! Get out of the garden! Quick!" Midford said as he lifted Greenhill over his shoulders and attempted to carry him out. Natasha stayed at the exit and ushered them out.

Harcourt wasn't like the rest, her legs gave way and she stared at the moving corpses unable to move. "Come!" Natasha went ahead to grab her.

"You don't seem to be in a hurry." I said as I have Mr Agares clinging onto me like a slug. Despite being Crowder's masterpiece, he has absolutely no sense of fighting skills. He was growling next to my ears but made no actions to attack me, only ever counterattacking. "Did you think you could keep me down like this? You underestimate me." I asked Crowder.

"I'm not underestimating you at all. It's just that... we have different goals." My heart stopped at the thought of her capturing Natasha.

At this distance, she was closer to Natasha and she would be able to get to Natasha before I could. Once it came to me what she meant, I smashed Mr Agares head onto the floor and rushed towards Natasha.

"As expected of you, Y/N." Crowder said. She ran along the ledge of the walls of the garden. "You should keep protecting Romanoff, with such devotion. See you!" She tricked me into thinking she was going to attack Natasha in order to escape.

"Y/N?"

"Stay back." I kicked the moving corpse in front of us.

"Why didn't you capture Eleanor Crowder? What am I supposed to tell Fury without a culprit in front of him?"

"Can't you just tell him the truth? Hydra is expanding and the Kraken Society is reviving the dead."

"As if he'd believe."

"Rushman!" Midford came back to inform her that everyone was safely evacuated when he accidentally stepped on a head.

"Be careful, there's a lot of blood if you don't want to dirty your shoes." I kindly reminded him before he continued stepping in.

"Rushman... I'm scared... If this had continued, I might have become like these prefects. The kind of person that mistakes the sin of murder for justice." He clenched his fist at the thought as he was the next in line to be a prefect.

"Don't worry. As long as you're afraid of that, you're still normal. Unlike me." Natasha whispered the last part but I heard it clearly. Wanting to diffuse the problem and end the awkwardness, I told them it was better if we waited for SHIELD personnel to arrive outside with the others.

Natasha POVWhen I saw Maria Hill arrive, she only gave me a look before heading in with Culson behind her. I went ahead to find Fury and prepare myself for what's to come. It's going to be difficult to convince him what happened, he doesn't trust anyone, or anything easily.

"You know I have to give something to the press right? Something this big that happened in a prestigious school isn't going to keep itself silent." Fury said when he heard the end of my story.

"I know you have something in your sleeve to give the press for their attention until this dies. Don't forget, I went on this stupid mission that was obviously on a lower grade than I usually do." I rebutted. Though, this ended up being something I usually get assigned to, and Fury would know that when he reads the report, but until then, no harm done.

When I finished speaking to Fury, I saw Y/N keeping her phone in her pocket. "I told Bucky to come and pick us up. He should be here any moment."

"Who were you speaking to?"

"... Nicole." I nodded my head, remembering her as the one who drugged Y/N that time.

We stood in silence until Bucky arrived at the front gate picking us up. As usual, Y/N opened the door for me to get in, but when I looked back at her, she had already closed the door and moved to sit in the passenger seat. I immediately got out and opened her door abruptly.

She looked at me like I just caught her cheating on an examination. "Natasha?"

"Why are you sitting here? You're supposed to be sitting with me!" I dragged her out of her seat as Bucky watched the interaction between us. "Do I have to tell you to drive?" I shouted at him before he gripped the gearstick and drove off.

When we were in the car, Y/N was restless, she couldn't sit still and finally took out her phone after a while. I saw that she was scrolling through a map and bouncing between places but I couldn't tell if she was looking for something specific.

"What are you going to do about Nicole? Don't you think it's about time she gets what she deserves?" I looked at her but she was still scrolling through her phone, not answering me. I gave her a nudge and she finally looked at me. "What are you looking at, so engrossed?" I nodded towards her phone.

"Um.. just a place to meet her and to eat. Checking out the area." She tilted her phone for me to see.

"What are you going to do to her?"

"I think there's more to find out about her motives. I mean why did she want to drug me in the first place?"

"Let's not think about this for now and relax when we can. I believe we've earned this after this mission." I gently took her hand and gave it a kiss. Seeing us this close, Bucky gave a wolf whistle and Y/n went red, hiding her face. I chuckled at her adorableness. "I love you so much." 

[southeastmed-spa]

Fat Removal Clayton: Transform Your Body

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[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.

[driedupeyeballs]

I did this in like 30mins, these are the barest of bones of character ideas. Anyway nrc basketball team go brr

I will make these into actual characters!!! Someday. Aka if I ever write the fic this is for lmao

Heres the roster (I know nothing about basketball)

Jamil (5) - point guard

Scarabia, sophomore. Twisted from Jafar (Aladdin).

Versatile in position, but generally stays to the back line. One of the highest scoring members of the team.

Floyd (10) - center

Octavinelle, sophomore. Twisted from Floatsam (The little mermaid).

Dunk shots are his specialty, but he can pull off about anything. Brings in the most fouls, though.

Ace (11) - Shooting guard

Heartslabyul, freshman. Twisted from the card soldier (Alice in wonderland)

Makes rash decisions but good at most technical things. Best freshman player NRC has had in a while, according to Kira.

OCs-

Syrus (2) - small forward

Pomefiore, junior. Twisted from Si (Lady and the tramp)

Rather versatile, moreso than his brother, but mostly plays forward. Cat beastman.

Amber (3) - shooting guard

Pomefiore, junior. Twisted from Am (Lady and the tramp)

Twin brother to Syrus. Less confident with playing forward. Cat beastman.

Remy (Remington) (8) - Center/power forward

Scarabia, sophomore. Twisted from Clayton (Tarzan)

Prefers being forward, but has to sub in for Floyd when he brings in too many fouls. Has a temper problem not unlike Floyd.

Khan (67) - Shooting guard

Savanaclaw, sophomore. Twisted from Shere Khan (The Jungle Book)

Good with technical things. Punctual and logical, also tall as hell. Tiger beastman.

Ruby (16) - power forward

Octavinelle, freshman. Twisted from Tamatoa (Moana)

Has a (not really) friendly rivalry with Ace. Bulky and tall, so he does well as a forward.

Aries (29) - point guard

Pomefiore, sophomore. Twisted from Bellweather (Zootopia)

Makes up for his small stature with speed and jumping. No one really likes him tbh. Sheep beastman.

Mathan (12) - power forward

Savanaclaw, junior. Twisted from Mor’du (Brave)

Considered by many to be the “star player” along with Jamil and Floyd. Though, his reputation may just be because of how close he is with Kira, no one really knows if there’s actually something going on between those two or not. Bear beastman.

Pine (4) - small forward

Diasomnia, freshman. Twisted from Syndrome (The Incredibles)

Accident prone. A bit too confident on the court.

Kira - unofficial coach/former power forward

Savanaclaw, junior. Twisted from Zira (The Lion King 2)

Took over the coach role at the start of his junior year. Has a bit too much of an ego and is a bit too fond of his whistle.

[world-cinema-research]

World Cinema Blog Week 2 - By Natalyn Wakeling

Room at the Top 1959

The film I chose to watch this week was Room at the Top, directed by Jack Clayton. It was released in 1959. To me this film is remarkable because it is quite provocative for its time. The plot of the movie is Joe Lampton wanting to marry rich to Susan Brown, but truly falling for the married Alice Aisgill. Alice Aisgill is referred to as an "old whore" on multiple occasions throughout the movie, but Joe did not see her as such. Susan Brown seems the type he really should be falling for. She is young, wealthy, and beautiful, but he can not find passion with her. Critics describe this movie as "the first in the British New Wave movement, which centered on stories about the struggles and miseries of the working class". (4Columns.org) This movie made way for many movies to come after it, by showing these class struggles through Joe and his interactions throughout the film. An example of Joe's struggle with his class is on multiple occasions when Joe expresses his interest in Susan, he is told by both wealthy and working class folk to "stay in his class". This film is made after the John Braine Novel Room at the Top 1957.

Here is a look into how there film performed objectively. The British film costed $280,000, and did 2,400,000 in the Box Office. This shows that the movie performed quite well. I think this film was able to gross this amount of money because it was very relatable for the times. A movie made on the struggling British working class, along with a very intriguing romance plot is bound to do great things when it is released. The film was marketed under the genre of "romantic drama", which is also a genre of film that does great when it comes to gaining an audience.

Room at the Top is greatly acclaimed among critics for setting the path of representation of the working class in British cinema. The guardian describes it as "a film that genuinely changed British cinema for ever." (Review by the Guardian) The Guardian describes the film as being mainly marketed as a story of "lust and ambition", and drew viewers in to experience one of the most emotionally devastating and groundbreaking films ever done in British cinema. The guardian explains that at the time of release, British critics were not particularly happy with some parts of the production and release of the film. They did not appreciate that is was not directed by one of the famous Oxford directors. Jack Clayton was only a military man with very little Cinema experience. They also didn't appreciate that the finances of the movie were focusing more on making it a commercial hit rather than catering to the works of the Royal Court Theatre. Based on the standard audience reviews, the movie seems to have struck very well with viewers. "A masterful film in all aspects, full of strength", is a very well rounded comment for the general consensus of the viewers of this film (rottentomatoes.com)

Historically, this film really resonated with many because it was relatable. The British class system was as definite as ever from the 1950s-1960s, and this movie does a very good job of depicting that. The British were decolonizing during this time period, leaving them with less money and resources, setting the tone for the class system. (study smarter.us) This film does a great job of representing classism in multiple ways through Joe Lampton. When Joe is working class, he is told off by many people to look for marriage in his own class. Then, in the end when he is about to marry into the Brown family and is seen in the bar conversing with a lower class woman, he is once again told to stay with his class, this time meaning his upper class. This just shows how great a role class played during this time socially, and how difficult it really was to change your class status. This film overall paved way for more films like this to come on the class system in British Cinema.

The way the movie is done clearly displays the British class system during this time period. A remarkable moment in the film is when Joe goes to visit his childhood home that was hit by a bomb. It was in wreckage, however, there were people so poor that they were still living in this wreckage of a home. This really plays into demonstrating how the lower class was living at this time. Joe was a great depiction of working class. He was working a job and barely making ends meet, but he still had enough to live decently and make connections. The upper class is well depicted by Susan Brown and her family. Joe Lampton describes her home as a castle, and their family uses their money as a power play to intimidate those under them.

This particular image really encompasses the meaning of the film to me. Joe thought all he ever wanted was a young, good-looking, and rich woman. In this moment after he is married, he realizes these things will never equate to the passion he felt with Alice. As poor and old as she was, these were the true riches of life that Joe lost. The look of emptiness in this shot is his own guilt for feeling as though he had murdered Alice after her death, because she had nothing to live for but their love. During its time I think this film was very striking because it was marketed as "lustful and ambitious". While this movie is both of these things, it has a much bigger theme that definitely resonated with the audience and stood out from other films during this time period. For a film to be ground breaking and path paving, it needs to do something different from other films. I think this film was ground breaking because it addressed the class system, while also giving one of the most emotionally devastating romance stories along with it.

I believe this film to be quite easily defined as conventional. While it is testing and provocative, it was done after a novel which already makes way for the movie to do very well. The finances of the film were criticized for striving to commercialize this film by marketing the provocative love story far more than they marketed it as a movie displaying British class systems. The film had very famous actor of the time Simone Signoret, who plays Alice, which is also bound to commercialize the film. The basis of the film is quite easy to understand, and appeals to a wide range of audiences, making it easy to sell. The film was marketed in a way that makes it conventional although it has some unconventional factors. One being the unique idea of bringing class into a film. This was not done before in British cinema, which could be potentially controversial, however, it made it big and set way for many movies after it.

All in all, this film was not only a commercialized, intriguing romance, it was a ground breaking film that introduced the issue of the British class systems. It paved the way in British cinema, and forever changed the way films were made after its release. It was something that had never been done before in its time, and even has some uniqueness to anything I have ever watched to this day.

[onenettvchannel]

FLASH REPORT OVERNIGHT: Maryland YouTuber 'VivziePop' on Helluva Boss won Best Animated Show and 'Gawr Gura' took home a new Best VTuber at the Streamy Awards 2023, leaving JaidenAnimations' fall short on a Double Friendly Nomination in Awards Night [#OneNETnewsEXCLUSIVE]

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA -- In a night of celebration and recognition… Vivienne Maree Medrano from Frederick, Maryland; better known in the online world as VivziePop, emerged victorious as her animated series "Helluva Boss" claimed the coveted Best Animated Show award at the Streamy Awards 2023.

(THUMBNAIL and FILE PHOTO COURTESY for REPRESENTATION: Double Toasted / YT PHOTO & Google Images)

The star-studded YouTubers' event took place last Sunday night (August 27th, 2023 at 6pm -- Pacific local time) at the glamorous Fairmont Century Plaza hotel in Los Angeles, California, United States of America (U.S.A.), marking yet another milestone in the career of their talented female YouTube creators.

(FILE PHOTO COURTESY: Google Images)

Hosted by The Game Theorists' MatPat, whose real name as Matthew Robert Patrick and other featured personalities like xQC (Félix Lengyel), Smosh (Ian Andrew Hecox & Daniel Anthony Padilla), Dream (Clayton Ray Huff), etc.

Streamy Awards, which recognizes outstanding achievements in online video and the YouTube creators behind them, saw strong competition in the 'Animated' and 'VTuber' category.

(SCREENGRAB COURTESY: Sam Haft & Streamys / Twitter PHOTO -- Per Ms. Loona's notes, a scary tactic of Imps' meeting already in progress during the episode, except for a video clip obtained by Streamy Awards 2023)

VivziePop's Helluva Boss, a web series spin-off of her highly successful show 'Hazbin Hotel' was captivated fans with its unique, independent animation style and dark comedy. The success of the aforementioned web series further solidifies Medrano's status as an influential figure in the world of online video animation.

On the other hand, the emerging trend of Virtual YouTubers or 'VTubers' took center stage during the awards night. One of the notable winners of the night was Gawr Gura, a charismatic VTuber known for her entertaining livestreams and catchy tunes. Not only that, Gura released a one-shot Japanese YouTube anime short of Tonari Animation in mid-September 2022 called Shark'd. Gura's subscribers to its YouTube channel boasts nearly 4.5 million and she is an official member of a virtual talent agency Hololive English, which took home a well-deserved award, highlighting the growing popularity and influence of this unique online content format.

(ART PHOTO COURTESY via Jaiden K. Dittfach / Twitter PHOTO -- Dittfach signs up on Twitch, with her boxed package and began streaming LIVE, a day before the Streamy Awards 2023)

Leading up to the awards night, a fellow female YouTuber in Southern California named Jaiden Kiyomi Dittfach, popularly known as JaidenAnimations' despite falling short in her categories role between Animated & VTuber made headlines by announcing her expansion into the world of Twitch.

The versatile Southern Californian YouTube creator individual -- unveiled her plans on a special livestream the night before the ceremony last Saturday (August 26th, 2023), showcasing her determination to explore new avenues and engage with her ardent fanbase in exciting ways since she is a nominated individual role. Contemptibly falling just short of the awarded titles, Dittfach continues to shine brightly as she expands her presence to Twitch, diversifying her content in a night to remember before the Streamy Awards 2023.

Ditffach's decision to expand onto Twitch allows her to connect with her audience through a more interactive platform, where viewers aside on YouTube LIVE can engage in real-time during her streams in most occasional schedule possible. With her signature humor and relatability, Dittfach is set to bring her unique content to the Twitch community while continuing her successful journey on her original YouTube channel.

A friendly award-winning competition between VivziePop and JaidenAnimations at the Streamy Awards 2023 exemplified the camaraderie and support prevalent among creators in the online world. Both talented individuals have thrived in their respective fields, captivating fans through their creative works and genuine personalities. As the Streamy Awards 2023 came to a close, it was evident that Medrano's continued success and Dittfach's innovative expansion onto Twitch would only propel them further in their separate careers. These two exceptional female, independent YouTube creators have undoubtedly left their mark on the world of online content creation, inspiring others and paving the way for future stars.

The Streamy Awards 2023 proved to be a night of triumph, collaboration and innovation, as creators from various platforms were honored for their exceptional talent and influence. With VivziePop's Helluva Boss and JaidenAnimations' expansion into Twitch -- in exchange for a double trouble defeat, it is clear that the digital landscape will continue to evolve, offering new opportunities for creators to push boundaries and captivate audiences all over the world.

(SCREENGRAB COURTESY: Streamys & VivziePop / YT PHOTO -- Two titlecards for representation purposes)

You can relive the best moments on demand between the Streamy Awards 2023 and two seasons of Helluva Boss, which were both available to stream exclusively and globally for free on YouTube.

FILE PHOTO COURTESY for REPRESENTATION: Crunchyroll News and YT Banner PHOTO BACKGROUND PROVIDED BY: Tegna

SOURCE: *https://www.fairmont.com/los-angeles/ [Reference Hotel Biography via Fairmont website] *https://www.streamys.org/nominees-winners/13th-annual-nominees/ [Updated Referenced Nomination Listings from the Streamy Awards] *https://youtube.fandom.com/wiki/The_Game_Theorists *https://twitter.com/streamys/status/1695966567270596696 [Referenced Twitter Video #1 via Streamys] *https://twitter.com/SamHaft/status/1695972867572470037 [Referenced Captioned Twitter Post via SamHaft] *https://twitter.com/streamys/status/1695972696994259424 [Referenced Captioned Twitter Image #1 via Streamys] *https://twitter.com/streamys/status/1695987497967530324 [Referenced Captioned Twitter Image #2f via Streamys] *https://youtube.fandom.com/wiki/Gawr_Gura_Ch._hololive-EN *https://www.tonarianimation.com/works/ *https://socialblade.com/youtube/channel/UCoSrY_IQQVpmIRZ9Xf-y93g/monthly [Referenced Statistics Data via SocialBlade] *https://twitter.com/streamys/status/1695985597926789325 [Referenced Twitter Video #2f via Streamys] and *https://twitter.com/JaidenAnimation/status/1695572769218671087 [Referenced Captioned Twitter Image via JaidenAnimations]

-- OneNETnews Team

[theultimatefan]

Bisley, Cassara, Cho, Crain Headline Talented Comics Creators At FAN EXPO Portland, Feb. 17-19

An incredible array of talented comics artists and writers, spanning more than a half century of work and encompassing dozens of the most popular franchises in the history of the medium through the present will be on hand as FAN EXPO Portland today announced the Artist Alley headliners for the convention, set for February 17-19 at the Oregon Convention Center. Among the superstar writers and artists are Simon Bisley (“Lobo,” “Harley Quinn”), Joshua Cassara (“X Lives of Wolverine,” “X-Force”), Michael Cho (“Marvel Masterworks,” “Batman: Urban Legends”), Clayton Crain (“Wolverine,” “Deadpool”), Michael Golden (legendary Marvel, DC artist), Tom Grummett (“The New Titans,” “The Adventures of Superman”), Scott Hanna (“Amazing Spider-Man"), Tony Harris (“Starman,” “Ex Machina”), Jonathan Case (“Batman ‘66,” “The New Deal”), Randy Emberlin (“Amazing Spider-Man,” “Dr. Strange”), Guy Gilchrist (“The Muppets,” “Nancy”), Kevin Maguire (“Justice League International”), Caitlyn Yarsky (“Bliss,” “Coyotes”) and many more.

Just about every franchise imaginable will be well represented, and comics fans will revel in meeting the creators who have made them possible. Q&A’s, interactive demonstration sessions, autographs, commission opportunities and more make the experience a can’t-miss for comics lovers.

The field of creators also includes such talents as Karl Kesel (“The Adventures of Superman,” “Superboy”), Steve Lieber (“Jimmy Olsen,” “One Star Squadron”), Jonboy Meyers (“Marvel Age Spider-Man,” “She-Hulk”), Aaron Reynolds (“Effin’ Birds”), Mark Russell (“Blade: Vampire Nation”), Chris Warner (“Predator,” “Terminator”), Joe Wos (“Mazetoons”), Jeremy Clark (“TMNT,” “Lady Death”), Ariel Diaz (“Witchblade,” “G.I.Joe”), Jamie Tyndall (“White Widow”), Brett Weldele (“Beauty”), Renee Witterstaetter (writer, editor, publisher) and more. The full list can be found at https://fanexpohq.com/fanexpoportland/comic-creators/.

The quality of the creators in Artist Alley mirrors that of the FAN EXPO Portland celebrity roster, which features a first-rate list that includes William Shatner (“Star Trek,” “Boston Legal”); Back to the Future stars Michael J. Fox, Christopher Lloyd, Lea Thompson and Tom Wilson; Ron Perlman (“Sons of Anarchy,” Hellboy), Katee Sackhoff (“The Mandalorian,” “Battlestar Galactica”); Sam Raimi (The Evil Dead, Spider-Man); Anthony Daniels (Star Wars franchise); Matthew Lewis (“Neville Longbottom” in Harry Potter franchise) and many more. The complete celebrity lineup is available at https://fanexpohq.com/fanexpoportland/celebrities/.

Tickets for FAN EXPO Portland are on sale at http://www.fanexpoportland.com now, including individual single day, 3-day and Ultimate Fan Packages for adults, youths and families. VIP packages are also available now, with dozens of special benefits including priority entry, limited edition collectibles, exclusive items and much more.

Portland is the second event on the 2023 FAN EXPO HQ calendar; the full schedule is available at fanexpohq.com/home/events/.

[rowsandrows-of-roses]

Meet the Madrigals --@ [La Familia Madrigal + Clayton]

In which Clayton officially meets the Madrigals...[takes place: late August, 2022]

@vcnatorr, @accident-prone-agustin, @letitrain-letitsnow-letitgo, @tirameunpaso-felix, @haveyoumet-dolores, @waitingona-mirabel

[tw -- none really!]

ISABELA: “I’ll get it!” Isabela said, trotting towards the door, a field of poppies springing up behind her as she went. While this display was beautiful, it was also a symptom of Isabela’s anxiety. Her magic was wild, vines curling around the columns that framed the doorway as she moved towards it, squeezing tight.

Isabela had never brought a boy home to meet her family before.

She’d had boyfriends, of course. Sweet things when they’d all been children in Encanto that did not really count. And there had been one boyfriend while she’d been in University that she had been somewhat serious with. Pico had been lovely, the son of a politician, but she had lost touch with him after the coup. And he had only ever met her father, who worked in the capital sometimes and had had lunch with him once. 

This was completely different. Clayton wasn’t a boyfriend, really. He was. They’d agreed to be exclusive, but calling him her boyfriend felt immature. This was a proper relationship. One that she wanted to last. And that meant he had to make a good impression on her family. And…they had to make a good impression on him.

She had complete faith in them all. 

“Hola!” Isabela said, slightly breathless as Casita’s door swung open and a burst of flowers rushed passed Isabela, showering Clayton before disappearing as Isabela waved her hand. “Sorry. Come in! Come in!” She pulled Clayton in by the elbow, leading him back into the courtyard. A squirrel skittered across the floor, climbing up the vines that had just appeared in the doorway. 

“Alright, well--this is everyone,” she gestured broadly to the long table set in the center of the courtyard where everyone was bustling back and forth. 

“Tia Pepa, Antonio--” she pointed them out. “Tio Felix and Camilo.” 

“Ay!” Camilo perked up at the sound of his name. 

“Dolores, Luisa, Mirabel--” she pointed as each came out of the kitchen carrying a different dish for the table. “My papa, Agustin. Mama is still in the kitchen, I think. And--” she pulled Clayton a little further into the house. 

“This is Abuela,” Isabela said, smiling wide at her abuelita, heart hammering in her chest. 

CLAYTON: This was not his first visit to the Madrigal household, but it was arguably the most important one. All of them had been important, realistically; the last, when he had stopped by to make sure Isabela was alright after the whole prom night debacle, had very much set them away down the path they were now on. But this was his first visit meeting the family, an activity that Clayton loathed with an overwhelming passion. Admittedly, the families he tended to meet were usually landed gentry and so boring they could reduce a man to tears before the footmen could even bring around the amuse-bouche. 

He had a feeling this meeting would not be so boring. People moving to and fro, little creatures scurrying across their path as they made their way to a courtyard that Clayton was starting to become familiar with. The foliage seemed thicker this time, tangles of vines and flowers coating every other surface. How did anyone ever get anything done around here with all the clutter?

And so many bodies - more siblings and cousins and assembled family than one could shake a stick at. Clayton was used to a house feeling too big, too empty. It was quite the change here; it felt vaguely claustrophobic. Would she want to move the entire family in, once they took over the house at Islip? He supposed if they had their own wing…

He gave each one a nod, a polite smile. Held up a hand to the people who waved in the first place, and let himself be led deeper into their maze of a home.

Now, he was no idiot. Every family had a figurehead, and he knew from the way Isabela spoke about her that her Abuela was very much the head of the household. So he gave his best charming-but-humble smile, reserved very much for situations like this, as he said, “It’s very nice to meet you. And thank you so much, for inviting me - Isabela has told me a lot about your family. It’s nice to be able to put faces to the names.”

FELIX: Felix wasn’t sure about this at all.

But! It wasn’t his place to be sure or not sure about it. Maybe if it was Lo who was bringing home the town Sheriff as her boyfriend he would have a little more sway to say something, but– well, he could only do his best to be supportive of everyone involved. And right now, being supportive meant carrying plates out of the kitchen, helping to get the table set, and keeping his sons out of trouble.

“Antonio, tell the rabbits to stop stealing the salad, there’ll be nothing left for our guest!” He huffed, shooing away a couple of long-eared, fuzzy-tailed thieves. He looked up as Isabela went skittering past in a shower of flowers, pausing to watch the two of them come back through to the courtyard. Nothing was ever ready on time in this family, he tutted to himself. Still a few things to be done before they’d be ready, but never mind. He waved as he heard his name, elbowing Camillo to get him to focus. “Come on, we’ve still got stuff to do, eh? Stay focused.”

He wasn’t trying to eavesdrop on the conversation with Aubela. Except that he was, honestly– he knew how scary meeting Abuela was. He’d done it before, a very long time ago now. He’d had the advantage of being a child, he supposed; by the time he came to Abuela as a potential son-in-law she already knew him rather well. 

“I hope she only told him the good things, hm?” Felix chuckled, looking at Mirabel as he passed by her.

MIRABEL: Mirabel doubted that. She could imagine Isabela complaining about her to the Sheriff, apologizing for her screw-up sister who didn’t get a gift and failed out of school and continued to embarrass herself at every turn. The image was vivid in her mind, entirely constructed (Mirabel didn’t think she’d said two words to the man), but very vivid. The way she imagined it, Isabela was still the enemy, and Sheriff Clayton was her new co-conspirator. 

So no, Mirabel did not have any reservations about whether this was a good match. It was clearly a great match. And one that was totally designed to torture her. 

Because Mirabel looked at her sister and her new boyfriend and all she felt was jealousy. This was a man Abuela would approve of. He had money, and he was prominent in the community, and the only thing that would make him better was if he was Avaloran— but that was harder to achieve in Swynlake. If Mirabel brought home an artist… well, Abuela would probably just silently judge, Mirabel imagined. 

Still, she was supposed to be polite and supportive and not cause drama the way she always did (even inadvertently). So she smiled at Tío Félix. “There aren’t any bad things, Tío. Except maybe my dancing,” she laughed and set down the tray of arepas she was carrying. She glanced at her tía. “Is there anything else I can grab from the kitchen?” Mirabel preferred to have any excuse to run around tonight— and avoid having to tell Isabela how thrilled she was for her. 

PEPA: Pepa was — 

Well, Pepa was excited. Pepa was anxious. Pepa was trying to take deep breaths so that she did not summon a storm in the middle of Casita on this very very important dinner! All of that meant that Pepa was actually trying to keep herself as occupied as possible, and till Clayton had showed up, Pepa had been following Julieta around the kitchen, listening to her older sister and dutifully following in her lead. It was good to put the decisions in someone else’s hands, though if Pepa knew her sister at all, she knew that Julieta was probably putting all her energy into the food so that she wouldn’t worry herself.

All that being said, by the time Mirabel came up to her, right after Pepa had set the second bowl of salad down (this one untouched by the rabbits), there was simply nothing left that needed to be brought —

“Hmm, maybe we should bring out some wine?” Pepa suggested. “Your father brought home a good bottle the other night — which one was it Agustin?” She called to her brother-in-law. “Do you think our guest would like it? I liked it a lot — a good, full-bodied red. If he has good taste, he’ll like it.”

Pepa threw her niece a wink, trying to soothe any nerves that she might have. To be honest, Pepa wasn’t looking at anyone’s reagents right now. Not when she was trying to keep the skies clear and sunny and the mood festive and joyous! No, no, no, getting bogged down by any one else would not do.

“Agustin — go help your daughter with the wine. Oh, glasses too!” 

DOLORES: Dolores was 100% trying to eavesdrop on the conversation with Abuela and Isa AND Clayton. She wanted to know if she liked this man. If she liked the guy her cousin who was basically her sister was bringing home and at the same time she was jealous because she didn’t have anyone and not for a lack of trying either. And here Isa was with someone she cared about on her arm meeting Abuela.

It was tough.

But she would be pleasant and proud and happy for her.

She would!

And she would spy just a little. It was what she did.

Slipping over to her Mama, Dolores set a hand on her arm with a smile and a reassuring grin. They all knew to keep Mama calm incase of a sudden storm. What a horrid first impression. But then there were more animals rushing across the ground and Dolores had to move carefully to avoid them rushing after Ani to help get them calm.

“Food is on the table whenever we’re ready to sit!” Dolores called out ushering the animals away from the couple and Abuela.

AGUSTÍN: Agustín had his reservations about the sheriff, namely that he didn’t seem qualified for the job and that he had to be closer in age to him than to his daughter…which he supposed was fine, with Ines being nearly thirty. Still he had to wonder what he had in common with his daughter beyond good looks. But that wasn’t the point of this evening and nor was Agustín Valera known to be ‘that kind of man’, the kind who was mistrusting and overprotective, and who bristled when you called him by his wife’s surname. Agustín was none of those things both by nature and for optics. 

He brought the wine into the dining room with Mirabel and nodded politely at Clayton, before gesturing to Mirabel for her to sit. He picked his spot out between Julieta and Mirabel — figuring Isabela would want to be with Clayton and Alma — and began to pour wine for everyone. 

“The first class for the guest of course,” Agustín said, pouring some into Clayton’s glass, then Isabela’s. 

ISABELA: Isabela and Clayton chatted with Abuela for a moment, whilst the rest of the family bustled around, but then, it was time to sit down. Isa moved over to her chair, her hand on Clayton’s arm so that she could direct him to the seat next to her, just in case he got stressed about where to sit. It wasn’t necessarily intuitive. And no one sat the same place every night. Sometimes, Isa and Lo sat together so they could gossip about the going ons of the day. Sometimes, it was Camilo and Isa for the same reasons. When Antonio was littler, Isa used to sit next to him to help him with dinner, so the adults could take a break. Sometimes she sat next to Luisa because her sister had had a hard day at work. Sometimes, it was Tio Felix, so that they could discuss the latest episode of whatever telly show they were watching. Or Abuela, when she had something impressive to tell her.

The one constant was that Mira and Isa usually avoided each other. No one commented on it, but it was rather obvious. 

Her sister was down at the other end of the table now, thank God. Both her parents as a buffer, so, hopefully, she didn’t say anything nasty. The last thing Isabela needed was for Clayton to think that her family was a handful. There were many of them, but they were chill! Relaxed. Totally normal. 

“Thank you all for coming, I know we don’t always get to sit down together, but it means a lot to me and I know it means a lot to William too.” She reached over and put her hand on his arm for a moment. 

Abuela, who had taken this time to serve herself, took a bite of her food, which meant the table burst into a flurry of activity as everyone else started passing around the food. (She could see her mother, on Clayton’s other side, eyeing what he put on his plate.) 

“So, Senor Clayton, please. Tell us about yourself.” That was Alma, watching him with a keen eye.

CLAYTON: There wasn’t really anything about tonight that was stressing Clayton out as it happened. He had no doubts that he was charming enough to be able to make a good impression, but he was careful to keep himself a step behind Isabela, following her gentle guidance. It wasn’t that he was timid, needing her to point him in the right direction, though if it came across that way he wasn’t sure he would mind. Better that than to put his foot in his mouth. He was a naturally confident person, yes, but he was also used to moving in the same circles. Circles that he understood, and knew how to navigate - this was new to him. And he was smart enough to know when to tread carefully.

He really should’ve become an actor, he thought, as he gave a gentle, gracious smile, looking to Isabela as she placed a hand on his arm and thanked the family for gathering as they had. To be honest, he couldn’t care less; but it was important to her, which meant it had to be important to him. 

He waited until everyone else started to pass around the plates, careful to put a little bit of everything on his own. Not that he knew what half of it was, but he also wasn’t particularly fussy. And tonight was about the meal anyways, it was about this: painting a specific picture of himself, so that the family didn’t try to throw too many spanners in the works.

“Well, I grew up in the country, not too far from Oxford. But I’ve actually lived in London most of my life - I was very lucky to get a job straight after I finished my Masters degree, right in the city. I was a journalist for a while, but London was…” He shook his head, considering his words. “It’s not the type of place you settle in, and that was really what I was starting to look for. I had a few friends who had mentioned Swynlake, so I decided to look into it, and,” He smiled, raising his shoulders in a half-shrug. “I never left.”

FÉLIX: The good thing about having been a parent for many years, and about having specifically parented his own children, was that Félix was good at having his eyes on two different things at once (and having eyes in the back of his head at the same time, too, but he wasn’t using those right now). He was busy loading up his plate, making sure Antonio took some of the vegetables as they were passed round and trying to make sure Camillo didn’t take all of the patacones before they’d had a chance to make their way around the table. 

But he was also listening to Clayton. Growing up in the countryside, living in London, he wasn’t sure how Alma would feel about any of those things but that comment– wanting to settle. He glanced sideways at Pepa, sharing a look with her. Alma would be happy with that, surely. She wanted stability for Isabela, she wanted someone her eldest grandchild could depend on, right? And it sounded like that was who Clayton was, even if he wasn’t necessarily the person any of them would’ve picked for Isa…

Félix glanced at Alma, trying to gauge her reaction - he spent a lot of his time doing that. And he did remember being in Clayton’s shoes, meeting her for the first time. Félix hadn’t exactly been nervous, because he’d known her since he was just a boy, but it was still sort of scary, to meet her not as a family friend but as Pepa’s boyfriend. She was quite imposing when she wanted to be. Most of the time, in fact.

Félix looked away, passing the plate of tamales to Mirabel.

MIRABEL: Oxford. London. Master’s degree. Mirabel didn’t even need to look at Abuela’s face. She knew that her grandmother was probably overjoyed. Being a journalist was sort of interesting, but Mirabel imagined it was probably for some horribly boring topic, like economics or something. And he wasn’t even doing that anymore, he was the Sheriff. 

And, apparently, Isabela’s boyfriend now.

Really, they were perfect for each other. Because they were both so bloody perfect.

She tried to think of something interesting to say, but she imagined Isabela would probably prefer it if she just didn’t. So Mirabel just took a tamale and passed the plate to her father, looking at Clayton the whole time, her expression polite but maybe a little pensive. And then she caught Abuela’s eye— her expression unreadable as always— and wondered if she needed to be more friendly.

“That’s, um, really cool,” Mirabel said on a whim, even though she had just decided she was going to keep quiet. But that was harmless, right? 

PEPA: Now, Pepa was impressed! A Masters degree meant he was smart. And so-very English too — that accent! Pepa smiled, taking a sip of her wine and listening to Isa’s boyfriend talk. 

They were both so beautiful too. If this was serious — and it was serious, because Isabela would not bring just anyone to family dinner like this — then Isabela would make a most beautiful bride. They’d be a gorgeous couple, with gorgeous children! 

Okay — maybe she was getting ahead of herself. But could you blame her? The family needed some good news, especially after all they’d been through. The coup, losing Bruno, the past five years in this small, rainy little town, their magic faltering… the family needed to come together about something joyous. And what was more joyous than love? 

Pepa looked fondly at her husband, and reached for his hand.

“Oh, I hope Dolores finds someone as successful as this soon,” she whispered, stroking Felix’s arm. 

DOLORES: Growing up in the country, it could be so romantic, Dolores swooned just a little bit, and the fact he didn’t want a big city life, in a way Dolores could make it out to be some Jane Austen type of deal. Meeting in the small city, wanting to stay away from the crowds. A whirlwind romance potentially.

Focused on the story Dolores almost missed the food being passed to her so she could take some, passing it onto the next. A blush coating her cheeks at her Mama’s words. She wanted this too, she really did. She wanted to be swept up in a romance that you were bringing them home to a family dinner.

And not to mention Isa had set the standard very high with the sheriff. 

“That sounds lovely, you want to make Swynlake your home then?” Is that good or bad, would they ever go back or would they set up roots just like this.

AGUSTÍN: Agustín sat quietly, not really having anything to add. He wasn’t sure he cared to get to know this man quite yet; but more importantly, thought he’d do better to suss him out by observing. He nodded along as he talked himself up as any man would do meeting his girlfriend’s family for the first time and tried not to think about how this man probably had his Masters degree before he’d achieved his own.

Him, really?

Ay, he seemed like a respectable man. He was trying to be positive, open, and not so protective of his little girl who was a grown woman now, but…he knew Isabela was dating with the intention of marriage within a couple years. Alma didn’t always say it in so many words but she certainly expected Isa and Lo to marry sooner rather than much later. He hoped Isabela didn’t feel pressured to make it happen, that she’d just go with the flow and know when the time was right.

Still, he knew she preferred to date seriously, with her future in mind. He liked that about his eldest daughter; that she was careful, calculated, and took steps to meet her ultimate goals. 

Only, hm. When he pictured meeting a future son-in-law, he pictured a man…at least young enough to be his hermanito Danilo’s age.

He supposed if Isabela was happy and being treated well he could get used to it! Yes, surely he would.

ISABELA: “Yes, what a good question, mi vida,” Abuela said before looking back at Clayton with sharp, alert eyes. “Do you intend to make Swynlake home?” 

She had been sitting quietly whilst her family prattled on. Despite being the matriarch, Abuela Alma could be rather sparse. She preferred to observe. And you could always feel the way that she watched you. Isabela felt the weight of her gaze now and made sure to straighten her shoulders so that she would not crumble underneath it. She smiled and looked at Clayton herself, curious what he had to say. 

It had never occurred to her that Clayton may not want to stay in Swynlake. His home was elsewhere after all, and there was nothing keeping him from it. Not like Isabela. She wondered if she married him…would she ever be able to go home? Would he want to move into Casita the way she always imagined her husband would? Just like her Papa and Tio had? 

There was no point in thinking about that now. They had to survive the interrogation first. 

CLAYTON: Oh, but there was such an easy answer to this question. Honestly, he didn’t even have to try.

He had played the role of the good boyfriend before. The doting boyfriend, the almost-too-good boyfriend. Being charming was like any other talent - some were born with a natural capability for it, but it still needed to be worked at to be perfected. And Clayton had worked at it. He had put hours and hours into it.

(Of course, playing the good boyfriend was often extremely tedious and boring. He preferred it when he got to play the bad boyfriend. The bring-him-home-to-piss-off-your-parents boyfriend. He’d done that a few times, when he was younger, and it was always so much more fun.)

“I like to think I already have,” He answered simply, smiling at Alma. “And now, especially, I can’t imagine why I’d want to leave.”

He looked at Isabela for a moment, placing his hand over hers, squeezing gently.

FÉLIX: He squeezed his wife’s hand gently, smiling at her. Glanced at Dolores in his periphery, just for a moment, wondering if she had heard. Knowing that she probably would have. He didn’t want her to feel any pressure, of course not! But Pepa was right. It would be nice if Dolores could find herself someone who seemed as successful and well put together as the Sheriff. Someone as devoted, too!

Because he did seem so devoted. Félix looked at his wife again, eyebrows arching for a moment in silent communication, a little smile on his lips. Oh, yes, it all seemed very serious! And Félix was sure that was just the answer Abuela was wanting to hear. Honestly, it was like he was reading aloud from a script, almost. It was perfect! Was it too perfect?

Félix wondered for a fraction of a second about the uneasy feeling that crept over him, until he noticed Antonio slipping scraps of meat to the badger that was sitting underneath his chair. Félix hissed at him to cut it out, thoroughly distracted again.

MIRABEL: Now that Mirabel was over her initial annoyance at just how picture-perfect Isa and her new boyfriend were and the conversation had moved into this lovey-dovey shit, Mirabel was starting to get bored. 

She didn’t want anything crazy to happen, because that would be stressful, but she wished this were a normal family dinner when everyone wasn’t on their best behavior. Was this going to be the new normal whenever the Sheriff was around? All these manners and polite conversation?

The thought was very depressing. 

Mirabel heard Tío Félix’s scolding and smiled at Antonio, though she didn’t dare egg him on. She just had to get through the rest of this dinner.

PEPA: At the mention of home, Pepa’s heart panged.

She missed her home — she missed every place she’d ever called home. She missed Avalor, where she had spent most her life. And when she allowed herself, she let herself miss Colombia. Sometimes, late at night, she squeezed her eyes shut very tight and remembered running through the grass with her siblings and picking flowers to give Felix. 

Around her, it began to mist slightly.

She cleared her throat, trying to think of happier things — the last thing this evening needed was a rainstorm!

So she thought of smiling Isabela. She thought of Swynlake. This was home now. It was grey and cloudy and cold more often than not, but Casita still stood strong, and her family still shared a meal together. And if Clayton and Isabela got married then, well, this would be home even more! They were resilient, the Madrigals, and Pepa knew they could weather any storm. 

“And what a lovely place to call a home!” chimed Pepa. She giggled, hoping that any clouds gathering around her would disperse with her laughter. 

DOLORES: Good. That meant Isa was staying here, with her, with her family. Dolores wasn’t sure what she would do if another one of her family members left without the intent to come back. It was why when Mirabel left it was easier to handle since she would be back sooner than later.

Maybe if they could go home, Clayton would join them as well.

But for now this was enough to settle any other worries for now.

Issue one dealt with.

CLAYTON: Well, it seemed like that had been the correct answer, at the very least.

He supposed it wasn’t wrong. He had made Swynlake a home, and truly, he had no plans to leave it. Why would he? He had the town under his thumb for the most part, and now he was securing for himself a match that meant when the old man did finally kick the bucket, he would have someone to manage the house, so that he wouldn’t have to deal with the sodding thing. He might have to move back there for a few months, whilst things got settled and everyone got into the swing of having a new Baron in charge of the place, but it would still only be temporary. 

Though he wasn’t sure he could ever call a place home for too long. At some point he’d grow tired of playing policeman and the game in the forest would dry up and then he’d be forced to look for somewhere else. Until then, however, this was very much his home, and he had no plans to change that.

“My thoughts exactly,” He said, directing a smile at Pepa before he looked at Isabela again, attempting to gauge her reaction.

ISABELA: Isabela had not actually thought about that. To ask it. To know what his plans were. He was the sheriff. Of course he was planning to stay here. And Isabela had simply just always thought that whoever she married would move into Casita with her. It was big enough. Whoever her husband was, Casita would make room for them. Quite literally. There had never been another thought about it for her. It simply was.

But now, she realized it was not guaranteed. Maybe whoever she married wouldn’t want to live in Casita. Maybe they would have obligations elsewhere. Maybe they wouldn’t want to be in Swynlake. The idea had struck her so forcefully that she’d actually sprouted a few daisies in her hair that she managed to brush off with a simple smile as Clayton had answered. 

Plus, it seemed as if he was saying that she was part of the reason to stay. Which made her very happy indeed. She smiled more broadly, pleased with Clayton’s reply. 

“Aye, it is a good home,” Abuela agreed. 

Isabela felt her grandmother’s eyes on her and turned towards her. Abuela gave her a small, single nod. Isabela straightened her shoulders in her seat as the conversation around them picked up again. She felt as if she had won the night. Everything was going exactly as she wanted.

[chainsawmcd]

Hellraiser (2022)

HELLRAISER!

Now that it's had a day or two to percolate, here's the good, the bad and the ugly. Mild spoilers ahead.

THE GOOD:

Design. Great sets. PHENOMENAL gore. Beautifully shot. Loved the score as well.

The Cenobites. Jamie Clayton nailed it.

The torture. Two thumbs up for the neck scene and, of course, that beautiful final scene.

THE BAD

The original felt weightier due to a very real, very adult, family drama at the center of it. A cast full of 20-something soon-to-be-victims felt familiar and tropey.

The pacing. First act felt slow/long. Pinhead doesn't show up until halfway through the movie. Second half is far better than the first half.

THE UGLY

How easy is this fucking puzzle box if people keep solving it on accident?

LONG STORY SHORT

It's not perfect but it's the refresh the series needed. Recommend.